Patient, because Eternal,(1) He may hear
Thy prayer of agony with pitying ear,
And send his chastening spirit from above,
O'er the deep chaos of thy soul to move.
But seek thou mercy through His name alone,
To whose unequalled sorrows none was shown.
Through Him, who here in mortal garb abode,
As man to suffer, and to heal as God!
And, born the sons of utmost time to bless,
Endured all scorn, and aided all distress.
Yet not the less be shattered on its height,
By one dread moment of the earthquake's might
A thousand pangs thy bosom may have borne,
In silent fortitude, or haughty scorn,
Till comes the one, the master-anguish, sent
To break the mighty heart that ne'er was bent.
Oh! what is nature's strength? the vacant eye,
By mind deserted, hath a dread reply!
The wild delirious laughter of despair,
The mirth of frenzy-seek an answer there!
Turn not away, though pity's cheek grow pale,
Close not thine ear against their awful tale.
They tell thee, reason, wandering from the ray
Call thou on Him-for He, in human form,
Hath walked the waves of Life, and stilled the
storm,
He, when her hour of lingering grace was past, Of Faith, the blazing pillar of her way,
O'er Salem wept, relenting to the last,
Wept with such tears as Judah's monarch poured
O'er his lost child, ungrateful, yet deplored;
And, offering guiltless blood that guilt might live,
Taught from his Cross the lesson-to forgive!
Call thou on him-his prayer e'en then arose,
Breathed in unpitied anguish, for his foes.
In the mid-darkness of the stormy wave,
Forsook the struggling soul she could not save!
Weep not, sad moralist! o'er desert plains,
Strewed with the wrecks of grandeur-moulder-
ing fanes,
Arches of triumph, long with weeds o'ergrown
And regal cities, now the serpent's own:
And haste!-ere bursts the lightning from on high, Earth has more awful ruins-one lost mind,
Fly to the City of thy Refuge, fly!(2)
So shall th' Avenger turn his steps away,
And sheath his falchion, baffled of its prey.
Yet must long days roll on, ere peace shall brood,
As the soft Halcyon, o'er thy heart subdued;
Ere yet the dove of Heaven descend, to shed
Inspiring influence o'er thy fallen head.
Whose star is quenched, hath lessons for mankind,
Of deeper import than each prostrate dome,
Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome.
But who with eye unshrinking shall explore
That waste, illumed by reason's beam no more?
Who pierce the deep, mysterious clouds that roll
Around the shattered temple of the soul,
-He who hath pined in dungeons, 'midst the Curtained with midnight?-low its columns lie, shade
Of such deep night as man for man hath made,
-Through lingering years; if called at length to be
Once more, by nature's boundless charter, free,
Shrinks feebly back, the blaze of noon to shun,
Fainting at day, and blasted by the sun!
Thus, when the captive soul hath long remained
In its own dread abyss of darkness chained,
If the Deliverer, in his might, at last,
Its fetters, born of earth, to earth should cast,
The beam of truth o'erpowers its dazzled sight,
Trembling it sinks, and finds no joy in light.
But this will pass away-that spark of mind,
Within thy frame unquenchably enshrined,
Shall live to triump in its brightening ray,
Born to be fostered with ethereal day.
Then wilt thou bless the hour, when o'er thee
passed,
On wing of flame the purifying blast,
And sorrow's voice, through paths before untrod,
Like Sinai's trumpet, called thee to thy God!
But hopest thou, in thy panoply of pride,
Heaven's messenger, affliction, to deride?
In thine own strength unaided to defy,
With Stoic smile, the arrows of the sky?
Torn by the vulture, fettered to the rock,
Still, Demigod! the tempest wilt thou mock?
Alas! the tower that crests the mountain brow
A thousand years may awe the vale below,
And dark the chambers of its imagery ?(3)
Sunk are its idols now-and God alone
May rear the fabric by their fall o'erthrown!
Yet from its inmost shrine, by storms laid bare,
Is heard an oracle that cries-" Beware!
Child of the dust! but ransomed of the skies!
One breath of Heaven-and thus thy glory dies!
