DEATH: BY CHARLES EMILY, ESQ. I. THE festive roar of laughter, the warm glow Of brisk-ey'd joy, and friendship's genial bowl. Wit's season'd converse, and the liberal flow Of unsuspicious youth, profuse of soul, Delight not ever; from the boisterous scene Of riot far, and Comus' wild uproar, From folly's crowd, whose vacant brow serene Was never knit to wisdom's srowning lore, Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles Of rude magnificence, your solemn rest, Amid your fretted vaults and length'ning isles, Lonely to wander; no unholy guest, That means to break, with sacrilegious tread, The marble slumbers of your monumented dead. II. Permit me with sad musings, that inspire Unlabour'd numbers apt, your silence drear Blameless to wake, and with th' Orphean lyre Fitly attemper'd, sooth the merciless ear Of Hades, and stern death, whose iron sway Great nature owns thro' all her wide domain; All that with oary sin cleave their smooth way Through the green bosom of the spawny main, And those that to the streaming aether spread, In many a wheeling glide, their feathery sail; And those that creep; and those that statelier tread, That roam o'er forest, hill, or browsed dale; The victims each of ruthless fate must fall; E'en God's own image, man, high paramount of all. III. And ye, the young, the giddy, and the gay, That startle from the sleepful lid of light The curtain'd rest, and with the dissonant bray Of Bacchus, and loud jollity, affright Yon radiant goddess, that now shoots among These many windowed isles her glimmering beam; Know, that or e'er its starr'd career along Thrice shall have roll'd her silvery-wheeled team, Some parent breast may heave the answering sigh, To the slow pauses of the funeral knoll; E'en now black Atropos, with scowling eye, Roars in the laugh, and revels o'er the bowl, E'en now in rosy-crowned pleasure's wreath Entwines in adder folds all-unsuspected Death. IV Know, on the stealing wing of time shall flee Some few, some short-liv'd years; and all is past; A future bard these awful domes may see, Muse o'er the present age as I the last; Who mouldering in the grave, yet once like you; The various maze of life were seen to tread, Each bent their own peculiar to pursue, As custom urg'd or wilful nature led; Mix'd with the various crouds inglorious clay, The nobler virtues undistinguish'd lie; No more to melt with beauty's heav'n-born ray, No more to wet compassion's tearful eye, Catch from the poet raptures not their own, And feel the thrilling melody of sweet renown. V. Where is the master-hand, whose semblant art Chissel'd the marble into life, or taught From the well-pencill'd portraiture to start The nerve that beat with soul, the brow that thought! Cold are the fingers that in stone-sixt trance The mute attention rivetting, to the lyre Struck language: dimm'd the poet's quick-ey'd glance. All in wild raptures flashing heaven's own fire. Shrunk is the sinew'd energy, that strung The warrior arm: where sleeps the patriot breast Whilom that heav'd impassion'd! Where the tongue That lanc'd its lightning on the towering crest Of scepter'd insolence, and overthrew Giant Oppression, leagued with all her earth-born crew! VI. These now are past; long, long, ye fleeting years, Pursue, with glory wing'd, your fated way, Ere from the womb of time unwelcome peers The dawn of that inevitable day, When wrapt in shrouded clay their warmest friend The widow'd virtues shall again deplore, When o'er his urn in pious grief shall bend His Britain, and bewail one patriot more; For soon must thou, too soon! who spreadst abroad Thy beaming emanations unconfin'd, Doom'd, like some better angel sent of God To scatter blessings over humankind, Thou too must fall, O Pitt! to shine no more, And tread these dreadful paths, a Faulkland trod before. VII. Fast to the driving winds the marshall'd clouds Sweep discontinuous o'er the etherial plain; Another still upon another crouds, All hastening downward to their native main. Thus passes o'er thro' varied life's career Man's fleeting age; the Seasons as they fly Snatch from us in their course, year after year, Some sweet connection, some endearing tie. The parent, ever-honour'd, ever-dear, Claims from the filial breast the pious sigh; A brother's urn demands the kindred tear; And gentle sorrows gush from friendship's eye. To-day we frolick in the rosy bloom Of jocund youth — The morrow knells us to the tomb. VIII. Who knows how soon in this sepulchral spot, Shall heaven to me the drear abode assign! How soon the past irrevocable lot Of these, that rest beneath me, shall be mine. Haply, when Zephyr to thy native bourn Shall waft thee o'er the storm'd Hibernian wave, Thy gentle breast, my Tavistock, shall mourn To find me sleeping in the senseless grave. No more the social leisure to divide, In the sweet intercourse of soul and soul, Blithe or of graver brow; no more to chide The ling'ring years impatient as they roll, Till all thy cultur'd virtues shall display, Full blossom'd, their bright honours to the gazing day. IX. Ah, dearest youth! these vows perhaps unheard, The rude wind scatters o'er the billowy main; These prayers at friendship's holy shrine preferr'd May rise to grasp their father's knees in vain. Soon, soon may nod the sad funereal plume With solemn horror o'er thy timeless hearse, And I survive to grave upon thy tomb The mournful tribute of memorial verse. — That leave to heaven's decision — Be it thine, Higher than yet a parent's wishes flew, To soar in bright pre-eminence, and shine With self-earn'd honours, eager to pursue, Where glory, with her clear unsully'd rays, The well-born spirit lights to deeds of mightiest praise. X. 