[THE EMIGRANTS.]

[ THE EMIGRANTS . ]

THE EMIGRANTS . BOOK THE FIRST . BOOK I. SCENE , on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town of Brighthelmstone in Sussex . TIME , a Morning in November , 1792. SLOW in the Wintry Morn , the struggling light Throws a faint gleam upon the troubled waves ; Their foaming tops , as they approach the shore And the broad surf that never ceasing breaks On the innumerous pebbles , catch the beams Of the pale Sun , that with reluctance gives To this cold northern Isle , its shorten'd day . Alas ! how few the morning wakes to joy ! How many murmur at oblivious night For leaving them so soon ; for bearing thus Their fancied bliss ( the only bliss they taste ! ) , On her black wings away ! — Changing the dreams That sooth'd their sorrows , for calamities ( And every day brings its own sad proportion ) For doubts , diseases , abject dread of Death , And faithless friends , and fame and fortune lost ; Fancied or real wants ; and wounded pride , That views the day star , but to curse his beams . Yet He , whose Spirit into being call'd This wond'rous World of Waters ; He who bids The wild wind lift them till they dash the clouds , And speaks to them in thunder ; or whose breath , Low murmuring o'er the gently heaving tides , When the fair Moon , in summer night serene , Irradiates with long trembling lines of light Their undulating surface ; that great Power , Who , governing the Planets , also knows If but a Sea-Mew falls , whose nest is hid In these incumbent cliffs ; He surely means To us , his reasoning Creatures , whom He bids Acknowledge and revere his awful hand , Nothing but good : Yet Man , misguided Man , Mars the fair work that he was bid enjoy , And makes himself the evil he deplores . How often , when my weary soul recoils From proud oppression , and from legal crimes ( For such are in this Land , where the vain boast Of equal Law is mockery , while the cost Of seeking for redress is sure to plunge Th' already injur'd to more certain ruin And the wretch starves , before his Counsel pleads ) How often do I half abjure Society , And sigh for some lone Cottage , deep embower'd In the green woods , that these steep chalky Hills Guard from the strong South West ; where round their base The Beach wide flourishes , and the light Ash With slender leaf half hides the thymy turf ! — There do I wish to hide me ; well content If on the short grass , strewn with fairy flowers , I might repose thus shelter'd ; or when Eve In Orient crimson lingers in the west , Gain the high mound , and mark these waves remote ( Lucid tho' distant ) , blushing with the rays Of the far-flaming Orb , that sinks beneath them ; For I have thought , that I should then behold The beauteous works of God , unspoil'd by Man And less affected then , by human woes I witness'd not ; might better learn to bear Those that injustice , and duplicity And faithlessness and folly , fix on me : For never yet could I derive relief , When my swol'n heart was bursting with its sorrows , From the sad thought , that others like myself Live but to swell affliction's countless tribes ! — Tranquil seclusion I have vainly sought ; Peace , who delights in solitary shade , No more will spread for me her downy wings , But , like the fabled Danaids — or the wretch , Who ceaseless , up the steep acclivity , Was doom'd to heave the still rebounding rock , Onward I labour ; as the baffled wave , Which you rough beach repulses , that returns With the next breath of wind , to fail again . — Ah ! Mourner — cease these wailings : cease and learn , That not the Cot sequester'd , where the briar And wood-bine wild , embrace the mossy thatch , ( Scarce seen amid the forest gloom obscure ! ) Or more substantial farm , well fenced and warm , Where the full barn , and cattle fodder'd round Speak rustic plenty ; nor the statelier dome By dark firs shaded , or the aspiring pine , Close by the village Church ( with care conceal'd By verdant foliage , lest the poor man's grave Should mar the smiling prospect of his Lord ) , Where offices well rang'd , or dove-cote stock'd , Declare manorial residence ; not these Or any of the buildings , new and trim With windows circling towards the restless Sea , Which ranged in rows , now terminate my walk , Can shut out for an hour the spectre Care , That from the dawn of reason , follows still Unhappy Mortals , 'till the friendly grave ( Our sole secure asylum ) " ends the chace

" ENDS the chace . " ] — I have a confused notion , that this expression , with nearly the same application , is to be found in Young : but I cannot refer to it .

