Week 1

THOUGHTS in PRISON:
Commenced
SUNDAY Evening, Eight O’Clock, [1]
Feb. 23, 1777.
WEEK THE FIRST.
The Imprisonment.
My Friends are gone! Harsh on its sullen hinge
|
1 |
Grates the dread door: the massy bolts respond
|
2 |
Tremendous to the surly Keeper’s touch.
|
3 |
The dire keys clang with movement dull and slow
|
4 |
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
|
5 |
And, fastened firm, the object of their care
|
6 |
Is left to Solitude,--to Sorrow left!
|
7 |
But wherefore fastened? Oh still stronger bonds
|
8 |
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
|
9 |
To Solitude and Sorrow would consign
|
10 |
His anguish’d Soul, and prison him, tho' free!
|
11 |
For, whither should he fly, or where produce
|
12 |
In open day, and to the golden Sun,
|
13 |
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
|
14 |
On his bald brow sits grinning Infamy;
|
15 |
And all in sportive triumph twines around
|
16 |
The keen, the stinging Adders of Disgrace!
|
17 |
Yet what’s Disgrace with Man? or all the stings
|
18 |
Of pointed Scorn? What the tumultuous voice
|
19 |
Of erring Multitudes? Or what the shafts
|
20 |
Of keenest Malice, levell’d from the bow
|
21 |
Of human Inquisition?—if the God,
|
22 |
Who knows the heart, looks with complacence down
|
23 |
Upon the struggling victim; and beholds
|
24 |
Repentance bursting from the earth-bent eye,
|
25 |
And Faith’s red cross held closely to the breast!
|
26 |
Oh Author of my being! of my bliss
|
27 |
Beneficent Dispenser! wond’rous Power,
|
28 |
Whose eye, all-searching, thro’ this dreary gloom
|
29 |
Discerns the deepest secrets of the Soul;
|
30 |
Assist me!--With thy ray of light divine
|
31 |
Illumine my dark thoughts; upraise my low;
|
32 |
And give me Wisdom’s guidance, while I strive
|
33 |
Impartially to state the dread account,
|
34 |
And call Myself to Trial! Trial far
|
35 |
Than That more fearful—tho' how fearful That
|
36 |
Which trembling late I proved! Oh aid my hand
|
37 |
To hold the balance equal, and allow
|
38 |
The few sad moments of remaining life
|
39 |
To Retrospection useful! Make my End,
|
40 |
As my first wish (thou know’st the heart) has been,
|
41 |
To make my whole of Being to my Friends,
|
42 |
My fellow-pilgrims thro' this world of woe,
|
43 |
Instructive!—Oh could I conduct but one,
|
44 |
One only with me, to our Canaan’s rest,
|
45 |
How could I meet my fate, nor think it hard!
|
46 |
Not think it hard?—Burst into tears, my Soul;
|
47 |
Gush every pore of my distracted frame,
|
48 |
Gush into drops of blood!—But one; save one,
|
49 |
Or guide to Canaan’s rest?—when all thy Views
|
50 |
In better days were dedicate alone
|
51 |
To guide, persuade to that celestial rest
|
52 |
Souls, which have listened with Devotion’s ear
|
53 |
To Sion’s songs enchanting from thy lips,
|
54 |
And tidings sweet of Jesu’s pardoning Love!
|
55 |
But one, save one?—Oh, what a Rest is this!
|
56 |
Oh what a Sabbath in this dungeon’s gloom,
|
57 |
This prison-house, meet emblem of the realm
|
58 |
Reserv’d for the ungodly! Hark, methinks
|
59 |
I hear the cheerful melody of Praise
|
60 |
And penitential Sweetness! [2] ‘Tis the sound,
|
61 |
The well-known sound, to which my Soul, attun’d
|
62 |
For year succeeding year, hath hearken’d glad,
|
63 |
And still with fresh delight: while all my powers
|
64 |
In blest employ, have prest the saving truths
|
65 |
Of Grace Divine, and Faith’s all-conquering might,
|
66 |
On the sure Rock of Ages grounded firm.
