Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

184

STUDIES IN POETRY.

For them the rocks dissolv'd into a flood,
The dews condens'd into angelic food,
Their very garments sacred, old yet new,
And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ;
Streams swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand,
While they pass'd through to their appointed land;
Their leader, arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love,
And grac'd with clear credentials from above;
Themselves secur'd beneath th'Almighty wing;
Their God their captain, lawgiver, and king;
Crown'd with a thousand vict'ries, and at last
Lords of the conquer'd soil, there rooted fast,
In peace possessing what they won by war,
Their name far publish'd, and rever'd as far;
Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd
With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heav'n bestow'd ?

They, and they only, amongst all mankind,
Receiv'd the transcript of th' Eternal Mind;
Were trusted with his own engraven laws,
And constituted guardians of his cause;
Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call,
And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all.
In vain the nations that had seen them rise
With fierce and envious, yet admiring eyes,
Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were
By pow'r divine, and skill that could not err.
Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure,
And kept the faith immaculate and pure,
Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome
Had found one city not to be o'ercome;
And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd
Had bid defiance to the warring world.

But
grace abus'd brings forth the foulest deeds,
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds.
Cur'd of the golden calves, their father's sin,
They set up self, that idol god within;
View'd a deliv'rer with disdain and hate,
Who left them still a tributary state;

Seiz'd fast his hand, held out to set them free
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree :
There was the consummation and the crown,
The flow'r of Israel's infamy full blown;
Thence date their sad declension and their fall,
Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date them all.

Thus fell the best instructed in her day,

In other climes perhaps creative art,

With pow'r surpassing theirs, performed her part,
Might give more life to marble, or might fill
The glowing tablets with a juster skill,
Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes
With all th' embroidery of poetic dreams;
'T was theirs alone to dive into the plan,
That truth and mercy had reveal'd to man;
And while the world beside, that plan unknown,
Defied useless wood, or senseless stone,

They breath'd in faith their well-directed pray'rs,
And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs.

Their glory faded, and their race dispers'd, The last of nations now, though once the first: They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn, Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn: If we escap'd not, if Heav'n spar'd not us, Peel'd, scatter'd, and extirminated thus ; If vice receiv'd her retribution due, When we were visited, what hope for you? When God arises with an awful frown To punish lust, or pluck presumption down; When gifts perverted, or not duly priz'd, Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despis'd, Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand, To pour down wrath upon a thankless land; He will be found impartially severe, Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear.

Oh Israel, of all nations most undone!
Thy diadem displac'd, thy sceptre gone;
Thy temple, once thy glory, fall'n and ras'd,
And thou a worshipper e'en were thou may'st;
Thy services, once only without spot,

Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot;
Thy Levites, once a consecrated host,

No longer Levites, and their lineage lost.
And thou thyself o'er ev'ry country sown,

With none on earth that thou canst call thine own;
Cry aloud, thou, that sittest in the dust,

Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust;

Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears;
Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears;
But raise the shrillest cry in British ears.

16*

THE LIGHT OF THE GOSPEL

AND yet our lot is giv'n us in a land, Where busy arts are never at a stand; Where science points her telescopic eye, Familiar with the wonders of the sky; Where bold inquiry, diving out of sight, Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light Where nought eludes the persevering quest, That fashion, taste, or luxury, suggest.

But above all in her own light array'd,
See mercy's grand apocalypse display'd?
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong,
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue;
But speaks with plainness, art could never mend,
What simplest minds can soonest comprehend.
God gives the word, the preachers throng around,
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound:
That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way,
The trumpet of a life-restoring day;

"Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines,
And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines.
And still it spreads. See Germany send forth
Her sons to pour it on the farthest north:
Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy.
The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
On icy plains, and in eternal snows,

O blest within th' enclosure of your rocks, Not herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks No fertilizing streams your fields divide, That show revers'd the villas on their side; No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard; Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell Of those, that walk at ev'ning where ye dwell; But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown, Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; Beckons the legions of his storms away From happier scenes, to make your land a prey; Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, And scorns to share it with the distant sun. -Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle! And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile; The pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds

In chains of error our accomplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the splendour of the true,
A false religion, is unknown to you.

Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture, feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams, than his who fires the skies,
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,
From which our nicer optics turn away.

CHARITY.

THE Soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews,
Takes the resemblance of the good she views,
As diamonds, stripped of their opaque disguise,
Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.

She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend,
Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end,
In language warm as all that love inspires,
And in the glow of her intense desires,
Pants to commucicate her noble fires.
She sees a world stark blind to what employs
Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys;
Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call,
Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all:
Herself as weak as her support is strong,
She feels that frailty she denied so long;
And, from a knowledge of her own disease,
Learns to compassionate the sick she sees.
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence,
The reign of genuine Charity commence.
Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears,
She still is kind, and still she perseveres ;
The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme,
'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream,
The danger they discern not, they deny;
Laugh at their only remedy, and die.

But still a soul thus touched can never cease,
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace.
Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild,
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child:
She makes excuses where she might condemn,
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them;
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,
The worst suggested, she believes the best;
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased,
And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased;
She rather waives than will dispute her right,

And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight.
Such was the portrait an apostle drew,
The bright original was one he knew;
Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true.

When one, that holds communion with the skies
Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,
'Tis even as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.
So when a ship, well freighted with the stores
The sun matures on India's spicy shores,
Has dropped her anchor, and her canvass furled,
In some safe haven of our western world,
'T were vain inquiry to what port she went,
The gale informs us, laden with the scent.

THE WOUNDED SPIRIT.

MAN is a harp, whose chords elude the sight,
Each yielding harmony dispos'd aright;
The screws revers'd (a task which if he please
God in a moment executes with ease,)
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose,
Lost, till he tune them, all their pow'r and use.
Then neither healthy wilds, nor scenes as fair
As ever recompens'd the peasant's care,
Nor soft declivities with tufted hills,
Nor view of waters turning busy mills,
Parks in which art preceptress nature weds,
Nor gardens interspers'd with flow'ry beds,

Nor gales that catch the scent of blooming groves,
And wafts it to the mourner as he roves,

Can call up life into his faded eye,

That passes all he sees unheeded by ;

No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels,

No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals;
And thou sad suff'rer under nameless ill,
That yields not to the touch of human skill,
Improve the kind occasion, understand

A father's frown, and kiss his chast'ning hand.
To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon,
The purple ev'ning and resplendant moon,
The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night,
Seem drops descending in a shower of light,
Shine not, or undesir'd and hated shine,
Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine :
Yet seek him, in his favour life is found,
All bliss beside a shadow or a sound:

« ZurückWeiter »