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The radiant range of shield and lance

We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt, Down Damascus' hills advance :

Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt! + From Sion's turrets as afar

With many a demon, pale of hue, Ye ken the march of Europe's war!

Doom'd to drink the bitter dew, Saladin, thou paynim king,

That drops from Macon's sooty tree, From Albion's isle revenge we bring !

Mid the dread grove of ebony. On Acon's spiry citadel,

Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell, Though to the gale thy banners swell,

The Christian's holy courage quell. Pictur'd with the silver Moon;

Salem, in ancient majesty England shall end thy glory soon!

Arise, and lift thee to the sky ! In vain, to break our firm array,

Soon on thy battlements divine Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray:

Shall wave the badge of Constantine Those sounds our rising fury fan :

Ye barons, to the Sun unfold English Richard in the van,

Our cross with crimson wove and gold !"
On to victory we go,
A vaunting infidel the foe.”

Blondel led the tuneful band,
And swept the wire with glowing hand.
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd,

Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.

When now mature in classic knowledge,
Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth

The joyful youth is sent to college,
That gave a murder'd Saviour birth;

His father comes, a vicar plain, Then with ardour fresh endu'd,

At Oxford bred - in Anna's reign, Thus the solemn song renew'd.

And thus, in form of humble suitor, “ Lo, the toilsome voyage past,

Bowing accosts a reverend tutor : Heaven's favour'd hills appear at last!

“ Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, Object of our holy vow,

And this my eldest son of nine; We tread the Tyrian valleys now.

My wife's ambition and my own From Carmel's almond-shaded steep

Was that this child should wear a gown : We feel the cheering fragrance creep:

I'll warrant that his good behaviour O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm

Will justify your future favour ; Waves the date-empurpl'd palm:

And, for his parts, to tell the truth, See Lebanon's aspiring head

My son 's a very forward youth ; Wide his immortal umbrage spread!

Has Horace all by heart - you 'd wonder Hail Calvary, thou mountain hoar,

And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder. Wet with our Redeemer's gore !

If you 'd examine - and admit him, Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,

A scholarship would nicely fit him; Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;

That he succeeds 't is ten to one; Your ravish'd honours to restore,

Your vote and interest, sir !" -'T is done. Fearless we climb this hostile shore !

Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated, And thou, the sepulchre of God;

Are with a scholarship completed : By mocking pagans rudely trod,

A scholarship but half maintains, Bereft of every aweful rite,

And college-rules are heavy chains: And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright; In garret dark he smokes and puns, For thee, from Britain's distant coast,

A prey to discipline and duns; Lo, Richard leads his faithful host !

And now, intent on new designs, Aloft in his heroic hand,

Sighs for a fellowship - and fines. Blazing like the beacon's brand,

When nine full tedious winters past I. O'er the far-affrighted fields,

That utmost wish is crown'd at last : Resistless Kaliburn + he wields.

But the rich prize no sooner got, Proud Saracen, pollute no more

Again he quarrels with his lot : The shrines by martyrs built of yore !

“ These fellowships are pretty things, From each wild mountain's trackless crown We live indeed like petty kings : In vain thy gloomy castles frown:

But who can bear to waste his whole age Thy battering engines, huge and high,

Amid the dullness of a college, In vain our steel-clad steeds defy;

Debarr'd the common joys of life, And, rolling in terrific state

And that prime bliss -- a loving wife ! On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate.

O! what's a table richly spread,
When eve has hush'd the buzzing camp,

Without a woman at its head ?
Amid the moon-light vapours damp,
Thy necromantic forms, in vain,

+ Ashtaroth is mentioned by Milton as a general Haunt us on the tented plain :

name of the Syrian deities : Par. Lost, i. 429. And

Termagaunt is the name given in the old romance Kaliburn is the sword of king Arthur; which, to the god of the Saracens. See Percy's Reliques, as the monkish historians say, came into the posses- vol. i. p. 74. sion of Richard I., and was given by that monarch, # The scholars of Trinity are superannusted, if in the Crusades, to Tancred king of Sicily, as a royal they do not succeed to fellowships in nine years present of inestimable value, about the year 1190. after their election to scholarships.


Would some snug benefice but fall,

“ Why did I sell my college life," Ye feasts, ye dinners ! farewell all!

