“From that inglorious—that detested shade
By frenzied guilt its transient refuge made,
A Brother calls!—to quench its final flame
And heal with blood a sister’s wounded name.”
Is this our refuge?—Ah! in what retreat
Shall Guilt, despairing Guilt, a refuge meet?
Here unrelenting fiends their victims claim,
Heart-fix’d Remorse and never-dying Shame.
Seek’st thou revenge?—behold thy banquet near—
Urge not her speed—Revenge is busy here!
Far keener wounds our bleeding bosoms feel
Than the brief vengeance of destroying steel:
Can guiltless blood those rankling wounds assuage?
Is Honour ransom’d by a murd’rers rage?
Deep sunk enough in Passion’s turbid wave,
From depths past hope a fallen victim save!
Close the dire havock by his crimes begun,
Nor add their last—worst prey—a slaughter’d son!
Yet spare me not—thy exil’d sister spare!
Its ruthless author should her anquish share-
Shall he who crush’d the loveliness he prais’d,
Grasp’d to destroy—and blighted while he gaze’d,
Seal with a brother’s blood her hopeless doom,
Or, unrepenting, seek a hated tomb!—
And shall that hand which in a deathful hour
Rais’d to thy gen’rous breast the blighted flow’r,
To Pagan laws of savage vengeance yield,
And challenge Fate in murder’s impious field?
But deem not this a dream! offended Heav’dn
Seems the base bribe by savage vengeance giv’n:
Shall man affrighted Nature’s scourge prolong?
Heap guilt on guilt and balance wrong with wrong?
Heav’n, mild in Justice, spares the sinner’s breath,
And asks Repentance, not Revenge and Death!
“A traitor well may act a coward’s part,”—
Indignant answers thy mistaken heart:
’Tis bravery to live when Life is pain—
Death were my bliss—oblivion were my gain—
Life can no solace to Despair supply,
And did the grave protect, ’twere heav’n to die!
Take then my life—the worthless bribe seize,
Thy wounded peace, thy tortur’d pride appease—
On this polluted breast thy rage record,
It seeks—it welcomes the avenging sword.
Well pleased its load of anguish to resign,
It asks the friendly stroke—yet not from thine!
From thee Remorse my trembling hand retains—
Despair, dark, dire despair! my spirit chains.
Go, gallant Soldier! in a nobler cause
Avenge lost Faith and violated Laws!
Thy country calls thee—in yon bleeding Land
Fame, Freedom, Justice wait thy conqu’ring hand.
Once there, like thee, by glowing Honour led,
Truth nerv’d my arm and laurels crown’d my head—
Blest, tenfold blest!—if in her lap repos’d
There my frail spirit had its labours clos’d!
A patriot’s praise, a parent’s blissful tear
Had grac’d my dirge and gemm’d my early bier;
A wife’s pure lip had press’d the storied urn,
And bid her babes their father’s virtue learn:
No Mother torn from Honour’s shelt’ring breats
Had curst th’ apostate friend—the faithless guest!
No babes forsaken mourn’d their hated name,
No blushing senates eterniz’d their shame:
Nor thou, my sire! with double anguish bent,
Sought the sad refuge by oblivion lent!
O fatal force of passion unrepress’d!
Still the fierce venom triumphs in my breast—
While that meek eye, once Love’s unsullied shrine,
Dimm’d with repentant tears, reproaches mine;
While Virtue, torn unwilling from her throne,
Looks back and sighs for treasures once her own,
And only hers! content and holy pride,
Love twin with Peace, and cares to joy allied:
Still while my soul th’ eternal wreck surveys
Remorse recoils, but Love returns to gaze!
As ruthless demons in the tempest low’r,
And view with gloomy joy their fatal pow’r!
Love! shadowy idol! pow’r in madness priz’d!
Still grasp’d yet hated—worshipp’d, yet despis’d!
For thee I yield whate’er ennobles life—
My fame—my country, children, father, wife—
Wife! name once lov’d, and honour’d now in vain,
Dare these polluted lips the sound profane?
Ah! happiest he whom from his hut obscure
No pageant calls—no tinsel joys allure!
Whose humble and domestic peace endears,
Whose scanty board the smile of welcome cheers—
The smile sincere! the welcome unalloy’d!
By no false doubt, no wand’ring wish destroy’d:
Far from that throng where wrapp’d in Pleasure’s guise
Triumphant Vice her nectar’d cup supplies;
Where Fashion’s slaves the reign of Riot hail,
Stab Virtue’s guard and rend her sacred veil:
While Beauty’s syren smile invites her foe,
And FRIENDSHIP gives, and HONOUR masks the blow.
Honour! vain vassal to a tyrant grown!
Infirm usurper of Religion’s throne!
False Pilot, tost on Passion’s stormy flood,
Or borne triumphant on a sea of blood!
Rest, busy fiend! thy bleeding prey resign—
Enough of victims load they baseless shrine!
For me in vain they feeble Pharos burn’d—
He flies from Honour who has Reason spurn’d.
Thou, too obedient to a Phantom’s call,
Too rash avenger of a sister’s fall,
Spare the last relic of her mangled pence,
From blood, a brother’s blood her soul release:
Her babes—ah, there her widow’d bosom bleeds!
There every pang a keener pang succeeds—
Shall they, bereav’d of Kindred’s dearest claim,
Brand with still deeper curse a mother’s name?
For them she pleads—extend they gen’rous care,
Teach their frail feet to shun the deathful snare.
Tell them how bright in Duty’s sphere she shone,
Clad by the Graces in the magic zone;
In innocence how fair! in bliss how high!
Heav’n in her heart, its sun-beam in her eye,
Till Caution slept, and from her fenceless soul,
Its gem past price a murd’rous spoiler stole.
Tell them what pangs the murd’rous spoiler wrung,
What vengeful scorpions round his pillow clung;
Tell them his doom!—a path by demons trod,
Abhorr’d by Man, abandon’d by his GOD!