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THE POETICAL WORKS
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
ISAAC FOOT LIBRARY
'•s'sr).A
THK
POETICAL WORKS
THOMAS. CAMPBELL.
r-ONDOX :
EDWARD MOXON, DO^'ER STREET
M l)( ( I iXXVll.
LONDON :
BRAnnUKY AN() EVANS, PRINT KliS,
WIIITKI'BIARS.
?R
IJNlVJiitoii i Oi' CAMFORNIA SANTA BARBARA
CONTENTS.
PLEASURES OF HOPE. — PART I, .
PART II. ....
theodric : a domestic tale ....
song of hybrias the cretan ....
fragment, from the greek of alcman
martial elegy, from the greek of tyrt^us .
specimens of translation from medea . . *
speech of the chorus, in the same tragedy. .
O'Connor's child ; or, " the flower of love lies bleeding" ... . . . i
lochiel's warning .....
battle of the baltic .....
ye mariners of england, a naval ode
hohenlinden . ...
GLENAR.\ .......
PAGE 1
2.3 39
58
.58;
59
60
61
(if;
8/ 89
\i COXTKNTis. .
EXILE OK IRIN . . • '
LORD in^MNS DAUGHTER ...
ODE TO THE MEMORY OF "BURNS . . ". .
I.IXES WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYI.ESHIRE THE soldier's dream ....
TO THE RAINBOW ..... THE LAST MAN A DRE.\.M .......
Valedictory stanzas to j. i'. kl.mble, Esa., composed
FOR A PUBLIC meeting, HELD JUNE, 1817 . GERTRUDE OK WYOMING. — PART I. . .
: part II,
p.vrt III.
fAGK
90
92
9.")
98
100
1.02
104
107
110 114
120
LINES WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE HIGHL.\ND SOCIETY IN LONDON, WHEN MET TO CO.MME.MORATE THE 21ST OF MARCH, THE D.\Y OF VICTORY IN EGYPT .' . . 150
STA.V7.AS TO THE MEMORY OK THE SPANISH PATRIOTS LATEST KILLED IN RKSISTI.XG THE REGENCY AND THE DUKE OF .\NGOULEME . . . . . lr>2
•SONG OF THE GREEKS ODE TO WINTER
i:)4
156
LINES Sl'OKEN BY MRS. HARTLEY AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE ON THE FIRST OPENING OF THE HOUSE, AFTER THE DEATH OK THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE, 1817 . . . . 1.58
LINES O.N THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE . 1 fiO
RLUI LURA
. HJl
CONTENT.'*. VII
P\GK THK TURKISH LADY . . . . . . .168
THE BRAVE ROLAND . . .' . .' . . 170
THE SPECTRE-BOAT. A BALLAD ..... 172
SONG. " OH, HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND" . . . . 173
THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS ON HER BIRTH-DAV . .174
ADELGITHA ...... . 175
LINES ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST,
FROM K. M , BEFORE HER MARRIAGE . . . 176
GILDCROY . . . . . . . 178
STANZAS ON THK THREATENED INVASION, 1803 . . 180
THE RITTER BANN . . • . . 181
SONG. "MEN OF ENGLAND" ..... 188
SONG. " DRINK \'E TO HER THAT EACH LOVES BEST " . 189
THE HARPER . . . . . . .190
THE WOUNDED HUSS.\R . . . . . . li)l
LOVE AND MADNESS. — AN ELEGY ..... 192
HALLOWED GROUND . . . . . . . 19.T
SONG. — " WITHDRAAV NOT VET THOSE LIPS AND FINGERS " . IDS
C.\ROLINE PARI I, . . . . . . 199
PART II. TO THE EVENING STAR . . . 201
THE BEECH TREE's PETITION . . . . 203
FIELD FI,OWERS ...... 20o
SONG. TO THE EVENING STAR . . 206
STANZAS TO PAINTING .... 207
THE maid's REMONSTRANCE . ... 209
\iii • (OXTEXTS.
PAGE ABSENCE . . 210
LINES INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BY
MR. CHANTREY, WHICH HAS BEEN ERECTED BY THE WIDOW
• OF ADMIRAL SIR G. CAMPBELL, K.C.B., TO THE MEMORY
OF HER HUSBAND . ..211
ST.\NZ.\S ON THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO .... 212
LINES ON REVISITING A SCOTTISH RIVER . . . . 213
THE " NAME UNKNOWN ;" IN IMITATION OF KLOPSTOCK . 215
LINE^ ON THE C.\MP HILL, NEAR HASTINGS . . 21^
FAREWELL TO LOVE ...... 218
LINES ON POL.VND . . . . . 219
MARGARET .\ND D0R.4 ... . . 224
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YE.\R . . 225
SONG. " HOW DELICIOUS IS THE WINNING" . . 226
THE POWER O*^ RUSSIA . . . . 227
LINES ON LEAVING A SCENE IN BAVARIA . . . 231
THE DEATH-BOAT OF HELIGOLAND . . . . . 237
SONG. "when LOVE CAME FIRST TO EARTH" . . 239
SONG "EARL MARCH LOOKED ON HIS DYING CHILD" . 240
SONG •' WHEN NAPOLEON WAS FLYING "... 240
LINES TO JULIA .M , SENT WITH A COPV OF THE AUTHOR's
POEMS . . . . . .241
DRINKING SONG OF MUNICH . ... . . 242
LINES ON THE DEPARTURE ' OF EMIGRANTS FOR NEW SOUTH
^'AI-ES . . . . . .213
CONTENT;^, IX
■ PACK- LINES ON REVISITING CATHCART . . . . . 247
THE CHERUBS SUGGESTED BY AN APOLOGVE IN THE WORKS
OF FRANKLIN ... . . . . . 248
SENEX'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS YOUTHFUL IDOL . . . 251
TO SIR FRANCIS BURDETT, ON HIS SPEECH DELIVERED IN PAR- LIAMENT, AUGUST 7, 1832, RESPECTING THE FOREIGN POLICY OF GREAT BRITAIN . • . . . . 252
ODE TO THE GERMANS . . . . . . 254
LINES ON A PICTURE OF A .GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF PRAYER, ' BY THE ARTIST GRUSE, IN THE POSSESSION OF LADY STEPNEY . . . . . . . 256
LINES ON THE VIEW FROM ST. LEONARD'S ' . . . 258
THE DEAD EAGLE WRITTF.N AT ORAN . ." . 2fJ3
SONG. — "to LOVE IN MY HEART" . ., ... 267
LINES WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF LA PEROUSE'S -VOYAGES 268
NOTES . . . . ■ ... . 271
THE
PLEASURES OF HOPE
ANALYSIS—PART I.
The Poem opens with a comparison between tlie beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which the imagination delights to contemplate — the influence of anticipation upon the other passions is next delineated — an allusion is made to tlie well-known fiction in Pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian deities of mankinds abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind — the consolations of this passion in situations of danger and distress — the seaman on bis watch-— the soldier marching into battle — allusion to the interesting adventuresof Byron.
The inspiration.of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, whether in the department of science, or of taste — domestic felicity, bow intimately connected with views of future happiness — picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep — pictures of the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderei.
From the consolations of indindual misery a transition is made to prospects of political improvement in the future state of society — the wide field that is yet opeti for the progress of humanising arts among uncivilised nations — from these views of amelioration of society, and the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by a melancholy contrast of ideas, we are led to reflect upon the hard fate of a brave people recently conspicuous in tlieir struggles for independence — description of tlie capture of Warsaw, of the last contest of the •oppressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague — apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human improvement — the wrongs of Africa — the barbarous policy of Euro- peans in India — prophecy in the Hindoo mythology of the expected descent of the Deity to redress the miseries of their race, and to take vengeance on tlie violators of justice and mercy.
At summer eve, when Hcaven"'s ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the gUttering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye. Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky I Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ;- 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus, with delight, wc linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way ;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, And every form, that Fancy can repair .From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye To pierce the shades of dim futurity I Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power, The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour l Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man — Her dim horizon bounded to a span ; Or, if she hold an image to the view, 'Tis Nature pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heavenly light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight : Thino is the charm of life's bewildered way, That calls each slumbering passion into play. Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command. And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer. To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.
Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say. When Man and Nature mounr'd their first decay ; When every form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below ; When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of her iron car ; AVhen Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain. Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again ; All, all forsook the friendless, guilty mind. But Hope, the charmer, linger^ still behind.
Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air.
.3
The prophet's mantle, ere Jiis flight began, Dropt on the world — a sacred gift to man.
Auspicious Hope ! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe ; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing. What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! What viewless forms th' iEolian organ play. And sweep the furrowVl lines of anxious thought away.
Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. ,
Lo ! to the wintry winds the pilot yields
His bark careering o'er unfathomVl fields ;
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar,
Where Andes, giant of the western star,
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurFd,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world !
Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Bohring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles : Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, • From wastes that slumber in eternal snow j And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm. Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay ; Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
But Hope can here lier moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole. Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul ; His native hills that rise in happier climes. The grot that heard his song of other times. His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, Rush on his thought ; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the loved shore he sigh'd to leave behind ; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face. And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear ! And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear ! While, long neglected, but at length caress'd. His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest.
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.
Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour, Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power ; To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, On stormy floods, and carnage-covered fields, AVhen front to front the banner'd hosts combine. Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil ! As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye. Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, And hears thy stormy music in the drum !
And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore. — In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 'Twas his to mourn Misfortune's rudest shock, Scom'ged by the winds, and cradled on the rock, To wake each joyless morn and search again The famish'd haunts of solitary men ; Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, Know not a trace of Nature but the form ; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued. Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar The moon's pale planet and the northern star. Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before. Hyaenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore ; Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime, 'He found a warmer world, a milder clime.
A home to rest, a shelter to defend, Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend !
Congenial Hope ! thy passion-kindling power, How bright," how strong, in youth's untroubled hour ! On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand, I see thee, light, and wave thy golden wand.
" Go, child of Heaven ! (thy winged words proclaim) 'Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame ! Lo ! Newton, priest of nature, shines afar, Scans the. wide world, and numbers every star! Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye ! Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound. The speed of light, the circling march of sound ; With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing. Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string.
" The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers, His winged insects, and his rosy flowers ; Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train, With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain — So once, at Heaven's command, the wanderers came To Eden's shade, and heard their various name.
" Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime, Slow pass the sons of ^Visdom, more sublime ; Calm as the fields of Heaven, his sapient eye The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high. Admiring Plato, on his spotless page. Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage : ' Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?'
" Turn, child of Heaven, thy rapture-lighten'd eye To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh :
Hark ! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height, From streams that wander in eternal light, Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell ; Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow, And Pythia"'s ax^iul organ peals below.
" Beloved of Heaven ! the smiling Muse shall shed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined. And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. I see thee roam her guardian power beneath, And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; Enquire of guilty wanderers whence they came, And ask each blood-stainM form his earthly name; Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, And read the trembling world the tales of hell.
" When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy hue, Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ. Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy ; A milder mood the goddess shall recal, And soft as dew thy tones of music fall ; While Beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart — Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain, And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain.
"Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem, And steep thy song in JNIercy's mellow stream ; To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile — For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile ; — On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief, And teach impassion'd souls the joy of griefs
" Yes ; to thy tongue shall seraph words bo given, And power on earth to plead the cause of Heaven; The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone. That never mused on sorrow but its own, Unlocks a generous store at thy command. Like HoreVs rocks beneath the prophet's hand. The living lumber of his kindred earth, CharmVl into soul, receives a second birth, Feels thy dread power another heart afford. Whose passion-touchM harmonious strings accord True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan; And man, the brother, lives the friend of man.
" Bright as the pillar rose at Heaven's command, When Israel march'd along the desert land, Blazed through the night on lonely wilds afar. And told the ])ath, — a never-setting star : So, heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine."
Propitious Power ! when rankling cares annoy The sacred home of Hymenean joy ; When doomVl to Poverty's secpiester'd dell, The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, Tlieir woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same — Oh, there, prophetic Hope ! thy smile bestow. And chase the pangs that worth should never know- There, as the parent deals his scanty store To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age. ^Vllat though for him no Ilybla sweets distil, Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill ;
Tell, that when silent years have passVl away, That when his eye grows dim, his tresses grey, These busy hunds a loveher cot shall build. And deck with fairer flowers his little field, And call from Heaven propitious dews to breatlu^ Arcadian beauty on the barren heath ; Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, Health shall prolong to many a festive hour The social pleasures of his humble bower.
Lo ! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes. And weaves a song of melancholy joy — • "'Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy ; No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine ; No sigh that rends thy father"'s heart and mine ; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than he I Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last. Shall soothe his achmg heart for all the past — With many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.
" And say, when summon''d from the world and thee, . I lay my head beneath the willow tree, Wilt thou, sweet mourner ! at my stone appear. And soothe, my parted spirit lingering near I Oh, wilt thou *come at evening hour to shed T.he tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed ; With aching temples on thy hand reclined, Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
10
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my woe f
•So speaks affection, ere the infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply ; But when the cherulj lip hath learnt to claim A mother's ear by that endearing name ; Soon as the playful innocent can prove A tear of pity, or a smile of love, Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care, JOr Hsps with holy look his evening prayer. Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear The mournful ballad warbled in his ear ; How fondly looks admiring Hope the while, At every artless tear, and every smile ! How glows the joyous parent to descry A guileless bosom, true to sympathy !
AVhere is the troubled heart consign^l to share Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, Unblcst by visionary thoughts that stray To count the joys of Fortune's better day ! Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, A long-lost friend, or hapless child restored. Smiles at his blazinor hearth and social board ; Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow. And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe.
Chide not his peace, proud Reason ! nor destroy The shadowy forms of uncreated joy. That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. Hark ! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale That wafts so slow her lover's distant- sail ;
11
She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore,
WatchM the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore.
Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze,
Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix^d her maddening gaze :
Poor widow'd wretch ! 'twas there she wept in vain,
Till Memory fled her agonising brain ; —
But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe.
Ideal peace, that truth could ne''er bestow ;
Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam,
And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream.
Oft when yon moon has climbVlthe midnight sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, Piled on the steep, her blazing faggots burn To hail the bark that never can return ; And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep That constant love can linger on the deep.
And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue ; Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore. But found not pity when it err'd no more. Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and passes by. Condemned on Penury's barren path to roam. Scorned by the world, and left without a hoine — Even he, at evening, should ho chance to stray Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way. Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are seen The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green, Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while — Oh ! that for me some home like this would smile. Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form Health ir. the breeze, and shelter in the storm !
There should my hand no stinted boon assign To wretolicd hearts with sorrow such as mine ! — That generous \\nsh can soothe uupitied care, And Hope lialf mingles with the poor man's prayer.
Hope ! when I mourn, with sympathising mind. The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see The boundless fields of rapture yet to be ; I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan, And learn the future by the past of man.
Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore. On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along. And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk. There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray. And shepherds dance at Summer's opening day ; Each wandering genius of the lonely glen Shall start to a iew the glitteruig haunts of men, And silent watch, on woodland heights around. The village curfew as it tolls profound.
In Libyan groves, where danmed rites are done. That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun. Truth shall aiTCst the murderous arm profane, Wild Obi flies — the veil is rent in twain.
Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home ; Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines. From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines.
13
Truth shall pervude th"' unfathom''d darkness there, And light the dreadful features of despair. — Hark ! the stern captive spurns his heavy load, And asks the image back that Heaven bestowed ! Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns. And, as the slave departs, the man returns.
Oh ! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued Oppression pour^l to Northern wars Her whiskerd pandoors and her fierce hussars. Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, PeaFd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn Tumultuous horror brooded o''er her van. Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man !
Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyM, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — Oh ! Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding comitry save !— Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains. Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high ! And swear for her to live !^with her to die !
He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge, or death, — the watcli-word and repl}' ; Then peaFd the notes, onmipotent to charm. And the loud tocsin tolFd their last alarm I—
In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! From rank to rank your volleyM thunder flew : —
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarniatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! DroppM from her nerveless grasp the shatter"'d spear, Closed her bright eye, and cui'b'd her high career ; — Hope,, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shriekM — as Kosciusko fell !
15
The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage tliere, Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air — On Prague''s proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! Hark, as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! Earth shook — red meteors flashed along the sky, And conscious Nature shudderM a;t the cry !
Oh ! righteous Heaven ; ere Freedom found a grave, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? Where w^as tliine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod. That smote the foes of Zion and of God ; That crushed proud Amnion, when his iron car Was yoked in wrath, and thunder''d from afar I Where was the storm that slumber''d till the host Of blood- stain''d Pharaoh left their trembling coast ; Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, And heaved an ocean on their march below I
Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at ISIarathon and Leuctra bled ! Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man. Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia''s tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own ! Oh ! once again to Freedom''s cause return The patriot Tell — the Bruce of Baxxockburn I
Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see That man hath yet a soul— and dare be free ! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of Desolation reigns ;
10
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! . Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurFd, Her name, her nature, wifherM from the world !
Ye that the rising mom invidious mark, And hate the light — because your deeds are dark ; Ye that expanding truth invidious view. And think, or wish, the song of Hope untrue ; Perhaps your little hands presume to span The march of Genius and the powers of man ; Perhaps ye watch, at Pride"'s unhallow\l shrine. Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine : — " Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease, and here Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career."
Tyrants ! in vain ye trace the wizard ring ; In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring : ^V^hat ! can ye lull the vvinged winds asleep, Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep ? No ! — the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand : It roird not back when Canute gave command !
Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow ? Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow ? Shall War^s polluted banner ne'er be furl'd i Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the wofld ? What ! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied I Why then hath Plato lived — or Sidney died ? —
Ye fond adorers of departed fame. Who warm at Scipio's worth, or TuUy's name ! Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre ! Rapt in historic ardour, who adore Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore,
17
Where Valour tuned, amidst her chosen throng,
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ;
Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms
Of England"'s glory, and Helvetia"'s arms !
See Roman "fire in Hampden's bosom swell,
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell !
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,
Hath Valour left the world — to live no more i
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die, „
And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye I ■' ' •
Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls.
Encounter Fate, and triumph as he falls ?
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,
The might that slumbers in a peasant''s arm i
Yes ! in that generous cause, for ever strong, The patriot's virtue and tlie poe^s song, Still, as the tide of ages rolls away, Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay !
Yes ! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may triist. That slumber yet in uncreated dust, Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth. With every charm of wisdom and of worth ; Ordain'Ki to light, with intellectual day. The mazy wheels of nature as they play, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, And rival all but Shakspeare's name below.
And say, supernal Powers ! who deeply scan Heaven's dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man, When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame. That embryo spirit, yet without a name, — That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands Shall burst the Libvan's adamantine bands ? •
Who, sternly marking on his native soil Th(? blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil. Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free !
Yet, yet, degraded men ! th'' expected day That breaks your bitter cup, is far away ; Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed, And holy men give Scripture for the deed ; Scourged, and debased, no Briton stoops to save A wretch, a coward ; yes, because a slave ! —
Eternal Nature ! when thy giant hand Had heaved the floods,. and fixed the trembling land. When life sprang startling at thy plastic call. Endless her forms, and man the lord of all ! Say, was that lordly form inspired by thee. To wear eternal chains and bow the knee 1 Was man ordain'd the slave of man to toil. Yoked with the brutes, and fetter'd to the soil ; Weighed in a tyrant's balance with his gold l No !— Nature stamped us in a heavenly mould ! She bade no ^vretch his thankless labour urge. Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the spourge ! No homeless Libyan, on the stormy deep. To call upon his country's name, and weep !^—
Lo ! once in triumph, on his boundless plain, The quiverVl chief of Congo loved to reign ; With fires proportioned to his native sky,' Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye ; Scour'd v^dth wild feet his sun-illumined zone, The spear, the lion, and the woods, his own ! Or led the combat, bold without a plan, An artless savage, but a fearless man !
19
The plunderer carae ! — alas ! no glory smiles For Congo''s chief, on yonder Indian isles ; For ever fairn ! no son of Nature now, With Freedom chartered on his manly brow ! Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away, And when the sea-wind wafts the dewless day, Starts, with a bursting heart, for evermore To curse the sun that lig-hts their oruiltv shore !
The shrill horn blew ; at that alarum knell His guardian angel took a last farewell ! That funeral dirge to darkness hath resigned The fiery grandeur of a generous mind ! Poor fetter'd man ! I hear thee whispering low Unhallow''d vows to Guilt, the child of Woe ! Friendless thy heart ; and canst thou harbour there A wish but death — a passion but despair I
The widowM Indian, when her lord expires, Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires ! So falls the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh ! So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty !
But not to Libya''s barren climes alone. To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone, Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye. Degraded worth, and poor misfortune''s sigh ! — Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run ! Prolific fields ! dominions of the sam ! How long your tribes have trembled and obey\l ! How long was Timour's iron sceptre swayM, Whose marshaird hosts, the lions of the plain. From Scythia's northern mountains to the main, Raged o'er your plundered shrines and altars bare, With blazing torch and gory cimitar, —
20
StiinnM with the cries of death each gentle gale, And bathed in blood the verdure of the vale ! Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame, When Braraa''s children perished for his name ; The martyr smiled beneath avenging power, Apd braved the tyrant in his torturing hour I
When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, And stretch^l her giant sceptre o'er the main, Taught her proud barks the winding way to shape, And braved the stormy Spirit of the Cape ; Children of Brama ! then was Mercy nigh To wash the stain of blood"'s eternal dye I Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save. When freebom Britons cross''d the Indian wave ? Ah, no ! — to more than Rome''s ambition true. The Nurse of Freedom gave it not to you I She the bold route of Europe's guilt began. And, in the march of nations, led the van !
Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, And plunder piled from kingdoms not their own, Degenerate trade ! thy minions could despise The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries ; Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, While famish'd nations died along the shore : Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair ; Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name, And barter, with their gold, eternal shame !
But hark ! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels. From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals ! Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, Prophetic murmurs breatliing on the shell,
•21
And solemn sounds that awe the hstoning mind, Roll on the azure paths of every wind,
" Foes of mankind ! (her guardian spirits say,) Revolving ages bring the bitter day. When heaven''s unerring arm shall fall on you. And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; Nine times have Brama''s wheels of lightning hurFd His awful presence o"'er the alarmed world ; Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came ; Nine times hath suffering JNIercy spared in vain — But Heaven shall burst her starry gates again ! He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky With murmuring \\Tatli, and thunders from on high, Heaven*'s fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm ! Wide waves his flickering sword ; his bright arms glow Like summer suns, and light the world below ! Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean"'s bed, Are shook ; and Nature rocks beneath his tread !
"To pour redress on Indians injured realm, The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ; To chase destruction from her plunder^ shore With arts and arms that triumphed once before. The tenth Avatar comes ! at Heaven''s command Shall Seriswattee wave her h&,llow\l wand ! And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime. Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime ! — Come, Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace re^ore ! Love ! — Mercv ! — Wisdom ! — rule for evermore !"
hbiD OF THE FIRSl' PARI.
ANALYSIS — PART II.
Apostrophe to tlie power of Love — its intimate connexion with generous and social Sensibility — allusion to that beautiful passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which represents the happiness of Paradise itself incom- plete, till love was superadded to its other blessings — the dreams of future felicitj' which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined attachment — this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is plea'sing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great artist who personified perfect beautjs in the picture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find— a summer and \vinter evening described, as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and retire- ment.
Hope and Imagination inseparable agents — even in those contemplative. moments when our imagination wanders beyond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we shall some day have a wider and more distinct prospect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy.
The kst and most sublime influence of Hope is the concluding topic of the poem — the predominance of a belief in a future state oyer the terrors at- tendant on dissolution — .the baneful influence of that sceptical philosophy which bars us from such comforts — allusion to the fate of a suicide — episode of Conrad and Ellenore — conclusion.
Int joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own I Who hath not paused while Beauty''s pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh I Who hath not ovra'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name I
There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow. Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; There be, whose loveless wisdom never faiFd, In self-adoring pride securely maiPd : — But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few ! Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you I For you no fancy consecrates the scene Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between ; ""Tis your's, unmoved, to sever and to meet ; No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet !
Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed. The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead 1 No ; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy. And fear and sorrow fan the fire, of joy ! And say, without our hopes, without our fears, Without the home that plighted love endears. Without the smile from partial beauty won. Oh ! what were man ? — a world without a sun.
•24
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour. There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower ! In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, At starry midnight charmVl the silent air ; In vain the wild-bird caroll'd on the steep, To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep ; In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, . . Aerial notes in mingljng measure play'd ; The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — Still slowly passed the melancholy day. And still the stranger wist not where to stray. The world was sad ! — the garden Avas a wild ! And man, the hermit, sigh"'d — till woman smilVl !
True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring Delirious anguish on his fiery '^ving; Barr'd from delight by Fate's untimely hand, By wealthless lot, or pitiless command ; Or doomed to gaze on beauties that adorn The smile of triumph or the frown of scorn ; AVliile Memory watches o'er the sad review Of joys that faded like the morning dew ; Peace may depart— and life and nature seem A barren path, a wildness, and a dream !
But can the noble mind for ever brood. The w illing victim of a weary mood. On heartless cares that squander life away. And cloud young Genius brightening into day ? — Shame to, the coward thought that e'er betray 'd" The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! — If Hope's creative spirit cannot raise One trophy sacred to thy future days.
or.
Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloom} '.shrine^
Of hopeless love to murmur and repmc I
But, should a sigh of milder mood express
Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness,
Should Heaven's fair harbinger delight to pour
Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour,
No tear to blot thy memory ""s pictured page,
No fears but such as fancy can assuage ;
Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may niis.<
The peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss,
(For love pursues an ever-devious race,
True to the winding lineaments of grace ;)
Yet still may Hope her talisman employ
To snatch from Heaven anticipated joy.
And all her kindred energies impart
That burn the brightest in the purest heart.
When first the Rhodian's mimic art array Vl The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade. The happy master mingled on his piece Each look that cliarmM him in the fair of Greece. To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace From every finer form and sweeter face ; And as he sojourn'd on the -^gean isles, Woo'd all their love, and treasured all their smiles ; Then glow'd the tints, pure, precious, and refined, And mortal charms seem\l heavenly when combined ! Love on the picture smiled ! Expression pour'd Her mingling spirit there — and Greece, adofed !
So thy fair hand, cnamour\l Fancy ! gleans The treasured pictures of a thousand scenes ; Thy pencil traces on the lover ""s thought Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote,
26
Where love and lore may claim alternate hours,
With Peace embosomVl in Idalian bowers !
Remote from busy Life's bewiklcr"'d way,
O'er all his heart shall Taste and Beauty sway !
Free on the sunny slope, or winding shore,
A\'ith hermit steps to wander and adore !
There shall he love, when genial morn appears.
Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears,
To watch the brightening roses of the sky.
And muse on Nature with a poet's eye ! —
And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep.
The woods and waves, and murmuring winds asleep,
When fairy harps th' Hesperian planet hail.
And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale,
His path shall be where streamy mountains swell
Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell.
Where mouldering piles and forests intervene,
^lingling with darker tints the living green ;
No circling hills his ravished eye to bound.
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around.
The moon is up — the watch-tower dimly burns — And down the vale his sober step returns ; But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey The still sweet fall of music far away j And oft he lingers from his home awhile ^
To watch the dying notes ! — and start, and smile !
Let Winter come ! let polar spirits sweep The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep ! Though boundless snows the wither'd heath deform. And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm. Yet shall the smile of social love repay. With mental light, tlie melancholy day !
27
And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, The ice-chain\l waters slumbering on the shore. How bright the faggots in his little hall Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall !
How blest he names, in Lov«''s familiar tone, The kind fair friend, by nature mark'd his own ; And, in the waveless mirror of his mind. Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, Since when her empire o'er his heart began ! Since first he called her his before the holy man !
Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, And light the wintry paradise of home ; And let the half-uncurtaiu'd window hail Some way-worn man benighted in the vale ! Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky, While fiery hosts in Heaven's wide circle play. And bathe in lurid light the milky-way, Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower. Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour — ' With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, A generous tear of anguish, or a smile — Tliy woes,Arion! and thy simple tale. O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail ! Charm'd as they read the verse too sadly true. How gallant Albert, and his weary crew, Heav'd all their guns, their foundering bark to save, And toil'd — and shriek'd — and perished on the wave !
Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, The seaman's cry was heard along the deep ; There on his fmieral waters, dark and wild. The dying father bless'd his darling child !
^8
Oh ! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, Spent on tho prayer his bursting heart, and died !
Or they will learn Jiow generous worth sublimes The robber Moor, and pleads for all his crimes ! How poor Amelia kissM, with many a tear, His hand, blood-stainM, but ever, ever dear ! Hung on the tortured bosom of her lord. And wept and prayVl perdition from his sword ! Nor sought in vain ! at that heart-piercing cry The strings of Nature cracked with agony ! He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl'd. And burst the ties that bound him to the world !
Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel- Turn to the gentler melodies that sujt Thalia''s harp, or Pan''s Arcadian lute ; Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, From clime to clime descend, from age to age !
Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood ; There shall he pause with horrent brow, to rate What millions died — that Csesar might be great ! Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore ; Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast. The Swedish soldier sunk — and groan'd his last ! File after file the stormy showers benumb, Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum ! Horseman and horse confessVl the bitter pang, And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang ! Yet, ere he sunk in Nature''s last repose, Ere life''s warm torrent to the fountain froze,
29
The dying man to Sweden tura'd his eye, Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh ! Imperial Pride look'd sullen on his plight, And Charles beheld — nor shuddered at the sight !
Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie. And Hope attends, companion of the way, Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day ! In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere That gems the starry girdle of the year ; In those unmeasured worlds, she bids thee tell, Pure from their God, created millions dwell, Whose names and<iiatures, unreveal'd below, We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know ; For, as Iona"'s saint, a giant form. Throned on her towers, conversing with the storm, (When o'er each Runic altar, weed-entwined, The vesper clock tolls mournful to the wind,) Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar, From Kilda to the green lerne's shore ; So, when thy pure and renovated mind This perishable dust hath left behind. Thy seraph eye shall count the starry train. Like distant isles embosomed in the main ; Rapt to the shrine where motion first began, And light and life in mingling torrent ran ; From whence each bright rotundity was hurl'd, The throne of God, — the centre of the world !
Oh ! vainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung That suasive Hope hath but a Syren tongue ! True ; she may sport with life's untutor d day, Nor heed the solace of its last decay.
30
The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn, And part, like Ajut — never to return !
But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assuage The grief and passions of our greener age, Though dull the close of life, and far away Each flower that haiPd the da^^^ling of the day ; Yet ©""er her lovely hopes, that once were dear, The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe. With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill. And weep their falsehood, though she loves them still !
Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconciled, The king of Judah mournM his rebel child ! Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy Smiled on his sire, and filFd his heart with joy ! My Absalom ! the voice of Nature cried, Oh ! that for thee thy father could have died ! For bloody was the deed, and raslily done, That slew my Absalom ! — my son ! — my son !
Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers burn. When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power ! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life''s eternal day; — Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, And all the phoenix spirit burns within !
Oh ! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die !
31
Mysterious worlds, untraveird by the sun ! Where Time's far wandering tide has never run. From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. ""Tis Heaven"'s commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud !
. 'XM''^'
S'2
While Nature liear,«, with tensor -aiingled trust, The shock that hitrls her fabric to the dust ; And, Vike the trembling Hebrew, when he trod The roaring waves, and calFd upon his God, With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks, and hovers o"'er the dark abyss !
Daughter of Faith, a\yake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ; Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, tliat roll Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul ! Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature close. And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of Heaven undazzled by the blaze, On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill !
Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; Doom'd on his airy path a while to burn. And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and retm-n. — Hark ! from the world's exploding centre driven. With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far. On bickering wheels, and adamantine car ;
33
From planet whirFd to planet more remote, He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; But wheehng homeward, when his course is run. Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun ! So hath the traveller of earth unfurPd Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; And o'er the path by mortal never trod, Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God !
Oh ! lives there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined. The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; Who, mouldering earthward, Veft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss. And call this barren world sufficient bliss ? — There live, alas ! of heaven-directed mien, Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay. Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; A friendless slave, a child without a sire, Whose mortal life, and momentary fire. Light to the grave his chance-created form, •
As ocean- wrecks illuminate the storm ; And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, To night and silence sink for evermore ! —
■ Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? Is this your triumph — this your proud applause. Children of Truth, and champions of her cause i
34
For this hath Science searchM, on vveary wing,
Bv shore and sea — each mute and Hving: thing: !
Launched with Iberia''s pilot from the steep,
To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep ?
Or round the cope her living chariot driven,
And wheeFd in triumph through the signs of Heaven.
Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there,
To waft us home the message of despair \
Then bind the palm, thy sage"'s brow to suit,
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit !
Ah me ! the laurelFd WTeath that Murder rears.
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow''s tears,
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread.
As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head.
What is the bigot''s torch, the tyrant's chain ?
I smile on death, if Heaven-ward Hope remain !
But, if the warring winds of Nature''s strife
Be all the faithless charter of my life.
If Chance awaked, inexorable power.
This frail and feverish being of an hour ;
Doom\l oVr the world's precarious scene to sweep,
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep.
To know Delight but by her parting smile.
And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ;
Thon melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain !
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom,
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the toiipb !
Truth, ever lovely, — since the world began,
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,^
How can thy words from balmy slumber* start
Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart !
35
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roUM, And that were true which Nature never told, Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field ; No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveaFd f Oh ! lei her read, nor loiidly, nor elate. The doom that bars us from a better fate ; But, sad as angels- for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in !
And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, Pause at her martyr''s toinb, and read the lay. Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale, It darkly hints a melancholy tale ! There, as the homeless madman sits, alone. In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan ! " And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds, When the Moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds. Poor lost Alonzo ! Fate's neg-lectcd child ! Mild be the doom of Heaven — as thou wert mild ! For oh ! thy heart in holy mould was cast, • And all thy deeds-were blameless, but the last. Poor lost Alonzo ! still I seem to hear The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier ! When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow di-own\l, Thy micfnight rites, but not on hallowM ground !
Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind. But leave — oh ! leave the light of Hope behind ! What though my winged hours of bliss have been. Like angel-visits, few and far between. Her musing mood shall every pang appease, And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please ! Yes ; let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee : Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea —
^6
Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, Chase every care, and charm a httle while, Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ, And all her strings are harmonised to joy ! — But why so short is Love's delighted hour ? Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flower i Why can no hymned charm of music heal The sleepless woes impassioned spirits feel I Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create, To hide the sad realities of fate I —
No ! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule, Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school. Have power to soothe, unaided and alone. The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone ! When stepdame Nature every bliss recals. Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls ; When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears A lonely hermit in the vale of years ; Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe i No ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, — Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you ! Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain. Congenial spirits part to meet again !
What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew. What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu ! Daughter of Conrad ? when he heard his knell, And bade his country and his child farewell ! Doom'd the long isles of Sydney-cove j;o see, The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee ? Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, And thrice return'd, to bless thee, and to part ;
37
Thrice from his trembling lips he murmured low The plaint that own^d unutterable woe ; Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, • As bm-sts the morn on night« unfathom'd gloom, Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time !
" And weep not thus," he cried, " young Ellenore, My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn, And soon these limbs to kindred dust return ! But not, my child, wdth life's precarious fire. The immortal ties of Nature shall expire ; These shall resist the triumph of decay. When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away ! Cold in the dust this perisli'd heart may lie. But that which warm'd it once shall never die ! That spark unbiiried in its mortal frame, With living light, eternal, and the same. Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, Unveil'd by darkness — unassuaged by tears !
" Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep. One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep ; But when I gain the home w itliout a friend. And press the mieasy couch where none attend. This last embrace, still cherisli'd in my heart. Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part ! Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh, And hush the groan of life's last agony !
" Farewell ! w^hen strangers lift thy father's bier. And place my nameless stone without a tear; When each returning pledge hath told my child That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled;
38
And when the drfiam of troubled Fancy sees Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze ; Who then will soothe thy grief, when mine is o'er ? Who will protect thee, helpless EUenore? Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, Scorn\l by the world, to factious guilt allied ? Ah ! no ; methinks the generous and the good Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ! O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake. And smile on innocence, for Mercy's sake !"
Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, The tears of Love were hopeless, but for thee ! If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell, . If that faint murmur be the last farewell, If Fate unite the faithful but to part, Why is their memory sacred to the heart I Why does the brother of my childhood seem Restored a while in every pleasing dream ? Why do I joy the lonely spot to view. By artless friendship bless'd when life was new I
Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime PeaFd their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — When all the sister planets have decay'd ; When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below ; Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile.
T H E 0 D R I C
A DOMESTIC TAI.V.
