Poems by Robert Southey Part 7

JOHN:

And I too friend Samuel! have heard the shots rattle, But we seamen rejoice in the play of the battle; Tho' the chain and the grape-shot roll splintering around, With the blood of our messmates tho' slippery the ground, The fiercer the fight, still the fiercer we grow, We heed not our loss so we conquer the foe.

And the hard battle won, so the prize be not sunk, The Captain gets rich, and the Sailors get drunk.

SAMUEL:

G.o.d help the poor soldier when backward he goes In disgraceful retreat thro' a country of foes!

No respite from danger by day or by night He is still forced to fly, still o'ertaken to fight, Every step that he takes he must battle his way, He must force his hard meal from the peasant away; No rest--and no hope, from all succour afar, G.o.d forgive the poor Soldier for going to the war!

JOHN:

But what are these dangers to those I have past When the dark billows roar'd to the roar of the blast?

When we work'd at the pumps worn with labour and weak And with dread still beheld the increase of the leak, Sometimes as we rose on the wave could our sight From the rocks of the sh.o.r.e catch the light-houses light; In vain to the beach to a.s.sist us they press, We fire faster and faster our guns of distress, Still with rage unabating the wind and waves roar-- How the giddy wreck reels--as the billows burst o'er-- Leap--leap--for she yawns--for she sinks in the wave-- Call on G.o.d to preserve--for G.o.d only can save!

SAMUEL:

There's an end of all troubles however at last!

And when I in the waggon of wounded was cast, When my wounds with the chilly night-wind smarted sore And I thought of the friends I should never see more, No hand to relieve--scarce a morsel of bread-- Sick at heart I have envied the peace of the dead!

Left to rot in a jail till by treaty set free, Old England's white cliffs with what joy did I see!

I had gain'd enough glory, some wounds, but no good, And was turn'd on the public to s.h.i.+ft how I could.

When I think what I've suffer'd and where I am now I curse him who snared me away from the plough.

JOHN:

When I was discharged I went home to my wife, There in comfort to spend all the rest of my life.

My wife was industrious, we earn'd what we spent, And tho' little we had, were with little content; And whenever I listen'd and heard the wind roar, I bless'd G.o.d for my little snug cabin on sh.o.r.e.

At midnight they seiz'd me, they dragg'd me away, They wounded me sore when I would not obey, And because for my country I'd ventur'd my life, I was dragg'd like a thief from my home and my wife.

Then the fair wind of Fortune chopp'd round in my face And Want at length drove me to guilt and disgrace-- But all's for the best;--on the world's wide sea cast, I am haven'd in peace in this corner at last.

SAMUEL:

Come d.i.c.k! we have done--and for judgment we call.

RICHARD:

And in faith I can give ye no judgment at all.

I've been listening to all the hard labours you've past And think in plain troth, you're two blockheads at last.

My lads where the Deuce was the wit which G.o.d gave ye When you sold yourselves first to the army or navy?

By land and by sea hunting dangers to roam, When you might have been hang'd so much easier at home!

But you're now snug and settled and safe from foul weather, So drink up your grog and be merry together.

FREDERIC.

(Time Night. Scene the woods.)

Where shall I turn me? whither shall I bend My weary way? thus worn with toil and faint How thro' the th.o.r.n.y mazes of this wood Attain my distant dwelling? that deep cry That rings along the forest seems to sound My parting knell: it is the midnight howl Of hungry monsters prowling for their prey!

Again! oh save me--save me gracious Heaven!

I am not fit to die!

Thou coward wretch Why heaves thy trembling heart? why shake thy limbs Beneath their palsied burden? is there ought So lovely in existence? would'st thou drain Even to its dregs the bitter draught of life?

Dash down the loathly bowl! poor outcast slave Stamp'd with the brand of Vice and Infamy Why should the villain Frederic shrink from Death?

Death! where the magic in that empty name That chills my inmost heart? why at the thought Starts the cold dew of fear on every limb?

There are no terrors to surround the Grave, When the calm Mind collected in itself Surveys that narrow house: the ghastly train That haunt the midnight of delirious Guilt Then vanish; in that home of endless rest All sorrows cease.--Would I might slumber there!

Why then this panting of the fearful heart?

This miser love of Life that dreads to lose Its cherish'd torment? shall the diseased man Yield up his members to the surgeon's knife, Doubtful of succour, but to ease his frame Of fleshly anguish, and the coward wretch, Whose ulcered soul can know no human help Shrink from the best Physician's certain aid?

Oh it were better far to lay me down Here on this cold damp earth, till some wild beast Seize on his willing victim!

If to die Were all, it were most sweet to rest my head On the cold clod, and sleep the sleep of Death.

But if the Archangel's trump at the last hour Startle the ear of Death and wake the soul To frenzy!--dreams of infancy! fit tales For garrulous beldames to affrighten babes!

I have been guilty, yet my mind can bear The retrospect of guilt, yet in the hour Of deep contrition to THE ETERNAL look For mercy! for the child of Poverty, And "disinherited of happiness,"

What if I warr'd upon the world? the world Had wrong'd me first: I had endur'd the ills Of 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 WANT Gnaw'd at my heart. ETERNAL ONE thou know'st How that poor heart even in the bitter hour Of lewdest revelry has inly yearn'd For peace!

My FATHER! I will call on thee, Pour to thy mercy seat my earnest prayer, And wait thy peace in bowedness of soul.

Oh thoughts of comfort! how the afflicted heart, Tired with the tempest of its pa.s.sions, rests On you with holy hope! the hollow howl Of yonder harmless tenant of the woods Bursts not with terror on the sober'd sense.

If I have sinn'd against mankind, on them Be 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 length Here 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 rouse The savage from his thicket!

Hark! the gun!

And lo--the fire of safety! I shall reach My little hut again! again by toil Force from the stubborn earth my sustenance, And quick-ear'd guilt will never start alarm'd Amid the well-earn'd meal. This felon's garb-- Will it not s.h.i.+eld me from the winds of Heaven?

And what could purple more? Oh strengthen me Eternal One in this serener state!

Cleanse thou mine heart, so PENITENCE and FAITH Shall heal my soul and my last days be peace.

Sonnets

SONNET I.

Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight, How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade, This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.

Say that from every joy of life remote At evening's closing hour he quits the throng, Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note Who pours like him her solitary song.

Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh, Say that of all her charms he loves to speak, In fancy feels the magic of her eye, In fancy views the smile illume her cheek, Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.