[Page 67]

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE.

1 Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind
2 Science has stored, and Piety refined,
3 That fading Chivalry displays no more
4 Her pomp and stately tournaments of yore!
5 Lo! when Philosophy and Truth advance,
6 Scared at their frown, she drops her glittering lance;
7 Round her reft castles the pale ivy crawls,
8 And sunk and silent are her bannered halls!
9 As when far off the golden evening sails,
10 And slowly sink the fancy-painted vales,
11 With rich pavilions spread in long array;
12 So rolls the enchanter's radiant realm away;
13 So on the sight the parting glories fade,
14 The gorgeous vision sets in endless shade.
15 But shall the musing mind for this lament,
16 Or mourn the wizard's Gothic fabric rent!
17 Shall he, with Fancy's poor and pensive child,
18 Gaze on his shadowy vales, and prospects wild,
19 With lingering love, and sighing bid farewell
20 To the dim pictures of his parting spell!
21 No, Burke! thy heart, by juster feelings led,
22 Mourns for the spirit of high Honour fled;
23 Mourns that Philosophy, abstract and cold,
24 Withering should smite life's fancy-flowered mould;
25 And many a smiling sympathy depart,
26 That graced the sternness of the manly heart.
27 Nor shall the wise and virtuous scan severe
28 These fair illusions, ev'n to nature dear. [Page 68]
29 Though now no more proud Chivalry recalls
30 Her tourneys bright, and pealing festivals;
31 Though now on high her idle spear is hung,
32 Though Time her mouldering harp has half unstrung;
33 Her milder influence shall she still impart,
34 To decorate, but not disguise, the heart;
35 To nurse the tender sympathies that play
36 In the short sunshine of life's early way;
37 For female worth and meekness to inspire
38 Homage and love, and temper rude desire;
39 Nor seldom with sweet dreams sad thoughts to cheer,
40 And half beguile affliction of her tear!
41 Lo! this her boast; and still, O Burke! be thine
42 Her glowing hues that warm, yet tempered shine;
43 Whilst whispers bland, and fairest dreams, attend
44 Thy evening path, till the last shade descend!
45 So may she soothe, with loftier wisdom's aid,
46 Thy musing leisure in the silent shade,
47 And bid poor Fancy, her cold pinions wet,
48 Life's cloudy skies and beating showers forget.
49 But can her fairest form, her sweetest song,
50 Soothe thee, assailed by calumny and wrong!
51 Ev'n now thy foes with louder accents cry:
52 Champion of unrelenting tyranny,
53 At Freedom hast thou aimed the deadly blow,
54 And striven with impious arm to lay her altars low!
55 No, Burke! indignant at the voice we start:
56 We trust thy liberal views, thy generous heart;
57 We think of those who, naked, pale, and poor,
58 Relieved and blessed, have wandered from thy door;
59 We see thee with unwearied step explore
60 Each track of bloodshed on the farthest shore
61 Of injured Asia, and thy swelling breast
62 Harrowing the oppressor, mourning for the oppressed,[Page 69]
63 No, Burke! where'er Injustice rears her head,
64 Where'er with blood her idol grim is fed;
65 Where'er fell Cruelty, at her command,
66 With crimson banner marches through the land,
67 And striding, like a giant, onward hies,
68 Whilst man, a trodden worm, looks up, and dies;
69 Where'er pale Murder in her train appears,
70 With reeking axe, and garments wet with tears;
71 Or, lowering Jealousy, unmoved as Fate,
72 Bars fast the prison-cage's iron gate
73 Upon the buried sorrows and the cries
74 Of him who there, lost and forgotten, lies; —
75 When ministers like these, in fearful state,
76 Upon a bloody tyrant's bidding wait,
77 Thou too shalt own (and Justice lift her rod)
78 The cause of Freedom is the cause of God!
79 Fair spirit, who dost rise in beauteous pride,
80 Where proud Oppression hath thine arm defied!
81 When led by Virtue thou dost firm advance,
82 And bathe in Guilt's warm blood thy burning lance;
83 When all thy form its awful port assumes,
84 And in the tempest shake thy crimson plumes,
85 I mark thy lofty mien, thy steady eye,
86 So fall thy foes! with tears of joy I cry.
87 But ne'er may Anarchy, with eyes a-flame,
88 And mien distract, assume thy awful name;
89 Her pale torch sheds afar its hideous glare,
90 And shows the blood-drops in her dabbled hair;
91 The fiends of discord hear her hollow voice,
92 The spirits of the deathful storm rejoice:
93 As when the rising blast with muttering sweep