Haste ere the hour of doom, draw nigh to Him
Who dwells above between the cherubim!">
Spirit dethroned! and checked in mid career,
Son of the morning! exiled from the sphere,
Tell us thy tale!-Perchance thy race was run
With science, in the chariot of the sun;
Free as the winds the paths of space to sweep,
Traverse the untrodden kingdoms of the deep,
And search the laws that Nature's springs con-
trol,
There tracing all-save Him who guides the
whole.
Haply thine eye its ardent glance had cast
Through the dim shades, the portals of the past;
By the bright lamp of thought thy care had fed
From the far beacon-lights of ages fled,
The depths of time exploring, to retrace
The glorious march of many a vanished race.
Or did thy power pervade the living lyre,
Till its deep chords became instinct with fire,
Silenced all meaner notes, and swelled on high,
Full and alone, their mighty harmony,
While woke each passion from its cell profound,
And nations started at th' electric sound?
Lord of th' Ascendant! what avails it now,
Though bright the laurels waved upon thy brow?
What, though thy name through distant empires
heard,
Bade the heart bound as doth a battle-word?
Was it for this thy still unwearied eye
Kept vigil with the watch-fires of the sky,
To make the secrets of all ages thine,
And commune with majestic thoughts that shine
O'er Time's long shadowy pathway?-hath thy
mind
Severed its lone dominions from mankind,
For this to woo their homage?—Thou hast sought
All, save the wisdom with salvation fraught,
Won every wreath—but that which will not die,
Nor aught neglected-save eternity!
And did all fail thee, in the hour of wrath,
When burst th' o'erwhelming vials on thy path?
Could not the voice of Fame inspire thee then,
O spirit! sceptred by the sons of men,
With an Immortal's courage to sustain
The transient agonies of earthly pain?
A thousand rocks, deep-hid, elude our sight,
A star may set-and we are lost in night;
A breeze may waft us to the whirlpool's brink,
A treach'rous song allure us-and we sink!
Oh! by His love, who, veiling Godhead's light,
To moments circumscribed the Infinite,
And Heaven and Earth disdained not to ally
By that dread union-Man with Deity;
Immortal tears o'er mortal woes who shed,
And, ere he raised them, wept above the dead;
Save, or we perish!-let thy word control
The earthquakes of that universe—the soul;
Pervade the depths of passion-speak once more
The mighty mandate, guard of every shore,
"Here shall thy waves be stayed"-in grief, in pain,
The fearful poise of reason's sphere maintain,
Thou, by whom suns are balanced!—thus secure
In Thee shall Faith and Fortitude endure;
Conscious of Thee, unfaltering shall the just
Look upward still, in high and holy trust,
And, by affliction guided to Thy shrine,
The first, last thought of suffering hearts be Thine.
And oh! be near, when clothed with conquer-
ing power,
-One, one there was,, all-powerful to have The King of Terrors claims his own dread hour; saved,
When the loud fury of the billow raved;
When on the edge of that unknown abyss,
Which darkly parts us from the realm of bliss,
But Him thou knewest not-and the light he lent | Awe-struck alike the timid and the brave,
Hath vanished from its ruined tenement,
But left thee breathing, moving, lingering yet,
A thing we shrink from-vainly to forget;
Lift the dread veil no further-hide, oh! hide
The bleeding form, the couch of suicide!
The dagger grasped in death-the brow, the eye,
Lifeless, yet stamped with rage and agony;
The soul's dark traces left in many a line
Graved on his mien, who died,-" and made no
sign!"
Approach not, gaze not-lest thy fevered brain
Too deep that image of despair retain;
Angels of slumber! o'er the midnight hour,
Let not such visions claim unhallowed power,
Let the mind sink with terror, and above
See but th' Avenger's arm, forgot th' Atoner's
love!
