THE CURSE OF THE LAUREATE.
(SOUTHEY)
Carmen Judiciale.
I.
In vale of Thirlemere, once on a time,
When birds sung sweet and flowers were in the spring,
While youth and fancy wanton'd in their prime,
I laid me down in happy slumbering;
The heavens in balmy breezes breathed deep,
My senses all were lull'd in grateful, joyous sleep.
II.
Sleep had its visions-fancy all unsway'd
Revelled in fulness of creative power:
I ween'd that round me countless beings stray'd,
Things of delight, illusions of an hour;
So great the number of these things divine,
Scarce could my heart believe that all the imps were mine.
III.
Yet mine they were, all motley as they moved;
Careless I viewed them, yet I loved to view;
The world beheld them, and the world approved,
And blest the train with smiles and plaudits due:
Proud of approval, to myself I said,
From out the group I'll chuse, and breed one favourite maid.
IV.
Joan I chose, a maid of happy mien;
Her form and mind I polished with care;
A docile girl she proved, of moping vein,
Slow in her motions, haughty in her air;
Some mention'd trivial blame, or slightly frown'd;
Forth to the world she went, her heavenly birth it own'd.
V.
The next, a son, I bred a Mussulman;
With creeds and dogmas I was hard bested,
For which was right or wrong I could not tell,
So I resolved my offspring should be bred
As various as their lives—the lad I loved,
A boy of wild unearthly mien he proved.
VI.
Then first I noted in my mazy dream
A being scarcely of the human frame,
A tiny thing that from the north did seem,
With swaggering, fuming impotence he came;
I fled not, but I shudder'd at his look;
Into his tutelage my boy he took.
VII.
Each principle of truth and purity,
And all that merited the world's acclaim,
This fiend misled—nor could I ever free
From his destroying grasp my darling's fame;
But yet I could not ween that heart of gall
Could be a foe to one, whose heart beat kind to all.
VIII.
My third, a Christian and a warrior true,
A bold adventurer on foreign soil,
And next, his brother, a supreme Hindu,
I rear'd with hope, with joy, and painful toil.
Alas! my hopes were vain! I saw them both
Reft by an emmet!—crush'd before a moth!
IX.
Still could I not believe his vengeful spite,
For in his guise a speciousness appear'd;
My bitterness of heart I feigned light;
But wholly as he urged my next I reared;
He said of all the gang he was the best,
And wrung his neck before mine eyes in jest.
X.
From that time forth, an independent look,
A bold effrontery I did essay;
But of my progeny no pains I took,
Like lambs I rear'd them for the lion's prey;
And still as playful forth they pass'd from me,
I saw them mock'd and butcher'd wantonly.
XI.
'Just heaven!' said I, 'to thy awards I bow,
For truth and vengeance are thine own alone;
Are these the wreaths thou deignest to bestow
On bard, whose life and lays to virtue prone,
Have never turn'd aside on devious way?
Is this the high reward, to be of fools the prey?'
XII.
A laugh of scorn the welkin seem'd to rend,
And by my side I saw a form serene;
'Thou bard of honour, virtue's firmest friend,'
He said, 'can'st thou thus fret? or dost thou ween
That such a thing can work thy fame's decay?
Thou art no fading bloom—no flow'ret of a day!
XIII.
'When his o'erflowings of envenom'd spleen
An undistinguish'd dunghill mass shall lie,
The name of Southey, like an evergreen,
Shall spread, shall blow, and flourish to the sky;
To Milton and to Spenser next in fame,
O'er all the world shall spread thy laurell'd name,'
XIV.
'Friend of the bard,' I said, 'behold thou hast
The tears of one I love o'er blushes shed;
Has he not wrung the throb from parent's heart,
And stretch'd his hand to reave my children's bread?
For every tear that on their cheeks hath shone,
O may that Aristarch with tears of blood atone!'
XV.
'If cursing thou delight'st in,' he replied,
'If rage and execration is thy meed,
Mount the tribunal—Justice be thy guide,
Before thee shall he come his rights to plead;
To thy awards his fate forthwith is given,
Only, be justice thine, the attribute of heaven,'
XVI.
Gladly I mounted, for before that time
Merit had crown'd me with unfading bays.
Before me was brought in that man of crime,
Who with unblushing front his face did raise;
But when my royal laurel met his sight,
He pointed with his thumb, and laughed with all his might.
XVII.
Maddening at impudence so thorough-bred,
I rose from off my seat with frown severe,
I shook my regal sceptre o'er his head—
'Hear, culprit, of thy crimes, and sentence hear!
Thou void of principle! of rule! of ruth!
Thou renegade from nature and from truth!
XVIII.
'Thou bane of genius!—party's sordid slave!
Mistaken, perverse, crooked is thy mind!
No humble son of merit thou wilt save,
Truth, virtue, ne'er from thee did friendship find;
And while of freedom thou canst fume and rave,
Of titles, party, wealth, thou art the cringing slave!
XIX.
'Thou hast renounced Nature for thy guide,
A thousand times hast given thyself the lie,
And raised thy party-curs to wealth and pride,
The very scavengers of poetry.
Thy quibbles are from ray of sense exempt,
Presumptuous, pitiful, below contempt!
XX.
'Answer me, viper! here do I arraign
Thy arrogant, self-crowned majesty!
Hast thou not prophesied of dole and pain,
Weakening the arms of nations and of me?
Thou foe of order!—Mercy lingers sick—
False prophet! Canker! Damned heretic!'
XXI.
Then pointing with my sceptre to the sky,
With vehemence that might not be restrain'd,
I gave the awful curse of destiny!
I was asleep, but sore with passion pain'd.
It was a dreadful curse; and to this day,
Even from my waking dreams it is not worn away.
The Curse.
May heaven and earth,
And hell underneath,
Unite to ensting thee
In horrible wrath.
May scorning surround thee,
And conscience astound thee,
High genius o'erpower,
And the devil confound thee.
The curse be upon thee
In pen and in pocket,
Thy ink turn to puddle,
And gorge in the socket;
Thy study let rats destroy,
Vermin and cats annoy,
Thy base lucubrations
To tear and to gnaw,
Thy false calculations
In Empire and Law.
The printers shall harass,
The devils shall dun thee,
The trade shall despise thee,
And C—t—e shun thee.
The judge shall not hear thee,
But frown and pass by thee,
And clients shall fear thee,
And know thee, and fly thee!
I'll hunt thee, I'll chase thee,
To scorn and deride thee,
The cloud shall not cover,
The cave shall not hide thee;
The scorching of wrath
And of shame shall abide thee,
Till the herbs of the desert
Shall wither beside thee.
Thou shalt thirst for revenge
And misrule, as for wine,
But genius shall flourish!
And royalty shine!
While the Laureate doth reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain,
And Fame shall disown thee
And visit thee never,
And the curse shall be on thee
For ever and ever!