Hannah More: Verses about Silence

'Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die.' - Isaiah xxxviii.

What! and no more? - Is this, my soul, said I,
My whole of being? - Must I surely die?
Be robbed at once of health, of strength, of time,
Of youth's fair promise, and of pleasure's prime?
Shall I no more behold the face of morn,
The cheerful day-light, and the spring's return?
Must I the festive bower, the banquet leave,
For the dull chambers of the darksome grave?

Have I consider'd what it is to die?
In native dust with kindred worms to lie;
To sleep in cheerless cold neglect! to rot!
My body loath'd, my very name forgot!
Not one of all those parasites, who bend
The supple knee, their monarch to attend!
What, not one friend! No, not a hireling slave
Shall hail great Hezekiah in the grave.
Where's
he
, who falsely claim'd the name of
great
?
Whose eye was terror, and whose frown was fate?
Who aw'd a hundred nations from the throne?
See, where he lies, dumb, friendless, and alone!
Which grain of dust proclaims the noble birth?
Which is the royal particle of earth?
Where are the marks, the princely ensigns where?
Which is the slave, and which great David's heir?
Alas! the beggar's ashes are not known
From his who lately sat on Israel's throne!

How stands my great account? My soul, survey
The debt eternal justice bids thee pray!
Should I frail Memory's records strive to blot,
Will Heaven's tremendous reckoning be forgot?
Can I, alas, the awful volume tear?
Or rase one page of the dread register?
'
Prepare thy house, thy heart in order set;
Prepare the Judge of Heaven and Earth to meet.
'
So spake the warning Prophet. - Awful words:
Which fearfully my troubled soul records.

Am
I Prepar'd? And
can
I meet my doom?
Nor shudder at the dreaded wrath to come?
Is all in order set, my house, my heart?
Does no besetting sin still claim a part?
No cherish'd error, loth to quit its place,
Obstruct within my soul the work of grace?
Did I each day for this great day prepare,
By righteous deeds, by sin-subduing pray'r?
Did I each night, each day's offence repent,
And each unholy thought and word lament?
Still have these ready hands th' afflicted fed,
And minister'd to Want her daily bread?
The cause I knew not did I well explore?
Friend, advocate, and parent of the poor?
Did I, to gratify some sudden gust
Of thoughtless appetite, some impious lust
Of pleasure or of pow'r, such sums employ
As would have flush'd pale penury with joy?
Did I in groves forbidden altars raise,
Or molten gods adore, or idols praise?
Did my firm faith to Heaven still point the way?
Did Charity to man my actions sway?
Did meek-ey'd Patience all my steps attend?
Did generous Candour mark me for her friend?
Did I unjustly seek to build my name
On the pil'd ruins of another's fame?
Did I abhor, as hell, th' insidious lie,
The low deceit, th' unmanly calumny?
Did my fix'd soul the impious wit detest?
Did my firm virtue scorn the unhallow'd jest,
The sneer profane, and the poor ridicule
Of shallow Infidelity's dull school?
Did I still live as born one day to die,
And view th' eternal world with constant eye?

If so I liv'd, if so I kept thy word,
In mercy view, in mercy hear me, Lord!
For oh! how strict soe'er I kept thy law,
From mercy only all my hopes I draw:
My holiest deeds
indulgence
will require;
The best but to
forgiveness
will aspire;
If thou my purest services regard,
'Twill be with pardon only, not reward.
How imperfection's stamp'd on all below!
How sin intrudes in all we say or do!
How late in all the insolence of health,
I charm'd th' Assyrian by my boast of wealth
How fondly, with elab'rate pomp, display'd
My glittering treasures! with what triumph laid
My gold and gems before his dazzled eyes,
And found a rich reward in his surprise!
Oh! mean of soul, can wealth elate the heart,
Which of the man himself is not a part!
Oh, poverty of pride! Oh, foul disgrace!
Disgusted Reason, blushing, hides her face.
Mortal, and proud! strange contradicting terms!
Pride for death's victim, for the prey of worms:
Of all the wonders which the eventful life
Of man presents; of all the mental strife
Of warring passions; all the raging fires
Of furious appetites and mad desires;
Not one so strange appears as this alone,
That man is proud of what is not his own.

How short is human life! the very breath
Which frames my words, accelerates my death.
Of this short life how large a portion's fled!
To what is gone I am already dead;
As dead to all my years and minutes past,
As I, to what remains, shall be at last;
Can I past miseries so far forget,
To view my vanish'd years with fond regret?
Can I again my worn-out fancy cheat?
Indulge fresh hope? solicit new deceit?
Of all the vanities weak man admires,
Which greatness gives, youth hopes, or pride desires,
Of these, my soul, which hast thou not enjoy'd?
With each, with all, thy stated pow'rs are cloy'd.
What can I then expect from length of days?
More wealth, more wisdom, pleasure, health, or praise?
More pleasure! hope not that, deluded king;
For when did age increase of pleasure bring?
Is health, of years prolong'd the common breast?
And dear-earn'd Fame, is not cheaply lost?
More Wisdom! that indeed were happiness;
That were a wish a king might well confess;
But when did Wisdom covet length of days?
Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise?
No: - Wisdom views with an indifferent eye
All finite joys, all blessings born to die.
The soul on earth is an immortal guest,
Compell'd to starve at an unreal feast:
A spark, which upward tends by Nature's force;
A stream diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea;
A moment, parted from eternity;
A pilgrim panting for the rest to come;
An exile, anxious for his native home.

Why should I ask my forfeit life to save?
Is Heav'n unjust which dooms me to the grave?
Was I with hope of endless days deceived?
Or of lov'd life am I alone bereav'd?
Let all the great, the rich, the learn'd, the wise,
Let all the shades of Judah's monarchs rise,
And say, if genius, learning, empire, wealth,
Youth, beauty, virtue, strength, renown, or health,
Has once revers'd the immutable decree
On Adam pass'd, of man's mortality?
What! have these eyes ne'er seen the felon worm
The damask cheek devour, the finish'd form?
On the pale rose of blasted beauty feed,
And riot on the lip so lately red?
Where are our fathers? Where th' illustrious line
Of holy prophets, and of seers divine?
Live they for ever? Do they shun the grave?
Or when did wisdom its professor save?
When did the brave escape? When did the breasts
Of eloquence charm the dull ear of death?
When did the cunning argument avail,
The polish'd period, or the varnish'd tale;
The eye of lightning, or the soul of fire,
Which thronging thousands crowded to admire?
Even while we praise the verse the poet dies;
And silent as his lyre great David lies.
Thou, blest Isaiah! who, at God's command
Now speak'st repentance to a guilty land,
Must die! as wise and good thou had'st not been,
As Nebat's son, who taught the land to sin.

And shall I then be spar'd? Oh monstrous pride!
Shall I escape, when Solomon has died?
If all the worth of all the saints were vain -
Peace, peace, my troubled soul, nor dare complain!
Lord, I submit. Complete thy gracious will;
For if thou slay me, I will trust Thee still.
Oh! be my will so swallow'd up in thine!
That I may do thy will in doing mine.

Where beauteous Belmont rears her modest brow
To view Sabrina's silver waves below,
Lived young Ianthe, fair as beauty's Queen;
She reign'd unrivall'd in the sylvan scene;
Here every charm of symmetry and grace,
Which aids the triumph of the fairest face;
With all that softer elegance of mind,
By genius heighten'd, and by taste refined.
Yet early was she doom'd the child of care,
For hapless love subdued th' ill-fated fair.
Ah! what avails each captivating grace,
The form enchanting, or the fairest face!
Or what each beauty of the heaven-born mind,
The soul superior, or the taste refined?

Beauty
but serves destruction to ensure,
And
sense
, to feel the pang it cannot cure.

Each neighbouring youth aspired to gain her hand,
And many a suitor came from many a land:
But all in vain each neighbouring youth aspired,
And distant suitors all in vain admired.
Averse to hear, yet fearful to offend,
The lover she refused she made a friend:
Her meek rejection wore so mild a face,
More like acceptance seem'd it, than disgrace.

Young Polydore, the pride of rural swains,
Was wont to visit Helmont's blooming plains:
Who has not heard how Polydore could throw
Th' unerring dart to wound the flying doe?
How leave the swiftest at the race behind,
How mount the courser, and outstrip the wind?
With melting sweetness, or with magic fire,
Breathe the soft lute, or sweep the well-strung lyre?
From that famed lyre no vulgar music sprung,
The Graces tun'd it, and Apollo strung.

Apollo too was once a shepherd swain,
And fed the flock, and grac'd the rustic plain,
He taught what charms to rural life belong,
The social sweetness, and the sylvan song;
He taught fair Wisdom in her grove to woo,
Her joys how precious, and her wants how few!
The savage herds in mute attention stood,
And ravish'd Echo fill'd the vocal wood;
The sacred Sisters, stooping from their sphere,
Forgot their golden harps, intent to hear:
Till Heaven the scene survey'd with jealous eyes,
And Jove, in envy, call'd him to the skies.

Young Polydore was rich in large domains,
In smiling pastures, and in flow'ry plains;
With these, he boasted each exterior charm,
To win the prudent, and the cold to warm;
The fairest semblance of desert he bore,
And each fictitious mark of goodness wore;
Could act the tenderness he never felt,
In sorrow soften, and in anguish melt.
The sight elaborate, the fraudful tear,
The joy dissembled, and the well-feign'd fear,
All these were his; and his each treach'rous art
That steals the guileless and unpractis'd heart.

Too soon he heard of fair Ianthe's fame,
'Twas each enamour'd Shepherd's fav'rite theme;
Return'd the rising, and the setting sun,
The Shepherd's fav'rite theme was never done.
They prais'd her wit, her worth, her shape, her air!
And even interior beauties own'd her fair.

Such sweet perfection all his wonder mov'd;
He saw, admired, nay, fancied that he loved:
But Polydore no gen'rous passion knew,
Lost to all truth in feigning to be true.
No lasting tenderness could warm a heart,
Too vain to feel, too selfish to impart.

Cold as the snows of Rhodope descend,
And with the chilling waves of Hebrus blend
So cold the breast where Vanity presides,
And the whole subject soul absorbs and guides.

Too well he knew to make his conquest sure,
Win her soft heart, yet keep his own secure.
So oft he told the well-imagin'd tale,
So oft he swore - how should he
not
prevail?
The well-imagin'd tale the nymph believ'd;
Too unsuspecting not to be deceiv'd:
She loved the youth, she thought herself beloved,
Nor blush'd to praise whom every maid approved.
The conquest once achiev'd, the brightest fair
When conquer'd, was no longer worth his care:
When to the world her passion he could prove,
Vain of his pow'r, he jested at her love,
The perjured youth, from sad Ianthe far,
To win fresh triumphs, wages cruel war.
With other nymphs behold the wand'rer rove,
And tell the story of Ianthe's love;
He mocks her easy faith, insults her woe,
Nor pities tears himself had taught to flow.
To sad Ianthe soon the tale was borne,
How Polydore to treach'ry added scorn.

