Poems, 1799

Poems, 1799

Orleans was hushd in sleep. Stretchd on her couch The delegated Maiden lay: with toil Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then, For busy Phantasy, in other scenes Awakened. Whether that superior powers, By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream, Instructing so the passive faculty;[1] Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog, Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world, And all things are that seem.[2] Along a moor, Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate, She roamd a wanderer thro the cheerless night. Far thro the silence of the unbroken plain The bitterns boom was heard, hoarse, heavy, deep, It made most fitting music to the scene. Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind, Swept shadowing; thro their broken folds the moon Struggled sometimes with transitory ray, And made the moving darkness visible. And now arrived beside a fenny lake She stands: amid its stagnate waters, hoarse The long sedge rustled to the gales of night. An age-worn bark receives the Maid, impelld By powers unseen; then did the moon display Where thro the crazy vessels yawning side The muddy wave oozed in: a female guides, And spreads the sail before the wind, that moand As melancholy mournful to her ear, As ever by the dungeond wretch was heard Howling at evening round the embattled towers Of that hell-house[3] of France, ere yet sublime The almighty people from their tyrants hand Dashd down the iron rod. Intent the Maid Gazed on the pilots form, and as she gazed Shiverd, for wan her face was, and her eyes Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep, Channelld by tears; a few grey locks hung down Beneath her hood: then thro the Maidens veins Chill crept the blood, for, as the night-breeze passd, Lifting her tattcrd mantle, coild around She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart. The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by, And the night-ravens scream came fitfully, Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid Lookd to the shore, and now upon the bank Leaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling still In recollection. There, a mouldering pile Stretchd its wide ruins, oer the plain below Casting a gloomy shade, save where the moon Shone thro its fretted windows: the dark Yew, Withering with age, branched there its naked roots, And there the melancholy Cypress reard Its head; the earth was heavd with many a mound, And here and there a half-demolishd tomb. And now, amid the ruins darkest shade, The Virgins eye beheld where pale blue flames Rose wavering, now just gleaming from the earth, And now in darkness drownd. An aged man Sat near, seated on what in long-past days Had been some sculpturd monument, now fallen And half-obscured by moss, and gathered heaps Of withered yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bones; And shining in the ray was seen the track Of slimy snail obscene. Composed his look, His eye was large and rayless, and fixd full Upon the Maid; the blue flames on his face Streamd a pale light; his face was of the hue Of death; his limbs were mantled in a shroud. Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice, Exclaimd the Spectre, Welcome to these realms, These regions of Despair! O thou whose steps By Grief conducted to these sad abodes Have pierced; welcome, welcome to this gloom Eternal, to this everlasting night, Where never morning darts the enlivening ray, Where never shines the sun, but all is dark, Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King. So saying he arose, and by the hand The Virgin seized with such a death-cold touch As froze her very heart; and drawing on, Her, to the abbeys inner ruin, led Resistless. Thro the broken roof the moon Glimmerd a scatterd ray; the ivy twined Round the dismantled column; imaged forms Of Saints and warlike Chiefs, moss-cankerd now And mutilate, lay strewn upon the ground, With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen, And rusted trophies; and amid the heap Some monuments defaced legend spake All human glory vain. The loud blast roard Amid the pile; and from the tower the owl Screamd as the tempest shook her secret nest. He, silent, led her on, and often pausd, And pointed, that her eye might contemplate At leisure the drear scene. He dragged her on Thro a low iron door, down broken stairs; Then a cold horror thro the Maidens frame Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw, By the sepulchral lamps dim glaring light, The fragments of the dead. Look here! he cried, Damsel, look here! survey this house of Death; O soon to tenant it! soon to increase These trophies of mortality! for hence Is no return. Gaze here! behold this skull, These eyeless sockets, and these unfleshd jaws, That with their ghastly grinning, seem to mock Thy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek Must moulder. Child of Grief! shrinks not thy soul, Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heart At the dread thought, that here its lifes-blood soon Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon With the cold clod? a thought most horrible! So only dreadful, for reality Is none of suffering here; here all is peace; No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave. Dreadful it is