TO THE REV. SAMUEL MARSDEN,
PRINCIPAL CHAPLAIN TO HIS MAJESTY'S TERRITORY OF NEW SOUTH WALES,
On his Return to that Colony.
Sic fortis Etruria crevit,
Scilicet et rerum facta est pulcherrima Roma.
TEAVEN speed thee, MARSDEN! o'er the watʼry plain;
And Heaven, that sped thee once, must speed again;
For, since the deep with canvas has been crown'd,
Was never man a nobler voyage bound;
Nor ever tide, from BRITAIN'S crowded shore,
Mid all her freights, a nobler freightage bore.
Kind to each various shape Misfortune wears,
Want, thraldom, sickness, and corroding cares;
Kind to a proverb-Britain bears alone
To Guilt, that needs most cure, a heart of stone.
Here only vengeful, all her efforts tend
The man to punish, not the mind amend.
Heedless of Heaven's more generous code, that wills
Th' offender's good by penalties and ills,
Her partial justice centers all in self,
Not to reclaim the pilferer, but the pelf.
Then, as though wrong with wrong resolv'd to pay,
Exiles or gibbets send him-where they may.
Such Britain's blot;-or rather such till now,
The blot that stain'd the lustre of her brow.
MARSDEN, if half that blot has lately flown,
Though ours the gain, the praise is all thy own:
Thou hast redeem'd thy country; as o'er woe,
Taught British tears o'er British guilt to flow;
Taught us to pity as we strike, and feel
A generous interest in the culprit's weal;
And, as we drive him from his native sky,
Leave him not wholly to despair and die.
Go, then, sublimely good! sublimely great!
Go-fill the dictates of benignant fate.
HOWARD, alas! and HANWAY, are no more:
Go-take their mantle, and their toils restore.
Inspired by duty, and upheld by prayer,
Tempests, and storms and chimes pestif'rous dare;
O'er utmost SYDNEY be thy sails unfurl'd,
And plunge amidst the outcasts of the world.
Proud of thy deeds (and she may well be proud)
Thy love, thy labours, 'mid the refuse crowd,
Now ten-fold power to thee thy country yields,
Go-reap rich harvests 'mid rejected fields.
In wider, wilder track, while others pour
O'er IND and ORM the Gospel's living lore,
Climb the rude CAUCASUS, or, dauntless, spread
O'er LIBYA's sands the feast of heavenly bread;
More patriot thou, with equal courage, aim
Th' abandon'd hordes of Britain to reclaim :
Abandoned as they are, and most forlorn,
Whelm'd in pollution and their country's scorn,
To show that in the mind's most loathsome heap,
Some casual seed of virtue yet may sleep;
Some grain that waits th' appropriate breeze to fan,
That Man, howe'er degenerate, still is Man.
Rous'd by thy warnings, by thy guidance led,
Lo! BARRINGTON hangs down his guilty head,
Repents, believes. now hopes, now sinks aghast,
And by the future, half redeems the past.
Nor BARRINGTON alone; a thousand such
Have felt, like him, thy penetrating touch;
Woke to new life from ruin and despair,
Fled VICE for VIRTUE, BLASPHEMY for PRAYER.
Go, then; for thousands wait thee still-to prove
The mighty triumph of REDEEMING LOVE.
Thy mind robust, that earth can ne'er appal,
Firm as the pole, where truth and duty call,
Stern to th' obdurate caitiff, but his friend
When once compunctious pangs bis bosom rend;
Thine ardent faith, thy zeal that nought can tire,
Still countless brands may rescue from the fire:
And the fair clime, where bounteous Nature pours
Her sweetests beauties and her richest stores,
Laughs in young tepid gales, and proudly guides,
'Mid her green fields, a thousand playful tides;
A clime, till now, to barbarous life alone,
Or worse than barbarous, British outcasts, known,
Freed from its darkness, and polluting leaven,
Shall wake to SCIENCE, INDUSTRY and HEAVEN.
