The Norton Anthology of English literature. Volume 2

To us, his reasoning Creatures, whom He bids Acknowledge and revere his awful0 hand, awe-inspiring Nothing but good: Yet Man, misguided Man, Mars the fair work that he was bid enjoy, And makes himself the evil he deplores.

How often, when my weary soul recoils From proud oppression, and from legal crimes (For such are in this Land, where the vain boast Of equal Law is mockery, while the cost Of seeking for redress is sure to plunge Th' already injur'd to more certain ruin And the wretch starves, before his Counsel pleads) How often do I half abjure Society, And sigh for some lone Cottage, deep embower'd In the green woods, that these steep chalky Hills

Guard from the strong South West; where round their base The Beach2 wide flourishes, and the light Ash With slender leaf half hides the thymy0 turf!� abounding in thyme There do I wish to hide me; well content If on the short grass, strewn with fairy flowers,

I might repose thus shelter'd; or when Eve In Orient crimson0 lingers in the west, the setting sun Gain the high mound, and mark these waves remote (Lucid tho' distant), blushing with the rays Of the far-flaming Orb, that sinks beneath them;

2. Possibly a variant spelling of beech (the tree).

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44 / CHARLOTTE SMITH

For I have thought, that I should then behold The beauteous works of God, unspoil'd by Man And less affected then, by human woes I witness'd not; might better learn to bear Those that injustice, and duplicity And faithlessness and folly, fix on me: For never yet could I derive relief, When my swol'n heart wap bursting with its sorrows, From the sad thought, that others like myself Live but to swell affliction's countless tribes! �Tranquil seclusion I have vainly sought; Peace, who delights in solitary shade, No more will spread for me her downy wings, But, like the fabled Danai'ds�or the wretch, Who ceaseless, up the steep acclivity, Was doom'd to heave the still rebounding rock,3 Onward I labour; as the baffled wave, Which yon rough beach repulses, that returns With the next breath of wind, to fail again.� Ah! Mourner�cease these wailings: cease and learn, That not the Cot sequester'd, where the briar And wood-bine wild, embrace the mossy thatch,

(Scarce seen amid the forest gloom obscure!) Or more substantial farm, well fenced and warm, Where the full barn, and cattle fodder'd round Speak rustic plenty; nor the statelier dome By dark firs shaded, or the aspiring pine, Close by the village Church (with care conceal'd By verdant foliage, lest the poor man's grave Should mar the smiling prospect of his Lord), Where offices0 well rang'd, or dove-cote stock'd, outbuildings Declare manorial residence; not these Or any of the buildings, new and trim With windows circling towards the restless Sea, Which ranged in rows, now terminate my walk, Can shut out for an hour the spectre Care, That from the dawn of reason, follows still Unhappy Mortals,'till the friendly grave (Our sole secure asylum) "ends the chace."4

Behold, in witness of this mournful truth, A group approach me, whose dejected looks, Sad Heralds of distress! proclaim them Men Banish'd for ever5 and for conscience sake From their distracted Country, whence the name Of Freedom misapplied, and much abus'd By lawless Anarchy, has driven them far To wander; with the prejudice they learn'd

3. In Greek mythology Sisyphus was condemned forever to push a rock uphill, only to have it roll back down just before it reached the top. The Danaides were condemned to pour water into leaky vessels. 4. I have a confused notion, that this expression, with nearly the same application, is to be found in [Edward] Young: but I cannot refer to it [Smith's note; the quotation has never been identified],

5. Catholic clergymen, banished from France by the revolutionists.

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THE EMIGRANTS / 45

From Bigotry (the Tut'ress of the blind), Thro' the wide World unshelter'd; their sole hope, That German spoilers, thro' that pleasant land

105 May carry wide the desolating scourge Of War and Vengeance;6 yet unhappy Men, Whate'er your errors, I lament your fate: And, as disconsolate and sad ye hang Upon the barrier of the rock, and seem

110 " To murmur your despondence, waiting long Some fortunate reverse that never comes; Methinks in each expressive face, I see Discriminated0 anguish; there droops one, distinct, marked Who in a moping cloister long consum'd

115 This life inactive, to obtain a better, And thought that meagre abstinence, to wake From his hard pallet with the midnight bell, To live on eleemosynary bread,0 alms And to renounce God's works, would please that God.

120 And now the poor pale wretch receives, amaz'd, The pity, strangers give to his distress, Because these strangers are, by his dark creed, Condemn'd as Heretics�and with sick heart Regrets0 his pious prison, and his beads.7� recalls with regret