Read Ebook: Poems (1828) by Gent Thomas

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Ebook has 448 lines and 25158 words, and 9 pages

Say, why is the stern eye averted with scorn Of the stoic who passes along? And why frowns the maid, else as mild as the morn. On the victim of falsehood and wrong?

For the wretch sunk in sorrow, repentance, and shame, The tear of compassion is won: And alone must she forfeit the wretch's sad claim, Because she's deceived and undone?

Oh! recal the stern look, ere it reaches her heart, To bid its wounds rankle anew; Oh! smile, or embalm with a tear the sad smart, And angels will smile upon you.

Time was, when she knew nor opprobrium nor pain, And youth could its pleasures impart, Till some serpent distill'd through her bosom the stain, As he wound round the strings of her heart.

Poor girl! let thy tears through thy blandishments break, Nor strive to retrace them within; For mine would I mingle with those on thy cheek, Nor think that such sorrow were sin.

When the low-trampled reed, and the pine in its pride, Shall alike feel the hand of decay, May thy God grant that mercy the world has denied, And wipe all your sorrows away!

SHAKSPEARE.

Respectfully inscribed, with permission, to the Committee for the proposed Monuments to SHAKSPEARE at Stratford and in London. Intended to be spoken at one of the Theatres.

While o'er this pageant of sublunar things Oblivion spreads her unrelenting wings, And sweeps adown her dark unebbing tide Man, and his mightiest monuments of pride-- Alone, aloft, immutable, sublime, Star-like, ensphered above the track of time, Great SHAKSPEARE beams with undiminish'd ray. His bright creations sacred from decay, Like Nature's self, whose living form he drew, Though still the same, still beautiful and new.

Lord of a throne which mortal ne'er shall share-- Despot adored! he rales and revels there. Who but has found, where'er his track hath been, Through life's oft shifting, multifarious scene, Still at his side the genial Bard attend, His loved companion, counsellor, and friend!

The Thespian Sisters nurtured in the schools Of Greece and Rome, and long coerced by rules, Scarce moved the inmates of their native hearth With tiny pathos and with trivial mirth, Till She, great muse of daring enterprise, Delighted ENGLAND! saw her SHAKSPEARE rise!

Then, first aroused in that appointed hour, The Tragic Muse confess'd th' inspiring power; Sudden before the startled earth she stood, A giant spectre, weeping tears and blood; Guilt shrunk appall'd, Despair embraced his shroud, And Terror shriek'd, and Pity sobb'd aloud;-- Then, first Thalia with dilated ken And quicken'd footstep pierced the walks of men; Then Folly blush'd, Vice fled the general hiss, Delight met Reason with a loving kiss; At Satire's glance Pride smooth'd his low'ring crest, The Graces weaved the dance.--And last and best Came Momus down in Falstaff's form to earth. To make the world one universe of mirth!

Thus graced, thus glorified, shall SHAKSPEARE crave The Sculptor's skill, the pageant of the grave? HE needs it not--but Gratitude demands This votive offering at his Country's hands. Haply, e'er now, from blissful bowers on high, From some Parnassus of the empyreal sky, Pleased, o'er this dome the gentle Spirit bends, Accepts the gift, and hails us as his friends-- Yet smiles, perchance, to think when envious Time O'er Bust and Urn shall bid his ivies climb, When Palaces and Pyramids shall fall-- HIS PAGE SHALL TRIUMPH--still surviving all-- 'Till Earth itself, "like breath upon the wind," Shall melt away, "nor leave a rack behind!"

IMPROMPTU, TO ORIANA.

ON ATTENDING WITH HER, AS SPONSORS, AT A CHRISTENING

Lady! who didst--with angel-look and smile, And the sweet lustre of those dear, dark eyes, Gracefully bend before the font of Christ, In humble adoration, faith, and prayer! Oh!--as the infant pledge of friends beloved Received from thy pure lips its future name, Sweetly unconscious look'd the baby-boy! How beautifully helpless--and how mild! --Methought, a seraph spread her shelt'ring wings Over the solemn scene; and as the sun, In its full splendour, on the altar came, God's blessing seem'd to sanctify the deed.

