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Thebais - Book Two

Now Jove’s Command fulfill’d, the Son of May
Quits the black Shades and slowly mounts to Day.
For lazy Clouds in gloomy Barriers rise,
Obstruct the God, and intercept the Skies;
No Zephyrs here their airy pinions move,
To spread his progress to the Realms above.
Scarce can he steer his dark laborious Flight,
Lost and encumber’d in the Damps of Night:
There roaring Tides of Fire his Course withstood,
Here Styx in nine wide Circles roll’d his Flood.
Behind old Laius trod th’ infernal Ground,
Trembling with Age, and tardy from his Wound;
(For all his Force his furious Son apply’d,
And plung’d the guilty Faulchion in his Side.)
Propt and supported by the healing Rod,
The Shade pursued the Footsteps of the God.
The Groves that never bloom; the Stygian Coasts,
The House of Woe; the Mansions of Ghosts,
Earth too admires to see the Ground give way,
And gild Hell’s Horrors with the Gleams of Day.
But not with Life repining Envy fled,
She still reigns there, and lives among the Dead.
One from this Crowd exclaim’d, (whose lawless Will
Inur’d to Crimes, and exercis’d in Ill,
Taught his prepost’rous Joys from Pains to flow,
And never triumph’d, but in Scenes of Woe)
Go to thy Province in the Realms above,
Call’d by the Furies or the Will of Jove:
Or drawn by Magick Force or Mystick Spell,
Rise, and purge off the sooty Gloom of Hell.
Go, see the Sun, and whiten in his Beams,
Or haunt the flow’ry Fields and limpid Streams,
With Woes redoubled to return again,
When thy past pleasures shall enhance thy Pain.
Now by the Stygian Dog they bent their Way;
Stretch’d in his Den the dreadful Monster lay;
But lay not long, for startling at the Sound,
Head above Head he rises from the Ground.
from their close Folds his startling Serpents break,
And curlin horrid Circles round his Neck.
This saw the God, and stretching forth his Hand,
Lull’d the grim Monster with his potent Want
Thro’ his vast Bulk the gliding Slumbers creep,
And sent down all his glaring Eyes in Sleep.
There lies a Place in Greece well known to Fame,
Thro’ all her Realms, and Tænarus the Name,
Where from the Sea the Tops of Malea rise,
Beyond the Ken of Mortals, to the Skies:
Proud in his Height he calmly hears below
The distant Winds in hollow Murmurs blow.
Here sleep the Storms when weary’d and opprest,
And on his Head the drowsy Planets rest:
There in blue Mists his rocky Sides he shrouds,
Ane here the tow’ring Mountain props the Clouds.
Above his awfu Brow no Bird can fly,
And far beneath the mutt’rung Thunders die.
When down the Steep of Heav’n the Day descends,
The Sun so wide his floating Bound extends,
That o’er the Deeps the Mountain hangs display’d
And covers half the Ocean with his Shade:
Where the Tænarian Shores oppose the Sea,
The Land retreats, and winds into a Bay.
Here for Repose Inperian Neptune leads,
Tir’d from th’ Ægean Floods, his smoaking Steeds;
With their broad Hoofs they scoop the Beach away,
Their finny Train rolls back, and floats along the Sea.
Here Fame reports th’ unbody’d Shades to go
Thro’ this wide Passage to the Realms below.
From hence the peasants, (As th’ Arcadians tell,)
Hear all the Cries, and Groans, and Din of Hell.
Oft, as her Scourge of Snakes and Fury plies,
The piercing Echoes mount the distant Skies;
Scar’d at the Porter’s triple Roar, the Swains
Have fled astonish’d, and forsook the Plains.
From hence emergent in a mantling Cloud
Sprung to his native Skies the winged God.
Swift from his Face before th’ Ethereal Ray,
Flew all the black Tartarean Strains away,
And the dark Stygian Gloom refin’d to Day.
O’er the Towns and Realms he held his Progress on,
Now wing’d the Skies where bright Arcturus shone,
And now the silent Empire of the Moon.
The Pow’r of Sleep, who met his radiant Flight,
And drove the solemn Chariot of the Night,
Rode with respect and from th’ empyreal Road
Turned his pale Steeds, in reverence to the God.
The Shade beneath pursues his Course, and spies
The well-known Planets, and congenial Skies.
His Eyes from far, tall Cyrrha’s Heights explore,
And Phocian Fields polluted with his Gore.
At length to Thebes he came, and with a Groan
Survey’d the guilty Palace on his own;
With awful Silence stalk’d before the Gate,
But when he saw the Trophies of his fate,
High on a Column rais’d against the Door,
And his rich Chariot still deform’d with Gore,
He starts with horror back; ev’n Jove’s Command
could scarce controul him, nor the vital Wand.

poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Thebais - Book One - part I

Fraternal rage, the guilty Thebes’ alarms,
Th’ alternate reign destroyed by impious arms,
Demand our song; a sacred fury fires
My ravished breast, and all the muse inspires.
O goddess, say, shall I deduce my rhymes
From the dire nation in its early times,
Europa’s rape, Agenor’s stern decree,
And Cadmus searching round the spacious sea?
How with the serpent’s teeth he sowed the soil,
And reaped an iron harvest of his toil?
Or how from joining stones the city sprung,
While to his harp divine Amphion sung?
Or shall I Juno’s hate to Thebes resound,
Whose fatal rage th’ unhappy monarch found?
The sire against the son his arrows drew,
O’er the wide fields the furious mother flew,
And while her arms a second hope contain,
Sprung from the rocks and plunged into the main.
But waive whate’er to Cadmus may belong,
And fix, O muse ! the barrier of thy song
At Œdipus: from his disasters trace
The long confusions of his guilty race:
Nor yet attempt to stretch thy bolder wing,
And mighty Cæsar’s conqu’ring eagles sing;
How twice he tamed proud Ister’s rapid flood,
While Dacian mountains streamed with barb’rous blood;
Twice taught the Rhine beneath his laws to roll,
And stretched his empire to the frozen pole;
Or long before, with early valour, strove,
In youthful arms, t’ assert the cause of Jove.’
And thou, great heir of all thy father’s fame,
Increase of glory to the Latian name,
Oh ! bless thy Rome with an eternal reign,
Nor let desiring worlds entreat in vain.
What though the stars contract their heav’nly space,
And crowd their shining ranks to yield thee place;
Though all the skies, ambitious of thy sway,
Conspire to court thee from our world away;
Though Phœbus longs to mix his rays with thine,
And in thy glories more serenely shine;
Though Jove himself no less content would be
To part his throne and share his heaven with thee
Yet stay, great Cæsar ! and vouchsafe to reign
O’er the wide earth, and o’er the wat’ry main,
Resign to Jove his empire of the skies,
And people heav’n with Roman deities.
The time will come, when a diviner flame
Shall warm my breast to sing of Cæsar’s fame:
Meanwhile permit, that my preluding muse
In Theban wars an humbler theme may chuse:
Of furious hate surviving death, she sings,
A fatal throne to two contending kings,
And fun’ral flames that, parting wide in air,
Express the discord of the souls they bear :
Of towns dispeopled, and the wand’ring ghosts
Of kings unburied in the wasted coasts;
When Dirce’s fountain blushed with Grecian blood,
And Thetis, near Ismenos’ swelling flood,
With dread beheld the rolling surges sweep,
In heaps, his slaughtered sons into the deep.
What hero, Clie ! wilt thou first relate?
The rage of Tydeus, or the prophet’s fate?
Or how, with hills of slain on ev’ry side,
Hippomedon repelled the hostile tide
Or how the youth with ev’ry grace adorned
Untimely fell, to be for ever mourned?
Then to fierce Capaneus thy verse extend,
And sing with horror his prodigious end.
Now wretched Œdipus, deprived of sight,
Led a long death in everlasting night;
But while he dwells where not a cheerful ray
Can pierce the darkness, and abhors the day,
The clear reflecting mind presents his sin
In frightful views, and makes it day within;
Returning thoughts in endless circles roll,
And thousand furies haunt his guilty soul:
The wretch then lifted to th’ unpitying skies
Those empty orbs from whence he tore his eyes,
Whose wounds, yet fresh, with bloody hands he strook,
‘While from his breast these dreadful accents broke.
“Ye gods ! that o’er the gloomy regions reign,
Where guilty spirits feel eternal pain;
Thou, sable Styx ! whose livid streams are rolled
Through dreary coasts, which I though blind behold:
Tisiphone, that oft hast heard my pray’r,
Assist, if Œdipus deserve thy care !
If you received me from Jocasta’s womb,
And nursed the hope of mischiefs yet to come:
If leaving Polybus, I took my way,
To Cirrha’s temple on that fatal day,
When by the son the trembling father died,
Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide:
If I the Sphinx’s riddles durst explain,
Taught by thyself to win the promised reign:
If wretched I, by baleful furies led,
With monstrous mixture stained my mother’s bed,
For hell and thee begot an impious brood,
And with full lust those horrid joys renewed;
Then se1f-condemned to shades of endless night,
Forced from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight:
If worthy thee, and what thou mightst inspire.
Oh hear ! and aid the vengeance I require,
My sons their old, unhappy sire despise,
Spoiled of his kingdom, and deprived of eyes;
Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn,
Whilst these exalt their sceptres o’er my urn;
These sons, ye gods ! who with flagitious pride
Insult my darkness, and my groans deride.
Art thou a father, unregarding Jove !
And sleeps thy thunder in the realms above?
Thou fury, then some lasting curse entail,
Which o’er their children’s children shall prevail :
Place on their heads that crown distained with gore,
Which these dire hands from my slain father tore;
Go ! and a parent’s heavy curses bear;
Break all the bonds of nature, and. prepare
Their kindred souls to mutual hate and war.
Give them to dare, what I might wish to see
Blind as I am, some glorious villainy !
Soon shalt thou find, if thou but arm their hands,
Their ready guilt preventing thy commands:
Couldst thou some great, proportioned mischief frame,
They’d prove the father from whose loins they came.”
The fury heard, while on Cocytus’ brink
Her snakes untied, sulphureous waters drink;
But at the summons rolled her eyes around,
And snatched the starting serpents from the ground.
Not half so swiftly shoots along in air
The gliding lightning, or descending star.
Through crowds of airy shades she winged her flight,
And dark dominions of the silent night;
Swift as she passed the flitting ghosts withdrew,
And the pale spectres trembled at her view:
To th’ iron gates of Tænarus she flies,
There spreads her dusky pinions to the skies.
The day beheld, and sick’ning at the sight,
Yelled her fair glories in the shades of night.
Affrighted Atlas, on the distant shore,
Trembled, and shook the heav’ns and gods he bore.
Now from beneath Malea’s airy height
Aloft she sprung, and steered to Thebes her flight;
With eager speed the well-known journey took,
Nor here regrets the hell she late forsook.
A hundred snakes her gloomy visage shade,
A hundred serpents guard her horrid head,
In her sunk eye-balls dreadful meteors glow:’
Such rays from Phœbe’s bloody circle flow,
When lab’ring with strong charms, she shoots from high
A fiery gleam, and reddens all the sky.
Blood stained her cheeks, and from her mouth there came tie
Blue steaming poisons, and a length of flame:
From ev’ry blast of her contagious breath
Famine and drought proceed, and plagues, and death.

poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Thebais - Book One - part IV

For by the black infernal Styx I swear,
(That dreadful oath which binds the thunderer)
‘Tis fixed; th’ irrevocable doom of Jove;
No force can bend me, no persuasion move.
haste then, Cyllenius, through the liquid air;
Go, mount the winds, and to the shades repair;
Bid hell’s black monarch my commands obey,
And give up Laius to the realms of day,
Whose ghost yet shiv’ring on Cocytus’ sand,
Expects its passage to thc further strand:
Let the pale sire revisit Thebes, and bear
These pleasing orders to the tyrant’s ear;
That from his exiled brother, swelled with pride
Of foreign forces, and his Argive bride,
Almighty Jove commands him to detain
The promised empire, and alternate reign:
Be this the cause of more than mortal hate:
The rest, succeeding times shall ripen into fate.”
The god obeys, and to his feet applies
Those golden wings that cut the yielding skies.
His ample hat his beamy locks o’erspread,
And veiled the starry glories of his head.
He seized the wand that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye;
That drives the dead to dark Tartarcan coasts,
Or back to life compels the wand’ring ghosts.
Thus, through the parting clouds, the son of May
Wings on the whistling winds his rapid way;
Now smoothly steers through air his equal flight,
Now springs aloft, and tow’rs th’ ethereal height;
Then wheeling down the steep of heav’n he flies,
And draws a radiant circle o’er the skies.
Meantime the banished Polynices roves
(his Thebes abandoned through th’ Aonian groves,
While future realms his wand’ring thoughts delight,
His daily vision and his dream by night;
Forbidden Thebes appears before his eye,
From whence he sees his absent brother fly,
With transport views the airy rule his own,
And swells on an imaginary throne.
Fain would he cast a tedious age away,
And live out all in one triumphant day.
He chides the lazy progress of the sun,
And bids the year with swifter motion run.
With anxious hopes his craving mind is tost,
And all his joys in length of wishes lost.
The hero then resolves his course to bend
Where ancient Danaus’ fruitful fields extend,
And famed Mycene’s lofty towers ascend,
(Where late the sun did Atreus’ crimes detest,
And disappeared in horror of the feast.)
And now by chance, by fate, or furies led,
From Bacehus’ consecrated caves he fled,
Where the shrill cries of frantic matrons sound,
And Pentheus’ blood enriched the rising ground.
Then sees Cithaeron tow’ring o’er the plain,
And thence declining gently to the main.
Next to the bounds of Nisus’ realm repairs,
Where treach’rous Scylla cut the purple hairs :
The hanging cliffs of Sciron’s rock explores,
And hears the murmurs of the diff’rent shores:
Passes the strait that parts the foaming seas,
And stately Corinth’s pleasing site surveys.
‘Twas now the time when Phœbus yields to night,
And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light,
Wide o’er the world in solemn pomp she drew
Her airy chariot hung with pearly dew;
All birds and beasts lie hushed; sleep steals away
The wild desires of men, and toils of day,
And brings, descending through the silent air,
A sweet forgetfulness of human care.
Yet no red clouds, with golden borders gay,
Promise the skies the bright return of day;
No faint reflections of the distant light
Streak with long gleams the scatt’ring shades of night:
From the damp earth impervious vapours rise,
Encrease the darkness, and involve the skies.
At once the rushing winds with roaring sound
Burst from th’ Æolian caves, and rend the ground,
With equal rage their airy quarrel try,
And win by turns the kingdom of the sky:
But with a thicker night black Auster shrouds
The heav’ns, and drives on heaps the rolling clouds,
From whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours,
Which the cold north congeals to haily show’rs.
From pole to pole the thunder roars aloud,
And broken lightnings flash from ev’ry cloud.
Now smoaks with show’rs the misty mountain-ground,
And floated fields lie undistinguished round.
Th’ Inachian streams with headlong fury run,
And Erasmus rolls a deluge on:
The foaming Lerna swells above its bounds,
And spreads its ancient poisons o’er the grounds:
Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play,
Rush through the mounds, and bear the dams away:
Old limbs of trees from crackling forests torn,
Are whirled in air, and on the winds are borne:
The storm the dark Lycæan groves displayed,
And first to light exposed the sacred shade.
Th’ intrepid Theban hears the bursting sky,
Sees yawning rocks in massy fragments fly,
And views astonished, from the hills afar,
The floods descending, and the wat’ry war,’
That, driv’n by storms, and pouring o’er the plain,
Swept herds, and hinds, and houses to the main.
Through the brown horrors of the night he fled,
Nor knows, amazed, what doubtful path to tread;
His brother’s image to his mind appears,
Inflames his heart with rage, and wings his feet with fears.
So fares a sailor on the stormy main,
When clouds conceal Boötes’ golden warn,
When not a star its friendly lustre keeps,
Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps;
He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies,
While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies.
Thus strove the chief, on every side distressed,
Thus still his courage, with his toils increased;
With his broad shield opposed, he forced his way
Through thickest woods, and roused the beasts of prey,
Till he beheld, where from Larissa’s height
The shelving walls reflect a glancing light:
Thither with haste the Theban hero flies;
On this side Lerna’s pois’nous water lies,
On that Prosymna’s grove and temple rise :
lie passed the gates, which then unguarded lay,
And to the regal palace bent his way;
On the cold marble, spent with toil, he lies,
And waits till pleasing slumbers seal his eyes.
Adrastus here his happy people sways,
Blest with calm peace in his declining days;
By both his parents of descent divine,
Great Jove and Phœbus graced his noble line:
Heaven had not crowned his wishes with a son,
But two fair daughters heired his state and throne.
To him Apollo (wondrous to relate !
But who can pierce into the depths of fate?)
Had sung-“Expect thy sons on Argos’ shore,
“A yellow lion and a bristly boar.”
This long revolved in his paternal breast,
Sate heavy on his heart, and broke his rest;
This, great Amphiaraus, lay hid from thee,
Though skilled in fate, and dark futurity.
The father’s care and prophet’s art were vain,
For thus did the predicting god ordain.
Lo hapless Tydeus, whose ill-fated hand
Had slain his brother, leaves his native land,
And seized with horror in the shades of night,
Through the thick deserts headlong urged his flight:
Now by the fury of the tempest driv’n,
He seeks a shelter from th’ inclement heav’n,
Till, led by fate, the Theban’s steps he treads,
And to fair Argos’ open court succeeds.
When thus the chiefs from diff’rent lands resort
T’ Adrastus’ realms, and hospitable court;
The king surveys his guests with curious eyes,
And views their arms and habit with surprise.
A lion’s yellow skin the Theban wears,
horrid his mane, and rough with curling hairs;
Such once employed Alcides’ youthful toils,
Ere yet adorned with Nemea’s dreadful spoils.
A boar’s stiff hide, of Calydonian breed,
Œnides’ manly shoulders overspread.
Oblique his tusks, erect his bristles stood,
Alive, the pride and terror of the wood.
Struck with the sight, and fixed in deep amaze,
The King th’ accomplished oracle surveys,
Reveres Apollo’s vocal caves, and owns
The guiding godhead, and his future sons.
O’er all his bosom secret transports reign,
And a glad horror shoots through ev’ry vein.
To heav’n he lifts his hands, erects his sight,
And thus invokes the silent queen of night.
“Goddess of shades, beneath whose gloomy reign
You spangled arch glows with the starry train:
You who the cares of heav’n and earth allay,
Till nature quickened by th’ inspiring ray
Wakes to new vigour with the rising day:
Oh thou who freest me from my doubtful state,
Long lost aid wildered in the maze of fate !
Be present still, oh goddess ! in our aid;
Proceed, and firms those omens thou hast made.
We to thy name our annual rites will pay,
And on thy altars sacrifices lay;
The sable flock shall fall beneath the stroke,
And fill thy temples with a grateful smoke.
Hail, faithful Tripos ! hail, ye dark abodes
Of awful Phœbus: I confess the gods!”
Thus, seized with sacred fear, the monarch prayed;
Then to his inner court the guests conveyed;
Where yet thin fumes from dying sparks arise,
And dust yet white upon each altar lies,
The relics of a former sacrifice.

poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Birds Of Passage

Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;

And from the realms
Of the shadowy elms
A tide-like darkness overwhelm
The fields that round us lie.

But the night is fair,
And everywhere
A warm, soft vapor fills the air,
And distant sounds seem near;

And above, in the light
Of the star-lit night,
Swift birds of passage wing their flight
Through the dewy atmosphere.

I hear the beat
Of their pinions fleet,
As from the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.

I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.

Oh, say not so!
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight and woe
Come not from wings of birds.

They are the throngs
Of the poet's songs,
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs,
The sound of winged words.

This is the cry
Of souls, that high
On toiling, beating pinions, fly,
Seeking a warmer clime.

From their distant flight
Through realms of light
It falls into our world of night,
With the murmuring sound of rhyme.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Lines inscribed to P. de Loutherbourg, Esq. R. A.

WHERE on the bosom of the foamy RHINE,
In curling waves the rapid waters shine;
Where tow'ring cliffs in awful grandeur rise,
And midst the blue expanse embrace the skies;
The wond'ring eye beholds yon craggy height,
Ting'd with the glow of Evening's fading light:
Where the fierce cataract swelling o'er its bound,
Bursts from its source, and dares the depth profound.
On ev'ry side the headlong currents flow,
Scatt'ring their foam like silv'ry sands below:
From hill to hill responsive echoes sound,
Loud torrents roar, and dashing waves rebound:
Th' opposing rock, the azure stream divides
The white froth tumbling down its sparry sides;
From fall to fall the glitt'ring channels flow,
'Till lost, they mingle in the Lake below.
Tremendous spot ! amid thy views sublime,
The mental sight ethereal realms may climb,
With wonder rapt the mighty work explore,
Confess TH' ETERNAL'S pow'r ! and pensively adore!

ALL VARYING NATURE! oft the outstretch'd eye
Marks o'er the WELKIN's brow the meteor fly:
Marks, where the COMET with impetuous force,
O'er Heaven's wide concave, skims its fiery course:
While on the ALPINE steep thin vapours rise,
Float on the blast­or freeze amidst the skies:
Or half congeal'd in flaky fragments glide
Along the gelid mountain's breezy side;
Or mingling with the waste of yielding snow,
From the vast height in various currents flow.