Alike subdued the monarch and the slave,
Must drink the cup of trembling(4)—when we see
Nought in the universe but death and Thee,
Forsake us not;-if still, when life was young,
Faith to Thy bosom, as her home, hath sprung,
If Hope's retreat hath been, through all the past,
The shadow by the Rock of Ages cast,
Father, forsake us not!-when tortures urge
The shrinking soul to that mysterious verge,
When from Thy justice to Thy love we fly,
On Nature's conflict look with pitying eye,
Bid the strong wind, the fire, the earthquake cease,
Come in the still small voice, and whisper-
peace!(5)
For oh! 't is awful-He that hath beheld
The parting spirit, by its fears repelled,
Cling in weak terror to its earthly chain,
O Thou! th' unseen, th' all-seeing!-Thou And from the dizzy brink recoil, in vain;
Mantled with darkness, mock all finite gaze,
Before whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand,
Seraph and man, alike in weakness stand,
And countless ages, trampling into clay
Earth's empires on their march, are but a day;
Father of worlds unknown, unnumbered!-Thou,
With whom all time is one eternal now,
He that hath seen the last convulsive throe
Dissolve the union formed and closed in wo,
Well knows, that hour is awful.-In the pride
Of youth and health, by sufferings yet untried,
We talk of Death as something, which 't were
sweet
In Glory's arms exultingly to meet,
A closing triumph, a majestic scene,
Who know'st no past, no future-Thou whose Where gazing nations watch the hero's mien, breath
Goes forth, and bears to myriads, life or death!
Look on us, guide us!-wanderers of a sea
Wild and obscure, what are we, reft of Thee?
As, undismayed amidst the tears of all,
He folds his mantle, regally to fall!
Hush, fond enthusiast!-still, obscure, and lone,
Yet not less terrible because unknown,
Is the last hour of thousands-they retire
From life's thronged path, unnoticed to expire,
As the light leaf, whose fall to ruin bears
Some trembling insect's little world of cares,
Descends in silence-while around waves on
The mighty forest, reckless what is gone!
Such is man's doom—and, ere an hour be flown,
-Start not, thou trifler!—such may be thine own.
But as life's current in its ebb draws near
The shadowy gulf, there wakes a thought of fear,
A thrilling thought, which, haply mocked before,
We fain would stifle-but it sleeps no more!
There are, who fly its murmurs 'midst the throng,
That join the masque of revelry and song,
Yet still Death's image, by its power restored,
Frowns 'midst the roses of the festal board,
And, when deep shades o'er earth and ocean
brood,
And the heart owns the might of solitude,
Is its low whisper heard-a note profound,
But wild and startling as the trumpet-sound,
That bursts, with sudden blast, the dead repose
Of some proud city, stormed by midnight foes!
Oh! vainly reason's scornful voice would prove
That life hath nought to claim such lingering love,
And ask, if e'er the captive, half unchained,
Clung to the links which yet his step restrained.
In vain philosophy, with tranquil pride,
Though the frame shudder, and the spirit sigh,
They have their source in immortality!
Whence, then, shall strength, which reason's aid
denies,
An equal to the mortal conflict rise?
When, on the swift pale horse, whose lightning
Where'er we fly, still wins the dreadful race,
The mighty rider comes-oh! whence shall aid
Be drawn, to meet their rushing, undismayed?
-Whence, but from thee, Messiah !—thou hast
drained
The bitter cup, till not the dregs remained;
To thee the struggle and the pang were known,
The mystic horror-all became thine own!
But did.no hand celestial succour bring,
Till scorn and anguish haply lost their sting?
Came not th' Archangel, in the final hour,
To arm thee with invulnerable power?
No, Son of God! upon thy sacred head,
The shafts of wrath their tenfold fury shed,
From man averted-and thy path on high
Passed through the strait of fiercest agony;
For thus th' Eternal, with propitious eyes,
Received the last, th' almighty sacrifice!
But wake! be glad, ye nations! from the tomb
Is won the victory, and is fled the gloom!
The vale of death in conquest hath been trod,
Would mock the feelings she perchance can hide, Break forth in joy, ye ransomed! saith your God!
Call up the countless armies of the dead,
Point to the pathway beaten by their tread,
And say "What wouldst thou? Shall the fixed
decree,
Made for creation, be reversed for thee?"
-Poor, feeble aid!-proud Stoic! ask not why
It is enough, that nature shrinks to die!
Enough, that horror, which thy words upbraid,
Is her dread penalty, and must be paid!
Swell ye the raptures of the song afar,
And hail with harps your bright and morning star.
He rose! the everlasting gates of day
Received the King of Glory on his way!
The hope, the comforter of those who wept,
And the first-fruits of them, in Him that slept.
He rose, he triumphed! he will yet sustain
Frail nature sinking in the strife of pain.
