Poems (1786).
by Helen Maria Williams.
PREFACE.
The apprehension which it becomes me to feel, in submitting these Poems to the judgment of the Public, may perhaps plead my excuse, for detaining the reader to relate, that they were written under the disadvantages of a confined education, and at an age too young for the attainment of an accurate taste. My first production, the Legendary Tale of Edwin and Eltruda, was composed to amuse some solitary hours, and without any view to publication. Being shewn to Dr. Kippis, he declared that it deserved to be committed to the press, and offered to take upon himself the task of introducing it to the world. I could not hesitate to publish a composition which had received the sanction of his approbation. By the favourable reception this little poem met with, I was encouraged still farther to meet the public eye, in the "Ode on the Peace," and the poem which has the t.i.tle of "Peru." These poems are inserted in the present collection, but not exactly in their original form. I have felt it my duty to exert my endeavours in such a revision and improvement of them, as may render them somewhat more worthy of perusal. It will, I am afraid, still be found, that there are several things in them which would shrink at the approach of severe criticism.
The other poems that now for the first time appear in print, are offered with a degree of humility rather increased than diminished, by the powerful patronage with which they have been honoured, in consequence of the character given of them by partial friends. Knowing how strongly affection can influence opinion, the kindness which excites my warmest grat.i.tude has not inspired me with confidence.
When I survey such an evidence of the zeal of my friends to serve me, as the following honourable and extensive list affords, I have cause for exultation in having published this work by subscription. They who know my disposition, will readily believe that the tear which fills my eye, while I thank them for their generous exertions, flows not from the consideration of the benefits that have arisen from their friendship. It is to that friendship itself, that my heart pays a tribute of affection which I will not attempt to express--for my pen is unfaithful to my purpose.--While I am employed in testifying my thankfulness for the favours I have received, it is impossible that I should forget how much I owe to one Gentleman in particular, whose exertions in my behalf, though I was a stranger to him, have been so marked, so generous, and indeed so unexampled, that it is a very painful task which his delicacy has imposed upon me, in not permitting me to mention his name. But such goodness cannot be concealed. The grat.i.tude of my own heart has proclaimed it to my private friends; and the n.o.ble and honourable subscribers his zeal has procured, cannot avoid being sensible to whom I am indebted for so ill.u.s.trious a patronage.
AN AMERICAN TALE.
"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel, If pity e"er ye knew;-- An aged father"s wounds to heal, Thro" scenes of death I flew.
Perhaps my hast"ning steps are vain, Perhaps the warrior dies!-- Yet let me sooth each parting pain-- Yet lead me where he lies."
Thus to the list"ning band she calls, Nor fruitless her desire, They lead her, panting, to the walls That hold her captive sire.
"And is a daughter come to bless These aged eyes once more?
Thy father"s pains will now be less-- His pains will now be o"er!"
"My father! by this waining lamp Thy form I faintly trace:-- Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp, And pale thy honour"d face.
In vain thy wretched child is come, She comes too late to save!
And only now can share thy doom, And share thy peaceful grave!"
Soft, as amid the lunar beams, The falling shadows bend, Upon the bosom of the streams, So soft her tears descend,
"Those tears a father ill can bear, He lives, my child, for thee!
A gentle youth, with pitying care, Has lent his aid to me.
Born in the western world, his hand Maintains its hostile cause, And fierce against Britannia"s band His erring sword he draws;
Yet feels the captive Briton"s woe; For his enn.o.bled mind, Forgets the name of Britain"s foe, In love of human kind.
Yet know, my child, a dearer tie Has link"d his heart to mine; He mourns with Friendship"s holy sigh, The youth belov"d of thine!
But hark! his welcome feet are near-- Thy rising grief suppress-- By darkness veil"d, he hastens here To comfort, and to bless."--
"Stranger! for that dear father"s sake She cry"d, in accents mild, Who lives by thy kind pity, take The blessings of his child!
Oh, if in heaven, my Edward"s breast This deed of mercy knew, That gives my tortur"d bosom rest, He sure would bless thee too!
Oh tell me where my lover fell!
The fatal scene recall, His last, dear accents, stranger, tell, Oh haste and tell me all!
Say, if he gave to love the sigh, That set his spirit free; Say, did he raise his closing eye, As if it sought for me."
"Ask not, her father cry"d, to know What known were added pain; Nor think, my child, the tale of woe Thy softness can sustain."
"Tho" every joy with Edward fled, When Edward"s friend is near, It sooths my breaking heart, she said, To tell those joys were dear.
The western ocean roll"d in vain Its parting waves between, My Edward brav"d the dang"rous main, And bless"d our native scene.
Soft Isis heard his artless tale, Ah, stream for ever dear!
Whose waters, as they pa.s.s"d the vale, Receiv"d a lover"s tear.
How could a heart, that virtue lov"d, (And sure that heart is mine) Lamented youth! behold unmov"d, The virtues that were thine?
Calm, as the surface of the lake, When all the winds are still, Mild, as the beams of morning break, When first they light the hill;
So calm was his unruffled soul, Where no rude pa.s.sion strove; So mild his soothing accents stole, Upon the ear of love.
Where are the dear illusions fled Which sooth"d my former hours?
Where is the path that fancy spread, Ah, vainly spread with flowers!
I heard the battle"s fearful sounds, They seem"d my lover"s knell-- I heard, that pierc"d with ghastly wounds, My vent"rous lover fell!--
My sorrows shall with life endure, For he I lov"d is gone; But something tells my heart, that sure My life will not be long."--
"My panting soul can bear no more, The youth, impatient cried, "Tis Edward bids thy griefs be o"er, My love! my destin"d bride!
The life which heav"n preserv"d, how blest, How fondly priz"d by me, Since dear to my Amelia"s breast, Since valued still by thee!
My father saw my constant pain, When thee I left behind, Nor longer will his power restrain, The ties my soul would bind.
And soon thy honor"d sire shall cease The captive"s lot to bear, And we, my love, will soothe to peace His griefs, with filial care.
Then come for ever to my soul!
Amelia come, and prove!
How calm our blissful years will roll, Along a life of love!--
SONNET,
To MRS. BATES.
Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys, Thou who can"st all its subject pa.s.sions move, Whose notes to heav"n the list"ning soul can raise, Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!
Happy! whom nature lent this native charm; Whose melting tones can shed with magic power, A sweeter pleasure o"er the social hour, The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm--But yet more happy! that thy life as clear From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows; That tun"d to sympathy, thy faithful tear, In mild accordance falls for others woes; That all the tender, pure affections bind In chains of harmony, thy willing mind!