|
67 |
Those hours are gone! and here, from Heaven shut out,
|
68 |
And heavenly works like these, on this lov’d day,
|
69 |
Reft of my God,--I only hear around
|
70 |
The dismal clang of chains; the hoarse rough shout
|
71 |
Of dissonant Imprecation; and the cry
|
72 |
Of Misery and Vice, in fearful din
|
73 |
Impetuous mingled; while my frighted mind
|
74 |
Shrinks back in horror! while the scalding tears,
|
75 |
Involuntary starting, furrow down
|
76 |
My sickly cheeks; and whirling thought confus’d
|
77 |
For giddy moments, scarce allows to know
|
78 |
Or where, or who, or what a Wretch I am!
|
79 |
Not know?—Alas! too well it strikes my heart,
|
80 |
Emphatical it speaks; while dungeons, chains,
|
81 |
And bars and bolts proclaim the mournful truth,
|
82 |
“Ah what a Wretch thou art! how sunk, how fallen,
|
83 |
" [3] From what high state of bliss, into what woe!”
|
84 |
Fallen from the topmost bough that plays in air
|
85 |
E’en of the tallest cedar; where aloft
|
86 |
Proud Happiness her tow’ring eyrie built;
|
87 |
Built, as I dreamt, for ages. Idle dream!
|
88 |
And yet, amongst the millions of mankind,
|
89 |
Who sleep like me, how few like me deceiv’d,
|
90 |
Do not indulge the same fantastic dream!
|
91 |
Give me the Angel’s Clarion!—Let me sound,
|
92 |
Loud as the blast which shall awake the dead;
|
93 |
Oh let me sound, and call the slumberers forth
|
94 |
To view the vision, which delusive charms;
|
95 |
To shake the potent incantation off;
|
96 |
Or ere it burst in ruin on their Souls,
|
97 |
As it has burst on mine.—Not on my Soul!
|
98 |
Retract the dread idea: Righteous God!
|
99 |
Not on my Soul! Oh Thou art gracious all;
|
100 |
And with an eye of pity from thy Throne
|
101 |
Of Majesty Supernal, Thou behold’st
|
102 |
The creatures of thy hand, thy feeble sons,
|
103 |
Struggling with Sin, with Satan, and the World,
|
104 |
Their sworn and deadly foes; and, having felt
|
105 |
In human flesh the trials of our kind,
|
106 |
Know’st sympathetic how to aid the Tried!
|
107 |
Rock of my hope! the rash, rash phrase forgive;
|
108 |
Safe is my Soul; nor can it know one fear,
|
109 |
Grounded on Thee Unchangeable! Thee first,
|
110 |
Thee last, great Cleanser of all human sin!
|
111 |
But tho' secure the vessel rides in port,
|
112 |
Held firm by Faith’s strong anchor,--well it suits
|
113 |
The mariner to think, by what strange means
|
114 |
Thro' perils unconceivable he pass’d;
|
115 |
Thro' rocks, sands, pirates, storms, and boisterous waves,
|
116 |
And happily obtain’d that port at last.
|
117 |
On these my thoughts are bent: nor deem it wrong,
|
118 |
Ministring Angels! whose benignant talk
|
119 |
Assign’d by Heav’n, is to console Distress,
|
120 |
And hold up human hearts amidst the toil
|
121 |
Of human woe! [4] --Blest Spirits, who delight
|
122 |
In sweet, submissive Resignation’s smile,
|
123 |
To that high Will you know for ever right;--
|
124 |
Deem it not wrong, that with a weeping eye,
|
125 |
Deem it not wrong, that with a bleeding heart,
|
126 |
I dwell awhile,--unworthiest of my race,--
|
127 |
On those black rocks, those quick-sands, waves and storms,
|
128 |
Which in a sea of trouble have engulf’d
|
129 |
All, all my earthly comforts; and have left
|
130 |
Me, a poor naked, shipwreck’d, suffering wretch
|
131 |
On this bleak shore, in this confinement drear;
|
132 |
At sight of which, in better days, my Soul
|
133 |
Hath started back with horror! while my Friend,
|
134 |
My bosom-partner in each hour of pain,
|
135 |
With antidotes preventive kindly arm’d,
|
136 |
Trembling for my lov’d health; when christian calls
|
137 |
And zeal for others welfare, haply brought
|
138 |
My steps attendant on this Den of Death!