'Twas she thy God-like Russell's bosom steel'd With confidence untam'd, in his last breath Stern-smiling. She, with calm composure, held The patriot axe of Sidney, edg'd with death. Smit with the warmth of her impulsive flame, Wolfe's gallant virtue flies to worlds a-far, Emulous to pluck fresh wreaths of well-earn'd fame From the grim frowning brow of laurel'd war. 'Twas she, that on the morn of direful birth, Bared thy young bosom to the fatal blow, Lamented Armytage! — the bleeding youth! O bathe him in the pearly caves below, Ye Nereids; and ye Nymphs of Camus hoar, Weep — for ye oft have seen him on your haunted shore. XI. Better to die with glory, than recline On the soft lap of ignominious peace, Than yawn out the dull droning life supine In monkish apathy and gowned ease. Better employ'd in honour's bright career The least division on the dial's round, Than thrice to compass Saturn's live-long year, Grown old in sloth, the burthen of the ground; Than tug with sweating toil the slavish oar Of unredeem'd affliction, and sustain The fev'rous rage of fierce diseases sore Unnumber'd, that in sympathetic chain Hang ever thro' the thick circumfluous air, All from the drizzly verge of yonder star-girt sphere. XII. Thick in the many-beaten road of life, A thousand maladies are posted round, With wretched man to wage eternal strife Unseen, like ambush'd Indians, till they wound. There the swol'n hydrop stands, the wat'ry rheum, The northern scurvy, blotch with lep'rous scale; And moping ever in the cloister'd gloom Of learned sloth, the bookish asthma pale: And the shunn'd hag unsightly, that ordain'd On Europe's sons to wreak the faithless sword Of Cortez, with the blood of millions stain'd, O'er dog-ey'd lust the tort'ring scourge abhorr'd, Shakes threat'ning; since the while she wing'd her flight From Amazon's broad wave, and Andes' snow-clad height. XIII. Where the wan daughter of the yellow year, The chatt'ring ague chill, the writhing stone, And he of ghastly feature, on whose ear Unheeded croaks the death-bird's warning moan, Marasmus; knotty gout; and the dead life Of nerveless palsy; there on purpose fell Dark brooding, whets his interdicted knife Grim suicide, the damned fiend of hell. There too is the stunn'd apoplexy pight, The bloated child of gorg'd intemperance foul; Self-wasting melancholy, black as night Lowering, and foaming fierce with hideous howl The dog hydrophoby, and near allied Scar'd madness, with her moon-struck eye-balls staring wide. XIV. There, stretch'd one huge, beneath the rocky mine, With boiling sulphur fraught, and smouldering fires; He, the dread delegate of wrath divine, E'er while that stood o'er Taio's hundred spires Vindictive; thrice he wav'd th' earth-shaking wand, Powerful as that the son of Amram bore, And thrice he rais'd, and thrice he check'd his hand. He struck the rocking ground, with thund'rous roar Yawn'd; here from street to street hurries, and there Now runs, now stops, then shrieks and scours amain, Staring distraction: many a palace fair, With millions sinks ingulpht, and pillar'd fane; Old Ocean's farthest waves confest the shock; Even Albion trembled conscious on his stedfast rock. XV. The meagre famine there, and drunk with blood Stern war; and the loath'd monster, whom of yore The slimy Naiad of the Memphian flood Engend'ring, to the bright-hair'd Phoebus bore, Foul pestilence, that on the wide-stretch'd wings Of commerce speeds from Cairo's swarthy bay His westering flight, and thro' the sick air flings Spotted contagion; at his heels dismay And desolation urge their fire-wheel'd yoke Terrible; as long of old, when from the height Of Paran came unwrath'd the Mightiest, shook Earth's firm fixt base tottering; thro' the black night Glanc'd the flash'd lightnings: heavens rent roof abroad Thunder'd; and universal nature felt its God. XVI. Who on that scene of terror, on that hour Of roused indignation, shall withstand Th' Almighty, when he meditates to shower The bursting vengeance o'er a guilty land! Canst thou, secure in reason's vaunted pride, Tongue-doughty miscreant, who but now didst gore. With more than Hebrew rage the innocent side Of agonizing mercy, bleeding sore, Canst thou confront, with stedfast eye unaw'd, The sworded judgment stalking far and near? Well may'st thou tremble, when an injur'd God Disclaims thee — guilt is ever quick of fear — Loud whirlwinds howl in zephyr's softest breath; And ev'ry glancing meteor glares imagin'd death. XVII. The good alone are fearless — they alone Firm and collected in their virtue, brave The wreck of worlds, and look unshrinking down On the dread yawnings of the rav'nous grave: Thrice happy! who the blameless road along Of honest praise hath reach'd the vale of death; Around him, like ministrant cherubs, throng His better actions; to the parting breath Singing their blessed requiems: he the while Gently reposing on some friendly breast, Breathes out his benizons; then with a smile Of soft complacence, lays him down to rest, Calm as the slumbering infant: from the goal Free and unbounded flies the disembodied soul. XVIII. Whether some delegated charge below, Some much-lov'd friend its hovering care may claim, Whether it heavenward soars, again to know That long-forgotten country whence it came; Conjecture ever, the misfeatur'd child Of letter'd arrogance, delights to run Thro' speculation's puzzling mazes wild, And all to end at last where it begun. Fain would we trace, with reason's erring clue, The darksome paths of destiny aright; In vain; the task were easier to pursue The trackless wheelings of the swallow's flight. From mortal ken himself the Almighty shrouds Pavilion'd in thick night and circumambient clouds.