The pilgrim of beauty: The cottager's Sabbath; and other poems
Mullen, Samuel
& ^/ 4tSfe "W «fc W #fe %<< . -<*JW*\<r V'-^V *<,%Q$\<f A9 .«iV/".^ \ &°+ Wm£? »°^ '♦'SIR* ^°* v * >* % 1 V __ « a °* -life* ^ ^d§§F ^ *J§&: *°*v;v V^V" v™> v^*V v * 4* ** • c<* ;• /% •%. 0 N 0 4 ex * **** lV.* **MkS Xv<Sfo% &*££&>> </\ X^ A<3ft S^/ii'* ^> x^f- roVl iPv!, ^. ^o«< THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY; THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH; ©tfjer ^loemis, noto fast collected By SAMUEL MULLEN. " I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them. Cowley. WITH TWENTY-THREE VIGNETTES, ENGRAVED BY W. R. SMITH, FROM DESIGNS BY II. WARREN. LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. ./13? LONDON : BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS. WHITEFRIARS. WILLIAM LEAF, ESQUIRE, AS A TRIFLING BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF GRATEFUL REGARD, Cijig Volume IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. The Writer of the following pages is not an author by profession, nor has he the slightest hope of profit, in their publication. His experience justifies an opposite inference, and he is not disposed to quarrel with the judgment of the public. With a natural tendency to the exercise of the imagination, his avocations, from a very early age, have been of a most engrossing character ; and the indulgence of his fancy has been allowed purely as a relaxation from labours that have never claimed so little as half of the twenty-four hours which compose the day. The weariness of bodily fatigue has been forgotten in the exercise of the mind, and the actual sorrows of life have been subdued by imaginary griefs. If perfection in the craft of authorship has not been attained, it is still a source of gratification that no duty of life has been neglected in its pursuit. A portion of the contents of this volume has already appeared. " The Pilgrim of Beauty " has been twice printed, but in a very imperfect state, and at not half viii PREFACE. its present length. " The Cottagers Sabbath " has been once printed ; and, some few necessary correc- tions excepted, re-appears in its original form. Among the minor poems, some of the Songs have been set to mnsic by my valued friend, John Thirlwall. The other pieces have not till now appeared in print : some of these are the productions of mere boyhood : others have arisen from casual moods, and, thrown off with little labour, are left unpolished as they came ; and the rest have resulted from occurrences in a life neither inactive nor unchequered. Such as they are, they now appear before the bar of the Public, whose fiat I shall abide without vanity and without impatience. If the ability exists to make them better, the time is wanting ; and while disposed to be grateful for honest censure, I am far too proud to solicit praise. My hopes are not sanguine; and, under any circumstances, the negative comfort of the old proverb will remain to me : — " Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for then he shall not be disappointed." London,  86 Songs and other Poems : — Jubilate . 89 The New Creation 91 Ode to the Sun 104  . . 115 116 The Burial . . . .... . .117 On the Death of Gideon Ousely 118 Scene in Wexford Churchyard 119 The Sleeping Girl 120 To my First-born 122 Chaste as the Flower 123 To John  Poems : — The Meeting 214 Connaught ^i4 The Singers of Street Chapel 216 The Sailor's Bride 217 An Acrostic ^*° Weep, while I sing ! . "19 January 220 February . . ... . ..... 221 March 223 April 224 May 225 June 227 July 229 August 231 September 233 October 234 November 235 December 237 Christmas 238 The Cottagers Sabbath 241—335 Notes 337 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. CANTO I. A gentle Pilgrim, in a lonely dell, Where Druid oaks were mossed with hoary age, Was bowed in prayer, and as he bowed there fell A pleasant sunbeam on his features sage, Which lit them like a missal's golden page. Deep lines experience on his brow had traced, And sober thought had cooled wild passion's rage ; Long flowing locks his ample shoulders graced ; His garb was humble grey ; a staff his hand embraced. His noble brow was bare, and smooth, and high ; His face was pale, its colour bright and clear ; His lofty form rose graceful to the eye ; His soft voice fell like music on the ear, And cast a spell on all who chanced to hear ; His mouth was small, lips delicate and thin ; His eyes were blue, yet calm and free from fear ; A curling beard descended from his chin ; And his elastic step was buoyant from within. 2 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. III. "Where art thou, Spirit?" he cried; "I've sought thee And called aloud on every beauteous thing, [far, To Earth, to Ocean, Sun, and Moon, and Star, To all that move beneath thy fostering wing, The weary Pilgrim to thy feet to bring : For years on years I 've sought thee far and near, Thro' Winter's gloom ; amid the flowers of Spring ; In life's dark-flowing streams of hope and fear ; If sparkling in the smile, or glistening in the tear. IV. " Of thee in quest, my anxious soul hath sought Thro' all the bounds where life or light might be ; Where Sense fell feebly down, and mightier Thought Swept boldly on, to grasp Infinity ! To worlds ideal I have followed thee, And tracked thy shadow through unbounded space, If haply there mine eye might chance to see Some form benign, some minister of grace, Whose mystic lore could lift the veil