The English Replicas. Poetical Sketches 9780231888233

Table of contents :
Poetical Sketches by W. B.
Advertisment
To Spring
To Summer
To Autumn
To Winter
To The Evening Star
To Morning
Fair Elenor
Song
To The Muses
Gwin, King Of Norway
An Imitation of Spencer
Blind-Man's Buff
King Edward the Third
Prologue , Intended for a Dramatic Piece of King Edward the Fourth
A War Song To Englishmen
The Cough of Death
Contemplation
Samson

Citation preview

THE ENGLISH REPLICAS WILLIAM BLAKE • POETICAL SKETCHES THE

CIRCUMSTANCES

IN

WHICH

THIS

BOOK W A S O R I G I N A L L Y P R O D U C E D I N 1 7 8 3 ARE

EXPLAINED

IN

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST

OF

THE

KEYNE'S GROLIER

ITS P R E F A C E

PARTICULARS

FEW

EXTANT

Bibliography CLUB

PRACTICALLY

of

1921

PERFECT

•

•

FOR

AND

COPIES

William THE

Blake

TEXT

• SEE D R .

A SEE IS

SAMP-

SON'S E D I T I O N O F B L A K E ' S POEMS O X F O R D 1905

AND

THE

BLAKE's WORKS

NONESUCH

EDITION

• T H E COPY

1925

R E P R O D U C E D IS T H A T IN T H E BRITISH

MUSEUM

I927 p ajson & N«e

clarke "iork

L td

OF

HERE

MADE AND P R I N T E D IN ENGLAND B Y PERCY L U N D , H U M P H R I E S (3 C O . L T D . B R A D F O R D AND LONDON

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L O N D O N : Printed in the Year

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LXXXIII.

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ADVERTISEMENT. H E following Sketches were the production of untutored youth, commenced in his twelfth, and occafionally refumed by the author till his twentieth year ;

iince

which time, his talents having been wholly dire&ed to the attainment of excellence in his profeflton, he has been deprived of the leifure requilite to fuch a revifal of thefe fheets, as might have rendered them lefs unfit to meet the public eye. Confcious of the irregularities and defe&s to be found in almoft every page, his friends have ftill believed that they pofll-fled a poetical originality, which merited fome refpite from oblivion.

Thefe their opinions remain,

however, to be now reproved or confirmed by a lefs partial public.

MISCELLANEOUS

TO

POEMS.

S P R I N G« f, with dewy locks, who lookeft

Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn Thine angel eyes upon our weftern ifle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring ! T h e hills tell each other, and the lift'ning Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavillions: iffue forth, And let tby holy feet vifit our clime. Come o'er the eaftern hills, and let our winds Kifs thy perfumed garments; let us tafte T h y morn and evening breath; fcatter thy pearls Upon our love-fick land that mourns for thee» B

Odcck

T O

S P R I N G .

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour T h y foft kiffes on her bofom; and put Thy golden crown upon her languilh'd head, Whofe modeft trefles were bound up for thee !

T O

S U M M E R .

O

T H O U, who pafleft thro' our vallics in Thy ftrength, curb thy fierce fteeds, allay the heat That flames from their large noftrils! thou, O Summer, O f t pitched'ft here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks haft flept, while we beheld With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourifhing hair.

Beneath our thickeft fhades we oft have heard T h y voice, when noon upon his fervid car Rode o'er the deep of heaven; befide our fprings Sit down, and in our mofly vallies, on Some bank befide a river clear, throw thy Silk draperies off, and ruih into the ftream : Our vallies love the Summer in his pride. Our Our Our We Nor Nor

bards are fam'd who ftrike the filver wire : youth are bolder than the fouthern fvvains: maidens fairer in the fprightly dance : lack not fongs, nor inftruments of joy, echoes fweet, nor waters clear as heaven, laurel wreaths again ft the fultry heat. T O

£

TO

5

1

AUTUMN

O

A U T U M N , laden with fruit, and Gained With the blood of the grape, pais not, bat fit Beneath my ihady roof, there thou may'ft reft, And tune thy jolly voice to my frefli p i p e ; And all the daughters at the year ihall dance ! Sing now the lufty fong of fruits and flowers.

" " " " "

T h e narrow bud opens her beauties to T h e fun, and love runs in her thrilling veins; Bloffoms hang round the brows of n a m i n g , and Flouriih down the bright cheek of modeft eve, Till cluifring Summer breaks forth into finging, And feather'd clouds ftrew -flowers round her " head.

" The fpirits of the air live on the fmells " Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light,roves round " T h e gardens, or fits finging in the trees." Thus fang the jolly Autumn as he fat, Then rofe, girded himfelf, and o'er the bleak Hills fled from our light; but left his golden load.

T

O

T O

t

4

1

W

I

N

T

E

R

.

O

W I N T E R ! bar thine adamantine doors ; The north is thine; there haft thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car. H e heare me not, but o'er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his ftorms are unchain'd; iheathed In ribbed fteel, I dare not lift mine eyes; For he hath rear*d his fceptre o'er the world.

L o ! now the direful monfter, whofe ikin clings T o his itrong bones, ftrides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in filence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life. H e takes his feat upon the cliffs, the mariner Ofies in vain. Poor little wretch ! that deaPit With fiorms; till heaven fmiles, and the monfter Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.

T O

C 5 1

TO

T H E

EVENING

STAR.

f T * H O U fair-hairM angel of the evening, Now, whilft die fun reft* on the mountains« light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and fmile upon our evening bed! Smile on our loves; and, while thou draweft the Blue cuuains of the iky, fcatter thy filver dew On every flower that ihuts its fweet eyes In timely ileep. Let thy weft wind fleep on The lake; fpeak fi ence with thy glimmering eyes, And waih the duik with filver. Soon, full foon, Doit thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide, And the lion glares thro' the dun foreft: The fleeces of our flocks are cover'd with Thy facred dew: protect them with thine influence*

T O

C 6

T O

3

M O R N I N G .

O

H O L Y virgin ! clad in pureft white, Unlock heav'n's golden gates, and iiTue forth; Awake the dawn that ileeps in heaven ; let light Rife from the chambers of the eaft, and bring The honied dew that cometh on waking day. O radiant morning, falute the fun, Rouz'd like a huntfman to the chace; and,, with Thy bulkin'd feet* appear upon our hills.

