Ethic Strains, Poem by Thomas Odiorne

SECTION I.
Morn—An Ocean-Scene—Sublime Tempest—Its deliberate Preparations, and dread Pause, previous to its Onset.—Terrible Appendages, and woful Catastrophes.—The Tempest Moralized.
NOW over hill-tops, first in streaks of grey,
Then ting'd with gold, appears the morning ray.

On the dark rolling of yon dreadful tides,
Glad of the dawn, a labouring vessel rides;
Her men on deck in observation stand,
And, long depriv'd, rejoice to see the land.
Each tender thought, which absence more refines,
Each home-bred fondness, rises in their minds.

At length a scud, like geese before a storm,
Flits swift athwart the sky its dragon-form.
The conscious mariner, with warning call,
As if alarm'd, cries out, A squall! a squall!

Lo! from the deep abyss, with awful brows,
His head above the hills the tempest shows!
Vast, solemn, slow, in threat'ning aspect dress'd,
Black clouds, advancing, darken all the west!
Like mountains, pile on pile, they lowering rise,
And grumble through the chambers of the skies!
In warlike forms, they rank and file display,
And forward move in “terrible array.”
Brewing their thunder, they convolving foam,
And roll into themselves in angry gloom.
To give new strength and impulse to her laws,
Nature withholds her winds in solemn pause.
The scales are pois'd; the skies collect their force,
Deliberate in scowls, and change their course.
At length, on wings of saffron hue outspread,
They cast o'er earth a lurid-yellow shade.

Lo! what an awful stillness reigns around!
From yon dark woods comes a portentous sound.
On hold of mortals dire forebodings take,
Heaven nods, earth trembles, despots, nations quake.
As when uncommon roaring of the waves,
Reverberates o'er rocks, and woods, and caves;
So comes the blast, with hollow-murm'ring noise,
Houses upsets, and nature's face destroys.
It comes, it comes! in whirls the gust appears,
And strikes old Ocean with tumultuous fears!
In flames it comes! impetuous, wild, and strong,
And, mix'd with sulphur, bears the hills along!
The concave, thick'ning, glooms upon the vale,
“And heaven descends” in cataracts of hail.

Still rush the winds, and, with tremendous force,
Spread awful devastation in their course;
The forest groans; upturn'd, it prostrate lies,
Or, seiz'd by whirls, in wild confusion flies.
Cities demolish'd, sacred temples, torn,
Aloft upon the reckless blasts are borne;—
Madly the tempest raves; still rough and strong,
Bursts o'er the strand, and, howling, drives along;
Rash in its onset, furious in its sweep,
And spends its vengeance on the boundless deep.
The mountain-billows flee before the gust,
While down from heaven o'erwhelming torrents burst.
Toss'd here and there, the ship unmasted rolls,
First strikes the skies, and next the fatal shoals.
Upon the roaring flood and howling air,
Resound wild exclamations of despair;
While mariners, long us'd the sea to brave,
Contend in vain, ingulf'd beneath the wave.

Great Nature's works, by Nature's self repuls'd;
Air, water, land, by heat and cold convuls'd;
Dread omens rise; wide-belching Etna boils,
And earthquakes rumble o'er a thousand worlds.
Down mountains fall; vast empires are no more;
Realms sink to seas, the seas extend their shore;
Earth yawning wide, pale ghosts their graves forsake,
Spectators scream, and Nature's mansions shake!

So in the mind, since moral ill began,
Passion produces dire effects on Man.
By mad ambition mov'd, or vengeful ire,
His wrath elicits, like the lightning, fire;
Scorns rankle in his breast, to broils a prey;
No reason he will hear, no law obey;
Rage fires his brain;—furious, he headlong goes,
To wreak unhallow'd vengeance on his foes.
Fierce anger anger meets, death's darts are hurl'd,
And ruthless war depopulates the world.


SECTION II.
Other Objects Moralized.
But other objects picturesque the mind;—
Where'er we turn our eyes, some scene we find,
Some striking scope, or movement of control,
Adapted to the structure of the soul.
The social flames, those bland endearments warm,
Are but reflected Nature's soothing charm;
And great exploits, to which mankind attain,
Are nature's grandeur acted o'er again.
That godlike courage that admires to brave
Perils and death, is seen in Ocean's wave;
And in the gloom amidst the lightning's glare—
Look! see'st thou not a grisly anger there?
Revenge is like the whirlwind; wizard spleen
In the bleak-whining, sullen blast is seen;
And like the moon, in chambers of the cloud,
Mopes, in her cell, the maid of dismal mood.
All scenes have sway, peculiar to their kind,—
Great Nature is the prototype of Mind!

