The many scars that dignified his breast;
His feeble age; his unrewarded toils!
The warm affection, the paternal zeal.
So long, so fondly, and so nobly prov’d,
Rush’d o’er his thought! while, down his blushing cheek,
The graceful tear of filial virtue stole!
One fatal morn, when SUMMER’S gaudy hand
Had dress’d the LANDSCAPE in its richest garb,
The YOUTH forsook his COT! the winding path
With trembling feet he press’d; and oft he turn’d,
To ponder on the scene of pleasure past;
And when he view’d his FATHER’S lowly roof,
From the bleak summit of a neighb’ring rock,
A thousand conflicts struggling in his breast
Awoke each wounded nerve, to pangs unknown,
Unfelt before; — now felt TOO LATE FOR CURE!
The SUN rose high; the hills and vallies smil’d;
The humid foliage, the pellucid streams,
The op’ning flow’rs, the woodland melodies,
All seem’d to welcome the resplendent hour!
SIR ELMOUR sought the treasure of his soul,
But found him not! he call’d, alas! in vain;
No voice, responsive, answer’d to his sighs,
Such as was wont to gladden morn’s approach,
And bid ARCADIA flourish in the wild!
Madd’ning with anguish, fearing to enquire,
Yet frantic to be told, he wander’d forth
O’er hill and dale; through the long forest drear,
The tangled labyrinth, and weedy waste;
“OH! MY LOST SON!” the gallant ELMOUR cried,
“Yet stay awhile to close thy father’s eyes,
“And bathe his ashes with a kindred tear!”
Now to th’ embattled plains he bent his way,
Where the contending ROSES, RED AND WHITE,
Had scatter’d thorns upon a bleeding land;
For well he knew the ardour of his SON,
And hop’d, amidst the laurels of renown,
To trace his steps, or perish in the search.
There is a SYMPATHY in VALIANT MINDS,
That, as the MAGNET draws with unknown pow’r
Still turning to the same unvaried point,
ATTRACTS, by proud SIMILITUDE OF WORTH!
Scarce had he reach’d the desolating scene,
When, from a BOWMAN’S fateful quiver drawn,
A death-wing’d ARROW pierc’d his DAUNTLESS BREAST!
He fell sublime! as the tall forest OAK,
By lightning shiver’d, smites the yielding ground,
And hides, with BEAUTEOUS BRANCHES, Nature’s wreck!
“Now EDMUND, brave!” he cried, “MY GLORIOUS SON,
“Where’er thou art, a FATHER’S blessing’s THINE!”
Forth from the ranks, attracted by the sound,
Wild with despair, ill-fated EDMUND rush’d,
And, such was the mysterious will of Heav’n,
Drew his OWN ARROW, blushing with THE SOURCE
That fed the VITAL FOUNTAIN of HIS HEART.
Awhile subdu’d, the frenzied hero stood,
Like a proud CEDAR, blasted by the storm!
Then, rushing to the arms of blood-stain’d WAR,
Embrac’d his father’s spirit in her breast!
ONE SOD contain’d their ashes, moist with tears;
While VIRTUE scatter’d round IMMORTAL WREATHS,
And WEPT, to see THE HAVOCK SHE HAD MADE!
Ah! who can tell the various pangs that wait
On SPLENDID MISERY? the hidden woes,
That thronging round the canopy of gold,
Pernicious, moth-like, feed upon the wretch
Who groans beneath the PAGEANTRY OF STATE!
Who can describe the agonizing throbs,
The thirsty fevers, or the languid hours,
That sated LUXURY is doom’d to own?
Who can avert the strongly-poison’d shaft
Of ENVV, glancing from the recreant soul?
Or who can bear the slow-consuming touch
Of unrequited LOVE? the subtle smile
Of insolent DISDAIN; or the fell grasp
Of keen INGRATITUDE, “the child of Hell!”
Or who, but those, the WORST of human kind,
Who batten on the miseries of MAN,
Would, robbing Nature of her ample means,
Crouch the base knee, or prompt the fawning tongue
To gain applause from IGNORANCE and PRIDE?
WHO, that is blest with INTELLECT refin’d!