^TwAS sunset, and the Ranz des Vaches was sung. And lights were oev th^ Helvetian mountains flung, Thai gave the glacier tops their richest glow, And tinged the lakes like molten gold below.
40
Warmth flush'd the wonted regions of the storm, Whore, Phoenix-Hke, you saw the eagle's form, That high in Heaven's vormiUon wheel'd and soar'd, Woods nearer frown'd, and cataracts dash'd and roar'd, From, heights browsed by the bounding bouquetin ; Herds tinkhng roamM the long-(h*awn vales between, And hamlets glitter'd white, and gardens flourish'd green, 'Twas transport to inhale the bright sweet air ! ■ The mountain-bee was revelling in its glare, And roving with his minstrelsy across The scented wild weeds, and enamell'd moss. Earth's features so harmoniously were link'd, She seem'd one great glad form, with life instinct. That felt Heaven's ardent breath, and smiled below Its flush of love, with consentaneous glow. •
A Gothic church was near ; the spot around Was beautiful, ev'n though sepulchral ground ; For there nor yew nor cypress spread their gloom, But roses blossom'd by each rustic tomb. Amidst them one of spotless marble shone — A maiden's grave — and 'twas inscribed thereon, That young and loved she died whose dust was there :
" Yes," said my comrade, " young she died,' and fair ! Grace form'd her, and the soul of gladness play'd Once in the blue eyes of that mouhtain-maid.: Her fingers witch'd the chords they pass'd along, And her lips seem'd to kiss the soul in' song : Yet woo'd, and worship'd as she was, till few Aspired to hope, 'twas sadly, strangely true. That heart, the martyr of its fondness, burn'd And died of love that could not be return'd.
Her father dwelt where yonder Castle shines O'er clustering trees and terrace-mantling vines.
4l
As gay as ever, the laburnum'KS pride
Waves o'er each walk where slie was wont to gHdt;, -
And still the garden whence she graced her brow.
As lovely blooms, though trode by strangers now.
How oft, from yonder window o'er the lake,
Her s,ong of wild Helvetian swell and shake
Has made the rudest fisher bend his ear
And rest enchanted on his oar to hear !
Thus bright, accomplish'd, spirited, and bland,
Well-born, and wealthy for that simple land.
Why had no gallant native youth the art
To win so warm — so exquisite a heart ? .
She, midst these rocks inspired with feelings strong
By mountain-freedom— music — fancy — song, .
Herself descended from the brave in arms,
And conscious of romance-inspiring charms,
Dreamt of Heroic beings ; hoped to find
Some extant spirit of chivalric kind ;
And scorning wealth, look'd cold ev'n on the claim
Of manly worth, that lack'd the wreath of fame.
Her younger brother, sixteen summers old, And much her likeness both in mind and mould. Had gone, poor boy ! in soldiership to shine, And bore an Austrian banner on the Rhine. ' Twas when, alas ! our Empire's evil star Shed all the plagues, without the pride, of war ; When patriots bled, and bitterer anguish cross'd Our brave, to die in battles foully lost. The youth wrote home the rout of many a day ; Yet still he said, and still with truth could say. One corps had ever made a valiant stand, — The corps in which he served, — TiiEointio's band.
42
His fame, forgotten chief, is now gone Jby,
Eclipsed by brighter orbs in Glory's sky ;
Yet once it shone, and veterans, when they show
Our fields of battle twenty years ago,
Will tell yon feats his small brigade- performed.
In charges nobly faced and trenches stormed. .
Time was, when songs were chanted to his fame.
And soldiers loved the march that bore his name : .
The ^eal of martial hearts was at his call,
And that Helvetian's, Udolph's, most of all.
'Twas touching, when the storm of war blew wild,
To see a blooming boy, — almost a child, —
Spur fearless at his leader's words and signs.
Brave death in reconnoitring hostile lines,
And speed each task, and tell each message clear,
In scenes where war-trained men were stunn'd with fear.
. The:odric praised him, and they wept for joy In yonder house, — when letters from the boy Thank'd Heaven for life, and more, to use his phrase, " Than twenty lives — his own Commander's praise. Then follow'd glowing pages, blazoning forth The fancied image of his leader's worth. With such hyperboles of youthful style As made his parents dry their tears and smile : But differently far his words impress'd A wondering sister's well-believing breast ; — She caught tli' illusion, blftss'd Theodkic's name, And wildly magnified his worth and fame ; Rejoicing life's reality contain'd One, heretofore, her fancy Imd but feign'd, AVhose love could make her proml ! — and time and chance To passion raised that day-dream of Romance.
43 .
Once, when with hasty eliarge of horse and mail Our arriere-guard had checked the Galhc van, Theodric, visiting the outposts, found His Udolph wounded, weltering on the ground : Sore crushVl; — half-swooning, half-upraisVl he lay^ And bent his brow, fair boy ! and grasp'd the clay. His fate moved ev"'n the common soldiers ruth — Theodric succourM him ; nor left the. youth To \ailgar hands, but brought him to his tent, And lent what aid a brother would have lent.
Meanwhile, to save liis kindred half the smart The war-gazette's dread blood-roll might impart. He wTote th"* event to them ; and soon could tell Of pains assuaged and symptoms auguring well- ; And last of all, prognosticating cure, Enclosed the leech's vouching signature.
Their answers, on whose pages you might note That tears had fallen, whilst trembling fingers wrote Gave boundless thanks for benefits conferred. Of which the boy, in secret, sent them word, Whose memory Time, they said, would never blot ; But which the giver had himself forgot.
In time, the stripling, vigorous and healM, Resumed his barb and banner in the field. And bore himself right soldier-like, till now The third campaign had manlier bronzed his brow. When peace, though but a scanty pause for breath ■ A curtain-drop between the acts of death, — A check in frantic war's unfinished game, Yet dearly bought, and direly welcome, came. The camp broke up, and Udolph left his chief As with a son's or younger brother's grief :
44
But journeying home, .how rapt his spirits rose ! How liglit his footsteps crushM St. Gothard's snows ! How dear soem'd ev'n the waste and wild Shreckhorn, Though wrapt in clouds, and frowning as in scorn Upon a downward-world of pastoral charms; Where, by the very smell of dairy-farms, And fragrance from the mountain -herbage blown. Blindfold his native hills he could have kno\Mi !
His coming down yon lake, — his boat in view Of windows where love''s fluttering kerchief flew, — The arms spread oiit for him — the tears that burst, — CTwas Julia's, "'twas his sister's, met him first :) • . Their pride to see war's medal at his breast, And all their rapture's greeting, may be guess'd.
Ere long, his bosom triumpli'd to unfold A gift he meant their gayest room to hold, — The picture of a friend in warlike dress ; And who it was he first bade Julia guess. ' Yes,' she replied, ' 'twas he methought in sleep, When you were wounded, told me not to weep.' The painting long in that sweet mansion drew Regards its living semblance little knew.
Meanwhile Theodric, who had years before Learnt England's tongue, and loved her classic lore, A glad enthusiast how explored the land. Where Nature, Freedom, Art, smile hand in hand ; Her women fair ;• her men robust for toil ; Her vigorous souls, high-cultured as her soil ; Her towns, where civic independence flings The gauntlet down to senates, courts, and kings ; Her works of art, resembling magic's powers ; Her mighty fleets, and learning's beauteous bowers,—
. 45
These he ha,d visited, with wonder's smile,
And scarce endured to quit so fair an isle.
But how our fates from unmomentous things
INIay rise, like rivers out of little springs !
A trivial chance postponed his parting day,
And public tidings caused, in that delay,
An English Jubilee. 'Twas a glorious sight ;
At eve stupendous London, clad in light,
Pour'd out. triumphant multitudes to gaze ;
Youth, age, wealth, penury, smiling in. the blaze;
Th' illumined atmosphere was warm and bland,
And Beauty's groups, the fairest of the land,
Conspicuous, as in some wide festive room.
In open chariots pass-d with pearl and plume.
Amidst them he remarked a lovelier mien
Than e'er his thoughts had shaped, oreyes.hiad seen
The throng detained her till he reined his steed,
And, ere the beauty passed, had time to read
The motto and the arms her carriage bore.
Led by that clue, he left not England's shore
Till he had known her ; aftd to know her well
Prolonged, exalted, bound, enchantment's spell ;
For with affections warm, intense, refined,
She mix'd such calm and holy strength of mmd.
That, like Heaven's image in the smiling brook,
Celestial peace was pictured in her look.
Hers was the brow, in trials unperplexed.
That cheer'd the sad, and tranquilliscd the vexed ;
She studied not the meanest to eclipse, '
And yet the wisest listen'd to her lips ;
She sang not, knew not Music's magic skill,
But yet her voice had tones thatsway'd the will.
4G
He soiiglit — he won her — and resolved to make His future honi(.' in England for her sake.
Yet, ere they wedded, matters of concern To Cesar's Court commanded his return, A season's space, — and on his Alpine way, He reachM those bowers, that rang with joy that day The boy was half beside himself,— ^the sire, All fj'anknoss, honour, and Helvetian fire. Of speedy parting would not hear him speak ; And tears bede\y\l and brighten'd Julia's cheek-.
Thus, loth to wound their hospitable ptide, A month he promised with them to abide ; As blithe he trod the mountain-sward as they, And felt his joy make ev'n the young rnore gay. How jocund was their breakfast-parlour fannVl' By yon blue water's breath, — their walks how bland ! Fair Julia seeln'd her brother's soften'd sprite-— A gem reflecting Nature's purest light, — And with her graceful wit there was inwrought A wildly sWeet unworldliness of thought. That' almost child-like- to his kindness drew. And twin with Udolph in his friendship grew. But did his thoughts to love one moment range ! — No ! he who had loved Constance could not change ! Besides, till grief betrayed lier undesigned, Th' unlikely thought could scarcely reach his mind, That eyes so young on years like his should beam Unwoo'd devotion back for pure esteem.
True she sang to his very soul, and brought Those trains before him of luxyiriant thought, Which only Music's Heaven-born art can bring. To sweep across the mind with angel wing.
I
47
Once, as he smiled amidst that waking trance, She paused aercome : he thought it might be chance," And, when his first suspicions dimly stole. Rebuked them back like phantoms from his soul. But when he saw his caution gave her 'pain, And kindness brought suspense's rack again, Faith, honour, friendship, bound him to unmask Truths which her timid fondness fearM to ask.
And yet with gracefully ingenuous power " Her spirit met tli' explanatory hour ; — Ev''n conscious beauty brightened in her eyes. That told she knew their love no vulgar prize ; And pride, like that of one more woman-grown, Enlarged her mien, enrich'd her voice's tone. 'Twas then she struck the keys, and music made That mocked all skill her hand had e'er displayed : Inspired and warbling, rapt from things around, She look'd the very Muse of magic sound, Painting in sound the forms of joy and woe. Until the mind's eye saw them melt and glow. Her closing strain composed and calm she played, And sang no words to give its pathos aid ; But grief seem'd lingering in its lengthen'd. swell, And like so many tears the trickling touches fell. Of Constance then she heard Thkodkic speak. And steadfast smoothness still possess'd her cheek. But when he told her how he oft had plami'd Of old a journey to their mountain-land. That might have brought him hither years before, ' Ah ! then,' she cried, ' you knew not England's shore And, had you come, — and wherefore drd you not f . ' Yes,' he repli.ed, ' it would have changed our lot ! '
48 .■■
Then burst her te<irs through pride's restraining bands,
And with her handkerchief, and botli lier hands, '
She hid her voice and wept. — Contrition stung
Theodric for the tears his words' had wrung.
' But no,' she cried, ' unsay not what youVe said,
Nor grudge one prop on which my pride is stayW;
To think I could have merited your faith
Shall be my solace even unto death !' —
' JuLiA,' Theodric said, with purposed look
Of firmness, ' my reply deserved rebuke ;
But by your pure and sacred peace of mind,
And by the dignity of womankind,
Swear that when I am gone youll do your best
To chase this dream of .fondness from your breast.'
Th' abrupt appeal electrified her thought ; — She look'd to Heav'n as if its aid she sought, Dried hastily the tear-drops from her cheek, And signified the vow she could not speak.
Ere long he communed with her mother mild : ' Alas !' she said, ' I warned — conjured my child, . And grieved for this affection from the first. But like fatality it has been nursed ; For when her fill'd- eyes on your picture, fix'd. And when your name in all she spoke was mix'd, 'Twas hard to chide an over-grateful mind ! Then each attempt a likelier choice to find Made only fresh-rejected suitors grieve. And tJDOLpH''s pride — perhaps her own^ — believe That, could she meet, she might enchant ev'nyou. You came. — I augur'd the event, 'tis true. But how was Udolph's mother to exclude The guest that claim'd oiu* boundless gratitude i
49
And that unconscrous you had cast a spell On Julia's peace, my pride refused to tell : Yet in my child's illusion I have seen, Believe me well, how blameless ycru have been : Nor can it cancel, howsoever it end, Our debt of friendship to our .boy's best friend.' At night-he parted with the .aged pair ; At early morn rose Julia to prepare The last repast her hands for him should inuke : And Udolph to convoy him o'er the lake. ■ The parting was to her such bitter grief, That of her own accord she made it brief ; But, lingering at her window, long survey'd His boat's last glimpses melting into shade.
Theodric sped to Austria, and achieved His journey's object. Much was he relieved When Udolph's letters told that Julia's miiid Had borne his loss firm, tranquil, and resign'd. • He took the Rhenish route to England, high Elate with hopes, fulfill'd their ecstasy, And interchanged with Constance's own breath The sweet eternal vows that bound their faith.
To paint that being to a grovelling mind Were like portraying pictures to the blind. 'Twas needful ev'n infectiously to feel Her temper's fond and firm and gladsome zeal, To share existence with her, and to gain Sparks from her love's electrifying chain Of that pure pride, which, lessening to her breast Life's ills, gave all. its joys a treble zest, Before the mind completely understood That might}' truth — how happy are the good !'
50
Ev'n when her light forsook him, it bequeathed Ejinobling sorrow ; and her memory breathed A sweetness that surviv'd her living days, As odorous scents outlast tlie censer's blaze.
Or, if a trouble dimm'd their golden- joy, 'Twas outward dross, and not infused alloy : . Their home knew but affection's looks and speech—- A little Heaven, above dissension's reach. But mrdst her kindred there was strife and gall ; ■ Save one congenial sister, they were all Such foils to her bright intellect and grace, As if she had engross'd the virtue of her race. Her nature strove th' unnatural feuds to heal, Her wisdom made the- weak to her appeal ; And, tho' the wounds she cured were soon unclosed. Unwearied still her kindness interposed.
Oft on those errands though she went in vain. And home, a blank without her, gave him pain. He bore her absence for its pious end. — But public grief his spirit came to bend ; For war laid waste his native land once more. And German honour bled at ever)' pore. Oh ! were he there, he thought, to rally back One broken band, or perish in the wrack ! Nor think that Constance sought to move and melt His purpose : like herself she spoke and felt : — ' Your fame is mine, and I will bear all woe Except its loss ! — but with you let me go To arm you for, to embrace you from, the fight ; Harm will not reach me — hazards will delight ! •' He knew those hazards better ; one Campaign Tn England he conjured her to remain,
51
And she expressed assent, altlibugh her heart In secret had resolved they should not part.
How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves Are wrecked by errors most unlike themselves ! 77/aHittle fault, f/ia^ fraud of love's romance, That plan's concealment, wrought their whole mischance. He knew It riot preparing to embark, •
But felt extinct his comfort's latest spark. When, midst those number'd days,- she made repair Again to kindred worthless of her care. 'Tis true she said the tidings she would write •Would make her absence on his heart sit light ; But, haplessly, reveal'd not yet her plan, And left him in his home a lonely man.
Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upon the past : 'Twas long since he had heard from Udolph last, And deep misgivings on his spirit fell That all with Udolph's household was. not well. 'Twas that too true prophetic mood of fear That augurs griefs inevitably near. Yet makes them not less startling to the mind When come. Least look'd-for then of human kmd. His Udolph ('twas, he tliought at first, his sprite,) With mournful joy that morn surprised his sight. How changed was Udolph ! Scarce Theodric durst Inquire his tidings, — he revealed the worst. ' At first,' he said, ' as Julia bade me tell. She bore her fate high-mindedly and well, Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide. And from the world's compassion saved our pride ; But still her health gave way to secret woe, And long she pined-^for broken hearts die slow !
Hef reason, went, but came returning, like 'The warning of her death-hour— s(j6n to strike ; And all for whjcl! she now, poor sufferer ! sighs, Is once to see Theodric ere she dies. Why should I come to tell yon this caprice ? Forgive me ! for my mind has lost its peace- I blame myself, and ne''er shall cease to blame^ That, my insane ambition for the name Of brother to Theodric, founded all Those high-biiilt hopes that crushed her by their fall. I made her slight her mother's counsel sage. But now my parents droop with grief and age ; And, though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke. They overwhelm me with their dying'look. The journey's Tong, but you are full of ruth ; And she who shares' your heart, and knows its truth. Has faith in your affection, far above The fear of a poor dying object's love.' — ' She has, my Udolph,' he replied, ''tis true ; And oft we talk of Julia — oft of you.' Their converse came abi'uptly to a close \ For scarce could each his troubled looks compose. When visitants, to Constance near akin, (In all but traits of soul.) were usher'd in. They brought not her, nor midst their kindred band The sister who alone, like her, was bland ; But said — and smiled to see it gave him pain — - That Constance would a fortnight yet remain. Vex'd by their tidings, and the haughty view They cast on Udolph as the youth %\ithdrew. Theodric blamed his Constance's intent. — The demons went, and left him as they went
53
To read, when they were gone beyond recal.
A note from her loved hand- explaining all.
She said, that with their house she only staid
That parting peace might with them all be made ;
But prayM for love to share his foreign life.
And shun all future chance of kindred strife. •
He wrote with speed, his soul's consent to say :
The letter- missel her on her homeward way.
In six hours Constance was within his arms :
Moved, flushed,. unlike her wonted calm of charms.
And breathless — with uplifted hands outspread —
Burst into tears upon his neck, and said^ —
' I knew that those who brought your message laugh'c
With poison of their own to point the shaft ;
And this my one kind sister thought, yet loth
CohfessM she fear'd 'twas true you had been wroth.
But here you are, and smile on me : my pain
Is gone, and Constance is herself again.''
His ecstasy, it may be guess\l, was much :
Yet pain''s extreme and pleasure's seemM to touch.
What pride ! embracing beauty's perfect mould ;
What terror ! lest his few rash words, mist old.
Had agouised her pulse to fever's heat :
But cahiied again so soon it healthful beat,
And such sweet tones were in her voice's soimd,
Composed herself, she breathed composure round.
Fair being ! with what sympathetic grace She heard, bewail'd, and pleaded Jl'lia's case ; Implored he would, her dying wish attend. ' And go,' she said, ' to-uiorrow with your friend ; I'll wait for your return on England's shore. And then we'll cross the deep, and part no more.'
54
To-morrow both his soul's compassion drew To Julia's call, and Constance urg^d anew That not to heed hey now would be to. bind A load of pain for life upon his mind. He went with Udoi:pii — from his Constance went — Stiflmg, alas ! a dark presentiment Some ailment lurk'd, ev^n whilst she smiled, to mock His fears of harm from yester-morning's shock. Meanwhile a faithful page he singled out. To watch -at home, and follow straight his rout^. If aught of threatened change her health should show — ^AVith Udolph then he reached the house of woe.
That winter""^ eve how darkly Nature's brow Scowl'd on the scenes it lights so lovely now ! The tempest, raging o'er the realms of ice, ■Shook fragments from the rifted precipice ; And, whilst their falling echoed to the wind, The wolfs long howl in dismal discord join'd, While white yon water^s foam was raised in clouds That whirl'd like spirits wailing in their shrouds : AVithoiit was Nature'fe elemental din — And beauty died, and friendship "wept, within ! •
Sweet Julia,; though her fate was finish'd half, Still knew him — smiled on him with feeble laugh - And blessed him, till she drew her latest sigh ! But lo ! while Udolph's bursts of agony, And age's tremulous wailings, round him rose. What accents pierced him deeper yet than those ! 'Twas tidings, by his English messenger. Of Constance — brief and terrible they were. She still was living when the page set out From home, but whether now was left in doubt.
.55
Poor J.L LiA ! saw he then thy death's rehef — -
Stunn'd into stupor more.than wrting with grief i
It was not* strange ; for in the human breast
Two master-passions cannot co-exist,
And that alarm which now usurpVl his brain
Shut out not only peace, but other pain.
'Twas fancying Constance -underneath the shroud
That coYer^d Julia made him first weep k)ud,
And tear himself away from them that wept.
Fast hurrying homeward, night nor day he slept,
Till, launclvd at sea, lie dr-eamt that his soul's saint
Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, faint,
0''er cataracts of blood. Awake, he bless'd
The shore ; nor hope left utterly his breast,
Till reaching Iwme, terrific omen ! there
The straw-laid street preluded his despair —
The servant's look — the table that reveard"
His letter sent to Constance last, still seaFd —
Though speech and hearing left him, told too clear
That he had now to suffer — not to fear.
He f^lt as if he ne'er should cease to feel — -
A wretch live-broken on misfortune's wheel r .
Her death's cause — he might make his peace with Heaven.
Absolved from guilt, but never ^elf-forgiven . •
The ocean has its ebbings^ — so has grief; 'Twas vent to anguish, if 'twas not relief. To lay his brow ev'n on her death-cold cheek. Then first he heard her one kind sister speak : Siie bade him; in the name of Heaven, forbear With self-reproach to deepen his despair : ' 'Twas blame,' she said, ' T shudder .to relate. But none of vour's, that caused our darling's fate ;
56
Her mother (must I call her such ?) foresaw, Should Constance leave the land,' she would withdraw Our House's charm against the world's neglect — The only gem that drew it some respect, •Hence, when you went, she came and vainly spoke To change her purpose — grew incensed, and brok^ With execrations from her kneeling child, • Start not ! your angel from her kne6 rose mild, FearVl that she should not long the scene outlive, Yet bade ev"*!! you th' uhnatural one forgive. Till then her ailment had been slight, or none ; . . But fast she droopVl* and fatal pains qame on : Foreseeing their event, she dictated And signed thes'e words for ybu.' The letter saixl —
' Theodkic, this is destiny above . Our power to baffle ; bear it then, my love ! 'Rave not to learn the usage I have borne, For one true sister left me not forlorn ; And though you're absent in another land. Sent from me by my own well-meant command, Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine As these clasp'd hands in blessing you now join f Shape not imagined horrors in my fate — Ev'n now my sufferings are not very great ; And when your grief's first transports shall subside, I call upon your strength of soul and pride To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt, Love's glorying tribute — not forlorn regret : I charge my name with power to conjure up Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup. My pardoning angel, at the gates of Heaven, Shall look not more regard than you have given
57
To me ; and our life's union has been clad •
In smiles of bliss as sweet as Iffe e'er had.
Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast ?
Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past ?
No ! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast,
There let me smile, amidst high thoughts at rest ;
And let contentment on your spirit shine,
As if its peace were still a part of mine :
For if you war not proudly with your pain,
For you I shall have worse than lived in vain.
But I conjure your manliness to bear
My loss with noble spirit — not despair :
I ask you by our love to promise this.
And kiss these words, where I have left, a kiss, —
The latest from my living lips for yours.' —
Words that will solace him while life endures : For though his spirit from affliction's surge Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge, Yet still that mind whose harmony elate Rang' sweetness, ev'n beneath the crush of fate, — That mind in whose regard all things were placed In views that softened them, or lights that graced, That soul's example could not but dispense A portion of its own blessed influence ; Invoking him to peace, and that self-sway Which Fortune cannot give, nor take awfiy : And thouffh.he mourned her lono-, 'twas with such woe As if her spirit watched him still below."
58
TRANSLATIONS.
SONG OF HYBRIAS THE CRETAN.
My wealth's a burly spear and brand. And a right good shield' of hides untanri\l.
Which on my arm I buckle : With these I plough, I reap, I sow, With these I make the sweet vintage flow;,
And all around me truckle.
But your wights that take no pride to wield A massy spear and well-made shield,
Nor joy to draw the sword : Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones, Down in a* trice on their marrow-bones, • .
To call me King and Lord.
FRAGMENT.
. -FROM THE GREEK OF AI.CMAX.
The moimtain summits sleep : glens, cliffs, and caves Are silent — all the black earth s reptile brood — The bees — the wild beasts of the mountain wood :
In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves
Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray Each bird is hush'd that stretch'd its pinions to' the day,
^
59
MARTIAL ELEGY.
FROM THE GREKK OF TYRT.EUS.
How glorious fall fhe valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land ! _, » ' But oil !. what ills await the wretch that yields, • A recreant outcast from his country's fields ! The jnother whom he loves shall quit her home, An aged father at his side shall roam ; His little ones shall weeping with him go, And a young wife participate his woe ; While scorn'd and scowFd upon by every face, They pine for food, and beg from place to place.
Stain of his breed ! dishonouring manhood's forni. All ills shall cleave to him : — Affliction's storm Shall blind him wandering in. the vale of years. Till, lost to all but ignominious fears, He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name. And children, like himself, inured to shame.
But we will combat for our fathers' land, And we will drain the life-blood where we stand, To save our children : — fight ye side by side, And serried close, ye men of youthful pride, Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost Of life itself in glorious battle lost.
60 . "
Leave not our sires to stem th' unequal fight, Whose hmbs are nerved no more with buoyant might Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast Permit the man of age (a- sight unblessM) To welter in the combat''s foremost thinast. His hoary head disheyeFd in the dust, And venerable bosom bleeding bare.
But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair. And beautiful in death the boy appears. The hero boy, that dies in blooming years : la man's regret he lives, and woman's tears, More sacred thaft in life, and lovelier far, For having perished. in the front of war.*
SPECIMENS OF TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA.
Medea, v. 1.04, p. 33. Glasg. edit.
Tell me, ye bards, whose skill sublime First charm 'd the ear of youthful Time, With numbers wrapt in heavenly fire. Who bade delighted Echo swell The trembling transports of the lyre, The murnmr of the shell — Why to the burst of Joy alont.' Accords sweet Music's soothing tonei
(31
Why can no bard, with magic strain, In slumbers steep the heart of pain i - While varied tones obey your sweep, The mild, the plaintive, and the deep. Bends not despairing Grief to hear Your gold(5n lute, with ravish'd ear I Has all your art no power to bind Tile fiercer pangs that shake" the mind, And lull the wratli at whose command Murder bares her gory hand i When flush'd with joy, the rosy throng Weave the light dance, ye swell the song ! Cease, ye vain warblers ! cease to charm ! The breast with other raptures warhi ! Cease ! till your hand with magic strain In slumbers steep the heart of pain !
SPEECH OE THE CHORUS,
I.V THE SAME TRAGEDY,
TO dISSLAUK MKDKA K:tOM UI:"r purpose IIF PlTTlVr. IIKR (IIll.l)HI TO DEATH, AVI) FLYING FOR PROTECTION TO ATHENS.
O HAGGARD queeii ! to Athens dost thou guide Thy glowing <;liariot, steep'd in kindred gore ;
Or seek to hide thy foul infanticide
^Vllere Peace and Mercv dwell for ivcnnorc ^
6-2
The land where Truth, pure^ precious, and subHnie, Woos the deep -silence of sequester'd bowers, .
'And warriors, nlatchless since the first of time.
Rear their bright banners o'er unconquer'd towers !
Where joyous youth, to ^Music's mellow strain, Twines in the dance with nymphs for ever fair.
While Spring eternal on the lilied plain,
Waves amber radiance througli the fields of air !
The tuneful Nine (so sacred legends tell)
First waked their heavenly Ip'e these scenes among
Still in your greenwood bowers they love to dwell ; Still in your vales they swell the choral song !
But there the tuneful, chaste, Pierian fair.
The guardian nymphs of green Parnassus, now
Sprung from Harmonia, while her gi-aceful hair Waved in high auburn o'er her polishM brow !
ANTISTROPHE 1.
^Vhere silent vales, and glades of green array. The murmuring \\Teaths of cool Cephisus lave.
There, as the muse hath sung, at noon of day. The Queen of Beauty bow'd to taste the waVe ;
And blest the stream, and breathed across the land • The soft sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers ;
And there the sister Loves, a smiling band,
Crown'd with the fragrant wreaths of rosy flowers !
63
" And go," she cries, " in yonder valleys rove, With Beauty^s torcli the solemn scenes illume ;
.Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love,
Breathe on each cheek young Passion's :tender bloom !
Entwine,. with iiiyrtle chains, your soft controul. To Kway the hearts of Freedom''s darling kind !
• With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom"'s soul. And mould to grace ethereal Virtue's mind.'''' '
STROPHE 11.
The land where Heaven's own hallowed waters play, .
• Where friendship binds the generous and the good, Say, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way, .^
• Unholy wojnan ! .with thy hands embrued
In thine own children's gore ? Oh ! ere they bleed. Let Nature's voice thy ruthless heart appal !
Pause at the bold, irrevocable deed —
The mother strikes — *the guiltless babes shall fall !
Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall sting. When dying pangs their gentle bosoms tear !
Where shalt thou, sink, when lingering echoes ring The screams of horror in thy tortured ear i
No ! let thy bosom melt to Pity's cry, —
In dust we knfiel— by sacred Heaven implore —
O ! stop thy lifted arm, ere yet they die, Nor dip thy horrid hands in infant gore !
04
AXTI.STROPHK 11.
Say, lio\y shalt thou that barbarous soul assume, Undamp''d by horror at the daring plan 1
Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom ? Or hands to finish what thy wrath began ?
Wlien ©""er each babe you look a last adieu,
And gaze on Innocence that smiles asleep,* Shall no fond feeling beat to Nature true, • Charm thee to pensive thought — and bid thee weep?
When the younig suppliants clasp their parent dear,* Heave the deep, sob, and pour the artless prayer, — .
Ay ! thou shalt melt ; — and many a heart-shed tear Gush o'er the hardened features of despair !
Nature shall throb in every tender string,^- .
Thy trembling heart the- ruffian's task deny ; — Thy horror-smitten hands afar shall fling
The blade, undrench'd inblood's eternal dye^
CHORUS.
HallowVl Earth ! with indignation Mark, oh mark, the murderous deed !
Radiant eye of wide creatioji, Watch th' accursVl infanticide !
Yet, ere Colchia's rugged daughter
Perpetrate the dire design, And consign to kindred slaughter
Children of thy golden line !
65
Shall mortal hand, with murder gory, Cause immortal blood to flow !
Sun of Heaven ! — array'd in glory Rise, forbid, avert the blow !
In the vales of placid gladness Let no rueful maniac range ;
Chase afar the fiend of Madness, Wrest the dagger from Revenge !
Say, hast thou, with kind protection, RearM thy smiling race in vain ;
Fostering Nature's fond affection, Tender cares, and pleasing pain ;
Hast thou, on the troubled ocean, Braved the tempest loud and strong,
Where the waves, in wild commotion. Roar Cyanean rocks among I
Didst thou roam the paths of danger,
Hymenean joys to prove I Spare, G sanguinary stranger,
Pledges of thy sacred love !
Ask not heaven's commiseration. After thou hast done the deed ;
Mercy^ pardon, expiation,
Perish when thv victims bleed.
^l^-f'/y
O'CONNOR'S CHILD;
.THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEmNG.
Ok! once tlio harp of Tnnisfail "
Was^rung.full higl> ti> notes of gladness ;
67
But yet it often told a tale
Of more prevailing- sadness.
Sad was the note, and wild its fall,
As. winds that moan" at night forlorn.
Along the isles of Fion-Gall,
When, for O'Connor's child to mourn,
The harper told, how lone, how far
From any mansion's twinkling star,
From any path of social men.
Or voice, but from the fox's den,
The -lady in the desert dwelt ;
And yet no wrongs, no fear she felt :
Say, why should dwell in place so wild,
O'Connor's pale and lovely child ?
Sweet lady I she no more inspires Green Erin's, hearts with beauty's power, As, in the palace of her sires, She bloom'd a peerless flower. Gone from her hand and bosom, gone, The royal broche, the jewell'd ring. That o'er her dazzling whiteness -shone, Like dews on lilies of the spring. Yet why, though fall'n her brother's kerne. Beneath De Bourgo's battle stem. While yet in Leinster unexplored, Her friends survive the English sword ; Why lingers she from Erin's host, So far on Gahvay's shipwreck'd coast ; Why wanders she a huntress wild — O'Connor's pale and lovely child ?
G8
And fix'd on empty space, why burn Her eyes with" momentary ^^^ldness ; And wherefore do they then return To more tlian woman''s mildness ? Disheveird are her raven locks ; On Connocht Moran's name she calls ; And oft amidst the lonely rocks She sings sweet madrigals. Placed midst the fox-gloye and the moss,^ Behold a parted warrior's cross ! That is the spot where, evermore. The lady, at her shieling door, Enjoys that, in communion sweet. The living and the dead can meet. For, lo ! to love-lorn fantasy, The hero of her heart is nigh.
Bright as the bow that spans the storm. In Erin's yellow vesture clad, A son of light^a lovely form. He comes and makes her glad ; Now on tlie grass-green turf he sits, His tasseird horn beside him laid ; Now o'er the hills in chase he flits,. The hunter and the deer a shade ! Sweet mourner ! these are shadows vain That cross the twilight of her brain ;
G9
Yet she will tell you, she is blest,
Of Connocht Moran"'s tomb possessed.
More richly than in Aghrim's bower,
When bards high praised her be^iUty's power,
A nd kneeling pages offered up
The mdrat in a golden cup.
" A hero's bride ! this desert bower,
It ill befits thy gentle breeding :
And wherefore dost thou love this flower
To call — ' My lovelies bleeding V
This purple flower my tears have nursed ;
A hero's blood supplied its bloom :
I fove it, for it was the first
That grew on Connocht Moran's tomb.
Oh ! hearken, stranger, to my voice !
This desert mansion is my choice !
And blest, though fatal, be the star
That led me to its wilds' afar :
For here these pathless mountains free
Gave shelter to my love and me ;
And every rock and every stone
Bore witness that he was my own.
O'^Connor's child, I was the bud . Of Erin's royal tree of glory ; But woe to them that wrapt in blood The tissue of my stoi*y •'
70
Still as I clasp my burning brain, A deatli-sccno rushes on my sight ; It rises o'er und ©""er again, The bloody feud— the fatal uight. When 'chafing Connocht ]Moran''s sconi, They call'd my hero basely born ; And bade him choose a meaner bride Than from O'Comior's house of pride. Their tribe, they said, their high degree, Was sung in Tara's psaltery ; Witness their Eath's victorious brand, And Cathal of the bloody hand ; Glory (they said) and power and honoui- Were in the mansion of O'Connor : But he, my loved one, bore, in field A humbler crest, a meaner shield.
Ah, brothers ! what did it avail, That fiercely and triumphantly Ye fought the English of the pale. And stemmM De Bourgo's chivalry ? And what was it to love and me, That barons by your standard rode ; Or beal-fires for your jubilee Upon a hundred mountains glow'd ? What though the lords of tower and dome From Shannon to the North-sea "foam, — Thought ye your iron hands of pride Could break the knot that love had tied ?
•71
No :— let the eagle change his plume, The .leaf its hue, -the flower its bloom ; But ties around this heart were spun. That Qould not,* would not, be undone !
At bleating of tile wild watch-fold Thus sang my love — ' Oh, come with me : Our bavk ife on« the- lake, behold- Our "steeds are fastened to the, tref^. Come far from Castle- Connor"'s clans : — • Come with thy belted forestere, And I, beside the lake of sWans, Shall hunt for thee the fallow-deer ; . And buiid thy hut, and bring thee" home The wild-fowl and the honey-comb ; And berries from the wood provide. And play niy clarshech by thy side. Then come, ray love I'! — How could. 1 stay Our nimble stag-hounds tracked the 'way. And 1 pursued, by moonless skies, The light of Connocht Mol-an's- eyes. •
And fast and far, before the star .
Of day-spring, rusli'd we through the ghwU
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn
Of Castle-Connor fade. " . *
Sweet was {o us the hermitage
Of this unploughM, untrodden shore ;
Likie birds all joyous from the cage, • For man's neglect we loved it more, And well he knew, my huntsman dear. To search the game with 'hawk and spear While I, his evening food to dress. Would sing to him in happiness. But, oh, that midnight of despair ! When I was doomed to rend my hair ; The night, to me, of shrieking sorrow ! The night, to him, that had no morrow !
