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HONORIA: OR THE DAY OF ALL SOULS, A POEM, WITH OTHER POETICAL PIECES.
LONDON: PRINTED for J. ROBSON, BOOKSELLER, IN NEW BOND STREET. M DCC LXXXII.
ADVERTISEMENT.
[]THE Scene of the following little Poem is ſuppoſed to be in the great church of St. Am⯑broſe at Milan the ſecond of November, on which day the moſt ſolemn office is performed for the repoſe of the Dead.
HONORIA.
[]'YE hallow'd bells, whoſe voices thro' the air
'The awful ſummons of affliction bear:
'Ye ſlowly-waving banners of the dead,
'That o'er yon altar your dark horrours ſpread:
'Ye curtain'd lamps, whoſe mitigated ray
'Caſts round the fane, a pale, reluctant day:
'Ye walls, ye ſhrines, by melancholy dreſt,
'Well do ye ſuit the faſhion of my breaſt!
'Have I not loſt what language can't unfold,
'The form of valour caſt in beauty's mould!
'Th' intrepid youth the path of battle tried,
'And foremoſt in the hour of peril died.
[2]'Nor was I preſent to bewail his fate,
'With pity's lenient voice to ſoothe his ſtate,
'To watch his looks, to read while death ſtood by,
'The laſt expreſſion of his parting eye.
'But other duties, other cares impend,
'Cares that beyond the mournful grave extend:
'Now, now I view conven'd the pious train,
'Whoſe boſom ſorrows at another's pain,
'While recollection pleaſingly ſevere
'Wakes for the awful dead the ſilent tear,
And pictures (as to each her ſway extends)
'The ſacred forms of lovers, parents, friends.
'Now Charity a fiery ſeraph ſtands
'Beſide yon altar with uplifted hands.
'Yet, can this high ſolemnity of grief
'Yield to the youth I love the wiſh'd relief?
[3]'Theſe rites of death—Ah! what can they avail?
'Honorius died beyond the hallow'd pale:
'Plung'd in the gulph of fear—diſtreſsful ſtate!
'My anxious mind dares not enquire his fate:
'Yet why deſpond? cou'd one ſlight errour roll
'A flood of poiſon o'er the healthful ſoul?
'Had not thy virtues full ſufficing pow'r
'To clear thee in the dread recording hour?
'Did they before the judge abaſh'd remain?
'Did they, weak advocates, all plead in vain?
'By love, by piety, by reaſon taught,
'My ſoul revolts at the blaſpheming thought:
'Sure in the breaſt to pure religion true,
'Where virtue's templed, God is templed too.
'Then while th' auguſt proceſſion moves along,
'Midſt ſwelling organs, and the pomp of ſong;
[4]'While the dread chaunt, ſtill true to Nature's laws,
'Is deepen'd by the terrour-breathing pauſe;
'While 'midſt encircling clouds of incenſe loſt
'The trembling prieſt upholds the ſacred hoſt;
'Amid theſe ſcenes ſhall I forget my ſuit?
'Amid theſe ſcenes ſhall I alone be mute?
'Nor to the footſteps of the throne above
'Breathe the warm requiem to the youth I love?
'Now ſilence reigns along the gloomy fane,
'And wraps in dread repoſe the pauſing ſtrain:
'When next it burſts my humble voice I'll join,
'Diſcloſe my trembling wiſh at mercy's ſhrine,
'Unveil my anguiſh to the throne above,
'And ſigh the requiem to the youth I love.
'—Does fancy mock me with a falſe delight,
'Or does ſome hallow'd viſion cheer my ſight?
[5]'Methinks, emerging from the gloom below,
'Th' immortal ſpirits leave the houſe of woe!
'Inſhrin'd in glory's beams they reach the ſky,
'While choral ſongs of triumph burſt from high!
'See, at the voice of my accorded pray'r,
'The radiant youth aſcend the fields of air!
'Behold!—He mounts unutterably bright,
'Cloath'd in the ſun-robe of unfading light!
'Applauding ſeraphs hail him on his way,
'And lead him to the gates of everlaſting day.'
THE SOLDIER's FAREWELL ON THE EVE OF A BATTLE.
[]NIGHT, expecting the dread morrow
Hover'd o'er the martial train,
Beauteous Alice, led by ſorrow.