Now pale-ey'd MORNING, at thy soft command,
O'er the rich landscape spreads her dewy hand:
Swift o'er the plain the lucid rivers fly,
Imperfect mirrors of the dappled sky:
On the fring'd margin of the dimpling tide,
Each od'rous bud, by FLORA'S pencil dy'd,
Expands its velvet leaves of lust'rous hue,
Bath'd in the essence of celestial dew:
While from the METEOR to the simplest FLOW R,
Prolific Nature ! we behold thy pow'r !
Yet has mysterious Heaven with care consign'd
Thy noblest triumphs to the human mind;
MAN feels the proud preeminence impart
Intrepid firmness to his swelling heart;
Creation's lord ! where'er HE bends his way,
The torch of REASON spreads its godlike ray.

As o'er SIClLlAN sands the Trav'ler roves,
Feeds on its fruits, and shelters in its groves,
Sudden amidst the calm retreat he hears
The pealing thunders in the distant spheres;
He sees the curling fumes from ETNA rise,
Shade the green vale, and blacken all the skies.
Around his head the forked lightnings glare,
The vivid streams illume the stagnant air:
The nodding hills hang low'ring o'er the deep,
The howling winds the clust'ring vineyards sweep;
The cavern'd rocks terrific tremours rend;
Low to the earth the tawny forests bend:
While He an ATOM in the direful scene,
Views the wild CHAOS, wond'ring, and serene;
Tho' at his feet sulphureous rivers roll,
No touch of terror shakes his conscious soul:
His MIND ! enlighten'd by PROMETHEAN rays
Expanding, glows with intellectual blaze!

Such scenes, long since, th' immortal POET charm'd,
His MUSE enraptur'd, and his FANCY warm'd:
From them he learnt with magic eye t' explore,
The dire ARCANUM of the STYGIAN shore !
Where the departed spirit trembling, hurl'd
"With restless violence round the pendent world,"
On the swift wings of whistling whirlwinds flung,
Plung'd in the wave, or on the mountain hung.

While o'er yon cliff the ling'ring fires of day,
In ruby shadows faintly glide away;
The glassy source that feeds the CATARACT's stream,
Bears the last image of the solar beam:
Wide o'er the Landscape Nature's tints disclose,
The softest picture of sublime repose;
The sober beauties of EVE'S hour serene,
The scatter'd village, now but dimly seen,
The neighb'ring rock, whose flinty brow inclin'd,
Shields the clay cottage from the northern wind:
The variegated woodlands scarce we view,
The distant mountains ting'd with purple hue:
Pale twilight flings her mantle o'er the skies,
From the still lake, the misty vapours rise;
Cold show'rs descending on the western breeze,
Sprinkle with lucid drops the bending trees,
Whose spreading branches o'er the glade reclin'd,
Wave their dank leaves, and murmur to the wind.

Such scenes, O LOUTHERBOURG! thy pencil fir'd,
Warm'd thy great mind, and every touch inspir'd:
Beneath thy hand the varying colours glow,
Vast mountains rise, and crystal rivers flow:
Thy wond'rous Genius owns no pedant rule,
Nature's thy guide, and Nature's works thy school:
Pursue her steps, each rival's art defy,
For while she charms, THY NAME shall never die.

poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Gwin King of Norway

Come, kings, and listen to my song:
When Gwin, the son of Nore,
Over the nations of the North
His cruel sceptre bore;
The nobles of the land did feed
Upon the hungry poor;
They tear the poor man's lamb, and drive
The needy from their door.

`The land is desolate; our wives
And children cry for bread;
Arise, and pull the tyrant down!
Let Gwin be humblèd!'

Gordred the giant rous'd himself
From sleeping in his cave;
He shook the hills, and in the clouds
The troubl'd banners wave.

Beneath them roll'd, like tempests black,
The num'rous sons of blood;
Like lions' whelps, roaring abroad,
Seeking their nightly food.

Down Bleron's hills they dreadful rush,
Their cry ascends the clouds;
The trampling horse and clanging arms
Like rushing mighty floods!

Their wives and children, weeping loud,
Follow in wild array,
Howling like ghosts, furious as wolves
In the bleak wintry day.

`Pull down the tyrant to the dust,
Let Gwin be humblèd,'
They cry, `and let ten thousand lives
Pay for the tyrant's head.'

From tow'r to tow'r the watchmen cry,
`O Gwin, the son of Nore,
Arouse thyself! the nations, black
Like clouds, come rolling o'er!'

Gwin rear'd his shield, his palace shakes,
His chiefs come rushing round;
Each, like an awful thunder cloud,
With voice of solemn sound:

Like rearèd stones around a grave
They stand around the King;
Then suddenly each seiz'd his spear,
And clashing steel does ring.

The husbandman does leave his plough
To wade thro' fields of gore;
The merchant binds his brows in steel,
And leaves the trading shore;

The shepherd leaves his mellow pipe,
And sounds the trumpet shrill;
The workman throws his hammer down
To heave the bloody bill.

Like the tall ghost of Barraton
Who sports in stormy sky,
Gwin leads his host, as black as night
When pestilence does fly,

With horses and with chariots--
And all his spearmen b 1000 old
March to the sound of mournful song,
Like clouds around him roll'd.

Gwin lifts his hand--the nations halt;
`Prepare for war!' he cries--
Gordred appears!--his frowning brow
Troubles our northern skies.

The armies stand, like balances
Held in th' Almighty's hand;--
`Gwin, thou hast fill'd thy measure up:
Thou'rt swept from out the land.'

And now the raging armies rush'd
Like warring mighty seas;
The heav'ns are shook with roaring war,
The dust ascends the skies!

Earth smokes with blood, and groans and shakes
To drink her children's gore,
A sea of blood; nor can the eye
See to the trembling shore!

And on the verge of this wild sea
Famine and death doth cry;
The cries of women and of babes
Over the field doth fly.

The King is seen raging afar,
With all his men of might;
Like blazing comets scattering death
Thro' the red fev'rous night.

Beneath his arm like sheep they die,
And groan upon the plain;
The battle faints, and bloody men
Fight upon hills of slain.

Now death is sick, and riven men
Labour and toil for life;
Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield,
Sunk in this sea of strife!

The god of war is drunk with blood;
The earth doth faint and fail;
The stench of blood makes sick the heav'ns;
Ghosts glut the throat of hell!

O what have kings to answer for
Before that awful throne;
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry,
And ghosts accusing groan!

Like blazing comets in the sky
That shake the stars of light,
Which drop like fruit unto the earth
Thro' the fierce burning night;

Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
And the first blow decides;
Down from the brow unto the breast
Gordred his head divides!

Gwin fell: the sons of Norway fled,
All that remain'd alive;
The rest did fill the vale of death,
For them the eagles strive.

The river Dorman roll'd their blood
Into the northern sea;
Who mourn'd his sons, and overwhelm'd
The pleasant south country.

poem by William Blake
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The Hurricane

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,
I know thy breath in the burning sky!
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
For the coming of the hurricane!

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,
Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;
Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
The mighty shadow is borne along,
Like the dark eternity to come;
While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast; and the golden blaze
Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray--
A glare that is neither night nor day,
A beam that touches, with hues of death,
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To its covert glides the silent bird,
While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round,
And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?
Giant of air! we bid thee hail!--
How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,
And fold at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space.

Darker--still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that?--'tis the rain that breaks
In torrents away from the airy lakes,
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
And shedding a nameless horror round.
Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds!--ye are lost to my eyes.
I seek ye vainly, and see in your place
The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
A whirling ocean that fills the wall
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Ode on St. Cecilia's Day

I.
Descend ye Nine! descend and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet sound,
'Till the roofs all around
The shrill echo's rebound:
While in more lengthen'd notes and slow,
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers, soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;
'Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.

II.
By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
Or when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
List'ning Envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our Passions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

III.
But when our Country's cause provokes to Arms,
How martial music ev'ry bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Enflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his sev'nfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade:
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV.
But when thro' all th'infernal bounds
Which flaming Phlegeton surrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,
O'er all the dreary coasts!
Dreadful gleams,
Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,
Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And see! the tortur'd ghosts respire,
See, shady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance!
The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.

V.
By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs,
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of Asphodel,
Or Amaranthine bow'rs,
By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades,
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life;
Oh take the husband, or return the wife!
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the Poet's pray'r;
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair.
Thus song could prevail
O'er death and o'er hell,
A conquest how hard and how glorious?
Tho' fate had fast bound her
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet music and love were victorious.

VI.
But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in Maeanders,
All alone,
Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost!
Now with Furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,
Amidst Rhodope's snows:
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desart he flies;
Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals cries -
- Ah see, he dies!
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

VII.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate's severest rage disarm:
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please:
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th'immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And Angels lean from heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let Poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n;
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Hers lift the soul to heav'n.

poem by Alexander Pope
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Thebais - Book One - part III

