A sun which, o’er the renovated scene,
Shall dart like Truth where Falsehood yet has been.
SONNET
ON LAUNCHING SOME BOTTLES FILLED WITH KNOWLEDGE INTO THE BRISTOL CHANNEL
VESSELS of heavenly medicine! may the breeze
Auspicious waft your dark green forms to shore;
Safe may ye stem the wide surrounding roar
Of the wild whirlwinds and the raging seas;
5
And oh! if Liberty e’er deigned to stoop
From yonder lowly throne her crownless brow,
Sure she will breathe around your emerald group
The fairest breezes of her West that blow.
Yes! she will waft ye to some free-born soul
10
Whose eye-beam, kindling as it meets your freight,
Her heaven-born flame in suffering Earth will light,
Until its radiance gleams from pole to pole,
And tyrant-hearts with powerless envy burst
To see their night of ignorance dispersed.
THE DEVIL’S WALK
A BALLAD
I
ONCE, early in the morning,
Beelzebub arose,
With care his sweet person adorning,
He put on his Sunday clothes.
II
5
He drew on a boot to hide his hoof,
He drew on a glove to hide his claw,
His horns were concealed by a Bras Chapeau,
And the Devil went forth as natty a Beau
As Bond-street ever saw.
III
10
He sate him down, in London town,
Before earth’s morning ray;
With a favourite imp he began to chat,
On religion, and scandal, this and that,
Until the dawn of day.
IV
15
And then to St. James’s Court he went,
And St. Paul’s Church he took on his way;
He was mighty thick with every Saint,
Though they were formal and he was gay.
V
The Devil was an agriculturist,
20
And as bad weeds quickly grow,
In looking over his farm, I wist,
He wouldn’t find cause for woe.
VI
He peeped in each hole, to each chamber stole,
His promising live-stock to view;
25
Grinning applause, he just showed them his claws,
And they shrunk with affright from his ugly sight,
Whose work they delighted to do.
VII
Satan poked his red nose into crannies so small
One would think that the innocents fair,
30
Poor lambkins! were just doing nothing at all
But settling some dress or arranging some ball,
But the Devil saw deeper there.
VIII
A Priest, at whose elbow the Devil during prayer
Sate familiarly, side by side,
35
Declared that, if the Tempter were there,
His presence he would not abide.
Ah! ah! thought Old Nick, that’s a very stale trick,
For without the Devil, O favourite of Evil,
In your carriage you would not ride.
IX
40
Satan next saw a brainless King,
Whose house was as hot as his own;
Many Imps in attendance were there on the wing,
They flapped the pennon and twisted the sting,
Close by the very Throne.
X
45
Ah! ah! thought Satan, the pasture is good,
My Cattle will here thrive better than others;
They dine on news of human blood,
They sup on the groans of the dying and dead,
And supperless never will go to bed;
50
Which will make them fat as their brothers.
XI
Fat as the Fiends that feed on blood,
Fresh and warm from the fields of Spain,
Where Ruin ploughs her gory way,
Where the shoots of earth are nipped in the bud,
55
Where Hell is the Victor’s prey,
Its glory the meed of the slain.
XII
Fat—as the Death-birds on Erin’s shore,
That glutted themselves in her dearest gore,
And flitted round Castlereagh,
60
When they snatched the Patriot’s heart, that his grasp
Had torn from its widow’s maniac clasp,
And fled at the dawn of day.
XIII
Fat—as the Reptiles of the tomb,
That riot in corruption’s spoil,
65
That fret their little hour in gloom,
And creep and live the while.
XIV
Fat as that Prince’s maudlin brain,
Which, addled by some gilded toy,
Tired, gives his sweetmeat, and again
70
Cries for it, like a humoured boy.
XV
For he is fat,—his waistcoat gay,
When strained upon a levee day,
Scarce meets across his princely paunch;
75
And pantaloons are like half-moons Upon each brawny haunch.
