The following descriptive poem appeared on the occasion of a regatta at Keswick:—
"Scarcely had day's bright god begun his course,
And chas'd the misty vapours from the lake,
When, ardent all for pleasure, forth there sprung
A bright assemblage of firm, active youths,
And virgins blushing like the op'ning bud.
Nay, some there were who sought the sportive scene
Whom frozen age had bow'd with iron hand;
Drawn by the force of curiosity,
Or by the workings of parental care,
To watch and guard their blooming daughter's steps.
The neigh'bouring rustics, too, with massy limbs,
Inur'd to toil, inur'd to fun and rain;
Each led his fav'rite damsel to the sight,
And talk'd of love, or laugh'd with hearty roar.
"And now the vessels all in order range,
To try the fortune of the wat'ry race.
The rowers sit; their eyes with ardour glow,
Attentive watching the appointed sign.
And now the gun, the signal for the course.
Rends with its iron voice th' o'ervaulting sky,
And distant rocks, redoubling, echo back
The horrid note. Instantly they start,
And, adverse looking, try their utmost skill.
Big swells each bulky muscle, strain'd with toil;
O'er their knit brows the drops of labour pour,
Whilst on their faces anxious fear and hope
Alternate sit depicted. Now they come
Almost within the grasp of victory:
Then, then what rapture fires the victor's mind,
When with his toil-strained arm he shakes the flag,
And shouts, applauding, echo all around.
"Now o'er the azure lake the horrid din
Of mimic war resounds; the echoing cliffs
Reverberate, in doubled thunder, back
The awful sounds: fierce peal succeeds to peal,
In savage dire confusion. Had the rocks,
Which awful frown above this limpid plain,
Been shaken from their venerable seats,
Rift by the bolts of Jove, and scattered round,
No sound more loud, more awful, could be heard!
The hero, who, inur'd to bloody war,
Has stood by Elliot, or by Rodney's side,
Whilst million-winged deaths were whistling round,
Now feels his heart beat high; strong throbs each pulse,
His kindling eyes flash fire: upright he stands,
As when on some dread, memorable day
He saw the Frenchmen strike, or Spaniards burn.
His tender spouse, the dear, the soft reward
Of all his toils, astonish'd with the din,
Clings to his side, half-pleased and half-afraid;
When softer echoes roll the distant roar,
She smiles; but when the air-affrighting guns
With iron clamours shake th' impending rocks,
She trembling presses hard her husband's hand,
And weeps to think the perils he has 'scap'd.
"But hark! 'tis silent! see, the fleet retires!
The mellow horns now pour victorious sounds,
Whilst every rock returns the softened strain.
O! now for Shakspeare, or for Milton's muse,
To paint this mingled tide of harmony!
Each cliff, each rock, each mountain, wood, and dale,
Return a varied note; it floats in air;
It mixes, meets, returns; 'tis soft, 'tis loud:
As if th' unnumber'd spirits of the rock
Held their aërial concerts 'midst the hills;
And to his golden harp each join'd his voice,
To welcome to their bower the 'Fairy Queen.'
"Thus joyous and delightful pass'd the day,
Yet not unruffled was this tide of joy:
The fair, the innocent Amelia was
The pride and flower of all the virgin throng!
Her long Damœtas loved, she too loved him,
But looks alone revealed the mutual flame,
For virgin modesty had bound their thoughts
In chains, as yet unbroken. On this day,
Whilst she in rapture viewed th' enchanting scene
(Urged by the motion of the limpid wave),
Her vessel rolling, headlong plunged her in
The blue profound! She sank, then rose again;
Then sank, to rise no more! Damœtas, near,
Beheld her fall: of life regardless then,
He leaped into the flood; with nervous arm
He cut the crystal deep, and plunging down,
Seized, and brought her up again to life.
"Restored now, she op'd her radiant eyes,
And looking gratitude ineffable,
'Is it then you, Damœtas? you whom long
My virgin heart hath own'd!' She could no more:
The rosy hue again forsook her cheek,
The light her eyes, and pallid death awhile
Seemed to return and re-demand his prey.
What then, Damœtas, were the dire alarms
That rent thy manly bosom? Love, despair,
Grief, and astonishment, exert at once
The utmost of their force to tear thy soul!
But see, the rose again resumes its seat
Upon her cheek! again her op'ning eye
Beams softened lustre! Kneeling by her side
Damœtas press'd her hand; in falt'ring words
Propos'd his am'rous suit. Her parents near,
Relieved now from the heart-corroding fear,
First poured in tender words their grateful hearts,
Then to Damœtas gave the willing hand
Of their beloved Amelia. Instant joy
Flushed lively in his cheek, and fired his heart
With all the rapt'rous bliss of mutual love.
He tried in vain to speak, for words, alas!
Could ill express tumultuous joys like his;
He stammer'd, blush'd, and thanked them in thought.
"And now the fiery charioteer of day
Drove down the western steep his blazing car,
When homeward all return to close their sports,
And usher in with dance the sable night.
The sprightly music sounds, the youths advance,
And blooming virgins from the beauteous group:
Then joined in couples, active as the light,
They tread the mazy dance; the swains the while
Join in sweet toil, and press the given hand,
And slyly talk of love; or else, askance,
Speak by their looks the feelings of the heart."