Oh race confed’rate into crimes, that prove
Triumphant o’er th’ eluded rage of Jove!
This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain,
And unregarded thunder rolls in vain:
Th’ o’erlaboured Cyclops from his task retires,
Th’ Æolian forge exhausted of its fires.
For this, I suffered Phœbus’ steeds to stray,
And the mad ruler to misguide the day;
When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turned,
And heaven itself the wand’ring chariot burned.
For this, my brother of the wat’ry reign
Released th’ impetuous sluices of the main:
But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain.
Two races now, allied to Jove, offend;
To punish these, see Jove himself descend.
The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace,
From godlike Perseus those of Argive race.
Unhappy Cadmus’ fate who does not know,
And the long series of succeeding woe?
How oft the furies, from the deeps of night,
Arose, and mixed with men in mortal fight:
Th’ exulting mother, stained with filial blood;
The savage hunter and the haunted wood;
The direful banquet why should I proclaim,
And crimes that grieve the trembling gods to name?
Ere I recount the sins of these profane,
The sun would sink into the western main,
And rising, gild the radiant east again.
Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed)
The murd’ring son ascend his parent’s bed,
Through violated nature force his way,
And stain the sacred womb where once lie lay?
Yet now in darkness and despair he groans,
And for the crimes of guilty fate atones.
His sons with scorn their eyeless father view,
Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew.
Thy curse, oh Œdipus, just heav’n alarms,
And sets th’ avenging thunderer in arms.
I from the root thy guilty race will tear,
And give the nations to the waste of war.
Adrastus soon, with gods averse, shall join
In dire alliance with the Theban line
Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed;
The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed;
Fixed is their doom; this all-rememb’ring breast
Yet harbours vengeance for the tyrant’s feast.”
He said; and thus the queen of heav’n returned;
(With sudden grief her lab’ring bosom burned)
“Must I, whose cares Phoroneus’ tow’rs defend,
Must I, oh Jove, in bloody wars contend?
Thou know’st those regions my protection claim,
Glorious in arms, in riches, and in fame:
Though there the fair Egyptian heifer fed,
And there deluded Argus slept, and bled;
Though there the brazen tower was stormed of old,
When Jove descended in almighty gold:
Yet I can pardon those obscurer rapes,
Those bashful crimes disguised in borrowed shapes;
But Thebes, witero shining in colostial charms
Thou cam’st triumphant to a mortal’s arms,
When all my glories o’er her limbs were spread,
And blazing light’nings danced around her bed;
Cursed Thebes the vengeance it deserves, may prove:
Ah why should Argos feel the rage of Jove?
Yet since thou wilt thy sister-queen control,
Since still the lust of discord fires thy soul,
Go, raze my Samos, let Mycene fall,
And level with the dust the Spartan wall;
No more let mortals Juno’s pow’r invoke,
Her fanes no more with eastern incense smoke,
Nor victims sink beneath the sacred stroke;
But to your Isis all my rites transfer,
Let altars blaze and temples smoke for her;
For her, through Egypt’s fruitful clime renowned
Let weeping Nilus hear the timbrel sound.
But if thou must reform the stubborn times,
Avenging on the sons the father’s crimes,
And from the long records of distant age
Derive incitements to renew thy rage;
Say, from what period then has Jove designed
To date his vengeance; to what bounds confined?
Begin from thence, where first Alpheus hides
His wand’ring stream, and through the briny tides
Unmixed to his Sicilian river glides.
Thy own Arcadians there the thunder claim,
Whose impious rites disgrace thy mighty name;
Who raise thy temples where the chariot stood
Of fierce Œnomaus, defiled with blood:
Where once his steeds their savage banquet found,
And human bones yet whiten all the ground.
Say, can those honours please; and canst thou love
Presumptuous Crete that boasts the tomb of Jove?
And shall not Tantalus’s kingdoms share
Thy wife and sister’s tutelary care?
Reverse, O Jove, thy too severe decree,
Nor doom to war a race derived from thee;
On impious realms and barb’rous kings impose
Thy plagues, and curse ‘em with such sons as those.”
Thus, in reproach and pray’r, the queen expressed
The rage and grief contending in her breast;
Unmoved remained the ruler of the sky,
And from his throne returned this stern reply:
“‘Twas thus I deemed thy haughty soul would bear
The dire, though just, revenge which I prepare
Against a nation thy peculiar care:
No less Dione might for Thebes contend,
Nor Ilacehus less his native town defend;
Yet these in silence see the fates fulfil
Their work, and rev’rence our superior will.

poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Thebais - Book One - part II

A robe obscene was o’er her shoulders thrown,
A dress by fates and furies worn alone. us
She tossed her meagre arms; her better hand’
In waving circles whirled a fun’ral brand:
A serpent from her left was seen to rear
His flaming crest, and lash the yielding air.
But when the fury took her stand on high, too
Where vast Oitheron’s top salutes the sky,
A hiss from all the snaky tire went round:
The dreadful signal all the rocks rebound,
And through th’ Aobaian cities send the sound.
Œte, with high Parnassus, heard the voice;
Eurotas’ banks remurmured to the noise;.
Again Leucothea shook at these alarms,
And pressed Palæmon closer in her arms.
Headlong from thence the glowing fury springs,
And o’er the Theban palace spreads her wings,
Once more invades the guilty dome, and shrouds
Its bright pavilions in a veil of clouds.
Straight with the rage of all their race possessed
Stung to the soul, the brothers start from rest,
And all their furies wake within their breast.
Their tortured minds repining envy tears,
And hate, engendered by suspicious fears;
And sacred thirst of sway; and all the ties
Of nature broke; and royal perjuries;
And impotent desire to reign alone,
That scorns the dull reversion of a throne;
Each would the sweets of sov’reign rule devour,
While discord waits upon divided power.
As stubborn steers by brawny plowmen broke,
And joined reluctant to the galling yoke,
Alike disdain with servile necks to bear
Th’ unwonted weight, or drag the crooked share,
But rend the reins, and bound a diff’rent way,
And all the furrows in confusion lay:
Such was the discord of the royal pair,
Whom fury drove precipitate to war.
In vain the chiefs contrived a specious way,
To govern Thebes by their alternate sway:
Unjust decree ! while this enjoys the state,
That mourns in exile his unequal fate,
And the short monarch of a hasty year
Foresees with anguish his returning heir.
Thus did the league their impious arms restrain,
But scarce subsisted to the second reign.
Yet then, no proud aspiring piles were raised,
No fretted roofs with polished metals blazed;
No laboured columns in long order placed,
No Grecian stone the pompous arches graced;
No nightly bands in glitt’ring armour wait
Before the sleepless tyrant’s guarded gate;
No chargers then were wrought in burnished gold,
Nor silver vases took the forming mold;
Nor gems on bowls embossed were seen to shine,
Blaze on the brims, and sparkle in the wine.
Say, wretched rivals ! what provokes your rage?
Say, to what end your impious arms engage?
Not all bright Phœbus views in early morn,
Or when his ev’ning beams the west adorn,
When the south glows with his meridian ray,
And the cold north receives a fainter day;
For crimes like these, not all those realms suffice,
Were all those realms the guilty victor’s prize !
But fortune now (the lots of empire thrown)
Decrees to proud Eteocles the crown:
What joys, oh tyrant ! swelled thy soul that day,
When all were slaves thou couldst around survey,
Pleased to behold unbounded power thy own,
And singly fill a feared and envied throne !
But the vile vulgar, ever discontent,
Their growing fears in secret murmurs vent;
Still prone to change, though still the slaves of state,
And sure the monarch whom they have, to hate;
New lords they madly make, then tamely bear,
And softly curse tile tyrants whom they fear.
And one of those who groan beneath the sway
Of kings imposed, and grudgingly obey,
(Whom envy to the great, and vulgar spite
With scandal armed, th’ ignoble mind’s delight,)
Exclaimed-“ O Thebes ! for thee what fates remain,
What woes attend this inauspicious reign?
Must we, alas ! our doubtful necks prepare,
Each haughty master’s yoke by turns to bear,
And still to change whom changed we still must fear?
These now control a wretched people’s fate,
These can divide, and these reverse the state:
Ev’n fortune rules no more !-O servile land,
Where exiled tyrants still by turns command.
Thou sire of gods and men, imperial Jove !
Is this th’ eternal doom decreed above?
On thy own offspring hast thou fixed this fate,
From the first birth of our unhappy state;
When banished Cadmus, wand’ring o’er the main,
For lost Europa searched the world in vain,
And fated in Bœotian fields to found
A rising empire on a foreign ground,
First raised our walls on that ill-omened plain,
Where earth-born brothers were by brothers slain?
What lofty looks th’ unrivalled monarch bears !
How all the tyrant in his face appears !
What sullen fury clouds his scornful brow !
Gods ! how his eyes with threat’ning ardour glow !
Can this imperious lord forget to reign,
Quit all his state, descend, and serve again?
Yet, who, before, mere popularly bowed?
Who more propitious to the suppliant crowd?
Patient of right, familiar in the throne?
What wonder then? he was not then alone.
O wretched we, a vile, submissive train,
Fortune’s tame fools, and slaves in ev’ry reign !
As when two winds with rival force contend,
This way and that, the wav’ring sails they bend,
While freezing Boreas, and black Eurus blow,
Now here, now there, tho reeling vessel throw:
Thus on each side, alas ! our tott’ring state
Feels all the fury of resistless fate,
And doubtful still, and still distracted stands,
While that prince threatens, and while this commands.”
And now th’ almighty father of the gods
Convenes a council in the blest abodes:
Far in the bright recesses of the skies,
high o’er the rolling heav’ns, a mansion lies,
Whence, far below, the gods at once survey
The realms of rising and declining day,
And all lii’ extended space of earth, and air, and sea.
Full in the midst, and on a starry throne,
The majesty of heav’n superior shone;
Serene he looked, and gave an awful nod,
And all the trembling spheres confessed the god.
At Jove’s assent the deities around
In solemn state the consistory crowned.
Next a long order of inferior pow’rs
Ascend from hills, and plains, and shady bow’rs;
Those from whose urns the rolling rivers flow;
And those that give the wand’ring winds to blow:
Here all their rage, and ev’n their murmurs cease,
And sacred silence reigns, and universal peace.
A shining synod of majestic gods
Gilds with new lustre the divine abodes;
Heav’n seems improved with a superior ray,
And the bright arch reflects a double day.
The monarch then his solemn silence broke,
The still creation listened while he spoke,
Each sacred accent bears eternal weight,
And each irrevocable word is fate.
“How long shall man the wrath of heav’n defy,
And force unwilling vengeance from the sky!

poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Homer's Battle Of The Frogs And Mice. Book III

Now Front to Front the marching Armies shine,
Halt e'er they meet, and form the length'ning Line,
The Chiefs conspicuous seen, and heard afar,
Give the loud Sign to loose the rushing War;
Their dreadful Trumpets deep-mouth'd Hornets sound,
The sounded Charge remurmurs o'er the Ground,
Ev'n Jove proclaims a Field of Horror nigh,
And rolls low Thunder thro' the troubled Sky.