|
139 |
Oh dismal change! Now, not in friendly sort
|
140 |
A christian Visitor, to pour the balm
|
141 |
Of christian comfort in some wretch’s ear,--
|
142 |
I am that Wretch myself! and want, much want,
|
143 |
The christian consolation I bestow'd;
|
144 |
So cheerfully bestow'd! want, want, my God,
|
145 |
From Thee the mercy, from my fellow-man
|
146 |
The lenient mercy, which,--great Judge of Hearts,
|
147 |
To Thee I make the solemn, sad appeal--
|
148 |
That mercy which Thou know'st my gladsome soul
|
149 |
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart!
|
150 |
Why then, mysterious Providence! pursued
|
151 |
With such unfeeling ardour? why pursued
|
152 |
To death's dread bourn, by men to me unknown!
|
153 |
Why--Stop the deep question; it o'erwhelms my soul;
|
154 |
It reels, it staggers!--Earth turns round!--my brain
|
155 |
Whirls in confusion! my impetuous heart
|
156 |
Throbs with pulsations not to be restrain'd:
|
157 |
Why?--where?--Oh Chesterfield! my son, my son!
|
158 |
Nay, talk not of composure! I had thought
|
159 |
In olden time, that my weak heart was soft,
|
160 |
And Pity's self might break it.--I had thought
|
161 |
That marble-eyed Severity would crack
|
162 |
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
|
163 |
And give me up to madness. 'Tis not so:
|
164 |
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough:
|
165 |
It will not break; they will not crack; or else
|
166 |
What more, just Heaven! was wanting to the deed,
|
167 |
Than to behold--Oh that eternal Night
|
168 |
Had in that moment screen'd me from myself!--
|
169 |
My Stanhope to behold, whose filial ear
|
170 |
Drank pleas'd the lore of wisdom from my tongue.
|
171 |
My Stanhope to behold!--Ah piercing sight!
|
172 |
Forget it; --'its distraction:--Speak who can!
|
173 |
But, I am lost! a criminal adjudg'd!
|
174 |
A guilty miscreant!--Canst thou think, my Friend,
|
175 |
Oh Butler,--midst a million faithful found!--
|
176 |
Oh canst thou think, who know'st, who long hast known
|
177 |
My inmost soul; oh canst thou think that life,
|
178 |
From such rude outrage for a moment sav'd,
|
179 |
And sav'd almost by miracle, [5] deserves
|
180 |
The languid wish, or e'er can be sustain'd?
|
181 |
It can--it must! That miracle alone
|
182 |
To life gives consequence. Oh deem it not
|
183 |
Presumptuous, that my grateful soul thus rates
|
184 |
The present high deliverance it hath found;--
|
185 |
Sole effort of thy wisdom, Sovereign Power,
|
186 |
Without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls!
|
187 |
Oh may I cease to live, ere cease to bless
|
188 |
That interposing Hand, which turn'd aside,--
|
189 |
Nay, to my life and preservation turn'd
|
190 |
The fatal blow precipitate, ordain'd
|
191 |
To level all my little hopes in dust,
|
192 |
And give me to the grave! Rather, my hand,
|
193 |
Forget thy cunning! Rather shall my tongue
|
194 |
In gloomy silence bury every note
|
195 |
To my glad heart respondent, than I cease
|
196 |
To dedicate to Him who spar'd my life,
|
197 |
Each breath, each power, while He vouchsafes to lend
|
198 |
The precious boon!--To Him be all its praise!
|
199 |
To Him be all its service! Long or short,
|
200 |
The gift's the same: to live or die to him,
|
201 |
Is gain sufficient, everlasting gain:
|
202 |
And may that gain be mine!--I live, I live!
|
203 |
Ye hours, ye minutes, bounty of his grace,
|
204 |
Fleet not away without improvement due:
|
205 |
Rich on your wings bear Penitence and Prayer
|
206 |
To Heaven's all-clement Ruler; and to Man
|
207 |
Bear all the Retribution Man can make!
