At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.

To this place the Author, during the Summer months of the year 1793, conducted a party of young ladies; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.

 

I

 

Whom the untaught Shepherds call

Pixies in their madrigal,

Fancy's children, here we dwell:

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Here the wren of softest note

Builds its nest and warbles well;

Here the blackbird strains his throat;

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

 

II

 

When fades the moon to shadowy-pale,

And scuds the cloud before the gale,

Ere the Morn, all gem-bedight,

Hath streak'd the East with rosy light,

We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews

Clad in robes of rainbow hues:

Or sport amid the shooting gleams

To the tune of distant-tinkling teams,

While lusty Labour scouting sorrow

Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,

Who jogs the accustomed road along,

And paces cheery to her cheering song.

 

III

 

But not our filmy pinion

We scorch amid the blaze of day,

When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion

Flashes the fervid ray.

Aye from the sultry heat

We to the cave retreat

O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined

With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age:

Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

Beneath whose foliage pale

Fanned by the unfrequent gale

We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.

 

IV

 

Thither, while the murmuring throng

Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,

By Indolence and Fancy brought,

A youthful Bard, ›unknown to Fame,‹

Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought,

And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh

Gazing with tearful eye,

As round our sandy grot appear

Many a rudely sculptured name

To pensive Memory dear!

Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue

We glance before his view:

O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed

And twine the future garland round his head.

 

V

 

When Evening's dusky car

Crowned with her dewy star

Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;

On leaves of aspen trees

We tremble to the breeze

Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.

Or, haply, at the visionary hour,

Along our wildly-bowered sequestered walk,

We listen to the enamoured rustic's talk;

Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,

Where young-eyed Loves have hid their turtle nest;

Or guide of soul-subduing power

The glance, that from the half-confessing eye

Darts the fond question or the soft reply.

 

VI

 

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale

We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;

Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court,

Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,

Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport,

Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;

Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam

By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream;

Or where his wave with loud unquiet song

Dashed o'er the rocky channel froths along;

Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,

The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.

 

VII

 

Hence thou lingerer, Light!

Eve saddens into Night.

Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view

The sombre hours, that round thee stand

With down-cast eyes (a duteous band)!

Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.

Sorceress of the ebon throne!

Thy power the Pixies own,

When round thy raven brow

Heaven's lucent roses glow,

And clouds in watery colours drest

Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest:

What time the pale moon sheds a softer day

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:

For mid the quivering light 'tis ours to play,

Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.

 

VIII

 

Welcome, Ladies! to the cell

Where the blameless Pixies dwell:

But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaimed our Faery Queen,

With what obeisance meet

Thy presence shall we greet?

For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen

Graceful Ease in artless stole,

And white-robed Purity of soul,

With Honour's softer mien;

Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,

And meek-eyed Pity eloquently fair,

Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,

As snow-drop wet with dew.

 

IX

 

Unboastful Maid! though now the Lily pale

Transparent grace thy beauties meek;

Yet ere again along the impurpling vale,

The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove,

Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,

We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;

And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

Extract a Blush for Love!

[1793]

 

 

The Raven
A Christmas Tale, Told by a Schoolboy to
His Little Brothers and Sisters

Underneath an old oak tree

There was of swine a huge company,

That grunted as they crunched the mast:

For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high:

One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.

Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly:

He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!

Blacker was he than blackest jet,

Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.

He picked up the acorn and buried it straight

By the side of a river both deep and great.

Where then did the Raven go?

He went high and low,

Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.

Many Autumns, many Springs

Travelled he with wandering wings:

Many Summers, many Winters –

I can't tell half his adventures.

 

At length he came back, and with him a She,

And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.

They built them a nest in the topmost bough,

And young ones they had, and were happy enow.

But soon came a woodman in leathern guise,

His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes.

He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,

But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,

At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.

His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,

And their mother did die of a broken heart.

The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever;

And they floated it down on the course of the river.

They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip,

And with this tree and others they made a good ship.

The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land

Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.

It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast:

Round and round flew the Raven, and cawed to the blast.

He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls –

See! See! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls!

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,

And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,

And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:

They had taken his all, and Revenge it was sweet!

[1797]

 

 

Music

Hence, soul-dissolving Harmony

That lead'st th' oblivious soul astray –

Though thou sphere descended be –

Hence away! –

Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand'st my lay,

Born when earth was seiz'd with cholic;

Or as more sapient sages say,

What time the Legion diabolic

Compelled their beings to enshrine

In bodies vile of herded swine,

Precipitate adown the steep

With hideous rout were plunging in the deep,

And hog and devil mingling grunt and yell

Seiz'd on the ear with horrible obtrusion; –

Then if aright old legendaries tell,

Wert thou begot by Discord on Confusion!