Blow, then, ye favouring gales! each radiant sign That rules th' abyss, in fostering bond combine! Heaven speed thee, MARSDEN! o'er the watry plain; And Heaven that sped thee once, must speed again;
For since the deep with canvas has been crown'd,
Was never man on nobler voyage bound;
Nor ever tide from BRITAIN'S crowded shore,
Mid all her freights, a nobler freightage bore.
Once more I view thy valleys fair,
But dimly view, with tearful eye;
Once more I breathe thy healthful air,
But breathe it in how deep a sigh!
Ye vales, with downy verdure spread,
Ye groves that drink the sparkling stream,
As bursting from the mountain's head
Its foaming waves in silver gleam;
Ye lakes, that catch the golden beam
That floods with fire yon peak of snow,
As evening vapours bluely steam
And dimly roll their volumes slow;
Scenes on this bursting heart imprest
By every thrill of joy, of woe,
The bliss of childhood's vacant breast,
Of warmer youth's impassion'd glow,
The tears by filial duty shed
Upon the low, the peaceful tomb,
Where sleep, too blest, the reverend dead
Unconscious of their country's dooin;
Say, can Helvetia's patriot child
A wretched exile bear to roam,
Nor sink upon the lonely wild,
Nor die to leave his native home?
His native home? No home has he;
He scorns in servile yoke to bow;
He scorns the land no longer free;
Alas! he has no country now!..
Ye snow-clad Alps, whose mighty mound,
Great Nature's adamantine wall,
In vain opposed its awful bound
To check the prone-descending Gaul.
What hunter now with daring leaps
Shall chase the ibex o'er your rocks?
Who clothe with vines your rugged steeps?
Who guard from wolves your rambling flocks;
While low the freeborn sons of toil
Lie sunk amid the slaughtered brave,
To freedom true the stubborn soil
Shall pine and starve the puny slave.
Spoilers, who poured your ravening bands
To gorge on Latium's fertile plains,
And filled your gold-rapacious hands
From regal domes and sculptured fanes,
What seek ye here?—Our niggard earth
Nor gold nor sculptured trophies owns;
Our wealth was peace and guileless mirth,
Our trophies are th' invader's bones!
Burst not, my heart, as dimly swell
Morat's proud glories on my view!
Heroic scenes, a long farewell!
I fly from madnesss and from you.
Beyond the dread Atlantic deep
One gleam of comfort shines for me;
There shall these bones untroubled sleep,
And press the earth of Liberty..
Wide, wide that waste of waters rolls,
Aud sadly smiles that stranger land;
Yet there I hail congenial souls,
And freemen give the brother's hand.
Columbia, hear the exile's prayer;
To him thy fostering love impart ;
So shall he watch with patriot care,
So guard thee with a filial heart!
Yet O forgive, with anguish fraught
If sometimes start the unbidden tear,
As tyrant Memory wakes the thought,
Still, still I am a stranger here!"
When first in childhood's happy days we met,
And first in those sweet days were doom'd to part.
So much a child, 1 dare not name my age,
Too, too susceptible for early years;
'Twas thine at once the attention to engage
Of her who since has often dried thy tears.
I gazed with pleasure on thy noble face,
And mark'd thy full, thy blue soul-piercing eye; Thy open countenance, thy manly grace,
Gold curling locks that on thy shoulders lie.
Of all the youths mine eyes bad ever seen,
None was by me so interesting thought;
I look'd on thee, and deem'd all others mean;
That first impression ne'er can be forgot.
Too young for all disguise, with native ease
And innocent 'simplicity we talk'd;
No studied arts were needful each to please,
As through the nodding groves content we walk'd,
Unclouded yet by care, his face beam'd joy,
As erst he led me to each favourite spot;
Some sheltering tree, bank, bower, that pleased the boy,
Near his beloved paternal peaceful cot.
Pleasure is oft succeeded quick by pain;
With pure delight we had each other met,
In converse sweet the parting hour attain,
And climb the last long hill with deep regret.
As flying coursers bore me from thy sight,
We for the first time felt a parting pain;
Regret, as mutual as the past delight,
And sigh'd to think when we might meet again.
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