Poems (1786) Part 8

III.

Ye visions that before me roll, That freeze my blood, that shake my soul!

Are ye the phantoms of a dream?

Pale spectres! are ye what ye seem?

They glide more near-- Their forms unfold!

Fix'd are their eyes, on me they bend-- Their glaring look is cold!

And hark!--I hear Sounds that the throbbing pulse of life suspend.

IV.

"No wild illusion cheats thy sight "With shapes that only live in night-- "Mark the native glories spread "Around my bleeding brow!

"The crown of Albion wreath'd my head, "And Gallia's lilies[A] twin'd below-- "When my father shook his spear, "When his banner sought the skies, "Her baffled host recoil'd with fear, "Nor turn'd their shrinking eyes:-- "Soon as the daring eagle springs "To bask in heav'n's empyreal light, "The vultures ply their baleful wings, "A cloud of deep'ning colour marks their flight, "Staining the golden day:-- "But see! amid the rav'nous brood "A bird of fiercer aspect soar-- "The spirits of a rival race[B], "Hang on the noxious blast, and trace, "With gloomy joy his destin'd prey; "Inflame th' ambitious with that thirsts for blood, "And plunge his talons deep in kindred gore.

[A] Henry the Sixth, crowned when an infant, at Paris.

[B] Richard the Third, by murdering so many near relations, seemed to revenge the sufferings of Henry the Sixth, and his family, on the House of York.

V.

"View the stern form that hovers nigh, "Fierce rolls his dauntless eye "In scorn of hideous death; "Till starting at a brother's[A] name, "Horror shrinks his glowing frame, "Locks the half-utter'd groan, "And chills the parting breath:-- "Astonish'd Nature heav'd a moan!

"When her affrighted eye beheld the hands "She form'd to cherish, rend her holy bands.

[A] Richard the Third, who murdered his brother the Duke of Clarence.

VI.

"Look where a royal infant[A] kneels, "Shrieking, and agoniz'd with fear, "He sees the dagger pointed near "A much-lov'd brother's[B] breast, "And tells an absent mother all he feels:-- "His eager eye he casts around; "Where shall her guardian form be found, "On which his eager eye would rest!

"On her he calls in accents wild, "And wonders why her step is slow "To save her suff'ring child!-- "Rob'd in the regal garb, his brother stands "In more majestic woe-- "And meets the impious stroke with bosom bare; "Then fearless grasps the murd'rer's hands, "And asks the minister of h.e.l.l to spare "The child whose feeble arms sustain "His bleeding form from cruel Death.-- "In vain fraternal fondness pleads "For cold is now his livid cheek, "And cold his last, expiring breath: "And now with aspect meek, "The infant lifts his mournful eye, "And asks with trembling voice, to die, "If death will cure his heaving heart of pain-- "His heaving heart now bleeds-- "Foul tyrant! o'er the gilded hour "That beams with all the blaze of power, "Remorse shall spread her thickest shroud; "The furies in thy tortur'd ear "Shall howl, with curses deep, and loud, "And wake distracting fear!

"I see the ghastly spectre rise, "Whose blood is cold, whose hollow eyes "Seem from his head to start-- "With upright hair, and s.h.i.+v'ring heart, Dark o'er thy midnight couch he bends, And clasps thy shrinking frame, thy impious spirit rends."

[A] Richard Duke of York.

[B] Edward the Fifth.

VII.

Now his thrilling accents die-- His shape eludes my searching eye-- But who is he[A], convuls'd with pain, That writhes in every swelling vein?

Yet in so deep, so wild a groan, A sharper anguish seems to live Than life's expiring pang can give:-- He dies deserted, and alone-- If pity can allay thy woes Sad spirit they shall find repose-- Thy friend, thy long-lov'd friend is near!

He comes to pour the parting tear, He comes to catch the parting breath-- Ah heaven! no melting look he wears, His alter'd eye with vengeance glares; Each frantic pa.s.sion at his soul, 'Tis he has dash'd that venom'd bowl With agony, and death.

[A] Sir Thomas Overbury, poisoned in the Tower by Somerset.

VIII.

But whence arose that solemn call?

Yon b.l.o.o.d.y phantom waves his hand, And beckons me to deeper gloom-- Rest, troubled form! I come-- Some unknown power my step impels To horror's secret cells-- "For thee I raise this sable pall, "It shrouds a ghastly band: "Stretch'd beneath, thy eye shall trace "A mangled regal race: "A thousand suns have roll'd, since light "Rush'd on their solid night-- "See, o'er that tender frame grim famine hangs, "And mocks a mother's pangs!

