Classic Poem

O voice divine, whose heavenly strain
No mortal measure may attain,
O powerful to appease the smart,
That festers in a wounded heart,
Whose mystic numbers can assuage
The bosom of tumultuous Rage,
Can strike the dagger from Despair,
And shut the watchful eye of Care.
Oft lur'd by thee, when wretches call,
Hope comes, that cheers or softens all;
Expell'd by thee and dispossest,
Envy forsakes the human breast.
Full oft with thee the bard retires,
And lost to earth, to Heav'n aspires;
How nobly lost! with thee to rove
Through the long deepening solemn grove,
Or underneath the moonlight pale,
To Silence trust some plaintive tale
Of Nature's ills, and mankind's woes,
While kings and all the proud repose;
Or where some holy aged oak
A stranger to the woodman's stroke,
From the high rock's airial crown
In twisting arches bending down,
Bathes in the smooth pellucid stream;
Full oft he waits the mystic dream
Of mankind's joys right understood,
And of the all-prevailing good.
Go forth invok'd, O voice Divine!
And issue from thy sacred shrine;
Go search each solitude around,
Where Contemplation may be found,
Where'er apart the goddess stands
With lifted eyes and heaven-rais'd hands;
If rear'd on Speculation's hill
Her raptur'd soul enjoys its fill
Of far transporting Nature's scene,
Air, ocean, mountain, river, plain;
Or if with measur'd step she go
Where Meditation spreads below
In hollow vale her ample store,
'Till weary Fancy can no more;
Or inward if she turn her gaze,
And all the' internal world surveys;
With joy complacent sees succeed,
In fair array, each comely deed.
She hears alone thy lofty strain,
All other music charms in vain;
In vain the sprightly notes resound,
That from the fretted roofs rebound,
When the deft minstrelsy advance
To form the quaint and orbed dance;
In vain unhallow'd lips implore,
She hearkens only to thy lore.
Then bring the lonely nymph along,
Obsequious to thy magic song;
Bid her to bless the secret bow'r
And heighten Wisdom's solemn hour.
Bring Faith, endued with eagle eyes,
That joins this earth to distant skies;
Bland Hope that makes each sorrow less,
Still smiling calm amidst distress;
And bring the meek ey'd Charity,
Not least, though youngest of the three:
Knowledge the sage, whose radiant light,
Darts quick across the mental Night,
And add warm Friendship to the train,
Social, yielding, and humane;
With Silence, sober-suited maid,
Seldom on this earth survey'd:
Bid in this sacred band appear,
That aged venerable Seer,
With sorrowing pale, with watchings spare,
Of pleasing yet dejected air,
Him, heavenly Melancholy hight,
Who flies the sons of false delight,
Now looks serene through human life,
Sees end in peace the moral strife,
Now to the dazzling prospect blind,
Trembles for Heaven and for his kind,
And doubting much, still hoping best,
Late with submission finds his rest:
And by his side advance the dame
All glowing with celestial flame,
Devotion, high above that soars,
And sings exulting, and adores,
Dares fix on Heav'n a mortal's gaze,
And triumph 'midst the Seraph's blaze;
Last to crown all, with these be join'd
The decent nun, fair Peace of Mind,
Whom Innocence, ere yet betray'd,
Bore young in Eden's happy shade:
Resign'd, contented, meek and mild,
Of blameless mother, blameless child.
But from these woods, O thou retire!