. " Behold , in witness of this mournful truth , A group approach me , whose dejected looks , Sad Heralds of distress ! proclaim them Men Banish'd for ever and for conscience sake From their distracted Country , whence the name Of Freedom misapplied , and much abus'd By lawless Anarchy , has driven them far To wander ; with the prejudice they learn'd From Bigotry ( the Tut'ress of the blind ) , Thro' the wide World unshelter'd ; their sole hope , That German spoilers , thro' that pleasant land May carry wide the desolating scourge Of War and Vengeance ; yet unhappy Men , Whate'er your errors , I lament your fate : And , as disconsolate and sad ye hang Upon the barrier of the rock , and seem To murmur your despondence , waiting long Some fortunate reverse that never comes ; Methinks in each expressive face , I see Discriminated anguish ; there droops one , Who in a moping cloister long consum'd This life inactive , to obtain a better , And thought that meagre abstinence , to wake From his hard pallet with the midnight bell , To live on eleemosynary bread , And to renounce God's works , would please that God . And now the poor pale wretch receives , amaz'd , The pity , strangers give to his distress , Because these strangers are , by his dark creed , Condemn'd as Heretics — and with sick heart Regrets

" Regrets his pious prison and his beads . " ] — Lest the same attempts at misrepresentation should now be made , as have been made on former occasions , it is necessary to repeat , that nothing is farther from my thoughts , than to reflect invidiously on the Emigrant Clergy , whose steadiness of principle excites veneration , as much as their sufferings compassion . Adversity has now taught them the charity and humility they perhaps wanted , when they made it a part of their faith , that salvation could be obtained in no other religion than their own .

his pious prison , and his beads . — Another , of more haughty port , declines The aid he needs not ; while in mute despair His high indignant thoughts go back to France , Dwelling on all he lost — the Gothic dome , That vied with splendid palaces

" The splendid palaces . " ] — Let it not be considered as an insult to men in fallen fortune , if these luxuries ( undoubtedly inconsistent with their profession ) be here enumerated — France is not the only country , where the splendour and indulgences of the higher , and the poverty and depression of the inferior Clergy , have alike proved injurious to the cause of Religion .

; the beds Of silk and down , the silver chalices , Vestments with gold enwrought for blazing altars ; Where , amid clouds of incense , he held forth To kneeling crowds the imaginary bones Of Saints suppos'd , in pearl and gold enchas'd , And still with more than living Monarchs' pomp Surrounded ; was believ'd by mumbling bigots To hold the keys of Heaven , and to admit Whom he thought good to share it — Now alas ! He , to whose daring soul and high ambition The World seem'd circumscrib'd ; who , wont to dream Of Fleuri , Richelieu , Alberoni , men Who trod on Empire , and whose politics Were not beyond the grasp of his vast mind , Is , in a Land once hostile , still prophan'd By disbelief , and rites un-orthodox , The object of compassion — At his side , Lighter of heart than these , but heavier far Than he was wont , another victim comes , An Abbé — who with less contracted brow Still smiles and flatters , and still talks of Hope ; Which , sanguine as he is , he does not feel , And so he cheats the sad and weighty pressure Of evils present ; — Still , as Men misled By early prejudice ( so hard to break ) , I mourn your sorrows ; for I too have known Involuntary exile ; and while yet England had charms for me , have felt how sad It is to look across the dim cold sea , That melancholy rolls its refluent tides Between us and the dear regretted land We call our own — as now ye pensive wait On this bleak morning , gazing on the waves That seem to leave your shore ; from whence the wind Is loaded to your ears , with the deep groans Of martyr'd Saints and suffering Royalty , While to your eyes the avenging power of Heaven Appears in aweful anger to prepare The storm of vengeance , fraught with plagues and death . Even he of milder heart , who was indeed The simple shepherd in a rustic scene , And , 'mid the vine-clad hills of Languedoc , Taught to the bare-foot peasant , whose hard hands Produc'd

See the finely descriptive Verses written at Montauban in France in 1750 , by Dr. Joseph Warton . Printed in Dodsley's Miscellanies , Vol. IV . page 203.