"The last, last drop which warm'd her veins "That meagre infant drains-- "Then gnaws her fond, sustaining breast-- "Stretch'd on her feeble knees, behold "Another victim sinks to lasting rest-- "Another, yet her matron arms would fold "Who strives to reach her matron arms in vain-- "Too weak her wasted form to raise, "On him she bends her eager gaze; "She sees the soft imploring eye "That asks her dear embrace, the cure of pain-- "She sees her child at distance die-- "But now her stedfast heart can bear "Unmov'd, the pressure of despair-- "When first the winds of winter urge their course "O'er the pure stream, whose current smoothly glides, "The heaving river swells its troubled tides; "But when the bitter blast with keener force, "O'er the high wave an icy fetter throws, "The harden'd wave is fix'd in dead repose."--

IX.

"Say who that h.o.a.ry form? alone he stands, "And meekly lifts his wither'd hands-- "His white beard streams with blood-- "I see him with a smile, deride "The wounds that pierce his shrivel'd side, "Whence flows a purple flood-- "But sudden pangs his bosom tear-- "On one big drop, of deeper dye, "I see him fix his haggard eye "In dark, and wild despair!

"That sanguine drop which wakes his woe-- "Say, spirit! whence its source."-- "Ask no more its source to know-- "Ne'er shall mortal eye explore "Whence flow'd that drop of human gore, "Till the starting dead shall rise, "Unchain'd from earth, and mount the skies, "And time shall end his fated course."-- "Now th' unfathom'd depth behold-- "Look but once! a second glance "Wraps a heart of human mold "In death's eternal trance."

X.

"That shapeless phantom sinking slow "Deep down the vast abyss below, "Darts, thro' the mists that shroud his frame, "A horror, nature hates to name!"-- "Mortal, could thine eyes behold "All those sullen mists enfold, "Thy sinews at the sight accurst "Would wither, and thy heart-strings burst; "Death would grasp with icy hand "And drag thee to our grizly band-- "Away! the sable pall I spread, "And give to rest th' unquiet dead-- "Haste! ere its horrid shroud enclose "Thy form, benumb'd with wild affright, "And plunge thee far thro' wastes of night, "In yon black gulph's abhorr'd repose!"-- As starting at each step, I fly, Why backward turns my frantic eye, That closing portal past?-- Two sullen shades half-seen, advance!-- On me, a blasting look they cast, And fix my view with dang'rous spells, Where burning frenzy dwells!-- Again! their vengeful look--and now a speechless--

PERU.

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS.

TO MRS. MONTAGU.

While, bending at thy honour'd shrine, the Muse Pours, MONTAGU, to thee her votive strain, Thy heart will not her simple notes refuse, Or chill her timid soul with cold disdain.

O might a transient spark of genius fire The fond effusions of her fearful youth; Then should thy virtues live upon her lyre, And give to harmony the charm of truth.

Vain wis.h.!.+ they ask not the imperfect lay, The weak applause her trembling accents breathe; With whose pure radiance glory blends her ray, Whom fame has circled with her fairest wreathe.

Thou, who while seen with graceful step to tread Grandeur's enchanted round, can'st meekly pause To rend the veil obscurity had spread Where his lone sigh deserted Genius draws;

To lead his drooping spirit to thy fane, Where attic joy the social circle warms; Where science loves to pour her hallow'd strain, Where wit, and wisdom, blend their sep'rate charms.

And lure to cherish intellectual powers, To bid the vig'rous tides of genius roll, Unfold, in fair expansion, fancy's flowers, And wake the latent energies of soul;

Far other homage claims than flatt'ry brings The little triumphs of the proud to grace: For deeds like these a purer incense springs, Warm from the swelling heart its source we trace!

Yet not to foster the rich gifts of mind Alone can all thy lib'ral cares employ; Not to the few those gifts adorn, confin'd, They spread an ampler sphere of genuine joy.

While pleasure's lucid star illumes thy bower, Thy pity views the distant storm that bends Where want unshelter'd wastes the ling'ring hour;-- And meets the blessing that to heav'n ascends!

For this, while fame thro' each successive age On her exulting lip thy name shall breathe; While woman, pointing to thy finish'd page, Claims from imperious man the critic wreathe;

Truth on her spotless record shall enroll Each moral beauty to her spirit dear; Paint in bright characters each grace of soul-- While admiration pours a gen'rous tear.

HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.

London, April the 24th, 1784.