First to the Fight the large Hypsiboas flew,
And brave Lychenor with a Javelin slew.
The luckless Warriour fill'd with gen'rous Flame,
Stood foremost glitt'ring in the Post of Fame;
When in his Liver struck, the Jav'lin hung;
The Mouse fell thund'ring, and the Target rung;
Prone to the Ground he sinks his closing Eye,
And soil'd in Dust his lovely Tresses lie.
A Spear at Pelion Troglodytes cast,
The missive Spear within the Bosom past;
Death's sable Shades the fainting Frog surround,
And Life's red Tide runs ebbing from the Wound.
Embasichytros felt Seutlæus' Dart
Transfix, and quiver in his panting Heart;
But great Artophagus aveng'd the slain,
And big Seutlæus tumbling loads the Plain,
And Polyphonus dies, a Frog renown'd,
For boastful Speech and Turbulence of Sound;
Deep thro' the Belly pierc'd, supine he lay,
And breath'd his Soul against the Face of Day.
The strong Lymnocharis, who view'd with Ire,
A Victor triumph, and a Friend expire;
And fiercely flung where Troglodytes fought,
With heaving Arms a rocky Fragment caught,
A Warriour vers'd in Arts, of sure Retreat,
Yet Arts in vain elude impending Fate;
Full on his sinewy Neck the Fragment fell,
And o'er his Eye-lids Clouds eternal dwell.
Lychenor (second of the glorious Name)
Striding advanc'd, and took no wand'ring Aim;
Thro' all the Frog the shining Jav'lin flies,
And near the vanquish'd Mouse the Victor dies;
The dreadful Stroke Crambophagus affrights,
Long bred to Banquets, less inur'd to Fights,
Heedless he runs, and stumbles o'er the Steep,
And wildly flound'ring flashes up the Deep;
Lychenor following with a downward Blow
Reach'd in the Lake his unrecover'd Foe;
Gasping he rolls, a purple Stream of Blood
Distains the Surface of the Silver Flood;
Thro' the wide Wound the rushing Entrails throng,
And slow the breathless Carkass floats along.
Lymnisius good Tyroglyphus assails,
Prince of the Mice that haunt the flow'ry Vales,
Lost to the milky Fares and rural Seat,
He came to perish on the Bank of Fate.
The dread Pternoglyphus demands the Fight,
Which tender Calaminthius shuns by Flight,
Drops the green Target, springing quits the Foe,
Glides thro' the Lake, and safely dives below.
The dire Pternophagus divides his Way
Thro' breaking Ranks, and leads the dreadful Day.
No nibbling Prince excell'd in Fierceness more,
His Parents fed him on the savage Boar;
But where his Lance the Field with Blood imbru'd,
Swift as he mov'd Hydrocharis pursu'd,
'Till fall'n in Death he lies, a shatt'ring Stone
Sounds on the Neck, and crushes all the Bone,
His Blood pollutes the Verdure of the Plain,
And from his Nostrils bursts the gushing Brain.
Lycopinax with Borbocætes fights
A blameless Frog, whom humbler Life delights;
The fatal Jav'lin unrelenting flies,
And Darkness seals the gentle Croaker's Eyes.
Incens'd Prassophagus with spritely Bound,
Bears Cnissiodortes off the rising Ground,
Then drags him o'er the Lake depriv'd of Breath,
And downward plunging, sinks his Soul to Death.
But now the great Psycarpax shines afar,
(Scarce he so great whose Loss provok'd the War)
Swift to revenge his fatal Jav'lin fled,
And thro' the Liver struck Pelusius dead;
His freckled Corps before the Victor fell,
His Soul indignant sought the Shades of Hell.
This saw Pelobates, and from the Flood
Lifts with both Hands a monst'rous Mass of Mud,
The Cloud obscene o'er all the Warrior flies,
Dishonours his brown Face, and blots his Eyes.
Enrag'd, and wildly sputtring, from the Shore
A Stone immense of Size the Warrior bore,
A Load for lab'ring Earth, whose Bulk to raise,
Asks ten degen'rate Mice of modern Days.
Full to the Leg arrives the crushing Wound,
The Frog supportless, wriths upon the Ground.
Thus flush'd, the Victor wars with matchless Force,
'Till loud Craugasides arrests his Course,
Hoarse-croaking Threats precede, with fatal Speed
Deep thro' the Belly runs the pointed Reed,
Then strongly tug'd, return'd imbru'd with Gore,
And on the Pile his reeking Entrails bore.
The lame Sitophagus oppress'd with Pain,
Creeps from the desp'rate Dangers of the Plain;
And where the Ditches rising Weeds supply,
To spread their lowly Shades beneath the Sky,
There lurks the silent Mouse reliev'd of Heat,
And safe imbower'd, avoids the Chance of Fate.
But here Troxartes, Physignathus there,
Whirl the dire Furies of the pointed Spear:
Then where the Foot around its Ankle plies,
Troxartes wounds, and Physignathus flies,
Halts to the Pool, a safe Retreat to find,
And trails a dangling Length of Leg behind.
The Mouse still urges, still the Frog retires,
And half in Anguish of the Flight expires;
Then pious Ardor young Prassæus brings,
Betwixt the Fortunes of contending Kings:
Lank, harmless Frog! with Forces hardly grown,
He darts the Reed in Combats not his own,
Which faintly tinkling on Troxartes' Shield,
Hangs at the Point, and drops upon the Field.

Now nobly tow'ring o'er the rest appears
A gallant Prince that far transcends his Years,
Pride of his Sire, and Glory of his House,
And more a Mars in Combat than a Mouse:
His Action bold, robust his ample Frame,
And Meridarpax his resounding Name.
The Warrior singled from the fighting Crowd,
Boasts the dire Honours of his Arms aloud;
Then strutting near the Lake, with Looks elate,
Threats all its Nations with approaching Fate.
And such his Strength, the Silver Lakes around,
Might roll their Waters o'er unpeopled Ground.
But pow'rful Jove who shews no less his Grace
To Frogs that perish, than to human Race,
Felt soft Compassion rising in his Soul,
And shook his sacred Head, that shook the Pole.
Then thus to all the gazing Pow'rs began,
The Sire of Gods, and Frogs, and Mouse, and Man.

What Seas of Blood I view, what Worlds of slain,
An Iliad rising from a Day's Campaign!
How fierce his Jav'lin o'er the trembling Lakes
The black-fur'd Hero Meridarpax shakes!
Unless some fav'ring Deity descend,
Soon will the Frogs loquacious Empire end.
Let dreadful Pallas wing'd with Pity fly,
And make her Ægis blaze before his Eye:
While Mars refulgent on his ratling Car,
Arrests his raging Rival of the War.

He ceas'd, reclining with attentive Head,
When thus the glorious God of Combats said.
Nor Pallas, Jove! tho' Pallas take the Field,
With all the Terrors of her hissing Shield,
Nor Mars himself, tho' Mars in Armour bright
Ascend his Car, and wheel amidst the Fight;
Nor these can drive the desp'rate Mouse afar,
And change the Fortunes of the bleeding War.
Let all go forth, all Heav'n in Arms arise,
Or launch thy own red Thunder from the Skies.
Such ardent Bolts as flew that wond'rous Day,
When Heaps of Titans mix'd with Mountains lay,
When all the Giant-Race enormous fell,
And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to Hell.

'Twas thus th' Armipotent advis'd the Gods,
When from his Throne the Cloud-Compeller nods,
Deep length'ning Thunders run from Pole to Pole,
Olympus trembles as the Thunders roll.
Then swift he whirls the brandish'd Bolt around,
And headlong darts it at the distant Ground,
The Bolt discharg'd inwrap'd with Light'ning flies,
And rends its flaming Passage thro' the Skies,
Then Earth's Inhabitants the Niblers shake,
And Frogs, the Dwellers in the Waters, quake.
Yet still the Mice advance their dread Design,
And the last Danger threats the croaking Line,
'Till Jove that inly mourn'd the Loss they bore,
With strange Assistants fill'd the frighted Shore.

Pour'd from the neighb'ring Strand, deform'd to View,
They march, a sudden unexpected Crew,
Strong Sutes of Armor round their Bodies close,
Which, like thick Anvils, blunt the force of Blows;
In wheeling Marches turn'd oblique they go,
With harpy Claws their Limbs divide below,
Fell Sheers the Passage to their Mouth command,
From out the Flesh the Bones by Nature stand,
Broad spread their Backs, their shining Shoulders rise,
Unnumber'd Joints distort their lengthen'd Thighs,
With nervous Cords their Hands are firmly brac'd,
Their round black Eye-balls in their Bosom plac'd,
On eight long Feet the wond'rous Warriors tread,
And either End alike supplies a Head.
These, mortal Wits to call the Crabs, agree;
The Gods have other Names for Things than we.

Now where the Jointures from their Loins depend,
The Heroes Tails with sev'ring Grasps they rend.
Here, short of Feet, depriv'd the Pow'r to fly,
There, without Hands upon the Field they lie.
Wrench'd from their Holds, and scatter'd all around,
The bended Lances heap the cumber'd Ground.
Helpless Amazement, Fear pursuing Fear,
And mad Confusion thro' their Host appear,
O'er the wild Wast with headlong Flight they go,
Or creep conceal'd in vaulted Holes below.

But down Olympus to the Western Seas,
Far-shooting Phœbus drove with fainter Rays,
And a whole War (so Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving Sun.

poem by Thomas Parnell
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An Imitation of Spenser

Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams,
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams,
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.
For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse
And love of Folly needs none other's curse)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances terse.

And thou, Mercurius, that with wingèd brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly:

If thou arrivest at the sandy shore
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on t 1000 he dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell.
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore;
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell

O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense
That round the circle of the world would fly,
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aëry,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.

And thou, O warrior maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove,
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?
Or bear'st thy AEgis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

poem by William Blake
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On Imagination

THY various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp
by thee!
Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,
Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd:
Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try
To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high:
From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise,
Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies.
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea,
Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

poem by Phillis Wheatley
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In The Benevolent

‘I’M OFF on the wallaby!’ cries Old Ben,
And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled;
‘There is nothing here for us old-time men,
But up north, I hear, they are on the gold.’
And he shuffles off with a feeble stride,
With his ragged swag and his billy black.
He is making tracks for the other side,
O’er the river deep, or the Great Divide;
But at night, dead beat, he travels back.

Then at morn next day he is off again,
With an eager light in his aged eyes,
Tramping away on his journey vain
For the land of promise beyond the rise.
Over the range there is work to do,
There is roaring life at the shanty bars.
He will tramp the plains whilst the skies are blue,
And will wander the great wide bushland through,
And be soothed to sleep by the blinking stars.

In the garden gay where the old man roams
Pied poppies sway on their supple stalks,
And the fair white rose on the soft breeze foams,
And the pansies peep by the gravelled walks;
But his brow by the breeze of the hills is fanned,
And the clink of bells to his quick ear comes.
When he shades his eyes with a withered hand,
He sees silent rivers and ranges grand,
Or a still lagoon under silver gums.

‘Are you bound out back, Dan?’ the children cry,
And they peer at him through the fence, and shout
‘Well, it’s so long, Dan,’ as he hobbles by,
With his ‘Ay, ay, sonny lad—tramping out!’
On his back he’s bearing his house and bed,
As he bore them both in his manhood’s pride,
Pressing on each day till his strength has fled
By the force of a dauntless spirit led—
There’s a rush somewhere on the Sydney side.

Though his sight may fail and his limbs give way,
Yet no weakness touches his brave old heart,
And he cries each night: ‘At the break of day
I must strap up bluey and make a start!’
And they humour him; for the time is near
When he’ll tramp no more under changeful skies,
But will leave his travels and troubles here,
Take the track God blazed with His stars, and steer
To the Never Land just across the rise.

poem by Edward George Dyson
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A Voyager's Dream Of Land

His very heart athirst
To gaze at nature in her green array,
Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd
With visions prompted by intense desire;
Fair fields appear below, such as he left
Far distant, such as he would die to find:
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. ~ Cowper

The hollow dash of waves!–the ceaseless roar!
Silence, ye billows! vex my soul no more.

There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home,
Afar from the dark sea's tossing foam;
Oh! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear,
As a song from the shore to the sailor's ear!

And the sparkle which up to the sun it throws,
Thro' the feathery fern and the olive boughs,
And the gleam on its path as it steals away
Into deeper shades from the sultry day,
And the large water-lilies that o'er its bed
Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread,
They haunt me! I dream of that bright spring's flow,
I thirst for its rills, like a wounded roe!

Be still, thou sea-bird, with thy clanging cry!
My spirit sickens, as thy wing sweeps by.