Hood-wink'd Superstition dire:
Zeal that clanks her iron bands,
And bathes in blood her ruthless hands;
Far hence Hypocrisy away,
With pious semblance to betray,
Whose angel outside fair, contains
A heart corrupt, and foul with stains;
Ambition mad, that stems alone
The boistrous surge, with bladders blown;
Anger, with wild disorder'd pace;
And Malice pale of famish'd face;
Loud-tongued Clamour, get thee far
Hence, to wrangle at the bar;
With opening mouths vain Rumour hung;
And Falshood with her serpent-tongue;
Revenge, her bloodshot eyes on fire,
And hissing Envy's snaky tire;
With Jealousy, the fiend most fell
Who bears about his inmate hell;
Now far apart with haggard mien
To lone Suspicion list'ning seen,
Now in a gloomy band appears
Of sallow Doubts, and pale-ey'd Fears,
Whom dire Remorse of giant kind
Pursues with scorpion-lash behind;
And thou Self-love, who tak'st from earth,
With the vile crawling worm, thy birth,
Untouch'd with others' joy or pain,
The social smile, the tear humane,
Thy Self thy sole intemperate guest,
Uncall'd thy neighbour to the feast,
As if Heaven's universal heir
'Twas thine to seize and not to share:
With these away, base wretch accurst,
By pride begot, by madness nurst,
Impiety! of harden'd mind,
Gross, dull, presuming, stubborn, blind,
Unmov'd amidst this mighty all,
Deaf to the universal call:
In vain above the systems glow,
In vain earth spreads her charms below,
Contiding in himself to rise,
He hurls defiance to the skies,
And, steel'd in dire and impious deeds,
Blasphemes his feeder whilst he feeds.
But chiefly Love, Love far off fly,
Nor interrupt my privacy;
'Tis not for thee, capricious pow'r;
Weak tyrant of a feverish hour,
Fickle, and ever in extremes,
My radiant day of reason beams,
And sober Contemplation's ear
Disdains thy syren song to hear,
Speed thee on changeful wings away,
To where thy willing slaves obey,
Go, herd amongst thy wonted train,
The false, the' inconstant, lewd and vain;
Thou hast no subject here, begone,
Contemplation comes anon.
Above, below, and all around,
Now nought but awful Quiet's found,
The feeling air forgets to move,
No zephyr stirs the leafy grove;
The gentlest murmur of the rill,
Struck by the potent charm, is still;
Each passion in this troubled breast,
So toiling once, lies hush'd to rest,
Whate'er man's bustling race employs,
His cares, his hopes, his fears, his joys,
Ambition, pleasure, interest, fame,
Each nothing of important name;
Ye tyrants of this restless ball
This grove annihilates you all.
Oh power unseen, yet felt, appear!
Sure something more than Nature's here.
Now on the flowering turf I lie,
My soul conversing with the sky:
Far lost in the bewildering dream
I wander o'er each lofty theme;
Tow'r on Inquiry's wings on high,
And soar the heights of Deity:
Fain would I search the perfect laws
That constant bind the' unerring cause:
Why all its children, born to share
Alike a father's equal care,
Some weep by partial Fate undone,
The ravish'd portion of a son;
Whilst he whose swelling cup o'erflows,
Heeds not his suffering brother's woes;
The Good, their virtues all forgot,
Mourn need severe, their destin'd lot;
While Vice, invited by the great,
Feasts under canopies of state.
Ah! when we see the bad preferr'd,
Was it eternal Justice err'd?
Or when the good could not prevail,
How could Almighty prowess fail?
When underneath the' oppressor's blow
Afflicted Innocence lies low,
Has not the' All-seeing eye beheld?
Or has a stronger arm repell'd?
When death dissolves this brittle frame,
Lies ever quench'd the soul's bright flame?
Or shall the' ethereal breath of day
Relume once more this living ray?
From life escape we all in vain?
Heaven finds its creature out again,
Again its captive to controul,
And drive him to another goal.
When Time shall let his curtain fall,
Must dreary nothing swallow all?
Must we the' unfinish'd piece deplore,
Ere half the pompous piece be o'er?
In his all-comprehensive mind,
Shall not the' almighty poet find
Some reconciling turn of fate
To make his wondrous work complete,
To finish fair his mingled plan,
And justify his ways to man?
But who shall draw these veils that lie
Unpierc'd by the keen cherub's eye? —
Cease, cease, the daring flight give o'er,
Thine to submit and to adore
Learn then: into thyself descend,
To know thy being's use and end,
For thee what Nature's kind intent,
Or on what fatal journey bent.
