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« ■ . •/• • - 

' - V . ■ 

\ ' • t9yiyox 









J/'i',A.. /^y. 





v^-- '■■■■ 

- ,>• 






Prvbce S 

It Veilcu PRorarr or Kbobauam . .10 

ltADl«l A^D TBB PttI . .88 

»t Fims WoBSBimu . • .47 

Kt Lioirr or tsb Hakam . .71 


D^i -atinn to th^ Marchiooett Dovagrr of Donegal . 94 
PrW.'ce to the First Complete Edition . . .94 

', vh'-re Gliry waiU tbee. . . .95 

AT SoQ^. RmtMDbrr the Glnrtei of Brien the Brare 9% 
I Q : th« Tear and the Smile in thine Eyet • • 9& 

-'. bri'i^the not hit Name . . . • .96 

b«r> he. who adoret tliee . • • .96 

Of II«rp ilut oiice through Tara's Halls . 96 

7 nflC y ft. . . . . • • . 9Q 

. think not vnj Spirit! are alwajs as light . 96 

(:•/ th« Last Ghmp^ cf Erin with sorrow I see • ^, 

^h and rare were the Gems she wore . . .97 

* i B^m o'er the Face of the Waters maj glow .97 . 

ce Mfre-inj: of the Waters . . • » W' 

:ov dear to me the Hour . . . .98 

aie:acl( the Virgin Page. Written on returning a 

b]«ok Book 9^ 

Vl^facy 99 

I •« od. has the Benshec cried . . .99 

^'e nur roam through this World . . .99 

tflfm's E^twer ....•• 100 
*i F.nn rrm«>mber the Days of old . . . 100 

V Sonf of Fionnuala • • .100 

(vt*. send rouitd the Wine . . . .101 

-tl tae waf th- Warning . .101 

> -^e me, if all those endearing young Charms . 101 

"..'UJ. oh Erin . * . . . . 10"2 

)mk to her 109 

h '. bl:ime not the Bard 102 

r:i;le raxing on the Moon's Li^t . • .103 

^Onra< ....... 103 

Wjr» f>e Battle 104 

l.ier the Battle . . . .104 

Hi ivret to think . . . . .104 

Pk ln»h Peasant to his Mistress . . . .105 

>3Mwic 105 

'. u Qot the Tear at this Moment shed . • .105 

i>.» Oria:-. «>/ the Harp . . . . .105 

x*e'i Yoimsr Dream .106 

rr.* Priae«-*« Day 10<» 

*'*r^ on. wf^ on . . . 107 

^t' a hath a beaming Eye . . . . .107 

*jv thr Form io youthful Prime . .107 

Iv tbtt Lake, whose gloomy Shore .106 

i>e ii Car from the Land .109 


Nay, tell me not, dear . . .108 

Avenging and bright • .109 

What the Bee is to the Floweret . . .100 

lA>ve and the Novice ' 109 

This Lire is all cliequer'd with Pleasures and Woes . 109 

Oh the Shamrock 110 

At the mid Hour of Night 110 

One Bumper at parting . .Ill 

'Tis the last Rose of Summer . . .Ill 

The younc May Moon . . .Ill 

The Minstrel Boy Ill 

The Song of O'Ruark, Prince of Breflbl . . .HI 

Oh ! had we some bright little Isle of our own . •HI 

Farewell ! — But wheneter you welcome the Hour . 113 
Oh! doubt me not . . . . . .113 

You remember Ellen . . . . .118 

I'd mourn the Hopes . • . • .113 

Come o'er tht* Sea . . . . . .114 

Has Sorrow thy young Days shaded . . .114 

No, not more welcome . . . . .114 

When first I met thee . . .115 

Wliile History's Muse 115 

The Time I've lost in wooing . . . ,116 

Where is the Slave . . . . . .lie 

Come, r««t in this Bosom . . . . .116 

*Tis gone, and for ever . . 1 16 

1- raw from the Beach . . . • .117 

Fill the Bumper fair 117 

Dear Harp of my Country . . . . .118 

My gentle Harp 1(8 

In the Morning of Life 11** 

As slow our Ship . . . . . .119 

When cold in the Earth 1 19 

Remember thee . . . . . 1 19 

Wreathe the Bowl 119 

Whene'er I see those smiling Eyes . • .130 

Ifthou'ltberaine . . . • . .120 

To Ladies' Eyes '«0 

Foryet not the Field I'l 

They majr rail at this L'fe . . • .HI 

Oh, for the Swords of former Time . • .HI 

St. Senanus and the Lady . . • • . IW 

Ne'er ask the Hour . . . • . I'ii 

Sail on, sail on . • • • .122 

The Parallel ^^ 

Drink of this Cup I® 

The Fortune-teller . . • ... 128 

Oh. ye Dead ! ...... 124 

O'Doiiohue's Mistress . • • • .124 

Echo ....-•••*** 

Oh banquet not . . • . '15 

Thee, thee, only thee . . • .125 

Shnll the Harp then, be silent .... 125 

Oh, the Sight entrancing 1* 

Sweet Innisfallen >* 

▲ 4 

alga It dm 

ul tt th* Fliu nd Second 

Third Moiibar ', '. ■'. 

iMw DoncRorDoBaiil pn- 

SeToiUi NDiBtnr' ' ' 


Air. ~ Tta* Beth or St. Mm- 

Jilalinf. (Biwlm Air.) 

.— Slghll.fl„Bi[l.o[lnut 



rn hi tbe nmleu RefreaU. (Alr.~-HMjda.) . 169 
lo than we. ( Air— StereniOD.) . .169 

iir God! Chorus of PrietU. (Air.— Mmart.) . 169 
r! oh purest! Saint Augustine to his Sister. 

r^Moore.) 1G9 

if Charity. (Air— Handel.) . .170 

the Sun. (Air — Lord Mornington.) . .170 

rbo fthall bear that Dar. (Air.-.Dr. Boyoe.) • 170 
ch me lo lore Thee. (Air.~Hajdn.) . . 171 

Children of Israel. (Air.— Stevenson.) . .171 

ominf, when her early Breese. (Air. — ^Beecho* 
.) • ...... 171 

fe di9c<niaoUte. (Air.— German.) . 171 

arise, thj Light la come. (Air.— Sterensoo.) . 172 
IB a bl^ak Desert. (Air—Creseentlni.) . . 172 

nt Tbj Word. (Air Nicholas Freeman.) . 173 

'tis the Brrezp. ( Air.— Rouaseaa) . .173 

is your Dwelling, ye sainted. (Air. — Hasse.) . 173 
iffltly mounts the Muse's Wing. (Air.— Ano- 
DOOS.)- ...... 173 

h to the Mount. (Air — Sterenson.) . 174 

t sveet to think, hereafter. (Air.— Haydn.) . 174 
(amst Babyloa. (Air.— Novelio.). . . 174 


raj^ical PrefMe • • • . •179 

ce 182 

agel'sScory . . . . .184 

Anfcel'a Story 188 

iogeTs Story 199 


«Ai(si.ATSi> i!rro DrousB vebsi, with notbi. 


tinn to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales 207 

4^m»ot 207 

rt the Odes 208 

• by the Translator . . .208 

ions of the preceding Ode, suggested by an 
nent Greek Scholar . . .209 

u on Anacreon ..... 209 


L I saw the smiling bard of pleasure . 214 

n. Give me the harp of epic song . . 214 

III. Listen to the Muse's lyre . . .215 

IV. Vulcan! hear your glorious task . . 215 
V. Sruiptor, wouldst thou glad my soul . 215 

VL As late I sought the spangled bowers . 216 

VII. The women tell me every day . 216 

rill. 1 care not for the idle state. . 216 

IX. 1 pray thee, by the gods above . • 217 

X- How am I to punish thee . . .217 

XI. " Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee " . 218 

Xll. They tell how Atys, wild with love . 218 

Llll. 1 will. I wiU, the conflict's past . 218 

LIV. Count me. on the summer trees . . 219 

XV. Tell nK», why, my sweetest dove . . 220 

XVL Thou, whose soft and rosy hues . . 221 

;VIL And now with all thy pencil's truth . 222 

I'llL Now the sUr of day is high . . 223 

LIX. Here redioe you, gentle maid . 224 

XX. One day the Muses twiu'd the hands . 224 
































LI I. 



























Observe when mother earth is dry 
The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm 
I often wish this languid lyre . . 

To all that breathe the air of heaven . 
Once in each revolving year 
Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms . 
We read the flying courser's name 
As, by his Lemnian forge's flame. 
Yes —loving is a painful thrill 
'Twas in a mocking dream of night 
Arm'd with hyacinthlne rod 
Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves 
'Twas noon of night, when round the pole 
Oh thou, of all creation blest 
Cupid once upon a bed 
If hoarded gold possess'd the power 
'Twas night, and many a circling bowl . 
Let us drain the nectar'd bowl • 
How I love the fysative boy . 
I know that heaven hath sent me here 
When Spring adorns the dewy scene 
Yes, be the glorious revel mine . 
While our rosy fillets shed . • 

Buds of roses, virgin flowers . . 

Within this goblet, rich and deep . • 

Behold, the young, the rosy Spring 
'Tis true, my fading years decline 
When my thirsty soul I steep 
When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 
When wine I quaff, before ray eyes 
Fly not thus my brow of snow 
Away, away, ye men of rules 
When 1 behold the festive train . 
Methinks, the pictur'd bull we see 
While we invoke the wreathed spring 
He, who instructs the youthful crew 
Whose was the artist hand that spread . 
When Gold, as fleet as cephyr's pinion . 
Ripen'd by the solar beam . . . 

Awake lo life, my sleeping shell . 
Youth's endearing charms are fled . 

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught . . 

To Love, the soft and blooming child 
Haste Ihee, nymph, whose well.aim'd 
spear . . . . . 

Like some wanton filly sporting . . 

To thee, the Qufen of nymphs divine 
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
Now Neptune's month our sky deforms . 
l^ey wove the lotus band to deck. 
A broken cake, with honey sweet . 
With twenty chords my lyre is hung 
Fare thee well, perfidious maid 
Awhile I bloom'd, a happy flower . • 

Monarch Love, resistless boy 
Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd 
Hither, gentle Muse of mine 
Would that I were a tuneful lyre. 
When Cupid sees how thickly now 





Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 
Let me resign this wretched breath 
1 know thou lov'st a brimming measure 
1 fear that love disturbs my rest . 
From dread Leucadia's frowning steep 
Mix me, child, a cup divine . . 


4 tale or Romance. . 

?ph Atkinson, E«q. . . 'iGO 

jre Exercitps . . 2GI 

t>nsecrating cause .2^1 

itch. Written for a friend . . 261 

le calumnies against her character 264 



















to some illlber.«l criticisms 

• ■ • • 

■• • • • 

ae manuscript Poems, on 


uring illness 


A Dream. To 


-, the morning 


po«ed to be written by Julin, on 
irother .... 

tiful Mi<K , in allusion to some 

ottery share. Impromptu . 271 

Follies" . . ■ . 

To Rosa 

Light rounds the Harp 
From the Greek of Mcleager 
Song .... 
The Resemblance 
Fanny, dearest 

The Ring. To . 

To the InTisible Girl 
The Ring. A Tale . 

To , on seeing her with 

rich girdle 
Written in tiie blank leaf of a lady's c 

To Mrs. Bl , written in her albi 

To Cara, after an interval of absence 
To Cara, on the dawning of a new y< 

To . 1801 . 

The Genius of Hurraony. An irregu 

I found her not— the chamber Keere'd 

To Mrs. Henry Tlghe, on reading hei 

From the High Priest of Apollo, to a 

Fragment .... 

A Night Thought . 

TlieKiss .... 


The Catalogue 

Imitation of Catullus to himself . 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 

Nonsense .... 

Bpigram, from the French . 

On a Squinting Poetess 


To Rosa .... 

ToPhillis .... 

To a Lady, on her singing . 

Song. On the birthday of Mrs V 

1799 ... . 

Song ..... 

Morality. A familiar epistle. Addre 
son, Esq. M.RI.A. 

The Tell-Ule Lyre . 

Peace and Glory. Written on the app 

Song ..... 

m DouodetlL (The Tyrolete Song 

le. (The CasUliaa Maid.) . . 402 




Bloom . . . . .403 

ig 403 

• •■••• 4tR» 

ly I meet .... 404 

vt 404 




lember'd now . . .405 

love thee? . • . .405 


that's gone .... 405 

. . . • • 406 


m Time . . . .406 




Ttlng 407 

at ftome wide Scene . 408 


lit Daughter . . .408 

..... 408 

he favour'd Ouett . . . 409 

Id 409 

I 409 

ly 409 


.... 410 


le ting and play . . .410 



ght 411 


ig 412 

• .«.•••» awevt Active . • 

Bright Moon . 

Long Yean have patted 

Dreaming for ever . 

Though lightly toundt the Song 

theAlpt.) • 

The Ruttian Lover . 
Ac night 
Fanny, dearett 
Song .... 
Song of the Poco>curante Society . 
Sovereign Woman. A Ballad 
Come, play me that simple Air agt 

What shall I ting Thee? To 

Gasel .... 
The Meeting of the Shipt . 
Hip, hip, hurra 1 . • 

Huith, iiuih . • . 

The Parting before the Battle 
The Watchmen. A Trio . 
Say, what shall we dance ? 
The Evening Gun . 


Occasional Epilogue, ipoken by Mr. 

racter uf Vapid, after the Play 

at the Kilkenny Theatre 
Extract Arom a Prologue written a 

Author, at the Opening of the 

October, 1809 
The Sylph't BaU 
Remontt ranee 
My Birth-day . 
Fancy . 

Trantlationa f^om CatuUuf . 
Tibullut to Sulpicia 
Imitatioa From the Franch 
Invitation to Dinner, addretted to L* 
Vertet to the Poet Crabbe*i Inkttax 

18S3 . • . • 

To Caroline, Viscounteti Valletort 


•• • 



AJbkevenlfled ..... 437 

OfetheDctthof aFricDd 437 

IW lM i iM Corry, Bsq., on his niAkinf me a PreMnt of* 

Wiw Strafaier 437 

o# a Character . .437 

and Quadrille . .488 

the Death of JoMph AtUmon. Eiq., of 

DeMin 439 

Aeiiai aod Crltictan .440 

T»Leir J«r**7, on beint aiked to write MMnething 

iDherAlbam 440 

Tiiht oiM, on loofcing throogh her Albom . 440 



Orifinal Pre&ee . . .445 

kB» L From ICIaa Biddy Fudge to Ifltt Dorothy «—. 

ofClookilcy, in Ireland .446 

lancr IL From Phil. Fudge, Eaq. to the Lord Vis- 

later II L From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard — -, Biq. 449 

Uncr IV. From Pheltm Connor to . 450 

Unv V. From Mias BSddj Fudge to Miaa Dorothy 


Uttrr TI. From Pha. Fudge, Eiq. to hla Brother Tfan 

Fudge, Eiq. Barrister at Law . .454 

Uucr VII. From Phelim Connor to — - . 456 
UOar VIII. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , 

Eiq. ....... 453 

Lstlcr IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to the Lord Vis- 

eoom C — St — r~gh . .460 

Utter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 


Letter XI. From Phellm Connor to —— . 466 

Lcrtcr XII. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 






Utter I. From Patrick Magan, Esq. to the Rer. 

I Richard , Curate of , in Ireland 

Utter II. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Mrs. ElUabeth 

Lner III. Fnm Miss Fanny Fudge to her Cousin, 
Mitt Kitty . Stanzas (inclosed) to my Sha- 
dow; or. Why? — What? — How? . 

Utter IV. From PaUick liagan. Esq, to the Rer. 
Ricnard—— ...... 

Utter V. From Larry 0*Branlgan, fai England, to 
his WiCB Jody.atMullinafad . . . . 

Utter VI. From Mias Biddy Fudge to Mrs. Elisabeth 





Utter VII L From Bob Fudge, Esq. to the Rer. Mor- 
timer 0*Mu!ligan . . .486 

Utter IX. From Larry O'Branigan to his Wife Judy 487 

Letter X. From the Rer. Mortimer O^MuUigan. to the 
Be*- 489 

UccCT XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rer. 


Utter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge to her Cousin, 
Misa Kitty . Irregular Ode 

Dedication. To Lord Byron 
Preface .... 
Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy 

Dream .... 
Fable II. The Looking-glasses . 
Fable 1 1 1. The Torch of Liberty 
Fable IV. The Fly and the Bullock 
Fable V. Church and State 
Fable VL The Little Grand Lama 
Fable VII. The Extinguishers . 
Fable VIII. Louis Fourteenth's Wig 

Alliance. A 




Preface . . . .509 

lutroductory Rhymes . . . .511 

Extract I. ...... . 612 

Extract II. ...... . 518 

Extract III. . . . . . . .518 

Extract IV. . . . , , .514 

Extract V 514 

Extract VI 515 

Rxtract VII 516 

Extract VIIL 517 

Extract IX sig 

Extract X. . . . . . .519 

Extract XI 519 

Extract XIL mO 

Extract XIII. 531 

Extract XIV. 533 

Extract XV. 594 

Extract XVL 625 


Preface ••...,, 529 
Corruption, and I.ntolekancb : Addreased to an Eng- 

libliraan by an Irishman .... 532 

Preface ••...,. 532 

Corruption ....... 533 

Intolerancr. a Satire ..... 538 

Appendix ....... 540 

The Sceptic, a Philosophical Satire . . .542 

Preface ....... 542 


By Thomas Brown, thb Youmobr. 

Dedication. To Stephen Woolriche, Esq. . . 546 

Preface . . . . . . .546 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a Friend of 

the Author . . . . . .547 

Intrrcbptbo Lbttbrb, ftc. 

I.BTTER L From the Pr— nc— ss Ch— rl— e of W— I— s 

to the Lady B— rb— a Auhl— y . . .548 

Lbttbr II. From Colonel M'M— h— n to G— Id Fr— n- 

c— s L— ckie, Esq. ..... 549 

Postscript . . . . . . .549 

Lbtter 111. From G— ge Pr.-ce R— gt to the E 

of Y th 650 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. P—tr— ck D— 

gen— o to the KiRht Hon Sir J— hn N— ch-1 . 551 
Letter V. From the Countexs Dowager of C— rk to 

Lady 551 


» FlumiuilFr . 


■ PoUlIc 

■■ ■" 

■ Idol.. 


-llrj . 


1. 1-lw 


IJc'lhlggu, ^ 

— ghii-j 


u(C^b-l_a . 





Lib. II 


•■-lutd V llU 



ntm«i bj Lord 



("Wli cnlted;" 

■ IL Lib. I. A Fn. 
urj Clerk, whil. , 

Totii pour li Trtp. .' 

How u wiito bj I 

Tflet-hfrrlt.. A. 
I 0.lBTOrl,iiWnodli 

j Wrlta ao. Btkn^S" 

TJii, BullutJu^ ' 
^" Ihl flurrTeiid - 

Vlbk . 
nlldpatlDn I 





Club 619 

t for « Gf lutcocracy. Addressed to a late 

cat MeecSng 930 

-0I-7 and 2;c Cecilia .631 

•nect 621 


ce of Bishops; or, tbo Episcopal Quadrille* A 

B 623 

• ■. A Character . . .623 

cd lUport of some late Speeches . 623 

sitioQS. A Dream .... G'i4 

Tury and the Comet. Founded on a late dls- 
nf Ind lent 634 

Hon. Ue&ry , to Lady Emma-»— . C25 

ofBigotrr . . . .636 

00 £rom the Gull Language . 636 
a Kcfbrm. By a Mudem Keforroer . . 6'i7 

dges 618 

le on Earth. First Visit . .628 

le en Earth. Second Vi»it . 6':9 

1 on Tar Barrels .630 
mitafion .630 
^. Ch— rl— a Ot— rt— D, Curate of Romald- 


n a play, actod at Oxford, called " Matrlcula- 


MCase 632 

xadise. Drcnm the First .633 

tor and his Curate ; or. One Found Two . 633 
Vetuaorpbosls .633 

n Church Beibrm. Founded upon some late 
ilanoos . . . .634 

iDfi Automates ..... 634 

take One's Self a Feer. According to the netn;- 
tceipt, a« discloicd in a late Heraldic Work . fi-Vi 
e IS the Lad ..... (i.l6 

cm Erasmus on Earth to Cicero in the Shades 636 

the Departure of Lords C — st — — r— gb and 

r— rt for the Continent .... 637 

lip in which Lord C — st — r — gh tailed for the 
nent . . . .638 

the First Act of a new Romantic Drama . 63S 
[aenetism ...... Ci39 

of the Box .640 

ment of a New Thalaba. Addresned to Robert 
•■y, Esq. ...... rt40 

•ics^ An Extrivagania . .641 

iCalcaman. By a Tory .... 643 

Nn Larry O'Brani^an to the Rev. Murtagh 
itfv^n . . . . . .643 


Musings of an Unreformed Peer .... M3 

The Rererend Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad . 643 

A Recent Dialogue ...... 644 

The Wellington Spa 644 

A Character ....... 644 

A Ghost Story ...... 64& 

Thoughts on the late destructive Propositions of the 

Tories. By a Commou-CouncUman . . . 616 
Anticipated Meetiug of the British Association in the 

Year 2836 646 

Songs of the Church. No. I. . . . .647 

Epistle from Henry of Ex— t — r to John of Tuam . 648 

Song of Old Puck 648 

Police Reports. Case of Imposture . . 649 
Refl(H:tions. Addressed to the Author of the Article on 

the Church in Last Kumt«r of Quarterly Reriew . 650 
Kew Grand Exhibition nf Models of the two Houses of 

Parliament ...... 651 

Announcement of a new grand Acceleration Company 

for the Promotion of the Speed of Literature . 651 

Some Account of the* litte Dinner to Dan . . 653 
New Hospital for Sick Litorati .653 

Religion and Trade . . 6.%3 
Musingo, suggested by the late Promotion of Mrs. Nc- 

thercoat ....... 6.'>4 

Intended Tribute to the Author of an Article in the last 

Number of the Quart«>rly Review, entitled ** Ro* 

manism in Ireland " ..... 654 

Grand Dinner of Type and Co. A poor Poet's Dream 6Aft 

Church Extension ...... 656 

Latest Accounts from Olympus .... 656 

The Triumphs of Farce . .667 

Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs, and other IVJattrrs. In an 

Epistle from T. M. to S. 11. . . . 65H 
Thoughts on iMlschief. By Lord St-nl— y. (Hi» first 

Attempt in Ver«e) ..... (WO 

Epistle from Captain Rock to LonI I ndh— t . . 6.M> 

Captain Rock In Loudon. Lrttt>r fmin the Captain to 

Terry Alt, Esq. . . . . .660 

Preface . . . . . 

Dedication, to Lord John Russell 

. 66:) 
. 665 

ALCIPHRON: a Fraombnt 

Geniral Indkz 

. 7-5 
. 739 




It wm aboat tbe year 1812 that, impelled 
, iu more bj the encouraging gaggestions of 
I friends than impelled b j anj confident prompt- 
ii|i of mj own ambition, I was induced to 
iitempt a Poem upon some Oriental subject, 
asd (xf those quarto dimensions which Scott*8 
I late triumphs in that form had then rendered 
' tbe regular poetical standard. A negotiation 
OQthe subject was opened with the Messrs. 
LADgman in the same jear, but, from some 
causes which have now escaped mj rec*o1Iection, 
kd to no decisive result ; nor was it till a year 
or two after, that any further steps were taken 
in tbe matter, — their house b^g the only 
ooe, it is right to add, with which, frt}m first 
to last, I held any communication upon tbe 

On this last occasion, an old friend of mine, 

Mr. Perry, kindly ofiered to lend me the aid of 

bis advice and presence in the interview which 

I was about to hold with the Messrs. Longman, 

i»T the arrangement of our mutual terms; and 

what with the friendly zeal of my negotiator 

r« tbe one side, and the prompt and liberal 

eptrit with which be was met on tbe other, 

tWe has seldom occurred any transaction in 

wikrh Trade and Poesy have shone out so 

adrantageously in each other*s eyes. The 

«bnrt discussion that then took place, between 

tbe two parties, may be comprised in a very 

firw sentences. '* I am of opinion," said Mr. 

Peny, — enforcing bis view of tbe case by 

arpimenta which it is not for me to cite, — 

" that Mr. Moore ought to receive for bis Poem 

the largest price that has been given, in our 

<i«T, for such a work." ** That was," answered 

'U Messrs. Longman,** three thousand guineas." 

' Exactly so," replied Mr. Perry, ** and no less 

1 nun ought be to receive." 

It was then objected, and very reasonably. 


la Ikt fttllwttrt •dWoa of ten 

on the part of the firm, that they had never 
yet seen a single line of tbe Poem; and that a 
perusal of the work ought to be allowed to 
them, before they embarked so large a sum in 
the purchase. But, no ; — tbe romantic view 
which my friend. Perry, took of the matter, 
was, that this price should be given as a tribute 
to reputation already acquired, without any 
condition for a previous perusal of the new 
work. This high tone, I must confess, not a 
little startled and alarmed me; but, to tbe 
honour and glory of Romance, — as well on 
tbe publisher *s side as the poet's, — this very 
generous view of tbe transaction was, without 
any difficulty, acceded to, and tbe firm agreed, 
before we separated, that I was to receive three 
thousand guineas for my Poem. 

At tbe time of this agreement, but little of 
the work, as it stands at present, had yet been 
written. But tbe ready confidence in my suc- 
cess shown by others, made up for the deficiency 
of that requisite feeling, within myself; while 
a strong desire not wholly to disappoint this 
" auguring hope," became almost a substitute 
for inspiration. In the year 1815, therefore, 
having made some progress in my task, I wrote 
to report the state of the work to the Messrs. 
Longman, adding, that I was now most willing 
and ready, should they desire it, to submit the 
manuscript for their consideration. Their 
answer to this offer was as follows : — *' We are 
certainly impatient for the perusal of the Poem; 
but solely for our gratification. Your senti- 
ments are always honourable." * 

I continued to pursue my task for another 
year, being likewise occasionally occupied with 
the Irish Melodies, two or three numbers of 
which made their appearance, during the period 
employed in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, 
in tbe year 1816, 1 found my work sufficiently 

• Ainil 10, ltI5. 
B 2 

ereiore, that, under such circum- 
should act but honestly in putting it 
rer of the Messrs. Longman to re- 
be terms of their engagement with 
ng them free to postpone, modify, 
ouid such be their wish, relinquish it 

I wrote them a letter to that effect, 

red the following answer: "We 

>st happy in the pleasure of seeing 
►ruary. We agree with you, indeed, 
les are most inauspicious for * poetry 
inds;* but we believe that your 
Jd do more than that of any other 
at the present moment." • 
fth of time I employed in writing 
ries strung together in Lalla Rookh 
. to some persons, much more than 
ry for the production of such easy 
o'love " fictions. But, besides that 
, at all times, a far more slow and 

workman than would ever be 
fear, from the result, I felt that, 
ince, I had taken upon myself a 
ordinary responsibility, from the 
ke risked by others on my chance 

For a long time, therefore, after 
jnt had been concluded, though 
work with a view to this task, I 
ry little real progress in it, and I 
y me the beginnings of several 

A> fthines, Iq hea 
Thmt leaves iu owx 
To shoot to distant 

" It cornea, it oomei 

And {Mutiny to Mo 

Then, down upon t! 

Beclines to see the ' 

With partly Joy am 

To And its wondrou 

And hiding oft hU < 

Among the flowers • 

* • • 

Within the boat a b 

Like a young pearl 

While one, who se 

But not of earth, ( 

Her watch beside th 

Oraceftilly waring. 

The feathers of soi 

With which, from 

The fragrant air, ani 

The baby's brow, or 

The butterflies tha 

As on the mountain! 

Around the sleepiu 

And now the fairy Ix 
Beaidc the banlc^thi 
Iler golden anchor in 
» » • 

A song is sung by t 
of which the following 

My child she Is but h 

Her father sleeps in tl 

8ea-weeds twl 

His funeral sh 

But he liTes again in 1 

Fain would I fly from 

To my own sweet be 

But there, the flowers 

For the eyes of a bal 

On flowers of earth hei 

So hither my light-v 

Stranger, spreii 

Thy Icaflest bet 

To rest the wandering 


BMwhc niflit iM th« worldly maile 
Itat hirk'd beneath her rril. the while :— 
AOmtoMdl for. who would w&it 
Her Mewiiit at the teinple't gate,— 
What holy man would erer nin 
l^kki the ground ihe kaclt upon, 
Ttamem, by hxkleei ehanee, he knew 
She look'd and imil*d ai othen do. 
Herhaade were joined, and fhmieadiwritl 
By tkraada of pcwi and golden twi«k 
Hung rcUea of tile Mints of yore. 
And scrape of taliemanie lore,— 
Channs for the old, the dek, the ftraU, 
Some made for ate, and all for tale. 
Ob either eide. the crowd withdrew. 
To let the Saint paei proudly through i 
While turban'd heads, of every hue, 
Oreen. white, and crinoeon, bow'd around. 
And gay tiaras touched the ground,— 
As tultiHbells, when o*er their beds 
The mnak-wind passes, bend their heads. 
Kay. Mjme there were, among the crowd 
Of afoslcm heads tiiat round her bow'd, 
80 fiU'd with seal, by many a draught 
Of 6hirax wine proAuiely qnalTd. 
That, sinking low in rerereoce then. 
They nercr rose till mom again. 

There are jet two more of these unfinished 
letcbes, one of which extends to a much 
-^ter length than I was aware of; and, as 
r as I can judge from a hasty renewal of my 
t^uaintance with it, is not incapable of being 
t tamed to account. 

Jo only one of these unfinished sketches, the 
le of The Peri's Daughter, had I yet ventured 
inroke that most home-felt of all my inspir- 
Kins, which has lent to the story of The 
rv- worshippers its main attraction and in- 
rest. That it was my intention, in the cou- 
pled Prince of Ormuz, to shadow out souic 
ip^rsonation of this feeling, I take for granted 
'tm the prophetic words supposed to be ad- 
-«ssed to him by his aged guardian : — 

Bright ehlld of destiny ! eren now 
I read the prtMnise on that brow. 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The iiloTiet of the Green- Sea Icle, 
But Orm< z shall a«ain be fVve, 
And hail her natire Lord in thee t 

In none of the other fragments do I find any 
ice of this sort of feeling, either in the siib- 
!et or the personages of the intended story ; 
ad this was the reason, doubtless, though 
irdly known, at the time, to myself, that, 
ndii^ my subjects so slow in kindling my 
irn sympathies, I began to despair of their 
rer touching the hearts of others; and felt 
ften inclined to say, 

** Oh no. I hare no Toiee or hand 
For such a song, in such a land.** 

fmki Luinntof 

Had this series of disheartening experiments 
been carried on much further, I must have 
thrown aside the work in despair. But, at 
last, fortunately, as it proved, the thought 
occurred to me of founding a story on the 
fierce struggle so long maintained between 
the Ghebers *, or ancient Fire- worshippers of 
Persia, and their haughty Moslem masters. 
From that moment, a new and deep interest in 
my whole task took possession of me. The 
cause of tolerance was again my inspiring 
theme ; and the spirit that had spoken in the 
melodies of Ireland soon found itself at home 
in the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of the 
workshop to account for the time expended in 
writing this work, I must also, in justice to my 
own industry, notice the pains I took in long 
and laboriously reading for it. To form a store- 
house, as it were, of illustration purely Oriental, 
and so familiarise myself with its various trea- 
sures, that, as quick as Fancy, in her airy 
spiri tings, required the assistance of fact, the 
memory was ready, like another Ariel, at her 
" strong bidding," to furnish materials for the 
spell-work, — such was, for a long while, the 
sole object of my studies; and whatever time 
and trouble this preparatory process may have 
cost me, the effects resulting from it, as far as 
the humble merit of truthfulness is concerned, 
have been such as to repay me more than sufli- 
ciently for my pains. I have not forgotten how 
great was my pleasure, when told by the late 
Sir James Mackintosh, that he was once asked 
by Colonel Wilks, the historian of British 
India, " whether it was true that Moore had 
never been in the East?" "Never," answered 
Mackintosh. " Well, that shows me," replied 
Colonel Wilks, " that reading over D'Herbelot 
is as good as riding on the back of a camel." 

I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech, 
that although I)*Herbelot*s valuable work was, 
of course, one of my manuals, I took the whole 
range of all such Oriental reading as was acces- 
sible to me ; and became, for the time, indeed, 
far more conversant with all relating to that 
distant region, than I have ever been with the 

oT^ Lee Ou»bi«s," written with a slml- his Flre-wonhippers Into Jansenists :_" Qnelques flguristes,* 
was accused of having transftwmed , 8ay«,"prHcndentqoelesOofbressont les Jansenistes." 

B 3 



in 9uch welcome tributes as I have 

nor can I deny myself the gratifica- 

g a few more of the same descrip- 

another distinguished authority on 

jects, the late Sir John Malcolm, I 

;he pleasure of hearing a similar 

icly expressed; — that eminent per- 

•emarked, in a speech spoken by 

erary Fund Dinner, that together 

ualities of the poet which he much 

assigned to me was combined also 

>f the historian." 

m Ouseley, another high authority, 

testimony to the same effect, thus 

Lception to the general accuracy 

gives me credit : — " Dazzled by 

of this composition *, few readers 

, and none surely can regret, that 

his magnificent catastrophe, has 

boldly and most happily violated, 

>f Zoroaster, above noticed, which 

us to consume any portion of a 

by fire, especially by that which 

their altars.** Having long lost, 

of my Eastern learning, I can 

iefence of my catastrophe, an old 

ition, which relates that Nimrod, 

m refused, at his command, to 

re, ordered him to be thrown into 

the flames.f A precedent so 

&.«>* V« « VCkli ' 

xcttcueu x>n\ 

improbable from a pai 
Mr. Frazer, who says, 1 
some time at a town on 
pian, he was lucky enou 
himself with a copy of 
Persian had lent him.** 

Of the description of 
and the Peri,** Mr. Cari 
the East, thus speaks : ** 1 
Rookh of the plain and 
faithful. The minaret i 
at hand, and there want 
cry to break the silence. 

I shall now tax my 
but one more of thes4 
Whatever of vanity theri 
tributes, they show, at lea 
even in poetry, is that pre 
since, as the reader of t 
now fully apprised, it 
laborious collection of sm 
foundations of this fancifi 

The friendly testimonj 
to, appeared, some yean 
which I now give it, and, 
the Athenseum : — 

^ I embrace this oppoi 
individual testimony (if i 
the extraordinarv ar.c.nm 

taf llie people to which and to whom 
bied; I enjojed also the exquieite 
J reading hit Lalla Rookh, in Fersia 
sd I hare perused the Epicurean, while 
a^otlectiotu of Egjpt oud its etiU exist- 
Jen are as &e«h as when I quitted the 
if the l^ile for Arabia: — I owe it, 
e, OB a debt of gratitude (though the 
: is most inadequate), for the great 
I have derived from his productions, 
mj humble testimooj to their local 

"J. S.B." 

g tbe incidents connected with this 
must not omit to notice the splendid 
•ement, founded upon it, which was 

the Cbitcau Bo^al of Berlin, during 

of the Grand Duke Nicholas to that 
D tbe jear 1 8-23. The dUTerent stories 
ig the work were represented in Ta- 
Vivana and longi; and among the 
r lojal and noble personages engaged 
Tfonnancei, I shall menlion those only 
relented the priocipsi characters, and 

Bad thus enumerated in the published 

of the Divert isscmeDt.* 

ea tbe«e and other leading personages, 
ere also brought into action, under the 
denominations of Seif^eurs ct Diunes 
larie. Dames de Cachcmlrc, Seigneurs 
Les dansaos k la Fete dcs Hoses, &c. 
iSO persons. 
Le manner and stjie in which the Ta- 

bleaux of the different stones are described in 
the work from which I cite, the following 
account of the performance of Paradise and the 
Peri will aSbrd some specimen: — 

"La decoration representolt les portes bril- 
lantea du Paradis, entour^es de nuagef. Dans 
le premier tableau on vojoit la F£ri, trist' 
deaol^e, couchce sur le aeuil dcs porteg lenndes, 
et I'Ange de lumiire qui lui addresse des ct 
solations et des conseils. Le second reprcsente 
le moment, oil la Fcri, dans I'espoir que ce don 
lui ouvrira Tcntr^e de Paradis recuciile la der- 
nierc goutte de nong que vient de verser 
jeune guerricr Indicn 

''' La F£ri et I'Ange de lumiisre repondoii 
pleinement tk rimagcet k I'idfe qu'on est tent^ 
de se faire de ces deux individua, et I'impression 
qu'a fuite gcniTolemcat la suite des tableanx 
de ect Episode delicat et iut^ressant est loin de 
s'effacer de ootre souvenir." 

In thij grand Fete, it appears, originated 
the translation of Lalla Aookh into German 
verse, bj the Baron de la Motte Fouquf ; and 
the circumstances which led him to undertake 
the task, are described by himself, in a Dedi- 
catory Poem to the Empress of Russia, whith 
he has prefixed to his translation. As soon as 
the peiformance, he tell us, had ended, Lalla 
Rookh (the Empress herself) exclaimed, with 
a sigh, "Is it, then, all overP are we now at 
the close of all that has given us so much de- 
light ? and lives there no poet who will impart 
to others, and to future times, some notion of 
the happiness we have enjoyed this ercningF" 
On hearing this a]>peal, a Knight of Cachmere 
(who is no other than the poetical Baron him- 
self) comes forward and promises to attempt to 
present to the world "the Poem itself in the 
measure of the original:" — whereupon Lalla 
Rookh, it is added, approvingly smiled. 

Jfoy 19, 1817. 



th jear of the reign of Annmgaebe, 
; of the Lesser Bncharia, a lineal 
"om the Great Zingis, having abdi- 
tne in favonr of his son, set oat on 
to the Shrine of the Prophet ; and, 
India through the delightful valley 
rested for a short time at Delhi on 
was entertained by Aurungzebe in 
^nifioent hospitality, worthy alike of 
1 the host, and was afterwards es- 
e same splendour to Surat, where he 

Arabia.' During the stay of the 
1 at Delhi, a marriage was agreed 
the Prince, his son, and the youngest 
he Emperor, Luxa Bookh' ; — a 
ibed by the poets of her time as 

than Leila", Shirine^ Dewilde*, or 
heroines whose names and loves 
ongs of Persia and Hindostan. It 
that the nuptials should be cele- 
imere; where the young King, as 
ties of empire would permit, was 
le first time, his lovely bride, and, 
lonths* repose in that enchanting 
t her over the snowy hills into 

Lalla Bookh*8 departure firom 

Delhi was as splendid at 
could make it. The bi 
covered with the richei 
gilded barges upon the 
banners shining in the ^ 
streets groups of beautif 
the most delicious flowers 
festival called the Scatti 
every part of Uie city ' 
caravan of musk from K] 
it. The Princess, having 
father, who at parting hn 
round her neck, on whic 
from the Koran, and ha^ 
present to the Fakirs, wl 
Lamp in her sister's ton 
palankeen prepared for I 
zebe stood to take a last I 
procession moved slowly < 

Seldom bad the Easten 
so superb. From the ga 
the Imperial palace, it wi 
splendour. The gallant a 
and Mogul lords, distingv 
of the Emperor's favour ^ 
of Cashmere in their turba 
rimm'd kettledrums at the 
— the costly armour of tl: 
on this occasion, with the g 
Khan", in the brightness o 


ttd tbe maminem of their maces of gold;'tbe glit- 

vsmz of the gik pine-apples * on the tope of the 

pdbnkeens; the embroidered trappings of the 

cirphants, bearing on their backs smaD turrets, in | 

iht fhape of little antiqne temples, within which , 

die Ladies of Lalla Kookh laj as it were en- 

ikrined; — the roee-colonred veils of the Princess's 

QVTi fampcnons htter*, at the front of which a fair 

mnz female slare sat fanning her through the 

CDtains with feathers of the Argns pheasant^s 

*iB::'; — and the loyehr troop of Tartarian and 

CaEhmerian maids of honour, whom the young 

iJBf bad sent to accompany his bride, and who 

nde on each side of the htter, upon small Arabian 

kQ(v«: — an was brilliant, tasteful, and magnifi- 

ant. and pleased eren the critical and fastidious 

FiTLADEE^, Great Nazir or Chamberlain of the 

HnuB, who was borne in his palankeen imme- 

ittehr after the Princess, and considered himself 

IOC the least important personage of the pageant. 

nr was a judge of everything, — from 
in pencilling of a Circassian's eyelids to the deep- 
M qnestions of science and literature ; from the 
■ixtiire of a conserve of rose-leaves to the com- 
foaxion of an epic poem : and such influence had 
ku opinion upon the various tastes of the day, 
thai all the cooks and poets of Delhi stood in awe 
of him. His political conduct and opinions were 
foanded opun that line of Sadi, — ** Should the 
Prince at noon-day say. It is night, declare that 
Toa behold the moon and stars." — And his zeal 
far religion, of which Aurungzebc was a muniti- 
eent protector\ was about as disinterested as that 
of the ^Idsmith who fell in love with the dixunond 
ercs of the idol of Jaghcmaut.* 

tttuM. He 

warn Mloved bjr an tq^oal mnnber bMriiur mace* 
I A greai patron of poetry, and It waa he who used 
p«bUe czeroMs of gcniut, with four badna of iruld 
- by klra to distribute amonc tlie poet* who excelled."— 
I'a Dheertatlun preSzcd to his Dictionary. 
I ' Iht ksMeh, a larsc golden knob, cenerally In the shape of a 
litaa-applB. OB the top of the eanopy over the litter or palanquin."— 
fair's 5«lee oa the Bahardanndi. 
* b Hm Poem of Zohsir. In the Moallakat. there la the following 
of** a company of maidens seated on camels." 
ited In earriaces oorered with eostly awniiurs, 
[ wHh raae-«olowed vcUa, tha lininci of whieh hare the hue of 

i from the bosom of the Tale, they sit forward 
• Ak saddle-ckxh. with ereiy mark of a Toluptuoua gaiety. 

'Ve*. when they iMiTe reached the brink of yon blue-ffuahlng 
tftilct. tkey tx tbe poles of their tents like the Arab with a aettled 

IttndtT^a diaerfptSoo of the attendants on Rauchanara- 
, in her p i utm a to Cashmere. 
• TUi hypoedtSeal Emperor woold have made a worthy associate 
at ecnahi Holy Leacoe*.— " He held the cloak of religion (aayn 
Dsv: b e tw ee n his aetioais and the TuUrar ; and Impiously thanked 
tte DMMty tar a sneeeas which he owed to his own wickedness. 
WbcB Iw wae mvdcfinic and persecntinc his brothers and their 
i^rdea. he wae bolldinc a ntacnifleent nMMqne at Delhi, as an 
to God for his aasiatsnce in him in the civil wars. He 
1 as hick prtast at the c o nsecr a tion of this temple i and made 
ef attcnttnc dhinc eerrtre there. In tbe humble dress of 
%Jtkmt. Bol when he lifted OM hand to thaDiTinlty, he. with 

During the first days of their journey, Lalla 
SooKH, who had pa.<)sed all her life within the 
shadow of the Royal Gardens of Delhi *, found 
enough in the beauty of the scenery through which 
they passed to interest her mind, and delight her 
imagination; and when at evening, or in the heat 
of the day, they turned off from the high road to 
those retired and romantic places which had been 
selected for her encampments, — sometimes on the 
banks of a small ri>nilct, as clear as the waters of 
the Lake of Pearl ' ; sometimes under the sacred 
shade of a Banyan tree, from which the view 
opened upon a glade covered with antelopes ; and 
often in those hidden, embowered spots, described 
by one from the Isles of the West*, as " places of 
melancholy, delight, and safety, where all the 
company around was wild peacocks and turtle- 
doves;" — she felt a charm in these scenes, so 
lovely and so new to her, which, for a time, made 
her indifferent to every other amusement. But 
Lalla Rookh was young, and the young love 
variety ; nor could the conversation of her Ladies 
and the Great Chamberlain, Fadladeen, (the only 
persons, of course, admitted to her pavilion,) 
sufiicicntly enliven those many vacant hours, which 
were devoted neither to the pillow nor the palan- 
keen. There was a little Persian slave who sung 
sweetly to the Vina, and who, now and then, lulled 
the Princess to sleep with the ancient ditties of 
her country, a])out the loves of Wamak and Ezra*, 
the fair-haired Ztil and his mistress Rodahver '• ; 
not forpettinp the combat of Knstam with the ter- 
rible White Demon." At other times she was 
amused by those graceful dancing-girls of Delhi, 
who had been pemiittcd by the Bramins of the 
Great Pagoda to attend her, much to the horror of 

the other, slimed warrants for the aasasaination of hia relations.**— 
HiMtory of HimUtrtan, vol. iii. p. 33&. See alao the curioua letter of 
AuruiiKzebe, Kiven in the Oritntal CtJltctuma, vol. i. p. 3:ro. 

A "The idul at Jashemat haa two tine diamoiida for ryea. No 
goldiinlth ia autlbred to enter the Paicoda. one having stole one of 
theae eyea, being locked up all night with the idol."— rmvrNtrr. 

* See a deacription of these ruyal Gardena in " An Account of 
the prvsent state of Delhi, by Lieut. W. Franklin."— yl«iu<. Re- 
»enrrh. vol. iv. p. 417. 

7 " In the neighbourhood ia Nottc Gill, or the Lake of Pearl, 
which recelTea thla name from ita pellucid water."— /'rniwiN/'a 

** Naair Jung encamped in the vicinity of the Lake of Tnnoor, 
amused himself with sailing on that clear and bcautiftil water, and 
gave it the fanciftil name of Motee Talah. * the Lake of Pearls/ 
which it still retains."— H'l/Ia's South of India. 

• Sir Thomas Koe. Arabaasador from Jamca I. to Jehangiilre. 

» " The romance Wemakweazra, writtvn in Persian verae. which 
eontaina the lovea of Wamak and Ezra, two celebrati*d lovera wlio 
lived before the time of Mahomet."— Vf»r< on the Oriental Tnlrs. 

!• Their amour ia recounted in tht- Sliah-NamAh of Ferdousl t 
and there ia much beauty in the passage which deacribea the alaves 
of Rodahver aitting on the bank of the river and throwing flowers 
into the stream. In order to draw the attention of the young Hero 
who ia encamped on the opposite aide.— i>ee Champion'* trans- 

II Ruatam is the Hercules of the Persians. For the particulars 
of hia victory over the Sepecd Dceve, or White Demon, ace Oriental 

CoHectiims. vol. ii. p. 45 Near the city of Shinius ia an immense 

quadrangular monument, In eonuncmorAtion of this combat, 

. .^ W^^A*»%/A*V^ 

3 of being admitted to the pavilion of 
}, that he might help to begoile the 
of the joumoy bj some of his most 
citals. At the mention of a poet. Fad- 
ated his critical ejebrows, and, having 
i faculties with a dose of that delicious 
;h is distilled from the black poppy of 
, gave orders for the minstrel to be 
Toduced into the presence. 

ess, who had once in her life seen a 

ehind the screens of gauze in her 

and had conceived from that specimen 

•urable ideas of the Caste, expected 

his new exhibition to interest her ; — 

led, however, to alter her opinion on 

appearance of Febamobz. He was 

t lIlla Rookh's own age, and grace- 

lol of women, Chrishna ', — such as 

) their joung imaginations, heroic, 

ithing music from his very eyes, and 

religion of his worshippers into love. 

simple, yet not without some marks 

and the Ladies of the Princess were 

iscovering that the cloth, which en- 

^h Tartarian cap, was of the most 

hat the shawl*goats of Tibet supply.* 

e, too, over his vest, which was con- 

rered girdle of Kashan, hung strings 

lisposed with an air of studied neg- 

•Deer Sepeed, or Cactle of tha White Oiaat, 
!lo, in his OMophilaciom Penlcam, p. llj^de- 
thc most memorable monument of antiquity 
n Penia — See Oiweiey'i Persian Misocllanics. 
r the idol, m dandng girls of the Pacuda, have 
istened to their ileet, the soft harmonious tink- 
M in unison with tlie exquisite melody of their 

Au uie gardens of the 
premised, with much 1 
was about to relate was 
of that Veiled Prophet 
year of the Hegira 1 63, c 
out the Eastern Empire 
Princess, and thus bega 


In that delightful Provii 
The first of Persian land 
Where all the loveliest c 
Flowerets and fruits, blui 
And, fairest of all strean 
Among M£Bon*s * bright 
There on that throne, to 
Of miUions raised him, sa 
The Great Mokanita. ( 
The Veil, the SUver Veil 
In mercy there, to hide fi 
His dazzling brow, till mi 
For, far less luminous, hit 
Were ev'n the gleams, mi 
O'er Moussa's • cheek ", 

All glowing from the pre 

the darllnff Ood of the Indian 
Oods of Oreeoe, Italy, and India. 
* See Turner'B Embassy for a • 
most beantifkil among the whole 
Ibr the shawls (which b carried 



ide, with ready hearts and hands, 
lard of bold Believers stands ; 
''d disputants, who deem their swords, 
fiftith, more eloquent than words ; 
ir zeal, there's not a jonth with brand 
e, but, at the Chiers command, 
his own deroted heart its sheath, 
B lips that doom*d so dear a death I 
the Caliph's hne of night,* 
s, helms and all, is snowj white ; 
OS Tarions — some equipped, for speed, 
I of the light Kathaian reed ; * 
•offalo horn and shining quivers 
e stems' that bloom onlsAM's rivers;^ 
for war's more terrible attacks, 
ige mace and pond*rons battle-axe ; 
wave aloft in morning's beam 
ite plomage of their helms, they seem 
iT-tree grove* when winter throws 
ifted heads his feath'ring snows. 

he porphyry pillars, that uphold 
resque-work of the roof of gold, 
j-am's cnrtain'd galleries rise, 
:gh the silken network, glancing eyes, 
3 time, like sudden gleams that glow 
itomn clouds, shine o'er the pomp 

us tongue, ye blushing saints, would 

mght but Heav'n hath plac'd you there ? 
tores of this light world could bind, 
;s chain, your Prophet's soaring mind? 
^fiil thought ! — commissioned from 

den's bowers with shapes of love, 

bright, that the same lips and eyea 
m earth will serve in Paradise,) 
Hne among Heav'n's native maids, 
he' Elect with bliss that never fades — 
le Prophet-Chief his bidding done; 
eauteous race beneath the sun, 

rho kneel at Brailm a's burning founts,* 
h nymphs bounding o'er ITemen's 


a's eyes of full and fawn-like ray, 

[, half-shut glances of KA.TiiAr ; ' 

tt eoloor adopted by the Caliphs of the House of 
farroents, tnrbana, and rtaodards. — ** II faut 
jchant let halnta blancs des disciples de Hakcm, 
» habits, des ouitRires et des ^tendarts des Khaliftrs 
a noire, oe chef de Rebellcs ne pouvoit pas choisir 
Ins oppose."— />7/er6c2o(. 
avelins, ex<iuisitelr wrought of Khathaian reeds, 
rm»t.''~-Fotm qfAmru. 

1 azteiently for arrows bj the Persians. 

a eall this plant Gas. The celebrated shaft of 
their aoeient licroes, was made of it — ** Nothing 
Btifbl than the appearance of this plant In flower 
I oa the banks of rivers, where it is usually inter- 
reljtwininf aiclepias."-^(r W. Jioiics, Botanical 
Select Indian Plants. 
plane. ** The chcnar b a delightftil tree i Its bol« 

And Geoboul's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, 

And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles; 

All, all are there ; — each Land Its flower hath 

To form that faur young Nursery for Heav'n! 
But why this pageant now? this arm'd array? 
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day 
With turban'd heads, of ev'ry hue and race. 
Bowing before that vcil'd and awful face. 
Like tulip-beds*, of diff 'rent shape and dyes. 
Bending beneath the' invisible West-wind's sighs I 
What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine. 
What dazzling mimickry of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour? 

Not such the pageant now, though not less proud ; 
Ton warrior youth, advancing from the crowd. 
With silver bow, with belt of broidcr'd crape, 
And fur-bound bonnet of Buchanan shape,' 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
Like war's wild planet in a summer sky; 
That youth to-day, — a proselyte, worth hordes 
Of cooler spirits and less practis'd swords, — 
Is come to join, all bravexy and belief, 
The creed and standard of the heav'n-sent Chief. 

Though few his years, the West already knows 
Young Azim's fame ; — beyond the* Olympian snows 
Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd in fight, and captive to the Greek,** 
He linger'd there, till peace dissolv'd his chains ; — 
Oh, who could, ev'n in bondage, tread the plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes, 
Could walk where liberty had been, nor see 
The shining foot-prints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air, 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there? 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd the' awak'ning spell ; 
And now, returning to his own dear land. 
Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand. 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of human 

Of men to Gods exalted and refin'd, — 

is of a fine white and smooth bark ; and its foliavre, which growi in 
a tufl at the summit, is of a bri(rht Kreen."—J[f orirr'j Travels. 

* The bnminji; fountains of Brahma near ChitUvong, esteemed 
as hol7 — Turner. 

7 China. 

* " The name of tulip Is said to be of Turkish extraction, and 
glTi n to the flower on account of its resembling a turban."— ^edt- 
mann'n History of Inventions. 

*"The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round cloth bonnet, 
shaped much after the Polish fiuhion, having a large ftir border. 
Thv7 tie their kaftans about the middle with a girdle of a kind of 
silk crape, several timet round the bod7."_^ccoun< qf Indepatdtnt 
Tartary, in Pinkerton'a Collection. 

tA In the war of the Caliph Maliadi against the Emprea Irene, for 
an account of which vide &t&6on, vol. x. 

^f uv*vA v*aa 90Ui mBpUTd 

T trust in what it most desired, 

be' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale 

awe, before that Silver Veil, 

) form, to which he bends his knee, 

redeeming angel, sent to free 

I world from every bond and stain, 

t8 primal glories back again! 

)ang Aznc knelt, that motley crowd 
8 nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
of **Alla!" echoing long and loud; 
in air, above the Prophet*8 head, 
' banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
the wings of the white birds that fan 
irone of star-taught Souman.* 
J spoke : — " Stranger, though new the 

ihabits now, Fve track'd its flame 
m age*, in ev'ry chance and change 
itence, through whose varied range, — 
1 a torch-race, where, fh>m hand to 

p^ouths transmit their shining brand, 
I to frame the unextinguished soul 
868, till it reach the goal! 

. 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm'd 
r fire and for earth*s medium form*d, 
is course : — Beings, the most divine, 
through dark mortality to shine, 
e Essence that in Adam dwelt, 
11 Heav*n, except the Proud One, 

Throne wm called The Stmr wf ^k* n— m »- 

Again, throughout ti 
Thousands of voices ru 
Were pointed up to hci 
In the* open banners pi 
Those Persian hanging 
The Haram*s lovelinesi 
Waving embroider*d sc 
A perfume forth — like 
When beck'ning to tl 

"But these," pursue 

** That claim a holier m 
** Than earth allows us n 
** The darkling prison -h 
" Ere Peace can visit th< 
" Her wakening dayligh 
" But then,^-celestial wi 
** Earth's shrines and thrc 
" When the glad Slave s 
" His broken chain, the 1 
" The Priest his book, tl 
" And from the lips of T 
" Shall, like a whirlwind, 
•* That whole dark pile o 
" Then shall the reign of 
" And starting fresh as fi 
" Man, in the sunshine oi 
*' Shall walk transparent, 
** Then, too, your Prophc 
*' Shall cast the Veil tl 




gbdden'd Earth shall, through her wide ex- 
. in the glories of this countenance! 

T thee, jonng warrior, welcome! — thou 

hast jet 

.' tasks to kam, some frailties to forget, 

the white war-plume o*er thy hrow can 

wave; — 

once mj own, mine all till in the grave!** 

pomp is at an end — the crowds are gone — 

atf and heart still haunted by the tone 

; deep T<Mce, which thrill*d like Allah's own ! 

oung aJl dazxled by the plumes and lances, 

BttYuig throne, and Haram's half-caught 


Id deep pond'ring on the promis'd reign 

ee and truth : and all the female train 

to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 

lent on that brow's miraculous blaze! 

there was one, among the chosen maids, 

hish'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 

» whose soul the pageant of to-day 

en like death : — you saw her pale dismay, 

kd'ring sisterhood, and heard the burst 

bmation from her hps, when first 

w that youth, too well, too dearly known, 

' kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

^ELicA ! there ttfos a time, when bliss 
o'er thy heart from ev*ry look of his ; 
but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
;h he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer ; 
round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
er he did, none ever did so well, 
ppy days ! when, if he touch'd a flow'r 
I of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour ; 
•Jiou didst study him till every tone 
«ture and dear look became thy own, — 
ice like his, the changes of his face 
e reflected with still lovelier grace, 
bo, sending bock sweet music, fraught 
rice the' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
IT he comes, — brighter than even he 
xnd before, — but, ah ! not bright for thee ; 
read, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
be' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
iity soul with dreams of lost delight, 
>«t to all but memory's aching sight : — 
^ams! as when the Spirit of our Vouth 
» in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
Docence once ours, and leads us back, 
mful mockery, o'er the shining track 
young life, and points out every ray 
i and peace we've lost upon the way ! 

JBoo. vhi^ rf«i In the Belor Tug or Dark Mountains, 

to wwt, tplita Into two branebcc i 

Once happy pah* » — ^In proud Bokhaba's groves, 
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? 
Bom by that ancient flood ', which from its spring 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich'd by ev'ry pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics from Buchaba's ruby mines. 
And lending to the Caspian half its strength. 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length ; — 
There, on the banks of that bright river bom, 
The flow'rs, that hung above its wave at mom, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, 
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
And virgin-glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd ! 
But war disturb'd this vision, — far away 
From her fond eyes smnmon'd to join the' array 
Of Persia's warriors on the IiiUs of Thrace, 
The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place 
For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash ; 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wild fire, and Love's gentle chains 
For bleeding bondage on Btzaktium's plains. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
Their suns away — but, ah, how cold and dim 
Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld i^ith him ! 
From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came, 
Like spirit- tongues, muttVing the sick man's name. 
Just ere he dies : — at length those sounds of dread 
Fell with'ring on her soul, " Azim is dead ! " 
Oh Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For wliich it lov'd to live or fear'd to die ; — 
Jjom as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
Ev'n reason sunk, — blighted beneath its touch ; 
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes, [chain 
Though health and bloom rctuni'd, the delicate 
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, 
The mind was still all there, but tum'd astray; — 
A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one ! 
Again she smil'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd, 
But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild ; 
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain. 
The bulbul' utters, ere her soul depart, 
When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's {K)w*rful art. 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her 
heart ! 

one of which ftHU into the CMpian 
Nahr, or the Lake of Eaglet. 

, and the other Into Aral 
t The nightingale. 

onae, m Heaven's eternal dome, 

"ave yontli — ha! durst they saj "of 


I one, one only object trac*d 

t*s core too deep to be effac'd ; 

ose memory, fresh as life, is twin*d 

broken link of her lost mind ; 

ge lives, though Reason's self be 


e ruins of her intellect I 

r ZelicaI it needed all 
which held thy mind in thrall, 

it gay Haram*s glowing maids 

lony for Eden's shades ; 

at he, — of whose unholy flame 

M) soon the victim, — shining came 

se, to people its pure sphere 
like thine, which he hath ruin*d 

t reason's light totally set, 
t dark, thou hadst an amulet 
mage, graven on thy heart, 
have sav'd thee frt)m the tempter's art, 
^e, in all its bloom of breath, 
tehose fading is love's death ! — 
in'd, — a restless zeal took place 
irgin's still and feminine grace ; 
rophet's favourites, proudly first 
charms, — too well the' Impostor 

irium, in whose active flame, 
up a young, luxuriant frame, 
potent sorceries to bind 
oke the spirits of mankind, 
lains than hell itself e'er twin'd. 

,,M ~^ 


Of damp and death, led o 
Which foul Corruption lig 
To show the gay and proi 
And, passing on through ' 
Which to the maiden, dou 
Seem'd, through the bluish 

To move their lips in muti 
There, in that awful place, 
And pledg'd in silence sue 
Such — oh I the look and i 
Will haunt her till she diei 
Bv a dark oath, in hell's o 
Never, while earth his mys 
While the blue arch of day 
Never, by that all-imprecat 
In joy or sorrow from his s 
She swoie, and the wide di 

never I " 

From that dread hour, ei 
To him and — she belieVd, ] 
Her brain, her heart, her pc 
How proud she stood, when 
The Priestess of the Fait 

With light, alas, that was n 
When round, in trances, onl 
She saw the Haram knee 

Well might MoKAinfA think 
Had spells enough to make 
Light, lovely limbs, to whicl 
Gave motion, airy as the da 
When frx)m its stem the sraf 
Lips in whose rosv labvrintl 



loe there broke, without contronl, 
li a bright, bat troubled sonl, 
bUitj stm wildlj pla/d, 
ig^ found the niizis it bad made ! 

now joang Zsuga — bo chang*d 
bo, some jean since, delighted ranged 

grores that shade Bokbulra'b tide, 
bliss, with AziM bj her side I 
as she now, this festal day, 

tlie proud Divan's dazzling arraj, 
yf that Yoath whom she hi^ lor'd, 

I dead, before her breath'd and moy'd ; — 
^t, she thought, as if from Eden's track 
J trodden, he had wander'd back 
rth, glist'ning with £den*8 light — 
ma .£aif slume before her sight. 

I I who shall saj what spells renew, 
we kx>k for it, thy broken clew I 

lat small yktas o'er the darken'd brain 

;tiial day-beam bursts again ; 

ke forts, to which beleaguerers win 

r entrance through some friend within, 

lea, waken'd in Siie breast 

s magic, lets in all the rest. 

ere thus, unhappy girl, with thee ! 

light came, it came bat partially ; 
ibow the maze, in which thy sense 
bout, — but not to guide it thence ; 
^Ummer o'er the yawning ware, 
point the harbour which might save, 
•.light and peace, long left behind, 
lear form came rushing o'er her mind ; 
> think how deep her soul had gone 
id falsehood since those moments shone; 
her oath — there madness lay again, 
I'ring, back she sunk into her chain 
larkness, as if blest to flee 

whose erery glimpse was agony ! 
ief this glance of former years 
ingled with its pain, — tears, floods of 

1 at her heart, but now like rills 
1 spring-time from the snowy hills, 
ig warm, after a sleep of frost, 
abeys where their flow had long been 

subdu'd, for the first time her frame 
nth horror, when the summons came 
IS proud and rare, which all but she, 
11 now, had heard with ecstasy,) 
owLkXVA at his place of prayer, 
ratory, cool and fair, 
am*8 side, where still at close of day 
*t of the Veil rctir'd to pray ; 
akxne — but, oft'ner far, with one, 
nymph to share his orison 

Of late none found such favour in his sight 
As the young Priestess ; and though, since that 

When the death^carerns echo'd every tone 
Of the dire oath that made her all his own, 
The* Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize. 
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise, 
And utter'd such unheav'nly, monstrous things. 
As ev'n across the desp'rate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out. 
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt ; — 
Tet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow. 
The thought, still haunting her, of that bright 

Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd. 
Would soon, proud triumph I be to her reveal'd. 
To her alone ; — and then the hope, most dear, 
Most wild of all, that her transgression here 
Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire, 
From which the spirit would at last aspire, 
Ev'n purer than before, — as perfumes rise 
Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the 

skies — 
And that when Azm's fond, divine embrace 
Should circle her in heav'n, no dark'ning trace 
Would on that bosom he once lov'd remain. 
But all be bright, be pure, be Aw again ! — 
These were ue wild'ring dreams, whose curst 

Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet. 
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood sweet. 
But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view, 
That Semblance — oh how terrible, if true I 
Which came across her frenzy's full career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, 
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark. 
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark. 
And, startling all its wretches from their sleep. 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep ; — 
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear. 
And waking up each long-laU'd image there, 
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair I 

Wan and dejected, through the eVning dusk. 
She now went slowly to that small kiosk, 
Where, pond'ring alone his impious schemes, 
MoKANNA waited her — too wrapt in dreams 
Of the fair rip'ning future's rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless. 
That sat upon liis victim's downcast brow. 
Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now 
From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose Ught bound 
Came like a spirit's o'er the* unechouig ground, — 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Was thrilling fire, whose ev'ry thought a trance I 

Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lay. 
While lamps around — not such as lend 


.. . V m^^^ rm A » 

e drank and ponder'd — nor could see 
aching maid, so deep his reverie ; 

with fiendish hwgh, like that which 

8 at the Fall of Man, he spoke : — 
ile race, for hell's amusement given, 
n for earth, yet claiming kin with 

iges, forsooth I — such gods as he 
DiA serves, the monkey deity ;* — 
res of a breath, proud things of clay, 
, if Lucifer, as grandams say, 
lough at the forfeit of heaven^s light, 
D worship, LuciFEB was right !* — 
1 1 plant this foot upon the neck 
•ul race, and without fear or check, 
ig in hate, avenge my shame, 
felt, long-nurst loathing of man's 
I — 

e head of myriads, blind and fierce 
falcons, through the universe 
ny dark'ning, desolating way, 
my instrument, curst man my prey I 

ye leam'd, who grope your dull way on 
. twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
ititious thieves, who think the light 
[ men's marrow guides them best at 

e honours — wealth — yes, Sages, yes — 
ve fools, your wisdom's nothingness; 
it can track yon starry sphere, 
tick, a bauble blinds it here. 

Vmi (or Koom) and Caahui ftre ftall of moiqaei, 
Mpulohrw of th* dcscendaatf of Ali, the Satnti 







** X e sHaU have miracles, 
** Seen, heard, attested, e 
Tour preaching zealots, 
One grace of meaning i 
Your martyrs, ready to 
" For truths too heav'nly 
** And your State Priests, 
** That works salvation ;- 
*' Where none but priests 
** In that best marble of n 
** They shall have mysteri 
** For knaves to thrive by 
Dark, tangled doctrines, 
Whic^ simple votaries si 
While craftier feign belii 
** A Heav'n too ye must II 
** A splendid Paradise, — p 
** That Prophet ill sustami 
** Who finds not heav'ns tc 
** Houris for boys, omnisci< 
** And wings and glories fc 
"Vain things I — as lust or 
** The heav*n of each is but 
" And, soul or sense, what< 
** Man would be man to all 
** So let him — EblisI — gra 
** But keep him what he is, 

"Oh my lost soul I" ex< 
Whose ears had drunk like 
MoKANKA started — not aba 
He knew no more of fear tl 
Beneath the tropics knows 

earrlMl Into ArmUft to a place bet« 
being flrat kneaded bjthe angeU, 



dismal words that reach'd his ear, 
soul!" there was a sonnd so drear, 

roice, among the sinfhl dead, 
legend o*cr Hell*8 Gate is read, 

i 'twas from her, whom nought oonld 

low, h startkd eren him. 

fair Priestess!" — thos, with readj 

oar tam'd to greet her— ** thou, whose 

ration in its rosy beam 

ne* Enthusiast's hope or Prophcfs 

le Faith I who twin*st religion's zeal 
rith loTe's, men know not which they 

to sigh for, in their trance of heart, 
I thoa preachest or the heav'n thoo art ! 
lid I be without thee? without thee 
were power, how joyless yictory I 
some by angcb, if that smile of thine 
t my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
f so mournful, child? those eyes, that 

t night — ^whatl — is their glory gone? 
me — this mom's fatigue hath made 
t rekindling — suns themselves would 

leir comets bring, as I to thee, 
t's own fount supplies of brilliancy. 
t this cup — no juice of earth is here, 
lire waters of that upper sphere, 
b o'er ruby beds and topaz flow, 
the jrvm's bright colour, as they go. 
ly Genii come and fill these unis — 
k — in e>'*ry drop life's essence bums; 
kc that soul all fire, those eyes all light — 
ne, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night : 
I vouth — whv start? — thou saw'st him 


not nobly? such the godlike men 

ive to woo thee in the bow'rs ultove; — 
r, I fear, hath thoughts too stem for love, 
bv that cold encmv of bliss 
I calls virtue — we must conquer this; 
ik not, pretty sage I 'tis not for thee 
he mazes of IleavVs mystery: 
must pass through fire, ere it can yield 
neiits for mighty hands to wield. 
ni}dit I mean to try the art 
'ol beauty on that warrior's heart. 
jy Haram boasts of bloom and wit, 
nd charms, most rare and exquisite, 
pt the boy; — young Mibzala's blue 

:epy lid like snow on violets lies; 

** Abottta's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun, 
** And lips that, like the seal of Solomoit, 
^ Have magic in their pressure; Zeba'b lute, 
** And Lilul's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot 
** Kapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep — 
** All shall combine their witching powers to steep 
** My convert's spirit in that soft'ning trance, 
** From which to heav'n is but the next advance ; — 
**That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 
** On which Religion stamps her image best. 
**But hear me. Priestess! —though each nymph of 

" Hath some peculiar, practis'd pow'r to please, 
** Some glance or step which, at the mirror tried, 
** First charms herself, then all the world beside ; 
** There still wants one, to make the vict'ry sure, 
" One who in every look joins every lure; 
** Through whom all beauty's beams concentred 

** Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning 

" Whose gentle lips persuade without a word, 
" Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, are ador'd, 
*' like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, 
" Which our faith takes for granted are di\ine! 
" Such is the nyinph we want, all warmth and light, 
"To crown the rich temptations of to-night; 
** Such the refin'd enchantress that must be 
" This hero's vanqui&her, — and thou art she!" 

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale, 
The maid had stood, gazing ui>on the Veil 
From which these words, like south winds through 

a fence 
Of Kerzrah fiow'rs, came fill'd with pestilence ; * 
So boldly utter'd too ! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled. 
And the wretch felt ussur'd that, once j)lung'd in, 
Ilcr woman's soul would know no pause in sin! 

At first, though nmtc she listcn'd, like a dream 
Seem'd all he said: nor could her mind, whose 

As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
But when, at length, he utter'd "Thou art she I" 
All fltish'd at once, and shrieking i)iteoiisly, 
"Oh not for worlds I" she cried — "Great God! 

to whom 
"I once knelt innocent, is this my doom? 
" Are all my dreams, my liojws of heav'nly bliss, 
" My purity, my pride, then come to this, — 
" To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to bo 
" The jiander of his guilt — oh infamy! 
" And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
" In its hot flood, drag others down as deep I 

1 ** It is commonly Mid in Pervia. that if a man breathe in the 
hut south wind, whicli in June or July pasws over that flower ^the 
Kcrzerch. it wiii liill him."- Th- 1> not. 


u^yov iiic», uu iiiMitcr wiience itiey nse, 

)re illuming my fair Priestess* eyes; 

Duld the yoath, whom soon those eyes 

ill warm, 

esemble thy dead lover's form, 

I the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 

varm lover, full of life and bloom, 

en thousand cold ones in the tomb. 

r, no frowning, sweet 1 — those eyes were 


, not anger— I must be obey'd." 

1 1 — 'tis well — yes, I deserve it all — 

>n me Heav'n's vengeance cannot fall 

rily — but AziM, brave and true 

utifiil — ^must he be ruin'd too? 

too, glorious as he is, be driven 

kde like me from Love and Heaven? 

? — weak wretch, I wrong him — not 


all truth and strength and purity I 

)ur madd'ning hell-cup to the briin, 

ry, fiends, will have no charm for him. 

» your glowing wantons from their 


he loves, and can defy their powers ! 

B I am, in his heart still I reign 

rhen first we met, without a stain ! 

uin'd — lost — my memory, hke a charm 

le dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 

r let him know how deep the brow 

at parting is dishonour^ now; — 

him how debased, how sunk is she, 

ce he lov*d — once! — stili loves dotingly. 

h*st, tormentor, — whati— >thou'lt brand 


n vain — he*ll not KaUava t«v eT»«»~* 


" Nor tempt my rage — b 
" The puny bird, that da 
" Within the crocodile's 
" And so thoult fly, forso 
** Thy chaste dominion i 
•* Where now to Love at 
** Half mistress and half i 
** As doth Medina's toml 
Thoult fly ? — as easilj 
The gaunt snake once 1 
** As easily, when caught 
" Pluck'd from his loving 
« No, no, 'tis fix'd— let i 
** Thou'rt mine till dea£ 
Hast thou forgot thy os 




The Maid, whose spirit h: 
Through all its depths, ar 
That burst and lighten'c 

spair — 
Shrunk back, as if a bligh 
That spoke that word, and 

" Yes, my sworn bride, 
" Their bridal place — the 
" Instead of scents and ba 
" Rose the rich steams of i 
" Gay, flick 'ring death- ligl 

" And, for our guests, a n 
<* (Immortal spirits in thei 
" From recking shrouds u 
**That oath thou heard'f 



in, to the Haram, and look gay, 
ok — anjthing but sad ; jet stay — 
more — from what this night hath 

loir'st me, know'st me well at last. 
1 so, fond thing, thoa thoaght'st all 

yre mankind ? — I do, I do — 
ore them ; as the sea-dog doats 
all, sweet fry that round him floats ; 
He-bird lores the slime that gives 
ind Tenomons food on which she 

thoa seest my jotiTs angelic hne, 
sefeaharea were nncnrtain'd too ; — 
hose light — oh rare celestial light I 
flerr'd to bless thy fayoiir'd sight ; 
Lng eyes, before whose shrouded 

L immortal Man kneel down and 

they were heaven's lightnings for 

I look — then wonder, if thou wilt, 
I hate, should take revenge, by guilt, 
nd, whose mischief or whose mirth 
maim*d and monstrous upon earth ; 
race who, though more vile they be 
g apes, are demi-gods to me ! 
i if heU, with all its power to danm, 
curse to the foul thing I am ! *' — 

b veil — The Maid turned slowly 

a — shriek'd — and sunk upon the 

ival, next night, at the place of en- 
y were tsurpriscd and delighted to 
i all around illuminated ; some ar- 
eou* having been sent on previously 
J. On each side of the green alley 
lie Royal Pavilion, artificial scene - 
>-work* were erected, representing 

, TlpM rKni.Tix.) alcfl eit Ibis. Ea Krpezitium 
itfMJmanHpie ex hia eacun nidU luij refert. — 

«ntems !a eelebnited at Yamtchcoti with more 
uifwhcrc elae : aud the report koc9< that the 
! are wo splendid, that an Emperor once, not 
ive his Court to go thither, committed himself 
1 sereral Princesses of his family into the hands 
promised to transport them thither in a trice, 
the nieht to ascxnd mairniflcent tlirones that 
rans, which in a moment arrived at Yamtcbeou. 
It ius leisure all the solemnity, being carried 
rOTered urtr the city and descended by degrees ; 
in with the fame speed and equipage, nobody 

arches, minarets, and towers, from which hung 
thousands of silken lanterns, painted by the most 
deUcate pencils of Canton. — Nothing could be 
more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees 
and acacias, shining in the light of the bamboo- 
scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft as that 
of the nights of Peristan. 

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occu- 
pied by the sad story of Zblica and her lover, to 
give a thought to anything else, except, perhaps, 
him who related it, hurried on through this scene 
of splendour to her pavilion, — greatly to the 
mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou, — 
and was followed with equal rapidity by the Great 
Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient 
Mandarin, whose parental anxiety in lighting up 
the shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter 
had wandered and been lost, was the origin of 
these fantastic Chinese illuminations.* 

Without a moment's delay, young Fe&amorx 
was introduced, and Paduldeek, who could never 
make up his mind as to the merits of a }>oet, till 
he knew the reUgious sect to which he belonged, 
was about to ask him whether he was a Shia or a 
Sooni, when Lalul Hookh impatiently clapped 
her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated 
upon the musnud near her, proceeded : — 

Pbepare thy soul, young AzihI — thou hast 

The bands of Gbeece, still mighty though en- 

slav'd ; 
Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm*d with all its fame. 
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow ; 
But a more perilous trial waits thee now, — 
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 
From every Land where woman smiles or sighs ; 
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 
His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, 

at court perceiving his absence.**— r/ie Presenf State qf CMno, 
p. IS6. 

I Sec a description of the nuptials of Tlzier Alee in the AtiaUc 
Amtual Register qf IBM. 

* *' The vulgar ascribe it to an accident that happened in the 
family of a famous Mandarin, whose daughter, walking one 
evening upon the shore of a lalie. fell in and was drowned : this 
afflicted f&ther, with his family, ran thither, and, the better to find 
her, he caused a great company of lanterns to be iightcd. All the 
inhabitants of tlie place thronged after him with torches. The 
year ensuing they made fires upon the shores the same day : they 
continued the ceremony every year, every one lighted his lantern, 
and by degrees it commenced into a custom."— iVesenI State of 

C 2 

M' *J^^ 

oAAu^o iMucuum cne toilet's rites ; — 
1 to room the ready handmaids hie, 
'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, 
le veil, in negligence of shade, 
arm blushes of the youthful maid, 
itwecn the folds but one eye shone, 
1*8 Queen could vanquish with that 


e bring leaves of Henna, to imbue 
)* ends with a bright roseate hue,' 
that in the mirror*s depth they seem 
' coral branches in the stream: 

mix the Kohol's jetty dye, 

kt long, dark languish to the eye,' 

es the maids, whom kings are proud to 

Hrcassia*s vales, so beautiful 
»tion ; rings and plumes and pearls 
ev'rywhere : — some younger girls 
r moonlight to the garden-beds, 
"esh, cool chaplets for their heads ; — 
es ! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to see 
refers a garland from that tree 
8 to mind her childhood's innocent day 
r fields and friendships far away. 
' India, blest again to hold 
ip the Champac's leaves of gold,* 
e time when, by the Qanoes' flood, 
.ymates scattered many a bud 
ig black hair, with glossy gleam 
; from the consecrated stream ; 
ung Arab, haunted by the smell 
lountain flow'rs, as by a spell, — 

rmTbhed mj heart with out of thine eyei.**— 5oL 
, the ends of her flnffen icarlet w<»»» »t*-.~- — 

What means this maze c 
Here, the way leads, o*ei 
Or mats of Cairo, throu 
Where, rang'd in cassole 
Sweet wood of aloe or of 
And spicy rods, such as 
The bow'rs of Tibet ^ se 
Like Peris' wands, when 
For some pure Spirit to i 
And here, at once, the gl 
Bursts on his sight, Ix 

Where, in the midst, reflc 
In broken rainbows, a fire 
High as the' enamell'd ou 
All rich with Arabesques 
And the mosaic floor ben< 
The sprinkling of that fon 
Like the wet, glist'ning sh 
That on the margin of the 

Here too he traces the 1; 
Of woman's love in those 1 
Of land and wave, whose ft 
For their weak loveliness - 
On one side gleaming with 
Through water, brilliant a: 
In which it undulates, sma 
Like golden ingots from a 
While, on the other, lattic' 
With odoriferous woods ol 
Each brilliant bird that wi 
Gay, sporkhng loories, sue 

nal wordi tat. the adjialtd her tf/tM 
Shaw^h Trawli. 



•n blosaomfl of tlie coral tree * 

n isles of India's sunny sea: 

le sacred pigeon', and tho thrush 

joi'y whose holy warblings gush, 

:, firtmi the tall pagoda's top; — '> 

len birds that, in the spice^tiroe, drop 

grardens, drunk with that sweet food * 

it hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood ; 

that under Arabj's soft sun 

• high nests of budding cinnamon;* 

11 rare and beauteous things, that fl/ 

be pure element, hero calmlj lie 

1 Kght, like the green birds* that dwell 

radiant fields of asphodel I 

Intnigfa scenes past all imagining, 

the luxuries of that impious King,' 

ith*8dark Angel, with his lightning torch, 

m and blasted ev'n in Pleasure's porch, 

;mre dwelling of a Prophet sent, 

1 Hearen's sword, for man's enfranchise- 

It — 

13C wander*d, looking sternly round, 

: garb and war-boots* clanking sound 

ording with the pomp and grace 

: lull of that roluptuous place. 

, then," thought the youth, " is this the 

man*s spirit from the dead'ning sway 
lly sloth, — to teach him while he lives, 
r no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
en he dies, to leave his lofty name 
a landmark on the cliffs of fame? 
ot so. Land of the generous thought 
ring deed, thy godlike sages taught; 
ot thus, in bowers of wanton ease, 
!C4lom nurs'd her sacred energies; 
: beneath the' enfeebling, witirring glow 
dull lux'ry did those myrtles grow, 
lich she wrcath'd her sword, when she 
uld dare 

d deeds; but in the bracing air 
— of temperance, — of that high, rare, 
1 virtue, which alone can breathe 
ilth, and lustre into Freedom's wTcath. 
at surveys this span of earth we press, — 
M!k of life in time's great wilderness, 

Dd* of T«ri^atcd loories viiit the coral-trees." — 

a there are qvantitlet of blue pl^reoni , which none 
or abne, much le« kill." — Piu't Account of the 

rods Thmah !■ esteemed tmonf; the flmt ehortstera of 

I perched oo the iiacrcd pa^fidu, tnd from thence 

elodkxupnnff."— /'«Rvi(int*a Ilimioitnn. 

^mrwSite, vhich. at the nutiretr *e«fcn, come in fliarhts 

th«Tn ble* to India; and " the ttTentrth of the nut- 

rormwer, ** *o faitcixicatrt them that they fall dead 


adds.tlMft vUk the Birds of Paradise lie in this in- 





This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, 
The past, the future, two eternities! — 
Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare. 
When he might build him a proud temple there, 
A name, that long shall hallow all its space. 
And be each purer soul's high resting-place. 
But no — it cannot be, that one, whom Grod 
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, — 
A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws 
Its rights from Heav'n, should thus profane its 

With the world's vulgar pomps; — no, no, — I 

see — 
He thinks me weak — this glara of luxury 
Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
Of my young soul — shine on, 'twill stand the 

blaze I" 

So thought the youth ; — but, ev'n while he defied 
This witching scene, he felt its witch'ry glide 
Through ev'ry sense. The perfume breathing 

Like a pervading spirit; — the still sound 
Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;* 
And music, too — dear music ! that can touch 
Be vend all else the soul that loves it much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; 
All was too much for him, too full of bliss, 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this; 
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms arc laid; 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid. 
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs. 
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes. 
Silent and happy — as if God had giv'n 
Nought else worth looking at on this side hcav'n. 




Oh, my lov'd mistress, thou, whose spirit still 
" Is ^vith me, round me, wander where I will — 
" It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
The paths of glory; to Hght up thy cheek 
With warm approval — in that gentle look, 
" To read my praise, as in an angel's book, 

toxicated state, the emmets come and eat off their legs i and that 
hence it {« they are said to have no feet. 

A " That bird whicli livtth in Arabia, andbnildeth ito nest with 
cinnamon." — JJrovcn* Vuljrar Error*. 

* " The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green 
bird!."— Gibboft, vol. ix. p. 421. 

7 Shedad, who mode the delicious gardens of Irim, in imitation 
of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first time he at- 
tempted to enter them. 

M " My Pandits asrare me that the plant befbre us (the Nilica) is 
their Sephalica, thus named t)ecause the bees are suppoeed to sleep 
on its blomum»,"—Sir W. J<me$, 

C 3 

:hn8 he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
se delicious, dream-like harmonies, 
) of which bnt adds new, downy links 
Ft chain in which his spirit sinks, 
him tow*rd the sound, and far away 
% long yista, sparkling with the pUy 
ss lamps, — like the rich track which Day 
the waters, when he sinks from us, 
le path, its light so tremulous; — 
group of fenude forms advance, 
n*d together in the mazy dance 
forg*d in the green sunny boVrs, 
ere captires to the King of Flow'rs;' 
disporting round, unlink'd and free, 
'd to mock theur sisters* slaycry; 
I and round them still, in wheeling flight 
gay moths about a lamp at night; 
rs wak'd, as gracefully along 
kept time, the very soul of song 
'ry, pipe, and lutes of heay'nly thrill, 
no. youthful voices, heay*nlier stilL 
hey come, now pass before his eye, 
I as Nature moulds, when she would vie 
r's pencil, and give birth to things 
)nd its fairest picturings. 
r dance before him, then divide, 
ke rosy clouds at even-tide 
rich pavilion of the sun,— 
dispersing, one by one, 
my a path, that from the chamber leads 
terraces, and moonlight meads, 
t laughter comes upon the wind, 
) trembling nymph remains behind, — 
lem back in vain, for they are gone, 
eft in all that light alone ; 
irtain o'er her beauteous brow. 

.Auu, luee a nait-tam'd c 
Though shrinking still, 

Upon a musnud's * edg^ 
In the pathetic mode of 
Touch*d a preluding stn 

There's a bower of roses 
And the nightingale i 
In the time of my chili 
To sit in the roses and 

That bower and its musi< 
But offc when alone, in 

I think — is the nightingf 
Are the roses still bi 


No, the roses soon wither*( 

But some blossoms wei 

they shone. 

And a dew was distill*d 


AU the fragrance of sui 

Thus memory draws from 
An essence that breathe 

Thus bright to my soul, a 
Is that bower on the I 


" Poor maiden I ** thoug 
wert sent, 
" With thy soft lute and 1 



last brettHi'd sach poiitj, thy lay 
> fcmdlj to yonth's yiituoas day, 
thj wml — if e'er it wandered thence — 
back to its first innocence, 
fold sooner stop the onchain'd doye» 
ft returning to its home of love, 
d its snowy wing new fetters twine, 
I firam Tixtae one pure wish of thine ! ** 

id tiiis feeling pass*d, when, sparkling 


open'd curtains of light bine 

the breezy casement, countless eyes, 

e stars through the blue ev'ning skies, 

^hing in, as if to mock the pair 

still and melancholy there :— 

le curtains fly apart, and in 

3ol air, 'mid show'rs of jessamine 

e without fling after them in play, 

one maidens spring, — ^lightsome as they 

I the' air on odours, — and around 

saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, 

mother, in a yarying dance 

id langour, coyness and advance, 

itly li^e love's warm pursuit : — 

wbo sung so gently to the lute 

of home, steids timidly away, 

IS violets do in summer's ray, — 

rith her from Azim's heart that sigh, 

aes give to forms that pass us by 

d*8 crowd, too lovely to remain, 

f light we never see again I 

the white necks of the nymphs who 

jiets of orient gems, that glanc'd 
int than the sea* glass glitt'ring o'er 
' crystal on the Caspian shore ; * 
. their long, dark tresses, in a fall 
scending, bells as musical 
at, on the golden-shafted trees 
hake in the eternal breeze,' 
I their steps, at ev*ry bound more sweet, 
be' extatic language of their feet, 
the chase was o'er, and they stood 

1 other's arms ; while soft there brcath'd 
be cool casement, mingled with the 

bt flow'rs, music that scem'd to rise 
still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
wcll*d again at each faint close. 

rth of m (on the eoMt of the C^aplan. near Badka,') 
u vfalch fparkled like dUunoivla, aiirinir fh>in the 
97<tAl««ith vhich it aJboundB." —Journey qf the 
wador to FerMa, I7M. 

will be added the eound of the belli, hanffina: on tha 
U be pat In motion by the wind prooeedina tnm the 
M often u the blcMed with for mnaie."— 5a7e. 
uitaa tfei reMmble blue water-lillcf, agitated by 


The ear could track through all that maze of chords 
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words : 

A Spirit there is, whose fi-agrant sigh 
Is burning now through euth and air ; 

VHiere cheeks are blushmg, the Spirit is nigh. 
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there I 

His breath is the soul of flowers like these, 
And his floating ejea — oh! they resemble' 

Blue water-lilies \ when the breeze 
Is making the stream around them tremble. 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling pow'r ! 

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss I 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour. 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

By the fair and brave 

Who blushing unite. 
Like the sun and wave. 

When they meet at night ; 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh. 
As the rain-drop flows 

Prom the heat of the sky ; 

By the first love-beat 

Of the youthful heart. 
By the bliss to meet, 

And the pain to part ; 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given. 
Which — oh, could it last. 

This earth were heaven ! 

We call thee hither, entrancing Power ! 

Spirit of Love I Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

Impatient of a scene, whose lux'ries stole. 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul; [most. 
And where, midst all that the young heart loves 
Flow*rs, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost. 
The youth had started up, and tum'd away 
From the light nymphs, and their luxurious lay. 
To muse upon the pictures that hung round, — * 
Bright images, that spoke without a sound, 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 

the breeae."— Jayadtvn. 

4 The blue lotuf, which growi In Cashmere and in Persia. 

A It hai been Kcnerally nippofed that the Mahometans prohibit 
all pictures of animals i but Todtrini shows that, though the prac- 
tice is forbidden by the Koran, ther are not more STprse to painted 
flgum and images than other people. From Mr. Murphy's wwk, 
too, we Snd that the Arabs of Spain had no objection to the intro> 
dnction of flgurea into painting. 

C 4 


lat to be blest is to be wise ; — • 
Zdleika' woos with open arms 
jw boy, who flies from her young charms, 
;, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
at Heav*n and she could both be won; 
Mohammed, bom for love and guile, 
e Koran in his Mary's smile; — 
ons some kind angel from above 
Y text to consecrate their love/ 

)id step, yet plcas'd and ling*ring eye, 
ath pass these pictured stories by, 
Td to a casement, where the light 
I moon came in, and freshly bright 
rithout were seen, sleeping as still 
3 remain*d in breeze or riU. 
I he, while the music, now less near, 
th a holier language on his ear, 
;he distxmce, and that heav'nly ray 
hich the sounds came floating, took 

been too earthly in the lay. 

I he listen to such sounds unmoy*d, 
light — nor dream of her he lov'd? 
iconscious boy ! while yet thou may'st; 
bliss thy soul shall ever taste, 
hile her image to thy heart, 
ght, that made it dear, depart, 
smiles as when thou saw*8t them last. 
Til, by nought of earth o'ercast; 
irs, to thee at parting giv'n, 
weep, 1/ angels weep, in lleav*n. 

te utronomlcallr trae. ** Dr. Hadley (mjt Kell) 
eniM Is brlirht«it wh#n •»••«--»-—• ' 

.. ,tKtov> xnjuiu. 11 oe/ — a 
Here, even here, on this 
He turns, and sees a fei 
Leaning, as if both hear 
Af^inst a pillar near; — 
With gems and wreaths, 
But in that deep-blue, n 
BoKHABA*8 maidens wei 
Of friends or kindred, d( 
And such as Zeuca had 
He left her — when, with 
He took away her last wt 

A strange emotion stir 
Than mere compassion e 
Unconsciously he opes hi 
Springs forward, as with 
But, swooning in that on< 
Sinks, ere she reach his ai 
Her veil falls off — her fain 
•Tis she herself!— 'tis Ze 
But, ah, so pale, so chang 
Could in that wreck of be 
The once-ador*d divinity - 
Stood for some moments i 
Put back the ringlets from 
Upon those lids, where on 
Ere he could think she wa 
Own darling maid, whom 
In joy and sorrow, beautif 
Who, ev*n when grief was 
He left her for the wars — 
Sat in her sorrow like the 
When darkness brings its 
And spreads its sighs like 

to her, • VcrilT. tw- i. ♦v. -t-- 

^ ' 'ii^ ' . ■ — 



(I, ID J Zeucx — one moment show 
itk eyes to me, that I may know 
thr loreliness is not all gone, 
at kait, shines as it ever shone, 
ik upon thj AziM — one dear glance, 
e of old, were heaven I whatever chance 
ight thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one! 
nj k>T'd lips — the J move — that kiss 

first shoot of life through every vein, 
I clasp her, mine, all mine again, 
ihght — now, in this very hour, 
d the whole rich world been in my 

tiave singled oat thee, only thee, 
whole world's collected treasury — 
:bee here — to hang thus fondly o'er 
best, purest Zeuca once more! " 

deed the touch of those fond lips 
yes that chas'd their short eclipse, 
ud as the snow, at Heaven's breath, 
id shows the azure flow'rs beneath, 
clos'd, and the bright eyes were seen 
his — not, as they late had been, 
less, wild, but moumfnlly serene; 
, ev*n for that tranced minute, 
i heart, had consolation in it; 
o wake in his belov'd caress 
her soul one half its wretchedness, 
fhe heard him call her good and pure, 
oo much — too dreadful to endure I 
• she broke away from his embrace, 
g with l)Oth hands her guilty face, 
one whose anguish would have riv'n 
vcrv marble, " Pure ! — oh Henv'n ! 


c — those looks sochang'd — the wither- 

id sorrow leave where'er they light; 
Icspondency of those sunk eyes, 
e, had he thus met her by surprise, 
lave seen himself, too happy boy, 
1 a thousand lights of joy; 
he place, — that bright, unholy place, 
r Uiy hid beneath each winning grace 
I of lux*rj', as the viper weaves 
r'ring of sweet balsam leaves, — - ' 
upon his heart, sudden and cold 
self; — it needs not to be told — 
e sees it all, plain as the brand 
shame can mark — whatc'cr the liand, 
from Heav'n and him such brightness 


- to Heav'n and him she's lost for ever! 

ac the Tipcn, which Pliny my were frequent 
.•mm^trea, I made rery tvarticular Inquiry ( icTeral 
•iif* buch to Tunbo and Jidda.'* — Kmce'* 

It was a dreadful moment; not the tears, 

The ling'ring, lasting misery of years 

Could match that minute's anguish — all the worst 

Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 

Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fate, 

Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. 







** Oh I curse me not," she cried, as wild he 
His des])'rato hand tow'rds Heav'n — ** though I 
am lost, 
Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fid( ■] 
No, no — 'tiK-as grief, 'twas madness did it all I ^ 
Nay, doubt mo not — though all thy love hath 

ceas'd — 
I know it hath — yet, yet believe, at least. 
That every spark of reason's light must bo 
Quench 'd in this brain, ere I could stray from thee. 
They told me thou wert dead — why, Azm, why 
** Did we not, both of us, that instant die 
** When we were parted ? oh 1 couldst thou but 

** With what a deep devotedness of woe 
" I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er again 
« Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew 

pain, A 

** And mem'ry, like a drop that, night and day, 
** Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away. 
** Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
" My eyes still tum'd the way thou wert to come, 
" And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, 
** Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear — 
** Oh God ! thou wouldst not wonder that, at last, 
" When every hope was all at once o'ercast, 
" When I heard frightful voices round me say 
" Azim M Head I — this WTCtched brain pave way, 
** And I became a wreck, at random driven, 
" Without one glimpse of reason or of Heav'n — 
" All wild — and even this quenchless love witliin 
** Tum'd to foul fires to light me into sin! — 
" Thou pitiest me — I knew thou would'st — that 

" Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I. 
** The fien(^ who lur'd me hither — hist I come 

" Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear — 
" Told me such things — oh ! with such dev'lish art, 
** As would have niin'd ev'n a holier heart — 
" Of thee, and of that cver-r»uiiant sphere, 
" Where bless'd at length, if I but serv'd him here, 
" I should for ever live in thy dear sight, 
" And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. 
»* Tliink, think how lost, how madden'd I must be, 
" To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee! 
" Thou weep'st for me — do weep — oh, that I durst 
** Kiss off that tear! but, no — these Hps are curst, 
' ** They must not touch thee; — one di\'inc caress, 
" One' blessed moment of forgetfulness 
" I've had within those arms, and titat shall lie, 
, ** Shrin'd in my soul's deep mem'ry till I die; 

\ uarKness severs me as wide from tliee 
1 from heaVn, to all eternity I " 

;CA, Zelica I " the jonth exclaim*d, 
3 tortures of a mind inflamed 

madness — •* by that sacred Heav'n, 
yet, if pray*rs can moye, thou'lt be for- 

1 art here — here, in this writhing heart, 
!iil, wild, and min'd as thou art I 
remembrance of our once pure lore, 
like a chorch-yard light, still bums above 
ive of our lost souls — ^which guilt in thee 
extinguish, nor despair in me I 

ijure, implore thee to fly hence — 
hast yet one spark of innocence, 
1 me from this place — " 

** With thee I oh bliss I 
th whole years of torment tq hear this. 
;ake the lost one with thee? — let her rove 
lear side, as in those days of love, 
e were both so happy, lK>th so pure — 
v*nly dream I if there's on earth a cure 
nmk heart, 'tis this — day after day 
e blest companion of thy way; 
thy angel eloquence — to see 
rtuous eyes for ever tnm*d on me ; 
.heur light re*chasten*d silently, 
stain'd web that whitens in the sun, 
re by being purely shone upon I 
. wilt pray for me — I know thou wilt — 
m vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt 
iviest o*er the heart, thoult lift thine 

reet tears, unto the darkening skies, 
1 for me with Heav*n, till I can daze 

^.M^ MO Mio wurm in 
'* I am Mokanna's bri 
" The Dead stood roan< 
" Their blue lips echo*' 
" Their eyes glar'd on m 
" 'Twas burning blood 
" And the Veil'd Bride 

" What angels know n< 
•• So horrible — oh I ne 
•« What there lies hid fr 
'* But I must hence — o 
" Nor Heav'n's, nor I 

divine — 
'* Hold me not — ha ! th 

'* Hearts, cannot sunder 


With aU that strength 

She flung away his arm ; 
Whose sound, though he 

Than wretch e*er told, ca 
Flew up through that Ion 
Fleetly as some dark omi 
Across the sun, and soon 

Lalla Rookh could th 
the misery of these two y< 
was gone, and she look 
Fadladeek. She felt, tc 
a sort of uneasy pleasure 

.-* r.- 



chose emplojinent seemed to them so 
thAt they stopped their palankeens to 
ler. She had lighted a small lamp, filled 
of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen 
»raed 'with a wr^uh of flowers, had com- 
; with a trembling hand to the stream; 
i now anxioQfily watching its progress 
e current* heedkss of the gay caralcade 
id drawn np beside her. Lalla. Bookh 
nrioaty ; — when one of her attendants, 
I fired upon the banks of the Ganges, 
his ceremony is so frequent, that often, in 
of the erening, the riyer is seen glittering 
with lights, like the Oton-Tala, or Sea of 
infonned the Princess that it was the 
ly, in which the firiends of those who had 
'dangeroos rojages offered np vows for 
e retam. If the lamp sank immediately, 
a waa disastrons ; bnt if it went shining 
e stream, and continued to bum till entirely 
ightv the return of the beloved object was 
-ed as certain. 

A BooKH, as they moved on, more than 
oked back, to observe how the young 
's lamp proceeded ; and, while she saw 
asore that it was still unextinguished, she 
ot help fearing that all the hopes of this 
e no better than that feeble light npon the 
The remainder of the journey was passed 
.ce. She now, for the first time, felt that 
r melancholy, which comes over the youth- 
ien's heart, as sweet and transient as her 
eath upon a mirror; nor was it till she 
he lute of Feraxorz, touched lightly at 
r of her pavilion, that she waked from the 
in which she had been wandering. In> 
her eyes were lighted up with pleasure ; 
er a few unheard remarks from Fadladeen 

it of thia ceremony, we Orandpr^% Yajt^ in the 

pUee wiiere the Whanso, a rirer of Thibet, rise*, and 
T Are more than a hundred tpriniri, which sparkle like 
nee it i« emllcd Hotnn-nor, that i4, the Sea of Stan."— 
% </ Tkfibtt pf Rimkerttm. 

\jtaemx or Imperial Camp ia dirlded, like a resnlar town, 
ea. allrTS. and ttreet*. and from a ririnff ground ftimithea 
matt acrecable prospects in the world. Starting up in a 
in aa wninhahit<^ plain, it raises the idea of a dty built 
tarat. Even those who leare their houses in dties to 
prizkoe in his progr es s are frcqnrntlj so charmed with the 
en tftiMted in a beautifhl and conTenient place, that 
« ptwmil with themsclres to remoTe. To prevent tiiis 
ncc to tlie court, the Emperor, after sufficient time is 
the tiadcsinen to follow, orders them to be burnt out of 
** -. iMMc'n Hindostan. 

KUks gives a liwly picture of an Eastern encampment: 
np. I ike that of most Indian armies, exhibited a motley 
of covers from the scorching sun and dews of the night, 
areording to the taste or means of each indiridnal, bj 
Bcloaorvs of ookrarcd calico surrounding superb suites of 
ocd dotbcs or blankets stretched over sticks or branches } 
« hastily spread over similar supports i handsoms tents 
id caaopies ; horses, oxen, elephants, and camels i all in- 
cztcrior marli of order or design, except tha 

upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in 
presence of a Princess, everything was arranged 
as on the preceding evening, and all listened with 
eagerness, while the story was thus continued : — 

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 
Where all was waste and silent yesterday ? 
This City of War which, in a few short hours. 
Hath sprung up here', as if the magic powers 
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star. 
Built the high pillar'd halls of Chilmikar,^ 
Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see. 
This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright 

armoury : — 
Princely paviUons, screen'd by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold: ^ 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poitrels glitt'ring in the sun ; 
And camels, tufied o'er with Yemen's shells,* 
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bolls I 

But yester-eve, so motionless around. 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust bird' 
Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;-— 
Yet hark I what discords now, of ev'ry kind. 
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the 

The neigh of cavalry ; — the tinkling throngs 
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ; ' — 
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies; — 
War-music, bursting out firom time to time, 
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; — 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute. 
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute. 
That far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of the' Abyssinian trumpet^, swell and float. 

flags of the chiefii, which usually mark the centres of a oon- 
series of these masses ; the only regular part of the encampment 
being the streets of shops, each of which is constructed nearly in 
the manner of a booth at an English fair."— UitUjrical SkttchtM qf 
the South qf India. 

* The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed to have been 
built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jan ben Jan, who go- 
verned the world long before the time of Adam. 

^ '*A superb camel, ornamented with strings and tufts of small 

• A native of Khorassan, and allured southward by means of the 
water of a fountain between Shirz and Ispahan, called the Foun- 
tain of Birds, of which it is so fond that it will follow wherever 
that water is carried. 

T ** Some of the camels have bells about their necks, and some 
about their legs, like those which our carriers put about their fore- 
horses* necks, which together with the servants (who belong to the 
camels, and travel on foot,) singing all night, make a pleasant 
noise, and the Journey passes away delightAilly."— i^fs Account 
of the Mahometans. 

** The cancel-driver follows the camel singing, and sometimes 
playing upon his pipe; the louder he sings and pipes, the faster the 
camels go. Nay, they will stand still when he gives over his music" 

s " This trumpet is often called, in Abyssinia, nesscr ooao, which 
signifies the Note of the Eagle." — 3'o(e qfBruoti'$ Editor, 

CI ur M) perish, once more gave 
)wy banners proudly to the breeze, 
an army, nurs'd in victories, 
ds to crush the rebels that o'cr-run 
and beauteous I^ovince of the Sun. 

id the march of Mahadi display 
p before; — not ev*n when on his way 
i's Temple, when both land and sea 
I'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury;* 
and him, mid the burning sands, ho 

he North in icy freshness thaw, 
1 his thirsty lip, beneath the glow 
*8 sun, with urns of Persian snow: — • 
id armament more grand than that 
the kingdoms of the Calipbat. 
le van, the people of the Rock,* 
ght mountain steeds, of royal stock:* 
ftains of Damascus, proud to see 
ig of their swords* rich marquetry ; — • 
the regions near the Volga's mouth, 
ii the rude, black archers of the 

1 lancers, in white-turban'd ranks, 
BUT SiNDE, or Attock's sacred banks, 
J legions from the Land of Myrrh,* 
' a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid- sea 

hck fUndard* born« before the CalipTu of the nonie 
sailed, aUccorieally, The Kight and The Shadow.— 

letan religion. 

na fwear by the Tomb of Shah Beeade, vholf bnrled 

when one desirea another to aiwvcrate a matter, he 

he dare nrear bj the Holy Grare." — J^fnty. 

I itngle pilipimage to Mcoea, expended civ ninit»«>- 

.. ..^ >.«Mxioia ut lae ci 
Who dwell beyond the 
Of Hiin>oo KosH '-, in 
Their fort the rock, the 
But none, of all who ot 
Rush'd to that battle-fi( 
Or sterner hate, than Ii 
Her Worshippers of Fii 
For vengeance on the* i 
Vengeance at last for tl 
Her throne usurped, an( 

From Yezd's ** eternal '. 
Where aged saints in dr 
From Badku, and those 
That bum into the Casi 
Careless for what or wh< 
So vengeance triumph*d 

Such was the wild an( 
That high in air their m 
Around the Prophet- Chi 
Upon that glittering Vei 
That beacon through the 
That rainbow of the fit 

Twice hath the sun up 
And risen again, and fou 
While streams of camag( 
Smoke up to Heav'n — 1 

heron's feathen in their tnrbana 

>i In the monntalns of Nlihapc 
find tarqaoiw*. — Ehm HtmkdL 

13 For a deacrlption of these ttv 
Elptu'iuttme's Caubul. 

IS The Gheben or Onebre«. thn 



proitrate Cwaran is aVd,* 
■ert, when the wind's abroad. 
of God I" the panting Caliph calls, — 
r the Uring — Heav'n for him who 

vengen, on," Mokahha cries, 
blast the recreant slare that flies ! " 
le bmnt, the crisis of the day — • 
-they strive — the Caliph's troops 

eir plucks the black Banner down. 

Orient World's Imperial crown 

his grasp — when, hark, that shoat I 

■th check'd the flying Moslem's rout; 

f tarn, they rally — at their head 

ke those angel youths who led, 

uioply of Heav'n's own mail, 

Toa of the Faith through Bedbb's 

ted with ten thousand lives, 
fierce porsoers' blades, and drives 
nohitndinous torrent back — 
md courage kindle in his track ; 
step, his bloody faIchio|i makes 
IS through which vict'ry breaks ! 
kSJiA, midst the genend flight, 
he red moon, on some stormy night, 
ogitive clouds that, hurrying by, 
er unshaken in the sky — 
:Us his desperate curses out, 
promiscuously to all about, 
charge and coward friends that fly, 
f all the Great Arch-enemy, 
reads — "A miracle ! " throughout 
rank^ " a niiracle I " they shout, 
1 that youtli, whose coming seems 
>ry, such as breaks in dreams; 
ortl, true as o'er billows dim 
neks the load -star, following him I 

rds MoKANXA now he cleaves his path, 
aves, as thoujjh the bolt of wrath 
a Heav'n withheld its awful burst 
heads, and souls but half way curst, 
: Him, the mightiest and the worst! 
speed — though, in that hoiu: of blood, 
s seraphs round Mokajjna stood, 
of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
oul would have defied them all; 
rush of fugitives, too strong 
>rce, hurries ev'n him along: 

r the tonth wiod. vhich blows in Effypt from 
** botnetimea it appeora only in the ihape of an 
rind, wliich pajHCt rapidly, and i« fatal to the 
d in Uie middle of the desi-rt«. Torrents of bum- 
re it,ttM flrmamcnt ia eurelopcd in a thick veil, 
S9 (A the eoloor of blood. Sometimes whole ca- 
in it." 

ictciry rained by Mahomed at Beder, he was as- 
sntlmacs, by three thouiand an;:^:]*, led by Ga- 

in vain he struggles 'mid the wedg'd array 
Of flying thousands — he is borne away; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, 
In this forc'd flight, is — murd'ring as he goes! 
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night. 
Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks, 
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, 
And, to the last, devouring on his way. 
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay. 

*' Alia ilia Alia!" — the glad shout renew — 
•« AUah Akbar I " ■— the CaUph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets. 
And light your shrines and chaunt yoiu: ziraleets.^ 
The Swords of God have triumph'd — on his throne 
Tom: CaUph sits, and the veil'd Chief hath flown. 
Who does not envy that young warrior now. 
To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, 
In all the graceful gratitude of power, 
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour ? 
^Vho doth not wonder, when, amidst the' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name — 
'Mid all those holier harmonics of fame. 
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls. 
Like music round a planet as it rolls, — 
He turns away — coldly, as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume ; 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays. 
Yes, wTetchcd Azim ! thine is such a grief, 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 
A dork, cold calm, which nothing now can break, 
Or warm or brighten, — like that Syrian Lake,* 
Upon whose surface mom and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead I — 
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of woe 
Come by long use of sufF'ring, tame and slow ; 
But thine, lost youth I was sudden — over thcc 
It broke at once, when all seem'd ecstasy ; 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy Past 
Melt into splendour, and Bliss dawn at last — 
'Twas then, ev'n then, o'er joys so freshly blown. 
This mortal blight of misery caniu down ; 
Ev'n then, the full warm gushings of thy heart 
Were check'd — hke fount-drops, frozen as they 

start — 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang. 
Each tix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang. 

One sole desire, one passicm now remains 
To keep Ufe's fever still witliin his veins, 

briel, mounted on his horse lUazum.— See ITie JTortm amd its Com- 

* The Tecbir. or cry of the Arabs. " Alia Acbar I" says Ockley. 

mca::s, " God i« mu^t DiU;hty." 

* The Zirali-tt ii a kind of chorus, which the «omcn of the East 
sinK u^-on joyful occasions. — Aumc/. 

& The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor veirctcble 

I one bolt of vengeance, and expire I 

fe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
mall band of desp'rate fugitives, 
sole stubborn fragment, left unriv'n, 
oud host that late stood fronting Heav'n, 
'd Merou — breathed a short curse of 

St throne — then pass'd the Jihoh's flood,' 
*ring all, whose madness of belief 
ft Saviour in their down-fallen Chief, 
I white banner within Neksheb's gates,* 
% nntam'd, the' approaching conq*ror 

is Haram, all that bnsj hive 
c and with sweets sparkling alive, 
it one, the partner of his flight, 
for love — not for her beauty's light — 
k. stood withering 'midst the gay, 
) blossom that fell yesterday 
AJma tree and dies, while overhead 
^nng flow'r is springing in its stead.' 
love — the deepest Damn'd must be 
Oi Heaven's glory, ere such fiends as he 
e glimpse of Love's divinity, 
is his victim ; — there lie all 
for him — charms that can never pall, 
iell within his heart can stir, 
; trace of Heaven is left in her. 
angel's ruin, — to behold 
jage as Virtue e'er unroll'd 
leath his touch, into a scroll 
sins, seal'd with a burning soul — 
iumph ; this the joy accurst, 
dm among demons all but first : 

f tu- as cneir formidable 
The mighty tents of th 
Glimm'ring along the' 
And thence in nearer c 
Among the founts and j 
In all its arm'd magnifi 
Yet, fearless, from his 1- 
MoKAKNA views that m 
Nay, smiles to think thi 
Not less than myriads d 
That friendless, thron< 

Ev'n thus a match for n 
** Oh, for a sweep of tha 
**Mrho brush'd the the 

** To darkness in a mom 
** People Hell's chamben 
** But, come what may, 

** Caliph or Ptophet, Mai 
" Let who will torture 

" Alike this loathsome W( 
** With victims' shrieks an^ 
** Sounds, that shall gls 

grave ! " 
Thus, to himself — but to 
Still left around him, a fa: 
" Glorious Defenders of tl 
" I bear from Heav'n, wh( 

" Nor shadow of earth < 

** THe paly pomp of this t 
" The crown of Gebashu 

tt nc r» • , - - 



ficent, o'er Au's beauteous ejes,* 
ike the stars when mom is in the skies : 
jrSf rejoice — the port to which we're pass'd 
kestinj's dark wave, beams out at hist I 
r's oar own — 'tis written in that Book 
whose leaTes none but the angels look, 
jOLAif's sceptre shall beneath the power 
' greats foe &11 broken in that hour, 
the moon's mightj orb, before all ejes, 
Nkkahkb's Holy Well portentously shall 
am and sec ! "^— [rise 1 

They tam'd, and, as he spoke, 
iSk splendour all around them broke, 
*y beheld an orb, ample and bright, 
on the Holy Well *, and cast its light 
the rich city and the plain for miles, — ' 
g such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 
y a dome and fair roof M imaret, 
xmn suns shed round them when they set. 
from all who saw the* illusive sign 
mnr bfioke — ** Miraculous ! divine I " 
lieber bow'd, thinking his idol star 
ak'd, and burst impatient through the bar 
Inight, to inflame him to the war ; 
he of Moussa's creed saw, in that ray, 
orioos Light which, in his freedom's day, 
isted CD the Ark ^ and now again 
out to bless the breaking of Ms chain. 

) victory I " is at once the cry of all — 
ands MoKANKA loit'ring at that call ; 
5tant the huge gates are flung aside, 
orth, like a diminutive mountain-tide 
tie boundless sea, they speed their course 
on into the Moslem's mighty force, 
atchman of the camp, — who, in their rounds, 
isns'd, and cv'n forgot the punctual sounds 
small drum with which they count the night,* 
2e upon that supernatural light, — 
iink beneath an unexpected arm, 
n a death-groan give their last alarm, 
for the lamp?, that hght you lofty screen,* 
blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
re rests the Cauph — speed — one lucky 

• now achieve mankind's deliverance." 
rate the die — such as they only cast, 
renture for a world, and stake their last. 

beft«t7 of AII*a tyn wu ao remmrluible, that wheneTcr the 
I vciuld dr«eribe snTthinc m rery lovely, they say it ii 
]i,artt»t Eyes of All — Chardin. 

ire out Cold more of tliu trick of the Iropoetor, than that 
OBC machine. qu'U diM>it itn la Lune." Aooordin^ to 
mi, the miracle is perpetnated in Nckschcb — '^Nakshab, 
e cif a city in Tranaoxiana, where they sajr there is a well* 
I the mppearmnoe of the moon is to be seen nitfht and 

imnsa pendant deux mois le people de la rille de Nekh- 
1 fiUsast sortir toutes les nnits du fond d'un puits an corps 
z sembUtrtc h. la Lone, qui p->rtoit sa Inmitre Jiuqu'k la 
4Ae pla>teurs miila."— i>'ifer6cJo(. Uence he was called 
r tb« Mooo-nuJicr. 

But Fate's no longer with him — blade for blade 
Springs up to meet them thro' the glimmering shade. 
And as the clash is heard, new legions soon 
Pour to the spot, like bees of Kauzkroon' 
To the shrill timbrel's sunmions, — till, at length. 
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength. 
And back to Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
With random slaughter, drives the adventurous 

train ; 
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 
Is seen ghtt'ring at times, like the white sail 
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night. 
Catching the tempest's momentary hght I 

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low? 
Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring? No. 
Though half the wretches, whom at night he led 
To thrones and vict'ry, lie disgrac'd and dead, 
Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest. 
Still vaunt of thrones, and vict'ry, to the rest ;— 
And they beheve him ! — oh, the lover may 
Distrust that look which steals his soul away ; — 
The babe may cease to think that it can play 
With heaven's rainbow; — alchymists may doubt 
The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
But Paith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 

And well the' Impostor knew all lures and arts, 
That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of liis plot 
Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 
Hi-fated Zelica I had reason been 
Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen, 
Thou never could'st have borne it — Death had come 
At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. 
But it was not so — a torpor, a suspense 
Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense 
And passionate struggles of that fearful night, 
When her last hope of iMjace and heav'n took flight: 
And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke, — 
As tlirougli some dull volcano's vale of smoke 
Ominous flashings now and then will start, 
Which show the fire's still busy at its heart ; 
Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn gloom, — 
Not such as Azim's, brooding o'er its doom. 
And calm without, as is the brow of doatli. 
While busy worms arc gnawing underneath — 

4 The Shechinah, called Saklnat in the Koran^See Sah'» NoU^ 
chap. ii. 

» The parts of the nijrht are made known as well by instmmcnta 
of music, as by the rounrls of the watchmen with cries and small 
drums.— See Burder'a Oriental Cwstwm*, vol. i. p 11«. 

• The Serrapurda. hi»:h twreens of red cluth, stiffened with cane, 
used to enclose a crnisiderable space round the royal tents.— A'vtes 
on the biJuirdanuAh. 

The tents of I'linces were generally illuminated Norden t*lls 
us that the tent of the B^y of Ginje was distiiiicuii'hed from the 
other tents by forty lanterns being suspended bclore it.— See 
Ilnrmer'* Ob9crvati»)n» on Job. 

7 "From the eroves of oran^re-trcee at Kameroon the bees cull a 
celebrated honey.'* —J/orier's TravtU. 

.^wv. .AMMwi uuu)^ uown Her 

>d, as one just risen irom the dead, 

at gazing crowd, the fiend would tell 

ulous slaves it was some charm or spell 

I her now, — and from that darkened trance 

awn ere long their Faith's deliverance. 

times, goaded by guilty shame, 

was rous'd, and wor^s of wildness came, 

le bold blasphemer would translate 

igs into oracles of fate, 

lil Heav'n*s signals in her flashing eyes, 

her shrieks the language of the skios I 

n at length his arts — despair is seen 
around ; and famine comes to glean 
le sword had left unreap'd : — in vain 
md eve across the northern plain 
mpatient for the promised spears 
d Hordes and Tartar mountaineers ; 
le not — while his fierce bcleagucrers 
' havoc in, unknown before,* 

I ttni rabiiftlnff At thifl da7< Memi to me to prort 
Jant fonnerly Hierifloed a youoff virgin to the Ood 
tr they now make a itatue of earth in ahape of a rirl, 
{ive the name of the Betrothed Bride, and throw it 
" — 5orory. 

knew the lecret of the Greek Are amooff the Mue- 

In the eleventh century, appear* fVom Dow'b Ac- 

<od L ** When he arrived at MuulUn. flnding that 

the Jita WM drilended by great rivers, he ordered 

i bo^e to be boilt, each of which he armed with dx 

iectiog Arom their prows and sidee, to prevent their 

>jr the enemy, who were very expert in that kind of 

had launched this fleet, he ordered twenty archers 

and five othere with flrc<balls, to bum the craft of 

phtha to set the whole river on lire.** 

er, too, in Indian po«ins the Instrument of Fire, 

nnot be extin(rul«hed, it supposed to sionlfr *k» 

in agony, beneath thee 
liing through the city • 
Its shrines and domes i 
Its lone bazars, with th 
Since the last peaceful 
Its beauteous marble bi 
Now gush with blood, - 
That late have stood u{ 
Of the red sun, unhallo 
O'er each, in turn, the < 
And death and conflagi 
The desolate city hold 1 

MoKANNA sees the wc 
One sting at parting, an 
" What! drooping nowl 

He haiU the few, who yc 
Of all those famish'd sla' 
And by the light of blaz 
" What! — drooping no\i 

we press 
" Home o'er the very thr 

Abulualld in the year of the H«gi 
means of combustible matter, wit 
ted. strikes with the force of llffh 
See the extracts firom CatirT* Bil 
pendix to Berii^ftoiC* Literary Hi 

s The Oreek Are, which was occ 
their allies. *• It was," says Gibbt 
balls of stone and iron, or darti 
round with flax and tow, whick 
mable oil." 

4 See Hamtpatf'* Account of th 
(which is called by Lieutemamt J 
Flaming Mouth.) taking fire and i 
in his Journal, mentions some wc 
nated with this inflammable oil, i 
** Thooch the weather," he adds. 