FAIR

E

FAIR

7 3

ELENOR,

T

H E bell ftruck one, and ihook the fileoC tower; The graves give up their dead : fair Elenor Walk'd by the caftle gate, and looked in. A hollow groan ran thro' the dreary vaults. She ihriek'd aloud, and.funk upon the fteps On the cold (lone her pale cheeks. Sickly fmell* Of death, iflue as from a fepulchre, And all is filent but the fighing vaults. Chill death withdraws his hand, and ihe revives ; Amaz'd, ihe finds herfelf upon her feet, And, like a ghoft, thro' narrow paflages Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands. Fancy returns, and now ihe thinks of bones, And grinning ikulls, and corruptible death, Wrap'd in his ihroud; and now, fancies ihe hears Deep iighs, and fees pale fickly ghofts gliding. At length, no fancy, but reality Diftrads her. A rufliing found, and the feet Of one that fled, approaches—Ellen ftood, Like a dumb ftatue, froze to ftone with fear. The

8

F A I R

E L E N O R .

T h e wretch approaches, crying, " The deed is " done; " T a k e this, and fend it by whom thou wilt fend; 4t It is my life—fend it to Elenoi :— " H e ' s dead, and howling after me for blood ! " T a k e this," he cry'd; and thruft into her arms A wet napkin, wrap'd about; then ruih'd Paft, howling: ihc icteiv'c! into her arms Pale death, and follow'd on the wings of fear. T h e y pafs'd fwift thro' the outer gate; the wretch, Howling, leap'd o'er the wall into the moat, Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pafs'd the bridge, A n d heard a gloomy voice cry, " Is it done ?" As the deer wounded Ellen flew over T h e pathlefs plain ; as the arrows that fly By night; deftrudion flies, and ilrik.es in darknefs, She fled from fear, till at her houfe arriv'd. H e r maids await her; on her bed fhe falls, T h a t bed of joy, where erft her lord hath prefs'd i " A h , woman's fear!" Ihe cry'd; " Ah, curfed " duke! t< A h j my dear lord ! ah, wretched Elenor! " My lord was like a flower upon the brows " Of luity May ! Ah, life as frail as flower! " O ghailly

F A I R

E L E N O R .

9

" O ghaflly death ! withdraw thy cruel hand, " Seek'ft thou that flow'r to deck thy hocrid " temples ? " My lord was like a (tar, in higheft heav'n Drawn down to earth by fpells and wicked neia; " My lord was like the opening eyes of day, " When weftern winds creep foftly o'er the flowers:

41

" " " "

But he is darken'd ; like the fummer's noon, Clouded ; fall'n like the ilately tree, out down ; The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves. O Elenor, weak woman, fill'd with woe !"

Thus having fpoke, ihe raifed up her heady And faw the bloody napkin by her fide, Which in her arms Ihe brought; and now. tenfold More terrified, faw it unfold itielf. Her eyes were fix'd j the bloody cloth unfolds, Difclofing to her fight the murder'd head Of her dear lord, all ghaftly pale, clotted With gory blood; it groan'd, and thus it fpake j O Elenor, I am thy hufband's bead, " Who, lleeping on the ftones of yonder tower, " Was 'reft of life by the accurfed duke ! " A hired villain turn'd my ileep to death! " O Elenor, beware the curfed duke, " O give not him thy hand, now I am dead; C " He

«o

F A I R

E L E N O R .

" He feeks thv love ; who, coward, in the night, " Hired a villain to bereave my life." She She She She

fat with dead cold limb?, ftiffen'd to ftone; took the gory head up in her arms; ki&'d the pale lips; ihe had no tears to (hed; hugg'd it to her bread, and groan'd her laft.

^Dicc^Joor^^iOMnioio«^**.«*».*1««:* *", Bjflt. They can, and may; but how to gain their Requires our countenance and help. Percy. When that they find they muit, my Lord, they will: Let them but luflfer awhile, and you ihall fee They will beftir themfelves. Bi/b. Lord Pcrcy cannot mean that we ihould fuffer This difgrace; if fo, we are not fovereigns Of the fea; our right, that Heaven gave T o England, when at the birth of nature She was feated in the deep, the Ocean ceas'd His mighty roar; and, fawning, play'd around Her fnowy feet, and own'd his awful Queen. Lord Percy, if the heart is fick, the head Muft be aggriev'd ; if but one member fuffer, The heart doth fail. You fay, my Lord, the merchants Can, if they will, defend themfelves againft Thefe

KING EDWARD T H E THIRD.

35

Thefe rover» : this is a noble fchetne, Worthy the brave Lord Percy, and as worthy His generous aid to put it into practice. Percy. Lord Biihop, what was raih in me, is wife In you ; I dare not own the plan. T i s not Mine. Yet will I, if you pleafe, Quickly to the Lord Mayor, and work him onward" T o this moil glorious voyage, on which caft I'll fet my whole eftate. But we will bring thefe Gallic rovers under. Queen Phil. Thanks, brave Lord Percy; you have the thanks O f England's Queen, and will, ere long, of England. [F-reunt. SCENE,

At Crejey.

Sir Thomas bagwortk and

Lord Audit), meeting. Aid. Good mofrow, brave Sir Thomas; the bright morn Smiles on our army, and the gallant fun Springs from the bills like a young hero Into the battle, ihaking his golden locks Exultingly; this is a promiiing day. Dagw. W h y , my Lord Audley, I don't know. Give me your hand, and now I'll tell you what I think you do not know—Edward's afraid of Philip. And. Ha, Ha, Sir Thomas! you but j o k e ; F 2

Did

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KING EDWARD THE

THIRD.

Did you ere fee him fear ? At Blanchetaquc, When almoit fingly he drove fix thoufand French from the ford, did he fear then ? Dagw. Aud

Y e s , fear ; that made him fight fo. B y the fame reafon I might fay, 'tis fear

T h a t makes you fight. Dagw.

Mayhap you m a y ; look upon Edward's

face— N o one can fay he fears.

But when he turns

H i s back, then I will fay it to his face, H e is afraid; he makes us all afraid. I cannot bear the enemy at my back. N o w here we are at Creffy ; where, to-morrow, To-morrow we (hall know.

I fay, Lord Audley,

T h a t Edward runs away from Philip. Aid.

Perhaps you

think the Prince too is

afraid ? Dagw* N o ; G o d forbid ! H e is a young lion.

I'm fure he is not—

O I have feen him fight,

And give command, and lightning has flaihed From his eyes acrofs the field; I have feen him Shake hands with death, and ftrike a bargain for T h e e n e m y ; he has dane'd in the field Of battle, like the youth at morrice play. I ' m fure he's not afraid, nor W a r w i c k , nor none, None of us but m e ;

and I am very much afraid.

Aud. Are you afraid too, Sir Thomas ? I believe that as much as I believe T h e King's afraid ; but what are you afraid of ? Dogzv.

KING EDWARD T H E THIRD.

