To shed their baneful influence; whilst his voice,
Like thunder, or the cannon's sudden burst,
Three times is heard, and thrice the roofs resound!
A sudden paleness gathers in my face;
Thro' all my limbs a stiff'ning horror spreads,
Cold as the dews of death, nor heed my eyes
Their wonted function; but in stupid gaze
Ken the fell monster; from my trembling hands
The thumb-worn volume drops. Oh! dire presage
Of instant woe! for now the mighty sound,
Pregnant with dismal tidings, once again
Strikes my astonish'd ears. Transfix'd with awe,
And senseless for a time, I stand; but soon
By friendly jog, or neighb'ring whisper rous'd,
Obey the dire injunction; straight I loose
Depending brogues, and to the awful stroke
Of magisterial vengeance, daily gorg'd,
(As Moloch erst, with infant tears and blood)
With indignation bow ;-Nor long delays
The monarch; from his palace stalking down,
With visage all inflam'd, his sable robe
Sweeping in length'ning folds along the ground,
He shakes his sceptre, and th' impending scourge
Brandishes high; nor tears nor shrieks avail;
But with impetuous fury it descends,
Imprinting horrid wounds, with fatal flow
Of blood attended, and convulsive pangs.
Curst be the wretch, for ever doom'd to bear
Infernal whippings, he whose savage hands
First grasp'd these barb'rous weapons; bitter cause
Of foul disgrace, and many a dolorous groan,
To hapless school-boy.-Could it not suffice
I groan'd and toil'd beneath the merciless weight
By stern relentless tyranny impos'd;
But scourges too, and cudgels, were reserv'd
To goad my wretched sides; this wretched life
Loading with heavier ills; a life expos'd
To all the woes of hunger, toil, distress;
Cut off from ev'ry genial source of bliss;
From ev'ry bland amusement wont to soothe
The youthful breast-except when father Time,
In joyful change, rolls round the festive hour,
That gives this meagre, pining figure back
To parent fondness, and its native roofs !
Fir'd with the thought, then, then my tow'ring soul
Rises superior to its load, and spurns.
Its proud oppressors, frantic with delight,
My fancy riots in successive scenes
Of bliss and pleasures: plans and schemes are laid
How best the fleeting moments to improve,
Nor lose one portion of so rare a boon.
But soon, too soon, these glorious scenes are fled;
Scarce one short moon enjoy'd, (oh! transient state
Of sublunary bliss!) by bitter change;
And other scenes succeeded, what fierce pangs
Then rack my soul; what ceaseless floods of grief
Rush down my cheeks, while strong convulsive throbs
Heave all my frame, and choke the power of speech!
Forlorn I sigh; nor heed the gentle voice
Of friend or stranger, who with soothing words,
And slender gift, would fain beguile my woes!
In vain; for what can ought avail to soothe
Such raging anguish! Oft with sudden glance,
Before my eyes, in all its horrors, glares
That well-known form, and oft I seem to hear
The thund'ring scourge !-Ah me! e'en now I feel
Its deadly venom, raging as the pangs
That tore Alcides, when the burning vest
Prey'd on his wasted sides.-At length return'd
Within these hated walls, again I mourn,
A sullen prisoner, till the wish'd approach
Of joyous holiday, or festive play,
Releases me: ah! freedom that must end
With thee, declining Sol. All hail, ye saints!
Ye deathless martyrs! whose recorded names
Adorn the annual chronologic page
Of Wing or Partridge: oft, when sore oppress'd
With dire calamities, the glad return
Of your triumphant festivals, hath cheer'd
My drooping soul. Nor be thy name forgot,
Illustrious George, for much to thee I owe
Of heart-felt rapture, as with loyal zeal
Glowing, I pile the crackling bonfire high,
Or hurl the mounting rocket thro' the air,
Or fiery whizzing serpent; thus thy name
Shall still be honor'd, as thro' future years,
The circling seasons roll their festive round.
Sometimes, by dire compulsive hunger press'd,
I spring the neigh'bring fence, and scale the trunk
Of apple-trees; or, wide o'er flow'ry lawns,
By hedge or thicket, bend my hasty steps,
Intent, with secret ambush, to surprise
The straw-built nest, and unsuspecting brood
Of thrash or bullfinch; oft, with watchful ken,
Eyeing the backward lawns, lest hostile glance
Observe my footsteps, while each rustling leaf,
Stirr'd by the gentle gale, alarms my fears:
Then, parch'd beneath the burning heats of noon,
I plunge into the limpid stream, that laves
The silent vale, or on its grassy banks,
Beneath some oak's majestic shade, recline;
Envying the vagrant fishes, as they pass,
Their boon of freedom; till the distant sound
Of tolling curfew warns me to depart,
Thus, under tyrant power, I groan, oppress'd
With worse than slav'ry; yet my free-born soul
Her native warmth forgets not, nor will brook
Menace or taunt from proud insulting peer;
But summon to the field the doughty foe,
In single combat, 'midst th' impartial throng,
There, to decide our fate. Oft, too, inflam'd
With mutual rage, two rival armies meet
Of youthful warriors; kindling at the sight,
My soul is fir'd with vast heroic thoughts,
Trusting, in martial glory to surpass
Roman or Grecian chief; instant with shouts,
The mingling squadrons join the horrid fray;
No need of cannon, or the murd'rous steel,
Wide-wasting; nature, rage, our arms supply.