Is mean self-love the only guide?
Must all be sacrific'd to pride?
What sacred fountains then supply
The feeling heart and melting eye?
Why does the pleading look disarm
The hand of Rage with slaughter warm?
Or in the battle's generous strife,
Does Britain quell the lust of life?
Next the bold inquiry tries
To trace our various passions' rise;
This moment Hope exalts the breast,
The next it sinks by Fear deprest;
Now fierce the storms of Wrath begin,
Now all is holy calm within.
What strikes Ambition's stubborn springs,
What moves Compassion's softer strings;
How we in constant friendships join,
How in constant hates combine;
How Nature, for her favourite man
Unfolds the wonders of her plan;
How, fond to treat her chosen guest,
Provides for every sense a feast;
Gives to the wide excursive eye
The radiant glories of the sky;
Or bids each odorous bloom exhale
His soul to' enrich the balmy gale;
Or pour upon the' enchanted ear
The music of the opening year;
Or bids the limpid fountain burst,
Friendly to life, and cool to thirst;
What arts the beauteous dame employs
To lead us on to genial joys,
When in her specious work we join
To propagate her fair design,
The virgin-face divine appears
In bloom of youth and prime of years,
And ere the destin'd heart's aware
Fixes Mommia's image there.
Ah me! what helpless have I said?
Unhappy by myself betray'd!
I deem'd, but ah I deem'd in vain,
From the dear image to refrain;
For when I fixt my musing thought,
Far on solemn views remote;
When wandering in the uncertain round
Of mazy Doubt, no end I found;
O my unblest and erring feet!
What most I sought to shun, ye meet.
Come then my serious Maid again:
Come and try another strain;
Come and Nature's dome explore,
Where dwells retir'd the matron hoar;
There her wondrous works survey,
And drive the' intruder Love away.
'Tis done: — ascending Heaven's height,
Contemplation take thy flight:
Behold the sun, through Heaven's wide space,
Strong as a giant, run his race:
Behold the moon, exert her light,
As blushing bride on her love-night:
Behold the sister starry train,
Her bride-maids, mount the azure plain:
See where the snows their treasures keep;
The chambers where the loud winds sleep;
Where the collected rains abide
Till Heav'n set all its windows wide,
Precipitate from high to pour
And drown in violence of show'r:
Or gently strain'd they wash the earth,
And give the tender fruits a birth.
See where Thunder springs his mine;
Where the paths of lightning shine:
Or tir'd those heights still to pursue,
From Heav'n descending with the dew,
That soft impregns the youthful mead,
Where thousand flow'rs exalt the head,
Mark how Nature's hand bestows
Abundant grace on all that grows,
Tinges, with pencil slow unseen,
The grass that clothes the valley green;
Or spreads the tulip's parted streaks,
Or sanguine dyes the rose's cheeks,
Or points with light Monimia's eyes,
And forms her bosom's beauteous rise.
Ah! haunting spirit, art thou there?
Forbidden in these walks to' appear.
I thought, O Love! thou would'st disdain
To mix with Wisdom's black-stay'd train;
But when my curious searching look
A nice survey of Nature took,
Well pleas'd the matron set to show
Her mistress-work, on earth below.
Then fruitless Knowledge turn aside;
What other art remains untried
This load of anguish to remove,
And heal the cruel wounds of Love?
To Friendship's sacred force apply
That source of tenderness and joy,
A joy no anxious fears profane,
A tenderness that feels no pain:
Friendship shall all these ills appease,
And give the tortur'd mourner ease.
The' indissoluble tie, that binds
In equal chains, two sister minds:
Not such as servile interests choose,
From partial ends and sordid views;
Nor when the midnight banquet fires,
The choice of wine-inflam'd desires;
When the short fellowships proceed,
From casual mirth and wicked deed;
Till the next morn estranges quite
The partners of one guilty night;
But such as judgment long has weigh'd.