that hides thy face. " Where dost thou dwell, fair Essence uncreate ! Primeval Beauty, uncorrupt and pure ! Where hold thy court of everlasting state, Enthroned in light that makes thee more obscure, And clouded by the splendours which allure ? Alas, alas ! I cry to thee in vain ; My earnest pilgrimage must yet endure, Till, nature purged from every darkening stain, My spirit may perchance the blissful vision gain ! " THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. cc VI. He ceased to speak, but on his face remained The strong expression of each anxious thought ; For life had now its lasting colour gained, And every feeling of his heart was brought To bear the stamp one burning passion wrought ; Awake, asleep, in motion, or at rest, 'Twas still the same : one only good he sought ; And all his years were crowded and compressed In passionate pursuit of this absorbing quest. VII. Full many a year his sandalled feet had paced From clime to clime, amid life's shifting scenes ; With careful thought each motley group had traced, Where virtue's mask the face of knavery screens, Or wisdom sleeps while folly intervenes. In each, in all his anxious mind pursued That fixed design to which his heart still leans 'Mid courts or camps, in polished life or rude, Through cities vast and old, or this wild solitude. VIII. This one deep passion thro' his soul prevailed, And tinged his life with its peculiar hue, Toned all his thoughts, and on his heart entailed The burning wish this phantom to pursue In all which fancy traced or met his view. If on some peerless flower his eye did rest, 'Twas not to note the form in which it grew, But in its folds a living soul compressed, The spirit of the flower, might smile upon its breast. 4 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. IX Thro' all his dreams the wish was still the same, Their forms still varying, but alike their end, Till sleep itself a different mean became To reach that point where mingling visions blend Their haloes rich, by waking eyes unkenned. Thus day and night more visionary grown, Life's devious lines in one direction tend, Till fancy, feeling, sense, and thought are thrown With concentrated force on this desire alone. Not in one night, like Jonah's faithless gourd, Had this strong passion grown to this great height ; But years on years the fibrous roots still bored The deeper down, and spreading left and right, Grew on till it absorbed his nature quite. Ere yet his powers expanded in the sun, Before his infant eyes had seen the light, The one great impulse in his soul begun, And he had learned to love long ere he learned to run. XI. And while a child, in sunny fields he lay And gazed delighted on the soft blue sky, Where larks pursued their bright, melodious way, Until he wished for wings, that he might fly To lands unknown, or worlds dim-seen on high ; For there he thought the beautiful, the bright Would stand unveiled before his raptured eye ; And haply one fair spirit, robed in light, His playmate might become, and guide him in his flight. THE PILGRIM OP BEAUTY, In those sweet hours, fair childhood's early prime, The young heart heating free and warm within, Ere life was shaded by a single crime, Unborn the wish forbidden fruit to win, And all unknown the very name of sin, How oft he yearned some mystic sprite to find, With whom life's earliest journeyings might begin Thro' those bright climes, creations of the mind, Where glorious shapes were seen, but dim and undefined ! The fount of life ! a flowery, bubbling spring, Fresh, pure, and cool, its waters un defiled, Whose wimpling waves a low-voiced music fling, Like songs of Eden while its garden smiled, And man had all the feelings of a child, Those pure emotions which at once impart Their own bright sunshine to each floweret wild, And throw far greater raptures o'er the heart Than after years can buy in Pleasure's crowded mart. In after years the memories of that time, The time of childhood, played about his mind Like fragrant breezes from a spicy clime O'er some lone bark, so tossed by adverse wind, That scarce a hope survives the shore to find. Full oft the Pilgrim would those hours recall Which he had spent among his playmates kind, When all his wealth was simply hoop or ball, Yet happier he with them than kings with crown and alL THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. " Why should not man/' he asked, " be like a child In feelings pure, and full of trust and love ? Why wake the Passions, active, fierce, and wild, To drive him on thro' lawless paths to rove, Where guilt and pain still wait on each remove ? Alas for him ! how dearly doth he buy The fatal treasures which his manhood prove ! No more, no more, with clear, undazzled eye Can he look up and say f My home is in the sky ! ' " In dreamy moods the Pilgrim's hours rolled on, And his young spirit took a loftier tone ; The common world, with all its scenes, was gone, But he had formed a brighter, all his own, Wnere lived the Pure, the Beautiful alone. Mere earthly eyes ne'er saw such forms as played In graceful movements thro' that clime unknown, And led him on, a dreamer, in the shade, To wander all alone thro' field or woodland glade. xvn. He loved to haunt the solitary stream Which wound its quiet way thro' wood and dell : On thyme-sweet banks for hours to he and dream; While here or there a straggling sunbeam fell, Which he would watch creep slow o'er mossy swell. The birds grew tame, the fishes of the brook The Pilgrim's gentle nature knew so well, That they from him ne'er feared the treacherous hook, But round his hand would play, and in his face would look. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 7 XVIII. Amid these scenes of sylvan solitude The first fair vision of existence rose : It might be wild and dreamy as his mood, Yet pure and free from stain as Alpine snows, And, though it stirred, broke not his deep repose ; For round his path a Spirit walked unseen, Whose smile he felt could endless bliss disclose. Oh how he thrilled to meet that eye serene, Or catch some whispered tone, behind the leafy screen ! XIX. But life rolled on as life will ever roll, A headlong river, rushing towards the deep, Bearing away, beyond weak man's control, Each wish, each hope, in its resistless sweep, To that dread bourne where all earth's children sleep. Long ere the Pilgrim knew life's rapid waste, His first bright dream expiring made him weep ; For he was placed where now, with fearful haste, The inexperienced rush sin's dreadful sweets to taste. xx. Up sprung the passions, while his youthful blood Ran warm and swift along each throbbing vein, Careering wildly 'round where Reason stood, And cried aloud to warn, and cried in vain, Of unseen danger or unending pain ! The wild young steed snuffs up the vernal air, And plunges headlong o'er the flowery plain, Tossing on high his mane of flowing hair, And, snorting loud with joy, thinks not of future care. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. The glowing season of impassioned youth Brought forth at once life's choicest fruits and flowers For then the mind dreamed not of that dark truth, How grey-beard Time man's fleeting life devours, With all the joys bespread o'er youthful hours. Thus, while he revelled in that fairy clime, Or hoped for bliss in youth's enchanting bowers, His life had glided past its hour of prime, Unheard the noiseless wings of unregarded Time. XXII. Yet thro' that season of impetuous joy His heart still sighed to find that bliss unknown : From all the burning raptures which employ Youth's fervid hours he turned, to sigh alone, Nor sighed for them, but Thou wert not his own ! How oft his fancy traced thy awful form, When some new glory o'er his vision shone ! But while his heart with trembling joy grew warm, The brightness died away, a rainbow in the storm. XXIII. Still evermore to seek Thee did he vow, Nor rest his foot till he had found thy shrine, In valley sweet, or mountain's cloudy brow ; Or in the deep and dark untrodden mine, Where purest gems with useless lustre shine ; Thro' ocean's caves, or thro' the desert drear ; Or far beyond that dim ideal line Which belts the world in circles here or there, Shifts as we shift, and still surrounds us everywhere. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 9 XXIV. First, thro' the schools — where mind rough-shaped its In devious lines abstruse, yet glorious still; [course Thro' darkness working with gigantic force, To climb the future's steep-ascending hill, Where Truth at last the thirsty soul should fill, He wandered on and on, with eager pace, Lured by the hope that learning might distil Some precious drops, the gathering gloom to chace, And thro' the might of mind disclose that fairest face. He read old lore, where deep-involved there lay Stupendous thoughts unpolished from the mine, The first huge fragments man had torn away From Truth's hard quarry, and o'er which the line Was yet unstretched to give them shapes divine ; Though rough, uneven, dark, and quaintly thrown In strange confusion, or more strange design, Yet still containing, like great Nature's own, Those elemental truths which later times have known. XXVI. He watched the mind with native strength endued, Burst one by one the fetters which controlled Its growing power to grasp infinitude, And walk abroad the universe, more bold With each succeeding and still firmer hold It took of things yet tangible and sound, Until at last with fearless wing it rolled On thro' the vast, the trackless, the profound, And measured in its flight infinity's dark round. 10 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. XXVII. With reverend steps lie paced the solemn grove Sacred, divine Philosophy ! to thee : Heard from thy lips how he should Wisdom love, And trace thy footsteps in simplicity, If all those hidden treasures he would see. Bnt flitting shadows led his feet astray, And hollow words of jangling mockery; Each new pretender found some newer way ; And all before were wrong — in him true wisdom lay. XXVIII. Yet here and there some scattered lights arose, Dispersing darkness in their little sphere : A Socrates or Plato might disclose Some half-born truth with hesitating fear, Which gleamed awhile, and then would disappear. On Ethnic error monkish fable grew, Which darkened all Philosophy made clear, And left the mind its progress to pursue With cabalistic forms, and lines occult its clue. XXIX. Till on the ground where Science took her stand, And spoke of facts and principles of things, Her rule and compass ever in her hand, (For still to demonstration Science clings, And clips Imagination's wandering wings,) He paused awhile to listen to her speech, And catch the flashing radiance which she flings, Until he found even her unfit to teach His labouring mind to gain the height he hoped to reach. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. H XXX. Emerging slowly from the fettered schools With thee, great prober of eternal truth, Immortal Bacon, whose few simple rules Were better far than all those forms uncouth Which schoolmen used to curb the mind of youth, With thee he learned all curious facts to scan, Just as they rose in unadorned sooth : Then side by side to place them as they ran, And thus discern at last the mystery of Man. XXXI. Yet while his heart exulted to behold That giant hand each antique fetter break, The big tears bursting thro' their sluices rolled In plenteous streams adown his youthful cheek, To see that mind so mighty, yet so weak ! Blush, Nature, blush ! — thy paragon is nought ! What humbling tales these Titan ruins speak ! The man who grasped the universe of thought, Like men of feeble minds by paltry bribes was bought ! XXXII. Beside great Newton, who with patient thought Gazed on the stars and plummed the untrodden sky, The Pilgrim watched, while he sublimely wrought That wondrous scale of mighty orbs on high, Where mapped and dotted down the planets he : Each wandering star, its wanderings all designed, However rarely seen by human eye ; Even those strange fires, eccentric as the mind, The comets yet to come, had all their paths defined. 12 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. XXXIII. And what a book was spread before his eye ! Thrice-glorious volume ! lettered all with light ; Where every line that ran along the sky Was teeming o'er with glory, full and bright ! The sun by day, the moon and stars by night, Sublimely eloquent of skill divine ; Still holding forth, like missals, to the sight The wondrous God, by whom they learned to shine Prophetic of all joy — his ultimate design ! xxxiv. Yet though the book lay open to his view, And living voices sang amid the spheres, His earth-bound soul no inspiration drew ; But sounds confused came tingling in his ears Of prostrate hopes and overwhelming fears : He felt how vast the universe must be Where this dim world but like a speck appears ; And sighed to think how little he could see Of that sublime expanse overarched with mystery. Then where the mind a mazy labyrinth lay In soundless depths, or strange mysterious ties, With virtuous Locke he strove to find his way By Reason's torch and Truth's analogies. But most of all the Pilgrim learned to prize The stainless glory of that lofty mind, Whose bright example shewed him how to rise To intellectual beauty most refined, With moral excellence and piety combined. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 13 For he had heard of some whose genius shed The richest rays of elevating light, But in whose hearts the darker passions bred The baleful power to desolate and blight Each rising joy, each flower, however bright ; And thus the gold to worthless dross was turned, The stately temple faded from his sight : For Truth is pure, and soon the Pilgrim learned That on her sacred shrine pure incense only burned. These pale faint emblems of that perfect grace, Which filled his soul with passionate desire, Made small amends for lack of that loved face Whose viewless glory kept his heart on fire, And made each joy, however exalted, tire. Wherefore he turned his weary steps aside, To view those scenes his fellow-men admire, Which though not all unstained with shades of pride, Belong to Beauty still, save when to vice allied. XXXVIII. In those proud halls where eloquence unfolds The soul-felt music of her magic strain, Charms the rapt sense, the captive spirit moulds, Or wakes each passion in its turn to reign — Now raised to madness with ideal pain, Or soothed to pitying tears by pictured woe — With anxious ear he listened, to obtain Some clue to guide, some hand the way to show ; But evermore in vain : the path they did not know. 14 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. Colossal piles, where Architecture reared Huge emanations of gigantic thought, In whose elaborate workmanship appeared Exceeding glory to the skill which wrought Such wondrous piles, by more than Nature taught ; There, underneath the fretted dome, he trod, To find the object he so long had sought, But trod in vain ! Though they were built for God, 'Twas pride — mere human pride — first raised them from the sod. XL. Immortal Genius o'er the canvas shed A living radiance of his own, bright-hued ; Waked up a glory which all time overspread, And forms long dead with lasting life imbued. Amid those groups the Pilgrim's eye pursued The search protracted, happy yet to find Some undiscovered glory, dark, subdued, The proud creation of a master-mind, In which that face unseen might dimly rise defined. XLI. On Titian's forms, with matchless grace endued, Or RafFaelle's angels, floating in mid air ; On dark Salvator and his outlaws rude, Or Claude Lorraine amid his landscapes fair ; On gems by names unknown, as rich as rare, — He pored intent, if haply he might trace Some shadowy clue, by which he might repair, With reverend steps, but with redoubled pace, To that unknown abode — to Beauty's dwelling-place. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 15 Where Sculpture raised her forms of marble life His eye reposed with exquisite delight : They stood so calm and still, so free from strife, In their cold robes of pure, delicious white, As if they joined the sense of touch to sight : All round about them such deep silence dwelt, That babbling language seemed extinguished quite ; Yet in their looks great thoughts were inly spelt, And fixed with rigid force, that passion could not melt. A holy child was kneeling, bowed in prayer, His fair young face turned upward to the sky : Such soul-felt confidence was pictured there, Such touching eloquence was in the eye, That, though the Pilgrim smiled, he turned to sigh : He smiled to see that child so near to heaven, So full of God, so fit for bliss on high ; He sighed to think that bark might yet be driven Among those dangerous rocks where many a bark was riven. XLIV. A little babe was sleeping as he lay Beside his mother, who was sleeping too ; His pouting lips appeared just turned away From that fair fount whence life flowed warm and new; And still he smiled as if the precious dew Yet shed its balmy sweetness on his tongue ; The mother to her breast the child still drew, As if even sleep did but her love prolong, That passion of her soul — that flame than death more strong. 16 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. One marble form the Pilgrim's heart did chill : 'Twas a young girl that seemed about to die ; She looked as though her pulse was nearly still, The film of death just creeping o'er her eye, Which still turned up devoutly to the sky. The resignation in her features traced Rebuked the Pilgrim's weak, repining cry : If she thus calm an early death embraced, Why should his heart still bleed for his young hopes defaced ? THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. \J CANTO II. Deep in the soul of all created things The latent seeds of harmony abound : From one great source the sum of Nature springs : Hence woods and wilds and desert rocks are found With mystic language filled and subtle sound. Not false the fable which made trees rejoice, But full of truth and wisdom most profound : ?Twas Nature answering to her Maker's voice, Responsive to his call, and glorying in his choice. In trees and stones, in rocks and caves and dells, In streams and seas, in fields and flowery meads, A secret life, a mystic spirit dwells : But who the language of their being reads, Or spells the tones their varying nature needs, Who but the Poet ? He, and he alone, Gives voice and words to woods and worthless weeds ; And thus interprets every secret tone Which Nature would discourse, to make her feelings known. 18 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. III. Thus judged the Pilgrim of immortal song, Where periods smooth with answering cadence twine, Like confluent streams, harmonious, clear, and strong, And fancy, feeling, truth, and nature join To swell with sense the strong, full-flowing line. When loftiest flights with lowliest truths agree, And passions pure with rapturous warmth combine ; When Nature speaks in language bold and free, And sense and sound are one — this, this is Poetry ! IV. Thus to his eye the ancient poets rose, Majestic men, high priests of Nature, all ; Who first stood forth her secrets to disclose, And wake the soul to sweet Apollo's call. There Homer, Sappho, Virgil — names which fall Like music, full of power to charm the ear, And still hold fast the willing world in thrall, — A world not won at first by sword and spear, But by the power of Song — a triumph far more dear ! Nor unobserved the lights of that dark age When o'er the world a triple mantle lay, And man displayed the worm's aurelian stage, Ere yet the cumbrous crust is flung away, Which gives the new-winged creature to the day. He wept with Petrarch o'er fair Laura's tomb ; With Tasso's knights he joined in war's array ; He saw Boccaccio's magic gardens bloom ; And dived with Dante down thro' hell's eternal gloom. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 19 But dearer far he loved the lays which filled Each shady valley in his native clime : His heart beat high as o'er the page he thrilled Of those stern songsters of the olden time, Who first built up the frame of English rhyme. With Gower and Chaucer he sojourned awhile, Not unforgetful of his quest sublime ; O'er Skelton's humour he would faintly smile, Or list to Lydgate's tale, his journey to beguile. On Ida's hill the Muses long had pined, Since Greece had lost her altitude of soul, And lost her freedom when her slavish mind Had made her fit for tyranny's control. In vain the Muses winged from pole to pole, To gain some spot where Freedom might be found : Back to their silent groves abashed they stole, For in their search o'er earth's extensive round Dark ignorance prevailed, and slaves crawled o'er the ground. VIII. Until at length Britannia woke to life, And reared her head majestic o'er the waves, Proclaimed against all tyrants lasting strife, And promised freedom to their trembling slaves. Then thrilled the Muses in their distant caves, And one and all came thronging to the land Where men were Men, preferring glorious graves To life, if shorn of liberty to stand Secure in equal rights, where laws alone command. 20 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. IX. O'er every plain the gladsome Muses strayed, By each clear streamlet, through each bosky dell ; Now in some ancient wood or silent glade They clapped their hands and danced, their joy to tell, And cried aloud, " Here will we ever dwell ! " They stretched away by dales and flowery hills, And vales o'er which huge mountain-shadows fell, Whose teeming breasts sent forth the leaping rills Which fall in sylvan glens, and brawl thro' lonely mills. Then Britain's isle grew full of gentle sounds ; Harmonious voices thro' the air did sail ; The fairies nightly danced their mystic rounds, And shepherds piped in every leafy dale, Arcadia not more fair, nor Tempe's vale : Pierian springs gushed forth, and, babbling on Thro' daisied meads, made music to the gale, Which fell intranced, in whispering echoes gone, And England's spacious isle was one wide Helicon. XI. Well might the Pilgrim gladden as he strayed Along the fields immortalized by song, Where every breeze that in his long locks played Some glorious new-born roundel bore along : In numbers sweet, in native genius strong There Drayton, Drummond, Marlow, Raleigh, Brooke, Old Breton, Vere, their wood-notes wild prolong, Whose dark conceits, although they strangely look, Yet quaintly well beseem an old worm-carven book. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY, 21 But most of all the Pilgrim loved to dwell With gentle Spenser in his faery bowers ; Or wander slowly thro' the shady dell With Una and her lamb, to pluck wild flowers, As fiery Sol drove on the fervid hours. Sometimes a lonely knight came riding by, Bound by his vow to seek those hostile towers Wherein perchance his ladye-love might he, For whose deliverance thence full gladly would he die. XIII. Thy spells, great Shakspere, were around him thrown ; His sighs, his smiles, his thoughts, thy magic lyre The secret echoes of his soul made known, And all his being bared ; each fond desire, Each latent spark of that ethereal fire Which thro' his nature glowed, was in thy lay ; For all the mystery of man's soul entire From thy far-seeing eye was torn away, And Nature's lowest deeps were opened to the day. XIV. Majestic Milton ! who like thee could soar, Thou first of men ! Thy wing of matchless might Upheld thee well whilst hovering boldly o'er That awful throne " dark with excessive light," Whence went the God-like Son his foes to fight ; Or bore thee down in safety thro' the deep, Beyond the dark domains of ancient night, Where, vague and vast, hell's couchless chambers sweep In fathomless profound, unknown to hope or sleep. 22 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. With Waller oft, or Dryden, would he glide, In numbers smooth, along the stream of song ; Whilst hundreds more still swelled the sacred tide, That spread its waves majestic, clear, and strong, Still gathering greatness as it rolled along. There Shenstone, Pope, and Addison, and Gay, In polished lines the glorious theme prolong : Nor hath the god, in this degenerate day, Abandoned his abode, nor all-withdrawn his ray. High names the Pilgrim knew as his compeers, On which the Future will with reverence gaze, When envy ceases with revolving years, And nought survives the poet but his lays, Each meaner passion merged in lofty praise. 'Twas ever thus ! Great Homer pined for bread ; And Byron died in exile. Now the bays Are idly placed upon the sculptured head, And praise profusely heaped in mockery of the dead. XVII. Thus poured the Muse her melodies of fire, While Nature echoed from each lofty hill. Is this a god that wakes the trembling lyre ? Lo, heaven is moving — earth and ocean still ! What ecstasies sublime the Pilgrim fill ! " Ye mighty lords," he cried, a of deathless song, Who strike thro' time this universal thrill, Say if to you the mysteries belong Of Beauty's high abode ; or must I still go wrong ? " THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 23 XVIII. The sons of song in sacred silence slept, Unknowing each ; or, if they darkly guessed The unborn truth, the solemn thought they kept, Like fountains sealed or mystery unexpressed, All treasured safe in each deep-feeling breast, Though still at times mysterious rays of light Broke forth in startling grandeur o'er the rest, Like those broad lightnings on a summer night Which seem to open heaven, yet blind our daring sight. XIX. Reluctant, slow, from Faery-land he came, Oft turning back with lingering looks, to gaze Yet once again on scenes which now inflame His dying hope that Fancy there might raise Ideal forms to cheer his lengthening days. The cherished fire still smouldering in his heart Was thus sustained by dark prophetic lays, That haply soon some bard to life might start, Who would in flowing strains the lofty truth impart. xx. Along the broad, well-beaten track of life The Pilgrim thence pursued his pensive way All in the midst of that incessant strife Where men turmoiled unwearying day by day, Until old age crept o'er them, bowed and gray. Immortal souls, with powers of endless might, Dark, grand, unfathomed, whose ethereal ray Was lost, he saw in that Cimmerian night Sin o'er the spirit sheds when earth-born passions blight. 24 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. xx r. There Wealth was gloating o'er his heaps of gold, With all his feelings gathered into one : The charities of life in him lay cold, And all the brotherhood of man was gone ; Yet evermore the weary wretch toiled on, To add increasing atoms to his store ; Though child, or friend, or kindred he had none For whom he learned to turn the metal o'er, As twinkling his dull eye he still cried " Give me more ! " XXII. The sons of Pleasure floated gaily by, Their gaudy streamers dancing in the gale : The waves ran smooth and brightly glowed the sky As Wit flashed clear, or Humour told his tale, While Music wantoned round the silken sail. Scarce had the Pilgrim mark'd this joyous sight When sudden tempest turned these revellers pale : The long loud laugh was hushed in deadly fright ; Upturned the rolling keel, and all was lost in night. XXIII. The crowded mart with merchandise ran o'er, And busy hands were bartering to and fro ; They who had most most eager seemed for more, As though enamoured of the cares which grow More ponderous, till they crush the wretch below. Each anxious face the love of wealth displayed, Each heart one feeling only seemed to show : 'Twas how to clutch the doubtful gains of trade, To which truth, justice, peace a sacrifice were made. THE PILGRIM OP BEAUTY. 