Aided by Him, around the martyr's frame
-Search thy deep wisdom, solve the scarce de- When fiercely blazed a living shroud of flame,
Shall yield its hidden dead, and heaven and earth Should we not sink beneath our God's rebuke,
Hast thou no answer ?-then deride no more
The thoughts that shrink, yet cease not to explore
Th' unknown, th' unseen, the future-though the
heart,
As at unearthly sounds, before them start,
When o'er our heads the desolating blast, Fraught with inscrutable decrees, hath passed, And the stern power who seeks the noblest prey, Hath called our fairest and our best away? Should we not madden, when our eyes behold All that we loved in marble stillness cold,
No more responsive to our smile or sigh,
Fixed-frozen-silent-all mortality?
But for the promise, all shall yet be well,
Would not the spirit in its pangs rebel,
Beneath such clouds as darkened, when the hand
Of wrath lay heavy on our prostrate land,
And thou, just lent thy gladdened isles to bless,
Then snatched from earth with all thy loveliness,
With all a nation's blessings on thy head,
O England's flower! wert gathered to the dead?
But thou didst teach us. Thou to every heart,
Faith's lofty lesson didst thyself impart!
When fied the hope through all thy pangs which
smiled,
When thy young bosom, o'er thy lifeless child,
Yearned with vain longing-still thy patient eye,
To its last light, beamed holy constancy!
Torn from a lot in cloudless sunshine cast,
Amidst those agonies-thy first and last,
Thy pale lip, quivering with convulsive throes,
Breathed not a plaint-and settled in repose;
While bowed thy royal head to Him, whose power
Spoke in the fiat of that midnight hour,
Who from the brightest vision of a throne,
Love, glory, empire, claimed thee for his own,
And spread such terror o'er the sea-girt coast,
As blasted Israel, when her ark was lost!
"It is the will of God!"—yet, yet we hear
The words which closed thy beautiful career,
Yet should we mourn thee in thy blest abode,
But for that thought-" It is the will of God!"
Who shall arraign th' Eternal's dark decree,
If not one murmur then escaped from thee?
Oh! still, though vanishing without a trace,
Thou hast not left one scion of thy race,
Still may thy memory bloom our vales among,
Hallowed by freedom, and enshrined in song!
Still may thy pure, majestic spirit dwell,
Bright on the isles which loved thy name so well,
E'en as an angel, with presiding care,
To wake and guard thine own high virtues there.
For lo! the hour when storm presaging skies
Call on the watchers of the land to rise,
To set the sign of fire on every height,(6)
And o'er the mountains rear, with patriot might,
Prepared, if summoned, in its cause to die,
The banner of our faith, the Cross of victory!
By this hath England conquered-field and
flood
Have owned her sovereignty-alone she stood, When chains o'er all the sceptred earth were thrown,
In high and holy singleness, alone,
But mighty in her God-and shall she now
Forget before th' Omnipotent to bow?
From the bright fountain of her glory turn,
Or bid strange fire upon his altars burn?
No! severed land, midst rocks and billows rude,
Throned in thy majesty of solitude,
Still in the deep asylum of thy breast
Shall the pure elements of greatness rest, Virtue and faith, the tutelary powers,
Thy hearths that hallow, and defend thy towers!
Still, where thy hamlet-vales, O chosen isle!
In the soft beauty of their verdure smile,
Where yew and elm o'ershade the lowly fanes,
That guard the peasant's records and remains,
May the blest echoes of the Sabbath-bell
Sweet on the quiet of the woodlands swell,
And from each cottage-dwelling of thy glades,
When starlight glimmers through the deepening
shades,
Devotion's voice in choral hymns arise,
And bear the Land's warm incense to the skies.
There may the mother, as with anxious joy
To Heaven her lessons consecrate her boy,
Teach his young accents still the immortal lays
Of Zion's bards, in inspiration's days,
When Angels, whispering through the cedar's
shade,
Prophetic tones to Judah's harp conveyed;
And as, her soul all glistening in her eyes,
She bids the prayer of infancy arise,
Tell of his name, who left his throne on high,
Earth's lowliest lot to bear and sanctify,
His love divine, by keenest anguish tried,
And fondly say-" My child, for thee He died!