When all was hush\l, at even tide,
I heard the ba}'ing of their beagle :.
Be hushVl ! my Connocht Moran cried,
'Tis but the screfuning of the eagle.
Alas ! "'twas not the eyrie's sound ; ■
Their bloody bands had track'd us out ;
Up-listening starts our couchant hound-^
And, hark ! again, that nearer .shout
Brings faster on tlie murderers.
Spare — spare hnn — Brazil— Desmond fierce !
In vain — no voicQ the adder charms ;
Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms :
Another's sword has laid him low —
Another's and another's ;
And every hand tliat dealt the blow —
Ah me ! it was a brother's'!
Yes, when his moan ings died away.
Their iron hands had dug the clay,
7:J
And o'er his biirial turf they tr(i(l, And I behold— oh God ! oh God ! — His Hfe-blood oozing from the sod !
Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred, Alas ! my warrior's spirit brave Nor mass nor ulla-luUa heard, Lamenting, .soothe his grave. DraggVl to their hated mansion back. How long in thraldom's grasp I lay T knew not, for my soul was black, And knew no chahge of night or day. One night of horror round me grew ; Or if I saw, or felt, or kneW' , 'Twas but when those grim visages, The angry brothers of my race, Glared on each eye-balFs' aching throb, And checked my bosom''s power to sob, Or when my heart ^^ith pulses drear Beat like a death-watch to my ear.
But Heaven, at last, my souPs eclipse
Did with a vision bright inspire ;
I woke and felt upon my lips
A prophetess's fire.
■Thrice in the east a war -drum beat,
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound.
74
And ranged, as to the judgment-seat, My guilty, trembling brothers round. Clad in the helm and shield they came ; For now De Bourgo''s sword and flame Had ravaged Ulster's boundaries, And lighted up the midnight skies. The standard of O'Connor's sway Was in the turret where I lay ; That standard, with so dire a look, As ghastly shone the moon and pale^ I gave, — that every bosom shook Beneath its iron mail.
And go ! (I cried) the combat seek, Ye hearts that unappalled bore The anguish of a sister's shriek. Go ! — and return no more ! For sooner guilt the ordeal brand Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold -The banner with victorious hand, BiBneath a sister's curse unroU'd.
0 stranger ! by my country's loss ! And by my love ! and by the cross !
1 swear I never could have spoke The curse that sever'd nature's yoke ; But that a spirit o'er me stood.
And fired me with the wrathful mood ; And frenzy to my heart was given, To speak the malison of heaven. . '
75
They would have cross'd themselves, all mute
They would have pray'd to burst -the spell ;
But at the stamping of my foot
Each hand down powerless fell !
And go to Athunree ! (I cried)
High lift the banner of your pride !
But know that where its sheet unrolls,
The weight of blood is on your souls !
Go where the havoc of your kerne •
Shall float as high as mountain fern I
JMen shall no more your mansion know ;
The nettles on your hearth shall grow !
Dead, as the green oblivious flood
That mantles by your walls, shall be
The giory of O'Connor's blood !
Away ! away to Athunree !
Where, downward when the suii shall fall,
The raven's wing shall be your pall !
And not a vassal shall unlace
The vizor from your dying face !
A bolt that overhung our dome Suspended till my curse was given, Soon as it pass'd these lips of foam, Peal'd in the blood-red heaven. Dire was. the look that o'er their backs • The angry parting brothers threw :
76
But now, -behold ! like cataracts, Come down the hills in view 0''Conrior"'s plumed partizans ; Thrice ten Kilnagorvian clans Were marching to their doom : A sudden storm their, plumage toss'd, A ffash of lightning o'er them crossM. And all again was gloom !
Stranger ! I fled the home of grief. At Connocht Morau's tomb to fall ; I found the helmet of my chief. His bow still hanging on our wall, And took irt down, and vowM to rove This desert place a huntress bold ; Nor would I change my buried love For any heart of living mould. No ! for I am a hero'^s child ; ril hunt my quarry in the wild ; And still my home this mansion make, Of all unheeded and unheeding, " And cherish, for my warrior's sake — ' The flower of love lies bleeding.*' " •
^^s-"
LOC HIErs WARNING.
Wizard Lochiel.
LocHiEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day AVlicn the Lowhmds shall-meet thee in battle ai*rav ! For a field of the dead rushes red oil my sio^ht. And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
78
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark ! through the fast flashino' lio-htning of war, What- steed to the desert flies frantic and far I 'Tis thine, oh GlenuUin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. \Yeep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave.
LOCniEL.
Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Drjiw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight. This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.
Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall.be torn ! Say, rush\l the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north ? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havock on high ! Ah ! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit I Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast i
79
'Tie the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his ejrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements'" height, ' Heaven\s fire is around thee, to blast and to- burn ; Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the. blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'^er her famishing brood.
LOCHIEL.
False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalPd my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! Let hini dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud. All plaided and plumed in their tartan array-r
Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ;
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. But man cannot cover what God would reveal ; 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall- ring With the bloodhomids that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of A\Tath. Behold, where he flies on his desolate path !
so
Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : Rise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! ' Tis finislfd. Their thunders are husli'd on the moors : Culloden is lost, and my comitry deplores. But where is the iron-bound prisoner I Where l For the reid eye of battle is shut in despair. "Say, mounts he the ocean- wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn I Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; The war-dinmi is muffled, and black is the bier ; His death-bell is tolling : oh ! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters conv-ulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood- streaming nostril in agony swims. Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet. Where his heart shall be thro\\'n, ere it ceases to beat; With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale
• " • LOCHIEL.
Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale :
For never shall Albin a destiny meet.
So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat.
Though my perishing ranks should be strew''d in their gore.
Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling 'of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low.
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe !
And leaving in battle no blot on his name.
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown.
82
And her arms along the deep proudly shotie ; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. —
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;
^Vhile the sign of battle flew * •
On the lofty British line :
It was ten of April morn by the chime
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time. —
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene ;
And her van the fleeter rusliM
0''er'the deadly space between.
' Hearts of oak !' our captains cried ; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
83
Again ! again ! again ! And the havock did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering. sent us back ; — Their shots along the deep slowly bocan Then ceased — and all is wail, As they strike the shatter^l sail ; Or, jn conflagration pale, .Light the gloom. — .
Out spoke the victor then. As he haird them o''er the wave ; ' Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save : — So peace instead of death let us String ; • But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our King.' —
Then Denmark bless'd our chiefj
That he 'gave her wounds repose ;
And. the sounds of joy. and grief
From her people wildly rose,
.As death withdrew his shades from the da}-:
^V^lile the sun lookM smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful ^^ight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
84
Now joy, Old England, raise ! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities'", blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar. Let us think of them that sleep; Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, 'Elsinore !
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true.
On the deck of fame that died ; —
With the gallant good Riou * :
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave !
While the billow mournful rolls
And the mermaid's song condoles.
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave ! —
* Captain Riou, justly entitled tlic gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his dcspatclics.
85
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND
A NAVAL ODE.
Ye Mariners of England !
That guard our native seas ;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand vears,
The battle and the breeze !
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe !
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long.
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave ! —
For the deck it was their field of fame.
And Ocean was their grave :
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell.
Your manly hearts shall glo\v.
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the storuiy winds do blow ;
While the. battle rages loud and l«*ng.
And the stormy winds do blow.
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Britannia needs "no bulwarks, '
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain- waves,
Her home is on. the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below, —
As they roar on the shore.
When the stormy winds do blow :
When thq battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow. .
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn ;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow ;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.
HOHENLINDEN.
On Linden, when the sun was low. All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow .Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
88
•
But Linden saw another sight, When the driun beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to hght The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array\l, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd. To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven. Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
""Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye bi*ave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners- wave, And charge with all thy chivalry !
Few, few, shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier''s sepulchre.
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OLENARA.
O HEARD ye yon pibroch soijnd sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and w^il ( 'Tis tne chief of Glenara laments for his dear ; And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. "•
Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud ; Her kinsmen they followed, but moimi'd not aloud : Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around : They marched all in silence, — ^^they looked on the ground.
In silence they reached over nwuntain and moor, To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar : " Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn : Why speak ye no word !" — said Glenara the stern,
" And tell me, I charge you ! ye clan of my spouse. Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows '"" .So spake the rude chieftain :— no answer is made. But each niantlo unfolding a dagger displayed.
" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroucl," Cried a voice from the kinsinen, all w;"athful and loud . " And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem : Glenara I Glennra ! now i'cad me mv dreau) !"
90
0 ! pale grew the cheek.of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen ; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn :
" I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
1 dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: Oh a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem ; \ Olenara ! Glenara ! now read me my. dr.eani !"
Tn dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground. And the desert reveaFd where his lady was found ; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne — Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn !
EXILE OF ERIN.
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill : For his country he sigli'd, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion. For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once in. the fire of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
Sad is my fate ! said the heart-broken stranger ;
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, But I have no refuge frOm famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not to me.
91 • * . '
Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hour; Or. cover my harp with the wild- woven flowers, And strike to tlie numbers of Erin go bragh !
Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken.
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken.
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more ! Oh cruel fate ? wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase me i Never again shall my brothers embrace me ? They died to defend me, or live to deplore !
Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood i Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its fall I
Where is the mother that looked on ray childhood ? And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?
Oh ! my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure,
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure ?
Tears, like the rain drop, may fall without measure. But rapture and beauty they cannot recal.
Yet all its sad recollections suppressing. One dying wish my lone bosom can draw :
Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh !
Buiaed and cold, when my heart stills her motion.
Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean !
And thy harp-striking bards. sing aloud with devotion,— Erin mavournin— ^a-in go bragh* !
* Irchiiid my darling, licland for (.vci.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, " Boatman, do not tan-y !
And I'll. give thee a silver pound To row .us o'er the ferry." —
1
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•' Now who be yO, would cross LochgyU-.
•This dark and stormy water T '^ O, Fm the chief of Ulva's isle,
' And this Lord UUin's daughter.—
And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.
His horsemen hard behind us ride : Should they our steps discover.
Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover f —
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight.
" I'll gci, my chief — Fm ready : — It is not for your silver bright ;
But for your winsome lady :
And by my word ! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry ; So. though the waves are raging white,
FU row you o'er the ferry."—
By this tlfe atorm grew loud apace, The water- wraith was shrieking ;
And inthe scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.
Bjit still as wilder blew the wind.
And as the night grew drearer. Adown the glen rode armed men.
Their trampling sounded nearer.—
e
5)4
"■ O haste thee, haste! " the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather ;
ril meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." —
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her. —
And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing : Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing. —
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover : — One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.
" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief,
" Across this stormy water: And ril forgive your Highland chief.
My daughter ! — oh my daughter !" —
'T was vain : the loud waves lashM the shore,
Return or aid preventing : — '■ . The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
95
ODE TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS.
SotTL of the Poet ! wheresoever, Reclaim''d from earth, thy genius phime Her wings of immortahty : Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, And with thine influence illume The gladness of our jubilee.
And fly like fiends from secret spell. Discord and Strife,' at Burns's name. Exorcised by his memory ; For he was chief of bards that swell The heart with songs of social flame. And high delicious revelry.
And Love's own strain to him was given,
To warble all its ecstasies
With Pythian words unsought, unwillM.-
Love, the surviving gift of Heaven.
The choicest Sweet of Paradise,
In life's else J)itter cup distillM.
WHio that has melted o'er his lay To JMary's soul, in Heaven above, But pictured sees, in fancy strong," The landscape ahd the livelong day That smiled upon their mutual love i — Who that has felt forgets the song ?
Nor skiird one flame alone to fan :
His country's high-souFd peasantry
What patriot-pride he tauglit ! — how much
To weigli the inborn worth of man J
And rustic life and poverty
Grow beautiful beneath his touch.
Him, in his clay -built cot, the muse Entranced, and show'd him all the forms, Of fairy-light and wizard gloom, (That only gifted Poet views,) The Genii of the floods and storms, And martial shades from Glory ""s tomb.
On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse The swg,in whom Burns'^s song inspires ? Beat not his Caledonian veins, As ©""er the heroic turf he ploughs; With all the spirit of his sires, • And all. their scorn of death and chains ^
And see the Scottish exile tannM
By many a far and foreign clime,
J3.end o'er his home-born verse, and weep
In memor}'* of his native land.
With love that scorns the lapse of time.
And ties that stretch beyond the deep.
97 ■
Encamped by Indian rivers \yild,
The soldier resting on his arms.
In BuENs's carol sweet recals
The scenes that blessed him when a child.
And glows and gladdens at the charms
Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls.
O deem not, midst this worldly strife, An idle art the Poet brings : Let high Philosophy control. And sages calm, the stream of life, ' Tis he refines its fountain-springs. The nobler passions of the soul.
It is the muse that consecrates 'The native banner of the brave, Unfurling at the trumpet^s breath, Rose, thistle, harp ; 'tis she elates To sweep the field or ride the wave, A sunburst in the storm of death.
And thou, young hero, when thy pall
Is crossed with mournful sword and plume.
When public grref begins to fade.
And only tears of kindred fall,
Who but the .Bard shall dress thy tomb.
And greet with fame thy gallant shade ?
Such was the soldier — Burns, forgive
That sorrows of mine own intrude
In strains to thy great memory due.
In. verse like thine, oh ! could he live, .
The friend I mourned — the brave, the good —
Edward that died at Waterloo * !
* Major Edward Hodge', of the 7th Hussars, who fell at tlie head of his squadron in the attack of the Polish Lanrrrs.
98
Farewell, high chief of Scottish song ! That couldst alternately impart Wisdom and rapture in thy page, And brand each vice with satire strong, Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, Whose truths electrify the sage.
Farewell ! and ne'er may Envy dare To wring one baleful poison drop From the crushed laurels of thy bust : But while the lark sings sweet in air, Still may the grateful pilgrim stop. To bless the spot that holds thy dust.
LINES
WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.
At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,
I have mused in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,
Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruined and wild is their roofless abode.
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree : And travelled by few is the grass-covered road. Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode,
To his hills that encircle the sea.
. 99
Yet wandering, 1 found ou my ruinous walk,
By the dial-stone aged and green, One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk.
To mark where a garden had been. Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,
All wild in the silence of nature, it drew. From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace, For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place,
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.
Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart ! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall,
But patience shall never depart ! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,
In the days of delusion by fancy combined With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul, like a dream of the night.
And leave but a desert behind.
Be hushed, my dark spirit ' for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble .deplore ; Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore ! Through the perils of chance,- and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate ! Yea ! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again :
To bear is to conquer our fate.
)r: m -J=^
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sang truee — for the nightrcloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
101
When reposing that iiight on my pallet of straw,' By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ;
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle -field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track :
'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I fiew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, . From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
Stay,' stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn ;
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn.
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
102
TO THE RAINBOW.
Triumphal arch, that filFst the sky • When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art —
Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that Optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow ?
When Science from Creation's face ■ Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws !
And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign.
103
And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, ^
Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first made anthem rang
On earth delivered from the deep, And the first poetsang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam :
Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the prophet's theme !
The earth to thee her incense yields. The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshened fields The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain, tower, and town.
Or mirrored in the ocean vast. A thousand fathoms down !
As fresh in yon horizon dark. As young thy beauties seem.
As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam.
For, faithful to its sacred page,- . Heaven still rebuilds thy span. Nor lets the type grow pale with ago That first spoke peace to man.
THE LAST MAN.
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must tlie. Before this mortal shall assume
Its Immortality !
105
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to s^^'eep
AcloAm the gulf of Time ! I saw the last of human mould, That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime !
The Sun s eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man ! Some had expired in fight, — the brands Still rusted in their bony hands ;
In plague and famine some ! Earth's cities had no sound nor tread ; And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb !
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stooii.
With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by, Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis Mercy bids thee go. For thou ten thousand thousand years . Hast seen the tide of Imman tears.
That shall no longer flow.
What though beneath thee man put fort!
His pomp, his pride, his skill ; And arts that made fire, flood and earth.
The vassals of his will ; —
106
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day :
For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Healed not a passion or a pang
Entailed on human hearts.
Go, let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recal
Life's tragedy again. Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack
Of pain anew to wTithe ; Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the sithe.
Ev'n I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire ; Test of all sumless agonies, ■
Behold not me expire. My lips that speak thy. dirge of death — Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, — The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost !
This spirit shall retui'n to Him Who gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark !
107
No ! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity. Who robbed the grave of Victory, — ■ And took the sting from Death I "
Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste — ^ Go, tell the night that hides thy face. Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God !
A DREAM.
Well may sleep present us fictions,
Since our waking moments teem With such ftinciful convictions
As make life itself a dream.— Half our daylight faith's a fable ;
Sleep disports with shadows too, Seeming in their turn as stable
As the world we wake to view. Ne'er by day did Reason's mint Give my thoughts a clearer print
lOS
Of assured reality, Than was left by Phantasy Stamped and coloured on my sprite, In a dream of yesternight.
In a bark, methought, lone steering,
I was cast on Ocean's strife ; This, 'twas whispered in my hearing,
Meant the sea of life. Sad regrets from past existence
Came, like gales of chilling breath ; Shadowed in the forward distance
Lay the land of Death. Now seeming more, now less remote. On that dim-seen shore, methought, I beheld two hands a space Slow unshroud a spectre's face ; And my flesh's hair upstood,-^ 'Twas mine own similitude. —
But my soul revived at seeing
Ocean, like an emerald spark, Kindle, while an air-dropt being
Smiling steered my bark. Heaven-like— yet lie looked as human
As supernal beauty can, More compassionate than woman.
Lordly more than man. And as some sweet clarion's breath Stirs the soldier's scorn of death — So his accents bade me brook The spectre's eyes of icy look, Till it shut them — turned its head. Like a beaten foe, and fled.
109
"■ Types not this,'" I said, " fair spirit !
That my death-hour is not come 2 Say, what days shall I inherit I —
Tell my soul their sum." "No," he said, " yon phantom''s aspect.
Trust me, would appal thee worse, Held in clearly measured prospect : —
Ask not for a curse ! Make not, for I overhear Thine unspoken thoughts as clear As thy mortal ear could catch The close-brought tickings of a watch — Make not the untold request That''s now revolving in thy breast.
'Tis to live again, remeasuring
Youth"'s years, like a scene rehearsed, In thy second life-time treasuring
Knowledge from the first. Hast thou felt, po.or self-deceiver !
Life's career so void of pain, As to wish its fitful fever
New begun again ? Could experience, ten times thine, Pain from Being disentwine — Threads by Fate together spun i ' Could thy flight Heaven's lightning shun ■ No, nor could thy foresight's glance 'Scape the myriad shafts of Chance.
Wouldst thou bear again Love's trouble- Friendship's death- dissevered ties ;
Toil to grasp or miss the bubble Of Ambition's prize i
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Say thy life's new guided action
Flowed from Virtue's fairest springs —
Still would Envy and Detraction Double not their stings ?
Worth itself is but a charter
To be mankind's distinguished martyr."
-:-I caught the- moral, and cried, " Hail !
Spirit ! let us onward sail ■ Envying, fearing, hating none —
Guardian Spirit, steer me on ! ""
VALEDICTORY STANZAS
TO
J. P. KEMBLE, Esq.
COMPOSED rOR A PUBLIC MEETING HELD JUNE 1817.
Pride of the British stage,
A long and last adieu ! ' ' Whose image brought th"* heroic age
Revived to Fancy's view. Like fields refreshed with dewy light
When the sun smiles his last. Thy parting presence makes more bright
Our memory of the past ; And memory conjure^ feelings up
That wine or music need not swell, As high wo lift the festal cup
To Kemble — fare thee well !
Ill .
His was the spell o'er hearts
Which only Acting lends, — The youngest of the sister Arts,
Where all their beauty blends : For ill can Poetry express .
Full many a tone of thought sublime. And Painting, mute and motionless,
Steals but a glance of time. But by the mighty actor brought,
Illusion''s perfect triumphs come, — Verse ceases to be airy thought,
And Sculpture to be dumb.
Time may again revive.
But ne'er eclipse the charm. When Cato spoke in him alive.
Or Hotspur kindled warm. What soul was not resigned entire
To the deep sorrows of the Moor, — What English heart was not on fire
With him at Agincourt ? And yet a majesty possessed
His transport's most impetuous tone, And to each passion of the breast
The Graces gave their zone.
High were the task — too high, Ye conscious bosoms here ! In words to paint your memory Of Kemble and of Lear ; But who forgets that white discrowned head.
Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguished glare-
112
Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed, In doubt more touching than despair, If 'twas reality he felt ?
Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been, Friends, 1h3 had seen you melt, And triumphed to have seen !
And there was many an hour
Of blended kindred fame, When Siddons's auxiliar power
And sister magic came. Together at the Muse's side
The tragic paragons had grown — They were the children of her pride,
The columns of her throne. And undivided favour ran
From heart to heart in their applause, Save for the gallantry of man,
In lovelier woman's cause.
Fair as some classic dome.
Robust and richly graced, Your Kemijle's spirit was the home
Of genius and of taste ; Taste like the silent dial's power.
That when supernal light is given. Can measure inspiration's hour,
And tell its height in heaven. At once ennobled and correct,
His mind surveyed the tragic page, And what the actor could effect,
The scholar could presage.
113
These were his traits of worth : —
And must we lose them now ! — And shall the scene no more show forth
His sternly pleasing brow ! Alas, the moral brings a tear ! —
'Tis all a transient hour below ; And we that would detain thee here,
Ourselves as fleetly go ! Yet shall our latest age
This parting scene review : — Pride of the British stage,
A long and last adieu !
GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.
PART I. ADVERTISEMENT.
Most of the popular histories of England, as well as of the American war, give an authentic account of the desolation of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, which took place in 1778, hy an incursion of the Indians. The Sceneiy and Incidents of the following Poem are connected with that event. The testi- monies of historians and travellers concur in descrihing the infant colony as one of the happiest spots of human existence, for the hospitable and innocent manners of the inhabitants, the beauty of the country, and the luxuriant fer- tility of the soil and climate. In an evil hour, the junction of European with Indian arms converted this terrestrial paradise into a frightful waste. Mr. Isaac AVeld informs us, that the ruins of many of the villages, perforated with balls, and bearing marks of conflagration, were still preserved by the recent inhabitants, when ho travelled through America in 1 796.
On Susquehana\«! side, fair Wyoming ! Although the wild-flower on thy ruined wall. And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring Of what thy gentle people did befal ; Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all That see the. Atlantic wave their morn restore,
11()
Sweet land ! may 1 thy lost delights recal, And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of y.ore, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore !
Delightful Wyoming ! beneath thy skies, The happy shepherd s\\'ains had nought to do But feed their flocks on green declivities, Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, From morn till evening's sweeter pastime grew. With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown. Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew ; And ay6 those sunny mountains half-way down Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.
Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes His leave, how might you the flamingo see Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : And every sound of life was full of glee. From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men ; While hearkening, fearing nought their revelry, The wild deer arched his neck from glades, and then, Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.
A nd scarce had Wyoming of war or crime Heard, but in transatlantic story rung. For here the exile met from every clime. And spoke in friendship every distant tongue
117
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung
Were but divided by the running brook ;
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung,
On plains no sieging mine''s volcano shook,
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning-hoo
Nor far some Andalusian saraband
Would sound to many a native roundelay —
But who is he that yet a dearer land
Remembers, over hills and far awa} ?
Green Albin * I what though he no more survey
Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore,
Thy pellochs f rolling from the mountain bay.
Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor,
And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan J roar !
Alas ! poor Caledonia's mountaineer.
That wan^s stern edict e'er, and feudal grief.
Had forced him from a home he loved so dear !
Yet found he here a home, and glad relief.
And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf.
That fired his Highland blood with mickle glee :
And England sent her men, of men the chief,
Who taught those sires of Empire yet to be,
To plant the tree of life, — to plant fair Freedom's tree !
* Scotland. f The Gaelic appellation for tlie poriioise.
+ The gi-eat wliiilpool of the Western Hebrides.
118
Here was not mingled in the city's pomp Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom ; Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp. Nor sealed in blood a fellow-creature's dooiii, Nor mourned the captive in a living tomb. One venerable man, beloved of all, Sufficed, where innocence was yet in bloom, To sway the strife, that seldom might befal : And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall.
How reverend was the look, serenely aged, He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, . Where all but kindly fervours were assuaged, Undimmed by Weakness' shade, or turbid ire ! And though, amidst the calm of thought entire. Some high and haughty features might betray A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire That fled composure''s intellectual ray. As /Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day.
I boast no song in magic wonders rife,
But yet, oh Nature ! is there nought to prize.
Familiar in thy bosom scones of life i
And dwells in day-light truth's salubrious skies
No form with which the soul may sympathise ? —
Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild.'
The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise,
An inmate in the home of Albert smiled,
Or blest his noonday walk — she was his only cliih
119
The rose of .England bloomed on Gertrude's cheek —
What tliough these shades had seen her birth, her sire
A Briton's independence taught to seek
Far- western worlds ; and there his household fire
The light of social love did long inspire,
And many a halcyon day he lived to see
Unbroken but by one misfortune dire,
When fate had reft his mutual heart — but she
Was gone — and Gertrude climbed a widowed father's knee.
A loved bequest, — and I may half impart —
To them that feel the strong paternal tie,
How like a new existence to his heart
That living flower uprose beneath his eye.
Dear as she was from cherub infancy,
From hours when she would round his garden play,
To time when as the ripening years went by,
Her lovely mind could culture well repay,
And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day.
I may not paint those thousand infant charms ;
(Unconscious fascination, undesigned !)
The orison repeated in his arms.
For God to bless her sire and all mankind ;
The book, the bosom on his Imee reclined,
Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con,
(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind :)
All uncompanioned else her heiirt had gone
Till now, in Gertrude's eyes, their ninth blue .sununer shone
120
And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour.
When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent,
An Indian from his bark approach their bower,
Of buskined Hmb, and swarthy Hneament ;
The red wild feathers on his brow were blent.
And bracelets bound the arm that helped to light
A boy, who seemed, as he beside him went,
Of Christian vesture, and complexion bvight,
Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought by night.
Yet pensive seemed the boy for one so young —
TliQ dimple from his polished cheek had fled ;
When, leaning on his forest -bow unstrung,
Th' Oneyda warrior to the planter said,
And laid his hand upon the stripling's head,
" Peace be to thee ! my words this belt approve ;
The paths of peace my steps have hither led :
This little nursling, take him to thy love,
And shield the bird unfledged, since gone the parent dove.
Christian ! I am the foeman of thy foe ;
Our wampum league thy brethren did embrace :
Upon the Michagan, three moons ago,
We launched our pirogues for the bison chase,
And with the Hurons planted for a space,
With true and faithful hands, the olive-stalk ;
But snakes are in the bosoms of their race,
And though they held with us a friendly talk,
The hollow peace-tree fell beneath their tomahawk
121
It was encamping on the lake''s far port, A cry of Areouski* broke our sleep, Where stormed an ambushed foe thy nation's fort, .And rapid, rapid whoops came o''er the deep ; • But long thy country's war-sign on the steep Appeared through ghastly intervals of light, And deathfully their thunders seemed to sweep,' Till utter darkness swallowed up the sight. As if a shower of blood had quenched the fiery fight !
It slept — it rose again — on high their tower
Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies,
Then dowji again it rained an ember shower.
And louder lamentations heard we rise : •
As when the evil Manitouthati dries
Th' Ohio woods, consumes them in his -ire,
In vain the desolated panther flies.
And howls amidst his wilderness of fire :
Alas ! too late, we reached and smote those Hnrons dire I
But as the fox beneath the nobler hound,
So died their warriors by our- battle-brand ;
And from the tree we, with her child, unboiuul
A lonely mother of the Christian land : —
Her lord — the captain of the British band —
Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay.
Scarce knew the widow ouv delivering hand ;
Upon her child she sobbed, and swooned away,
Or shrieked unto the God to whom the Christians pray
* Tlie Indian God of War.
lab-
our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls
Of fever balm and sweet sagamite :
But she was journeying to the land of souls,
And lifted up her dying head to pray
That we should bid an ancient friend convey
Her orphan to his home of England's shore ;
And take, she said, this token far away,
To one that will remember us of yore.
When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia wore.
And I, the eagle of my tribe, have rushed
With this lorn dove." — A. sage's self-command
Had quelled the tears from Albert's heart that gushed
But yet his cheek — his agitated hand —
That showered upon the stranger of the land
No common boon, in grief but ill beguiled
A soul that was not wont to be unmanned ;
" And stay," he cried, " dear pilgrim of the wild,
Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child ! —
Child of a race whose. name my bosom warms,
On earth's remotest bounds how welcome here !
Whose mother oft, a child, has filled these arms.
Young as thyself, and innocently dear,
AVhose grandsire was my early life's compeer.
Ah, happiest home of England's happy clime !
How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear.
As in the noon and sunshine of my prime !
How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years of time !
123
And Julia ! when thou wert like Gertrude now.
Can I forget thee, favourite child of yore i
Or thought I, in thy fatlier''s house, when thou
Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor,
And first of all his hospitable door
To meet and kiss me at my journey's end ?
But where was I when AV'aldegrave was no more ;
And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend
In woes, that ev^n the tribe. of deserts was thy friend!"
He said — and strained unto his heart the boy ; Far differently, the mute Oneyda took His calumet of peace, and cup of joy ; As monumental bronze unchanged his look ; A soul that pity touched, but never shook ; Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear— - A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear.
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow ;
As lives the oak unwithered on the rock
By storms above, and barrenness below ;
He scorned his own, who felt another"'s woe :
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,
Or laced his niocasins, in act to go,
A song of parting to the boy he sung,
Who slept on Albert"'s couchj nor heard his friendly tongue
.124
" Sleep, wearied one ! and in the dreaming land •. Shouldst thou to-niorrow with thy mother meet, Oil ! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand Hath plucked the thorns of sorrow from thy feet-; While I in lonely wilderness shall greet Thy little foot-prints — or by traces laiow . The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet To feed thee with the quarry of my bow, 'And poured the lotus-horn, or slew the mountain roe.
Adieu ! , sweet scion of the rising sun ! But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, Then come again — ray owti adopted one ! And I will graft thee on a noble stock : The crocodile, the condor of the rock, Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars ; And I' will teach thee, in the battle's shock. To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars. And gratulate his soul rejoicing in" the stars ! "
So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) That true to nature's femd feehngs r^n ; (And song is but the eloquence of truth :) . Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man ; But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan Tn woods required, whose trained- eye was keen, . As easrle of the wilderness, to scan His path by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine, Or. ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.
[-25
Old Albert saw him from the valley s side —
His pirogue launched — his pilgrimage begun —
Far, like the red-bird's wing he seemed to glide ;
Then dived, and vanished in the woodlands dun.
Oft, to that spot by tender memory won.
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmered in the sun ;
But never more, to bless his longing sight,
Vias Outalissi hailed, with bark and phnnage bright.
-ti^D 05' ■l-B.K I-IR^T PART-
GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.
PART II.
A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn
Was Albert''s home, two quiet woods between,
Whose lofty verdure overlooked his lawn ;
And waters to their resting place serene
Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene :
(A mirror in tjie depth of flowery shelves ;)
So sweet a spot of earth, you might (I ween)
Have guessed some congregation of the elves.
To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themselves.
"Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse. Nor vistas opened by the wandering stream ; Both where at evening Alleghany views, Through ridges burning in her western beam. Lake after lake interminably gleam :■ And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam AVhere earth's unliving silence all would seem ; Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, Or buffalo remote lowed far from human home.
127
But silent not that adverse eastern path, Which saw Aurora''s hills th' horizon crown ;: There was the river, heard, in bed of wrath, (A precipice of foam from mountains brown,) Like tumults heard from some far distant town ; But softening in approach he left his gloom, And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom, That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume.
It seemed as if those scenes sweet influence had .
On° Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own
Inspired those eyes affectionate and glad,
That seemed to love whatever they looked upon ;.
Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone,
Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast,
(As if for heavenly musing meant alone ;)•
Yet so becomingly th' expression past.
That each succeedino; look was lovelier than the last.
Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home.
With all its picturesque and balmy grace,
And fields that were a luxury to roam,
Lost on the soul that looked from such a face ! •
Enthusiast of the woods ! when years apace
Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone,
The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace
To hills with high magnolia overgrown,
And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone
\-2S
The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe Forth,
That thus apostrophised its viewless scene :
"Land of \rf\- father's love, my mother''s birth !
Tlie liome of kindred I have never seen !
We know not other — oceans are between :
Yet say, far friendly hearts ! from whence we came,
Of us does oft remembrance intervene I
My mother sure — my sire a thought may claim ; —
But (Jertrude is to you an unregardec} name.
And yet, loved England ! when thy name I trace In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, How can I choose but wish for one embrace Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong ]\Iy mother's looks, — perhaps her likeness strong ' Oh, parent ! with what reverential awe, From features of thine own related throng. An image of thy face my soul could draw ! And scfe thee once again whom I too shortly saw !"
Yet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy ; To soothe a father's couch her only care, And keep his reverend head from all annoy : For this, methinks, her homeward steps repaiir. Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew, While boatmen carol'd to the fresh-blown air, And woods a horizontal shadow tlirew, And early fox appeared in momentary view.
^fff"'- '>-i'%' ^
Apart there was a deep unlrudden grot.
Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wf)re ;
Tradition had not named its kmely spot ;
But here (methinks) might Indians sons explon-
Their fathers'* dust, or hft, perchance of yore,
Their voice to the great Spirit": — rocks subhme
To human art a sportive sembhmce bore^
And yellow lichens coloured all the clime,
Like moonlight battlements, and towers decayed by time.
130
But high in amphitheatre above, • Gay tinted woods their massy foliage threw : Breathed biit an air of heaven, and all the grove. As if instinct with living spirit grew, Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue ; And now suspended was the pleasing din, Now from a murmur faint it. swelled anew. Like the first note of organ heard withm Cathedral aisles, — ere yet its symphony begin.
It was in this. lone valley she would charm
The lingering noon, where flowers a. couch had strown ;
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm
On hillock by the pine-tree half o'ergrown :
And aye that volume on her lap is thrown.
Which every, heart of human mould endears ; '
With Shakspeare'^s self she speaks and smiles alone.
And no intruding visitation fears.
To shame the unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest tears.
And nought within the grove was heard or seen But stock-doves plaining through its gloom profound, Or winglet of the fairy humming bird. Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round ; When, lo ! there entered to its inmost ground • A youth, the stranger of a distant land ; He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound ; But late th' equator suns his cheek had tanned, And California's gales his roving bosom fanned.
J31
A steed, wlioseirein Iiiin^- loosely o]er his ariii, He led dismounted ; ere his leism^e pace, Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm. Close he had come, and worshipped for a space Those" downcast features': — she her lovely face Uplift on one, whose lineaments and frame •Wore' youth and manhood's intermingled grace : Iberian seemed his boot — his robe the same, And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became.
For Albert's home he sought — her finger fair
Has pointed where the father's mansion stood.
Returning from the copse he soon was there ;
And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green wood ;
Nor joyless, by the converse, understood
Between the man of age and pilgrim young,
That gay congeniality of mood,
And early liking from acquaintance sprung ;
Full fluently conversed their guest in England's tongue.
And well could he his pilgrimage of taste
Unfold, — aiid much they loved his. fervid strain,
While he each fair variety retraced
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main. .
Now happy Switzer's hills, — romantic Spain, —
Gay lilied fields of France, — or, more refined,
The soft Ausonia's monumental reign ;
Nor less each rural image he designed
.Than all the city's pomp and home, of human kind.
l'3'2
Anon some wilder portraiture he draws ; . Of Nature''8 savage glories he would speak, — ' The loneliness of earth that overawes, — Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique, The lama-driver on Peruvia*'s peak, - •
Nor linng voice nor motion marks around ; But' storks that to the boundless forest shriek, . Or wild-cane arch high flung o"'er gulf profound. That fluctuate^ when the storms of El Dorado sound.
Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply
Each earnest question, and his converse court ;
But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why
A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short.
" In England thou hast been, — and, by report,^
An orphan's name (quoth Albert) raay^st have known.
Sad tale ! — when latest fell our frontier fort, —
One innocent — one soldier's child — alone
Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my own.
Young Henry AValdegrave ! three delightful years
These very walls his infant sports did see,
But most I loved him when his parting tears
Alternately bedewed my child and me :
His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee ; "
Nor half its gi-ief hi^ little heart could hold ;
By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea.