the nectar he could seldom taste , Submission to the Lord for whom he toil'd ; He , or his brethren , who to Neustria's sons Enforc'd religious patience , when , at times , On their indignant hearts Power's iron hand Too strongly struck ; eliciting some sparks Of the bold spirit of their native North ; Even these Parochial Priests , these humbled men , Whose lowly undistinguish'd cottages Witness'd a life of purest piety , While the meek tenants were , perhaps , unknown Each to the haughty Lord of his domain , Who mark'd them not ; the Noble scorning still The poor and pious Priest , as with slow pace He glided thro' the dim arch'd avenue Which to the Castle led ; hoping to cheer The last sad hour of some laborious life That hasten'd to its close — even such a Man Becomes an exile ; staying not to try By temperate zeal to check his madd'ning flock , Who , at the novel sound of Liberty ( Ah ! most intoxicating sound to slaves ! ) , Start into licence — Lo ! dejected now , The wandering Pastor mourns , with bleeding heart , His erring people , weeps and prays for them , And trembles for the account that he must give To Heaven for souls entrusted to his care . — Where the cliff , hollow'd by the wintry storm , Affords a seat with matted sea-weed strewn , A softer form reclines ; around her run , On the rough shingles , or the chalky bourn , Her gay unconscious children , soon amus'd ; Who pick the fretted stone , or glossy shell , Or crimson plant marine : or they contrive The fairy vessel , with its ribband sail And gilded paper pennant : in the pool , Left by the salt wave on the yielding sands , They launch the mimic navy — Happy age ! Unmindful of the miseries of Man ! — Alas ! too long a victim to distress , Their Mother , lost in melancholy thought , Lull'd for a moment by the murmurs low Of sullen billows , wearied by the task Of having here , with swol'n and aching eyes Fix'd on the grey horizon , since the dawn Solicitously watch'd the weekly sail From her dear native land , now yields awhile To kind forgetfulness , while Fancy brings , In waking dreams , that native land again ! Versailles appears — its painted galleries , And rooms of regal splendour ; rich with gold , Where , by long mirrors multiply'd , the crowd Paid willing homage — and , united there , Beauty gave charms to empire — Ah ! too soon From the gay visionary pageant rous'd , See the sad mourner start ! — and , drooping , look With tearful eyes and heaving bosom round On drear reality — where dark'ning waves , Urg'd by the rising wind , unheeded foam Near her cold rugged seat : — To call her thence A fellow-sufferer comes : dejection deep Checks , but conceals not quite , the martial air , And that high consciousness of noble blood , Which he has learn'd from infancy to think Exalts him o'er the race of common men : Nurs'd in the velvet lap of luxury , And fed by adulation — could he learn , That worth alone is true Nobility ? And that the peasant who , " amid " Who amid the sons " Of Reason , Valour , Liberty , and Virtue , " Displays distinguished merit , is a Noble " Of Nature's own creation . " ] —

These lines are Thomson's , and are among those sentiments which are now called ( when used by living writers ) , not common-place declamation , but sentiments of dangerous tendency .

the sons " Of Reason , Valour , Liberty , and Virtue , " Displays distinguish'd merit , is a Noble " Of Nature's own creation ! " — If even here , If in this land of highly vaunted Freedom , Even Britons controvert the unwelcome truth , Can it be relish'd by the sons of France ? Men , who derive their boasted ancestry From the fierce leaders of religious wars , The first in Chivalry's emblazon'd page ; Who reckon Gueslin , Bayard , or De Foix , Among their brave Progenitors ? Their eyes , Accustom'd to regard the splendid trophies Of Heraldry ( that with fantastic hand Mingles , like images in feverish dreams , " Gorgons and Hydras , and Chimeras dire , " With painted puns , and visionary shapes ; ) , See not the simple dignity of Virtue , But hold all base , whom honours such as these Exalt not from the crowd

" Exalt not from the crowd . " ] — It has been said , and with great appearance of truth , that the contempt in which the Nobility of France held the common people , was remembered , and with all that vindictive asperity which long endurance of oppression naturally excites , when , by a wonderful concurrence of circumstances , the people acquired the power of retaliation . Yet let me here add , what seems to be in some degree inconsistent with the former charge , that the French are good masters to their servants , and that in their treatment of their Negro slaves , they are allowed to be more mild and merciful than other Europeans .

— As one , who long Has dwelt amid the artificial scenes Of populous City , deems that splendid shows , The Theatre , and pageant pomp of Courts , Are only worth regard ; forgets all taste For Nature's genuine beauty ; in the lapse Of gushing waters hears no soothing sound , Nor listens with delight to sighing winds , That , on their fragrant pinions , waft the notes Of birds rejoicing in the trangled copse ; Nor gazes pleas'd on Ocean's silver breast , While lightly o'er it sails the summer clouds Reflected in the wave , that , hardly heard , Flows on the yellow sands : so to his mind , That long has liv'd where Despotism hides His features harsh , beneath the diadem Of worldly grandeur , abject Slavery seems , If by that power impos'd , slavery no more : For luxury wreathes with silk the iron bonds , And hides the ugly rivets with her flowers , Till the degenerate triflers , while they love The glitter of the chains , forget their weight . But more the Men

" But more the Men . " ] — The Financiers and Fermiers Generaux are here intended . In the present moment of clamour against all those who have spoken or written in favour of the first Revolution of France , the declaimers seem to have forgotten , that under the reign of a mild and easy tempered Monarch , in the most voluptuous Court in the world , the abuses by which men of this description were enriched , had arisen to such height , that their prodigality exhausted the immense resources of France : and , unable to supply the exigencies of Government , the Ministry were compelled to call Le Tiers Etat ; a meeting that gave birth to the Revolution , which has since been so ruinously conducted .