He cries, “ for benefice and wife? To offices I'd bid adieu,

Return, ye days, when endless pleasure of dean, vice præs. - of bursar too ;

I found in reading, or in leisure ! Come joys, that rural quiet yields,

When calm around the common room Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields !" I puff"d my daily pipe's perfume! Too fond of freedom and of ease

Rode for a stomach, and inspected, A patron's vanity to please,

At annual bottlings, corks selected : Long time he watches, and by stealth,

And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;

The portrait of our pious founder ! At length, and in his fortieth year,

When impositions were supply'd A living drops — two hundred clear!

To light my pipe - or soothe my pride With breast elate beyond expression,

No cares were then for forward peas, He hurries down to take possession,

A yearly-longing wife to please ; With rapture views the sweet retreat

My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost, * What a convenient house! how neat!

No children cry'd for butter'd toast; For fuel here 's sufficient wood :

And ev'ry night I went to bed, Pray God the cellars may be good !

Without a modus in my head !” The garden — that must be new-plann'd.

Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart ! Shall these old-fashion’d yew-trees stand ?

Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art ; O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise

A dupe to follies yet untry'd, The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes:

And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd! Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,

Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay :

And in pursuit alone it pleases.
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O’er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream:
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,

We 'll alter to a modern privy:
l'p yon green slope, of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim
Shall to an arbour at the end,

BENEATH this stony roof reclin'd; In spite of gout, entice a friend.

I soothe to peace my pensive mind; My predecessor lov'd devotion

And while, to shade my lowly cave, But of a garden had no notion."

Embowering elms their umbrage wave; Continuing this fantastic farce on,

And while the maple dish is mine, lle now commences country parson.

The beechen cup, unstain'd with wine; To make his character entire,

I scorn the gay licentious crowd, He weds — a cousin of the 'squire ;

Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. Not over-weighty in the purse, But many doctors have done worse :

Within my limits lone and still And though she boasts no charms divine,

The blackbird pipes in artless trill ; Yet she can carve and make birch wine.

Fast by my couch, congenial guest, Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,

The wren has wove her mossy nest; Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;

From busy scenes, and brighter skies, Finds his church-wardens have discerning

To lurk with innocence, she flies : Both in good liquor and good learning;

Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
With tythes his barns replete he sees,

Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.
And chuckles o'er his surplice fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,

At morn I take my custom'd round,
And regulates the state of pews;

To mark how buds yon shrubby mound, Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,

And every opening primrose count, To share the monthly club's carousing ;

That trimly paints my blooming mount: Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,

Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, And - but on Sundays — hears no bells;

That grace my gloomy solitude, Sends presents of his choicest fruit,

I teach in winding wreaths to stray
And prunes himself each sapless shoot ;

Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year ;

At eve, within yon studious nook,
Thinks alteration charming work is,

I ope my brass-embossed book, Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;

Pourtray'd with many a holy deed Builds in his copse a fav'rite bench,

Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed: And stores the pond with carp and tench.

Then as my taper waxes dim, But ah ! too soon his thoughtless breast

Chant, ere I sleep, my measur'd hymn ; By cares domestic is opprest ;

And at the close, the gleams behold
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,

Of parting wings bedropt with gold.
Threaten inevitable ruin:
For children fresh expenses yet,

While such pure joys my bliss create,
And Dicky now for school is fit.

Who but would smile at guilty state?



Who but would wish his holy lot
In calm Oblivion's humble grot?

Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff, and amice gray *;

And to the world's tumultuous stage
Prefer the blameless hermitage?

An mourn, thou lov'd retreat! No more
Shall classic steps thy scenes explore !
When morn's pale rays but faintly peep

O'er yonder oak-crown'd airy steep,

Who now shall climb its brows to view

The length of landscape, ever new,

Where Summer flings, in careless pride,
Her varied vesture far and wide ?

Who mark, beneath, each village-charm,
The hinds how blest, who ne'er beguild

Or grange, or elm-encircled farm: To quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild;

The Ainty dove-cote's crowded roof, Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main,

Watch'd by the kite that sails aloof : For splendid care, and guilty gain!

