Robert Lovell

“ The exil'd Ovid pour'd his plaintive strain;
He mourn'd for ever lost the joys of Rome,
He mourn'd his widow'd wife, his distant home,
And all the weight of woe that load the exile's doom. [Pg 83]
Oh! could my lays, like Sulmo's minstrel, flow,
Eternity might love her Bion's name;
The muse might give a dignity to woe,
And grief's steep path should prove the path to fame:
But I have pluck'd no bays from Phoebus' bower,
My fading garland, form'd of many a flower,
May haply smile and bloom to last one little hour. ”

“ To him the boon of good old age was giv'n,
And now, when parted from this world of woe,
He rests in holy faith of God and heav'n,
To meet that mercy which he gave below.
MOSCHUS.
[Pg 41] ELEGY.
THE DECAYED MONASTERY.
How loves the mind to muse o'er long-past hours,
While o'er the scene the swift ideas dance;
How sweet absorb'd in memory's pleasing pow'rs,
To wing the soul in retrospective glance!
But nought avails the retrospective view,
If calm reflection turn it not to good;
In vain shall thought the backward theme pursue,
If mind not profit by the theme pursu'd. ”

“ Distrust each soul-subduing sweet,
Dash down alluring pleasure's deadly bowl,
For thro' thy frame the venom'd juice will creep,
Lull reason's powers to sombrous sleep,
And stain with sable hue the spotless soul;
For soon the valley's charms decay,
In haggard griefs ill omen'd sway,
And barren rocks shall hide the cheering light of day:
Then reason strives in vain, [Pg 79]
Extinguish'd hope's enchanting beam for aye,
And virtue sinks beneath the galling chain,
And sorrow deeply drains her lethal bowl,
And sullen fix'd despair benumbs the nerveless soul. ”

“ There the bold, the daring muse,
Every daring warrior wooes;
The sacred lust of deathless fame
Burnt in every warrior's soul:
"Whilst future ages hymn my name,
(The son of Odin cries) [Pg 100]
I shall quaff the foaming bowl
With my forefathers in yon azure skies;
Methinks I see my foeman's skull
With the mantling beverage full;
I hear the shield-roof'd hall resound
To martial music's echoing sound;
I see the virgins, valour's meed,—
Death is bliss—I rush to bleed." ”

“ Big is the death-fraught cloud of woe
That hangs, proud Rome, impending o'er thy wall,
For Odin shall avenge his Asgard's fall. [Pg 104]
Thus burst from Odin's lips the fated sound,
As high in air he rear'd the gleaming blade;
His faithful friends around
In silent wonder saw the scene, affray'd:
He, unappall'd, towards the skies
Uplifts his death-denouncing eyes;
"Ope wide Valhalla's shield-roof'd hall,
Virgins of bliss! obey your master's call;
From these injurious realms below
The sire of nations hastes to go." ”

“ Let cankering moss obscure the rough-hewn name:
There never may the pensive pilgrim go,
Nor future minstrel drop the tear of woe,
For all would fail to wake the slumbering earth below.
Be mine, whilst journeying life's rough road along
O'er hill and dale the wandering bard shall go,
To hail the hour of pleasure with the song,
Or soothe with sorrowing strains the hour of woe;
The song each passing moment shall beguile,
Perchance too, partial friendship deigns to smile,
Let fame reject the lay, I sleep secure the while. ”

“ BION.
[Pg 63] SONNET VII.
WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY.
As o'er the lengthen'd plain the traveller goes,
Weary and sad, his wayward fancy strays
To scenes which late he pass'd, haply to raise
The transient joy which memory bestows;
And oft, while hope dispels the gathering gloom,
He paints the approaching scene in colours gay:
So I, to cheer me in life's rugged way,
Or glance o'er pleasures past, or think of bliss to come.
But ah! reflection vainly we employ
On pleasures past, and fugitive the joy
When the mind rests on hope's delusive power ”

