Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/Frederic
FREDERIC.
Time Night. Scene the Woods.
Where shall I turn me? whither shall I bendMy weary way? thus worn with toil and faint,How thro' the thorny mazes of this woodAttain my distant dwelling? that deep cryThat rings along the forest seems to soundMy parting knell: it is the midnight howlOf hungry monsters prowling for their prey!Again! oh save me—save me gracious Heaven;I am not fit to die!Thou coward wretchWhy heaves thy trembling heart? why shake thy limbsBeneath their palsied burden? is there oughtSo lovely in existence? would'st thou drainEven to its dregs the bitter draught of life? Dash down the loathly bowl! poor outcast slaveStamp'd with the brand of Vice and InfamyWhy should the villain Frederic shrink from Death?
Death! where the magic in that empty nameThat chills my inmost heart? why at the thoughtStarts the cold dew of fear on every limb?There are no terrors to surround the Grave,When the calm Mind collected in itselfSurveys that narrow house: the ghastly trainThat haunt the midnight of delirious GuiltThen vanish; in that home of endless restAll sorrows cease.—Would I might slumber there!
Why then this panting of the fearful heart?This miser love of life that dreads to loseIts cherish'd torment? shall the diseased manYield up his members to the surgeon's knife,Doubtful of succour, but to ease his frameOf fleshly anguish, and the coward wretch, Whose ulcered soul can know no human helpShrink from the best Physician's certain aid?Oh it were better far to lay me downHere on this cold damp earth, till some wild beastSeize on his willing victim!If to dieWere all, it were most sweet to rest my headOn the cold clod, and sleep the sleep of Death.But if the Archangel's trump at the last hourStartle the ear of Death and wake the soulTo frenzy!—dreams of infancy: fit talesFor garrulous beldames to affrighten babes!I have been guilty, yet my mind can bearThe retrospect of guilt, yet in the hourOf deep contrition to The Eternal lookFor mercy! for the child of Poverty,And "disinherited of happiness,"What if I warr'd upon the world? the worldHad wrong'd me first: I had endured the illsOf hard injustice; all this goodly earth Was but to me one wild waste wilderness;I had no share in nature's patrimony,Blasted were all my morning hopes of Youth,Dark Disappointment follow'd on my ways,Care was my bosom inmate, and keen WantGnaw'd at my heart. Eternal One thou know'stHow that poor heart even in the bitter hourOf lewdest revelry has inly yearn'dFor peace.My Father! I will call on thee,Pour to thy mercy-seat my earnest prayer,And wait thy peace in bowedness of soul.O thoughts of comfort! how the afflicted heart,Tired with the tempest of its passions, restsOn you with holy hope! the hollow howlOf yonder harmless tenant of the woodsBursts not with terror on the sober'd sense.If I have sinn'd against mankind, on themBe that past sin; they made me what I was.In these extremest climes can Want no more Urge to the deeds of darkness, and at lengthHere shall I rest. What tho' my hut be poor—The rains descend not thro' its humble roof:Would I were there again! the night is cold;And what if in my wanderings I should rouseThe savage from his thicket!Hark! the gun!And lo—the fire of safety! I shall reachMy little hut again! again by toilForce from the stubborn earth my sustenance,And quick-ear'd guilt will never start alarm'dAmid the well-earn'd meal. This felon's garb—Will it not shield me from the winds of Heaven?And what could purple more? Oh strengthen meEternal One in this serener state!Cleanse thou mine heart, so Penitence and FaithShall heal my soul, and my last days be peace.1794.