Poems by Robert Southey Part 8

SONNET II.

Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way Homeward thou hastest light of heart along, If heavily creep on one little day The medley crew of travellers among, Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here On Life's sad journey comfortless he roves, Remote from every scene his heart holds dear, From him he values, and from her he loves.

And when disgusted with the vain and dull Whom chance companions of thy way may doom, Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full, Turns to itself and meditates on home, Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest!

SONNET III.

Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale Of days departed. Time in his career Arraigns not thee that the neglected year Has past unheeded onward. To the vale Of years thou journeyest. May the future road Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend Friends.h.i.+p and Love, best blessings! still attend, 'Till full of days he reach the calm abode Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old That whilome mock'd the rus.h.i.+ng tempest's rage Now like the monument of strength decayed With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

SONNET IV.

What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart, Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart, And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn, And the dark spectre of departed JOY Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave Love I the solitary hour to employ Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh Responsive, when I mark the high gra.s.s wave Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.

SONNET V.

Hard by the road, where on that little mound The high gra.s.s rustles to the pa.s.sing breeze, The child of Misery rests her head in peace.

Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek, And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep The tear of anguish for the babe unborn, The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn.

She drank the draught that chill'd her soul to sleep.

I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye, Whilst the proud Levite scowls and pa.s.ses by.

SONNET VI to a brook near the village of Corston.

As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays The faint form'd scenes of the departed days, Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn Upon thy banks the live-long hour away, When sportive Childhood wantoned thro' the day, Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn, Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak The silent eloquence of the full eye.

Dim are the long past days, yet still they please As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.

SONNET VII to the evening rainbow.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky Thou s.h.i.+nest fair with many a lovely ray Each in the other melting. Much mine eye Delights to linger on thee; for the day, Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile Flas.h.i.+ng brief splendor thro' its clouds awhile, That deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain: But pleasant is it now to pause, and view Thy various tints of frail and watery hue, And think the storm shall not return again.

Such is the smile that Piety bestows On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace Departing gently from a world of woes, Antic.i.p.ates the realm where sorrows cease.

SONNET VIII.

With many a weary step, at length I gain Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays, Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain.

'Twas a long way and tedious! to the eye Tho fair the extended vale, and fair to view The falling leaves of many a faded hue, That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.

Even so it fared with Life! in discontent Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went, Yet wept to think they would return no more!

But cease fond heart in such sad thoughts to roam, For surely thou ere long shall reach thy home, And pleasant is the way that lies before.

SONNET IX.

Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky The orient sun expands his roseate ray, And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye Fades the meek radiance of departing day; But fairer is the smile of one we love, Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.

And sweeter than the music of the grove, The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight From the hard durance of the empty throng.

Too swiftly then towards the silent night Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along, Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart, Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.

SONNET X.

How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud Tho' distant; while upon the misty downs Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.

I never saw so terrible a storm!

Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain Wraps his torn raiment round his s.h.i.+vering form Cold even as Hope within him! I the while Pause me in sadness tho' the sunbeams smile Cheerily round me. Ah that thus my lot Might be with Peace and Solitude a.s.sign'd, Where I might from some little quiet cot, Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind!

Sappho.

A MONODRAMA.

Argument.

To leap from the promontory of LEUCADIA was believed by the Greeks to be a remedy for hopeless love, if the self-devoted victim escaped with life. Artemisia lost her life in the dangerous experiment: and Sappho is said thus to have perished, in attempting to cure her pa.s.sion for Phaon.

SAPPHO

(Scene the promontory of Leucadia.)

This is the spot:--'tis here Tradition says That hopeless Love from this high towering rock Leaps headlong to Oblivion or to Death.

Oh 'tis a giddy height! my dizzy head Swims at the precipice--'tis death to fall!

Lie still, thou coward heart! this is no time To shake with thy strong throbs the frame convuls'd.

To die,--to be at rest--oh pleasant thought!

Perchance to leap and live; the soul all still, And the wild tempest of the pa.s.sions husht In one deep calm; the heart, no more diseas'd By the quick ague fits of hope and fear, Quietly cold!

Presiding Powers look down!

In vain to you I pour'd my earnest prayers, In vain I sung your praises: chiefly thou VENUS! ungrateful G.o.ddess, whom my lyre Hymn'd with such full devotion! Lesbian groves, Witness how often at the languid hour Of summer twilight, to the melting song Ye gave your choral echoes! Grecian Maids Who hear with downcast look and flus.h.i.+ng cheek That lay of love bear witness! and ye Youths, Who hang enraptur'd on the empa.s.sion'd strain Gazing with eloquent eye, even till the heart Sinks in the deep delirium! and ye too Shall witness, unborn Ages! to that song Of warmest zeal; ah witness ye, how hard, Her fate who hymn'd the votive hymn in vain!

Ungrateful G.o.ddess! I have hung my lute In yonder holy pile: my hand no more Shall wake the melodies that fail'd to move The heart of Phaon--yet when Rumour tells How from Leucadia Sappho hurl'd her down A self-devoted victim--he may melt Too late in pity, obstinate to love.

Oh haunt his midnight dreams, black NEMESIS!

Whom,[1] self-conceiving in the inmost depths Of CHAOS, blackest NIGHT long-labouring bore, When the stern DESTINIES, her elder brood.

And shapeless DEATH, from that more monstrous birth Leapt shuddering! haunt his slumbers, Nemesis, Scorch with the fires of Phlegethon his heart, Till helpless, hopeless, heaven-abandon'd wretch He too shall seek beneath the unfathom'd deep To hide him from thy fury.

How the sea Far distant glitters as the sun-beams smile, And gayly wanton o'er its heaving breast Phoebus s.h.i.+nes forth, nor wears one cloud to mourn His votary's sorrows! G.o.d of Day s.h.i.+ne on-- By Man despis'd, forsaken by the G.o.ds, I supplicate no more.