And years of faithfulness have tried,
Whose tender mind is fram'd to share
The equal portion of my care,
Whose thoughts my happiness employs
Sincere, who triumphs in my joys,
With whom in raptures I may stray,
Through Study's long and pathless way,
Obscurely blest, in joys, alone,
To the' excluded world unknown.
Forsook the weak fantastic train
Of Flattery, Mirth, all false and vain;
On whose soft and gentle breast
My weary soul may take her rest,
While the still tender look and kind,
Fair springing from the spotless mind,
My perfected delights ensure
To last immortal, free and pure.
Grant, Heav'n, if Heav'n means bliss for me,
Monimia such, and long may he.
Here, here again! how just my fear!
Love ever finds admittance here;
The cruel sprite intent on harm,
Has quite dissolv'd the feeble charm;
Assuming Friendship's saintly guise,
Has past the cheated sentry's eyes,
And once attain'd his hellish end,
Displays the undissembled fiend.
O say! my faithful fair ally,
How did'st thou let the traitor by?
I from the desert bade thee come,
Invok'd thee from thy peaceful home,
More to sublime my solemn hour,
And curse this demon's fatal pow'r;
Lo! by superior force opprest,
Thou these three several times hast blest.
Shall we the magic rites pursue,
When love is mightier far than thou? —
Yes come, in blest enchantment skill'd,
Another altar let us build;
Go forth as wont, and try to find,
Where'er Devotion lies reclin'd;
Thou her fair friend, by Heaven's decree
Art one with her, and she with thee.
Devotion come with sober pace,
Full of thought and full of grace;
While humbled on the earth I lie,
Wrapt in the vision of the sky,
To noble heights and solemn views
Wing my Heav'n-aspiring Muse;
Teach me to scorn, by thee refin'd,
The low delights of human kind:
Sure thine to put to flight the boy
Of laughter, sport, and idle joy.
O plant these guarded groves about,
And keep the treacherous felon out.
Now, see! the spreading gates unfold,
Display'd the sacred leaves of gold.
Let me with holy awe repair,
To the solemn house of prayer:
And as I go, O thou! my heart,
Forget each low and earthly part:
Religion enter in my breast,
A mild and venerable guest!
Put off, in Contemplation drown'd,
Each thought impure on holy ground,
And cautious tread with awful fear
The courts of Heav'n; — for God is here.
Now my grateful voice I raise,
Ye angels swell a mortal's praise,
To charm with your own harmony
The ear of Him who sits on high.
Grant me, propitious heav'nly Pow'r,
Whose love benign we feel each hour,
An equal lot on earth to share,
Nor rich, nor poor, my humble pray'r,
Lest I forget, exalted proud,
The hand supreme that gave the good;
Lest want o'er virtue should prevail,
And I put forth my hand and steal;
But if thy sovereign will shall grant
The wealth I neither ask nor want;
May I the Widow's need supply,
And wipe the tear from Sorrow's eye;
May the weary wanderer's feet
From me a blest reception meet!
But if contempt and low estate
Be the assignment of my fate,
O! may no hope of gain entice
To tread the green broad path of Vice.
And bounteous, O! vouchsafe to clear
The errors of a mind sincere.
Illumine thou my searching mind,
Groping after Truth and blind.
With stores of Science be it fraught
That bards have dream'd, or sages taught;
And chief the Heav'n-born strain impart,
A Muse according to thy heart;
That rapt in sacred ecstasy,
I may sing and sing of thee;
Mankind instructing in thy laws,
Blest poet in fair Virtue's cause,
Her former merit to restore,
And make mankind again adore,
As when conversant with the great,
She fixt in palaces her seat.
Before her all-revealing ray,
Each sordid passion should decay:
Ambition shuns the dreaded Dame,
And pales his ineffectual flame;
Wealth sighs her triumphs to behold,
And offers all his sums of gold;
She in her chariot seen to ride,
A noble train attend her side:
A Cherub first, in prime of years,
The champion Fortitude appears;
Next Temperance, sober mistress, seen
With look compos'd and cheerful mien;
Calm Patience, still victorious found,
With never-fading glories crown'd;
Firm Justice last the balance rears,
The good man's praise, the bad man's fears;
While chief in beauty as in place
She charms with dear Monimia's grace.