 

What tho' no name's sonorous power

Was given thee at thy natal hour! –

Yet oft I feel thy sacred might,

While concords wing their distant flight.

Such power inspires thy holy son

Sable clerk of Tiverton.

And oft where Otter sports his stream,

I hear thy banded offspring scream.

Thou Goddess! thou inspir'st each throat;

'Tis thou who pour'st the scritch owl note!

Transported hear'st thy children all

Scrape and blow and squeak and squall,

And while old Otter's steeple rings,

Clappest hoarse thy raven wings!

1790

 

 

Devonshire Roads

The indignant Bard compos'd this furious ode,

As tir'd he dragg'd his way thro' Plimtree road!

Crusted with filth and stuck in mire

Dull sounds the Bard's bemudded lyre;

Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad

To pour his imprecations on the road.

Curst road! whose execrable way

Was darkly shadow'd out in Milton's lay,

When the sad fiends thro' Hell's sulphureous roads

Took the first survey of their new abodes;

Or when the fall'n Archangel fierce

Dar'd through the realms of Night to pierce,

What time the Blood Hound lur'd by Human scent

Thro' all Confusion's quagmires floundering went.

 

Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird's shrill note

Around thy dreary paths shall float;

Their boding songs shall scritch owls pour

To fright the guilty shepherds sore,

Led by the wandering fires astray

Thro' the dank horrors of thy way!

While they their mud-lost sandals hunt

May all the curses, which they grunt

In raging moan like goaded hog,

Alight upon thee, damned Bog!

1790

 

 

Inside the Coach

'Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try

Unclos'd to keep the weary eye;

But ah! Oblivion's nod to get

In rattling coach is harder yet.

Slumbrous God of half shut eye!

Who lov'st with Limbs supine to lie;

Soother sweet of toil and care

Listen, listen to my prayer;

And to thy votary dispense

Thy soporific influence!

What tho' around thy drowsy head

The seven-fold cap of night be spread,

Yet lift that drowsy head awhile

And yawn propitiously a smile;

In drizzly rains poppean dews

O'er the tir'd inmates of the Coach diffuse;

And when thou'st charm'd our eyes to rest

Pillowing the chin upon the breast,

Bid many a dream from thy dominions

Wave its various-painted pinions,

Till ere the splendid visions close

We snore quartettes in extacy of nose.

While thus we urge our airy course,

Oh may no jolt's electric force

Our fancies from their steeds unhorse,

And call us from thy fairy reign

To dreary Bagshot Heath again!

1790

 

 

Mathematical Problem

If Pegasus will let thee only ride him,

Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him,

Some fresh expedient the Muse will try,

And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.

 

Dear brother,

I have often been surprised that Mathematics, the quintessence of Truth, should have found admirers so few and so languid. Frequent consideration and minute scrutiny have at length unravelled the case; viz. that though Reason is feasted, Imagination is starved; whilst Reason is luxuriating in its proper Paradise, Imagination is wearily travelling on a dreary desart. To assist Reason by the stimulus of Imagination is the design of the following production. In the execution of it much may be objectionable. The verse (particularly in the introduction of the ode) may be accused of unwarrantable liberties, but they are liberties equally homogeneal with the exactness of Mathematical disquisition, and the boldness of Pindaric daring. I have three strong champions to defend me against the attacks of Criticism; the Novelty, the Difficulty, and the Utility of the work. I may justly plume myself, that I first have drawn the nymph Mathesis from the visionary caves of abstracted Idea, and caused her to unite with Harmony. The first-born of this Union I now present to you; with interested motives indeed – as I expect to receive in return the more valuable offspring of your Muse.

Thine ever,

S. T. C.

March 31, 1791.

To the Rev. G. C.

 

This is now – this was erst,

Proposition the first – and Problem the first.

 

I

 

On a given finite line

Which must no way incline;

To describe an equi –

– lateral Tri –

– A, N, G, E, L, E.

Now let A. B.

Be the given line

Which must no way incline;

The great Mathematician

Makes this Requisition,

 

That we describe an Equi –

– lateral Tri –

– angle on it:

Aid us Reason – aid us Wit!

 

II

 

From the centre A. at the distance A. B.

Describe the circle B. C. D.

At the distance B. A. from B. the centre

The round A. C. E. to describe boldly venture.

(Third postulate see.)

And from the point C.

In which the circles make a pother

Cutting and slashing one another,

Bid the straight lines a journeying go.

C. A. C. B. those lines will show

To the points, which by A. B.