37

Dagw. Of having my back laid open; we turn Our backs to the fire, till we ihall burn our ikirts. Ad. And this, Sir Thomas, you call fear ? Your fear Is of a different kind then from the King's ; He fears to turn his face, and you to turn your back.— I do not think, Sir Thomas, you know what fear is. Enter Sir John Chandos. Chand. Good morrow, Generals; I give you joy: Welcome to the fields of Creffy. Here we flop, And wait for Philip. Dagw. I hope fo. Aid. There, Sir Thomas; do you call that fear ? Dagw. I don't know; perhaps he takes it by fits. W h y , noble Chandos, look you h e r e One rotten ihcep fpoils the whole flock; And if the bell-weather is tainted, I wiih The Prince may not catch the diftemper too. Chand. Diftemper, Sir Thomas! what diftemper? I have not heard. Dagw. W h y , Chandos, you are a wile man, I know you underftand me; a diftemper The King caught here in France of running away. /hd: Sir Thomas, you fay, you have caught it too. Dag.

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KING E D W A R D T H E THIRD.

Dag. And fo will the whole army; 'tis very catching, For when the coward runs, the brave man totters. Perhaps the air of the country is the caufe.— I feel it coming upon me, fo I ftrive againft it; You yet are whole, but after a few more Retreats, we all ihall know how to retreat Better than fight.—To be plain, I think retreating Too often, takes away a foldier's courage. Ckand. Here comes the King himfelf; tell him your thoughts Plainly, Sir Thomas. Dagw. I've told him before, but his diforder Makes him deaf. Eiter King Edward and Black Prince. King. Good morrow, Generals; when Engliih courage fails, Down goes our right to France; But we arc conquerors every where; nothing Can ftand our foldiers ; each man is worthy Of a triumph. Such an army of heroes Ne'er ihouted to the Heav'ns, nor lhook the field. Edward, my fon, thou art Moil happy, having fuch command ; the man Were bale who were not fir'd to deeds Above heroic, having fuch examples. Prince. Sire! with refpedt and deference I look Upon fuch noble fouls, and wiih myfelf Worthy the high command that Heaven and you Have

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

39

Have given me. When I have feen the field glow, And in each counrenance the foul of war Curb'd by the manlieft reafon, I have been wing'd With certain vi&ory; and 'tis my boaft, And ihall be ftill my glcry. I was infpii'd By thcfe brave troops. Dazw. Your Grace had better make Them all Generals. King. Sir Thomas Dagworth, you muft have your joke, And ihall, while you can fight as you did at The Ford. Dagw. I have a fmall petition to your Majefty. King. What can Sir Thomas Dagworth aik > that Edward Can refufe ? Dagw. I hope yopr Majefty cannot refufe fo great A trifle; I've gilt your caufe with my belt blood, And would again, were I not forbid By him whom I am bound to obey: my hands Are tied up, my courage ihrunk and wither'd, My finews ilacken'd, and my voice fcarce heard; Therefore I beg I may return to England. King. I know not what you could have aik'd, Sir Thomas, That I would not have fooner parted with Than fuch a foldier as you have been, and fuch a friend; Nay, I will know the moil remote particulars Of

40

KING EDWARD THE

THIRD.

Of this your Grange petition; that, if I can, I ilill may keep you here. Dagw. Here on the fields of Crefly we are fettled, T i l l Philip fprings the tim'rous covey again. T h e W o l f is hunted down by caufelefs fear; T h e Lion flees, and fear ufurps his heart; Startled, aftoniih'd at the clam'rous Cock ; T h e Eagle, that doth gaze upon the fun, Fears the fmall fire that plays about the fen; I f , at this moment of their idle fear, T h e Dog doth feize the Wolf, the Forefter the Lion, T h e Negro in the crevice of the rock, Doth feize the foaring Eagle ; undone by flight, They tame fubmit: th^»7e£l flight has On noble fouls. Now hear its oppofite : The tim'rous Stag ftarts from the thicket wild, T h e fearful Crane fprings from the fplaihy fen, T h e ihining Snake glides o'er the bending graft, T h e Stag turns head ! and bays the crying Hounds; T h e Crane o'ertaken, fighteth with the Hawk ; The Snake doth turn, and bite the padding foot; And, if your Majefty's afraid of Philip, Y o u are more like a Lion than a Crane : Therefore I beg I may return to England. King. Sir Thomas, now I underftand your mirth, Which often plays with Wifdom for its paftime, And brings good counfel from the brealt of laughter, I hope

KING E D W A R D T H E THIRD.

41

I hope you'll ftay, and fee us fight this battle, And reap rich harveft in the fields of Creffy ; Then go to England, teil them how we fight, And fet all hearts on fire to be with us. Philip is plum'd, and thinks we flee from him, Elfe he would never dare to attack us. Now, Now the quarry's fet! and Death doth fpoft In the bright funihine of this fatal day. Dagw. Now my heart dances, and I am as light As the young bridegroom going to be married. Now muft I to my foldiers, get them ready, Furbilh our armours bright, new plume our helms, And we will fing, like the young houfewives bufied In the dairy; my feet are wing'd, but not For flight, an pleafe your grace. King. If all my foldiers are as pleas'd as you, T w i l l be a gallant thing to fight or diej Then I can never be afraid of Philip. Dagw. A raw-bon'd fellow t'other day pais'd by me; I told him to put off his hungry looks— He anfwer'd me, " I hunger for another battle." I faw a little Welch man with a fiery face; I told him he look'd like a candle half Burn'd out; he anfwer'd, he was " pig enough " T o light another pattle." Laft night, beneath The moon I walk'd abroad, when all had pitch'd Their tents, and all were ftill, I heard a blooming youth finging a fong He had compos'd, and at each paufe he wip'd G His

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KING E D W A R D T H E T H I R D .

His dropping eyes. The ditty was, " if he " Return'd victorious, he Ihould wed a maiden " Fairer than fnow, and rich as midfummer." Another wept, and wiih'd health to his father. I chid them both, but gave them noble hopes. Thefe are the minds that glory in the battle, And leap and dance to hear the trumpet found. King. Sir Thomas Dagworth, be thou near our perfon; Thy heart is richer than the vales of France: I will not part with fuch a man as thee. If Philip came arm'd in the ribs of death* And {hook his mortal dart againft my head, Thoud'ft laugh his fury into nervelefs ihame! Go now, for thou art fuited to the work, Throughout the camp ; enflame the timorous, Blow up the iluggifh into ardour, and Confirm the itrong with ftrength, the weak inipire, And wing their brows with hope and expectation : Then to our tent return, and meet to council.

