A Halloween Poem, reproduced on an antique postcard

It has been unseasonably cold, and my thoughts are starting to skip past Halloween to the iron days of November. If it keeps up like this, the trick-or-treaters will have to stuff their costumes into their overcoats.

(EDIT: In case I wasn't clear, the postcard is antique, but the poem is new.)

ODE to HORROR

I just can't seem to drag this blog into the 20th century...

The following is reprinted from The Student, or, The Oxford and Cambridge Monthly Miscellany (1751), for your grueful diversion (with the original explanatory footnotes). A tip for modern readers: eighteenth century printing used the 'long s' [ſ] at the beginning and in the middle of words, and the 'short s' [s] at the end. It can take a little getting used to, but I've retained it because I think it adds to the archaic charm of the piece.



O D E to H O R R O R
In the ALLEGORIC, DESCRIPTIVE, ALLITERATIVE, EPITHETICAL, FANTASTIC, HYPERBOLICAL, and DIABOLICAL STYLE of our modern ODE-WRIGHTS, and MONODY-MONGERS.

----- Ferreus ingruit Horror. VIRG.

O Goddeſs of the gloomy ſcene,
Of ſhadowy ſhapes thou black-brow'd queen ;
Thy treſſes dark with ivy crown'd,
On yonder mould'ring abbey found ;
Oft wont from charnels damp and dim,
To call the ſheeted ſpectre grim,
While as his looſe chains loudly clink,
Thou add'ſt a length to every link :
O thou, that lov'ſt at eve to ſeek
The penſive-pacing pilgrim meek,
And ſett'ſt before his ſhudd'ring eyes
Strange forms, and fiends of giant-ſize,
As wildly works thy wizard will,
Till fear-ſtruck fancy has her fill :
Dark pow'r, whoſe magic might prevails
O'er hermit-rocks, and fairy-vales ;
O goddeſs, erſt, by * SPENSER view'd,
What time th' enchanter vile embru'd,
His hands in FLORIMEL's pure heart,
Till loos'd by ſteel-clad BRITOMART :
O thou that erſt on fancy's wing
Didſt terror-trembling † TASSO bring,
To groves, where kept damn'd furies dire
Their blazing battlements of fire :
Thou that thro' many a darkſom pine,
O'er the rugged rock recline,
Did'ſt wake the hollow-whiſpr'ing breeze
With care-conſumed ELOISE :
O thou, with whom in chearleſs cell,
The midnight clock pale pris'ners tell ;
O haſte thee, mild Miltonic maid,
From yonder yew's ſequeſter'd ſhade ;
More bright than all the fabled Nine,
Teach me to breathe the ſolemn line !
O bid my well-rang'd numbers riſe
Pervious to none but Attic eyes ;
O give the ſtrain that madneſs moves,
Till every ſtarting ſenſe approves !

What felt the Gallic ‡ traveller,
When far in Arab-deſert drear,
He found within the catacomb,
Alive, the terrors of a tomb ?
While many a mummy thro' the ſhade,
In hieroglyphic ſtole array'd,
Seem'd to uprear the myſtic head,
And trace the gloom with ghoſtly tread ;
Thou heardſt him pour the ſtifled groan,
HORROR ! his ſoul was all thy own !

O mother of the fire-clad thoughts,
O haſte thee from thy grave-like grot !
(What time the witch perform'd her rite,)
Sprung from th' embrace of TASTE and Night !
O queen ! that erſt did'ſt thinly ſpread
The willowy leaves o'er ISIS' head,
And to her meek mien didſt diſpenſe
Woe's moſt awful negligence ;
What time, in cave, with viſage pale,
She told her elegiac tale :
O thou ! whom wand'ring WARTON ſaw,
Amaz'd with more than youthful awe,
As by the pale moon's glimm'ring gleam
He mus'd his melancholy theme :
O curfeu-loving goddeſs haſte !
O waft me, to ſome SCYTHIAN waſte,
Where, in Gothic ſolitude,
Mid proſpects moſt ſublimely rude,
Beneath a rough rock's gloomy chaſm,
Thy ſiſter ſits, ENTHUSIASM :
Let me with her, in magic trance,
Hold moſt delirious dalliance ;
Till I, thy penſive votary,
HORROR, look madly wild like thee ;
Until I gain true tranſport's ſhore,
And life's retiring ſcene is o'er,
Aſpire to ſome more azure ſky,
Remote from dim mortality ;
At length, recline the fainting head,
In Druid-dreams diſſolv'd and dead !

Chriſt-church
April 11, 1751 CHIMÆRICUS OXONIENSIS

* SPENSER's Fairy Queen, B. 3. Canto 12.

† Gier. Liberat. B. 14.

‡ Alluding to a ſtory of a French gentleman (mention'd by ſeveral Oriental travellers) who going into the catacombs, not far from Cairo, with ſome Arabs his guides, was there robb'd by them, and left ; a huge ſtone being plac'd over the entrance. I don't remember that any poetical uſe has been made of this ſtory.