And now her eyes'' soft radiance 'gan to fail,
And now the crimson of her cheek grew pale;
The lily there, in faded beauty shows,
Its sickly empire o'er the vanquish'd rose.
Devouring Sorrow marks her for his prey,
And, slow and certain, mines his silent way.
Yet, as apace her ebbing life declined,
Increasing strength sustain'd her firmer mind.
'O had my heart been hard as his,' she cried,
'An hapless victim thus I had not died:
If there be gods, and gods there surely are,
Insulted virtue doubtless is their care.
Then hasten, righteous powers! my tedious fate,
Shorten my woes, and end my mortal date:
Quick let your power transform this failing frame,
Let me be any thing but what I am!
And since the cruel woes I'm doom'd to feel,
Proceed, alas! from having lov'd too well:
Grant me some form where love can have no part,
No human weakness reach my guarded heart;
Where no soft touch of passion can be felt,
No fond affection this weak bosom melt.
If pity has not left your blest abodes,
Change me to flinty adamant, ye gods!
To hardest rock, or monumental stone,
So may I know no more the pangs I've known;
So shall I thus no farther torment prove,
Nor taunting rivals say she died for love:
For sure, if ought can aggravate our woe,
'Tis the feign'd pity of a prosp'rous foe.'
Thus pray'd the nymph - and straight the Pow'rs addrest,
Accord the weeping suppliant's sad request.

Then, strange to tell! if rural folks say true,
To harden'd Rock the stiff'ning damsel grew;
No more her shapeless features can be known,
Stone is her body, and her limbs are stone;
The growing Rock invades her beauteous face,
And quickly petrifies each living grace:
The stone, her stature nor her shape retains,
The Nymph is vanish'd, but the rock remains.
No vestige now of human shape appears,
No cheek for blushes, and no eyes for tears:
Yet - strange the marvels Poets can impart!
Unchang'd, unchill'd, remain'd the glowing heart;
Its vital spirits destin'd still to keep,
It scorn'd to mingle with the marble heap.

When babbling Fame the wondrous tidings bore,
Grief seiz'd the soul of perjur'd Polydore;
And now the falsehood of his soul appears,
And now his broken vows assail his ears.
Appall'd, his smitten fancy seems to view
The nymph so lovely, and the friend so true.
For since her absense, all the virgin train,
His admiration sought to win in vain.

Tho' not to keep him even Ianthe knew,
From vanity alone his falsehood grew:
O let the youthful heart, thus warn'd, beware,
Of vanity, how deep, how wide the snare;
That half the mischiefs youth and beauty know,
From Vanity's exhaustless fountain flow.

Now deep remorse deprives his soul of rest,
And deep compunction wounds his guilty breast;
Then to the fatal spot in haste he flew,
Eager some vestige of the maid to view;
The shapeless Rock he mark'd, but found no trace
Of lost Ianthe's form, Ianthe's face.
He fix'd his streaming eyes upon the stone,
'And take, sweet maid,' he cried, 'my parting groan;
Since we are doom'd thus terribly to part,
No other nymph shall ever share my heart;
Thus only I'm absolv'd' - he rashly cried,
Then plung'd a deadly poniard in his side!
Fainting, the steel he grasp'd, and as he fell,
The weapon pierc'd the Rock he loved so well;
The guiltless steel assail'd the living part,
And stabb'd the vital, vulnerable heart.
And tho' the rocky mass was pale before,
Behold it ting'd with ruddy streams of gore!
The life-blood issuing from the wounded stone,
Blends with the crimson current of his own;
From Polydore's fresh wound it flow'd in part,
But chief emitted from Ianthe's heart.
And tho' revolving ages since have past,
The meeting torrents undiminish'd last:
Still gushes out the sanguine stream amain,
The standing wonder of the stranger swain.

Now once a ear, so rustic records tell,
When o'er the heath resounds the midnight bell;
On eve of midsummer, that foe to sleep,
What time young maids their annual vigils keep,
The tell-tale shrub, fresh gather'd to declare
The swains who false, from those who constant are;
When ghosts in clanking chains the church-yard walk,
And to the wond'ring ear of fancy talk;
When the scar'd maid steals trembling thro' the grove,
To kiss the grave of him who died for love:
When, with long watchings, Care, at length opprest,
Steals broken pauses of uncertain rest;
Nay, Grief short snatches of repose can take,
And nothing but Despair is quite awake:
Then, at the hour, so still, so full of fear,
When all things horrible to thought appear,
Is perjured Polydore observ'd to rove
A ghastly spectre thro' the gloomy grove;
Then to the Rock, the Bleeding Rock repair,
Where, sadly sighing, it dissolves to air,

Still when the hours of solemn rites return,
The village train in sad procession mourn;
Pluck ev'ry weed which might the spot disgrace,
And plant the fairest field-flowers in their place.
Around no noxious plant or flow'ret grows,
But the first daffodil, and earliest rose:
The snow-drop spreads its whitest bosom here,
And golden cowslips grace the vernal year:
Here the pale primrose takes a fairer hue,
And ev'ry violet boasts a brighter blue.
Here builds the wood-lark, here the faithful dove
Laments his lost, or wooes his living love.
Secure from harm is ev'ry hallow'd nest,
The spot is sacred where true lovers rest.
To guard the Rock from each malignant sprite,
A troop of guardian spirits watch by night;
Aloft in air each takes his little stand,
The neighb'ring hill is hence call'd Fairy Land.

VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
Not with the days of early Greece,
I mean to ope my slender piece;
The rare Symposium to proclaim
Which crown'd th' Athenians' social name;
Or how Aspasia's parties shone,
The first Bas-bleu at Athens known;
Where SOCRATES unbending sat,
With ALCIBIADES in chat;
And PERICLES vouchsafed to mix
Taste, wit, and mirth, with politics.
Nor need I stop my tale to show,
At least to readers such as you,
How all that Rome esteem'd polite,
Supp'd with LUCULLUS every night;
LUCULLUS, who, from Pontus come,
Brought conquests, and brought cherries home.
Name but the suppers in th' Appollo,
What classic images will follow!
How wit flew round, while each might take
Conchylia from the Lucrine lake;
And Attic Salt, and Garum Sauce,
And Lettuce from the Isle of Cos;
The first and last from Greece transplanted,
Us'd here--because the rhyme I wanted:
How pheasant's heads, with cost collected,
And Phenicopters' stood neglected,
To laugh at SCIPIO's lucky hit,
POMPEY's bon-mot, or CAESAR's wit!
Intemperance, list'ning to the tale,
Forgot the Mullet growing stale;
And Admiration, balanc'd, hung
'Twixt PEACOCKS' brains, and TULLY's tongue.
I shall not stop to dwell on these,
But be as epic as I please,
And plunge at once in medias res.
To prove that privilege I plead,
I'll quote some Greek I cannot read;
Stunn'd by Authority you yield,
And I, not reason, keep the field.
Long was Society o'er-run
By Whist, that desolating Hun;
Long did Quadrille despotic sit,
That Vandal of colloquial wit;
And Conversation's setting light
Lay half-obscur'd in Gothic night.
At length the mental shades decline,
Colloquial wit begins to shine;
Genius prevails, and Conversation
Emerges into Reformation.
The vanquish'd triple crown to you,
BOSCAWEN sage, bright MONTAGU,
Divided, fell;--your cares in haste
Rescued the ravag'd realms of Taste;
And LYTTLETON's accomplish'd name,
And witty PULTENEY shar'd the fame;
The Men not bound by pedant rules
Nor Ladies Precieuses ridicules;*
For polish'd WALPOLE show'd the way,
How wits may be both learn'd and gay;
And CARTER taught the female train,
The deeply wise are never vain;
And she who SHAKSPEARE's wrongs redrest,
Prov'd that the brightest are the best.
This just deduction still they drew,
And well they practis'd what they knew;
Nor taste, nor wit, deserves applause,
Unless still true to critic laws;
Good sense, of faculties the best,
Inspire and regulate the rest.
Oh! how unlike the wit that fell,
RAMBOUILLET! at thy quaint Hotel;
Where point, and turn, and equivoque,
Distorted every word they spoke!
All so intolerably bright,
Plain Common Sense was put to flight;
Each speaker, so ingenious ever,
'Twas tiresome to be quite so clever;
There twisted Wit forgot to please,
And Mood and Figure banish'd ease:
No votive altar smok'd to thee,
Chaste Queen, divine Simplicity!
But forc'd Conceit, which ever fails,
And, stff Antithesis prevails;
Uneasy rivalry destroys
Society's unlabour'd joys:
NATURE, of stilts and fetters tir'd,
Impatient from the Wits retir'd;
Long time the Exile houseless stray'd,
Till SEVIGNE receiv'd the maid.
Though here she comes to bless our isle,
Not universal is her smile.
Muse! snatch the Lyre which CAMBRIDGE strung,
When he the empty ballroom sung;
'Tis tun'd above thy pitch, I doubt,
And thou no music wouldst draw out:
Yet, in a lower note, presume
To sing the full dull Drawing-room.
Where the dire Circle keeps its station,
Each common phrase is an oration;
And cracking fans, and whisp'ring Misses,
Compose their Conversation blisses.
The matron marks the goodly show,
While the tall daughter eyes the Beau--
The frigid Beau! Ah! luckless fair,
'Tis not for you that studied air;
Ah! not for you that sidelong glance,
And all that charming nonchalance;
Ah! not for you the three long hours
He worshipp'd the Cosmetic powers;
That finish'd head which breathes perfume,
And kills the nerves of half the room;
And all the murders meant to lie
in that large, languishing, grey eye;
Desist:--less wild th' attempt would be,
To warm the snows of Rhodope:
Too cold to feel, too proud to feign,
For him you're wise and fair in vain;
In vain to charm him you intend,
Self is his object, aim, and end.
Chill shade of that affected Peer,
Who dreaded Mirth, come safely here!
For here no vulgar joy effaces
Thy rage for polish, ton, and graces.
Cold Ceremony's leaden hand
Waves o'er the room her poppy wand;
Arrives the stranger; every guest
Conspires to torture the distrest;
At once they rise--so have I seen--
You guess the simile I mean,
Take what comparison you please,
The crowded streets, the swarming bees,
The pebbles on the shores that lie,
The stars which form the galaxy;
These serve t' embellish what is said,
And show, besides, that one has read;--
At once they rise--th' astonish'd guest
Back in a corner slinks, distrest;
Scar'd at the many bowing round,
And shock'd at her own voice's sound,
Forgot the thing she meant to say,
Her words, half-utter'd, die away;
In sweet oblivion down she sinks,
And of her next appointment thinks.
While her loud neighbour on the right,
Boasts what she has to do to-night;
So very much, you'd swear her pride is
To match the labours of ALCIDES;
'Tis true, in hyperbolic measure,
She nobly calls her labours Pleasure;
In this unlike ALCMENA's son,
She never means they should be done;
Her fancy of no limits dreams,
No ne plus ultra stops her schemes;
Twelve! she'd have scorn'd the paltry round,
No Pillars would have marked her bound;
CALPE and ABYLA, in vain
Had nodded cross th' opposing main;
A circumnavigator she
On Ton's illimitable sea.
We pass the pleasures vast and various.
Of Routs, not social, but gregarious;
Where high heroic self-denial
Sustains her self-inflicted trial.
Day lab'rors! what an easy life,
To feed ten children and a wife!
No--I my juster pity spare
To the night lab'rer's keener care;
And, pleas'd, to gentler scenes retreat,
Where Conversation holds her seat.
Small were that art which would ensure
The Circle's boasted quadrature!
See VESEY's plastic genius make
A Circle every figure take;
Nay, shapes and forms, which would defy
All science of Geometry;
Isoceles, and Parallel,
Names, hard to speak, and hard to spell!
Th' enchantress wav'd her wand, and spoke!
Her potent wand the Circle broke:
The social Spirits hover round,
And bless the liberated ground.
Ask you what charms this gift dispense?
'Tis the strong spell of COMMON SENSE.
Away dull Ceremony flew,
And with her bore Detraction too.
Nor only Geometric Art,
Does this presiding power impart;
But Chemists too, who want the essence,
Which makes or mars all coalescence,
Of her the secret rare might get,
How different kinds amalgamate:
And he, who wilder studies chose,
Find here a new metempsychose;
How forms can other forms assume,
Within her Pythagoric room;
Or be, and stranger is th' event,
The very things which nature meant;
Nor strive, by art and affectation,
To cross their genuine destination.
Here sober Duchesses are seen,
Chaste Wits, and Critics void of spleen;.
Physicians, fraught with real science,
And Whigs and Tories in alliance;
Poets, fulfilling Christian duties,
Just Lawyers, reasonable Beauties;
Bishops who preach, and Peers who pay,
And Countesses who seldom play;
Learn'd Antiquaries, who, from college,
Reject the rust, and bring the knowledge;
And, hear it, age, believe it, youth,
Polemics, really seeking truth;
And Travellers of that rare tribe,
Who've seen the countries they describe;
Who study'd there, so strange their plan,
Not plants, nor herbs alone, but man;
While Travellers, of other notions,
Scale mountain-tops, and traverse oceans;
As if, so much these themes engross,
The study of mankind--was Moss.
Ladies who point, nor think me partial,
An Epigram as well as MARTIAL;
Yet in all female worth succeed,
As well as those who cannot read.
Right pleasant were the task, I ween,
To name the groupes which fill the scene;
But Rhyme's of such fastidious nature,
She proudly scorns all Nomenclature,
Nor grace our Northern names her lips,
Like HOMER's Catalogue of Ships.
Once--faithful Memory! heave a sigh,
Here ROSCIUS gladden'd every eye.
Why comes not MARO? Far from town,
He rears the Urn to Taste, and BROWN;
Plants Cypress round the Tomb of GRAY,
Or decks his English Garden gay;
Whose mingled sweets exhale perfume,
And promise a perennial bloom.
Here, rigid CATO*, awful Sage!
Bold Censor of a thoughtless age,
Once dealt his pointed moral round,
And, not unheeded, fell the sound;
The Muse his honour'd memory weeps,
For CATO now with ROSCIUS sleeps!
Here once HORTENSIUS* lov'd to sit,
Apostate now from social Wit:
Ah! why in wrangling senates waste
The noblest parts, the happiest taste?
Why Democratic Thunders wield,
And quit the Muse's calmer field?
Taste thou the gentler joys they give,
With HORACE, and with LELIUS live.*
Hail, CONVERSATION, soothing Power,
Sweet Goddess of the social hour!
Not with more heart-felt warmth, at least,
Does LELIUS bend, thy true High Priest;
Than I the lowest of thy train,
These field-flowers bring to deck thy fane;
Who to thy shrine like him can haste,
With warmer zeal, or purer taste?
O may thy worship long prevail,
And thy true votaries never fail!
Long may thy polish'd altars blaze
With wax-lights' undiminish'd rays!
Still be thy nightly offerings paid,
Libations large of Lemonade.
On silver vases, loaded, rise
The biscuits' ample sacrifice.
Nor be the milk-white streams forgot
Of thirst-assuaging, cool orgeat;
Rise, incense pure from fragrant Tea,
Delicious incense, worthy Thee!
Hail, Conversation, heav'nly fair,
Thou bliss of life, and balm of care,
Still may thy gentle reign extend,
And taste with wit and science blend!
Soft polisher of rugged man,
Refiner of the social plan;
For thee, best solace of his toil,
The sage consumes his midnight oil;
And keeps late vigils to produce
Materials for thy future use;
Calls forth the else neglected knowledge,
Of school, of travel, and of college.
If none behold, ah! wherefore fair?
Ah! wherefore wise, if none must hear?
Our intellectual ore must shine,
Not slumber idly in the mine.
Let education's moral mint
The noblest images imprint;
Let taste her curious touchstone hold,
To try if standard be the gold;
But 'tis thy commerce, Conversation,
Must give it use by circulation;
That noblest commerce of mankind,
Whose precious merchandize is MIND!
What stoic traveller would try
A sterile soil, and parching sky,
Or dare th' intemperate Northern zone,
If what he saw must ne'er be known?
For this he bids his home farewell;
The joy of seeing is to tell.
Trust me, he never would have stirr'd,
Were he forbid to speak a word;
And Curiosity would sleep,
If her own secrets she must keep
The bliss of telling what is past
Becomes her rich reward at last.
Who'd mock at death, at danger smile,
To steal one peep at Father Nile;
Who, at Palmira, risk his neck,
Or search the ruins of Balbec
If these must hide old Nilus' fount,
Nor Lybian tales at home recount;
If those must sink their learned labour,
Nor with their ruins treat a neighbour?
Range--study--think do all we can
Colloquial pleasures are for man.
Yet not from low desire to shine
Does Genius toil in learning's mine;
Not to indulge in idle vision,
But strike new light by strong collision.
Of CONVERSATION, wisdom's friend,
This is the object and the end,
Of moral truth, man's proper science,
With sense and learning in alliance,
To search the depths, and thence produce
What tends to practice and to use.
And next in value we shall find
What mends the taste and forms the mind.
If high those truths in estimation,
Whose search is crown'd with demonstration;
To these assign no scanty praise,
Our taste which clear, our views which raise.
For grant that mathematic truth
Best balances the mind of Youth;
Yet scarce the truth of Taste is found
To grow from principles less sound.
O'er books the Mind inactive lies,
Books, the Mind's food, not exercise!
Her vigorous wing she scarcely feels,
'Till use latent strength reveals;
Her slumb'ring energies can't forth,
She springs, she mounts, she feels her worth;
And, at her new-found powers elated,
Thinks them not rous'd, but new created.
Enlighten'd spirits! you, who know
What charms from polish'd converse flow,
Speak, for you can, the pure delight
When kindling sympathies unite;
When correspondent tastes impart
Communion sweet from heart to heart;
You ne'er the cold gradations need
Which vulgar souls to union lead;
No dry discussion to unfold
The meaning caught ere well 'tis told:
In taste, in learning, wit, or science,
Still kindred souls demand alliance;
Each in the other joys to find
The image answering to his mind.
But sparks electric only strike
On souls electrical alike;
The flash of intellect expires,
Unless it meet congenial fires:
The language to th' Elect alone
Is, like the Mason's mystery, known;
In vain th' unerring sign is made
To him who is not of the Trade.
What lively pleasure to divine
The thought implied, the hinted line,
To feel Allusion's artful force,
And trace the image to its source.
Quick Memory blends her scatter'd rays,
'Till Fancy kindles at the blaze;
The works of ages start to view,
And ancient Wit elicits new.
But wit and parts if thus we praise,
What nobler altars should we raise.
Those sacrifices could we see
Which wit, O Virtue! makes to thee.
At once the rising thought to dash,
To quench at once the bursting flash!
The shining mischief to subdue,
And lose the praise and pleasure too!
Though Venus' self, could you detect her,
Imbuing with her richest nectar,
The thought unchaste to check that thought,
To spurn a fame so dearly bought,
This is high Principle's controul!
This is true continence of Soul!
Blush, heroes, at your cheap renown,
A vanquish'd realm, a plunder'd town!
Your conquests were to gain a name,
This conquest triumphs over Fame;
So pure its essence, 'twere destroy'd
If known, and if commended, void.
Amidst the brightest truths believ'd,
Amidst the fairest deeds achiev'd,
Shall stand recorded and admir'd,
That Virtue sunk what Wit inspir'd.
But let the letter'd, and the fair,
And, chiefly, let the WIT beware;
You, whose warm spirits never fail,
Forgive the hint which ends my tale:
O shun the perils which attend
On wit, on warmth, and heed your friend.
Though Science nurs'd you in her bowers,
Though Fancy crown your brow with flowers,
Each thought though bright invention fill,
Though Attic bees each word distil;
Yet, if one gracious power refuse
Her gentle influence to infuse;
If she withhold her magic spell,
Nor in the social circle dwell;
In vain shall listening crowds approve,
They'll praise you, but they will not love.
What is this power you're loth to mention,
This charm, this witchcraft? 'tis ATTENTION:
Mute Angel, yes; thy looks dispense
The silence of intelligence;
Thy graceful form I well discern,
In act to listen and to learn;
'Tis thou for talents shalt obtain
That pardon Wit would hope in vain:
Thy wondrous power, thy secret charm,
Shall Envy of her sting disarm;
Thy silent flattery sooths our spirit,
And we forgive eclipsing merit;
Our jealous souls no longer burn,
Nor hate thee, though thou shine in turn;
The sweet atonement screens the fault,
And love and praise are cheaply bought.
With mild complacency to hear,
Though somewhat long the tale appear,
The dull relation to attend,
Which mars the story you could mend;
'Tis more than wit, 'tis moral beauty,
'Tis pleasure rising out of duty.
Nor vainly think the time you waste,
When temper triumphs over taste.

