And reason calls her boasted powers in vain:
Then change thy magic wand,
Thy dreadful troops disband,
And gentler shapes, and soster scenes disclose,
To melt the feeling heart, yet sooth its tenderest woes.
The servent prayer was heard.—With hideous sound,
Her ebon gates of darkness open flew;
A downing twilight cheers the dread profound;
The train of terror vanishes from view.
More mild enchantments rise;
New scenes salute my eyes,
Groves, fountains, bowers and temples grace the plain,
And turtles coo around, and nightingales complain.
And every myrtle bower and cypress grove,
And every solemn temple teems with life;
Here glows the scene with fond but hapless love,
There, with the deeper woes of humar strife
In groups around the lawn,
By fresh disasters drawn,
The sad spectators seem transfix'd in woe;
And pitying sighs are heard, and heart-felt sorrows flow.
Behold that beauteous maid! her languid head
Bends like a drooping lily charg'd with rain:
With floods of tears she bathes a lover dead,
In brave assertion of her honour slain.
Her bosom heaves with sighs;
To heaven she lifts her eyes,
With grief beyond the power of words opprest,
Sinks on the lifeless corse, and dies upon his breast.
How strong the bands of friendship? yet, alas!
Behind yon mouldering tower, with ivy crown'd,
Of two, the foremost in her sacred class,
One, from his friend, receives the fatal wound!
What could such fury move!
Ah what, but ill-star'd love!
The same sair object each fond heart enthralls,
And he, the favour'd youth, her hapless victim falls.
Can ought so deeply sway the generous mind
To mutual truth, as female trust in love?
Then, what relief shall yon fair mourner find,
Scorn'd by the man who should her plaints remove?
By fair, but false pretence,
She lost her innocence;
And that sweet babe, the fruit of treacherous art,
Clasp'd in her arms expires, and breaks the parent's heart.
Ah! who to pomp or grandeur would aspire?
Kings are not rais'd above misfortune's frown:
That form so graceful e'en in mean attire,
Sway'd once a sceptre, once sustain'd a crown.
From filial rage and strife,
To screen his closing life,
He quits his throne, father's sorrow feels,
And in the lap of want his patient head conceals.
More yet remain'd—but lo! the pensive queen
Appears consest before my dazzled sight,
Grace in her steps, and softness in her mien,
The face of sorrow mingled with delight.
Not such her nobler frame,
When kindling into flame,
And bold in virtue's cause, her zeal aspires
To waken guilty pangs, or breathe heroic sires.
Aw'd into silence, my rapt soul attends—
The power, with eyes complacent, saw my fear;
And, as with grace ineffable she bends,
These accents vibrate on my listening ear.
“Aspiring son of art,
“Know, though thy feeling heart
“Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown;
“Still may the Delian god thy powerless toils disown.
“A thousand tender scenes of soft distress
“May swell thy breast with sympathetic woes!
“A thousand such dread forms on fancy press,
“As from my dreary realms of darkness rose;
“Whence Shakspeare's chilling fears,
“Whence Otway's melting tears—
“That awful gloom, this melancholy plain,
“The types of every theme that suits the tragic strain.
“But dost thou worship nature night and morn,
“And all due honour to her precepts pay?
“Canst thou the lure of affectation scorn,
“Pleas'd in the simpler paths of truth to stay?
“Hast thou the graces fair
“Invok'd with ardent prayer?
“'Tis they attire, as nature must impart,
“The sentiments sublime, the language of the heart.
“Then, if creative genius pour his ray,
“Warm with the inspiring influence on thy breast;
“Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display,
“And the deep source of passion stand confest:
“Then may the listening train,
“Affected, feel thy strain;
“Feel grief or terror, rage or pity move;
“Change with the varying scenes, and every scene approve.”
Humbled before her sight, and bending low,
I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest;
Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow,
But fear upon my lip her seal imprest.
While awe-struck thus I stood,
The bowers, the lawn, the wood,
The form celestial, fading on my sight,
Dissolv'd in liquid air, and fleeting gleams of light.