The tufted pines, whose umbrage tall When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam Darkens the long-deserted hall : Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, The veteran beech, that on the plain They rove abroad in ether blue,

Collects at eve the playful train : To dip the scythe in fragrant dew;

The cot that smokes with early fire, The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell,

The low-roof”d fane's embosom'd spire ? That nodding shades a craggy dell.

Who now shall indolently stray Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear,

Through the deep forest's tangled way; Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear :

Pleas'd at his custom'd task to find On green untrodden banks they view

The well-known hoary-tressed hind,
The hyacinth's neglected hue:

That toils with feeble hands to glean
In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, Of wither'd boughs his pittance mean?
They spy the squirrel's airy bounds,

Who mid thy nooks of hazel sit,
And startle from her ashen spray,

Lost in some melancholy fit; Across the glen, the screaming jay:

And listening to the raven's croak, Each native charm their steps explore

The distant fail, the falling oak ? Of Solitude's sequestered store.

Who, through the sunshine and the shower, For them the Moon with cloudless ray

Descry the rainbow-painted tower? Mounts, to illume their homeward way:

Who, wandering at return of May, Their weary spirits to relieve,

Catch the first cuckow's vernal lay? The meadows' incense breathe at eve.

Who musing waste the summer bour, No riot mars the simple fare,

Where high o'er-arching trees embower That o'er a glimmering hearth they share :

The grassy lane, so rarely pac'd, But when the curfew's measur'd roar

With azure flow'rets idly grac'd? Duly, the darkening valleys o'er,

Unnotic'd now, at twilight's dawn Has echoed from the distant town,

Returning reapers cross the lawn; They wish no beds of cygnet-down,

Nor fond attention loves to note No trophied canopies, to close

The wether's bell from folds remote : Their drooping eyes in quick repose.

While, own'd by no poetic eye, Their little sons, who spread the bloom

Thy pensive evenings shade the sky! Of health around the clay-built room,

For lo ! the Bard who rapture found Or through the primros'd coppice stray,

In every rural sight or sound; Or gambol in the new-mown hay;

Whose genius warm, and judgment chaste, Or quaintly braid the cowslip twine,

No charm of genuine nature passid ; Or drive afield the tardy kine ;

Who felt the Muse's purest fires, Or hasten' from the sultry hill,

Far from thy favour'd haunt retires; To loiter at the shady rill;

Who peopled all thy vocal bowers Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest,

With shadowy shapes, and airy powers To rob the raven's ancient nest.

Behold, a dread repose resumes, Their humble porch with honied flow'rs

As erst, thy sad sequester'd glooms ! The curling woodbine's shade imbow'rs:

From the deep dell, where shaggy roots From the small garden's thymy mound

Fringe the rough brink with wreathed shoots, Their bees in busy swarms resound:

Th' unwilling genius flies forlorn, Nor fell Disease, before his time,

His primrose chaplet rudely torn. Hastes to consume life's golden prime:

With hollow shriek the nymphs forsake But when their temples long have wore

The pathless copse and hedge-row brake : The silver crown of tresses hoar;

Where the delv'd mountains headlong side As studious still calm peace to keep,

Its chalky entrails opens wide, Beneath a flowery turf they sleep.

On the green summit, ambush'd high,

No longer Echo loves to lie. • Gray clothing, from the Latin verb amicio, to No pearl-crown'd maids with wily look, clothe.

Rise beckoning from the reedy brook.

Around the glow-worm's glimmering bank, Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles No Fairies run in fiery rank ;

Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve, Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread

Where through some western window the pale Moon The violet's unprinted head.

Pours her long-levellid rule of streaming light; But Fancy, from the thickets brown,

While sullen sacred silence reigns around, The glades that wear a conscious frown,

Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow'r The forest oaks, that, pale and lone,

Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp, Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,

Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves Rough glens, and sullen waterfalls,

Of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green Her bright ideal offspring calls.

Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread So by some sage enchanter's spell,

Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old (As old Arabian fablers tell,)

The cloister'd brothers : through the gloomy void Amid the solitary wild,

That far extends beneath their ample arch Luxuriant gardens gaily smild:

As on I pace, religious horrour wraps From sapphire rocks the fountains stream'd, My soul in dread repose. But when the world With golden fruit the branches beam'd;

Is clad in Midnight's raven-colour'd robe, Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,

'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame Or lightly tripp'd, or solemn stood ;

Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare And oft, retreating from the view,

O’er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk Betray'd, at distance, beauties new :

Along the glimm'ring walls; or ghostly shape While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers

At distance seen, invites with beck’ning hand Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers.