25 XXIV. The trump of Fame rung loudly in the wind, And heaven's vast concave with the sound was filled : With eager pace the Pilgrim ran to find The precious truths which from her lips distilled, And thro' the heart with deepest rapture thrilled. But there lurked Envy with her poisonous breath, By whom each new-born happiness was killed ; And watchful Malice, with his eye of death, Had withered up the crown and seared the hard- won wreath. xxv. There great Ambition, in his fiery car, Drove fiercely on to gain the gilded prize, His crest illumined like a blazing star, While eager passion sparkled in his eyes, And his cold heart was closed to Misery's cries. Far, far from him the Pilgrim turned away, For in his heart he felt deep horror rise That Man his fellows dared to mar and slay, Forgetful that one God framed all of common clay. XXVI. He saw a creature made of this same clay Bedizened o'er with gaudy trappings fine : The worm's dyed shroud upon his shoulders lay, And round his head was bound a golden line, Begemmed with stones dug from some dreary mine. And then, forsooth, he called himself a King, And taught the world his title was divine ! " Alas ! " the Pilgrim cried, "that Man should fling His birthright to the dust for this poor, paltry thing ! " 26 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. XXVII. There Justice, by a power surnamed the Law, In which nor truth nor equity can dwell, Her aAvful scales was bidden to withdraw, Or else her high behests for gold to sell, And titles vain, which only puff and swell. They who themselves her ministers did name, With solemn looks unceasing lies did tell : Their god was gain, and lucre all their aim ; And their cold, stony hearts were dead to honest shame. XXVIII. Oh heaven-born Justice, whither hast thou fled, Since in these temples, which still pass for thine, A baneful pest is worshipped in thy stead, And thy false priests themselves defile thy shrine With mangled truths and lies that look divine ? Here modest Worth sarcastic sneers oppress, And God is mocked in purpose and design : Theft, Murder, Rapine, Lust have free access ; While Malice and Revenge like saintly Virtues dress. " And this is Life ! " the pensive Pilgrim cried ; " And these are men for endless life designed ! Alas, how paltry is all human pride ! What dark delusions mystify the mind, Usurp man's thoughts, and strike his spirit blind !- With half the pains these thoughtless mortals take To catch vain shadows, they might surely find Some tranquil bliss their fevered souls to slake : But life is all a dream, from which in death we wake ! THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 27 XXX. " Ah what is Wealth, for which men fondly sigh, And pine, and pinch, and toil, and sweat, and swear ? A fearful trust for those who have to die, And disenrobed before their God appear ! What boots it then the pomp they used to wear? Will Justice fail a strict account to claim ? ( What mean/ she asks, ' the bitter cries I hear ? Are these thy brethren, clothed in rags and shame ? Here, bind the selfish wretch, and turn his gold to flame ! ' XXXI. " And what is Trade ? — A systematic code Of legal theft ; an universal lie ; A heartless form ; a deeply cunning mode Of tricks and feints to catch the foolish fry, Who rush in shoals where Fashion bids them buy. What saintly forms, smoothed o'er with cool deceit, Spread glittering wares, to tempt the wandering eye ! While Cunning smirks like Candour robed complete, Suspicion never dreams that he can be a cheat. xxxn. " And what is Pleasure ? Say, ye sons of Mirth, When wine excites you, or when passion pleads, Dies not each bliss untimely in the birth, While sad regret the waste of time succeeds, And, baulked of joy, the spirit inly bleeds? But, grant the slight, the momentary joy That may be found where smiling Pleasure leads, Shall Man, immortal Man, his hours employ In those low sensual scenes which loftiest hopes destroy ? 28 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY " And what is Fame ? A bubble on the stream, One moment bright, then sinking whence it came ; The airy phantom of an empty dream, Which mocks the wretch who grasps it with his shame ; A vapour on the hill — a breath — a name ! Where is your Csesar, where your hero now, Who once climbed highest up the mount of Fame ? Alas, the bays have fallen from his brow ; And his poor clay lies crushedbeneaththepeasant'splough! " And what are Kings ? The ministers of God, To deal out equal justice to mankind ; The poor man's guardians from oppression's rod ; The scourge and terror of each guilty mind ; And in God's place to act like God designed. This is the picture He who made them drew : Hold up the glass ! Canst thou the likeness find ? Alas, the world has never seen but two Who sought the public good, and did what kings should do ! XXXV. " And what is War ? A dark and desperate game, Where lives, and limbs, and hearts, and souls of men Are staked for knaves who profit by our shame, And filch our gold, and scorn and crush us then, While millions fall for reasons few may ken. The single