THOMAS WARTON, JR. (1728-90)

from: THE PLEASURES OF MELANCHOLY

[1745/pub. 1747; text of 5th ed. 1802]

Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,

Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock

Of Teneriff; 'mid the tempestuous night,

On which, in calmest meditation held,

Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain

And drifting hail descend; or if the skies

Unclouded shine, and thro' the blue serene

Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,

Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault

Raptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct [10]

Of distant billows sooth thy pensive ear

With hoarse and hollow sounds; secure, self-blest,

There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar

Of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low

Ascends the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st

Remote from man, conversing with the spheres !

O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms

Congenial with my soul; to cheerless shades,

To ruin'd seats, to twilight cells and bow'rs,

Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, [20]

Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes

Of purple Spring, where all the wanton train

Of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance

In sportive round, while from their hands they show'r

Ambrosial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm;

Tempe, no more I court thy balmy breeze,

Adieu green vales! ye broider'd meads, adieu !

Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles

Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve,

Where thro' some western window the pale moon [30]

Pours her long-levell'd rule of streaming light;

While sullen sacred silence reigns around,

Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow'r

Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp,

Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves

Of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green

Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread

Its neighb'ring walls of pines, where mus'd of old

The cloyster'd brothers: thro' the gloomy void

That far extends beneath their ample arch [40]

As on I pace, religious horror wraps

My soul in dread repose. But when the world

Is clad in Midnight's raven-colour'd robe,

'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame

Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare

O'er the wan heaps; while airy voices talk

Along the glimm'ring walls; or ghostly shape

At distance seen, invites with beck'ning hand

My lonesome steps, thro' the far-winding vaults.

. . . .

Let others love soft Summer's ev'ning smiles, [70]

As list'ning to the distant water-fall,

They mark the blushes of the streaky west;

I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.

Then, when the sullen shades of ev'ning close,

Where thro' the room a blindly-glimm'ring gleam

The dying embers scatter, far remote

From Mirth's mad shouts, that thro' th' illumin'd roof

Resound with festive echo, let me sit,

Blest with the lowly crickct's drowsy dirge.

Then let my thought contemplative explore [80]

This fleeting state of things, the vain delights,

The fruitless toils, that still our search elude,

As thro' the wilderness of life we rove.

. . . .

Few know that elegance of soul refin'd,

Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy

Frorn Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride

Of tasteless splendor and magnificence

Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind

Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,

More genuine transport found, as on some tomb

Reclin'd, she watch'd the tapers of the dead;

Or thro' the pillar'd iles, amid pale shrines [100]

Of imag'd saints, and intermingled graves,

Mus'd a veil'd votaress; than Flavia feels,

As thro' the mazes of the festive ball,

Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty's blaze,

She floats amid the silken sons of dress,

And shines the fairest of th' assembled fair.

When azure noontide cheers the daedal globe,

And the blest regent of the golden day

Rejoices in his bright meridian tower,

How oft my wishes ask the night's return, [110]

That best befriends the melancholy mind !

Hail, sacred Night! thou too shalt share my song!

Sister of ebon-scepter'd Hecat, hail!

Whether in congregated clouds thou wrap'st

Thy viewless chariot, or with silver crown

Thy beaming head encirclest, ever hail !

What tho' beneath thy gloom the sorceress-train,

Far in obscured haunt of Lapland moors,

With rhymes uncouth the bloody cauldron bless;

Tho' Murder wan beneath thy shrouding shade [120]

Summons her slow-ey'd vot'ries to devise

Of secret slaughter, while by one blue lamp

In hideous conf'rence sits the list'ning band,

And start at each low wind, or wakeful sound:

What tho' thy stay the pilgrim curseth oft,

As all benighted in Arabian wastes

He hears the wilderness around him howl

With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head

The black-descending tempcst ceaseless beats; [130]

Yet more delightful to my pensive mind

Is thy return, than blooming morn's approach,

Ev'n then, in youthful Pride of opening May,

. . . .

Ye youths of Albion's beauty-blooming isle,

Whose brows have worn the wreath of luckless love,

Is there a pleasure like the pensive mood,

Whose magic wont to soothe your soften'd souls?

O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt [170]

To Melody's assuasive voice; to bend

Th' uncertain step along the midnight mead,

And pour your sorrosvs to the pitying moon,

By many a slow trill from the bird of woe

Oft interrupted; in embow'ring woods

By darksom brook to muse, and there forget

The solemn dulness of the tedious world,

While Fancy grasps the visionary fair:

. . . .

