More blasting than the mildew from the South!
And kiss’d his country with Iscariot mouth
(Ah! foul apostate from his Father’s fame!)
Then fix’d her on the Cross of deep distress,
And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance 10
Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance
The eyelids of thy stern-brow’d Sister press,
Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, 13
And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!
December 23, 1794.
TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES
FIRST VERSION, PRINTED IN ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’, DECEMBER 26, 1794
My heart has thank’d thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains,
That, on the still air floating, tremblingly
Wak’d in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy!
For hence, not callous to a Brother’s pains
Thro’ Youth’s gay prime and thornless paths I went; 5
And, when the darker day of life began,
And I did roam, a thought-bewilder’d man!
Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,
Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin’d,
And stole from vain REGRET her scorpion stings; 10
While shadowy PLEASURE, with mysterious wings,
Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep
Mov’d on the darkness of the formless Deep!
VIII
MRS. SIDDONS
As when a child on some long Winter’s night
Affrighted clinging to its Grandam’s knees
With eager wond’ring and perturb’d delight
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees
Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell; 5
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky Midnight ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:
Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell 10
Of pretty Babes, that lov’d each other dear.
Murder’d by cruel Uncle’s mandate fell:
Even such the shiv’ring joys thy tones impart,
Even so thou, SIDDONS! meltest my sad heart!
December 29, 1794.
1795
TO WILLIAM GODWIN
AUTHOR OF ‘POLITICAL JUSTICE’
O form’d t’ illume a sunless world forlorn,
As o’er the chill and dusky brow of Night,
In Finland’s wintry skies the Mimic Morn
Electric pours a stream of rosy light,
Pleas’d I have mark’d OPPRESSION, terror-pale, 5
Since, thro’ the windings of her dark machine,
Thy steady eye has shot its glances keen —
And bade th’ All-lovely ‘scenes at distance hail’.
Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless,
And hymn thee, GODWIN! with an ardent lay; 10
For that thy voice, in Passion’s stormy day,
When wild I roam’d the bleak Heath of Distress,
Bade the bright form of Justice meet my way —
And told me that her name was HAPPINESS.
January 10, 1795.
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY
OF BALIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR OF THE ‘RETROSPECT’, AND OTHER POEMS
SOUTHEY! thy melodies steal o’er mine ear
Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring
Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring —
Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer
The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear: 5
Wak’d by the Song doth Hope-born FANCY fling
Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing,
Till sickly PASSION’S drooping Myrtles sear
Blossom anew! But O! more thrill’d, I prize
Thy sadder strains, that bid in MEMORY’S Dream 10
The faded forms of past Delight arise;
Then soft, on Love’s pale cheek, the tearful gleam
Of Pleasure smiles — as faint yet beauteous lies
The imag’d Rainbow on a willowy stream.
January 14, 1795.
TO RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, ESQ.
It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breath’d
O’er thy young mind such wildly-various power!
My soul hath mark’d thee in her shaping hour,
Thy temples with Hymettian flow’rets wreath’d:
And sweet thy voice, as when o’er LAURA’S bier 5
Sad Music trembled thro’ Vauclusa’s glade;
Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade
That wafts soft dreams to SLUMBER’S listening ear.
Now patriot Rage and Indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance 10
Meanings of Scorn and Wit’s quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate by the brainless rout ador’d,
As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael’s sword.
January 29, 1795.
TO LORD STANHOPE
ON READING HIS LATE PROTEST IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS
‘MORNING CHRONICLE,’ JAN. 31, 1795
STANHOPE! I hail, with ardent Hymn, thy name!
Thou shalt be bless’d and lov’d, when in the dust
Thy corse shall moulder — Patriot pure and just!
And o’er thy tomb the grateful hand of FAME
Shall grave:—’Here sleeps the Friend of Humankind!’ 5
For thou, untainted by CORRUPTION’S bowl,
Or foul AMBITION, with undaunted soul
Hast spoke the language of a Free-born mind
Pleading the cause of Nature! Still pursue
Thy