AxxA fixm our ranks hath thinn'd awaj 
gT06«er bnnches, that kept out his raj 
■or from ns, and we stand at length 
tf his light and children of his strength, 
oocn few, who shall sBrrire the fall 
(Es and Thrones, triumphant over all I 
oa then lost, weak murm*rerB as you are, 
ii in him, who was your Light, your Star? 
oa for;;;ot the eye of glory, hid 
h this Veil, the flashing of whose lid 
like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither 
LS of such as yonder Chief brings hither ? 
laTe its lightnings slept — too long — but 


rth shall feel the' nnyeiling of this brow ! 
;ht — yes, sainted men ! this very night, 
on all to a fitr festal rite, 
— having deep refreshed each weary limb 
iiands, such as feast Heav'n's chembim, 
indled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 
hat pore wine the Dark-ey'd Maids above 
FeaKd with precious musk, for those they 
>ve,* — 

[ny«elf uncurtain in your sight 
unders of this brow's ineffable light ; 
lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
lyriads, howling through the universe ! " 

they listen — while each accent darts 
into their chillM and hope-sick hearts ; 
ach*rr>u5 life as the cool draught supplies 
apon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 
hey point their lances to the light 
L«t sinking snn, and shout *• To-night ! "— 
:ht," their Chief re-echoes in a voice 
like mock*Ty that bids hell rejoice, 
victims ! — never hath this earth 
uming half so mournful as their, mirth, 
the few, whose iron frames had stood 
kin;r waste of femine and of blood, 
ying wretches clung, from whom the 


ph like a maniac's laugh broke out : — 
ihcrs, lighted by the smould'ring fire, 
like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, 
the dea/1 and dying, strew *d around ; — 
one pale wretch ]ook*d on, and from hia 

' the ficrv dart by which he bled, 
ly transport wav'd it o*er his head! 

more than midnight now — a fearful pause 
i»w*il the long shouts, tbc ^ild apj)lause, 
ely from those Royal Gardens burst, 
be Veil*d demon held his feast accurst, 

I thaU be slm to drink of pore wins, icalcd i 
emaftbMU be mnsk."— A'uma.chap. Ixxxi'iL 
UMwaae bellcre each of the noineToafl ■oUtudce end 
btir couBtry to bt liih^hitwl by « lonely demon, whi m 

When ZxLiCA — alas, poor min'd heart, 
In ev*iy horror doom'd to bear its part! — 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave. 
Who, while his quiv'ring lip the summons gave, 
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
Compassed him round, and, ere he could repeat 
Ilis message through, fell lifeless at her feet! 
Shudd'ring she went — a soul -felt pang of fear, 
A presage that her own dark doom was near, 
Rous'd ev'iy feeling, and brought Reason back 
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 
All round seem'd tranquil — ev'n the foe had ceas'd. 
As if aware of that demoniac feast. 
His fiery bolts; and though the heav'ns looked red, 
'Twas btrt some distant conflagration's spread. 
But hark — she stops — she listens — dreadiiil tone I 
'Tis her Tormentor's laugh — and now, a groan, 
A long death'groan comes with it: — can this be 
The place of mirth, the bower of rcvehy? 
She enters — Holy Alla, what a sight 
Was there before her! By the glimm'ring hgfat 
Of the pale dawn, niix'd with the flare of brands 
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands, 
She saw the board, in splendid mockeiy spread. 
Rich censers breathing — garlands overiiead — 
The urns, the cu])?, from which they late hadquaff'd 
All gold and gems, but — ^what had been the draught ? 
Oh ! who need ask, that saw those Uvid guests. 
With their swoll'n heads sunk black'ning on their 

Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy glare. 
As if they sought but saw no mercy there; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through. 
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! 
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train 
C>f their false Chief, who on the battlc-ploin 
Would have met death with transport by his side. 
Here mute and hel))less gasp'd ; — but, as they died, 
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes* last 

And clench'd the slack'ning hand at him in vain. 

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare. 
The stony look of horror and despair, 
Which some of these expiring victims cast 
Upon their souls' tormentor to the last; — 
Upon that mocking Fiend, whose veil, now rais'd, 
Show'd them, as in death's ajrony they gaz'd. 
Not the long promis'd hglit, the brow, whose 

Was to come forth, all conqu'ring, all redeeming, 
But features horribler than Hell e'er trac'd 
On its own broo<l; — no Demon of the Waste,* 
Ko church-yani Ghole, caught lingering in the light 
Of thq^blest sun, e'er blasted human sight 

they call the Ohoolee Becebea. or Spirit of the Waite. They 
often illustrate the wildncM of any eequettered tribe, by nyinc, 
they axe wild as the Demon of the Waetc." — Slpkmitont'* 


.^ >>b"t >^« uiicuuneous souiB are 


rell, sweet spirits! not in vain je die, 

LIS loTes yon half so well as I. — 

ly young bnde! — *tis well — take thou thy 


;ome — no shuddering — didst thou never 


>ead before? — they grae'd our wedding, 


tiese, my guests to-night, hare brimm'd so 

Muting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too. 
low is this? — all empty? all drunk up? 
)s haye been before thee in the cup, 
bride — yet stay — one precious drop re- 

i to warm a gentle Priestess' veins; — 
brink— and diould thy lover's conqu'ring 

lither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
m but half this venom in thy kiss, 
1 forgive my haughty rival's bliss! 

ne — I too must die — but not like these 
nkling things, to fester in the breeze; 
3 this brow in ruffian triumph shown, 
1 death's grimness added to its own, 
. to dust beneath the taunting eyes 
s, exclaiming, * There his Godship lies ! ' 
rsed race — since first my soul drew breath, 
been my dupes, and shcM be ev'n in 

s'st yon cistern in the shade — 'tis fiU'd 
iming drugs, for this last hour dis- 
ill I DlnncTA mA i** ♦^•»* '* — -^ " 

" And, though I die, i 
** Shall walk abroad i 
** And guilt, and bloo 

But, hark! their b 
wall — 

Why, let it shake— 
** No trace of me shall 
" And I can trust thy 
" Now mark how read 
'* In one bold plunge < 




and su 


said — 
Quick clos'd the bumi 
And Zeuga was left- 
Of those wide walls thi 
The only wretched on€ 
In all that frightful wi 
More like some bloodlec 
In the Lone Cities of tl 
And there, unseen of a 
Each by its own pale a 

But mom is up, and 
Throughout the camp c 
Their globes of fire (th< 
By Greece to conqu'ri 
And now the scorpion's 
From high balistas, and 
Of soldiers swinging th( 
All speak the' impatien 
To tiy, at length, if toi» 
And bastion 'd wall be i 
Less tough to break do^ 
First in impatience and 
The burning Azim — ol 



.**Once more, one mlghtj swing 
beams, together thundering ! " 
aU ahj^cea — the shouting troops exalt, 
k discharge yonr weightiest catapult 
lat spot, and Nbksheb is our own I " 
he battlements come crashing down, 
e wall, hj that stroke riv'n in two, 
:e some old crater, rent anew, 
m, desolate citj smoking through. 
I no signs of Ufe — nought living seen 
r — what can this stillness mean? 
Mnae suspends all hearts and ejes — 
. the breach," impetuous Azim cries; 

Cai.ifh, fearful of some wile 
I stillness, checks the troops awhile, — 
figure, with flow step, advanced 
Jie rain'd walls, and, as there glano^d 
orer it, aU eyes could see 
own Silver VeU!— " *Tis He, 'tU He, 

and alone! " they shout around; 
t from his steed springs to the ground — 
f Caliph! mine," he cries, **the task 
•on daring wretch — 'tis all I ask." 
Its to meet the demon foe, 
TOSS wide heaps of ruin slow 
igly comes, till thej are near; 
& boxmd, rushes on Azim*8 spear, 
5 off the Veil in falling, shows — 
is Zeliga's life-blood that flows! 

not, Azm," soothingly she said, 
'embling arm she lean*d her head, 
g in his face, saw anguish there 
tirounds the quivering flesh can bear — 
t thou shouldst have the pain of this : — 
isth, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
Idst not rob me of, didst thou but know, 
're pray'd to God I might die so I 
end's venom was too scant and slow ; — 
on were maddening — and I thought 
St Veil — nay, look not on it — caught 
of your fierce soldieiy, I should be 
a thousand death- darts instantly. 
i sweeter — oh I believe me, yes — 
3t change this sad, but dear caress, 
I within thy arms I would not give 
lost smiling life the happiest live! 
»tood dark and drear before the eye 
ay'd soul, is passing swiftly by ; 
>mes o*er me from those looks of love, 
irst dawn of mercy from above ; 
f lips but tell me Fm forgiv*n, 
ill echo the blest words in Heav*n ! 
my Azim ; — oh I to call thee mine 
i again I my Azim — dream divine ! 
toa ever lov'dst me, if to meet 
CA hereafter would be sweet, 
pray for her — to bend the knee 
tad night before that Deity, 








To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain. 
As thine are, Azim, never breathed in vain, — 
And pray that He may pardon her, — may 

Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake. 
And, nought remembering but her love to thee. 
Make her all thine, all His, eternally I 
Go to those happy fields where first we twin*d 
Our youthful hearts together — every wind 
That meets thee there, fresh from the well- 
known flow'rs. 
Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours 
Back to thy soul, and thou may'st feel again 
For thy poor Zelica as thou dUdst then. 
So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies 
To Heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise 
With all love's earUest ardour to the skies I 
And should they — but, alas, my senses fiul — 
Oh for one minute! — should thy prayers pre- 
vail — 
If pardon'd souls may, from that World of Bliss, 
Reveal their joy to those they love in this — 
111 come to thee — in some sweet dream — and 

tell — 
Oh Heav'n — I die — dear love I farewell fare- 

Time fleeted — years on years had'd away, 
And few of those who, on that mournful day, 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic grave. 
Beside the swift Arooo's transparent wave. 
An aged man, who had p'own aged there 
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 
Por the last time knelt domi — and, though the 

Of death hung dark'ning over him, there play'd 
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, 
That brighteu'd even Death — like the last streak 
Of intense glory on the' horizon's brim. 
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. 
His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept ; 
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
So many years, had come to him, all drest 
In angel smiles, and told him she was blest ! 
Por this the old man breath 'd his thanks, and 

died. — 
And there, upon the banks of that lov'd tide. 
He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 

The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 
being ended, they were now doomed to hear 
Fadladeem's criticisms upon it. A series of dis- 
appointments and accidents had occurred to this 

D 2 


^, ....V Avif^ticu uuuiy ages 

the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, too, 

;d to be the identical copy between the 

)f which Mahomet's favourite pigeon used 

le, had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer 

vhole days ; not without much spiritual 

;o Fadladeen, who, though professing to 

th other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans, 

▼ation could only be found in the Koran, 

ongly suspected of believing in his heart, 

x>cdd only be found in his own particular 

it. When to sM these grievances is added 

inacy of the cooks, in putting the pepper 

ra into his dishes instead of the cinnamon 

idib, we may easily suppose that he came 

isk of criticism with, at least, a sufficient 

if irritability for the purpose. 

rder," said he, importantly swinging about 
let of pearls, ** to convey with clearness 
on of the story this young man has related, 
sssary to take a review of all the stories 

5 ever " — "My good Fadladeen !" 

d the Princess, interrupting him, "we 
not deserve that you should give your- 
Qch trouble. Tour opinion of the poem 
just heard, will, I have no doubt, be 
ly edifying, without any farther waste of 
lable erudition.*'— "If that be all," re- 
critic, — evidently mortified at not being 
o show how much he knew about every- 
the subject inmiediately before him — 
•e all that is required, the matter is easily 
d." He then proceeded to analyse the 
that strain (so well known to the unfor* 
rds of Delhi), whose censures were an 

from whirh fAw 

,H»/»r»w»o.«« < 

J - -■* 

ot lines as indigestit 
our friend in the veil 
fort is ; the young lac 
only recommendatioE 
the lover lives on to a 
purpose of seeing hex 
pily accomplishes, ai 
allow, is a fair sum 
Nasser, the Arabian i 
Holy Prophet (to wh( 
had no need to be jea 
teUing." ■ 

With respect to the 
matter ; — it had not ey 
of structure, which mi 
of the thoughts by the 
nor that stately poet 
sentiments mean in t 
smith's* apron conve; 
easily gilt and embr 
Then, as to the versi 
worse of it, execrable : 
flow of Ferdosi, the si 
sententious march of S 
in the uneasy heaviness 
been modelled upon tht 
medary. The hcences, 
were unpardonable ; — 
the poem abounded wit 

Like the fliint, exqc 

" What critic that can 
" and has his fall com] 
withal, would tolerate 1 
superfluities ? " — He h 


ilt tbc ptimnicrutg luapi seenied inclined to 
Im ibeir exunpk. li became neccMarr, thcre- 
r. htnceTcr painful lo hinuelf, to put lui end tn 
nkiable amnutdTeiuona for the prcseni, niid 
tnordiagljjioiKlnded, with an air of di^itit;d 
door, ll»a : -r- " Notwilhstonding the obEervii' 
u wl^h I hBTc thODght il my duty to moke. 
I bj DO meani mj wUb v< diacoanige the j-outig 
1 : — » br (Won it. indeed, that if be will but 
illy alter hia aijle of WTiting and thinltiiig, I 
r nrr Ihtle dcHibt UuU I ehall be vaati/ pleased 

\aa^ days elapsed, after this Itarangne of the 
■al Chamberlain, before Lu^la Rookb coiilil 
Eare to uk for another storr. Tlie j-oulh was 
lavelcome gneu in the paiilion — loone heart, 
ia^n, \oo dangerously welcome ; — hut all men* 
1 of poetry wan, M if by common consent, 
lided. Though none of the pany had much 
pcci fbr FAi>LJki>EEn, yet hi» cenFureg, thus 
ciiteTiaUy dcbrend, ctidenlly made on impre»- 
s on them alL The Poet hinuelf, to whom 
lid.'m was quite a new operation, (being wholly 
tnown in that FaradiM of the Indies, Cash- 
reO tit llie «hock as it ii generally felt a( first. 
OM hai, made it more tolerable to the patient : 
ibe Ladiea began to uupect that they ought nor 
be pkMMd, and seemed to conclude that there 
MX bate been much imxl nnM in what FASt-i- 
TS laid, from its hann^ set them all so Boundly 
ilfirpi — while the self-complacent Chamberlain 
f left to triumph in the idea of having, for Ihv 
■died and flftielh time in his life, extingnisbcd 
Port. Laix4 Rooxh atone — and Lore Icnew 
n — pei^iflcd in bein^ delighted with all idie 
d hnid, sad in rCHitving to hear more n.« 
if^ly at poisibte. Her manner, however, of 
» rrloming to the subject nas unlucky. Il was 
lile tbcy rested during the heat of noon near n 
miain, on which some hand had rudely traced 
Jrt well-known words from the Garden of Sadi, 
'Uany, like me, have viewed this fountain, but 
? are gtmr, and their eyes are elosed for ever!" 
riut »lie look occasion, from the melancholy 

bcBBty of this passage, to dwell upon the charms 
of poetry in general " It is true," she said, "few 
poets Clin imitate that sublime bird, which flies 
always in the air, and never touches the earth': 
— it is only onca in many agts a Gettios appears, 
whose words, like those on the Written Mountain, 
Joat for crer': — but still there are some, as de- 
hghtfiil. perhaps, though not so wonderfnl, who, if 
not stars over our head, arc at least Bowen along 
onr path, and whose sweetness of the moment wo 
ought gratefully to iuhale, without calling upon 
them for a brightness and a durabiUty beyond 
their nature. In short," conlinned she, blnshing, 
as if conscious of being canght in an oration, " it 
is quite cruel that a poet cannot nandcr through 
his regions of enchantment, without having a critic 
for ever, like the old Man of the Sea, upon his 
bttck!"'^FADUiiEEH, it WB8 plain, took thisla^t 
luckless allusion to himself, and would treasure it 
up in liis mind as a whetstone for hia next criti- 
cism, A sudden silence ensued i and the Princess, 
glancing a look at Febakorx, saw plainly she 
must wait for a mora courageous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, frafrrant 
airs, jilaying freshly over the current of youthful 
s|iirilB, will soon heal even deeper wounds than 
the dull Fadladcens of this world con inflict. In 
an evening or two after, tliey came to the small 
Valley of Gardens, which had been planted by 
order of the Emperor, for his favourite sister 
Kochinara, during their progress to Cashmere, 
some years bcfon.-; and never was tliere a more 
sparkhng assembhige of swecta, since the Gukar- 
e-Ircni, or Hose-bower of Irem. Every pivcioua 
flower was there to be found, that poctiy, or love, 
or religion, has ever consecrated i from the dark 
hyacinth, to which Hafez compares his mistress's 
hair', to the Cilnafatd, by whOF« rosy blossoms 
the heaven of Indra is scented.' As they sat 
in the eoul fragranee of this delicious spot, and 
Lalla Rookii remarked ihat she could fancy it 
the abode of that FIom-ct- loviUK Kymph whom 
ihey worship in the temples of Kaihny', or of 
one of those Peris, those beaulifu! creatarcs of tho 

yu <-U UlC 


mom a Peri at the gate 

den stood, disconsolate; 

as she listened to the Springs 

' life within, like music flowing, 

caoght the li^t upon her wings 

rongh the hsdif-open portal glowing, 

vept to think her recreant race 

Id e'er have lost that glorions place I 

tiappj," exdaim'd this child of air, 
le holj Spirits who wander there, 
1 flowers that neyer shall fade or fall; 
;h mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
he stars themselves have flowers for me, 
blossom of Heaven outblooms them all I 

h snnny the Lake of cool Cashxebe, 
ts plane-tree Isle reflected clear,* 
sweetlj the fonnts of that Yallej fall; 
h bright are the waters of Sino-bu-hat, 
le golden floods that thitherward stray,* 
oh, 'tis only the Blest can say 
the waters of Heaven outshine them all! 
ig thy flight from star to star, 
rorld to luminous world, as far 
le universe spreads its flaming wall: 
U the pleasures of all the spheres, 
ultiply each through endless years, 
minute of Heaven is worth them all!" 

igi aad M the njmph wtm WAlking aloM on the bank 
) ftmnd heiMlf endreled bj% ninbom, after which ah* 
laitft -~« -**' ' ' 




The Peri yet mai 
Who brings to this 
" 7Tke Gift that is 
Go, seek it, and rei 
'Tis sweet to let th 

Rapidly as comets 
To the' embraces c 
Fleeter than the sti 
Flung at night froi 
At those dark and 
Who would climb 1 
Down the blue van 

And, lighted earl 
That just then brok 

Hung hov'ring o' 

But whither shall tl 
To find this gift for 
♦* The wealth," she 
** In which unnumb 
** Beneath the pillar 
** I know where the 
** Many a fathom dc 
** To the south of su 
** I know, too, when 
** The jewell'd cup c 
" With Life's elixir 
•* But gifts like thew 
** Where was there < 
** like the steps of J. 
** And the Drops c 

they be 
** In the boundless I 

* **The Mahomctani rapp 



a she rnna'd, her pinions fann'd 

* that sweet Indian land, 

• ig bahn ; whose ocean spreads 
rocks, and amber beds ; ' 
Mintunsy preg^nant by the heam 
rm son, with diamonds teem ; 
ulets are like rich brides, 

Uh gold beneath their tides ; 
adal groTes and bow'rs of spice 
a Peri's Paradise ! 
on now her rivers ran 
iman blood — the smell of death 
ung from those spicy bow'rs, 
the sacrifice of man, 
1 his taint with ev'Tj breath 
from the innocent flow'rs. 
le Son I what foot invades 
ds and thj piUar'd shades' — 
n shrines, and Idol stones, 
irehs and their thousand Thrones ? ' 
f Gazsa. * — fierce in wrath 
es, and India's diadems 
r'd in his minons path. — 
Mlhoonds he adorns with gems, 
I the riolated necks 
f a joung and loy'd Sultana ; * 
I, within their pure 2^nana, 
in the rery fane he' slaughters, 
ks up with the glitt'ring wrecks 
en shrines the sacred waters ! 

1 the Pebi turns her gaze, 

ugh the war-field's bloody haze 

youthful warrior stand, 

•eside his native river, — 

lade broken in his hand, 

i last arrow in his quiver. 

ud the Conqu'ror, " live to share 

>hies and the crowns I bear ! " 

t vouthful warrior stood — 

pointed to the flood 

>n with his country's blood, 

ike the 8m of India, vhoM battom it lieli with 
rKTis. irlMMe moimtaiiia of the ooMt are ttored with 
■ itooei, wluMe gulf» breed creaturei that yield 
r the planta of whoae ihoxes are ebony, red wood, 
Hairxan. aluea, camphor, clovee, tandal-wood, and 
lad aromatlce t where parrots and peacocki are 
•i, and mtiak and dvek are collected upon the 
( i^two Mohammedenu. 

.... in the ground 

twiga take root, and daughter* grow 

other-tree, a pfttar'd Mkade^ 

ch'd, and echoing wallu between. If iltoit. 

ar deaeriptlon and plate of the Banyan-tree, lee 

nraenae treaenrc If amood returned to Ohizni, and 
•cparrl a magnificent festival, where he displayed 
wealth in izolden thrones and in other ornaments, 
ritbont the city of GhimV — FeriMhta. 
of Caxna, or Ghlxni, who conquered India in 
the nth centory.** — See Ids History in Dow and 

Then sent his last remaining dart. 
For answer, to the' Invader's heart. 

False flew the shaft, though pointed well ; 
The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell I — 
Yet mark'd the Pesi where he lay. 

And, when the rush of war was past. 
Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last — 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
Before its free-bom spirit fled I 

Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight. 
My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
Though foul are the drops that oft distil 
** On the field of warfare, blood like this, 
•* For Liberty shed, so holy is,* 
It would not stain the purest rill, 
*' That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 
Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
A boon, an offering Heav'n holds dear, 
'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her 
cause 1" 

** Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The g^ into his raduint hand, 
** Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 

" Who die thus for their native Land.— 
*' But see — alas ! — the crystal bar 
" Of Eden moves not — holier far 
" Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
** That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee ! 


Her first fond hope of Eden blighted. 
Now among Afric's lunar Mountains,' 

Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 

Of that Egyptian tide — whose birth 

Is hidden from the sons of earth 

Deep in those solitary woods. 

Where oft the Genii of the Floods 

* " It is reported that the hunting eqtdpage of the Sultan Mah< 
mood was so magniflcent, that he kept 400 greyhounds and blood- 
hounds, each of which wore a collar set with jewels, and a ooTcring 
edged with gold and pearls."— I7mrersal Hittory^ vol. iii. 

• Objections may be made to my use of the word Liberty in thia, 
and more especially in the story that follows it, as totally inappli- 
cable to any state of things that has erer existed in the East t but 
though I cannot, of course, mean to employ it in that enlarged and 
noble sense which Is so well understood at the present day, and, I 
griere to say, so little acted upon, yet it is no disparagement to the 
word to apply it to that national independence, that fhwdom from 
the interference and dictation of foreigners, withuut which, indeed, 
no liberty of any kind can exist { and for which both Hindoos and 
Persians fought ogaintt their Mussulman invaders with, in many 
cases, a bravery that deserved much better success. 

' **The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Luna of anti- 
quity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise." —J^ruee's 

** Sometimes called," says Jadcaon^ " Jibbel Kumrie, or Ute white 
or lunar-coloured mountains ; so a white hone Is ealled by the 
Arabians a moon-ooloured horse." 

D 4 

.^,.x.j^ M..4U. men iniiw ot gold 
in Hcav'n's sercnest light ; — 
ronps of lovely date-trees bending 
lidly their lcaf-crown*d heads, 
ithful maids, when sleep descending 
i them to their silken beds;* — 
rgin lilies, all the night 
ig their beauties in the lake, 
Y may rise more fresh and bright, 
their beloved Sun's awake ; — 
iu'd shrines and towers that seem 
s of a splendid dream ; 
nrhose fairy loneliness 
ut the lapwing's cry is heard, 
een but (when the shadows, flitting 
I the moon, unsheath its gleam,) 
pie wing'd Sultana ' sitting 
column, motionless 
"ring like an Idol bird ! — 
d have thought, that there, ev*n there, 
36 scenes so still and fair, 
>n of the Plague hath cast 
tiot wing a deadlier blast, 
tal far than ever came 
red Desert's sands of flame I 
that ev'ry living thing 
shape, touched by his wing, 
ij where the Simoom hath past, 
lis black and withering ! 
3nt down on many a brow, 
ull of bloom and fVeshness then, 
in the pest-house now, 
'T will feel that sun again, 
o see the' unburied heaps 
he lonely moonlight sleeps— 

leh the AbyMlnlAna !«««• >- ♦»•- " * 

She wept — the air gr« 
Around her, as the 

For there's a magic in 
Such kindly Spirits 

Just then beneath son: 
Whose fruit and blo8S< 
Were wantoning toget 
Like age at play with : 
Beneath that fresh and 

Close by the Lake, s 
Of one who, at this sik 

Had thither stol'n to 
One who in life where'* 

Drew after him the li 
Yet now, as though he 

Dies here unseen, un 
None to watch near bin 

The fire that in his b 
With ev'n a sprinkle frc 

Which shines so cool 
No voice, well known tl. 

To speak the last, the 
Which, when all other s 

Is still like distant mu 
That tender farewell on 
Of this nide world, whei 
Which cheers the spirit. 
Puts off into the tmknov 

Deserted youth! one the 

Shed joy around his s 

That she^ whom he for ^ 

And lov'd, and might hi 

Was safe from this foi 



her §axher'§ princely halls, 
the cool ain from fountain falla, 

• perfomM hj manj a brand 
Fveet wood from India's land, 
mre as she whose brow thej fann*d. 

. — who yonder comes by stealth,' 

melancholy bow'r to seek, 

young enroy, sent by Health, 

I nwy gifts upon her check? 

e — fiw off, through moonlight dim, 

Lnew his own betrothed bride, 

ho would rather die with him, 

a live to gain the world beside!— 

ms are round her lorer now, 

livid cheek to hers she presses, 

ipfii, to bind his burning brow. 

tie cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 

Dce, bow little did he think 

ur would come, when he should shrink 

borror from that dear embrace, 

(se gentle arms, that were to him 

AS is the cradling place 

Eden's infant cherubim! 

low he yields — now turns away, 

i'ring as if the renom lay 

. those proffer'd lips alone— 

r lips that, then so fearless grown, 

- until that instant came 

his unask'd or without shame. 

Wt me only breathe the air, 
'he blessed air, that's breath'd by thee, 
1, whether on its wings it bear 
lealing or death, 'tis sweet to me ! 
L re— drink my tears, while yet they fall — 
•Voold that my bosom's blood were balm, 
<t well thou know'st, I'd shed it all. 
To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
V, turn not from me that dear face — 
\m I not thine — thy own lov'd bride — 
e one, the chosen one, whose place 
In life or death is by thy side? 
ink'st thou that she, whose only light, 
[n this dim world, from thee hath shone, 
al<i bear the long, the cheerless night, 
Fhat must be hers when thou art gone? 
at I can live, and let thee go, 
» art mv life itself? — No, no — 
len the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
t of its heart must perish too! 
?n turn to me, my own love, turn, 
bre, like thee, I fade and bum ; 
ig to these yet cool lips, and share 

• last pure Ufe that lingers there ! " 

boHMteaet Ium bwn otftcii Introdoeed Into poetrr i— by 

• Fabfiriiw. bj Dvwin, and Utcly, with Tsry powerftil 
■r. WUk«. 

• Tt-*. they •vppon the Fh<Bniz to hav* flfty oriSoM In 
Uek ar* oontinocd to his tail i and that, aftar Uvlnc ooa 
rcaiB. ha buOda hiaMclf a ftmcral pile, linci a melodioiM 

throoKh hia fifty orgaa pipca, flap* hia 

She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In chamel airs, or cavern-damp. 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One struggle— and his pain is past — 

Her lover is no longer living! 
One kiss the maiden gives, one last, 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving! 

** Sleep," said the Pert, as softly she stole 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul. 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast — 
" Sleep on, in visions of odour rest, 
" In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
" The* enchanted pile ef that lonely bird, 
** Who sings at the last his own death-lay,* 
** And in music and perfume dies away I 


Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the place. 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face. 
That like two lovely saints they seem'd. 

Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping; 

While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken. 

But mom is blushing in the sky; 

Again the Peri soars above. 
Bearing to Ileav'n that precious sigh 

Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throi)b'd her heart, with hope elate, 

The' Elysian palm she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 

Smil'd as she gave that oflTring in ; 
And she alreadv hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the throne of Alla swells; 
And she can see the starry bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake. 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take ! ' 

But, ah! even Peris' hopes are vain — 

Again the Fates forbade, again 

The' inmiortul barrier clo^'d — "Not yet," 

The Angel said, as with regret. 

He shut from her that glimpse of glory — 

** True was the maiden, and her story, 

** Written in light o'er Alla's head, 

** By seraph eyes shall long be read. 

winm ^th a Telocity which teta Are to the wood, and oonnunet 
himMlf." — RirJutrdton. 

i ** On the shore* of a qaadraninilAr lake itand a thooMuid 
goblets, made of stan. out of which wmU predeatined to enjoy 
felicity drink the crystal wave." _ From ChitenubnandTt De- 
•cription of the Maho me tan Paradise, in his Beautia qf ChrU- 


epmg rosy at nis leet. 

who look'd from upper air 
the' enchanted regions there, ' 
auteous must have been the glow, 
, the sparkling from below! 
rdens, shining streams, with ranks 
sn melons on their banks, 
)lden where the sun-light falls; — 
irds, glitt'ring on the walls' 
d shrines, busy and bright 
were all alive with light; 
St more splendid, numerous flocks 
)ns, settling on the rocks, 
eur rich restless wings, that gleam 
\y in the crimson beam 
varm West, — as if inlaid 
illiants from the mine, or made 
ess rainbows, such as span 
clouded skies of Peristan. 
m the mingling sounds that come, 
herd's ancient reed*, with hum 
vild bees of Palestine,^ 
ueting through the flow'iy vales; 
>BDAir, those sweet banks of thine, 
woods, 80 full of nightingales.* 

ight can charm the luckless Peri; 
J is sad —her wings are weary — 
she sees the Sun look down 
great Temple, once his own,' 
lonely columns stand sublime, 
ing their shadows from on high, 
lis, which the wizard. Time, 
rais'd to count his ages by ! 

»ly there may lie concealed 

xyuL uttvo uic ^utucu 

In the rich West begui 
When, o'er the vale of 

Slowly, she sees a cl 
Among the rosy wild f 

As rosy and as wild 
Chasing, with eager ha 
The beautiful blue dan 
That flutter'd round th 
Like winged flow'rs or 
And, near the boy, wh 
Now nestling 'mid the 
She saw a wearied mai 

From his hot steed, . 
Of a small imaret's rus 

Impatient fling him 
Then swift his haggari 

To the fair child, wl 
Though never yet hatl 

Upon a brow more i 
Sullenly fierce — a mi 
Like thunder-clouds, o 
In which the Peri's e} 
Dark tales of many a i 
The ruin'd maid — the 
Oaths broken — and tl 
With blood of guests !- 
Black as the damning 
From the denouncing 
Ere Mercy weeps then 

Tet tranquil now that 
(As if the balmy eveni 
Soften'd his spirit) loo 
Watching the rosy infi 
Though still, whene'er 



Kft that unclouded, jojouB gaxe, 
A$ torches, that hare burnt all night 
Thrun^ tome impure and godless rite, 

Encoiuuer morning's glorious rays. 

fioL hark! the Tesper call to praj'r. 

As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
h rumg sweetly on the air, 

Frum Stbia's thousand minarets I 
The hoT has started firom the bed 
Of flowYs, where he had laid his head. 
And down upon the fragrant sod 

Koeels ' with his forehead to the south, 
lisping the' eternal name of God 

Fran Parity's own cherub mouth. 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Ar Hfted to the glowing skies. 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Jas4 lighted on that fiow'ry phun. 
And seeking for its home again. 
Oh! 'twasasight— that Heay'n— that child — 
A xene, which might have well beguil'd 
T.r'n haughty Eblib of a sigh 
Fur glories lost and peace gone by 

And bow felt Ae, the wretched Man 

Reclining there — while memory ran 

O'er many a year of guilt and strife* 

Fkw o'er the dark flood of his life, 

N*jr fumid one sunny resting-place, 

Nor brought him back one branch of grace. 

" There was a time," he said, in mild, 

Hean-hombled tones — ** thou blessed child ! 

" When, young and haply pure as thou, 

*• I kx>k'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " 

He hang his head — each nobler aim. 

And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 

Fresh o*cr him, and he wept — he wept I 

B!e»t tears of soul-felt penitence I 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
h feh the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 

••rcere's a drop," said the Pebi, "that down 

from the moon 
* Falls through the withering airs of June 

i - Saek Tarks m at the eoouDOB hoon of prajv ar« on the 
r«L or «D cnpltfsrcd m not to find oooTenience to attend the 
Kovjan. are ttill obliged to execute that duty ; nor arc thej erer 
to fUl, whatiertz btaiiDCM tbejr arc then aboot, hot pray im- 
vbca the boor alamu them, trhaterer they are about, 
very plaee they chance to itand on t ineomneh that when 
. vbom yoa hare to miard yon np and down the dty, 
the aotaer which U given him tram the ftecplei, he will turn 
icUi. and bcefcoo with hii hand, to tell hia charge he 
paticoer ftMr awhile; wlum, taking out hia handkerchief, 
it on the cronnd, dti crota-lccged th er e u pon, and Myt 
In the open market, which, haYing ended, he 
hi lit It np, aalntaa the pcraon whom he undertook to oonrey, 
fak loomey with the mild eapr— ion of CAefljcJbwawi 
. foUov me-^-iiarM l/OTe Tntvlfc 



** Upon Egypt's land*, of so healing a pow'r, 
** So babny a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 
" That drop descends, contagion dies, 
" And health re-animates earth and skies I ~- 
** Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 

** The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
" Though foul thy fiery plagues within. 

One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all 1 " 



And now — behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble pray'r. 
While the same sunbeam shines upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one. 
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heav'n 
The triumph of a Soul Forgiv'n ! 

Twas when the golden orb had set. 
While on their knees tliey linger'd yet. 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star. 
Upon the tear that, worm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam — 
But well the' enraptur'd Peri knew 
Twos a bright smile the Angel threw 
. From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

" Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done — 
** The gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won ! 
" Oh ! am I not happy? I am, I am — 

"To thee, sweet £den ! how dark and sad 
"Are the diamond turrets of Shaddkiam,' 

" And the fragrant bowers of Amber abad ! 

" Farewell, ye odours of Earth, that die 
" Passing away like a lover's sigh ; — 
" My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,* 
" Whose scent is the breath of Eternity! 

" Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
" In my fairy wreath, so briglit and brief ; — 

•* Oh ! what are the brighest that e'er have 

" To the lote-tree, sprinpinp: })y Alla's throne,* 
" Whose flow'rs have a soul in every leaf. 

" Joy, joy for ever ! — my task is done — 

" The Gates ore pass'd, and Heav'n is won I " 

s The Nucta, or Miraculotu Drop, which falls in Egypt prvdMly 
on St. John'i day. in June, and ii ■uppoecd to have the cilect of 
■topping the plague. 

* The Country of Dolieht —the name of a provlnre in the Itlng- 
dom of Jinniitan, or Fairy Land, the capital of which ii called the 
City of Jewel*. Ambernbad i* another of the dtle« of JinnUtan. 

* The tree Tooba, that •tandi In Paradiac. In the palace of Ma- 
homet. See Sak'f Prelim. Diac — Tooba, sayi D'llerbelot. eigniflee 
beatitude, or eternal happlneaa. 

* Mahomet it described, in the &3rd chapter of the Koran.ashaTing 
■ten the angel Gabriel " by the lote-tree. beyond which there is no 
paMing: near it Is the Garden of Eternal Abode." This tree, say 
the commentators, stands in the serenth UeaTcn, on the right hand 
of the Throne of God. 

ncs. If some check were not given to 
ess facility, we soon should be ovemm 

of bards as numerous and as shallow as 
Ired and twenty tiiousand Streams of 

They who succeeded in this style de- 
lastisement for their very success ; — as 
have been punished, even after gaining a 
because tiiey had taken the hberty of 
: in an irregtdar or tmestablished manner, 
en, was to be said to those who failed? to 
3 presumed, as in the present lamentable 

to imitate the licence and ease of the 
ns of song, without any of that grace or 
hich gave a dignity even to negUgence ; — 
J them, flung the jereed ■ carelessly, but 
them, to the mark ; — ** and who," said 
g his voice to excite a proper degree of 
ess in his hearers, ** contrive to appear 
id constrained in the midst of all the 
they allow themselves, like one of those 
^ns that dance before the Princess, who 
)us enough to move as if her limbs were 
in a pair of the lightest and loosest 
>f Masuiipatam ! " 

but little suitable, he continued, to the 
LTch of criticism to follow this fantastical 
whom they had just heard, through all 
ts and adventures between earth and 
but he could not help adverting to the 
onceitedness of the Three Gifts which 
pposed to carry to the skies, — a drop of 
rsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! How the first 
articles was delivered into the Angel's 
hand " he professed himself at a loss to 
; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh 

ness was not to be drawn 
fragrant grass near the Ga 
trampling upon them * ; — t 
tin^iiished every chance ol 
it demanded ; and that, ai 
hke the Mountain of the T 
ever yet reached its summit 
axioms, nor the still gcntlei 
were inculcated, comd Ioti 
elevation of Faduldebn's e 
into anything Uke encoura^ 
tion, of her poet. Tolera 
among the weaknesses of Fa 
the same spirit into mattei 
hgion, and, though little T( 
sublimities of ei&er, was a 
art of persecution in both, 
too, in either pursuit ; wh( 
him was pagans or poetac 
cows, or writers of epics. 

They had now arrived t 
Lahore, whose mausoleum 
ficent and numberless, wh< 
share equal honours with 
powerfully affected the hei 
Lalla Bookh, if feelings 
not taken entire possessioi 
was here met by messen] 
Cashmere, who informed 
arrived in the Valley, an<3 
tending the sumptuous pre] 
making in the Saloons of 
reception. The chill she f 
telligence, — which to a 1 
free and light would have 




beantifnl boys and girls, who kept waving over 
their heads plates of gold and silver flowers \ and 
then threw them around to be gathered bj the 

For many days ailer their departure from Lahore, 
a considerable degree of gloom hung over the whole 
party. Lalla Rookh, who had intended to make 
illness her excuse for not admitting the young 
minstrel, as usual, to the paviUon, soon found that 
to feign indisposition was unnecessary ; — Fadla- 
DEEir felt the loss of the good road they had hitherto 
travelled, and was very near cursing Jehan-Guire 
(of blessed memory' !) for not having continued his 
delectable allev of trees*, at least as far as the 

at ' 

mountains of Cashmere ; — while the Ladies, who 
had nothing now to do all day but to be fanned 
by peacocks' feathers and hsten to Fadladeen, 
seemed heartily weary of the hfe they led, and, in 
spite of all the Great Chamberlain's criticisms, 
were so tasteless as to wish for the poet again. 
One evening, as they were proceeding to their 
place of rest for the night, the Princess, who, for 
the freer enjoyment of the air, had mounted her 
favourite Arabian palfrey, in passing by a small 
grove heard the notes of a lute from within its 
leaves, and a voice, which she but too well knew, 
singing the following words : — 

Tell me not of joys above. 
If that world can jj:ive no bhss, 

Truer, happier tlian the Love 
Which enslaves our souls in this. 

Tell me not of Houris* eyes ; — 
Far from me their dangerous glow. 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound hke some that bum below. 

Who, that feels what Love is here, 
All its falsehood — all its pain — 

Would, for ev*n Elysium's sphere, 
Kisk the fatal dream again ? 

Who, that midst a desert's heat 
Sees the waters fade awav, 

Would not rather die than meet 
Streams again as false as they ? 

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these 
words were uttered, went to Lalla Rookh's heart ; 
— and, as she reluctantly rode on, she could not 
help feeling it to be a gad but still sweet certainty, 

duuity, and. on occanlon, thrown by the pune-bearen of the great 
amonjr the populace." 

* The line road made by the Emperor Jehan-Guire from Agra to 
Lahore, planted with treet on each aide. This road ia S&O lea^nie* 
In len-^th. It has ** little pyramids or turret*," say« liemitr^ 

"erected erery half lentrue. to mark the wayt, and fh»quent weUa 

lower. Iter an atUl ued in IndU to diitrilmte in ! to afford drink to pa«aenger*, and to water the young ticca." 

s gone for ever, and that she was in lore, 
hYr in lore, with young Febak orz. The 

fiaUen off in which this passion at first 
i itael^ and to know that she loved was 
lainfiil as to k>ve without knowing it had 
dcknti. FxRAXORZ, too, — what misery 
e hia, if the gweet hours of intercourse so 
Qtly allowed them should have stolen into 
: the same fatal fascination as into hers; — 
ithstanding her rank, and the modest ! 
he always paid to it, even he should have j 
lo the inflnence of those long and happy | 
ri, where music, poetiy, the dehghtful 
r Baton, — aU had tended to bring thcur 
ose together, and to waken by every means 
ready passion, which often Uke the young 
esert^burd, is wanned into hfe by the eyes 

She sftw but one way to preserve her- 
I being culpable as well as unhappy, and 
rerer painful, she was resolved to adopt. 
RZ mnst no more be admitted to her pre- 
To hare strayed so far into the dangerous 
I was wrong, but to linger in it, while the 
I yet in hi^ hand, would be criminal 
thie heart she had to offer to the King of 
I might be cold and broken, it should at 

pore ; and she must only endeavour to 
le short dream of happiness she had en- 
Uke that Arabian shepherd, who, in wan- 
Dto the wilderness, caught a glimpse of 
lens of Irim, and then lost them again for 

rrival of the young Bride at Lahore was 
d in the most enthusiastic manner. The 
d Omras in her train, who had kept at a 
iistance during the journey, and never 
d nearer to the Princess than was strictly 
r for her safeguard, here rode in splendid 
e through the city, and distributed the 
thr presents to the crowd. Engines were 
n all the squares, which cast forth showers 
ctionary among the people ; while the 
in chariots ■ adorned with tinsel and fly- 
imers, exhibited the badges of their re- 
trades through the streets. Such brilliant 
of life and pageantry among the palaces, 
les, and gilded minarets of Laliore, made 
altogether Uke a place of enchantment ; — 
ltIv on the dav when Lalla Rookh set 
Q upon her journey, when she was accom- 
■> the gate by all the fairest and richest of 
JitT, and rode along between ranks of 

knUanf believe that the oatriehee liatch their young 

ki^T Bt them.**— P. VtuuUbt^ Reiat, d'EgypU. 

r'fl Koram^ noCe, ToL iL p. 484. 


1. **Or rafher.** tKfn Scott, upon the paange of Fe- 

I wUek thia is taken, ** amall ooinf stamped with the 

}t with fire-flies.* In the middle of the 
?rc the pavilion stood there was a tank 
jd by small mangoe-trees, on the clear 
era of which floated multitudes of the 
red lotus ' ; while at a distance stood the 
. strange and awful-looking tower, which 
>ld enough to have been the temple of 
gion no longer known, and which spoke 
of desolation in the midst of all that 
d loveliness. This singular ruin excited 
er and conjectures of alL Lalla Rookh 
n vain, and the all-pretending Fadla- 
lo had never till this journey been be- 
prccincts of Delhi, was proceeding most 
to show that he knew nothing whatever 
matter, when one of the Ladies suggested 
ips Feramobz could satisfy their curiosity, 
"e now approaching his native mountains, 
tower might perhaps be a relic of some 
dark superstitions, which had prevailed 
>untry before the light of Islam dawned 
The Chamberlain, who usually preferred 
gnorance to the best knowledge that any 
»uld give him, was by no means pleased 
officious reference ; and the Princess, too, 
t to interpose a faint word of objection, 
re either of them could speak, a slave 
atched for Feramorz, who, in a very 
tes, made his appearance before them — 
io pale and unhappy in Lalla Rookh's 
; she repented already of her cruelty in 
• long excluded him. 

enerable tower, he told them, was the 
►f an ancient Fire-Temple, built by those 
Dr Persians of the old religion, who, many 

gera*, and seen her ancien 
princes swept away before 
tolerant invaders, he felt a 
with the suflFerings of the 
which every monument like 
tended more powerfully to a 

It was the first time that 
ventured upon so much pro 
and it may easily be conce: 
prose as this must have pro* 
orthodox and most pagan-h 
sat for some minutes agha 
intervals, *• Bigoted conquer 
Fire-worehippers ! " • — whij 
to take advantage of this ah 
of the Chamberlain, proceed< 
a melancholy story, connect 
one of those struggles of th 
pers against their Arab n: 
evening was not too far adv 
mueh pleasure in being all 
Princess. It was impossible 
refuse ; — he had never befc 
mated ; and when he spoke « 
eyes had sparkled, she thou( 
characters on the scimitar oi 
sent was therefore most i 
while Fadladebit sat in 
expecting treason and abon 
the poet thus began his stor 
pers: — 




ight over Oman's Sea ; > 

IS of pearl and palm j isles 

! night-beam beaateonslj, 

blue waters sleep in smiles. 

ight in Harmozia's' walls, 

;h her Emir's porpbjiy hidls. 

He hours since, was heard the swell 

, and the clash of zel,* 

e brigfat-ej'd sun farewell ;— 

\d snn, whom better suits 

dc of the bnlbnl's nest, 

kt touch of lovers' lutes, 

him to his golden rest. 

— there's not a breeze in motion ; 

is siknt as the ocean. 

come, so light thej come, 

is stirr'd nor wave is driven ; — 

tower on the Emu's dome * 

dlj win a breath from heaven. 

bat tyrant Arab, sleeps 
k a nation round him weeps ; 
les load the air he breathes, 
ions finom unnumber'd sheaths 
Dg to avenge the shame 
lath brought on Iran's * name, 
rtless Chief^ unmov'd alike 
that weep, and swords that strike ; — 
St saintly, murderous brood, 
lage and the Koran giv'n, 
k through unbelievers' blood 
tir directest path to hcav'n ; — 
will pause and kneel unshod 
irarm blood his hand hath pour'd, 
r o'er some text of God 
en on his reeking sword ; ■ — 
can coolly note the line, 
: of those words divine, 
his blade, with searching art, 
; into its victim's heart ! 

▲ ! what must be thy look, 

such a wretch before thee stands 

Qg, with thy Sacred Book, — 

g the leaves with blood- stain'd hands, 

^ing from its page sublime 

I of lust, and hate, and crime ; — 

II Gvlf, ■mwtlinw lo odled, trhich wpaimtei the 
mad AnbU. 

,t GcmbarooD, % town on the Fenien tide of the 

i otvoiotilCm 
And other pieces in Penia, ther heTe tow«n 
i of rr*-*'*'^ the vind, end eoolin< the houiee."— 

fbr the empire of Fenie.** — 

Ev'n as those bees of Trebizokd, 

Which, from the sunniest flow'rs that glad 

With their pure smile the gardens round. 
Draw venom forth that drives men mad.^ 

Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 
Never was Iran doom'd to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight 
Her throne hadfall'n — her pride was crush'd — 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd. 
In their own land, — no more their own, — 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her tow'rs, where Mithra once had bum'd. 
To Moslem shrines — oh shame 1 — were tum'd. 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd. 
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd. 
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill. 
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 
With hope and vengeance ; — hearts that yet— 

Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
They've treasur'd from the sun £at's set, — 

Beam all the light of long- lost days ! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 

To second all such hearts can dare ; 
As he shall know, well dearly know, 

Who sleeps in moonlight lux'ry there. 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
Bccalm'd in Ileav'n's approving ray. 
Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hiish'd, those planets shine ; 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd 

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power ; — 
None but the loving and the lov'd 

Should be awake at this sweet hour. 

And see — where, high above those rocks 
That o'er the deep their shadows fling, 
Yon turret stands ; — where ebon locks, 
As glossy as a heron's wing 
Upon the turban of a king,* 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild, — 
'Tis she, that Emiu's blooming child, 
All truth and tenderness and grace. 
Though bom of such ungentle race ; — 
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain I * 

Oh what a pure and sacred thing 
Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight 

• ** On the bledn of their Kimiten lomeTene from the Koren Ii 
nraelly inscribed." — RtuneL 

7 ** There 1« e kind of Rhododendroe about Trebizond, whoM 
flowers the bee feeds upon, end the honey thence drives people 
med." — ro«ni</'ort. 

s ** Their kinffs wear plumes of black herons* fieathen upon the 
riffht side, as a badire of sovereirntr." —Hamway. 

• " The Fountain of Youth, hj a Mahometan tradition, ta 
rituated in some dark region of the Eaef'—iNcAarcison. 

>w^»«« % 

_ .^ ^la vr * ^^ 

sleep and wake in scented airs 
ip had ever brcath'd but theirs. 

itifiil are the maids that plide, 

1 Rummer-cves, through Yemen's' dales, 

bright tlie glancing looks they hide 
ihind their litters* roseate veils ; — 

brides, as dclicAte and fair 

le white jasmine flow'rs they wear, 

Yemen in her blissful clime, 

ho, luird in cool kiosk or bow'r,' 

•c their mirrors count the time/ 

id grow still lovelier ev'ry hour ; 

icver yet hath bride or maid 

Arabt's gay Haram smil'd, 

\e boasted brightness would not fade 

fore Al Hassan's blooming child. 

as the angel shapes that bless 

fant's dreun, yet not the less 

in all woman's lovehness; — 

eyes so pure, that from their ray 

Vice would turn abash'd away, 

id like serpents, when they gaze 

the emerald's virgin blaze;* — 

ll'd with all youth's sweet desires, 

ing the meek and vestal fires 

ler worlds with all the bliss, 

md, weak tenderness of this : 

I, too, more than half divine, 

ere, through some shades of earthly feeling, 

3n's softcn'd glories shine, 

I light through summer foliage stealing, 


mldfft of the irarden i« the chiosk, that b, a lam room, 
leantified with a fine fountain in the midat of it. It Is 
or ten atepe, and incloaed with Rjldcd latttoea. round 
JeMuninet, and honeymcltlea. m«W* ■ •"-♦ -* — 

In her own land, i 
Why looks she now 
Among those rocks. 

Blackens the mirr( 
Whom waits she all t 

Too rough the roc! 
For man to scale that 

So deem*d at least he 

When high, to catc 
After the day-beam's 

He built her bow'r 
And had it deck'd wi 

And fondly though 
Think, reverend dreai 

Nor wake to learn ^ 
Love, all-defying Lov« 
No charm in trophies 
Whose rarest, dearest 
Arc pluck'd on Dangc 
Bolder than they, whc 

For pearls, but whe 
Love, in the tempest n 

Hath ever held that 
He finds beneath the s 
Yes — Arabt*8 unrival 
Though high that tow( 

There's one who, bu 
Would chmb the* unti 

Of Arabat's tremei 
And think its steeps, t 
Heav'n's pathways, if 

She rali'd her minra 
Then tum'd it hi« 

* ** They tay that If a make « 



w tfaoQ sec'ft the flashing spray, 
hts his oar's impatient way; 
R- thoa hear'st the sadden shock 
irift hark against the rock, 
etcbest down thy arms of snow, 
hh him from helowl 
r to whom, at dead of night, 
degroom, with his locks ofiight,* 
n the flush of love and pride, 
al'd the terrace of his bride; — 
is she saw him rashly spring, 
idway np in danger cUng, 
Bg him down her long black hair. 
Ding, breathless, ** There, loye, there I" 
arce did manlier nerre uphold 
hero Zal in that fond hour, 
rings the youth who, fleet and bold, 
dmibs the rocks to Hinda's bower, 
light as np their granite steeps 
rock-goats of Arabia clamber,' 
» from crag to crag he leaps, 
DOW is in the maiden's chamber. 

res — bat knows not whom she lores, 
what his race, nor whence he came; — 
oe vfao meets, in Indian groves, 
le beaoteoos bird without a name, 
bt by the last ambrosial breeze, 
Ules in the' ondiscoTcr'd seas, 
nr his plomage for a day 
nd'ring eyes, and wing away! 
e thus flv — her nameless lover? 
A forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
r as this, while singing over 
e ditty to her soft Kanoon,* 
at this same witching hoar, 
first beheld his radiant eyes 
through the lattice of the bow'r, 
rre ni^tly now they mix their sighs; 
looght some spirit of the air 
hat amid waft a mortal there?) 
using on his moonlight way 
en to her lonely lay! 
mcT ne'er hath left her mind: 
— though, when terror's swoon had past, 
w a youth, of mortal kind, 
fe her in obeisance cast, — 
en since, when he hath spoken 
e, awful words, — and gleams have broken 
lis dark eyes, too bright to bear, 
she hath fear'd her soul was gi\''n 
ae unhallow'd child of air, 
ning Spirit cast from heav'n, 

A«i«Mo« that the Ark has endmcd to \<mg without 
."—Sea CcnrrrrTt Travda, where the doctor laoffha at 
aeeBat of MovDt Ararat. 

If the booto of the ShAh NUneh. when Zal (a eelc- 
ef Phi we, remarkable for his white liair.) oomei to the 
Rudaknt at night, ihe lets down her lom 

Like those angeUc youths of old. 
Who bum'd for maids of mortal mould, 
Bewildcr'd left the glorious skies, 
And lost their heav'n for woman's eyes. 
Fond girl ! nor fiend nor angel he 
Who woos thy young simpUcity; 
But one of earth's impassion'd sons, 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire. 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day God's living fire. 

But quench'd to-night that ardour seems. 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow;— ^ 
Never before, but in her dreams. 

Had she beheld him pale as now: 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep. 
From which 'twas joy to wake and weep; 
Visions, that will not be forgot, 

But sadden every waking scene, 
like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 

All wither'd where they once have been. 

** How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 

Of her own gentle voice afraid. 

So long had they in silence stood. 

Looking upon that tranquil flood — 

** How sweetly does the moon-beam smile 

"To-night upon yon leafy isle! 

** Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 

" I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 

** And we, within its fairy bow'rs, 

" Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
** Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

" And we might live, love, die alone 1 
•* Far fix>m the cruel and the cold, — 

" Where the bright eyes of angels only 
" Should come around us, to behold 

** A paradise so pure and lonely. 
" Would this be world enough for thee?"— 
Playful she tum'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek put on; 
But when she mark'd how mournfully 

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; 
And, bursting into heart- felt tears, 
" Yes, yes," she cried, " my hourly fears, 
** My ^cams have boded all too rij2:ht— 
" We part — for ever part — to-night I 
" I knew, I knew it could not last — 
** 'Tn-as bright, 'twas heav'nly, but 'tis past! 
** Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, 

** I've seen my fondest hopes decay; 
** I never lov'd a tree or flow'r, 

" But 'twas the first to fade away. 

tresses to sjslst him in his ascent ; —he. however, mansces it In a 
less romantic way by flzinc his crook in a jirojectlnc beam.— See 
Champion't Ferdon. 

3 *• On the lofty hiUs of Arabia Petma are rock-Roats."— A'fe&HAr. 

* ** Canun, etp^ce de psalu^riun. stcc des oordes de boyaux i les 
dames en toudient dans le s^rail. aTec des d^cailles axn^ee de 
pointes de oooc" — Toduimt^ tramtaUd b^ Dt Ommami, 



Vhere'er thou goest, beloved stranger! 

ter to sit and watch that ray, 

i think thee safe, though far away, 

^han hare thee near me, and in danger! " 


iger! — oh, tempt me not to boast — * 
'outh exclaim'd — **thou little know'st 
at he cao brave, who, bom and nurst 
danger's paths, has dar'd her worst; 
in whose ear the signal-word 
f strife and death is hourly breaking; 
sleeps with head upon the sword 
is feyer'd hand must grasp in waking, 
gerl— " 

** Say on — thou fear'st not then, 
i we may meet — oft meet again?" 

look not so — beneath the skies 
w fear nothing but those eyes, 
ight on earth could charm or force 
spirit from its destin'd course, — 
ight could make this soul forget 
bond to which its seal is set, 
)uld be those eyes; — they, only they, 
d melt that sacred seal away! 
no — 'tis fix'd — my awful doom 
:'d — on this side of the tomb 
neet no more; — why, why did Heav'n 
;le two souls that earth has riy'n, 
rent asunder wide as ours? 
\jab maid, as soon the Powers 
ight and Darkness may combine, 
be link'd with thee or thine! 

Father " 

*♦ Holy Alla save 
I grev head from that lio-ht-Timo' r»io»»/u»! 



oiucc maids are bcs 
" And won with sh 
Nay, turn not from 

** Art form*d to make 
Go — join his sacred 
" The' unholy strife 
Good Heav'n, that 

•* With more than n 
Haste to the camp b 
And, when that swoi 

** Oh still remember, I 

** Beneath its shadow 1 
One yict'ry o'er thos 
Those' impious Gheb 






" Hold, hold— 

The stranger cried, i 
His mantle back, and i 

The Ghcber belt tha 
** Here, maiden, look— 
*' All that thy sire abhi 
" Yes — / am of that ii 

"Those Slaves of Fi 
«* Hail their Creator's d 

** Among the living 1 
•* Yes — / am of that oi 
" To Iban and to veng» 
** Who curse the hour ) 
" To desolate our shrin 
•* And swear, before Gc 
** To break our country 
** Thy bigot sire, — nay 

** He, who gave birth 
** With me is sacred as 



low — 'twas he I sought that night, 
SB, horn mj watch-hoat on the sea, 
ht this turret's glimm'ring light, 
I vp the lude ro^ks desp'ratelj 
1 to mj pre J — thou know'st the rest— 
l>*d the goiy nUtnre's nest, 
xmd a tremhling dore widiin; — 
, thine die rictoiy — thine the sin — 
e hath made one thought his own, 
Vengeance eiainu first — last — alone! 
■d we nerer, nerer met, 
iM this heart erv^ now forget 
ink'd, how hlcss'd we might ha^e hoen, 
ite not frown'd so dark between! 
thou been bom a Persian maid, 
neighbouring yalleys had we dwelt, 
;h the same fields in childhood plaj'd, 
he same kindling altar knelt, — 
then, white all those nameless ties, 
cfa the charm of Conntiy lies, 
)ond our hearts been honrlj sp«n, 
LAK*8 canse and thine were one; 
in thj lute's awak*ning sigh 
d the Toice of days gone bj, 
tw, in ererj smile of thine, 
ling hours of glory shine; — 
the wrong'd Spirit of oar Land 
d, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through 
thee, — 

who could then this sword withstand? 
ray flash were victory! 
>ir — estrang'd, diyorc'd for eyer, 
the grasp of Fate can sever; 
ilj ties what love has wove, — 
lith, friends, country, sunder'd wide; 
tten, then only, true to love, 
CD false to all that's dear beside! 
ttber Irak's deadliest foe — 
U^ perhaps, ev'n now — but no— 
tever look'd so lovely yet! 
-sacred to thy soul will be 
nd of him who could forget 
hat that bleeding land for thee, 
other eyes shall see, unmov'd, 
widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
t think how well one Gheber lov'd, 
for Aif sake thoult weep for all! 


With sudden start he tum'd 
ointed to the distant wave. 

Klakci that vcre in the otiier boat, vhen It wma 
hoot up a tort cf Herj arrovi into the air, which in 
lightning or falling itan."— ^otim- 

IM cadoMir* which w u ro nn da thte monnraent (at 
taO tomb toth* nienio97 of Tan-Sdn, a mtulcian of 
Itill, wlko flouiiilicd at the court of Akbar. The 
40v«d bf % trea, eooeemlDz which a raperttitioai 
. that tht clMwiag of tti laavca will giT« an eztraor- 

Where lights, like chamel meteors, bum'd 
Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave: 

And fiery darts, at intervals,' 
Flew up all sparkling from the main. 

As if each star that nightly falls. 
Were shooting back to heaVn again. 

** My signal lights! — I must away — 

** Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 

**Farewell-~ sweet life! thou cling'st in vain- 

** Now, Vengeance, I am thine again ! " 

Rercely he broke away, nor stopp'd. 

Nor look'd — but from the lattice dropp'd 

Down mid the pointed crags beneath. 

As if he fled from love to death. 

While pale and mute young Hinda stood. 

Nor mov'd, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her from her trance of woe; — 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

** I come — I come — if in that tide 
** Thou slcep^st to-night, I'll sleep there too^ 

** In death's cold wedlock, by thy side. 
" Oh! I would ask no happier bed 

** Than the chill wave my love lies under:- 
** Sweeter to rest together dead,. 

**Far sweeter, than to live asunder! " 
But no — their hour is not yet come — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly. 
Wafting him fleetly to his home. 

Where'er that ill-starr*d home may lie; 
And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 

Its moonHght way before the wind. 
As if it bore all peace within. 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 

The Princess, whose heart was sad enoujjh already, 
could have wished that Feramorz had chosen a 
less melancholy story ; as it is only to the happy 
that tears are a luxury. Her Ladies, however, 
were by no means sorry that love was once more 
the Poet's theme ; for, whenever he spoke of love, 
tliey said, his voice was as sweet as if he had 
chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, which 
grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein.' 

Their road all the morning had lain through a 
very dreary country ; — through valleys, covered 
with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one 
place, the awful signal of the bamboo staff', with 

dioary melody to the roiee." — yarrative cf a J<Mamtp/rom Agra 
to Ovseitt, by W. Hunter, Etq. 

> " It ii tinial to place a small white trianmilar flag, flxed to a 
bamboo itaff of ten or twelve feet long, at the place where a tiger haa 
deatroyed a man. It {acommon for the pamcngcr* aUo to throw each 
a atone or brick near the apot, so that in the conrae of a little time 
a pile equal to a good waggon load ia collected. The alght of these 
flaga and pUea of atonea imparta a certain melancholy, not perhapt 
altogether Toid of apprehendon." — OrkmUd Fietd Sparta^ vol . ii. 

K 2 

Ling from the paUnkeens. Here while, as 
the Princess sat listening anxiou.sly, with 
>BEN in one of his loftiest moods of criti- 
' her side, the young Poet, leaning against 
h of tho tree, thus continued his story : — 

mOTn hath risen clear and calm, v ^ 
id o'er the Green Sea* palely shines, 
aling Bahrein's* groves of palm, 
id lighting Kibhma's* amber vines. 
h smoU the shores of Arabt, 
le breezes from the Indian Sea 
r round Seulma's* sainted cape, 
dd curl the shining flood beneath, — 
»se waves are rich with many a grape 
nd cocoa-nut and flow'ry wreath, 
ch pious seamen, as they passed, 
tow'rd that holy headland cast — 
itions to the Genii there 
gentle skies and breezes fair I 
nightingale now bends her flight* 
n the high trees, where all the night 
le sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
I hides her from the morning star 
Hiere thickets of pomegranate glisten 
he clear dawn, — bespangled o*er [stain 
Tith dew, whose night-drops would not 
best and brightest scimitar* 
t ever youthfol Sultan wore 
n the first morning of his reign. 

I see — the Sun himself I — on wings 
Iflory up the East he springs. 
^1 of Light ! who from the time 
>se heavens began their march sublime. 

And bind her ancien' 
Ask the poor exile, cas 
On foreign shores unlo' 
Beyond the Caspian's 1 

Or on the snowy Mo 
Far from his beauteous 

Her jasmine bow'rs i 
Yet happier so than if 1 
His own belov'd, but b 
Beneath a despot stran 
Oh, he would rather he 

Where Freedom and 
Than be the sleekest si 

That crouches to the 

Is Iran's pride then g( 

Quench'd with the fla 

No — she has sons, thi 

Will stoop to be the 

While heav'n has ligl 

Spirits of fire, that bro 

But flash resentment b 

And hearts where, slo^ 

Of vengeance ripen in 

Till, in some treach'ro 

Tliey burst, like Zbiu 

Whose buds fly open ^ 

That shakes the pigm; 

Tes, Emir I he, who s 
And, had he reach'c 

Had taught thee, in a 
How safe ev'n tyroi 

Is one of many, brave 

Who loathe thy haugl 



Migh they know the strife is rain, 

oogh they know the riven chain 

It to enter in the heart 

rho rends its links apart, 

i the issoe, — blest to be 

' one bleeding moment firee, 

•, in pangs of liberty ! 

Qow'st them well — 'tis some moons since 

tarban'd troops and blood-red flags, 

itrap of a bigot Prince, 

swann'd among these Green Sea crags ; 

e, er'n here, a sacred band 

the portal of that land 

Viab, dar'st to call thy own, 

pean across thy path have thrown ; 

ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er — 

m brav'd thee from the shore. 

m ! fool, dishonouring word, 
se wrongfitl blight so oft has stain'd 
liest canse that tongue or sword 
ortal ever lost or gain'd. 
anv a spirit, bom to bless, 
sank beneath that withering name, 
but a day's, an hour's success 
wafted to eternal fame ! 
ilstions, when they burst 
be warm earth, if chiU'd at first, 
K*d in soaring from the plain, 
1 to fogs and sink again ; — 
they once triumphant spread 
rings above the mountain-head, 
i enthron'd in upper air, 
m to sun-bright glories there I 

lio is he, that wields the might 
reedom on the Green Sea brink, 
whose sabre's dazzling light * 
eves of YEMfai's warriors wink ? 
)me8, embower'd in the spears 
tXAx's hardy mountaineers ? 
nouzitaineers that truest, lost, 
,' to their country's ancient rites, 
lat God, whose eyelids cast 
r closing gleam on Irak's heights, 
: her snowy mountains threw 
t Hght of his worship too ! 

iPED — name of fear, whose sound 
s like the mntt'ring of a charm ! — 
mt that awful name around, 
palsy shakes the manUcst arm. 

Jhe bricbt dmitan niAkc tlie eyw of our heroes wink." 

t, BDd Other aacieiit Kfaigi of PenU; whoie adTen- 
r-Iaad ■XB<nic the Peria and Dtvea may be found in 
enrioQs DtMertatloD. The rrffRn Simoorgh, they say, 
Bthcn from her fareaat for Tahmnraa, with wliich he 
•ad tmundtted them afterwards to hisde- 

'Tis Hafed, most accurs'd and dire 
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 
Of whose malign, tremendous power 
The Arabs, at their mid- watch hour, 
Such talcs of fearful wonder teD, 
That each aflrighted sentinel 
Pulls down his cowl upon his ejes^ 
Lest Haped in the midst should rise ! 
A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth. 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings,' 

Who in their fairy helms, of yore, 
A feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan'd to see their shrines expire, 
. With charms that, aU in vain withstood. 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood I 

Such were the tales, that won belief. 

And such the colouring Fancy gave 
To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,— 

One who, no more than mortal brave,. 
Fought for the land his soul ador'd. 

For happy homes and altars free. 
His only talisman, the sword 

His only spell-word. Liberty! 
One of that ancient hero line. 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names, that have sanctified their blood ; 
As Lebanon*8 small mountain-flood 
Is render 'd holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks.* 
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past, 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead. 
Though fram'd for Iran's happiest years. 
Was bom among her chains and tears I — 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd. 
Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast — 
No — far he fled — indignant fled 

The pageant of his country's shame ; 
While every tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul hke drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so welcom'd he 

• Thii rirulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy RiTcr from the 
** cedar-faints" among wliich it rises. 

In the Lettrts Edifiantf, there is a diilferent caun asrigned for its 
name of Holy. ** In these are deep caverns, which formerly served 
•M ao many cells for a great number of recluses, who had chosen 
these retreats as the only witnesses upon earth of the severity pf their 
penance. The tears of these pious penitents gave the river of wtiich 
we have Jnut treated the name of the Holy Kiver."-.8e« CAd- 
UaubriamF* ficaaties of Christianity. 

E 3 

jvery arm that lin*d their shore, 
ads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 
CKxly, bold, and countless crowd, 
ro whose swarm as fast they bow*d 
ates beneath the locust cloud. 

e stood — but one short league away 
I old Habmozia'b sultiy baj — 
:k7 moimtain, o'er the Sea 
ICAK beetUng awfully; ' 
t and solitary link 
those stupendous chains that reach 
the broad Caspian's reedy brink 
wn winding to the Green Sea beach, 
id its base the bare rocks stood, 
laked giants, in the flood, 
if to guard the Gulf across ; 
^ on its peak, that brav'd the sky, 
I'd Temple tower'd, so high 
X oft the sleeping albatross' 
: the wild ruins with her wing, 
rom her cloud-rock'd slimibering 
1 — to find man's dwelling there 
own silent fields of air I 
h, terrific caverns gave 
welcome to each stormy wave 
ash'd, like midnight reveUers, in ; — 
ich the strange, mysterious din 
es throughout those caverns roU'd, — 
ich the fearfiil wonders told 
less sprites imprison'd there, 
)ld were Moslem, who would dare, 
ight hour, to steer his skiff 
1 the Gheber's lonely cliff.* 

If 'twere the sea's im 
Or floods of ever-rc 
For, each ravine, cacl 
Of that vast mountaii 
And, though for ever 
When Grod was worsl 
That from its lofty ah 
Though fled the pries 
Still did the mighty fl 
Through chance and c 
Like its own God's ot 
Deep, constant, bright 

Thither the vanqoish't 

His little army's las 
" Welcome, ternfic git 
" Thy gloom, that Ebl 

" is Heav'n to him ' 
O'er a dark, narrow br 
To him and to his Chi« 
They cross'd the chasm 
" This home," he cried 
" Here we may bleed, i 

" Of Moslem triumpl 
" Here we may fall, no 

" To quiver to the M 
** Stretch 'd on this rock 
** Are whetted on our j 
" Here — happy that n< 
" Gloats on our tormei 

*Twas night when to tt 
And gloomily the fitful 
That from the ruin'd a] 
Glared on his features i 



rr — what men could do, we've done — 
[ wiU look tamel/ on, 
« her priests, her warriors driv^ 
<re a sensual bigot's nod, 
tch who shrines his lost in heay'n, 
I makes a pander of his God ; 
proad sons, her high-bom souls. 
If in whose veins — oh last disgrace ! • 
lood of Zal and Ritstam ' rol£, — 
Mj wiB court this upstart race, 
urn from Mith&a's ancient ray, 
(eel at shrines of yesterday ; 
f viB crouch to Iil4k'8 foes, 
ij, let them — till the land's despair 
out to HeaT*n, and bondage grows 
) rile for ev'n the vile to bear I 
bsme at last, long hidden, bums 
inmost core, and conscience turns 
coward tear the slave lets fall 
OD his heart in drops of gaU. 
ere, at least, are arms unchain'd, 
souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 
is spot, at least, no foot of slave 
trap ever jet pro&ned ; 
d though but few — though fast the 

: is ebbing from our veins, 
^ for vengeance still remains, 
inthers, after set of sun, 
from the roots of Lebakon 
8 the dark-sea robber's way,' 
bound upon our startled prey ; 
rhen some hearts that proudest swell 
felt our falchions' last farewell ; 
Hope's expiring tlurob is o'er, 
v'n Despair can prompt no more, 
pot shall be the sacred grave 
last few who, vainly brave, 
r the land they cannot save I " 

!fs stood round — each shining blade 
e broken altar laid — 
agh so wild and desolate 
Hirts, where once the Mighty sate ; 
;er on those mould'ring tow'rs 
n the feast of fruits and flow'rs, 
ich of old the Magi fed 
d'ring Spirits of their dead ; • 
neither priest nor rites were there, 
larmed leaf of pure pomegranate ; * 

rocs of Perda. ** Amonir the Ouebrea there are iome 
r dcacent from Riutatn." —Stephen'* Persia. 
'• acocmnt of the panther's attackinsr traveller! in 
e •e*->horc abcmt the roots of Lebanon. 
titer eeremonlet the Ma^ci iwed to place upon the 
wrrt Tarioiu kinds of rich viands, upon which it wit 
erie and the (spirits of their departed heroes regaled 
. BickarrVtcm. 

BHttic* of the Ghcben round their Fire, u described 

Daroo.** he says. ** riveth them water to drink, and 

leaf to charv in the mouth, to clcanae them trom 

Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air, 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ; • 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard tkemj while on that altar's fires 
They swore * the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed. 
Should be, in Iran's injur 'd name. 
To die upon that Mount of Flame »- 
The last of all her patriot line, 
Before her last untrampled Shrine I 

Brave, suff'ring souls I they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe. 
Whom love first touch'd with others' woe — 
Whose life, as free from thought as sin. 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide. 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once, Emir ! thy unheeding child. 
Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smil'd, — 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and tow'rs. 
Before the combat's redd'ning stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flow'rs. 
Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd. 
While Heav'n but spar'd the sire she lov'd. 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlist'ning and aloof she stood — 
And oft, when thou hast pac'd along 

Thy Haram halls with furious heat. 
Hast thou not curs'd her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet, 
like lates of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear ! 

Far other feelings Love hath brought — 

Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, 
She now has but the one dear thought. 

And thinks tliat o'er, almost to madness ! 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 
His words — " for my sake weep for all ; " 
And bitterly, as day on day 

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds. 
She weeps a lover snatch 'd away 

In every Ghebcr wretch that bleeds. 
There's not a sabre meets her eye. 

But with his life-blood seems to swim ; 
There's not an arrow wings the sky. 

But fancy turns its point to him. 

ft " Early in the morainflr. thcj (the Pamees or Ohebera at 
Oulam) Ro in crowds to pay their devotions to the Sun, to whom 
upon all the altars there arc spheres consecrated, made by mairic, 
resembling the circles or the sun, and when the sun rises, theae 
orts seem to be inflamed, and to turn round with a Treat noise. 
They have every one a censer in their hands, and offer incense to 
the sun." — JiaUn Benjamin. 

< " Nnl d'entre eux oseroit se parjurer. quand il a prls k t^moin 
cet <sit'mcnt terrible et vengeur." — Kficyclojt. Franqoift. 

7 " A vivid verdure succce<ls the autumnal rains, and the 
ploughed flelda are covered with the Fenian lily, of » rcfplendent 
yellow ooloor." ~- SuattTt Aleppo. 

B 4 


he Love, that should haye bless'd 
so innocent a breast; 
ire, open, prosperous Love, 
ig'd on earth and seal'd aboTe, 
Ae world's approving eyes, 
dship's smile and home's caress, 
: all the heart's sweet ties 
e knot of happiness ! 
A, no, — thy fiital flame 
in silence, sorrow, shame ; — 
ion, without hope or pleasure, 
il's darkness buried deep, 
ike some ill-gotten treasure, »• 
1, without shrine or name, 
^ its pale-ey'd vot'ries keep 
ratch, while others sleep. 

^hts hare darken'd Omait's sea, 
last, beneath the moonlight ray, 
his light oar rapidly 

her Gheber*s bark away, — 
. she goes, at midnight hour, 

alone in that high bowV, 
xh, and look along the deep 
whose smiles first made her weep ;- 
ching, weeping, all was vain, 
sr saw his bark again. 
et*s solitary cry, 
ht-hawk, flitting darkly by, 
3ft the hateful carrion bird, 
flapping his clogg'd wing, 
reek'd with that day's banqueting — 
all she saw, was all she heard. 

I eighth mom — Al Hassan's brow 

Still singling one from all 
" Yes — spite of his ravine 
" Hafed, my child, this n 
** Thanks to all-conqu'rinj 

" Without whose aid th( 
** That bind these impious 

** Too strong for Alla' 
*• That rebel fiend, whose 
" My path with piles of M 
*' Wliose baffling spells ha 
** Back from their course 
" This night, with all his 
*' How deep an Arab's Bt< 
" When God and Vengea 
•* And — Prophet I by th 
«♦ Thou wor'st on Ohod's 
** I swear, for ev'ry sob tl 
** In anguish from these 1 
" A gem from Persia's ] 
** Shall glitter on thy Shj 
*• But, Im I — she sinks — 
** Those livid lips — my 
*♦ This life of blood befiti 
** And thou must back U 

" Ne'er had I risk'd tl 
** In scenes that man hixi 
*♦ Had I not hop'd our e 

•* Would be on prostri 
** Curst race, they offer i 
** But cheer thee, maid, - 
** Is blowing o'er thy fei 
" To-day shall waft the< 
** And, ere a drop of thi 
^ Have time to chill in ; 
•* Thou'lt see thy own s 



To dioM high tow*n, where Freedom stood 

In her hut hold of flame and blood. 

Left oo the field that dreadful night, 

When, saUjiDg from their sacred height^ 

The (>faebarB fought hope's farewell fight, 

He laj — bnt died not with the braTe ; 

That mn, which should hare gUt his grare. 

Saw him a traitor and a slare ;^- 

And, while the few, who thence retum'd 

To their high rocky fortress, moum'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

TbcT left behind on glory's bed. 

He hy'd, and, in the face of mom, 

Lm^'d them and Faith and Heay'n to scorn. 

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave. 

Whose treason, like a deadly blight, 
Cones o'er the councils of the brave. 

And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
Met Life's unblessed cup for him 
Be dmgg'd with treach'ries to the brim, — 
With hopes, that but allure to fly, 

With joys, that vanish while ne sips, 
like Detd Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 

Biu turn to ashes on the lips I * 
His country's curse, his children's shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame. 
May he, at last, with lips of flame, 
(^ the parch'd desert ^irsting die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh,' 
Are fading oflT, untouch'd, untasted. 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And. when from earth his spirit flies, 

Ja«t Prophet, let the danm'd-one dwell 
Foil in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heav'n, and feeling hell I 

''Tlc7a7tbmttliei«ai«a|iple-treeiiiponth«tldef ofthitwa, ' 
^'^ betr Terr lovely fndt, bat vilhin are all fViU of a«hc«." - ' 
^- ■*y»t. The mme it a wer t e d of the ormages thfere i ride Wit- 
•a I Trmtda in A^iatie Torker* 

'TW Aiphalt Lake, knovn by Use name of the Dead Sea, !■ Ytry 
fts*Aalit oa aeooont of tlie oontiderable proportiun of aalt which 
sonuiiu. la thb Nspect It rarpaafc* crery other known water 
ce iim nrfaee of the earth. This irreat proportion of bitter tatted 
■.tf u ihc rtaion why neither animal nor plant can lire in thia 
wter.- _ Ktaproth't Chemical Analyiii of the Water of the Dead 
^Jtnnalsof Philotophy, January, ISIS. //oMc^tft, however, 
^-f-Mi tl»e truth of thia Laat asKrilon, as there are ihell-fljh to be 
ttmi is the lake. 

L«ff<d Byroo has a rfmilar allnaion to the fmlte of th« Dead Sea, 
Iz. KM, wcnderfol di«play of genius, his third Canto of Childe 
3sr>FJ— macsitfeeat bcyoad anything, perhaps, that even Ac has 

• 'The Snhrab or Water of the Desert is said to be caused by the ! 
SH^wtioB of tike atmosphere from extreme heat t and, which aug- 
aat* the dclaskin. it is mort frequent In hollows, where water 
■ii^t be expected to lodge. I hare seen bushes and trees reflected 
a Xvhh as Boch accuracy as though it had been the face of a clear 

' As«s the uabelirvTrs. their works are like a rapour in a plain, 
vkak the thirsty traTeller thinketh to be water, until when he 
^Mk Iheialo he ftadeth it to be nothing."-. JTonni, chap. M. 

'"AatHivUeh prcrailjiia February, caUcd Bidmusk,froma 

Laxla Rookh had, the night before, been visited 
by a dream which, in spite of the impending fate 
of poor Hafed, made her heart more than Wiually 
cheerfdl during the morning, and gave her cheeks 
all the freshened animation of a flower that the 
Bid-musk has just passed over.* She fancied that 
she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the 
sea-gipsies, who live for ever on the water *, enjoy 
a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle^ 
when she saw a small gilded bark approaching 
her. It was like one of those boats which tlie 
Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of 
winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, 
and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit 
whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this 
little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming 

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream 
to her Ladies, when Feramoiiz appeared at the 
door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, 
everything else was forgotten, and the continuance 
of the story was instantly requested by all Fresh 
wood of aloes was set to bum in the cassolets ; — 
the violet sherbets* were hastily handed round, 
and after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic 
measure of Nava*, which is always used to express 
the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus 
continued : — 

The day is lowering — stilly black 
Slecj)S the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
Dispers'd and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy. 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 
But tells of storm to come or post ; — 

small and odoriferous flower of that name."— "The wind which 
blowf these flowers commonly lasts till the end of the month." — 
Le Bruyn. 

4 " The Biajiis are of two races: the one is settled on Borneo, and 
are a rude but warlike and induttriout nation, who reclcon them- 
selves the original possessors of the inlsnd uf Borneo. The other is 
a species of sea-i^ipsivs or itinerant fiohernicn, who live in small 
covered boats, and enjoy a pcritctual summer on the eastern ocean, 
shif\ing to leeward fn>m island to island, with the variations of the 
monsoon. In some of their customs thi« sinKular race resembles the 
natives of the Maldivia Islands. The Maldi viaus annually launch a 
small bark, loaded with iwrAimes. {rums, flowers, and odoriferous 
wood, at.dtum it adrift at the mercy of wind and waves, as an oflWr- 
ing to the Spirit qfthe Wiiuh; and sometimes similar offerings are 
made to the spirit whom they term the King qftht Sea. In like man- 
ner the Biaj^a perform their offering to the cod of evil, launching a 
small bark, loaded with all the sins and misfortunes of the nation, 
whieli are imagined to fall on the unhappy crew that may be so un- 
lucky as first to meet with it." — J>r. J>vti*-n on the T.anguage and 
Literature of the Indo-Chinese Nations. 

A " The sweet-scented violet i« one of the plants most esteemed, 
particularly for its great use in Sorbet, which they make of violet 
sugar. "— //os^W^ «w(. 

** The fcherbet they most esteem, and which Isdrunk by the Grand 
Signor himself. U made of vii)let« and migar."— rarermer. 

6 " I^ast of all »hc Ukolc a ttuitar. and sang a fiathetic air in the 
measure called Xava, which is always used to express the lamenta- 
tions of absent lovers."— /Vnkin TaU». 

awfiil than the tempest^s sound, 
liver steer'd for Ormus* bowers, 
moor'd his skiff till calmer hours ; 
ica-birds, with portentous screech, 
fast to land ; — ufjon the beach 
)ilot oft had paus'd, with glance 
d upward to that wild expanse ; — 
ill was boding, drear, and dark 
r own soul, when Hikda's bark 
slowly from the Persian shore. — 
isic tim'd her parting oar,' 
lends upon the lessening strand 
r'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
;ak the farewell, heard no more ; — 
ne, unheeded, fh)m the bay 
38sel takes its mournful way, 
ome ill-destin*d bark that steers 
Dce through the Gate of Tears.* 

here was stem Al Hassan then ? 

not that saintly scourge of men 

)loodshed and devotion spare 

Inute for a &rewell there ? 

lose within, in changeful fits 

ling and of pray'r, he sits 

ge loneliness to brood 

he coming night of blood, — 
that keen, second-scent of death, 
ch the vulture snuffs his food 
e still warm and living breath ! * 
»'er the wave his weeping daughter 
d from these scenes of slaughter, — 
ung bird of Babylon,* 
e to tell of vict'ry won, 
me, with wing, ah I not unstained 
"ed hands that held her chain'd. 

In her own sweet a< 
Can these delights, th: 
Call up no sunshine o: 
No, — silent, from her 
As even now she felt i 
The chill of her appro 
She sits, all lovely in 1 
As a pale Angel of tht 
And o'er the wide tem 
Looks, with a shudder, 
Where, in a few short 
Blood, blood, in strean 
Foul incense for to-mo: 
** Where art thou, glor 
** So lov'd, so lost, whe 
" Foe — Gheber — infid 
"The' unhallow'd na 

** Still glorious— still t< 
** Dear as its blood, wht 
" Yes — Alla, dreadful 
" If there be wrong, be 
" Let the black waves tl 
** Whelm mo this instan 
•* Forgetting faith — hoi 
** Before its earthly idol 
" Nor worship ev'n Thy 
** For, oh, so wildly do ] 
•* Thy Paradise itself wc 
** And joyless, if not sha 
Her hands were clasp'd- 

Dropping their tears 1 
And, though her lip, fon 

With words of passior 
Tet was there light arou 

A holinps« »r» tK/^*-/* J» 



for a ffurit pore as hers 

ITS pure, er'n while it errs ) 

ishine, bnoken in the rill, 

:h tam'd astraj, is sunshine still 1 

rhoDj had her mind forgot 

cmghts but one, she heeded not 

ang storm — the wave that cast 

neot's midnight, as it pass'd — 

eard the freqoent shout, the tread 

ii*nng tumult o'er her head — 

d swovxis, and tongues that seem'd to yie 

cbe rude riot of the sky. — 

irk ! — that war-whoop on the deck»- 

t crash, as if each engine there, 

sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 

jells and stampings of despair I 

al Hearen ! what can it be ? 

ic the storm, though fearfully 

ip has shudder'd as she rode 

oontain-waTes — ** Forgive me, God I 

iTe me " — shriek*d the maid, and knelt, 

ling an oTer — for she felt 

er judgment-hour was near ; 

oranching round, half dead with fear, 

odmaids clung, nor breath'd, nor stirr'd — 

hark ! — a second crash — a third — 

>w, as if a bolt of thunder 

r'n the labouring planks asunder, 

ck falls in — what horrors then ! 

waves, and tackle, sword^ and men 

nixM together through the chasm, — 

rretches in their dying spasm 

rhting on — and some that call 

jOD and Iran !** as they fall I 

was the hand that tumM away 

riU of the* infuriate frav, 

latch'd her breathless from beneath 

ilderment of wreck and death ? 

ew not — fur a faintness came 

*er her, and her sinking frame 

Jie ruins of that hour 

ke a pale and scorched flow'r, 

h the red volcano's shower. 

1 the sights and sounds of dread 

iiock'd her ere her senses fled ! 

wning deck — the crowd that strove 

he tott'ring planks above — 

il, whose fragments, shivering o'er 

■nggkrs* heads, all dash'd with gore, 

'd like bloody flags — the clash 

-es, and the lightning's flash 

heir blades, high toss'd about 

eteor brands * — as if tliroughout 

elements one fury ran. 

ilUut Canopof, aoMcn in European cUmfttc*.* 


Emmrt on Um Sftcred Itim In the 

One gen'ral rage, that left a doubt 
Which was Uie fiercer, Heav'n or Man I 

Once too — but no — it could not be — 

'Twas fancy all — yet once she thought, 
While yet her fading eyes could see, 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glunpse of that unearthly form. 

That glonr of her soul, — even then. 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm. 

Shining above his fellow-men, 
As, on some black /ind troublous night. 
The Star of Egypt ', whose proud light 
Never hath beamed on those who rest 
In the White Islands of the West,* 
Bums through the storm with looks of flame 
That put Heav'n's cloudier eyes to shame. 
But no — 'twas but the minute's dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips, 
A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead. 

How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone 
When warring winds have died away, 
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
Melt ofl^, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity, — 
Fresh as if Day again were bom. 
Again upon the lap of Mom I — 
When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will. 
Hang floating in the pure air still, 
FiUing it all with precious balm. 
In gratitude for this sweet calm ; — 
And every drpp the thuuder-show'rs 
Have left upon the grass and flow'rs 
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem* 
Whose liquid flame is bom of them 1 
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze. 
There blow a thousand gentle airs. 
And each a diff' rent j)ei-fume bears, — 
As if the loveliest plants and trees 
Had vassal breezes of their o^vn 
To watch and wait on them alone, 
And waft no otlier breath than theirs : 
When the blue waters rise and fall. 
In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 
And ev'n that swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves 
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest. 
Too newly to be quite at rest. 

« A precious ttone of the Indiei. called by the ancients Ceran- 
ninm, bccaute it was suppoM-d tu be found in place* where thunder 
had fallen. TertulUan sayt it hoa a clitterins apticurance, aa if 
there had been fire in it i and the author of the DinMrtatiun in 
Uarrii's Yojrasea, auppoaei it to be the opaL 

a mai mecis Hcf woncTring view, 
n a galliot's deck she lies, 
eneath no rich pavilion's shade, — 
plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 
or jasmine on her pillar Laid, 
the rude htter, roughly spread 
i war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 

shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 
awning o'er her head are flung. 
Id'ring she look'd around — there lay 

group of warriors in the sun, 
ing their limbs, as for that day 

leir ministry of death were done. 

3 gazing on the drowsy sea, 

in unconscious reverie ; 

some, who seem'd but iU to brook 

sluggish cahn, with many a look 

le slack sail impatient cast, 

ose it flagg'd around the mast. 

AllaI who shall save her now ? 
ere's not in all that warrior band 
Irab sword, one turban'd brow 
)m her own faithful Moslem land, 
garb — the leathern belt * that wraps 
:h yellow vest* — that rebel hue — 
Tartar fleece upon their caps • — 
1 — yes — her fears are all too true, 
leav'n hath, in this dreadful hour, 
lon'd her to Hafed's power ; 
5, the Gheber I — at the thought 
very heart's blood chills witfin ; 
iom her soul was hourly taught 
loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
minister, whom Hell had sent, 

ead its blast, where'er he went, 

* fl " ~ 

Axnxi ugiit, nan snad 
Paint on the fleeting 
In trance or slumbei 

But now the bark, w 
Scales the blue v 
The oars are out, am 
Break the bright n 
Scatt'ring its brilliani 
And now she sees — 
Their course is to^ 
Those tow'rs, that mi 
Where Mecca's godl» 
Lie, like beleaguer' 
In their last deadly 
Amid the' illumin*d L 
Sunless that mighty i 
Save where, above its 
There shone a flaming 
As 'twere the flag of ( 
Hung out to mark wh 

Had her bewilder'd m; 
Of thought in this ten 
She weU might marvel 
Man's foot could scale 
Since ne'er had Arab 1 
Of path but through tl 
But every thought wai 
When, as their boundi 
The craggy base, she i 
Hurry them tow'rd th< 
That from the Deep ii 
Beneath that Mount's 



Sknt the J floated — aa if each 
Stt breathleaa, and too aw'd for speech 
In that dark chasm, where CTen soand 
Seem'd daA, — so soUenlj around 
Tbe goblm echoes of the care 
Kstter'd it o'er the long black waye, 
As 'twere some secret c? the graTel 

Bst loA— thej pause — the current tarns 

Beneath them from its onward tracks- 
Some mightj, miseen barrier spurns 
The Tuced tide, all foaming, back. 
And Ksroe the oars' redoubled force 
Cm stem the eddy's whirling coarse ; 
When, hark! — some desp'noe foot has sprung 
Anoag the rocks — the chain is flung — 
The oan are up — the grapple clings. 
Aid the toes'd bark in moorings swings. 
Just then, a day-beam through the shade 
Broke tremulous— but, ere the maid 
Can see firom whence the brightness steals, 
UpoQ her brow she shudd'ring feels 
A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
A bandage round her burning eyes; 
WhOe the rude litter where A» lies, 
rpbfted bj- the warrior throng. 
O'er the steep rocks is borne £k>ng. 

Blest power of sunshi ne ! ^ genial Day, 
What bahn, what life is in t£y ray! 
To fieel thee is such real bliss, 
I That had the world no joy but this. 
To sit in snnshine calm and sweet, — 
^ ^tn a world too exquisite 
For man to leave it for the gloom. 
Tie deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
£t'q Hdida, though she saw not where 
Or whither wound the perilous road, 
let knew by that awak*ning air, 

Which suddenly aroimd her glow'd. 
That they had ris*n from darkness then. 
And breath*d the simny world again! 
Bot soon this balmy fr^eshncss fled — 
For now the stcepy labyrinth led 
Throogh damp and gloom — *mid crash of boughs, 
And fall of loosen*d crags that rouse 
The leopard from his hungry sleep. 

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey. 
And long is heard, from steep to steep. 

Chasing them down their thundering way! 
The jackal's cry — the distant moan 
Of the hyaena, fierce and lone — 
And that eternal sadd*ning sound 
Of torrents in the glen beneath. 
As 'twere the eyer-dark Profound 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death! 
AH, all is fearful — ev'n to see. 

To gaxe on those terrific things 
She now but blindly hears, would be 
Belief to her imaginings; 

Since neyer yet was shape so dread. 
But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown. 

And by sucn sounds of horror fed. 
Could frame more dreadful of her own. 

But does she dream? has Fear again 
Fcrplex'd the workings of her brain. 
Or did a voice, all music, then 
Come from the gloom, low whisp'ring near—- 
" Tremble not, love, thy Ghcber s here?" 
She do€8 not dream, — all sense, all ear, 
She drinks the words, ** Thy Gheber's here." 
IVas his own voice — she could not err — 

Throughout the breathing world's extent 
There was but one such voice for her, 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent! 
Oh, sooner shall the rose of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale. 
And to some meaner minstrel's lay 

Open her bosom's glowing veil,* 
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 

A breath of the beloved one! 

Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near. 
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink. 

Hath power to make even ruin dear,— 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, crost 
By fears for him, is chilled and lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 
That one of Ghebcr blood should look. 
With aught but curses in his eye. 
On her, a maid of Araby — 
A Moslem maid — the child of him. 

Whose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim. 

And their fair land a wilderness! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

Which comes so fast — Oh! who shall stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 

Of Persian hearts, or tuni its way?. 
What arm shall then the victim cover. 
Or from her father shield her lover? 




Save him, my God!" she inly cries — 
Save him this nij^ht — and if thine eyes 

" Have ever wclcom'd with delight 
The sinner's tears, the sacrifice 

" Of sinners' hearts — puard him this night, 
And here, before thy throne, I swear 
From my heart's inmost core to tear 

" IjOvc, hope, remembrance, thouph they be 
Link'd with each quiv'rinjij life -string there, 

" And give it bleeding all to Thee I 
Let him but hve, — the burning tear. 
The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 

I A frequpnt im*^ amonff the oriental poets . ** The nUrhtinipdei 
warbled their enchantitiK notca, ami rent the thin veila of the roM- 
bud and the nite."— Jamt. 

radiant soul like his from sin, — 
wand'rinj; star of virtue back 
js own native, heaven- ward track! 
lim but live, and both are Thine, 
)gethcr thine — for, blest or crost, 
ig or dead, his doom is mine, 
id, Mhe perish, both are lost!" 

ext evening Lalla Rookh was entreated 
Ladies to continue the relation of her 
\\ dream; but the fearful interest that 
ind the fate of Hinda and her lover 
plctely removed every trace of it from 
; — much to the disappointment of a fair 
wo in her train, who prided themselves 
skill in interpreting visions, and who 
lAy remarked, as an unlucky omen, that 
;esa, on the very morning after the dream, 
1 a silk dyed with the blossoms of the 
1 tree, Nilica.' 

DBBN, whose indignation had more than 
ken out during the recital of some parts 
eterodox poem, seemed at length to have 
his mind to the infliction ; and took his 
evening with all the patience of a martyr, 
> Poet resumed his profane and seditious 
follows: — 

rless eyes and hearts at ease 
afy shores and sun-bright seas, 
ly beneath that mountain's height, 
3en a fair, enchantins: sisrht. 

lampid, as it her mines < 
Were melted all to foi 

And her fair islets, small 
With their green shon 

Look like those Pebi isl< 
That hang by spell-wc 

But vainly did those gloi 
On HiKDA*8 dazzled eyei 
The bandage from her b: 
And, pale and aw'd as tl 
In their dark tombs — w 
The Searchers of the Gn 
She shudd'ring tuiu'd to 

In the fierce eyes that 
And saw those towers al 

That o'er her head ter 
As if defying ev'n the se 
Of that soft heav'n to gil 
In vain with mingled ho 
She looks for him whose 
Had come, like music, tc 
Strange, mocking dream 
And oh, the shoots, the ] 
That through her inmost 

When voices from wit 
** Hafed, the Chief "—I 

The warriors shout th; 
He comes — the rock res 
How shall she dare to lii 
Or meet those eyes whos 
Not Yemen's boldest soi 
In whose red beam, the ] 
Such rank and deadly lu 
As in those hellish fires t 

Thft Tnflnr1rft1r<»'a rbampl 



I she standB» with eyes cast down, 
; beneath the fieiy frown, 
ncj tells her, from that brow 
5 o'er her fiercely now : 
d'ring as she hears the tread 
retiring wairior band. — 
8 panae so fiill of dread; 
iWMD with a trembling hand 
I, and, leaning o'er her, said, 
" — that word was all he spoke, 
s enough — the shriek that broke 
ler fun bosom, told the rest.— 
nth terror, joy, surprise, 
bat lifts her wond'ring eyes, 
i them on her Gheber's breast ! 
is he — the man of blood, 
t of the Fire-fiend's brood, 
le demon of the fight, 
»ice imnerres, whose glances blight, — 
D lored Gheber, mild 
ons as when first he smil'd 
le tow'r, and left such beams 
ne eye to light her dreams, 
beliey'd her bower had giv'n 
»me wanderer from hear'n! 

there are, and this was one 
like a minute's gleam of sun 
black Simoom's eclipse — 
: those Terdant spots that bloom 
he crater's burning lips, 
ling the very edge of doom ! 
—the future — fdl that Fate 
: of dark or desperate 
ach hours, but makes them cast 
adiance while they last! 

his youth — though dimm'd and gone 
of Hope that cheer'd him on — 
s lost — his cause betray 'd — 
dear^loY'd country, made 
carcasses and slaves, 
y waste of chains and graves I — 
at ling'ring, dead at heart, 
the last, long struggling breath 
r*t great soul depart, 
y him down and share her death — 
o sunk in wretchedness, 
)om still darker gath'ring o'er him, 
3 moment's pure caress, 
lild eyes that shone before him, 
hat blest assurance, worth 
ransports known on earth, 
as lov'd — well, warmly lov'd — 
} precious hour he prov'd 
how thorough-felt the glow 
, kindling out of woe ; — 
isite one single drop 
us sparkling to the top 

Of mis'ry's cup — how keenly quaff 'd. 
Though death must follow on the draught I 

She, too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep, 
Forgets all fears, all miseries. 

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep. 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile. 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while I 
The mighty Ruins where they stood. 

Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, 
Lay open towVds the ocean flood. 

Where lightly o'er the illumin'd surge 
Many a fair bark that, all the day. 
Had lurk'd in shclt'ring creek or bay. 
Now bounded on, and gave their sails, 
Tet dripping, to the ev'niug gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done. 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun. 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star 
Had sunk behind the hills of Lab, 
Were still with ling'ring glories bright,— 
As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 

The Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny vest 

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
Never was scene so form'd for love I 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell — Heav'n glows above. 
And their pure hearts, to transport giv'n. 
Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav'n. 

But ah ! too soon that dream is past 

Again, again her fear returns; — 
Night, dreadful night, is gath'ring fast. 

More faintly the horizon bums. 
And every rosy tint that lay 
On the smooth sea hath died away. 
Hastily to the dark'ning skies 
A glance she casts — then wildly cries 
*♦ At nighty he said — and, look, 'tis near — 

" Fly, fly— if yet thou lov'st me, fly— 
** Soon will his murd'rous band be here, 

" And I shall sec thee bleed and die. — 
** Hush 1 heard'st thou not the tramp of men 
" Sounding from yonder fearful glen? — 
** Perhaps ev'n now thev climb the wood — 

" Fly, fly— though stUl the West is bright, 
** He'll come — oh! yes — he wants thy blood- 

** I know him — he'll not wait for night ! " 

In terrors ev'n to agony 

She clings around the wond'ring Chief; — 
** Alas, poor wilder'd maid I to me 

" Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief 
** Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
'* Beneath my shade but perSh'd too — 

Start not — that noise is but the shock 
" or torrents through yon valley hurPd — 
Dread nothing here — upon this rock 
" We stand above the jarring world, 
\like beyond its hope — its dread — 
ji gloomy safety, like the Dead I 
)r, conld er'n earth and hell unite 
n league to storm this Sacred Height, 
Tear nothing thou — myself, to-night, 
k.nd each overlooking star that dwells 
I^ear God will be thy sentinels; — 
Lnd, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 
lack to thy sire — ^** 

•* To-morrow ! — no — " 
3 maiden scream'd — ** thou*lt never see 
'o-morrow*s sun — death, death will be 
he night-cry through each reeking tower, 
nless we fly, ay, fly this hour! 
hou art betray'd — some wretch who knew 
hat dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
ay, doubt not — by yon stars, 'tis true — 
ath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
his morning, with that smile so dire 
e wears in joy, he told mc all, 
nd stamped in triumph through our hall, 
9 though thy heart already beat 
i last Ufe -throb beneath his feet ! 
x>d Heaven, how little dream*d I then 
His victim was my own lov*d youth! — 
Y — send — let some one watch the glen — 
By all my hopes of heavVn 'tis truth ! " 

colder than the wind that freezes 
mnts, that but now in sunshine play*d, 
at congealing pans: which seizes 

xxiiu, iiiuugn nis ii 
Like lightning on i 
Yet shall his death 

Of glory, permai 
To which the bravt 
The suff* ring brave 

With proud regr 

Watch through t 
For vengeance on t 
This rock, his mom 

Shall speak the t 
And hither bards a 

Shall come in sec 
And bring their wa 
The wond'ring boyj 
And swear them on 
Of their lost countr 
Never — while breai 
Within them — nevi 
The' accursed race, 
Hath left on Iran's 
Blood, blood alone c 

Such are the swellini 
Enthrone themselves 
And ne'er did Saint 

On the red wreath 
More proudly than t 

That piley which t 
Half lighted by the s 
Glimmers — his dest: 
Heap'd by his own, 1 

Of ev'ry wood of c 
There, by the Fire-G 

Ready to fold in n 



ratehfiihieM the maid attends 

pid glmnoe, where'er it bends — 

hoot his ejes sach awful beams ? 

plans be now ? what thinks or dreams ? 

why stands he musing here, 

er'rj moment teems with fear ? 

m, my own beloTed Lord," 

neding cries — ** first, last ador'd ! 

I that soul thou'st erer felt 

sif what thj Upe impassioned swore, 

e, on mj knees, that never knelt 

anj but their God before, 

ij thee, as thou lov^st me, fly — 

% now — ere jet their blades are nigh. 

laste — the bark that bore me hither 

in waft us o'er jon darkening sea, 

— west — alas, I care not whither, 

i thou art safe, and I with thee ! 

rfaere we will, this hand in thine, 

lose eyes before me smiling thus, 

»ngh good and ill, through storm and 


le world's a world of lore for us ! 

ome calm, blessed shore well dwell, 

re 'tis no crime to lore too well ;— 

re thus to worship tenderly 

rring child of light like thee 

not be sin — or, if it be, 

re we maj weep our faults away, 

thor kneeling, night and day, 

L, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 

I — at ojiy God*8, for thine ! " 

r these passionate words she spoke — 

n hong her head, and wept for shame ; 

ig, as if a heart-string broke 

h every deep-heav'd sob that came. 

he, young, warm •— oh ! wonder not 

or a moment, pride and fame, 

oath — his cause — that shrine of flame, 

JLi5's self are all forgot 

rr whom at his feet he sees 

log in speechless agonies. 

Jime him not, if Hoj^e awhile 

'd in his soul, and threw her smile 

loors to come — o'er days and nights, 

d with those precious, pure delights 

1 she, who bends all beauteous there, 
>om to kindle and to share. 

r or two, which, as he bow'd 
raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
vam'd him of this dang'rous cloud 
Kiftness passing o'er his soul. 

• a '*bcdar 

rlMi* the child fweetl7 xvpoted.* 

PR^hct, ZoroMter, there ia a storr told in JHon 
m. M., that the lore of wiadom imd Tirtne leading him 
7 lift opon A mountain, he found it one day all in a 
mg with celeerial fire, out of which he came without 
Md faMtiCalad ovtain Muaifloce to Ood. who. he deciand, 
I i'Mridfc oa Exodm, Itt. 1. 

Starting, he brush'd the drops away. 
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ;^. 
Like one who, on the mom of fight, 
Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its light. 
Yet, though subdued the' unnerving thrill. 
Its warmih, its weakness, linger'd still 

So touching in its look and tone. 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd. 

Half thought the hero's soul was grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own. 
And smil'd and bless'd him, while he said, — 
** Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
** ArThere fadeless truth like ours is dear, — 
** If there be any land of rest 

** For those who love and ne'er forget, 
** Oh ! comfort thee — for safe and blest 

** Well meet in that calm region yet I" 

Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart. 
When the rous'd youth impatient flew 
To the tow'r-wall, where, high in view, 
A pond'rous sea-hom * hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, that signal knew s 
For 'twas the' appointed warning blast. 
The' alarm, to tcU when hope was post, 
And the tremendous death-die cost I 
And there, upon the mould'ring tow'r. 
Hath hung this sea-hom many an hour, 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
That dirge-note of the brave and ftee. 

They came — his Chieftains at the call 
Cumc slowly round, and with them all — 
Alas, how few ! — the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Herman's plains 
Went gaily prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbolon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun. 
And, us their coursers cliarg'd the wind. 
And the white ox-tails streamed behind,* 
Looking, as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God ! 
How foirn, how alter'd now I how wan 
Each scarr'd and faded visage shone 
As round the burning shrine they came ; — 

How deadly was the glare it cast, 

I ** The ihell called Siiankoe, common to India, Africa, and the 
Mediterranean, and ■till uacd in many parti a« a trumpet for 
blowing alarm* or Kiring signals t it sends forth a deep and hollow 

t ** The finest ornament for the horses is made of six large flying 
tassels of long white hair, taken out of the tails of wild oxen, that 
an to be found in some itlaces of the Indies."~2'Acv«i0<. 



r litter sUentlj prepare, 

\.nd lay it at her trembling feet ; — 

d now the youth, with gentle care, 

lath plac'd her in the shelter*d seat, 

d press'd her hand — that lingering press 

)f hands, that for the last time sever ; 

hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 

Vlien that hold breaks, is dead for erer. 

d yet to her this sad caress 

riyes hope — so fondly hope can err ! 

^as joy, she thought, joy's mute excess — 

lieir happy flight's dear harbinger ; 

'as warmth — assurance — tenderness— 

Cwas anything but leaving her. 

aste, haste ! ** she cried, ** the clouds grow dark, 
at still, ere night, well reach the bark ; 
nd bv to-morrow*s dawn — oh bliss I 
With thee upon the sun>bright deep, 
ir off, m but remember this. 
As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ; 

nd thou ** but ah ! — ho answers not — 

k>od Heav*n ! — and does she go alone ? 
now has reach*d that dismal spot, 
There, some hours since, his voice's tone 

I come to soothe her fears and ills, 
tet as the angel Is&afil's,' 

en every leaf on Eden's tree 
*embling to his minstrelsy — 
now — oh, now, he is not nigh. — 
Hafed ! my Hjlfed I — if it be 
ly will, thy doom this night to die, 
Let me but stay to die with thee, 
id I will bless thy loved name, 

II the last life-breath leave this frame. 
1 1 let our lips, our cheeks be laid 

Light all he loves o 
Hopeless as they wl 

By the cold mooi 
The corse of one, lo 

To the bleak floo 
And on the deck sti 
And long look back 
To watch the mooa 
That ripples o'er thi 

But see — he star 
That dreadful shout 
From the land-side 
Rings through the c 
Of fearful tlungs, th 
Its Gholes and Dive 
Had all in one dreat 
So loud, so terrible 1 
"They come— the] 
His proud soul moo: 
** Now, Spirits of th 
** Enfrandiis'd throu 
** Rejoice — for soul 
** Arc on the wing t 
He said — and, light 

To their young lo 
And gain'd the Shrii 

Their swords, as \ 
Together, at that crj 
Had from their shea) 
And hark ! — again 
Near and more near 
Peal through the chf 
Had seen &ose list'n 
With their swords gt 
Tum'd on their Chic 



-tibov^ of an Murtli's hope bereft, 
fwords, and yengeance still are left. 
I make yon TaDej's reeking caves 
re in the awe-ibnick mmds of meiiy 
rjianta afandder, when their slayes 
Jl of the Gheber*s bloody glen, 
nr, brafe hearts ! — this pOe remains 
relage stiQ from life and chains ; 
his the best, the holiest bed, 
• shiks entomb'd in Moslon dead ! " 

die ptec ipito ns rocks thej sprung, 

Tigoor, more than hnnian, strong 

nn and heart. — Hie exulting foe 

rough the dark defiles below, 

d by his torches' Inrid fire, 

ind slow, as through Goloohda's vale' 

ig^ity serpent, in lus ire, 

es on with gfitt*ring, deadly trail 

di the Ghebers ne^ — so well 

now each myst*ry of the dell, 

hare, in their wanderings, 

. die wild race that round them dwell, 

T<eiy tigers from their debres 

vt, and let them pass, as things 

im*d and fearless like themselyes ! 

was a deep niTine, that lay 
rkling in the Moslem's way ; 
It to make inyaders rue 
iny falTn before the few. 
rrents from that morning's sky 
ITd the narrow chasm breast-high, 
<a each side, aloft and wild, 
;liffii and toppling crags were piFd, — 
lards with which young Freedom lines 
ithways to her mountain-shrines. 
it this pass, the scanty band 
lS*8 last avengers stand ; 
rait, in silence like the dead, 
Jten for the Moslem's tread 
doosly, the carrion bird 
them flaps his wing unheard I 

e«me — that plunge into the water 

signal for the woric of slaughter. 

Ghebers, now — if e'er your blades 

I point or prowess, prove them now — 

the file that foremost wades I 

7 come — a fidchion greets each brow, 

IS they tumble, trunk on trunk, 

th the gory waters sunk, 

cr dieir drowning bodies press 

ictims quick and numberless ; 


vhoM bdac WMh«d out of ] 

Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band. 

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir. 
But listless from each crimson hand 

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
Never was horde of tyrants met 
With bloodier welcome — never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations pour'd I 

All up the dreary, long ravine. 
By the red, murky glimmer seen 
Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the fiood 
Lie scatter'd round and bum in blood. 
What ruin glares ! what carnage swims I 
Heads, blazing turbans, quiv'ring limbs. 
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand. 
In that thick pool of slaughter stand ; — 
Wretches who wading, half on fire 

From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 
'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire ; — 

And some who, grasp'd by those that die. 
Sink woundless wim them, smother'd o'er 
In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 

But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed. 

Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 

Countless tow'rds some flame at night 

The North's dark insects wing their flight. 

And quench or perish in its light ; 

To tins terrific spot they pour — 

Till, bridg'd with Moslem bodies o'er. 

It bears aloft their slipp'ry tread. 

And o'er the dying and the dead. 

Tremendous causeway 1 on they pass. — 

Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas, 

What hope was left for you ? for you. 

Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 

Is smoking in their vcngeftil eyes ; — 

Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew. 

And bum with shame to find how few ? 

Oush'd down by that vast multitude, 

Some found their graves where first they stood j 

While some with hardier struggle died. 

And still fought on by Hafed's side, 

Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 

TowYds the high towers his gory track ; 

And, as a lion swept away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
From the wild covert where he lay,' 

Long battles with the' o'en^-beliiiing tide. 
So fought he back with fierce delay. 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 

But whither now ? their track is lost. 

Their prey escap'd — guide, torches gone — 

the oorert hy the orvrfiowinn of the lirer, gmTC oocaslon to thft 
alltuion of Jeremiah, he ahail cume up likt a Horn from the steeUimg 
qf Jordan."— JlttttmJrtW$ A Uppo, 

¥ 2 

down the darkling precipice 
lash'd into the deep abyss ; 
idway hang, impaFd on rocks, 
nquct, yet alire, for flocks 
.v'ning vultures, — while the dell 
:hoes with «ach horrible yelL 

e soondfl — the last, to vengeance dear, 

e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear, — 

reached him, as aloft, alone, 

1 the steep way breadiless thrown, 

&y beside his reeking blade, 

isign'd, as if life's task were o'er, 

ist blood>offering amply paid, 

id Iran's self could claim no more. 

only thought, one ling'ring beam 

broke across his dizzy dream 
ain and weariness — twas she, 
is heart's pure planet, shining yet 
ve the waste of memory, 
lien all life's other lights were set. 

never to his mind before 
image such enchantment wore. 
«m'd as if each thought that stain'd, 
ach fear that chill'd uieir loves was past, 
i not one cloud of earth remain'd 
etween him and her radiance cast ; — 
f to charms, before so bright, 
ew grace from other worlds was giv'n, 
I his soul saw her by the light 
ow breaking o'er itself from heav'n ! 

oice spoke near him — ^'twas the tone 

a lov'd friend, the only one 

all his warriors, left with life 

m that short night's tremendous strife. — 

Now Hafed sees the 
When, lo ! — his weak. 

Dead on the thresho! 
" Alas, brave soul, too 

** And must I leave 
•* The sport of every r 

** The mark for ever 
'* No, by yon altar's sat 
He cries, and, with a s 
Not of this world, upli 
Of the fall'n Chie^ an 
Bears him along ; — w 

The corpse upon the 
Then lights the consec 

And fires the pile, ^ 
Like lightning bursts < 
•• Now, Freedom's CUx 
The youth exclaims, a 
Of triumph vaulting o 
In that last effort, ere 
Have harm'd one glori 

What shriek was that 

It came from yonde 
That just hath caught 

The death-light — f 
It is the boat — ah, w 
That bears the wretch 
Confided to the watch 

Of a small veteran 
Their gen*rous Chieft 

The secret of his fi 
But hop'd when Hini 

Was render'd to he 

Thnir narrlnn. full ant 



▼cry cjo» in mote dismay, 
towYd duit &tal moantain toni'dy 
the dim •ltar*s qoiT^ring raj 
!t all lone and tranquil bom'd, 

s not, HiiiikA, m the pow*r 

'ancj'a moal terrific tonch 

It tl^ pangs in that dread hour— 

lileat agon J — ^*twa8 such 

le who feel ooold paint too well* 

De e*er felt and Uv'd to tell I 

not akme the dreary state 

ra spirit, cnuh*d b j fete, 

thoi^ no more remains to dread, 

panic chin will not depart ; — 

thon^ the inmate Hope bo dead, 

ghost still hannts the monld'ring heart ; 

ikasaies, hopes, affections gone, 

letch maj hour, and yet live on, 

lings, wHhin the cold rock found 

irbsn all's congealed around. 

ere's a blank repose in this, 

i stagnation, that were bliss 

keen, burning, harrowing pain, 

jt through all thy breast and brain '^ — 

pasm of tenor, mute, intense, 

leathless, agonis'd suspense, 

rhose hot throb, whose deadly aching, 

tan hath no relief but breaking I 

B the wave — heaT*n*s brilliant lights 
Kted dance beneath the prow ; — 
rts when, on such lovely nights, 
irho is there, so desolate now, 
tit all cheerful, though alone, 
ssk no happier joy than seeing 
tar-light o'er the waters thrown— 
but that, to make her blest, 
the fresh, buoyant sense of Being, 
bounds in youth's yet careless breast, — 
' star, not borrowing light, 
its own glad essence bright, 
ifferent now ! — but, hark, again 
H of havoc rings — brave men I 
i, with beating hearts, ye stand 
bark's edge — in vain each hand 
raws the falchion from its sheath ; 
> o'b' — in rust your blades may lie : — 
whose word they've scatter'd death, 
now, this night, himself must die I 
lay ye look to yon dim tower, 
ask, and wond'ring guess what means 
ttle-cry at this dead hour — 
she could tell you — she, who leans 

iad (the Samoor) m mslteau the iliiiun of Intel, that 
■r te toMd vhile tt U;^U.''-SUphen'$ Penia. 



eoHoiltiei flsond in the Penkn Oulf b r 
It ii di«il«r, and at aisht 

Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast. 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ; — 

Too well she knows — her more than hh, 
Her soul's first idol and its last. 

Lies bleeding in that murd'rous strife. 

But see — what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence tow'rd the Shrine 
All eyes are tum'd — thine, Hinda, thino 

Fix their last fading life-beams there. 
'Twas but a moment — fierce and high 
The death-pile blaz'd into the sky,. 
And far away, o'er rock and flood 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
While Hafed, like a vision stood 
Reveal'd before the burning pyre. 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire 

Shrin'd in its own grand element ! 
** Tis he !" — the shudd'ring maid exclaims,- 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more ;■ 
High burst in air the funeral flames. 

And Irak's hc^s and hers are o'er. 

One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave ; 
Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze, 
Where still she fix'd her dying gaze. 

And, gazing, sunk into the wave, — 
Deep, deep, — where never care or pain 
Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 

Farewell — farewell to thee, Arabt's daughter I 
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea,) 

No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water. 
More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee. 

Oh I fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing. 
How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came. 

Like the wind of the south* o'er a summer lute 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame I 

But long, upon Arabt's green sunny highlands. 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
With nought but the sea star* to light up her 

And still, when the merry date-season is burning,' 
And calls to the palm-groves the young and t^e 

veiT Imninoiu, reeemblinc the ftell moonmntmiidedbynya/*— 
Mirta Abu Taleb. 

* For adMcription of the merriment of the date-time, of their 
work, their danoet, and their return home tram the palm-sroTee 
at the and of antnmn with the f!ruits,eee KewntJkr^ AmcaUlaU EaeoL 

F 3 


.^w w*A« &AA\^ 


well — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 

ith ev'rything beftuteous that grows in the 

deep ; 
I flow'r of the rock and each gem of the billow 
All sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

md thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
tat ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; * 
. many a shell, in whose hoUow-wreath'd 

B, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept 

. dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
id plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 

seek where the sands of the Caspian ' are 

d gather dieir gold to strew over thy bed. 

rell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain 
ost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
11 weep for the Chieftain who died on that 
lountiun, [wave, 

sy^ weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this 

I singular placidity with which Fadladeen 
itened, during the latter part of this obnox- 
ory, surprised the Princess and Feramoez 
Ungly; And even inclined towards him the 
of these unsuspicious young persons, who 
new the source of a complacency so mar- 
I. The truth was, he had been organising, 
last few days, a most notable plan of per- 
n against the poet, in consequence of some 
es that had fallen fit)m him on tht» ««/»^«^ 

these mingled antici] 
usual satisfaction thi 
his eyes shine out hke 
wide and lifeless wile 

Having decided u 
in this manner, he 
spare him the minoi 
cordingly, when the 
evening in the pavil 
expecting to see all 1 
away, one by one, in 
pearls in the cup ol 
agreeably disappoint 
with an ironical smil 
poem deserved to be 1 
nal; and then suddenl; 
upon all Mussulman 
larly his august and 
zebe, — the wisest an<3 
Timur— who, among 
done for mankind, hat 
the very profitable ] 
Taster of Sherbete to 
of the Girdle of Bet 
Nazir, or Chamberlain 

They were now no 
River*, beyond which 
and were reposing for 
Hussun Abdaul, which 
resting-place of the £] 
grations to Cashmere, 
of the Faith, Jehan-Gi 
with his beloved and 


._ 1J -r 


71 • 

I when she mnst see him no longer, — 
"as idU wone, behold him with eyes 
f look belonged to another; and there 
lacholj prec^otness in these last mo- 
di Blade her heart cling to them as it 
le. Donng the latter part of the jonr- 
i, die had sank into a deep sadness, 
I nothing bat the presence of the jonng 
Nild mw^e her. like those lamps in 
kch oolj U^t np when the air is ad- 
ras oofy at his approach that her eyes 
iUttg sod animated. But here, in diis 
ft every moment appeared an age of 
the saw him all day, and was, therefore, 
|ipyt — resembling, she often thought, 
) of Zinge', who attribute the unfading 
IB diey enjoy to one genial star that 
Ij orer their heads.' 

>fe parQTt indeed, seemed in their lire- 
dnring Uie few days they passed in this 
lolitnite. The young attendants of the 
irho were here allowed a much freer 
I diey could safely be indulged with in 
estered place, ran wild among the gar- 
toimded throBgh the meadows lightly as 
• awtr the aromatic plains of Tibet. 
DLADEE9, in addition to the spiritual 
rived by him from a pilgrimage to the 
e saint from whom the valley is named, 
)partnnities of indulging, in a small way, 
or victims, by putting to death some 
»f those unfortunate little lizards', which 
lussulmans make it a point to kill; — 
granted, that the manner in which the 
mgs its head is meant as a mimicry of 
i in which the Faithful say their prayers. 

two miles from Hnssun Abdaul were 
al Gardens S which had grown beauti- 
the care of so many lovely eyes, and 

■bitento of thli c mintrj (Zfaiffe) arc iMrer aflUetcd 
or meUneholyt on thit luliject the Sheikh Atm-al- 
kM At foUovioc dlfltkh : — 

witboot eave or mmtow, (tell) that I may rub 

the TlmlaDB, vfihoaft care or lorrow, frolickaome 

i ^ h r i i haTt diaooTcred that the eaoae of thb cheer- 
dsfhMB the InSuenoe of the ttar Sohcil, or Caaofnu, 
>vr then every niirht." —Extmetfrom a Otographieal 
mterijft eatttd Utfl AUim, or the Seven ClUmUtM^ 
W. Omekp, Eaq. 
iohcil, or Canoima. 