[Exit Dagwortb. Chand. That man's a hero in his clofet, and tnore A hero to the fervants of his houfe Than to the gaping world ; he carries windows In that enlarged breaft of his, that all May fee what's done within. Prince. He is a genuine Engliihman, my Chan dos, And hath the fpirit of Liberty within him. Forgive

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

43

Forgive my prejudice, Sir John; I think M y Engliflunen the braveft people on T h e face of the earth. Chand. Courage, my Lord, proceeds from felfdependence; Teach man to think he's a free agent, Give but a ilave his liberty, h e l l ihake O f f iloth, and build himfelf a hut, and hedge A fpot of ground; this h e l l defend; 'tis his By right of nature: thus fet in action, H e will ftill move onward to plan conveniences, ' T i l l glory fires his breaft to enlarge his caftle, W h i l e the poor ilave drudges all day, in hope T o reft at night.

King. O Liberty, how glorious art thou! I fee thee hov'ring o'er my army, with T h y wtde-ftretch'd plumes; I fee thee Lead them on to battle; I fee thee blow thy golden trumpet, while T h y fons lhout the ftrong Ihout of victory ! O noble Chandos! think thyfelf a gardener, M y fon a vine, which I commit unto T h y care; prune all extravagant Ihoots, and guide T h ' ambitious tendrils in the paths of wifdom; Water him with thy advice, and Heav'n Rain freih'ning dew upon his branches. And, O Edward, my dear fon ! learn to think lowly of T h y f e l f , as we may all each prefer other— •Tis the beft policy, and 'tis our duty. [Exeunt King Edward. G 2

Prince

44

KING EDWARD THE

THIRD.

Prince. And may our duty, Chandos, be our pleafure— Now we are alone, Sir John, I will unburden, And breathe my hopes into the burning air, W h e r e thoufand deaths are porting up and down« Commiffion'd to this fatal field of Crefiy; Methinks I fee them arm my gallant foldiers, And gird the fword upon each thigh, and fit Each ihining helm, and firing each ftubborn bow, And dance to the neighing of our fleeds. Methinks the fhout begins, the battle burns; Methinks I fee them perch on Englifh crefls, And roar the wild flame of fierce war, upon T h e thronged enemy ! In truth, I am too full; It is my fin to love the noife of war. Chandos, thou feeft my weaknefs; ftrong nature W i l l bend or break us; my blood, like a fpringtide, Does rife fo high, to overflow all bounds O f moderation ; while Reafon, in her Frail bark, can fee no fhore or bound for vaft Ambition. Come, take the helm, my Chandos, That my full-blown fails overfet me not In the wild tempeft; condemn my 'ventrous youth, That plays with danger, as the innocent child, Unthinking, plays upon the viper's den : 1 am a coward, in my reafon, Chandos. Chand.

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

45

Chand. Y o u are a man, my prince, and a brave man, I f I can judge of aftions; but your heat Is the effed of youth, and want of u f e ; Ufe makes the armed field and noify war Pafs over as a fummer cloud, unregarded, Or but expefted as a thing of courfe. A g e is contemplative; each rolling year Brings forth fruit to the mind's treafure-houfe; While vacant youth doth crave and feek about Within itfelf, and findeth difcontent: Then, tir'd of thought, impatient takes the wing, Seizes the fruits of time, attacks experience, Roams round vaft Nature's foreft, where no bounds Are fet, the fwifteft may have room, the ilrongeft Find prey•, till tir'd at length, fated and tired With the changing famenefs, old variety, W e fit us down, and view our former joys With diftafte and diflike. Prince. Then if we mult tug for experience, Let us not fear to beat round Nature's wilds, And rouze the ilrongeft prey; then if we fall, W e fall with glory; I know the wolf Is dangerous to fight, not good for food, Nor is the hide a comely veilment; fo W e have our battle for our pains. I know That youth has need of age to point fit prey, And oft the ftander-by (hall ileal the fruit Of th' other's labour. This is philofophy ; Thefe are the tricks of the world ; but the pure foul Shall

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KING EDWARD T H E THIRD.

Shall mount on native wings, difdaining Little fporc, and cut a path into the heaven of glory, Leaving a track of light for men to wonder at. I'm glad my father does not hear me talk; You can find friendly ezcufes for me, Chandos; But do you not think, Sir John, that if it pleaie T h ' Almighty to ftretch out my fpan of life, I lhall with pleafure view a glorious aftion, Which my youth mafter'd. Chand. Confiderate age, my Lord, views motives, And not a f t s ; when neither warbling voice, Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleafure fits With trembling age ; the voice of Confcience then, Sweeter than mufic in a fummer's eve, Shall warble round the fnowy head, and keep Sweet fymphony to feather'd angels, fitting As guardians round your chair; then fhall the pulfe Beat How, and tafte, and touch, and fight, and found, and fmell, That fing and dance round Reafon's fine-wrought throne, Shall flee away, and leave them all forlorn; Yet not forlorn if Confcience is his friend. [Exeunt.

SCENE

KING E D W A R D T H E THIRD.

47

S C E N E in Sir Thomas Dagvxrrtb'i Teitti Dagworth ad William his Mem. Dagw. Bring hither my armour, William; Ambition is the growth of ev'ry clime. Will. Does it grow in England, Sir ? Dagw. Aye, it grows mod in lands moil cultivated. Will. Then it grows moil in France; the vines here Are finer than any we have in England. Dagw. Aye, but the oaks are not. Will. What is the tree you mentioned ? I don't think I ever faw it. Dagw. Ambition. Will. Is it a little creeping root that grows io ditches ? Dagw. Thou doit not underftand me, William. It is a root that grows in every breail; Ambition is the defiie or paiSon that one man Has to get before another, in any purfuit after glory; But I don't think you have any of it. Will. Yes, I have; I have a great ambition to know every thing, Sir. Dagw. But when our firft ideas are wrong, what follows muft all be wrong of courfe; 'tis beft to know a little, and to know that little aright. Will. Then, Sir, I ihould be glad to know if it was not ambition that brought over our King to France to fight for his right ? Dagw.

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KING

E D W A R D T H E THIRD.

Dagw. T h o ' the knowledge of that will not profit thee much, yet I will tell you that it was ambition. WitL Then if ambition is a fin, we are all guilty in coming with him, and in fighting for him. Dagw. N o w , William, thou doft thruft the queftion home ; but I muft tell you, that guilt being an a d of the mind, none are guilty but thofe whofe minds are prompted by that fame ambition. Will. N o w I always thought, that a man might be guilty of doing wrong, without knowing it was wrong. Dagw, Thou art a natural philofopher, and knoweft truth by inilind; while reafon runs aground, as we have run our argument. Only remember, William, all have it in their power to know the motives of their own a&ions, and 'tis a fin to alt without fome reafon. Will. And whoever a&s without reafon, may do a great deal of harm without knowing it. Dagw. Thou art an endlefs mora lift. WtU. Now there's a ftory come into my head, that I will tell your honour, if you'll give me leave. Dagw. N o , William, fave it till another time; this is no time for ftory-telling; but here comes one who is as entertaining as a good ftory.