PART I.

There was a young and valiant Knight,
Sir Eldred was his name;
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.

Where gliding Tay, her stream sends forth,
To feed the neighbouring wood,
The ancient glory of the North,
Sir Eldred's castle stood.

The Knight was rich as Knight might be
In patrimonial wealth;
And rich in nature's gifts was he,
In youth, and strength, and health.

He did not think, as some have thought,
Whom honour never crown'd,
The fame a father dearly bought,
Could make the son renown'd.

He better thought, a noble sire,
Who gallant deeds had done,
To deeds of hardihood should fire
A brave and gallant son.

The fairest ancestry on earth
Without desert is poor;
And every deed of former worth
Is but a claim for more.

Sir Eldred's heart was ever kind,
Alive to Pity's call;
A crowd of virtues grac'd his mind,
He loved, and felt for all.

When merit rais'd the sufferer's name,
He shower'd his bounty then;
And those who could not prove that claim,
He succour'd still as men.

But sacred truth the Muse compels
His errors to impart;
And yet the Muse reluctant tells
The fault of Eldred's heart.

The mild and soft as infant love
His fond affections melt;
Tho' all that kindest spirits prove
Sir Eldred keenly felt:

Yet if the passions storm'd his soul,
By jealousy led on;
The fierce resentment scorn'd control,
And bore his virtues down.

Not Thule's waves so wildly break
To drown the northern shore;
Not Etna's entrails fiercer shake,
Or Scythia's tempests roar.

As when in summer's sweetest day
To fan the fragrant morn,
The sighing breezes softly stray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;

Sudden the lightning's blast descends,
Deforms the ravag'd fields;
At once the various ruin blends,
And all resistless yields.

But when, to clear his stormy breast,
The sun of reason shone,
And ebbing passions sunk to rest,
And show'd what rage had done:

O then what anguish he betray'd!
His shame how deep, how true!
He view'd the waste his rage had made,
And shudder'd at the view.

The meek-ey'd dawn, in saffron robe,
Proclaim'd the opening day,
Up rose the sun to gild the globe,
And hail the new-born May;

The birds their vernal notes repeat,
And glad the thickening grove,
And feather'd partners fondly greet
With many a song of love:

When pious Eldred early rose
The Lord of all to hail;
Who life with all its gifts bestows,
Whose mercies never fail!

That done -- he left his woodland glade,
And journey'd far away;
He lov'd to court the distant shade,
And thro' the lone vale stray.

Within the bosom of a wood,
By circling hills embrac'd,
A little, modest mansion stood,
Built by the hand of taste:

While many a prouder castle fell,
This safely did endure;
The house where guardian virtues dwell
Is sacred and secure.

Of Eglantine an humble fence
Around the mansion stood,
Which serv'd at once to charm the sense,
And screen an infant wood.

The wood receiv'd an added grace,
As pleas'd it bent to look,
And view'd its ever verdant face
Reflected in a brook:

The smallness of the stream did well
The master's fortunes show;
But little streams may serve to tell
The source from which they flow.

This mansion own'd an aged Knight,
And such a man was he,
As heaven just shows to human sight,
To tell what man should be.

His youth in many a well-fought field
Was train'd betimes to war;
His bosom, like a well-worn shield,
Was grac'd with many a scar.

The vigour of a green old age
His reverend form did bear;
And yet, alas! the warrior-sage
Had drain'd the dregs of care.

And sorrow more than age can break,
And wound its hapless prey,
'Twas sorrow furrow'd his firm cheek,
And turn'd his bright locks grey.

One darling daughter sooth'd his cares,
A young and beauteous dame,
Sole comfort of his failing years,
And Birtha was her name.

Her heart a little sacred shrine,
Where all the Virtues meet,
And holy Hope and Faith divine
Had claim'd it for their seat.

She lov'd to raise her fragrant bower
Of wild and rustic taste,
And there she screen'd each fav'rite flower
From ev'ry ruder blast:

And not a shrub or plant was there
But did some moral yield,
For wisdom, by a father's care,
Was found in ev'ry field.

The trees, whose foliage fell away,
And with the summer died,
He thought an image of decay
Might lecture human pride:

While fair perennial greens that stood,
And brav'd the wintry blast,
As types of the fair mind he view'd,
Which shall for ever last.

He taught her that the gaudiest flowers
Were seldom fragrant found,
But, wasted soon their little powers,
Dropt useless on the ground:

While the sweet-scented rose shall last,
And still retain its power
When life's imperfect day is past,
And beauty's shorter hour.

And here the virgin lov'd to lead
Her inoffensive day,
And here she oft retir'd to read,
And oft retir'd to pray.

Embower'd, she grac'd the woodland shades,
From courts and cities far,
The pride of Caledonian maids,
The peerless northern star.

As shines that bright and lucid star,
The glory of the night,
When beaming thro' the cloudless air,
She sheds her silver light:

So Birtha shone! -- But when she spoke
The Muse herself was heard,
As on the ravish'd air she broke,
And thus her prayer preferr'd:

'O bless thy Birtha, Power Supreme,
In whom I live and move,
And bless me most by blessing him
Whom more than life I love.'

She starts to hear a stranger's voice,
And with a modest grace,
She lifts her meek eye in surprise,
And sees a stranger's face:

The stranger lost in transport stood,
Bereft of voice and power,
While she with equal wonder view'd
Sir Eldred of the bower.

The virgin blush which spreads her cheek
With nature's purest dye,
And all those dazzling beams which break
Like morning from her eye.

He view'd them all, and as he view'd,
Drank deeply of delight;
And still his raptur'd eye pursued,
And feasted on the sight.

With silent wonder long they gaz'd,
And neither silence broke;
At length the smother'd passion blaz'd,
Enamour'd Eldred spoke:

'O sacred Virtue, heav'nly power!
Thy wondrous force I feel:
I gaze, I tremble, I adore,
Yet die my love to tell.

'My scorn has oft the dart repell'd
Which guileful beauty threw;
But goodness heard, and grace beheld,
Must every heart subdue.'

Quick on the ground her eyes were cast,
And now as quickly rais'd:--
Just then her father haply past,
On whom she trembling gaz'd.

Good Ardolph's eye his Birtha meets
With glances of delight;
And thus with courteous speech he greets
The young and graceful Knight:

'O gallant youth, whoe'er thou art,
Right welcome to this place!
There's something rises at my heart
Which says I've seen that face.'

'Thou generous Knight,' the youth rejoin'd,
'Though little known to fame,
I trust I bear a grateful mind--
Sir Eldred is my name.'

'Sir Eldred?' -- Ardolph loud exclaim'd,
'Renown'd for worth and power?
For valour and for virtue famed,
Sir Eldred of the Bower?

'Now make me grateful, righteous Heaven,
As thou art good to me,
Since to my aged eyes 'tis given
Sir Eldred's son to see!'

Then Ardolph caught him by the hand,
And gazed upon his face,
And to his aged bosom strain'd,
With many a kind embrace.

Again he view'd him o'er and o'er,
And doubted still the truth,
And ask'd what he had ask'd before,
Then thus addrest the youth:

'Come now beneath my roof, I pray,
Some needful rest to take,
And with us many a cheerful day
Thy friendly sojourn make.'

He enter'd at the gate straightway
Some needful rest to take;
And with them many a cheerful day
Did friendly sojourn make.

PART II.

Once -- in a social summer's walk,
The gaudy day was fled;
They cheated time with cheerful talk
When thus Sir Ardolph said:

'Thy father was the firmest friend
That e'er my beign blest;
And every virtue heaven could send,
Fast bound him to my breast.

'Together did we learn to bear
The casque and ample shield;
Together learn'd in many a war
The deathful spear to wield.

'To make our union still more dear,
We both were doom'd to prove,
What is most sweet and most severe
In heart-dissolving love.

'The daughter of a neighbouring Knight
Did my fond heart engage,
And ne'er did Heaven the virtues write
Upon a fairer page.

'His bosom felt an equal qound,
Nor sigh'd we long in vain;
One summer's sun beheld us bound
In Hymen's holy chain.

'Thou wast Sir Eldred's only child,
Thy father's darling joy;
On me a lovely daughter smiled,
On me a blooming boy.

'But man has woes -- has clouds of care,
That dim his star of life --
My arms received the little pair,
The earth's cold breast my wife.

'Forgive, thou gentle Knight, forgive,
Fond foolish tears will flow;
One day like mine thy heart may heave,
And mourn its lot of wo.

'But grant, kind Heaven! thou ne'er may'st know
The pangs I now impart;
Nor ever feel the parting blow
That rives a husband's heart.

'Beside the blooming banks of Tay;
My angel's ashes sleep;
And wherefore should her Ardolph stay
Except to watch and weep?

'I bore my beauteous babes away
With many a gushing tear;
I left the blooming banks of Tay,
And brought my darlings here.

'I watch'd my little household cares
And form'd their growing youth,
And fondly train'd their infant years
To piety and truth.'

'Thy blooming Birtha here I see,'
Sir Eldred straight rejoin'd;
'But why the son is not with thee,
Resolve my doubting mind.'

When Birtha did the question hear,
She sigh'd, but could not speak:
And many a soft and tender tear
Stray'd down her damask cheek.

Then pass'd o'er good Sir Ardolph's face
A cast of deadly pale;
But soon composed with manly grace,
He thus renew'd his tale:

'For him my heart too much has bled;
For him, my darling son,
Has sorrow prest my hoary head,
But Heaven's high will be done!

'Scarce eighteen winters had revolved,
To crown the circling year,
Before my valiant boy resolved
The warrior's lance to bear.

'For high I prized my native land,
Too dear his fame I held,
T'oppose a parent's stern command,
And keep him from the field.

'He left me -- left his sister too,
Yet tears bedew'd his face --
What could a feeble old man do?
He burst from my embrace.

'O thirst of glory, fatal flame!
O laurels dearly bought!
Yet sweet is death when earn'd with fame--
So virtuous Edwy thought.

'Full manfully the brave boy strove,
Though pressing ranks oppose;
But weak the strongest arm must prove
Against an host of foes.

'A deadly wound my son receives,
A spear assails his side:
Grief does not kill -- for Adolph lives
To tell that Edwy died.

'His long-loved mother died again
In Edwy's parting groan;
I wept for her, yet wept in vain--
I wept for both in one.

'I would have died -- I sought to die,
But Heaven restrain'd the thought,
And to my passion-clouded eye
My helpless Birtha brought.