With sense, to know the dignity of WORTH,
The vast supremacy of innate TRUTH!
The majesty of MIND! the sacred glow
That warms the SON OF GENIUS, and expands
The pure ethereal essence of the SOUL,
Would, like an EAGLE, pouncing on a WORM,
Barter the proudest attributes of GOD,
For the base joys of SUBLUNARY POW’R?
THEN, WELCOME SOLITUDE! The sphere is THINE.
That gives the purest passions ample scope!
That bids the soul beam with exterior grace
Of light, reflected from the source within!
And when its essence shall evaporate,
Fann’d by the desolating wing of TIME;
When this dull scene of transitory life,
And all its SORROWS, all its JOYS are o’er;
ONE sparkling ATOM, from its prison clay,
Shall soar, TO MINGLE WITH ITS NATIVE HEAV’N!
FINIS.
Monody to the Memory of the Late Queen of France
CONTENTS
ADVERTISEMENT.
MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE QUEEN OF FRANCE.
Marie Antoinette by Marie Claudine Lezay-Marnesia
ADVERTISEMENT.
MRS. ROBINSON is extremely happy in having an opportunity of embellishing this Poem with so fine a Resemblance of the QUEEN OF FRANCE, taken from a Portrait by the MARCHIONESS DE MARNESIA, whose exquisitely beautiful Paintings are so much admired, and so justly celebrated.
MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE QUEEN OF FRANCE.
WHEN, the dread scene of death and horror o’er,
Reason’s calm eye, TIME’S tablet shall explore;
When the dark DEMONS of destructive ire,
No more shall see devoted hosts expire;
When, o’er the desolated clime, the WISE
Shall bid, TOO LATE, the sacred OLIVE rise! —
Then JUSTICE shall the dreary spot illume,
Where PITY lingers on the MARTYR’S tomb;
And, scatt’ring Sorrow’s incense, sighing, say —
“Thy FAME, ILLUSTRIOUS SOUL! shall NE’ER DECAY!”
And oft, when wand’ring on some distant shore,
Musing o’er scenes of bliss, he tastes no more!
The HOLY EXILE shall, with uprais’d eyes,
Implore, for THEE, the raptures of the skies!
Though sad, forlorn, a stranger to repose,
Celestial Faith shall mitigate his woes!
And PATIENCE, bending from her sphery throne,
Shall bid his throbbing heart some solace own!
Yet, as the pious sufferer bends his way,
Cheer’d by the prospers of ETERNAL DAY,
Oft shall he pour his orisons divine,
Forget his pangs, and only WEEP FOR THINE!
The PILGRIM who, with tearful eye, shall view
The MOON’S wan lustre on the midnight dew,
As through the lonesome labyrinth he strays,
Sooth’d by her lamp, and guided by its rays,
Shall offer up to heaven an humble pray’r,
(For contrite sighs are ever welcome THERE!)
That, in seraphic realms, thy SOUL may know
That bliss, INHUMAN RAGE denied BELOW!
Ah! who can trace, nor feel a pang sev
ere,
The dawn of joy, that usher’d thy career!
When, round thy youthful form, divinely gay,
Ecstatic rapture wing’d the hours away!
When, from the perfum’d couch of soft repose,
MORE LUSTROUS THAN THE MORN, thy BEAUTY rose!
When all was pleasure, adoration, ease;
For POW’R was temper’d, by the WISH TO PLEASE;
Where all around thee, charm’d the dazzled view,
For ever splendid, yet for ever new;
Adorn’d with gems, to GALLIA’S SONS UNKNOWN,
DOMESTIC VIRTUES, glitt’ring round THE THRONE!
Who can reflect, nor drop the tenderest tear
On the dread progress of thy fate severe!
Hurl’d from the LOFTIEST height of human BLISS,
To the WORST horror? of DESPAIR’S abyss!
To bear th’ insulting cruelty of those,
Who, from thy SUBJECTS, to thy TYRANTS rose!
Who, dead to all the feelings NATURE owns,
Mock’d at thy HUSBAND’S pangs, thy INFANT’S groans;
Tore the pale darlings from thy panting bread:,
And made MATERNAL woes, the rabble’s jest;
The bonds of wedded virtue rent in twain,
And Truth’s white bosom stampt with falsehood’s stain!
