Botany Bay Eclogues 02 - Elinor
(Time,
Morning.
Scene,
the
Shore.)
Once
more
to
daily
toil—once
more
to
wear
The
weeds
of
infamy—from
every
joy
The
heart
can
feel
excluded,
I
arise
Worn
out
and
faint
with
unremitting
woe;
And
once
again
with
wearied
steps
I
trace
The
hollow-sounding
shore.
The
swelling
waves
Gleam
to
the
morning
sun,
and
dazzle
o'er
With
many
a
splendid
hue
the
breezy
strand.
Oh
there
was
once
a
time
when
ELINOR
Gazed
on
thy
opening
beam
with
joyous
eye
Undimm'd
by
guilt
and
grief!
when
her
full
soul
Felt
thy
mild
radiance,
and
the
rising
day
Waked
but
to
pleasure!
on
thy
sea-girt
verge
Oft
England!
have
my
evening
steps
stole
on,
Oft
have
mine
eyes
surveyed
the
blue
expanse,
And
mark'd
the
wild
wind
swell
the
ruffled
surge,
And
seen
the
upheaved
billows
bosomed
rage
Rush
on
the
rock;
and
then
my
timid
soul
Shrunk
at
the
perils
of
the
boundless
deep,
And
heaved
a
sigh
for
suffering
mariners.
Ah!
little
deeming
I
myself
was
doom'd.
To
tempt
the
perils
of
the
boundless
deep,
An
Outcast—unbeloved
and
unbewail'd.
Why
stern
Remembrance!
must
thine
iron
hand
Harrow
my
soul?
why
calls
thy
cruel
power
The
fields
of
England
to
my
exil'd
eyes,
The
joys
which
once
were
mine?
even
now
I
see
The
lowly
lovely
dwelling!
even
now
Behold
the
woodbine
clasping
its
white
walls
And
hear
the
fearless
red-breasts
chirp
around
To
ask
their
morning
meal:—for
I
was
wont
With
friendly
band
to
give
their
morning
meal,
Was
wont
to
love
their
song,
when
lingering
morn
Streak'd
o'er
the
chilly
landskip
the
dim
light,
And
thro'
the
open'd
lattice
hung
my
head
To
view
the
snow-drop's
bud:
and
thence
at
eve
When
mildly
fading
sunk
the
summer
sun,
Oft
have
I
loved
to
mark
the
rook's
slow
course
And
hear
his
hollow
croak,
what
time
he
sought
The
church-yard
elm,
whose
wide-embowering
boughs
Full
foliaged,
half
conceal'd
the
house
of
God.
There,
my
dead
father!
often
have
I
heard
Thy
hallowed
voice
explain
the
wonderous
works
Of
Heaven
to
sinful
man.
Ah!
little
deem'd
Thy
virtuous
bosom,
that
thy
shameless
child
So
soon
should
spurn
the
lesson!
sink
the
slave
Of
Vice
and
Infamy!
the
hireling
prey
Of
brutal
appetite!
at
length
worn
out
With
famine,
and
the
avenging
scourge
of
guilt,
Should
dare
dishonesty—yet
dread
to
die!
Welcome
ye
savage
lands,
ye
barbarous
climes,
Where
angry
England
sends
her
outcast
sons—
I
hail
your
joyless
shores!
my
weary
bark
Long
tempest-tost
on
Life's
inclement
sea,
Here
hails
her
haven!
welcomes
the
drear
scene,
The
marshy
plain,
the
briar-entangled
wood,
And
all
the
perils
of
a
world
unknown.
For
Elinor
has
nothing
new
to
fear
From
fickle
Fortune!
all
her
rankling
shafts
Barb'd
with
disgrace,
and
venom'd
with
disease.
Have
pierced
my
bosom,
and
the
dart
of
death
Has
lost
its
terrors
to
a
wretch
like
me.
Welcome
ye
marshy
heaths!
ye
pathless
woods,
Where
the
rude
native
rests
his
wearied
frame
Beneath
the
sheltering
shade;
where,
when
the
storm,
As
rough
and
bleak
it
rolls
along
the
sky,
Benumbs
his
naked
limbs,
he
flies
to
seek
The
dripping
shelter.
Welcome
ye
wild
plains
Unbroken
by
the
plough,
undelv'd
by
hand
Of
patient
rustic;
where
for
lowing
herds,
And
for
the
music
of
the
bleating
flocks,
Alone
is
heard
the
kangaroo's
sad
note
Deepening
in
distance.
Welcome
ye
rude
climes,
The
realm
of
Nature!
for
as
yet
unknown
The
crimes
and
comforts
of
luxurious
life,
Nature
benignly
gives
to
all
enough,
Denies
to
all
a
superfluity,
What
tho'
the
garb
of
infamy
I
wear,
Tho'
day
by
day
along
the
echoing
beach
I
cull
the
wave-worn
shells,
yet
day
by
day
I
earn
in
honesty
my
frugal
food,
And
lay
me
down
at
night
to
calm
repose.
No
more
condemn'd
the
mercenary
tool
Of
brutal
lust,
while
heaves
the
indignant
heart
With
Virtue's
stiffled
sigh,
to
fold
my
arms
Round
the
rank
felon,
and
for
daily
bread
To
hug
contagion
to
my
poison'd
breast;
On
these
wild
shores
Repentance'
saviour
hand
Shall
probe
my
secret
soul,
shall
cleanse
its
wounds
And
fit
the
faithful
penitent
for
Heaven.
