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THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


OP 


THOMAS      MOORE. 


«     ■  .  •/•  •    - 

'     -  V     .  ■ 

\    '  •     t9yiyox 

PBIKTSO  BT  8r<iJTTauroODX  AMD  CO. 
KXW'HTBKKT  SqUABX 


THR 


POETICAL   WOKKS 


o? 


THOMAS     MOORE 


COMPLETE    IN    ONE    VOLUMK 


LONDON 
LONGMAN,    GREEN,    LONGMAN,    AND    ROBERTS 

1860 


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


TO 


THE    MARQUIS    OF    LANSDOWNE 


IN     OBATSrUL    BEXSHBBANCE     OF 


XZABLT     70BTT     TEAB8    07    KUTUAL    ACQUAINTANCE     AND     7BIEND8UIP 


v^--      '■■■■ 


-  ,>• 


WITH     IHK    SINCBBEST    VEELIIIGB    O?     AVPZCTION    AND    BZSPZCT 


BT 


THOMAS    MOOBE. 


CONTENTS. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


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 

IRISH  MELODIES. 

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 


Pwt 

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 


httWorldofoun' 
alga  It  dm 

ul  tt  th*  Fliu  nd  Second 

Third  Moiibar    ',  '.        ■'. 

iMw  DoncRorDoBaiil  pn- 

SeToiUi  NDiBtnr'  '  ' 


rtONAL  AIBS. 


Air.  ~  Tta*  Beth  or  St.  Mm- 


Jilalinf.    (Biwlm  Air.) 


.— Slghll.fl„Bi[l.o[lnut 
Uke«ne>l»,<!<URi'd 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


Fate 
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 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

raj^ical  PrefMe        •  •  •  .  •179 

ce 182 

agel'sScory  .  .  .  .  .184 

Anfcel'a  Story 188 

iogeTs  Story 199 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 

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

205 

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 

ODES. 

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 


XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVL 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXX  L 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVL 

XL  VII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LI. 

LI  I. 

Llll. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

LVIII. 

LIX. 

LX, 

LXI. 

LXll. 

LXIII. 

LXIV. 

LXV. 

LXVL 

LXVII. 

LXVIll. 

LXIX. 

LXX. 

LXXl. 

LXXIl. 

LXXl  II. 

LXXIV. 

LXXV. 

LXXVI. 

LXXVII. 

LXXVllI. 


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 


Page 
225 
225 
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281 
232 
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285 
235 
836 
236 
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238 
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242 
242 
243 
244 
244 
244 

244 
245 
245 

245 
246 
246 
246 
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246 
247 
247 
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247 
248 


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 .  . 


248 
248 
248 
248 
248 
248 


4  tale  or  Romance.  . 


?ph  Atkinson,  E«q.    .  .    'iGO 

jre  Exercitps    .  .    2GI 

t>nsecrating  cause  .2^1 

'J61 
itch.    Written  for  a  friend  .  .    261 

261 
262 
262 
263 
S6:{ 
264 
264 
le  calumnies  against  her  character     264 

264 
2G4 
2(;5 
265 
265 

265 

266 

266 

266 

267 

267 

267 

267 

267 

26A 

26S 

26s 

269 

269 

270 

270 

270 


to  some  illlber.«l  criticisms 

•  ■  •  • 

■•  •  •  • 

ae  manuscript  Poems,  on 


fragment 
rtbday 


uring  illness 


idy 

A  Dream.    To 


leaving 


-,  the  morning 


270 
271 


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        .... 

Song 

The  Catalogue 

Imitation  of  Catullus  to  himself    . 

Oh  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile 

Nonsense       .... 

Bpigram,  from  the  French  . 

On  a  Squinting  Poetess 

To 

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 
4W 

le.    (The  CasUliaa  Maid.)    .          .  402 

402 

402 

403 

Bloom   .           .           .           .           .403 
403 

ig 403 

•  •■•••     4tR» 

ly  I  meet         ....  404 

vt 404 

404 

404 

405 

lember'd  now  .  .  .405 

love  thee?      .  •  .  .405 

4a5 

that's  gone   ....  405 

.           .           .           •           •  406 

406 

m  Time        .  .  .  .406 

406 

407 

407 

Ttlng 407 

at  ftome  wide  Scene                      .  408 

408 

lit  Daughter  .  .  .408 

.....  408 

he  favour'd  Ouett  .           .           .  409 

Id 409 

I 409 

ly 409 

410 

....  410 

410 

le  ting  and  play     .  .  .410 

411 

411 

ght 411 

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    . 


MISCELLANEOUS 

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 


CONTENTS. 


••  • 

XllL 


t 


Page 
AJbkevenlfled  .....    437 

OfetheDctthof  aFricDd 437 

IWlMiiMCorry,  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 

THB  FUDOB  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

443 

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 

452 

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 

464 

Letter  XI.   From  Phellm  Connor  to ——  .    466 

Lcrtcr  XII.   From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 

466 


THE   FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND; 


BttUG  A  SEQCBL  TO  **  TIB  WVDOM  PAMILT  IN  PARIS.*^ 


FABLES  FOR  THE   HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Prrface 

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 


473 
473 
474 

477 

479 
480 
481 

484 

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. 

.490 


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 


Face 
495 
495 

496 
497 
498 
499 
500 
503 
603 
504 


RHYMES  ON  THB  ROAD. 

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 

SATIRES. 

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 

TWOPENNY  POST-BAG. 

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 


u^U 

» FlumiuilFr     . 

Dl«,a 

■  PoUlIc 

■■  ■" 

■  Idol.. 

wriu«.n«'.htiu;N.»: 

-llrj    . 

Mlli,j 

1.  1-lw 

™-C«h 

IJc'lhlggu,  ^ 

— ghii-j 

.ih.D- 

u(C^b-l_a   . 

InlUEn. 

Ird" 

'".'""" 

"mdhwlUii 

Lib.  II 

F,«.,,'l 

•■-lutd  V  llU 

-LlfcL 

Fr«l>,r 

ntm«i  bj  Lord 

T""* 

Udj.ndGn,il,na„,„p„„ 

("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 


CONTENTS. 


XV 


I 


Pag* 

Club 619 

t  for  «   Gf lutcocracy.     Addressed  to  a  late 

cat  MeecSng 930 

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

•nect 621 

683 

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- 

631 

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

631 

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 


Page 

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 


THE  EPICURE.AX. 
Preface         .  .  .  .  . 

Dedication,  to  Lord  John  Russell 


.    66:) 
.    665 


ALCIPHRON:  a  Fraombnt 


Geniral  Indkz 


.    7-5 
.    739 


LALLA   EOOKH. 


_j 


PREFACE/ 


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 
subject. 

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. 


lialMI.IMi.] 


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 


PREFACE. 


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.** 


•T«liaif«,iahis 
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 


he 


o 


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 


ALLA    ROOKH. 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


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 
-wood. 

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  piutma  to  Cashmere. 
•  TUi  hypoedtSeal  Emperor  woold  have  made  a  worthy  associate 
at  ecnahi  Holy  Leacoe*.— "  He  held  the  cloak  of  religion  (aayn 
Dsv:  between  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  consecration  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 
IIin<lfiatan. 

**  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- 
lation. 

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 


VEILED  PROPHE: 

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  ", 

trod. 
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 
skin. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


11 


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, 

0  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 

ts; 

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 

given. 
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 

kind. 
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 
Brave. 

"But  these,"  pursue 

sublime, 
**  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 

now. 


LALLA  KOOKH. 


13 


gbdden'd  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide  ex- 
panse, 
.  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 

glances; 

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 

f" 

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 

t'd, 

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 

cast. 
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 

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

shippers. 
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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


15 


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 
s. 

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 

night 
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 

brow. 
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 

deceit 
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 
ray. 


their 


.. .  V     m^^^  rm    A    » 


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

with  fiendish  hwgh,  like  that  which 
ce 

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

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 

n. 


u 


« 


« 


« 


<« 


**  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< 
maid. 
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, 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


17 


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 
pale, 
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 

these 
"  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 

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

glass; 
"  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 

beam 
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. 

c 


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 

de 

,  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 

me; 

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 

'rs, 

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 

lame? 

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


"H 

"  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£ 
bride! 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  os 


t< 


«i 


M 


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 

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


LALLA  ROOKH. 


19 


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 

brav*d 
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 
China. 

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 

noon; 
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. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


21 


•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 

aarth." 

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


«« 
« 
<« 
«( 
«( 
«< 
u 
(« 
u 
«( 

«< 

«< 

« 


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 

cause 
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 

round, 
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. 


11 


ti 


u 


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, 

down 
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 
long; 
In  the  time  of  my  chili 
dream. 
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 

DEIGEEB  ? 

No,  the  roses  soon  wither*( 

But  some  blossoms  wei 

they  shone. 

And  a  dew  was  distill*d 

gave 

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 

DEMEER I 

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


LALLA  ROOKH. 


23 


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 

igh 

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 
•;d 

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 
ith*d 

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

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 


;s 


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^'.  ■ — 

LALLA  KOOKIL 


25 


(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 
mn 

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- 
blijrht, 

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 

T, 

-  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. 


i( 


i( 


t( 


(i 


M 


M 


**  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 

know 
**  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 

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

near, 
"  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 

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

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 

night 
"  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 

sever 
'*  Hearts,  cannot  sunder 

ever!" 

With  aU  that  strength 

weak, 
She  flung  away  his  arm ; 
Whose  sound,  though  he 

years 
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.- 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


27 


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  progress  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 

wind; 
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 
BhelU."-^/i\B<Y. 

•  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" 
—Tartmier. 

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 
f 

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 
th; 

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 
ider. 


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( 

turn'd. 
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 
blood! 

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 


LALLA  BOOKH. 


29 


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 
I 

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- 
nuintat(jr$. 

*  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 
life. 


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 
x>d 

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 
ts. 

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< 

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

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

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

King— 
"  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( 

drown 
"  Nor  shadow  of  earth  < 

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

tt  nc  r» •         ,    -      - 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


31 


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 
lance 

•  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 
ir 
'  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 

cheek, 
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. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


SB 


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 


DW 


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 

KNlt 

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 
ound 

'  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 

breasts. 
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 

strain, 
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 

beaming 
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'* 

D 


.^ >>b"t  >^«  uiicuuneous  souiB  are 

aed. 

rell,  sweet  spirits!  not  in  vain  je  die, 

LIS  loTes  yon  half  so  well  as  I. — 

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

seat; 

;ome — no  shuddering — didst  thou  never 

neet 

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

wcet; 

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

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- 
tains, 

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

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 
ith. 

s'st  yon  cistern  in  the  shade — 'tis  fiU'd 
iming  drugs,  for  this  last  hour  dis- 
'd:'— 
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  < 


it 


K 


He 


and  su 


sprung 

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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


36 


.**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, 
0  pray  for  her  —  to  bend  the  knee 
tad  night  before  that  Deity, 


M 

M 
M 

M 
M 
M 
M 
U 
M 

M 
M 
M 
U 
(t 
M 
M 
M 

M 
«t 

M 

t( 


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 

take 
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- 
welL" 


Time  fleeted  —  years  on  years  had  pa.ss'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 

shade 
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 


LALLA  ROOEH. 


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 


PARADISE  AND  THE  PERL 

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  -~«  -**' '    ' 


«( 


4t 


U 


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 


LALLA  ROOEH. 


89 


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 
n. 

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  ! 


tf 


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 
Travels. 

**  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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


41 


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  Mahometan  Paradise,  in  his  Beautia  qf  ChrU- 
tkatity. 


\ 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


43 


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  thereupon,  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 


fa 

t 


**  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 " 


M 


hi 
hb 


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 
blown, 

"  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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


45 


T 


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 
populace. 

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. 

ITaka. 

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:  — 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


47 


FIRE-WOBSHIPPERS. 

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, 

FcUx. 

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  « 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


49 


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, 

£ 


*0' 


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! " 


ft 


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; 
0  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»! 


(( 


ii 


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 

glow'st 
•*  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 

"Abhors- 


it 


(t 


u 


»» 


"  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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


51 


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! 
A- 


n 


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  wuronnda  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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


53 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


66 


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 
rave 

:  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 


LALLA  BOOKH. 


57 


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  awerted  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 
'Written. 


• '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 
nearer 

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 

bear, 
**  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» 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


69 


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. 


itluaPUD7eall«**fa 
ilUut  Canopof,  aoMcn  in  European  cUmfttc*.* 


ted't 


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 
tion. 
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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


61 


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? 


14 


M 


tl 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


63 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


65 


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 

0  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 

line, 

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 
tonDd."—FamaiU, 

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<. 

F 


\ 


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 


LALLA  BOOEH. 


67 


-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  ptecipitons  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  — 

0  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 ; 


theatMTofSbitMd. 

llMbaakMiftlMJoidaaMmalMrtiofwild 
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 


LALLA  BOOEH. 


69 


▼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. 


the 

* 


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 
blowing, 
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 
tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning,' 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  t^e 
old. 


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 


i 


.^w      w*A«  &AA\^ 


lunru 


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 

chamber, 
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 

sparkling, 
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 


Vi<«» 


._ 1J     -r 


LALLA  BOOEH. 


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  cmintrj  (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 
■adslTth.* 

i^hrii  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 
wave? 


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 


\ 


inging.' 

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 


LALLA  BOOEH. 


78 


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 
Kling, 

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 

USHJCKBXl 

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- 

LAHAJU 

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 
oatch, 

eferr*d  in  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that 
url'd 
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 

flies 
From  the  lip  to  the  cheek,  firom  the  cheek  to  the 

eyes; 
Now  melting  in  mist  and  now  breaking  in  gleams. 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  Heav'n  in  his 

dreams. 
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 

climes 
Light  breezes  will  ruffle  the  blossoms  sometimes — 
The  short,  passing  anger  but  seemed  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like  flow'rs  that  are  sweetest  when 

shaken. 
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- 

vealings 
From  innermost  shrines,  came  the  light  of  her 

feelings. 
Then  her  mirth  —  oh!  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took 

wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  the  wild-bird  in 

spring; 
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 

soul; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  dis- 
cover, 
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 

gave 
Noubmahal  the  proud  Lord  of  t^e  East  for  her 

slave : 
And   though  bright  was  his  Haram,  —  a  living 

parterre 
Of  the  flow'rs  *  of  this  planet  —  though  treasures 

were  there. 
For  which  Soliman's  self  might  have  giv'n  all  the 

store 
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- 

mahalI 

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 
flowen. 


! — 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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


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  wippotcd  chann  thef  contain."— Jaofcaon. 

DMA,  ■uyyuwid  to  havmt  woods,  ftc.,  in  a  hnnuui  shape.'* 

mm. 

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 
churchyards. 

"  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 


LALLA  ROOEH. 


77 


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 

breath! 
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 ; 


'  '^^Wytr  <mr  pltmnxe  wImi  from  a  wiewlon  of  loiindi.  It 
■^IParptiutt  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  priMBieiia  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 

peiSnated  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  MffJ. 


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« 


LALLA  BOOKH. 


79 


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 
lere. 

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 
told. 
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 


LAIJJL  ROOKH. 


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 


OLLIkVl 


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 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


83 


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- 
wise. 

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. 


mSH  MELODIE& 


PEEFACE/ 


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 


I 


«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 


PREFACE. 


89 


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, 


aelhb 


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- 

k1. 

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 
notice. 

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*» 


PREFACE. 


91 


^  *  *  *  *  ■  *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 


ihi 


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 


poor 


*  •  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  hedpewctl  thitmgh  rfnce  eeemert  qniie  forgotteni 

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, 

0  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, 

-aL-t 

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 
memory." 

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< 


PREFACE. 


93 


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 

MitlOIl* 

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 

btcr."t 
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: — 

**£e2&^o(2t,I836. 

"  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,  reprcaenting  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 


TO 


THE  MABCmONESS  DOWAGEB  OF  DONEG 


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  • 


PREFACE 


TBI   FIB8T   COKFLSTS   EDITION. 

♦ 


9H  an  edition  of  the  Poetry  of  the  Lrish  I  full  of  tvnooTAnbirAl  tan 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


GO  WHESE  GLOBT  WATTS  THEEL 

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. 


WAR  SONG. 

REMEMBER    THE    GLORIES    OF    BRIEN 

THE  BRAVE.* 

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 
blood. 

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 
Intcmiptod 


ERIN!   THE  TEAR  AND  THE  SMILE  IN 

THINE  EYES. 

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 
weeps, 

brighten  with  yerdore  the  graye  where  he 
sleeps; 
the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls. 


^THEN  HE,  WHO  ADORES  THEE. 

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. 


XU  OUUW    lUUl  SIL 


FLY  N< 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


97 


ipect  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  of  to-night 
1  return  with  to-monow  to  brighten  my 

brow, 
-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 
smile, 
4  the  smile  that  compassion  can  torn  to  a 


thread  of  oor  life  would  be  dark.  Heaven 

knows! 
it  were  not  with  friendship  and  love  inter- 

twin'd; 
[  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 
vouth, 

the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  de- 
cline. 


FHE  lAST  GLIMPSE  OF  ERIN  WITH 
SORROW  I  SEE. 

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 
roam. 


fhc 


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 

more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  the  rough 

wind 
Less  rude  than  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind. 

And  m  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair  as  graceful  it 

wreathes, 
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 

hair.' 


RICH  AND  RARE  WERE  THE  GEBIS  SHE 

WORE.« 

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" 


it 


it 


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. 

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 

stay, 
&  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's  bright 

ray; 
beams  of  the  warm  smi  play  roond  it  in 

vain, 
J  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again. 


HE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.* 

s  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
lat  Tale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters 

meet;* 
he  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
he  bloom  of  that  raiUey  shall  fade  from  my 

heart 

;  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 
near, 

made  o'ery  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more 
dear, 

ifho  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature  im- 
prove, 

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 

best, 
e  the  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 


-V u 


^VUU  Millie    bWUUlUAVt 


TAKE  BACK  T: 

WSITTXX  OK  XETU] 

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 


IRISH  MELODIE& 


99 


»  mmj  the  ivotds  I  write 
TeU  thio'  wlist  storms  I  stray— 
iw  idn  Ae  unseen  li^^ 
Gmding  mj  way. 


THE  LEGACY. 

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. 


)FT  HAS  THE  BENSHEE  CBIED. 

>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  vttMif  throodiout  thic  work,  to  allnde 
flUallty*  bj  whkh  EncUnd  has  been 
gnat  and  food  iiMn«  at  %  moment  when  iIm 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THEOUGH  THIS 
WORLD. 

Wb  may  roam  through  this  world,  like  a  child  at 
a  feast. 
Who  but  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flies  to  the 
rest; 
And,  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  the 
east. 
Wo  may  order  our  wings,  and  be  off  to  the 
westj 

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 
home. 

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 
alL 

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. 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER. 

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  between  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 

LedtbeRed-Br 
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 


THE  SONG 

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^ 
e.9. 


.>!.>  *Vt«  mt. 


Inl 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


101 


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  ? 


JfE,  S£ND  ROUND  THE  WINE. 

end  round  the  wine,  and  leaye  points  of 

elief 

ipleton  sages,  and  reasoning  fools; 

meat's  a  flower  too  fair  and  brief, 

witber'd  and  stain'd  bj  the  dost  of  the 
rbools. 

^9>  may  be  purple,  and  mine  may  be  blue, 
hile  thej  are  fill'd  from  the  same  bright 
:»wU 
U    who  would  quarrel  for  diff'rence  of 

ae, 

ves  not  the  comfort  then  shed  o*cr  the 

jjxL 

ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my 

ide 

>  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  ! 


SUBIJME  WAS  THE  WARNING. 


the  warning  that  Liberty  spoke, 
grand  was   the  moment  when    Spaniards 
awoke 
»  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 

spot. 
Nor,  oh,  be  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  forgot 
While  you  add  to  your  garland  3ie  Olive  of 

Spain! 

If  the  fame  of  onr  fathers,  heqneath'd  with  their 

rights, 
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 

find 
That  repose  which,  at  home,  they  had  sigh'd  for 

in  vain. 
Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  the  flame,  which  you 

light, 
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 

cause 
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 

die! 
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 
grdxe 

Beneath  Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  Olives  of  Spain ! 


BELIEVE  ME,  IF  ALL  THOSE  ENDEAR- 
ING YOUNG  CHARMS. 

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 
arms. 
Like  fairy-gif^s  fadinp^  away. 
Thou  wouldst  still  be  ador'd,  as  this  moment  thou 
art. 
Let  thv  loveliness  fade  as  it  will> 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 
Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  stilL 

I 


LE  the  bright  lamp,  that  shone  in  Eildare's  holy 

fane,* 
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 


DMNK  TO  HER. 

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< 

ThatdweU 
But  oh  1  the ; 

Can  boast  i 
Its  native  hon 

Though  w< 
Then  drink  t< 

Hath  wak'< 
The  girl,  wh< 

What  gold 


OH!  BLAM] 

Ob  I  blame  not  the 

Where  Pleasure  li 
He  was  bom  for  mu 

His  soul  might  ha 
The  string,  that  no^ 

Might  have  bent  ; 
dart;* 
And  the  lip,  which 
desire. 

Might  have  pour'd 


us,  **  were  iprinkled  with 

J-_t.>^       _ Vt_V     V.-u.     -m^^Jt 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


103 


IS  for  his  eoontxy !  — her  pride  is  gone  bj, 

.  that  spirit  is  broken,  which  neTer  woold 

bend; 

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 
wrongs. 

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. 


E  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT. 

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. 


."ivm 


» 


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. 


ILL  OMENS. 

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 
stolen, 

The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon. 

As  she  look'd  in  the  glass,  which  a  woman  ne'er 
misses. 

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 
faces, 

"  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 

glowing, 

That,  spite  of  her  haste,  she  must  gather  it  too : 

find  ft  starry  sky  without  «  moon,  with  these  words,  JVon  miZIe, 
gmoddb$tn». 

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 
moon.** 

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 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


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 
own. 
Then  oh !  what  pleasi 

To  be  sure  to  find 
And  to  know,  when  1 

We've  but  to  maJ 
near. 


'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< 
hue. 
Then  oh!  what  pleas 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


105 


SH  PEASANT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS.* 

[  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 

m'd, 

ne  into  glory,  till  fear  into  zeal  was 

rn'd; 

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 
ves, 

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 
il- 
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 

>:* 


ON  MUSIC. 

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." 

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! 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  HARP. 

'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 

lov'd. 

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 
form. 

s  ThcK  line*  were  oceaaioned  bj  the  Iom  of  a  rtrj  near  and  dear 
relative,  who  had  died  lately  at  Madeira. 

I  3 


away. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

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 

poles, 

Is  a  flash  amid  darl 

But,  though  'twere  th< 

We  must  light  it  u] 

Contempt  on  the  mini 
Tho*  fierce  to  your 
true; 
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 

warded. 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


107 


V^EEF  ON,  WEEP  ON. 

.  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 " 


A  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

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 

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. 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 


When  they  promis 
They'll  shine  o'er  hei 
West, 
From  her  own  lov' 


NAY,  TELI 

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 

Thebahi 

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 

Thatdra 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


109 


AVENGING  AND  BRIGHT. 

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 

reflingy* 

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 
isted, 
igeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's  head. 

arch !  tbo'  sweet  are  our  home  recollec- 

»iia, 

i  sweet  are  the  tears  that  ftom  tenderness 

1; 

rweet  are  our  friendships,  our  hopes,  our 

'ectiona, 

^  on  a  tyrant  is  sweetest  of  all! 


THE  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWRET. 

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. 


LOVE  AND  THE  NOVICR 

**  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^  ? 


ft 


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 
guest. 
If  he  came  to  them  cloth'd  in  Piety's  vest. 


THIS  LIFE  IS  ALL  CHEQUER'D  WITH 
PLEASURES  AND  WOES. 

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« 
8<mg. 

lUlater. 


b  *A^       •  «.#  «AAA  V«>»«  I 


■JIAA  AAA% 


3ir  time  with  the  flowers  on  the  margin  have 

wasted, 
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. 


OH  THE  SHAMROCK 

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 

OfBardandChie^ 
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 
Hisflc 

Of  thorny  fal 
May  V 
Hissti 

Against  the  c 

Oh  the  Shamrock,  tl 

Chosei 

OfBft 

Old  Erin's  ns 


.1-  1 


AT  THE  MI 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Ill 


9E  BUHPEB  AT  PABTING. 

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. 


fECE  LAST  BOSE  OF  SUMMEB. 

'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  ? 


THE  YOUNG  MAY  MOON. 

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. 

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* 


THE  SONG  OF  O'RUARK, 

PRIITCB  OF  BREFFNI.* 

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 

there. 

With  affe 

From  c 

And,  wit! 

Living 

Our  life  should  res* 

And  our  death  com 


FAREWELL  I - 
WELC 

Fabbwell  — but 
That  awakens  the 

bower, 
Then  think  of  the  i 
And  forgot  his  ow 
His  griefs  may  reti 
Of  the  few  that  I 

pain. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


113 


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.* 

You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride. 

How  meekly  she  blessed  her  humble  lot, 
When  the  stranger,  William,  had  made  her  his 
bride. 

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. 

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* 

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 


NO,  NOT  M 


xr^    - 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


115 


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. 


WHEN  IXEtST  I  MET  THEE. 

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  mSTORT'S  MUSE. 

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 
name. 

*<Hail,  Star  of  my  Isle!"    said  the  Spirit,  all 

sparkling 

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 
name. 

**  Yet  still  the  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining, 
**  The  grandest,  the  purest,  ev'n  t/tou  hast  yet 
known; 
**  Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  un- 
chaining, 
**  Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy 
own. 
*'  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. 


WHERE  IS  TEffi  SLAVE. 

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:. 


x.^ 


._  J.  ii.  n 


VY  no  uve  lo 


COME,  RES 

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< 

sue. 
And  shield  thee,  and 


TIS  GON] 

'Tis  gone,  and  for  ( 

Like  Heaven's  fii 

dead — 

When  Man,  from  tl 

Look'd  upward,  < 

fled. 

'Tis  gone,  and  the  j 


T».. 


-1 


i.l._    1 


naSH  MELODIES. 


117 


igfcwv  tlijr  hopo^  idwa  tbote  gloriM  were 


and  tbM^tfaroagfaaUdiegroMckmdiofthe 

world; 

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. 


I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH. 

from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was 
htining, 

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 

Homing, 

clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Evening's 

be«t  Hght. 

o  would  not  welcome  that  moment's  return- 
ing. 

n  passion  first  wak'd  a  new  life  through  his 
frame, 

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  FAIR. 

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- 
ness, 
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 

twine! 
>,  sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  slum- 
bers. 
Till  touched  by  some  hand  less  unworthy  than 

mine; 
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. 


MY  GENTLE  HARP. 

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 


IN  THE3 

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 
flowers. 
Their  sighs  have 
worth; 
'Tis  the  cloud  and 
showers. 
That  call  the  rich 
So  it  is  not  'mid  spl 
That  the  depth  of 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


119 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 

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. 


WHES  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH. 

ar  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast 

tov'd, 
^  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 

roam, 
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 
stray. 
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. 

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 

free. 
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 

nest. 
Drink  love  in  each  life-drop  that  flows  from  thy 

breast. 


WREATHE  THE  BOWL. 

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. 

« 


HENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EYES. 

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  I 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


121 


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! 


FORGET  NOT  THE  FIELD. 

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. 


TBTEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LEFR 

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 
slues. 
But  this  earth  is  the  {danet  for  yoo,  k>ve,  and  me. 

In  Mercury's  star,  where  each  moment  can  bring 
them 

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- 
dour. 
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 
me. 

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 
me. 


OH  FOR  THE  SWORDS  OF  FOR^IER 

TIME! 

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 


ST.  SENANUS  AND  THE  LADY. 


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.' 

THB  LADT. 

**  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. 


NE'ER  ASK  THE  HOUR. 

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! 
on, 

And  how  fast  th 
So  fill  the  cup^wl 

How  Time  his  ci 
The  fairy  hours  we 

Obey  no  wand,  \ 


SAIL 

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- 
more: 
The  stormiest  sea's 

To  him  who  leai 
Or  —  if  some  desei 

Where  never  yei 
Profan'd  a  world,  1 

Then  rest  thee,  1 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


123 


THE  PARALLEL. 

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- 
bKng" 
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 

slaves; 

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 

aty* 

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. 


DRD^  OF  THIS  CUP. 

Dannc  of  this  cup;  youll  find  there*s  a  spell  in 
Its  every  drop  *gainst  the  ills  of  mortality; 


i 

Mr.  HajBiltao, 
Irwt. 

3*Ite«aiii 


wrftten  after  the  pcniMl  of  a  ireatlM  hj 
to  proTc  that  tbe  Iri«h  wen  ori^iiiBlIj 


»- 


thaUmo 


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 
it; 
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 
weather. 
This  wonderful  juice  firom  its  core  was  distill*d 

To  enliven  such  hearts  as  are  here  brought  to* 
gether. 
Then  drink  of  the  cup — you'll  find  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. 

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. 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

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. 

0  "  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. 


OH,  YE  DEAD! 

• 

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 
bed. 
To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 
Those  eyes  that  wept  your  fall, 
the  hearts  that  wail'd  you,  like  your  own,  lie 
dead? 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


125 


KGHO. 

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 


OH  BANQUET  NOT. 

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 


rH£^  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

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. 

Shall  the  Harp,  then,  be  silent,  when  he  who  first 
gave 
To  our  country  a  name,  is  withdrawn  from  all 
eyes? 
Shall  a  Slinstrcl  of  Erin  stand  mute  by  the  grave. 
Where  the  first  —  where  the  last  of  her  Patriots 
lies? 

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 
goal? 

1  ThcM  line*  were  written  on  the  death  of  our  ereat  patriot, 
Orattan.in  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 

urns 
Of  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  the  best  of  mankind ! 


OH,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCING. 

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 


SWEEl 

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\ 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


127 


^  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 


'AS  ONE  OF  THOSE  DBEAMS. 

Qfne  of  those  dreams,  that  hy  mnsic  are 

irongHt* 

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 

quire, 

>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 

strain 

ad  ceas'd  upon  earth  was  awaking  again  I 

zire,  if,  while  list'ning  to  music,  whose 
breath 

to  circle  his  name  with  a  charm  against 
leath, 

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  1  PUT  ON  AWHILE. 

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."  — 
(yiiattoran, 
*  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 


D  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  THIS. 

>  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 

then? 
)  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 
more; 
They're  ours,  when  wi 
we  part. 
Like  birds  that  brin 
o'er. 
T^us  circling  the  cup, 
Let  Sympathy  pled; 
pain. 
That,  fast  as  a  feeling 
Her  magic  shall  sent 


THE  MOOT 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


129 


T 


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! " 


AS  VANQUISHT)  EBI^. 

: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 


DESMOND'S  SONG.^ 

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, 

IfIlov'd,Iwaslost 

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 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MY  HEART. 

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 

ray 
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. 


I  «AT      UO 


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. 


SHE  SUNG  OF  LOVE. 

$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 


SING -SING - 

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 
speaks. 
At  once  sends  it  1 
sings. 
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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


131 


:  HITMBUS  THE  BANQUET. 

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- 

n 

Gnom  the  path  a  pura  conscience  i^)- 

»; 

hope  in  the  heart,  and  no  chain  on 

juon, 

rards  its  course  to  the  light  which  it 


ces  the  pride  of  his  humble  retreat, 

I  this,  though  of  all  other  treasures 

r'd, 

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 


SrSG,  SWEET  HARP. 

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. 


SONG  OF  THE  BATTLE  EVE. 

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 

0  light  upon  earth  and  find  such  cheer 

s  brightens  our  banquet  here. 

0  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 


VVE  A  SECE 

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 


SONG  0 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


138 


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  NIGHT  DANCOBS. 

:  the  gmy  harp!  see  the  moon  is  on  high, 

,  as  trae  to  her  beam  as  the  tides  of  the 

ocean, 

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 
spheres, 

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 
feather. 


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 


THERE  ARE  SOUNDS  OF  BflRTH. 

Thebs  are  sounds  of  mirth  in  the  night-air  ring- 
ing, 

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- 
ing*— 

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  ARRAN- 

MORE. 

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 


LAY  HIS  SWORD  BY  HIS  SIDE. 

Lat  his  sword  by  his  side',  it  hath  senr'd  him  too 
well 

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 
chains!" 

^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 
loose, 

**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 

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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


ia5 


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. 


B  BEEAH  OF  THOSE  DAYS. 

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. 


[  THIS  HOUR  THE  FLEDGE  IS 
GIVEN. 


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. 

oTtheiiM. 


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 


SILENCE  IS  IN  OUR  FESTAL  HAIXa* 

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"  — • 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


137 


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- 


LETTEB 

to 
MABCHIOHE8S  IX>WAOEB  OF  DONXOAL, 

mSFIZBD  lO 

XHK   THIKD   NUMBXB. 

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 

I 


I 


'  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  hiawvy  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^ 


V 


',  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 

0  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  borboioat 


to  the 


of  theOMUeSoelityof 


oran,  vol.  L  pert  Iv.  diep.  vU. 
diap.vl. 

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 
doaanotmakeatanaihiedUfcteDeabetwawPAaipMid 
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  tntmimvtmtin  %  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 
Irragnlarity. 

*  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 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


139 


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 
character. 

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—Aart.  Empir.  P^rrh,  H^potk.  Libb  L 

L  4 


I 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


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 

0  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. 

0  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 


ADVERTISEMENT 


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. 


ADVERTISEMENT 


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. 

T.M. 


DEDICATION. 


vo 


THB  MAECHI0N1IS8  OF  HBADFOBI!. 


TO   THB    TENTH   KUXBEB. 


rith  a  pleasure,  not  unmixed  with  melandiolj, 
'.  dedicate  the  last  Number  of  the  Irish  Melo- 
0  jonr  Ladyship;  nor  can  I  hare  any  donbt 


f  ftUoved  to  mmtion,  bai 
t  aln,  but  hM  eomnmwhwttid 


I 

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 

faithl 


when  he  rwldw,  UhutnlBd  hy 
vhfah  tlMT  raftr  I  aU  of  whU 
Number,  will  b»  of  iBflatta  Mr 


NATIONAL   AIES. 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

,  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 


T.M. 


iTIONAL  AIRS. 


2MPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP.' 

CSrAjnni  An.) 


u>  Friendship,"  said  Laura,  enchanted, 
in  this  garden, — the  thought  is  di- 

n 

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 
Love." 


M 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER. 

(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. 


ALL  THAT'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADE. 

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 


80  WARMLY  WE  MET. 

(HsicsAKiAji  Am.) 

rarmly  we  met  and  so  fondly  we  parted, 

hat  which  was  the  sweeter  ev'n  I  could  not 

tell,— 
t  first  look  of  welcome  her  sunny  eyes  darted, 
r  that  tear  of  passion,  which  bless'd  onr  fare- 

welL 
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 
to-morrow 

V^ould  bring  back  Ae  bless'd  honr  of  meeting 
again. 


SHOULD  THO 

(FoKTt 

Should  those  fond  ho 

Which  now  so  sweei 
Should  the  cold  world 

From  all  thy  visioni 
Should  the  gay  Menc 
banish 

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,  FOI 
i« 

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 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


147 


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. 


AKE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE! 

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. 


DOST  THOU  REMEMBER. 

(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. 

(VSHSTIAJI   A».) 

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.  -.  Aomseaw,  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. 


HARKl  THE  VESPER  HYMN  IS 
STEALING. 

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 


THERE  C< 

(Oa 

Thbrs  comes  a  ti 
To  him  whose '. 

O'er  all  the  fields 
And  made  ead 

*Tis  when  his  sou 


NATIONAL  AIBS. 


149 


yor^  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 
Throngfa  twiHght's  dim  dday, 

Hie  cold  remains  of  lostre  gone, 
Of  fire  long  paes'd  awaj. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 

THEME. 

(SvnoBAiB.) 

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. 


on,  NO— NOT  EVN  WHEN  FIRST  WE 

LOVD. 


(C 


■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. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 

(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! 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  GENIUS. 

(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. 
M 


THEN,  FAKE  THEE  WELL. 

(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 


LOVE  IS  A 

CLkM9UM 

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 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


161 


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 


JOYS  OF  TOUTH,  HOW  FLEETING! 

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. 

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. 

(BWBSIW  AtB.) 

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. 


SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  BE  OUR  SPORT 

TO-DAY? 

(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! 


GO,  THEN— TIS  VAIN. 

(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. 


THE  CRYSTAL-HUNTERS. 

(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  GEI5 

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 
Balcony' 

While  thou 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


153 


OH,  DAYS  OF  YOUTH. 


cr 


.) 


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. 


WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMH^E. 

(TSUBTIAIV  A  IB.) 

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! 


PEACE  TO  THE  SLUMB'RERS ! 

(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! 


WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER. 

(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. 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS  ? 

(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 


M 


<( 


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! 


)» 


EE,  THE  DAWN  FROM  HEAVEN. 

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 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


155 


WH£X  THBOUGH  THE  PIAZZETTA. 

(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." 


GO,  NOW,  AND  DREAM. 

(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 

splendid, 
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. 

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! 


FAREWELL,  THERESA ! 

(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 
lover 
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 ! 


OFT,  WHEN  THE  WATCHING  STARS. 

(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. 


lOUGH  'TIS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM. 

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  I 

(NBAPOLRi 

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 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


157 


>  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 ! 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD. 

(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! 


S'C>T  SAT  THAT  LIFE  IS  WANING. 


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. 

0  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. 


THE  GAZELLE 

^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. 

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. 

**  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 

own?" 

[mc. 

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 


OH,  GUARD  OUR  AFFECTION. 

guard  our  affection,  nor  e'er  let  it  feel 
blight  that  this  world  o'er  the  warmest  will 

steal: 
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 

head, 
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  THE  BRI 
HIT 

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 


SLUMBER,  OH  SLUMBER. 


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 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


159 


rHOU  I-OVST  NO  MORE. 

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. 


lES  ABBOAD  IN  THE  WORLD, 

^  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. 


IvEEP  THOSE  EYES  STILL  PURELY  MINE. 

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. 

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 
pain. 

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  SAY,  THOU  BEST  AND  BRIGHTEST. 

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. 
Like  one  who,  doom'd  o'er  distant  seas 


FEAR  NOT  THAI 

TI 

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 


WHEN  LC 

Whek  Lot 
Cheerftil 

Love's  sun 
Welcom- 

But  when  '. 

Heartacl 
Tears,  and 

Love  ms 

If  Love  ca 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


161 


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. 


'HE  GARLAND  I  SEND  THEE. 

irknd  I  send  thee  was  cull'd  from  those 

owen 

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 

ae. 

Itching  the  sunset,  so  often  we've  stray 'd, 

-n*d,  as  the  time  went,  that  Love  had  no 

ver 

1  his  chain  even  one  happy  hour. 


HOW  SHALL  I  WOO  ? 

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. 


SPRING  AND  AUTUMN. 

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. 


LOVE  ALONE. 

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, 


SACRED    SONGS. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


TO 

EDWARD  TUITE  DALTON,  ESQ. 

THIS  VISflT  VUiaKR  OV  BJLCSBD  BOITOS  18  IITSCBIBSD 
BT  KI8  UVaBS  UTD  AVVBCnOiri.TB  PBISVD 

THOMAS  MOOBE. 
Manfidd  Cottage,  AMnrnme,  May  1818. 


THOU  ART,  OH  GOD. 

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 


THE  BIRD,  LET  LOOSE. 

(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 ! 


FALLEN  IS  THY  THRONE. 

(  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. 

N 


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 !  *' 


WHO  IS  THE  MAH)? 

ST.  JER0M£*8  LOYE.^ 
(AtB_BBB«aoTBir.) 

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 

SK 

(Aia_i 

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 


OH,  THOU  I  ^ 
MOUItt 

(An 

**  He  hmitQi  the  broken  In 
.F)mfaiexlTU.a. 

Oh,  Thou!  who  dr 
How  dark  this  w 

If^  when  deceiv'd  ai 
We  could  not  fly 


SACRED  SONGS. 


167 


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! 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  THOSE. 

(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 

Kkies. 
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 
unfturl'd; 
And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew, 

liOoks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


THE    TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 

SHRINE. 

( 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. 


srUorasttadt». 


K  2 


is   chariots,  his   horsemen,  all   splendid  and 

brave  — 
7  vain  was  their  boast,  for  the  Lokd  hath  but 

spoken, 
jid  chariots  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the 

wave, 
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 

glory,* 
md  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  the 

tide, 
ind  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea; 
lOYAB  has  trinmph'd — his  people  are  free! 


GO,  LET  ME  WEEP. 

(Aia.-.8«aTBHflOK.) 

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 

ire; 

Come  veil'd  in  those  si 

tender, 

Which  Mercy  flings  o^ 

Lord,  thou  rememb're 
Nation* 

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  SB 

(AiB_E 

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 


SACRED  SONGS/ 


169 


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 


:)WN  IN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS. 

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. 


BUT  WHO  SHALL  SEE. 

(  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. 


ALMIGHTY  GOD! 

CHORUS   OF  PBIE8T8. 
(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 ! 


OH  F^VIR!  OH  PUREST! 

SAINT  AUGUSTINE   TO   HIS   SISTER.'* 
(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. 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


■inng 


'ring  hawk  be  iicnr, 

prey, 
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 


LORD,  WHO  SHALL  BEAK  THAI 


LoBD,  who  shall  bear  that  dsr,  so  di 
splendid, 

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 


SACRED  SONGS. 


171 


ME  TO  LOVE  THEE. 


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 

ilaine, 

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. 


STEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 

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 


LIKE  MORNING,  WHEN  HER  EARLY 

BREEZE. 

(  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! 


.8. 

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 


COME,  YE  DISCONSOLATR 

(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- 
ing— 
**  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. 


^M 

^^^^I^^H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

SE,  THY  LIGHT  :S  COME. 

ihj  light  iflcomoi' 
Chat  bBfoie  outshone  thcr, 
t  lid  dark  and  dumb  — 
ftheLoaoisonlhce! 

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." 

THERE  IS  A  BLEAK  DESEK 

Theiie  is  n  bleak  Desert,  where  dnylig 

weary 
Of  wasting  ils  smile  on  a  repion  so  drear 

What  maf  that  desi-rt  beT 
■Tia  Life,  eheerless  Life,  when!  the  few 

1 

■ 

SACRED  SONGS. 


173 


wre  is  a  fiur  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
»  point  where  those  waten  in  secrecj  dwell — 

YHio  maj  that  Spirit  be  ? 
0  Faith,  humble  Faith,  who  hath  leam'd  that, 

where'er 
7  w&nd  henda  to  wonhip,  the  Trath  must  be 

there! 


SINCE  rmST  THY  WORD. 


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. 


HARK !  'TIS  THE  BREEZE. 

(  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. 


WHERE  IS  YOUR  DWELLING,  YB 
SAINTED? 

(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  ? 


—  -♦- 


HOW  LIGHTLY  MOUNTS  THE  MUSE'S 

WING. 

(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 


^o  victor,  but  tb*  Eternal  One, 
No  tropbies  but  of  Love  I 


GO  FOBTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

>  forth  to  the  Mount — bring  the  olive-branch 

home,* 
ad  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  onr  Freedom  is  come! 
•om  that  time  *,  when  the  moon  upon  Ajalon*8 

vale, 
Looking  motionless  down*,  saw  the  kings  of  the 

earth, 
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 

home, 
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 

home, 
^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  AGA 

(Aj 

"  War  against  Baby] 
Be  our  banners  thr 

Rise  up,  ye  nations,  ] 
"  War  against  Ba 
world! 


SACRED  SONGS. 


175 


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 
cry! 
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. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PEEFACE.* 


'  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:  — 

Ohhinttoth«bi 
C»n  haUow  Ita  h 
Like  jroo.  wiUi  ■ 
Hb  waag  to  th«  i 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 


181 


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 


PREFACE. 


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 
interest. 

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 
aster. 

The  mythology 
the  same  doctrine, 
light  who  strayed  1 
and  obscured  the 
^x!A*h  tTiia  material 


PREFACE. 


183 


:  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. 

rbdot. 


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 


^H 

^^^^^^^^1 

1 

LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

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 

anc!«ngelflmet' 
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 

1 

■ 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


185 


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, 


«r«ti 


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- 
iiiwe  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 
thrown. 


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 


Tfnr- 


AVTACl  **' 


■  /«•« «« I 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


187 


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 


SECOND  J 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


189 


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, 
nmum-w. 

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. 


MOOKES  WORKS. 


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 


trad: 


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; 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


191 


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 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 — 
Irr.f.,.-., 
■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 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


193 


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. 

Q 


^^^^^^^1 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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 

■ 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


195 


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 


^Qlf^^^l 

MOOKE-S  WORKS. 

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, 
aaifofstftrliphlmadei 
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 

■ 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


197 


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 

0  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 


^^Q^^^^^ 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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, 
rlaatingfllemonll 

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 

■ 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


199 


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 
u 

«  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 
amMlkaaaadGtbtaiL 


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 


THIRD  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

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 


^D^^^^^l 

MOORE-S  WORKS. 

ards  the'  Elcmal  Odo. 
di  longing,  deep  desire. 

othere,  a  mere  pan 
CliuHhewhdc- 

-brenlhofhishoaitl 
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, 

IiituElrfiiumroU'dawiyl 
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^ 

■ 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


201 


;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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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 

neoahUlips,aia»,- 

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 

lh>mBDultoaaul, 

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 

glcmentorhearU, 

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 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


J 


PREFACE/ 


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  mopument  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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


fj" 


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] 


PREFACE. 


207 


lb 


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 

''drappimg  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.'* 


TO 


ma  HOTAL  moHiiEsa 
THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 


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. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


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. 


■rfMft«MMafc> 


^HoDES    OF    ANACBEON 

^^^^1                   TRASSLiTED  INTO  ENGU3H  VEBSE. 

^^^^1         INDEX. 

Ah    -Otw  IT.™  Toy  oifor  . 

IS.,  r«i  Jap"  f<i»«na. 

^^^^^^■h  iIo"  fH  . 

Evw  T'P""  ''*''  "'*'     ■ 

^^^^^M.-pw 

<8 

'Oto,  a  BokX"'  "'"''»t 

^^^^^Ma^i:  EV.<rT< 

43 

Tou  A.OI  4  -*!  B«X" 

50 

•or'  n-  »*  -rw-  oiwtf 

^^^^^^^B  ^0'  TQpll»IOV 

51 

Mip  (it  fluO^ft*"    ■ 

^^^^^^Ktcur          lifor 

S3 

T.  )»  TSUt  VDflOM  S.illVtlHIl 

^^^^^^■nl  7I»3UCII    . 

sa 

'Or'  <7W  I'K"''  Jf'Ao"' 

^^^^^■,«  TO  r-n-« 

54 

'O  Ta.<(ioJ  otro!,  »  -m 

^^^^^■ovs  acM  ao' 

l' 

S5 

STS^a^MiD^i'  f  tT*  Mpo. 

^^^^^^■t..]  iru'IKTiu  . 

1( 

56 

■O  TO.  If  -Ofoii  BT..(n) 

^^^^^^BmIP 

S9 

•O  8pmr.TI,!  S  W""' 

59 

To.  (i.XaKDXP'.^o  S"?" 

^^^^^^1  vuTB  StrSpwv 

^i 

60 

A«  flof  e..".  i>o"i"»  -       ■       ■ 

^^^^^^E'^''" 

% 

:-.     ".. ,-J,...«!™    . 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


209 


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  99pmv  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  ; 


X£CTI02f8   or   THE   FHSGEDINO    ODE, 


*T  Ajr  MMntmmr  « 


KBOtJUI. 


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. 

iMr.0d.3aTm.lt.r»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 
^  0  vK  c/iot  Kpcertof  cSwicor 


AIcI  7*  cTpv^if<raT  f  Soiy 

OVK  C^  Vr  WOflOVS  SiSfiUTMtfV 

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 


REMARKS  ON  ANACREON. 

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. 
•dumbnttom 


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 


^^^^Bl^l 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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 
0  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 
0  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-< 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


211 


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^imtkaa  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 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


213 


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 

m 

recoiled  ;  and  the  Vatican  manuscript,  con- 


pumUUUi 
ABaacantidUb. 

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- 
xlHltfctaw 

li,  Hlftoria  della  Tolff.  Poet. 
HMgedam  Tsat  Anelqueftiii  Anacreon.**— DoraC, 
AOetmande. 

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  :— 


Od0ZT.book&. 


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 
m'adit." 

•  **  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 
JnatUy. 

B  3 


MOORE'S  WOUKS. 


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 

780.* 

■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. 


lOF  ANACREON.* 


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 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


215 


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. 


ODB  III.> 


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  ]«•  thotht  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- 
it. 

^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** 


hvmtm. 


thkodeliA 


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. 


ODH  VnL' 
I  CASE  not  for  the  idle  etnle 
Of  Persia's  king  *,  the  rich,  tbe  gi 


ODES  OF  ANACHEON. 


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! " 


ODEX.' 
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 '. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


Th(^. 


-  infnm 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


219 


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  :— 

nPOl   RIANA. 


AXmt  rw  MUftmnudiif 

Sl#tfi^t^  Mcj^t^nyi^ 


GDB  XIV.« 

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 


^^^^^^H 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

a.  arc  nymphs  Jivi»ft 

0  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 
lueofLoitinCrcKi 
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. 

F.ir  from  ni;:!.-i'il  Jiaunls  likp  these. 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


221 


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. 


ODB  XYV 


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, 
LitiaTcralbas 
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 
ity- 

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. 


ftntfHmtbttplaifimo, 

&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 
translation. 

■  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 

• 


ODES  OF  ANACR£ON. 


223 


;  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 :— 

.thblfhtahand. 


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. 
.BwtkoU-/oriear- 

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 
fhadbecnn. 

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  method  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 


ODBXVm.^ 


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 
heret— 

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  pieseire 
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. 


ODES  OF  AI^JtettEON. 


225 


ODB 


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 


QMorflH 


t—^ 


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 
aianaieats. 

Timom  qfAtketUt  •ct.iT.se.  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  grwx»iwr»  wrn^  anymt, 
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 : 

TO  STBIXA. 

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 
he 

*  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. 

S 


MOOBtrS  WORKS. 


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 !' 


ODEXXUL* 

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 


ODES  OF  ANACBEON. 


227 


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!* 


GDI 

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: 
efloTC.** 


^*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 


Albtrti 


Of  MMTWi/Zevfli, 
tklMkaplemhnaai, 

matl"}  Thw  Lot*  If  repieicuted 
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! 


ODB 

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! 


bolhbioae 

VbrIi*  lo  pieaga  al  too  cento, 
Baadiiiella  impoKtnne,  ae. 


O^i^Mi  4v  0wfm  w<«n  T*  y]U«Kw  A«c^  ^^m« 


ODB  XXVIL? 

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!' 


ODB  XXIX 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


229 


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. 


ODB 


\^^  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— 


Ta 

CziUo 


▼Iz  prima  silentla  noetis 
et  Bocono  Inmina  Ticta  daliam  I 

eapUlis 
ct  Iteium  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! 


ODB 


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 


^QH^^^H 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

iKiil  Ilia  hrentr  pinion, 
oul  from  deatb-«  donunioD -. ' 
oeconw  balf-reproTing. 
on  been  a  foe  to  loving?" 

ODH  IXXU.' 
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, 

eTj'^ride''*''^ 

hcela  thai  kindling  roll. 

nglotbegOBl: 
o  feed  the  wind, 

will  leav«  boliind. 
Wftate  tho  rose's  bloom 
nseosalo  lombt 

te.  or  odour's  brealb. 

iitil,-r-ii.toijfdi'aLh? 

OBH  TTTm. 

■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 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


231 


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! " 


ODE 


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«  aditiwwil  to  the  gnahopper,  Bapin  hu  prc- 
rrtvl  MOK  (rf'thft  thomhti  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*, 
Or.*e. 


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 


ODE  XXXV.> 

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 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


^^^^^^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 

ODB  TSXVn.' 

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 ! 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


233 


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!"* 


ODB 

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! 


ODB  TTXTT. 

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.* 


1* 

01/ to 

ta 


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. 


rCbsldlna, 


]   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 


^^^^^^^1 

MOORE-S  WORKS. 

ODB  XL. 

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 

>easLnvu(atli«!' 

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'' 

ODB  XLL 

;  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? 

ODB  XLO.' 

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. 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


235 


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,lmpmmiom'd,jlui0$ 
Tw/ul  raptiuxa/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- 
'Inlhetntode. 


I^onseplem  haa  (pMiCed  here 


*AmddL.tkt$admemimhiMatgk, 
AMo'a-kkKp  tk»  aeeatta  dittl 
I  the  Aathologla :~ 


.  ODB  XLIY.s 

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, 

abaUUncerlMUii 
dM  fare  me  to  lip, 
Idradkiahttsigh. 


llka»4ew.drop 


ODE  XLY. 

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  describee  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."-. 
I>e0eii. 

y  Ikaimme  bright  mrmph  tkrvt^  Oe  Amee,  <fc.]   The  epltb«t 
cwhkh  he  glTcatothanyBph,!*  literally  **ftill-boaomad.** 


^H 

^Q^H^IH 

1 

MOORE-S  WORKS. 

e  brcwhe  ihe  sigh  of  frar, 
nsTuliDg  war  ? 

OGverh66drf.B.igh, 

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.' 
nghiUowsofthedoep 

'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. 

ODEXLTIL 

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  ( 

1 

■ 

ODES  OP  ANACREON. 


287 


OBB  XLTin. 

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. 


ODB  XLIX> 

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  * — 


Twvkmvawm 


',  ^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  umummriam,  who  eeee  nothing  in  them  bat  didecti 


^Oeiovt, 

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  gupposed  that  they  worshipped 

fUi  Ode  sportoaet  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. 


ODB  L.S 


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:— 

Indimimena 
Hentre  lieto  ebro,  deliro, 
Bacchoingiro 
Per  la  vaga  aora  sertna. 


^^M 

QI^^^BH 

1 

MOORES  WORKS. 

ing  "  how  blest 
wine  again, 

woman's  »igb..' 
QC  and  form, 

leaaty  acemi 
Jdreamal 
can  refines, 

^.',,"um1  the  bowl 
.    _iusoul!' 

e*'er  dMlroy, 
Jlmyjoj. 

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  ! 

ODBLIL' 

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, 

1 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


239 


OPE  LIU. 

Whex  I  behold  the  fetdTe  tnin 
Of  «i<^TM>ing  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  repreaented  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 
lanf*. 

«  .To:  ik  deereadb/VtMi  cUmi  dhtn^^ 
H*  lookB  Ike  Gcd,  he  breaAt$  qfJovtH   Thus  Moaehnat— 


ODB  LIV.s 

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  !* 


ODELV.» 


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^trnXftag  •t^tmm,  Xnttwv^s  m«^«*",  «aXX«( 


^H 

^Q^^^^^l 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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. 

1 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


241 


ODB  LVL« 

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. 


ODE  LT1I.3 

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. 
Mkamdthatipread 

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- 
presaiTC. 

*  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— 
'^eroaeiaoculls." 

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. 
T 


^H 

^^ril^^^^l 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

ihc  wnlcry  way. 

DE  Lvm. ' 

pct  as  wph/r'B  pinion, 
fuilhltsa  raiDioii.' 
iBfliosmooiTr).' 

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. 

ODB  LIX.> 

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. 

1 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACEEON. 


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.' 


ODE  LX.' 

•,  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                                 MOOBE'S  WOREa 

^^^^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 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


245 


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  ? 


ODE  LXY.* 


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 


ODE  LXVI.S 


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  addf eased  to  some  Thradan  girl,  exists  in 
mUia,  aad  Imi  hoan  imitatod  very f^uentlj  bj  Horace,  as  all 
?w>tBtBw  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. 
leriH.li  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  * 


ODE  LXVIL* 

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 


^^^^^H                         UOORE'S  WORKS. 

^^^^^^^^Hisk  lo         the  throne 

^^^^^^^■aian               my  dwH)' 

ODB  LH.' 

^^^^^^^^■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 — _ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


24? 


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! 


ODB  LXXIY.* 

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; 
Propitious,  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! 


ODB  LXXY. 

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 
lmfH's«4itlaa. 

I  hmm  —itlBrt.  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. 
'AflmiwantiiawnadbyDlonChimiatum.  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! 


ODE  LXXVL* 

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! 


ODE  LXXYIL' 

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. 


^^^^^^^H 

MOOEKS  WORKS. 

DH  LXXTin. 

5c«;b  how  thickly  nnw. 
Time  fall  o'er  my  brow, 

.iffoldcnhnht, 
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 

■ 

ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


249 


-niATPOT  SIAflNIOT,  EQ  ANAKPEONTA. 

.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 
inBome. 
upon  the  epigram  belbre  ns,  mentions  a  version  of  it  by 
BdHBB, which  ia  not  to  be  fbond  In  ttiat  commentator)  but  he 
we  than  flneeooBftmndsDrodsBUs  with  another  annotator  on  the 
OheopssMB,  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. 


TOT  ATTOT,  EIS  TON  ATTON. 

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 ! 


TOT  ATTOT,  EI2  TON  ATTON. 

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. 

u 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


251 


-ell!  them  had'st  a  pnlse  for  erery  dart' 
U   mighty   Lore  could   icatter    from 
qaiTer; 


hig 


■  ermm 
etott. 


this 


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  exjc— 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,lnhlidedlcatoiiyveiwetoBoMardi- 
Blandna,  luaTiloQima,  dnkia  Anacreoo. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


X 


PREFACE/ 


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 


^Cta^^^^l 

PREFACE. 

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 

■ 

PREFACE. 


25' 


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 
onarch. 

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 
Laurel. 

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 


PREFACE  BY  THE  EDITOR. 


259 


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 


1 


/ 


*Llb.LSlci.lL 

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- 
tions. 

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. 

T.M. 

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 


rUVENILE    POEMS. 


'S  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES. 

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  ! 


VARIETY. 


•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. 


TO  A  BOY  WITH  A  WATCH. 

WRITTEN   FOR  A  FRIEND. 

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 ! 


SONG. 


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. 


^^^^B^H 

MOORES   \VORKS. 

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. 

SONG. 

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. 

■ 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


263 


SONG. 

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! 


KEUBEN  AND  ROSE. 

A   TALE   OF   BOMAKCE. 

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 
beam. 
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 
wave!" 

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 

beat,— 
For  BoAe,  who  was  bright  as  the  spirit  of  dawn, 
Then  with  wand  dropping  diamonds,  and  silvery 

feet. 
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 

eyes?" 

♦*  Yes,  yes — when  a  spirit  shall  toll  the  great  bell 

Of  the  motdd'ring  abbey,,  your  Reuben  shall 

rise!" 

Twice,  thrice  he  repeated  "Your  Reuben  shall 
rise!" 
And  Rose  felt  a  moment's  release  from  her  pain ; 
And  wip'd,  while  she  listened,  the  tears  fVom  her 
eyes. 
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 
stream, 
She  thought  'twas  his  helmet  of  silver  she  saw. 
As  the  curl  of  the  surge  glitter'd  high  in  the 
beam. 

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 
shade, 
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. 


^^^^^^^1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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' 

DID  NOT. 

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, 

IfdlidilOI; 

.'cr  i..y  burning  hroiv. 

oulit  [  love  jou  now?" 

MRS 

on  BOKE   C.U.U1UI1M   AOAIXST  intR  CBABl 

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. 

AXAniKOSTIC. 

■ 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


26d 


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! 


TO  JULIA. 

CSIOK  TO  BOMB  ITJ.TBKRAL  CRinCISMS. 

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! 


TO  JUIJA, 

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. 


THE  SHRINE. 


TO 


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! 


TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  SOME   MANUSCRIPT  POEMS, 

Oir   tCATIMa   TH>  COOHTRT. 

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; 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


267 


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! 
•  *  *  •  • 


TO  JUIIA. 


our  HER  BISTHDAT. 


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 
tears, 
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. 


A  REFLECTION  AT  SEA. 

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! 


^^MS  AND  FANNY. 

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. 


THE  SHIELD. 

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 
shield 
Sings  to  the  raving  spirit  of  night! 


TO  JLT.IA, 

WEEPING. 

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 


JUVENILE  POEMS, 


269 


wreath  joa  wore,  the  wreath  jou  wove 
IT  emhlan  well  maj  be ; 
loom  is  joaxs,  but  hopeless  Lore 
lut  keep  its  tean  for  me. 


THE  SALE  OF  LOVES. 

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. 


TO 


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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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  ( 


INCONSTANCy. 


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 


sphere. 

Bjr  your  heart,  when  the  food  aighiti^  hr 
ne  thinl 


,  oh,   V 


lile   le-: 


blesi 


let    liim   I 


irh^i 


JUTENILE  POEMS. 


271 


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! 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS,. 

fCFFOSXD  TO  BB  WBITTEH  BT  JULIA, 


OF  BBK  BKi 


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. 


TO  THE  LABOE  AND  BEAUTIFUL 

MISS , 

m  Aixcaioit  TO  ioms  PARTHBRraip  nr  a  lottkiit  aBAU. 

IMPROMPTU. 

— 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 
me; 

For  what  could  /  do  with  the  whole? 


A  DREAM. 

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 ! 


TO 


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 


^Q^^^^B 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

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. 

LVACBEONTIC. 

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! 

TO  JITLIA. 

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 

HYMN 

■ 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


278 


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 


SYMPATHY. 

TO  JUUA. 
— riac  me  dt  nulla  Yeanf. 


SCLPKIA. 


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 


THE  TEAR. 

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 


THE  SNAKEL 

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?" 


TO  ROSA. 

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 


^H 

^^^^^^|H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

^\  lute  unsmms? 
ofpcHceit  sune 
'slhrobbinc  breast  — 
di-rinclj  blMt! 

om'k  sooit  a  o'er; 

forgolleu  sighs, 
-forgolteu  lover  — 
mul  song  nw  over  1 

lAC  STANZAS. 

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. 

ANACREONTIC. 

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, 
Tlnlii.inv;t.-sui,.>lh,'rki-. 

1 

■ 

JUTENILE  POEMS. 


275 


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* 


THE  WONDER. 

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! 


LYING. 

°<^  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. 


ANACREONTIC. 

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 


^3^^^^^H 

MOORES  WORKS. 

OPHER  AllISTIFPUS' 

»u".™^iu..  irtr.  ipii. ». 

mip  ••  (my  Miatrcss  said), 
^uuji  thai,  many  a  nighi, 

lonelv  Iwd 

[tic  walch  of  light. 

«enbcrwe«p, 
ye  upon  ila  Huine, 
h,.*™nkto5l«r, 

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. 

■ 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


277 


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. 


TO  MBS. 


09  axB 


BEAUmnTL  TBAI78LATIOK  OF 
YOirURB'S  KIB8. 


•Pxmrm 


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. 

YodTOKX. 


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? 


RONDEAU. 

** 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!  " 


SONG. 


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 
VoUalre. 

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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


279 


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 

sung. 
Bot  then  came  the  fi^t  harp,  when  danger  was 
ended. 
And  Beanty  onoe  more  Inll'd  the  War-God  to 
rest; 
When  tresses  of  gold  with  his  laurels  lay  blended. 
And  flights  of  jonng  dores  made  his  helmet 
the^  nest. 


JltOX 

THE   GREEK  OF  MELEAGER.' 

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. 


SONG. 


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 
sweet. 
Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it?  — 


(••«,  0im  mM^r^  v*  7X1MV  tt*«y'  wafiM. 
E«*  /*•»  rum  0p€\<Hmrm  ftvfio*t  gtu  x^*"  wwro, 

tStm  ^miw,  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 


THE   RESEMBLANCR 


▼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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


281 


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 

w. 

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 

light, 

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 

tone 
Of  that  voice,  to  my  ear  like  some  fairy-song 

known. 
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 

speak. 
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 


THE  RING.* 


▲   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. 


^^^H                                      MOORE'S  WORKS. 

^^^^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. 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


283 


**  Hubaad,  husband,  I've  the  ring 

"Thou  gay'st  to-day  to  me; 
**  Andthoa'rt  to  me  for  erer  wed* 

"Aslamwedtotheel" 

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. 


L 


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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


28o 


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. 


TO 

CARA. 
**  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  ? 


TO 

CARA, 

ON  THE  DAWNING   OF  A  NEW  YEAR'S   DAT. 

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 

Z 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


287 


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  bwimrcd  from  AnazAgonu,  and  pooibly  rag- 


Ifto 
ifcbc 


by 
d'< 


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 

aic 

■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 

die. 
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 
pain. 

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«tnt,  «.  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 


1 


\5« 


icons' 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


289 


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. 


ntoM 
THE  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  APOLLO, 

TO 

A  TIBOIN  OF  DELPHL 


Cam  digno  digna 


SaLPictA. 


^^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!  **" 


ii 
ti 

u 
u 

M 
(4 
U 

<4 
t4 

t4 
44 
44 
44 
44 
44 
44 
44 
tt 
44 
U 
44 


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^mr  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 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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!* 


FRAGMENT. 

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. 


THE  KISS. 

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 


f^tnigglga 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


291 


THE  CATALOGUE 

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. 


flTATION  OF  CATULLUS. 

TO  HI1C8ELF. 

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! " 


NONSENSK 

Good  reader !  if  you  e'er  have  seen. 
When  Phcebus  hastens  to  his  pillow, 

z  4 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


298 


SONG. 

THE  BIBTHDAY  OF  MRS. 


nUTTEK  IK  IRELAND.  1799. 

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. 


SOXG.» 


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 ! 


1 


MORALITY. 

A  FAMILIAR  EPISTLE. 

AOOIintBO  TO 

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! " 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


TELL-TALE  LTHE. 

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 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


295 


T 


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 ! 


PEACE  AND  GLORr. 

^^'TIBI  OH  THE  AFPBOACH  OF  WAR. 

^^  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! 


SONG. 


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. 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 

*'  Qnftad  lIumuiM  oommenoe  k  niionner,  11  omm  de  Kntir.** 

J.  J.  KOOUMAV.I 

*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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


297 


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. 


THE 

GRECIAN  GIRL'S  DREAM 
F    THE  BLESSED  I8LANDS.> 

TO  HEH  LOYEB. 


AwtiX^mm  *rv*  HXmrmmu.    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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


299 


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." 


TO 


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. 


TO 

*S  PICTURE. 


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! 


■ 

^Q^^^BII 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

FRAGMENT 

OLOGICAL  HYMN  TO  LOVE.i 

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. 

TlIK  DUKE  OF  MOSTPEKS 

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 

1 

■ 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


301 


FALL  OF  HEBEw 


TwikS  on  a  day 
!Q  the  immortals  at  their  banquet  lay; 

lliebowl 
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' 

Around, 
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 
Nobicalpeatator. 

ttaft  FIndar,  eren  amidat  all  the  licence  of 
•vcrhnve  dwwaded  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 
stole. 

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 

Up 
The  empyreal  mount. 
To  drain  the  soul-drops  at  their  stellar  fount;  * 
AndstiU 
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 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


803 


Steq>ing 
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 ! ' 


RINGS  AND  SEALS. 


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 
»th«kwiiiditlMiinileafIrlfh«deonMenited. 
,  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. 


TO 

MISS  SUSAN  B— CKF— D.» 

ON  HER   8INOINO. 

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. 

AAd 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


805 


WOMAN. 

■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. 


TO 


rmftXrmrm, 


EoRirioi 


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,  daulbta  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|iJi*»— '*!  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 


TISION  OF  PHILOSOPHT. 

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 

sounds 
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*wvt9y**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 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


807 


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 


the 


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 

gold. 
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  preserved  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  »vmmytHmt  f|«ir«ic*wy«Xa|Mt% — Porpkffr.  tk  Amtro  Jfjfmpk. 

A  A  4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


: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; 


^rfi^d 


■  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. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


309 


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.  Possess. «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 


POEMS  EELATING  TO  AMEEICA. 


PREFACE. 


^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 
Bermuda. 

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 
more. 

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 


PREFACE. 


815 


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. 


■ 

^^^^^^H 

1 

PREFACE. 

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 

1 

PREFACE. 


817 


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 :  — 


^rCgfir/fr^irj'j.r-nccfrM 


k 


^ 


f/f/rilfiff-gir^ 


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. 

BB 


PREFACE. 


319 


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. 


IMS  RELATING  TO  AMERIC 


hSCOCNT  STRANGFORD. 


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 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


321 


' 


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 


more: 


t( 


STANZAS. 


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 
power. 
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 
clay; 

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." 


TO 

THE  FLYING  FISH.» 

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. 


TO 

MISS  MOORR 

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  wrrwnmm  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  :  — 


POEMS  RELATTNG  TO  AMERICA. 


823 


^  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. 


A  BALLAD. 
^  UXE  OF  THE  DISMAL  SWAMP. 

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." 


AMUeaM 


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  oompoeftioB  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  ! 


TO  THE 

MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF  DONEGALL. 

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 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


825 


^(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. 


T 


TO 

:b6e  morgan,  esq. 

or  HOIiVOUK,  TIKOnHA.! 

^  BERKUDA,  JAirUARY,  18M. 

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 
Poemata. 

*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 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


82^ 


ODES   TO   NEA; 

WmTT»»  AT  BEBMUBA. 


SEA 


— 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. 
0  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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


829 


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  wiaaa.  which  Athenciu  calli  -t^  «»tfMM««<, 

Kj  iiMiiitiHiUi  that  of  the  flneit  flower*.*'— Ztorry 

U. 

t  la  TV7  iplcDdld  manriona.  the  floor  or  pavement 

oojrx.    ThiM  Martial : "  Calcatutquc  tuo  aub  pede 

ii.Milih.xiL 

lie  shape  were  a  fiiToorite  ornament  amonc  the 

tjr.     01  wwtmmfiwtM  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 

me! 
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- 
get. 

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 

roam 
Through  the  lime-covered  alley  that  leads  to  thy 

home. 
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 

say— 
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 
Indies. 

*  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. 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


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; 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


831 


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. 


^  STUDY  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE. 

^?^^»  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, 

llaHvkitlteilMijBipikKnMiorCiipldaiidFijrehefttFlorcnet, 
bfftMlbporftfn ofFMrdM*!  hand  !■  flody  utA  delloately  ex- 
mJM'i^flim.  §m  the  Umnm  rioiWiUiium.  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. 


TO 


JOSEPH  ATKmSON,  ESQ. 

**  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 
dear." 

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- 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


383 


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. 


TO 

THE  FIRE-FLY.* 

*^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  MwirinaMop,  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 
.L 


TO 

THE  LORD  VISCOUNT  FORBES 

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 

reign 
^*  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 


^H 

Q^^B^B 

1 

MOORE'S  WOKKS. 

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, 

ivbileiheriirhMlheftw; 

iroiiBh  all  Ibe  sodal  frame, 

.^  Ihiil  vilal  flame 

■  .inr  brsl  and  mcsnosl  part, 

jloileipaniliahtmr 

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, 

r.ong  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. 

1 

■ 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


335 


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- 
stroy 
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 


TO 

THOMAS  HUME,  ESQ.  M.D. 

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 
Ooose-Creek. 

*  "  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  possessor,  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 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


337 


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. 


LINES 

llTmr  OH  LSATIHO  PHIULDELPHIA. 


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 
gain, 

le  threshold  of  home  had  been  prest  by  his 
set. 

lays  of  his  boyhood  hadstorn  to  their  ear, 

hey  loT*d  what  they  knew  of  so  humble  a 

ame; 

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- 
ne; 

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 
known. 

To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met, 
Ashe  stray 'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone. 


LINES 


wanrxM  a« 


TliE  0OHO8,  OB  FALLS  OF  THB  MOHAWK  KITBB.' 

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 

smiPd, 
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- 
slx. 

The  flae  rainbow,  which  ia  continnally  fivminr  and  dtssoMnr.as 
the  spraj  riws  into  the  llfht  of  the  son,  is  pcrliaps  the  most  In- 
lerasttng  beautjr  which  these  wondcrfttl  cataracts  exhibit. 


^3^^^^B 

MOOEE'S  WORKS. 

SONQ 

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 

icwhitumandrcads) 
r's  thinty  thrill. 
ce  ehiTcring  chiU  I 

I  hear  the  iravcllEr's  song, 
ds  the  woods  along  ;— 
■ikiheioneoffeMi 
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 

■ 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


339 


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 

ZZTiL 


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 

flowers. 
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. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


341 


TO  TUB 

Y  CHARLOTTE  RAWLON. 

BM  TH>  mXMKM  OW  TBS  M.  I^WIIBMCK. 

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. 

DD 


^M 

^^^^BI^H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

T  realm  of  aprinp  , 
lik-  djumoiid  huca 

i  biUmy  drink  i 
..lUnflre, 
oka  of  ire, 

inr.int  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 
O'orUiewatorsoftheweit 
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 

1 

POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


343 


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! 


IMPROMPTU, 

L   TI81T  TO  MB8.  ,  OF  MONTREAL. 

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 
*ii. 

had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 

»uld  find  some  more  spiritual  mode  of  re« 

aling, 

reen  us,  should  feel  just  as  much  in  a 

»ek 

ers  would  take  a  millennium  in  feeling. 


vsrmjr 

ASSIXG  DEADMAN'S  ISLAND,' 

IK  THa 

GULF  OF  ST.  LAWRENCE, 
»   THE  ETENINO,   SEPTEMBER,    1804. 

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 


TO 


THE  BOSTON  FRIGATE,' 

ON   LEAVING  HALIFAX  FOR  ENOLAND, 

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 

length. 
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 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


iw^cpival. 


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 

flighl. 
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 

giiiile, 
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 

plorcl 
Oh  think  then  how  gladly  I  follow  lliec 
When  Hope  Eiuuiilhs  the  billowy  patli  of 
And  cacli  prosperouB  sigh  of  tiic  west 

wind 
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 

Ruts 


THE  SUMMEK  F£TE. 


E  E 


4 


PREFACE/ 


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 


aw 
ti«t 

ted 


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 
Mi8sF*»ld**%MissF*x,Mis8R*ss*ll, 
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 


THE    SUMMER   F£TE. 


bNOURABLE  MRS.  NORTON. 

■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 


THE  SUMMER  F£TE. 


349 


;  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 


■ 

^Q^^^^^l 

1 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKa 

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 

1 

■ 

THE  SUMMER  FfeXE. 


851 


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 

it). 
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:  — 


SONG. 


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 
Heaven, 
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 
plan: 
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 
told. 
To  whoe'er  could  invent  a  new  bliss  for  man- 
kind; 
But  talk  ofnew  pleasures!  —  give  me  but  the  old. 
And  I'll  leave  yotir  inventors  all  new  ones  they 
find. 

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 


TRIO- 

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 


Wh 


THE  SUMMER  F£TE. 


368 


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: 


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;  — 
0  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»  pmrtUiom  of  thit  opera  of  RohIbI  wm  trmn*- 
of  mm  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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


WALTZ   DUET.' 

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 


THE  SUMMER  F£TE. 


3^6 


SONG. 

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. 


SONG  AND  TRIO. 

*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: — 


SONG. 


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:— 


Q^^m^^i 

MOORES  WORKS. 

SONG. 

Follj'.  shop,  who'll  buy?  — 
C  ilU  ruaka  nod  uges; 
«k'  eupiJj-, 

tbingg,  loo,  for  sages, 
ajugel^r'aroti. 

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  — 

SONG  AND  TRia 

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. 

■ 

THE  SUMMER  F£TE. 


357 


SONG. 

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! 


EVENINGS   IN   GREECE. 


4 


preface; 


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. 


H 

^^^H^^H 

1 

PBEFACK 

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 
Melodies." 

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 

1 

■ 

PREFACE. 


868 


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 

better." 


^^^^^^H 

PREFACE. 

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  HiinnBo.nf  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."" 

■ 

^ENINGS   IN    GREECE. 


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. 


NGS  IN  GREECE. 


mST  EVENING. 

')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* 
>Id. 

V  V  8 


•• 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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, 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


367 


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. 


80K6. 


>  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 
bcKtaaim  rauwMi*  /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 :  — 


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 


^M 

^j^^l^^B 

1 

MOOBE'S  WORKS. 

BONG. 

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." 

eBaUika 
j-d  o"iT  ih«  sea, 
dftiicv  the  Romaika. 

the  cloiina 
h  merrj  lay, 
eet  'lis  reposin((, 
Ih  the  nigiii  ray  ! 
clminE, 

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. 

1 

■ 

EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


d69 


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  :  — 


a 


SONG. 


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- 


a 


u 


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  :"  — 


SONG, 


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  :  — 


HOO&E'S  WORKS. 


BONO. 

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 


tpn, 


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. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


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 : — 


SONG. 


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  fountain.at  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:  — 


SONG. 


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.** 
—Clarbe, 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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 


-^ 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


873 


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. 


MOORES  WORKS. 


SONG. 
«  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 


SONG. 

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*  yilchimu.  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 
OwNik.** 


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:  — 


SONG. 


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. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


!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. 


■he 


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 


SONG. 

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. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


877 


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 : — 


SONG. 


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: — 


SONG. 


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 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


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! 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


379 


other  ev'ning  takes 

1  of  the  golden  lakes, 

lother  envoy  fly, 

rifih'd  answer,  through  the  sky. 


SONG, 
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 :  - 


SONG. 


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 


MOORE'S  WOUKS. 


;  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 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


881 


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. 


SONG. 


Yine!  'tis  the  Vine!"  sud  the  cup- 

»gboy, 

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 

um'd, 

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 
reply, 
•"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- 
sire. 

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 
cry, 

<*  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 
eye. 

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 
resound, 

**  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail! " 


LEGENDARY   BALLADS,    SONGS, 


ETC 


« 


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 

TO 

THE    MISS    FEILDINQS, 

THU  YOLUMB 

18  INSCBIBBD, 

BT  THUB  rAITHrUL  FBIKNO  AHD  SKBYAITr, 

THOSCAS  MOORS. 

THJ;  VOICE. 

No,  ne'er  came  she  back, — ^but  the  watchman  who 

stood. 

>'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; 

flood. 

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 

A 

t! 

»rld  once  had  lips  that  could  whisper  thus 

CUPID  AND  PSYCHE. 

.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 

d!" 

listened 

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 

id!" 

he  lies; 

cp  came  around  her — but,  starting,  she 

*'And  there,  as  the  light  o'er  his  dark  features 

:e. 

shincth. 

from  the  garden  that  spirit  Voice  spoke! 

'*  Thou'lt  see  what  a  demon  hath  won  all  thy 

sighs!" 

,**  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 

light; 

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, 

morning, 

er  could  tell,  for  she  came  back  no  more. 

While  round  him  still  lingered  its  innocent  ray$ 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 


»,  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 


THE  LEAP  AND  TOE  POl 


'■  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, 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 


887 


Sludl  I  recoTcr. 

^Ay  truant  Iotct  ?  " 

-tmuun  8eein*d  to  aDswer,  **  No ; " 

tutain  answer'd,  **  No." 


:C»HALUS  AND  PROCRIS. 

>^^  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 ! 


TOUTH  AND  AGE.* 

•  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  men  say." 

Qe,  what's  Love?  "  said  Youth  once  more, 

!,  yet  fond,  of  Age's  lore.  — 

IS  a  passing  summer's  wind : 

!d*st  know  the  blight  it  leaves  behind  ? 

^pentance !  Re[)cntance  I 

[iuM  is  Love  —  when  love  is  o'er." 

owMdiIlmTBi1«plMthwewordi.wMcompowdby 
^  to  waa»  old  wns.  **Tdl  bm  wbal'f  loTe,  kind 


"  Tell  me,  what's  Lore  ?"  said  Youth  again. 
Trusting  the  bliss,  but  not  the  pain. 
'*  Sweet  as  a  May  tree's  scented  air  — 
"  Mark  ye  what  bitter  fruit  'twill  bear, 

**  Repentance !  Repentance! 
••  This,  this  is  Love  —  sweet  Youth,  beware." 

Just  then,  young  Love  himself  came  by, 
And  cast  on  Youth  a  smiling  eye ; 
Who  could  resist  that  glance's  ray? 
In  vain  did  Age  his  warning  say, 

**  Repentance  !  Repentance  I " 
Youth  laughing  went  with  Lore  away. 


THE  DYING  WARRIOR. 

A  wouiVDED  Chieftain,  lying 
By  the  Danube's  leafy  side. 

Thus  faintly  said,  in  dying, 
**  Oh!  bear,  thou  foaming  tide, 
**  This  gift  to  my  lady-bride." 

'Twas  then,  in  life's  last  quiver, 
He  flung  the  scarf  he  wore 

Into  the  foaming  river. 

Which,  ah  too  quickly,  bore 
That  pledge  of  one  no  more ! 

With  fond  impatience  burning. 
The  Chieftain's  lady  stood. 

To  watch  her  love  returning 
In  triumph  down  the  flood. 
From  that  day's  field  of  blood. 

But,  field,  alas,  ill-fated ! 

The  lady  saw,  instead 
Of  the  bark  whose  speed  she  waited. 

Her  hero's  scarf,  all  red 

With  the  drops  his  heart  had  shed. 

One  shriek  —  and  all  was  over  — 
Her  life-pulse  ceas'd  to  beat ; 

The  gloomy  waves  now  cover 
That  bridal -flower  so  sweet, 
And  the  scarf  is  her  winding  sheet! 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 

"  Come,  if  thy  magic  Glass  have  pow'r 

"  To  call  up  forms  we  sigh  to  see  ; 
**  Show  me  my  love,  in  that  rosy  bow'r. 
Where  last  she  pledg'd  her  truth  to  me.' 


i4 


■hepherd,  pray?**  and  it  haibeen  my  object  to  retain  m  modiof  tlM 
ftruetnre  and  ithnMolasy  of  ttat  oxifinal  wotdi  m  powtbtoi 


MOOBES  WORKS. 


d  him  his  Lady  bright, 

ujd  cho  happy  Knig-lil, 
ic,  who  i«  far  »way." 

Itith  iookB  of  joy, 
a  the  Lady's  eai; 
niglit,  "ihe  eamo  bright  boy, 
10  to  my  dear." 

n  her  favVito  tree, 


So  went  the  Piigrini  BtiU, 
Down  dale  and  over  hill. 

Day  alter  day ; 
That  glimpse  of  home,  to  cheering 
At  twilight  Etill  appeoriug. 
Bat  Ettll,  iritb  monUDg's  ray, 

Alcltiug,  like  oust,  away  1 

Where  rests  (he  Pilgrim  now? 
Here,  by  this  cypress  bough. 


la  [ho  blooming  rose, 
I  any,  "  Like  lightning,  fly  !" 
I  tlie  Enight,  "alie  gootbcs  h 

(till,  her  tmo-loTe  nigh." 

1  —  oh,  what  a  sight, 


Aiihc  past  hope  ana  icor. 
The  Pilgrim's  homo  is  hero. 


THE  HIGH-BORN  LADYE. 

In  Tain  all  the  Enighu  of  the  Undenrali 
her, 
Thongh  brightest  of  maidens,  the  proad 

Briivc  cliieflaina  they  sought,  and  yoiing  m 
they  fined  her, 
But  worthy  were  none  of  the  high- bora 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 


389 


Zie  mftiden  die  imil'd,  and  in  jewels  arraj'd  her, 
Of  thrones  and  tiaras  ahready  dreamt  she ; 
od  proud  was  the  st^  as  her  bridegroom  con- 
veyed her 
b  pomp  to  his  home,  of  that  high-bom  Ladje. 

tet  whither,**  she,  starting^  ftxr.laims,  **  hare,  joa 

kdme? 
'  Here's  nought  but  a  tomb  and  a  dark  cypress 

tree; 
{ this  the  bright  palace  in  which  thon  wcnldst 

wed  me  ?  " 
nth  scorn  in  her  ghmce,  said  the  high-bom 

Ladje. 

!1s  the  home,"  he  replied,  **  of  earth's  loftiest 

creatures  "  — 
hen  lifted  his  hehn  for  the  fair  one  to  see  ; 
she  sunk  on  the  ground— -  'twas  a  skeleton's 

features, 
jid  Death  was  the  Lord  of  the  high-bom 

Ladje! 


THE  INDLA.N  BOAT. 

'TWAS  midnight  dark. 

The  seaman's  bark. 
Swift  o'er  the  waters  bore  him. 

When,  through  the  night. 

He  spied  a  light 
Shoot  o'er  the  wave  before  him. 
**  A  saill  a  sail!"  he  cries  ; 

**  She  comes  from  the  Indian  shore, 
**  And  to-night  shall  be  oar  prize, 
**  With  h^  freight  of  golden  ore. 

•'SaQon!  saUon!" 

When  morning  shone 
He  saw  the  gold  still  clearer ; 

But,  though  so  fast 

The  wares  he  pass'd. 
That  boat  seem'd  nerer  the  nearer. 

Bright  daylight  came. 

And  still  the  same 
Bich  bark  before  him  floated  ; 

While  on  the  prize 

His  wishful  eyes 
like  any  young  lover's  doated  : 
**  More  saill  more  sail!"  he  cries. 

While  the  waves  o'crtop  the  mast ; 
And  his  bounding  galley  flies, 
Like  an  arrow  before  the  blast 

Thus  on,  and  on. 

Till  diqr  was  gone, 


And  the  moon  through  heav'n  did  hie  her, 

He  swept  the  main. 

But  all  in  vain. 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nigher. 

And  many  a  day 

To  night  gave  way. 
And  many  a  mom  succeeded  : 

While  still  his  flight. 

Through  day  and  night. 
That  restless  mariner  speeded. 
Who  knows  —  who  knows  what  seas 

He  is  now  careering  o'er  ? 
Behind,  the  ctemal  breeze. 

And  that  mocking  bark,  before  ! 

For,  oh,  till  sky 

And  earth  shall  die. 
And  their  death  leave  none  to  me  it. 

That  boat  must  flee 

O'er  the  boundless  sea. 
And  that  ship  in  vain  pursue  it 


THE  STRANGER. 

Ck>ME   list,  while   I  tell  of  the  heart-wounded 
Stranger 
Who  sleeps  her  last  slumber  in  this  haunted 
ground; 
Where  often,  at  midnight,  the  lonely  wood-ranger 
Hears  soft  fairy  music  re-echo  around. 

None  e'er  knew  the  name  of  that  heart-stricken 
lady. 
Her  language,  though  sweet,  none  could  e'er 
understand  : 
But  her  features  so  sunn'd,  and  her  eyelash  so 
shady, 
Bespoke  her  a  child  of  some  far  Eastem  land. 

*Twas  one  summer  night,  when  the  village  lay 
sleeping, 
A  soft  strain  of  melody  came  o'er  our  cars ; 
So  sweet,  but  so  mournful,  half  song  and  half 
weeping. 
Like  music  that  Sorrow  had  steep'd  in  her  tears. 

We  thought  'twas  an  anthem  some  angel  had  sung 
us;  — 
But,  soon  as  the  day-beams  had  gush'd  from  on 
high. 
With  wonder  we  saw  this  bright  stranger  among 
us. 
All  lovely  and  lone,  as  if  stray'd  from  the  sky. 

Nor  long  did  her  life  for  this  sphere  seem  intended. 
For  pale  was  her  cheek,  with  that  spirit-like 
hue. 


LEGENDARY   BALLADS,    SONGS, 


ETC 


INGS  FKOM  M.P.;   OR,   TEE  BLU&STOCK 


'd  once  in  an  hnmble  shed. 
■a  breathing, 
lines  wreulhinK 
le  lattice  their  tendrils  cprud, 
li  the  life  be  led. 
rden  flonrisb'd, 
g  Hope  nouriBh'd 
bait  with  beams  and  ahowerv  ; 
Hhougb  bUtoDiing,  miut  BtiU  be  fed, 
n  Loie  cut  live  on  flowera. 

It  Poverty'!  evil  070 

»  to  wither  1 

d  down  their  heads  to  die, 
u  the  nilch  drew  nigb. 


Spikit  or  Jot.  thy  allar  lies 

In  youthfuJ  hearts  that  hope  S 
And  'tia  the  light  or  luuching;  e* 

That  let>da  us  to  thy  bin  slid 
Thvre  if  wv  find  the  s>^  tbe  let 

They  arc  not  ihoie  tu  Sornnr 
But  breaib  so  soft,  aod  drops  M 

That  Bliss  may  claim  Ihem  fbl 
Tliea  girc  mc,  give  me,  nhile  I 

The  santpiine  hope  tbat  brichl 
Aud  leai'hes  er'n  our  lean  to  u 

Tbo  lingo  of  ploasore  as  th<7' 

The  child,  who  sees  the  dew  of  I 

Upon  the  spangled  hedge  U  n 
Attempts  to  catch  the  drops  of  I 

But  nuunds  bis  finger  with  th 
Thus  oft  the  brightest  joys  we  «■ 

Are  lost,  when  touch'il,  and  ti 
The  flush  ther  kindled  kares  lb 


SONOS  FROM  M.P. ;  OR,  THE  BLUE-STOCKING. 


a93 


BOAT  GLEE. 

The  BODg  that  lightens  our  Umgiiid  way 
Wben  biowf  are  glowing. 
And  £unt  with  rowings 
Is  like  the  spdl  of  Hope's  airy  lay. 
To  vhoM  sound  throogh  life  we  straj. 
Tbe  beims  that  flash  on  the  oar  awluk, 

Ai  ve  row  along  through  wares  so  clear, 
Bnme  in  spraj,  like  the  fleeting  smile 
T^  ahuMS  o*er  Sorrow's  tear. 


J  is  lost  on  him  who  sees 
With  sn  ejre  tkat  Feeling  gave ;  -~ 
Forlni  thflie's  a  storj  in  every  bxeeae, 

Asd  i  piotnre  in  ereiy  wave. 
Hen  ai|  to  lighten  the  languid  way ;  — 
Whn  brawl  are  glowing. 
And  Aunt  with  rowing : 
'Tb  like  the  speQ  of  Hc^'s  airy  lay, 
Toihon  loand  throogh  Ufo  we  stray. 


Oi  think,  when  a  hero  is  sighing, 

Whn  danger  in  snoh  nn  4uk>fer  I 
Whn  woman  could  dream  of  denying 

The  head  that  lays  laarek  before  her? 
^hent  is  so  guarded  around, 

Bn  the  sadle  of  a  Tictor  would  take  it ; 
Aebotoai  can  slumber  so  sound, 

Bttthe  tnmipet  of  Glory  will  wake  it 

^  lometimes  is  giren  to  sleeping, 

And  woe  to  the  heart  that  allows  him ; 
'V  loon  neidier  smiling  nor  weeping 

Win  e'er  from  such  smmber  arouse  him. 
^^J|li<Migh  he  were  sleepine  so  fast, 

Thtt  the  life  almost  seem  d  to  forsake  him, 
^^  then,  one  soul-thrilling  blast 

'ivn  the  trumpet  of  Glory  would  wake  him. 


For  he,  who  won 
The  eyes  of  fim. 
Was  sure  to  hare  the  kisses  in. 

A  Lottery,  a  Lottery,  &c. 

This  Lottery,  this  Lottery, 
Li  Cupid's  Court  went  merrily, 

And  Cupid  play'd 

A  Jewish  trade 
Li  this  his  scheming  Lottery ; 

For  hearts,  we're  told, 

Li  shcurea  he  sold 
To  many  a  fond  believing  drone. 

And  cut  the  hearts 

So  well  in  parts. 
That  each  belier'd  the  whole  his  own. 

Chor,  —  A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  us*d  to  be 

Two  roguish  eyes 

The  highest  prize 
In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery. 


SONG.' 


CUPIDS  LOTTERY. 

jj  JjTTK^T,  a  Lottery, 

^^*s  Court  there  us'd  to  be; 

^o  roguish  eyes 
u  fj^  hi^iest  prixe 
^M»«  scheming  Lottery; 
^<i  kisses,  too, 
Ifl^  ««ood  as  now, 
^*»  w^xen't  rery  hard  to  win, 


TnonoH  sacred  the  tie  that  our  country  entwineth. 

And  dear  to  the  heart  her  remembrance  remains. 
Yet  dark  are  the  ties  where  no  liberty  shineth. 

And  sad  the  remembrance  that  slavery  stains. 
Oh  Liberty,  bom  in  the  cot  of  the  peasant. 

But  dying  of  languor  in  luxur}''8  dome. 
Our  vision,  when  absent  —  our  glory,  when  pre- 
sent— 

Where  thou  art,  0  Liberty!  there  is  my  home. 

Farewell  to  the    land  where    in    childhood    I 
wander'd  I 
In  vain  is  she  mighty,  in  rain  is  she  brave ; 
Unbless'd  is  the  blood  that  for  tyrants  is  squandcr'd. 
And  Fame  has  no  wreaths  for  the  brow  of  the 
slave. 
But  hail  to  thee,  Albion!  who  meet'st  the  com- 
motion 
Of  Europe,  as  calm  as  thy  cliffs  meet  the  foam; 
With  no  bonds  but  the  law,  and  no  slave  but  the 
ocean. 
Hail,  Temple  of  Liberty!  thou  art  my  home. 

1  Bom  in  the  chracUr  of  a  Freiichiiwui. 


HH 


SONGS  FKOM  THE  GEEEK  ANTH0L0G1 


HEflE  AT  THY  TOMB.' 


.  thy  lomb.  Ihcae  teara  I  sheil, 
whieh  though  mainly  now  diey  roll, 
)ve  hath  to  gire  the  dead, 
I  wept  o'er  thi!e  with  all  lore's  soali  — 

In  remombrance  of  that  h'ght, 
m'h  nought  oa  earth,  without  thcc,  gives, 
Br  my  heart!  now  quonch'd  in  ni):hi, 
'  ;arer,  dead,  than  aught  llut  lire;. 

!  ihe?  where  llie  blooming  bough 

incG  my  life's  sole  lintre  made? 

rlcBth,  'tis  with'rini;  now. 


Id  short,  to  snm  np  this  darling  | 
He's  a  downright  pest  in  all  tona  t 
And  if  any  one  wacls  sach  an  imp 
He  shall  have  a  dead  bu^n  of  Ui 
Bnt  Bee,  Ihe  hay  wakes  —  his  briri 
HU  eyea  aeem  (o  asic  cunid  I  lell  B 
Sweet  cliild.  no,  do  —  ihongh  to  n 
You  shall  hve  evermore  with  my  X 


TO  WEAVE  A  GARLAND  FOB 


SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


39$ 


WHY  DOES  SHE  SO  LONG  DELAY  i> ' 

PAT7L,  THB  SmBNTLABT. 


^»Y  does  she  so  long  delay  ? 
Ni^ht  is  waning  fast  away ; 
Thrice  hay©  I  my  lamp  renew'd. 
Watching  here  in  solitade. 
Where  can  she  so  long  delay  ? 
Inhere,  so  long  delay  ? 

Vainly  now  haTe  two  lamps  shone ; 
See  the  third  is  nearly  gone  :* 
Oh  tliat  Lore  would,  like  the  ray 
Of  that  weary  lamp,  decay  I 
Bat  no,  alas!  it  bums  stiU  on, 
StiD,  StiU,  bums  on. 

^^^^B,  how  oft  the  traitress  dear 
Swore,  by  Venus,  she'd  be  here  f 
But  to  one  so  false  as  she 
W'hat  is  man  or  deity  ? 
Neither  doth  this  proud  one  fear,  — 
No.  neither  doth  she  fear. 


CWK'ST  THOU  WITH  LOFTY  WREATH 
THY  BROW?" 

BT  PAUL,   THE  SILEXTIABY. 

T^ar  thou  with  lofty  wreath  thy  brow  ? 

^  gkwy  then  thy  beauty  sheds, 

~y«  think,  while  aw*d  I  bow, 

Tw  Bhea's  self  before  me  treads. 
«^»bat  thou  wilt,  —  this  heart 
^^whate'er  thou  art! 

^  thoa  thy  loosen'd  ringlets  leave, 
j/^  «mny  wares  to  wander  free  ? 
^  loch  a  chain  of  charms  they  weaye, 
>v4i draws  my  inmost  soul  from  me. 
ij>  what  thou  wilt,  —  I  must 
^  cfcann'd  by  all  thou  dost ! 

