The slow team creeks upon the road, The noisy whip resounds, Who would not rather take his seat Luxurious to lie ? Who would not from life's dreary waste, To him who simply thus recounts The morning's pleasures o'er, Fate dooms, ere long, the scene must close To ope on him no more. Yet, Morning! unrepining still He'll greet thy beams awhile; And surely thou, when o'er his grave And the pale glow-worm's pensive light Will guide his ghostly walks in the drear moonless night. MY OWN CHARACTER. Addressed (during Illness) to a Lady. DEAR Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf, For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her, Come, come, 'twill not do! put that purling brow down; You can't, for the soul of you, learn how to frown. Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle; I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child, And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel That this proud heart of mine is not fashion'd like steel. It can love (can it not?)-it can hate, I am sure; Well, I've told you my frailties without any gloss; And yet can't withstand, you know whose fascination. 1 am not yet learned enough to express it. You yourself must examine the lovelier side, And after your every art you have tried, Here stay his steps, and call his children round, Shall wing its way to these my native regions, LINES WRITTEN IN WILFORD CHURCH-YARD On Recovery from Sickness. HERE would I wish to sleep.-This is the spot Come, I will sit me down and meditate, I would not have my corpse cemented down With brick and stone, defrauding the poor earth worm Of its predestined dues; no, I would lie The earth,) then will I cast a glance below, Yet 'twas a silly thought, as if the body, To be thrown up again by some rude Sexton, THE CHRISTIAD, A DIVINE POEM. BOOK I. I. ISING the Cross-Ye white-robed angel choirs, Who know the chords of harmony to sweep, Ye who o'er holy David's varying wires Were wont, of old, your hovering watch to keep, [deep, Oh, now descend! and with your harpings Pouring sublime the full symphonious stream Of music, such as soothes the saint's last sleep, Awake my slumbering spirit from its dream, And teach me how to exalt the high mysterious theme. II. Mourn! Salem, mourn! low lies thine humbled state, ground! Thy glittering fanes are levell'd with the Fallen is thy pride!-Thine halls are desolate! Where erst was heard the timbrel's sprightly sound, And frolic pleasures tripp'd the nightly round, There breeds the wild fox lonely,-and aghast Stands the mute pilgrim at the void profound, Unbroke by noise, save when the hurrying blast Sighs, like a spirit, deep along the cheerless waste. III. It is for this, proud Solyma! thy towers Lie crumbling in the dust; for this forlorn Thy genius wails along thy desert bowers, While stern Destruction laughs, as if in scorn, That thou didst dare insult God's eldest born; And, with most bitter persecuting ire, Pursued his footsteps till the last day-dawn Rose on his fortunes-and thou saw'st the fire That came to light the world, in one great flash expire. IV. Oh! for a pencil dipp'd in living light, While seraph hosts the lofty pran pour, Where the North Pole, in moody solitude Spreads her huge tracks and frozen wastes around, There ice-rocks piled aloft, in order rude, aye Thrones him, and, fix'd on his primæval Ruin, the giant, sits; while stern Dismay way. Stalks like some wo-struck man along the desert IX. In that drear spot, grim Desolation's lair, No sweet remain of life encheers the sight; The dancing heart's blood in an instant there Would freeze to marble.-Mingling day and night [light,) (Sweet interchange, which makes our labours Are there unknown; while in the summer skies The sun lls ceaseless round his heavenly hght, Nor ever sets from the scene he flies, And leaves the long bleak night of half the year to rise. X. Twas there, yet shuddering from the burning lake, Satan had fix'd their next consistory, When parting last he fondly hoped to shake Messiah's constancy, and thus to free The powers of darkness from the dread decree Of bondage brought by him, and circumvent The unerring ways of Him whose eye can see The womb of Time, and, in its embryo pent, Discern the colours clear of every dark event. XI. Here the stern monarch stay'd his rapid flight, And his thick hosts, as with a jetty pall, Hovering obscured the north star's peaceful light, Waiting on wing their haughty chieftain's call. He, meanwhile, downward, with a sullen fall, Dropp'd on the echoing ice. Instant the sound Of their broad vans was hush'd, and o'er the hall, Vast and obscure, the gloomy cohorts bound, Till wedged in ranks, the seat of Satan they surround XII High on a solium of the solid wave, Prank'd with rude shapes by the fantastic frost, He stood in silence ;-now keen thoughts engrave Dark figures on his front; and, tempest-toss'd He fears to say that every hope is lost. Meanwhile the multitude