, whose ill acquir'd wealth Was wrung from plunder'd myriads , by the means Too often legaliz'd by power abus'd , Feel all the horrors of the fatal change , When their ephemeral greatness , marr'd at once ( As a vain toy that Fortune's childish hand Equally joy'd to fashion or to crush ) , Leaves them expos'd to universal scorn For having nothing else ; not even the claim To honour , which respect for Heroes past Allows to ancient titles ; Men , like these , Sink even beneath the level , whence base arts Alone had rais'd them ; — unlamented sink , And know that they deserve the woes they feel . Poor wand'ring wretches ! whosoe'er ye are , That hopeless , houseless , friendless , travel wide O'er these bleak russet downs ; where , dimly seen , The solitary Shepherd shiv'ring tends His dun discolour'd flock ( Shepherd , unlike Him , whom in song the Poet's fancy crowns With garlands , and his crook with vi'lets binds ) ; Poor vagrant wretches ! outcasts of the world ! Whom no abode receives , no parish owns ; Roving , like Nature's commoners , the land That boasts such general plenty : if the sight Of wide-extended misery softens yours A while , suspend your murmurs ! — here behold The strange vicissitudes of fate — while thus The exil'd Nobles , from their country driven , Whose richest luxuries were their's , must feel More poignant anguish , than the lowest poor , Who , born to indigence , have learn'd to brave Rigid Adversity's depressing breath ! — Ah ! rather Fortune's worthless favourites ! Who feed on England's vitals — Pensioners Of base corruption , who , in quick ascent To opulence unmerited , become Giddy with pride , and as ye rise , forgetting The dust ye lately left , with scorn look down On those beneath ye ( tho' your equals once In fortune , and in worth superior still , They view the eminence , on which ye stand , With wonder , not with envy ; for they know The means , by which ye reach'd it , have been such As , in all honest eyes , degrade ye far Beneath the poor dependent , whose sad heart Reluctant pleads for what your pride denies ) ; Ye venal , worthless hirelings of a Court ! Ye pamper'd Parasites ! whom Britons pay For forging fetters for them ; rather here Study a lesson that concerns ye much ; And , trembling , learn , that if oppress'd too long , The raging multitude , to madness stung , Will turn on their oppressors ; and , no more By sounding titles and parading forms Bound like tame victims , will redress themselves ! Then swept away by the resistlefs torrent , Not only all your pomp may disappear , But , in the tempest lost , fair Order sink Her decent head , and lawless Anarchy O'erturn celestial Freedom's radiant throne ; — As now in Gallia ; where Confusion , born Of party rage and selfish love of rule , Sully the noblest cause that ever warm'd The heart of Patriot Virtue

" The breast of Patriot Virtue . " ] — This sentiment will probably renew against me the indignation of those , who have an interest in asserting that no such virtue any where exists .

— There arise The infernal passions ; Vengeance , seeking blood , And Avarice ; and Envy's harpy fangs Pollute the immortal shrine of Liberty , Dismay her votaries , and disgrace her name . Respect is due to principle ; and they , Who suffer for their conscience , have a claim , Whate'er that principle may be , to praise . These ill-starr'd Exiles then , who , bound by ties , To them the bonds of honour ; who resign'd Their country to preserve them , and now seek In England an asylum — well deserve To find that ( every prejudice forgot , Which pride and ignorance teaches ) , we for them Feel as our brethren ; and that English hearts , Of just compassion ever own the sway , As truly as our element , the deep , Obeys the mild dominion of the Moon — This they have found ; and may they find it still ! Thus may'st thou , Britain , triumph ! — May thy foes , By Reason's gen'rous potency subdued , Learn , that the God thou worshippest , delights In acts of pure humanity ! — May thine Be still such bloodless laurels ! nobler far Than those acquir'd at Cressy or Poictiers , Or of more recent growth , those well bestow'd On him who stood on Calpe's blazing height Amid the thunder of a warring world , Illustrious rather from the crowds he sav'd From flood and fire , than from the ranks who fell Beneath his valour ! — Actions such as these , Like incense rising to the Throne of Heaven , Far better justify the pride , that swells In British bosoms , than the deafening roar Of Victory from a thousand brazen throats , That tell with what success wide-wasting War Has by our brave Compatriots thinned the world . END OF BOOK I.

NOTES TO THE FIRST BOOK [ Notes have been moved inline . ]