TO MY SPANIEL FANNY.

Fanny! were all the world like thee, How cheerly then this life would glide, Dear emblem of Fidelity! Long may'st thou grace thy master's side.

Long cheer his hours of solitude, With watchful eye each wish to learn, And anxious speechless gratitude Hail with delight each short sojourn.

When sick at heart, thy welcome home A weary load of grief dispels, Gladdens with hope the hours to come, And yet a mournful lesson tells!

WIDOWED LOVE.

Tell me, chaste spirit! in yon orb of light, Which seems to wearied souls an ark of rest, So calm, so peaceful, so divinely bright-- Solace of broken hearts, the mansion of the bless'd!

Tell me, oh! tell me--shall I meet again The long lost object of my only love! --This hope but mine, death were release from pain; Angel of mercy! haste, and waft my soul above!

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM

OF THE LADY OF DR. GEORGE BIRKBECK, M.D.

President of the London Mechanic's Institution, and of the Chemical and Meteorological Societies. Founder and Patron of the Glasgow Mechanic's Institute, &c. &c. &c.

Lady unknown! a pilgrim from the shrine Of Poesy's fair temple, brings a wreath Which fame and gratitude alike entwine, Around a name that charms the monster Death, And bids him pause!--Amidst despairing life BIRKBECK's the harbinger of hope and health; When sordid affluence was with man at strife, He boldly stripp'd the veil, and show'd the wealth To aged ignorance, and ardent youth, Of cultured minds--the freedom of the soul! The sun of science, and the light of truth, The bliss of reason--mind without control.

Accept this tribute. Lady! and the praise, As Consort and the soother of his care! His offspring's pride--his friend's commingled rays, And every other grace that man has deem'd most rare!

THE CHAIN-PIER, BRIGHTON;

A SKETCH.

Hail, lovely morn! and thou, all-beauteous sea! Sun-sparkling with the diamond's countless rays: Thy look, how tranquil, one eternal calm, Which seems to woo the troubled soul to peace! Now, all is sunshine, and thy boundless breast Scarce heaves; unruffled, all thy waves subside Into a gentle ripple on the shore.

All hail, dear Woman! saving-ark of man, His surest solace in this world of woe; How cheering are thy smiles, which, like the breeze Of health, play softly o'er the pallid cheek, And turn its rigid markings to a smile. England may well be proud of scenes like this; The beaming Beauty which adorns the PIER!

Hung like a fairy fabric o'er the sea, The graceful wonder of this wondrous age; Intrepid Brown, the future page shall tell Thy generous spirit's persevering aim, That wrought so much, so well, thy country's weal; How fit for thee, the gallant seaman's life, His restless nights, and days of ceaseless toil; Framed by thy mighty hand, the giant work Check'd the rude tempest, in its fearful way. Thy bold inventions gave new life to hope, Steadied the wavering, and confirm'd the brave, And bade the timid smile, amidst the storm!

Spirit of Hogarth! had I but one ray Of that vast sun which warm'd thy varied mind; How would I now describe the motley groups Which crowd, in thoughtless ease, thy moving road. Mark the young Confidence of yesterday, Offspring of pride, and fortune's blinded fool, All would-be fashion, elegance, and ease, While, by his side, the weaker vessel smirks, In tawdry finery, with presuming gait, As though the world were made for them alone; Their liveried Lacquey, half-conceal'd in lace, The vulgar wonder of an upstart race. How heartlessly they pass that mourner by, The poor lone Widow, with her death-struck load. In speechless poverty, she courts the air, To give its blessing to her suff'ring babe; Not asking it herself; for life, to her, Has now no charm--her refuge is the grave!

