Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith

by Charlotte Smith

  Circled with arras light, the secret cell: —

  But who against all evils can provide?

  Hid, and overshadow’d thus, and fortified,

  By teasel, and the scabious’ thready disk,

  Corn-marygold, and thistles; too much risk

  The little household still were doom’d to run,

  For the same ardent sun,

  Whose beams had drawn up many an idle flower,

  To fence the lonely bower,

  Had by his powerful heat,

  Matured the wheat;

  And chang’d of hue, it hung its heavy head,

  While every rustling gale that blew along

  From neighbouring uplands, brought the rustic song

  Of harvest merriment: then full of dread,

  Lest, not yet fully fledg’d, her race

  The reaper’s foot might crush, or reaper’s dog might trace,

  Or village child, too young to reap or bind,

  Loitering around, her hidden treasure find;

  The mother bird was bent

  To move them, e’er the sickle came more near;

  And therefore, when for food abroad she went,

  “For now her mate again was on the ramble”

  She bade her young report what they should hear:

  So the next hour they cried, “They’ll all assemble,

  “The farmer’s neighbours, with the dawn of light,

  “Therefore, dear mother, let us move to night.”

  “Fear not, my loves,” said she, “you need not tremble;

  “Trust me, if only neighbours are in question,

  “Eat what I bring, and spoil not your digestion

  “Or sleep, for this.” Next day away she flew,

  And that no neighbour came was very true;

  But her returning wings the Larklings knew,

  And quivering round her, told, their landlord said,

  “Why, John! the reaping must not be delay’d,

  “By peep of day to-morrow we’ll begin,

  “Since now so many of our kin

  “Have promis’d us their help to set about it.”

  “Still,” quoth the bird, “I doubt it;

  “The corn will stand to-morrow.” So it prov’d;

  The morning’s dawn arriv’d — but never saw

  Or uncle, cousin, brother, or brother-in-law;

  And not a reap-hook mov’d!

  Then to his son the angry farmer cried,

  “Some folks are little known ‘till they are tried;

  “Who would have thought we had so few well-wishers!

  “What! neither neighbour Dawes, nor cousin Fishers,

  “Nor uncle Betts, nor even my brother Delves,

  “Will lend an hand, to help us get the corn in?

  “Well then, let you and me, to-morrow morning,

  “E’en try what we can do with it ourselves.”

  “Nay,” quoth the Lark, “’tis time then to be gone:

  “What a man undertakes himself is done.”

  Certes, she was a bird of observation;

  For very true it is, that none,

  Whatever be his station,

  Lord of a province, tenant of a mead,

  Whether he fill a cottage, or a throne,

  Or guard a flock, or guide a nation,

  Is very likely to succeed,

  Who manages affairs by deputation.

  THE SWALLOW.

  THE gorse is yellow on the heath,

  The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,

  The oaks are budding; and beneath,

  The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,

  The silver wreath of May.

  The welcome guest of settled Spring,

  The Swallow too is come at last;

  Just at sun-set, when thrushes sing,

  I saw her dash with rapid wing,

  And hail’d her as she pass’d.

  Come, summer visitant, attach

  To my reed roof your nest of clay,

  And let my ear your music catch

  Low twittering underneath the thatch

  At the gray dawn of day.

  As fables tell, an Indian Sage,

  The Hindostani woods among,

  Could in his desert hermitage,

  As if ‘twere mark’d in written page,

  Translate the wild bird’s song.

  I wish I did his power possess,

  That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,

  What our vain systems only guess,

  And know from what wide wilderness

  You came across the sea.

  I would a little while restrain

  Your rapid wing, that I might hear

  Whether on clouds that bring the rain,

  You sail’d above the western main,

  The wind your charioteer.

  In Afric, does the sultry gale

  Thro’ spicy bower, and palmy grove,

  Bear the repeated Cuckoo’s tale?

  Dwells there a time, the wandering Rail

  Or the itinerant Dove?

  Were you in Asia? O relate,

  If there your fabled sister’s woes

  She seem’d in sorrow to narrate;

  Or sings she but to celebrate

  Her nuptials with the rose?

  I would enquire how journeying long,

  The vast and pathless ocean o’er,

  You ply again those pinions strong,

  And come to build anew among

  The scenes you left before;

  But if, as colder breezes blow,

  Prophetic of the waning year,

  You hide, tho’ none know when or how,

  In the cliff’s excavated brow,

  And linger torpid here;

  Thus lost to life, what favouring dream

  Bids you to happier hours awake;

  And tells, that dancing in the beam,

  The light gnat hovers o’er the stream,

  The May-fly on the lake?

  Or if, by instinct taught to know

  Approaching dearth of insect food;

  To isles and willowy aits you go,

  And crouding on the pliant bough,

  Sink in the dimpling flood:

  How learn ye, while the cold waves boom

  Your deep and ouzy couch above,

  The time when flowers of promise bloom,

  And call you from your transient tomb,

  To light, and life, and love?