They tore him from u» when but twelve years old,
And scarcely for his loss have I beeft yet consoled !
133
His fkce the wanderer hid — but could not hide
A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell;
" And speak !. mysterious stranger !" (Gertrude cried)
"It is ! — it is ! — I knew — I knew him well ! '
''Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell ! "
A burst of joy the father's lips declare ;
But Gertrude speechless -on his bosom fell ;
At once his open arras embraced the pair.
Was never group more blest in this wide world of care.
" And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) Your Waldegrave"'s feigned name, and false attire i I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth, The very fortunes of your house enquire ; Lest one that knew me might some tidings du'e Impart, and I ray weakness all betray ; For had I lost my Gertrude and my sire, I meant but o''er your tombs to weep a day, ' Unknown I meant to weep, unkno^^^l to pass away.
T3ut here ye live, ye bloom,^— in each dear face,
The changing hand of time I may not blame; .
For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace.
And here, of beauty perfected the ft-ame :
And well I know your hearts are still the same — • .
They could not change — ye look the very way.
As when an orphan first to you I came.
And have ye heard of my poor, guide, I pray {
Nay,. wherefore, weep ye, friends, on siielia joyout; day f
134
" And art thou here ? or is it but a- dream ? ■
And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou, leaVe us more V. —
" No, never ! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
Than aught ou earth — than ev'n thyself of yore—
I vkdll n,Ot part thee froih thy father's shore ;
But we shall cherish him with mutual arms,-
And hand in hand again the path explore,
Which every ray. of young remembrance warms,
\Vhile thou shalt be my own, with all thy truth and charms V"^
At morn,, as if beneath a galaxy
Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,
Where all was odorous scent and 'harmony, .
And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
There, if, oh, gentle Love ! I read -aright
The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond,
' Twas listening to these accents of delight,
She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond
Expression's power to paint, all languishingly fond-
" Flower of my life, so lovely, and. so lone ! Whom I would rather in this desert meet. Scorning, and scorned by fortune's power, than own Her pomp and splendours lavished at my, feet ! Turn not from me thy breath, -more exquisite Than odours cast on heaven's on\ti shrine — to please- Give me thy love, than luxury more sweetj And more than all the wealth that loads the bree?e, Wh^ Coromanders ship& return from Indian seas."
J 35
Then would that home admit th6m — ^happier far
Than grandeur's most magnificent saloou,
While, here and there, a solitary star
Flushed in the darkening firmament of June ;
And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon,
Ineffable, which I may not pourtray ; ■ "
For never did the hymenean moon
A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,
In all that' slept beneath her soft vohiptuous ray.
END OF TfiB SECOND PARI'.
GP^RTRUDE OF WYOMING.
PART [TI.
O LovR ! in such a wilderness as this,
VVherc transjiort and security entwine,
Here is the empire of thy perfect 1)liss,
And here thou art a god indeed divine.
Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine,
The views, the walks, that boundless joy ijispire !
Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine !
Nor, blind with ecstasy's celestial fire,
Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire.
Three little moons, how short ! amidst the grove
And pastoral savannas they consume ! '
While ishe, beside her buskined yDuth to rove.
Delights, in fancifully wild costume.
Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume ;
And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare ; .
But not to chase the deer in forest gloom,
"'TIS but the breath of heaven — the blessed air —
And interchange of hearts unknown, unseen to share.
137
What though the sportive, dog oft round them note, "Or fawn, or wild bird bursting on the wing ; Yet who, in love's o\\ti presence, would devote " To death those gentle throats that wake the spring, Or writhing from the brook its victim bring I No ! — nor let fear one little warbler rouse ; But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing, Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs. That shade ev''n now her love, and witnessed first her Vows
Now labjTinths, which but themselves can pierce, Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, Wliere welcome hills shut out the universe. And pines their lawny walk encompass round ; There, if a pause delicious converse found, 'Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, (Pei*chance a while in joy's oblivion dro^N'ned)" That come what may, while life's glad pulses roll liidissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul.
And in the visions of romantic youth.
What years of endless bliss are yet to flow !.
But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth I
The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below !
And must I change my song ? and must I show.
Sweet Wyoming ! the day when thou wort doomed,
Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low !
When where of yesterday a garden bloomed.
Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloomed !
138
Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven,
AVheii Transatlantic Liberty arose.
Not in the sunshine and the smile of heaveh,
But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes.
Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes ;
Her birth star was the light of burning plains* ;
Her baptism is the Weight of blood that flows
From kindred hearts — the blood of British veins —
And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains.
Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote, Or siege unseen in heaven reflects its beams, Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note. That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts, and nightly dreams ? Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams • Portentous light ! and music''s voice is dumb ; Save where the fife its shrill reveille screams. Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum. That speaks of maddening strife, and bloodstained fields to come.
It was in truth a momentary pang ;
Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe !
First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang,
A husband to the battle doomed to go !
" Nay meet not thou (she cries) thy kindred foe !
But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand !"
" Ah, Gertrude, thy beloved heart, I know,
Would feel like mine the stigmatising brand !
Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band !
* Alludih? to the miseries thtit attended tlie Ameriean civil war.
139
But shame — ^but flight — a recreant's name to prove, To hide in exile ignominious fears ; Say, ev'n if this I brooked, the publip love Thy father"'s bosom to his home endears : And how could I his few remaining years, My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child?" So, day by day, her boding heart he cheers : • At last that heart to hope is half beguiled, And, pale through tears suppressed, the mournful beauty smiled.
Night came, — and in their lighted bower, full late. The joy of converse had endured — when, hark !• Abrupt. and loud, a summons shook their gate ; And heedless of the dog"'s obstreperous bark, . A form had rushed amidst them from the dark, And spread his arms, — and fell upon the floor : . Of aged strength his limbs retained the mark ; But desolate he looked, and famished poor, As ever shipwTecked wretch lone left on desert shore.
Uprisen, each wondering brow is knit and arched : A spirit from the. dead they deem him first : To speak he tries ; but quivering, pale, and parched, - From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed. Emotions unintelligible burst ; ' "
And long his filmed eye is red and dim ; At length the pity-proffered cup his thirst Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasped ; — but Albert knew not him— .
140
'' And hast thou then forgot," (he cried forlorn,. And eyed the group with half indignant air,) . " Oh ! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn When I with thee- the cup of peace did share ? Then stately was -this head, and dark this hair, • That now is white as Appalachians snow ; .
But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, And age hath bowed fiie, and the torturing foe. Bring me my boy^ — and Ije" will.his delii erer know !
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame.
Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew :
" Bless thee, my guide !" — but backward, as he came,
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew, ,
And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through.
'Twas strange — nor could the group a smile controul —
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view :
At last delight o'er all his features stole,
" It is — my o^Mi." he cried, and clasped him to his spul.
" Yes ! thou recallest my pride of years,- for then
The bowstring of my spirit was not slack.
When, spite of woods, and floods,- and ambushed men,
I bore thee like the quiver on my back,
Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack ;
Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I feared *,
For I Was strong as mountain cataract : .
And dost thou not remember how we cheered,
Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appeared I
• Cougar, the American tiger.
141
Then welcome be my death-son^,- and my death !
Since I have seen thee, and again embraced."
And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath ;
But with affectionate and eager haste,
Was every arm outstretched around their guest,
To welcome and to bless his aged head. ' •
Soon was the hospitable banquet placed ;
And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam -shed
On wounds with fevered joy that more profusely bled.
' But this is not a time," — he started up, And smote his br6ast with woe-denouncing hand — " This is no time to fill the joyous cup. The Mammoth comes,-^the foe, — the Monster Brandt,- With all his howling desolating band ;— . These eyes have seen their blade and 'burning pine Awake at once, and silence half your land. Red is the cup they drink ; but hot with wine : Awake, and watch to-night,- or see no morning shine !
•Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth :
Accursed Brandt ! he left of all any tribe '
Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth :
No ! no.t. the dog that watched my household hearth,
Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains !
All perished ! — I al9ne am left on earth !
To whom nor relative nor -blood remains.
No ! — not a kindred drop that runs in hiiman veins ! .
Ul'
But go !. — ^and rouse your warriors'; — for, if right
These old bewildered eyes could guess, by signs
'Of striped and starred banners, on yon height
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines —
Some fort embattled by your country sliiries :
Deep roars tli' innavigable gulf below
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines.
Go ! seek the light its warlike beacons show ;
Whilst I in atabush wait, for vengeance, and the foe !
Scarce had he uttered — when Heaven's verge extreme
Reverberates the bomb's descending star, —
Andgounds that mingled laugh, — and shout, — and scream, t—
To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar,
Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war.
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed ;
As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar ;
While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed : —
And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet wailed.
Then looked they to the hills, where fire o'erhung The bandit groups, in one Vesmian glare ; Or swept, far seen, the tower, whose clock, unrung Told legible that midnight of despair. She faints, — she falters not, — th' heroic fair,^- As he the sword and plume in haste arrayed. One short embrace — he clasped his dearest care — But hark ! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade I Joy, joy ! Columbia's friends are trampHng through the shade ! .
143
Then came of every race the mingled swarm,
Far j-mig the groves and gleamed the midnight grass,
With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm ;
As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass.
Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass.
Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines :
And fii-st the wild Moravian yagers pass,
His plumed host the dark Iberian joins —
And Scotia^s sword beneath the Highland thistle shines.
And in, the buskined hunters of the deer.
To Albert^s home, with shout and cymbal throng : —
Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer.
Old Outahssi woke his battle song,. •■.
And, beating with his Svar-club cadence strong.
Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts.
Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long.
To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts. —
Calm, opposite the Christian father rose.
Pale on his venerable brow its rays
Of martyr light the conflagration throws ;
One hand upon his lovely child he lays.
And one tli' uncovered crowd to silence sways ;
While, though the battle flash is faster driven, —
Unawed, with eye unstartled by the blaze,
He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, —
Prays that the men of blood themselves may be forgiven.
144
Short time is now for gratulating speech :
And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere .began
Thy country's flight, yon distant towers to reach,
Looked not on thee the rudest partisan
With brow relaxed to love ? And murmurs ran,
As round and round their willing ranks they drew,-
From beauty's sight to shield the hostile "van.
Grateful, on them a placid look she threw, ,
Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave 'adieu !
Past was the flight, and welcome seemed tli'e tower,
That like a guint standard-bearer froA^ned
Defiance on the roving Indian power, •
Beneath, each bold and promontory mound
With embrasure embossed, and armour crowned.
And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin,.
Wove like a diadem its tracery round
The lofty summit of that mountain green ;
Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene, -
A scene of death !• where fires beneath the sun.
And blended. arms, and white pavilions glow ;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seemed to blow :
There, sad spectatress of her country's woe !
The' lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,
Had laid her cheek, and clasped her hands of snow
On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm
Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild alarm !
145
But short that contemplation — sad and short ..
The pause to.bid eUch much-loved scene adieu ! .
Beneath the very shadow of the fort,
Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew ;
Ah ! who could deem that foot of Indian crew
Was near ?— yet there, with lust of murdVous deeds, •
Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view.
The artibuslied foem"lan"'8 eye — ^liis volley speeds,
And Albert— Albert falls ! the dear old father bleeds !
And tranced in giddy -horror Gertrude swooned ;
Yet, while she clasps Bim lifeless to her zone,
Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound.
These drops ? — Oh, God ! the life-blood is her own !
And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown — '
" Weep not, O Love !" — ^she cries, " to see me bleed^-
Thee, Gertrude''s sad survivor, thee alone
Heaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce I heed
These woimds ;^yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed !
Clasp me a little longer oii the brink •
Of fate ! while I can feel thy. dear caress ;
And when this heart hath ceased to" beat — oh ! think.
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, . :• .
That thou hast been to me all tenderness,
And friend to more than human friendship just.
Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,
And by the hopes of an immortal trust,
God shall assuage thy pangs — when I "am laid in ilust !
146
Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart,
The sbene thy bursting tears too deep will move,
Where my dear fatlier took thee to his heart.
And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove
With thee, as with an. angel, through the grove
Of peace, imagining her lot was cast
In heaven ; for ours was not like earthly love.
And must this parting be our very lafet I
No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.
Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,— r
And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun.
If I had lived to smile but on the birth
Of one dear pledge ; — but shall there then be nom?.
In future times — no gentle little one.
To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling -me ?
Yet seems it, even while life''s last pulses run, "
A sweetness in the cup of death to be,
Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee !''
Hushed were his Gertrude's lips ! but still their bland And beautiful expression seemed to melt With love that could not die ! and still his hand She presses to the heart no more that felt. Ah, heart !• where once each fond affection dwelt. And features yet that spoke a soul more fair. Mute, gazing, agonising as he knelt, — Of them that stood encircling his despair. ■ He heard some friendly words; — ^but knew not what they were.
147
For now, to mourn their juflge and child,. arrives . A faithfurband. With solemn rites between 'Twas smig, how they were lovely in their lives, And in their deaths had not divided been. Touched by the music, and the melting 'scene, Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd : — Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved shroud- While woman''s softer soul in woe dissolved aloud.
Then mournfully the parting bugle bid
Its farewell, o^'er the grave of worth and truth ;
Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid
His face on earth ; — him watched, in gloomy ruth,
His woodland guide : but words had none to soothe
The grief that knew not consolation's name :
Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth,
He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that came
Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering frame !
*' And I could weep ;" — th' Oneyda chief
His descant wildly thus begun :
" But that I may not stain >vith grief
The death-song of my father's son.
Or bow this, heacj in woe !
For by my wrongs, and by my wrath !
To-morrow Arcouski's breath,
I4B
(Tlijtt fires. yoi> heaven with storms of death,) Shall light us to the foe : And we shall share, my Christian boy ! • The foeinan's blood, the .avenger's joy !
But thee, my flower, whose* breath was given
By milder genii o''er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heaven
Forbid not thee to weep : —
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy father's spirit grieve, .
To see thee, on the battle''s eve,
Lamenting, take a mournful leave
Of her who loved thee most : '
She was the rainbow to thy sight !
Thy sun — thy heaven — of lost delight !
To-morrow let us do or die !
But when the bolt of death is hurled,
Ah ! whither then with thee to fly,
Shall Outalissi roam the world '.
Seek we thy once-loved lioiiie '.
The hand is gone that cropt its flowers :
Unheard their clock repeats its hours !
Cold is the hearth within their bowers !
And. should we thither roam.
Its echoe*!, and its empty -tread,
Would sound likii voices from the dead !
.U9
Or shall we cross yon mountains blue,
WJiose streams my kindred nation (quaffed;
And by my side, in battle true,
A thousand warriors drew the shaft l
Ah! there, in desolation cold.
The desert serpent dwells alone,
Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone,
And stones themselves to ruin growii, ■
Like me, are death-like old.
Then seek we not their camp, — for there —
The silence dwells of my despair !
But hark, the trump !— to morrow thou In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears : Ev**!! from the land ctf shadows now My father's awful ghost appears, Amidst the clouds that round us roll ; ^ He bids my soul for battle thirst — He bids me dry the last — the first — The only tears that ever burst From Outalissi's soul; Because I may not stain with grief 'The death-song of an Indian chief ! " .
150
LINES
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY- IN LONDON,
WHEN MET TO COMMEMORATE THE 2l8T OF MARCH,
THE DA.V OF VICTORY IN EG^ilPT.
Pledge to the much-loved land that gave us birth !
Invmcible romantic Scotia^s shore ! Pledge to the memory of her parted worth !
And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore !
And be it deemed not wrong that name to give," In festive hours, which prompts the patriot''s sigh
AVho would not envy such as Moore to live ? And died he not as heroes wish to die I
Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal, To us his bright career too short was given ;
Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix sOul Rose on the- flames of victory to Heaven I
How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain
One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn
For hiiu ! — How oft on far Corunna's plain Shjill British exiles weep upon his urn !
151
Peace to the mighty dead ; — oifr bosom thank.s ' In sprightlier strains the living may inspire ! Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia^s ranks, Of Roman garb and more than Roman fire !
Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled,
Dear symbol wild ! on Freedom's hills it grows,^
Where Fingal stemmed the tyrants of the world. And Roman eagles found unconquercd foes.
Joy to the band* this day on Egypt^s coast, Whose valour tamed proud France^s tricolor,
And wrenched the banner from her bravest host, Baptized Invincible in Austria''s gore !
Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand,
When,' bayonet to bayonet opposed, ' •
First-of Britannia's host her Highland band
Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost closed !
Is there a son of generous England here Or fervid Erin i — he with us shall join.
To pray that in eternal union dear,
The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine !
Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn. As rocks resist the billows roimd their shore ;
Types of a race who shall to time unborn
Their country leave unconquered as of yore ! .
" The 42ih1 Rceinieut."
152
STANZAS
TO THE MEMORY OF^ THE SPANISH PATJIIOTS LATEST KILLED IN RESISTING THE REGENCY AND THE DUKE OF
ANGOULEME. ' • "
Brave men who at the Trocadero fell^—
Beside your cannons conquered not, though slain,
There is a victory in dying well
For Freedom, — and ye have not died in vain ; ,
For come what may, there shall be hearts in 'Spain
To honour^ ay embrace your martyred lot, •
Cursing the Bigot's and the Bourbon's chain,
And looking on your graves, though trophied not.
As holier hallowed ground than priests could make the spot !
What though your cause be baffled — freemen cast In dungeons — dragged to death, or forced to flee ; Hope is not withered in afilictioh''s blast— The patriot''s blood 's the seed of Freedom"'s tree ; 'And short your orgies of revenge shall be, Cowled Demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! Earth sluidders at your victory, — for ye Are worse .than common fiends from Heaven that fell, . The baser, ranker sprung. Autochthones' of Hell !
153
Go to your bloody rites again — bring back
The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen,
Recording answers shrieked upon the rack ;
Smile o'er the gaspings of spine-broken men ; —
Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den ; —
Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal
With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again.
To practise deeds with torturing fire and steel
No eye may search — no tongue may challenge or reveal !
Yet laugh not in your carnival of crime
Too proudly, ye oppressors !— Spain was free.
Her soil has felt the foot-prints, and her climo
Been winnowed by the wings of Liberty ;
And these even parting scatter as they flee
Thoughts — influences, to live in hearts unborn,
Opinions that shall \wench the prison-key
From Persecution — show her mask off'-torn,
And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn,
Glory to them that- die in this great cause ; - Kings, Bigots, can inflict no brand of shame. Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause : — No ! — manglers of the martyr's earthly frame ! Your hangmen fingers cannot touch his fame. Still in your prostrate land there shall be some Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame. Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb, But vengeance is behind, and justice is to come.
154
SONG OF THE GREEKS.
Again to the battle, Acliaians !
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ;
Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree —
It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free :
For the cross of our faith is replanted,
The pale dying crescent is daunted,
And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's slaves
May be washed out in blood from our forefathers'' graves.
Their spirits are hovering o'er us,
And the sword shall to glory restore us.
Ah ! what though no succour advances,
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances
Are stretched in our aid — be the combat our own !
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone ;
For we've sworn by our Country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've, dragged from our altars.
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains.
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That, living, we shall be victorious,
Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious.
135
A breath of submission we breathe not ;
The sword that we've drawn we will sheath jiot !
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide — waves engulf — fire consume us,
But they shall not to slavery doom us :
If they rule, it shall be ©""er our ashes and graves ;
But weVe smote them already with fire, on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before us.
To the charge ! — Heaven*'s banner is ©""er us.
This day shall ye Mush for its story,
Or brighten your lives with its glory.
Our women, oh, say, shall they shriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair I
Accursed may his memory blacken.
If a coward there be that would slacken
Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth.
Strike home, and the world shall revere us
As heroes descended from heroes.
Old Greece lightens up with emotion
Her inlands, her isles of the Ocean ;
Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring.
And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's spring :
Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness,
That were cold and extinguished in sadness ;
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white- w.iving arms.
Singing joy to .the brave thiit delivered their charms.
When the blood of yon. Mussulman cravens.
Shall have purpled the beaks .of our ravens.
I5(i
ODE TO WINTER.
When first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race began to run ; Round the earth and ocean blue, His children four the Seasons flew. First, in green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel grace ; Rosy Summer next advancing,
Rushed into her sire"'s embrace : — Her bright-haired sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smiles, On Calpe's olive-shaded steep.
On India's citron-covered isles : More remote and buxom-brown.
The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown,
A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howling Winter fled afar. To hills that prop the polar star, And loves on deer-borne car to ride With barren Darkness by his side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden ■ Whirls to death the roaring whale. Round the hall Avherc Runic Odin
Howls his war-song. to the gale ;
157
Save wten adown the ra\:agetl glol)e
He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe,-
And trampling on her faded form :-^ Till light's returning lord assume
The shaft that drives him to his polar field, Of power to pierce liis raven plume
And crystal-covered shield. Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights, to hear, When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye Implores thy dreadful deity, Archangel ! power of desolation !
Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation
Spells to touch thy stony heart ? Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer. And gently rule the ruined year ; Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare. Nor freeze the ^\Tetch's falling tear ; — To shuddering Want's unmantled bed Thy horror-bi-eathing agues cease to lead. And gently on the orphan head Of innocence descend. —
But chiefly spare, 0 king of clouds ! The sailor on his airy shrouds ; When wTecks and beacons strew the steep. And spectres walk along the deep. Milder yet thy snowy breezes
Pour on yonder tented shores. Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,
Or the dark-brown Danube roars.
158 •
Oh, winds of Winter ! list ye tliere
To many a deep and dying groan ; Or start, ye demons of the midnight air^
At shrieks and thunders louder than your own. Alas ! ev''n your unhallowed breath
May spare the victim fallen low; J3ut man will ask no tiiice to death,—
No bounds to human woe *.
LINES
SPOKEN BY MRS. HARTLEY AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, ON THE
FIRST OPENING OF THE HOUSE AFTER THE DEATH
OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE, 1817.
Britons ! although our task is but to show
The scenes and passions of fictitioiLs woe.
Think not we come this night without a part
In that deep sorrow of the public heart.
Which like a shade hath darkened every place,
And moistened with a tear the manliest face !
The bell is scarcely hushed in Windsor''s piles.
That tolled a requiem from the solemn aisles,
For her, the royal flower, low laid in dust.
That was your fairest hope, your fondest trust;
Unconscious of the doom, we dreamt, alas !
That ev''n these walls, ere many months shovdd pass,
* This ode was writtcu in Germany, at the-closc of 1800, before the eoiielu- siou of hostilities.
• 159
Which but return sad accents for her now,
Perhaps Ijad witnessed her benignant brow,
Cheered by the voice you vvould have raised on high,
In bursts of British love and loyalty.
But, Britain ! now thy chief, thy people mourn,
And Claremont's home of love is left forlorn : —
There, where the happiest of tlie happy dwelt.
The "'scutcheon glooms, and royalty hath felt
A wound that every bosom feels its own, —
The blessing of a father's heart oVrthrown —
The most beloved and most devoted bride
Torn from an agonised husband's side,
Who " long as Memory holds her seat" shall view
That speechless,, more than spoken last adieu.
When the fixed eye long looked connubial faith,
And beamed- afffection in the trance of death.
Sad was the pomp that yesternight beheld,
As with the mourner's heart the anthem swelled ;
While torch succeeding torch illumed each high
And bannered arch of England's chivalry.
The rich plumed canopy, the gorgeous pall.
The sacred march, and sable-vested wall, —
These were not rites of inexpressive show,
But hallowed as the types of real woe !
Daughter of England ! for a nation's sighs,
A nation's heart went with thine obsequies ! —
And oft shall time revert a look of grief
On thine existence, beautiful and brief.
Fair spirit ! send thy blessing from above
On realms where thou art canonised by love !
Give to a father's, husband's bleeding mind,
The peace that angels lend to human kind;
160
To us who in thy loved remembrance feel A sorrowing, but a soul-ennobling zeal- — A loyalty that touches all the best And loftiest principles of England's breast ! Still may thy name speak concord from the tomb- Still, in the Muse's breath thy memory bloom ! .They shall describe thy life — thy form pourtray ; But all the love that mourns thee swept away^ 'Tis not in language or expressive arts To .paint — ye feel it, Britons, in your hearts !
LINES ON THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE.
By strangers left upon a lonely, shore,
Unknown, unhonoured, was the friendless dead ; For child to weep, or widow to deplore,
There never came to his unburied head : —
All from his dreary habitation fled. Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve
Launch on that water by the witches' tower. Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave
Round its dark vaults a melancholy bower
For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour,
They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate !
Whose crime it was, on Life"'s unfinished road. To feel the step-dame buffetings of .fate, •And render back thy being's heavy load.
161
Ah ! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed In thy devoted bosom — and the hand
That smote its kindred heart, inight yet be prone To deeds^ of mercy. Who may understand ■
Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown ^ — • He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone.
REULLURA*.
Star of the morn and eve,
Reullura shone like thee, And well for her might Aodh grieve, ■ The dark-attired Culdee. Peace to their shades ! the pure Culdees
Were AlbyiVs earliest priests of God, Ere yet an island of her seas
By foot of Saxon monk" was trod, Long ere her churchmen by bigotry Were barred from wedlock''s holy tie. ""Twas then that Aodh, famed afar.
In lona preached the word with power. And Reullura, beauty's star,
Was the partner of his bower.
But, Aodh, the roof lies low.
And the thistle-down waves bleaching, And the bat flits to and fro
Where the Gael .once heard thy preaching ;
* Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies ■' beautiful star."
• 1Gl>
And fallen is each Cjolumncd aisle.
Where the chiefs and the people knelt. ""Twas near that, temple's goodly pile
That honoured of men they dwelt. For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, And bright Reullura"'s eyes oft saw
The veil of fate uplifted. Alas, with what visions of awe
Her soul in, that hour was gifted — •
When pale in the temple and faint, •
With Aodh she stood alone • . •"
By the statue of an aged Saint !
Fair sculptured was the stone, It bore a crucifix ;
Fame said it once had graced A Christian temple, which the Picts
. In the Britons'' land laid waste : The Pictish men, t»y St. Columb taught.
Had hither the holy relic brought. Reullura eyed the statue's face,
And cried, " It is, he shall come. Even he iii this very place,
To avenge my martyrdom.
For, woe to the Gael people !
Ulvfagre is on the main. And lona shall look from tower and steeple
On the coming ships of the Dane ; And; dames §ind daughters, shall all your locks
With the spoiler's grasp entwine ? No ! some shall have shelter in oaves and rocks,
And "the deep sea shall be mine.
1G;5
Baffled by mc slmll the Dane return,
And here shall his torcli in the temple burn,
Until that holy man shall plough
The waves from Innisfail. . -
His sail is on the deep e'en now, And swells to the southern gale."
" Ah ! knowest thou not, my bride,"
The holy.Aodh said, " That the Saint whose form we stand beside
Has for 'ages slept. with the dead?" " He liveth, he liveth," she said again,
-^For the span of his life tenfold extends Beyond the wonted years of men.
He sits by the graves of well-loved friends That died ere thy grandsire''s grandsiro'^s birth The oak is decayed with age on earth. Whose acorn-seed had been planted by him ;
And his parents remember the day of dread When the sun on the cross looked dim,
And the graves gave up their dead. Yet preaching from clime to clime,'
He hath roamed the earth for a<ges, . And hither he shall come in time
When the wrath of the heathen rages, In time a remnant, from the sword —
Ah ! but a remnant to deliver ; Yet, blest be the name of the Lord !
His martyrs shall go into bliss for ever. Lochlin*, appalled, ^lall put up her steel. And thou slialt embark "on the bounding keel;
. . * Dcuuuuk.
1G4 •
Safe sha-lt tliou pass through her hundred ships,
. Witli the Saint and a remnant of the Gael, And the Lord will instruct thy lips To preach in Imiisfail *.''"'
The sun, now about to set,
Was burning o'er Tiree, And no gathering cry rose yet
O'er the isles of Albyn"'s sea, Whilst Reullura saw far rowers dip
Their oars beneath the sun, And the phantom of many a Danish ship,
Where ship there yet was none. And the shield of alarm was dumb, Nor did their warning till midnight come, When watch-fires burst from across the main
From Rona, and Uist, and Skye, To tell that the ships of the Dane
And the red-haired slayers were nigh.
Our islemen arose from slumbers,
And buckled on their arms ; But few, alas ! were their numbers
To Lochlin''s mailed swarms. And the blade of the bloody Norse
Has tilled the shores of the Gael AVith many a floating corse,
And with many a woman's wail. They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch, And the holy men of lona's church In the temple of God lay slain ;
* Ireland.
I
165
All but Aodh, the last Ciildec, • But bound with many an iron chain, Bound in that church was he. And where is Aodh s bride ?
Ilocks of the ocean flood ! • .
Plunged she not from your heights in pride.
And mocked the men of blood i Then Ulvfagre and his bands
In the temple lighted their banquet up, And the print of their blood-red hands
Was left on the altar cup, ' Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said, " Tell where thy church''s treasurers laid, Or I'll hew thee limb from limb."
As he spoke the bell "struck three, And every torch grew dim
That lighted their revelry.
But the torches again burnt bright.
And brighter than before. When an aged man of majestic height
Entered the temple door. Hushed was the revellers'' sound.
They were struck as mute as the dead, And their hearts were appalled by the very sound
Of his footsteps'' measured tread. Nor word was spoken by one beholder, Whilst he flung his white robe back ©""er his shoukler: And stretchino; his arms — as eath
Unriveted Aodli's bands. As if the gyves had been a wreath
Of willows in his hands.
166
AH saw the stranger*'is similitude . To the ancient statue\s form ; The Saint before his own image stood,
And grasped Ulvfagre"'s arm. Then, uprose the Danes at last to deliver
Their chief, and shoutihg with one accord. They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver,
They lifted the 'spear and sword. And levelled their spears in rows. But down went axes and spears and bows, . When the Saint with his crosier signed,
The archer*'s hand on the string was stopt, And dov^ai, like reeds laid flat by the wind,
Their lifted weapons dropt. The Saint then gave a signal mute,
And though Ulvfagre willed it not, He came and stood at the statue''s foot,.
Spell-riveted to the spot. Till hands invisible shook the wall.
And the tottering image was dashed Down from its lofty pedestal.
On XIIvfEigre's helm it crashed — Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain. It crushed as millstones crush the grain. Then spoke -die Saint, whilst all and each
Of the Heathen trembled round, And the pauses amidst his speech
Were as awful as the sound :
" Go back, ye wolves, to your dens,"" (he cried,)
•" And tell the nations abroad, How the fiercest of your herd has died
That slaughtered the flock of God.
1G7
Gather him bone by bone,
And take with you o^er the flood The fragments of that avenging stone
Tliat di'ank his heathen blood. These are the spoils from Iona''s sack,
The only spoils ye shall carry back ; • For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword
Shall be withered by palsy's" shock, And I come in the name of the Lord
To deliver a remnant of his flock.""
A remnant was called together,
A doleful remnant of the Gael, And the Saint in the ship tliat had brought him hither
Took the mourners to Innisfail. Unscathed they left Iona"'s strand,
When the opal morn first flushed the sky, For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand,
And looked on them silently ; Safe from their hiding-places came Orphans and mothers, child and dame : But, alas ! w'hen the search for Reullura spread.
No answering voice was given. For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head.
And her spirit was in Heaven.
IG8
THE TURKISH LADY.
• ' TwAs tire hour when rites unholy
Called each Paynhn voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshened air.
Day her sultry fires had wasted,
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose ;
Ev'n a captive spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes.
Then 'twas from an Emir"'s palace Came an Eastern lady bright :
She, in spite of tyrants jealous, Saw and loved an English knight.
" Tell me, captive, why in anguish
Foes have dragged thee here to dwell. Where poor Christians .as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell V —
" 'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, When the Crescent shone afar. Like a pale disastrous planet ©""er the purple tide of war —
169
In that day of desolation, , Lady, I was captiye made ; Bleeding for my Christian nation By the walls of high Belgrade."
'* Captive ! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free V
" Lady, no ! — the gift were cruel, Ransomed, yet if reft of thee.
Say, fair princess ! would it grieve thee Christian climes should we behold V — " Nay, bold knight ! I would not leave thee Were tliy ransom paid in gold ! "
Now in Heaven's blue expansion Rose the midnight star to view,
When to qviit her father's mansion Thrice she wept, and bade adieu !
" Fly we then, while none discover ! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride !" — Soon at Rhodes the British lover Clasped his blooming Eastern bride.
m^^.
THE BRAVE ROLAND.
The brave Roland ! — the brave Roland !^ False tidings reached the Rhenish strand
That he had fallen in fight ; And thy faithful bosom swooned with pain, O loveliest maiden of AUemayne !
For the loss of thine own true knight.
* 171
But why so rash has she ta'eu the veil, In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale ?
For her vow had" scarce been sworn, And the fatal mantle o'er her flung, ' When the Drachenfels to a, trumpet rung —
'Twas her own dear warrior's horn !
Woe ! woe ! each heart shall bleed — shall break! She would have hung upon his neck,
Had he come but yester-even ; .And he had clasped those peerless charms That shall never, never fill his arms,
Or meet him but in heaven.
Yet Koland the brave,— Roland the true — He could not bid thut spot adieu ;
It was dear still ""midst his woes ; For he loved to breathe the neighbouring air. And to think she blessed him in her prayer,
When the Halleluiah rose.
There''s yet one window of that pile, Which he built above the Nun's green isle ;
Thence sad and oft looked he ' (When the chant and organ sounded slow) On the mansion of his love below.
For herself he might not see.
She died ! — He sought the, battle-plain ; Her image filled his dying brain,
When he fell arid wished to fall : And her name was in his latest sigh. When Roland, the flower of chivalry.
Expired at Roncevall.
172
THE SPECTRE BOAT.
A BALLAD.
Light rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn, Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek
from scorn. One night he dreamt he wooed her in their wonted bower
of love, Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds . sang sweet above.
But the scene was swiftly changed into a churchyard's
dismal view. And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's
delicious hue. What more he dreamt, he told to none ; but shuddering,
pale, and dumb. Looked out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour
was come.
'Twas now the dead watch of the night — the helm was
lashed a-lee, And the ship rode where Mount ^Etna lights the deep
Levantine sea; When beneath its glare a boat came, rowed by a woman
in her shroud, Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up
and spoke aloud : —
173
" Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven ! * V
Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my peace with heaven !" —
It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet her call,
Like the bird that shrieks, and flutters in the gazing ser- pent's thrall.
You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from
the sight. For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with
hideous light ; Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her hand. And round they went, and down they went, as the cock
crew from the land.
SONG.
— »— — . •
Oh, how hard it is to find
The one just suited to our mind ;
And if that one should be False, unkind, or found, too late. What can we do but sigh at fate.
And sing Woe's me — Woe's me !
Love's a boundless burning waKste, Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste,
And still more seldom flee Suspense's thorns,' Suspicion's stings ; Yet somehow Love a something brings
That's sweet — ev'n when we sigh 'Woe's me !'
174
THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
If any white- winged' Power above*
My joys and griefs survey, ■ The day when thou wert born, my love —
He surely blessed that day.'
I laughed (till taught by thee) when told
Of Beauty's magic powers, That ripened life's dull ore to gold,
And changed- its weeds to flowers.
My mind had lovely shapes pourtrayed ; . But thought I earth had one Could make even Fancy's visions fade Like stars before the sun ?
I gazed, and felt upon my lips The unfinished accents hang :
One moment's bliss, one burning kiss. To rapture changed each pang.
And though as swift as lightning's flash Those tranced moments flew.
Not all the waves of time shall wash Their memory from my view.
. 175
But duly sliall my raptured song, And gladly shall my eyes
Still bless this day's return, as long As thou shalt see it rise. '
ADELGITHA.
The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded, And sad pale Adelgitha came,
AVhen forth a valiant champion bounded, And slew the slanderer of her fame.
She wept, delivered from her danger ; But when he knelt to claim her glove — " Seek not," she cried, " oh ' gallant stranger, For hapless Adelgitha''s love.
" For he is in a foreign far land
Whose arm should now have set me free ; And I must wear the willow garland For him that's dead, or false to me."" •
" Nay ! say not that his faith is tainted ! ""— He raised his vizor — At the sight She fell into his arms and fainted ; It was indeed her own true knight !
17(J
LINES
ON RIOCEIVFNG A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST, FROM
K. m-t:, before her marriage.
This wax returns not back more fair Th' impression of the gift you send,
Than stamped upon my thoughts I bear The image of your worth, my friend !—
We are not friends of yesterday ;— But poets'* fancies are a little
Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,) — By turns impressible and brittle.