Know ye my home, with the lulling sound
Of leaves from the lime and the chestnut round?
Know ye it, brethren! where bower'd it lies,
Under the purple of southern skies?
With the streamy gold of the sun that shines
In thro' the cloud of its clustering vines,
And the summer-breath of the myrtle-flowers,
Borne from the mountain in dewy hours,
And the fire-fly's glance thro' the dark'ning shades,
Like shooting stars in the forest-glades,
And the scent of the citron at eve's dim fall
Speak! have ye known, have ye felt them all?

The heavy rolling surge! the rocking mast!
Hush! give my dream's deep music way, thou blast!

Oh! the glad sounds of the joyous earth!
The notes of the singing cicala's mirth,
The murmurs that live in the mountain pines,
The sighing of reeds as the day declines,
The wings flitting home thro' the crimson glow
That steeps the wood when the sun is low,
The voice of the night-bird that sends a thrill
To the heart of the leaves when the winds are still
I hear them! round me they rise, they swell,
They call back my spirit with Hope to dwell,
They come with a breath from the fresh spring-time,
And waken my youth in its hour of prime.

The white foam dashes high away, away!
Shroud my green land no more, thou blinding spray!

It is there! down the mountains I see the sweep
Of the chestnut forests, the rich and deep,
With the burden and glory of flowers that they bear,
Floating upborne on the blue summer-air,
And the light pouring thro' them in tender gleams,
And the flashing forth of a thousand streams!
Hold me not, brethren! I go, I go,
To the hills of my youth, where the myrtles blow,
To the depths of the woods, where the shadows rest,
Massy and still, on the greensward's breast,
To the rocks that resound with the water's play
I hear the sweet laugh of my fount give way!

Give way! the booming surge, the tempest's roar,
The sea-bird's wail, shall vex my soul no more.

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Ambition And Content: A Fable

“
Optat quietem.” —Hor
.

While yet the world was young, and men were few,
Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew,
In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd,
Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd:
No sumptuous fabrics yet were seen to rise,
Nor gushing fountains taught to invade the skies;
With nature, art had not begun the strife,
Nor swelling marble rose to mimic life;
No pencil yet had learn'd to express the fair;
The bounteous earth was all their homely care.

Then did Content exert her genial sway,
And taught the peaceful world her power to obey;
Content, a female of celestial race,
Bright and complete in each celestial grace.
Serenely fair she was, as rising day,
And brighter than the sun's meridian ray;
Joy of all hearts, delight of every eye,
Nor grief, nor pain appear'd when she was by;
Her presence from the wretched banish'd care,
Dispers'd the swelling sigh, and stopt the falling tear.

Long did the nymph her regal state maintain,
As long mankind were blest beneath her reign;
Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend, arose,
To plague the world, and banish man's repose:
A monster sprung from that rebellious crew,
Which mighty Jove's Phlegræan thunder slew.
Resolv'd to dispossess the royal fair,
On all her friends he threaten'd open war:
Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man,
In crowds to his infernal standard ran;
And the weak maid, defenceless left alone,
To avoid his rage, was forc'd to quit the throne.

It chanc'd as wandering through the fields she stray'd,
Forsook of all, and destitute of aid,
Upon a rising mountain's flowery side
A pleasant cottage, roof'd with turf, she spied:
Fast by a gloomy, venerable wood
Of shady planes, and ancient oaks, it stood.
Around a various prospect charm'd the sight;
Here waving harvests clad the fields with white;
Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce,
From which a torrent rush'd with rapid force;
Here mountain-woods diffus'd a dusky shade;
Here flocks and herds in flowery valleys play'd,
While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal stray'd.
In this sweet place there dwelt a cheerful pair,
Though bent beneath the weight of many a year;
Who wisely flying public noise and strife,
In this obscure retreat had pass'd their life;
The husband Industry was call'd, Frugality the wife.
With tenderest Friendship mutually blest,
No household jars had e'er disturb'd their rest.
A numerous offspring grac'd their homely board,
That still with Nature's simple gifts was stor'd.
The father rural business only knew;
The sons the same delightful art pursue:
An only daughter, as a goddess fair,
Above the rest was the fond mother's care;
Plenty; the brightest nymph of all the plain,
Each heart's delight, ador'd by every swain.
Soon as Content this charming scene espied,
Joyful within herself the goddess cried;
“This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise;
The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days:
When with prosperity my life was blest,
In yonder house I've been a welcome guest:
There now, perhaps, I may protection find;
For royalty is banish'd from my mind;
I'll thither haste: how happy should I be,
If such a refuge were reserv'd for me!”

Thus spoke the fair; and straight she bent her way
To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay:
Arriv'd she makes her chang'd condition known;
Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne;
What painful, dreary wilds she'd wander'd o'er;
And shelter from the tyrant doth implore.

The faithful, aged pair at once were seiz'd
With joy and grief, at once were pain'd and pleas'd;
Grief for their banish'd queen their hearts possest,
And joy succeeded for their future guest;
“And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell,
And with your presence grace our humble cell,
Whate'er the gods have given with bounteous hand,
Our harvests, fields and flocks, our all command.”

Meantime, Ambition, on his rival's flight,
Sole lord of man, attain'd his wish's height;
Of all dependence on his subjects eas'd,
He rag'd without a curb, and did whate'er he pleas'd:
As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds,
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds;
So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain,
Defac'd the labours of the industrious swain;
Polluted every stream with human gore,
And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore.

Great Jove beheld it from the Olympian towers,
Where sate assembled all the heavenly powers;
Then with a nod that shook the empyrean throne,
Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun:
“You see, immortal inmates of the skies,
How this vile wretch almighty power defies;
His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt,
Demand a torment equal to his guilt.
Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy
Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly;
There let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart,
And with his former rival wound his heart.
And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said)
Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head;
Dart through the yielding air with all thy force,
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course;
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave,
Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave;
Command her to secure the sacred bound,
Where lives Content retir'd, and all around
Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night,
And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight;
That the vain purpose of his life may try
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye.”
He spoke; loud praises shake the bright abode,
And all applaud the justice of the god.

poem by Mark Akenside
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An Hymn To The Morning

ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,
Assist my labours, and my strains refine;
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my song.
Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,
Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,
Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
To shield your poet from the burning day:
Calliope awake the sacred lyre,
While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire:
The bow'rs, the gales, the variegated skies
In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
See in the east th' illustrious king of day!
His rising radiance drives the shades away--
But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
And scarce begun, concludes th' abortive song.

poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Joseph

With many children was the Patriarch blest,
Yet Joseph he preferr'd before the rest:
To tend his flock was all the youth's employ
To serve his God and Sire his only joy:
Jacob of his lov'd consort now depriv'd,
Beheld her graces in the son reviv'd;
And all the love he had to Rachel gone,
Was by degrees transferr'd unto her son.
A silken vest, that cast a various shade,
He fondly to the boy a present made:
Here vivid scarlet strove with lively green,
The purple, blended with the white, was seen,
And azure spots were interspers'd between.

This gaudy robe (the basis of his woe,
The source from which his future sorrows flow)
Kindled his elder brethren's wakeful pride:
(When envy mounts, affection will subside)
Their dawning hate in vain to hide they strove,
Each look too plain confess'd expiring love.

The sun obliquely shot his humid beams,
When Joseph wak'd, one morn, and told his dreams:
'My brethren, we, methought, were on a plain,
'And binding into sheaves the yellow grain;
'When mine arose; your's form'd a circle round,
'And reverently bow'd low to the ground.'
And this each face the innate rage express'd:
And Joseph thus, indignant, they address'd.
'Shalt thou indeed a sov'reign to us be?
'And shall we fall as suppliants on the knee?
'Vain boy! renounce those hopes---hence to the field
'A shepherd's crook, not sceptre, shalt thou wield.'

Again, when slumbers stole upon his eyes,
And active Fancy bade the vision rise,,
And crystal moon respectful homage pay.
This on the morn the wond'ring youth disclos'd
When Jacob the prediction thus oppos'd:
'Shall I, thine aged sire, whose silver hairs
'And arms unnerv'd proclaim my length of years,
'Prostrate on earth myself thy vassel own?
'And shall thy mother bow before her son?

'Ambition, Joseph, has thy heart possess'd,
'And dreams illusive rise from such a guest.'
But yet he wonder'd what might be design'd,
And the presaging visions treasur'd in his mind.

It chanc'd his elder sons at early dawn
Led their fair flocks to Dothen's verdant lawn:
There, while the kids and lambs crop off the flow'rs,
In close converse they pass th' eloping hours:
Beneath a cedar's boughs, whose awful shade
Extended o'er the plain, was Levi laid:
What rais'd the tears that trembled in his eyes?
Issacher ask'd; and Levi thus replies:

'Jacob was once impartial in his love;
'To please us all, and we to please him strove.
'Have we not toil'd beneath the burning ray
'Of yon bright orb, who rising we survey;
'And when the lamp of night illumes the skies,
'When dews descend and noxious mists arise,
'In silent vales a careful watch we keep,
'And from the rav'ning wolves protect the sheep?
'Is this the kind return for all our care?---
'We ask but equally his love to share;
'And that denied, to aggravate the smart,
'A simpering boy engrosses all his heart:

'What can entitle him to such a claim,
'Domestic labours, or a martial fame?
'In Mamre's groves his hours slide soft away,
'In rest at night, in indolence all day:
'With lies of us he fills the cred'lous ear,
'Too horrid to repeat, or you to hear.
'For this a superb robe adorns his limbs,
'And partial heav'n for this in mystic dreams
'Presages a reward. But words are vain.'
Here Levi ceas'd, and Issacher began.

'Ah! 'tis too plain, too obvious to the sight,
'That Joseph is our parent's chief delight,
'Although a base usurper of our right:
'You see ambition rising in his soul;
'And when his years mature to manhood roll,
'Elated with the hopes of sway, he'll try
'On us, my friends, his dreams to verify.'

He ended: but his cheeks with anger glows:
When bloody Simeon from the ground arose.
Awhile he paus'd; at length his lips impart
The black design corroding at his heart.

'Brethren, this war of words and coward rage
'Suits not our youth, but meets impotent age;
'Let one decisive stroke remove our fears,
'Obstruct the fates, and calm intestine wars.'

Reuben at Simeon glanc'd a frown, and spoke:
'The sentence yet in embrio I revoke:
'The Sechemites, (who, murder'd on the plain,
'Sad monuments of cruelty remain)
'Have they to death inur'd your gloomy eyes,
'That for a childish dream your brother dies?
'Would you in guiltless blood your jav'lins stain,
'And Nature's law by such a deed profane?
'My soul shrinks at the thought: loud sounding fame
'Would through the world the fratricide proclaim.
'Brethren, regard his youth---our father's age;
'One fatal stroke destroys both child and sage:
'Congenial souls: the union of the heart
'Death can't divide, nor living can we part.
'Ah! tell me, Simeon, is the action brave
'To sink a sage and infant in the grave?
'Mistaken valor, and inhuman deed,
'For one man's fault to make a nation bleed!
'Much more inhuman this: the son conspires
'A harmless brother's death, and aged sire's.
'Think not with their last breath your fears are fled;
'God's vengeance still pursues the guilty head!
'And why abridge his days? Ah! brethren, know,
By short'ning his, you fill your own with woe.'