NOTES.
Note 1, page 150, col. 1.
Patient, because Eternal.
"He is patient, because He is eternal." St. Augustine.
Note 2, page 150, col. 1.
Fly, to the City of thy Refuge, fly!
"Then ye shall appoint you cities, to be cities of refuge for you; that the slayer may flee thither which killeth any person at unawares.-And they shall be unto you cities for refuge from the aven|ger."—Numbers, chap. xxxv.
Note 3, page 150, col. 2.
And dark the chambers of its imagery. "Every man in the chambers of his imagery." Ezekiel, chap. viii.
Note 4, page 151, col. 2.
Must drink the cup of trembling.
"Thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling, and wrung them out."—Isaiah, chap. ii.
Note 5, page 151, col. 2.
Come in the still small voice, and whisper-peace. "And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great
not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice."-1 Kings, chap. xix.
and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was " And set up a sign of fire."-Jeremiah, chap. iv.
Note 6, page 153, col. 1. To set the sign of fire on every height.
Stanzas to the Memory of the late King.
"Among many nations was there no king like him."-Nehemiah.
"Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel!"-Samuel.
ANOTHER Warning sound! the funeral bell,
Startling the cities of the isle once more,
With measured tones of melancholy swell,
Strikes on th' awakened heart from shore to
shore.
He, at whose coming monarchs sink to dust,
The chambers of our palaces hath trod, And the long-suffering spirit of the just,
Pure from its ruins, hath returned to God! Yet may not England o'er her Father weep; Thoughts to her bosom crowd, too many, and too deep.
Vain voice of Reason, hush!--they yet must flow, The unrestrained, involuntary tears
A thousand feelings sanctify the wo,
Roused by the glorious shades of vanished years. Tell us no more 't is not the time for grief, Now that the exile of the soul is past, And Death, blest messenger of Heaven's relief, Hath borne the wanderer to his rest at last; For him, Eternity hath tenfold day, We feel, we know, 't is thus-yet Nature will
What though amidst us, like a blasted oak, Saddening the scene where once it nobly reigned,
A dread memorial of the lightning-stroke,
Stamped with its fiery record, he remained;
Around that shattered tree still fondly clung
Th' undying tendrils of our love, which drew Fresh nurture from its deep decay, and sprung
Luxuriant thence, to Glory's ruin true; While England hung her trophies on the stem, That desolately stood, unconscious e'en of them.
Of them unconscious! Oh mysterious doom!
Who shall unfold the counsels of the skies? His was the voice which roused, as from the tomb, The realms high soul to loftiest energies! His was the spirit, o'er the isles which threw The mantle of its fortitude; and wrought
In every bosom, powerful to renew
The star of tempest! beaming on the mast,* The seamen's torch of Hope, 'midst perils deepening fast.
Then from th' unslumbering influence of his worth,
Strength, as of inspiration, filled the land; A young, but quenchless, flame went brightly forth,
Kindled by him-who saw it not expand! Such was the will of Heaven,—the gifted seer,
Who with his God had communed, face to face, And from the house of bondage, and of fear,
In faith victorious, led the chosen race; He, through the desert and the waste their guide, Saw dimly from afar, the promised land—and died. O full of days and virtues! on thy head
Centred the woes of many a bitter lot; Fathers have sorrowed o'er their beauteous dead, Eyes, quenched in night, the sun beam have forgot;
Minds have striven buoyantly with evil years, And sunk beneath their gathering weight at length;
But Pain for thee had filled a cup of tears,
Where every anguish mingled all its strength; By thy lost child we saw thee weeping stand, And shadows deep around fell from th' Eternal's hand.
Then came the noon of glory, which thy dreams,
Perchance of yore, had faintly prophesied;
But what to thee the splendor of its beams?
The ice-rock glows not 'midst the summer's
Nations leaped up to joy-as streams that burst
At the warm touch of spring, their frozen chain, And o'er the plains, whose verdure once they nursed,
Roll in exulting melody again;
The glittering meteor, like a star, which often appears about a ship during tempests, if seen upon the main-mast, is considered by the sailors as an omen of good weather.-See
Each dying spark of pure and generous thought; Dampier's Voyages.
|