Well ! should its frailty e'er condemn My heart to prize or please you less,
Your.tyi^e is still the sealing gem, And mine the waxen brittleness.
What transcripts of my weal and woe This little signet yet may lock, —
What utterances to friend or foe. In reason*'s calm or passion's shock !
What scenes of life's yet curtained page • May own its confidential die, Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page, And feelings of futurity .'-r-
Yet wheresoe''er my pen I lift •
To date the epistolary sheet, The blest occasion of the gift
Shall make its recollection sweet ;
Sent when the stay that rules your fates .
Hath reached its influence most benign— When every heart congratulates,
And none more cordially than mine.
So speed* my song — marked with the crest That erst the adventurous Norman wore,
Who won the Lady of the West, The daughter of Macaillan ]Mor.
Crest of my sires •' whose blood it sealed .
With glory in the "strife of swords, Ne'er may the -scroll that bears it yield
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words !
.Yet little might I prize the stone.
If it but typed the feudal tree From wJience, a scattered leaf, I'm blown
In Fortune's mutability.
No !" — but it tells me of a heart Allied by friendsliip's living tie ;
A prize beyond the herald's art- — Our soul -sprung consanguinity !
Kath'rixe ! to hinny an hour of mine Light \yings and sunshine you have lent .
And so adieu, and still be thine The all-in-all of life— Content ! •
178
. GILDEROY
The last, the fatal hour is come, That bears my love from pie :
I hear the dead note of the drum, I mark the gallons' tree !
The bell has tolled ; it shakes my heart The trumpet 8peak§ thy name ;
And must my Gilderoy depart To bear a death of shame l
No bosom trembles for thy doom ', -
No mourner wipes a fear ; The gallows'* foot is all*thy tomb,
The sledge is all thy bier.
Oh, Gilderoy ! bethought we then
So soon, so sad to part, Whea first in Roslin's lovely glen
You triumphed o'er.my heart ? •
' Your locks they glittered to the sheen,' Your hunter garb was. trim;
And graceful Mas the ribbon green That bound your manly limb^I
I
179
A h ! little thought I to deplore Those liriibs in fetteris bound ;
Or hear, upon the scaffold floor, The midnight hamnier sound.
Ye cruel, cruel, that combined.
The guiltless to pursue ; My Gilderoy was ever kind,
He could not injure you !
A long adieu ! but where shall fly
Thy widow all forlorn, When every mean and cruel eye
Regards my woe with scorn ?
Yes ! they will mock thy widow's tears," And hate thine orphan boy ;
Alas ! his infant beauty wears The form of Gilderoy.
Then will I seek the dreary mound That wraps. thy mouldering clay,
And weep and linger on the ground, . And sigh my heart away.
180
STANZAS
ON THE THREATENED INVASION. 1803.
Our bosoms We'll bare for the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high, To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,
Or crushed in its ruins to die ! Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand, And swear to prevail in your dear native land !
'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust — God bless the green Isle of the brave ! '
Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers"' dust, It would- rouse the old dead from their grave !
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land !
In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abicle,
Profaning its loves and its charms ? Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fair at our side ?
To arms ! oh, my Country, to arms ! Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hancl. And swear to prevail in your dear native land !
181
Shall a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen ! — No !
His head to the sword shall be given — A death-bed repentance be taught the proud foe,
And his blood be an offering to»Heaven ! Then rise^ fellow freemen, and stretch the .right hand. And swear to prevail in your dear native land !
THE RITTITR BANN.
The Rittor Bann from Hungary Came back, renowned in arms,
But scorning jousts of chivalry. And love and ladies' charms.
While other knights held revels, he • Was wrapt in thoughts of gloom,
And in Vienna's hostelrie Slow paced his lonely room.
There entered one whose face ho knew. Whose voice, he was aware.
He oft at mass had listened to. In the holy house of prayer.
'Twas the Abbot of St. James's monks.
A fresh and fair old man : His reverend air arrested even
The gloomy Ritter Bann.
18-2
But seeing with him an ancient dame
Come clad in Scotch attire, The Hitter's colour went and came,
And loud he spoke in ire.
" Ha ! nurse of her that was my bane.
Name not her name to me ; r wish it blotted from my brain :
Art poor ? — take alms, and flee.""
" Sir Knight," the abbot interposed, " This Case your ear demands ;""
And the Qrdne cried, with a cross enclosed In both her trembling hands :
" Remember, each his sentence waits ; .
And he that shall rebut ' . .
Sweet Mercy's suit, on him the gates
Of Mercy ehall hh shut.
You wedded undispensed by Church
Your cousin Jane in Spring ;■ — In Autumn, when you went to search *For churchmen's, pardoning.
Her house denounced your marriage-band,
Betrothed her to De Gd:'ey, And the ring you put upon her hand
Was wrenched by force away.
Then wept your Jane upon. my neck, Crying, ' Help me, nurse, to flee
To my Howel Bann's Glamorgan hills ;' But word arrived — ah me ! —
183
Youwere not there ; and 'tWas their threat,
By foul means or by fair, To-morrow morning was to set
The seal on her despair,
I had a son, a sea-boy, in
A ship at Hartland Bay ; By his aid from her cruel kin
I bore my bird away. .
To Scotland from the Devon's
Green myrtle shores we fled ; And the Hand that sent the ravens
To Elijah, gave us bread.
She ^^Tote you by my son, but he'
From England sent us word You had gone into some far countrie.
In grief and gloom he heard.
For they that wronged yoU; to elude Your \\Tath, defamed my child ;
And you — ay, blush, Sir, as you should — • Believed, and were beguiled.
To die but at your feet, she vowed
To I'oam the world ; • and we Would both have sped and begged our bread.
But so it might not be.
For when the snow-stormbeat our roof.
She bore a boy. Sir Bann, . Who grew as fair your likeness proof
As child, e'er grew like man.
184
'Twas smiling on that babe one morn While heath bloomed on the moor.
Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghorn As he hunted past our door.
She shunned him, but he raved of Jane, And roused his mother's pride :
Who came to us in high disdain, — ' And wliere*'s the face,' she cried,
' Has witched my boy to wish for one
So wretched for his wife I — Dost love thy husband ? Know, my son
Has sworn to seek his life.''
Her anger sore dismayed us. For our mite was wearing scant,
And, unless that dame would aid us. There was none to aid our want.
So I told her, weeping bitterly, What all our woes had been ;
And, though she was a stern ladie. The tears stood in her een,
And she housed us both, when, cheerfully.
My child to her had sworn, That even if made a widow, she
Would never wed Kinghorn."
Here paused the nurse, and then began
The abbot, standing by : — '' Three months ago a wounded man
To our abbey came to die.
185
He heard me long, with ghastly eyes
And hand obdurate clenched, Speak of the worm that never dies,
And the fire that is not quenched.
At last by what this scroll attests
He left atonement brief, For years of anguish to the breasts
His guilt had wrung with grief.
' There lived,' he said, ' a fair young dame
Beneath my mother''s roof ; I loved her, but against my flame
Her purity was proof.
I feigned repentance, friendship pure ;
That mood she did not check. But let her husband's miniature
Be copied from her neck,
As means to search him ; ' my deceit •
Took care to him yyas borne Nought but his picture's counterfeit,
And Jane's reported scorn.
The treachery took : she waited wild ;
My slave came back -and lied Whate'er I wished ; she clasped her child,
And swooned, and all but died.
I felt her tears for years and years Quench not my flame, but stir ;
The very hate I bore her mate Increased my love for her.
186
Fame told us of his glory, while
Joy flushed the face of Jane ; ■ And while she blessed his name, her smile
Struck fire into my brain.
No fears could damp ; I reached the camp,
Sought out its champion ; And if my broad-sword failed at last,
'Twas lono: and well laid on.
This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn,
My foe's the Ritter Bann.'—
The wafer to his lips was borne.
And we shrived the dying man.
He- died not till you went to fight
TheTurks" at Warradeiri ; But I see my tale. has changed you pale." —
The abbot went for wine ;
And brought a little page who poured
It out, and knelt and smiled ;- — The stunned knight saw^ himself restored
To childhood in his child ; • *
And stooped and caught him to his breast,
Laughed loud and wept anon. And with a shower of kisses pressed ■
The darling little one.
" And where went Jane f — " To a nunnery. Sir- Look not again so pale —
Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her." — " And has she ta'en the veil ? " —
I
• . 187
" Sit down, Sir,'" said the priest, " I bar Hash words." — They sat all three.
And the boy played with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee.
" Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"
The abbot further said ; ■ " Time draws a veil o'er beauty ''s face
More deep than cloister's shade.
Grief may have made her what you can
Scarce love perhaps for life." " Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann,
" Or tell me where's my wife."
The priest undid two doors that hid • The inn's adjacent room. And there a lovely woman stood. Tears bathed her beauty's bloom.
One moment may with bliss repay
Unnumbered hours of pain ; . Such was the throb and mutual sob
Of the Knight embracing Jane.
188
SONG.
MEN OF EXGLAND.
Men- of England ! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood ! Men whose undegenerate spirit
Has been proved on field and flood : —
By the foes you 've fought uncounted, By the glorious, deeds ye \'e done,
Trophies captured — breaches mounted, Navies conquered — kingdoms won !
Yet, remember,. England gathers Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
1 f the freedom of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery. Where no public virtues bloom ?
What avail in lands of slavery,
Trophied temples, arch, and tomb ?
Pageants ! — Let the world revere us For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes Bared in Freedom's holy cause.
189
Yours are Hampden"'s, Russell's glory, Sidney''s matchless shade is yours, —
Martyrs in heroic story,
Worth a hundred Agincourts !
We're the sons of sires that baffled Crowned and mitred tyranny ; —
They defied the field and scaffold For their birthrights — so will we !
song:
Drink ye to her that each loves best,
And if you nurse a flame That's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.
Enough, while memory tranced and glad"
Paints silently the fair, That each should dream of joys he's had,
Or yet may hope to share.
Yet far, far hence be jest or boast From hallowed thoughts so dear ;
But drink to her that each loves most. As she would love to hear.
190
THE HARPER.
O.v the green banks of Shannen, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was ^o happy as I ;
No harp like my own could so cheerily j^lay,
And wherever I went was my. poor dog Tray.
When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, •She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) Oh ! remember your Sheelah when far, far away : And/be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.'
Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor ; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold. And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey, And he licked me for kindness — my poor dog Tray.'
Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case, Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face ; But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.
Where now shall I ^o, poor, forsaken, and blind ? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful, and kind ? To my sweet native village, so far, far av.ay, I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.
191
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.
A LONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube H'air Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er : —
*' Oh whither," she cried, " hast thou wandered, my lover Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore I
What voice did I hear ? 'twas my Henry that sighed ! " All mournful she lijistened, nor wandered she far,
When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried. By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar !
From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage, deep marked with a scar !
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war !
How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight !
How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! " Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night,
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar f
. "• Thou shalt live," she replied, " Heaven's mercy relieving Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn !" — " Ah, no ! the last pang of my bosom is lieaving ! No light of the morn shall to Henry return !
Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true !
Ye babes of my love, that await me afar !" — His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu.
When he sunk in her arms — the poor wounded Hussar I
19:i
LOVE AND MADNESS.
.AN ELEGY.
WIUTTEN IN 1795.
Hark ! from the battlements of yonder tower * The solemn bell has tolled the midnight hour ! Roused from drear visions of distempered sleep, ' Poor B-^ k wakes — in solitude to weep !
" Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner cried) To probe the bosom too severely tried ! •.Oh ! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day. When youthful Hope, the music of the mind. Tuned all its charms, and E-r — n was kind !
Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame, In sighs to speak thy melancholy name ? I hear thy spirit wail in every storm ! In midnight shades I view thy passing form ! Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel. Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel !
Demons of Vengeance ! ye at whose command I grasped the sword with more than woman's hand, Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice controul. Or horror damp the purpose of my soul ? No ! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan. Till Hate fulfilled what baffled Love began !
* Warwick CJastle.
J
19;J
Yes ; let the clay-cold'breast that, never knew One tender pang to generous Nature true, Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn, Condemn this heart, that bled in love forlorn !
And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms. Save E[;apture's homage to your conscious charms ! Delighted idols of a gaudy train, 111 can your blunter feelings guess the pain, \yhen the fond faithful heart, inspired to prove ' Friendship refined, the calm delight of Love, Feels all its tender strings with ancruish torn. And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn !
Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faitliJess lover ! bleed i Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, .What time thy bosom scorned its dearest vow ! Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed, ■ Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged. Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, I wandered, hopeless, friendless, and alone !
Oh ! righteous Heaven ! 'twas then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited controul ! Adieu the silent look ! the streaming eye ! The murmured plaint ! the deep heart-heaving sigh ! Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds ; He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds ! Now the last laugh of agony is o'er, And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more !
194
'Tis (lone ! the flame of hat6 no longer burns : Nature relents, but, ah ! too late returns ! Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel ? Trembling and faint, I drop the" guilty steel ! Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies, And shades of horror close my languid eyes !
Oh ! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain ?
Could B k's soul so true to wrath remain I
A friend long true, a once fond lover fell ! — Where Love was fostered eould not Pity dwell ?
Unhappy youth ! while yon pale crescent glows To watch on silent Nature's deepTepose, Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb, Foretels my fate, and summons me to come ! Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand. Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand !
Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame Forsake its languid melancholy frame ! Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close. Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! Soon may this woe -worn spirit seek the bourne Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn !
I
195
HALLOWED GROUND.
What''s hallowed ground i Has earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By' man, the image of his God
Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee ?
That's hallowed ground — where, mourned and missed. The lips repose our love has kissed : — But where's their memory's mansion i Is't
Yon churchyard's bowers i No ! in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.
A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound : The spot where love's first links were wound,
• That ne'er are riven. Is hallowed down to earth's profound. And up to Heaven !
For time makes all but true love old ; The burning thoughts that then were told. Run molten still in memory's mould ;
And will not cool, Until the heart itself be cold
In Lethe's pool.
196
What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap ! In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom ; ()r Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb :
But strew his ashes to the wind
Whose. sword or voice has served mankind —
And js he. dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high i — To live in hearts we leave behind, . . .
Is not to die.
Is't death to fall for Freedom's right '. Hes dead alone that lacks her light ! And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
. The sword he. draws : — What can alone ennoble fight ?
A noble, cause ! ' ' .
Give that ! and welcoine Warto brace
Her drums ! and rend Heaven's reeking space !
The colours planted face to face.
The charging cheer. Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase,
Shall still be dear.
And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven ! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal ! The cause of Truth and liuman weal,
O God above ! Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love. • • •
^
197
Peace', Love ! . the cherubim, that join Their spread wings o-er Devotion's shrine, Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine.
Where they are not — The heart alone can make divine
Religion's spot.
"To incantations dost thou trust, And pdmpous rites in domes august i See mouldering stones. and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt, That men can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chaunt.
The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man ! Thy temples — creeds themselves grow wan ! But there's a dome of nobler span,
A temple given Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban — Its space is Heaven !
Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling. Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, And God himself to man revealing.
The harmonious spheres Make music, though unheard their pealing
By mortal ears.
Fair stars ! are not your beings pure i Can sin, can death your worlds obscure I . Else why so swell the thoughts ^t your
Aspect above i Ye must be Heavens that make us sure
Of heavenlv love !
198 .
And in your harmony sublime
I read the doom of distant time ; ' •
That man^s regenerate soul from crime
Shall yet be drawn, And reason on his mortal clime
Immortal dawn.
What's hallowed ground ? 'Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth
Earth''s compass round ; And, your high priesthood shall make earth
All halloioed ground.
SONG.
Withdraw not yet those lips and fingers, ^Vhosc touch to mine is rapture''s spell ;
Life's joy for us a moment lingers,
And death seems in the word — Farewell.
The hour that bids us part and go.
It sounds not yet, — oh ! no, no, no !
Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness, Flies like a courser nigh the goal ;
To-morrow where shall be his fleetness, When thou art parted from my soul ?
Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow.
But not together — no, no, no !
199
CAROLINE.
PART I.
Fll bid the hyacinth to blow, I'll teach my grotto green to be ;
And sing my true love, all below The holly bower and mrytle tree.
There all his wild-wood sweets to bring, The sweet South wind shall wander by.
And with the music of his wing Delight my rustling canopy.
Come to my close and clustering bower. Thou spirit of a milder clime,
Fresh with the dews of fruit and flo\\er. Of mountain heath, and moory thyme.
With all thy rural echoes come, Sweet comi'ade of the rosy day.
Wafting the wild bee''s gentle hum, Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.
Where'er thy morning breath has played. Whatever isles of ocean fanned,
Come to my blossom-woven shade, Thou wandering wind of fairy-land.
200
For sure from some enchanted isle,
Where Heaven and Love their sabbatli hold. Where pure and happy spirits smile,.
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould :
From some gi'een Eden of the deep.
Where Pleasure's sigh alone is heaved, ■
Where tears of rapture lovers weep, Endeared, undoubting, undeceived ;
From some sweet paradise afar. Thy music wanders, distant, lost —
Where Nature lights her leading star. And love is never, never crossed.
Oh gentle gale of Eden bowers. If back thy rosy feet should roam,
To revel with the cloudless Hours In Nature's more propitious home,
Name to thy loved Elysian groves, That o'er enchanted spirits twine,
A fairer form than cherub loves, And let tlie name be Caroline.
201
CAROLINE.
PART II.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Gem of tlie crimson-coloured Even,
Companion of retiring day, Why at the closing gates of Heaven,
Beloved star, dost thou delay ?
So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
When soft the tear of twilight flows ;
So due thy plighted love returns,
To chambers brighter than the rose :
To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love, So kind a star thou seem'st to be.
Sure some enamoured orb above
Descends and burns to meet with thee.
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour, When all unheavenly passions fly.
Chased by the soul-subduing power Of Love's delicious witchery.
P ! sacred to the fall of day.
Queen of propitious stars, appear.
And early rise, and long delay. When Caroline herself is here !
202
Shine on her chosen green resort,
Whose trees the sunward summit crown,
And wanton flowers, that well may court An angeFs feet to tread them down.
'o^
Shine on her sweetly-scented road. Thou star of evening's purple dome,
That lead''st the nightingale abroad, And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.
Shine, where my charmer s sweeter breath Embalms the soft exhaling dew, "
AV'here dying winds a sigh bequeath To kiss the cheek of rosy hue.
Where, winnowed by the gentle air. Her silken tresses darkly flow.
And fall upon her brow so fair.
Like shadows on the mountain snow.
Thus, ever thus, at day's decline: In converse sweet, to. wander far,
O bring with thee my Caroline, . And thou shalt be ray Ruling Star !
THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.
O LEAVE this barren spot to me ! Spare, woodman, spare the bcechen tree ! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below ;
204
Nor summer bud perfume the dew Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ! Nor fruits of autuuuj, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn ; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive ; Yet leave this barren spot" to me : Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree !
Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green ; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its s»'eet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made ; And on my trunk's survi^^ng frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound. First breathed upon this sacred ground ; By all that Love has whispered here. Or Beauty heard with ravished ear ; As Love's own altar honour me : Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree !
205
FIELD FLOWERS.
Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, tis true, Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you.
For ye waft me to summers of old. When the earth teemed aroimd me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight.
Like treasures of silver and gold.
I love you for lulling me back into dreams
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams.
And of birchen glades breathing their balm. While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote. And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon''s note
Made music that sweetened the calm.
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June :
Of old ruinous castles ye tell. Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find. When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind.
And your blossoms were part of her spell.
Even now what affections the violet awakes ; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes.
Can the wild water-lily restore ; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks. And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks.
In the vetches that tangled their shore.
206
Earth's jcultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear
Had scathed my existence's bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, AVith the visions of youth to revisit my age,
And I wish you to grow on my tomb.
SONG.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free ! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou.
That send'st it from above, Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as her's we love. '
Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise,© Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard.
And songs, when toil is done, From cottages whose smoke unstirred
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love's soft interviews. Parted lovers on thee muse ; Their remembrancer in Heaven
. Of thrilling vows thou art. Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart.
207
STANZAS TO PAINTING.
O THOU by whose expressive art Her. perfect image Nature sees
In union with the Graces start, And sweeter by. reflection please
In whose creative hand the hues
Fresh from yon orient rainbow shine ;
I bless thee, Promethean Muse ! And call thee brightest of the Nino !
Possessing more than vocal power, . Persuasive more than poet's tongue ; Whose lineage, in a raptured hour,
From Love, the Sire of Nature, sprung ;
Docs Hope her high possession meet ?
Is joy triumphant, sorrow flown I Sweet is the trance, the tremor sweet,
When all we love ie all our own.
But oh ! thou pulse of jileasure dear. Slow throbbing, cold, 1 feel thee part ;
Lone absence plants a pang severe, Or death inflicts a keener dart.
208
Then for a beam of joy to light In memory \s sad and wakeful eye !
( )r banish from the noon of night Her dreams of deeper agony.
Shall Song its witching cadence roll ?
Yea, even the tenderest air repeat, That breathed when soul was knit to soul,
And heart to heart responsive beat ?
What visions rise ! to charm, to melt !
The lost, the loved, the dead are near ! Oh, hush that strain too deeply felt !
And cease that solace too severe !
But thou, serenely silent art !
By heaven and love wast taught to lend A milder solace to the heart.
The sacred image of a friend.
All is not lost ! if, yet possest.
To me that sweet memorial sliine : —
If close and closer to my breast I hold that idol all divine.
Or, gazing through luxurious tears, Melt o'er the loved departed form,
Till death's cold bosom half appears With life, and speech, and spirit warm.
Slie looks ! she lives ! this tranced hour, Her bright eye seems a purer gem
Than sparkles pn the throne of power, Or glory's wealthy diadem.
209
Yes, Genius, yes ! thy mimic ciid A treasure to my soul has given.
Where beauty's canonized shade
Smiles in the sainted hues of heaven.
No spectre forms of pleasure fled,
Thy softening, sweetening, tints restore ;
For thou canst give us back the dead, E'en in the loveliest looks they wore.-.
Then blest be Nature's guardian ^luse. Whose hand her perished grace redeems !
Whose tablet of a thousand hues The mirror of creation seems.
From Love began thy high descent-;
And lovers, charmed by gifts of thine. Shall bless thee mutely eloquent ;
And call thee brightest of the Nine !
THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCK.
Never wedding, ever wooing. Still a love-lorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing
In my cheek's pale hue i All my life with sorrow' strewing.
Wed, or cease to woo.
210
Rivals banished, bosoms plighted, Still our days arc disunited ; Now the lamp of hope is lighted,
Now half quenched appears, Damped, and wavering, and benighted^
Midst my sighs and tears.
Charms you call your dearest blessing. Lips that thrill at yoyr caressing. Eyes a mutual soul confessing,
Soon youll make them grow Dim, and worthless your possessing.
Not with age, but woe !
ABSEN^CE.
'Tis not the loss of love's assurance.
It is not doubting what thou art. But 'tis the too, too long endurance
Of absence, that afflicts my heart.
The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish. When each is lonely doomed to weep,
Are fruits on desert isles that perish,. Or riches buried in the deep.
What though, untouched by jealous madness, Our bosom's peace may fall to wreck ;
Th' undoubting heart, that breaks with sadness, Is but more slowly doomed to break.
211
Absence ! is not the soul- tofn by it
From more than light, or life, or breath I
"iis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet, — The pain without the peace of death !
LINES-
INSCRIBED ON THE MON.UTHENT LATELY riJilSHED BV MR. CHANTREY, '
Whicb has been erected by the Widow of Admiral Sir G. Campbell, K. C. B., »o the memory of her Husband.
To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart, Fulfilled the hero's and the patriot's part, — Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoined, Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined, — This stone is reared : to public duty true, The seaman's friend, the father of his crew— IMild in reproof, sagacious in command. He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band. And led each arm to act, each heart to feel. What British valour owes to Britain's weal. These were his public virtues : — but to trace His private life\s fair purity and grace, To paint the traits that drew affection strong From friends, an ample and an ardent throng, And, more, to speak- his memory's grateful claim On her who mourns him most, and bears his name O'ercomes the trembling hand of widowed grief, O'ercomes the heart, unconscious of relief, Save in relisrioii's hiffh and.holv trust, Whilst. placing their memorial o'er his dust.
212
STANZAS.
ON THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO.
Hearts of oak that have bravely delivered the brave; And uplifted old Greece from the brink of ihe grave, ""Twas the helpless to help, and the hopeless to save,
That your thunderbolts swept o''er the brine : . And as long as yon sun 'shall look down on the wave
The light of your glory shall shine.
For the guerdon ye sought with your bloodshed and toil, Was it slaves, or dominion, or rapine, or spoil I No ! your lofty emprise was to fetter and foil
The uprooter of Greece*'s domain ! Wheft he tore the Last remnant of food from her soil,
Till her famished sank pale as the slain !
Yet, Navarin's heroes ! does Christendom breed
The base hearts' that will question the fame of your deed I
Are they men ? — l6t ineffable scorn be their meed,
And oblivion shadow their graves ! — Are they women ?^ — to Turkish serails let them speed;
And be mothers of Mussvdman slaves. .
Abettors of massacre ! dare ye deplore
That the death-shriek is silenced on Hellas^s shore ?
That the mother aghast sees her offspring no more
By the hand of Infanticide grasped ? And that stretched on yon billows distained by their gore . Missolonghi's assassins have gasped ?
21:3
Prouder scene never hallowed war's pomp to the mind, Than when Christendom's pennons wooed social the wind, And the flower of her brave for the combat combinetl.
Their watch-word, humanity's vow : Not a sea-boy that fought in that cause, but mankind
Owes a, garland to honour his brow !
Nor grudge, by our side, that to conquer or fall,
Calne the hardy rude Russ, and the high-mettled Gaul :
For whose was the genius, that planned at its call,
Where the whirlwind of battle should roll i ' All were brave !.-but the star of success over all
Was "the light of our Codrington's soul.
That- star of thy day-spring, regenerate Greek ! Dimmed the Saracen's moon, and struck pallid his cheek In its fast flushing morning thy Muses shall speak
When their lore and their lutes they reclaim : And the first of their songs from Parnassus's peak
Shall be *' Gloi-y to Codringtons name.
LINES
ON REVISITING A SCOTTISH RIVER.
And call they this Improvement I — to have changed.
My native Clyde, thy oiice romantic shore.
Where Nature's face is banished and estranged,
And Heaven reflected in thy wave no more ;
Whose banks, that sweetened Mo^y-day's breath before.
Lie sere and leafless now in summer's beam.
With sooty exhalations covered o'er ;
And for the daisied green sward, down thy stream
Unsightly brick-lanes smoke, and clanking engines gleam.
•214
Speak not to ine of swarms the scepe sustains ;
One heart free tasting Nature's breath and bloom
Is worth a thousand slaves to Mammon's gains. '
But whither goes tliat wealth, and gladdening whom ? '
See, left but life enough and breathing-room
The hunger and the hope of life to feel,
Yon pale Mechanic bending o'er his loom.
And Childhood's self as at Ixion's wheel.
From morn till midnight tasked to earn its little meal.
• Is this Improvement ? — where the human breed Degenerates as they swarm and overflow, Till Toil- grows cheaper than the trodden weed. And man competes with man, like foe wdth foe,. Till Death, that thins them, scarce seems public woe ? Improvement ! — siliiles it in the poor man's eyes. Or blooms it on the cheek of Labour .'* — No — To gol-ge a few with Trade's precarious prize. We banish rural life, and breathe unwholesome skies.
Nor call that evil slight ; God has not given
This passion to the heart of man in vain,
For Earth's green face, tli' untainted air of Heaven,
And all the bliss of Nature's rustic reign.
For not alone our frame imbibes a stain
From foetid -skies ; the spirit's healthy pride ' . •
Fades in their gloom — And therefore I complain.
That thou no more through pastoral scenes shouldst glide.
My Wallace's own stream, and once romantic Clyde \
^
215
THE "NAME UNKNOWN;"
IN IMITATION OF KLOPSTOCK. — « —
Prophetic pencil ! wilt thou trace A faithful image of the face,
Or wilt thou wTite the ' Name Unknown," Ordained to bless my charmed soul, And all my future fate controul,
Unrivalled and alone !
Delicious Idol of my thought ! Though sylph or spirit hath not taught
My boding heart thy precious name ; Yet musing on my distant fate, To charms unseen I consecrate
A visionary flame.
Thy rosy blush, thy meaning eye, Thy virgin voice of melody,
Are ever present to my heart ; Thy murmured vows shall yet be mine. My thrilling hand shall meet with thine,
And never, never part !
Then fly, my days, on rapid wing. Till LovQ the viewless treasure bring ;
While I, like conscious Athens, own A power in mystic silence sealed, . A guardian angel unrevealed,
And bless the ' Name Unknown ! "
LINES
ON THE CAMP HILL, NKAR HASTINGS.
In the deep blue of eve, Ere the twinkling of stars had begun,
Or the lark took his leave Of the skies and the sweet setting sun,
217
I climbed to yon heights, Where the Norman encamped him of old,
With his bowmen and knights, And his ba,nner all burnished with gold..
At the Conqueror''s side " " .
TJiere his minstrelsy sat harp in hand,
In pavilion wide ; And they chaunted the deeds of Roland.
Still the ramparted ground With a vision my fancy inspires,
And I hear the trump sound. As it marshalled our Chivalry ""s sires.
On each turf of that mead Stood the captors of England's domains.
That ennobled her breed And high-mettled the blood of her veins.
Over hauberk and helm As the sun''s setting splendour was thrown,
Thence they looked o'er a realm — And to-morrow beheld it their own..
218
FAREWELL TO LOVE.
I HAD a heart that doted once in passion's boundless pain, And though the tyrant I abjured, I could not break his chain ; But now that Fancy's fire is quenched, and ne'er can burn
anew, .
Fve bid to Love, for all my life, adieu ! adieu ! adieu !
Fve known, if ever mortal knew, the spells of Beauty's thrall, And if my song has told them not, my soul has felt them all ; But Passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty's witching
sway Is now to me a star that's fallen—a dream that's passed away.
Hail ! welcome tide of life, when no tumultuous billows roll, How wondrous to myself appears this halcyon calm of soul ! The wearied bird blown o'er the deep would sooner quit its
shore. Than' I would cross the gulf again that tjme has brought
me o'er. • . . .
Why say they Angels feel the flame ? — Oh, spirits of the skies ! Can love like ours, that dotes on dust, in heavenly bosoms
rise 1 — Ah no ; the hearts that best have felt its power, the best
can tell. That peace on earth itself begins, when Love has bid farewell.
i'l9
LINES ON POLAND.
And liave I lived to see thee sword in hand Uprise again-, immortal Polish .Land ! — Whose flag brings more than chivalry to mind, And leaves the tri-color in shade behind ; A theme for uninspired lips too strong ; That swells my heart beyond the power of song : — Majestic men, whose deeds have dazzled faith, Ah ! yet your fate''s suspense arrests my breath ; Whilst envying bosoms bared to shot and steel, I feel the more that fruitlessly I feel.
Poles ! with what indignation I endure
Th' half-pitying servile mouths that call you poor ;
Poor 1 is it England mocks you with her grief.
Who hates, but dares not chide, th"* Imperial, Thief?
France with her soul beneath a Bourbon"'s thrall.
And Germany that has no soul at all,- —
States, quailing at the giant overgrown.
Whom dauntless Poland grapples with alone !
No, ye are rich in fame een whilst ye bleed :
We' cannot aid you — loe are poor indeed !
In Fate''s defiance — in the world's great eye, Poland has won her inunortality ;
220
The Butcher, should he reach her bosom now. Could not tear. Glory ""s garland from her brow ; Wreathed, filleted, the victim falls renowned, And all her ashes will be holy groimd !
But turn, my soul, from presages so dark : Great Poland's spirit is a deathless spark That's fanned by Heaven to mock the. Tyrant's rage : She, like the eagle, will renew her age. And fresh historic plumes of Fame put on, — Another Athens after Marathon,— Where eloquence shall fulmine, arts refine, Bright as her arms tliat now in battle shine. Come— should the heavenly shock my life destroy, And shut its flood-gates with excess of joy ; Come but the day when Poland's fight is won — And on my grave-stone shine the morrow's sun — The day that sees Warsaw's cathedral glow With endless ensigns ravished from the foe, — Her women lifting their fair hands with thanks, Her pious warriors kneeling in their ranks. The 'scutcheoned walls of high heraldic boast, The odorous altars' elevated host, The organ sounding through the aisle's long glooms. The mighty dead seen sculptured o'er their tombs ; (John, Europe's saviour — Poniatowski's fair Resemblance — Kosciusko's shaH be there;) The tapered pomp — the hallelujah's swell, ■ Shall o'er the soul's devotion Cast a spell. Till visions cross the rapt enthusiast's glance, And all the scene becomes a waking trance. Should Fate put far— far off that glorious scene, And gulfs of havoc interpose betweeUj
221
Imagine not, ye men of every clime,
Who act, or by your sufferance share the crime — -
Your brother AbeFs blood shall vainly plead
Against the " deep damnation " of the deed,
Germans, ye view it« horror and disgrace
With cold phosphoric eyes and phlegm of face.
Is Allemagne profound in science, lore,
And minstrel art ? — her shame is but the more
To doze and dream by governments oppressed,
The spirit of a bpok' worm in each breast.
Well can ye mouth fair Freedom's classic line.
And talk of Constitutions o'er your wine :
But all your vows to break the tyrant's yoke
Expire in Bacchanalian song and smoke :
Heavens ! can no ray of foresight pierce the leads
And mystic metaphysics of your heads.
To show the self-same grave. Oppression delves
For Poland's rights, is yawning for yourselves !
See, whilst the Pole, the vanguard aid of France, Has vaulted on his barb and couched the lance, France turns from her abandoned friends afresh. And soothes the Bear that prowls for patriot flesh ; Buys, ignominious purchase ! short repose, With dying curses and the groans of those That served, and loved, and put in her their trust. Frenchmen ! the dead accuse you from the dust — Brows laurelled — bosoms marked wjth many a sear ^or France— that wore her Legion's noblest star. Cast dumb reproaches from the field of Death On Gallic honour : and this broken faith Has robbed you more of Fame — the life of life — Than twenty battles lost in glorious strife !
222
And what of England — Is she steeped so low
In poverty, crest-fallen, and palsied so,
That we must sit much \\Toth, Lut timorous more,
With Murder knockmg at our neighbour's door ! —
Not Murder masked and cloaked, with hidden knife,
Whose owner owes the gallows life for life ;
But Public Murder! — that with pomp and gaud.
And royal scorn of Justice, walks abroad
To \^Ting more tears and blood than e'er were ^^'rung
By all the culprits Justice ever hung !
We read the diadem'd Assassin's vaunt,
And wince, and wish we had not hearts to pant
With useless indignation — sigh, and frown,
But have notliearts to throw the gauntlet down.
If but a doubt hung o"'er the grounds of fray, Or tridal rapine stopped the world's highway ; Were this some common strife of States embroiled ; — Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled Might calmly look, and, asking time to breathe, Still honourably wear her olive wreath. But this is Darkness combating with Light : Earth's adverse Principles for empire fight : Oppression, that has belted half the globe. Far as liis knout could reach or dagger probe, Holds reeking o'er our brother-freemen slain That dagger — shakes it at us in disdain ; Talks big to Freedom's states of Poland's thrall, And, trampling one, contemns them one and all.
My country ! colours not thy once proud brow At this affront I — Hast thou not fleets enow
^23
With Glory "'s streamer, lofty as the lai-k,
Gay fluttering o'er each thunderTbearing -bark^
Xo warm the insulter's seas with barbarous blood,
And interdict his flag from Ocean''s flood ?
Ev'n now far off the sea-cliff", where I sing,
I see, my Countiy and my Patriot King !
Your ensign glad the deep. Becalmed and slow
A war-ship rides ; while Heaven's prismatic bow
Uprisen behind her on t\\ horizon's base.
Shines flushing through the tackle, shrouds, and stays,
And wraps her giant form in one majestic blaze.
My soul accepts the omen ; Fancy's eye
Has sometimes a veracious augury :
The Rainbow types Heaven's promise to my sight ;
The Ship, Britannia's interposing Might !
But if there should be none to aid you, Poles,
Yell but to prouder pitch wind up your souls,
Above example, pity, praise, or blame.
To sow and reap a boundless field of Fame.
Ask aid no more from Nations that forget
Your championship — old Europe's mighty debt.
Though Poland (Lazarus-like) has burst the gloom.
She rises not a beggar from the tomb :
In Fortune's frown, on Danger's giddiest brink.