THE EMIGRANTS . BOOK THE SECOND . Quippe ubi fas versum atque nefas : tot bella per orbem Tam multae scelerum facies ; non ullus aratro Dignus honos : squalent abductis arva colonis , Et curva rigidum falces conflantur in ensem Hinc movet Euphrates , illinc Germania bellum Vicinae ruptis inter se legibus urbes Arma ferunt : saevit toto Mars impius orbe . GEOR . lib. i. BOOK II . SCENE , on an Eminence on one of those Downs , which afford to the South a View of the Sea ; to the North of the Weald of Sussex . TIME , an Afternoon in April , 1793. LONG wintry months are past ; the Moon that now Lights her pale crescent even at noon , has made Four times her revolution ; since with step , Mournful and slow , along the wave-worn cliff , Pensive I took my solitary way , Lost in despondence , while contemplating Not my own wayward destiny alone , ( Hard as it is , and difficult to bear ! ) But in beholding the unhappy lot Of the lorn Exiles ; who , amid the storms Of wild disastrous Anarchy , are thrown , Like shipwreck'd sufferers , on England's coast , To see , perhaps , no more their native land , Where Desolation riots : They , like me , From fairer hopes and happier prospects driven , Shrink from the future , and regret the past . But on this Upland scene , while April comes , With fragrant airs , to fan my throbbing breast , Fain would I snatch an interval from Care , That weighs my wearied spirit down to earth ; Courting , once more , the influence of Hope ( For " Hope " still waits upon the flowery prime ) As here I mark Spring's humid hand unfold The early leaves that fear capricious winds , While , even on shelter'd banks , the timid flowers Give , half reluctantly , their warmer hues To mingle with the primroses' pale stars . No shade the leafless copses yet afford , Nor hide the mossy labours of the Thrush , That , startled , darts across the narrow path ; But quickly re-assur'd , resumes his task , Or adds his louder notes to those that rise From yonder tufted brake ; where the white buds Of the first thorn are mingled with the leaves Of that which blossoms on the brow of May . Ah ! 'twill not be : — So many years have pass'd , Since , on my native hills , I learn'd to gaze On these delightful landscapes ; and those years Have taught me so much sorrow , that my soul Feels not the joy reviving Nature brings ; But , in dark retrospect , dejected dwells On human follies , and on human woes . — What is the promise of the infant year , The lively verdure , or the bursting blooms , To those , who shrink from horrors such as War Spreads o'er the affrighted world ? With swimming eye , Back on the past they throw their mournful looks , And see the Temple , which they fondly hop'd Reason would raise to Liberty , destroy'd By ruffian hands ; while , on the ruin'd mass , Flush'd with hot blood , the Fiend of Discord sits In savage triumph ; mocking every plea Of policy and justice , as she shews The headless corse of one , whose only crime Was being born a Monarch — Mercy turns , From spectacle so dire , her swol'n eyes ; And Liberty , with calm , unruffled brow Magnanimous , as conscious of her strength In Reason's panoply , scorns to distain Her righteous cause with carnage , and resigns To Fraud and Anarchy the infuriate crowd . — What is the promise of the infant year To those , who ( while the poor but peaceful hind Pens , unmolested , the encreasing flock Of his rich master in this sea-fenc'd isle ) Survey , in neighbouring countries , scenes that make The sick heart shudder ; and the Man , who thinks , Blush for his species ? There the trumpet's voice Drowns the soft warbling of the woodland choir ; And violets , lurking in their turfy beds Beneath the flow'ring thorn , are stain'd with blood . There fall , at once , the spoiler and the spoil'd ; While War , wide-ravaging , annihilates The hope of cultivation ; gives to Fiends , The meagre , ghastly Fiends of Want and Woe , The blasted land — There , taunting in the van Of vengeance-breathing armies , Insult stalks ; And , in the ranks , " " HOPE waits upon the flowery prime .. " ] — " Famine , and Sword , and Fire , crouch for employment . " ] — SHAKSPEARE . Famine , and Sword , and Fire , " Crouch for employment . " — Lo ! the suffering world , Torn by the fearful conflict , shrinks , amaz'd , From Freedom's name , usurp'd and misapplied , And , cow'ring to the purple Tyrant's rod , Deems that the lesser ill — Deluded Men ! Ere ye prophane her ever-glorious name , Or catalogue the thousands that have bled Resisting her ; or those , who greatly died Martyrs to Liberty — revert awhile To the black scroll , that tells of regal crimes Committed to destroy her ; rather count The hecatombs of victims , who have fallen Beneath a single despot ; or who gave Their wasted lives for some disputed claim Between anointed robbers :

" Monsters both ! " ] — Such was the cause of quarrel between the Houses of York and Lancaster ; and of too many others , with which the page of History reproaches the reason of man .

Monsters both ! " " Oh ! polish'd perturbation ! — golden care ! " ] SHAKSPEARE . Oh ! Polish'd perturbation — golden care ! " So strangely coveted by feeble Man To lift him o'er his fellows ; — Toy , for which Such showers of blood have drench'd th' affrighted earth — Unfortunate his lot , whose luckless head Thy jewel'd circlet , lin'd with thorns , has bound ; And who , by custom's laws , obtains from thee Hereditary right to rule , uncheck'd , Submissive myriads : for untemper'd power , Like steel ill form'd , injures the hand It promis'd to protect — Unhappy France ! If e'er thy lilies , trampled now in dust , And blood-bespotted , shall again revive In silver splendour , may the wreath be wov'n By voluntary hands ; and Freemen , such As England's self might boast , unite to place The guarded diadem on his fair brow , Where Loyalty may join with Liberty To fix it firmly . — In the rugged school Of stern Adversity so early train'd , His future life , perchance , may emulate That of the brave Bernois

" The brave Bernois . " ] — Henry the Fourth of France . It may be said of this monarch , that had all the French sovereigns resembled him , despotism would have lost its horrors ; yet he had considerable failings , and his greatest virtues may be chiefly imputed to his education in the School of Adversity .