|
208 |
Ye precious hours, ye moments snatch'd from death,
|
209 |
Replete with incense rise,--that my cheer'd soul,
|
210 |
When comes the solemn call, may spring away
|
211 |
Delighted, to the bosom of its God!
|
212 |
Who shall condemn the trust?--Proud Rationals
|
213 |
(That deep in Speculation's wildering maze
|
214 |
Be-muse themselves with error, and confound
|
215 |
The Laws of Men, of Nature, and of Heaven)
|
216 |
Presumptuous in their wisdom, dare dethrone
|
217 |
Even from his works the Maker; and contend,
|
218 |
That he who form'd it governs not the World:
|
219 |
While, steep'd in Sense's Lethe, Sons of Earth
|
220 |
From the World's partial picture gaily draw
|
221 |
Their mad conclusions. Bold broad-staring Vice,
|
222 |
Lull'd on the lap of every mundane bliss,
|
223 |
At meek-eyed Virtue's patient suffering scoffs,
|
224 |
And dares with dauntless insolence the God
|
225 |
Regardless of his votaries!--Vain and blind!
|
226 |
Alike thro' Wisdom or thro' Folly blind--
|
227 |
Whose dim contracted view the petty round,
|
228 |
The mere horizon of the present hour
|
229 |
In darkness terminates! Oh could I ope
|
230 |
The golden portals of eternal day;
|
231 |
Pour on your sight the congregated blaze
|
232 |
Of light, of wisdom, bursting from the throne
|
233 |
Of Universal Glory; on the round,
|
234 |
The boundless cycle of His moral plan,
|
235 |
Who, hid in clouds, terrific Master sits
|
236 |
Of subject Men and Worlds; and sees at once
|
237 |
The ample scene of Present, Future, Past,
|
238 |
All naked to his eye of Flame:--all rang'd,
|
239 |
In harmony complete, to work His will,
|
240 |
And finish with the plaudit of the Skies!
|
241 |
But,--while this 'whelming blazon may not burst
|
242 |
On the weak eyes of mortals; while confin'd
|
243 |
Thro' dark dim glass, with dark dim sight to look
|
244 |
All trembling to the Future, and collect
|
245 |
The scatter'd rays of Wisdom; while referr'd
|
246 |
Our infant Reason to the guiding hand
|
247 |
Of Faith strong-eyed, which never quits the view
|
248 |
Of Jesus, her great Pole-star; from whose Word,
|
249 |
Irradiate with the lustre of his love,
|
250 |
She learns the mighty Master to explore
|
251 |
In all his works; and from the meanest taught
|
252 |
Beholds the God, the Father;--Scorn ye not,
|
253 |
My fellow-pilgrims, fellow-heirs of Death,
|
254 |
And, oh triumphant thought!--my fellow-heirs
|
255 |
Of life immortal;--if not sold to Sense
|
256 |
And Infidelity's black cause, you cast
|
257 |
Ungracious from yourselves the proffer'd boon:
|
258 |
--Then scorn not, oh my friends, when Heaven vouchsafes
|
259 |
To teach by meanest objects, reptiles, birds,
|
260 |
--To take one lesson from a Worm like me!
|
261 |
Proof of a gracious Providence I live;--
|
262 |
To Him be all the glory! Of his care
|
263 |
Paternal, his supporting signal love,
|
264 |
I live each hour an argument. Away,
|
265 |
The systematic dulness of dispute!
|
266 |
Away, each doating reasoner!--I feel,
|
267 |
Feel in my inmost heart the conscious sense,
|
268 |
The grateful pressure of distinguish'd Grace,
|
269 |
And live, and only wish for life to praise it!