Despair and Poland's name must never link.
All ills have bounds — plague, whirlwind, fire, and flood
Ey'n Power can spill but bounded sums of blood.
States caring not what Freedom's price may be.
May late or soon, but must at last be free ;
For body-killing tyrants cannot kill *
The public soul — the hereditary will
224 ;
That downward as from sire to son it goes, By shifting bosoms more intensely glows : Its heir-loom is the heart, and slaughtered men Pight fiercer in their orphans o'er again. Poland recasts — though rich in heroes old — Her men in more and more heroic mould : Her eagle ensign best among mankind Becomes, and types her eagle -strength of mind : Her praise upon my faltering lips expires : Resume it, younger bards, and nobler lyres !
MARGARET AND DORA.
Margaret's beauteous — Grecian arts Ne"'er drew form completer, Yet why, in my heart of hearts, Hold I Dora's sweeter ?
Dora's eyes of heavenly blue. Pass all painting's reach, Ring-dove's notes are discord to The music of her speech. '
Artists .'.Margaret's smile receive, And on canvass show it ; But for perfect worship leave . . . Dora to her poet.
225
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.
The more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages : A day to childhood seems a' year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders. Steals, lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
. Why seem your courses quicker ;
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid. Why, as we reach the Falls of death,
Feel we its tide more rapid i
It may be strange — yet who would change^ Time's course to slower speeding ;
When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding ?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness ; And those of Youth, a seeminf/ Ir/u/f/i,
Proportioned to their sweetness.
226
SONG.
How delicious is the winnino; Of a kiss at Love's beginning, When two mutual hearts are sighing For the knot there's no untying !
Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ; Other smiles may make you fickle. Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes, and Love he tarries, Just as fate or fancy carries ; Longest stays, when sorest chidden ; Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden.
Bind .the sea to slumber stilly.
Bind its odour to the lily, .
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver.
Then bind Love to last for ever .! . .
Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel ; . Love's w^ng.inoults when caged and captured. Only free, he soars enraptured. •
Can you keep the bee from i-anging, Or the ring-dove's jieck from changing ? No ! nor fettered Love from dy-ing. In the knot there's no untying.
227
THE POWER OF RUSSIA.
So all this gallant blood has gushed in vain !
And Poland by the Northern Condor''s beak
And talons torn, lies prostrated again.
O, British patriots, that were wont to. speak . Once loudly on this theme, now hushed or meek !
O, heartless men of Europe — Goth and Gaul
Cold, adder-deaf to Poland's dying shriek ; —
That saw the worWs last land of heroes fall — The brand of burning shame is on you all — all — all !
But this is not the drama's closing act !
Its tragic curtain must uprise anew.
Nations, mute accessories to the fact ! ' • That Upas-tree of power, whose fostering dew .
Was Polish blood, has yet to cast o'er you
The lenH;heninff shadow of its head elate —
A deadly shadow, darkening Nature's hue.
To all that's hallowed, righteous, pure and great, ^Vo ! wo ! when they are reached by Russia's withering hate
228
Russia, -that on his throne of adamant, Consults what nation's breast shall next be°gored : He on Polonia's Golgotha will plant His standard fresh; and, horde succeeding horde. On patriot torab-stones he will whet the sword, For more stupendous slaughters of the free. Then Europe's realms, when their best blood is poured. Shall miss thee, Poland ! as they bend the knee, All — all in grief, but none in glory likening thee.
Why smote ye not the Giant whilst he reeled ? O, fair occasion, gone for ever by ! To have locked his lances in their northern field. Innocuous as the phantom chivalry That flames and hurtles from yon boreal sky ! Now wave thy pennon, Russia, o''er the land Once Poland ; build thy bristling castles high ; Dig dungeons deep ; for Poland's wrested brand Is now a weapon new to widen thy command —
An awful width ! Norwegian woods shall build His fleets'; the Swede liig vassal, and the Dane ; •
. The glebe of fifty kingdoms shall be tilled To feed his dazzling, desolating train, •
Camped sumless, 'twixt the Black and Baltic main : Brute hosts, I own ; but Sparta could not write. And Rome, half-barbarous, bound Acliaia's chain :•• S6 Russia's spirit, midst Sclavonic niglit, •
Burns with a fire more dread than all your polished light.
... 229
But Russia's limbs (so blinded statesmen say) Are crude, arid too colossal to cohere. O, lamentable weakness ! reckoning weak The stripling Titan, strengthening year by year. AVliat implement lacks he for war's career. That grows on earth, or in its floods and mines, (Eighth sharer of the inhabitable sphere) Whom Persia bows to, China ill confines, And India's homage waits, when Albion's star declines i
But time will teach the Russ, ev'n conquering War Has handmaid arts : ay, ay, the Russ will woo All sciences that speed Bellona's car, All murder's tactic arts, and win them too ; But never holier Muses shall imbue His breast, that's made of nature's basest clay : The sabre, knout, and dungeon's vapour blue Hi^ laws and ethics : far from him away Are all the lovely Nine, that breathe but Freedom's day.
. Say, ev'n his serfs, half-humanized, should learn Their human rights,— will Mars put out his flame In Russian bosoms i no, he'll bid them burn A thousand years for nought but tiiartial fame. Like Romans : — -yet forgive me, Roman name ! Rome could impart what Russia never can ; Proud civic rights to salve submission's shame. Our strife is coming ; but in freedom's van The Polish eagle's fall is big with fate to man.
230
Proud bird of old ! Mohammed's moon recoiled . Before thy swoop : had we been timely bold,
That 8woop, still free, had stunned the Russ, and foiled
Earth's new oppressors, as it foiled her old.
Now thy majestic eyes are shut and cold :
And colder still Polonia's children find
The spnpathetic hands, that we outhold.
But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind. Ye bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankind.
So hallowedly have ye fulfilled your part, My pride repudiates ev'n the sigh that blends . . With Poland's name — name written on my heart. My heroes, my grief-consecrated friends !
■ Your sorrow, in nobility, transcends
Your conqueror's joy : his cheek may blush ; but shame Can tinge not yours, though exile's tear descends ; Nor would ye change your conscrence, cause, and name, For his, with all his wealth, and all his felon fame.
■ Thee, Niemciewitz, whose song of stirring power . The Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands ; .
Thee, Czartoryski, in thy banished bower, The patricide, who in thy palace stands, ' ' ' ■
May envy ; proudly may Polonia's bands Throw down their swords at Europe's feet in scorn, Saying — " Russia from the metal of these brands Shall forgo the fetters of your sons unborn ;• Our setting star is your misfortunes' rising morn."
231
LINES
ON LEAVING A SCENE IN BAVARIA.
Adieu the woods and water's side, Imperial Danube's rich domain !
•Adieu the grotto, wild and wide. The rocks abrupt, and grassy plain ! For pallid Autumn once again
Hath swelled each torrent of the hill ; Her clouds collect, her shadows sail. And watery winds that sweep the vale.
Grow loud and louder still.
But not the storm, 'detlironing fast Yon monarch oak of massy pile ;
Nor river roaring to the blast Around its dark and desert isle ; Nor church-bell tolling to beguile
The cloud-born thunder passing by. Can sound in discord to my soul : Roll on, ye mighty waters, roll !
And rage, thou darkened sky !
232
Thy blossoms now no longer bright ;
Thy withered woods no longer green ; Yet, Eldurn shore, witli dark delight
I visit thy unlovely scene !
For many a smisct hour serene My steps have trod thy mellow dew ;
When his green light the glow-worm gave.
When Cynthia from the distant wave Her twilight anchor drew,
And ploughed, as with a swelling sail.
The billowy clouds and starry sea ; Then while thy hermit nightingale
Sjlng on his fragrant apple-tree, —
Romantic, solitary, free. The visitant of Eldurn's shore,
On such a moonlight mountain strayed.
As echoed to the music made By Druid harps of yore.
Around thy savage hills of oak.
Around thy waters bright and blue,*
No hunter's horn the silence broke, No dying shriek thine echo knew ; But safe,. sweet Eldurn woods, to you
The wounded wild deer ever ran,
Whose myrtle bound their grassy cave, Whose very rocks a shelter gave
From bloDd-pursuing man. .
233
Oh heart effusions, that arose
From nightly wanderings cherished here ; To him who flies from many woes,
Even homeless deserts can be dear !
The last and solitary cheer Of those that own no earthly home.
Say — is it not, ye banished race,
In such a loved and lonely place Companionless to roam ?
Yes! I have loved thy wild abode,
Unknown, unploughed, untrodden shore ;
Where scarce the woodman finds a road, And scarce the fisher plies an oar ; For man's neglect I love thee more ;
That art nor avarice intrude
To tame thy torrent's thunder-shock, Or prune thy vintage of the j'ock
Magnificently rude.
Unheeded spreads thy blossomed bud
Its milky bosom to the bee ; Unheeded falls along the flood
Thy desolate and aged tree.
Forsaken scene, how like to, thee The fate of unbefriended Worth !
Like thine her fruit dishonoured falls ;
Like thee in solitude she calls A thousand treasures forth.
234
Oh ! silent spirit of the place,
If, lingering with the ruined year,
Thy hoary form and awful face .1 yet might watch and worship here ! Thy storm were music to mine ear,
Thy wildest walk a shelter given Sublimer thoughts on earth to find, And share, with no unhallowed mind.
The majesty of heaven.
What though the bosom friends of Fate,-
Prosperity''8 unweaned brood, — • Thy consolations cannot rate,
0 self-dependent solitude ! Yet with a spirit unsubdued,
Though darkened by the clouds of Care, To worship thy congenial gloom, A pilgrim to the Prophet's tomb
The Friendless' shall repair.
On him the world hath never smiled Or looked but with accusing eye ; —
All-silent goddess of the wild,
To thee that misanthrope shall fly !
1 hear his. deep soliloquy,
I mark his prQud but ravaged form, As stern he ^\Taps his mantle round, And bids, on winter"'s bleakest ground,
Defiance to the storm.
H 235
Peace to his banished heart, at last, In thy dominions shall descend,
And, strong as beechwood in the blast, His spirit shall refuse to bend ; Enduring life without a friend,
The world and falsehood left behind, Thy votary shall bear elate, (Triumphant o"'er opposing Fate,.)
His dark inspired mind.
But dost thou, Folly, mock the Muse A wanderer*'s mountain walk to sing.
Who shuns a warring world, nor wooes The vulture cover of its wing t Then fly, thou cow^ering, shivering thing.
Back to the fostering world beguiled, To waste in self^consuming strife The loveless brotherhood of life,
Reviling and reviled !
Away, thou lover of the race
That hither chased yon weeping deer ! If Nature^s all majestic face
More pitiless than man''s appear;
Or if the wild winds seem more drear Than man''s cold charities below,
Behold around his peopled plains.
Where'er the social savage reigns. Exuberance of woe !
'236 9
His art and honours vvouklst thou seek Embossed on grandour"'s giant walls '
Or hear his moral thunders speak Where senates light their airy halls. Where man his brother man enthralls ;
Or sends his whirlwind warrants forth To rouse the slumbering fiends of war, To dye the blood- warm waves afar,
And desolate the earth i
.From clime to clime pursue the scene.
And mark in all thy spacious way, 'Where'er the tyrant man has been, . There Peace, the cherub, cannot stay ; In wilds and woodlands far away
She builds her solitary bower.
Where only anchorites have trod, Or friendless men, to worship God.
Have wandered for an hour.
In such a far forsaken vale, — -
And such, sweet Eldurn vale, is thine, — Afflicted nature shall inhale
Heaven-borrOwod thoughts and joys divine;
No longer wish, no more repine For man's neglect or woman's scorn ; —
Then wed thee to an exile's lot,
For if the world hath loved thee not, Its absence may be borne.
I
THE DEATH-BOAT OF HELIGOLAiNU.
Can restlessness reach the eokl sepulchred head ^— Ay, tlie_ quick have their sleep-walkers, so have the dead. There are brains, though they moulder, that dri^am in the tonil). And that maddening fbrehear the last trumpet of doom, Till their corses start sheeted to revel on earth. Making horror more deep by the sembLlnce of mirth ; By the glare of new-lighted volcanoes they daiice. Or at mid-sea appal the chilled mariner's glanct'.
>2.38
Siicli, I wot, was the band of cadaverous smile Seen ploughing the night-surge of Heligo's isle.
'the foam of the Baltic had sparkled like "fire, And the red moon looked down with an aspect of ire ; Rut her beams on a sudden grew sick-like and grey, . And the mews that had slept clanged and shrieked far ti way — And. the buoys and the beacons extinguished their light, As the boat of the stony-eyed dead came in sight, High bounding from billow to billow ; each form Had its shroud like a plaid flying loose to the storm ; With an oar in each pulseless and icy-cold hand, Fast they ploughed, by the lee-shore of Heligoland, Such breakers as boat of the living ne'er crossed ; Now surf-sunk for minutes again they uptossed. And with livid lips shouted reply o'er the flood To the challenging watchman that curdled his blood — ■^ We are dead — we are bound from our graves in the west, First to Hecla, and then to^— — "" Unmeet was the rest For man's ear. The old abbey bell thundered its clang. And their eyes gleamed with phosphorous light as it rang : Ere they vanished, they stopped, and gazed silently grim, Till the eye could define them, garb, feature and limb.
Now who were those reamers ? — of gallows or wheel Bore they marks, or the mangling anatomist's steel ? No, by magistrates' chains 'mid their grave-clothes ypu saw, They were felons too proud to have perished by law ; But" a ribbon that hung where a rope should have been, 'Twas the badge of their faction, its hue was not green. Showed them men who had trampled and tortured and driven To rebellion the fairest Isle breathed on bv Heaven,—
. 2.39
Men whose heirs would yet finish {he tyrannous task,
If the Truth and the Time had not dragged off their mask.
They parted— but not till the sight might discern
A scutcheon distinct at their pinnace''s stern,
Where letters emblazoned in blood-coloured flamo.
Named their faction — I blot not my page with its name.
SONG.
— ♦ —
When Love came first to Earth, the Spring Spread rose-beds to receive him.
And back he vowed his flight he''d wing To Heaven, if she should leave him,
But Spring departing, saw his faith Pledged to the next new comer — '
He revelled in the warmer breath And richer bowers of Summer.
Then sportive Autumn claimed by rights
An Archer for her lover, And even in Winter''s dark cold nights
A charm he could discover.
Her routs and balls, and fireside jpy, For this time were his reasons — •
In short, Young LoveV a gallant boy. That likes all times and seasons. .
240
SONG.
Earl March looked on his dying child, And smit with grief to view her —
Tlie youth, he cried, whom I exiled, Shall be restored to woo her.
She's at the window many an hour
His coming to discover : And he looked up to Ellen"'s bower,
And she looked on her lover —
But ah ! so pale, he knew her not.
Though her smile on him was dwelling.
And am I then forgot — forgot l — It broke the heart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs.
Her cheek is cold as ashes ; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.
SONG.
When Napoleon was flying From the field of Waterloo,
A British soldier dying
To his brother bade adieu !
241
"•And take," he said, " this token To the maid that owns my faith^"
With the words that I have spoken In affection's latest breath."
Sore mourned the brother's heart, When the youth beside him fell ;
But the trumpet warned to part, And they took a sad farewell.
There was many a friend to lose him. For that gallant soldier sighed ;
But the maiden of his bosom
Wept when all their tears were dried.
LINES TO JULIA M .
SENT WITH A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POKMS.
Since there is magic in your look And in your voice a witching charm. As all our hearts consenting tell, Enchantress, smile upon my book, And guard its lays fronl hate and harm By Beauty's most i-esistless spell. '
The sunny dew-drop of thy praise. Young day-star of the rising time, Shall with its odoriferous morn Refresh my sere iand withered bays. Smile, and I will believe my rhyme Shall please the beautiful unborn. •
242 •
Go forth, my pictured thoughts, and rise In traits and tints of sweeter tone, When JuUa's glance is o'er ye flung ; Glow, gladden, linger in her eyes. And catch a magic not your own, Read by the music of her tongue.
DRINKING SONG OF MUNICH.
Sweet Iser ! were thy sunny realm
And flowery gardens mine, Thy waters I would- shade with elm
To prop the tender vine ; My golden flagons I would fill With rosy draughts from every hill ;
And under every myrtle bower, My gay companions should prolong The laugh, the revel, and the song,
To many an idle hour.
Like rivers crimsoned with the beam
Of yonder planet bright. Our balmy cups should ever stream
Profusion of delight ; No care should touch the mellow heart. And sad or sober none depart ;
For wine can triumph over woe, And Love and Bacchus,^ brother powers, Could build in Iser's sunny bowers
A paradise below.
I
243
LINES
ON THE DEPARTURE OF EMIGRANTS FOR NEW SOUTH WALES.
On England's shore I saw a pensive band,
With sails unfurled for earth's remotest strand,
Like children parting from a mother, shed
Tears for the home that could not yield them bread ; •
Grief marked each face receding from the view,
'Twas grief to nature honourably true.
And long, poor wanderers o'er the ecliptic deep,
The song that names but home shall make you weep ;
Oft shall ye fold your flocks by stars above
In that far world, an<l miss the stars ye love ; ■ . '
Oft when its tuneless birds scream round forlorn.
Regret the lark that gladdens England's morn,.
And, giving England's names to distant scenes,
Lament that earth's extension intervenes.
But cloud not yet too long, industrious train,
Your solid good with sorrow nursed in vain :
For has the heart no interest yet as bland
As that which binds us to our native land i
The deep-drawn wish, when children crown our hearth.
To hear the cherub-chorvis of their mirth.
Undamped by dread that want may e'er unhouse.
Or servile misery knit those smiling brows .:
244 •
Tlie pride to rear an independent shed,
Arid give the lips we love unborrowed bread :
To see a world, from shadowy forests won, ■
In youthful* beauty wedded to the sun ;
To skirt our home, with harvests widely so\vn,
And call the blooming landscape all our own,
Our children's heritage, in prospect long.
These are the hopes, high-minded hopes and strong,
That beckon England's wanderers o'er the brino,
To realms where foreign constellations shine ;
Where streams from undiscovered fountains roll.
And winds shall fan them from th' Antarctic pole.
And what though doomed to shores so far apart
From England's home, that ev'n the homesick heart
Quails, thinking, ere that gulf can be recrossed,
How large a space of fleeting life is lost :
Yet th^re, by time, their bosoms shall be changed.
And strangers once shall cease to sigh estranged.
But jocund in the year^'s long sunshine roam, •
That yields their sickle twice its harvest-home.
There, marking o'er his farm's expanding ring New fleeces whiten and new fruits upspring. The grey-haired swain, his grandchild sporting round. Shall walk at eve his little empire's bound. Emblazed with ruby vintage, ripening corn. And verdant rampart of acacian thorn. While, mingling with the scent his pipe exhales. The orange-grove's and fig-tree's breath prevails ; • Survey with pride beyond a monarch's spoil, . His honest arm's own subjugated soil ; And summing all the blessings God has given.
245
Put up his patriarchal prayer to Heaven, That when his bones shall here repose in peace, The scions of his love may still increase. And o'er a land where life has ample room, In health and -plenty innocently bloom.
DeKghtful land, in wildness ev'n benign.
The gloi'ious past is ours, the future thiiie !
As in a cradled Hercules, we trace
The lines of empire in thine infant face.
What nations in thy wide horizon's span
Shall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man !
What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam,
Where now the panther laps a lonely stream.
And all but brute or reptile life is dumb !
Land of the free ! thy kingdom is to come,
Of states, with laws from Gothic bondage burst,
And creeds by chartered priesthoods unaccurst :
Of navies, hoisting their emblazoned flags.
Where shipless seas now wash unbeaconed crags ;,
Of hosts reviewed in dazzling files and squares.
Their pennoned trumpets breathing native airs, —
For minstrels thou slialt have of native fire,
And maids to sing the songs themselves inspire : —
Our very speech, methinks, in after time.
Shall catch th' Ionian blandness of thy clime ;
And whilst the light and luxury of thy skies
Give brighter smiles to beauteous woman's eyes.
The Arts, whose soul is love, shall all spontaneous rise.
Untracked in deserts lies the marble mine, Undug the ore that midst thy roofs shall shine ;
246 • •
Unborn the hands — but born they are, to be —
Fair Australasia, that shall give to thee
Proud temple-domes, with galleries winding high,
So vast in space, so just in symmetry.
They widen to the contemplating eye,
With colonnaded aisles in long array.
And windows that enrich the flood of day
O'er tesselated pavements, pictures fair^
And niched statues breathing golden air.
Nor there, "whilst all that's seen bids Fancy Qwell,
Shall Music's voice refuse to seal the spell ;
But choral hymns shall wake enchantment round,
And organs yield their tempests of sweet sound.
Meanwhile, ere Arts triumphant reach their goal,
How blest the years of pastoral life shall roll !
Ev'n should some wayward hour the settler's mind
Brood sad on scenes for ever left behind,
Yet not a pang that England's name imparts.
Shall touch a fibre of his children's hearts ;
Bound to that native land by nature's bond.
Full little shall their wishes rove beyond.
Its mountains, blue, and melon-skirted* streams,
Since childJiood loved and dreamt of in their dreams.
How many a name, to us uncouthly wild.
Shall thrill that region's patriotic child.
And bring as s\yeet thoughts o'er his bosom's chords,
As aught that's named in song to us affords I
Dear shall that river's margin be to him.
Where sportive first he bathed his boyish limb.
Or petted birds, still brighter than their bowers.
Or twined his tame young kangaroo with flowers.
. 247
But more magnetic yet" to memory Shall be the sacred spot, still blooming nigh, The bower of love, where first his bosom burned, And smiling passion saw its smile returned.
Go forth and prosper then, emprising band : May He, who in the hollow of his hand The ocean holds, and rules the whirlwind's sweep, Assuage its \\Tath, and guide you on the deep !
LINES
ON REVISITING CATHCART..
Oh ! scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heart. Ye green waving woods on^ the margin of Cart, How blest in the morning of life I have strayed. By the stream of the vale and the grass-covered glado !
■ • •
Then, then every. rapture was young and sincere, " Ere the sunshine of bliss was bedimmcd by a tear, . And a sweeter delight every scene seemed to lend, That the mansion of peace was the" home of a friend.
Now the scenes of my childhood and dear to my heart. All pensive I visit, and sigh to depart ; ■ Their flowers seem to languish, their beauty to cease. For a stranger inhabits the mansion of peace.
But hushed be the sigh that untimely complains. While Friendship and all its enchantment remains, While it blooms like the flowei" of a winterless clime, Untainted by chance, unabated by time.
248
• THE CHERUBS.
SUGGESTED BY AN APOLOGUE IN THE WORKS OF FRANKLliV".
Two spirits reached this world of ours : The lightning's locomotive powers
Were slow to* their agility :' In broad day-light they moved incog, Enjoying, without mist or fog.
Entire invisibility.
The one, a simple cherub lad. Much interest in our planet had.
Its face was so romantic ; He couldn't persuade himself that man Was such as heavenly rumours ran,
A hehtg base and frantic.
The elder spirit, wise and cool, Brought dovra the youth as to a school .;
But strictly on condition, • Whatever they should see or hear, With yiortals not to interfere ; ■ 'Twas not in their commission.
They reached a sovereign city proud, Whose emperor prayed to God aloud,
With all his people kneeling, And priests performed religious rites : " Come," said the younger of the sprites;
"' This shows a pious feeling."*'
•24*r
YOUNG SPIRIT.
'' Ar'ttt these a decent godly race V''
OLD SPIRIT.
" The dirtiest thieves on Nature's face/''
YOUNG SPIRIT.
" Biit hark, what cheers they're giving Their emperor !— And is he a thief?"
OLD SPIRIT.
" Av, and a cut-throat too ; — in brief,
The GREATEST SCOUNDREL LIVING.' YOUNG SPIRIT.
" But say, what were they praying for, This people and their emperor ?" -
OLD spirit".
•• Why, but for God's assistance^ • To help their army, late sent out : And what that army is about.
You "11 see at no great distance."
On wings outspeeding mail or post. Our sprites o'ertook the Imperial host,
In massacres it wallowed : ; A noble nation met its Irordes, But broken fell their cause and swords, Unfortunate, though hallo\ved.
250
They saw a late bombarded town,
Its streets still warm with blood ran down ;
Still smoked each burning rafter ; And hideously, ""midst rape and sack, The murderer''s laughter answered back
His prey's convulsive laughter.
They saw the captive eye the dead. With envy of his gory bed, —
Death''s quick reward of bravery : They heard the clank of chains, and then Saw thirty thousand bleeding men
Dragged manacled to slavery.
"" Fie ! fie ! " the younger heavenly spark Exclaimed : — " we must have missed our mark,
And entered hell's owti portals : Earth can't be stained with crimes so black ; Nay, sure, we've got among a pack
Of fiends, and hot of mortals."
" No," said the elder ; "no such thing : Fiends are not fools enough to wring .
The necks of one another : — They know their interests too well : Men fight ; but every devil in hell
Lives friendly with his brother.
And I could point you out some fellows, On this ill-fated planet Tellus, ■ In royal power that revel ; • Who," at the opening of the book Of judgment, may have cause to look With, envy at the devil."
231
Name but the devil, and he'll appear. Old Satan in a trice was near,
With smutty face and figure : But spotless spirits of the skies. Unseen to e'en his saucer eyes.
Could watch the fiendish nigger.
" Halloo ! " he cried, " I smell a trick : A mortal supersedes Old Nick,
The scourge of earth appointed : He robs me of my trade, outrants The blasphemy of hell, and vaunts
Himself the Lord's anointed. .
Folks make a fuss about my mischief : P — d fools, they tamely suffer this chief
To play his pranks unbounded ." The cherubs flew ; but saw. from high,- At human inhumanity.
The devil.himself astounded.
SENEX'S SaLILOQUY ON HIS YOUTHFUL IDOL
Platonic friendship at your years. Says Conscience, should content ye
Nay, name not fondness tp her ears, The darling's scarcely twenty.
Yes, and she'll loathe me unforgiven. To dote thus out of season ;
But beauty is a beam from heaveli, That dazzles blind our reason. ;
252
ril challenge Plato from the skies, Yes, from his spheres harmonic,
To look in j\I — y C — — 's eyes. And try to be Platonic.
TO SIR FRANCIS BURDETT,
ON HIS SPEECH DELIVERKD IN PARLIAMENT, AUGUST 7, 183"!; RESPECTING THE FOREIGN POJ-ICY OF GREAT BRITAIN.
BuEDETT, enjoy thy justly foremost fame,
Through good and ill report— through calm and storm—
For forty years the pilot of reform ! But that which shall afresh entwine thy name
With patriot laurels never to be sere, Is that thou hast come nobly forth to chide. Our slumbering statesmen for their lack of pride —
Their flattery of Oppressors, and their fear—. When Britain's lifted finger, and her frown. Might call the nations up, and cast their tyrants down !
r
Invoke the scorn-^Aias ! too ^ew inherit
The scorn for despots cherished by our sires, . •
That baffled Europe's persecuting fires, And sheltered helpless states ! — Recal that spirit.
And conjure back Old England's haughty mind — Convert the men who waver now, and pause
Between their love, of self .and human kind ; And move, Amphion-like, those hearts of stone — ' The hearts that have been deaf to- Poliand's dying groan !
i>53
Tell them, we hold the Rights of Man too dear,
To bless ourselves, with lonely freedom blest ;
But could we hope, ..with sole and selfish breast, To breaths untroubled Freedom's atmosphere i—
Suppose we wished it ? England could not stand A lone oasis in the desert ground Of Europe''s slavery ; from the waste around
Oppression's fiery blast and whirKng sand Would reach and scathe us ! No ; it may not be : Britannia and the world conjointly must be free !
Burdett, demand why Britons send abroad . Soft greetings to tli"" infanticidal Czar,
The Bear on Poland's babes that wages war. Once, we are told, a mother's shriek o'erawed
A lion, and he dropt her lifted child ; But Nicholas, whom neither God nor law, Nor Poland's shrieking mothers overawe, Outholds to us his friendship's gory clutch : Shrink, Britg-in — shrink, my king and country, from the touch !
He prays to Heaven for England's king, he says —
And dares he to the God of mercy kneel,
Besmeared with massacres from head to heel ? No ; Moloch is his god^-to him he prays ;
And if Jiis weird-like prayers had power to bring An influence, their power would be to curse. His hate is baleful, but his love is worse—
A serpent's slaver deadlier than its sting ! Oh, feeble statesmen — ignominious times. That lick the tyrant's feet, and smile upon his crimes !
ODE TO THE GERMANS.
The Spirit of Britannia Invokes across the main,
Her sister Allemannia
To burst the Tyrant's chain :
By our kindred blood, she cries,
Rise, Allemannians, rise.
255
Aiicl hallowed thrice the band Of our kindred hearts shall be, When your land shall be the land Of the free — of the free !
With Freedom's lion-banner
Britannia rules the waves ; Whilst your BROAD stone of honour*
Is. still the camp of slaves.
For shame, for glory ""s sake,
..Wake, Allemanhians, wake.
And thy tyrants now that whelm . Half the world' shall quail and flee,
When your realm shall be the realm Of the free — of the free !
M ARs owes to you his thunder f
That shakes the battle-field, Yet to break your bonds asunder
No martial bolt has pealed. Shall the laurelled land of art Wear shackles on her heart ?
No ! the clock ye framed to tell By its sound, the march of time ;
Let it clang oppression's knell
O'er your clime — o'er your clime .'
The press's magic letters,
That blessing ye. brouglit forth, —
Behold ! it lies in fetters
On the soil that gave it birth :
Kliiwibrciistciii., signifies, in Gei'man " tlic broad {.tone of honour. ■\- (icrniiiny invented triiniiowilcr, clock-making, and printing.
256
But the trumpet must be heard, And the charger must be spui-red ;
For your father Armin'^s Sprite Calls down from heaven, that ye
Shall gird you for the fight,
. And be free ! — and be free I
LINES
ON A PICTURE OF A GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF 'PRAVER, • By the Artist Gruse, in the possession of Lady Stepney.
Was man e'er doomed that beauty made
' By mimic art should haunt him ; Like Orpheus, I adore a shade, And dote upon a phantom. •
Thou maid that in my inmost thought
Art fancifully sainted, Why liv'st thou not — why art thou nought
But canvass sweetly painted ?
Whose looks seem Kfted to the skies,
Too pure for love of mortals — . As if they drew angelic eyes
To greet thee at heaven's portals.
Yet loveliness has here no grace,
Abstracted or ideal — Art ne'er but from a living face
Drew looks so seeming real.
AVhat wert thou, maid ?— thy hfe — thy name
Oblivion hides in mystery ; Though from thy face my heart could frame
A long romantic history.
Traiisported to thy time I seem', Though dust thy coffin covers —
And hear the songs, in fancy's dream. Of thy devoted lovers.
Ho>y witching must have been thy breath — How sweet the living charmer—
Whose every semblance after death Can make the heart grow warmer !
Adieu, the charms that vainly move
My soul in their possession — That prompt my lips to speak of love.
Yet rob them of expression.
Yet thee, dear picture, to have praised
^yas but a poet's duty ; And shame to him that ever gazed
Impassive on thy beauty.
2.58-
LINES
ON THE VIEW FROM ST. I.KONARd's.
'-^
Hail to thy face and odours, glorious Sea ! 'T^\'«re thanklessness in me to bless thee'not, Great beauteous Being ! in whose breath and smile My heart beats calmer, and my very mind Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welcomer Thy murmurs than the murmurs of the world ! Though like the world thou fluctuatest, thy din To me is peace, thy restlessness repose. Ev'n gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes With all the darling field-flowers in their prime, And gardens haunted by the nightingale"'s Long trills and gushing ecstasies of song, For these wild headlands, and the sea-mert's clang —
With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea,
I long not te overlook earth"'s fairest glades
And green savannahs — Earth has not a plain
So boundless or so beautiful as thine ;
The eagle''s vision cannot take it in :
The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space.
Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird :
It is the mirror of the stars, where all
Their hosts within the concave firmament,
Gay marching to the music of the spheres.
Can see themselves at once.
Nor on the stage Of rural landscape are there lights and shades Of more harmonious dance and play than thine. How vividly this moment brightens forth, • Between grey parallel land, leaden breadths, A belt of hues that stripes thee nmny a league. Flushed like the rainbow, or the ringdove''s neck, ■ And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing The semblance of a meteor. . .
Mighty Sea ! . Camelepn-like thou changest, but there's love In all thy change, and constant sympathy With yonder Sky— thy Mistress ; from her brow Thou tak'st thy moods and wear'st her colours on Thy faithful bosom ; morning's milky white, Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve ; And all thy balmier hours, fair Element, . Have such divine complexion — crisped smiles. Luxuriant heavings, "and sweet whisperings, That little is the "wonder Love's own Queen From thee of old was fabled to have sprung — • Creation's .common ! which no human power Can parcel or inclose ; the lordliest floods And cataracts that the tiny hands of man Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of de.w To .thee that, couldst subdue the Earth itself, And brook' st commandment from the heav-ens alone For marshalling thy waves — ■
Y.et, potent Sea ! How placidly thy moist lips speak ev'n now Along yon sparkling sliingles. Whb can bo So fanciless as to feel no gratitude
. • 260 • .
That power and grandeur can be so serene, Soothing the home-bound navy's peaceful way, And rocking ev'n the fisher's Httle bark As gently as a mother rocks her child j —
The inhabitants of other worlds behold
Our orb more lucid for thy spacious share :
On earth's rotundity ; and is he not
A blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man
Who sees not or who seeing has no joy
In thy magnificence I What though thoii art
Unconscious and material, thou' canst reach
The inmost immaterial mind's recess,
And with thy tints and motion stir its chords
•To music, like the light on Memnon's lyre !
The Spirit of the Universe in thee Is visible ; thou hast in thee the life— The eternal, graceful, and majestic life Of nature, and the natural human heart Is therefore bound to thee with holy love.
Earth has her gorgeous towns ; the earth-circling sea Has spires and mansions more amusive still — Men's volant homos that measure liquid space On wheel or wing. The chariot of the land With pained and panting steeds and clouds of dust Has no sight-gladdening motion lil^e these fair Careerers with the foaln beneath their bows. Whose streaming ensigns charm the waves by day. Whose carols and whose watch-bells cheer the night, Moored as they cast the shadows of their masts
261
In long array, or hither flit and yond Mysteriously with slow and crossing lights, Like spirits on the darkness of the deep.
There is a magnet-like attraction in
These waters to the imaginative power
That links the viewless witli the visible,
And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond
Yon highway of the world my fancy flies.
When by her tall and triple mast we know
Some noble voyager that has to woo
The trade-winds and to stem the ecliptic surge.
The coral groves — the sliores of conch and pearl,
Where she will cast her anchor and reflect
Her Cabin-window lights on warmer waves,
And under planets brighter than our own :
The nights of palmy isles, that she will see
Lit boundless by the fire-fly^all the smells
Of tropic fruits that will regale her — all
The pomp of nature, and the inspiriting
Varieties of life she has to greet.
Come swarming o'er the meditative mind.
True, to thie dream of Fancy, Ocean has
His darker tints ; but where's the element
That chequers not its usefulness to man
With casual terror ? Scathes not Earth sometimes
Her children with Tartarean fires, or shakes
Their shrieking cities, and, with one last clang
Of bells for their own ruin, strews them flat
As riddled ashes — silent as the grave I
Walks not Contagion on the Air itself I
262 ■
I should — old Ocean's Saturnalian days
And roaring nights of revelry and sport
AV^ith wreck and human woe — be- loth to sing ;
For they -are few and all their ills weigh light
Against his sacred usefulness, that bids
Our pensile globe revolve in purer air.
Here Morn and Eve with blushing thanks receive
Their freshening dews, gay fluttering breezes cool
Their wings to fan the brow of fevered climes,
Arid here the Spring dips down her emerald urn
For showers to glad the earth.
Old Ocean was Infinity of ages ere we breathed Existence — and he Avill be beautiful When all the living; world that sees him now Shall roll unconscious dust around the sun. Quelling from age to age the vital throb In human hearts. Death shall not subjugate The pulse that swells in his stupendous breast, Or interdict his minstrelsy to sound In thundering concert with the quiring winds ; ' But long as Man to parent Nature owns Instinctive homage, and m times beyond The power of thought to^reach, bard after bard- Shall sing thy glory. Beatific Sea.
THE DEAD EAGLE.
WRITTEN AT ORAN.
