THE
BELDAMES
.
BY
—
.
HAIL
,
happy
Beldames
!
yours
those
joys
Which
time
,
nor
accident
destroys
.
Sickness
and
cares
your
bliss
dilate
,
And
pain
but
whets
your
lust
of
hate
.
The
flower
of
Youth
will
soon
decay
,
Health
,
Beauty
,
Pleasure
fade
away
.
:
Sharp
sorrows
sting
the
breast
humane
,
And
hopes
are
false
,
and
wishes
vain
.
But
hence
your
joys
eternal
flow
,
Their
source
exhaustless
,
human
woe
.
For
you
fierce
War
high-piles
his
dead
,
Disease
thick-strews
her
squalid
bed
;
Famine
and
Plagues
their
myriads
sweep
,
And
Tempests
lash
th'
all-whelming
deep
.
The
fiery
meteors
hear
your
call
,
And
houses
blaze
,
and
temples
fall
.
But
far
remote
from
Britain's
eye
The
vaster
scenes
of
ruin
lie
:
The
cities
in
Vulcanos
lost
,
The
scatter'd
realms
in
whirlwinds
tost
,
Or
,
feller
scourge
,
a
Tyrant's
brand
Wide-flaming
o'er
a
blasted
land
:
Imperfect
joy
,
the
wretch
unknown
,
Unmark'd
the
pang
,
unheard
the
groan
.
Here
mighty
Horror
scarce
appears
;
One
plague
perhaps
in
ninety
years
:
And
Faction
,
long
depriv'd
of
food
,
Sits
pining
over
public
good
;
Or
feeds
,
with
self-tormenting
spleen
,
In
present
bliss
,
on
ills
foreseen
,
But
here
more
exquisite
delight
From
private
woes
soothes
ranc'rous
Spight
.
In
pride
of
youth
our
Frederic
dies
,
And
Anguish
seals
my
Lonsdale's
eyes
:
Richmond
his
generous
soul
resign'd
,
And
Ca'ndish
,
friend
to
human
kind
,
Ev'n
thoughtless
Upon
Mr.
Pelham's
death
the
places
of
public
diversion
were
for
a
time
deserted
.
Pleasure
droop'd
her
head
,
While
Britain
wept
o'er
Pelham's
bed
.
Yet
such
your
joys
,
as
when
the
bell
First
toll'd
unhappy
S—'s
knell
;
When
by
that
hand
,
which
thousands
sed
,
The
best
,
the
bravest
Briton
bled
;
And
clos'd
a
lise
in
virtue
past
With
one
wrong
deed
,
his
first
and
last
.
Whether
impure
and
hard
of
soul
The
Daughter
mix'd
the
deadly
bowl
;
Or
if
seducing
Love
betray'd
To
crimes
unknown
the
yielding
maid
;
Whether
in
weakness
or
in
guilt
,
One
joy
is
sure
,
her
blood
is
spilt
:
And
still
to
raise
the
transport
higher
,
Believe
her
innocent
expire
!
By
no
degree
,
no
sex
defin'd
,
Their
Virtues
stamp
the
Beldame-kind
,
Who
cringe
and
slander
,
sting
and
fawn
,
In
rags
,
or
lace
,
or
fur
,
or
lawn
;
Whether
in
perriwigs
or
pinners
,
If
Whitefield's
saints
,
or
Arthur's
sinners
;
If
now
the
scold
at
Wapping
flames
,
Or
flaunts
a
Dutchess
at
St.
James'
;
Alike
,
if
they
revile
or
flatter
,
(
Who
lie
in
praise
,
will
lie
in
satire
)
All
the
foul
sisterhood
compose
,
All
those
,
and
all
resembling
those
.
But
some
,
in
hoary
Age's
train
,
By
sixty
winters
chill'd
in
vain
,
With
hearts
that
melt
,
and
nerves
that
feel
,
Display
a
breast
unarm'd
with
steel
.
How
few
are
these
!
and
of
these
few
Good
Heaven
hath
seiz'd
on
Montagu
.
