Read Ebook: Poems: Containing The Restropect Odes Elegies Sonnets &c. by Lovell Robert Southey Robert

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Ebook has 339 lines and 37121 words, and 7 pages

And hark! resound, in mingled sound, The clang of arms, the shriek of death; Each streaming gash bedews the ground, And deep and hollow groans load the last struggling breath: Wide thro' the air the arrows fly, Darts, shields, and swords, commix'd appear; Deep is the cry, when thousands die, When COEUR DE LION's arm constrains to fear: Aloft the battle-axe in air Whirls around confus'd despair; Nor Acre's walls can check his course, Nor Sarzin millions stay his force.

Indignant, firm the warrior stood, The hungry lion gapes for food; His fearless eye beheld him nigh, Unarm'd, undaunted, saw the beast proceed: Romance, o'erhovering, saw the monster die, And scarce herself believ'd the more than wond'rous deed.

And now, with more terrific mien, She quits the sad degenerate scene; With many a talisman of mightiest pow'r, Borne in a rubied car, sublime she flies, Fire-breathing griffins waft her thro' the skies; Around her head the innocuous tempest lowers, To Gallia's favour'd realm she goes, And quits her magic state, and plucks her lovely rose. Imagination waves her wizard wand, Dark shadows mantle o'er the land; The lightnings flash, the thunders sound, Convulsive throbs the labouring ground; What fiends, what monsters, circling round, arise! High towers of fire aloft aspire, Deep yells resound amid the skies, Yclad in arms, to Fame's alarms Her magic warrior flies.

Sound, Fame, thy loudest blast, For SPENSER pours the tender strain, And shapes to glowing forms the motley train; The elfin tribes around Await his potent sound, And o'er his head Romance her brightest splendors cast. Deep thro' the air let sorrow's banner wave! For penury o'er SPENSER's friendless head Her chilling mantle spread; For Genius cannot save! Virtue bedews the blameless poet's dust; But fame, exulting, clasps her favorite's laurel'd bust.

Fain would the grateful Muse, to thee, ROUSSEAU, Pour forth the energic thanks of gratitude; Fain would the raptur'd lyre ecstatic glow, To whom Romance and Nature form'd all good: Guide of my life, too weak these lays, To pour the unutterable praise; Thine aid divine for ever lend, Still as my guardian sprite attend; Unmov'd by Fashion's flaunting throng, Let my calm stream of life smooth its meek course along; Let no weak vanity dispense Her vapors o'er my better sense; But let my bosom glow with fire, Let me strike the soothing lyre, Altho' by all unheard the melodies expire.

BION.

FOOTNOTES:

Fictions of Romance, popular in Scandinavia at an early period.

Heliodorus chose rather to be deprived of his see than burn his Ethiopics. The bishop's name would have slept with his fathers, the romancer is remembered.

First exploit of the celebrated Regner Lodbrog.

Knights of the round table.

The Paladines of France.

Instead of forging the life of a saint, Archbishop Turpin was better employed in falsifying the history of Charlemagne.

A bull was issued, commanding all good citizens to believe Ariosto's poem, founded upon Turpin's history.

Arabian fictions ingrafted on the Gothic romance.

Romance of the Rose, written soon after the Crusades.

Early prose Romances, originally Spanish.

Fictions of Romance, allegorized by Spenser.

TO URBAN.

Lo! where the livid lightning flies With transient furious force, A moment's splendour streaks the skies, Where ruin marks its course: Then see how mild the font of day Expands the stream of light; Whilst living by the genial ray, All nature smiles delight.

So boisterous riot, on his course Uncurb'd by reason, flies; And lightning, like its fatal force, Soon lightning-like it dies: Whilst sober Temperance, still the same, Shall shun the scene of strife; And, like the sun's enlivening flame, Shall beam the lamp of life.

Let noise and folly seek the reign Where senseless riot rules; Let them enjoy the pleasures vain Enjoy'd alone by fools. URBAN! those better joys be ours, Which virtuous science knows, To pass in milder bliss the hours, Nor fear the future woes.

So when stern time their frames shall seize, When sorrow pays for sin; When every nerve shall feel disease, And conscience shrink within; Shall health's best blessings all be ours, The soul serene at ease, Whilst science gilds the passing hours, And every hour shall please.