But there's a haunt of which the Poets tell,
Where, lorn, the pensive hermit loves to dwell;
Where, all devote, a reverential flame
Absorbs the soul,—a heaven-aspiring frame!
'Tis in thick woods and solitary shades,
Where silence reigns, and antient gloom pervades;
Where every object, of an awful kind,
To hallow'd contemplation wakes the mind.
Hark! frequent there, to echo's lonely cells,
His woes the bird of blood-spot bosom tells!
Hark! frequent, when the mournful bird is dumb,
The distant partridge rolls his breezy drum;
At frequent intervals, the raven moans,
And, sounding from afar, the desert groans:
Some moulder'd trunk perhaps, that, like a tower,
Falls from its thousand years, to rise no more;
As if impressing one with dismal dread,
A shock had rent the mansions of the dead;
Combustion-like, that, fir'd by Nature's laws
And loud exploding, leaves an awful pause.
In such drear cells, such desolate domains,
O'er pensive souls a sacred horror reigns.
To such abodes immortal seers have turn'd,
And, frequent there, devotion's flame has burn'd;—
Sublime, like Night, the melancholy mood
There soars to heaven on wings of solitude.


SECTION III.
Effects of the Sublime, other than of Fear.
Struck and astonish'd as I lingering pause
On scenes sublime, arrested by their laws;
(Though, says my soul, there's something awful here,)
Dost think there's no sensation but of fear?
Rapt at the view, with vast conception fraught,
Dilated with amazement at the thought;
Of self forgetful, eager to embrace
Expansion, boundless as the realms of space;
Feels not the mind a something still more dear,
Than selfish, grovelling, soul-debasing fear?
Is there no flame, as lofty Fancy soars,
That seems devout?—a passion that adores?

When the young peasant, from some towery height,
Bends o'er the brink, and trembles at the sight;
Or looks aloft to some huge rock's grey brow,
That hangs with horror o'er the vales below;
Starts he not back, at the first view afraid,
Chill'd at the sight, and at the thought dismay'd?
And when to consciousness his reason wakes,
Mov'd by suggestions which reflection makes,
Trusting in this, that God is everywhere,
Does not a sense of his preserving care,
Drive dread away, and, with a soothing wile,
Soften the brow of terror to a smile?
For nought inspires with pleasing awe the soul,
Like a firm, tranquil trust in Heaven's control.

SECTION IV.
Instances of the Moral Sublime in a Mariner, and in the Poet.
Once, on the boundless ocean's rocky shore,
Where mountain-billows burst, and foam, and roar;
I scaled a cliff that frown'd with awful pride,
Hundreds of feet above the dashing tide.
A ship appear'd:—at helm the Captain, brave,
With front undaunted, plough'd the heaving wave.
Fearless, midst threat'ning deaths, on either hand,
He boldly steer'd betwixt the rocks and sand.
Alas! 'twas where a noble ship was toss'd,
And every soul, except the mate was lost.
There, where the bluff and pond'rous surges broke,
I, since, have heard the groanings of the rock;
And many frightful voices seem'd to rise,
From midst the surf, resembling human cries;
Mixt with some hideous bird's lorn scream of wo,
Which rent, at intervals, the blustering blow;
As if some person, plung'd in black despair,
Call'd out for help, when no relief was there;
And seeing round him horrid perils press,
Utter'd by spells his agoniz'd distress;
Till, sudden dash'd against a ledge, aghast,
He breath'd his life out to the howling blast.

As, late, I drew my boat upon that shore,
Close to that fatal reef and awful roar—
'Twas dust—I heard the spirit of the storm,
And thought I saw, 'mongst mists, his shapeless form.
Like the red moon, obscur'd, his visage seem'd;
From where his hand should be, a meteor gleam'd—
Darkness came down, clouds lower'd with aspect dire,
And, rous'd to fury, Ocean foam'd with fire.

Phantoms beset me round:—as conscience knows,
Chill tremours, dreadful apprehensions rose.
Sudden, a huge, tall shape, to my surprize,
Black as old Chaos, came before my eyes;
Stood, mov'd, or seem'd, direct athwart my path,
And frown'd upon me with terrific wrath.
Fear seiz'd my hair; my creeping blood ran cold;
Aghast I stood, till horror made me bold.
Forth I advanc'd, regardless of my doom,
When flash'd his livid eye-balls through the gloom.
Then on a cloud he, hovering round me, came,
And thousand horrors thrill'd through all my frame.