These are delights unknown to minds profane,

And which alone the pensive soul can taste.

The taper'd choir, at the late hour of pray'r,

Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice

The many-sounding organ peals on high,

The clear slow-dittied chaunt, or varied hymn,

Till all my soul is bath'd in ecstasies, [200]

And lapp'd in Paradise. Or let me sit

Far in sequester'd iles of the deep dome,

There lonesome listen to the sacred sounds,

Which, as they lengthen thro' the Gothic vaults,

In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear.

Nor when the lamps expiring yield to night,

And solitude returns, would I forsake

The solemn mansion, but attentive mark

The due clock swinging slow with sw.eepy sway,

Measuring Time's flight with momentary sound. [210]

Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind

With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse,

Divine Melpomene, sweet Pity's nurse,

Queen of the stately step, and flowinC pall.

Now let Monimia mourn with streaming eyes

Her joys incestuous, and polluted love:

Now let soft Juliet in the gaping tomb

Print the last kiss on her true Romeo's lips,

His lips yet recking from the deadly draught:

Or Jaffier kneel for onc forgiving look [220]

Nor seldom let the Moor on Desdemone

Pour the misguided threats of jealous rage.

By soft degrees the manly torrent steals

From my swoln eyes; and at a brother's woe

My big heart melts in sympathizing tears.

What are the splendors of the gaudy court,

Its tinsel trappings, and its pageant pomps?

To me far happier seems the banish'd lord,

Amid Siberia's unrejoicing wilds

Who pines all lonesome, in the chambers hoar [230]

Of some high castle shut, whose windows dim

In distant ken discover trackless plains,

Where Winter ever whirls his icy car;

While still repeated objects of his view,

The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires,

That crown the solitary dome, arise;

While from the topmost turret the slow clock,

Far heard along th' inhospitable wastes,

With sad-returning chime awakes new grief;

Ev'n he far happier seems than is the proud, [240]

The potent Satrap, whom he left behind

'Mid Moscow's golden palaces, to drown

In ease and luxury the laughing hours.

. . . .

Yet feels the hoary Hermit truer joys,

As from the cliff, that o'er his cavern hangs, [260]

He views the piles of fall'n Persepolis

In deep arrangement hide the darksome plain.

Unbounded waste! the mould'ring obelisk

Here, like a blasted oak, ascends the clouds;

Here Parian domes their vaulted halls disclose

Horrid with thorn, where lurks th' unpitying thief,

Whence flits the twilight-loving, bat at eve,

And the deaf adder wreathes her spotted train,

The dwellings once of elegance and art.

Here temples rise, amid whose hallow'd bounds [270]

Spires the black pine, while thro' the naked street,

Once haunt of tradeful merchants, springs the grass:

Here columns heap'd on prostrate columns, torn

From their firm base, increase the mould'ring mass.

Far as the sight can pierce, appear the spoils

Of sunk magnificence! a blended scene

Of moles, fanes, arches, domes, and palaces,

Where, with his brother Horror, Ruin sits.

O come then, Melancholy, queen of thought!

O come with saintly look and steadfast step, [280]

From forth thy cave embower'd with mournful yew,

Where ever to the curfeu's solemn sound

List'ning thou sitt'st, and with thy cypress bind

Thy votary's hair, and seal him for thy son.

But never let Euphrosyne beguile

With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind,

Nor in my path her primrose-garland cast.

Tho' mid her train the dimpled Hebe bare

Her rosy bosom to th' enamour'd view;

Tho' Venus, mother of the Smiles and Loves, [290]

And Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, in citron bow'r

With her on nectar-streaming fruitage feast:

What tho' 'tis hers to calm the low'ring skies,

And at her presence mild th' embattled clouds

Disperse in air, and o'er the face of heav'n

New day diffusive gleam at her approach;

Yet are these joys that Melancholy gives,

Than all her witless revels happier far;

These deep-felt jovs, by Contemplation taught.

Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail ! [300]

From thee began, auspicious maid, my song,

With thee shall.end; for thou art fairer far

Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's mossy grot;

To loftier rapture thou canst wake the thought,

Than all the fabling Poet's boasted pow'rs.

Hail, queen divine! whom, as tradition tells,

Once in his evening walk a Druid found,

Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods;

And piteous bore with hospitable hand

To the close shelter of his oaken bow'r. [310]

There soon the sage admiring mark'd the dawn

Of solemn musing in your pensive thought;

For when a smiling babe, you lov'd to lie

Oft deeply list'ning to the rapid roar

Of wood-hung Meinai, stream of Druids old.