Then change thy magic wand,
Thy dreadful troops disband,
And gentler shapes, and soster scenes disclose,
To melt the feeling heart, yet sooth its tenderest woes.
The servent prayer was heard.—With hideous sound,
Her ebon gates of darkness open flew;
A downing twilight cheers the dread profound;
The train of terror vanishes from view.
More mild enchantments rise;
New scenes salute my eyes,
Groves, fountains, bowers and temples grace the plain,
And turtles coo around, and nightingales complain.
And every myrtle bower and cypress grove,
And every solemn temple teems with life;
Here glows the scene with fond but hapless love,
There, with the deeper woes of humar strife
In groups around the lawn,
By fresh disasters drawn,
The sad spectators seem transfix'd in woe;
And pitying sighs are heard, and heart-felt sorrows flow.
Behold that beauteous maid! her languid head
Bends like a drooping lily charg'd with rain:
With floods of tears she bathes a lover dead,
In brave assertion of her honour slain.
Her bosom heaves with sighs;
To heaven she lifts her eyes,
With grief beyond the power of words opprest,
Sinks on the lifeless corse, and dies upon his breast.
How strong the bands of friendship? yet, alas!
Behind yon mouldering tower, with ivy crown'd,
Of two, the foremost in her sacred class,
One, from his friend, receives the fatal wound!
What could such fury move!
Ah what, but ill-star'd love!
The same sair object each fond heart enthralls,
And he, the favour'd youth, her hapless victim falls.
Can ought so deeply sway the generous mind
To mutual truth, as female trust in love?
Then, what relief shall yon fair mourner find,
Scorn'd by the man who should her plaints remove?
By fair, but false pretence,
She lost her innocence;
And that sweet babe, the fruit of treacherous art,
Clasp'd in her arms expires, and breaks the parent's heart.
Ah! who to pomp or grandeur would aspire?
Kings are not rais'd above misfortune's frown:
That form so graceful e'en in mean attire,
Sway'd once a sceptre, once sustain'd a crown.
From filial rage and strife,
To screen his closing life,
He quits his throne, father's sorrow feels,
And in the lap of want his patient head conceals.
More yet remain'd—but lo! the pensive queen
Appears consest before my dazzled sight,
Grace in her steps, and softness in her mien,
The face of sorrow mingled with delight.
Not such her nobler frame,
When kindling into flame,
And bold in virtue's cause, her zeal aspires
To waken guilty pangs, or breathe heroic sires.
Aw'd into silence, my rapt soul attends—
The power, with eyes complacent, saw my fear;
And, as with grace ineffable she bends,
These accents vibrate on my listening ear.
“Aspiring son of art,
“Know, though thy feeling heart
“Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown;
“Still may the Delian god thy powerless toils disown.
“A thousand tender scenes of soft distress
“May swell thy breast with sympathetic woes!
“A thousand such dread forms on fancy press,
“As from my dreary realms of darkness rose;
“Whence Shakspeare's chilling fears,
“Whence Otway's melting tears—
“That awful gloom, this melancholy plain,
“The types of every theme that suits the tragic strain.
“But dost thou worship nature night and morn,
“And all due honour to her precepts pay?
“Canst thou the lure of affectation scorn,
“Pleas'd in the simpler paths of truth to stay?
“Hast thou the graces fair
“Invok'd with ardent prayer?
“'Tis they attire, as nature must impart,
“The sentiments sublime, the language of the heart.
“Then, if creative genius pour his ray,
“Warm with the inspiring influence on thy breast;
“Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display,
“And the deep source of passion stand confest:
“Then may the listening train,
“Affected, feel thy strain;
“Feel grief or terror, rage or pity move;
“Change with the varying scenes, and every scene approve.”
Humbled before her sight, and bending low,
I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest;
Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow,
But fear upon my lip her seal imprest.
While awe-struck thus I stood,
The bowers, the lawn, the wood,
The form celestial, fading on my sight,
Dissolv'd in liquid air, and fleeting gleams of light.