Tenacious of its theme. Still, still she thinks That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife:
She sees him, and, indulging the fond thought,
Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf,
Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way.
Invidious Grave! how dost thou rend in
Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one!
A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserv'd from me,
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart
Anxious to please. O! when my friend and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and set us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-covered bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the underwood,
Sweet murm'ring; methought, the shrill-
tongued thrush
Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird
Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd ev'ry note;
The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose
Assum'd a dye more deep; whilst ev'ry flow'r
Vied with his fellow-plant in luxury
Of dress. Oh! then the longest summer's day Seem'd too, too much in haste; still the full heart
Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!
Dull Grave! thou spoil'st the dance of
Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, And ev'ry smirking feature from the face; Branding our laughter with the name of mad
Where are the jesters now? the man of health
Complexionally pleasant? where the droll?
Whose ev'ry look and gesture was a joke
To clapping theatres and shouting crowds,
And made ev'n thick-lipp'd musing Melan-
To gather up her face into a smile [choly
Before she was aware? Ah! sullen now,
And dumb as the green turf that covers them!
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war?
The Roman Cæsars and the Grecian chiefs,
The boast of story? Where the hot-brain'd
Who the tiara at his pleasure tore [youth,
From kings of all the then discover'd globe,
And cried, forsooth, because his arm was ham-
per'd,
And had not room enough to do its work?
Alas! how slim, dishonourably slim !
And cramm'd into a space we blush to name!
Proud royalty! how alter'd in thy looks!
How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue!
Son of the morning! whither art thou gone?
Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head,
And the majestic menace of thine eyes
Felt from afar ? Pliant and powerless now
Like new-born infant bound up in his swathes,
Or victim tumbled flat upon his back,
Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues,
And coward insults of the base-born crowd,
That grudge a privilege thou never hadst,
But only hoped for in the peaceful grave,
Of being unmolested and alone.
Araby's gums, and odoriferous drugs,
And honors by the heralds duly paid
In mode and form, ev'n to a very scruple;
O cruel irony! these come too late ;,
And only mock whom they were meant to ho-
[ried
Surely, there's not a dungeon-slave that's bu
In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd,
But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he.
Sorry pre-eminence of high descent
Above the vulgar born, to rot in state!
But see! the well-plum'd hearse comes nod-
ding on,
Stately and slow; and properly attended
By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch
The sick man's door, and live upon the dead,
By letting out their persons by the hour
To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad!
How rich the trappings, now they're all un-
furl'd
And glitt'ring in the sun! Triumphant entries
Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,
In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people
Retard the unwieldy show; whilst from the
casements,
[wedg'd
And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks close
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste?
Why this ado in earthing up a carcass
That's fallen into disgrace, and in the nostril
Smells horrible! Ye undertakers! tell us,
'Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for which
You make this mighty stir? "Tis wisely done:
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter casts discreetly into shades.
Proud lineage, now how little thou appear'st!
Below the envy of the private man!
Honor, that meddlesome officious ill, [short.
Pursues thee e'en to death, nor there stops
Strange persecution! when the grave itself
Is no protection from rude sufferance.
Absurd! to think to over-reach the grave!
And from the wreck of names to rescue ours!
The best concerted schemes men lay for fame
Die fast away; only themselves die faster.
The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurel bard,
Those bold insurers of eternal fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain,
The tap'ring pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world! whose spiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd
The angry shaking of the winter's storm;
Yet spent at last by th' injuries of heav'n,
Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with
years,
The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crusted,
Gives way. O lamentable sight! at once
The labor of whole ages lumbers down;
A hideous and mis-shapen length of ruins.
Works hard to put a gloss on its distress.
Strength too! thou surly, and less gentle
boast
Of those that laugh loud at the village ring!
A fit of common sickness pulls thee down,
With greater ease than e'er thou didst the
stripling
Sepulchral columns wrestle but in vain
With all-subduing Time; her cank'ring hand
With calm deliberate malice wasteth them:
Worn on the edge of days, the brass consumes,
The busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble,
Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge.
Ambition, half convicted of her folly,
Hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale.
Here all the mighty troublers of the earth,
Who swam to sov'reign rule thro' seas of blood;
Th' oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains, With anguish heavy laden! let me trace it:
Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires From yonder bed it comes, where the strong
And in a cruel wantonness of pow'r [waste,
That rashly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight. What groan was that I heard? deep groan indeed!
Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath To want the rest; now, like a storm that's Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart [vert. Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant
Lie hush'd, and meanly sneak behind thy co-
Vain thought! to hide them from the gen'ral
That haunts and dogs them like an injur'd ghost
Implacable. Here, too, the petty tyrant,
Whose scant domains geographer ne'er notic'd,
And, well for neighb'ring grounds, of arm as
Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor, [short,
And grip'd them like some lordly beast of prey,
Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger,
And piteous plaintive voice of misery
(As if a slave was not a shred of nature,
Of the same common nature as his lord);
Now tame and humble, like a child that's
whipp'd,
To give the lungs full play! what now avail
The strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-spread
shoulders !
See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,
Mad with his pain! eager he catches hold
Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard,
Just like a creature drowning! hideous sight!
Oh! how his eyes stand out and stare full
ghastly!
Whilst the distemper's rank and deadly venom
Shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels,
And drinks his marrow up. Heard you that
groan ?
It was his last. See how the great Goliah,
Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest,
Shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm Lies still. What mean'st thou then, O mighty
his kinsman;
Nor pleads his rank and birthright.
Precedency's a jest ; vassal and lord,
Grossly familiar, side by side consume.
[the bull, Under To vaunt of nerves of thine? What means Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward,
When self esteem, or others' adulation,
Would cunningly persuade us we were some-
Above the common level of our kind; [thing
The Grave gainsays the smooth complexion'd
flatt'ry,
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.
Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit !
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse unknown before!
The grave discredits thee: thy charms
pung'd,
And flee before a feeble thing like man;
That knowing well the slackness of his arm,
Trusts only in the well-invented knife!
With study pale, and midnight vigils spent,
The star-surveying sage close to his eye
Applies the sight-invigorating tube;
And trav'lling thro' the boundless length of
Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs, ex-That roll with regular confusion there,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,
What hast thou more to boast of? Will thy
lovers
[mage?
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee ho-
Methinks I see thee with thy head low-laid;
Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek,
The high-fed worm in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd. For this was all thy caution!
For this thy painful labours at thy glass,
T' improve those charms and keep them in re-
pair,
[feeder!
For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul
Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relish on the sense.
Look how the fair one weeps! the conscious
Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flow'rs:
Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain
In ecstasy of thought. But ah! proud man!
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head!
Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails;
And down thou dropp'st into that darksome
place,
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.
Here the tongue-warrior lies! disabled now,
Disarm'd, dishonor'd, like a wretch that's
And cannot tell his ail to passers-by. [gagg'd,
Great man of language, whence this mighty
change?
This dumb despair, and drooping of the head?
Though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip,
And sły insinuation's softer arts
In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue
Alas! how chap-fall'n now! thick mists and
silence
Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast
Unceasing. Ah! where is the lifted arm
The strength of action, and the force of words, | Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge, The well-turn'd period, and the well-tun'd At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.
With all the lesser ornaments of phrase?
Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been!
Raz'd from the book of fame, or, more pro-
voking,
Perhaps some hackney, hunger-bitten scribbler
Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb
With long flat narratives, or duller rhymes
With heavy halting pace that drawl along;
Enough to rouse a dead man into rage,
And warm with red resentment the wan cheek.
Here the great masters of the healing art,
These mighty mock-defrauders of the tomb!
Spite of their jalaps and catholicons,
Resign to fate. Proud Esculapius' son,
Where are thy boasted implements of art,
And all thy well-cramm'd magazines of health?
Nor hill, nor vale, as far as ship could go,
Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook,
Escap'd thy rifling hands: from stubborn shrubs
Thou wrung'st their shy retiring virtues out,
And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly, nor insect,
Nor writhy snake, escap'd thy deep rescarch.-
But why this apparatus? why this cost?
Tell us thou doughty keeper from the grave!
Where are thy recipes and cordials now,
With the long list of vouchers for thy cures ?
Alas! thou speak'st not. The bold impostor
Looks not more silly when the cheat's found
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Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?
O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake
The fool throws up his int'rest in both worlds,
First starv'd in this, then damn'd in that to
[Death!
How shocking must thy summons be, O
To him that is at ease in his possessions;
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come!
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement,
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help,
But shrieks in vain! how wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer hers!
A little longer, yet a little longer,
Sure, 'tis a serious thing to die! my soul! What a strange moment must it be, when near Thy journey's end thou hast the gulph in view! That awful gulph no mortal e'er repass'd To tell what's doing on the other side! Nature runs back and shudders at the sight, And ev'ry life-string bleeds at thoughts of parting?
For part they must: body and soul must part; Fond couple! link'd more close than wedded pair.
This wings its way to its Almighty Source, The witness of its actions, now its judge; That drops into the dark and noisome grave, Like a disabled pitcher, of no use.