Fallen as he is, this liing of birds still seenis Like royalty in ruins. Though his eyes Are shut, that look undazzlod on the sun. He was the sultan of the skv, and eartli
264
Pai(J tribute to his eyry. It was perched
Higher than human conqueror ever built
His bannered fort. Where Atlas'* top looks o'er
Zahara's desert to the equator's line :
From thence the winged despot marked his prey,
Above th' encampments of the Bedouins, ere
Their watchfires were extinct, or camels knelt
To take their loads, or horsemen scoured the plain.
And there he dried his feathers in the dawn,
Whilst yet th' unwakened world was dark below.
There's such a charm in natunil strength and power.
That human fancy has for ever paid
Poetic homage to the bird of Jove.
Hence, 'neath his image, Rome arrayed her turms
And cohorts for the conquest of the world.
And figuring his flight, tlje mind is filled
With thoughts that mock the pride of wingless man.
True the carred aeronaut can mount as high ;
But what's the triumph of his volant art i
A rasii intrusion on the realms of air.-
His helmless vehicle, a silken toy,
A bubble bursting in the thunder-cloud ;
His course has no volition, and he drifts
The passive plaything of the winds. . Not such
Was this proud bird : he clove the adverse storm.
And cuffed it with his wings. He stopped his flfight .
As easily as the Arab reins his steed,
And stood at pleasure 'neath Heaven's zenith, like
A lamp suspended from its azure dome.
Whilst underneath him the world's mountains lay
Like molehills, and her streams like lucid threads.
Then downward,' faster than a falling sstar. "He neared the earth, until his shape cUstinct Was blackly shadowed on the sunny ground ; And deepe;.' terror hushed the wilderness, To liear his nearer whoop/ Then, up again He soared and wheeled," There was an air of scorn In all "his movements, whether he threw round His crested head to look behind him-; or Lay vertical and sportively displayed The insi(Je whiteness of his wing declined, In gyres and undulations full of grace. An object beautifying Heaven itself.
He — reckless who was victor, and above
The hearing of their guns-^saw fleets engaged
[n flaming combat. It was nought to him .
What carnage, IMoor or Christian, strewed their decks.
But if his intellect had matched his wings,
]\Iethinks he would have scorned man"'s vaunted power
To plough the deep ; his pinions bore .him down
To Algiei's the warlike, or the coral groves, .
That blush beneath the green of Bona's waves ;
And traversed in an hour a wider space
Tlian yonder gallant ship, with all her sails
Wooing the winds, can cross from.moin till eve.
His bright eyes were his compass, earth his chart,
His talons anchored on the stormiest elifll
And on the very light- house rock he percheil.
When winds chm*ned white the waves. . '
The earthcjuake's self L)isturbed not him that memorable dav.
266.
When, o'er yon table-hind, where Spain had hiiill Cathedrals, cannoned forts, and palaces. A palsy-stroke of Nature shook Oran, . ' " Turning her city to a. sepulchre, And strewing into rubbish all lier homes ; Amidst whose traceable foundations now, '■
Of streets and squares, the hyaena hides himself. That hour beheld him fly as careless o"'er The stifled shrieks of thousands buried quick. As lately when he pounced the speckled snake. Coiled in yon mallows and wide nettle fields • That mantle o'er the dead old Spanish town.
Strange is the imagination's dread' delight In objects linked with danger, death, and pain ! , Fresh from the luxuries of polished life. The echo of these wilds enchanted me ; And my heart beat with joy when fii"st -I heard A lion's roar come down the Lybian wind, Aoross yon long, wide, lonely inland lake, . Where boat ne'er sails from homeless .shore to shore.
And yet Numidia's landscape has its spots
Of pastoral pleasantness— though far between-,
The village planted near the Maraboot's
Round roof has aye its feathery palni trees
Paired, for in solitude they bear no fruits;
Here nature's hues all harmonise — -fields white
With alasum, or blue with bugloss — banks- •
Of glossy fennel, blent with tulips wild,
And sunflowers, like a garment prankt with gold ;
Acres and miles of opal asphodel,
M'here sports and couches the black-eyed gazelle.
Here, too, the air"'s harnionioiis-r-deep-toned doves Coo to the fife-like carol of the lark ; And when they cease, the hoi}' nightingale . Winds np his long^ long shakes of ecstasy. With notes that seem l>ut the protracted sounds Of glassy runnels bubbling over rocks.
SONG.
To Love in my heart, I exclaimed t'other inorning. Thou hast dwelt here too long, little lodger, take warning; Thou shalt tempt me no more from my life's sober duty, To go gadding, bewitched by the young eyes of beauty.
For weary^s the Avooing, ah I weary, , When an old man will have a young dearie.
The god left my heart, at its surly reflections, But came back on pretext of some sweet recollections. And he made me forget what I ought to remember. That the rose-bud of June cannot bloom in November.
Ah ! Tom, 'tis all o'er with thy gay days — Write psalms, and not songs for the ladies. •
But time's been so far from my wisdom enriching; That the longer 1 live, beauty seems mote bewitching ; And the only new lore my experience traces. Is to find fresh enchantment in magical faces.
How weary is wisdom, how weary ! When one sits by a smiling voung dearie !
: . :2G8 •
And should she he wroth that my homage pursues hel', I \yill turn and retort on my lor<^ly accuser ; Who's to blame, that my heart by your image is haunted - It is you, the enchantress — not I, the enchanted.
Would you have me behave more discreetly, " Beauty, lt»ok not so killingly sweetly.
LINES-
WPIl'TEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF I A PHROUPI'.'s VOyAGr.s,
Loved Voyager L his pages had- a zest More sweet than fiction to my wondering breast. When,- rapt in fancy, many a bo}'ish day I tracked his wanderings o'er the .watery way, Roamed round the Aleutian isles in waking dreams, Or plucked i\\c Jleur-cle-lys by Jesso''s streams— Or gladly leaped on that far Tartar strand, Where Europe's anchor ne'er had bit the sand, • Where scarce a roving wild tribe crossed the plain, Or human voice broke nature's silent reign ; * '. l^ut vast and grassy deserts feed the bear, And sweeping deer^herds dread no hunter's snare. Such young delight his real records brought, His truth so touched romantic springs of thought, That all my after-life — his fate and fame Entwined romance with La Perouse's name.— Fair were his ships^ expert his gallant crews, And glorious^ was th' emprise of La-Perouse, —
•26^
Humanely glorious ! Men will weep for him.
When many a. guilty martial feme is dim :
He. ploughed the deep to bind no captive's chain —
Pursued no rapine — strewed no wreck with slain ;
And, save that in the deep themselves lie low,
His heroes plucked no wreath from human woe.
'Twas his the earth's remotest bound to scan,
Conciliating with gifts barbaric man —
Enrich the world's contemporaneous mind,
And amplify the picture of mankind.
Far on -the vast Pacific — midst those isles,
O'er which the earliest morn of Asia smiles.
He sounded and gave charts to many a shore
And gulf of Ocean new to nautic lore ;
Yet he that led Discovery o'er the wave,
Still fills himself an' undiscovered grave.
He carne not back,— Conjecture's- cheek grew, pale.
Year after year — in no propitious gale.
His lilied banner held its homeward x\'ay.
And Science saddened at her martyr's stay.
An age elapsed — no wreck told where or when The chief went do\vn with all his gallant men. Or whether by the storm and wild sea flood He perished, or by wilder men of blood — The shuddering Fancy only guessed his doom, And Doubt to Sorrow gave but deeper gloom. An age elapsed — when men were dead or grey. Whose hearts had mourned him in their youtliful day Fame traced on Mannjcolo's shore at last. The boiling surge had mounted o'er his mast. The islesmen told of some surviving men' But Christian eyes beheld theju ne'ei' again.
270
Sad bourne of all his toils. — with all his.band^
To sleOp, wrecked, shroudless, on a savage strand !
Yet what is all that fires a hero''s scorn
Of death ? — the hope to live in hearts unborn :
Life to the- brave is not jts fleeting breath,
But worth — foretasting fame, that follows death.
That worth had La Perouse — that meed he won ;
He sleeps — rhis life''8 long stormy watch is done.
Ill the great deep, who.sc boundaries and space
He measured, Fate ordained his resting-place ;
But bade his fame, like th"* Ocean iY>Iling o'er .
His relics — visit every earthly shored
Fair Science on tlmt Ocean\s azure robe,
Still writes his name in picturing the globe.
And paints — (what fairer wreath could glory twine!')
His watery course— a world-encircling line.
N O T E 8.
p. 5, 1. 15.
And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy JByron to his native shore —
The following picture of his own distress, given bj Byron in his simple, and interesting nan-ative, justifies the description in page 5.
After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his child.. Jie 'proceeds thus : — ''A day or two aft.er we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had been at the bottom of Avhen we first hauled away to the westward. The land here was very low and sandy, and something like the mouth of a river which discharged itself mto the sea, and which had lieen taken no notice of by us before, as it was so shallow that the Indians were obliged to take every tiling out of their canoes, and carry them over land. We rowed up the river four or five leagues; and then took into a branch" of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to the northward : here it became .nmch narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained but little way,- though we wi'ought very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfortable lodging, it bemg a perfect swamp, and we had nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. The In- dians were little better off than we, as there was no wood liere to make their wigwams ; so that all they could do Wiis jo prop up the bark, which they carry in the bottom of thcu- canoes, and slielter themselves as well as ihey could to the leeward of it. Knowing the difficulties the\' liad to encounter here, thay had pro- vided themselves with some seal ; but wc had not a. morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of the day, excepthig- a sort of root we
272 . .
saw tlie Indians niake use of, which was veiy disagreeable to the taste. We laboured all next day against the stream, and fared as we had done the day before. The next day brought us to the canning place. Here was plenty of wood, but nothing to be got for sustehance. We passed this night, as we bad fiequently done, under a tree ; but what we suffered at this time is not easy to be expressed. I had been three days at the oar without any kind of nourishment except the wretched root above mentioned. I had no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. Ail my clothes consisted of a short gi-ieko (sometliing like a bear-skin), a piece of red cloth which had once- been a waistcoat, and a ragged pair of trowsers, without shoes or stockings." • .
P. 6, 1. -2. • ff Briton and a friend !
Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of the Spanish settlements, hosj^itably relieved Byron and his wretched asso- ciates, of which the commodore speaks m the warmest temis of gratitude. • ■
. P. <;, 1. 16.
Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. The seven strings of Apollo's harj) were the symbolical repre- sentation of the seven planets. Herschel, by discovering an eighth, might be said to add another string to the instrument.
P. G, 1. 17. . .
The Swedish sage Linnaeus. .
P. 7, 1. 5. Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow, Loxias is the name fi-equently given to Apollo by Greek writers ; it is met with moi'e than once in the Choephorae of .Sschylus.
P. 8, 1. 0.
. 'Unlocks a generous store at thy command,
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand.
See Exodus, chap. xvii. 3, 5, 6.
P. 12, 1. 28. ■ IVild Obi flies— Among the negroes of the ^Vest Indies, Ol^i, or Orlnuh, is the name of a magical power, which is believed by them to affect tlie
273
object of its malignity with dismal calamities. Such a belief must undoubtedly have been deduced from the superstitious my- thology of their kinsmen on the 'coast of Africa. I have, there- fore, jDcrsonified Obi as the evil spu-it of the African, although the liistory of the African tribes mentions the evil spirit of theii' reli- gious creed by a different appellation.
P. 12, 1. 32. Sibir's dreary mines,
Mr. Bell of Antermony, in his Travels through Siberia, informs ■ us that the name of the country is milversally pronounced Sibir hy the Russians.
r. 13, 1. 14. . '
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man !
The history of tlie partition of Poland, of the massacre in the suburbs of "VV^arsaw, and on the bridge of Prague, the triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Polish capital, and the insult offei-ed . to human nature, by the blasphemous thanks offered up to Heaven, for victories obtained over men fighting in the sacred cause of liberty, by murdereis and oppressors, are events generally kiiowh.
P. 19, 1.9, The shrill horn blew .;
The negroes in the West Indies are summoned to theii' morning work by a shell or horn. ' . .
P. 13,1.28. Hoiv long was Timoufs iron sceptre sway'd.
To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotation from the preface to Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, a work' of elegance and celebrity.
" The' impostor of Mecca had established, jts one of the prin- ciples of his doctrine, the merit of e;xtending it either Ity per- suasion, or the sword, to all parts of the earth. How steadily tliis injunction was adhered to by his followers, and with what success it was pursued, is well known to all who are in the least conversant in history.
" The same overwhelming torrent which had- inundated the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the very heart of Europe, and covering many kingdoms of Asia with unbounded desolation, directed its baneful course to the flourishing pro^'inc'es of Hindostan. Here these fierce and hardy adventurers, whose
. ■ • 274 ■
only improvement had been in the science of destruction, who added .th6 fury of fanaticism to the ravages of war, found the great end of their conquest opposed by objects which "neither thQ ardoTir of their persevering zeal, nor savage barbarity, could surmount. ]\Iultitudes were sacrificed by the cruel -hand "jaf religious persecution, and whole countries were deluged- in blood, in the vain Hope, that by the destruction of a part tlie remainder might be persuaded-, or terrified, into the profession of Mahomedism. But all these sanguinary efforts were ineffectual ; and at length, being fully convinced, that though they ■ might extirpate, they could never hope to convert, any. nuniber of the Hindoos, they relinquished the impracticable idea with which they had entered upon their career of conquest, and' contented themselves with the acquirernent of the civjl dominion and' almost universal empire of Hindostan." — 'Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, hy Eliza ilamilioh. ' . " .
P. 20,' 1, 10. , • ■'
And braved the stormy Spirit of the Cape / •
See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, translated from Camoens, by Mickle. ■
' • ■ P. 20, 1. 24.
fVhile faniisK'd nations died along the shore :
The following account of British conduct, and its consequences, in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea of the fact alluded to in this passage. - • .
After describing the monopoly of salt, betel nut, and tobacco, the historian proceeds thus : — " Money m this current came but by drops; it could not quench the thirst of those who waited in India to receive it. An expedient, such, as it was, remained to quicken its pace. The natives could live with little salt, but could not want food. Some of the agents saw themselves well . situated for collecting the rice into stores; they did so. They knew the Gentoos would rather die than violate the principles of their religion by eating flesh. The alternative would there- fore be between giving Avhat they had, or dying. The inhabi- tants sunk ; — they that cultivated the land, and saw the harvest at the disposal of others,, planted in doubt — scarcity ensued. Then the monopoly was easier managed — sickness ensued. In some districts the languid li\dng left the bodies of their numerous dead unburied." — Short History of the English' Transactions in the East Indies, p. 14.5. » ^
275
F. 21,1. 7.
Nine times have Brama's wheeh of liyhtning hurl'd His. awful presence o'er the alm-med world ;
Among the sublime fictions of tlie Hindoo mythology, it is one article of belief, that the Deity Brama has descended nine times upon the world in various forms, and that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure of a warrior upon a white horse, to cut off^ all iiicorrigible offenders. Avatar is the" word used to express his descent.
P. 21, 1.26.
Shall Serisivattee wave her hallow'd irand .' . And Camdeo bright, and'Ganesa sublime,
Camdeo. is the God of Love in the mythology of the Hindoos. Ganesa and Seriswattee correspond" to ' the pagan deities, Janus ajjd Mijierva.
P.24, 1. 30.
The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! — Sacred to Venus is tlie myrtle shade. — Dryuen.
■ P. 27, 1. 23, , Thy woes, Avion I
Falconer, in his i>oem, "The Shipwreck," speaks "of himself by the name of Arioii. See Falconer's "Shipwreck," Canto III.
■ . ' P. 28, 1. 4.
The robber Moor > ■ See Schiller's tragedy of '•' The Robbers," Scene v.
P, 28, 1,22. . What millions died — that Ccesar might be great I The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Caesar has been usually estimated at two millions of men.
P. 28, 1. 23.
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, MarcWdby their Charles to Dneijiefs swampy shore ,•
" In this extremity," (says the biographer of Charles XII. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits before the battle of
576
Pultowa,) "the memorable winter of 1/09, wliich was. atill more rcinarkaljle in that part of Europe than in P'rance, destroyed numbers of his troops ; for Chg-rlos resolved to brave the seasons as he had done his enemies, and ventured to make long marches during this mortal cold. It Avas in one of .these marches that two thousand men fell dowa. dead with cold before his* eyes."
P: 29, 1. 15. — '- — ■ — As lotia's saint.
The natives of the island of lonj^ have an ophiion, that on certain evenings every'year the tutelary saint Columba is seen on the top of the church spii-es counting the surrounding islands, to see that ' they have not been sunk by the pow-er of witchcraft.
P. 30, 1. 2. And part, like Ajiit — never to return ! ■ See the history of Ajut and Amiingait in " The Rambler."
P. 3D, 1. 3. ■
That gave the glacier tops their richest glow,
The sight of the glaciers of Switzerland, I am told, has often, disappomted ti'avellers who had perused the accounts of their splendour and sublimity given by Bourrit and other describers of Swiss scenery. Possibly Bourrit, who had spent his life in an enamoured familiarity with the beauties of Nature m Switzerland, may have leaned to the romantic side of description. One can pardon a man for a sort of idolatry of those imposmg objects of Nature which heighten our ideas of tl>e bounty of Natuve or Pro- vidence, when we reflect that the glaciers — those seas of ice — are not only sublime, but useful : they arc the inexhaustible reservoirs \\hich supply the princi2)al rivers of Europe ; and their annual melting is in proportion to the summer heat which dries up those rivers and makes them need that supply.
That the picturesque grandeur of the glaciers should sometimes disappoint the traveller, will not seem surprising to any one who has been much in a mountainous country, and recollects that the beauty of Nature in such countries is not only variable, but capri- ciously deijcndont on tire weather and sunshme. There are about four hundred different glaciers *, according to the computation of M. Bourrit, between Mont Blanc and the frontiei-s of the Tyrol.
* Ocruiivinp, if taken together, a surfiice of 130 sqiuiic leagues.
277
The full effect of tlie most lofty and picturesque of them can, of course, only be produce'd by the richest and warmest liglrt of the atmosphere ; and the veiy heat which illuminates them must have a changing influence on many of their appearances. I imagine it is owing to tins circumstance, namely, the casualty and change- ■ableiless of the appearance of some of the glaciers, that the im])res- sions made by them on the minds of other and more transient travellers have been less enchanting than those described by M. Bourrit. On one occasion I\I. Bourrit seems even to speak of a past phenomenon, and certainly one ^\*hich no other spectator • attests in the same terms, when he saj's, that there once existed, between the Kandel Steig and Lauterbrun, " a passage amidst singular glaciers, sometimes resembling magical towns of ice, with pilasters, pyramids, columns, and obelisks, reflecting to the sun the most brilliant hues of the finest gems." — M. Bourrit's descrip- tion of the Glacier of the Rhone is quite enchanting :-r-;" To form an idea," he says, " of this superb spectacle, figure in your mind ■ a scaffolding of transparent ice, filling a space of two miles, rising to the clouds, and darting flashes of light like the sun. Nor were the several jj^rts less magnificent and sui"prisuig. One might see; as it were, the streets and buildings of a city, erected in the form of an amphitheatre, and embellished with pieces of water,' cascades, and torrents. The effects were as prodigious as the immensity and the height; — the most beautiful azure — the most splendid white — the regular appearance of a thousand pyramids of ice, are more easy to be imagined than described." — Bourrit, iii. 163.
P. 40, 1. o. From heights browsed by the bounding boiiquetin ; • . Laborde, in his " Tal)leau de la Suisse," gives a curious account of this animal, the wild sharp cry and elastic movements of wliich must heighten the picturesque appearance of its haunts. — " Na- ture," says Laborde, " has destmed it to mountains covered with snow : if it is not exposed to keen cold, it become-s blind. Its agility in leaping much surjiasses that of the chamois, and would appear incredible to those who have not seen it. There is not a mountain so high or steep to which it will not trust itself, provided it has room to place its feet ; it can scramble along the liighest wall, if its surface be rugged."
278 ■ •. .
V. 40, l.'ll. • enamelVdmoss.
The moss of Switzerland, as well as that of- the Tyrol, is re- markable for a bright sniootlmess, approaching to the appearaijce' of enamel.
P. 44, 1. 3. •
How dear seem'd cv'n llie waste and wild Shreck-horn, ' .
Tlie Shi'eck-horn means in German, the Peak of Terror.
P. 44, 1. 8, ■
Blindfold hia native hills he could have known I'
I have here availed myself of a striking expression of the Emperor Napoleon respecting his recollections of Corsica, which is recorded m Las Cases's History of the Emperor's Abode at St. Helena.
P, (i6, 1. ]. •
Iiini.sfdi/, the ancient. name of Ireland.-
P. 67, 1. 23. Kerne, the plural of Kern, an Irish foot-soldier. In this sense the word is used by Shakspeare. Gainsford, in his Glories of England, says, " They (the Irish) are desperate in revenge, .and their kerne think no man dead imtil his head be off."
P. (j«, 1. U. Sfiieling, a rude cabin or hut.
•■ P. 68,- 1. 18.'
In Erin's yellow vesture clad, Yellow, dyed from saffron, was the favourite colour of the ancient Irish. Wlien the Irish chieftams came to make terms with -Queen Elizabeth's lord -lieu tenant, we are told by Sir John Da\'is, that they came to court in saffron-coloured uniforms.
.P. 69,1'. 6.
Moral., a drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed with
honey.
• 279 .
P. 70, 1. 9.
Then tribe, they, said, their high degree. Was sung'in Tara's psaltery ;
The pride' of the Irish m aiicestry was so great, that one of the O'Neals beuig told that Barrett of Castlemone had been there only 400 years, he rejilied, — that lie hated the c1oa\ti as if he had come thei-e but yesterday.
Tara was the place of assemblage and feastiiig of the petty princes of Ireland, ^'^ery splendid and fabulous descriptions are given by the Irish historians of the pomp and luxury of those meetings. The psaltery of Tara was tlie grand national register of Ireland. The gi-and epoch of political eminence in the early history of the Irish is the reign of their great and favourite . monarch, 011am Fodlah, wlio reigned, according to Keating, about 950 years before the Christian sera. Under him was instituted the great Fes at Tara, which it is pretended was a triennial conven- tion of the states, or a parliament ; the membei's of which were the Druids,, and other learned men, who represented the people in that assembly. Very minute accounts are given by Irish annalists of the magnificence and order of these entertamments ; from which, if credible, we might collect the earliest traces of heraldry that occur in history. To- preserve order and regularity in the great number and variety of the members who met on such occasions, the Irish historians inform us that when the banquet was ready to be served up, the shield-l^earers of the princes, and other members of the convention, delivered in their sliields and targets, which were icadily distinguished b}' the coats of arms emblazoned upon them. These were arranged by the grand marshal and principal herald, and hung upon the walls on the right side of the table ; and upon entering the apartments, each member took his seat under his, respective shield or target, with out the slightest disturbance. The concluding days of the meet- ing, it is allowed by the Irish antiquaries, were spent in very free excess of conviviality ; but the first six, they say, were devoted to the examination and settlement of the annals of the kingdom. These were publicly rehearsed. When they liad passed the approbation of the assembly, they were transcribed into the authentic chronicles of the nation, whicli was called tlie Register, or Psalter of Tara.
Col. Vallancey gives a translation of an old Irish fragment, foimd in Trinity-college, Dublin, in which the palace of the.
280. . . .
above assembly is thus described as it existed in the reign of Corraac : —
" In tlie reign of Connac, the palace of Tara was nine hundred feet square J the diameter of the surrounding rath, seven dice or casts of a dart ; it contained one hundred and fifty apartments'; one hundred and fifty doniiitories, or sleeping rooms for guards, and sixty men in ' each : the height was twenty-sevtn cubits ; there were one hundred and fifty common drinkhig horns, twelve doors, and one thousand guests ' daily, besides princes, oi*ators, and men of science, engraversof gold and silver, carvers, modellers, and nobles." The Irish description of the banqueting-hall is thus translated : " Twelve stalls or divisions m each wing ; sixteen attendants on each side, and two to each table ; one hundred guests m all."
P. 70,1. 20. And stemmed De Bourgo's chivalry 5
The house of O'Connor -had a right to boast o'f their victories over the English. It was a chief of the O'Connor race who gave a check to the English champion De Courcy, so famous for his personal strength, and for cleaving a helmet at one blow of his sword, in the presence of the kings of France and England, when the French champion declined the combat with him. Though ultimately conquered by the English under De Bourgo, the O'Connors had also humbled the pride of that name on a memo- rable occasion : viz. when ^\^alter De Bourgo, an ancestor of that De Bourgo who won the battle of Athunree, had become so insolent as to make excessive demands upon the territories of Connaught, and to bid defiance to all the rights and properties reserved by the Irish chiefs. Eath O'Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, surnamed of the Bloody Hand, rose against the usurper, and defeated the English so severely, that their general died of chagrin after the battle.
P. 70, 1. 23. Or beal-fires for your jubilee The month of May is to this day called Mi Beal tiennie, i. e. the month of Beal's fire, in the original language of Ireland, and hence I believe the name of the Beltan festival in the Highlands. These fires were lighted on the summits of mountauis (tlic Irish antiquaries say) in honour of the sun ; and are supposed, by those conjecturing gentlemen, to prove the origin of the Irish from some
• 281
nation who worsliiiiped liaal or Bolus. Many hills hi Irolaml still retain the name of Cnoc Gvcine, i.e. the Hill of the Sunj and on all are to be seen the ruins of druidical altars.
P-. 71, 1. 16. - *
And. play my clarshech by (liy side. The clairsliech, or harp, the- principal musical instrument of the Hibernian bards, docs hot appear to be of Irish origin, nor indigenous to any of the British islands. — The Britons undoubt- edly were not acquainted with it during the residence of the Romans in their country, as m all their coins, on which musical instruments are represented, we see only the Roman lyre,- and not the British tcylin, or harp.
P. 71, 1. 23, And saiv at dawn the lofty Lawn Bawn,' from the Teutonic Bawen — to construct and secure with bi-anches of trees, was sa called because the primitive Celtic fortifications were made by digging a ditch, throwing up aramjiart, ami on the latter fixing stakes, • wliich Avere interlaced with boughs of trees. This word is used- b}^ Spenser; but it is uiaccurately called by Mr. Todd, his annotator, an emmence.
P. 74, 1 28. To speak the malison of heaven.
If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine of this littlo piece should seem to exhibit her character as too unnaturally stripped of patriotic and domestic affections, I must beg leave to plead the authority of Corneille in the representation of a similar passion : I allude to the denunciation of Camille, in the tragedy of Horace. "When Horace, accompanied by a soldier bearing the three swords of the Curiatii, meets his sistei-, and invites her to congratulate him on his victory, she expresses only her grief, which he attributes at first only to her feelings for the loss of her two brothers ; but when she bursts forth into rejiroaches against him as the murderer of her lover, the last of the Curiatii, he exclaims :
" O ciel ! qui vit jamais unc parcillc rage ! Crois-tu (lone que je sois insensible ii I'outiTige, Que jc souffre en nion sang cc mortel (It'-slionucui ? Aime, aiuie cctle niort qui fait notic bonlieur; Et prc'fere du moins au souvenir d'uii lioniinc ■ C'c que Joit ta uaissance nux interots de Koiiic.''
0 0
.282 At tlic mention of Rome, Camille breaks out into this apostrophe :
" Rome, I'linique objct tie mon rcsscntiment ! . Home, i\ qui vicnt ton Ijias d'immolcr mon aniant Rome qui t'a vii ualtrc et que ton coiur adore ! Rome enfin. que je hai's parce qu'elle f'honoie ! Puissant tons sesvoisins ensemble conjures • Saper ses fdndements encor mal assures ; Et si ce u'est asscz de toute I'ltaUe, Que I'Onent^-ontre clle d rOccident s'allie ; '
■ <ilue cent peuples unis des bouts de Tunivers Rassent pour la detruire et les monts et les mere ; Qu'elle-meme sur soi renverse ses mmailles, Et de ses propres mains dechire ses entrailles ; Que le courroux du ciel allume par mes voeux Fasse pleuvoir sur elle uu deluge de feux ! PuiSse-je de mes yeux y voir tomber ce foudre, Voir ses maisons en cendre, et tes lauriers en poudie, Voir le dernier Romain a son dernier soujiir, Moi seule en etre cause, et mourir de plaisir ! "
P. 75, 1. .5, ■ And go to Athunree ! (levied)
In the reign of Edward the Second, the Irish presented to Pope John the Twenty-second a memorial of their sufferings under the English, of which the language exhibits all the strength of despair. " Ever since the English (sa}' they) first appeared upon our coasts, they entered our territories under a certain specious pre- tence of charity, and external hypocritical show of religion, endea- vouring at the same time, by every artifice malice could suggest, to extirpate us root and branch, aiid without any other riglit tliau that of the strongest ; they have so far succeeded by base fraudu- lence, and cunning, that they have forced us to quit our fair and ample habitations and inheritances, and to take refuge like wild beasts in the mountains, the woods, and the morasses of the coun- try ; — nor even can the caverns and dens protect us against their in- satiable avarice. They pursue us even mto these frightful abodes ; endeavouring to dispossess us of the wild uncultivated rocks, and arrogate to themselves the property of every place on which we can stamp the figure of our feet."
The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish to regain their native independence, was made at the time when they called over the brother of Robert Bruce from Scotland. William De Bourgo, brother to the Earl of Ulster, and Richard dc Ber- mingham, were sent against the main body of the native in- surgents, who were headed rather than commanded by Felim
L>83
O'Coniior. Tlie iiiii)ortant battle which decided the subjection of Ireland, took place on the lOtli of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest that ever was fought between the two nations, and con- tinued throughout the whole day, from the rising to the setting sun. The Irish fought with inferior discipline, but with great enthusiasm. They lost ten thousand, men, among whom were twenty-nine chiefs of Connaught. Tradition states that, after this terrible daVj the O'Connor family, like the Fabian, were so nearly exterminated, that throughout all Connaught not one of the name remained, except Fglim's brother, who was capable of beaiing arms.
• P. 77. Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, and descended from ancestors distmguished in their narrow sphere for great personal prowess, was a man worthy of a better cause and fate than that in which he embarked, the enterprise of the Stuai-ts in 1745. His memory is still fondly cherished among the High- landers, by the appellation of the ^''gentle Lochiel;" for he was famed for his social virtues as much as his martial and magnan- imous (though mistaken) loyalty. His influence was so import- ant among the Highland chiefs, that it depended on his joining witli his clan whether the standard of Charles should be raised or not in 1745. Lochiel was himself too wise a man to be blind to the consequences of so hopeless an enterprise, but his sensibility to the point of honour overruled his wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty, and he could not brook the reproaches of his Prmce. •When C'harles landed at Borrodale, Lochiel went to meet him, but on his way called at his brother's house (Cameron of Fassa- fern), and told him on what errand he was going; adding, how- ever, that he meant to dissuade the Prince from his enterprise. Fassafern advised him in that case to commmiicate his mind by letter to Charles. " No," said Lochiel, " I think it due to my Prince to give him my reasons in person for refusing to join hjs standard." — " Brother," replied Fassafern, " I know you better than you know yourself : if the Prince once sets eyes on you, he will make you do what he pleases.". The. interview accordingly took place ; and Lochiel, Avith many arguments, but in vain, pressed the Pretender to return to France, and reserve himself and his friends for a more favourable occasion, as he had come, by his own acknowledgment, without arms, or money, or adherents : or.
284"
at all events, lo remain concealed till his friends should meet and deliberate what was best to l)e done, Charles, whose mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no regard to this pi'o- posal, but Answered, "that, he was determined to put. all to .the hazard." "In a fcW days," said he, " I will 'erect the r6yal" standard, and proclaim to the people of Great Bi-itaiu, that Charles Stuart is comeover to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to win it, or perish in the attempt. Lochiel, who my father has often ' told me was oiir firmest friend, may stay at home and learn from the newspapers the fate of his Prince."—" No," said Lochiel, " I will- share the fate of my Prince, and so shall every man over- whom nature or fortune hath given me any power."
The other chieftains who followed Charles embraced his cause with no better hopes. It engages our sympathy most strongly in their behalf, that no motive, but their fear to be repi'oached with cowardice or disloyalty, impelled them to the hopeless adventure. Of this we have an example in the interview of Prince Charles with Clanronald, another leading chieftain in the reljel aiiny.
" Charles," says Home, " almost reduced to despair, in his discourse with Boisdale, addressed the two Iligldanders with great emotion, and, summing up his arguments for taking arms, conjured them to assist their Prince, their countryman, in his utmost need. Clanronald and his friend, though well inclined to -the cause, positively refused, and told him that to take up arms without concert or sujjport was to pull down certain ruin on their own heads. Charles persisted, argued, and implored. Durmg this conversation (they were on shipboard) the parties walked backwards and forwards on the deck ; a Highlander stood near them, arinod at all points, as was then the fashion of his country. He was a younger brother of Kinloch Moidart, and had come off to the sliip to enquire for news, not knowing who was aboard. When he gathered froni their discourse that the stranger was the Prince of Wales ; when he heard his chief and his brother refuse to take arms with their Prince ; his colour went and came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, and grasped his sword. Charles observed his demeanour, and turning briskly to him, called out, ' "\yill you assist me ? ' — I will, I will,' said Ronald : ' though no other man in the Highlands should . draw a sword; I am ready to die for you ! ' Charles, with a profusion of thanks to his champion, said, he wished all the
285 -
HigUanders were like him. Without further doliheration, the two Macdonahls declared that they would also joui, and use tlioir utmost .endeavx)urs to engage their countrymen to take arms." — ilpme's Hist. Rebellion, -p. 40.
P. 78, L 11.- ■ Weep, AMii! The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particularly tlio Highlands.
P. 79, 1.27. Lo, anointed by Heaven with the vials oftvrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path !
The lines allude to the many hardships of the royal sufferer.
An account of the second sight, in Irish called Taish, is thus given in Martm's Description of the NVestem Isles of Scotland.
" The second "sight is a singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible object, without any previous means used by the pei*son who sees it for that end. The vision makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they neither see nor thuik of anything else except the vision as long as it continues ; and then they appear pensive or jovial accordmg to the object wliich was represented to them.
"At the sight of a vision the eyelids of the person are erected,
and the eyes continue staring until the object vanishes. This is
obvious to others who are standing by when the persons happen
to see a vision ; and occurred more than once to my own obser-
■ vation, and to others that were with me.
" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance obscr\ed, that when he sees a vision the mner part of his eyelids turns so far upwards, that, after the object disappears, he must draw them doA\Ti with his fingers, and sometimes employ others to draw them do^™, which he finds to be much the easier way..
" Tliis faculty of the second sight does not lineally descend in a family, as some have imagined ; for f know several parents who are endowed with it, and theiji- cliildrcn are .not ; and vice versa. Neither is it acquired by any previo.us compact. And after strict enquiry, 1 could never learn from any among them, that this faculty Avas communicable to any whatsoever. The seer knows neither the object, time, nor.place of a vision before it appeals; and the same object is often seen by ditfercnt persons
280 ■ •
living at a considerable distance from one another. The true way of judging as to the time and circumstances is by obser- vation ; for SQ,veral persons of judgment who are without this ■ faculty are more capable to judge of the design of a vision than a novice that is a seer. Jf an object appear in the day or night, it will come to pass sooner or later accordingly.
" If an object is seen early in a morning, which is not frequent, it will "be accomplished in a few hours afterwards ; if at noon, it will probably be accomplished that ver}^ day ; if in the evenmg, perhaps that iiight ; if after candles be lighted, it will be accom- plished that niglit : the latter always an accomplishment" by weeks, months, and sometimes years, according to the time of the night, the vision is seen.
" When a shroud is seen about one, it is a sure prognostic of death. The" time is judged according to -the height of it abput the person ; for if it is not seen above the middle, death is not to be expected for the space of a year, and perhaps some montlis longer: and as it is frequently seen to ascend higher towards the head, death is concluded to be at hand within a few days, if not hours, as daily experience' confirms. Examples of this kind were shown me, when the person of whom the observations were then made was in perfect health.
" It is ordinaiy with them to see houses, gardens, and trees in places void of all these, and this in process of time is wont tQ be accomplished ; as at INIogslot, in the Isle of Skie, where there were but a few sorry low houses, tliatched with straw ; yet in' a few years the vision, which, appeared often, was accomplished by the building of Several good houses in tlie very spot re2)resented to the seers, and by the planting of orchards there.
