And hot corruption bred. Ye who are doomed upon this fateful spot Or children of a ruin'd realm, to shame (For this is on the issue of the hour!) Plead with me, unborn Spirits! that the wrath Deserved may pass away! And thou, America, who owest Remote Antarctic Isles and Continent, Where the glad tidings of the Gospel truth, Her children are proclaiming faithfully ;Join with me now to wrest The thunderbolt from that relenting arm!— Plead with me, Earth and Ocean, at this hour, Thou, Ocean, for thy Queen, And for thy benefactress, thou, O Earth!” 16. The Angel ceased; The wind arose, The clouds were rent, They were drifted and scatter'd abroad; Where, through the clear blue sky, the silver Moon A healing influence reach'd my heart, That the voice of the Angel was heard. Keswick, 1820. ODE ON THE PORTRAIT OF BISHOP HEBER. 1. YES, such as these were Heber's lineaments; Such was the gentle countenance which bore Its ominous marks infix'd, Nor the worse die of evil habit set An inward stain ingrain'd. Such were the lips whose salient playfulness Enliven'd peaceful hours of private life; Whose eloquence Held congregations open ear'd, As from the heart it flow'd, a living stream Of Christian wisdom, pure and undefiled. Ten years have held their course Since last I look'd upon When on Llangedwin's terraces we paced Partaking there its hospitality, His friend and mine, - my earliest friend, whom I In goodness, and in worth and warmth of heart. Together then we traced The grass-grown site, where armed feet once trod The threshold of Glendower's embattled hall; Cyveilioc might have seen; And curiously observed what vestiges, Of Monacella's legend there are left, Which from the hill-slope takes Its Cymric name euphonious; there to view, Though drawn by some rude limner inexpert, The faded portrait of that lady fair, Beside whose corpse her husband watch'd, And with perverted faith, Preposterously placed, Thought, obstinate in hopeless hope, to see The beautiful dead, by miracle, revive. 4. The sunny recollections of those days Full soon were overcast, when Heber went Where half this wide world's circle lay Between us interposed. A messenger of love he went, Not for ambition, nor for gain, Nor of constraint, save such as duty lays Upon the disciplined heart, Of that wide flock dispersed, For this great end, devotedly he went, His own loved paths of pleasantness and peace, Prospects (and not remote) of all wherewith Authority could dignify desert; And, dearer far to him, Pursuits that with the learned and the wise Should have assured his name its lasting place. 5. Large, England, is the debt Thou owest to Heathendom; To India most of all, where Providence, Giving thee thy dominion there in trust, Upholds its baseless strength. All seas have seen thy red-cross flag In war triumphantly display'd; Late only hast thou set that standard up On pagan shores in peace! Yea, at this hour the cry of blood Riseth against thee from beneath the wheels Of that seven-headed Idol's car accursed; Against thee, from the widow's funeral pile, The smoke of human sacrifice Ascends, even now, to Heaven. 6. The debt shall be discharged; the crying sin Silenced; the foul offence Forever done away. Thither our saintly Heber went, In promise and in pledge That England, from her guilty torpor roused, Thither, devoted to the work, he went, 7. How beautiful are the feet of him And blessings followed him. The Malabar, the Moor, the Cingalese, Yet not the less admired Injuriously deprived, Felt, at his presence, the neglected seed Refresh'd, as with a quickening dew from Heaven. Native believers wept for thankfulness, When on their heads he laid his hallowing hands; Be cognizant of aught that passeth here, To look from Paradise that hour 8. Ram boweth down, Creeshna and Seeva stoop; The Arabian Moon must wane to wax no more; And Ishmael's seed redeem'd, And Esau's-to their brotherhood, And to their better birthright then restored, Open, thou Earth, and let And sing ye, O ye Heavens, and shout, O Earth, With all thy hills and vales, 9. Take comfort, then, my soul! Thy latter days on earth, Though few, shall not be evil, by this hope Wherein, but mostly in this blessed hope, For thou wert of that audience, - fit, though few, To live laborious days, Assured that after-years will ratify Their honorable award. 10. Hadst thou revisited thy native land, Who to his rest is borne, Or sorrow reach'd him in his heart of hearts! 