I. I. Rememb'rest Thou, at Nature's birth, Sister of Darkness, Solitude! When kindred atoms sprang from Chaos rude? Exulting Thou survey'dst the Earth; Saw'st the drear land, void air, unpeopled sea, And criedst, "The World is made for Me!" Vain hope! With swarming life see ocean heave: The air unnumber'd pinions fan: The ground what rising myriads cleave! See God's last work, imperial Man; Hear the loud Fiat o'er Creation hurl'd: "Mine image Thou: be Monarch of the world!"
I. 2. Again ambitious hopes prevail. Her windows Heaven unbars, her founts the Deep: Of sail devoid, of oar, of helm, Life's poor remains before the whirlwind sweep. "Frail bark! where fliest thou o'er my destined realm? "Soon shall Jehovah's bolt thy fragments whelm!" Thou say'st—The shrinking waters fail: Lo! the fast-anchor'd vessel rolls no more: The waves confess a shore. See hill emerge, and lawn, and vale: Behold the Patriarch Sire descend, Before the grassy altar bend; See the atoning victim plead for Grace! "Man, Earth be thine!" proclaims the appeased Lord: "No second Flood absorbs thy race: "Yon Bow till days expire shall seal the firm accord."
I. 3. Why grasp at universal power? Content, enjoy thy partial reign: For thine is many a noiseless hour, And many a shipless sea, and many a trackless plain. Thine Zahara's burning noon: Thine spicy hills to Tropic suns that glow: Thine Hecla's furnace, thine the snow That glisters to the polar Moon. Nile for Thee his secret head, And wasting Niger guards his dusty bed, And Patagonia bends her howling shore: For Thee to meet the skies Yon stony Needles[1] rise, Where never foot shall climb, nor pinion soar.
And owns not Beauty thy command? On Andes' top I see Thee stand; I see thine eye with fond emotion haste To Juan's[2] blooming lawns amid the wat'ry waste.
II. 1. To me thine awful scenes unveil, Thy lore, dread Monitress, impart; Raise the low thought, expand the selfish heart. Thou beckonest to yon cloister pale[3], Where Britain, side by side in crowded rows, Beholds her glorious Dead repose. Bard, Hero, Sage, how blest each honour'd name, Theme of all tongues!—That frown forego— "Here learn to weigh the breath of Fame. "Shall Spirits cast a glance below, "While now, ev'n now, his throne the Judge arrays?" Their doom they wait, nor think of human praise!
Illustration from 'Poems, Sacred and Moral' by Thomas Gisborne, third edition published in 1803
Eve watch'd the speck upon the gleaming main:
II. 2. "With Pity's wreath be Virtue crown'd. "View yon lone seaman, where mid ocean raves, "Scoop from his shatter'd boat the tide, "Now seen, now lost, among the weltering waves." He feels at every stroke the skiff subside— Is there no beacon'd flame his way to guide, No shore, no sail, in ether's bound? A moment, while the broken floods recoil, He snatches from his toil, And eyes the blank horizon round. Mark the wild glance, record the groan, To all but Thee and Heaven unknown! See less, yet less, the sinking vessel grows——— Eve watch'd the speck upon the gleaming main: Night heard the parted waters close: Morn oped her pitying eye, and sought the speck in vain.
II. 3. Again thy lore is taught by woe! Exile! the dead no more I grieve. I see thee 'mid Siberian snow: I see the electric dawn flash from the brow of Eve[4]. Dark the piny forests scowl, As lambent meteors cross the waving gloom: From wilds whose silence mocks the tomb, Save when the bear with savage howl Chides her mate, I see thee come, Exile! to yon rude hut, thy loathed home: Yon hut thine home by night, yon wild by day. From all the ties of life, Friend, kindred, offspring, wife, Cut off, from waste to waste I see thee stray, The glossy fur, the shaggy hide, Thy stated tribute, to provide[5]: Then fling thee by thy burden on the floor, And hope to dream of joys thine eye shall meet no more.
III. I. With nerves of steel, with breast of stone; By scourge, by gibbet, unappall'd, See in thy shades Obduracy enthrall'd: To Thee she yields, to Thee alone. By Law's kind doom yon wretch immured apart, Holds converse with his stubborn heart. Lo, Memory throbs; avenging Conscience wakes: Lo, down his visage steals the tear: With trembling hope each sinew shakes: "Yes, Mercy yet," he cries, "may hear!" Bends at the Throne of Grace the suppliant knee; His bosom smites, and blesses Heaven for Thee.
III. 2. Is there a soul that dares defy Thy frown, dread Power, thy lonely horrors brave? What rebel passion scorns thy sway? Behold self-righteous Pride her standard wave, And central in thy realms her host array! See in that cave yon anchoret display His vaunted title to the sky: The couch of rugged stone, the shirt of hair; The duly mutter'd prayer; The meagre frame, the sleepless eye; The bloody scourge, the girded chain——— "O Wretch, consumed by fruitless pain, "Go learn," Thou criest, "what more the grace of Heaven "Than self-applauding pangs and groans shall move, "Than years to proud Contrition given: "One sigh of humble faith, one deed of Christian love."
III. 3. From prostrate domes and lonely walls, Whose groves in wondering ether hung[6]; Where Monster to his fellow calls, And 'mid Belshazzar's Courts the bittern broods her young; Bid the shade of Babel rouse And cry, nor spare, to London's rival crest. She hears Thee!"—Glory of the West, "Pride of the Sea! whose regal brows "He, who bade me fill my day, "Now crowns supreme, approach, my doom survey: "Behold my Sister Queens around me mourn: "Come, search with wearied eyes "The dust where Ninus[7] lies: "Come, trace Samaria's unfrequented bourn: "See Tadmor[8], Tyre, a shapeless heap: "Behold thrice-captive[9] Salem weep. "By Sin we fell: dread Thou the impartial rod. "To Thee our Ruins cry; 'Repent, adore thy God!"
↑The inaccessible Aiguïlles de Dreux, de Moine, &c. among the Swiss Alps.
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