'When lo! array'd in robes of light,
A nymph celestial came,
She clear'd the mists that dimm'd my sight--
Religion was her name.

'She proved the chastisement divine,
And bade me kiss the rod:
She taught this rebel heart of mine
Submission to its God.

Religion taught me to sustain
What Nature bade me feel;
And Piety relieved the pain
Which Time can never heal.'

He ceased -- with sorrow and delight
The tale Sir Eldred hears;
Then weeping cries -- 'Thou noble Knight,
For thanks accept my tears.

'O Ardolph, might I dare aspire
To claim so bright a boon!--
Good old Sir Eldred was my sire--
And thou hast lost a son.

'And though I want a worthier plea
To urge so dear a cause;
Yet let me to thy bosom be
What once thy Edwy was.

'My trembling tongue its aid denies;
For thou may'st disapprove;
Then read it in my ardent eyes,
Oh! read the tale of love.

'Thy beauteous Birtha!' -- 'Gracious Power
How could I e'er repine,
Cries Ardolph, 'since I see this hour?
Yes -- Birtha shall be thine.'

A little transient gleam of red
Shot faintly o'er her face,
And every trembling feature spread
With sweet disorder'd grace.

The tender father kindly smiled
With fulness of content:
And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bashful, blush'd consent.

O then to paint the vast delight
That fill'd Sir Eldred's heart,
To tell the transports of the Knight,
Would mock the Muse's art.

But every kind and gracious soul,
Where gentle passions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole,
Than any Muse can tell.

The more the Knight his Birtha knew,
The more he prized the maid;
Some worth each day produced to view,
Some grace each hour betray'd.

The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear accomplish'd youth;
His single breast she strove to warm,
And crown'd, with love, his truth.

Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who general homage claim;
Who court the universal gaze,
And pant for public fame.

Then beauty but on merit smiled,
Nor were her chaste smiles sold;
No venal father gave his child
For grandeur, or for gold.

The ardour of young Eldred's flame
But ill could brook delay,
And oft he press'd the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.

The fond impatience of his breast
'Twas all in vain to hide,
But she his eager suit represt
With modest maiden pride.

When oft Sir Eldred press'd the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful Sire would sigh and say,
'O happy state of youth!

'It little recks the woes which wait
To scare its dreams of joy;
Nor thinks to-morrow's alter'd fate
May all those dreams destroy.

'And though the flatterer Hope deceives,
And painted prospects shows;
Yet man, still cheated, still believes,
Till death the bright scene close.

'So look'd my bride, so sweetly mild,
On me her beauty's slave;
But whilst she look'd, and whilst she smiled,
She sunk into the grave.

'Yet, O forgive an old man's care
Forgive a father's zeal:
Who fondly loves, must greatly fear;
Who fears, must greatly feel.

'Once more in soft and sacred bands
Shall Love and Hymen meet;
To-morrow shall unite your hands,
And -- be your bliss complete!'

The rising sun inflamed the sky,
The golden orient blush'd;
But Birtha's cheeks a sweeter die,
A brighter crimson flush'd.

The Priest, in milk-white vestments clad,
Perform'd the mystic rite;
Love lit the hallow'd torch that led
To Hymen's chaste delight.

How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeasurable joy,
That fired Sir Eldred's ardent cheek,
And triumph'd in his eye!

Sir Ardolph's pleasure stood confest,
A pleasure all his own;
The guarded pleasure of a breast
Which many a grief had known.

'Twas such a sober sense of joy
As Angels well might keep;
A joy chastised by piety,
A joy prepared to weep.

To recollect her scatter'd thought,
And shun the noon-tide hour,
The lovely bride in secret sought
The coolness of her Bower.

Long she remain'd -- th' enamour'd Knight,
Impatient at her stay;
And all unfit to taste delight
When Birtha was away;

Betakes him to the secret bower;
His footsteps softly move;
Impell'd by every tender power,
He steals upon his love.

O, horror! horror! blasting sight!
He sees his Birtha's charms,
Reclined with melting fond delight,
Within a stranger's arms.

Wild phrenzy fires his frantic hand;
Distracted at the sight,
He flies to where the lovers stand,
And stabs the stranger Knight.

'Die, traitor, die! thy guilty flames
Demand th' avenging steel!'--
'It is my brother,' she exclaims,
''Tis Edwy -- Oh farewell.'

An aged peasant, Edwy's guide,
The good old Ardolph sought;
He told him that his bosom's pride,
His Edwy he had brought.

O how the father's feelings melt!
How faint, and how revive!
Just so the Hebrew Patriarch felt,
To find his son alive.

'Let me behold my darling's face,
And bless him ere I die!'
Then with a swift and vigorous pace,
He to the bower did hie:

O sad reverse! -- Sunk on the ground;
His slaughter'd son he view'd;
And dying Birtha, close he found,
In brother's blood imbrued.

Cold, speechless, senseless, Eldred near
Gazed on the deed he had done;
Like the blank statue of Despair,
Or Madness graved in stone.

The father saw -- so Jephthah stood,
So turn'd his wo-fraught eye,
When the dear destined child he view'd,
His zeal had doom'd to die.

He look'd the wo he could not speak,
And on the pale corse prest
His wan, discolour'd, dying cheek
And silent, sunk to rest.

Then Birtha faintly rais'd her eye,
Which long had ceased to stream,
On Eldred fix'd, with many a sigh,
Its dim departing beam.

The cold, cold dews of hastening death,
Upon her pale face stand;
And quick and short her failing breath,
And tremulous her hand.

The cold, cold dews of hastening death,
The dim departing eye,
The quivering hand, the short quick breath
He view'd -- and did not die.

He saw her spirit mount in air,
Its kindred skies to seek!
His heart its anguish could not bear,
And yet it would not break.

The mournful Muse forbears to tell
How wretched Eldred died;
She draws the Grecian Painter's veil,
The vast distress to hide.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yet Heaven's decrees are just and wise,
And man is born to bear:
Joy is the portion of the skies,
Beneath them all is care.

Yet blame not Heaven; 'tis erring man,
Who mars his own best joys;
Whose passions uncontroll'd, the plan
Of promised bliss destroys.

Had Eldred paused, before the blow,
His hand had never err'd;
What guilt, what complicated wo,
His soul had then been spared!

The deadliest wounds with which we bleed,
Our crimes inflict alone;
Man's mercies from God's hand proceed,
His miseries from his own.

Persons of the Drama.
Darius, King of Media and Babylon.
Pharnaces, Courtier, Enemy to Daniel.
Soranus, dido.
Araspes, A Young Median Lord, Friend and Convert to Daniel
Daniel.

SCENE -- The City of Babylon.

The Subject is taken from the Sixth Chapter of the Prophet Daniel.

PART I.

Pharnaces, Soranus.

Pharnaces.
Yes! -- I have noted, with a jealous eye,
The pow'r of this new fav'rite! Daniel reigns,
And not Darius! Daniel guides the springs
Which move this mighty empire! High he sits,
Supreme in favour both with prince and people,
Where is the spirit of our Median lords,
Tamely to crouch and bend the supple knee
To this new god? By Mithras, 'tis too much!
Shall great Arbaces' race to Daniel bow--
A foreigner, a captive, and a Jew?
Something must be devised, and that right soon,
To shake his credit.

Soranus.
Rather hope to shake
The mountain pine, whose twisting fibres clasp
The earth, deep-rooted. Rather hope to shake
The Scythian Taurus from his central base.
No -- Daniel sits too absolute in pow'r,
Too firm in favour, for the keenest shaft
Of nicely aiming jealousy to reach him.

Pharnaces.
Rather he sits too high to sit securely.
Yes; he has reach'd that pinnacle of pow'r,
Which closely touches on Depression's verge.
Hast thou then liv'd in courts? hast thou grown gray
Beneath the mask a subtle statesman wears
To hide his secret soul, and dost not know,
That of all fickle Fortune's transient gifts,
Favour in most deceitful? 'Tis a beam,
Which darts uncertain brightness for a moment:
The faint, precarious, sickly shine of power
Given without merit, by caprice withdrawn.
No trifle is so mall as what obtains,
Save that which loses favour: 'tis a breath,
Which hangs upon a smile! A look, a word,
A frown, the air-built tower of fortune shakes,
And down the unsubstantial fabric falls!
Darius, just and clement as he is,
If I mistake not, may be wrought upon
By prudent wiles, by Flattery's pleasant cup,
Administer'd with caution.

Soranus.
But the means!
For Daniel's life (a foe must grant him that)
Is so replete with goodness, so adorn'd
With every virtue, so exactly squared
By Wisdom's nicest rules, 'twill be most hard
To charge him with the shadow of offence.
Pure is his fame as Scythia's mountain snows,
When not a breath pollutes them. O Pharnaces,
I've scann'd the actions of his daily life
With all the industrious malice of a foe;
And nothing meets mine eye but deeds of honour
In office pure; for equitable acts
Renown'd: in justice and impartial truth,
The Grecian Themis is not more severe.

Pharnaces.
By yon bright sun, thou blazon'st forth his praise,
As if with rapture thou didst read the page
Where these fair deeds are written!

Soranus.
Thou mistak'st.
I only meant to show what cause we have
To hate and fear him. I but meant to paint
His popular virtues and eclipsing merit.
Then for devotion, and religious zeal,
Who so renown'd as Daniel? Of his law
Observant in the extreme. Thrice every day,
With prostrate reverence, he adores his God
With superstitious awe his face he turns
Towards his beloved Jerusalem, as if
Some local, partial god might there be found
To hear his supplication. No affair
Of state, no business so importunate,
No pleasure so alluring, no employ
Of such high import, to seduce his zeal
From this observance due!

Pharnaces.
There, there he falls!
Enough, my friend! his piety destroys him.
There, at the very footstool of his God,
Where he implores protection, there I'll crush him.

Soranus.
What means Pharnaces?

Pharnaces.
Ask not what I mean.
The new idea floating in my brain
Has yet receiv'd no form. 'Tis yet too soon
To give it body, circumstance, or breath.
The seeds of mighty deeds are labouring here,
And struggling for a birth! 'Tis near the hour
The king is wont to summon us to council:
Ere that, this big conception of my mind
I'll shape to form and being. Thou, meanwhile,
Convene our chosen friends; for I shall need
The aid of all your counsels, and the weight
Of grave authority.

Soranus.
Who shall be trusted?

Pharnaces.
With our immediate motive -- none, except
A chosen band of friends, who most repine
At Daniel's exaltation. But the scheme
I mediate must be disclosed to all
Who bear high office; all our Median rulers,
Princes and captains, presidents and lords;
All must assemble. 'Tis a common cause;
All but the young Araspes; he inclines
To Daniel and his God. He sits attent,
With ravish'd ears, to listen to his lore:
With reverence names Jerusalem, and reads
The volume of the law. No more he bows
To hail the golden ruler of the day,
But looks for some great Prophet, greater far,
So they pretend, than Mithras! -- From him, therefore,
Conceal whate'er of injury is devised
'Gainst Daniel. Be it too thy care, to-day,
To keep him from the council.

Soranus.
'Tis well thought.
'Tis now about the hour of Daniel's prayer:
Araspes too is with him: and to-day,
They will not sit in council. Haste we then;
Designs of high importance, once conceived,
Should be accomplish'd. Genius which discerns,
And courage which achieves, despise the aid
Of lingering circumspection. The keen spirit
Seizes the prompt occasion, makes the thought
Start into instant action, and at once
Plans and performs, resolves and executes!

PART II.

SCENE. -- Daniel's House.

Daniel, Araspes.

Araspes.
Proceed, proceed, thrice venerable sage,
Enlighten my dark mind with this new ray,
This dawning of salvation. Tell me more
Of this expected King; this Comforter;
This Promise of the nations; this great Hope
Of anxious Israel; this unborn Prophet;
This Wonderful, this mighty Counsellor;
This everlasting Lord, this Prince of Peace;
This Balm of Gilead, which shall heal the wounds
Of universal nature; this Messiah;
Redeemer, Saviour, Sufferer, Victim, God!

Daniel.
Enough to animate our faith we know,
But not enough to soothe the curious pride
Of vain philosophy. Enough to cheer
Our path we see, the rest is hid in clouds:
And Heaven's own shadows rest upon the view.

Araspes.
Go on, blest sage; I could for ever hear,
Untired, thy admonition. Tell me how
I shall obtain the favour of that God
I but begin to know, but fain would serve.

Daniel.
By deep humility, by faith unfeign'd,
By holy deeds, best proof of living faith!
O faith, thou wonder-working principle,
Eternal substance of our present hope,
Thou evidence of things invisible!
What cannot man sustain, sustain'd by thee!
The time would fail, and the bright star of day
Would quench his beams in ocean, and resign
His empire to the silver queen of night:
And she again descend the steep of Heaven,
If I should tell what wonders Faith achieved
By Gideon, Barak, and the holy seer,
Elkanah's son; the pious Gileadite,
Ill-fated Jephthah! He of Zorah, too,
In strength unequall'd; and the shepherd king,
Who vanquish'd Gath's fell giant. Need I tell
Of holy prophets, who, by conquering faith,
Wrought deeds incredible to mortal sense;
Vanquish'd contending kingdoms, quell'd the rage
Of furious pestilence, extinguish'd fire.
Victorious Faith! others by thee endured
Exile, disgrace, captivity, and death?
Some, uncomplaining, bore (nor be it deem'd
The meanest exercise of well-tried Faith)
The cruel mocking, and the bitter taunt,
Foul obloquy, and undeserved reproach;
Despising shame, that death to human pride!

Araspes.
How shall this faith be sought?

Daniel.
By earnest prayer,
Solicit first the wisdom from above:
Wisdom, whose fruits are purity and peace:
Wisdom, that bright intelligence, which sat
Supreme, when his golden compasses
Th' Eternal plann'd the fabric of the world,
Produced his fair idea into light,
And said that all was good; Wisdom, blest beam
The brightness of the everlasting light;
The spotless mirror of the power of God;
The reflex image of the all-perfect mind;
A stream translucent, flowing from the source
Of glory infinite; a cloudless light;
Defilement cannot touch, nor sin pollute
Her unstain'd purity. Not Ophir's gold,
Nor Ethiopia's gems can match her price;
The ruby of the mine is pale before her;
And, like the oil Elisha's bounty bless'd,
She is a treasure which doth grow by use,
And multiply by spending! She contains,
Within herself, the sum of excellence.
If riches are desired, Wisdom is wealth:
If prudence, where shall keen invention find
Artificer more cunning? If renown,
In her right hand it comes! If piety,
Are not her labours virtues? If the lore
Which sage experience teaches, lo! she scans
Antiquity's dark truths; the past she knows,
Anticipates the future; not by arts
Forbidden, of Chaldean sorcerer,
But from the piercing ken of deep foreknowledge,
From her sure science of the human heart
She weighs effects with causes, ends with means;
Resolving all into the sovereign will.
For earthly blessings moderate be thy prayer,
And qualified; for life, for strength, for grace,
Unbounded thy petition.

Araspes.
Now, O prophet!
Explain the secret doubts which rack my mind,
And my weak sense confound. Give my some line,
To sound the depths of Providence! Oh say,
Why the ungodly prosper? why their root
Shoots deep, and their thick branches flourish fair,
Like the green bay tree? why the righteous man,
Like tender plants to shivering winds exposed,
Is stripp'd and torn, in naked virtue bare,
And nipp'd by cruel Sorrow's biting blast?
Explain, O Daniel, these mysterious ways
To my faint apprehension! For as yet
I've much to learn. Fair Truth's immortal sun
Is in itself defective; but obscured
By my weak prejudice, imperfect Faith,
And all the thousand causes which obstruct
The growth of goodness.

Daniel.
Follow me, Araspes.
Within thou shalt peruse the sacred page,
The book of life eternal: that will show thee
The end of the ungodly! thou wilt own
How short their longest period; will perceive
How black a night succeeds their brightest day!
Thy purged eye will see God is not slack,
As men count slackness, to fulfil his word.
Weigh well this book; and may the Spirit of grace,
Who stamp'd the seal of truth on the bless'd page,
Descend into thy soul, remove thy doubts,
Clear the perplex'd, and solve the intricate,
Till faith be lost in sight, and hope in joy!

PART III.

Darius on his Throne -- Pharnaces, Soranus, Princes, Presidents, and Courtiers.

Pharnaces.
Hail, king Darius! live for ever!

Darius.
Welcome,
Welcome, my princes, presidents, and friends;
Now tell me, has your wisdom aught devised
To aid the commonwealth? In our now empire,
Subdued Chaldea, is there aught remains
Your prudence can suggest to serve the state,
To benefit the subject, to redress
And raise the injured, to assist th' oppress'd,
And humble the oppressor? If you know,
Speak freely, princes. Why am I a king,
Except to poise the awful scale of justice
With even hand; to 'minister to want;
To bless the nations with a liberal rule,
Vicegerent of th' eternal Oromasdes?

Pharnaces.
So absolute thy wisdom, mighty king,
All counsel were superfluous.

Darius.
Hold Pharnaces;
No adulation; 'tis the death of virtue:
Who flatters is of all mankind the lowest,
Save he who courts the flattery. Kings are men,
As feeble and as frail as those they rule,
And born, like them, to die. The Lydian monarch,
Unhappy Croesus, lately sat aloft,
Almost above mortality; now see him!
Sunk to the vile condition of a slave,
He swells the train of Cyrus! I, like him,
To misery am obnoxious. See this throne;
This royal throne the great Nebassar fill'd;
Yet hence his pride expelled him. Yonder wall,
The dread terrific writing to the eyes
Of proud Belshazzar shew'd; sad monuments
Of Heaven's tremendous vengeance! And shall I,
Unwarn'd by such examples, cherish pride?
Yet to their dire calamities I owe
The brightest gem that glistens in my crown,
Sage Daniel. If my speech have aught of worth,
Or if my life with aught of good be graced,
To him alone I owe it.

Soranus (aside to Pharnaces.)
Now, Pharnaces,
Will he run o'er, and dwell upon his praise,
As if we ne'er had heard it; nay, will swell
The nauseous catalogue with many a virtue
His own fond fancy coins.

Pharnaces.
O great Darius!
Let thine unworthy servants' words find grace
And meet acceptance in his royal ear,
Who subjugates the East. Let not the king
With anger hear my prayer.

Darius.
Pharnaces, speak:
I know thou lov'st me; I but meant to chide
Thy flattery, not reprove thee for thy zeal.
Speak boldly, friends, as man should speak to man.
Perish the barbarous maxims of the East,
Which basely would enslave the freeborn mind,
And plunder man of the best gift of Heaven,
His liberty of soul.

Pharnaces.
Darius, hear me.
Thy princes, and the captains of thy bands,
Thy presidents, the nobles who bear rule
O'er provinces, and I, thine humble creature,
Less than the least in merit, but in love,
In zeal, and duty, equal with the first,
We have devised a measure to confirm
Thy infant empire, to establish firmly
Thy power and new dominion, and secure
Thy growing greatness past the power of change.

Darius.
I am prepared to hear thee. Speak, Pharnaces.

Pharnaces.
The wretched Babylonians long have groan'd
Beneath the rule of princes, weak or rash.
The rod of power has swayed alike amiss,
By feeble Merodach and fierce Belshazzar.
One let the slacken'd reins too loosely float
Upon the people's neck, and lost his power
By nerveless relaxation. He who follow'd,
Held with a tyrant's hand the cruel curb,
And check'd the groaning nation till it bled;
On different rocks they met one common ruin.
Their edicts were irresolute, their laws
Were feebly planned, their councils ill advised;
Now so relax'd, and now so overstrain'd,
That the tired people, wearied with the weight
They long have borne, will soon disdain control,
Tread on all rule, and spurn the hand that guides them.

Darius.
But say what remedy?

Pharnaces.
That too, O king,
Thy servants have provided. Hitherto
They bear the yoke submissive. But to fix
Thy power and their obedience, to reduce
All hearts to thy dominion, yet avoid
Those deeds of cruelty thy nature starts at,
Thou should'st begin by some imperial act
Of absolute dominion, yet unstain'd
By aught of barbarous. For know, O king!
Wholesome severity, if wisely framed
With sober discipline, procures more reverence
Than all the lenient counsels and weak measures
Of frail irresolution.

Darius.
Now proceed
To thy request.

Pharnaces.
Not I, but all request it.
Be thy imperial edict issued straight,
And let a firm decree this day be pass'd
Irrevocable as our Median laws.
Ordain that for the space of thirty days,
No subject in thy realm shall aught request
Of God or man, except of thee, O king!

Darius.
Wherefore this strange decree?

Pharnaces.
'Twill fix the crown
With lasting safety on thy royal brow,
And, by a bloodless means, preserve th' obedience
Of this new empire. Think how much 'twill raise
Thy high renown! 'twill make thy name revered,
And popular beyond example. What!
To be as Heaven, dispensing good and ill
For thirty days! With thine own ears to hear
Thy peoples' wants, with thine own liberal hands
To bless thy supliant subjects! O Darius!
Thou'lt seem as bounteous as a giving god,
And reign in every heart in Babylon
As well as Media. What a glorious state
To be the sovereign arbiter of good;
The first efficient cause of happiness;
To scatter mercies with a plenteous hand,
And to be blest thyself in blessing others.

Darius.
Is this the general wish?
[Princes and Courtiers kneel.]

Chief President.
Of one, of all.
Behold thy princes, presidents, and lords,
Thy counsellors, and captains! See, O king!
[Presenting the edict.]
Behold the instrument our zeal has drawn:
The edict is prepared. We only wait
The confirmation of thy gracious word,
And thy imperial signet.

Darius.
Say, Pharnaces,
What penalty awaits the man who dares
Transgress our mandate?

Pharnaces.
Instant death, O king!
This statute says, 'Should any subject dare
Petition, for the space of thirty days,
Of God or man, except of thee, O king!
He shall be thrown into your dreadful den
Of hungry lions!'

Darius.
Hold! Methinks a deed
Of such importance should be wisely weigh'd.

Pharnaces.
We have resolved it, mighty king! with care,
With closest scrutiny. On us devolve
Whatever blame occurs!

Darius.
I'm satisfied.
Then to your wisdom I commit me, princes,
Behold the royal signet: see, 'tis done.

Pharnaces (aside.)
There Daniel fell! That signet seal'd his doom.

Darius (after a pause.)
Let me reflect. -- Sure I have been too rash!
Why such intemperate haste? but you are wise;
And would not counsel this severe decree
But for the wisest purpose. Yet, methinks,
I might have weigh'd, and in my mind revolved--
This statute, ere, the royal signet stamp'd
It had been past repeal. Sage Daniel too!
My counsellor, my guide, my well-tried friend,
He should have been consulted; he whose wisdom
I still have found oracular.

Pharnaces.
Mighty king!
'Tis as it should be. The decree is past
Irrevocable, as the stedfast law
Of Mede and Persian, which can never change,
Those who observe it live, as is most meet,
High in thy grace; -- who violate it, die.

PART IV.

SCENE.-- Daniel's House.

Daniel, Araspes.

Araspes.
Oh, holy Daniel! prophet, father, friend,
I come the wretched messenger of ill!
Thy foes complot thy death. For what can mean
This new-made law, exorted from the king
Almost by force? What can it mean, O Daniel,
But to involve thee in the toils they spread
To snare thy precious life?

Daniel.
How! was the king
Consenting to this edict?

Araspes.
They surprised
His easy nature; took him when his heart
Was soften'd by their blandishments. They wore
The mask of public virtue to deceive him.
Beneath the specious name of general good,
They wrought him to their purposes: no time
Allow'd him to deliberate. One short hour,
Another moment, and his soul had gain'd
Her natural tone of virtue.

Daniel.
That great Power,
Who suffers evil only to produce
Some unseen good, permits that this should be
And, He permitting, I well pleased resign.
Retire, my friend; this is my second hour
Of daily prayer. Anon we'll meet again.
Here, in the open face of that bright sun
Thy fathers worshipp'd, will I offer up,
As is my rule, petition to our God,
For thee, for me, for Solyma, for all!

Araspes.
Oh stay! what mean'st thou! sure thou hast not heard
The edict of the king? I thought, but now,
Thou knew'st its purport. It expressly says,
That no petition henceforth shall be made,
For thirty days, save only to the king;
Nor prayer nor intercession shall be heard
Of any god or man, but of Darius.

Daniel.
And think'st thou then my reverence for the king,
Good as he is, shall tempt me to renounce
My sworn allegiance to the King of kings?
Hast thou commanded legions? strove in battle,
Defied the face of danger, mock'd at death
In all its frightful forms, and tremblest now?
Come, learn of me; I'll teach thee to be bold,
Though sword I never drew! Fear not, Araspes,
The feeble vengeance of a mortal man,
Whose breath is in his nostrils; for wherein
Is he to be accounted of? but fear
The awaken'd vengeance of the living Lord;
He who can plunge the everlasting soul
In infinite perdition!

Araspes.
Then, O Daniel!
If thou persist to disobey the edict,
Retire and hide thee from the prying eyes
Of busy malice!

Daniel.
He who is ashamed
To vindicate the honour of his God,
Of him the living Lord shall be ashamed
When He shall judge the tribes.

Araspes.
Yet, oh remember,
Oft I have heard thee say, the secret heart
Is fair Devotion's Temple; there the saint,
Even on that living altar, lights the flame
Of purest sacrifice, which burns unseen,
Not unaccepted. -- I remember too,
When Syrian Naaman, by Elisha's hand,
Was cleansed from foul pollution, and his mind
Enlighten'd by the miracle, confess'd
The Almighty God of Jacob; that he deem'd it
No flagrant violation of his fath
To bend at Rimmon's shrine; nor did the Seer
Forbid the rite external.

Daniel.
Know, Araspes,
Heaven deigns to suit our trials to our strength,
A recent convert, feeble in his faith,
Naaman, perhaps, had sunk beneath the weight
Of so severe a duty. Gracious Heaven
Forbears to bruise the reed, or quench the flax,
When feeble and expiring. But shall I,
Shall Daniel, shall the servant of the Lord,
A veteran in his cause -- long train'd to know
And do his will -- long exercised in wo,
Bred in captivity, and born to suffer;
Shall I from known, from certain duty shrink,
To shun a threaten'd danger? O Araspes;
Shall I, advanced in age, in zeal decline?
Grow careless as I reach my journey's end;
And slacken in my pace, the goal in view?
Perish discretion when it interferes
With duty! Perish the false policy
Of human wit, which would commute our safety
With God's eternal honour! Shall His law
Be set at nought, that I may live at ease?
How would the heathen triumph, should I fall
Through coward fear! How would God's enemies
Insultingly blaspheme!

Araspes.
Yet think a moment.

Daniel.
No!---
Where evil may be done, 'tis right to ponder;
Where only suffer'd, know, the shortest pause
Is much too long. Had great Darius paused,
This ill had been prevented. But for me,
Araspes, to deliberate is to sin.

Araspes.
Think of thy power, thy favour with Darius:
Think of thy life's importance to the tribes,
Scarce yet return'd in safety. Live! Oh live!
To serve the cause of God!

Daniel.
God will himself
Sustain his righteous cause. He knows to raise
Fit instruments to serve Him. Know, Araspes,
He does not need our crimes to help his cause;
Nor does his equitable law permit
A sinful act from the preposterous plea
That good may follow it. For me, my friend,
The spacious earth holds not a bait to tempt me.
What would it profit me, if I should gain
Imperial Ecbatan, th' extended land
Of fruitful Media, nay, the world's wide empire,
If mine eternal soul must be the price?
Farewell, my friend! time presses. I have stolen
Some moments from my duty, to confirm
And strengthen thy young faith! Let us fulfil
What Heaven enjoins -- and leave to Heaven the event.

PART V.

SCENE. -- The Palace.

Pharnaces, Soranus.

Pharnaces.
'Tis done -- success has crown'd our scheme, Soranus,
And Daniel falls into the deep-laid toils
Our prudence spread.

Soranus.
That he should fall so soon,
Astonishes even me! What! not a day?
What! not a single moment to defer
His rash devotions? Madly thus to rush
On certain peril, quite transcends belief!
When happen'd it, Pharnaces?

Pharnaces.
On the instant:
Scarce is the deed accomplish'd. As he made
His ostentatious prayer, even in the face
Of the bright God of day, all Babylon
Beheld the insult offer'd to Darius.
For, as in bold defiance of the law,
His windows were not closed, our chosen bands,
Whom we had placed to note him, soon rush'd in
And seized him in the warmth of his blind zeal,
Ere half his prayer was finish'd. Young Araspes,
With all the wild extravagance of grief,
Prays, weeps, and threatens. Daniel silent stands,
With patient resignation, and prepares
To follow them. -- But see, the king approaches!

Soranus.
How's this? deep sorrow sits upon his brow!
And stern resentment fires his angry eye.

Enter Darius.

Darius.
O deep-laid stratagem! O artful wile!
To take me unprepared, to wound my heart,
Even where it feels most tenderly, in friendship!
To stab my fame! to hold me up a mark
To future ages, for the perjured prince
Who slew the friend he loved! O Daniel, Daniel,
Who now shall trust Darius? not a slave
In my wide empire, from the Indian main
To the cold Caspian, but is more at ease
Than I, his monarch! Yes! I've done a deed
Will blot my honour with eternal stain!
Pharnaces! O thou hoary sycophant!
Thou wily politician! thou hast snared
Thy unsuspecting master!

Pharnaces.
Great Darius,
Let not resentment blind thy royal eyes.
In what am I to blame? Who would suspect
This obstinate resistance to the law?
Who could foresee that Daniel would perforce
Oppose the king's decree?

Darius.
Thou, thou foresaw'st it!
Thou knew'st his righteous soul would ne'er endure
So long an interval of prayer. But I,
Deluded king! 'twas I should have foreseen
His stedfast piety. I should have thought
Your earnest warmth had some more secret source,
Something that touch'd you nearer than your love,
Your well feign'd zeal, for me. -- I should have known,
When selfish politicians, hackney'd long
In fraud and artifice, affect a glow
Of patriot fervour, or fond loyalty,
Which scorns all show of interest, that's the moment
To watch their crooked projects.-- Well thou know'st
How dear I held him! how I prized his truth!
Did I not choose him from a subject world,
Unbless'd by fortune, and by birth ungraced,
A captive, and a Jew? Did I not love him?
Was he not rich in independent worth,
And great in native goodness? That undid him!
There, there he fell! If he had been less great,
He had been safe. Thou could'st not bear his brightness;
The lustre of his virtues quite obscured,
And dimm'd thy fainter merit. Rash old man!
Go, and devise some means to set me free
From this dread load of guilt! Go, set at work
Thy plotting genius to redeem the life
Of venerable Daniel!

Pharnaces.
'Tis too late.
He has offended 'gainst the new decree;
Has dared to make petition to his God,
Although the dreadful sentence of the act
Full well he knew. And by the establish'd law
Of Media, by that law irrevocable,
Which he has dared to violate, he dies!

Darius.
Impiety! presumption! monstrous law
Irrevocable! Is there aught on earth
Deserves that name? The eternal laws alone
Of Oromasdes are unchangeable!
All human projects are so faintly framed,
So feebly plann'd, so liable to change,
So mix'd with error in their very form,
That mutable and mortal are the same.
But where is Daniel? Wherefore comes he not
To load me with reproaches? to upbraid me
With all the wrongs my barbarous haste has done him?
Where is he?