11. Yes, to the Christian, to the Heathen world, Heber, thou art not dead, -thou canst not die! Nor can I think of thee as lost. A little portion of this little isle The rending of a veil! Oh, when that leaf shall fall, That shell be burst, that veil be rent, may then My spirit be with thine! Keswick, 1820. EPISTLE ΤΟ ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. WELL, Heaven be thank'd! friend Allan, here I am, So let me hope; where Time upon my head My next-door neighbors, in a street not yet Till every chimney its own smoke consume, And give thenceforth thy dinners unlampoon'd. Escaping from all this, the very whirl Of mail-coach wheels bound outward from Ladlane, Was peace and quietness. Three hundred miles * Donne did not hate More perfectly that city. Not for all Its social, all its intellectual joys,Which having touch'd, I may not condescend To name aught else the Demon of the place Might for his lure hold forth; - not even for these Would I forego gardens and green-field walks, And hedge-row trees, and stiles, and shady lanes, And orchards, were such ordinary scenes Alone to me accessible as those Wherein I learnt in infancy to love Of sunshine, are the mornings, when, in talk I have been libell'd, Allan, as thou knowest, The sights and sounds of Nature; — wholesome Which they inflict Time hath no remedy. sights, ; Gladdening the eye that they refresh; and sounds -a poet thou, Among the ancient hills, near mountain streams Yet, Allan, of the cup of social joy Faces which I have known and loved so long, *This poet begins his second Satire thus: - That hate towards them breeds pity towards the rest." Injuries there are which Time redresseth best. Let then the dogs of Faction bark and bay Ridiculous and safe: though all give cry, But I appeal Of childhood, stores with moral strength the heart Of youth, with wisdom maketh mid-life rich, And fills with quiet tears the eyes of age. Hear then in English rhyme how Bilderdijk Describes his wicked portraits, one by one. "A madman who from Bedlam hath broke loose; An honest fellow of the numskull race; And pappyer-headed still, a very goose Staring with eyes aghast and vacant face; A Frenchman who would mirthfully display On some poor idiot his malicious wit; And lastly, one who, train'd up in the way Of worldly craft, hath not forsaken it, But hath served Mammon with his whole intent, A thing of Nature's worst materials made, Low-minded, stupid, base and insolent. I-I-a Poet - have been thus portray'd. Can ye believe that my true effigy Among these vile varieties is found? What thought, or line, or word, hath fallen from me For now in potter's earth must I appear, And the dolt image is not worth its clay. Then comes there one who will to admiration Its consequential features overcast Suppress the scornfulness of empty pride." "And who is Bilderdijk?" methinks thou sayest; A ready question; yet which, trust me, Allan, Would not be ask'd, had not the curse that came From Babel clipt the wings of Poetry. Napoleon ask'd him once, with cold, fix'd look, "Art thou, then, in the world of letters known?" "I have deserved to be," the Hollander Replied, meeting that proud, imperial look With calm and proper confidence, and eye As little wont to turn away abash'd Before a mortal presence. He is one Who hath received upon his constant breast The sharpest arrows of adversity; Whom not the clamors of the multitude, Demanding, in their madness and their might, Iniquitous things, could shake in his firm mind; Nor the strong hand of instant tyranny From the straight path of duty turn aside; But who, in public troubles, in the wreck Of his own fortunes, in proscription, exile, Want, obloquy, ingratitude, neglect, And what severer trials Providence Sometimes inflicteth, chastening whom it loves, In all, through all, and over all, hath borne An equal heart, as resolute toward The world, as humbly and religiously Hath pent within its sphere a name wherewith Europe should else have rung from side to side. Such, Allan, is the Hollander to whom Esteem and admiration have attach'd My soul, not less than pre-consent of mind, And gratitude for benefits, when, being A stranger, sick, and in a foreign land, He took me like a brother to his house, And ministered to me, and made a time, Which had been wearisome and careful else, So pleasurable, that in my calendar There are no whiter days. Twill be a joy For us to meet in Heaven, though we should look Upon each other's earthly face no more. - This is this world's complexion! "Cheerful thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind;" and these again Whom have we first? A dainty gentleman, His sleepy eyes half-closed, and countenance To no expression stronger than might suit A simper, capable of being moved : Sawney and sentimental; with an air So lack-thought and so lackadaysical, You might suppose the volume in his hand Must needs be Zimmermann on Solitude. Then comes a jovial landlord, who hath made it To give his cheeks that deep carmine ingrain'd, Our next is in the evangelical line, A leaden-visaged specimen; demure, Because he hath put on his Sunday's face; |