Vainly they ran! No cheering warmth they found,
And the dull sky upon their mis'ry frowned;
And when they entered in their doorless homes,
"Twas stony coldness all like empty tombs.
With phrensied energy they dug the ground,
Or dived the sea. Nor coal nor wood they found!
And many a wretch would lay him down to die,
And welcome death without one envious sigh;
No terrors found they in his icy stare-
They could not well be colder than they were.
Still many raged and struggled for warm life,
And waged with cold and death unequal strife,
Dined on raw cabbages, devoured raw beef,
Gained indigestion, but gained no relief.
One man there was a waterman by trade,
Erst in green coat and plated badge arrayed;
Men called him Fish, and rightly him did call-
For he could dive and swim, possessing all
The useful attributes of finny birth-
Finding the water warmer than the earth,
He spent his time in diving; and one day
Found in the river's bottom, where they lay
Hid from the danger of devouring flames,
The stakes that Cæsar drove into the Thames!
"Ho, ho!" cried he; "I've found a treasure here
Shall warm me snugly till the rolling year
Brings jolly summer." So with might and main
He tugged them forth and bore them to the plain :
But, now he'd got them, he had still to learn
That wood when wet is difficult to burn.
Quick witted in himself, he well divined,
Though cold at heart, some warmth remained behind;
And having ranged the timber with much art,
He sat and dried it with his broadest part.
A long, long week, seven weary nights and days,
Drying the expectant pile he careful stays.
Thus o'er her nest the mother eagle broods;
Or thus the phoenix of Arabian woods
Sits on his aromatic pile, whose fire,
Of new life redolent, shall soon aspire.
At length 'twas dry! Now with an eager hand
Two flints he seized and fired each rotten brand-
Each rotten brand a grateful ardour showed;
Forth burst the flame, and on the sky it glowed,
High rose the flame; too high, alas! for now
An ancient woman, on a mountain's brow,
Running some worsted through a needle's eye,
(What is it not old women will descry?)
Found out the fire for Fish that furtive flamed,
And forth with scream and shout the fact proclaimed.
"A fire! A fire! A fire!" the beldam cried;
"A fire! A fire!" the village all replied;
"A fire! A fire! A fire!" was echoed far and wide.
Each babe took up the tale, each ancient sire,
Though deaf, and blind, and lame, repeated "Fire!"
High, low, rich, poor, good, bad-all cold the same---
Loud shouted "Fire!" and kindled at the name.
First hamlets, villages, assumed the cry;
Through burghs and cities then the tidings fly;
All traced them back to where they first began;
All bawled out "Fire!" and as they bawled they ran.
Now Fish, who selfishly had hoped alone
T'enjoy the fire that he himself had won,
Astonished sees the world around him swarm-
Millions on millions, eager to get warm!
On, on they rushed, one on the other pressed;
And still the crowd behind impelled the rest.
All nations, languages, heights, features, hues,
That the wide universe could then produce,
Running, and jostling, scrambling, tumbling came,
Jammed into marmalade around that flame.
Then Fish, indignant, cried with loud command-
A brandished boat hook in his dauntless hand,
"Stand back, my masters! You may all be d-d!
The fire's my own, and I will not be bammed!
Or since the generous ardour fires your soul
To seek this genial flame, from either pole,
With me, its lord, possession to contend,
And squeeze me flat my right while I defend-
Thus I defy you, caitiffs all, and dare
The bold to follow, and my fate to share !"*
Proudly he said, and sprang into the flame.
High o'er his head the fiery eddies came;
The crowd beheld, and, maddened with the sight:
Dashed on the blaze, and perished in the light.
The fire was out; but still they onward rushed
The far extremes the narrow centre pushed,
Squeezed, jammed, cast down, one on the other rose,
And many a mortal trod on his own nose.
Each in his eagerness his fellow mashed:
The sun went down-and all the world was squashed!!!
* The hero of this tale is, or rather was, a real character-(like all the other true heroes in the true tales of this true history.) His name was Peter Fish, a waterman, plying at Hungerford Stairs, and many a time has his wherry borne me over the Thames, when I was a reckless schoolboy. He was a good-humoured soul as ever Aived, rather fond of the bottle and a little rhodomontade.
I WISH I could as merry be
As when I set out this world to see,
Like a boat filled with gocd companie,
On some gay voyage sent.
There Youth spread forth the broad white sail, Sure of fair weather and full gale,
Confiding life would never fail,
Nor time be ever spent:
And Fancy whistled for the wind;
And if e'en Memory looked behind,
"Twas but some friendly sight to find,
And gladsome wave her hand;
And Hope kept whispering in Youth's ear,
To spread more sail and never fear,
For the same sky would still be clear
Until they reached the land.
Health, too, and Strength tugged at the oar,
Mirth mocked the passing billows' roar,
And Joy, with goblet running o'er,
Drank draughts of deep delight;
And Judgment at the helm they set,
But Judgment was a child as yet,
And, lack-a-day, was all unfit
To guide the boat aright.
Bubbles did half her thought employ,
Hope she believed, she played with Joy,
And Passion bribed her with a toy,
To steer which way he chose.
But still they were a merry crew,
And laughed at dangers as untrue,
Till the dim sky tempestuous grew,
And sobbing south winds rose.
Then Prudence told them all she feared;
But Youth a while his messmates cheered,
Until at length he disappeared,
Though none knew how he went.
Joy hung his head, and Mirth grew dull,
Health faultered, Strength refused to pull,
And Memory, with her soft eyes full,
Backward her glance still bent,
To where upon the distant sea,
Bursting the storm's dark canopy,
Light, from a sun none now could see,
Still touched the whirling wave.
And though Hope, gazing from the bow,
Turns off-she sees the shore-to vow,
Judgment, grown older now I trow,
Is silent, stern, and grave.
And though she steers with better skill,
And makes her fellows do her will,
Fear says the storm is rising still,
And day is almost spent.
Oh, that I could as merry be
As when I set out this world to see,
Like a boat filled with good companie,
On some gay voyage sent!
THE PRISON AND THE CASTLE.
For ah! what is there of inferior birth
That breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth-
What wretched creature, of what wretched kind,
Than man more weak, calamitous, and blind?
POPE'S HOMER.
IN such amusements as I have described passed our evenings at Pau; but the days were generally spent in roaming through the beautiful scenery in the neigh bourhood. At length, however, the time for drinking the mineral waters arrived, and we prepared to migrate with the rest. There were two objects, however, in Pau which we had not yet seen.
Hitherto, we had lingered away our time without either visiting the prison or the castle; and, as we were about to set out the next day for Cauterets, we proceeded to the old château, though the evening was beginning to close in. We were all aware that there was little to be seen, but to have quitted the capital of Bearn without seeing the birthplace of Henry IV. would have been a high offence.
I hate prisons-there is something so repulsive in beholding man debarred the first privilege of nature, that, however necessary it may be to the safety of society, it makes me sick at heart to see it. No man, I have been told, felt this so much as Howard, and it was this
that first caused him to turn the energies of his truly great mind towards alleviating the concomitant misery of those who were already wretched enough.
However, my object was to give my mind as much occupation of every kind as I could, and we accordingly proceeded to the prison, where the first sight that presented itself, was that of a maniac in a frightful state of insanity. We paused for a moment to inquire if nothing could be done for the unhappy being; and then as we were crossing the court, the voice of one of the prisoners singing in the tower above, caught our ear, and we stopped again to listen. The air and the voice were both peculiarly beautiful; and I easily obtained the words, which I now subjoin. I will not attempt to describe the effect of the sight of the maniac and the sound of that song.
|