If death was nothing, and nought after death; If, when men died, at once they ceas'd to be, Returning to the barren womb of nothing Whence first they sprung; then might the debauchee
Untrembling mouth the heav'ns; then might the drunkard
Reel over his full bowl, and when 'tis drain'd
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh
At the poor bug-bear Death; then might the
That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life,
At once give each inquietude the slip,
By stealing out of being when he pleas'd,
And by what way; whether by hemp or steel
Death's thousand doors stand open. Who
could force
The ill pleas'd guest to sit out his full time,
Or blame him if he goes? Sure! he does well
That helps himself as timely as he can,
When able. But if there is an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience uninfluenc'd,
And suffer'd to speak out, tells ev'ry man,
Then must it be an awful thing to die;
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.
Self-murder! name it not; our island's shame,
That makes her the reproach of neighb'ring
[tate,
Shall nature, swerving from her earliest dic-
Self-preservation, fall by her own act?
Forbid it, Heav'n! let not, upon disgust,
The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er
With blood of its own lord. Dreadful attempt!
Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage
To rush into the presence of our Judge!
As if we challeng'd him to do his worst,
And matter'd not his wrath. Unheard-of-tor-
tures
Must be reserv'd for such: these herd together;
The common damn'd shun their society,
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.
Our time is fix'd; and all our days are number'd;
How long, how short, we know not this we
know,
O might she stay to wash away her stains,
And fit her for her passage! mournful sight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horror: but the foe,
Like a staunch murd'rer steady to his pur-Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till Heav'n shall give permis
[stand,
Like sentries that must keep their destin'd
Pursues her close through every lane of life, Nor misses once the track, but presses on; VOL. V. Nos. 67 & 68,
And wait th' appointed hour, till they're re-Unapprehensive; when for aught we know, liev'd. [ground, The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in. Those only are the brave who keep their Think we, or think we not, time hurries on With a resistless unremitting stream,
And keep it to the last. To run away
Is but a coward's trick to run away
From this world's ills, that at the very worst
Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend our-
selves
By boldly vent'ring on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark; 'tis mad;
No frenzy half so desperate as this.
Tell us, ye dead! will none of you in pity
To those you left behind disclose the secret?
O! that some courteous ghost would blab it out,
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be.
I've heard that souls departed have sometimes
Forewarn❜d men of their death: 'twas kindly
done
To knock and give th' alarum. But what means
This stinted charity? 'tis but lame kindness
That does its work by halves. Why might
you not
Tell us what 'tis to die? Do the strict laws
Of your society forbid your speaking
Upon a point so nice? I'll ask no more;
Sullen like lamps in sepulchres, your shine
Enlightens but yourselves: well-'tis no mat-
A very little time will clear up all, [ter
And make us learn'd as you are, and as close.
Death's shafts fly thick! Here falls the vil-
lage swain,
[round,
And there his pamper'd lord! The cup goes
And who so artful as to put it by?
"Tis long since death had the majority;
Yet, strange the living lay it not to heart.
See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle!
Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er
stole
A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand
Digs thro' whole rows of kindred and
quaintance
Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight
thief,
That slides his hand under the miser's pillow,
And carries off his prize. What is this world?
What but a specious burial-field unwall'd,
Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of ani-
mals,
Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones?
The very turf on which we tread once liv'd;
And we that live must lend our carcasses
To cover our own offspring in their turns
They too must cover theirs. 'Tis here all meet!
The shiv'ring Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor;
Men of all climes, that never met before;
And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the
Christian.
[prouder,
Here the proud prince, and favourite yet
His sov'reign's keeper, and the people's
Scourge,
Are huddled out of sight. Here lie abash'd
The great negotiators of the earth,
And celebrated masters of the balance,
Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts:
Now vain their treaty-skill; Death scorns to
[then
Here the o'erloaded slave flings down his bur-
From his gall'd shoulders; and when the cru-
el tyrant,
[him,
With all his guards and tools of pow'r about
Is meditating new unheard-of hardships,
Mocks his short arm, and quick as thought es-
Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest.
Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade,
The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream,
Time out of mind the fav'rite seats of love,
Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down
Unblasted by foul tongue. Here friends and foes
Lie close, unmindful of their former feuds.
The lawn-rob'd prelate, and plain presbyter,
Ere while that stood aloof, as shy to meet,
By far his juniors! scarce a scull's cast up,
But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some passage of his life. Thus hand in hand
The sot has walk'd with death twice twenty Familiar mingle here, like sister-streams
[louder, That some rude interposing rock had split.
And yet ne'er younker on the green laughs Here is the large-limb'd peasant; here the child
Or clubs a smuttier tale; when drunkards meet,
None sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand
More willing to his cup. Poor wretch! he
minds not
Of a span long, that never saw the sun,
Nor press'd the nipple, strangled in life's porch:
Here is the mother with her sons and daughters;
The barren wife; the long-demurring maid,
Whose lonely unappropriated sweets
Smil'd like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff,
[friends Not to be come at by the willing hand.