Hurried to the ſilent plain:
'Give the watch-word, the guard utter'd
'Loudly from his deſtin'd place;
'Lo! 'tis I, fair Alice mutter'd,
'Haſt'ning to his fond embrace.
[8]
'Ever beauteous, faithful ever,
'Quick the gallant youth rejoin'd,
'Cruel death can only ſever
'Hearts in love's ſtrong links entwin'd:
'Soon ſhall we be torn aſunder,
'Therefore welcome art thou come;
'Till morn wakes the battle's thunder
'Reſt thee on that broken drum:'
She ſat down, in mind reviewing
Ills the morning might behold,
Tears ſtill other tears purſuing,
Down her cheek in ſilence roll'd:
Thoughts to other thoughts ſucceeding
O'er her mind inceſſant flow;
She, like meekneſs inly-bleeding,
Broods in ſtillneſs o'er her woe:
[9]
'Wherefore, Alice, doſt thou ponder
'Evils that are fancy's brood;
'Sure our parting might be fonder
'Than beſeems this ſilent mood?
'Yet continue ſtill to ponder
'Things thy voice wants pow'r to ſay,
'Thy dumb grief to me ſeems fonder,
'Than words deck'd in bright array.'
She replied (her tears ſtill guſhing)
'What avails it to be brave?
'Thou, amidſt the battle ruſhing,
'Here perchance may meet a grave:
'Shou'd'ſt thou periſh in the action,
'Where's the peace to ſoothe my care?
'All my life wou'd be diſtraction,
'Madneſs, wailing, and deſpair.
[10]
'Still thou wert of gentleſt carriage,
'Still affectionately true,
'And a lover ſtill in marriage,
'And a friend and parent too.
'Cheer thee, cheer thee, beſt of women,
'Truſt to the great Pow'r above;
'When I ruſh amidſt the foemen,
'Heav'n may think on her I love:
'Saving is the miſer's pleaſure,
'Spending is the ſoldier's thrift,
'Take this guinea, all my treaſure,
'Take it as a parting gift.
'Here end we this mournful meeting,
'Catch from my lips this fond ſigh;
'If this be our laſt, laſt greeting,
'Know, that I was born to die.
[11]
'See! the day-ſpring gilds the ſtreamers
'Waving o'er the martial train;
'Now the hoarſe drum wakes the dreamers,
'Ne'er perchance to dream again:
'Hark, I hear the trumpet's clangor
'Bid the Britiſh youth excell;
'Now, now glows the battle's anger,
'Lovely Alice, fare thee well.'
TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
[13]ENDOW'D with all that Fortune cou'd beſtow;
With brilliancy of wit and beauty's glow,
Franciſca, riſing to her fifteenth year,
Stood mid the virgin train without a peer:
Her conſcious boſom throbb'd to virtue warm,
While diffidence ſtill heighten'd ev'ry charm:
But Heav'n's decree forbad this beauty's queen
To act her part thro' beauty's ſhort-liv'd ſcene:
A gradual illneſs on her figure prey'd,
And ſlowly, ſlowly ſunk the fading maid:
[14]Torn from each wiſh to which her youth aſpir'd,
Unfearing—uncomplaining—ſhe expir'd:
Thus ſome faint lily to its mother-ground
In ſilence falls—while ſpring is blooming round.
INSCRIPTION INTENDED FOR AN OLD THATCHED CHURCH.
[15]FAR from the ſplendour of a coſtly fane,
My low roof canopies the humble train:
Deep in my vaults divorc'd from human woes,
The life-worn, weary villagers repoſe:
When at my altar kneels the hamlet fair,
And to her God unveils her boſom'd care!
Or does the herdſman bend with grief diſtreſt,
Kind comfort ſteals upon their lighten'd breaſt:
[16]Here too Religion weaves with viewleſs hand,
For ſpotleſs village hearts, the nuptial band,
And twines with many a charm the holy braid
That joins the lab'rer and the nut-brown maid.
ON THE DEATH of TWO FAVOURITE BIRDS.
[17]INVOLV'D in flame and ſuffocating breath
A hapleſs bird was doom'd to ſudden death;
The female, touch'd at his uncommon fate,
Survey'd the form of her disfigur'd mate;
With drooping head, and ſhiv'ring wings ſhe ſtood
In all the agony of widowhood!