Kfd SCelllo. Tlie Araba eall it Hardno. The Torka 
7 taaaciiie that by dedininc (he head it mimici them 
r tbeir prayen." —Haf»elqHi$t. 
partknlan rctpectine Hnanin Abdaul I am Indebted 
Introduetion of Mr. Elphimtone'i work 

were beautiful still, though those eyes could see 
them no longer. This place, with its flowers and 
its holy silence, interrupted only by the dipping of 
the wings of birds in its marble basins fiUed with 
the pure water of those hills, was to Lalla Bookh 
all ^at her heart could foncy of fragrance, cool- 
ness, and almost heavenly tranquillity. As the 
Prophet said of Damascus, ^ it was too delicious * ; " 
— and here, in listening to the sweet voice of 
Feramobz, or reading in his eyes what yet he never 
dared to tell her, the most exquisite moments of 
her whole life were parsed. One evening, when 
they had been talking of the Sultana Nourmahal, 
the light of the Haram', who had so often wan- 
dered among these flowers, and fed with her own 
hands, in those marble basins, the small shining 
fishes of which she was so fond', the youth, in 
order to delay the moment of separation, proposed 
to recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which 
this adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, 
he said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' 
quarrel which took phice between her and the 
Emperor during a Feast of Roses at Cashmere; 
and would remind the Princess of that difference 
between Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress 
Marida', which was so happily made up by the 
soft strains of the musician, Moussali. As the 
story was chiefly to be told in song, and Fera- 
mobz bad unluckily forgotten his own lute in the 
valley, he borrowed the vina of Lalla Rooku's 
little Persian slave, and thus began: — 

enter at that Basar, without the sate of Damaaeus, 
recB Moaqne. m eallcd becaoae It hath a steeple faced 
aaaa brieka, vbleh render it rery reeplendenti it ia 
-"^ ~_ ^ Hjg j^iij, ji,^^ f^^ Torka aay 

Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, 
With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,* 

Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear 
As £e love-lighted eyes that hang over their 

thia moaque waa made In that place, becauae Mahomet being coma 
ao far, would not enter the tuwn, tayins it waa too delidoua."— 
Theoenot. Thia reminds one of the following pretty paaaage in 
laaac Walton:— "When I aat laat on tliia primroae bank, and 
looked down theae meadows. I thought of them aa Charlea the 
Emperor did of the dty of Florence, ' that they were too pleasant 
to be looked on, but only on holidays.* " 

• Nourmahal signifles Light of the Haram. Slie waa allerwarda 
called Nouijehan. or the Light of the World. 

1 Seenote5. p. 58. 

• " llaroun Al Raachid. cinquiftme Khalife dea Abaandea. aVtani 
nn Jour brouill^ avee une de aea mattreaaes nomm^ Maridah, qu'il 
aimoit cepcndant Juaqu'ii Texc**, et cette m«^inUlligence ayant 
d^Jh dur^ qnelque tems, commen<;a k a'ennuyer. Giafar Barmaki, 
aon fkTori, qui e'en appercQt, commanda k Abbaa ben Ahnaf, ex- 
cellent poJJte de ce terns U, de compoaer quelques vers sur le aujet 
de cette brouiUeric. Ce po^te cn^cuU I'ordre de Giaflu-, qui fit 
chanter ces rers \y.r Moussali en p^Saenoe du Khalife, et ce prince 
ftit tenement touch^ de la tendrease dea vera du po«e, et de la 
douceur de la voix du musiclen, qull alia auaai-tdt trouTcr 
Marfdah, et St sa paix avtc elle." - D'Urrii^lo*. 

• " The rose of Kashmire fur its brilUaaflr and dcUeMj of odour 
haa long been proTerbial In the Eaat."— /bralar. 

V 4 



3 it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines 
it o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; 
e water- falls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, 
aightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars 
Q by laughs and light echoes of feet 
le cool, shining walks where the yoang 
eople meet. — 

>m, when the magic of daylight awakes 
wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
polas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
arkness, as if but just bom of the Sun. 
le Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day, 
s Haram of night-flowers stealing away; 
wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover 
ng aspen-trees ', till they tremble all over. 
ie£ast is as warm as the light of first hopes, 
Day, with his banner of radiance unfiirrd, 
I tiffough the mountainous portal ' that opes, 
ne, fix)m that Valley of bliss to the world! 

ever yet, by night or day, 

w of spring pr summer's ray, 

le sweet Valley shine so gay 

w it shines — all love and light, 

IS by day and feasts by night! 

>pier smile illumes each brow, 

th quicker spread each heart uncloses, 

dl is ecstasy, — for now 

) Valley holds its Feast of Roses;* 

}yous Time, when pleasures pour 

Bely round, and, in their shower, 

s open, like the Season's Rose, 

3 Flow*ret of a hundred leaves,* 

iding while the dew-fall flows, 

d every leaf its balm receives. 

I when the hour of evenins: came 

j\. loousaiiu t»pariuiug i 
On every dome and mil 
And fields and pathway 
Were lighted by a biaz< 
That you could see, in 
The smallest rose-leaf c 
Tet did the maids and : 
Their veils at home, thi 
And there were glancii 
And cheeks, that would 
In open day, but thoug 
Look lovely then, becai 
And all were free, and 

And all exclaim'd to 
That never did the sun 

So gay a Feast of Re 
The moon had never si 

So clear as that whic 
The roses ne*er shone fa 

Nor they themselves 

And what a wilderness 
It seem'd as though fto 
And fairest fields of all 
The mingled spoil were 
The Lake, too, like a g; 

With the rich buds t' 
As if a shower of fairy 

Had fall'n upon it fh 
And then the sounds ol 
Of tabors and of dancii 
The minaret-crier's cha 
Sung firom his lighted | 
And answer*d by a zirs 
From neighbouring Ha 
The merry laughter, ec 



delighted girl above 
»p leaves of the orange-grove; 
m thoee infimt groups at plaj 
g the tents* that line the waj, 
ogy nnaw'd bj slave or mother, 
ills of loses at each other. — 
e sounds from the Lake,— the low whis- 
*ring in boats, 

ev shoot throogh the moonlight; — the 
ipping of oara, 

wild, aiiy waiUing that ev'rywhere floats, 
tgfa the groves, round the islands, as if all 
lie shores, 

«e of Kathat, ntter'd music, and gave 
rer in song to the kiss of each wave.' 

gentlest df sll are those sounds, full of 

i from ihe lute of some lover are stealing, — 
>Ter, who knows all the heart-toucMng 

B and m sig^ in this magical hour. 
I of delights as it ev'rywhere is 
ear the lov*d One, — what a rapture is his 
moonlight and music thus sweetly may 
:lide [side ! 

Lake of Cashmkbs, with that One by his 
n can make the wcnrst wilderness dear, 
think what a HeaVn she must moke of 


he magnificent Son of Acbab,* 

om pow*r and pomp and the trophies of war 

to that Valley, forgetting them ail 

e Light of the Haram, his young Nous- 


ree and uncrown'd as the Conqueror rov'd 
tumks of that lake, with his only bclov'd, 
in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
he hedges, a glory his crown could not 

eferr*d in his heart the least ringlet that 
er exquisite neck to the throne of the world. 

a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, 
t long, sunny lapse of asummer-day^s light, 
on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, 
re falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. 
4 not the beauty — oh, nothing like this, 
young NouRMAHAL gave such magic of 

of the Feut of Roan we beheld an Infinite 
I patched, vith rach m crowd of men, women, boTi, 
, dance*.** ftc. *e — Herbert. 
itstor of the Chon-Rinff Myi, the andente 
, tiMt a durent of water made aome of the ttonee 
Ibrth a MMmd, they detached aome of them, and 
mad with the delightAil aound they emitted, oonstmcted 
larieal inskranienta of them."— Orontr. 
laenhMM qnality has been attributed alto to tlM diort of 
Altai UttMa, sit fTttftUai eonocntmn wiiiirn*" nnai« 

But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autunm's soft shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it 

From the lip to the cheek, firom the cheek to the 

Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams. 
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'n in his 

When pensive, it seem*d as if that very grace. 
That charm of all others, was bom with her face! 
And when angry, — for ev*n in the tranquillest 

Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes — 
The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken 
New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when 

If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heav'nlier dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy re- 

From innermost shrines, came the light of her 

Then her mirth — oh! 'twas sportive as ever took 

From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in 

Illtmi'd by a wit that would fascinate sages. 
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.* 
While her laugh, fiill of life, without any control 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her 

And where it most sparkled no glance could dis- 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten*d all over, — 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments, that 

Noubmahal the proud Lord of t^e East for her 

slave : 
And though bright was his Haram, — a living 

Of the flow'rs * of this planet — though treasures 

were there. 
For which Soliman's self might have giv'n all the 

That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore. 
Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all. 
And the Light of his Haram was young Nouii- 


terns nndia reddere, qnod propter tantam enidltlonis Tim pnto 
dictum."— £«<dor. Vivta in Auguttin. de CMtat, Dti, lil>. XTiiL 
c. 8. 

s Jehan-Ouire wa> the ton of the Great Acbar. 

4 In the war« of the Dive* with the Peris. wheneTcr the fbrmcr 
took the latter priaoncn, " they shut them up in iron eaffce, and 
hung them on the hiffheat tree*. Here they were vidted by their 
companions, who brought tliem the choicest odours."— ^icAarr/scm. 

ft In the Malay language the same word aigniflee women and 

! — how light a cause may move 

nsion between hearts that love ! 

s that the world in vain had tried, 

sorrow but more closely tied ; 

stood the storm, when waves were rough, 

1 a sunny hour fall off, 

ships that have gone down at sea, 

; heaven was all tranquillity I 

lething, light as air — a look, 

rord unkind or wrongly taken — • 

ove, that tempests never shook, 

•reath, a touch like this hath diaken. 

uder words will soon rush in 

read the breach that words begin ; 

yes forget the gentle ray 

virore in courtship's smiling day ; 

oices lose the tone that shed 

lemess round all they said ; 

St declining, one by one, 

reetnesses of love are gone, 

earts, so lately mingled, seem 

roken clouds, — or like the stream, 

miling left the mountain's brow 

hough its waters ne*er could sever, 

e it reach the plain below, 

kB into floods, that part for ever. 

a, that have the charge of Love, 

} him in rosy bondage bound, 

he Fields of Bliss above 

its, with flow*ret*8 fetter'd round ; • — 

lot a tie that round him clings, 

it let him use his wings ; 

a an hour, a minute's flight 

Has let loose all her wo 
And every heart has foi 
lie wanders, joyless and 
And weary as that bird 
Whose pinion knows no 

In vain the loveliest che< 
This Eden of the Earth 

Come crowding TOun<3 
The eyes are dim : — thi 
With every flow'r this ci 

What is it to the nigh 
If there his darling rose 
In vain the Valley's smil 
Worship him, as he movi 
He heeds them not — on* 
Is worth a world of wors 
They but the Star^ ador 
She is the Heav'n that lij 

Hence is it, too, that Noi 
Amid the luxuries of t 
Far from the joyous festi' 
Sits in her own sequest 
With no one near, to sooi 
But that inspir'd and woi 
Namoiwa, the Enchantre 
O'er whom his race the g 
For unremember'd years i 
Yet never saw her bloomi 
Younger or fairer than 'ti 
Nay, rather, — as the wes 
Freshens the flow'r it paa 
Time's wing but secm'd, i 
To leave her lovelier than 
Yet on her smiles a sadnc 


peDs and taliiwnaliH she knew, 

3m the greet Ifentra \ which aronnd 

^Ur^s saUimer Spirits drew, 

• the gold gems ' of Af&ig, hound 

I the wend'ring Arab's arm, 

eep him fiom the 8iltim*s ' harm. 

she had pledg'd her powerful art, — 

r*d it with all the zeal and heart 

le who knew, though high her sphere, 

; twas to lose a lore so dear, — 

3d some spell that should recall 

Jelim's * mule to Nourmahat. ! 

; midnight — through the lattice, wreathM 
woodbine, many a perfume brcath'd 
plants that wake when others sleep, 
timid jasmine buds, that keep 
odour to themselres all day, 
rhen the son-light dies awaj, 
« delicious secret out 
erj breeie that roams about ; — 
tboa Naxoitxa : — ** Tis the hour 
c scatters spells on herb and flow*r, 
1 garlands might be gathered now, 
t, twin'd around the sleeper's brow, 
lid make him dream of such delights, 
1 miracke and dazzling sights, 
]^enii of the Sun behold, 
rvening, from their tents of gold 
qi the' horizon — where they play 
twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 
ir sunny mansions melt away. 
r, too, a chaplet might be wreath 'd 
luds o'er which the moon has breath'd, 
ich worn by her, whose love has stray'd, 
[i^t bring some Peri from the skies, 
ie sprite, whose very soul is made 
^f fiowYets' breaths and lovers' sighs, 

1 who might tell " 

" For me, for me,** 

. NousxAHAL impatiently, — 

! twine that wreath for me to-night.* 

. rapidly, with foot as light 

ic young musk-roc'?, out she flew, 

ill each shining leaf that grew 

■ Mid to have finmd the great JTantra, spell or talifman, 

Ueh he ralcd orcr the clementa and ipiiits of all deno- 

-— Wa/onL 

roid jevds of Jhuiie. vhich are called by the Arahi Kl 

m the wippotc d chann thef contain."— Jaofcaon. 

DMA, ■uyyuwid to havmt woods, ftc., in a hnnuui shape.'* 


laae of Jehan-OalK before his aeeesrioa to the throne. 

sMCan. or the Sea of 0<dd, with flowers of the hcightest 

r."— Xir W. Jama. 

tfcc (the KsvaecsAra) Is one of the most delichtftal on 

. the delicioas odour of its blossoms justly (cives them a 

K qpthtx ct Gamadera, or the God of Lore."— <Str W. 

Malsjrane style the tnbe-rose (Polianthes tnberosa) 

Im, or the Mistocas of the Niirht."-.PeiifMm(. 

oyle oTtke Balta eomtoy in 8uB»tr» cof vhieh Zaman 

Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams. 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
Anemones and Seas of Gold,* 

And new-blown lilies of the river. 
And those sweet flow'rets, that unfold 

Their buds on Camadbva's quiver ; '— 
The tube-rose, with her silv'ry light. 

That in the Gardens of Mfdav 
Is call'd the Mistress of the Night,' 
So like a bride, scented and bright. 

She comes out when the sun's away ; — 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zajcara's shades ;' — 
And the white moon-flow'r, as it shows, 
On Sebendib's high crags, to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail. 
Scenting her clove-trees in the giile ; 
In short, all flow'ret's and all plants. 

From the divine Amrita tree,* 
That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 
Down to the basil tuft **, that waves 
Its fragrant blossom over graves. 

And to the humble rosemary. 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the desert " and the dead : — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gathcr*d by young Kourv ahal. 
Who heaps her baskets with the flowrs 

And leaves, till they can hold no more ; 
Then to Namoiwa flics, and show'rs 

Upon her lap the shining store. 

With what delight the' Enchantress views 

So many buds, bath'd with the dews 

And beams of that bless'd hour I — her glance 

Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures. 
As, in a kind of holy trance, 

She hung above those fragrant treasures. 
Bending to drink their balmy airs. 
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flow*rs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life — for none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare. 

Is one of the andent names\ " when not en^sed in war, lead an 
idle, inactive life, passinK the day in playinK on a kind of flute, 
crowned with garlands of flower*, among which the irlobe-amaran- 
thns, a native of the country, mostly prevails."— Marmien. 

• The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu, or rose- apple) Is 
called Amrita. or immortal, and the mythoIogisU of Tibet apply 
the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial flruit."— -Sir 
W. Jone». 

10 Sweet bazil. called Hayhan in Persia, and generally found in 

" The women in Egypt go, at lesiit two days in the week , to pray 
and weep at the iepulchre* of the dead t and the custom then is to 
throw upon the tomtw a rort of herb which tlie Arabs call ri&aa, 
and which is our inreet basil."— if <>i7/rf, Lett. 10. 

11 ** In the Great Desert are found numy stalks of laTendar and 
nwcinaiy."— .isicU. Bm, 

•morrow the dreams and flow'rs will fade. 

e image of love, that nightly flies 

To visit the hashful maid, 

&ls from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

ts soal, like her, in the shade. 

) dream of a future, happier hour, 

liat alights on misery's brow, 

ings out of the silv'ry almond flowV, 

liat blooms on a leafless bough.* 

Then hasten we, maid, 

To twine our braid, 
morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

visions, that oft to worldly eyes 
he glitter of mines unfold, 
ibit the mountain-herb ', that dyes 
he tooth of the &wn like gold, 
phantom shapes — oh touch not them — 
tiat appal the murdVer's sight, 
L in the fleshly mandrake's stem, 
lat shrieks, when pluck'd at night I 

Then hasten we, maid. 

To twine our braid, 
lorrow the dreams and flow'rs will fade. 

dream of the injur'd, patient mind, 
tat smiles with the wrongs of men, 
md in the bruis'd and wounded rind 
the cinnamon, sweetest then. 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid, 
lorrow the dreams and flow*r8 will fade 

K)ner was the flow'ry crown 

i on her head, than sleep came down. 

So brilliantly his feati 

And such a sound i 

Of sweetness when he 

Hovers around her, ai 

From Chikdara's • w; 
Call'd by that moon 
From Chikdara's fou 
Where in music, mc 
Where lutes in the air 
And voices are sing 
And every sigh the hej 
Is tum'd, as it leave 
Hither I come 
From my fairy 
And if there's a mag 
I swear by the 1 
Of that moonlig 
Thy Lover shall sigb 

For mine is the lay tha 
And mine are the mun 
That fall as soft as sna 
And melt in the heart i 
And the passionate stra 

Refines the bosom it 
As the musk-wind, ovei 

Ruffles the wave, but 

Mine is the charm, who 
The Spirits of past Deli 
Let but the tuneful talif 
And they come, like G< 
And mine is the gentle 

From soul to soul, thi 
As a bird, that wafts th 

The cinnamon-seed fi 



Tb I that mingle in one tweet mearare 

The past, the present, and fiitnre of pleasore; * 

When Memoiy Imlu the tone that if gone 

With the bliaafol tone that's still in the ear; 
AMd Hope from m hearenlf note flies on 

To m note moie heaTenly still that is near. 

The wairioi^s heart, when tonch'd hj me, 
Can as downj soft and as Yielding be 
Am his own white plnme, that high amid death 
Through the field has shone — yet mores with a 

Aid. oh. bow the eyes of Beantj ghsten. 

When Music has reach*d her inward sool, 
Ue the silent stars, that wink and listen 
While Heaven's eternal ftielodies roU. 
So, hither I come 
From mjr lairjr home. 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear b j the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thj lover shall sigh at thj feet again. 

Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn. 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,' 
As if the mom had wak'd, and then 
Shot close her lids of light again. 
And NociitAHAT, is np, and trying 

The wonders of her late, whose strings — 
Oh. bliss! — now murmnr like the sighing 

From that ambrosial Spirit's wings. 
And then, her roice — 'tis more than human — 

'Strtr, till now, had it been giren 
To lips of an J mortal woman 

To otter notes so fresh from hearen ; 

' '^^Wy tr <mr pltmn xe wImi from a wiewlon of loiindi. It 
■^ IParpt iutt ofaeoiBpUeBtediuitiii«,iiiad«up uf a MtMoticm of 
1 ^P*«« « Mcutd or Bo«e, aad an idta or remembnuice of the 
^Wfac vhile their mlztinc and ooncnrrenre produce tuch a 
%NBlm dcUicht, M neither eoold have produced alone. And It 
■^ka hdchfeaed by aa antidpatkm of the tuccccdinff nutea. 
nm ScHK. Mcaory, and Tmaginatlon, are ooiOanetively cm- 

TUi bczartlr the Epieamn theorj of Fleafore, ai explained by 
^tni—' Qnuclrea eovpac gaodera tanndiu, dum prBtentem sen- 
l^ptafteaa : antanam et pnMcntcm perclpere paritcr cum 
ct priMB iei i a TcnkBtcm, nee praiteritam pnrteifluere 

dc Mad aeeonnts npon the eanie principle for the Kratifl- 

ve deiiw fton Hkmme .-^*' Elle est rimage de Tesperance et 

Ub mm none (kit d^rircr celni qui d(4t Inl r^pondre, 

k ndoad rcteatit ii none rappclle oelni aui lient de none 

have two momlngi, the Sodbhl Kadm and the 

. the fUie aDd the real dajr-break. They account fi>r 

{b a meet whhndral manner. They eay that aa 

behind the Kohl Qaf (Mount Cauca«u«), It 

p e iSna ted through tiaat monntaln, and that darting 

it, it i« the canal of the floobhi Kazlm, or this 

of day-breah. Ai It aaocnda. tlie earth la 

in darkncaa, until the aun riaca above the moun- 

with tt the Suobhl Sadlg. or laal moming.'*- 

Ha thtaka MUtOM nay aUnda to thia, when he 

Sweet as the breath of angel sighs. 

When angel sighs are most divine.— 
** Oh ! let it last till night," she cries, 

** And he is more than ever mine." 
And hourly she renews the lay, 

So fearful lest its heav'nlv sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away, — 

For things so heav'nly have such fleetness! 
But, for from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string. 

And pours again each sound along. 
Like echo, lost and languishing. 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening, (trusting that his soul 

Might be from haunting love rcleas'd 
By nurth, by music, and the bowl,) 

The' Imperial Selih held a feast 
In his magniflcent Shalimar :'— 
In whose Saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled. 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled; 
All the bright creatures that, like dreams. 
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams ;• 
And all those wand'ring minstrel-maids. 
Who leave — how can they leave ! — the shades 
Of that dear Valley, and are found 

Singing in gardens of the South* 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 

As from a young Cashmerian's mouth. 

There, too, the Iloram's inmates smile ; — 
Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair, 

** Ere the blabbing Eaatem aeoot. 
The nice mom un tlie Indian ateep 
From her cabin'd luop-hule peep." 

* ** In the centre of tiie plain, aa it appruaL-hea the Lake, one of 
the Delhi Einpcrora. I belivTe Sliaii Jihan, (Xinftructed a tpacious 
garden called the Hhaliinar, wliich ia ftbundantly ktorvdwithrniit- 
treea and fluwering ahruba. Some of the rivulets wliich iuterkect 
the plain are led into a canal at the back of tlie gftrdvn, and flow- 
ing through ita centre, or occa»ionHlly thrown into a variety of 
water-worka, compoae the chief beauty of the Shalimar. To deco- 
rate thin apot the Mogul Prinns of Irtlia have di«pla>ed an equal 
magnifictnce and tofete ; eaiiecially Jthan Ghcrr. who, with the en- 
chanting Noor Malil, mode Kashiiiire hia u»ual reaidence during 
the aummer rooiitha On archvo thrown over the canal are erected, 
at equal diatancea, four or flvetuitcaof apartmoiita.vachconaiating 
of a aaloon, with four rooms at the anglea, wh«rrtr the followera of 
the court attend, and the aervauta prepare ahvrl»eta, coffee, and the 
hookali. The frame of the doom of the priut-ipal aaloon la com- 
poaed of piecea of a atone of a black colour, atnakcd with yellow 
linea. and of a closer grain and hiirher i oliiih than porphyry. They 
were taken, it i» aaiii, A-<>ni a liinduo temple, by one of tlie Mogul 
princeM.mnd are ebti-eiiietl of trrvat value."— /'ors/er. 

4 " The watera of Caclirmii are Uie more renowned from ita being 
auppoaed that the Cachcmiriana are indebted for their beauty to 
them."_yl/i Yfzdi. 

^ "From him I received the following little nazxel, or Ixive 
Song, the note* of which he committed to paper from the voice of 
one of th(*e ainriiig girla <•€ Coahmcre, who wander fh>m tliat 
delightful > alley orex the Tariuuaparta of India."— i'eraioji Jfia- 

A#ilff Mf fJ. 

O'thin^ Yovmfr, cvernliing fair 
m East and West is'blushing there, 
cpt— except— oh, Nourmahal! 
m lovchest, dearest of them all, 
^ one, whose smile shone out alone, 
idst a world the only one ; 
ose light, among so many lights, 
I like that star on stany nights, 

seaman singles from the sky, 
ttecr his bark for ever by 1 
a wert not there— so Selim thought, 
nd everything seem'd drear without thee : 

ah I thou wert, tliou wert,-and brought 
iy charm of song aU fresh about thee, 
jlmg unnotic'd with a band 
iitanists from many a land, 

veU'd by such a mask as shades 
features of young Arab maids,*— 
ask that leaves but one eye free, 
o its best in witchery,— 
•ov*d, with beating heart, around, 
id waited, trembling, for the minute, 
a she might try if still the sound 

her lovd lute had magic in it. 

K>ard was spread with fruits and wine • 
grapes of gold, like those that shine ' 

•otm of the Jiiun ITOe, or Owden of th« Nile (attached 
eror of Marocoo'i palace) ^ unequalled, and mSSSS 
of their leave, for themeaof Sok to^cllne^^ 

he aide of a monataln near Paidioe then ia a eaveni 
ji«.themortbeautin.lrt«k-crFJui. tSwSoIn?^ 
t haa been eaUed the Paphian diamond."- aSJS? 
ilM a part of Candahar, caUed Peria. or Fairy Land "— 
In aotne of thow cnuntri*. ♦« ♦!.- »i. .iV .. "' I 

mat, wud and fresh, i 
Feed on in Erac's roc 
All these in ricliest va 

In baskets of pure s 
And urns of porcelain 

Sunk underneath th( 
Whence oft the lucky . 
Vases to grace the halJ 
Wines, too, of evexy d 
Around their h'quid lui 
Amber Rosolli ",— the 
From vineyards of the 
And Shiraz wine, that 

As if that jewel, larj 

The ruby for which Ku 

Offer'd a city's wealth'* 

Melted within the go 

And amply Selix qua£ 
And seems resolv'd the 
His inward heart, — she 

A genial deluge, as tl 
That soon shall leave n< 

For Love to rest his v 
He little knew how well 

Can float upon a gobl 
Lighting them with his i 

As bards hare seen hi 

with the fon of onr Mehmaandar a 
of which he gave an enchantina 
100,000 gardent," tcc-Id. 

•**?*•. n'»n«»«teen, the moat d 
pride of the Malar i«land«."- JTow 

'• " A delicloua kind of apricot, a 
■nema,tiguit>lDg tun't ■eed."_2)e« 



cbe bine Gjokixs langliiiig gKde 
1 m romj lotiit wreath,* 
ig new Instze from the tide 

image ahone beneath. 

cap^ without the aid 
ong to speed diem as thej flow ? 
» — a Icrrelj Georgian maid, 
h an die bloom, the freshen'd glow 
' own connttj maidens* looks, 
wann thej rise from Tbfus* brooks ; ' 
rith an ere, whose restless raj, 
inaring, dark — oh, he, who knows 
art ifl weak, of Heav'n should praj 
^nard him from such ejes as those I— 
h a TolnptDOos wildness flings 
snowj hand across the strings 
a sjrinda', and thns sings : — 

tber, come hither — bj nig^t and hy day, 
iger in pleasures that never are gone ; 

waves of the sommer, as one £es awaj, 
ler aa sweet and as shining comes on. 

lore that is o'er, in expiring, gires birtli 
oew one as warm, as uneqoall'd in bliss; 

! if there be an Eljsiom on earth. 
It is this, it is this.^ 

lidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh 
e flow'r of the Amra just op*d hy a bee ; * 
dons their tears as that rain from the sky,' 
ti turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 
ik what the kiss and the smile most be worth 
t the sigb and the tear are so perfect in bliss, 
n if there be an £lysinm on earth. 
It is this, it is this. 

sikles the nectar, that, hallow'd by love, 
I draw down those angeb of old fi!t)m their 

of this earth' left the fountains above, 
forgot heaVn's stars for the eyes we have 

es8*d with the odour our f^)blet gives forth. 
; Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss? 
! if there be an Elysium on earth. 

It is this, it is this. 

Qeorgian's song was scarcely mute, 
ben &t tame measure, sound for sound. 

tlwt QqM wwAnC trcn SfMlliitdown the 
KchnnbP-Scc PamtuU. 

m ito aatoial wann twthi. 8c« Ebn 

" Bum 11 

of the Devaa Khalk (a bofldliiff of 
■Blil is the eomiee are the following Ihiee in letter* of 
agramdofvliitciaarble— '//cAcretea paradiMupom 

Was caught up by another lute. 
And so divinely breath *d around. 

That all stood hush*d and wondering. 
And tum'd and look'd into the air. 

As if they thought to see the wing 
Of IsBAfiL*, the Angel, there ;-^ 

So pow'rfuUy on ev'ry soul 
That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
Of the charmed lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whether 
The voice or lute was most divine. 

So wondrously they went together: — 

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has 
When two, that are link'd in one heaVnly tie. 
With heart never changing, and brow never cold. 
Love on through all ilk, and love on till they 
die I 
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss; 
And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this. 

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words. 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such pow'r 
As Music knew not till that hour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
** It is the mask'd Arabian maid ! " 
While Selim, who had felt the strain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance. 

After the fairy sounds were o'er. 
Too inly touch'd for utterance. 

Now motion'd with his hand for more:^ 

Fly to the desert, fly with me, 
Oiir Arab tents are rude for thee ; 
But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents with love, or tlironcs without? 

Our rocks arc rough, but smiling there 
The' acacia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor lov'd the less 
For flow'ring in a wilderness. 

• ** Delichtftil ere the flowers of the Amra treei on the moon, 
tain-topt, while the mannnring heee purroe their volnptooua 
toil."— Song ufJayadcva. 

• " The Niwn or dropt of nirlnff rain, which they heliefc to 
produce pearli if they fall into ihells."— AicAanlKm. 

T For an acconnt of the thare wliich wine had in the fUl of the 
aofreUf kc Mariti. 

• The Ansel of Mnaic. 8eenotei,p.6S. 

t the soul that minute caught 

e treasure it through life had sought; 

f the very lips and eyes, 
estin'd to have all our sighs, 
never be forgot again^ 
Ided ftnd spoke bdbre as then I 

line thy eVry glance and tone 
n first on me they breath'd and shone; 
as if brought from other spheres, 
welcome as if lov*d for years. 

fly with me, — if thou hast known 
^er flame, nor falsely thrown 
m away, that thou hadst sworn 
Id ever in thy heart be worn. 

, if the love thou hast for me, 
re and fresh as mine for thee, — 
as the fountain under ground, 
I first 'tis by the lapwing found.* 

* for mo thou dost forsake 
other maid, and rudely break 
'orshipp*d image from its base, 
vt to me the ruin'd place;— 

fare thee well — Fd rather make 
iwer upon some icy lake 

thawing suns begin to shine, 
trust to love so false as thinel 

^viiu OC.L.1J& lo ms near 
In blushes, more than < 
His NouRMAHAL, his £ 
And well do vanished f 
The charm of every bri 
And dearer seems each 
For having lost its ligh 
And, happier now for a 

As on his arm her he 
She whispers him, with 

** Remember, love, th> 

Fadladeek, at the condn 
sody, took occasion to sun 
young Cashmerian*s poetry 
they had that evening he 
recapitulated the epilSbets, 
monious" — ** nonsensical,' 
that, viewing it in the m 
resembled one of those Mi 
the Princess had alluded 
dream', — a slight, gilded 
out rudder or ballast, and ' 
sweets and faded flowers oi 
indeed, of flowers and birt 
ready on all occasions, — 
gems, &c. — was a most 0| 
lence to his hearers; and 
of giving to his style all th 
garden without its method 
the aviary without its son, 
he chose his subjects badly, 
inspired bv the worst narts 


Banunation to ifae fT*pe, lika that psjnled porce- 
lin', HI cnrioiu and so rare, whoM images arc 
oIt Tirible wb«i> liquor 19 poured into it.' Upon 
he' whole, it wM bii oiritiioii, from the ipccimenB 
iluch titty had heard, and which, be b^|;gcd 10 
■r, sere tbe moat tiresome part of the jonmcy, 
bU — whatcTcr o4ber merits this nell-dresud 
romtg gentleman might posseH — poetry was b; 
M> meana hia proper aTocation : " and indi^d," 
roDcIoded tbe critic "From Iiis fondness for 
lowen sod for birds, I would Tentare to suggest 
At* a floriat or a bird-catcher is a much more 
■BiaUe caOing for bim ibttu ft poet" 

TIxT had DOW begun to ascend those barren 

■lonuiiu, wldch sepanue Ca«hmvro ttoia tbe roEi 

. rf Isdia ; and. as the heats were intoloruble, and 

; ihc tiiDc of their encampments limited to the fen 

torn necessary for refrcebtQeat and repose, there 

■M an end to all their delightfhl ercninga. anil 

LuiA Roosa aaw no more of Febakosz. She 

aaw fth that her short dream of happiness was 

arer.and that she bad nothing bntthe ^ecoI]e(^tio^ 

cf iu few blis.'diil honra, like the one drsngbt of 

■■eel water that ccrres the camel across the wil- 

S to be her heart's refreshment daring the 

waste of life that was before her. The 

[hal had fallen upon her spirits soon found 

T 10 her cheek, and her Ladies sow with 

— though not without 6omo suspicion of the 

—that the beauty of Ibeii mistress, of which 

rere almost as proud as of their own, was 

ay at the -rm moment of oil when 

dofit What most the Kii^ of 

ia fisel. wben, instead of the liTcly and 

il T'" ' BooKii, whom the poets of Detb! 

scribed as more perfect than tbe divinost 

in tbe honse of Aior', he should rcceire a 

idt' and inanimate Tictim, upon whose cheek 

*1wr health nor pleantre bloomed, and from 

H eyes Lore had fled — to hide himself in her 

If anything could have charmed away tbe 

raelaneholj' nf her spirits, it would have been the 
frenh airs and enchanliu); scenery of that Talley, 
wbieb the Persians bo justly called the Unequalled.' 
But neillier llie coolness of its atmosphere, so 
loxuriaus alter toiling up iboso bare and burning 
mounttun)!, — neilbcr the splendour of the minarets 
and pagodas, that shone ont from the depth of it* 
woods, nor Ibe grottos, hermitages, and miraculous 
fountains ', which moke every spot of that region 
holy ground, — neither the countless waterfalls, 
that rush into the Valley from all those high and 
romantic mounluns that encircle it, nor ^e fhir 
eity on the X^e. whose houses, roofed with 
flowers *, appeared at a distance like one vaxt and 
lariegated parterrei — not all these wonders and 
glories of tbe most lovely country under the sun 
conM steal her heart for a minute from those sad 
thongbts, which but darkened, and grow bitterer 
every step she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her 
upon her entrance into tbe Valley, and tbe mag- 
niHcencc with which the roads all along were 
decorated, did honour to the taste and gallantry of 
the yonng King. It was nigbt wbcn they ap- 

Erooched tlie city, and. for the last two miles, they 
ad TMissed under nrehes, thrown from hedge to 
hedge, fcalooncd with only Ibose rarest roses from 
which the Altnr Gul, more precions than gold, ii 
dintilled, and illuminated in rich and faneifti! forms 
with hralcms of the triple-coloured lortoiso-BbcU 
of Pegu.* SomelimcB from a dnrk wood by the 
Bide of the road, a display of fire-works would 
break out, so sudden and so brilliant, that a 
Brotmun might fancy he belield that grove, in 
whose purple shade the God of Battles was bom, 
bursting into a flame at the moment of his birth; 
— while, at other times, a cjnick and playful irra- 
diation continued to brighten all tbe fields and 
gardens by which they passed, forming a line of 
dancing lights along tbe horizon 1 bkc the meteors 
of the north as tbey are seen by those hunters'. 

tuts come over the heart 'with all that chill- 
id deadl7 sweetness, which we can fancj in 
>ld, odoriferous wind * that is to blow over 
irth in the last dajs. 

) marriage was fixed for the morning after 
rrival, when she was, for the first time, to 
esented to the monarch in that Imperial 
) beyond the Lake, called the Shalimar. 
;h never before had a night of more wakeful 
nxious thought been passed in the EUippy 
', ret, when she rose in the morning, and 
idles came around her, to assist in £e ad- 
int of the bridal ornaments, they thought 
ad never seen her look half so beautiAiL 
she had lost of the bloom and radiancy of 
urns was more than made up by that intel- 

expression, that soul beaming forth from 
28, which is worth all the rest of loveliness, 
they had tinged her fingers with the Henna 
id placed upon her brow a small coronet of 

of the shape worn by the ancient Queens 
haria, they flung over her head the rose- 
)d bridal veil, and she proceeded to the 
iiat was to convey her across the lake; — 
ssing, with a mournful look, the little amulet 
elian, which her father at parting had hung 
icr neck. 

morning was as fresh and fair as the maid 
se nuptials it rose, and the shining lake 
sred with boats, the minstrels playing upon 
res of the islands, and the crowded summer- 
on the green hills around, with shawls 
nners waving from their roofs, presented 
picture of animated reioicinfr. ma tmW sIia 

tf AVAA 


apart, that all might hav 
presence, and with his 1: 
was to deliver to the I* 
MOBZ, and literature, ani 
ed therewith." 

They now had entered f 
the Lake to the splendi 
the Shalimar, and went 
gardens that ascended 1 
flowering shrubs that nu 
while from the middle < 
water, smooth and nnbn 
height, that they stood lil 
in the sunshine. After 
of various saloons, they i 
last and most magnificc 
awaited the coming of l 
the agitation of her hear 
with difficulty she could \ 
which were covered witl 
ascent from the barge, 
stood two thrones, as pi 
Throne of Coolburga', on < 
the youthful King of Buchi 
in a few minutes, to be pi 
Princess in the world. Ii 
trance of Lalla Bookh i 
narch descended from h 
but scarcely had he time ' 
when she screamed with 
his feet. It was Fbram< 
befbre hcrl — Feramobz 
reign of Bucharia, who in - 
panied his yoimg bride f 



oiistenimd<m of FADija>SEir at this disco- 
I, lor the moment, almost pitiable. But 
oi opinkm is a resonroe too oonTenient 
IS for this experienced coortier not to 
smed to sKTail himself of it. His criti- 
ef« sdl, of oooxie, recanted instantlj : he 
taed with an admiration of the King's 
as anboanded as, he begged him to 1^- 
t wmm disinterested; and the following 
or him in possession of an additional place, 
^ fagr all the Saints of Islam that nerer 
re ffTrifM*^ so great a poet as the Monarch 

Alibis, and, moreoyer, ready to prescribe his 
favourite regimen of the CImbnk for cyery man, 
woman, and child that dared to think other- 

Of the happincvs of the King and Queen of 
Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be 
but little doubt; and, among the lessor sjmp 
toms, it is recorded of Laixa Bookh, that, to the 
daj of her death, in memory of their delightiul 
journey, she never called the King by any other 
name than Feramorz. 



ctiODB connected, in my mind, with 
riod of m J life, when I first thought 
Ing in Terse the touching language 
try^s music, tempt me again to ad- 
e long past days; and even at the 
g thought to indulge overmuch in 

Gibber calls ** the great pleasure 
ibout one's self all diay,** to notice 
i of those impressions and influences 
li the attempt to adapt words to 

Melodies was for some time medi- 
ij and, at last, undertaken. 
Q be no doubt that to the zeal and 
Mr. Bunting his country is indebted 
lervation of her old national airs. 

prevalence of the Penal Code, the 
eland was made to share in the fate 
e. Both were alike shut out from 
civilised life; and seldom any where 
luts of the proscribed race could 
oice of the songs of other days be 
en of that class, the itinerant harp* 
whom fen: a long period our ancient 
>een kept alive, there remained but 
inue the precious tradition ; and a 
•meeting held at Belfast in the year 
Icb the two or three still remaining 
ace of wandering harpers assisted, 
he last public effort made by the 
[rish music, to preserve to their 
: only grace or ornament left to her, 
rreck of all her liberties and hopes, 
the fierce legislature of the Pale 
oared vainly through so many cen- 
fect, — ^the utter extinction of Ire- 
trelsy,--the deadly pressure of the 
» had nearly, at the close of the 
:entury, accomplished ; and, but for 
I intelligent research of Mr. Bunting 
A, the greater part of our musical 
ould probably have been lost to the 

is thtfloUtettd editioot poblialied 

world. It was in the year 1796 that this 
gentleman published his first volume; and the 
national spirit and hope then awakened in Ire« 
land, by iJie n^id spread of the democratic 
principle throughout Europe, could not but in- 
sure a most cordial reception for such a work; 
— ^flattering as it was to the fond dreams of 
Erin's early days, and containing in itself, in- 
deed, remarkable testimony to the truth of her 
claims to an early date of civilisation. 

It was in the year 1797 that, through the 
medium of Mr. Bunting's book, I was first made 
acquainted with the beauties of our native 
music. A young friend of our fieunily, Edward 
Hudson, the nephew of an eminent dentist of 
that name, who played with much taste and 
feeling on the flute, and, unluckily for himself, 
was but too deeply warmed with the patriotic 
ardour then kindling around him, was the first 
who made known to me this rich mine of our 
country's melodies; — a mine, from the work- 
ing of which my humble labours as a poet have 
since then derived their Fole lustre and value. 

About the same period I formed an acquaint- 
ance, which soon grew into intimacy, with 
young Bobert Emmet. He was my senior, I 
think by one class, in the university ; for when, 
in the first year of my course, I became a mem- 
ber of the Debating Society — a sort of nursery 
to the authorised Historical Society — I found 
him in full reputation, not only for his learning 
and eloquence, but also for the blamelessness of 
his life, and the grave suavity of bis manners. 

Of the political tone of this minor school of 
oratory, which was held weekly at the rooms of 
difl*erent resident members, some notion maybe 
formed from the nature of the questions pro- 
posed for discussion, — one of which I recollect, 
was, "Whether an Aristocracy or a Democracy 
is most favourable to the advancement of science 
and literature ? *' while another, bearing even 
more pointedly on the relative position of the 
government and the people, at this crisis, was 

H 2 


«vw, i**i,ci a unci review oi ine repuDiics ot 
Iquity, showing how much thej had all done 
the advancement of science and the arts, 
seeded, lastly, to the grand and perilous ex- 
ile, then passing before all eyes, the young 
mblic of France. Referring to the circum- 
ice told of Csesar, that, in swimming across 
Rubicon*, he contrived to carry with him 
Commentaries and hia sword, the young 
or said, " Thus France wades through a sea 
orm and blood ; but while, in one hand, she 
ds the sword against her aggressors, with 
other she upholds the glories of science and 
ature unsullied by the ensanguined tide 
•ugh which she struggles.** In another of 
emarkable speeches, I remember his saying, 
hen a people, advancing rapidly in know- 
e and power, perceive at last how far their 
imment is lagging behind them, what then, 
c, is to be done in such a case P What, but 
all the government up to the people?** 
I a few months after, both Emmet and my- 
were admitted members of the greater and 
gnised institution, called the Historical So- 
' ; and, even here, the political feeling so rife 
ad contrived to mix up its restless spirit 
all our debates and proceedings ; notwith- 
ling the constant watchfulness of the col- 
authorities, as well as of a strong party 
in the Society itself, devoted adherents to 

)olicv of thft rmvAmmoT** 

t«t/l ♦<»i-«— ~ ._- — 

opening upon her, 
orator's view. So e: 
this respect, were 1 
little were even the 
verse party able to d 
it was at length th 
higher authorities, to 
more advanced stand 
to a former race of n 
Society, in order th 
speeches of Emmet, a 
the mischievous impr 
to produce. Thenam< 
of the higher powers 
to record ; but the ob 
us was in some resp 
replying to a long or 
that Emmet, much to 
who gloried in him as 
denly embarrassed in 
and, to use the pari 
down. Whether froo 
in the thread of his ai 
diffidence in encoun 
much his senior, — foi 
as he was high-minde< 
in the full career of h 
and repeat his words, 
or two to recover him 
It fell to my own h 



ddusTOte; and a fierce contest between 
paitiea ensued, which I at last put an 
bj Tolnntariljr withdrawing my com- 
L from the Sodetj^s Book, 
e already adverted to the period when 
mting'a Taluable Tolume first became 
to me. Tliere elapsed no very long time 
I was myself the happy proprietor of a 
rthe work, and, though neyer regularly 
Aed in music, could play oyer the airs 
lerable &cili^ on the piano-forte. Ro- 
aunet used sometimes to sit by me, when 
dms engaged ; and T remember one day 
rdng up as from a reverie, when I had 
ushed playing that spirited tune called 
d Fox% and exclaiming, *' Oh that I 
(ft the head of twenty thousand men, 
Dg to that airP 

little did I then think that in one of the 
mdiing of the sweet airs I used to play 
his own dying words would find an in- 
er so worthy of their sad, but proud 
f ; or that another of those mournful 
I would long be associated, in the hearts 
x>untrymen, with the memory of her§ 
ared with Ireland his last blessing and 

ogfa fully alive, of course, to the feelings 
such music could not but inspire, I had 
t undertaken the task of adapting words 
<^the airs; and it was, I am ashamed 
in dull and turgid prose, that I made 
It i^pearance in print as a champion of 
polar cause. Towards the latter end of 
IT 1797, the celebrated newspaper called 
Press" was set up by Arthur O'Connor, 
IS Addis Eomiet, and other chiefs of the 
L Irish conspiracy, with the view of pre- 
and ripening the public mind for the great 
iien fiist approaching. This memorable 
i, according to the impression I at present 
of it, was far more distinguished for 
tness of purpose and intrepidity, than for 
eat disfday of literary talent ; — the bold 
I written by Emmet (the elder), imder 
piatore of ^ Montanus,** being the only 
oitions I can now call to mind as entitled 
■e lor their literary merit. It required, 


days of old.** 

however, but a small sprinkling of talent to 
make bold writing, at that time, palatable ; and, 
from the experience of my own home, I can 
answer for the avidity with which every line of 
this daring journal was devoured. It used to 
come out, I think, twice a week, and, on the 
evening of publication, I always read it aloud 
to our small circle afler supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what with 
my ardour for the national cause, and a grow- 
ing consciousness of some little turn for author- 
ship, I was naturally eager to become a con- 
tributor to those patriotic and popular columns. 
But the constant anxiety about me which I 
knew my own family felt, — a feeling far more 
wakeful than even their zeal in the public 
cause, — ^withheld me from hazarding any step 
that might cause them alarm. I had ventured, 
indeed, one evening, to pop privately into the 
letter-box of The Press, a short Fragment in 
imitation of Ossian. But this, though inserted, 
passed off quietly; and nobody was, in any 
sense of the phrase, the wiser for it. I was 
soon tempted, however, to try a more daring 
flight. Without communicating my secret to 
any one but Edward Hudson, I addressed a 
long Letter, in prose, to the ♦♦•♦♦of****, 
in which a profusion of bad flowers of rheto- 
ric was enwreathed plentifully with that weed 
which Shakspeare calls **• the cockle of rebel- 
lion,** and, in the same manner as before, com- 
mitted it tremblingly to the chances of the 
letter-box. I hardly expected my prose would 
be honoured with insertion, when, lo, on the 
next evening of publication, when,, seated as 
usual in my little corner by the fire, I unfolded 
the paper for the purpose of reading it to my 
select auditory, there was my own Letter 
staring me full in the face, being honoured 
with so conspicuous a place as to be one of 
the first articles my audience would expect to 
hear. Assuming an outward appearance of 
ease, while every nerve within me was trem- 
bling, I contrived to accomplish the reading of 
the Letter without raising in either of my 
auditors a suspicion that it was my own. I en- 
joyed the pleasure, too, of hearing it a good 
deal praised by them; and might have been 

2 ** She It far from the Und where her yofuxightto aleepe.** 

I MiMdurrsD. 

H 3 

' Here he stopped ; but the mother's 

had followed his, with the rapiditjof light- 

', to mine, and at once she perceived the 

le truth. " That Letter was yours, then ? ** 

ksked of me eagerly ; and, without hesitation, 

•urse, I acknowledged the fact ; when in the 

earnest manner she entreated of me never 

1 to have any connexion with that paper; 

as every wish of hers was to me law, I 

ly pledged the solemn promise she re- 


lOugh well aware kow easily a sneer may 

ised at the simple details of this domestic 

, I have yet ventured to put it on record, 

ording an instance of the gentle and wo- 

f watchfulness, — the Providence, as it 

>e called, of the little world of home, — 

lich, although placed almost in the very 

at of so headlong a movement, and living 

urly with some of the most daring of those 

iropelled it, I yet was guarded from any 

ipation in their secret oaths, counsels, or 

and thus escaped all share in that wild 

le to which so many far better men than 

' fell victims. 

he mean while, this great conspiracy was 
ing on, with £earful precipitancy, to its 
ak ; and vague and shapeless as are now 
to have been the views, even of those 
sre engaged practically in the plot, it 

..•\^«4«i»ciUU U 

speak. But among tl 
which had somewhat ] 
for such a catastrop 
painful description, wl 
self an actor in it, I n 

It was not many we 
crisis, that, owing to ic 
college authorities of 1 
the students, not only 
organisation of the I 
Vbitation was held by 
chancellor of the Univ< 
inquiring into the exte 
plot, and dealing summt 
m it. 

Imperious and han 
policy of thus setting u 
tribunal, armed with tl 
witnesses on oath, and L 
instruction of youth, I c 
the facts which came ov 
evidence went far towai 
arbitrary proceeding ; f 
like myself, were acqi 
general views of the L 
even knowing, except 
those leaders were, or whi 
it was most startling t 
which everv surpp«vlm*» 



^ * * * * ■ *f wliofle total abeence from 
rhole acene, as well as the dead silence 
day alUr day, lollowed the calling out of 
namra, proclaimed how deep had been 
ihare in Uieimlawfiil proceedings inquired 
bj thb tribunaL 
Bot there was one yoong friend of mine, 
• •• •• ••^ whose appearance among the 

iwyund and examined as much surprised as 
^ deeply and painfully interested me. He and 
rSamet had long been intimate and attached 
E 4m& - — their congenial fondness for mathe- 
studies having been, I think, a far more 
sympathy between them than any aris- 
^ oat of Uieir political opinions. From his 
called np, however, on this day, when, as 
jlippeared afterwards, all the most important 
brought forward, there could be 
Me doabl that, in addition to his intimacy 
the college authorities must have 
some information which led them to 
him of being an accomplice in the con- 
In the course of his examination, 
questions were put to him which he 
idosed to answer, — most probably from their 
teukncy to involve or inculpate others; and 
k wss accordingly dismissed, with the melan- 
cUy certainty that his future prospects in life 
Ike blasted ; it being already known that the 
fmidmient for such contumacy was not merely 
Qpnlsion from the University, but also ezdu- 
■B from all the learned professions. 
The proceedings, indeed, of this whole day 
kd been such as to send me to my home in 
Ae Cftning with no very agreeable feelings or 
jnapects. I had heard evidence given afiect- 
hg even the lives of some of those friends whom 
1 had long regarded with admiration as well as 
•flection ; and what was still worse than even 
Aeir danqger, — a danger ennobled, I thought, 
hj the cause in which they suffered,— was the 
I sksmefnl spectacle exhibited by those who had 
j sppeared in evidence against them. Of these 
I vhaesses, the greater number had been them- 
I selves involved in the plot, and now came for- 
' wsd either as voluntary informers, or else 

• put 


loot ben a fOMnU in tbM Fnach 
ImaU thow CMt «nt«fpri>M of Napo- 
aulltr of hUtorx. Should thcM 
• ••••, thtr viUoiU to hto mlBd 

were driven by the fear of the consequences of 
refusal to secure their own safety at the ex- 
pense of companions and friends. 

I well remember the gloom, so unusual, that 
hung over our family circle on that evening, as, 
talking together of the events of the day, we dis* 
cussed the likelihood of my being among those 
who would be called up for examination on the 
morrow. The deliberate conclusion to which my 
dear honest advisers came, was that, overwhelm- 
ing as the consequences were to all their plans 
and hopes for me, yet, if the questions leading 
to criminate others, which had been put to 
almost all examined on that day, and which 


* • 4> • 4> • • 

alone had refused to answer. 

were put to me, I must, in the same manner, 
and at all risks, return a similar refusaL I am 
not quite certain whether I received any intima- 
tion on the following morning, that I was to be 
one of those examined in the course of the day; 
but I rather think some such notice had been 
conveyed to me; — and, at last, my awful turn 
came, and I stood in presence of the formidable 
tribunal. There sat, with severe look, the 
vice-chancellor, and, by his side, the memor- 
able Doctor Duigenan, — memorable for his 
eternal pamphlets against the Catholics. 

The oath was proffered to me. '* I have an 
objection, my Lord,*' said I, "• to taking this 
oath.** ** What is your objection P** he asked 
sternly. '' I have no fears, my Lord, that any 
thing I might say would criminate myself; but 
it might tend to involve others, and I despise 
the character of the person who could be led, 
under any such ciitcumstances, to inform against 
his associates.** This was aimed at some of the 
revelations of the preceding day; and, as I 
learned afterwards, was so understood. ** How 
old are you. Sir?** he then asked. "Between 
seventeen and eighteen, my Lord.** He then 
turned to his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged 
a few words with him, in an under tone of 
voice. " We cannot,** he resumed, again ad- 
dressing me, " suffer any one to remain in our 
University who refuses to take this oath.** 
<< I shall, then, my Lord,*" I replied, ''take the 

the days we puwd totether in Nonnaadr, • ftw nminMn rfnoti 
—more cipecially our excnnloii to B«yeux, when, m we Ulked 
on the way of oM ooUcce timet end fUenda, all the evcntftil and 
■tonny wenee he hedpew ctl thitmgh rfnce eee mert qniie fo r g ot t eni 

H 4 

iged to any of these societies?" "No, 
.ord." " Have you ever known of any of 
proceedings that took place in them?" 
my Lord." "Did you ever hear of a 
>8al at any of their meetings, for the pur- 
I of arms and ammunition?" ** Never, 
lOrd." "Did you ever hear of apropo- 
i made, in one of these societies, with 
otto the expediency of assassination?** 
no, my Lord.** He then turned again to 
enan, and, after a few words with him, 

me : — " When such are the answers you 
ble to give *, pray what was the cause of 
great repugnance to taking the oath?" 
ave already told your Lordship my chief 
n; in addition to which, it was the first 

1 ever took, and the hesitation was, I think, 


iras now dismissed without any further 

ioning ; and, however trying had been this 
operation, was amply repaid for it by the 
zeal with which my young friends and 
anions flocked to congratulate me; — not 
ich,I was inclined to hope, on my acquittal 
le court, as on the manner in which I had 
itted myulf. Of my reception, on retum- 
ome, after the fears entertained of so very 
«nt a result, I will not attempt any de- 
tion; — it was all that tuck a home alone 
I ftimish. ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 
liall now string together such detached 

«i« had been two ancetioiif imt to «I1 thoee ezamfaied on 

of so beautiiiil an aii 
such a subject. The 
soon after I wrote it, x 
ing at Chatsworth, is 
Lord Byron*s letters 
from London that y 
and all there full of 
and, in particular, ths 
has been quite overw 
told you it was one oi 
wrote, though that d 
omit part of it " 

It has been someti 
breathe not his name 
Lord Edward Fitzgez 
the song having bea 
known passage in '. 
speech, " Let no man 
let my tomb remain ui 
and other men shall 1 

The feeble attem] 
glory of our great £ 
Muse," &c. — is in s< 
made up amply for ii 
by an outpouring, ra 
these days, of the spi 
in the year 1815 that 
made their appearanc 

And lUll the iMt erown of 
The grandeit, the pnrert. 

mede nidi an ftppeel, m OMiie< 



thy tiA, othtr nalOoDB vniiaMng* 
fb« 4mp voonds of thj own* 
one, Ibr vfaoM veal Hum hMl ilood, 
mA itar <lM laad tlMt inl cmdtod th7 ftme, ftc 

i fourteen yean after these lines were 
the I>iike of Wellington recommended 
ihrone the great measure of Catholic 


hacj of the "Origin of the Irish 
raa (aa I ha^e elsewhere acknowledged*) 
d, b J a drawing made under pecu- 
linful circunistanoes, by the friend so 
entioped in this sketch, Edward Hud- 

inexicm with another of these matchless 
ne that defies all poetry to do it justice, 

the following singular and touching 
At in an article of the Quarterly Review, 
g of a young and promising poetess, 
I Daridson, who di^ yery early from 

excitement, the Reviewer says, *'She 
ticularly sensitive to music, lliere was 
I (it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) 
I she took a special fimcy. She wished 
tt only at twilight, — thus (with that 
rilous love of excitement which made 
e the JBolian harp in the window when 

composing) seeking to increase the 
iiich the song produced upon a nervous 
already diseasedly susceptible ; for it is 
t, whenever she heard this song, she 
cold, pale, and almost fainting; yet it 
fkvoorite of all songs, and gave occasion 

verses addressed in her fifteenth year 

the Melody entitled " Love, Valour, 

it,** an incident is connected, which 

id feelings in me of proud, but sad 

i — as showing that my songs had 

the hearts of some of the descendants 

great Irish families, who found them- 

KTced, in the dark days of persecution, 

in other lands a refuge from the shame 

I of their own; — those, whose story I 

ts aawciated with one of their county's 

mcteriatic airs: — 

of Um oompact entered Into 
flkkCkadenof Uw eompiracy, Uie SUte Pri- 
into cxilo, wera aUowed to mo their 
vWSto Kdwd HndMo, in the jaU of Kilnudn- 
labi inunund ibr fkmr or five monthi, 
ftind Mag led out to dnUh, andcaq^eellBC 

Te Blakes and ODonnellt, iduMO fiOhert redgn'd 
The gntn hills of their youth, among strangera to And 
That repoae wliieh at liome tliiey had lich'd finr in vnln. 

From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction, 
— whose names, could I venture to mention 
them, would lend to the incident an additional 
Irish charm, — I received, about two years since, 
through the hands of a gentleman to whom it had 
been entrusted, a large portfolio, adorned inside 
with a beautiful drawing, representing Love, 
Wit, and Valour, as described in the song. In 
the border that surrounds the drawing are intro- 
duced the favourite emblems of Erin, the harp, 
the shamrock, the mitred head of St. Patrick, 
together with scrolls containing each, inscribed 
in letters of gold, the name of some favourite 
melody of the fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the fol- 
lowing letter from the lady herself; and her 
Irish race, I fear, is but too discernible in the 
generous indiscretion with which, in this in- 
stance, she allows praise so much to outstrip 
desert: — 


" Monsieur, 

"Si les pontes n*^toient en quelque 
sorte une propriety intellectuelle dont chacun 
prend sa part k raison de la puissance qu*ils 
exercent, je ne saurois en verite comment faire 
pour justifier mon courage! — car il en falloit 
beaucoup pour avoir ose consacrer mon pauvre 
talent d*amateur k vos d^licieuses poesies, et 
plus encore pour en renvoyer le pale reflet ^ 
son veritable auteur. 

" tTesp^re toutefois que ma sympathie pour 
rirlande vous fera juger ma foible production 
avec cette heureuse partialite qui impose silence 
k la critique : car, si je n^appaitiens pas k Tile 
Verte par ma naissance, ni mes relations, je puis 
dire qui je m*y interesse avec un CGeur Irian- 
dais, et que j'ai conserve plus que le nom de 
mes peres. Cela seul me fait esp^rer que mes 
petits voyageurs ne subiront pas le triste novi- 
ciat des Strangers. Puissent-ils remplir leur 
mission sur le sol natal, en agissant conjointe- 
ment et toujours pour la cause Irlandaise, et 

erery week hb own tnm to oome. I toaoA that to amnae hia aoll- 
tnde he had made a large drawing wiUi charcoal on the wall of hia 
miaon, rep r cae nting that fancied origin of the Irlah Harp wliich, 
Bome yean after, I adopted as the anhJcct of one of tlio * MetodJea.' ** 
^I^emd Death ttf Lord EduxtrdFitagerak^ TOLL 
t QiDnitcrlyBieTi«w,ToLzU.p.»l. 

di jamais mon^toile me conduit en Irlande, 
e m'j croirai pas ^trang^re. Je sais que le 
e y laisse de longs souvenirs, et que la con- 
lit^ des desirs et des esp^rances rapproche 
epit de Tespace et du terns. 
Jusque Ik, recevez, je tous prie, rassoranoe 

ltalian.—G. Flechi 
Custi, Milano, 1836. 

French, — Madame 
Loeve Veimars, Paris 

Rtusian, — Several c 
popular Kussian poet 



now many years since, in a Letter prefixed 
) Third Number of the Irish Melodies, I had 
leasure of inscribing the Poems of that work 
or Ladjship, as to one whose character re- 
1 honour on the country to which they 
, and whose friendship had long been the 
and happiness of their Authos. WiUi the 

same feelings of afiectic 
if not increased by the 
ceeding year, I now pli 
present new form under 
With perfe 
Tour Ladyship's • 




9H an edition of the Poetry of the Lrish I full of tvnooTAnbirAl tan 



Go wbere glorj waits thee. 
But* while fame elates thee, 

Oh ! still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear \b sweetest, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Other arms maj press thee. 
Dearer friends caress thee. 
All the jojs that bless thee. 

Sweeter hr maj be ; 
But when friends are nearest. 
And when jojs are dearest. 

Oh! then remember me ! 

When, at ere, thon rorest 
Bj the star thou lorest. 

Oh! then remember me. 
Think, when home retoming. 
Bright we're seen it boming, 

Oh! thns remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its lingering roses, 

Once so loved bj thee. 
Think of her who wove them. 
Her who made thee love them. 

Oh! then remember me. 

When, aronnd thee dying, 
Antamn leaves are Ijring, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Andv at night, when gazing 
On the gajT hearth blazing, 

Oh! still remember me. 
Then should mosic, stealing 
All the soul of feeling. 
To thy heart appealing, 

I>raw one tear from thee; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee, — 

Oh! then rememb^me. 

tmonafdi of Ireland, who wm killed 

,iB thcbegianiiicoftiM Iltheaitai7,afler 
I in twcBtjr-ftTV •ncACcmcaii. 




Rbmbmber the glories of Brien the brave, 

Tho* the days of the hero are o*er; 
Tho* lost to MononiaS and cold in the grave. 

He returns to Kinkora ' no more. 
That star of the field, which so often hath ponr'd 

Its beam on the battle, is set; 
Bnt enough of its glory remains on each sword. 

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononial when Nature embellish*d the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair. 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print 

The footstep of slavery there? 
No ! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, 

Gro, tell onr invaders, the Danes, 
That *tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, 

Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood * 

In the day of distress by our side ; 
While the moss of the valley grew red with their 

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died. 
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light. 

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain; — 
Oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night. 

To find that they fell there in vain. 

TClalcd of the 



Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! 
Shining through sorrow's stream. 
Saddening through pleasure's beam. 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam. 
Weep while they rise. 

of OmotT' The wounded men entreated that ther might he 
allowed to fl«ht with the rett_** Let ttaku (thef nid) he tttick tit 
Ike ground, and t^gtr tadk qf im, tied to ttmd tupported dy oite </ 
tJkeae $tate*^ to be placed tit kit rttnk by tMe tide qf a tound man.** 
** Between WTcn and eight hundred wounded men (adda O'Hal- 
loran) pale, emaciated, and lupported in this manner appeared 
mixed with the finemoet of the troopi i—nerer wae aaeh another 
right exhibited."-!/ Mory <if Ireland^ book zlL chap. L 

breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 
re cold and unhonour'd his rcHcs are laid : 
silent, and dark, be the t«ars that we shed, 
le night-dew that fails on the grass o'er his head. 

the night-dew that falls, though in silence it 

brighten with yerdore the graye where he 
the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, 
long keep his memory green in our souls. 


f he, who adores thee, has left but the name 

his fault and his sorrows behind, 

9j wilt thou weep, when thej darken the fame 

ft life that for thee was resign'd? 

feep, and howeyer my foes maj condenm, 

r tears shall efface their decree; 

ieayen can witness, though guilty to them, 

lye been but too faithful to thee. 

thee were the dreams of my earliest loye; 
IT thought of my reason was thine; 

last humble prajer to the Spirit aboye, 
' name shall be mingled with mine. 
lest are the loyers and friends who shall liye 

dajs of thy glory to see; 
e next dearest blessing that Heayen can giye 
le pride of thus dying for thee. 



Fly not yet, 'tis juf 
When pleasure, like 
That scorns the eye 
Begins to bloom foi 

And maids who I 
'Twas but to bless t 
That beauty and th) 
'Tis then their soft i 
Set the tides and go 

Oh! stay,— Oh I s 
Joy so seldom weay 
Like this to-night, i 

To break its Unka 

Fly not yet, the foui 
In times of old throi 
Though icy cold by 
Yet still, like souls c 

To bum when nig 
And thus, should wc 
At noon be cold as ' 
Nor kindle till the n 
Brings their genial b 

Oh I stay,— Oh! st 
When did morning c 
And find such beiuni 

As those that spar 



ipect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night 
1 return with to-monow to brighten my 

-life is a waste of weariflome hoorv, 
ich seldom the roee of enjoyment adorns; 
ibe heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 
ihrajs the first to be tonch'd bj the thorns. 
end round the bowl, and be happj awhile — 
T we neTer meet worse, in our pilgrimage 

the tear that enjoyment may gild with a 
4 the smile that compassion can torn to a 

thread of oor life would be dark. Heaven 

it were not with friendship and love inter- 

[ care not how soon I may sink to repose, 
len these blessings shall cease to be dear to 

my mind. 
bey who have loT*d the fondest, the purest, 
soften hare wepto'erthe dream they beliey*d; 
the heart that has slumber'd in friendship 

appy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd. 
nd round the bowl ; while a relic of truth 
a man or in woman, this prayer shall be 
mine, — 

the sonshine of love may illumine our 

the moonlight of friendship console our de- 


he last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 
tierever thou art shall seem Erin to me; 
le thy bosom shall still be my home, 
hine eyes make my climate wherever we 


twnty-cirhih jtar of the r^ga at Henrr viii. an 
rci|wetiii( the hsMu. and drcM in gvneral, of the 
•11 pexaona vera mtrained from being ihom or 
the can. or from vearing Qlibbea, or CotdinM (long 
hcada, or hair on their upper lip, called Crommeal. 
I a aoog vai wrilten bj one of our bardt, in which 
is made to ffive the preftrenee to her dear Coulin 
wkh the llovittg locks) to all strangera (by which 
ncmnt), or tfaoae who wora their hablti. Of thii 
haa reached ua, and is unireraallj admired."— 
Mtmoin (^ Iriah BanU, p. 1S«. Mr. Walker 
, ahovt the Hune poriod, there ««r»iomehanh 
the Irish lOutnla. 

To the gloom of some desert or cold rooky shore. 
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no 

I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough 

Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. 

And m gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it 

And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it bieathes; 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear 
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that 




Rich and rare were the gems she wore. 
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; 
But oh ! her beauty was far beyond 
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. 

" Lady I dost thou net fear to stray, 

" So lone and lovely through this bleak way? 

" Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

" As not to be tempted by woman or gold? " 

" Sir Bjiightl I feel not the least alarm, 
" No son of Erin will offer me harm : — 
For though they love woman and golden store, 
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue morel" 



On she went, and her maiden smile 
In safety lighted her round the Green Isle ; 
And blest for ever is she who relied 
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride. 


As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below. 

3 This ballad is founded upon the following anecdote t— ** The 
people were inspired with nich a vpirit of honour, rirtne, and 
religion, by the great example of Bricn, and by his excellent ad- 
ministration, that, as a proof of it, we are infurmed ttiat a young 
lady of great beauty, adorned with Jewels and a coitly dress, 
undertook a Journey alone, from one end of the kingdom to the 
other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a 
ring of exceeding great value ; and such an impression liad the 
laws and goTcmment of this monarch made on the minds of all 
the people, that no attempt wai made upon her honour, nor was 
she robbed ot her clothes or Jewels."— Warner's Hiatonf of 
JrtUmdt ToL i. book x. 

;ais looagni in ine miosi ot enjojment wm 

& dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright 

beams of the warm smi play roond it in 

J smile in his light, but it blooms not again. 


s is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
lat Tale in whose bosom the bright waters 

he last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
he bloom of that raiUey shall fade from my 


; woB not that Nature had shed o*er the scene 
•orest of crystal and brightest of green; 
I not her soft magic of streamlet or hiU, 
10, — it was something more exquisite stilL 

I that friends, the beloy'd of my bosom, were 

made o'ery dear scene of enchantment more 

ifho felt how the best charms of nature im- 

I we see them reflected from looks that we love. 

t vale of Avoca! how calm conld I rest 

y bosom of shade, with the friends I love 

e the storms that we feel in this cold world 

-V u 

^VUU Millie bWUUlUAVt 



Take back the 

White and mi 
Some hand, moi 

The leaf most 
Thoughts come. 

Pure as even , 
But, oh I each ti 

Love turns to 

Yet let me keep 

Oft shall my ] 
When on its lea 

Dear thought! 
Like you, 'tis fa 

Like you, too 
To let wild pass 

One wrong w 

Haply, when fro 

Far, far away 
•Should calmer t 

Towards you i 
Fancy may trac 

Worthy those 
Thoughts that n 

Pure, calm, ai 



» mmj the ivotds I write 
TeU thio' wlist storms I stray— 
iw idn Ae unseen li^^ 
Gmding mj way. 


in death I shell cehnl j recline, 
mr mj heart to mj mistress dear; 
T H liT*d npon smiles and wine 
ie hdi^test hne, while it lingered here, 
r not abed one tear of sorrow 
on J a heart so hiilliant and light; 
Im J drops of the red grape borrow, 
4uhe the relic firom mom till night. 

the liglit of m J song is o'er, 
I take mr harp to yonr ancient hall; 
t up mt that finendij door, 
re weary trayeUers Ioto to calL' 
' some hard, who roams forsaken, 
re its soft note in passing along, 
one thought of its master waken 

smile for the child of song. 

is cnp, which is now o'erflowing, 
-ace your revel, when Fm at rest; 
>h ! never its balm bestowing 
ps that beanty hath seldom blest 
sn some warm devoted lover 
;r he adores shall bathe its brim, 
ben my spirit around shall hover, 
halkyw each drop that foams for him. 


>w oft has the Benshee cried, 
[3W oft has death untied 
right links that Glory wove, 
reet bonds entwin'd by Love ! 
to each manly soul that slcepeth; 
> each faithful eye that weepeth; 
ong may the fair and brave 
i^ o*er the hero's grave. 

VM one or tvo luupi« free to all trmTdlen, 
tlM mora thcj ezoelled in made**— 

We're fa]l*n npon gloomy days I' 
Star after star decays, 
Every bright name, that shed 
Light o'er the land, is fled. 
Dark falls the tear of him who moumeth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er retumeth; 
But briffhtly flows the tear, 
Wept <ycr a hero's bier. 

Quench'd are our beacon lights — 
Thou of the Hundred Fights I ■ 
Thou, on whose burning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung !* 
Both mute, — but long as valour shineth. 
Or mercy's soul at war repineth. 
So long shall Erin's pride 
Tell how they Uved and died. 

IkCfC, irtthofol Iodise ttutt Irbh chAraeter, 
to vt t Mif throodiout thic work, to allnde 
flUallty* bj whkh EncUnd has been 
gnat and food iiMn« at % moment when iIm 


Wb may roam through this world, like a child at 
a feast. 
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the 
Wo may order our wings, and be off to the 

But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile. 

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies. 
We never need leave our own green isle, 

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd. 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam. 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round. 

Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at 

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept 
By a dragon of prudery placed within call; 

But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept. 
That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after 

Oh I they want the wild sweet-briery fence. 
Which rotmd the flowers of Erin dwells; 

s Thia deaiffnation, which haa been before applied to Lord 
Nelaon, ii the title ffiven to a celebrated Irish hero, in a poem by 
0'QuiT«, the baid of O'Niel, which U qaoted in the ** Phlloaophical 
Snrrey of tlie South of Ireland, " pace 433. '* Con, of the Hundred 
Fighta, sleep in thy Kran-grown tomb, and upbraid not our deftata 
with thy Tictoriea." 

* Fox, ** Bomanonun ultinraa.** 

lile the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 
IvQT smiUng beside his faithful oar, 
rough billows of woe, and beams of joy, 
?he same as he look'd when he left the shore. 
3n remember, wherever your goblet is crown*d, 
rhro' this world, whether eastward or westward 

yon roam, 
len a cup to the smile of dear woman goes ronnd, 
)h I remember the smile that adorns her at home. 


Oh I weep for the hour, 

When to Eveleen's bower 
.6 Lord of the Valley with false rows came; 

The moon hid her light 

From the heavens that night, 
id wept behind the clouda o'er the maiden's shame. 

The clonds pass'd soon 

From the chaste cold moon, 
id heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; 

But none will see the day, 

When the clouds shall pass away, 
hich that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. 

The white snow lay 
On the narrow path- way, 
lien the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor; 

**ThIa brought on an eneonnter be t ween Malaehl (the Monareh 
[relaad In the tenth oentory) end the Denesi fai which Melachi 
httted two of their chempions, whom he enooontcred luoee*- 
elji huid to hand, tekhur ft ooll«r of gold fWnn the neck of one, 
d cenrring off the fword of the other, ae tn^thies at hU Tictory." 
Wamer'a HitUtnf qflrtltrnd, Tol. i. book iz. 
! " Military orders of knighti were Tcry early cetabliihed In 

LET ERIN rem: 

Lbt Erin remembt 

Ere her faithlesf 
When Malachi wo 

Which he won f 
When her kings, w 

Ere the emerald g 

Was set in the < 

On Lough Neagh'f 

When the clear 
He sees the round 

In the wave bei 
Thus shall memoi 

Catch aglimp6< 
Thus, sighing, loo 

For the long fa 


Silent, oh Moyle, 1 
Break not, ye bre 

of Plato, orerwhelmed. 
weather, naed to point oat 
nndcr the water. Fi$catoi 
more patriee €arctee nml et 
ftMU $ereno tempore amepi 
eoMMoe admuramtibtu, Jre^ 

.>!.> *Vt« mt. 




mnrmiiniig moiinifiilly'yLir's lonelj dftoghter 
( to the night-flUr her tale of woes. 
ihaD the cwaii, her death-note singing, 
^ with wings in daikness fnrPd ? 
will heaTcn, its sweet heU ringing, 
m J spirit firam this storm j world ? 

oh Mqjle, to th j winter-waye weeping, 
bids me langnish long ages away; 
Q IB her i^^^ihi^m doth l^rin lie sleeping, 
doth the pore light its dawning delaj. 
will that daj-star, mildly springing, 
m onr isle with peace and love ? 
irill hearen, its sweet bell ringing, 
mj spirit to the fields aboye ? 


end round the wine, and leaye points of 


ipleton sages, and reasoning fools; 

meat's a flower too fair and brief, 

witber'd and stain'd bj the dost of the 

^9> may be purple, and mine may be blue, 
hile thej are fill'd from the same bright 
U who would quarrel for diff'rence of 


ves not the comfort then shed o*cr the 


ask the brave soldier, who fights by my 


> cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? 

•^ve up the friend I have valued and tried, 

kneel not before the same altar with me ? 

ae heretic pirl of my soul should I fly, 

eek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? 

ixish the hearts, and the laws that try 

h, vakmr, or love, by a standard like this ! 


the warning that Liberty spoke, 
grand was the moment when Spaniards 
» fife and revenge from the conqueror's 

ibatT I let not this spirit have rest, 

t more, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the 

Give the light of your look to each soirowing 

Nor, oh, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot 
While you add to your garland 3ie Olive of 


If the fame of onr fathers, heqneath'd with their 

Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, 

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain. 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same 1 
And oh ! may his tomb want a tear and a name. 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath, 

For the Shamrock of Erin and OUve of Spain ! 

Te Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to 

That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for 

in vain. 
Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you 

May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as bright. 
And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws. 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted 

Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain I 

God prosper the cause ! — oh, it cannot but thrive. 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feci, and its right to maintain ; 
Then, how sainted by sorrow, its mart\T8 will 

The finger of glory shall point where they lie ; 
While, far from the footstep of coward or' slave. 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their 

Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain ! 


Believe me, if all those endearing? young charms 

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day. 
Where to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my 
Like fairy-gif^s fadinp^ away. 
Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou 
Let thv loveliness fade as it will> 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 
Would entwine itself verdantly stilL 


LE the bright lamp, that shone in Eildare's holy 

Vnd burn*d thro* long ages of darkness and storm, 
he heart that sorrows have frown*d on in vain, 
^ose spirit outlives them, nnfading and warm, 
n, oh Enn, thus bright thro* the tears 
a long night of bondage, thj spirit appears. 

B nations have fallen, and thou still art young, 
rhj sun is but rising, when others are set ; 
d tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath 
hung, [yet 

rhe full noon of fireedom shall beam round thee 
n, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade, 
y star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. 

chilTd by the rain, and unwak'd by &e wind. 

The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour, 

1 Spring's light touch her fetters unbind, 

^d daylight and liberty bless the young flower.* 

us Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, 

id the hope that liv'd thro' it sh^ blossom at last 


Djovk to her, who long 
Hath wak'd the poet's sigh. 

The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 

Oh ! woman's heart was made 
For minstrel hands alone ; 

The lneztinc:viilubl« ftre of St. Bridget, st KOdure, which 

To pass 

While Wit a 

Which cut 
So here's to h 

Hath wak'c 
The girl, whc 

What gold 

The love that 

Where wea 
Is like the gl< 

But oh 1 the ; 

Can boast i 
Its native hon 

Though w< 
Then drink t< 

Hath wak'< 
The girl, wh< 

What gold 


Ob I blame not the 

Where Pleasure li 
He was bom for mu 

His soul might ha 
The string, that no^ 

Might have bent ; 
And the lip, which 

Might have pour'd 

us, ** were iprinkled with 

J-_t.>^ _ Vt_V V.-u. -m^^Jt 



IS for his eoontxy ! — her pride is gone bj, 

. that spirit is broken, which neTer woold 


le min her children in secret mnst sigh, 

'tis treason to loYe her, and death to defend. 

f d are her sons, till theyVe leam'd to betray ; 

lisdngnish'd they lire, if they shame not their 

le tocdbv tfaaC would light them thro' dignity *8 

it be caogiift £rom the pile, where their 

blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft 

should tiy to forget, what he never can heal : 
ive bat a hope — let a vista but gleam 
ongh the gloom of his country, and mark 
how hell feel 1 

Dstant, his heart at her shrine would lay down 
•J passion it nurs'd, every bliss it ador*d ; 
the mjrtle, now idly entwin'd with his crown, 
the wreath of Hazmodius, should cover 
his swofixL' 

f glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away, 
name, loved Erbi, shall live in his songs; 
n in the hour, when his heart is most gay, 
he lose the remembrance of thee and thy 

amgcr shall hear thy lament on his plains; 
sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, 
masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, 
pause at the song of their captive, and weep. 


r¥» gazing on the moon's light, 
moment from her smile I tum'd, 
Kwk at orbs, that, more bright, 
I lone and distant glory bum'd. 

But too far 

Each proud star, 
'or me to feel its wanning flame; 

Huch more dear 

That mild sphere, 
Huch near our planet smiling came;* — 
Uy Mary, be but thou my own; 
WhUe bnghter eyes unheeded play. 



attributed to AIcKiM, i» mw^*w '^a'* «« |t4^ 
mj sword, hidden In myrtles, like Hanno- 

bodies •■ ve vislblo, the son excepted, the 
s» daspienble m It Is in oomperuon to most o( ih» 
€me^cial than thcjr all put tosether."— 

iT^HMs, •OKinff oChw inccnlooi emblems, we 

111 love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my way. 

The day had sunk in dim showers. 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
mumin'd all the pale flowers. 
Like hope upon a mourner's cheek. 
I said (while 
The moon's smile 
Flay'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) 
** The moon looks 
** On many brooks 
"The brook can see no moon but this;'" 
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run. 

For many a lover looks to thee. 
While oh ! I feel there is but one^ 
One Maiy in the world for me. 


When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow. 

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, 
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, 

The last time she e'er was to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasur'd her heart and 
her soul in, 

Had promised to link the last tic before noon; 
And, when once the young heart of a maiden is 

The maiden herself will steal after it soon. 

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er 

Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,. 
A butterfly*, fresh from the night-flower's kisses. 

Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. 
Enrag'd with the insect for hiding lier graces. 

She brush'd him — he fell, alas ! never to rise : 
" Ah ! such," saiid the girl, ** is the pride of our 

" For which the soul's innocence too often dies." 

While she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease 

was growing. 

She cull'd some, and kiss'd off*its night-fall'n dew ; 

And a rose, farther on, look'd so tempting and 


That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too : 

find ft starry sky without « moon, with these words, JVon miZIe, 

i Tliis ima^ was sncected l^ the followinsr thought, which 
occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's wurks :— " The moon 
looks upon many night-fluwcrs, the night-flower sees but one 

4 An emblem of the sonL 

I 2 

By the hope within us springing, 

Herald of to-morrow's strife; 
By that sun, whose light is bringing 

Chains or freedom, death or life — 
Oh I remember life con be 
No charm for him, who lives not free! 

Like the daj-star in the wave. 

Sinks a hero in his grave. 
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. 

Happj is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine, 
i.nd light him down the steep of years: — 
But oh, how blest they sink to rest. 
Who close their eyes on Victory's breast! 

I'er his watch-fire's fading embers 

Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 
iThen his heart that field remembers. 

Where we tam'd his tyrant might, 
fever let him bind again 
L chain, like that we broke from then. 

Hark! the horn of combat calls — 

Ere the golden evening falls, 
(ay we pledge that horn in triumph round 1 ' 

Many a heart that now beats high, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
for waken even at victory's sound: — 
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep. 
O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep I 

There's yet a worit 
Where tyrants tf 

If death that world 
Oh! who would 


rriS SWE 

*TiB sweet to think, t 

We are sure to find 
And that, when we'n 

We've but to make 
The heart, like a tenc 

Let it grow where 
But will lean to the v 

It can twine with 
Then oh ! what pleasi 

To be sure to find 
And to know, when 1 

We've but to maJ 

'Twere a shame, whe 

To make light of tl 
And the world's so r 

'Twere a pity to lii 
Love's wing and the 

They are both of th 
able too. 
And, wherever a ne\» 

It will tincture L< 
Then oh! what pleas 




[ grief And through danger thy smile hath 

eer'd my way, 

seem'd to bud from each thorn thatronnd 

er oar fortone, the brighter our pure love 


ne into glory, till fear into zeal was 


5 as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, 

»*d eren the sorrows that made me more 

ar to thee. 

was honoured, while thou wert wrong'd 
d scom'd, adom*d; 

Tx was of briers, while gold her brows 
1 me to temples, whilst thou lay*st hid in 

id£ were aU masters, while thine, alas! 
■re slaves; [be, 

in the earth, at thy feet, I would ratner 
1 what I loy*d not, or turn one thought 
on thee. 

ider thee sorely, who say thy tows are 
ia been a false one, thy cheek had look*d 
5 pale. 

too, so long thou hast worn those linger- 
^ chains, 

p ID thy heart they have printed their 
■vile stains — 

is the slander, — no chain could that soul 
bdae — 
^neth % spirit, there liberty shineth 



thro' life unblest we rove, 

ng all that made life dear, 

i some notea we used to love, 

ays of boyhood, meet our ear, 

)w welcome breathes the strain ! 

Lening thoughts that long have slept; 

og f(Mrmer smiles, again 

ided eyes that long have wept. 

le gale, that sighs along 

s of oriental flowers, 

grateful breath of song, 

t once was heard in happier hours; 

r. allccOTiaUlT, tlM Mident Church of Ireland. 

(tb* flvlriftor tb* Lofd is, there ii Uberty."— <Si. PottZ. 

Fiird with balm, the gale sighs on. 

Though the flowers have simk in death; 

So, when pleasure's dream is gone. 
Its memory lives in Music's breath. 

Music, oh how faint, how weak. 

Language fades before thy spell! 
Why should Feeling ever speak. 

When thou canst breathe her soul so well? 
Friendship's balmy words may feign, 

Love's are ev'n more false Uian they; 
Oh ! 'tis only music's strain 

Can sweetly soothe and not betray. 



It is not the tear at this moment shed. 

When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 
That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled, 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 
'Tis the tear, thro* many a long day wept, 

'Tis life's whole path o'ersh^ed; 
'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, 

"When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light. 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, 
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, 

When we think how he liv'd but to love them. 
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 

Where buried saints are lying. 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom 

From the image he left there in dying! 


'Tib believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now 

for thee. 
Was a Syren of old, who sung under the sea; 
And who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters rov'd, 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she 


But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep; 
Till heav'n look'd Avith pity on true love so warm. 
And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's 

s ThcK line* were oceaaioned bj the Iom of a rtrj near and dear 
relative, who had died lately at Madeira. 

I 3 



Bt the dajs are gone, when Beauty bright 

My heart's chain wore; 
lien my dream of life, from mom till night. 

Was love, still loye. 

New hope may bloom. 

And days may come. 
Of milder, calmer beam, 
at there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's yonng dream: 
0, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's yonng dream. 

iongh the bard to purer fame may soar, 

When wild youth's past; 
loogh he win the wise, who frown'd before. 

To smile at last; 

Hell never meet 

A joy so sweet. 
In an his noon of fame, 
) when first he song to woman's ear 
His sool-felt flame, 
ad at every close she bhish'd to hear 
The one lov'd name. 

>, — that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love trac'd; 
ill it lingering haonts the greenest spot 

On memory's waste. 

'Twas odour fled 

As soon as shed; 
Twas moming^s winged dream; 

a.llCXO \HJli 

Our spirit 

Oh! the joy that we 


Is a flash amid darl 

But, though 'twere th< 

We must light it u] 

Contempt on the mini 
Tho* fierce to your 
And the tribute most 
Is love from a hean 
While coT« 
Your fam< 
Would shrink from tb 
The Stanc 
In front w 
Oh, my life on your 
this minute. 
You'd cast every bii 
And show what the u 
When rous'd by the 

He loves the Green Is! 

In hearts, which havi 

And hope shall be a 


And Erin*s gay jubi 

The gem i 

By many 1 

But nothing can clo 

Each fragE 

A light, to 

And thus, Erin, my co 

There's a lustre withi 

A spirit, which beams 

And now smiles at s 




. wtep oo, jour hour is past; 
reams of pride are o*er; 
chain is round 70a cast, 
ti are men no more. 
e hero's heart hath bled; 
;e*» tongne hath wam'd in Tain; 
,om! once thj flame hath fled, 
* lights again. 

—perhaps in after dajs 
l^urn to lore jonr name; 
3 J a deed maj wake in praise 
ag hath slept in blame. 
, they tread the ruined Isle, 
nest, at length, the lord and slaye, 
»nd*ring ask, how hands so yile 
onqner hearts so brare? 

tc," thcyH Bay, " a wayward fate 

nreb of discord wove; 

He yoor tjrants join'd in hate, 

lerer join'd in Iotc. 

■ta fell off, that ought to twine, 

Djui profiBkn'd what God had giyen; 

e were heard to curse the shnne, 

e others knelt to heayonl " 


ath a beaming eye, 
one knows for whom it beameth; 
i left its arrows fly, 
lat they aim at no one dreameth. 
tis to gaze upon 
m's lid that seldom rises; 
ooks, but eTery one, 
nexpected light, surprises! 
my Nora Crcina, dear, 
ntk, bashful Nora Creina, 

Beauty lies 

In many eyes, 
>Te in yours, my Nora Creina. 

ears a robe of gold, 

I so close the nymph hath lac'd it, 

arm of beauty's mould 

aes to stay where nature plac*d it. 

^^ora's gown for me, 

boats as wild as mountain breezes, 

eTery beauty free 

k or swell as Heayen pleases. 

Yes, my Nora Creina, dear. 
My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 

Nature's dress 

Is loTcliness — 
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd. 

But, when its points are gleaming round us, 
Who can tell if they're designed 

To dazzle merely, or to wound us? 
Pillow*d on my Nora's heart. 

In safer slumber Lore reposes— 
Bed of peace I whose roughest part 
Is but the crumpling of the roses. 

Oh I my Nora Creina, dear. 
My mild, my artless Nora Creina! 
Wit, though briffht. 
Hath no such light. 
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. 


I SAW thy form in youthful prime. 

Nor thought that pale decay 
Would steal before the steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away, Mary! 
Yet still thy features wore that light. 

Which fleets not with the breaUi; 
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary! 

As streams that run o'er golden nunes. 

Yet humbly, calmly glide. 
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 

Within their gentle tide, Mary! 
So yeil'd beneath the simplest guise. 

Thy radiant gcnias shone, 
And that, which charm'd all other eyes, 

Seem*d worthless in thy own, Mary! 

If souls could always dwell aboye, 

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere; 
Or could we keep the souls we love. 

We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary! 
Though many a gifted mind we meet. 

Though fairest forms we see. 
To liye with them is far less sweet. 

Than to remember thee, Mary! * 

1 I hsTB here nude a fteble dfbrt to ImlUte that ezqniflte la- 
Mription of ShenitoiM's, ** Hen I goaato mlniu wt cum reliqala 
Twiari <io«iB mioiiiiiMt I " 

I 4 

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew, — 
Eyes of most unholy blue ! 
She had lov'd him well and long, 
Witih'd him hers, nor thouj;ht it wrong. 
Wheresoc'er the Saint would fly, 
Still he heard her light foot nigh; 
East or west, where'er he tum'd. 
Still her eyes before him bom'd. 

On the bold cHfiTs bosom cast, 
Tranquil now he sleeps at last; 
Dreams of heavhi, nor thinks that e'er 
Woman's smile can hamit him there. 
But nor earth nor heaven is free 
From her power, if fond she be : 
Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 

Fearless she had track'd his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat; 
And when morning met his view, 
Her mild glances met it too. 
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts! 
Sternly from his bed he starts. 
And with mde repulsive shock. 
Hurls her from the beetling rock. 

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 
Soon was gentle Kathleen's gravel 
Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late,) 
Felt her love, and moum'd her fiste. 
When he said, " Heaven rest her soul! ** 
Round the Lake light music stole; 
And her ghost was seen to gUde, 
Smiling o'er the fatal tide. 


When they promis 
They'll shine o'er hei 
From her own lov' 


Nat, tell me not, dei 

One charm of feeli 

Believe me, a few of 

Are all Fve sunk i 

Ne'er hat 

Been lost 

That ever was she< 

The spell 


Still float on the si 

Then fancy not, dear 

One blissful dream 

Like founts that awa 

The bowl but brig! 

They tell us that Loi 

Had two blush-ros 

He sprinkled the one 

But bath*d the oth' 

Soon did 


Distill'd by the rai 

WhUe th. 

Of ruby 1 

All blush'd into be 

Then fancy not, dear 

One blissful dream 

Like founts that awa 




la and brig^ fiuQ the swift sword of Erin ' 
n who the braye lona of Usna betray 'd I — 
J fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in, 
p finom lus heart-wonnds shall weep o'er 
sr blade. 

red cloiid that bong over Conor's dark 


Ulad'a' three champions lay sleeping in 

OowB of war, which so often, high swelling, 
rafted these heroes to yictory's shore — 

' to rcTenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted, 
rp shAll be silent, the maiden unwed, 

shAll be mate, and our. fields shall lie 
igeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head. 

arch ! tbo' sweet are our home recollec- 


i sweet are the tears that ftom tenderness 


rweet are our friendships, our hopes, our 


^ on a tyrant is sweetest of all! 


HAT the bee is to the flow'ret, 
"Wlien he looks for honey-dew, 
liroagb the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, IH be to you. 

rbat the bank, with verdure glowing, 

Is to wares that wander near 
Vliiisp'ring kisses, while they're going, 

That I'U be to you, my dear. 

tut they say, the bee's a rover, 
Who will fly, when sweets are gone; 

fLnd, when once the kiss is over. 
Faithless brooks will wander on. 

arda of fUa aoac VRC mnretted bythe reir saeient Irish 
Ml *" Dcirdri. or the Lun«nUble Fate of the Sons of 
vUeh ha* been traiuUtcd Utenlly ftom the Gaelic, by 
z^acrna <.aec toI. L of TrmuactiomM of the Oaelie Society of 
ad Bpoa vhieh U appears that the '* Darthula of Mac- 
ks fooaded. The ti^diery of Conor, Kinx of Ulster, in 
death the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a deso- 
acainaK Ulalcr, which terminated in the destmction of 
This story (sajrs Mr. CFlana^an) has been, fWnn time 
al, held in hich ivpate as one of the tliree traffic stories 
!i. Theaeaxr, 'The death of the children of Toaraa I ' 
a ef the chUdna of Lear' (both refardinc Tuatha de 
Md (hk,* Tte death of the ehildicn of Uanaeh,* which it 


Nay, if flowers wOO, lose their looks, 
If sunny banks tpt// wear away, 

'TIS but right, that bees and brooks 
Should sip and kiss them while they may. 


** Herb we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

" Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; 
" Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers 
** To heaven in mingled odour ascend. 
** Do not disturb our calm, oh Lovel 
<* So like is thy form to the cherubs above^ 
*^ It well might deceive such hearts as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listen'd. 

And Love is no novice in taking a hint; 
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety gUsten'd ; 
His rosy wing tum'd to heaven's own tint 
" Who would have thought," the urchin cries, 
** That Love could so well, so gravely disguise 
** His wandering wings and wounding ^j^ ? 


Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping. 
Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise. 
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, 
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. 
Love is the Saint eushrin'd in thy breast. 
And angels themselves would admit such a 
If he came to them cloth'd in Piety's vest. 


Thts life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes. 

That chase one another like waves of the deep, — 
Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows. 

Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 
So closely our whims on our miseries tread. 

That the laugh is awak'd ere the tear can be dried r 
And, as fast as the rain -drop of Pity is shed. 

The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 

a Milesian story.** It wUl be recollected, that. In the Second 
Number of these Melodies, there is a ballad upon the story of the 
children of Lear or I^lr t "Silent, oh Moyle I " Ac 

Whatever may be Uiouffht of those sanffuine claims to anti- 
quity, which Mr. O'Flansffan and others advance for the literature 
of Ireland, it would be a lastinir reproach upon our nationality, if 
the Gaelic researches of this gentleman did not meet with all the 
liberal encourafcement they so well merit. 

3 " Oh Nasi I riew that cloud that I here see in the sky t I see 
over Eman-grecn a chilling cloud of blood-tinged xed."~2)etftirf« 


b *A^ • «.# «AAA V«>»« I 


3ir time with the flowers on the margin have 

Lnd left their light nms all as emptj as mine. 
: pledge n^e the goblet ; — while Idleness weaves 
rheseflow'rets together, should Wisdom but see 
5 bright drop or two that has fiill'n on the leares, 
liom her fountain dirine, 'tis soffident for me. 


Thbouoh Erin's Isle, 

To sport awhile, 
As Love and Valour wander'd, 

With Wit, the sprite. 

Whose quiver bright 
A thousand arrows squander'd. 

Where'er they past, 

A triple grass* 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 

Aj softlj green 

As emeralds seen 
Through purest crystal gleaming, 
the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 

Chosen leaf 

Old Erin's natiye Shamrock! 

Sm Valour, <* See, 

*• They spring for me, 
** Those leafy gems of morning I " — 

Says Love, "No, no, 

*• For Me they grow, 
** My fragrant path adorning." 

But Wit perceiTCS 

One dj 

On Wit's celc 
May I 

Of thorny fal 
May V 

Against the c 

Oh the Shamrock, tl 



Old Erin's ns 

.1- 1 


At the mid hour of 

I fly 
To the lone vale w 
in thine eye; 
And I think oft, 1 

gions of air, 
To revisit past see 
to me there, 
And ten me our love 

Then I sing the wi 
sure to hear! 
When our voices coi 
on the ear; 
And, as Echo ftr 
orison rolls, 
I think, oh my ] 
Kingdom of 




mpcr «ft psrtiiigl — though manj 
circled the bottrd smce we met, 
lest» the saddest of any, 
ans to be crown'd by us jet 
setness that pleasure hath in it, 
rajv ao slow to oome forth, 
Idom, Alas, till the minnte • 
s, do we Imow half its worth, 
le, — maj onr Kie's hxppy measure 
of mch moments made up; 
bom on the bosom of Pleasure, 
die 'midst the tears of the cap. 

xd we jonmej, how pleasant 

use and inhabit awhile 

w sannj spots, like the present, 

mid the dnll wilderness smile I 

e, like a pitiless master, 

* Onward ! " and spurs the gaj hours — 

T doth Time trarel faster, 

when his waj lies among flowers. 

C-^maj our life's happy measure 

of snch moments made up; 

bom on the bosom of Pleasure, 

iie 'midst the tears of the cup. 

how the sun look'd in sinking, 
aters beneath him how bright; 
r, let our farewell of drinking 
kble that fivewell of light. 
' how he finished, bj darting 
sam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
tp, let's shine at our parting, 
I fiqnid glory, like hun. 
! may our life's happy measure 
yments like this be made up, 
om on the bosom of Pleasure, 
a "mid the tears of the cup. 


'TIS the last rose of summer 

Left blooming alone; 
AD her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone; 
No Bower of her lundred, 

Ko rose-bud is nigh. 
To reflect back her blushes. 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

to ManM*g gnnr*.**— See, in Mr. BimtiDK*! 
from the Iriih, Iqr the late John 

111 not leave thee, thou lone one! 

To pine on the stem; 
Since the lovely are sleeping. 

Go, sleep thou with theuL 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed. 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may / follow. 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wither'd. 

And fond ones are flown. 
Oh I who would inhabit 

This blei^ world alone ? 


Thb young May moon is beaming, love. 
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. 

How sweet to rove 

Through Moma's grove,' 
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! 
Then awake! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days. 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! 

Now all the world is sleeping, love. 

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love. 

And I, whose star, 

More glorious far. 
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
Then awake! — till rise of sun, my dear, 
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, 

Or, in watching the flight 

Of bodies of light. 
He might happen to take thee for one, my d^ar. 


The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone. 
In the ranks of death you'll find him; 

His father's sword he has girded on, 
And his wild harp slung behind him. — 

** Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, 
" Though aU the world betrays thee, 

death was m ilnKnlarly melancholy and nnfartanata •■ his life had 
heen amiable, honourahla, and ezemplazT* 



Thb Tfillej lay smiling before me, 

Where latelj I left her behind; 
Tet I trembled, and something hong o*er me, 

That sadden'd the joy of my mind. 
I look'd for the lamp which, she told me, 

Should shine, when her Pilgrim return 'd; 
But, though darkness began to infold me. 

No lamp from the battlements bum'dl 

I flew to her chamber — 'twas lonelj. 

As if the loy'd tenant lay dead; — 
Ah, would it were death, and death only! 

But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss; 
While the hand, that had wak'd it so often. 

Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss. 

There uhu a time, falsest of women. 

When Brefihi's good sword would have sought 
That man, thro' a million of foemen, 

Who dar'd but to wrong thee in thought I 
While now — oh degenerate daughter 

Of Erin, how fall'n is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and slaughter, 

Our country shall bleed for thy shame. 

Already, the curse is upon her. 
And strangers her yalleys profane ; 

They come to divide, to dishonour, 
^d tyrants they long will remain. 

in a blue summer c 

\\'Tiere a leaf never < 

And the bee banqu 

flowers ; 

Where th( 

With s< 

That the ; 

A thin 

Where simply to fe 

Is worth the best jo 

There, with souls e** 
We should love, ai 

time ; 

The glow of the su 

Would steal to our 


With affe 

From c 

And, wit! 


Our life should res* 

And our death com 


Fabbwell — but 
That awakens the 

Then think of the i 
And forgot his ow 
His griefs may reti 
Of the few that I 




LI forget the short yidon, that threw 
t mroimd him, while lingering with 

mt erening^ when pleasure fills up 
top spaiUe each heart and each cup, 
mih. Ues, be it gloomy or bri^t, 
y friends, shall be with you that 

mrrerete, joor sports, and jonr wiles, 
3 me, beaming all o*er with your 

tells xne that, 'mid the gaj cheer, 
ice had mormnr'd, **I mah he were 

er worst, there are relics of joy, 
i of the past, which she cannot de- 

n. the night-time of sorrow and care, 
ck the features that joy used to wear. 
: mj heart with snch memories fiU'd I 
, in which roses have once been dis- 

ak, yon may shatter the rase, if you 

, of the roses will hang round it stilL 

)H ! DOUBT ^lE NOT. 

doubt me not — the season 
3'er, when Folly made me rove, 
now the Tcstal, Reason, 
all watch the fire awak'd by Lore, 
this heart was earlv blo^m, 
irest hands disturbed the tree, 
r shook some blossoms down, 
t has all been kept for thee. 
I doubt me not — the season 
o'er, when FoUy made me rove, 
now the vestal. Reason, 
lall watch the tire awak'd by Love. 

thotigh my lute no lon^r 
ay sing of Passion's ardent spell, 

trust me, all the stronger 
*eel the blUs I do not tell. 
Jirongh many a garden roves, 
una his lay of courtship o*er, 
I he finds the flower he loves, 
lea there, and hums no more. 
I doubt me not — the season 

o'er, when Folly kept me free, 

now the vestal. Reason, 
laQ guard the flame awak'd by thee. 


You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride. 

How meekly she blessed her humble lot, 
When the stranger, William, had made her his 

And love was the light of their lowly cot. 
Together they toil'd tlmjugh winds and rains, 

Till William, at length, in sadness said, 
** We must seek our fortune on other plains ;"— 

Then, sighing, she let^ her lowly shed. 

They roam'd a long and a weary way, 

Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease. 
When now, at close of one stormy day. 

They see a proud castle among the trees. 
** To-night," said the youth, *• we'll shelter there; 

"The wind blows cold, the hour is late :" 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, 

And the Porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate. 

"Now, welcome. Lady," exclaim'd the youth, — 

" This castle is thine, and these dark woods all !" 
She believ'd him crazed, but his words were truth, 

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

What William, the stranger, woo'd and wed; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 


Fd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

K thy smiles had left me too ; 
Fd weep when friends deceive me. 

If thou wcrt, like them, untrue. 
But while Fvc thee before me, 

With heart so warm and eyes so bright. 
No clouds can linger o*er me. 

That smile turns them all to light. 

'Tis not in fate to harm me. 

While fate leaves thv love to me; 
'Tis not in joy to charm me. 

Unless joy be shar'd with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a lonp, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee. 

My own love, my only dear ! 

I Thii Iwllad WM ■uiocested by a well-known and inteioftinc 
•tory told of a certain noble family in England. 

^^..vA «v/v/ik.o luuuu 111 icar and doubt. 
But soou, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads. 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 


Come o'er the sea. 

Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 

Seasons may roll. 

But the true soul 
Bums the same, where'er it goes, 
it late fh>wn on, so we love and part not; 
is life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not. 

Then come o*er the sea, 

Afaiden, with me. 
Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 

Seasons maj roll. 

But the true soul 
Barns the same, where'er it goes. 

Was not the sea 

Made for the Free, 
'.And for courts and chains alone? 

Here we are slaves. 

But, on the waves, 
iove and Liberty's all our own. 
eye to watch, and no tongue to wound ns, 
earth forgot, and all heaven around ns — 

Then come o'er the sea, 

Afaiden, with me. 

WM^ *W 

Has love to tha 

Been like oui 
Where sparkles 

All over the j 
But, if in pursu 

AUur'd by thi 
Ah ! false as th 

Like Love, tb 

Has Hope, like i 

That flitted fir 
With the talismj 

Has Hope bee 
On branch after 

The gem did i 
And, when nean 

Then waft the 

If thus the younc 

When sorrow i 
If thus the fair h< 

That led thee i 
If thus the cold *« 

Each feeling th 
Come, child of mi 

ril weep with t 


xr^ - 



roice of comfort ! 'twas like the ttealing 

muDer wind thro* some wreathed shell — 

ecret winding, each inmost feeling 

II mj soul ei£oed to its spelL 

vhi^per*d hafan — 'twas sunshine spoken !- 

re jears of grief and pain 

e m J long sleep of sorrow broken 

Bch beoign, blessed sounds again. 


3r first I met thee, warm and young, 
ere shone snch tmth about thee, 
on thjr Hp snch promise hung, 
id not dare to doubt thee. 
' thee change, jet still relied, 
n chmg with hope the fonder, 
thoog^it, though fisbe to all beside, 
3tn me thoa conldst not wander. 
But go, deceiyer I go. 

The heart, whose hopes could make it 
TVost one so fabe, so low, 

Uiat thou shouldst break it. 

n cTery tongue th j follies nam'd, 
led the unwelcome stoiy ; 
>and, in eren the faults thej blam*d, 
•xne gleams of future gloiy. 
U was true, when nearer friends 
jQfpired to wrong, to slight tliee ; 
heart that now tibj falsehood rends 
'onld then hare bled to right thee. 
Bat go, deceiver! go, — 

Some daj, peibaps, thoult waken 
From pleasure's dream, to know 

The grief of hearts forsaken. 

n now, though youth its bloom has shed, 

'o lights of age adorn thee : 

; few, who lov'd thee once, have fled, 

Lud thej, who flatter, scorn thee. 

r midnight cup is pledg'd to slaves, 

To genial des enwreath it ; 

: smiling there, like light on graves, 

ias rank cold hearts beneath it. 

Go — go — though worlds were thine, 
I would not now surrender 

One taintless tear of mine 
For all thy guilty splendour I 

i days may come, thou false one ! yet, 
Hien even those ties shall sever ; 
ten thoa wilt call, with vain regret, 
hi her thon'st lost for ever ; 
her who, in thy fortune's fall, 
Vkh smiles had still receiVd thee. 

And gladly died to prove thee all 
Her fancy first believ'd thee. 
Go — go — 'tis vain to curse, 

'Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 
Hate cannot wish thee worse 
Than guilt and shame have made thee. 


While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 

Of all that tiLo dark hand of Destiny weaves, 
Beside her the Grenius of Erin stood weeping, 

For her*s was the story that blotted the leaves. 
But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright. 
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 
She saw History write. 
With a pencil of light 
That illum'd the whole vohm^ her Wellington's 

*<Hail, Star of my Isle!" said the Spirit, all 


With beams, such as break from her ovm dewy 

skies — 

" Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 

" Fve watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. 

** For, though Heroes I've number'd, unblest was 

their lot, 
*' And unhallow'd they sleep in the crossways of 
Fame ; — 

** But oh I there is not 
** One dishonouring blot 
** On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's 

** Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
** The grandest, the purest, ev'n t/tou hast yet 
** Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 
** Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy 
*' At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou 

hast stood, 
** Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, 
** And, bright o'er the flood 
'* Of her tears and her blood, 
** Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's 
name I " 

iuia loiiy 8 an mey ve laugnt me. 

Her smile when Beauty granted, 
I hmig with gaze enchanted, 

Lake him the sprite,' 

Whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that's haunted, 
like him, too, Beauty won me. 
But while her eyes were on me. 

If once their ray 

"Was tum*d away, 
Oh! winds could not outnm me. 

And are those follies going ? 
And is my proud heart growing 

Too cold or wise 

For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing ? 
No, Tain, alas ! th* endeavour 
From bonds so sweet to sever ; 

Poor Wisdom's chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 


Oh, Where's the slave so lowly, 
Condemn'd to chains unholy, 

Who, could he burst 

His bonds at first. 
Would pine beneath them slowly ? 
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
Would wait till time decay'd it, 

When thus its wing 

At once may spring 

.r Ti:. 


._ J. ii. n 

VY no uve lo 


CoxE, rest in this b 
Though the herd ht 

still here; 
Here still is the smi 
And a heart and a ] 

Oh! what was love 
Through joy and th 
and shame? 
I know not, I ask n 
I but know that I h 

Thou hast call'd me 
And thy Angel TU 
Through the fumac< 

And shield thee, and 


'Tis gone, and for ( 

Like Heaven's fii 

dead — 

When Man, from tl 

Look'd upward, < 


'Tis gone, and the j 



i.l._ 1 



igfcwv tlijr hopo^ idwa tbote gloriM were 

and tbM^tfaroagfaaUdiegroMckmdiofthe 


rraih, fixam her fetten indigiumdj staiting, 

Bet, like a San-bont, her banner onAirrd.' 

f«r ihrnU earth fee a moment to iplendidl 

tien — had ooa Hymn of Dehreranee blended 

Qgnes of all nations — how sweet had as- 

int note of liber^, Erin, ftom theel 

me on those tjnoiti, who enried the bless- 

(luune on the light race, miworth j its good, 
I>eath'8 reeking altar, like fhries, caressing 
oang bopeof Freedom, baptiz'd it in blood. 
liish'd. for erer that fair, snnnj vision, 
^te of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, 
ig be remember'd, pure, bright, and eljsian 
tt it azoeev mj lost Erin, on thee. 


from the beach, when the morning was 

rk o*er the waters move gloriously on; 
irhen the son o'er that b^Lch was declining, 
I still there, bnt the waters were gone. 

ch is the ikte of onr life's early promise, 
issing the spring-tide of joy we have known; 
are, that we (Unc'd on at morning, ebbs 
from OS, 
leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

iU. me of glories, serenely adorning 

:lose of our day, the calm eve of our night ; — 

e back, give me back the wild freshness of 


clouds and her tears are worth Evening's 

be«t Hght. 

o would not welcome that moment's return- 

n passion first wak'd a new life through his 

s soul, like the wood, that grows precious 
in burning, 
out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 

Um fiudftil naint ghm bj th« ftsdeni 


Fill the bumper fahrl 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Cue 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 
Wit's electric flame 

Ne'er so swiftly passes. 
As when through &e fnune 

It shoots from brimming glasses 
Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 

Sam can, they say, 

Crrasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions: — 
So we, Sages, sit. 

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning. 
From the Heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 

Wouldst thou know what first 

Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 

For wine's celestial spirit? 
It chanced upon that day, 

When, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away 

The living fires that warm us : 

The careless Youth, when up 

To Glory's fount aspiring, 
Took nor um nor cup 

To hide the pilfer'd fire in.— 
But oh his joy, when, round 

The halls of Heaven spying. 
Among the stars he found 

A bowl of Bacchus lying! 

Some drops were in that bowl, 

Remains of last night's pleasure. 
With which the Sparks of Soul 

Mix'd their burning treasure. 
Hence the p^oblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame ^nthin us. 
Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smoothes away a wrinkle. 

Have wakcnM thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; 
It, 60 oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sad- 
That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 

)ar Harp of my Country I farewell to thy numbers, 
This sweet wreath of song is the kust we shall 

>, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slum- 
Till touched by some hand less unworthy than 

the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 
Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; 
was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over. 
And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own. 


Mt gentle Harp, once more I waken 

The sweetness of thy slumbering strain; 
In tears our last farewell was taken, 

And now in tears we meet again. 
No light of joy hath o'er thee broken. 

But, like those Harps whose heav'nly skill 
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, 

Thou hang'st upon the willows stilL 

And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 
An hour of peace and triumph came, 

And'many an ardent bosom bounded 
With hopes — that now are tum'd to shame. 

Yet even then, while Peace was singing 
Her halcyon song o*er land and sea, 

How gaily, e'en i 
Thou yet canst 

Like MemnoQ*s I 
'Mid desolatioi 


Ik the morning of li 

And its pleasure! 
When we live in a br 

And the light thai 
Oh 'tis not, believe 

We can love, as 
may; — 
Of our smiles, of our 

But affection is ti 

When we see the fi] 

Like a leaf on thi 
When our cup, whi 
so high. 

First tastes of th( 
Then, then is the ti 

With a depth an( 
Love, nurs'd among 

But the love bom 

In climes full of e 
Their sighs have 
'Tis the cloud and 
That call the rich 
So it is not 'mid spl 
That the depth of 




As slow our ahip her fbamj track 
Ag;aiii8t the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear Isle 'twas leaving. 
So loth we part fh>m all we love, 

Fnm an the links that bind us; 
So torn oar hearts as on we rove. 
To thon we've left behind ns. 

"When, nmnd the bowl, of vanished years 

We talk, with joyous seeming, — 
With oniks that might as well be tears. 

So fiunt, so sad their beaming; 
While mem'iy brings ns back again 

Each earlj tie that twined us, 
Oh, iweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us. 

And when, in other climes, wo meet 

Some isle, or vale enchanting, 
Where an looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet. 

And nought but love is wanting; 
We think how great had been our bliss, 

If Hetv'n had but assigned us 
To hre and die in scenes like this. 

With some we've left behind us I 

As tnvllers oft look back at eve. 
When eastward darkly going, 

To gue upon that lieht'they leave 
Still £unt behind them glowing, — 

So, when the close of pleasure's day 
To gloom hath near consign *d us, 
Wc turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 


ar cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast 

^ bis faults and his follies forgot by thee then; 
f from their slumber the veil be rcmov'd, 
ecp o*er them in silence, and close it again, 
c^ ! if *tia pain to remember how far 
xm the pathways of light he was tempted to 

I bhss to remember that thou wort the star 
ut arose on his darkness, and guided him home. 

a thee and thy innocent beauty first came 
be lereaHngs, that taught him true love to adore, 
i«l the bright presence, and turn him with shame 
rua the idols he blindly had knelt to before. 

O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild. 
Thou cAm'8t,like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; 

And if happiness purely and glowingly smil'd 
On his ev'niug horizon, the light was from thee. 

And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly 
might rise. 

And though falsehood again would allure him to 
He but tum'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes. 

And the folly, the falsehood, soon vaiiish'd away. 
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim. 

At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair, 
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him. 

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there. 


Remember thee ? yes, while there's life in thilB heart. 
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 
More dear in thy sorrow, tliy gloom, and thy showers. 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. 

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and 

First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 
I might hail thee witli prouder, with hupi)ier brow. 
But oh! could I love thee mure deeply tlum now? 

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, 
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons — 
Whose hearts, hke the young of the desert-bird's 

Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy 



Wreathe the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 
The brightest Wit can find us; 

We'll take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night. 
And leave dull earth behind us. 

Should Love amid 

The wreaths be liid. 
That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us. 

No danger fear. 

While wine is near, 
We'll drown him if he stinjrs us; 

Tlwjn, wreathe the 1k)w1 

With flowers of soul. 
The brightc>t Wit cun find us; 
R 2 

Around it wcu oe Dicnuca, 
Then bring Wit*8 beam 
To warm the stream, 

And there's your nectar, splendid ! 
So wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 

Say, why did Time, 

His glass sublime. 
Fill up with sands unsightly 

When wine, he knew. 

Buns brisker through. 
And sparkles far more brightly? 

Oh, lend it us. 

And, smiling thus. 
The glass in two we'll sever. 

Make pleasure glide 

In double tide, 
And fill both ends for ever! 

Then wreathe the bowl 

With fiowers of soul. 
The brightest Wit can find us; 

We'll take a fiight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night. 
And leave dull earth behind us. 



Whene'er I see those smiling eyes. 
So fall of hope, and joy, and light, 

As if no cloud could ever rise. 

To dim a heav'n so purely bright — 

T sitvh tn thinle hnw Ronn that brow 

Whatever in Fancy' 

Or in Hope's 8we< 

Shall be ours— 

Bright flowers shall 
A voice divine sh 

The stars shall look 

And this earth be 

In our eyes — i 

And thoughts, whof 
Like streams, thai 

Shall keep our hear 
To be bathed by 
Ever green, if 1 

All this and more tl 
Can breathe o'er 

That heaven, which 

He can make on • 

As thou'lt own 


To Ladies' eyes { 

We can't refas 
Though bright ej 

'Tis hard to ch 
For thick as stan 

Yon airy bow'i 
The countless cy« 

Tliis earth of c 
Bat fill the cup- 

Onr choice ma 
We're sure to fin 



nld lead us (God forghre them!) 

rbe other "wmy^ the other waj. 

( fill the cop — where'er, bojr, 

hzr choice maj fidl, our choice maj fall, 

're sore to find Love there, boy, 

o drmk them all! so drink them aU! 

ome* BS in Ji mirror, 

ore seems portrajr'd. Love seems portray 'd, 

shnn the fiattVing error, 

'is hut his shade, *tis but his shade. 

jseilf has fix'd his dwelling 

t eres we know, in eyes we know, 

. lipa — hat this is telling — 

> here thej go! so here thejr go! 
nm fill np — wherever, boy, 

or choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
re sure to find Love there, boy, 

> drink them all! so drink them all! 


ET not the field where they perish'd, 
i traest, the last of the brave, 
>ne — and the bright hope we cherish *d 
ae with them, and quench'd in their grave ! 

roald we from death bat recover 
oee hearts as they bounded before, 
e face of high heav'n to fight over 
at combat for freedom once more ; — 

1 the chain for an instant be riven 
bich TVranny flung round us then, 
ti« not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
» let T^pranny bind it again! 

'tis past — and, tho' blazon'd in story 
le name of our Victor may be, 
\r^i is the march of that glory 
hich treads o*er the hearts of the free. 

icarer the grave or the prison, 
um«d br one patriot name, 
1 the trophies of ail, who have risen 
I Liberty's ruins to fame. 


T maj rail at this life — from the hour I 

began it, 
found it a life full of kindness and bliss; 
, until thcT can show me some happier planet, 
ore social and bright. Til content me with this. 

As long as the world has such lips and such eyes, 
As before me this moment enraptur'd I see. 

They may say what they will of their orbs in the 
But this earth is the {danet for yoo, k>ve, and me. 

In Mercury's star, where each moment can bring 

New sunshine and wit fitm. the fountain on high. 
Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to 
sing them,' 

They've none, even there, more enamonr'd than L 
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love, 

And that eye its divine inspiration shall be. 
They may talk as they will of their Edcns above, 

But thiis earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splen- 
At twilight so often we've roam'd through the 
dew, [tender. 

There are maidens, periiaps, who have bosoms aa 

And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.* 
But tho' they were even more bright than the queen 

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, 
As I never those fair young celestials have seen. 
Why — this earth is the planet for you, love, and 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, 

Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare. 

Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that 

station, [spare. 

Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth wc could 
Oh ! think what a world wc should have of it here. 

If the haters of peace, of alfection, and glee, 
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless spht-re. 

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and 



Oh for the swords of former time! 

Oh for the men who bore them, 
When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime, 

And tyrants crouch'd before them : 
When free yet, ere courts began 

With honours to enslave him. 
The best honours worn by Man 

Were those which Virtue gave him. 
Oh for the swords, &c. &c 

> Totu \t» liabiUiu de Mercure aont rift — FlttraJMdes Monies, 
3 La tenv pournt vtre pour V^niu IVtoile du berver et la mtev 
det amours, comme ¥• nua Test pour uoua-^AirviIfCe dt» MomdtB. 

K 3 


8T. SBKANU8.* 

** Oh I liaste and leave this sacred isle, 
** Unholy bark, ere moming smile; 
** For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

** A female form I see; 
** And I have sworn this sainted sod 
** Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod.' 


** Oh I Father, send not hence mj bark, 
** Through wintry winds and billows dark : 
** I come with humble heart to share 
** Thy mom and evening prayer; 
** Nor mine the feet, ohl holy Saint, 
** The brightness of thy sod to taint." 

The Lady's prayer Senanus spum'd; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark retum'd; 
But legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morning's light delay 'd; 
And giv'n the saint one rosy smile, 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 


Ks'br ask the hour — what is it to ub 
How Time deals out his treasures? 

Tht» <rn\(\t*-n mnmAntJi Iftnt lift thnn. 

A dial, by way c 
But Joy loved bett 

As long as its b'^ 
Tlian to watch wit! 

And how fast th 
So fill the cup^wl 

How Time his ci 
The fairy hours we 

Obey no wand, \ 


Sail on, sail on, tt 

Wherever blows 
It cannot lead to s* 

More sad than tl 
Each wave that pa 

" Though death 
** Less cold we are 

** Whose smiling 

Sail on, sail on, — 

Through calm- 
The stormiest sea's 

To him who leai 
Or — if some desei 

Where never yei 
Profan'd a world, 1 

Then rest thee, 1 




In, »d one of Sion*, if closely resembling, 
In siuune and in sorrow, thj withered' up heart — 

Fdiinkin^ deep, deep, of the same **ciip of trem- 
Could make us tfaj children, our parent thou art. 

like thee doth oar nation lie conquered and broken, 
And fairn from her head is the once royal crown ; 

In her streets, in her halls. Desolation hath spoken, 
And "while it IB dajyet, her sun hath gone down.**^ 

Like thine doth her exile, "nud dreams of returning, 
Die far from the home it were life to behold; 

Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning, 
BemembcT the bright things that bless*d them 
of old. 

AK well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken,*** 

Her boldest are Tanqoish'd, her proudest are 


And the haips of her minstrels, when gayest they 

waken, [graves! 

Hare tones "mid their mirth, like the wind over 

Yet hadst thou thy yengeance — yet came there 
the morrow. 
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night. 
When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery 
and sorrow. 
Was shiTcr'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. 

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden 


Had bTimm*d full of bitterness, drench'd her 

own lips; [pity, 

And the world she had trampled on heard, without 

The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships. 