, so justly call'd The darling of his people ; who rever'd The Warrior less , than they ador'd the Man ! But ne'er may Party Rage , perverse and blind , And base Venality , prevail to raise To public trust , a wretch , whose private vice Makes even the wildest profligate recoil ; And who , with hireling ruffians leagu'd , has burst The laws of Nature and Humanity ! Wading , beneath the Patriot's specious mask , And in Equality's illusive name , To empire thro' a stream of kindred blood — Innocent prisoner ! — most unhappy heir Of fatal greatness , who art suffering now For all the crimes and follies of thy race ; Better for thee , if o'er thy baby brow The regal mischief never had been held : Then , in an humble sphere , perhaps content , Thou hadst been free and joyous on the heights Of Pyrennean mountains , shagg'd with woods Of chesnut , pine , and oak : as on these hills Is yonder little thoughtless shepherd lad , Who , on the slope abrupt of downy turf Reclin'd in playful indolence , sends off The chalky ball , quick bounding far below ; While , half forgetful of his simple task , Hardly his length'ning shadow , or the bells' Slow tinkling of his flock , that supping tend To the brown fallows in the vale beneath , Where nightly it is folded , from his sport Recal the happy idler . — While I gaze On his gay vacant countenance , my thoughts Compare with his obscure , laborious lot , Thine , most unfortunate , imperial Boy ! Who round thy sullen prison daily hear'st The savage howl of Murder , as it seeks Thy unoffending life : while sad within Thy wretched Mother , petrified with grief , Views thee with stony eyes , and cannot weep ! — Ah ! much I mourn thy sorrows , hapless Queen ! And deem thy expiation made to Heaven For every fault , to which Prosperity Betray'd thee , when it plac'd thee on a throne Where boundless power was thine , and thou wert rais'd High ( as it seem'd ) above the envious reach Of destiny ! Whate'er thy errors were , Be they no more remember'd ; tho' the rage Of Party swell'd them to such crimes , as bade Compassion stifle every sigh that rose For thy disastrous lot — More than enough Thou hast endur'd ; and every English heart , Ev'n those , that highest beat in Freedom's cause , Disclaim as base , and of that cause unworthy , The Vengeance , or the Fear , that makes thee still A miserable prisoner ! — Ah ! who knows , From sad experience , more than I , to feel For thy desponding spirit , as it sinks Beneath procrastinated fears for those More dear to thee than life ! But eminence Of misery is thine , as once of joy ; And , as we view the strange vicissitude , We ask anew , where happiness is found ? — Alas ! in rural life , where youthful dreams See the Arcadia that Romance describes , Not even Content resides ! — In yon low hut Of clay and thatch , where rises the grey smoke Of smold'ring turf , cut from the adjoining moor , The labourer , its inhabitant , who toils From the first dawn of twilight , till the Sun Sinks in the rosy waters of the West , Finds that with poverty it cannot dwell ; For bread , and scanty bread , is all he earns For him and for his household — Should Disease , Born of chill wintry rains , arrest his arm , Then , thro' his patch'd and straw-stuff'd casement , peeps The squalid figure of extremest Want ; And from the Parish the reluctant dole , Dealt by th' unfeeling farmer , hardly saves The ling'ring spark of life from cold extinction : Then the bright Sun of Spring , that smiling bids All other animals rejoice , beholds , Crept from his pallet , the emaciate wretch Attempt , with feeble effort , to resume Some heavy task , above his wasted strength , Turning his wistful looks ( how much in vain ! ) To the deserted mansion , where no more The owner ( gone to gayer scenes ) resides , Who made even luxury , Virtue ; while he gave The scatter'd crumbs to honest Poverty . — But , tho' the landscape be too oft deform'd By figures such as these , yet Peace is here , And o'er our vallies , cloath'd with springing corn , No hostile hoof shall trample , nor fierce flames Wither the wood's young verdure , ere it form Gradual the laughing May's luxuriant shade ; For , by the rude sea guarded , we are safe , And feel not evils such as with deep sighs The Emigrants deplore , as they recal The Summer past , when Nature seem'd to lose Her course in wild distemperature , and aid , With seasons all revers'd , destructive War . Shuddering , I view the pictures they have drawn Of desolated countries , where the ground , Stripp'd of its unripe produce , was thick strewn With various Death — the war-horse falling there By famine , and his rider by the sword . The moping clouds sail'd heavy charg'd with rain , And bursting o'er the mountains misty brow , Deluged , as with an inland sea , the vales

" Delug'd , as with an inland sea , the vales . " ] — From the heavy and incessant rains during the last campaign , the armies were often compelled to march for many miles through marshes overflowed ; suffering the extremities of cold and fatigue . The peasants frequently misled them ; and , after having passed these inundations at the hazard of their lives , they were sometimes under the necessity of crossing them a second and a third time ; their evening quarters after such a day of exertion were often in a wood without shelter ; and their repast , instead of bread , unripe corn , without any other preparation than being mashed into a sort of paste .