Even now from solitude they fly, To drown each thought in noise; Even now they shun Reflection's eye, Depriv'd of man's best joys. So, when Time's unrelenting doom Shall bring the seasons' course, The busy monitor shall come With aggravated force.

Friendship is ours: best friend, who knows Each varied hour to employ; To share the lighted load of woes, And double every joy: And Science too shall lend her aid, The friend that never flies, But shines amid misfortune's shade As stars in midnight skies.

Each joy domestic bliss can know Shall deck the future hour; Or if we taste the cup of woe, The cup has lost its power: Thus, may we live, 'till death's keen spear, Unwish'd, unfear'd, shall come; Then sink, without one guilty fear, To slumber in the tomb.

BION.

THE MISER'S MANSION.

Thou mouldering mansion, whose embattled side Shakes as about to fall at every blast; Once the gay pile of splendor, wealth, and pride, But now the monument of grandeur past.

Fall'n fabric! pondering o'er thy time-trac'd walls, Thy mouldering, mighty, melancholy state; Each object, to the musing mind, recalls The sad vicissitudes of varying fate.

Thy tall towers tremble to the touch of time, The rank weeds rustle in thy spacious courts; Fill'd are thy wide canals with loathly slime, Where battening, undisturb'd, the foul toad sports.

Deep from her dismal dwelling yells the owl, The shrill bat flits around her dark retreat; And the hoarse daw, when loud the tempests howl, Screams as the wild winds shake her secret seat.

'Twas here AVARO dwelt, who daily told His useless heaps of wealth in selfish joy; Who lov'd to ruminate o'er hoarded gold, And hid those stores he dreaded to employ.

In vain to him benignant heaven bestow'd The golden heaps to render thousands blest; Smooth aged penury's laborious road, And heal the sorrows of affliction's breast.

For, like the serpent of romance, he lay Sleepless and stern to guard the golden sight; With ceaseless care he watch'd his heaps by day, With causeless fears he agoniz'd by night.

Ye honest rustics, whose diurnal toil Enrich'd the ample fields this churl possest; Say, ye who paid to him the annual spoil, With all his riches, was AVARO blest?

Rose he, like you, at morn devoid of fear, His anxious vigils o'er his gold to keep? Or sunk he, when the noiseless night was near, As calmly on his couch of down to sleep?

Thou wretch! thus curst with poverty of soul, What boot to thee the blessings fortune gave? What boots thy wealth above the world's controul, If riches doom their churlish lord a slave?

Chill'd at thy presence grew the stately halls, Nor longer echo'd to the song of mirth; The hand of art no more adorn'd thy walls, Nor blaz'd with hospitable fires the hearth.

On well-worn hinges turns the gate no more, Nor social friendship hastes the friend to meet; Nor when the accustom'd guest draws near the door, Run the glad dogs, and gambol round his feet.

Sullen and stern AVARO sat alone In anxious wealth amid the joyless hall, Nor heeds the chilly hearth with moss o'ergrown, Nor sees the green slime mark the mouldering wall.

For desolation o'er the fabric dwells, And time, on restless pinion, hurried by; Loud from her chimney'd seat the night-bird yells, And thro' the shatter'd roof descends the sky.

Thou melancholy mansion! much mine eye Delights to wander o'er thy sullen gloom, And mark the daw from yonder turret fly, And muse how man himself creates his doom.

And Charity had oped her golden store To work the gracious will of heaven intent, Fed from her superflux the craving poor, And paid adversity what heaven had lent.

Then had thy turrets stood in all their state, Then had the hand of art adorn'd thy wall, Swift on its well-worn hinges turn'd the gate, And friendly converse cheer'd the echoing hall.

Then had the village youth at vernal hour Hung round with flowery wreaths thy friendly gate, And blest in gratitude that sovereign power That made the man of mercy good as great.

The traveller then to view thy towers had stood, Whilst babes had lispt their benefactor's name, And call'd on heaven to give thee every good, And told abroad thy hospitable fame.

In every joy of life the hours had fled, Whilst time on downy pinions hurried by, 'Till age with silver hairs had grac'd thy head, Wean'd from the world, and taught thee how to die.

And, as thy liberal hand had shower'd around The ample wealth by lavish fortune given, Thy parted spirit had that justice found, And angels hymn'd the rich man's soul to heaven.

BION.

ELEGY.

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