When the curse Hearen keeps for the haughty 
came over 

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, 
A.Dd, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover,* 

The Lady of Kingdoms* lay low in the dust. 


Dannc of this cup; youll find there*s a spell in 
Its every drop *gainst the ills of mortality; 


Mr. HajBiltao, 


wrftten after the pcniMl of a ireatlM hj 
to proTc that tbe Iri«h wen ori^iiiBlIj 



dova wUIe It wm yet (Ujr.**— Jler. zr. 9. 

Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 
Would you forget the dark world we are in. 

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every 
drop of it; 
Send round the cup — for oh, there*8 a spell in 

Its every drop *gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter form*d with such power 

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; 
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, 

A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. 
There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fiU'd 

With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest 
This wonderful juice firom its core was distill*d 

To enliven such hearts as are here brought to* 
Then drink of the cup — you'll find there*s a spell 

Its every drop *gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 

Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful. 
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on. 

Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful. 
And, ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that flame. 

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there's a fire in some hearts I could name, 

Which may work too its charm, though as law- 
less and hidden. 
So drink of the cup — for oh there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 


Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 
And m tell you your fortune truly 

As ever was told, by the new moon's light. 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

4 " How hath the opprcMor ceaaed I the golden dtr eeaaed I ** 
— /wit'dA, xIt. 4. 

& *' Thy pomp !• brought down to the graTe and the 

wonn» cover thee."— /•aiah, xir. II. 

" Thou «haU no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms. **~ 
/MiaA, zlTiL ft. 

K 4 

lou ii nardly, ray dear, any difference find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

3own at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He*ll kneel, with a warmth of devotion ^ 

\ja. ardour, of which such an innocent sprite 
Ton'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

That other thoughts and events may arise. 
As in destiny's book I've not seen them, 

[u8t only be left to the stars and your eyes 
To settle, ere morning, between them. 



ye DeadI oh, ye Dead! * whom we know by 

the light yon give 
1 yoor cold gleaming eyeSf though you move 
Uke men who live, 
Why leave yon thus your graves. 
In fiir off fields and waves, 
re the worm and the sea-bird only know your 
To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
the hearts that wail'd you, like your own, lie 

rue, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan ; 
he fair and the brave whom we lov'd on earth 
are gone; 

But stiD thus ev^ in death, 

So sweet the living breath 

In light-hnk'd dam 

Sweet May, shim 

For still, when thy 

That youth, who be 

Sweet May, retui 

Of all the bright ha 
Its lingering smile c 

Fair Lake, thou'r 
For when the last A 
ThyNaiads prepare 

Who dwells, brigl 

Of all the proud stee 
Young plumed Chiel 

White Steed, most 
Who still, with the fi 
From under that gioi 

My love, my chie^ 

While, white as the s 
When newly lannch'( 

Fair Steed, as whit 
And spirits, from aU ; 
Glide o'er ^e blue wi 

Around' my love an 

Of all the sweet death 
Whose lovers beneath 

Most sweet that dei 
Which, under the nez 
When thou and thy s 

Dear love, I'll die f 




iweet die aniwer Echo makes 

To nnurie at night, 
I, Tcma'd by faite or hom, she wakes, 
br awmjr* o'er lawns and lakes, 

jorre hath echoes truer far, 

Ajnd fitf move sweet, 
e'er heneath the moonlight's star, 
ra, or Inte, or soft gnitar. 

The songs repeat. 

irhen the sig^ in jooth sincere. 

And onlj then, — 
li^h that's breath'd for one to hear, 
thmt one, Uiat only dear, 

Breath'd back againi 


inqaet not in those shining bowers, 
ere Tooth resorts, bat come to me : 
tine's a garden of faded flowers, 
re fit for sorrow, for age, and thee, 
here we shall have our feast of tears, 
1 many a cop in silence poor; 
uests, the shades of former years, 
* toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 

, while the n^rrtle's withering boughs 
ir fifeless leares around us shed, 
brim the bowl to broken vows, 
friends long lost, the changed, the dead, 
lile some blighted laurel wares 
iranches o*er the dreaxy spot, 
drink to those neglected grares, 
sre yaloor sleeps, nnnam'd, forgot 


awning of mora, the daylight's sinking, 
ght's long hours still find me tbinking 
Of thee, thee, only thee. 
friends are met, and goblets crown'd, 
. smiles are near, that once enchanted, 
di'd hy all that sunshine round, 
soal, nke some dark spot, is haunted 
B J ^bm, thee, only thee. 

Whatever in fame's high path conld waken 
My spirit once, is now forsaken 
For thee, thee, only thee. 
Like shores, by which some headlong bark 

To th' ocean hurries, resting never, 
life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, 
I know not, heed not, hastening erer 
To thee, thee, only thee. 

I hare not a joy but of thy bringing. 

And pain itself seems sweet when springing 

From thee, thee, only thee. 
Like spells, that nought on earth can break. 

Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken. 
This heart, howe'cr the world may wake 
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken 
By thee, thee, only thee. 


Shall the Harp, then, be silent, when he who first 
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all 
Shall a Slinstrcl of Erin stand mute by the grave. 
Where the first — where the last of her Patriots 

No — faint tho'the death-song may fall from his lips, 
Tho' his Harp, Uke his soul, may with shadows 
be crest, 
Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse. 
And proclaim to the world what a star hath 
been lost ; ' — 

What a union of all the affections and powers 
By which life is exalted, embellished, refin'd, 

Was embraced in that spirit — whose centre was ours, 
While its mighty circumference circled mankind! 

Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see. 
Through the waste of her annals, that epoch 
sublime — 

like a pyramid rais'd in the desert — where he 
And lus glory stand out to the eyes of all time; 

That one lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom 
And the madncssof ages, when filFd with his soul, 

A Nation o'erlcap*d the dark bounds of her doom, 
And for one sacred instant, touch*d Liberty's 

1 ThcM line* were written on the death of our ereat patriot, the year lOO. It is only the two fint tctmi that art 
•ith«r Inttaded or flttad to be Muc 

AS Clear as tlic brook's " stone of lustre," and gave. 
With the flash of the gem, it« soUdity too. 

Who, that ever approach'd him, when free from 
the crowd, 
In a home fiill of love, he delighted to tread 
liong the trees which a nation had giY*n, and 
which how'd. 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his 
head — 

[s there one, who hath thus, throagh his orbit of life 
Bnt at distance observed him — through glory, 
through blame, 
ji the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife. 
Whether shining or clouded still high and the 
same, — 

)h no, not a heart, that e*er knew him, but mourns 
Deep, deep o'er the grave, where such glory is 

shrin*d — 
I'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the 

Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind ! 


Or, the sight entrancin|^. 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files acray'd 

With helm and blade. 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing ! 
When hearts are all high beating. 

Stone walls in 
*Tis mine 
Worth 8t< 
That keeps m< 
Oh that sight 
When the moi 
O'er files 
With heh 
And in Freedo 


SwsBT Innisfalle 
May calm and 

How fair thou art 
To fid how fai: 

Sweet Innisfallen, 
In memory's dr 

Which o'er thee o 
When first I sa* 

HTwas light, indee 
Who had to tur 

Through crowded 
And leave thee 

No more unto thy 
But, on the wor 

Dream of thee son 
Of sunshine he ! 

Far better in thy ^ 
To part from th 

When mist is o'er 
Like sorrow's y\ 



^ or snuling^ lorelj isle ! 
all the loTelier for thy tears — 
ugh bat rare thy simiiy smile, 
beaT*n*B own glance when it appears. 

elins henrta, whose joys are few, 
when imdeed they come, divine — 
ightest li^t the snn e*er threw 
Feleas to one gleam of thine 1 


Qfne of those dreams, that hy mnsic are 


iright snnimer haze, o'er the poet's warm 

hoogfat — 

kost in the fhtnre, his sonl wanders on, 

i of this life, bat its sweetness, is gone. 

Id notes he heard o'er the water were those 
I taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and 

.e breath of the bogle now wafted them o'er 
Dini«' green isle, to GlenA's wooded shore. 

en'd — while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, 

igering soonds on their way lov'd to rest ; 

£ echoes song back from their fiill mountain 


>ch to l«t song so enchanting expire. 

I'd as if ev*ry sweet note, that died here, 

sain bfonght to life in some airier sphere, 

iear^n m those hills, where the sotU of the 


ad ceas'd upon earth was awaking again I 

zire, if, while list'ning to music, whose 

to circle his name with a charm against 

dd feel a proud Spirit within him proclaim, 
BO shalfc thou live in the echoes of Fame : 

so, tho* thy mem'iy should now die away, 
be cangfat up again in some happier day, 
he hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, 
Lgh the answering Future, thy name and 
hy song."' 

• Tirft to Lord Kenmort, ot Killainej. 
•he Skdigi (UUnds of (he Barony of Forth), 
'* That 1m m entain attnetiTe virtue in the sotl 

aO the Unb that attempt to fly over it, and 

t ■900 the roek.** 

of the ninth eentniy, mentiona the 


Fairest ! put on awhile 

These pinions of light I bring thee. 
And o'er thy own Green Isle 

In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel's plume. 

At golden sunset hover 
0*er scenes so full of bloom. 

As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where the Spring delays. 

And fcarles8ly meets the ardour 
Of the warm Summer's gaze, 

With only her tears to guard her. 
Bocks, through myrtle boughs 

In grace majestic frowning ; 
Like some bold warrior's brows 

That Love hath just been crowning. 

Islets, so freshly fair. 

That never hath bird come nigh them. 
But from his course through air 

He hath been won down by them;* — 
Types, sweet maid, of thee. 

Whose look, whose blush inviting. 
Never did Love yet see 

From Heav'n, without alighting. 

Lakes, where tho pearl lies hid,* 

And caves, where the gem is sleeping, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

I^ets fall in lonely weeping. 
Glens*, where Ocean comes, 

To 'scape the wild wind's rancour. 
And Harbours, worthiest homes 

Where Freedom's fleet can anchor. 

Then, if, while scenes so grand. 

So beautiful, shine before thee. 
Pride for thy own dear land 

Should haply be steaUng o'er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first. 

O'er pride itself victorious — 
Thinking how man hath curst 

What Heaven had made so glorious 

abnndance of pearli in Ireland. Their prlneee. he Mjt, hmir them 
behind their ears ; and this we find confirmed b)r a present made 
A.C. 109f, by Ullbert. Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop 
of Canterbury, of a considerable quantity of Irish pearls." — 
* OlencerilL 

nil round the cup, while you way; 
For Time, the cliurl, hath beckon d, 
And we must away, away ! 

See the glass, how it flushes, 

Like some young Hebe*s lip, 
\nd half meets thme, and blushes 
That thou shouldst delay to sip. 
^hame, oh shame unto thee. 

If ever thou see'st that day, 
Vhen a cup or lip shall woo thee. 
And turn untonch'd away! 

Then, quick ! we have but a secoiid. 

Fill round, fill round, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd. 
And we must away, away I 


> doth not a meeting like this make amends, 
or all the long years Pye been wand'ring away — 
see thus around me my youth's early friends, 
3 smiling and kind as in that happy day? 
ugh haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, 
he snow-fall of time may be stealing, — what 

) Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 
''e'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. 

It soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, 
I gazing on those we've been lost to so long ! 
sorrows, the joys, of which once they werepart, 
ill round them, like visions of yesterday, throng, 
etters some hand hath invisibly trac'd, 
hen held to the flame will steal out on the sight, 
lany a feeling, that long seem'd effac'd. 

xa ail wo citu uave 
And oft even joy is u 

For want of some h 
Ah, well may we hope 

To meet in some w( 
For a smile, or a gras 

Is all we enjoy of e 

But, come, the more ra 
liie more we should 
They're ours, when wi 
we part. 
Like birds that brin 
T^us circling the cup, 
Let Sympathy pled; 
That, fast as a feeling 
Her magic shall sent 


Ik yonder valley there 
A youth, whose momei 
Till spells came o'er hii 
He was haunted and wa 

As once, by moonlight, 
The golden sands of th 
A foot-print sparkled b 
'Twas the fairy foot of 

Beside a fountain, one i 




I'd. tai» lo, like a startled bird, 

frit lied! — end the youth but heard 

imsic. aodi as marks the flight 

I lard dT aoog^ from the Mountain Sprite. 

^ stSI hamted bj tiiat bright k>ok, 

f; bevUder^d, his pencil tool^ 

nded onlf hy memocy's Kgfat, 

M once-seen fonn of the Mountain Sprite. 

on* who kyrest the shadow,** cried 
!, low whisp'ring bj his side, 
sm and see,"* — here the youth's delight 
he RMj fips of the Mountain Sprite. 

the spirits of land and sea," 

pc he mnrmnr'd, *' there*8 none like thee, 

ft, oh oft, may ibj foot thus light 

> kmely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite! " 


:qiush*d Erin wept beside 
Boyne's ill-fated rirer, 
m- where Discord, in the tide, 
dropped his loaded quiver, 
id,** she cried, **ye venom'd darts, 
sere mortal eye may shun you; 
id — the stain of manly hearts, 
at bled for me, is on you." 

in her wish, her weeping rain — 
rime too well hath taught her — 
emx the Fiend returns again, 
dives into that water ; 
•in|»?^ triumphant, from beneath 
shafts of desolation, 
nds them, i*-ing'd with worse than death, 
Togh all her maddening nation. 

>r her who sits and mourns, 
1 now, beside that rircr — 
iried still the Fiend returns, 
1 stor'd is still his quiver, 
rn will this end, ye Powers of Good ?*' 
weeping asks for ever; 
nlj hears, from out that flood, 
; Demon answer, ** Never." 

befr of flM Damood flunlly, had aoddentanj 
I the rhmr, that he wm beid^tod near Tralee« 
•beJter at the Abbey of Feel, in the honae of 
called Mae Cnfati OatheriM, a bcantlfta 
the Sail with a violeat 


Bt the Feal's wave benighted. 

No star in the skies. 
To thy door by Love lighted, 

I first saw those eyes. 
Some voice whispered o'er me. 

As the threshold I crost, 
There was ruin before me, 


Love came, and brought sorrow 

Too soon in his train; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 

'Twere welcome again. 
Though misery's full measure 

My portion should be, 
I would drain it with pleasure, 

If pour'd out by thee. 

You, who call it dishonour 

To bow to this flame. 
If you've eyes, look but on her. 

And blush while you blame. 
Hath the pearl less whiteness 

Because of its birth? 
Hath the violet less brightness 

For growing near eanh? 

No — Man for his glory 

To ancestry flies; 
But Woman's bright story 

Is told in her eyes. 
While the MonaR>h but traces 

Through mortals his line. 
Beauty, bom of the Graces, 

Banks next to Divine I 


ToEY know not my heart, who believe there can be 
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; 
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour. 
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flow'r, 
I could harm what I love, — as the sun's wanton 

But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away. 

No — beaming with light as those young features 

are, ' [far: 

There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier 

paMkm, which he eoald not nibdae. He married her. and bj thia 
inferior alliance alienated hi* followera, whoM brutal pride re- 
garded thia indulgence of hit lore aa an unpardonable degradation 
of bii Ihittil7."-Xciaiirf, toL U. 


In death's cold shadow, ere they die. 
There, there, far from thee, 
Deceitful world, my home should be ; 
Where, come what might of gloom and pain. 
False hope should ne'er deceive again. 

The lifeless skj, the moomfiil sound 

Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves, quiv'ring o*cr my head. 

Like man, unquiet eT*n when dead! 

These, ay, these shall wean 

My soul from life's deluding scene. 

And turn each thought, overcharged with gloom, 

Like willows, downward tow'rds the tomb. 

As they, who to their couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the light. 
So must the hopes, that keep this breast 
Awake, be quenched, ere it can rest. 
Cold, cold, this heart must grow, 
Unmov'd by either joy or woe, 
Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown 
Within their current turns to stone. 


$HE sung of Love, while o*er her lyre 

The rosy rays of evening fell, 
is if to feed, with their soft fire. 

The soul within that trembling shell 
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, 

And play'd around those lips that stmg 
^d spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, 

If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. 

rbeM Tenea •« meant to allode to that an<»Un» ».-..«♦ -^ 

inc tadmg ima 
And cried, " Oh ] 

" Oh light of yt 
" Must ye then lo 

'' And thus, lik 


SiKO — sing — Musii 
To brighten the gi 
Souls here, like plan> 
By harmony's law 
Beauty may boast of 
But Love from the 
And she, who but 
At once sends it 1 
Then sing — sin] 
To brighten tl 
Souls here, like 
By harmony's 

When Love, rock'd b 

Lay sleeping as cah 

" Hush, hush," said ^ 

" Sweet voice but 

Dreaming of music h( 

Till faint from his 1 

And Venus, enchante 

While Love to his < 

Then sing — sing 

To brighten ^ 

Souls here, like ] 

By harmony's 




ble the iMnqoet to which I invite thee, 
1 there the biest a poor bard can com- 

g with welcome, shall throng round, 
t thee, 

the feast with his own willing 

Portone may seem to hare tum'd 
he dwelling 

*u regardest her favouring ray, 
id there a gift, all her treasures ez- 

iiadlj be feels, hath ennobled his way. 

edom of mind, which no vulgar do- 


Gnom the path a pura conscience i^)- 


hope in the heart, and no chain on 


rards its course to the light which it 

ces the pride of his humble retreat, 

I this, though of all other treasures 


f his garden to him is more sweet 

costliest incense that Pomp e'er re- 

— if A board so untempting hath power 
i from grandeur, its best shall be thine ; 
»iiey long the light of the bard's happy 

^ wriU bknd her bright welcome with 


eet Harp, oh sing to me 
song of ancient days, 
oanda, in this sad memory, 
buried dreams shall raise ; — 
f that tells of vanish*d fame, 
e light once round us shone ; 
: pride, now tum*d to shame, 

tiopes for ever gone 

i Harp, thus sing to me ; 
our doom is cast, 
4t to all but memory, 
▼e hot in the past 

How mournfully the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh. 
As if it sought some echo there 

Of voices long gone by; — 
Of Chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd 

The foremost then in fame ; 
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd. 

Now sleep without a name. — 
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh ; 
In vain it seeks an echo there 

Of voices long gone by. 

Couldst thou but call those spirits round. 

Who once, in bower and hall. 
Sat listening to thy magic sound. 

Now mute and monld'riug all ; — 
But, no ; they would but wake to weep 

Their children's slavery ; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep. 

The dead, at least, are free I — 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreaiy tone. 

That knell of Freedom's day ; 
Or, listening to its death-like moan. 

Let me, too, die away. 


Tnu— nu Nimtb Caxroar. 

To-MORROw, comrade, we 

On the battle-plain must be. 
There to conquer, or both lie low I 

The morning star is up, — 

But there's wine still in the cup, [go ; 

And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, ooy. 
We'll take another quaff, ere we go. 

'Tis true, in manliest eyes 

A passing tear will rise, 
When we think of the friends we leave lone ; 

But what can wailing do ? 

Sec, our goblet's weeping too I [our own ; 

With its tears we'll chose away our own, boy. 
With its tears well chose away our own. 

But daylight's stealing on ; — 

The last &at o'er us shone 

Saw our children around us play ; 

The next — ah ! where shoU we 

And those rosy urchins be ? [hoy, away ; 

But — no matter — grosp thy sword and oway. 
No matter — grasp thy sword and away ! 

I^t those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 
Ignobly by their firesides stay ; 

..a.^ t-Uf^ «uv/lilibCUU UUA. lllUt U Cr lUIIl BIIIJ^ 

And, like that lark, a music brings 

Within him, where'er he comes or goes, — 

A foant that for ever flows 1 

The world's to him like some play-ground, 

Where fairies dance their moonlight round ; — 

I dimm'd the turf where late they trod, 

rhe elves but seek some greener sod ; 

k>, when less bright his scene of glee, 

To another away flies he I 

)h, what would have been yonng Beaaty*ti doom, 

Vithout a bard to fix her bloom ? 

!*hey tell us, in the moon's bright round, 

filings lost in this dark world are found ; 

•o charms, on earth long pass*d and gone, 

Q the poet's lay live on. — 

Tould' ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim ? 

'ouVe only to give them all to him, 

irho, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, 

'An lend them life, this life beyond, 

.nd fix them high, in Poesy's sky, — 

oung stars that never die I 

hen, welcome the bard where'er he comes, — 

or, though he hath countless airy homes, 

o which his wing excursive roves, 

et still, from time to time, he loves 

light upon earth and find such cheer 

s brightens our banquet here. 

matter how Car, how fleet he flies, 

Du've only to light up kind young eyes, 

ich sig^l-fires as here are given, — 

ad down hell drop from Fancy's heaven, 

le minute such cidl to love or mirth 

odaims he's wanting on earthl 

Oh, what is Fancy's 
If all her art cannot 
One bliss like those 
From lips now muU 
No, no,— her spell ] 
As aooji could she b 
Those eyea themseh 
As wake again one 


FvB a secret to tell t 

Oh ! not where th 
ril seek, to whisper i 

Some shore where 
Where summer's wa^ 

Nor fay can hear t 
Where, if but a note 

Tlie rose saith, chic 

There, amid the deep 

When stars can be 
Thyself shall, under i 

Sit mute, with thy 
Like him, the boy ', v 

The flowers that oi 
Sits ever thus, — his 

To earth and heave 




where*! the Isle we're seen in dreams, 
kir destin'd home or grave ? " * 
sung thej aa» by the morning's beams^ 
e J swept the Adantic wave. 

lo, where afiff o'er ocean shines 

Eparkle of radiant men, 

bough in that deep lay emerald mines, 

hose fight through the wave was seen. 

( Innkfofl* — tis Innisiail I " 

oga o'er the echoing sea ; 

e, bending to heaVn, the warriors hail 

lat home of the braye and free. 

I tarn'd they unto the Eastern wave, 

here now their Day-God*8 eye 

3k of snch snnny omen gave 

i lighted np sea and sky. 

frown was seen through sky or sea, 

»r tear o'er leaf or sod, 

a first on their Isle of Destiny 

LT great forefiuhers trod. 


: the gmy harp! see the moon is on high, 

, as trae to her beam as the tides of the 


hearts, when they feel the soft light of her 

' the innte call, and heaye into motion. 
oand notes — the gayest, the lightest, 

erer took wing, when heay*n look'd 
brightest I 

Again! Again! 
old such heart-stirring mnsic be heard 
Mt C^ty of Statnes described by romancers, 
*nmg its spell, eyen stone woald be stirrM, 
statues themselres all start into dancers! 

len delay, with snch sonnds in onr ears, 

the flower of Beauty's own garden before 
us, — 

stars overhead leave the song of their 

listening to ours, hang wondering o'er ns? 

thmt strain! — to hear it thus sounding 
It set even Death's cold pulses bounding — 

Again! Again! 
lat delight when the youthful and gay, 
I with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a 

the rmwrkable pmUetioo of the pvin- 
lid. who ianUM thai the porterity of Oadclna ihoold 
c pamtatkam of a W«tcni laland Cwhkhwaa Ireland), and 

Thus dance, like the Hours to the mnsic of May, 
And mingle sweet song and sunshine together I 


Thebs are sounds of mirth in the night-air ring- 

And lamps from every casement shown ; 
While voices blithe within are singing. 

That seem to say •* CJome/' in every tone. 
Ah ! once how lignt, in Life's young season. 

My heart had leap'd at that sweet lay; 
Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason 

Should I the syren call obey. 

And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 

The syren lips more fondly sound ; 
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter 

To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms 

Could bend to tyranny's rude control. 
Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms. 

And yield to a smile his freebom soul? 

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, 

The nyn^)hs their fetters around him cast. 
And, — their laughing eyes, the while, conceal- 

Led Freedom's Bard their slave at last. 
For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving. 

Was like that rock of the Druid race," 
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, 

But all earth's power couldn't cast from its base. 



Oh! Arranmore, lov'd Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee. 
And of those days when, by thy shore, 

I wander'd young and free. 
Full many a path I've tried, since then. 

Through pleasure's flowery maze. 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

I felt in those sweet days. 

How blithe upon thy breezy cliff's 

At sunny mom I've stood. 
With heart as bounding as the skiff's 

That danc'd along thy flood; 

s The Iiland of Destiny, one of the ancient naxnee of Ireland. 

s The Rockinic Stones of the Dmlds, tome of which no force 
If able to dislodge fmn their statloos. 

L I 


Lat his sword by his side', it hath senr'd him too 

Not to rest near his pillow below; 
To the last momeDt true, from his hand ere it fell. 

Its point was still tum'd to a fljing foe. 
Pellow-lab'rers in life, let them slamber in death. 

Side hj side, as becomes the reposing brave, — 
rhat sword which he lored still anbroke in its sheath, 

And himself onsubdned in his grave. 

Zet pause — for, in fancy, a still voice I hear. 
As if breath'd from his brave heart's remains; — 

Taint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear. 
Once sounded the war-word, ** Burst your 

^nd it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep, 
*• Tho* the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set, 
O leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep, — 
** It hath victory's life in it yet! 

Should some alien,unworthy such weapon to wield, 

** Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, 
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman scaled, 

** Or return to the grave of thy chahiless lord. 
But, if grasp'd by a hand thiU hath leam'd the 
proud use 

** Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain, — 
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let 

**Leap forth from thy dark sheath again! 

Like those gay fl 
And in themsclv 
A stock of light, 

Whenever thej 
So, in this world 
Our hearts shouk 
And the flash of ^ 

Break forth wli 

While ev'ry joy tl 
Hath still some si 
In this new world 

Such shadows ^ 
Unless they're Kk 
Which, when thoi 
Still near thee, lei 

Each spot wher 


The wine-cup is ciw 

And its Chie^ 'mi 

Looks up, with a sig 

Where his sword 1 

When, hark! th 

From the vale ^ 

"Arm ye quick, 1 

Ev'ry Chief star 

From his foamiE 

And ** To battle, t 

The minstrels have s* 

And they sing sue 

'Tis like the voice of 

Brea.kin<r fnrfh fipv^i 



to bnckkr rang, 
e minftrds sang, 

• Smi-banl* o'er them floated wide; 
: rememb'ring the yoke 
k their &then broke, 
r liber^, for libertjl" the Fiiuaiis cried. 

Ib of the night the Northmen came, 
i tmlkj of Afanhin towering; 
rard mor'd, in the light of its fame, 
omer of Erin, towering. 

the mingling shock 

cliff and rode, 

tank oo rank, the inTaders die: 
the shont, that last 
the dying pass'd, 
^idoffyl Tictoiyl"— the Finian's cry. 


m of those days when first I sung thee is 

aph hath stain'd the charm thy sorrows 
m wore; 

of the light which Hope once shed o'er 
y chains, 
a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. 

that slaTcry sunk so deep in thy heart, 
the dark brand is there, though chainless 
cm art; 

edom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit 
ng bum*d, 
:£ng at last thy lip, to ashes hath tum'd? 

ty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, 
*s on her temple fix'd, how proud was 
y tread! 
r thou ne'er had'st lir'd that summit to 

n the porch, than thus dishonour the fane. 


lis hour the pledge is giren, 
n this hoar my soul is thine: 
what will, from earth or hearen, 
d or woe, thy fitfe be mine. 


When the proud and gpreat stood by thee. 
None dar'd thy rig& to spurn; 

And if now they're false and fiy Uiee, 
Shall I, too, basely tnm? 

No; — whate'er the fires that try thee, 
Li the same this heart shall bum. 

Though the sea, where thou embarkest, 

Offers now a friendly shore, 
light may come where all looks darkest, 

Hope Imth life, when life seems o'er. 
And, of those past ages dreaming. 

When glory deck'd thy brow. 
Oft I fondly think, though seeming 

So fall'n and clouded now, 
Thoult again break forth, all beaming,— 

None 00 bright, 00 blest as thou I 


SiUDrcB is in our festal halls, — 

Sweet Son of Song! thy course is o'er; 
In Tain on thee sad Erin calls. 

Her minstrel's voice responds no more; — 
All silent as th' Eolian shell 

Sleeps at the close of some bright day, 
When the sweet breeze, that wak'd its swell 

At sunny mom, hath died away. 

Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long, 

Awak'd by music's spell, shall rise; 
For, name so link'd with deathless song 

Partakes its charm and never dies: 
And ev'n within the holy fane. 

When music wafts the soul to heaven. 
One thought to him, whose earliest strain 

Was echoed there, shall long be given. 

But, where is now the cheerful day. 

The social night, when, by thy side. 
He, who now weaves this parting lay. 

His skilless voice with thine allied; 
And sung tliose songs whose every tone. 

When bard and minstrel long have past, 
Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 

Embalm'd by fame, undying last? 

Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame, — 

Or, if thy bard have shar'd the crown, 
From thee the borrow'd glory came. 

And at thy feet is now laid do^-n. 
Enough, if Freedom still inspire 

His latest song, and still there be. 
As evening closes round his l^Te, 

One ray upon its chords from thee. 

It M • tribute of ilsoer* friendship to th« memory of 
•a <dd and rahMd ertkacne In thb work. Sir John Stercnaon. 

L 2 

nna some melanchol 

Third or flat Seventh 

TOTHE FIRST AND SECOND NUMBERS. -^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^j^^. 

3WER takes the liberty of announcing to the B«rns had been an Iri 

iblic a Work which has long been a Desideratum f"'*' ^P *", ^"^ ^J^^ 

this country. Though the beauties of the Na- ^^^^ would have beei 

mal Music of Ireland have been very generaUy S«[|>^« would have m 
t and acknowledged, yet it has happened, through Another difficiU^ 

B want of appropriate English words, and of the mechanical) arises frc 

rangement necessary to adapt them to the voice, ^l 9*^ ^^?^ ""' ^ 

It many of the most exceUent compositions have ^.^ r "! ^^'^ 

Jierto remained in obscnrity. It is intended, ^ ,^®™: ^ these m 

jrefore, to form a CoUection of the best Original ^^\,^ T- "^^^ ^ 

sh Melodies, with characteristic Symphonies and ^ ^7^ '*". 7f^^^ ?^ ^ 

.companimente; and with Words, containing, as mentions, •Quo* n ca: 

quently as possible, allusions to the manners ^^\ PJ*V ,, 

1 history of the country. Sir John Stevenson ^V^ which has aU t 

J very kindly consented to undertake the ar- ^'^ ^*"^ ^ *^': 

igement of Ae Airs; and the lovers of Simple sentimental rakes win 

tional Music may rest secure, that, in such taste- ^le down m sober wed 

hands, the native channs of the original melody notwithstanding aU th 

1 not be sacrificed to the ostentation of science, moderate porUon of 1 

n the Poetical Part, Power has had promises of ^"?o«nt them, the d< 

istance from several distinguished Literary Cha- ?»t\onal, that I shall ; 

ters ; particularly from Mr. Moore, whose lyrical " *" ^^ assistance m 
int is so peculiarly suited to such a task, and ** Leie«$ta-»hire, F». i807.* 
Dse zeal in the undertaking wiU be best under- 

)d frx)m the following Extract of a Letter which 

has addressed to Sir John Stevenson on the 

ject: — ^^ 

I feel very anxious that a work of this kind ADVEI 

old be undertaken. We have too long neglected to the ti 

only talent for which our English neighbours 

r deigned to allow us any credit. Our National In presenting the Thi 

sic has never been properly collected ' ; and, the Public, Power begi 

le the composers of the Continent have en- ledgments for the very 

ed their Operas and Sonatas with melodies ithas been honoured; a 

•owed from Ireland, — very often without even unabated zeal of those 

honesty of acknowledtrment. — we hav« IpfV »^k1v /»«»i/1 ..«*--> i" — • 



to save them from the oblivion to which 
thej are htttening. 

Power Tcspectfullj tnuts he will not be thought 
praampcaoas in sajing, that he feels proud, as an 
ImfaBian, in eren the yeiy subordinate share 
vkich he can claim, in promoting a Work so 
creditable to the talents of the Ck>unti7, — a Work 
vUeh, from the spirit of nationality it breathes, 
vis do more, be is convinced, towards liberalising 
the iDellngs of society, and producing that brother- 
hood of sentiment which it is so much our interest 
ID cberiah, than could ever be effected by the 
arguments of well-intentioned but uninter- 





Ydu the pabUsher of these Melodies vexy pro- 

fidy inscribes them to the Nobility and Gentry 

tf Ireland in general, I have much pleasure in 

I electing one from that number, to whom m^ 

! ibse of the Work is particularly dedicated. I 

, kaow that, though your Ladyship has been so 

I IbDf absent from Ireland, you still continue to 

r icfliember it well and warmly, — that you have 

' KX iuffered the attractions of English society to 

produce, like the taste of the lotus, any forgctful- 

: BCis of your own country, but that even the 

I hxunble tribute which I oiler derives its chief 

■ ciftim upon your interest and symfMithy from the 

iFp<:aI which it makes to your patriotism. Indeed, 

acrciLce, however fatal to some affections of the 

L.An, rather tends to strengthen our love for the 

Iu.d where we were bom ; and Ireland is the 

CKiaotnr, of all others, which an exile from it must 

renumber with most enthusiasm. Those few 

darker and less amiable traits with which bigotry 

Ia&d mibTule have stained her character, and which 
we too apt to disgust us upon a nearer intercourse, 
I becuoM at a distance softened, or altogether in- 
I Tiiibk. Nothing is remembered but her virtues 
I and her misfortunes, — the zeal with which she 



' A iknm vliich oemn ia • Letter from the Eirl of Deonond 
tilktEari of Omioad, in EIJs*betli*i iixae. - Seri*ia Hacroy m 

DT omti/yfaf aeeoimtf of tlM gnllantrf of thete 
Ua aoiliBriw in " The oumplete Ulrtory of the Wan in Scotland 
" (M«0). See particularly, fur the conduct of an 
the battle of Aberdeen, chap. yi. p. 49. < and tor a 
Wifae hiaw v y of Cofamel O'Kyan, chap. fii. 55. Clarendon 
tkaJt the Marqnb of Mi.Btroee wai indebted tor much of 
kii KbaealOTM waeeaM to the anall band of Iriih heroei under 

' The amoaatiam of tiM BQbiria umrfo. thoogh m«r« ohrkwe 

has always loved liberty, and the barbarous policy 
which has always withheld it from her, — the ease 
with which her generous spirit might be conci- 
liated, and the cruel ingenuity which has been 
exerted to •* wring her into undutifulness." ' 

It has been often remarked, and still oftener felt, 
that in our music is found tlie truest of all com- 
ments upon our history. The tone of defiance, 
succeeded by the languor of despondency, — a 
burst of turbulence dying away into softness,— the 
sorrows of one moment lost in the levity of the 
next, — and all that romantic mixture of mirth 
and sadness, which is naturally produced by the 
efforts of a lively temperament to shake off, or 
forget, the wrongs which lie upon it. Such are 
the features of our history and character, which 
we find strongly and faithfully reflected in our 
music; and there are even many airs, which 
it is difficult to listen to, without recalling some 
period or event to which their expression seems 
applicable. Sometimes, for instance, when the 
strain is open and spirited, yet here and there 
shaded by a mournful recollection, we can fancy 
that we behold the bravo allies of Montrose', 
marching to the aid of the royal cause, notwith- 
standing all the perfidy of Charles and his 
ministers, and remembering just enough of past 
sufferings to enhance the generosity of their 
present sacrifice. The plaintive melodies of Ca- 
rolan take us back to the times in which he lived, 
when our poor countrymen were driven to worship 
their God in caves, or to quit for ever the land of 
their birth, — like the bird that abandons the nest 
wliich human touch has violated. In many of 
these mouniful songs we seem to hear the lost 
farewell of the exile ", mingling regret for the ties 
which he leaves at home, with sanguine hopes of 
the high honours that await him abroad, — such 
honours as were won on the field of Fontenoy, 
where the valour of Irish Catholics turned the 
fortune of the day, and extorted from George the 
Second that memorable exclamation, ** Cursed be 
the laws which deprive me of such subjects ! " 

Though much has been said of the antiquity of 
our music, itls certain that our finest and most po- 
pular airs are modem ; and perhaps we may look 
no further than the last disgraceful century for the 
origin of most of those wild and melancholy strains, 
wliich were at once the offspring and solace of grief, 
and were applied to the mind as music was formerly 

and defined, were far leei touching and characteriftic. Thej 
dlTJded their Mngi aceordinff to the Kaiont of (he year, by which 
(•ayn Sir William Jonee) " they were able to recall the memory of 
autumnal merriment, at the cloie of the harreat, or of veparation 
and melancholy durinr the cold month*," kc—A»iatifi TVan»- 
actitmM^ Tol. iiL on the Mn«ic*l Mode* of the Uiudue. — What the 
Abb^ dn Boe layi of the fymphoniee of Lolly, may be anerted^ 
with much more probability, of our bold and impauioned aim : — 
" EUea auroient produit de cef effeti, Qoi nouf paroiMent fabnleux 
dans le r^t det anciena, ■! on lef avoit liidt entendre It dee hommei 
d'nn natural anad rif que Ici Ath^n\mu."-JUA^. mar la . 
9lc torn. i. eect. 4&. 

L 3 

kA* V ft^kJX^«A«*ft^ 


', may be to dissent from these romantic 
ons, I cannot help thinking that it is pos- 

love our country very zealously, and to 
•ly interested in her honour and happiness, 

believing that Irish was the language 
n Paradise ', that our ancestors were kind 

take the tremble of. polishing the Greeks*, 
!Lbaris, the Hyperborean, was a natire of 
h of Ireland.* 

ne of these zeakras antiqiuorians it has been 

1 that the Irish were early acquainted with 
point*; and they endeavour to support 
jecture by a well-known passage in Gi- 
where he dilates, with such elaborate 
pon the beanties of our national minstrelsy, 
terms of this eulogy are much too vague, 
sient in technical accoracy, to prore that 
iraldus himself knew anything of the 
of counter-point There are many ex- 

bnt wild and refractory sul 
It was only when the invei 
be known, and the power 
larged by additional string 
supposed to have assume 
which interests us at presen 
persevered in the old muti 
music became by degrees 
laws of harmony and coun 
While profiting, howeve 
of the modems, our style 
character sacred from tl 
though Carolan, it appean 
nites of hearing the works 
great masters, we but rar 
his native simplicity to an] 
ments, or affectation of t 
curious composition, indo 
it is evident that he laboi 

ation, pratnd to the fnd velvBM of hb Seottish BiJUidi. 
itk wamt gtnidiM ipednwiM 111A7 Im found at the aid of 
ir*i Work rnvm the Iitth taurda. Mr.BoaUiit hM dk- 
I lait wsimiOA vohuM bf too maajr of than bo rb o i oat 

to the 

of theOMUeSoelityof 

oran, vol. L pert Iv. diep. vU. 

10 MqipoMd,bttt with ■■ MItle proof, thet thef endantood 
ranhannoektBtenreL— TlwQradM warn to have ftarmad 
o this ddkola gradaHoo of aoond 1 and. vhatarerdilB- 
ihioetioiia majlie In tha wayof ItsjwtMCioaf un, varanal 
ManeniM(Frilndaadal'HanMaie,QnaatT.),tlMt the 
dusie would be fanparfiMtwithoet H. Evan in praetloa, 
d, among othan, verj Jnatly ramerka.CObiarTatiaBfl on 
If, ahap. L aeet. I«.) thara la no good parfbnnar on the 
ugh. from the imparflMthm of the Inatrament, Ihaj ara 
lotai npon the plano-fbrte. Thaeflhotofmodnlatlonby 
ie traniMow li alao vanr ilrikftv and baaatiftd. 
xMdi wmcOmi and tn tmimvtmtin % paaiaga of Plato, and 
BHions of Cloaro, In Fragment, lib. IL da Bapiri>L, Indnoad 
rragnler to maintain that the anelanta luid a knowledge 

tedeedtto olte my own wHd atlampl 
I find myielf contiBoallj oomnd 
timai, appeared 00 pleaatng toray a 
the erltie with no amell zeloolaa 
pedantry in adhering too rigidly t 
that there ara inctanoca in Haydn, 
SIUm I and Mr. Shield, in Ua Intr 
intimete that Handel haa bean 1 

* A ringular ovenighi ooenn in 
by Mr. Beasford, which la inaerte^ 
HIatorleal Memolra t-^The Iririi 
in tlw reign of Henry n. hed two k 
In dnobna moaid generia imtmi 
valooem, anaTcm tamen et jacnn<! 
(jnidi.the other toft and plaeiiag.' 
learn hug oonld ao miatake the bm 
matieal oonstmetion of thia ex 
following b the paaaage ea I find i 
quitea hot little Latin to pereelva t 
to the wordt of tlie old Cliranieler 
fllia, ntatnr lyrA, tympeno et eh* 
choro Hibemid tanwn in doobi 
qtuoKim prweipUtm et vtlooem. nta 



lis muon of mAiinen, so TCiy dissimiUr, pro- 
tbe same kind of uneaflj sensation which is 
a mixture of different styles of architecture, 
leral, however, the artless flow of our music 
lescrTcd itself free firom all tinge of foreign 
icioii*; and the chief corruptions of which 
.ve to complain arise from the unskilful per- 
Dce of our own itinerant musicians, from 
I, too frequently, the airs are noted down, 
nbered by their tasteless decorations, and re- 
ibte for idl their ignorant anomalies. Though 
iometimefl impossible to trace the original 
I, yet, in most of them, ** auri per ramos aura 
pet'," the pure gold of the melody shines 
gh the ungraceful foliage which surrounds it, 
d the most delicate and difficult duty of a 
tier is to endeavour, by retrenching these 
^$nt superfluities, and collating the various 
od« of playing or singing each air, to restore 
fgularity of its form, and the chaste simplicity 

au5t again observe, that in doubting the anti- 
of oar music, my scepticism extends but to 
polished specimens of the art, which it is 
ik to conceive anterior to the dawn of modem 
>Tement; and that I would by no means in- 
lie the claims of Ireland to as early a rank 
e annals of minstrelsy, as the most zealous 
nary may be inclined to allow her. In addi- 
indeed, to the power which music must always 
po££>essed over the minds of a people so ardent 
>u£ceptible, the stimulus of persecution was 
ranting to quicken our taste into cutliusiasm; 
harms of song were ennobled Mrith the glories 
art}Tdom, and the acts against minstrels, in 
eigns of Henry VIIL and Klizubcth, were as 
ssFful, I doubt not, in making my countrymen 
cians, as the penal laws have been in keeping 
i Catholics. 

ith respect to the verses which I have written 
bese melodies, as they are intended rather to 
ug than read, I can answer for their sound 
Mmewhat more confidence than for their 
e. Yet it would be affectation to deny that I 
t given much attention to the task, and that it 
It through any want of zeal or industry, if I 
fftnnately disgrace the sweet airs of my country 
oetrj altoge&er unworthy of their taste, their 
1!T, and their tenderness, 
buvgh the humble nature of my contributions 
lis work may exempt them from the rigours of 
uy criticism, it was not to bo expected that 

■HOC ochcr iklM rrflnciDCfiU of the art. our mode CwiUi the 
(faM pcfbap* of the air called " Mamma, Mamma," and one or 
lORef the aamc iudictoturtfripHoD.yhM avoided that puerile 
B7 ef Katnral noiaea, mmloDs, *e. which di«cracec fo often 
) of crea Uaadcl hlmaelf. D'Alemhert ought to have had 
i thaa to beeome the patron of tlili imitative affectation. 
I PrkHminairt de rEmnfclopidie, The reader may find 
laaarka om the aahfeet in AvlMm upon Muiieal £z- 
ii ft wk vkidi, thaath vadm tlw wwtt of Avinn.wM 

those touches of political feeling, those tones of 
national complaint, in which the poetry sometimes 
sympathises with the music, would be suffered to 
pass without censure or alarm. It has been accord- 
ingly said, that the tendency of this publication is 
mischievous", and that I have chosen these airs but 
as a vehicle of dangerous politics, — as fair and 
precious vessels (to borrow an image of St. 
Augustine*), from which the wine of error might 
be administered. To th(»sc who identify nation- 
ality with treason, and who see, in every effort for 
Ireland, a system of hostility towards England, — 
to those, too, w^ho nursed in the gloom of pre- 
judice, are alarmed by the faintest gleam of 
UberaUty that threatens to disturb their darkness, 
— like that Demophon of old, who, when the sun 
shone upon him, shivered S — to such men I shall 
not condescend to offer an apology for the too 
great warmth of any poHticai sentiment which 
may occur in the course of these ])ages. But as 
there are many, among the more wise and tolerant, 
who, with feeling enough to mourn over the 
wrongs of their country, and sense enough to per- 
ceive all the danger of not redressing Uiem, may 
yet be of opinion that allusions, in the least degree 
inflammatory, should be avoided in a publication 
of this popular description — I beg of these re- 
spected persons to believe, that there is no one 
who more sincerely deprecates than I do, any 
appeal to the pasiiious of an ignorant and angry 
muhitude; but that it is not through that gross 
and inflammable region of society, a work of this 
nature could ever have been intended to circulate. 
It looks much higher for its audience and readers, 
— it is found uj)on the piano -fortes of the rich and 
the educated, — of those who can afford to have 
their national zeal a little stimulated, without 
exciting much dread of the excesses into which it 
may hurry them; and of many whose nerves may 
be, now and then, alarmed with advantage, as 
much more is to be gained by their fears, than 
could ever be exjKJcted from their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal objection, 
which has been hitherto made to tlic poetical part 
of this work, allow me to add a few words in de- 
fence of my ingenious coadjutor, Sir John Steven- 
son, who has been accused of having spoiled the 
simplicity of the airs by the chromatic richness of 
his symphonies, and the ehiborate variety of his 
harmonies. We might cite the example of the ad- 
mirable Haydn» who has si>orted through all the 
mazes of musical science, in his arrangement of 

written, it ia nid, by Dr. Brown. 

' Virffil, iivneid, lib. vi. verae KM. 

s See Letter*, under the aiiniatuwe of Tlmant, Ac in the 
Mumimo J'tmi, i*UuU uid other papen. 

< " Nun accuao verba, qua«i vasa electa atqne pretioea i aed rinnm 
errorii quod cum eia nubij propinatur."— Lib. i. ConfeM. chap. zvi. 

* This emblem of modem bistit* wai head-butler (r^vcfMrMsc) to 
▲Iczander the Qreat —A art. Empir. P^rrh, H^potk. Libb L 

L 4 



hM the Sixth Namber, which shall 
sar, will, man probably, be the hul of 
TliRe Tolnmea will then h«e been 
ecardiag to the original plan, and tbe 
leaire me to aftjr that ■ Liai of Sab- 
bs pnbliihed with the coucludiDg 

mnehi I miut >il<l> ^m a want of 
id idL less from anj nbutement of 
mj, that wc bare adopted the resoln- 
jng our task to a closoj bui wo feci 
ill nune for our coantr^'a sake than 
the geacral inicreat wbieh this purclj 
haa excited, and to anxioaalcat a par- 
intcTcM <hoDld be loM bj too long a 
If ill existence, that we think it wiser 
f the cup from tbe lip, while its flavour 
ant, frecb and aweel. than to rtik any 
of the charm, or give w much aa not 
c with for more. In speaking thus, I 
ij to the Airs, which are, of coarse, 
tactionof these Volumes 1 and though 

1 ■ great manj popular and delightnil 
I produce', it cannot be denied that 
ion experience considerable difficulty 
the richncasand novelty of Ihs earlier 
r which, aa we had the choice of all 
« natanlly selected only ibe moat rare 
iL The Poetry, too, would bo sure to 
with the dechue of the Music; and, 
kly my words hare kept puce with 
e of the Airs, they would follow their 

fear, with woudcriul alacrity. Both 
rudcnce, therefore, couneel us lo como 
'hiJe yet our Work ia, we believe, flou- 

attractiTO. and thus, in the imperial 
^aiUa man," before we incor the chai^o 
!ring for the worse, or, what is equally 
le, conlinuiag too long Iho anme. 

say, hovrerer, that it ia only in tho 
r failing to find Airs as good as most 
have given, that we mean tbua to an- 
! natural period of dissolution (hko 
ns who when their relatives become 
M Ibeni to death)', and tliey who are 
retarding this Euthaiioaia of the Irish 
annot beller effect iheir wish than by 

1 to our coUdlion. — nol whatare called 
s, for we have abundance of such, and 

general, im/y cnrioos. — but any real, 
«prc»«ive Songs of Our Country, which 
ce or research may bare brought into 


Is presenting this Sixth Number to the Public ai 
our last, and bidding adien to the Irish Harp for 
ever, we shall not answer very confidently for the 
etrength of our resolution, nor feel quite sure that 
it majf noltumont to be onoof those eternal fare- 
wells which a lo*er lakes occasionally of his mis- 
tresB, merely to enhance, perhaps, the plcanire of 
iheir next meeting. Oor only motirc, indeed, 
for discontinuing the Work was a fear that our 
treasores were nearly exhausted, and a natural un- 
willingnesB to descend to the gathering of mere 
Beed-pcarl, after the really preciona gems it has 
been oar lot to siring together. Tho ai 
ment, however, of ihia intention, in 
Nnmber, has excited a degree of anxii 
lovera of Irish Music, not only pleasant and 
flattering, but highly usefUl to us; for the various 
conlributiona we bnvo received in consequence, 
have enriched our collection with so many choice 
and beantiful Airs, that should we aiihere to our 
present resolution of publishing no more, it would 
certainly farnish an instance of forbearance ui 
ampled in the history of poets and musicians, 
one genllcmnn in particular, who has been for 
many years residcni in England, bot who hoa ni 
forgot, among his various parHuils, either the 
laognagc or the melodies of his native country, v 
beg to offer our beat thanks for tlie many interes 
ing communications with which he has favonred 
ua. We trust that neither he nor any other of our 
kind friends will relax in those eflbrts by which 
wo have been so considcrnbty assisted ; for, though 
our work must now be looked u|>on as defunct, 
yet — as Reaumur found oot tho art of making 
the cicada sing after it was dead — it is just pos- 
sible that we may, tome time or other, try a 
similar experiment upon the Irish Melodies. 

T. M. 


Haji I consulted only my own judgment, this 
Work would not have extended beyond ihe Six 
Nnnihcrs already pubiishcd; which contain the 
flower, perhajia, of our national melodies, and have 
now nttained a tank in public favour, of wbich I 
would not willingly risk the forfeiture, by dege- 

suppression ot wtiicn, lor uw eimauccuicub 

» we have published, would too much rc- 

) the policy of the Dutch in burning their 

— that I have been persuaded, though not 

It much diffidence in my success, to com- 

a new leries of the Irish Melodies. 






rith a pleasure, not unmixed with melandiolj, 
'. dedicate the last Number of the Irish Melo- 
jonr Ladyship; nor can I hare any donbt 

f ftUoved to mmtion, bai 
t aln, but hM eomnmwhwttid 


only Mnt ns mmrtr foitf 
many carious fracmesta of 
in ttasoovBtiy 

m*x^ •* w*»^ 

I am not without ho 
the grace and spirit of tj 
this closing portion of ti 
what has preceded it. 1 
the Number and the Si 
been selected from the 
music, which has been fo: 
in my hands; and it wa 
all that appeared most w 
the four supplementary 
Tenth Nomber, have be< 

Trusting that I may } 

of old times, hear oar ^ 

the harmonised airs of 

hononr to sabecribe myf 

Yoor Lad 


when he rwldw, UhutnlBd hy 
vhfah tlMT raftr I aU of whU 
Number, will b» of iBflatta Mr 




, I beliere, who says, **nahtrA ad 
r ;** and the abundance of wild, indi- 
which ahnost ererj country, except 
sesses, sufficiently proves the truth of 
The loTers of this simple, but in- 
d of music, are here presented with 
iber of a coUection, which, I trust, 
itions will enable us to continue. A 
liont words resembles one of those 
B of Plato, which are described as 

search of the remainder of themselves 
irorid. To supply this other hal^ by 

congenial words the many fugitive 
ch have hitherto had none, — or only 
nintelligible to the generality of their 
he object and ambition of the present 
ler is it our intention to confine our- 
t are strictly called National Melodies, 
r we meet with any wandering and 

to which poetry has not yet assigned 
ae, we shall venture to claim it as an 

and enrich our humble Hippocrene 




CSrAjnni An.) 

u> Friendship," said Laura, enchanted, 
in this garden, — the thought is di- 


ras built, and she now only wanted 
of Friendship to place on the shrine, 
sculptor, who set down before her 
lip, the fairest his art could invent; 

ii tufcca fron a mig bf Le Fiirar. called ** La 

But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer 
Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. 

"OhI never," she cried, ** could I think of en- 
shrining [dim; — 
"An image, whose looks are so joyless and 
" But yon little god, upon roses reclining, 

** We'll make, if you please. Sir, a ^endship 
of him!" 
So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden 

She joynUly flew to her shrine in the grove: 
** Farewell," said the sculptor, ** you're not the 
first maiden 
Who came but for Friendship and took away 



(Posrooona Am.) 

Flow on, thou shining river; 

But, ere thou reach the sea. 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o'er thcc. 
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine. 

The current of our lives shall be. 
With joys along their course to shine, 

like those sweet flowers on thee. 

But if, in wand'ring thither, 

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, 
Then leave those wreaths to wither 

Upon the cold bank there; 
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, 

Her lone and loveless charms shall be 
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore. 

Like those sweet fiowers from thee. 


ClMMAjf Aia.) 

All that's bright must fade, — 
The brightest still the fleetest; 

All that's sweet was made, 
But to be lost when sweetest. 

That every hour are breaking? 
Better far to be 

In utter darkness lying. 
Than to be bless'd with light, and see 

That hght for ever flying. 
All that's bright most fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest I 


(HsicsAKiAji Am.) 

rarmly we met and so fondly we parted, 

hat which was the sweeter ev'n I could not 

t first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, 
r that tear of passion, which bless'd onr fare- 

meet was a heaven, and to part dras another, — 
ur joy and onr sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss ; 
Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other 
1 snules and in tears, than that moment to this. 

s first was like day-break, new, sudden, de- 
licious, — 

lie dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet ; 

> last like the fiu^well of daylight, more precious, 

fore glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. 

* meeting, though happy, was ting'd by a sorrow 

'o think that such happiness coud not remain; 

ile our parting, though sad, gave a hope that 

V^ould bring back Ae bless'd honr of meeting 



Should those fond ho 

Which now so sweei 
Should the cold world 

From all thy visioni 
Should the gay Menc 

BBm who once thonj 
All, like spring birds. 

And leave ^ winti 

Oh ! 'tis then that he 

Would come to che< 
Then the truant, loet i 

Would to his boeon 
Like that dear bird w< 

Who left us while s 
But, when chill'd by 1 

On our threshold a 


Reason, and Folly, a 

Went on a party of p 

Folly play'd 

Aroimd the 

The bells of his cap r 

While Reas* 

To his serm 

Oh I which was the i 

Which was the pleasi 



While Benson read 

His lesres of lead, 
ao one to mind him, poor sensible elf ! 
• no oaM to mind him, poor sensible elf ! 

Reason grew jealous of Folly's gaj cap ; 
e that on, he her heart might entrap — 

•* There it is," 

Qooth FoOy, *« old quiz ! " 
was always good-natured, 'tis said,) 

** Under & sun 

*■ There's no such fim, 
Beason with my cap and bells on his head, 
son with mj cap and bells on his head I *' 

leaaon the head-dress so awkwardly wore, 
Beaoty now lik'd him still less than before ; 

While Folly took 

Old Beason's book, 
twisted the kaves m a cap of sndi torn. 

That Beanty Tow'd 

(Though not aloud), 
ik*dhim stiU better in that than his own, 
^-.^'d him still better in that than his own. 


OBmuAsr Aou) 

Pau thee well, thou lorely one : 

loTclj still, but dear no more ; 
Once his lool of truth is gone, 

Lore's sweet life is o'er. 
Thj words, whate'er their flatt'ring speD, 

(^ooM scsrce hare thus deceived ; 
Bat eres that acted truth so well 

Were sore to be believed. 
Then, fkre thee well, thou lovely one I 

^t\j BtiU, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

I^^re's sweet life is o'er. 

^<t those eyes look constant still, 

Troe as stars they keep their light ; 
S^ those cheeks their pledge fulfil 

Of hhishing sdways bright. 
Tis oolj on Uiy changeful heart 

TV Usme of fiklsehood lies ; 
love fifes in every other part, 

fist diere, alas ! he dies. 
^W hn thee well, thou lovely one I 

lovelj sdU, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 
Lofft*» sweet life is o'er. 


(PoBvoaoBM An.) 

Dost thon remember that place so lonely, 
A place for lovers, and lovers only, 

Where first I told thee sJl my secret sighs ? 
When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, 
Elum'd thy blushes, I knelt before thee. 

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes? 
Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart. 
Love bound us — never, never more to part I 

And when I call'd thee by names the dearest * 
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest, — 

** My life, my only life I " among the rest ; 
In those sweet accents that still enthral me. 
Thou saidst, *' Ahl wherefore thy life thus call me? 

** Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best; 
** For life soon passes, — but how bless'd to be 
** That Soul which never, never narts from thee!" 




Oh, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me. 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

0*er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth's awake, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
With sound of lutes and mandolins. 

To steal young hearts away. 
Then, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to mc, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

Oh, then's the hour for those who love, 

Sweet 1 like thee and me ; 
When all's so calm below, above. 

In hcav'n and o'er the sea 
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles' 

And Echo sinp^s ap:ain 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 

Should love and listen then. 
So, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet I then come to me. 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

1 The thonght in thif Tens if bonowtd from fh« orlcinal Porto- 
gnese words. 

3 Barcarolles, torte de chantona en lanfroe T^nlUeonc, qn« 
ehantcnt lee goodtoUtri It Yeniee. -. Ao m seaw, Dk*ionmttirt tU 

The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 

Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends, so link*d together, 
Fve seen around me fall, 
like leayes in wintry weather ; 
I feel like one. 
Who treads alone 
Some banqnet>hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled. 
Whose garlands dead. 
And all but he departed I 
Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumber's cham has bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 


CBvMiAji An.) 

Habk 1 the yesper hynm is stealing 

0*er the waters soft and clear ; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
And now bursts upon the ear: 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear: 
Jubilate, Amen. 

jr&.iiu. uicu tnj Bweei 

That Hope, who nc 
Believ'd he'd c 

She linger'd there i 

Along the wat 

And o er Uie sands. 

Oft trac*d his name 

As often wash' 

At leng^ a sail ap] 

And tow'rd Uii 

Tis Wealth that oo 

His golden bark rel 

But ah! it is n 

Another sail — 'twi 

Her night-lam; 

And calm the light 

But Love had light 

And where, ah 

Now fast around th 

Night threw h< 

The sunny sails wej 

Hope*s morning dn 

Love nerer can 



Thbrs comes a ti 
To him whose '. 

O'er all the fields 
And made ead 

*Tis when his sou 



yor^ like our northern day, gleam on 
Throngfa twiHght's dim dday, 

Hie cold remains of lostre gone, 
Of fire long paes'd awaj. 




Mt harp has one unchanging theme, 

One strain thai still comes o'er 
It3 languid chord, as 'twere a dream 

Of joy that's now no more. 
In rain I try, with fii-elicr air. 

To wake the breathing string; 
That Toice of other times is thm, 

And saddens all I sing. 

Brrathe on, breathe on, thou laagnid strain. 

Henceforth be all my own; 
Though thou art oft 8o fall of pain 

Few hearts can bear thy tone. 
Tet oft thon'rt sweet, as if the sigh. 

The breath that Pleasare*8 wings 
Gave out, when last they wantoned bj, 

Were still upon thy strings. 




■KiAjt Am.) 

Oh, no — not ev'n when first we lov'd, 

Wert thou as dear as now thou art; 
Thy beaaty then my senses mov*d. 

But now thy virtues bind my heart 
What was but Passion's sigh before. 

Has fiince been tum'd to Reation's tow; 
And. though I then might loTe thee more. 

Trust me, I love thee better now. 

Akhough my heart in earlier youth 

>[ight kindle with more wild desire. 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core. 

That then but sparkled o*er my brow, 
And, though I seem'd to love thee morej 

Tet, oh, I love thee better now. 


(SeoTca AiK.) 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st; 

May life be for thee one summer's day. 
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lov'st, 

Come smiling around thy sunny way I 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break, 

May even thy tears pass off so lightly, 
like spring- showers, they'll only make 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly. 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all. 

And daily dooms some joy to death, 
0*er thee let years so gently fall. 

They shall not crush one flower beneath. 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances. 
May that side the sun's upon 

Bo all that e*cr shall meet thy glances! 


(F»mNCB Ai».) 

While I touch the string, 

Wreathe my brows with laurel, 
For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 
Common Sense, one night. 

Though not used to gambols. 
Went out by moonlight. 

With Genius, on his rambles. 
While I touch the string, &c. 

Common Sense went on. 

Many wise things saying; 
While the light that shone 

Soon set Genius straying. 
One his eye ne'er raisM 

From the path before him; 
Tother idly gaz'd 

On each night-cloud o'er him. 
While I touch the string, &c. 

So they came, at last. 

To a shady river; 
Common Sense soon pass'd, 

Safe, as he doth ever; 
While the boy, whoso look 

Was in Heaven that minute. 
Never saw the brook 

But tumbled headlong in it! 

While I touch the string, &c. 


(Old Knoliui Air.) 

HEX, fare thee well, my own dear love. 
This world has now for us 
o greater grief, no pain above 
The pain of parting thus. 

Dear love I 
The pain of parting thus. 

[ad we but known, since first wo met. 
Some few short hours of bliss, 

Te might, in numb*ring them, forget 
The deep, deep pain of this, 

Dear love! 
The deep, deep pain of this. 

tut no, alas, weVe never seen 
One glimpse of pleasure's ray, 

(ut stiU there came some cloud between, 
And chas'd it all awaj. 

Dear love ! 
And chas'd it all away. 

Tet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 

Far dearer to my heart 
rVere hours of grief, together past, 

Than years of mirth apart. 
Dear love ! 

Than years of mirth apart. 

Farewell! our hope was bom in fears, 
And nurs'd 'mid vain regrets; 

Like winter suns, it rose in tean. 
Like them in tears it sets, 

Dear love ! 
Like tliem in tears it sets. 

Into some lov'd < 
Thoughts reserv'd 
To be thus whis] 

When the dance ai 

Ann in arm as h 
How sweet to see t 

O'er her cheek's 
Then, too, the fare 

The words, whoi 
Lingers still in dre 

That haunt yooi 



LoYE is a hunter-1 

Who makes yov 
And, in his nets o: 

Ensnares them i 
In vain conceal'd i 

Love tracks thei 
In vain aloft they 

Lpve shoots the 

But 'tis his joy m( 

At early dawn t 
The print of Beau 

And give the tr 
And if, through v 

He tracks her f 
How sweet for Lo 

None went befo 



Like ffoiiBet gleams, that linger late 

When all is dariL'ning £ut, 
Are hoora like these we snatch from Fate- 

The brightest, and the last. 

Then, chase that starting tear, &c. 

To gild the deep*ning gloom, if Heaven 

Bat one bright hour allow. 
Oh, think that one bright honr is giren, 

Li an its splendour, now. 
Let's lire it oat — then sink in night. 

Like wares that from the shore 
One minute swell, are touch'd with light, 

Then lost for evermore I 

Come, chase that starting tear, &c 


OPotttCSVBU AlK.) 

WHi8P*RnrG«, heard bj wakefhl maids, 

To whom the night-stars guide us; 
Stolen walks throagh moonlight shades. 
With those we love beside us, 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting;; 
Tears starting. 
At parting; 
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting! 

Wand'rings far away from home. 

With life all new before us; 
G^^ctings warm, when home we come. 
From hearts whose prayers watched o'er us. 
Tears starting. 
At parting; 
Hearts beating. 
At meeting; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some! 
To some, how bright and fleeting! 


Heab me but once, while o'er the grave. 
In which oar Love lies cold and dead, 

I count each flatt*ring hope he gave 
Of jojSy now lost, and charms now fled. 

Who could have thought the smile he wore. 
When first we met, would fade away? 

Or that a chiQ would e'er come o'er 
Thoae ejet so bright throagh many a day? 

Hear me bat once, &c. 



When Love was a child, and went idling round, 
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day. 

One mom in the valley a bower he found. 
So sweet, it allur'd him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, 

A fountain ran darkly beneath; — 
'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rcts there; 

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. 

But Love didn't know — and, at Mm weak years. 
What urchin was likely to know? — 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears 
The fountain that murmur'd below. 

He caught at the wreath —but with too much haste, 

As boys when impatient will do — 
It fell in those waters of briny taste. 

And the flowers were all wet through. 

This garland he now wears night and day; 

And, though it all sunny appears 
Witli Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say, 

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 



(SictLiAM Aim.) 

Sav, what shall be our sport to-day? 

There's nothing on earth, in sea!, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 

For spirits like mine to dare! 
'Tis like the returning bloom 

Of those days, alas, gone by, 
When I lov'd, each hour — I scarce knew whom- 

And was blcss'd — I scarce knew why. 

Ay — those were days when life had wings, 

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height. 
That, like the lark which sunward springs, 

'Twas giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft. 

With that sun, too, nearly set, 
I've enough of light and wing still left 

For a few gay soarings yet. 

M 2 

nay the chim, whose love my aeepesi, 
: of all, come while thou sleepest; 
ill as she was — no charm forgot — 
iistre lost that Ufe had ^ven; 
', if chaug'd, but changed to what 
i*lt find her yet in Heaven! 


(SlCXLIAX Aiiu) 

0, then — *ti8 vain to hover 
Thus round a hope that's dead ; 
t length my dream is over; 
*Twa8 sweet — 'twas false — 'tis fled! 
&rewell ! since nought it moves thee, 
Such truth as mine to see — 
ome one, who far less loves thee. 
Perhaps more bless'd will be. 

arewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 

New life around me shed; 
arewell, false heart, whose lightness 

Now leaves me death instead. 
k>, now, those charms surrender 

To some new lover's sigh — 
hie who, though far less tender, 

May be more bless'd than I. 


(Swim At*.) 

O'er mountains bright 

Sometimes, when oi 

The golden sunsc 

So like a gem the fl 

We thither bend 

And, though we fin 

We bless £e rose tl 

O'er mounta 

With snow i 

We Crystal-Hun 

While rocks 

And icy wa^ 

Each instant ech< 

-_j i: 


Row gen 

My gond< 

So softly wi 

That not 

On earthy 

But hers to 

Had Heaven but t< 

As starry e 

Oh, think what taJ 

Of wanderi 

Now rest 
My gond 

Hush, hush 
To climb 

While thou 






ays of jooth and joj, long clonded, 
iv thus for erer haunt my view? 
in the graTe jonr light laj shrouded, 
T did not Memory die there too? 
y doth Hope her strain now sing me, 
ling of joys that yet remain — 
erer more can this life bring me 
i joj that equals youth's sweet pain. 

iea the way to death before me, 
d winds of Time blow round my brow; 
line of youth! that once fell o*er mc. 
lere is your warmth, your glory now? 
IOC that then no pain could sting me; 
s not that now no joys remain; 
tis that life no more can bring me 
e joy so sweet as that worst pain. 



first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my 

rhat a rision then came o*er me ! 

ears of love, of calm and pure delight, 
"cmM in that smile to pass before me. 
iid the peasant dream of summer skies, 
olden fruit, and harvests springing, 
onder hope than I of those sweet eyes, 

of the joy their light was bringing. 

now arc all those fondly promis'd hours? 
woman's faith is like her brightness — 
^ afl fast aA rainbows, or day-flowers, 
.oght that's known for grace and lightness. 
is the Persian's prayer, at close of day, 
lid be each vow of tove's repeating; 
let hina worship Beauty's precious ray — 
1 while he kneels, that ray is fleeting! 


(CATAU>iriAII At».) 

Peacx to the slumb'rers! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to cover them; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 
Peace to the slumb'rers ! 

V ain was their brav'ry ! — 
The fallen oak lies where it lay 

Across the wintry river; 

But brave hearts, once swept away. 

Are gone, alas! for ever. 
Vain was their brav'ry! 

Woe to the conq'ror! 

Our limbs shadl lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us. 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us! 
Woe to the conq'ror! 


(SwiUAar Am.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 
We used to gaze on so many an eve. 

When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt, or thou deceive — 

Oh, then, rememb'ring how swift went by 

Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sigh. 

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was far too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat; 

And wish in vain to know again 

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then. 


(PoKTce OBU Am.) 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling. 
None could doubt, who saw or knew them. 
Hymen's call was welcome to them. 

" Who'll buy my love- knots? 

*• Who'll buy my love-knots? " 
Soon as that sweet cry resounded. 
How his baskets were surrounded! 

Maids, who now first dreamt of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen's tying; 
Dames, who long had sat to watch him 
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him ; — 

Who'll buy my love- knots? 

Who'll buy my love-knots? " 
All at that sweet cry assembled; 
Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled. 

M 3 



is gold-knot, too, ties but badly — 

Who'd buy such love-knots? 

Who'd buy such love- knots? 

en this tie, with Love's name round it — 

1 a sham — He never bound it." 

vwho saw the whole proceeding, 

lid have laugh'd, but for good-breeding ; 

Je Old Hymen, who was used to 

s like that these dames gave loose to — 

Take back om* love-knots I 

Take back our love-knots ! " 

Uy said, ** There's no returning 

ares on Hymen's hands — Good Morning! 



To AJf Am WW* A* Bomb, om CBBinMAt Eva.) 

BB, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 

0*er our sight, 
jid Euth, from sin awaking, 

Hails the light! 
ee those groups of angels, winging 

From the realms above, 
»n their brows, frt)m Eden, bringing 

Wreaths of Hope and Love. 

[ark, theur hymns of glory pealing 

Through the air, 
*o mortal ears revealing 

Who lies there ! 
d that dwelling, dark and lowly. 

Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 

Then listen, maids. 
Your needle's tas 

At what I sing ther 
While some, pcrh 

Young Cloe, bent on 

Such nets had lean 
That none, in all our 

E'er caught so muc 
But gentle Sue, less g 

While Cloe's nets v 
Such lots of Loves, sa 

One little Love-cag 
Come, listen 

Much Cloe langh'd at 

But mark how thin 
These light-caught In 

Their name and ag 
So weak poor Cloe's i 

That, though she c 
New game each hour, 

Was able to break 
Come, lister 

Meanwhile, young Su 

Of bars too strung 
One Love with golde 

And caged him the 
Instructing, thereby, 

Whate'er their lool 
That, though 'tis plet 

'Tis wiser to make 

Thus, maidens, tht 

The task your fi 

May all who hear 1 

i;i__ /^i 




(YairanASi AulJ) 

Whejt through the Piaizctta 

Night hreathes her cool air. 
Then, dearett Ninetta, 

111 come to thee there. 
Beneath thj mask ahronded, 

111 know thee afar. 
As liOTe knows, though cknidcd. 

His own Evening Star. 

In pirh, then, resembling 

Some gaj gondolier, 
I'll whisper thee, trembling, 

** Our bark, lore, is near: 
•• Xow, now, while there hover 

^ Those clouds o'er the moon, 
*- Twill waft thee safe over 

**' Yon silent Lagoon." 


(Bkiuaji Aiiu) 

n. now, and dream o*er that joy in thy sluml)cr — 
omenta so sweet a^n ne'er shalt then number, 
f Pain's bitter draught the tiavour ne'er flies, 
liile Pleai^nre's scarce touches tho lip ere it dies. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 

hat moon, which hung o'er your parting, so 

ften will ((hine again, bright as she then did — 
St. never more will the beam she saw bum 
I thode happy eyes, at your meeting, return. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 


Take hence the bowl; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er Khone, 
Ob. it bm sets me dreaming 

tyf happy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection. 

As in a wizard's glass, 
Loct hoftes and dead affection. 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cap I drain brings hither 
Some toene of bliss gone by; — 

Bright lips, too bright to wither. 
Warm hearts, too warm to die. 

Till, as the dream comes o'er me 
Of those long vanish 'd years, 

Alas! the wine before me 
Seems turning all to tears! 


(VBffmAJi Am.) 

Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over 
Heaven's pale night-star gath'ring we see. 

Will scarce irom that pure orb have pass'd, ere thy 
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee. 

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee, 
Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow; 

With gay heart, Theresa, and bright check I 

found thee ; [thou now ! 

Oh, think how chang'd, love, how chang'd art 

Bat here I free thee: like one awaking 

From fearful slumber, thou break 'st the spell; 

'Tis over — the moon, too, her bondage is break- 
in j;— 
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell ! 


(Satotaru Air.) 

Oft, when the watching stars prow pale. 

And round me sleeps the mooiili^lit scene. 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 

I from my casement lean. 
** Come, come, my love ! " each note th(*n seems 

to sav, 
** Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast awayl" 
Never to mortal ejvr 

Cotild words, though warm they be. 
Speak Passion's language half so clear 
As do those notes to me ! 

Then quick my own light lute I seek. 

And strike the chords with loudest swell; 
And, though they nought to others speak. 

Be knows their language well. 
" I come, my love ! " each note then seems to say, 
** I come, my love ! — thine, thine till break of day." 
Oh. weak the power of words. 

The hues of painting dim, 
Compar'd to what those siin))lc chords 
Then say and paint to him ! 

M 4 

T T KV' ftA » A*w 

Then, to every bright tree 
In the pirdcn he'll wander; 
While I, oh, much fonder. 
Will stay with thee, 
urch of new sweetness through thousands 

he'll run, 
I find the sweetness of thousands in one. 
Then, to ererj bright tree, &c. 


CF»sjtea AiB.) 

ouoH 'tis all but a dream at the best, 
\.nd still, when happiest, soonest o'er, 
t, even in a dream, to bo bless'd 
[s so sweet, that I ask for no more. 

The bosom that opes 

With earliest hopes, 
Fhe soonest finds those hopes untrue; 

As flowers that first 

In spring-time burst 
The earliest wither too! 

Aj — 'tis all but a dream, &c. 

lough by Friendship we oft are deceiv'd 
And find Love's sunshine soon o'crcast, 
!t Friendship will still be believ'd. 
And Love trusted on to the last. 

The web 'mong the leaves 

The spider weaves 
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men; 

Though often she sees 

'TiR hmkfi bv the breeze. 

See, what numbers arc s 

^V^^en on <me side the fj&] 

While on t'otlier a blue 
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wii 

To disturb cv'n a saint i 
Yet, though life like a rive 

I care not how fast it gt 
So the grape on its bank i 

And Lovo lights the wa 



Where shall we bur 


Where, in what de 
Hide the last wreck r 

Broken and stain'c 
Death may dissever t 

Oppression will c& 
But the dishonour, tl 

Die as we may, wi 

Was it for this we se 

Liberty's cry from 
Was it for this that 1 

Thrill'd to the wo: 
Thus to live coward; 

Oh, ye free hearts 
Do you not, ev'n in 

Shudder, as o'er } 

•KTT:^yy7>Tt fr A T IT r\T? P 



> learns how ligfathr, fleetly pass 

his world and all that's in it, 

D the bumper that but crowns his glass, 

ad is gone again next minute! 

diamoad sleeps within the mine, 
le pearl beneath the water; 
ie Truthv more precious, dwells in wine, 
ke grape's own rosy daughter. 
none can prize her charms like him, 
I, none like bim obtain her, 
thus can, like Leander, swim 
trough sparkUng floods to gain her ! 


(EbMOAJID Aiiu) 

bleeps the Bard who knew so well 
: s^weet windings of Apollo's sheU; 
er its music roU'd like torrents near, 
1. like distant streamlets, on the ear. 
«}«ep, mute bard; alike unheeded now 
orm and zephjr sweep thy lifeless brow; — 
torm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; 
•rxx'ze which, like thy love- song, dies away! 


o not say that life is wanin;^, 
Ot that Hope's sweet day is set; 
'htle I've thee and love remaining, 
Ufa is in th* horizon yet. 

nctt think those charms are flying. 
Though thy roses fade and fall; 
auty hath a grace undying. 
Which in thee survives them all 

ft for charms, the newest, brightest. 
That on other cheeks may sliine, 
>uld I change the least, the slightest, 
rhat is ling'ring now o*er thine. 


^rr thon not hear the silver bell, 
rh rough yonder lime-trees ringing? 
* my lady's light gazelle. 
To me her love thoughts bringing, — 
. the while that silver bell 
%xanDd his dark neck ringing. 

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath. 
My love hath kiss'd in tying; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying, — 

Hid within the mystic wreath. 
My love hath kiss'd in tying! 

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee. 

And joy to her, the fairest. 
Who thus hath breath'd her soul to me. 

In every leaf thou bearest; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest! 

Hail, ye living, speaking flowers. 
That breathe of her who Ijound ye; 

Oh, 'twas not in flclds, or bowers, 
*Twas on her lips, she found ye; — 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
'Twas on her lips she found ye. 


No— leave my heart to rest, if rest it may. 
When youth, and love, and hoj)e, have pass'd away. 
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, 
To some poor leaf that's fiiU'n and dead. 
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed? 
No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 
Wheir youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright. 

Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light; 

But now thou com*st like sunny skies. 

Too late to cheer the seaman's eves. 

When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies! 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may. 

Since youth, and love, and hoi)e, have pass'd away. 


** Where are the visions that round me once 

hover'd, [alone ; 

** Forms that shed grace from their shadows 

" Looks fresh as light from a star just disco ver'd, 

^ And voices that Music might take for her 



Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er 

Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh 

where ? " 

And pointing his wand to the sunset before me. 

Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, ** There." 

anting is the hero's joy. 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 

nrk ! the hound-belLs ringing sweet, 

hilc hunters shout, and the woods repeat, 

Hiili-ho! imU-ho! 

'ind again thjr cheerftil horn. 

Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies : 

am, bright torches, bum till mom, 
And lead ns where the wild boar lies. 

ark ! the cry, " He's found, he's found," 

rhile hill and valley our shouts resound, 

Hilli-ho! HiUi-hoI 


guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel 
blight that this world o'er the warmest will 

ile the faith of all round us is fading or past, 
ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last. 

safer for Lore 'tis to wake and to weep, 
he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep; 

death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, 
lile the love that is wakeful lives on to the last. 

d though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our 

hade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, 
insparent, at least, be the shadow they ca^t, 
that Love's soften'd light may shine uirough to 

the last. 


Bring tlie bright ga 

Ere yet a leaf is c 
If so soon they mus 

Ours be their last 
Hark, that low disn 
'Tis the dreary voic 
Oh, bring beauty, b 

Bring all that yei 
Let life's day, as it 

Shine to Uie last 

Haste, ere the bowl 

Drink of it now < 
Now, while Beauty 

Love, or she's lof 
Hark ! again that < 
'Tis the dreary voi( 
Oil, if life be a torr 

Down to oblivioi 
Like this cup be it 

Bright to the las 


IF IN Lov: 

If in loving, singing. 
We could trifle merr 
Like atoms dancing : 
Like day-flics skinuE 
Or summer blossoms 
Their sweetness out. 
How brilliant, thoug 
Thou and I could m 




in, alA8 ! xnj doom is spoken, 
:axi«t thoa -reH the sad truth o*er ; 
ut is c:luyng'd, th j tow is broken, 
. lov'at no more — thoa k>T st no more. 

I kindlj stiU those eyes behold me, 
nnile is gone, which once thej wore ; 
i fondly still those arms enfold me, 
not the same — thou lov'st no more. 

1^ my dream of bliss believing, 
thought thee all thoa wert before ; 
)W — alas ! there's no deceiring, 
all too i>lain, thoa loy*st no more. 

oa ns soon the dead conldst waken, 
lost aflection's life restore, 
>eace to her that is forsaken, 
bring hack him who loves no more. 


^ abroad in the world thou appearest, 
A the voong and the lovely are there, 
ir heart whUe of all thou'rt the dearest, 
> my eyes thoa'rt of all the most fair. 
They pass, one by one. 

Like waves of the sea, 
That say to the Son, 

" See, how fair we can be," 
Bat where*s the light like thine. 
In son or shade to shine ? 
o, *niong them aU, there is nothing like thee. 
Nothing like thee. 

of old, withoat fiirewell or warning, 
-aaty *s self ased to steal from the skies ; 
; a mist round her head, some fine morning, 
id post down to earth in disguise ; 
Bat, no matter what shroud 

Around her might be. 
Men peep'd through the cloud. 
And whisper'd, "'Tis She." 
So tbooy where thousands are, 
^in*st forth the only star, — 
i, 'moDg them all, there is nothing like thee. 
Nothing like thee. 


Keep those eyes still purely mine. 

Though far off I be : 
When on others most they shine. 

Then think they're tum*d on me. 

Should those lips as now respond 

To sweet minstrelsy. 
When their accents seem most fond. 

Then think theyVc breath'd for me. 

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own. 

If when all on thee 
Fix their charmed thoughts alone. 

Thou think*st the while on me. 


Hope comes again, to this heart long u stranger, 
Once more she sings me her flattering strain ; 

But hush, gentle syren — for, ah, there's less danger 
In still suffering on, than in hoping again. 

I>ong, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, 
Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain ; 

And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining 
O'er eyelids long darkened, would bring me but 

Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er me; 

Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest 
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, 

But, ah — in forgetting how once I was blest. 


O SAT, thou best and brightest. 

My first love and my last. 
When he, whom now thou slightest. 

From life's dark scene hath past. 
Will kinder thoughts then move thee? 

Will pity wake one thrill 
For him who liv'd to love thee. 

And dying, lov'd thee still? 

If when, that hour recalling 
From which he dates his woes, 

Thou feePst a tear-drop falling. 
Ah, blush not while it flows : 

There comes to mv bower 

A fairy-winjjj'd boy; 
With eyes so bripht. 

So full of wild arts, 
Like nets of light. 

To tangle young hearts; 
With lips, in whoso keeping 

Love's secret may dwell. 
Like Zephyr asleep in 

Some rosy sea-shelL 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name. 
And his best kiss. 

For reward, you may claim. 

Where'er o'er the groimd 

He prints his light feet, 
The flow'rs there are found 

Most shining and sweet : 
His looks, as soft 

As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 

Ne*er wound but in play: 
And oh, when his wings 

Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 
You'd fancy its strings 

Were turning to fire. 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name. 
And his best kiss. 

For reward, you may claim. 

Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 



Fear not that, whi 

Life's varied hies 
One sigh of hers sh 

Whose smile thoi 
No, dead and cold 

Let our past lov< 
Once gone, its spir 

Shall haunt thy : 

May the new ties t 

Far sweeter, haf 
Nor e'er of me rem 

But by their trui 
Think how, asleep 

Thy image hauc 
But, how this hear 

For thy own pei 


Whek Lot 

Love's sun 

But when '. 

Tears, and 

Love ms 

If Love ca 



loteitttigt. in short, 

ILcep fond aod true, 
Tteoaglx good report. 
And evil too. 

Else, here I swear. 
Young Lore may go, 

Jor aught I care •— 
To Jericho. 


irknd I send thee was cull'd from those 


loa and Iwander'd in long ranish'd hoars; 

/or a blossom its bloom here displays, 

» some remembrance of those happy days. 

were gathered by that garden gate, 
r meetings, though early, seem'd always 
* late; [moon, 

g'ring fall oft through a summer-night's 
tgs, though late, appeared always too soon. 

were all cull'd from the banks of that 


Itching the sunset, so often we've stray 'd, 

-n*d, as the time went, that Love had no 


1 his chain even one happy hour. 


peak to thee in Friendship's name, 
ou think'st I speak too coldly; 
oention Lore's devoted flame, 
ju saj'st I speak too boldly. 
%n these two unequal Arcs, 
ly doom me thus to hover ? 
friend, if such thy heart requires, 
acre thou seek'st, a lover. 
!i shall it be? How shall I woo? 
»ne, choose between the two. 

:he wings of Love will brightly play, 
en first he comes to woo thee, 
*d A chance that he may fly away 
fa»t as he flies to thee. 
Friendship, though on foot she come, 
flights of fetncy trying, 
therefore, oft be found at home, 
en Love abroad is flying. 
I shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 
>ne» choose between the two. 

If neither feeling suits thy heart. 

Let's see, to please thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 

To mix their charms together; 
One feeling, still more sweet, to form 

From two so sweet already — 
A friendship that Uke love is worm, 

A love like friendship steady. 
Thus let it be, thus let me woo. 
Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 


Ev'rt season hath its pleasures; 

Spring may boast her flow'ry prime, 
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 

Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time. 
So Life's year begins and closes ; 

Days, though short'ning, still can shine; 
What though youth gave love and roses, 

Age still leaves us friends and wine. 

Phillis, when she might have caught me. 

All the Spring look'd coy and shy. 
Yet herself in Autumn sought me. 

When the flowers were ^1 gone by. 
Ah, too late ; — she found her lover 

Calm and free beneath his vine. 
Drinking to the Spring-time over 

In his best autumnal wine. 

Thus may we, as years are flying, 

To their flight our pleasures suit. 
Nor regret the blossoms dying, 

While we still may taste the fruit. 
Oh, while days like this are ours, 

Where's the lip that dares repine? 
Spring may take our loves and flow'rs. 

So Autunm leaves us friends and wine. 


If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, 
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies: 
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, 
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 

What would the rose with all her pride be worth. 
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth? 
Maidens, unlov'd, like flowers in darkness thrown. 
Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone. 

Fair as thy charms in yondei glass appear, 
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year : 
Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they 
Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone, [shone, 






Manfidd Cottage, AMnrnme, May 1818. 


CAnu— UuBKoinc.l) 
Aar l> fhinc, Une aii^t alM Is thine i Vttaa. luwl prepared 

t haac act all the borden of the earth : thou hast made 

IzxiT. 16, 17. 

>u art, O God, the life and light 
H all this wondrous world we see; 
flow by day, its smile by night, 
\i^ bat reflections caught from Theo. 
CTc'er we turn. Thy glories shine, 
1 all thing^s fair and bright are Thine I 

en Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Lmong the op'ning clouds of Even, 
d we can almost think we gaze 
lirongh golden vistas into Heaven — 
Me hues that make the Sun's decline 
•oft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine. 

en Night, with wings of starry gloom, 
rershadows all the earth and skies, 
e sofne dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
i sparkling with unnumber*d eyes — 
It saered gloom, those fires divine, 
g;rand, so countless, Loild ! are Thine. 

en yoothfnl Spring around us breathes, 
liy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 
1 trw^Tj flower the Summer wreathes 
i bom beneath that kindling eye. 
cre'er we turn, thy glories shine, 
I aH things fair and bright are Thine! 

that thb air b bf the late Un. SherMan. It Is 
\km h— ofifil «ld vords, ** I do ooofese Uum'rt smooth and 


(Aia. — BacTHOTSir.) 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies,' 

When hast*ning fondly home. 
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 

Where idle warblers roam. 
But high she shoots through air and light. 

Above all low delay, 
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight. 

Nor shadow dims her way. 

So grant me, God, from every care 

And stain of passion free. 
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air. 

To hold my course to Thee ! 
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 

My Soul, as home she springs ; — 
Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 

Thy Freedom in her wings ! 


( Air— Martini.) 

Fall'n is thy Throne, oh Israel ! 

Silence is o'er thy plains; 
Thy dwellings all he desolate. 

Thy children weep in chains. 
Where are the dews that fed thee 

On Etham's barren shore? 
That fire from Heaven wliich led thee, 

Now lights thy path no more. 

s The earrler-pUeon. it Is well known, flies at an elerated iritch. 
In order to surmount eTcrj obetade between her and the place to 
which she Is destined. 


The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and wa.ste her bowers. 

Where once the mighty trod. 
And sunk those guilty towers, 

While Baal reign'd as God. 

" Go *•— said the Lord — " Ye Conquerors! 

** Steep in her blood your swords, 
** And raze to earth her battlements,* 

** For they are not the Lord's. 
** Till Zion's mournful daughter 

** 0*er kindred bones shadl tread, 
**And Hinnom*s vale of slaughter' 

** ShaU hide but half her dead ! *' 


ST. JER0M£*8 LOYE.^ 

Wno is the Maid my spirit seeks, 

Through cold reproof and slander's blight? 
Has she LoTe*s roses on her cheeks? 

Is hers an eye of this world's light? 
J7o— wan and sunk with midnight prayer 

Are the pale looks of her I lore; 
Or if, at times, a light be there. 

Its beam is kindled from above. 

I chose not her, my heart's elect. 

From those who seek their Maker's shrine 
In gems and garlands proudly dcck'd. 

As if themselves were things divine. 
No — Heaven but faintly warms the breast 

That beats beneath a broider'd veil; 




This world is all a fl< 

For man's illusion 

The smiles of Joj, th 

Deceitful shine, decei 

There's nothing tr 

And false the light o 

As fading hues of 

And Love and Hope 

Are blossoms gather 

There's nothing bi 

Poor wand'rers of a 

From wave to wa' 

And Fancy's flash, f 

Serve but to light tl 

There's notlung o 



** He hmitQi the broken In 

Oh, Thou! who dr 
How dark this w 

If^ when deceiv'd ai 
We could not fly 



liends* who in oar lanshme live, 
len winter comes, are flown; 
be who has bat tears to giyo, 
ist weep thoae tears alone. 
rhoa wilt heal that broken heart, 
lich, like the plants that throw 
' frm^rmnce from the wounded part, 
eathes sweetness out of woe. 

Q joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

id even the hope that threw 

3meiit*8 sparkle o*er our tears, 

dimmed and Tanish'd too, 

who would bear life*s stormj doom, 

d not thy Wmg of Lore 

e, brightly wafting through the gloom 

IT Peace-branch from above? 

1 sorrow, touch*d by Thee, grows bright 

'ith more than rapture's ray; 

Larknesa shows us worlds of light 

Te neTer saw bj day! 


(Aia«— ArnoH.) 

* not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 
life's h^py morning, bath hid from our eyes, 
n threw a blight o*er the spirit's young bloom, 
earth had pro&n'd what was bom for the 

I chill'd the fedr fountain, ere sorrow had 

stain'd it; 
ras frtnen in all the pure light of its course, 
bat sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has 

nnchain'd it, 
water that Eden where first was its source. 

not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 
liie*8 happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
n threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, 
earth had profan'd what was bom for the 

1 not for her, the young Bride of the Yale,* 
' gayest and lovehest, lost to us now, 
le*a early lustre had time to grow pale, 
1 the garland of Love was yet fresh on her 

vUsh I wTolt Umt after tht flnt, alludw to 

sad amlabla girl, the daughter of the late 

married in Aihbframe chnich, 

in a fcw weeks afler i tiie Mmnd 

ost of oar ean when vt 

iMl dulifliini dit nnc Mvwal 

Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying 

From this gloomy world, while its gloom was 

unknown — [dying. 

And the wild hjrmns she warbled so sweetly, in 

Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. 
Weep not for her — in her spring-time she flew 

To that land where the wings of the soul are 
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, 

liOoks radiantly down on the tears of this world. 



( Ata— STBTSKtOlf .) 

Thb turf shall be my fragrant shrine; 
My temple, Lord! that Arch of thine; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
And silent thoughts my only prayers.* 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves. 
When murm'ring homeward to their caves. 
Or when the stilhiess of the sea. 
Even more than music, breathes of Thee! 

I'll seek, by day, some plade unknown. 
All light and silence, like thy Throne; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night. 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look. 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame. 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

Fll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 

There's nothing bright, above, below. 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow. 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity. 

There's nothing dark, below, above. 
But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again! 

hTmiw. in a vdce eTcn clearer and iwceter than ofnal, and among 
them were toine from the present collection, ( partlcularljr, ** There'f 
nothing bright but Heaven,") whkh thla Terjr intcxeeting girl had 
often heard me ling during the lummcr. 


K 2 

is chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and 

brave — 
7 vain was their boast, for the Lokd hath but 

jid chariots and horsemen are sunk in the 

nd the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; 
LOTAH has triumph'd — his people are free! 

ise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord! 
word was our arrow, his breath was our 

sword. — 
o shall return to tell Egypt the story 
^ those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? 
the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of 

md all her brave thousands are dash'd in the 

ind the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; 
lOYAB has trinmph'd — his people are free! 



jks let me weep — there's bliss in tears, 

When he who sheds them inly feels 
^me ling'ring stain of early years 

Effac'd by every drop that steals, 
rhe fruitless showers of worldly woe 

Fall dark to earth and never rise; 
(Vliile tears that from repentance flow, 

In bright exhalement reach the skies. 
Go, let me weep. 

IjR&re me to sieh o'er hours that flew 

Come not, oh Lord, in th 

Thou wor'st on the M 


Come veil'd in those si 


Which Mercy flings o^ 

Lord, thou rememb're 

Stood fronting her Foe 
O'er Egypt thy pillar sh 

While Israel bask'd a] 

So, when the dread clou 
From us, in thy mere; 

While shrouded in terro: 
Oh, turn upon us the 



Were not the sinfi 
An offering wort 

When, o'er the fau 
She wept — and 

When, bringing ev 
Her day of luxui 

She o'er her Savioi 
The precious od< 

And wip'd them w 
Where once the 

Though now those 
Which shine for 



nd the sunk heart, that inly bled — 
HeaTcn's noUest sacrifioe? 

i€m, that h«8t slept in error's sleep, 
Oh, wooldst thoa wake in Hearen, 
ke Marj kneel, like "Mary weep, 
^ Love much ^ " and be forgiyen I 


CAsm.— HArmr.) 

■n in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, 
ef flowers are springing no mortal can sec, 
ep in mj soul the still prajer of devotion, 
ittrd hy the world, rises silent to Thee, 

Mr God! silent, to Thee — 

Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 

Q to the star of its worship, though clouded, 
t needle points faithfiillj o'er the dim sea, 
irk as I room, in this wintrj world shronded, 
i hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, 
Mj God! trembling, to Thee — 
Tme, fond, trembling, to Thee. 


( A>a — SrBTBuaoir. ) 

trr who shall see the glorious day 

When, thron*d on Zion's brow, 
The Lord shall rend that veil away 

Which hides the nations now?' 
Then earth no more beneath the fear 

Of his rebuke shall lie ;' 
rhen pAin shall cease, and every tear 

Be wip'd from ev*ry eye. * 

lien, Jndah, thou no more sbalt mourn 
Beneath the heathen's chain; 

tr rftu, vUefa are many, arc fbrsiven ; fbr the lored much.** 

liL 47. 

id he win dntroT.ln this moQntiiln.the foeeof the coTerinjr 

r aU people, and the Tail that it ipread over all nationa."— 

err. 7. 

w ictafce of hia people ihall be take awaj fhnn off all the 

id G«» ihAll wipe awaj all tcan from their eyei i . . . . 

ihell there be any mcMe pain."— /Ter. xxi. 4. 

id he thai nt npcm the throne said^ Behold, I make all 

ew," JErr. xxi. &. 

Id whtmoKwtr viU, let him take the water of life fteelj.*'— 

i. t7< 

I hevliMr deelaied that the Temple of Jeroaalem 
, it 1« natnral to conclude that the iViAvu, 
If a flffure in that structure, represented 

Ie aad IwumortaHtw which were brought to lieht bj the 
am Oft iVil■^ OS a Sacred EmUem^ bgr 

Thy days of splendour shall return. 

And all be new again.* 
The Fount of Life shall then be quaflfd 

In peace, by all who come; ' 
And every wind that blows shall waft 

Some long-lost exile home. 


(Aim.— Moa^ar.) 

Almiohtt God! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,' 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, 
And Love that " fadeth not away,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded all,* 
We bless the leaves that never fall. 
And trembling say, — "In Eden thus 
•* The Tree of Life may flower for us ! " 

When round thy Cherubs — smiling calm. 
Without their flames* — we wreathe the Palm. 
Oh God! we feel the emblem true — 
Thy Mercy is eternal too. 
Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes. 
That crown of Palm which never dies. 
Are but the types of Thee above — 
Eternal Liie, and Peace, and Love ! 


(Aia. — Mooaa.) 

Oh fair! oh purest! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove, 
And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 

* ** And he earred all the walls of the house round about with 
carred fl^ures of cherubims, and palm-trees, and open/oirers." — 
1 Kino*, vi. 29. 

* " When the passoTCr of the tabernacles was rercaled to the 
irrcat law^ver in the mount, then the cherutdc imaxes wliich 
appeared In that structure were no lonsrer surrounded bjr flaires i 
for the tabernacle was a type of the dispensation of mercy .by which 
JeaoTAH conflrmed his gracious covenant to redeem mankind." — 
Ohatrvatum* on the Palm. 

>* In St. Augrvstine's Treatise upon the adrantaffes of a solitary 
life, addressed to his sister, there is the followinsr fandAil passage, 
firom which, the reader will perceive, the thought of this sonic was 
taken : — ** Te. soror, nunquam nolo esse securam, sed timere 
•emperquc tuam fraicilitatero habere suspectam. ad instar pavidji 
oolumbiu fVequentare rivos aquarum et quasi in speculo accipitris 
cemere supervolantis efSffiem et cavere. Rivi aquarum sententiss 
milt teripturarum, quss de limpidissimo sapientisB foote pro- 
flnentci,'* ftc. *e.— De VU. Ertmit. adSvrortm. 



'ring hawk be iicnr, 

timorous bird awaj. 

be llioD this doTe. 
cs of God'b own book 
Ering, the cternul brook, 
mirror, night and daj-, 
Heaven's refloclcd ray ; — 
e Toea of virtue dnrc, 

a teak thee there, 
I how ditrk their shadows liti 
and ihnc, aud trembling llj ! 
I Ihal dove; 
10 thou thai dove 

■EL OF CHARiry. 

I BhrinE of GOD "cl 
p» of all moat good a 

So bright the Gospel brake 

Upon the aoub ufnien; 
So liesh the dresiming world atvoke 

In Truth's Ml radiance ihen- 

Beforo you Sun arose. 

Stars cinslor'd ihrongh the sky — 
But oh. how dim ! how pale were iha 

To His one burning eye! 

So Truth lent mnny a ray. 

To blpBs the Pagan's night- 
But, Li)(ii>, how weak, how cold wer 

To Thy Ooc glorioua Ligtill 


LoBD, who shall bear that dsr, so di 

Whtn we shnl! sec thy Angel, hoyVing 
This sinful world, with hand to hcav'n ex 

And heni' him sweat by Thee that Ti 

When Karth shall feel thy fast consumini 
Wbi). Mlglilv Go^^ oh .vho .slmll bear tha 




h me to loTO Thee, to feel what thou art, 
1 with the one lacred image, my heart 
li all other paisioDg diaown; 
le pore tempk, that shines apart, 
eiVd for Thy worship alone. 

nd in sorrow, through praise and through 


n let me, tiring and djing the same, 

TXy service bloom and decay — 

De lone altar, whose Totive flame 

tyJiti^an wasteth away. 

bom in this desert, and doom'd by my birth 
and afliiction, to darkness and dearth. 
Thee let my spirit rely — 
one rade dial, that, fi»*d on earth, 
U looks for its light from the sky. 


9", weep for him, the Man of God' — 
yonder Tale he sank to rest; 
none of earth can point the sod* 
hat flowers abore his sacred breast. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep! 

doctrine foil like Hearen's rain,' 

Bs words refreshed like Heaven's dew — 

ne*er shall Israel see again 
i ChieC to God and her so tme. 

Weep, children of Israel, weep! 

iber ye his parting gaze, 
lis &rewell song by Jordan's tide, 
len, fon of glory and of days, 
k saw the promis'd land — and died.* 
Weep, children of Israel, weep! 

: died he not as men who sink, 
lefore our eyes, to soulless clay; 
, chang'd to spirit, like a wink 
If mmmer lightning, pass'd away.* 
Weepb children of Israel, weep I 

«ri«Ml ««pt for Mom in the pUtau of 



( Aim, — BsxmorBM.) 

LiKB morning, when her early breesEO 
Breaks up the surface of the seas. 
That, in those furrows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light — 

Thy Grace can send its breathings o*er 
The Spirit, dark and lost before. 
And, fresh*ning all its depths, prepare 
For Truth divine to enter there. 

Till Darid touch*d his sacred lyre. 
In silence lay th* unbreathing wire; 
But when he swept its chords along. 
E'en Angels stoop'd to hear that song. 

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh Lobd, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord — 
Till, wak*d by Thee, its breath shaU rise 
In music, worthy of the skies! 


hitai te ft TkUcy in the lend of Moeb i . . . . 

«r hit wpulchw onto this dey ."— /Mri. v«r. 8. 

Aftll drop M tilt nia, my tptoeh ihaU dittU m 

JteiV, ItaaC. nodL t. 

Itas ta tMtt vtth thlM <v«t,hat thoo thelt 


(Air.— GtaMAjf.) 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish. 
Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; 

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your 
anguish — 
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal 

Joy of the desolate. Light of the straying, 
Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure. 

Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name say- 
** Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure." 

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us. 
What charm for aching hearts he can reveal. 

Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — 
** Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heaL" 

not go orer thither.**^I>eu(. zxxIt. 4. 

• ** At he wat goinv to embrtut Eltaaer tad JothoA, tnd vat 
ttni ditoooning with them, a cloud itood OTcr him on the lodden, 
and he dbappeared in a certain rallcy, although he wrote in the 
Holj Books that he died, which waa dome oat of fear, lett thejr 
•hoold venture to aajr that, beeautt of his extraordinary vlrtae, he 
It to Qod.**-^<Mepftii«, book It. cha^ Tlli. 






ihj light iflcomoi' 
Chat bBfoie outshone thcr, 
t lid dark and dumb — 

enlilei to thy ray, 

nook uf oarlh shall cluateri 

princca baste to pay 
g« lo thy rising luilre.' 

yes around, and its, 
lidds, o-« farthest waters. 
8 rcmni to thcc. 
irn thy hoiuc-sick dftnghiera." 

ch, from SGdian'g tents, 
ir trcaanna down before then ; 
g her gold and scents, 

ir aud sparkle o'er Ihcc.' 

hcfp that, like a clond.' 

IK aliscnt, «!ic» allow-d 

ij aliuoi ihiir ir.^ mill ill;; ;iiiiiuin. 

The sun no more shall make thee btizl 
Kor moon shall lend her lustre to tlu 

Bm God. Himsclt; shall be ihy Light, 
And flush tttmal glorj- thtoogh ihM 

Thy sun ahaU never moro go don^i; 

Shall ligiit thy everhiiting crown — 
Thy days of monming all are ended 

Sly own, elect, and nghtioua I^dt 
The BroQch, for eicr preen uid ven 

Which I have planted with this hand- 
Uve thou shftlt in life Eternal." 


Theiie is n bleak Desert, where dnylig 

Of wasting ils smile on a repion so drear 

What maf that desi-rt beT 
■Tia Life, eheerless Life, when! the few 





wre is a fiur Spirit, whose wand hath the spell 
» point where those waten in secrecj dwell — 

YHio maj that Spirit be ? 
Faith, humble Faith, who hath leam'd that, 

7 w&nd henda to wonhip, the Trath must be 



SorcE first Th j Word awak'd mj heart. 

Like new life dawning o'er me. 
Where'er I turn mine ejes. Thou art. 

All lig^t and lore before me. 
Nought else I feel, or hear or see — 

AU bonds of earth I sever — 
Thee, O God, and onlj Thee 

I liTe for, now and eror. 

Like him whose fetters dropp'd awaj 

When light shone o'er his prison,* 
Mr spirit, toach*d by Mercy's ray, 

Haith from her chains arisen. 
And shall a soul Thou bidst be free. 

Return to bondage ? — never I 
Thee, O God, and only Thee 

I bre for, now and ever. 


( A IB I — Roc— AP.) 

Hask ! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling 

EarUi's weary children to repose; 
Whik, round the couch of Nature felling. 

Gently the night*s soft curtains close. 
Soon o*cr a world, in sleep reclining, 

Hunberiess stars, through yonder dark, 
Shan look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 

Ihm oat the veils that hid the Ark. 

Gaard as, oh Thou, who never sleepest, 
TViB who^ in silence thrun'd above, 

Ikronghovt all time, unwearied, keepest 
Thy watch of Gloiy, Pow'r, and Love. 

i of tlw LoKo otOM upon him, and • 
■ad kb dwiM ftU offftom hli 

Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely. 
Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn. 

May, in their darkness, stilly, purely. 
Like ** scaled fountains," rest till dawn. 


(Am.— Hassb.) 

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 

Through what Elysium more bright 
Than fancy or hope ever painted. 

Walk yo in glory and light ? 
Who the same kingdom itdberits ? 

Breathes there a soul that may dare 
Look to that world of Spirits, 

Or hope to dwell with you there ? 

Sages! who, ev'n in exploring 

Nature through all her bright ways. 
Went, like the Seraphs, adonng. 

And veil'd your eyes in the blaze— > 
Martyrs ! who left for our reaping 

Truths you had sown in your blood — 
Sinners! whom long years of weeping 

ChastenM from evil to good — 

Maidens! who, like the young Crescent, 

Turning away your pale brows 
From earth, and the light of the Present, 

Look*d to your Heavenly Spouse — 
Say, through what region enchanted, 

Walk yc, in Heaven's sweet air? 
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted. 

Bright souls, to dwell with you tlierc ? 

— -♦- 



(Air— ArroNTMOot.) 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing, 

Whose theme is in the skies — 
Like morning larks, that sweeter sing 

The nearer Heav'n tliey rise. 

Though Love his magic lyre may tune. 
Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wrcatlies 

Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon. 
Whose madness in their odour breathes. 


^o victor, but tb* Eternal One, 
No tropbies but of Love I 


> forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

ad rejoice, for the day of onr Freedom is come! 
•om that time *, when the moon upon Ajalon*8 

Looking motionless down*, saw the kings of the 

I the presence of GrOD*8 mighty Champion, grow 

pale — 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth! 
o forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

nd rejoice, for the day of onr Freedom is come! 

•ring myrtle and palm — bring the boughs of 

each tree 
"hat's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.* 
'rom that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone. 
With a light not their own, through the Jordan's 

deep tide, 
Hiose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided 

on* — 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride! 
U) forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch 

^d rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! 

Eyes, this worm ci 

There, as wami, as I 

Shall meet us and 

When wearily wc wf 
Of earth and heav 

Beneath whose smile 
Blest, and thinkin 

Hope still lifts her n 
Pointing to th' etc 

Upon whose portal i 
Looking back for 

AUs, alas! — doth I 
Shall friendship— 

That bind a momen 
Be found again w 

Oh, if no other booi 
To keep our hear 

Who would not try 
Where all we lov 



" War against Baby] 
Be our banners thr 

Rise up, ye nations, ] 
" War against Ba 



Ml, that dweOfist on many waters,' 
daj of pcide is ended now; 
be 6mA cozw of Isnei'B daoghters 
■ks, like a thnnder-cload, over thy brow! 
War, war, war against Babjlonl 

brigbt the arrows, and gather the shields,* 
tbe standard of Gk>d on high; 

upon many wsten, .... thloo aid It 
t eiUiar the ihleUa let np 

-Jtr. IL U. 
mkit bdBlittte 

Swarm wc, like locosts, o*er all her fields, 
** Zion " oar watchword, and **Yengcance'* onr 
Wool woe! — the time of thy visitation* 

I& come, proud Land, thy doom is cast — 
And the black snrge of desolation 
Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last! 

War, war, war against Babylon! 

the itMKUrd npon the vallf of Babylon." >Jer. li. 11, 11. 

* ** Woe unto them I for their day le oome, the time of their 
TiiitiUion I "-Jer. 1. r. 



' return from the interesting visit to 
of which some account has been given 
tber Preface, I took up mj abode in 
md, being joined there bj my family, 
led to reside in that capital, or its en- 
till about the close of the year 1822. 
life, however sunny, is without its 
I could not escape, of course, my share 
b passing shadows; and this long es- 
cnent from our happy English home, 
3 which my family yearned even more 
than myself, had been caused by diffi- 
of a pecuniary nature, and to a large 
t, in which I had been involved by the 
rt of the (>crson who acted as my deputy 
small office I held at Bermuda. 
1 1 should ever have come to be chosen 
^h an employment seems one of those 
or anomalies of human destiny which 
all ordinary speculation ; and went far, 
, to realise Beaumarchais' notion of the 
f standard by which, too frequently, 
ration for place is regulated, — " II fallut 
rulsteur ; ce fut un danseur qui robtint." 
however much, in this instance, I suf- 
irom my want of schooling in matters of 
M, and more especially from my having 
;ed the ordinary precaution of requiring 
T from my deputy, I was more than 
^ for all such embarrassment, were it 
>n times as much, by the eager kindness 
hich friends pressed forward to help to 
: me from my difficulties. Could I ven- 
o name the persons, — and they were 
~who thus volunteered their aid, it 
be found they were all of them men 
characters enhanced such a service, and 
n all, the name and the act reflected 
r upon each other. 

uJl so far lift the veil in which such 
:e generosity seeks to shroud itself, as to 
ID briefly the manner in which one of 

tkt Mikelcd tdlttoo of IMl, IMI.3 

these kind friends, — himself possessing but 
limited means, — proposed to contribute to the ' 
object of releasing me from my embarrass- 
ments. After adverting, in his letter, to my 
misfortunes, and ^^ the noble way," as he was 
pleased to say, *^ in which I bore them,*' he 
adds, — " would it be very impertinent to say, 
that I have 500/. entirely at your disposal, to 
be paid whei^you like ; and as much more that 
I could advance, uponany reasonable security, 
payable in seven years ? ** The writer con«- 
cludes by apologising anxiously and delicately 
for " the liberty which he tlius takes,** assuring 
me that '^ he would not have made the oHer it 
he did not feel that ho would most readily 
accept the same assistance from me." I seleia 
this one instance from among the many which 
that trying event of my life enables nie to 
adduce, both on account of the deliberate 
feeling of manly regard which it manifests, 
and also from other considerations which it 
would be out of place here to mention, but 
which rendered so genuine a mark of friend- 
ship from such a quarter peculiarly touching 
and welcome to me. 

When such were the men who hastened to 
my aid in this emergency, I need hardly say, 
it was from no squeamish pride, — for the pride 
would have been in receiving favours from 
such hands, — that I came to the resolution of 
gratefully declining their offers, and endea- 
vouring to work out my deliverance by my 
own efforts. With a credit still fresh in the 
market of literature, and with publishers ready 
as ever to risk their thou!<ands on my name, I 
could not but feel that, however gratifying 
was the generous zeal of such friends, I should 
best show that I, in some degree, deserved 
their offers, by declining, under such circum- 
stances, to accept them. 

Meanwhile, an attachment had issued against 
me from the Court of Admiralty ; and as a 
negotiation was about to be opened with the 

p 2 

new, puiniul, and, in its first aspect, over- 
whelniing exigence to provide for ; and, cer- 
tainly, Parijt, swarming ihrougliout as it was, 
at that period, with rich, gay, and dissipated 
English, was, to a person of my social habits 
and multifarious acquaintance, the very worst 
possible place that could have been resorted to 
for even the semblance of a quiet or studious 
home. The only tranquil, and, therefore, to 
me, most precious portions of that period were 
the two summers passed by my family and 
myself with our kind Spanish friends, the 
V ******* Is, at their beautiful place, La 
Butte Coaslin, on the road up to Belle vue. 
There, in a cottage belonging toM.V*******l, 
and but a few steps from his house, we con- 
trived to conjure up an apparition of Sloper- 
ton* ; and I was able for some time to work 
with a feeling of comfort and home. I used 
frequently to pass the morning in rambling 
alone through the noble park of St. Cloud, with 
no apparatus for the work of authorship but 
my memorandum-book and pencils, forming 
sentences to run smooth and moulding verses 
into shape. In the evenings I generally joined 
with Madame V*******lin Italian duetts, 
or, with far more pleasure, sat as listener, 
while she sung to the Spanish guitar those 
sweet songs of her own country to which few 
voices could do such justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances connected 
with our summer visits to La Butte was the 

which 1 looked forv 
enfranchisement, oi 
as well as most Iik( 
my intended Life 
found that, at such 
living authorities f 
gain any interesting 
private life of one m 
epistolary correspoi 
impossible to procc 
task. Accordingly 
and Mr. Wilkie, w 
intended publisher! 
them of this tem()on 
Being thus baffle* 
few resources I hac 
of a Romance in ve 
or Epistles ; and wi 
story, on an Egypi 
much from that ' 
formed the grouni 
Afler labouring, hi 
at this experiment, 
pation, and distraci 
all the Nine Musi 
attempt in despair 
truth of that warn! 
verses of my own. 
Girl: — 

C»n haUow Ita h 
Like jroo. wiUi ■ 
Hb waag to th« i 



iMBd mjflelf enabled, bj that concentration 
tknigfat which retirement alone gives, to call 
around me aome of the sunniest of those 
stem acenes which have since been wel- 
■ed in India itself^ as almost native to its 

But, abortive as had now been all m j efforts 
woo the tthj spirit of Poesy, amidst such 
quiet scenes, the course of reading I found 
ae to pursue, on the subject of Egypt, was of 
I Mnall service in storing my mind with the 
rioos knowledge respecting that country, 
HA some years later I turned to account, in 
liliBg the story of the Epicurean, llic kind 
Aies, indeed, towards this object, whicii 
be of the most distinguished Frencli scholars 
livtlsts afibrded me, are still remembered 
f mt with thankfulness. Besides my old 
ifiaintance, Denon, whose drawings of 
then of some value, I frequently con- 

I found Mons. Fourier and Mons. 

no less prompt in placing books at my 

AVith Humboldt, also, who was at 

time in Paris, I had more than once some 

Ltion on the subject of Egypt, and 
iber his expressing himself in no very 
terms respecting the labours of the 
hndi scnoju in that country. 
I had now been foiled and frustrated in two 
tkise literary projects on which 1 had counted 
it sanguinely in the calculation of my re- 
Dees; ttn<l, though I had found sufBcicnt 
le to furnish my musical publisher with the 
^th Xumber of the Irish Meloilies, and also 
Tomber of the National Airs, these works 
ae, I knew, would yield but an insunicient 
I^T, compared with the demands so closely 
I threateningly hanging over nie. In this 
HTulty I called to mind a subject, —the 
itern allegory of the Loves of the Angels, — 
which I had, some years before, begun a 
se story, but in which, as a theme for poetry, 
wl now b€*en anticipated by Lord Byron, in 
! of the most sublime of his many poetical 
vdea, **" Heaven and Earth.'* Knowing how 
a I should be lost in the shadow into whicli 
gigantV a precursor would cast me, I had 
ieavoured, by a speed of composition which 
it Ikave astonished my habitually slow pen. 

to get the start of my noble friend in the 
time of publication, and thus afibrded myself 
the sole chance I could perhaps expect, under 
such unequal rivalry, of attracting to my work 
the attention of the public. In tliis humble 
speculation, however, I failed ; for both works, 
if I recollect right, made their appearance at 
the same time. 

In the meanwhile, the negotiation which had 
been entered into with the American claim- 
ants, for a reduction of the amount of their 
demands upon me, had continued to ** drag its 
slow length along;** nor was it till the month 
of September, 1822, that, by a letter from 
the Messrs. Longman, I received the welcome 
intelligence that the terms oficred, as our 
ultimatum, to the opposite party, had been at 
last accepted, and that I might now with safety 
return to England. I lost no time, of course, 
in availing myself of so welcome a privilege; 
and as all that remains now to be told of this 
trying episode in my past life may be comprised 
within a small compass, I shall trust to the 
patience of my readers for tolerating the reeifal. 

On arriving in England 1 learned, for the 
first time, — having been, till then, kept very 
much in darkness on the subject, — that, after 
a long and frequently interrupted course of 
negotiation, the amount of the claims of the 
American merchants had been reduced to the 
sum of one thousand guineas, and that towards 
the payment of this the uncle of my deputy, — 
a rich Londim merchant, — had been brought, 
with some ditfieulty, to contribute three hun- 
dred pounds. I was likewise inibrme<l, that a 
very dear and di.stinguisbed fiiend of mine, to 
whom, by his own desire, the state of the nego- 
tiation was, from time to time, reported, had, 
upon finding that there appeared, at last, some 
chance of an arrangement, and learning also the 
amount of the advance made by my deputy's 
relative, immediately cleposited in the hands of 
a banker the remaininir portion (750/.) of the 
required sum, to be there in readiness for the 
final settlement of the demand. 

Though still adhering to my original pur- 
pose of owing to my own exertions alom* the 
means of relief from these difficulties, I yet 
felt a pleasure in allowing this thoughtful de- 

P 3 

LAV * W> 

[ had not counted on my bank '''' in nnbibus " 
too sanijuinely ; ibr, on receiving my ])iib- 
lisliers" account, in the month of June following, 
1 Ibund 1000/. placed to my credit from the 
sale of the Loves of the Ansels, and 500/. from 
the F^les of the Holy Alliance. 

shed back upon it i 
noble author. T 
might well have bee 

Muncrs tttnt, ai 


The Eastern story of the angels Hanit and Marat \ 
and tlie Rabbinical fictions of the loves of Uzziel 
and Shamchazai', are the only sources to which I 
need refer, for the origin of Uie notion on which 
this Romance is founded. In addition to the 
fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also 
as capable of affording an allegorical medium, 
through which might be shadowed out (as I have 
endeavoured to do in the following stories) the 
fall of the Soul from its original purity * — the loss 
of light and happiness which it suffers, in the pur- 
suit of this world's perishable pleasures — and the 
punishments, both from conscience and Divine 
justice, with which impurity, pride, and presump- 
tuous inquiiy into the awful secrets of Heaven are 
sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Capid 
and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of 
** veiled meaning,*' and it has been my wish (how- 
ever I may have failed in the attempt) to com- 
municate to the following pages the same moral 

Amonjj the doctrines, or notions, derived by 

sublime is that whic 
of the soul, and its | 
material world, fron 
which it is 8uppose(f 
to which, after a I 
trial, it will return 
symbolical forms, n 
ail the Oriental the< 
sent the Soul as oi 
which fall away m 
element, and must 
hope to return. S< 
inquired of him, *' 
might be made to g 
them," he replied, 
'* But where are th 
asked. — **In the 

The mythology 
the same doctrine, 
light who strayed 1 
and obscured the 
^x!A*h tTiia material 



: It with the descent and ascent of the 
sodiac, considered Autumn as emblem- 
Soul's dedine towards darkness, and 
tcanancc of Sparing as its return to life 

the chief spirits of the Mahometan 
icfa aa Gabriel, the angel of Beyelations, 
irfaoin the last trumpet is to be sounded, 
i« the angel of death, there were also a 
f sobahem intelligences, of which tra- 

presenred the names, appointed to pre- 

the di£ferent stages, or ascents, into 
B celestial world was supposed to be 

Thus Kelail govems the fifth heaven ; 
lieU the presicUng spirit of the third, is 
[eyed in steadying the motions of the 
lich would be in a constant state of 
if this angel did not keep his foot planted 

: other miraculous interpositions in farour 
net, we find commemorated in the pages 
loran the appearance of five thousand 
his side at the battle of Bedr. 
icient Persians supposed that Ormnzd 
[ thirty angels to preside successiyelj 
days of the month, and twelve greater 
issume the govemment of the months 
» ; among whom Bahman (to whom 
committed the custody of all animals, 
in,) was the greatest. Mihr, the angel 

imed the lower hc«Ten with UxhU, and placed therein 
tgda." — Koran, dup. zU. 


of the 7th month, was also the spirit that watched 
over the afiairs of fViendship and lore ; — Chiir 
had the care of the disk of the sun ; — Mah was 
agent for the concerns of the moon; — Isphan- 
d£.rmaz (whom Cazvin calls the Spirit of the 
Earth) was the tutelar genius of good and virtuous 
women, &c &c. &c For all thu the reader may 
consult the 19th and 20th chapters of Hyde de 
Relig. Vet Fersarum, where the names and attri- 
butes of those daily and monthly angels are with 
much minuteness and erudition explained. It ap- 
pears, from the Zend-avesta, that the Persians had 
a certain office or prayer for every day of the 
month (addressed to the particular angel who pre- 
sided over it), which they called the Sirouz^. 

The Celestial Hierarchy of the Syrians, as 
described by Eircher, appears to be the most re- 
gularly graduated of any of these systems. In the 
sphere of the Moon they placed the angels, in that 
of Mercury the archangels, Venus and ihe Sun 
contained the Principalities and the Powers; — and 
so on to the summit of the planetary system, 
where in the sphere of Saturn, the Thrones had 
their station. Above this was the habitation of 
the Cherubim in the sphere of the fixed stars; and 
still higher, in the region of those stars whidi are 
so distant as to be imperceptible, the Seraphim, 
we are told, the most perfect of all celestial crea- 
tures, dwelt. 