That soon some trusty brother of the trade
Shall do for him what he has done for thou-
sands.
On this side, and on that, men see their
Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out
Into fantastic schemes, which three long livers
In the world's hale and undegen'rate days
Could scarce have leisure for. Fools that we
Never to think of death and of ourselves [are!
At the same time! as if to learn to die
Were no concern of ours. O more than sottish!
For creatures of a day, in gamesome mood
To frolic on eternity's dread brink,
Here are the prude severe, and gay coquette,
The sober widow, and the young green virgin,
Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth disclos'd. Strange medley
here!
Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;
And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart,
Whose ev'ry day was made of melody,
Hears not the voice of mirth; the shrill.
tongued shrew,
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
Here are the wise, the gen'rous, and the brave;
The just, the good, the worthless, the profane;
The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred,
The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the
The supple statesman, and the patriot stern;
The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time,
With all the lumber of six thousand years.
Admitted once into its better room,
Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone
Lording it o'er the man, who now too late
Saw the rash error which he could not mend
An error fatal not to him alone,
But to his future sons, his fortune's heirs.
Inglorious bondage! human nature groans
Beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel,
And its vast body bleeds through ev'ry vein.
What havock hast thou made, foul monster
Sin!
Poor man! how happy once in thy first state! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, [pleas'd Greatest and first of ills the fruitful parent He stamp'd thee with his image, and well Of woes of all dimensions! But for thee, Smil'd on his last fair work! Then all was well. Sorrow had never been. All noxious things Sound was the body, and the soul serene; Of vilest nature, other sorts of evils, Like two sweet instruments ne'er out of tune, Are kindly circumscrib'd, and have their That play their several parts. Nor head, nor bounds. heart, [should, Offer'd to ache; nor was there cause they For all was pure within: no fell remorse, Nor anxious castings up of what may be, Alarm'd his peaceful bosom: summer seas Show not more smooth when kiss'd by southern winds,
Just ready to expire. Scarce importun'd,
The gen'rous soil with a luxuriant hand
Offer'd the various produce of the year,
And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.
Blessed, thrice blessed days! but ah, how short!
Bless'd as the pleasing dreams of holy men,
But fugitive, like those, and quickly gone.
O slippery state of things! What sudden turns,
What strange vicissitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's sad history! To-day most happy;
And, ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject!
How scant the space between these vast ex-
tremes!
Thus far'd it with our sire: not long he enjoy'd
His paradise! Scarce had the happy tenant
Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets,
Or sum them up, when straight he must be gone,
Ne'er to return again. And must he go?
Can nought compound for the first dire offence
Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd,
Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,
And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish odours of the place,
Offer'd in incense, can procure his pardon,
Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel
With flaming sword forbids his longer stay,
And drives the loit'rer forth`; nor must he take
One last and farewell round. At once he lost
His glory and his God. If mortal now,
And sorely maim'd, no wonder! Man has sinn'd.
Sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures,
Evil he would needs try: nor tried in vain.
(Dreadful experiment! destructive measure!
Where the worst thing could happen, is suc-
cess.)
Alas! too well he sped: the good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost,
Not to return; or, if it did, its visits
Like those of angels short, and far between :
Whilst the black demon, with his hell-scap'd
train,
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten stone and globes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench,
Mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round,
And there it stops. The big-swoln inunda-
Of mischief more diffusive, raving loud, [tion,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning
But that too has its shore it cannot pass.
More dreadful far than these, Sin has laid
Not here and there a country, but a world;
Dispatching at a wide-extended blow
Entire mankind, and for their sakes defacing
A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;
Blasting the fruitful grain, the loaded branches.
And marking all along its way with ruin.
Accursed thing! O where shall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expressive
Of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills;
Of temper so transcendently malign,
That toads and serpents of most deadly kind
Compar'd to thee are harmless. Sicknesses
Of ev'ry size and symptom, racking pains,
And bluest plagues are thine! See how the
Profusely scatters the contagion round! [fiend
Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at
her heels,
[morrow
Wades deep in blood new-spilt; yet for to-
Shapes out new work of great uncommon dar-
ing,
And inly pines till the dread blow is struck.
But hold! I've gone too far; too much dis-
My father's nakedness, and nature's shame.
Here let me pause! and drop an honest tear,
One burst of filial duty, and condolence,
O'er all those ample deserts Death has spread,
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater!
Whose ev'ry day is carnival; not sated yet
Unheard of epicure! without a fellow !
The veriest gluttons do not always cram ;
Some intervals of abstinence are sought
To edge the appetite: thou seekest none.
Methinks the countless swarms thou hast de-
vour'd,
And thousands that each hour thou gobblest up,
This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full
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