He ended unapplauded, and beheld
The object of their contest on the field,
Far as the eye could reach: his glossy hair
Curl'd on his neck; his robe wav'd light in air,
Clasp'd by a plate of gold, that as he run
In brightness seem'd to emulate the sun.

Hate, stifled by reproof, flam'd in each eye,
When at a distance they perceiv'd the boy;
In ev'ry look black discontent was spread,
And Judah, pale with envy, rose and said:

'Vain sophistry! how do our joys subside,
'While that prophetic dreamer swells with pride?
'No; let him die: his vest we'll stain with blood,
'And tell his sire we found it in the wood:
'Some beast, I'll cry, and deep affliction feign,
'Oh Jacob, has thy son, thy Joseph slain!
'If Reuben new objections here create,
'Then let him bear our just, immortal hate.'

When Reuben found his death was now decreed,
Resolv'd to save the youth, or with him bleed,
He loud exclaim'd---'At least with this comply,
'(Since by our hand the innocent must die)
'I am his brother, give me not the pain
'To see his blood gush from the purple vein,
'To see his soul part from his quiv'ring lip,
'And hear the groan which ushers in his sleep.
'Where yonder cedars raise their lofty heads,
'And round the rocky place a horror spreads,
'There is a pit, to water long unknown,
'Dark its access, with brambles overgrown:
'Here be the child immur'd: the sides are steep,
'Of stone cemented, and profoundly deep;
'A certain and concealed death his fate;
'Guiltless of blood we gratify our hate.'
He hesitated---by real sorrow mov'd,
While his proposal all the swains approv'd.

But Reuben hop'd, when sleep had clos'd their eyes,
With the lov'd youth his father to surprise;
Then lead him where he might securely wait
The period when he should survive their hate.

Joseph, soon as his brethren he descries,
A placid sweetness triumph'd in his eyes,
Joy ting'd his blooming cheeks with deeper red,
He innocently smil'd, advanc'd, and said:
'To Sechem's vale our fire bade me repair,
'If you were well, solicitous to hear:
'I rov'd o'er meads enamel'd with gay flow'rs,
'I rang'd the forests and explor'd the bow'rs;
'At length my erring steps a stranger led
'To Dothen, where he said your flocks were fed
'But why this gen'ral gloom on ev'ry face,
'This stupid grief which saddens all the place?
'O tell me! quick dispel each rising fear,
'Or let me drop the sympathetic tear.'---
He pleads, impatient for the truth to gain;
But dazzling virtue aw'd the silent train.
The conscious blood revolting from each cheek,
Rush to the guilty heart and refuge seek:
Now vice prepares the formidable blow,
Yet shrinks, encountering a defenceless foe:
She summons all her forces to her aid,
And big with death, now hovers o'er his head.

Rapid as lightnings thro' the æther glance,
So swift they to th' astonish'd youth advance;
Trembling with rage they flew; they seiz'd his hair,
And bade him instantly for death prepare.

Aghast he gaz'd; he stiffen'd with surprise,
His blood congeals, he scarce believes his eyes;
A sudden horror thrills thro' ev'ry vein,
He casts an anxious look back o'er the plain;
He sees no hope; then sinking on his knees,
He thus essay'd their anger to appease:

'What have I done, my brethren, that your rage
'United should against a child engage?
'Alas! what heavy crime demands my death?'
Here rising tears suppress'd his lab'ring breath;
These when discharg'd, again the shepherd pleads:---
'Is there no friend, not one who intercedes?
'With guiltless blood pollute not Nature's laws.
'Tell me my fault, and let me plead my cause:
'If innocent, acquit; if guilty found,
'In public then let justice give the wound.'

He ceas'd to speak, and their decision wait;
When Nepthali exclaim'd, 'Our will is fate.'
Then with a cord his trembling hands they bound,
And rais'd him pale and fainting from the ground:
His terror power of utterance denies,
But yet he weeps and lifts his speaking eyes.
They lead him to the grove, whose solemn shade
The wind and solar ray could scarce pervade;
The dark abyss they found, and op'd a way
By which descending Joseph lest the day:
The hollow sides re-echo back his moan,
And distant rocks reflect the doubled groan;
In deeper notes his plaintive cries return'd,
While low excluded from the light he mourn'd.

Th' inhuman rustics soon depart the place
Where conscious Vice now flush'd each guilty face:
The sun shone hot; impervious to his ray
A grove of palms the fainting swains survey:
Beneath their shade a silver current stole,
Whose lucid waves o'er mossy carpets roll.
Here they repair, and seated on the ground,
With roseate wine the shining goblet crown'd;
The viands on the velvet grass they spread,
The grape luxuriant and the milk-white bread;
When thoughtful Reuben, sighing, rose and said:
'While you the festive banquet here prepare,
'To seek the straying lambs shall be my care.'

Scarce was he gone, when from a neighbouring vale
The fragrant smells of spicery exhale;
The aromatic loads by camels borne,
From Geliad sent, to Egypt now return:
These were proceeded by a num'rous train
Of trafficers, who from fair Midian came.
Th' inviting shade, where cool the shepherds lay,
Allur'd the merchants from their tiresome way;
They join the swains, and press the verdant ground,
While the replenish'd goblet passes round.

But pale remorse, from cool reflection sprung,
On half-repenting Judah's brow was hung;
His brother's groans reverb'rate on his ear,
But yet his envy Joseph's merits fear.
While these contending passions rend his breast
Apart the list'ning shepherds he address'd:

'My friends, the eldest curse of righteous heaven
'Was to the murderer of a brother given;
'Tho' Joseph's crimes would justify his death,
'We can be just, and yet prolong his breath.
'Let us redeem the victim from the grave,
'And send him to Egyptia as a slave;
'From those far plains he never can return,
'But must repent his faults, submit and mourn:
'No black reflection then will give us pain,
'And useful gold, my brethren, too we gain.'

The mercenary shepherds all agree,
And set him from his gloomy prison free:
He smites his breast, wet with incessant tears;
His languid eyes to heav'n he pleading rears,
Whose silent eloquence reveal'd his fears.
But when he saw the strangers in the shade,
Diffusive hope thro' all his features spread;
He wip'd away the pendant tears, and smil'd,
When by the hand proud Ashur took the child;
His sordid soul from all soft ties estrang'd,
Joseph, without remorse, for gold exchang'd:
The youth's simplicity and early bloom,
Each stranger with attractive force o'ercome:
They paid the shining ore, and journey'd on,
For in the west sunk the declining sun.

Meanwhile, o'er distant hills, and moss-grown rocks,
The pensive swain pursues the timid flocks.
Now late returning, and o'ercome with heat,
Secures his charge and seeks a cool retreat;
Beneath a cedar's length'ned shadow laid,
The vast expanse, admiring, he survey'd,
In vivid tints, by setting sol array'd
Magnificently gay. Here streak'd with gold,
The purple clouds their borrow'd paints unfold;
The blushing west with deep carnation glows,
And o'er the skies a bright reflection throws.
---Now imperceptibly on closing flow'rs
The silent dews descend in silver show'rs,

Th' appearing stars exert a feeble light,
And Reuben welcomes the approach of night:
He rises and explores the dismal shade,
And stooping o'er the cavern's verge he said:
'Joseph! my brother Joseph! I am come,
'Impatient to reverse thy cruel doom;
'Forgive thy Reuben's part in this black deed,
Tis stratagem alone thy life has freed:
'Oh Joseph speak! surely thou dost survive:
'Oh speak my brother, if thou art alive!
'Alas! no voice but echo's hollow sound,
'No voice but mine remurmers o'er the ground!
'Where shall I flee, to what dark distant shore,
'To shun reproach? for Joseph is no more.
'Why did my lips (consenting to his death)
'When they pronounc'd his doom, not lose their breath?'---
Again he calls, and raging in despair,
From his swoln breast the folding garment tears.
Now wild with grief, and wand ring thro' the gloom,
He met the Hebrews all returning home:
A kid they'd kill'd, and in the sanguine gore
Had dipt the robe which blameless Joseph wore.
Soon they appear'd on Mamre's peaceful plain,
And enter'd Israel's tent, a guilty train;
Each feign'd to be with anxious care opprest,
And Simeon, weeping, thus his fire addrest:
'Oh canst thou recollect this bloody vest!'

Old Jacob view'd it with a pausing eye;
He trembled, groan'd, and scarce could make reply;
An universal horror seiz'd his frame,
At length burst forth th'ungovernable flame:
'It is my son's! (he cry'd) my son is slain!
'Curst be the hour that rent him from my side!
'What baneful planet did my actions guide?
'Come, death, convey me to the peaceful urn;
'Joseph is dead! why should I live to mourn?'

In vain they try to calm his swelling grief;
He cherish'd sorrow, and refus'd relief.

poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Avenging Angel

1 When the last faint red of the day is dead,
2 And the dim, far heaven is lit
3 With the silvern cars
4 Of the orient stars,
5 And the winged winds whimper and flit;

6 Then I rise through the dome of my aerodrome,
7 Like a giant eagle in flight;
8 And I take my place
9 In the vengeful race
10 With the sinister fleets of night.

11 As I rise and rise in the cloudy skies,
12 No sound in the silence is heard,
13 Save the lonesome whirr
14 Of my engine's purr,
15 Like the wings of a monster bird.

16 And naught is seen save the vault, serene,
17 Of the vasty realms of night,
18 That vanish, aloof,
19 To eternity's roof,
20 As I mount in my ominous flight.

21 And I float and pause in the fleecy gauze,
22 Like a bird in a nest of down;
23 While 'neath me in deeps
24 Of blackness, sleeps
25 The far, vast London town.

26 But I am not here, like a silvern sphere,
27 To glory the deeps of space,
28 But a sentinel, I,
29 In this tower of the sky,
30 Scanning the dim deep's face.

31 For, sudden, afar, like a luminous star,
32 Or a golden horn of the moon,
33 Or a yellow leaf
34 Of the forest's grief,
35 When the autumn winds are atune;

36 There is borne on my sight, down the spaces of night,
37 By the engines of evilment sped,
38 That wonderful, rare,
39 Vast ship of the air,
40 Beautiful, ominous, dread.

41 One instant she floats, most magic of boats,
42 Illusive, implacable, there;
43 Throned angel of ill,
44 On her crystal-built hill,
45 O'er a people's defenceless despair.

46 Then sudden, I rise, like a bolt through the skies,
47 To the very dim roofs of the world;
48 Till down in the grey,
49 I see my grim prey,
50 Like a pallid gold leaf, uncurled.