^^n  when,  enwrapp'd  in  silv*ry  veils,* 

Those  sonny  locks  elude  the  sight,  — 
vh,  not  er'n  then  their  glory  fails 

To  haunt  me  with  its  unseen  light. 
Change  as  thy  beauty  may, 
St  duurma  in  every  way. 


Ap.  BmoKCK.  zxrili. 

Ap.  BnoKCK.  zxxiy. 


For,  thee  the  Graces  still  attend, 
Presiding  o*er  each  new  attire. 

And  lending  ev'ry  dart  they  send 
Some  new,  peculiar  touch  of  fire. 

Be  what  thou  wilt, —  this  heart 

Adores  whatever  thou  art ! 


WHEN  THE  SAD  WORD.* 

BT  PAUL,   THE   SILENTIABT. 

When  the  sad  word,  "  Adieu,"  from  my  lip  is  nigh 
falling, 

And  with  it,  Hope  passes  away. 
Ere  the  tongue  hath  half  breathed  it,  my  fond  heart 
recalling 

That  fatal  farewell,  bids  me  stay 
For  oh !  'tis  a  penance  so  weary 

One  hour  irom  thy  presence  to  be. 
That  death  to  this  soul  were  less  dreary. 

Less  dark  than  long  absence  from  thee. 

Thy  beauty,  like  Day,  o'er  the  dull  world  breaking. 

Brings  life  to  the  heart  it  shines  o'er. 
And,  in  mine,  a  new  feeling  of  happiness  waking 

Made  light  what  was  darkness  before. 
But  mute  is  the  Day's  sunny  glory, 

While  thine  hath  a  voice*,. on  whose  breath. 
More  sweet  than  the  Svren's  sweet  storv ' 

My  hopes  hang,  through  life  and  through  death  ! 


MY  MOPSA  IS  LITTLE.' 

BY  PUILODEMUS. 

Mr  Mopsa  is  little,  my  Mopsa  is  brown, 

Bat  her  cheek  is  as  smooth  as  the  peach's  sollt  down. 

And,  for  blushing,  no  rose  can  come  near  her; 
In  short,  she  has  woven  such  nets  round  my  heart. 
That  I  ne'er  from  my  dear  little  Mopsa  can  part, — 

Unless  I  can  find  one  that's  dearer. 

Her  voice  hath  a  music  that  dwells  on  the  car. 
And  her  eye  from  its  orb  gives  a  daylight  so  clear, 

That  I'm  dazzled  whenever  I  meet  her  ; 
Her  ringlets,  so  curly,  arc  Cupid's  own  net, 

6  X«»f«e  91  iM^Xuv  tvnrciv. 

Ap.  Bfit7MCK.  rxxbc. 

6  Hamt*  y^  wt9  ffyr^  tfi*uiO¥.  «XXa  re  ^t«v  ««v 

7  2w  4*  «>M4  arai  ro  X«Xf)>ta  ^*p«t( 

Ap.  Brvncs.  z. 
H  II   2 


hcpths  or  tlic  graTB  caatd  revive  i 
I  I  Bwanr,  thai  if  death  wore  her  doom, 
Huttyjoiiiniv  dead  Iotu  id  the  trjtu 
'    lept  vrith  a  live  one. 


ff  in  gilonee  fnllini;, 
I  for  ihce  the  nightly  tear 
)  tEie  put  recalling, 


Didat  thoa  not  hear  yon  soaring  sw. 

Chirp,  chir|i,  —  in  trery  note  he  tts 

Tii  Spring,  'li*  Spring, 

np,  hoj,  away, — 

Who'd  (Ukj  on  hiDd  Co-day? 
The  vciy  flowers 
Would  from  their  bowen 

Delight  to  wing  away  1 

Xxare  lungutd  yonihi  to  pine 

On  silken  pillows. 

Bat  be  the  billnwa 
Of  the  great  deep  thine. 
Hark,  to  the  sail  the  breeze  sings,  " 
While  eoft  the  sail,  replying  to  the 
Save,  with  a  yielding  sigh, 
"Yes,  where  yon  please." 
Up.  boy  1  the  wind,  the  ray. 

The  blue  sky  o'er  thee. 

The  deep  before  thee. 
Ail  cry  alood,  ■■  Away!  " 


IN  MTETLE  WREATH; 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


397 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


TO-DAY,  DEAREST!  IS  OURS. 

To-DiT,  dearest!  is  ours; 

Why  skoald  Love  carelessly  lose  it? 
This  life  shines  or  lowers 

Jiw  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
T*s  time  enough,  when  its  flow'rs  decay, 

To  think  of  the  thorns  of  Sorrow; 
-^  Joj,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day, 

*«y  wither  before  to-morrow. 

"^^hy,  dearest!  so  lone 
let  the  sweet  moments  ny  over? 
^?h  now,  blooming  and  young, 
Tnoo  hast  me  devoutly  thy  lover; 
^Tuue  fix)m  both,  in  his  silent  lapse, 
^nie  treasure  may  steal  or  borrow; 
y  Unarms  may  be  less  in  bloom,  perhaps 
^'  I  kss  in  love  to-morrow. 


'^^^  OX  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DELAYS. 

"  HE>ff  on  the  lip  the  sigh  dckys, 
_^  if 'twould  linger  ^cre  for  ever; 
When  eyes  would  gjve  the  world  to  gaze, 
^*^t  still  look  down,  and  venture  never; 
^^  though  with  fairest  nymphs  we  rove. 

There's  one  we  dream  of  more  than  any  — 
«  »fl  this  is  not  real  love, 

Tis  something  wond'rous  like  it,  Fanny ! 

To  think  and  ponder,  when  apart. 

On  all  we*ve  got  to  say  at  meeting; 
"And  jet  when  near,  vrith  heart  to  heart, 

Sit  mate,  and  listen  to  their  beating: 
To  see  but  one  bright  object  move. 

The  only  moon,  where  stars  are  many — 
I' all  this  is  not  downright  love, 
I  prithee  say  what  is,  my  Fanny! 

When  Hope  foretells  the  brightest,  best, 

Though  Reason  on  the  darkest  reckons; 
When  Passion  drives  us  to  the  west. 
Though  Prudence  to  the  eastward  beckons; 


When  all  turns  round,  below,  above-. 
And  our  o^vn  heads  the  most  of  any  — 

If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love. 
Then  you  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny. 


HERE,  TAKE  MY  HEART. 

Here,  take  my  heart  —  'twill  be  safe  in  thy  keep- 
ing* 

While  I  go  wandering  o*er  land  and  o'er  sea; 
Smiling  or  sorrowing,  waking  or  sleeping. 

What  need  I  care,  so  my  heart  is  with  thee? 

If,  in  the  race  we  are  destin'd  to  run,  love, 
They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  be. 

Then,  happier  still  must  be  they  who  have  none,   : 

love,  ' 

And  that  will  be  my  case  when  mine  is  with  thee,    i 

It  matters  not  where  I  may  now  be  a  rover,  ' 

I  care  not  how  many  bright  eyes  I  may  see; 

Should  Venus  herself  come  and  ask  me  to  love  her, 
I'd  tell  her  I  couldn't — my  heart  is  with  thee. 

And  there  let  it  lie,  growing  fonder  and  fonder — 
For,  even  should  Fortune  turn  truant  to  me. 

Why,  let  her  go — I've  a  treasure  beyond  her. 
As  long  as  my  heart's  out  at  int'rest  with  thee ! 


OH,  CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAME. 

On,  call  it  by  some  better  name. 

For  Friendship  sounds  too  cold, 
While  Love  is  now  a  worldly  flame. 

Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold ; 
And  Passion,  like  the  sun  at  noon. 

That  bums  o'er  all  he  sees. 
Awhile  as  warm,  will  set  as  soon  — 

Then,  call  it  none  of  these. 

Imagine  something  purer  far. 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay  * 

Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Passion  are. 

Yet  human  still  as  they : 

HH  3 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


kr  lip,  for  lovo  \i 
jinl  word  rjui  fr 
nntieels  what  it 


t  WOUNDED  HEART. 

{Fonndod  heart,  forcwelll 

D  will  reach  ihj  borne. 
Bonnded  heart,  farenclll 
fa  tboa'lt  feel  ut  breaking 
I  bitlcr  far  will  be. 

It  long,  deadly  aching, 
I  hfe  ha£  boon  U>  thee. 

—broken  heart,  Earevcll! 
■The  pang  is  o'er — 
iThe  parting  pan);  is  o'eri 
|Thou  now  -will  bleed  no  more, 
ill  henrl.  fnrowell! 
It  for  thee  but  dying  — 
B  waves,  whose  airil'D  is  p^t, 
^th'i  cold  ihorB  thus  lying. 


Then  now,  sweet  Majl  he  swce 
Than  e'er  ihon'st  been  before: 

Let  »ighs  from  roses  meet  her 
WhcD  the  conies  near  uuz  ibi 


POOH  BBOKEN  FLOWEI 

PooK  broken  fli)w*rl   what  art  caj)  di 
Ihee? 
Tom  from  the  stem  that  fed  thy  rosy 
In  vain  the  Bun-beams  $eek 
To  warm  that  faded  cheek  ; 
The  dewB  of  hear*!!,  tliat  once  like  ball 
thee. 
Now  are  hot  lears,  lo  weep  thy  early 
So  droops  the  maid  whose  lover   hat) 
her,  — 
Thrown  from  his  aims,  as  lone  and  lo 
Id  vain  the  smiles  of  all 
Like  enn-bcama  mund  her  fal 
Tlie  only  smile  that  could  from  death  a' 
That  amile,  alas!  is  gone  to  olbera  u- 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


899 


^niNE  OUT.  STABS  I 

,  Stan!  let  HeaVb  assemble 

If  er'rj  festal  nj, 

t  more  not,  lights  that  tremble, 

race  this  Eve  of  May. 

»w  r-beds  all  He  waking, 

)  odoors  shut  up  there, 

r  downj  prisons  breaking, 

oad,  through  sea  and  air. 

d  Lore,  too,  bring  his  sweetness, 

or  other  jojs  to  weave, 

{lorj,  what  completeness, 

ould  crown  this  bright  Maj  Eve ! 

,  Stars !  let  night  assemble 

Ds  ereiy  festal  raj. 

It  move  not,  lights  that  tremble, 

rn  this  Eye  of  May. 


!7G  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA. 

!  joys  of  our  ey'ning  posada, 
re,  resting  at  close  of  day, 
ung  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 
od  sing  the  sunshine  away; 
ry,  that  even  the  slumbers, 
round  us  hung,  seem  gone  ; 
I  lute's  soft  drowsy  numbers 
n  beguile  them  on. 
Dh  the  joys,  &c 

s  each  to  his  loved  sultana 
!ep  still  breathes  the  sigh, 
me  of  some  black-eyed  Tirana 
pes  our  lips  as  we  lie. 
th  moming^s  rosy  twinkle, 
n  we  are  up  and  gone  — 
:he  mule-bell*s  drowsy  tinkle 
lies  the  rough  way  on. 
joys  of  our  merry  posada, 
re,  resting  at  close  of  day, 
ung  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 
sing  the  gay  moments  away. 


:jL  her,  oh,  TELL  HER. 

h,  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
he  green  arbour,  is  still  lying  there; 
i,  like  lovers,  around  it  are  sighing, 
.  s<^  whisper  replies  to  their  prayV. 


Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going. 
Beside  the  green  arbour  she  playfully  set. 

As  lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing. 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  htm  hSVn  from  it  yet 

So  while  away  from  that  arbour  forsaken. 
The  maiden  is  wandering,  still  let  her  be 

As  true  as  the  lute,  that  no  sighing  can  waken. 
And  blooming  for  ever,  unchanged  as  the  tree  t 


NIGHTS  OF  MUSIG 

Nights  of  music,  nights  of  loving. 

Lost  too  soon,  remember'd  long. 
When  we  went  by  moonlight  roving. 

Hearts  all  love  and  Hps  all  song. 
When  this  faithfid  lute  recorded 

All  my  spirit  felt  to  thee ; 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded — 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  me  ! 

Nights  of  song,  and  nights  of  splendour, 

Fill'd  with  joys  too  sweet  to  last  — 
Joys  that,  like  the  star-light,  tender. 

While  they  shone,  no  shadow  cast. 
Though  an  other  happy  hours 

From  my  fading  mem'ry  fly, 
Of  that  star-light,  of  those  bowers, 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf  shall  die ! 


OUR  FIRST  YOUNG  LOVE. 

OuB  first  young  love  resembles 

That  short  but  brilliant  ray. 
Which  smiles,  and  weeps,  and  trembles 

Through  April's  earliest  day. 
And  not  all  life  before  us, 

However  its  lights  may  play. 
Can  shed  a  lustre  o*er  us 

Like  that  first  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squander 
A  blaze  screner,  grander ; 
Our  autumn  beam 
May,  like  a  dream 
Of  heaven,  die  calm  away; 
But,  no  —  let  life  before  us 

Bring  all  the  light  it  may, 
•Twill  ne'er  shed  lustre  o'er  us 
Like  that  first  youthful  ray. 


HH  4 


^3^^^^^H 

MOORE'S  WOEKS. 

K  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

brilliant  black  eye 
in  iriumph  let  fly 
n-itlMiut  caring  who  foeU  'emj 

ttie  soft  eya  of  blue, 
ugh  it  BCaltcr  wounds  too, 
r  pleiu-d  wUbd  il  heaia  'em  — 
r  Fanny 1 

the  fod  eye  of  bine, 
uf  11  it  scatter  wounds  too, 
r  pkas'cl  when  it  huila  'em. 

black  eye  may  eay, 

me  and  worabip  my  ray — 
perhape,  yon  may  move  me!" 

the  blue  eye,  half  hid, 
a,  irum  andcr  ila  lid, 
amyoorstif  jonioveme!" 
Fanny ! 

blue  eye,  haW  hid, 

,  from  under  iK  lid, 
lun  yours,  if  yoo  love  me  1" 

e  tell  me.  then,  why, 
hut  lovply  blue  eve, 
orilstintldisi'over; 
Lvhy  should  yon  wenr 

FROM  LIFE  WTTHOUT  FBEE. 

Fhom  life  withonl  froedom,  say,  who  woul 

For  (ino  day  of  fivedom,  oh  !  who  wonJt 
Hurkl  — harkl  'tig  the  tnimpec  1  the  c 

The  deulh-song  of  tyranta,  the  dirge  of  I 
Onr  tountry  lies  bleeding— haste,  hatte  i 
Que  arm  that  defend*  is  worth  hosta  tha 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  onr  last  hope  n 
The  dead  fear  no  tyrant*,  the  grsTe  lias 
On,  on  10  the  combat ;  the  hcrots  that  b 
For  virtue  and  mankind  nro  heroes  indei 
And  oh.cT'nifFrcedom  from  (Am  world  1 
Despair  not— at  least  wo  shaU  finJ  hra  i: 

HERE'S  THE  BOWER 

Here's  the  tower  she  IotM  bo  mucl 
And  the  tree  she  iiluiil<^d  : 

Hero's  ilio  harp  she  used  lo  lonch— 
Oh.  how  that  touch  enohaoted  1 

Roaes  now  unheeded  sifih  ; 

■ 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


401 


M  ^kxun  that  winter  cast 
How  soon  the  heart  forgets, 
hen  Summer  brings,  at  last. 
Her  son  that  nerer  sets! 
»  dawn'd  mj  lore  for  70U ; 
So,  fix*d  through  joj  and  pain, 
lan  sommer  son  more  true. 
Twill  ncTer  set  again. 


SHE  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

e  found  a  Dial  once,  in  a  dark  shade, 

n  ne'er   had  wander'd  nor  sunbeam 

d; 

8  in  darkness  lie,"  whisper*d  young 

£; 

hose  gaj  hours  in   sunshine   should 

c?" 

said  the  Dial,  **haye  seen  the  warm  sun, 

ay  and  midnight  to  me,  Love,  are  one." 

took  the  Dial  away  from  the  shade, 
i  her  where   Hear'n's  beam  warmly 

reclin'd,  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye, 
rk*d  all  with  sunshine,  her  hoars  flew  by. 
."  said  the  Dial,  "  can  any  fair  maid, 
•m  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the  shade  ?  " 

DOW  comes  on,  and  the  sunbeam's  o'er, 
stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more, 
neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Dg  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 
had  but  numbcr'd  a  few  sonny  hours,  — 
he  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers ! 


LOVE  AND  TIME. 

iid  — but  whether  true  or  not 
bards  declare  who've  seen  'em  — 
Love  and  Time  have  only  got 
!  pair  of  wings  between  'em. 
rtship's  first  delicious  hour, 
boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em  ; 
t*ring  in  his  lady's  bower, 
lets  the  grey- beard  wear  'em. 
hen  is  Time's  hour  of  play ; 
'h,  how  ho  flies,  flies  away  I 

lort  the  moments,  short  as  bright, 
en  he  the  wings  ean  borrow ; 
le  to-day  has  had  his  flight, 
e  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 


Ah!  Time  and  Love,  your  change  is  then 

The  saddest  and  most  trying. 
When  one  begins  to  limp  again. 
And  t'other  takes  to  flying. 
Then  is  Love's  hour  to  stray; 
Oh,  how  he  flies,  flies  away ! 

But  there's  a  nymph,  whose  chains  I  feel. 

And  bless  the  silken  fetter. 
Who  knows,  the  dear  one,  how  to  deal 

With  Love  and  Time  much  better. 
So  well  she  checks  their  wanderings. 

So  peacefully  she  pairs  'em. 
That  Love  with  her  ne'er  thinks  of  wings, 

And  Time  for  ever  wears  *em. 
This  is  Time's  Holiday; 
Oh,  how  he  flies,  flies  away! 


LOVE'S  LIGHT  SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Patx  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us  -^ 
Youth  may  wither,  but  feeUng  will  last ; 
All  the  shadow  that  e*er  shall  fall  o'er  us, 
Love's  light  summer- cloud  only  shall  cast. 
Oh,  if  to  love  thee  more 
Each  hour  I  number  o'er, 
If  this  a  passion  be 
Worthy  of  thee. 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee, 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 

Rest,  dear  bosom,  no  sorrows  shall  pain  thee. 

Sighs  of  pleasure  alone  shalt  thou  steal ; 
Beam,  bright  eyelid,  no  weeping  shall  stain  thee. 
Tears  of  rapture  alone  shalt  thou  feeL 
Oh,  if  there  be  a  charm 
In  love,  to  banish  harm  —  * 
If  pleasure's  truest  spell 
Be  to  love  well, 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast 


LOVE  WAND'RING  THROUGH  THE 
GOLDEN  MAZE. 

Love,  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maze 

Of  my  beloved's  hair, 
Trac'd  every  lock  with  fond  delays. 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 


■MOOUC'S  WORKS. 


■bousdeth. 


Hdom  soandetli, 


n  pinctli, 

lavcry  IwineCli, 
Ji! 
•■>  diut 


f:  dt9ditt«lll, 


Thrj  leU  iQs,  vou  loven  from  Erin's  green  isfc. 

EvpTj  bout'ii  now  passion  can  ft-tl; 
And  ihBl  Boon,  In  Ibe  light  of  fame  lovelier  iia 

You'll  forget  the  poor  mkid  of  Caalile. 
BdI  they  knownol  bow  brave  in  the  battle  }«Bi 

Or  they  never  could  ihiufc  jon  would  roY«j 
For  'tis  nliTRje  Ibe  spirit  mosl  galUnl  in  Kir 

Thai  is  fuudoM  and  troeu  in  lore^ 


OH,  SOON  RETUBS. 

Opb  white  sai\  eaugbt  the  er'nina  nv, 
Tlie  wave  beneath  ub  Bcem'd  ti>  burn, 

When  all  the  weeping  mnid  could  ut 
WM,"Oh.soonrsiumr' 

Through  manj  a  clime  our  aliip  wu  driTtlUa 
O'er  manj  a  billow  rudcl;'  thrown; 

Kow  chill'd  beneath  a  northern  hcaien. 

And  still,  where'er  we  bent  our  vsjr, 
Wiien  evening  luiJ  the  west  wave  horn. 

I  fandud  etill  I  heard  her  M^, 
"Oh,  aooQ  retuml". 

If  wet  yet  ni^  bosom  fonnd 

ItJi  thoughts  one  moment  tom'd  IVuni      ^ 
'  Twu  when  the  eotnbut  rsg'd  aroiuid. 

And  brave  men  look'd  to  mo. 
But  though  the  war-lield'B  wild  alarm 

For  gentle  Lore  was  all  nnmaet. 
Ho  lent  to  Glorj'i  brow  the  charm. 


Wbitb 


uigcr. 
n  Ticl'rf 's  talm  came  i 
vherc  rage  hwl  ceaa'd 
words  IJieard  once  m 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


408 


It  tiij  smfle,  the  monarch's  lot 

le  were  dark  and  lone, 

wiA  it,  ev'n  the  humblest  cot 

e  bri^ter  than  his  throne. 

wocldB,  for  which  the  conqa'ror  sighs, 

me  woold  haTe  no  charms; 

1I7  world  thj  gentle  eyes-^ 

throne  thj  circling  arms! 

»,  80  well,  BO  tenderly 

)a'rt  Wd,  ador'd  bj  me, 

e  realms  of  light  and  liberty 

le  worthless  withont  thee. 


ONE  DEAB  SMILK 

)tr  thoQ  look  as  dear  as  when 
tisigh'dforthee; 
it  thoa  make  me  feel  again 
wish  I  breath'd  thee  then, 
how  blissfiil  life  would  be! 
that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 
>  that  lie  in  unmber  cold — 
old  wake,  conldst  thou  bat  give  me 
dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

iere's  nothing  left  us  now, 
to  mourn  the  past; 
as  every  ardent  vow — 
ret  did  heaven  allow 
80  warm,  so  wild,  to  last 
!a  hope  could  now  deceive  me  — 
itself  looks  dark  and  cold: 
fu  never  more  canst  give  me 
dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 


5,  YES,  WHEN  THE  BLOOM. 

when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is 

r. 

m  into  friendship  that  feels  no  decay; 

igh  Time  may  take  from  him  the  wings 

once  wore, 

OS  that  remain  will  be  bright  as  before, 

11  lose  bnf  his  young  trick  of  flying 

t  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay, 

riendship  our  last  happy  moments  will 

wn: 

badows  of  morning,  Love  lessens  away, 

sndship,  like  those  at  the  closing  of  day, 

ger  and  lengthen  as  life's  sun  goes  down. 


THE  DAY  OF  LOVR 

The  beam  of  morning  trembling 
Stole  o'er  the  mountain  brool^ 

With  timid  ray  resembling 
Affection's  early  look. 
Thus  love  begins — sweet  mom  of  love! 

The  noon-tide  ray  ascended. 

And  o'er  the  valley's  stream 
Di£fus'd  a  glow  as  sjiendid 
As  passion's  riper  dreauL 
Thus  love  expands — warm  noon  of  love! 

But  evening  came,  o'ershading 

The  glories  of  the  sky. 
Like  faith  and  fondness  fading 

From  passion's  altered  eye. 
Thus  love  declines  — cold  eve  of  love! 


LUSITANLA.N  WAR-SONG. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains. 

Till  not  one  hateful  link  remains 

Of  slavery's  lingering  chains; 

Till  not  one  tyrant  tread  our  plains. 
Nor  traitor  lip  pollute  our  fountains. 

No!  never  till  that  glorious  day 

Shall  Lnsitania's  sons  be  gay. 

Or  hear,  oh  Peace,  thy  welcome  lay 
Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains. 
Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smiling,  say, 
**  Your  cloud  of  foes  hath  pass'd  away, 
**  And  Freedom  comes,  with  new-bom  ray, 

**  To  gild  your  vines  and  light  your  fountains.* 
Oh,  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay. 
Or  hear,  sweet  Peace,  thy  welcome  lay 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains 


If 


THE  YOUNG  ROSE. 

The  young  rose  I  give  thee,  so  dewy  and  bright. 
Was  the  flow'ret  most  dear  to  the  sweet  bird  of 

night. 
Who  oft,  by  the  moon,  o'er  her  blushes  hath  hung. 
And  thrilled  every  leaf  with  the  wild  lay  he  sung. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ia  joung  rose,  and  let  her  life  be 

It  brefuh  she  will  borrow  fram  thee  \ 

boeom  ihy  svfl  nulcs  shall  tLrill, 

et  night-bird  ie  courting  her  hUU. 


■mST  TIIE  GAT  I  MEET. 


Inlle  Biiiilc  of  thine. 

a  cbU  il  miuc: 
me  alone 
3t  tears  70U  Ehov, 
■ml  those  tun  my  oivn. 
n  them  while  thej  flow. 
'th  bright  looks  hies* 
Jie  cold,  the  fti:et 
10  thoK  who  lore  yon  It 


YOUNG  JESSICA. 

TotTHO  Jesncs  wt  all  the  day. 

With  bean  o'er  idle  love-thonghu  ] 
Her  needle  bright  beside  bet  l»j. 

So  active  once!  — now  idly  fining 
Ah,  Jessy,  'tis  in  idle  beortii 

Tbal  love  and  mischief  are  mosi  nil 
The  safest  shieUl  against  the  dnru 

Of  Cupid,  ill  Miaetra's  thioiblc. 


And  langhing  says,  ■■  We'fl  etoal  it 
The  needle,  having  nought  to  do. 

Is  picu'd  to  let  the  magnet  wheedir 
Till  i-loser,  closer  eome  the  two. 

And  —  off,  at  length,  elopes  the  o«« 

Now,  bad  (hii  needle  tom'd  itt  eyo 

To  some  gay  roticnio's  congtniction 
It  ne'er  bad  slray'd  from  duty's  tie, 

Nor  fi'lt  the  magnet's  sly  seduction. 
Tims,  girls,  would  yon  keep  quiei  hm 

Your  snowy  fingers  mntt  Iw  nimble 
The  (oicst  shield  acaiusl  the  darts 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimbkL 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


405 


t  LOVE  BUT  TSEB. 

rem  Btin  win  doubt  and  fear  me, 
this  heart  to  other  loves  will  stray, 
ar,  then,  lovely  doubter,  hear  me; 
ream  I  hare  when  thoa'rt  awajr, 
»b  I  feel  when  thoa  art  near  me, 
(bee  —  I  love  but  theet 

k  ejee,  where  light  is  ever  playing, 

•re,  in  depth  of  shadow,  holds  his 

•f 

se  lips,  which  give  whate'er  thoa'rt 

J. 

»r  gay,  a  music  of  its  own, 

beyond  all  minstrel's  joying, 

thee  —  I  love  but  thee! 

brow,  where  Innocence  reposes, 
I  moonlight  sleeping  upon  snow, 
cheek,  whose  fleeting  blush  discloses 
bright  to  bless  this  world  below, 
to  dwell  on  Eden's  roses, 
thee  —  I  love  but  thee ! 


LLOKEBB 


4M/,iDt/ii: 


lER'D  NOW. 


alone  be  rcmember'd  now, 

rrows  go  sleep  awhile; 

;'8  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

ight  it  up  with  his  smile. 

aeet,  and  thus  to  find, 

!,  whose  touch  can  chill 

)f  form,  each  grace  of  mind, 

bee  blooming  still,  — 

I  ahould  be  thought  of  now, 

rrows  go  sleep  awhile; 

)ught's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

ight  it  up  with  his  smile. 

wers  of  life's  sweet  garden  fade, 
aright  leaf  remain, 
that  once  its  glory  made, 
r  us  to  complain, 
aeet  and  thus  to  wake 
i's  early  bliss; 
other  gifts  may  take, 
leaves  us  this ! 
alone  be  rcmember'd  now, 
TOWS  go  sleep  awhile; 
i's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 
ight  it  np  with  his  smile! 


LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST?  LOVE  THEE? 

LoYB  thee,  dearest?  love  thee? 

Tes,  by  yonder  star  I  swear. 
Which  through  tears  above  thee 

Shines  so  sadly  fair; 
Though  often  dim. 
With  tears,  like  him. 
Like  him  my  truth  will  shine. 

And  —  love  thee,  deaieet?  lov)B  thee? 
Tes,  till  death  I'm  thine. 

Leave  thee,  dearest?  leave  thee? 

No,  that  star  is  not  more  true; 
When  my  vows  deceive  thee» 

He  win  wander  too. 
A  cloud  of  night 
May  veil  his  li^ht. 
And  death  sha^  darken  mine  -«- 

But  —  leave  thee,  dearest?  leave  thee? 
No,  till  death  I'm  thine. 


MY  HEART  AND  LUTE. 

I  orvB  thee  all  —  I  can  no  more  — 

Though  poor  the  ofiTring  be; 
Myheart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 

\rhat  I  can  bring  to  thee. 
A  lute  whose  gentle  song  reveals 

The  soul  of  love  ftdl  well; 
And,  better  far,  a  heart  that  feels 

Much  more  than  lute  could  telL 

Though  love  and  song  may  fail,  alas! 

To  keep  life's  clouds  away, 
At  least  'twill  make  them  lighter  pass 

Or  gild  them  if  they  stay. 
And  ev'n  if  Care,  at  moments,  flings 

A  discord  o'er  life's  happy  strain. 
Let  love  but  gently  touch  the  strings, 

'Twill  all  be  sweet  again! 


PEACE,  PEACE,  TO  HIM  THAT«  GONE! 

When  I  am  dead 

Then  lay  my  head 
In  some  lone,  distant  dell, 

Where  voices  ne'er 

Shall  stir  the  air, 
Or  break  its  lileiit  tpeU* 


MOOEE'S  WORKS. 


MIS  an/  soand 
iBe  beard  uonsd, 
^t  iho  Bweet  bird  alono, 

St  wcepa  in  toag 

g  »ll  night  long. 
Fcace,  pe*ce,  to  hiin  tbal'i  goacl  " 

JTtt,  oh,  were  mine 
le  sigh  of  thine, 
le  piljing  word  fmm  ihce, 
iLike  glcutu  of  benv'n, 
■To  linnm  giv'n, 
loald  lie  iJiat  word  to  me. 

!r  nnblcBl. 
J  shade  Koiild  rta 

st'ning  to  that  tone;  — 
^nnngh  'twotiM  b« 
[To  hear  from  Ihce, 

1,  peace;  to  Mm  that's  goae  t  " 


I BOSE  OF  THE  DESERT. 

le  desert!  thoQ,  whose  bliialting  n 
Bd  lorclf.  fleets  unseen  liwav; 
■  I  cnll  Ihcp.  n'jnc  to  won  ihy  si!,-h, 


Calls  furth  their  life,  mj  t,\iml  h 
TiU.  [ouchM  bj  Lotc's  awak'ni) 

It  lii'd  for  thee,  it  Ur'd  tov 
When  Fame  would  call  me  to  fa 

She  speaks  by  thee; 
And  dim  would  shine  her  prood 

Uashar'd  bj  thee,  Qnihar'd 
Whene'er  I  seek  the  Mnse'i  »liri 
Where  Bards  hare  hang  tbctr  « 
And  wish  ihuse  wrealha  of  gloi] 


Tis  aU  for  lb 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  OLD] 

There's  a  song  of  Ihc  olden  tin 

Falling  sad  o'er  the  ear. 
Like  ibe  dream  of  some  viQa^  < 

Which  in  yoath  we  lav'd  to  k 
And  er'n  amidst  the  grand  and  , 

When  Mosic  tries  her  gentleal 
I  nerer  hear  so  sweet  a  lay. 

Or  one  [bat  bangs  so  round  m 
As  thai  song  of  Ihe  olden  time, 

Fal!in|T  Fod  o'er  the  car. 
Like  the  dream  of  some  lilla^  < 

Whf  '    ■  -'  ■     •■  ■     ■ 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


407 


riuch  to  oblirioas  shiinber 
Gkdlj  ^e  wretch  would  spare. 

kit  now — who'd  think  of  drauning 
When  LoTe  his  watch  should  keep? 

^^ule  sach  a  moon  is  beaming, 
Tis  wrong  tow'rds  Hear'n  to  sleep. 

^  e*er  the  Fates  shoold  serer 

Hy  life  and  hopes  firom  thee,  lore, 
"^  Bleep  that  lasts  for  ever 

'Would  then  be  sweet  to  me,  love ; 
Btt  now,—  awaj  with  dreaming ! 

im  darker  boors  'twill  keep; 
Wliik  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 
Tifl  wrong  tow'rds  HeaVn  to  sleep. 


THE  BOY  OF  THE  ALPS. 

Ijohtlt,  Alpine  rover. 

Tread  the  mountains  over; 

Bnde  is  the  path  thou'st  yet  to  go; 

Snow  dilb  hanging  o'er  thee, 

Rdds  of  ice  before  thee, 
TOl6  the  hid  torrent  moans  below. 
^J*,  the  deep  thunder, 
Tbrough  the  vales  yonder! 
^«the huge  avalanche  downward  cast; 

^^wn  Toi  to  rock 

Kebounds  the  shock. 


But 


courage,  boy!  the  danger's  past. 


Inward,  youthful  rover, 
Safc*^  the  glacier  over, 
^  shalt  thou  reach  thy  home  at  last. 
^«i«  light  forsake  thee, 
r^D  Mn  dusk  overtake  thee  : 

^  yon  ice-bridge  lies  thy  way ! 

J^^»  for  the  risk  prepare  thee; 

oafe  it  yet  may  bear  thee, 

^^h  'twill  melt  in  morning's  ray. 

^<  that  dread  howling  I 

^8  the  wolf  prowling, — 

^^^  of  thy  track  the  foe  hath  got; 

^d  cliff  and  shore 

resound  his  roar. 
^'Jt  courage,  boy, —  the  danger's  past! 

hatching  eyes  have  found  thee, 

Wing  arms  are  round  thee. 
Safe  hast  thou  reach'd  thy  father's  cot. 


FOR  THEE  ALONE. 

^fitbee^lone  I  brave  the  boundless  deep, 
Jhotse  eyes  my  light  through  ev'xy  distant  sea; 


My  waking  thoughts,  the  dream  that  gilds  my  sleep, 
The  noon-tide  reverie,  all  are  giv'n  to  thee, 
To  thee  alone,  to  thee  alone. 

Though  future  scenes  present  to  Fancy's  eye 
Fair  forms  of  light  that  crowd  the  distant  air, 

When  nearer  view'd,  the  fairy  phantoms  fly. 
The  crowds  dissolve,  and  &ou  alone  art  there. 
Thou,  thou  alone. 

To  win  thy  smile,  I  speed  from  shore  to  shore. 
While  Hope's  sweet  voice  is  heard  in  every  blast. 

Still  whisp'ring  on,  that  when  some  years  are  o'er, 
One  bright  reward  shall  crown  my  toil  at  last. 
Thy  smile  alone,  thy  smile  alone. 

Oh  place  beside  the  transport  of  that  hour 

All  earth  can  boast  of  fair,  of  rich,  and  bright. 
Wealth's  radiant    mines,  the    lofty    thrones    of 
power, — 
Then  ask  where  first  thy  lover's  choice  would 
light? 
On  thee  alone,  on  thee  alone. 


HER  LAST  WORDS,  AT  PARTING. 

Her  last  words,  at  parting,  how  can  I  forget? 
Deep  treasur'd  through  life,  in  my  heart  they 
shall  stay; 
Like  music,  whose  charm  in  the  soul  lingers  yet. 
When  its  sounds  from  the  ear  have  long  melted 
away. 
Let  Fortune  assail  me,  her  threat'nings  are  vain; 
Those  still-breathing  words  shall  my  talisman 
be, — 
**  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
**  There's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beats  but 
for  thee." 

From  the  desert's  sweet  well  tho'  the  pilgrim  must 
hie, 
Never  more  of  that  fresh-springing  fountain  to 
taste, 
He  hath  still  of  its  bright  drops  a  treasur'd  supply. 
Whose  sweetness  lends  life  to  his  lips  through 
the  waste. 
So,  dark  as  my  fate  is  still  doom'd  to  remain, 
These  words  shall  my  well  in  the  wilderness 
be, — 
"  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
"•  There's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beats  but 
for  thee." 


I  this  world  as  some  Bide  scene, 
f  which,  in  frail,  but  bnoyant  loBl, 
■r  dark  and  now  serene, 
oa  &nd  I  most  BoM; 
on  piiher  shore, 
I  whcro  wB  nhonld  lovo  to  nay; 
R>ti(»  Bwlil  his  Syiug  oar. 
Wkj  wo  speed,  anay,  nwaj. 

Hning  winde  snd  rains  come  on, 

"IT  awning  'gninsl  the  sJjow'r; 
3  storm  is  gone, 

liling,  wait  a  simmer  honr. 
tinier  hoor  ahonld  shtne, 
its  brighlneBa  cannot  stay, 
ili>  'tL>  thine  and  mine. 
It  wh«D  it  fades  awaj. 

Is  nach  at  last  that  FsU 
Ihich  life's  currents  all  must  go,  — 
Bthe  briUtanl.  destio'd  all 


Flowen  spring  beneath  bis  feet; 

Angel  fonns  beaiile  him  mii; 
While  imDumber'd  Ups  repeat 

"  Love's  victory  is  won  • " 

Bail  to  LoTE,  to  mighty  I 


SONG  OF  HERCULES  TO  HIS  DA 

"  IVe  been,  oh,  sweet  daagfatei 

"  To  fountain  and  sea, 
"  To  feel  in  their  water 

"  Some  bright  gem  for  thee. 
"  Wbere  diamonds  were  alevpi 

"  Their  sparkle  I  Bought, 
"  Where  crystal  was  Hwpiag, 

"  Its  tears  I  havs  caught. 

"  The  aoB^njmpb  Tve  couiled 

>*  In  rich  coral  halls; 
"  Witli  Naiads  have  spotted 

"  By  bright  nalerfalla. 
"  But  sportive  or  tender, 

"  Still  sought  I.  arouml. 
"  Thnt  Kern,  with  whose  splcnd 

"  Tbou  yet  shall  be  crowuU 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


409 


tore  soft  maj  o*er  ns  (all, 
ler  shores  our  bark  may  come; 
re  bright,  more  dear  than  all, 
am  of  heme,  that  dream  of  home. 

sailor  joath  when  far 
t  bark  bounds  o*er  ocean's  foam, 
ms  him  most,  when  ey*ning*s  star 
'er  the  wave?  to  dream  of  home. 
;hts  of  absent  friends  and  loves 
sweet  hoar  around  hun  come; 
best  joy  where'er  he  roves, 
iam  of  home,  that  dream  of  home. 


TELL  ME  THOITRT  THE 
FAVOUBD  GUEST.* 

me  thouVt  the  favonr'd  guest 
'  fair  and  brilliant  throng; 
B  thine  to  wake  the  jest, 
i  like  thine  to  breathe  the  song; 
could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 
and  I  are  £fir  apart 

i!  how  different  flows 

ee  and  me  the  time  away! 

wish  thee  sad  —  heav'n  knows— 

hou  can'st,  be  light  and  gay; 

nv,  that  without  thee 

imself  is  dark  to  me. 

haste  to  hall  and  bower, 
the  proud  and  gay  to  shine? 
y  hair  with  gem  and  flower, 
4*  other  eyes  than  thine? 
th  me  love's  smiles  are  past, 
t  the  first,  thou  hadst  the  last. 


YOUNG  INDLiN  MAID. 

ERE  came  a  nymph  dancing 

iracefully,  gracefully, 

'  eye  a  light  glancing 

ike  the  blue  sea; 

!  while  all  this  gladness 

iround  her  steps  hung, 

h  sweet  notes  of  sadness 

[er  gentle  lips  sung, 

bile  I  live  from  my  mem'ry  shall  fade 

the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  maid. 

ulatioa  of  mne  Latin  Tenet,  rappoied  to  hare 
'  HlppolTtft  TawdU  to  bcr  htutMuid,  durinc  hia 


Her  sone  of  bells  ringing 

Cheerily,  cheerily. 
Chimed  to  her  singing 

Light  echoes  of  glee; 
But  in  vain  did  she  borrow 

Of  mirth  the  gay  tone. 
Her  voice  spoke  of  sorrow, 

And  sorrow  alone. 
Nor  e'er  while  I  live  from  my  mem'ry  shall  fade 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  maid. 


THE  HOMEWARD  MARCH. 

Bb  still,  my  heart:  I  hear  them  come: 
Those  sounds  announce  my  lover  near: 

The  march  that  brings  our  warriors  home 
Proclaims  he'll  soon  be  here. 

Hark,  the  distant  tread. 

O'er  the  mountain's  head. 
While  hills  and  dales  repeat  the  sound; 

And  the  forest  deer 

Stand  still  to  hear, 
As  those  echoing  steps  ring  round. 

Be  still,  my  heart,  I  hear  them  come. 

Those  sounds  that  speak  my  soldier  near; 

Those  joyous  steps  seem  wing'd  for  home,  — 
Best,  rest,  he'll  soon  be  here. 

But  hark,  more  faint  the  footsteps  grow, 
And  now  they  wind  to  distant  glades; 

Not  here  their  home, — alas,  they  go 
To  gladden  happier  maids  I 

Like  sounds  in  a  dream. 

The  footsteps  seem. 
As  down  the  hills  they  die  away; 

And  the  march,  whose  song 

So  peal'd  along. 
Now  fades  like  a  funeral  lay. 

'Tis  past,  'tis  o'er, —  hush,  heart,  thy  pain! 

And  though  not  here,  alas,  they  come. 
Rejoice  for  those,  to  whom  that  strain 

Brings  sons  and  lovers  home. 


WAKE  UP,  SWEET  MELODY. 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody! 
Now  is  the  hour 


•btence  at  the  gay  oonrt  of  Leo  the  Tenth.   The  Ttrtee  may  be 
found  in  the  Appendix  to  Boiooe*i  Work. 

II 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


■  jonng 


Hiid  U'TJng  lu^arta 
iii>«riby  powV. 
iBic,  I17  moonlighlV  soft  rar  — 
dinoaojida  heard  coldly  bj  day. 
ake  np,  Bweel  mdody  1 
is  the  hour 
■  yoatig  and  loving  henrlB 
'  iiioEl  Ihj  pow'r. 

e  fond  nighlinKiilp, 

o  Lear  liis  eong. 


iALM  BE  THY  SLEEP. 

sleep  as  inrants'  slumbers ! 
unj^l  thonglita  thy  dreainsl 
joy  liiia  briglil  world  nnmlicrs 
T  Ihee  their  uiingleil  heanit] 


But  of  (he  ]on  ant  think  uid  speak, 
When  iiimmcr  suns  fink  calm  to 

S<i,  a?  I  wander.  Fancy's  drEam 
Shall  hrini;  mc  o'tr  Che  snneeC  sei 

Thy  lm)k,  in  cy'ry  melting  btam. 
Thy  wbiaper,  m  each  dying  brew 


TIIE  FANCY  FAIB. 


Yoa'l!  find  at  this  our  Fbdcj  Fair 


re  nmde  like  K 

1  nai  ev  n  when  tum'd  of  thirty -nini 
They'U  hardly  look  the  wotsa  for 
ir  bought  Bl  this  oui  Fnsry  Fair. 


Hero  eyca  aic  ™..™v  ^n.,  ^^^^^  .^  .-^ 
And  ktpl,  lor  veATS,  in  such  repni 
Thatei-       '  ■■    -  •• 


Aua  Licarla  that  sui'Ii  lU  uhi^  bei 

That,  though  they're  broken  vv'tj-  b 

They'U  still  in  rhymu  fresh  breaki 

If  pardiua'd  ■(  our  Fancy  Fair. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


411 


lis  hand  they  slumber  mate, 
k,  but  dreamy  words, 
eek  the  soul  that  dwelt 
that  once  sweet  shell, 
1  so  warmly  what  it  felt, 
i  what  nought  could  telL 

)t  then  for  passion's  lay, 
re  so  coldly  strung ; 
[  ne'er  can  sing  or  play, 

I  play'd  and  sung. 

that  long-lov'd  lute  again,  — 

chill'd  by  years  it  be, 

call  the  slumb'ring  strain, 
ake  again  for  thee. 

oe  hare  froz'n  the  tuneful  stream 

;ht8  ^at  gush'd  along, 

rom  thee,  like  summer's  beam, 

w  them  into  song. 

oh  give,  that  wak'ning  ray, 

•  more  blithe  and  young, 

igain  will  sing  and  play, 

he  played  and  sung. 


LL  WHEN  DAYLIGHT. 

1  daylight  o'er  the  wave 
soft  its  farewell  gave, 
jar,  while  light  was  falling, 
ive  a  sweet  voice  calling, 
fully  at  distance  calling. 

low  blest  that  maid  would  come, 

T  sea-boy  hastening  home  ; 

^h  the  night  those  sounds  repeating, 

rk  with  joyous  greeting, 

i\y  his  light  bark  greeting. 

id  night,  when  winds  were  hij^h, 
nor  heaven,  could  hear  her  cry, 
I  boat  come  tossing  over 
wave,  — but  not  her  lover  I 
ver  more  her  lover. 

tat  sad  dream  loth  to  leave, 
with  wand'ring  mind  at  eve, 
hear,  when  night  is  falling, 
oice  through  twilight  calling, 
fully  at  twilight  calling. 


THE  SUMMER  WEBS. 

The  summer  webs  that  float  and  shine. 

The  summer  dews  that  fall. 
Though  light  they  be,  this  heart  of  mine 

Is  Ughter  still  than  alL 
It  teljs  me  every  cloud  is  past 

Which  lately  seem'd  to  lour ; 
That  Hope  hath  wed  young  Joy  at  last, 

And  now*s  their  nuptial  hour  I 

With  light  thus  round,  within,  above. 

With  nought  to  wake  one  sigh. 
Except  the  wish,  that  all  we  love 

Were  at  this  moment  nigh, — 
It  seems  as  if  hfe's  brilliant  sun 

Had  stopp'd  in  fiill  career. 
To  make  this  hour  its  brightest  one. 

And  rest  in  radiance  here. 


MIND  NOT  THOUGH  DAYLIGHT. 

Mind  not  though  daylight  around  us  is  breaking, — 
Who'd  think  now  of  sleeping  when  morn's  but 

just  waking  ? 
Sound  the  merry  viol,  and  daylight  or  not. 
Be  all  for  one  hour  in  the  gay  dance  forgot. 

See  young  Aurora,  up  heaven's  hill  advancing, 
Though  fresh  from  her  pillow,   ev'n  she  too  is 

dancing : 
While  thus  all  creation,  earth,  heaven,  and  -sea. 
Are  dancing  around  us,  oh,  why  should  not. we? 

Wholl  say  that  moments  we  use  thus  are  wasted? 
Such  sweet  drops  of  time  only  flow  to  be  tasted; 
While  hearts  are  high  beating,  and  harps  full  in 

tune. 
The  fault  is  all  morning's  for  coming  so  soon. 


THEY  MET  BUT  ONCE. 

Thet  met  but  once,  in  youth's  sweet  hour, 

And  never  since  that  day 
Hath  absence,  time,  or  grief  had  pow'r 

To  chase  that  dream  away. 
They've  seen  the  suns  of  other  skies. 

On  other  shores  have  sought  delight; 
But  never  more,  to  bless  their  eyes. 

Can  come  a  dream  so  bright! 
They  met  but  once,  — a  day  was  all 

Of  Love's  young  hopes  they  knew; 

II  2 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


h  of  jonih  I  ob,  ne'er  again 

;l  [he  brow 
I  smooili  BDil  amiliitg  then. 

Ilbe  spcU  was  only  dune; 
JL-  alune  th'  cavliancmcnc  Bown, 
I  Ihe  vorlcl  around  Ibce  Ehine 
It  Ihysclf  hestowB. 

ice,  —  oh,  ne'er  again 

:t  tlie  brow 
I  smooth  and  smiling  then. 


■  moonlight  beaming. 


lonligbt  beomiag 
;t  dn'omiiig 


And  jov  Eball  fi^rd  him  fi^^m  yaai  he 
Though  lie  may  start  with  fear  at ! 

AnrI  1  nil]  lead  you  where  be  liea 
For  abeller  !□  the  noontide  lieati 

And  jon  may  loncb  liig  ileeping  ejei 
And  fe«l  his  littlu  silr'ry  ^t 


THE  HALCYON  KASGS  O'ER  I 

TuE  halcyon  bangi  o'er  oceao. 
The  sea-lark  skinu  Ihe  brine; 

This  brii^ht  world's  all  in  motioc 
So  heart  leeaa  Bad  bat  mine. 

To  walk  through  Eun-brigbl  pUi 
With  heurt  all  cold  the  whiie; 

To  look  in  smiling  faces. 
When  we  no  more  can  nailei 

To  feci,  whUB  earth  and  beai'Cn 
Around  Iheo  shina  with  bliss. 

To  tbec  no  li);hl  U  pvori,  — 
Uh,  nbatudoumiKthii! 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


418 


HE  TWO  LOVES. 

iro  Loyes,  the  poet  sings, 

of  Beauty  at  a  birth: 
n  to  heaven,  hath  wings, 

earthly,  walks  on  earth. 
t)ugh  bowers  below  we  play, 
through  clouds  above  we  8oar; 
erchance,  may  lose  our  way:  — 
in,  tell  me  which, 
hich  shall  we  adore? 

en  tempted  down  from  air, 
re*s  fount  to  lave  his  lip, 
ong,  nor  oft  will  dare 
within  the  wave  to  dip. 
^ng  deep  and  long  beneath, 
bathes  him  o*er  and  o'er 
i  current,  ev'n  to  death: — 
en,  tell  me  which, 
hich  shall  we  adore? 

leav'n,  even  while  he  lies 
's  lap,  recalls  his  home; 
lost  happy,  inly  sighs 
bing  happier  still  to  come, 
earth,  too  fully  blest 
bright  world  to  dream  of  more, 
leav'n  on  Beauty's  breast :  — 
sn,  tell  mo  which, 
hich  shall  we  adore? 

10  heard  the  poet  sing 
i-de  sires  of  earth  and  sky, 
lile  one  inspired  his  string, 

gUsten'd  in  his  eye, — 
;  earthlier  boy  asham'd, 

the  other  fondly  loath, 
:1  blushing,  she  exclaimed, — 
Lsk  not  which, 
not  which — weHl  worship  both. 

les  of  each  thus  taught  to  shun, 

arts  and  souls  between  them  given, 

ry  of  this  earth  with  one, 

th  the  other  wing  to  heaven.*' 

I  the  maid  her  vow  of  bliss; 

I  one  Love  wrote  down  the  oath, 

al'd  it  i^ith  a  kiss; 

d  Heav*n  look*d  on, 

}k*d  on,  and  hallow'd  both. 


Who  wing  through  air  from  the  camp  to  the  court, 
From  king  to  clown,  and  of  all  make  sport; 

Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite 

Of  3ie  merry  midnight. 
Who  laugh  at  weak  mortals,  and  love  the  moon- 
Ught 

To  a  miser's  bed,  where  he  snoring  slept 
And  dreamt  of  his  cash,  I  slily  crept; 
Chink,  chink  o'er  his  pillow  like  money  I  vang, 
And  he  waked  to  catch — but  away  I  sprang, 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c 

I  saw  through  the  leaves,  in  a  damsefs  bower. 
She  was  waiting  her  love  at  that  starlight  hour: 
'*  Hist  —  hist  I''  quoth  I,  with  an  amorous  sigh. 
And  she  flew  to  the  door,  but  away  flew  I, 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 

While  a  bard  sat  inditing  an  ode  to  his  love. 
Like  a  pair  of  blue  meteors  I  star'd  from  above. 
And  he  swoon'd — for  he  thought  'twas  the  ghotft, 

poor  man! 
Of  his  lady's  eyes,  while  away  I  ran. 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 


ND  OF  PUCK  THE  FAIBY. 

r  what  tricks,  by  the  pale  moonlight, 
me,  the  merry  little  Sprite, 


BEAUTY  AND  SONG. 

DowK  in  yon  summer  vale. 

Where  the  rill  flows. 
Thus  said  a  Nightingale 

Tohislov'dRose:  — 
**  Though  rich  the  pleasures 
"  Of  Song's  sweet  measures, 
•*  Vain  were  its  melody, 
"  Rose,  without  thee." 

Then  from  the  green  recess 

Of  her  night-bow'r. 
Beaming  with  bashfhlness, 

Spoke  the  bright  flow'r:  — 
**  Though  mom  should  lend  her 
**  Its  sunniest  splendour, 
"  What  would  the  liose  be, 

Unsung  by  thee?  " 


u 


Thus  still  let  Song  attend 

Woman's  bright  way; 
Thus  still  let  woman  lend 

Light  to  the  lay. 
Like  stars,  through  heaven's  eea, 
Floating  in  harmony. 
Beauty  shall  glide  lUong, 
Circled  by  Song. 
II  8 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 

EN  THOU  ART  NIGEL 

To  Kliltcr  on  Delphi's  shrine.' 

Then,  hiutc  to  ihat  holy  lite  with 

ihoa  art  nigh,  il  steaa 

Hasio- haste  1 

n  bath  fairer  beams. 

luta  a  Eot^r  suunil. 

1  Ihro  nlona  I  tee. 

hoar  alone  ihy  sigh, 
ht,  'tia  song  10  me, 
all— w!ien  ihou  art  nigh. 

THOU  BroST  ME  SING 

Thou  bidst  me  aini;  the  lar  I  aung  to  I 

111  other  days,  ere  jny  iiad  lett  ilii^  bi 

thou  art  nigh,  no  thought 

But  think,  ihongh  tlitl  ancbttng'd  the 

riefcoaioa  o'er  my  henrtj 

be. 

think  — could  aught 

How  different  feels  the  heart  that  bre 

ioj-  b«  where  thou  art? 

The  rose  thou  wear'st  to-tiight  is  still  I 

0  for  (rom  ihoo  I  sigh^ 

!»lh— ay,  even  death 

But,  oh!   ihnt  dew  of  dawn,  thai  brt 

p  sweet,  if  ihon  weit  nigh. 

came 

Like  Ufo  o'et  all  its  lenvcs,  halh  pan 

* 

Since  firrt  that  mosic  toochM  thy  heart 

How  many  a  joy  and  pain  o'er  both  h: 

OF  A  HTPERBOREAN. 

The  jov,  n  li|ilit  loo  prceions  long  lo  sh 

The'pniii,  a  cloud  whuse  shadows  al» 

hmd  in  the  aun-bright  dccji. 

And  ihouph  ilial  lay  n-ould  like  the  Toi. 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


415 


place  the  helm  cm  thy  brow; 

In  thy  hand  take  the  spear, — 
Tboa  art  arm'd  Cupid,  now. 

And  thj  battle-hour  is  near. 


BOUND  THE  WORLD  GOEa 

Boyhtd  the  world  goes,  by  daj  and  night, 
Wbile  with  it  also  round  go  we; 
And  in  the  flight  of  one  daj's  light 

An  image  of  all  life's  course  we  see. 
Soukd,  round,  while  thus  we  go  round. 

The  best  thing  a  man  can  do. 
Is  to  make  it,  at  least,  a  merry-go-round, 
Bj^iending  the  wine  round  toa 

Oar  fint  gaj  stage  of  life  is  when 

Toodi,  in  its  <Utwn,  salutes  the  eye  — 
Seuon  of  bliss!  Oh,  who  wouldn't  then 

Wish  to  cry,  «•  StopI "  to  earth  and  sky? 
But,  nmnd,  round,  both  boy  and  girl 

Ate  whisk'd  through  that  sky  of  blue ; 
And  much  would  their  hearts  enjoy  the  whirl. 

If— their  heads  didn't  whirl  round  too. 

"^  we  enjoy  our  glorious  noon. 

Thinking  all  life  a  Ufe  of  light; 
^  shadows  come  on,  'tis  erening  soon. 

And,  ere  we  can  say,  **  How  short !  "—'tis  night, 
'^^nd.  round,  still  all  goes  round, 

^j^n  while  I'm  thus  singing  to  you; 

J  ^  best  way  to  make  it  a  m«rry-go-round, 
•o-*- chorus  my  song  round  too. 


^^  I>0  NOT  LOOK  SO  BRIGHT  AND 

BLEST. 

^^  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest, 
,^or  gtill  there  comes  a  fear, 
^^n  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest, 
^hat  grief  is  then  moat  near. 
^^We  lurks  a  dread  in  all  delight, 

A  shadow  near  each  ray, 
^W  warns  us  then  to  fear  their  flight, 

When  most  we  wish  their  stay. 
Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest, 

For  ah!  there  comes  a  &ar, 
When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest, 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 

Why  is  it  thus  that  faurest  things 
llie  aooneit  fleet  and  die?— 


That  when  most  light  is  on  their  wings, 

TheyVe  then  but  spread  to  fly! 
And,  sadder  still,  the  pain  will  stay  «• 

The  bliss  no  more  appears; 
As  rainbows  take  their  light  away. 

And  leave  us  but  the  tears! 
Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest. 

For  ah!  there  comes  a  rear. 
When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest. 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 


THE  MUSICAL  BOX. 

**  Look  here,"  said  Rose,  with  laughing  eyes, 

**  Within  this  box,  by  magic  hi^ 
*'  A  tuneful  Sprite  imprison'd  lies, 

**  Who  sings  to  me  whene'er  he's  bid. 
**  Though  roving  once  his  voice  and  wing, 

**  He'll  now  lie  still  the  whole  day  long; 
"  Till  thus  I  touch  the  magic  spring  — 

**  Then  hark,  how  sweet  and  blithe  his  song!" 

(il  tymphony.) 

"  Ah,  Rose,"  I  cried,  "  the  poet's  lay 

"  Must  ne'er  ev'n  Beauty's  slave  become; 
"  Through  earth  and  air  his  song  may  stray, 

**  If  all  the  while  his  heart's  at  home. 
**  And  though  in  Freedom's  air  he  dwell, 

**  Nor  bond  nor  chain  his  spirit  knows, 
'*  Touch  but  the  spring  thou  know'st  so  well, 

**  And — hark,  how  sweet  the  love-song  flows ! " 

(i4  symphony.) 

Thus  pleaded  I  for  Freedom's  right; 

But  when  young  Beauty  takes  the  fleld. 
And  wise  men  seek  defence  in  flight, 

The  doom  of  poets  is  to  yield. 
No  more  my  heart  th'  enchantress  braves, 

Fm  now  in  Beauty's  prison  hid; 
The  Sprite  and  I  are  fellow-slaves, 

And  I,  too,  sing  whene'er  I'm  bid. 


WHEN  TO  SAD  MUSIC  SILENT  YOU 

LISTEN. 

When  to  sad  Music  silent  you  listen, 

And  tears  on  those  eyelids  tremble  like  dew, 
Oh,  then  there  dwells  in  those  eyes  as  they  glisten 

A  sweet  holv  charm  that  mirth  never  knew. 
But  when  some  lively  strain  resounding 

Lights  up  the  sunshine  of  joy  on  that  brow. 
Then  the  young  rein -deer  o'er  the  hills  bounding 

Was  ne'er  in  its  mirth  so  graceful  as  thou. 

II  4 


H 

^^^^^^^1 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

liKs  at  midnight  thou  guest, 

inru  thy  t'culures  then  wrui, 

B  HttDQ  Blar  thM  brigbl  cje  thou 

thy  homo  thon'rt  looking  for  tiiete. 

word  for  ihc  gay  dimce  ie  given, 
Ihj  spirit,  lo  hcaitfuU  thv  mirth. 

laim,  "Ne'er  leave  enrth  for  heH\-en. 
aiill  here,tomakehB4Teuof  e«nh." 

NGUAGE  OP  FLOWERS. 

J  lipht  e.3elle. 

o  now  lira  Kaking, 

sil>-cr  Iwll 

Kht  silence  breaking. 

hou  cotn'at,  wiih  glnilsome  ftet, 

erlKtii«  springing, 

1]  know  how  iweel 
a  of  lovo  Ihou'rt  biineing. 
ot  words,  for  Ihey 
an  (pll  Ioyb's  feelings 
rs  alone  cflii  sny 

ion  Tears  rerealing. 
ht  mse'a  wither'<i  leaf, 
aUly  t>roken.— 

Bat  see,  wlule  we're  deciding. 

What  morning  anon  to  plojr, 
Tiie  iM-e  hand  ia  gUding, 

And  mora  hath  p»«'d  awayl 
Ab.  who'd  have  thoucht  that  noon 

Would  o'er  na  slea!  eo  soon,  — 
That  moro's  awcit  hour  of  prime 

Would  kat  so  abort  a  lime? 
But  eome.  wo've  clay  before  ua, 

StiU  heaven  looks  bright  and  bk 
Qaick,  nmck.  ere  evo  comes  o'er  ni 

Wliat  sport  Bluill  we  putsae? 

Alaa!  why  thus  delaying? 

We're  now  at  cvening-j  honri 
Its  farewell  beam  is  playing 

O'er  hill  and  wave  and  bower. 
That  light  we  thought  would  Ia«l, 
Behold,  ev-n  now.  til  paat ; 
And  all  our  morning  drcanu 
Hftve  Tanish'd  with  its  beanial 
Bnt  come  [  'twere  vain  to  borrow 

Sad  lessons  from  this  laj, 
For  man  will  be  Eo-morrow  — 

Just  what  he's  been  to-day. 

1 

■ 

BALLADS^  SONGS,  ETC. 


417 


as  thoa  wilt  to  me, 

e  thj  charm  must  be; 

es  may  come  to  weave 

witch'ry  o'er  thee, 

,  thoagfa  false,  believe 

I  adore  thee,  jes,  still  adore  thee. 

;  thoa  that  aaght  bat  death  could  end 

)t  fidsehood's  self  can  rend? 

in  alone,  far  off  I  die, 

ore  to  see,  no  more  caress  thee, 

in,  mj  life's  last  sigh 

be  to  bless  thee,  jes,  still  to  bless  thee. 


UNBIND  THEB,  LOVE. 

vn  thee,  love,  onbind  thee,  love, 
3m  those  dark  ties  unbind  thee; 
^h  fairest  hand  the  chain  hath  wove, 
o  long  its  links  have  twin'd  thee. 
f  from  earth!  —  thy  wings  were  made 
7on  mid-sky  to  hover, 
earth  beneath  their  dove-like  shade, 
td  heav'n  all  radiant  over. 

^e  thee,  boy,  awake  thee,  boy, 

3  long  thy  soul  is  sleeping; 

'hoa  may*st  from  this  minute's  joy 

^e  to  eternal  weeping. 

'ink,  this  world  is  not  for  thee; 

»5gh  hard  its  Unks  to  sever; 

7h  sweet  and  bright  and  dear  they  be, 

^  or  thoa'rt  lost  for  ever. 


^E'S  SOMETHING  STRANGE. 

(A  BUITO  SONO.) 

B  something  strange,  I  know  not  what, 

3ome  o*er  me, 

umtom  Fve  for  ever  got 

iefore  me. 

D  high,  and  in  the  sky 

Fis  shining; 

U  its  light  with  all  things  bri^t 

eems  twining. 

[  try  this  goblin's  spells 

'o  sever; 

e  I  will,  it  roond  me  dwells 

'or  ever. 

n  what  tricks  by  day  and  night 
t  plays  me; 

shape  the  wicked  sprite 
f  ajlayi  me. 


Sometimes  like  two  bright  eyes  of  blue 

Tis  glancing; 
Sometimes  Uke  feet,  in  slippers  neat, 

Comes  dancing. 
By  whispers  round  of  every  sort 

I'm  taunted. 
Never  was  mortal  man,  in  short, 

So  haunted. 


NOT  FROM  THEE. 

Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 

No,  not  fh)m  thee. 
I  care  not  what,  or  whence,  my  doom. 

So  not  from  thee  I 
Cold  triumph!  first  to  make 

This  heart  thy  own; 
And  then  the  mirror  break 
Where  fix'd  thoij  shin'st  alone. 
Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  com 

Oh,  not  from  thee. 
I  care  not  what,  or  whence,  my  doom. 

So  not  from  thee. 

Tet  no  —  my  lips  that  wish  recall; 

From  thee,  from  thee  — 
If  ruin  o'er  this  head  must  fall, 

'Twill  welcome  be. 
Here  to  the  blade  I  bare 

This  faithful  heart; 
Wound  deep  —  thou'lt  find  that  there. 

In  ev'ry  pulse  thou  art. 
Yes,  from  thee  I'll  bear  it  all: 

If  ruin  be 
The  doom  that  o'er  this  heart  must  fall, 

'Twere  sweet  from  thee. 


GUESS,  GUESS. 

I  LOVE  a  maid,  a  mystic  maid. 

Whose  form  no  eyes  but  mine  can  see; 
She  comes  in  light,  she  comes  in  shade, 

And  beautiful  in  both  is  she. 
Her  shape  in  dreams  I  oft  behold. 

And  oft  she  whispers  in  my  ear 
Such  words  as  when  to  others  told. 

Awake  the  sigh,  or  wring  the  tear;  — 
Then  guess,  guess,  who  she. 
The  lady  of  my  love,  may  be. 

I  find  the  lustre  of  her  brow. 

Come  o'er  me  in  my  darkest  ways; 

And  feel  as  if  her  voice,  ev'n  now, 
Were  echoing  far  off  my  li^8» 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


■loeneofjojor  woe 

ioth  Rild  with  inllucnco  briglili 

H  >o  rich  &  glow, 

n  tean  aeem  fhll  of  ligUl: 

i(  mj  lore,  nisj  be. 


[EN  LOVE,  WHO  KUL'D. 

rul'd  as  AiJiniral  o'er 
If  motliiT's  Isles  or  liglil, 
iiig  off  the  Paphian  shore, 


inged  Bailors  sprang, 
nuing  op  tlie  most  like  bees. 
'tiLle  sails  expanding  flung, 
d  mognoliaa  lo  tlio  tireeie. 
■o  ho,  my  Cnpiils  alll" 
I,  cbu  little  AdmiraL 


,E;hl, 


;r  —  the  bork 
■w  her  freight  cxplor'di 
Inst  oa  Love  had  thought, 
itrubaiid  aboard. 
Cufid- nil!" 


And  hoisted  oft  his  flag,  lo  make 

Rich  wards  and  heiresses  bring-k 
"  A  foe,  a  {lie,  my  Cnpidi  bU!'' 
Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

>'  This  must  not  be,"  the  bof  exchu 
'■  lu  Tain  I  nils  the  Paphian  seal 

"  If  Love's  and  Beaaty't  Fovereign 
"Are  lent  lo  covet  traads  like  il 

"Prepare,  prejiare,  my  Cupids  all;' 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdBurai. 

Each  Capid  stood  with  lighted  mat 
A  bioildside  struck  the  smaggliii 

And  swept  the  whole  nnhallow'd  b 
Of  falsehood  lo  the  depths  below, 

"  niizzn,  huia!  my  Cnpids  alll " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmitaL 


Smi  THOO  FLIEST 

Still  than  fliest,  and  slill  I  woo  thee, 
Lnvoly  phantom,— till  in  vain; 

Rfisilcfts  ever,  my  thoughts  parsne  lh( 
Fleeting  ever,  Ihon  raock'st  their  pa 

Sui:h  doom,  of  old.  that  youth  betldnl 
—  >Uhclh.)n5ht,  SI 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


419 


the  lip,  the  bhuhes  shone, 
>  coald  dare  to  paint  those  ejea? 
in  Tain  the  painter  strove; 
ing  to  that  boj  divine* 
le,"  he  said,  •*  the  pencil.  Love, 
nd  shonld  paint  such  ejeSf  but  thine." 


HUSH,  SWEET  LUTE. 

weet  Late,  thj  songs  remind  me 
St  joys,  now  tam*d  to  pain; 
hat  long  have  ceas'd  to  bind  me, 
rhose  burning  marks  remain, 
tone,  some  echo  falleth 
ij  ear  of  joys  gone  by; 
ote  some  dream  recalleth 
ight  hopes  bat  bom  to  die. 

eet  Lute,  thoogh  pain  it  bring  mc, 

more  let  thy  numbers  thrill; 

1  death  were  in  the  strain  they  sing  me, 

(t  woo  its  anguish  stilL 

p  time  can  e'er  recover 

i  sweet  light  when  once  'tis  set, — 

0  weep  such  pleasures  over, 

smile  o'er  any  left  us  yet. 


BRIGHT  MOON. 

oon,  that  high  in  heav'n  art  shining, 

^s,  as  if  witbin  thy  bower  to-night 

^dymion  lay  reclining, 

>a  would'st  wake  him  with  a  kiss  of 

t!— 

bliss  thy  beam  discovers, 

lose  visions  far  too  bright  for  day, 

uning  bards  and  waking  lovers 

this  night,  beneath  thy  Ung'ring  ray, — 

,  queen  of  that  bright  heaven, 

act  to-night  thy  love-lamp  in  the  sea, 

,  in  this  bow'r,  hath  given 

thy  beam,  her  long-vow'd  kiss  to  me. 

T,  guide  her  steps  benighted, 

.  sweet  moon,  thy  bashful  crescent  hide ; 

It  in  this  bow'r  be  lighted, 

oad  in  darkness  all  the  world  beside. 


LONG  YEARS  HAVE  PASS*D. 

LoHo  years  have  pass'd,  old  friend,  since  we 

First  met  in  life's  young  day; 
And  friends  long  lov'd  by  thee  and  me. 

Since  then  have  dropp'd  away;  — 
But  enough  remain  to  cheer  us  on. 

And  sweeten,  when  thus  we're  met. 
The  glass  we  fill  to  the  many  gone. 

And  the  few  who're  left  us  yet. 

Our  locks,  old  friend,  now  thinly  grow. 

And  some  hang  white  and  chill; 
While  some,  like  flow'rs  'mid  Autumn's  snow, 

Retain  youth's  colour  still. 
And  so,  in  our  hearts,  though  one  by  one, 

YouUi's  sunny  hopes  have  set. 
Thank  heav'n,  not  all  their  light  is  goncr— 

We've  some  to  cheer  us  yet. 

Then  here's  to  thee,  old  friend,  and  long 

'  May  thou  and  I  thus  meet, 
To  brighten  still  with  wine  and  song 

This  short  life,  ere  it  fleet. 
And  still  as  death  comes  stealing  on. 

Let's  never,  old  friend,  forget, 
Ev'n  while  we  sigh  o'er  blessings  gone, 

How  many  are  left  us  yet. 


DREAMING  FOR  EVER. 

Dreamino  for  ever,  vainly  dreaming. 

Life  to  the  last  pursues  its  flight; 
Day  hath  its  visions  fairly  beaming. 

But  false  as  those  of  night. 
The  one  illusion,  the  other  real. 

But  both  the  same  brief  dreams  at  last; 
And  when  we  grasp  the  bliss  ideal. 

Soon  as  it  shines,  'tis  past. 

Here,  then,  by  this  dim  lake  reposing. 

Calmly  I'll  watch,  while  light  and  gloom 
Flit  o'er  its  face  till  night  is  closing  — 

Emblem  of  life's  short  doom  I 
But  though,  by  turns,  thus  dark  and  shining, 

'Tis  still  unlike  man's  changeful  day, 
Whose  light  returns  not,  once  declining, 

Whose  cloud,  once  come,  will  stay. 


inda  the  song  I  ling  to  thee, 
'k's  iU  Booring  mamc  be, 
■'n  here  some  monrnfiil  note  Dim  tells 
b  April  joy  to  w(!cpiaB  dwella. 
le  gajest  scenes  tJiM  oft'neat  »lcal 
ing  ihougiits  wo  fenr,  yet  love  to  feel; 
half  BO  Bwcel  Bpiieara, 
.h  forgets  itself  id  tcan. 


■  Ihon  this  Alpint 


ing  IS  guy - 


I  pun,  and  oit  wbta  pleiuorc'e  tireatli 


■he  edssian  lover. 


AT  KIGUT. 

At  nii^ht.  when  ail  is  Mill  aronnd. 
How  swece  lo  hear  the  dUtHut  wnin 

Of  footscep,  coming  soft  ami  ligb 
Wlial  pleasure  in  the  inxioos  brat, 
Wiih  which  the  bosam  flies  lo  meei 

That  foot  that  comea  so  soft  M  □ 


And  then,  ol  night,  how  sweet 
"'Tis  late,  my  love!'"  uid  chidi 

ThOQgh  still  the  western  clouds 
Oh  I  happy,  too,  the  silent  pnsa, 
Tht>  eloquence  of  mote  cotobb. 

With  those  we  love  exchang'd  s 


de! 


PANTfT,  DEAHEST. 

YebI  had  I  leisure  to  nigh  and  moi 

Fanuy,  dearest,  for  thee  Fd  ligb^ 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  shoa 

To  tears  when  tbon  art  nigh. 
But,  betwi'cn  love,  and  wine,  and  s 

So  busy  a  life  I  lire. 
Thai  even  ihe  time  it  would  tnlie  tt 

Is  more  than  my  hean  run  (ri''f- 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


421 


ire-H^ts  sHttering  o'er; 
lUe  cups  that  shine 
ith  freight  diyine 
(ting  round  its  diore. 

le  dupe  of  fntnre  hours, 

r  lires  in  those  gone  by; 

ji  see  the  moment's  flowers 

Qg  up  fresh  beneath  the  e3re. 

midst  thon,  or  thou, 

rego  what's  now, 

that  Hope  may  say? 

—  Joy's  reply, 

)m  every  eye, 

re  we  while  we  may." 


rHE  POCO-CURANTE  SOCIETY. 


Hand  amU  HlppocUdM. 


"RuAau.  Adag. 


vre  lore  we've  drank  to-night; 
w  attend,  and  stare  not, 
le  ampler  list  recite 
3  for  whom  We  case  not. 

men,  howe'cr  they  frown, 
eir  fronts  they  b€»r  not 
est  gem  that  decks  a  crown, 
}ple's  Love  —  Wx  oabe  not. 

b  men,  who  bend  beneath 
>t  yoke,  yet  dare  not 
i  the  will,  whose  very  breath 
rend  its  links  —  We  cabe  not 

ly  men,  who  covet  sway 
-alth,  though  they  declare  not; 
t,  like  finger-posts,  the  way 
jrer  go  —  We  cabe  not. 

U  men,  who  on  their  sword, 

•  it  conquers,  wear  not 

es  of  a  soldier's  word, 

'd  and  pure  —  We  caee  not. 

men,  who  plead  for  wrong, 
ongh  to  lies  they  swear  not, 
r  letter  than  the  throng 
;  who  do  —  We  care  not. 

J  men,  who  feed  upon 
i,  like  grubs,  and  spare  not 
»t  leaf,  ^ere  they  con  sun 
awling  limbs  —  We  cabe  not. 


For  wealthy  men,  who  keep  their  mines 
In  darkness  hid,  and  share  not 

The  paltry  ore  with  him  who  pines 
In  honest  want  —  Wx  cabe  not. 

For  prudent  men,  who  hold  the  power 
Of  Love  aloof,  and  bare  not 

Their  hearts  in  any  guardless  hour 
To  Beauty's  shaft —  We  cabe  not. 

For  all,  in  short,  on  land  or  sea, 
In  camp  or  court,  who  are  not, 

Who  never  were^  or  e'er  witt  be 
Good  men  and  true  —  We  gabs  not. 


SOVEREIGN  WOMAN. 

A  BALLAD. 

The  dance  was  o'er,  yet  still  in  dreams 

That  faiiy  scene  went  on ; 
Like  clouds  still  flush'd  with  daylight  gleams. 

Though  day  itself  is  gone. 
And  gracefully,  to  music's  sound. 
The  same  bright  nymphs  went  gliding  round; 
While  thou,  the  Queen  of  all,  wert  there  — 
The  Fairest  still,  where  all  were  fair. 

The  dream  then  chang'd — in  haUs  of  state, 

I  saw  thee  high  enthron'd; 
While,  rang'd  around,  the  wise,  the  great 

In  thee  &eir  mistress  own'd: 
And  still  the  same,  thy  gentle  sway 
0*er  willing  subjects  won  its  way  ^ 
'Till  all  confess'd  the  Right  Divine 
To  rule  o'er  man  was  only  thine  1 

But,  lo,  the  scene  now  chang'd  again  — 

And  borne  on  plumed  steed, 
I  saw  thee  o'er  the  battle-plain 

Our  land's  defenders  lead; 
And  stronger  in  thy  beauty's  charms, 
T^an  man,  with  countless  hosts  in  arms, 
Thy  voice,  like  music,  cheer'd  the  Free, 
Thy  very  smile  was  victory! 

Nor  reign  such  queens  on  thrones  alone  — 

In  cot  and  court  the  same. 
Wherever  woman's  smile  is  known, 

Victoria's  still  her  name. 
For  though  she  almost  blush  to  reign. 
Though  Love's  own  flow'rets  wrea&  the  chain. 
Disguise  our  bondage  as  we  will, 
'Tis  vroman,  woman,  rules  us  stilL 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


It  eimple  nir  agfia, 
i,  ID  life's  jiQUDg  day, 
fcg.  if  thoQ  cust,  the  drcatoB  that  llien 
'  i>n'd  bj  that  >«c«[  Ib;. 

J  Shed  o'er  the  heort  and  brow, 
llrief  B  ihadow,  without  ilj  pai  n  — 
1  Sb;  when,  where  is  it  now  ? 
J-rac  the  well-known  air  once  morr, 
Bionghl*  of  youth  Blill  hnunt  its  striun, 
iii  of  eoaie  lai,  'tiijrj  shore 
irer  sh&U  see  a^n. 

r,  liow  every  note  brines  back 

anniiy  hope,  some  day-dream  bright 

o'er  life's  early  tract, 

i»  tears  with  light. 

W'found  life  that  came 

I   With  lore's  first  echo'd  tow;  — 

r,  Ihc  blisa,  the  shame  — 

I    Ah  —  where,  where  arc  Ihcy  now? 

he  same  hiy'd  notes  prolong, 

'et  'twere  thnit,  to  that  old  lay, 

(if  youth  and  lore  and  Bont;, 

Ireathe  life's  hour  aw. 


When  thon  and  I,  and  one  lika 

la  life  and  beauly.  to  the  «« 
Of  our  own  breiublesa  minftFek 

Danc'd  tin  the  muillght  fadci 
Oursclve]  the  wbole  iikal  Ball, 
Li|2;ht«,  music,  company,  and  •) 
Oh.  'lia  DOt  in  the  languid  stni 

(}( lute  like  mine,  whose  day 
To  call  up  even  s  dream  agtia 

Of  the  frcih  light  those  mon 


GAZEL. 

Haste.  Maami,  the  spring  ia  nigl 

Already,  in  ih'  unopen'd  flows 

That  sleep  around  us.  Fanry'i  tg 

Can  see  the  bloah  of  futnre  Iwi 
And  jojr  it  brings  to  thee  uid  me 
My  owD  beloved  Maami! 

The  streamlet  frozen  on  its  way. 
To  fei^l  the  marble  Founts  of! 

Nov,  loosen'd  by  the  temal  rar. 
Upon  its  [ittth  eXBilinu  ipringi 

As  (iDtb  this  Wundinii  heart  to  t 

Kly  ever  blissful  Maami  I 


Such  h 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


423 


n  sails  are  back'd,  we  nearer  come, 
i  words  are  said  of  friends  and  homes 
soon,  too  soon,  we  part  with  pain, 
ail  o'er  silent  seas  again. 


HEP,  HIP,  HURRA! 

lH  roond  a  bnmper,  fill  up  to  the  brim, 
»   shrinks  firom  a  bumper  I  pledge  not  to 
lim; 

s  the  girl  that  each  loves,  be  her  eje  of  what 
Hie, 

stre,  it  maj,  so  her  heart  is  but  truf.** 
Charge  I  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra! 

tbarge  high  again,  boys,  nor  let  the  full  wine 
i  space  in  the  brimmer,  where  daylight  may 
shine; 

8  the  friends  of  our  youth — though  of  some 
wc*re  bereft, 

the  links  that  are  lost  but  endear  what  are 
left!" 
Charge!  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra! 

nore  fill  a  bumper — ne'er  talk  of  the  hour; 
arts  thus  united  old  Time  has  no  pow*r. 
our  lives,  tho\  alas!  like  the  wine  of  to-night, 
'  must  soon  have  an  end,  to  the  lost  flow  as 
bright." 
Charge!  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra! 

quick,  now,  Fll  give  you,  since  Time's  glass 

will  run 

ister  than  ours  doth,  three  bumpers  in  one; 

's  the  poet  who  sings — here's  the  warrior 

who  fights — 

s  the  statesman  who  speaks,  in  the  cause  of 

men*s  rights!" 

Charge!  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra  I 

)nce  more,  a  bumper! — then  drink  as  you 
please, 

ho  could  fin  half-way  to  toast  such  as  these? 
i  our  next  joyous  meeting — and  oh  when 
we  meet, 

>ar  wine  be  as  bright  and  our  union  as 
rweet!" 
Charge!  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra! 


HUSH,  HUSH! 

••  HrsB,  hush! " — how  well 
That  sweet  word  sounds, 


When  Love,  the  little  sentinel. 
Walks  his  night-rounds; 

Then,  if  a  foot  but  dare 
One  rose-leaf  crush. 

Myriads  of  voices  in  the  air 
Whisper,  **Hu8h,  hush! " 

•<  Hark,  hark, 'tis  he!" 

The  night-elves  cry. 
And  hush  their  fairy  harmony, 

While  he  steals  by; 
But  if  his  silv'iy  feet 

One  dew-drop  brush. 
Voices  are  heard  in  chorus  sweet, 

Whisp'ring,  "  Hush,  hush!" 


THE  PARTING  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

HE. 

On  to  the  field,  our  doom  is  seal'd. 

To  conquer  or  be  slaves: 
This  sun  shall  see  our  nation  free. 

Or  set  upon  our  graves. 

SHE. 

Farewell,  oh  farewell,  my  love. 
May  Heav'n  thy  guardian  be. 

And  send  bright  angels  from  above 
To  bring  thee  back  to  me. 

HE. 

On  to  the  field,  the  battle-field. 
Where  Freedom's  standard  waves. 

This  sun  shall  see  our  tyrant  yield. 
Or  shine  upon  our  graves. 


THE  WATCHMAN. 


A  Taio. 


WATCHMAN. 

Past  twelve  o'clock — past  twelve. 

Grood  night,  good  night,  my  dearest- 
How  fast  the  moments  fly! 

'Tis  time  to  part,  thou  hearest 
That  hateful  watchman's  cry. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past  one  o'clock — past  one. 

Yet  stay  a  moment  longer — 

Alas !  why  is  it  so, 
The  wish  to  stay  grows  stronger. 

The  more  'tis  time  to  go? 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMa 


KK 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


OCCASIONAL  EPILOGUE.' 


uid  Gentlemen,  on  Mondaj  night, 
ninth  time  —  oh  KceatB  of  delight 
lOOT  aulhor'*  ear,  wbeii  lAm  (in<t  tArea 
sD  bumper  croimi  hii  Comedj  t 
ng  bj  money,  tnd  Ihe  tniue.  foiMk'n, 
M  lengtli  his  jokee  and  boxes  tak'n, 
I  his  pUj-bill  circolue  — aUi, 
'  bill  on  which  his  name  will  pM>  I 
ipid,  thus  shall  Theapian  scnlla  of  liune 
box  and  gaU'ij  vaCt  jour  well-known 


Friends,  did  I  saj  ?  for  fixing  ftienda,  or  partt, 
Eagaging' actors,  or  engaging  hearts, 
There^s  nothing  like  him  I  wits,  at  his  reqaest. 
Are  tam'd  to  fools,  and  dull  dogs  leain  to  jest ; 
Soldieis,  for  him,  good  "trembling  cowards  "  make, 
And  beans,  tnm'd  clowns,  look  ogly  for  his  sake  i 
For  him  ei'n  lawTers  talk  without  a  fee. 
For  him  (oh  fiieudship  I)  7  act  tragedj  1 
In  short,  like  Orpheos,  tua  persnatire  tricks 
Make  boarg  amusing,  and  put  liA  in  sticif. 


With  inch  a  manager  we  can't  but  please. 
Though  London  sent  us  sH  her  lond  O.  F.'t.' 
Let  them  come  on,  like  makes,  all  hiss  and  ra 
Arm'dwitb  athonsand  Tana,  we'd  give  them  battle  i 
Ton.  on  our  side,  K.  P.'  upon  our  banners, 
Soon  should  we  teach  the  stmcj  O.  P.'s  monn 
And  show  that,  here  —  howeer  John  Bull  maj 

In  an  oar  plays,  the  Kiol- Act's  cut  out ; 
And,  while  we  skim  the  cream  of  many  a  jest. 
Your  well-tim'd  thunder  never  sours  its  zest. 


MOOEE'S  WOEKS. 


s,  when  three  short  weclu  arc  past, 
a'A  ttlmr',  shall  we  brcallie  our  lasl  i 
e  lbi»  loDg-tov'd  dome  to  niin  uods, 
I  ilie  aoblji  die  like  demigods '. 


Ktbe,  octobbr,  lb09. 


rs  Ihal  Hirmor;  sheds 
I'er  the  fcan  that  mimia  fani^  eprcada, 
|her  heart  misses  one  lamented  guest.' 

BO  long  threw  light  o'er  all  the  rest ; 
s,  indeed,  the  Muso  forgets  her  task. 
Doping  weeps  behind  Tluiliii's  suusk. 

is  gloom  —  forpye  this  joyloEi  stmin, 
elcome  pleasure's  smiling  imin, 
IS.  our  hearts  will  pan.  the  lighter, 
hut  makes  the  setting  hri^hlcr  ; 


The  annals  of  the  oldest  iritch 
A  pair  to  sorted  eouM  not  a 

But  how  refuse? — the  Qnoma 
The  BolhscbUd  at  thl  «(XU 

And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty 
Arc  toltl,  bctiints,  they  miu' 

Who  knocks  tbem  down  to 

Dome  she  wa?  taken  to  his  Mi 
A  raluce,  pav'd  with  djamo 

And.  proud  as  Lady  Gnome  ti 
Sent  out  her  tickets  for  a  B 

The  lamer  world,  of  course,  if* 
And  4dl  the  best  i   but  of  thi 

The  sprinkling  was  but  shy  m 
A  few  old  Sytpbids,  who  lot 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondro 
or  D*Tt,  that  rewiwQ'd  Al. 

And  the  Gnome's  HalU  exbkt' 
Which  accidents  tiom  fire  « 

The  chambers  were  supplied  » 
By  many  Strang  but  safe  d 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


429 


!n  dUapproT'd  this  plan, 

by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted, 

;  LoTe  too  mach  a  gentleman, 

h  a  dangerocu  place  to  light  it. 

r,  there  he  was — and  dancing 
the  fair  Sylph,  light  as  a  feather ; 
)k*d  like  two  fresh  sanbeams,  glancing, 
jrbreak,  down  to  earth  together. 

had  gone  off  safe  and  well, 
nr  that  plaguy  torch,  whose  light, 
not  j^  kindled — who  could  tell 
mm,  how  deyilishlj,  it  might  t 

it  chanced — which,  in  those  dark 
treleas  halls,  was  quite  amazing ; 
Dot  know  how  small  a  spark 
et  the  torch  of  Love  a-blazing. 

r  it  came  (when  close  entangled 
)  gay  waltz)  from  her  bright  eyes, 
the  luccioUf  that  spangled 
ocks  of  jet — is  all  surmise ; 

tain  'tis  the*  ethereal  girl 
Irop  a  spark,  at  some  odd  turning, 
\>j  the  waltz's  windy  whirl, 
faim'd  up  into  actual  burning. 

liat  Lamp's  metallic  gauze, 
curtain  of  protecting  wire, 
Davy  delicately  draws 
Qd  illicit,  dangerous  fire !  — 

Q  he  sets  'twixt  Flame  and  Air, 
'that,  which  barr'd  young  Thisbe's  bliss,) 
^  whose  small  holes  this  dangerous  pair 
lee  each  other,  but  not  kiss.' 

the  torch  look'd  rather  blucly, 
Q,  they  say,  that  no  good  boded — 
lick  the  gas  became  unruly, 
crack  I  &e  ball-room  all  exploded. 

^omes,  and  fiddlers  mix'd  together, 
all  their  aunts,  sons,  cousins,  nieces, 
terfiies  in  stormy  weather, 
blown — legs,  wings,  and  tails — to 
ieces! 

aid  these  fictims  of  the  torch, 
flph,  alas,  too  bore  her  part  — 
ing  with  a  Uvid  scorch, 
rom  lightning,  o*er  her  heart  1 

.Paitiqoedcdh* 

,  nan  pcrrenkntta  eoatriu 


**  Well  done  "—a  laughing  Goblin  said 
Escaping  frt>m  this  gaseous  strife  — 

**  'Tis  not  thejirst  time  I»ve  has  made 
**  A  blow-up  in  connubial  life  I " 


REMONSTRANCE. 

AfUr  m  ComvtratMon  with  Lord  John  Ru$»eJU  in  wMck  Ac  had  bui' 
maUd  aome  Idea  qfoMng  up  aU  politkai  Pmrtuiu. 

What  I  Mov,  with  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and  thy 
name  — 

Thou,  bom  of  a  Russell  — whose  instinct  to  run 
The  accustom'd  career  of  thy  sires,  is  the  same 

As  the  eaglet's,  to  soar  with  his  eyes  on  the  sun ! 

Whose  nobility  comes  to  thee,  stamp'd  with  a  seal. 
Far,  far  more  ennobling  than  monarch  e'er  set ; 

With  the  blood  of  thy  race,  offered  up  for  the  weal 
Of  a  nation,  that  swears  by  that  martyrdom  yet  I 

Shalt  thou  be  faint-hearted  and  turn  ham  the  strife. 
From  the  mighty  arena,  where  all  that  is  grand. 

And  devoted,  and  pure,  and  adorning  in  life, 
Tis  for  high-thoughted  spirits  Wk.e  thine  to 
command  ? 

Oh  no,  never  dream  it — while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men  bow, 

Never  think,  fbr  an  instant,  thy  country  can  spare 
Such  a  light  from  her  darkening  horizon  as 
thou. 

With  a  spirit,  as  meek  as  the  gentlest  of  those 
Who  in  life's  sunny  valley  lie  shelter'd  and 
warm  ; 
Tet  bold  and  heroic  as  ever  yet  rose 

To  the  top  clifis  of  Fortune,  and  breasted  her 
storm; 

With  an  ardour  for  liberty,  fresh  as,  in  youth. 
It  first  kindles  the  bard  and  gives  life  to  his 
lyre; 

Yetmellow'd,  ev'n  now,  by  that  mildness  of  truth, 
Which  tempers,  but  chills  not,  the  patriot  fire ; 

With  an  eloquence — not  like  those  rills  frt)ro  a 
height. 
Which  sparkle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapour  are  o'er; 
But  a  current,  that  works  out  its  way  into  light 
Through  the  filtering  recesses  of  drought  and  of 
lore. 

Thus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  in  the  shade ; 
If  the  Btiirings  of  Oenius,  the  music  of  fame, 

&K  3 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


19  of  thj  cause  have  not  power  to 
.0  Freedoin  thoa'rt  pledg'd  by 


IS  of  that  laurel,  hy  Detphi*a  decree 
ir  the  Faae  and  iu  Ecrvkc  diviDO, 
3,  thai  upring  from  tht  old  Husscll 

BTly  clain'd  Tor  die  lue  of  her  Shrine. 


I  MY  BIBTH-DAY. 

-  what  a  diff 'rent  loand' 
h  had  in  my  vouchfu!  Kan  I 

u  the  day  cornea  roanti, 
lie  its  mark  ap|nara  t 

IT  Bcantj  jBsn  are  told, 
I  u>  grow  old  1 
:s  tho  shining  tinks, 
|e  around  him  binds  so  fast, 
le  task,  he  little  thinks 
lal  cboin  will  prasa  at  last. 
Dan,  and  false  as  vain. 


FAJJCT. 
Tbb  more  Ttd  TieVd  thja  world,  the 

That,  fill'd  as 'tia  with  Ecenesandcreai 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  brigf 

A  world  of  eccnes  and  CTcatnrce  far  i 
Xor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  thei 

A  hinglo  charm,  ihol's  not  from  nattiT 
No  more  than  rainbqwa,  in  their  pride,  i 

A  single  tint  nnborrow'd  from  the  nu 
Bnt  'ti>  the  mental  medium  it  thine*  ibi 
lliat  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charm  and 
As  the  same  light,  that  o'er  the  lerel  Uk 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  fling). 

Will,  entering  in  tlic  rounded  raia-dropi 

Colours  oi  gay  as  those  on  angela'  wId 


TRANSLATIOKS  FROM  CATUll 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


481 


I  to  fool  to  nm, 
ain  caprice  maj  call ; 
sot  loving  one, 
d  madd'ning  aXL 

what  now  is  past  — 

lore,  whose  min  lies 

,  the  meadow's  last, 

)  ploughshare's  edge,  and  dies! 


29. 


I  thon,  the  rery  eye 
nilas  and  isles, 

kes  of  silrer  lie, 

¥reath'd  by  Neptime's  smiles 

ck  to  thee  I  fljl 
g,  asking  —  C€m  it  be 
It  Bithjnia's  skj, 
safety  npon  thee  ? 

ippier  than  to  find 
t  ease,  our  perils  past ; 
i  long,  the  lightened  mind 
ts  load  of  care  at  last : 

th  toil  o'er  land  and  deep, 
ead  the  welcome  floor 
me, -and  sink  to  sleep 
•wish'd-for  bed  once  more.' 

that  pajs  alone 

II  life's  former  track.  — 
beaatifnl,  mj  own 

0 1  greet  thy  master  back. 

Lake,  whose  water  quaffs 
hear'n  like  Lydia's  sea, 
t  —  let  all  that  laaghs 
Lome,  laugh  out  for  mel 


LUS  TO  SULPICIA. 

lib  rabdooet  ftmlns  leetun,  he.  ke. 

Lib.  ir.  Cum.  13. 


Oman's  smile  hare  pow'r 
)  from  those  gentle  charms ! 
in  that  happy  hour, 
first  gave  thee  to  my  arms. 

lotit  wt  baUini  curls, 
•  oniu  rcponittM  pcregrino 
■i  Twilmt  lAmn  ad  nostrimi, 
ooM  MqnkMbnns  leelo. 


*t 


And  still  alone  thon  charm'st  my  sight  — 
Still,  though  our  city  proudly  shine 

With  forms  and  faces,  fair  and  bright, 
I  see  none  fair  or  Inright  but  thine. 

Would  thon  wert  fair  for  only  me. 
And  couldst  no  heart  but  mine  alhire  1  — 

To  all  men  else  unpleasing  be, 
So  shall  I  feel  my  prise  secure.' 

Oh,  love  like  mine  ne'er  wants  the  sest 

Of  others'  envy,  others'  praise; 
But,  in  its  silence  safely  blest. 

Broods  o'er  a  bliss  it  ne'er  betrays. 

Charm  of  my  lifb  I  by  whose  sweet  pow'r 
All  cares  are  hush  d,  all  ills  subdued  — 

My  light,  in  ev'n  the  darkest  hour. 
My  crowd,  in  deepest  solitude!' 

No,  not  though  hear'n  itself  sent  down 
Some  maid,  of  more  than  heaVnly  charms. 

With  bliss  undreamt  thy  bard  to  crown. 
Would  he  for  her  forsake  those  arms  1 


IMITATION, 

7R0M  THB  VRBKOH. 

With  women  and  apples  both  Paris  and  Adam 

Made  mischief  enough  in  their  day  :  — 
God  be  prais'd  that  the  fate  of  mankind,  my  dear 

Depends  not  on  ««,  the  same  way. 
For,  weak  as  I  am  with  temptation  to  grapple. 

The  world  would  have  doubly  to  me  thee  ; 
Like  Adam,  Fd  gladly  take /rom  thee  the  apple, 

like  Paris,  at  once  give  it  to  thee. 


INVITATION  TO  DINNER, 

ADDBUSKD  TO  LOKD  LAH8DOWKB. 