Enter

KTVG EDWARD THE THIRDt

49

Enter Peter Blunt. Peter. Yondcr's a mufician going to play before the King; it's a new fong about the French and Engliih, and the Prince has made the minftrel a 'fquve, and given him I don't know what, and I can't tell whether be don't mention us all one by one; and he is to write another about all us that are to die, that we may be remembered in Old England, for all our blood and bones are in' France ; and a great deal more that we (hall all hear by and by ; and I carne to fell your honour becaufe you love to hear war-fongs. Dagw. And who is this minftrel, Peter, do'ft know ? Peter. O aye, I forgot to tell that; he has got the fame namc> a» Sir John Chandos, that the prince is alway» with—the wife man, that-knows us all as well as your honour, only e'nt fo good natur'd. Dapv. I thank you, Peter, for your information, but not for your compliment, which is not true; there's as much difference between him and me, as between glittering fand and fruitful mold ; or ihining glafs and a wrought diamond, fet in rich gold, and fitted to the finger of an emperor : fuch is that worthy Chandos. Peter. I know your honour does not think any thing of yourfelf, but every body elfe does. Dagw. Go, Peter, get you gone; flattery is delicious, even from the lips of a babbler. [Exit Peter.

H

50

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

Will. I never flatter your honour. Dagw. I don't know that. Will. Why you know, Sir, when we were In England, at the tournament at Windfor, and the Earl of Warwick was rumbled over, you afk'd me if he did not look well when he fell ? and I faid, No, he look'd very fooliih; and you was very angry with me for not flattering you. Dagw. You mean that I was angry with you for not flattering the Earl of Warwick. [Exeunt. S C E N E , Sir Thomas Dagivortb's Tent. Sir Thomas Dag-juorth—to him. Enter Sir Walter Mamiy. Sir Walter. Sir Thomas Dagworth, I have been weeping Over the men that are to die to-day. Dagw. W h y , brave Sir Walter, you or I may fall. Sir Walter. I know this breathing flcih muft lie and rot, Cover'd with iilence and forgetfulncfs.— Death wons in cities' fmoke, and in ftill night, When men ileep in their beds, walketh about! How many in walled cities lie and groan, Turning themfelves upon their beds, Talking with death, anfwering his hard demands ! How many walk in darknefs, terrors are round The

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

51

The curtains of their beds, definition it Ready at the door ! How many Deep In earth, cover'd with itones and deathy dud, Refting in quictncis, whofe fpirics walk Upon the clouds of heaven, to die no more! Yet death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings! How terrible then is the field of death, Where he doth rend the vault of heaven, And ihake the gates of hell I O Dagworth, France is fick! the very iky, Tho' funfhine light it, feems to me as pale As the pale fainting man on his death-bed, Whofe face is ihewn by light of fickly taper ! It makes me fad and fick at very heart, Thoufands mull fall to-day ! Dagw. Thoufands of fouls mutt leave this prifon houfe, T o be exalted to thofe heavenly fields, Where fongs of triumph, palms of viftory, Where peace, and joy, and love, and calm content, Sit finging in the azure clouds, and ftrew Flowers of heaven's growth over the banquet-table : Bind ardent Hope upon your feec like fhoes, Put on the robe of preparation, The table is prepar'd in ihining heaven, The flowers of immortality are blown ; Let thofe that fight, fight in good ftedfaftnefs, And thofe that fall ihall rife in victory.

Sir WaLttr,

5»

KING EDWARD T H E THIRD.

Sir Walter. I've often feen the burning field of war, And often beard the difmal clang of arms; But never, till this fatal day of Crefly, Has my foul fainted with thefe views of death I I feem to be in one great charnel-houfe, And feem to fcent the rotten carcafes! I feem to hear the difmal yells of death, While the black gore drops from his horrid jaws ; Yet I not fear the monfter in his pride. But O the fouls that are to die to-day ! Dagvu. Stop, brave Sir Walter; let me drop % tear, Then let the clarion of war begin; I'll fight and weep, 'tis in my country's caufe; I'll weep and ihout for glorious liberty. Grim war ihall laugh and ihout, decked in tears, And blood ihall flow like dreams acrofs the meadows, That murmur down their pebbly channels, and Spend their fweet lives to do their country fervice: Then ihall England's verdure ihoot, her fields ihall fmile, Her ihips ihall fing acrofs the foaming fea, Her mariners ihall ufe the flute and viol, And rattling guns, and black and dreary war, Shall be no more. Sir Walter. Well; let the trumpet found, and the drum beat; Let war (tain the blue heavens with bloody banners, I'll

KING EDWARD T H E THIRD.

53

I'll draw my Avord, nor ever iheath it u p , 'Till England blow the trump of vi&ory, Or I lay ilretch'd upon the field of death ! Exeunt, SCENE,

in the Camp.

Several of the Warriors

met at the King's Tent with a Minjlrel, who Jings the following Song:

O

S O N S of Trojan Brutus, cloath'd in war, Whofe voices are the thunder of the field, Rolling dark clouds o'er France, muffling the fun In fickly darknefs like a dim eclipfe, Threatening as the red brow of ftorms, as fire Burning up nations in your wrath and fury !

Y o u r anceftors came from the fires of T r o y , ( L i k e lions rouz'd by light'ning from their dens, Whofe eyes do glare againft the ftormy fires) Heated with war, fill'd with the blood of Greeks, W i t h helmets hewn, and ihields covered with gore, In navies black, broken with wind and tide! They landed in firm array upon the rocks O f Albion; they kifs'd the rocky ihore; " Be thou our mother, and our nurfe," they faid ; Our children's mother, and thou lhalt be our "

grave;

" T h e fepulchre of ancient T r o y , from whence " Shall rife cities, and thrones, and. arms, and "

awful pow'rs. Our

54

KING EDWARD THE

THIRD.

Our fathers fwarm from the lhips. Giant voices Are beard from the hills, the enormous fons Of Ocean run from rocks and caves : wild men, Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks, And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled Thick as a foreft, ready for the axe. Our fathers move in firm array to battle, The favage monfters ruih like roaring fire; Like as a foreft roars with crackling flames, When the red lightning, bornr by furious ftorms, Lights on fome woody ihore ; the parched heavens Rain fire into the molten raging fea ! The fmoaking trees are ftrewn upon the Ihore, Spoil'd of their verdure ! O how oft have they Defy'd the ftorm that howled o'er their heads ! Our fathers, fweating, lean on their fpears, and view The mighty dead : giant bodies, ftreaming blood, Dread vifages, frowning in filent death ! Then Brutus fpoke, infpir'd ; our fathers fit Attentive op the melancholy ihore : Hear ye the voice of Brutus—" The flowing waves *' Of time come rolling o'er my bread," he f a i d ; " And my heart labours with futurity : " Our fons lhall rule the empire of the fea. *c Their mighty wings ihall ftretch from eaft to weft, " Their neft is in the fea; but they ihall roam " Like

KING EDWARD THE THIRD.

55

" Like eagles for the prey ; nor ihall the young Crave or be heard ; for plenty ihall bring forth, " Cities ihall fing, and vales in rich array " Shall laugh, whofe fruitful laps bend down with " fulnefs. tc

Our fons ihall rife from thrones in j o y ,

" Each one buckling on his armour; Morning " Shall be prevented by their fwords gleaming, " And Evening hear their fong of viftory ! " Their towers Ihall be built upon the rocks, " Their

daughters ihall

fing,

furrounded

with

fliining fpears ! " Liberty ihall ftand upon the cliffs of Albion, " Cafting her blue eyes over the green ocean ; " Or, tow'ring, ftand upon the roaring waves, " Stretching her mighty fpear o'er diftant lands? " While, with her eagle wings, ihe covereth " Fair Albion's ihore, and all her families."

PROLOGUE

[

P

R

O

L

INTENDED

56

O

]

G

FOR A D R A M A T I C

KING EDWARD THE

U PIECE

E

,

OF

FOURTH.

O

For a voice like thunder, and a tongue T o drown the throat of war!—When the fenfes Are lhaken, and the foul is driven to madnefs, W h o can ftand ? W h e n the fouls of the opprefled Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can (land ? W h e n the whirlwind of fury cnmcs from the Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance Drive the nations together, who can ftand ? W h e n Sin claps his broad wings over the battle, And fails rejoicing in the flood of Death ; W h e n fouls arc torn to everlafting fire, And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the ilain, O who can ftand ? O who hath caufed this ? O who can anfwer at the throne of God ? T h e Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it f Hear it not, Heaven, thy Miniilers have done i t !

P R O

C 57 1

PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN.

J

U S T I C E hath heaved a fword to plunge in Albion's breaft; for Albion's fins are crimfon dy'd, and the red fcourge follows her defolate fons! Then Patriot rofe; full oft did Patriot rife, when Tyranny hath ftain'd fair Albion's breaft with her own children's gore. Round his ma jeftic feet deep thunders roll; each heart does tremble, and each knee grows flack. The ftars of heaven tremble: the roaring voice of war, the trumpet, calls to battle! Brother in brother's blood muft bathe, rivers of death! O land, moft haplefs! O beauteous ifland, how forfaken! Weep from thy filver fountains ; weep from thy gentle rivers ! T h e angel of the ifland weeps ! Thy widowed virgins weep beneath thy ihades ! T h y aged fathers gird themfelves for war ! The fucking infant lives to die in battle; the weeping mother feeds him for the flaughter ! T h e hulbandman doth leave his bending© harveft ! Blood cries afar ! The land doth fow itfelf! The glittering youth of courts muft gleam in arms ! The aged fenators their ancient fwords aflume ! The trembling finews of old age muft work the work of death againft their progeny ; for Tyranny hath ftretch'd his purple arm, and f< blood," he cries; " the chariots and the I " horfcs,

58

A W A R S O N G TO E N G L I S H M E N .

" horfes, the noife of ihout, and dreadful thunder " of the battle heard afar !"—Beware, O Proud ! thou lhalt be humbled ; thy cruel brow, thine iron heart is fmitten, though lingering Fate is flow. O yet may Albion fmile again, and ftretch her peaceful arms, and raife her golden head, exultingly ! H e r citizens ihall throng about her gates, her mariners (hall iing upon the fea, and myriads ihall to her temples crowd ! Her fons ihall joy as in the morning! Her daughters fing as to the iifing year !

A T O

W A R

S O N G

E N G L I S H M E N .

P

R E P A R E , prepare, the iron helm of war, Bring forth the lots, caft in the fpacious o r b ; T h ' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands, And calls them out upon the darken'd earth ! Prepare, prepare. Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare Your fouls for flight, your bodies for the earth ! Prepare your arms for glorious victory ! Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God i Prepare, prepare. Whofe

A W A R S O N G TO E N G L I S H M E N .

59

Whofe fatal fcroll is that? Methinks 'tis mine ! Why finks my heart, why faultereth my tongue ? Had I three lives, I'd die in fuch a caufe, And rife, with ghofts, over the well-fought field. Prepare, prepare. The arrows of Almighty God are drawn ! Angels of Death ftand in the lowering heavens! Thoufands of fouls mud feek the realms of light, And walk together on the clouds of heaven ! Prepare, prepare. Soldiers, p- .pare ! Our caufe is Heaven's caufe ; Soldiers, prepare ! Be worthy of our caufe: Prepare to meet our fathers in the i k y : Prepare, O troops, that are to fall to-day! Prepare, prepare* Alfred fhall fmile, and make his harp rejoice; The Norman William, and the learned Clerk, And Lion Heart, and black-brow'd Edward, with His loyal queen ihall rife, and welcome us j Prepare, prepare.

THE

C 60

]

T H E

COUGH

OF

DEATH.

T

H E veiled Evening walked folitary down the weftern hills, and Silence repofed in the valley; the birds of day were heard in their nefls, ruftling in brakes and thickets; and the owl and bat flew round the darkening trees: all is iilent when Nature takes her repofe.—In former times, on fuch on evening, when the cold clay breathed with life, and our ancestors, who now lleep in their graves, walked on the ftedfaft globe, the remains of a family of the tribes of Earth, a mother and a lifter were gathered to the fick bed of a youth : Sorrow linked them together, leaning on one another's necks alternately—like lilies, dropping tears in each other's bofom, they flood by the bed like reeds bending over a lake, when the evening drops trickle down. His voice was low as the whifperings of the woods when the wind is afleep, and the vifions of Heaven unfold their vifitation. u Parting is hard, and death is terrible; " I feem to walk through a deep valley, far from " the light of day, alone and comfortlefs ! T h e " damps of death fall thick upon m e ! Horrors " flare me in the face ! I look behind, there is no " returning;

THE

COUCH

OF

DEATH.