Deny’d the decent aid of female hands I
No kind domestic waits her meek commands!
On a straw pallet, in a dungeon laid —
By ALL suspected, and by ALL betray’d!
No friend to counsel, and no kindred sigh,
To waft the balm of SAINTED SYMPATHY!
Yet, midst the tortures of the direful plan,
Which thrills with HORROR through the breast of MAN,
Not all the rage of HELL’S abhorr’d decree
Could force one SUPPLICATING TEAR from THEE!
AS the rich FLOW’RET on the mountain’s side
Unfolds its charms, and blooms with harmless pride!
Rais’d ‘midst the clouds, to combat ev’ry blast;
Too HIGH for shelter, and too fair to last!
Awhile, contending with the varying spheres;
Now blushing beauteous! now adorn’d with tears!
Still braves the mid-day sun, the chilling night,
Sweet to the sense! and lovely to the sight!
Nor heeds the torrent, rising o’er its bound;
Or the dark skies, in tempests gath’ring round;
Till from the flinty steep the waters flow,
Pouring destruction o’er the vale below;
And sweeping, with their desolating pow’rs.
The tow’ring cedars, and o’erhanging bow’rs!
From rock to rock the frothy columns bound,
Deaf’ning calm Nature with the fateful sound;
Till, by no barrier in its course confin’d,
It whelms the plain, and leaves no trace behind!
No waving FOREST to adorn the scene;
No HUT to tell what ONCE the spot HAD BEEN;
No sweet diversity enchants the eye;
One liquid space reflects the low’ring sky!
While on its troubled surface, spreading wide,
Float the torn fragments of the mountain’s pride!
Till all, celestial bounty gave, defac’d,
One dreadful CHAOS triumphs o’er the waste!
Such is thy lot, O GALLIA! such the RAGE
That blurs, with crimson spots, fair NATURE’S page!
That leaps the bounds of REASON, and destroys
The law’s strong barrier, and the subjed’s joys!
That roots up all the sacred rights of TRUTH!
The claims of AGE, the energies of YOUTH!
Bids Commerce tremble, Justice hide her scale,
Contention revel, and Revenge prevail!
Religion perish in the guilty mind,
And Devastation riot unconfin’d!
While ALL are RULERS — ALL, alas! are SLAVES!
EACH dreads his fellow, EACH his fellow braves!
While, in one horrid mass, ALL miseries blend;
Each shuns his BROTHER, and each fears his FRIEND!
The SON, with blood-stain’d faulchion, strikes the SIRE!
The PARENT smiles, to see the SON expire!
Against his LORD, the VASSAL wields his spear!
The vaunting ATHEIST mocks the VESTAL’S tear!
The lawless IDIOT lifts his ruthless arm,
To tear from SCIENCE every graceful charm!
While GENIUS from the madd’ning tumult flies,
Weeps o’er her WITH’RING BAYS, and SEEKS the SKIES!
Far o’er the Globe, from all his kindred driv’n,
Behold the sacred Minister of HEAV’N!
The PIOUS PASTOR, wand’ring o’er the earth,
Of MIND enlighten’d, and of noblest birth!
With whose proud race, the proudest VIRTUES came,
To prove their rank, their SECONDARY claim;
Who, ‘midst the duties of religious life,
Shrunk from the clamours of domestic strife.
WHAT is HIS lot? — To weep in some lone bow’r,
And count NEW sorrows with each passing hour;
To VIEW the radiant MORN with aching eyes,
O’er the far distant promontory rise;
Diffusing bliss o’er NATURE’S CHILDREN gay,
Who laugh and labour through the peaceful day!
Who fear no ruthless hand to check their joy,
No mandate dire, EXISTENCE to destroy!
WHO, blest with conscious innocence, can smile,
Unstain’d with blood, and unreproach’d with guile;
All the long day the task of toil endure,
Contented, simple, peaceful, and SECURE!