“ Ere unexpected bursts the cloud of woe;
Stream not on me thy torch's baneful glow,
Like the sepulchral lamp's funereal gloom,
In darkness glimmering to disclose a tomb.
BION.
[Pg 73] THE WISH.
TO A FRIEND.
The Muse who struck to moral strains the lyre,
Now turns to court a visionary theme,
To frame the wish which flattering hopes inspire,
When fancy revels in her golden dream.
I ask no lone retreat, no shady grove,
Nor grove nor bower can boast a charm for me;
I muse on Justice, Liberty, and Love,
And, need I, Orson! tell my wish to thee? ”

“ Whirls around confus'd despair;
Nor Acre's walls can check his course,
Nor Sarzin millions stay his force.
Indignant, firm the warrior stood,
The hungry lion gapes for food;
His fearless eye beheld him nigh,
Unarm'd, undaunted, saw the beast proceed:
Romance, o'erhovering, saw the monster die,
And scarce herself believ'd the more than wond'rous deed.
And now, with more terrific mien,
She quits the sad degenerate scene;
With many a talisman of mightiest pow'r,
Borne in a rubied car, sublime she flies,
Fire-breathing griffins waft her thro' the skies ”

“ Oh, that that dreadful thought might lull despair!
That death's chill dews might quench this vital flame,
And life lie mouldering with this lifeless frame!
Then would I strike with joy the friendly blow,
Then rush to mingle with the dead below.
Oh, agonizing hour! when round my head
Dark-brow'd despair his shadowing wings shall spread;
When conscience from herself shall seek to fly,
And, loathing life, still more shall loath to die!
Already vengeance lifts his iron rod,
Already conscience sees an angry God! ”

“ Each distant scene, each long-past hour anew,
Ere yet my bosom knew the touch of grief,
Ere yet my bosom lov'd the lyre's relief.
Yes, as thou dart'st thine intellectual ray,
The clouds of mental darkness melt away:
So when, at earliest day's awaking dawn,
The hovering mists obscure the dewy lawn,
O'er all the champain spread their influence chill,
Hang o'er the vale, and hide the lofty hill;
Anon, slow rising, beams the orb of day,
Slow melt the shadowy mists, and fade away ”

“ For there no gleam shot through th' impervious night,
And there their seat the monkish zealots made;
As the dull earth-worm shuns the realms of light,
And courts in gloom obscure its native shade.
Still in those regions superstition sways,
In cloister'd shades see youth and beauty shrin'd;
There unexcited energy decays,
And genius dies that might have blest mankind.
But soon ev'n here the illusive shade shall fail,
And truth omnipotent assert its power;
How joys the muse the coming dawn to hail,
Oh! might her line facilitate the hour. [Pg 45]
Say, what is virtue, sages? ”

“ His spring of life was deck'd with spring's best charms,
His opening mind was like the blossom'd tree.
'His riper years with riper fruits were crown'd,
His mellow autumn blest with genial skies;
His age, like winter's frost-ymantled ground,
Where vigour still beneath the hoary surface lies.
'For wealth or pow'r he breath'd no prayer to heav'n,
Life's every blessing industry supplied;
To him health, peace, and competence, were giv'n,
And say, can virtue form a wish beside?
'This once-lov'd spot recalls full many a joy,
What cheer'd in youth old age will ne'er forget ”

“ Nor waste the flame, unblessing and unblest,
As lamps that glimmer in sepulchral gloom.
Who hides those talents bounteous heav'n bestow'd
In lone retreat, perverts great nature's plan,
The path of duty is the social road,
The sphere for action is the sphere for man.
MOSCHUS.
[Pg 47] TO HYMEN.
God of the torch, whose soul-illuming flame
Beams brightest radiance o'er the human heart;
Of every woe the cure,
Of every joy the source;
To thee I sing: if haply may the muse
Pour forth the song unblam'd from these dull haunts,
Where never beams thy torch
To cheer the sullen scene ”

“ Glides o'er the mind, unfix'd by stable force:
But o'er the fading year, when winter reigns,
Chill sleeps the stream, its wonted current stay'd,
And on its bosom, where of late it play'd,
Frolic and light the reed infix'd remains.
Thus, when life's wintry season, cold and hoar,
Freezes the genial flow of mental power,
The mind, tenacious of its gather'd store,
Detains each thought belov'd, conceiv'd in vernal hour.
MOSCHUS.
[Pg 66] SONNET X.
TO FAME.
On the high summit of yon rocky hill,
Proud Fame! thy temple stands, and see around
What thronging thousands press; and hark! ”