61

u

returning ; Death follows after m e ; I walk in " region* of Death, where no tree i s ; without a " lantern to direft my fteps, without a ftaff to " fupport me." — Thus he laments through the itill evening, till the curtains of darknefs were drawn! L i k e the found of a broken pipe, the aged woman raifed her voice. " O my fon, " my fon, I know but little of the path thou " goeft! But lo, there is a God, who made " the world ; ftretch out thy hand to H i m . " T h e youth replied, like a voice heard from a fepulchre, " My hand is feeble, how ihould I ftretch it out ? " My ways are finful, how ihould I raife mine eyes? " My voice hath ufed deceit, how ihould I call on " H i m who is Truth ? M y breath is loathfome, " how ihould he not be offended ? If I lay my " face in the duft, the grave opens its mouth for " m e ; if I lift up my head, fin covers me as a " cloak ! O my dear friends, pray ye for me I ** Stretch forth your hands, that my helper may " come! Through the void fpace I walk beM tween the finful world and eternity ! Beneath " me burns eternal fire ! O for a hand to pluck " me forth ! " As the voice of an omen heard in the filent valley, when the few inhabitants cling trembling together; as the voice of the Angel of Death, when the thin beams of the moon give a faint light, fuch was this young man's voice to his friends ! Like the bubbling waters of the brook in the dead of nighty the aged woman raifed her cry,

6z

THE

COUCH

OF

DEATH.

cry, and faid, u O Voice, that dwelled in my " breaft, can 1 not cry, and lift my eyes to " Heaven ? Thinking of this, my fpirit is turned " within me into confufion! O my child, my " child! is thy breath infefted ? So is mine. " As the deer, wounded by the brooks of water, '* fo the arrows of fin ftick in my fleih; the poifon " hath entered into my marrow."—Like rolling waves, upon a defert ihore, fighs luccecded fighs ; they covered their faces, and wept ! The youth lay filent—his mother's arm was under his head ; he was like a cloud toiled by the winds, till the fan (bine, and the drops of rain gliiten, the yellow harveft breathes, and the thankful eyes of the villagers are turned up in fmiles. The traveller that hath taken ihelter under an oak, eyes the diftant country with joy ! Such fmiles were feen upon the face of the youth! a vifionary hand wiped away his tears, and a ray of light beamed ar< u n i his head! All was ftill. T h e moon hung not out her lamp, and the ftars faintly glimmered in the fummer i k y ; the breath of night flept among the leaves of the foreft; the bofom of the lofty hill drank in the filent dew, while on his majeftic brow the voice of Angels is heard, and ftringed founds ride upon the wings of night. T h e forrowful pair lift up their heads, hovering Angels are around them, voices of comfort are heard over the Couch of Death, and the youth breathes out his foul with joy into eternity. CON-

[

«3

3

CONTEMPLATION.

W

H O is this, that with unerring ftep dares tempt the wilds, where only Nature's foot hath trod ? T i s Contemplation, daughter of the grey Morning! Majeftical fhe fteppeth, and with her pure quill on every flower writeth Wifdom's name. Now lowly bending, whifpers in mine ear, " O man, how great, how little thou! O man, ilave of each moment, lord of eternity ! feeft thou where Mirth fits on the painted cheek ? doth it not feem alhamed of fuch a place, and grow immoderate to brave it out ? O what an humble garb true Joy puts on! Thofe who want Happinefs muft iloop to find it; it is a flower that grows in every vale. Vain fooliih man, that roams on lofty rocks! where, 'caufe his garments are fwoln with wind, he fancies he is grown into a g i a n t L o then, Humility, take it, and wear it in thine heart; lord of thyfelf, thou then art lord of all. Clamour brawls along the ftreets, and deftru&ion hovers-in the city's fmoak; but on thefe plains, and in thefe filent woods, true joys defcend: here build thy Deft ; here fix thy ftaff; delights blofiom around ; numberlefs beauties blow ; the green grafs fprings in joy, and the nimble air kifies the leaves; the brook ftretches its arms along the velvet meadow, its

64

C O N T E M P L A T I O N .

its filver inhabitants fport and p l a y ; the youthful fun joys like a hunter rouzed to the chace: he ruihes up the iky, and lays hold on the immortal courfers of day ; the iky glitters with the jingling trappings ! L i k e a triumph, feafon follows feafon, while the airy mulic fills the world with joyful founds."

I anfwered, " Heavenly goddefs ! I am

"

wrapped in mortality, my fleih is a prifon, m y

"

bones the bars of death, Mifery builds over our

"

cottage roofs, and Difcontent runs like a brook.

"

Even in childhood, Sorrow flept with me in my

"

c r a d l e ; he followed me up and down in the

*' houfe when I grew u p ; he was my fchool"

f e l l o w : thus he was in my fteps and in my

"

play, till he became to me as my brother.

I

"

walked through dreary places with him, and in

"

church-yards; and I oft found myfelf fitting by

"

Sorrow on a tomb-ftone !"

S

S

A

AMSON,

M

S

O

N

.

the ilrongeft of the children of

men, I fing; how he was foiled by woman's

arts, by a falfe wife brought to the gates of death! O Truth,

that ihineft with propitious

beams,

turning our earthly night to heavenly day, from prefence of the Almighty Father ! thou vifiteft our darkling world with blelTed feet, bringing good news of Sin and Death deftroyed ! O white-robed Angel,

S A M S O N .

65

Angel, guide my timorous hand to write as on a lofty rock with iron pens the words of truth, that all who pafs may read.—Now Night, noon-tide of damned fpirits, over the filent earth fpreads her pavilion, while in dark council fat Philifta's lords; and where ftrength failed, black thoughts in atnbuih lay. Their helmed youth and ageti warriors in duit together ly, and Defolation fpreads his wings over the land of Paleftine; from fide to fide rhe land groans, her prowefs loft, and feeKS to hide her bruifed head under the mifts of night, breeding dark plots. For Dalila's fair arts have long been tried in vain ; in vain ihe wept in many a treacherous tear. " Go on, fair " traitrefs; do thy guileful work; ere once again " the changing moon her circuit hath performed, " thou lhalt overcome, and conquer him by force " unconquerable, and wreft his fecret from him. " Call thine alluring arts and honeft-feeming " brow, the holy kifs of love, and the tranfpa" rent tear; put on fair linen, that with the lily " vies, purple and iilver; negleit thy hair, to feem " more lovely in thy loofe attire; put on thy country's pride, deceit; and eyes of love decked " in mild forrow, and fell thy Lord for goldi"—. For now, upon her iumptuous couch reclined, in gorgeous pride, ihe ftill intreats, and flill flie grafps his vigorous knees with her fair arms. — " Thou " lav'ft me not! thou'rt war, thou art -not love ! O fooliOi Dalila ! O weak woman ! it is death K " cloithed

66

S

A

M

S

O

N.