Scptembtr*  181S. 

SoMB  think  we  bards  have  nothing  real; 

That  poets  live  among  the  stars  so, 
Their  very  dinners  are  ideal,  — 

(And,  heaven  knows,  too  oft  they  are  so,)— 
For  instance,  that  we  have  instead 

Of  vulgar  chops,  and  stews,  and  hashes, 

t  DitpUoeMallliidefltotatiMcra. 

I  Taadhl 


nqnlM,  to  Boale  vtl  alril 
,tt  la  will  fta  mOil  tote  iMta. 
KK  4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


B  rhonix,  Ht  ihe  head, 

iwn  celeslml  nahca ; 
l^ct,  whicli  kopl  ainging 
'  J  Dtick  v»i  wriugiDg. 

t!  IcsmFd  fuwi : 
la  bUT'a's  poaltcrer  gets. 
Is  hia  niolhcr'ii  peta, 
a  Momioe's  roieale  breath, 

leam'B  g|)kiidoiir  ; 
M,  berhjmed  lo  death  — 

'  ipp'd  to  mnke  tbem  lender. 

fty  suit  Ibiue  buds  vrho're  able 
^l  Duka  Hmnlihrcy'8  table  ; 
'  -e  long  been  Uiight 
h  drink  like  otbcr  people  ) 
I  with  mniioD,  bought 
lam'  rears  its  aniienl  steeple  — 
iil  eonscnc  to  share 
t.  Ihaogh  mdo  Ihe  fare. 
I  by  that  ult  he  bringi 
la  salinest  springB, 
p  ciaiaties ;  —  while  the  cup 
mCD  bright'ning  up, 
is,  loucS'd  bj  Jove, 
ir  gods  ubovL' ! 


Wlio  does  not  feeU  while  thai  hii  fj' 
Rest  on  the  eaehanter's  brokea  «i 

Earb  enrtb-bom  ejiell  it  wort'd  arise 
Uefore  him  in  succcsBion  gnuidf- 

Granil,  trom  the  Tnith  that  leigui  a 
The  onshrinking  Tmlh.  thai  ku  1 

Through  Ufe'a  low,  dark,  inlenot  fii 
Opening  the  whole,  levenl;  bngb 

Yet  softening,  as  she  Erowii!  along, 
O'er  scenes  which  angels  weep  to 

Where  Tralh  herself  half  reils  the  fl 
In  pity  of  the  Misery. 


They're  childrca  near,  though  go 

How  freshly  doth  nijmind  teeall. 

■Mong  iho  few  dnrs  I're  known  iri 
One  thai,  moat  bnoynnlly  of  oil. 

Flout!  in  the  wake  of  memory'; 

When  he,  the  poet,  donbly  gr»e'd, 
In  lifL',  as  in  his  perfect  strain. 

With  that  pnre,  mellowing  power  of 
Without  which  Faney  shines  in  n 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


438 


in  this  short  life,  afford 
ich  mists  a  moment  staj, 
I  one  frank,  atoning  word, 
ishine,  melts  them  all  away? 

}  onr  board  that  daj  —  though  one 
IT  brother  there  had  place ; 
me  horses  of  the  Sun, 
I,  they  saj,  of  earthly  race. 

o  Genins  is  the  power 
ig  where  tme  Genins  lies ; 
was  light  around  that  hour 
in  memory,  never  dies ; 

:h  comes  o'er  me,  as  I  gaze, 
elic  of  the  Dead,  on  thee, 
ich  dreams  of  yanish'd  days, 
',  indeed  — but  mournfully ! 


TO 


;  VISCOUNTESS  VALLETORT. 


m  AT  ukeoex 


,  JAmjAJiT,  18SL 


'oold  sing  thy  beauty's  light, 
>us  forms,  and  all  so  bright, 
hee,  from  thy  childhood,  wear, 
it  which  to  call  most  fair, 
I  the  countless  charms  that  spring 
ound  thee,  whkh  to  sing. 

would  paint  thee,  as  thou  art^ 
hon  tperf  comes  o'er  my  heart  — 
ful  child,  in  beauty's  dawn, 
e  nursery's  shade  withdrawn, 
g  out  —  like  a  young  moon 
orld  'twill  brighten  soon. 
I,  in  girlhood's  blushing  hour, 
hy  own  lov'd  Abbey-tow'r 
thee  look,  all  radiant,  down, 
es  that  to  the  hoary  frown 
tea  round  thee  lent  a  ray, 
yen  Age's  gloom  away ; — 
world's  resplendent  throng,' 

mark'd  thee  glide  along, 
le  crowds  of  fiur  and  great 
mre  and  separate, 
even  Admiration's  eye 
ol  to  approach  too  nigh ;— > 
B,  circled  by  a  spell 
iich  nothing  wrong  could  dwell ; 

and  clear  as  from  the  source, 
hrough  life  her  limpid  course, 
hnsa  through  the  sea, 
a  fountain  purity. 


Now,  too,  another  change  of  light ! 
As  noble  bride,  still  meekly  bright. 
Thou  bring'st  thy  Lord  a  dower  above 
All  earthly  price,  pure  woman's  love ; 
And  show'st  what  lustre  Rank  receives, 
When  with  his  proud  Corinthian  leaves 
Her  rose  thus  high-bred  Beauty  weaves. 

Wonder  not  if,  where  all's  so  fair 
To  choose  were  more  than  bard  can  dare ; 
Wonder  not  if,  while  every  scene 
I've  watch'd  thee  through  so  bright  hath  been, 
The'  enamour'd  Muse  ^ould,  in  her  quest 
Of  beauty,  know  not  where  to  rest. 
But,  dazzled,  at  thy  feet  thus  &U, 
Hailing  thee  beautiful  in  all  I 


A  SPECULA^TION. 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 
The  best  that  I  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf, 

Is  to  buy  Marcus  up,  at  the  price  he  is  worth. 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  he  sets  on 
himself. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

WBITTEN  IN  ▲  POCKET  BOOK,    1822. 

Thet  teU  us  of  an  Indian  tree. 
Which,  howsoe'er  the  sun  and  sky 

May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  free. 
And  shoot,  and  blossom,  wide  and  high. 

Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downwards  again  to  that  dear  earth, 
Prom  which  the  life,  that  fills  and  warms 
1       Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth. 

'TIS  thus,  though  woo'd  by  flattering  friends. 
And  fed  with  fame  (Jtf  fame  it  be), 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  mother,  bends. 
With  love's  tme  instinct,  back  to  thee  I 


LOVE  AND  HYMEN. 

LoTB  had  a  fever — ^ne'er  could  close 
His  little  eyes  till  day  was  breaking ; 

And  wild  and  strange  enough,  Heav'n  knows, 
The  things  he  rav'd  about  while  waking. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  that  night  slept  Talbcr  hotter. 

gnTo  farther  hope  yet, 
oe  uyly  fever  lalent  i  — 
—a  gentle  opioM. 


:h  of  daily  call, 
|e  dose  went  on  restoring, 
rho  Qrst  ne'er  eiept  at  all, 

)gao  [  to  duffnright  anoring. 


f  the  dost  with  tbem,  slaves  its  they 
r,  let  the  hlood  in  their  dJistardly 


When  the  world  Mood  in  hope — when 
that  br«Blh'd 

The  fresh  »ir  of  the  oldeti  time,  whispei 
And  the  swords  of  all  Ilalj.  half-way  nn 

But  wailing  one  coiiqni:ring  cry,  to  St 

When  aronnd  yon  the  shades  of  yooi  3 

FlLicUAB  and  Petbasciis,  leein'd  bi 

And  their  words,  and  their  warnings,  ]ik 
of  bright  flame 
Over  Freedom's  apostles,  fell  liimjling 

Oh  shame  I  that,  in  sneb  a  prond  mome: 

Worth  the  hist'rj  of  ages,  when,  hat 

hurl'd 

One  bolt  at  your  lynml  invader,  that  nr 

Between  freeioenand  tyrants  had  spr^ 

the  world  — 

That  then  —  oh  !  disgrace  npon  manho 
Ton  Bhontd  falter,  shonld  cling  to  yi 

Cow'r  down  into  beafits,  when  ron  mi 
And  prefer  the  slave'slifeof  prostratioi; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


4a5 


EPILOGUE. 

LADT  DACSE'8  THAOEDT  OV  DTA. 

londj  o'er  my  iBre  I  sat, 
es,  starts,  exits,  and  —  all  that, 
;  much  what  little  knarish  sprite 
in  women's  heads  to  write : 
-  as  in  some  witching  dream  — 
;\orj  round  mj  book  case  beam, 
ick-opening  folds  of  azure  light 
form,  as  small  and  bright 
iiry,  when  he  pops  his  head, 
nming,  fix>m  a  violet  bed. 
I  starting  criedt  "what  imp  are 

yil.  Ma'am — inj  name  Ba8  Bleu — 
ite,  much  giVn  to  routs  and  read- 

ch  jour  spinsters  of  good  breeding, 
taste  in  chemistry  and  caps, 
bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 
he  waits  has  twirl'd  her  giddj 

rsics  twirl  it  back  again  I " 

I  he  spoke  —  his  hose  was  blue, 
8  covers  of  the  last  Review -r- 
r*d  with  a  jaundice  hue, 
lily  o'er  for  evening  wear, 
larter  brings  a  new  fledg'd  pair. 
;~(pursued  this  waggish  Fairy) — 
rives  and  Sapphos,  I^dy  Mary, 
3f  Crispin  and  the  Muse, 
n  splay-foot  epigrams  and  shoes, 
'^es  of  young  Camilla  shine, 
x>ve*s  blue  brilliances  with  mine  ; 
s  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrinking, 
•  the  pretty  soul! — and  thinkt  she's 

Miss  Indigo  attends 
lemory,  and  assurer  her  friends, 
!  —  (mimics) — nothing  can  surpass 

isaar — (trying  to  recoUect) — psha  I 

lory-man  — 

t's   his   name?  —  him  I  attended 

he  improv'd  nuf  memory  greatly.' " 

;  low,  I  ask'd  the  blue-legg'd  sprite, 
tiad  in  this  our  play  to-night, 
(he  cried) — there  I  am  guiltless 

3  a  heroine  from  that  Gk>thic  time, 
iralts'd,  and  none  but  monks  could 


M 
« 
it 
U 
tt 
M 

M 

(I 

a 


When  lovely  woman  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
Blush'd  without  art,  and  without  culture  smil'd^^ 
Simple  as  flowers,  while  yet  unclas8*d  they  shone, 
Ere  Science  call'd  their  brilliant  world  her  own, 
Rang'd  the  wild,  rosy  things  in  learned  orders. 
And  fill'd  with  Greek  the  garden's  blushing 

borders! 
Ko,  no  — your  gentle  Inas  will  not  do  — 
To-morrow  evening,  when  the  lights  bum  blue, 
I'll  come  —  (jxnnting  downwards) — you  under- 
stand—  till  then  adieu ! " 


And  A<M  the  sprite  been  here?  No— jests  apart^ 
Howe'er  man  rules  in  science  and  in  art. 
The  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  heart. 
And,  if  our  Muse  have  sketched  with  pencil  true 
The  wife  —the  mother  —  firm,  yet  gentle  too  — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  ties  itself  hath  spun. 
Trembles,  if  toudi'd  in  the  remotest  one ; 
Who  loves — yet  dares  even  Love  himself  disown. 
When  Honour's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne, 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evils. 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and — Blue  Devils. 


I 


THE  DAY-DREAM.> 

Thst  both  were  hush'd,  the  voice,  the  chords,—* 
I  heard  but  once  that  witching  lay; 

And  few  the  notes,  and  few  the  wordls. 
My  spell-bound  memory  brought  away ; 

Traces  remember'd  here  and  there, 
like  echoes  of  some  broken  strain ; — 

links  of  a  sweetness  lost  in  air, 
That  nothing  now  could  join  again. 

Ev'n  these,  too,  ere  the  morning,  fied; 

And,  though  the  charm  still  hnger'd  on. 
That  o'er  eadi  sense  her  song  had  shed, 

The  song  itself  was  faded,  gone ;  — 

Gone,  like  the  thoughts  that  once  were  ours. 
On  summer  days,  ere  youth  had  set ; 

Thoughts  bright,  we  know,  as  summer  flowers. 
Though  what  they  were,  we  now  forget. 

In  vain,  with  hints  from  other  strains, 
I  woo*d  this  truant  air  to  come  — 

As  birds  are  taught,  on  eastern  plains. 
To  lure  their  wilder  kindred  home. 

1  In  theae  fUnxai I  have  done  littl*  mar*  tiua  vtlAit  sflM!t  In 
I  ABdtheUdy.whoMslnginggaveriMtothiaenrkNuilaiUiioa 
of  tlM  pow  ofiMBMCf  in  dM9,  it  Itn.  Boboi  Azkwfliht. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


le  aong  thai  Sappho  gave, 

0  tho  mounifiU  sea, 
I-  glopl  beneath  (he  wtFC, 
liin  withiD  my  mcBiory. 

-wiiking  mmxl,  irbcu  dreiina 
.     1  lasl  give  way 
IruU  truth  of  (lajtij^t'i  beams, 

llho  Ttry  rac«,  metliottght, 
f  hich  liad  lircalh'il,  oii  from  n  shrine 
3ul,  the  notes  I  louglit  — 
l«  miuic  close  lo  niinc  ; 

m  iho  long-lost  metteure  o'er,  — 
■itc  and  irord,  wilh  ureiy  tone 
1  (hut  l«nt  it  Lfe  before, — 
ail  again  mj  own  1 

d  9oal«,  when,  'mid  the  BttM 
et  again,  each  widaw'd  soimd 
hnc morn's  realm  bod  winu'd  in  qnest, 
ale,  till  ail  wtri-  lirand. 


mncelj  cnucUt,  escape  again  ; 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  TWO  SI 


'Twis  cYc's  soft  honr.  and  bright,  a 

Tho  Biar  of  Bpaaly  bcom'd. 
While  luU'd  hj  light  m>  fuU  oflon. 

In  slumber  thus  1  dream'd  — 
Uethoughi,  at  that  awoct  bour, 

A  nymph  came  o'er  the  le«. 
Who,  goih'ring  many  a  flow'r. 

Thus  said  and  sung  to  me  :  — 
"  Should  any  iisk  what  U'lk  lovfj, 

"  Say  thou,  To  wreathe  her  hair 
"  Wilh  flow'rela  eull'd  from  glons  ■ 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


487 


^ 


Tj  arms  of  Loye, 
Qe  o'er  her  heart  —  a  fear 
[night,  even  jet,  remove 
fsSm  that  happy  sphere. 

\y  rinfrlets,"  she  ezclaim'df 
tiem  round  her  snowj  fingers ; 
sad,  where  a  light,  unnam'd, 
Q  on  earth,  fnr  ever  lingers  $ 

throngh  which  I  feel  the  breath 
en  itself^  whene'er  they  sever  — 
ey  mine,  beyond  all  death, 
,  hereafter,  and  Ux  ever  ? 

—  I  know  that  starry  brow, 
nglets,  and  bright  lipe  of  thine, 
'8  shine,  as  they  do  now  — 
1  /  live  to  Me  tiiem  shine  ?  " 

Lore  say,  •*  Turn  thine  eyes 
lat  sparkles  round  thee  here  — 
m  in  heaven,  where  nothing  dies, 
ihese  arms — what  canat  thou  fear?  " 

le  fiUal  drop,  that  stole 
cup's  immortal  treasure, 
its  bitter  near  her  soul, 
t  a  tinge  to  every  pleasure. 

!i  there  ne'er  was  transport  given 
:he's  with  that  radiant  boy, 
only  face  in  heaven, 
rs  a  cloud  amid  its  joy. 


.  JOKE  VERSIFIED. 

,"  said  Tom's  father,  **■  at  your  time 

0  longer  excuse  for  thus  playing  the 

should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a  wife  " — 
t  is,  father — whose  wife  shidl  I  take?  " 


:e  death  of  a  friend. 

nantle,  which,  o'er  him  who  stood 
f's  stream,  descended  from  the  sky, 
ibrancc,  which  the  wise  and  good 
he  hearts  that  love  them,  when  they 

recious  shall  the  memory  be, 
n  dying,  to  our  souls  by  thee  — 
ove  we  bore  thee,  cherish'd  warm 
r  souls  through  grief,  and  pain,  and 

ha'b  cruse,  a  holy  charm, 

1  to  *«  heal  the  waters  "  of  this  life! 


TO  JAMES  CORBT,  ESQ. 


mm  wa 


•  KS  A 


flV  A 


This  life,  dear  Corry,  who  can  doubt?  — 
Resembles  much  friend  Ewart's'  wine  ; 

When  firtt  Uie  rosy  drops  come  out. 
How  beautiful,  how  clear  they  thine! 

And  thus  awhile  they  keep  their  tint. 
So  free  from  even  a  shfliide  with  some, 

That  they  would  smile,  did  you  but  hint. 
That  darker  drops  would  eoer  come. 

But  soon  the  ruby  tide  runs  short, 
Each  minute  makes  the  sad  truth  plainer. 

Till  life,  like  old  and  crusty  port, 
When  near  its  dose,  requires  a  strainer. 

Thi»  friendship  can  alone  confisr, 
Alone  can  teach  the  drops  to  pass, 

If  not  as  bright  as  onct  they  were. 
At  least  imclouded,  through  the  glass. 

Nor,  Cony,  could  a  boon  be  mine, 
Of  which  this  heart  were  fonder,  vainer, 

Than  thus,  if  life  grow  like  old  wine. 
To  have  thy  friendship  for  its  strainer. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  CHARACTER. 

Herb  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last; 

Long  as  he  breath'd  the  vital  air, 
Nothing  throughout  all  Europe  pass'd. 

In  which  Ned  hadn't  some  small  share. 

Whoe'er  was  in,  whoe'er  was  out^ 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said. 

If  not  exactly  brought  about, 

'Twas  all,  at  least,  contriv'd  by  Ned. 

With  Nap,  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
Twras  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar  — 
(Vide  his  pamphlet  —  price,  sixpence.) 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo  — 
As  all  but  Frenchmen  think  she  was  — 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew. 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applause. 

Then  for  his  news  —  no  envoy's  bag 
E'er  pass'd  so  many  secrets  through  it; 

Scarcely  a  telegraph  could  wag 
Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

1  AiHiit-mercluuit. 


MOOEFS  WORKS. 


d  of  forsipi  plow, 
Iforciga  iianies,  one'a  ear  M  buu 
■usuia,  cht/i  and  o/i  In  lou, 
I  FoUud,  owiAis  b;  the  doEcn. 
leorge,  &larm'd  for  Engliuid' 
It  (he  laal  Whig  ininislrj, 
k'd  —  who  advis'd  ihc  d&ed? 
LodeBllj  conftia'd  'tnsj  he. 
Iigh,  hj  lomc  Dalackf  mua, 
Kd  not  downright  «ni  tlie  King, 
IsDCh  hints  through  Yiacouol  Thit, 
^rqnis  That,  u  clcnch'd  the  thing. 

in  aeioBce,  ana, 
fcrama.  Books.  MS.  and  printed  — 
Ti'd  from  Ned  his  cle»ereet  pans, 
'a  hut  work  by  hira  was  hinted, 
Harold  ID  the  proofa  he  read, 

-o  aii<1  then,  iufus'd  some  aoul  in't- 
'a  Lninp,  till  ttta  by  Ned, 
dd  enangh  —  an  awkward  hols  ia'l 
mas.  all-doing  and  all-knaiTin^, 
mittn,  boxer,  chjmist,  singer, 
u  the  beet  pic  going, 
d  —  tnut  him  —  had  hit  (]ug;cr. 


Twu  tbna  she  said,  at  'mid  Iha  4i* 

Of  footmen,  and  the  town  eedau. 

She  ligiited  at  the  King's  Head  Inn. 

And  Dp  the  stain  thumpbaul  ran. 

The  Squires  and  their  Sqoire.9see  all 

With  young  Squirina^  just  anae  c 
And  my  Lord'i  daughters  Iroia  the  . 

(Qoadiillers,  in  their  hearts,  no  di 
All  lbi:«e,  as  light  she  tripp'd  np  st*i 

Were  in  the  doak-rooio  seen  a»ei 
When,  harkl  some  new,  oatlandiEh  i 

From  the  First  Fiddle,  set  her  irei 
She  stop*  —  she  linens  —  can  tl  be? 

Alas,  in  vain  her  ears  would  'scap 
It  ii  ••  I)i  tanli  palpiti '' 

As  plain  as  EugLiah  bow  can  icraj 
••  Cooragel"  bowcrer  —  in  ahe  goca 

With  her  best,  sweeping  roaaaj  g 
When,  ah  too  tmo,  her  worst  of  foes, 

QoASftiLLK,  there  meela  her,  face  : 
Ob  for  the  Ijre,  or  riolin. 

Or  kit  of  that  gaj  Muse,  Teipaiehi 
To  dill);  the  ra);e  these  nj'mphs  were 

Their  looks  and  language,  airs  ani 


OUS  POEMS. 


489 


lid  ihe  of  Anrion  wear ; 
bat  mn  that  two-heat  nee 
i  Sett  not  Diaa  e'er 
mka  from  the  woodland  chase. 

the  vjmglbt  whoee  sonl  had  in*t 
ger  now — ^whose  ejes  of  bhie 
bat  bright,  yictorioiu  tint, 
Enghih  maids  call  •*  Waterloo")^ 

oer  lightnings,  in  the  dnsk 
rm  evening,  flashing  broke, 

0  the  tone  of  **  Money  Musk," ' 
track  ap  now — she  proadly  spoke : — 

m  that  strain — that  jojoas  strain? 
sach  as  England  loV^d  to  hear, 
1,  and  all  thj  frippery  train, 
3ted  both  her  foot  and  ear — 

tz,  that  rake  from  foreign  lands, 

m'd,  in  sight  of  all  beholders, 

da  rade,  licentioos  hands 

rtooos  English  backs  and  shoulders — 

»  and  morals  both  grew  bad, 

yet  unfleec'd  by  fruiding  blo(^eads, 

fohn  Bull  not  only  had, 

anc'd  to,  *  Money  in  both  pockets.' 

B  change  I — Oh,  L — d — ^y, 

e  is  the  land  could  'scape  disasters, 

ck  a  Foreign  Secretary, 

1  by  Foreign  Dancing  Masters  ? 

ye,  men  of  ships  and  shops ! 
I  of  day-books  and  of  waves ! 
*d,  on  one-side,  into  fops, 
irUl'd,  on  t'other,  into  slaves  I 

ye  lovely  victims,  seen, 

pigeons,  tmss'd  for  exhibition, 

x>ws,  d  la  crapaudine^ 

feet  in  —  GKxi  knows  what  position ; 

I  in  by  watchful  chaperons, 
;:tor8  of  your  airs  and  graces, 
:ercept  ful  whisperM  tones, 
read  your  telegraphic  faces  ; 

with  the  youth  ador'd. 

It  grim  cordon  of  Mammas, 

rchange  one  tender  word, 

gh  whisper*d  but  in  queue  de  chats, 

you  know  kow  blest  we  rang'd, 
ile  Quadrille  U8urp*d  the  fiddle — 
K>ks  in  setting  were  exchanged, 
tender  words  in  down  the  middle ; 

my  a  couple,  like  the  wind, 
h  nothing  in  its  course  controls, 
le  and  chaperons  far  behind, 
gave  a  loose  to  legs  and  soxils ; 

>  Jlb  old  CogUdiGoaiitrx  Duet. 


**  How  matrimony  throve — ere  stopped 
**  By  this  cold,  silent,  foot-coquetting— 

**  How  charmingly  one's  partner  popp'd 
M  xhe'  important  question  in  poussetting, 

**  While  now,  alas — no  sly  advances — 
**  No  marriage  hints — all  goes  on  badly — 

**  Twixt  Parson  Malthas  and  French  Dances, 
"  We,  girls,  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

^  Sir  William  Scott  (now  Baron  Stowell) 
''Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

'*By  Licences — and  he  must  know  well— 
**  Since  vile  QuadriUing  spoil'd  the  trade." 

She  ceas'd —  tears  fell  from  every  Miss — 
She  now  had  touch'd  the  true  pathetic :  — 

One  such  authentic  fact  as  this 
Ib  worth  whole  volumes  theoretic 

Instant  the  ery  was  **  Country  dance ! " 
And  the  maid  saw,  with  brightening  feice. 

The  Steward  of  the  night  advance, 
And  lead  her  to  her  birthright  place. 

The  fiddles,  which  awhile  had  ceas'd. 
Now  tun'd  again  their  summons  sweet, 

And,  for  one  happy  night,  at  least. 
Old  England's  triumph  was  complete. 


LINES 


OH  THB  DSATH  OV 
JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ.,  OF  DUBLIN. 

If  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast. 
If  ever  life  was  like  the  lengthen'd  fiow 

Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  the  last, 
Twas  his  who,  moum'd  by  many,  sleeps  below. 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  where  aU  is  strife, 
The  simple  heart  above  all  worldly  wiles ; 

Light  wit  that  plays  along  the  calm  of  life. 
And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles ; 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower. 
Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  what  it  feeds. 

But,  like  the  dew,  with  gradual  silent  power. 
Felt  in  the  bloom  it  leaves  along  the  meads ; 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 
And  brightens  every  gift  by  fortune  given ; 

That,  wander  where  it  will  with  those  it  loves. 
Makes  every  place  a  home,  and  home  a  heaven  . 

All  these  were  his. — Oh,  thou  who  read'st  this 
stone. 

When  for  thyself,  thy  children,  to  the  sky 
Thou  humbjy  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone, 

That  ye  hke  him  may  live,  like  him  may  die  I 


MOOEE'8  WORKS. 


■ENroS  AND  CETTICISM. 


|ttic  Sullan  GrcniDB  niga'i, 
lire  meant,  unjircinc,  nicine  j 
d  unchcck'd,  nnd  hands  uiiFham'd, 

Hews,  hU  coaquesM  irere  bit  ova. 

;r  like  hie,  that  digs  iu  graio 
IS  own  scciilrc^  cuold  not  Uac  ; 
is'  se\l  bccBmo  the  slave 
s  that  Gcuios'  self  had  pAss'd. 

who  forg'd  the  chain  of  Fati;, 
vcr  lifter,  dooiii'd  to  wear  it; 
lis  E^lru^gtes,  all  loo  lats  — 
I  itmdjuiaii,  saipcr  pareL" 


At  length,  lb«r  last  and  worn  to 

Tliej  round  him  plac'd  a  pnard 
n«TicwiT5,  knaves,  in  brown,  or  b 

Tnrn'd  op  with  yellow, — thiefl] 
Tu  dog  bis  fbotfteps  all  about, 

Likf  tliofe  in  Longwood'i  priso 
Who  at  Napoleon'i  heels  rode  mit 

For  fear  the  Conqneror  shoald  1 
Oh  for  nnne  Champion  of  bi»  pon 

Some  Ultra  •piril,  lo  set  free. 
As  ent  in  Shakapeare'e  eoieru^ 

The  thnndera  of  bis  BojaltT-T— 
To  TindiraCe  his  aoeient  linp. 

The  flnt,  (ho  true,  the  ooty  one 
Of  Ri^ht  eternal  and  di<,-ina. 

That  rolea  beaeoth  the  blessed  ! 


TO  LADY  J  • 


On  albunui,  olbams,  how  I  dread. 

Your  everlasting  scrap  and  sen 

now  oficn  wish  that  from  the  doa 

Old  Oninr  woTtId  p'p  fpnh  hi?  hpj 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


LL 


preface; 


e  true  holiday  mood^  when  a  dear 
whose  name  is  associated  some  of 

t  and  pleasantest  hours  of  my  past 
offered  me  a  seat  in  his  carriage 

risit  to  Paris.    This  proposal  I,  of 

>t  gladly  accepted;    and,   in   the 

he  year  1817,  found  mfself,  for  the 

.  that  gay  capital. 

storation  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty 

00  recent  a  date  for  any  amalgam- 
e  yet  taken  place  between  the  new 
order  of  things,  all  the  most  pro- 
ires  of  both  regimes  were  just  then 
their  fullest  relief  into  juxtaposi- 
iccordingly,  the  result  was  such  as 
;o  an  unconcerned  spectator  quite 
.  matter  for  ridicule  as  for  grave 
isideration.  It  would  be  difficult, 
onvey  to  those  who  had  not  them- 
the  Paris  of  that  period,  any  clear 
^he  anomalous  aspect,  both  social 
d,  which  it  then  presented.  It 
Q  the  days  succeeding  the  deluge, 
erie  of  antediluvians  had  been 
oked  from  out  of  the  deep  to  take 
id  of  a  new  and  freshly  starting 

e  abundant  amusement  and  interest 
a  scene  could  not  but  afford  was  a 
beightened  by  my  having,  in  my 
jrs,  been  made  acquainted  with  some 
rsonages  who  were  now  most  iate- 
i  future  success  of  the  Legitimate 
»  Comte  D*Artois,  or  Monsieur,  I 

1  the  year  1802-3,  at  Donington 
(eat  of  the  Earl  of  Moira,  under 
:ely  roof  I  used  often  and  long, 
jTS,  to  find  a  most  hospitable  home, 
rty  of  distinguished  French  emi- 


Pre&oe  to  tha  wventh  Tolnine  of  the  collected 
MS.] 


grants  were  already  staying  on  a  visit  in  the 
house  when  Monsieur  and  his  suite  arrived; 
and  among  those  were  the  present  King  of 
France  and  his  two  brothers,  the  Due  de 
Montpensier,  and  the  Comte  de  Beanjolais. 

Some  doubt  and  uneasiness  had,  I  remember, 
been  felt  by  the  two  latter  brothers,  as  to 
the  reception  they  were  likely  to  encounter 
from  the  new  guest;  and  as,  in  those  times,  a 
cropped  and  unpowdered  head  was  regarded 
generally  as  a  symbol  of  Jacobinism,  the  Comte 
Beaujolais,  who,  like  maixy  other  young  men, 
wore  his  hur  in  this  fashion,  thought  it,  on  the 
present  occasion,  most  prudent,  in  order  to 
avoid  all  risk  of  offence,  not  only  to  put  powder 
in  his  hair,  but  also  to  provide  himself  with  an 
artificial  queue.  This  measure  of  precaution, 
however,  led  to  a  slight  incident  after  dinner, 
which,  though  not  very  royal  or  dignified,  was 
at  least  creditable  to  the  social  good-humour 
of  the  future  Charles  X.  On  the  departure  of 
the  ladies  from  the  dining-room,  we  had  hardly 
seated  ourselves  in  the  old-fashioned  style, 
round  the  fire,  when  Monsieur,  who  had  hap- 
pened to  place  himself  next  to  Beaujolais, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ascititious  tail,  — which, 
having  been  rather  carelessly  put  on,  had  a 
good  -deal  straggled  out  of  its  place.  With  a 
sort  of  scream  of  jocular  pleasure,  as  if  delighted 
at  the  discovery.  Monsieur  seized  the  stray 
appendage,  and,  bringing  it  round  into  full 
view,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  whole 
company,  popped  it  into  poor  grinning  Beau- 
jolais' mouth. 

On  one  of  the  evenings  of  this  short  visit  of 
Monsieur,  I  remember  Curran  arriving  unex- 
pectedly, on  his  way  to  London ;  and,  having 
come  too  late  for  dinner,  he  joined  our  party 
in  the  evening.  As  the  foreign  portion  of  the 
company  was  then  quite  new  to  him,  I  was 
able  to  be  useful,  by  informing  him  of  the 
names,  rank,  and  other  particulars  of  the  party 

LL  a 


MOORE'S  WORKS,. 


nbled,  Irom  Monsieur  himaelf, 
1  Due  lie  Lorge  and  the  Baruu 
ken  I  had  gone  through  the 
ft,  poor  fellows ! "  he  eiolaiincii, 
I  of  fun  snd  pathos  in  bis  look, 
TPoor   fellows,    ail   dismounted 

Heveolng  of  Mooaienr'a  stay,  I 
■ng  for  him,  among  uiher  Eonga, 
■j!"  one  ofmj  earliest  attempts 
nupoEitiou.  As  soon  as  I  had 
.he  compliment  of  reading; 
virittcn  under  the  music  ; 
I  havoc  did  he  make,  aa  to  thia 
',  of  whatever  little  senae 
bould  boast. 
I  earlier  poetic  writings,  more 
Iful  memorial  may  be  found  of 
)  J  paaced  in   thia  hospitable 


lirt  of  impression  I  still  n 


Lady  Adelaide  Forbes  J ;  for  it  was  th 
tliis  truly  noble  Indy,  then  in  the  first ' 
her  beantjT,  txseii  to  ait  for  that  picture 
in  another  part  of  the  library,  the  I 
Orleans,  —  engaged  generally  at  tbatti 
a  volume  of  Clarendon,  —  was  by  atttli 
unconseiouslj  preparing  himself  for  I 
and  arduouB  destiny,  which  not  only  l) 
Genius  of  France,  but  bis  own  Mgici< 
intrepid  apirit,  had  early  marked  out  ti 
I  need  hardly  say  how  totally  diffcn 
all  the  circumstances  under  which  H 
himself  and  some  of  hb  followcra  «er 
seen  by  toe  in  the  year  1817j— tli 
actors,  indeed,  but  with  an  entirely  new 
of  scenery  and  decorations.  Among  i 
riety  of  aspects  presented  by  this  ehai 
ridiculous  ccrtunly  predominated;  nor 
satirist  who,  liicc  Fhiloctetos,  wai  smitt 
a  fancy  for  shooting  at  geese  J,  ask  aaj 
supply  of  suoh  game  than  the  high  pi 
France,  at  that  period,  both  lay  and  ec 
tical,  sITorded.  Not  being  versed,  b- 
sufficiently  in   French   politics  to  ven 

■     iti.  I 


PREFACE. 


445 


ORIGINAL  PREFACE. 


mer  the  following  Epistles  came  into 
it  is  not  necessary  for  the  pnblic  to 
riU  be  seen  bj  Mr.  Fudge's  Second 
he  is  one  of  those  gentlemen  whose 
re*  in  Ireland,  nnder  the  mild  ministry 
€■  OH,  have  been  so  amply  and 

tmonerated  like  his  friend  and  as- 
»]CAB  Rbtnolds,  Esq.,  he  had  retired 
ward  of  his  honest  indastrv;  but  has 
induced  to  appear  again  in  active  life, 
itend  the  training  of  that  Delatorian 
ch  Lord  S — dm — th,  in  his  wisdom 
ience,  has  organised. 
Mr.  EoDOB,  himself  has  yet  made 
ries,  does  not  appear  from  the  follow- 
But  much  may  be  expected  from  a 
lis  zeal  and  sagacity,  and,  indeed,  to 
— ^DM — TH,  and  the  Greenland-bound 
res  of  all  lovers  of  discoveries  are  now 
isly  directed. 

Duch  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit 
cdoe's  Third  Letter,  concluding  the 
of  his  Day  with  the  Dinner,  OjMjra, 
but  in  consequence  of  some  remarks 
Dette*B  thin  drapery,  which,  it  was 
ght  give  offence  to  certain  well-mean - 
9,  the  manuscript  was  sent  back  to 
is  revision,  and  had  not  returned  when 
et  was  put  to  press. 


It  will  not,  I  hope,  be  thought  presumptuous  if 
I  take  this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  a  very 
serious  injustice  I  have  suffered  from  the  public. 
Dr.  Kino  wrote  a  treatise  to  prove  that  Bentlbt 
"was  not  the  author  of  his  own  book,"  and  a 
similar  absurdity  has  been  asserted  of  me,  in 
almost  all  the  best-informed  literary  circles.  With 
the  name  of  the  real  author  staring  them  in  the 
face,  they  have  yet  persisted  in  attributing  my 
works  to  other  people;  and  the  fame  of  the  Two- 
penny Post-Bag  —  such  as  it  is  —  having  hovered 
doubtfully  over  various  persons,  has  at  last  settled 
upon  the  head  of  a  certain  little  gentleman,  who 
wears  it,  I  understand,  as  complacently  as  if  it 
actually  belonged  to  him;  without  even  the  honesty 
of  avowing,  with  his  own  favourite  author,  (he  will 
excuse  the  pun) 

EyM  Sr  *0  MOPOS  «#«C 

I  can  only  add,  that  if  any  lady  or  gentleman, 
curious  in  such  matters,  will  take  the  trouble  of 
calling  at  my  lodgings,  245,  Piccadilly,  I  shall 
have  the  honour  of  assuring  them,  in  propria  per- 
sona,  that  I  am  —  his,  or  her. 

Very  obedient 

And  very  humble  Servant, 
THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER. 

Apra  17. 1S18. 


FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PAR] 


U  MHCbcri  rtcblMaon  c 


I  though,  would  you  beliore  it,  mj 
ry  wondBTfnl  here; 


Ids  and  trees  quite  lu  dull  at 
1  |iuBt-boj,  his  booM  and  h 


There's  the  pillar,  too  — LordI  t  Iwd  n 

Whnt  H  chomiiu^  idea!  —  raiii'd  dose  to 
Tho  made  !)«iiiBno?[,(asyou'ye  he«rd.  I 
To  build  tombs  over  Irg^',  and  raise  pillu 


And  some  picturc«qnc  beggan,  whose  m 

To  recall  the  good  dajs  of  the  annrn  r^ 
All  OS  rogK^  ""1  brisk,  you'll  be  happ; 
And  03  thin  as  tbcy  were  in  the  time 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


447 


'hat  d'ye  think? — mind,  it's  all  enire 

now,  love,  I  never  keep  secrets  from 

vriting  a  book  —  what !  a  tale?  a  ro- 

ce? 

B,  would  it  were!  —  bat  his  Trarels  in 

ice; 

ial  desire  (he  let  out  t'other  day) 

friend  and  patron,  my  Lord  Ostl-b-oh, 

•  My  dear  Fudos  ** 1  forget  the 

t  words, 

trange,  no  one  ever  remembers  my 

smething  to  say  that,  as  all  must  allow, 

iodox  work  is  much  wanting  jnst  now, 

I  to  the  world  the  new— thingummie — 

ice, 

by  the —  what's-iU-name  —  Holy  Al- 

«. 

to  mankind  that  their  rights  are  but 

lom  a  joke,  (which  it  is,  yon  know, 

LT,) 

jne,"  said  his  Lordship,  **if  /  may  be 

e, 

or  this  great  undertaking  as  Fudge! " 

's  soon  settled —  Pa  flies  to  the  Row 
age  your  tourists  now  usually  go). 
This  quarto — advertisements, praises — 
Tom  the  door,  with  his  tablets — French 

BCS  — 

'isit,**  of  coarse  —  in  short,  ev'ry  thing 

IS 

:an  want,  except  words  and  ideas : 
e  first  thing,  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
i>GE  at  the  front  of  a  Quarto,  my  dear! 

le,  my  paper's  near  out,  so  I'd  better 
)  a  close: — this  exceeding  long  letter 
a  drainer  a  la  fourchetle, 
BT  would  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet.  — 
t  ?  oh,  the  tutor,  the  last  of  the  party, 
-NOB : — they  say  he's  so  like  Bona- 

jid    his    chin  —  which    Papa   rather 

rbons,  you  know,  are  suppressing  all 

s 

ble  old  Nap's,    and  who  knows  but 

honours 

in  their  fright,  of  suppressing  poor 

fOB'8? 


itii»-m«ker  in  Paris. 


I 

Bt  liniUtioB  of  tlM  nobt«  Lord**  itylt  thoirt  how 
dct  miwl  hM,y  studied  liis  graat  oriRinaL  Irish 


Au  rette  (as  we  say),  the  young  lad's  well  enough. 
Only  talks  much  of  Athens,  Bome,  virtue,  and 

stuff; 
A  third  cousin  of  ours,  by  the  way  —  poor  as  Job 
(Though  of  royal  descent  by  the  side  of  Mamma), 
And  for  charity  made  private  tutor  to  Bob  ;  — 
Entre  uoua,  too,  a  Papist  —  how  lib'ral  of  Pa! 

This  is  all,  dear, — forgive  me  for  breaking  off  thus, 
But  Bob's  dijeuner^s  done,  and  Papa's  in  a  fuss. 

B.F. 
P.S. 
How  provoking  of  Pa !  he  will  not  let  me  stop 
Just  to  run  in  and  rummage  some  milliner's  shop  ; 
And  my  dibut  in  Paris,  I  blush  to  think  on  it. 
Must  now,  Doll,  be  made  in  a  hideous  low  bonnet. 
But  Paris,  dear  Paris  !  —  oh,  there  will  be  joy. 
And  romance,  and  high  bonnets,  and  Madiyne  Le 
Boi!* 


LETTER  IL 

rBOM  PHIL.  TUDOE,  ESQ.  TO  THE  LOBD  TISCOUKT 

C — 8T — B — OH. 

Paris. 

At  length,  my  Lord,  I  have  the  bliss 
To  date  to  you  a  line  from  this 
•*  Demoraliz'd  "  metropolis ; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy. 
The  throne  was  tum'd  quite  topsy-turvy. 
And  Kingship,  tumbled  from  its  seat, 
**  Stood  prostrate  "  at  the  people's  feet ; 
Where  (still  to  use  your  Lordship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obedience  Mlopea 
Upward  and  downward,  as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kicks  Ute  beam  I* 
Where  the  poor  Palace  changes  masters 
Quicker  than  a  snake  its  skin. 
And  Louis  is  roU'd  out  on  castors, 

While  BoNET*s  bome  on  shoulders  in  :  — 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt. 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces,— 
That  'tis  the  Kings  lUone  turn  out. 

The  Ministers  still  keep  their  places. 


How  oft,  dear  Viscount  C oh, 

I've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way. 
As  in  my  job  (what  place  could  be 
More  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  thee  ?)  — 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
Upon  my  dicky,  (as  is  fitting 
For  him  who  writes  a  Tour,  that  he 
May  more  of  men  and  manners  see,) 


orstonr,  indMd,  sboonds  with  such  sUrtUnc  peenlisritics.   Tiras 

the  eloqaent  Connsellor  B .  in  deseribinc  soom  hjrpoeritioal 

pretender  to  chArltj,  seid,  **He  pat  his  hand  in  hisbitchM  pookiC 
like  n  oi«eodil0,  Md,**  fto.  ao. 

LL  4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  of  ihj  gluric*, 
idKingofTorie*! 

tian'e  usnnl  share, 

.  every  where  1 
lilh  yibat  powere  of  breslh, 
nving  §pecch'iJ  to  clffath 
'  four  felloff-mon, 
ov'n>igii'8  curs, — and  whoi 
loz-d,  at  last 
\e  Hov'reign'  of  Belfusl. 

■a  und  the  trojihiee 
I  MoroaophB  and  Soptiis  i 
to  ihj  fsme. 

I  ]  Dutd'st  be  chieft/pleas'd  nt- 
hersnafl'th)'  name, 
a  tho  diing  now  gniiez'd  al 


LTcllkflj/tiRSF.,-)— 

iliiit  is  lo  prove  — 


Thai  Poland,  left  for  Rmsia't  Inuch 

U|Mn  the  Biilc-boaril,  snug  reposes  : 
While  Saxony's  a«  ple«*'d  m  Punch, 
And  Norway  "on  a  bed  of  roses!  " 
That,  as  for  some  few  million  Boak, 

TransfeTT'il  by  contract,  bless  the  clods  1 
If  btklf  were  strangled — Spaniardi,  Polei. 

And  Frenchmen— 'tnonldn*!  make  mnrhod 
So  Europe's  goodly  Ri^al  ones, 
ait  eauy  on  their  facred  thrones  ; 
80  Feudinand  embroiders  gaily,* 
And  I/mia  cats  his  ulmi',  diulj  j 
So  time  is  Iril  to  Emperor  SaSDT 
To  be  Imif  Oear  and  half  Dandy; 
And  G        Q»  the  R— o — r  (who'd  forget 
Thai  dongbtiest  diictUin  of  the  set  J) 
Bath  trh(^wi(hal  for  irinkeis  new. 

For  DrxgDus  nDer  Chinoio  modeU. 
And  ehaiabers  where  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
Mifjht    come    and    nine    dmes    kuM^    lb 
noddles ! — 
AU  ihiB  my  Quarto  11  prove — ranch  more 
Than  Quarto  ever  prov'd  before: 
In  rcns'ning  with  the  Pml  111  vie, 
My  facia  the  Cotintr  >hall  supply, 
Jly  jokes  V — ns — i,  P — lb  my  stnse. 
And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence  I 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


449 


oapions  hand  its  pow'r  would  fix, 
Ig'd  and  wigg*d  '  at  fifty-six !  ** 

ment*B. quite  new,  jon  see, 
-es  exactly,  Q.  R  D. 
with  duty  to  the  R— a — t, 
ir  Lord, 

Tour  most  obedient. 


P.  F. 


itevil,  Bue  Rivofi, 

pngs — rather  dear  for  me  ; 

>T  said  she  thought  'twould  look 

*  thus  to  date  my  Book ; 

DT*8  right — ^besides,  it  curries 

our  with  our  friends  at  Mcbrat's, 

m  what  any  man  can  say, 

28  firom  Rue  St-Honore  !  - 


LETTER  in. 

L   BOB  FUDGE  TO  RICHARD 


-,  ESQ. 


: !  you  may  talk  of  your  writing  and 
ading, 

gic  and  Greek,  bat  there's  nothing  like 
eding ; 

is  the  place  for  it,  Dicicr,  you  dog, 
ices  on  earth — the  head-quarters  of  Prog! 
England — her  fam'd  Magna  Charta,  I 
rear,  is 

ig,  a  flam,  to  the  Carte*  at  old  Yert'b  ; 
for  your  juries  —  who  would  not  set  o*er 
m 

)f  Tasters,*  with  woodcocks  before  *cm  ? 
RTWRioHT  his  Parliaments,  fresh  every 
:ar; 

s  friends  of  short  Commons  would  never 
>  here; 

RoMiLLT  speak  as  he  will  on  the  question, 
St  of  Law 's  like  the  laws  of  digestion  ! 

y,  Dick,  /  fatten — but  tCimporte  for  that, 
node — your  Legitimates  always  get  fat. 


•  %  fUneM  and  breadth  in  thi«  portrait  of  Royalty, 
m!*  Da  of  wluit  Pliny  aaya.  In  tpeaking  of  Tnjan't  great 
**  BOone  loiifft  lateqvt  Principem  oaten  tant  ?  " 
Qoartcrly  Reriew  for  May,  ISIft.  where  Mr.  Hobhouie 
if  haTiiftK  written  hb  hook  **  in  a  back  ttreet  of  the 
taL" 

<  of  Fare. —  Y^ry,  a  well-known  rcatAnrateur. 
allodea  particularly,  I  premme,  to  the  famoni  Jury 
.  whidi  naed  to  aaMmhle  at  the  Hdtel  of  M.  Grimod 
re.  and  «^  which  thia  modem  Archeatratui  has  giren 
in  hia  Almanach  dea  Oourmanda,  cinqoi^me  ann^ 

ry-laad  of  cookery  and  gotarmamdite :  **Paya,  oh  le 
I  Tiaadca  tontea  cnitca,  et  06,  comma  00  parla,  lea 
Da  Latin,  eoquara.**-  DuekaL 


There's  the  R — g — t,  there's  Louis  —  and  Boket 

tried  too. 
But,     though    somewhat    imperial    in    paunch, 

'twouldn't  do: — 
He  improved,  indeed,  much  in  this  point,  when  he 

wed. 
But  he  ne'er  grew  right  royally  fat  in  the  head. 

Dice:,  Dick,  what  a  place  is  this  Paris !  —  but 

stay- 
As  my  raptures  may  bore  you,  I'll  just  sketch  a 

Bay, 
As  we  pass  it,  myself  and  some  comrades  Fve  got. 
All  thorough-bred  Gnostics,  who  know  what  is 

what. 

After  dreaming  some  hours  of  the  land  of  Co- 

caigne,* 
That  Elysium  of  all  that  is /Hand  and  nice. 
Where  for  hail  they  have  bon-bons,  and  claret  for 

rain. 
And  the  skaiters  in  winter  show  off  on  cretuii-ice; 
Where  so  ready  all  nature  its  cookery  yields. 
Macaroni  au  parmesan  grows  in  the  fields; 
Little  birds  fly  about  with  the  true  pheasant  taint. 
And  the  geese  are  all  bom  with  a  liver  complaint!* 
I  rise — put  on  neck-cloth — stiff,  tight,  as  can  be — 
For  a  lad  who  goes  into  the  world,  Dick,  like  me, 
Should  have  his  neck  tied  up,  you  know  —  there's 

no  doubt  of  it — 
Almost  as  tight  as  some  lads  who  go  out  of  it. 
With  whiskers  well  oird,  and  with  boots  that 

"  hold  up 
"  The  mirror  to  nature  "  so  bright  you  could  sup 
Off  the  leather  like  china;  with  a  coat,  too,  that 

draws 
On  the  tailor,  who  suffers,  a  martyr's  applause  ! 
With  head  bridled  up,  like  a  four-in-hand  leader. 
And  stays  —  deal's  in   them  —  too  tight  for  a 

feeder, 
I  strut  to  the  old  Cafe  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette. 
There,  Dick,  what  a  breakfast !  oh,  not  like  your 

ghost 
Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  curst  tea  and 

toast;' 


*  The  prooeaa  by  which  the  lirer  of  the  nnfortnnate  wocme  ia 
enlarged,  in  order  to  produce  that  rloheat  of  ail  dainties,  the  /om 
grtUn  of  which  such  renowned  pAti*  are  made  at  Strasboure  and 
Toulonse,  ia  thus  described  in  the  Coar*  Oattronomique :  —  "  On 
deplume  I'estomac  des  oiea :  on  attache  entulte  cet  anlmvix  auz 
chenets  d'une  chetnini'e,  et  on  lea  nonrrit  derant  le  fen.  La  cap- 
iivit^  et  la  clialeur  donnent  h  ces  rolatilee  one  maladie  n/-patique, 
qui  fait  mmfler  lenr  foie,"  ftc.  p.  S06. 

7  Is  Mr.  Bob  aware  that  his  contempt  fbr  tea  renders  him  liable 
to  a  charge  of  atheism  f  Such,  at  least,  is  the  opinion  cited  in 
Chri*tian-  FaUtcr.  Amcenitat.  rhilog.  —  "  Atheum  interpretabatnr 
homincm  ad  herb&  The  aTerram."  —  He  would  not,  I  think,  hare 
been  so  irrcTerent  to  this  bcTerace  of  scholars,  if  he  tiad  read  Peter 
Petit' $Totm  In  praise  of  Tea,  addreased  to  the  learned  Buet—w 
the  EiricrMM  vliieh  PtekHmm  wrote  tot  an  altar  he  meant  to 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Id,  joa  dog,  »)i 
n  the  Hnrun,  ai 


'b  eje  TOvei    Siicli  haMl — fit  for  mcmkejs— I'dbftck  k 


id  thence  singles  out 
jual  la  tune  up  the  llirnut. 
or  chickens,  ilono  fn  papillole, 
ell,  drcst  nil  wayii  bnt  pluin, 
—  imagine.  Dice  —  done  with 


csof 


to  dilate— or,  may- 

yon  tnow's  the  pet  tipple  of 

li.  by  Iho  by,  that  legitimate  stickler, 
itc,  but  I'm  nut  «o  puittclar. — 
:xt,  by  prescription :  aiiil  then, 

I'er-fiuling  and  elorioaa  appendix. 

^1  such,  niy  old  Grecinn,  depend  on'l, 

Q  W — TK — MS',  for  lake  of  the  end 

Bfatt-amour,  whieh  one  sips 
id  velvet'  tipp'd  over  one's  lipn. 
Ig  ended,  and  poW /or— (how  oddl 
oa'd  to  paying,  there's  sametliing 

"  out,  and  the  girlj  all  abroad, 
enough  uir'd  for  ai.  Nobs, 


Itho  Bonlevards,  where  — 


To  cnl  nealer  weather-boards  ont  of  bro> 
And  coats — how  1  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  dia 
They'd  club  for  old  Bb— mm- o,  from  ( 

The  eollnr  sticks  out  from  the  neck  socb 
That  yon'd  swear  'twa<  the  plan  of  tl 
lopping  nation, 

To  leave  there  behind  (hem  a  snog  Utile 
For  the  hpad  to  drop  inUi,  on  dccapitd 

Li  short,  wbul  with  mouatebtmks,  count] 

Samt  mummers  by  irade,  and  the  rest  an 

What  with  cnptaiiii  lu  new  Jockcy-booti 

hreechca, 

Old  dustmen  with  swinging  great  opei 

And  Ehneblaeks  reclining  by  elatuei  in  a 

There   never  was   seen   aacb  s  race 

Spraul 

From  the  Bonlevards  —  but  hearken  I— 

The  clock  is  just  striking  Ibe  half'hoiii  ti 
So  HO  more  at  j)re«nt — short  time  for  ad 
My  Day  must  be  finiah'd  some  other  Si 

ing. 
Now,  hey  for  old  BEAirviLLiERg''  larder. 
And,  oiii'e  l/ure,  if  llie  Gudde^  of  Beaulj 
Were  to  ^vrM  "  Tonio  and  ti.=  me.  deal 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


451 


re,  home,  parents,  friends,  I  trace 
fill  mark  of  bondage  and  disgrace! 
ba»  stay,  who  in  their  country's  pangs 
:  but  food  for  factions  and  harangues; 
J  kneel  before  their  masters'  doors, 
their  wrongs,  as  beggars  do  their  sores : 


ir' 


ind  fulFer,  all  who  can ! — but  I, 
nol  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  must  flj. 

r?—  ererywhere  the  scourge  pursues  — 
3  he  will,  the  wretched  wand'rer  views, 
bt,  broken  hopes  of  all  his  race, 
eflections  of  the'  Oppressor's  face, 
re  gallant  hearts,  and  spirits  true, 
up  Tictims  to  the  vile  and  few ; 
5I — d,  everywhere — the  general  foe 
nd  Freedom,  wheresoe'er  they  glow- 
en  tyrants  strike,  to  aid  the  blow. 

-d !  could  such  poor  revenge  atone 
,  that  well  might  claim  the  deadliest  one ; 
engeance,  sweet  enough  to  sate 
1  who  flies  from  thy  intolerant  hate, 
t  curses  on  such  barb'rous  sway 
lere'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  way; — 
»>ntent  him,  every  lip  he  meets 
his  vengeance  with  such  poisonous 
its; 

lis  lux'ry,  never  is  thy  name 
1,  but  he  doth  banquet  on  thy  shame ; 
idictions  ring  from  every  side 
grasping  power,  that  selfish  pride, 
nts  its  own,  and  scorns  all  rights  beside; 
nd  desp'rate  envy,  which  to  blast 
ir*8  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  hast; — 
ter.  Self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd, 
r  lurks  behind  thy  proflfer'd  shield  ;  — 
ess  craft,  which,  in  thy  hour  of  need, 
the  slave,  can  swear  he  shall  be  freed, 
spurns  him,  when  thy  point  is  gain'd, 
\  masters,  ready  gagg'd  and  chain'd  ! 
jociate  of  that  bs^d  of  Kings, 
,  rav'ning  flock,  whose  vampire  wings 
ng  Europe  treacherously  brood, 
*x  into  dreams  of  promis'd  good, 
*  freedom— but  to  drain  her  blood  I 
ear  thee  branded  be  a  bliss 
eance  loves,  there's  yet  more  sweet  than 

an  Irish  head,  an  Irish  heart, 

the  fiill'u  and  tamish'd  thing  thou  art ; 

oed«~*TlM  mflmonr  of  the  deioUtloD.*"~X«o  <^ 

m^t  It  prudent  to  omit  lome  parta  of  Mr.  Fbellm 
.  He  it  evidentlr  an  intcmperato  jroung  man.  and 
iritk  Us  eooiriiii  the  Fndgw  to  Ttry  littto  purpoM. 


That,  as  the  centaur*  gave  the'  infected  vest 
In  which  he  died,  to  nek  his  conqu'ror's  breast. 
We  sent  thee  C  qh  : — as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread. 
So  hath  our  land  breath'd  out,  thy  fame  to  dim. 
Thy  strength  to  waste,  and  rot  thee,  soul  and  limb. 

Her  worst  infections  all  condens'd  in  him ! 

•  •  •  «  * 

YThen  will  the  world  shake  off  such  yokes  ?  oh, 

when 
Will  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men. 
That  shall  behold  them  rise,  erect  and  free 
As  Heav'n  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should  be! 
When  Reason  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 
To  the  vile  pagod  things,  that  o'er  her  brow. 
Like  him  of  Jaghcmaut,  drive  trampling  now; 
Nor  Conquest  dare  to  desolate  God's  earth; 
Nor  drunken  Vict'ry,  with  a  Nero's  mirth. 
Strike  her  lewd  harp  amidst  a  people's  groans; — 
But,  built  on  love,  the  world*s  exalted  thrones 
Shall  to  the  virtuous  and  the  wise  be  given — 
Those  bright,  those  sole  Legitimates  of  Heaven! 


When  will  this  be?~or,  oh!  is  it,  in  truth. 
But  one  of  those  sweet,  day-break  dreams  of  youth. 
In  which  the  Soul,  as  round  her  morning  springs, 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  sees  such  dazzling  things! 
And  must  the  hope,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright. 
Be  all  resign'd? — and  are  they  only  right. 
Who  say  this  world  of  thinking  souls  was  made 
To  be  by  Kings  partition'd,  truck'd,  and  weigh'd 
In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun. 
Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 
Are  ihty  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 
The  rights,  the  freedom  to  which  man  was  bom  ? 
Who      ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

*  *  *  •  • 

Who,  proud  to  kiss  each  sep'rate  rod  of  powV, 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  the  minion  of  the  hour ; 
Worship  each  would-be  God,  that  o'er  them  moves. 
And  take  the  thund'ring  of  his  brass  for  Jote's! 
If  this  be  wisdom,  then  farewell,  my  books. 
Farewell,  ye  shrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brooks. 
Which  fed  my  soul  with  currents,  pure  and  fair. 
Of  living  Truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there  ! — 
Instead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light. 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  immortal  fight 
For  Liberty,  which  once  awak'd  my  strings. 
Welcome  the  Grand  Conspiracy  of  Kings, 
The  High  Legitimates,  the  Holy  Band, 
Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  He  of  Sparta's  land. 
Against  whole  millions  panting  to  be  free, 
Would  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny. 


Membra  et  Htrenleof  torM 
UritlncaNeMea.       .... 
nio,  ill*  Tietonrladtiir. 


flBiiae.  AmL  Ot 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Iff,  St  Ibis  DQhsllonM  nsme, 

Till,  wlicii  worjB  ill-om«Q'il  e 

11  lhc«,  bitterlj  sbuU  tcU, 

—  could    paticBiie    hold  — 
d  and  bnming  where  they  a 


With  mj  bonnet  —  so  benutiful !  —  hi^ 

poking. 
Like  thing*  that  arc  put  (o  kwp  chimin 

■mokiug. 

IVliere  shall  I  begin  nitb  the  endlcic  <tcti| 

Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  monkejs,  and  i 
This  deiir  bnsy  place,  where  there's  nothii 

Bnl  dressing  And  dinncriag.  daocing  md 

Imjirimis,  the  Opera- 
Brother  Bobdt'b 


ftaid  Iic.''<irth 


—  Tm  a.  sad.  nnugbty 
1.  I'm  all  in  a  Im 


"ThiBS.H.Ibet 

'or  I'm  caret  if  each  note  of  it  dw 
through  one  !  " 
Fa  says  (and  you  know,  love,  hu  Book's 

TwHs  the  Jacobins  bronght  cv^^7  mudne 
That  this  passion  for  roaring  has  come  in 
Since  the  mbble  all  tried  for  a  roicf  in  the 
Whu,  a  trightfnl  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'er 

What  a  ehnrns,  dear  Doixi,  would  ao 
loose  of  it. 
If,  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

"   '  ''.e  old  L»ig',  and  chose 


h  of  the  pence  as  their  dn, 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


453 


^en,  the  music — so  softly  its  cadences  die, 
» diTinelj^-oh  Dollt!  between  yon  and  I, 
8  as  well  for  my  peace  that  there's  nobody  nigh 
>  make  love  to  me  then — you've  a  soul,  and  can 

judge 
list  a  crisis  'twould  be  for  your  friend  Biddt 

Fui>OB ! 


le  next  place  (which  Bobbt  has  near  lost  his 

heart  in) 
ley  call  it  the  Play-House — I  think — of  St. 

liartin;* 
lite  charming — and  very  religious— what  folly 
>  say  that  the  French  are  not  pious,  dear  Dollt, 
lien  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  rightly, 
lie  Testament  tum'd  into  melo-drames  nightly;' 
nd,  doubtless,  so  fond  they're  of  scriptural  facts, 
iiey  win  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 
ere  Daitxkl,  in  pantomime,'  bids  bold  defiance 
9  Nkbdchadkbzzab  and  all  his  stuff 'd  lions, 
liile  pretty  young  Israelites  dance  round  the 

Prophet, 
1  very  thin  clothing,  and  but  little  of  it; — 
ere  B^oiuin),^  who  shines  in  this  scriptural  path. 
As  the  lovely  Suzanna,  without  ev'n  a  relic 
f  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 
In  a  manner  that.  Bob  says,  is  quite  Eve^angelic  ! 
at  in  short,  dear,  'twould  take  me  a  month  to  recite 
H  the  exquisite  places  we're  at  day  and  night; 
nd,  besides,  ere  I  finish,  I  think  you*ll  be  glad 
Dst  to  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  had. 

ast  night,  at  the  Beaujon,*  a  place  where — I 

doubt 
fits  charms  I  can  paint — there  are  cars,  that  set  out 
'^om  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air, 
bid  rattle  you  down,  Doll  —  yon  hardly  know 

where. 
rWK  vehicles,  mind  me,  in  which  you  go  through 
niis  delightfully  dangerous  journey  hold  two. 
Bone  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  whether 
Toull  venture  down  with  him — you  smile — ^'tis 

a  match ; 
QiD  instant  you're  seated,  and  down  both  together 
6o  thand'ring,  as  if  you  went  post  to  Old  Scratch  I' 

'  tkt  TWMkn  di  \%  Vatit  St-Martfn.  which  vu  bnilt  when  the 
ia  the  Palais  Roymlwulmnit  down.  Ill  1781.  — Afew 


taftcr  tUa  draadfbl  flre.  which  lasted  more  than  a  week,  and 
^Ueh  aevwml  pcraooa  pcriihed,  the  Paridan  iUgantcM  displayed 
^a-«aloai«d  dreaaea,  **ooaleiir  de  fen  d'Op^ni  1 "  —  ZHttovre, 

*  Tlw  Old  TeatamenV*  says  the  theatrical  Critic  in  the  Gazette 
l^naea.  **  Is  a  mine  of  gold  for  the  managers  of  our  small  plsjr- 
^■a.  A  Binltitade  crowd  ronnd  the  ThMtre  de  la  Qaiet^  every 
9rfi«  to  aea  the  Paasacc  of  the  Bed  Sea." 
«tiha  pbj-Mll  of  one  of  theae  sacred  melo-drames  at  Vienna  we 
|*>TlM  Voiee  of  O-d.  hjr  If .  Schwartz." 

▲  liaet  rtrj  popular  last  year,  eUled  "  Daniel,  on  La  Fosse  aux 
■a."   thtt  fiiUowing  scene  will  glTc  an  idea  of  the  daring  sub- 
ScrlptanJ  pantomimes.    "^iohMlO.— La  foumalse 
da  nwaiea  amrta,  an  fand  dngnel  est  mi  groupe 


Well,  it  was  but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and  remarked 
On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls  who  em- 

bark'd. 
The  impatience  of  some  for  the  perilous  flight, 
The  forc'd  giggle  of  others,  'twixt  pleasure  and 

fright, — 
That  there  came  up— imagine,  dear  Doll,  if  you 

can 
A  fine  sallow,  sublime,  sort  of  Werter-fac'd  man. 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so  oft) 
The  dear  Corsair  expression,  half  savage,  half 

soft, 
As  Hysenas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  something  between  Abelaro  and  old  Blucher  ! 
Up  he  came,  Doll,  to  me,  and,  uncov'ring  his 

head, 
(Rather  bald,  but  so  warlike!)  in  bad  English  said, 
"Ah!  my  dear — if  Ma'mselle    vil  be   so  very 

good  — 
Just  for  von  littel  course  " — though  I  scarce  un- 
derstood 
What  he  wish'd  me  to  do,  I  said,  thank  him,  I 

would. 
Off  we  set  —  and  though  faith,  dear,   I  hardly 

knew  whether 
My  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost  then, 
For  'twas  like  heav'n  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming 

together,  — 
Yet,  spite  of  the  danger,  we  dar'd  it  again. 
And  oh !  as  I  gaz'd  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  for  me  all  this  peril  defied, 
I  could  fancy  almost  he  and  I  were  a  pair 

Of  imhappy  young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by  side. 
Were  taking,  instead  of  rope,  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
Desperate  dash  down  the  falls  of  Niagara  I 

This  achiev'd,  through  the  gardens'  we  saunter'd 
about. 
Saw  the  fire-works,  exclaim'd  "magnifiquel" 
at  each  cracker. 
And  when  'twas  all  o'er,  the  dear  man  saw  us  out 
With  the  air,  I  will  say,  of  a  Prince,  to  our 
fiacre. 
Now,  hear  me  —  this  stranger  —  it  may  be  mere 

folly  — 
But  who  do  you  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dolly? 

de  nnages  plus  lumlnenx,  et  an  mllien  *  Jehovah  *  au  centre  d'nn 
cercle  de  rayons  brillans,  qui  annonoe  la  prince  de  1'  if  temel." 

4  MadameB^frrand.alnely-formed woman, whoactsin^Sttsanna 
and  the  Elders,"—"  L' Amour  et  la  FoUe,"  *c.  ftc 

*  The  Promenades  Ai^riennes,  or  French  Mountains.  —  See  a  de- 
scription of  this  siniralar  and  fantastic  place  of  amusement  in  a 
pamphlet,  truly  worthy  of  it,  by  "F.  F.  Cottercl,  Medecln,  Docteur 
de  la  Faculty  de  Paris,"  ftc  ftc. 

a  According  to  Dr.  Cotterel,  the  ears  go  at  the  rate  of  f<^y-eight 
miles  an  hour. 

7  In  the  Caf^  attached  to  these  gardens  there  arc  to  be  (as  Doctor 
(Totterel  informs  us)  "donze  ntgres,  trH-alertes,  qui  contrasteront 
par  IVb^ne  de  leur  peau  arec  le  tcint  de  lis  et  de  roses  de  nos  belles. 
Les  glaces  et  les  sorbets,  servis  par  une  main  blen  noire,  fttra  davan- 
taga  rcaaortir  ralbAtra  das  teas  arnndia  de  oelk»-cL"— p.  tS. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


455 


was  thought  extremely  good, 

T  him)  was  imderstood  — 

Irank  *•  The  R— o— t*8  Ears," 

imes  three  illastrious  cheers, 

ule  the  room  resoond  like  thunder  — 

— t'8  Ears,  and  may  he  ne'er 

ish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

ly  wi^  to  keep  them  under  I "  ^ 

It  our  old  friends,  the  Whigs 

merry  all  as  grigs. 

I  thank  you  not  to  mention 

igs  again),  we  get  on  gaily; 

t  to  pension  and  Suspension, 

club  increases  daily. 

i  Oliter,  and  such, 

18  yet  full  salary  touch, 

eir  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 

lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 

m*t  rank  with  us,  talvatora^ 

serre  the  Club  as  waiters. 

;s,  too,  we've  our  colletr  days, 

wn,  an  awkward  phrase,) 

ir  new  costume  adom'd,  — 

-t's  buff  and  blue  coats  tum*d  — 

I  honour  to  give  dinners 

ief  Rats  in  upper  stations;' 

-T8,  V ^NS, — half-fledg'd  sinners, 

ne  us  by  their  imitations; 

tis  true  —  but  what  of  that? 

;  yxacfuX peaching  Rat; 

18  mute  as  Punch,  when  bought, 

ien  heads  are  all  they've  brought ; 

mough  to  shirk  their  friends, 

lint-hearted  to  betray, 

U  their  twists  and  bends, 

in  Limbo,  damn'd  half  way. 

lobler  vermin  are  — 

ful  as  we're  rare; 

le  things  miraculous 

your  natural  histories  brag, 

nust  be  Rats  like  us, 

he  cat  out  of  the  hag. 

se  Tyros  in  the  cause 

)wn,  no  small  applause; 

!  by  us  receiv'd  and  treated 

e  honours  —  only  seated 

ndcr  vlga,  but  tianw,  that  King  MIdM  cndeaTonrcd 
•lipcndaciM : 

orm  punmrcia  tentot  Telmre  tiaris.— Orro. 

•  of  the  toMt,  however,  had  evidently,  with  hit  Qsnal 

andcd  Kinc  MidM,  Mr.  Liston,  and  the  P         e 

r. 

ind  hia  ftfenda  ought  to  go  by  thia  name— a*  the 

I  jmn  lince,  laved  the  late  Right  Hon.  George  Roae 

wae  ever  after  called  SalvaUir  Rota. 

ej  between  the  Rata  and  Infbrmen  ia  Jnat  aa  it 

rtdulee  aodalitium." 

p.  during  one  of  the  batieat  perioda  of  hia  Ministerial 

MMia  three  ttmea  a  weelc  ftom  a  celebrated  mnaic- 


two  propenaitiea  of  the  NoUe  Lord  wonld 
that  andent  people  of  Etmria,  who,  aa 


M 


In  the'  inverse  scale  of  their  reward. 
The  merely  promised  next  my  Lord; 
Small  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down. 

Rat  after  rat,  they  graduate 
Through  job,  red  ribl^n,  and  silk  gown. 

To  Chanc'Uorship  and  Marquisate. 
This  serves  to  nurse  the  ratting  spirit; 
The  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  merit. 

Our  music's  good,  you  may  be  sure; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur^  — 
Takes  every  part  with  perfect  ease. 

Though  to  the  Base  by  nature  suited ; 
And,  form'd  for  all,  as  best  may  please. 
For  whips  and  bolts,  or  chords  and  keys, 
Turns  from  his  victims  to  his  glees, 

And  has  them  both  well  executed,* 
H-^— T D,  who,  though  no  Rat  himself. 

Delights  in  all  such  liberal  arts. 
Drinks  largely  to  the  House  of  Guelph, 
And  superintends  the  Corni  parts. 
While  C — KN— o*,  who'd  he  first  by  choice. 
Consents  to  take  an  under  voice; 
And  Gb — v — 8 ',  who  well  that  signal  knows, 
Watches  the  Volti  subitae* 

In  short,  as  I've  already  hinted. 

We  take,  of  late,  prodigiously; 
Bat  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  stinted 

For  Gentlemen^  like  Tom  and  me. 
We'll  take  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 
A  few  Squireens*  from  t'other  side;  — 
Some  of  those  loyal,  canning  elves 

(We  often  tell  the  tale  with  laughter), 
Who  usM  to  hide  the  pikes  themselves. 

Then  hang  the  fools  who  found  them  after. 
I  doubt  not  you  could  find  us,  too. 
Some  Orange  Parsons  that  might  do; 
Among  the  rest,  we've  heard  of  one. 
The  Reverend — something — Hamilton, 
Who  stuff'd  a  figure  of  himself 

(Delicious  thought !)  and  had  it  shot  at. 
To  bring  some  Papists  to  the  shelf. 

That  couldn't  otherwise  be  got  at — 
If  Ae'll  but  join  the  Association, 
We'll  vote  him  in  by  acclamation. 

Arlatotle  tella  oa,  need  to  whip  their  alarea  once  a  year  to  the  aoimd 
of  flutea  1 

•  Thia  Right  Hon.  Oentleman  onght  to  gire  np  hia  preaent  al- 
liance with  Lord  C,  if  upon  no  other  principle  than  that  which  ia 
inculcated  in  the  following  arrangement  between  two  Ladiea  at 
Faahlont  — 

Say*  Clarinda,  **  though  teara  it  may  coat. 
It  ia  time  we  ahould  part,  my  dear  Sue  i 

For  votr  character'a  totally  loat. 
And  /  have  not  aufBcient  for  two  I  ** 

V  The  rapidity  of  thia  Noble  Lord'a  tranaft>rmation,  at  the  aame 
inatant,  into  a  Lord  of  the  Bed-chamber  and  an  opponent  of  the 
Catholic  Claima,  waa  truly  miraculoua. 

■  Tmii  diatoMll^— a  fSreqnent  direction  in  mwie-bookai 

•  The  Iriah  diminntiv*  otSqmkt, 


MOORE'S  WOEKS. 


«■  brolhcr,  guirtp,  and  friend, 
jat  tedious  Bcraivl  must  vuU. 
L>  Ihia  long  di'luil. 
Bnw  your  nerves  wore  ghakco 
[9  fean  lest  I  should  Jul 
r,  toi/al,  course  I've  taken, 
ir  hBHrt!  joo  need  not  donbt — 
'     in  what  we're  about. 

k  thriving  famllj. 
t,  the  Doctor —  night  and  <lay 
luf  jialienis  so  besiege  him, 
Ithat  all  tbe  rich  and  piy 
Hn  purpoae  In  oblige  bim. 
Titiy  thinlt,  the  prpcious  ninnies, 
■ing  o'er  lhi;ir  pulse  so  steady, 
]t  rauiits  bovr  many  guiacae 
J,  for  that  day's  wort  already. 
:t  llio'  old  maid's  alarm. 
.f:  thus  Miss  Sukey  Flirt,  lie 
ipp'd  hor  shriveU'd  nrm, 
,d  this  morning — only  thirty  T' 


?r  yoar  ailmems  arc, 
.mprtlyeiplninye'em  — 


Wliich,  tbotigh  ronspienoiu  in  thy  yoi 

Im])ruvpE  to  with  a  wig  and  haDd  01 
That  all  tliir  pride's  to  wnyhiy  Truth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leif  to  stand  on 
Thy  patent,  prime  morality,— 

Thy  CBses.  cited  from  the  Bible — 
Thy  eandour,  when  it  falls  to  tliee 

'To  help  in  ironucing  for  ■  libel;  — 
"  God  koowB,  I,  fVom  my  soul,  iH^ea 

"  To  hate  all  bigw  and  benighun ! 
"  God  knows,  1  love,  to  ev'o  excess, 
"  The  sacred  Freedom  of  the  Pre*!. 

"My  only  aim's  lo — crush  the  wrili 
These  are  the  virtues,  Tim,  that  draw 

The  brieft!  into  thy  bag  so  UM; 
And  iheee.  oh  Tiu — if  Law  be  Law- 
Will  raise  ihee  10  the  Bench  at  1«L 

I  blush  lo  see  tbis  letter's  len^  — 

But  'twas  mj  wish  to  prorc  to  thee 
How  fiill  of  hope,  and  weattb,  and  Mre 

Are  hU  out  jiredous  family. 
And,  Ehould  affairs  go  on  a«  pleaaani 
As,  Ibank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  picM&< 
Should  we  but  still  enjoy  tbe  sway 

Of  S— DM— a  and  of  C  aa, 

I  hope,  ere  long,  lo  see  the  day 
Whan  Engbmd's  wisepl  statesmen,  jod 
Lflwyers,  peeri,  will  all  bo  —  Ft!l«iEs! 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


457 


yt  hope,  in  that  triumphant  time, 
ircha,  after  yean  of  spoil  and  crime, 
the  shrine  of  Peace,  and  HeaVn  look'd 

»t  hope  the  lost  of  spoil  was  gone; 
Kpocioos  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
>f  Pihiitz  o'er  so  oft,  was  liud; 
e's  Bolers,  conscious  of  the  past, 
h,  and  deviate  into  right  at  last? 
le  hearts,  that  nnrs'd  a  hope  so  fair, 
learn  what  men  on  thrones  can  dare; 
know,  of  all  earth's  rar'ning  things, 
lite  nntameable  are  Kings! 
thej  met  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
;  of  their  race  broke  out  anew; 
"eaties,  charters,  all  were  vain, 
ne!  rapine!"  was  the  crj  again. 
they  ouVd  their  victims,  and  how  well, 
,  let  injnr*d  €renoa  tell; — 
luman  stock  that,  day  by  day, 
t  Boyal  slave-mart,  truck'd  away,— 
souls  that,  in  the  face  of  heaven, 

0  fractions ',  bartered,  sold,  or  given 
me  despot  Power,  too  huge  before, 
lown  Europe  with  one  Mammoth  more. 
te  faith  of  Kings  let  France  decide; — 

broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried;  — 
Qthrall'd — her  Reason  mock'd  again 
i  monkery  it  had  spuru'd  in  vain; 
lisgrac'd  by  one,  who  dar'd  to  own 
not  France  but  England  for  his  throne; 
18  cast  into  the  shade  by  those, 
x)wn  old  among  her  bitterest  foes, 
tum'd,  beneath  her  conqu'rors'  shields, 
slaves!  to  claim  her  heroes'  fields; 
wn  ev'ry  trophy  of  her  fame, 
hat  glory  which  to  them  was  shame! — 
let  all  the  danming  deeds,  that  then 
through  Europe,  cry  aloud  to  men, 
like  that  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
no  huts,  the  perfidy  of  Kings; 
world,  when  hawks  shall  harmless  bear 
ig  dove,  when  wolves  shall  learn  to  spare 

1  victim  for  whose  blood  they  lusted, 
den  only,  monarchs  may  be  trusted. 

last— these  horrors  could  not  last — 
Id  herself  have  ris'n,  in  might,  to  cast 
n  off — and  oh!  that  then,  as  now 
ome  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 
le'er  had  come  to  force,  to  blight, 
tur'd,  a  cause  so  proudly  bright  ;— 
triot  arts  with  doubt  and  shame, 
n  Freedom's  flag  a  despot's  name ;  — 


WW  neoiutnictinc  Enrape— not  ac- 
■IHaneai,  language,  habiU,  or  lawi  i  bat 

wbidi  diTidcd  and  labdiTidad  ber  population 
tmyVaeCiofM,  aooordlns  to  a  nale  of  the 

vUcb  ooold  be  Itrled  bar  thaaeqnlfing  itatet" 


To  rush  into  the  lists,  unask'd,  alone, 
And  make  the  stake  of  ali  the  game  of  one! 
Then  would  the  world  have  seen  again  what  pow*r 
A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour ; 
Then  would  ^e  fire  of  France  once  more  haTe 

bkz'd  ;— 
For  every  single  sword,  reluctant  rais'd 
In  the  stale  cause  of  an  oppressive  throne. 
Millions  would  then  have  leap'd  forth  in  her  own; 
And  never,  never  had  the'  unholy  stain 
Of  Bourbon  feet  disgrac'd  her  shores  again. 

But  fate  decreed  not  so — the'  Imperial  Bird, 
That,  in  his  neighbouring  cage,  unfear'd,  unstirr'd. 
Had  seem'd  to  sleep  with  hc^  beneath  his  wing, 
Tet  watoh'd  the  moment  for  a  daring  spring  ;-— 
Well  might  he  watch,  when  deeds  were  done,  that 

imule 
His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shade; 
Well  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  trampled  o*er 
By  clumsy  tyrants,  would  be  his  once  more:— 
Forth  from  his  cage  the  eagle  burst  to  light. 
From  steeple  on  to  steeple  ^  wing'd  his  flight. 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  to  that  throne 
From  which  a  Boyal  craven  just  had  flown; 
And  resting  there,  as  in  his  aerie,  furl'd 
Those  wings,  whose  very  rustling  shook  the  world! 

What  was  your  fury  then,  ye  crown'd  array. 
Whose  feast  of  spoil,  whose  plund'ring  holiday 
Was  thus  broke  up,  in  all  its  greedy  mirth. 
By  one  bold  chieftain's  stamp  on  Gallic  earth! 
Fierce  was  the  cry,  and  fulminant  the  ban, — 
"  Assassinate,  who  will— enchain,  who  can, 
"  The  vile,  the  faithless,  outlaw'd,  low-bom  man !" 
**  Faithless !  ** — and  this  from  you — from  you^  for- 
sooth, 
Te  pious  Kings,  pure  paragons  of  truth, 
Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried ; 
Whose  true  Swiss  zeal  had  serv'd  on  every  side  ; 
Whose  fame  for  breaking  faith  so  long  was  known. 
Well  might  ye  claim  the  craft  as  all  your  own. 
And  lash  your  lordly  tails,  and  fume  to  see 
Such  low-bom  apes  of  Boyal  perfidy! 
Yes — ^yes— to  you  alone  did  it  belong 
To  sin  for  ever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong. — 
The  frauds,  the  lies  of  Lords  legitimate 
Are  but  fine  policy,  deep  strokes  of  state; 
But  let  some  upstart  dare  to  soar  so  high 
In  Kingly  craft,  and  "outlaw  "  is  the  cry! 
What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 
Had  peopled  full  your  diplomatic  shelves 
With  ghosts  of  treaties,  murder'd  'mong  your- 
selves; 

ke^  8kettA<^  the  inUtary  amd  PoiUieal  Power  itfRuttta.   The 
worda  on  the  protocol  are  dmw,  <iMi*-dme«,  ftc 

t  **  L*aicle  volera  de  cloeher  en  elocher,  Jaaan'aax  toon  de 
Notn-Dame.**—  Napdaon*!  Frodamatfcm  on  landing  ftom  Xlba. 

MM  ^^ 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Icb  bif  turns  was  kunve  and  dupe  — 
^then? 

c  woald  pel  all  Blraight  agajn  ; 
irtne,  which  u  dip  ot  two 
u'd  fountain  mode  u  good  ns  new  t' 
n — tuthful  u>  whoe'er 
^r  beet,  and  give  him  amplKst  ihars; 
:n  vanqnisli'd,  snre  (o  gain  bin  eniU, 
_,  K«  to  rob,  made  free  witli_/Hma!»,' 
aing  Etill  by  amiable  gradalions, 
ere  Biripc  of  all,  then  fleec'd  relations! ' 
id  saiiitlj- Fruseia — ste«p'd  tolhe'ears 
d  Potand'i  blood  and  tears, 
with  all  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
a  Saxony's  deioled  head  I 
J-ia  loo — whose  hiw'ty  nonght  irpeats 
I  leagaea  and  sabsidiz'd  defeats; 

IS  Prinee,  eJttinguish'd  Veniee  shows, 

AS  man,  u  widow'd  dangbtcr  kcowal 

I  oh  England  —  who,  though  once  as 

aids,  of  ehamo  or  perfidy, 

IB,  and,  tlinnks  to  C OB, 

rat  aud  falacal  lead'sl  tho  way  1 


Its,  who  dooio'd  Sat 


LETTEK  VUL 


Deab  Dick,  while  old  Dokaldsoh'b' 

Wliich   I  Jmeto  would  go  smash  wii 

And,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full 
We  lads  bad  begun  otir  dessert  with 
Of  neat  old  ConsIaDtiB.  On  aai  leanic 
Joal  to  order  another,  by  Jove  I  wet 
Or.  R»  honest  Ton  said,  in  his  naotii 
"  D— n  my  eyes.  Bob,  in  doubling  A 

misa^d  alaj/a."  * 
So,  of  conise,  as  do  gcntlenuui's  see: 

They're  now  at  ibe  Schneider's '— «e 

abonl  them, 
Here  goes  for  a  letter,  posl-bnslc,  ne 
l«l  us  sec — in  my  lost  I  was — when 
Oh.  I  know — nt  the  Boulevards,  as  au 
Man  erer  would  wish  a  dav's  Iodi 
With  its  cafi>s  and  garden^',  hotels  a: 


lu    ff.u 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


459 


>  wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are  curling, 
ed  canant-jnice  *  round  them  are 


i  in  arm  as  we  chattering  stray, 

w  dvil  **God-dem8  "  by  the  way, — 

hese  moonseers,  —  though  we've 

ir  wealth 

igth,  till  weVe  thrown  oorselyee 

Khisic, 

heir  throats  an  old  King  for  their 

ttle  children  to  make  them  take 

i^ood-natnr'd  money  and  slaughter, 
Beelaebob  hates  holy-water ! 
ice  cares,  Digk,  as  long  as  they 

IS 

md  good  cookery  flourishes — 
'nets  protected,  we,  Natties, 
ill  fling  at  their  tabms  and  pdUtf 
trays  dedar'd  'twould  be  pity 
ground  such  a  choice-feeding  city. 
s  way,  he'd  have  long  ago  blown 
I  to  old  Nick — and  the  people,  I 

nse  than  their  curst  monkey  looks, 
dow-np — ^bnt  then,  damn  it,  their 

md  Statesmen,  and  all  their  whole 

r  care,  you  may  knock  them  to 

their  Cooks — ^what  a  loss  to  man- 

the  world  would  their  art  leave 

ster   spits  — their   intense   sala- 

heir  pots,  that  can  soften   old 

ever—  their  miracles  o'er, 

e  Perp^tueile*  bubbling  no  more! 

it,  ye  Holy  Allies! 

r  ye  fancy  —  take  statues,  take 

oh  leave  them,  their  Ferigueux 

)  goose-livers,  and  high   pickled 


elbmiUhM,  from  wMeh  the  gwwdlle  water  !■ 
DC  the  nKwt  dianicterifltic  onumento  of  the 

tm  M  annite  PerpftoeUe,  tor  le  fta  depuis 
i  doonC  la  jour  ii  pins  de  300,000  chapona." — 
U  Qoatriime  Annte,  p.  IfiS. 
(ma  of  the  moat  fSnToorite  and  faidigeatible 
Bah  ia  taken  chiefly  fai  the  Oolfb  de  Lyon. 
tai  ventre  toot  lei  parties  lea  ploa  recherchfet 
I  Chattromomiqmet  p.  JUL 


Though  many,  I  own,  are  the  evils  they've  brought 
us. 

Though  Royalty's  here  on  her  veiy  last  legs, 
Tet,  who  can  help  loving  the  land  that  has  taught  us 

^JL  hundred  and  eighty-five  ways  to  dress  eggs?* 


You  see,  Dick,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  <*  God-dam," 
**Coquin  Anglais,"  et  caet'ra — how  gen'rous  I 

am! 
And  now  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  **  Day," 
Which  will  take  us  all  night  to  get  through  in  this 

way,) 
From  the  Boulevards  we  saunter  through  many  a 

street, 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives — 'mine,  all  very  neat — 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  political  fops. 
And  find  twice  as  much  fun  in  the  Signs  of  the 

Shops; — 
Here,  a  Louis  Dix-huit — there,  a  Martinmas  goose, 
(Much  in  vogue  since  your  eagles  are  gone  out  of 

use)  — 
Henri  Qnatres  in  shoals,  and  of  Gods  a  great 

many. 
But  Saints  are  the  most  on  hard  duty  of  any: — 
St.  ToNT,  who  us'd  all  temptations  to  spurn. 
Here  hangs  o'er  a  beer-shop,  and  tempts  in  his 

turn; 
While  there  St  Ybnegia'  sits  hemming  and  firilling 

her 
Holy  nunichoir  o*er  the  door  of  some  milliner;— 
Saint  Austin's  the  **  outward  and  visible  sign 
'^  Of  an  inward  "  cheap  dinner,  and  pint  of  small 

wine; 
While  St.  Dents  hangs  out  o'er  some  hatter  of 

ton. 
And  possessing,  good  bishop,  no  head  of  his  own,' 
Takes  an  int'rest  in  Dandies,  who've  got — next  to 

none! 
Then  we  stare  into  shops -^  read  the  evening's 

affiches — 
Or,  if  some,  who're  Lotharios  in  feeding,  should 

wish 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon,  (a  devilish  bad  trick. 
As  it  takes  off  the  bloom  of  one's  appetite,  Dick), 
To  the  Pauage  dee — what  d'ye  call't — des  Pano- 

ramus'' 
We  quicken  our  pace,  and  there  heartily  cram  as 
Seducing  young  p&U»,  as  ever  could  cozen 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  down  by  the  dozen. 


4  The  ezaet  number  mentioned  by  Bf<  de  la  Bfeynttre  — **0b 
eonnoit  en  France  M6  manttrea  diiBtrentea  d'aooommoder  lei  moSk  % 
■ana  compter  oellei  que  noa  aavanf  imaginent  chaqnejonr.'* 

>  Veronica,  the  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerdilcf,  la  alio,  nndcr 
the  name  of  Veniaw  or  Veneda,  the  tutelary  aalnt  of  milliners. 

*  St.  Denyi  walked  three  miles  after  his  head  was  eat  off.  The 
aiot  of  a  woman  of  wit  upon  this  legend  is  well  known :  _**  Je  la 
crols  bien  t  en  pareil  eaa,  il  n*y  a  <|iie  le  premier  paa  qui  eoote.** 

V  Off  the  Bonlenuida  ItaUcaa. 

MM  2 


MOOSE'S  WORKS. 


tigt,  who  bring*  oul,  like  So — tt, 
nroducuuna  so  quick,  hot  uid  bot; 
■or  the  (xquiaite  commeul  that  fol- 

liino,  whidi — Lord,  how  one  sw&l- 


!r  forth  ftftar  oi 


snack. 


Thiu  epocb but  wobI  mj  Ixi — ben 

Schneiiler, 
Anil,  curse  hull,  baa  mode  tbe  sus%  tfai 

wilier  — 
Too  wide  by  an  inrh  and  *■  half — whsl 
But,  no  niali«r — 'twill  nil  bo  «ei  righi  b 
As  we're Mjksstaor's'eloqiieatcarU toe 
An  inch  and  a  hall's  but  a  trifle  to  fill  n 
So  —  not  to  lose  lime,  Dick — bsi«  go 


■3  for  Ihe  price  of  nfiacrt, 
o  thfl  sld  Muntagnea  Rnsiw, 
twirls  in  the  cor  of  much  lue 
le  hun|i;er  and  thint  of  na  sinners, 
to  snacks — the  perdition  of  dinners. 
— iu  answer  to  one  of  jour  queries, 
1  we,  Gonmiands,  iuve  had  maiih 

se  mountains,  Swisn,  Frencb,  and 

ir  digalan',  there's  none  lilce  the 


■*  Da  lit  1 U  table,  de  la  table  HI  lit! " 


LETTER  IX. 

FSOH  Fim-  FCDGB,  ZSH,  TO   THS    LORD 

Mr  Lnrd,  the'  Instmcdons,  hroDght  to-< 
"1  shall  in  all  hit  boat  obejr." 
Your  Lordsbiji  talks  and  writca  »a  aeui 
And  — whatsoe'er  some  wags  ma;  ttj  - 
OhI  not  at  all  incomprehensibly'. 


—  take   oSd   L — B 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


461 


y  Lord — there's  none  can  do 

f  English  things  like  yon; 

le  schemes  th^  fill  thy  breast 

but  a  Tent  congenial  seek, 

the  tongue  that  snits  them  best, 

charming  Turkish  wouldst  thou  speak! 

<r  me,  a  Frenchless  grub, 

ogress  neyer  bom  to  8tanm[ier, 

1  like  thee,  my  Lord,  to  snub 

lionarchs,  out  of  Chambaud's  grammar — 

1,  you  do  not,  cannot  know 

a  little  French  will  go; 

ne's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

ne  half-dozen  words  like  these  — 

%  — par-Id — Id'baa — ah  ha  I 

1  take  you  all  through  France  with  ease. 

rdship's  praises  of  the  scraps 
you  from  my  Journal  lately, 
ting  a  few  lac'd  caps 
idy  C.)  delight  me  greatly, 
•ring  speech — "what  pretty  things 
finds  in  Mr.  Fudge's  pages!" 
which  (as  some  poet  sings) 
.  pay  one  for  the  toils  of  ages. 

ter'd,  I  presume  to  send 

ore  extracts  by  a  fHend; 

ould  hope  they'll  be  no  less 

L  of  than  my  last  MS. — 

ler  ones,  I  fear,  were  creas'd, 

3DT  round  the  caps  toould  pin  them! 

i  will  come  to  hand,  at  least 

ipled,  for  there's  nothing  in  them. 


tfrom  Mr,  Fvdge*s  Journal,  addressed  to 

Lord  a 

Ang.  10. 

the  Mad-house — saw  the  man,* 
hinks,  poor  wretch,  that,  while  the  Fiend 
rd  here  full  riot  ran, 
Le  the  rest,  was  guiUodn'd; — • 
when,  under  Bonet's  reign, 
ire  discreet,  though  quite  as  strong  one,) 
la  were  all  restor'd  again, 
the  scramble,  got  a  wrong  one. 
iglj,  he  still  cries  out 
trange  head  fits  him  most  unpleasantly; 
aya  runs,  poor  devil,  about, 
^  for  his  own  incessantly. 

hifl  case  a  tear  I  dropt, 
mnter'd  home,  thought  I — ye  Gods! 


nwdniOT  b,  I  bellere,  in  the  Bicdtre.  He 
rntHj  M  Mr.  Fndice  itotct  it,  that,  when  the  heads  of 
ad  been  colllotinied  were  rcetored,  he  hy  mistake  got 
I'a  faiatcad  of  hie  own. 


I 


»> 


How  many  heads  might  thus  be  swopp'd. 

And,  after  all,  not  make  much  odds! 
For  instance,  there's  V— s — tt — t's  head  — 
("  Tam  car  urn***  it  may  well  be  said) 
If  by  some  curious  chance  it  came 

To  settle  on  Btll  Soajces'b  *  shoulders. 
The'  effect  would  turn  out  much  the  same 

On  all  respectable  cash-holders: 
Except  that  while,  in  its  new  socket, 

The  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win 
A  zig-zag  way  into  one's  pocket, 

The  hands  would  plunge  direcUy  in. 

Good  Viscount  S — dm— h,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave,  respected  head, 
Might  wear  (for  aught  I  see  that  bars) 

Old  Lady  Wilhelmina  Frump's — 
So  while  the  hand  sign'd  Circulars, 

The  head  might  lisp  out,  **  What  is  trumps? 
The  R — G — t's  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  man-milliner. 
The  shop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  ribbon 
Would  go,  I  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on; 
And,  vice  versa,  take  the  pains 
To  give  the  P — cb  the  shopman's  brains. 
One  only  change  from  thence  would  flow, 
Ribbons  would  not  be  wasted  so. 

'Twas  thus  I  ponder'd  on,  my  Lord  \ 

And,  ev'n  at  night,  when  laid  in  bed, 
I  found  myself  before  I  snor'd. 

Thus  chopping,  swopping  head  for  head, 
At  length  I  tiiought,  fantastic  elf  1 
How  such  a  change  would  suit  myself, 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one, 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled, 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  on. 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled  — 
Forgot  all  other  heads,  od  rot  *em  I 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  I  was — Bottom. 


Ane.  SI. 

Walk'd  out  with  daughter  Bid  —  was  shown 
The  house  of  Commons,  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion's  just  the  same* 
Napoleon  sat  on — what  a  shame! 
Oh,  can  we  wonder,  best  of  speechers, 

When  Louis  seated  thus  we  see. 
That  France's  **  fundamental  features  " 

Are  much  the  same  they  us'd  to  be? 
However, —  God  preserve  the  Throne, 

And  cushion  too — and  keep  them  f^ 

*  A  oelebrated  pickpocket. 