  Alas! how little can be known,

  Her sacred veil where Nature draws;

  Let baffled Science humbly own,

  Her mysteries understood alone,

  By Him who gives her laws.

  FLORA.

  REMOTE from scenes, where the o’erwearied mind

  Shrinks from the crimes and follies of mankind,

  From hostile menace, and offensive boast,

  Peace, and her train of home-born pleasures lost;

  To fancy’s reign, who would not gladly turn,

  And lose awhile, the miseries they mourn

  In sweet oblivion? Come then, Fancy! deign,

  Queen of ideal pleasure, once again,

  To lend thy magic pencil, and to bring

  Such lovely forms, as in life’s happier spring,

  On the green margin of my native Wey,

  Before mine infant eyes were wont to play,

  And with that pencil, teach me to describe

  The enchanting goddess of the flowery tribe,

  Whose first prerogative it is to chase

  The clouds that hang on languid beauty’s face;

  And, while advancing suns and tepid showers,

  Lead on the laughing Spring’s delicious hours,

  Bid the wan maid the hues of health assume,

  Charm with new grace, and blush with fresher bloom.

  The vision comes! — While slowly melt away,

  Night’s hovering shades before the eastern ray,

&nb
sp; Ere yet declines the morning’s humid star,

  Fair Fancy brings her; in her leafy car

  Flora descends, to dress the expecting earth,

  Awake the germs, and call the buds to birth;

  Bid each hybernacle its cell unfold,

  And open silken leaves, and eyes of gold!

  Of forest foliage of the firmest shade

  Enwove by magic hands, the car was made;

  Oak, and the ample Plane, without entwined,

  And Beech and Ash the verdant concave lin’d;

  The Saxifrage, that snowy flowers emboss,

  Supplied the seat; and of the mural moss

  The velvet footstool rose, where lightly rest,

  Her slender feet in Cypripedium drest.

  The tufted rush, that bears a silken crown,

  The floating feathers of the thistle’s down,

  In tender hues of rainbow lustre dyed,

  The airy texture of her robe supplied,

  And wild convolvuli, yet half unblown,

  Form’d, with their wreathing buds, her simple zone,

  Some wandering tresses of her radiant hair,

  Luxuriant floated on the enamour’d air;

  The rest were by the Scandix’ points confin’d

  And graced a shining knot, her head behind —

  While, as a sceptre of supreme command,

  She waved the Anthoxanthum in her hand.

  Around the goddess, as the flies that play,

  In countless myriads in the western ray,

  The sylphs innumerous throng; whose magic powers

  Guard the soft buds, and nurse the infant flowers;

  Round the sustaining stems weak tendrils bind,

  And save the pollen from dispersing wind;

  From suns too ardent, shade their transient hues,

  And catch in odorous cups translucent dews.

  The ruder tasks of others are, to chase

  From vegetable life the insect race,

  Break the polluting thread the spider weaves,

  And brush the aphis from th’ unfolding leaves.

  For conquest arm’d these pigmy warriors wield

  The thorny lance, and spread the hollow shield

  Of lichen tough; or bear, as silver bright,

  Lunaria’s pearly circlet, firm and light.

  On the helm’d head the crimson foxglove glows,

  Or Scutellaria guards the martial brows,

  While the Leontodon its plumage rears,

  And o’er the casque in waving grace appears;

  With stern undaunted eye, one warlike chief

  Grasps the tall club from Arum’s blood-dropt leaf;

  This, with the Burdock’s hooks annoys his foes,

  The purple thorn that borrows from the Rose.

  In honeyed nectaries couched, some drive away

  The forked insidious earwig from his prey;

  Fearless the scaled libellula assail,

  Dart their keen lances at the encroaching snail;

  Arrest the winged ant, on pinions light,

  And strike the headlong beetle in his flight.

  Nor less assiduous round their lovely queen,

  The lighter forms of female fays are seen;

  Rich was the purple vest Floscella wore,

  Spun of the tufts the Tradescantia bore;

  The Cistus’ flowers minute her temple graced,

  And threads of Yucca bound her slender waist.

  From the wild bee, whose wond’rous labour weaves,

  In artful folds the rose’s fragrant leaves,

  Was borrow’d fair Petalla’s light cymar;

  And the Hypericum, with spangling star,

  O’er her fair locks its bloom minute enwreath’d;

  Then, while voluptuous odours round her breath’d,

  Came Nectarynia; as the arrowy rays

  Of lambent fire round pictur’d seraphs blaze,

  So did the Passiflora’s radii shed,

  Cerulean glory o’er the sylphid’s head,

  While round her form, the pliant tendrils twined,

  And clasp’d the scarf that floated on the wind.

  More grave the para-nymph Calyxa drest;

  A brown transparent spatha formed her vest;

  The silver scales that bound her raven hair,

  Xeranthemum’s unfading calyx bear;

  And a light sash of spiral Ophrys press’d

  Her filmy tunic, on her tender breast.

