Select British Poets, Or, New Elegant Extracts from Chaucer to the Present Time, with Critical Remarks

PART II.

LIVING POETS.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

PLEASURES OF MEMORY. Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Still'd is the hum that thro' the bamlet broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols clos'd the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more With treasur'd tales, and legendary lore. All, all are tied; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent repose. All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear?

Mark yon old mansion frowning thro' the trees,
Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze,
That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade,
First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd.
The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; (court,
When nature pleas’d, for life itself was new,
And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew.

See, thro' the fractur’d pediment reveal'd,
Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptur'd shield,
The martin's old, hereditary nest.
Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest!

As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call!
Oh haste, unfold the hospitable ball!
That hall, where once, in antiquated state,
The chair of justice held the grave debate.

Now stain’d with dews, with cobwebs darkly
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; (hung,
When round yon ample board, in due degree,
We sweeten'd every meal with social glee.
The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest;
And all was sunshine in each little breast.
'Twas here we chas'd the slipper by the sound;
And turn'd the blindfold hero round and rouud.
'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring;
And Fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing.
Giants and genii chain’d each wondering ear;
And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood,
Or view'd the forest-feasts of Robin Hood :
Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,
With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower ;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,
Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.

Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high ; Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.

As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. The storied arras, source of fond delight,

With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight;
And still, with Heraldry's rich hues imprest,
On the dim window glows the pictur'd crest.
The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart.
The clock still points its moral to the heart.
That faithful monitor 'twas heav'n to hear!
When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near:
And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time?
That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought,
Whence the cag'd linnet sooth'd my pensive thought;
Those muskets, cas'd with venerable rust;
Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro' their
Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, [dust,
Starting to life---all whisper of the past !

As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove,
What fond illusions swarm in every grove !
How oft, when purple evening ting'd the west,
We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest;
Welcom'd the wild-bee home on weary wing,
Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring !
How oft inscrib’d, with Friendship’s votive rhyme,
The bark now silver'd by the touch of Time;
Soar'd in the swing, half pleas'd and half afraid,
Thro’ sister elms that wav'd their summer-shade;
Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!

Childhood's lov'd group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! Cloth'd with far softer hues than light can give. Thou first, best friend that heav'n assigns below, To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, When nature fades, and life forgets to charm; Thee would the Muse invoke!-to thee belong The sage's precept, and the poet's song. What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals, When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, (steals! Long on the wave reflected lustres play; Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd, Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. [gray, Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn: Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship form’d and cherish'd here ! And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams! Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blaz'd

The gipsy's faggot—there we stood and gaz'd; To

pass

the clouds that round thy empire roll, Gaz'd on her sun-burot face with silent awe, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;

Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred,

Each stamps its image as the other flies! From rified roost at nightly revel fed; [shade, Each, as the various avenues of sense Whose dark eyes flash'd thro' locks of blackest Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd :- Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call,

Controul the latent fibres of the heart. Whose elfin prowess scal’d the orchard-wall. As studious Prospero's mysterious spell As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew,

Conven'd the subject-spirits to his cell; And trac'd the line of life with searching view, Each, at thy call, advances or retires, How throbb’d my fluttering pulse with hopes and As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. To learn the colour of my future years! (fears, Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source,

Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast ! Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, This truth once known-To bless is to be blest! And thro' the frame invisibly convey We led the bending beggar on his way,

The subtle quick vibrations as they play. (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray)

Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,

From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.

What different spheres to human bliss assign'd! As in his scrip we dropt our little store,

What slow gradations in the scale of mind! And wept to think that little was no inore, (live!" Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; He breath'd his prayer,“ Long may such goodness Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give.

The adventurous boy, that asks his little share, Angels, when Mercy's mandate wing’d their flight,

And hies from home, with many z rossip's prayer, Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight. Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see

But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell The dear abode of peace and pri p"; The church clock strikes! ye tender scenes, fare- And as he turns, the thatch among + trees, well!

The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace The village common spotted white with sheep, The few fond lines that Time may soon efface.

The church-yard yews round which his fathers On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door, All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasin,, train, (sleep; Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more,

And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring,

So, when the mild Tupia dar'd explore

He When the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring;

Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,

And, with the sons of Science, woo'd the gale, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.

That, rising, swellid their strange expanse of sail; The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed, So, when he breath'd his firm yet fond adieu, Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, Oft, as he turned the greensward with his spade,

And all his soul best lov'd-such tears ne shed, He lectur'd every youth that round him play'd; While each soft scene of summer-bearty fled. And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay, Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Rous'd him to rival each, the hero of his day. Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast;

Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone Till twilight's dewy tints deceiv'd his I search the records of each mouldering stone. And fairy forests fring'd the evening

TE Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth !

So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawı. se day,

MI Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth; Rose on her couch, and gaz'd her sous away. Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd; Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering height, In age belov’d, in poverty rever'd;

That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; In Friendship's silent register ye live,

But now the morn with orient hues pourtray'd Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give.

Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade:

S. -But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep, All touched the talisman's resistless spring, When only sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep, And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing!

T What spells entrance my visionary mind,

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, With sighs so sweet, with transports so refin'd? As summer-clouds tlash forth electric fire.

1 Ethereal Power ! whose sinile, at noon of night, And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, Recalls the far-fed spirit of delight;

Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. Instils that musing, melancholy mood,

Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot's sigh; Which charms the wise, and elevates the good; This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. Blest Memory, hail! Oh grant the grateful Muse, For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,

Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,

CO .

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Select British Poets, Or, New Elegant Extracts from Chaucer to the Present ...