to think of losing life; But having lost, knowledge of loss is not, Therefore no ill. Haste, Maiden, to repose; Probe deep the seat of life. So spake Despair The vaulted roof echoed his hollow voice, And all again was silence. Quick her heart Panted. He drew a dagger from his breast, And cried again, Haste Damsel to repose! One blow, and rest for ever! On the Fiend Dark scowld the Virgin with indignant eye, And dashd the dagger down. He next his heart Replaced the murderous steel, and drew the Maid Along the downward vault. The damp earth gave A dim sound as they passd: the tainted air Was cold, and heavy with unwholesome dews. Behold! the fiend exclaimd, how gradual here The fleshly burden of mortality Moulders to clay! then fixing his broad eye Full on her face, he pointed where a corpse Lay livid; she beheld with loathing look, The spectacle abhorrd by living man. Look here! Despair pursued, this loathsome mass Was once as lovely, and as full of life As, Damsel! thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyes Once beamd the mild light of intelligence, And where thou seest the pamperd flesh-worm trail, Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thought That at the hallowed altar, soon the Priest Should bless her coming union, and the torch Its joyful lustre oer the hall of joy, Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth That Priest consignd her, and the funeral lamp Glares on her cold face; for her lover went By glory lurd to war, and perishd there; Nor she endurd to live. Ha! fades thy cheek? Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale? Look here! behold the youthful paramour! The self-devoted hero! Fearfully The Maid lookd down, and saw the well known face Of Theodore! in thoughts unspeakable, Convulsed with horror, oer her face she claspd Her cold damp hands: Shrink not, the Phantom cried, Gaze on! for ever gaze! more firm he graspd Her quivering arm: this lifeless mouldering clay, As well thou knowst, was warm with all the glow Of Youth and Love; this is the arm that cleaved Salisburys proud crest, now motionless in death, Unable to protect the ravaged frame From the foul Offspring of Mortality That feed on heroes. Tho long years were thine, Yet never more would life reanimate This murdered man; murdered by thee! for thou Didst lead him to the battle from his home, Else living there in peace to good old age: In thy defence he died: strike deep! destroy Remorse with Life. The Maid stood motionless, And, wistless what she did, with trembling hand Received the dagger. Starting then, she cried, Avaunt Despair! Eternal Wisdom deals Or peace to man, or misery, for his good Alike designd; and shall the Creature cry, Why hast thou done this? and with impious pride Destroy the life God gave? The Fiend rejoind, And thou dost deem it impious to destroy The life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lot Assigned to mortal man? born but to drag, Thro lifes long pilgrimage, the wearying load Of being; care corroded at the heart; Assaild by all the numerous train of ills That flesh inherits; till at length worn out, This is his consummation!think again! What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthend life But lengthend sorrow? If protracted long, Till on the bed of death thy feeble limbs Outstretch their languid length, oh think what thoughts, What agonizing woes, in that dread hour, Assail the sinking heart! slow beats the pulse, Dim grows the eye, and clammy drops bedew The shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force, Mightiest in impotence, the love of life Seizes the throbbing heart, the faltering lips Pour out the impious prayer, that fain would change The unchangeables decree, surrounding friends Sob round the sufferer, wet his cheek with tears, And all he loved in life embitters death! Such, Maiden, are the pangs that wait the hour Of calmest dissolution! yet weak man Dares, in his timid piety, to live; And veiling Fear in Superstitions garb, He calls her Resignation! Coward wretch! Fond Coward! thus to make his Reason war Against his Reason! Insect as he is, This sport of Chance, this being of a day, Whose whole existence the next cloud may blast, Believes himself the care of heavenly powers, That God regards Man, miserable Man, And preaching thus of Power and Providence, Will crush the reptile that may cross his path! Fool that thou art! the Being that permits Existence, gives to man the worthless boon: A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest, Bask in the sunshine of Prosperity, And such do well to keep it. But to one Sick at the heart with misery, and sore With many a hard unmerited affliction, It is a hair that chains to wretchedness The slave who dares not burst it! Thinkest thou, The parent, if his child should unrecalld Return and fall upon his neck, and cry, Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and full Of vacant joys and heart-consuming cares, I can be only happy in my home With theemy friend!my father! Thinkest thou, That he would thrust him as an outcast forth? Oh I he would clasp the truant to his heart, And love the trespass. Whilst he spake, his eye Dwelt on the Maidens cheek, and read her soul Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood, Even as the wretch, whose famishd entrails crave Supply, before him sees the poisond food In greedy horror. Yet not long the Maid Debated, Cease thy dangerous sophistry, Eloquent tempter! cried she. Gloomy one! What tho affliction be my portion here, Thinkst thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy. Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back Upon a life of duty well performd, Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faith Know my reward? I grant, were this life all, Was there no morning to the tombs long night, If man did mingle with the senseless clod, Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeed A wise and friendly comforter! But, Fiend! There is a morning to the tombs long night, A dawn of glory, a reward in Heaven, He shall not gain who never merited. If thou didst know the worth of one good deed In lifes last hour, thou wouldst not bid me lose The power to benefit; if I but save A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain. I have great duties, Fiend! me France expects, Her heaven-doomd Champion. Maiden, thou hast done Thy mission here, the unbaffled Fiend replied: The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance Exulting in the pride of victory, Forgettest him who perishd! yet albeit Thy hardend heart forget the gallant youth; That hour allotted canst thou not escape, That dreadful hour, when Contumely and Shame Shall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid! Destined to drain the cup of bitterness, Even to its dregs! Englands inhuman Chiefs Shall scoff thy sorrows, black thy spotless fame, Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity, And force such burning blushes to the cheek Of Virgin modesty, that thou shalt wish The earth might cover thee! in that last hour, When thy bruisd breast shall heave beneath the chains That link thee to the stake; when oer thy form, Exposed unmantled, the brute multitude Shall gaze, and thou shalt hear the ribald taunt, More painful than the circling flames that scorch Each quivering member; wilt thou not in vain Then wish my friendly aid? then wish thine ear Had drank my words of comfort? that thy hand Had graspd the dagger, and in death preserved Insulted modesty? Her glowing cheek Blushd crimson; her wide eye on vacancy Was fixd; her breath short panted. The cold Fiend, Grasping her hand, exclaimd, too-timid Maid, So long repugnant to the healing aid My friendship proffers, now shalt thou behold The allotted length of life. He stampd the earth, And dragging a huge coffin as his car, Two Gouls came on, of form more fearful-foul Than ever palsied in her wildest dream Hag-ridden Superstition. Then Despair Seizd on the Maid whose curdling blood stood still. And placed her in the seat; and on they passd Adown the deep descent. A meteor light Shot from the Daemons, as they draggd along The unwelcome load, and markd their brethren glut On carcasses. Below the vault dilates Its ample bulk. Look here!Despair addrest The shuddering Virgin, see the dome of Death! It was a spacious cavern, hewn amid The entrails of the earth, as tho to form The grave of all mankind: no eye could reach, Tho gifted with the Eagles ample ken, Its distant bounds. There, thrond in darkness, dwelt The unseen Power of Death. Here stopt the Gouls, Reaching the destind spot. The Fiend leapt out, And from the coffin, as he led the Maid, Exclaimd, Where never yet stood mortal man, Thou standest: look around this boundless vault; Observe the dole that Nature deals to man, And learn to know thy friend. She not replied, Observing where the Fates their several tasks Plied ceaseless. Mark how short the longest web Allowed to man! he cried; observe how soon, Twind round yon never-resting wheel, they change Their snowy hue, darkening thro many a shade, Till Atropos relentless shuts the sheers! Too true he spake, for of the countless threads, Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunnd snow, Or as the lovely lilly of the vale, Was never one beyond the little span Of infancy untainted: few there were But lightly tinged; more of deep crimson hue, Or deeper sable died.[4] Two Genii stood, Still as the web of Being was drawn forth, Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn, The one unsparing dashd the bitter wave Of woe; and as he dashd, his dark-brown brow Relaxd to a hard smile. The milder form Shed less profusely there his lesser store; Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon, Mourning the lot of man; and happy he Who on his thread those precious drops receives; If it be happiness to have the pulse Throb fast with pity, and in such a world Of wretchedness, the generous heart that aches With anguish at the sight of human woe. To her the Fiend, well hoping now success, This is thy thread! observe how short the span, And see how copious yonder Genius pours The bitter stream of woe. The Maiden saw Fearless. Now gaze! the tempter Fiend exclaimd, And placed again the poniard in her hand, For Superstition, with sulphureal torch Stalkd to the loom. This, Damsel, is thy fate! The hour draws onnow drench the dagger deep! Now rush to happier worlds! The Maid replied, Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven, Impious I strive not: be that will performd! ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 8639
Author: Southey, Robert
Release Date: Aug 1, 2005
Format: eBook
Language: English