Instant a heaven-sent impulse seiz'd my hand;
I grasp'd a monstrous club upon the strand—
A foe thou art, I said;—thy looks are grim,
Is not a friendly spirit thin, pale, dim?
But thou art hateful as despair,
Thou goblin of ill feature!
Ugliest creature,
In water, earth, or air!
Who art thou, then,
Of ghastly mein?
“Guardian of Night!” (a sullen voice reply'd
But why obstruct my path? (I cry'd
Did ever I disturb Night's course?
“Avoid my frown!” (he answer'd hoarse.)
I fear thee not, (I said,)
Thou gloomy shade!

Thou think'st the brave to fright,
And art thyself afraid of light.
Wrapt in thy sombrous robe,
Thou roam'st each dreary waste
A vagabond forlorn,
A haunted ghost about the globe,
Scared at th' approach of morn,
Forever running, and forever chased.
So keep thy course, (I cry'd,) nor tempt my stroke;—
Heaven wields my arm, and durst thou Heaven provoke?
Raising my weapon, I advanc'd a pace,—
When, lo! the spectre mov'd before my face!
Stopp'd, as I stood, with seeming fury fir'd,
But, as he saw me resolute, retir'd.
Slowly he rose, and, gathering into poise,
Departed on a whirlwind with a noise.


SECTION V.
Moral Sublime in David.
Fain would I bring to admiration's view,
A youth as brave, as ever mortal knew—
The stripling David:—dauntless and alone,
With what a godlike dignity he shone!

Behold Goliah proudly stalks abroad;
The mountains tremble at his haughty nod;
With scoffing threats, in his gigantic might,
He keeps the ranks of Israel in affright;—
No practis'd warrior durst engage the foe;
Rich gifts are proffer'd—none has heart to go.
At length the lad, scorning the Giant's boasts,
Steps bravely forth midst all the trembling hosts,
So when the king of beasts, with onset bold,
Enter'd, and took a lambkin from the fold;
The gallant youth in generous anger rose,
And sought his royal majesty with blows.
As from the stroke the monster felt the wound,
He fell; earth shook; it thunder'd from the ground.
The victor then caught hold upon the beast,
And from his mouth the trembling lamb releas'd
The beast still rose; the youth advanc'd, prepar'd,
And seiz'd his awful presence by the beard.
Smote him anew, inflicting mortal pain,
And laid him smoking on the gory plain.

So by that Boy, the proud Philistine fell;
He ceas'd to scoff,—he ceas'd with pride to swell:—
The youth, advancing, drew the Giant's blade,
And sever'd from the trunk his horrid head.
In raptur'd shouts the joy of hosts arose,
And Israel's sons pursu'd their scattering foes.


SECTION VI.
Washington crossing the Delaware—His parting Scene—News of his death—His Character, a Prototype to future years.
Nor let me pass our Country's Boast unsung,
When through the flood he led his valiant throng.
Above where Trenton roll'd his swollen tide,
Advancing forth upon the river-side,
He stood:—Cold, dark, eventful, was the night,
Deep, wide, and rapid, roll'd the current's might—
He saw the perilous scene, the flood survey'd,
Scann'd its dimensions, circumstances weigh'd;
Still held his purpose to surprise the foe,
To cross the stream, and strike the fatal blow.
Then, with commanding words and noble soul,
He orders gave to stem the torrent's roll.
Impossible! his comrades, as they gaz'd,
Beheld a thousand deaths, and stood amaz'd.
The chief, undaunted, soon dispels their fears,
Impossible then possible appears.

Now having brav'd the flood, and gain'd the land,
Though small their numbers, yet a vet'ran band;
They under covert of the night mov'd down,
Surpris'd the camp, and soon possess'd the town.

So through the war, intent upon success,
He danger scorn'd, he rose above distress;
Firm as a rock amidst th' assaults of time,
Or, like Mont Blanc midst thunders, stood sublime.
Great was the soul of him the Poet sings;
He lives in rhyme above the rank of kings.

Now when the joyful news of peace had come,
And the glad sons of arms look back on home.
His object gain'd, he left the battle-ground,
And gather'd his brave band of brothers round.
Affecting scene! a tender, manly grief,
Deep-labouring in his breast, o'erpower'd the chief.
“I cannot go (he said) to each of you,
But come to me;—I bid you all adieu.”