Fragments of rocks are hurl'd, and show'rs of stones
Obscure the day; nor less the brawny arm
Of knotted club avail: high in the midst,
Are seen the mighty chiefs, thro' hosts of foes,
Mowing their way; and now, with tenfold rage,
The combat burns; full many a -sanguine stream
Distains the field, and many a vet'ran brave
Lies prostrate; loud triumphant shouts ascend
By turns from either host; each claims the palm
Of glorious conquest; nor till night's dun shades
Involve the sky, the doubtful conflict ends.
Thus, when rebellion shook the thrones of heav'n,
And all the eternal pow'rs in battle met,
High o'er the rest, with vast gigantic strides,
The godlike leaders, on th' embattled plain
Came tow'ring, breathing forth revenge and fate;
Nor less terrific join'd th' inferior hosts
Of angel warriors, when encount'ring his
Tore the rent concave ;-flashing with the blaze
Of fiery arms, and lightnings not of Jove;
All heaven resounded, and the astonish'd deeps
Of Chaos bellow'd with the monstrous roar!
MBLEM sublime of that primordial pow'r
That on the vast abyss of chaos mov'd ;
What pen shall paint thy charms, majestic flow'r!
By mortais honour'd, and by gods belov'd.
From Ethiopia's lofty mountains roll'd,
Where Nile's proud stream thro' gladden'd Egypt pours;
In raptur'd strains thy praise was hymn'd of old,
And still resounds on Ganges' faithful shores.
Within thy beauteous coral's full-blown bell
Long since th' immortals plac'd their fond abode;
There, day's bright source, Osiris lov'd to dwell,
While by his side enamour'd Isis glow'd.
Hence, not unconscious to his orient beam,
At dawn's first blush thy radiant petals spread,
Drink deep th' effulgence of the solar stream,
And, as he mounts, still brighter glories shed:
When, at their noontide height, his fervid rays
In a bright deluge burst on Cairo's spires,
With what new lustre then thy beauties blaze,
Full of the God, and radiant with his fires!
To brave the Tropic's fiery beam is thine,
Till in the distant west his splendors fade;
Then, too, thy beauty and thy fire decline,
With morn to rise in lovelier charms array'd.
What mystic treasures, in thy form conceal'd,
Perpetual transport to the sage supply!
Where Nature, in her secret plans reveal'd,
Awes wondering man, and charms th' exploring eye.
From thy prolific vase and fertile seeds
Are trac'd her grand regenerative pow'rs;
Life springing warm from loath'd putrescence breeds,
And lovelier germs shoot forth, and brighter flow'rs.
Dr. Thornton informs us that the true Egyptian Lotos is white; that there are three other species or varieties of this water-lily, the pale red, the blue, and the yellow.
Thus, from Arabia borne, on golden wing,
The phoenix on the sun's bright altar dies;
But, from his flaming bed refulgent springs,
And cleaves with bolder plumes the sapphire skies.
Nor food to the enlighten'd mind alone,
Substantial nutriment thy root bestow'd ;
In Famine's vulture-fangs did Egypt groan,
From thy rich bounteous horn abundance flow'd.
Hence the immortal race in Thebes rever'd,
Thy praise the theme of endless rapture made,
Thy image on an hundred columns rear'd,
And veil'd their altars with thine hallow'd shade.
But far beyond the bounds of Afric borne,
Thy honours flourish'd 'mid Thibetian snows,
Thy flowers the Lama's gilded shrine adorn,
And Brahme and Buddha on thy flow'r repose.
Where'er fair Science dawn'd on Asia's shore,
Where'er her hallow'd voice Devotion rais'd, We see thee graven on the glowing ore,
And on a thousand sparkling gems emblaz’d.
Four thousand summers have thy pride survey'd ;
Thy Pharoahs moulder in their marble tombs;
Oblivion's wings the pyramids shall shade,
But thy fair family unfading blooms!
Still 'mid these ruin'd tow'rs, admir'd, rever'd,
Wave high thy foliage, and secure expand;
These vast, but crumbling piles by men were rear'd,
But thou wert form'd by an immortal hand.
With Nature's charms alone thy charms shall fade,
With Being's self thy beauteous tribe decline;
Oh! living, may thy flow'rs my temples shade,
And decorate, when dead, my envied shrine!
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