The Sabeans also (as D'Herbelot tells us) had 
their classes of angels, to whom they prayed as 
mediators, or intercessors; and the Arabians wor- 
shipped female angels, whom they called Benad 
Haschc, or, Daughters of 6od. 

P 4 





world vM in iu pnatf, 

b itnn had j<in begun 
rj, and young Timo 
)nh-d«yn by the Biin ; 
bt of Nature'e ckwn 

and sunny lawn.— 

or Sin had drawn 
d bmiv'n hor curtiuii yH I 
nearer to the >kia 
days of crime nnd woe, 
, wilhout anrpcisc, 
nRelic eres 
Lis world below. 

n should profane, 
morning of die eartb! 
1, the faul eloJn 
hi'arlB of hciiv'iily Irioh — 
■uinnn's love shouM l.dl 

Till, yielding grado.! to Ibe wft 
And balmy evening's inftnence — 

The «itenc breathing of the flow^ 
The melting iight that hcam'd nbove. 

As on their firM, fond, erring hours. 
Eeeh told the Mory of his loie, 

ThB history of ihu hour nnblew. 

When, like a bird, from its high nen 

Won down by fascinating eyes. 

For Woman-, nmjlc ho lost the ikiei. 

The first who gpiJte was one. with look 

The least ccleBtial of the three — 
A Spirit ofUght moalci. that took 

Who, ev'n in henv'n. was not of those 
Nearest the Throne", bui held a place 

Far off, among those shininB rows 
That circb) out tlirougb endless epner. 

And o'tr «)kvv winL's llie IkHiI In.m Him 





Wliere Nfttore knows not night's ddaj, 
Bot spdngs to meet her bridegroom, Daj, 

UpoQ the threshold of the skies. 
One mom, on eaithlj mission sent,* 

And mid-waj choosing where to light, 
I Mw, from the bine element — 
Oh beantifo], but fiUal sight I 
One of earth's fiurest womankind. 
Half Teil*d from liew, or rather shrin'd 
In the clear crystal of a brook; 

Which, while it hid no single gleam 
Of her joong beauties, made them look 
More spirit-like, as they might seem 
Throogh the dim shadowing of a dream. 
Putting in wonder I kx>k*d on. 

While, plajfUly aroond her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone, 

^ moT'd in light of her own making. 
At length, as from that airy height 
I gently lower'd my breathless flight. 
The tremble of my wings all o'er 

(For through each plume I felt the thrill) 
Stanled her, as she reach'd the shore 

Of that small lake — her mirror still — 
Abore whose brink she stood, like snow 
Whm rosy with a sunset glow. 
Kerer shidl I forget those eyes ! — 
The bhame, the innocent surprise 
Of that bright face, when in the air 
Tj^ooking, she beheld me there. 
It leem'd as if each thought, and look. 

And motion, were that minute choin'd 
Fvt to the spot, such root she took. 
And — like a sunflower by a brook, 
I With face upturned — so still remained ! 

In pitT to the wondVing maid. 

Though loth from such a vision turning, 
Boiwoward I bent, beneath the shade 

Of my spread wings to hide the burning 
Of gUnces, which — I well could feel — 

For me, for her, too warmly shone; 
Bat, ere I could again unseal 
Mr restless eyes, or even steal 

One sidelong look, the maid was gone — 
Hid from me in the fore«t leaves. 

Sadden as when, in all her cbarros 
Of fillJ-blown hght, some cloud receives 

The Moon into his dusky arms. 

TIs not in words to tell the powV, 
The despotism that, from that hour, 


tb« term employed for an 
memenccr. Firiachtch, the Persian word for 
(mjt ITHcrbclot) from the verb Firbchtin, tOMnd. 
term, too, Mrlak, haa the Mune ■icniflcation. 

tffrcB bj tha Mahometans to the inftmal regiona, 
aaj, tha aaccl T)abhek preildea. 

•Thall. maatlooei in the Koran, the oommen- 
i i iwe dMhi—t <MMttwte or inuda, in whieh 

Passion held o'er me. Day and night 
I sought around each neighbouring spot; 

And, in the chase of this sweet light, 
My task, and heav'n, and all furgot; — 

All, but the one, sole, haunting dream 

Of her I saw in that bright stream. 

Nor was it long, ere by her side 

I found myself, whole happy days. 
Listening to words, whose music vied 

With our own Eden's seraph lays. 
When seraph lays aire warm'd by love. 
But, wanting that far, for above! — 
And looking into eyes where, blue 
And beautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shone 
A heaven, more worshipp'd than my own. 
Oh what, while I could hear and see 
Such words and looks, was heav'n to mc? 
Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
'Twas blessed, while she breath'd it too; 
Though dark the flow'rs, though dim the sky, 
Love lent them h'ght, while she was nigh. 
Throughout creation I but knew 
Two separate worlds — the one, that small, 

Belov'd, and consecrated spot 
Where Lea was — the other, all 

The dull, wide waste, where she was not ! 

But vain my suit, my madness vain; 
Though gladly, from lier eyes to pain 

One earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that hung 

Furl'd at my bock, and o'er the Fire 
In Gehim's' pit their fragments flunjjj; — 
'Twas hoi>elcs8 all — pure and unmov*d 

She stood, as lilies in the light 

Of the hot noon but look more white; — 
And though she lov'd nie, deeply lov'd, 
'Twas not as man, as mortal — no, 
Nothing of earth was in that glow — 
She lov*d mc but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant })laco 
She saw so oft in dreams — that Heaven, 

To which her prayers at nioni were sent, 
And on whose light she gazM at even. 
Wishing for wings, that she might go 
Out of tliis shadowy world Im^Iow, 

To that free, glorious element! 

Well I remember by her side 
Sitting at rosy even-tide, 

aeren different aorta of dnnna are to be paniahed. The flrst, 
called aehcnoetn, is for »inful MuiDulmant ; the second, I^adna, 
for Christian o(r<rnden ; the third, Ilothama, is appiiinted for 
Jews I and tlu; fourth and fifth, callc<I Sair and Sa<*ar. are destined 
to reoeivc tiic Saboeans and the wonhippers of fire : in the sixth, 
named Geiiim, those pa«:ans and idolaters who admit a plurality of 
gods are placed t witile into the ab>ss of Uic seventh, called Derk 
Aafal, or the Deepest, the hypecriticel eentera of tUl leUgkms are 

So innocent tlic inai«l, so free 

FnMii mortal taint in soul and frame, 
Wiioni 'twas mv crime — mv destiny — 
To love, ay, Kiirn for, with a Hame, 
To which earth's wildest fires are tame. 
Had you but seen her look, when first 
From my mad lips the' avowal hurst; 
Not anger'd — no — the feeling came 
From depths beyond mere anger's flame — 
It was a sorrow, calm as deep, 
A mournfulness that could not weep, 
So fill'd her heart was to the brink. 
So fix'd and froz'n with grief, to think 
That angel natures — that ev'n I, 
Whose love she clung to, as the tie 
Between her spirit and the sky — 
Should fall thus headlong from the height 
Of all that heav'n hath pore and bright! 

That very night — my heart had grown 

Impatient of its inward burning; 
The term, too, of my stay was flown. 
And the bright Watchers near the throne, 
Already, if a meteor shone 
Between them and this nether zone. 

Thought 'twas their herald's wing returning. 
Oft did the potent spell-word, giv'n 

To Envoys hither from the skies, 
To be pronounc'd, when back to heav'n 

It is tlieir time or wish to rise. 
Come to my lips that fatal day; 

And once, too, was so nearly spoken. 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heav'n began to play; — > 

When my heart fail'd — the spell was broken — 
The word unfinish'd died away. 
And my check'd plumes, ready to soar. 
Fell slack and hfeless as before. 

The shadow I 
Tlie first, that ev( 
Had cast upon itj 
ISlv heart was ma 

Of the wild re\ 
To all that franti* 

Of desp'rate ga 
Who never felt \u 
Can break out thi 
Sad mimicry of n 
Whose flashes coi 
Of inward passioi 
Struck out by dai 

Then, too, that jn 
And blessing of n 
That draught of s 
Phantoms of fair. 
Whose drops, like 

Upon the mists 
Bright'ning not oi 

But grasping H 
Then first the fata 

Its dews of darl 
Casting whate'er ( 

To my lost soul 
And filling it with 

Such fantasies a 
As, in the absence 

Haunt us for ev< 

That walk this < 

Now hear the rest! 

I sought her in 1 
Where late we oft. 
And the world hui 

At the same sile 


AVTACl **' 

■ /«•« «« I 



That was i Tirtne in that scene, 

A spefl of holiness around, 
Wliich, had vaj burning brain not been 

Thu madden'd, wocUd hare held me bound, 

Ai though I trod celestial ground. 
Et*! u it was, -with soul all flame. 

And lips that bnm'd in their own sighs, 
litood to gtie, with awe and shame — 
Tbe memorjr of Eden came 

FqH o'er me when I saw those ejes; 
And tboagfa too well each glance of mine 

To the pale, shrinking maiden prov'd 
Hot fiff, tlas, from aught divine, 
Aoc^ worthy of so pure a shrine. 

Wis the nild lore with which I lor'd. 
Yet nrast she, too, have seen — oh jes, 

Tu foothing but to think she saw 
Tbe deep» tme, soul-felt tenderness, 

Tbe homage of an Angel's awe 
To ber, a mortal, whom pure love 
TbrQ plac'd abore.him — far abore— 
And all that struggle to repress 
A (infill 8pirit*s m&d excess, 
^cb work*d within me at that hour, 

When, with a woice, where Passion shed 
All tbe deep sadness of her pow'r. 

Her melancholj power — I said, 
' Then be it so; if back to heaven 

* I must unloved, unpitied fly, 

* Without one blest memorial giv^ 
' To soothe me in that lonely sky; 

'One look, like those the young and fond 

* Give when they're parting— which would be, 

* Er*n in remembrance, far beyond 

* An heav'n hath left of bliss for me I 

' Oh, bnt to tee that head recline 
^ ' A minnte on this trembling arm, 
' And those mild eyes look up to mine, 
^ * Without a dread, a thought of harm ! 

* To meet, but once, the thrOling touch 

* Of lips too purely fond to fear me — 
' Or, if that boon be all too much, 

'Et'h thus to bring their fragrance near me! 

^*Jt shrink not so — a look — a word — 
^ * Gire them but kindly and I fly; 

^^'"*dr, see, my plumes have stirr'd, 
^ 'And tremble for their home on high. 
' Thus be our parting — clicek to cheek — 

* One minute's lapse will be forgiv*n, 
'And thou, the next, shalt hear me speak 

* Tbt ipell that plumes my wing for heaven ! ' 

^^ thus I spoke, the fearful maid, 
Of me, and of herself afraid, 
fitd shrinking stood, like flow'rs beneath 
The scorching of the south- wind's breath: 
But when I nam'd — aUis, too well, 

I BOW recall, though wQder'd then, -^ 

Instantly, when I nam'd the spell. 

Her brow, her eyes uprose again. 
And, with an eagerness, that spoke 
The sudden light that o'er her broke, 
* The spell, the spell! — oh, speak it now, 
* And I will bless thee!' she exclaim'd — 
Unknowing what I did, inflam'd. 
And lost already, on her brow 

I stamp*d one burning kiss, and nam'd 
The mj'stic word, till then ne'er told 
To living creature of earth's mould! 
Scarce was it said, when, quick as thought. 
Her lips from mine, like echo, caught 
The holy sound — her hands and eyea 
Were instant lifted to the skies, 
And thrice to heav'n she spoke it out 

With that triumphant look Faith wears. 
When not a cloud of fear or doubt, 
A vapour from this vale of tears. 
Between her and her God appears! 

That very moment her whole frame 
All bright and glorified became. 
And at her back I saw unclose 
Two wings, magnificent as those 

That sparkle around Alla's Throne, 
Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose 

Above me, in the moon-beam shone 
With a pure light, which — from its hue. 
Unknown upon this earth — I knew 
Was light from Eden, glist'ning through! 
Most holy vision! ne'er before 

Did aught so radiant — since the day 
When Eblis, in his downfal, bore 

The third of the bright stars away — 
Rise, in earth's beauty, to repair 
That loss of light and glory there! 

But did I tamely view her flight? 

Did not /, too, proclaim out thrice 
The pow'rful words that were, that night, — 
Oh ev'n for heaven too much delight! — 

Again to bring us, eyes to eyes. 

And soul to soul, in Paradise? 
I did — I spoke it o'er and o'er — 

I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain; 
For me the spell had pow'r no more. 

There scem'd around me some dark chain 
Which still, as I essay *d to soar, 

BafiSed, alas, each wild endeavour: 
Dead lay my wings, as they have lain 
Since that sad hour, and will remain — 

So wills the* offended God— for ever! 

It was to yonder star I trac'd 
Her journey up the* illumin'd waste— 
That isle in the blue firmament, 
To which so oft her fancy went 

In wishes and in dreams before. 
And which was now — such. Purity, 

sjui buuii inai passin|]: dream was gone; 
Farther and further oft' she slionc, 
Till lessen 'd to a point, as small 

As are those s[x?cks that yonder bum, — 
Those vivid drops of light, that fall 

The last from Day's exhausted urn. 
And when at length she merg'd, afar, 
Into her own immortal star, 
And when at length my straining sight 

Had canght her wing's last fading ray. 
That minute from my soul the light 

Of heay*n and love both passed away; 
And I forgot my home, my birth, 

Profan'd my spirit, sunk my brow, 
And revell'd m gross joys of earth. 

Till I became — what I am now!" 

The Spirit bow'd hiB head in shame; 

A shame, that of itself would tell — 
Were there not er'n those breaks of flame, 
Celestial, through his clouded frame — 

How grand the height from which he fell! 
That holy Shame, which ne'er forgets. 

The' nnblench'd renown it ns'd to wear ; 
Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets, 

To show her sunshine has been there. 

Once only, while the tale he told. 
Were his eyes lifted to behold 
That happy stainless star, where she 
Dwelt in her bower of purity I 
One minute did he look, and then — 
As though he felt some deadly pain 
From its sweet light through heart and 
brain — 
Shrunk back, and ncTer look'd again. 

'Twixt whom anc 
And wide, aa v 

To reach from an 
The vague shoi 

'Twas RcBi, in w 
Slept the dim ligl 
Whose voice, thoi 

Like echoes, in 
When first awak'i 

And when he s 

Smile erer shoi 
Of moonlight rain 
The sunny life, th 
Ev'n o'er his prid< 
A soft'ning shade 
And though at tii 

The kindlings c 
Short was the fitfi 
Like the last flashi 

Seen through sc 

Such was the Ang 

The silence that 
When he, the Spir 

Clos'd the sad h 
And, while a sacrc 

For many a day 
Beautiful, as in da 
And not those elo( 

But every fcatui 
Thus his eventful i 




rt achiere, ere he could set 
ieal upon the world, as done — 
thai last perfection rise, 
crowning of creation's birth, 
'mid the worship and surprise 
ling angels. Woman's eyes 
; open'd upon heav'n and earth; 
om their hds a thrill was sent, 
tiToo^ each living spirit went, 
nt light through the fimuunentl 

>u forget how gradual stole 
e«h-awaken'd breath of soul 
•^oot her perfect form — which seem'd 
>w transparent, as there beam'd 
Uwn of Mind within, and caught 
i>Teliness from each new thought? 
is o'er summer seas we trace' 
progress of the noontide air, 
ing its bright and silent face 
minute into some new grace, 
i varying heav'n's reflections there — 
:e the light of ev'ning, stealing 
r fome &ir temple, which all day 
slept in shadow, slow revealing 
several beauties, ray by ray, 
shines out, a thing to bless, 
U of light and loveliness. 

5u forget her blush, when round 

gh Eden's lone, enchanted ground 

ok'd, and saw, the sea — the skies — 

I heard die rush of many a wing, 

tiigh behests then vanishing; 

Bw the last few angel eyes, 

ng'ring — mine among the rest, — 

ant leaving scenes so blest? 

that miraculous hour, the fate 

his new, glorious Being dwelt 

er, with a spell- like weight, 

my spirit — early, late, 

ate'er I did, or dream'd, or felt, 

iought of what might yet befnll 

natchless creature mix'd with all. — 

te alone, but her whole race 

ongh ages yet to come — whate'cr 

cminine, and fond, and fair, 

1 spring from that pure mind and face, 

wak'd my soul's intensest care; 

forms, souls, feelings, still to me 

on's strangest mystery 1 

on fkit IndnUUble qm Im plupart det andens phllo- 
Oiald^ciu. Kiit QrMS, nont oat domi^ let utrcs ontnme 
Bt ivatcaa que lea MtxM, qui doiu telaJrent, nVtoient 
hart, oa mfme Ics iwrires, des lotelUgenoes qui let con- 
Poar lea CAort, eela te lit partoat i on n'a qn'ourrir 
k^iDeott" ae. kc — Mimoirt Hittoriqmtt tur It SabiiMnu, 

inttlMilanai«eltlicripirito«rtlM Tehielw of vlrita, 
■ to an ttt nUgkM and hMMlM of tte SMt. 

It was my doom — ev'n from the first. 
When witnessing the primal burst 
Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise 
Those bright creations in the skies,— 
Those worlds instinct with life and light, 
Which man, remote, but sees by niglo, — 
It was my doom still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the time 
Held all my soul, enchain'd, enchanted. 
And left me not a thought, a dream, 
A word, but on that only theme! 

The wish to know — that endless thirst. 

Which ev'n by quenching is awuk'd. 
And which becomes or blest or curst. 

As is the fount whereat 'tis slak'd — 
Still urg'd mo onward, with desire 
Insatiate, to explore, inquire — 
Whate'er the wondrous things might be, 
That wak'd each new idolatry — 

Their cause, aim, source,whence-ever sprung — 
Their inmost pow'rs, as though for me 

Existence on that knowledge hung. 

Oh what a vision were the stars, 

When first I saw them bum on high. 
Boiling along, like living cars 

Of light, for gods to journey by ! • 
They were my heart's first passion — days 
And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
Have I hung floating, till each sense 
Seem'd full of their bright influence. 
Innocent joy ! alas, how much 

Of misery had I shunn*d below, 
Could I have still liv'd blest with such; 
Nor, proud and restless, bum'd to know 
The knowledge that brings guilt and woe. 
Often — so much I lov'd to trace 
The secrets of this starry race — 
Have I at mom and evening run 
Along the lines of radiance spun 
Like webs, between them and the sun, 
Untvdsting all the tangled ties 
Of light into their different dyes — 
Then fleetly wing'd I otF, in quest 
Of those, the farthest, loneliest. 
That watch, like winking sentinels,' 
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells; 
And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 
Their track through that grand solitude, 

hat given the nnroet and itationt of the teven archangeli. who 
were by the CabaU of the Jew* diatribated through tlie plaueti. 

s According to the cotmogonj of the ancient Pertiant, there wen 
four atan tet at tentlncla in the four quarten of the heavent, to 
watch oTer the other fixed start, and tuperintend the planeti in 
their oourte. The namct of these four tenUncl ttart are, acoording 
to the Boondceh, Taiehter, for the east i Sateyia, fSor the weft ; 
Teaaad, for the tovth i aad Haftonuif , for the north. 


tuniij nil sad ench 
soul within their railiuiee dwelt, 
ng their ewfcl lighl wert speech, 
:j might tell mc oil ttiey felt. 

:o passtonate my chose 
vsplcndent heirs uf spucu, 
'jllow — leslnniy 
^pe mc in tho futhcsl night — 
n Comet, on his way 
it dietaal shrines of li^hl, 
1 rtmembtr how I sung 
Btigly, when oti my Kight 
■rldn uf stars, nil frvtli and yoan);, 
' -D of iliirluieas, Bprunj;! 

\s my pore ambition then, 
'cs! transport, night onil mom, 
is newer world of men, 
It most fair of stars was bom 
in fatal hour, saw rise 
.0 flow'rsuf ParadiicI 
lonh mj nature all was chan^'d. 
'art, soul, senses IDm'd below; 

who but 80 lately rang'd 
li-onderful expause. nhera glow 

n world),— jret found his mind 

IS range confin'd, — ■ 
le humblest, i, 

■e Woi 


Of Ml mueh loielioew, and lee 
What souls bclong'd to Kiich brig! 

Whether, sa snn-bcsms find lb 
Inio (he gem that hidden lies. 

Those looks could inward turn 

And make tho soul as bright hi 
All tills impell'd my ansious chat 

And Btill the more I uw and k 
Of Woman's fond, weak, eonqn^ 

The" inicnscr still mj wonder [ 

1 had behelrl their Finit, their Ev 

Bom in that splendid Ftiradi«e 
Which sprung there solely to reo 

Thi.< first light of her waking e; 
I had seen purest angelx leaa 

In worship o'er her from above 
And man^ — oh ye^ had envying 

Proud maa iiosaess'd of oU her 

I saw tbeir happiness, so briot 

So exquisiw\ ^ her error, loo. 
That easy trust, that prompt belli 
In what the warm bean wisbei 
That fnith in words, when kindly 
By which the whole fond ws is L 
Mingled with — what I durst not 
For 'tis my own — that zeal to 
Sad. fatal xea^ so sure of woe; 



Sbe, vfao brought death into the world. 

There stood before him, with the light 

Oftfadr lost Pandiae still bright 
Upon thote siomj lockt, that currd 
Bon her white shoulders to her feet-^ 
Sobeaotifiil in form, so sweet 
h bent snd foioe, as to redeem 

The loMi the death of all things dear, 
Euepc henelf — and make it seem 

Life, endless Life, while she was near! 
Coald I hdp wond'ring at a creatore, 

Thu eiided roond with spells so strong — 
ODQ^toidiose efrj thought, word, feature, 

b ysj and woe, throngh right and wrong, 
Such sweet omnipotence hearen g^ve. 
To bkn or rain, cnrse or sare? 

Kcr did the marvel cease with her — 

Kev Eres in all her daughters came, 
As itroog to charm, as we^ to err. 
As eoio of man through praise and blame, 
White'er they brought hun, pride or shame. 
He still the' unreasoning worshipper, 
Andthej, throughout all time, the same, 
fiachantresses of soul and frame, 
Ittowlioie hands, from first to last, 
T^ world with all its destinies, 
^^woiedly by heay^ seems cast. 

To sare or ruin, as they please ! 
Ohi "kii not to be told how long, 
flow restlessly I sigh'd to find 
' SoBM <me, from out that witching throng. 
Some abstract of the form and mind 
Of tbe idiole matchless sex, from which 

In my own arms beheld, possest, 

I might kam all the pow'rs to witch. 

To warm, and (if my fate unblest 

TFon&f hare it) ruin, of the rest! 

Into whose inward soul and sense 

I ndgfat descend, as doth the bee 
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence 

Bifle, in all its purity, 
Tbe prime, the quintessence, the whole 
Of woodrons Woman's frame and soul ! 

At length, my burning wish, my prayer — 
CFor such — oh what will tongues not dare. 
When hearts go wrong ? — this lip preferred) — 
At length my ominous prayer was heard — 
But whether heard in heaven or hell. 
Listen — aad thou wilt know too welL 

a maid, of all who move 

Like visions o'er this orb, most fit 
To be a bright young angel's love. 

Herself so bright, so exquisite! 
The pride, too^ of her step, as light 

Akng die' unconscious earth she went, 
Beena'd that of one, bom with a right 

To walk fome heavenlier element. 

And tread in places where her feet 
A star at ev'ry step should meet. 
'Twas not alone that loveliness 

By which the wilder'd sense is caught-* 
Of lips, whose very breath could bless; 

Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought 

But luminous escapes of thought; 
Of tjes that, when by anger stirr'd. 
Were fire itself, but, at a word 

Of tenderness, all soft became 
As though they could, like the sun's bird, 

Dissolve away in their own flame — 
Of form, as pliant as the shoots 

Of a young tree, in vernal flower; 
Tet round and glowing as the fruits. 

That drop from it in summer's hour; — 
'Twas not alone this loveliness 

That falls to loveliest women's share, 

Though, even here, her form could spare 
From its own beauty's rich excess 

Enough to make ev'n them more fair — 
But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear 
Through her whole frame — the soul, still near. 
To light each charm, yet independent 

Of what it lighted, as the sun 
That shines on flowers, would be resplendent 

Were there no flowers to shine upon — 
'Twas this, all this, in one combin'd — 

The' unnumber'd looks and arts that form 
The glory of young woman-kind, 

Taken, in their i>erfection, warm. 

Ere time had chill'd a single charm. 
And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind, 

As gave to beauties, that might be 
Too sensual else, too unrefin'd. 

The impress of Divinity ! 

'Twas this — a union, which the hand 

Of Nature kept for her alone. 
Of everything most playful, bland. 
Voluptuous, spiritual, grand, 

In angcl-naturcs and her own — 
Oh this it was that drew me nigh 
One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I, 
A bright twin-sister from on high — 
One, in whose love, I felt, were given 

The mix'd delights of either sphere. 
All that the spirit seeks in heaven. 

And all the senses bum for here. 

Had we — but hold — hear every part 

Of our sad tale — spite of the pain 
Bemembrance gives, when the fix'd dart 

Is stirr'd thus in the wound again — 
Hear every step, so full of bliss. 

And yet so ruinous, that led 
Down to the last, dark precipice, 

Where perish'd both — the fiillen, the deadi 


anght mj aighl, 
—day mid [light 

St miuingB aval, 
Vek cmti thought that la/, 
hiti her hciun, as clear 
thin hrooka appear; 
e the couiJlleBH tilings 
ing hc.irtK for aver t^luiring, 
iid imaginings, 
09 j-ct no ohject knowing — 
ijwa, that come when bid, 
I joys that end in weeping) 
Biuang pure thoughts hid, 
• under flowerets aleeping: — 
I feolingB — fell where'er 
e bcuing — I mw thero 
K-qpirings high — beyond 
bIi in soul BO fund — 
■it, vaguu future given ; 
mcl grand, whose pla^i 

tag lets is 

11 heaven 

11 funn so fair, 

when Etb 
it of Ellen blest. 

The phantom, who thos came and neni. 

To madden curiosity — 
When by snch viurious arts I fbunil 
Her fancy to its utmost Konad. 
One nigbl — 'twaa in a holy 6pot, 
Which Bhc for prayer had chcHcD — a gi 
or purest marblei, built beloir 
Mer garden beds, through whid a glow 
Fraiu lamps inviaihle then stole. 

Brightly psrvading alt the place — 

There, at her altar, while she knelt. 
And all that woman ever fell. 

When God and man both daim'd ho i 
Every warm thought, that ci-er dwelt. 
Like auauDcr clonds, 'twist earth and 
Too pure to fall, too gross to riae. 
Spoke in her gvitiireii, tooes, and eyei 
Then, as lb« mystic light's soft ray 
Grew softer still, aa thoagh in ray 
Was breath'd from her, I heard ber taj ; 

' (Jh idol of my dreamsl whale'er 
■ Thj- nature be — hiinian, dii-ine, 

■ Or but half beav'nly— still too feir, 
' Too heavenly to be evor mine 1 



or God, who hold'st the hook 
towledge spread heneath thine eye, 
% with thee, hut one hright look 
its leaTes, and let me die! 

se ethereal wings, whose way 
through an element, so fraught 
Ting Mind, that, as thej play, 
r eveiy movement is a thought! 

t bright, wreathed hair, between 
<^ sunny clasters the sweet wind 
adise Ro late hath been, 
left its fragrant soul behind! 

«e impassion'd eyes, that melt 
ir light into the inmost heart; 
onset in the waters, felt 
molten fire through every part — 

nplore thee, oh most bright 
I worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er 
iking, wondering eyes this night, 
s one blest night — I ask no morel' 

t«d. breathless, as she said 
jorning words, her languid head 
be altar's steps she cast, 
ut brain-throb were its last — 

tftH by the breathing, nigh, 

that echoed back her sigh, 

hiT brow again she raised ; 

tbcre, juht lighted on the shrine, 

me — not as I had blaz'd 

Dd her, full of light dirinc, 

ate dreams, but soften 'd down 

>re mortal grace ; — my crown 

^ too radiant for this world, 

uuif^g on yon starry steep; 

p shut up, like banners furl'd, 

I Peace hath put their pomp to sleep ; 

e aatumnal clouds, that keep 

,'htnings sheath *d, rather tlian mar 

■ning hour of some young star; 

hing left, but wliat bcscem'd 

icccisible, though glorious mate 

il woman — whose eyes beam'd 

ipon hers, as pasi^ionate; 

tady heart brought flame for flame, 

n, whose madness was the same; 

►se soul lost, in that one hour, 

r and for her love — oh more 

II 's light than ev'n the power 

v'n it:ielf could now restore! 

that hour!"- 

The Spirit here 
i in his utterance, as if words 
r beneath the wild career 
then rushing thoughts — like chords, 

Midway in some enthusiast's song, 
Breaking beneath a touch too strong; 
While the clench'd hand upon the brow 
Told how remembrance throbb'd there now! 
But soon 'twas o'er — that casual blaze 
From the sunk fire of other days— 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 

Had been too fierce to be relum'd 
Soon pass'd away, and the youth, turning 

To his bright listeners, thus resum'd: — 

** Days, months elaps'd, and, though what most 

On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all — 
Yet — was I happy? God, thou know'st, 
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast. 

What happiness is theirs, who fall! 
*Twas bitterest anguish — made more keen 
Ev'n by the love, the bliss, between 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell . 

In agonising cross-light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 

In purgatory ' catch of heaven! 
The only feeling that to me 

Seem'd joy — or rather my sole rest 
From aching misery — was to see 

My young, proud, blooming Lilib blest. 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul — whom yet its thirst 
Fer\-idly panted after still. 

And found the charm frcah as at first — 
To see her hapi)y — to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play'd 
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd. 

On her, my Moon, whose light I made. 

And whose soul worshipp'd even my shade — 
This was, I own, enjoyment — this 
My sole, last lingering glimi)se of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature ! — proud, 

Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs 
In woman's heart, nor would liuvc bow'd 

That beautiful young brow of hers 
To aught beneath the First above, 
So high she dcem'd her Cherub's love! 

Then, too, that passion, hourly growing 

Stronger and stronj;cr — to which even 
Her love, at times, gave way — of knowing 

Evcr}'thing stranjrc in earth and heaven; 
Kot only all that, full revcal'd. 

The' eternal Alla loves to show. 
But all that He hath wisely scal'd 

In darkness, for man not to know — 

I Called by the MiiRSulmKn* At Araf — a »ort of wall or partition 
vhich, according to tlie 7th nimpter of tlie Koran, wparatet bell 
from paradise, and where thrj, who liavv not merit* fufliciunt to 
L'aid them iiiiniedidte admittnnit: into heiivcn, are mpiKMcd to 
Ktand f ir a certain pi-riod, altv natcl.v tantaliKti and tormentt-d by 
the fiiThta that are on vither side prt-wnted to them. 

Manet, who borrowed in many instance* fh>m the Platoniata, 
placed bis purgatoriea, or places of purifleatkni, in the Son and 
Mood.— Btaiuobrt, lir. Ui. chap. S. 





desire, alu, ill-starr'd 
ital la it was, I eought 
encli minute, and unbsrr'd 
¥iitiiui of wonder on her ihouchE, 

till then, had \H tUcir light 
nony moital'iBi)>lil! 
lep eaith— beneath the Bca — 

;h csTM of fire — through wilds of air — 

r ileepiiig Mystery 

iread her cmlain, we were there — 

beside na, as wo went, 

in eacli new element. 

It was Nature tnnght lo laj 
ealth of aU her kinedoms down 
m's worshipped feet, and any, 
t creature, this is all thino own!" 

s deep eenlre brought to Ufhl, 

young beauty with their ray. 
], the pearl from out ill ihell 

tly, ia Ihe unless tea, 

e a spirit, forc'd to dweU 
D nn lovely) was Bet IVcc, 

d the Deck of woman threw 

lent and borrow'd loo. 
rdidthismnid— whateVr 

Dwells far away from human »mu 

Wrappd in its own inloUigcnoe- 

FWim whieh all rital spirii mai 
AU breath of Lift, where'er tis »p 

Through men or uigcU, tlowen 
The workings of the' Almighty K 
When fii^t o'er Chaoa ho dwign'd 
The outlines of this world; and Hi 

Thai depth of darUess— like I 
Call'd out of rain-clonds, boe by 1 

So* the grand, gradual pictaro 
The covenant with Unman kind 

By Alla made •— tbe chains o 
He round himwlf and theH haih 

Till good from evil, lore from 1 
Shall be work-d out through nu a 
And Fnte shall Ioosr her iron cha 
And all be free, be bright againl 

And some, ev'n more obscure, ] 
And wUdering to the mind thau il 

Which — far as woman's thougbi 
Or a faU'n, oullnw-d spirit reach- 
She dar-d to leant, and I to tcwA. 
Till— flUM with such nneartidj lo 

And iinnL-iiiiL- tlw m.rt li-hl il 




t Imperfect dawn, or fight' 
ng from the Zodiac's signs, 
lakes the donbtiiil east half bright, 
: the leal morning shinesi 

I some moons of bliss go bj — 

as to her, who saw but lore 

iwledge throoghoot earth and sky; 

le ensmonr'd sool and eye, 

1 — as is the son on high — 

ight of all bek>w, above, 

rit of sea, and land, and air, 

iafliience. felt everjwhere, 

firam its centre, ho' own heart, 

the world's extremest part; 

fanra^ diat world her reinless mind 

now career'd so hst and far, 

irth itself seem'd left behind, 

t proud fSanc J, unconfin'd, 

ftdj saw Hearen's gates ajar! 

enthusiast! still, oh, still 

fmj own heart's mortal chill, 

fduit double-fronted sorrow, 

ik looks at once before and back, 

t the yesterday, the morrow, 

sees both comfortless, both black — 

f an this, I could have still 

delight forgot all iU; 

■ain would not be forgot, 

t hiTe borne and murmured not. 

thoughts of an offended heaven, 

nfolnees, indiich I — ev'n I, 

down its steep most headlong driven^ 

Dew could never be forgiven, 

e o'er me with an agony 

1 all reach of mortal woe — 

ire kept for those who know, 

toay thing, and — worst of all — 

aad love Virtue while they fall! 

ben, her presence had the power 

ooche, to warm — nay, ev'n to bless — 

bliss could graft its flower, 

tern so fnU of bitterness — 

ben her glorious smile to me 

Ight warmth and radiance, if not balm ; 

oonlij^ o'er a troubled sea, 

htening the storm it cannot calm. 

K when that disheartening fear, 
ii aU who love, beneath yon sky, 
hen they gaze on what is dear — 
dreadfiil uought that it must die! 
isolating thought, which comes 
»'s ha^est hours and homes; 

r.sHw n as ths opinlQa of the Mahometan 
■n floali. aoi only of men and of animaU, Urine ciUier 
ttt na, taiS of ttft anstla alio, mnat ntoMMttfly taata 

Whose melancholy boding flings 
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things, 
Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads. 
The grave beneath young lovers' heads! 
This fear, so sad to all — to me 

Most full of sadness, from the thought 
That I must still live on \ when she 
Would, like the snow that on the sea 

Fell yesterday, in vain be sought; 
That heaven to me this final sefd 

Of all earth's sorrow would deny. 
And I eternally must feel 

The death-pang, without power to die! 
Ev'n this, her fond endearments — fond 
As ever cherish'd the sweet bond 
'Twixt heart and heart — could charm away; 
Before her look no clouds would stay. 
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone. 
Their darkness put a glory on! 
But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong. 
The guilty, to be happy long; 
And she, too, now, had sunk within 
The shadow of her tempter's sin. 
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence 
To snatch the fated victim thence! 

Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in your hearts, weep it for me. 

*Twas on the evening of a day, 
Which we in love had dreamt away; 
In that same garden, where — the pride 
Of seraph splendour laid aside. 
And those wings furl'd, whose open b'ght 
For mortal gaze were else too bright — 
I first had stood before her sight, 
And found myself — oh, ecstasy. 

Which ev'n in pain I ne'er forget— 
Worshipp'd as only God should be. 

And lov'd as never man was yet! 
In that same garden were we now, 

Thoughtfully side by side reclining. 
Her eyes tum'd upward, and her brow 

With its own sUent fiancies shining. 

It was an evening bright and still 

As ever blush'd on wave or bower 
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill 

Could happen in so sweet an hour. 
Yet, I remember, both grew sad 

In looking at that light — even she. 
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad. 

Felt the still hour's solemnity, 
And thought she saw, in that repose. 

The death-hour not alone of light. 
But of this whole fair world — the dose 

Of all things beautiful and bright — 
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray 
Nature herself died calm away! 

Q 2 



t ihough Bomo livelier ihongbl 

J bor tanty cauel«, 

pon mo bcr dart eyes, 

to that fuU ibapo 

a joy, reproach, eurprise, 

ly us oil my head 

uid rejwd, imil'd and uuil : — 

night, a dream of ti™, 

ng those divina oon, given, 

lioB wun'sl, tbyse^ from heaTan. 

rich wreath wm on tliy brow, 
wings, lying darkly now, 
lean round thtw Ua^'d and pUiy'd. 

i'« aU bright, M ia those dreams, 
t wafted iiom abore: 
arth'a wormth with heaven's beams, 
ire to adore and lore. 

clt ihae draw mc ikmlt 

uro heart, wboro, fondly plac'd, 

ibin the atmospbere 
axhaling light Embrac'd; 

' Too long and ofl Tve look'd opoo 

■ Those ardent cjet. intense ey'a II 
' Too near the Btan themstlri-s hare 

' Then doubi iHB not — oh, who can 

■ But tbni Ibis dream may yet com 
' And ray blest spirit drink ibr ray, 

■ Till it becomes all henranly too? 

• Let me lUs once bnt feel tbe flama 
' Of those spread wing*! tbe verv p 

' Will changi< my natuTB. and this' In 
* By iha mere loucli be deified 1- 

Thna spoke the maid, as one, not m"! 
To bo by earib or heaven reCiia'd — 
As one. who knew her influence o'er 

All creatures, whatsoe'er they wen 
And, thoagh to heaven she couJd not 

At least woiUd bring down heaven 

Uitlodidahe.alas, orl — 

Even I, whose soul, bnl half-wsy y 
Iramerg'd in sin'a obacnrity 
Was as tl.e carlb wbereon wo lie. 

O'er half whose diik the sun is set 
Lilllc did we foresee the taie, 

ThR dr-^adfiit — how can il be told 




B the mooltings of heaven's Dove,' — 
rmlesa, though so iiill of brightness, 
r brow's wreath, that it would shake 
f its flowers each downj flake 
»te, onmelted, fair, 
ol as thej had lighted there. 

'n with LiUB — had I not 
ind her sleep all radiant beam*d, 
)*er her slumbers, nor forgot 
i her eje-lids, as she dream*d? 
Et, St mom, from that repose, 
she not wak*d, unscath'd and bright, 
h the pure, unconscious rose, 
ugh bj the fire-flj kiss*d all night ? 

lATing — as, alas, deceived 

' tin's blindness, I believed — 

ue for dread, and those dark eyes 

r fix'd upon me, eagerlj 

togh the' unlocking of the skies 

waited but a sign from me — 

odd I pause ? how ev'n let fall 

ord, a whisper that could stir 

proud heart a doubt, that all 

Might from heaven bclong*d to her? 

rom her side I rose, while she 

5C, too, mutely, tremblingly, 

t with fear — all hope, and pride, 

waited for the awful boon, 

riestesses, at eventide, 

ihing the rise of the full moon, 

light, when once its orb hath shone, 

nsdden them to look upon I 

DT glories, the bright crown, 
when I last from heaven came down, 
ft behind me, in yon star 
lines from out those clouds afar, — 
relic sad, 'tis treasur'd yet, 
wnfallen angel's coronet ! — 
DT glories, this alone 
wanting : — but the' illumin'd brow, 
inn-bright locks, the eyes that now 
to's spell added to their own, 
'ttr'd a light till then unknown ; — 
nnfblded wings, that, in their play, 
strides bright as Alla's throne; 
conld bring of heaven's array, 
lat rich panoply of charms 
ub moves in, on the day 
)C8t pomp, I now put on ; 
^ud that in her eyes I shone 
glorious, glided to her arms ; 

, or piteoB whldi attended MAhom«t u hit Familiar, 
MBtly Men to whi»per into hit ear. wa«, if I recollect 
bat «l«ei number of animals (including also the ant 
«doc of the Seven Sleeper*. &c.) which were thought 
t worthjr of admiwion into Paradise. 
ruu hmrt a tradition that Mahomet wa« nyed (when 
If fa a CST« in Mount Shur) by hii purracn finding 
Ctw CMW eai«cndlv»«pider'iv«b,aiid»neattmilt 

Which still (though, at a sight so splendid. 

Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 
Sunk on her breast,) were wide extended 

To clasp the form she durst not see !* * 
Great Heaven I how could thy vengeance light 
So bitterly on one so bright? 
How could the hand, that gave such charms, 
Blast them again, in love's own arms? 
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame 

When — oh most horrible I — I felt 
That every spark of that pure flame — 

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt — 
Was now, by my transgression, tum'd 
Into gross, earthly fire, which bum'd, 
Bum'd all it touch'd, as fast as eye 

Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes; 
Till there — oh God, I stiU ask why 
Such doom was hers? — I saw her lie 

Blackening within my arms to ashes! 
That brow, a glory but to see — 

Those lips, whose touch was what the first 
Fresh cup of immortality 

Is to a new-made angel's thirst L 
Those clasping arms, within whose round — 
My heart's horizon — the whole bound 
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found! 
Which, even in this dread moment, fond 

As when they first were round me cast> 
Loos'd not in death the fatal bond. 

But, burning, held mo to the last! 
All, all, that, but that mom, had seem'd 
As if Love's self there brcath'd and beam'd» 
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay, 
Withering in agony away^ 
And mine, oh misery ! mine the flame, 
From which this desolation came; — 
I, the curst spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that loveliness! 

*T was maddening I — but now hear even worse — 
. Had death, death only, been the curse 
I brought upon her — had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in the dust — and did the spirit 
No part of that fell curse inherit, 
'Twcre not so dreadful — but, come near — 
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear — 
Just when her eyes, in fading, took 

Their last, keen, agonis'd farewell. 
And look'd in mine with — oh, that look! 

Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell 
Thou mayst to human souls assign. 
The memory of that look is mine! — 

b]r two pigeons at the entrance, with two eggf unbroken In It, 
which made them thinlc no one could haTe entered it. In conse- 
quence of thif. thejrsay, Mahomet enjoined his followers to look 
upon pijreons as sacred, and never to kill a spider."— ITodlem. Uni- 
venal History, rol . i. 

s ** Mohammed (says Sale), though a iwoiihet, wm not able to 
bear the sight of Uabriel, when he appeared ik hk proper fcnni 
much less would othen be aUe to rawoct it." 

Q 3 




Btraggle, on my brow 

y lipB B kiss hniircBi, 
ing!-! feel it now — 

ro — but fire, cv'n more nnblest 

my own. nnd like that flame, 

s shadder but to name, 

eep it pierc'd into my bnun, 

; and lortuiiag as it vrcnt } 

re — mark here, the brand, the stain 

n my from — burnt in 
iMkiasof lo.eandaia — 
vtbicb itU the pomp and prido 
a Spirit cannot hide! 

ins, dread Proridenoe — 
indeed, be thus, that she, 
for one proud, fond offence,) 
>nODr'd heaven itself, should be 
o'd — I cannot sneak it — no, 
Au-al '(anots.!- 
dd lips divine have said 
f a fate BO dread, 
hat look — so dpcplj fraoght 
ore than anguish, with dcspnir — 
fierce lire, resembling nought 
en or earth— thil scorch I bear!- 
the first time (hat these kncea 
rat before thee since my fall, 

Play'd in those plumes, that nevw 
To their lost home in heaven roust 
Breath 'd inwardly the Toieeteu pra 
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear- 
Arid which if Mercv did »bI hew. 
Oh, God would iKil be what this bri 
And glorious noiveise of Uis, 

And eudlcsB love, proclaima He i 

Not long thej knelt, whan. Irora a 
That crown'd that aiij solitude. 
They heard u low. nncertaiji sound 
As from a luie, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur'd 
The new-bom fancy, with fond ton 
Scarce thin ting aaght to swcM ils 
Till soon a voice, that malehVl a* v 

The >ea-air to an ocean-sbeU 
(So kio its spirit to the lute's). 

Trembiingly Ibllow'd the soft itraii 

Interpreting its joy, in pain. 

And lending the light wings of' 

To many a thought, that ebc had 1 
Untlcdg'd and mitt« among the c 

All marted at the sound— hot ehie 
The Ihird younc Anjel, in whof 




hte, whoM leading chord Ib gone, 
rounded bird, that hath but one 
perfect wing to soar upon, 
ire like wlut I am, without theel 

a ne*er, mj spirit-loTe, divide, 

D life or doEith, thyself from me ; 

; when again, in snnnj pride, 

n walk'st throngh Eden, let me glide, 

irostrate shadow, bj thy side — 

)h hi^ypier thus than without thee ! " 

Qog had ceaa'd, when, from the wood 

lich, sweeping down that aiiy height, 

i*d the lone spot whereon thej stood — 

ere snddenlj shone out a light 

a dear lamp, which, as it blaz'd 

■ the brow of one, who rais*d 

me aloft (as if to throw 

iglit upon that group below), 

aj'd two eyes, sparkling between 

hukj leaTea, such as are seen 

ocy only, in those faces. 

It hannt a poet's walk at even, 

ing from out their leafy places 

on his dreams of love and heaven. 

i but a moment — the blush, brought 

ill her features at the thought 

being seen thus, late, alone, 

ij bat the eyes she sought, 

d scarcely for an instant shone 

nmgfa the dark leaves, when she was gone — 

like a meteor that o*erhead 

■nlr shines, and, ere we've said, 

)ld, how beautiful !"— 'tis fled. 

re she went, the words, ** I come, 
come, my Nama," reach'd her ear, 
hat kind voice, familiar, dear, 
t tells of confidence, of home, — 
tabit, that hath drawn hearts near, 
ey grow one, — of faith sincere, 
11 that Love most loves to hear ; 

put fa 

among the Orientalf, and acts a 
of thdr moft cxtraTasrant romancet. 
to hm^e a Testament of this Patriarch in 
lioa. in vhich vaa explained the whole theolorr of 
r dtfcif t orden, kc ke. The Cards, too (as Hjrde 
Ma ApiKBdiz), hare a book, which contains all the 
r nliilaa, and which thiy call Sohoph Shdt, or the 

« raaaiwr thai Beth aad Cham are supposed to have 
eae memorials of antedilnviaa knowlnlge, Xixuthrus 
M»le to have deposited in Siparis, the citj of 
its of sdenoe which he had saved out of 

t a delaie See Jabtonski's learned remarks upon 

M or tablets <rf Beth, which he supposes to be the same 
ian of McKOiT, er the Egyptian Thoth.— i'oalAeon. 

■nlwaaa. a^s D'Herbelot, apply the general name, 
uto aU dboaeSpirHe ** <|tii appcoehent le plus prta la 

A music, breathing of the past. 
The present, and the time to be, 

Where Hope and Memory, to the last. 
Lengthen out life's true harmony! 

Nor long did he, whom call so kind 
Summon'd away, remain behind ; 
Nor did there need much time to tell 

What they — alas, more fall'n than he 
From happiness and heaven — knew well. 

His gentler love*s short history! 

Thus did it run — not as he told 

The tale himself, but as 'tis grav'd 
Upon the tablets that, of old. 

By Sbth* were from the deluge sav'd. 
All written over with sublime 

And saddening legends of the' unblest. 
But glorious Spirits of that time. 

And this yoimg Angel's 'mong the rest 


AvoKO the Spirits, of pure flame. 
That in the' eternal heavens abide -« 

Circles of light, that from the same 
Unclouded centre sweeping wide. 
Carry its beams on every side — 

Like spheres of air that waft around 

The undulations of rich sound. 

Till the far- circling radiance be 

Diff'us'd into infinity! 

First and immediate near the Throne 

Of Alla', as if most his own. 

The Seraphs stand' — this burning sign 

Trac'd on their banner, "Love divine!" 

Their rank, their honours, far above 
Ev*n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given. 

Though knowing all ; — so much doth love 
Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in heaven! 

IViong these was Zarapb once — and none 
£*er felt afiection's holy fire, 

> The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. 

There appears to be, am<mg writers on the East, aswellasamooff 
the Orientals themselves, considerable indedsioo with regard to 
the respective claims of Seraphim and Cherubim to the higheet 
rank in the celestial hierarchy. The derivation which Hyde as> 
signs to the word CkenUt seems to determine the precedence in 
favour of that order of spirits :— " Cherubim, i. e. Propinqui Angell, 
qui sc Deo propius quam alii aecedimt; nam Charab mii.q. 
Karab^ appropinquare." (P. MB.) Al B«idawi, too, one of the 
commentators of the Koran, on that passage, ***the angels, who 
bear the throne, and those who stand about it." (chap. xL) says, 
** These are the Cherubim, the highest order of angels." On the 
other hand, we have seen, in a preceding note, that the Syrians 
place the sphere in wliich the Seraphs dwell at the very summit of 
all the celestial systems ; and even, among Mahometans, the word 
Azatil and Mocarreboun (which mean the spirita that stajnd nearest 
to the throne of AUa) are indiscriminately apipUed to both 8er»> 
phim and Chembtei. 

Q 4 



ards the' Elcmal Odo. 
di longing, deep desire. 

othere, a mere pan 

All*'* lifted braw 

c. Wo bright U. b*u-, 
ragih ranks would bovr, 

ir dallied aigtii, nor dare 

n the' (ffiiigence there — 

cs would eui.rt ihe blaze 

he in adipriiig took), 
e, in that one gaic, 

flooking, <han>io(Iookl 

n nnirel voice* sung 

heir tiort, and ilrung 

bail, with wckoroc jwett, 

t, watcli'd for by all ejei, 
pcntant ainner'a feet 
tbelhn-shold of the skies, 
learly did tl.e roiM 
eve nil rejoice] 

•ry buoyant tow— 
9 only conid belong 

geK and alone 
from Migcls, bring such long 1 

onld e'er hsre been 

Far off, beyond lint ocean"* brim- 
There, whera Ibe rich castade of day 
Had. o'er the' horizon'e coldDU rim, 

Of God she «ang. and of the mild 

Altcndaiit Mercy, that besido 
Hi» awful ihnmB for ever nnlld. 

Ready, »ith ber white hand, to KDid« 
His bolls of Tengeance to their ]>rFj — 
Thai she might (lucnch ihem on Ibe wa 
()f Pcafo- of that Aloning Love, 
Upon whone «t«r, jUininK above 
This twilight worid of hojw and fear. 

So fond, tbat with her every tear 

The light of that lore-nir is miifd! • 
All this Bhe snng, and inch * Mul 

Of piety was in that long. 
That the chsnnd Angtl as it Hole 

Tenderly to his car, along 
Those InUing walem where he lar. 
WaU'hing the dayUght's dying ray. 
Thought 'twas a voice front out the wn 
An echo, that lome sea-nyinph gava 
To Eden's distant harmonv. 
Heard faiot and sweet beneath the sea 

Quickly, however, to its source, 
Tmciiig that music's melting conrse^ 




;ojige of their natire sphere, 
bcj had else forgotten here. 

m. could Zjjl/lph fail to feel 
moment's witcheries? — one, so fair, 
kg oat mnsic, that might steal 
en from itself, and rapt in prajcr 
seraphs might he proud to share f 
HdkeliU^ too well — 
I warmth, that far too dearly cost — 
ew be, when at last he fell, 
ch attraction, to which speD, 
Insic, or Devotion, most 
J in that sweet hour was lost. 

iras the hour, though dearly won, 
pore, as aught of earth could be, 
:n first did the glorious sun 
re religion's altar see 
iuts in wedlock's golden tie 
^d, in loTe to live and die. 
nkm! bj that Angel wove, 
worthy from such hands to come; 
)le asylum, in which Love, 
Ul'n or exird from above, 
is dirk world can find a home. 

longh the Spirit had transgressed, 

om his station 'mong the blest 

)wn by woman's smile, allow'd 

"strial passion to breathe o'er 

rror of his heart, and cloud 

I image, there so bright before — 

er did that Power look down 

TOT with a brow so mild; 

id Justice wear a frown, 

igh which so gently Mercy smil'd. 

ible was their love — with awe 

trembling like some treasure kept, 

a not theirs by holy law — 

)eauty with remorse they saw, 

o'er whose preciousness they wept. 

r, that low, sweet root, 

liich an heavenly virtues shoot, 

the hearts of both — but most 

lu's heart, by whom alone 

larms, for which a heaven was lost, 

i all unvalued and unknown ; 

m her seraph's eyes she caught, 

id hers glowing on his breast, 

■ to the Sephiroth* or Splendon of the Jewish 
MBtcd M a tnc, of which Ood ia the crown or 

Ih an the hi«:her ovden of emanative hein^s in the 
Momprehenrible (yvtem of the Jewish C&bbala. 
I by rarioaa namea. Pity, Beauty, he. ftc. i and 
I an auppoeed to act through certain canala, which 
ith each other. 

' jodfe of the ratknality of thia Jewish syitem 

Even bliss was humbled by the thought — 

" What claim have I to be so blest?" 
Still less could maid, so meek, have nurs'd 
Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst. 
With which the sex hath all been curs'd. 
From luckless Eye to her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 
The secrets of the angels' : no — 

To love as her own Seraph lov'd. 
With Faith, the same through bliss and woe — 

Faith, that, were even its light remov'd. 
Could, like the dial, fix'd remain, 
And wait till it shone out again; — 
With Patience that, though oflen bow'd 

By the rude storm, can rise anew; 
And Hope that, even from Evil's cloud. 

Sees sunny Good half breaking through! 
This deep, relying Love, worth more 
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore — 
This Faith, more sure than aught beside, 
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride 
Of her fond heart — the' unreasoning scope 

Of all its views, above, below — 
So true she felt it that to hopej 

To tnut, is happier than to know. 
And thus in humbleness they trod, 
Abash'd, but pure before their God; 
Nor e'er did earth behold a sight 

So meekly Ufeautiful as they. 
When, with the altar's holy light 

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray. 
Hand within hand, and side by side, 
Two links of love, awhile untied 
From the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the last! — 
Two fallen Splendors ^ from that tree, 
Which buds with such etemallv,' 
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all 
Their light and freshness in the fall. 

Their only punishment, (as wrong, 

However sweet, must bear its brand,) 
Their only doom was this — that, long 

As the green earth and ocean stand, 
They both shall wander here — the same. 
Throughout all time, in heart and frame — 
Still looking to that goal sublime, 

Whose light remote, but sure, they see ; 
Pilgrims of Love, whoso way is Time, 

Whose home is in Eternity! 
Subject, the while, to all the strife, 
True Love encounters in this life — 

by the fbllowing explanation of part of the machinery :— " Lea 
cananx qui sortent de la Misericorde et de la Force, et qui vont 
abontir h la Beant^, sont charci-s d'un srrand nombre d'Anicea. H 
y en a trente cinq sur le canal de la Mi«*ricorde, qui recompensent 
et qui couronnent la vcrtu des Saints." &c. ftc— For a concise 
account of the Cabalistic Philosophy, see Enfield's rery usefUl com- 
pendium of Brucker. 

" On les repn^nte quelqnefois sous la flgnre d'nn arbre .... 
I'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de Tarbre Sephirotique on dee 
8plendeandiTtns,eet rinilni."— X'lTistotJxcfes Jtt(/s, Ut. ix. 11. 


W. ha breathes in vnjn ; 

Anil, Bhnking off earth's soiling dust 

turns his wanneM gigh. 

From their emancijiated wings, 

pour, cm ihej riae ; 

Waniler for ever through (ho6e skies 

!is on, and th? pain 

Of rndianco, wbero I*ive dotw dies 1 

ry Bweomeas lies :— 

illusions that betmy 

In what lone regioii of the eanh 

U> their Bhining brink ; 

These Pilgrinis now may roam or dm 

on his desert waj 

God and the Angels, who look forth 

.leak worlil. to bend and drink, 

To walch their stepa, alone cui leE 


i?t tighing poaa 

Meet n young pair, whose beauty <ran 

If home of jicnce, 

But the adornment of bright wingi. 

lis ihiral wiU leaM. 

Wlio shine where'er they tread, and jct 

tr. but, not the leaa. 

Are humble in their earthly lot. 

As is the way-side violet. 

ifter many a itay 

That (bines nnscen, and were it rot 

iiul lar •"■ay, 

For its Bweel breath would be foryot 

Whose hearts, in evcrf thought, arc one 

h not a tear between — 

Whose Toicca otter the ume wills— 

:, without control. 

Answering, as Echo doth some lone 


Of fairy music 'mong tbe hilb. 

S^ fear or doubt 

So like itself, we seek in i-ain 

It from chill or suit^ 

Which ie the echo, which the strain — 

1 Btan sbedB out. 

Whose piety is love, whose love. 

n abed back again ! — 

Though elose as twere their souls' en 


Is not of e«nh, hut from above — 

like two fair mirrors, face to face. 

m exigence part^ 

Who>e \ifzhu fron) one to the' other thrt 




I idea of attempting a Tersion of some of 
Songs or Odes of Anacreon had Tery early 
urred to me ; and a specimen of my first 
tures in this undertaking may be found in 
Dublin Magazine (The Anthologia) where, 
lie number of that work for February, 1794, 
eared a ^ Paraphrase of Anacreon*8 Fiilh 
;, by T. Moore.** As it may not be uninter- 
ig to future and better translators of the 
to compare this schoolboy experiment 
1 mj later and more laboured Tersion of 
lame ode, I shall here extract the specimen 
d in the Anthologia : — 

** IjKt w. with the elniteriac vine, 
Tbe roic Love's blnihing flower, entwine. 
Fancr's bead oar diaplct't wreethinc, 
Vemal ewceta mronnd ui breathing, 
^MTell irul7 drink, ftill Koblets quaffing. 
At frichtcd Cere Kcurely Uoghing. 

*■ Roee ! thoo belmy-eoented flower, 
Ilc*r*<l by Sprinx't nuMt foitering power, 
T1>7 dewy blooomi, opening bright. 
To gods thenuelTes can give delight ; 
And Cypria's child, with roaes crown'd. 
Tripe with each Graoe the mazy round. 

**■ Biad ray browi,— 111 tnne the lyre, 
Ixrvc my raptutnu ftraint ihall Are, 
Kear Baeehos* grape-endrcled aluine, 
'While TtMee fresh my brows entwine, 
L«ed by the winged train of Pleaauret, 
1*11 danee with nymphe to qwrtire measoree.** 

D pursuing further this light task, the only 
set I bad for some time in view was to lay 
3re tbe Board t, a select number of the odes 
ttd then translated, with a hope, — suggested 
the kind encouragement I had already re- 
red, — that they might be considered as 
erring of some honour or reward. Having 
lerienced much hospitable attention from 
ctor Kearney, one of the senior fellows |, a 
Q of most amiable character, as well as of 
ined scholarship, I submitted to his perusal 

ynmi tbe PKfhee to the oolleeted edition of 1841, 1842.] 
[Ihe Boaxd of the DabUn UniTenityJ 

Afpcdated Provnat of tlie Univerrily In the year 17V9, andmade 
rvardt Biihop ofOenry. 

RThes the mop um e n t to Proroit Baldwin, which itanda in the 
wt the CoJlece o# Dublin, arxired tmm Italy, there came in 
^m paddBC-«eae with it two oopies of thia work of Spaletti, 
tl waiBk wae pttetnted Vr Di^ Tray, the Romaa CathoUe 

the manuscript of my translation as far as it 
had then proceeded, and requested his advice 
respecting my intention of laying it before the 
Board. On this latter point his opinion was 
such as, with a little more thought, I might 
have anticipated, namely, that he did not see 
how the Board of the University could lend 
their sanction, by any public reward, to writings 
so convivial and amatory as were almost all 
those of Anacreon. He very good-naturedly, 
however, lauded my translation, and advised 
me to complete and publish it; adding, I well 
recollect, " young people will like it.'* I was 
also indebted to him for the use, during my 
task, of Spaletti*s curious publication, giving 
a facsimile of those pages of a MS. in the 
Vatican Library which contain tbe Odes, or 
** Symposiacs," attributed to Anacreon.§ And 
here I shall venture to add a few passing words 
on a point which I once should have thought 
it profanation to question, — the authenticity of 
these poems. The cry raised against their 
genuineness by Robertellus and other enemies 
of Henry Stephen, when that eminent scholar 
first introduced them to the learned world, 
may be thought to have long since entirely 
subsided, leaving their claim to so ancient a 
paternity safe and unquestioned. But I am 
forced, however reluctantly, to confess that 
there appear to me strong grounds for pro- 
nouncing these light and beautiful lyrics to be 
merely modem fabrications. Some of the 
reasons that incline me to adopt this unwelcome 
conclusion are thus clearly stated by the same 
able scholar, to whom I am indebted for the 
emendations of my own juvenile Greek ode : — 

Archbishop, as a gift from the Pope to the Library of the Unirer- 
dty, and the other cof which I was niboequeutiy favoured witli the 
use) he presented, in like manner, to my friend Dr. Kearney. 
Thus, curiously enough, while Anacreon in Englith was considend 
—and, I grant, on no unreasouable gruuuds— a* a woric to which 
graTe collegiate authorities could not openly lend their ssnctiou, 
Anacreon in Gixtk was thought no unfitting pn:seot to be rcoeived 
by a Protestant bishop, through the medium of a Catliolic arch- 
UahoiK from the liaads of his holincas, the Pope. 


Laitible, if Anacreon 
■nbiu diineler verse, 
Bbollj Deflected that 
Bf those frajfineota of 
■lenew, from inti^riial 
Idoubt. iiliuciEt all iire 
Ithe lighter Horatian 
1 Iambic dimeter 

I bj looking through 

it Greek verse from 
Lnd preGxed to the 

II originullj to iilus- 
Jting AnaereoD cud- 

i of Wi^idum, from 
B first edition of 
[l I been brou^'ht up 
s of prowdj before 
it have dared to 
pductioD to the urlti- 
A of the English 
', I cannot belp 
lie, distinct from 
uuuh iaelioed to 


1 that, at all events, 
I doubt at to which of 
t willinglj set 

Iting the Diiiterinls of 

time, and proceeded to London, with the (■* 
not veriieon;reiiial objects, ofkeeping mf temt 
at the Middle Teoiplc, and publishing, bj aub^ 
scriptioD, mj Translation of Auftcroon. 
of those persons to whom, tlirough the ii 
zenlof friends, some part of mj tnasiui 
bill been submitted before it wt 
was Doctor Laurcnoe, thenble friend of Binl 
and. ta on instance, however alight, of ik 
ready variety of learning — as well thelJ£ 
as the most solid — for which Laurence >m| 
remark able, the folio wing extract from the Id 
written by him, in returning the n 
to my friend Dr. Hume, majr not be w 

" I return you the four odes which yon w 
*o kind to communicate for my poor o 
They are, in niany parte, very elegant 4 
poetical ; and. in some passages, Mr. Ha 
lias added a pretty turn not to be foaodiq 
original. To confess the truth, bowerer. ■ 
are. In not a few places, rather more p 
tical than suits my notion (perhape an il: 
notion) of translation. 

" In the QAy-third ode there ia, in my ja4 
ment, a no less Bound than beautiful eme 
alion suggested — would you suppose itt— 
a Dutch lawyer. Mr. M. possibly may a ' 
awHre of it. I have endeavoured to ei] 




wltibt ttndcr haadf avmy 
ttal on its blnthM laj I • 
to fh* botom of the lUr, 
of low 111 triumph bnr. 

would drop altogether the image of the 

'' d rapp img with genu* I believe it is a 

led and fidbe metaphor, unless the painter 

I take the figure of Aurora from Mrs. 

.irttovhtaoCtobeUtf TIm lino might nm, 

hod ttie torn to bruht 

to III hluh cor, it* floih). 

'* There is another emendation of the same 
critic, in the following line, which Mr. M. may 
seem, by accident, to have sufficiently expressed 
in the phrase of *' roses shed their light* 

** I scribble this in very great haste, but fear 
that you and Mr. Moore will find me too long, 
minute, and impertinent. Believe me to be, 
very sincerely, 

" Your obedient, humble servant, 

** F. Laubekce.'* 


ma HOTAL moHiiEsa 

lir allowing me to dedicate this 
to Tour Bojal Highness, you have conferred 
DC an honour which I feel very sensibly : 
have only to regret, that the pages which 

you have thus distinguished are not more deserv- 
ing of such lllastrions patronage. 

Beliere me. Sir, with every sentiment of respect. 
Your Royal Highness's 
Very grateful and devoted Servant, 

Thomm Mooei. 


be necessary to mention, that, in arrang- 
Odes, the Translator has adopted the order 
ratioan MS. For those who wish to refer 

to the original, he has prefixed an index, which 
marks ^he number of each Ode in Barnes and the 
other editions. 




^^^^1 INDEX. 

Ah -Otw IT.™ Toy oifor . 

IS., r«i Jap" f<i»«na. 

^^^^^^■h iIo" fH . 

Evw T'P"" ''*'' "'*' ■ 



'Oto, a BokX"' "'"''»t 

^^^^^Ma^i: EV.<rT< 


Tou A.OI 4 -*! B«X" 


•or' n- »* -rw- oiwtf 

^^^^^^^B ^0' TQpll»IOV 


Mip (it fluO^ft*" ■ 

^^^^^^Ktcur lifor 


T. )» TSUt VDflOM S.illVtlHIl 

^^^^^^■nl 7I»3UCII . 


'Or' <7W I'K"'' Jf'Ao"' 

^^^^^■,« TO r-n-« 


'O Ta.<(ioJ otro!, » -m 

^^^^^■ovs acM ao' 



STS^a^MiD^i' f tT* Mpo. 

^^^^^^■t..] iru'IKTiu . 



■O TO. If -Ofoii BT..(n) 



•O 8pmr.TI,! S W""' 


To. (i.XaKDXP'.^o S"?" 

^^^^^^1 vuTB StrSpwv 



A« flof e..". i>o"i"» - ■ ■ 



:-. ".. ,-J,...«!™ . 



30MH vtr" •{ O^syorotf 

^(*fii I* As AMHCfMrra 

Ka^CMvir «f ffv^wrrcu, 
Tt, >ii|pMr, r§mf fitMf n^w 
Tmt ^pwri, ry AMuy , 
K* •«« fj^i Kpterttr fSoMcof ; 
Ti ^q^a nit Kv6i|^r, 
Ti (MTffAAa rov Avatov, 
Ami y fff pufif^of aS«r, 

Om 9tU9 Kmx^Mf murw ; 
'O 9§ Tifin /uKurrns 
Iffrc 8Mrx«fMU9f, ^no*!* 
*Ori, ^fo, (r«v y orftf /if r, 
'O vofmrter^s kMorrmif 
Tlm^ fwf 99 p mv KmKniuur 

M«ra Ttir icaAair yuimitmir 
Af^cAtff 5c T«pvva iraitW, 
•Xlf Aifv 7«^, f^r irop 
Aimtt fiavQvs tfmrar 

♦tAcavr fcoXicrra TtarrmVf 
Ov 0-0^9 /AfXf»3or ci/u ; 


*T Ajr MMntmmr « 


fX/Wir IkCCTO, 

€ nil Xwp»{iwr" 4 

ts, iic cc^vrov* 9 
tk raXAj^AXoif 
r fi6iotfft vXc^ot, 

Tiylof WOT* '6 fMkumis 

Afupi avTOp ol 8* EpcfTtf 
'AvoAoi (rvylxopcMToi' 

Eroici, ^'^X^' oiVrrovf 

trfayllaMea. AaserTnicni. zxtx. 3. ed. Flicher. 
Anttcr. Frafm. xxxn. 1. #^««^ tf«vrc m« 
plane oc Athenao. A>«w^f«» p »K r^^v^ dixit 
Od- ▼ni. S. ThMKT. Id. KT. It5. »«y)^p«M «• 

Thcoer. Id. m. 14S. 

r. Od. us. U. V^M* K •**"' X«^«wn. 
c_i#«,iBe. KdO. Id. I. Bt. k* /Mv it'rwc, I 4c 4* Art 
X Itktam dt ▲nwrilNU.»iii 

^huttf aMur<ra 

Kar& 8* cd9to ^1 'OX^/Airov 1 .g ^ 

So^/il i^^ami fiSura, J 

icrop&a* 'Ayaitp4oma, 1 5 

dcopAaa rohs ''Eptnat, 

iv0tMi9uicd ^no-i* "TiroftctStfurd^ds fnrt 

2^\ — hrtlfipoT&yirirovro Tuv ao^tmeerhw anarrmf 

KoXiavffi ^v\a itirra^ 19 

KdK^owrof oi {ro^iarol, — 

rl, y4pw^ fidrrit' 68c ^it 

$i6rov rpi€o¥ rcov /Ur 

furit r&¥ koXmv *Ep^»v, 

firrii rod iraXov Auotlov, 

^/Ur£8cX&{&Wi-c<}; 25 

tI ^iKtifta T^r Kv9^pi}r, 

r( ir^cXXa rov fivedov, 

iffeui rpwp&¥ dc(8ctf, 

ifik b4<rfu* o^ HiidffKMiff 

ifihv ob Kaxinf Amrov ; 30 

d 94 T^tos /AcXffS^f , 

&ri d^cv 0-o^f KoXovfuu *Ori, did, aou y orcv ficy 
vap& T«y d^o^v iatdrrtov, 'O oo^trrar6% iircarrmw. 
^u\4ct, irfw, Avp({W, 36 
ficr& r«y KoK&r yvvauc&Tf 

ToTr Epwd-i, Tq> Avcu^f 
^ vK c/iot Kpcertof cSwicor 

AIcI 7* cTpv^if<raT f Soiy 


OvK cftoy XaxM^ aorroy 

(i^Awf 8^ rtprvii walfw 
KiBdpn 7&P, &} K4ap fitv, 
itvaitvtt fi6yovs "Epuras, 
0i6rov 94 r^r yaX-fivriP 41 
^i\4u¥ fidKiora viinuv^ 
<TO<l>bf ov fitK(p96f tl^u ; 
ri (To^Artpov yivotr* &y; 
ifi4$fv (ro<f><iT€pos rls ; 45 

'Af Xvpri yapt Cftor rirop 
*fl8c fftorov yaX.rivri¥ 
Ov coipos fit\tp9os €lfU 
Tis ffo^wrtpos fi€y cori 


There is but little known with certainty of the 
life of Anacrcon. Chaniaeleon Heraclcotes ', who 
wrote upon the subject, has been lost in the gene- 
ral wreck of ancient literature. The editors of 
the poet have collected the few trifling anecdotes 
which are scattered through the extant authors of 
antiquity, and, supplying the deficiency of mate- 
rials by fictions of their o\^ni imagination, have 
arranged, what they call, a life of Anacreon. 

Pwad-Anacr. Od. v. 8. » fioSmt n 

nt. 15. 4»a 3* «**w 

Phcen. If. 

10. 11. mdUu^XXmtf— fi«S»*n. 

IS. Tmeiit pro ««»/»««•. Fgetid-Anacr. Od. 
IS. Supple 4»*M«» QUO fawrw rcfbvtur. Enrip. 
ex Pieud-Anecr. Od. in. 4. ^poww^r »t ♦vX* wvra. 

51. PWnd-Anecr. Od. XXtr. t. fiumv rp*fimt UriMW. 

t5. .£ich. Eumen. 53S. ^»?** •»*»', | ar«/>4oc itmv.kt*^ wo*» x«f in- 1 •p^ 

52. ira^«« w0«v r* ^<> >*** x*^*****^* 1^ prxrttr rationem in me toevi, 
n. Y. 1S3. 'H^, ^ti; x«^^«*«Mw wo^w Mw. Slmllcm poaitionem p«r- 
tknlanmi M>r m^ cxhibet PMud- Anacr. Od. xzrni. 13. 

1 He b avoiad by Alhenmu «» «'i* v^« r«v Amiut^mmnt. 




h]di we imtarullr feel in Uic bio- 
illusion, U it confound* [ho limit* 
romance ', and is loo often sup- 
thfiil dution.' 

IS born in (he city of T5o« ', in the 
n of Ionia, and the liaio of hi* binh 
been in the si:ttb eentury before 
ourithed at that reniirkable period, 

hcua and Siiraoa were become the 
f gcnina. There is nolhiiig eerlain 
3 family, and tlioao who pretend to 

ud, show mnrh mora of ze&l than of 
or judgment.' 
ion and talents of Anacreon rccom- 
the monarch of Satoon, and be was 
friond of aneh a prince ns Polj- 
itible only to the pleasures, ho felt 
tions of tlie conrti aTid. while Fy- 
om Iho tyrant, Anacreon was celo- 
ii«s on the lyre. We are told too 
fyrins. that, by the influence of bis 
be softened the mind of Polycralsa 
benevolence towards his piilytcls." 
of the poet, and tlic rivtd^hip of 
hall pass over in silence ; and there 

really such instances of depravity ? 

Hipparebiis, who now maintained at 
poncr which his father PisisOBtiui bai 
was one of ihoso piincca who may be m 
polished the fetters of their gnbjocta. i 
fh-itl, according to Plato, who edited tb< 
Homer, and commanded thciii to be si 
rhaiffiodists at the celebration of the Ft 
From bia court, which was a son of 
genins, Anacreon conld not lung be abn 
parebus sent a barge for him ; ibe po 
embraced the invitalion, and the Hale 
Loves were wafted with him to Athens-' 

Tbe manner of AnacreonV deiitb wa 
We arc told that in the eighty-fifth year 
be was choked by a grape-stone*; an< 
we may smile at their cnthueiaslie pan: 
sec in this easy and diaracterislic death 
indulgence of Heaven, we cannot bell 
that his fate aboald have been so emb 
his disposition. Cailius Calcogninns 
this Eatastrtiphe in the following epita 
poet": — 

■n™ lip.. .i.n, h»n«-a ««. wu* ««r-< 




ift], both in winnth of passion and delicacj* 
u, giTca such pUj'to the inuigination, that 
td loires to indulge m it But the yision 
a before liiitorical truth ; and Chameleon 
ennenanaz, who are the aonrce of the sup- 
a, are considered as haying merely indulged 
icdcal aaAchronism.' 

inler the mond dispositions of a poet from 
w of sentiment which pervades his works, is 
a TCTf fislUcions analogj ; but the soul 
speaks so unequi>'0call7 through his 
that we maj safelj consult them as the faith- 
ims of his heart.' We find him there the 
It TolnpitaaTj, diffusing the seductiTe charm 
■tmwnt orer passions and propensities at 
rigid morality must frown. His heart, de- 
10 indolence, seems to hare thought that 
is wealth enough in happiness, but seldom 
■ess in mere woslth. The cheerfulness, in- 
with which he brightens his old age is 
sdng and endearing : like his own rose, he 
(rant even in decay. But the most peculiar 
e of his mind is that love of simplicity, which 
tributes to himself so feelingly, and which 
les characteristically throughout all that he 
ug. In truth, if we omit those few rices in 

BM k emvlDaad (bat TV7 cntnltoady) of ttMiyndmoifm 
Sappho.' In cSting bii anthoritieaf he Iiu 
Ae Ifaie quoted by FnlTiiu UniBU, m ttom 
tho twdnkoiiici to Sappho t— 

■ tUaks that Um7 nX^bX havt toca oontempotanr, but 

rvikciraaMNiroaaUloofiinaciaatian. ToMliMr^JceUUM 

ii^ll I aa do alao Clam Borrichius and others. 

ItaUaa poet, ia wow ^cnes on Bclleaa't tnmilation of 

to imagfaio that oar bard did bo% ftel as b« 

1, TrntTcm. CopidliieiBqiM 
: lorit Aaacreoa poeta. 
Sad 9(00 innport ncc capadoNi 
nacafaat cratbot, nee inquktii 
X'rvbatnr amorihiw, Kd Ipsli 
TaatWB Tcnibos ct Joeb ainabat» 
KoUam pra m habitam cereni amantli. 

To Low aad Bacdioi erer joudk 

While Mff« Aaaercon touch'd the lyre. 
Be aeitber Mt the love* he Rinic. 
Hor SU*d hii bovl to Baechu higher. 
: Sowery day* had faded lone, 
ta yooth eoald act the lover's part i 
i trembled in his rnng, 
r,reaeh*dhb heart 

Tarioaily coloared. Barnes 

ithariasdc adaiifBtiaa : but he is always cxtra- 
also a little profane. Baillet runs too 
ezticaie* czasscratinff also the testimonies 
c hae cnBSBlted ; aad we eaaaot sorely acrce with him 
t ciiM sncli a eampacr as Athenaos, as "un des pins 
rhinaas de I'aatlqnil^.**— Javnneni d*» S^avamt, U. CV. 
I tumid feai^y have read the passajn to which he refrn, 
aeeaase La Fcna of bavlnff oensnred our poet's character 
; OB I<iagiaai i the aote In qaastloD heinf maniftst irony, 
ia to aeaM ceasoic passed apon Le Ferrc for his AnacTvun. 
V. iadecd. that tnim rather than censure In Intimated. 
Valsdas ida riflltalc PoMees), who Tladlrales our 

tba BMIoOcea of Fnlrhis Untaus. Bellort 
iatahia laiaciaca. Johannes Faber. in 
I of triiiaa^i mtk aa aaoChtr bead on a 

our estimate which religion, at that time, not only 
connived at, but consecrated, we shall be inclined 
to say that the disposition of our poet was amiable ; 
that his morality was relaxed, but not abandoned ; 
and that Virtue, with her tone loosened, may 
be an apt emblem of the character of Anacreon.' 

Of his person and physiognomy time has pre- 
served sach uncertain memorials, that it were 
better, perhaps^ to leave the pencil to fancy ; and 
few can read the Odes of Anacreon without 
imagining to themselves the form of the animated 
old bard, crowned with roses, and singing cheer- 
fully to his lyre. But the head of Anacreon, 
prefixed to this work^ has been considered so 
authentic, that we scareely could be justified in 
the omission of it ; and some have even thought 
that it is by no moans deficient in that benevolent 
suavity of expression which should characterise 
the countenance of such a poet. 

After the very enthusiastic eulogiums bestowed 
both by ancients and modems upon the poems of 
Anacreon*, we need not be difiidcnt in expn^ssing 
our raptures at their beauty, nor hesitate to pro- 
nounce them the most polbhed remains of anti- 
quity.*- They are, indeed, all 1>eauty, all enchant- 
ment.' He steals us so insensibly along with him, 

rtrj beantif>il cornelian, which lie supposes was worn in a ring by 
some admirer uf the poet. In the Iconos raphia of Caniui tlurre !• a 
youthftil head of Anacreon fVom a Grecian niedsl, with the lettvrs 
TCI OS around it; on the rewrse there Is a Neptune, holdina a 
•pear in his right hand, ami a dolphin, with the word tianun 
inscribed, in the left i "Tolendoci dcnotare (saytCanini ■ chc qtielle 
cktadinl la cuniaseero in honore del suo coropatriota poeta." 
There is also amonK the coins of Dc Wilde one, which, thouRh it 
bears no effigy, was probably struck to the memory of Anacreon. 
It haa the word thiqn. encircled with an iry crown. ** At quidni 
respleM hae corona Anacreontem, noUlem lyricum ? **— IM Wihlr. 

* Besides those which sre extant, he wrote hymn^, elegies, epi- 
grams, ftc. Some of the epigrams still exiiu Horace, in addition 
to the mentiiMD of him (lib. ir. »d. 9. ). alludes aim to a poem of hit 
upon the riralrr of Circe and Penelope in the sflflTtions of I'lywM, 
lib. 1. od. 17. ; and the scholiaft upon Nicander cites- a fracnicnt 
from a poem upon Sleep by Anacreon, and attributes to him likr- 
wlse a medicinal trcatiie. Fulgentius mentions a work of his 
upon the war between Jupiter and the Titans, and the origin of 
the consecration of the eagle. 

• See Uorace, Maximus T>-rins, Ac. " His style (Mys Scaliger) 
is sweeter than the juice of the Indisn rced-'-./'i-'r. lib. i. cap. 44. 
**From the soflneu of his verses (psys Olaus B<irrii:1iius) the 
ancients bestowed on him the epithets sweet, delicau*. graceful." 
ftc. DiffrriationtM Acadrtnictr, dc Poctit. di**. '.'. Scaligcr again 
praises him thus in a pun i speaking «»f the Mt^"{,or (tde, ** Anacreon 
autem non solum dcdit biac ^X^ sed ctiam in Ipsis inella." See 
the passage of Rapin, quoted by all the editors. I cannot omit 
citing also the following very spiriteii apuetrophe of the author of 
the Commentary prefixed to the Parma edition : " O tus sublimes 
aninrue, Tua Apollinis alumul. iiui jmst unum Alcmancm in totA 
IK'llade Ijuicam poesim exsuM-itantif, ciiluUti*. amplillcastls» 
quaso Tos an ullus nnqusm ftierit vates ijui Tvio cantorl rel 
natune candore rel metri ^nsvitate iwlraam pneripuoriu" Sev 
likewise Vinrenio Gravini della Kag. Poetic, libro primo, p. ft?. 
Among the RItratti of Marino, there is one of Anacreon beginning 
"Cingetcmi la fronte," &c. &c. 

" We may perceiTC," says Voeiios, •• that the iteration of his 
words condoeesTery much to the sw««tnes« of his style." Ifenry 
fttephen remarks the same beauty in a note on the forty-fourth 
ode. This llgnre of iteration is his most appropriate grace :— bat 
the modem writess of Jnvenilia and Basia haTe adopted it to aa 
excess which destroys the ellrct. 

B 2 



ontics of Sodiger, however, scarcely de- 
be name ; as they glitter all oyer T^nth 
I, and, though oftien elegant, are always 
mL The beautiful fictious of Angerianus' 
re more happily than any others the delicate 
r thoee aUegorical fables, which, passing so 
Btlj tfarongn the mediums of version and 
on, baTe generally lost their finest rays in 
iBfBiisuoa. Many of the Italian poets have 
:cd their fimdes upon the subjects, and in 
iBiicr of Anacreon. Bernardo Tasso first in- 
jtd the DDetre, which was afterwards polished 
nriched by Chabriera and others.' 
jodge by the references of Degen, the Gcr- 
angnage abounds in Anacreontic imitations; 
lagcdom ' is one among many who have as- 
1 hhn as a model. La Farre, ChauUeu, and 
her l^lit poets of France, have also professed 
iBvate the muse of Teos ; but they have at- 
1 an her nesHgence with little of the simple 
that embeUishes it. In the delicate bard of 
■» * we find the kindred spirit of Anacreon : 
of his gazelles, or songs, possess all the cha- 
r of our poet. 

i come now to a retrospect of the editions of 
Ron. To Henry Stephen we arc indebted 
■Ting first recovered his remains from the 
rliT in which, so singularly, they had for 
' a;zes repoeed. He found the seventh ode, 
e are told, on the cover of an old book, and 
ninjcatcd it to Yictorius, who mentions tlic 
nstance in his ** Various Readings.*' Stephen 
dien very young ; and this discovery was 
dered by tome critics of that day as a literar}" 
Btion.* In 1554, however, he gave Anacreon 
e world *« accompanied with annotations and 
tin verrion of the greater part of the odes. 
ievned still hesitated to receive them as the 
I of the Teian bard,' and suspected them to be 
kbrication of some monks of the sixteenth 
rv. This was an idea from which the classic 


recoiled ; and the Vatican manuscript, con- 


flee tJbe BaniMk Port$ collected bjr Rcwtffaard. 

r prcttr UtUcBCHCi defy tnntUUon. A beautiful Ana- 
: br HofO Orotisa* amy be fimnd Lib. i. Famicinii. 
Amgtriamvm Prior b iiukbled fiir ■ome of his haivtett mj- 

li, Hlftoria della Tolff. Poet. 
HMged am Tsat Anelqueftiii Anacreon.**— DoraC, 

on the learalnr of the Tnrkt. ai tnuiilated by de 
CaBtemir haa made the RuMiant acquainted 
8m hia IJfi% prcaxcd to a tmulation of hit 
br tba AVb* de Gwaeo. 

artdlna. ia hIa vork ** De Ratkme e^rricendl," pitmoimcca 
rmm to be tke triiiiiicB of noie Inripid OnDciat. 
thb event :— 

Jc -vay boil* k Ilcnrie Eticnac 
Qal dea csfera netn a rendn, 
!>■ tIcU Aaacrfon pcida. 

suited by Scnliger and Salmosius, confirmed the 
antiquity of most of the poems. A very inaccu- 
rate copy of this MS. was taken by Isaac Vossius, 
and this is the authority which Barnes has fol- 
lowed in his collation. Accordingly he misre- 
presents almost as often as he quotes; and the 
sul>sequent editors, relying upon his authority, 
have spoken of the manuscript with not less con- 
fidence than ignorance. The literary world, how- 
ever, has at length been gratified with this curious 
memorial of the poet, by the industry of the Abb6 
S])aletti, who published at Kome, in 1781, a fac- 
simile of those pages of the Vatican manuscri]it 
which contained the odes of Anacreon.' 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of all the 
diiferent editions and translations of Anacreon. 
Finding their number to be much greater than I 
could possibly have had an opportunity of consult- 
ing, I shall here content myself with enumerating 
only those editions and versions which it has been 
in my power to collect ;. and which,, though very 
few, are, I believe, the most important. 

The edition by Henr}- Stephen, 1 554> at Paris 
— the Latin version is attributed by Colomesius 
to John Dorat." 

The old French translations, bv Ronsard and 
BcUeau — the former published in 1555, the latter 
in 1556. It apjK?ars from a note of Muretus u]>on 
one of the sonnets of Eonsard, that Henry Stephen 
comnmnicated to this poet his manuscript of Ana- 
creon, before he promulgated it to the world." 

The edition bv Le Fevre, 1 660. 

The edition by Madame Dacicr, 1681, with a 
prose translation.'* 

The edition by Longepierre, 1 684, with a trans- 
lation in verse. 

nic edition by Baxter •,. London, 1 695. 

A French translotion by la Fosse, 1704 

"L'Histoirc des Odes d'Anacreon," l)y Ga^on ; 
Rotterdam, 1712. 

A translation in English verse by Kcveral hands,. 
1713, in which the odes by Cowley ore inserted. 

I fill the bowl to Stephen'! name. 

Who rescued from tlic gluom uf nisht 
The Teian lianl of fc»tivc fume. 

And broucht hia living l>re to light. 

T Thii manascript, which Spaletti thlnki as old bj the tenth cen- 
tury, WM ItmuRht ftvni the Palatine into the Vaticnn library s it it 
a kind of anthulofcy of Gn<ek cpifrrams. and in the 676th pace of it 
are found the *Ha>tM*^>« 2v/*,w9taM* of Anacreon. 

* "I^m9me(M. Vouia«)m'adit qu'il avolt ponn'-d^ un Ana- 
crton, oh ScaJiger avoit marqu«> de aa main, qu'IIenri Etienne 
nVtoit paa I'auteur de la version Latine dea odea de ce po(^, raaia 
Jean Dorat,"— /*mi/»a Cohnnefiiit, ParticHlan't^s. 

Coloroeaiua, however, aeema to have relied too implicitly on 
Yoaaina i -almort all thcae Particularit^a begin with " M. Voaaiua 

• ** I^a fiction de ce aonnet. comme I'auteur mPme m'a dit, eat 
prfaed'uneoded'Anacrton, encore non imprimi'-e, qu'il a depuia 
traduit, iv >»«»• 4»^ x*****^" 

I* The author of Nouvellee de la Ili^b. dea Lett, hcatowi on 
thia tnuulaUom much more prmiac than it« mcrlta appear to nie to 

B 3 


ipC. 1733, with k Luin 

■ Engliih Terse, by John Addison, 

I Italian traDelalinni of An ac 
•. I73G, coneislinit of thu 

', Sslvini, Marchctti, «nd oi 

IS iiulhor!>.' 

n Engtiih VN«e, bj Fawkoi and 


■moius 1 T«8. 
I Simlstti, at Rome 
"the Vativon MS. 

! Degen, I7S6, who pablishccl 

milation of Anacreon, esteemed 

u Eaglish veno, bj Urqnhart, 
r Gail, at FarU, 1799, v 

His IrcGWfl wore a gilTer? dve. 
But bCBDl; sparkled in liia eye; 
Sparkled in iiii eyct of Are, 
Throuffh the miiC of loft de«ii«.* 
His lip enhal'd, whene'er he righ'd. 
The fragrance of the racy tidei 
And, u with weak and reeling feet 
He earns my cordial ki^a to meet. 
An infant, of the CypHun band. 
Guided him on with tender hand. 
Quick frum his glowing brows Iw dm 
His braid, of many a wanton hue; 
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Bn^th'd of him and blush'd with win 
I hung it o'er my thonghlkaB brow 
And oh! I feel its magic now;' 
I feel that even his garland's loach 
Con make the bosom love too much. 


ODH n. 
Give me the harp of epic eotig. 
Which Homer's flngci ihrill'd along; 
But (ear away the HiDgDinc string. 
For war is not the theme I sing. 
Pnichiim the laws of fest*! rile,' 
I'm [jiuiLireli ufthi.' lionrd to-niffht j 



Gmt Bceekml we dudl nng to thee. 
In wild but sweet ebrietj; 
Fbihiiig around inch spaiks of thought, 
Ai Btednif could alooe haye taught. 

Thn, gire the harp of epk fong, 
Wbieh Homei^f finger thrill'd along; 
B«t teir awaj the Mmgoine string. 
For wir if not the theme I ting. 


Lrnnr to the Mase*8 1 jre, 
Ktfter of the pencil's fire! 
SketehM m painting's bold displa j, 
1^7 i aSj first portraj*; 
Hioj i cttj, rerelling free, 
Fan of loose fitftivitj. 
Future then a rosy train^ 
Baechints strajing o*er the plain; 
Fipbg, ts they roam along, 
l^txmddaj or shepherd-song. 
1^ me next, if painting maj 
^ i theme as diis portraj, 
AH the earthl J heaven of love 
lliae delighted mortals prove. 

ODE nr.* 

^CLCAirl hear jonr glorious task; 
1 do not from jour labours ask 
Id gorgeous panoplj to shine, 
Tcr war was ne'er a sport of mine. 
No— let me have a silver bowl. 
Where 1 maj cradle all my soul; 
Bot mind that, o'er its simple frame 
Xo mimic constellations flame; 

MM ]«• tho tht vnptr to Icngtben this poem broon- 
tettrpolatkaa of bh own, whkh he thlnka are Indiflpen- 
•■V7 to a» eoaplccfam of the description, 
ids. Aotai OcUfaH telle Wv VM pefftimied at en entertaln- 

^e.] I heve aTmlled 
Iff* of the BdVtttlonBl Uoce firm In the Taticen mena- 
ddh have not been aeenrmtely laMrted In uaj of the 

O— f^w> M '^ *»C 0** 



modem imitalioa of tki 

Nor grave upon the swelling side, 
Orion, scowling o'er the tide. 
I care not for Uie glitt'ring wain. 
Nor jet the weeping sister train. 
But let the vine luxuriant roll 
Its blushing tendrils round the bowl. 
While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant moid" 
Is culling clusters in their shade. 
Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes. 
Wildly press the gushing grapes, 
And flights of Loves, in wanton play. 
Wing through the air their winding way; 
While Venus from her harbour green. 
Looks laughing at the ioyons scene. 
And young Lyaeus bv her side 
Sits, worthy of so bnght a bride. 

ODB V.« 

ScuLFTOB, would'st thou glad my soul. 

Grave for me an ample bowl, 

Wprthy to shine in hall or bower. 

When spring-time brings the reveller's hour. 

Orave it wi£ themes of chaste design. 

Fit for a simple board like mine. 

Display not there the barbarous rites 

In which religious zeal delights; 

Nor any tale of tragic fate 

Which History shudders to relate. 

No — cull thy fancies from above. 

Themes of heav'n and themes of love. 

Let Bacchus, Jove*s ambrosial boy, 

Distil the grape in drops of joy, 

And while he smiles at every tear. 

Let warm-ey'd Venus, dancing near. 

With spirits of the genial bed. 

The dewy herbage deftly tread. 

Let Love be there, without his arms,' 

In timid nakedness of charms; 

And all the Graces, link'd with Love, 

Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove; 

preoedinc. There Is a poem bj Calliu Caleacniniu, In the manner 
of both, where he giree Inttructions about the making of a ring. 

Tomabis annnlom mihi 

Et labre, et aptc, et commode, kc he. 

s Lh Love he there^ without Mm amM, ^-cj Thos flannatwo In 
the eclogue of OalUdo neU' Aicadia :— 

Vegnan 11 Taghl Amorl 
Sense flammelle, 6 itrall, 
Bcherxando iniieme pargolettl e nndL 
Flnttering on the btuj* wing, 

A train of naked Cupldi came. 
Sporting around in harmlcM ring, 

Without a dart, without a flame. 

And thai In the Ferrlglllum Yenerit : — 

Ite UTrnphet, poeuit anna, feriatus est amor. 

Lore Is disarm'd —ye nymphs, in safety straj, 
Tonr bosoms now may boast a holiday ! 
R 4 

ley boys di9port[iig 

ts trip the velvet ground. 

if (hero AjmUo toys, 
I for the lotj hoji.' 

I Eonght the spangled bowera, 
1 wreatli of matia Aowera. 

iy an early rone wns weeping, 
: nrchia Cupid sleeping.* 
10 hoy, a gohlet's tide, 
y mantling by my eiile, 
lim by his downy wing, 
m'd him in the racy spring, 
ik I down the potson'd bowl, 
now nestles in my sooL 
y soul ii Capid'a otst, 
Butlering in my breast. 

The w 

Tbal nil my bloom hoa pssi awa^ 

■■ Boliold," the pretly wantons 07 
" Behold Ibie luirror with a. Btfiii ; 
The tocki upon thy brow are lew. 
And, liko the rest, they'ru wilhciii 
Whether decUne has ihinn'd my fa 
I'm sure I neither know nor can ; 
But thii I know, and this I feel. 
As onward to the tomb Ifical. 
Tliat still as death approaches nea 
The joys of IJt'e are sweeter, deare 
And bad 1 but an hour to live. 
That little bonr to bliss I'd gire. 

I CASE not for the idle etnle 
Of Persia's king *, the rich, tbe gi 


learj DM tba nunmch'* thiMte* 
Sot wbb the liiaiiii'il giM mj own. 
Buoiit }» nia» ^» ntj wnaik, 
Id liakMa o'ar mj tanr to twMiha ; 
Be nn dw rid pcrfmiw* thM aov, 
To toel nd MMit Bj locki of imnr.* 
Tft4q rn ^u to quff mr wine, 
Aiifn-monowBa'ar woold ihinei 
Biiiftt— w totnM^ why than — 
rokWc to qoaff my wins •gain. 
iillhniriiiJe all oar iaj* ara toi^t, 
iHtliM ht* dimm'd their bloomy light, 
1m u At kMml hotm bc^nile 

Aid ibrd fram each new bowl of wine 
Tbc ndust dn^ oil Bacchu' ihrine. 
FoDtuh may come, with brow unpleasant, 
V tome, wtien least we wiih him present, 
iid beckon to ibe lable ahore, 
Aid gnglf Ud nc— drink no mora I 

I rtiT thee, hy the godi above,* 
Gin ae the mighty bowl I love, 
^hi Bt ring, in wild delight, 
* 1 *m— I win be mad to-night ! " 
^^DMs aoee, aa kgcndi tell, 
Tu btnoed by the flendi of hell ; 
ftow 100, with nakf d tread, 
fnolk pic'd the mountain-bead i 
Aul^tfr a marder'd mother's ahade 
Hooud tiMm Mill where'er they strayed. 

But ne'er could I a mnrderer be, 
The grapo alone shall bleed by Die ; 
Yet can I sboul, with wild di^lii^hL, 
"I will — I will be mad to-night I" 

Alcidcs' self, in days of yore, 
Imbni'd his bands in yoathful gore. 
And brandish'd, with a manlBC joy. 
The qniveroflh' expiring boy: 
And Ajal. with tremcndoas shield. 
Infuriate scoar'd the guiltless field. 
Bat I, whose bands no weapon ask. 
No annonr but tliis joyous flask ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scutter'd wreath of flowers, 
Ev'n I can sing with wild delight, 
"I will — I wiS be mad to-night! " 

How am T to punish theo, 
For the wrong thou'it done to ma, 
Sillv swallow, prating thing ' — 
ShaQ t clip that wheeliag wing ? 
Or, aa Tcreus did, of old.' 
(So the fabled lale is told.) 
Shall 1 tear that tongue away, 
Tongue that uttcr'd such a Uiy ? 
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been I 
Long before the dawn was seen. 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picluring her 1 worship, kiod, 
Jnst when I was nearly blest. 
Loud thy matins broke my rest '. 


n parrbnsc shall I pa; u 
is little WBxen toy, 
■ of IhePapliianbor?" 
f said, the other day, 
julh who pass'd my w«y : 

I (heu 

Ter'd, and tl 

d all in l>orio style,) 
t, for a trifle take it ; 
[>[ I who dared to make it ; 
jTome, 'Iwna not I ; 
19 coat me many a sigh, 
an no longer keep 
Bgoela, who murder Bleep ! " ' 
n, then here," (I said with joy,) 
I is silver for the boy ; 
nil bo my bosom guest, 
If my pious breast '. " 

n frame shall melt : 
— in yoiidor Bro 

Cyhflp's name he howia around 
The gloomy blast retains iJio x 
on too, by ClaroB' hallow *d apr 
The TOtariea of the lanrell'd kit 
Quaff the iospiring, ma^c strei 
And rate in wild, prophetic drt 
But frenzied dreams are not for 
Great Bacchiu ii my deity! 
Full of mirth, and fall of him. 
Wbile floating odoort nnuid m< 
While mantUng bowU ore fall t 
And yoD sit blushing by my aid 
I will bo mad and raving too — 
Had, my girl, with lore fur f on 

ODH xin. 

I witJ, I will, the conflict's pat 
And I'll consent to love M Un. 
Cnpid baa long, with smiling ai 
Invited me to yield my heart; 
And I have thought Chat peace 
Should not be for a Btnile reng; 
And 90 repcU'd the tender lure. 
And hop'd my heart would sle* 
ut, flighted in his boasted c 


- infnm 



Assumed the oonlet, shield, and spear, 
And, like Pelides, onil'd at fear. 
Tben (hear it, all je powers above I) 
I fought with Lore! I foa^t with Lore! 
And DOW his arrows all were shed. 
And I had jvit in tenor fled — 
When, beanng an indignant sigh. 
To ne me thus nnwoonded flj. 
And, hanng now no other dart. 
He iboi himself into mj heart! * 
Mjhetn— aks the luckless daj! 
Becm'd the god, and died awaj. 
fuewell, fiureweU, my faithless shield I 
Thy lord St length is forc'd to jield. 
Viin, Tiin, is every outward care. 
The foe's within, and triumphs there. 

'■i*L lis cki Dfon noo cbro d* Amort. 

TWiiddi of tiM b(nr and qulTcr 
3?^^<rtUiic la a adf hbouriac river. 
^tei,H I dnuUt OB jrortcr-ere, 
lJN>|«d-7mah. the tak btUer^) 
^ a«( » eoclfnc, enmUl draught, 
Ttwllqiaid SaBN I madly qnard i 
|«U*« VM iB the rippling tide, 
I Mt him to n7 b(Mom glide I 
jMiov the vily, wanton minion 
ffiiWBil my heart wtthratlcM pinion. 
^ ttvM of Altai atar, 
^•h I iwcre ereB oMve fatal ftr, 
^BMchw, in thy cup of Are, 
J«<tti ttdi iatt*iii«, yoong derir* t 
nai.thcB faidcad my aool would prore, 
*rk Bwt than ever, dnmk with love I 

flJiJI^ **» "» htartfi Dryden haa parodied thii 
mv Id tfaaOevlBg tztravagant lines !— 

rm all o*er Lore i 

Kir.I am Love i Lore duii, and ihot w Ihil, 
Br dMt hhueif faito my brcait at lart. 
!»#•■<. is thif catalogue of his mistrcMei, m«uu notldng 
Am, ly a liv«iy hyperbole, to inform us, that his lieart, un- 
' ^My one ol^kel, was warm with dcTotion towards the sex 
oaf. Cowley is inddMed to this ode for the hint of his 
(■lied** The Chnmicle;" and the learned ICenage has imi- 
Ib a Orecit Aaaereontle. whidi has so much ease and 
m» the nadcr may not be displeased at seeing it Itere :— 


AX m t rw MU f tm n u d iif 

Sl#tfi^t^ Mcj^t^nyi^ 


CouiTT me, on the summer trees, 
£Tery leaf that courts the breeze; * 
Count me, on the foamj deep. 
Every wave that sinks to sleep; 
Then, when you have numbered these 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
Count me all the flames I prove. 
All the gentle nymphs I love. 
First, of pure Athenian maids 
Sporting in their olive shades. 
You muy reckon just a score, 
Kay, I'll grant you flfteen more. 
In the fam'd Corinthian grove. 
Where such countless wantons rove,* 
Chains of beauties may be found. 
Chains, by which my heart is bound; 

TeU the foliage of the wood^ 
T«U the billows of the floods. 
Number midnight's starry store. 
And the sands that crowd the shore. 
Then, my Bion, thou majrst count 
Of my lores the Tast amount. 
Tre been loTing, all my days. 
Many nymphs, in many ways i 
Virgin, widow, maid, and wifo— 
I*Te been doting all my liile. 
Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains, 
Ooddeases of groTcs and mountains. 
Fair and sable, great and small, 
Tes, I swear Pre lor'd them all I 
Soon was every passion oTer, 
I was but the moment's lover i 
Oh I Fm sudi a roving elf. 
That the Queen of love herself, 
Though she practis'd all her wUee, 
Rosy blushes, wreathed smiles. 
All her beauty's proud endeavour 
Could not chain my heart for ever. 

S Cotmt me OH the tummer trte»f 
Evtry let^f, 4^c.] This figure is called, by rhetoricians, the Im- 
possible (.o^warow), and is yzry frequently made use of in poetry. 
The amatory writers have exhausted a world of imagery by it, to 
express the infinite number of kisses which they require from the 
lips of their mistresses i in this Catullus led the way. 

— Quam sidera multa, cum taoet noz, 
Furtivos hominum ridcnt amores { 
Tarn te basia multa basiare 
Yesano satis, et super, Catullo est i 
Quae nee ptrrnumerare ruriosi 
Possint, nee mala fascinare lingua. Carm. 7. 

As many ttellar eyes of light. 
As through the silent waste of night. 
Gazing upon thb world of shade. 
Witness some secret youth and maid. 
Who fair as thou, and fond as I, 
In stolen Joys ensmour*# lie- 
So many ki«scs, ere I slumber. 
Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number t 
So many kisses we shall count. 
Envy can never tell the' amount. * 

No tongue shall blab the sum, but mine | 
No lips shall &scinate, but thine I 

* In the/em'd Corinthian grove^ 

Where mch countUat trantoru rove, ^c] Corinth was very fk> 
mous for the beauty and number of Its courtezans. Yenus was the 
deity principally worshipped by the people, and their constant 
prayer was. that the gods should inerease the number of her wor> 
shippers. We may perceive from the ^if^ication of the verb 



a. arc nymphs Jivi»ft 

a soul like itu»e.' 

iiB unile; 

tty sworm can boast; 
aUias a hosl. 
ll — of bro ITU and fair 
uijt iwo ihousnnd xixcre. 
fare? Iiimyyou, peatfl! 
d before I ccnet. 
jon all my flames, 
morouB Syrian dames? 

-.•R-d ercrv one, 
irr EgypfsBun? 

h». who bliisliing ewect 
lod, with festal play, 

1 holiday? 

en, *lil] remain 
, desiring train;' 

IiidiVi >horei 
lony far reroov'd, 
S— alloreloy'd; 

Tell mo « hither, whence vou ro»^ 
TvU mo aO. my B»ecu«t dove 

Curious slranBer, I belong 
To the bard of Tuitui sunei 

To tlie nymph of amro eye;— 

Shc^ whose eye has maddcD'd uuny,' 

But the pool more llian any. 

Venus, for u byinn of Iotc, 

Warbled in her votive p^ve,' 

(Twag in Booth a gentle lay,) 

Gave me to the bard away. 

See mo now his faithful minion,— 

Thns with softly.giiding iiinion. 

To hit lovely girl I bear 

Songs of passion through the air. 

OR iio bhuidlt whispers me, 

" Soon, my bird. I'll set yon free." 

But in vain he'll bid tno fly. 

I shall servo him till I die. 

Never conld my plumes sustain 

Ruffling winds and chUtiug taia, '-- 

O'er the plains, or in the dell, 

On the mounlain's sBvu(;i- swell. 

Seekiinj in the dosen wood 

Gloomy shelter, nislic food. 

Now I lead a life of ease. from ni;:!.-i'il Jiaunls likp these. 




whh gentlj-iiiOTiiiff wings 
inM & minstrel ^i^le he sings: 
bis harp I sink in shimbers, 
nming idll of dulcet numbers! 

Tliis is sn — away — away — 
HI hire made me waste the day. 
nr Tre chatter'd I prating crow 
•Tcr yet did chatter so. 


or, whose soft and rosy hues 
nic fonn and soul infuse,^ 
t of painters, come, portray 
! lorely maid that's hr away,* 
away, my soul I thou art, 
IVe thy beauties all by heart. 
I her jetty ringlets playing, 
' locks, like tendrils straying; * 
. if painting hath the skill 
take the spicy balm distil,* 

ind tha oazt niArbt wiled oomiwaioQ-pletinrM { fhej- 
Jalwd. aadfi^ «• aa exeellcnt idea of Um taste of thr 
emosy. Fnadaeaa Juniiia quotes them In hia third 
tun Vetemm." 

I been imitated hr Booaard, Ohdlano OoaallnUae. ae. 
ca to it thaa in hia Anaereontiea t 

Glim Icpore blando, 
Caadidna Anacreon 
Qnam piafcret amtcnt 
Dcaaripiit Venercn anaxn. 

The Tdaa bard of former dajn, 
Attaa'd Ilia sweat descripttre laya. 
And taacht tlie paiDtcr'i hand to trace 
Hia <Ur bdorcd's erery frace. 

■i e€ Ga^paar BarisBoa, entitled ** An ibrmosa fit dn- 
adar vili ind many eariooa ideaa and descriptions of 

m m^ amd rosy hues 

ait^ mml in/mte^ I hare followed liere the reading of 
».0mSmK. Painting b called "the rosy art,** either in 
lowrlBK. or as an indefnite epithet of exeellenoe, from 
I cifbaaaty with tliat Sower. Balvini has adopted this 
litBnl traasiatioo t— 

Ddla roaea arte slgnore. 

' aipay.3 If this portrait of the poet's 
ideal, the omiarion of her name is mach to 
In an epigram on Anacreon, mentions 
:wrTpyie ** as his mistress. 

ftntf Hmtbtt plaifimo, 

&tc leiidbrfls scroyuv;] The ancients have been Tery 
I tJHttr peaistaof the beauty of liair. Apuldus, in the 
r hia Milesians, says, that Venus lierself, if she were 
■ntmded by the Oraees and the Lores, oonld not be 
Iff Iht |^Tff*Myi Ytilraa 

tn^ the epUket mU«»Xm«mmc to the Oraccs, and 81- 
aaapon the Muses. See Hadrian Junius's 

' poet«8ddcn alluded In a note on the Foly- 
: the Second, where obaerring, that tlie epi- 
givfa l»y some of the ancients to the 
e enya, " Nor will I swear, bat that Anacreon (a man 
im tke ineoiEiBff aoUtvs of wnntoo lore), intending 

Let evciy little lock exhale 
A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
Where her tresses' curly flow 
Darkles o*er the brow of snow. 
Let her forehead beam to light, 
Bumish'd as the ivory bright. 
Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jetty arches o'er her eyes. 
Each, a crescent gently gliding, 
Just commingling, just dividing. 

But, hast thou any sparkles warm. 
The lightning of her eyes to form? 
Let them effuse the azure rays 
That in Minerva*8 glances blaze, 
Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In Cytherea's languid eyes.' 
O'er her nose and cheek be shed 
Flushing white and soften'd red; 
Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bashful rose.' 
Then her lip, so rich in blisses. 
Sweet petitioner for kisses,' 
Hosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love's invasion. 

to bestow on his sweet mistress that one of the titles of woman's 
spedal ornament, well-haired (KaXA«wXari«M«c), thoughtof this when 
be gare his painter direction to make her blaclc-haired." 

^ And, if painting hath the Mtt 

To make Ae tpicy balm dittiU 4-c.] Thns Fhilostratus, speaking 

of a picture : !*■■>■ «•« ««•' * » 9i ^m99¥ rmv fiodmv, cat firif* yryps4 ^ »i «vr« 

t»4Tm riK o*/d^. " I admire the dewiness of these roses, and oould say 
tliat their Tery smell was painted." 
6 Mix'd with the liquid lU^t that liea 

In Cythered'B languid ^es.] MarchetU explains thus the *rp» of 
the original t— 

Dipingni umidetti 
TremuU e lasdvettl, 
Qnal gU ha Ciprigna Talma Den d'Amorc. 

Tasso has painted in the same manner the eyes of Armida : — 

Qua! raggio in onda le scintilla nn riso 
Negli umidl oochi tremulo e lascivo. 

Within her humid, melting eyes 
A brilliant ray of laughter Il«s, 
Soft as the broken solar beam. 
That trembles in the azure stream. 

The mingled expression of dignity and tenderness, which Ana- 
creon requires the painter to infui« into the eyes <^ his mistress, is 
more amply described in the subse^iuent ode. Both descriptions are 
so exquisitely touched, tliat the artist must liaTe been great indeed, 
if be did not yield in painting to the poet. 

' Minglino tints, cm when there a'oics 

IntntncymiU: the baMl{ful rote.} Thus Propertlns, eleg. S. Ub. IL 

TJtque rossi ptiro lacte natant folia. 

And Davenant, in a little poem called " The Mistress," 

Catch as it falls the Scythian snow. 
Bring blushing roses stcep'd in milk. 

Thna too Taygetns i — 

Qua lac atque rosas Tinds eandore mbentL 

These last words may perhaps defend the ** flushing white ** of the 

■ Then her ftp, to rich in blittet. 

Sweet petitioner fur kittetj The ** lip, proroklng klssca," in the 
original, is a strong and beautiftil expression. AcMIIm Tatlua 
speaks of x«*^ ma^m* v^^oc r* ^ai|/<«r*, ** Lip« goft and delicate for 
kiaslng.** A grare old commentatur, DIonysios Lamhinus, in liis 
notes upon Lucretius, tells us with the apparent authority of «zpe- 
tiHwe,that "Snavias Tina oseulaatnr paall* labioaM, qaam qua 




; the lipe, thongh sUent, wear 
ooky as if words were there.* 

thoa his iworj neck most trace, 
d with soft bat manljr grace ; 
the neck of Paphia*8 boy, 
Pafdiia's arms hare hung in J07. 
m the winged Hermes' Iwnd,* 
hich he wares his snaky wand ; 
xhns the broad chest supply, 
m1a*s sons the sinewy thigh ; 
through his whole transparent frame, 
bow'st the stirrings of that flame, 
kindles, when the first lore-sigh 
Tom the heart, unconscious why. 

mre thy pencil, thongh so bright, 

>n8 of the eye*8 delight, 

*namonr*d touch would show 

>alder, fair as sunless snow, 

now in veiling shadow lies, 

d firom an but Fancy's eyes. 

>r his feet — but hold — forbear — 

le sun-god's portrait there ; ' 

lint Bathylhis I when, in truth, 

in that god, thou'st sketch'd the youth. 

, «• i/wonb were Ckere.] In the orlffinal x«x«v »»ttwt. 
of FMrardk ** parU eondlwniio," vhieh ii pcrhAjMtlM 
of fcmal* doQMnoe. 

I the wimged Herman hamdy ^e.] In ShakMpt$n*» 
I b a rimilar metbod of dcKiiiitkm :— 


Hb Atot Bcroirlal, his martial thigh. 
The brawns of Hareolee. 

kcwte in Hamlet. Loofcpierre thinks th*t the handi 
ii« Hlected by Anaereon, on account of the graccAil 
sh vera Mqipoeed to eharactcxiae the god of eloquence i 
' was also the patron of thieres, and may perhaps be 
isht-flnteted deity. 

wwm-god^e pertraU tkert;"] The abmpt tnm here is 
rrquircs some explanation. While the artist is pur- 
rtrait of Bathyllus, Anaereon. we must suppose, turns 
a pietvre of Apollo, which was intended for an 
He then Instantly tells the painter to cease his 
ills picture will serve Ibr Bathyllns ; and that, when 
moa, he may make aa Apollo of the portrait of the 

Dader) eoold not be more elegantly 

does him more honour than the 

U might be, wiiieh Folycratcs raised to 

at tmadatkn of tids ode, says Degcn, may be found 
tjr. Blums iilese, lib. t. p. 40B. 

t wtae i» brimmiag urns, 4-c.] Grig vmmt a^Mwrt. Tlie 
a m e t hod ofdrinkfaig used among the Thracians. Thus 
mida Tfaieat amystldc.** Mad. Dader, Langeplcrre, 

I, in Ms twenty-sizth epistle (Thesaur. Critie. toL L), 
amyatis as a draoght to be exhausted without drawing 
» haosta.*' A note In the mancln of this epbtle of 
'Fotttknos Tcstem esse putabat,** bat adds no 

■ (says 
thb one 

eg tkoee Immiijhwen^ 4-C.3 According to the original 
lb liae.ttie poet says, ** Give me the flower of wine "— 
e L^al, ■• b b ta tbie Tmbn of KliM Andreas I 

Enough —let this bright form be mine. 
And send the boy to Sauios* shrine ; 
Phoebus shall then Bathyllus be, 
Bathyllus then, the deity I 


Now the star of day is high. 

Fly, my girls, in pity fly. 

Bring me wine in brimming urns, * 

Cool my lip, it bums, it bums I 

Sunn'd by Uie meridian fire, 

Panting, languid I expire. 

Give me all those humid flowers,' 

Drop them o'er my brow in showers. 

Scarce a breathing chaplet now 

lires upon my fererish brow ; 

Erery dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears and withers there.* 

But to you, my burning heart,' 

What can now relief impart ? 

Can brimming bowl, or flowret's dew. 

Cool the flame that scorches you ? 

Deh porgetiml del flore 

Di quel almo e buon liquore, 

as Regnier has It, who supports the reading. The word A»«k would 
undoubtedly bear thb application, which b MUncwhat similar to its 
import in the epigram of Simonides upon Sophodes :— 

and flos in the Latin b frequently applied In the same manner— 
thus Cethegus b called by Bnnius, Flos inllbatuspopuli, suadcque 
medulla, ''The immaculate flower of the people, aod the very 
marrow of persuasion." See these Terses dtcd by Aulus Oellius, 
lib. xii., which Cicero praised, and Seneca Hiovght ridiculous. 

But in the passage before us. if we admit «•(»»•>, according to 
Faber*s conjecture, the sense b sulBdently dear, without baring 
reooune to such refinements. 
' Every dewy rote I wear 

Sheda Ua teare, find withere (Acre.] There are some beauUftil 
lines, by Angerianus, upon a garland, which I cannot resist quoting 

Ante fores madldas sb sic pendete corolla. 

Mane orto Imponet Calia roe eapiti 1 
At quum per nireom oerricem influzerit humor, 
Didte, non rorb sed pluria luec lacxinus. 

By CeUa's arbour all the night 
Hang, humid wreath, the lorer's roir 1 

And haply, at the morning light, 
Uy lore shall twine thee round her brow. 

Then, if upon her bosom bright 
Some drops of dew shall fall from thee. 

Tell her, they are not drops of night, 
But tears of sorrow shed by me I 

In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth b thb moss-eorered 
grotto of stone," there b an idea rery kingularly odnddent with 
thb of Angerianus: — 

And thou, stony grot, In thy arch may'st piesei re 
Some lingerlnir drops of the night-fallen dew { 

Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'U sem 
As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. 

■ Bid to yoM, my bwuing kearU 4^] The transition here b pe- 
culiarly delicate and Impassioned ; bnt the commentators haw 
perplexed the sentiment by a raiiety of reading* and conjeetnrea. 




Obsskyb wben mother earth ia dry, 

She drinks the droppingi of the sky. 

And then the dewy cordial giTes 

To er^iy thhsty plant that liTOS. 

The Tapooxiy which at eTening weep, . 

Are be^enge to the sweUmg deep ; 

And when the rosy son appears, 

He drinka the ocean's misty tears. 

The moon too qoafis her paly stream 

Of lustre, from the solar beam. 

Then, hoice with all yoor sober thinking ! 

8ince Natmre^s holy law is drinking ; 

m make the laws of nature mine, 

And pledge the uniTerse in wine. 

to ttmnr Um didM of pM- 
iMnrtHbl triflSt TCQiiiiv too mocb flrom 
, 0«il very Mplntly thinkt 
Mue bliiA earth abtorba 
jolhcri •adMoonUnflirlieliidalgci 
I tte gaUeeU-Sot 0«U's 



tiittitrl this ode. In an «pltapli on a 

iirfxl rfM aso MMt de Iniliilfti uciif 
StotdlH plvvlM nlo penwU bOrft. 
Sfe hiMlMiUiik ftotoi ct flmniaa Fontm, 

Sfe Mnptr ritlCDS Sol raarla luuirlt aqiiM. 
He te Wtnr jMtai plm me, Silene. MUM I 
Xt aEdU de TidM ta oooqve, Baoche. muni*. 

Hiprotms Caftcufos. 

WUIi U* wae miaa, the little hoar 
la driakJac etOl nBTaried Sew i 

I drmak aa earth iabibce the shower. 
Or a* tha ralabow dxlnki the dew i 

Ab oeeaa qaaft tha riven vp. 
Or fhwiifac ma inhalee the tea : 

SOanae treonbled at bbj enp, 

I ovtdona by me I 

qbbH eitfaic thoee icBavkabla line* of Shakapeaia, 
tbe thoachli of the ode before ae are preeerrcd with inch 

m caample ytm with thlereir. 
*e a thief, and whh Ms KTcat attraction 
▼ait sea. The moon'e an arrant thief, 
pale tie iha enatchet flrom the ran. 
The an** a thief, wfaoee Uqnld enrve retolTee 
Iheaaoandetaitoeaittean. The earth'i a thief, 
That fcedi. and breeds bf a eompostnre stol'n 

Timom qfAtketUt • 8. 

•*«>bnn;] NIobe.-0^lTic, in his 
' «■ tha I^ik Poetry of the Andents. in remarking upon the 
, eays, ** In some of his pieces there is exuberance 
of hnagf nation i in tliat partlealarly, which is 
' ffM, where ha wialies alternately to be trans- 
r, a eoat, a stream, a bracelet, and apair of shoes, 
I whldi ha redtes : this is mere sport and 

r, of a very fraeeftol M nse i ** Indit 
r.** Tha eompllment of this ode is exquisitely delicate, 
iw tlw period in wlildi Anaereon Ured, when the 
I ef towe had not yet been graduated into all its little progres- 
that if wa ware inclined to question the aothen- 
, wa should tad a araeh more plausible argument 
laf ■odsaeBUMrtvjvliialiit baais,tiiaa in any of 

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm. 
Was once a weeping matron's form ;* 
And Frogne, hapless, frantic maid, 
Is now a swallow in the shade. 
Oh ! that a mirror's form were mine, 
That I might catch that smile divine ; 
And like my own fond fancy be. 
Reflecting thee, and only thee ; 
Or could I be the robe which holds . 
That gracefol form within its folds ; 
Or, tam*d into a fountain, Ure 
Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perrame for thy hair. 
To breathe my soul in fragrance there; 
Or, better still, the zone, &at lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs I ' 

those fhstidloiwooqIeetinesQpoB which some eommantators have 
presumed so fkr. Degen thinks it spurioos, and Da Fanw pro* 
nounoes it to be miserable. Longeplcrre and Bamas refhr us to 
several imitations of this ode, flram whieh I shall only select the 
following epigram <tf Dionyslns >— 

E4#' «y«M«C y«'«#Myi', «v #€ yt grw x »iwr» wrn^ anym t , 
C«S« tt^uMm yn^iiff* XivtM%p»«mf *40^ M* XV**" 

I wish I could like zephyr steal 

To wanton o'er thy maxy rest ( 
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-Tdl, 

And take me panting to thy breast I 

I wish I might a rose-bud grow. 
And thou wouldst cull me fh>m the bower, 

To place me on that breast of snow, 
Where I should bloom, a wintzy flower. 