For say, my soul,--nor 'midst this silence sad,
|
270 |
This midnight, aweful, melancholy gloom,
|
271 |
Nor in this solemn moment of account
|
272 |
'Twixt thee and Heaven,--when on his altar lies
|
273 |
A sacrifice thy naked, bleeding heart!
|
274 |
Say, nor, self-flattering, to thy conscience hold
|
275 |
The mirror of Deceit;--could'st thou have thought
|
276 |
Thy nerves, thy head, thy heart, thy frame, thy sense,
|
277 |
Sufficient to sustain the sudden shock,
|
278 |
Rude as a bursting earthquake, which at once
|
279 |
Toppled the happy edifice adown,
|
280 |
Whelm'd thee and thine beneath its ruinous crash,
|
281 |
And buried all in sorrow?--Torn away
|
282 |
Impetuous from thy Home, thy much-lov'd Home,
|
283 |
Without one moment to reflection giv'n!
|
284 |
By soothing, solemn promise led to place
|
285 |
Ingenuous all thy confidence of life
|
286 |
In Men, assuming gentle Pity's guise!
|
287 |
Vain confidence, in ought beneath the Sun!
|
288 |
Behold the Hour, the dreadful Hour arriv'd:
|
289 |
The Prison opes its ruthless gates upon thee!
|
290 |
Oh Horror! But what's this, this fresh attack?
|
291 |
'Tis she, 'tis she! my weeping, fainting Wife!
|
292 |
"And hast Thou, faithful, found me? Has thy love
|
293 |
"Thus burst thro' ev'ry barrier?--Hast thou trac'd
|
294 |
"--Deprest in health, and timid as thou art--
|
295 |
"At midnight trac'd the desolate wild streets;
|
296 |
"Thus in a Prison's gloom to throw thy arms
|
297 |
"Of conjugal endearment round the neck
|
298 |
"Of thy lost husband?--Fate, exact thy worst;
|
299 |
"The bitterness is past."--Idea vain!
|
300 |
To tenfold bitterness drench'd in my deep cup
|
301 |
Of gall the morning rises! Statue like,
|
302 |
Inanimate, half dead, and fainting half,
|
303 |
To stand a spectacle!--the Praetor stern
|
304 |
Denying to my pleading tears one pang
|
305 |
Of human sympathy! Conducted forth,
|
306 |
Amidst th' unfeeling populace; pursued
|
307 |
Like some poor deer, which from the hunter's aim
|
308 |
Hath ta'en its deadly hurt; and glad to find--
|
309 |
Panting with woe,--my refuge in a Gaol!
|
310 |
Can Misery stretch more tight the torturing cord?
|
311 |
But hence this softness! Wherefore thus lament
|
312 |
These petty, poor escutcheons of thy fate,
|
313 |
When lies--all worthy of thyself and Life,
|
314 |
Cold in the hearse of Ruin?--Rather turn
|
315 |
Grateful thine eyes, and raise, tho' red with tears,
|
316 |
To His high throne, who looks on thy distress
|
317 |
With fatherly compassion; kindly throws
|
318 |
Sweet Comfort's mixture in thy cup; and sooths
|
319 |
With Gilead's balm thy death-wound. He it is
|
320 |
Who, 'midst the shock disrupting, holds in health
|
321 |
Thy shatter'd frame, and keeps thy Reason clear;
|
322 |
He, He it is, whose pitying power supports
|
323 |
Thy humbled soul, deep humbled in the dust,
|
324 |
Beneath the sense of guilt; the mournful sense
|
325 |
Of deep transgression 'gainst thy fellow-men,
|
326 |
Of sad offence 'gainst Him, thy Father-God;
|
327 |
Who, lavish in his bounties, woo'd thy heart
|
328 |
With each paternal blessing;--ah ingrate,
|
329 |
And worthless! Yet--(His mercies who can count,
|
330 |
Or truly speak his praise?)--Yet thro' this gloom
|
331 |
Of self-conviction lowly He vouchsafes
|
332 |
To dart a ray of comfort, like the Sun's
|
333 |
All-cheering thro' a summer's-evening shower!
|
334 |
Arch'd in his gorgeous sky, I view the Bow,
|
335 |
Of Grace fix'd emblem! 'Tis that Grace alone
|
336 |
Which gives my soul its firmness;--builds my hope
|
337 |
Beyond the grave; and bids me spurn the earth!