4  The  only  change,  if  I  recoUeet  right,  ie  the  enbetitntion  of 
lilies  for  bees.  This  war  upon  the  bees  is,  of  cootm,  unireraal  i 
**  exitluni  mis^re  airihns,"  like  the  angry  nymphs  in  Vlxgil :  — 
bat  may  not  netr  swaniM  arise  out  of  the  vietiBwitf  LegltiBaay  ytk  r 

M  M  3 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


463 


m,  cut  op,  or  broke 

be  wheel — a  devilish  fair  one! 

imon  fractures,  wounds,  and  fits, 

ng  to  snch  wholesale  wits; 

le  sofPYer  gasp  for  life, 

ze  is  then  worth  any  money; 

B  writhe  beneath  a  knifie, — 

r,  that's  something  quite  too  funny. 

spect,  mj  Lord,  you  see 

an  wag  and  ours  agree: 

>  your  resemblance — mum— 
ixvUel  we  need  not  follow ;  > 
da,  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 
fordship  beats  Tibebius  hollow; 

uuns  —  but  these  are  things  too  serioos, 

to  mention  or  discuss; 

jour  Lordship  acts  TmssnTB, 
ruDOB's  part  is  Tacitual 

dng^  had  Lord  S — dm — th  got 

I  decent  sort  of  Plot 

he  winter-time  —  if  not, 

,,  our  ruin's  fated; 

np,  and  tpiflicated! 

and  all  their  rassals, 

m  C — XL OH  to  Cabtlbb, — 

s  can  kick  up  a  riot, 
hope  for  peace  or  quiet ! 

>  be  done? — Spa-Fields  was  clever; 
m  thai  brought  gibes  and  mockings 

heads — so,  mem, — must  never 
mmunition  in  old  stockings ; 
lome  wag  should  in  his  curst  bead 

>  say  our  force  was  worsted, 
— 'When  Sid  an  army  raises, 
ot  be  "incog."  like  Baifte'si 
the  General  be  a  hobbling 
of  the  art  of  cobbling; 
who  perpetrate  such  puns, 
say,  with  Jacobinic  grin, 
"om  tolemg  Wettingtons,  * 
^ingt€n*%  great  sou/  within! 

an  old  Apothecary 
5  the  Tower,  for  lack  of  pence, 
lat  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry,) 
/  force  and  phial-ence  I 
—  our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
I  contriv'd  more  skilAiUy. 
I,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
»omely  sharp  and  knowing, 
•in  short,  so  Jacobin  — 
irons  hard  to  toAe  him  in, 

St  point  of  memhUsoe  between  Tlberloi  and  Lord  C. 
■1^0*1  ham  menttoned  — **  ttupenta  temptr  tt 


in,ioen]kd. 

co—feiiunet,  reoonunended  by  Lord  Cheiterfleld. 

rsloAlittiombUkenhert.   It  ww  noc  Qilmaldl,  bnt 


Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  Ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  sorely  nettled; 
But  think,  my  Lord,  we  should  not  pass  it  o'er 

Till  all  this  matter's  fairly  settled; 

And  here's  the  mode  occurs  tome: 

As  none  of  our  Nobility, 

Though  for  their  own  most  gracious  "King 

(They  would  kiss  hands,  or — anything). 

Can  be  persuaded  to  go  through 

This  farce-like  trick  of  the  Ko-tou; 

And  as  these  Mandarins  won't  bend. 

Without  some  mumming  exhibition. 
Suppose,  my  Lord,  you  were  to  send 

Gbimaldi  to  them  on  a  mission : 
As  Ze^ate,  Job  could  play  his  part. 
And  if,  in  diplomatic  art. 
The  "volto  sciolto"«*s  meritorious, 
I>t  Job  but  grin,  he  has  it,  glorious! 
A  atie for  him's  easily  made; 

And,  by-the-by,  one  Christmas  time. 
If  I  remember  right,  he  play'd 

Lord  MoBLET  in  some  pantomime  ;^-« 
As  Earl  of  M — bl— t  then  gazette  1dm, 
If  f  other  Earl  of  M~bl— t  '11  let  him. 
(And  why  should  not  the  world  be  blest 
With  two  such  stars,  for  East  and  West?) 
Then,  when  before  the  Yellow  Screen 

He's  brought — and,  sure,  the  very  essence 
Of  etiquette  would  be  that  scene 

Of  Job  in  the  Celestial  Presence! — 
He  thus  should  say: — "Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
**  m  play  what  tricks  you  please  for  you, 
•*  If  you'll,  in  turn,  but  do  for  me 
**  A  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see. 
"  If  I  consult  your  Emperor's  liking, 
"  At  least  youTl  do  the  same  for  my  King.** 
He  then  should  give  them  nine  such  grins. 
As  would  astound  ev'n  Mandarins; 
And  throw  such  somersets  before 

The  picture  of  King  George  (God  bless  him!) 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  them  o'er, 

Would,  by  Confucius,  much  distress  him ! 

I  start  this  merely  as  a  hint. 
But  think  you'll  find  some  wisdom  in't; 
And,  should  you  follow  up  the  job. 
My  son,  my  Lord  (you  know  poor  Bob), 
Would  in  the  suite  be  glad  to  go 
And  help  his  Excellency,  JoE;  — 
At  least,  like  noble  Amh — bst'b  son, 
The  lad  will  do  to  practise  on.* 


■ome  Tery  Inftrior  perftmner,  idio  plafed  thii  part  of  **  Loi^ 
Morlej  "  in  the  pantomime, -.to  moch  to  the  horror  of  the  die- 
tingidehed  Earl  of  that  name.  The  expoetulatory  letter*  of  the 
Noble  Earl  to  Mr.  H— rr— a,  upon  thii  rul^rar  profknation  of  hie 
■pick-and-ipan  new  title,  will,  I  truet,  aome  time  or  other,  be  glTcn 
to  the  world. 
>  SeeMr.ElUi'iMeoantof  theKmbMqr. 

11114 


A 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Yon  eball  bear  aD  (hat'i  liappeii*d,  ji 


}  King,  ntlcT  bR.  my  dciu  i 
I  go  Inugh,  DOW — there's  noihing 


lit,  for  I  wish'd  it,  I  own, 

!  bnl  w  vox  &U99  Maloke. — 
,   you  Iedow,  of  ShnndanguD, 

I  inch  Bin,  BDita  real  Cashmcn,! 

.  a  palDy  old  mhbit-tkin,  iaai '.) 
I  ileeplj  consiii'ring  Ihe  thinj;, 
Ivcll  plcHs'd  it  ahould  not  be  the 


I'lihurch" — (wiint  it  a  ItmnJcn- 

,T?)- 

■  nil,  no  such  very  prenl  cntch. 


'twu  on   Satimlay — j^s. 
laiag  I  doto  the  first  dawi 


WhcD  we  both  rattled  off  in  tliat  dur  br 

riaec 
Wbose  joiinicj.  Bob  lays.  U  so  Hkc  Li 

Maniagv, 
"  Beginning  ((ay,  desperate,  duhing,  dom 
"  And  coding  ai  dull  u  a  tix-iiuide  DOIt 
Well,   scarcvl;   a    wink    did   I    ileep  iLi 

tlirough) 
And.  next  dav.  having  scribbled  mj  letta 
With  a  heart  faH  o(  hopu  this  Bw«et  fellow  i 
I  set  out  with  Papa,  lo  see  Lodib  Ihz-Bi7 
Make  his  bow  to  auine  half  doien  women  >i 
Wlio  get  up  a  HDiull  conceM  of  ahriU  rice  li 
And  how  vaitiy  gentwlcr,  my  dear,  eren 
Than  vulgar  rall-Mall't  oratorio  of  hisMa 
The  gardeni  Eecm'd  full — to,  ofrourK,wc 

'Mong  orange-trees,  clipp'd  into  town-bre 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


465 


in,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl,  — 
yee  of  those  whiskers,  as  sacred,  my  girl, 
lock  that.  Pa  says,*  is  to  Mnssidmen  giV^, 
angel  to  holdbythat  **  lugs  them  toheav^!" 
lere  went  by  me  fall  many  a  quiz, 
istachios  in  plenty,  but  nothing  like  his! 
>inted,  I  fonnd  myself  sighing  out  **well-a- 

It  of  mtM  words  of  T — m  M — bb's  Irish 

Ifelody, 

ing  abont  the  "  green  spot  of  delighi  "  ' 

ich,  yon  know,  Captain  Mackiiito8H  snng 

to  ns  one  day): 

EXT,  1^  **  spot "  was  that  Saturday  night, 

its  Terdore,  how  fleeting,  had  widier'd  by 

Sunday ! 

ed  at  a  tavern —La,  what  do  I  say  ? 

»B  was  to  know  ! — a  Restaurateur^B,  dear; 

your  properest  ladies  go  dine  every  day, 

drink  Burgundy  out  of  large  tumblers,  like 

beer. 

c»  (for  he's  really  grown  «up€r-fine) 

leacended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the  party ; 

"se,  though  but  three,  we  had  dinner  fornine, 

in  spite  of  my  grief,  love,  I  own  I  ate  hearty. 

Doll,  I  know  not  how  'tis,  but,  in  grief, 
always  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief; 
9B,  who's  in  love,  said  he  felt  the  same, 
quite — 

sighs,"  said  he,  *'oeas'd  with  the  first  glass 

I  drank  you; 
comb  made  me  tranquil,  the  puffk  made  me 
light, 

—  now  that  all's  o'er  —  why,  I'm — pretty 
well*  thank  you  1" 

great  annoyance,  we  sat  rather  late; 
»BBT  and  Pa  had  a  furious  debate 
singing  and  cookery  —  Bobbt,  of  course, 
ig  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  full  force;' 
I  saying,  **  Grod  only  knows  which  is  worst, 
B  French  Singers  or  Cooks,  but  I  wish  us 
well  over  it  — 

with  old  IoSb  and  ViRT,  Fm  ciirst 
■y  head  or  my  stomach  will  ever  recover  it !" 

\ark.  when  we  got  to  the  Boulevards  to  stroll, 
in  vain  didi  look  'mong  the  street  Macaronis, 

Jt  Krap  of  knovlcdce  *'Pa**  WM,Inupect,  Indebted  to 
ID  Volncr'a  Rnliu  t  a  book  which  ORudly  fonxu  part  of  a 
Utrmrft  and  with  which  Mr.  Fudice  mtut  haTC  been  well 
d  at  the  time  when  he  wrote  hia  "Down  with  Kinsa," 
Bote  in  Volnc7  ie  ai  follows  t_**It  ia  bjr  this  tuft  of 
be  atowB  at  the  head),  worn  by  tlie  maiority  of  Mosral- 
t  the  Angel  of  the  Twnb  ia  to  take  the  elect  and  cairj 


;  lady,  whose  memory  Is  not  Teiy  coneet,  moat  allade, 
» the  Mlowiac  lines  i_ 

Oh  that  fkby  fhnn  la  ne'er  forgot, 

Whidi  First  Lots  trae'd ) 
sun  It  U^'ring  haonte  the  gzetneat  spot 
On  Manory'a  waste  I 


When,  sudden  it  struck  me  — .  last  hope  of  my  soul — 
That  some  augel  might  take  the  dear  man  to 

TORTONI'SI* 

We  enter*d  —  and,  scarcely  had  Bob,  with  an  air, 

For  a  grappe  d  la  j€urdiniire  called  to  the  waiters. 

When,  oh  Doll!  I  saw  him  —  my  hero  was  there 

(For  I  knew  his  white  small-clothes  and  brown 

leather  gaiters), 
A  group  of  fair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'er 

him,* 
And  lots  of  red  currant-juice  sparkling  before  him ! 
Oh  DoLLy,  these  heroes — what  creatures  they  are ; 
In  the  boudoir  the  same  as  in  fields  full  of 

slaughter  I 
As  cool  in  the  Beanjon's  precipitous  car. 
As  when  safe  at  Tobtoki's,  o'er  ic'd  currant 

water! 
He  join'd  us — imagine,  dear  creatu^  my  ecstasy — 
Join'd  by  the  man  Fd  have  broken  ten  necks  to  see ! 
Bob  wi^ed  to  treat  him  with  Punch  d  la  glace. 
But  the  sweet  fellow  swore  that  my  beautS,  my  grace^ 
And  my  je-ne-^eaie^un  (then  his  whiskers   he 

twirl'd) 
Were,  to  him,  "  on  de  top  of  all  Ponch  in  de 

vorld."— 
How  pretty !  —  though  oft  (as  of  course  it  must  be) 
Both  his  French  and  his  English  are  Greek,  Doll, 

to  me. 
But,  in  short,  I  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart  did: 
And  happier  still,  when  'twas  fixed,  ere  we  parted. 
That,  if  the  next  day  should  be  pastoral  weather. 
We  all  would  set  off,  in  French  buggies,  together. 
To  see  Montmorenof — that  place,  which,  you  know. 
Is  80  famous  for  cherries  and  Jean  Jacques 

Rousseau. 
His    card  then  he  gave  us — the  name,  rather 

creas'd — 
But  'twas  Calicot — something  —  a  Ck>lonel  at 

least! 
After  which  —  sure  there  never  was  hero  so  civil 

—  he 
Saw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  in  Hue  Bivdi, 
Where  his  last  words,  as,  at  parting,  he  threw 
A  soft  look  o'er  his  shoulders,  were  —  "  How  do 

you  do!  "• 

[vext  — 
But,  lord, — there's  Papa  for  the  post  —  I'm  so 
Montmorency  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  my  next. 

s  Cookery  has  been  dignliledby  the  researches  of  a  Baeom;  (see 
hla  Ifattaxd  Hittory^  ReceipUy  ke.)  and  takca  ita atation  aa  one  of 
the  Fine  Arta  in  the  following  paaaage  of  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart:— 
**  Agreeably  to  thia  view  of  the  aubject,  ttceet  may  be  aaid  to  be 
intrin»kdB9  pleasing,  and  hitUr  to  be  relatively  pleasing  i  irtdch 
both  aiv,  in  many  eaaea,  equally  eaaential  to  those  effixta,  which,  la 
the  art  of  oookery,  oorreapond  to  that  compotiu  beauty,  which  it  ia 
the  ob}eet  of  the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create."  —PhOotopkical 
Eaaayt, 

4  A  fMhiaoable  oafigladtt  on  the  Italian  Bonkrarda. 


•  '^Toa  eat  your  loe  at  Tortoni's,"  says  Mr.  Scott,  ** 
Qiecian  group.** 

6  Not  aa  Qaasnal  mistake  with  ftodgnen. 


nnder  a 


^H 

^^^^^^^1 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

! -was  looking  ray  besij 
n-n,  with  a  flounce  —  and 

rich  —  (thongb  Fa  has  by 

3Q  seen,  where  wc  sat  rather 

;  Ihe  cambric,  my  dear. 
J  bonnci  — bot,  la,  it's  in 

Doll  — I  shall  soon  write 
B.  F. 

0  iiU  neigbhonrs  about  — 
r  — how  ishiagoul? 

1  my  letter  lo  say, 

I  tell  ma,  (now  do,  DoLLl, 

lie's  so  ready  to  quii,) 
™r,  a  Braitdenbutgh  is. 

TER  SI. 

oUle  nn.l  «s  ^-r^ai 

No.  'twas  not  ihtti  the  time  to  weave  a  net 
Of  boncUge  round  your  Chief;  to  cnrb  and  fret 
Your  veteran  wor-borsc,  pairing  for  iha  fi(dit, 
Whiia  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might— 
To  wsBte  the  hour  of  action  in  disgiate. 
And  coolly  plan  how  frec.luDi's  bouglu  ihoaU  dm 
When  your  Invader's  axe  was  at  the  root; 
No.  sacred  Liberty!  thai  God,  who  throws 
Thy  light  aroond,  like  his  own  Bonshine,  Immn 
How  weU  I  love  thee,  and  bow  deeply  hale 
All  lyranlB,  npslart  and  Legitimate  — 
Yet,  in  that  hour,  were  Prance  my  oalive  land. 
I  would  have  fbllow'd  with  quick  bean  and  hui 
Nafolkoh.  Kebo  — ay,  no  matter  whom— 
To  snatch  my  countiy  from  that  danming  doDa, 
That  di^dhesl  curse  that  on  the  conquer'd  wail*. 
A  Conqueror's  satrsji,  thmn'd  within  her  gita! 

Trae,he  was  false  — dcspolio  — all  jonplMie- 
Had  inuupled  down  man's  holiest  Ubertiet- 
Hftd,  by  a  genius,  fona'd  for  nobler  thinp 
Than  he  within  the  grasp  otnulgar  KJD^ 
But  rais'd  the  hopes  of  men  —  as  eagleu  By 
With  tortoises  aloft  into  the  skr  — 
To  dash  them  down  again  more  shatt'iinglj! 
All  this  I  own -but  still' 

1 

■ 

THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


467 


i  mormng  was  loyelj — the  trees  in  full 


lappj  occasion — the  sonshine  expre$» — 

arder'd  it,  dear,  of  the  best  poet  going, 

}  conld  be  fnrnish'd  more  golden  and 

owing. 

late  when  we  started,  the  scent  of  the  air 

Gaths's  rose-water, — and,  bright,  here 
id  there, 

Tas8  an  odd  dew*-drop  was  glittering  yet, 
aunt's  diamond  pin  on  her  green  tabbinet ! 
le  birds  seem'd  to  warble  as  blest  on  the 
>ughs, 
A  a  plum'd  Calicot  had  for  her  spouse ; 

grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing  in 
>ws, 

1  short,  need  I  tell  jou,  wherever  one  goes 
i  creature  one  loves,  'tis  all  couleur  de  rose; 

I  shall  ne'er,  lit'd  I  ever  so  long,  see 
ich  as  that  at  divine  Montmorency  I 

as  but  one  drawback— at  first  when  we 

arted, 

mel  and  I  were  inhumanly  parted ; 

el — young  hearts  of  such  moments  to  rob! 

in  pR*s  buggy,  and  I  went  with  Bob  ; 

wn,  I  felt  spiteMly  happy  to  know 

pa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so-so, 

Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  Bonet'b — 

rith  him,  of  course — -nay,  Tm  sure  they 

ere  cronies. 

al  his  features !  dear  Doll,  you  can  trace 

isterlitz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 

lo  on  that  pillar  of  glory  and  brass,' 

he  poor  Due  db  £-ri  must  hate  so  to 

ass! 

re,  too,  he  made — as  most  foreigners  do — 

Snglish  affairs  an  odd  blunder  or  two. 

nple — misled  by  the  names,  I  dare  say — 

lunded  Jack  Castles  with  Lord  C oh  ; 

nre  such  a  blunder  no  mortal  hit  ever 

n — 

the /iresent  Lord  C — md— n  the  clever  one  I 

tics  ne'er  were  the  sweet  fellow's  trade  I 
r  war  and  the  ladies  my  Colonel  was  made. 
,  had  you  heard,  as  together  we  walk'd 
I  that  beautiful  forest,  how  sweetly  he 
ilk'd; 


mnn  in  tha  Place  VendOme. 

ojrant  poor  oeU  1«  phu  boaa  pi^iier  &or4,  t^ehant  Ttoi- 
e  U  poodre  d'asur  et  d'aigent,  et  ooaaant  mes  cahien 
KHBparellle  bleae." — Le$  CottfeMricmt,  part  il.  Ht.  9. 
ltd,  **  cxqnkitc,"  ii  erldently  a  fkroarlte  of  Miaa  Fudge'i « 
ntaad  iha  wai  not  a  little  anjcry  when  her  barother  Bob 
»  pan  on  the  laet  two  lyllablei  of  it  in  the  following 


I  jnonr  Foem — but  tell  me,  how  li  It 
«■  Joy  oat  **  Xxmiilte,'*  iMo  erice  **  9IIU  «<  f  " 


And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  Doll,  to  know 
All  the  life  and  adventures  of  Jean  Jacques 

BOUBSBAU!  — 

<*  Twas  there,"  said  he — not  that  his  %Dcrds  I  can 
state — 

Twas  a  gibb'rish  that  Cupid  alone  could  trans- 
late;— 

But  "  there,"  said  he,  (pointing  where,  small  and 
remote. 

The  dear  Hemutage  rose,)  **  there  his  Julib  he 
wrote, — 

''Upon  paper  gilt-edg'd,' without  blot  or  erasure; 

**  Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure, 

"And — oh,  what  will  genius  and  fancy  not  do? — 

**Tied  the  leaves  up  together  with  nompareUle 
blue!" 

What  a  trait  of  Rousseau!  what  a  crowd  of  emo- 
tions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribbons  are  conjur'd  up  here ! 

Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite  '  notions 
Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling, 
my  dear  I 

**»Twas  here,  too,  perhaps,"  Colonel   Calicot 

said — 
As  down  the  small  garden  he  pensively  led — 
(Though  once  I  could  see  his  sublime  forehead 

wrinkle 
With  rage  not  to  find  there  the  lov'd  periwinkle)* 
"  'Twas  here  he  received  from  the  fair  D'Epinat 
"(Who  call'd  him  so  sweetly  her  Bear*,  every 

day,) 
"  That  dear  flannel  petticoat,  puU'd  off  to  form 
"  A  waistcoat  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm  I "  ' 

Such,  Doll,  were  the  sweet  recollections  we  pon- 

der'd. 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley  we  wan- 
dered. 
The  flannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is!) 
Led  us  to  talk  about  other  commodities. 
Cambric,  and  silk,  and — I  ne'er  shall  forget. 
For  the  sun  was  then  hast'ning  in  pomp  to  its  set. 
And  full  on  the  Colonel's  dark  whiskers  shone 

down. 
When  he  ask'd  me,  with  eagerness, — who  made 

my  gown? 
The  question  confused  me — for,  Doll,  you  must 

know, 
And  I  ought  to  have  told  my  best  friend  long  ago. 


*  The  flower  which  Bomwean  brooKht  Into  rach  fuhlon  emoiif 
the  Paxislani,b7  exclaiming  one  daj, "  Ah.  ToUh  de  la  penrenche  1  '* 

s  **  Jfcm  oKr»,  Toil4  Totre  asyle^et  Toue,  man  otirtt  ne  Tiendres 
Totti  pu  auHi  ?  "—ke.  kc 

6  ^'Unjonr.qa'il  geloit  trta-fbrt,  en  onrrant  on  paqnet  Qu'elle 
m'enToyoit,  Je  troarai  an  petit  jupon  de  flanelle  d'Ancleterre* 
qu'elle  me  marqiioit  aroir  port^,  et  dont  elle  rooloit  <iQe  Je  me  fi«e 
faire  nn  gilet.  Ce  loin,  plni  qn'amical,  me  parut  d  tendre,  comme 
ei  elle  ee  ftt  d^uillte  pour  me  v^tir,  que,  dana  maa  ^tmotioni  je 
baiieiTiniKt  fide  en  pktunoit  le  billet  et  le  jnpon.** 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


469 


think,  m7  dear  creatare,  if  this  should  be 

known 
luu  amuj,  satirical  thing,  Miss  Malonb! 
t  a  storjr  'twill  be  at  Shfuidangan  for  eyer! 
hat  hnighs  and  what  quizzing  shell  haye  with 

the  men! 
n  spread  through  the  countiy — and  neTer, 

<^  neTer 
n  Bn>DT  be  seen  at  Eilrandy  again! 
well — I  shall dosomething  despVate,  I  fear — 
ahl  if  my  fiOe  erer  reaches  your  ear, 


One  tear  of  compassion  my  Doll  will  not  grudge 
To  her  poor — broken-hearted— young  friend, 

BiDDT  Fudge. 


Nota  bene — I  am  sure  you  will  hear,  with  delight. 
That  we're  going,  all  three,  to  see  Brunbt  to- 
night, 
A  laugh  will  revive  me — and  kind  Mr.  Cox 
(Do  you  know  him?)  has  got  us  the  Governor's 
box. 


\ 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


BEING  A  8EQT7BL  TO 


"THE   FUDGE    FAMILY    IN    PARIS." 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


BXnrO  A  8BQX7XL  TO 


''  THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS.^ 


PREFACE. 

ime  of  the  country  town,  in  England — 
known  fashionable  watering-place — in 
\ie  events  that  gave  rise  to  the  following 
mdence  occurred,  is,  for  obrioos  reasons, 
ced.  The  interest  attached,  howerer,  to 
s  and  personages  of  the  stoiy,  render  it 
dent  of  all  time  and  place ;  and  when  it  is 
ted  that  the  whole  train  of  romantic  cir- 
ices  so  fnllj  unfolded  in  these  Letters  has 
daring  the  short  period  which  has  now 
since  the  great  Meetings  in  Exeter  Hall, 
lit  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  allowed  to  the  Editor 
rapidity  with  which  he  has  brought  the 
>efore  the  Public;  while,  at  the  same  time, 
)rs  that  maj  have  been  the  result  of  such 
ill,  he  trusts,  with  equal  consideration,  be 
d- 


FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


LETTEB  L 


LTtLlCK  MAGAV;  ESQ.,  TO  THE  BEY.  RICHABD 
,  CUBATE  OF ,  IM   lEEULND. 

je  think  we're  got  here?— -quite  reformed 
ix>m  the  giddy, 

jstic  young  thing,  that  once  made  such  a 
loiae — 

be  famous  Miss  Fudge — that  delectable 
Jiddy. 

Q  you  and  I  saw  once  at  Paris,  when  boys, 
11  blaze  of  bonnets,  and  ribands,  and  airs — 
a  thing  as  no  rainbow  hath  colours  to 
taint; 

*  hud  reduced  her  to  wrinkles  and  prayers, 
lie  Flirt  found  a  decent  retreat  in  the  Saint. 


Poor  **Pa"  hath  popp'd  off— gone,  as  charity  judges, 
To  some  choice  Elysium  reserved  for  the  Fudges; 
I  And  Miss,  with  a  fortune,  besides  expectations 
From  some  much  reYer*d  and  much-palsied  rela- 
tions, 
Now  wants  but  a  husband,  with  requisites  meet,— 
Age  thirty,  or  thereabouts — stature  six  feet, 
And  warranted  godly  —  to  make  all  complete. 
Nota  Bene — a  Churchman  would  suit,if  he*sA»^A, 
But  Socinians  or  Catholics  need  not  apply. 

What  say  you,  Dick?  doesn't  this  tempt  your 
ambition? 
The  whole  wealth  of  Fudge,  that  renown*d  man 
of  pith. 
An  brought  to  the  hammer,  for  Church  competi- 
tion,— [with. 
Sole  encumbrance,  Miss  Fudge  to  be  taken  there- 
Think,  my  boy, for  a  Curate  how  glorious  a  catch! 
While,  instead  of  the  thousands  of  souls  you  now 

watch. 
To  save  Biddy  Fudge's  is  all  you  need  do; 
And  her  purse  will,  meanwhile,  be  the  saving  of  ^ou. 

Tou  may  ask,  Dick,  how  comes  it  that  I,  a  poor  elf. 
Wanting  substance  even  more  than  your  spiritual 
self,  [shelf, 

Should  thus  generously  lay  my  own  claims  on  the 
When,  God  knows!  there  ne*er  was  young  gen- 
tleman yet 
So  much  lacked  an  old  spinster  to  rid  him  from 

debt, 
Or  had  cogenter  reasons  than  mine  to  assail  her 
With  tender  love-suit — at  the  suit  of  his  tailor. 

But  thereby  there  hangs  a  soft  secret,  my  friend, 
Which  thus  to  your  reverend  breast  I  commend: 
Miss  Fudge  hath  a  niece  — such  acreature! — with 

eyes 
Like  those  sparklers  that  peep  out  from  sununer- 

night  skies 
At  astronomers-royal,  and  laugh  with  delight 
To  see  elderly  gentlemen  spying  all  niglu. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


— oh,  bring  all  the  gracefulletl 

[wings, 

Ihroueh  the  light  sir  by  feet  or  by 

to  [hut  fonn  could  they  leach, 

fcU  the  perfection  of  each; 

lilow,  as  her  fniry  fpct  fall, 

lorBymiaetiy  modulatci  all. 


e,  who  of  castles  aCrial 
,  God  help  mcl  a  builder; 
ondounilii  liMlgers  ethereal, 
f  iiyiii{i)i  of  the  gerBiih.like  eyo, 
fc  you  Eev,  my  first  floor  next  the 


I- looks  wise  (rather  painful  to  see), 
"wo  County  papcraherrhytnea; 
!t,channinp,  absord  little  dear! 
iBijmis,  aud  Keepsakes,  next  year. 
■eh  plainly  bnd  symplonm  portends 
mblue  fit,  so  dustressiiig  to  friendsi 
ligh  lasting  but  one  short  edition, 
DDg  after  in  sad  inanition. 


'Tis  rumour'd  our  Manager  mrana  to  be«; 
The  Choreb  Itunblcni  from  Exeter  Hall  : 

we«ki 
And  certainly  ne'er  did  a  qneercr  or  Tumi 
Throw,  for  the'  amuiemeni  of  Christiani, 


'Ti>  fear'd  their  chief  "  Merrimiui,"  C — kt 

Bcingealledofl',  at  present,  to  play  Pnnehal 
And  the  loss  of  so  practi^'d  a  wag  in  dini 
Will  grieve  mncb  all  lorers  of  jokes  oD  t 

oitjl  — 
His  pun  on  the  i 
Having    pleas'd 

greatly.' 

Twill  prove  a  sad  drawback,  if  abWBl  be 
As  a  wag  PreBbylerian's  a  thing  quite  lo  t 
And,  'inong  the  Fire  Poinia  of  ibe  Ca 

Ever  yet  reckon'd  a  point  ofwit  oneof 'em 
But  even  though  depriv'd  of  this  comical  i 
We've  a  host  of  buffmi  in  Mortagh  himicl 
Who  of  all  the  whole  trtwp  is  chief  munui 

As   C— ke  takes  the  Ground  Tumbling, 

And  of  liim  weVe  quite  certaio,  so,  pray,  i 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


475 


a  can't  think  how  nicely  the  caps  of  tulle  lace, 
tie  memUmnieres^  look  on  this  poor  sinful  face ; 
mean,  if  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  thinks  right, 
ir  one  at  Birs.  Fitz-wigram's  to-night. 
Iks  are  quite  heavenly: — Pm  glad,  too,  to 
say, 

leiself  grows  more  godly  and  good  every  day ; 
ad  sweet  experience — yea,  even  doth  begin 
Q  from  the  Gentiles,  and  put  away  sin — 
1  since  her  last  stock  of  goods  was  laid  in. 
i  blessing  one*s  milliner,  careless  of  pelf, 
thus  **  walk  in  newness"  as  well  as  one's  self  I 

'h  for  the  blessings,  the  comforts  of  Spirit 

d  since  we  met,  and  they're  more  than  I 

merit! — 

tnfii],  weak  creature  in  every  respect; 

1  ordain'd  (Grod  knows  why)  to  be  one  of 

Che'  Elect. 

w  fijT  the  picture's  reverse. — ^You  remember 

oCman  and  cook-maid  I  hir'd  last  December; 

(aptist  Particular — «A£,  of  some  sect 

-ticnlar,  I  fancy,  in  any  respect; 

irons,  poor  thing,  to  be  fed  with  the  Word, 

»  wait,"  as  she  said,  **  on  Miss  Fudge  and 

Ehe  Lord." 

iy  dear,  of  all  men,  that  Particular  Baptist 

.ching  a  sermon,  off  hand,  was  the  aptcst; 

Dg  as  he  staid,  do  him  justice,  more  rich  in 

avours  of  doctrine,  there  never  was  kitchen. 

ch'd  in  the  parlour,  he  preach'd  in  the  hall, 

kchM  to  the  chambermaids,  scullions,  and 

OL 

eard  with  delight  his  reprovings  of  sin, 

rve  all,  the  cook-maid; — oh,  ne'er  would 

ihe  tire — 

^  in  learning  to  save  sinful  souls  from  the  fire, 

ronld  oft  let  the  soles  she  was  frying  fall  in. 

Tgive  me  for  punning  on  points  thus  of 

>iety! — 

rick  I've  leam'd  in  Bob's  heathen  society.) 

there  remains  still  the  worst  of  my  tale; 
Asterisks,  and  help  me  the  sad  truth  to  veil — 
us  stars,  that  at  even  your  own  secret  turn 
Mlel 


ritac  MaaoM,  or  BrWah  Vmc-book,  neatly  done  pp  for  the 
■d  ddefly  intended  to  aatbt  the  mcmben  of  the  British 
loHatiom.  vhoM  deeign  ie  ve  are  told,  "  to  induce  the 
9  of  Oreiit  Britain  and  Ireland  to  oommit  one  and  the 
t  of  Baiiiturt  to  memory  erery  morning.  Already,  it  if 
onwad  penona  in  Scotland,  beiidee  tens  of  thou- 
aad  Africa,  are  erery  mormng  leamUtg  the  »ame 


kftw  ipedmene  taken  at  random 
-of  thie  highly  esteemed  periodical  will  ftilly  jue- 
r  which  Mieerndge  hae  here  giTen  of  it.  "Wanted, 
r'f  fiunily,  an  actire  lad  ai  an  apprentice.** 
,  a  yoong  female  who  hai  heen  brought  to 
HMrleda*  of  the  truth.**  **  Wanted,  immediately,  a  man 
plaU.tOMrieitethabaUngbarineM.**  **  A  gentleman 
itt«  ^Hm  Ttade  ia  dcsiioae  of  entering  into  part- 


In  short,  dear,  this  preaching  and  psalm-singing 

pair, 
Chosen  "  vessels  of  mercy,"  as  /  thought  they  were, 
Have  together  this  last  week  elop'd;  making  bold 
To  whip  off  as  much  goods  as  both  vessels  could 

hold  —  [shelves, 

Not  forgetting  some  scores  of  sweet  tracts  frx>mmy 
Two  Family  Bibles  as  large  as  themselves. 
And  besides,  from  the  drawer, — I  neglecting  to 

lock  it  — 
My  neat  **  Morning  Manna,  done  up   for   the 

pocket."*  [Liz? 

Was  there  e'er  known  a  case  so  distressing,  dear 
It  has  made  me  quite  ill: — and  the  worst  of  it  is. 
When  rogues  are  aU  pious,  'tis  hard  to  detect 
Which  rogues  are  the  reprobate,  which  the  elect. 
This  man  '*  had  a  caU^**  he  said — impudent  mockery ! 
What  call  had  he  to  my  linen  and  crockery? 

I'm  now,  and  have  been  for  this  week  past,  in  chase 
Of  some  godly  young  couple  this  pair  to  replace. 
The  inclos'd  two  announcements  have  just  met 

my  eyes. 
In  that  venerable  Monthly  where  Saints  advertise 
For  such  temporal  comforts  as  this  worid  supplies ;  ■ 
And  the  ftnits  of  the  Spirit  are  properly  made 
An  essential  in  every  craft,  calling  and  trade. 
Where  the'  attorney  requires  for  his  'prentice  some 

youth  [truth;" 

Who  has  "  leam'd  to  fear  God,  and  to  walk  in  the 
Where  the  sempstress,  in  search  of  employment, 

declares. 
That  pay  is  no  object,  so  she  can  have  prayers ; 
And  the'  Establish'd  Wine  Company  proudly  gives 

out. 
That  the  whole  of  the  firm,  Co.  and  all,  are  devout. 

HappyLondon,one  feels,  as  one  reads  o*er  the  pages. 
Where  Saints  are  so  much  more  abundant  than 

sages; 
Where  Parsons  may  soon  be  all  laid  on  the  shelf. 
As  each  Cit  can  cite  chapter,  and  verse  for  himself. 
And  the  terious  frequenters  of  market  and  dock 
All  lay  in  religion  as  part  of  their  stock.' 


nenhip,  l^cl^e.  He  i«  not  desirous  of  being  connected  with  anyone 
whoee  system  of  business  is  not  of  the  strictest  integrity  as  in  the 
sight  of  God.  and  seeks  connection  only  with  a  truly  pious  man, 
either  ChurdUnan  or  Dissenter." 

>  According  to  the  late  Mr.  Irring,  there  Is  ercn  a  peculiar  form 
of  theology  got  up  ezpseesly  fbr  the  money  market.  **  I  know  how 
fkr  wide."  he  says,  **  of  the  mark  my  riews  of  Christ's  work  in  the 
flesh  will  be  Tiewed  by  those  who  are  working  with  the  stock- Job- 
bing theology  of  the  religious  world."  **  Let  these  preachers,"  he 
adds  "(for  I  will  not  call  them  theologians),  cry  up,  btok«r-Uke, 
their  article."-ifonitiv  Watch.— So.  iii.  44S,  443. 

From  the  statement  of  another  writer,  in  the  same  publication,  it 
would  4>pear  that  the  stock-brokers  haTC  eren  set  up  a  new  Divi- 
nity  of  their  own.  **  This  lAunra,"  says  the  writer  in  qnesticm,'*  that 
the  doctrine  of  the  mioa  between  Christ  and  hie  membeii  ia  qnlte 

KM  2 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


477 


rms  any  sensible  man  can  see 
so  foolishly  young  as  she — 
ighteen,  come  next  Biay-day, 
i,  like  herself,  fall  of  nought  but  play — 
an  exceeding  puzzle  to  me. 


LETTER  m. 

8  7AHirr  FUDOE,   TO  HXB  OOUSIlf,   MISS 
KITTY . 

BTAVZAB  (INCLO6BD) 
L4D0W  ;  OB,   WHY  ?  —  WHAT  ?  —  HOW  ? 

nrade  of  my  path!  while  earth  and  sky 
'ed  their  charms,  in  bridal  light  arrayed, 
lis  bright  hour,  walk'st  thou  ever  nigh, 
ing  my  footsteps  with  thy  length  of 
sde — 

Dark  comrade,  Why? 

die  Shape  that,  'mid  these  flowery  scenes, 
beside  me  o'er  each  sunny  spot, 
r  them  as  thou  goest  —  say,  what  means 
c  an  adjunct  to  so  bright  a  lot  — 

Grim  goblin.  What? 

>  pluck  sweet  flowers  I  bend  my  brow, 
•endest,  too  —  then  risest  when  I  rise;  — 
!  mysterious  Thing!  how  is't  that  thou 
:^m*8t  between  me  and  those  blessed 


les — 


Dim  shadow.  How? 


novAL  stahza,  by  another  bakd.) 

1 1  to  that  Shape,  far  less  in  grudge 
cloom  of  soul;  while,  as  I  eager  cried, 
?    What?    How?  —  a  Voice,  that  one 
igbt  judge 
some  Ii^  echo's,  faint  replied. 

Oh  fudge,  fudge,  fudge! 

i  here,  dearest  Coz,  my  last  lyric  effusion; 
rith  it,  that  odious  **  additional  stanza," 
.unt  wUl  insist  I  must  keep,  as  conclusion, 
which,  you'll  ai  once  see,  is  Mr.  Ma- 
in's;—  a 

ruel  and  dark-design*d  extravaganza, 
of  that  plot  in  which  he  and  my  Aunt  are 
the  flights  of  my  genius  by  banter. 

Mras  with  Byron's  young  eagle-eyed  strain, 
d  they  taunt  him ; — but  vain,  critics,  vain, 
efTorts  to  saddle  Wit's  fire  with  a  chain  ! 
at  the  splendour  of  Fancy's  young  stream, 
in  its  cradle,  her  newly-fledg'd  beam  1 1 ! 


Thou  perceiv'st,  dear,  that,  even  while  these  lines 
I  indite,  [or  right, 

Thoughts  bum,  brilliant  fancies  break  out,  wrong 
And  Fm  all  over  poet,  in  Criticism's  spite! 

That  my  Aunt,  who  deals  only  in  Psalms,  and 

regards 
Messrs.  Stemhold  and  Co.  as  the  first  of  all  bards— 
That  she  should  make  light  of  my  works  I  can't 

blame; 
But  that  nice,  handsome,  odious  Magan  —  what  a 

shame! 
Do  you  know,  dear,  that,  high  as  on  most  points  I 

rate  him, 
Tm  really  afraid —  after  all,  I  —  muet  hate  him. 
He  is  «o provoking — nought's  safe  from  his  tongue; 
He  spares  no  one  authoress,  ancient  or  young. 
Were  you  Sappho  herself,  and  in  Keepsake  or  Bijou 
Once  shown  as  contributor.  Lord  bow  he'd  quiz  yon ! 
He  laughs  at  all  Monthlies  —  Fve  actually  seen 
A  sneer  on  his  brow  at  the  Court  Magazine!  — 
While  of  Weekhes,  poor  things,  there's  bat  one  he 

peruses. 
And  buys  every  book  which  that  Weekly  abuses. 
But  I  care  not  how  others  such  sarcasm  may  fear. 
One  spirit,  at  least,  will  not  bend  to  his  sneer; 
And  though  tried  by  the  fire,  my  young  genius 

shall  bum  as 
Uninjur'd  as  crucified  gold  in  the  furnace! 
(I  suspect  the  word  '*  crucified  "  must  be  made 

"  crucible," 
Before  this  fine  image  of  mine  is  producible.) 

And  now,  dear  —  to  tell  you  a  secret  which,  pray 
Only  trust  to  such  friends  as  with  safety  you  may — 
You  know,  and  indeed  the  whole  county  suspects 
(Though  the  Editor  often  my  best  things  rejects,) 
That  the  verses  signed  so,  10*,  which  yon  now 

and  then  see 
In  our  County  Gazette  (vide  last),  are  by  me. 
But  'tis  dreadful  to  think  what  provoking  mistakes 
The  vile  country  Press  in  one's  prosody  makes. 
For  you  know,  dear — I  may,  without  vanity,  hint — 
Though  an  angel  should  write,  still  'tis  deviU  must 

print ; 
And  you  can't  think  what  havoc  these  demons 

sometimes 
(Choose  to  make  of  one's  sense,  and  what's  worse, 

of  one's  rhymes. 
But  a  week  or  two  since,  in  my  Ode  upon  Spring, 
Which  I  meant  to  have  made  a  most   beautifSl 

thing. 
Where. I  talk'd  of  the  **dewdrope  from  freshly- 
blown  roses," 
The  nasty  things   made  it  ''from  freshly-blown 

noses!"  [tried 

And  once  when,  to  please  my  cross  Aunt,  I  had 
To  commemorate  some  saint  of  her  cliquef  who'd 

jost  died, 

NN  3 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


479 


sn  Hundred  and  Forty's  the  jear  that  some 
state 

time  for  that  accident — some  Forty-Eight : ' 
own,  of  the  two,  Td  prefer  much  the  latter, 
a  I  shall  be  an  old  maid,  and  'twon't  matter. 
Kjre,  lore,  good-bye — Fve  to  make  a  new  cap ; 
1  now  80  dead  tir'd  with  this  horrid  mishap 
end  of  the  world,  that  I  muit  take  a  nap. 


LETTEB  IV. 

PATBIGK  MAOAH,  ESQ.  TO  THB 
BICHABD  . 


mes  from  Erin's  speechfnl  shore 
enrid  kettle,  babbling  o'er 
h  hoc  effusions — hot  and  weak; 
,  Humbug,  all  your  hollowest  drums, 
mes,  of  Erin's  martyrdoms 
Britain's  well-fed  Church  to  speak, 
im,  ye  Journals  of  the  Lord,' 
proeers.  Watchman  and  Record! 
als  resenr'd  for  realms  of  bliss, 
much  too  good  to  sell  in  this. 
re,  ye  wealthier  Saints,  your  dinners. 
Spinsters,  spread  your  tea  and  crumpets; 
rou,  ye  countless  Tracts  for  Sinners, 
w  all  your  little  penny  trumpets. 
mes,  Uie  reverend  man,  to  tell 
all  who  still  the  Church's  part  take, 
of  parsonic  woe,  that  well 
rfat  make  eVn  grim  Dissenter's  heart  ache :  — - 
1  whole  Bishops  snatch'd  away 
rer  from  the  light  of  day; 
I  God  knows,  too,  how  many  more, 
'hom  that  doom  is  yet  in  store) — 
ictors  cruelly  compelled 
«n  Bath  and  Cheltenham  to  haste  home, 
ise  the  tithes,  by  Pat  withheld, 
H  not  to  Bath  or  Cheltenham  come; 
rill  the  flocks  consent  to  pay 
parsons  thus  to  suy  away;  — 
^h,  with  ntch  parsons,  one  may  doubt 
a't  money  well  laid  out;  — 
,  in  short,  and  each  degree 
It  once  happy  Hierarchy, 
lich  ns*d  to  roll  in  wealth  so  pleasantly; 
ow,  alas,  is  doom'd  to  see 
surplus  brought  to  nonplus  presently! 

are  the  themes  this  man  of  pathos, 
of  prose  and  Lord  of  bathos, 

h  Ttsafd  to  the  exact  time  of  thla  CTcnt,  there  appeue  to  be 
nee  only  of  about  tvo  or  three  yean  among  the  reepectiTe 
on.  M.  Alphonee  Nicole,  Docteur  en  Droit,  et  Arocat, 
laaM«vbetlieriiistobeinlS46orl847.   *'Acette<po<iQe,** 


Will  preach  and  preach  t*ye,  till  your  dull 
again; 
Then,  hful  him.  Saints,  with  joint  acclaim. 
Shout  to  the  stars  his  tuneful  name. 
Which  Murtagh  wat,  ere  known  to  fame. 

But  now  is  Mortimer  CMulligan  I 

All  true,  Dick,  true  as  you're  alire — 
IVe  seen  him,  some  hours  since,  arrive. 
Murtagh  is  come,  the  great  Itinerant — 

And  Tuesday,  in  the  market-place. 
Intends,  to  every  saint  and  sinner  in't. 

To  state  what  he  calls  Ireland's  Case; 
Meaning  thereby  the  case  of  IUm  shop, — 
Of  curate,  vicar,  rector,  bishop. 
And  all  those  other  grades  seraphic. 
That  make  men*s  souls  their  special  trafiSc, 
Though  caring  not  a  pin  which  way 
The'  erratic  souls  go,  so  they  pay. — 
Just  as  some  roguish  country  nurse. 

Who  takes  a  foundling  babe  to  suckle. 
First  pops  the  payment  in  her  purse. 

Then  leaves  poor  dear  to — suck  its  knuckle: 
Even  so  these  reverend  rigmaroles 
Pocket  the  money — starve  the  souls. 
Murtagh,  however,  in  his  glory. 
Will  tell,  next  week,  a  different  story; 
Will  make  out  all  these  men  of  barter. 
As  each  a  saint,  a  downright  martyr, 
Brought  to  the  stake — L  e.  a  beef  one^ 
Of  all  their  martyrdoms  the  chief  one; 
Though  try  them  even  at  this,  they'll  bear  it. 
If  tender  and  wash'd  down  with  claret. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Fudge,  who  loves  all  lions. 
Your  saintly,  next  to  great  and  high  *uns— 
(A  Viscount  be  he  what  he  may. 
Would  cut  a  Saint  out,  any  day,) 
Hast  just  announc'd  a  godly  rout. 
Where  Murtagh's  to  be  first  brought  out, 
And  shown  in  his  tame,  tceek-day  state :  — 
"  Prayers,  half-past  seven,  tea  at  eight." 
Even  so  the  circular  missive  orders — 
Pink  cards,  with  cherubs  round  the  borders. 

Haste,  Dick — you're  lost,  if  you  lose  time; 

Spinsters  at  forty-five  grow  giddy. 
And  Murtagh,  with  his  tropes  sublime. 

Will  surely  carry  off  old  Biddy, 
Unless  some  spark  at  once  propose. 
And  distance  him  by  downright  prose. 
That  sick,  rich  squire,  whose  wealth  and  lands 
All  pass,  they  say,  to  Biddy's  hands, 
(The  patron,  Dick,  of  three  fat  rectories!) 
Is  dying  of  angina  pectoris ;  — 

he  lays, "  lea  fldUea  penvent  eap^rer  de  Tolr  a'cflbetoer  U  porlfleatian 
du  Sanctnaire." 

s  **  Our  anziooa  dfliixe  ia  tobe  fbond  on  the  ddt  of  the  Lord.**— 
Record  Smimvapv. 
1  NH  4 


i 


I^^^B^^I 

MOOBE'S  WORKS.                                             | 

rini;  soon, 
>uffm.dpelf. 

LimaelVl 

lim.  'ri*  folly, 
,r\>s  me  wliollj. 
rerse-nittker  — 
rf.ifyoo'dletherj  — 
,L-iie  lake  her. 
all  the  better. 
1  sadly 

ivming  badly, 
i  ranks  aud  classos, 
,"lho  masses;" 
...  combine  — 
iT  PanmaauB, 
mcful  j;roave8, 

vt,n  «m  worse 

rill  a  curse. 

»f;  purse  — 

el,«rmer  g^t, 

1  (.Tuati 

[1.1  Venus. 

;■  nmgiim  between  ns. 

And  Ihtrt  were  the  cMldber,  six  innoeml  inr^   1 
For  iheir  nalo  little  play-fellow  lunins  nphovln  ' 
While  yourself,  mj  dmr  Judy  (ihongh  gntrts'it 

folly), 
Smd  over  jDlianua'i  romain*.  melancholT- 
Crjin',  balfforllieeraydiur,  nndhalf  for  themoiicj, 
"  An-ah,  why  did  ye  die  till  we'd  wnrl'd  T«,  m 

honey?" 

But  God's  will  be  dune!— and  Ihen,  liith.  mn 

enough. 
As  the  pig  WHH  desaiced,  'twas  high  Ibne  tn  bi.« 
So  we  gotber'd  up  all  the  poor  ilnds  wa  could  cwdi 
Lock'd  the  owld  cabin  door,  put  tho  kay  ia  ita 

thatch, 
Then  tuk  hare  of  each  other's  iweet  lip<  in  Ibr  dut, 
And  set  olT,  like  the  ChtishiianB  tnni'd  qui  of  i^ 

Ark; 
The  siitchildherwilh  you,  my  dear  Judy,  otlmt! 

How  I  came  to  this  EogUnd,  o'er  sar  and  o'er 

lands. 
And  what  cruel  hard  walkin' IVb  had  mi  ny  hm*. 
I^  at  this  present  wriiin',  too  Isdioua  to  jptaL 
So  111  niinlion  it  all  in  a  poftscTip^  next  w«t^ 
Unlv  slurv'd  I  wa*,  surely,  as  thin  as  a  laih. 
Till  I  cnmE  to  an  up-and-down  place  thev  rail  B«li 
Where,  as  luck  was,  I  manaj^'d  lo  malic  a  aai't 

■ 

THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


481 


eautifdl  Larry,  the  Tery  first  day, 
day  it  was,  shinin'  out  mighty  gay,) 
rogues  to  thia  city  of  luck  found  their 

f ,  God  help  me,  and  happenin  to  stop, 
on  the  shmell  of  a  pasthry-cook*s  shop, 
i  window,  a  Ivge  printed  paper, 
lere  a  name,  ochi  that  made  my  heart 

ited  it  was  in  some  quare  ABC, 

bother  a  schoolmasther,  let  alone  me, 

I'd  have  ]augh*d,  Judy,  could  you've 

isten'd, 

;  I  cried,  "why  it  t»/  — no,  it  mmV;" 

ifter  all  —  for,  by  spellin'  quite  slow, 

J  out  **  Rev.  Mortimer  " — then  a  great 

,  by  hard  readin'  and  rackin*  my  skull 

,  nate  as  imported,  **  O'MuUigan! " 

d,  like  a  sky-lark,  my  jewel,  at  that 

it  on  my  mind,  but  it  must  be  the  same, 
furthagh,  himself,"  says  ]^  '^  all  the 
i  over! 

.her-brother  —  by  jinks,  Fm  in  clover, 
-e,  in  the  play-bill,  he  figures  so  grand, 
"se  it  was  brought  us  both  up  by  hand, 
)t  let  me shtarve  in  the  inemy's  land!  ** 

ke  a  long  hishtory  short,  niver  doubt 
^'d,  in  no  time,  to  find  the  lad  out; 
of  the  meetin*  bethuxt  him  and  me, 
of  owld  cumrogues  —  was  charmin'  to 

hagh  less  plas'd  with  the'  evint  than 

tien  was  wanting  a  Yalley-de-sham; 
tMtn'  a  gintleman,  one  way  or  t'other, 
rish  lad  is  beyant  every  other. 

idy,  comes  the  quare  part  of  the  case; 
th,  it's  the  only  drawback  on  my  place, 
hagh's  ill  luck  to  be  cross'd,  as  you 

Lward  mishfortune  some  short  time  ago ; 
f,  he  tum'd  Protestant — whyy  I  can't 

e,  he  knew  best,  an'  it's  not  my  consam. 
s,  we  both  were  good  Cath'lics,  at  nurse, 
un  so  still — ^najther  betther  nor  worse, 
rgain  was  all  right  and  tight  in  a  jiifey, 
jre  contint  never  yet  left  the  Liffey, 
thagh — or  Morthimer,  as  he's  now 
^en'd, 

ing  convarted,  at  laist,  if  Ae  isn't — 
at  me  (faith,  'twas  divartin'  to  see) 
foa'te  a  Protestant,  Larry,"  says  he. 


Upon  which  says  myself,  wid  a  wink  just  as  shly, 
*♦  Is't  a  Protestant?  —  oh  yes,  /  am,  sir,"  says  I; — 
And  there  the  chat  ended,  and  divH  a  more  word 
Controvarsial  between  us  has  since  then  occurr'd. 

What  Murthagh  could  mane,  and,  in  throth,  Judy 

dear. 
What  /  myself  meBXit,  doesn't  seem  mighty  clear; 
But  the  thruth  is,  though  still  for  the  Owld  Light* 

stickler, 
I  was  just  then  too  shtarv'd  to  be  over  particlar : — 
And,  God  knows,  between  us,  a  comicler  pair 
Of  twin  Protestants  couldn't  be  seen  anywhere. 

Next  Tuesday  (as  towld  in  the  play-bills  I  min- 

tion'd, 
Address'd  to  the  loyal  and  godly  intintion'd,) 
His    rivirence,  my   master,    comes  forward    to 

preach,— 
Myself  doesn't  know  whether  sannon  or  speech. 
But  it's  all  one  to  him,  he's  a  dead  hand  at  each; 
Like  us,  Paddys,  in  gin'ral,  whose  skill  in  orations 
Quite  bothers  the  bl^ey  of  all  other  nations. 


But,  whisht! — there's  his  Rivirence,  shoutin'  out 

**  Larry," 
And  sorra  a  word  more  will  this  shmall  paper 

carry; 
So,  here,  Judy,  ends  my  short  bit  of  a  letther. 
Which,  faix,  I'd  have  made  a  much  bigger  and 

betther. 
But  div'l  a  one  Post-office  hole  in  this  town 
Fit  to  swallow  a  dacent  siz'd  billy-dux  down. 
So  good  luck  to  the  childer! — tell  Molly,  I  love 

her; 
Kiss  Oonagh's  sweet  mouth,  and  kiss  Eatty  all 

over — 
Not  forgettin'  the  mark  of  the  red  currant  whiskey 
She  got  at  the  fair  when  yourself  was  so  frisky. 
The  heavens  be  your  bed!  —  I  will  write,  when  I 

can  again. 
Yours  to  the  world's  end, 

Lasrt  O'Bbaniqast. 


LETTER  VL 

FBOM  MI88   BIDDT  FUDGE,   TO  MBS. 
ELIZABETH . 

How  I  grieve  you're  not  with  us!  — pray,  come,  if 

you  can, 
Ere  we  re  robb'd  of  this  dear  oratorical  man. 
Who  combines  in  himself  all  the  multiple  glory 
Of  Orangeman,  Saint,  quondam  Papist  and  T017 ; — 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


488 


find  quite  enough  (till  I'm  somewhat 
busy) 
ctracts  inclosed,  mj  dear  news-loying 

rRACTS  FROM  MY  DIAEY. 

,  haying  nought  more  holy  to  do, 
tter  to  dear  Sir  Andrew  Agnew, 
**  Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Club," 
wish  by  some  shorter  name  to  dub :  — < 
of  more  Towels  and  consonants 
iristian,  on  Sunday,  really  wants, 
nee  that  ought  to  be  done  away, 
alphabet  left  to  rest,  that  day. 

Swtdaif, 

r's  answer !  — but,  shocking  to  say, 

ked  unthinkingly  yesterday, 

Tor  of  Agnews  yet  unborn, 

3n  this  blessed  Sunday  mom !  I  — 

ing !«- the  postman's  self  cried  "shame 
.  »> 

'  immaculate  Andrew's  name  on't  I  I 
the  Club  do  ? — meet,  no  doubt, 
er  that  touches  the  Class  Devout, 
iends  of  the  Sabbath  must  speak  out. 

Tuudajf. 

r,  at  the  raffle  —  and  saw  it  with  pain  — 

stylish  Fitzwigrams  begin  to  dress  plain. 

ittle  Sophy  smart  trimmings  renounces — 

long  has  stood  by  me  through  all  sorts 

ounces, 

rd,  by  upholding  the  toilet's  sweet  rites, 

iris,  may  be  Christians,  without  being 

hts, 

Q,  much  alarms  me ;  for  though  one's 

pons,  [hideous  ; 

and  —  all  that,  there's  no  need  to  be 

I  nice  bonnet  should  stand  in  the  way 

)ing  to  heaven,  'tisn't  easy  to  say. 

j's  Gimp,  the  poor  thing — if  her  custom 
drop, 

*8  to  become  of  her  soul  and  her  shop  ? 
like  ourselves  no  more  orders  are  given, 
all  the  interest  she  now  takes  in  heaven; 
ce  little  **  fire-brand,  pluck'd  from  the 
ling," 
again  at  the  very  next  turning. 

tfca  br  th«  lutlTei  to  ■och  of  thdr  oountiTinen  m 
ta. 

wt  find  Inimmerable  linUnew  in  the  Meounta 


irSes. 

IrlalmA,  oim  of  the  Inc&nuitlona  of  the  ffod  Vlthnn. 
I  the  Bhafferate)  Kriahna't  play-fellowaoompUined 
he  had  pilfered  and  ate  their  cnrda." 

■ataahaTiaci  bat  the  barber  here  will  not  do  it  He 


Wednudag. 

Mem. —  To  write  to  the  India-Mission  Society ; 
And  send  £20  —  heavy  tax  upon  piety  ! 

Of  all  Indian  luxuries  we  now-a-days  boast. 
Making  **  Company's  Christians  * "  perhaps  costs 

the  most. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  these  converts  full 

grown. 
Having  liv'd  in  our  faith,  mostly  die  in  their  own,* 
Praying  hard,  at  the  last,  to  some  god  who,  they 

say, 
When  incarnate  on  earth,  used  to  steal  curds  and 

whey.* 
Think,  how  horrid,  my  dear  !—  so  that  all's  thrown 

away ; 
And  (what  is  still  worse)  for  the  rum  and  the  rice 
They  consum'd,  while  believers,  we  saints  pay  the 

price. 

Still  'tis  cheering  to  find  that  we  do  save  a  few — 
The  Report  gives  six  Christians  for  Cunnang- 

cadoo  ; 
Doorkotchum  reckons  seven,  and  four  Trevandrum, 
While  but  one  and  a  halfs  left  at  Cooroopadum. 
In  this  last-mentiou'd  place,  'tis  the  barbers  enslave 

'em. 
For,  once  they  turn  Christians,  no  barber  will 

shave  'em.* 

To  atone  for  this  rather  small  Heathen  amount, 
Some  Papists,  tum'd  Christians  *,  are  tack*d  to  the* 

account. 
And  though,  to  catch  Papists,  one  needn't  go  so  far. 
Such  fish  are  worth  hooking,  wherever  they  are ; 
And  now,  when  so  great  of  such  converts  the  lack  is. 
One    Papist  well  caught  is    worth  millions   of 

Blackies. 

Friday. 

Last  night  had  a  dream  so  odd  and  funny, 

I  cannot  resist  recording  it  here. — 
Methought  that  the  Genius  of  Matrimony 

Before  me  stood,  with  a  joyous  leer. 
Leading  a  husband  in  each  hand. 

And  both  for  me,  which  look'd  rather  queer ;  — 
One  I  could  perfectly  understand. 

But  why  there  were  two  wasn't  quite  so  clear. 
Tsvas  meant,  however,  I  soon  could  see. 

To  afibrd  me  a  choice  —  a  most  excellent  plan; 
And  —  who  should  this  brace  of  candidates  be. 

But  Messrs.  CMulligan  and  Magan  :  — 

iinmawayleatheahooldbeoompelled.    Heaajnhewillnotahave 
Tesoo  Krecat'a  people."— £ap(.  Miation  Society,  toI.  ii.  p.  49S. 

A  In  the  Reports  of  the  Mi«donariea,  the  Roman  CathoUoi  are 
almoat  alwajn  claaaed  along  with  the  Heathen.  '*  I  hare  extended 
my  labours  (aaya  James  Vennincin  a  Report  for  1831 J  to  the  Hea- 
then, Mahomedans,  and  Roman  Catholics."  "The  Heathen  and 
Roman  Catholics  in  this  neighbourhood  (saars  another  missionary 
for  the  year  ISU)  are  not  indiflbnat,  but  withstand,  lather  ttaaa 
yield  to,  the  finee  of  troth.'* 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


e,  aobcarij  of  lill  Ihcn, 

I  MugBU,  loo,  wilh  ningt  on 

d  in  the  realnts  of  the  Bled.) 
I'  to  duEilc  beholdi^rs  ; 
ll'Mailigiin,  fciitlicr"d  uid  drest 
I  chcmb,  was  lookini;  bis  bvn. 
no  knoiT  me,  scorco  can  doubt 
TO  I  singled  oQL 
-  when,  all  in  drcod 
liright  a  vision's  chomu, 
l;;ai),  bia  image  fled, 
Hu)',  and  I  ionnd  bul  tbe  bead 
i,  wiiigB  and  oU.  in  □>]'  armsl 
Hewn  to  Bomo  nest  divine, 
I  Cbenib  alone  was  mind 
1  certain  lba[  Toolisb  Uagan 

lee  that  be  might  be  tbe  mai . 
ear  —  who  knows?  —  if  uoagbt 

a  m^  be  the  man,  after  alL 


.0  have  my  first  soriptural  rt 


LETTER  Vn. 


Bbimo  me  Ibe  eliunbeiing  souls  of  flam 

While  yet,  Iwaeatb  some  aorthem  d 

tJn^iit  by  beams,  angetuin'd  bj  shomi 

They  wail  tbe  brealb  of  sununer  houi* 

To  woke  to  light  each  diamond  eye. 

And  let  loose  «Tery  florid  sigh! 

Bring  me  the  first-bom  ocean  wami 
From  om  cbose  deep  primeTal  Care*, 
Where  from  tbe  dawn  of  Time  they're 
TttE  Ehbbtos  of  a  futube  HAn<:— 
Untaught  as  yet,  yoDug  things,  to  (pa 

The  language  of  their  PjtszHT  Su 
(PolyphlyebttBii*  Damod  in  Greek), 
Though  soon,  too  soon,  in  bay  and  an 
Konnd  startled  isle  and  >rondcTiDg  pea 

They'll  thauJcr  load  and  long  as  Hi 

'd  abode. 


which  doctrine  nnrt  neg-ns  ' 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


485 


11  find  **  This  day  pnblisli'd  by  Simpkins 
id  Co. 

int,  in  twelve  Cantos,  entitled  *Woe  Woe  I  * 
Fanny  F ,  known  more  commonlj 


»» 


It  that  my  friends  mayn*t  be  left  in  the  dark, 
guess  at  my  writing  by  knowing  my  mcwk. 

aanae'd,  at  last,  this  great  deed  to  achieve, 
a  **  Komaont "  which  you'd  scarce,  dear, 
eUeve; 

I  just  now,  being  all  in  a  whirl, 
out  for  the  Magnet  \  explain  it,  dear  girL 
t  to  say,  that  one  half  the  expense 
easehold  of  £unefor  long  centuries  hence — 
1  **  God  knows,"  as  aunt  says,  my  humble 
mbition 

not  beyond  a  small  Second  Edition,) — 
r  the  whole  cost  of  the  paper  and  printing, 
lag'd  to  scrape  up  this  year  past,  by  stinting 
little  wants  in  gloves,  ribands,  and  shoes, 
!fraading  the  toUet  to  fit  out  the  Muse  I 

o,  my  dear  Kitty,  would  not  do  the  same? 
eau  de  Cologne  to  iht  sweet  breath  of  fame? 
f  riband  soon  end  —  but  the  measures  of 
hyme, 

n  hues  of  the  rainbow,  stretch  out  through 
Jl  time. 

anguish  and  fade  away,  pair  after  pair, 
3uplets  shine  out,  but  the  brighter  for  wear, 
dancing-shoe's  gloss  in  an  evening  is  gone, 
^ht-footed  lyrics  through  ages  trip  on. 

lalning  expense,  trouble,  risk  —  and,  alas ! 

r  copyright  too— into  other  hands  pass; 

•  friend,  the  Head  Dev'l  of  the  **  County 

Jazette" 

ly  Mecaenas  Fve  ever  had  yet), 

set  up  in  type  my  first  juvenile  lays, 

»et  up  by  them  for  the  rest  of  his  days; 

ilc  Gods  (as  my  **  Heathen  Mythology  ** 

ays) 

nought  but  ambrosia,  his  lot  how  much 

weeter 

lucky  dev%  on  a  young  lady's  metre! 

^tffing — that  first  of  all  lit'rary  boons, 

ential  alike  both  to  bards  and  balloons — 

ss  well  supplied  with  inflation,  'tis  found 

bards  nor  baUoons  budge  an  inch  from 

le  ground;^- 

spect,  nought  could  more  prosp'rous  befall ; 

riend  (for  no  less  this  kind  imp  can  I  call) 

the  whole  world  of  critics  —  the  hypers 

ad  alL 

;  he  himself^  indeed,  dabbles  in  rhyme, 

or  imps  diabolic,  is  not  the  first  time; 

1  Adij-eottdiofthatiuune. 


As  Fve  heard  uncle  Bob  say,  'twas  known  among 

Gnostics, 
That  the  Dev^  on  Two  Sticks  was  a  dev^  at 

Acrostics. 

But  hark!  there's  the  Magnet  just  dash'd  in  from 

Town  — 
How  my  heart,  Kitty,  beats!  I  shall  surely  drop 

down. 
That  awful  Court  Journal,  Gazette,  Athenaeum, 
All  full  of  my  book — I  shall  sink  when  I  see  'em. 
And  then  the  great  point— whether  Simpkins  and 

Co. 
Are  actually  pleas'd  with  their  bargain  or  no! — 

Fw«  o*chrk. 

All's  delightful ~ such  praises! — I  really  fear 
That  this  poor  little  head  will  turn  giddy,  my  dear; 
Fve  but  time  now  to  send  you  two  exquisite  scraps- 
All  the  rest  by  the  Magnet,  on  Monday,  perhaps 

FBOX  THE   "MOBNIKO  POST." 

TIs  known  that  a  certain  distinguish'd  physician 
Prescribes,   for  dyspepsia^    a    course  of  light 

reading; 
And  Rhymes  by  young  Ladies,  the  first,  fresh 

edition 
(Ere  critics  have  injured  their  powers  of  nutrition). 
Are  he  thinks,  for  weak  stomachs,  the  best  sort 

of  feeding. 
Satires  irritate — love-songs  are  found  calorific; 
But  smooth,  female  sonnets  he  deems  a  specific. 
And,  if  taken  at  bed-time,  a  sure  soporific. 
Among  works  of  this  kind,  the  most  pleasing  we 

know. 
Is  a  volume  just  publish'd  by  Simpkins  and  Co., 
Where  all  such  ingredients— the  fiowery,  the  sweet. 
And  the  gently  narcotic —  are  mix'd  per  receipt. 
With  a  hand  so  judicious,  we've  no  hesitation 
To  say  that — *bove  all,  for  the  young  generation — 
'Tis  an  elegant,  soothing,  and  safe  preparation. 

Nota  bene — for  readers,  whose  object's  to  deep. 
And  who  read,  in  their  nightcaps,  the  publishers 

keep 
Good  fire-proof  binding,  which  comes  very  cheap. 


ANECDOTE — FBOM  THE  "COURT  JOURNAL." 

T'other  night,  at  the  Countess  of  •  •  *'s  rout. 
An  amusing  event  was  much  whisper'd  about. 

It  was  said  that  Lord ,  at  the  Council,  that  day. 

Had,  more  than  once,  jump'd  frt>m  his  seat,  like 
a  rocket. 
And  fiown  to  a  comer,  where — heedless,  they  say, 
How  the   country's   resources  were   squander'd 
away — 
He  kept  reading  some  papers  he'd  brought  in 
his  pocket. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


It  them  despuche*  from  Spain  or  tho 
■0  they  brought  word  we  had  loBl  the 


d  Co.,  to  BToid  all  <l  eliiy, 
'tts,  that  his  Loidshtp  mighl 
tJ.yl 
ic'd  the  whole  reading  world  by  e 


LETTEE  Vm. 
t,  esQm  to  tub  b 


jret,  dear  Bevcrend  Sir, 

il  won't  let  mo  stir — 
1 1  but  by  proiy  greet  yon. 
I  scruwl,  wlmte'er  its  Eei;se  La, 


And  whereas,  till  the  Catholic  bill, 
I  never  w  anlod  dmught  or  pill, 
The  settling  of  thai  cnraed  question 
llasi)iiit«  iinKUled  my  digcstiou. 

Look  whut  has  happeo'd  sioee — Ae 
l)f  aU  the  bores  of  every  tact. 
The  chosen  triers  of  men's  patience. 
Front  all  [he  Three  Dcnoroinattons, 
Let  loose  upon  uii — eveo  Qnikcts 
Tum'd  into  sppecbers  and  law-makc 
WhoT!  move  no  qaegtion,  stiff-nimp 
Till  firat  the  Spirit  mores  themstlTci 
And  wLose  shrill  Teas  imil  Nayi,  in 
Conquering  our  Ays  and  Kos  eonon 
Will  sooo  to  death's  own  slumber  nii 
Then,  loo,  those  Jews! — I  really  sici 

To  think  of  Bncb  abominatioD; 
lellows,  who  won't  eat  bam  with  rhi 

To  legislate  Ibr  this  great  nationl- 
Depend  upon't,  when  ooce  Ibej've  ik 

With  rich  old  Goldsmid  at  the  he* 
The'  Excise  laws  will  be  done  away. 

And  Circuncise  ones  ptus'd  instead 

In  short,  dear  sir,  look  where  one  wil 
Things  all  go  on  BO  dcilifh  ill. 
That  ■pon  TOT  soul.  I  rather  (car 

mTnlRt'clnrnijiv  b.'  right. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


487 


n  spite  of  Grote  and  Gout, 
U  shine  triiimph«nt  ontl 

k  again  shall  come,  egad, 
for  sport,  mj  reTerend  lad. 

OlinUigan— oh  then, 
imted  on  onr  nags  again, 
our  high-flown  Bosinante, 

oat,  lU^e  Show  Gallantee 
reat  from  snhstance  scanty); — 
3ob  Fadge,  Esqnire,  shall  ride 
ifol  Sancho,  bj  joor  side; 
dk  of  tilts  and  tonmaments! 

well 

•  •  •  • 

'Sqnire  Fudge's  derk  presents 
snd  Sir  his  compliments; 
to  saj  an  accident 
Mxmrr'd  which  will  preyent 
re — though  now  a  little  better — 
shing  this  present  letter. 

i  he'd  got  to  "Dam'me,  we'll " 

ur,  full  of  martial  zeal, 

t  his  crutch,  but  not  being  able 

p  his  balance  or  his  hold, 

id,  both  self  and  crutch,  and  roll'd 

and  bat,  beneath  the  table. 

— the  table,  chair,  and  crutch; — 
thank  God,  is  broken  much, 
quire*8  head,  which,  in  the  fall, 
>'d  consid'rablj — that's  all; 
)  great  alarm  we  feel, 
quire's  head  can  bear  a  deaL 

ich  the  same — head  rather  light  — 
rat  •*  Barbers*  Wigs  "  all  night. 

skeeper,  old  Mrs.  Griggs, 

that  he  meant  **  barb^us  Whigs." 


LETTER  IX 

BY  o'B&AMIOAN,   to  HIS  WIFE  JUDT. 

at  last  week  that  I  sint  you  a  letther, 
•ndher,  dear  Judy,  what  this  is  about; 
,  it's  a  letter  myself  would  like  bctther, 
oanage  to  lave  the  contints  of  it  out; 
it  makes  even  me  onaisy, 
things  quiet,  'twill  dhrive  you  crazy. 


oar  Patriarch*,  I,  ft  Immch  of  om  of  yonr  tnte- 
M — fcUovs  that  the  Flood  ooold  not  waih  away.**— 

•  to  aboae— Mr.  Lover  makea  li  (aflSrcWt  and  b«  b 


Oh,  Jud^,  that  riyerind  Mnrthagh,  bad  scran  to 

hun! 
That  e'er  I  should  come  to*Te  been  sanrant-man 

to  him. 
Or  so  far  demane  the  O'Branigan  blood. 
And  my  Aunts,  the  Dilnyian  (whom  not  ey'n  the 

Flood 
Was  able  to  wash  away  clane  from  the  earth) ' 
As  to  sarve  one  whose  name,  of  mere  yestherday's 

birth. 
Can  no  more  to  a  great  O,  before  it,  portend. 
Than  mine  can  to  wear  a  great  Q  at  its  end. 

But  that's  now  all  over — last  night  I  ger  wamin*. 
And,  masth'r  as  he  is,  will  discharge  him  this 

momin'. 
The  thief  of  the  world!— but  it's  no  use  balrag- 

gin';«— 
An  I  know  is,  I'd  fifty  times  rather  be  draggin' 
Ould  ladies  up  hill  to  the  ind  of  my  days. 
Than  with  Mnrthagh  to  rowl  in  a  chaise,  at  my 

aise. 
And  be  forc'd  to  discind  thro*  the  same  dirty  ways. 
Arrah,  sure,  if  Pd  heerd  where  he  last  show'd  his 

phiz, 
Td  have  know  what  a  qnare  sort  of  monsther 

he  is; 
For,  by  gor,  'twas  at  Exether  Change,  sxu;e  enough. 
That  himself  and  his  other  wild  Irish  shqw'd  off ; 
And  it's  pity,  so  'tis,  that  they  had'nt  got  no  man 
Who  knew  the  wild  craythurs  to  act  as  their 

show-man — 
Sayin',  **  Ladies  and  Gintlemen,  plaze  to  take  no- 
tice, 
*'  How  shlim  and  how  shleek  this  black  animal's 

coat  is; 
**  All  by  raison,  weYe  towld,  that  the  nathur  o'  the 

baste 
"Is  to  change  its  coat  once  in  its  lifetime,  at 

kute; 
**  And  such  objiks,  in  our  counthiy,  not  bein'  com- 
mon ones, 
''Are  bought  up^  as  this  was,  by  way  of  Fine 

Nomenons. 
**  In  regard  of  its  name —  why,  in  throth,  I'm  con- 

sam'd 
'*  To  differ  on  this  point  so  much  with  the  Lam'd, 
''Who  call  it  a  '•  Morihvmer^  whereas  the  cray- 

thur 
"  Is  plainly  a '  Mnrthagh,'  by  name  and  by  nathur." 

This  is  how  Td  haye  towld  them  the  rights  of  it 

all. 
Had  /  been  their  showman  at  Exether  Hall — 

hi^  anthoritj  t  hot  If  I  lememlwr  rightly.  Curraa  In  hli  BatloDal 
•toriea  naed  to  employ  the  word  at  abort.—  See  Lorcr't  moat 
anrattngaadgnnliiely  Iriah  worti,  the  ** Legoda  and  StoriMof 
Irtlaad.'* 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


l»addy  C— ko — who,  by  got,  Td  have 

such  basu;a  idbj  be  Uin'd,  when 
Jc  ihrown  "cui 
blj  Hip  of  af  the  nilo  Baigia  Dtmem.' 

Bisurc  jnat  now,  Jndj  dear, 
our  own  doings  here, 
i'  and  (I&nuuin'  and  thund'rin,  like 

ns,  from  Munhagh  have  hod. 
■  all  raurthcrers  —  div'l  a  hit  lefis  — 
ir  priefiw,  when  wc  (^  to  confess, 
in  murth'rlnj;  and  wish  as  snccuast 

w  he  daar'd,  bj-  tongue  or  by  pen, 
ia  way,  seren  millions  of  men, 
lid  'twas  all  lowld  hiin  bj  Doethor 


■edi-rTsAey" 


0  Clirishtian  —  but  not  n 
II  Slnnhagh,  in  iligant  style, 
IS  Calh'lics  all  the  while, 

s,  patjureni,  villians, 
ii  of  tb'aforesaid  millione,' — 


ye  — 
"  Ris'H/roai  Ihe  iqntlchre  of—inactivii 
"  And,  tike  aicfd  corjiaea,  dug  upjrtan  a 
"  Wandrin'  aUmt  in  all  aorU  of  \iiikity 
Even  you,  Jady,  true  aa  yuu  an  t 

Light, 
Would  have  Inngb'd,  oat  aod  out.  u 
Of  that  figuro  uf  speech  call'd  ihc  Bla 
As  for  me,  though  a  fnnny  liioagbl  n< 

Bage  got  iho  betiber  at  Luc  —  asdi 

So,  slflppins  my  thigh,  "by  the  Powj 
Says  I  bowTdly,  "  I'll  make  a  noratioi 
And  with  that  np  1  jnmps — but,  my 

I  eock'd  up  my  head,  div'l  a  sin«e  ren 
Though,  saittd,  1  could  bsTC  got  beaa 
When  I  tnk  to  m  J  tegs,  foilh,  the  gab  wa 
Which  was  odd,  for  as.  Pals,  who,  wh 

At  taste  in  our  Ugi  show  a  ithrong  nn 

Howsiundever.de Inrmin'd  the  chaps  sbo 
What  I  thought  of  their  doin's.  before 
"In  regard  of  all  that,"  says  I  — thiu 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


489 


dy  oa  the  ouUide,  a  line,  should  I  need  it, 

'  Priyate "  npon  it,  that  no  one  maj 

dit,) 

1  how  Mortimer  (as  the  Saints  chrishten 

i)  [him. 

big  shame  of  his  sairant's  dismisshin* 

(^Private  ouitideJ) 

from  his  riy'rence — the  job  is  all  done — 
rers,  Tye  discharged  him  as  sure  as  a  gun ! 
Jndj  dear,  what  on  earth  I'm  to  do 
slf  and  my  appetite — both  good  as  new — 
y*n  a  single  traneen  in  my  pocket, 
.  good,  dacent  poond-starlin*,  to  stock  it — 
;Sry  I  laye  to  ihe  One  that's  aboye, 
I  care  of  as,  dissolute  sowls,  when  hard 
xjye! 


LETTER  X 

SET.  MORTIHEB   O'MULLIOAK,    TO  THE 
REV. . 

few  brief  lines,  my  reyerend  friend, 
fe,  private  hand  I  send, 
g  lest  some  low  Catholic  wag 
pry  into  the  Letter-bag,) 
yon,  far  as  pen  can  dare, 
s,  poor  errant  martyrs,  fare;  — 
I,  not  quite  to  fire  and  rack, 
its  were,  some  few  ages  back, 
•arce  less  trying  in  its  way  — 
;hter,  wheresoever  we  stray; 
s,  which  Providence  mysterious 
on  men  and  things  so  serious, 
ig  the  Church  still  more  each  minute, 
injuring  our  preferment  in  it. 
nk,  how  worrying  'tis,  my  friend, 
,  where'er  our  footsteps  bend, 
1  jokes,  like  squibs,  around  uswliizzing; 
ar  Uie  eternal  torturing  play 
great  engine  of  our  day, 
lown  to  the'  Inquisition  —  quizzing! 

en  of  thumb-screws  and  of  racks 
U  the  bodjf  their  attacks; 
iem  torturers,  more  refin'd, 
^eir  machinery  on  the  mind, 
Sebastian  had  the  luck 
me  to  be  a  godly  rover, 
of  arrows,  he'd  be  stuck 
stings  of  ridicule  all  over; 


other  amiable  enactments  afftintt  the  Catholics  at 
iS),tlM  prkc  of  Atc  jKNindi  waa  Mt  on  the  head  of  a 


And  poor  St.  Lawrence,  who  was  kill'd 
By  being  on  a  gridir*n  grill'd. 
Had  he  but  shar'd  my  errant  lot. 
Instead  of  grill  on  gridir'n  hot, 
A  moral  roasting  would  have  got. 
Nor  should  I  (trying  as  all  this  is) 

Much  heed  the  suffering  or  the  shame  — 
As,  like  an  actor,  used  to  hisses, 

I  long  have  known  no  other  fame. 
But  that  (as  I  may  own  to  you. 
Though  to  the  world  it  would  not  do,) 
No  hope  appears  of  fortune's  beams 
Shining  on  any  of  my  schemes; 
No  chance  of  something  more  per  ann. 
As  supplement  to  K — llym— n; 
No  prospect  that,  by  fierce  abuse 
Of  Ireland,  I  shall  e'er  induce 
The  rulers  of  this  thinking  nation 
To  rid  us  of  Emancipation; 
To  forge  anew  the  sevcr'd  chain, 
And  bring  back  Penal  Laws  again. 

Ah,  happy  time!  when  wolves  and  priests 
Alike  were  hunted,  as  wild  beasts; 
And  five  poimds  was  the  price,  per  head. 
For  bagging  either,  live  or  dead;'  — 
Though  oft,  we're  told,  one  outlaw'd  brother 
Sav'd  cost,  by  eating  up  the  other. 

Finding  thus  all  those  schemes  and  hopes 
I  built  upon  my  flowers  and  tropes 
All  scatter'd,  one  by  one,  away. 
As  flashy  and  unsound  as  they. 
The  question  comes  —  what's  to  be  done? 
And  there's  but  one  course  left  me — one. 
Heroes,  when  tired  of  war's  alarms. 
Seek  sweet  repose  in  beauty's  arms. 
The  weary  Day-God's  last  retreat  is 
The  breast  of  silv'ry-footed  Thetis; 
And  mine,  as  mighty  Love's  my  judge. 
Shall  be  the  arms  of  rich  Miss  Fudge! 

Start  not,  my  friend,  —  the  tender  scheme. 
Wild  and  romantic  though  it  seem. 
Beyond  a  parson's  fondest  dream, 
Yet  shines,  too,  with  those  golden  dyes 
So  pleasing  to  a  parson's  eyes  — 
That  only  gilding  which  the  muse 
Cannot  around  her  sons  diffuse  ;  — 
Which,  whencesoever  flows  its  bliss. 
From  wealthy  Miss  or  benefice, 
To  Mortimer  ind  iff 'rent  is. 
So  he  can  make  it  only  his. 
There  is  but  one  slight  damp  I  see 
Upon  this  scheme's  felicity. 


Romiah  prieit— belns  exactly  the  lame  ram  oftred  bj  the  nm« 
legiaUtora  tor  the  head  of  a  wolf." 

Memoin  qfCeqitam  Sock,  book  L  chap.  10. 
O   O 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


e  fair  beruinc's  claim 
Ike  her  family  name. 
Ih  i[  may  louli  hvnpwk'd), 
KCBDtlf  objecCi 
I  long  choE'n  (o  shine 
fi  Ihe  alia*  '  line  ; 

IT  wife's  decree. 


r  0-t\ilge  — 
t;  IvQpt,  that  all  may  see 
It  ftinuly. 

nor  need  the  fact  amazQ  yon, 
I'b  calm  EntliaDa&ia. 
mg  farewGll  to  all 
■Exeter's  old  Hall  — 
ICC.  its  apee  exceeding, 
s  bears  in  breeding, 
fclulfonn  flU'd  with  preachers  — 
'n  oat,  as  gtaee  ',  by  spcecben 
p  their  fcllow-crealnrea  : — 

d  old  Deng's  volnmes, 
Bs  dead,  old  Slimdard's  eoliunns :  - 
ilaUInoiTP   ■ 


hfunli.  a 


■lllc  lilial  Fudges 
Hand  Peers,  and  Judges  — 
'■■   00.  if  alas  1 


IBxtraclfrom  tlit  "  Comfy  Gtattit 

This  place  i)  getting  gay  and  fall  agaii 

Ijist  week  waaniarrifd,  "in  the  Lon 
The  tttrcTend  Mortimer  0*MuUigui, 

Ptraeher,  in  Iriih.  of  the  Woid, 
(He,  who  the  Lord's  force  lately  led  on 

Exeter  HaU  bis  Amu^A-gcddon.)  * 
To  Miis  B.  Fadge  of  Pis^h  Plnee. 
One  of  the  chos'n,  as  "heir  of  gnwe," 
And  likewise  hcircw  of  PhiL  Foilge, 
Eaquirc,  defunct,  of  Orange  Lodge. 

Same  evening,  Miss  F.  Fudge,  'lis  hint 

Niece  of  llic  above,  (whose  "  Syh^n 
In  our  GBzeilc  la*t  week,  we  printed,) 

Elop'd  with  Pat.  Magan,  Eaqnire. 
The  fugitives  were  Cmck'd,  some  lime. 

After  they'd  loft  the  Aunt's  abode, 
Br  scraps  of  paper,  scrawl'd  with  rhyn 

Found  sirew'd  along  the  Wenem  n 
Some  of  them,  ci^dewat  cnrl-papen^ 
Others,  half  burnt  in  lighting  tapers. 
This  cine,  however,  to  their  Sight, 

After  some  miles  was  seen  no  more  , 
Anii,  from  inqnirics  made  last  night, 

We  liud  they've  reach 'd  the  IriKh  sbi 

of  i;    Imc.  Dkk  —  Xh'   tsa 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


491 


-  rm  call'd  off  abrnptl  j  •—  another  Express  I 
the  deuce  can  it  mean? — Tin  alarm'd,  I 
confess. 

h,  Dick,  hnmh,  Dick,  ten  tfaonsand  hur- 
rahs! 
happj,  rich  dog  to  the  end  of  my  days. 

—  read  the  good  news  ~- and  while  glad,  for 
aqf  sake, 

VTealth  should  thus  follow  in  Lore's  shining 


■e  also  the  wtorai —  that  he,  the  sly  elf, 
tas  ftidg'd  allthe  world,  should  be  now  fodg'd 
Jkimmdft 


SXTBACT  nOM  LBTTBB  DIGLOflED. 

With  pain  the  moomfol  news  I  write, 
Miss  Fudge's  nncle  died  last  niffht; 
And  much  to  mine  and  friends  surprise. 
By  will  doth  all  his  wealth  devise  — 
Lands,  dwellings  —  rectories  likewise-— 
To  his  **  beloY*!  grand-nieoe,"  Miss  Fanny, 
Leaving  Miss  Fudge  herself  who  many 
Long  years  hath  waited  —  not  a  penny  I 
Have  notified  the  same  to  latter. 
And  wait  instructions  in  the  matter. 

For  self  and  partners,  &c.  &e 


— '"^— —  — 


002 


I 


i 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


TnB«KilmialM 
£np0« 

Clip  the  wingi 

Of  UwM  high-fljring ,  Mrbitnuy  King*. 


VtRnix^  Oeorff'  lib.  It. 
D»TDiir'«  Trtautaiion. 


TO 

LORD  BYRON. 

Dbas  liOKD  Btboit 

Tbouoh  this  Volume  should  possess  no 

merit  in  joar  eyes,  than  that  of  reminding 

of  the  short  time  we  passed  together  at  Venice, 


when  some  of  the  trifles  which  it  contains  were 
written,  jou  will,  I  am  sure,  receive  the  dedication 
of  it  with  pleasure,  and  belieye  that  I  am, 

Mj  dear  Lord, 

Ever  faithfullj  jours, 

T.B. 


PREFACE. 


Tbouoh  it  was  the  wish  of  the  Memhers  of  the 
Pooo-carante  Society  (who  have  lately  done  me 
tiie  honour  of  electing  me  their  Secretary)  that  I 
dKmld  prefix  my  name  to  the  following  Misccl- 
laaj,  it  is  but  fair  to  them  and  to  myself  to  state, 
iStuij  except  in  the  ** painful  pre-eminence"  of 
lieing employed  to  transcribe  their  lucubrations,  my 
claim  to  Fudi  a  distinction  in  the  title-page  is  not 
greater  tiian  that  of  any  other  gentleman,  who  has 
eontributed  his  share  to  the  contents  of  the  volume. 
I  had  originally  intended  to  take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  giving  some  account  of  the  origin  and 
objects  of  our  Listitution,  the  names  and  charac- 
ters of  the  different  members,  &c.  &c.  —  but,  as  I 
am  at  present  preparing  for  the  press  the. First 
Tohune  of  the  **  Transactions  of  the  Poco-curante 
Sodetj,"  I  shall  reserve  for  that  occasion  all  fur- 
ther details  upon  the  subject;  and  content  myself 
iere  with  referring,  for  a  general  insight  into  our 


tenets,  to  a  Song  which  will  be  found  at  the  end 
of  this  work,  and  which  is  sung  to  us  on  the  first 
day  of  every  month,  by  one  of  our  oldest  members, 
to  the  tune  of  (as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  being  no 
musician,)  either  "  Nancy  Dawson  "  or  "  He  stole 
away  the  Bacon." 

It  may  be  as  well  also  to  state,  for  the  informa- 
tion of  those  critics,  who  attack  with  the  hope  of 
being  answered,  and  of  being,  thereby,  brought 
into  notice,  that  it  is  the  rule  of  this  Society  to 
return  no  other  answer  to  such  assailants,  than  is 
contained  in  three  words  **Non  curat  Hippo- 
elides,*'  (meaning,  in  English,  *'  Hippoclides  does 
not  care  a  fig,")  which  were  spoken  two  thousand 
years  ago  by  the  first  founder  of  Poco-curantism, 
and  have  ever  since  been  adopted  as  the  leading 
dictum  of  the  sect 

THOMAS  BROWN. 


OO  4 


F.yiLES  POE  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


m  that  bodes  no  good 
BrotlierhooiL 
long,  bul  I  confeas — 
b  right  or  lawful 

lie  cxl'reraolj  nnfuL 

_  on  (he  Nei-a's  fluod 

■fl  Palsco  Blood, 
work,  oa  chv  plan 
llhy  Einpre««  Anno,' 
:  br  moanlight  —  as  the  laic  is 


?nlace,  fumishM  nil 


Jnil  Suney  how  a  bard  like  me. 
Who  revcrf  nee  montrch?.  mast  hAxe  t 

To  see  ihal  goodly  coinfianj. 

At  tacb  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Kor  were  the  feara,  that  thns  anlonndcd 
Mj  loyal  Bonl,  at  all  nnfouinled  — 
For,  \o'.  ere  long,  thou-  wulls  io  moKT 

Were  seii'd  with  an  iil^imeu'd  drip[ric 
And  o'er  the  Suors,  now  growin;:  glaBf, 

Their  Holinwsos  took  to  slippiDg. 
The  Ciar,  half  through  a  Polonaiac, 

Could  scarce  got  on  for  downright  Uta 
And  Prussia,  ihongh  to  ilippcij  wajs 

Well  used,  waa  cnrscdlj  near  tamtiliii; 

Tet  nil)  'Iwaa,  irho  could  stamp  the  floor 
Knssia  aiid  Austria  'mong  the  forcmoM  - 
jViid  now,  lo  an  Kaliaji  air. 

This  precious  brace  mould,  hand  in  lui 
Now  — while  old  Louia,  from  his  chair, 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLLA.NCE. 


497 


I  double  bird  of  prej 
ch  cock,  slunk  awaj; 
:e  France  herself  when  she 
w  great  her  nayal  skill  is — 
>wning  fleur-de-lys 
mselves  iMi^-lilies. 

rooms,  ceilings,  shelves, 
lore  fatal  execution  — 
itimates  themselyes 
state  of  dissolution. 
Czar — when  just  about 
blime  Ukase, 
ight  must  be  kept  out "  — > 
lothing  in  its  blaze, 
ok  his  turn  to  melt, 
lips  illustrious  felt 
f  this  southern  air, 
ike  **  Constitution  " —  long 
)8ty  silence  there  — 
thawing  from  his  tongue, 
psing  bj  degrees, 
out  a  faint  adieu 
us,  toasted  cheese 
:/ondus,  quickly  grew, 
fkfondu  too; — 
(dly  King  thej  make 
.Velfth-night  cake, 
urchin's  mouth,  alas, 
thapcless  massl 

;e  could  count  a  minute, 
lome,  and  all  within  it, 

Emperors,  all  were  gone  — 
now  was  seen  or  heard 
iver,  rushing  on, 
enfhinchis'd  bird, 

that  natural  raj, 
'A  chainless  way  — 
appj  thus  to  glide 
ndeur  to  the  sea, 
{parkling  fetters  tied, 
th  all  that  kinglj  pride 
o  light  its  slayeiy! 

jn  —  and,  I  confess, 

awfulness. 

ince — that  southern  beam — 

ig  —  there's  my  dream  — 

jrudener,  the  she-prophet, 

¥hat  she  pleases  of  it. 


V  to  choose  always  ft  ihort,  thkk  man  for 
:3anMV.llb.iU.p.l6«. 


FABLE  n. 

THB  LOOKIHO-OLA88XS. 
PROEM. 

Whskb  Kings  hare  been  by  mob-elections 

Rais'd  to  Sie  Throne,  'tis  strange  to  see 
What  different  and  what  odd  perfections 

Men  have  requir'd  in  Royalty. 
Some,  liking  monarchs  large  and  plumpy. 

Have  chos'n  their  Soyereigns  by  the  weight;  — 
Some  wish'd  them  tall,  some  thought  your  dumpy, 

Dutch-built,  the  true  Legitimate.* 
The  Easterns  in  a  Prince,  'tis  said. 
Prefer  what's  call'd  a  jolter-head:  • 
The'  Egyptians  wer'n't  at  all  particular. 

So  that  their  Kings  had  not  red  hair-« 
Thii  fault  not  even  the  greatest  stickler 

For  the  blood  royal  well  could  bear. 
A  thousand  more  such  illustrations 
Might  be  adduc'd  from  yarious  nations. 
But,  'mong  the  many  tales  they  tell  us, 

Touching  the'  acquir'd  or  natural  right 
Which  some  men  haye  to  rule  their  fellows. 

There's  one,  which  I  shall  here  recite: — 

FABLE. 

There  was  a  land — to  name  the  place 
Is  neither  now  my  wish  nor  duty — 

Where  reign'd  a  certain  Royal  race. 
By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

Of  these  great  persons'  chins  and  noses. 
By  right  of  which  they  rul'd  the  state, 

No  history  I  haye  seen  discloses. 

But  so  it  was — a  settled  case  — 

Some  Act  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snugly. 

Had  yoted  them  a  beauteous  race. 
And  all  their  faithful  subjects  ugly. 

As  rank,  indeed,  stood  high  or  low, 
Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs; 

Your  Peers  were  decent  —  Knights,  so  so  — 
But  all  your  common  people,  gorgons! 

Of  course,  if  any  knaye  had  hinted 

That  the  King's  nose  was  turned  awry. 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  bless  her!)  squinted — 
The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurred. 
The  people  to  their  King  were  duteous, 

And  took  it,  on  his  Royal  word. 
That  they  were  frights,  and  He  was  beauteous. 

«  **  In  a  Prince  •  Joltp-haadla  JnyianaMo.'* 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


rhcroof,  among  all  claascs, 
bnply  cliii  —  these  ieland  clvea 
Jr  yel  seen  looking-glMsta, 
nerefore,  did  not  knoto  Ihemadivi. 

indwd,  their  neighbours'  facei 
Istrike  iheiD  ai  more  full  of  reason, 

h  than  those  in  certain  places  — 
Lril,  the  Teiy  thought  waa  treason  I 

iwe'er  we  lore  onr  neighbour, 
.c  his  fare's  part,  'tia  tnowu 
o  much  in  cameM  laboaT, 
;q  iha  faro  atlack'd's  our  own. 

■  went — the  crowd  bolicTing  — 
fd»  well-govern'd  olwaya  do) 
B,  too,  themsclies  deceiving  — 
le  joke,  they  tbODghi  'twsa  true, 

we  know,  if  they  loo  far  gos 
?e  on  end  —  and  so,  one  day, 
coast  there  was  a  corgo 
ing-glassea  out  away. 


;ir  wicked  heads  logfther, 
It  ship  to  fotinder  there, — 
hclicvE  it  wns  the  wcilhcr. 


Jiut  Ilia  ting,  bv  that  gentle  lign. 
How  little  Nature  holdi  it  niH^ 

That  vhat  i>  call'd  on  ancient  line 
Mtut  he  the  line  of  Bcanly  too. 