At length, to grief's ſevereſt pow'r a prey,
She dropt—and ſigh'd her little ſoul away.
[18]Ye wedded birds, tho' rigid be your doom,
Yet Anna † watches at your early tomb;
For you her flowing pity burſts reſtraint,
Your dirge is utter'd in her ſoft complaint,
Your elegy, without the poet's art,
Is writ by ſorrow on the pureſt heart.
THE OAK.
[19]MARK well yon tree, that ſhades the neighb'ring plain,
And looks the anceſtor of this domain!
Beneath the ſlowly-waving branches hoar,
(Meet temple for a vow) this morn I ſwore,
To rear ſolicitous bright Friendſhip's flow'r,
And fence it from bleak Time's deſtructive pow'r:
To guard with holy care the tender frame,
And on the fragrant leaves inſcribe his name,
Whoſe preſence gilds with ſmiles this mild retreat,
Within whoſe breaſt the virtues love to meet:
[20]Who woos coy ſcience to frequent his ſcene,
And bids good nature gambol o'er the green:
I ſpoke the word—The ſolemn branches bow'd,
As conſcious of the ſacred deed I vow'd.
SENSIBILITY.
[21]CELESTIAL ſpring! to Nature's favourites giv'n,
Fed by the dews that bathe the flow'rs of heav'n:
From the pure cryſtal of thy fountain flow
The tears that trickle o'er another's woe;
The ſilent drop that calms our own diſtreſs;
The guſh of rapture at a friend's ſucceſs;
Thine the ſoft ſhow'rs down beauty's breaſt that ſteal
To ſoothe the heart-wounds they can never heal:
Thine too the tears of ecſtaſy that roll,
When genius whiſpers to the liſt'ning ſoul;
And thine the hallow'd flood that drowns the eye,
When warm Religion lifts the thought on high.
MAY the 9th, 1779, MISS BOYLE's BIRTH DAY.
[23]OH, ſhade of Hanb'ry†, from thy ſeat beſtow
One tranſient aſpect on this ſcene below:
This youngeſt flow'ret of thy bow'r ſurvey,
Who meekly rears her head to welcome May,
And looks the lily of the primros'd dale,
Juſt breaking thro' its green o'ermantling veil.
Behold the Mother ‡ prompt (with ſkill refin'd)
To watch the dawning of a Daughter's mind:
[24]With thoſe clear rays which her bright noon adorn,
She ſtreaks and beautifies her pupil's morn:
Foe to th' enamel'd rules of Stanhope's art,
With Nature's ſentiments ſhe feeds the heart;
Whoſe ſtrong aſcendant in due time diſplay'd
Shall as a buckler ſhield the tender maid,
When call'd to enter on her fate's career,
Thro' life's uncertain voyage ſhe ſhall ſteer.
Methinks I now behold that future day,
When the light galley ſhall the fair convey:
I ſee this artleſs Cleopatra glide,
Hope at her helm, and Virtue at her ſide,
Firm (as her Father to repel the foe)
To meet when Heav'n ordains th' aſſailing woe.
Ah! new adventurer on the ſea of life,
May'ſt thou ne'er meet the waves' inſulting ſtrife;
[25]Ne'er may thy bark amidſt the whirlwind's roar
Daſh its young boſom on the bulging ſhore:
May halcyon ſtillneſs brood along the deep,
And treach'rous Syrens in ſome cavern ſleep:
Allur'd by ſmiling ſkies, may playful gales
Toy round thy maſt, and flutter in the ſails.
Enough—To merriment the hours devote,
Each accent tune to laughing pleaſure's note.
For thee the darling of theſe humble lays,
Whoſe early merit wakes the voice of praiſe,
From the bright date of this recorded day
Thou ſhalt be ſtyled the Little Queen of May.
THE END.
Appendix A
[]LATELY PUBLISHED, THE ANCIENT ENGLISH WAKE, Price One Shilling and Sixpence.
Alſo in One Volume Octavo, Price Three Shillings, POEMS BY MR. JERNINGHAM. THE FIFTH EDITION.
Notes
†
Miſs Ann Beauclerk.
†
Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.
‡
The Honourable Mrs. Walſingham.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3749 Honoria or the day of All Souls a poem with other poetical pieces. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-596D-7