" To see a spark of fii'e is a forerunner of a dead child, to be seen In the arms of those persons ; of which there are several instances. To see a seat empty at the time of sitting in it, is a presage of that person's death quickly after it.
" When a novice, or one 'that has lately obtained the second sight, sees a vision in the night-time without doors, and comes near a fire, he presently fiills into a swoon.
■ " Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people, having a corpse, which they carry along with them; and after such visions the s.eers come in sweating, and describe the vision that appeared. If there be any of their acquaintance among them, they give an accomit of their names, as also of the bearers ; but tliey know nothing concerning the corpse."'
•287
Horses and cows (according to tJic same credulous author) have certainly sometimes the same fiiculty ; and he endeavours . to prove it by the signs- of fear which the animals exliibit, when second-sighted persons see .visions in the same place.
" The seers (he continues) are generally illiterate and well- meaning people, and altogether' void of design : nor could I ever learn that- any of them ever made the least gain h^ it ; neither is it reputable among them to have that faculty. Besides, the people .of the Isles are not so credulous as to believe implicitly before the thing predicted is accomplished ; but when it is actually accomplished afterwards, it is not in . their power to deny it, without offering violence to their own sense and reason. Besides, if the seers were deceivers, can it be reasonable to imagine' that all the islanders who have not. the second sight should combine together, and offer violence to their understand- ings and senses, to enforce themselves to believe a lie from age to age ? There are several persons among them w;hose title and education raise them above the suspicion of concurring with an impostor, merely- to gratify an illiterate, contemptible set of persons ; nor can reasonable persons believe that children, horses, and cows, should be pre-engaged in a combination in favour of the second sight." — Martin's Description of the Western Isles of Scotland, p. .3. 11. "
. • • P. 116, 1. 18.
From merry mock-bird's song^
The mocking bird is of the form of, but larger than, the thrush ; and the colours are a mixture of black, white, and grey. What is said of the nightingale by its greatest admirers is what may with more propriety apply to this bird, who, in a natural state, sings with very superior taste. Towards evening I have heard one begin softly, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, wdiich, by this means, had a most astonishing effect. A gentleman in London had one of these birds for six years. Dufing the space of a minute he was heard to imitate the woodlark, chaffinch, black- bird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country (America) I have frequently known the mocking-birds so engaged in this mimicry, that it was with much difficulty I could ever obtain an opportunity of hearing their own natural note. Some go so fixr as to sa}', that they have neither peculiar notes, nor favourite imitations. This may be denied. Their few natural notes resemble those of the (European) nightmgale. Their song, however, has a "greater
. . ■ ■ 288 . ; •
cohijiass -and volume tlian the iiightingale's, and they have the faculty of varying all intermediate notes in a manner v/lrich is truly delightful. — Ashe's Travels in America, vol. ii. p, 73. .
P. 117,1. 14. And distant isles that hear the loud Corhr£ehtan roar ! The Corybrochtan,. or, Corbrechtan^ is a whirlpool on tho western coast of Scotland, liear the island of Jura, which is heard at a prodigious distance.' Its name signifies the whirlpool of the Prince of Denmark; and there is a tradition, that a Danish jn-ince once undertook, for a wager, to cast anchor in it. He is said to have used. woollen instead of hempen ropes, for greater strength, but perished in the attempt. On the shores of Argyle- shire, I have often listened, with great deliglit to the sound of thLs vortex, at the distance of many leagues. \\'hen the weather is calm, and the adjacent sea scarcely heard on these picturesque sliores, its sound, which is like the sound of Lnimmerable chariots, creates a magnificent .and fine effect,
P. 120, 1. 4. ■ Ofbuskined limb, and swarthy lineament ; In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in their colour, stature, &c. They are all, except the Snake Indians, tall in stature, .straight, and robust. It is very seldom they are de- fonned, which has given rise to the supposition that they put to death then- deformed children. Their skin is of a copper colour ; their eyes large, bright, black, and 'sparkling, indicative of a" subtle, and discerning mind : their hair is of the same colour, and prone to be long, seldom or never curled. Theii- teeth are large and- white ; I never observed any decayed among them, which makes their breath as sweet as the air they inhale. — Travels through America by Captains Lewis and Clarke, in 1804-5-6.
P. 120, h 15. .
" Peace be to thee ! my words this belt approve ; The Indians of Xoith America accompany ever}' fonnal address to strangers, with whom they form or recognise a treaty of amity, with a present of a string, or belt, of wampum. W^ampum (says Cadwallader Golden) Ls made of the large whelk shell, buccinum, a.\\(!i shaped like long beads: it -is the current money of the Indians. — History of the Five Indian Nations, p. 34. New York edition.
289
V. 120, 1. IG. The paths of peace my steps have hither led : I^i relating an interview of iMoliawk Indians with the Gcivernor of New Voik, C'ohlcn quotes the following passage as a specimen of tlici.!' metaphorical manner : " Where shall I seek the chair of peace ? 'W'here shall I find it but upon our path ? and whither doth our path lead us but unto this house ?"
P. 1-20, 1. 20. Our ummpumlcu(jue thy brethren did embrace : ^Vhen they solicit the alliance, offensive, or defensive, of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a large belt of wampum and a bloody hatchet, inviting them to come and drink the blood of their enemies. The wampum made use of on thesD and other occasions, before their accjuaintance with the Europeans, was nothing-but small shells which they picked up by the sea-coasts, and on the banks of the lakes ; and now it is nothing but a kind of cylindrical beads, made of shells, •s\hite and black, Avhich. are esteemed among them as silver and gold are among us. The black they call the most valuable, and both together are their greatest riches and ornaments ; these among them answering all the end that money does amongst. us. The\' have the art of stiinsing, twisting, and iuterweaving them into their belts, collars, blankrts, and mocassms, &c. in ten thousand different sizes, forms, and figures, so as to be ornaments for every part of dress, and ex- pressive to them of all their, important transactions. They dyx> the wampum of various coh/urs and shades, and mix and dispose them with great ingenuity and order, and so as to be significant among themselves of almost every thing they please ; so that by these their words are kept, and their thoughts com- municated to one another, as ours are by writing. The belts that pass from one nation to another in all treaties, declarations, and important transactions, are very carefully preserved in the cabins of their chiefs, and serve not only as a kind of- record or history, but as a public treasure. — ]\iajur Rogers's Aecoiinl of North America.
P. Ipl, 1. 14. As irhen the evil Manitcni — - — Tt is certain the Indians acknowJedge one Supreme Being, or Giver of Life, who paesides over all things ; that is, the ( Jreat
290 ; . ■
Sjiirit, and they look up to him aS the 'source of- good, frohi whence no ievil can proceed. They also helieve in a bad Spirit, to whom they asciibe great power ; and suppose "that through his power all the evils which befal mankind are inflicted. . To him, therefore, they pray in their distresses, .begging that lie would either avert their troubles, or moderate . them when they are no longer avoidable.
They hold also that there are good Spirits of a lower degree, who ha"ve their particular departments, in which they are con- stantly contributing to the haj)piness of mortals. These they suppose to preside over all the extraordinary productions of Natiire, such as those lakes-, rivers, and mountains that are of an uncommon magnitude; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and even vegetables or stones, that exceed the rest of their species in size or singularity. — Clarke's Travels among the Indians.
The Supreme Spirit of Good is called by the Indians Kitchi Manitou ; and the Spirit of Evil, Mat^hi Manitou.
P. 122, 12.. Of fever ■balm, and sweet sagamile : .The fovcr-balm is a medicine used by these- tribes; it is a decoction of a busli called the Fever Tree. Sagamitc is a kind of soup admuiistered to their sick.
P; 122, 1. 10. , .
And I, the eagle of my tribe, have rushed With this lorn dove."
The testimony of all travellers among the American Indians who mention their hieroglyphics, authorises me in putting this figurative language in the mouth of Outalissi. The dove is among them, as elsewhere, an eml)lem of meekness ; and the eagle, that of a bold, no])le, and liberal mmd. When the Indians ' speak of a warrior wlio soars' above the multitude in person and endojvments, they say, " he is like the eagle, who destroys his enemies, and gives protection and abundance to the weak of his own tribe^"
P. 123, 1. 11.
Far differently, the mute Oneyda took., S^c.
They are extremely cu'cumspect and deliberate in every word
and action ; nothing hurries them into any intemperate wrath,
but that inveteracy to their enemies which is rooted in every
291
Indian's Ijroast. In all other iiistancos they are cool and deli- herate, taking care to suppress the emotions, of the heart.* If an Indian has discovered tliat a friend of liis is in danger of heing cut off by a lurking enemy, he docs not tell him of his danger in direct terms as though he were in fear, but he first coolly asks him which way he is going that day, and haAong his . answer, with the same indifference tells him that he has been informed that a . noxious beast lies on the route he is going. Tlais hint jn-oves sufficient, and his friend avoids the danger with, as much caution as though every design and motion of his enemy had been pointed out to him.
If an Indian has been engaged for several days in the chase, and by accident continued long without food, when he arrives at the Init of a frifend, where he knows that his wants will be immediately supplied, he takes cdre not to show the least symp- toms of impatience, or betray the extreme hufiger that he is tor- tured with ; but on being invited in^ sits contentedly down, and smokes his pipe with as mucli composure as if his appetite was cloA'^ed and he was perfectly at ease. He does thd same if among strangers. This custom, is strictly, adhered to by every tribe, as they esteem it a proof of fortitude, and think the reverse woiild entitle themi to the appellation of old women.
If you tell an Indian that his cliildren have greatly signalised themselves against an enemy, have taken many scalps, and brought home many prisoners, he does not appear to feel any strong emotions of pleasure on the occasion; his answer gene- rally is, — "they have done well," and he makes but very little inquiry about the matter ; on the contrary, if you infoniL him that his children are slain or taken prisoners, he makes no complamts : he only replies, " It is unfortunate':" — and for some time asks no questions about how it hai)pened. — Leiojn and Clarke's Travels.
P. 123, 1. 12.
His calumet of peace, (^c. Nor is the calumet of less importance or less revered than tlu' wampum in many transactions relative both to peace and war. The bowl of this pipe is made of a kind of soft red stone, which is easily wrought and hollowed out ; the stem is of cane, alder, or some kind of light wood, painted ^nth different coloui-s, and decorated with the heads, tails, and fcatheirs of the most beautiful birds. The use of the calumet is to smoke either tobacco or some bark, leaf, or herb, which they often use uistead of it, when
292
they enter into an alliance on any serious occasion or solemn engagements ; this being among- them the most sacred oatli that can be taken, the violation of which is esteemed most infamous, and deserving of severe punishment froni Heaven. "VFhen they treat of war, the whole pipe and all its omaments are red : some- time^ it is red only on one side, and by the disposition of the feathers,. &c. one - acquainted with their customs will know at first sight what the nation who presents it intends or desires. Smokmg the calumet is also a religious ceremony on some occa- sions, and in all treaties is considered as a witness between the parties, or rather as an instrument Ijy which they invoke the sun and moon to witness their sincerity, and to be as it were a gua- rantee of the treaty between them. This custom of the Indians, though to ajjpearance Somewhat ridiculous, is not without its reasons ; for as they find that smoking tends to disperse the vapours of the brain, to raise the spirits, and to qualify them for thinking and judging properly, they introduced it into their councils, where, after their resolves, the pipe was considered as a seal of their decrees, and as a pledge of their perfoi'mance thereof it was sent to those they were consulting, in alliance or treaty with ; — so that smoking among them at the same pipe, is equivalent to our drinking together and out of the same cup.-^ Major Rogers''s Account of North America, 1766.
The lighted calumet is also used among them for a purjjose .still moi-e interesting than the expression of social friendship. The austere manners of the Indians forbid any appearance of gallantry between the sexes in the day-time; but at night the young lover goes a calumetting, as his courtship is called. As these people live in a state of equality, and Avithbut fear of uiternal violence or theft m their own triljes, they leave their doors open by night aS well as hy day. The lover takes advantage of this liberty, lights his calumet, enters the cabin of his mistress, and gently presents it to her. If she extinguish it, she admits his addresses ; but if she suffer it to bum unnoticed, he retires with a disappointed and tlirobljing heart.' — Ashe's Travels.
- P. 12a, 1. 15.
TraiiCd from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier
An Indian child, as soon as he is born, is swathed with clothes,
or skins; and being laid on his back, is bound down on a piece
of thick board, spread over with soft mos^. The board is sonie-
wliat-Luger and broader than the child, and bent pieced of wood,
293
like pieces of hoops, are placed over its face to protect it, so that if the machine were suffered to fall the child probably would not be injured. When the women have any business to transact at home, they hang the boards on a tree, if there be one at hand, and set them a swinging from side to side, like a pendulum, in order to exercise the children. — IFeld, vol. ii. p. 2-i6.
P. 123," 1. 16. The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook
Impassive
'. Of the active as well as passive fortitude of the Indian cha- racter, the foUowmg is an instance related by Adair hi his Travels : —
A party of the Senekah Indians came to Avar against the Katahba, bitter enemies to each other. — In the woods the former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter, hunting in their usual light dress : on his perceivmg them, he sprang off for a hollow rock four or five miles distant, as they intercepted him from running homeward. He was so extremely swift and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them in the runnhig fight before they were able to surround and take liim. They carried him to their country in sad triumph ; but though he had filled them with uncommon grief and shame for the loss of so many of their kindred, yet the love of martial virtue in- duced them to treat him, during their long journey, with' a great deal more civility than if he had acted the part of a coward. The women and children, when they met him at their several towns, beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner as the occasion re(|uired, according to their law of justice, and at last he was formally condemned to die by the fiery torture. — It might reason- ably be imagined that what he had for. some time gone through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious march, lying at night on the bai'e ground, exposed to the changes of the weathei,", with his arms and legs extended ui a pair of rough stocks, and suffer- ing such punishment on his entering into theii" hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharp tormoits for which he was destined, would have so impaired his health and affected his iniaghiation, as to have sent him to his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings. — Probably this would have been the . case with the major part of white people under similar circumstances ; but I never knew this with any of the Indians; and this coul-luaded, brave warrior did not de^ iate from their roui>h lessons of martial
294
virtue, but acted liis part so well as to sui*prise and sorely vex his numerous enemies : -^ for when they were' taking him, un- jiuiioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to a river, he suddenly dashed down those who stood in his way, sprang off, and phmged into the water, swimming under- neath like an otter, only rising to take breath, till he reached the' opposite shore. He now ascended the steep bank, but though he liad go(jd reason to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the water, and others running, very like bloodhounds, in pur- suit of liim, and the bullets flymg around him from the time he took to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them abi-uptly, without takmg leave in a formal manner, in return for the extraordinary favours they had done, and intended to do hun. After slapping a part of his body in defiance to them (con- tinues the author), he put up the shrUl war whoop, as his last salute, till some more convenient ojjportunity offered, and darted off m the manner of a beast broke loose -from its tortuiing ene- mies. He continued his speed, so as to run by about midnight of the same day as far as his eager pursuers were two. days in reaching. There he rested till he happily discoA'ered five of those Indians who had pursued him : — he la}' hid a little way off their camp, tUl they were sound asleep. Every circumstance of his situation occuiTed to him, and inspired him with hei-oism. He was naked, torn, and hungry, and his enraged eneniies were come up with him; — hut there was now every thing to relieve his wants, and a fair opportunity to save his life, and get gi-eat honour and sweet revenge by cutting them off. Resolution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise, would effect the main object . of all his wishes and hopes. He accordingly crept, took one of their toma- hawks, and killed them all on the spot, — clothed himself, took a choice gun, and as much ammunition and provisions as he could well caiTy in a running march. He set off afresh with a light heail, and did not sleep for several successive nights, only when he recUned, as usual, a little before day, with his back to a tree. As it were by instinct, when he found he was fi-ee from the j)ur- suing enemy, he made directly to tlie very place where he had killed seven of his enemies, and was taken by them for the fiery torture. He digged them up, burnt theu* bodies to ashes, and went home in safety with singular triumph. Other pursuing enemies came, on the evemng of the second day, to the camp of their dead people, when the sight gave them a gi-eater shock than they had ever known before. In their chilled war-council they
295
concluded, that as he had done such sui'prising things . in his defence . before he was captivated, and since that in his naked condition, and now was well-armed, if they continued the pursuit he Avould spoil them all, for he surely was an enemy Nvizard, — and therefore they returned home. — Adair's General Observations on the American Indians, p. 394.
It is surprising (says the same author) to see the long conti- nued speed of the Indians. Though some of us have often run tlie swiftest of them out of sight for about the distance of twelve miles, yet afterwards, without any seeming toil, they would stretch on, leave us out of sight, and outwind any horse. — Ibid, p. 318.
If an Indian were driven out into the extensive woods, with only a knife and a tomahawk, or a small hatchet, it is not to be doubted but he would fatten even wliere a wolf would starve. He would soon collect fire by rubbing two dry pieces of wood together, make a bark hut, earthen vessels, and a bow and arrows ; then kill wild game, fish, fresh- water tortoises, gather a plentiful variety of vegetables, and live in affluence.— //><V/, p. 410.
P. 123,1. 25.
Mocassins are a sort of ludiaii buskins.
P. 124,1. 1.
"Sleep, wearied one ! and in the dreaming land
Shoukht thou to-morrotu. with thy mother meet,
There is nothing (says Charlevoix) in wHich these barbarians carry their superstitions farther than in what regards dreahis ; but they vary greatly in their mamier of explaining tlicmselvos on this point. Sometimes it is the reasonable soul which ranges abroad, while tlie sensitive continues to animate tlie body. Sometimes it is the famihar genius who gives salutary coiuisel with respect to \\liat is going, to happen. Sometimes it is a visit made by the soul of the object of which he dreams. But in whatever maimer the dream is conceived, it is always lool<ed upon as a thing sacred, and as the. most ordinary way in which the gods make known their will to men. Filled with this idea, they cannot conceive how w(i should pay no regard to tliem. For the most part they look upon them either as a desire of the soul, inspired by some genius, or an order from him, and in con- sequence of tliis principle they hold it a religious duty to obey them. An Indian havmg dreamt of havmg a finger cut off, had
290
it really cut off as soon as. he awoke, having first prepared him- self for this important action by a feast. Another having dreamt of being a prisoner, and In the hands of his enemies, Avas much at a loss what to do. He consulted the jugglers, and by their advice caused himself to be tied to a post, and burnt in several parts of the body. — Charlevoix, Journal of a Voyage to North America.
P. 124, 1. Q.
From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriand pre- sumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through "the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any other water.
• P. 124, 1. 14. The crocodile, the condor ofihc rock, . ■ '
The allioator, or American crocodile, when full grown (says Bertram) is a very large and tejTiljle creature, and- of prodigious strength, activity, and swiftness in the water. I have seen them twenty feet ui length, and some are supposed to be twenty-two or twenty-three feet in length. Their body is as large as that of a horse, their shape usually resembles that, of a lizard, which is flat, or cuneiform, being compressed on each side, and gradually diminishing from the abdomen to the extremity, which, with the whole body, is covered with horny plates, 'or squamae, impene- trable when on the body of the live animal, even to a rifle-ball, except about their head, and just behind their forelegs or arms, where, it is said, they are only vulnerable. The head of a full- grown one is about three feet, and the mouth opens nearly the same length. Their eyes arc small in proportion, and seem sunk m the head, by means of the prominency of the brows ; the nos- trils are' large, inflated, and prominent on the top, so that the head on the water resembles, at a distance, a great chunk of wood floating aljout : only the upper jaw moves, which they raise almost perpendicular, so as to form a right angle with the lower one. In the fore-part of the upper jaw, on each side, just under the nostrils, are two very large, thick, strong teeth, or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape of a cone : these are as white as the finest polished ivory, and" are not covered by any skin or lips, but always in sight, which gives the creature a. frightful ajipearance ; in the lower jaw are holes opposite to these teeth to receive them ; when they clap their jaws toigether, it causes a
297
surprising noise, like that which is ifiade l)y forcing a lieavy plank with violence upon the ground, and may be heard at a gi"eat distance. — But what is yet niore surprising to a stranger,- is the incredibly loud and terrifying roar which they ai-e capable of making, especially in breeding time. It most resembles very heavy distant thunder, not only shaking the air and waters, but causing the earth to ti'emble ; and when hundreds are roaring at the same time, you can scarcely be j)€rsuaded but that the whole ylobe is violently and dangerously agitated. An old champion, who is, perhaps, absolute sovereign of a little lake or lagoon, (when fifty less than himself are obliged to content themselves with swelling and roaring in little coves round about.) darts forth from the reedy coverts, all at once, on the surface of the waters in a right line, at first seemingty as rapid as lightning, but gradually more slowly, untU he arrives at the centre of the lake, where he stops. He now swells himself by drawing in wind and water through his mouth, which causes a loud sonorous rattling in the throat for near a minute; but it is immediately forced out again through his mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, brandishing liLs tail in the air, and the vapour running from his nostrils like smoke. At other times, when swoln to an extent ready to burst, his head and tail lifted up, he spins or twirls round on the surface of 4he water. He acts his part like an Indian chief, when rehearsing his feats X)f war. — Bertram's Travels iti North America.
P. 124, 1. 2-2, Then forth uprose that lojie uxay-fariny man ; They discover an amazing- sagacity, and acquire, with the greatest readiness, any thing that depends upon' the attention of the mind. By experience, and an acute observation, .they at- tain many perfections to which the Americans are strangers. For instance, they w-Ul cross a forest or a plain, wliich is two hun- dred miles in breadth, so as to reach Avith great cxactne^ the point at which they intend to arrive, keeping, durmg the whole of that space, in a direct line, without any material deviations ; and tliis they will dg with the same ease, let the weather be fair or cloudy, 'With equal acuteness they will point to that part of the heavens the sun is in, though it be intercejited by clouds or fogs. Besides this, they are able to pm*sue, with incredible faci- lity, ihe traces of man or beast, either on leaves or grass ; and on this account it is with great difficulty they escape discovery.
298
Thej'^ are indebted for these talents not only to nature, but to an extraordinary command of the intellectual qualities, which can only be acquired by an unremitted attention, and by long expe- rience. They are, in general; very happy in a retentive memory. They can recapitulate every particular that has been- treated of in councU, and remember the exact time when they were held. Their belts of wampum preserve the substance of the treaties they have concluded with the neighbouring tribes for ages back, to which they will appeal and refer Vith as much perspicuity and readiness as Europeans can to their written records.
The Indians are totally unskilled in geography, as well as all the other sciences, and yet they draw on their birch-bark very exact ohai-ts or maps of the countries they are acquainted with. The latitude and longitude only are wanting to make them tole- rably complete.
Theh- sole knowledge in astVonomy consists in being able to point out the polar star, by which thfey regulate their course when they travel in the night.
They reckon the distance of places not by miles or leagues, but by a day's journey, which, according to the best calculation I could make, appears to be about twenty English miles. These they also divide into halves and quarters, and will demonstrate them in their maps with gi-eat exactness by the hieroglyphics just mentioned, when they regulate in councU their war-parties, or theii" most distant hunting excursions. — Lewis and Clarke's Travels. '
Some of the French missionaries have supposed that the Indians are guided by instinct, and have pretended that Indian children can find their way through a forest as easily as a person of mat'urer years ; but this is a most absurd notion. ■ It is unques- tionably by a close attention to the gro^\i:h of the trees, and position of the sun, that they find their way. On the northern side of a tree there is generally the most moss ; and the bark on that side, in general, differs from that on the opposite one. The branches toward the south are, for the most part, more luxu- riant than those on the other si^es of trees, and several other distinctioiis also subsist between the northern and southern sides, conspicuous to Indians, being taught from their uifancy to attend to them, which a common obseiTcr would, perhaps, never notice. Being accustomed froni their infancy likewise to pay great attention to the position of the sun, they learn to make the most accurate allowance for its apparent motion from one part
• 299
■of the heavens to another : and in every part of the day they will point to the part of the heavens where it is, although the sky be obscured by clouds or mists. ,
^An instayce of their dexterity in finding their „way through an unkno'\\Ti country came under my observation when I was at Staunton, situated behind the Blue JMountains, Virginia. A number of the Creek nation had arrived at that to^^•u on their •way to Philadelphia, whither they were going upon some affairs of importance, and had stopped there for the night. In the morning, some circumstance or other, which could not be learned, mduced one half of the Indians to set off without theu- companions, who did not follow until some hours aft'crwards. ^V'hcn -these last were ready to pursue their journey, several of the towns- people mounted their horses to escort them part of the way. They proceeded along the high road for some miles, but, all at once, hastily turning aside into the woods, though there was no path, the Indians advanced confidently forward. The peojjle who accompanied them, surprised- at this, movement, informed them that they were quitting the road to Philadelphia, and expressed their fear, lest they should miss their companions ^\■ho had gone on before. . They answered that they knew better, that the way through the woods w^s the shcfrtest to Philadelphia, and that they knew very well that their companions had entered the wood at the very place where they "did. Curiosity led some of the horsemen to go on; and to their astonishment, for there was apparently no track, they overtook the other Indians in the thickest part of the wood. But what appeared most singular was, that the route which they took was found, on examining a map, to be as direct for Philadelphia as if they had taken the bearings" by a mariner's compass. From others of their nation, who had been at Philadelphia at a former period, they had pro- bably learned the exact direction of that city' from their villages, and had never lost sight of it, although they had already travelled three hundred miles through the woods, and had upwards of four hundred iiules more to go before they could reach the jdace of their destination. — Of the exactness A\ith which they can find out a strange place to which they have been once directed by their own people, a striking example is furnished, I think, by Mr. Jefferson, ui his account of the Indian graves in ^'irginia. These graves are nothmg more than large mounds of earth m the woods, which, on being opened, are found to contain skele- tons in an eret:t posture : the Indian mode of sepulture has been
300
too often described to remain .unknown to you. But to come to my story. A' party of Indians tliat were passing on to some of the seaports on the Atlantic, just as the Creeks above men- tioned were going to Pliiladelphia, were observed, all on a sudden, to quit the straight road by which they were proceeding, and without asking any questions to strike through the woods, in a direct line, to one of these graves, which lay at the distance of some miles from the road. Now very near a century nmst have passed over since the part of Virginia in which this grave was situated had b'een inhabited by Indians, and these Indiaii tra- vellers, who were to visit it by themselves, had unquestionably never been in that part of the country before : they must have found their way to it simply from the description of its situation, that had been handed down to them Ijy tradition. — Weld's Travels hi A^orth America, vol. ii.
1'. I -29, 1.5. ■ ■
Their fathers' dust, ^
It"is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their an- cestors in the cultivated parts of America, who h&ve been buried for upwards of a century. _ ' ■
P. 132, 1. 8.
Or wild-oane arch high flung o'er. gulf profound.
The bridges over narrow streams in many parts of Spanish
America are said to be built of cane, which, however strong to
■ support the -passenger, are yet waved in the agitation of the storm,
and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and picturesque
scenery. . *
P.* 141, 1. 13. The Mammoth comes,
That I am justified in making the Indian chief allude to the mammoth as an emblem of terror and destruction, wUl be seen by the authority quoted below. Speaking of the mammoth or Ijig buffalo, Mr. JefFei'son states, that a tradition is preserved among the Indians of that animal still existing in the northern pai-ts of America.
'•'■ A delegation of warriors from the Delaware tribe having visited the governor of Virginia during the revolution, on matters of business, the governor asked them some questions relative to their country, and, among others, what they knew or had heard
aoi •
of the animal whose bones were found at the Salt-lieks, on the Ohio. Their chief speaker immediately put himself into an attitude of oratory, and witl\ a pomp suited to what he conceived the elevation of his subject, infoiined him that it was- a tradition handed dowm from their fathers, that in ancient times a herd, of these tremendous animals came to the Bick-bone-licks, and began an universal destruction of the bear, deer, elk, buffalo, and otheranimals which had been created for the use of the Indians. That the Great Man above looking down and seeing this, was so enraged, that he seized his lightning, descended on the earth, seated himself on a neighbouring mountain on a rock, on which his seat and the -prints of his feet are still to be seen, and hurled his bolts among them, till the whole were slaughtered, except the big bull, who, presenting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off as they fell, but missing one, at length it wounded him in the side, whereon, springing round, he bounded oyer the Oliio, over the ^Vabash, the Illinois, and finally over the great lakes, where he is living at this day." — Jefferson's Notes on Virginia.
P. 141, 1. 19. •
Scorning to wield the hatchet for his hribe, 'Gainst Brandt himsetf I tvent.to buttle forth :
I took the character of Brandt in the poem of Gertrude" from the common Histories of England, all of which represented him as a bloody and bad man, (even among savages,) and chief agent in the horrible desolation of ^ryommgi Some years after this poem appeared, the son of Brandt, a most interesting and intel- ligent youth, came over to England, and I formed an acquaint- ance with him on which I still look back with pleasure. He appealed to my sense of honour and justice, on his owti part and on that of his sister, to retract the unfair aspei-sions which, unconscious of their rmfainiess, I had cast on liis father's memory.
He then referred me to documents, which completely satisfied me that the common accounts of Brandt's cruelties at A\'yoming, Avhich I had found in books of Travels and in Adolphus's and similar Histories of England, were gross errors, and that in point of fact Brandt was not even present at that scene of desolation.
It is, unhappily, to Britons and Anglo-Americans that we must refer the chief blame in this horrible business. I published a letter expressing' this belief in the \ew Monthly Magazine, ui the year 1822, to wliich I must refer the reader — if he has any
302
curiosity on the subject — for an antidote to my fanciful descrip- tion of Brandt. Among other expressions to young Brandt, 1 made use of the following words : — " Had I learnt all this of your father when I was writing my poem, he should not have figured in it as the hero of mischief." It was but bare justice to say thus much of a Mohawk Indian, who spoke English elo- quently, and was thought capable of havuig written a history of the Six Nations. ' I ascertained also that he often strove to miti- gate the cruelty of Indian warfare. The name of Brandt, there- fore, remains in my poem a pure and declared character of fiction.
P. 14], 1, 26.
To whom nor relative nor Hood remains.
No ! — not a kindred drop that runs in human veins !
Every one who recollects the specimen of Indian eloquence given in the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, to the governor of Vu'ginia, will perceive that I have attempted to paraphrase its concluding and most strikmg expression.: — ." There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature." The similar salutation of the fictitious personage m my story, and theoreal Indian orator, makes it surely allowable to boiTow such an expression ; and if it a]:)pears, as it cannot but appear, to- less advantage than in the original, I beg the reader to reflect how difficult it is to transpose such exquisitely simple words, without sacrificmg a portion of their effect.
. In the sjiring of 1774, a i*o1)bery and murder were committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia, by two Indians of the Sha^vajiee tribe. The neighbouring whites, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage in a summary manner. Colonel Cresap, a man infamous for the many murders he had committed on those much mjured people, collected a party and proceeded down the Kanaway m quest of vengeance ; unfortunately, a canoe with women and children, with one man only, was seen commg from the opposite shore unarmed, and unsuspecting an attack from the whites. . (Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the bank of the river, and the moment tlie canoe reached the shore, singled out their objects, «nd at one fire killed eveiy person in it. Tliis happened to be the family of Logan, who had long been distinguished as a friend Jo the whites. This unworthy return i)rovoked his vengeance ; he accordingly signalised liimself in the war which ensued. In \\\c autumn of
303
the same year a decisive battle was fought at the moutli of the gi'eat Kanaway, m which the collected forces of the Shawanees, Mingoes, and Delawarcs, were defeated by a detachment of. the Virginian miUtia. The Indians sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants ; but lest the sincerity of a treaty should be distui-lDcd, from which so distingmshed a chief abstracted himself, he sent, by a messenger, the following speech to be delivered to Lord Uunniore : — .
" I appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat ; if ever he came cold and hungry, and he clothed him not. Durhig the course of the last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his cabui, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, Logan is the friend of the white men. I have even thought to have lived with you, but for the iiijuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, murdered all the relations of Logan, even my women and children.
" There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature :- — this called on me for revenge. I have fought for it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. — For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace ; — but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He vviir not turn on his heel to save his life. — ^Vho is-therc to .mourn for Logan ? not one !" — Jefferson s Notes on Virginia.
P.- 161, 1. 10. The dark-attired Culdee. The Culdees were the primitive clergy of Scotland, and appa- rently her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery on the island of Zona, or Icolmkill, was the semmary of Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian ^\Titers have wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems to be established that they wcrc not enemies to Episcopacy ; — but that they were not slavishly sulv jected to Rome, like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting the Papal ordonnances respecting the ccliliacy of religious men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish canons.
304
P. 164, 1. 13. And the shield of alarm was dumb, Striking the sliield was an ancient mode of convocation to war among the Gael.
P. 170.
The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistiness had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Dracheiifels, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.
P. 177,1. 10. That erst the adventurous Norman wore,
A Nomian leader, in the service of the King of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and ft-ojn him the Campbells are sprung.
P. 207, 1. 11. Whose lineage, in a raptured hour, Alluding to the well-known tradition respecting the origin of painting, that it arose from a young Corinthian female tracing the shadow of her lover's profile on the wall, as he lay asleep.
P. 217, 1. 2. Where the Norman encamped him of old, Ml\at is called the East Hill, at Hastings, is crowned with tlic works of an ancient camp ; and it is more than probable it was the spot which William I. occupied between his landing and the battle which gave him England's crown. It is a strong position ; the works are easily traced.
P. 221, 1. 21.
France turns from her abandoned friends afresh,
The fact ought to be universally known, that France is at this
moment indebted to Poland for not being invaded by Russia.
When the Dnke Constantme fled from "Warsaw, he left papers
305
behind him proving that the Russians, after the Parisian events in July, meant to have marclied towards Paris, if the Polish insur- rection had not prevented them.
P. 230, 1. 19. Thee^ Ntemciewitz,
This venerable man, the most popular and influential of Polish poets, and president of the academy in ^Varsaw, is now in London : he is seventy-four years old ; but his noble spirit is i-ather mel- lowed than decayed by age. He was the friend of Fox, Kosciusko, and ^\'ashington. Rich in anecdote like Franklin, he has also a striking resemblance to him in countenance.
P. 231,1. 14.
Nor church-bell-
In Catholic countries you often hear the church-bells rung to propitiate Heaven during thunder-storms.
P. 243, 1. 12. Regret the lark that gladdens England's morn,
Mr. P. Cunningham, in his interesting work on New South ^Fales, gives the following account of its song-birds : — " We are not moved here with the deep mellow note of the blackbird, poured out from beneath some low stunted bush, nor thrilled with the wild warblings of the thrush jierched on the top of some tall sapling, nor channed with the blithe carol of the lark as we pro- ceed early a-field ; none of our birds rivalling those divine song- sters in realising the poetical idea of ' the music of the grove :' while ^parrots' chattering' must supply the place of ' nightingales' singing' in the future amorous lays of our sigliing Celadons. "\Ve have our lark, certainly, but both his appearance and note are a most WTetched parody upon the bird about which our English Poets have made so many fine similes. He Avill mount from the ground and rise, fluttering upwards in the same manner, and with a few of the starting notes of the English lark ; but, on reacliing the height of thirty feet or so, do^vn he drops suddenly and mutely, diving into concealment among the long gra^s, as if ashamed of his pitiful attempt. For the pert frisky robin, peckmg and jiatterhig against the windows in the dull days of winter, we have the lively ' superb warbler,' wth his blue shining plumage and his long tapering tail, pickuig up the crumbs at our dooi-s; while the pretty red-l)ills, of the size and form of the goldfinch, constitute
306
the spaiTow of our clime, flying in flocks about our houses, and building their soft doA\Tiy pigmy nests in the orange, peach, and lemon trees sun'ounding them." — Cunningham's Two Years in New South Wales, vol. ii. p. 216.
P. 253, 1. 28. Oh, feeble statesmen — ignominious times, There is not upon record a more disgusting scene of Russian hypocrisy, and (woe that it must be T\Titten !) of British humili- ation, than that wliich passed on board the Talavera, when British sailors accepted money from the Emperor Nicholas, and gave him cheers. It will require the Talavera to fight well mth the first Russian ship that she may have to encounter, to make us forget that day.
P. 266, 1. 3. A palsy-stroke of Nature shook Oran, In the year 1790, Oran, the most western city in the Algerine Regency, wliich had been possessed by Spain for more than a hundred years, and fortified at an immense expense, was destroyed by an earthquake ; six thousand of its inhabitants were buried under the mins.
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