Monimia still! here once again!
O! fatal name. Oh dubious strain!
Say heav'n-born Virtue, pow'r divine,
Are all these various movements thine?
Was it thy triumphs, sole inspir'd
My soul to holy transports fir'd?
Or say do springs less sacred move?
Ah! much I fear, it's human love.
Alas! the noble strife is o'er,
The blissful visions charm no more;
Far off the glorious rapture flown,
Monimia rages here alone.
In vain, Love's fugitive, I try
From the commanding pow'r to fly,
Though Grace was dawning on my soul,
Possest by Heav'n sincere and whole,
Yet still in Fancy's painted cells
The soul-inflaming image dwells.
Why didst thou, cruel Love, again
Thus drag me back, to earth and pain?
Well hop'd I, Love, thou would'st retire
Before the blest Jessean lyre.
Devotion's harp would charm to rest
The evil spirit in my breast;
But the deaf adder fell disdains,
Unlistening to the chanter's strains.
Contemplation, baffled Maid,
Remains there yet no other aid?
Helpless and weary must thou yield
To Love supreme in every field?
Let Melancholy last engage,
Reverend hoary-mantled sage.
Sure, at his sable flag's display
Love's idle troop will flit away:
And bring with him his due compeer,
Silence, sad, forlorn, and drear.
Haste thee, Silence, haste and go,
To search the gloomy world below.
My trembling steps, O Sybil! lead
Through the dominions of the dead:
Where Care, enjoying soft repose,
Lays down the burden of his woes;
Where meritorious Want, no more
Shivering begs at Grandeur's door;
Unconscious Grandeur, seal'd his eyes,
On the mouldering purple lies.
In the dim and dreary round,
Speech in eternal chains lies bound:
And see a tomb, it's gates display'd,
Expands an everlasting shade.
O ye inhabitants, that dwell
Each forgotten in your cell,
O say, for whom of human race
Has fate decreed this hiding place?
And hark! methinks a spirit calls,
Low winds the whisper round the walls,
A voice, the sluggish air that breaks,
Solemn amid the silence speaks.
Mistaken man, thou seek'st to know
What known will but afflict with woe;
There thy Monimia shall abide,
With the pale bridegroom rest a bride,
The wan assistants there shall lay,
In weeds of death, her beauteous clay.
O words of woe! what do I hear?
What sounds invade a lover's ear?
Must then thy charms, my anxious care,
The fate of vulgar beauty share?
Good Heav'n retard (for thine the pow'r)
The wheels of time, that roll the hour! —
Yet ah! why swells my breast with fears?
Why start the interdicted tears?
Love dost thou tempt again? depart
Thou devil, cast out from my heart.
Sad I forsook the feast, the ball,
The sunny bow'r and lofty hall,
And sought the dungeon of despair;
Yet thou overtak'st me there.
How little dream'd I thee to find
In this lone state of human kind?
Nor melancholy can prevail,
The direful deed, nor dismal tale:
Hop'd I for these thou would'st remove?
How near akin is Grief to Love!
Then no more I strive to shun
Love's chains: O Heav'n! thy will be done.
The best Physician here I find,
To cure a sore diseased mind,
For soon this venerable gloom
Will yield a weary sufferer room;
No more a slave to Love decreed,
At ease and free among the dead.
Come then, ye tears, ne'er cease to flow,
In full satiety of woe:
Though now the maid my heart alarms,
Severe and mighty in her charms,
Doom'd to obey, in bondage prest,
The tyrant Love's commands unblest;
Pass but some fleeting moments o'er,
This rebel heart shall beat no more;
Then from my dark and closing eye
The form belov'd shall ever fly.
The tyranny of Love shall cease,
Both laid down to sleep in peace;
To share alike our mortal lot,
Her beauties and my cares forgot.