Germain
yet
lives
,
not
half
reveal'd
,
Her
bounties
more
than
half
conceal'd
;
And
should
I
add
another
name
,
Blushing
she
flies
pursuing
Fame
.
For
such
is
Virtue's
aukward
pride
,
Scarce
more
intent
to
give
than
hide
.
Peace
to
all
such
in
silent
state
,
So
few
scarce
worth
the
Beldame's
hate
.
'Tis
not
enough
that
Nature's
plan
To
Cares
,
to
Death
predestines
Man
;
That
ev'n
those
few
,
we
happy
call
,
Bend
to
the
general
doom
of
all
,
While
bliss
,
a
scanty
portion
,
flows
Mixt
in
the
stream
of
bitter
woes
:
Not
one
escapes
the
Beldame's
hate
,
Great
leveller
to
one
estate
.
As
in
the
Sun's
meridian
blaze
A
cloud
obscene
of
insects
plays
,
Or
with
invenom'd
sting
invades
The
quiet
of
sequester'd
shades
,
Now
swarms
on
filth
,
and
now
pollutes
The
nectar
of
the
fairest
fruits
:
So
thro'
each
rank
,
thro'
every
stage
Wantons
the
ceaseless
Beldame's
rage
.
Sublimely
rapt
in
patriot
heat
,
Furious
she
shakes
the
Monarch's
seat
,
Now
stooping
spurns
the
lowly
cell
Where
calm
Content
,
and
Concord
dwell
,
Well
pleas'd
degraded
Worth
to
see
,
Or
Felons
load
the
groaning
tree
.
Yet
shall
the
tear
of
Pity
flow
,
Yet
shall
her
hand
exalt
the
low
;
Shall
pull
aspiring
Merit
down
,
And
deck
the
base
with
Honor's
crown
;
Intent
to
lower
,
not
fond
to
raise
,
Hatred
her
friendship
,
spite
her
praise
.
Or
when
some
all-respected
name
,
High-borne
upon
the
tide
of
Fame
,
In
Glory's
pomp
resistless
draws
A
nation
breathless
in
applause
;
The
Beldame
loud
exalts
her
voice
,
And
bids
a
gladden'd
world
rejoice
;
Yet
then
dissembling
Art
will
blend
Th'
unwilling
censure
of
a
Friend
:
Lavish
in
praise
she
pours
her
soul
,
But
one
Exception
damns
the
whole
.
Behold
the
Fiend
all
pallid
stand
,
A
pencil
trembling
in
her
hand
:
See
Malice
mix
the
various
dies
Of
fainter
truths
and
bolder
lies
.
The
deepening
gloom
thick
spreads
around
And
lowering
shades
the
dusky
ground
.
There
Sickness
blights
the
cheek
of
Health
,
And
Beggary
soils
the
robe
of
Wealth
.
Here
,
Columns
moulder
in
decay
;
There
,
Virtue
sets
with
dubious
ray
.
Now
heavenly
Beauty
fades
,
and
now
The
laurel
droops
on
Valour's
brow
.
Around
the
Daemon
throngs
her
race
,
The
weak
,
the
busy
,
and
the
base
;
Eager
to
copy
,
and
disperse
:
Hence
slanderous
Prose
,
and
ribald
Verse
;
The
heaps
that
crowd
Suiila's
board
,
And
swell
wise
Paulo's
precious
hoard
.
There
Scandal
all
its
store
unloads
,
Ballads
,
and
Epigrams
,
and
Odes
:
Stern
Party
whets
her
blunted
knife
,
And
stabs
the
Husband
thro'
the
Wife
;
While
Notes
historically
sage
Fill
the
broad
margin
of
each
Page
;
Initials
,
dashes
well
supply'd
,
And
all
that
fear
or
shame
would
hide
;
Faithful
record
for
future
times
To
harden
by
their
fathers'
crimes
.