Knox grasp'd his hand, and melted into tears:
So each in turn, and each o'erwhelm'd appears.
Thus they, all speechless—some to meet no more,
Until arriv'd upon th' eternal shore.

The favourite now of the free people's choice,
Elected twice with no dissenting voice,
He who, in war, was greatest of the great,
But kept the peace and dignity of state.
Without a kingdom, and without a crown,
Clad in his own bright splendour, how he shone!

At length, o'erwhelm'd, the nation is in tears:—
No more on earth great Washington appears!
When the sad tidings came, each patriot cry'd,
Alas! my country!—silent stood—and sigh'd!

“All cover'd o'er with glory,” lo! he sleeps,
Where, yearning o'er the spot, rest freedom weeps!
As ye draw near the hallow'd ground, ye brave!
Speak softly, and “tread lightly o'er his grave!”

Ho! all ye Fathers, who respect the great,
Instruct your sons his name to venerate!
Shall not renown, that so deserv'd appears,
Become a prototype to distant years?

As when an object vast attracts the sight,
And lifts our admiration to its height;
While pondering on its wondrous force, impress'd,
We feel a moral grandeur in the breast;
Shall not the free-born Sons of future time,
Catch his great soul, and grow, like him, sublime?


SECTION VII.
Character of Alphonzo.
But there's a character in fancy's eye,
With whom each generous breast may wish to vie.

Exulting o'er the prospects of the clime,
Enrich'd, expanded, with the flight of time,
O'er nature round, in transports of surprize,
Alphonzo casts his piercing, gazing eyes.
Struck at first view, he kindles with her fires,
Glows as she glows, and feels as she inspires;
In mem'ry's haunts depicted scenes remain;
What sense admits is intellectual gain;
To visual scope, the charms of landscape glow,
Or, absent, wake to fond reflection's view;
Taste grows accomplish'd, sentiment refin'd;
The noblest passions blossom in the mind.
Reason attends, and Genius, grac'd by Art,
And Truth divine, the favourite of his heart;
They deck his brows with marks of noble birth—
There's scarce a lovelier character on earth.
On him propitious Heaven had laid her claim;
Glad to his soul ethereal beauty came;—
He chang'd his views, his partial schemes gave o'er,
Surpris'd, that in Religion there was power.
He knew the joys which heavenly gifts impart,
Best proof he had, he felt them in his heart.

Now virtuous prov'd, and train'd in Wisdom's school,
His will is subject to the golden rule;
With humble confidence and godly fear,
The vital precept he delights to hear;
To hang with ecstacy on Mercy's voice,
Walk in her light, and in her smile rejoice;
While in his breast the Christian graces move,
And the whole Human Species share his love.
Nay, when insulted, (for 'tis oft the case,
That Virtue's self is malic'd by our race,)
With open aspect, calm and self-possess'd—
(No servile fear arising in his breast—)
O! how he shines! too noble and serene,
To let a vengeful thought disturb his mien!
Scorns from his soul to render blow for blow,
But wakes the stifled conscience of the foe.

Although vile Slander, with a noxious breath,
Like midnight Eurus, blow the blast of death;
Though Envy charge him with egregious faults,
He stands sublime amidst the world's assaults.
Like Ocean's rock that lifts its dauntless form,
He casts aside the terrors of the storm.
Faults—he has few—what son of earth has none?
His only are as spots upon the sun;
Lost midst the beams his character displays,
But, through a darkling medium, seen with ease.
And since, as Human is not all divine,
Defects, in contrast, make perfection shine;
Fauls which a generous eye would scarce perceive,
Are crimes an evious soul can ne'er forgive.
Nay, him indeed, whose walk is least in blame,
The sland'rous tongue tries mostly to defame;
But, having learn'd his passions to disarm,
Virtue alone can shield his breast from harm:
And 'tis the happiest art he ever knew,
To make his life bespeak reproach untrue.
In views upright, no ever-haunting elf,
No keen upbraiding rankles in himself;—
Establish'd in his soul's essential cause,
Him, nature's God, and his own conscience, awes.
By fortune cast on life's tumultuous wave,
In hope or fear, he poises, justly brave;
His heart his compass, and the truth his pole,
His eye on Heaven, he stems the boisterous roll;
Avoids the fatal coast where Sirens hail,
Where strong the gulf-stream sets, he crowds all sail;
His mind at helm, with one grand end in view,
Though winds with clouds, and clouds with tempests, brew.

THE END.