From  Duke'a  they  pau'd  to  regal  ] 
Compor'd  them  proudly  with  thi 

And  cried  "  Hont  nm/tf  euch  monsl 
"  In  BcBtily'i  name  lunrp  the  tb 

They  tlion  wrote  essays,  pamphlet) 
L'pon  Cosmetical  (Economy, 

Which  made  the  King  try  variom 
But  none  im  proved  his  fdiyaiogi 

And  satires  at  the  Conn  were  kre 
And  small  tnmpoons.  so  full  of  t 

That  Boon,  in  short,  they  qaiM  be 
Their  Msjosties  and  Boy^  High 

AI  length  —  bat  here  I  drop  the  n 
To  spare  some  loyal  folks'  senaai 

Besidea.  what  folton-'d  is  the  tale 
Of  all  such  lato  enlighten 'd  naiii 

Of  all  10  whom  old  Time  discloses 
A  inith  ihcy  ahoold  have  s-Mntr 

That  Kings  have  oeilhcr  rights  nor 
A  whit  dji'iner  than  their  own. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLLAJ^CE. 


499 


LBioii  firft,  whose  andent  shrine 
anuflh*d  with  the  fire  ahneadj, 
Ik  Gsn^t  the  boon  diyine, 
it  a  flttne^  like  Albion's,  gteadj. 

mdad  gift  tiien  Oallia.  took, 
fike  a  wild  Bacch>nte»  raising 
id  aloft,  it*  sparkles  shook, 
B  wonld  set  Ihe  world  a-blaiing! 

idlinff  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

Itar  Uai'd  into  the  air, 

:.Bioii,  to  that  fire  too  nigh, 

k  bade,  and  shndder'd  at  its  glarel 

>AiB,  so  new  was  light  to  her, 
i  at  the  tordi — bat,  ere  the  spark 
1  npon  her  shrine  conld  stir, 
qoendi'd — and  all  again  was  dark. 

—  iio<  qnendi'd  — •  a  treasnre,  worth 
idi  to  mortals,  rardj  dies: 
er  lifing  light  look'd  forth, 
hone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

ct  receiy'd  the  flame?  alas, 
rthy  Naples  —  shame  of  shames, 
tr  through  snch  hands  should  pass 
brightest  of  all  earthljr  flames  I 

ad  her  flngers  tonch'd  the  torch, 
,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 
ting  eren  to  feel  the  scorch, 
ropp'd  it  to  the  earth  —  and  fled. 

'n  it  might  hare  long  remain'dl 
SXKCB,  who  saw  her  moment  now, 
ip  the  prize,  thongh  prostrate,  stain *d, 
ray'd  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 

1C7  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 
Itar,  as  its  flame  ascended, 
ireli'd  spirits  seem'd  to  soar, 
ihns  in  song  their  voices  blended  : 

shine  for  ever,  glorious  Flame, 
nest  gift  of  G^ods  to  men! 
[>RBSCB  thj  earliest  splendour  came, 
>KBBCB  thj  raj  returns  again, 

freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round, 
n  dinmi'd,  rerive,  when  lost,  return, 
t  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found, 
rhidi  thjr  glories  shall  not  bum! 


)* 


FABLE  IV. 

THB  FLT  AKD  THX  BULLOCK. 
PROEH. 

Or  all  that,  to  the  sage's  survey. 

This  world  presents  of  topey-tunrj. 

There's  nought  so  much  disturbs  one's  patience^ 

As  little  minds  in  lofty  stations, 

Tis  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder, 

Which  slender  columns,  labouring  under 

Enormous  arches,  give  beholders;  — 
Or  those  poor  Caryatides, 
Condemn'd  to  smUe  and  stand  at  ease. 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shoulders. 

I^  as  in  some  few  royal  cases, 

Small  minds  are  bom  into  such  places  — 

If  they  are  there,  by  Right  Divine, 

Or  any  such  sufficient  reason. 
Why  —  Heaven  forbid  we  should  repine!  — 

To  wish  it  otherwise  were  treason; 
Nay,  ev'n  to  see  it  in  a  vision. 
Would  be  what  lawyers  call  wuMprisioH. 

Sir  BoBBBT  FiLMBH  saith  —  and  he, 

Of  course,  knew  all  about  the  matter — 
**  Both  men  and  beasts  love  Monarch v;  " 

Which  proves  how  rational  —  the  latter. 
Sidney,  we  know,  or  wrong  or  right, 
Entudy  difier'd  from  the  Knight! 
Nay,  hints  a  King  may  lose  hu  head. 

By  slipping  awkward! v  his  bridle:  — 
But  this  is  treasonous,  ill-bred. 
And  (now-a-days,  when  Kings  are  led 

In  patent  snaffies)  downright  idle. 

No,  no — it  isn't  right-line  Kings, 
(Those  sovereign  lords  in  leading-strings 
Who,  from  their  birth,  are  Faith- Defenders,) 
That  move  my  wrath  —  'tis  your  pretenders. 
Tour  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  earth. 
Who  —  not,  like  t'  others,  bores  by  birth, 
Establish'd  gratid  Dei  blockheads. 
Bom  with  three  Kingdoms  in  their  pockets  — 
Yet,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  stops. 

Push  up  into  the  loftiest  stations, 
And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops. 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations! 

This  class  it  is,  that  moves  my  gall. 
And  stirs  up  bile,  and  spleen,  and  alL 
While  other  senseless  things  appear 
To  know  the  limits  of  their  sphere  — 
While  not  a  cow  on  earth  romances 
So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances — 
While  the  most  jumping  frog  we  know  of. 
Would  scarce  at  Astley's  hope  to  show  off ~- 


0  h<?re  these  upstart  things  — 
II  DOW,  with  Kings; 
ihrir  right-line  glory, 
I  the  foUowing  blar}'. 


n  of  Egypt  were  «ecrpt  aa  dnnmi 
•hen  they  miwl  conclescenili'il  to  It 
up  their  lueABiiigi  u  thej  did  their 


oBOpher  (nephrir,  thcj  srt, 
iir  Kreal  travplltr.  young  Anatharsis), 
)li>  at  Memphis  one  day, 
n  peep  at  their  mystical  forces. 


inolUblt  In  iisniudbi  Ihi 

Toes  did  So*HE  JBimrs  —  tfaaogh  > 
A  Lord  a(  Trade  und  tbe  I'lantMit 

Feel  bow  Btligion's  limple  glorj 
Is  suin'd  by  Stale  assudatiOD*. 

When  Cathirtne,  ere  sbe  cnuh'd  (h 

Ajiptal'd  to  the  benign  Divinity; 
Then  cat  them  up  in  protocols, 
Mode  fractioni  of  their  rerv  »oub  ' — 

AU  in  the  name  of  the  bieai'd  Trie 
Or  when  her  gTunlson,  ALEJUJitiBa, 
That  mighty  Northern  talamander,* 
Whose  icy  tonch,  felt  all  about, 
Pnta  every  fire  of  Freedom  one — 
When  he,  too,  winds  op  hia  UkWES 
With  God  and  the  Panagia'a  prusec- 
When  he,  of  royal  SsJnts  the  type. 

In  holy  -water  dips  tho  sponge, 
Wilh  whieh,  at  one  imperial  wipe, 

lie  would  all  human  righu  expan) 
Wlien  Louis  (whom  a^  King,  and  « 


FABLES  FOE  THE  HOLY  ALLLAJ^CE. 


501 


T 


have  tfteie  a  claim 

I  Seligion's  name? 

I  seek,  go  see  a  bevy 

parsons  at  a  levee— 

^onr  time,  when  straw's  before 

lectic  bishop's  door,) 

)a  canst,  with  life,  escape 

>f  lawn,  that  press  of  crape, 

their  rev'rences  and  graces, 

ch  smirking  suitor  frisks, 

'  those  ronnd  shining  faces 

Q  or  earth  most  torn  their  disks? 

t  is — Heligion,  made, 
irdi  and  State,  a  tmdc,  a  trade — 
ill-match'd,  nnholj  Co., 
tee  the  ills  we  witness  flow; 
'manj  creeds  with  one — 
nes  of  too  much  fiuth,  and  none — 
ct  ancient  trash  and  new. 
It  and  Blasphemy — the  two 
rith  which  this  age  is  cnrst— 
more  tell  which  is  worst, 
:ould  Egypt,  when  so  rich 
plagnes,  determine  which 
It  most  pestilent  and  vile, 
like  Benbow  and  Carlisle, 
heir  native  mad-notes  load 
locusts,  like  a  cloud 
ts,  obesely  lowering, 
inighting  and  devouring! 

}  it  is — and  here  I  pray 
ipient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 
\  us  }>oor,  dull  authors  say, 
it  we  mean,  but  what  they  choose; 
r  most  abundant  shares 
ie  add  stiU  more  of  theirs, 
)  poets  just  such  evils 
pillars  find  those  flies,* 
t  content  to  sting  like  devils, 
s  upon  their  backs  likewise  — 
against  such  foul  deposits 
''s  meaning  in  my  rhymes, 
Dore  need&l  here,  because  it*s 
ct,  ticklish  in  these  times)  — 
all  such  wits  make  known, 
'  and  Weekly,  Whig  and  Tory, 
eligion — this  alone 
in  the  following  story; — 

FABLE. 

ralty  was  young  and  bold, 
ch'd  by  Time,  he  had  become 
Ivil  to  say  oU, 
,  a  ei-devantjeune  honane; 

tanmber  of  the  lehnennum  tribe  are  nen  MttUng 
'kheeeterpUler.aiid  dertins  etdiffneat  intenmle 


One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit 

Driving  along,  he  chanc*d  to  see 
Religion,  passing  by  on  foot. 

And  took  him  in  his  vis-i-vis. 

This  said  Religion  was  a  Friar, 

The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men. 
Who  ne'er  had  notion  or  desire 

Of  riding  in  a  coach  till  then. 

•*  I  sa^  " — quoth  Royalty,  who  rather 

Enjoy*d  a  masquerading  joke — 
**  I  say,  suppose,  my  good  old  fiftther, 

"  You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

The  Friar  consented — little  knew 
What  tricks  the  youth  had  in  his  head; 

Besides,  was  rather  tempted  too 
By  a  lac*d  coat  he  got  in  stead. 

Away  ran  Royalty,  slap-dash 

Scamp*ring  like  mad  about  the  town; 

Broke  windows,  shiver'd  lamps  to  smash. 
And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  down. 

While  nought  could  they,  whose  heads  were  broke. 
Learn  of  the  "  why  **  or  the  "  wherefore," 

Except  that  'twas  Religion's  cloak. 

The  gentleman  who  crack'd  them,  wore. 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  tum'd 

By  the  lac'd  coat,  grew  frisky  too; 
Look'd  big — his  former  habits  spum'd — 

And  storm'd  about,  as  great  men  do: 

Dealt  much  in  pompous  oaths  and  curses  — 
Said  **  d — ^mn  you  "  often,  or  as  bad — 

Laid  claim  to  other  people's  purses — 
In  short,  grew  either  knave,  or  mad. 

As  work  like  this  was  unbefltting. 

And  flesh  and  blood  no  longer  bore  it, 

The  Court  of  Common  Sense,  then  sitting, 
Summon'd  the  culprits  both  before  it. 

Where,  after  hours  in  wrangling  spent 
(As  Courts  must  wrangle  to  decide  well). 

Religion  to  St.  Luke's  was  sent, 
And  Royalty  pack'd  off  to  BridewelL 

With  this  proviso — should  they  be 
Restored,  in  due  time,  to  their  senses. 

They  both  must  give  security. 
In  future,  against  such  ofiences — 


their  itinci  into  He  body —aleTcnr  dart 
QouMina. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


:□  Ifvt  Ail  cloalt, 
IdriMidful  work  it  load*  toi 
f  cnek  hii  joke.  — 
Ick  pow  pcople'i  bead*  too. 


FROEII. 


KoongB 


gBologneie, 
DT  of  m  learn'd  Ltw  Doctor ', 
h  all  the  Biibtletle* 
I  modem  jarisu  iiock'd  facr, 
'ing  fair,  'tis  taid, 
ana  held  sach  donumon, 
!T  falhcr,  uek  in  bed, 
I  her,  iQ  hia  Head, 
n  ihe  Code  Jusliniim, 
n  drann  before  her, 
-  chamii  were  seen,  the  stndenls 
ing  eytt  wander  o'er  her, 
Hforirel  their  juriaprudcneo.' 
■  ■  ■    nilh,  when  jn-n. 

r,  —  'tis  fi-Dm  behind 


Oh  !  had  there  been  a  Hame  or  BeoQi 

Tbcn  ricting  in  the  Thibet  Senate. 
Te  Godt,  what  room  for  loii^;  debate* 
Upon  Ihc  NoTEery  Eftimatei! 
What  catting  down  of  swaddliog-doli 

And  pia-aforcB,  io  nightly  battles! 
Wbai  calli  for  pBpets  lo  expoae 

The  waste  of  stagar-plams  and  rattli 
But  no  —  if  Thibet  had  M.  F.% 
The;  were  far  better  bred  than  theae ; 
Not  gave  the  slightest  opposition, 
Ihiriag  the  Monarch's  whole  denlitioa 
Bat  abort  Ibis  calm;  —  for.  jou  when  1 
Had  reach'd  the'  alanniiig  age  of  thrH 
'When  Ib)}-al  nntures,  and.  no  doabt. 
Those  of  ail  noble  beasts  br™k  oat  — 
The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  qoiel, 
Sho«-'iJ  Bjmploina  of  a  laste  for  riot  j 
And.  ripe  for  oufchieG  early,  laie. 
Witliout  regard  for  Church  or  State^ 
Made  free  with  whomc'er  eanie  uighi 

Twcak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the 
Tuni'd  all  the  Judges'  vigs  awiy, 

And  trod  on  ibe  old  Generals'  tocl: 
Pelted  the  Bishops  with  hot  buns, 

Knde  tockhorse  ou  the  Qt;  rasces. 
And  Bhol  from  tittle  dcvibeb  |i;Dn>. 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects'  tartt. 
In  short,  such  wicked  praiiks  he  pUv'd. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


503 


,  thinking  him  consumptiTe, 
)  the  Heir  Presumptive!  — 
bough  much  admiring  Kings 
those  in  leading-strings), 
ith  shame  and  grief  of  soul, 
no  longer  now  the  wise 
tional  control 
(fore  their  ruler's  eyes; 
late,  such  pranks,  and  tricks, 
i  occurred  the  whole  day  long, 
len  with  bishopricks, 
1  eY*n  a  King,  were  wrong, 
was  they  humbly  pray'd 
>urable  Nursery, 
forms  be  henceforth  made, 
d  men  desir'd  to  see;  — 
ds  (lest  they  might  seem 
,  as  the  gentlest  scheme 
all  such  pranks  to  rest, 
bud  the  mischief  nipping  — 
'd  humbly  to  suggest 
7  should  haye  a  whipping! 

as  read,  no  Congreve  rocket, 
I  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 
the  tremendous  shock  it 
ipon  the  Nursery  benches. 
,  who  of  course  had  yotes, 
ige  and  petticoats, 
id  foremost  in  the  fuss  — 
hip  a  Lama!  suffer  birch 
lis  sacred infamous ! 

—  assailing  thus 
mentals  of  the  Church!  — 

-  such  patriot  plans  as  these, 
lem  Heaven — and  their  Sees!) 
to  be  rank  blasphemies." 

ihus  given,  by  these  and  other 
ies  of  the  Nursery  side, 
igh  the  land,  till,  such  a  pother, 
y  squabbles,  far  and  wide, 
toiy's  page  had  been 
3  were  then  between 
!rs  and  Non-whippers  seen, 
arriving  at  a  state, 
ve  some  fears  of  revolution, 
lords'  advice,  though  late. 
It  last  in  execution, 
lent  of  Thibet  met  — 
Lama,  call'd  before  it, 
id  there,  his  whipping  get, 
Nursery  Gazette 
s)  like  a  hero  bore  it. 

,  'mong  Thibet  Tories,  some 
;  Boyal  Martyrdom 
bserve,  the  letter  D 
irord's  pronounced  like  B), 


Yet  to  the'  example  of  that  Prince 
So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor. 

That  her  long  line  of  Lamas,  since. 
Have  all  behav'd  themselves  much  better. 


■4- 


FABLE  Vn. 

THB  BXTIN0UUHBB8. 
PBOEM. 

Though  soldiers  are  the  true  supports. 
The  natural  allies  of  Courts, 
Woe  to  the  Monarch,  who  depends 
Too  mucA  on  his  red-coated  finends; 
For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think  — 

Nay,  Colonels  have  been  known  to  reason,- 
And  reasoners,  whether  clad  in  pink, 
Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brink 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  treason. 

Not  many  soldiers,  I  believe,  axe 

As  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina; 
Else  —  woe  to  kings,  when  freedom's  fever 

Once  turns  into  a  Scarletina  I 
For  then  —  but  hold  'tis  best  to  veil 
My  meaning  in  the  following  tale:  — 

FABLE. 

A  Lord  of  Persia,  rich  and  great. 

Just  come  into  a  large  estate, 

Was  shock'd  to  find  he  had,  for  neighbours, 

Close  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 

Whose  fires,  beneath  his  very  nose, 

In  heretic  combustion  rose. 

But  Lords  of  Persia  can,  no  doubt. 

Do  what  they  will  —  so,  one  fine  morning. 
He  tum'd  the  rascal  Ghebers  out. 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warning. 
Then,  thanking  Heaven  most  piously. 

He  knock'd  their  Temple  to  the  ground. 
Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

Such  Pagan  ruins  strew'd  around. 
But  much  it  vex'd  my  Lord  to  find. 

That,  while  all  else  obey'd  his  wU], 
The  fire  these  Ghebers  left  behind. 

Do  what  he  would,  kept  burning  stilL 
Fiercely  he  storm'd,  as  if  his  frown 
Could  scare  the  bright  insurgent  down; 
But,  no — such  fires  are  headstrong  things. 
And  care  not  much  for  Lords  or  Kings. 
Scarce  could  his  Lordship  well  contrive 

The  fiashes  in  one  place  to  smother 
Before  —  hey  presto!  —  all  alive. 

They  sprang  up  fireshly  in  another. 


^^^^^^B 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

n,  epito  of  prftyers  and  dninns, 
the  sturdy  flame  defied  him, 
ame.  with  low  «.fa«.. 
contmet.  to  provide  liim 
ilinguiahcrs,  (a  plan, 
)■  paid,  lit  Ispahun, 
IjarjiL  —  in  sliort, 
ht->  forbid  at  court.) 
,,Ti  should  be  nithout, 
at  once,  put  promptlj  out 
fcB.— from  Blaring,  start 
e  tiniest  spark; 
slept  u  dull  and  dark, 

d  fitting  ail  things  shoald. 
omo  large  supplies 

inguishera  were  fiirni^h'd 
c  Iiopcrittl  sizcl, 

Q  rows,  stood  black  and  bumiah'd, 
a  a  gleiuu  tiut  shone 

to  be  clapp'd  on. 
ordlj  wifdom  errs, 
extinguishers! 

he  had  k-ft  iJI  sure. 

ou;;ht  he)  dnrk.  seizure  — 

U  its  exits,  entries, 
0  his  beart'9  content, 

riKaiabers,  like  Bcntriei, 

Yet  wcU  could  they,  who  lov'd  the  flsm 
Its  ffand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim^ 
And  soon  another,  fairer  Dome 
Arose  to  bo  its  sacred  home, 
Where,  choriah'd.  guarded,  not  confin'd 
The  living  rIot;  dwelt  inabrin'd. 
And,  shedding  lustre  strong,  but  even. 
Though  burn  of  canh,  giuir  worthy  het 

UORAL. 

The  mora]  henu^  my  Muse  itifcif 
Is.  that  such  Lords  are  simple  elves, 

FABLE  Vra. 

LOCIB   FOt:BTEKKTH'g   WIO. 

Thb  money  rais'd  —  the  arm j  ready — 
Drums  beating,  and  the  Eoyal  Neddv 
Valiariily  braying  in  the  van. 
To  the  old  tune  "  KK  tK  Sire  A«€r~ 
Nou|-ht  wonting,  but  some  coup  dnunal 
To  make  French  rmtininit  explode, 

■ 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


605 


the  Duke  (who.  bless  his  Highness! 

'  his  kOi  acquired  sach  fame, 

p'd  that  he  as  httle  shyness 

show,  when  to  Ae  point  he  came,) 

ir  his  deeds  so  lion-hearted, 

m'd  JETerOy  ere  he  started; 

rer,  bj  Bojal  Ordonnance, 

hat  name — at  least  in  Fhmc^. 

-the  Visconnt  Chaieaubriand — 

the'  affair  with  more  ttprit  on) 

fat  this  baptismal  rite, 

»f  his  own  fam'd  Jordan  water — * 

oaise  not  haTing  qoite 

U  that,  for  young  Nap,  he  brought  her,) 

ism,  in  this  case,  to  be 

o  that  extremiQr, 

ourbon  heroes  most  expose; 

rh  (as  well  all  Europe  knows) 

to  be,  in  this  Defender 

le  Fidth,  extremely  tender.' 

t  Viscount  said)  this  scheme 
and  premature  should  seem— 
scounting  heroes,  on  tick — 
lory,  by  anticipation, 
much  in  the  genre  romantique 
zh  a  highly  classic  nation, 
d  to  say,  the  Abyssinians 
«  had  in  their  dominions, 
'  at  Paris  got  up  well, 
fteme,  was  sure  to  tell. 
eat  epochs,  good  or  ill, 
'e,  says  Bruce  (and  Brdce  nc*er  budges 
:  strict  truth),  a  grand  Quadrille 
danc'd  by  Uie  Twelve  Judges — • 
assures  us,  the  grimaces, 
f-cAottf,  the  airs  and  g^nces 
re,  so  profound  and  stately, 
e  Abyssinians  greatly. 

aid  the  Viscount),  there's  but  few 

<Impires.  where  this  plan  would  do: 

tance,  England; — let  them  take 

t  pains  they  would — 'twere  vain  to  strive — 

elve  stiff  Judges  there  would  make 

worst  Quadrille-set  now  alive. 

ist  have  seen  them,  ere  one  could 

e  properly  Judge  Wood, 

aing,  in  his  wig,  so  gaily, 

e-dechat  with  Justice  Bailey  I 


;  from  the  rlrer  Jordan  by  M.  ChAteanbriAnd,  and  pre- 
t  FrcBcfa  EmprcM  for  Um  christening  of  young  Napoleon. 

Dnke'a  oekbrated  letter  to  Madame,  written  during  hie 
1 ISIA,  in  which  he  taya.  "  J'ai  le  poat^rieur  l^frrement 

• 

tain  great  opcariona.  the  twelre  Jndgei  (who  are  gene- 
m  ttttf  and  Krenty  yean  of  age)  aing  the  aong  and 
Care-dan0e.*'ae.— Book  r. 

XIV.  St  pr^aant  k  la  Vierge  de  ion  oordon  bleo,  que 
ct  ltd  oiToya  eaaidte,  aon  Oontrat 


44 


French  Judges,  though,  are,  by  no  means. 
This  sort  of  stiff,  be-wigg'd  machines  1 
**  And  we,  whoVe  seen  them  at  Saummr, 
**  And  Poitiera  lately,  may  be  sure 
**  They'd  dance  qusidrilles,  or  anything, 
**  That  would  be  pleasing  to  the  King — 
**  Nay,  stand  upon  their  heads,  and  more  do, 
*'  To  please  the  little  Duke  de  Bordeaux! " 

After  these  several  schemes  there  came 
Some  others — needless  now  to  name. 
Since  that,  which  Monsieur  plann'd,  himself. 
Soon  doom'd  all  others  to  the  shelf. 
And  was  receiv'd  par  aeclatnatum^ 
As  truly  worthy  the  Orande  Natum. 

It  seems  (as  Monsieur  told  the  story) 
That  Louis  the  Fourteentli, — that  glory, 
That  Coryphie  of  all  crown'd  pates, — 
That  pink  of  the  Legitimates — 
Had,  when,  with  many  a  pious  pray'r,  he 
Bequeath'd  unto  the  Virgin  Mary 
His  marriage  deeds,  and  cordon  bleu,* 
Bequeathed  to  her  his  State  Wig  too — 
(An  off*ring  which,  at  Court,  'tis  thought. 
The  Virgin  values  as  she  ought) — 
That  Wig,  the  wonder  of  all  eyes. 
The  Cynosure  of  Gallia*s  skies, 
To  watch  and  tend  whose  curls  ador'd. 

Re-build  its  towering  roof,  when  flat. 
And  round  its  rumpled  base,  a  Board 

Of  sixty  Barbers  daily  sat,* 
With  Subs,  on  State-Days,  to  assist,. 
Well  pensioned  from  the  Civil  List:  — 
That  wond'rous  Wig,  array 'd  in  which 
And  form'd  alike  to  awe  or  witch. 
He  beat  all  other  heirs  of  crowns, 
In  taking  mistresses  and  towns. 
Requiring  but  a  shot  at  one, 
A  smile  at  f other,  and  t'was  done!  — 

"That  Wig"  (said  Monsieur,  while  his  brow 
Rose  proudly,)  "is  existing  now;  — 
"  That  Grand  Perruquc,  amid  the  fall 

"Of  ev*iy  other  RoyaJ  glory, 
**  With  curls  erect  sur\'ive8  them  all, 

"  And  tells  in  ev*ry  hair  their  story. 
**  Think,  think,  how  welcome  at  this  time 
•*  A  relic,  so  belov'd,  sublime ! 


de  ICariage  et  le  Traiti  dft  Purhtk*^  magniflqnement  reli^."-. 
M&moirt*,  A  necdoU*  pour  »trvir,  ftc 

ft  The  learned  author  of  Reeherehes  Hutoriguea  aur  let  Pemtgnea 
•ayi  that  the  Board  constated  butof  Forty — the aame  nnmberat  the 
Academy.   "  Le  plui  beau  temi  det  permquee  fVit  eelni  oh  Louia 

XIV.  commenca  ii  porter,  lui-mCme,  permqnei 

On  Ignore  Tepoque  oh  leflt  cette  revolution  t  mala  on  lait  qn'elle 
encagea  Louia  le  Grand  ii  y  donmr  lea  toini  patcmela,  en  ertent.en 
16A6,  qnarante  chaigcade  perraqulen,  anlTant  la  ooori  et  en  ie73.il 
forma  nn  ooipa  de  daoz  canta  penroqnicra  poor  la  Yilte  da  Faria." 
-F.lll. 

P  P 


EHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


rpfi 


PREFACE.' 


■  series  of  trifles  entitled  ^  Rhymes  on 
Road,**  were  written  partlj  as  their  title 
>lie8,  and  partlj  at  a  subsequent  period 
m  memorandums  made  on  the  spot.  This 
1  account  for  so  many  of  those  pieces  being 
:le  better,  I  fear,  than  **  prose  fringed  with 
fme."  The  journey  to  a  part  of  which 
)Be  rhymes  owed  their  existence  was  com- 
!Dced  in  company  with  Lord  John  Russell 
the  autumn  of  the  year  1819.  After  a  week 
two  passed  at  Paris,  to  enable  Lord  John 
refer  to  Barillon's  Letters  for  a  new  edition 
his  Life  of  Lord  Russell  then  preparing,  we 
out  together  for  the  Simplon.  At  Milan, 
i  agreeable  society  of  the  late  Lord  Kinnaird 
tained  us  for  a  few  days;  and  then  my 
mpanion  took  the  route  to  Genoa,  while  I 
ooeeded  on  a  visit  to  Lord  Byron  at  Venice. 
It  was  during  the  journey,  thus  briefly  de- 
nbed,  I  addressed  the  well-known  Remon- 
tnce  to  my  noble  friend  f*  which  has  of  late 
en  frequently  coupled  with  my  prophetic 
nes  on  the  Duke  of  Wellington},  from  the 
escient  spirit  with  which  it  so  confidently 
)ked  forward  to  all  that  Lord  John  has  since 
come  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
Of  my  visit  to  Lord  Byron,  —  an  event  to 
I  80  memorable,  —  I  have  already  detailed 
the  most  interesting  particulars  in  my  pub- 
led  Life  of  the  poet ;  and  shall  here  only 
:,  from  that  work,  one  passage,  as  having 
le  reference  to  a  picture  mentioned  in  the 
owing  pages.  ^  As  we  were  conversing 
*r  dinner  about  the  various  collections  of 
atings  I  had  seen  that  morning,  on  my 
LDg  that,  fearful  as  I  was  of  ever  praising 
picture,  lest  I  should  draw  on  myself  the 

rrom  tbePrdkn  tothe  SeTcnth  Volumt  of  the  collected  edl- 
of  1841.  UMS.] 


connoisseur's  sneer,  for  my  pains,  I  would  yet, 
to  him,  venture  to  own  that  I  had  seen  a  picture 

at  Milan,  which 'The  Hagar!*§  he  ex- 

claimed,  eagerly  interrupting  me ;  and  it  was 
in  fact,  that  very  picture  I  was  about  to  men- 
tion to  him  as  having  awakened  in  me,  by  the 
truth  of  its  expression,  more  real  emotion  than 
any  I  had  yet  seen  among  the  ekefMHTceuvre  of 
Venice." 

In  the  society  I  chiefly  lived  with,  while  at 
Rome,  I  considered  myself  singularly  fbrtii- 
nate ;  though  but  a  blind  and  uninitiated  wor- 
shipp*  of  those  powers  of  Art  of  which  my 
companions  were  all  high  priests.  Canova 
himself,  Chantrey,  Lawrence,  Jackson,  Tur- 
ner, Eastlake, — such  were  the  men  of  whose 
presence  and  guidance  I  enjoyed  the  advantage 
in  visiting  all  that  unrivalled  Rome  can  boast 
of  beautiful  and  grand.  That  I  derived  from 
this  course  of  tuition  any  thing  more  than  a 
very  humbling  consciousness  of  my  own  igno- 
rance and  want  of  taste,  in  matters  of  art,  I 
will  not  be  so  dishonest  as  to  pretend;  But, 
to  the  stranger  in  Rome  every  step  forms  an 
epoch;  and,  in  addition  to  all  its  own  countless 
appeals  to  memory  and  imagination,  the  agree- 
able auspices  under  which  I  first  visited  all  its 
memorable  places  could  not  but  render  every 
impression  I  received  more  vivid  and  perma- 
nent. Thus,  with  my  recollection  of  the 
Sepulchre  of  St  Peter,  and  its  ever-burning 
lamps,  for  which  splendid  spot  Canova  was 
then  meditating  a  statue),  there  is  always 
connected  in  my  mind  the  exclamation  which 
I  heard  break  from  Chantrey  afler  gazing,  for 
a  few  moments,  in  silence,  upon  that  glorious 
site,  —  "  What  a  place  to  work  for !  " 


:  See  p.  us.  of  thb  edltton. 

I  Abraham  dimiiMfiic  Hacar,  Vjr 

II  Aetatoe.IbelleT«,ofFtiMVI. 

PP  3 


EHYMES    ON    THE    EOAD, 

SXTRAOTSD  FBOX  THB  JOUBNAL  OF  ▲  TRAYBLXJNO  KEXBBB  OF 

THE  POCO-CURANTE  SOCIETY,  1819. 


greater-part  of  the  following  Hhymes  were 
or  composed  in  an  old  caliche,  for  the 
of  beguiling  the  ennui  of  solitary  travel- 
ad  as  yerses,  made  bj  a  gentleman  in  his 
lave  been  lately  called  **a  psychological 
r,"  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  verses,  composed 
ntleman  to  keep  himself  awake,  may  be 
d  with  some  appellation  equally  Greek. 


•HYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES. 

AttitHdet  in  vMch  Authon  compote.  — BayeM,  Henry 
,  Berodotutt  ^e.  —  Writinp  in  Bed— in  the  Field*.— 
id  SirBickard  Bladtmote.  .^  Fiddling  with  Olove»  and 
•  Madame  de  SuaU—Bhyming  on  the  Road^  in  an  old 


T  various  attitudes,  and  ways, 
d  tricks,  we  authors  have  in  writing! 
I  some  write  sitting,  some,  like  Bates, 
aally  stand,  while  they're  inditing, 
there  are,  who  wear  the  floor  out, 
asnring  a  line  at  every  stride; 
3  some,  like  Hekbt  Stephens,  pour  out 
ymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.' 
*DOTU8  wrote  most  in  bed ; 
d  BiCHERAND,  a  French  physician, 
>res  the  cluck-work  of  the  head 
es  best  in  that  reclin'd  position. 
I  consult  MoivTAiONE  ^  and  Plimy  on 
ubject,  *tis  their  joint  opinion 
Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
id,  among  the  woods  and  fields; 
bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail, 
home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop; 

lie  toA  earmina  eq:nitaiif  oompotoit.  —  Paaaticin.    Sin- 

penafet  donnent, li  J«  lea  aaris."  —  MoHTAioNa.    Animua 

la  aperto  acre  ambulant,  attollitur.—  Puxr. 

Ij  aathocity  I  know  for  impaUnc  ihia  pracUoe  to  Plato 


But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale, 

Are  Poesy*s  true  wholesale  shop. 
And,  verily,  I  think  they're  right  — 

For,  many  a  time,  on  summer  eves. 
Just  at  that  closing  hour  of  light. 

When,  like  an  ^Sistern  Prince,  who  leaves 
For  distant  war  his  Haram  bow*rs. 
The  Sun  bids  farewell  to  the  flow'rs. 
Whose  heads  are  sunk,  whose  tears  are  flowing 
Mid  all  the  glory  of  his  going!  — 
Ev'n  /  have  felt,  beneath  those  beams. 

When  wand'ring  through  the  fields  alone. 
Thoughts,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams. 

Which,  far  too  bright  to  be  my  own, 
Seem*d  lent  me  by  the  Sunny  Pow'r, 
That  was  abroad  at  that  still  hour. 

If  thus  I've  felt,  how  must  they  feel. 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms; 
Upon  whose  souls  he  stamps  his  seal. 

Graven  with  Beauty's  countless  forms;  — 
The  few  upon  this  earth,  who  seem 
Bom  to  give  truth  to  Plato's  dream. 
Since  in  their  thoughts,  as  in  a  glass. 

Shadows  of  heavenly  things  appear. 
Reflections  of  bright  shapes  that  pass 

Through  other  worlds,  above  our  sphere ! 

But  this  reminds  me  I  digress;  — 

For  Plato,  too,  produc'd,  'tis  said, 
(As  one,  indeed,  might  almost  guess,) 

His  glorious  visions  all  in  bed.* 
'Twas  in  his  carriage  the  sublime 
Sir  Richard  Blackmore  used  to  rhyme; 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wrong) 
'Twixt  death  ^  and  epics  pass'd  his  time, 

Scribbling  and  killing  all  day  long — 
Like  Phoebus  in  his  car,  at  ease. 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofty  song. 
Now  murd'ring  the  young  Niobes. 

and  Herodotni,  li  a  Latin  Poem  bj  M.  de  Valoif  on  hia  Bed,  in 
whieliheiayi:— 

Locifer  Herodotnm  vidit  Vcflperque  enbantem, 
Deiedit  totoa  heie  Plato  utpe  dies. 
4     Sir  Richard  Blackmore  was  a  phyiician,aa««UM  a  bndpoat. 

PP  4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


rsof 

Id^  iide«,  which,  if  you'll  look, 
1  preserv'd,  with  n  traiitlnlioii, 
KDS  in  his  book,' 
■a  endlesa  to  recite 
lodsa  in  which  men  mite, 
-e  oDly  in  the  mind. 
Vs  nnd  belles  nro  round  iJiem  prnting  i 

y  dreifa  for  dinner,  find 
0  and  vnlct  both  in  wailing; 
t,  HC  the  sEir-anmo  time, 
I  Deckcluth  and  &  rhyme. 

t  are  who  cannot  scribble 

i  to  tear  or  nibble; 

„  to  whisk  about  — 

diien  founts  of  F»ncy, 

■  old.  were  thai  found  out 

■ick»  of  rhftbdomancy. 
B  little  feathery  wand,' 
:r  in  the  hand 
and  wore  the  crown 
Igeniiu  in  this  Mgi;. 

nducloT.  that  drew  down 
Is  of  lightning  to  her  page. 
~  ~  ime,  at  lust, 

which  J  write  — 


'TwM  distant  yet.  and,  u  I  ran. 

Full  often  was  my  wistinl  gaie 
Tnrn'd  to  ihc  sun,  who  now  bcg^n 

To  rail  in  all  liis  out- post  mjt. 
And  font)  a  dezuor  mordi  of  Gght. 
SuLh  as  bueenu  a  hero's  Siti:hl. 
Oh,  how  I  wished  for  Josiiita'*  pow'r, 
To  ilay  the  bngbtneM  of  thai  hour! 
But  uo  —  the  son  still  Jess  becunr, 

Dindnish'd  to  n  speck,  m  sidendid 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  As 

That  on  tba'  Apostles'  beuls  descui< 

"Twas  at  this  instant — white  there  gla 

This  lost,  intensest  gleam  of  liehl  — 
Suddenly,  through  ihc  ojiening  tuiid. 

The  volley  bunt  upon  my  sight  1 
Thai  glorioo*  valley,  with  it«  Lake. 

And  Alps  on  Alps  in  cliulers  swell! 
Mighty,  and  pnre,  and  lit  to  make 

The  lamparts  of  a  Qudhcad's  dvcUi 

I  itood  entnmc'd — as  Rabbins  say 

This  whole  assemhied,  gaiing  world 
Will  bland,  upon  that  awful  dar. 

When  the  Ark's  Li^hl,  aloft 'unfurl'. 
Among  the  o]jeDtng  clouds  Khali  ihine 
Divinity's  own  radiant  sign! 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


513 


f  ercr,  man  might  grow, 
Q  earth  a  thing  divine, 
:e  more,  the  creature  made 
8tain*d  the'  Elysian  shade! 

ball  I  kwe  the  trace 
e  felt  in  this  bright  place. 
I  my  spirit's  hope  grow  weak, 
oh  God,  e'er  doubt  thy  pow'r, 
r  scene  again  I'll  seek, 
me  calm  and  glowing  hour, 
t  the  sublimest  shrine 
ure  ever  rear'd  to  Thee, 
I  that  hope  divine. 
Day  immortality! 


EXTRACT  n. 

Gcnevft. 
)F  OEKEVA  m  THE  TEAB  ITBS. 

▲  FKAOMENT. 

•re  yet  live  some  of  those, 
this  small  Republic  rose, 
itartled  hive  of  bees, 
leaguering  enemies — ' 
le  £yal  Satrap  shook 
icnown  fetters  at  her  gates, 
ind  mothers  arm'd,  and  took 
ions  by  their  sous  and  mates; 
se  walls  there  stood — yet,  no, 
the  traitors — ivould  have  stood 
md  as  e'er  let  flow 
^ra's  base  their  sacred  blood ; 
live,  who  on  that  night, 
ere  watching,  girt  for  fight, 
ie  creeping  of  a  pest, 
to  rank,  from  breast  to  breast, 
veak,  the  old  with  fears, 
:  heroine's  zeal  to  tears,  — 
[onour  to  that  brink, 
step  more,  and  he  must  sink — . 
ing  hopes,  which,  though  the  last, 
s  on  a  drowning  mast, 
lave  led  to  death  more  bright, 
;r  look'd,  in  all  its  light ! 
o  soon,  distrust,  alarms 
»ut  the'  embattled  thousands  ran, 
h  spirit,  late  in  arms, 
at  might  have  work'd  such  charms, 
a  broken  talisman  — 

«.  when  the  fbroM  of  Berne,  SardlniA,  end 
)  Oenevm,  uid  when,  efler  a  deraonitrstion  of 
erotioD,  which  promiied  to  riral  the  ftets  of 
BM  affeintt  Savoy,  the  Oenerani,  either  panie- 
to  tlie  lurpriae  of  all  Europe,  opened  their  gate* 
d  rabodtlad  wilteoot  a  elrusile  totheejEttnotkm 


Their  gates,  that  they  had  sworn  should  be 

The  gates  of  Deatii,  that  very  dawn. 
Gave  passage  widely,  bloodlessly. 

To  the  proad  foe — nor  sword  was  drawn, 
Nor  er'n  one  martyr'd  body  cast 
To  stain  their  footsteps,  as  they  pass'd  ; 
But,  of  the  many  sworn  at  night 
To  do  or  die,  some  fled  the  sight. 
Some  stood  to  look,  with  sullen  frown. 

While  some,  in  impotent  despair. 
Broke  their  bright  armour  and  lay  down, 

Weeping,  upon  the  fragments  &ere! — 
If  those,  I  say,  who  brought  that  shame. 
That  blast  upon  Geheva's  name. 
Be  living  still — though  crime  so  dark 

Shall  hang  up,  fix'd  and  unforgiv'n. 
In  History's  page,  the'  eternal  mark 

For  Scorn  to  pierce — so  help  me,  Heav'n, 
I  wish  the  traitorous  slaves  no  worse. 

No  deeper,  deadlier  disaster. 
From  all  earth's  ills  no  fouler  curse 

Than  to  have  »»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦  their  master! 


EXTRACT  m. 


Geneva. 


Fanctf  and  Tntth,  —  Hippomenea  and  A  taJawla, — MotU  Blanc.  — 

CUmdM, 

Even  here,  in  this  region  of  wonders,  I  find 
That  light-footed  Fancy  leaves  truth  far  behind  $ 
Or,  at  least,  Uke  Hippomenes,  turns  her  astray 
By  the  golden  illusions  he  flings  in  her  way.' 

What  a  glory  it  seem'd  the  first  ev'ning  I  gaz'd  ! 
MoMT  Blanc,  Uke  a  vision,  then  suddenly  rais'd 
On  the  wreck  of  the  sunset — and  all  his  array 

Of  high- towering  Alps,  touch'd  still  with  a  light 
Far  holier,  purer  than  that  of  the  Day, 

As  if  nearness  to  Heaven  had  made  them  so 
bright ! 
Then  the  dying,  at  last,  of  these  splendours  away 
From  peak  after  peak,  till  they  left  but  a  ray. 
One  roseate  ray,  that,  too  precious  to  fly. 
O'er  the  Mighty  of  Mountains  still  glowingly 
hung. 
Like  the  last  sunny  step  of  Asthma,  when  nigh 

From  the  summit  of  earth  to  Elysium  she  sprung ! 
And  those  infinite  Alps,  stretching  out  from  the 

sight 
Till  they  mingled  with  Heaven,  now  shorn  of  their 
light, 

of  their  lihertiee.  —  See  an  aeoonnt  of  thii  Reraliitioo  In  Ooon'e 
Switxerland. 


nittdlqne  enpUUne  pomi 


Oedinat  carros,  annunqoe  volnbilt  tollli. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


515 


same  Hght,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 
doll  monotony  of  lustre  flings, 
itering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 
m  as  gaj  as  those  on  Peris'  wings ; 

db,  I  deem,  the  diffVence  between  real, 
g  Beantj  and  that  form  ideal, 
■he  assumes,  when  seen  bj  poets'  eyes, 
nshme  in  the  drop — with  sll  those  dyes, 
Fancj's  Tariegating  prism  supplies. 

a  atary  of  two  loTers,  fill'd 
.  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sadness, 
e  aad,  doubtful  bliss,  that  ever  thrill'd 
young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet 
madness. 

ere  to  choose  the  region  of  my  vision 
is  wide  Tulgar  world — what  real  spot 
found  out  sufficiently  Elysian 
wo  such  perfect  lovers,  I  know  not. 
some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he 
tmg  Jew  (Med  o^  in  the'  Indian  Sea, 
ling,  but  its  name  of  Beauty,  known, 
lich  Queen  Fancy  might  make  all  her  own, 
rj  kingdom — take  its  people,  lands, 
lements  into  her  own  bright  hands, 
ike,  at  least,  one  earthly  comer  fit 
e  to  live  in,  pure  and  exquisite  I 


EXTRA.CT  VL 

Yeniee. 

^f  VemlM  mottoU lammted. -^Former  Gktry.—Bxptdir 
wkm  Ccmttantimople,  —  Gumtmiani$.  ~  BepmbUe. — Char 
4^  A9  oU  ChvuimemU—  Qofcfcn  Book.-~Braamt 


ma  sot  for  Yehicb  —let  her  rest 
lin,  'mong  those  States  unblest, 
HUh  whose  gilded  hoofis  of  pride, 
are'er  they  trampled,  Freedom  died. 


V  AM  Dost  MkhMlI,  In  1I7I. 

BBBdlle  cBtftre  da  Jiutiiiiaiii,  I*iin6  dei  plni  OIoftrM  de 
toolBt  mmrdMr  Urate  cntttn  dam  oette  ezpMition ;  elle 
wt  eombattuMi  e'Halt  renooTeler  Tezemple  d'nnc  illustre 
•  RflBMi  1«  minM  malhenr  1m  Kttendait.*'  —Hittoirt  dt 
■rDAJtv. 

lUibf  trd  Ft»  FboIo.  Tbe  eollection  of  maTrtnn  which 
vp  at  the  requeit  of  the  Venetian  Ooremment, 
I  of  the  Seerct  Inquirition  of  State,  are  lo  atrodom 
an  mthcr  an  over-chaised  eatire  upon  deapotian,  than  a 
£  poUey*  eerionaly  inculcated,  and  hot  too  leadily  and 


irit*  in  whidk  theee  mazinia  of  Father  Paul  are  ooneeived, 

I  which  he  giTeefbr  the  manage- 

i  and  prorincei.   Of  the  fonner  he 

,  )m  tniter  oomme  dies  animanz  iiroeM,  lee 


No — let  us  keep  our  tears  for  them. 

Where'er  they  pine,  whose  fall  hath  been 
Not  from  a  blood-stain'd  diadem. 

Like  that  which  deck'd  this  ocean-queen. 
But  from  high  daring  in  the  cause 

Of  human  Rights — the  only  good 
And  blessed  strSSs,  in  which  man  draws 

His  mighty  sword  on  land  or  flood. 

Mourn  not  for  Vekigb  ;  though  her  &11 

Be  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
Swept  o'er  her,  she  deserves  it  all, 

Ajid  Justice  triumphs  o'er  her  grave. 
Thus  perish  ev'ry  King  and  State, 

That  run  the  guilty  race  she  ran. 
Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  God  and  man  I 

True,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest 

And  all  those  days  of  glory  gone, 
When  the  world's  waters,  cast  and  west, 

Beneath  her  white-wing'd  commerce  shone ; 
When,  with  her  countless  barks  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  might,* 
And  her  Giustinianis  sent 

Their  hundred  heroes  to  that  fight.' 

Vanish'd  are  all  her  pomp?,  'tis  true, 
But  mourn  them  not — for  vanish'd,  too, 
(Thanks  to  that  Pow'r,  who,  soon  or  late. 
Hurls  to  ^e  dust  the  guilty  Great,) 
Are  all  the  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud. 

The  chains,  the  rapine,  and  the  blood. 
That  fill'd  each  spot  at  home,  abroad. 

Where  the  Republic's  standard  stood. 
Desolate  Venice  !  when  I  track 
Thy  haughty  course  through  cent'ries  back  ; 
Thy  rutUess  pow'r,  obcy'd  but  curst — 

The  stem  machinery  of  thy  State, 
Which  hatred  would,  like  steam,  have  burst. 

Had  stronger  fear  not  chiU'd  even  hate  ; — 
Thy  perfidy,  still  worse  than  aught 
Thy  own  unblushing  Sarpi*  taught ;  — 
Thy  friendship,  which,  o'er  all  beneath 
Its  shadow,  rain'd  down  dews  of  death  ;  —  * 


lee  denti,  et  lee  sxiifte,  lee  humilier  eoaTent,  eortont  lenr  Mer  lei 
oocaaione  de  ■'acnerrir.  Dn  pain  et  le  bAton,  rollk  ee  qn'il  leur 
Iknt;  gardons  I'hnmanit^  poor  one  rociUenre  occasion." 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinoea  he  adrifet  thus:  ^  **  Tendre 
h  d^poniller  lee  Tillet  de  leurs  priTil^cee.  faire  que  les  habitant 
■*appanTriMent,et  que  lenre  bieni  tolent  achet^  par  les  V^nitiens. 
Ceox  qui,  dans  les  conseils  mnnldpanz,  le  montreront  ou  plus 
audacienx  on  plus  d^Tou^  auz  inU^r^ts  de  la  population,  il  fliut  let 
perdre  on  les  gagner  k  qoelque  prlx  que  oe  soiti  enfin^  t'Ute  trrmvt 
dan*  lea  proviMXM  qmeique*  cA<^  deporti,  Q/aut  les  extermmer  soks 
tta  pritexte  -^nuktrnque^  mai$  en  Mtant  de  rteomir  A  U  >iurttoe 
onteuiirv.  Que  le  poUam  faaite  rqfice  de  bonrreov,  ce2a  est  mofne 
odiemx  et  beameompplne  prqfiuMe," 

*  Condoct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  dependeneiee,  par- 
ticDlarljr  to  nnfortnnate  Padaa.  —  Fate  of  Franceeoo  Caizam,  fbr 
vhicii  eee  Dorm  tdL  ii.  p.  141. 


MOOEE'S  WORKS. 


■•hy's  Book  of  Gold, 
linst  humble  Virtue's  name,' 
M-ide  tor  sluvpa  who  Bold 

land  lo  thee  and  shame  ;  — ' 
inghoMof  spies, 
ei  ci't7  glaiiee  and  breath, 
1  in  each  othon'  ejrei, 
r  thance  of  life  or  dcalh ;  — 
ml  madG  a  mart  of  Mood, 
u'd  the'  assH£sin's  knife: — * 
I  fclU  beiicaOi  the  flood, 
H.  and  Leadi,'  that  burnt  out  life 


'  all  thi?.  and  K( 
now  halh  fall'n 


ncatli  llie  yoke  now  bow'd,  — 

one  grace  redt'eni'd, 
.  wtmud  thoo  beain'd. 

base  as  e'er  yet  gull'd, 

i,  when,  tliemse Ives,  endiTuU'd,  - 

l1  Tengeance  sweet, 

I'er  the  wreck,  repeal, 

sv'iy  King  and  Stnle, 

1  the  steps  wliich  Vehice  trod, 

I  ill,  and  (inly  grtnt, 

E  aguinsC  iiiBji  and  Uudi  " 


EXTRACT  VIL 


Let  me,  a  momiMit,  —  ere  with  fear  am 
Of  gloomy,  gtoriona  thinge,  ihi«e  leara 
Aa  one,  in  &iry  tale,  to  whon  the  ke; 

Of  some  enchanter's  secret  halU  is  p 
Doubts,  while  he  enieta,  slowly,  ircmbli 

ir  he  shall  meet  wiih  shapes  &am  hello 
Let  me,  a  moment,  think  what  Ihonsuii 
O'er  the  wide  earth  tbta  instanl,  vho  ir 
Gladly,  whole  sleepless  nigbW  to  bend  I 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now 
How  all  who  know  —  and  where  is  he  i 
To  what  far  region  have  his  songs  not  I 
Like  PsirBON'a  birds,*  Gpeakioe  ibei 

In  cv'ry  languaeo.  syllabled  by  Pame?- 
How  ail,  who've  felt  the  various  spelb  c 
Within  the  dreto  of  that  master-iuinl  • 
like  spolla,  deriv'd  from  raanj  a  star,  a 
Together  in  some  woDd'rous  mmtilet,  — 
Would  bum  to  know  when  first  the  Lig 
In  liis  young  souL^and  if  the  ^arai  i 
From  that  Aurora  of  his  genius,  rais'd 
Most  pain  or  bliss  in  those  oa  whom  llu 
ifi>li!inp  of  th 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


617 


ivho,  mid  the  scornful  thoughts  that 
1 

h  fimcy,  tinging  all  its  streams,  — > 
SET  of  Bitterness,  -which  fell 
of  old,*  had  touch'd  them  with  its 

IS,— 

spirit,  which,  though  driren  to  hate, 
«*s  hands  came  kind,  affectionate; 

er'n  now,  struck  as  it  is  with  blight, 
at  times,  in  love's  own  native  light; — 
all,  who've  watch*d  these  stmgglingrajs 
min'd  spirit  through  his  lays, 

in<^re,  as  from  his  own  fhtnk  lips, 
lolating  grie^  what  wrongs  had  driven 
nature  into  cold  eclipse; 
e  fair  orb  that,  once  a  sun  in  heaven, 
lot  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
th  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
nench'd,  that  of  its  grandeur  lasts 
i  the  wide,  cold  shadow  which  it  casts  I 

lame!  whatsoe'er  the  change 
id  clime  —  the'  adventures,  bold  and 
ige  — 

-  the  frailties,  but  too  frankly  told  — 
he  fends  thy  pages  may  unfold, 
th  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unk)ck8 
ss  as  his  failings,  we  shall  find 
there  of  friencbhips,  held  like  rocks, 
ities,  like  sun-touch*d  snow,  resign'd; 
tierish'd  without  change  or  chill, 
oserv'd him, young, and  serve  him  still; 
aid,  giv'n  with  that  noiseless  art 
es  not  pride,  to  many  a  wounded  heart; 
at,  no — nol  frt>m  himself  must  aught 
It  features  of  his  life  be  sought. 
,  who  court  the  world,  like  Milton's 

1  their  silver  lining"  on  the  crowd, 
^ing  wraps  himself  in  night; 
ping  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
lis  social  nature  hid  from  sight, 
t  its  darkn<wt  on  a  world  he  scorns. 


EXTRACT  Vm. 


Ycnioe. 


lame  of  the  tUr  It  called  wormwood,  and  Uie  third 
fwbwme  wormwood."— ..fter.  yUL 

**DldaMtbledotid 
rn  fgvth  her  rflfer  lining  on  the  night  r '* 

Copnu. 
■MstFlonaot. 
BoFfttL 

Heslarij  to  the  portrmit  of  her  In  the  Betorra  col- 
t,  where  the  look  of  moonAil  raproMh  in  thoee  AU1« 


Female  Beauty  at  Venice.  —  ITo  longer  vhat  H  tnat  in  <Ae  Time  of 
Titian.  ^  Hit  Miitrtu.^  VoHotie  Forma  in  which  he  kaa  painted 
her.  —  Ven»ia.^I}unne  andprqfan*  Love. — La  FraoilitAd' Amort, 
—  Paul  Veroneae.  —  Hi*  Women  —  Marriage  nj  Cana.  —  Chc^ 
racier  qfltaliem  Beamtg.  —  Raphael  FomaHnu.  —  Modeelg, 

Tht  brave,  thy  leam'd,  have  pass*d  away: 
Thy  beautiful!  —  ah,  where  are  they? 
The  forms,  the  faces,  that  once  shone. 

Models  of  grace,  in  Titian's  eye. 
Where  are  they  now?  while  flowers  live  on 

In  ruin'd  places,  why,  oh  why 

Must  Beauty  thus  with  Glory  die? 
That  maid,  whose  lips  would  still  have  mov'd. 

Could  art  have  breath*d  a  spirit  through  them; 
Whose  varying  charms  her  artist  lov'd 

More  fondly  ev'ry  time  he  drew  them, 
(So  oft  beneath  his  touch  they  pass'd. 
Each  semblance  fairer  than  the  kist) ; 
Wearing  each  shape  that  Fancy's  range 

Oflers  to  Love  — yet  still  the  one 
Fair  idol,  seen  through  every  change. 

Like  facets  of  some  orient  stone, — 

In  each  the  same  bright  image  shown. 
Sometimes  a  Venus,  unarray'd 

But  in  her  beauty  '  —  sometimes  deck'd 
In  costly  raiment,  as  a  maid 

That  kings  might  for  a  throne  select.^ 
Now  high  and  proud,  like  one  who  thought 
The  world  should  at  her  feet  be  brought; 
Now,  with  a  look  reproachful,  sad  —  • 
Unwonted  look  from  brow  so  glad;  — 
And  telling  of  a  pain  too  deep 
For  tongue  to  speak  or  eyes  to  weep. 
Sometimes,  through  allegory's  veil. 

In  double  semblance  seen  to  shine, 
Telling  a  strange  and  mystic  tale 

Of  Love  Pro&ne  and  Love  Divine  • — 
Akin  in  features,  but  in  heart 
As  far  as  earth  and  heav'n  apart. 
Or  else  (by  quaint  device  to  prove 
The  frailty  of  all  worldly  love) 
Holding  a  globe  of  glass,  as  thin 

As  air-blown  bubbles,  in  her  hand. 
With  a  young  Love  confin'd  therein, 

Whose  wings  seem  waiting  to  expand  — 

And  telling,  by  her  anxious  eyes. 

That,  if  that  frail  orb  breaks,  he  flies  !^ 


•hadowjr  eyes,  aa  if  the  had  been  nnjoitly  eoenied  of  eomething 
wrong,  if  exqoliite. 

•  The  line  picture  in  the  Palazso  Borghcee.  called  (it  ie  not  ea«y 
to  tnj  wliy)  **  Sacred  and  Profane  Lore,"  in  which  the  two  fleumi, 
•it ting  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain,  are  cTidentl  j  portrait!  of  the 
same  person. 

'  Thia  fandfnl  allefrorj  la  the  rabieet  of  a  pletnre  by  Titian  in 
thepoaiearion  of  the  Marqnie  Gambian  at  Turin,  whoee  eolleetioD, 
thongh  imall,  oontaine  eome  beaatiftd  wgttimnt  of  all  the  great 
maateiB. 


MOORE'S  WOItKS. 


B,  with  touch  magnificent. 
|f  Vksona! — where  ore  Ihey, 
i\  rorros.'  thul  lent 
vass  each  a  bright  army? 
B  goreeoas  dames,  whose  dress 
Tt  of  their  own  loveUness ; 
's  drapery,  which,  iit  ere, 
g  clouds  around  him  weave 
P7  from  himself  reoeivel 
here  Don  the  living  face 
50  that,  in  tiiy  nnpdal  throDg," 
iperb,  volupiQouB  grace, 
lorgel  the  liiue,  the  place, 
1y  guesti  ihcy  smile  among, — 
!i  af  hearen-seat  wine. 


ir  an  inalant  shone, 
at  that  miiTor  gava 
'e  she  left  the  wave, 
unong  the  crowded  ways, 
f  startled  br  the  blaze 
It  I'Hia.  with  Qtfu!  hght, 
fa  on  the  wing  at  night," 
It  nobler  beauty,  giv'n 
w  ani;els  look  ia  heav'n. 
d  fair. 


EXTEACT  n. 


Am  is  (here  then  no  caithtj  place. 

Where  we  can  rest,  in  dream  Eli 
Without  Bome  curst,  round  EngUsh 

Popping  up  near,  to  brealc  the  Tii 
'Mid  northern  lakes,  'mid  southeru 

Unholy  dls  we're  doom'd  to  med 
Nor  highest  Alpe  nor  Apcnnine* 

Are  sacred  from  ThieadnEOdb  St 

If  up  the  Simplon's  path  we  wind. 
Fancying  wc  leave  this  world  behinii 
Such  pleasant  sounds  salute  Oue'i  ea 
As  — "  Bad'liih  news  froin  'Cliaage, 
"  The  Fundi  — (pbcw,  curee  this  iigl, 
"  Are  low'ring  fast — (what,  higher  i 
"  Aud  — (looks,  we're  monnling  b 

"  Will  soon  b«  down  to  iixty-MvcB.' 

Go  where  we  may —  rest  where  we  «i 
Eternal  London  haunts  os  still. 
The  traah  of  Almack'i  or  Fleet  DihJi 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


519 


EXTRACT  X. 

$  t^HippcHitla  to  A«r  Bmbtmd. 

\  thoa*rt  the  fayonr^d  gaest' 
iir  and  brilliant  throng; 
thine,  to  wake  the  jest, 
ke  thine,  to  breathe  the  song, 
old  guess,  so  gay  thon  art, 
id  I  are  far  apart. 
)w  different  flows, 
and  me  the  time  away, 
ish  thee  sad,  heaven  Imows — 
•u  canst,  be  light  and  gay ; 
that  without  thee 
self  is  dark  for  me. 

the  jewels  rare 
lys  ioT'd  to  see  me  wear? 
e  the  locks  that  thou 
•raided  o'er  my  brow, 
,  through  festive  crowds  to  run, 
le'  assembled  world  to  see, — 
>ne,  the  absent  one, 
>re  than  present  worlds  to  me  ! 
cheers  this  widow*d  heart  — 
,  from  thee  apart, 
iiysclf^  is  sitting  hours 
,  before  thy  pictured  form — 
of  thee,  which  Raphaers  pow'rs 
ie  with  all  but  life-breath  warm! 
die  to  it,  and  say 
;  speak  to  thee  in  play, 
1  Uieir  silent  frame, 
ind  lips  give  back  the  same; 
^aze,  and  still  they  keep 
9  on  me — till  I  weep  I 
»y,  too,  knows  it  well, 
I  lead  him  every  day, 
lis  lisping  lips  to  tell 
I  of  one  Slat's  far  away, 
love,  but  thus  alone 
irheer'd,  while  thou  art  gone. 


latoi  eoDTiTU  lata 

lentil  odA  miato  Jodii 

•ilTum  atienuM  eantoQiM  calomn. 

nam  diipar  nunc  mes  Tita  tus  I 

>lioMnt  qua  rant  tibi  gratA  (  wd  ipncit, 

I  omlia  pcn«  inhntea  meis. 

.  scinin&  capnt  ezomare  nitcnti 

nt  Arabo  spari^re  odore  oo«naa  i 

IndM  CMlb  ipcctaxc  diebiH. 

»  •  • 


EXTRACT  XL 


No— 'tis  not  the  region  where  Love's  to  be  found — 
They  have  bosoms  that  sigh,  they  have  glances 
that  rove. 
They  have  lang^uage  a  Sappho's  own  lip  might 
resound. 
When  she  warbled  her  best — ^but  they've  nothing 
like  Love. 

Nor  is't  that  pure  Mentiment  only  they  want. 
Which  Heav'n  for  the  mild  and  the  tranquil 
hath  made — 
Calm,  wedded  affection,  that  home-rooted  plant, 
Which  sweetens  seclusion,  and  smiles  in  the 
shade; 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  have  gone  by. 
Remains,  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  in  youth. 

Where,  ev'n  though  the  flush  of  the  colours  mayfly. 
The  fieatures  s^  live,  in  their  first  smiling  truth; 

That  union,  where  all  that  in  Woman  is  kind. 
With  all  that  in  Man  most  ennoblingly  tow'rs, 

Grow  wreath'd  into  one — like  the  column,  combin'd 
Of  the  strength  of  the  shaft  and  the  capital's 
Jlow'rs. 

Of  this— bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives,  eVry  where. 
By  the  Abno,  the  Po,  by  all  Italy's  streams — 

Of  this  heart-wedded  love,  so  delicious  to  share. 
Not  a  husband  hath  even  one  glimpse  in  his 
dreams. 

But  it  iff  not  this,  only;  —  bom  full  of  the  light 
Of  a  sun,  from  whose  fount  the  luxuriant  festoons 

Of  these  beautiful  valleys  drink  lustre  so  bright. 
That,  beside  him,  our  suns  of  the  north  are  but 
moons, — 

We  might  fancy,  at  least,  like  their  climate  they 
bum'd; 
And  that  Love,  though  unus'd,  in  this  region 
of  spring, 
To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Household  Deity  tum'd. 
Would  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the  wing 


Sola  tnos  mltni  referent  BaphaeHi  imago 

Picta  manu.  cnraf  allerat  uaqiie  meas. 
Httic  ego  dclkdaa  facio  arrldeoque  Jooorqne, 

AUoquor  ct  tanquam  redder*  rerba  queat. 
Aiienra  nutuque  mih!  Mope  Ilia  videtur 

Dioere  Telle  aliquid  et  toa  Terba  loqui. 
Agnoadt  balboqne  patrem  puer  ore  MJntat. 

Hoc  aolor  loBgae  dcdpioqiw  dka. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


e,  thfrc  are,  IhOM  CKploaioiiR  of 
ben  tho  leases  have  Ijrst  citaghl 


)□,  nhich  epriDgi  in  Ihe  depth  i 

ingft  nre  virginly  pnre  k5  Ihe  sourcf 
loiiiitiun  rivnlot,  destin'il  lo  roll 
re  Icmg,  losing  peaM  iu  iu  ctiur«B  - 


Bat  [he  tntbi  which,   alone,   we  w< 
conceal 
From  the  maiden's  foong  htazt,  i 
ones  Unght, 

No,  no,  'tis  not  here,  htmrsoerer  we  li; 

Whether  pnrely  to  Hymen'som  pl» 
Or  Bilore,  like  Salueans.  tacb  light  of . 

Here  u  not  the  nigion,  taUx  •xui 

For  faithlcBi  in  wedlock,  in  galhmDT  ( 
Without  honoar  to  gmirci,  ut  raservi: 

What  hnve  they,  a  liuabsiid  e&it  tnoun^ 
What  Imtb  Oxhj,  a  lorer  con  priie  a.' 


|d  Passion  —  ij,  exquisite,  even 
its  niadnesB  too  often  hath  made, 
u  then,  a  bright  tmce  of  Uie  heaven, 

li  of  Virtue  from  which  il  has  Ktru}-''! — 


EXTI1.1CT  XIL 


il  be  tme  that  Mnsie  reigns. 
Supreme,  in  Italy's  sofl  shiidcs, 
is  like  thai  Harmony,  so  femops. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


521 


r*d  young  Sibyl,  •  glowing 
wu  bright  imaginings! 
)st  worthy  to  be  tied 
her,  as  in  love, 
it  language  by  her  side, 
jiguage  far  above, 
g  —  whose  tones  and  words 
;  find  answering  chords! 

nee  the  hours  we  past, 
list'ning  all  day  long. 
If  seem'd  chang'd,  at  last, 
ind  we  liy*d  in  song! 
eaves  of  Hatdn  o'er, 
»eneath  her  master  hand, 
ill  their  brilliant  store, 
)ers,  tonch*d  by  fairy  wand; 
ige  of  Mozart  bending, 
1  airy  warblings  cheer'd, 
Durnful  Requiem  blending 
ovLgh  which  the  heart  was  heard. 

ead  our  evening  choir, 
L*d,  thy  lov*d-one*8  Sire  ' — 
ight  of  grace  there  bo 
notes  I  write  or  sing, 
1  their  links  of  harmony, 
lem  charms  they  did  not  bring; — 
It  lest,  simplest  heart, 
;mploy*d  in  his  sweet  art, 
ich  gives  this  world  of  ours 
3W  they  speak  in  heav'n,) 
)re  bright  and  charmed  hours 
Tth's  wisdom  could  have  giv*n. 
'8,  oh  early  friends, 
dnce  then,  hath  lost  its  flowers ! 
ugh  Time  some  foliage  rends, 
he  Friendship,  still  is  ours; 
f  it  endure,  as  green, 
it  hath  always  been! 

rander*d  from  my  theme! 

is  he,  that  could  return 

subjects  from  a  dream, 

liich  these  best  of  feelings  bum? — 

•rks  of  Science,  Art, 

in  this  world  are  worth 

iigh,  that  from  the  heart 

OT  Love  draws  freshly  forth, 

Nmmiiehino  in  the  PsIazso  Botvbae  at  th« 

n. 

I  de  NIoolM  Gkbrini.dit  de  Rienzi."  bj  the 
chiefly  taken  from  the  mnch  more  anthentio 
the  Mune  nihJect    Bicnxi  was  the  eon  of  a 


•oorer  what  ehnrch  if  meant  by  Du  Ceroean 
ant  lee  mee  de  Some,  h  eon  de  trompe,  que 
ver,  eana  annce,  la  nuit  dn  lendemain,  dix- 
ie dQ  ehAtean  de  Saint- Ance,  an  ton  de  la 
fr  an  Bon  Ctat." 
ite  eonJnrN  portaicnt  d«vmnt  Ini  trab  ^tcn- 


EXTRACT  XTTT 


Jt^hetbmMim  rtadimg Du CerotoM'*  AceomU  <^  tike  Cbrnpiraey  i^ 
Bienai^  in  I847.«— TAe  Meetitio  qftU  Contpiraton  on  tike  ITM/IU  </ 
CAe  VMh  oJMaK.  —Tktir  ProoeMtkmimtKi  Momimo  to  tike  OimUoU 
—JUengrt  SpetdL 

'TwAfl  a  proud  moment  —  ev*n  to  hear  the  words 

Of  Truth  and  Freedom  'mid  these    temples 
breath'd. 
And  see,  once  more,  the  Forum  shine  with  swords. 

In  the  Republic's  sacred  name  unsheath'd 

That  glimpse,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day. 

For  his  dear  Rome,  must  to  a  Roman  be. 
Short  as  it  was,  worth  ages  pass'd  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'Twas  on  a  night  of  May,  beneath  that  mpon. 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  Time  untune 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Empire,  till  it  fell 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell  — 
The  sound  of  the  church  clock,  *  near  Adrian's 

Tomb, 
Summoned  the  warriors,  who  had  risen  for  Romb, 
To  meet  unarm'd, — with  none  to  watch  them 

there. 
But  God's  own  eye,  —  and  pass  the  night  in  pray'r. 
Holy  beginning  of  a  holy  cause, 
When  heroes,  girt  for  Freedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heavn,  and,  humble  in  their  might, 
Call  down  its  blessing  on  that  coming  fight. 
At  dawn,  in  arms,  went  forth  the  patriot  band; 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fresh  from  the  Tiber,  fann'd 
Their  gilded  gonfalons,  all  eyes  could  see 

The  palm-tree  there,  the  sword,  the  keys  of 
Heav'n*— 
Types  of  the  Justice,  peace,  and  liberty. 

That  were  to  bless  them,  when  their  chains  were 
riv'n. 
On  to  the  Capitol  the  pageant  mov'd, 

WhUe  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  that  still 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  rov'd. 

Hung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  heard  its  mournful  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heirs  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
*Twas  then    that  thou,   their  Tribune,*    (name, 

which  brought 
Dreams  of  lost  glory  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 

darti.  Nicolaa  OnallatOf  mimomm^  te  bon  di»ew,  portait  le  iwemier, 
qui  tf  tait  de  eouleur  rouge,  et  pirn  (crand  que  lee  autrce.  On  y  Toyait 
dt9  earaot^ree  d'or  aveo  une  femme  aniee  mr  denx  lione,  tenant 
d'une  main  le  globe  du  monde,  et  de  I'autre  une  Fahne  ponr  re- 
pr^acnter  la  ville  de  Rome.  CVtait  le  Gonfalon  de  2a  LiberH. 
Ijt  eeooiid,  k  fonde  blanc,  arec  un  St.  Paul  tenant  de  la  dioite  mm 
Ep6e  nne  et  de  la  gauche  la  oouronne  de  ./iwf»oe,^tait  port^  par 
Etienne  Magnacneeia,  notaire  apostoliqne.  Dans  le  troifitaie, 
St.  Pierre  aralt  en  main  lt»  ebfk  de  la  Concorde  et  de  la  Paix.  Tout 
cela  Inainnait  le  dewein  de  Riensi,  qui  ^tait  de  litabUr  la  Ub«rt<, 
la  Joatice.et  la  paix."  —  Do  CaacaAo,  Ut.  iL 


i  Rienzi. 


QQ 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


LpLrit  Rumc  in  voiu  shall  seek 
n  her  sons  ogain,  that  speak ; — 
k  round  you  < —  un  this  sacred  place 
\c  Blood  ihrines,  and  goda,  uid  god- 

now?  what  solitary  Irace 
Lll,  tbat  mmlo  Uuue's  glory  then? 
n:  sunk,  tliu  Sacred  Mount  bereft 
iianw  —  and  uotliiog  uow  ruuiains 
mem'ry  of  thai  glory,  left 
ir  pangs  and  aggravate  our  dituns! 
be?  — onr  sun  and  sky  the  gome, — 
le  Ycry  aoil  onr  fathers  tnxle,  — 
ug  cane  hath  faU'n  on  sonl  and 

ition  hath  there  come  fruia  God, 

ilrengtli,  niid  rot  uh  iiuo  shivCB, 

b  great  foreruchcra'  glorious  graves? 

rise  up,  ye  Mjghly  Dead,  — 

ing,  are  too  weak  to  cruah 

ll  prieetB,  that  o'er  your  ouiplrc  tread, 

Ihut   ^tuonB   at  Rome' 


ti'BA,  in  thy  desert  domes, 

le  pillars  are  liuC  siletit  huDi<;« 
's  hraud,  superb  Ferbefolib! 
Dih,  that  your  PsliUEUisb'd  ruco 


'  But  tliia  ii  post ;  —  loo  long  bare  Ion 
"  And  prieiitJy  lords  led  us,  nilh  oU  < 
'With  ring  ab<nit  ua~~likc  devoleil  be 
"  Dragg'd  lotbe  Ehrine,  with  faded  g> 
'  Tis  o'er  —  the  dawn  of  our  dellT'iaa 
'  Up  from  his  sleep  of  cunturies  awakei 
'  The  Genius  of  the  Old  HcpuWic,  free 

*  Aa  flr»l  he  Hood,  in  cboiitlcss  nuijeRj 
'  And  sends  liis  voice  through  aget  yel 

•  rrocloinung  Rom:,  Kohb,Roke,  Eusi 


EXTBACT  XIT. 


riLL'ii  «ith  tlic  wondera  I  had  seen. 
Ill  llumc's  stu[>cndous  shrines  anil! 
If,lUl,>.  ^.•:Uf^ll■el^;mllL•, 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


523 


T 


tries  decked,  and  streaks 
g  their  garments*  dyes;  * 
blance  ting*d  their  cheeks, 
riife  was  in  their  eyes; — 
minted  Dead  one  meets, 
g  Rome*8  mournful  streets. 

ignres  passed  away; 
cceeded  to  their  place, 
1,  in  their  array, 
ith  more  natural  grace, 
■e  the  charming  wands 
more  gifted  hands.' 

ions  there  was  one,' 
on  which  the  sun, 
n,  a  beam  let  fall, 
h  the  dusky  twilight  trembled, 
length,  the  spot  where  all 
lagicians  stood  assembled, 
n'd  their  heads,  to  view 
istre,  I  could  trace 
ties  it  threw 
ed  studying  face;* 
oice  with  loud  acclaim, 
[assacio  *'  as  the  name 
;hantcr,  who  had  raised 
which  all  gaz*d. 

low —  the  sun  had  ris'n, 
dungeon  of  old  Night, — 
3,  from  his  prison 
ngcl's  hand  of  light; 
tters,  when  that  ray 

them,  dropped  away,* 
Is  at  touch  of  day ! 
•ded  sage  •  came  forth, 
oughtful  dream  would  stand, 
le  dusky  earth 
;d  figures  with  his  wand ;  * 
the  silver  lute  • 
;  behind  him  bore, 

music  as,  when  mute, 
il  a  thirst  for  more! 

K)tent  spells  went  on, 
d  faces,  that  from  out 

to,  who  WM  a  pupil  and  imitator  of  the 
rented  this  art  of  gilding  the  ornaments  of 
,  though  it  gave  way  to  a  purer  taste  at  the 
tnrf,  was  still  occasionally  used  by  many 
ly  Raphael  in  the  ornaments  of  the  yor- 
A  unfrequently  in  glories  and  flames. 

io.  —  For  the  character  of  this  powerful 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  twelfth  discourse, 
re  in  the  church  of  St.  Pietro  del  Carmine, 

tudied,  and  many  of  them  borrowed  fhmi 
es  in  the  Cartoons  of  Raphael  are  taken, 
,  from  his  frescoes. 

in  tin  prison   .   .    .   and  his  chains  ftll 
eti. 


A  depth  of  shadow  mildly  shone. 

Were  in  the  soft  air  seen  about. 
Though  thick  as  midnight  stars  they  beam'd. 
Yet  all  like  living  sisters  seem'd. 
So  close,  in  every  point,  resembling 

Each  other's  beauties — from  the  eyes 
Lucid  as  if  through  crystal  trembling. 

Yet  soft  as  if  sufPus'd  with  sighs. 
To  the  long,  fawn-like  mouth,  and  chin. 

Lovely  tapering,  less  and  less, 

Till,  by  this  very  charm's  excess. 
Like  virtue  on  the  verge  of  sin. 

It  touched  the  bounds  of  ugliness. 
Here  looked  as  when  they  liv*d  the  shades 
Of  some  of  Amo's  dark-ey*d  maids — 
Such  maids  as  should  alone  live  on. 
In  dreams  thus,  when  their  charms  are  gone  : 
Some  Mona  Lisa,  on  whose  eyes 

A  painter  for  whole  years  might  gaze,* 
Nor  find  in  all  his  pallct*s  dyes. 

One  that  could  even  approach  their  blaze! 

Here  float  two  spirit  shapes,  '•  the  one. 
With  her  white  fingers  to  the  sun 
Outspread,  as  if  to  ask  his  ray 
Whether  it  e*er  had  chanc*d  to  play 
On  lilies  half  so  fair  as  they! 
This  self-pleas'd  nymph,  was  Vanity — 
And  by  her  side  another  smiPd, 

In  form  as  beautiful  as  she. 
But  with  that  air,  subdu'd  and  mild. 

That  still  reserve  of  purity. 
Which  is  to  beauty  like  the  haze. 

Of  ev*ning  to  some  sunny  view, 
Soft'ning  such  charms  as  it  displays, 

And  veiling  others  in  that  hue. 

Which  fancy  only  can  see  through ! 
This  phantom  nymph,  who  could  she  be. 
But  the  bright  Spirit,  Modesty  ? 

Long  did  the  leam*d  enchanter  stay 

To  weave  his  spells,  and  still  there  passM, 

As  in  the  lantern's  shifting  play. 

Group  after  group  in  close  array, 
Each  fairer,  grander,  than  the  last. 

*  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

T  His  treatise  on  MeehaBloi,  Optiet,  ke.,  preseiTcd  in  the  Am> 
brosian  library  at  Milan. 

s  On  dit  <tne  Leonard  pamt  pour  la  premiere  fols  k  la  eoor  de 
Milan,  dans  nn  esp^ce  de  eoncours  ourert  entre  les  meillenra 
Joueurs  de  lyre  d'ltalie.  II  se  pr^oenta  aree  nne  lyre  de  sa  fa^on, 
construit  en  argent —  UisUrirt  de  la  I'eintwx  en  lUtlie. 

•  lie  is  said  to  haTC  been  four  yean  employed  upon  the  portrait 
of  this  fair  Florentine,  without  being  able,  afier  all,  to  come  up  to 
his  idea  of  her  beauty. 

10  Vanity  and  Modesty  In  the  collection  of  Cardinal  Feseh,  at 
Rome.  The  composition  of  the  four  hands  here  is  rather  awkward, 
bat  the  picture,  altogethar,  is  very  deligbtftiL  There  is  a  rcpetUion 
of  the  snbieet  in  the  poasMikm  of  Locien  Booapartt. 

QQ  8 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1  irinmpli  of  his  pow'r 

)  como  ;  — gradunl  aai]  alow, 

is  oriliiiii'd  to  tow'r 

le  works  iif  man  mtiM  grow,) 

klf  light,  hiulf  ehmlow  ahown, 
s  Ui  cv'ii  the  gayest  hue, 
J,  tnclanpJioly  tone. 
Kon  of  that  hut, ' 
light  which  Jesos  pMt'd 
laciples,  when  lie  said 
ily  to  Ihcm — "  I  "haU  b* 
1)7  one,  who  here  halh  fed 
tilt  at  the  Bflmc  board  with  iDe," 
F  the  SsTioar,  in  tho  dream 
Hhcse  words,  wc  saw  them  beam 
pia  ejea  (ao  well 
Biagiciun  work'd  hia  spell), 
m  every  thoughtful  linu 
(n  that  brow  divine, 

I  tender  nature,  griuv'd, 
o  be  tlms  dcceiv'd — 
'«  rcqailad  ill 
ire,  vet  loving  still — 
fSnl  that  there  sbonld  fall 
nl  so  foul  0  Iili^-Lt 
Laning  hour — and  all 
It  most  hare  fi>lt  tbal  night, 
Ito  did  for  !mmaTi-kin<1, 


EXTRACT  XV. 


No  wonder.  Mist,  that  thy  stniy 
Touched  all  henna  —  for  iLeie  we  a 

Tlie  (onl's  conTiption,  iind  its  glorv, 
III  death  and  hfe  eombin'd  in  thee. 

From  the  first  moment,  wbeii  wc  find 

Thy  spirit  hannlcd  by  a  swaim 
Of  dark  desires, — like  demons  ahrin'c 

Unholily  in  that  fair  fonn,  — 
Till  «  hen,  by  lonch  of  Hear'n  act  fiw 

Thoa  cam'st,  with  those  bright  lod 
(So  ott  the  gaie  of  BEtaAST), 

And,  eov'ring  in  their  preeioni  tM 
Thy  Savionr'B  feet,  didst  shed  Kicli  It 
As  paid,  each  drop,  Ihe  sins  of  jean  1 
Tlience  on,  ihrotijjh  all  Ihy  eonnc  of 

To  Him.  thy  Ueorciily  Master.— I 
Whusa  bitter  death-cup  from  sbuvB 

Itsd  yet  this  cordial  round  the  brin 
Tlial  woman's  foith  and  love  stood  fai 
And  fearless  by  Uitn  to  the  lost  :  — 
Till,  oh,  blest  boon  for  trnth  like  thmi 

Thou  wprt,  nf  all.  the  ehnwn  onp. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


625 


the  ideal,  grand, 
in  hand, 

ill,  enamelling  touch 
aLiNo — should  delight 
who  "  lov'd  so  muc^** 
pite  of  sin,  so  bright  I 

ig  these  bold  essajs 

f  Art  to  raise 

hose  weeping  eyes — 

h  J  of  the  sphere 

m'd  thee  in  the  skies, 

arts  of  all  men  here, — 

latch'd,  in  grief  or  grace, 

cam  of  thy  face, 

culptur'd  forms,  more  bright 

(sion's  breathing  light, 

eneath  the  stroke 

b  awoke. 

ying  what  thou  wert 

ef,  —  while  yet  the  flow'r 

)eautie8  was  unhurt 

ow,  consuming  pow*r; 

irth*s  seductive  grace 

subliming  thoughts  so  well, 

gazing,  in  which  place 

'as  most  form'd  to  dwell! 

>u  look'dst,  when  years 

mce,  and  tears 

ame;  —  and  ne*er  did  Art 

1  speaking  pow'r  express 

I  breaking  heart 
grees,  o'er  loveliness, 
rms,  that  keep  the  trace, 
;hcir  youthful  grace, 

ir,  of  which  thy  brow 
ad, —  neglected  now ! — 
v'n  in  fading  worth 
loom  to  others  giv'n, 
2ycs,  now  lost  to  earth, 
t,  still  full  of  heav'n! 

!  praise,  like  mine  — 
ing  from  a  soul,  that  feels 
those  works  divine, 
all  his  light  reveals  — 
the  words  that  came 
peer  in  art  and  fame,' 
own,  by  day,  by  night, 
irble  with  delight; 
rig'ring  hand  would  steal 
!e  the  taper's  rays,  • 

II  the  genYous  zeal 
ts  only  feel 

me,  a  rival's  praise  ! 


e  laat  worki  of  Cobota,  and  wm  not  yet 
me.  The  other,  which  seems  to  proTe,  in 
I  anthoritj,  that  expreaiion,  of  the  in- 
n  the  iphere  ot  •culptnie.wM  executed 


EXTRACT  XVL 

Lei  Chumettcs. 

A  VitUtotheH(m»evkenliotimeemlivedwUhMadantedeWarrent. 
—  Their  M4na0e.—It$  GroMneM$.  —  Clamde  Atut,  —  Beoerae* 
with  ufkieh  the  SjkA  it  wtw  viritetL—AbtvtrditM  qf  this  blind 
Devotion  to  Fame.  —  FeeUngt  excited  by  the  Jieavtif  and  Sechuion 
<lf  the  Scene, -~Di0twrbedbt  iu  AtaodationewithJiotuaeau'e  Bie- 
tory — ImpotturtM  cj  Men  iif  €feniu$.  —  Their  power  qfwumiekino 
all  the  best  Feelino*t  Xooe,  Independence^  fe. 

Stbakoe  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 
Round  all  that's  vicious,  weak,  and  low. 
Such  magic  lights,  such  rainbow  dyes 

As  dazzle  ev'n  the  steadiest  eyes 

****** 


'Tis  worse  than  weak — 'tis  wrong,  'tis  shame. 

This  mean  prostration  before  Fame; 

This  casting  down,  beneath  the  car 

Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are. 

Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies. 

To  be  career'd  o'er,  as  they  please. 

No — give  triumphant  Genius  all 

For  which  his  loftiest  wish  can  call: 

If  he  be  worshipp'd,  let  it  be 

For  attributes,  his  noblest,  first; 
Not  with  that  base  idolatry. 

Which  sanctifies  his  last  and  worst 

I  may  be  cold; — may  want  that  glow 

Of  high  romance,  which  bards  should  know; 

That  noly  homage,  which  is  felt 

In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt; 

This  rev'rence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

I  fear,  I  feel,  I  have  it  no/;— 
For  here,  at  this  still  hour,  to  me 

The  charms  of  this  delightful  spot; 
Its  calm  seclusion  from  the  throng. 

From  all  the  heart  would  fain  forget. 
This  narrow  valley,  and  the  song 

Of  its  small  murm'ring  rivulet; 
The  fiitting,  to  and  fro,  of  birds. 

Tranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  once 
In  Eden,  ere  the  startling  words 

Of  Man  disturb'd  their  orisons; 
Those  little,  shadowy  paths,  that  wind 
Up  the  hill-side,  with  fruit-trees  lin'd. 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  foliage  makes. 
Or  vistas,  here  and  there  that  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatches 
Of  far*off^  scenes  of  light,  which  Ilope 

Ev'n  through  the  shade  of  sadness  catches  I^ 
All  this,  which — could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  ties, 


many  yean  ago,  and  is  in  the  powewioo  of  the  Coont  Somarira,  at 
Paris.  3  Chantrey. 

•  Caneiva  alwaya  ihovri  hia  fliM  itatne,  tha'TcDere  Ylndtrioe,  by 
the  light  of  a  nnaU  oaaili. 


S  A  T  I  K  E  S. 


PREFACE. 


loliticfil  opinions  adopted  in  the  first  of 
satires — the  Poem  on  Corruption  —  were 
r  caught  up,  as  is  intimated  in  the  original 
•e,  from  the  writings  of  Bolingbroke,  Sir 
im  Wyndham,  and  other  statesmen  of 
iactious  period,  when  the  same  sort  of 
le  took  place  between  Toryism  and  what 
w  called  Radicalism,  which  is  always 
to  ensue  on  the  ejection  of  the  Tory 
from  power.*  In  the  somewhat  rash 
>n,  it  will  be  seen  that  neither  of  the  two 
£nglish  parties  is  handled  with  much 
;t ;  and  I  remember  being  taken  to  task, 
e  of  the  few  of  my  Whig  acquaintances 
ver  looked  into  the  poem,  for  the  follow- 
lusion  to  the  silencing  effects  of  official 
a  on  certain  orators ;  — 

Am  beet,  on  flowen  allsh^f .  eeue  their  hnm. 
So.  settliDC  upon  pUoee,  Whixi  crow  dumb. 

I  these  attempts  of  mine  in  the  stately, 
lalian  style  of  satire,  met  witli  but  little 
js, — never  having  attained,  I  believe, 
the  honours  of  a  second  edition ;  and  I 
that  lighter  form  of  weapon,  to  which  I 
rards  betook  myself,  not  only  more  easy 
ild,  but,  from  its  very  lightness,  perhaps 
sure  to  reach  its  mark, 
would  almost  seem,  too,  as  if  the  same 
bittered  spirit,  the  same  freedom  from  all 
oalice  with  which,  in  most  instances,  this 
)f  squib  warfare  has  been  waged  by  me, 
*elt,  in  some  degree,  even  by  those  who 
themselves  the  objects  of  it; — so  gene- 
r  forgiving  have  I,  in  most  instances,  found 
Even  the  high  Personage  against  whom 
irliest  and  perhaps  most  successful  of  my 
r  missiles  were  launched,  could  refer  to 
oote  them,  as  I  learn  from  an  incident 
oned  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  f, 


hfanedf  adaHnrledgca  that  **both  partial  vara 
ia  tha  atikt  MBit  of  tha  void.** 


with  a  degree  of  good-humour  and  playfulness 
which  was  creditable  alike  to  his  temper  and 
good  sense.  At  a  memorable  dinner  given  by 
the  Regent  to  Sir  Walter  in  the  year  1815, 
Scott,  among  other  stories  with  which  his  royal 
host  was  much  amused,  told  of  a  sentence 
passed  by  an  old  friend  of  his,  the  Lord  Justice 
Clerk  Braxfield,  attended  by  circumstances  in 
which  the  cruelty  of  this  waggish  judge  was 
even  more  conspicuous  than  his  humour.  **  The 
Regent  laughed  heartily,"  says  the  biographer, 
**  at  this  specimen  of  Braxfield*s  brutal  humour ; 
and  *  r  Aiith,  Walter,*  said  he,  *  this  old  big- 
wig seems  to  have  taken  things  as  coolly  as  my 
tyrannical  self.  Don't  you  remember  Tom 
Moore*s  description  of  me  at  breakfast? — 

'  The  table  fpresd  with  tea  and  toait, 
Death-warraDta  and  the  Hominff  Poet.*** 

In  reference  to  this,  and  other  less  exalted 
instances,  of  the  good-humoured  spirit  in  which 
my  *'  innocui  sales"  have  in  general  been  taken, 
I  shall  venture  to  cite  here  a  few  flattering  sen- 
tences which,  coming  as  they  did  from  a  poli- 
tical adversary  and  a  stranger,  touched  me  far 
more  by  their  generosity  than  even  by  their 
prabe.  In  speaking  of  the  pension  which  had 
just  then  been  conferred  upon  me,  and  express- 
ing, in  warm  terms,  his  approval  of  the  grant, 
the  editor  of  a  leading  Tory  journal  J  thus 
liberally  expresses  himself: — "  We  know  that 
some  will  blame  us  for  our  prejudice  —  if  it  be 
prejudice,  in  favour  of  Mr.  Moore;  but  we 
cannot  help  it.    As  he  tells  us  himself, 

*  Wit  a  diamond  bringi 
That  cut*  ita  bright  way  throuirh ' 

the  most  obdurate  political  antipathies.  ♦  ♦  ♦ 
We  do  not  believe  that  any  one  was  ever  hurt 
by  libels  so  witty  as  those  of  Mr.  Moore :  — 
great  privilege  of  wit,  which  renders  it  impos- 

t  Vol.  iU.  p.  S4S. 

S  The  Staadaid,  Angvtt  M,  laSft 

RR 


e  whose  enemies  wits  are,  to 

I  the  period  of  the  Regencj :  — 

I  attacks  from  the  goverument 

w  occttsional  vollejs  of  small  ehot 

:±  used  to  draw  down  upon  me, 

llj  alleged,  as  an  a^ravatian  of 

That  I  httd  boon  indebted  lo  the 

;e  thus  assailcrd  by  me  for  man; 

ftniiai  services.    I.uctilj',  the  list 

Ihoweredupon  me  from  that  high 

J  despslehed  in  a  few  Bcntenues. 

lof  the  Enrl  of  Moira,  oneof  mj 

Hst  friends,  his  Knjal  HigbnCBa 

■litted  me  to  dedicate  to  him  my 

■the  Odes  of  Anacreon.     1  was 

lidmitted  to  the  honour  of  dininii 

;  and  when  the  Prince,  on 

I  Regent  in  IS]],  gave  his  me- 

waa  one  of  the  crowd— about 

in  number  —  who  enjoyed  the 

ing   hid   guests   on  the   ooca- 


liim,  been  in  some  degree  aaticipateij 
sketch  of  the  domestic  events  of  hisrci 
[uised  to  have  proceeded  from  the  pen 
who  was  himself  an  artor  in  lome  of  J 
painful  scenes,  and  who,  from  his  pnS 
position,  commanded  a  near  insight  i 
character  of  that  exalted  iodividual, 
husband  and  father.  To.the  some  high 
rity  I  must  refer  for  an  account  of  the 
rioiis  "  Book  §,"  to  which  allusion  is  me 
once  made  in  the  following  pages- 
One  of  the  earliest  and  most  succeufi 
numerous  trifles  I  wrote  at  that  period. 
Parody  on  the  Regent's  celebrated  Let 
□ouncing  to  the  world  that  he  "  had  di 
lections,"  kc.  Tbii  very  opportune  »q 
nt  first  (urculated  privately ;  my  friei 
Perry,  having  for  some  tJmc  hesitated  to 
it.  He  got  some  copies  of  it,  hnwever, 
off  for  me,  which  I  sent  reund  toseven 
bers  of  the  Whig  party ;  Hnd,havingl< 
number  of  them  at  dinner  immediatel 
found  it  no  easymatlertokeep  my  caun 
while  they  v  "         ' 


PREFACE. 


581 


•ackington  and  Co.*  — of  which  I 
f  not  the  slightest  notion  till  I  found 
ided  to  in  Mr.  Lockhart*8  Life  of  Sir 
ott.  In  speaking  of  the  causes  which 
osed  to  have  contributed  to  the  com- 
dlure  of  Ihe  Poem  of  "  Rokeby,"  the 
:  says,  "  It  is  fair  to  add  that,  among 
yn  circles,  at  least,  some  sarcastic 
Mr.  Moore's  Twopenny  Post-Bag, 
had  an  unfavourable  influence  on 

the  translations  that  have  appeared 
ntinent,  of  the  greater  part  of  my 
)rks,  there  has  been  no  attempt,  as 
in  learn,  to  give  a  version  of  any  of 
J  writings, — with  the  single  excep- 
juib  entitled  ^  Little  Man  and  Little 

which  there  is  a  translation  into 
rse,  by  the  late  distinguished  oriental 
ofessor  Von  Bohlen.§  Though  un- 
9e\£,  in  German,  I  can  yet  perceive— 

to  marvel  at  it — the  dexterity  and 
vhich  the  Old  Ballad  metre  of  the 
adopted  and  managed  in  the  trans- 
this  trifle  maybe  considered  curious, 
1  itself,  but  still  more  as  connected 


Foti'Bao,  pp.  ISS,  165.   I  ftTail  myielf  of  ttie  mention 

'.tr  Kiuib,  to  recant  a  correction  which  I  too  hastily 

>  following  lines  of  it :  _ 

ouKh  rtatesmen  may  Kloiy  in  beinc  mibotight« 

ithor,  we  tiduk,  sir,  that's  rather  a  fault." 

.  Pope's  ear  waa  satisfled  with  the  sort  of  rhyme  here 

r  altered  (.and  spoiled)  the  whole  couplet  to  get  rid 

stance,**  says  Mr.  Lockhart,  **  the  Epistle  of  Lady 
if  Messrs.  Lackington,  bookaeUen,  to  one  of  their 

1  iieel  any  tonch  of  poetical  glow, 

t  to  sucveiit:—  Mr.  Rc— tt.  you  must  know, 

rry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  ifoie,)' 


1  Paternoster  Bow. 


with  SO  learned  a  name,  I  shall  here  present  it 
to  my  readers,  premising  that  the  same  eminent 
Professor  has  left  a  version  also  of  one  of 
my  early  /acetify  *'  The  Rabbinical  Origin  of 
Woman." 

-  THERE  WAS  A  LITTLE  MAK.** 
iTrmuiated  by  PrqftMaor  Von  BoMen.) 

Et  war  ein  kldner  Mann, 

Und  der  haU'n  kleinen  Geist, 
Und  er  sprach:  kleiner  Oeist  sehn  wlr  m,  sn,  in, 

oh  uns  mOglich  wohl  wlrd  seyn 

So  ein  kleines  Redelein 
Das  wir  halten,  kleiner  ich  and  kleiner  du,  dn,  da. 

Das  wir  halten,  kleiner  ich  nnd  kleiner  do. 

