TO ENTERPRISE
KEEP for the Young the impassioned smile Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand High on that chalky cliff of Britain’s Isle, A slender volume grasping in thy hand– (Perchance the pages that relate The various turns of Crusoe’s fate)– Ah, spare the exulting smile, And drop thy pointing finger bright As the first flash of beacon light; But neither veil thy head in shadows dim, Nor turn thy face away From One who, in the evening of his day, To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn! I Bold Spirit! who art free to rove Among the starry courts of Jove, And oft in splendour dost appear Embodied to poetic eyes, While traversing this nether sphere, Where Mortals call thee ENTERPRISE. Daughter of Hope! her favourite Child, Whom she to young Ambition bore, When hunter’s arrow first defiled The grove, and stained the turf with gore; Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed On broad Euphrates’ palmy shore, And where the mightier Waters burst From caves of Indian mountains hoar! She wrapped thee in a panther’s skin; And Thou, thy favourite food to win, The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare From her rock-fortress in mid air, With infant shout; and often sweep, Paired with the ostrich, o’er the plain; Or, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep Upon the couchant lion’s mane! With rolling years thy strength increased And, far beyond thy native East, To thee, by varying titles known As variously thy power was shown, Did incense-bearing altars rise, Which caught the blaze of sacrifice, From suppliants panting for the skies! II What though this ancient Earth be trod No more by step of Demi-god Mounting from glorious deed to deed As thou from clime to clime didst lead; Yet still, the bosom beating high, And the hushed farewell of an eye Where no procrastinating gaze A last infirmity betrays, Prove that thy heaven-descended sway Shall ne’er submit to cold decay. By thy divinity impelled, The Stripling seeks the tented field; The aspiring Virgin kneels; and, pale With awe, receives the hallowed veil, A soft and tender Heroine Vowed to severer discipline; Inflamed by thee, the blooming Boy Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy, And of the ocean’s dismal breast A play-ground,–or a couch of rest; ‘Mid the blank world of snow and ice, Thou to his dangers dost enchain The Chamois-chaser awed in vain By chasm or dizzy precipice; And hast Thou not with triumph seen How soaring Mortals glide between Or through the clouds, and brave the light With bolder than Icarian flight? How they, in bells of crystal, dive– Where winds and waters cease to strive– For no unholy visitings, Among the monsters of the Deep; And all the sad and precious things Which there in ghastly silence sleep? Or, adverse tides and currents headed, And breathless calms no longer dreaded, In never-slackening voyage go Straight as an arrow from the bow; And, slighting sails and scorning oars, Keep faith with Time on distant shores? –Within our fearless reach are placed The secrets of the burning Waste; Egyptian tombs unlock their dead, Nile trembles at his fountain head; Thou speak’st–and lo! the polar Seas Unbosom their last mysteries. –But oh! what transports, what sublime reward, Won from the world of mind, dost thou prepare For philosophic Sage; or high-souled Bard Who, for thy service trained in lonely woods, Hath fed on pageants floating through the air, Or calentured in depth of limpid floods; Nor grieves–tho’ doomed thro’ silent night to bear The domination of his glorious themes, Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams! III If there be movements in the Patriot’s soul, From source still deeper, and of higher worth, ‘Tis thine the quickening impulse to control, And in due season send the mandate forth; Thy call a prostrate Nation can restore, When but a single Mind resolves to crouch no more. IV Dread Minister of wrath! Who to their destined punishment dost urge The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of hardened heart! Not unassisted by the flattering stars, Thou strew’st temptation o’er the path When they in pomp depart With trampling horses and refulgent cars– Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge; Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands; Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands– An Army now, and now a living hill That a brief while heaves with convulsive throes– Then all is still; Or, to forget their madness and their woes, Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows! V Back flows the willing current of my Song: If to provoke such doom the Impious dare, Why should it daunt a blameless prayer? –Bold Goddess! range our Youth among; Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat In hearts no longer young; Still may a veteran Few have pride In thoughts whose sternness makes them sweet; In fixed resolves by Reason justified; That to their object cleave like sleet Whitening a pine tree’s northern side, When fields are naked far and wide, And withered leaves, from earth’s cold breast Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can find rest. VI But, if such homage thou disdain As doth with mellowing years agree, One rarely absent from thy train More humble favours may obtain For thy contented Votary. She, who incites the frolic lambs In presence of their heedless dams, And to the solitary fawn Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph That wakes the breeze, the sparkling lymph Doth hurry to the lawn; She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the melancholy, Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead for me; And vernal mornings opening bright With views of undefined delight, And cheerful songs, and suns that shine On busy days, with thankful nights, be mine. VII But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite Isle (Freedom’s impregnable redoubt, The wide earth’s store-house fenced about With breakers roaring to the gales That stretch a thousand thousand sails) Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!– Thy impulse is the life of Fame; Glad Hope would almost cease to be If torn from thy society; And Love, when worthiest of his name, Is proud to walk the earth with Thee! 1820.