; Where , thro' the sullen evening's lurid gloom , Rising , like columns of volcanic fire , The flames of burning villages illum'd The waste of water ; and the wind , that howl'd Along its troubled surface , brought the groans Of plunder'd peasants , and the frantic shrieks Of mothers for their children ; while the brave , To pity still alive , listen'd aghast To these dire echoes , hopeless to prevent The evils they beheld , or check the rage , Which ever , as the people of one land Meet in contention , fires the human heart With savage thirst of kindred blood , and makes Man lose his nature ; rendering him more fierce Than the gaunt monsters of the howling waste . Oft have I heard the melancholy tale , Which , all their native gaiety forgot , These Exiles tell — How Hope impell'd them on , Reckless of tempest , hunger , or the sword , Till order'd to retreat , they knew not why , From all their flattering prospects , they became The prey of dark suspicion and regret

" The prey of dark suspicion and regret . " ] — It is remarkable , that notwithstanding the excessive hardships to which the army of the Emigrants was exposed , very few in it suffered from disease till they began to retreat ; then it was that despondence consigned to the most miserable death many brave men who deserved a better fate ; and then despair impelled some to suicide , while others fell by mutual wounds , unable to survive disappointment and humiliation .

: Then , in despondence , sunk the unnerv'd arm Of gallant Loyalty — At every turn Shame and disgrace appear'd , and seem'd to mock Their scatter'd squadrons ; which the warlike youth , Unable to endure " Right onward . " ] MILTON , Sonnet 22d . , often implor'd , As the last act of friendship , from the hand Of some brave comrade , to receive the blow That freed the indignant spirit from its pain . To a wild mountain , whose bare summit hides Its broken eminence in clouds ; whose steeps Are dark with woods ; where the receding rocks Are worn by torrents of dissolving snow , A wretched Woman , pale and breathless , flies ! And , gazing round her , listens to the sound Of hostile footsteps — No ! it dies away : Nor noise remains , but of the cataract , Or surly breeze of night , that mutters low Among the thickets , where she trembling seeks A temporary shelter — clasping close To her hard-heaving heart her sleeping child , All she could rescue of the innocent groupe That yesterday surrounded her — Escap'd Almost by miracle ! Fear , frantic Fear , Wing'd her weak feet : yet , half repentant now Her headlong haste , she wishes she had staid To die with those affrighted Fancy paints The lawless soldier's victims — Hark ! again The driving tempest bears the cry of Death , And , with deep sullen thunder , the dread sound Of cannon vibrates on the tremulous earth ; While , bursting in the air , the murderous bomb Glares o'er her mansion . Where the splinters fall , Like scatter'd comets , its destructive path Is mark'd by wreaths of flame ! — Then , overwhelm'd Beneath accumulated horror , sinks The desolate mourner ; yet , in Death itself , True to maternal tenderness , she tries To save the unconscious infant from the storm In which she perishes ; and to protect This last dear object of her ruin'd hopes From prowling monsters , that from other hills , More inaccessible , and wilder wastes , Lur'd by the scent of slaughter , follow fierce Contending hosts , and to polluted fields Add dire increase of horrors — But alas ! The Mother and the Infant perish both ! — The feudal Chief , whose Gothic battlements Frown on the plain beneath , returning home From distant lands , alone and in disguise , Gains at the fall of night his Castle walls , But , at the vacant gate , no Porter sits To wait his Lord's admittance ! — In the courts All is drear silence ! — Guessing but too well The fatal truth , he shudders as he goes Thro' the mute hall ; where , by the blunted light That the dim moon thro' painted casements lends , He sees that devastation has been there : Then , while each hideous image to his mind Rises terrific , o'er a bleeding corse Stumbling he falls ; another interrupts His staggering feet — all , all who us'd to rush With joy to meet him — all his family Lie murder'd in his way ! — And the day dawns On a wild raving Maniac , whom a fate So sudden and calamitous has robb'd Of reason ; and who round his vacant walls Screams unregarded , and reproaches Heaven ! — Such are thy dreadful trophies , savage War ! And evils such as these , or yet more dire , Which the pain'd mind recoils from , all are thine — The purple Pestilence , that to the grave Sends whom the sword has spar'd , is thine ; and thine The Widow's anguish and the Orphan's tears ! — Woes such as these does Man inflict on Man ; And by the closet murderers , whom we style Wise Politicians , are the schemes prepar'd , Which , to keep Europe's wavering balance even , Depopulate her kingdoms , and consign To tears and anguish half a bleeding world ! — Oh ! could the time return , when thoughts like these Spoil'd not that gay delight , which vernal Suns , Illuminating hills , and woods , and fields , Gave to my infant spirits — Memory come ! And from distracting cares , that