as death are mute: So, ere the tempest on Malacca's coast, Sweet Quiet, gently touching her soft lute, [pute. Sings to the whispering waves the prelude to disXIII. At length collected, o'er the dark Divan The arch-fiend glanced, as by the Boreal blaze Their downcast brows were seen, and thus began His fierce harangue:-"Spirits! our better days Are now elapsed; Moloch and Belial's praise Shall sound no more in groves by myriads trod. Lo! the light breaks!The astonish'd nations For us lifted high the avenging rod! [gaze! For, spirits, this is He,-this is the Son of God! To tempt this vaunted Holy One to write His own self-condemnation; in the plight Of aged man in the lone wilderness, guess Gathering a few stray sticks, I met his sight, And, leaning on my staff, seem'd much to {cess. What cause could mortal bring to that forlorn reXVI. "Then thus in homely guise I featly framed My lowly speech:-Good Sir, what leads this way [blamed Your wandering steps? must hapless chance be That you so far from haunt of mortals stray? Here have I dwelt for many a lingering day, Nor trace of man have seen; but how! methought Thou wert the youth on whom God's holy ray I saw descend in Jordan, when John taught That he to fallen man the saving promise brought. XVIL Up to the summit, where extending wide Kingdoms and cities, palaces and fanes, Bright sparkling in the sunbeams, were descried, And in gay dance, amid luxuriant plains, Tripp'd to the jocund reed the emasculated swains. XX. "Behold,' I cried, these glories! scenes divine! Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding Seize the tiara! these mean weeds disdain, Kneel, kneel, thou man of wo, and peace and splendour gain.' XXI. "Is it not written, sternly he replied, And instant sounds, as of the ocean tide, And smote me earthward.-Jove himself At such a fall; my sinews crack'd, and near, Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine "This comes," at length burst from the rurious chief, "This comes of distant counsels! Here behold The fruits of wily cunning! the relief Which coward policy would fain unfold, To soothe the powers that warr'd with Heaven O wise! O potent! O sagacious snare! [of old! And lo! our prince-the mighty and the bold, There stands he, speli-struck, gaping at the air, While Heaven subverts his reign, and plants her standard there." XXIX. Here, as recovered, Satan fix'd his eye Full on the speaker; dark it was and stern; He wrapp'd his black vest round him gloomily, And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts "Ye powers of Hell, I am no coward. I proved this of oid: who led your forces against the armies of Jehovah? Who coped with Ithuriel and the thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke, and collected your scattered powers? Lastly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its base? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery? he who preys only on the defencelesswho sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ignoble cruelty and unequal contention. Away with the boaster who never joins in action, but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field, to feed upon the wounded, and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation; let us counsel coolly, but let us execute our counselled purposes determinately. In power we have learned, by that experiment which lost us Heaven, that we are inferior to the Thunder-bearer:-In subtlety-in subtlety alone we are his equals. Open war is impossible. Be now our standard!-Be our torch the glare Of cities fired! our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air!" Him answering rose Mecashpim, who of old, Far in the silence of Chaldea's groves, Was worshipp'd, God of Fire, with charms untold And mystery. His wandering spirit roves. Now vainly searching for the flame it loves, And sits and mourns like some white-robed sire, Where stood his temple, and where fragrant And cinnamon upheap'de sacred pyre, [cloves And nightly magi watch'd the everlasting fire. He waved his robe of flame, he cross'd his breast, And sighing-his papyrus scarf survey'd, Woven with dark characters; then thus address'd The troubled council. I. THUS far have I pursued my solemn theme With self-rewarding toil, thus far have sung TRIBUTARY VERSES. LINES AND NOTE BY LORD BYRON. UNHAPPY White! while life was in its spring, WRITTEN IN THE HOMER OF MR. H. K. WHITE, Presented to me by his Brother, J. Neville White. I. BARD of brief days, but ah, of deathless fame! While on these awful leaves my fond eyes rest, On which thine late have dwelt, thy hand late I pause; and gaze regretful on thy name. [press'd, Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October, 1806, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents, which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume. IF worth, if genius, to the world are dear, Alluding to his pencilled sketch of a head surrounded with a glory. |