Poems, 1799 | Page 3

mortal man?
born but to drag,
Thro' life's long pilgrimage, the wearying load
Of
being; care corroded at the heart;
Assail'd by all the numerous train of
ills
That flesh inherits; till at length worn out,
This is his
consummation!--think again!
What, Maiden, canst thou hope from
lengthen'd life
But lengthen'd sorrow? If protracted long,
Till on the
bed of death thy feeble limbs
Outstretch their languid length, oh think
what thoughts,
What agonizing woes, in that dread hour,
Assail the
sinking heart! slow beats the pulse,
Dim grows the eye, and clammy
drops bedew
The shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force,

Mightiest in impotence, the love of life
Seizes the throbbing heart, the
faltering lips
Pour out the impious prayer, that fain would change

The unchangeable's decree, surrounding friends
Sob round the
sufferer, wet his cheek with tears,
And all he loved in life embitters
death!

Such, Maiden, are the pangs that wait the hour
Of calmest dissolution!
yet weak man
Dares, in his timid piety, to live;
And veiling Fear in
Superstition's garb,
He calls her Resignation!
Coward wretch!
Fond Coward! thus to make his Reason war

Against his Reason! Insect as he is,
This sport of Chance, this being
of a day,
Whose whole existence the next cloud may blast,
Believes
himself the care of heavenly powers,
That God regards Man,
miserable Man,
And preaching thus of Power and Providence,
Will
crush the reptile that may cross his path!
Fool that thou art! the Being that permits
Existence, 'gives' to man the
worthless boon:
A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest,
Bask in
the sunshine of Prosperity,
And such do well to keep it. But to one

Sick at the heart with misery, and sore
With many a hard unmerited
affliction,
It is a hair that chains to wretchedness
The slave who
dares not burst it!
Thinkest thou,
The parent, if his child should unrecall'd
Return and
fall upon his neck, and cry,
Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and
full
Of vacant joys and heart-consuming cares,
I can be only happy
in my home
With thee--my friend!--my father! Thinkest thou,
That
he would thrust him as an outcast forth?
Oh I he would clasp the
truant to his heart,
And love the trespass."
Whilst he spake, his eye
Dwelt on the Maiden's cheek, and read her
soul
Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood,
Even as the
wretch, whose famish'd entrails crave
Supply, before him sees the
poison'd food
In greedy horror.
Yet not long the Maid
Debated, "Cease thy dangerous sophistry,

Eloquent tempter!" cried she. "Gloomy one!
What tho' affliction be
my portion here,
Think'st thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy.

Of
heart-ennobling joy, when I look back
Upon a life of duty well

perform'd,
Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faith
Know
my reward? I grant, were this life all,
Was there no morning to the
tomb's long night,
If man did mingle with the senseless clod,

Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeed
A wise and friendly
comforter! But, Fiend!
There is a morning to the tomb's long night,

A dawn of glory, a reward in Heaven,
He shall not gain who never
merited.
If thou didst know the worth of one good deed
In life's last
hour, thou would'st not bid me lose
The power to benefit; if I but save

A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.
I have great duties, Fiend!
me France expects,
Her heaven-doom'd Champion."
"Maiden, thou hast done
Thy mission here," the unbaffled Fiend
replied:
"The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance
Exulting
in the pride of victory,
Forgettest him who perish'd! yet albeit
Thy
harden'd heart forget the gallant youth;
That hour allotted canst thou
not escape,
That dreadful hour, when Contumely and Shame
Shall
sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid!
Destined to drain the cup of
bitterness,
Even to its dregs! England's inhuman Chiefs
Shall scoff
thy sorrows, black thy spotless fame,
Wit-wanton it with lewd
barbarity,
And force such burning blushes to the cheek
Of Virgin
modesty, that thou shalt wish
The earth might cover thee! in that last
hour,
When thy bruis'd breast shall heave beneath the chains
That
link thee to the stake; when o'er thy form,
Exposed unmantled, the
brute multitude
Shall gaze, and thou shalt hear the ribald taunt,

More painful than the circling flames that scorch
Each quivering
member; wilt thou not in vain
Then wish my friendly aid? then wish
thine ear
Had drank my words of comfort? that thy hand
Had
grasp'd the dagger, and in death preserved

Insulted modesty?"
Her glowing cheek
Blush'd crimson; her wide eye on vacancy
Was
fix'd; her breath short panted. The cold Fiend,
Grasping her hand,
exclaim'd, "too-timid Maid,
So long repugnant to the healing aid

My friendship proffers, now shalt thou behold
The allotted length of

life."
He stamp'd the earth,
And dragging a huge coffin as his car,
Two
GOULS came on, of form more fearful-foul
Than ever palsied in her
wildest dream
Hag-ridden Superstition. Then DESPAIR
Seiz'd on
the Maid whose curdling blood stood still.
And placed her in the seat;
and on they pass'd
Adown the deep descent. A meteor light
Shot
from the Daemons, as they dragg'd along
The unwelcome load, and
mark'd their brethren glut
On carcasses.
Below the vault dilates
Its ample bulk. "Look here!"--DESPAIR
addrest
The shuddering Virgin, "see the dome of DEATH!"
It was a
spacious cavern, hewn amid
The entrails of the earth,