  But where shall images or words be found

  To paint the fair ethereal forms, that round

  The queen of flowers attended? and the while

  Bask’d in her eyes and wanton’d in her smile.

  Now towards the earth the gay procession bends,

  Lo! from the buoyant air, the car descends;

  Anticipating then the various year,

  Flowers of all hues and every month appear,

  From every swelling bulb its blossoms rise;

  Here, blow the Hyacinths of loveliest dyes,

  Breathing of heaven; and there, her royal brows

  Begemmed with pearl, the Crown imperial shews;

  Peeps the blue Gentian, from the soft’ning ground,

  Jonquils and Violets, shed their odours round;

  The Honeysuckle rears his scallop’d horn;

  A snow of blossoms whiten on the thorn.

  Here, like the fatal fruit to Paris given,

  That spread fell feuds throughout the fabled heaven,

  The yellow Rose her golden globe displays;

  There lovelier still, among the spiny sprays

  Her blushing rivals glow with brighter dyes,

  Than paints the summer sun on western skies.

  And the scarce tinged, and paler Rose unveil

  Their modest beauties to the sighing gale.

  Thro’ the deep woodland’s wild uncultur’d scene,

  Spreads the soft influence of the floral queen;

  See a fair pyramid the Chesnut rear,

  Its crimson tassels on the Larch appear;

  The Fir, dark native of the sullen North,

  Owns her soft sway; and slowly springing forth

  On the rough Oak are buds minute unfurl’d,

  Whose giant produce may command the world!

  Each forest thicket feels the balmy air,

  And plants that love the shade are blowing there.

  Rude rocks with Filices and Bryums smile,

  And wastes are gay with Thyme and Chamomile.

  Ah! yet prolong the dear delicious dream,

  And trace her power along the mountain stream.

  See! from its rude and rocky source, o’erhung

  With female fern, and glossy adder’s-tongue

  Slowly it wells, in pure and chrystal drops,

  And steals soft-gliding, thro’ the upland copse;

  Then murmuring on, along the willowy sides,

  The reed-bird whispers, and the Halcyon hides;

  While among sallows pale, and birchen bowers,

  Embarks in Fancy’s eye the queen of flowers.

  O’er her light skiff, of woven bull-rush made,

  The Water lily lends a polish’d shade;

  While Galium there, of pale and silver hue,

  And Epilobiums on the banks that grew,

  Form her soft couch; and as the Sylphs divide,

  With pliant arms, the still increasing tide,

  A thousand leaves along the stream unfold;

  Amid its waving swords, in flaming gold

  The Iris towers; and here the Arrowhead

  And water Crowfoot, more profusely spread

  Spangle the quiet current; higher there,

  As conscious of her claims, in beauty rare,

  Her rosy umbels rears the flow’ring Rush,

  While with reflected charms the waters blush.

  The naiad now, the year’s fair goddess leads,

  Through richer pastures and more level mea
ds

  Down to the sea; where even the briny sands

  Their product offer to her glowing hands;

  For there, by sea-dews nurs’d and airs marine,

  The Chelidonium blows; in glaucous green,

  Each refluent tide the thorn’d Eryngium laves,

  And its pale leaves seem tinctured by the waves;

  And half-way up the cliff, whose rugged brow

  Hangs o’er the ever toiling surge below,

  Springs the light Tamarisk. — The summit bare,

  Is tufted by the Statice; and there,

  Crush’d by the fisher, as he stands to mark

  Some distant signal or approaching bark,

  The Saltwort’s starry stalks are thickly sown,

  Like humble worth, unheeded and unknown!

  From depths where corals spring from chrystal caves,

  And break with scarlet branch, the eddying waves,

  Where Algæ stream, as change the flowing tides,

  And where, half flower, half fish, the Polyp hides,

  And long tenacious bands of sea-lace twine

  Round palm-shaped leaves impearl’d with coralline.

  Enamour’d Fancy now the sea-maids calls,

  And from their grottos dim, and shell-paved halls,

  Charm’d by her voice, the shining train emerge,

  And buoyant float above the circling surge;

  Green Byssus, waving in the sea-born gales,

  Form’d their thin mantles, and transparent veils,

  Panier’d in shells, or bound with silver strings,

  Of silken pinna; each her trophy brings

  Of plants, from rocks and caverns submarine,

  With leathery branch, and bladder’d buds between;

  There, its dark folds the pucker’d laver spread,

  With trees in miniature of various red;

  There flag-shaped olive-leaves, depending hung,

  And fairy fans from glossy pebbles sprung;

  Then her terrestrial train the nereids meet,

  And lay their spoils saline at Flora’s feet.

  O! fairest of the fabled forms! that stream,

  Dress’d by wild Fancy, thro’ the poet’s dream,

  Still may thy attributes of leaves and flowers,

  Thy garden’s rich, and shrub-o’ershadow’d bowers,

  And yellow meads, with Spring’s first honours bright,

  The child’s gay heart, and frolic step invite;