No
Beldam
Bard
with
phrenzy
sir'd
,
No
prophetess
by
hell
inspir'd
,
Creative
boasts
so
rich
a
vein
As
swells
the
Beldame's
teeming
brain
,
And
mocking
study
,
wit
,
and
sense
,
Flows
in
unletter'd
eloquence
.
Thus
beyond
Truth's
contracted
line
Invention's
Universe
is
thine
.
Thine
every
tale
that
Fiction
brings
,
Whether
she
soars
with
painted
wings
,
Or
plunges
in
the
depths
of
night
For
horrid
deeds
,
unknown
to
light
.
There
should
she
mark
some
real
blot
,
Tho'
long
forgiv'n
,
tho'
long
forgot
;
God's
cancell'd
Grace
her
rage
resumes
,
The
crime
rejudg'd
,
the
man
she
dooms
;
In
deeper
dyes
she
spreads
the
stain
,
And
pitying
Heaven
relents
in
vain
.
Fitly
,
o'er
Libya's
horrid
sand
,
The
javelin
arms
the
Huntsman's
hand
.
Lo
!
where
the
mangled
traveller
lies
,
Drawn
by
the
false
Hyaena's
cries
;
And
dreadful
stalking
o'er
the
plain
,
The
Lion
shakes
his
brindled
main
.
But
why
shall
barbarous
Rage
invade
The
tenant
of
yon
peaceful
shade
,
While
issuing
with
the
morning's
dawn
,
Playful
she
prints
the
dewy
lawn
?
O
why
that
hostile
pomp
prepare
To
vex
the
timorous
harmless
hare
?
As
if
some
monster
,
yet
untam'd
,
Single
a
host
of
Heroes
claim'd
:
While
Echo
o'er
the
hills
resounds
Horsemen
,
and
steeds
,
and
horns
,
and
hounds
.
Such
,
nor
less
eager
in
their
chace
,
Forth
springs
the
clamorous
Beldame
race
:
Harsh
Chorus
of
discordant
notes
From
yelping
tongues
and
time-crack'd
throats
;
Where
lewder
Youth
outstrips
the
wind
,
And
limping
Eighty
lags
behind
:
Yet
faithful
to
the
beaten
track
The
slow-pac'd
sluggard
hunts
the
pack
.
Meek
Virtue
to
the
covert
flies
With
panting
heart
and
clouded
eyes
.
Ah
!
spare
the
gentle
coward's
fears
Who
only
answers
with
her
tears
;
And
trembles
at
imputed
sin
Tho'
all
be
innocence
within
.
But
Lions
to
their
shaggy
breast
Shall
fostering
press
the
fearless
guest
;
The
sooth'd
Hyaena
shed
a
tear
O'er
prostrate
man
,
with
soul
sincere
;
The
Priest
with
hesitating
hand
Awhile
suspend
th'
uplifted
brand
;
Ere
Pity
melts
the
Beldame's
eyes
,
Glutted
with
human
sacrifice
.
With
liquid
fire
the
goblet
crown'd
,
The
livid
tapers
gleaming
round
,
While
Wisdom
,
Valour
,
Beauty
sleep
,
The
midnight
hags
their
sabbath
keep
;
And
recent
from
impure
delights
Fell
Hecat'
leads
th'
infernal
rites
.
O'er
her
wan
cheek
diffusely
spread
Fierce
glares
the
bright
vermillion's
red
.
The
borrow'd
hair
in
ringlets
flows
Adown
her
neck
of
art-form'd
snows
;
While
baleful
drugs
in
vain
renew
Departing
Beauty's
faded
hue
.
Some
spotless
name
their
rage
demands
,
The
name
rebellowing
thro'
the
bands
;
Some
holy
Sage
of
sainted
life
,
A
Virgin
pure
,
a
faithful
Wife
.
And
you
,
who
dauntless
dar'd
to
brave
The
ruthless
foe
and
threatening
wave
,
Vainly
you
'scap'd
th'
unequal
fight
;
Deep
yawns
the
gulph
of
deadlier
spight
;
There
plung'd
—
th'
insatiate
Beldames
roar
,
And
the
wide
ruin
gapes
for
more
.