94 Sounds 'mid the branches of the forest deep,
95 The sad horizon lowers, the parting sun
96 Is hid, strange murmurs through the high wood run,[Page 70]
97 The falcon wheels away his mournful flight,
98 And leaves the glens to solitude and night;
99 Till soon the hurricane, in dismal shroud,
100 Comes fearful forth, and sounds her conch aloud;
101 The oak majestic bows his hoary head,
102 And ruin round his ancient reign is spread:
103 So the dark fiend, rejoicing in her might,
104 Pours desolation and the storm of night;
105 Before her dread career the good and just
106 Fly far, or sink expiring in the dust;
107 Wide wastes and mighty wrecks around her lie,
108 And the earth trembles at her impious cry!
109 Whether her temple, wet with human gore,
110 She thus may raise on Gallia's ravaged shore,
111 Belongs to Him alone, and His high will,
112 Who bids the tempests of the world be still.
41 These lines were written before the murder of the late King of France, and many of the events of horror which have since taken place in that miserable country.
113 With joy we turn to Albion's happier plain,
114 Where ancient Freedom holds her temperate reign;
115 Where Justice sits majestic on her throne;
116 Where Mercy turns her ear to every groan.
117 O Albion! fairest isle, whose verdant plain
118 Springs beauteous from the blue and billowy main;
119 In peaceful pomp whose glittering cities rise,
120 And lift their crowded temples to the skies;
121 Whose navy on the broad brine awful rolls;
122 Whose commerce glows beneath the distant poles;
123 Whose streams reflect full many an Attic pile;
124 Whose velvet lawns in long luxuriance smile;
125 Amid whose winding coombs contentment dwells,
126 Whose vales rejoice to hear the Sabbath bells;
127 Whose humblest shed, that steady laws protect,
128 The villager with woodbine bowers hath decked! [Page 71]
129 Sweet native land, whose every haunt is dear,
130 Whose every gale is music to mine ear;
131 Amidst whose hills one poor retreat I sought,
132 Where I might sometimes hide a saddening thought,
133 And having wandered far, and marked mankind
134 In their vain mask, might rest and safety find:
135 Oh! still may Freedom, with majestic mien,
136 Pacing thy rocks and the green vales, be seen;
137 Around thy cliffs, that glitter o'er the main,
138 May smiling Order wind her silver chain;
139 Whilst from thy calm abodes, and azure skies,
140 Far off the fiend of Discord murmuring flies!
141 To him who firm thy injured cause has fought,
142 This humble offering, lo! the Muse has brought;
143 Nor heed thou, Burke, if, with averted eye,
144 Scowling, cold Envy may thy worth decry!
145 It is the lot of man: — the best oft mourn,
146 As sad they journey through this cloudy bourne:
147 If conscious Genius stamp their chosen breast,
148 And on the forehead show her seal impressed,
149 Perhaps they mourn, in bleak Misfortune's shade,
150 Their age and cares with penury repaid;
151 Their errors deeply scanned, their worth forgot,
152 Or marked by hard injustice with a blot.
153 If high they soar, and keep their distant way,
154 And spread their ample pinions to the day,
155 Malignant Faction hears with hate their name,
156 And all her tongues are busy with their fame.
157 But 'tis enough to hold, as best we may,
158 Our destined track, till sets the closing day;
159 Whether with living lustre we adorn
160 Our high sphere, like the radiance of the morn;
161 Or whether silent in the shade we move,
162 Cheered by the lonely star of pensive love;[Page 72]
163 Or whether wild opposing storms we stem,
164 Panting for Virtue's distant diadem;
165 'Tis the unshaken mind, the conscience pure,
166 That bids us firmly act, meekly endure;
167 'Tis this may shield us when the storm beats hard,
168 Content, though poor, had we no other guard!
42 Milton.

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Title (in Source Edition): THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EDMUND BURKE.
Author: William Lisle Bowles
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Bowles, William Lisle, 1762-1850. The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. I. With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan. Edinburgh: James Nichol, 9 North Bank Street..., 1855, pp. 67-72.  (Page images digitized from a copy held at the University of California Libraries.)

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