Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 81

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his G.o.d.

Thomas Gray. 1716-1771

454. The Curse upon Edward

WEAVE the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race.

Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of h.e.l.l to trace.

Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing King!

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heav'n. What terrors round him wait!

Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

Mighty Victor, mighty Lord!

Low on his funeral couch he lies!

No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.

Is the sable warrior fled?

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.

The swarm that in thy noon tide beam were born?

Gone to salute the rising morn.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.

Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's holy head.

Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blus.h.i.+ng foe, we spread: The bristled boar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the th.o.r.n.y shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun) Half of thy heart we consecrate.

(The web is wove. The work is done.)

Thomas Gray. 1716-1771

455. The Progress of Poesy A PINDARIC ODE

AWAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings, From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

Now the rich stream of music winds along Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.

O Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting sh.e.l.l! the sullen Cares And frantic Pa.s.sions hear thy soft controul.

On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car, And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.

Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes and flagging wing: Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

Thee the voice, the dance, obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are seen On Cytherea's day With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay.

With arms sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Man's feeble race what ills await, Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!

The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse?

Night, and all her sickly dews, Her sceptres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war.

In climes beyond the solar road, Where s.h.a.ggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom To cheer the s.h.i.+v'ring native's dull abode, And oft, beneath the od'rous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves.

Her track, where'er the G.o.ddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame.

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Mute, but to the voice of anguish?

Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breathed around: Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain Murmur'd deep a solemn sound: Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parna.s.sus for the Latian plains.

Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast.

Far from the sun and summer gale, In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, To Him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled.

This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!

This can unlock the gates of joy; Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy.

He pa.s.s'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where Angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!

Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

But ah! 'tis heard no more---- O Lyre divine! what daring Spirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun: Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the Good how far--but far above the Great.

Thomas Gray. 1716-1771

456. On a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes

TWAS on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclined, Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream: Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Thro' richest purple to the view Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: A whisker first and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.

What female heart can gold despise?

What Cat 's averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between.

(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled.) The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled, She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry G.o.d, Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd: Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.

A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold.