better Sun from that long wintry night, 10 Thus in thy Country’s triumphs shalt rejoice
And mock with raptures high the Dungeon’s might:
For lo! the Morning struggles into Day,
And Slavery’s spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!
December 15, 1794.
KOSKIUSKO
O what a loud and fearful shriek was there,
As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour’d!
Ah me! they saw beneath a Hireling’s sword
Their KOSKIUSKO fall! Through the swart air
(As pauses the tir’d Cossac’s barbarous yell 5
Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell
The dirge of murder’d Hope! while Freedom pale
Bends in such anguish o’er her destin’d bier,
As if from eldest time some Spirit meek 10
Had gather’d in a mystic urn each tear
That ever on a Patriot’s furrow’d cheek
Fit channel found; and she had drain’d the bowl
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!
December 16, 1794.
PITT
Not always should the Tear’s ambrosial dew
Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow’d cheek!
Not always heaven-breath’d tones of Suppliance meek
Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view,
Who with proud words of dear-lov’d Freedom came — 5
More blasting than the mildew from the South!
And kiss’d his country with Iscariot mouth
(Ah! foul apostate from his Father’s fame!)
Then fix’d her on the Cross of deep distress,
And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance 10
Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance
The eyelids of thy stern-brow’d Sister press,
Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, 13
And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!
December 23, 1794.
TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES
FIRST VERSION, PRINTED IN ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’, DECEMBER 26, 1794
My heart has thank’d thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains,
That, on the still air floating, tremblingly
Wak’d in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy!
For hence, not callous to a Brother’s pains
Thro’ Youth’s gay prime and thornless paths I went; 5
And, when the darker day of life began,
And I did roam, a thought-bewilder’d man!
Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,
Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin’d,
And stole from vain REGRET her scorpion stings; 10
While shadowy PLEASURE, with mysterious wings,
Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep
Mov’d on the darkness of the formless Deep!
VIII
MRS. SIDDONS
As when a child on some long Winter’s night
Affrighted clinging to its Grandam’s knees
With eager wond’ring and perturb’d delight
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees
Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell; 5
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky Midnight ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:
Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell 10
Of pretty Babes, that lov’d each other dear.
Murder’d by cruel Uncle’s mandate fell:
Even such the shiv’ring joys thy tones impart,
Even so thou, SIDDONS! meltest my sad heart!
December 29, 1794.
1795
TO WILLIAM GODWIN
AUTHOR OF ‘POLITICAL JUSTICE’
O form’d t’ illume a sunless world forlorn,
As o’er the chill and dusky brow of Night,
In Finland’s wintry skies the Mimic Morn
Electric pours a stream of rosy light,
Pleas’d I have mark’d OPPRESSION, terror-pale, 5
Since, thro’ the windings of her dark machine,
Thy steady eye has shot its glances keen —
And bade th’ All-lovely ‘scenes at distance hail’.
Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless,
And hymn thee, GODWIN! with an ardent lay; 10
For that thy voice, in Passion’s stormy day,
When wild I roam’d the bleak Heath of Distress,
Bade