“ Why, Fancy, wilt thou, o'er the lovely scene
Pouring thy vivid hues, why, sorceress sweet!
Soothe sad reality
With visionary bliss?
Ah! rather gaze where science' hallow'd light
Resplendent shines: ah! rather lead thy son
Through all her mystic paths
To drink the sacred spring.
Let calm philosophy supply the void,
And fill the vacant heart; lead calmly on
Along the unvaried path,
To age's drear abode ”

“ The agonizing weight of hopeless woe:
Thus far, remote from every friendly eye,
To drop the tear, and heave the ceaseless sigh;
Each dreadful pang remorse inflicts to prove,
To weep and pray, yet still to weep and love:
Scorn'd by the virgins of this holy dome,
A living victim in the cloyster'd tomb,
To pray, though hopeless, justice should forgive,
Scorn'd by myself—if this be life—I live!
Oft will remembrance, in her painful hour,
Cast the keen glance to Woodstock's lovely bower: [Pg 94]
Recal each sinful scene of bliss to view,
And give the soul again to guilt and you. ”

“ Freedom ev'n in death is dear.
Strike, Thorchill, strike! drive deep the blow,
We joy to quit this world of woe;
We rush to seize the seats above,
And gain the warrior's meed of happiness and love. ”

“ The festive Bard of Edward's court recall,
As fancy paints the pomp that once adorn'd thy wall.
BION.
[Pg 62] SONNET VI.
As slow and solemn yonder deepening knell
Tolls through the sullen evening's shadowy gloom,
Alone and pensive, in my silent room,
On man and on mortality I dwell.
And as the harbinger of death I hear
Frequent and full, much do I love to muse
On life's distemper'd scenes of hope and fear;
And passion varying her camelion hues,
And man pursuing pleasure's empty shade,
'Till death dissolves the vision. ”

“ In every stage he feels supremely curst,
Yet still the present evil seems the worst: [Pg 8]
On as he goes the vision'd prospect flies,
And, grasping still at bliss, unblest at last he dies.
Yet is remembrance sweet; though well I know
The days of childhood are but days of woe;
Some rude restraint, some petty tyrant sours
The tranquil calm of childhood's easy hours;
Some trifling fault committed calls the tear,
Some trifling task neglected prompts to fear:
Yet is it sweet to call to mind the hour,
Ere searching reason gain'd her saddening power ”

“ Love heaves the sigh, and drops the tear for thee:
All day the penitent but wakes to weep,
'Till nature and the woman sink in sleep;
Nightly to thee the guilty dreams repair,
And morning wakes to sorrow and despair! ”

“ To share the lighted load of woes,
And double every joy:
And Science too shall lend her aid,
The friend that never flies,
But shines amid misfortune's shade
As stars in midnight skies.
Each joy domestic bliss can know
Shall deck the future hour;
Or if we taste the cup of woe,
The cup has lost its power:
Thus, may we live, 'till death's keen spear,
Unwish'd, unfear'd, shall come;
Then sink, without one guilty fear,
To slumber in the tomb.
BION.
[Pg 31] THE MISER'S MANSION.
Thou mouldering mansion, whose embattled side
Shakes as about to fall at every blast ”

“ Or sunk he, when the noiseless night was near,
As calmly on his couch of down to sleep?
Thou wretch! thus curst with poverty of soul,
What boot to thee the blessings fortune gave?
What boots thy wealth above the world's controul,
If riches doom their churlish lord a slave? [Pg 33]
Chill'd at thy presence grew the stately halls,
Nor longer echo'd to the song of mirth;
The hand of art no more adorn'd thy walls,
Nor blaz'd with hospitable fires the hearth.
On well-worn hinges turns the gate no more,
Nor social friendship hastes the friend to meet ”

“ And shall the thankless bard his honour'd strain deny?
"No single pleasure shall your pen bestow:"
Ah, Lycon! 'tis that thought affords delight;
'Tis that can soothe the wearying weight of woe,
When memory reigns amid the gloom of night:
For fancy loves the distant scene to see,
Far from the gloom of solitude to flee,
And think that absent friends may sometimes think of me. ”