I wish I were the lUy's leaf, * « 

To fkde upon that bosom warm, , 
Content to wither, pale and brief. 

The trophy of thy fairer form I 

I may add, that Plato has expressed as fandAil a wish in a distich 
preeenred by Laertius : 


Why dost thou gaze upon the sky f 
Oh I that I were that spangled sphere, 

And every star should bt an eye. 
To wonder on thy beauties h^re I 

Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine phllosophv, to Justify 
himself for his verses on Critias and Charinns. See hb Apology, 
where he also adduces the example of Anaereon x " Feoere tamen 
et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, apud Gnecos Teins qnidam," Jkc 

* Ort betttr sttTZ, the tone, that /i«s, 

Clote to thy breast^ and fed* U$ fight /] This roM^M, was a riband, 
or band, called by the Romans fascia and strophium, which the 
women wore for the purpose of restraining the exuberance of the 
boeom. Vide Folluc Onomast. Thus Blartial : — 

FaseiA cresoentes dominss oompesce papillae. 

The women of Greece not only wore this sone, but condemned 
themselves to fasting, and made use of certain drugs and powders 
for the same purpose. To these expedients they were compelled, in 
consequence of their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist 
into a very narrow eompass, which necessarily cansed aa axeassiva 
tumidity ia tha boeom. Sea Diosooridas, lih. t. 



1 thoKe cnviooa pcsrU that iliow 
Mt]j round tlul iwck of enow — 
Tvould br a hnpjiy gtm, 
Hem to hoQg, to lade like them. 
« would ihj' AjiocreoD Im ? 
ing that IDUuhea ihee) 
jmdaU for those airj feet — 
I be irod by ibeia verc sweet !' 


Ik wish thia languid lyre, 
larblcr ofinj aoal's desire, 
nrotiie the breath of song sublime, 
\i of fame, in former time, 
n tho Boaring theme I try, 
Itbe chords my numbers die, 
with distolving tone, 
Lighs are given to lovo oloae 1 " 
It Bl the feeble lay, 
e piujliog chardd awur, 
them to a nohlcr sKell, 
uct uj^uin the breathing sheTl ; 
LP glow of epic lire, 
■'cuics I woke the Ij re.* 

But Etill its fating lighs repeat, 
"The tale of love £one it sweet!" 
Then fore thee well, wductive drei 
That mad'tt »b follow Glory'* tirei 
For thou Jay lyre, and thou my ho 
'~' " - 'n spirit part: 

And all 11 

The other sbaU ai 

le but Iclt M> well 
eetlj tell ! 

ODB XllY.' 

To all thai brpalhc the air of hc«Ti 
Some boon of strength hat Nature 
In forming (he majestic bull, 
She feneed with wreathed honu hi 
A hoof of strength «he lent tbe Met 
And wing'd the tinioroos hare witl 
6he i^Bve the liun fangs of terror, 
And, o'er the ocoan'a cijuxmI minoi 
Tnugbt the unnumboT'd (caly thnn 
To trace their liquid path along ; 
While for the uinbra^ of the grovi 
She plnm'd the warbling world of k 



TIkb, wlmt» oh wcmum, what, for thee. 
Wis kft in Natiire*8 tnuarj? 
She gii;fe thee heaotj — mightier fiv 
Than all ths pomp and power of war.* 
Nor Med, Bor fire itself hath power 
like woman in her oonqnering hour. 
Be thoa but &ir, mankind adore thee, 
Smik, and a wofld ia weak hefbre thee!* 


Old in eadi verohring year, 
GcntkbirdI we find thee here. 
When Nature wears her snmmer-Test, 
TboQ oom'st to weare thj simple nest; 
Bat when the chilling winter lowers, 
Afiin thou seek'st the genial bowers 
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where rannj hoars for ever smile. 
And thai thj pinion rests and rores, — 
Ahs! nnHke the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within diis hapless breast. 
And new, never diange Uieir nest! * 
SdH ereiy jear, and all the year, 
Ther fix their &ted dwelling here; 
And some their infant phmiage try. 
And on a tender winglet fly; 
Wbile in the shell, impregn'd with fires. 
Still hirk a thonsand more desires; 
Sosne from their tiny prisons peeping, 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, 
Mr breast resonnds with warbling Loves; 

|*%tbu the mmw, aad . 
*l!i*Qtiilhc lakt to the 

4|^Mar.] Thna AeUllcsTatliu:— 

r^mntmn, * Beauty woonds in ore 
thronsh the eye to the fvrj muI: 

^*M.ndawoHdiM wtak b^fitre lAee/] Loo«e|dem'i remark 
^■Mgcafawt :— * The Bomain,** aayi he, "were wo convinced 
<^»(>«fr of bcaaty, that they need a word implying strensth in 
t piaet of the epithet beantlfhl Thna Plautiu, act t. loe&e s. 

cUainlbvtii tibi 


Of MMTWi/Zevfli, 

matl"} Thw Lot* If re pieicu ted 
hi as episf ■ dted hy Loacepfcne ftom the Antho- 

Mj Barrios and Koafau.** 
ode edrtnwd to the nraUow. 

One nrchin imps the other^s feather. 
Then twin-desires they wing together. 
And fast u Ubity thus take their fight. 
Still other nrchms spring to light. 
But is there then no kindly art, 
To chase these Cnpids firom my heart; 
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear, 
They will for ever nestle here! 


Tht harp may sing of Troy's alarms. 
Or tell the tale of Theban arms; 
With other wars my song shall bom. 
For other wounds my hsip shall mourn. 
'Twas not the crested warrior's dart, 
That drank the current of my heart; 
Kor naval arms, nor mailed steed. 
Have made this vanqnish'd bosom bleed; 
No — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew; ' 
And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes! 


VbrIi* lo pieaga al too cento, 
Baadiiiella impoKtnne, ae. 

O^i^Mi 4v 0wfm w <« n T* y]U«Kw A«c^ ^^m« 


We read the flying courser's name 
Upon his side, in marks of flame; 
Ajid, by their turban'd brows alone. 
The warriors of the East are known. 

*Tii Lore that mnnnun In ay Tii iiael. 
And makes me shed the secret tear i 
Mor day nor niffht my eoul hath reit. 
For night and day hi« Toioc I hear. 
A wound within my heart I And, 

And oh I 'tis plain wliere Love haa been ; 
For ttill be leaves a wound bdiind. 
Such as within my heart is seen. 
Oh, bird of Love I with song so drear. 
Make not ray aoni the nest of pain ; 
But. let the wing whkdi broocht thee here. 
In pity waft thee henoe again ! 
s '^The German poet Us has imitated this ode. 
Wei«seSchen.Liedcr,lib.iiL.derSoldat.*' OaU,: 
• yo—'tieoM/rom eyes qf liquid Mae 
A ftott qfquirtr'd CmpiatM*o .' 3 Longepierre has qaoled part of 
an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, which haa a 
fkacy something like this. 

Archer Love I though slUy creeping. 
Well I know where thou dost lie i 
I saw thee throui^ the curtain peeping. 
That fringes Zcnophelia's eye. 
The poets abound with conceits on the erehery of the eyes, but 
ttw have turned the thought so aatnrally as Anaereon. Ronsard 
gives to the eyes of his mistress ** un petit eamp d'amoun." 

' This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS., but 
I have conformed to the editions In translating them separate^. 

'* Compare with this (ssys Dcgen) the poem of Bamlcr Wahnd- 
dMB der Lkbe, In Lyr. Blumenlcse, lib. Iv. p. 31S." 

8 2 

I glowing eyea, 
a his IxMom liea ;' 

n we Bee the satuM fwnt murk, 
e bus drapp'd his bnnung spark! 

I Lcmoian forge's flame, 
id of the Psphinn dnnie 
ID glowing strel, to form 
I- Cupid, thrilling wann-, 
ft, B» ho plied bis un, 
rotind his nevi-mado dnn. 
lit hand, Ut lini^h nil, 
arrow's point with 61*11 ;' 
e Lord of Bnltlea came 
It deep caTO of flame, 
'lo ranks of war he Tusb'd. 
1 many a hfe-drop blaah'd; 

He saw the fior; darts, and nrnl'd 
Conlemptuoue u the archer-child. 
" Wliotl" sud the orchin, "ilnst th' 
Here, hold this little dnrt awhilf^ 
And thou wilt find, thongh awift of 
M; bolts are oot so fcotheiy light." 
Man took the ehaft — and, ob, th 
Sweet Venns, when the shnfl he tot 
Sighing, he felt the urchin's art, 
And cried, ia agony of heart, 
"It is not light — 1 sink with pain! 
Take — take thy arrow Itaek again. 
"No." said the child, "it mnst not 
Thut little dan was made foe thee!' 




Bat oh, It is the wont of pain. 

To lore md not be loy'd againi 

Affection now has fled from earth, 

Kor lire of genhis, noble birth, 

Kor hesTenl J firtae, can beguile 

From beantj's cheek one iaTouring smile. 

Gold ii the woman's only theme» 

Gold is the woman's only dream. 

Oh! nerer be that wretch forgiven — 

Foighre him not, indignant heaven I 

^Hioie grorelline eyes could first adore^ 

^fboie heart coud pant for sordid ore. 

^ that devoted thirst began, 

^ has forgot to feel for man; 

The pobe of social life is dead, 

And all its fonder foelings fledl 

^ar too has sullied Nature's charms, 

For gold provokes the world to arms i 

^^ oh! the worst of all its arts, 

h rends asunder loving hearts. 


\^^ in a mocking dream of night — 
■\ ^^cied I had wings as light 
^^a joong bird's, and flew as fleet; 

^ hile Love, around whose beauteous feet. 

When in langaor ikcfw tlie heart. 
Lof« can wak« h with hii lUrt ; 
When the mind is doll and dark, 
Lo«c can light it with hit ipark ! 
Cook, oh I eome tlwn, let iu hafU 
AU the bUai of love to taite I 
Let na love both nisht and daj* 
Let na love onr lirca away I 
And when heaits, fitim lorinf ftee, 
(If indMd each hcartfl there be,) 
Frown npon our gentle flame. 
And the eweet dclurion bhune i 
lUia ahall be mj only enne, 
(Could I, eoold I wiih tliem wone ? ) 
Maj they ne'er the rapture pvoTCt 
Of the anile from lips we love I 

from this allegory, that our poet married very 

'^»lik. Bat I see nothing in the ode which ailndea to matri- 
•V.occpt it be the lead upon the fleet of Capid \ and I agree in 
i<|Baka of Madame Dader, in her Uflt of the poet, that he waa 
fy* too fond of plearare to marry. 

The derign of this little fletion b to intimate, that much greater 
I tftoMfa fakarosiliOty than ean erer rceult flrom the tendercet 
rrnkMB of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram 
A bean some siaiiitadc to this ode I— 



▼Iz prima silentla noetis 
et Bocono Inmina Ticta daliam I 

ct I t e ium perrigilare Jabet. 
■ mena, inquit, amos cum mills paellas, 
I lo, solns. dare jaeere potes f 
ei pedibos nadis, tunioaqus solnta, 
Her impedio, nnllnm iter ejq^io. 

ire ^get t mrsumque ledire 
I cCpodor est rtarcTia media. 

I knew not whj, hung chains of lead, 
Pursued me, as I trembling fled; 
And, strange to saj, as swift as thought, 
Spite of my pinions, I was caught I 
What does the wanton Fancy mean 
By such a strange, illusive scene? 
I fear she whispers to my breast. 
That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its rest; 
That though my fancy, for a while. 
Hath hung on many a woman's smile, 
I soon dissolv'd each passing vow, 
And ne'er was caught by love till now! 


Abx'd with Byadnthine rod, 
(Arms enough for such a god,)' 
Cupid bade me wing my pace. 
And tiy with him the rapid race. 
0*er many a torrent, wild and deep, 
By tangled brake and pendent steep. 
With weary foot I pantine flew. 
Till my brow dropp'd wiUi chilly dew." 
And now my soul, exhausted, dying. 
To my lip was faintly flying;* 
And now I thought the spark had fled. 
When Cupid hoTer*d o'er my head. 

Solus eg* cz eonctis pareo somnnmqne Usmmqae* 
£t seqnor imperinm, ssire Cupido, tuum. 

Upon my ooush I lay, at night proftmnd,. 

My langnid eyes in misgic slumber bound. 

When Cupid came and snatch'dme fhim my bed. 

And Ibrc'd me many a weary way to tread. 

** What I (said the god) shall yon, wluise tows are known 

¥nio love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone ? " 

I rise and follow i all the night I stray, 

Unslielter'd, trembling, donbtfU of my way i 

Tracing with naked foot the painftil track, 

Loth to proceed, yet fiearftal to go back. 

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems Interr'd, 

Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks arc heard, 

I, I alone, a fugitive from rest. 

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast* 

Wander the world around, unknowing where. 

The slare of love, the rictim of despair I 

S mi my brew dropp'dw/UA dully dew."] I hare followed those 
who read n^pfv Uptt for vci/mv i^^oc; the former is partly aathorised 
by the MS. which reads wttpw Upt»t. 

* And novo my son/, exAoiafed, dyinQt 

To my l^wa$ faintly Jlying: 4*0.] In the original, he says, his 
heart flew to his nose t but our manner more naturally transfors H 
totheUps. Such is the effect that Plato tells us he fUt from a kiss, 
in a distich quoted by Aulus Oellius : — 

«w»X* * ^* * * ■• X »Wi 

Whene'er thy neetar'd kiss I dp, 
And drink thy breath, in trance dlTine, 

My soul then flutters to my lip. 
Ready to fly and mix with thine. 

Anins Gellins subjoins a paraphiaee of this epigram, in whidi we 
flnd a numlMr of those miynardiMB of eTjeessinn, wliich mark thie 

8 3 



iKiil Ilia hrentr pinion, 
oul from deatb-« donunioD -. ' 
oeconw balf-reproTing. 
on been a foe to loving?" 

i^raat bed ot Icavps, 

turj-'s d'ream I sink," 
of B«rd>o» drink! 

ur of revelry 

ill my Mleodanl ba- 
le, wilh Cnnic ruund 
&nd shouldera bound, 


hcela thai kindling roll. 

o feed the wind, 

will leav« boliind. 
Wftate tho rose's bloom 
nseosalo lombt 

te. or odour's brealb. 



■TwAs noon of night, when round the ■ 
The tnUen Bear i> imd to roll; 
And mortoli, weuied with the day. 
Are BlumbBring all their cares away; 
Ad infant, at ibat dreary hour. 
Came weeping to my sifeni boner, 
And wak'd me wilh a pitooiu prayer. 
To shield him from the niidnight air. 
"And who an thou," I waiting cry, 
-That bid'it my blierfnl visions Hy?- 
"All, gentla aire I " the iofent said. 
"In pits lake me to thy sbed; 
Kor fear deveil- a lonely child 
I wunder o'er iho gloomy wild. 
Chill drops the rain, and not a rav 
jQlumes the drear and misty way f" 

I heard tha baby's lale of woe; 
I heard the billcr nigbl.wind» blow; 
And sighing for hig piteous fine, 
I trimm'd my lamp and op'd the gale. 
Twas Love! tho little wand'ring sprite 
His pinion sparkled tliruugh the night. 
I knew him by his bow and dart; 
I kiiew him by tnv flattering bean. 
Fondly 1 tnke hin'i St.. and niii=c 




That mach I fear, the midiiight shower 
Has injur'd its elastic power." 
The £stal how the urchin drew; 
Swift from the string the arrow flew; 
Aj swifUj flew as glancing flame, 
And to mj inmost spirit came! 
''Faie thee wefl," I heard him saj. 
As langhing wild he wing'd away; 
''Fare thee weD, for now I know 
The rain has not relax'd my how; 
It still can send a thrilling dart. 
As thoa Shalt own with m thy heart! " 


Oh thou, of all creation blest, 
Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest 
Upon the wild wood's leafy tops. 
To drink the dew that morning dropts 
And chirp thy song with such a glee,* 
That hi^ifiest kings may enry Uiee. 
Whaterer decks the Telret field, 
Whate'er the circling seasons yield. 
Whatever hnds, whiOeTer blows. 
For thee it bods, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, 
To hun thy friendly notes are dear; 

I Ir m LMn od« adi tiw wi l to the gnahopper, Bapin hu prc- 
rrtvl MOK (rf'thft t homh t i of oar Mithor :— 

O qua virciiti gmnink in toco, 
CaewU. blanda aidia. tt harUdot 
Saltna oboTM, otioHM 

8cn forte adnltk florilKM ineBbM, 
CsbU eadods cteto flctibw, Ac 

Oh tboa, that oo tbe icraM7 bed 
Wbleh Natiirt** vanud hftnd hu aprMd, 
nwlln— t iolt. and Um'«t thjr fOBc, 
Tbc dewy berte umI leaTea unonf I 
Wbccbcr thoB ly'at on avtingiag flowers. 
Dnmk vith the balny momlnc-ghowet*, 

See what Ueetwaeyi aboot crudioppert, cap. 93. and ISS. 

= ^itdckirp ikiftomg with amA a ifUe, *c.] ** Some author! have 
uajs MadMse Dader). that it la only male icraariioppen 
rfa«, ami. that the fcmalea are sileoti and on thia drcum- 
la SDOBdcd a bon-mot of Xenarchua, the eomie poet, who 

■•* •» I • Me ■•« the irra«boppera happy In haTlng dumb wivea ? • " 
Ma Brtt ia orfsinally Henij Stcphen'a ; but I choae rather to 
■Iec a lady aoty aotborftf Cor It. 

» n* M-mn bN tfty aArfll^ torn; *c] Phile, de Animal. Pro- 

calla tUa faiaeet Mmmk 4«3Uc the darllnir of the Muaea { and 

', the bird of theMnaea ; and we find Plato eompaied for 

to the graariioppcr. In the fbUowing punning linca of 

by IHoctnca Lacrtina : — 

For thou art mild as matin dew; 
And still, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins to paint the bloomy plain. 
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain; 
Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, 
And bless the notes and thee revere! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone;' 
Apollo calls thee ail his own; 
'Twas he who gave that voice to thee, 
*Ti8 ho who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

Unworn by age's dim decline. 
The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. 
Melodious insect, child of earth,* 
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; 
Exempt from every weak decay. 
That withers vulgar frames away ; 
With not a drop of blood to stain 
The current of thy purer vein; 
So blest an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a Uttle deity! 

Thia laal Una ia borxowad ttcn Bomer'a Iliad« r, when then 
xun the rrry aarac almile. 

< Jfilnrtitmg foaeer. <AUd ^ aarift,] LooccpioiTe haa quoted the 
no tnt Qbaeaof aa cpicram or Aatipatar, flrom the flrat book of the 

the inuAopiMr to flie fwan I 


Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head; 

A^n* mi » y < ^m#*vim #p»#>t , aXX« *(Mrr*r 

In dew, that dropa from moming'a wingi, 

The K*V Cicada aippiuK floata i 
And, drunk with dew. hb matin ainga 

Sweeter than any cygnet 'a notea. 

• Theoeritoa haa imitated thia beautifhl ode In hia nineteenth Idyl t 
but ia very Inferior, I think, to hia original, in delicacy of point and 
naTret^ of expreadon . Spenaer, in one of hit amalla- compositiona, 
haa aported more diflUaely on the aame aub^ect. The poem to 
which I allude, begina thua : — 

Upon a day, aa Lore lay aweetly alnmbering 

All in hia mother'a lap ; 
A gentle bee, with hia loud trumpet murmuring. 

About him flew by hap, Ac. Ac. 

In AlmeloTeen'a collection of epigram*, there la one by Luzo- 
rlua, correapondent aoroewhat with the turn of Anacreon, where 
Love complalna to hia mother of bring wounded hj a roae. 

The ode before ua ia the rery flower of aimpUcity. The infkntlne 
complaininga of the little god, and the natural and impreative 
reflectioua which they draw fVom Venus, are beautiea of inimitable 
grace. I may be pardoned, perhapa, for intiodndng here another 
of Menage'a Anacreontic*, not for ita aimilitude to the aubject of 
thia ode, but for aome faint tracea of the aame natural aimpUcity, 
which it appeara to me to have prcaerred : — 

EpwC wr' cv xo^"K 
TcM* wtLpfinttrv aarror, 

*0c tUwv, Af wpof «tfn;» 
4JU* ft^t MV^*ih ov*. 

S 4 


^^^^^^Hi. not to see 

I might, by bribu. mj doom delay. 

^^^^^^^Bes a Blmnbcriag bcc; 

And bid him call Hime diitanl dar. 

^^^^■l-with anger 

But. since, not aU eonb-a golden store 

^^^^^^^^Hl, and etung the child. 

Can buy for us one bright hour more. 

^^^^^■us are his 

Why dionld we vainly motini oar Cate 

^^^^^^^^Hk he nin^ h« Bits; 

Or tigh at life'* Qno«rtiua dalt? 

^^^^■-I uo wounded thnmgb^ 

Nor wealth nor grandeur can iUnma 

^^^^^H —in sootb 1 do! 

The silent midnight of tba tomb. 

^^^^^^H lillte uigr; Ihing, 

No — giie to others hoarded treasorea — 

^^^^^^■lU a 

Mine be the brilliant roimd of pleasures ; 

^^^^Hfur ODC<% I know. 

The goblel rich, the board of fnenda. 

^^^^^K OLll 

Whose social souls the goblet blends;' 

^^^^^^^^H and she the while 

And mine, while yet Fve Ufe to Uve, 

Those joys that love alone can give. 

^^^^^^HV infiuit. if to math 

^^^^^Hctlo wild-bee-s teach. 

^^^^^■heait, ah, Cupid t he. 

^^^^^^■an [bat's stang by 


Twu night, and many a eircUni: bowl 
Had deei^y wann'd my thitBtr eon]; 

^^^^^H ODE XXXVL> 

As lull'd in slumber I wa* laid, 

^^^^^^Hd poseeas'd Che power 

Bright visions o'«- my fencv pUyU 

^^^^^^■fe'B too acclsag hoar. 

With maidens, blooming as the dawn. 

^^^^^■from the hand of death 

I seem'd to afciin ihe opening la«n; 

^^^^H moiacnt't breath. 

Light, on tiptoe halh'd in dew. 

^^^^^■orc the prcctoiu on! 

We flew, and sported as we flew ! 



Saw me chasing, free and wild. 
These blooming maids, and slylj smil'd; 
Smil'd indeed with wanton glee, 
Though none oonM donbt thej enyied me. 
And still I flew — and now haid caaght 
The panting njmphs, and fondl j thought 
To gather from each roey lip 
A Ujbs that Jore himself might sip- 
When sadden all mj dream of joys, 
Bhishing nymphs and laughing boys. 
An were gone!>— *• Alas! ** I said. 
Sighing for th' iUnsion fled, 
*^ Again, sweet sleep, that seene restore, 
Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er!"* 


Lit ns dnin the nectar'd bowl. 
Let us raise the song of soul 
To bim, the god who lores so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell; 
The god who taught the sons of eaith 
To thiid the tangled dance of mirth; 
Him, who was nun'd with in&nt Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian grove; 
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms/ 
Oh 'tis from him the transport flows, 
^^ch tweet intoxication knows; 
With him, the brow forgets its gloom. 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 

Behold! — mj bojs a goblet bear, 
Whose sparkling foam lights up the air. 
Where are now the tear, the sigh? 
To the winds they fly, they fly ! 

Mwme§tml'] **Koiuiiu«7«of BMehiu,Alm(Mt in the 

Wakiatt ba loat tlie phaatom't channa, 
Tha ajvph had Ibdcd from hia anna ; 

1 to dmnbar he eaay'd, 

ttoclaq>tliaiiudow7inald. LonoanxamB. 

Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking! 

Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking! 

Say, can the tears we lend to thought 

In life's account avail us aught? 

Can we discern with all our lore. 

The path we're yet to journey o'er? 

Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 

'Tis only wine can strike a spark!' 

Then let me quaff the foamy tide. 

And through the dance meandering glide; 

Let me imbibe the spicy breath 

Of odours chafd to fragrant death; 

Or from the lips of love inhale 

A more ambrosial, richer gale! 

To hearts that court the phantom Care, 

Let him retire and shroud him there; 

While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl. 

And swell the choral song of soul 

To him, the god who loves so well 

The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell! 


How I love the festive boy. 
Tripping through the dance of joy! 
How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the veil of age! 
And whene'er this man of years 
Li the dance of joy appears. 
Snows may o'er his head be flung. 
But his heart — his heart is young.* 


01/ to 


Maip* flkflc accwa ^BtuNVf 

U o*tr tmd o*erl**'} Doctor Johnaon, In hia 

aalmadTertinf upon the oommentaton of 

la crenrlittla oolncidciiee of thooirht, 

of aooM aaelent poet, allndea in the fuUowing 

befcre oa t— ** I have been told that 

• plwitng dream, aajat* I cried to aleepagidn.' 

who had, like any other nun, the 

vilh thia bcaatlfta ode to Baedraa the TerMa of 
Ittu T. * <M OearHarihafUkhe i * andafBaiser,p.61,fte. 


] Bobcrtellaa, spon the epith»- 

aa iBccnknaderlvstiMi of Cytheraa, 

, which aaema to hint 

• Alat, akUt te tooya $o dart, 

*Tis eni^ wiM earn ttrike a tpaHtf] The hreritj of lift allowa 
argumenta tor the Tolnptnarx aa well aa the moraliat. Amonff 
many parallel paaaagei which Longepierre haa adduced, I ahall 
content myielf with thia epigram fh>m the Anthologia. 

'%X » wf»t», «cvX«««c /MtfowAc mfiafitvm, 
rS|p«< KaAvvttt Km* r* rcX«< iMwr«c> 

Of which the following ia a paraphraae :— 

Let'a fly, my love, from noonday'a beam. 
To plunge ua in yon cooling atream t 
Then, haatening to the featal bower. 
Well paaa in mirth the erening honr i 
Tla th|ia our age of bliaa thall fly, 
Aa tweet, though paating aa that aigh. 
Which aeema to whiaper o'er yeur lip, 
** Come, while you may. of rapture lip. 
For age will tteal the graoeAil form. 
Will chill the pulK, while throbbing warm t 
And death— alaa I that hearta, which thrill 
Like youra and mine, ahonld e'er be atill I 

• Snoum may o'er kU head be JtuHfft 

But ki$ Aear<— Au heart i$ yoMt^.] Saint Pavin makea the 
■■me dlatinction in a tonnet to a young girL 

Je aaia Men que lea deatln^ca 
Ont mal oompaaat noa aniWea I 




Heacen hath sent me here 

monal life's t-Arwr, 
hich 1 bavc jouruey'd o'ai, 

ore— ohul no more ^ 

puch l'v8 yet to go, 
w nor otk to know, 
wiiard CaTE, nor ibink 

■uuad this soul to link; 

.ATI Ibal feels with me 


ore the vital thrill, 
lea at my bean, is still, 
y'» luxuriant flowery 
1 bliss mj fading hours; 
1 hid my winter bloom, 
lance me to the tomb'' 


; iwioma Iha dewy sceriE, 
u walk the velvBI green, 

west wind's gentle «iBhs, 
cenlcd mead il flies! 

Or eit in some cool, green recet.— 
Oh, is not this true happioeas? 


Tee. be the glorioiu revel mine, 

niicre liumour sparkles from the wine. 

Around me. let tto yonthftil choir 

Respond to my enlirening lyie; 

And while the red cup foams along. 

Mingle in eool aa well as song. 

Then, while I sit, wiUi flow'rets crown'd, 

To regulate the goblvc's round. 

Let but the njTnph. oar banquet's pride. 

Bo seated smiling by my side. 

And earth baa not a gift or power 

That I would envy, in that hour. 

Envy! — oh never let its bliglic 

Touch the gay hearts mot here lo-nighl. 

Nor hamh disputo, nor discord's sounds 
Disturb a scene, where all should be 
Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us bear the Iinrp's gaj note 
TTpon the hrecui inspiring float. 



ODB xun. 

Whom oar rosy filletf shed 

Fmhness o'er each fervid head. 

With manj a cap and manj a smile 

The festal moments we begpiile. 

And while the harp, impassion'd, flings 

Tuneful xmptiires from its strings,* 

Some aiiy njmph, with graceftd bound, 

Keepe measme to the music's souid ; 

Waving, in her snowy hand. 

The l^ff Bacchanah'an wand. 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies. 

Trembles all over to her sighs. 

A Toath the while, with loosen'd hair. 

Floating on the listless air. 

Sings to the wild harp's tender tone, 

A t^ of woes, alas, his own ; 

And oh, the sadness in his sigh. 

As o'er his lip the accents die !* 

NeTer snre on earth has been 

Half 80 bright, so blest a scene. 

It seems as Lore himself bad come 

To make this spot his chosen home { * — 

And VenoB, too, with all her wOes, 

And Bacchns, shedding rosj smiles, 

All, all are here, to hail widi me 

The Genius of Festivitj \* 

I A*d*ha€tk€harp,l mpmmi om'd,jlui0$ 
Tw/ul r a p ti u xa/rom iu rtrtiip». 4-c.] BMpeetioc the barbiton 
B br«t of aBtlkorf tSca may be eoUcclcd, which, after all, leave us 
ifsonat of the nAtnre of the fawtnuncnt. There ie ecaroelj an j 
potaK epiMi wUeh «« are ao toCaUy nnlnfoniicd aa the mmlc of the 
— '•fanff. Tke anlhofsa extant tapoo the lubfect are, I imagine. 
fitU* M»'Hrw«i?4 t and eertainlj If one of their mooda was a pro- 
bv ^partcr-toaca. wlileh we are told was the nature of the 
Bala, ifaBpUdty wee bf aomeana the characCeristleof 
tkcirMciodji fcr this is a nicety of progrearioD, ct which xcodern 
■Hie la not 

The inTCBtkm of the barUhm Is, by Athenaras, attrflrated to 
See his fiiorth book, whei« it is called r* •C0i»tM row 
Beaathes of Cfxieas, aa quoted bj Oyraldus, asserts 
▼IdaChabot, ia Horat.on thewwds **LeBboum bar- 

I^onseplem haa (pMiCed here 

AMo'a-kkKp tk» aeeatta dittl 
I the Aathologla :~ 


Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 

Cuird from Cupid's balmy bowers, 

In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 

Till with crimson drops they weep. 

Twine the rose, the garland twine. 

Every leaf distilling wine ; 

Drink and smile, and learn to think 

That we were bom to smile and drink. 

Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 

That ever drank the amber shower ; 

Kose, thou art the fondest child 

Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild. 

Even the Gods, who walk the sky. 

Are amorous of thv scented sigh. 

Cupid, too, in Paphian shades. 

His hair with rosy fillet braids. 

When with the brushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces.' 

Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 

And shed them o'er me while I sing. 

Or while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine. 

Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 

I lead some bright nymph through the dance,^ 

Commingling soul with every glance. 

Of wiricb tb* iDOowInc paraphraae may glTo aome idea : — 

aha left <p my Up, 

dM fare me to lip, 



Within this goblet, rich and deep, 
I cradle aU my woes to sleep. 

From the moment she printed that kisa. 

Nor reason, nor rest has been mine ; 
My whole soul has been drunk with tlie bUas, 

And feels a delirium dirine I 

S It ttem$ as L4jve kim$elf had come 
To make tki$ spot hi* choten hoiHe:-~'\ The introdoetion of 
these deities to the ftstiral is merely all^orloal. Madame Dader 
thinks that the poet de scr ibee a masquerade, where these deities 
were personated by the company in masks. The translation will 
conform with either idea. 

« ^ O.on are Acre, foAoiZtrftAfM 
The Otniut qf Ftttirity I ] k«»/mc, the deity or itenins of mirth. 
Fhilostratus, in the third of his pictures, givea a Tcry lirely deectip> 
tion of this fod. 

S This spirited poem is a enlofry on the rose i and airain. In the 
flfty-flflh ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises of that 
flower. In a firaftment of Sappho, in the romance of Achilles 
Tatius, to which Barnes reftrs us, the rose is fkncifully styled ** the 
eye of flowers ; '* and the same poetess, in another fhwment, calls 
the fevonn of the Muse "the roses of Pieria." Bee the notea oa 
the liAy-flfth ode. 

** Compare with this ode (says the German annotator) the beautiftil 
ode of Ui,* die Rose.*" 

• WhenwiththtMu»hutg^ti$t€rOroee», 
The uxmtom veindiim dance he (mres .] ** This sweet idea of 
Lore dancing with the Qraocs, is almost peculiar to Anacrecn."-. 

y Ikaimme bright mrmph tkrvt^ Oe Amee, <fc.] The epltb«t 
cwhkh he glTcatothanyBph,!* literally **ftill-boaomad.** 





e brcwhe ihe sigh of frar, 
nsTuliDg war ? 


he ttarfh! eye ; 

Bjarkli;, eyes thai weep, 

be sealed m Bleep. 

ler Yiinly itray, 

loma, iruifi pteuure's way ; ' 

utF the TOBT WBVC, 

us tovei, which Bacchus guTc; 
oblct, rich and deep, 
jTj)g woes lo Bleep. 

ODH xin." 

yoimg, the rosy Spring. 

retic her seemed winpi 
Graces, waim with May. 
er her dewy woy.' 

'd into silent sleep;' 
lie flitting sen-birds lave 
in the reflecting wave; 
from hoary winter fly 
kinder sky. 

AU along the branches creeping, 
TliroQgb the velvet foliage peeping, 
LitUo infant friiics we sec, 
Niiming into Imrary. 


Tib (me, my fading year* decline, 

As deep as any stripUng fair, 
Whose cheeks the Sush of morning wei 
And if. amidst the wanton crew, 
I'm call'd to wind the dance'* clue. 
Then Shalt thou see this vigorous hand 
Not falterine on the Bacchanl'i wand. 

The only thymviB e'er FU ask!' 

Lot those, who pant for Gloir'a ch«- 

Embrace her in the held of arms ; 
While my inglorious, pteud soul 
Br«Blhes not a wish bcyoiid ihit bowl 
Then fill it high, my raddy slave. 
And batho mc in its brimmirg wave. 
For though my fading years decay, 
'nionirh mnuhoofl's prime halb pass'd ( 






Whxx mj tbintj sonl I steep, 
Etctj soitow's lull'd to sleep. 
Talk of mooaichs! I am then 
Bicbest, happiest, first of men ; 
Careless o'er mj cnp I sing, 
Fancj makes me more than king; 
GiTes me wealthy Crcesns' store. 
Can I, can I wish for more? 
On mj TeWet conch reclining, 
Ivy l^Tes mj brow entwining,' 
While mj sonl ei^ands with glee. 
What are kings and crowns to me? 
If before mj roet thej laj, 
I would spnm them all awajl 
Arm ye, arm je, men of might. 
Hasten to the sanguine fi^t; ' 
But let ac, mj budding ymel 
8pill no o^er blood tbin thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see. 
That akme shall yanquish me — 
Who think it better, wiser &r 
To faJH in banquet than in war. 


Whkt Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy. 
The roe J harbinger of joy. 
Who, with the sunshine of the bowl. 
Thaws the winter of our soul * — 


', ^d ** The Irj wm eooMcmied 
(MT* MontliraeoiO. benme he fimnerlj Uj- hid under 
«r,u<ithen will hAT« it, beeaiue ito Imtm resemble thoae 
MMOs for it* ooDMeraiion, and the UM of it in 
maj be foond in L(ngci>lerre, Baniei, ftc. Ac. 
mtqf might, 
to ihe mngmbttAtki:'} I haTo adopted the interjnetatlon 

Altri aefva Xarle feioi 

Che id Baeeo k *1 mio eonfbrto. 

ode, and a fow more of the eame character, 
ifc boil* i~ the eflbrione probaU J of the momrat 
aftenrarde mag, w maj imacine, with rapture 
Bat thai intereetinc aaMdation, by which they 
ilwiVB feoaOed the cooTirial cmotlona that i>rodiieed them, can now 
hilMkfUtevcabythemMteBthQrfaiticreaderi and much leatby 
t iMi— tie u mum mriam, who eeee nothing in them bat didecti 


4^o«rioiil— fc.l A«Mc ifl the title which he 

la the original. It ie a curions dreumatanoe that 

the name of Levi among the Jews for a«v» (one of 

\\ aad aeeofdingly g upp osed that they worshipped 

fUi Ode sp or toa e t bat, I beUere, he is singnlar In 
as all the spirit of onr aathor. Like the wreath 
in tlw dream« *' it smellsof Anaereon." 

is remarkable. It Is a kind of song of 
beginning with the line 

When to mj inmost core he glides. 
And bathes it with his rubj tides, 
A flow of jo J, a liyelj heat. 
Fires my brain, and wings my feet. 
Calling up round me yisions known 
To loyers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing, of loye, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float around. 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Besponsiye to its murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blissftil trance. 
Again we'll sport, again we'll dance. 


When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise;' 

And freshen'd by the goblet's dews. 

My soul inyokes the heavenly Muse. 

When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er; 

I think of doubts and fears no more; 

But scatter to the railing wind 

Each gloomy phantom of the mind. 

When I drink wine, th' ethereal boy, 

Bacchus himself, partakes my joy; 

And while we dance through yemal bowers, ' 

Whose ev'ry breath comes fresh from flowers 

In wine he makes my senses swim. 

Till the gale breathes of nought but himt 

Again I drink, — and, lo, there seems 
A cfJmer light to fill my dreams; 

The first stanza alone is inoomplete. consisting bat of three lines. 

** Compare with this poem (says Degen) the rerses of Hagedom, 
lib. ▼., *der Wein,' where that divine poet has wantoned in the 
praises of wine." 

Drtama qf poetic gtoiy rise ,-] ** Anaereon is not the only one 
(says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poetry." We find 
an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia, which begins thus:— 

Om^ tm xapMyr* M*Y^ wtXtt Imrwc —i^f. 

If with water yon fill up your glasses. 

You'll never write anything wi«e; 
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus, 

Which carries a bard to the skies! 

^ And uMie vet doTiet throufih vernal botper$. irc2 If some of the 
translators had observed Doctor Trapp's caution, with regard to 
iraXwwtfrvtv tt *» avpatf, ** Cave nc coelum intelligas," they would not 
havespoiled the simplicity of Anaereon *s fkncy by such extravagant 
conceptions as the following : — 

Qnand je hois, mon otil s'imagine 
Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parftans divers 
Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs, 

Bempli de sa liqueur divine. 

Or this:— 

Hentre lieto ebro, deliro, 
Per la vaga aora sertna. 





ing " how blest 
wine again, 

woman's »igb..' 
QC and form, 

leaaty acemi 
can refines, 

^.',,"um1 the bowl 
. _iusoul!' 

e*'er dMlroy, 

Still I'm doom'd to ag^ for ihee. 
Bid u iflliou couldst ligli fbr me! 
See, in TOiider floweir bnid, 
CiUl'd for thee, mj bhuliiiig ouid.' 
How the rose, of orient glow. 
Mingles with (he lily'i nww ; 
Mark, how sweet their tint* agree, 
Just, mj girl, like tbee and me ! 


Aw AT, BwttT, Te men of mlea, 

What have I lo do with seboota ? 

Thej'd make me leara, ihej-'d make me itink 

Bat woold titer make me love and drink ? 

Teocb me this, and let me ewim 

My Koul upon ihe goblet's bnm ; 

Tcsch me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsire heart to mine.' 

For ago begins lo blanch my brow, 

I've time for nonghl but pleasure now. 

FIt, and eool my poblel'f glow 
At y'ondfir fonntain's gelid flow ; 
I'll qoafl', my boy, and fahnlr sink 
This BOnl to slumber as I drink. 
Boon, too soon, my jwnnd =!nTc, 






Whex I behold the fetdTe tnin 
Of «i<^TM>in g Tonthy rm young again ! 
Memory wues her magic trance. 
And winga me lightly through the dance. 
Come, Cybeba, smiling maid I 
Cull the flower and twine the braid ; 
Bid the blnah of •nmmer's rose 
Bum upon my fiunehead'a snowg ;* 
And let me, whik the wild and yonng 
Trip the mazy dance akmg. 
Fling my heap of years away, 
And be ai wild, as yonng, as ihey. 
Hither haate, some cordial soul I 
Help to my lips the brimming bowl ; 
And yon shall see tins hoary sage 
Forget at once his locks and age. 
He still can chant the festive hymn, 
He still can kisa the goblet's brim ;* 
As deeply <iaaff, as largely fill. 
And play the fool right nobly stiU. 

Bvr% mpom mwArwkemTa mom; 4«-1 Ueetos, In Ui Hlero- 
g^niuauqnoliBC tvoof oar poet'i odea,wlMrehe callt to bia atten- 
^m»9M *,yf garlftrdf. Trmn*'^ ** r,^wi«»«t igitnr flomi curonu poetb 
fft IT— ■iTtTiui in fvnipario ooDTcnlzc. noo satcm Mpicntibua et phi- 
■flMteatilMw.**-.** It appcan that wrctttlu of fluwcn were 
fbr pocU aad revcDon at lMUiai>ct«,but bj no meanj becmme 
rlM> ImmI pratnaioas to wisdom and idiUusophy." on thia 
la hk laond chapter, be diaooTert a reflnement in VirtriU 
of tlie poet Silcnw, aa fdlen off; which di*- 
Hm dirint intoxication of Silenua frum tliat 
rho alwajt wear their crowni while they 
k tha ** labor ineplianm '* of eoauncntatonl 

*B9miB€m»tim1k*0Mat9hr1m;*cJ] Wiat b picacribed by 

m tm axseUcBt medicine ibr old meni ** Qnod fHiodut ct 

rf't*'^!. ac.{" bat Natan wna Anacreon'i 

faBc ii a pN'verD 

In Eriphna, aa qnoted by Athenvne, which 
an old man dance, whether he will or not." 

i ** TUi ode la vrittni npon a picture which re p r ea en ted the rape 

It aay probably bave been a deeeription of one of thoee colni, 
«!>b the Wif"" *»"■ itmdL off In honour of Eurcpa, TcprcMrutinK a 
« xaaa carried acroea the eea by a bulL Thns Natalit Comet, lib. 
vie cap. 9. ** SIdaail nwnlnnata ram fiaminA tauri donu inildente 
■c 3HUC traaaerctaale cndcrunt In ejna honorem." In the little 
tRattJc apoQ the (oddeis of Syria, attributed very faliely to Ludan, 
tUrv ia Bi*iitian <jf thle eoin. and of a temple dedicated by the 81- 
Aariaiu to Afliartr,wbomaaaic, it aivean, confounded with Europa. 

Tbc poet Moechnahae left a Taiy beantifnl idyl on the itory of 

« .To: ik deereadb/VtMi cUmi dhtn^^ 
H* lookB Ike Gcd, he breaAt$ qfJovtH Thus Moaehnat— 


Methinkb, the pictured boll we see 
Is amorous Jove — it must be he ! 
How fondly blest ho seems to bear 
That fairest of Phoenician fair ! 
How proud he breasts the foamy tide. 
And spurns the billowy surge aside ! 
Could any beast of Tulgar vein 
Undaunted thus defy the main ? 
No : he descends from climes above, 
He looks the Grod, he breathes of Jove !* 


Tbe God SHgoC UmaeU; hia heaven, for lova, 
i a bidl'e Soon balkd th* aimlKhl7 J«m 

While we invoke the wreathed spring, 
Res))Icndcnt rose I to thee well siug :* 
Whose breath perfumes th' Olympian bowers ; 
Whose virgin blush, of chasteuM dye. 
Enchants so much our mortal eye. 
When pleasure's spring^tide season glows, 
The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 
And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves,' 
An emblem of herself perceives. 
Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 
The rose's fair luxuriance sung ;' 

« Thia ode ie a brilliant panecyrle on the roae. ** All antiquity 
(aaya Bamca) haa produced nothing more beantiAal.** 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which the ancienta attached 
to thia lluwer, aroae a pretty proTcrbial ezpreaaion, u«.-d by Aria- 
tophanca. according to Suidaa, A^» m «*^v«a«, ** You hare apoken 
roeea," a phraae aomewhat aimilar to the " dire dea fleurrtt«a " of the 
French. In the aaroe idea of ezccllenoe originated, I doubt not, a 
Tcry curloua application of the word ^mp, for which the in'jaiattlTe 
reader may conault Oaulininua upon the epithalamlum of our poet, 
where it ia introduced in the romance of Theodorua. Muretua, in 
one of hia elegiva, calla hia miatreaa hia ruae:— 

Jam te igitor ruraua teneo, formoaula. Jam ta 
(Quid trepidaa?; tcneot jam, roea, te tenco. Eleg. 8. 

Now I again may claap thee. deare*t. 
What ia tliere now, on earth, thuu feartatf 
Again tlivae lunging arma infolti thee. 
Again, mj' ruae, again I hvld thee. 

Thia, like moat of the terma of endearment in the modem Latin 
poeta, ia taken from Flautuat thvy were Tulgar and colloquial in hia 
time, but are among the elcgancica of the modem I^atiniata. 

Faaacratiua alludea to the ode before ua, in the beginning of hIa 
poem on tlie Roae : — 

Carmine digna roaa eatt rellem cancretnr nt illam 
Ttiua argutA cecinit tcatudinv vatca. 

• Jteapikitdent roni to thrt we'll nmff:"] I have paaaed over the 
line vtw ^«4#M «w|ct /mXititv, which ia cvrrapt in thia uriirinal n-adiiiir, 
and haa been very little improved by the annutaiora. I ahuuld »up- 
poae it to be an interpolation, if it were nut fur a line wldch occura 
attcrwarda: 4«p« '9 ^v#u> Xiym,t€w. 

^ And Vtntu, m iu frcah-blown I^orra, A-c] Belieau. in a note 
npon an old French puct, quoting the original iiere »iaoAt»urw r 
»^vfitta, tranalatca it, " comme lea d^lioea et mignanliaea de Venua." 

* Qfi hath the poet'f magic tongue 

The nm 'a fnir luxuriance ntng ; 4-c.] The following ia a frag- 
ment of the Ijeabian imeteaa. It ia cited in the romance of Achillea 
Tatiua, wlio appvara to have reaolved the numbera tntt» proae. E» rw( 

Y*K •"* *»*f^t fwrwp •y > ai#/ia, t^ t rn X f t ag •t^tmm, Xnttwv^s m« ^ «*", «aXX«( 





nscs, bcBTPnl/ maids, 
their mnefn! sliades. 
rly glance of morn, 

e gliHcring Ihom, 
re itie tangled tbnuc. 
d flow'ret thtnca, 

ender hand awa; 
its blixshos laj 1 

d the infant stems. 

th Aurora's gems, 
c the spicj sighs 

ecping buds arise. 

igni, -whan mirth is high, 

ama in evorj ejo, 
scent exhale, 
Jm the fainting gale 
m namro bright or gay. 
not shed their ra;. 
painU the orient bkies. 

with roaeaio djesi' 
betray the rose'j bae, 
□a it kindles throngh. 
rm it glQ«a. 
Ill the living snows. 

]9 B heahng hnim, 
m of pain to caliu; 

Preserves the cold inumcd clay.' 
And mocfca the vestige of dacay : ' 
Anci when at length, in pale decline, 
lis Band beauties fnde and pine. 
Sweet aa in Toath, its buhnj breath 
Diffdeea odoiir aron in death '. • 
Ohl whenM could such a pUuit huTB spi 
lisian, — for thus the tale is sung. 
When, humid, from the silvery stre*m. 
Effusing beauty's wannest beam, 
Venus appeared, in floshing hoe*. 
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dcwsi 
When, in the starry cour'ta above. 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jore 
DiBClos'd the nyroph of anire gUnce, 
The nymph who shakes the martial lann 
Then, then, in strange eventful boor. 
The earth prodnc'd ss infant flower. 
Which sprang, in blushing glories dres 
And wanton'd o'er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth. 
And hail'd the Rose, the boon of eoithl 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide. 
The rweetiy orient buds they dyed,' 
And bade them bloom, the flowera divini 
Of bun who pave the gloriotu vine; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms u> tha mom. 






nets the jonthfiil crew 
n in the brimmer's dew, 
iclqy'd bj rich excesses, 
hat wine possesses; 
res the yonth to bonnd 
fh the dance*s round, — 
god again is here, 
mg the blushing year; 
jear with yintage teems, 
1 those cordial streams, 
ling in the cnp of mirUi, 
i sons of earth!* 

1 the ripe and yermeil wine,- 
f the pregnant yine, 
1 mellow clusters swells, — 
bursts its roseate cells, 
ojous stream shall flow, 
eiy mortal woe! 
then cast down or weak, 
d joj shall light each check; 
then desponding sigh, 
1 bid despondence fly. 
aother antunm's glow 
:hcr vintage flow. 


be artist hand that spread 
t the ocean's bcd?^ 

hb elcssnt ode the rent* ot Us, lib. i. ' Die 

one of the hymns which were rang at the 
of the Tintaire i one of the c»tX^w»4>4 «mvm, u 
u them in the flftjr-ninth ode. We cannot 
ererenoe for thete clatiic rclica of the religion 
I majr be rappowd to have written the nine- 
od book, and the twenty-fiflh of the third, for 
lebtmtlon of thii kind. 
in the cup of mirth, 

• of earth /] In the ori^nal worw a«Tov«M* «•■ 
ier think* that the poet here had the nepenthe 
id. Odjraej, lib. iv. This nepenthe wu a 
ie charm, inAned by Helen into the wine of 
d tlM power of diapelling eTery anxiety. A 
1^, eonjectoree tliat this vpell, which made the 
ma the charm of Ilelen'i conTenalion. See 

- animated dcRription of a picture of Yenns 
vmented the goddew in her flrtt emergence 
oat two centuriea after our poet wrote, the 
tellec embelliahed thii rabject, in his famons 
I Anadyomen^, the model of wbJch. as Fliny 
antif nl Canpaspe, giren to him by Alexander i 
^retails Comes, lib. rii. cap. 18., it wu Fhryne 

the fhoe and breast of this Yenus. 
nmishes in the reading of the ode liefore as, 
I Faber, Heyne, Bmnck, tie. to denonnoe the 
M. Bot, " non ego pands ofliendarmaeulis.'* 
attfbl enon^ to I>e autiientic. 

ooem's btdf] The abniptne« of ap« "c r». 
KpnarfTC of endden admiration, and is oaeof 

And, in a flight of fancy, high 
As anght on earthly wing can fly, 
Depicted thus, in semblance warm. 
The Queen of Lore's voluptuous form 
Floating along the silv'iy sea 
In beauty's naked majesty! 
Oh ! he hath given th' enamour'd sight 
A witching banquet of delight. 
Where, gleaming through the waters clear, 
Glimpses of undreamt charms appear. 
And all that mystery loves to screen. 
Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen.' 

Light as the leaf, that on the breeze. 
Of summer skims the glassy seas. 
She floats along the ocean's breast. 
Which undulates in sleepy rest; 
While stealing on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heaving billows. 
Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose,* 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows. 
Illume the liquid path she traces. 
And bum within the stream's embraces. 
Thus on she moves, in languid pride. 
Encircled by the azure tide. 
As some fair lily o'er a bed 
Of violets bends its graceful head. 

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance. 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance. 
Bearing in triumph young Desire,' 
And infant Love with smiles of fire! 
While, glittering through the silver waves. 
The tenants of Uie briny caves 

those beauties which we cannot but admire in their sonroe, though, 
by ftcquent imitation, they are now become familiar and nnim- 

* And an that myftery lovf$ to scTrm, 

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen, 4-r.] The picture here has all 
the delicate character of the semi-reducta Venus, and affords a 
happy specimen of what the poetry of passion ought to be— glowing 
but through a reil, and stealing upon the heart from concealment. 
Few of the ancients hare attained tlUs modesty of description, 
which, like the golden cloud that hung orer Jupiter and Juno, is 
impervious to every beam but that of fkncy. 

* ffer 6osofi», like the dew-vcatJCd rttae, ^c] **'f9iwmm (aays an 
anonymous annotator) is a whimsical epithet for the bosom.** 
Neither Catullus nor Gray have been of liis opinion. The ftvmer 
has the expreasion, 

En hie in roaeis latet papHlia. 
And the latter. 

Lot where the rosy-boaom'd hours, ftc. 

Crottua, a modem Latinist, might Indeed be censured for too 
vague a use of the epithet " rosy," when he applies it to the eyeat— 

f yovng Desire, ^c] In the original lM«p*f , who waa 

the same deity with Joeus among the Romans. AurelinaAagnrellua 
haa a poem beginning— 

Invitat olim Baochua ad ooenam anoa 
Comon, Jocum, Cupidincm. 

Which Pamell haa closely imiutedt — 

Oay Bacchus, liking Eatconrt'a wine, 

A noble mod beapolce ua; 
And for the gnesta tliat were to dfaie. 

Brought Comna, Love, and Joena, *e. 





ihc wnlcry way. 

DE Lvm. ' 

pct as wph/r'B pinion, 
fuilhltsa raiDioii.' 

urt hii dinrn !6a ? 
niT ligblcn'd mind 
cUing gold confiu'd, 
nch clinging carof, 

tliB v^rant nil*, 
WMuieV spell, 
tlio dnlcot slicll. 
o more, m bc«aty »ing«, 
VC5 along Ibo strings! 

u my licnrt been bkught 
escrvts a ihoiighl, 

fra di^iciona etoro 

I'p nnxion" hcitrt. 

Well do I know ihy nru, thy wilea — 
They wiihpr'd Love's young wrtathod Eini 
And o'er his Ijro such darltnesa ihed, 
I tlion);lit its eoni of song was fled! 
Thi^y ilflilrd tlio wine-cup, thiO. by him, 
Wiu fillM with kis909 to the briiu.* 
Go~fl/ to haunW of sordid men. 
But como not near tho bard again. 
Thy glitltr in tha Masc'* shade, 
Scaro from her bower tho tonefol tnoid; 
And not for worlds would I foivgo 
Thai moment of poetic glow. 
When my full »oal in Fancy'j itream, 
Poura o'er the lyre iu swelUng thejnc. 
Awav, awavl to wotldliugs bene?. 
Who'fwl not thi» diTiiicr aeaie; 
GiTc gul<l to tlio«o who lovo thai p«sl, — 
But leave the poet pow and LleM. 


Hipeu'd by the solar beam. 
Now the ruddy clualera lecm, 
III osier baskets borne along 
I!y all the ffBlal viiLtoj^ throng 
or ri.<y y.nlIh^ .iiid viririii" fair. 




py drink, with all thrir cjes, 
le that sparkling flies, 
icthm, bom in mirth, 
WitdK bj, lo hail the birth. 

'boso vergiDg years declinu 
the rale HB nunc, 
iu the Tiotage-cnp, 
'KingM fa>m earth apriog up, 
ncea, liie (reah air 
ing throDgh hi> gilrery hair. 
iDDg KTOBpi whom lore iavilcs, 
rirnUing wino'a delights, 
inn, tlie shadowy grovt, 
TTunls and looks of lovr, 
loTen look aad sa;, 
t mooolighi hours awaj.' 


•, my sleeping shell, 

t tby aombcra swelli 

LO glorioni priut be ibtno, 

rcath around tliee twiac, 

ir is glury's hour 

•sthers wiadom's flower. 

DC from thy voiceless slumbers, 

ft and Fhrygiao numbers, 

hnglj, my hpa repi^at, 

mm thy chord as sweet. 

wan, with fading notes, 

IS breexea linger round, 
aDsire sound for sound 

ilvt iHtMlit «{tfin>l DflH hardl r Ta ' 

And hallow'd is tlie harp I bear, 
And hallow'd is the wreath I wear, 
Hallow'd by him, the gud of lays. 
Who modulates the choral maze, 
I bing the love which Daphne iwin'd 
Around the godhead's yielding; mind; 
I sing the bloshing Daphne's flight 
From this ethereal son of Light; 
And how the tender, timid maid 
Flew irembUng lo the kindly shade,' 
Itesign'd a foTTn, alas, too fair. 
And grew a verdant laurel there; 
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, 
In terror sceni'd to tremble still! 
The god pursu'd, with wing'd detiro; 
And when his hopes were all on fire. 
And when lo elasp the nymph ho thought, 
A lifeless tree was all he caught; 
And, stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, 
Heard but the west-wind in the leaves ! 

But, pauB«, my soul, no more, do mote — 
Enthusiast, whither do I soar 7 
This sweetly modd'ning dream of eotd 
Hath hurried me beyond the goal. 
Why shonid I sing the mighty darts 
Which fly to woimd celestial hearts, 
When ah, the song, with sweeter lone. 
Can tell tlic darts that wound my own ? 
Still be Anacroon, still inspire 
The descant of the Tcian lyre:' 
Still let (he ncctar'd numbers float, 
DistilUng lore In every note I 
And when some youth, whose glowing mjuI 
Has felt the Paphian star's control. 
When he the liquid lays shall hear, 
His heart wiU flutter to his ear, 
And drinking there of sou;; divine. 
Banquet on intellectual wiue !' 


^^^^H ODE LXL> 

^^^^^^^Bs endcimng ctiamu ore fled ; 
^^^^^Hooks dcfurm my hoftd ; 
^^^^H [rniccs. dalliance gn?, 
^^^^■flo«,-en of life decay.' 
^^^^^^^Bng age begim (o trace 
^^^^^■morials o'er my face i 
^^^^^Ls sbcd its sweetest bloom, 
^^^^^■faliiTO miut be gloom. 
^^^^His that sets mc lighing : 
^^^His tho thought of dying !■ 
^^^^Hd dismal ia the road 
^^^^■o rluto's darlc abode i 
^^^^^^^Hben once the journey's o'er, 

^^^^H ODE LX1L< 

^^^H;, boy, OS deep B dnmght. 
^^^^■«a5 fill'd. US e'er was qnaTJ ; 
^^^^^^^H tlie watvr amply floH', 
^^^^^H (he (jriF'-" intemperate glow,' 
^^^^^H the fiery god be single, 
^^^^^■h the nymphs in nnion mingle 

For though the bowl'a the glsTe of 
Ne'er Ul it be tba birth of madness. 
No, banish from our hoard to-night 
The revelries of rude delight ; 
To Scythians leaTe these wild excel 
Ours b« the joy that soothes and bl 
And while the temporale bowl wo i 
In concert let onr voices breathe. 

With harmony of soul and song. 

ODS uaiu 

To Lore the soft and blooming chi 
I touch the harp in descant wild ; 
To LoTC, the babe of Crprian bowt 
The boy, who breathes and blnsbcs 
To LoYe, for heaven and earth ado 
And gods and monols bow before '. 

msTE Ih^e, nymph, whose well-ail 



I^ Jore's immortal child, 
Hootren of the savage wild ! 
Goddess with the son-bright hair ! 

iJtten to a people's prajer. 

Tiun, to Leihe's riyer turn, 

Tbere thj Tanquiah'd people mourn I * 

Come to Lethe's wavy shore. 

Tell them the j shall mourn no more. 

Thine their hearts, their altars thine ; 

Mast thej, Dian — must they pine ? 


LiKB some wanton filly sporting, 

Haid of Thrace, thou fly'st my courting. 

Wanton filly ! tell me why 

Tbo« trip'st away, with scornful eye. 
And seem'st to think my doating heart 
1> norice in the bridling art ? 
Believe me, girl, it is not so ; 
TlKmnt find this skilful hand can throw 
The reiiu around that tender form, 
Howerer wild, howeyer warm. 
Yes— trust me I can tame thy force, 
And torn and wind thee in the course. 
Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 
ThoQ Bport amid the herbs and flowers, 
^ shalt thou feel the rein's control. 
And tremble at the wish'd-for goal I 


To thee, the Queen of nymphs diyine, 
f aireft of aU that fairest shine ; 
To thee, who rul'st with darts of fire 
This world of mortals, young Desire ! 

^^ An vimguiMk'd peopte moitm f] Lethe, a river of Ionia, 
**** to tembo, fallins Into the Meander. In its neighbourhood 
*■ <^ cHyedkd lf«ci>w<a, in fliyour of whose inhabitants our 
i^^NPpand to have addiCMed this supplication to Diana. Itwu 
tiMi (as Mertame Dader eoi^Jectures) on the occasion of some 
ttte. ia wMeh tha MagiMwIeiis had been defeated. 
' TUi ode, which li ad df e as ed to some Thradan girl, exists in 
mUia, aad Imi hoan imitatod very f^uentlj bj Horace, as all 
? w >tB t Bw have rcmavfcad. Madame Dader rejects the alle- 
r.vhkh m so ^yviooslj through the poem, and supposes it to 
« Ih* addivMcd to a yoniig mare belonging to Poljrcrates. the ftmrth book of his Hieroglyphics, dtesthis ode, and 
■■» ■• diaft the borae was the hierogljphical emblem of pride. 
lUs ait is iBtrodnccd in the Romance of Theodorus Prodromus, 
btkmihJmd€tl aptthaiamium which waa sung like ascoliumat 

woilcs of the Impassianed Si^ipho. of which > 
•aperatttion liave deprived us, tiie loos of her 
cat of the Icaot that wa deplore. ThefoUow- 
aialie ofonaof thosapoemit— 

And oh I thou nuptial Power, to thee 
Who bear'st of life the guardian key, 
Breathing my soul in fervent praise. 
And weaving wild my votive lays. 
For thee, O Queen! I wake the lyre. 
For thee, thou blushing young Desire, 
And oh! for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Ck>me, and illume this genial hour. 

Look on thy bride, too happy boy, 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all her blnshmg charms. 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, 
Before the lovely, trembling prey, 
Like a young birdling, wing away! 
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth. 
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth. 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
Will soon resign her all thine own. 
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye. 
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh. 
To those bewitching beauties turn; 
For thee they blush, for thee they bum. 

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers. 
Than she unrivall'd grace discloses. 
The sweetest rose, where all are roses. 
Oh ! may the sun, benignant, shed 
His blandest influence o'er thy bed; 
And foster there an infant tree. 
To bloom like her, and tower like theet * 


Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
The wealth of Amalthea's horn; 

See Scaligcr, in his Poetics, on the Epithalamium. 

* AntifotUr there an ii\fant trtf. 

To bloom likf her, and tovctr like ihee f] Original Kvwo^tt^ «t 
»«^«Mra* 9w cv» ««7ww. Passeratius, upon the words " com castum 
amlsit florem," in the Nuptial Sons of Catullus, after explaining 
" floo " in somewhat a nimilar Men«e to that which Oaulrainus attri- 
buteo to ^o8w, says " Hortura quoque vocant in quo flos ille carpitur, 

et Qrscis Ktrrmt «ari ro tftffiatov ywrntJimw." 

I may remark, in passing, that the author of the Greek version of 
this charming ode of Catullus, has neglected a most striking and 
Anacreontic beauty in those verses " Ut flos in septis, Ike." which is 
the repetition of the line, r* Multi ilium pueri, multss opUv^ra 
pueUsB."with the slight alteration of nulli and nullse. Catullus 
himsdf, however, has been equally injudicious in his version of th« 
famous ode of Sappho i having translated r«)^««<K h^v*, but omitted 
all notice of the accompanying charm, iSv f^wnvwt. Horace has 
caught the spirit of it more faithftilly : 

Duloe ridentcm Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loqoentem. 

• Tliis fh«mtnt if preaerred in the third book of Straba 


^^^^^^^^Hisk lo the throne 

^^^^^^^■aian my dwH)' 


^^^^^^^^■agh hia train of jeora. 

^^^^^^^^H ilecliniug fimn. 

A DBOKEN coke, wHh bone? sweet. 

^^^^^^^^■r of me 

Is all my spare and simple not : 

^^^^^^^■l eteml)'! 

And whUo a generoiu bowl I crmm 

Tu float my little banqiiet down. 

I take the soft, the amorous hrc. 

And sing of logo's deheions firei 

In minliful mt!BBD[«i wono and free. 

^^^^^^^Bdb LXmL' 

I sing, dear maid, aud sing for tbee! 

^^^^^^^^Bb month our dcfbims, 
^^^^^^^■ht-ck>ad tconui with tloimt; 

— ^ 

^^^^^^^■indt. driven, 

^^^^^^^■i Ilia face of hcaTiml 

^^^^^^^^H friends, the gathering gloom 

^^^^^^^^^^^kys of wine 

Wirn twenlj chords mv Ivre ii htmg. 

^^^^^^^^H wreaths of parsley epreod 

And wliilc I wake them all for thee. 

^^^^^^^^H foliBgu roend onr head, 

Tboii, O maiden, niid and young. 

^^^^^^^^^^H' ulmi^-hty power wine. 

DiBjHirt'si in airy levity. 

The nnmlinR fawn, that in aomo diade 

Its anll«r'd mother leaves behind,' 

la iKil nioie wantonly ofruid. 

More timid of the nutliu); wind! 

^^^^^^^H)DG LXIS.' 

. —t — _ 



ODE Lxxni.> 

AWHII.X I bloom'd, a happy flower. 
Tin Lore approsch'd one fatal hour. 
And made mj tender branches feel 
The wounds of his aTenging stceL 
Then lotst I fell, Hke some poor willow 
That falls across the wintrjr billow! 


MovABCH Lore, resistless haj. 
With whom the rosj Qaeen of Joy, 
And n jmphs, whose eyes hare Hearen's hue, 
Diapotting tiead the moontain-dew; 
Pro pitious, oh! receive my sighs, 
Which, glowing with entreaty, rise, 
That then wilt whisper to the breast 
Of her I lore thy soft behest; 
And counsel her to learn fiiom thee. 
That lesson thou hast tanght to me. 
Ah! if my heart no flattery tell, 
Tboolt own Tre Icam'd that lesson well! 


Sptsit of Lore, whose locks nnrolTd, 
Stream on the breeze like floating gold; 
Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Bhishing with light, thy rotary shroud; 
And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
Waft, oh, waft me hence away ! 

* TUib loba ftmnd in Haphwrtloo, and Is Um tlfhty-ninth of 

I hmm —itl B rt . from uaaag thmt Krmiw, n tot oondderable 
to oar poet, Xa»*v r Ei^wnA^ /mXm, nc. which ia 
lln tlw tvdflk book of AtimuRU, ami ia the ninetjr-flnt 
If it WM raaUy Anaeraon who wrote it, ** nU fiiit un- 
it is in a ftjla of gnm aatlre, and aboonda 
■ ooold ba gnatttdlj tranalated. 
'A flmiw an tii a wn adbyDlonCh imi a tu m. Drat. IL de Rcsno. 

vUA ia extant In Athanama (Barnea, 101.), Ia 

of CbanwilrinB, to haw bean addicand 

aatanaaattrtbotedtohar.whloh aoma 

to ba bar anawar to Anaeraon. **lCabpar 

n flMMdaanvtran oant on aix 

^ViaMffi' I db fa Rfp- <<«• Lt*- tool. IL 

Love! my soul is full of thee. 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she, the nymph for whom I glow. 
The loTcly Lesbian mocks my woe; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues. 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms 
In store for younger, happier arms! 


IIiTHBB, gentle Muse of mine. 
Come and teach thy rotary old 

Many a golden hymn divine. 
For the nymph with vest of gold. 

Pretty nymph, of tender ago. 
Fair thy silky locks unfold; 

Listen to a hoary sage, 

Sweetest maid with vest of gold! 


Would that I were a tuneful lyre. 

Of burnish 'd ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dionysian choir. 

Some blooming boy should bear! 

Would that I were a golden vase. 
That some bright nymph mi^ht hold 

My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 
Herself as pure as gold! 

Oh Mnael who altt'at on irolden throne. 
Full man J a hymn of witchlni; tone 

The Tdan laae ia tanirht by thee I 
Bnt, Ooddeaa, fVom thy throne of irold. 
The awectrflt hymn thon'at crer told. 

He lately leam'd and aunc for me. 

« Formed of the 124th and llMh fracmcnta in Bamca, both of 
whkh are to be fonnd in Scaliger'a Poctica. 

Da Panw thinka that thoae detached linca and conpleta, which 
Scalicer haa adduced aa exaroplea in hia Poetloa, are liy no maana 
aathentic bnt of hia own fkbrication. 

iTbJabganarallylnaertcdamoBcthereinainaofAloMia. Bone, 
howaror.hava attriboted It to Anaereoo. flea oar poet*a twanty- 
' oda, and the notaa. 




5c«;b how thickly nnw. 
Time fall o'er my brow, 

h an MKlcfs flight, 
nward nocniB to my, 
U, tbon'»t hod thy day! " 

Fkdu dread Ijeuradia's frowning sK 
I'll [.Innp: into Ihe whitening deep; 
And there lie cold, to dcaUi resipi'd, 
Since Lore mtozicales mj miodl* 

Mix me, child, a cup dtrinc. 

lamp lia^ lent tho ray, 

kin this bofom slcnling, 
a slnmee. iiUD«led feeling, 
s ihoDgli so »adly leasing, 
ough HI sweetly ple»«ingl' 

n this wretched brcafli. 

Wearo the fronUct, richly flushinj;. 
O'er my wintry templci bhuhing. 
mx (lie brimmer— Lore and I 
Sliall no more the conletl tzj. 

Axasa the Rpignun!) of the Anlhalojpa, are 
some pnnr?Trio» on AniuTeim, Kjiich I had 





.AAOI TUTpoKopvfifos, Aptuep€OVj ofjupi <rc Kuraos 
a€pa TC XMtfumntv iropipvpHty weraXa 
yui 8* cyryoMocrros eafa0\t€oi»ro yaXoKToSf 
cuevScT ST aro y^s ^u x«otTo M*^f 
l»a jcc TOi <nro8f^ tc kcu o<rrca rtpi^iy CLpftreu, 
ct 8c Ti5 <^ifurois xP^'^'^^oi twppotnfra, 
▼o ^cXov <rrcp|ar, ^<Ac, fiapSiroy^ » trw ooiSa 
ScovAflMraf koi vw epttri fitOK 

»can> the tomb, oh, bard diyinel 
liere soft thj hallow'd brow reposes, 
^ may the deathless ivj twine, 
nd summer spread her waste of roses! 

L there shall many a fomit distil, 
jad man J a rill refresh the flowers; 
wine shall be each parplc rill, 
Lnd every fount be milkj showers. 

IS, shade of him, whom Nature taught 
7o time his Ijre and soul to pleasure, 
lO gave to loTe his tenderest thought, 
¥lio gaye to lore his fondest measure, — 

OS, after death, if shades can feel, 

rboa maj'st from odours round thee streaming, 

pulse of past enjoyment steal, 

And lire again in blissful dreaming ! ' 

HdoDfaitv the Mithor of thif epUrruUi lived, acoording 
iTMUvOnBCla, la Che Moond rear of the 16BCh Olympiad. 
iftomwhatCtoeroMid QiilntJHan ha^e aald of him, to 
whanaldBdoflmiirovisatore. Bee Inititat. Orat. lib, x. cap. 7- 
■• li BoOiiBcmaR known reqwcdne thia poet, except tome par- 
lUe niiiMi and death, which are mentioned aa emions 
alhcni--«nd there remain of hb works hot a few epl- 
■e in ttKAnthologia, among which are found theaeinaeriptioni 
m AaMnon. Theae remaina ha^e been lometimei imputed to 
ittvyeita of the aame name, of whom Yoieluf girei ua the fol- 
t: — ** Antfpater Theanlanicemis Tizit tempore Au- 
nt QiBi Mltantem Tlderit Pyladem, ilcut conitat ex 
fl^ eplgrammate A»MUyM<, lib. ir. tit. «k •m«vrp«'««. At 
■ ae Bathj Qnm priaoe fbiaM pantomimoa ao anb Auguato da- 
ine, Mtii aotam ex Dione,** *& Iec. 

the reader, who thinks It worth ohserrlnff, may find a strantte 
n%hl in HoAnan'a quotation of this article from Vossiut, 
Elk: Uidven. By the oniiaslon of a sentence he has made Voanufl 
■rt that the poet Aatipater was one ci the first pantomime 
upon the epi g r am belbre ns, mentions a version of it by 
BdHBB, which ia not to be fbond In ttiat commentator) but he 
we than flneeoo Bftmn ds D rodsB Us with another annotator on the 
Oheops sMB , who has given a translation of 

HcTUansMMMivIaid.] Thus Horace of Pindar : — 

If nlta Bircsram lerat aura cycnum. 

Ike hkiQglyphSeal emUem of a poet. Anacreon has 
of Ttm by another of his eulogists. 


TTMB02 AnurpcioKTos. & TifXas tvBaSt kvkvos 

EuSci, xh *'ai8<tfy (topoTceni fuwtri. 
AKfiriv Acipiocm-i ficXi{rrai ofjupi BaBvWco 

'Ifitpa' Kcu Kuraov Aewcos o8a)8c KtOos. 
Ou8* AiSiys <roi tpctras oreo'^co'cy, cv 8* Ax^povros 

Av, 6\os M^tptis Kmrpdii ^ep/iAorfpi}. 

Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade; 
Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid.' 
Cold, cold that heart, which while on earth it dwelt 
All Uie sweet frenzy of love's passion felt. 
And yet, oh Bard! thou art not mute in death. 
Still do we catch thy lyre*s luxurious breath; * 
And still thy songs of soft Bathylla bloom. 
Green as the ivy round thy mould*ring tomb. 
Nor yet has death obscur'd thy fire of love. 
For still it lights thee through the Elysian grove; 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th' elect alone. 
And Venus calls thee even in death her own ! 


HEINE, raipov irapa Xirov Aimnpuoyros afiei€a>yf 
El ri roi €K fii€\coif rjKdty tyuuv o^tKos^ 

^Tdffov ffjLTi cnrodirit cnrturov yavaSj o^a Kfv oivot 
Oarta Try^ere rofia yoTi^ojj.€ucLy 

'Af 6 AiovwTov fttfitXrifKvos oucuri irwfios, 
'As 6 <pi\ajcp7jTov irwTpo(pos kpfioyiriSy 

t,v roK M«Xtxp«K '\fUf»iot. wvrpo^*v 
Ava*«< Ava«p«ovra, TrfiMv kwcv9», 

God of the grape I thou hast betray*d 

In wine's bewildering dream. 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 
Along the Muse's stream I — 
The Telan, nun*d with all those honey'd boys. 
The young Desires, light Loves, and rosc-lipp'd Joys I 

* Still do we catch thy lyre's btxttriouM brtath ;] Thus Simonidcs, 
speaking of our poet :— 

MoXwifc J* »v kifSii ufXtrtpitrmi aiX' «r( ««•>• 

Nor yet are all his numbers mate, 
Though dark within the tomb he lies ; 

But living still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs I 

This is the famous Simonides, whom Ploto styled " divine," though 
Le Fevre, in his Pontes Orccs, supposes that the epigrams under his 
name are all falsely imputed. The most considerable of his re- 
mains Is a satirical poem ni>on women, preserved by Stobsens, iHr*c 

We may Judge llrom the lines I have Just (juoted, and the import 
of the epigram before us, that the works of Anacreon were perflsct 
in the times of Simonides and Antipater. Obsopojus, the com- 
mentator here, appears to exult in their destruction, and telling us 
they were burned by the bishops and patriarchs, he adds, "nee 
niM id neoqnicquam ftcerant," attrlbatlng to this outrage an 
elfect which it oould not possibly have prodnoed. 




-ell! them had'st a pnlse for erery dart' 
U mighty Lore could icatter from 


■ ermm 


ii m, Uttl* 

9«2m >br «venr dori, ^] «^ 

M Banwi TV7 IklMljr 

eontilTM to indnlce 
toUu tn a itjle of 
poiltoaim Ifaito indomo 

warn ImmttJhmmdim Ikte a keartt ♦ej Thb oooplel 
ramnlad by tha orisliul, than m it diUtoi th« 
Aatlpatorli— agmrnthrgly e xj c — ed. 

AftwM. pttn a trflmte to the lagftfaiato gaUaatiy 
oiUiBf him, with dfSiaat 

And each new beanty foand in thee a heart. 
Which thou, with all thy heart and sool* didst 
give her!' 

'Uiv¥ Aamttfimmfrm *, T«wc •# *XXXa4' »infyt», 

Teoi favt to Oi«M9 her treMta*, 

Sace Anaereon, Mge In loving i 
Fondly wwTinc lays of pleasnro 

For the maUb who bloah'd a|>iiroiinc. 
When In nU^tly banqoeti iportlns, 

Where*t the gneit ooolderer fly him ? 
When with lore** aednetlon ooortinc, 

Where's the nymph oonld e'er deny him ? 

• ThM8caliger,lnhlidedlca t oii y v eiwe toBoMardi- 
Blandna, luaTiloQima, dnkia Anacreoo. 




the poems coTttained in this coU 
ritten between the sixteenth and 
-d year of the author's age. But 
ill earlier, not onlj to rhyme but 
. somiet to my schoolmaster, Mr. 
», written in my fourteenth year, 
le time in a Dublin magazine, 
thologia, — the first, and, I fear, 
rreditable attempt in periodical 
hich Ireland has to boast. I had 
•lier period (1793) sent to this 
short pieces of verse, prefaced 
he editor, requesting the inser- 
bllowing attempts of a youthful 
e fear and trembling with which 
an this step were agreeably dis- 
y by the appearance of the con- 
; still more by my finding myself, 
after, hailed as **' Our esteemed 
, T. M." 

he pages of this publication, — 
►le of the poem was extracted, — 
t with the Pleasures of Memory ; 
ly, when I open the volume of 
ia which contains it, the very 
^e and colour of the paper brings 
» my mind the delight with which 
\t poem. 

aster, Mr. Whyte, though amus- 
s a good and kind-hearted man ; 
ler of public reading and elocu- 
enjoyed considerable reputation, 
years before I became his pupil, 
sley Sheridan, then about eight 
of age, had been placed by JVlrs. 
T his caret; and, strange to say, 
out a year's trial, pronounced, 
and parent, to be " an incorri- 
Among those who took lessons 
rivate pupils were several young 

ice to the collected edition of IMl. IMS.] 
oCSrai of tlitf fkct ha* led the writer of a Memoir 
kct Editkn " of my Poeme, printed at Zwickau, 

ladies of rank, belonging to some of those great 
Irish families who still continued to lend to 
Ireland the enlivening influence of their pre- 
sence, and made their country-seats, through a 
great part of the year, the scenes of refined as 
well as hospitable festivity. The Miss Mont- 
gomerys, to whose rare beauty the pencil of 
Sir Joshua has given immortality, were among 
those whom my worthy preceptor most boasted 
of as pupils; and his description of them, I 
remember, long haunted my boyish imagina- 
tion, as though they were not earthly women, 
but some spiritual "creatures of the element." 

About thirty or forty years befbre the 
period of which I am speaking, an eager taste 
for private theatrical performances had sprung 
up among the hifiher ranks of society in Ire- 
land; and at Carton, the seat of the Duke of 
Leinster, at Castletown, Marley, and other 
great houses, private plays were got up, of 
which, in most instances, the superintendence 
was entrusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general 
the prologue, or the epilogue, contributed by 
his pen. At Marley, the seat of the Latouches, 
where the masque of Comus was performed in 
the year 1776, while my old master supplied 
the prologue, no less distinguished a hand than 
that of our "ever-glorious Grattan"J, fur- 
nished the epilogue. This relic of his pen, too, 
is the more memorable, as being, I believe, 
the only poetical composition he was ever 
known to produce. 

At the time when I first began to attend his 
school, Mr. Whyte still continued, to the no 
small alarm of many parents, to encourage a 
taste for acting among his pupils. In this line 
I was long his favourite */m?x;-scholar; and 
among the play-bills introduced in his volume, 
to illustrate the occasions of his own prologues 
and epilogues, there is one of a play got up in 

to iitate that Brinfley Sheridan wot mj tutor! — " Great attention 
wo* paid to hii education by hit tutor, Sheridan." 
; Byron. 

z 2 



nt Lady Borroves's private 
lin, where, among tliciwrna of 

I. Pa«r,, Master MoorB." 

inJeed, is Msocialcd the very 
t verse-making to nrhich my 
s roe to plead guiliy. It was 
bink, even earlier than liie date 
that, while pBssiiigtbuBummer 
number of other young people, 
bathing- place* in the nelgh- 
ublin, which afford Buch fresh 

g UB that we should combine 
e theatrical jwrformance ; and 

ainments agreed upon, the porta 
he Motley hero fell to my share. 
uraged to write and reuile an 
ogue on tb'e oocaaion; and the 
alluding to our speedy return 
omnrkable ouly fur their hiiving 
n my nieniory, t'urmed part of 
brl: — 

Aungicr Street, by mj elder utter, 
and one or two other young person 
little drawing-room orer the ehop \ 

now an eminent professor of music b 
enocleil fur ua the port of orcheitTB 

II wlU be seen, from a]l this, Uut, 1 
imprudent and premature was my firel 
ance in the London world as an antb' 
ouly lucky tbnt I bad not much earlier t 
that responsible character; in which i 
public; would probably have treated my 

that sensible critic, my Uncle Toby 
have disposed of the "work which tl 

While thus the turn I had so ear!. 

for rhyme and song was, by the gay 
ciable circle in which I lived, called 

cduragingly into play, a far deeper fe 
and, 1 should tope, power — was at tJ 
time awakened in me by the mighty 
then working in the political aspect of 




the -penal code; and I was myself among 
e first of the joung Helots of the land, who 
ftened to aTail themselyes of the new privi- 
se of being educated in their country's uni- 
mty, — though still excluded from all share 
tlK»e college honours and emoluments by 
bich the ambition of the youths of the ascen- 
int class was stimulated and rewarded. As I 
ell knew that, next to my attaining some of 
ese distinctions, my showing that I deserved 
< attain them would most gratify my anxious 
other, I entered as candidate for a scholar- 
ip, and (as far as the result of the examina- 
» went) successfully. But, of course, the 
ere barren credit of the effort was aU I en- 
yed for my pains. 

It was in this year (1794), or about the be- 
aniDg of the next, that I remember having, 
r the first time, tried my hand at political 
lire. In their very worst times of slavery 
id snfiering, the happy disposition of my 
mntrymen had kept their cheerfulness still 
dbroken and buoyant ; and, at the period of 
hich I am speaking, the hope of a brighter 
If dawning upon Ireland had given to the 
xiety of the middle classes in Dublin a more 
Imd usual iiow of hilarity and life. Among 
ther gay results of this festive spirit, a club, 
r society, was instituted by some of our most 
Q&rivial citizens, one of whose objects was to 
vrfesque, good-humouredly, the forms and 
wnps of royalty. With this view they esta- 
lUted a sort of mock kingdom, of which 
^ilkey, a small island near Dublin, was made 
feseat, and an eminent pawnbroker, named 
^ilien Armitage, much renowned for his 
peeable nnging, was the chosen and popular 

Before public affairs had become too serious 
r such pastime, it was usual to celebrate, 
irly, at Dalkey, the day of this sovereign's 
xwion; and, among the gay scenes that still 
B in my memory, there are few it recalls 
h more freshness than the celebration, on a 
i Sunday in summer, of one of these anni- 
saries of King Stephen^s coronation. The 
tureaqae sea-views from that spot, the gay 
wda along the shores, the innumerable boat^, 
of life, floating about, and, above all, that 

true spirit of mirth which the Irish tempera- 
ment never fails to lend to such meetings, 
rendered the whole a scene not easily forgotten. 
The state ceremonies of the day were performed, 
with all due gravity, within the ruins of an an- 
cient church that stands on the island, where 
his mock majesty bestowed the order of knight- 
hood upon certain favoured personages, and 
among others, I recollect, upon Ineledon, the | 
celebrated singer, who arose from under the ' 
touch of the royal sword with the appropriate 
title of Sir Charles Melody. There was also 
selected, for the favours of the crown on that 
day, a lady of no ordinary poetic talent, Mrs. 
Battier, who had gained much fame by some 
spirited satires in the manner of Churchill, and 
whose kind encouragement of my early at- 
tempts in versification were to me a source of 
much pride. Thb lady, as was officially an- 
nounced in the course of the day, had been 
appointed his majesty's poetess laureate, under 
the style and title of Henrietta, Countess of 

There could hardly have been devised an 
apter vehicle for lively political satire than this 
gay travesty of monarchical power, and its 
showy appurtenances, so temptingly supplied. 
The very day, indeed, after this commemora- 
tion, there appeared, in the Dalkey state- 
gazette, an amusing proclamation from the 
king, offering a large reward, in croneimne**^ 
to the finder or finders of his majesty's crown, 
which, owing to his " having measured both 
sides of the road " in his pedestrian progress 
on the preceding night, had unluckily fallen 
from the royal brow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that whatever 
natural turn I may have possessed for the 
lighter skirmishing of satire should have been 
called into play by so pleasant a field for its 
exercise as the state affairs of the Dalkey 
kingdom afforded; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his Majesty, 
King Stephen, contrasting the happy state of 
security in which he lived among his merry 
lieges, with the " metal coach," and other such 
precautions against mob violence, which were 
said to have been adopted at that time by his 

• Irlah halflpence, §o called. 
X 3 



reader coodemiia, have been regarded rather as 
lieanrics bj tboM cmdite men, the commentators ; 
vlw find a field lor their ingenuity and research, 
in hi« Grecian kaming and quaint obsenrities. 

TiboUns abounds with touches of fine and 
natval fechng. The idea of his unexpected re- 
tain to Delia, **Tunc Teniam subito,"' &c. is 
imagined with all the delicate ardour of a lorer ; 
and the sentiment of **• nee te posse carere vclim,'' 
bowerer colloquial the expression may have been, 
i» natural, and firom the heart. But the poet of 
Vcivoa, in mj opinion, possessed more genuine 
feeling than any of them. His life was, I believe, 
unfortunate ; his associates were wild and aban- 
doned ; and the warmth of his nature took too 
much advantage of the latitude which the morals 
of thote times so criminally allowed to the pas- 
aooM. All this depraved his imagination, and 
made it the slave of his senses. But still a native 
seosibilitT is often very warmly perceptible ; and 
when he touches the chord of pathos, he reaches 
immediately the heart They who have felt the 
nreets of return to a home from which they have 
loTJu: been absent will confess the beauty of those 
simple unaffected lines : — 

O <pM wlntb cit bMtiiu cnxlsl 
Cam mens oatu rrponit, me percfrino 
Labore fea«i vcnlmtu Larem ad noftnun 
Dakkntoqiic acquiwclmm Iccto. 

Corm. xxix. 

His sorrows on the death of his brother are the 
very tears of poesy ; and when he complains of 
iht'ingratitude of mankind, even the inexperienced 
cannot but sympathise with him. I wish I were 
t poet; I should then endcavoar to catch, by 
truuktion, the spirit of those beauties which I 
bive always so warmly admired.' 

It Mcms to have been peculiarly the fate of 

CttoDns, that the better and more valuable port 

of hii poetry has not reached us ; for there is 

CQoiiMKdly nothing in his extant works to nutho- 

rfw the epithet •* doctus," so universally l)e8towcd 

ipOD him by the ancients. If time had suffered 

W other writings to escape, we perhaps should 

^Tf found among them some more purely amatory ; 

Nn of those we possess, can there be a sweeter 

ipecimen of warm, yet chastened description, than 

f & loves of Acme and Septimius ? and the few 

/ ^le songs of dalliance to Lesbia arc distinguished 

bf such an exquisite playfulness, that they have 




3 In tbe i»UovUic Focbm, vOl be fbond » tnnaUtion of one of 
^ Sa«t CajiBiaftt bat I fiucjr it ia oslj a mere tchoolboy's 
I to be snbed te littlt more tbaa the attempt. 

always been assumed as models by the most ele- 
gant modem Latinists. Still, it must be con- 
fessed, in the midst of all these beauties, 

— Medio de fonte leponim 
Soisit amarl aliquid, quod in ipda floiibna ansat.* 

It has often been remarked, that the ancients 
know nothing of gallantr)'; and we are sometimes 
told there was too much sincerity in their love to 
allow them to trifle thus with the semblance of 
passion. But I cannot perceive that they were 
anything more constant than the modems : thev 
felt all the same dissipation of the heart, though 
they knew not those seductive graces by which 
gallantry almost teaches it to be amiable. Wotton, 
the learned advocate for the modems, deserts them 
in considering this point of comparison, and 
praises the ancients for their ignorance of such 
refinements. But he seems to have collected his 
notions of gallantry from the insipid y<uieMr« of the 
French romances, which have nothing congenial 
with the graceful levity, the ** grata protervitas,** 
of a Rochester or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poets of our 
own language were the models which Mr. Little 
selected for imitation. To attain their simplicity 
(**(cvo rarissima nostro simplicitas " ) was his 
fondest ambition. He could not have aimed at a 
grace more difHcult of attainment* ; and his life 
was of too short a date to allow him to perfect 
such a taste ; but how far he was likely to have 
succeeded, the critic may judge from his produc- 

I have found among his papers a novel, in 
rather an im]K>rfect state, which, as soon as I have 
arranged and collected it, shall be submitted to 
the public eye. 

Where Mr. Little was bom, or what is the 
genealogy of his ))arents, are i^ints in which very 
few readers can be interested. His life was one 
of those humble streams which have scarcely a 
name in the map of life, and the traveller may 
pass it by without inquiring its source or directiou. 
His character was well known to all who were 
acquainted with him; for he had too much vanity to 
hide its virtues, and not enough of art to conceal 
its defects. The lighter traits of his mind may be 
traced perhaps in his writings ; but the few' for 
which he was valued live only in the remembrance 
of his ftiends. 


4 It if a eurions illuftration of the labour which limpUdtr re- 
quires, that the Ramblert of Johnaon, elaborate as they appear, 
were written with fluency, and teldom required rerijlon: while 
the dmple language of RouMeau. which aeema to come flowing from 
the heart, waa the flow production of painAil laljour, panting on 
eYvry word, and balancing ercry eentence. 

X 4 



M aolA wt BtqM anicft Tirtni.— Jor. 

road boasters of a splendid line, 
ins, monldVing while they shine, 
s that weight of alien show, 
elm upon an infant's brow ; 
d splendours, whose contrasting light 
:he native shades in deeper night. 

ud train who glory's shade pursue, 
! arts by which that glory grew ? 
irtues that with cagle-gaze 
Renown in all her orient blaze I 
leart by chymic truth refin'd, 
soul, whose eye had read mankind? 
! links that twiu'd, with hcav'nly art, 

interest round the patriot's heart ? 

* * « * 

niboi iicceanrliun,et pla annaqnibui nulla nlai 

IX «PCf.— LlTT. 

II, no consecrating cause, 
rleav'n, ordain 'd by nature's laws, 
flies the herald of our way, 
lire beams upon the banners play ? 

call sweet as an angel's breath 
babes, or innocence in death ; 
i the tongue of Heav'n within, 
id's balance trembles upon sin. 

oun try's voice, whose claim should 

e soul's most deep retreat ; 
rt's responding chords should run, 
there vibrate — but the one ! 


•revailing, pleasing power 
ic sportive, wandering bee 
itired, from flower to flower, 
you, 'tifl variety. 

Look Nature round, her features trace. 
Her seasons, all her changes see ; 

And own, upon Creation's face. 
The greatest charm's variety. 

For me, ye gracious powers above ! 

Still let me roam, unfix'd and free ; 
In all things, — but the nymph I love, 

m change, and taste variety. 

But, Patty, not a world of ciiarms 

Could e'er estrange my heart from thee ;- 

No, let me ever seek those arms. 
There still I'll find variety. 



Is it not sweet, beloved youth. 

To rove through Erudition's bowers. 

And cull the golden fruits of truth. 
And gather Fancy's brilliant flowers ? 

And is it not more sweet than this, 
To feel thy parents' hearts approving. 

And pay them back in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving ? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea toil is lighter ; 
This sweetens all the fruits of truth, 

And makes the flower of fancy brighter. 

The little gift we send thee, boy, 

May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder. 

If indolence or siren joy 

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 

'Twill tell thee that the winged day 

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour ; 

That life and time shall fade away. 
While heav'n and virtue bloom for ever ! 


If I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 
Its look is so shifting and new, 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance would undo. 



ol am»v8 Imvu pjl, 

die gkllL-C of tlX eji! 

may be off in B shot. 

- the dew on yonr lip, 
ouitiat Ihe nvosnn; renews, 

lie oath whun I choose. 

[■i-rsc from thnt flow'r 
nil the oath tliiu ure ihoro f 
ew vow every honr, 
jwcellj- In air. 

hoflT'n of yonr brow, 
Bith u a re^thor i 
1 i>ieiiiJ:e you mj tow, 
must bo brokeu together ! 

bou leav'st liehind, 
iriiriiilv bouud [o tliiT, 

r,»I links emi bind 
u as heart can be. 

SliU. my bcloVd ! sUH keep in mittd. 

ilowe»er i»r roniovM from me, 
ThiH ihero is one thou leav'si behind, 

Whoao heart tespiroa for oolj Ihee ! 

Anil thoQgh nngcnial ties hare boand 

Tby falc iiotu another's care. 
Thai arm, which clasp* thy bosom roiujii. 

Cannot coofino the heart that's ihtrc. 

Ko, no ! Ihnt hcnn is only mlno 

Uv tlu all olIitT ties above, 
For'] have wed it at a ahdne 

Wimre we have had no ptie« bnt Lore. 


W«K!t Time, who steals our yeaw iw«j 

Shall steal our pleaiures loo. 
The mem'ry of the past will stay. 

And half our joys renew. " 
Then, adoo, when thv beauty's flow'r 

Shall frel the wititrj- air, 
Bcmembrancc will recall Ihc hour 

Wlieu IhoQ aloni! won fiur. 





Hate joa not seen the timid tear, 

Steal trembling from mine eye? 
Have joa not mark'd the flush of fear, 

Or caught the mnrmar'd sigh? 
And can jon think my lore is chill. 

Nor fix*d on jon alone? 
And can you. rend, hy donhting still, 

A heart so much yonr own? 

To jaa mj sonl's affections more. 

Devoutly, warmly true; 
My life has been a task of love. 

One long, long thought of you. 
If all your tender faith be o'er. 

If nill my truth you'll try; 
Alas, I know but one proof more-» 

Fll bless yonr name, and die! 



Tee darkness that hung upon Willumberg*8 walls 
Had long been remember'd with awe and dismay ; 

for rears not a sunbeam had plny'd in its halls, 
And it scem'd as shut out from the regions of day. 

rbough the valleys were brighten*d by many a 
Yet none could the woods of that castle illume; 
Lad the lightning, which flash'd on the neigh- 
bouring stream. 
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom ! 

' Oh I when shall this horrible darkness disperse ! " 
Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave ; — 

It can never dispel," said the wizard of versc, 
**TiU the bright star of chivalry sinks in the 

Lnd who was the bright star of chivalry then? 

^\Tio eotM be but Reuben, the flow'r of the age? 
or Reul»en was first in the combat of men, 

Though Youth had scarce written his name on 
her page. 

or Williimberg's daughter his young heart had 

For BoAe, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, 
Then with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery 

It walks o*er the flow'rs of the mountain and lawn. 

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever? 

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave, 
That darkness should cover that castle for ever. 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! 

To the wizard she flew, saying, ** Tell me, oh, tell! 

Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my 


♦* Yes, yes — when a spirit shall toll the great bell 

Of the motdd'ring abbey,, your Reuben shall 


Twice, thrice he repeated "Your Reuben shall 
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain ; 
And wip'd, while she listened, the tears fVom her 
And hop'd she might yet see her hero again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death. 
When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose; 

To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath. 
In the depth of the billows soon found his re- 
pose. — 

How strangely the order of destiny falls! — 
Not long in the waters the warrior lay, 

"When a sanbeam was seen to glance over the walls. 
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray! 

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light. 
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank: 

Two days did she wander, and all the long night. 
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. 

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell. 
And heard but the breathings of night in the air; 

Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell. 
And saw but the foam of the white billow there. 

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, 
As she look'd at the hght of the moon in the 
She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw. 
As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the 

And now the third night was begenmiing the sky; 

Poor Rose, on the cold de^vy margent reclin'd. 
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, 

When — hark ! — 'twas the bell that came deep 
in the wind! 

She startled, and saw, through the glinmiering 
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide; 
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was 
decay 'd 
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide. 



wcr of ibe Cnve liaJ foretold ? — 
h ttie pliiuilom the moon shol a 

ah! be wu deithlj and cold, 
like liic BpcU of a drcoml 

e rise, and as ofUn she thoaght 
lo tmbriicc hiin, but vain licr 

rath, ut a billow cli« rant;hc, 
Lisu on ill bosom for cvei' 


celing — something more 
ared to own before, 
n wo hid not: 
ach otlier's eye, 
every half-bmUi'd aigh, 
but did not. 

s' impassion 'd touch — 

limD 1 i^nd BO much, 


.'cr i..y burning hroiv. 

oulit [ love jou now?" 



Is not Ihy miiid ■ gentle mind? 
In not that heart > liean refla'd? 
Hast thou not every gtnilc graces 
We lovo ill woman's mind and fa™? 
Auil, oh! art l/um a shriue for Sin 
To hold her hateful wonjiip in? 
Ko, no, be hMppj — dly that tear — 
Thoiii^ soraa ihv heart hath harbonr'd d. 
May now repay its love with blame; 
Though man, who onittt to Uiield ihy flu 

Though all the world look mtd apon tliM 
Yet shall thy pnreness teep thee Bill 

Like the famed drop, in ciystui foand,' 
Ftonting, while all was froi'ii around, — 

Safe in thy own sweet purity. 





5, whether we're on or we're off, 
3me witchery Beem» to await yon; 
loTe Toa was pleasant enoagh, 
jid, oh I 'tis delicious to hate yon! 



let the stingless critic chide 
ill that fume of vacant pride 
I mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
aponr on a stagnant pool. 
' the song, to feeling true, 
Lease th' elect, the sacred few, 
; souls, hy Taste and Nature taught, 
with the genuine pulse of thought — 
e fond feeling maid like thee, 
arm-ey'd child of Sympathy, 
say, while o'er my simple theme 
ngnishes in Passion's dream, 
rats, indeed, a tender soul — 
Titic law, no chill control, 
lid ever freeze, by timid art, 
flowings of so fond a heart!" 
3ul of Nature ! soul of Love ! 
hov'ring hke a snow-wing'd dove, 
I'd o'er my cradle warblings wild, 
ail* d me Passion's warmest child, — 
me the tear from Beauty's eye. 
Feeling's breast the votive sigh ; 
It my song, my memory, find 
ne within the tender mind; 
will smile when critics chide, 
will scorn the fume of pride 
mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
apour round some stagnant pool! 


J no more with Love's beguiling dream, 
int, I find, illusory as sweet : 
e of friendship, nay, of cold esteem, 
arer were thaii passion's bland deceit! 

i yon oft eternal truth declare; 
leart was only mine, I once believ'd. 

I I say that all your vows were air? 
Mst 1 say, my hopes were all deceived? 

a, no longer that our souls are twin'd 

II our joys are felt with mutual zeal; 
- 'tis pity, pity makes you kind; 

aow I love, and you would seem to feel. 

But shall I still go seek within those arms 
A joy in which affection takes no part? 

No, no, farewell ! you give me but your charms, 
When I had fondly thought you gave your heart. 



Mr fates had destin'd me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love; 
And many an altar on my way 
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay; 
Por, if the saint was young and fair, 
I tum'd and sung my vespers there. 
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire, 
Is what your pretty saints require: 
To pass, nor tell a single bead. 
With them would be profane indeed ! 
But, trust me, all this young devotion 
Was but to keep my zeal in motion; 
And, ev*ry humbler altar passed, 
I now have reach'd the shkike at last! 




When, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here — 

Perchance some other friends to find. 
But surely finding none so dear — 

Haply the little simple page. 

Which votive thus I've trac'd for thee. 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment's tliought for me. 

But, oh ! in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould. 
Let not the eye that seldom flows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 

For, trust me, they who never melt 
With pity, never melt with love; 

And such will frown at all I've felt. 
And all my loving lays reprove. 

But if, perhaps, some gentler mind. 
Which rather loves to praise than blame. 

Should in my page an interest find. 
And linger kindly on my name; 



The Instre of the gem, when veil'd, 
Shan he hot mellow'd, not conceal'd. 

Now, sin, imagme, if you're ahle. 
That Nature wrote a second label, 
Thev*re her own words, — at least suppose so- 
And boldlj pin it on Pomposo. 

LABEL axcom). 

When I oomposM the fustian brain 
Of this redoidyted Captain Vain, 
I had at hand but few ingredients, 
And so was fbrc*d to use expedients. 
I put therein some small discerning, 
A grain of sense, a grain of learning; 
And when I saw the void behind, 
I fill'd it up with — froth and wind! 
• * * • • 



W'hek Tine was entwining the garland of years, 

^Hiich to crown my beloved was given, 
Thfiogh some of the leaves might be sullied witli 
Tel the flow'rs were all gatber*d in heaven. 

And long may this garland be sweet to the eye. 

May hs terdore for ever be new; 
1 otmg IxjfTe shall enrich it with many a sigh. 
And Sympathy nuise it with dew. 


y how, beneath the moonbeam's smile, 
Ton little billow heaves its breast, 
•^foams and sparkles for awhile, — 
*^*n niarmuring subsides to rest. 

If *»»«Q, the sport of bliss and care, 
And? ^ time's eventful sea; 
jj* ^^ing sweird a moment there, 
^ «>ielts into eternity! 


I'd >f I were Persia's king, 
^il^^® my graceful queen of thee; 
§?^ * AKXT, ^d and artless thing, 
^^^ but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it— 
That, verily, Fm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute. 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 


Sat, did yon not hear a voice of death! 

And did you not mark the paly form 
Which rode on the silvery mist of the heath. 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm? 

Was it the wailing bird of the gloom. 

That shrieks on the house of woe all night? 

Or a shiv'ring fiend that flew to a tomb, 
To howl and to feed till the glance of light ? 

'Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood. 
For shiv'ring fiend that hung on the blast; 

*Twa8 the shade of Helderic — man of blood — 
It screams for the guilt of days that arc past. 

Sec, how the red, red lightning strays. 
And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! 

Now on the leafless yew it plays. 
Where hangs the shield of this son of death. 

That shield is blushing with murdVous stains; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray ; 
It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains, 

But neither can take the blood away! 

Oft by that yew, on the blnsted field. 
Demons dance to the red moon's light; 

While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging 
Sings to the raving spirit of night! 



On! if your tears are giv'n to care. 
If real woe disturbs your peace. 

Come to my bosom, weepin*^ fair! 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 

But if with Fancv's vision 'd fears. 

With dreams of woe your bosom thrill ; 

You look so lovely in your tears. 
That I must bid you drop them stilL 



wreath joa wore, the wreath jou wove 
IT emhlan well maj be ; 
loom is joaxs, but hopeless Lore 
lut keep its tean for me. 


BAMT that, m the Paphian groves, 

f nets by moonlight lajring, 

ight a flight of wanton Lores, 

mong the rose-beds playing. 

i just had left their sily'ry shell, 

hife some were fhll in feather ; 

rettj a lot of Loves to sell, 

ere never jet strung together. 

Come bay my Loves, 

Come bny my Loves, 

ames and rose-lipp*d misses !— 

rhey're new and bright. 

The coat is Hght, 

be coin of thu isle is kisses. 

Cloris came, with looks sedate, 

(rir coin on her lips was ready ; 

IT," quoth she, ** my Love by weight, 

all grown, if you please, and steady.** 

mine be light," said Fanny, ** pray — 

dch lasting toys undo one ; 

g:ht little Ix>ve that will last to-day, — 

c>-morTow 111 sport a new one." 

ome bny my Loves, 

crtnc buy my Loves, 

mes and rose-lipp'd misses ! — 

here's some will keep, 

ome light and cheap, 

m ten to twenty kisses. 

amed Proe took a pert young thing, 

iivert her virgin Muse with, 

Inck sometimes a quill from his win<^, 

ndite her billet-doux with. 

Hoe would give for a wcU-fledg'd pair 

only eye, if you'd ask it ; 

'mbitha begged, old toothless fair, 

the youngest Love in the basket. 

sine 'buy my Loves, &c. &c. 

e was left, when Susan came, 
worth them all together ; 
bt of her dear looks of shame, 
imird, and prun'd his feather. 
ish'd the Ix^ — 'twas more than whim- 
looks, her sighs betray'd it ; 

But kisses were not enough for him, 
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it ! 

Good-by, my Loves, 

Good-by, my Loves, 
'Twould make you smile toVe seen us 

First trade for this 

Sweet child of bliss. 
And then nurse the boy between us. 


The world had just begun to steal 
Each hope that led me lightly on ; 

I felt not, as I us'd to feci, 
And life grew dark and love was gone. 

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear. 
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath. 

No circling arms to draw me near — 
Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death. 

But when I saw that gentle eye. 

Oh ! something seem'd to tell me then. 

That I was yet too young to die. 

And hope and bliss might bloom again. 

With every gentle smile tliat crost 

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home 

Some feeling, which my heart had lost. 
And peace, which far had leam'd to roam. 

'Twas then indeed so' sweet to live, 
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind. 

That, thongh I mourn, I yet forgive 
The ruin tliey have left behind. 

I could have lov*d you — oh, so well I — 
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows. 

Is but a bright, beguiling spell. 

That only lives while passion glows : 

But, when this early flush declines. 

When the heart's sunny morning fleets, 

You know not then how close it twines 
Kound the first kindred soul it meets. 

Yes, yes, I could have lov'd, as one 

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall. 

Finds something dear to rest upon. 
Which pays him for the loss of all. 


IT the peilago^rue prose*, 
nniiquilj'i stamp ; 
Ji fragrance lUscloseji, 
■lonld smell of the lamp. 

wilhering kiss 
|t Ihc Loves ai ilcflnncc, 
thp Jfienie of blijs, 
le bliB»c9 of Hiencc. 

fl buried in books — 
■0 pitiful BsgeB. 
u oTjour louki 
a millioiii of p^ei. 

n those eyes 
n she Etiidics abOTi^; 
■lid borratr ^oar tigbi 
I for Love. 

Thou wen not form'd for liifinE here. 
So link'd ih)- soul wits iriih ibe skv ; 

Yti. ikh, wo held ih« sU so dear. 

We tliought thou wen not tunn'd lo ( 


She rows to be truo. oad while lowing shi 

And could I expect KDf mors from & wx 

Oh, womnn I jonr heart Is a, pitiliil treami 

And Muhotnct) doctrine was not too tc 

When he held that yon were but inaleriBls • 

And r 

a and thitikiiig i 


Bjr your heart, when the food aighiti^ hr 
ne thinl 

, oh, V 

lile le-: 


let liim I 




Thy life shoald glide in peace along, 
CaLn aa some lonely shepherd's song 

That*8 heard at (Ustance in the grove; 
Xo ckmd shoold ever dim thy sky, 
Xo thorns along thy pathway he, 

Bnt all he beanty, peace, and lore. 

Indulgent Time should never bring 
To thee one blight npon his wing, 

So gently o'er thy brow he'd fly; 
And death'itself should but be felt 
like that of daybeams, when they melt» 

Bright to the last, in erening's sky! 




Thocgh sorrow long has worn my heart; 

Hioogfa every day Tre counted o'er 
Hath brought a new and quick'ning smart 

To wounds that rankled fresh before; 

Tbon^ in mr earliest life bereft 
Of tender links by nature tied; 

Though hope docciy'd, and pleasure left; 
Though friends betray'd and foes belied; 

I stin had hopes — for hope will stay 

After the sunset of delight; 
So fa'ke the star which ushers day, 

We scarce can think it heralds night! — 

I bop'd that, after all its strife. 
My weary heart at length should rest. 

And. fainting from the waves of life, 
Find harbour in a brother's breast. 

That brother's breast was warm with truth. 
Was bii^t with honour's purest ray; 

He was the dearest, gentlest youth — 
Ah* why then was he torn away? 

He s^honld hare stay'd, have Unger'd here 
Xo scM>the his Julia's every woe; 

He shoold have chas'd each bitter tear. 
And not have caus'd those tears to flow. 

within his soul expand 
The fruits of genius, nurs'd by taste; 

Science, with a fost'ring hand. 
Upon bis brow her chaplet plac'd. 

aaw, by bright degrees, his mind 
Grow rich in all that makes men dear;- 
Saligfaten'd, social, and refin'd. 
In fHendooip finn, in lore sincere. 

Such was the vouth we lov'd so well, 
And such the hopes that fate denied; — 

We lov*d, but ah I could scarcely tell 
How deep, how dearly, till he died! 

Close OS the fondest links could strain, 
Twin'd with my very heart he grew; 

And by that fate which breaks the chain, 
The heart is almost broken too. 



m Aixcaioit TO ioms PARTHBRraip nr a lottkiit aBAU. 


— Ego pan — Vma. 

In wedlock a species of lotteiy lies. 
Where in blanks aiid in prizes we deal; 

But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, 
Should so long have remained in the wheel? 

If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree. 

To me such a ticket should roll, 
A sixteenth, Heav'n knows! were sufficient for 

For what could / do with the whole? 


I THOUGHT this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid's burning shrine : 

I thought he stole thy heart away, 
And plac'd it near to mine 

I saw thy heart bepin to melt, 

Like ice before the sun ; 
Till both a glow congenial felt. 

And mingled into one ! 


With all my soul, then, let us part. 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 

And I will send you home your heart, 
If you will send back mine to me. 

T 2 



ue happy hoim. together, 
t oftiiQ changa its wing; 
[lid lie bnl glooinir ivcathor, 
ulhing fUe bat ipriag. 

expctt lo And 
otod. fond. Mid true one 
wk or sweeter mind — 
me that sbe'a a new one 

vo the bower of lore, 
avD bitcr'd long in blisd; 
down that iMlhviiy rove, 
11 lake my way througli ihit. 


lok'd so kind before — 
he wanlOD'a smile recall? 
B ivitchen- o'or and o'er, 
IV, vuD, iiDd heartless oU t " 

nrt, sighing, draiu'd 
icli she fio hue liitd lasted; 
m Blill fresh n-niBin'd 
so oil in falsehood waited. 

And when that thrill is most aw«ke. 
And when von think HcsT'n's jov» ■■ 

The >.™i>h will change, the chord wlU 
Ob Love, oh Music, how t hale irou! 


I iAW the peasant's hand unkind 
From yonder oak the ivy »e\-eri 

They srom'd in very being twia'd; 
Yet uow the oak is fresh a« ever! 

Hoi so the widow'd ivy shines: 
Torn from iu deu and only stay. 

In drooping widowhood it pinea. 
And »catlCTfl all its btootn away. 

ThoB, Julia, did our heart* entwine. 
TiU Fate disturb'd their lender Me 

WhiVmine. dewrwd. droops and 





igh it droop in languor now, 
)iirish on the Delphic shrine ! 
he vale of earthly sense, 
I sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
B hand shall cull it thence, 
)m immortal in the skies ! ** 

'. jonng should feel and know, 
ras taught so sweetlj well, 
fell soft as vernal snow, 
ras brightness where they fell I 
iT of my infant tear, 
jer of my infant joy, 
hade still lingering here ? 
: still thy soul's employ? 
md, as in former days, 
eeting on the sacred' mount, 
8 aw^*d their choral lays, 
c'd around Cassotis* fount v 
ras all thy wish and care, 
te should be the simplest mien, 
i voice the sweetest there, 
the lightest o'er the green : 
:h look and step to mould, 
rdian care is round me spread, 
every snowy fold, 
ding every mazy tread. 
I lead the hynming choir, 
it still, unseen and free, 
ween my lip and lyre, 
is them into harmonv. 
Bs, flow, thy murmuring wave 
ver drop its silv'ry tear 
ore, so blest a grave, 
ory so entirely dear I 


— riac me dt nulla Yeanf. 


ta, my love, were form'd to be 
line twins of Sympathy, 
lire with one sensation : 
r grief, but most in love, 
Tds in unbon they move, 
turill with like vibration. 

Pre heard thee fondly say, 
I pulse shall cease to play 
mine no more is mo>'ing; 
w, to feel a joy (done 
rae to thee than feeling none 
m'd are we in loving 1 


On beds of snow the moonbeam slept. 
And chilly was the midnight gloom. 

When by the damp grave EUen wept — 
Fond maid! it was her Lindor's tomb! 

A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air 
CongeaVd it as it flow'd away : 

All night it lay an ice-drop there. 
At mom it glittered in the ray. 

An angel, wand*ring from her sphere. 
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem. 

To dew-ey*d Pity brought the tear. 
And hung it on her diademJ 


My love and I, the other day. 
Within a myrtle arbour lay, 
When near us, from a rosy i)ed, 
A little snake put forth its head. 

" See," said the maid with thoughtful eyes — 

" Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 

" Who could expect such hidden harm " 

" Beneath the rose*8 smiling charm?" 

Never did grave remark occur 

Less d-propos than this from her. 

I rose to kill the snake, but she, 
Half-smiBng, pray'd it might not be. 
" No," said the maiden — and, alas, 

Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it — 
" Long as the snake is in the grass, 

" One mapt perhaps, have cause to dread it: 
** But, when its wicked eyes ajjpear, 

" And when we know for what they wink so, 
** One must be very simple, dear, 

** To let it wound one — don't you think so?" 


Is the song of Rosa mute? 
Once such lays inspir'd her lute! 
Never doth a sweeter song 
Steal the breezy lyre along. 
When the wind, in odours dying, 
Woos it with enamoured sighing. 
T 8 





^\ lute unsmms? 
ofpcHceit sune 
'slhrobbinc breast — 
di-rinclj blMt! 

om'k sooit a o'er; 

forgolleu sighs, 
-forgolteu lover — 
mul song nw over 1 


cH'hea sink to sleep, 
soft their slnnibers lis! 
iih to those vho vtep, 
vnxp Hud lung to diel 

and gmsy bed, 

.^ilcckltie green cartli'sbrcSEt? 

lo laj- my head, 
isb tu alcep 31 rest. 

embalm my tomb, — 

LoTO will npyer bear enslaving; 

Summer ganncnta sait him beat; 
Bliss icselTii not worth tnrins. 


I FiLL'D lo Ihee. to the* I drank, 
I nothing did but drink and fiH; 

The bowl bj- turns was bright and blan 
Tn-as drinking, fiUiog, drinfcii^ still 

At Icnuth I bid an artist paint 
Thy imagH in this ample tap, 

Tlial I might see the dimpled saint. 
To whom I quaff'il ui/ ucctar up. 

Behold, how bright that pnrple iip 
Now blushes thwugh the wave at ate 

Erety rosente drop 1 iii> 
Is just like kissing wine from thee 

And «ill I drink the more far this; 

For, ever when the dranyht I drain, 





m Where's the veil of sleep 
(M to shade thj looks of light; 
those ejes their Tigil keep, 
>ther sans are sunk in night? 

Q say — her angel breast 
ver throbb*d with guilty sting; 
n is the sweetest nest 
Shimber could repose his wing I 

n say — her cheeks, that flush 
;mal roses in the sun, 
iT by shame been taught to blush, 
for what her eyes hare done! 

me, why, thou child of air! 
lumber from her eyelids rove? 
tier heart's impassion'd care? — 
16, oh sylph! perhaps, 'tis love* 


ell me where the maid is found, 
e heart can love without deceit, 
nil range the world around, 
gh one moment at her feet. 

1 me where*8 her sainted home, 
t air receives her blessed sigh, 
■image of years 1*11 roam 
*tch one sparkle of her eye! 

her cheek be smooth and bright, 
^ truth within her bosom lies, 
* npon her mom and night, 
^7 heart leave me through my eyes. 

lie on earth a thing so rare. 
^^ all miracles are true ; 
*e one maid sincere and fair, 
^ the utmost Heav'n can do! 


°<^ k kr bofic pajon dirinl.— Jfauro tTAreano. 

Mifess, in many a sigh, 
I hare breath 'd you many a lie; 
ho, with such delights in view, 
k)se them, for a lie or two? 

Nay,— look not thus, with brow reproving; 
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. 
If half we tell the girls were true. 
If half we swear to think and do. 
Were aught but lying's bright iUosioo, 
This world would be in strange confusion. 
If ladies' eyes were, every one. 
As lovers swear, a radiant sun. 
Astronomy must leave the skies. 
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. 
Oh, no — believe me, lovely girl. 
When nature turns your teeth to pearl. 
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire. 
Your amber locks to golden wire, 
Then, only then can Heaven decree, 
That you should live for only me. 
Or I for you, as night and mom. 
We've swearing kisis'd, and kissing sworn. 

And now, my gentle hints to clear. 
For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever you may chance to meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet. 
Long as you're false and he believes you. 
Long as you trust and he deceives you. 
So long the blissful bond endures. 
And while he lies, his heart is yours: 
But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth 
The instant that he tells you truth. 


Fbiekd of my soul, this goblet sip, 

'Twill chase that pensive tear; 
'Tis not so sweet as woman's Uw 
But, oh! 'tis more sincere, 
like her delusive beam, 

'Twill steal away thy mind: 
But, truer than love's dream. 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade; 

These flow'rs were cull'd at noon; — 
Like woman's love the rose will fade. 
But, ah! not half so soon. 
For though the flower's decay'd. 

Its fragrance is not o'er; 
But once when love's betrayed, 
Its sweet life blooms no more. 

T 4 




»u".™^iu.. irtr. ipii. ». 

mip •• (my Miatrcss said), 
^uuji thai, many a nighi, 

lonelv Iwd 

[tic walch of light. 

ye upon ila Huine, 

btloved'» niima. 

■amp — 'twill often lead 
ugh loniiuft's Bacrcii wayj 
studious eyes eliall mail, 
bj iW lonely ray, 

e. of nBlnro"B birth, 
'hi in heaven or earth, 

e than earth or heaven ! " 

np, hy rvftr clinmi 

And often, as she smiling said. 

Ill fancy's hour, Ihj gentle rayii 
Shall i^ide my visionary tread 

Till' flame shall liglit the page refin'd. 

Vvhere nill »c catch the Chian-x bmth. 

Where -till Ihc bard, ihougb eld in deal 
Hoj left bis sonl unqnendi'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine. 

Oh man of Aacra's dicary pladesl' 
To whom the nighily warbling Nine' 

A -wand of iusiiirution gave,' 
PluL'k'd from the greenest irce. that shadn 

The crysUl of Catlalia's f,aro. 

Then, turning to a purer lore. 
Well cull the sages' dwp-hid Woret 
Fn.m Sdem-e sCeal bsc golden due. 
And every mystic path parsne. 
Where Nature, far from vulgar eye*, 

'Ti5 thus my heart fh«H learn to know 
How aeeting is this world below. 
Where all that meets the morning Ught. 
L" ebUDg'd before lie fall ofnight!' 

I'll lell thoe, as I trim thy tire, 

■■ Swift, swift the tide of bcinp rnns. 




Who that has coITd a freah-blown rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindfol of the blushing ray. 
In which it shines its sonl away; 
Unmindful of the scented sigh. 
With which it dies and lores to die ? 

Pleasore, thou only good on earth!' 
One precious moment gir'n to thee — 

Oh! by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth 
The' sage's immortality. 

Then fiur be an the wisdom hence, 
That would our joys one hour delay! 

Alas the feast of sonl and sense 
Love calls us to in youth's bright day. 
If not soon tasted, fleets away. 

Xe'er wert thou form'd, my Lamp, to shed 

Thy splendour on a lifeless page; — 
Whate'er my blushing Lais said 

Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 
Twas modLcry all — her glance of joy 
Told me thy dearest, best employ.' 
And, soon as night shall close the eye 

Of heaven's young wanderer in the west; 
When seers are gazing on the sky. 