XVI
How vast his stock of calf! when plenty
Had filled his empty head and heart,
Enough to satiate foplings twenty,
Could make his pantaloon seams start.
XVII
80
The Devil (who sometimes is called Nature),
For men of power provides thus well,
Whilst every change and every feature,
Their great original can tell.
XVIII
Satan saw a lawyer a viper slay,
85
That crawled up the leg of his table,
It reminded him most marvellously
Of the story of Cain and Abel.
XIX
The wealthy yeoman, as he wanders
His fertile fields among,
90
And on his thriving cattle ponders,
Counts his sure gains, and hums a song;
Thus did the Devil, through earth walking,
Hum low a hellish song.
XX
For they thrive well whose garb of gore
95
Is Satan’s choicest livery,
And they thrive well who from the poor
Have snatched the bread of penury,
And heap the houseless wanderer’s store
On the rank pile of luxury.
XXI
100
The Bishops thrive, though they are big;
The Lawyers thrive, though they are thin;
For every gown, and every wig,
Hides the safe thrift of Hell within.
XXII
Thus pigs were never counted clean,
105
Although they dine on finest corn;
And cormorants are sin-like lean,
Although they eat from night to morn.
XXIII
Oh! why is the Father of Hell in such glee,
As he grins from ear to ear?
110
Why does he doff his clothes joy fully,
As he skips, and prances, and flaps his wing,
As he sidles, leers, and twirls his sting,
And dares, as he is, to appear?
XXIV
A statesman passed—alone to him.
115
The Devil dare his whole shape uncover,
To show each feature, every limb,
Secure of an unchanging lover.
XXV
At this known sign, a welcome sight,
The wa
tchful demons sought their King,
120
And every Fiend of the Stygian night,
Was in an instant on the wing.
XXVI
Pale Loyalty, his guilt-steeled brow,
With wreaths of gory laurel crowned:
The hell-hounds, Murder, Want and Woe,
125
Forever hungering, flocked around;
From Spain had Satan sought their food,
’Twas human woe and human blood!
XXVII
Hark! the earthquake’s crash I hear,—
Kings turn pale, and Conquerors start,
130
Ruffians tremble in their fear,
For their Satan doth depart.
XVIII
This day Fiends give to revelry
To celebrate their King’s return,
And with delight its Sire to see
Hell’s adamantine limits burn.
XXIX
But were the Devil’s sight as keen
As Reason’s penetrating eye,
His sulphurous Majesty I ween,
Would find but little cause for joy.
XXX
140
For the sons of Reason see
That, ere fate consume the Pole,
The false Tyrant’s cheek shall be
Bloodless as his coward soul.
FRAGMENT OF A SONNET
FAREWELL TO NORTH DEVON
· · · · ·
Where man’s profane and tainting
hand Nature’s primaeval loveliness has marred,
And some few souls of the high bliss debarred
Which else obey her powerful command;
5
… mountain piles
That load in grandeur Cambria’s emerald vales.
ON LEAVING LONDON FOR WALES
HAIL to thee, Cambria; for the unfettered wind
Which from thy wilds even now methinks I feel,
Chasing the clouds that roll in wrath behind,
And tightening the soul’s laxest nerves to steel;
5
True mountain Liberty alone may heal
The pain which Custom’s obduracies bring,
And he who dares in fancy even to steal
One draught from Snowdon’s ever sacred spring
Blots out the unholiest rede of worldly witnessing.
10
And shall that soul, to selfish peace resigned,
So soon forget the woe its fellows share?
Can Snowdon’s Lethe from the free-born mind
So soon the page of injured penury tear?
Does this fine mass of human passion dare
15
To sleep, unhonouring the patriot’s fall,
Or life’s sweet load in quietude to bear
While millions famish even in Luxury’s hall,
And Tyranny, high raised, stern lowers on all?
No, Cambria! never may thy matchless vales
20
A heart so false to hope and virtue shield;
Nor ever may thy spirit-breathing gales
Waft freshness to the slaves who dare to yield.