|
338 |
First of all blessings, hail! Yet Thou, from whom
|
339 |
Both first and last, both great and small proceed;
|
340 |
Exhaustless Source of every good to Man,
|
341 |
Accept for all, the tribute of my praise;
|
342 |
For all are thine!--Thine the ingenuous Friends,
|
343 |
Who solace with compassion sweet my woe;
|
344 |
Mingle with mine their sympathetic tears;
|
345 |
Incessant and disinterested toil
|
346 |
To work my weal; and, delicately kind,
|
347 |
Watch every keener sensibility
|
348 |
That lives about my soul. Oh, more than Friends,
|
349 |
In tenderness my Children!--Thine are too
|
350 |
The very Keepers of the rugged Jail,
|
351 |
--Ill school to learn Humanity's soft lore!--
|
352 |
Yet here Humanity their duty pays,
|
353 |
Respectably affecting! Whist they tend
|
354 |
My little wants, officious in their zeal,
|
355 |
They turn away, and fain would hide the tear
|
356 |
That gushes all unbidden to their eye,
|
357 |
And sanctifies their service.--On their heads
|
358 |
Thy blessing, Lord of Bounty!----
|
359 |
----But, of all,
|
360 |
All thy choice comforts in this drear distress,
|
361 |
God of our first young love! Thine is the Wife,
|
362 |
Who with assiduous care, from night to morn,
|
363 |
From morn to night, watches my every need;
|
364 |
And, as in brightest days of peace and joy,
|
365 |
Smiles on my anguish, while her own poor breast
|
366 |
Is full almost to bursting! Prostrate, Lord,
|
367 |
Before thy footstool----Thou, whose highest style
|
368 |
On Earth, in Heaven, is Love!--Thou, who hast breath'd
|
369 |
Thro' human hearts the tender charities,
|
370 |
The social fond affections which unite
|
371 |
In bonds of sweetest amity those hearts,
|
372 |
And guide to every good!--Thou, whose kind eye
|
373 |
Complacent must behold the rich, ripe fruit,
|
374 |
Mature and mellow'd on the generous stock
|
375 |
Of thy own careful planting!--Low on earth,
|
376 |
And mingled with my native dust, I cry;
|
377 |
With all the Husband's anxious fondness cry;
|
378 |
With all the Friend's solicitude and truth;
|
379 |
With all the Teacher's fervour;--"God of Love,
|
380 |
"Vouchsafe thy choicest comforts on her head!
|
381 |
"Be thine my fate's decision: To thy Will
|
382 |
"With Angel-resignation, lo! we bend!"
|
383 |
But hark! what sound, wounding the Night's dull ear,
|
384 |
Bursts sudden on my sense, and makes more horrible
|
385 |
These midnight horrors?--'Tis the solemn Bell,
|
386 |
Alarum to the Prisoners of Death [6] !--
|
387 |
Hark! what a groan, responsive from the Cells
|
388 |
Of Condemnation, calls upon my heart,
|
389 |
My thrilling heart, for intercession strong,
|
390 |
And pleadings in the Sufferer's behalf--
|
391 |
My Fellow-Sufferers, and my Fellow-Men!
|
392 |
Cease then awhile the strain, my plaintive Soul,
|
393 |
And veil thy face of sorrow! Lonely hours
|
394 |
Soon will return thee to thy midnight task,
|
395 |
For much remains to sing; sad themes, unsung,
|
396 |
As deem'd perchance too mournful;--yet, what else
|
397 |
Than themes like these can suit a Muse like mine!
|
398 |
--And might it be, that while ingenuous woe
|
399 |
Bleeds thro' my verse; while the succeeding page
|
400 |
Weaving with my sad story the detail
|
401 |
Of Crimes, of Punishments, of Prisons drear,
|
402 |
Of present Life and future,--sad discourse
|
403 |
And serious shall contain; Oh might it be,
|
404 |
That human hearts may listen and improve!
|
405 |
Oh might it be, that benefit to Souls
|
406 |
Flow from the weeping tablet: tho' the Man
|
407 |
In torture die,--the Painter shall rejoice!
|
408 |
1. Sunday, March 2, 1777.
2. END of the FIRST WEEK.
Notes
(see also Works Cited)