My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults. If bound on service new to go,

Nor undelightful is the solemn noon The master of the magic show,

Of night, when haply wakeful from my couch His transitory charm withdrew,

I start : lo! all is motionless around! Away th' illusive landscape flew :

Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men Dun clouds obscur'd the groves of gold, And every beast in mute oblivion lie; Blue lightning smote the blooming mould: All nature 's hush'd in silence and in sleep. In visionary glory rear'd,

O then how fearful is it to reflect, The gorgeous castle disappear'd ;

That through the still globe's aweful solitude, And a bare heath's unfruitful plain

No being wakes but me! till stealing sleep
Usurp'd the wizard's proud domain.

My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through flow'ry paths of joy;
But let the sacred genius of the night
Such mystic visions send, as Spenser saw,
When through bewild'ring Fancy's magic maze,

To the fell house of Busyrane, he led

Th’ unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,

When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd Præcipe lugubres

All Heav'n in tumult, and the seraphim Cantus, Melpomene !

Come tow'ring, arm’d in adamant and gold.

Let others love soft Summer's evening smiles, THER of musings, Contemplation sage,

As list’ning to the distant water-fall, nose grotto stands upon the topmost rock They mark the blushes of the streaky west ; Teneriff'; 'mid the tempestuous night,

I choose the pale December's foggy glooms. which, in calmest meditation held,

Then, when the sullen shades of ev’ning close, bu hear'st with howling winds the beating rain Where through the room a blindly glimm'ring gleam d drifting hail descend ; or if the skies

The dying embers scatter, far remote (roof clouded shine, and through the blue serene From Mirth's mad shouts, that through th' illumin'd e Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,

Resound with festive echo, let me sit, ence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge. ptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct Then let my thought contemplative explore distant billows soothe thy pensive ear

This feeting state of things, the vain delights, th hoarse and hollow sounds; secure, self-blest, The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, ere oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar

As through the wilderness of life we rove. fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low

This sober hour of silence will unmask -ends the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st False Folly's smile, that like the dazzling spells note from man conversing with the spheres ! Of wily Comus cheat the unweeting eye ead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms With blear illusion, and persuade to drink genial with my soul ; to cheerless shades, That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair ruin'd seats, to twilight cells and bow'rs, Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. ere thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught r fav’rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath. purple Spring, where all the wanton train Few know that elegance of soul refind, Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy sportive round, while from their hand they show'r From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride brosial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm; Of tasteless splendour and magnificence npé, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind eu green vales ! ye broider'd meads, adieu ! Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,


More genuine transports found, as on some tomb Ye youths of Albion's beauty-blooming isie,
Reclin'd, she watch'd the tapers of the dead; Whose brows have worn the wreath of luckless love,
Or through the pillar'd iles, amid pale shrines Is there a pleasure like the pensive mood,
Of imag'd saints, and intermingled graves, Whose magic wont to soothe your soften'd souls ?
Mus’d a veil'd votaress; than Flavia feels,

O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt
As through the mazes of the festive ball,

To Melody's assuasive voice ; to bend Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty’s blaze, Th’ uncertain step along the midnight mead, She floats amid the silken sons of dress,

And pour your sorrows to the pitying Moon, And shines the fairest of th' assembled fair. By many a slow trill from the bird of woe

When azure noontide cheers the dædal globe, Oft interrupted ; in embow'ring woods And the blest regent of the golden day

By darksome brook to muse, and there forget Rejoices in his bright meridian tower,

The solemn dulness of the tedious world, How oft my wishes ask the night's return, While Fancy grasps the visionary fair : That best befriends the melancholy mind!

And now no more th' abstracted ear attends Hail, sacred Night ! thou too shalt share my song! The water's murm'ring lapse, th' entranced ere Sister of ebon-scepter'd Hecat, hail !