To find their foture orbs of rest; 
Then shall I take my trembling way. 

Unseen but to those worlds aboye. 
And, led by thy mysterious ray. 

Steal to the night- bower of my love. 


09 axB 



IHre itdtt Ion tooto entftre, 
ir n^oocr 1* nkl qui rar la vMre ^toiti 
me rctlnnt, die mta derritec, 
Taat ds ee do«x plairir r«inoroe Ui rcttdt. 


How heavenly was the poet's doom. 
To breathe his spirit through a Idss; 

And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss! 

M the inindiite of hAin>ine«, tn 

b* tfftnd ftom tkc Epjcorcaiia, who lotriied to a ttato 

I th» onlj tma rolaptDoiiancM, and aToided eren the too 

of pka—re, ■• a vtoleDt and unsraoeftil denuige- 

MDl mon oplielt than thb philosopher, 

of miM above the ■ablimeit punoit* of 

of the lii&iit man. In his production, he calls 

<int povnra eompicndre les choeei let 

•t •• «■! Ml bkB IB deiM, goi poorra toAter lei 

And, sure his sonl retum'd to feel 
That it again could ravish'd be; 

For in the kiss that thou didst steal. 
His life and sonl have fled to thee? 


** Good night! good night! " — And is it so? 

And must I from my IU>8a go? 

Oh Rosa, say '* Grood night!*' once more. 

And ril repeat it o'er and o'er, 

Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall find us saying, still, '* Good night" 

And still '* Good night," my Rosa, say — 
But whisper still, ** A minute stay; " 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight. 
To listen to our sweet ** Good night." 

" Good night! " youTI murmur with a sigh. 

And tell mo it is time to fly: 

And I will vow, will swear to go, 

While still that sweet voice murmurs "No! " 

Till slumber seal our weary sight — 

And then, my love, my soul, " Good night! " 


Why does azure deck the sky? 

*Tis to be like thy looks of blue; 
Why is red the rose's dye? 

Because it is thy blushes' hue. 
All that's fair, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee! 

Why is falling snow so white. 
But to be like thy bosom fair? 

Why are solar beams so bright? 

That they may seem thy golden hair! 

All that's bright, by Love*s decree. 

Has been made resembling thee! 

m^mei plaisin.** See his VAins Phydque. This appears to he one 
of the efforts at FontencUe's irallantry of manner, for which the 
learned President is so veil and Justly ridiculed in the AkaJda of 

Maupertuis may be thought to hare borrowed from the ancient 
Aristippos that indiscriminate theory of pleasures which he has set 
forth in his Essai de Philosophic Morale, and for which he was so 
very justly coodemned. Aristippus, accordinir to Laertins, held 
/^ »tm4€p*t» rt t;8Mt^ ^'•vTCt which irrational sentiment has been 
adopted by Maupertuis : " Tant qu'on ne oonsid^re que I'^tat present* 
tons Ics plaisirs sont da mtme genre," ac. lie. 



Soon firom his metk the white arm was flung; 
While, to his wak'ning ear. 
No other sounds were dear 
But brazen notes of war, bj thousand trumpets 

Bot then came the fi^t harp, when danger was 
And Beanty onoe more Inll'd the War-God to 
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended. 
And flights of jonng dores made his helmet 
the^ nest. 



Fox high the cup with liquid flame. 
And speak my Heliodora's name. 
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er, 
And let the sound my lips adore, 
JJre in the breexe, till every tone. 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone ; 

Gire me the wreath that withers there, 

It was but last delicious night. 
It circled her luxuriant hair. 

And caught her eyes' reflected light. 
Oh ! haste, and twine it round my brow : 
Tis all of her that's left me now. 
And see — each rosebud drops a tear. 
To find the nymph no longer here — 
No longer, where such heavenly charms 
As hers sbotUd be — within these arms. 


Flt hank the world, O Bessy! to me, 

Thoa wilt never find any sinccrer; 
[U give up the world, O Bessy! for thee, 

I can never meet any that's dearer. 
riien tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, 

That our kves will be censur'd by many; 
AIL all have their follies, and who will deny 

That ours is the sweetest of any? 

When jour lip has met mine, in conmiunion so 
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it? — 

(••«, 0im mM^r^ v* 7X1MV tt*«y' wafiM. 
E«* /*•» rum 0p€ \ <H m r m ftvfio*t gtu x^*" wwro, 

tStm ^m iw , vimtmm mn »m» 

BmvmcK,Anaieet. torn. I. p. M. 

Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ?— 
No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it. 

So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, 
So little of wrong is there in it, 

That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip. 
And Fd kiss them away in a minute. 

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed. 

From a world which I know thou despisest; 
And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed 

As e'er on the couch of the wisest. 
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven. 

And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, 
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heav'n, 

Tis only our lullaby, dearest! 

And, oh! while we lie on our deathbed, my love. 

Looking back on the scene of our errors, 
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, 

And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. 
And each to the other embracing will say, 

** Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven." 
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, 

And a kiss be our passport to heaveni 


▼o cercand* io. 

Donna, quant' e powibll«, in altml 
La deaiata Toctra forma vera. 

FaTRABc. Sonnett. 14. 

Yes, if 'twere any conmion love. 
That led my i)Iiant heart astray, 

I grant, there's not a power above, 
Could wipe the faithless crime away. 

But, 'twas my doom to err with one 

In every l(X)k so like to thee 
That, underneath yon blessed sun, 

So fair there are but thou and she. 

Both bom of beauty, at a birth. 
She held with thine a kindred sway. 

And wore the only shape on earth 

That could have lur'd my soul to stray. 

Then blame me not, if false I be, 

*Twas love that wak'd the fond excess; 

My heart had been more true to thee, 
Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less. 



aj concern with those fanciful forms 
upon rainbows and ride upon storms; 
bort, jouYe a woman; your lip and 

• eye 

u ever drew gods from the sky. 

lot beliere them — no. Science, to you 

; bid a last and a careless adieu : 

from Nature to study her laws, 

g delight by exploring its cause, 

how superior, for mortals below, 

on ihej dream to the truth that they 


tiat has e'er enjoyed rapture complete, 

koto we feel it, or whf it is sweet; 

ire confus*d, or how particles fly 

te medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh; 

s, who but once would not rather have 

wn it, 

in, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it? 

you, my sweet-voiced and invisible 


nzrely be one of those spirits, that rove 

k wher^ at twilight, the poet reclines, 

ttBT of the west on Us solitude shines, 

agical fingers of fancy have hung 

te with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue. 

• him then, 'tis retirement alone 
- his harp or ennoble its tone; 
vith a veil of seclusion between, 
> the world let him utter unseen, 
ou, a legitimate child of the spheres, 
n the eye to enrapture the ears. 

»irit of mystery! how I should love, 

risome ways I am fated to rove, 

n thus ever invisibly nigh, 

tr ever your song and your sigh ! 

-owds of the world and the murmurs of 

metimes converse with my nymph of the 

irith distaste from the clamorous crew, 
I the pauses one whisper from you. 

>me and be near me, for ever be mine, 

kold in the air a communion divine, 

ts, of old, was imaging to dwell 

tto of Numa, or Socrates* cell 

t those lingering moments of night, 

heart's bu^ thoughts have put slumber 


come to my pillow and tell me of love, 

tgel to angel might whisper above. 

• Mvrrto tiilak that my Mend had any lerloiu inten- 
mimt Um Bimery by thi« ttorj : I rather hope— thoiwh 
it If dt BM to doubt— that his deaipa wm* to ridicule 
red taaCa whidi pntfeni thoae monsten of the fimcy to 
' of true poetic imacinatlon. 

Sweet spirit ! — and then, could you borrow the 

Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song 

The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd 
With her being for ever my heart and my mind. 
Though lonely and far from the light of her smile. 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while. 
Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, 
I will think, for that moment, that Cara is near; 
That she comes with consoling enchantment to 

And kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek. 
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by. 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh. 

Fair spirit! if such be your magical power. 
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; 
And, let fortune's reaUties frown as they will, 
Hope, fimcy, and Cara may smile for me stilL 


▲ TALE. 

Annuloa Ule viri— Otio. Amor. lib. U. eleg. 15. 

The happy day at length arriv'd 

When Rupert was to wed 
The fairest maid in Saxony, 

And take her to his bed. 

As soon as mom was in the sky. 

The feasts and sports began; 
The men admir'd the happy maid, 

The maids the happy man. 

In many a sweet device of mirth 

The day was pass'd along; 
And some the featly dance amus'd. 

And some the dulcet song. 

The younger maids with Isabel 

Disported through the bowers, 
And deck'd her robe, and crown 'd her head 

With motley bridtd flowers. 

The matrons all in rich attire. 

Within the castle walls. 
Sat listening to the choral strains 

That echo'd through the halls. 

I find, by a note In the maniucript, that he met with thii rtory in 
a German author, Fromman upon Fcucination, book 111. part vi. 
ch. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromman quotes it 
from Beluaoensis, among many othar atocics MiaaUy diabolical and 
interesting. E. 


^^^^B Itn^KTl and his friends repair'd 

^^^^^Kat and mnoly sport. 

^^^^^Kdcgroom on his fingi^r wore 
^^^^^H \TeddtDg-riiig n> bright, 
^^^^^^H was t(i giMt ibu hlj hand 
^^^^^^HMbet thai night. 

^^^^^Karing be might bi«ak the gem, 
^^^^■iwc Ibe pUy, 
^^^^^■k'd arounil ttiu cnuTt, to *ee 
^^^^^■jtc bo the ring might lay. 

^^^^^|n ih; court a statue dtood, 

^^^^■i^h tlttcc full lon^ had hi^en: 
^^^^■ht a Hcatlicn j^dces be, 
^^^^^Blse, a nciUhcn 

^^^^^Bts marble finger then 
^^^^■ricd the ring: (o till 
^^^^■binking it w>u safest there, 
^^^^KeoD ho fcatcn-d 

^^^^^^Hunr the tennis Fports went on. 
^^^^■ihey were wearied aU, 

^^^Hr dinner in the ball 

Be searrh'd the base, and all tba 1 
But nothing eould he find-. 

Then to the easlle hied he back 
With sore bewildcr-d mind. 

Wilbin he found them all in mirth 
The night in dancing flew; 

The yontii auotbar ring procnr'di 
And none the adventare Itaeir. 

And now the priest bu join'd tbd 
The hours of love advance; 

Bnpert almost forgets to think 
Upon the mom's mischance. 

Within the bed fair Isabel 
In blushing sweetness U7, 

Lilce flowers, hulf-opcn'd by the dl 
Aad waiting for iJie day. 

And Rnpert. by her IotcIy side. 
In roHlbftd beauty glows, 

LJke Phnbus, when lie bends to a 
Hit beamf upon a rose. 

And here my song would Icbtc thi 

Nor let the rest be told. 
If 'iwcre not for ibe borrid tale 

It jet has to unfold. 



** Hubaad, husband, I've the ring 

"Thou gay'st to-day to me; 
** Andthoa'rt to me for erer wed* 


And all the night the demon laj 

Cold-chilling hy his side. 
And stnin'd Mm with snch deadly grasp, 

He thought he should have died. 

Bm when the dawn of day was near, 

The horrid phantom fled. 
And left th' afiHghted youth to weep 

B7 Inbel in bed. 

And an that day a gloomy cloud 
^M seen on Bnpert's brows; 

Fair Isabel Wis likewise sad. 
Bat gtiore to cheer her spouse. 

-^^ M the day advanc'd, he thought 

Of coming night with fear: 
AJm, that he should dread to view 

The bed that should be dear! 

-^^ength the second night arriv'd, 
Ag^ their couch they press'd; 

^^%ert hop'd that all was o*er, 
And loo^»d for love and rest. 

°1^! ^en midnight came, again 
^ f e fiend was at his side, 
^.^ it atrain'd him in its grasp, 
»wi howl exulting cried : — 

** ?°ij*^d, husband, Tve the ring, 
-^ ,^>ing thou gav'st to me; 
H ? ^ou'it to me for ever wed, 
^I amwedtotheel" 

^^T of wild despair. 

2^ ^« to his bcwilder'd wife 
'^^^bHng Rupert said : 

** ThAt^^*^ ®^ horrors here, 
u A ^t^ains me to its deadly kiss, 
"^^^ keeps me from my dear? ** 

wvj^^ my love! my Rupert, I 
tt \5\^ 8hape of horrors see ; 
\fjd inuch I mourn the phantasy 
^^W keeps my dear from me." 

"^1^ ikight, just like the night before, 
^"* terrors pass'd away, 
^^ did the demon vanii^ thence 
Be&re the dawn of day. 


Said Rupert then, ** My Isabel, 

" Dear partner of my woe, 
«• To Father Austin's holy cave 

" This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man. 

Who acted wonders maint — 
Whom all the country round believ'd 

A devil or a saint! 

To Father Austin's holy cave 

Then Rupert straightway went; 
And told him all, and ask'd him how 

These horrors to prevent 

The Father heard the youth, and then 

Retir'd awhile to pray; 
And, having pray'd for half an hour, 

Thos to the youth did say: 

** There is a place where four roads meet, 

« Which I will tell to thee; 
**Be there this eve, at fall of night, 

** And list what thou shalt see. 

** Thou'lt see a group of figures pass 

" In strange disordered crowd, 
" Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

** With noises strange and loud. 

** And one that's high above the rest, 

" Terrific towering o'er, 
** W^ill make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 

** To him from me these tablets give, 

" They'll quick be understood ; 
" Thou necd'st not fear, but give them straight, 

" I've scrawl'd them with my blood ! ** 

The night-fall came, and Rupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the cross-roads met, as he 

Was by the Father sent. 

And lo! a group of fip^ires came 

In strange disorder'd crowd, 
Travelling by torchlight through the roads. 

With noises strange and loud. 

And, as the gloomy train advanc'd, 

Rupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a car. 

And Rupert, as he gaz'd upon 

The loosely vested dame. 
Thought of the marble statue's look. 

For hers was just the same. 



ore was this spirit's name, 
logh so soft his Toice and look, 
race, whene'er he came, 
tremble for her spotless book. 

Bacchant cnp he bore, 
rth's sweet nectar sparkling bright ; 
she fear'd lest, mantling o'er, 
"ops should on the pages light 

chanc'd, one luckless night, 
bin let that goblet fall 
ir book, so pnre, so white, 
lied lines and marge and all ! 

w, tonch'd with shame, he tried 
I those fatal stains awaj ; 
» had sunk the snllying tide, 
res grew darker every day. 

y's sketches lost their hue, 
>pe*s sweet lines were all effaced, 
himself now scarcely knew 
oTe himself so lately trac'd. 

the urchin Pleasure fled, 
>w, alas ! could Pleasure stay ?) 
\ while many a tear he shed, 
tnt flung the book away. 

X now alone remains, 
the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, 
iph it bears some earthy stains, 
*nK)ry counts the leaf a treasure. 

^ey say, she scans it o'er, 

•^ V this memorial aided, 

^^ the pages now no more, 

"'^ of lines that long have faded. 

'* if this tale be true, 

^ the simple facts arc stated ; 

^ their truth to you, 

^e and you are near related. 


** All nrrEBTAL ok absence. 

^*h within the shady wood 
other left her sleeping child, 
^^, to cull her rustic food, 
fruitage of the forest wild^ 

But storms upon her pathway rise. 

The mother roams, astray and weeping ; 

Far from the weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping 

She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 
And gentler blows the night wind's breath ; 

Yet no — 'tis gone — the storms are keen. 
The infant may be chill'd to death ! 

Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded. 
His little eyes lie cold and still ; — 

And yet, perhaps, they arc not clouded. 
Life and love may light them stilL 

Thus, Cara, at our last farewell. 

When, fcarfiil ev'n thy hand to touch, 

I mutely ask'd those eyes to tell 
If parting pain'd thee half so much : 

I thought, — and, oh ! fbrgive the thought. 
For none was e'er by love inspir'd 

Whom fancy had not also taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desir'd. 

Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind. 

Though yet to that sweet mind unknown, 
I left one infant wish behind. 

One feeling, which I call'd my own. 

Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest. 

How did I ask of Pity's care, 
To shield and strengthen, in thy breast. 

The nursling I had cradled there. 

And, many an hour, beguil'd by pleasure. 
And many an hour of sorrow numb 'ring, 

I ne'er forgot the new-bom treasure, 
I left within thy bosom slumb'ring. 

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it. 
Haply, it yet a throb may give — 

Yet, no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it; 
Say, dearest — does the feeling live ? 




When midnic^ht came to close the year, 
We sigh'd to think it thus should take 

The hours it gave us — hours as dear 
As sympathy and love could make 




And tfaoa shalt own, 
"hat, throagh the circle of creation's zone, 
riiere matter shnnbers or where spirit beams; 

From the pellncid tides*, that whirl 
The planetB throagh their maze of song, 
To the tman rill, that weeps along 
Mnmnning o*er beds of pearl; 
From the rich sigh 
:he nm's arrow throagh an evening sky.* 
o the fiunt breath the tanefhl osier yiuds 

On Afric's baming fields;' 
lioalt wondering own this nniverse divine 

Is mine! 
liat I respire in all and aU in me, 
• mightj mingled soul of boondless harmony. 

Welcome, welcome^ mystic- shell t 

Manj a star has ceased to bum,^ 

Manj a tear has Satnm's urn, 
)*er the cold bosom of the ocean wept,f 

Since thy aerial spell 

Hath in the waters slept. 
Kow blest rU fly 
'ith the bright treasure to my choral sky, 
T^nbere she, who wak'd its early swell. 
The Syren of the hearenly choir, 
ks o'er the great string of my Oiphic Lyre;* 
Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of some blissfiil soul :' 

While thou— 
ton of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee ! 

Beneath Hispania's sun, 

Thoult see a streamlet run, 
'hich I*Te imbued with breathing melody;' 

VOB. th* •tomlat, ImMiiMd a kind of Tortiea in the 
ThhA he b wim r c d from AnazAgonu, and pooibly rag- 



npoB tht ftllcgories of Homer, conjectures that the 
of tht tfhitna originated with this poet, who, 
the iolar bmna •• arrowe, fni>poeefl them to emit a 
to tht air. 

of AfKea whieh D'AUaneoort has translated, 
of a tree in that ooontry, whoM branches when 
the hand pirodaoe very sweet sonnds. " Le mf me aoteur 
) dlU qail y a un certain arbre, qui produit des gaule* 
,et qa'cn lea prenant 4 la main et lea bntnlant. dies 
dluunoale ftirt acr^ablc," *c.*c — VAJriqut dc 

to th« cztinetlQa, or at least the disappearance, of 

Lnd ttara, which we are tanght to consider as sunit, 

bf iCa lyttem. Descartes thought that our earth 

haTi been a ina, wlilch became obscured by a thick 

ovtr tti anrfaflB. lUs probably suggested the idea of 


■71, that Pythagoras held the sea to be a tear, Ttri* 
«M »«Mnw (De YitA) t and some one else, if I 
■ddad the planet Saturn as the source of it. Em- 
daailar affeetattoa. called the sea ** the sweat of the 
*iir rtt- See Bittenktuiu* upon PorpkifniL Num. 41 . 
of tiw harmontsod orbs wa« styled by tho ancients 
I^nof Oiphcaa,ftir wlilch Lndan thus accounts: — 4 '■ 

^n BIS OXHMA— *' IXstrlbBting the souls severally among 
tmth soal upon a star as on its duirlot." — 

b awntioDed in the itmaooe of Achillas 

And there, when night- winds down the current 

Thou 'It hear how like a harp its waters sigh : 
A liquid chord is every wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that blows.* 

There, by that wondrous stream. 
Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike dream. 
As never bless'd the slumbers even of him,'* 
Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre," 
Sate on the chill Panga^m mount, '^ 
And, looking to tho orient dim, 
Watch 'd the first flowing of that sacred fount, 
From which his soul had drunk its Are. 
Oh I think what visions, in that lonely hour. 
Stole o'er his musing breast; 
What pious ecstasy" 
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose seal upon this new-bom world imprest'* 
The various forms of bright divinity. I 

Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove, 
'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower," 
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber? 
When, free 
From earthly chain. 
From wreaths of pleasure and firom bonds of 

His spirit flew through fields above. 
Drank at the soturce of nature's fontal number." 
And saw, in mystic choir,..around him movie 
The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy! 

Such dreams, so heavenly bright, 

Latin Terrion, in supplying the hiatus which is in the original, has 
placed the river in HisfMuiia. *' In HispaniA quoque fluvius est, quern 
priino aspectu," ftc. &c. 
• These two lines are translated ftom the words of Achilles 

Tatius. Cav yap oXtyvf «rc^<«c VK r«« Jtmc t^itn^yh ^* M«w i^fi M xop^fi 
Kpovrrau t« tt wvnft^ r»v tii^rt wXtfKtptv y*itrmt. re ^tv/4« 4« <!>c »t^»fi* 

XaX«».— Lib. iL 

10 Orpheus. 

1 1 They called his lyre «matOT^M«v *wTmx»p*«^ Opitm^. See a curi- 
ous work by a professor of Greek at Venice. entitled " Ilebdoiuades, 

•sive septem de septenario libri."— Lib. iv. cap. 3. p. 177. 

>*'' Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme veneration of Orpheus 
fur Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the Pancasun 
mountain at day-break, and there wait the rising of the sun. that 
he misht be the first to hail its beams. Evry«MM^i^ r« nn w<rre<, 

Mtira rr/v ta/tunjn twt ru o^Of to coXov/mww Mayyatow, irpo«*/iktv* rat ava- 
reX«c« (•*« ^V Tov 'HXiov wpmrrov. — Kiir*vT*p*att. X4. 

>* There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us, whidi contain 
sublime ideas of the unity and magnitlcence of the Deity. For 
iustanae, those which Justin Martyr has produced ; 

Xpywttm cv* tp« tn t, «. r. X. Ad Grfxe» Cohnrtot. 

It Is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned amongst the 
fabrications, which were frequent in theearly times of Christianity. 
Still, it appears. doubtfU to whom they, are to be attributed, bcint; 
too pious for the Pagans, and too poetical fur the Fathers. 

14 In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attributes a figured seal to 
Apollo, with which he imagine* that deity to have stamped a 
▼ariety of forms upon the universe. 

lA Alluding to the cave near Samoa, where Pythagoras devote<l 
the greater part of his days and nights to meditation and the 
mysteries of his philosophy. JamNirX, de Fit. This, as llolstcnius 
remarks, was in imitation of the Magi. 

i* The tetractys, or aaertd nnmber of tha Pythagoreans, on which 

X 2 






Where'er thy joys are niimber'd now. 

Beneath whatever shades of rest. 
The Genins of the starry hrow * 

Hath bound thee to thj Cupid's breast; 

Whether tbore the horizon dim. 
Along whose verge our spirits stray, — 

Half sunk beneath Sie shadowy rim. 
Half bri^hten'd by the upper ray,' — 

Thoo dwellest in a world, all light. 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other goals, the guardian bright 
That Love was, through this gloom, to thee ; 

Still be the song to Psyche dear. 
The song, whose gentle voice was given 

T'o be, on earth, to mortal ear. 
An edio of her own, in heaven. 




Cam digno digna 


^^poisthc maid, with golden hair, 

- w? ^^ °^ ^'^ *°^ ^^^ ^^ ^' 
" Whose harp aronnd my altar swells, 

"^ sweetest of a thousand shells? " 

Twas thus the deity, who treads 

^ arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 

^J from his eyelids — thus he spoke, 

Ai through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphclia is the Delphic fair,* 
" ttb eyes of fire, and golden hair, 
AjAelia'g are the airy feet, 
Aiidhen the harp di"vinely sweet; 

tht nUoBlfti czprened tiie middle lUtc of the 

and faaleUectiud eziaCcBce. 

M wU M a few othcn that oocnr aftenrardf, 

a vork which I had early projected, and even an- 

paMICt but which, luckily perhaps for mgraelf, had 

bf in7 Tiidt to America in the year 1803. 

■poeCarei in which the prieata of the p««ran templet 

iadalced, one of the mott ftTourite wu that of 

Mr voCarr of the alirine, that the Qod himtelf 

of hfcr beauty, and would descend in all 

tar a Tlilt within the reoeewe of the fkne. An 

tkfe dawirlpWon fttmad an episode in the dusic 

Ihaddtctehedoott and the short fragment, given 

to mt cplstk bf whieh the story was to have been 

I In th« «h rytUe omadw, 

For foot so light has never trod 
The laurePd caverns* of the god. 
Nor harp so soft has ever given 
A sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. 

*• Then tell the virgin to imfold. 
In looser pomp, her locks of gold. 
And bid those eyes more fondly shine 
To welcome down a Spouse Divine; 
Since lie, who lights the path of years — 
Even from the fount of morning's tears 
To where his setting splendours bum 
Upon the western sea-maids urn — 
Doth not, in all his course, behold 
Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. 
Tell her, he comes, in blissful pride,. 
His lip yet sparkling with the tide 
I'hat mantles in Olympian bowls, — 
The nectar of eternal souls ! 
For her, for her he quits the skies. 
And to her kiss from nectar flies. 
Oh, he would quit his star-thronM height. 
And leave the world to pine for lights 
Might he but pass the hours of sbade,^ 
Beside his peerless Delphic maid. 
She, more than earthly woman blest. 
He, more than god on woman's breast! **" 






ApoUOftn the same manner. 

There is a cave beneath the steep,* 
Where living rills of ciystal weep 
O'er herbage of the loveliest hue 
That ever spring begemm'd with dew: 
There oft the greensward's glossy tint 
Is brighten 'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad's feet, — 
Scarce touching earth, their steps so fleet, — 
That there, by moonlight's ray, had trod, 
In light dance, o'er the verdant sod. 
" There, there," the god, impassiouM, said, 
" Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
" And the dim orb of lunar souls' 
" Along its shadowy pathway rolls — 
" There shall we meet, — and not ev'n He, 
" The God who reigns immortally. 

reqoires of Chiron some informstion respeetine the fair Cjrrene, the 
Centaur, in ^obeyinK, very gravely apolotfifes tor telling the God 
what his omnijcieuce must know so perfectly already : 

Et ^ r« X7« «a4 woa 99^ m r a«a-*^^«4, 
h AXX' CK tfo^txv^ yvaXa. fitf^^fuu raS«. 

EcaiPiD. I<m. V. 76. 

e The Corycian Cave, which Paostnias mentions. The inhabitants 
of Parnassus held it sacred to the Corycian nymphs, who were 
children of the river Plistus. 

' See note «. p. t97. It shonld seem that lunar spirits were 
of a purer order than spirits in general, as Pythagoras was said by 
his followers to have descended from the regions of the moon. The 
hereeiarch Manes, in the same manner, imagined that the son and 
moon are tlie reddenoe of Christ, and that the BMiension wae 
nothing more than his flight to those ortM. 

Z 3 


I Rabcl'e lurreU punt the[r priile 
lUi' EupiirBles' shining lidc ', — 
■ I wlicn to hia midniglil loTeM 
.c uujestf be niovos, 
Hd by many an oduruiu fire, 
Hymn'd by all CbAldira'a clioir, — 
•i, o'or mortal brow, kt shine 
|lfluiMicc tif Love Divine. 

o-night, bleat maid, o'er Ifainc.'' 
le moil), whom beavea aUa'viij 
f. for heaven her virgin vows! 
[be inuldl — her rube uf sbame 
li'd by B heavenly fliune, 
I; lory, with & liiii;'ring tnec, 
' mil deifies hor nice!* 


H'^ love! ni pity thee, 
■ deed hast felt like ma. 
y bosoin'e peace is o'er! 
L "hieh mu my hour of calm, 
■rum iho page of classic lore, 

■e fount of ancient Uy 
I has drawn the placid balm, 
JbiirTn'd its every grief awoy, 

'Tis Ehtu the world's obtnuiTS ' 
Obscnro with malice keen 

Samp timid heart, which oolf i 
To live and die nnsccn. 


Grow to my lip, Ihoa sacred k 
Ou which njy soul's beloved tm 
That ihvro shoidd come & lime 
When she would mock mj hap 
And fancy shall thy glow cenci 
In ai^hi at mom, and dreams ■ 
And none shall steal thy half i 
Till thou'n absolr'd by reptoPB 

And let my love, my more ti 
Coma lilnshing to this nrdonl b 
Then, while in every glance I i 
The rich o'crBowini^ of bet mi: 
OhI let her all cnnmonr'd sink 





n me," sajB Bosa, as kissing and kist, 

she recfin'd on my breast; 
U me the number, repeat me the list 

njmphs 70a hare lor'd and carest.'* — 

'twas only my fancy that roTed, 

t at the moment was firee; 

1 thee, my girl, how many Fve loved, 

number shall finish with thee. 

ras Kitty; in infancy wild 
,rfat me the way to be blest; 
; me to love her, I lov'd like a child, 
y coold fancy the rest. 
1 of dear and enrapturing lore 
erer forgot, I allow : 
it 6y roie rery often before, 
sr by heart ontil now. 

tha was next, and my sonl was aD flame, 

head was so fnll of romance 

cied her into some chivalry dame, 

'as her knight of the lance. 

a was not of this fanciful school, 

langh'd at her poor little knight; 
•aght her a goddess, she thought me a fool, 

swear she was most in the right. 

as now calm, till, by Cloris*s looks, 

was tempted to rove; 

, I found, was so learned in books 

i gave me more logic than love. 

lis young Sappho, and hastened to fly 

i sweeter logicians in bliss, 

e the point with a soul-telling eye, 

ivince us at once with a kiss. 

was then aD the world unto me, 
an was piously given ; 
'orst of it was, we could never agree 
road that was shortest to Heaven, 
ji! " I've said, in the moments of mirth, 
I devotion to thee or to me? 
y beheve there's a heaven on earth, 
elieve that that heaven*s in thee I ** 

What hours, Catullus, once were thine. 
How fairly seem'd thy dav to shine. 
When lightly thou didst ny to meet 
The girl whose smile was then so sweet — 
The girl thou lov'dst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heart can feel again. 

Te met — your souls seem'd aU in one, 
like tapers that commingling shone; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both. 
And hers, in truth, was nothing loath. 

Such were the hours that once were thine; 
But, ah I those hours no longer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
In what she lov'd so mudi before; 
And all Catullus now can do. 
Is to be proud and frigid too; 
Nor follow where the wanton flieSf 
Nor sue the bliss that she denies. 
False maid! he bids farewell to thee, 
To love, and all love's misery; 
The heyday of his heart is o'er. 
Nor will he court one favour more. 

Fly, perjur'd girl! — but whither fly? 
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye? 
Who now will drink the syren tone, 
Which tells him thou art all his own ? 
Oh, none : — and he who lov'd before 
Can never, never love thee more. 



MInr Cfttalle, dednju locptire, ftc 

B the sighing fool to play; 
to trifle life away; 
ainly think those joys thine own, 
h alC aks! have falsely flown. 

** Neithfer do t eondemn thtte 1 go, and tin no more I " 

St. Joaji, Qha|». vUi. 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 
Thy soul hath stray'd from honour's track, 

'Tis mercy only can beguile. 
By gentle ways, the wand'rer back. 

The stain that on thy virtue lies, 
Wash'd by those tears, not long will stay ; 

As clouds that sully morning skies 
May all be wept in show'rs away. 

Go, go, be innocent, — and live; 

The tongues of men may wound thee sore; 
But Heav n in pity can forgive. 

And bid thee ** go, and sin no more! " 


Good reader ! if you e'er have seen. 
When Phcebus hastens to his pillow, 

z 4 






lappiest hours of joy, 

1 I have had my measure, 

:s were full, and ev*ry eye 

died with the light of pleasure, 

:e this I ne'er was given, 

* friendship's purest blisses ; 

c himself looks down from heaven, 

on such a day as this is. 

>ome, my friends, this hour improve, 

i feel as if we ne'er could sever ; 

lay the birth of her we love 

bus with joy rcmembcr'd ever I 

. ev*i7 thought to-night, 

»nld disturb our soul's communion ; 

thus to dear delight, 

Q for once forget the Union ! 

statesmen try their pow'rs, 

ible o'er the rights they'd die for ; 

of the soul be ours, 

V union else we sigh for. 

Then come, my friends, &o. 

; around I mark 
ngs of the heart o'erflowing ; 
soul I catch the spark 
ithy, in friendsliip glowing, 
such moments ever fly ; 
; we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'cm ; 
bright as Charlotte's eye, 
IS pure as Charlotte's bosom. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 

ate'er my span of years, 

r sun may light my roving ; 

waste my life in tears, 

IS now, for mirth and loving ; 

lall come with aspect kind, 

r fate may cast your rover ; 

of those he left behind, 

ik a health to bliss that's over ! 

Then come, my friends, &c. 


belicv'd thee true, 

was blest in thus believing ; 

vrittca to the pathetSc Scotch air ** Gftlla 

But now I mourn that e'er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee welL 

Few have everlov'd like me, — 

Yes, I have lov'd thee too sincerely I 

And few have e'er dcceiv'd like thee, — 
Alas I deceiv'd me too severely. 

Fare thee well !'— yet think awhile 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee , 

Who now would rather trust that smile. 
And die with thee than live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I'll think of thee, 
Thou leav'st me many a bitter token ; 

For see, distracting woman, see. 
My peace is gone, my heart is broken ! — 
Fare thee well ! 





J. AT-N8-N, ESQ. M. R. L A. 

Though long at school and college dosing. 
O'er books of verse and books of prosing. 
And copying from their moral pages 
Fine recipes for making sages ; 
Though long with those divines at school. 
Who think to make us good by rule ; 
Who, in methodic forms advancing, 
Teaching morality like dancing, 
Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake. 
What steps we arc through life to take : 
Tliough, thus, my friend, so long cmploy'd. 
With so much midnight oil destroy'd, 
I must confess, my searches past, 
I've only learn 'd to doubt at last. 
I find the doctors and the sages 
Have ditfer'd in all climes and ages, 
And two in fifty scarce agree 
On what is pure morality. 
'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone. 
And ev€^ vision makes its own. 

The doctors of the Porch advise. 
As modes of being great and wise^ 
That we should eease to own or know 
The luxuries that from feeling flow : — 
** Reason alone must claim direction, 
" And Apathy's the soul's perfection. 
" Like a dull lake the heart must lie ; 
" Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh, 
"Though Heav'n the breeze, the breath, supplied, 
** Must curl the wave or swell the tide! " 


IS ihc rigid ZcDo's pliin 
18 philojophic man; 
tlic motlea he tsugtit nuuikj (id 
lie garden of tbe miDtl; 
rrotti thence lomo weeds, "lis tnio, 
I fluvr'ra were mia^'d tool 

[CD to the urilj HminB, 
ma Cyreni^'s undy pUins, 
Hciuarp, nympii widi loospn'd zone, 
llhe philosophic tliroDe, — 
It ihe courtly sage's' tongue 
tTouiiding pupils sung: — 
Ic'i the only noble cud 
h all human pow'ri should lend, 
le gives her hcav'nly lora, 
(0 Fleuurc please na more 
tind sho wcro both design'd 

scs more refin'd. 

Lii iniijht rcTcl, free from ctuyirig, 

St AbAge whea muse enjoyiug!" 

I morality? — Ob, not 
~ path could nhoiT. 
lio this vBiiC coittin'd. 
iiifarling flow'r of luiiid. 

No, pedanti, I hare left to yoo 
Nictly to sep'rate hue ftom hue. 
Go, give that tnomenl up to art, 
WhoD Heaven and nature cbuio tl 
And, duU to all their best atiractii 
Go — measure fl»j/M o/ r?/™rt,o» 
While I, in feeling's Bweet lumaDc 
Look on euch daybcam ns a glnno 
I"ttim the great eye of Flim above. 
WolL'ning his world with loolu of 


I've beard, there ma in ancient di 
A Lyre of most melodioiu speU 

'Twos henv'u w hear in foirr lays 
If half be true (hat legends teU. 

'TWAS pisy'd on by tbe i^tlcst si{ 
And to tlieir breath it breath'd 

In snch entrancing melodies 
As ear hnd never drunk till thci 




And u, widi eyes commingling fire* 
TImj listened to each other's vow. 

The jonth fiill oft would make the I^}rre 
A piUour for the maiden's brow : 

And, while the melting words she breath'd 
Were hj its echoes wafted round. 

Her locb had with the chords so wreath'd, 
One knew not which gave forth the sound. 

A]i8, their hearts but little thought, 
Wliile thus they talk'd the hours away, 

Tut eTeiy sound the Lyre was taught 
Would linger long, and long betray. 

So mingled with its tuneful soul 
Were aU their tender murmurs grown. 

That other sighs unanswer'd stole, 
Nor words it breath'd but theirs alone. 

Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung 
To ewy breeze that wander*d by; 

The secrets of thy gentle tongue 
Were breath'd in song to earth and sky. 

The &tal Lyre, by Envy's hand 
Hong high amid the whisp'ring groves. 

To cTery gale by which 'twas fann'd. 
Prodaim'd the myst'ry of your loves. 

Xor long thus rudely was thy name 
Tooffth's derisive echoes given; 

Swne pitying spirit doi^Tiward came. 
And took the Lyre and thee to heaven. 

There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs. 
Both happy in Love's home shall be; 

Thou, uttering nought but seraph songs, 
^ that sweet Lyre still echoing thee ! 



^^ is now the smUe, that lighten'd 

^a^'^ hero's couch of rest? 

"here ia now the hope, that brighten'd 

Hoiiony»g eye and Pity's breast? 
^® ^e lost the wreath we braided 

'or our weary warrior men? 
1< the faithless oUve faded? 

Most the bay be pluck'd again? 

* »wing hour of sunny weather 
^t\j, in your light awhile. 

Peace and Glory, wed together, 
Wander'd through our blessed isle. 

And the eyes of Peace would glisten. 
Dewy as a morning sun. 

When the timid maid would listen 
To the deeds her chief had done. 

Is their hour of dalliance over? 

Must the maiden's trembling feet 
Waft her from her warlike lover 

To the desert's still retreat? 
Fare you well I with sighs we banish 

Nymph so fair and guests so bright; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish. 

Leaves behind a soothing light; — 

Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 

O'er your warrior's sanguin'd way, 
Through the field where horrors darkle, 

Shedding hope's consoling ray. 
Long the smile his heart will cherish. 

To its absent idol true; 
While around him mjrriads perish, 

Glory still will sigh for you! 


Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment brcath'd to mc; 
Yet, no — it must not, will not part, 
'Tis now the life-breath of my heart. 
And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh 

With all the warmth of truth imprest; 
Yet, no — the fatal kiss may lie, 
Upon thi/ lip its sweets would die. 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 

Take back the vows that, night and day, 

My heart rcceiv'd, I thought, from thine; 
Yet, no — allow them still to stay. 
They might some other heart betray, 
Ajb sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. 


*' Qnftad lIumuiM oommenoe k niionner, 11 omm de Kntir.** 


*TwA8 in the summer time so sweet. 
When hearts and flowers are both in season. 

That — who, of all the world, should meet. 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason! 

> Quoted Mmewhere In St. Ptene's £tiidei de U Netiire. 



i man possesses heart or eyes, 
Bn*s bnght empire never dies! 

. Fannj, lore, they ne'er shall say, 
beauty's charm hath pass'd away; 
bnt the oniTerse a sool 
I'd to woman's soft control, 
Panny hath the charm, the skill, 
eld a unirerse at wiU. 




AwtiX^mm *rv* HXm rm mu. Oracul. Metric, n Joan, 

OpHop. cvMecttM, 

he moon, or was it morning's ray, 

I'd thee, dearest, from these arms away? 

a<lf!t thon left me, when a dream of night 

}T my spirit so distinct and bright, 

lile I yet can vividly recall 

ling wonders, thon shalt hear them all. 

^ht I saw, upon the lunar beam, 

ijrcd boys, such as thy mnsc might dream, 

ing from above, at that still hour, 

ling, with smooth step, into my bower. 

:hc beauteous spirits that, all day, 

tha's warm fonnts imprison'd stay,' 

imacincd by tomt at the ancients that there ii an ethe- 
abtrre t». and that the mn and moon are two floatlntr, 
>Uuid*, in which the tpirit* of the blest reside. Accord- 
i-d that the word o « t— tc watioinetimee ■xnonymouf with 
«th ynt not unfiequently called Ocmvm* va^>e«, or " the 
the ocean.** 

fm. in his life of Tamblichos, tells ns of two beoiitif\il 
SOT loTes. which lamblichus raised by enchantment from 
qtriaips at Uadarat**dioensastantibus(say«i the author of 
tidici. p. ISO. > illoe ease loci Genios: " which words, how- 
9i in Eonapios. 

am Oellarittt. that Amatha, in the neichbourhood of 
M alao celebrated for its warm sprinfft, and I have pre« 
a BKire poetical name tlian Oadara. Cellarius quotes 
IS. ** Bet et aliarilla in vlcinia Oadarae nomine Amatha, 
aqpae cmmpvnL**— Ofoffro/iA. Antiq. lib. ill. cap. 13. 

tHttv4 an ocean in the heavens, or " waters above the 
," was one of the many physical errors in which the eai ly 
■Udercd theraselTes. Lc P. Baltus, in his *' IX^fcnse dcs 
I de PUtonisme," Uliinff it for rranted that the 

He note eortect in t)«eir notions (which by no means 
m what I haw already quoted), adduces the obstinacy 
m. In thb whimsical opinion, as a proof of thc-ir rcpii;- 
tn tmCh from the liands of the philoMophem. This i* a 
f of defending the fhthera, and attributes much more 
Icscrvc to the phi*oao|>hers. For an abstract of this wnrlc 
the utniiwr of roataaeUe, Van Dale, fcc. in theflunoiM 

But rise at midnight, from th' enchanted rill. 
To cool their plomes npon some moonlight hilL 

At once I knew their mission ; — 'twas to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of air. 
To that elysian realm, from whence stray beams 
So oft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swifl at their touch dissolv'd the ties, that clung 
All earthly round me, and aloft I sprung; 
While, hcav'nward guides, the little genii flew 
Thro' paths of light, refresih'd by heaven's own dew 
And fann'd by airs still fragrant with the breath 
Of cloudless climes and worlds that know not death. 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our nether sky, 
And shown but dimly to man*s erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of blue ether rolls,* 
Gemm'd with bright islands, where the chosen sonl«. 
Who've passed in lore and love their earthly hours, 
Repose for ever in unfading bowers. 
That very moon, whose solitary light 
So often guides thee to my bower at night, 
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love, 
Floating in splendour through those seas .above, 
And peopled with bright forms, aerial grown. 
Nor knowing aught of earth bnt love alone. 
Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way : — 
Mild o'er its valleys strcam'd a silvery day, 
While, all around, on lily beds of rc^t, 
Reclin'd the spirits of the immortal Hlost.* 
Oh! there I met those few congenial maids. 
Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic shades; 
There still Leontinm*, on her sage's breast. 
Found lore and love, was tutor'd and rarest ; 
And there the clasp of P^thia's* gentle arms 
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms. 

Oracle eontroTersy,) see ** BibUothfeqne des Auteors EcclMast. du 
\ffi Si^le." part 1. tom. ii. 

* There were various opinions amons the ancients with respect to 
their lunar establishment ; some made it an elyidum. and others a 
punratoryi while some supposed it to be a Icind oientr^pCit between 
heaven and earth, where souls which had left their N^ie^, and ihofc 
that were on their way to join them, were deposited in the valley of 
Hecate, and remained till ftirther orders. t«k »»/>* atX^v^ ••p* 

\rynv «vr«c ««r«*<cctv, tat aw' •vnK'««rw X"'^**' 'K fV* •^*p*y*toi' yrtuctv. — 

St'ih. lib. i. Ecloff. Phyiiic. 

A The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his ** dear 
little I^ontium " (a#ovt«p*»»-). as appears by a frft^inent of <incof his 
letters In Laertlus. This T^untium was a woman of talent: "she 
had the impudence (says Cicero) to write against Thcophrattus : " 
and Cicero, at the same timcicives her a name wldch is neither po- 
lite nor trannlatable. ** Meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theo- 
phrastum scribere ansa e»t."— De Xatwr. Drvr. She lett a daujrhter 
called Danae, who was ju»t as riidd an Epicurean as her mother; 
something like Wieland's Danae in Asathon. 

It would sound much better, I think, if the name were Leontia, 
as it occurs the first time in Laertlus t but M. Menace will not hear 
of this reading. 

• Pythia was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to whom after 
her death he paid divine honour*. solemnUinK her memory by the 
same sacrifices which the Athenians offered to the Ooddcas Ceres. 
For this impious trallaotry the philosopher was, of course, censured t 
but it would be well if certain of our modem Stsffyrites showed a 
Uttto of this ■upersti tloa abont th« memory of their mistreMca. 



And many a rose-leaf^ cnird by Love, 

To beal fais Up when bees have stung it 
Come, tell me which the tie shall be. 
To bind thj gentle heart to me. 

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye. 

Which answers when the tongue is loath, 
Thoa lik'st the form of either tie, 

And spread'st thj playful hands for both. 
Ah! — if there were not something wrong. 

The worid would see them blended oft; 
The Chain would make the Wreath so stron*;! 

The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! 
Then might the gold, the flowVets be 
Sweet fetters for my loye and me. 

But, Fanny, so unblest they twine. 

That (Heayen alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus they cease to shine. 

Or shine but for a transient season. 
Whether the Chain may press too much. 

Or that the Wreath is slightly braided. 
Let but the gold the flow'rets touch, 

And an their bloom, their glow is faded! 
Oh ! better to be always free, 
Tluui thus to bind my loye to me. 

TiTE timid girl now hung her head. 

And, as she tum'd an upward glance, 
I saw a doubt its twilight spread 

Across her brow*s diyine expanse. 
Jo-st then, the garland's brightest rose 

Gaye one of its loye-breathing sighs — 
Oh ! who can ask how Fanny chose, 

That eyer look'd in Fanny's eyc8? 
- The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be 
** The tie to bind my soul to thee." 


Akd hast thou mark'd the pensive shade. 
That many a time obscures my brow. 

Midst all the joys, beloved maid, 

Which thou canst give, and only thou? 

Oh! *tis not that I then forget 

The bright looks that before me shine; 
For never throbb*d a bosom yet 

Gould feel their witchery, like mine. 

When bashful on my bosom hid. 
And bhuhing to have felt so blest, 

Thoa doft but lift thy languid lid. 
Again to dose it on my breast; — 

Yes, — these are minutes all thine own. 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel; 

Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known 
The sigh to rise, the tear to steaL 

For I have thought of former hours. 
When he who first thy soul possessed. 

Like me Rwak*d its witching powers, 
like me was lov'd, like me was blest. 

Upon ku name thy murm'ring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung. 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall. 
To damp and wither present bliss ? 

Thou*rt now my own, heart, spirit, all. 
And Heaven could grant no more than this! 

Forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive; 

I would be first, be sole to thee. 
Thou shouldst have but begun to live. 

The hour that gave thy heart to me. 

Thy book of life till then eflfac'd. 

Love should have kept that leaf alone 

On which he first so brightly tracM 
That thou wcrt, soul and all, my own. 



Go then, if she, whose shade thou art. 
No more will let thee soothe my pain; 

Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 

Tell her, the smile was not so dear. 
With which she made thy semblance mine, 

As bitter is the burning tear. 

With which I now the gift resign. 

Yet go — and could she still restore, 
As some exchange for taking thee, 

The tranquil look which first I wore. 
When her eyes found me calm and free; 

Could she give back the careless flow. 
The spirit that my heart then knew — 

Yet, no, 'tis vain — go, picture, go — 
Smile at me once, and then — adieu! 







infant of etcmitTl 
G daj-suu Ifarn'd to mo™, 
tin, olcniK bin gnud career, 
Lhe hcuDj ihafls of li);ht 
tti quiver to the funlicsi sphere, 
wen alone, oh Love! 
beiipatli ihc wiogs of ancient Sl(:lit. 
TUTB »eoni'il to amilo in Bhaiiowiny 

aiitj soolh'd thino eve, 
the dim e.ipaiui! it iruider'd wide ; 
pirii caught ihj «igh. 
watery wmic it ling'ring died. 

kiIbp, unknown the pnwer. 
Ill in his hiMin wa« slccplni;, — 
livl thai lonely hour 
o'hiniBelf thy Bbscnco weeping. 


To catch the thonglit, by painlin);'s 
Ilowr'er remote, howe'er refin'd. 

And o'er the kindling r»tva» tell 
The silent ilorj of tho mind; 

O'er imtnre'« form to clance the eye 
Ami ax. by mimic Ugbt and shad 

Her moraiaB tinge^ ere they fly. 
Her OTening bludira, ere they fud 

Yds, theiH) arc Painling'B proudest p 
ThB gift by which her nrt divine 

Above uU olliors |irouillv towers,— 
Azid these, oh Prince! are richly 

Anrl ypt. nhi-n Frienckhip Epee thee 






TwikS on a day 
!Q the immortals at their banquet lay; 

Spirkled with starry dew, 
seeping of those myriad urns of light, 
thin whose orbs, the almighty Power, 
it nature's dawning hour, 
le rich fluid of ethereal souL' 

vaa clouds, that upward wing their flight 

From eastern isles 
bey have bath'd them in the orient ray, 
rich firagrance all their bosoms fiUM), 
flew, and, melting as they flew, 
lajbreak o*er the board distill'd. 

All, all was luxury! 
it be luxury, where Lyaeus smiles. 
Elis locks divine 
Were crown*d 
With a bright meteor-braid, 
tc an ever-springing wreath of vine, 
to brilliant leafy shapes, 
hia brow in lambent tendrils play'd: 
e mid the foliage hung, 
Like ludd grapes, 
kd clustering buds of light, 
m the gardens of the galaxy. 

bosom Cytherea's head 

y, as wlMm first the Syrens sung 

Her beauty*s dawn, 

tie curtains of the deep, undrawn, 

her sleeping in its azure bed. 

I ksf« t/trleA thb poem a Dithjmunbic Ode, I cannot 
mf thai it BMKMM. in any decree, the characterictica 
M of pocftry. Tike nature of the ancient Dithyrambic 
'fMtly known. Aeeordinc to M. Burette, a liuentiout 
if SMtrc an eztraTa^ant reMarch of thoiucht and ex- 
1 • rade emImriaMcd eoautruction, are amoni; it* tno«t 
V Itmtmn* : and in all the*e recpecta, I have but too 
r, IbUavcd mj modcli. Burette add«, " Cea caract^rea 
ibeeeeftat aentir k eeuz qui Uaent attentiremeut lea 
tare** ~ Mimo4rt» dt TA cad. vol. x. p. 306. The aame 
r be eoUccted from Schmidt'a diMertation upon the 
kJak, however, if the Dithyrambiea of Pindar were in 
B, we ahonld And that, howerer wild and fanciful . they 
MBBa the taateleaa Jargon they are rcpreaented, and that 
rtgwimrity wac what Boileau calla " un beau desordrc." 
bo has been atyted the Rndar of Italy, and from whom 
r wpon the Greek model waa called ChiabrereHco (.aa 
ia&«BMaa,lib. L eap. ll.),haa (riven, amon(^t hia Vcn- 
NtkynmUe, "* all* u«> de' Gteci T' fuU of thoae eoin- 
la, vhl^ we ate told, were a chief ctiaracteristic of the 
'.-JSuid. A«4w»a«t/9«at4.); auch aa 

BrigUadorato Pegaao 

ttaft FIndar, eren amidat all the licence of 
•vcrhnve dww aded to baUad-iansuage like 

The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip, 
With looks of ecstacy. 

Now, on his arm. 
In blushes she repos'd. 
And, while he gaz'd on each bright charm. 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance 

And now she raised her rosy mouth to sip 
The nectar'd wave 
Lyseus gave. 
And from her eyelids, half-way closed. 
Sent forth a melting gleam, 
Which fell, like sun-dew, in the bowl: 
While her bright hair, in mazy flow 

Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek's luxurious glow. 

Hung o'er the goblet's side. 
And was reflected in its crystal tide, 
like a bright crocus flower. 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening hour 
With roses of Cyrene blending,* 
Hang o'er the mirror of some silvery stream. 

The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands 
Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing'd her feet 

The empyreal mount. 
To drain the soul-drops at their stellar fount; * 
As the resplendent rill 
Gush'd forth into the cup with mantling heat. 
Her watchfdl care 
Was still to cool its liquid fire [air 

Witli snow-white sprinklings of that feathery 
The children of the Pole respire. 

In those enchanted lands, * [blow. 

Where life is all a spring, and north winds never 

Bella Filli. e bella Clori, 
Non piti dar preirio a tue bellezxe e tad, 
CIm ae Bacco fa vezzi alle mie labbra 
Fo le flche a' voatri baci. 

eaaer Torrei Coppier, 

£ ae troppo desiro 
Deh foasi lo Buttislier. 

Bime dvl Chiabrbra, part ii. p. 3&Z. 

> Thia la a Platonic fancy. The philoaopher auppoaca, in hia 
Timaeua, that, when the Deity had formed the soul of the world. he 
proceeded to the compoaitiun of other aoula, in which proceaa. aaya 
Plato, he made uae of the aame cup, though the ingrcdienta he 
mingled were not quite ao pure aa for the former; and having reflned 
the mixture with a little of hia own eaaence, he diatributed it among 
the atara, which aerved aa reacrvoira of the fluid Tavr' c»«v <«« insAto 

•vi Toy wportpow c^any^M n> w rrfv rov vavro; iH/xT** *(^«ywc tfntvyt, «. r , X. 

s We learn fhim Theophraatua, that the roaea of Cyrene were par- 
ticularly fragrant. — Evo«>Mira r« i« ra «v K%/pfjvri fioStt. 

4 Heradltua (Phyaicua) held the aoul to be a apark of the atellar 
eaaence— ** Scintilla atellaria eaacntiaB."-.MACHoaiua, in Sootn. iicip. 
lib. i. cap. 14. 

& The country of the Hypcrboreana. Theae people were auppoaed 
to be placed ao far north that the north wind could not afltfct themi 
they lived longer than any other mortala; paaaed their whole time 
in moaic and dancing, tec. Ice. But the moat extravagant Action 
related of them la that to which the two linea orcoedlng allude. It 

A A 

But (^1 
Bright Hebe, what a tear. 
And. whu a blash wore thiae. 
le brewh of every Grace 
d tbj feet aUing the studded sphcri', 
' a bright cup for Jovo himEelf 10 drink, 
ftitr. that shono bciipnlli thy iread, 
- 1.^ ir-iiiiioroii.heaii 
: . ■■ Ir.illchlcSS feci, 

■ ' ■ I Ti;. .iircer 100 fleet-, 
., ..:; li. .iii'irs bosi or eyes 

Llk'll, IjLIL IctLrt'ol all, 
t. Biicot Hebe, prostmte fall 
iTpoQ the bright floor of the azure skiesj ' 
1 Where, mid its etan, tihy beauty hiy, 
I As blossom, shnken from the spmy 
I Of a apritig thura, 

bid the liquid BpnrkleB of the mom. 

_ ■« of tlie Priphiiin shade, 
■-orsliippcrs of Boauly's qjieen bchoM 
Bgo of their ro»y idol, laid 
a diamond shrine. 
The wanton wind, 
'hil^b had pursa'd the flying fair, 
id sported mid tile treseea unconfln'd 

Of her bright hair, 
IE she fell,— oh wnnton brceie ! 
: robe, whote jfrnceful flow 

Alaa, alaa, nptam'd It I^ 

By the tall'n Hebe's side 

White, in sIovp lingering drops, 

As conscious of its own rich ca 

Who was the Spirit that rcnteni 

In tlmt bleat hour. 

And, wilh a wing of lovi 

Brui-h'd ofi' the goblet's sc* 

As, trembling, near the edge < 

And sent them floating to ou 

Essen™ of inunortality ! 

The shower 

Fell glowing through thi 

While all around new tinta 

New odours and new lig 

Enrich 'd its radiant flaw. 

Now. with a liquid kis 

It stole along the chnUin 

Of Ueaion'a Inminons 

Stealing the sonl of music in 

And now, amid the breeses b 

Thut whisper from Che planets 1 

The bright libation, softly fau 

By all their sighs, meandariii[ 

They who. from Atlas' hcij 

Beheld this rc«y flame 
Despeiiding through the wi 
Thniiclit 'iw-a' 5omi? pliinet, who 



be rosy ck>a^ that cnrPd 
About his infkiit head, 
^ynh upon the locks of Capid shed, 
^t, when the waking boj 
^ his exhaling tresses through the skj, 

Omom of joy! — 

The tide divine, 
glorious with the Terxneil dye 
liuk beneath his orient eye„ 
tilTd, in dews, npon the world» 
'Tj drop was wine, was heavenly want I 
»t be the sod, and blest the flower 
which descended first that shower, 
I from Jove's nectareons springs ; — 
far less sweet the flower, the sod, 
r which the Spirit of the Rainbow flings 
! migic mantle of her solar God ! ' 


Anmj.n TAnvt, Hb. U. 

" eaid the angry, weeping maid, 
charm is broken ! — once betray'd, 
3" can this wrong*d heart rely 
^ord or look, on oath or sigh. 
' back the gifts, so fondly given, 
) promised faith and vows to heaven ; 
: Utile ring which, night and mom, 
1 wedded truth my hand hath worn ; 
seal which oft, in moments blest, 
I hast npon my lip imprest, 
sworn its sacred spring should be 
mtain seaVd ' for only thee : 
. take them bade, the gift and vow, 
Bllied, lost and hateful now! " 

k the ring — the seal I took, 
oh, her every tear and look 
och as angels look and shed, 
nan is by the world misled. 
I whisper'd, •* Fanny, dear! 
tlf thy lover's gifts are here -. 
rhere are aD the kisses given, 
mom to noon, from noon to even, — 
sienets of true love, worth more 
Soknnon's own seal of yore, — 
i are those gifts, so sweet, so many? 
dearest — give back all, if any." 

ItlMMe ilo««n SDd treei th« iwveteft npmi 
«i«d toretti and the wood they chiefly 
, Ub. br. aip. t. vhcre (aa VoMdiu remarlu) cMMwt, 
MsiaiiBdaiiblcdly the KCD nine rcadiiur. SeeVoMiiu. 
wpameoIflritiMof the ndnbov, De Oricin. et lYo- 
. Vh. tt. aip. IS. 
« SbHmm. Mppond to b* tboM of Kbit Bolomon, In 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true, 
I saw a smile relenting rise 
'Mid the moist azure of her eyes, 
Like daylight o'er a sea of blue. 
While yet in mid-air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repose on mine. 
She let my arms around her twine; 
One kiss was half allowed, and then — 
The ring and seal were hers again. 




I MORE than once have heard, at night, 
A song, like those thy lip bath given. 

And it was sung by shapes of light, 
Who look'd and breath'd, like thee^ of heaven. 

But this was all a dream of sleep. 

And I have said, when morning shone, 

"Why should the night-witch. Fancy, keep 
" These wonders for herself alone? " 

I knew not then that fate had lent 
Such tones to one of mortal birth; 

I knew not then that Heaven had sent 
A voice, a form like thine on earth. 

And yet, in aU that flowery maze 
Through which my path of life has led, 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of rosiest lustre shed; 

When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vying 

With music's own melodious bird, 
When on the rose's bosom lying; 

Though form and song at once combin'd 
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill. 

My heart hath sigh'd, my ear hath pin'd 
For something lovelier, softer still : — 

Oh, I have found it all, at last. 
In. thee, thou sweetest living lyre. 

Through which the soul of song e'er pass'd^ 
Or feeling breath'd its sacred fire. 

the nelirhboarhood of Bethlehem. The frUn ihofw a fountain, 
vhkh, they mj, is the ' tealed fountain ' to which the holy qwnae 
in the Cantidei if compared; and they ptetend a tradition, that So- 
lomon thnt up thcM ■pringa and put his signet upon the door, to 
keep them for his own drlnlcing."— JfaioMJreirs Travtln. See also 
the notes to Mr. Good's Translation of the Bong of Solomon. 

> Tbt imsittl Dfiehws of HamOtea. 



n wildest Itigbt 
I ilreAiDa, could hear or 
ligh or bcAUIj'a liglu 
■ - ice. in thccl 

bull my loul Torgel 

1s 1 foood lo coTiIial-hciuted: 

,e &IIJ ve mvt, 
I a\mU be llio night wo ported. 

Yet, hapless maid, in one ead hour, 
Tlieae spells hare lost their gnardian | 
Tlie f;cni baa been begnil'd awaj; 
Hut e;es bure loit thur chasfding nt 
I'he modest pride, the gniltleai itutme 
The smiles that from i^eetica canw. 
All, all hare fled, and left ber mind 
A faded monomeDl behind i 
The niiiu of a once pore ihriae, 
No lunger fit for guest divine. 
Oh! 't«-as a sight I wept to see — 
Heave a keep Sie lost one's fnic from i 

h the lapse of IJme decay. 
Hen tliuB in mirth y<m meet, 
' 'o that's iiirftway! 

I light of memory fbUDd 

Ilia yuor social ghusi 

§itill the mngic round, 

im dares not pass. 

'Tia time, I feel, to leave tbee now. 
While yet my lonl is something fre 

While yet those dangeroua eyes alio* 
One tniiinle's thooght lo stray hoai 

Oh ! thou hecoro'st each moment dean 
Every chance that brings me nigh I 

Brings ray ruin neariT, ncftrer, — 
I am lo?i, unless I fly thee. 




■way — jcmVe all the tame, 
ilmg, flntt'iing. jUting throng; 
se too late, I born with shame, 
ink Pre been jour alave so long. 

be won, and quick to rore, 
foDy kind, from cnnnine loatlv 
1 for bliaa, too weak for love, 
signing all that's best in both;. 

Qting o'er a crowd to reign, — 
joy it gives to woman's breast 
e ten fingid coxcombs Tain, 
1 one true, manly loTer blest. 

awsy — yonr smile's a cnrse — 
blot me fixun the race of men, 
itying Hearen, by death or worse, 
er I lore such things again. 




take thy harp — 'tis rain to mnse 
>D the gathering ills we see; 
ike tby harp and let me lose 
thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

) me, lore ! — though death were near, 
song coold make my sool forget — 
ij, in pity, dry that tear, 
nay be well, be happy yet. 

but see that snowy arm 
more upon the dear harp lie, 
will cease to dream of harm, 
miile at fate, while thou art nigh. 

sb*t E— y<m the DecIixMof the Oraelci. Clcombrotoe, 
Erlocuton, d aulb ta aa cztnordiiuuT mui vhom he 
.after long leaeareh, vpcm the benki of the Red Sea. 
year thb fvpemetanl pereonage appeared to mortali , 
t with them; theicftofhii time he paewd among the 

iwal «>' W| i Ji* »— '*! TmXXM 9* wvm tsk vvft/^ant. voft^mi not 

mm. He ^wkebi a tone not far removed from singingt 
r he opened his IIpc, a fh^rnmce filled the place i 

the doctrine of a plurality of worlda. 

a little before hie death, imagined 

in the db*. See the poem of Hdn- 

pealo ftBte obiian aiMUre iibi Tiens eel 

Give me that strain of mournful touch. 
We us*d to love long, long ago. 

Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas! they bleed to know. 

Sweet notes! they tell of former peace,. 

Of all that look'd so smiling then. 
Now vanish'd, lost — oh pray thee, cease, 

I cannot bear those sounds again. 

Art ihouj too, wretched? yes, thou art; 

I see thy tears flow fast widi miBe — 
Come, come to this devoted hueart, 

'Tis breaking, but it still is thine t 

• ML 


TwAs on the Red Sea coast, at mom, we met 
The venerable man * ; a healthy bloom 
Mingled its softness with the vigorous thought 
That tower'd upon his brow; and, when he spoke, 
*Twas language sweeten'd into song — such holy 

As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous hear, 
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven. 
When death is nigh*; and still, as he unclos'd 
His sacred lips, an odour, all as bland 
As ocean-breeses gather from the flowers 
That blossom in cesium ^ breath*d around. 
With silent awe we listen'd, while he told 
Of the dark veil which many an age had hung 
0*er Nature's form, till, long explored by man. 
The mystic shroud grew thin and luminous. 
And glimpses of that heavenly form shone thro' : — 
Of magic wonders, that were known and taught 
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster nam'd) 
Who mus'd amid the mighty cataclysm, 
0*er his rude tablets of primeval lore;* 
And gath'ring round him, in the sacred ark. 
The mighty secrets of that former globe. 

mvp** wtp*wvt 9 y**m' mm- 

0ttnt 9* tfv*tm #Xcyn. PlITDAK, Oilfmp, fi. 

4 Cham, the eon of Noah, if foppoaed to hav« taken with him into 
the ark the principal doctrines of magical, or rather of natural, 
science, which he had inscribed upon some very durable subetaaoes* 
in order that they might resist the raTages of the deluge, and traae- 
mit the secrets of antediluvian knowledge to his posterity. See the 
extracts made by Bayle, in his article, Cham. TheidoitityafGhaBi 
and Zoroaster depends upon the authority of BerosBs (or rather the 
impostor Anniaa), and a Ibw more such icspeetalile testirooniee. 
See Nandf*s Apologia pour las Oraads Hommes. Ac ehap. viiL, 
where he takea more tooohU than is nMeaiaiv ia rtflittaf thisi 
taitoua npposition. 

A A 3 



lYcne, he beguird us on 

7 a maze of Grarden and of Porch, 

njr a system, where the 8cattcr*d 

mth laj, like a broken beam 

e son, which, though refracted all 

nd hneS) is sunshine still,' 

hrongh erery change! — he spoke of 

nmal One, who dwells above, 

lal's nntraceable descent 

bigh fount of spirit, through 


1 being, till it mix 

ague, corruptible, and dark; 

then, though sunk in earthly dross, 

, nor its ethereal touch 

t tasting of the fountain still. 

ht rirer, which has rolled along 

of the stoic*, M raanted in thdr sohool, wai s 
lihly inclBcient as the rat. All wu fate in the 
tteo. The ehaini of dcitiny were thrown orer 
md their deity wae like the Borgia of the cpi- 
Saaar et niUL" Not eren the langtuffe of Seneca 
• ddradatlon of divioity, ** Ille ipee omnium 
■eripsit qnidem fiUa. Md eequitor I temper paret, 
ik cfe PrwidentiA^ cap. &. 

thedHbrenoe between the Stoici, Feripatctici, and 
E following words of Cicero prove that he saw bat 
ah them from each other :— ** Peripateticoi et 
Iniboa diAncnteSt r« coDgmentes : a quibiu Stoici 
inam eentoitiis ^Hmeaaetxaiki"— Academic, lib. ii. 
rhat Rcid has remarked upon one of their points 
^t be applied as efibctually to the reconcilement 
The dispute between the Stoics and Peripatetics 
br want of definition. The one said they were 
OBtrol of reason, the other that they should be 
soys, ynL iiL In short, it appears a no less dif- 
•tablish the boundaries of opinion between any 
phieal sects, than it would be to fix the landmarks 
tlie moon, which Riodolus so generously allotted 
nmasBcn. Aooordingly we observe some of the 
Btiqaity peaslng without scruple from school to 

to the liuiey or convenience of the moment, 
r of Roman; philosophy, is sometimes an Acofle- 
B a Stale t and, more than once, he acknowledges 
Eptcoms; ** non sine cansA igitur Epicurus ausus 
In plnrflms bonis esse sapientem, quia semper sit 
- Tuaemlan, Qmut. lib. v. Thoui;h oAen pure in 
ro eometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction ; thus, 
Cliientins, speaking of punishments in the life to 
)fim si falsa sunt, id quod omnes intelliguot, quid 
ion eripuit, pmtur sensum doloris ? "— though 
xrlume, do him but justice by agreeing with his 
ios, who remarks upon this panage, " Iliec autem 
OB subeerriret." The poet Uorace roves like a 
the schools, and now wings along the walls of the 

among the flowers of the Garden ; while Virgil, 
ind strongly philosophical, has jret left us wholly 
e sect which he espoused. The balance of opinion 
iv« been an Epicurean, but the ancient author of 
it he was an Academician t and we trace through 
Urn of almoet all the leading sects. The same kind 
cnoe is observable in most of the Roman writers. 
In the fine elegy to Cynthia, on his departure for 

el eluUb animum emendare Platonis, 
p&am, ant liortia, docte Epicure, tuis. 

Lib. m. Eleg. SI. 

Htei hare wads. **daz Eplcnre," which seems to 
ofiEplcnnu. Sren the Stoic Seneca, 

Through meads of flowery light and mines of 

When pour*d at length into the dusky deep, 
Disdains to take at once its briny taint. 
But keeps unchanged awhile the lustrous tinge, 
Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left.' 

And here the old man eeas'd — a winged train 
Of nymphs and genii bore him from our eyes. 
The fair illusion fled ! and, as I wak'd, 
Twas clear that my rapt soul had roam'd the while. 
To that bright realm of drean^ j^bt spirit- world. 
Which mortals know by its Ia(»g*oick of light 
O'er midnight's sky, and call the Galaxy.* 

whose doctriaes haT« been considered so orthodox, that St. Jerome 
has ranked him amongst the ecclesiastical writers, while Boccaccio 
doubts (in consideration of his supposed correspondence with 
St. Paul) wheUier Dante should have placed him in Limbo with the 
rest of the Pagans ^even the rigid Seneca has bestowed such com- 
mendations on Epicurus, that if only those passages of his works 
were p re served to us, we could not hesitate, I think, in pronoundng 
him a confirmed Epicurean. With similar inconsbtency, we find 
Porphyry, in his work upon abstinence, referring to Epicurus as an 
example of the most strict Pythagorean temperance ; and Lan- 
celots (tlie author of " Farfalluni dcgli antici Istorici ") has been 
seduced by this grave reputation of Epicurus into the absurd 
error of associating him with C hrysippus. as a chief of the Stoic 
school. There is no doubt, indeeid, that however the Epicurean 
sect might have relaxed fh>m its original purity, the morals of its 
founder were as correct as those of any among the ancient philo- 
sophers ; and his doctrines upon pleasure, as explained in the letter 
to Menoeoeus, are rational, amiable, and consistent with our nature. 
A late writer, De Bablons, in his Qrands Hommes veng^s, expresses 
strong indignation against the Encyclop^distes for their Just and 
animated praises of Epicurus, and disciissing the question, "si ce 
philosophe ^toit vertueux," denies it upon no other authority than 
the calumnies collected by Plutarch, who himself con fi»ses that, on 
this particular subject, he consulted only opinion and report, with- 
out pausing to investigate their truth. — AXAa n;v 9«i*v, ov rtiv mX^ 
S«Mw MoiTM^Mv. To the factious zeal of his illiberal rivals, the 
Stoics, Epicurus chiefly owed these (cross misrepresentations of the 
lifs and opinions of himself and his associates, which, notwith- 
standing the learned exertions of Oassendi, have still left an odium 
on the name of his philosophy ; and we ought to examine the 
ancient accounts of this philosopher with about the same deeree of 
cautious belief which, in reading ecclesiastical history, we yield to 
the invectives of the fathers against the heretics,— tnuting as little 
to Plutarch upon a!dogma of Epicunu, as we would to the vehement 
St. Cyril upon a tenet of Nestoriits. (1801.) 

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to observe, were written 
at a time, when I thought the studies to which they reftr much 
more important as well as more amusing than, I freely confess, they 
appear to me at present. 

1 Lactantius asserts that all the truths of Christianity may be 
found dispersed through the ancient philosophical sects, and that 
any one who would collect these scattered fragments of orthodoxy 
might form a code in no respect difliering from that of the Christian. 
" Si extitisset aliquls, qui veritatem sparsam per singulos per sec- 
tasque dilfkisam colligeret in unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is profecto 
non dissentlret a nobis."— /nst. lib. vl. c. 7. 

* This bold Platonic image I have taken ftt>m a passage in Father 
Boochet's letter upon the Metempeychoiis, inserted in Pieart's 
C^r^ m. Relig. tom. iv. 

4 According to Pythagoras, the people of Dreams are souls col- 
lected together in the Galaxy. — Atf^M* 9t mMtpmrn, mmrm nvtmy^pm^ •< 
^h«x«* *c »vmm y tHmt f|«ir«ic*wy«Xa|Mt% — Porpkffr. tk Amtro Jfjfmpk. 

A A 4 


:r kind ind dear \ — 
/. luive ihec Utc, 
nnj: my bliss, mj fnie, 
■ ii cheering r»j. 

Hi my mittok chae'il, 

! i.heus'd(o touch? 
luv'd BO much? 
■0 hasbU those chorda are Kill 
.pa, will every thrill 
n h« Inll'd Co reft, 
ik'd in Annn'B bremt. 
niplc notes I plny'd 
's tablet Boon mny fade; 
lich Anna lov'd to hcnr, 
in her heart nnJ ear; 


■ 9hdl e 
It gentle mind, 

:i that tremble chcrc. 

Then calFd they up their Khool-day pr 
Xor itioagbl it mach their wnsc bait 

To play at riddles, qnipi, and criuikj. 
And lords sliow'd "it. Bud ladies Icet 

That give > cajrency to beauty. 
" Why in a mse in OEtclea hid 

" IjIic a young widow, fresh and fur 
BecBose 'tis eighing to be rid 

Of mcedt, that " have no business llier 
And Chiu they nuia'd and tiua they hit. 

And now thej (track and now liiry [ 
And some htid in of fnll-grcwD wit. 

While others of a pun miscarried. 
Twa9 one of tho«o facetiDus nights 

That Grammont ga™ this furieil rinj 
For hmaking gniTc conondnun-ritea. 

Or pcmning ill, or — some mch Ihinj; 
From whence it can be fairly Irac'd, 

Through many a branch and many a 
Fnim twig to twig, until it prae'd 

The Bnowy hand that wears it now. 



idjring tomes scholastic, 
vr monastic, 
lering far 
'oQjs, prettier Hur 
their namesakes are,— 
hs and Folyhistors, 
I all their sisters. 
>wn a hopefol yoath 
[uest of lore and truth, 
offident to confound him, 
ohn, heap'd around him, — 
ick to llieophnistus, 
miUing o'er Bombastus.' 
die aU that's leam'd and wise 
M>7, he lifts his eyes, 
the window of his study 
i damsel fair and ruddy, 
I brightly tum'd upon him as 
were on Hieronymus. 
foHoB, widely scatter'd, 
lanrel'd brow is battered, 
headlong sent, flies just in 
eye of St Augustin. 
jmts each dozing sage, 
3r thy lovelier page : 
— uidike the books of art,— 
are thy fairest part ; 
dear errata column 
ige in all the Yolume! * 

matie phnowpher, who nerer doubted about 
M was hit Iktlter. — ** NullA de re onquAm 
I dobttavft.' — In Vit. He was very learned — 
, in hie bead when it was opened,) le Punlque 
A>rea eboque rAraUqne, pour ne point parlcr 
:lliecooe da Latin avee 1« Qrec," Ac. — See 
040-, torn. ii. p. 91. 

me of the namea of that ^reat icholar and 
.**Phi]ipp(u Bombaatua latet anb aplendido 
ophraiti Paracelai," aays Stadelioa de drcom- 
▼anitate. — He oaed to flght the devil eveir 
xird, to the no iraall terror of hia pupil Opo- 
«ded the dreumatance. (Tide Oporin. Tit. 
th. TH. Select, qnorundam EruditiMimomni, 
I bnt a poor oirfnion of Galen : — ** Mjr very 
I ParacTannm) baa more leaminc in it than 

aolded St. Jerom fbr reading Cicero, as Gratian 
a " Conoordantia difoordantium Canonnin," 
a reaaon biahopa were not allowed to read the 
• Geatilinin libroa non legat." — Distinct. 37. 
Mia for lyins— bcddea, angela, as the illustrious 
forea na, have got no tongues. Ovx' *t ^/uv t» 

labbina icapeetfaic the origin of woman is not 
ej think that man was originallj (brmed with 
, Imt that the Deity cut off this appendage and 
Upon thia extraonlinary suppoaition the fol- 
Rmded: — 

tie between women and men» 
who weda ia a pitiftil elf, 
to hia taO Uka an Uiot again, 
lakea a deplorable ape of himaelil 

ly Judge aa the fkshiona prerall, 
and ivmembcrs th* original plan, 
g Ilia wifto la no mon than liis tail, 
I her bahind him aa mnoh aa h« 

But to begin my subject rhyme-— 
Twas just about this devilish time. 
When scarce there happened any frolics 
That were not done by Diabolics, 
A cold and loveless son of Lucifer, 
Who woman scom'd, nor saw the use of her, 
A branch of Dagon's family, 
< (Which Dagon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that vastly better is 
Referred to Scalig^ ' et atteris,') 
Finding that, in this cage of fools, 
The wisest sots adorn the seiKttK 
Took it at once his head OliiiTik in. 
To grow a great scholastic manikin, — 
A doctor, quite as leam'd and fine as 
Scotus John or Tom Aquinas,* 
LuUy, Hales, Irrefiragabilis. 
Or any doctor of the rabble is. 
In languages ', the Polyglots, 
Compur'd to him, were Babel sots; 
He chatter'd more than ever Jew did. 
Sanhedrim and Priest included; — 
Priest and holy Sanhedrim 
Were one-and-seventy fools to him. 
But chief the learned demon felt a 
Zeal so strong for gamma, delta. 
That, all for Greek and learning's glory,* 
He nightly tippled *• Grseco more," 

A Scaliger. de Emendat. Tempor.— Dagon was thought by othen 
to be a certain sea-monater, who came erery day out of the Red 
Sea to teach the Syrians husbandry. — See Jaoquea Oaffarel (Curi- 
osity Inoulfea, chap, i.), who says he thinks tUs story of the aea- 
monster " carriea little show of probability with it." 

* I wish it were known with any degree of certainty whether the 
Commentary on Boethiua attributed to Thomas Aquinas be really 
the work of this Angelic Doctor. There are some bold assertions 
hazarded in it : for instance, he aays that Plato kept school in a 
town called Academia, and that Alcibiadea was a very beautiftal 
woman whom some of Aristotle's pupils fell in lore with : — " Alci- 
biadea mnlier Aait pnleherrima. quam Tidentes quidam disdpull 
Aristotelis," ke. —See Frtytag Adptsrat. LiUerar. art. 86. tom. i. 

7 The following compliment waa paid to Laurentius Yalla, upon 
his accurate knowledge of the Latin language : — 

Nunc poatqnam manea deAinctus Talla petiiit, 
Non andet Pluto verba Latina loqui. 

Since Val arrlT'd bi Pluto's shade. 
His nouns and pronouns all so pat in, 

Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say hia soul 's his own. in Latin t 

See fbr these linea the ** Anetorum Oensio," of Du Vcrdier (peg* 

• It y much to be regretted that Martin Lather, with aU hia 
talenta fbr refbrming, ahould yet be Tulgar enough to laugh at 
Camerariua for writing to him in Greek. ** Maater Joachim (saya 
he) has sent me some dates and aome raisins, and baa alao written 
me two letters in Greek. As soon as I am rcooTerad, I almll 
answer them in Turkish, that he too may have the pleasure of 
reading what he does not understand." ** Gneca sunt, legi non 
poasunt," is the ignorant speech attributed to Accursius t but Teiy 
unjustly : —for, far fhim asaertlng that Greek oonid not be read, 
that worthy Jurisconsult upon the Law 6. D. de Bonor. P ossess. «x- 
Itreasly says, **Qxw>cm Utcna potimU intelligi et legL" C'^Hde Nor. 
Libror. Rarior. Collection. Fasdc lY.)— Sdpio Carteromadtna 
aeems to have been of opinion that there is no salvation out of the 
pale of Greek Literature : ** Via prima aalutia GraiA pandetur ab 
urbe : " and the seal of Lanrenttus Rhodomannna cannot be aof- 
fldently adndrcd, when h« tzhotts his oouatiTiiMn, ** p«r ^oriam 



^oems suggested to me by my visit to 
ida, in the year 1803, as well as by the 
hich I made subsequently, through some 
of North America, have been hitherto 
ijudiciously arranged; — any distinctive 
ter they may possess having been dis- 
L and confused by their being mixed up 
ly with trifles of a much earlier date, 
so with some portions of a classical story, 
form of Letters, which I had made some 
^S8 in before my departure from England. 
: present edition, this awkward jumble 
!en remedied; and all the Poems relating 
Transatlantic voyage will be found classed 
ansdves. As, in like manner, the line of 
by which I proceeded through some 
of the States and the Canadas, has been 
therto to be traced confusedly through a 
etached notes, I have thought that, to 
i readers of these poems, some clearer ac- 
of the course of that journey might not 
acceptable, — together with such vestiges 
J still linger in my memory of events 
ast fading into the background of time. 
' the precise date of my departure from 
nd, in the Phaeton frigate, I am indebted 
! Naval Recollections of Captain Scott, 
I midshipman of that ship. *^ We were 
-eady,'* says this gentleman, " for sea, and 
days saw Mr. Merry and suite embarked 
anL Mr. Moore likewise took his passage 
IS on his way to Bermuda. We quitted 
ead on the 25th of September (1803), and 
bort week lay becalmed under the lofty 
:>f Pico. In this situation the Phaeton is 
-ed in the fit)ntispiece of Moore's Poems." 
ring the voyage, I dined very frequently 
he officers of the gun room ; and it was 
little gratifying to me to learn, from this 
!man*s volume, that the cordial regard 

B the ooUeeted tditkm of tea volunMS, pabUah6d in IMI, 

these social and open-hearted men inspired in 
me was not wholly unretumed on their part. 
After mentioning our arrival at Norfolk, in Vir- 
ginia, Captain Scott says, **Mr. and Mrs. Merry 
left the Phaeton, under the usual salute, ac- 
companied by Mr. Moore;" — then, adding 
some kind compliments on the score of talents« 
&c., he concludes with a sentence which it gave 
me tenfold more pleasure to read, — "The gun- 
room mess witnessed the day of his departure 
with genuine sorrow." From Norfolk, after a 
stay of about ten days, under the hospitable 
roof of the British Consul, Colonel Hamilton, 
I proceeded, in the Driver sloop of war, to 

There was then on that station another 
youthful sailor, who has since earned for him- 
self a distinguished name among English writers 
of travels. Captain Basil Hall, — then a mid- 
shipman on board the Leander. In his Frag- 
ments of Voyages and Travels, this writer has 
called up some agreeable reminiscences of that 
period; in perusing which, — so full of life and 
reality are his sketches, — I found all my own 
naval recollections brought freshly to my mind. 
The very names of the different ships, then so 
familiar to my ears, — the Leander, the Boston, 
the Cambrian, — transported me back to the 
season of youth and those Smnmer Isles once 

The testimony borne by so competent a 
witness as Captain Hall to the truth of my 
sketches of the beautiful scenery of Bermuda 
is of far too much value to me, in my capacity 
of traveller, to be here omitted by me, however 
conscious of but ill deserving the praise he 
lavishes on me, as a poet. Not that I mean to 
pretend indifference to such kind tributes ; — on 
the contrary, those are always the most alive to 
praise, who feel inwardly least confidence in 
the soundness of their own title to it. In the 
present instance, however, my vanity (for so 



sted entirely of persons of the 
• Anti-Democratic party. Few 
,, too, as bad been my opportu- 
Iging for myself of the political 
:e of the country, my mind was 
much to the influence of the feel- 
udices of those I chiefly consorted 
srtainly, in no quarter was I so 
lecided hostility, both to the men 
ciples then dominant throughout 
as among oflSlcers of the British 
the ranks of an angry Federalist 
For any bias, therefore, that, 
circumstances, my opinions and 
be thought to have received, full 
' course, is to be made in apprais- 
;ht due to my authority on the 
i I can answer for, is the perfect 
. earnestness of the actual imprcs- 
ir true or erroneous, under which 
from the United States were 
I so strong, at the time, I confess, 
mpressions, that it was the only 
y past life during which I have 
fat all sceptical as to the sound- 
Liberal creed of politics, in the 
id advocacy of which I may be 
Ily said to have begun life, and 
•obably end it. 

for the second time, Kew York, 
m thence on the now familiar and 
Ise of visiting the Falls of Niagara, 
true, of all grand objects, whether 
art, that facility of access to them 
shes the feeling of reverence they 
pire. Of this fault, however, the 
gara, at that period — at least the 
t which led through the Genesee 
mid not justly be accused. The 
)f the journey, which lay chiefly 
but half-cleared wood, we were 
jrform on foot ; and a slight acci- 
rith, in the course of our rugged 
ae up for some days at Buflalo. 
. growth, in that wonderful region, 
be materials of civilisation, — how- 
e\j they may be turned to ac- 
t flourishing town, which stands 

ore of the Lakest aa he if ftjrled. 

•CDtenees of th« abore pangnph, m w«I1 m s 

on Lake Erie, bears most ample testimony. 
Though little better, at the time when I visited 
it, than a mere village, consisting chiefly of 
huts and wigwams, it is now, by all accounts, 
a populous and splendid city, with five or six 
churches, town-hall, theatre, and other such 
appurtenances of a capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude state 
of Buflalo, at that period, I should be ungrate- 
ful were I to omit mentioning, that, even then, 
on the shores of those far lakes, the title of 
"Poet,** — however unworthily in that instance 
bestowed, — bespoke a kind and distinguishing 
welcome for its wearer ; and that the Captain 
who commanded the packet in which I crossed 
Lake Ontario *, in addition to other marks of 
courtesy, begged, on parting with me, to be 
allowed to decline payment for my passage. 

When we arrived, at length, at the inn, in 
the neighbourhood of the Falls, it was too late 
to think of visiting them that evening; and I 
lay awake almost the whole night with the 
sound of the cataract in my ears. The day 
following I consider as a sort of era in my life ; 
and the first glimpse I caught of that wonder- 
ful cataract gave me a feeling which nothing in 
this world can ever awaken again.f It was 
through an opening among the trees, as we 
approached the spot where the full view of the 
Falls was to burst upon us, that I caught this 
glimpse of the mighty mass of waters folding 
smoothly over the edge of the precipice ; and 
so overwhelming was the notion it gave me of 
the awful spectacle I was approaching, that, 
during the short interval that followed, imagin- 
ation had far outrun the reality; and, vast 
and wonderful as was the scene that then 
opened upon me, my first feeling was that of 
disappointment. It would have been impos- 
sible, indeed, for anything real to come up to 
the vision I had, in these few seconds, formed 
of it ; and those awful scriptural words, '* The 
fountains of the great deep were broken up," 
can alone give any notion of the vague wonders 
for which I was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by imagin- 
ation, the triumph of reality was, in the end, 
but the greater ; for the gradual glory of the 

PMMge that oooon In the rabaeqnent column, etood origlnaUj a> 
p«rt of the Notes on one of the Amerkaa Foooa. 





ved upon me bood took posiies- 

ew benutj or woiidur, and, like 
flublime in nature or urt, awak- 
well 03 elevating thoughts. I 
emory but one otlior dreain^ — 
Qta so long past Mp[iear — which 
>ect be asBOciated with the grand 
uBt bL-cn dusuribiof;; find, how- 
he nature of tbeir appeals to the 
should find it difficult to aay on 
n I ft'lt most deeply affetteJ, 
on the Fulls of Niagara, or when 
Donlight among the ruins of the 

.he scene, have taken place in 
irn Falls since the lime of my 
and among these is the total 

f the amaU leafy island which 
ar the eilge of tbo Gr.^iit Fall, 
quillity and ud approach iibleuees, 

<f so much turmoil, lent it .in 

rounding trees; and the whole Bcem 
picturesque and beautiful us it was ni 
It 19 said that West, the American 
when he first saw the ApoUo, at Re 
claimed instantly, "A young Indian w 
— and, however startlbg the asHociat 
appear, some of the graceful and agi 
which I saw that day among the Tu 
were such as would account for its ai 
the young painter's mind. 

AIYer crossing "the fr^sh-water oi 
Ontario, I passed down lie St. Law- 
Montreal and Quebec, staying for a al 
at each of these places; and this pai 
journey, as well as my voyage on from 
to Halifax, is sufficiently traceable thn 
few pieces of poetry that were suggest 
by scenes and events on the way. Ai 
must again venture to avail mjselfof i 

my descriptions of some of those scenes 

taking the liberty to omit in my eit 
far OB may be done without injury to 




erening cliime ; * while the same 

Listant r^ons, previously con- 

ur imagination, a vividness of 

viewed on the spot, of which it 

say how much is due to the 

poetry, and how much to the 

real scene.** * 

le subject of the Canadian Boat 
dote connected with that once 
I may, for my musical readers at 
ome interest. A few years since, 
in Dublin, I was presented, at 
St, to a gentleman who told me 
' had in their possession a curious 
outhful days, — being the first 
I made, in pencilling, of the air 
the Canadian Boat Song, while 
wn the St. Lawrence, — and that 
sh I should add my signature to 
thenticity of the autograph. I 
ith truth that I had wholly for- 
le existence of such a memoran- 
would be as much a curiosity to 
>uld be to any one else, and that 
hankful to be allowed to see it. 
o after, my request was complied 
following is the hbtory of this 

ige down the St. Lawrence, I had 
travelling companions, one of 
Harkness, the son of a wealthy 
lant, has been some years dead. 
; friend, on parting with him, at 
re, as a keepsake, a volume I had 
>n the way, — Pries tley*s Lectures 
md it was upon a fly-leaf of this 
d I had taken down, in pencilling, 
i and a few of the words of the 
by which my own boat-glee had 
•d. The following is the form of 
lum of the original air : — 

^rCgf i r/fr^irj'j.r-nccfrM 



f/f/rilfiff-g i r^ 

Then follows, as pencilled down at the same 
moment, the first verse of my Canadian Boat 
Song, with air and words as they are at present. 
From all this it will be perceived, that, in my 
own setting of the air, I departed in almost 
every respect but the time from the strain our 
voyagevrt had sung to us, leaving the music of 
the glee nearly as much my own as the words. 
Yet, how strongly impressed I had become with 
the notion that this was the identical air sung 
by the boatmen, — how closely it linked itself 
in my imagination with the scenes and sounds 
amidst which it had occurred to me, — may be 
seen by reference to a note appended to the 
glee as first published, which will be found in 
the following pages, f 

To the few desultory and, perhaps, valueless 
recollections I have thus called up, I have only 
to add,, that the heavy storm of censure and 
criticism — some of it, I fear, but too well 
deserved — which, both in America and in 
England, the publication of my **Odes and 
Epistles** drew down upon me, was followed 
by results which have far more than compen- 
sated for any pain such attacks at the time may 
have inflicted. In the most formidable of all 
my censors, at that period, — the great master 
of the art of criticism, in our day, — I have 
found ever since one of the most cordial and 
highly valued of all my friends; while the 
good-will I have experienced from more than 
one distinguished American suflSlciently assures 
me that any injustice I may have done to that 
land of freemen, if not long since wholly for- 
gotten, is now remembered only to be forgiven. 
As some consolation to me for the onsets of 
criticism, I received, shortly after the appear- 
ance of my volume, a letter from Stockholm, 
addressed to " the author of Epistles, Odes, 
and other poems,*' and informing me that *^ the 
Princes, Nobles, and Gentlemen, who composed 
the General Chapter of the most 
Illustrious, Equestrian, Secular, and 
Chapteral Order of St. Joachim," had 
elected me as a Knight of this Order. 
Notwithstanding the grave and official 

rfTfttiiyiac.** Uie MiUu>r adds, ** to dbeoTcr that, 
nadiaB voifageurt nerer omit their oflierinct to 
JM. bcftwt CBBMiliig m soj enterpriaet and that 
, tlMjr onit DO opportunity of keeplnc up ao 

propitionu an intorcotme. The flonrishing villain which foiroands 
the church on the * Orecn I»Ie ' in qneation owea Its «xlat«ao« and 
rapport eDtlr«l]r to theae pions oontribntkms." 
t Pace MO ofthli adition. 




omeenluuices erery distant temptation, and 
sm worid has long been looked to as a re- 
mk real or imaginary oppression; as, in 
i eljnan Atlantis, where persecuted patriots 
id their visions realised, and be welcomed 
«d ajMiits to liberty and repose. In all 
ttering expectations I found myself com- 
lis^ypointed, and felt inclined to say to 
, as Horace says to his mistress,, ^'in- 
ites." Briflsot, in the pre&ce to his travels, 
, that ** fineedom in that country is carried 
^ a degree as to border upon a state of 
' and there certainly is a close approx- 
to savage life, not only in the liberty 
ley enjoy, but in the violence of party 
d of private animosity which results from 
i iUibecai zeal embitters aU social inter- 
and, though I scarcely could hesitate in 
: the party whose views appeared to me 
i pure and rational, yet I was sorry to ob- 
it, in asserting their opinions, they both 
in equal share of intolerance ; the Demo- 
osistently with their principles, exhibiting 
ity of rancour, which the Federalists too 
; so forgetful of their cause as to imitate, 
ade fi&miliarity of the lower orders, and 
he unpolished state of society in general, 
fither surprise nor disgust if they seemed 
^m that simplicity of character, that 
inorance of the gloss of refinement which 
looked for in a new and inexperienced 
But^ when we find them arrived at ma- 
most of the vices, and all the pride of 
»n, while they are still so far removed 
ligher and better characteristics, it is im- 
not to feel that this youthful decay, this 
idpation of the natural period of corrup- 

tion, must repress every sanguine hope of the future 
energy and greatness of America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing these few 
remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and by 
no means sufficient to convince; for the limits of 
a preface prevent me from entering into a justifica- 
tion of my opinions, and I am committed on the 
subject as effectually as if I had written volumes 
in their defence. My reader, however, is apprised 
of the very cursory observation upon which these 
opinions are founded, and can easily decide for 
himself upon the degree of attention or confidence 
which they merit. 

With respect to the poems in general, which 
occupy the following pages, I know not in what 
manner to apologise to the pi^lic for intruding upon 
their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such 
a world of epicurean atoms as I have here brought in 
conflict together.' To say that I have been tempted 
by the liberal offers of my bookseller, is an excuse 
which can hope for but Uttle indulgence from the 
critic; yet I own that, without this seasonable in- 
ducement, theae poems very possibly would never 
have been submitted to the world. The glare of 
publication is too strong for such imperfect pro- 
ductions: they should be shown but to the eye of 
friendship, in that dim light of privacy which is as 
favourable to poetical as to female beauty, and serves 
as a veil for faults, while it enhances every charm 
which it displays. Besides, this is not a period «for 
the idle occupations of poetry, and times like the 
present require talents more active and more usefuL 
Few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and I 
most sincerely regret that I have had the leisure 
to write them. 

> flee the foregobiff Note, p. SIS. 



1 it like Croiona'B sagt,' 
LcU my baud could dara 
diik iu unple page, 
m; IhoughU, nsy mshtt there ; 
■L friend, whoBo careless ejo 
' ;t tiiBt stany aky, 
on thy orb ia oitvt 

m of laud regroC 
ever lo forget, 
irt and soul woulit send 
j-lov'd, diilant iViend. 

And gave tn; eonl meb trmpcing tia>j 

For all iu deareat, fondest schemei, 
Tliat not Vtroiiu'* cliild of sonj^, 

Vlien fljiug from the f brygian shi 
With lighter heart could bouuil along 

Or pant lo be a wand'rer more 1 * 

Even now dehisite hope will steal 
Amid the dork regrela I feel. 
Southing, an yonder placid lieam 

Pnrsnea the inannnrcrB •>( tbe deep. 
And lights them with eonsoliug gleaui 

Aud smiles them into tranqail alef] 
OhI such a hleHed niglit aa this, 

I often think, if friends were near, 
liow we should feel, and gaze with lil 

L'pon the mooii-hrighl scenery licrt 
The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And. o'er its calm the TEsacl glides 




Oh! conld the lover kam from thee. 

And breathe them with thj graceful tone, 

Snch sweet, beguiling minstrelsy 

Would make the coldest njmph his own. 

But, haxk! — the boatswain's pipings tell 
*ris time to bid my dream farewell: 
JBigfat bells: — the middle watch is set; 
G^xl night, my Strangford! — ne'er forget 
That, for beyond the western sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky, 
Which morning had clouded, was clouded no 




A BE AX of tranquillity smil'd in the west. 
The storms of the morning pursued us no more; 

And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of retit. 
Still bear'd, as remembering ills that were o'er. 

Serrnely my heart took the hue of the hour. 
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead ; 

And the spirit becalm'd but remembcr'd their 
As the billow the force of the gale that was fled. 

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone 
My heart erer granted a wish or a sigh; 

When the saddest emotion my bosom had known, 
Was pity fur those who were wiser than I. 

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire 
The pearl of the soul may be molted away; 

Row quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire 
We inherit firom hear'n, may be quench'd in the 

And I prmy 'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame. 
That Pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 

So that, rallied but little, or brightly the same, 
I might give back the boon I had borrowed 
from him. 

^ow blest was the thought ! it appeared as if Heaven 
ELmI abeady an opening to Paradise shown ; 
\t, passion all chasten'd and error for^vcn, 
ICj heart then began to be purely its own. 

optekn «f 81. AtMtin upon Gcnetb, and I bellev« of 

tten, that Unit, like flsh , vcre oriffinally produoed 

t in daftno* of whkh idea tlioj hare eollectcd 

iriUdk OMi tend to prorc a kindred 

Oh! thus," I exclaimed, " may a heavenly eye 
" Shed light on the soul that was darkened before." 



Wheh I have seen thy snow-white wing 
From the blue wave at evening spring. 
And show those scales of silvery white. 
So gaily to the eye of light, 
As if thy frame were form'd to rise. 
And live amid the glorious skies ; 
Oh ! it has made me proudly feel. 
How like thy wing's impatient zeal 
Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 
Within this world's gross element. 
But takes the wing Uiat God has given. 
And rises into light and heaven ! 

But, when I see that wing, so bri|;ht. 
Grow languid with a moment's flijjht. 
Attempt the paths of air in vain, 
And sink into the waves again ; 
Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er ; 
Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, 
But erring man must blush to think. 
Like thee, again the soul may sink. 

Oh Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
T>ct not my spirit's flight be weak : 
I>ct me not, like this feeble thing, 
With brine still dropi>ing from its wing, 
Just sparkle in the solar glow 
And plunge again to depths below; 
But, when I leave the grosser thn)iig 
With whom my soul hath dwelt so long. 
Let me, in that aspiring day. 
Cast every hngcring stain away. 
And, panting for thy purer air, 
Fly up at once and fix me there. 



raoM HonroLK, iir tiroinl*, notbmbcb, IPAS. 

In days, my Kate, when life was new, 
When, luU'd with iimocence and you. 

rimilitnde between them j wrr wnmm t»k »cf«M««K »p«c t« »vf»»« 
With thia thontrht In our minds, when we flrat lec the Flyinff-Fiih, 
we could abnoet flmcy, that we are present at the moment of 
creation, and witneas the birth of the Snt bird fh>m the wa^ee. 

BB 3 

'i\ bomc'a beloved shailr. 
[i the world M lUslancc made ; 
etery night my weary licad 
n iu own anthonied boil, 
^Id OS omiiiig'B matron boor, 
D the faiiilly shuttiDg flower, 
IT eyoliib closii, 
1 into [inra repo«c ; 
laply if a week, ■ day, 
I'd Iroin thai home away, 
m\g Ihe little absence ge«m'd '. 
Kght thu loci: of weleomc beam'd, 
^ yoa heard, with eager miilo, 
U aCaU that posa'd the whilu I 

K, my Kale, a gloomy sea 
Ic between thac honie and nio j 
Ion may thrice be bom and die, 
|i that >db1 can reach mine eve, 
used so aoft. bo quick to come, 
lathing ali the breath ol' home, — 
'II trsEh. the cordial ur 
IS belov'd wero lingering there. 
las, — for different fate ! 
:r ocean, alow and laic, 
Icar hand chnt flll'd its fold 

Smiles on the dusky 'wth» thai hi 
His eletping Bword'a remembcr'd 
While Pcaec, with sunny cheeks 
Walks o'er the tree, nnlorded soil 
Etfadng with her splendid share 
The drops thai war had spTtoklei 
Thrice happy land I where he irl 
Prom the dark iDs of other skiea. 
From Bcom. or want's nnnerrine 
May shelter him in proud repose 
Hope sings along Ibe ycUow aand 
His welcome! to a patriot land ; 
The miRhty wood, mlh pomp, rei 
The Btrunger in its world of leave 
Wliich soon their barren el<"7 yi' 
To the warm shed anil ciiltar'it Si 
And he, who came, of all bereft. 
To whom maUgnant ftle had left 
Nor home nor friends nor eomilri 
finds borne and trieoda and coiuil 

Snch is the picture, warmly sue 
That Fancy long, with florid tone 
Hod painted to nty sanguine eye 
or man's new world of liberty. 
Oh! atk me not, if Truth hare je 
Her seal on Fancy's promise set; 
If cr'n R glimpse my ctcs behold 
Of that iinagin'd age of gold : — 



^ word at parting — in the tone 
^OBt gweet to yon, and most my own. 
be ample ftnin I send you here,* 
il^ tboa^ it be, would charm yoar ear, 
d. TOO bat know the trance of Uioaght 
which my mind its numben caught. 
^ss one of those half -waking dreams, 
hamt me oft, when music seems 
Isear my sonl in sound along, 
X torn its feelings all to song, 
looght of home, the according lays 
oe faU of dreams of other days ; 
t^ily in each succeeding note 
»^aind some young remembrance float, 
1. following, as a clue, that strain, 
' Ander'd back to home again. 

I3h 1 loTe the song, and let it oft 
f^ on your lip, in accents soft. 
y that it tells you, simply well, 
1 I hare bid its wild notes tell, — 

Sfemoiy's dream, of thoughts that yet 
o^ with the light of joy that's set, 
^^ an the fond heart keeps in store 
t fiiends and scenes beheld no more. 
Jid now, adieu ! — this artless air, 
' *th a few riiymes, in transcript fair, 
1^*^ all the gifts I yet can boast 
^^ 8end you from Columbia's coast ; 
^t when the sun, with warmer smile, 
'!P*D light me to my destined isle,* 
* ^ *hall have many a cowslip-bell, 
Here Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
^ *"hich that gentle spirit drew 
^^^ boney flowers the morning dew. 


WETRWc AT jroavouK. nr naaijt ia. 

'y^cf ayonnc maa, vho lost hli mind upon the death of 
tt «*«t,aad who, raddenly diMppearing fttmi hU fHendt, 
"•'•ftowwili heard of. Aa he had frequently tald, in his 
*• ^ Ike gfarl waa not dead, bat rone to the Oitmal Swamp. 
Vtaid he had waader«d into that dreary wlldemees, and 
nof kngar.or been kiet in aome of its dreadAil moraMea." 


eooune U natnra."— D* Aumaaax. 

rr made her a graTe, too cold and damp 

or a sonl so warm and true ; 

she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,* 

re, aD night long, by a flnyfly lamp, 

e paddles her white canoe. 

tt nnwieal oo m poe ft ioB aooompanled thli 

k tan or tw^a nllei dietent from 

" And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 

** And her paddle I soon shall hear ; 
^ Long and loving our life shall be, 
** And ill hide the maid in a cypress tree, 
** When the footstep of death is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 

His path was rugged and sore. 
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds. 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds. 

And man never trod before. 

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew. 
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew I 

And near him the she- wolf stirr'd the brake, 
And the copper -snake breath 'd in his ear. 
Till he starting cried, firom his dream awake, 
** Oh ! when ^all I see the dusky Lake. 
" And the white canoe of my dear ? " 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play'd — 
"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light I" 
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, 

The name of the death-cold maid. 

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark. 

Which carried him off" from shore ; 
Far, far he foUow'd the meteor spark. 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark. 
And the boat rctum'd no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp. 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe ! 



raoM aaaiiODA,, JA.nvA.iirt IW4. 

Ladt ! where'er you roam, whatever land 
Woos the bright touches of that artist hand ; 
Whether you sketch the valley's golden meads. 
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads ;* 
Enamour'd catch the mellow hues that sleep. 
At eve, on MeiUerie's inmiortal steep ; 

Norlblk, and the Lake in the middle of it (abont eeren mtlee looc) 
if called Drammond't Pond. 

* Lady Donefall, I had reason to mppoie, was at thii time etui 
In SwitaarlaDd. wliere the well-known powen of her pnadl mwt 
have been ft^qnently awakened. 

BB 4 



^(iir choicest tints, their softest light, 
^ theme spells into one dream of night, 
'0 the lovely artist slumbering lies, 
^um picture o'er her mental eyes ; 
^ Cask her own creative spells, 
ly show what song but £untly tells. 



:b6e morgan, esq. 



C*t.MM4<m, Humn in DeL ▼. 11. 

* ^ sea of Storm we've pass'd ! — 
'^5)aiitain waves and foamy showers, 
^^^^ winds whose savage blast 
'^ Agrees with one whose hours 
^^ss'd in old Anacreon's bowers. 
^ not poesy's bright charm 
*Kie in this rude alarm : * — 
'■^>ae they reef *d the timid sail, 
'^ every plank complaining loud, 
^Uf'd in the midnight gale, 
^ v'n our haughty main-mast bow'd, 
'^U, in that unlovely hour, 
^•« still brought her soothing power, 
^^<i8t the war of waves and wind, 
>'« Elysium lapp'd my mind. 
'Hen no numbers of my own 
*^ed to her wakening tone, 
^^*^ with her golden key, 
' <^ket where my memory lays, 
\SeiDS of classic poesy, 
uch time has sav'd from ancient days. 

ke one of these, to Lais sung, — 
te it while my hammock swung. 

I k attedwd to the British ooninlate at Norfolk. 
I we vorthy of a mneh higher gphere t but the excellent 
i of tfaa family with whom he resides, and the cordial 
^iofl amoiicrt mnc of the kindest hearts in the world, 
loKBl CBOOKh to atone to him for the worst caprices of 
beeoBsul h^»"f '^, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the 
itaneaB of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet 
ihe ▲nmioans. His house is the very temple of hood- 
pity the heart of that stranger who, warm 

of sQch a board, ooold tit down to write a libel 
in Am trae spirit of a modem philosophist. See the 
kc OviKe dc la HoehcfoQcault Lianoourt, toI. ii. 
t seven d^r* on our passage from Norfolk to Bermnda, 
) of whidi we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. 
deep of war, in which I went, was built at Bermuda of 
I enfwinfiiil an ezoellent sea-boat. She was then com- 
■y very modi regretted fHend Captain Compton, who 
wm kilted aboard the Lilly in an action with a French 
tl he fella victim to the strange impolicy of 

As one might write a dissertation 
Upon ** Suspended Animation ! " 

Sweet * is your kiss, my Lais dear. 
But, with that kiss I feel a tear 
Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
When those who*ve dearlv lov'd must part. 
Sadly yon lean your head to mine. 
And mute those arms around me twine. 
Your hair adown my bosom spread. 
All glittering with the tears you shed. 
In vain I've kiss'd those lids of snow. 
For still, like ceaseless founts they flow. 
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet. 
Why is it thus ? do, tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais ! are my bodings right ? 
Am I to lose you ? is to-night 

Our last go, false to heaven and me I 

Your very tears are treachery. 

Such, while in air I floating hung. 

Such was the strain, Morgante mio t 
The muse and I together sung. 

With Boreas to make out the trio. 
But, bless the little fairy isle ! 

How sweetly after all our ills. 
We saw the sunny morning smile 

Serenely o'er its fragrant hills ; 
And felt the pure, delicious flow 
Of airs, that round this Eden blow 
Freshly as ev'n the gales that come 
O'er our own healthy hills at home. 

Could you but view the scenery fair. 

That now beneath my window lies, 
You'd think, that nature lavish'd there 

Her purest wave, her softest skies, 
To make a heaven for love to sigh in. 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 
Close to my wooded bank below. 

In glassy calm the waters sleep. 
And to the sunbeam proudly show 

The coral rocks they love to steep.* 

allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to renuJn in the service 1 
so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well-manned merchant- 
man was at any time a match for her. 

s This epigram is by Paul the Silentlary, and may be found in 
the Analeeta of Brunck, vol. iii. p. n. As the reading there is 
somewhat different from what I have followed in this translation, 
I shall give it as I had it in ray memory at the time, and as it is 
in Heinsins, who. I believe, first produced the epigram. Bee his 

*H#i> itw •or* ^CuiH^ T» Aa«4*c' 4*v »• «vrwv 

HvM4twi|T*Mr iuKpnf x««K fi^^^apai*. 
Km »^«» «»x^f •«'*« »»/8«K m>fi»«rfinfx»9 mtX^v^ 

K«w« *■ aM^M^««Mf.. ^*>'^ •*»•«• <M^va X«4^n« ; 

4 The water is so clear around the ielaad, that the rooks tie seen 


ID or morning fails ; 
, It moves slowlj pasi, 
I ulniost touch ia saila 

LP around l!i<: ina.4t. 
I splendour jiourB 
J up all these IcaJj shores j 

n hcav'n, iu clonds and beanu, 
u-'d in the wotera lie, 
Biual) bar);, in piunag; secnu 
ft HloQg a burning alty. 

I pinnace lent to tlieo,' 

ho, iu vision hright, 
J o'er heaven's solar tea 
lich at all its isles of hght. 
, what a clime ho foniid 
\y orb's ambrosial round I' — 
ig the hreinee, rich and warm, 
b aronnd ihj vesper cur ; 

I dwell, so pure of form 
h appears a living star.' 

I the sprites, celestial qaecn ! 
^ndcsl nigbtlj lo the bed 
Vive, cith lunch itnseen 
ii'l's brighl'uing lints to ahedi 

II ej-e a light still clearer, 

liHl clieek one rose-blush more. 
It blushing hp be dearer, 
d hccQ aU foo dear before. 

That skj of clouds is nol the ik; 
To liphl a lover to ihe pillow 

Of her he lovea — 
The swell of vondcf foaming billi 
Beiembtea not ihe happjr sigh 

That rapture moves. 

Tet do I feel more tranquil Bw 
Amid ihe gloomy wildi of ocean, 

In this dwk hour. 
Than when, in pascioD's yoang e: 
Fve stolen, beneath the orening s 

To Juiia's bower. 

Oh I there's ■ holj calm profbanc 
In awe like this, that ne'er vas e 

To pleasure's thrill ; 
"Us as a solemn roiee from heavi 
And the soul, iisteniag to the soi 

lies mnte and sttlL 

'Tis true, it talks of danger niph, 
Of slumh'ring with the dead Kvm 

In the cold deep, 
When- pleni^iiv'9 throb "r tcara o 






— Evmsrm. Medea, T. M7« 

5at, tempt me not to loTe again, 

I'heie was a time when love was sweet i 
D«^ ^et! had I known thee then, 

^^^xr souk had not been slow to meet. 
Biit, oil, this wearj heart hath ran) 

So loanj a time, the rounds of pain, 
)«ot cVd for thee, thou lovely one, 
Would I endure such pangs again. 

If there be dimes, where never yet 
'^ print of beanos foot was set, 
^ere man may pass his loveless nights* 
^ttferer'd by her false delights, 
'Hitther my wonnded soul would fly, 
^^^^ rosy cheek or radiant eye 
^JMHild brmg no more their bliss, or pain, 
^'or fetter me to earth again. 
^ absent girl ! whose eyes of light, 

Though Kttlc pric'd when all my own, 
Kov float before me, soft and bright 

Ai when they first enamouring shone, — 
^^ boors and days have I seen glide, 
]^ fix*d, enchanted, by thy side, 
^mnindftd of the fleeting day, 
r^e let life's dream dissolve away. 
bloom of youth proftisely shed ! 
^ moments, simply, vainly sped ! 
^ sweetly too — for Love perfum*d 
Tbe Dune which thus my life consum'd; 
^d brilliant was the chain of flowers, 
*o which he led my victim-hours. 

S«T, Nea, say, couldst thou, like her 
J^ wann to feel and quick to err, 
Wbring fond, of roving fonder, 
^ thoughtless soul might wish to wander, 
^^^"^ thou, like her, the wish recbum, 

Eodearing still, reproaching never, 
TiD eVn thu heart should bum with shame, 

And he thy own more fix'd than ever ? 
Mt^ no — on earth there's only one 

CooM bind such faithless folly fast ; 
Aod rare on earth but one alone 
Gonkl make such virtue fidse at last ! 

liea, the heart which she forsook. 
For thee were but a worthless shrine — 

Go, lovely girl, that angel look 
Most urfll a soul more pure than mine. 

Oh I thou shalt be all else to me. 
That heart can feci or tongue can feign ; 

I'll praise, admire, and worship thee. 
But must not, dare not, love again. 

Tale iter omne ceTe. 

Fkopbbt. lib. It. cleg. S. 

I PRAT you, let US roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore. 

Where late we thoughtless stray'd ; 
Twas not for us, whom heaven intends 
To be no more than simple friends. 

Such lonely walks were made. 

That little Bay, where turning in 
From ocean's rude and angry din, 

As lovers steal to bliss. 
The billows kiss the shore, and then 
Flow back into the deep again. 

As though they did not kiss. 

Remember, o'er its circling flood 

In what a dangerous dream we stood — 

The silent sea before us, 
Around us, all the gloom of grove. 
That ever lent its shade to love. 

No eye but heaven's o'er us I 

1 saw you blush, you felt me tremble. 
In vain would formal art dissemble 

All wc then look'd and thought ; 
*Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 
'Twas ev'rything that young hearts feel. 

By Love and Nature taught. 

I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, 
A shell that, on the golden sand. 

Before us faintly gleam'd ; 
I trembling rais'd it, and when you 
Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too — 

How sweet, how wrong it seem'd I 

Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour. 
The worst that e'er the tempter's power 

Ck)uld tangle me or you in j 
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore. 

Such walks may be our ruin. 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes. 
And there alone should love be read ; 

Tou hear me say it aU in sighs. 
And thus alone should love be said. 


moro i 1 will rot Bpcnk i 
li^li niy lieort lo ungnitili llirill, 
' ■ ming of your cbetk, 
|>ok it all in eilcace BliU. 

a the wish I diu'd la name, 
n that lucklfss night, 
sian liroko the bonilE uf thame. 
'e gieiT maiineBa in jaur ii);lil ? 

I ihrongh the gnsffal dance, 

Hiling Gyc9, that liltta thonght 

ling hniida jcin lightly lau^ht, 
d mc, iite a spirit, Si^iv 

I of all, hut jou alone, — 

It lenat, shonld not condemn, 
!i ejes lie lore me shone, 

111 forgot all e;es lint Ihcm, — 

Wlicn blest alike we™ youth 

And love inspir'd the wiscsi i 

And nisdom griK'd the 

Before I laid me dawn lo sleep. 

Awhile I fhitn the kitiee g&z'd 
Ufxiu that slill and moonlight deep, 

With iiUa like flontiiig gardciu ni 
For Ariel there his iports to keep ; 
While, gliding 'twUl their leafy shor 
Tliv lone uigfat-fisher plied his om. 
I fell, — so slrouglj fancy's power 
CiuuD o'er oiB in thai witching hoar, 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian eky. 
And I then breolh'd the blissful sir 

Thai tale hud lliiU'd to Sappho'* . 

ThuH, wuking, dreamt I, — and whero 

Came o'er my sense, the drc&m we 
Nor through her curtain dim and dee 

Hath ever lovelier yision shone. 
I tliought that, all enrapt, 1 Btray'd 
Through thai serene, InxnriouB diadc 
Wlieru EpieuruB taught the Lotos 

To polish virtue's native brightnest 
As pcurl^, we're told, tliul foudtjng d 

Have play 'd with, wear a smoother i 
'Tivaa one of those deUcious nights 



eir wings difiiue a nj 

areller's weary way.* 

yf that myBterioos kind, 

rhich the soul perchance may roam, 

left this world behind, 

to seek its hearenly home. 

ion wert by my side, 

his hear'n-ward path my guide. 

Bnd*ring thus we rang*d 
. path, Qie Tision chang'd ; 
sthonght, we stole along 
lalls of more voluptuous glory 
r'd in Teian song, 
'd in Milesian story.' 
were there, whose very eyes 
I'd o'er with breath of sighs ; 
ringlet, as it wreath'd, 
al to passion breath'd. 
ith amber cups, around, 
.e floweiy wines of Crete ;■ 
pass'd with youthful bound, 
shone beneatii their feet.* 
, waving arms of snow 
»y snakes of bumish'd gold,* 
; charms, as loth to show, 
lany a thin Tarentian fold,' 
g the festal throng 
urns of flowers along, 
lay, in languor breathing, 
Dg beegrape', round them wreathing, 
or blushes warm and meek, 
xm a rosy cheek. 

17 did morning break 

;hat thus divinely bound me ? 

tke ? how could I wake 

my own and heaven around me ! 

OciiiuubI* Hltn tnndiUtA cenera &Iitiun acoe- 
hnui, ignitun modo, ooUooeant noctibut. — /'/tn. 

I, or M*fi-*-" fables, had their oritrin in Mlleta*. a 
' loaia. ArisUdci waa the moat celebrated author 
m flctioM. See Plutarch (in CnMo), who call* 

>elan wia a a . which Athenciu calli -t^ «»tfMM««<, 

Kj iiMiiitiHiUi that of the flneit flower*.*'— Ztorry 


t la TV7 iplcDdld manriona. the floor or pavement 

oojrx. ThiM Martial : " Calcatutquc tuo aub pede 


lie shape were a fiiToorite ornament amonc the 

tjr. 01 wwtmm fi w t M v^CK ««4 »i XP"^** ir«4a4 B^tSuf km 

$•( 4m0,*mmm. PkUottrot. Efijtt. zl. Lucian. too, 
(MM <r»M—»Tt. Sec his Amores. where he describes 
1 of a Grecian lady, and we find the " vilver Tase," 
loUi-powder, and all the ** mystic order " of a 

Well — ^peace to ihy heart, though another's it be. 
And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for 

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,' 
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves. 
And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet 
Their allurements forgive and their splendour for- 

Farewell to Bermuda', and long nuiy the bloom 
Of the lemon and myrtle its vuleys perfume ; 
May spring to eternity hallow the shade. 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller " has stray'd. 
And thou — when, at dawn, ihou shalt happen to 

Through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy 

Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done. 
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, 
I have led thee along, and have told by the way 
What my heart all the night had been burning to 

Oh I think of the past — give a sigh to those times 
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes. 

If I were yonder wave, my dear. 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 

I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bliss, my fairy ground. 

If I were yonder conch of gold. 
And thou the pearl within it plac'd, 

I would not let an eye behold 

The sacred gem my arms embraced. 

If I were yonder orange-tree. 

And thou the blossom blooming there, 
I wotdd not yield a breath of thee 

To scent the most imploring air. 

7 Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xIt. and ** now called the 
Muscatell (a musearum tells)," says Pandrollutt book i. sect. 1. 
chap. 17. 

• I had, at this time, some idea of paying a Tisit to the West 

* The Jihabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Ber- 
roooda. Sec the commenuton on the words "still-Tez'd Ber- 
moothes," in the Tempest. — I wonder it did not occur to some of 
those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the discorerer of this 
"island of hogs and deriis" might hare been no less a personage 
than the great John Bermudex, who, about the same period (the 
beginning of the sixteenth century), was sent Patriareh of the Latin 
church to Ethiopia, and has left ns mott wonderfbl stories of the 
Amazons and the Orillins which he encountered. .. TravtU qf the 
JetuitM, Tol. L I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch 
rather too much out of his way. 

10 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda ibnt 
the "Account of the European Settlements in America" afllrms it 
confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this work. Iiowever, less for its 
authority than tar the pleasure I Ihel in quoting aa onaeknowledgwl 
pnMltKtio& ef the gxeat Edmund Burke. 


Ind nn( o'er the water's brink, 
ot the wave thai ojoroufl ligh, 
J bnming mirror drink 
A roSectioD of ihina eye. 

ir, thai gkiwing cheek, 
n the watf n arum, 
mitd gindly plunge to BCrk 
■mage in the gliisty stream. 
CO my cMHy grare 
Jnuptiat bed that atream mighE be ; 

Ic upon the shade of thee, 
the leafy mangrove, bending 
' e walcn blue and hnghl, 
'i silky lashca. lending 
f to her eye* of ligliL 
I belov'd t where'er I turn, 

cc of thee vncbaut^ mino eyes ; 
u thy glance* burn ; 
h 00 cvety flow'ret lici. 
b ! in creation anghi 

"IT bcaatiful, or rarp, 
icnse. ur pure to ihoughl, 
1 fonnd n-ttcclcd [here. 

