Читать книгу Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin - Various - Страница 23
ОглавлениеNo. V.
Dec. 11, 1797.
We have already hinted at the principle by which the followers of the Jacobinical sect are restrained from the exercise of their own favourite virtue of charity. The force of this prohibition, and the strictness with which it is observed, are strongly exemplified in the following poem. It is the production of the same author [Southey] whose happy effort in English Sapphics we presumed to imitate; the present effusion is in Dactylics, and equally subject to the laws of Latin Prosody.
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE.
Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr, lānguĭd ănd sĭck ăt hĕart,
Trāvĕllĭng pāinfŭlly̆ ōvĕr thĕ rūggĕd roăd;
Wīld vĭsăg’d wāndĕrĕr—āh fŏr thy̆ hēavy̆ chănce.
We think that we see him fumbling in the pocket of his blue pantaloons; that the splendid shilling is about to make its appearance, and to glitter in the eyes, and glad the heart of the poor sufferer. But no such thing—the bard very calmly contemplates her situation, which he describes in a pair of very pathetical stanzas; and after the following well-imagined topic of consolation, concludes by leaving her to Providence.
Thy husband will never return from the war again;
Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity;
Cold are thy famished babes—God help thee, widow’d one!
We conceived that it would be necessary to follow up this general rule with the particular exception, and to point out one of those cases in which the embargo upon Jacobin bounty is sometimes suspended;[18] with this view we have subjoined the poem of
THE SOLDIER’S FRIEND.
DACTYLICS.
Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here:
I am the soldier’s friend—here are some books for you;
Nice clever books by Tom Paine, the philanthropist.[19]
Here’s half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too—
Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some.
Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.
Exit Drummer Boy, with handbills and half-a-crown.—Manet Soldier’s Friend.
Liberty’s friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Freedom’s volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty.
Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum diddledum,”
Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy,
Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum diddledum”.
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
SONNET.—TO LIBERTY.
Just Guardian of man’s social bliss! for thee
The paths of danger gladly would I tread:
For thee! contented, join the glorious dead,
Who nobly scorn’d a life that was not free!
But worse than death it pains my soul to see
The Lord of Ruin, by wild Uproar led,
Hell’s first-born, Anarchy, exalt his head,
And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee!
What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued,
Crush half the nations with resistless might;
Never shall this firm spirit be subdued:
In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite,
O Liberty! to thee shall be renew’d:
O still be sea-girt Albion thy delight! D.