Pierces no longer through th’extended rows Whether in congregated clouds thou wrapp'st Of thick-rang'd trees; till haply from the depth Thy viewless chariot, or with silver crown

The woodman's stroke, or distant tinkling tan, Thy beaming head encirclest, ever hail !

Or heifers rustling through the brake, alarms What though beneath thy gloom the sorceress-strain, Th' illuded sense, and mars the golden dream, Far in obscured haunt of Lapland moors,

These are delights that absence drear has made With rhymes uncouth the bloody cauldron bless; Familiar to my soul, e'er since the form Though Murder wan beneath thy shrouding shade Of young Sapphira, beauteous as the Spring, Summons her slow-ey'd vot’ries to devise

When from her vi'let-woven couch awak'd Of secret slaughter, while by one blue lamp By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek In hideous conf'rence sits the list’ning band, Graceful she lifts, and blushing from ber bow! And start at each low wind, or wakeful sound : Issues to clothe in gladsome-glistering green What though thy stay the pilgrim curseth oft, The genial globe, first met my dazzled sight : As all benighted in Arabian wastes

These are delights unknown to minds profane, He hears the wilderness around him howl

And which alone the pensive soul can taste. With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head The taper'd choir, at the late hour of pray'ı, The black-descending tempest ceaseless beats ; Oft let me tread, while to th' according veier Yet more delightful to my pensive mind

The many-sounding organ peals on high, Is thy return, than blooming Morn's approach, The clear slow-dittied chant, or varied hymı, Ev'n than, in youthful pride of opening May, Till all my soul is bathed in ecstasies, When from the portals of the saffron east

And lapp'd in paradise. Or let me sit She sheds fresh roses, and ambrosial dews.

Far in sequester'd iles of the deep dome, Yet not ungrateful is the Morn's approach, There lonesome listen to the sacred sounds, When dropping wet she comes, and clad in clouds, Which, as they lengthen through the Gothie While through the damp air scowls the louring In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear. South,

Nor when the lamps expiring yield to night,
Blackening the landscape's face, that grove and hill And solitude returns, would I forsake
In formless vapours undistinguish'd swim : The solemn mansion, but attentive mark,
Th' afflicted songsters of the sadden'd groves The due clock swinging slow with sweepy swas,
Hail not the sullen gloom : the waving elms Mcasuring time's fight with momentary sound
That, hoar through time and rang'd in thick array, Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind
Enclose with stately row some rural hall,

With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse,
Are mute, nor echo with the clamours hoarse Divine Melpomene, sweet Pity's nurse,
Of rooks rejoicing on their airy boughs ;

Queen of the stately step, and flowing pall. While to the shed the dripping poultry crowd, Now let Monimia mourn with streaming eres A mournful train : secure the village-hind

Her joys incestuous, and polluted love; Hangs o'er the crackling blaze, nor tempts the storm; Now let soft Juliet in the gaping tomb Fix'd in th' unfinish'd furrow rests the plough: Print the last kiss on her true Romeo's lips, Rings not the high wood with enliven'd shouts His lips yet reeking from the deadly draugtat. Of early hunter: all is silence drear;

Or Jaffier kneel for one forgiving look. And deepest sadness wraps the face of things. Nor seldom let the Moor on Desdemone Through Pope's soft song though all the Graces Pour the misguided threats of jealous rage. breathe,

By soft degrees the manly torrent steals And happiest art adorn his Attic page ;

From my swoln eyes; and at a brother's we Yet does my mind with sweeter transport glow, My big heart melts in sympathizing tears As at the root of mossy trunk reclin'd,

What are the splendours of the gaudy cours, In magic Spenser's wildly-warbled song

Its tinsel trappings, and its pageant pomps?
I see deserted Una wander wide

To me far happier seems the banish'd lord,
Through wasteful solitudes, and lurid heaths, Amid Siberia's unrejoicing wilds,
Weary, forlorn ; than when the fated fair

Who pines all lonesome, in the chambers bow Upon the bosom bright of silver Thames

Of some high castle shut, whose windows dim Lanches in all the lustre of brocade,

In distant ken discover trackless plains, Amid the splendours of the laughing Sun.

Where Winter ever whirls his icy car! The gay description palls upon the sense,

While still repeated objects of his view, And coldly strikes the mind with feeble bliss. The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires,

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