Und  der  kleine  Oeist,  der  brach 

Aus  dem  Loehe  nun  und  sprach : 
Ich  behaupte,  kleiner  Mann,  du  bist  keek,  keck,  keck, 

Mimm  nicht  tibel  meine  Zweifel, 

Aber  sage  mir,  sum  Teuftl, 
Hat  die  kleine  kleine  Red'  einen  Zweck,  Zwcck,  Zweck, 

Hat  die  kleine  kleine  Red'  einen  Zweck? 

Der  kleine  Mann  darauf 

BUeM  die  Backen  milchtig  auf, 
Und  er  sprach:  kldner  Oeist  aey  gescheut,  scheut,  seheuti 

Kleiner  ich  nnd  kleiner  da 

Bind  berufen  Ja  dazu 
Zu  verdammen  und  bekehren  alle  Lent*.  I^eut*,  Lent*, 

Zu  verdammen  und  bekehren  alls  Leut*. 

Und  sie  flngen  beide  an, 

Der  kleine  Geist  und  kleine  Mann, 
Paukten  ab  ihre  Rede  so  klein,  klein,  kldnt 

Und  die  ganze  Welt  fUr  wahr 

Meint,  das  aufkeblas'ne  Paar 
Musst  ein  winaiges  Pfttfielcin  nur  seyn,  seyn,  seyn, 

Musrt  ein  winzlges  PfUfiblein,  nur  seyn. 


Harlng  ooitted  the  Borders,  to  seek  new  renown. 

Is  coming,  by  long  Quarto  stages,  to  Town ; 

And  beginning  with  Rokeby  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 

Means  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 

Now,  the  scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys  can  beat  him) 

To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Highgate  to  meet  him; 

Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs  —  no  revises  —  long  coaches 

May  do  a  few  villas,  before  8c— tt  approaches. 

Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 

He'll  reach,  without  found'ring.  at  least  Wobum  Abbey.'  ** 

;  Alluding  to  a  speech  delivered  in  the  year  1813  by  the  Right 
Hon.  Charles  Abbott  (then  Speaker)  against  Mr.  Grattan's  motknn 
for  a  Committee  on  the  Claims  of  the  Catholics. 

I  Author  of**  The  Andent  Indian." 


R  K  it 


COKRUPTION,  AND  lOTOLEEANCE: 


D  vrhich  !iiu  beea  lately  introdaced 
□f  wtiliug  very  long  oot^B  upon 
t  versos,  appears  to  mo  rather  a 
ni  a*  it  supplier  lu  with  a  mode 
lill  poetry  to  account;  and  Bi  hones 
tbe  auildio  may  jct  eerre  well 
iw  lumber,  ad  Poems  of  this  kind 
[  beiuls  of  burden,  and  will  bear 
li  they  may  not  bear  reading.     Be- 

■lecesflily  of  paying   nriy  servile  de- 

c  dogma,  "Quod  Buijru  nos  ui' "' 


The  bold  notions  of  popular  rig^t,  vIuf 
out  of  the  struggles  between  Charles  t 
his  Parliament,  were  gradually  guiipUr 
slavish  docirines  for  which  Lord  H — I 
logiaes  the  Churehmcn  of  that  period; 
RefarmiLlion  had  happened  too  soon  fi 
of  religion,  ao  the  Kcvolmion  came  loi 
spirit  of  Uberty.  Its  adTBntageii  sccoi 
for  the  moet  ^^rt  specious  and  tranailo 
evils  which  it  entailed  are  still  felt  i 
crensing.  By  rendering  niincceseaiy 
Bsircise   of    Prerogaiive, —  thai  unw 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLR 


683 


:ioii.  The  rerj  object,  indeed,  which  mj 
animadrersions  would  attain  is,  that  in  the 
»  which  I  think  England  is  now  hastening, 
ween  which  and  foreign  subjugation  she 
>n  be  compelled  to  choose,  the  errors  and 
us  of  1688  should  be  remedied;  and,  as  it 
n  her  fate  to  experience  a  Revolution  with- 
form,  so  she  maj  now  endeavour  to  ac- 
h  a  Beform  without  Bevolution. 
making  of  the  parties  which  have  so  long 
I  England,  it  will  be  observed  that  I  lean 
to  the  Whigs  as  to  their  adversaries.  Both 
I  have  been  equally  cruel  to  Ireland,  and 
1  equally  insincere  in  their  efforts  for  the 
{  of  England,  There  is  one  name,  indeed, 
ed  with  whiggism  of  which  I  can  never 
mi  with  veneration  and  tenderness.  As 
however,  might  the  light  of  the  sun  be 
I  bj  anj  particular  nation,  as  the  sanction 
name  hie  monopolised  bj  any  party  whatso- 
Bfr.  Fox  belonged  to  mankind,  and  they 
st  in  him  their  ablest  friend. 
I  respect  to  the  few  lines  upon  Intolerance, 
[  have  subjoined,  they  are  but  the  imperfect 
ng  of  a  long  scries  of  Essays,  with  which  I 
snace  my  readers,  upon  the  same  important 
I  shall  look  to  no  higher  merit  in  the 
an  that  of  giving  a  new  form  to  claims  and 
trances,  winch  Imve  often  been  much  more 
itly  urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now 
roiduc^  their  effect,  but  that  the  minds  of 
r  our  statesmen,  like  the  pupil  of  the  human 
ntract  themselves  the  more,  the  stronger 
lere  is  shed  upon  them. 


1  Rioa  M  raft  o«nnU  impenie  mirantnr  i  OBterai  nfttlonet 
hftbent.-^arckiy  (u  quoted  in  one  of  Drjden't  jwefaoct). 

ind  besaa  Tcrj  c«rl7  to  feel  the  effecti  of  cruelty  towurdi 
idendee.  **  The  feverity  of  her  goTcnunent  (tan  Mm- 
Dootribnted  more  to  deprive  her  of  the  continental  donii- 
he  family  of  Plantagenet  thMi  the  anm  of  France."— See 

h»  total  reduction  of  the  Uncdom  of  Ireland  In  1691  (tayi 
be  mln  of  the  native  Iridi,  and  in  a  ffrcat  meamiTe,too,  of 
aees  of  the  Englifh.  waa  completely  acoompliahed.  The 
lijii  Interot  waf  lettied  with  af  ioUd  a  itabiUty  af  any 
nmuui  ailklre  can  look  fi>r.  All  the  penal  laws  of  that 
tl«d  code  of  opprcMioiu  which  were  made  after  the  lait 
9«  maniftetly  the  effccu  of  national  hatred  and  Kom 
eoMiQeied  people,  whom  the  Ticton  delighted  to  trample 
IveraaolfttaU  afraid  toproTokft."   Tel  thia  la  Um  «» 


CORRUPTION, 

AN  EPISTLE. 

Nvv  4^  ianmW  0«wp  cf  my^mf  »twtwpmrm*  ravra*  ■orif  ytr—  it 
r»»Ta»i^  i/fi*  ^f"  awaXatA*  ««•  i>«y»iy«w  4  'KAXa«.    Tmvrm  9  •»»  r»|  {^lUcb 
«»  rK  (tXi^  «•  y*Xa»c  •»  4m«**|^'  mytffmtti0i  »oh  cXayxayMVMC*  ^i— |,  mm 

Dutoera.  Fkilipp.  OL 

Boast  on,  my  friend — though  stript  of  all  beside, 
Thy  struggling  nation  still  retains  her  pride:  ^ 
That  pride,  which  once  in  genuine  glory  woke 
When  Marlborough  fought,  and  briUiant  St.  John 

spoke; 
That  pride  which  still,  by  time  and  shame  unstung, 
Outlives  even  Wh-tel-H:ke's  sword  and  H-wk-s- 

b'ry*s  tongue! 
Boast  on,  my  firiend,  while  in  thiis  humbled  isle  ' 
Where  Honour  mourns  and  Freedom  fears  to  smile, 
Where  the  bright  light  of  England's  fame  is  known 
But  by  the  shadow  o'er  our  fortunes  thrown; 
Where,  doom'd  ourselves  to  nought  but  wrongs 

and  slights,' 
We  hear  you  boast  of  Britain's  glorious  rights, 
As  wretched  slaves,  that  under  hatches  lie. 
Hear  those  on  deck  extol  the  sun  and  sky  I 
Boast  on,  while  wandering  through  my  native 

haunts, 
I  coldly  listen  to  thy  patriot  vaunts; 
And  feel,  though  close  our  wedded  countries  twine, 
More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  thine. 

Yet  pause  a  moment — and  if  truths  severe 
Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear. 
Which  hears  no  news  but  W — rd*8  gazetted  lies, 
And  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  but  Pye's,  — 
If  aught  can  please  thee  but  the  good  old  saws 
Of  **  Church  and  State,"  and  *"  William's  matchless 

laws," 
And  •*  Acts  and  Rights  of  glorious  Eighty-eight,"— 
Things,  which  though  now  a  century  out  of  date. 
Still  serve  to  ballast,  with  convenient  words, 
A  few  crank  arguments  for  speeching  lords,*  — 
Turn,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found. 
Where  most  she  looked  for  life,  her  deadliest 

wound; 


to  which  the  wise  Common  Conncll  of  Dublin  refl»r  n«  ftr  **  In- 
Taluable  bleainct,"  ftc. 

*  It  nerer  wemt  to  occur  to  thoaa  oratort  and  tMrtmth  irtio 
round  off  eo  many  eentencee  and  paracraphi  with  the  Bill  of  SIchti, 
the  Act  of  Settlement,  ate,  that  most  of  the  provWona  which  theee 
Act*  contained  for  the  preeenratlon  of  parliamentary  Independence 
have  been  long  laid  af Ide  af  romantic  and  troubleaome.  I  nef«r 
meet,  I  contas,  with  a  politician  who  quotee  eerionaly  the  Declara- 
tion of  Rlghtf,  Ac,  to  prove  the  actual  ezietenoe  of  EncHih  liberty, 
that  I  do  not  think  of  that  marquis,  whom  Monteiqaien  menttona*, 
who  let  about  looking  for  mine*  In  the  Pyreneea,  on  the  itrenirth 
of  authorities  which  he  had  read  In  some  ancient  anthon.  The 
poor  marquii  tolled  and  learched  In  vain.  He  quoted  hie  an- 
thorities  to  the  laet,  but  found  no  mines  after  alL 


•  Ut.  zzl.  ehap.  t. 
B  R  3 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


53o 


or  was  lost,  and  William  with  a  smile, 
•eedom  weeping  o'er  the  unfinish'd  pile! 

«  all  the  ills  jon  sniTer,  — hence  remain 
ailing  fragments  of  that  feudal  chain/ 
links,  around  jou  bj  the  Norman  flung, 
i  loos*d  and  broke  so  often,   still  have 
clung. 

sly  ft^rogative,  like  Jore  of  old, 
rn'd  his  thunder  into  showers  of  gold^ 
silent  courtship  wins  securer  joys,' 
by  degrees,  and  ruins  without  noise, 
parliaments,  no  more  those  sacred  things 
make  and  rule  the  destiny  of  kings, 

.  the  **  mriftr  ainnU,**  of  the  court,  and  terred  m  a  mir- 
i  oAtioDAl  will  and  pofmlar  feelinic  no  longer.  We  need 
lit  the  wriUnci  of  that  time,  to  underctand  the  aatoniah- 
m  excited  bj'meacnres,  which  the  practice  of  a  century 
ered  not  onij  IkmiUar  hat  neeewary.  See  a  pamphlet 
The  Danger  of  mercenary  Parliament*,"  1696 1  State  Tracts, 
[.  ToL  ii. ; aee  abo  ''Some  Paradozet  presented  as  a  New 
ilk.**    estate  iVMHU,  vol.  ilL) 

Bst  great  woond  glTcn  to  the  ftodal  ■yttcm  was  the  Act  of 
of  Charles  IL.  which  abolished  the  tenure  of  knight's 
i  eapiU,  and  which  Blackstone  compares,  fbr  its  salutary 
upon  property,  to  the  hoasted  prorisions  of  Magna  Charta 
ct  even  in  this  Act  we  see  the  effects  of  that  counteracting 
leh  has  oontrived  to  weaken  every  effort  of  the  English 
rwmrds  liberty.  The  exclusion  of  copyholders  from  their 
ckctive  rights  was  permitted  to  remain  as  a  brand  of 
erritode,  and  as  an  obstacle  to  the  rise  of  that  strong 
alance  which  an  CQual  representation  of  property  would 
I  the  weight  of  the  Crown.  If  the  managers  of  the  Rero- 
A  been  sincere  in  their  wishes  for  reform,  they  would  not 
•e  taken  this  fetter  off  the  rights  of  election,  but  would 
cwed  tlie  mode  adopted  in  Cromwell's  time  of  increasing 
bcr  of  knights  of  the  shire,  to  the  exclusion  of  those  rotten 
mnt  boroughs,  which  have  tainted  the  whole  mass  of  the 
don.  Lord  Clarendon  calls  this  measure  of  Cromwell's  | 
•ratien  fit  to  be  more  warrantable  made,  and  in  a  better 
It  fbnned  part  of  Mr.  Pitt's  plan  in  1783 1  but  Pitt's  plan  of 
ras  a  luad  of  announced  dramatic  piece,  about  as  likely  to 
«t«d  as  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Foresters." 


I  tout  enim  tutum  iter  et  patent 

CouTerso  in  pretium  Deo. 
Aamm  per  mcdios  ire  satellites,  tte. 


HoaAT. 


lid  be  a  task  not  uninstmctiTe  to  trace  the  history  of 
if*  ftomtiie  date  of  its  strength  under  the  Tudor  princes, 
enry  YII.  and  his  successors  "  t aught  the  people  (as  Na- 
Baoon  says)  •  to  dance  to  the  tune  of  Allegiance,"  to  the 
r  the  BcTolution,  when  the  Throne,  in  its  attacks  upon 
Wgan  to  exchange  the  noby  explosions  of  PrerogatiTe  for  i 
It  aad  elKsetual  air-gun  of  Influence.  In  following  its 
oo,  stnee  that  memorable  era,  we  shall  And  that,  while  the 
wer  has  been  abridged  in  branches  where  It  mtght  be  made 
re  to  the  interests  of  the  people,  it  has  been  left  in  full  and 
led  Tigour  against  almost  every  point  where  the  integrity 
DStitntion  is  Tulnerable.  For  instance,  the  power  of  charter- 
agfas,  to  whose  capricious  abuse  in  the  hands  of  the  Stuarts 
indebted  fbr  most  of  the  present  anomalies  of  representa- 
(ht.  if  suffered  to  remain,  hare  in  some  degree  atoned  for 
hicf,  by  restoring  the  old  unchartered  boroughs  to  their 
nd  widening  more  equally  the  basis  of  the  legislature.  But, 
kct  of  Union  with  Scotland,  this  part  of  the  prerogative  was 
Ulest  Freedom  should  have  a  chance  of  being  healed,  even 
net  at  the  spear  which  had  formerly  wounded  her.  The 
BS  power,  however,  of  creating  peers,  which  has  been  so 
•rcisedybr  the  government  offninst  the  constitution,  is  still  i 
ea  and  nnonalUled  activity  t  notwithstanding  the  example 
dcbrated  Bill  for  the  limitation  of  this  ever-budding  branch 


like  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown. 
And  each  new  set  of  sharpers  cog  their  own. 
Hence  the  rich  oil,  that  from  the  Treasury  steals. 
Drips  smooth  o'er  all  the  Constitution's  wheels, 
Giving  the  old  machine  such  pliant  play,' 
That  Court  and  Commons  jog  one  joltless  way, 
While  Wisdom  trembles  for  the  crazy  car, 
So  gilt,  so  rotten,  cairying  fools  so  far; 
And  the  dup*d  people,  hourly  doom*d  to  pay 
The  sums  that  brib«  their  liberties  away,* — 
Like  a  young  eagle,  who  has  lent  his  plume 
To  fledge  the  shaft  by  which  he  meets  his  doom, 
See  their  own  feathers  pluck'd,  to  wing  the  dart 
Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart ! 

of  prerogative,  wiiieh  was  proposed  in  the  reign  of  George  L  under 
the  peculiar  sanction  and  recommendation  of  the  Crown,  but 
which  the  Whigs  thought  right  to  reject,  with  all  that  character- 
istio  delicacy,  which,  in  general,  prevents  them,  when  enjoying  the 
sweets  of  office  themselves,  from  taking  any  unoonrtly  advantage  of 
the  Throne.  It  will  be  reoollected,  however,  that  the  creation  of 
the  twelve  peers  by  the  Tories  in  Anne's  reign  (a  measure  which 
Swift,  like  a  true  party  man.  definids)  gave  these  upright  Whigs  all 
possible  alarm  for  their  liberties. 

With  regard  to  the  generous  flt  about  his  prerogative  which 
seised  so  unroyally  the  good  king  George  I., historians  have  hinted 
that  the  paroxysm  originated  far  more  in  hatred  to  his  son  than  In 
love  to  the  constitution,  t  This,  of  course,  however,  is  a  calumny  i 
no  loyal  person,  acquainted  with  the  annals  of  the  three  George*, 
could  possibly  suspect  any  one  of  those  gracious  monarchs  eitiier 
of  ill-will  to  his  heir,  or  indifference  for  the  constitution. 

I  **  They  drove  so  fast  (aays  Welwood  of  the  ministers  of  Charles 
I.),  that  it  was  no  wondr-r  that  the  wheels  and  chariot  broke.** 
(Memoin,  p.  a&.)— But  this  fktal  accident,  if  we  may  Judge  firom 
experience,  is  to  be  imputed  far  less  to  the  folly  and  Impetuosity  of 
the  drivers,  than  to  the  want  of  that  suppling  oil  trom  the 
Treasury  which  has  been  found  so  necessary  to  make  a  government 
like  that  of  England  run  smoothly.  Had  Charles  been  as  well 
provided  with  this  article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  the 
happy  Revolution,  his  Commons  would  never  have  merited  fW>m 
him  the  harsh  appellation  of  "  seditious  vipers,"  but  would  have 
been  (as  they  now  are.  and  I  trust  always  will  be) '  dutiful  Ccm- 
mons,"  '*  loyal  Commons,"  Ac.  *c,  and  would  have  given  him 
ship-money,  or  any  other  sort  uf  money  he  might  hare  fkncicd. 

4  Among  those  auxiliaries  which  the  Revolution  of  1688  mar- 
shalled on  the  side  of  the  Throne,  the  bugbear  of  Popery  has  not 
been  the  least  convenient  and  serviceable.  Those  nnskilf\il  tyrants, 
Charles  and  James,  instead  of  profiting  by  that  useful  subserviency 
which  has  always  distinguished  the  ministers  of  our  religious  es- 
tablishment, were  so  infatuated  as  to  plan  the  ruin  of  this  best 
bulwark  of  their  power,  and,  moreover,  connected  their  design^ 
upon  the  Church  so  undisguisedly  witli  their  attacks  upon  the 
Constitution,  that  they  identified  in  the  minds  of  the  people- thtt 
interests  of  their  religion  and  their  liberties.  During  those  times, 
therefbre,  **  No  Popery  "  was  the  watirhword  of  fVeedom,  and  served 
to  keep  the  public  spirit  awake  against  the  invasions  of  bigotry  and 
prerogative.  The  Revolution,  however,  by  removing  this  object 
of  Jealousy,  has  produced  a  reliance  on  the  orthodoxy  of  tiie 
Throne,  of  which  the  Throne  has  not  failed  to  take  advantage  i 
and  the  cry  of  "  No  Popery,"  having  thus  lost  its  power  of  alarming 
the  people  against  the  inroads  of  the  Crown,  has  served  ever  since 
the  very  diiftrent  purpose  of  strengthening  the  Crown  against  the 
pretensions  and  struggles  of  the  people.  The  danger  of  the  Chtirch 
from  Papists  and  Pretenders  was  the  chief  pretext  for  the  repeal  of 
the  Triennial  Bill,  for  the  adoption  of  a  standing  army,  for  the 
numerous  suspensions  of  the  llabeas  Corpus  Act,  and,  in  AorUtot 
all  those  sinrited  Inftactions  of  the  constitution  by  which  the  reigns 
of  the  last  century  were  so  eminently  distinguished.  We  have  seen 
very  lately,  too,  how  the  Throne  lias  been  enabled,  by  the  same 
scarecrow  sort  of  alarm,  to  select  its  ministers  (Irom  among  men, 
whose  servility  is  their  only  claim  to  elevation,  and  who  are  pledged 
(if  such  an  alternative  cxmtd  arise)  to  take  part  with  the  sernpki  <ff 
the  King  against  the  salvation  of  the  empire. 


ft  Abtofie.  omI  i>toiMe.  DiscoHTse,  to.  part  iL  9. 114. 


tOgn  Man  thai  thitBIU 

RR 


coBRUPrroN,  a  poetic  epistle. 


587 


Lgfa  mo6t  base  \m  Ivs^irho,  *neath  the  shade 
tin's  ensign  plies  corrnption's  trade, 
es  the  soared  flag  he  dares  to  show 
ort  to  the  market  of  her  foe, 
[  own,  so  renerably  dear 
lom*s  graye  old  anthems  to  mj  ear, 
joj  them,  thongh  by-  traitors  sung, 
■ence  Scripture  eren  from  Satan*8  tongue, 
n  the  constitution  has  expired, 
;nch  men,  like  Irish  wakcrs,  hir'd 
old  **  Uabeas  Ck>rpus  *'  by  its  side, 
in  purchas'd  ditties,  why  it  died  ? 

n  smooth  lord,  whom  nature's  plastic 

ins 

em  to've  fashion'd  for  those  Eastern  reigns 

mchs  flourish'd,  and  such  nerveless  things 

ejected  were  the  chosen  of  Kings ; '  — 

Forsooth,  (oh  fraud,  of  all  the  worst !) 

assume  the  patriot's  name  at  first— 

.  began,  and  thus  begin  his  apes  ; 

lis,  whenjirgt  rais'd,  take  pleasing  shapes. 

oor  Ireland  I  if  reyenge  be  sweet 

iries  of  wrong,  for  dark  deceit 

'ling  insult — for  the  Union  thrown 

fitter  cup*,  when  that  alone 

f*8  draught  was  wanting* — if  for  this 

be  sweet,  thou  hast  that  dsemon's  bliss ; 

C  to  XcBophon,  th«  chief  efrennuUnot  which  rccooi- 
e  emtorei  to  the  lenrioe  of  Eaatem  prinoM  wm  the 

iteClon  thc7  held  in  lodety,  and  the  jnrobabUity  of 
tpom  this  aoooimt,  more  denoted  to  the  will  and  eaprioe 

fWxn  whoie  notice  alone  they  deriTcd  conilderation, 
c  faToar  they  might  eeek  reftiice  from  the  general  eon- 

iwiwp  wwummpmt  w^t#— iit«ii    Bnt  I  doobt  whether ercn 

■inoe  would  hATS  choecB  an  entire  adminletration  upon 

c 

ad  in  thaeop  aa  Umom  diall  be  thrown. 


Hamiet. 

the  many  meaanree,  which,  lince  the  Rerolution,  haTS 
to  incieaae  the  inHuenoe  of  the  throne,  and  to  teed  np 
'•  «rpent "  of  the  conttitntiou  to  iti  present  health  and 
nagnitode,  tliere  have  been  few  more  nutritive  tluu  the 
Iriah  Unioot.    Sir  Jolm  Padier  laid,  in  a  debate  upon 
oestion,  that  **  he  would  rabmtt  it  to  the  Houae,  whether 
d  liaeelx  betrayed  their  trust,  by  sivinc  up  their  inde- 
ftttntion,  were  lit  to  be  admitted  into  the  English  House 
!.**    But  Sir  Jolm  would  hare  linown,  if  he  had  not  been 
at  the  time,  that  the  pliancy  of  rach  materiala  was  not 
eaat  of  their  reoommendationi.    Indeed,  the  promoters 
li  Union  were  l>y  no  means  disappointed  in  the  leading 
efr  measure,  for  the  triumphant  miOorities  of  the  eonrt- 
■Uament  may  be  dated  from  the  admission  of  the  4S  and 
»  or  twice,  upon  the  alteration  of  their  law  of  treason 
loaltion  of  tlie  malt-tax  (measures  which  were  in  direct 
the  Act  of  Union),  these  worthy  North  Britons  arrayed 
in  opposition  to  the  courti  but  finding  this  effort  for 
ary  nnaTaiiing,  they  prudently  determined  to  tliinli 
ird  of  tlicniselTes,  and  ttw  men  have  ever  kept  to  a 
nlntion  more  firmly.    The  effect  of  Irish  representation 
rtiaa  of  En^and  will  be  no  lees  pcroeptihie  and  per- 

4ft  Tavpaw 
.  arrcXSUwroc.e 


For,  sure,  'tis  more  than  hell's  rerenge  to  see 
That  Engkmd  trusts  the  men  who've  ruin'd  thee; — 
That,  in  these  awful  days,  when  every  hour 
Creates  some  new  or  blasts  some  ancient  power, 
When  proud  Napoleon,  like  th'  enchanted  shield* 
Whose  light  compell'd  each  wond'ring  foe  to  yield, 
With  baleful  lustre  blinds  the  brave  and  free, 
And  dazzles  Europe  into  slavery, — 
That,  in  this  hour,  when  patriot  zeal  should  guide. 
When  Mind  should  rule,  and— Fox  should  not  have 

died. 
All  that  devoted  England  can  oppose 
To  enemies  made  fiends  and  friends  made  foes, 
Is  the  rank  refuse,  the  despis'd  remains 
Of  that  unpitying  power,  whose  whips  and  chains 
Drove  Ireland  fint  to  turn,  with  harlot  glance, 
Tow'rds  other  shores,  and  woo  th'  embrace  of 

France; — 
Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  foully  fit 
For  the  grand  artisan  of  mischief,  P — tt, 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ. 
So  weak  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy — 
Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  threaten'd  shore, 
Oh  EngUnd !  sinking  England !  *  boast  no  more. 


The  infbaion  of  radi  cheap  and  QscfU  ingredients  as  my  Lord  !«., 
Mr.  D.  B.,  Ac.  ftc.  into  the  i^^laturc,  cannot  but  act  as  a  powerful 
alterative  on  the  constitution,  and  dear  it  by  degrees  of  all  trouble- 
some humours  of  lionesty . 


4  Hie  magician's  shield  in  Arioetoi 

E  tolto  per  verth  dello  splendore 
La  libertate  a  loro. 


Gent.!. 


umtw  (T.  711.\a  poet  wlio  wrote  upon  aatronomy,  diouidu 
■one  w^kft  knew  aolhinffwhatamaboat  the  sutdeett 


We  ar«  told  that  Gaear's  code  of  morality  waa  contained  in  the 
following  Unee  of  Euripides,  which  that  great  man  fk«qucntly 
repeated:— 

This  la  also,  a*  it  appears,  the  moral  code  of  Napoleon. 

•  The  following  prophetic  remarlis  occur  in  a  letter  written  by 
Sir  Robert  TtUbot,  who  attended  the  I>ulie  of  Bedford  to  Paris  in 
1782.  Talking  of  states  which  have  grown  powerful  in  commerce, 
h»  says,  **  Aowrding  to  the  nature  and  common  course  of  tilings, 
there  is  a  coniSederacy  against  them,  and  consequently  in  tlie  same 
proportion  a*  they  increase  in  ridies,  tliey  approach  to  destruction. 
The  address  of  our  King  William,  in  mailing  all  Europe  take  the 
alarm  at  France,  has  brought  that  oountry  before  us  near  that  in- 
evitable period.  We  must  necessarily  have  our  turn,  and  Oreat 
Britain  will  attain  it  as  soon  as  France  shall  have  a  deelalmer  with 
organs  as  proper  for  that  political  purpoee  as  were  those  of  our 

William  the  Third. Without  doubt,  my  Lord, 

Great  Britain  must  lower  her  flight.  Europe  will  remind  us  of  the 
balance  of  commerce,  as  she  has  reminded  France  of  the  balance  of 
power.  The  address  of  our  statesmen  will  immortalise  them  by 
contriving  for  us  a  descent  which  shall  not  lie  a  fkll,  by  malting 
us  rather  resemble  Holland  than  Carthage  and  Venice."— LeMers 
OHtUFrmdiiration, 


Jnat  aatha  gnat  Harvty  wrote  **I)e  Otneratiooe,**  tboogh  ht  luid 
as  little  to  do  with  tha  matter  a*  my  Loed  YlsooontC. 


jj^^^^l^H 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

LERANCE, 

nor  think  the  miue  wiU  Blain 

ill  ihe  dust  profiuie 

d  all  Eliuse  ihund'riag  bctoUi. 

dom  once  with  royal  souls,' 
ihu  Tope's  exclusive  iradc, 
mn'd  OS  tost  a«  now  they're 

— Q  Boarch  tho  papal  chair' 
a  long  foreotlon  theru-, 
Bimlese  Laplund  thinks 
noma  delight  in  ertinks, 
-ItnnffnptliOEttle 
■en— n'a  Ealher'd  iwcola  ex- 

B  heart  ha«  learn  "d  to  acorn 
or  Enghuid  tiom, 
m,  whcnccBoe'er  it  springs, 
ra',  pastry-cooks  or  kings,— 

And  thou,  my  rHend.  if.  in  thrM  hndlong  Ai^ 
Wlien  bigot  Zeal  ber  .Iranksn  antics  nlajt 
So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  lbs  -liile 
took  brvaihloM  on  and  nhuddcr  while  Ihej  naik 
If,  in  soch  fearfni  ilay^  thou'll  dan-  lo  look 
To  hiipleM  Ireland,  to  thi«  rankling  nook 
Which  Heaven  bOh  ftwd  from  poiwmooi  dm 

in  vain. 
While  G-fl-rd'a  tongue  and  M— sgr— Tt'j  | 

11'  tJion  liosl  yet  no  golden  bUnkcrs  ;;at 
To  bIjoiIc  thine  (yen  from  this  devoted  ipot, 
Who«  wrongs,  thoogh  blaron-d  o'er  iha  w 

ihejbe. 
Placemen  alone  are  privileged  wot  to  see— 
Oh!   tarn    awhile,  and.   though    the   dtur 

iU  homely  harp,  yet  shall  the  song  it  bnadM 

of  IivlaJid's  >h>vct7,  and  of  IrcUnd't  waa. 
Live,  when  ihc  memory  of  her  lynmi  foe* 
Shall  but  exist,  all  fiiture  knavcJ  lo  want, 

HHicn  C— Btl— r— gh,  in  «leep  still  mote  prefci 
Than  his  own  opiate  totieue  now  deals  annmd 
Shdll  Ksit  th'  impeachment  of  thai  awfol  div 
V^^.ictl  even  hit  practls'd  hand  can't  biibean 

Tea,  my  dear  friend,  weit  thou  hot  Mar 

Tf.  STO  In™-'  Sprini-  lijl,!-  i,r>  on  r.rin's  l.roir 

■ 

INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


539 


T 


Jioa  but.  see  what  verdure  paints  the  sod 
•ne  bat  tyrants  and  their  slaves  have  trod, 
t  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  and  brave, 
ms  the  sool  of  each  insulted  slave, 
1  with  struggling,  sinks  beneath  his  lot, 
IB  b J  all  but  watchful  France  forgot* — 
;  would  bum — yes,  even  thy  Pittite  heart 
im,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  part 
>rld's  garden,  rich  in  nature's  charms, 
with  social  souls  and  vigorous  arms, 
i  the  victim  of  that  canting  crew, 
li,  so  godly, — yet  so  devihsh  too ; 
fd  at  once  with  prayer-books  and  with 
dps," 
their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips, 

npto  of  toleration,  which  Bonaparte  haa  held  Ibrtht 
■oduee  no  other  efltet  than  that  of  determining  the 
■nntent  to  peraist,  from  the  very  apirit  of  opposition, 
old  ayatem  of  intolerance  and  injustice;  just  af  the 
kea  their  teeth,  **  beeaoae,"  as  they  lar,  **  the  derU  hae 

e  unhappy  retnlta  of  the  oontrovenr  between  Protee- 
boUei,  ia  the  mutual  ezpoaure  which  their  criminationa 
kationa  have  produced.  In  Tain  do  the  Protestanta 
ipiata  with  closing  the  door  of  aalration  upon  others, 
of  their  own  writinga  and  articlea  breathe  the  aame 
apirit.  No  canon  of  Conatanoe  or  Latcran  ever 
ties  more  effectually  than  the  eighth  of  the  Thlrty- 
I  conaigna  to  perdition  erery  single  member  of  the 
ti:  and  I  doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  clause  of 
ma  erer  propoeed  in  the  moat  bigoted  ooondt,  than 
M  Calvinistic  theory  of  predestination  in  the  aeren- 
ae  Articlea  exhibits.  It  is  true  that  no  liberal  Pro- 
I  such  exclusiTe  opinions ;  that  erery  honest  clergyman 
pang  wliile  he  subscribes  to  tlicm;  that  some  eren 
thanaaian  Creed  to  be  the  forgery  of  one  Vigiiiua 
the  beginning  of  the  aixth  century,  and  that  eminent 
t  Jortin,  have  not  heaitated  to  aay,  "  There  are 
Bontalned  in  our  liturgy  and  Articlea,  which  no  man 
lenae  amongst  ua  believea."  t  But  while  all  thia  ia 
ed  to  Protestants;  while  nobody  doubta  their  aincerlty, 
dare  that  their  Articles  are  not  essentials  of  faith,  but 
3f  opinions  wliich  have  been  promulgated  by  fUlible 
HD  many  of  which  they  feel  themselves  justified  In 
while  so  much  Ubaij  of  retractation  is  allowed  to 
upon  thdr  own  declared  and  aubscribed  Articlea  of 
I  not  atrange  that  a  similar  indulgence  should  be  so 
sfkucd  to  the  Catholics,  upon  tenets  which  their  church 
y  resisted  and  condemned,  in  every  country  where  it 
lently  flourished?  When  the  Catholics  say,  "  The 
t  Comieil  of  Latcran,  which  you  object  to  us,  has  no 
icr  upon  either  our  faith  or  our  reason ;  it  did  not  even 
itain  aay  doctrinal  decision,  but  was  merely  a  judicial 
f  that  assembly;  and  it  would  be  as  fair  for  us  to 
fe^kiUtno  doctrine  to  the  Protestants,  because  their 
eary  Vm.,  was  sanctioned  in  an  indulgence  of  that 
s  for  yon  to  conclude  that  we  have  inherited  a  king- 
te  from  the  acU  of  the  Council  of  Lateran,  or  the 
uaions  of  our  popes.  With  respect,  too,  to  the  Decree  of 
/Constance,  upon  the  strength  of  which  you  accuse  us 
aith  with  heretics,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  that 
nnmioas  forgery,  a  forgery,  too,  so  obvious  and  ill-fa- 
t  Bone  but  our  enemies  have  ever  ventured  to  give  it  the 
lit  for  anthentidty."— When  the  Catholics  make  these 
(aad  they  are  almost  weary  with  making  them),  when 
lo,  by  their  conduct,  that  these  declarations  are  sincere, 
r  faith  and  morals  are  no  more  regulated  by  the  absurd 
d  eooadls  and  popes,  than  their  adcnoe  ia  influenced 


tstdre  Natnrelle  et  Polit.  du  Royaume  de  Siam,  ftc 
••  oa  tita  Aitioles,  Sttbaeriptlona,  ae. 


Tyrants  by  creed,  and  torturers  by  text. 
Make  ihU  life  hell,  in  honour  of  the  next! 
Youi'  R — desd — les,  P — re — ^v — Is, — great,  glo- 
rious Heaven, 
If  I'm  presumptuous,  be  my  tongue  forgiven. 
When  here  I  swear,  by  my  soul's  hope  of  rest, 
Fd  rather  have  been  bom,  ere  man  was  blest 
With  the  pure  dawn  of  Revelation's  light, 
Tes, — rather  plunge  me  back  in  Pagan  night, 
And  take  my  chance  with  Socrates  for  bliss,' 
Than  be  the  Christian  of  a  faith  like  this. 
Which  builds  on  heavenly  cant  its  earthly  sway. 
And  in  a  convert  mourns  to  lose  a  prey; 
Which  grasping  human  hearts  with  double  hold, — 
Like  Danae's  lover  mixing  god  and  gold,* — 

by  the  papal  anathema  againat  that  Irishman  t  who  flrst  found 
out  the  Antipodes,— Is  it  not  strange  that  so  manj  still  wilfblly 
distrust  what  every  good  man  Is  so  much  interested  in  believing  ? 
That  ao  many  should  prefer  the  dark-lantern  of  t!ie  ISth  century 
to  the  sunshine  of  intellect  which  has  dnoe  overspread  the  world; 
and  that  every  dabbler  In  theology,  from  Mr.  Le  Meanrler  down  to 
the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  should  dare  to  oppose  the  mbUsh 
of  Constance  and  Lateran  to  the  bright  and  triumphant  progxcM 
of  Justice,  generosity,  and  tmth? 

s  In  a  singular  work,  written  by  one  Frandscua  CoUina,  **upon 
the  Sonla  of  the  Pagans,"  the  author  discusses,  with  much  coolness 
and  erudition,  all  the  probable  chances  of  aalvation  upon  which  a 
heathen  philoaopher  might  calculate.  Conaigning  to  perdition, 
without  much  difficulty,  Plato,  Socratea,  ftc,  the  only  aage  at 
whoae  fate  he  seems  to  hesitate  is  Pythagoras,  in  consideration  of 
his  golden  thigh,  and  the  many  miracles  which  he  performed.  But, 
having  balanced  a  little  his  claims,  and  finding  resaon  to  fkther 
all  these  miracles  on  the  devil,  he  at  length.  In  the  twenty-fifth 
chapter,  decides  upon  damning  him  also.  (Dt  Animabu*  Paga- 
fMrNm,  lib.  iv.  cap.  SO.  and  26.)— The  Poet  Dante  compromises  the 
matter  with  the  Pagans,  and  gives  them  a  neutral  territory  or 
limbo  of  their  own,  where  their  employment,  it  must  be  owned,  la 
not  very  enviable—"  Scnza  speme  vivenfo  in  desio."—  Cant.  Iv. — 
Among  the  numerous  errors  imputed  to  Origen,  he  is  accused  of 
having  denied  the  eternity  of  Aiture  punishment;  and,  if  he  never 
advanced  a  more  irrational  doctrine,  we  may  venture,  I  think,  to 
forgive  him.  He  went  so  far,  however,  as  to  Include  the  devil  him- 
self in  the  general  hell-delivery  which  he  supposed  would  one  day 
or  other  take  place,  and  in  this  St.  Angustin  thinks  him  rather  too 
mercifhl— "Mlserecordior  profecto  tuit  Origcnes,  qui  et  Ipsum 
diabolum,"  fte.  (De  CiviUU,  Dei,  lib.  xxL  cap.  1 7.) — According  to 
8t.  Jerom,  it  was  Orlgen's  opinion,  that "  the  devil  himself,  after  a 
certain  time,  will  be  as  well  off  as  the  angel  Gabriel "-"  Id  ipsum 
fbre  Oabrielem  quod  diabolum."  (See  his  Epistle  to  Pammachnu.) 
But  Ualloix,  in  his  Defence  of  Origen,  denies  strongly  that  his 
learned  father  had  any  such  mln>l>ccd  tenderness  for  the  devil. 

4  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  Speech  on  the  Repeal  of  the  Test  Act  (1790), 
thus  condemns  the  intermixture  of  religion  with  the  political  con- 
stitution of  a  state:—"  What  purpose  (he  asks)  can  it  serve,  except 
the  baleftil  purpose  of  communicating  and  receiving  contamina- 
tion? Under  such  an  alliance  corruption  must  alight  upon  the 
one,  and  slavery  overwhelm  the  other." 

Locke,  too,  says  of  the  connection  between  church  and  state, 
"The  boundaries  on  both  sides  are  fixed  and  Immoveable.  He 
jumbles  heaven  and  earth  together,  the  things  most  remote  and 
opposite,  who  mixes  these  two  societies,  which  are  in  their  original, 
end,  business,  and  in  everything,  perfectly  distinct  and  Infinitely 
different  from  each  other."— fVntf  Letter  on  Toteration, 

The  corruptions  introduced  into  Christianity  may  be  dated  fkom 
the  period  of  its  establishment  under  Consiantlne,  nor  could  all 
the  splendour  which  It  then  acquired  atone  for  the  peace  and  purity 
which  it  loat.  

t  Vlrgllina,  anmamed  Solivagua,  a  native  of  Ireland,  who  main- 
tained. In  the  Sth  century,  the  doctrine  of  the  Antlpodea,  and  waa 
anathematised  accordingly  by  the  Pope.  John  Sootus  Erigena, 
another  Irishman,  waa  the  first  that  erer  wrote  against  tnuunb- 
■tantlatlon. 


^^^^^^^1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

aXe  tuiil  church,  and  makes  an  oatli 
allicid'*  passport  into  bolh  ; 

nor  liberty  he]ow. 
soffering  to  the  rinner-a  fear, 

pe  hereafter,  radts  him  here  1 ' 
lier  failh,  far  milder  buams 

ice  WBtra  the  CbrinloaD'a  drcaniBj 

ton  Mercy's  page  above, 

dsofnll-atoniusLove; 
Blias'd  Keligiou  wine 

'j  coarse  bniw  hor  wrealli  divine  i 
uund  him  sccu  and  iiutiona  raise 
their  varying  notea  of  praise, 

ce,  whate'cr  its  lone  may  be, 
BncU  the  general  hnrmonj.' 

spirit,  gent[»,  grandly  bright, 
Fo^!  thy  pe^eful  sod  witli  hghU 

sj^tious  as  that  ambient  air 
r  planet  in  its  circling  care, 

ero  of  thj  cranspareDl  mind 

orld,  and  breath 'd  for  alt  iDankind. 
al.  farewell:— yet  not  the  Usi  — 

'i  sansbiuc  hourwiththee  be  past, 

ay  of  L'lory  Rives, 

lUf  thy  loss  nhili;  Grallan  lives. 

APPENDIX, 
To  iht  foregoing  Poem,  M  first  pnbli^ 
subjoiued,  in  the  slia]>e  of  a  Note,  or  A 
(he  foUosring  remarks  on  the  Hisiory  ai 
of  Ireland.    This  frapneni  was  origiuallj 
10  form  part  of  a  Preface  to  Ihc  Irish  1 
bm  nflertt-ards,  for  some  reason  nhich 
now  rccoUocc,  was  ihrowu  aside. 

Our  history,  for  manv  centuries  pwt,  i 
able  neither  lo  our  neighbours  nor  uuree 
ought  not  to  bv  read  l>y  any  Irishman  w) 
either  to  love  England  or  lo  feel  proud  o( 
The  loBB  of  inde[*ni!eoee  very  early  del 
characteii  and  our  feuds  and  rebclUou 
frequent  and  ferocious,  but  seldom  diipli 
generous  spirit  of  enuri>rise  with  whieh 

straggles  of  Scolland.     Ii  la  Ime  ttus  i. 
given  bhTh  to  heroea  who,  under  laoni  & 

a  Brace  or  a  Wallace:  bat  success  was 
lo  consecrate  resistance,  (heir  cause  irai 

with  [he  disheartening  name  of  triMOD. 
oppressed  countrv  was  such  a  blink  amon) 

liinaldo  wished  to  explore,  the  fame  of 

■ 

INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


541 


US  was  lost  in  the  obscoritj  of  the  place  where 
ij  achieved  them. 


■  Errando  in  qnelU  boiehl 


Trorar  potri*  ftimne  aTrentore  e  inolt«« 
Ma  eome  i  Inochi  i  flUtl  anoor  ion  foachi, 
Che  noa  le  a*  ha  notiiia  le  pib  Tolte.i 

Hence  it  is  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through 
kpse  of  six  hundred  jears,  exhibit  not  one  of 
me  shining  names,  not  one  of  those  themes  of 
■tioDal  pride,  from  which  poetry  borrows  her 
■Uest  inspiration;  and  that  history,  which  ought 
Wiethe  richest  garden  of  the  Muse,  yields  no 
lovth  to  her  in  this  hapless  island  but  cypress 
Id  weeds.  In  truth,  the  poet  who  would  embellish 
^  aong  with  allusions  to  Irish  names  and  events, 
ttl  be  contented  to  seek  them  in  those  early 
liods  when  oar  character  was  yet  unalloyed  and 
JSinal,  before  the  impolitic  craft  of  our  con- 
Bran  had  divided,  weakened,  and  disgraced  us. 
te  sole  traits  of  heroism,  indeed,  which  he  can 
iSnre  at  this  day  to  commemorate,  either  with 
ecy  to  himself  or  honour  to  his  country,  are  to 

looked  for  in  those  ancient  times  when  the 
:m  monarchfl  of  Ireland  displayed  and  fostered 
toes  worthy  of  a  better  age;  when  our  Mala- 
ics  wore  around  their  necks  collars  of  gold  which 
nr  had  won  in  single  combat  from  the  invader  ^ 
a  our  Briens  deserved  and  won  the  warm  af- 
tions  of  a  people  by  exhibiting  all  the  most 
imable  qualities  of  a  king.  It  may  be  said  that 
ft  magic  of  tradition  has  shed  a  charm  over  this 
sole  period,  to  which  it  is  in  reality  but  little 
titled,  and  that  most  of  the  pictures,  which  we 
rell  on  so  fondly,  of  days  when  this  island  was 
ilingaished  amidst  the  gloom  of  Europe,  by  the 
•ctity  of  her  morals,  the  spirit  of  her  knighthood, 
il  the  polish  of  her  schools,  are  little  more  than 
B  inventions  of  national  partiality, — that  bright 
(tiparioas  offspring  which  vanity  engenders  upon 
norance,  and  with  which  the  first  records  of 
vy  people  abound.    But  the  sceptic  is  scarcely 

be  envied  who  would  pause  for  stronger  proofs 
*o  we  already  possess  of  the  early  glories  of 
■lind;  and  were  even  the  veracity  of  all  these 
J*oft  surrendered,  yet  who  would  not  fly  to  such 
Jttering  fictions  from  the  sad  degrading  truths 
■ic^   the    history  of   later  times  presents  to 

^4deito.eBiitolv. 

^'m  WarMr**  Hiitonr  of  Ireland,  ToL  L  book  Iz. 

'VfM,T1ielMid.  Ub.  ziL 

AaortordTil  cxoommnnieatlon  (mti  Olbbon),  ti^ieh  iepa>* 
F^en  fWxn  their  fellow-citizens  by  a  peculiar  brand  of  infamy ; 
1^  dedaration  of  the  rapreme  magistrate  tended  to  justify,  or 
^  to  ezeoae,  the  Insolts  of  a  fanatic  populace.  The  sectaries 
l^vdnsUly  disqualifled  fbr  the  possession  of  honourable  or 
"^He  cmployinents.  and  Thcodosius  was  satisfied  with  his  own 
^  when  he  decreed,  that,  as  the  Eunomians  distinguished  the 
N  or  tte  Son  from  that  of  tha  FaUker,  Umjt  ihoiild  be  incapable 


The  language  of  sorrow,  however,  is,  in  general, 
best  suited  to  our  Music,  and  with  themes  of  this 
nature  the  poet  may  be  amply  supplied.  There  is 
scarcely  a  page  of  our  annals  that  will  not  furnish 
him  a  subject,  and  while  the  national  Muse  of 
other  countries  adorns  her  temple  proudly  with 
trophies  of  the  past,  in  Ireland  her  melancholy 
altar,  like  the  shrine  of  Pity  at  Athens,  is  to  be 
known  only  by  the  tears  that  are  shed  upon  it ; 
**lacrymi8  altaria  sudant,**' 

There  is  a  well-known  story,  related  of  the 
Antiochians  under  the  reign  of  Theodosius,  which 
is  not  only  honourable  to  the  powers  of  music  in 
general,  but  which  applies  so  peculiarly  tu  the 
moumfiil  melodies  of  Ireland,  that  I  cannot  resist 
the  temptation  of  introducing  it  here. — The  piety 
of  Theodosius  would  have  been  admirable,  had  it 
not  been  stained  with  intolerance  ;  but  under  his 
reign  was,  I  believe,  first  set  the  example  of  a 
disqualifying  penal  code  enacted  by  Christians 
against  Christians.^  Whether  his  interference 
with  the  religion  of  the  Antiochians  had  any 
share  in  the  alienation  of  their  loyalty  is  not  ex- 
pressly ascertained  by  historians;  but  severe  edicts, 
heavy  taxation,  and  the  rapacity  and  insolence  of 
the  men  whom  he  sent  to  govern  them,  sufficiently 
account  for  the  discontents  of  a  warm  and  sus- 
ceptible people.  Kepentancc  soon  followed  the 
crimes  into  which  their  impatience  had  hurried 
them ;  but  the  vengeance  of  the  Emperor  was  im- 
placable, and  punishments  of  the  most  dreadful 
nature  hung  over  the  city  of  Antioch,  whoso 
devoted  inhabitants,  totally  resigned  to  despond- 
ence, wandered  through  the  streets  and  public 
assemblies,  giving  utterance  to  their  grief  in  dirges 
of  the  most  touching  lamentation.*  At  length, 
Flarianus,  their  bishop,  whom  they  had  sent  to 
intercede  with  Theodosius,  finding  all  his  en- 
treaties coldly  rejected,  adopted  the  expedient  of 
teaching  these  songs  of  sorrow  which  he  had  heard 
from  the  lips  of  his  unfortunate  countrjmen  to  the 
minstrels  who  performed  for  the  Emperor  at  table. 
The  heart  of  Theodosius  could  not  resist  this 
appeal;  tears  fell  fast  into  his  cup  while  he  listened, 
and  the  Antiochians  were  forgiven. —  Surely,  if 
music  ever  spoke  the  misfortunes  of  a  people,  or 
could  ever  conciliate  forgiveness  for  their  errors, 
the  music  of  Ireland  ought  to  possess  those  powers. 

of  making  their  wills,  or  of  recdTing  any  adrantage  from  testa- 
mentary donations." 

orj7«ov — yieephor.  lib .  xii.  cap.  48.  This  story  is  told  also  in  »ow>- 
men,  lib.  tU.  cap.  13.;  but  unfortunately  Chrysmtom  says  nothing 
whaterer  about  it,  and  he  not  only  had  the  best  opportunities  of 
information,  but  was  too  fond  of  music,  as  appears  by  his  praites  of 
pwlmody  (Exposit.  in  Psalm  zli.),  to  omit  such  a  flattering  illwtra- 
tion  of  its  powers.  lie  imputes  their  reconciliation  to  the  interference 
of  the  Antiochian  solitaries,  while  2:osimus  attributes  it  to  the 

remonstrances  of  the  sophist  Libanius Gibbon,  I  think, does  not 

•van  allade  to  tliis  etorj  of  the  modciaoa. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE   SCEPTIC, 

A    PIIILOSOPniCAL    SATIRE. 


PREFACE. 

lal  PhilngophT  of  tlie  Ancients  has 
liiiisrtprvMtiilL-J  Ihsii  tlie  ICpiciirean. 
IpvrhnpA  have  csrriec)  il  to  rather  an 
ma;  — but  we  must  not  be]icTt%  with 
It  ahiunliliei  imputed  to  this  phik>- 
i[  a)>peu'9  to  mo  that  the  doctriniM  of 
'-  'lined   bj  Si'xtiis  Enii^irifiij '. 

■to  th.'"^Li.'^  ■.:.■:  1  ,;■.,.;.■.- 

wellastr..! 


the  temple-  This  sdvamt^e  over  «!l 
sects  ia  alloired  to  them  even  hj  Up 
trealiBe  on  the  miniclet  uf  the  Vir^  Hi 
sufficiently  tare  him  from  all  suspieiOD 
rism.  "Lahore,  iogenio,  metooria,* 
" —     philosophoi  fbu: 


Between  the  sctptieis 


THE  SCEPTIC.  A  SATIEE. 


ice  npon  his  faiih  and   sdomtion;  ■[  a 

be  wiidoiD  of  this  weak  vrorld  that  he  re- 
al leasl  delays  hia  nasenti  —  it  isonir  in 
brongh  the  fthadoir  of  earth  that  his  mind 
'a  the  eclipse  of  scepticism.  No  follower 
D  hu  ever  epoken  more  etrongtj  ^aiiiFt 
aatiils  Ihan  St.  Pant  himself,  in  the  Fir>t 
>  (he  CorinthiBna;  uid  there  are  pBSBn(;cB 
taales  and  other  pons  of  Scripture,  wliigh 
r  utmost  diffidence  in  all  thai  tiuniDii  reuon 
s.  Even  the  Sceptict  of  antiqoil;  re- 
■arefullj  from  (he  mysteries  of  theology, 
nicting  the  temples  of  religion,  luid  aside 
loiophy  at  the  porch.  Sextos  Empiricos 
lares  the  acquiescence  of  hii  sect  in  the 
elief  of  adivine  and  fore-knovring  Power: 

it  appeal^  to  mc,  that  this  rational  and 
dated  scepticism  is  the  only  daughter  of 
oh  thai  can  safely  be  selected  as  a  haud- 
'  Piety.  He  who  distrusts  the  lii^bt  of 
'ill  bo  the  fltrt  to  follow  a  more  luminous 
id  it  nitli  an  ardent  lore  for  tmth,  he 
lit  bee  in  rain  throngh  the  ways  of  this 
rill  but  luni  with  the  more  hope  to  that 
irld,  where  all  ii  simple,  true,  and  ever- 
for,  there  is  no  parallax  at  the  lenith;  — 
r  near  our  troobled  horiioa  that  objects 
u  ialo  Togue  and 


THE  SCEPTIC. 

AS  the  gay  tint.  Chat  decks  the  remal  rose,* 
Kot  in  iho  flower,  bat  in  our  vision  glows; 
As  the  ripe  flnrour  ofFalemian  tides 
Not  in  the  wine,  hut  in  our  taste  resides; 
So  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 
Th&t  Marco's  honest  and  that  Susan's  fair. 


Tie  in 


Or  Marco'*  life,  the  worth  or  beauty  lies : 
For  she,  in  flat-nos'd  China,  would  appear 
As  plain  B  thing  as  Lady  Anne  is  here; 
And  one  light  joke  at  rich  Lorelto's  dome 
Wuold  rank  good  Miirco  with  the  damn'd  at  Borne. 

There's  no  deforrDitj  so  vile,  so  base, 
*hat  'tis  not  somewhere  thought  a  chunn,  a  grace; 
No  foul  reproach,  that  may  not  steal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  bleach  it  to  esteem.* 
Ask,  who  is  wise? — you'll  find  the  self-same  maa 
A  BUice  in  Franco,  a  madman  in  Japan ; 
And  Acre  some  head  benealh  b  mitre  swells. 
Which  then  hod  tingled  (o  a  cap  and  hells: 
Nay,  there  may  yet  some  monstrous  region  be, 
Unknown  to  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  free, 
Where  C — sll — r — gh  would  for  a  patriot  pass, 
And  mouthing  M vo  scarce  be  deem'd  an  assl 

"  List  not  to  reason  (Epicnnu  cries), 
"Bat  trust  the  senses,  llurt  conviction  lies:""  — 
Alosl  liigjaige  not  by  a  purer  light. 
Nor  keep  the  ir  fountains  more  ODting'dand  bright: 


of  ponLr  UdCDT  sranlj 


THE  SCEPTIC,  A  SATIRE. 


546 


ht8  are  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats, 
h  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats; 
n  they  tell  Coranna's  storj  o'er, 
Lsagree  in  all,  but  honouring  Moore: 
re  pens,  to  flatter  future  courts, 
perhaps  the  Park-guns'  gay  reports, 
that  England  triumphed  on  the  mom 
md  her  Junot's  jest  and  Europe's  scorn. 

Qcc,  too — ^how  many  a  system,  rais'd 

i's  icy  domes,  awhile  hath  blaz'd 

ts  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  pride, 

Iting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide  I 

h  usurps  &e  centre  of  the  sky, 

ton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by; 

QS  revive  beneath  Descartes's  *  pen, 

IP,  assail'd  by  Locke's,  expire  again. 

U  perhaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  powers, 

the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours, 

y's  magic  touch  the  dream  unsettles, 

)  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals. 

I  we  roam,  in  metaphysic  maze, 

fair-built  theories  of  former  days, 

— nmi^-d'  from  the  north,  more  ably 

U'd, 

r  Goths,  to  ruin  than  to  build, 

triumphant  through  our  fanes  o'erthrown, 

I  one  grace,  one  glory  of  his  own. 

ming,«what8oe'er  thy  pomp  and  boast, 
minds  have  taught  and  charm'd  men 

St. 

unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 

I,  which  leam'd  Lactantius  had  denied; 


wriBdeney.  Hie  who  hM  attentiTely  eonildered  tlia 
ideed  cht  general  ooneenui  of  lift,  maj  poiiiblj  go  itiU 
BMj  rank  a  wUHngrw  to  be  oonTinoed,  or,  in  aoiae 
thfmt  ooBTietian,  to  concede  our  own  opinion  to  that 
the  principal  ingredient*  in  the  oompodtion 
**~Jt  ie  ri^t  to  obeenre,  howcTer,  that  the 
I  of  eoBoeerion  arises  rather  from  uncertainty  than 
lore  fron  a  suspicion  that  his  own  opinion  majr  be 
hxB  any  persuasion  that  the  opinion  of  his  adrenary 
may  be  so,**  was  the  courteous  and  sceptical  fonnula, 
i«  Dnteh  were  aceustouMd  to  reply  to  the  statements 
a.    Bee  XIoftTs  Statt  WorMaa^  art.  Sir  Thomas 

,  who  is  considered  as  the  parent  of  modem  soeptidsm, 
re  Is  nothing  In  the  whole  range  of  philosophy  which 
it  of  two  oppodta  opinions,  and  which  Is  not  inTolred 
OMertaln^.  **  In  Phllosophia  nihil  adhuc  reperiri, 
1  ntimmque  partem  disputatnr,  hoc  est,  quod  non  sit 
Bbinm.**  OasMndi  Is  likewiae  to  be  added  to  the  list 
seplieB,  and  Wcddeikopff,  in  his  Dissertotlon  *'  De 
rotfiuio  cC  saero  **  ( Argentorat.  1666),  has  denounced 
ae  ft  fcUowtr  of  Fyrrho,  fbr  his  osimions  upon  the 


And  one    wild  Shakspeare,  following  Nature's 

lights. 
Is  worth  whole  planets,  fill'd  with  Stagyrites. 

See  grave  Theology,  when  once  she  strays 
From  Revelation's  path,  what  tricks  she  plays; 
What  various  heav'ns, — all  fit  for  bards  to  sing,^ 
Have  churchmen  dream'd,  from  Papias'  down  to 

King  I « 
While  hell  itself^  in  India  nought  but  smoke,* 
In  Spain's  a  furnace,  and  in  France  —  a  joke. 

Hail,  modest  Ignorance,  thou  goal  and  prize» 
Thou  last,  best  knowledge  of  the  simply  wise! 
Hail,  humble  Doubt,  when  error's  waves  arc  past. 
How  sweet  to  reach  thy  shelter'd  port*  at  last. 
And,  there,  by  changing    skies  nor  lur*d    nor 

awed. 
Smile  at  the  battling  winds  that  roar  abroad. 
Then  gentle  Charity,  who  knows  how  frail 
The  bark  of  Virtue,  even  in  summer's  gale, 
Sits  by  the  nightly  fire,  whose  beacon  glows 
For  aU  who  wander,  whether  friends  or  foes. 
There  Faith  retires,  and  keeps  her  white  sail 

furlM, 
Till  call'd  to  spread  it  for  a  better  world; 
While  Patience,  watching  on  the  weedy  shore, 
And  mutely  waiting  till  the  storm  be  o'er. 
Oft  turns  to  Hope,  who  still  directs  her  eye 
To  some  blue  spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky  I 

Such  are  the  mild,  the  blest  associates  given 
To  him  who  doubts,  —  and  trusts  in  nought  but 
Heaven  I 


Trinity,  and  some  other  subjects.  Tb  these  if  we  add  the  names  of 
Bayle,  M allebranche,  Dryden,  Locke,  Itc.  ftc.,  I  think  there  is  no  one 
who  need  be  ashamed  of  doubting  In  such  company. 

s  See  this  gentleman's  Academic  Questions. 

>  Papias  Ured  about  the  time  of  the  apostles,  and  Is  supposfd  to 
have  giTen  birth  to  the  heresy  of  the  Chiliastsi,  whose  hMren  was 
by  no  means  of  a  spiritual  nature,  but  rather  an  anticipation  of  the 
Prophet  of  Hera's  elysium.  See  Euseblos,  Hist.  Eccleslast.  lib.  IlL 
cap.  SS,  and  HIeronym.  de.  Scriptor.  Eccleslast.— From  all  I  can 
And  In  theee  autluns  concerning  Papias,  It  seems  hardly  fair  to  Im- 
pute to  hfan  those  gross  imaginations  in  which  the  bellcTers  of  the 
sensual  millennium  Indulged. 

•  King,  in  his  Monels  of  Critioism,  toL  L,  supposes  the  sun  to  be 
the  reo^tade  of  blessed  sidrits. 

•  The  Indians  call  hell  **  the  House  of  Smoke.**  See  Pieart  upon 
the  Bellgionof  the  Banians.  The  reader  who  Is  curious  about  InArmal 
matters,  may  be  ediflcd  by  consulting  Rusca  de  Inferno,  particularly 
lib.  11.  cap.  7, 8.,  where  he  will  find  the  precise  sort  of  Are  ascertained 
In  which  wicked  spirits  are  to  be  burned  hereafter. 

•  **  ChHc  Sceptique,  douce  pAture  de  mon  Ame,  et  Tunique  port 
de  salutkuae  esprit  qui  almelexepost**  —  XaifolAele  Koyer. 


8S 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 

TWOPENNY  POST-BAG. 

BY  THOMAS  BROWN.  THE  yOUNGER. 


:EN  WOOLRICHE.  ESQ. 

I  WOOLBICHE, 


k,ofw 


nhould  publuib.     Wlio  could  bare 

Biij'  yeoR  woulil  clupse,  willioul 

St  fiigus  of  life  upon  the  inbjort 

It  promise?    Wfao  could  hnve  ima- 

□r  dog^rvl,  after  all.  wonld 

;  thiit   Gratituile  touM  lar 


trbo,  inpposing  II  miglit  raateTiaUy  ana 
vatc  researches  of  thm  Inelinibon,  inu 
took  ic  lo  hia  emplojers,  and  was  revord 
somclf  for  his  trouble.  Sach  a  trcuuij 
WHS  worth  a  wbole  host  of  infonnerl; 
cordiuglv,  bke  the  Cupids  of  the  poet  { 
oKe  Ml  profane  a  umilii)  who  "  fcH  ti  vi 
tbe  *weet-bag  of  a  bee',"  tbo«e  TCnen 
pnusora  ajiaoit  fongbl  with  each  Olhti 
honour  and  delJKbt  of  firtt  rQtisackini;  ( 
Bug.  Unluckily,  however,  it  lumcd  o 
rxaminiktioii,  that  the  disroTeriei  of  j 
which  it  enalilcd  them  to  moke,  lay  chiefly 


TWOPENNY  POST-BAG. 


647 


91  seeing  little  Miss  go  alone,  I  am  also  not  withont 
a  parent's  anxiety,  lest  an  onlackj  fall  should  be 
the  consequence  of  the  experiment;  and  I  need 
not  point  out  how  many  living  instances  might  be 
foond,  of  Moses  that  have  suffered  yeiy  severely 
in  their  heads,  from  taking  rather  too  early  and 
rashly  to  their  feet  Besides,  a  Book  is  so  Tcry 
different  a  thing  from  a  Newspaper!  —  in  the 
fbnner,  your  doggerel,  without  either  company  or 
ibelter,  'must  stand  shivering  in  the  middle  of  a 
bl(»k  page  by  itself;  whereas,  in  the  latter,  it  is 
,  comfortably  backed  by  advertisements,  and  has 
\  tometimes  even  a  Speech  of  Mr.  St — ph — n's,  or 
I  lonetliing  equally  warm,  for  a  chauffe-pU — so 
tbt,  in  general,  the  very  reverse  of  **  laudatur  et 
^gec  "  is  its  destiny. 

AmlMtion,  however,  must  run  some  risks,  and  I 
4dl  be  very  well  satisfied  if  the  reception  of  these 
^  Letters  should  have  the  effect  of  sending  me 
to  tbe  Po8t-Bag  for  more. 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    FOURTEENTH    EDITION. 
BT  ▲  FBUKD  OF  THB  ATTTHOB. 

the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  present 
a  tour  through ,  I  feel  myself  called 


his  friend,  to  notice  certain  misconceptions 
cad  DiisrepresentationB,  to  which  this  little  volume 
T  Trifles  has  given  rise. 

In  tbe  first  place,  it  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Brown 
^f  had  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note, 
which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his  Pre- 
may  very  naturally  have  been  the  origin  of 
a  supposition;  but  that  note,  which  was 
the  coquetry  of  an  author,  I  have,  in  the 
edition,  taken  upon  myself  to  remove,  and 
Brown  must  therefore  be  considered  (like  the 
of  that  unique  production,  the  Centaur, 
/loror*)  as  alone  responsible  for  tbe  whole 
of  the  volume. 
tbe  next  place  it  has  been  said,  that  in 
{uence  of  this  graceless  little  book,  a  certain 
IfcliiH^uiihed  Personage  prevailed  upon  another 
lUngnished  Personage  to  withdraw  from  the 
^dior  that  notice  and  kindness  with  which  he 
■■4  io  long  and  so  liberally  honoured  him.  In 
Mb  noiT  t£sre  is  not  one  syllable  of  truth.  For 
Ik  magnanimity  of  the  former  of  these  persons  I 
indeed,  in  no  case  answer  too  rashly  :  but 


,  Pyth.  t.  —  My  Mend  certainly  cannot  add  evr*  cy 


*  Hriiop  of  CaMB  Nlsni,  in  th*  fourth  ccntnrj. 

*  A  ocv  raadlBshaa  been  mcsoted  in  tlie  orlffinal  of  tlie  Ode  of 
,frMl7  tramUtcd  tor  Lord  Eld— n,  page  570.   In  the  line 


of  the  conduct  of  the  latter  towards  my  fiiend,  I 
have  a  proud  gratification  in  declaring,  that  it  has 
never  ceased  to  be  such  as  he  must  remember  with 
indelible  gratitude; — a  gratitude  the  more  cheer- 
fully  and  warmly  paid,  from  its  not  being  a  debt 
incurred  solely  on  his  own  account,  but  for  kind- 
ness shared  with  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

To  the  charge  of  being  an  Irishman,  poor 
Mr.  Brown  pleads  guilty;  and  I  believe  it  must 
also  be  acknowledged  that  he  comes  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  family:  an  avowal  which  I  am  aware  is 
decisive  of  his  utter  reprobation,  in  the  eyes  of 
those  exclusive  patentees  of  Christianity,  so  worthy 
to  have  been  the  followers  of  a  certain  enlightened 
Bishop,  Donatus',  who  held  ^  that  God  is  in  Africa 
arid  not  eUewhere.**  But  from  all  this  it  does  not 
necessarily  follow  that  Mr.  Brown  is  a  Papist;  and, 
indeed,  I  have  the  strongest  reasons  for  suspecting 
that  they,  who  say  so,  are  somewhat  mistaken. 
Not  that  I  presume  to  have  ascertained  his  opinions 
upon  such  subjects.  All  I  profess  to  know  of  his 
orthodoxy  is,  that  he  has  a  Protestant  wife  and 
two  or  three  little  Protestant  children,  and  that  he 
has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for  a  whole 
year  together,  listening  to  the  sermons  of  his  truly 

reverend  and  amiable  friend.  Dr. ' ,  and 

behaving  there  as  well  and  as  orderly  as  most 
people. 

There  are  vet  a  few  other  mistakes  and  false- 
hoods  about  Mr.  Brown,  to  which  I  ha<l  intended, 
with  all  becoming  gravity,  to  advert;  but  I  begin 
to  think  the  task  is  quite  as  useless  as  it  is  tiresome. 
Misrepresentations  and  calumnies  of  this  sort  are, 
like  the  arguments  and  statements  of  Dr.  Duigenan, 
— not  at  all  the  less  vivacious  or  less  seniccable 
to  their  fabricators,  for  having  been  refuted  and 
disproved  a  thousand  times  over.  They  are 
brought  forward  again,  as  good  as  new,  whenever 
malice  or  stupidity  may  be  in  want  of  them;  and 
are  quite  as  useful  as  the  old  broken  lantern,  in 
Fielding's  Amelia,  which  the  watchman  always 
keeps  ready  by  him,  to  produce,  in  proof  of  riotous 
conduct,  against  his  victims.  I  shall  therefore  give 
up  the  fruitless  toil  of  \'indication,  and  would  even 
draw  my  pen  over  what  I  have  already  written, 
had  I  not  promised  to  furnish  my  publisher  with 
a  Preface,  and  know  not  how  else  I  could  contrive 
to  eke  it  out. 

I  have  added  two  or  three  more  trifles  to  this 
edition,  which  I  found  in  the  Morning  Chronicle, 
and  knew  to  be  from  the  pen  of  my  friend.  The 
rest  of  the  volume  remains'  in  its  original  state. 

AprU  90, 1814. 


"  SItc  per  Syrteii  iter  aettuota*,"  It  ii  propoaed,  bj  a  Tery  trifUnjc 
alteration,  to  read  "  Surtfe/i"  inatead  of  *'  Syrteis,"  which  hrins*  the 
Ode,  it  is  said,  more  home  to  the  nohle  translator,  and  glvts  a  pecu- 
liar force  and  aptneai  to  the  epithet  "  Kttuoiac."  I  nii>rely  throw 
oat  this  emendation  for  the  learned,  being  unable  myielf  to  dedda 
upon  its  merits. 

8  8  2 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


fERCEPTED  LETTERS, 


ThcDoclor*.  nod  lir,  llie  detonl  d 
V— n»— It  — I,    now    luTing    thai 

toEMlwr, 
DpcUro  ihat  these  skitliih  young  a 
Are  clear!/  Torelold  in  Chap.  ri.  Bi 
Saj,  thej  verily  think  they  conld 


Lord  H— IT — by.  hoping  that  no 
To  the  Court  any  fiuii'j  lo  pcrseeiU 
Proleitt,  ou  the  irord  of  hiniKlf  u 
Tliat  hud  tliese  cnid  crealurei  be 


a  of  horae-caosnls  (now  long  01 


.1 


l»er  nindo  rach  n  »lir  in  the  stnle. 

l-n  first  heard — and  a»  ioBtantly  prayV 

J  [L*iy 

■  and  his  King"  —  lhat  a  Popish  yoong 
'  ce  brightcycs  and  cwcWe  thousand 

trns  yon 're  a  Pnpiit,  ray  deor.) 
■ouxly  sent,  by  a  tall  Inih  groom, 
It-riddpn  Ponies,  just  iaiided  from  Rome, 
HI,  little  roguBS,  of  ponlifiial  tritkB, 
Woma  of  St.  Paul's  was  scarce  safe  from 


"If  the  Pr-n( 

C— 9tl-r- 

"To  rnuko  ihem 


'ill  keep  tb 
Chief  Jnslicei  do  wi 


"  To  flog  them  witran  nail  an  incn 
"  If  they'™  any  had  Irish  blood  loi 
"Tlii»  (he  knew  hy  Ciperienco)  wu 

Should  Ihii  bo  thonghl  cmcl,  bli 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


549 


LETTER  n. 

X>KSL  M*M — H — K  TO  O— LD  FS — ^HC— 8 
L — CKIE,   E8Q. 

,  IVe  just  had  time  to  look 
very  learned  Book,* 
-as  plain  as  man  can  speak, 
[iglish  is  half  modem  Gi*eek— 
e  that  wo  can  ne*er  intrench 
y  isles  against  the  French, 
ity  in  England's  made 
norc  independent  trade  ;-> 
until  the  House  of  Guelph 
ds  and  Commons  on  the  shel^ 
I7  sets  up  for  itself. 

It  can  wen  be  understood 
id  Book,  is  vastly  good; 
o  what's  incomprehensible, 
sworn  'tis  full  as  sensible. 

your  work's  immortal  credit, 

n— e,  good  Sir,  the  Pr — n — e  has  read  it 

jT  Book,  himself  remarks, 

i  has  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's). 

e-mom  he  look'd  it  through, 

lat  awfiil  hour  or  two 

tonsorial  preparation, 
>  a  fond,  admiring  nation, 
th,  announc'd  by  trump  and  drum, 
wigg'd  Pr — n — e  in  Christendom. 

iks  with  yon,  th'  imagination 
^$hip  in  legislation 
ly  enter  in  the  noddles 
Ad  ledger-keeping  twaddles, 
eads  onfirtM  are  running  so, 
Q  must  have  a  King  and  Co., 
ce,  most  eloquently  show  forth 
r  and  balances^  and  so  forth. 

»w,  he  trusts,  we*re  coming  near  a 

;  royal,  loyal  era; 

igland's  monarch  need  but  say, 

ae  those  scoundrels,  C — stl — r — gh!" 

ng  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld— n," 

11  be  done — ay,  faith,  and  well  done. 

riew  to  which,  Fve  his  command 
Sir,  firom  your  travcll'd  hand, 


leeouat  of  tbia  cxtnordinary  work  of  Mr.  Leckle,  we 
ufch  Review,"  toI.  xz. 

ath  indeed  Nemi  to  be,  that  luTliiic  liTed  fo  lone  abrcMul 
to  IwTe  loet,  in  a  greet  defree.  the  uee  of  hif  netive 
[r.  Leekic  hae  fradually  oome  not  only  to  ipeek,  but  to 
brdipwr."— JBi(i<n6«rv*  Review. 
rmAC6km»\  mait  aUnde  hare  to  m  deecripttoo  of  th« 


(Round  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm)' 

A  Plan  of  Radical  Reform; 

Compil'd  and  chos'n  as  best  you  can. 

In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 

And  quite  upturning,  branch  and  root. 

Lords,  Commons,  and  Burdett  to  boot 

But,  pray,  whate*er  you  may  impart,  write 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  Major  C — rtwr — ght: 

Else,  though  the  Pr e  be  long  in  rigging, 

'Twould  take,  at  least,  a  fortnight's  wigging,— 
Two  wigs  to  every  paragraph —     - 
Before  he  well  could  get  through  half. 

Toull  send  it  also  speedily — 
As,  truth  to  say,  'twixt  yon  and  me. 
His  Highness,  heated  by  your  work. 
Already  thinks  himself  Grand  Turk ! 
And  you'd  have  laugh'd,  had  you  seen  how 
He  scar'd  the  Ch — nc — 11 — r  just  now, 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  entering  pufT'd)  he 
Slapp'd  his  back  and  call'd  him  Mufti ! " 

The  tailors  too  have  got  commands, 
To  put  directly  into  hands 
All  sorts  of  Dulimans  and  Pouches, 
With  Sashes,  Turbans,  and  Pabontches, 
(While  Y— rm — th's  sketching  out  a  plan 
Of  new  Moustaches  a  POttomane) 
And  all  things  fitting  and  expedient 
To  turkify  our  gracious  R — g — ^nt  I 

Ton,  therefore,  have  no  time  to  waste — 
So,  send  your  System. — 

Tours,  in  haste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Before  I  send  this  scrawl  away, 

I  seize  a  moment,  just  to  say. 

There's  some  parts  of  the  Turkish  system 

So  vulgar,  'twere  as  well  you  miss'd  'em. 

For  instance — in  Seraglio  matters  — 

Your  Turk,  whom  girlish  fondness  flatters. 

Would  fill  his  Haram  (tasteless  fool !) 

With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  schooL 

But  here  (as  in  that  fairy  land. 

Where  Love  and  Age  went  hand  in  hand ;  * 

Where  lips,  till  sixty,  shed  no  honey. 

And  Grandams  were  worth  any  money,) 

Our  Sultan  has  much  riper  notions — 

So,  let  your  list  of  «A€-promotions 

Mfitcrioiui  lile,  in  the  Hiitoiy  of  Abdalle,  Son  of  Hanif,  wbcre 
tuch  inrenioni  of  the  order  of  nature  are  Mid  to  have  taken  place. 
—  "  ▲  More  of  old  women  and  the  Mroe  number  of  old  men  plajred 
here  and  there  in  the  court,  Mme  at  dinek-fkrthlnc,  ochen  at  tip- 
cat or  at  oocklee."— And  aicain,  '*Tliere  if  nothing,  beUere  me, 
more  engaging  than  tboM  loirely  wiinkki,**  a«.  Ac— Bee  3Uh  of 
Ite  J1cm«,tbL  ilL  pvb  •!••«• 

•  8  8 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


■inly,  plum]]  nn.i  sage. 


■dMtis)  Ml  Gitj-aix. 


LETTER  IIL 


1   last  DigliC  at  the  "hoary  oM 

nana],  the  cream  of  good  dinneri ; 
Gc  —  hii  fishes  qnite  prime — 
— and  hii  cDtleu  sublime '. 
ID  snng  sort  uf  dinner  lo  stir  a 
m  in  my  Lord  El— b— gli, 
sure,  wilh  miraoultms  force, 
between  mouthfuls,  "  a  He-Cook 


Mote  good  things  were  eaten  than 
Tom  T— rrh— t 
In  quoting  Joe  Miller,  yon  know,  hai  sc 
And,  hearing  tho  eturdy  Justiciary  CJu« 
Say— 6al«d  with  tnrlle— "ril  now  try  tt 
Tommy  whiEpcr'd  him  (giving  Ua  Lore 

hii) 
"  I  fear  'twill  be  huiiff-betf,  my  Lord,  i 


ill" 


Ibere,  who  ihai 
oh  d 


And  C — rad — l 

had  gone 
To  fit  his  new  Harqnis's  eoronel 
And  the  di&h  »ct   before   Mm 

dcvi^'d !  — 
Wai,  what  old  Mother  Glaase  calk,  **  a  c 

surpria'd ! " 
The  tyrami  were  near  Sh — ry,  and  onot 

But,  of  laie,  they  had  lain  la  lottg  Kwkui 
Thai,  thongh  we,  from  courtesy,  elill  ch< 
These  brains  rery  fine,  they  were  no  iat 


When  tlie  dinner  ^ 

At   wliii'h    il— df— 

ulnated. 
And  E— b'r— h  chuc 


a  deh^rhisofCri 
tith  WHnn   rem: 

d  lo  hear  hiimell 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


551 


LETTER  IV. 

HE  SIGHT  HON.  P — TR— -CK  D — OBN — K 
IE   EIGHT  HOK.  8IE  J — B3X  N— GH — ^L. 

DMNfo.1 

ireek,  dear  N— ch — ^1,  making  merrj 
iner  with  onr  Secretary, 
all  were  drank,  or  pretty  near 
Lime  for  doing  business  here), 
le  to  me,  **  Sweet  Bully  Bottom  I 
le  Papist  dogs — hiccup — 'od  rot 'em! — 
jrve  to  be  bespattered — hiccup — 
1  an  the  dirt  ey*n  jimc  can  pick  up. 
as  the  Pr— ce  (here's  to  hun — fill- 
hip,  huira  I) — is  trying  stiU 
mmbug  them  with  kind  professions, 
,  as  yoM  deal  in  strong  expressions- 
rue' — ^trtdior*  hiccup — and  all  that — 
must  be  muzzled.  Doctor  Pat  I — 
must  indeed — hiccup — that's  flat" — 

— «  muzzled  "  was  the  word.  Sir  John — 
fools  haTC  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 
oldest  mouth  that  e'er  ran  o*er 
slayer  of  the  times  of  yore  I  '— 
t  for  this  that  back  I  went 
-  as  Lateran  and  Trent, 
)Te  that  they,  who  damn'd  us  then, 
now,  in  turn,  be  damn*d  again? — 
lent  yictim  stiU  to  sit 
— tt — n*s  fire  and  C — ^nn — g*s  wit, 
ir  eVn  noisy  M — ^th — w  gabble  on, 
ention  once  the  W — e  of  Babylon! 
is  too  much — ^who  now  will  be 
ightman  of  No-Popery? 
Oourtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop^ 
earned  filth  will  eyer  fish  up? 
e  among  our  ranks  be  one 
;e  my  place,  'tis  thou.  Sir  John; 
who,  like  me,  art  dubb'd  Right  Hon. 
le  too,  art  a  Lawyer  Ciyil 
Irishes  Papists  at  the  deyiL 

rhom  then  but  to  thee,  my  friend, 

I  Patrick*  his  Port^folio  send  ? 

t — 'tis  thine — his  leam'd  Port-folio, 

lU  its  theologic  olio 

Is^  half  Irish  and  half  Roman — 

rtrines,  now  beliey'd  by  no  man— 

iir,  vlildi  eontained  MaM  TOT  hcATj  cnclorarM,  leant 

icnt  to  London  by  a  prirate  hand,  and  then  put  into 

ay  Foal'Ofllce,  to  tare  trouble.    See  the  Appendix. 

ng  thia  iheet  to  the  PreM,  howoTer,  I  learn  that  the 

taken  off;  and  the  BightHon.  Dootor  again  let 


for  poetry  i  but  Du-fen—a  la  itHl 
Myi  upon  a  Tery  diilierent  fubiect— 

Torqnetar  ikjxdlo 


Of  Councils,  held  for  men's  salvation, 

Tet  always  ending  in  damnation — 

(Which  diows  that,  since  the  world's  creation. 

Tour  Priests,  whate'er  their  gentle  shamming. 

Have  always  had  a  taste  for  damning,) 

And  many  more  such  pious  scraps, 

To  proye  (what  we've  long  proy'd,  perhaps,) 

That,  mad  as  Christians  us'd  to  be  ' 

About  the  Thirteenth  Centuiy, 

There  still  are  Christians  to  be  had 

In  this,  the  Nineteenth,  just  as  mad ! 

Farewell — I  send  with  this,  dear  N— cb— ^ 
A  rod  or  two  Fye  had  in  pickle 
Wherewith  to  trim  old  Gr — tt — n*s  jacket — 
The  rest  shall  go  by  Monday's  packet. 

P.  D 

Among  the  EncheureM  in  the  foregoing  Letter  wm 
the  f (Mowing  **  Unantwerawe  Argiment  agaimii 
the  PapieteJ' 


$» 


Wb'be  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 
Made  use  of  spittle  in  lustration  ;* 
(  Vide  Lactantium  ap.  Gallieum* — 
i,  e.  you  need  not  read  but  see  'em;) 
Now,  Irish  Papists,  fact  surprising. 
Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptizing; 
Which  proyes  them  all,  OTinn's,  OTagana, 
Connors,  and  Tooles,  all  downright  Pagans. 
This  fSnct's  enough; — let  no  one  tell  us 
To  free  such  sad,  uUivoue  fellows. — 
No,  no — the  man,  baptiz'd  with  spittle, 
Hath  no  truth  in  him — not  a  tittle! 


LETTER  V. 

FBOM  THE  OOUirrESB   DOWAGEB  OT 
TO  LADT , 


Mt  dear  Lady !  Fye  been  just  sending  out 

About  fiye  hundred  cards  for  a  snug  little  Rout— 
(By  the  bye,  you'ye  seen  Rokeby? — this  moment 

got  mine — 
The  Miul-Coach  Edition* — prodigiously  fine;) 


KzpiaL 


.  LnatraUlNM  aatft  aallTto 

PBma.aat.t. 


*  I  hnTe  taken  the  trouble  of  ezamlninf  the  Doetor*! 
here,  and  And  him,  lbronee,oonect.   The  fbUowiac  are  the 
of  hif  indignant  referee,  OaUsui :  -.**  Awerere  non  verei 
baptiaainni  a  Paplatia  proCuuui,  et  qmtl  uram  in  peeeatorum  «s- 
piatione  a  Fagania  non  a  Chiiatiania  mamBme,** 

•  SeeMr.Mnmj^Adftrtlaamntaboat  tiM  Ifall-OoMhooviM 
«raolMbj. 

•  •  4 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


how,  in  this  very  cold  wealher, 
Iring  my  five  linndrcd  logethcr  ; 
ie  therm umetcr's  near  boiliag  heat, 
trgcl  half  of  one's  hundredE  to  meei 
tou'il  have  langh'd  to  kg  Townaeud 

lir  chiura,  with  his  itaff,  so  polite, 
|]aideTi  Miseries,"  all  in  a  fKght; 

i,  like  Mercury,  filling  two  posts, 
I  rhitvu,  and  cliicf-uslit't'  o[  ghmUl) 


•  Lady  — 


-,  can't  yon  hit  a 


le  night  to  sec  London  in  motion  ?  — 
I  the  li — g — nt,  that  show  is  gone  by— 
nreniark'd  tbat  (between  jou  and  1) 

fih  Inlelylo  whlBpcriug  in  doorways 
d'ring,  you  know,  dear,  tlio  tin  o 


|ck  that  one's  company  cannol  g 
ch  as  mine  is,  with  doorwuys  i 
r  such  cumbcnonio  loTC-work  . 
,  of  love-work —  you've  heard  i 
)ld  mother's  to  marry  the  Popc,- 


Bnt,  in  shon,  my  dear,  name*  like  ' 

Etopschiniaudlioff 
Are  the  only  tilings  duw   make   aa 

smooth  off : 
So,    get   me   a   liussiiu  —  dll    deal] 

debtor — 
IT  ho  brings  the  wholo  Alphabet,  n 

And  —  Lord  1  if  he  would  but.  in  cHuj 
OS  his  fish-oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite 


■,  my  El 


It  girl  — 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Bt  the  hye,  have  joa  found  any  frie: 

That  Latin  account,  t'other  dny,  of  a  '. 
e  caii'i  gel  a  Russian,  and  <Aa(  (Ar 
lol  loo  improper,  1  think  I'll  bring 


LETTER  VL 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


553 


tke  their  notionii  quiie, 

80  Persian  and  so  right! 
w  our  Sonnites' ,  —  hateM  dogs  I 
reiy  pious  Shiite  fiogs 
to  flog  *  —  'tis  tme,  they  pray 
bat  in  an  ilUbred  way; 
ther  arms,  nor  legs,  nor  faces 
their  right,  canonic  places.' 

they  worship  AU's  name^^ 
iay'n  and  ours  are  just  the  same  — 
an's  Heay'n  is  easily  made, 
black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 
igh  we've  tried  for  centuries  back  — 
;  persuade  this  stubborn  pack, 
ladoes,  screws,  or  nippers, 
th'  established  pea-green  slippers.' 
ly  think,  the  libertines  I 
sh  their  toes — they  comb  their  chins,* 
ny  more  such  deadly  sins; 
it's  the  worst  (though  last  I  rank  it), 
he  Qiapter  of  the  Blanket! 

>ite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 

nust,  at  bottom,  be  seditions; 

man  living  would  refuse 

ppers,  but  from  treasonous  views; 

I  his  toes,  but  with  intent 

im  the  government,)  — 

ur  mild  and  tolerant  way, 

curse  them  twice  a  day 

Qg  to  a  Form  that's  set), 

from  torturing,  only  let 

dox  believers  beat  'em, 

ch  their  beards,  where'er  they  mioet  'em. 

lie  rest,  they're  free  to  do 

their  fancy  prompts  them  to, 

they  make  nothing  of  it 
rank  or  honour,  power  or  profit; 
ings,  we  nat'rally  expect, 
)  us,  the  Establish'd  sect, 
)elieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked !) 
said  Chapter  of  the  Blanket. 
i  mild  views  of  Toleration 
;  find,  this  button'd  nation, 


■ad  8kiUe$  an  the  two  leading  weti  Into  wfaidi  the 
trorld  is  dlrldedi  and  thtj  lutTV  gooe  on  cnniiic  and 
»ch  other,  without  any  hitenni«ioa,  for  aboat  eleven 
ITS.  The  i^imiit  if  the  establiihcd  aect  in  Tnrkejr.  and 
*tniMt  and  the  diflSerenoes  between  them  tarn  chiefly 
mportant  points,  wliich  our  pioot  fdend  Abdallah,ln 
it  of  Shiite  Ascendency,  reprobates  in  this  Letter, 
mnites,  qui  ^tolent  eomme  lee  Catholiques  de  Musnl- 
.D'HerUtot. 

aradistiBctlon  to  tlM  Sonnis,  who  in  their  prayers  cross 
■I  the  lower  part  of  their  breast,  the  Schiahs  drop  their 
ght  lines;  and  as  the  Soonis,  at  certain  periods  of  the 
their  fbrelieads  on  the  sround  or  carpet,  the  Scliialis,'* 
rsSer's  Foyotfc. 

reanedftcsieBl  pas  All  r^ciproanementi  aa  eontralra. 
iS^Jte.  ae.  —  Chardi$t, 


Whose  Papists  (full  as  giv'n  to  rogue. 
And  only  Sunnites  with  a  brogue) 
Fare  just  as  well,  with  all  their  fuss, 
As  rascal  Sunnites  do  with  us. 

The  tender  Gazel  I  enclose 
Is  for  my  love,  mv  Syrian  Bose  — 
Take  it  when  night  begins  to  fall. 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  walL 


GAZEL. 

Rkhkmberkbt  thou  the  hour  we  past,  — 
That  hour  the  happiest  and  the  last? 
Oh!  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn 
To  summer  bees,  at  break  of  mom. 
Not  half  so  sweet,  through  dale  and  dell* 
To  Camels'  ears  the  tinUing  bell. 
As  is  the  soothing  memory 
Of  that  one  precious  hour  to  me. 

How  can  we  live,  so  far  apart? 
Oh!  why  not  rather,  heart  to  heart, 

United  live  and  die — 
Like  those  sweet  birds,  that  fly  together. 
With  feather  always  touching  feaUier, 

Link'd  by  a  hook  and  eye! ' 


LETTER  Vn. 


VBOM  MESSRS.   L — CK— OT — V  AND  CO.   TO 


ESQ.* 


Pee  Post,  Sir,  we  send  your  MS.— look'd  it  thro' — 
Very  sorry — but  can't  undertake — 'twouldn't  do. 
Clever  work.  Sir! — would  get  tq)  prodigiously 

well  — 
Its  only  defect  is — it  never  would  sell. 
And  though  StatesmeH  may  glory  in  being  «a- 

bouahij 
In  an  Autnor  'tis  not  so  desirable  thought 


*  **  The  BhUtes  wear  green  sUppen,  which  the  Snnnltee  consider 
as  a  great  abomination.**—  Maritu 

*  For  these  points  of  difhrenoe,  as  well  as  Ibr  the  Chapter  of  the 
Blanket,  I  most  refier  the  reader  (not  haiinc  the  book  by  me)  to 
Picart's  Acconnt  of  the  Mahometan  Sects. 

V  This  will  appear  strange  to  an  English  reader,  bat  it  la  literally 
translated  frtmi  Abdallah's  Perrian,  and  the  cnrions  bird  to  which 
he  allndea  b  the  J%ftak^  of  which  I  And  the  following  acooont  in 
Bichardsont— **  A  sort  of  bird,  that  is  said  to  hare  but  one  wing; 
on  the  opposite  side  to  wliich  the  male  has  a  hook  and  the  ftunale  a 
ring,  so  that,  when  they  fly,  they  are  fastened  together.** 

*  From  mottres  of  delioacy,  and,  indeed,  ot/enouh/htNng,  I 
press  the  name  of  the  Author,  whose  njreted  maaiiMsipt  was 
closed  In  this  letter—Bee  the  Appendix. 


MOOEE'S  WORKS. 


U  of  Good-sense  imd  Wit's  small- 

liilicrs  pass,  in  iheir  stead, 
h  (la)~,  and  ('tis  fh^jblfu]  to  lliink 


Such,  Sir,  is  our  pUn  —  if  jon're  i 
1  mnlcb '.  and  we'll  pot  yuu 
week. 

At  present,  no  more  —  in  replv  I 
Line  will  oblige  very  much 


LETTEB  TUL 


a  pumphlot'a  a  thing  th&t  vould 

G  Pnpittaii  sure  to  sell  welL 
you've  nolhinj,'  original  in  you 
Sir.^dsach  tame  it  uill  uiii  jou, 
B]uD-Btocking  iiuutsur  Albinial* 
''  vafcond-hand  Musi" 


Coke  to  our  Fete',  and  bring  with  tl 
Tby  ueweat,  ben  embroidery. 
Come  to  our  Fete,  and  show  again 
That  pea-^Tcen  coot,  thou  pink  of  me 
Which  cbuna'd  all  cyea  that  Un  sarri 
When  Br — tmo — I'l  self  inqnir'd  "n 
itf— 


I  with  Ihc  Blur, 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


556 


L  know'st  the  time,  thou  man  of  lore! 
t  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor — 
uow'st  the  time,  too,  well-a-dayl 

I  to  dance  that  chalk  away.' 
il-Toom  opens — far  and  nigh 

and  snns  beneath  as  lie; 
ow-white  moons  and  stars  we  walk, 
e  floor  seems  one  sky  of  chalk! 
n  shall  fade  that  bright  deceit, 
nany  a  maid,  with  busy  feet 
tarkle  in  the  Instre's  ray,  • 

3  white  path  shall  botmd  and  play 
fmphs  idong  the  Milky  Way: — 
rery  step  a  star  hath  fled, 
ns  grow  dim  beneath  their  tread! 
eth  life  —  (thns  Sc — tt  would  write, 
insters  read  him  with  delight,)  — 
ire  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on, 
i  not  chalk,  yet  time's  soon  gone!* 

hang  this  long  digressive  flight!— 
;  to  say,  thou*lt  see,  that  night, 
Usehood  rankles  in  their  hearts, 
y  the  Pr— e  neglects  the  arts — 
s  the  arts? — no,  Str — hi — ^g*,  no; 
pids  answer  **'tis  not  so;" 
cry  floor,  that  night,  shall  tell 
lick  thou  daubest,  and  how  welL 
s  thou  may'st  in  French  Termilion, 
:  best,  beneath  a  French  cotillion ; 

II  com'st  off^,  whatever  thy  faults, 
ying  coioura  in  a  Waltz. 

:d'st  thou  mourn  the  transient  date 
best  works  assigned  by  fate. 
tome  chef-d*ceuvres  live  to  weary  one, 
K>ast  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one; 
lOur  of  glory  past  and  gone 
Molly  put  the  kettle  on!  "* 

bless  my  soul!  Fve  scarce  a  leaf 
er  left--so,  must  be  brief. 

festive  Fete,  in  fact,  will  be 
•mer  Tete's  jfac-simile  ;* 
ne  long  Masquerade  of  Rooms, 
k*d  up  in  sudi  odd  costumes, 
P — rt — r',  are  thy  glorious  works!) 
iwear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 
^  Grood-Taste  some  deadly  malice, 
ibb'd  to  raise  a  Pic-Nic  Palace; 

OM,  vho  ndthflr  go  to  Iwlli  nor  nad  th«MomJnc  Pott,  it 
BWiiry  to  mentioa,  that  the  floon  of  Ball-rooina,in  gt- 
thalktd,  for  Mlbtyand  fin-  ornament,  with  Tariouifltndp 

■. 

Hearti  arenot  flint,  yet  flinta  are  rent. 
Heart!  are  not  iteel,  yet  cteel  if  bent. 

liowever,  Mr.  8e— tt  may  well  lay  to  the  Colonel,  (and, 
0  mael&  better  wacs  than  the  CMoneip  Am*  ^M»^«M««a4  9 

rim  aitiet  imwh  pa^roniied  bj  the  Frinee  Bectnl. 
laina  of  a  popular  ooimtry-daiioe. 


And  each  to  make  the  olio  pleasant 

Had  sent  a  State-Boom  as  a  present. 

The  same/auteuiU  and  girandoles — 

The  same  gold  Asses',  pretty  souls! 

That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  domet 

Appear  so  perfectly  at  home. 

The  same  bright  river  'mong  the  dishes. 