now deprive Such scenes of all their beauty , kindly bear My fancy to those hours of simple joy , When , on the banks of Arun , which I see Make its irriguous course thro' yonder meads , I play'd ; unconscious then of future ill ! There ( where , from hollows fring'd with yellow broom , The birch with silver rind , and fairy leaf , Aslant the low stream trembles ) I have stood , And meditated how to venture best Into the shallow current , to procure The willow herb of glowing purple spikes , Or flags , whose sword-like leaves conceal'd the tide , Startling the timid reed-bird from her nest , As with aquatic flowers I wove the wreath , Such as , collected by the shepherd girls , Deck in the villages the turfy shrine , And mark the arrival of propitious May . — How little dream'd I then the time would come , When the bright Sun of that delicious month Should , from disturb'd and artificial sleep , Awaken me to never-ending toil , To terror and to tears ! — Attempting still , With feeble hands and cold desponding heart , To save my children from the o'erwhelming wrongs , That have for ten long years been heap'd on me ! — The fearful spectres of chicane and fraud Have , Proteus like , still chang'd their hideous forms ( As the Law lent its plausible disguise ) , Pursuing my faint steps ; and I have seen Friendship's sweet bonds ( which were so early form'd , ) And once I fondly thought of amaranth Inwove with silver seven times tried ) give way , And fail ; as these green fan-like leaves of fern Will wither at the touch of Autumn's frost . Yet there are those , whose patient pity still Hears my long murmurs ; who , unwearied , try With lenient hands to bind up every wound My wearied spirit feels , and bid me go " Right onward " — a calm votary of the Nymph , Who , from her adamantine rock , points out To conscious rectitude the rugged path , That leads at length to Peace ! — Ah ! yes , my friends Peace will at last be mine ; for in the Grave Is Peace — and pass a few short years , perchance A few short months , and all the various pain I now endure shall be forgotten there , And no memorial shall remain of me , Save in your bosoms ; while even your regret Shall lose its poignancy , as ye reflect What complicated woes that grave conceals ! But , if the little praise , that may await The Mother's efforts , should provoke the spleen Of Priest or Levite ; and they then arraign The dust that cannot hear them ; be it yours To vindicate my humble fame ; to say , That , not in selfish sufferings absorb'd , " I gave to misery all I had , my tears " I gave to misery all I had , my tears . " ] GRAY . . " And if , where regulated sanctity Pours her long orisons to Heaven , my voice Was seldom heard , that yet my prayer was made To him who hears even silence ; not in domes Of human architecture , fill'd with crowds , But on these hills , where boundless , yet distinct , Even as a map , beneath are spread the fields His bounty cloaths ; divided here by woods , And there by commons rude , or winding brooks , While I might breathe the air perfum'd with flowers , Or the fresh odours of the mountain turf ; And gaze on clouds above me , as they sail'd Majestic : or remark the reddening north , When bickering arrows of electric fire Flash on the evening sky — I made my prayer In unison with murmuring waves that now Swell with dark tempests , now are mild and blue , As the bright arch above ; for all to me Declare omniscient goodness ; nor need I Declamatory essays to incite My wonder or my praise , when every leaf That Spring unfolds , and every simple bud , More forcibly impresses on my heart His power and wisdom — Ah ! while I adore That goodness , which design'd to all that lives Some taste of happiness , my soul is pain'd By the variety of woes that Man For Man creates — his blessings often turn'd To plagues and curses : Saint-like Piety , Misled by Superstition , has destroy'd More than Ambition ; and the sacred flame Of Liberty becomes a raging fire , When Licence and Confusion bid it blaze . From thy high throne , above yon radiant stars , O Power Omnipotent ! with mercy view This suffering globe , and cause thy creatures cease , With savage fangs , to tear her bleeding breast : Restrain that rage for power , that bids a Man , Himself a worm , desire unbounded rule O'er beings like himself : Teach the hard hearts Of rulers , that the poorest hind , who dies For their unrighteous quarrels , in thy sight Is equal to the imperious Lord , that leads His disciplin'd destroyers to the field . — May lovely Freedom , in her genuine charms , Aided by stern but equal Justice , drive From the ensanguin'd earth the hell-born fiends Of Pride , Oppression , Avarice , and Revenge , That ruin what thy mercy made so fair ! Then shall these ill-starr'd wanderers , whose sad fate These desultory lines lament , regain Their native country ; private vengeance then To public virtue yield ; and the fierce feuds , That long have torn their desolated land , May ( even as storms , that agitate the air , Drive noxious vapours from the blighted earth ) Serve , all tremendous as they are , to fix The reign of Reason , Liberty , and Peace !

NOTES TO THE SECOND BOOK [ Notes have been moved inline . ]