For many a long-lost pleasure came to view, For many a long-past sorrow rose anew; Where whilome all were friends I stood alone, Unknowing all I saw, of all I saw unknown. There where my little hands were wont to rear The playful groupe, nor heard the playful roar; Enough! it boots not on the past to dwell, ROMANCE. WHAT wildly-beauteous form, High on the summit of yon bicrown'd hill, Lovely in horror, takes her dauntless stand? Though speds the thunder there its deep'ning way, Though round her head the lightnings play, Undaunted she abides the storm; She waves her magic wand, The clouds retire, the storm is still; Bright beams the sun unwonted light around, And many a rising flower bedecks the enchanted ground. Romance! I know thee now, I know the terrors of thy brow; I know thine awful mien, thy beaming eye; Yon car that cleaves the pregnant ground! L Her milder sister loves to rove To mark the gurgling streamlet glide; She speeds to yonder shore, Where sturdy winter holds his northern reign, Through the cloudy-mantled sky Shall see the imps of darkness fly, And hear the sad scream from the grim retreat; Ten thousand dangers lurk, most fearful, most unknown. Yet lovelier oft in milder sway, The snowy Ethiop's matchless charms, "Commit yon impious legend to the fires!” And saves the invalu'd work, and quits the thankless land; And ev❜n the priest* is prais❜d who wrote of blameless love. Around the tower, whose wall infolds * Heliodorus chose rather to be deprived of his see than burn his Ethiopics. ↑ First exploit of the celebrated Regner Lodbrog. Around the patriot board, Enrapt the genius views the dauntless band; Or quell the pride of proud oppression's might, She gives them to the minstrel lore, Hands down her Launcelot's peerless name, To future times descends the memory of the throng. Foremost 'mid the peers of France, Romance the heighten'd tale has caught, Where fiction with devotion loves to dwell, And everlasting wrath to rebel reason sound. Hark! Superstition sounds to war's alarms, War stalks o'er Palestine with scorching breath, All Europe flies to arms: Enthusiast courage spreads her piercing sound, * Knights of the Round Table. + Instead of forging the life of a saint, Archbishop Turpin was better employed in falsifying the history of Charlemagne. A bull was issued, commanding all good citizens to believe Ariosto's poem, founded upon Turpin's history. Romance before the army flies, And hark! resound, in mingled sound, The clang of arms, the shriek of death; And deep and hollow groans load the last struggling breath: Darts, shields, and swords, commix'd appear; Whirls around confused despair; Nor Acre's walls can check his course, Indignant, firm the warrior stood, Romance, o'erhovering, saw the monster die, And scarce herself believ'd the more than wond'rous deed. And now, with more terrific mien, And quits her magic state, and plucks her lovely rose. Imagination waves her wizard wand, Dark shadows mantle o'er the land; What fiends, what monsters, circling round, arise! High towers of fire aloft aspire, Deep yells resound amid the skies, Yclad in arms, to fame's alarms Her magic warrior flies. Romance of the Rose, written soon after the Crusades. By fiction's shield secure, for many a year Nor fiction's shield can stay the spear of ridicule. The blameless warrior comes; he first to wield By him created on the view, And many a flock o'erspreads the plain, The kindred warriors live to fame: As high the unhooding chieftain lifts the spear, Or where such valour, Sidney, but in thee? Oh, cold of heart, shall pride assail thy shade, Whom all romance could fancy Nature made? Sound, fame, thy loudest blast, For Spenser pours the tender strain, And shapes to glowing forms the motley train; Await his potent sound, And o'er his head Romance her brightest splendours cast. Deep through the air let sorrow's banner wave! For penury o'er Spenser's friendless head Her chilling mantle spread; For genius cannot save! Virtue bedews the blameless poet's dust; But fame, exulting, clasps her favourite's laurel'd bust. Fain would the grateful muse to thee, Rousseau, Fain would the raptur'd lyre ecstatic glow, To whom romance and Nature form'd all good: Thine aid divine for ever lend, Still as my guardian sprite attend; Unmov'd by fashion's flaunting throng, Let my calm stream of life smooth its meek course along; |