Pharnaces.
He prepares to meet his fate.
This hour he dies, for so the act decrees.

Darius.
Suspend the bloody sentence. Bring him hither.
Or rather let me seek him, and implore
His dying pardon and his parting prayer.

PART VI.

SCENE. -- Daniel's House.

Daniel, Araspes.

Araspes.
Still let me follow thee; still let me hear
The voice of Wisdom, ere the silver chord
By Death's cold hand be loosen'd.

Daniel.
Now I'm ready.
No grief, no woman's weakness, good Araspes!
Thou should'st rejoice my pilgrimage is o'er,
And the blest haven of repose in view.

Araspes.
And must I lose thee, Daniel? Must thou die?

Daniel.
And what is death, my friend, that I should fear it?
To die! why 'tis to triumph: 'tis to join
The great assembly of the good and just;
Immortal worthies, heroes, prophets, saints!
Oh! 'tis to join the band of holy men,
Made perfect by their sufferings! 'Tis to meet
My great progenitors! 'Tis to behold
Th' illustrious patriarchs; they with whom the Lord
Deign'd hold familiar converse! 'Tis to see
Bless'd Noah, and his children, once a world!
'Tis to behold, oh! rapture to conceive!
Those we have known, and loved, and lost below!
Bold Azariah, and the band of brothers,
Who sought in bloom of youth, the scorching flames!
Nor shall we see heroic men alone,
Champions who fought the fight of faith on earth:
But heavenly conquerors, angelic hosts,
Michael and his bright legions, who subdued
The foes of Truth to join their blest employ
Of love and praise! to the high melodies
Of choirs celestial to attune my voice,
Accordant to the golden harps of saints!
To join in blest hosannahs to their King!
Whose face to see, whose glory to behold,
Alone were Heaven, though saint or seraph none
Should meet our sight, and only God were there!
This is to die! Whou would not die for this?
Who would not die, that he might live for ever?

Darius, Daniel, Araspes.

Darius.
Where is he? Where is Daniel? Let me see him!
Let me embrace that venerable form,
Which I have doom'd to glut the greedy maw
Of furious lions!

Daniel.
King Darius, hail!

Darius.
Oh, injured Daniel! can I see thee thus,
Thus uncomplaining? can I bear to hear,
That when the ruffian ministers of death
Stopp'd thy unfinish'd prayer, thy pious lips
Had just invoked a blessing on Darius,
On him who sought thy life? Thy murderers dropt
Tears of strange pity. Look not on me thus
With mild benignity! Oh! I could bear
The voice of keen reproach, or the strong flash
Of fierce resentment; but I cannot stand
That touching silence, nor that patient eye
Of meek respect.

Daniel.
Thou art my master still.

Darius.
I am thy murderer! I have sign'd thy death!

Daniel.
I know thy bent of soul is honourable:
Thou hast been gracious still! Were it not so,
I would have met the appointment of high Heaven
With humble acquiescence: but to know
Thy will concurr'd not with thy servant's fate,
Adds joy to resignation.

Darius.
Here I swear,
By him who sits enthroned in yon bright sun,
Thy blood shall be atoned! One these thy foes
Thou shalt have ample vengeance.

Daniel.
Hold, O king!
Vengeance is mine, th' eternal Lord has said:
Myself will recompense, with even hand,
The sinner for the sin. The wrath of man
Works not the righteousness of God.

Darius.
I had hoped
We should have trod this busy stage together
A little longer, then have sunk to rest
In honourable age! Who now shall guide
My shatter'd bark in safety? Who shall now
Direct me? Oh, unhappy state of kings!
'Tis well the robe of majesty is gay,
Or who would put it on? A crown! What is it?
It is to bear the miseries of a people;
To bear their murmurs, feel their discontents,
And sink beneath a load of splendid care!
To have your best success ascribed to Fortune,
And Fortune's failures all ascribed to you:
It is to sit upon a joyless height,
To every blast of changing Fate exposed!
Too high for hope! too great for happiness;
For friendship too much fear'd! to all the joys
Of social freedom, and th' endearing charm
Of liberal interchange of soul, unknown!
Fate meant me an exception to the rest,
And, though a monarch, bless'd me with a friend;
And I -- have murder'd him!

Daniel.
My hour approaches.
Hate not my memory, king: protect Araspes:
Encourage Cyrus in the holy work
Of building ruin'd Solyma. Farewell!

Darius.
With most religious strictness I'll fulfil
Thy last request. Araspes shall be next
My throne and heart. Farewell! [They embrace.]
Hear, future kings,
Ye unborn rulers of the nations hear!
Learn from my crime, from my misfortunes learn,
That delegated power which Oromasdes
Invests in monarchs for the public good.

PART VII.

SCENE.-- The Court of the Palace, -- The Sun rising.

Darius, Araspes.

Darius.
Oh, good Araspes! what a night of horror!
To me the dawning day brings no return
Of cheerfulness or peace! No balmy sleep
Has seal'd these eyes, no nourishment has past
These loathing lips, since Daniel's fate was sign'd!
Hear what my fruitless penitence resolves--
The thirty days my rashness had decreed
The edict's force should last, I will devote
To mourning and repentance, fasting, prayer,
Ad all due rites of grief. For thirty days
No pleasant sound of dulcimer or harp,
Sackbut, or flute, or psaltery, shall charm
My ear, now dead to every note of joy!

Araspes.
My grief can know no period!

Darius.
See that den!
There Daniel met the furious lions' rage!
There were the patient martyr's mangled limbs,
Torn piecemeal! Never hide thy tears, Araspes!
'Tis virtuous sorrow, unallay'd, like mine,
By guilt and fell remorse! Let us approach;
Who knows but that dread Power to whom he pray'd
So often and so fervently, has heard him!
[He goes to the mouth of the den.]
O Daniel! servant of the living God!
He whom thou hast served so long, and loved so well,
From the devouring lion's famish'd jaw
Can he deliver thee?

Daniel (from the bottom of the den.)
He can, he has.

Darius.
Methought I heard him speak!

Araspes.
Oh! wondrous force
Of strong imagination! were thy voice
Loud as the trumpet's blast, it could not wake him
From that eternal sleep!

Daniel (in the den.)
Hail! King Darius!
The God I serve has shut the lions' mouths,
To vindicate my innocence.

Darius.
He speaks!
He lives!

Araspes.
'Tis no illusion; 'tis the sound
Of his known voice.

Darius.
Where are my servants! Haste,
Fly, swift as lightning, free him from the den!
Release him, bring him hither! Break the seal
Which keeps him from me! See, Araspes, look!
See the charm'd lions! -- mark their mild demeanour!
Araspes, mark! -- they have no power to hurt him!
See how they hang their heads, and smooth their fierceness,
At his mild aspect.

Araspes.
Who that sees this sight,
Who that in after-times shall hear this told,
Can doubt if Daniel's God be God indeed?

Darius.
None, none, Araspes!

Araspes.
Ah! he comes, he comes!

Enter Daniel, followed by Multitudes.

Daniel.
Hail, great Darius!

Darius.
Dost thou live indeed?
And live unhurt?

Araspes.
Oh, miracle of joy!

Darius.
I scarce can trust my eyes! how didst thou 'scape?

Daniel.
That bright and glorious Being, who vouchsafed
Presence divine when the three martyr'd brothers
Essay'd the cauldron's flame, supported me!
E'en in the furious lions' dreadful den,
The prisoner of hope, even there I turn'd
To the strong hold, the bulwark of my strength,
Ready to hear, and mighty to redeem!

Darius (to Araspes.)
Where is Pharnaces? take the hoary traitor!
Take too Soranus, and the chief abettors
Of this dire edict! let no one escape
The punishment their deep-laid hate devised
For holy Daniel, on their heads shall fall
With tenfold vengeance. To the lions' den
I doom his vile accusers! All their wives,
Their children too, shall share one common fate;
Take care that none escape. -- Go, good Araspes.
[Araspes goes out.]

Daniel.
Not so, Darius!
Oh spare the guiltless! Spare the guilty too!
Where sin is not, to punish were unjust;
And where sin is, O king, there fell remorse
Supplies the place of punishment!

Darius.
No more!
My word is past! Not one request, save this,
Shalt thou e'er make in vain. Approach, my friends;
Araspes has already spread the tale,
And see what crowds advance!

People.
Long live Darius!
Long live great Daniel too, the people's friend!

Darius.
Draw near my subjects. See this holy man!
Death had no pow'r to harm him.
Of famish'd lions, soften'd at his sight,
Forgot their nature, and grew tame before him.
The mighty God protects his servants thus?
The righteous thus he rescues from the snare!
While fraud's artificer himself shall fall
In the deep gulph hils wily arts devise
To snare the innocent!

A Courtier.
To the same den
Araspes bears Pharnaces and his friends.
Fall'n is their insolence! With prayers and tears,
And all the meanness of high-crested pride,
When adverse fortune frowns, they beg for life.
Araspes will not hear. 'You heard not me,'
He cries, 'When I for Daniel's life implored;
His God protected him! see now if yours
Will listen to your cries!'

Darius.
Now hear,
People and nations, languages and realms
O'er whom I rule! Peace be within your walls
That I may banish from the minds of men
The rash decree gone out; hear me resolve
To counteract its force by one more just;
In every kingdom of my wide-stretch'd realm,
From fair Chaldea to th' extremest bound
Of northern Media, be my edict sent,
And this my statute known. My heralds, haste,
And spread my royal mandate through the land,
That all my subjecst bow the ready knee
To Daniel's God -- for HE alone is Lord.
Let all adore and tremble at his name,
Who sits in glory unapproachable
Above the heavens -- above the heaven of heavens?
His power is everlasting; and his throne,
Founded in equity and truth shall last
Beyond the bounded reign of time and space,
Through wide eternity? With his right arm
He saves, and who opposes? He defends,
And who shall injure? In the perilous den
He rescued Daniel from the lions' mouths!
His common deeds are wonders; all his works
One ever-during chain of miracles!

Enter Araspes.

Araspes.
All hail, O king! Darius live for ever!
May all thy foes be as Pharnaces is!

Darius.
Araspes, speak.

Araspes.
Oh, let me spare the tale?
'Tis full of horror! dreadful was the sight!
The hungry lions, greedy for their prey,
Devour'd the wretched princes ere they reach'd
The bottom of the den.

Darius.
Now, now confess
'Twas some superior hand restrain'd their rage
And tamed their furious appetites.

People.
'Tis true.
The God of Daniel is a mighty god;
He saves and he destroys.

Araspes.
O friend! O Daniel!
No wav'ring doubts can ever more disturb
My settled faith.

Daniel.
To God be all the glory!