Here comes the moral Almanack of years-- The prim old maid, and, by her side, her Niece, Full of bewitching beauty, health, and love. See, how the tabby watches Laura's eyes, Lest they should smile upon some pleasing spark, And violate grim prudery's tyrant ties. With icy finger, she her charge directs, To view the faithful dial of the sun, Whose moral tells how tide and time pass on. See, there--the fated victim of mischance; Read, in that hollow eye, and alter'd look, The deep anxiety which gnaws the heart, Incessant struggling 'gainst a tide of care, Which wears his life away;--and there, again, The empty, lucky Fool, who never thought, Nor ever will, yet lives and smiles, and thrives! Mark ye, that Ready-reckoner's figured face? Cold calculation in his thoughtful step; The heartless wretch, who never trusts his land, And never is deceived!--And, next him, comes Laughing Good-nature, with ruddy cheeks, And welcome look, determined to be pleased. He comes to ask--or go with friend to dine; His labour but to dress--to eat, to sleep: He knows no suffering equal to bad wine. There--the prig-Parson, with indented hat, And formal step--demanding your respect-- Yonder, the lovely insect-chasing Child. His is, indeed, a life of envious joy; Hope and anticipation, on the wing, To him no sad realities e'er bring!

SONNET.

MORNING.

Light as the breeze that hails the infant morn The Milkmaid trips, as o'er her arm she slings Her cleanly pail, some fav'rite lay she sings As sweetly wild and cheerful as the horn. O! happy girl I may never faithless love, Or fancied splendour, lead thy steps astray; No cares becloud the sunshine of thy day, Nor want e'er urge thee from thy cot to rove. What though thy station dooms thee to be poor, And by the hard-earn'd morsel thou art fed; Yet sweet content bedecks thy lowly bed, And health and peace sit smiling at thy door: Of these possess'd--thou hast a gracious meed, Which Heaven's high wisdom gives, to make thee rich indeed!

ON THE DEATH OF DR. ABEL,

Physician and Naturalist to Lord Amherst, Governor General of India, who died at Cawnpoor, 24th of November, 1826.

Another awful warning voice of death To human dignity, and human pride; 'Tis sad, to mark how short the longest life-- How brief was thine! Thy day is done, And all its complicated hopes and fears Lie buried, ABEL! in an early grave. The unavailing tear for thee shall flow, And love and friendship faithful record keep Of all thy varied worth, thy anxious strife For fame and years, now gone for ever! Yet o'er thy tomb science and learning Bend in mute regret, and truth proclaims Thy just inheritance an honour'd name!

Lamented most by those who knew thee best, Accept this humble, tributary lay, From one, who in thy boyhood and thy prime Had shared thy friendship, and had fondly hoped When last we parted, many years were thine And joys in store--that thy elastic mind Might long have gladden'd life's monotony. Thine was a princely heart, a joyous soul, The charm of reason, and the sprightly wit Which kept dull letter'd ignorance in awe, Shook the pretender on his tinsel throne, And claim'd the glorious dignity of mind!

Alas! that in thy prime, when time began To make thee nearly all the World could wish, The spoiler Death should unrelenting come And stop the fountain of a noble heart.

Rest, anxious spirit! from life's feverish dream, From all its sad realities and cares: Be this thy Epitaph, thy honour'd boast-- Thine was the fame, which thine own mind achieved!

SONNET.

NIGHT.

Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread, See want and infamy, as forth they come, Lead their wan daughter from her branded home, To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread. Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek And half-clad form, what havoc want hath made; And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade, And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak. O! miserable state! compell'd to wear The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd; Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear! Oh! GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside, And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.

CONSTANCY.

Dearest love! when thy God shall recall thee, Be this record inscribed on thy tomb: Truth, and gratitude, well may applaud thee, And all thy past virtues relume.

It shall tell--to thy sex's proud honour, Of sufferings and trials severe, While still, through protracted affliction, Not a murmur escaped; but the tear

Of resignment to Heaven's high dictates, 'Twas thine, like a martyr, to shed: That heart--all affection for others-- For thyself, uncomplainingly, bled.

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