" " " " " " " " "

cloathed in fleih thou loveft, and thou haft been incircled in his arms !—Alas, my Lord, what am I calling thee ? Thou art my God ! T o thee I pour my tears for facrifice morning and evening : My days are covered with forrow ! Shut up j darkened : By night I am deceived ! W h o fays that thou waft born of mortal kind ? Deftru&ion was thy father, a lionefs fuckled thee, thy young hands tore human limbs, and gorged human flelh ! Come hither, Death ; art thou " not Samfon's fervant ? *Tis Dalila that calls ; " thy mailer's wife; no, ftay, and let thy mafter " do the deed: one blow of that ftrong arm would " eafe my pain; then ihould I lay at quiet, and " have reft. Pity forfook thee at thy birth ! O " Dagon furious, and all ye gods of Paleftine, " withdraw your hand ! I am but a weak woman. " Alas, I am wedded to your enemy ! I will go " mad, and tear my crifped hair; I'll run about, " and pierce the ears o'th' gods! O Samfon, hold " me n o t ; thou loveit me not! Look not upon " me with thofc deathful eyes! T h o u wouldft " my death, and death approaches fail."—Thus, in falfe tears, (lie bath'd his feet, and thus (he day by day oppreflcd his foul: he feerned a mountain, his brow among the clouds; ihe feemed a filver ftream, his feet embracing. Dark thoughts rolled to and fro in his mind, like thunderclouds, troubling the iky; his vifage was troubled ; his foul was diftrefled.—" Though I Ihould tell her all my " heart,

S A M S O N .

67

** heart, what can I fear ? Though I fhould tell " this fecret of my birth, the utmoft may be warded off as well when told as now." She iaw him moved, and thus rcfumes her wiles.—" Sam" Ton, I'm thine; do with me what thou wilt; " my friends are enemies; my life is death; I " am a. traitor to my nation, and defpifed; my " joy is given into the hands of him who hates " me, uiing deceit to the wife of his bofom. " Thrice haft thou mocked me, and grieved my " foul. Didft thou not tell me with green withs " to bind thy nervous arms, and after that, when " I had found thy falihood, with new ropes to " bind thee fail ? I knew thou didft but mock " me. Alas, when in thy ileep I bound thee with them to try thy truth, I cried, The P h i " liftines be upon thee, Samfon! Then did fu" fpicion wake thee; how didft thou rend the " feeble ties ! Thou feareft nought, what " ihouldft thou fear ? T h y power is more than " mortal, none can hurt thee; thy bones are " brais, thy (inews are iron ! Ten thoufand fpears " are like the fummer grafs ; an army of mighty " men are as flocks in the vallies; what canft " thou fear ? I drink my tears like water; I " live upon forrow! O worfe than wolves and " tygers, what canft thou give when fuch a trifle " is denied me ? But O at laft thou mockeft me " to lhame my over-fond inquiry ! Thou toldeft " me to weave thee to the beam by thy ftrong K i " hair;

68

S

A

M

S

O

N

.

"

hah;

"

when I cried, T h e Philiitincs be upon thee, then

I did even t i n t to try thy truth : but

"

didft thou leave me to bewail that Snmfon loved

"

m e n o t . " — H e far, and inward «»riev'd, he faw

and lov'd the beauteous fupplianr, nor could conceal a u g h t «hat might appeafe h e r ; then, leaning on her b o f o m , thus he f p o k e :

" Hear, O D a -

"

l i l a ! doubt no more of Samfon's love ; for that

"

fair b r e a d was made the ivory palace of my i n .

' * m o i l heart, where it lhall lie at reft ; for forrow "

is the lot of all of woman born : for care was I

"

brought f o r t h , and labour is my l o t : nor match-

"

k f s m i g h t , nor w i f d o m , nor every g i f t enjoyed,

ft

can f r o m the heart of man hide f o r r o w . — T w i c e

** w a s m y birth foretold f r o m heaven, and twice u

a facred v o w enjoined me that I Ihould drink no

"

wine, nor eat of any unclean thing, for holy

" * "

unto Ifrael's G o d I a m , a Nazarite even from f

m v mother's w o m b .

T w i c e was it told, that it

m i g h t not be broken, Grant me a fon, kind

"

H e a v e n , M a n o a cried ; but Heaven r e f u f e d !

"

Childlefs he mourned, but thought his G o d knew

"

beft.

In folitude, though not obfeure, in Ifrael

"

he lived, till venerable age camc on : his

"

increafed, and plenty crowned his board : be-

* ' l o v e d , revered of man ! "

j o y s in

ftore.

flocks

But G o d hath other

Is burdened Ifrael his

grief?

»« T h e fo:i of his old age ihall fet it free !

The

"

venerable fweetner of his life receives the pro-

u

mife firft f r o m H e a v e n .

She fa.v the maidens " play,

S A M S O N . " ** ** " " " " " " u

" " " " " " " u

" " " *' " " " " " " " "

69

play, and blefled their innocent mirth; Ihe blefled each new-joined pair; but from her :he long-wiihed deliverer ihall fpring. Penfive, alone ihe fat within the houfe, when bufy day was fading, and calm evening, time for contemplation, rofe from the forfaken caft, and drew the curtains of heaven; penfive ihe fat, and thought on Ifrael's grief, and filent prayed to Ifrael's G o d ; when lo, an angel from the fields of light entered the houfe ! His form was manhood in the prime, and from his fpacious brow ihot terrors through the evening flxade ! But mild he hailed her Hail, highly favoured ! faid he; for lo, thou ihalt conceive, and bear a fon, and Iirael's ftrength ihall be upon his ihoulders, and he ihall be called Ifrael's Deliverer ! Now therefore drink no wine, and cat not any unclean thing, for he ihall be a Nazarite to God. — Then, as a neighbour when his evening tale is told, departs, his bleifing leaving; fo feemed he to depart: ihe wondered with exceeding joy, nor knew he was an angel. Manoa left his fields to fit in the houfe, and take his evening's reft from labour—the fweeteft time that God has allotted mortal man. He fat, and heard with joy, and praifed God who Ifrael ftill doth keep. The time rolled on, and Ifrael groaned opprcfled. The fword was bright, while the plow-ihare rufted, till hope grew feeble, and was ready to give place to doubting: then " prayed

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prayed Manoa—O Lord, thy flock is fcattered on the hills ! T h e wolf tearcth them, Oppreffion ftretchcs his rod over our land, our country is plowed with fwords, and reaped in blood! T h e echocs of (laughter reach from hill to hill! Jnftead of peaceful pipe, the ihepherd bears a fword ; the ox goad is turned into a fpear! O when lhall our Deliverer come ? The Philiftine riots on our flocks, our vintage is gathered by bands of enemies ! Stretch forth thy hand, and

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fave. Thus prayed Manoa. The aged woman walked into the field, and lo, again the angel came ! Clad as a traveller freih rifen on his journey, ihe ran and called her huiband, who came and talked with him. O man of God, faid he, thou comeft from far! Let us detain thee while I make ready a kid, that thou mayeft fit and eat, and tell us of thy name and warfare; that when thy fayings come to pafs, we may honour thee. T h e Angel anfwered, My name is wonderful; enquire not after it, feeing it is a fecret: but, if thou wilt, offer an offering unto the Lord."

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