Bui fly to bU region — laj open thy «o 

Aiid he'll vrerp all his brilliancy die 
To lliink tiiBt a bosom, as whil« as hi; 

Should not melt in the day beam lik 
Oh ! lovely the print of iIiom delicate 

O'er bia luminoiu path trill appear' 
FIt. jly. my bclorcd I thia island is aw 

Uut the Snow Spirit cannot come b 

I ST01.K along the fiowery bank. 
Wliile mH[iy a bending acagrap^' 
The sprinkle of the ftathcry otg 
That wing'd me roand thia fairy 
'TwBi nooD ; and every orsn^ 
Unng lanjpiid o'er the crj-Btal Sot 
Faint as the lids of maiden's eyea 
When love-lhonghtH in her hiHon 
Oh. for a naiad's sparry bower. 
To shade me in that glowing hou 

A little dove, of milky hue. 
Before ine lirom a plantain flew, 
And, light idong the waler'^ brim 
I sicer'd my gentle bark by him; 



And, iteaUng orer all her charmi, 
from lip to cheek, from neck to inns, 
New luitre to each beantj lent, — 
Itidf an tramUing aa it wenti 

Dvk hj her eyelid's jettj fringe 
Upoo that cheek whose roseate tinge 
Hix'dwith its riiade, like erening's light 
Joa touching on the Teige of night. 
Herejei, though thus in slomber hid, 
Seem'd glowing through the irorj lid. 
And, « I thought, a histre threw 
^poa her lip's reflecting dew, — 
^ « a mght-hunp, left to shine 
Alone on some sedaded shrine, 
^J ihed upon the votiye wreath, 
^^^ pioiu hands hare hnng beneath. 

^^ e?er liaoii half so sweet! 
f^ Udnk how qnick mj heart-pnlse beat, 
.^ <>'er the nutling bank I stole; — 
y°/ 7^ that know the lorer's sool, 
^J* ^ you alone to gness, 
^ moiDent's trembling happiness. 


^?^^» my lore, the cnrions gem 
»^ Z'*^^ this simple ring of gold; 
^r^Uow'd by the touch of them 
»»ao liy^d in classic hours of old. 

j?* ^^ir Athenian girl, perhaps, 
Nor?K*^ her hand this gem displayed, 
^ mJ^!?^'^ ^^'^^ time's succeeding lapse 

^^'^^'^^Id see it grace a lovelier maid. 

^^^ Nearest, what a sweet design! 
r, more we gaze, it charms 3ie more; 

^?^'J-- closer bring that cheek to mine, 
■^^^^ trace with me its beauties o'er. 

"^^ ••est, it is a sunple youth 
T^ "oine enamour'd n3rmph embrac'd — 
*^*^ as she leans, and say in sooth, 
>* Hot that hand most fondly plac'd? 

tffHi his curled head behind 
*^ teems in careless play to Ke,' 
»<*pr«8jK!S gently, half incUn'd 
To bring the truant's lip more nigh. 

Oh hippy maid! too happy boy! 
lie one so fond and little loath, 

bfftMlbporftfn ofFMrdM*! hand !■ flody utA delloately ex- 
mJM'i^flim. §m the Umnm rioiWi Ui i um . tcm. U. tab. 
\M. !!■•«• ftv «Aictli tBwUdipoalnr eovld be nonla- 

Tlie Other yielding slow to joy — 
Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. 

Imagine^ lore, that I am he, 

Ajnd just as warm as he is chilling; 

Imagine, too, that thou art she. 
But quite as coy as she is willing: 

So may we try the graceful way 
In which their gentle arms are twin'd. 

And thus, like her, my hand I lay 
Upon thy wreathed locks behind: 

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet. 
As slow to mine thy head I move; 

And thus our lips together meet. 

And thus, — and thus, — I kiss thee, love. 

ABinoT. JUiHor. lib. UL eap. 4. 

There's not a look, a word of thine, 

My soul hath e'er forgot; 
Thou ne*cr hast bid a ringlet shine. 
Nor giv'n thy locks one graceful twine 

Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 
From that beguiling tongue, 
Which did not, with a ling*ring spell. 
Upon my charmed senses dwell. 
Like songs from Eden simg. 

Ah! that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witching girl, — and yet. 
To die were sweeter than to let 
The lov'd remembrance go. 

No; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
Oh let it die, rememb'ring thee. 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consum'd in sweets away. 



** The daylight is gone — but, before we depart, 
** One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart, 
"The kindest, the dearest — oh! judge by the tear 
** I now shed while I name him, how kind and how 

temtlnffly cmploTcd thwo lo Olnttntliiff mnm of then aadcat 
ftatnes and gems. 

t Pfnkerton bat Mid that **s food hlftorr and deieripUoa of the 
Benmdae might aflbtd a pleeiiag addltka lo the geocraphieel H- 



the wheel, unwearied still 
mnd, « mj watchful ere 
k the needle's fiuthfol thrill, 
of her I h>ye, and cay, 

Port, my boy! port 

ms delay, or breezes blow 
nom the point we wish to steer ; 
the wind dose-hauled we go, 
ive in vain the port to near ; 
B thus the fates defer 
B with one that's far away, 
3 remembrance springs to her, 
the sails and sighing say. 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

le wind draws kindly aft, 
ids are up the yards to square, 
the floating stu*n-sails waft 
;tely ship through waves and air. 
I think that yet for me 
ireeze of fortune thus may spring, 
eie to waft me, love, to thee — 
I that hope I smiling sing, 

Ste^Mly, boy ! so. 



*^ng, when the earth and sky 
' glowing with the light of spring, 
' tbee not, thou humble fly ! 
think upon thy gleaming wing. 

>en the skies have lost their hue, 
mnny lights no longer play, 
D we see and bless thee too 
ipaikling o*er the dreary way. 

it me hope, when lost to me 
lights that now my life illume, 
lilder joys may come, like thee, 
leer, if not to warm, the gloom I 

d ? «y It M w i rinaM op, with which thcie flre-fllci 
!■ at Bii^ ffi^iw quite an Ideft of enchantment, 
■i m dHvloppaat de robaeurit^ de oea arbrca et 
OM, WMM l« ^oylona mr lea orancen Tolalna, qa*Ua 
I im, WMM icBdaat U me de letin beaux fruits 
■wall mvte,** ftc *o.~8ee L'HUktire dea Antak$t 



VBOM TBB CRT ov wAflmtanut. 

If former times had never left a trace 
Of human irailty in their onward race. 
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran. 
One dark memorial of the crimes of man ; 
If every age, in new unconscious prime. 
Rose like a phenix, from the fires of time, 
To wing its way unguided and alone. 
The future smiUng and the past unknown ; 
Then ardent man would to himself be new. 
Earth at his foot and heaven within his view : 
Well might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme 
Of full perfection prompt his daring dream. 
Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore. 
Could tell hun, fools had dreamt as much before. 
But, tracing as we do, through age and clime. 
The plans of virtue midst tlie deeds of crime, 
The thinking follies and the reasoning rage 
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage ; 
When still we see, through every varying frame 
Of arts and polity, his course the same. 
And know Uiat ancient fools but died, to make 
A space on earth for modem fools to take ; 
'Tis strange, how quickly we the past forget ; 
That Wisdom's self should not be tutor'd yet, 
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth 
Of pure perfection midst the sons of earth I 

Oh I nothing but that soul which God has given. 
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven ; 
0*er dross without to shed the light within. 
And dream of virtue while we see but sin. 

Even here, beside the proud Potowmac's stream. 
Might sages still pursue the flattering theme 
Of days to come, when man shall conquer fate, 
Rise o'er the level of his mortal state, 
Belie the monuments of frailty past. 
And plant perfection in this world at last I 
" Here," might ihey say, ** shall power's divided 

^* Evince that patriots have not bled in vain. 
" Here godlike Ubcrty's herculean youth, 
" Cradled in peace, and nurtur'd up by truth 
** To full maturity of nerve and mind, 
** Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind.' 
** Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught 
** In form no more from cups of state be quaJT'd, 

> Thus Mone. ** Here the idencea and the arte of dTtllaed IM 
are to TcoeiTe their hifiieft improrementa t here elTil and religioaa 
liberty are to flonriih. unchecked bjr tlie cruel hand of cItU or ce- 
elcdaatical tyranny: here ccnlui, aided by all the iminonaicnta of 
former agca, ia to be exerted in humanidng mankiwd. In eapandfaig 
and enriching their tninda with religtooi and philompfaieal kaov- 
ledge,** fte. ac-P. MB. 

C C 





IS trnnqiiil wnvea reflect. 

of iLe public Phrino 

.ir gradiial i*-ren[h int«-inc, 

,n from UiB How-ring braid, 

'vliiL-Ii (hey bloom to ehadc. 

iiislico bound her view, 


iroiiBh all Ibe sodal frame, 

.^ Ihiil vilal flame 

■ .inr brsl and mcsnosl part, 


hat sonl thai lores to scon 
tbaa the dark of roan, 
liiusnmrtiti)! with the ill, 
(b sll its frailtj still, — 
'^ not spring fameit 
b all ttiat liearenlr beat, 
m willing to reticn 
i:, even on earth, diyiuo! 
L- tJico glow 10 ihink 
iny boast a link 
lie noriil has known, 
liodheAd-s throne. 
.'vGn Ibo glorioni dreana 
rliin, uncertain gleiuu, 
1 give Buch fancies scope. 

Already hUghted, wilh her Hack'uiiis trace, 
I'Le op'iiiog bloom of every social grace. 
And all those connesie*, that Iutf to aboot 
Bound virtuc'i Item, the fioVrett of her fruit. 

And were these eirora bQt the wanton tide 
Of young luxuriance or nnrhiulen'd pride ; 
The fervid follies and the funlta of sach 
As wronglr feel, because they (eel loo much : 
Tlien niiKht experience mnke the fever Leu, 
Kay. gralt a virlue on each warm exceu. 
But no : 'tin licnnlefs, iperalalivc ill. 

Tht-- apalhy of wrong, ihc bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 

r«ng has the lore of gold, that meaneW rap 
Andlateat folly of miiD's (inking a^ 
Which, rarely vunturinp in the van of life, 
While nobler passionB wage their heated nrifii, baa it palsied every grasping hand 

TtirTi'd life to traffic, set tlie demon Eold 
So l™ac abroud thni vinne'6 self is »ld. 
And consuiciicc, Imlb, and honesty are mode 
Tu rise and fall, like other ware* of trade.' 

A!n.n.K in thi- free, this Timini,= 'me. 





upon my ear so mean, so base, 
jargon of that factious race, 
f heart and prodigal of words, 
e slaves, jet straggling to be lords, 
is patriots, from their negro-marts, 
ir rights, with n^ine in their hearts.. 

with patience, for a moment see 
mass of pride and misery, 
I charters, manacles and rights, 
acks and democratic whites,* 
)iebald politj- that reigns 
sion o'er Colombia's plains ? 
t man, thon just and gentle God ! 
before thee with a tyrant's rod 
s like himself, with souls from thee, 
loast of perfect liberty ; 
— I'd rather hold my neck 
tenure from a sultan's beck, 
lere liberty has scarce been nam'd, 
t but that of ruHng claim'd, 
lire, where bastard Freedom waves 
ag in mockery over slaves ; 
:ley laws admitting no degree 
vilely slav'd and madly firee — 
idage and the licence suit, 
ide ruler and the man made brute. 

I thus, my friend, in flowerless song, 

Dt, what yet I feel so strong, 

rices of the land, where first 

ends, that rack the world, were nurst, 

n*s arm by royalty was nerv'd, 

len leam'd to crush the throne they 

lull'd in dreams of classic thought, 
min'd and by sages taught, 
all, upon this mortal scene, 
th fancied or that sage hath been. 
[ wake thee ? why severely ciia^e 
rms of virtue and of grace, 
tfore thee, like the pictures spread 
latrons round the genial bed, 

« eAeUof thk tj^Um besin to be felt nthor te- 
la master n.rtM ot libertjr, the lUre cannot but 
B, and aceordingly there Mldom elapaei a month 
a of inMureetionamooffwt the negroes. Theaooea- 
it ia feared, will increaie this embarraMmenti as 
cratkna, whieh are expected to take place, from 
I to thb nevljr aeqnired territory, will conalder- 
vhite popnlation, and that itrengthen the pro- 
to a decree which moit ultimately be ruinous. 
jpasia" of the present e*e**e»»eofthe 
•jtr Avcmales hand Ignotisdma njrmphas, has 
h pleaaantry among the aati-democrat wits in 

al loestloa of the ground now allotted for the 
CItjr (aajrs Mr. Weld), the Identical spot on which 
lads was called Rome. This anecdote is related 
in pragnoetlc of the future magnificence of this 
, as U wwe, a scooad Rome."— WefcTt Traveltj 

Moulding thy fancy, and with gradual art 
Bright'ning the young conceptions of thy heart ? 

Foigive me, Forbes — and shoidd the song de- 
One generous hope, one throb of social joy. 
One high pulsation of the zeal for man. 
Which few can feel, and bless that few who can,— 
Oh I turn to him, beneath whose kindred eyes 
Thy talents open and thy virtues rise. 
Forget where nature has been dark or dim. 
And proudly study all her lights in him. 
Yes, yes, in him the erring world forget. 
And feel that man may reach perfection yet 



VKOM ran cirr ov wasbutotoii. 

XaMoraovT. Eraas. EpKenae. lib. T. 

'Ti8 evening now, beneath the western star 
Soft sighs the lover through his sweet segar, 
And fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy. 
The patriot, fresh from Freedom's councils come. 
Now pleas*d retires to lash his slaves at home ; 
Or woo, perhaps, some black Aspasia's channs. 
And dream of fireedom in his bondsmaid's arms.' 

In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom. 
Come, let me lead thee o'er this ** second Rome !"' 
Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow. 
And what was Goose- Creek once is Tiber now* : — 
This embryo capital, where Fancy sees 
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ; 
Which second-sighted seers, ev'n now, adorn 
With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn. 

Though nought but woods* and J n they see. 

Where streets should run and sages ought to be. 

« A little stream runs through the city, which, with Intolerable 
affectation, thcjr have styled the Tiber. It was origbially called 

* " To be under the neoeadty of going through a deep wood for 
one or two miles, perhaps, in order to see a next-door neighbouf , 
and in the same dtjr, is a curious and, I belieTe, a novel clreom- 
stance."— IFeJci, letter It. 

The Federal City (if it must be called a city) has not been mneh 
increased since Mr. Weld visited it. Most of tlM publle buildinge, 
which were then in some degree of forwardness, have been aiaee 
utterly suspended. The hotel is already a ruini a great part of its 
roof has fUlen in, and the rooms are left to be ooonpled gratnitonsly 
by the miserable Scotch and Irish emigrants. The President's 
house, a very noble structure. Is by no means suited to the philoso- 
phical humility of Its present pos se ssor, who inhabits but a oomer 
of the mansion himself, and abandons the rest to a state of un- 
cleanly desolation, which those who are not philosophars canaot 
look at without regret. This grand edifloe is endreled by a very 
rude palinCtUuroofh which a comipon nwtlB atfit iatroteeM tlw 

cc 2 



ike the air that Cum her fieldf of green, 
lom spreads unfever^d and serene ; 
ereign man can condeicend to see 
»ne and laws moie soTereign still than he. 



BoraocL. (Edip. Cblon. ▼. 768. 

jj the Schaylkill a wanderer rov'd, 
>right were its floweiy banks to his eye; 
Tery fas were the friends that he lov'd, 
iie gas'd on its floweiy banks with a sigh. 

ire, though blessed and bright are thy rays, 
he brow of creation enchantingly thrown, 
t are they all to the lustre that plays 
mile from the heart that is fondly our own. 

I did the sonl of the stranger remain 
St by the smile he had languished to meet; 
scarce did he hope it would soothe him 

le threshold of home had been prest by his 

lays of his boyhood hadstorn to their ear, 

hey loT*d what they knew of so humble a 


y told him, with flattery welcome and dear, 

they found in his heart something better 

ban fiune. 

woman — oh woman! whose form and 
rhoie soul 

be speU and the light of each path we pur- 

r 6ann*d in the tropics or chill'd at the pole, 
nan be there, there is happiness too : — 

she her enamouring magic deny, — 
magic his heart had relinquished so long, — 
Bs he had lov'd was her eloquent eye, 
them did it soften and weep at his song. 

It be the tear, and in memory oft 
ta sparkle be shed o*er the wanderer's dream ; 
^Icst be that eye, and may passion as soft, 
M fipom a pang, ever mellow its beam! 

liftdnvy sad MTife duncter in the ooontiT imme- 
(■I thBM Falls, which b mnch more in hannony with the 
r mhIi tt eecne than the cultiTated lands in the neixh- 
of Hiacwa. Sea the drawinc of tham in Mr. Weld's 
le him, the perpendicnlar hci^t of the Cohoe 

The Stranger is gone — but he will not forget. 
When at home he shall talk of the toils he has 

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, 
Ashe stray 'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone. 


wanrxM a« 


G\k era in looo ore s* ndia 1 ximbooibo 
DeU' acqua . DAivra. 

Fbom rise of mom till set of sun 

Pve seen the mighty Mohawk run; 

And as I mark'd the woods of pine 

Along his mirror darkly shine. 

Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 

Before the wizard's midnight glass; 

And as I view'd the hurrying pace 

With which he ran his turbid race, 

Rushing, alike untir*d and wild. 

Through shades that frown*d and flowers that 

Flying by every green recess 
That woo*d him to its calm caress. 
Yet, sometimes turning with the wind. 
As if to leave one look behind, — 
Oft have I thought, and thinking sigh'd. 
How like to thee, thou restless tide, 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roams along thy water's brim ; 
Through what alternate wastes of woe 
And flowers of joy my path may go; 
How many a shelter'd, calm retreat 
May woo the while my weary feet. 
While still pursuing, still unhlest, 
I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 
But, urgent as the doom that calls 
Thy water to its destin*d falls, 
I feel the world's bewild'ring force 
Hurry my heart's devoted course 
From lapse to lapse, till life be done. 
And the spent current cease to run. 

One only prayer I dare to make. 
As onward thus my course I take ; •« 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shine 
Upon the mist that circles me. 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee ! 

Fall is flfly ftet ; bnt the Marquis de Chastellnx makes it serenty- 

The flae rainbow, which ia continnally fivminr and 
the spraj riws into the llfht of the son, is pcrliaps the most In- 
lerasttng beautjr which these wondcrfttl cataracts exhibit. 




TL n-iait 09 IHB WOODB.' 

mWM^^ JT^M.. Ub. ItL I. JO. 

raponr, hoi &ad damp, 
ay's expiring lamp. 

M iniely ether spreads 

r's thinty thrill. 
ce ehiTcring chiU I 

I hear the iravcllEr's song, 
ds the woods along ;— 
o ronnd then, night is near, 
ad tliod dar-sl to roam- 
as once (he Indian's homo I ' 

gpriWa, who love to harm, 
er yon work your chann, 
ti,*, «r by the brakes, 

Iffllc ^^^lch feeds her snakes, 
aynmn ■ loYCS to creep, 

bis wintry sleep : 

l.inl iif rarrinn flits. 

Gleam then, like the lightning -bos, 
Tempt him to iho den tluu's dng 
For the foul and famisl.'d brood 
Of the shcwolf, gaunl for blood j 

O'er Iho deep and dark monisa. 

Belts of poreelain, pipes, and riagii, 
Tribiilcs to be hung in air. 
To [he Fiend presiding tlieto 1 ' 

Tlien. when night's long labonr j 
Wilder'd. faint, he fidl* at last. 
Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the slimy sedge. 
There lei every Doxioas thing 
Trail its fUth and fix its sling ; 
l£C Iho ball-toad taint him over. 

In his ean and eycbalU tingling. 
Wilh his blood iheir poiton mioglii 
Till, bencalh the solar flics. 
Baokling all, tho wrelf h ex[urcs I 

THE nONfl'nAIlLE TV. K. 5PE 




die spirit boskinglj reclines, 
thorn effort, resting while it shines, — 
1 he rores, and laughing loves to see 
em priests with ancient rakes agree ; 
ith the cowl, khe festal garland shines, 
: stills finds a niche in Christian shrines. \ 

rtill, too, roam those other souls of song, 
>m thy spirit hath commun'd so long, 
ck as Hght, their rarest gems of thought, 
rry's magic to thy lip are brought, 
alasl bjr Erie's stormy lake, 
3m such bright haunts my course I take, 
remembrance o'er the fancy plays, 
: dream, no star of other days 
that visionary light behind, 
'ring radiance of immortal mind. 
Ids and hallows even the rudest scene, 
Aesl died, where genius once has been ! 

t creation's varying mass assumes 
or lovely, here aspires and blooms ; 
the mountains, rich the gardens glow, 
wes expand, and conquering' rivers flow ; 
, inmiortal mind, without whose ray, 
d's a wilderness and man but clay, 
nd alone, in barren, still repose, 
ns, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows, 
istians, Mohawks, democrats, and all 
rude wig-wam to the congress-hall, 
n the savage, whether slav*d or free, 
he civilis'd, less tame than he, — 
lull chaos, one unfertile strife 
ialf-polish*d and half-barbarous life ; 
ery ill the ancient world could brew 
with every grossness of the new ; 
1 corrupts, though little can entice, 
;ht is kiiown of luxury, but its vice I 

the region then, is this the clime 
Qg fancies ? for those dreams sublime, 
1 their miracles of light reveal 
that meditate and hearts that feel ? 
)t so — the Muse of Nature lights 
es round ; she scales the mountain heights, 
DS the forests ; every wondrous spot 
th her step, yet man regards it not. 
pers round, her words are in the air, 
imheard, they linger freezing there,' 

Yff Charleroix'i ttrikiBK deacription 
orthcMiMooriirithtbeMiMutippi. "IbcUere 
coMlBeBoe In the world. The two liTcn are 
MOM bff—th, eeeh sboat helf a letMcne t bat the 
br tke BCMk rmpid,and Mema to enter the Miiiiwippi 
ft, thfoaeh which it carrlei ita white wares to the 
withoat raizinK them ; afterwards it gires its colour 
hieb it nerer loses again, bat carries quite 


r Ip fht f iMfAd Mtkn Of ** woidf ooogeikd In notth- 

Without one breath of soul, divinely strong, 
One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Yet, yet forgive me, oh ye sacred few. 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks I knew ; 
Whom, known and lov'd through many asocial eve, 
'Twas bliss to live with, and 'twas pain to leave.' 
Not with more joy the lonely exile scann'd 
The writing trac'd upon the desert's sand. 
Where his lone heart but little hop'd to find 
One trace of hfe, one stamp of human kind. 
Than did I hail the pure, th' enlighten'd zeal. 
The strength to reason and the warmth to feel. 
The manly polish and the illumin'd taste. 
Which, — 'mid the melancholy, heartless waste 
My foot has travers'd, — oh you sacred few 1 
I found by Delaware's green banks with you. 

Long may you loathe the Gallic dross that runs 
Through your fair country and corrupts its sons j 
Long love the arts, the glories which adorn 
Those fields of freedom, where your sires were bom. 
Oh I if America can yet be great. 
If neither chain 'd by choice, nor doom'd by fate 
To the mob-mania which imbrutes her now. 
She yet can raise the crown'd, yet civic brow 
Of single majesty, — can add the grace 
Of Rank's rich capital to Freedom's base. 
Nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler prove 
For the fair ornament that flowers above ; — 
If yet rcleas'd from all that pedant throng. 
So vain of error and so pledg'd to wrong. 
Who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide 
Weakness in vaunt, and barrenness in pride. 
She yet can rise, can wreathe the Attic charms 
Of soft refinement round the pomp of arms, 
And see her poets flash the fires of song. 
To light her warriors' thunderbolts along ; — 
It is to you, to souls that favouring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task is given : — 
Oh ! but for such^ Columbia's days were done ; 
Rank without ripeness, quicken'd without sun, 
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
Her fruits would fall, before her spring were o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd the hours 
Where Schuylkill winds his way through banks of 

Though few the days, the happy evenings few. 
So warm with heart, so rich with mind they flew. 

a In the society of Mr. Dennie and his friends, at Philadelphia, 
I pas*ed the few agreeable moments which my toor through the 
States afforded me. Mr. Dennie has succeeded in dlAisinff through 
this cultiTated little drclc that love for good literature and sound 
politics, which he feels so ttalousljr himself, and which is so rtrj 
rarely the diaracteristic of his countrymen. They will not, I 
trust, accuse me of 11 liberality for the picture which I have given of 
the ignorance and corruption that surround them. If I did not 
hate, as I ooght, the rabble to which they are opposed, I ooold not 
Talne, as I do. the spirit with which they defy it i and in learning 
tnm them what Amerieans em te, I but aw with the man tatUt' 
nation what Americana ors. 






nonths have now been dream'd away 
r sun, beneath whose evening ray 
dcs swiftly past these wooded shores, 
;rc Trent his mazy current pours, 
jton's old oaks, to every breeze, 
! tale of by-gone centuries ; — 
to me as sacred as the groves, 
ose shade the pious Persian roves, 
he spirit-voice of sire, or chitf^ 
stress, sigh in every leaf.* 
lear Lady, while thy lip hath snng 
polished lays, how proud I've hung 
neful accent ! proud to feel 
like mine should have the fate to steal, 
hallowing lip they sigh'd along, 
of passion and such soul of song, 
e wonderM, like some peasant boy 
on Sabbath-eve, his strains of joy, 
le hears the wild, untutor*d note 
ear on softening echoes float, 
till some answering spirit's tone, 
it all too sweet to be Iiis own ! 

not then that, e*er the rolling year 

I circle, I should wander here 

we ; should tread this wondrous world, 

»re of inland waters hurled 

volume down Niagara's steep, 

told them, in transparent sleep, 

>lue hills of old Toronto shed 

ig shadows o'er Ontario's bed ; 

3 the grand Cadaraqui, and glide 

hite rapids of his lordly tide 

issy woods, mid islets flowering fair, 

ng glades, where the first sinful paiir 

ion might have weeping trod, 

h'd from the garden of their God. 

ri per eortnme di aTerc in Tenerazione irli alberi 
U. quad ebc nano ipeMO rioettacooli di anime 
dtUa raOe, part. mcoimL, lettera !6 da i iriordinidJ 

hb Trawls, haa noticed this thootinff illumination 
dtAne at nlglxt throach the river St. Lawrence. — 

ak« b brittle and transparent. 
ted spirit focs into the Ck>untry of Souls, where, 
le, it is tnuuformcd into a dove." — Charlevoix^ 
9m and tht lUiigion qfthe Satxtffes qfCmiaiia. See 
le of the American Orpheus in Lafltau, torn. i. 

tains appeared to be sprinlcled with white stones, 
Ib the san, and were called by the Indians msnetoe 
L**— JVadbnine's Journal. 
jvcsled by Oanrer'sdescription ot on« of the 
' Wbta it was cairn," he says, ** and the sun 

Oh, Lady ! these are miracles, wliich man. 
Caged in the bounds of Europe's pigmy span. 
Can scarcely dream of, — which his eye must see 
To know how wonderful this world can be ! 

But lo, — the last tints of the west decline. 
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine. 
Among the reeds, in wliich our idle boat 
Ls rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note 
Dies like a half- breath 'd whispering of flutes ; 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots. 
And I can trace him, like a watery star," 
Down the st«ep current, till he fades afar 
Ami4 the foaming breakers' silvery light, 
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night. 
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray. 
And the smooth glass-snake ', gUding o'er my way. 
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form. 
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm. 
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze 
Some Indian Spirit warble words Uke these : — 

From the land beyond the sea. 
Whither happy spirits flee ; 
Where, transform'd to sacred doves,* 
Many a blessed Indian roves 
Through the air on Aving, as white 
As those wondrous stones of light,* 
Which the eye of morning counts 
On the Apallachian mount?, — 
Hither oft my flight 1 take 
Over Huron's lucid lake. 
Where the wave, as clear as dew. 
Sleeps beneath the light canoe. 
Which, reflected, floating there. 
Looks as if it hung in air." 

Then, when I have stray 'd a wliilo 
Through the Manataulin isle.' 
Breathing all its holy bloom, 
Swift I mount mc on the plume 
Of my Wakon-Bird", and fly 
Where, beneath a burning sky. 
O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a water-snake. 

shone briirht, T oonid sit in my canoe, where the depth was up- 
wards of six fathoms, and plainly see huge ptiei of stone at the 
bottom, of different shapes, some of wliich appeared as if they had 
been hewn : the water was at this time as pure and transparent as 
air, and my canoe seemed as if it hun? suspended in that element. 
It was impossible to look attentively through this limpid medium 
at the rocks below, without flndiufl:, before many minutes were 
elapsed, your head swim and your eyes no looser able to behold the 
daulibg scene." 

Y Aprte avoir traverse plnsienrs isles peu considerables, nons en 
tronvAmes le qnatri^me Jour une fameu^e nommte lisle de Mani- 
tonalin. — Voyaof^ du Baron de Lu/unUan, torn. i. let. 16. Mana- 
taulin siiinifles a Place of Spirits, and this Island in Lake Huron is 
held sacred by the Indians. 

> " The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same species with 
the Bird of Paradise, receives its name from tlie ideas the Indijuis 
have of Its superior ezeellenoe i the Wakon-Bird belngi la thdr 
language, the Bird of the Great Spirit."— Jtforss. 






T realm of aprinp , 
lik- djumoiid huca 

i biUmy drink i 
oka of ire, Mem, 

vol vet eem, 

lyrunl lip 
eiiouijh to eip. 

-ful hand I Bleep 
tliriiod* lovpg to creep, 

rontid it brcalhe. 
chaplet spread 
g %-bir.ra head,' 

9 of honey l)le»l, 

fairest Spells, 
frnj^nt Iw.lls, 

r iind silvery flukes 

I.'}' euliimns t;lpam below, 
yeotlier'd ruDiiil nilb fnlliog rttair. 
And an ardi of gluiy spriniis, 
gpurkling aa the chain of ring* 
Ronnd Iho ncek of virgin* hung, — 
Virgins', who have wander'd joung 
To the land whera spirits reil I 

Thu» have I channM, with Tisionnrf l.j. 
The lonely moments of the ni([Ut away i 
And now, fresh dayhght o'er the water beaiiu 
Onec more embark'd upon the gliti-ring Onm 
Our boat flies light along the IcaTy ghorc, 
Shouliiii; the falls, ntitliouC a dip of oar 
Or breaib Dfiepbyr, like the mystic bark 
The |H>el saw, in dreams divinely dork, 
Bonic. without soils, along the rtu»ky flood,* 
While on its deck a pitot angel Mood. 
And, Kith hb wings of living light nnfurl'd, 
Cuuatcd the dim shores of another world 1 

Tot, oh 1 belie«-e me. mid this mingled mu 
or nature's beaulicB. where the fancj straja 
From charm lo chnrm, where eveiy flow'iet'B 
Hath something strange, and eve rv le^UDCt 
I never feel a joy so pure and sdU. 
So inly felt, as when some brook or hill, 
fPr vi'icrLin o,,k, like ih.Kc n..iooiiil*r-d well 




sts hsve met around the sparkling board, 
ome warm'd the cup that luxury ponr'd; 
: bright future star of England's throne, 
^c smile, hath o'er the banquet shone, 
respect, nor claiming what he won, 
sring greatness, like an evening sun 
;fat ue eye can tranquiDjr admire, 
>at mUd, all softness, yet all fire ; — 
hue my recollections take, 
regret, the reiy pain they wake 
ivith happiness ; — but, ah I no more — 
ien — my heart has lingcr*d o*er 
lish'd times, till all that round me lies, 
inks and bowers have faded on my eyes! 



t for a moment — and yet in that time 
wded th' impressions of many an hour : 
jid a glow, like the sun of her clime, 
wak'd ereiy feeling at once into flower. 

1 we haTe borrowed from Time but a day, 
rw such impressions again and again, 
;s we should look and imagine and say 
be worth all the life we had wasted till 

had not the leisure or language to speak, 

»uld find some more spiritual mode of re« 


reen us, should feel just as much in a 


ers would take a millennium in feeling. 





in, beneath yon cloud so dark, 
tiding along a gloomy bark ? 
ils are full, — though the wind is still, 
lere blows not a breath her sails to fill I 

(MM of th* Magdalen Islandc, and, singularly enonffh, 
tyofUrlnaeCoffln. The aboT« lines were auxgestcd 
\tkm rerj eommon umong Mflon, who call this rhoat- 
:, " the fliyinc Datehman." 

fairtceB days on oor paaaagc from Quebec to Ilalifax, 
KB so ipoOcd by the truly splendid hospitality of roy 
It FbartoB aad Boston, that I was but ill prepared for 
I of ft Caaadiaa TcaseL The weather, bowerer, was 
4 tiw— Myloag tht xim deUshtfU. Onr passage 

Say what doth that vessel of darkness bear ? 
The silent calm of the grave is there. 
Save now and again a death-kneli rung, 
And the flap of the sails with night-fog hung. 

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 
Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 
Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost, 
Pull many a mariner's bones are tost. 

Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck. 
And the dim blue fire, that lights her deck. 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast. 
To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast ; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd. 
And the hand that steers is not of this world I 

Oh ! hurry thee on — oh I hurry thee on. 
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, 
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight 
As would blanch for ever her rosy light I 




OCTOBB&, 1804. 

Noorov irp«4«tfK yXtMccpow. 

FlKOAR, Ppth, A. 

With triumph this morning, oh Boston ! I hail 
The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail. 
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee. 
To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free. 
And that chill Nova-Scotia's unpromising strand' 
Is the last I shall tread of American land. 
Well — peace to the land ! may her sons know, at 

That in high-minded honour lies liberty's strength, 
That though man be as free as the fetterless wind, 
As the wantoncst air that the north can unbind, 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast. 
If no harvest of mind ever sprung where it poss'd. 
Then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its 

might, — 
Free only to ruin, and strong but to blight ! 

through the Gnt of Canso. with a bright sky and a fkir wind, waa 
particularly striking and romantic. 

t Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I returned 
to England, and to whom I am indebted fbr many, many kind- 
nesses. In truth, I should but ofllend the delicacy of my friend 
Douglas, and, at the same time, do injustice to my own feelings of 
gratitude, did I attempt to say how muoh I owe to him. 

i Sir John Wantworth, the Goremor of Nora Scotia, very kindly 
aUowad SM to accompany him on his rULt to the College, which 


p few I linvi' left nitii n-'frcl i 
ma rccn.ll. what 1 oinnut furgtl, 
n*„ CTcniiigS-l^ l.rk'f .1 di-aslil ! 
le aud xjiig ws Iibtc eIoI'ii on Ihe 

k'd me Ibo monncra, tha mind, or 

Ihncl knoimorBoma chicflhad Men, 
Jliiiug)] dislanl, thev long had udnrM. 
|ad oft baUow'd iJic wine-cup tlicy 

Hih eympalJiT hiiniHa Imt trup, 
ich bright son of fame ii)I I knew, 
m'd, and sigh'd that iba powerful 

Impite should pose, liko a irvum, 
.g one relic of genius, to snr 
sllhe tide nhieh hud vaulsli'il hwb}'! 
I fcv— thungh wu iicrcr may meet 
■nCiUD, it is soothing and aweet 
Tvthenever ray song or my nnnio 

r, tlicyll recall me the Biimc 
no IT, youu{^ niitliouglitful, 

■cciv'd m 


I can nittd in iho wenthcr-wisc glance of 
Ae it Toliona thu ruck flitting over the c 
That the fiiint comiiig breuta will be fa 

And thati steal ns avnr, ore the falling 
DearDoQ^lns I Ihou k^on'e5^ with thee I 
With ihy ftiendahip to soothe me, ihy t 

Tliere is not a blenk i&lc in those Eummt 
Where the day comea iu dorkuea^ or shj 

Not n Imck of the line, not a barbaroiu 
That I could nut with polionco, with pli 

Oh think then how gladly I follow lliec 
When Hope Eiuuiilhs the billowy patli of 
And cacli prosperouB sigh of tiic west 

Takes me nearer the home where my h< 

Where the smilt of a father shall meet n 
And the tears of a roother turn blis* iDI< 
Where the kind voice of siUers sliiill si 

And ask it, in bighs, how wc ctct could 



E E 



d letter of mj own to a friend in 
^ving an account of this brilliant fes- 
; gala at Boyle Farm), I find some 
duma which, besides their reference 
bject of the poem, contain some inci- 
3 connected with the first appearance 
e public of one of the most successful 
writings, the story of the Epicurean. 
^Te my extracts from this letter, in 
rinal diiary-like form, without altera- 

ressing: — 

30. 1827. — Day threatening for the 
Vbs with Lord Essex f at three o'clock, 
ted about half an hour after. The 
ad swarming with carriages-and-four 
way to Boyle Farm, which Lady de 
§ lent, for the occasion, to Henry ; — 

givers of the Fete, being Lords 
ield, Castlereagh, Alvanley, Henry de 
id Robert Grosvenor, subscribing four 
undred pounds each towards it. The 
nents all in the very best taste. The 
for quadrilles, on the bank of the river, 
ps descending to the water, quite east- 
ke what one sees in DaniePs pictures. 
) five the Hite of the gay world was 
^d — the women all looking their best, 
rce a single ugly face to be found, 
lalf-past five, sat down to dinner, 450 

tent on the lawn, and fifty to the 
able in the conservatory. The Tyrolcse 
IS sung during dinner, and there were, 
inner, gondolas on the river, with 



to tlMi flfthTolvflMof the eoUeeted edition of 

the fueidcntal mention here of thii locUl and 
without exprcadng my itrang lenie of 

Caradori, De Begnis, Velluti, &c., singing 
barcarolles and rowing off occasionally, so as 
to let their voices die away and again return. 
After these succeeded a party in dominos, 
Madame Vestris, Fanny Ayton, &c., who 
rowed about in the same manner, and sung, 
among other things, my gondola song, **0h 
come to me when daylight sets.'* The evening 
was delicious, and, as soon as it grew dark, the 
groves were all lighted up with coloured lamps, 
in different shapes and devices. A little lake 
near a grotto took my fancy particularly, the 
shrubs all round being illuminated, and the 
lights reflected in the water. Six-and-twenty 
of the prettiest girls of the world of fashion, the 
F»**»t*rs, Br*d'»* lis, De R ♦ ♦ s's 
Miss B * * ly, were dressed as Rosicres, and 
opened the quadrilles in the pavilion . . . 
. . . While talking with D— n (Lord P.'s 
brother), he said tome, "I never read any- 
thing so touching as the death of your heroine." 
" What I " said I, " have you got so far already ? "J 
" Oh, I read it in the Literary Gazette." This 
anticipation of my catastrophe is abominable. 
Soon after, the Marquis P — Im — a, said to me, 
as he and I and B — m stood together, looking 
at the gay scene, " This is like one of your 
Fetes." " Oh yes," said B— m, thinking he 
alluded to Lalla Rookb, "quite oriental." 
"Non, non," replied P — Im— a, "je veux dire 
cette Fete d'Ath^nes, dont j*ai lu la description 
dans la Gazette d'aujourd^hui.*' 

hii kindly qnaUtiee, and lamenting the loaa which not only fodety, 
but the cause of sound and proKreHive Folitical Reform, has ni»- 
tained by hii death. 
Z The Epicurean had been published but the day before. 

E E 2 



■indwork of iho following Poem I am 
Ta roomotnhlo Fele, given some years 
klo Farm, ihe km of the kta Lor^l 
^erald. Id comiaemoruion of tbut 
lich the ladj lo whom Lhpfie pagca 
a, I well reeoUecC, one of the Dlo^t 
- 1 was indueed al thv 
repMis, which were nfterward'. 

ic liuk hiul been undcrtiikcn by a 
c plajful anil bapyy jtu-iftfpril 
i since been pnhiisbed. It was 
m finrilTt;; the tTnc''"''tt" ' 

Thus jpoke n jonng Pairiclnn mail 
A», ou the morning of that Fite 
WMcli bards unborn shall c«idm 
She backward drew her cnrtain'g tl 
Aud, clo.^ing one holf-daziluil eye, 
Peeji'd with the oilier al the sky — 
Tir imponnni sky, whose light or p 
Wfti lo rteeidc, Ihis day, the' doom ' 
Uf >omo few handred BeauUes, Wi 
Blao, JJaadies, Swaias, and Esqni 

Faint were htr hopes ; Tor Jane h« 
Set ill with all his usual rigour I 
Toung Zephyr yet scnn-e knowing 
To nurse n bad, or fan a bouith. 

But Enrua in perpciiial riguuT; 
And, such the biting summer air. 
That she, the nymph now nestling 



; it be -^ if thus so fair 

Qok'd groves of Grosvcnor Square — 

; it be where Thames is seen 

tween his banks of p^een, 

1 villas, on each side, 

their bowers to woo his tide, 

I Turk between two rows 

beauties, on he goes — 

v*d for ev'n the grace 

h he slides from their embrace. 

hojse enchanted domes, 
5 most flow'ry, cool, and bright 
rhich that rirer roams, 
e is to be held to-night — 
already link'd to fame, 
inards, in many a fair one's sight 
)k'd for long, at last they came,) 
circled with a fairy lij^ht ; — 
to which the cull, the flower 
id's beauty, rank and power, 
young spinster just come ouU 
old Premier, too long in — 
of far descended gout, 
last new-mustachio'd cliin — 
onvoked by Fashion's s\)e\\a 
all circle where she dwells, 
nightly, to allure us, 
uns, which, together hurl'd, 
mother Epicurus, 
icing thus, and calls " the World." 

w busy in those bowers 
'-flies, in and out of flowers,) 
less menials swarming run, 
I forth, ere set of sun, 
let-table richly laid 
on awning's lengthen'd shade, 
its shall tempt, and wines entice, 
ixury's self, at Guntcr's cal!, 
om her summer- throne of ice 
of coolness over all. 

th' important hour drew nigh, 
ath the flush of evening's sky, 
jnd ** world " for mirth let loose^ 
i, as he of Syracuse * 
mt of moving worlds, by force 
horse power, had all combin'd 
Jrosvenor Gate to speed their course, 
that portion of mankind, 
hey call ** Nobody," behind; — 
: London's feasts to>day, 
if beauty, new this May, 
e night her crescent ray ; — 

■fa vhether the DowBCVn of this Bqnare hare yet 
MTation* of Omi and Police, but, at the time when 

Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, 
But veteran belles, and wits gone by. 
The relics of a past beau-monde, 
A world, like Cuvier's, long dethroned ! 
Ev'n Parliament this evening nods 
Beneath th' harangues of minor gods. 

On half its usual opiate's share ; 
The great dispensers of repose. 
The first-rate furnishers of prose 

Being all call'd to — prose cLsewhcrc. 

Soon as through Grosvenor's lordly square* — 

That last impregnable redoubt. 
Where, guarded with Patrician care. 

Primeval Error still holds out — 
Where never gleam of gas must dare 

'Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt. 
Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare 

The dowagers one single jolt ; — 
Where, far too stately and sublime 
To profit by the lights of time, 
Let Intellect march how it will, 
They stick to oil and watchmen still : — 
Soon as through that illustrious square 

The first epistolary bell. 
Sounding by fits upon the air. 

Of parting pennies rung the knell ; 
Wam'd by that telltale of the hours, 

And by the daylight's westering beam. 
The young Ian the, who- with flowers 

Ilalf-crown'd, had sy in idle dream 
Before her glass, scarce knowing where 
Her fingers rov'd through that bright hair. 

While, all capriciously,, she now 

Dislodg'd some curl from her white brow. 
And now again replac'd it there ; — 
As though her tai^k was meant to be 
One endless change of minifitr}' — 
A routing-i^) of Loves and Graces, 
But to plant others in their places. 

Meanwhile — what strain is that which floats 

Through the small boudoir near — lik<; notes 

Of some young bird, its task repeating 

For the next linnet music meetinir? 

A voice it was, Avhose gentle sounds 

Still kept a modest octave's bounds. 

Nor yet had ventur'd to exalt 

Its rash ambition to B alu 

That point towards which when ladies rise, 

The wise man takes his hat and — flies. 

Tones of a harp, too, gently play'il. 

Came with this youthful voice «»ommuning, 
Tones true, for once, without the aid 

Of that inflictive process, tuning — 

the abore lines were written, they itill obttlnately pereerered fa 
their old z^gime ; and would not •ufflur themwlret to be either well 
guarded or weU lighted. 

E E 3 






nhifh must oft have given 
oii'e euTS a drully w<iaad ; 
, amoiiR the ior> of IleHr'a. 

now rang this gentlr Btr«in 

IT joong oymiA's «iU yirongcr tiattx — 

uJy vol for Fashioii'i iniin 

r Uiilit legions to ealial bet. 

vd on, as tiiTe to bring 

into the fli'ld ni-xt spring. 

«h« tbaii, like Jubal's ilxU, 
b " BO BweBtiy anil m> well," 
in Morning Foul much fam'd, 

1 of Ibc toilet " — o»erj L«y 
,«■ subject of iU Mii«. 

nmcJi of feminine »mj, 
■n. wilh full scope, to choose, 

aandi down lo doni'ing ilioe« i 

lut hat Uiu Derbuili-s band« 

lliM lu no silinirinK woilcl, 
the latPsl flounce that atnnda 

h'a Ladder — or espauas 
th, teiii[)CBtuou«ly unfiirl'd. 

of one of tliiiso new Lays, 

ing Post ilius sivcftl; bovh ; — 

thnl lireutbi's from Bisbop'a Ijtc, 

Array [life. Iotp, array Ihpe, lore. 

In all's (bat's Uriglil array thee i 
The 'un's tvlow — the taatiu't abo 

And Night and BliM obey Uioc 
Fat on the plniuu thy tut-cr gaTe, 

Tlic pUiiiies, that, prondly danci 
ProcUim to M, wbere'er ihey wav 

Victoriom eyes advaDciog. 
Bring forth the robe, whow biu o( 

»Dm thee derives ntcii light, 
'Dial Iris vould gite all her KTetl 

To boaet but om «. bright. 
Array llioe, love. »rtay thee, lore, 

&e. tc. &c. 
Now hie thef. love, nmr Wo ihee. 1 

TIiroURh Flea»ul¥'s drrlex hie l 
And hcafls, where'er tbv fuotnept 

Will beat, wbcn Ihey come ni^ 
Thy every word shall be a spell, 

Thj every loot a ray, 
And tracks of wond-riog eye* aha 

The glory of Ihy wav! 
Now hie thee, love, now hie tbf*. 

Tlminjih Pleaaure'a circles hie 1 
And hearts, where'er thy footstep" 

Shall bent when ibey come nigl 





le found to thrive 

fog of England's skies, 

i thing we best contriye, 

dcrs, to dbguise,) 

d — and well tliat hope 

d by the young and gay — 

toilet's task to-day, 

ake her wildest scope; — 

uilliner should be 

gh fields of poesy, 

aventive trance, 

ights of Epic clamber 

^ons of Romance 

. by the/emme de chambrt, 

ith gay Sultanas, 

•hos, Roxalanas — 

es whom Love would pay 

emal realms to ransom; — 

hose chief religion lay 

loet profanely handsome; — 

n — pastoral maids 

I the Arcade-tan shades, 

Hers, rich, *twas plain, 

terM form'd their train. 

i more such female groups, 
less fantastic troops 
tcrs — all willing 
lore than usual, killing; — 
mock-fac'd braggadocios, 
charmingly ferocious; — 
Turks, good Moslems then, 
iht, voted for the Greeks; 
unch No-Popery men, 
ab with Whig Caciques. 

le — the nymph, whom late 
re her glass delaying, 
1 by the lake she sate, 
wave her charms surveying. 
It first glassy mirror 
ce that lurM to error. 
," ask'st thou? — watch all looks 
to one point they bear, 
rs by the sides of brooks, 
c sun — and she is there. 
e, oh never doubt 
rht von*d track her out: 
lOon, close shawl'd in fog, 
hinks, through heaven incogs 
rself, some sidelong ray, 
detects her way. 

]l disguise to-night 
g heroine veil'd her light; — 
ilks the earth, Love's own, 
bride, by holiest vow 
mpns, and made known 

To mortals by the type which now 
Hangs glittering on her snowy brow, 

That butterfly, mysterious trinket, 

Which means the Soul (the* few would think 

And sparkling thus on brow so white, 

Tells us we've Psyche here to-night I 

But hark! some song hath canght her ears — 

And, lo, how pleas'd, as though she'd ne'er 
Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 

Her goddess-ship approves the air; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain, 
Inspir'd by nought but pink champagne. 

Her butterfly as gaily nods 
As though she sat with all her train 

At some great Concert of the Gods, 
With Phoebus, leader — Jove director. 
And half the audience dnmk with nectar. 

From a male group the carol came— 

A few gay youths, whom round the board 
The last-tried flask's superior fame 

Had lur'd to taste the tide it poured; 
And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 
Secm'd grandson to the Teian sire. 
Thus gaOy sung, while, to his song. 
Replied in chorus the gay throng: — 


SoMB mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine. 
As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see; 
But, as /'m not particular — wit, love, and wine. 

Are for one night's amusement sufficient for me. 
Nay — humble and strange as my tastes may ap- 
pear — 
If driv'n to the worst, I could manage, thank 
To put up with eyes such as beam round me here. 
And such wine as weVc sipping, six days out 
of seven. 
So pledge me a bumper — yoiu: sages profound 
May be blest, if they will, on their own patent 
But as we are not sages, why — send the cup 
round — 
We must only be happy the best way we can. 

A reward by some king was once ofTer'd, we're 
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for man- 
But talk ofnew pleasures! — give me but the old. 
And I'll leave yotir inventors all new ones they 

E B 4 

I bompot — 7our AngeU, o 
V pleosnreB nnknovra to life's limited 

loa sanact'i light, 
much of its bea:ii 
fc Qbject^ Into so bright, 
louring of a shodowjr drvmii ; 
V (rw slill where Day hod M-t 
I tliat spoke bim toUi to die — 
f. of his glory jet, 
t together etath and akj, 
■' it that twilight best 
a lirows the loveliest? 
icsfl, with its sofi'ning touch, 
It grace, unMl bofore, 

iDf hnlf enchant the iriipiv 

Willi kniglita and dftnies, who, call 
Lisp out kivc-soniie(s as thi-y gli 

Adlouitliing old ThiuiiM to find 
Such doings oa his inoml tide. 

So bright was still that traoqnil tri 
With the IbsI shaft fioni Da;l>)j:ht't 
Tbnt manr a group, in turn, were 
Embiirkiiij; on its wave serene; 
And, 'uiong the r»t, in chonu n^j 
A band of nuriners, Irum th' isL 
Of sunny Greece, all long and >i 
As ETdoolh the; fioaced, to the |iIb} 
Of their oer's cndeuce, tun); this la 


Ora borne is on the «ea, boy. 

When Kainre gave 
The ocean-wave. 
She ninrk'd It for the FuBfc 

ilornis befall, boT, 
W)intevcr tlorms bcfaJi, ' 

The island bark 

Is Freedom's ark. 
And floats her Eufc through 




low faint upon the ear, 
k floated far or near, 
irhen, lost, the closing note 
m the waters died along, 
I another faiij boat, 
d with music, came this song: 


flowing through yerdant vales, 
iTcr, thy current runs, 
afe from winter gales, 
cool from summer suns, 
fonth's sweet moments glide, 
irith flow'17 shelter round; 
mpest wakes the tide, 
«th is fiuiy ground. 

>er, the daj will come, 

roo'd by whispering groves in vain, 

ire those banks, thy shaded home, 

,'Ie with the stormy main. 

sweet Youth, too soon wilt pass 

world^s unsheltered sea, 

ce thy wave hath mix'd, alas, 

! of peace is lost for thee. 

we to the gay saloon 
It as a summer noon, 
neath a pendent wreath of lights, 
)f flowers and tapers — 
1 Russian ball-rooms sheds 
'er young dancers' heads) — 
e performs her mazy rites, 
( supreme o'er slides and capers; — 
death each opera strain, 
a foot that ne'er reposes, 
rough sacred and profane, 
laid and Magpie " up to " Moses ; '* '- 
ut tunes as fast as slioes, 
M Rossini scarce respires; 
beer for mercy sues 
ber at her feet expires. 

he set hath ceas'd — the bows 
taste a brief repose, 
: along the painted floor, 
bin arm, the couples stray, 
eir stock of nothings o'er, 
ithing*8 left, at last, to say. 

ht» pmrt U io m of thit opera of RohIbI wm trmn*- 
of m m tht Honnfti Iqr which Beans the inde- 

When, lo ! — most opportunely sent 

Two 'Exquisites, a he and she, 
Just brought from Dandyland, and meant 

For Fashion's grand Menagerie, 
Enter'd the room — and scarce were there 
When all flock'd round them, glad to stare 
At any monsters, any where. 

Some thought them perfect, to their tastes; 
While others hinted that the waists 
(That in particular of the he thing) 
Lef^ far too ample room for breathing : 
Whereas, to meet these critics* wishes. 

The isthmus there should be so small. 
That Exquisites, at hist, like fishes, 

Must manage not to breathe at all. 
The female (these same critics said). 

Though orthodox from toe to chin, 
Yet lack'd that spacious width of head 

To hat of toadstool much akin — 
That build of bonnet, whose extent 
Should, like a doctrine of dissent. 

Puzzle church-doors to let it in. 

However — sad as 'twas, no doubt. 

That nymph so smart should go about. 

With head unconscioas of the place 

It ought to fill in Infinite Space — 

Yet all allow'd that, of her hind, 

A prettier show 'twas hard to find; 

While of that doubtful genus, " dressy men,'' 

The male was thought a first-rate sjMjcimcn. 

Such Savansj too, as wish'd to trace 

The manners, habits, of this race — 

To know what rank (if rank at all) 

*Mong rcas'ning things to them should fall — 

What sort of notions heaven imparts 

To high-built heads and tight-lac'd hearts, 

And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 

Abhors restraint, can act in stays — 

Might now, if gifted with discerning. 

Find opportunities of learning : 

As these two creatures — from their pout 

And frown, 'twas plain — had just fall'u out; 

And all their Uttle thoughts, of course, 

Were stirring in full fret and force ; — 

Like mites^ through microscoiKi espied 

A world of nothings magnified. 

But mild the vent such beings seek. 
The tempest of their souls to speak 
As Opera swains to fiddles sigh. 
To fiddles fight, to fiddles die. 
Even so this tender couple set 
Their well-bred woes to a Duet. 

eornm of gtvinc radi nunei m ** MolM,** **PhenMm,** fte. to Um 
dauoei wlected from it (u waa done In Paria) hu been aTuided. 



IS Iwolli'd with onlj thee 
I Kach blJBsftil Wednesday that went hj, 
IT Wylish Sttlllx, HOT neat Nngpe 
" . voiith 80 blest Bi L 
Oh! nhfahl ulil 
Thuse happy day* ore gone — haigho! 

cmg as with ibBO 1 skiiQin'd iho jp-naiid. 
Nor yel was scoro'J for Lady Jiinc, 
a HithBr nymph tFlolDtn'd roquii 
I To ColUnct'B immortal Etrain. 
Oh! ah! &c. 
Those happy days are gone — heigho ! 

HVIlli l^y Jane now whirl'd abonC 
' 'eiiow no bounds of time or bri'alh ; 
, t^hould the cliannar's head hold oat, 
I My heart and hecla arc ben till death. 
' OhI ah! &c. 

Still rotmd and roimd through hfe well go 

o Lfird ntmoodlc's eldest son. 

(Tliai dancing doom, whoi 

Time llivy should live, o' 
A lift.' of Qps-and-downs, U 
Of BroodwDod'a in a hMg 
While tbns the fiddle's spc 

Calli Qp its realm of tt» 
TTilAoiK, as if some Mandi 

Were holding theto his '. 
Ijimps of all hnes, from wi 
Itrokc on the eve, Uke iia 
Till, budding into Ugbt, el 
Bore its foil 6nil of btiUia 
Here shone a garden — lai 

As though Uic Spirits o: 
Hail tuk'n it in their head 

A shower of summer mi 
While here a lighted ihrul 

To a small Lkkc that ele 
Cradled in foliage, but, o'l 

Open to heuven's Bweet 
While round its rim then 

IiHinps, with y oang Sowe 
That shrunk ti^nn euch wt 
Anil, looking haehfu] in tl 

Blnsh'd to behold thcnu 
Hilhcr. lo this cmbower'd 
Fit liul for nights Ml still i 
N'i-ht«. .nrh n« E.lpn'9 cal 




ler, bring thj late, while daj is dying — 

U I laj me, and list to thy song; 

les of other days mix with its sighing, 

f a light heart, now banish'd so long, 

& away — they bring but pain, 

ly theme be woe again. 

hoa moumiVil hite — day is fast going, 
ill its Ught from thy chords die away; 
gleam in the west is still glowing, 
that hath vanished, farcweU to thy lay. 
«■ it fades! — see, it is fled! 
«t late, be thou, too, dead. 

gronp, that late, in garb of Greeks 
'"g their light chorus o*er the tide — 
**t such as up the wooded creeks 
Helle's shore at noon-day glide, 
'ffhtly, on her glistening sea, 
[be bright waves with melody — 
^^^d their triple league again 
-cs sweet, and sung a strain, 
^» liad Sappho's tunefiil ear 
^^^ught it, on the fatal steep, 
'^Id have paused, entranc'd, to hear, 
for that day, deferr'd her leap. 


*f those sweet nights that oft 
^Ustre o'er th' JE^^c&n fling, 
^»y casement, low and soft, 
^^ a Lesbian lover sing; 
'^'ning both with ear and thought, 
'^^ds upon the night-breeze caught 
1 happy as the gods is he, 
110 gazes at this hour on thee!" 

^g was one by Sappho sung, 
le first love-dreams of her lyre, 
*'ord8 of passion from her tongue 
like a shower of living fire. 
ill at close of ev*ry strain, 
these burning words again — 
appy as the gods is he, 
listens at this hour to thee!" 

ore to Mona Lisa tnm'd 
asking eye — nor tum'd in vain; 

Though the quick, transient blush that bum'd 
Bright o*er her cheek, and died again, 

Show'd with what inly shame and fear 

Was utter*d what all lov'd to hear. 

Yet not to sorrow's languid lay 
Did she her lute-song now devote; 

But thus, with voice that, like a ray 
Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float — 
So rich with climate was each note — 

Call'd up in every heart a dream 

Of Italy, with thu soft theme: — 


Oh, where art thou dreaming, 

On land, or on sea? 
In my lattice is gleaming 

The watch-light for thee; 
And this fond heart is glowing 

To welcome thee home. 
And the night is fast going. 

But thou art not come: 

No, thou com*8t not! 

'TIS the time when night-flowers 

Should wake from their rest; 
'Tis the hour of all hours. 

When the lute singeth best. 
But the flowers are half sleeping 

Till Oit/ glance they see! 
And the hush'd lute is keeping 

Its music for thee. 

Yet, thou com'st not! 

Scarce had the last word left her lip. 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 
Fantastic, up the green walk came, 
Prank'd in gay vest, to which the flame 
Of every lamp he pass'd, or blue. 
Or green, or crimson, lent its hue; 
As though a live cameleon's skin 
He had despoil'd to robe him in. 
A zone he wore of clatt'ring shells. 

And from his lofty cap, where shone 
A peacock's plume, there dangled bells 

That rung as he came dancing on. 
Close after him, a page — in dress 
And shape, his miniature express — 
An ample basket, flll'd with store 
Of toys and trinkets, laughing bore; 
Till, having rcach'd this verdant seat. 
He laid it at his master's feet. 
Who, half in speech and half in song, 
Chaunted this inyoice to the throng:— 




Follj'. shop, who'll buy? — 
C ilU ruaka nod uges; 
«k' eupiJj-, 

tbingg, loo, for sages, 

wheu nolliing's in it; 
iku sjBtcaa, up, 
Kii the following minuto. 

'tii Foily'B shop, who'll b«;? 

foolscap make, 

in dog-djiy wcwJicTi 
aae may take, 

tlic cop and rcntiior. 
patriots got. 
ob wiib arnica hnmblci 
ot"6 diiiy lot, 
mdthen — aimnble. 
Who'U buy, &c &c. 

ucat post-obit paper; 
^ ivif've q«ict~i\\tir, 

but tl.,u.ifdiimer; 

Since Dinner far into the night 
Ad»unL-'d tlis march of appetite; 
Deploy 'd hie never-ending forces 
Of variOQS vintage and three voar«ef. 
And, hkc those Golhawho playM the did 
Witli Rome and all her tacrcd diickena. 
Pal Suupct and hor fbwk lo while. 
Legs, wing*, and dnunsticU «U to flight. 

How wak'd once itiore by wine — whose l 
Is thu truB Hippocrcne, where glide 
Tliu MuBu's swans with bapiuevt wing. 
Dipping their bilk, beiure they aing — 
The niinstivk of the tabic gtw* 
The list'niiig em with descant sweet i — 


THB LET^B iSD OOt:Cllj£B. 

Call the Lores around. 

Let the whisp'riiis found 
Of their wings be hcnrd alone. 

Till soft to rL-6t 

Mf Lady blest 
At this bricht bonr bath pone. 





see thee be to loye thee, 
to love thee be to prize 
;ht of earth or heav'n above thee, 
»r to live but for those eyes : 
:h love to mortal given, 
Tong to earth, be wrong to heav'n, 
DOt for thee the fault to blame, 
rem those eyes the madness came, 
ivc but thou the crime of loving, 
this heart more pride 'twill raise 
e thus wrong, with thee approving, 
lan right, with all a world to praise I 

r, while light these songs resound, 
ueans that buz of whisp'ring round, 
ip to hp — as if the Power 
>t€rjr, in this gay hour, 
rown some secret (as we fling 
naong children) to that ring 
', restless lips, to be 
crambled for so wantonly? 
iiark ye, still as each reveals 
ystic news, her hearer steals 

towards yon enchanted chair, 
rrc, like the Lady of the Masque, 
iph, as exquisitely fair 
L»Te himself for bride could ask, 
ushing deep, as if aware 

wiiij^M secret circling there. 
5 this nymph? and what, oh Muse, 
It, in the name of all odd things 
iroiuan's restless brain pursues, 
it mean these mystic whisperings? 

-ans the talc : — yon blushing maid, 
its in beauty's light array'd, 
o'er her leans a tall young Dervise, 
from her eyes, as all observe, is 
njr by heart the Marriage Service,) 
hright heroine of our song, — 
L/ve-wed Psyche, whom so long 
miss'd among this mortal train, 
>ught her wing*d to heaven again. 

— earth still demands her smile; 
ends, the Gods, must wait awhile. 

And if, for maid of heavenly birth, 

A young Duke's proffered heart and hand 
Be things worth waiting for on earth. 

Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade. 

For love concerns expressly meant. 
The fond proposal first was made. 

And love and silence blush'd consent 
Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, 
Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hindoos,) 
Have heard, approv'd, and blest the tie ; 
And now, hadst thou a poet's eye, 
Tliou might'st behold, in th' air, above 
That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, 
Holding, as if to drop it down 
Gently upon her curls, a crown 
Of Ducal shape — but, oh, such gems! 
Pilfer*d from Peri diadems, 
And set in gold like that which shines 
To deck the Fairy of the Mines: 
Li short, a crown all glorious — such as 
Love orders when he makes a Duchess. 

But sec, 'tis mom in heaven; the Sun 
Up the bright orient hath begun 
To canter his immortal team; 

And, though not yet arriv'd in sight, 
His leader's nostrils send a steam 

Of radiance fortli, so rosy bright 

As makes their onward path all light. 
What's to be done? If Sol will be 
So deuced early, so must we; 
And when the day thus shines outright, 
Ev'n dearest friends must bid good night 
So, farewell, scene of mirth and masking. 

Now almost a by-gone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking, 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale; 
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps. 
Scarcely knowing flats from sharps; 
Mothers who, while bor'd you keep 
Time by nodding, nod to sleep; 
Heads of hair, that stood last night 
Cr4p6y crispy, and upright. 
But have now, alas, one sees, a 
Leaning like the tower of Pisa; 
Fare ye well — thus sinks away 

All that's mighty, all that's bright; 
Tyre and Sidon had their day. 

And ev'n a Ball — has but its night! 




liance known to have existed 
y and music, during the infancy 
arU, has sometimes led to the 
t they are essentially kindred to 
1 that the true poet ought to be, 
ly, at least in taste and ear, a mu- 
such was the case in the early 
•nt Greece, and that her poets 
set their own verses to music, 
at public festivals, there is every 
dl we know on the subject, to 
milar union between the two aits 
lawn of modern literature, in the 
y, and was, in a certain degree, 
n as far as the time of Petrarch, 
appears from his own memo- 
poet used to sing his verses, in 
mf; and when it was the cus- 
rriters of sonnets and canzoni to 

• poems a sort of key-note, by 
dnation in reciting or chanting 
3 regulated. 

tice of uniting in one individual, 
"d. Scald, or Troubadour, — the 
functions both of musician and 
to have been invariably the mark 
of society, so the gradual separ- 
two callings, in accordance with 
iciple of Political Economy, the 
our, has been found an equally 
improving civilisation. So far, 
deed, has this partition of work- 
carried, that, with the signal ex- 
ton, there is not to be found, I 

• to Um fifth Tolnme of the oolleeted edition of 

a wptdjofen of theie memonndami, u glren 
ict make these two Tenes orer ajrAin. •iriRlnff 
anspoM them — S o'clock, a.m. 19th October.'* 
te of that timo roch notices u the following 
Tmitmaimm per Francnm "— " Scriptor dedlt 

flUiaB Crowe, Mithor of the noble poem of 

believe, among all the eminent poets of Eng- 
land, a single musician. It is but fair, at the 
same time, to acknowledge, that out of the 
works of these very poets might be produced 
a select number of songs, surpassing, in fancy, 
grace, and tenderness, all that the language, 
perhaps, of any other country could furnish. 

We witness, in our own times, — as far as the 
knowledge or practice of music is concerned, 
— a similar divorce between the two arts ; and 
my friend and neighbour, Mr. Bowles, is the 
only distinguished poet of our day whom I can 
call to mind as being also a musician.^ Not to 
dwell further, however, on living writers, the 
strong feeling, even to tears, with which I have 
seen Byron listen to some favourite melody, 
has been elsewhere described by me ; and the 
musical taste of Sir Walter Scott I ought to be 
the last person to call in question, after the yerj 
cordial tribute he has left on record to my own 
untutored minstrelsy.§ But I must say, that, 
pleased as my illustrious friend appeared really 
to be, when I first sung for him at Abbotsford, 
it was not till an evening or two after, at his 
own hospitable supper-table, thut I saw him in 
his true sphere of musical enjoyment. No 
sooner had the qucdgh taken its round, after 
our repast, than his friend. Sir Adam, was 
called upon, with the general acclaim of the 
whole table, for the song of "Hey tuttie 
tattie,'* and gave it out to us with all the 
true national relish. But it was during the 
chorus that Scott's delight at this festive scene 
chiefly showed itself. At the end of every 

** Lewlsden Bill,** wo IfltewiM e mmleiftn. end hee left e Treetise 
on Cnclish Tenifioatkni, to which hie knowledge of the litter-art 
lends e peculiar Interest. 

So little does eren the origin of the word " Ijrrlck,** ss applied to 
poetry, seem to be present to the minds of some writers, that the 
poet, Tonng, has left ns an Essay on Lonrle Poetry, is which there 
is not a single allusion to Music, from *«t^«!*»«g to end. 

I LM by Loekhttt, ToL Ti. p. lis. 





od round the table wit)] arms 
to gra-sp the hand of the neigh- 
side. Thus interlinked, we 
seej) TOcaeure to the strain, by 
roui up nod down, all chanting 
naly, "Hey tuttle Uttie, Hey 
Sir Walter's enjoyment of this 

how I entered into the npirit 
a the whi>le scene, I conftaa, a 
I in mj eyes such as the finest 
mance oould not have bestowed 

n thus led to allude to this visit, 

to mention a few other circuro- 

■fter, followed ; and during aij 
that city an incident occurred, 
1 already mentioned by Scott, 
, and owing its chief Lntereot 
lion of his name with it, ouf-ht 

another party quietly glided into a ' 
that filled by the Duchess. One 
female was with the three male comet 
minute the cry ran round: — "Eh, ; 
Walter, wi' Lockhartan'his wifej, a 
the wee bit bodic wi' the pawkie een 
but it's Tam Moore, just— Scolt 
Moore, Moorel ' — with shuuta, cheer 
Bud applause. But Scolt would no 
appro|iriatc the«e tributes. One a 
that he urged Moore to do so; and lu 
modestly reluctant, at last yielded, ai 
hand on heart, with much animali' 

himself up. and, with a benevolent 1 
knowledged this deserved welcome. 
chestra played alternately Scotch i 

Among the choicest of my tecolli 

1 passed with I.oni Jeffrey at his : 
retreat, Craig Crook. 1 had then 
written the words and music «{ a gle 
a hoyi" which there won its &rit hum 





I musician*, is clear from the 
I he adapts his verse to the 
uracter of each different strain, 
iglj did he prove his fitness for 
k, bj the sort of instinct with 
haQ one instance, he discerned 
nate sentiment which an air 
to convej, though previously 
rords expressing a totally dif- 
eling. Thus the air of a lu- 
;, " Fee him, father, fee him,*' 
be medium of one of Burns*s 
fusions; while, still more mar- 

tuttie tattle** has been eleva- 
) that heroic strain, ** Scots, 
Jlace bled;" — a song which, 
»nal crisis, would be of more 
eloquence of a Demosthenes.f 
ible that the example of Burns, 
gher inspirations, should not 
ibute to elevate the character 
•writing, and even to lead to 
J gifts which it requires, if not, 

same individual, yet in that 
Y between poet and musician 
ounts to identity, and of which, 
s, we have seen so interesting 
he few songs which bear the 

those two sister muses, Mrs. 
;he late Mrs. Ilemans. 
; was the state of the song-de- 
rlish poesy at the period when 
novice hand at the lyre. The 
1 sonsr and sense had then 
lost range; and to all verses 
music, from a Birth-day Ode 
reiio of the last new opera, 
i applied the solution which 
' the quality of the words of 
il, — "Ce qui ne vaut pas la 

on le chante.** 

►e sujrsested that the convivial 
i Morris present an except icm 
haractcr I have given of the 

notwlthttan<'kiff. that he wu. In hii jonth* 
oslc In spcakbie of him and hia brother, 
ctvtm, My«. ** Rubrri'i rar. ia particular. 
id hia Toioc ontunable. It wan loutf b«ture 
DffnUh one tune from anothrr/* 
r it hM ever been beibre remarked, UmiI tte 
• of Banu'f BMit iplritcd aongi, 

songs of this period; and, assuredly, had 
Morris written much that at all approached 
the following verses of his ** Reasons for 
Drinking,** (which I quote from recollection,) 
few would have equalled him either in fancy, 
or in that lighter kind of pathos, which comes, 
as in this instance, like a few melancholy notes 
in the middle of a gay air, throwing a soft and 
passing shade over mirth : — 

** My muae, too, when her wingf are dry. 

No frolk) fliirhte will takei 
But round a bowl ahe'll dip and fly* 

Like twallowi round a lake. 
If then the njmph mnet have her ehaa* 

Bcfbre ihc'll bices her twain. 
Why, that I think'f a reeaon fklr 

To All my f laee again. 

** Then, many a lad I liked Is dead,. 

And many a laat grown oldt 
And. aa the leMon itrlkei my bead. 

My weary heart growi oold. 
Bnt wine awhile holda oflTdcaDalr,. 

Nay, bide a hope remain t— 
And that I think*! a reaMn fall 

Ts iUl my gla« agata.*** 

How far my own labours in this field — if, 
indeed, the gathering of such idle flowers may 
be so designated — have helped to advance, or 
even kept pace with the progressive improve- 
ment I have here described, it is not for me to 
presume to decide. I only know that in a 
strong and inborn feeling for music lies the 
source of whatever talent I may have shown 
for poetical composition ; and that it was the 
eflbrt to translate into language the emotions 
and passions which music appeared to me to 
express, that first led to my writing any poetry 
at all deserving of the name. Dryden has 
happily described music as being "inarticulate 
poetry ;** and I have always felt, in adapting 
wonls to an expressive air, that I was but 
bestowing upon it the gift of articulation, and 
thus enabling it to speak to others all that was 
conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, to myself. 

Accustomed as I have always been to consider 
nvy scmgs as a sort of compound creations, in 
which the music forms no less essential a part 
than the verses, it is with a feeling which I 

*^The rank Is but the guinea's stamp. 
The man's tlic gold for a* that," 

may possibly have been sofftre>tcd by the following 

in Wjeherley's play, the -Country Wife:"— "I weigh tiia 

■son, not his tiBU; 'tis not the King's staav MB make the metal 




t my iinlyrioal ittAat to irn- 
see Buuh a Bwiirin of songs 
ages oil separated from the 
ich have formeil hitherto their 
nii strength — their " dwcua et 

there is jet another inton- 
noe of the ilivorce of the words 
»hich will be more easily, per- 
iled, and which, in juatite (o 
e-monger, ought to be noticed, 
>rcauhe3 of the laws uf rhythm, 
t adapting wonis to aira de- 
t, thuuph very frequcntlj one 
results of his *kill, l.wome 
he verse is separated from the 

mi"! Sir laha hKinii inidd 
IK. Ur. Ui.l Ibrmrt our IriA Coll«Unii, 
a. ual ban bum wnund opon {ud tbcr 

melody, and require, to justify them, ti 
senue of the music to whose wililness or 
Dcss the eacrifivehiid been made. 

In a preceding page of this preface, 
mentioned a Treatise by the late Re 
Crowe, on English veriitication ; and 
member his telling me. in referenee to tb 
I have just touched upon, that, should ■ 
edition of that work be called for, he m. 
produce, aa examples of new and ano 
forms of versification, the following sonf 
the Irish Melodies:— "Oh the days ar 
when Beauty bright" — "At the dead 1 
night, when stars are weeping, 1 fly," 
" Through grief and tlirough danger th 
hath cheer'd my way."" 



ng together a series of Songs by 
cal narrative, 1117 chief object has 
Recitation with Music, so as to 
number of persons to join in the 
enlisting, as readers, those who 
ling or competent to take a part 

Zea, where the scene is laid, was 
:ients Ceos, and was the birthplace 
BacchyUdes, and other eminent 
count of its present state may be 
tavels of Dr. Clarke, who says, 
d to him to be the best cultivated 
ecian Isles." — Vol. vi. p. 174. 

. T.M. 



')right — the breeze is fair, 
nainsail flowing, full and free — 
I word is woman's prayer, 
lope before us — Liberty! 
wrell, farewell 

e we give our shining blades, 
learts to you, young Zcan Maids I 

s in the heavens above, 
wind is on the foaming sea — 
the star of woman's love 
orious strife of Liberty ! 
well, farewell 

e we give our shining blades, 
learts to you, young Zean Maids! " 

ey from the bark, that now 
sea its gallant prow, 
n it hearts as brave, 
t Freedom o'er the wave; 

er. In Crpnn It retaini its ancient name, 
ht Cyprfot* Mloni thidr diuichcf with the 

And leaving on that islet's shore, 
Where still the farewell beacons bom. 

Friends, that shall many a day look o'er 
The long, dim sea for their return. 

Virgin of Heaven ! speed their way — 

Oh, speed their way, — the chosen flow'r 
Of Zea's youth, the hope and stay 

Of parents in their wintry hour. 
The love of maidens, and the pride 
Of the young, happy, blushing bride. 
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died — 
All, all are in that precious bark, 

Which now, alas! no more is seen — 
Though every eye still turns to mark 

The moonhght spot where it had been. 

Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires. 

And mothers, your belov'd are gone! — 
Now may you quench those signal fires. 

Whose light they long look'd back upon 
From their dark deck — watching the flame 

As fast it faded from their view. 
With thoughts, that, but for manly shame. 

Had made them droop and weep hke you. 
Home to your chambers! home, and pray 
For the bright coming of that day, 
When, bless'd by heaven, the Cross shall sweep 
The Crescent from the iEgean deep, 
And your brave warriors, hastening back. 
Will bring such glories in their track, 
As shall, for many an age to come. 
Shed light around their name and home. 

There is a Fount on Zea's isle, 
Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile 
All the sweet flowers, of every kind. 

On which the sun of Greece looks down, 

Pleas'd as a lover on the crown 
His mistress for her brow hath twin'd. 
When he beholds each flow 'ret there, 
Himself had wish'd her most to wear; 
Here bloom'd the laurel-rose ', whose wreath 

Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines. 
And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe 

Their odour into Zante's wines:* — 

floven on ftMt-4ajn."-^(Minial<i^l>r. Mckonw* 

V V 8 



d woodbine, rhst. at eve, 
their floral diadema, 
hiaid« of I'alraos weoTe : ' — 
I fnir plant, whose uuigled items 
\ Neriiid'a hair ', when aprciidl, 
I o'er her oiiiro bed; — 
Bight children of the clime, 

. or the yew^» iwcet prime,) 
il earth- alara, ndum 
nhcre that Fount is bom: 
o prace its cradle green, 
uii oaka ttre aeeii, 
I'cry vordnnl height — 
in the evening lEght, 

ix their leafy pride unfarl'dj 
rce, from her ihoueaiid soils, 
ir fhiit throughout the nurld!' 

is soon ai prayer and sleep 
»t friends to all wlui weep) 
very heart, and made 

his secluded spot, 
io brealhings calm and sweet 
le sooth'd, ir not forirot. 

The breath from her own binihing Ir 
That on the maiden's mirror rests. 
Not swittcr, lighter from (he gloss. 
Than sadness from her brow doth pa 
Boon did ihey bow, as round the Wt 
Tlicy sat, beneath the riling moon 
And (iome. wilh voice of awe, would 
Of midnight fays, and nymphs who c 
In holy fonnts — while some would 
Their idle lutes, that now had iain. 
Far days, wiihuut 8 single strainj — 
And others, from the rest apart. 
With laugb that told the Ugliten'd hi 
Sat, whisp'ring in coeh other's car 
Seercis, that all in turn wouhl hear;- 
iSoon did tlicy And this ihongbtlcss [ 
So swiftly steal their griefs away. 
That many a nymph, though pleu't 
Kcproach'd bcr own forgetful suilt 
And ugh'd to think she cini/i/ be gsy 

Among these maidens there was on*. 

Who to Lencadia' late had been — 
Had stood, beneath the evenin); son. 

On its white tow'ring eUlFs. and tti 
The very s[iot where Sappho sung 
Ilcr Hwan-hke luusie, ere she spning 
(Siill holding, in that fearful leap. 
By her lov'd lyre,) into the deep, 



i % Toice, whose thrilling tone 
might deem the Lesbian's own, 
those fenrid fragments gare, 
ich still, — like sparkles of Greek IBIre, 
ng, ev'n beneath the ware, — 
Tk on thxough Time, and ne'er expire. 


> o'er her loom the Lesbian Mud 
h bfe sick languor hang her head, 
iknowing where her fingers stray'd. 
She weeping tam'd awaj, and said, 
\ my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 
I* I cannot weave, as once I wove — 
)0 wilder'd is mj heart and brain 
"With thinking of that jouth I k>ve!"> 

nin the web she tried to trace, 
Bot tean fell o*er each tangled thread; 
jjjfi» looking in her mothers face, 
*^ watchAil o'er her lean'd, she said, 
^^ niy sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 
"I cannot weaver as once I wove — 
» wilder'd is my heart and brain 
"With thinking of that youth I love I " 

«>ce foDow'd this sweet air, 

' «ch in tender musing stood, 

^i* with lips that mov'd in pray'r, 

^pho and that fearfiil flood: 

e some, who ne'er till now had known 

*▼ Diach their hearts resembled hers, 

tt they made her griefs their own, 

** ^, too, were Love*s worshippers. 

ogth a murmur, all but mute, 
ot it was, came from the lute 
^oong melancholy maid, 
B fingers, all uncertain play'd 
chord to chord, as if in chase 
■ome lost melody, some strain 
er times, whose faded trace 
sooght among those chords again. 

the half-forgotten theme 
ugh bom in feelings ne'er forgot) 
o her memory — as a beam 

broken o*er some shaded spot; — 
[lile her lute's sad symphony 
i up each sighing pause between; 

l,la thCM fb«r1iii«« to glv« lome idea of tlwt 
bcK t a aim ra u w M i* /jt^, which repp»- 

And Love himself might weep to see 

What ruin comes where he hath been — 
As withered still the grass is found 
Where fays have danc'd their merry round 
Thus simply to the list'ning throng 
She breathed her melancholy song : — 


Wbepiko for thee, my love, through the long day, 

Lonely and wearily life wears away. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the long 

night — 
No rest in darkness, no joy in light ! 
Nought left but Memory, whose dreary tread 
Sou]^ through this ruin*d heart, wheie all lies 

dead — 
Wakening the echoes of joy long fled I 

Of many a stanza, this alone 
Had 'scaped oblivion — like the one 
Stray firaigment of a wreck, which thrown. 
With the lost vcsseFs name, ashore. 
Tells who they were that live no more. 

When thus the heart is in a vein 
Of tender thought, the simplest strain 
Can touch it vrith peculiar power— 

As when the air is warm, the scent 
Of the most wild and rustic flower 

Can fill the whole rich element — 
And, in such moods, the homeliest tone 
That's link*d with feelings, once our own — 
With friends or joys gone by — will be 
Worth choirs of loftiest harmony ! 

But some there were, among the group 

Of damsels there, too light of heart 
To let their spirits longer droop, 

Ev'n under music's melting art ; 
And one upspringing, with a bound. 
From a low bank of flowers, lookM round 
With eyes that, though so full of light. 

Had still a trembling tear within ; 
And, while her fingers, in swift flight. 

Flew o*er a fairy mandolin. 
Thus sung the song her lover late 

Had sung to her — the eve before 

That joyous night, when, as of yore, 
All Zea met, to celebrate 

The Feast of May, on the sea-shore. 

wntt 10 tnilj (m WarUm itmaika) ** ttM Uagnor and 
ft pcnon deeply in lore." 

WW 4 

lietleemeii oC 






he BaUilui ' 
ird o'er ihe KO, 
X the Romnilto 
oonlighl with thee. 

[heu, adv&ncing, 
d st«^ on our pli?, 

le foBU in dancing, 
cbiM them ■way." 

j-d o"iT ih« sea, 
dftiicv the Romaika. 

the cloiina 
h merrj lay, 
eet 'lis reposin((, 
Ih the nigiii ray ! 

oon leave the sk[oa, 
k by tbo .hiniug 
h other's o/cs. 

how feally 
once wc'U renew. 
_• .-io flei'lly 

il muios through ;' 

But say — ipAaf Shall tha metwni« be ? 

" tShuU wc the old Itonuiika tread. 
(Some eager askM) "an ancienUj 

■■ "Twaa by the maj.lg ttf D«lo» led. 
" When, alow at firat, tbea drcling fut, 
" At the gay spirits roM — at laU. 
" With hand io hand, like link*, enlock 

" Through the light air they wem'd I 
" Id labyriiilhintt maze, that m^k'd 

" The dazilcd eye thai fi.Uow'd it ? " 
Some call d aload *• the Fountain Danot 

While oae youne. dark-cy'd dmuon 
Who«e step was air-like, and whim gta 

Fluh-d, like a Eabrc in the sun. 
Sportively said, " Shame on then toft 
- And languid nnuni we be«r lu oft. 

" Ix'am'd from ooT lovers and our sir 
" The UoDcc of Greece, while Greece wo. 

" That danw, when neither flutes n.< 
» Bnl sword and shield ckah on the eai 
•' A music tyrants quake to hoar ? • 
" Heroines of Zua, arm with me. 
" And dance the dance of Vktoiyl" 

Thus BBYiDR, Bhp, with playful grace. 
Lt-aa'i the wide but, that o'er her face 
(From Anatolia' eame the maid) 

Hung, shadowing each suuuy charm j 
Ami. «i,b a f«ir ronnj armourer's aid. 





hej stq>p'd, with measorM tread, 
f, o'er the shining field j 
e mimic combat led 
; at each squadron's head), 
ince to lance and sword to shield : 
, through every varying feat, 
iBf heard in contrast sweet 
y of deep but soften'd sound, 
of aged sires around, 
Qg watch'd their children's play — 
ue ancient Pynhic lay : — 



rackler — poise the lance — 

- now there — retreat — advance ! " 

e sounds, to which the warrior boy 
those happy days, when Greece was 

/s youth, ev'n in the hour of joy, 
'd their steps to war and victory. 
)uckler — poise the lance — 
-now there — retreat — advance I " 
! Spartan warrior's dance, 
falchion — gird the shield -^ 
lefend — do all, but yield." 

sons, oh Greece, one glorious night, 
i moon like this, till o'er the sea 
r dawn'd by whose immortal light 
f died for thee and liberty ! ' 
uckler — poise the lance — 

- now there — retreat — advance ! " 
Spartan heroes' dance. 

they clos'd this martial lay 
gvig their light spears away, 
itants, in broken ranks, 
thless from the war-field fly; 
, upon the velvet banks 
r'ry slopes, exhausted lie, 
luntresses of Thrace, 
sunset from the chase. 

Lb ! " an aged Zcan said — 
limself, had fought and bled, 
with feelings, half delight, 
58, watch'd their mimic fight — 
ids ! who thus with war can jest — 
'e, in Mars's helmet drest, 

t Laonidw and hit comiMuiionB employed them- 
of tlae battle. In miule and the gymnaftio ezer- 



When, in his childish innocence, 

** Pleas'd with the shade that helmet flings, 

He thinks not of the blood, that thence 

" Is dropping o'er his snowy wings. 

Ay — true it is, young patriot maids, 

" If Honour's arm still won the fray. 

If luck but shone on righteous blades, 

** War were a game for gods to play ! 

But, no, alas ! — hear one, who well 

" Hath track'd the fortunes of the brave -^ 

Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell 

** What glory waits the patriot's grave :" — 


As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquish 'd Chief expiring lay. 
Upon the sands, with broken sword. 

He trac'd his farewell to the Free ; 
And, there, the last unfinish'd word 

He dying wrote was ** Liberty I " 

At night a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell 
Of him who thus for Freedom fell ; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came. 

Were cover'd by the sounding sea ; — 
So pass away the cause and name 

Of him who dies for Liberty I 

That tribute of subdued applause 
A charm'd, but timid, audience pays. 

That murmur, which a minstrel draws 
From hearts, that feel, but fear to praise 

FoUow'd this song, and left a pause 

Of silence after it, that hung 

Like a fix'd spell on every tongue. 

At length, a low and tremulous sound 
Was heard from midst a group, that round 
A bashful maiden stood, to hide 
Her blushes, while the lute she tried — 
Like roses, gath'ring round to veil 
The song of some young nightingale. 
Whose trembling notes steal out between 
The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen. 
And, while that voice, in tones that more 

Through feeling than through weakness err'd. 
Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er 

Th' attentive ear, this strain was heard : — 



n jonder ailent care,' 

iilBinH niDning, side hj aide, 
s Urim'ry's linipjd wa»o, 
- cold OI)liriiin'> lide. 

: I, in lliougbdcBa mood, 
draiik of Letlic'» Rrcam, 
VI in llils fiood 
|len liko & vnniah'd drrum ! " 
d bear tiint gloomr blank, 
was loKt as Wf II as puiti ? 
eia'rj't founl I drank, 
hi Ibc psat all buck again ; 
Ih Lute t whate'er my lot, 
bia eonl to Ihee be trae — 

u-hoBc Ynlvce divide, 

Or, if tome tints tbon keiipoit 

Tlmt former davs rwall, 
Af o'er each line ihoa wcopent. 

llion puinb 


colonn are fleeting, 
Bnt ihoK of Sorrow tut. 

And, while thou bring'st before 
Dark picturoe of past ilt 

Life's CTiininy, closinp o'er as. 
But makes them dutcr itiU. 

Ro went the moonlight hours along-, 

And witching soond^ — Dot nicb a> - 
The cymbalist* of Ot^u, play'd. 

To chase the moon's eclipse away,* 
But soft and holy — did each maid 

Lighten her heart's eclipse awhile, 

Auil win back Sorrow to a Boiilo. 

Not for from this sedaded pWe. 


MOM would Imger 'mid the Menl 

fhangiiig fbUage, that perfiiin'd 

nim*d fndls ; while othen went, 

nUing whatever flowVet bkx>m'd 

Ik lone leafy space between, 

CIV gilded chambers once had been ; 

taming sadlj to the sea, 

Sent o'er the wave a sigh nnblest 

some brare champion of the Free— 

inking, alas, how cold might be, 

^ tliat still hoar, hia place of rest ! 

iiowhile there came a sound of song 
Fhmd the dark ruins — a faint strain, 
> if nme echo, that among 
K»e minstrel halls had slumber'd long, 
Were iiuinn*ring into life again. 

0, no— the njmphs knew well the tone • 
A maiden of their train, who lov'd, 
ke the night-bird, to sing alone, 
Hid deep into those ruins rov'd, 
id there, all other thoughts forgot, 
^MVtfbKng o'er, in k>ne delight, 
W that, on that yeiy spot, 
Ber loTcr song one moonlight night : — 


we lie they, who heard, in former hours, 
X of Song in these neglected bow*rs ? 
J are gone — all gone I 

\ who told his pain in such sweet tone, 
who heard him, wished his pain their 

gone— he is gone! 

Ho, while he sung, sat listening by, 
t, to strains like these 'twere sweet to 

one —she too is gone! 

titnre hours, some bard will say 
;ar8, and him, who sings this lay — 
"e gone — they both are gone! 

Um Well,** M they were called amonc tha 

Greece. De Gu^$ tcUi ui that he hat accn 

Prince's Island. aMembled in the evening at 

■Izikc HP a danee, while othen ranc in cou- 

•f Syra, both aoeient and modem, maj be 
ppcn of water. The old which 

Tlw Boon was now, from Heaven's steep. 

Bending to dip her nlv'17 urn 
Into the bright and silent deep — 

And the young njrmphs, on their retiim 
From those romantic ruins, found 
Their other plajrmates, ranged around 
The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn ', ere sunk the moon^ 
To that fair Fountain, by whose stream 
Their hearts had form*d so many a dream. 

Who has not read the tales, that tell 
Off old Elcusis' sacred Well, 
Or heard what legend -songs recount 
Of Syra, and its holy Fount,* 
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock 

Into the laps of liring flowers — 
Where Tillage maidens lov*d to flock. 

On summer-nights, and, like the hours, 
Link'd in harmonious dance and song, 
Chann*d the unconscious night along; 
While holy pilgrims, on their way 

To Delos' isle, stood looking on. 
Enchanted vrith a scene so gay, 

Nor sought their boats, tiU morning shone? 

Such was the scene this lorcly glade 
And its fair inmates now display *d. 
As round the Fount, in linked ring. 

They went, in cadence slow and light, 
And thus to that enchanted Spring 

Warbled their Farewell for the night: — 


Here, while the moonlight dim 
Falls on that mossy brim. 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea! 
Nothing but Music's strain, 
When Lovers part in pain, 
Soothes, till they meet again. 

Oh, Maids of Zea! 

Bright Fonnt, so clear and cold. 
Round which the nj-mplis of old 
Stood, with their locks of gold. 
Fountain of Zea! 

the nymphs of the Island assembled In the earliest a^cs, exists In its 
original itatei the same rendezvous as It was lormerly, whether of 
love and (tallantry, or uf iroMippinff snd tale-telling. It b near to 
the town, and the most limpid water eush«>s continually fh>m the 
solid rock. It is retrarded by the inhabitants with ■ decree of reli- 
Kiou^ veneration; and they preserve a tradition, that the pilcrime 
of old time, in Uieir way to Dcios, resorted hither liar parlflcatioa.** 


1, while our hjmn we sing, 
vuice shall bring, 
. iiirfiwcring. 

■righ. Fo. 

It. bj those stars that glsnca 
\t bcaven's slili expanse, 
Lvc no our mirthful Jauee, 

Baugblers uf ZtM I 

ir"d llicT. by TJiftn'B myn, 
ere iho Kurolao strays,' 
^ti, Maiils of Zeal 

to meny feet 
h no who beat. 
. can (he dance he swcM? 
paidons ofZea! 

nought but Music's strain, 
a LuTcrs )iart in pain. 
■(hp«. till t)ic.T mci'l at'ain. 

Oh thns niaj life, in dotini; 

Its short tempesluoUR daj, 
BencDlh heaven's smile repoti 

9hine all its storms awuy: 
Thns. Mary, Star of the S^ 
We pr»j, we pray, to theel 

On Helle's sea the light grew dim 
As the laal sunods of that sweet h 

Floated along iu aiure tide — 
Floated in light, as if the lay 
Had mix'd witli sunset's bdlng ni 

And light aud song together dh 
$0 soft through crening's sit had 
That choir of jonlhful voices, wre 
Id many-linked hannony. 
That boats, then hniTying o'er tfai 
I'aus'd. when the; rcacb'd iMs M 
And linger'd till the strain was tfi 
Of those yonng maidx who've owl 

In song and dunce thii ereniag 
Far liappier now the bosoms beat, 

Than when tliCT last adorn 'd it 
For tidings of gliid sound bad coo 

At break of day, from the far il 
Tidine" like breath of life to some 




iaj the flood around, while fleet, 
the bhie ihining element, 
btrks, as if with £uiy feet 
t sdrr'd not the hnsh'd waters, went; 
iuu, ere roey ere fell o*er 
blnshing wave, with mainsail free, 
U forth fipom the Attic shore, 
be near Isle of Ebony; — 
Hydriot barks, that deep in caves 
iath Colonna's pillared clifik, 
1 daj Inrk'd, and o'er the waves 
shot their long and dart-like skiffs. 
> the craft, however fleet, 
iea-hawks In their course shall meet, 
with juice of Lesbian vines, 
from Naxos' emery mines; 
t more sure, when owlets flee 
e dark crags of Pendelee, 
ie night-fidoon mark his prey, 
Dce OB it more fleet than they. 

bat a moon now lights the glade 

re these young island nymphs are met! 

b'd, yet pure, as if no shade 

toadi'd Its virgin lustre yet; 

»hly hriffht, as if just made 

t*i own hands, of new-bom light 

Tom his mother*s star to-night. 

old rock, that o'er the flood 
from that soft glade, there stood 
pel, fronting tow*rds the sea, — 
I some by-gone century, — 
nightly, as the seaman's mark, 
WTes rose high or clouds were dark, 
^ bequeath'd by some kind Saint, 
er the wave its glimmer faint, 
i in way-worn men a sigh 
■ay'r to heav'n, as they went by. 
there, around that rock -built shrine, 
oap of maidens and their sires 
)od to watch the day's decline, 
as the light fell o'er their lyres, 
) the Queen-Star of the Sea 
>fi and holy melody. 

bter thoughts and lighter song 
)o the coming hours along : 
irk, where smooth the herbage lies, 
^y pavilion, curtain'd deep 
Iken folds, through which, bright eyes, 
time to time, are seen to peep ; 
irinkling lights that, to and fro, 
I those veils, like meteors, go, 
>f some spells at work, and keep 
fancies chain'd in mute suspense, 
ig what next may shine from thence. 

Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen 

That mystic curtain backward drew. 
And all, tiiat late but shone between. 

In hfdf-caught gleams, now burst to view. 
A picture 'twas of the early days 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immortal Mind were hers 
That made mankind her worshippers ; 
While, yet unsung, her landscape shone 
With glory lent by Heaven alone ; 
Nor temples crown'd her nameless hiUs, 
Nor Muse immortalis'd her rills ; 
Nor aught but the mute poesy 
Of sun, and stars, and shining sea 
Blum'd that land of bards to be. 
While, prescient of the gifted race 

That yet would realm so blest adorn. 
Nature took pains to deck the place 

Where glorious Art was to be bom. 

Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and her hills portray'd ; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age. 

Ere yet the simple violet braid,* 
Which then adom'd her, had shone down 
The glory of earth's loftiest crown. 
While yet undream'd, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine — 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To aU but life, in shapes divine ; 
Till deified the quarry shone 
And all Olympus stood in stone I 

There, in the foreground of that scene. 

On a soft bank of living green, 

Sat a young nymph, with her lap full 

Of newly gather'd flowers, o'er which 
She graceful lean*d, intent to cull 

All that was there of hue most rich. 
To form a wreath, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by, 
With pallet mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. 

The wreath was form'd ; the maiden rais'd 

Her speaking cyea to his, while he — 
Oh not upon the flowers now gaz*d, 

But on that bright look's witchery. 
While, quick as if but then the thought. 
Like light, had reach'd his soul, he caught 
His pencil up, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love-look drew : 
And, as his raptur'd task went on, 
And forth each kindling feature shone, 
Sweet voices, through the moonUght air, 

From lips as moonlight fresh and pure. 
Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there. 

And sung the Birth of Portraiture.* 

* Thcwhol«ofthbMeneirMnieKWtcdlqrFUii7*iaoeoitiitoftlM 
artUt FatuiM and hie rnktrea Qlyeerm, lib. xxxw. e. M. 


« a Grecian maiilen woto 
I t^rlHnil mid the eumtner bow'r* 
TBltwil a yomh, with eyes of love, 
|watch her vliile eho nreath'd thu fion'n. 
I was skill'd in Fainling's art, 
!T had BtuiIiBd woman's hrow. 
wbat magic hues Ibe h«nrt 
I ihed o'er Nature's chamu, lil! dow. 

I Blest be Love, lo wliom wa owo 
I AU that'H Toir and bright bclov. 
Bnd hail piclnr'd manj a rose, 
f skctcb'd the rays that light Iho broiik ; 
■hat were these, or what were Ibose, 
mnan's blnah, to woman's look? 
snch magic pow'r there bo. 
S this," he cried, "is all my praytr, 
inC that Uving light I mc, 
lad fiE tho soul that sparkles there." 

I soon as brPBth'd, was heard j 
Bpallct, touch'd by Love, grew warm, 
ainling saw her hncs transffrr'd 
n lifclEBs fiow'ra lo woman's form. 
Is Irum lint to lint be stole, 
I fair design sbonc out tbe moro, 

And while some n^pha, in ba 
Tbe workers of that fairy spell 
How crown 'd n ith praise their 
Stole in behind the curtaio'd K 
Tho rest, in happy conveise nr 

Talking that ancient ioic-tal 
Some. Ui the groves that skirt t 

Soma, to tho chapel by the ■! 
To look what lichu were on ih 
And think of th' absent silcnltj 

But soon that summons, known 

Through bow'r and hall, in ] 

Whose sound, mora sure Ibao | 

Lovers and slaves alike comn 

Tlie clapping of young femal 

Calls back the gronpi from rod 

To see some new-fonn'd scene l 

And fleet and eager, down the i 

Of the green glade, like antelo; 

When, in tbeir thirst, tliey beai 

or distant tiUi, the Ughl nympt 

Far diCFerenl now the scene — ■ 

Of Llhyan sands, by moonlij 

An ancient well, whereon were 

The warning words, for snch 

Unarmed there, " Drink and 

Wbilc, near it, from the nighi-i 


Upaadiiitrcht the timbrers toand 
^ikei the slmnVring camp around ( 
'ket thj hour of rest hath gone, 
•Anned sleeper, iip» and on! 
2^ and wearj b onr way 
O'er the boming sands to-day; 
But to pilgrim's homeward feet 
Er'n the desert's path is sweet. 

When we lie at dead of night, 
Inking np to hearen's light, 
Rearing bnt the watchman's tone 
faintly diannting ** God is one," ' 
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come 
Of onr distant Tillage home, 
Where that chaunt, when ev'ning sets, 
Soonds from all the minarets. 

C3ieer thee! — soon shall signal lights, 
^dUng o'er the Red Sea heights, 
Kuidling quick from man to man. 
Hail our coming caravan :* 
Think what bliss that hour will be! 
^^K>b of home again to see, 
And onr names again to hear 
Hnrnmr'd oat by voices dear. 

™PMs*d the desert dream away, 
^ting as his who heard this lay. 
^<jbng the pause between, nor raor'd 
^^tpell-bound audience from that spot; 
! ^ «fll, as usual. Fancy rov'd 
I ^tothe joy that yet was not; — 
I J**^! who hath no present home, 
^ Iwrildg her bower in scenes to come, 
1^'ng for ever in a light 
*"^ flows from regions out of sight 

^ "*€» hy gradual dawn descried, 

A Qonntain realm — rugged as e'er 
^pniis'd to heav'n its summits bare, 
* told to earth, with frown of pride, 

^ Freedom's falcon nest was there, 
Jto high for hand of lord or king 
To bood her brow, or chain her wing. 

^ Kaina's land— her ancient hills, 
"^ abode of nymphs' — her countless rills 
^nd torrents, in their downward dash, 
Shining, like silver, through the shade 

n* y ilch i mu . In 11m camp of the carmraiu, go their nrancU, 
bgtm e/kcr eaothcr. ** God b one," fte. Ac 
*U wm entUmnary," amf Inr>n, " to llffht upflre* od the moun- 
ik vitUa view of Coe«eir, to rive notice of tJie appnMMh of the 

Of the sea- pine and flow'ring ash — 
All with a truth so fresh portray'd 
As wants but touch of life to be 
A world of warm reality. 

And now, light bounding forth, a band 

Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance — 
Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 

Link'd in the Ariadne dance;* 
And while, apart from that gay throng, 
A minstrel youth, in varied song. 
Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills 
Of these wild children of the hills. 
The rest by tum^ or fierce or gay, 
As war or sport inspires the lay, 
Follow each change that wakes the strings. 
And act what thus the lyrist sings: — 


No life is like the mountaineer's. 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, thron'd above this world, he hears 

Its strife at distance die. 
Or, should the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, "We come — we come," 
Each crag that tow'rs in air 
Gives answer, ** Come who dare I " 
Wliilc, like bees, from dell and dingle. 
Swift the swarming warriors mingle. 
And their cry ** Hurra!" will be. 

Hurra, to victory!" 


Then, when battle's hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lover. 

With the nymph, who'll soon be bride. 

Seated blushing by his side, — 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot. 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's. 

His home is near the sky. 
Where, thron'd above this world, he hears 

Its strife at distance die. 
Nor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerlv runs — 


Ev'n winter, bleak and dim. 

Brings jovous hours to him; 
When, his rifle behind him flinging. 
He watches the roe-buck springing. 
And away, o'er the lulls away 
Re-echoes his glad " hurra." 

9 Tinrlnihna h«ochat« Laemto 

TayKtta. Ytw, 

« See, for an aocoitnt of thb danoe, De Qaj'f Trnvela. 


!T blest, when night U dodng, 
in died hcanh repoting, 
' cck'a drowey song, 
;s the hour along; 
ik'd by merry glances, 
IT moveiuent dnucos, 
at U»t, in slumber'* du^n, 
uVr those aad dance aguni 
t, drcMDS ihem o'er again. 

I that roinMrei, at the close, 

hile bo sung, tu fuign'd repose, 
lid the/, whose mimic art 
Tf'd the cbangea of hii lay, 
"le IqD, the nod. the start, 
^h wliicli, as fuimly died away 
uid voice, the minstrel puas'd, 
» and lute lay busii'd at last, 
for other iong came o'er 
alBitkd cars — sonit tliM, at first, 
inly tlie night- wind bore 
ve its monruful burst, 
Tiuicy, lilie a iHtge 
le Spirit of the Sett, 
lellf'ti ikuuienl sur^ 
n iifhrr Brave nnri Free. 


Wafting the news through He 

Kews that would cloud t:<r'ii Fm 

And widen Vict'ry 'tnid her t 

Their talo thus told, aod beaid, > 
Oat spread the galliot'i wingi i| 
And. as she sped her iwift carea 
Again that Hymn ntM on ihe cb 
" Than an not dead— thou ait n 

As oft 'twna song, in agea flo* 
or him, tlie Allieuian. who, to rf 

A tyrant's Uoorl, pour'd ouibi 


Tnnc art not dead — thoti an no 
Ko, dearest Hanoodim, no. 

Thy sunl. to realms above us BtA 

Though, like a «tar, it dwells o'a 
StiU lights this world b«low. 

TboD art not dead— thou an no) 
No, dearest Ilarmoditts, no. 

Through isles of ligiit, where htm 

And llow'ra ethereaj blow, 
Thv Kod-Ukc Spirit now i> led. 
Thy lip. wiih lifp Bmbrosial fed. 



Kong those who linger*!! list'ning there, — 

Lut^niiig, with ear and eye, as long 
ka Ineath of night could towVds them bear 

A mnrmiir or that monmfiil song, — 
A few there were, in whom the lay 

fiidcall*d op feelings far too sad 
To pan with the brief strain awaj, 

Or tnm at once to theme more glad; 
^LnA who, m mood anton'd to meet 

The Ught laugh of the happier train, 
GVander'd to seek some mooiUight seat 
Wtm they might rest, in conrerse sweet, 

lill Timsh'd smiles should come again. 

And seldom e'er hath noon of night 
To Bidnesi lent more soothing light. 
On one side, in the dark blue sky, 
^^^oelj and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jore himself; while, on tiie other, 
_^ong tiny stars that roond her gleam'd, 
uM yoong moon, like the Roman mother 
Among her living "jewels," beam'd. 

Toodi'd by the lovely scenes aronnd, 
A pengire maid — one who, though young, 

H^bown what 'twas to see unwound 
The ties by which her heart had clung — 

" ijken'd her soft tamboura*s sound. 
And to its faint accords thus sung : — 


J-^^jM, beneath its mother's eyes, 

^ Bleep the smiling in£uit lies, 

™. watch'd by all the stars of night, 

*on landscape sleeps in light. 

And while the night-breeze dies away, 

T/Jj ^^^ ^^ •°°^® faded strain, 
^^▼oioes, lost for many a day, 

beem whisp'ring round again, 
^yottth! oh Lore! ye dreams, that shed 
^<=fl glory once— where are ye fled? 

^ 'iy of light that, down the sky, 

Art pointing, like an angePs wand, 
^." to guide to realms that lie 
^ ««t bright sea beyond: 

J?«iow8 but, in some brighter deep 
3^^ ev'n that tranquil, moon-lit main. 

gij*nd may lie, where those who weep 

^^ Wake to smile again! 

With cheeks that had regain'd their power 
And phiy of smiles, — and each bright eye. 

Like violets after morning's shower. 
The brighter for the tears gone by. 

Back to the scene such smiles should grace 

These wand'ring nymphs their path retrace, 

And reach the spot, with ri^ure new, 

Just as the Tells asunder flew. 

And a fresh vision burst to view. 

There, by her own bright Attic flood. 
The blue-ey'd Queen of Wisdom stood;— i 
Not as she haunts the sage's dreams. 

With brow unveil'd, divine, severe; 
But soften'd, as on bards she beams. 

When fresh from Poesy's high sphere, 
A music, not her own, she brings. 
And, through the veil which Fancy flings 
O'er her stem features, gently sings. 

But who is he — that urchin nigh. 

With quiver on the rose-trees hung. 
Who seems just dropp'd from yonder sky, 
And stands to watch that maid, with eye 
So full of thought, for one so young? — 
That child — but, silence! lend thine car, 
And thus in song the tale thou'lt hear: — 


As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

Who should he see, at that soft hour, 
But young Minerva, gravely playing 

Her flute within an olive bow'r. 
I need not say, 'tis Love's opinion 

That, grave or merry, good or ill. 
The sex all bow to his dominion, 

As woman 'will be woman stilL 

Though seldom yet the boy hath giv'n 

To learned dames his smiles or sighs, 
So handsome Pallas look'd, that ev'n. 

Love quite forgot the maid was wise. 
Besides, a youth of his discerning 

Knew well that, by a shady rill, 
At sunset hour, whatever her learning, 

A woman will be woman stilL 

Her flute he prais'd in terms cxtatic, — 

Wishing it dumb, nor car'd how soon; — 
For Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic. 

To Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he found face to flatter, 

The nymph found breath to shake and trill; 
As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 

Woman, at heart, is woman stilL 

G G 


h his plan, witli wamilh excluiiDin) 
IS htr lip's soft dye'." 
lute, [lie flull'rcr, bluming. 

Big lips go sweet awrj. 

Hook'd down, behclil her ftatnrca 

In (lie passing rill, 

■ (hock'ii — fur, ob, je creaturcsl 

1 divine, juu'ro women atilL 

Hhe lipt il mailc w> odious, 
f lcE9 Ante the QodtlsM took, 
t fill'd with breath raelodioos, 
o Ihc gliLssy brooki 
I rociil lire WAS fleeting 

I, (aim and shrill. 

c repealing 
an stiU!" 

m\ or dark ropote — 
me summer liglitning knoirs, 
mh and flaah, as etill more bright 
vcalmerjt comes atid goes, 
' ne the veils of night, 
, a world of light — 
jrief, now pasa'd between 

So Bung the ghephenl-boy 
Bv ^le Etrcam's side. 

Watching that faiiy boat 
Down the flood glide, 

Like a bird winging, 

Throii);b the waves bringing 

That SjTCn, singing 
To the hiuh'd lii^ 

" Slnv," said the shepherd-bi 

" Faiiy-boat, sta/, 
"Linger, sweet minstrdij, 

" Linger, a day." 
Hut vain his pleading. 
Past him, unheeding. 
Song and boat, ipeedin^ 

Cilided awaj. 

Bo to our joutbfol ojm 
Joj- and hope ihonc; 

So, wlule wc gaz'd on thstn. 
Fast they flew on; — 

Like flow'i^ dccliniag 

Ev'q iu the twining. 

One moment shining. 
And, the next, gone! 



other ev'ning takes 

1 of the golden lakes, 

lother envoy fly, 

rifih'd answer, through the sky. 

reet bird, through the sxinny air wing- 

thoa come o'er the far-shining sea, 
lore, on thy snowy neck bringing 
ten TOWS from my lover to me. 
isence, what hours did I number t — 
, ** Idle bird, how could he rest ? " 
come at last, take now thy slumber, 
tee in dreams of all thou lov*st best. 

I droop — even now while I utter 
py welcome, thy pulse dies away; 
ly bird — were it life's ebbing flutter, 
ng bosom should woo it to stay. 
u*rt dying — thy last task is over — 
weet martyr to Love and to me ! 
lou hast waken'd by news from my 

iD be tum'd into weeping for thee. 

I the scene of song (their last 
cet summer season) passM, 
iding nymphs, whose care 
over all, invisibly, 
e gaardian sprites of air, 
ratch we feel, but cannot see, 
he circle — scarcely miss'd, 
were sparkling there again — 
i fairies, to assist 
ndmaids on the moonlight plain, 
by intercepting shade 
5 stray glance of curious eyes, 
fruits and wines was laid — 
shine out, a glad surprise I 

he moon, her ark of light 

through Heav*n, as though she bore 

irough that deep of night, 

arth, the good, the bright, 

remote immortal shore, 

ay sped her glorious way, 

>nnd rcclin*d on hillocks green, 

beneath that tranquil ray, 

IS at their feast were seen. 

c pictnre — ev*ry maid 

the lighted scene displayed, 

fiyicy garb array*d ; — 

The Arabian pilgrim, smiUng here 
Beside the nymph of India's sky ; 
While there the Mainiote mountaineer 
Whisper'd in young Minerva's ear. 
And urchin Love stood laughing by. 

Meantime the elders round the board. 
By mirth and wit themselves made young, 

High cups of juice Zacyntliian pour'd. 
And, while the flask went round, thus sung : - 


Up with the sparkling brimmei; 

Up to the crystal lim ; 
Let not a moon-beam glinmier 

'Twixt the flood and brinu 
When hath the world set eyes on 

Aught to match this Ught, 
Which, o'er our cup's horizon. 

Dawns in bumpers bright ? 

Truth in a deep well lieth — > 

So the wise aver : 
But Truth Uie fact denieth — 

Water suits not her. 
No, her abode's in brimmers. 

Like this mighty cup — 
Waiting till we, good swimmers. 

Dive to bring her up. 

Thus circled round the song of glee. 
And all was tuneful mirth the while. 
Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile. 

As fix'd they gaze upon the sea, 

Turns into paleness suddenly! 

What see they there? a bright blue hght 
That, like a meteor, gliding o'er 

The distant wave, grows on the sight 
As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's shore. 

To some, *mong those who came to gaze. 

It seem'd the night-light, far away. 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 

Of pine torch, luring on his prey; 
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth. 

They breath'd the blcss'd Panaya's ' name, 
Vow'd that such light was not of earth. 

But of that drear, ill-omen 'd flame. 
Which mariners see on sail or mast. 
When Death is coming in the blast. 

1 TiM 

which Um Oreeki civ* to tht Virgin Mary. 
G Q 2 


; thus Ibey Blood, a maid, 
u npATt, v/ixh downi'Ast eye. 
Had, like the rest, Bnrvof'd 

rning ligbt whith now vae nigh, 
met hft sight, n-ilh cry 
l-likc joy, " 'Tia he 1 'lis he ! " 
I exctaira'il, and, hurrying b; 
nsembled throng, msh'd tow'rdi the sea. 
Iso wild, ahkrm'd, omaz'd 

lalues, mute, uid goi'd 
I other's RVP-s, to seek 

It such mood, in maid bq meek ? 
I the talc was known la few, 
I from lip to lip it flew: — 
I the flower of atl the band, 
fjOf had left this mnny shore, 
le kJAs'd thU maiden's hand, 

lO plainly lold 
en'd thought whichcroM'd him then 
hose hands nhonld loose their bold, 
T would meet on earth again ! 
nuBlress, ead as be, 
u hl^a^t from Self on free. 

One deep sigh, to passion given. 
One la«t glowing tear and then- 

March ! — nor rest thy sword, till 1 
Biings thee lo thoie anus again 

Efen then, e'er loth their hand* cc 

A prumiw the yoolh gave, wbic 
Some boltn unto the maiden's hear 

That, soon na the fierce fight wi 
To home he'd speed, if »ife and fr 

Nay, e»*o if dying, stil! would c 
So the blest word of " Victory! " 

Might be the tost he'd brea'tbe t 
" By duj." he cried, ■• thonlt knc 
" But, should I come through mid 
" A bhie light on the prow shall u 
" That Greeee hath won, and all i 

Fondly the nmiden, every nigbt. 
Hod stolen to seek that promia'd L 
Nor long her eyes liad now be«ji t 
From watching, when the signal b 
Signal of joy — for her, for all — 

Fleetly the boat now ncars the 1 
While voices, frooi the shore-edge 

For tidings of the long-wish'd 1 



erefore put? all, all agree 

t them here, beneath this bower; 

, while eVn amidst their gke, 

is tnm'd to watch the sea, 

ong they cheer the anxious hoar. 


Yine! 'tis the Vine!" sud the cup- 


it spring bright from the earth 

the joong Genii of Wit, Love, and J07, 

ss and hallow its birth. 

as fnll grown, like a rubj it flam'd 

on-beam that kiss'd it look'd pale : 

Tine I 'tis the Vine I" erVy Spirit 


iii to the Wine-tree, all hail!" 

^ a bird, to the summons Wit flew, 
ght on the vine-leaves there broke, 
Siuick and so brilliant, all knew 
iight firom his lips, as he spoke. 

** Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried, 
** And the fount of Wit never can fail: *' 

"Tis the Vine! 'tis the Yine!" hills and valleys 
•"Hail, haU to the Wine-tree, all hail!" 

Next, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to admire 

Each tendril and cluster it wore. 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of de- 

As made the tree tremble all o'er. 
Oh, never did flow'r of the earth, sea, or sky. 

Such a soul-giving odour inhale: 
'^'TU the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" aU re-echo the 

<* Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!" 

Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die, 

Came to crown the bright hour with his ray; 
And scarce had that minh-waking tree met his 

When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say; — 
A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around 

TilC like music, it swelPd on the gale; 
«* Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" laughing myriads 

** Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail! " 











No, ne'er came she back, — ^but the watchman who 


>'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, 

That night in the tow'r which o'ershadows the 

re, onlj love, was the light of her ways; 


as in moments of bliss long ago. 

Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray, 

r'd her name from the garden below. 

A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. 

'* sigh'd the maiden, **how faacy can 



»rld once had lips that could whisper thus 


.d now they slumber in yon fatal deep, 

oh that beside them this heart too could 

Thet told her that he, to whose vows she had 



Through night's fleeting hours, was a Spirit 

: on her pillow — but no, 'twas in vain 

unblest; — 

! the illusion, that Voice came again! 

Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd. 

to the casement — but, hush*d as the grave. 

And evil the lips she in darkness had prest. 

light lay slumbering woodland and wave. 

** When next in thy chamber the bridegroom re- 

!p, come and shield me,** in anguish she said. 

el in eth. 

that call of the buried, that cry of the 

*< Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber 


he lies; 

cp came around her — but, starting, she 

*'And there, as the light o'er his dark features 



from the garden that spirit Voice spoke! 

'* Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy 


,** she exclaim*d, ** be thy home where it may, 

th or in heaven, that call I obey;" 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, vet fearing. 
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her 

>rth through the moonlight, with heart 

t»ng fast 


d as a death-watch, the pale maiden past. 

And saw — such a vision! — no image, appearing 

To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright. 

nd her the scene all in loneliness shone; 

1, in the distance, that Voice led her on; 

A youth, but just passing firom childhood's sweet 

thcr she wander'd, by wave or by shore, 


er could tell, for she came back no more. 

While round him still lingered its innocent ray$ 


», from benealh his abat cjclidi garc 

noon lightnings that under them bf. 

had a grace more thaii mortal aronnd it, 
fcloasy 03 gold from a fairj-iund mine, 
' ir linui;, and the 6owai that crown'd 

I fresh from the brecie of Boms garden 

Jatood the bride, on thslroiricle fiwingi 
■tc wa« bnt love is idokfr? nov; 
■n her tremor the fats] l&mp raising — 
!c flow from it and dtopp'd on h» brow. 

1 ilart from his ros7 steep naking, 
it ftashM oVr her his glances of Em ; 
1 the clasp of her Snowy arms 

a voice more of lorrow tluiQ ire : 

I — what a dream tbj enspidon hath 


'■ Mood elf and fairy 
" Nightly their homage pa; thi 
" Say, by what apell, alxive, be 
" In star? that wink or flow'rs 
" I may djecover, 
" Ere night is over, 
" Whether toy lore loves me <» 
" Whether my love loves me." 

" Maiden, the dark tree nigh l! 

" Ualh charms no gold could t 

" Its ElciD enchanted, 

" By moon-elves planted, 

" Will all ihou seck'st sapply t 

" Climb ta yon bonghs that lu| 

" Bring Ihenco their fairest leal 

" And ihoalt dUcover, 

" Ere night is over, 

" Whether (hj love loves thee ■ 

" Whether thy love lores lhe«.' 

" Sue, np the dark tree going, 

" Willi Motsoms round me bio 

" From ihenee, oh Father, 



Sludl I recoTcr. 

^Ay truant Iotct ? " 

-tmuun 8eein*d to aDswer, ** No ; " 

tutain answer'd, ** No." 


>^^ once in that grore reclin'd 
v^Ti the noon's bright eje, 
H« woo'd the wandering wind, 
>1 hifl brow with its sigh. 
'Ute hij ey*n the wild bee's hnm, 
t'^eath conld stir the aspen's hair, 
r "Was still •* Sweet air, oh come ! " 
- ^£cho answer'd, ** Come, sweet Air ! " 

"^v what sounds from the thicket rise ! 
meaneth that rustling spray ? 
e white-hom'd doe," the Hunter cries, 
ive sought since break of day." 
*er the sunny glade he springs, 
^rrow flies from his sounding bow, 
o — hilliho!" he gaily sings, 
Q Echo sighs forth »• Hilliho!" 

not the white-hom'd doe 
^w in the rustling grove, 

bridal veil, as pure as snow, 
« own young wedded love. 
^* too sure that arrow sped, 
^<ile at his feet he sees her lie ; — 

I die," was all she said, 
e Echo murmnr'd, ** I die, I die ! 


• me, what's Love? " said Youth, one day, 

<>ping Age, who crost his way. — 

a sunny hour of play, 

^bich repentance dear doth pay; 

Repentance ! Bcpentance I 

thiJB is Love, as wise me