But  not  — ah!  not  the  same  dear  fishes — 

Late  hours  and  claret  kiU'd  the  old  ones— 

So  'stead  of  silver  and  of  gold  ones, 

(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  that  specie  now  a- days) 

Some  sprats  have  been  by  T— rm — th's  wish. 

Promoted  into  Silver  Fish, 

And  Gudgeons  (so  V— ns — tt— t  told 

The  B — g — t)  are  as  good  as  Gold/ 

So,  prithee,  come — our  F^te  will  be 
But  half  a  F^te  if  wanting  thee. 


APPENDIX. 


LETTEB  IV.    FAOB  651. 

Amovq  the  papers,  enclosed  in  Dr.  D — g — ^n — n*8 
Letter,  was  found  an  Heroic  Epistle  in  Latin  verse, 
from  Pope  Joan  to  her  Lover,  of  which,  as  it  is 
rather  a  curious  document,  I  shall  venture  to  give 
some  account.  This  female  Pontiff  was  a  native 
of  England,  (or,  according  to  odiers,  of  Germany,) 
who,  at  an  early  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  at- 
tire, and  followed  her  lover,  a  young  ecclesiastic, 
to  Athens,  where  she  studied  with  such  effect,  that 
upon  her  arrival  at  Borne,  she  was  thought  worthy 
of  being  raised  to  the  Pontificate.  This  Epistle  is 
addressed  to  her  Lover  (whom  she  had  elevated 
to  the  dignity  of  Cardinal),  soon  after  the  fatal 
accouchement,  by  which  her  Fallibility  was  betrayed. 
She  begins  by  reminding  liim  tenderly  of  the 
time,  when  they  were  togeUier  at  Athens  — when, 
as  she  says, 

^—  "  by  Bissus*  stream 
''We  whisp*ring  walk'd  along,  and  leam'd  to 

speak 
**  The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek ;  — 
**  Ah,  then  how  little  did  we  thjnk  or  hope, 
** Dearest  of  men,  that  I  should  e'er  be  Pope;* 

•  '*C-rlt-^  H ewtU  ezhiUi  a  complete  /ae-dMZe,in  in- 
spect to  interior  ornament,  to  what  it  did  at  the  laat  Ftte.  The 
same  iplendid  draperiet,''  kc.  Jfcc  —  Jfomuv  PoH. 

•  Mr.  Walih  Porter,  to  whoie  taite  waa  left  the  ftamiahinc  of  the 
xooma  of  Carlton  Home. 

r  The  Mit-ceUan  on  the  Pr  e'e  own  table  were  in  thefbrm  of 
an  Am  with  pannien. 

•  Spanheim  attrlbutet  the  nnanlmltr,  with  whieh  Joan  waa 
elected,  to  that  innate  and  irreriitible  charm,  by  which  her  Kz, 
thoQch  latent,  operated  upon  the  inctinct  of  the  Cardinali — **  Non 
▼i  allquA,  led  eonoorditer,  onminm  in  le  eonvewo  deilderlo,  vam 
mt  bUndtetttie  Kziii  aitee,  Utcntei  in  hie  oottuiiiam  1  ** 


^H 

^^^IB^H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

in.  whoso  house-wife  art 
lo    keep    ihy    liuusu   and 

ve»  and  itl  sevens,) 

0  Itejauf  nil  the  hi-avena!" 

lo  aay)  conld  Ihey  have 

the  Conclave's  grnve  de- 

"jp  oQt  before  'em  — 

hu  only  one 

be  juHtl}'  Hx'd  apoQ." 

enumerates   [he  various 
is  duonied  lo  bid  farewel! 

more  preckma  ten  time* 

V  Cardinal,  my  Lover! 
-~lhoumail'£liiK-ah: 
.  of  llie  world  Mamma!" 

:ai.-E[  to  translate  any  more 
isumc  the  argumeni  which 

The  firet  Ac!  opens  in  n  vcrv  airfnl  inunricr- 
Timt.  three  o'eW'L  in  the  moniinx  ~  Sm,.  tl 
Bourbon  Chamber'  in  C— rlt— n  House  — EnK 

the  I* e  R— g— I  wins- After  a  ftw  biata 

lenience*,  he  thus  ejtclaiiQH  ;  — 

Awar— Away— 

Thou  haunt'st  my  fancy  so,  thon  devilish  Buot, 
I  meet  thee  — trace  thee,  xheiVBue'eT  I  IouIl 
I  Bee  tliy  diimned  ini  in  Eld— n'i  bruwi- 
I  see  iby/ooUcap  on  my  U-rtf-d's  Spou-- 
V—DS-tt-fs  head  reealls  Ihj  UaAm,  cue 
And   all  Ihy  Unck-Uave.   euro   from  R-d-l 

fttcel 
While  Inming;  here  (logins  *»  hmd  om  hii  liaif, 

I  find,  ah  wretched  elf, 
Thy  LUl  of  dire  Errata  in  mvself. 

Oh  Sonmn  Punth!  oh  potent  CntaHia! 
Ob  Mareschino!  Mareichino  oh- 
DeUcious  drams!  why  have  you  not  the  »rt 

ing  on  tlie  ground  Fome  scribbled  fngmniu 
paper,  which  ho  instantly  colleers,   and -bj  il 
liybt  of  two  magnificent  candelabra*  "  disrovtrill 

-  Ihr  B,«A  ■•-■■  Wrong  Mta^vn^'-~  Ihi  Qua 

1 

■ 

INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


557 


1  the  becoming  splendour  of  his  office."* 
~g — t  produces  the  appalling  fragments, 
hich  the  Ch — ^nc — 11 — ^r  breaks  out  into 
.tions  of  loyaltj  and  tenderness,  and  relates 
»wing  portentous  dream: 

Tis  scarcely  two  hours  since 
fearful  dream  of  thee,  my  P— — el — 
ght  I  heard  thee,  midst  a  courtly  crowd, 
m.  thy  throne  of  gold,  in  mandate  loud, 
lip  my  whiskers!" — (weepi)  not  a  knee 
nras  there 

It  and  worshipped  the  Illustrious  Pair, 
cnrFd  in  conscious  majesty!  (pulU  out  hu 
handkerchief) — while  cries  [skies. — 

rhiskers,  whiskers!"  shook  the  echoing 
that  glorious  hour,  methought,  there  came, 
x>ks  of  injured  pride,  a  Princely  Dame, 
young  maiden,  clinging  by  her  side, 
le  few'd  some  tyrant  would  divide 
sarts  that  nature  and  affection  tied ! 
atron  came — within  her  riaht  hand  glow'd 
int  torch ;  while  from  her  te/l  a  load 
ers  hung — (wipee  hie  eyes)  collected  in  her 
veil — 

nal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale, 
>nnding  hint,  the  current  lies  that  pass 
Fott  to  Courier,  form*d  the  motley  mass ; 
,  with  disdain,  before  the  Throne  she  throws, 
j^hts  the  Pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

(Weeps,) 
s«  how  it  blaz*d  I — Fd  ask  no  livelier  fire 
inimatum)  To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gracious 
Sire!  — 

I !  the  Evidence— (toA7»  again)  I  moum'd 
to  see — 

8  it  bum'd,  a  deadly  light  on  thee  : 
ales  and  Hints  their  random  sparkle  flung, 
liss'd   and  crackled,  like  an  old  maid*s 
tongue; 

Post  and  Courier,  faithful  to  their  fame, 
ip  in  stink  for  what  they  lacked  in  flame, 
lo,  ye  Gods!  the  fire  ABccnding  brisker, 
Jiges  one,  now  lights  the  other  whisker. 
here  was  then  the  Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
iry  standard  in  defence  of  curls? 
i.  Whiskers,  Wig,  soon  vanished  into  smoke, 
fttchman  cried  **  Past  One,"  and — I  awoke. 

[lis  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than 
ad  the  R — g— t  (who  has  been  very  much 
d  during  the  recital  of  the  Dream)  by  a 
tent  as  characteristic  as  that  of  Charles  XIL 
te  was  shot,  claps  his  hands  to  his  whiskers 
if  an  be  really  safe.  A  Privy  Council  is 
all  the  Servants,  &c.  are  examined,  and  it 


nabtotha  ladhidii*!,  who  holdathc  offle*  of  CtmaeMor, 
dM  it  la  bMoniwloiidov.''  U  iotMl  kmigk.)^UeA 


appears  that  a  Tailor,  who  had  come  to  measure 
the  B — g — t  for  a  Dress  (which  takes  three  whole 
pages  of  the  best  superfine  clinquant  in  describing) 
was  the  only  person  who  had  been  in  the  Bourbon 
Chamber  during  the  day.  It  is,  accordingly, 
determined  to  seize  the  Tailor,  and  the  Council 
breaks  up  with  a  unanimous  resolution  to  be 
vigorous. 

The  commencement  of  the  Second  Act  turns 
chiefly  upon  the  Trial  and  Imprisonment  of  two 
Brothers' — but  as  this  forms  the  under  plot  of 
the  Drama,  I  shall  content  myself  with  extracting 
from  it  the  following  speech,  which  is  addressed  to 
the  two  Brothers,  as  they  **  exeunt  severally  "  to 
Prison: — 

Go  to  your  prisons — though  the  air  of  Spring 
No  mountain  coolness  to  your  cheeks  shall  bring; 
Though  Summer  flowers  shall  pass  unseen  away. 
And  all  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 
May  be  some  solitary  beam  that  falls. 
At  mom  or  eve,  upon  your  dreary  walls  — 
Some  beam  that  enters,  trembling  as  if  aw'd. 
To  teU  how  gay  the  young  world  laughs  abroad! 
Tet  go  —  for  thoughts  as  blessed  as  the  air 
Of  Spring  or  Summer  flowers  await  you  there; 
Thoughts,  such  as  He,  who  feasts  his  courtly  brew 
In  rich  conservatories,  never  knew; 
Pure  self-esteem  —  the  smiles  that  light  within  — 
The  Zeal,  whose  circling  charities  begin 
With  the  few  loVd  ones  Heaven  has  plac'd  it  near. 
And  spread,  till  all  Mankind  are  in  its  sphere; 
The  Pride,  that  suffers  without  vaunt  or  plea. 
And  the  fresh  Spirit,  that  can  warble  free. 
Through  prison-bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty! 

The  Scene  next  changes  to  a  Tailor's  Work-shop, 
and  a  fancifully-arranged  group  of  these  Artists 
is  discovered  upon  the  Shop-board  —  Their  task 
evidently  of  a  royal  nature,  from  the  profusion 
of  gold-lace,  frogs,  &c.  that  lie  about  —  They 
all  rise  and  come  forward,  while  one  of  them 
sings  the  following  Stanzas  to  the  tune  of  **  Deiry 
Down." 

My  brave  brother  Tailors,  come,  straighten  your 

knees. 
For  a  moment,  like  gentlemen,  stand  up  at  ease. 
While  I  sing  of  our  P e  (and  a  fig  for  his 

railers) 
The  Shop-board*s  delight!  the  Msecenas  of  Tailors! 
Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note. 
While  His  short  cut  to  fame  is  —  the  cut  of  hiB 
coat; 


CA«RJUMA«B*t 

SMr.Lilili 


hiibNClMr. 


0^^B^B 

MOOEE'S  WORKS. 

VfoM  WM  too  email  for 

rv>om  ia  m  Uc'd  bution- 

Deny  down,  &c 

KiagB  —  QiOM,  at  least. 

•>  mch  ■  friend  to  the 

ax  in  siif  and  renown. 

„„IP e  about  lowal 

Henry  down.  &c. 

n  "  of  1)111  last  Terse,  ■ 

_l_j.  of  S c'b  Office 

r  (who,  luekily  for  the 
rcrr  Tnilor  sospccied  of 

nloiuw  and  horrii^d  away. 

™  h«sl«ni  rftpidly  in  it* 
iteiDont  of  tha  Tailor". 

rill,  and  tbe  Hlnrm,  vhicb 
nainnd  without  being 
on,  lou,  ivliich  he  Eiiallr 

aplieim  that  the  said  frapnenU  fomiHl  pun  nf 
Bolf-eMalpaloiT  note,  which  he  had  inloided  i 
■end  to  Colonel  M'M n  npon  subject,  pcrti 

(till  lie  Inckilr  in  hit  pocke4)  being  prodund.  ta 
ekilfuU/   laid    b«ide    the    olhen.   the    followiit 
billet -dom  is  tha  aatirfaclorj  iMull  of  their  jnu 
position. 

Honour'd  Colonel— my  Wife,  wlio'i  the  Queen  o 

all  dactexns. 
Neiflpcled  to  pnt  op  the  Book  of  new  P«llcra»i 
She  Km  tho  wrong  Measures  too  — shaawMj 

They're  the  same  u»'d  for  poor  Mr.  Lambert,  •ba 
Tonngi 
But,  bto«a  yon  I  they  wooldn't  go  h>lf  nrai  tin 

a-g-t- 

So,   hope  jon'U  excuie  yonn  till   death,  mot 

This    fnlly  expliuns    the    whole    niT^wy-th 
H— g— e    rerames  bis  wonted   senilo,  and  ih 

DraiiiH  ifrmiitntes  as  u^aol.  to  the  uti^hctiun  <i 

■ 

r. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOEOUS  POEMS 


^^m^i^Ktmmi^^a^^^Mmmmimi^mmmtmmmumd^.mmtrtitmm^mmmmmim^^mmm^m^tmmmmflmM.'^mmm  ■■■■*■ 


PREFACE. 


me  of  those  Notices,  no  less  friendly  than 
T  are  able  and  spirited,  which  this  new 
tion  *  of  my  Poetical  Works  has  called  forth 
d  a  leading  political  journal,  I  find,  in 
rence  to  the  numerous  satirical  pieces,  the 
)wing  suggestion f:  —  "It  is  now  more 
1  a  quarter  of  a  century  since  this  bundle 
lolitical  pasquinades  set  the  British  public 
\  roar;  and  though  the  events  to  which 
7  allude  may  be  well  known  to  every  reader, 

**  Oaixm  oetaTom  trc|>ldATlt  aUs 
CUadere  loftnim," 

-e  are  many  persons,  now  forming  a  part  of 
literary  public,  who  have  come  into  ex- 
nce  since  they  happened,  and  who  cannot 
expected,  even  if  they  had  the  leisure  and 
ortunity  to  rummage  the  files  of  our  old 
spapers  for  a  history  of  the  perishable  facts 
which  ^Ir.  Moore  has  so  oflen  rested  the 
ig  artillery  of  his  wit.    Many  of  those  facts 

be  considered  beneath  the  notice  of  the 
re  historian ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  incumbent 
Mr.  Moore  —  if  he  wishes  his  political 
ibs,  imbued  as  they  are  with  a  wit  and  hu- 
ir  quite  Aristophanic,  to  be  relished,  as 
r  deserve  to  be  relished,  by  our  great-grand- 
(Iren — to  preface  them  with  a  rapid  sum- 
7  of  the  events  which  gave  them  birth." 
Hthout  pausing  here  to  say  how  gratifying 
I  to  me  to  find  my  long  course  of  Anti- 
y  warfare  thus  tolerantly,  and  even  gcne- 
ily  spoken  of,  and  by  so  distinguished  an 
in  of  public  opinion,  I  shall  as  briefly  as  I 

advert  to  the  writer's  friendly  suggestion, 
then  mention  some  of  those  reasons  which 

induced  me  to  adopt  it.  That  I  was  dis- 
ci, at  first,  to  annex  some  such  commentary 
is  aeries  of  squibs,  may  have  been  collected 

the  concluding  sentences  of  my  last  Prc- 


•  cum 


ori84K  184SJ 
.9,1841. 


face;  but  a  little  further  consideration  has  led 
me  to.  abandon  this  intention. 

To  that  kind  of  satire  which  deals  only  with 
the  lighter  follies  of  social  life,  with  the  passing 
modes,  whims,  and  scandal  of  the  day,  such 
illustrative  comments  become,  afler  a  short 
time,  necessary.  But  the  true  preserving  salt 
of  political  satire  is  its  applicability  to  future 
times  and  generations,  as  well  as  to  those 
which  had  first  called  it  forth;  its  power  of 
transmitting  the  scourge  of  ridicule  through 
succeeding  periods,  with  a  lash  still  fresh  for  the 
back  of  the  bigot  and  the  oppressor,  under 
whatever  new  shape  they  may  present  them- 
selves. I  can  hardly  flatter  myself  with  the 
persuasion  that  any  one  of  the  satirical  pieces 
is  likely  to  possess  this  principle  of  vitality; 
but  I  feel  quite  certain  that,  without  it,  not  all 
the  notes  and  illustrations  in  which  even  the 
industry  of  Dutch  common tatorship  could  em- 
balm them  would  insure  to  these  trifles  a  life 
much  beyond  the  present  hour. 

Already,  to  many  of  them,  that  sort  of  relish 

—  by  far  the  least  worthy  source  of  their  suc- 
cess— which  the  names  of  living  victims  lend 
to  such  sallies,  has  become,  in  the  course  of 
time,  wanting.  But,  as  far  as  their  apposite- 
ness  to  the  passing  political  events  of  the  day 
has  yet  been  tried  —  and  the  dates  of  these  sa- 
tires range  over  a  period  of  nearly  thirty  years 

—  their  ridicule,  thanks  to  the  undying  nature 
of  human  absurdity,  appears  to  have  lost,  as 
yet,  but  little  of  the  original  freshness  of  its 
first  application.  Nor  is  this  owing  to  any  pe- 
culiar felicity  of  aim,  in  the  satire  itself,  but  to 
the  sameness,  throughout  that  period,  of  all  its 
original  objects; — the  unchangeable  nature 
of  that  spirit  of  Monopoly  by  which,  under  all 
its  various  impersonations,  commercial,  reli- 
gious, and  political,  these  satires  had  been  first 
provoked.    To  refer  but  to  one  instance,  the 

T  T 


— assuredly,  the  entire  apposile- 

liig  verj  moiiieiit,  of  sucli  veraiclcs  ay 

'ng,  redounds  far  less  to  the  credit 

an  to  the  disgrace  of  legislation, — 


Icing  bynnture  BO  little  prone  to  spleen 
■sa,  I  should  jet  hftve  frequented  so 
I  thomj  paths  of  satire,  bus  nlwajs,  to 
1(1  those  be«t  acquainted  with  me,  been 
luf  surprise.  Bj  supposing  the  iniagi- 
Iwever,  to  be,  in  sucb  case^,  the  sole 
Brompter  of  the  satire  —  whioh.  in  mj 
niiee,  I  must  say,  it  bad  generallj  bten 
f  solution  is  fojnd  for  the  difficulty. 
mlinesB  of  fancy  which,  with  but 
p  from  reatitj,  can  deck  out  "  the 
e  "  with  all  possible  nttrac- 
I  likewise  be  able,  nheu  iu  the  vein, 
r  ridicule  on  a  political  ajlveraary, 
llloning  a  single  ftuling  of  real  bitlLT- 
aelf  with  tlie  operation.     Even 


without  venturing  to  add  that  I 
connect  with  them  one  mournful  1 
one  loss  from  among  the  circle  tA 
tongeft  loolced  up  to  with  affect! 
ration  —  which  1  little  thought,  i 
this  scries  of  prefHlory  sketcbct^ ', 
M  mourn  before  their  close.  I  net 
that,  in  thus  alluding  to  a  great  li 
cial  and  political  world  receDtt 
meun  the  late  Lord  IloUiwd. 

It  may  be  recollected,  perhaps, 
tioning  some  particulars  respec 
squib  of  mine,  —  the  Parody  di 
Begent'a  Letter,  —  I  spoke  of  »  di 
I  wag  present  on  the  very  Aaj  of 
lication  of  that  Parody,  when  itn 
of  much  conversation  at  table,  ai 
party,  except  our  host,  had  any  i 
I  was  the  author  of  it.  This  1 
Holland;  and  as  such  a  name  ( 
lend  value  to  any  anecdote  conne 
rature,  I  only  forbore  the  pleasi 
such  an  iirnament  to  my  page, 
that  Lord  Holland  had  long  viel 


PREFACE 


663 


let.  In  one  of  the  letters  which  I  received 
>m  him  while  thus  occupied,  I  find  the  foUow- 
^  postscript: — 

•*  *Tta  thai  I  tan  th*  Itidtanl  mic. 
Nor  deem  I  read  bb  meaning  vronst 
Bnt  wtth  roach  Englidi  to  oombint 
The  fweeCncei  that'i  in  ererj  line, 
Adu  for  your  Mum,  and  not  for  mint. 
Setm  only  will  not  qoit  the  aoorei 
We  miiat  have  that,  and  —  little  Mom. 


He  then  adds,  **  I  send  jou,  too,  a  melanchol  j 
Epigram  of  mine,  of  which  I  have  seen  many, 
alas,  witness  the  truth:— 


**  A  miniilcr'e  aafwer  ia  alvmre  ao  kind  I - 
I  etarre,  and  he  telli  me  hell  keep  me  in  mind. 
Httlfh\M  promiie,  Ood  knows,  would  my  apAriu  reitorai 
Let  him  kttp  me  —  and«  faith,  I  will  aak  for  no  more." 


I 


tr  2 


SATIBICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


565 


\       I  need  not  remind  you  how  cursedly  bad 
Our  affairs  were  all  looking,  when  Father  went 

mad;' 
A  straight  waistcoat  on  him  and  restrictions  on  me, 
A  more  limited  Monarchy  could  not  well  be. 
I  was  caird  upon  then,  in  that  moment  of  puzzle. 
To  choose  my  own  Minister — just  as  they  muzzle 
A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disaster. 
By  bidding  him  choose  out  his  own  dancing- 
master. 


I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  son. 
Was  to  do  as  Old  Royalty's  self  would  hare  done.* 
So  I  sent  word  to  say,  I  would  keep  the  whole 

batch  in, 
The  same  chest  of  tools,  without  cleansing  or 

patching ; 
For  tools  of  this  kind,  like  Martinus's  sconce,' 
Would  lose  all  their  beauty,  if  purified  once ; 
And  think — only  think — if  our  Father   should 

find, 
I'pon  graciously  coming  again  to  his  mind,* 
That  improvement  had  spoil'd  any  favourite  ad- 
viser— 
That  R — se  was  grown  honest,  or  W — stm — re- 

1 — nd  wiser— 
That  R— d — r  was,  ev'n  by  one  twinkle,    the 

brighter —  [or — 

Or  Xr— v — rp— I's  speeches  but  half  a  pound  light- 
What  a  shock  to  his  old  royal  heart  it  would  be  ! 
Ko  !  — far  were  such  dreams  of  improvement  from 

me :  [know,* 

And  it  pleas'd  me  to  find,  at  the  House,  where,  you 
There's   such  good  mutton   cutlets,  and  stroug 

cura9oa,* 
That  the  Marchioness  call'd  me  a  duteous  old  boy. 
And  my  Y — rm — th's  red  whiskers  grew  redder 

for  joy. 

You  know,  my  dear  Freddy,  how  oft,  if  I  irowW, 
By  the  law  of  last  Sessions  I  might  have  done  good. 
I  might  have  withheld  these  political  noodles 
Prum  knocking  their  heads  against  hot  Yankee 

Doodles; 
I  wtight  have  told  Ireland  I  pitied  her  lot. 
Might  have  sooth'd  her  with  hope — but  you  know 

I  did  not. 
And  my  wish  is,  in  truth,  that  the  best  of  old 

fellows 
Should  not,  on  recovering,  have  cause  to  be  jealous. 


'I  think  it  hudljr  neewiMy  to  call  your  recollection  to  the 
It  dfTumrtaneei  nader  which  I  uramed  the  authority  dele- 
gated  to  me  by  Parliament."— /V<Nce*«  LtUer. 

s  **M7  MUM  of  dutj  to  our  Boyal  father  eolely  decided  that 
dMiee.**-./Mdl 

*  Thm  aatlqiw  dileld  of  Martiniu  Scriblenu,  which,  npon  fcoor- 
inc*  tuiMd  out  to  be  only  an  old  Konce. 
4  "  I  WBved  any  pereonal  cratiflcation,  in  order  that  hii  MiOeety 
^on  hie  reetoration  to  iiealth,  enry  power  and  prero- 
t*9  Letter, 


But  find  that,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  the  shelf, 
We've  been  all  of  us  nearly  as  mad  as  himself. 
You  smile  at  my  hopes — but  the  Doctors  and  I, 
Are  the  last  that  can  think  the  K — ng  ever  will  die.^ 

A  new  era's  arriv'd*, — though  you'd  hardlj^ 
believe  it — 
And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  receive  it 
New  villas,  new  fetes  (which  ev'n  Waithman  at- 
tends) —  [Jriends  f 
New  saddles,  new  helmets,  and — why  not  neto 


* 
* 


* 


* 


I  repeat  it,  "New  Friends  " — for  I  cannot  describe 
The  delight  I  am  in  with  this  P — re — v — 1  tribe. 
Such  capering !  —  Such  vapouring !  —  Such  rigour! 

— Such  vigour ! 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  they  have  cut  such 

a  figure. 
That  soon  they  will  bring  the  whole  world  round 

our  ears. 
And  leavens  no  friends—but  Old  Nick  and  Algiers. 

When  I  think  of  the  glory  they've  beam'd  on 
my  chains, 
'TIS  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains. 
It  is  true  we  are  bankrupts  in  commerce  and  riches, 
But  think  how  we  find  our  Allies  in  new  breeches! 
We've  lost  the  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish,  'tis  granted, 
But  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted, 
To  put  the  last  lingering  few  who  remain. 
Of  the  Walcheren  warriors,  out  of  their  pain. 
Then  how  Wellington  fights !  and  how  squabbles 

his  brother ! 
For  Papists  the  one,  and  with  Papists  the  other ; 
One  crushing  Napoleon  by  taking  a  City, 
While  t'other  lays  waste  a  whole  Catholic  Com- 
mittee. 
Oh  deeds  of  renown !  —  shall  I  boggle  or  flinch. 
With  such  prospects  before  me  ?  by  J  ove,  not  an  inch. 
No — let  England's  affairs  go  to  rack,  if  they  will, 
We'll  look  after  th'  affairs  of  the  Continent  still ; 
And,  with  nothing  at  home  but  starvation  and  riot, 
Find  Lisbon  in  bread,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 

I  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilections,* 
My  heart  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scatter'd  affection! 
Are  just  danc'd  about  for  a  moment  or  two. 
And  the  finer  they  are,  the  more  sure  to  run 
through : 


6  **  And  I  haTe  the  ■atitfbction  of  Icnowins  that  nich  wae  the 
opinion  of  pereoni  for  whoee  Judgment,"  ftc  kc—Ibid. 

•  The  letter- writer's  faronrite  luncheon. 

7  "  I  certainly  am  the  laat  pemnln  tlie  kincdom  to  wliom  it  can 
be  permitted  to  despair  of  our  royal  father's  xcooTery."~/M. 

s  **  A  new  era  is  now  airiTed,  and  I  cannot  bat  reflect  with  Mttit< 
ftctlon,"  ftc-JMtf. 

•  **  I  hare  no  pitdileetioine  to  indulge,  -.  no  leeeatme&ti  k 
Kratify.**-iM<L 

T  T  3 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


567 


ESiTRACTS 

VEOU  THB  DIABT  OF  ▲  POUnCUN. 

Thbouoh  M — nch — st— r  Square  took  a  canter 

juat  now  — 
Met  the  old  ydhw  eharioi\  and  made  a  low  bow. 
This  I  did,  of  oonne,  thinking  'twas  lojral  and 

dyil, 
But  got  snch  a  kx>k— oh  'twas  black  as  the  devil! 
How  nnlnckj! — imcog,  he  was  travelling  about. 
And  I,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out. 

UewL — when  next  hj  the  old  yellow  chariot  I 

ride. 
To  remember  there  if  nothing  princely  inside. 

At  Levee  to-Klajr  made  another  sad  blunder — 
Wliat  can  be  come  over  me  lately,  I  wonder? 
X*he  Pr— ce  was  as  cheerful,  as  ii^  all  his  life, 
Ke  had  never  been  troubled  with  Friends  or  a 

Wife— 
*  Fine  weather,"  says  he — to  which  I,  who  must 

prate, 
^.nswered,  **Te8,  Sir,  but  changeable  rather,  of  late." 
)e  took  it,  I  fear,  for  he  look*d  somewhat  gruff, 
Vnd  handled  his  new  pair  of  whiskers  so  rough, 
rhat  before  all  the  courtiers  I  feared  they'd  come 

ofl^ 
Lad  then.  Lord,  how  Geramb*  would  triumph- 
antly scoff! 


tfoH. — to  buy  for  son  Dicky  some  unguent  or 

lodon 
To  nourish  his  whiskers — sure  road  to  promotion.' 

Satwrdan, 

Last  night  a  Concert — vastly  gay — 
Given  by  Lady  C — stl — r — gh. 
My  Lord  loves  music,  and,  we  know, 
Has  ''two  strings  always  to  his  bow.*'* 
Ixi  choosing  songs,  the  R — g — t  nam'd 
"  Had  I  aheart/or/ahehoodjram'd," 
While  gentle  H — rtf— d  begg'd  and  pray'd 
For  **  Young  I  am,  and  sore  a/raid.** 


I  The  imoog.  Tshkle  of  the  Pr— oe. 

t  Barm  Qemnb.  the  ifrel  of  his  R.  H.  in  whbken. 

t 


ie  not  the  only  eountry  where  merit  of  thii  kind  ie 
•ad  Mvnrded.   **  I  remember,"  nye  Tevemler.  **  to  heve 
of  dw  Kiac  of  Perale*!  porters,  whoec  mortachee  were  so 
lie«o«M  tie  tlMm  behfaid  his  aeek.  Cm  whioh  reuen  lie 


Hisdoable 


EPIGKAM. 

What  news  to-day? — Oh!  worse  and  worse— 
"Mac*  is  the  Pr— ce's  Privy  Purse!"— 
The  Pr— ce's  Purse  I  no,  no,  you  fool. 
You  mean  the  Pr^K^'s  Ridicule. 


KING  CRACK  •  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

WBITTEN    AFTEB    THB    LATB     NEOOTIATION    FOR 
▲  NBW  M — N— 8TRY. 

E[nco  Crack  was  the  best  of  all  possible  Kings, 
(At  least,  so  his  Courtiers  would  swear  to  you 
gladly,) 
But  Crack  now  and  then  would  do  het'rodox 
things, 
And,  at  Gut,  took  to  worshipping  Inutges  sadly. 

Some  broken-down   Idols,  that  long  had  been 
plac'd 
In  his  father's  old  Cabinet,  pleas'd  him  so  much. 
That  he  knelt  down  and  worshipped,  though — 
such  was  his  taste! — 
They  were  monstrous  to  look  at,  and  rotten  to 
touch. 

And   these   were  the  beautiful  Gods  of  King 
Crack!— 
But  his  People,  disdaining  to  worship  such 
things, 
Cried  alouc^  one  and  all,  **  Come,  your  Godships 
must  pack — 
**  You'll  not  do  for  us,  though  you  may  do  for 
Kings. 


tt 


Then,  trampling  these  images  under  their  feet. 
They  sent  Crack  a  petition,  beginning  "  Great 
Caesar! 
"We're  willing  to  worship;  bat  only  entreat 

That  you'll  find  us  some  decenter  Godheads 
than  these  are." 


«i' 


"1*11  try,"  says  King  Crack— so  they  fumish'd 
him  models 
Of  better  shap*d  Gods,  but  he  sent  them  all 
back; 


4  A  rhetorieel  flcQie  used  by  Lord  C  ett-  r— £h,in  one  of  his 
speeches. 

A  Colonel  M—em-.h—n. 

•  One  of  those  entedilurtaa  Princes,  with  whom  Msaetho  and 
Whiston  seem  so  intimately  ecqusintcd.  If  we  had  the  Memoirs 
of  Thoth,  from  which  Manetho  compiled  lUs  History,  we  slaould 
find,  I  dare  say.  tlMt  Crack  was  only  a  Recent,  and  tliat  lie,  per> 
haps,  snooeeded  Typhoa,  who  las  Whiston  says)  was  the  last  Kbm 
of  the  AnIedilnTian  Dynasty. 

TT  4 


^ll^^^^^B 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

iJ'd  loo  fin^  »OBC  hid  heads  'rtend 
7'wBra  M  niHcA  too  g..dlikc  for 

s  ilnrlmg  olil  Idols  ajfain, 

iilint'  ihcir  legs  nnd  Qtw  broniing 

IH, 

e  of  Gods  Bmi  of  men, 

rjn  up  grinuiDg  oDve  more  in  their 

MY  THOUGHT  LIKE? 

»  Pump  like  V-sc-nt  C-sil- 

:t  is  a  ak-ndtr  thing  of  wood, 
down  iuj  Bwkwurd  ana  dotii  swaj, 
Kjat  and  Buout  and  nwut  awar, 
lahj-,  erorl«iti»g  flood! 

E  fir;  It  AM. 

Hilher  como  and  gailj  twine 
Brighlest  lierbs  and  flowm  of  thine 
Inio  wreiill.8  for  those,  who  rule  us, 
Those,  who  ruEo  and  (some  sa/)  Ibol  a 
Flora,  6ure,  wiU  lo.e  lo  til™* 
England's  HouseboU  Deities'' 

First  jon  must  then,  willy-aiUr. 
Fetch  mo  manj  an  orange  %  — 
Oraneo  of  the  dorkeit  dj'e 
Irisb  G— ff— rd  am  supply;  — 
Cliooso  me  ont  the  longest  sprig, 
And  stick  it  in  old  GU— a'l  wig. 

Find  me  next  a  Poppy  posy, 
Tyf-.i  of  his  harangues  *o  doiy. 
Garland  gaudy,  dull  and  cool. 
To  crown  tho  head  of  L— v— rp-L 
•Twill  console  his  brilliant  Ln.»-s 
Fot  that  loss  of  laurel  bonghs, 
Which  they  suffer' J  (what  a  pity!) 
On  Che  road  to  Paris  City. 

Next,  our  C— sll— r-  gh  to  crown, 
Uriri;;  iiin  from  the  Counly  Doim, 
Wiilu^rM  SJiamrocks,  which  have  bwn 
CiiLlfd  o'er  to  hide  the  green— 
ISurli  ns  H— df-t  l,ron.jhl  nwty 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


569 


EPIGRAM. 

•:en  a  dowager  and  her  maid 
of  lord  t — rm— th*8  fete. 

irt  Guide/*  said  my  lady, "  to  look 
;,  Seymour  Place,  be  at  30,  or 

Court  Guide,  Ma'am,  but  here's 

ook, 

find,  I  dare  say,  Seymour  Places 


.CE,  ODE  XL  LIB.  n. 

ATED  BY  THE  PR— CE   R — O— T.* 

— th,  my  boy,  never  trouble  your 

lat  your  old  crony, 

eror  Boney, 

ewing  on  Muscovy's  plains; 

ly  lad,  at  the  state  of  our  granancs : 

lere  come  famine, 

tv  to  cram  in 

shall  have,  my  dear  Lord  of  the 

iries. 

evel,  while  revel  we  may; 

loom  of  fifty  soon  passes  away, 

1  people  get  fat, 

rm,  and  —  all  that, 

confess  it)  so  clumsily  sits, 

ens  the  litde  Loves  out  of  their  wits ; 

s,  too,  Y— rm— th!  — alas,  even 

so  rosy  they  bum, 
:kly  must  turn 

rt-breaking  change  for  thy  whis- 
to  Grey. 

owinff  are  extracted  from  a  Work,  which  may, 
mctst  the  eye  of  the  Public  -  enUtled  •*  Odat  of 
ngll^h  by  •ereral  Per»u»  of  Faahion." 
bellicrtui  CanUber.  et  Scythes, 
in«  Quincti,  co«itet,  Hadxia 
tUmn  objecto,  remlttaa 
ttuerere. 
Nee  trepides  in  tuum 

iiaripanca. 

Fuffit  retro 
iTenta*  et  decor. 
>nte  laiciToe  amorcs 
ftoitie. 

Neqne  uno  Lnna  nAem  nltct 

QnidKtemls 
g^nifniia  imtimiin  fatigaa? 


Then  why,  my  Lord  Warden,  oh!  why  should 
you  fidget 
Your  mind  about  matters  you  don't  under- 
stand? 
Or  why  should  you  write  yourself  down  for  an 
idiot, 
Because  **yaii,"  forsooth,  ''have  the  pen  in 
your  hand!" 

Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  letter, 
(Which  both  you  and  I 
Should  avoid  by  the  bye,) 
•   How  much  pleasanter  'tis  to  sit  under  the  bust 
Oif  Old  Charley*,  my  friend  here,  and  drink 
like  anew  one; 
While  Charley  looks  sulky  and  firowns  at  me, 
just 
As  the  Ghost  in  the  Pantomime  frowns  at 

Don  Juan. 
*•  To  crown  us.  Lord  Warden, 
In  C— mb — ^rl — nd's  garden 
Grows  plenty  of  monk*s  hoodia  venomous  sprigs : 
While  Otto  of  Roses 
Kefreshing  all  noses 
Shall  sweetly  exhale  from  our  whiskers  and  wigs. 

' »  What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  our  Noyau 
In  that  streamlet  delicious, 
That  do^vn  'midst  the  dishes, 
All  full  of  gold  fishes, 
Romantic  doth  flow!— 
"  Or  who  will  repair 

Unto  M— ch r  Sq e. 

And  see  if  the  gentle  Marchesa  be  there? 
Gro — bid  her  haste  hither, 
"  And  let  her  bring  with  her 
The  newest  No-Popery  Sermon  that's  going  — 
'*  Oh!  let  her  come,  with  her  dark  tresses  flowing. 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gay, 
In  the  manner  of — Ackcrmann's  Dresses  for 
May! 


■  Onr  non  tab  alta  vel  platano,  Tel  hao 

Finu  Jacentca  tic  temere. 

9  Charlce  Fox. 

10  Roii 
Canoe  odorati  capllloi, 

Dtun  lioet,  AMyriaqne  nardo 
Fotamnt  anctL 

Qni<  pncr  odna 
Beetiiiffiiet  ardcntii  Faleml 
Pocoia  proeteretMto  llimiiikaf 

Qnia «Ud«tdoiiio 

Ljden? 

Ebnma,  die  ace,  eum  lyra  (on.  Iiar-a) 
Matoret. 


II 


12 
IS 
14 


libra 


iBoocDtam! 
nUgatonodo. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


571 


ingle  «r>earl  on  his  forehead  he^tMces — 
■b  are  like  Ministers,  strange  as  the  case  is, 
Iser  thej  are,  the  more  firm  in  their  places. 
1  he  next  yiews — hnt  the  coat  who  could 
doubt? 
Y— rm-*th'8  own  Frenchified  hand  cut  it 

out; 
v&cker  and  seam  were  made  matters  of  state, 
jixand  HonsdifM  CouncH  was  held  on  each 
plait. 

L  whom  shall  he  dress?  shall  he  new-rig  his 
brother, 

^ — mb---rl«d's  Duke,  with  some  kickshaw 
or  other? 

ndlj  invent  him  more  Christian-like  shapes 
feather-bed  neckcloths  and  pillory  capes. 
> — here  his  ardour  would  meet  wiUi  delays, 
!  Duke  had  been  lately  pack'd  up  in  new 
Stays, 

plete  for  the  winter,  he  saw  very  plain 
1  be  devilish  hard  work  to  unpack  him 


'hat*8  to  be  done?  — there's  the  Ministers, 
t>les8  'em! — 

ode  the  puppets,  why  shouldn't  he  direff  *em? 
Kcellent  thought!  —  call  the  tailors  —  be 
limbic  — 

am  bring  his  spy-glass,  and  H — rtf — d  her 
iiimble; 

T — ^rm— th  shaU  give  us,  in  spite  of  all 
joizzers, 
ist  Paris  cut  with  his  true  Gallic  scissors." 

ying,  he  calls  C — stl— r — gh,  and  the  rest 
heaven-bom  statesmen,  to  come  and  be 
best. 

Z — ^rm — ^th,  with  snip-like  and  brisk  expe- 
lition, 

,  all  at  once,  a  large  Cathlic  Petition 
tailors'  measures,  (the  P — e  crying  '*  Well- 
lone!" 
It  pMiM  m  hand  my  Lord  QianceUor  Eld — n. 


CORRESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN  A  LADT  AND  GENTLEKAN, 

UPON  THE  ADYANTAOB  OF  (WHAT  18  CALLED) 
**HATUrO  LAW*   ON  ONE'S  SIDE." 

The  Gendeman's  PropoaaL 


8'ciplaee.eiUoe.' 

CoMx,  fly  to  these  arms,  nor  let  beauties  so  bloomy 

To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied ; 
Tour  prudes  may  revile,  and  your  old  ones  look 
gloomy. 

But,  dearest,  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

Oh!  think  the  deUght  of  two  lovera  congenia\ 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  their  raptures  how 
venialj 

When  once  they've  got  Law  on  their  side. 

'TIS  a  thing,  that  in  every  King's  reign  has  been 
done,  too: 
Then  why  should  it  now  be  decried? 
If  the  Father  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  the  Son, 
too? 
For  so  argues  Law  on  our  side. 

And,  ev'n  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  be  tried. 
They  can  htt  bring  it  in  **  a  misfortune,"  my  beauty. 

As  long  as  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

The  Ladle's  Answer. 

Hold,  hold,  my  good  sir,  go  a  little  more  slowly; 

For,  grant  me  so  faithless  a  bride, 
Such  sinners  as  we  are  a  tittle  too  lowfy^ 

To  hope  to  have  Law  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Prince,  to  whose  star  shining 
o'er  'em 
The  people  should  look  for  their  guide. 
Then  your  Highness  (and  welcome  I)  might  kick 
down  decorum  — 
You'd  always  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Were  you  ev'n  an  old  Marquis,  in  mischief  grown 
hoary. 

Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 
To  the  pleasures  of  vice,  is  alive  to  its  glory — 

Ton  still  would  have  Law  on  your  side. 

But  for  yoM,  Sir,  Crim.  Con.  is  a  path  fall  of 
troubles; 

By  my  advice  therefore  abide. 
And  leave  the  pursuit  to  those  Princes  and  Nobles 

Who  have  such  a  Law  on  their  side. 


IBi 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


573 


,  perhaps,  (for  Fm  gaessing  at  random,) 
fb-ag-^hain  for  some  Lawyer's  old  TVin* 

odj  bid!  It  is  cheap,  I  am  sure.  Sir— 
ice, — going,  going,— thrice,  gone  I  — it  is 
lars.  Sir. 

eady  money  you  sha'n't  be  distrest, 
at  tmg  date  suits  the  Chancellor  best. 

Where's  the  next  Tool?— Oh  I  'tis  here 

a  trice  — 

lement,  Ge'mmen,  at  first  was  a  Vice ; 
ious  and  close  sort  of  tool,  that  ^dll  let 
out  of  its  grasp  it  once  happens  to  get;) 
ice  has  receiv'd  a  new  coating  of  TVn, 
lough  for  a  Prince  to  behold  himself  in. 
fiat  shall  we  say  for  it?  briskly!  bid  on, 

sooner  get  rid  of  it — going  —  quite  gone, 
rith  it,  such  tools,  if  not  quickly  knocked 
>wn, 

last  cost  their  owner — how  much?  why. 
Crown  1 

xt  Tool  III  set  up  has  hardly  had  handsel 

fret,  and  is  aUo  a  Chancellor — 

[  tilings  as  these  should  be  sold  by  the 

OSS; 

as  it  is,  'twill  be  found  to  shave  close, 

other  close  shavers,  some  courage  to 
ther, 
e  first  began  by  a  fiourish  on  leather? 

have  it  for  nothing — then,  marvel  with 

B 

rrible  tinkering  work  there  must  be. 
Fool  such  as  this  is  (FU  leave  you  to  judge 

by  ill  luck  at  the  top  of  the  Budget! 


CLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 

▲  BALLAD. 

f**  Thert  wot  a  little  man,  and  he  woo'd  a  UtOe  matd.** 

D  TO  THB  RT.  HON.    CH — RL — S  ABB — T. 

Arcades  unbo 
Et  oenrt-ve  pares. 

1813. 

IS  a  little  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  Soul, 
lid,  •*  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try. 


taxes  proposed  by  Mr.  Yanslttart,  that  principally 
*arOameat  was  tha  additional  dnty  on  laallMr.'*^ 


**  Whether  it's  within  our  reach 
•*  To  make  up  a  little  Speech, 
"  Just  between  little  you  and  little  I,  I,  I, 
**  Just  between  little  you  and  little  II  " — 

Then  said  his  little  Soul, 

Peeping  from  her  little  hole, 
"  I  protest,  Uttle  Man,  you  are  stout,  stout,  stout, 

"  But,  if  it's  not  uncivil, 

**  Pray  tell  me  what  the  devil 
♦*  Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about,  bout,  bout, 
''Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about?  " 

The  Uttle  Man  look'd  big 
With  th'  assistance  of  his  wig. 
And  he  call*d  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order. 
Till  she  fear'd  he'd  make  her  jog  in 
To  gaol,  like  Thomas  Croggan, 
(As  she  wasn't  Duke  or  Earl)  to  reward  her, 
ward  her,  ward  her. 
As  she  wasn't  Duke  or  Earl,  to  reward  her. 

The  Uttle  Man  then  spoke, 
"Little  Soul,  it  is  no  joke, 
"For  as  sure  as  J— cky  F — 11 — r  loves  a  sup, 
sup,  sup, 
"I  will  tell  the  Prince  and  People 
"  What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
"And  my  Uttle  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up,  up,  up, 
"  And  my  Uttle  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up." 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl. 
Little  Man  and  little  Soul 
Went  and  spoke  their  Uttle   speech  to  a  tittle, 
tittle,  tittle, 
And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  priggish  Uttle  pair 
Never  yet  in  all  their  Uves  look'd  so  Uttle,  little, 
Uttle, 
Never  yet  in  aU  their  Uves  look'd  so  Uttle! 


REINFORCEI^IENTS 
FOR  LORD  WELLINGTON 

Snosque  tibl  commendat  Troja  Penates: 
Hos  cape  Iktonim  oomltes.  Yibou. 

1813. 

As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  got. 
And  the  Marshal  must  have  them — -pray,  why 

should  we  not. 
As  the  last  and,  I  grant  it,  the  worst  of  our  loans 

to  him, 
Ship  ott'  the  Ministry,  body  and  bones  to  him? 
There's  not  in  aU  England,  I'd  venture  to  swear. 
Any  men  we  could  half  so  conveniently  spare; 


^^^^^^^1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

hcyVc  bcpn  lidping  the  French  for 

□ake  them  uscfalto England ntliul. 
in  our  sicgci  might  mvb  some  liie- 

ho  laking  a.Jid  ktiping  of  plarti  I 
I  C— no— g,  ati[]  ready  for  joining, 

ui>ehold  bat  epaie  as  its  glory  anJ 

at  horx-x'orki  again  mittht  be  trieJ. 
J_si— c  lUiike  u  WJ  cAarje  at  his 

-tt— t  could  victual  the  iroopa  upon 
r  look  aft€r  the  baggage  and  sick- 
see  why  dip  g™t  B-g-t  himself 
ea  such  as  tlieie,  stay  at  home  on 

If: 

^b  naitaw  defiled  he's  aot  fitted  to 

resift,  if  he  burc  down  m  mamf 
fi,  of  an  evening,  perhaps  he  might 

<h  confcJ'ratcs,  "  unubli  to  raoTc," ' 
e  thing  in  war  of  lulvanlago  un- 

■  be  CDUIJ  not  mth  ease  bo  no- 

Leave  old  Slagna  Charta  to  shift  for  its 
And,  like  G— d»— n.  write  booki 

matters  and  mi^M^. 
Obi  it  u  not  high  raak  that  can  make 

merry, 

misbBii: 
Thoogb   the  Lords  of  Weatpbalia  xa 
before  Jerrj-, 
Poor  Jerry  bimtelf  has  lo  qnake  befi 

HOBACE.  ODE  SXXVUL  LI 

raABHLlTBD      DT      i      TREASCBT      CL£S 
WllTISO  DIHKEa  FOB   THE   &IGQT    HU 

But,  lifil  ibe  Cook  that  I  hate  all  nick- 
Friiassces,    vol-un-veuts,    paBK    and    ( 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


575 


LORD  WELLINGTON  AND  THE 
MINISTERS. 

1813. 
So  |2:entl7  in  peace  Aldbiades  smil'd. 

While  in  battle  he  shone  forth  so  terribly  gn^d, 
Thit  the  emblem  thej  grav'd  on  his  seal,  was  a 
child 
With  a  thunderbolt  plac'd  in  its  innocent  hand. 

Oh  Wellington,  long  as  snch  Ministers  wield 
Tour  magnificent  arm,  the  same  emblem  will  do ; 

For  while  cAcy're  in  the  Council  and  yon  in  the 
Field, 
We're  the  balne§  in  tkemj  and  the  tkioiJgr  in  ymt  / 


LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR. 
P—RC— V— L. 

Jm  the  dirge  we  sung  o'er  him  no  censure  was 
heard, 
Unembitter'd  and  free  did  the  tear-drop  de* 
■cend; 
We  forgot,  in  that  hour,  how  the  statesman  had 
err*d. 
And  wept  for  the  husband,  the  father,  and  friend. 

Obt  pcond  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won. 
And  gen'rous  indeed  were  the  tears  that  we 
^ed, 
"When,  in  grief,  we  forgot  all  the  ill  he  had  done. 
And,  though  wrong'd  by  him,  Uving,  bewail'd 
him,  when  dec^ 

Xren  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intrude, 
TiM  to  wish  he  had  chosen  some  lowlier  state, 

Sad  known  what  he  was — and,  content  to  be  good. 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspir*d  to  be  great, 

8q^  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  more, 

GBs  years  might  have  roll'd  inoffensive  away; 
Hit  children  m^t  still  have  been  bless'd  with  his 
lore. 
And  England  would  ne'er  have  been  curs'd  with 
sway. 


To  Ae  Editor  of  the  Morning  ChronieU. 


« order  to  explain  the  following  Fragment,  it  is 
f  to  r^er  your  readers  to  a  la^  florid  de- 
of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton,  in  the  apart- 


ments of  which,  we  are  told,  **  Fun,  The  Ouneee 
Bird  of  Royalty/*  is  a  principal  ornament. 

I  am,  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

MUH. 

FUM  AND  HUM,  THE  TWO  BIRDS  OF 

ROYALTY. 

Owe  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  Fun, 
Thus  accosted  our  own  Bird  of  Royalty,  Hujc, 
In  that  Palace  or  China-shop  (Brixton,  which  is 

it?) 
Where  Fux  had  just  come  to  pay  Hum  a  short 

TlSlt. 

Near  akin  are  these  Birds,  though  they  differ  in 

nation 
(The  breed  of  the  Hums  is  as  old  as  creation); 
Both,  full-craw'd  Legitimates — both,  birds  of  prey. 
Both,  cackling  and  ravenous  creatures,  half  way 
Twixt   the   goose   and  the  vulture,  like  Lord 

C — BTL OH. 

While  FuM  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  Bohea, 
Peers,  Bishops,  and  Punch,  Hum,  are  sacred  to 

thee! 
So  congenial  their  tastes,  that,  when  Fum  first  did 

light  on 
The  floor  of   that   grand    China-warehouse    at 

Brighton, 
The  lanterns,  and  dragons,  and  things  round  the 

dome 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  ♦*  Gad,"  says  Fun,  "  Pm 

at  home." — 
And  when,  turning,  he  saw  Bishop  L  qe, 

**Zook8,  itis," 
Quoth  the  Bird,  "Yes — I  know  him — a  Bonze, 

by  his  phyz  — 
**  And  that  jolly  old  idol  ho  kneels  to  so  low 
**  Can  be  none  but  our  round-about  godhead,  fat 

Fol" 
It  chanc'd  at  this  moment,  the'  Episcopal  Prig 
Was  imploring  the  P  —  s  to  dispense  with  his 

wig,' 
Which  the  Bird,  overhearing,  flew  high  o'er  his 

head. 
And  some  TosiT-like  marks  of  his  patronage 

shed. 
Which  so  dimm'd  the  poor  Dandy's  idolatrous  eye. 
That,  while  Fum  cried  "Oh  Fol"  all  the  court 

cried  "Oh  fie  I" 

But,  a  truce  to  digression; — these  Birds  of  a 
feather. 

Thus  talk'd,  t'other  night,  on  State  matters  to- 
gether; 


1  In  ooDiequenoeof  an  old  promlie.  Uwt  be  thonld  be  allowed  to 
wear  bis  own  bab>«  whencTer  be  mlgbt  be  elerated  to  a  Blebopric 
brbkR ^IH. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Mm  Fin> — FiTK,  of  coonic,  ipoke 

nothing  —  at  Brighton 


And  Thoo,  too.  nhose  life,  a  sifk  «pinm' 

Incohtrciil  and  gross,  ertn  prower  b>d 

Were  i(   not    for  that   cordiul   and  h> 

Whicli  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thj 


Ifhom  Fdh  calls  tbo  Cna/uciiu  of 

I  spcecli  npnn  Europe's  repom 
bic  boss  of  lb<!  fat  Idore  oose. 

I   Lordship   and    L — t — kf — i. 

n  the  old  Motlier  Hum, 

ih'd.  oul  rush'd  C — STi. — OH, 
TV,  and,  wliip,  B]mr,  u»ay, 
of  nir,  like   n   Snip  on  his 


lo,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  land,  that 

With  millions  to  hcapnpon  Foppery's  i 
io,  not  for  [he  riches  of  all  who  despise 
Though  this  would  luake  Europe's  wl 


Would  1  Baffer  wh« — ev'a  in  the  hcatl 

All  mean   as  it  is  — miut   have   co 
bnrn-d. 
When  tlic  pLimnce.  which  sliame  had  wr 

And  whieh  found  all  hii  wunu  al  an 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


577 


**  Whose  eloquence — ^bright'ning  whaterer  it  tried, 
**  Whether  reason  or   fiuicj,  the  gay  or  the 
grave,— 

**  Was  as  rapid,  as  deep,  and  as  hriUiant  a  tide, 
**  As  erer  hore  Freedom  aloft  on  its  wave ! " 

Yes — snch  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his 

fete;— 

And  thos,  sooner  or  later,  shall  all  have  to  grieve. 

Who  waste  their  mom*s  dew  in  the  heams  of  the 

Great, 

And  expect  'twill  return  to  refresh  them  at  eve. 

In  the  woods  of  the  North  there  are  Insects  that 
prey 
On  the  hraui  of  the  elk  till  his  verj  last  sigh; ' 
Oh,  Genius!  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they. 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee  to 
diel 


I 


EPISTLE 

FItOM 

TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN* 

irniO  KHtB  rocL  tult  in  a  LATB  TRAVtACnOH.S 

*  AU,  mlo  Bsir  I "  ~  MaTA«TAno.« 

What!  Bev,  my  old  hero,  is  this  your  renown? 
Ia£&wthe  new  gof — kick  a  man  when  he's  down! 
^^hen  the  foe  has  knocked  under,  to  tread  on  him 

then  — 
^y  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben! 
^  Fool!  foul!  "all  the  lads  of  the  Fancy  exclaim — 
Ohjjllbt  Shock  is  electrified — Belcbeb  spits 

flame  — 
And    MoLTNsrx  —  ay,    even    Blickt*    cries 

••  shame  !** 

ras,  when  John  Bull  little  difference  spied 

A  the  foe  at  his  feet,  and  the  friend  at  his  side: 

^Then  he  found  (such  his  himiour  in  fighting  and 

eating) 
foe,  like  his  beef-steak,  the  sweeter  fur  beating. 
this  comes,  Master  Ben,  of  your  curst  foreign 

notions, 

trinkets,  wigs,  thimgumbobs,  gold  lace  and 

lotions; 


lisv«  otaManwd  thAt,  npon  dlMwtlng  an  elk,  there 
la  He  heed  tome  ktrffe  fliiee,  with  ita  brain  almoet  eaten 
If  them.  -  JETMorr  4^  i\><iM<i. 

*  A  liekaBme  given,  at  thla  time,  to  the  Pr-«e  R-«— t. 

*  WriMcB  eooB  after  Booaparte'i  tranaportatioD  to  St.  Helena. 

*tlM.lMppoae.frH**earifted"tothii  Motto  bj  Mr.  Jackaon. 
k  ii  veil  kttovn,  keepe  the  moet  learned  company  going. 

*  VHMiaad  akkaainea  of  celebrated  pugiUata  at  that  time. 

*SMMVled. 

I4]i*  Owwdaua,  OM  of  Oe  Jbmv,  who  dMlBgnUied  blm- 

aal-fo  at  Watirioa. 


Your  Noyeaus,  Curafoas,  and  the  Devil  knows 

what  — 
(One  swig  of  Blue  Ruin  *  is  worth  the  whole  lot!) 
Your  great  and  small  crotses  —  (my  eyes,  what  a 

brood! 
A  cros«-buttock  from  me  would  do  some  of  them 

good!) 
Which  have  spoilt  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my  old 

porpoise. 
Of  pure  English  claret  is  left  in  your  corpus ; 
And  (as  Jim  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or  bad. 
Of  the  Fancy  you*re  up  to,  is  fibbing,  my  lad. 
Hence  it  comes, — Boxiana,  disgrace  to  thy  page ! — 
Having  floored,  by  good  luck,  the  fint  gwell  of  the 

age, 
Having  conquered  the  prime  one,  that  milPd  us  all 

round. 
You  kicked  him,  old  Ben,  as  he  gasp*d  on  the 

ground! 
Ay — just  at  the  time  to  show  spunk,  if  you'd  got 

any — 
Kick'd  him,  and  jaw*d  him,  and  lag*d^  him  to 

Botany ! 
Oh,  shade  of  the  Cheesemonger  !  '  you,  who,  alas. 
Doubled  up,  by  the  dozen,  those  Mounseers  in  brass. 
On  that  great  day  of  miUing,  when  blood  lay  in 

lakes, 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle,  and  Europe  the  stakes. 
Look  down  upon  Ben  —  see  him,  dunghill  all  o'er. 
Insult  the  falFn  foe,  that  can  harm  him  no  more! 
Out,  cowardly  spooney  !  -^  again  and  again. 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben. 
To  show  the  tchite  feather  is  many  men's  doom. 
But,  what  of  one  feather?  —  Ben  shows  a  whole 

Plume, 


TO  Sm  HUDSON  LOWE.» 

Eflkre  canaam  nominia, 

Utmmne  morea  hoc  tui 

Nomen  dederr,  an  ncnnen  hoe 

Becuta  morum  regula.  Aowirtot. 


1816. 


Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  Sir  Hudson  Low, 
(By  name,  and  ah !  by  nature  so) 
As  thou  art  fond  of  persecutions, 

•  [Thia  and  the  remaining  portion  of  the  **  Satirical  and  Ha- 
morooa  Poema  "  were  oriirinally  iaaued  in  a  aeparate  rulume,  with 
the  wianing  Preface:  — ] 

The  fttUowing  triflea.  having  en Jofcd,  in  their  drcnlation  throngh 
the  new^Nipera,  alt  the  celebritjr  and  length  of«lift  to  which  they 
were  entitled,  would  have  been  aufTrred  to  paaa  quietly  into  oblivion 
without  pretending  to  any  ftirther  distinction,  had  they  not  already 
been  publithed,  in  a  collective  form,  both  In  London  and  Paria. 
and,  in  each  caae.  been  mixed  up  with  a  nnmber  of  other  prwloe- 
tiona,  to  which,  whatever  may  be  their  merit,  the  author  of  the 
following  pagea  haa  no  claim.  A  natural  dcaire  to  aeparate  hia 
own  property,  worthlcaa  as  It  la.  ftora  that  of  othera,  ia,  he  bcci  to 
•ay,  the  chief  motive  of  the  paUioation  of  tUi  iNrtmue. 

u  u 


MOORE'S  WORKS, 


Bhoa'st  rend,  or  livatd  rc[ieiLted, 
■     nGullivtrwaatrffllcd. 

unong  the  Lilliputians. 

iwn  —  these  litllc  men  did  — 

g  valiantly  ascended 

le  Slighljr  Man's  protuberaace, 
lit!  —  upon  my  eoul, 
en  citremely  droll 
pigmy  pride's  cxuberaneot 

onghty  mannikins 

Ivec  with  tticking  pins, 

tedlps  in  the  tcreat  man's  brcecbca: 

try  lililc  tilings, 

d  for  Ijords,  on  scaffoidings 

I,  and  worried  him  with  spcechoa. 

that  it  should  hapjien 

mtn  to  bo  caught  uajiping!  — 

difli-rent.  t^io,  these  persecutions ; 

er.  Ihire,  took  the  nap. 

the  JViip,  oh  sad  roishap, 

by  the  Lilliputians  I 


in  in  reason—  a  small  chit 

ivcrcnd  Mahhiu  himself  it 
>i  some  folks  is  moderate  i 
I,  my  dear  corporate  Bau 


The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyris"  Te 
When — high   as   *e    onco  o*ed 

Those  soft  bilUt-Joux  we're  now  put 
Will  sfr>-e  but  to  keep  Mrs.  Co 

And  when —  if  we  ttiU  must  eontinu 
(Afler  all  that  has  pass'd)— our 


UkctI 


which  MisB 


mae  mnnag  i 


Muiil  all  be  transacted  in  bulliau. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


579 


**  One  cannot  look  askance, 
•*  But,  whip!  youYe  off  to  France, 
**  Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  at  home,  Sir. 

**  Yonr  scampering  began 

**  From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
"  Poor  man,  made  us  oji«  in  Love's  fetter; 

••  •  For  better  or  for  worse ' 

**  Is  the  nsnal  marriage  curse, 
"Bat  onrs  is  all '  worse '  and  no  *  better.' 

"  In  vain  are  laws  pass*d, 

**  There's  nothing  holds  you  fast, 

••  Tho'you  know,  sweet  Sovereign,  I  adore  you — 
'*  At  the  smallest  hint  in  life, 
**  You  forsake  your  lawful  wife, 

"  As  other  Sovereigns  did  before  you. 

•*I  flirt  with  Silver,  true — 

**  But  what  can  ladies  do, 
•*  When  disown'd  by  their  natural  protectors? 

**  And  as  to  falsehood,  stuff ! 

**  I  shall  soon  hefaUe  enough, 
''When  I  get  among  those  wicked  Bank  Di- 
rectors." 

The  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her. 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honour. 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal; 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two, 

Why — I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  he's  now  at  No.  10,  Palais  RoyaL 


AN  EXPOSTULATION  TO  LORD  KING. 

**<)BaBdjMftDcm«Bcxiiuigne,laborain?**         YiKau. 

1826* 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheapening  their 
com,* 

When  you  know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  high  rental, 
Tis  hardly  worth  while  being  very  high  bom? 

Why  bore  them  so  radely,  each  night  of  your  life, 
Chi  a  question,  my  Lord,  there's  so  much  to 
abhor  in? 
A  question — like  asking  one,  ''How  is  your 
wife?"  — 
At  once  so  confounded  domestic  and  foreign. 

'  Iw  the  prooecdinci  of  the  Lorda,  Wednesday,  March  1, 1826, 

^^  Lord  King  wm  tertrtXy  reproTed  bjr  tereral  of  the  noble 

tar  making  eo  many  •pecchca  against  the  Com  Lawf. 

di  noble  Earl  lald,  **that  when  he  heard  the  petition  came 

tartfcif*  boot  and  ebocmaken,  he  thought  It  must  be  againat 

■ffOB '  vhleb  tbey  inflicted  on  the  ftdr  MX.** 


'i^ 


As  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast; 

But  Peers,  and  such  animals,  fed  up  for  show, 
(Like  the  well-physick'd  elephant,  lately  deceas'd,) 

Take  a  wonderful  quantum  oi  cramming,  you 
know. 

You  might  see,  my  dear  Baron,  how  bor'd  and 
distrest 
Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  your  merciless 
tale, 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  wrung  even  a  jest 
Prom    the    frugal    Scotch    wit    of  my  Lord 
L-d-d-le!* 

Bright  peer!  to  whom  Nature  and  Berwickshire 
gave 
A  humour,  endowed  with  effects  so  provoking. 
That,  when  the  whole  House  looks  unusually  grave. 
You  may  always  conclude  that  Lord  L-d-^-le*s 
joking  I 

And  then,  those  unfortunate  weavers  of  Perth — 
Not  to  know  the  vast  difference  Providence 
dooms 
Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high  birth, 
'Twixt  those  who  have  Aeir-looms,  and  those 
who've  but  looms! 

**To  talk  now  of  starving!"— as  great  Ath— 1 
said* — 
(And  the  nobles  all  cheer'd,  and  the  bishops  all 
wonder*d,) 
**  When,  some  years  ago,  he  and  others  had  fed 
"Of  the  same    hungry  de^dls    about    fifteen 
hundred!" 

It  follows  from  hence — and  the  Duke's  very  words 
Should  be  published  wherever  poor  rogues  of 
this  craft  are  — 

That  weavers  once  rescued  from  starving  by  Lords, 
Are  bound  to  be  starved  by  said  Lords  ever  after. 

When  Rome  was  uproarious,  her  knowing  patri- 
cians 
Made  **  Bread  and  the  C!ircus  **  a  cure  for  each 
row; 
But  not  so  the  plan  of  our  noble  physicians, 
**  No  Bread  and  the  Trcad-mill*s  '*  the  regimen 
now. 

So  cease,  my  dear  Baron  of  Ockham,  your  prose. 
As  I  shall  my  poetry — neither  convinces; 

And  all  we  have  spoken  and  written  but  shows. 
When  you  tread  on  a  nobleman's  com*,  how  ho 
winces. 


>  The  Duke  of  Athol  aaid,  that  **at  a  ftmner  period,  when 
theae  weaver*  were  in  great  distrcM,  the  landed  iotercat  of 
Perth  had  supported  1600  of  them.  It  was  a  poor  return  for 
thete  Tery  men  now  to  petition  againit  tlie  penoiui  who  had  fed 
them." 

*  An  improremcat,  we  flatter  ovrselTei,  <m  Lud  L.'a  Joke. 


MOORE'S  WOHKS. 


■KING  FUKD  CRIED. 


ir  tell,  tako  jour  belt 
a,  and  wit 
p  the  Reiua,  till  tbeir  ean  a 

rou^h  a  hole  in 
r,  is  lliu  biuk.iu{;  Fund! 


I,  acrnwl'd  with  a,  goose-qnill, 


It  bus  PiCt*!  luuiie  on'c 

All  brass  in  the  trout. 

And  R — b— n» — n't,  icnwl'd  with  a  goox 


ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERE! 


DetB  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom  the  anciei 
know, 
(Among  ocLer  odd  whicds  of  tlioee  ramit 


Godde<s. 

Behold,  ID  his  best  sbooling-jackei,  befon  tl 

An  eloquent 'Squirp,  who  most  ImmUrbeii 

Great  Queen  of  Mart-Line  (if  Ibe  thing  i 

Thou'lt  read  o'er  tlie  last  of  his  — wr 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


581 


In  short,  mj  dear  Goddess,  Old  England's  divided 

Between  ultra  blockheads  and  superfine  sages  ;— 

With  which  of  these  classes  we,  landlords,  have 

sided 

Thoalt  find  in  my  Speech,  if  thoalt  read  a  few 

pages. 

For  therein  Tve  proVd,  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
And   that  of  all  'Squires  I've  the  honour  of 
meeting. 
That  'tis  the  most  senseless  and  foul-mouth'd  de- 
traction 
To  say  that  poor  people  are  fond  of  cheap  eating. 

On  the  contrary,  such  the  ** chaste  notions"*  of 
food 
That  dwell  in  each  pale  manufacturer's  heart. 
They  would  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good. 
That  would  make  thee,  dear  Goddess,  less  dear 
than  thou  art ! 

And,  oh!  for  Monopoly  what  a  blest  day, 

When  the  Land  and  the  Silk"  shall,  in  fond 
combination, 
(Like  Sulky  and  Silkyy  that  pair  in  the  play,*) 
Oy  out,  with  one  voice,  for  High  Bents  and 
Starvation  I 

Long  life  to  the  Minister! — no  matter  who. 
Or  bow  dull  he  may  be,  i^  with  dignified  spirit, 
he 
Keeps  the  ports  shut  —  and  the  people's  mouths, 
too, — 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  run  of  Freddy's  pros- 
perity. 

And,  as  for  myself,  who've,  like  Hannibal,  sworn 
To  hate  the  whole  crew  who  would  take  our 
rents  from  us, 
Had  England  but  One  to  stand  by  thee,  Dear  Com, 
That   last,  honest    Uni-Com^  would   be  Sir 
Th— m— s! 


A  HYMN  OF  WELCOME  AFTER  THE 

RECESS. 

*  AbIbum  MpleBtlorw  fieri  QnteneBdo.** 

Avj>  now— cross-buns  and  pancakes  o'er — 
HaiU  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  once  more! 
Thrice  hail  and  welcome.  Houses  Twain! 

I  ▲  phrue  in  one  of  Sir  T—m— «'■  lait  ipeediet. 

S  Greak  cflbrte  were,  at  that  time,  maUnc  for  the  exdnikm  of 


SBoadtoBoin. 

«  Tliia  ia  meant  not  m  mneh  for  a  imB,  as  In  allnalon  to  the 
^■tvral  hiatorj  of  the  Unicom,  which  is  •uppowd  to  be  ■omethins 
^atwcen  tbe  Boa  and  the  Ailnus,  and.  ac  Beei'i  Cjclopaadia  aMurce 
1Mb  tea  a  paitieolar  llkinK  for  ererything  **  chactc." 

*  An  itamcf  expcnae  which  Mr.  Hume  la  vain  cndeaTonred  to 


The  short  eclipse  of  April-Day 
Having  (God  grant  it!)  pass'd  away. 
Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again! 

Come,  Ayes  and  Noes,  through  thick  and  thin,  — 
With  Paddy  H — Imes  for  whipper-in,  — 

Whate'er  the  job,  prepared  to  back  it  j 
Come,  voters  of  Supplies — bestowers 
Of  jackets  upon  trumpet-blowers. 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket!* 

Come — free,  at  length,  from  Joint-Stock  cares  — 
Ye  Senators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  dreams  of  premium  knew  no  boundary ; 
So  fond  of  aught  like  Company^ 
That  you  would  even  have  taken  tea 

(Had  you  been  ask'dj  with  Mr.  Goundry.* 

Come,  matchless  country-gentlemen; 
Come,  wise  Sir  Thomas — wisest  then. 

When  creeds  and  corn-laws  are  debated  > 
Come,  rival  even  the  Harlot  Red, 
And  show  how  wholly  iuto  bread 

A  'Squire  is  transubstantiated. 

Come,  L — derd — e,  and  tell  the  world. 
That  —  surely  as  thy  scratch  is  curl'd. 

As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before — 
Cheap  eating  does  more  harm  than  good. 
And  working-people,  spoil'd  by  foo£ 

The  less  they  eat  will  work  the  more. 

Come,  G — lb — m,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou'dst  have  made  for  Peter's  Pence) 

Of  Church-Rates,  worthy  of  a  halter 
Two  pipes  of  port  (old  port,  'twas  said 
By  honest  Neirport  *)  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar!  * 

Come,  H — rt— n,  with  thy  plan  so  merry. 
For  peopling  Canada  from  Kerry — 

Not  so  much  rendering  Ireland  quiet. 
As  grafting  on  the  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  earth's  contagions. 

The  buU-jKxk  of  Hibernian  riot! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wondrous  men 
Of  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again; 

Though  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it— 
Oh,  come  and  show,  whatever  men  say. 
That  you  can,  after  April-Day, 

Be  just  as — sapient  as  be/ore  it 

set  rid  of : — tmmpctere,  it  anwars,  like  the  men  of  All-Sonlf ,  mnit 
he**be>uvettitL" 

•  The  gvntleman.  lately  before  the  pnblie,  who  kept  hie  J'oM- 
Stock  Tea  Company  all  to  himself,  dnging  **  Te  lolo  adoro.** 

'  Sir  John  Newport. 

t  This  charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  the  Mcramental  wine  ia  a 
prccloui  ipecimen  of  the  sort  of  rate*  leried  upon  their  Catholic 
ftllow-pariihionen  by  the  Irish  Protestants. 

"*  The  thint  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 
Doth  ask  a  drink  dirine.'* 

u  u  3 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


PILIA  OF  LA&T  WEEK. 
HABCH  13.  isae. 
B  chsniiing  mid  witty  —  no 
loughs,  tlic  good  things  thai 
t  find,  though  the  Speech   isn't 
It  Buditora  inert,  every  minnti. 


h  of  1 


1  we're  to  have 
ivny    into    high 


ALL  m  THE  FAMILY  WAT. 


Mr  banki  arc  *11  fumish'd  with  ra^s. 

So  thick,  even  Freddy  can'i  Uiia  "emj 
I've  lorn  np  my  old  money  ba|n. 

Having  little  or  non^hl  lo  pal  in  'cm. 
tlv  tr&detmen  are  miiuhiiig  by  iouoi. 

'fiat  this  is  all  nothing,  they  uri 
For  bankrupts,  since  Adam,  are  coiuiiu. 

So,  it's  aU  iu  the  family  way. 
SIj-  Dehl  not  a  penny  takes  from  me. 

As  sages  the  matter  explain;  — 
Bob  .>^c!.  ii  TO  Tom.  niirt  then  T^nraiy 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


583 


Bat  cooUjT  to  fiut  mfanmUe^ 
Is  as  good  for  the  soul  as  to  pray; 

And  famine  itself  is  genteel. 
When  one  starves  in  a  family  way. 

I  have  fband  ont  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  for  next  Budget  day; 
Though,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already, 

As  Ae,  too,  's  a  sage  in  his  way. 
When  next  for  the  Treasury  sctoe  he 

Announces  **the  Devil  to  pay," 
Let  him  write  on  the  bills,  ^  Nota  bene, 

••  rris  all  in  the  fiunily  way." 


BALLAD  FOR  THE  CAMBRIDGE 
ELECTION. 

*I  aaUwriMd  1117  Oonmittae  to  take  th«  itcp  which  ther  did,  of 
jwiyodug  •  fair  eompaxlMm  of  ■trenffth.npoo  th«  vndeiffUnding 
that  wUfiftever  q^Mt  li0o«ftoHli|in>M  10  (e  eA«  ipcdbert,  thoiild  glTB 
Vkytotho  OQuK," —Jbetract  /hm  Mr.  W.J,  iUJbw*«  Utttr  to 
Mr.  g   B    m. 

B— KE8  is  weak,  and  G — ^Ib— n  too, 

No  one  e*er  the  fact  denied; — 
Which  ia  **  weakest "  of  the  two, 

Cambridge  can  alone  decide. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

G — lb  —  n  of  the  Pope  afraid  is, 

B — ^kes,  as  much. afraid  as  he; 
Never  yet  did  two  old  ladies 

On  this  point  so  well  agree. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  mode  pursues. 
Each  the  same  conclusion  reaches; 

B — kes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 
G — ^Ib — n,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  foe  doth  damn. 
When  his  o^-n  affairs  have  gone  ill; 

B — kes  he  damneth  Buckingham, 
G — lb— n  damneth  Dan  0*ConnelL 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neigh 

Fix'd  t])e*  election  to  a  throne, 
80,  which  ever  first  shall  bray. 

Choose  him,  Cambridge,  for  thy  own. 
Choose  him,  choose  him  by  his  bray, 
Thns  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 


MR  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  TIMES. 

8iK,>i-.  Hsvinc  Jtvt  heard  of  th«  wonderftil  rMnmctkm  of  Mr. 
Roger  Dodsvorthfttmiasder  an  cnalondke,  where  he  had  remained, 
bien/rappi,  Ot  leemi,  fbr  the  laat  166  yeare,  I  hasten  to  imiMUt  to 
jon  a  ftiw  xefleciloat  on  the  iah)eet.~Toiiri,  ac 

ItAVDATOB  Tm  poan  Acn. 

What  a  lucky  turn  up! — just  as  Eld — ^n's  with- 
drawing. 
To  find  thus  a  gentleman,  froz'n  in  the  year 
Sixteen  hundred  and  sixty,  who  only  wants  thaw- 
ing. 
To  serve  for  ow  times  quite  as  well  as  the 
Peer; — 

To  bring  thus  to  light,  not  the  Wisdom  alone 
Of  our  Ancestors,  such  as  'tis  found  on  our 
shelves. 
But,  in  perfect  condition,  fnll-wigg*d  and  full- 
grown. 
To  £ovel  up  one  of  those  wise  bucks  them- 
selves! 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth,  and  send  him  safe  home- 
Let  him  learn  nothing  usefiil  or  new  on  the  way; 
With  his  wisdom  kept  snug  fh>m  the  light  let  bun 
come. 
And  our  Tories  will  hail  him  with  "  Hear! "  and 
"Hurra!" 

What  a  God-send  to  them! — a  good,  obsolete  man. 
Who  has  never  of  Locke  or  Voltaire  been  a 
reader;  — 
Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth  as  fast  as  you  can 
And  the   L — nsd — les  and  H — rtf— rds  shall 
choose  him  for  leader.  ' 

Yes,  sleeper  of  ages,  thou  shcdi  be  their  chosen; 

And  deeply  with  thee  will  they  sorrow,  good 
men. 
To  think  that  all  Europe  has,  since  thou  wert  frozen 

So  alter*d,  thon  hardly  wilt  know  it  again. 

And  Eld— n  will  weep  o'er  each  sad  innovation 
Such  oceans  of  tears,  thou  wilt  fancy  that  he 

Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  long  congelation. 
And  is  only  now  thawing,  dear  Roger,  like  thee. 


vv  4 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


686 


A  City,  where  wine  and  cheap  com '  shall  abound — 

A  celestial  Cocaigme,  on  whose  butterj  shelves 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  world  will 
be  fonnd. 
As  your  Saints  seldom  fail  to  take  care  of  them- 
selTesI 

Thanks,  rererend  expounder  of  raptures  Elysian,* 
Divine  Squintifobus,  who,  pUic'd  within  reach 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vision. 
Can  cast,  at  the  same  time,  a  sly  look  at  each; — 

Thanks,  thanks  for  the  hope  thou  affordcst,  that 

we 

May,  ey*n  in  our  own  times,  a  Jubilee  share. 

Which  so  long  has  been  promised  by  prophets  hko 

thee. 

And  so  often  po6tpon*d,  we  began  to  despair. 

There  was  Whiston',  who  learnedly  took  Prince 
Eugene 
For  the  man  who  must  bring  the  Millennium 
about; 
There's  Faber,  whose  pious  predictions  have  been 
All  belied,  ere  his  book's  first  edition  was  out ; — 

There  was  CoonscUor  Dobbs,  too,  an  Irish  M.P., 
Who  discoursed  on  the  subject  with  signal  ^lat. 

And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  to  see 
A  Millennium  break  out  in  the  town  of  Ar- 
magh!^ 

There  was  also  —  but  why  should  I  burden  my  lay 

With  your  Brothcrses,  Southcotes,  and  names 

less  deserving. 

When  all  past  Miltenniums  henceforth  must  give 

way 

To  the  last  new  Millennium  of  Orator  Irv — ng. 

Goon,  mighty  man, — doom  them  all  to  the  shelf, — 
And  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  troublcst 
thy  sconce. 
Oh  forget  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
Art  the  Beast  (Chapter  iv.)  that  sees  nine  ways 
at  once. 


THE  THREE  DOCTORS. 


Doctoribw  UiUmiir  trlbw. 


im. 


I 
s 


of  wbMt  fbr  a  penny,  and  three  mcftflnrM  of  barley 

tha  oration  of  thli  rererend  gentleman,  where  he  de*cribn 
eainnblal  Jojn  of  Paradlae,  and  paint*  the  aagelM  hovcrins 
'*«aeh  happy  Ikir." 

WhIaCon  prctented  to  Prince  Enitene  the  Eaaay  Id  which 
ipfeed  to  connect  hit  Tictoriei  orer  the  Tnrki  with  Kerela. 
tlM  Prince  ia  laid  to  hare  replied,  that  **  he  wac  not  aware 
ever  had  tlie  hooonr  of  being  known  to  St.  John." 
Vr.  Dobba  waa  a  member  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  and,  on  all 
•■IvcetabDt  the  MiUennlnm,  a  very  Kniible  perwm:  he  choee 
of  hi*  Millennium,  on  aoooont  of  the  name 
tloned  in  Beralation. ' 


Though  many  great  Doctors  there  be. 
There  are  three  that  all  Doctors  out-top. 

Doctor  Eady,  that  famous  M.D., 
Doctor  S--th — ^y,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop.* 

The  purger — the  proser — the  bard — 

All  quacks  in  a  different  style; 
Doctor  S — th— y  writes  books  by  the  yard. 

Doctor  Eady  writes  puffs  by  the  mile!* 

Doctor  Slop,  in  no  merit  outdone 

By  his  scribbling  or  physicking  brother. 

Can  dose  us  with  stuff  like  the  one. 
Ay,  and  doze  us  with  stuff  like  the  other. 

Doctor  Eady  good  company  keeps 

With  **  No  Popery  "  scribes  on  the  walls; 

Doctor  S — th — y  as  gloriously  sleeps 
With  **  No  Popery  "  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

Doctor  Slop,  upon  subjects  divine. 

Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop. 
That,  if  Eady  should  take  the  mad  line. 

He'll  be  sure  of  a  patient  in  Slop. 

Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less. 
Doctor  S — th — y  attacks,  like  a  Turk  ;* 

Doctor  Eady,  less  bold,  I  confess, 
Attacks  but  his  maid-of-all-work.* 

Doctor  S— th — y,  for  hu  grand  attack. 
Both  a  laureate  and  pensioner  is; 

While  poor  Doctor  Eady,  alack. 

Has  been  had  up  to  Bow-street,  for  his! 

And  truly,  the  law  does  so  blunder. 

That,  though  little  blood  has  been  spilt,  ho 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 

The  Chalking  Act,  Anotra  to  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  whose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop) 
Of  the  three  greatest  lights  of  our  time. 

Doctor  Eady,  and  S— th — y,  and  Slop! 

•  The  editor  of  the  Morning  Herald,  ao  nick  -named. 

•  Alluding  to  the  diiplay  of  thi*  doctor'*  name,  in  chalk,  on  all 
the  wall*  round  the  metropolis. 

t  Thi*  tenphlc  doctor,  in  the  prefkoe  to  hi*  last  work  ( VmdMcB 
Ecelence  A  np/tboiMv),  i*  pleased  to  anathenatiM  not  only  all  Catho- 
lict,  but  all  adTocate*  of  Catholic*:  —  "  They  hare  for  their  imme- 
diate allies  (he  says)  every  faction  that  i*  banded  agaiust  theHtate. 
every  demagogue,  every  irreJigionf  and  seditions  Joumalift.  every 
open  and  every  insidiou*  enemy  to  Monarchy  and  to  Christianity." 

•  See  the  late  aoeonnU  in  the  newspapers  of  the  appearance  of 
tl&i*  gentleman  at  one  of  the  Polloe-oflicca,  ia  eonaaqucnot  of  an 
alleged  aseault  on  hi*  "  maid-of-aU-work.** 


^M 

^^^^^^^1 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

me,  to  which  of  the  three 
tliE  prefrrencB  should  fiUl, 
oaiK,  1  sgrcD 

1-  v,-i.h  laurels  is  crowu'd, 
h  »  wis  arid  B  tail  k, 
hi  temples  be  bound 
liiug  "  Corona  Afiua/ii .'" ' 

ON  A  TUFT-HUNTEH. 

N  Sir  Isaac  Heard, 
round  thy  pogt,  Debretl, 
e.  who  n«Vr  prefon'd 
D  e.  Marquis  jet. 

e  the  God  of  Wit, 
eaulj's  rouest  girls, 

Vn«sX^)or  an  Earl's. 

c  no  peers  nffurd. 

When  on  Ihj'  shapu  (like  pjiamid, 

I  raplur'd  saxe,  wliat  dreams,  nntad. 
Of  stalk  and  mitrei  bless  my  riewl 

That  hrim  of  brima,  so  sicckl]-  good  — 
Nul  flnpiiU  like  dull  WesWyani',  dom 

Devoutly  upward— towards  the  cnwiii 

Gods!  when  T  gan:  upon  That  brin. 

So  rcdoloni  of  Church  all  over. 
What  swaro«  of  Tithes,  in  rision  dim.- 
Some  pis-taii'd,  some  Uke  cbcmhim. 

With  ducklings'  wiags  — around  il  be 
Tenths  of  all  dead  and  living  things 
That  Nature  into  being  brings, 
From  calves  and  cum  to  cliitterlinga. 

Say.  holy  Hat,  thai  hast,  of  cocki. 
The  very  cock  most  orthodox. 
To  lehich,  of  aU  the  well-fed  Ihtong 
Of  ZioD*  joy'M  Ihon  to  belong? 
Thou'n  not  Sir  Hareourt  Lee'a—no  — 

For  hats  grow  like  the  heads  that  «ea 
And  hats,  on  heads  like  hi^  would  grow 

Paniculorly  /iunnii-«;u/-i.Bi. 
Who  knows  but  thou  mnv'st  deck  the  pi 
Of  that  fam'd  Doctor  Ad'-nitli-tt, 
(Tti(?  TTvcrcnd  ral,  ivhnm  wc  saw  5tand 

1 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


587 


NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 

1816. 

AB  CoK,a8 1  know  neither  you  nor  Miss  Dniper, 
len  Parliament's  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper, 
t  trust  for  jour  news  to  such  stray  odds  and  ends 
you  chance  to  pick  up  from  political  friends  — 
ing  one  of  this  well-inform*d  class,  I  sit  down 
transmit  you  the  last  newest  news  that's  in  town. 

to  Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  things  couldn't 

k>gk  better  — 
lis  Lordship  (who  promises  now  to  fight  faster) 
B  just  taken  Bhodes,  and  despatched  off  a  letter 
To  Daniel  O'Conncll,  to  make  him  Grand  Master ; 
gaging  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can, 
>m  the  Knights  of  St  John  to  the  Knights  of 

St.  Dan; — 
,  if  Dan  should  prefer  (as  a  still  better  whim) 
ing  made  the  O>los8us,  'tis  all  one  to  him. 

nn  Bussia  the  last  accounts  are  that  the  Czar — 
i8t  generous  and  kind,  as  all  sovereigns  are, 
Ld  who6e  first  princely  act  (as  you  know,  I  sup- 
pose) 
is  to  give  away  all  his  late  brother's  old  clothes* — 
now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care, 
rfae  late  Emperor's  nightcaps,  and  thinks  of 

bestowing 
e  nightcap  apiece  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 
Dn  ail  the  distinguish'd  old  ladies  now  going, 
rhile  I  write,  an  arrival  from  Riga— the  "Bro- 
thers"— 
mng  nightcaps  on  board  for  Lord  Eld — n  and 
others.) 

|st  advices  from  India — Sir  Archy,  *ti8  thought, 
as  near  catching  a  Tartar  (the  first  ever  caught 
K.  Lat.  21.) — and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
ai]g  very  hard  press'd  to  shell  out  the  rupees, 
Id  not  having  rhino  sufficient,  they  say,  meant, 
'  pawn  his  august  Crolden  Foot'  for  the  payment, 
ow  lucky  for  monarchs,  that  thus,  when  they 

choose, 
1  establish  a  running  account  with  the  Jews!) 
i  security  being  what  Rothschild  calls  **  goot," 
oan  will  be  shortly,  of  course,  set  on  foot ; 
i  parties  are  Rothschild,  A.  Baring  and  Co. 
lb  three  other  great  pawnbrokers  :  each  takes  a 

toe, 
1  engages  (lest  Gold-foot  should  give  us2r^-bail, 
he  did  once  before)  to  pay  down  on  the  naiL 

s  is  an  for  the  present — ^what  vile  pens  and  paper ! 
ITS  tmly,  dear  Cousin — ^best  love  to  Miss  Draper. 


I  of  th«  Emperor  Al«zBiidar*t  mOiUqr 


Utoferldii 


A  VISION. 

BT  THS  ▲UTHOR  OF  CHB18TABEL. 

•*  Up!  "  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ere  I  could  pray 
One  hasty  orison,  whirl'd  me  away 
To  a  Limbo,  lying  — I  wist  not  where — 
Above  or  below,  in  earth  or  air; 
For  it  glimmer'd  o'er  with  a  doubtful  light, 
One  couldn't  say  whether  'twas  day  or  night; 
And  'twas  crost  by  many  a  mazy  track, 
One  didn't  know  how  to  get  on  or  back; 
And  I  felt  like  a  needle  that's  going  astray 
(With  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay; 
When  the  Spint  he  grinn'd,  and  whisper'd  me, 
"  Thou'rt  now  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  I " 

Around  me  flitted  unnumber'd  swarms 
Of  shapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms; 
(Like  bottled-up  babes,  that  grace  the  room 
Of  that  worthy  knight.  Sir  Everard  Home)  — 
All  of  them,  things  half  kill'd  in  rearing; 
Some  were  lame  —  some  wanted  hearing; 
Some  had  through  half  a  century  run. 
Though  they  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning. 
Around  on  a,  point  of  law  were  spinning; 
Or  balanc'd  aloft,  'twixt  Bill  and  Anjiwer, 
Lead  at  each  end,  like  a  tight-rope  dancer. 
Some  were  so  cross,  that  notliing  could  please  'em  ;— 
Some  gulp'd  down  affidavits  to  ease  'em; — 
All  were  in  motion,  yet  never  a  one. 
Let  it  move  as  it  might,  could  ever  move  on. 
**  These,"  said  the  Spirit,  "  you  plainly  see, 
«* Are  what  they  call  suits  in  Chancery! " 

I  heard  a  loud  screaming  of  old  and  young, 

like  a  chorus  by  fifty  Vellutis  sung; 

Or  an  Irish  Dump  (**  the  words  by  Moore  ") 

At  an  amateur  concert  scream'd  in  score; 

So  harsh  on  my  ear  that  wailing  fell 

Of  the  wretches  who  in  this  Limbo  dwell! 

It  seem'd  like  the  dismal  symphony 

Of  the  shapes  ^neas  in  hell  did  see; 

Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarous  cook 

Cut  off,  and  left  the  frogs  in  the  brook. 

To  cry  all  night,  till  life's  last  dregs, 

**Give  us  our  legs!— give  us  our  legs!  " 

Touch'd  with  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 

I  ask'd  what  all  this  yell  might  mean. 

When  the  Spirit  replied,  with  a  grin  of  glee, 

"  'Tis  the  cry  of  the  Suitors  in  Chancery! " 

I  look'd,  and  I  saw  a  wizard  rise,* 

With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  before  men's  eyes. 

t  Thto  potentate  itylei  hiniaelf  the  MoBweh  of  the  Oolden  Foot, 
t  TlneLofdChenrellgrEld   n. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


689 


That,  as  to  the  expense — the  few  millions,  or  so, 

Which  for  all  such  diTersions  John  Boll  has  to 

pay  — 

Tis,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  to 

know. 

That  to  Orangemen's  pockets  'twill  all  find  its 

way. 
For  which  your  petitioners  ever  will  pray, 

&C.  &c  &c.  &c.  &c. 


COTTON  AND  CORN. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

Said  Cotton  to  Com,  t'other  day, 

As  they  met  and  exchang'd  a  salnte  — 

(Squire  Com  in  his  carriage  so  gay. 
Poor  Cotton,  half-famish'd,  on  foot) : 

**  Great  Squire,  if  it  isn't  uncivil 
**  To  hint  at  starvation  before  you, 

**  Ixx>k  down  on  a  poor  hungry  devil, 

"  And  give  him  some  breful,  I  implore  you! '* 

Qnoth  Com  then,  in  answer  to  Cotton, 
Perceiving  he  meant  to  make  free  — 

•*  Low  fellow,  you've  surely  forgotten 
**  The  distance  between  you  and  me! 

••  To  expect  that  we.  Peers  of  high  birth, 
**  Should  waste  our  illustrious  acres, 

**  For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 

«  Than  to  fatten  curst  calico-makers!  — 

**That  Bishops  to  bobbins  should  bend  — 
**  Should  stoop  from  their  Bench's  sublimity, 

**  Great  dealers  in  /aim,  to  l)cfriend 
'*  Such  contemptible  dealers  in  dimity! 

*•  No  —  vile  Manufacture  I  ne*cr  harbour 
*•  A  hope  to  be  fed  at  our  boards ;  — 

"  Base  offspring  of  Arkwright  the  barber, 
"What  claim  canst  tkou  have  upon  Lords? 

**  No  «- thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 
"  And  the  triumph  of  paper  o'er  guineas, 

**  Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 
**  May  defy  your  whole  rabble  of  Jennyi  I 


»> 


So  saying — whip,  crack,  and  away 

Went  Com  in  his  chaise  through  the  throng, 

So  headlong,  I  heard  them  all  say, 

**  Squire  Com  would  be  doum,  before  long." 

I  A  gf—t  pni  of  the  IneonM  of  Jouni*  SoatheoCt  aron  fhmi  the 
of  die  Lofd't  protection  which  the  lold  to  her  Ibllowen. 

t  Mn.  Ana»  Lee,  the  "ehoMn  tcmI  '*  of  tht  ShidMn,  and 
■  e#>a  thefhnrtTjn  of  inCTeretlon.** 


THE  CANONIZATION  OF  SAINT 
B— TT— RW— RTH. 


•*  A  ChriiCiAn  of  the  bert  editfoo. 


Canonize  him!  — yea,  verily,  well  canonize  him; 

Though  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  meddling  his 

bliss, 

Though  sages  may  pity,  and  wits  may  despise  him. 

He'll  ne*er  make  a  bit  the  worse  Saint  for  all 

this. 

Descend,  all  ye  Spirits,  that  ever  yet  spread 
The  dominion  of  humbug  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea, 

Descend  on  our  B — tt — rw — rth's  biblical  head, 
Thrice-Great,  Bibliopolist,  Saint,  and  M.P. 

Come,  shade  of  Joanna,  come  down  fi*om  thy 
sphere, 
And  bring  little  Shiloh — if  'tisn't  too  far  — 
Such  a  sight  will  to  B — tt — rw — rth's  bosom  be 
dear, 
Hig  conceptions  and  thine  being  much  on  a  par. 

Nor  blush,  Saint  Joanna,  once  more  to  behold 
A  world   thou  hast  honour'd  by  cheating  so 
many; 
Thoult  find  still  among  us  one  Personage  old. 
Who  also  by  tricks  and  the  Setili^  makes  a 
penny. 

Thou,  too,  of  the  Shakers,  divine  Mother  Lee  !• 
Thy  smiles  to  beatified  B — tt — rw — rth  deign ; 
Two   ** lights  of  the  Gentiles"  are  thou,  Anne, 
and  he. 
One  hallowing  Fleet  Street,  and  t'other  Toad 
Lane!* 

The  Heathen,  we  know,  made  their  Gods  out  of 
wood. 
And  Saints  may  be  fram'd  of  as  handy  ma- 
terials;— 
Old  women  and  B — tt — rw — rths  make  just  as 
good 
As  any  the  Pope  ever  book*d  as  Ethercals. 

Stand  forth,  Man  of  Bibles!  —  not  Mahomet's 
pigeon. 
When,  pcrch'd  on  the  Koran,  he  dropp'd  there, 
they  say. 
Strong  marks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 
Such  glory  as  B — tt — rw — rth  sheds  every  day. 

*  Toed  Leoe,!n  Menehttter,  where  Mother  Lee  wu  bom.  Ih 
her  "  AddreM  to  Yonisff  BelicTera,"  she  mt*.  that  **  it  ii  a  matter 
of  no  importanoe  with  them  from  whence  the  meant  of  their  de- 
liverance come,  whether  from  a  atable  in  Bethlehem,  or  fhm  Toad 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


691 


.  DREAM  OF  TURTLE. 


BT  SIB  W.   CUBTI8. 


