Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820/To Enterprize
TO ENTERPRIZE.
"The Italian Itinerant" &c. (see page 33.) led to the train of thought which produced the annexed piece.
TO ENTERPRIZE.
Keep for the Young the empassioned smileShed from thy countenance, as I see thee standHigh on a chalky cliff of Britain's Isle,A slender Volume grasping in thy hand—(Perchance the pages that relateThe various turns of Crusoe's fate)Ah, spare the exulting smile,And drop thy pointing finger brightAs the first flash of beacon-light;But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,Nor turn thy face awayFrom One who, in the evening of his day,To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn!
I.Bold Spirit! who art free to roveAmong the starry courts of Jove,And oft in splendour dost appearEmbodied to poetic eyes,While traversing this nether sphere,Where Mortals call thee Enterprize.Daughter of Hope! her favourite Child,Whom she to young Ambition bore,When Hunter's arrow first defiledThe Grove, and stained the turf with gore;Thee winged Fancy took, and nursedOn broad Euphrates' palmy shore,Or where the mightier Waters burst From Caves of Indian mountains hoar!She wrapp'd thee in a Panther's skin;And thou (if rightly I rehearseWhat wondering Shepherds told in verse)From rocky fortress in mid air(The food which pleased thee best to win)Didst oft the flame-eyed Eagle scareWith infant shout,—as often sweep,Paired with the Ostrich, o'er the plain;And, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleepUpon the couchant Lion's mane!With rolling years thy strength increased;And, far beyond thy native East,To thee, by varying titles known,As variously thy power was shown,Did incense-bearing Altars rise,Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,From Suppliants panting for the skies!
II.What though this ancient Earth be trodNo more by step of Demi-god,Mounting from glorious deed to deedAs thou from clime to clime didst lead,Yet still, the bosom beating high,And the hushed farewell of an eyeWhere no procrastinating gazeA last infirmity betrays,Prove that thy heaven-descended swayShall ne'er submit to cold decay.By thy divinity impelled,The Stripling seeks the tented field;The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, paleWith awe, receives the hallowed veil,A soft and tender HeroineVowed to severer discipline;Enflamed by thee, the blooming BoyMakes of the whistling shrouds a toy,And of the Ocean's dismal breastA play-ground and a couch of rest; Thou to his dangers dost enchain,'Mid the blank world of snow and ice,The Chamois-chaser—awed in vainBy chasm or dizzy precipice;And hast Thou not with triumph seenHow soaring Mortals glide sereneFrom cloud to cloud, and brave the lightWith bolder than Icarian flight?Or, in their bells of crystal, diveWhere winds and waters cease to strive,For no unholy visitings,Among the monsters of the Deep,And all the sad and precious thingsWhich there in ghastly silence sleep?—Within our fearless reach are placedThe secrets of the burning Waste,—Egyptian Tombs unlock their Dead,Nile trembles at his fountain head;Thou speak'st—and lo! the polar SeasUnbosom their last mysteries. —But oh! what transports, what sublime reward,Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepareFor philosophic Sage—or high-souled BardWho, for thy service trained in lonely woods,Hath fed on pageants floating thro' the air,Or calentured in depth of limpid floods;Nor grieves - tho' doomed, thro' silent night, to bearThe domination of his glorious themes,Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!
III.Dread Minister of wrath!Who to their destined punishment dost urgeThe Pharoahs of the earth, the men of hardened heart!Not unassisted by the flattering stars,Thou strew'st temptation o'er the pathWhen they in pomp depart,With trampling horses and refulgent cars— Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;Or stifled under weight of desart sands—An Army now, and now a living hill16Heaving with convulsive throes,—It quivers—and is still;Or to forget their madness and their woes,Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!
IV.Back flows the willing current of my Song:If to provoke such doom the Impious dareWhy should it daunt a blameless prayer?—Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beatIn hearts no longer young;Still may a veteran Few have prideIn thoughts whose sternness makes them śweet; In fixed resolves by reason justified;That to their object cleave like sleetWhitening a pine-tree's northern side,While fields are naked far and wide.
V.But, if such homage thou disdainAs doth with mellowing years agree,One rarely absent from thy TrainMore humble favours may obtainFor thy contented Votary.She, who incites the frolic lambsIn presence of their heedless dams,And to the solitary fawnVouchsafes her lessons—bounteous NymphThat wakes the breeze—the sparkling lymphDoth hurry to the lawn;She, who inspires that strain of joyance holyWhich the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy,Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me; And vernal mornings opening brightWith views of undefined delight,And cheerful songs, and suns that shineOn busy days, with thankful nights, be mine.
VI.But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle(Freedom's impregnable redoubt,The wide Earth's store-house fenced aboutWith breakers roaring to the galesThat stretch a thousand thousand sails)Quicken the Slothful, and exalt the Vile!Thy impulse is the life of Fame;Glad Hope would almost cease to beIf torn from thy society;And Love, when worthiest of the name,Is proud to walk the Earth with thee!