THE GHOST OF CHATHAM; A VISION. A vision came! It was not in the hour Of sleep; but when the unresisted power Of magic Fancy, threw, with full control, Her half prophetic mantle o'er the soul. The place was thron'd like Britain's royal halls, And her proud navy deck'd the tap'stried walls. Statesmen and heroes grac'd the pictur'd scene; Fathers who were what since their sons have been; And some whose laurell'd brows might glow with shame, Of sons with nought of their's besides the name. In this august abode the loud debate Seem'd hush'd, and prince and peer in silence sate; E'en G--ff--d's brazen descant seem'd to fail, And gasping C--pley gazed on L--d--rd--le; Panting, they loll'd their contumelious tongues, And suck'd Italian juice to clear their lungs. Y--k mus'd on armies ; yet, with doubtful trust, Wish'd he were certain, or the cause were just: The eye of Cl--r--nce fiercely rang'd the floor, But soften'd as it fell on D--n--ghm--re; While L--v--rp--l, who inly seem'd to fear For place and power, his fellows strove to cheer With sickly smile; and courtier lords obscene, Temper'd new filth, to daub their libell'd Queen . Sudden amid the peers whom England hails Her nobles--men who fail but when SHE fails, The vision rose. It was a rev'rend form Of aged dignity: its eye was warm With kindlings of a spirit that of old Made those walls tremble through its earthly mould. Now a mild glory round its presence play'd, And 'spoke from heav'nly courts the awful shade. Its brow wore high reproof; the lifted arm Was stretch'd for pleading; and there was a charm Of coming eloquence, as firm it stood, Like one whose rank was with the great and good; And well that rank was own'd, when Erskine cried, "'Tis England's Chatham !"--" Chatham !" all replied. Like the dead stillness of the summer air, When pregnant clouds of shrouded fire are there, They sat:--and like the voice of thunder broke The rolling periods, as the vision spoke. "Is this," he cried, "the consecrated floor, Where England's peerage stood, as known of yore, Jealous of honour, zealous for the laws; Justice their sword, and England's weal their cause? Are these the walls whose echoes then return'd No words that chasten'd gallantry had spurn'd? Is this the throne whose last loved tenant view'd His people's morals as the monarch's good? Display'd beneath the sov'reign diadem, Domestic virtue , Britain's dearest gem; And bade Example to his court proclaim What taught, unpractis'd, is the teacher's shame? Ah no! that throne is chang'd; this gew-gaw thing Befits a raree-shew, not England's King! And can it be that Brunswick's cherish'd heir Will also change the laws which plac'd him there? Forget the Stuart's fate , the Brunswick's oath ; Yet make his sorrowing subjects dwell on both? Forbid it, Heaven! Far other thoughts he knew, When yet his talents with his graces grew; When Genius, Beauty, in his circle ran, Admired the prince, and half adored the man. Nor now thus fall'n!--Yet whence this hot cabal Of treasury bench, and bench episcopal? These monstrous portents that before me rise Of mitred pimps, and coronetted spies! This deep, dark plotting, spreading net and snare, By hands that used their country's ark to bear? This hateful truckling to misguided power, Combined in palace, temple, hall, and bower, To crush an outcast Queen, with evidence By facts refuted, ridiculed by sense?-- Tales that would merit but an equal fate, Told of the veriest wench in Billingsgate! Fathers ! and Britons ! whence this alien band Of miscreant lechers bribed from sea and land?-- By England spurn'd, yet plied with England's gold, Till every scoundrel's stock of oaths was sold; Then hither sent by hirelings vile as they, To pass for sterling truth in open day. Monstrous fatuity! and British peers Have lent these vermin not unwilling ears; For new-born lies have barter'd ancient law, Broke public faith, to patch a private flaw, And made a court that freemen never saw. Accusers, Jury, Judges , all in ONE ! O England! now be firm, or be undone! Strangle this monster, ere its birth be o'er, Or grov'lling lick the dust to rise no more! Heard I aright? and was it HERE I heard This crew 'gainst England's Consort Queen preferred? Here did their sland'rous breath infest the air? Hence did malicious tongues the scandal bear? Gush'd 'neath this sacred dome the prurient flood Of filth and venom, from that viper brood, Which o'er the land hath spread its noisome stain, While shudd'ring virtue weeps, but weeps in vain? And (O shame's nauseous dregs!) did noble lips Here taste that stream with epicurean sips? And mitred heads, as o'er its scum they bent, Snuff the rank steam, and chuckle at the scent?-- My soul is sick!--I turn with sated ear, And find a cordial in my brethren here. Peers who their conscience to no market bring; Respect themselves, their country, and their king: Nor would round England's smiling hearths diffuse The breath--the very atmosphere of stews. O horrid! yes, I feel the blast impure, Air no blessed spirit may unpained endure: Yet leave I not without a warning voice: Hear, and obey, and Britons shall rejoice! "You cannot, Lords! by votes create a crime, Nor make your country's voice with falsehood chime:-- You cannot quench, with all this flood of LIES , A gallant people's glowing sympathies:-- You cannot hide your idol God from them, When prone you kiss its garment's nether hem:-- You cannot waste their treasure on a cause, That boldly violates their guardian laws; And 'scape the arrows from their quiver hurl'd-- The keen reproach, and hisses of the world.
[A] See the Earl of Chatham’s animated speech against the employment of Indian warriors to assist in the subjugation of America.