Where
trees
their
mantling
foliage
spread
,
And
roses
bend
their
blooming
head
,
Ye
,
Virgins
,
tread
with
cautious
feet
,
And
cautious
pluck
the
tempting
sweet
:
There
lurks
the
snake
with
speckled
crest
,
There
broods
the
toad
with
bloated
breast
;
With
poisons
dire
the
reptiles
fill'd
,
From
Heaven's
transparent
dews
distill'd
.
—
But
O
!
more
wary
trace
the
maze
,
Where
Youth
in
frolic
pastime
plays
:
There
dread
the
spight-swoln
Beldame's
wrath
,
Glancing
thro'
Pleasure's
flowery
path
,
And
subtle
drawing
foul
offence
From
the
chaste
breath
of
innocence
.
Or
should
the
tender
bosom
yield
Transpierc'd
thro'
Honor's
frailer
shield
;
O
Virtue
smooth
thy
brow
austere
,
Accept
the
penitential
tear
:
Raise
the
fall'n
mourner
from
the
ground
,
And
pour
sweet
mercy
o'er
the
wound
;
Nor
join
these
furies
in
their
chace
,
Nor
drive
her
'midst
that
hellish
race
.
Angels
shall
hear
the
suppliant's
voice
,
And
Beldames
howl
,
and
Heaven
rejoice
.
Let
the
obdurate
Stoic's
pride
Climb
the
steep
mountain's
craggy
side
;
Where
far
remote
from
mortal
ken
Virtue
usurps
the
Tyger's
den
,
And
scowling
on
the
crowd
below
Nor
feels
,
nor
pities
human
woe
.
Let
holy
zeal
,
with
frantic
mien
,
And
haggard
look
and
garb
obscene
,
Spurn
every
gift
the
Heavens
dispense
,
And
pine
in
sullen
abstinence
;
Yet
drink
with
eager
ears
and
eyes
The
tortur'd
wretches
agonies
.
Hence
,
hell-born
Fiends
!
nor
dare
bely
The
Seraph
with
indulgent
eye
:
Whence
Science
beams
eternal
day
,
Enlightening
millions
with
her
ray
;
Whence
Arts
their
genial
influence
spread
O'er
smiling
Nature's
teeming
bed
;
Whence
Bounty
with
extended
hand
Scatters
her
blessings
o'er
the
land
;
And
Love
,
the
universal
soul
,
Pervades
,
unites
,
inspires
the
whole
.
So
Virtue
dwelt
,
celestial
guest
,
O
Lonsdale
!
in
thy
spotless
breast
.
Tho'
pure
as
Heaven
from
moral
stain
,
Tho'
torn
with
unrelenting
pain
,
'Twas
thine
for
others
woes
to
melt
,
And
pardon
frailties
never
felt
.
While
Youth
thy
gayer
converse
sought
,
And
Age
instructed
heard
and
thought
.
And
thou
,
my
Friend
,
for
such
my
claim
,
And
such
my
best
,
my
dearest
Fame
,
Tho'
Time
with
shrivel'd
fingers
throws
Thick
o'er
thy
head
unmingled
snows
,
Still
in
that
eye
the
spark
divine
Shall
with
unfading
lustre
shine
;
Still
flow
the
stream
of
copious
sense
Clear
as
in
Attic
eloquence
.
So
thro'
the
meadow's
silver
bed
,
With
lilies
and
with
snow-drops
spread
,
Far-honour'd
Thames
,
our
Britain's
pride
,
Majestic
rolls
his
crystal
tide
,
Where
many
an
ancient
brook
distils
Its
wealth
in
tributary
rills
.
And
in
the
happy
social
hour
Well
sav'd
from
state
,
and
cares
,
and
power
,
Long
may
I
come
a
welcome
guest
To
share
the
treasures
of
that
breast
,
Where
Spleen
ne'er
rankled
at
the
heart
,
Nor
Malice
lodg'd
her
rusty
dart
.