51 And I hover and swing, until swiftly I spring,
52 And drop like a falling star;
53 And again and again,
54 My death-dealing rain,
55 Hurl to the deeps afar.

56 Then I hover and listen, till I see the far glisten
57 Of a flame-flash blanching the night;
58 And I know that my hate,
59 That has lain in wait,
60 Has won in the grim air-fight.

61 Then I curve and slant, while my engines pant,
62 And the wings of my great bird tame;
63 While the sinister Hun,
64 In his ill, undone,
65 Goes out in a blinding flame.

poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Haunted Beach

Upon a lonely desart Beach
Where the white foam was scatter'd,
A little shed uprear'd its head
Though lofty Barks were shatter'd.
The Sea-weeds gath'ring near the door,
A sombre path display'd;
And, all around, the deaf'ning roar,
Re-echo'd on the chalky shore,
By the green billows made.

Above, a jutting cliff was seen
Where Sea Birds hover'd, craving;
And all around, the craggs were bound
With weeds--for ever waving.
And here and there, a cavern wide
Its shad'wy jaws display'd;
And near the sands, at ebb of tide,
A shiver'd mast was seen to ride
Where the green billows stray'd.

And often, while the moaning wind
Stole o'er the Summer Ocean;
The moonlight scene, was all serene,
The waters scarce in motion:
Then, while the smoothly slanting sand
The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade,
The Fisherman beheld a band
Of Spectres, gliding hand in hand--
Where the green billows play'd.

And pale their faces were, as snow,
And sullenly they wander'd:
And to the skies with hollow eyes
They look'd as though they ponder'd.
And sometimes, from their hammock shroud,
They dismal howlings made,
And while the blast blew strong and loud
The clear moon mark'd the ghastly croud,
Where the green billows play'd!

And then, above the haunted hut
The Curlews screaming hover'd;
And the low door with furious roar
The frothy breakers cover'd.
For, in the Fisherman's lone shed
A MURDER'D MAN was laid,
With ten wide gashes in his head
And deep was made his sandy bed
Where the green billows play'd.

A Shipwreck'd Mariner was he,
Doom'd from his home to sever;
Who swore to be thro' wind and sea
Firm and undaunted ever!
And when the wave resistless roll'd,
About his arm he made
A packet rich of Spanish gold,
And, like a British sailor, bold,
Plung'd, where the billows play'd!

The Spectre band, his messmates brave
Sunk in the yawning ocean,
While to the mast he lash'd him fast
And brav'd the storm's commotion.
The winter moon, upon the sand
A silv'ry carpet made,
And mark'd the Sailor reach the land,
And mark'd his murd'rer wash his hand
Where the green billows play'd.

And since that hour the Fisherman
Has toil'd and toil'd in vain!
For all the night, the moony light
Gleams on the specter'd main!
And when the skies are veil'd in gloom,
The Murd'rer's liquid way
Bounds o'er the deeply yawning tomb,
And flashing fires the sands illume,
Where the green billows play!

Full thirty years his task has been,
Day after day more weary;
For Heav'n design'd, his guilty mind
Should dwell on prospects dreary.
Bound by a strong and mystic chain,
He has not pow'r to stray;
But, destin'd mis'ry to sustain,
He wastes, in Solitude and Pain--
A loathsome life away.

poem by Mary Darby Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Part of an Irregular Fragment

I.

Rise, winds of night! relentless tempests, rise!
Rush from the troubled clouds, and o'er me roll!
In this chill pause a deeper horror lies,
A wilder fear appals my shudd'ring soul!--
'Twas on this day,* this hour accurst,
That Nature, starting from repose,
Heard the dire shrieks of murder burst--
From infant innocence they rose,--
And shook these solemn towers!
I shudd'ring pass that fatal room,
For ages wrapt in central gloom!--
I shudd'ring pass that iron door,
Which fate perchance unlocks no more;
Death, smear'd with blood, o'er the dark portal lowers!

II.

How fearfully my step resounds
Along these lonely bounds!--
Spare, savage blast! the taper's quiv'ring fires;
Deep in these gath'ring shades its flame expires.
Ye host of heaven! the door recedes--
It mocks my grasp--what unseen hands
Have burst its iron bands?
No mortal force this gate unbarr'd,
Where danger lives, which terrors guard--
Dread powers! its screaming hinges close
On this dire scene of impious deeds--
My feet are fix'd!--Dismay has bound
My step on this polluted ground!
But lo! the pitying moon a line of light
Athwart the horrid darkness dimly throws,
And from yon grated window chases night.

III.

Ye visions that before me roll,
That freeze my blood, that shake my soul!
Are ye the phantoms of a dream?--
Pale spectres! are ye what ye seem?--
They glide more near!
Their forms unfold!
Fix'd are their eyes--on me they bend--
Their glaring look is cold!
And hark!--I hear
Sounds that the throbbing pulse of life suspend:

IV.

"No wild illusion cheats thy sight
With shapes that only live in night--
Mark the native glories spread
Around my bleeding brow!
The crown of Albion wreath'd my head,
When my father shook his spear,
When his banner sought the skies,
Her baffled host recoil'd with fear,
Nor turn'd their shrinking eyes.
Soon as the daring eagle springs,
To bask in heav'n's empyreal light,
The vultures ply their baleful wings,
A cloud of deep'ning colour marks their flight,
Staining the golden day:--
But see! amid the rav'nous brood
A bird of fiercer aspect soar--
The spirits of a rival race*
Hang on the noxious blast, and trace
With gloomy joy his destin'd prey;
Inflame th' ambitious wish that thirsts for blood,
And plunge his talons deep in kindred gore.

V.

"View the stern form that hovers nigh:
Fierce rolls his dauntless eye,
In scorn of hideous death;
Till starting at a brother's* name,
Horror shrinks his glowing frame;
Locks the half-utter'd groan,
And chills the parting breath:--
Astonish'd Nature heav'd a moan!
When her affrighted eye beheld the hands
She form'd to cherish, rend her holy bands.

VI.

"Look where a royal infant+ kneels;
Shrieking, and agoniz'd with fear,
He sees the dagger pointed near
A much-lov'd brother's+ breast,
And tells an absent mother all he feels!
His eager eye he casts around,--
Where shall her guardian form be found,
On which his eager eye would rest?
On her he calls in accents wild,
And wonders why her step is slow
To save her suff'ring child!
Rob'd in the regal garb, his brother stands
In more majestic woe,
And meets the impious stroke with bosom bare,
Then fearless grasps the murd'rer's hands,
And asks the minister of hell to spare
The child, whose feeble arms sustain
His bleeding form, from cruel death.
In vain fraternal fondness pleads,
For cold is now his livid cheek,
And cold his last, expiring breath;
And now, with aspect meek,
The infant lifts its mournful eye,
And asks, with trembling voice, to die,
If death will cure his heaving heart of pain!
His heaving heart now bleeds!--
Foul tyrant! o'er the gilded hour
That beams with all the blaze of power,
Remorse shall spread her thickest shroud!
The furies in thy tortur'd ear
Shall howl, with curses deep and loud,
And wake distracting fear!
I see the ghastly spectre rise,
Whose blood is cold, whose hollow eyes
Seem from his head to start!--
With upright hair and shiv'ring heart,
Dark o'er thy midnight couch he bends,
And clasps thy shrinking frame, thy impious spirit rends."

VII.

Now his thrilling accents die--
His shape eludes my searching eye.
But who is he,* convuls'd with pain,
That writhes in every swelling vein?
Yet in so deep, so wild a groan,
A sharper anguish seems to live
Than life's expiring pang can give!--
He dies deserted, and alone.
If pity can allay thy woes,
Sad spirit, they shall find repose:
Thy friend, thy long-lov'd friend is near;
He comes to pour the parting tear,
He comes to catch the parting breath.
Ah, heaven! no melting look he wears,
His alter'd eye with vengeance glares;
Each frantic passion at his soul;
'Tis he has dash'd that venom'd bowl
With agony and death!

VIII.

But whence arose that solemn call?
Yon bloody phantom waves his hand,
And beckons me to deeper gloom!
Rest, troubled form! I come--
Some unknown power my step impels
To horror's secret cells.
"For thee I raise this sable pall,
It shrouds a ghastly band:
Stretch'd beneath, thy eye shall trace
A mangled regal race!
A thousand suns have roll'd, since light
Rush'd on their solid night!
See, o'er that tender frame grim Famine hangs,
And mocks a mother's pangs!
The last, last drop which warm'd her veins
That meagre infant drains,
Then gnaws her fond, sustaining breast!
Stretch'd on her feeble knees, behold
Another victim sinks to lasting rest;
Another yet her matron arms would fold,
Who strives to reach her matron arms in vain--
Too weak her wasted form to raise,
On him she bends her eager gaze;
She sees the soft imploring eye
That asks her dear embrace, the cure of pain--
She sees her child at distance die!
But now her stedfast heart can bear,
Unmov'd, the pressure of despair.
When first the winds of winter urge their course
O'er the pure stream, whose current smoothly glides,
The heaving river swells its troubled tides;
But when the bitter blast with keener force
O'er the high wave an icy fetter throws,
The harden'd wave is fix'd in dead repose."

IX.

"Say, who that hoary form? alone he stands,
And meekly lifts his wither'd hands;
His white beard streams with blood!
I see him with a smile deride
The wounds that pierce his shrivell'd side,
Whence flows a purple flood;
But sudden pangs his bosom tear--
On one big drop, of deeper dye,
I see him fix his haggard eye
In dark, and wild despair!
That sanguine drop which wakes his woe,
Say, Spirit! whence its source?"
"Ask no more its source to know--
Ne'er shall mortal eye explore
Whence flow'd that drop of human gore,
Till the starting dead shall rise,
Unchain'd from earth, and mount the skies,
And Time shall end his fated course.
Now th' unfathom'd depth behold:
Look but once--a second glance
Wraps a heart of human mould
In death's eternal trance!

X.

"That shapeless phantom, sinking slow
Deep down the vast abyss below,
Darts thro' the mists that shroud his frame,
A horror, nature hates to name!
Mortal, could thine eyes behold
All those sullen mists enfold,
Thy sinews at the sight accurst
Would wither, and thy heart-strings burst;
Death would grasp with icy hand,
And drag thee to our grizly band!
Away! the sable pall I spread,
And give to rest th' unquiet dead;
Haste! ere its horrid shroud enclose
Thy form, benumb'd with wild affright,
And plunge thee far through wastes of night,
In yon black gulph's abhorr'd repose!"
As, starting at each step, I fly,
Why backward turns my frantic eye,
That closing portal past?
Two sullen shades, half-seen, advance!
On me, a blasting look they cast,
And fix my view with dang'rous spells,
Where burning frenzy dwells!--
Again! their vengeful look--and now a speechless--

poem by Helen Maria Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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