murderer we devoutly hate, And curse the felon pinioned in his den ; But thousands slain, and realms made desolate, Thenhimwho murders most we hail, andcall him Great \" THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 29 XXXVI. With thoughts like these, half mournful, all too true, The Pilgrim's eye surveyed Life's motley page ; Nor could his mind disdainful thoughts subdue When he beheld how madly men engage In chase of woe, from giddy youth to age. The rich; the poor, the master and the slave, Deceived, deceiving, rush with equal rage To grasp these bubbles dancing on the wave, Which burst, and let them drop unpitied in the grave. Yet scenes there were which half-redeemed the shame Which, cloud-like, hung and canopied our race ; And though not chronicled by earthly fame, Yet they in heaven's fair records held a place, Which angel-eyes delighted oft to trace : For they were transcripts of that life above, Where each pure thought, each life-ennobling grace In high perfection all the dwellers prove Who sojourn in that land, the bright abode of Love ! XXXVIII. A son was toiling for his mother's bread, Though dire disease was feeding on his frame : No couch had he whereon to rest his head, Yet still he toiled, and ever smiled the same, To cheer her heart ; and every night he came His hard- won pittance joyfully to bring : No grief of his, to grieve her, would he name ; Nor let despair a moment's shadow fling Along his pleasant face, though pain his heart did wring. 30 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. XXXIX. In smiling groups, young happy children played 'Mid aged trees, whose sombre foliage flung More pleasing lights by contrast, as they strayed, Or lay to listen as the wild birds sung Sweet, joyous tunes their leafy halls among. Or, in the fields, with daisies dappled o'er, Their fair young brows with coronals they hung.. Old Time looked on — a smile his features wore ; " Be happy now," he cried: " these days return no more. XL. A blooming maiden in her May of life, While yet the world was loveliest to view, And her accepted wooed her for his wife, Her heart the while was fondly pleading too To back his suit, for well his worth she knew, Yet with her sire she unrepining stayed, To soothe his griefs, which still increasing grew : For he was old, and palsied, and decayed, Peevish, and poor, and deaf, and she his only aid. Two lovers sat beneath a broad old oak, And watched the sun glide down the Western sky : What music trembled in the words they spoke, While heart gave heart the eloquent reply, And tender passion brightened in each eye : " My Eveline/' he said, " yon sun is blest, Thus couched in splendours of celestial dye : So would I live — so die in thy fair breast, And cheer my last repose with dreams of endless rest." THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 31 XLII. A fond young mother to her bosom pressed The first fair blossom of her virgin love : With what delight that baby she caressed, As his small hands in playful mischief strove To pull her ringlets, dangling from above ! His soft blue eyes laughed in their own sweet light As feigning fear her head did backward move, With half-closed eyes, and then with eager flight She strained him to her breast with passionate delight. XLIII. One man the Pilgrim found whose heart was proof To all the low temptations of the time, An honest man complete in warp and woof, Whose outside bearing was not made to chime With mere observance, like a thoughtless rhyme. The same in darkness and in light he stood, God's noblest work, in moral worth sublime ; A rock unmoved amid a sweeping flood ; A truly honest man ; though poor, upright and good. XLIV. One priest he found, a meek and holy man, Who had not learned the lordliness of power : With artless zeal his simple course he ran, Still anxious to improve each passing hour, And save the flock which hirelings would devour. To men he gave as God to him had given, And gospel truths unglossed his lips would pour ; His one sole wish to spread that holy leaven Which, changing into love, prepares the soul for heaven. 32 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. XLV. Oft iii the chambers where the sick were laid. Like shattered wrecks on life's tempestuous shore, In whose torn sails the wild winds rudely played, For now the noble craft could float no more, Her tackling broke, her merchandize flung o'er, There would he haste with zeal beyond control, To save each fragment which the spent wave bore ; And, ere she sunk where death's black billows roll, Her cargo bring to land and save the parting soul. Along the frozen regions of the North, And in the fetid dungeon of a gaol, He found the gentle Howard had gone forth, Attracted solely by the prisoner's wail : Beside the wretch he sat, to hear his tale, And thence devise some elevated plan To rescue him whose features, shrunk and pale, Scarce left the trace by which even friends could scan The being sunk so low, they scarce could call him man. To loathsome cells, of guilt the foul abode, Whose ponderous walls rose darkly to the skies, The good man still would wend his ready road, To teach the fallen from their fall to rise, While tears of pity trembled in his eyes. For he could feel what few beside could feel, — That man, though sunk, was still a noble prize, A brother still, for whom his love and zeal Could never sleep or tire, while they could work his weal. THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 33 XLVIII. 