-------------
Carmina possumus
Donare, et
pretium dicere muneri.
Non incisa
notis marmora publicis,
Per quae spiritus
et vita redit bonis
Post mortem
ducibus ---------------------
---------------
clarius indicant
Laudes, quam
----------- Pierides; neque,
Si chartae
sileant quod bene feceris,
Mercedem tuleris.----HOR.
Car. 8, Lib. 4.
When the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch
On the tired household of corporeal sense,
And Fancy in her airy bower kept watch,
Free to exert some kindly influence;
I saw--but little boots it that my verse
A shadowy visitation should rehearse,
For to our Shores such glory hath been brought,
That dreams no brighter are than waking thought--
I saw, in wondrous perspective displayed,
A landscape richer than the happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,
Tower, town, and city--and suburban grove,
And stately forest where the wild deer rove;
And, in a clouded quarter of the sky,
Through such a portal as with chearful eye
The traveller greets in time of threatened storm,
Issued, to sudden view, a radiant Form!
Earthward it glided with a swift descent:
Saint George himself this Visitant must be;
And ere a thought could ask on what intent
He sought the regions of humanity,
A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified
My patriotic heart;--aloud it cried--
"I, the Guardian of this Land,
Speak not now of toilsome duty--
Well obeyed was that command,
Whence bright days of festive
beauty;
Haste, Virgins, haste!--the flowers which summer gave
Have perished in the field;
But the green thickets plenteously will yield
Fit garlands for the Brave,
That will be welcome, if by you entwined!
Haste, Virgins, haste;--and you, ye Matrons grave,
Go forth with rival youthfulness of mind,
And gather what ye find
Of hardy laurel and wild holly boughs,
To deck your stern defenders' modest brows!
Such simple gifts prepare,
Though they have gained a worthier meed;
And in due time shall share
Those palms and amaranthine wreaths,
Unto their martyred Countrymen decreed,
In realms where everlasting freshness breathes!"
And lo! with crimson banners proudly streaming,
And upright weapons innocently gleaming,
Along the surface of a spacious plain,
Advance in order the redoubted bands,
And there receive green chaplets from the hands
Of a fair female train--
Maids and Matrons--dight
In robes of dazzling white,--
While from the crowd bursts forth a rapturous noise
By the cloud-capt hills retorted,--
And a throng of rosy boys
In loose fashion tell their joys,--
And grey-haired Sires, on staffs supported,
Looked round--and by their smiling seemed to say,
Thus strives a grateful Country to display
The mighty debt which nothing can repay!
Anon, I saw, beneath a dome of state,
The feast dealt forth with bounty unconfined;
And while the vaulted roof did emulate
The starry heavens through splendour of the show,
It rang with music,--and methought the wind
Scattered the tuneful largess far and near,
That they who asked not might partake the cheer,
Who listened not could hear,
Where'er the wild winds were allowed to blow!
--That work reponsing, on the verge
Of busiest exultation hung a dirge
Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument,
That kindled recollections
Of agonized affections;
And, though some tears the strain attended,
The mournful passion ended
In peace of spirit, and sublime content!
--But garlands wither,--festal shows depart,
Like dreams themselves, and sweetest sound,
Albeit of effect profound,
It was--and it is gone!
Victorious England! bid the silent art
Reflect, in glowing hues that shall not fade,
These high achievements,--even as she arrayed
With second life the deed of Marathon
Upon Athenian walls;
So may she labour for thy civic halls;
And be the guardian spaces
Of consecrated places,
Graced with such gifts as Sculpture can bestow,
When inspiration guides her patient toil;
And let imperishable trophies grow
Fixed in the depths of this courageous soil;
Expressive signals of a glorious strife,
And competent to shed a spark divine
Into the torpid breast of daily life;
Trophies on which the morning sun may shine,
As changeful ages flow,
With gratulation thoroughly benign!
And ye, Pierian Sisters, sprung from Jove
And sage Mnemosyne,--full long debarred
From your first mansions,--exiled all too long
From many a consecrated stream and grove,
Dear native regions where ye wont to rove,
Chanting for patriot heroes the reward
Of never-dying
song!
Now (for, though Truth descending from above
The Olympian summit hath destroyed for aye
Your kindred deities, ye live and move,
And exercise unglamed a generous sway,)
Now, on the margin of some spotless fountain,
Or top serene of unmolested mountain,
Strike audibly the noblest of your lyres,
And for a moment meet the soul's desires!
That I, or some more favoured Bard, may hear
What ye, celestial maids! have often sung
Of Britain's acts,--may catch it with rapt ear,
And give the treasure to our British tongue!
So shall the characters of that proud page
Support their mighty theme from age to age;
And, in the desart places of the earth,
When they to future empires have given birth,
So shall the people gather and believe
The bold report, transferred to every clime;
And the whole world, not envious but admiring,
And to
the like aspiring,
Own that the progeny of this fair Isle
Had power as lofty actions to achieve
As were performed in Man's heroic prime;
Nor wanted, when their fortitude had held
Its even tenour, and the foe was quelled,
A corresponding virtue to beguile
The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time;
That not in vain they laboured to secure
For their great deeds, perpetual memory,
And Fame as largely spread as Land and Sea,
By works of spirit high and passion pure!
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