To SEE the INFANTS, like fair branches rise,
The cherish’d offspring of serenest skies;
While the rough PARENT, like the OAK shall last,
To nurse their tender beauties ‘midst the blast;
Till, nourish’d to perfection, they aspire
To match the STURDY virtues of their SIRE t
Turn to the BEAUTEOUS MARTYR! AUSTRIA’S pride!
Epitome of ALL — to worth ally’d!
Mark, in her alter’d and distracted mien,
The fatal ensigns of the pangs within!
See those fair tresses on her shoulders flow
In silv’ry waves, that mock the ALPINE snow!
Where are their waving braids of glossy gold,
That crown’d her brow, in many a silky fold?
That brow, so wither’d by Affliction’s blast!
So stampt with AGE, before her PRIME was past!
Where are the graces of that ‘witching form?
Torn from their home, and scatter’d to the storm!
Those eyes! like SAPPHIRE gems were wont to shine;
Bright beaming samples of their NATIVE MINE!
WHAT ARE THEY NOW? clos’d in the sleep of DEATH!
Their BLAZE extinguish’d by REBELLION’S breath!
Yet, as the tempest threaten’d their abode,
A stream celestial from their radiance flow’d!
Like setting STARS, they left their humid spheres,
And their last fainting lustre gleam’d through TEARS!
OH! I have seen her, like a SUN, sublime!
Diffusing glory on the wings of TIME!
And, as revolving seasons own his flight,
Marking each brilliant minute with DELIGHT!
Yet not to pleasure ONLY was she prone;
She made the mis’ries of mankind her own!
No ostentation lessen’d pity’s meed —
UNSEEN she GAVE! and SILENCE seal’d the DEED!
She sought no plaudits from obsequious pride!
She paid HERSELF — for NATURE was her guide!
For CONSCIOUS rapture, to the tott’ring shed
&nb
sp; Oft would she fly, to bless the mourner’s bed;
There, bending o’er the aged widow’s form,
With smiles celestial, chase the wint’ry storm!
Heal the stung bosom with compassion’s tear!
Pour balmy council in the startled ear!
Fan, with her sighs, the fever of the brain;
And, by PARTAKING, lessen EV’RY PAIN!
SHUNN’D be the FIEND, who, in these dreadful
Would brand HER mem’ry with INFERNAL CRIMES!
SHUNN’D be the MONSTER, who, with recreant art,
Beyond the GRAVE, would hurl DETRACTION’S dart!
With sacrilegious hands, relentless tear
The blood-steep’d LAUREL, newly planted there!
For, though insulted, massacred, defam’d,
The LAUREL, STILL, her peerless virtues claim’d!
While, round the rugged sod, dread silence reigns,
The cherub, TRUTH, obliterates its stains.
Then let the MUSE her weary sorrows trace,
And CANDOUR blot the records of DISGRACE!
Nurs’d in the cradle of IMPERIAL STATE,
Her infant dreams proclaim’d a milder fate!
Enchanting visions sooth’d her op’ning mind;
Though young, enlighten’d; and though gay, refin’d
Succeeding years roll’d on; and, as she grew,
Each fleeting hour presented raptures new!
Fresh as the breeze, that fans the breast of MAY,
She scatter’d perfumes on the face of day!
Pride of her regal line, in youth’s soft grace,
She bloom’d, the loveliest blossom of her race!
Transplanted from the BOW’R of sweet repose,
With GALLIA’S Lilies blending AUSTRIA’S Rose;
Farm’d to adorn a cottage or a throne;
For all that sooth’d the senses was her own!
A stranger, from her native land, she came;
Her dow’ry BEAUTY, and her passport FAME!
Too young to play the subtle courtier’s part,
She charm’d all eyes, and gladden’d ev’ry heart!
Too innocent, deceptive wiles to plan!
(Her pow’r acknowledg’d, e’er her reign began,)
So exquisitely fair, so mildly gay,
She made the wisest converts to her sway!
To rule, she sought not; for obedience hung
On the soft accents of her tuneful tongue.
Her smile could guide the stubborn heart, or move
The soul of APATHY to thrills of LOVE!
Each playful action spoke the fire of youth;
Her blush was innocence! her voice was truth!
She trod the flow’ry paths of bliss supreme;
Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson Page 24