For me! … the weapon that I burn to wield
I seek amid thy rocks to ruin hurled,
25
That Reason’s flag may over Freedom’s field,
Symbol of bloodless victory, wave unfurled,
A meteor-sign of love effulgent o’er the world.
· · · · ·
Do thou, wild Cambria, calm each struggling thought;
Cast thy sweet veil of rocks and woods between,
30
That by the soul to indignation wrought
Mountains and dells be mingled with the scene;
Let me forever be what I have been,
But not forever at my needy door
Let Misery linger speechless, pale and lean;
35
I am the friend of the unfriended poor,—
Let me not madly stain their righteous cause in gore.
THE WANDERING JEW’S SOLILOQUY
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He
Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny
And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells?
Will not the lightning’s blast destroy my frame?
5
Will not steel drink the blood-life where it swells?
No—let me hie where dark Destruction dwells,
To rouse her from her deeply caverned lair,
And, taunting her cursed sluggishness to ire,
Light long Oblivion’s death-torch at its flame
10
And calmly mount Annihilation’s pyre.
Tyrant of Earth! pale Misery’s jackal Thou!
Are there no stores of vengeful violent fate
Within the magazines of Thy fierce hate?
No poison in the clouds to bathe a brow
15
That lowers on Thee with desperate contempt?
Where is the noonday Pestilence that slew
The myriad sons of Israel’s favoured nation?
Where the destroying Minister that flew
Pouring the fiery tide of desolation
20
Upon the leagued Assyrian’s attempt?
Where the dark Earthquake-daemon who engorged
At the dread word Korah’s unconscious crew?
Or the Angel’s two-edged sword of fire that urged
Our primal parents from their bower of bliss
25
(Reared by Thine hand) for errors not their own
By Thine omniscient mind fore doomed, foreknown?
Yes! I would court a ruin such as this,
Almighty Tyrant! and give thanks to Thee—
Drink deeply—drain the cup of hate; remit this—I may die.
EVENING
TO HARRIET
O THOU bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line
Of western distance that sublime descendest,
And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline,
Thy million hues to every vapour lendest,
5
And, over cobweb lawn and grove and stream
Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light,
Till calm Earth, with the parting splendour bright,
Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream;
What gazer now with astronomic eye
10
Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere?
Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly
The thoughts of all that makes his passion dear,
And, turning senseless from the warm caress,
Tick flaws in our close-woven happiness.
TO IANTHE
I LOVE thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek,
Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,
Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake;
5
But more when o’er thy fitful slumber bending
Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart,
Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending,
All that thy passive eyes can feel impart:
More, when some feeble lineaments of her,
10
Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom,
As with deep love I read thy face, recur,—
More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom;
Dearest when most thy tender traits express
The image of thy mother’s loveliness.
SONG FROM THE WANDERING JEW
SEE yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast;
It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale—is fast.
5
Paler is yon maiden;
Faster is her heart’s decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away.
FRAGMENT FROM THE WANDERING JEW
THE Elements respect their Maker’s seal!
Still like the scathed pine tree’s height,
Braving the tempests of the night
Have I ’scaped the flickering flame.
5
Like the scathed pine, which a monument stands
Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath;
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
10
And rears its wild form there.
TO THE QUEEN OF MY HEART
I
SHALL we roam, my love,
To the twilight grove,
When the moon is rising bright;
Oh, I’ll whisper there,
5
In the cool night-air,
What I dare not in broad daylight!
II
I’ll tell thee a part
Of the thoughts that start
To being when thou art nigh;
10
And thy beauty, more bright
Than the stars’ soft light,
Shall seem as a weft from the sky.
III
When the pale moonbeam
On tower and stream
15
Sheds a flood of silver sheen,
How I love to gaze
As the cold ray strays
O’er thy face, my heart’s throned queen!
IV
Wilt thou roam with me
20
To the restless sea,
And linger upon the steep,
And list to the flow
Of the waves below
How they toss and roar and leap?