18M. 


iidng  time,  in  the  twilight  sweet 
3Dg,  when — whom  should  I  meet 
tie  journeying  o*er  the  sea, 
serrice  of  his  Majesty."  * 

ing  him  first  through  twilight  dim,, 
now  what  to  make  of  him; 
:o  myself,  as  slow  he  plied 
ind  roll*d  from  side  to  side 
ly  o'er  the  watery  path — 
Lord  of  St— w— 11  taking  a  hath, 
ear  him  now,  among  the  fishes, 
Yatel  and  BurgersdiciusI " 

•'twas,  indeed,  a  Turtle,  wide 
ip  as  ever  these  eyes  descried; 
jui<nr  as  ever  yet 
the  lips  of  a  Biaronetl 
1  did  it  grieve  my  soul  to  see 
nimal  of  such  dignity, 
bsentee  abroad  should  roam, 
ought  to  stay  and  be  ate  at  home. 

-*  a  change  came  o'er  my  dream,*' 
e  magic  lantern's  shifting  slider; — 
ind  saw,  by  the  evening  beam, 
back  of  that  Turtle  sat  a  rider^ 
man,  with  an  eye  so  merry, 
ras  our  Foreign  Secretary,* 
e,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile, 
erton  on  his  crocodile;  • 
such  jokes,  at  every  motion, 
.e  the  Turtle  squeak  with  glee, 
they  gave  him  a  lively  notion 
t  hiB  forc'd-meat  balls  would  be. 

;  Sec.  in  his  glory  went, 

briny  clement, 

is  hand,  as  he  took  farewell, 

'^ful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

friends  that  the  Turtle  and  ho 

e  on  a  foreign  embassy— 

the  heart  of  a  Diphmate, 

lown  to  doat  upon  verdant  £Eit, 

t  admiring  Europe  see, 

task  and  calipee 

nglish  forms  of  Diplomacy. 

that  the  p«Mport  of  ihla  gnad'  diplomatic  Turtle 
etary  for  Foreign  Aflkln  to  a  oertain  noble  envuy) 
'*on  hie  majecty't  Mrrioe.'* 

dapibiu  nifiremi 

Grata  tcetndo  Jorie. 

• 

n  South  Ameriea,   **  It  was  the  flitt  and  laet  time 

ton)  I  was  erer  on  a  cnKodile's  back." 

n  early  poem  of  Mr.  Coleridce's*  addreised  to  an 


THE  DONKEY  AND  HIS  PANNIERS. 


▲   FABLE. 


'  finsoe  Jam  sodat  aselhie. 


**  Faroe  llli  i  Tcstmm  deUdiim  estadnu.** 

Yiaott,  Copa, 

A  Donkey,  whose  talent  for  burdens  was  wondrous. 
So  much  that  you'd  swear  he  rcjoic'd  in  a  load. 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous. 
That — down  the  poor  Donkey  fell  smack  on  the 
roadi 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze  — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy, 

So  easy  to  drive,  through  the  dirtiest  ways, 
For  every  description  of  job-work  so  ready! 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "  hail'd  "  as  a 

••  brother  "0 
Had  just  been  produming  his  Donkey's  renown 
For  vigour,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other— 
When,  lo,  'mid  his  praises,  the  Donkey  came 
down  I 

But,  how  to  upraise  him? — cne  shouts,  t'other 
whistles. 
While  Jenky,  the.  Conjurer,  wisest  of  all. 
Declared  that  an  **  over  production  of  thistles* — 
(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare) — **  was  the  caiuie  of 
hisialL" 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes — 
**  There,  let  him  alone,  and  the  fit  will  soon 
cease; 
"  The  beast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack-asses, 
,  **  And  this  u  his  m(^e  of  '  trantitum  to  ptact^  *' 

Some  look'd  at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  gri- 
maces, 
Pronounc'd  that  too  long  without  shoes  he  had 
gone, 
**Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  tound  metal 
bcuis 
(The  wise-acres  said),  '*  and  he*s  sure  to  jog  on." 

Meanwhile,  the  poor  Neddy,  in  torture  and  fear. 
Lay  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan; 

And— what  was  still  dolefuller — lending  an  ear 
To  advisers,  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his  own. 

Ass,  and  beginning,  **  I  hail  thca,  brother  I  **  CThe  poem  here  al> 
lodedto  oommencee, 

**  Foot  little  foal  of  an  oppressed  Race.** 

The  words'*  I  hail  thee,  brother  I  "occur  in  the  body  of  the  piece. 
-Eo.] 

*  A  oertain  ooontry  gentleman  haring  said  in  the  Ilouse, "  that 
we  mtut  return  at  last  to  the  food  of  our  ancestors,"  somebody 
asked  Mr.  T.  "what  food  the  gantleman  meant ?"—" Thistles, 
I  suppose,"  answered  Mr.  T. 


MOORE'S  WOHKS. 


11  rustic,  n-hose  wit  went  so  for 
is'  fiillj,  roar'd  out,  as  ho  jiftM'rl — 
ih  the  pwmiers  ull  dolta  an  re  ure, 
Itperoui  Neddy  will  toou  luck  his 


[TDE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 

.   . «  Uijatalecompodtiolul 
I  alt,  I  adimro  tbst  Xttcrnt, 

unand'n,  tliM  all  ilu  politiciimi 
n  be  etnuigled  and  cut  in  the  *ea. 

I  knun  a  IcimBeiitbami  te  spin  st«r — 

T  fuilli  in  old  Jeremy  pntaj 
Blisp,of"lhcl««tQewWestiiiiiurtr," 
'  e  delighted  with  "UUl  upon 


M  sort  of  kfi^ii^. 
w  Knmber  periifi 


CORN  AND  CATHOUCS. 


Wmrl  itiU  tbo»e  two  internal  qamifmi 
That  with  onr  meali.  anr  chitDtwn  mi 

Tlmt  spoil  onr  temper*  and  digenion*— 
Eternal  Corn  Aod  Calbolica! 

Gods!  were  there  ever  two  mch  bin««? 

Nothin|{  rl«e  udt'd  of  night  or  mom- 
Nuthing  in  doort,  <jr  out  of  doun. 

But  endless  Cntholiu  and  Con! 

Never  was  irach  a  brace  of  peats  — 
While  Minislcra,  still  worse  thwi  eilte 

SkiU'd  bnt  in  fpalhrriag  iheir  n»ls, 
I'hkgne  us  with  both,  uid  settle  ncitliu 

So  addled  in  mv  eraninm  meet 
Tnpcry  and  ^ni,  lliot  o(l  I  doubt. 

Whether,  (his  year,  'twos  bonded  Wbial, 
Or  bonded  Papists,  ibi-y  let  oat. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


593 


A  CASE  OF  UBEU 

■he  CKftter  the  truth,  the  wone  the  libel.** 

9  Sprite,  who  dwells  below, 
a  Ubcl,  perhaps,  to  mention  where,) 
ncvg.y  some  years  ago, 
for  a  change,  the  London  air. 

;  looked,  and  dress*d,  and  talk*d, 
1  his  tail  and  horns  so  handy, 
dly  have  known  him  as  he  walk'd, 
e,  or  any  other  Dandy. 

},  it  seems,  are  made  t*unscrew; 
las  bat  to  take  them  out  of  the  socket, 
t  as  some  fine  husbands  do  — 
ently  clap  them  into  his  pocket) 

ic  look'd  extremely  natty, 

n  contriv'd — to  his  own  great  wonder - 

'  sundry  scents  from  Gattic, 

» the  sulphurous  hogo  under. 

Y  gentleman  hoofd  about, 

rn  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 

s  and  Crockford's,  where,  no  doubt, 

many  post-obits  falling  due. 

.mcstcr  and  a  wit, 

t  he  was  seen  with  Crock  ford's  crew, 
irith  learned  dames  would  sit — 
d  his  time  *twixt  black  and  blue. 


iM  to  make  him  an  M.P., 

:ling  W — Iks  was  also  one,  he 

.  rage,  "he*d  be  d— d,  if  he 

I  ever  sit  in  one  house  with  Johnny. 


»f 


as  secrets  travel  fast, 
rils,  whether  he  or  she, 

0  be  found  out  at  last, 

dr  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

,  the  impartial  Press,  that  8nul)S 
fiend's  or  an  angePs  capers — 
1*8  soon  as  Beelzebub *s — 
*  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers : 

1  good  men  to  keep  aloof 

u  grim  old  Dandy,  seen  about, 
Ire -proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof 
;h  a  neat-cut  lioby  smoking  out." 

5  Devil  being  a  gentleman, 
jues  himself  on  well-bred  dealings, — 
piess,  when  o*er  these  lines  he  ran, 
ich  they  hurt  and  shock'd  hit  feelings 


Away  he  posts  to  a  Man  of  Law, 
And  'twould  make  you  laugh  could  yoa  hare 
seen  'em. 
As  paw  shook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw, 
And  'twas  **hail,  good  fellow,  well  met,"  be* 
tween  *em. 

Straight  an  indictment  was  preferred  — 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy'd  the  jest, 

When,  asking  about  the  Bench,  he  heard 
That,  of  all  the  Judges,  his  own  was  Best.^ 

In  vain  Defendant  profFer'd  proof 

That  Plaintirs  self  was  the  Father  of  Evil  — 
Brought  Hoby  forth,  to  swear  to  the  hoof. 

And  Stultz  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  DeviL 

The  Jury  (saints,  all  snug  and  rich, 

And  readers  of  nrtuous  Sunday  papers) 

Found  for  the  plaintiff — on  hearing  which 
The  Devil  gave  one  of  his  loftiest  capers. 

For  oh,  'twas  nuts  to  the  Father  of  Lies 
(As  this  wily  fiend  is  nam'd  in  the  Bible) 

To  find  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise. 
That  the  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the  libel  I 


LITERARY  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wakted — Authors  of  all  work,  to  job  for  the 
season. 

No  matter  which  party,  so  faithful  to  neither; 
Good  hacks,  who,  if  pos*d  for  a  rhyme  or  a  reason, 

Can  manage,  like  ♦♦*•**,  to  do  without  either. 

If  in  gaol,  all  the  better  for  out-o'-door  topics; 

Your  gaol  is  for  Travellers  a  cliarming  retreat; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  trip  to  the  Tropics, 

And  sail  round  the  world,  at  their  ease,  in  the 
Fleet. 

For  a  Dramatist,  too,  the  most  useful  of  schools — 
lie  can  study  high  life  in  the  King's  Bencii 
community; 

Aristotle  could  scarce  keep  him  more  within  rules. 
And  of  place  he,  at  least,  must  adhere  to  the  unity. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman,  come  to  an  age 

To  have  good  "  l^eminisccnces  "  (three  score  or 
higher). 
Will  meet  with  encouragement— so  much,  per 
page, 
And  the  spelling  and  grammar  both  found  by 
the  buyer. 

1  Aoelcfanted  Jodnceonuned. 
X  X 


\ 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


595 


rithout  pride,  a  man  without  guile, 
St  unchanging,  warm,  sincere, 
he  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile. 
Misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

the  heart  by  that  solemn  toll, 
sunk  in  my  chains  again; 
as  I  said,  **  Heaven  rest  his  soul!*' 
s  of  the  dungeon  sigh'd  **  Amen! " 


ODE  TO  FERDINAND. 

he  sword,  thou  King  of  men, 

the  needle  once  again ; 

^  petticoats  is  far 

port  than  making  war; 

ing  is  a  better  thing, 

he  being  trimm'd,  oh  King! 

the  needle  bright  with  which 

lidst  for  the  Virgin  stitch 

nt,  such  as  ne'er  before 

.'h  stitch'd  or  Virgin  wore, 
her,  oh  scmster  nimble ! 

>w  invoke  thy  thimble; 
her  thy  wanted  aid  is, 
certain  grave  old  ladies, 

)w  sit  in  England's  cabinet, 

;  to  be  clothed  in  tabiuet, 

tcvcr  choice  etoffe  is 

Dowagers  in  office. 

hy  cnre,  oh  King,  devote 
nc  Eld — n's  petticoat. 
t  of  that  silk,  whose  dyo 
or  ever  to  the  eye, 

if  it  hardly  knew 
jr  to  be  pink  or  blue, 
itcrial  fitter  yet  — 

couldst  a  remnant  get 

stuff,  with  which,  of  old, 
enelope,  we're  told, 

doing  and  undoing, 
cr  suitors  always  wooing  — 
the  stuff  which  I  pronounce,  is 
for  Dame  Eld — n's  flounces. 

his,  we'll  try  thy  hand, 
i-making  Ferdinand, 
.  Goody  W — stm— 1— d; 
10  loves,  like  Mother  Cole, 
and  State  with  all  her  soul; 


nics  the  court,  the  camp,  the  crmrv, 

en  below  and  gud»  abore, 

art  is  Heaven  and  Uearen  it  Lore.**— Scott. 

MMiKhty  woman.'*  —  Oaoea. 


latr. 


And  has  pass'd  her  life  in  frolics 
Worthy  of  your  Apostolics. 
Choose,  in  dressing  this  old  flirt. 
Something  that  won't  show  the  dirt. 
As,  from  habit,  every  minute 
Goody  W— stm — 1— d  is  in  it. 

This  is  all  I  now  shall  ask 
Hie  thee,  monarch,  to  thy  task ; 
Finish  Eld — n's  frills  and  borders. 
Then  return  for  further  orders. 
Oh  what  progress  for  our  sake. 
Kings  in  millinery  make! 
Ribands,  garters,  and  such  things. 
Are  supplied  by  other  Kings, — 
Ferdinand  his  rank  denotes 
By  providing  petticoats. 


HAT  VERSUS  WIG. 

**Atthe  interment  of  the  T>nke  of  York,  Lord  Eld— n.  In  order 
to  iruard  asalntt  thccflV^i  of  the  damp,  vtood  upon  his  hat  dorinf 
the  whole  of  the  oeivmony." 

mctufl  omnra  et  inexorabile  fatum 

Subjedtpedibua,  itrepitumque  ▲chcrontU  avari. 

'TwixT  Eld— n's  Hat  and  Eld— n's  Wig 
There  lately  rose  an  altercation, — 

Each  with  its  own  importance  big. 

Disputing  which  most  sen-es  the  nation. 

Quoth  Wig,  with  consequential  air, 
"Pooh!  pooh!  you  surely  can't  design, 

••  My  worthy  beaver,  to  compare 
**  Tour  station  in  the  state  with  mine. 

"  Who  meets  the  learned  legal  crew? 

"Who  fronts  the  lordly  Senate's  pride? 
"  The  Wig,  the  Wig,  my  friend  — while  you 

"  Hang  danghng  on  some  peg  outside. 

"  Oh,  'tis  the  Wig,  that  rules,  like  Love, 
"Senate  and  Court,  with  like  ^rlat  — 

•*  And  wards  below,  and  lords  above, 
"  For  Law  is  Wig  and  Wig  is  Law!* 

•*  Who  tried  the  long.  Long  W — ll — sly  suit, 
"  Which  tried  one's  patience,  in  return  ? 

"Not  thou,  oh  Hat! — though,  coultTst  thou  do't, 
"  Of  other  brims*  than  thine  thou'dst  learn. 

"  *Twas  mine  our  master's  toil  to  share ; 

"  When,  like  •  Truepenny,'  in  the  play,' 
"  He,  every  minute,  cried  out  *  Swear,' 
And  merrily  to  swear  went  they;  * — 


u 


a  **  G1u»t [beneath].  —Swear? 

**  HamltU    Ha,  hal  eay'tt  thou  to?   Art  thou  there,  Tniepennj? 
Come  on." 
«  Hb  Lordihip'e  dwnaad  for  tttA  affldaviH  wm  iniywnt 


^^^^^^1 

MOORE'S  AVORKS. 

r  W_LL-si-T  to  condema,  ho 

only  '  Hell  nnd  Jemmy,' 
d  Tommy  '  thai  he  plBjU 

rthj  bcRver,  no  — 

apun'd  at  the  chcnpcEt  hatter's, 

ugh,  OS  heavers  pi, 
wert  raailc  for  public  tnBtters." 

Qdi!d  his  orBtion, 

eock'd  for  declamation, 
lot  enrog'd  rcplicB;  — 

then  »o  soon  forRct 
what  England  owm  to  iubT 
b!  -when  wiU  a  del.t. 
rmt,  be  owed  to  thcc! 

ipht,  that  fearftil  nighl, 
Rh  llic  Meaniing  ™uh  below, 
■d,  in  Rout's  dcBpito, 
lis  p'.idiigric  loci 

n,  ihou  ho.ifter,  say, 

ind'st  to  lliy  bos  sncnk'd  ofF, 

t  i>rolePlinf  lay, 

in  from  a  morlal  eongli? 

THE  PEBIWINKLES  AND  THE  U 

•u  jiKii  -ofiii  tj»,iiPij«  „^^  btia-  a.  R. 
<^H  rf  wiw™,"  «.*(.-  a..«*». 

"HdrhaI  hnrrnT'Iheard  thfms«T. 
And  thoy  checr'd  and  fhouted  all  tk  T 
As  the  Laird  of  Snlnu^Dnili  went. 
To  ojicn  in  state  his  Tarliiuuent. 

Or  Ihonglit  they  were  -no  matter  vhicb 
For,  every  year,  the  Revenue ' 
From  their  Ppriwintleg  larjsr  (frew. 
And  their  rule^^  Ekill'd  m  all  the  trick 

Knew  how  w  place  I.  a.  3,  *. 

S,  G,  T.  S,  and  S  and  10, 
Such  various  ways,  behind,  bcfbn, 
That  thoy  mode  a  unit  »ccid  a  aeon. 

And  prov'd  tlivmselvra  mon  wealthy  i 
So,  on  Ihey  went,  a  prosperoU!  frcw. 

The  people  wife,  the  ndcrs  elcvcr— 
And  God  lielp  Ihoso.  like  me  and  von. 
Who  darM  to  douht  (as  Mine  now' Jo) 
TliiiithL'  IVrii-inkk  Hevrriuc 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


.597 


NEW  CREATION  OF  PEERS. 

BATCH  THB  FIB0T. 


■*  Hi«  'picntioe  han* 

H«  triad  OB  IIM&, 

And  tlkta  Im  mad*  the 


107. 

AxD  now/*  qaoth  the  Minister,  (eased  of  his 

panics. 
And  ripe  for  each  pastime  the  summer  affords,) 
Hiring  had  onr  full  swing  at  destroying  me- 

dianics, 
"By  waj  of  mi-off^  let  us  make  a  few  Lords. 

"Tis  pleasant — while  nothing   but  mercantile 

fractures, 
"Some  simple,  some  compound,  is  dinn*d  in  our 

ears — 
To  think  that,  though  robb*d  of  all  coarse  ma- 

nu&cturcs, 
**  ^e  still  have  our  fine  manufacture  of  Peers; — 

rhoee  Gobdm  productions,  which  Kings  take  a 

pride 
**  In  engrossing  the  whole  fabrication  and  trade  of; 
i^cice  tapestry  things,  very  grand  on  one  side, 
**  Sot  showing  on  t'other,  what  rags  they  are 

made  of." 

be  plan  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought,  — 
^«  matter  how  middling,  if  Tory  the  creed  be; 

Ji<i  fim,  to  begin  with.  Squire  W ,  'twas 

thought, 
pQr  a  Lo^  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be. 

'^^t  came,  with  his  penchant  for  painting  and  pelf, 
1^  tasteful  Sir  Charles  *,  so  renown'd,  far  and 

^        near, 

^  imrchasing  pictures,  and  selling  himself — 
And  hoth  (as  the  public  well  knows)  very  dear. 

■^idc  him  Sir  John  comes,  with  equal  ichit,  in; — 
Stand  forth,  chosen  pair,  while  for  titles  we 

fc        measure  yej 

^^  connoisseur  baronets,  both  fond  of  drawing, 
^^  John,  after  nature,  ^vt  Charles    on    \h& 
Treafuiy. 

^^  blcas  us! — ^behold  a  new  candidate  come — 
^  his  hand  he  upholds  a  prescription,  new 

>         written; 

^  poiseth  a  pill-box  'twixt  finger  and  thumb. 
And  he  asketh  a  seat  'mong  the  Peers  of  Great 
3ritainl! 

!  ^^^MedLordr-xnb-ch. 

i-^^ync  tlM  peraou  mentioned  m  Ukelf  to  be  nlted  to  the 
fe*H«  ere  the  mother  of  Mr.  V— j  F— tz— d.  ke. 
^^  CMe  which  tntereited  the  pnbUc  rerjr  much  et  thii  period. 
^"[tlomaa.  of  the  name  of  Bell,  harlnic  left  hit  nmbrclla  behind 
^  *^  the  Uooee  of  Lorda,  the  doorkeepert  (.etandinc,  no  doubt,  on 
^HiliSM  of  that  nobte  body)  reftued  to  iteton  It  to  htmt  uid 


"Forbid  it,"  cried  Jenky,  "ye  Viscounts,    ye 
Earls!  — 
<*  Oh  Rank,  how  thy  glories  would  fall  disen- 
chanted, 
"  If  coronets  glisten*d  with  pills  'stead  of  pearls. 
And  the  strawberry-leaves  were  by  rhubarb 
supplanted! 


a 


"No — ask  it  not,  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H— 1- 
f— rd— 
"  If  nought  but  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy  life, 
"And  young  Master  H — If— rd  as  yet  is  too  small 
for't, 
"  Sweet  Doctor,  we'll  make  a  the  Peer  of  thy 
wife. 

"Next  to  bearing  a  coronet  on  our  own  brows, 
"  Is  to  bask  in  its  light  from  the  brows  of  an- 
other; 

"And  grandeur  o'er  thee  shall  reflect  from  thy 
spouse, 
"  As  o'er  V— y  F — ^ta— d  'twill  shine  through 
his  mother.**  ■ 

Thus  ended  the  Firtt  Batch — and  Jenky,  much 
tir'd 
(It  being  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap), 
Took  a  large  dram  of  ether  —  the  same  that  inspired 
His  speech  'gainst  the  Papists — and  pros'd  off 
to  sleep. 


SPEECH  ON  THE  UMBRELLA"  QUES- 
TION. 

BT  'LORD  ELD— N. 

**  Yos  immitbrtlttn  video.**  ^—£x.  JwttKSL  Oaoaon  Cjuiirii>oii. 

18S7. 

Mt  Lords,  Fm  accus'd  of  a  trick  that,  God  knows,  is 
The  last  into  which,  at  my  age,  I  could  fall  — 

Of  leading  this  grave  House  of  Peers,  by  their 
noses, 
Whereyer  I  choose,  princes,  bishops,  and  alL 

My  Lords,  on  the  question  before  us  at  present. 
No  doubt  I  shall  hear,  "'Tis  that  cursed  old 
fellow, 
"  That  bugbear  of  all  that  is  lib'ral  and  pleasant. 
Who  won't  let  the  Lords  give  the  man  his 
umbrella! " 


i« 


the  ftbore  ipecch,  which  may  be  conddered  m  a  pendaM  to  that  of 
the  Learned  Earl  on  the  CathoUo  Question,  aroae  out  of  the  tr  an*- 
■ction. 

4  From  Mr.  Canning*!  tnmilation  of  Jekyl't  — 
"  I  aajr,  vaj  good  fellows. 
As  ]roa*Te  no  tunbeeUas.** 

Y  Y 


MOORES  WORKS 


a  lioriUhipi  ihould  tnnckle  to 

Ibut  wem  I  us  old  as  King  Fri&m, 
^BB,  to  your  eruclit  'rwonJd  be, 
I  twaddling  old  Trojui  u  I  tun. 


Ire  yoa,  ye  Bishops  lad  Peers, 
ns  buck  Mr.  Belt's  pnrBpluiis 
'  '   '  I  slick,  come  abonl  all  your 

';  would  jonr  Protesuint  ]>eii- 


One  ihioks,  wiih  his  mistren  or  male 
A  (rood  hallcr  is  sun  to  agree  — 

That  loTE-knol  whith,  early  and  Ut^ 
1  have  tried,  my  dea  Erin,  on  thes. 

While  anolker,  whom  Hjiiieii  has  blest'd 
With  a  wife  that  is  not  over  placid. 

Consigns  the  dear  charmer  to  nM. 
Wiut  a  dose  or  the  beat  Pnusic  acid, 

Thns,  Erinl  mj  lore  do  I  show — 
Thus  quirt  tliec,  male  of  mj  bed  I 

And.  as  poison  and  hriap  an  too  slow, 
Do  ihj  biuiacsa  with  bnllcta  inMead. 

Should  thy  faith  in  my  medicine  be  >bak 
Ask  R— d~n,  that  mildi-sl  of  uiiaU: 

He'll  teli  Iliee,  lead,  inwardly  taken. 
Alone  can  remove  thy  complaints  j — 

Thai,  ble^l  as  thuD  art  in  thy  lot. 
Nothing's  wanted  to  make  il  raoit  plei 

But  being  han^'d,  lortur'd.  and  shot, 
Moch  oftciicr  than  thoa  arl  at  proenL 

Even  %V— 11— t— n's  self  hath  averr'd 
TliOD  art  yet  but  half  fibred  and  hung 

And  I  lov'iS  liim  the  more  whi'n  I  heard 
Such  tendi-meM  fall  from  his  tongue. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


599 


Tliere— learn'd  as  he  is  in  conandnuns  and  laws — 
Qnoth  he  to  his  dame  (whom  he  oft  plays  the 
wag  on), 
•*  Why  are  chancery  suitors  like  bathers?  " — **  Be- 
cause 
**  Their  ndtg  are  jMif  o^,  till — they  hayen't  a  nu; 
on.** 

Thus  1^  he  went  chatting — but,  lo,  while  he  chats, 
With  a  face  full  of  wonder  around  him  he  looks; 

For  he  misses  his  parsons,  his  dear  shovel  hats. 
Who  used  to  flock  round  him  at  Swanage  like 
rooks. 

••  How  is  this.  Lady  Bags? — to  this  region  aquatic 
**Last  year  they  came  swarming,  to  make  me 
their  bow, 
"As  thick  as  Burke's  cloud  o'er  the  Tales  of  Car- 
nadc, 
"Deans,  Rectors,  D.D.*s — where  the  devil  are- 
they  now?  ** 

"My  dearest  Lord  Bagst**  saith  his  dame,  **can 
yon  doubt? 
"  I  am  loth  to  remind  you  of  things  so  unpleasant ; 
"But  dont  you  perceive,  dear,  the  Church  have 
found  out 
"  That  you're  one  of  the  people  call'd  Ex's,  at 
present?  " 

*Ah,  true — you  have  hit  it — I  am,  indeed,  one 
"  Of  those  ill-fated  Ex*s  (his  Lordship  replies), 

"And,  with  tears,  I  confess — God  forgive  me  the 
pun!  — 
•*  We  X's  have  prov'd  ourselves  noT  to  be  Y's." 


WOI  W0!» 

'Wo,  wo  unto  him  who  would  check  or  disturb  it — 
That  beautiful  Light,  which  is  now  on  its  way; 

Which,  beaming,  at  first,  o'er  the  bogs  of  Belturbet, 
Now  brightens  sweet  Bollinafad  with  its  ray! 

Oh  P — mh^m.  Saint  F — ^mh — ^m,  how  much  do 
we  owe  thee ! 

How  form'd  to  all  tastes  are  thy  various  employs ! 
^Tbe  old,  as  a  catcher  of  CathoKcs,  know  thee. 

The  joung  as  an  amateur  scourger  of  boys. 


1  nimfirtifiil  by  ft  fpeeeh  of  the  Bbhop  of  Ch— tt— r  on  the  lubject 
t  tkfS  Nenr  RdbnmfttSon  in  Ireland,  in  which  hl«  Lordihip  de- 
**  WoI  Wo!  Wo!  "  pretty  almndftntlr  on  all  thoee  who 
,  to  Interfere  with  its  progreee- 
«  The  tncttinriirtftMe  Are  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kildit. 
SWhkkcj. 


Wo,  WO,  to  the  man,  who  such  doings  would 

smother!  — 

On,  Luther  of  Cavan!  On,  Saint  of  Eilgroggy ! 

With  whip  in  one  hand,  and  Mith  Bible  in  t'other, 

Like  Mungo's  tormentor,  both  "preachee  and 

floggee." 

Come,  Saints  from  all  quarters,  and  marshal  his  way; 

Come,  L— rt — n,who,  scorning  profane  erudition, 
Popped  Shakspeare,  they  say,  in  the  river,  one  day. 

Though 'twas  only  old  Bowdler's  Velluti  edition. 

Come,  H — den,  who  doubtest — so  mild  are  thy 
views — 

Whether  Bibles  or  bullets  are  best  for  the  nation ; 
Who  leav'st  to  poor  Paddy  no  medium  to  choose, 

'Twixt  good  old  BebeUion  and  new  Beformation. 

What  more  from  her  Saints  can  Hibcmia  require? 

St.  Bridget,  of  yore,  like  a  dutiful  daughter, 
Supplied  her,  'tis  said,  with  perpetual  fire,* 

And  Saints  keep  her,  hoip,  in  eternal  hot  water. 

Wo,  wo  to  the  man,  who  would  check  their  career. 
Or  stop  the  Millennium,  that's  sure  to  await  us, 

When,  bless'd  with  an  orthodox  crop  every  year, 
We  shall  leam  to  raise  Protestants,  fast  as  pota- 
toes. 

In  kidnapping  Papists,  our  rulers,  we  know, 

Had  been  trying  their  talent  for  many  a  day; 
Till  F — mh — m,  when  all  had  been  tried,  came  to 
show. 
Like  the  German  flea-catcher,  "anoder   goot 
way." 

And  nothing's  more  simple  than  F — mh — m's  re- 
ceipt;— 
**  Catch  your  Catholic,  first — soak  him  well  in 
poteen* — 
"  Add  salary  sauce  ^  and  the  thing  is  complete. 
"  You  may  serve  up  your  Protestant,  smoking 
and  clean." 

"Wo,  wo  to  the  wag,  who  would  laugh  at  such 
cookery ! " 

Thus,  iix>m  his  perch,  did  I  hear  a  black  crow* 
CJaw  angrily  out,  while  the  rest  of  the  rookery 

Open'd  their  bills,  and  re-echo'd  "  Wo!  wo!  " 


4  **  We  nndesetand  that  MTeral  appUeatioat  have  lately  been 
made  to  the  Proteetant  clernrmen  of  thi«  town  by  fellows,  inquiring    j 
'  What  are  they  giring  a  head  for  converts?  * "—  Wa/ord  Pott. 


s  Of  the  Took 
of  com. 


—  Corvut  fntgiUqmt^  i.  e.  a  great  oooeumcr 
TT  S 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


601 


East  or  west,  nothing  wond*rous  or  new; 

No  coortship  or  scandal,  worth  knowing; 
Mrs.  B ,  and  a  Mermaid  *  or  two, 

Are  the  ot^  loose  fish  that  are  going. 

• 

Ah,  where  is  that  dear  honse  of  Peers, 
That,  some  weeks  ago,  kept  us  merry? 

Where,  Eld — ^n,  art  thou,  with  thy  tears? 
And  thoo,  with  thy  sense,  L— d— d — y? 

Wise  Marquis,  how  mnch  the  Lord  May  V, 
In  the  dog-days,  with  iAm most  be  puzzled! — 

It  being  his  task  to  take  care 
That  such  animals  shan't  go  unmuzzled. 

Thou,  too,  whose  political  toils 
Are  so  worthy  a  captain  of  horse — 

Whose  amendments'  (like  honest  Sir  Boyle's) 
Are  **  amendmentt,  that  make  matters  worse;  **' 

Great  Chieftain,  who  takest  such  pains 
To  prore — what  is  granted,  nem.  con,-^ 

With  how  moderate  a  portion  of  brains 
Some  heroes  contriye  to  get  on. 

And,  thou,  too,  my  R — d — sd — c,  ah,  where 
Is  the  peer,  with  a  star  at  his  button. 

Whose  quarters  could  ever  compare 

WithB — d — sd— e*s  five  quarters  of  mutton  ?  * 

Why,  why  hare  ye  taken  your  flight, 
Te  direrting  and  dignified  crew? 

How  ill  do  three  farces  a  night. 
At  the  Haymarket,  pay  us  for  you! 

For,  what  is  Bombastes  to  thee,- 

My  Ell — nbro',  when  thou  look'st  big? 

Or,  Where's  the  burletta  can  be 

Like  L— d— rd — le*s  wit,  and  his  wig? 

I  doubt  if  ev'n  Griffinhoof  •  could 

(Though  Griflin's  a  comical  lad) 
Inrent  any  joke  half  so  good 

As  that  precious  one,  **  This  is  too  bad! " 

Then  come  again,  come  again.  Spring  I 
Oh  haste  thee,  with  Fun  in  thy  train; 

And— of  all  things  the  funniest^  bring 
These  exalted  Grimaldis  again  I 


1  One  oftlMihowt  of  London. 

9  MOBB  pvticnlariy  hit  Grace*!  eelebntod  amendment  to  the 
Corn  Bfllt  fat  which,  and  the  circnmftancea  oonnected  with  It,  lee 
▲nasal  Bcglalcr  for  a.  d.  1017. 

>  From  *  ipoaeh  of  Sir  Boyle  Boche't  in  the  Irbh  Hooae  of 


THE  "  LIVING  DOG  "  AND  "  THE 

DEAD  LION." 

ins. 

Next  week  will  be  published  (as  **  Lives  *'  are  the 
rage) 
The    whole    Beminiscences,    wondrous    and 
strange. 
Of  a  small  puppy-dog,  that  liv'd  once  in  the  cage 
Of  the  late  noble  JUon  at  Exeter  'Change. 

Though  the  dog  is  a  dog  of  the  kind  they  caU 
"sad," 
*Tis  a  puppy  that  much  to  good    breeding 
pretends; 
And  few  dogs  have  such  opportunities  had 
Of  knowing  how  lions  behave — ^among  friends; 

How  that  animal  eats,  how  he  snores,  how  he 
drinks; 
Is  all  noted  down  by  this  Boswell  so  small; 
And  'tis  plain,  from  each  sentence,  the  puppy-dog 
thinks 
That  the  lion  was  no  such  great  things  after  all. 

Though  he  roar'd  pretty  well — this  the  puppy 
allows  — 
It  was  all,  ho  says,  borrow'd  — all  second-hand 
roar; 
And  he  vastly  prefers  his  own  little  bow-wows 
To  the  loftiest  war-note  the  Lion  could  pour. 

'Tis,  indeed,  as  good  fun  as  a  Cynic  could  ask. 
To  see  how  this  cockney-bied  setter  of  rabbits 

Takes  gravely  the  Lord  of  the  Forest  to  task. 
And  judges  of  lions  by  puppy-dog  habits. 

Nay.  fed  as  he  was  (and  this  makes  it  a  dark  case) 
With  sops  every  day  from  the  Lion's  own  pan, 

He  lifts  up  his  leg  at  the  noble  beast's  carcass. 
And — does  all  a  dog,  so  diminutive,  can. 

However,  the  book's  a  good  book,  being  rich  in 

Examples  and  warnings  to  lions  high-bred. 
How-  they  suffer  small  mongrelly  curs  in  their 
kitchen 
Wholl  feed  on  them  living,  and  foul  them  when 
dead. 

T.  PiDCOCK. 
Exeter*Chanot. 


4  The  leamhBff  hli  Lordship  difplayed,  on  the  fohJeet  of  the 
butcher's  **  flfth  qoarter"  of  mutton,  will  not  speedily  be  ibrgottcn. 

•  The  nom  de  gmrrt  mder  vhidi  Oolmaa  hae  written  acme  of 
his  beet  ikroes. 

TT  3 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1e  to  don  MIGUEL. 


I M  7on  were,  under  H«iemi«h'a 
1  joiiDg  miatKe  aaj)  "finkb'ii"M 


each    day    fram    his    Majesij'i 
I  tnm  absolute  Dob,  after  aU  '. ! 


I  like  Bayes,  l< 


I  he  sljle  and  the 
the  w>7  that  they 


Oft  have  I  seen,  in  pir,  equestrian  pridi 
Some  weli-roug'cl  yonth  round  Aslley's  C 
Two    Btatcly    steeds — standing,    with 

Kiradille, 
Like  bim  of  Rhodes,  ivilh  foot  on  citlier 
While  10  Eofi  tanca  —  some  jigs,  and  i 

He  item  aronnd  Ma  iight-pac'd  Bodnat 

So  rides  along,  with  canter  smooth  and  j 
That  horseuiaii  boht.  Lord  An^lewa,  at  p 
Papal  and  PraleetanI  the  eour»n  twain. 
That  lend  their  rci-ks  to  his  irapartia]  ni 
And  round  the  ring  —  each  honour'd,  at 
With  »[ual  [>n»sure  from  his  gracious  to 
To  the  old  medley  tune,  half  ■■  Pnrriek-i 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


603 


:jmbo  of  lost  reputations. 


A  DBSAX. 
36  ehe  d  p«rde  qui,  Vk  d  nguuL* 


ft  Tftllcgr,  where  he 


Tiiiiga  that  on  earth  were  loit.* 


Arkmto. 


MOTOM. 


18M. 


thoa  not  him  *  the  poet  sings, 
lew  to  the  moon's  serene  domain, 

that  yalley,  where  all  the  things, 
Bnish  on  earth,  are  found  again — 
is  of  jouth,  the  resolyes  of  age, 
of  the  lover,  the  dream  of  the  sage, 
en  visions  of  mining  cits, 
"omises  great  men  strew  ahont  them; 
■k'd  in  compass  small,  the  wits 
oarchs,  who  role  as  well  without  them! — 
«  but  diying  with  wing  profound, 
)en  to  a  limbo  under  ground. 
ianu:ters  lost  on  earth,  (and  cried, 
like  H — rr — s's,  far  and  wide,) 

like  yesterday's  orts,  are  thrown 
"6,  so  worthless  and  fly-blown, 
1  the  imps  would  not  purloin  them, 
heir  worthy  owners  join  them* 

t  was  to  see  this  mass 
and  tom-up  reputations;— 
them  female  wares,  alas, 
1  at  innocent  assignations; 
at  had  sigh'd  their  last  amen 
the  canting  lips  of  saints  that  would  be; 
le  once  own*d  by  **  the  best  of  men," 
lad  proY'd — no  better  than  they  should  be. 
hers,  a  poet's  fame  I  spied, 
hining  fair,  now  soak'd  and  black  — 
ider  "  (an  imp  at  my  elbow  cried), 
[  pick'd  it  out  of  a  butt  of  sack! " 

1  a  yell  was  heard  o*er  head, 
chimney-sweeper's  lofty  summons; 
a  devil  right  downward  sped, 
,  within  his  claws  so  red, 
esmen's  characters,  found,  he  said, 
ight,  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Com- 
ons; 

:h,  with  black  official  grin, 
to  the  Chief  Imp  handed  in ;  — 
9e  articles  much  the  worse 
eir  journey  down,  as  you  may  suppose; 
lo  devilish  rank — "Odds  curse! " 
le  Lord  Chief  Imp,  and  held  his  nose. 

I  "  quoth  he,  "  I  know  full  well 
rhom  these  two  stray  matters  fell; "  — 
sting  away,  with  loathful  shrug, 
leaner  waif  (as  he  would  a  dn^ 

1  Aftolpho. 


The*  Invisible's  own  dark  hand  had  mix'd). 

His  gaze  on  the  other*  firm  he  fixed. 

And  trying,  though  mischief  laugh'd  in  his  eye. 

To  be  mond,  because  of  the  young  imps  by, 

*<  What  a  pi^I "  he  cried — **  so  fipesh  its  gloss, 

"  So  long  preserv'd — 'tis  a  public  losatf 

**  This  comes  of  a  man,  the  careless  blockhead, 

**  Keeping  his  character  in  his  pocket; 

**  And  there — ^withont  considering  whether 

"  There's  room  for  that  and  his  gains  together — 

*<  Cranmiing,  and  cramming,  and  cramming  away, 

•«  Till  —  out  slips  character  some  fine  day ! 


However  " — and  here  he  "view'd  it  round — 
This  article  still  may  pass  for  sound. 
Some  flaws,  soon  patch'd,  some  stains  are  all 
The  harm  it  has  had  in  its  luckless  falL 
Here,  Puck!"  — and  he  call'd  to  one  of 

train  — 
The  owner  may  have  this  back  again. 
Though  damag'd  for  ever,  if  us'd  with  skill, 
It  may  serve,  perhaps,  to  trade  en  still; 
Though  the  gem  can  never,  as  once,  be  set. 
It  will  do  for  a  Tory  Cabinet." 


his 


HOW  TO  WRITE  BY  PROXY. 

Qni  fkdt  per  alium  fhett  per  ee. 

*MoKO  our  neighbours,  the  French,  in  the  good 
olden  time 
When  Nobility  flourish'd,  great  Barons  and 
Dukes 
Often  set  up  for  authors  in  prose  and  in  rhyme. 
But  ne'er  took  the  trouble  to  write  their  own 
books. 

Poor  devils  were  found  to  do  this  for  their  betters; — 

And  one  day,  a  Bishop,  addressing  a  Blue, 
Said,  "Ma'am,  have  you  read  my  new  Pastoral 
Letters?  " 
To  which  the  Blue  answer'd — "No,  Bishop, 
have  you  f  " 

The  same  is  now  done  by  our  privileg'd  class; 

And,  to  show  you  how  simple  the  process  it  needs. 
If  a  great  Major-General'  wishes  to  pass 

For  an  author  of  History,  thus  he  proceeds:— 

First,  scribbling  his  own  stock  of  notions  as  well 
As  he  can,  with  a  ^mwe- quill  that  claims  him 
as  kin. 
He  settles  his  neckcloth -stakes  snufT — riners  the 
bell. 
And  yawningly  orders  a  Subaltern  in. 

•  Or  IAinmnMiM3inewJ.ee  It  may  happia  to  bt. 

TT  4 


\ 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


605 


loa  thyself  "—here,  anxious,  I  exclaim'd — 
s  good  ghost,  how  thou,  thyself,  art  nam'd." 
t!"  he  blushing  cried — "Ah,  there's  the 
ub  — 

,  then  —  a  waiter  once  at  Brooks's  Gab, 
ter  still  I  might  have  long  remained, 
long  the  dub-room's  jokes  and  glasses 
Irain'd; 

h,  in  luckless  hour,  this  last  December, 
c  a  book',  and  Colbum  dubb'd  me  *Mem- 
«r'  — 

bcr  of  Brooks's  I '  —  oh  Promethean  puff, 
kat  wilt  thou  exalt  even  kitchen-staff! 
mims  of  gossip,  caught  from  dining  wits, 
half-heard  jokes,  l^queath*d,   like  half- 
hew'd  bits, 

,  each  night,  the  waiter's  perquisites;  — 
9uch  ingredients,  senr'd  up  od  before, 
ith  fresh  fudge  and  fiction  garnish 'd  o'er, 
ig'd,  for  some  weeks,  to  dose  the  town, 
csh  reserves  of  nonsense  ran  me  down ; 
"cady  still  even  waiters'  souls  to  danm, 
evil  but  rang  his  bell,  and — here  I  am; — 
•  Coming  up.  Sir,'  once  my  favourite  cry, 
ng*d  for  *  Coming  doumj  Sir,'  here  am  I ! " 

lad  the  spectre's  lips  these  words  let  drop, 
o,  a  breeze — such  as  from         's  shop 
1  the  vernal  hour,  when  puffs  prevail, 
eds  the  sheeU  and  swells  the  lagging  gale — 
e  poor  waiter  rudely  in  the  poop, 
lirHng  him  and  all  his  grimly  group 
iry  ghosts  —  Miss  X.  Y.  Z. — 
oeless  author,  better  known  than  read — 
-  the  Honourable  Mr.  L — st — r. 
It,  not  least.  Lord  Nobody's  twin-sister — 
»n,  ye  gods,  with  all  their  prose  and  rhymes 
s  about  them,  far  into  those  cUmes 
!  Peter  pitch'd  his  waistcoat' "  in  old  times, 
me  much  in  doubt,  as  on  I  prcst, 
y  great  master,  through  this  realm  unblest, 
r  old  Nick  or  C — lb---n  pufis  the  best. 


lENT  FOR  THE  LOSS  OF  LORD 
B— TH— ST'S  TALL* 

n  again — unlook'd  for  bliss! 
ih,  one  adjunct  still  we  miss;— 
ender  tie,  attach'd  so  lone 
e  same  head,  through  right  and  wrong. 
B  -  th^st,  why  didst  thou  cut  off 
It  memorable  tail  of  thine? 

nrof  Um  QnbtofLondon,**  ftimoimocd  m  bj"  *  Member 

I.- 

ia$Qm  •Utnloii  to  the  old  Mying.  "Nine  miles  beyond 

le  Feter  pitched  hl0  waiileo*!." 


Why — as  if  one  was  not  enough — 
Thj  pig-tie  with  thy  place  resign. 
And  thus,  at  once,  both  cut  and  rtm  f 
Alas,  my  Lord,  'twas  not  well  done, 
'Twas  not,  indeed — though  sad  at  heart, 
From  o£Sco  and  its  sweets  to  part, 
Tct  hopes  of  coniing  in  again. 
Sweet  Tory  hopes!  beguil'd  our  pain; 
But  thus  to  miss  that  toil  of  thine. 
Through  long,  long  years  our  rallying  sign — 
As  if  Uie  State  and  all  its  powers 
By  tenancy  in  tail  were  ours  — 
To  see  it  thus  by  scissors  fall. 
This  was  "^the'  unkindest  cut  of  all!" 
It  seem*d  as  though  the'  ascendant  day 
Of  Toryism  had  pass'd  away. 
And*  proving  Samson's  story  true. 
She  lost  her  vigour  with  her  queue. 

Parties  are  much  like  fish,  'tis  said — 
The  toil  directs  them,  not  the  head; 
Then,  how  could  any  party  fail. 
That  steered  its  course  by  B— th~^t's  tail? 
Not  Murat's  plume,  through  Wagram's  fight. 

E'er  shed  such  guiding  glories  from  it. 
As  erst,  in  all  true  Tories'  sight, 

Blaz'd  from  our  old  Colonial  comet  I 
If  you,  my  Lord,  a  Bashaw  were, 

(As  W— 11 — gt — n  will  be  anon) 
Thou  might'st  have  had  a  tail  to  spare; 

But  no,  alas,  thou  hadst  but  one. 

And  that — like  Troy,  or  Babylon, 

A  tale  of  other  times — is  gone! 
Yet — weep  ye  not,  yc  Tories  true — 

Fate  has  not  yet  of  all  bereft  us; 
Though  thus  depriv*d  of  B — ^th — st's  queue. 

We've  E— b — h's  curU  still  left  us;  — 
Sweet  curls,  from  which  young  Love,  so  vicious. 
His  shots,  as  from  nine  pounders,  issues; 
Grand,  glorious  curls,  which,  in  debate, 
Surchai^d  with  all  a  nation's  fate. 
His  Lordship  shakes,  as  Homer's  God  did,^ 

And  oft  in  thundering  talk  comes  near  him; — 
Except  that,  there,  the  speaker  nodded, 

And,  here,  'tis  only  those  who  hear  him. 
Long,  long,  ye  ringlets,  on  the  soil 

Of  that  ffHt  cranium  may  ye  flourish. 
With  plenty  of  Macassar  oil. 

Through  many  a  year  your  growth  to  nourish ! 
And,  ah,  should  Time  too  soon  unsheath 

His  barbarous  shears  such  locks  to  sever. 
Still  dear  to  Tories,  even  in  death. 
Their  last,  loVd  relics  we'll  bequeath, 

A  Aatr-loom  to  our  sons  for  ever. 


t  The  noble  Lord,  it  b  well  known,  ent  off  this  mach-retpccted    I 
•l»pendei^,on  hb  retirement  tnm  oflloc  lome  montha  dnoe. 
*  **  Shekel  hie  embroelel  eiiris,eBd  giree  thenod.** 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


607 


t  yoor  farce  be  enacted  hereafter— 
estly  persecute,  outlaw,  and  chain; 
en  jour  rictimB  the  torture  of  laughter, 
r,  oh  never,  try  reoionmg  ag^n! 


THE  WOODS  AND  FORESTS. 

BT  OKE  OF  THE  BOAIID. 

IBS. 

'  bards  to  groves  repair, 
linnets  strain  their  tuneful  throats, 
ho  Woods  and  Forests,  where 
easury  pours  its  sweeter  noiet, 

ering  winds  have  charms  for  me, 
hyr's  balmy  sighs  I  ask; 
he  wind  for  Royalty 
>ur  Sylvan  zephyr's  task! 

id  of  crystal  brooks  and  floods, 
I  such  vulgar  irrigation, 
:  rhino  through  our  Woods 
its  "course  of  liquid-ation.' 


» 


y,  Virgil  knew  full  well 
iVoods  and  Forests  ought  to  be, 
r,  he  introduced  in  hell 
inea^plant,  his  bullion-tree :  * — 

why,  some  future  day, 
short  of  cash,  we  should  not  send 
rr— 8  down — he  knows  the  way— 

if  Woods  in  hell  will  lend. 


»» 


y  ye  flourish,  sylvan  haunts, 
h  whose  **  branches  of  expense 

ions  K g  gets  all  he  wants, — 

!  a  little  taste  and  sense. 

your  golden  shade  reclinM, 
im  of  fair  Armida's  bowers, 
-11 — n  some  tcwxf -nymph  find, 
ler  his  dozenth  lustrum's  hours; 

rom  toil  the  Great  Untaught, 
x)the  the  pangs  his  warlike  brain 
fer,  when,  unus'd  to  thought, 
i  to  think,  and — tries  in  vain. 

may  Woods  and  Forests  be 
v'd,  in  all  their  teeming  graces, 
T  Tory  bards,  like  me, 
ake  delight  in  Sylvan  places  l^ 

''irsll  botanlcallr,  **  tpteiu  anri  frondentii.** 

da,  at  ttlvoMi  at  uoem  loca . 

Otxo. 
H  v«i«  ""^nfM  br  Um  remit  of  tha  CUra 


STANZAS  FROM  THE  BANKS  OF  THE 

SHANNON.* 

itn, 

**Take  bMk  tba  Titgin  DM*.** 

Moou*t  IriA  MetotUeM. 

No  longer,  dear  V — sey,  feel  hurt  and  uneasy 
At  hearing  it  said  by  thv  Treasury  brother. 

That  thou  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper,  my  Y—  sey. 
And  he,  the  dear  innocent  placeman,  another.* 

For,  lo,  what  a  service  we,  Irish,  have  done  thee ; — 
Thou  now  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper  no  more; 

By  St.  Patrick,  we've  scrawl'd  such  a  lesson  upon 
thee 
As  never  was  scrawl'd  upon  foolscap  before. 

Come— on  with  your  spectacles,  noble  Lord  Duke, 
(Or  O'Connell  has  green  ones  he .  haply  would 
lend  you,) 
Bead  V— sey  all  o'er  (as  you  can't  read  a  book) 
And  improve  by  the  lesson  we,  bog-trotters, 
send  you; 

A  lesson,  in  large  Boman  characters  trac'd. 
Whose  awful  impressions  from  you  and  your  kin 

Of  blank-sheeted  statesmen  will  ne*er  be  effae*d — 
Unless,  'stead  of  paper,  you*re  mere  asses*  skin. 

Shall  I  help  you  to  construe  it?  ay,  by  the  Gods, 
Could  I  nsk  a  translation,  you  should  have  a 
rare  one; 
But  pen  against  sabre  is  desperate  odds. 
And  you,  my  Lord  Duke  (as  you  hinted  once), 
wear  one. 

Again  and  again  I  say,  read  V — sey  o'er; — 
Yon  will  find  him  worth  all  the  old  scrolls  of 
papyrus. 
That  iferpt  e'er  fiU'd  with  nonsensical  lore, 
Or  the  learned  ChampoUion  e'er  wrote  of,  to  tire 
us. 

All  blank  as  he  was,  we've  retum'd  him  on  hand. 
Scribbled  o*er  with  a  warning  to  Princes  and 
Dukes, 
Whose  plain,  simple  drift  if  they  won't  understand. 
Though  carcss'd  at  St.  James's,  they're  fit  for 
St.  Luke's. 

Talk  of  leaves  of  the  Sibyls! — more  meaning 
convey'd  is 

In  one  single  leaf  such  as  now  we  have  spell'd  on. 
Than  e'er  hath  been  utter'd  by  all  the  old  ladies 

That  ever  yet  spoke,  from  the  Sibyls  to  Eld— n. 

In  the  TMT  18S8,  when  the  Richt  Ilononrftble  W.  Vciey  FitxgenOd 
wu  rejected,  and  Mr.  O'Connell  rttonied. 
*  Some  expwIoiM  to  thie  pgrport,in  »  pobUriiwi  lettw  of  od»  of 
,     th«ni«itlnMn,hadtlwaprodiioed«gooddaftlof 


I 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


609 


Though  darkly  it  set  in  a  nation's  best  blood. 
Now  wanu  bat  invoking  to  shine  oat  again; — 

If~~if^  I  saj — breathings  like  these  shoald  come 
o'er 
The  chords  of  remembrance,  and  thrill,  as  they 
come. 
Then,  perhaps — ay,  perhaps — bat  I  dare  not  say 
more; 
Thou  hast  will'd  that  thy  slaves  shoald  be  mate 
—I  am  damb. 


WRITE  ON,  WRITE  ON. 

▲  BALLAD. 


Air •*SJeepon^9lMp<mt 

SalTttcfratniAiinL 


my  KaMeen  deear.** 
St.  FmAKca. 


Write  on,  write  on,  ye  Barons  dear. 

Ye  Dakes,  write  hard  and  fast; 
The  good  we've  songht  for  many  a  year 

Yoar  qaills  will  bring  at  last. 
One  letter  more,  N — wc — stle,  pen 

To  match  Lord  K — ny — n's  ftro. 
And  more  than  Ireland's  host  of  men. 

One  brace  of  Peers  will  do. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c. 

Sore,  never,  since  the  precious  use 

Of  pen  and  ink  began. 
Did  letters,  writ  by  fools,  produce 

Such  signal  good  to  man. 
While  intellect,  'mong  high  and  low, 

Is  marching  on,  they  say. 
Give  me  the  Dukes  and  Lords,  who  go. 

Like  crabs,  the  other  way. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c. 

Even  now  I  feel  the  coming  light  -^ 

Even  now,  could  Folly  lure 
My  Lord  M— ntc— sh— 1,  too,  to  write. 

Emancipation's  sure. 
By  geese  (we  read  in  history). 

Old  Rome  was  sav'd  from  ill; 
And  now,  to  quUh  of  geese,  we  see 

Old  Rome  indebted  still. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c. 

Write,  write,  ye  Peers,  nor  stoop  to  style. 

Nor  beat  for  sense  about  — 
Things,  little  worth  a  Noble's  while, 

You're  better  far  without 


1  A  nyvtad  prebendary  of  Hereford,  in  an  Etrnj  on  the 
menuee  of  the  Church  of  England,  ha*  aativned  the  origin  of 
Ithei  to  **  eome  onrecorded  rerelation  made  to  Adam." 
*  **Tbe  tenth  calf  ii  due  to  the  parwm  of  common  right;  and  if 
are  serea  ha  ihall  hare  one."— Bast'*  Cyclopixdia^  art. 


Oh  ne'er,  since  asses  spoke  of  yore. 

Such  miracles  were  done ! 
For,  write  but  four  such  letters  more. 

And  Freedom's  cause  is  won! 


SONG  OF  THE  DEPARTING  SPIRIT  OF 

TITHE. 

**ThepaxttneG«niwliwithii^iingMnt.**      Uaaom, 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er; 

I  hear  a  Voice,  from  shore  to  shore, 

From  Dunfanaghy  to  Baltimore, 

And  it  saith,  in  sad,  parsonic  tone, 

^  Great  Tithe  and  Small  are  dead  and  gone!  " 

Even  now,  I  behold  your  vanishing  wings. 

Ye  Tenths  of  all  conceivable  things, 

Which  Adam  first,  as  Doctors  deem. 

Saw,  in  a  sort  of  night-mare  dream,' 

After  the  feast  of  fniit  abhorr'd  — 

First  indigestion  on  record!  — 

Ye  decimate  ducks,  ye  chosen  chicks. 

Ye  pigs  which,  though  ye  be  Catholics,  ' 

Or  of  Calvin's  most  select  deprav'd, 

In  the  Church  must  have  your  bacon  sav'd ; — 

Ye  fields,  where  Labour  counts  his  sheaves. 

And,  whatsoe'er  Aimge//*  believes. 

Must  bow  to  the'  Establish'd  Church  belief, 

That  the  tenth  is  always  a  Protestant  sheaf;  — 

Ye  calves,  of  which  the  man  of  Heaven 

Takes  Irish  tithe,  one  calf  in  seven*; 

Ye  tenths  of  rape,  hemp,  barley,  flax, 

EggsS  timber,  milk,  fish,  and  bees'  wax; 

All  things,  in  short,  since  earth's  creation. 

Doomed,  by  the  Church's  dispensation. 

To  suffer  eternal  decimation  — 

Leaving  the  whole  iay-world,  since  then, 

Reduc'd  to  nine  parts  out  often; 

Or  —  as  we  calculate  thefts  and  arsons  — 

Just  ten  per  cent  the  worse  for  Parsons! 

Alas,  and  is  all  this  wise  device 

For  the  saving  of  souls  thus  gone  in  a  trice?  — 

The  whole  put  doAvn,  in  the  simplest  way. 

By  the  souls  resolving  not  to  pay ! 

And  even  the  Papists,  thankless  race. 

Who  have  had  so  much  the  easiest  case  -^ 

To  pay  for  our  sermons  doom'd,  'tis  true. 

But  not  condcmn'd  to  hear  them,  too  — 

(Our  holy  business  being,  'tis  known. 

With  the  ears  of  their  barley,  not  their  own,) 

s  Chaocer'i  Flowman  eomplaini  of  the  pariah  neton,  that 

*«  For  the  tithing  of  a  duclc. 
Or  an  apple  or  an  aye  (egg). 
They  make  him  nrear  npon  a  boktt 
Thiw  they  foolm  Chzlet*i  fiiy.*' 


^H 

k^^^^^^l 

1 

MOOEE'S  WORKS. 

0  let  lu  piUag*, 
heir  loQth  Dflillage, 
rron,  even  decline 
amental  vrinet  ■ 

r,  my  reign  a  o'er, 
sy  Rector  more, 
Is  of  Israel,  idly  EBt, 
fiock  '•  a  prey  aod  ment."  ' 
hb  the  pastoral  sport 

in  the  Bishop's  Court, 
-u-pB,  Citation,  Libel  — 

,101  the  Bible; 

'a  whole  sppamtua, 
re-doom'd  jiottttoes, 
all  the  powers  of  wig, 
ionofapip!- 

iieplierilB  vertHi  Sheep," 
ho  Gosperj  place, 
meeting  face  to  face, 
!■=  the  prcacber'a  station, 
be  conBrogatioo. 

non's  priejl,  not  Heaven's, 

■on 9  love  no  le»s 
— -a  good  diitrea. 
t:  St.  Auguelin, 

Hide.  Knowledge,  hide  thy  riring  sun, 
Yonng  Freedom,  leil  thy  head; 

Let  nothing  good  be  thonght  or  done. 
TUl  Nick  V— ns— tt— I'l  dead: 

Take  pity  on  a  dotard's  fears, 
WTio  Pinch  doth  light  delertj 

And  let  his  last  few  driveUing  years 
Be  dark  as  were  the  rest. 

Ton,  too,  ye  fleeting  one-ponnd  Doles. 

Speed  not  so  fait  away  — 
Te  rags,  on  wluch  old  Nicky  gloau, 

A  few  months  longer  slay.' 

Together  soon,  or  much  I  err. 
You  Ulh  from  Ufe  may  go  — 

The  notes  nnto  the  Bcavengcr, 
And  Nick  — to  Nick  bchjw. 

Ye  Liberals,  whsle'er  yonr  plan. 
Bo  all  reforms  suspended  i 

Let  nothing  bad  be  mended. 

Te  PiipLsts,  whom  oppression  urini:!. 

Tour  cry  poUteJy  cease. 
And  fret  yonr  hearts  to  fiddle-siting* 

Thai  Van  may  die  in  peace. 

1 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


611 


Far  better  to  stick  to  your  kitchen  receipts; 

And — if  yon  want  Momething  to  tease — for  ya- 
ricty, 
Go  study  how  Ude,  in  his  **  Cookery,"  treats 

Lire  eels,  when  he  fits  them  for  polish'd  society. 

Jiut  snuggling  them  in,  'twixt  the  bars  of  the  fire. 
He  leaves  Uiem  to  wriggle  and  writhe  on  the 
coals,' 

In  a  numner  that  H — m — r  himself  would  admire. 
And  wish,  'stead  of  eels,  they  were  Catholic  souls. 

Ude  tells  ns,  the  fish  little  suffering  feels; 

Wliile  Papists,  of  late,  have  more  sensitiye  grown ; 
So,  take  my  advice,  try  your  hand  at  live  eels, 

And«  for  oncey  let  the  other  po<nr  devils  alone. 

I  have  ev*n  a  still  better  receipt  for  your  cook — 
How  to  make  a  goose  die  of  confirmed  hepatitU ; ' 

And,  if  you'll,  for  once,ye/Zoa0-fecIing8  overlook, 
A  weU-tortur'd  goose  a  most  capital  sight  is. 

^irst,  catch  hhn,  aHve — ^make  a  good  steady  fire — 
bet  your  victim  before  it,  both  legs  being  tied, 

CAr,  if  left  to  himself,  he  might  wish  to  retire,) 
And  place  a  large  bowl  of  rich  cream  by  his  side. 

Aere  roasting  by  inches,  dry,  fevcr'd,  and  faint. 
Having  drunk  all  the  cream,  you  so  civilly  laid, 
off, 

^e  dies  of  as  charming  a  liver  complaint 

As  ever  sleek  parson  could  wish  a  pie  made  of. 

besides,  only  think,  my  dear  one  of  Sixteen, 
What  an  emblem  this  bird,  for  the  epicure's  use 
meant, 
(^resents  of  the  mode  in  which  Ireland  has  been 
Made  a  tit-bit  for  yours  and  your  brethren's 
amusement: 

^Red  down  to  the  stake,  while  her  limbs,  as  they 
quiver, 
A  slow  fire  of  tyranny  wastes  by  degrees  — 
^o  wonder  disease  should  have  swell'd  up  her  liver, 
No  wonder  you,  Gourmands,  should  love  her 
disease. 


miSH  ANTIQUITIES. 

AoGORDiNo  to  some  leam'd  opinions 
The  Irish  once  were  Carthaginians; 
Bat,  trusting  to  more  late  descriptions, 
I'd  rather  say  they  were  Egyptians. 

■  The  oalj  vt7,  Mondcor  Ude  Mtores  nB,togetridofUMoQao 
<W<rtton«ble  In  this  flih. 

*  A  liver  eofnpUint.  The  proocat  by  which  the  llrcn  of  SMee 
an  cnUned  for  the  fkmotu  PoUm  defoie  d'oie. 

s  To  thie  praetlee  Uie  ancient  adage  allodea,  **  Arinoa  portana 


My  reason's  this : — the  Priests  of  Isis, 

When  forth  they  march'd  in  long  array, 
Employ'd,  *mong  other  grave  devices, 

A  Sacred  Ass  to  lead  the  way; ' 
And  still  the  antiquarian  traces 

'Mong  Irish  Lords  this  Pagan  plan. 
For  still,  in  all  religious  cases, 

They  put  Lord  R-^ — n  in  the  van. 


A  CURIOUS  FACT. 

The  present  Lord  K — ny — n  (the  Peer  who  writes 

letters, 
For  which  the  waste-paper  folks  much  are  his 

debtors) 
Hath  one  little  oddity,  well  worth  reciting, 
Which  puzzleth  observers,  even  more  than  his 

writing. 
Whenever  Lord  K — ny — n  doth  chance  to  behold 
A  cold  Apple-pie — mind,  the  pie  must  be  cold — 
His  Lordship  looks  solemn  (few  people  know  why). 
And  he  makes  a  low  bow  to  the  said  apple-pie. 
This  idolatrous  act,  in  so  **  vital "  a  Peer, 
Is,  by  most  serious  Protestants,  thought  rather 

queer — 
Pie-worship,  they  hold,  coming  under  the  head 
(Vide  OitftiMin,  chap,  iv.)  of  the  Worship  of  Bread. 
Some  think  'tis  a  tribute,  as  author,  he  owes 
For  the  service  that  pie-crust  hath  done  to  his 

prose; — 
The  only  good  things  in  his  pages,  they  swear. 
Being  those  that  the  pastry-cook  sometimes  ))ut8 

there.  [vey*d. 

Others  say,  'tis  a  homage,  through  pie-crust  con- 
To  our  Glorious  Deliverer's  much-honour'd  shade; 
As  that  Protestant  Hero  (or  Saint,  if  you  please) 
Was  as  fond  of  cold  pie  as  he  was  of  green  peas,* 
And  'tis  solely  in  loyal  remembrance  of  that, 
My  Lord  K — ny — ^n  to  apple-pie  takes  off  his  hat. 
While  others  account  for  this  kind  salutation 
By  what  Tony  Lumpkin  calls  "  concatenation ; " — 
A  certain  good-will  that,  from  sympathy's  ties, 
'Twixt  old  AppU'Women  and  Orange'men  lies. 

But  'tis  needless  to  add,  these  are  all  vague  sur- 
mises, 
For  thus,  we*re  assured,  the  whole  matter  arises: 
Lord  K — ny — n's  respected  old  father  (like  many 
Respected  old  fathers)  was  fond  of  a  penny; 
And  lov'd  so  to  save*,  that— there's  not  the  least 

question — 
His  death  was  brought  on  by  a  bad  indigestion, 

*  Sec  the  anecdote,  which  the  Dacheia  of  Bfarlborooch  relatei  in 
her  Memoir*,  of  this  polite  hero  appropriatinc  to  himielf  one  day, 
at  dinner,  a  wliole  diih  of  green  peaa— the  flnt  of  the  MaMm  — 
while  tlie  poor  Princeai  Anne,  wlio  wu  then  in  a  longing  condition, 
■at  by.  rminly  entreating,  with  her  eyci,  for  a  iliare. 

•  The  lamc  prudent  propeaeity  eharactctiaca  hie  daeocBdaat,wbo 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


613 


nau, — B — xl — j  snores:  —  'tis  time,  *tis 
ime, 

nau. — Bonnd  about  the  caldron  go; 
oisonons  nonsense  throw, 
lite,  that  long  hath  grown, 
ood  within  a  stone, 
Dg  in  the  heart  of  Sc — tt, 
in  the  Brunbwick  pot. 
-Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble, 
talk*  and  K— ny — n,  scribble. 
-UK*, — Slaver  m>m  N — wc — stle*s  qoiU 
oisome  mess  distil, 
ig  high  oar  Brunswick  broth 
th  yenom  and  with  froth, 
brains  (though  apt  to  hash  ill, 
»nt)  of  Lord  M — ntc — shel, 
at  maltj  stuff  which  Ch— nd — s 
as  no  other  man  does. 
.  e,  if  catch  you  can) 
1,  spick  and  span, 
y  Lord  of  S — 1 — sb— y,  — 
i,  though  it  be 
than  the  "happy  flea," 
lis  sire,  in  sonnet  terse, 
.  to  immortal  verse.' 
to  rob  the  son  is  sin, 
ofi^idea  in; 
keep  it  company, 
conjuror  W — nch — Is — a 
ir  half  another  there, 
th  so  much  to  spare, 
of  murders  and  of  arsons, 
in  heads  of  Irish  parsons, 
•om  every  hole  and  corner, 
ferocious  priests,  like  U — m — r, 
for  religious  good, 
id  for  Papist's  blood, 
jr  W — lis,  and  such  old  women, 
'  ease  to  wade  and  swim  in. 
-Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble, 
-y,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble, 
-■ifiij.— Now  the  charm  begin  to  brew; 
sisters,  add  thereto 
)f  L — thbr— dge's  old  speeches, 
rith  leather  from  his  breeches, 
s  of  old  B — xl — y's  brains, 
I'd  (if  you'll  take  the  pains) 
lat  pulp  which  rags  create, 
middle,  nympha  state, 
e  insects  frail  and  sunny, 
bey  wing  abroad  as  money, 
-the  Hell-broth  we've  enchanted— 
It  one  thing  more  is  wanted. 


iaff  to  ft  well-knovn  Ijric  composition  of  tbc  Ule 
rhlch,  with  a  alixht  alteration,  micht  be  addroMd  cither 
r  ft  fl7.    For  instance :  — 

-  Oh,  happy,  happj,  happj  fly, 
If  I  were  yoo,  or  you  were  L" 


I  Squeeze  o'er  all  that  Orange  juice, 

C keeps  cork'd  for  use, 

Wliich,  to  work  the  better  spell,  is 

Colour'd  deep  with  blood  of , 

Blood,  of  powers  far  more  various. 
Even  than  that  of  Januarius, 
Since  so  great  a  charm  hangs  o'er  it, 
England's  parsons  bow  before  it! 

AU. — Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble, 
B — xl — y,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble. 

2d  Bruns. — Cool  it  now  with 's  blood. 

So  the  charm  is  firm  and  good.  {^Exeunt 


HOW  TO  MAKE  A  GOOD  POLITICL^N. 

Wheke'er  youYe  in  doubt,  said  a  Sage  I  once 

knew, 
'Twixt  two  lines  of  conduct  which  course  to  pursue, 
Ask  a  woman's  advice,  and,  whate'er  she  advise. 
Do  the  very  reverse,  and  you're  sure  to  be  wise. 

Of  the  same  use  as  guides,  are  the  Brnnswicker 
throng;  [wrong, 

In  their  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  so  instinctively 
That,  whatever  tlicy  counsel,  act,  talk,  or  indite, 
Take  the  opposite  course,  and  you're  sure  to  be  right. 

So  golden  this  rule,  that,  had  Nature  denied  you 
The  use  of  that  finger  post.  Reason,  to  guide  you — 
Were  you  even  more  doltish  than  any  given  man  i^ 
More  soft  than  N — wc — stle,  more  twaddling  than 

Van  is, 
I'd  stake  my  repute,  on  the  following  conditions. 
To  make  you  the  soundest  of  sound  politicians. 

Place  yourself  near  the  skirts  of  some  high-flying 

Tory— 
SomeBrunswicker  parson,  of  port-drinking  glory, — 
Watch  well  how  he  dines,  during  any  great  Ques- 
tion—  [tion  — 
^Vhat  makes  him  feed  gaily,  what  spoils  his  diges- 
And  always  feel  sure  that  his  joy  o'er  a  stew 
Portends  a  clear  case  of  dyspepsia  to  j/ou. 
Read  him  backwards,  like  llcbrew — whatever  he 

wishes. 
Or  praises,  note  down  as  absurd,  or  pernicious. 
Like  the  folks  of  a  weather-house,  shifting  about. 
When  he's  out,  be  an  In — when  he's  m,  be  an  Out. 
Keep  him  always  reversed  in  your  thoughts,  night 

and  dav. 
Like  an  Irish  barometer  tum'd  the  wrong  way: — 


Or. 


'  Oh.  hmppTt  hapPTt  h>ppy  fle*. 
If  I  were  you,  or  you  were  me  ; 
But  finoe.  alaa !  that  cannot  be, 
I  mnet  remaia  Lord  1  y.** 

z  z 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


eftT  thil  fbnllwcatheT  ii  nigb; 

lou  may  look  fur  a  bit  of  blue  akj. 

t  ik'bntf ra  or  joumalieu  nay, 

t!iii]k>.iuid  Lhcn  think  rochvt  way. 

icSmali-nuleBtll?  tliin  firmly  ivly 

je  liill'ii  u  blessiu);,  thoagb  ftm  tjoo't 

thy- 

*iaver«ion?  then  Harry's  jronrnuui. 
Bt  O'Conncll?  lake  doubly  w  Dan. 
LG  Tnrks?  IbLii,  at  uace.  take  the 

'e  (Czar.  Cosaacks,  and  ttU)  to  joot 


«  ladies  —  at  loAst,  the  polite  ones— 
levtb  black,  'cause  the  devil  hiL» 

chuncxs  of  lime  or  uf  tide, 

once,  Bhiiuld  have  sense  on  his  side, 

1  aloof— for,  be  inra  ttiat  Old  Nick, 

alki  sensibly.  moAna  you  Bomc  trick. 

is-aiid.inon 

ninsnickcr  «  no 
u'llbHiillihalaii 

uttgle  *erw. 
ubslancc  rehearae 
1,  nor  anil.1  be, 
boneatiDBji  should 

Farewell,  too,  the  Faetory's  white  pican 

Small,  lii-ing  mnchiaes,  whicli,  if  flog; 

!>Iix  Eo  nell  with  their  naniesiUvo,  tlie 
and  'Mutinies." 
That  ipAicA  have  got  souls  in  'em  nobw 

IJltle  Maids  of  the  Mill,  nho,  ihwueh 
fed, 
Are  pbli);'d.  'mont:  their  other  benen) 
Tu  "keep  feeding  itiB  scribblers'," — & 

Than  old  Blackwood  Or  Fraser  hate 

All  iMs  is  now  o'er,  and  bo  dismal  aof  lo 
Sn  hard  'lis  to  part  from  the  smack  of  I 

That  I  mean  <froni  pnn:  love  for  the  old 
proceaO. 
To  take  to  wliipt  syllabub  all  my  life  : 


THE  GnoST  OF  MILTIADE 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


615 


A  patriot  still?    Ah  no,  ah  no — 
Goddess  of  Freedom,  thy  Scrip  is  low. 
And,  warm  and  fond  as  thy  lovers  are, 
Thon  triest  their  passion,  when  under  par. 
The  Benthamite's  ardour  fast  decays. 
By  turns  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prays. 
And  wishes  the  d — 1  had  Crescent  and  Cross, 
Ere  he  had  been  forc'd  to  sell  at  a  loss. 
They  quote  him  the  Stock  of  various  nations. 
But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations. 
Lord,  how  he  loathes  the  Greek  quotations  ! 
-  WhoTl  buy  my  Scrip?  Who'll  buv  my  Scrip?  " 
Is  now  the  theme  of  the  patriot's  lip. 
As  he  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 
To  Messrs.  Orlando  and  Luriottis, 
And  says,  **  Oh  Greece,  for  Liberty's  sake, 
**  Do  buy  my  Scrip,  and  I  vow  to  break 
"  Those  dark,  unholy  hondt  of  thine — 
*•  If  youTl  only  consent  to  buy  up  mine!** 
The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  once  more; — 
His  brow,  like  the  ni^ht,  was  lowering  o'er. 
And  he  said,  with  a  Took  that  flash 'd  dismay, 
*•  Of  Liberty's  foes  the  worst  are  they, 
**  Who  turn  to  a  trade  her  cause  divine, 
"  And  gamble  for  gold  on  Freedom's  shrine !  " 
Thus  saying,  the  Ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight, 
Gave  a  Parthian  kick  to  the  Bentliamitc, 
Which  sent  him,  whimpering,  off  to  Jerry— 
And  vanish'd  away  to  the  Stygian  ferry  I 


ALARMING  INTELLIGENCE— REVOLU- 
TION IN  THE  DICTIONARY— ONE 
GALT  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  IT. 

God  preserve  us! — there's  nothing  now  safe  from 
assault; — 
Thrones  toppling  around,  churches  brought  to 
the  hammer; 
And  accounts  have  just  reachM  us  that  one  Mr.  Go/f 
Has  declar'd  open  war  against  English  and 
Grammar! 

He  had  long  been  suspected  of  some  such  design, 
And*  the  better  his  wicked  intents  to  arrive  at. 

Had  lately  'mong  C — lb — n's  troops  of  the  line 
(The  penny-a-line  men)  enlisted  as  private. 

There  schoord,  with  a  rabble  of  words  at  command, 
Scotch,  English,  and  slang,  in  promiscuous  al- 
liance. 


>  **1tet  dark  dlMMcd  iehor  which  ookmnd  hit  cAulonf."— 

s  **  That  tclatinoiM  ehancter  of  thdr  einuknis.'*  —  Ihfid. 
'"The  pottkal  tmlMUininent,  or  rmth«r,  amber  immorteU- 

^'SitUac  aaiidft  th«  shnNidf  uid  rattHngi,  chamiag  an  In- 


He,  at  length,  against  Syntax  has  taken  his  stand, 
And  sets  all  the  Nine  Farts  of  Speech  at  defiance. 

Next  advices,  no  doubt,  further  facts  will  afford; 
In  the  meantime   the  danger  most  imminent 
grows. 
He  has  taken  the  Life  of  one  eminent  Lord, 
And  whom  he'll  mexi  murder  the  Lord  only 
knows. 

WtdMBtdav  Evening. 

Since  our  last,  matters,  luckily,  look  more  serene; 

Though  the  rebel,  'tis  stated,  to  aid  his  defection. 
Has  seized  a  great  Powder — no,  Fufl' Magazine, 

And  the'  explosions  are  dreadful  in  every  direc- 
tion. 

What  his  meaning  exactly  is,  nobody  knows. 
As  he  talks  (in  a  strain  of  intense  botheration) 

Of  lyrical  "  ichor',''  "gelatinous  "  prose,* 
And  a  mixture  call'd  amber  immortalisfition.' 

iVbir,  he  raves  of  a  bard  he  once  happen'd  to  meet. 
Seated  high  **  among  ratthngs,"  and  churning  a 
sonnet;* 

Now,  talks  of  a  mystery,  wrapp'd  in  a  sheet. 
With  a  halo  (by  way  of  a  nightcap)  upon  it!* 

We  shudder  in  tracing  these  terrible  lines; 

Something  bad  they  must  mean,  though  we  can't 
make  it  out; 
For,  whate'er  may  be  guess'd  of  Gait's  secret  designs. 
That  they're  all  ^nfi-English  no  CJhristiau  can 
doubt. 


RESOLUTIONS 

TAMMB  AT  A  X^TB  MBSTIMO  OV 

ILETEREND6    AND   BIQHT   REVERENDS. 

Resolv'd— to  Stick  to  every  particle 
Of  every  Creed  and  every  Article ; 
lieforming  nought,  or  great  or  little. 
We'll  stanchly  stand  by  every  tittle,* 
And  scorn  the  swallow  of  that  soul 
Which  cannot  boldly  bolt  the  whole. 

Resolv'd  that^  though  St.  Athann.sias 
In  damning  souls  is  rather  spacious  — 
Though  wide  and  far  his  curses  fall, 
Our  Church  "hath  stomach  for  them  all;  " 
And  those  who're  not  content  with  such. 
May  e'en  be  d — d  ten  times  as  much. 


*  **  He  WM  a  mjitery  in  a  wliidlnf  ih«et,  eromud  wHh  a  halo.** 
Hid. 

*  One  of  the  queatione  propounded  to  the  Pmitanfl  in  isn  wai — 
"Whether  the  Book  of  Seniec  waa  good  and  godjy,  eTerjr  tittto 
grounded  on  the  Holy  SeriptnreT  "  On  which  an  honeit  DNaenter 
remarke— "  Surely  they  had  a  wonderftil  opinion  of  their  Bnrioa 
Book  that  there  wai  not  a  tsMie  amiM  in  it." 

zz  8 


I^^^I^^B 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

liberal  eouls  are  wc — 

hrcasli"no  Wont  Li 
11  Konconfonnisl  pursefi, 
M  the  money  renchps 
our  rererend  lireechei, 

one  M  swecl  aa  nny; 
Id  friends  Tea  and  Nay 
e  noat'  for  ever  iiraj-, 
the  i»i9«  ilicy'il  pay. 

a  low-bred  view 
Spiritual  ought  lo  do:  — 

E  fnct,  pnor  men, 
borch  was  modeit  Ibun, 

jToIdeD  eggs  her  gooBO, 
aid  in  time  produeo. 

p  al  modem  Dnrhrun 
tOly  thoughts  would  stir  'cm. 

■hen  we,  Spiritoal  Lordg, 
jn9t  enongh  affonls 
liritunl  Lordships  eoiy, 
nriquariuns  pro  y, 
ishofB  cut  up  theirs, 
rthe  largest  aliarcs  — 
ill  one  Ftiort -nurd. 

SIR  AJTDREWS  DREAM. 

As  mug,  on  a  Sunday  eve,  or  late. 
In  hi<  easy  diair  Sir  Andrew  jate. 
Being  niHch  loo  pioo?.  as  every  une  kacmt 
To  do  aught,  of  »  Sunday  eve,  bat  doie:. 
He  dreamt  >  dream,  dear,  holy  man. 
And  m  teU  yon  bin  dream  tu  Htll  as  I  cai 
lie  fonnd  bimself^  lo  his  great  amaze, 
In  Charles  the  First's  high  Tore  days. 
And  just  at  the  time  that  gra»rsi  of  Conrtt 
Had  pnbliBh'd  iw  Book  of  Sunday  Spcrti' 
Sandug  Sponsl  what  a  ihiiig  for  iho  car 
Of  Andrew,  even  in  sleep,  to  hear!  — 
It  chanc'd  to  be,  too,  a  Sabbath  dav. 
When  the  people  from  church  were  eoming 
And  Andrew  with  horror  heard  thii  aong. 
As  the  smiling  sinners  Qoek'd  along;  — 
"  Long  life  to  the  Bishops,  hurrahl  hnrnh 
"  For  a  week  of  wort  and  a  Sunday  of  pla- 
"  Moke  the  poor  raaii's  Ufe  run  mcny  awai 

"  The  Bis^hops  I "  qnoth  Andrew,  "  Popbh,  I 
And  he  grinned  with  conaciuus  holiness. 
Bnt  [he  song  wont  on,  and.  to  brim  ilie  cnf 
flf  poor  Andr-5  grief,  the  fiiMlcj  itniL^fc  up 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


617 


**  Then  hnrrah  for  the  Bishops,  hurrali!  harrah! 
**  A  week  of  work  and  a  Sabbath  of  play 
**  Make  the  poor  man's  life  run  merry  away." 

To  Andy,  who  doesn't  much  deal  in  history, 

This  Sunday  scene  was  a  downright  mystery; 

And  Grod  knows  where  might  have  ended  the  joke. 

Bat,  in  trying  to  stop  the  fiddles,  he  woke. 

And  the  odd  thing  is  (as  the  rumour  goes) 

That  since  that  dream — which,  one  would  suppose, 

Should  have  made  his  godly  stomach  rise, 

Even  more  than  ever,  'gainst  Sunday  pies  — 

He  has  view'd  things  quite  with  different  eyeS; 

Is  beginrung  to  take,  on  matters  divine. 

Like  Charles  and  his  Bishops,  the  sporting  line  — 

Is  all  for  Christians  jigging  in  pairs. 

As  an  interlude  *twixt  Sunday  prayers;  — 

Nay,  talks  of  getting  Archbishop  H — 1 — j 

To  bring  in  a  Bill,  enacting  duly. 

That  all  good  Protestants,  from  this  date. 

May,  freely  and  lawfully,  recreate. 

Of  a  Sunday  eve,  their  spirits  moody. 

With  Jack  in  the  Straw,  or  Punch  and  Judy. 


A  BLUE  LOVE-SONG. 

TO  M188 . 

AJr— **  Comt  Jive  with  me,  emd  be  my  love.** 

Comb  wed  with  me,  and  we  will  write. 

My  Blue  of  Blues,  from  mom  till  night 

Chas'd  from  our  classic  souls  shall  be 

All  thoughts  of  vulgar  progeny; 

And  thou  shalt  walk  through  smiling  rows 

Of  chubby  duodecimos. 

While  I,  to  match  thy  products  nearly, 

Shall  lie-in  of  a  quarto  yearly. 

'Tis  true,  ev'n  books  entail  some  trouble; 

But  live  productions  give  one  double. 

Correcting  children  is  such  bother,  — 

While  printers'  doils  correct  the  other. 

Just  think,  my  own  Malthusian  dear. 

How  much  more  decent  'tis  to  hear 

From  male  or  female —  as  it  may  be  — 

"  How  is  your  book  ?  "  than  "  How's  your  baby  ?  " 

And,  whereas  physic  and  wet  nurses 

Do  much  exhaust  paternal  purses. 

Our  books,  if  rickety,  may  go 

And  be  well  dry-nurs'd  in  the  Row; 

And,  when  God  wills  to  tAke  them  hence, 

Are  buried  at  the  Row^s  expense. 

Besides  (as  'tis  well  prov'd  by  thee. 
In  thy  own  Works,  vol.  93.) 


En*  of  GAnreloeh.'* —Oarreloeh  bdoff  a  place  where 
a  large  hcning-ftiheTy,  bnl  where,  o  we  are  told  by  the 


The  march,  just  now,  of  population 
So  much  outstrips  all  moderation, 
That  even  proUlic  herring  shoals 
Keep  pace  not  with  our  erring  souls.' 
Oh  far  more  proper  and  well-bred 
To  stick  to  writing  books  iustea<l ! 
And  show  the  world  how  two  Blue  lovers 
Can  coalesce,  like  two  book-covers, 
(Sheep-skin,  or  calf,  or  such  wise  leather,) 
Letter'd  at  back,  and  stitch'd  together. 
Fondly  as  first  the  binder  fixed  'cm. 
With  nought  but  —  literature  betwixt  'cm. 


SUNDAY  ETHICS. 

▲  SCOTCH   ODE. 

PuiK,  profligate  Londoners,  having  heard  tell 
That  the  De'il's  got  amang  ye,  and  fearing  'tis 
true. 
We  ha'  sent  ye  a  mon  wha's  a  match  for  his  spell, 
A  chiel  o'  our  ain,  that  the  De'il  himsel' 
Will  be  glad  to  keep  clear  of,  one  Andrew 
Agnew. 


So,  at  least,  ye  may  reckon,  for  ane  day  entire 
In  ilka  lang  week  ye*ll  be  tranquil  enengh. 

As  Auld  Nick,  do  him  justice,  abhors  a  Scotch 
squire. 

An'  would  sooner  gae  roast  by  his  ain  kitchen  fire 
Than  pass  a  hale  Sunday  wi'  Andrew  Agnew. 

For,  bless  the  gude  mon,  gin  he  had  his  ain  way. 
He'd  na  let  a  cat  on  the  Sabbath  say  **  mew; " 
Nae  birdie  maun  whistle,  nae  Iambic  maun  play, 
An*  Phoebus  himsel  could  na  travel  that  day, 
As  he'd  find  a  new  Joshua  in  Andie  Agnew. 

Only  hear,  in  your  Senate,  how  awfu*  he  cries, 

**  Wac,  wae  to  a*  sinners  who  boil  an'  who  stew  I 
•*  Wae,  wae  to  a'  caters  o'  Sabbath-bak'd  pics, 
"  For  as  surely  again  shall  tlie  crust  thereof  rise 
'  In  judgment  against  ye,"  saith  Andrew  Agnew ! 


M 


Ye  may  think,  from  a'  this,  that  our  Andie's  the  lad 

To  ca'  o'er  the  coak  your  nobeelity,  too; 
That  their  drives,  o'  a  Sunday,  wi'  flunkies*,  a'  clad 
Like  Shawmen,  behind  'em,  would  mak  the  mon 
mad  — 
But  he's  nae  sic  a  noodle,  our  Andie  Agnew. 

If  Lairds  an'  fine  Ladies,  on  Sunday,  think  right 
To  gang  to  the  deevil — as  maist  o'  them  do — 

aothor,  **  the  people  Inereaaed  mneh  fluter  than  the  produce.** 
3  Serrants  in  livery. 

Z2  3 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


619 


And  with  that  aspect,  uitra  crabbed 
Which  marks  Dissenters  when  they're  rabid! 
God  only  knows  what  mischiefs  might 
Resolt  from  this  one  single  bite. 
Or  how  the  venom,  once  snck'd  in. 
Might  spread  and  rage  through  kith  and  kin. 
Mad  folks,  of  all  denominations. 
First  torn  upon  their  own  relations: 
So  that  one  Gr— lb— n,  fairly  bit. 
Might  end  in  maddening  the  whole  kit, 
mi,  ah,  ye  gods,  we'd  have  to  me 
Oar  G— lb — n  senior  bitten  too; 
The  Hychnrchphobia  in  those  veins. 
Where  Tory  blood  now  redly  reigns;^ 
And  that  dear  man,  who  now  perceives 
Salvation  only  in  lawn  sleeves, 
Might,  tainted  by  snch  coarse  infection, 
Bnn  mad  in  the'  opposite  direction. 
And  think,  poor  man,  'tis  only  given 
To  linsey-woolsey  to  reach  ^aven! 

Jost  fancy  what  a  shock  'twonld  be 
Our  G — lb— n  in  his  fits  to  see. 
Tearing  into  a  thousand  particles 
His  once  lov'd  Nine  and  Thirty  Articles; 
(Those  Articles  his  friend,  the  Duke,* 
For  Gospel,  t'other  night,  mistook;) 
Cursing  cathedrals,  deans,  and  singers — 
Wi£:hing  the  ropes  might  hang  the  ringers — 
Pelting  the  church  with  blasphemies. 
Even  worse  than  Parson  B — ^v — rl — ^y's; — 
And  ripe  for  severing  Church  and  State, 
Like  any  creedless  reprobate. 
Or  like  that  class  of  Methodists 
Prince  Waterloo  styles  *'  Atheists! " 

But  'tis  too  much — the  Muse  turns  pale, 
And  o'er  the  picture  drops  a  veil. 
Praying,  God  save  the  G — lb — ^ms  all 
From  mad  Dissenters,  great  and  small! 


A  DREAM  OF  HINDOSTAN. 


'  rintm  t^n^t^f  t  ttin^i^i 


>» 


**  The  longer  one  lives,  the  more  one  learns,' 

Said  I,  as  off  to  sleep  I  went, 
Bemns'd  with  thinking  of  Tithe  concerns, 
And  reading  a  book,  by  the  Bishop  of  Febns,' 

On  the  Insh  Church  Establishment. 
But,  lo,  in  sleep,  not  long  I  lay, 

When  Fancy  her  usual  tricks  began, 
And  I  found  myself  bewitch'd  away 

To  a  goodly  city  in  Uindostan — 


1  TbcDokc  of  Welliagton.who  itylcd  them  '^tlie  Artklet  of 
CksMiaiilty.'* 


A  city,  where  he,  who  dares  to  dine 
On  aught  but  rice,  is  deem'd  a  sinner; 

Where  sheep  and  kine  are  held  divine. 
And,  accordingly — never  drest  for  dinner. 

"But  how  is  this?"  I  wond'ring  cried — 
As  I  walk'd  that  city,  fair  and  wide, 
And  saw,  in  every  marble  street, 

A  row  of  beautiful  butchers'  shops — 
**  What  means,  for  men  who  don't  eat  meat, 

"This  grand  display  of  loins  and  chops?" 
In  vain  I  ask'd — 'twas  plain  to  see 
That  nobody  dar'd  to  answer  me. 

So,  on,  from  street  to  street  I  strode; 
And  you  can't  conceive  how  vastly  odd 
The  butchers  look'd — a  roseate  crew, 
Inshrin'd  in  stalk,  with  nought  to  do; 
While  some  on  a  benchf  hall-dozing,  sat. 
And  the  Sacred  Cows  were  not  more  fat. 

Still  pos'd  to  think,  what  all  this  scene 
Of  sinecure  trade  was  meant  to  mean, 
"And,  pray,"  ask'd  I  —  "by  whom  is  paid 
"The  expense  of  this  strange  masquerade?" — 
"The'  expense! — oh  that's  of  course  defray 'd 
(Said  one  of  these  well-fed  Hecatombers) 
"By  yonder  rascally  rice -consumers." 
"What!  they,  who  mustn't  eat  meat! " — 

"No  matter- 
(And,  while  he  spoke,  his  cheeks  grew  fatter,) 
"  The  rogues  may  munch  their  Paddy  crop, 
"  But  the  rogues  must  still  support  our  shop. 
"  And,  de|)cnd  upon  it,  the  way  to  treat 

"  Heretical  stomachs  that  thus  dissent, 
"  Is  to  burden  all  that  won't  eat  meat, 

"  With  a  costly  Meat  Establishment." 

On  hearing  these  words  so  gravely  said. 

With  a  volley  of  laughter  loud  I  shook; 
And  my  slumber  fled,  and  my  dream  was  sped. 
And  I  found  I  was  lying  snug  in  bed. 

With  my  nose  in  the  Bishop  of  Febn's  book. 


THE  BRUNSWICK  CLUB. 

A  letter  hsTing  been  addreswd  to  a  very  distinsubhed  penonaye, 
Tcquettins  him  to  become  the  Patron  of  thi*  Orange  Club,  a  poiitc 
answer  was  forthwith  returned,  of  which  we  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  a  copy. 

Brinutone  Hall,  SeptenJxr  1, 18». 

Private.  —  Lord  Belzebub  presents 
To  the  Brunswick  Club  his  compliments, 
And  much  regrets  to  say  that  he 
Cannot,  at  present,  their  Patron  be. 


2  An  indefatigable  Kribbler  of  antl-CathoUc  pamphleta. 

Z  Z  4 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


621 


>  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE 


•  *  • 


ird  •ome  nunoura  rtipectinir  the  ftnungc  and  awfUl 
r  which  Lord  H— nl— 7  hu  for  tome  time  pMt  bven 
iKqucDoe  of  hit  declared  hofltUltr  to  **  anthem*, 
kc.  I  took  the  liberty  of  mokins  inqiilrlet  at  hit 
e  thb  momlnff,  and  lote  no  time  in  tranamittinic  to 
ilart  a*  I  could  collect.  It  is  taiU  that  the  Kreami 
under  the  operation  of  thii  nightly  concert, (which 
ne  trick  of  tlM  RadicaU. )  may  be  heard  all  over  the 
The  female  who  peraonate*  St.  Ccdlia  i»  mppoaed 
hat,  laft  year,  appeared  in  the  eharactirr  of  Isi»,at 
low  the  cheruba  an  managed,!  have  not  yet  aacer- 

Youravftc 

P.P. 

H— NL— T  AND  ST.  CECILIA. 

.  in  MetiidMoaidat  Jndieaa  anrea.  Hoaat. 

bis  bed  Lord  H— nl — y  lay, 
:  much  his  own  renown, 
to  add  thereto  a  raj, 
Q  dnets  and  anthems  down, 

rain  of  choral  sounds 
s  o'er  his  senses  stole; 
Reformer  muttcr*d,  **  Zounds !  " 
ith'd  sweet  music  with  all  his  souL 

ig  up.  he  saw  a  sight 

might  shock  so  lcam*d  a  snorcr  — 

u  rob'd  in  light, 

•rtable  organ  slung  before  her. 

«rere  Cherubs,  on  rainbow  wings, 
Ix>rdship  fear*d,  might  tire  of  flitting, 
leyM  sit  —  but  uli!  poor  things, 
Dne  of  them,  got  the  means  of  sitting.' 

ird,**  said  the  Saint,  "  you're  fond  of 

eed,  that  musical  snore  betray'd  you, 

;1  my  clioir  of  chcrubims, 

le,  for  a  while,  to  serenade  you." 

iic  horrified  H — nl — y  say 

all    a    mistake " — "  she    was    mis- 

<;d;" 

)  a  concert  over  the  way, 

dlers  and  angels  were  expected* 

e  Saint  could  see  in  his  looks 
y  said)  much  tuneful  lore; 
all  openM  their  music-l>ooks, 
If  and  her  Cherubs  set  otT  at  score. 

ets,  terzcts,  quartets, 
quintets  most  dire  to  hear; 

n  CSiurch  Reform,  pnblifhed  by  hi«  Lordship  in 

u,  mea  enfkna."^"!!  n'y  a  paa  de  quoi,  mon 

aat  memorable  criila  when  a  diaUncalahcd  Duke, 


Ay,  and  old  motets,  and  canzonets, 
And  glees,  in  sets,  kept  boring  his  ear. 

He  tried  to  sleep  —  but  it  wouldn't  do; 

So  loud  they  squaird,  he  must  attend  to  'em; 
Though  Cherubs'  songs,  to  his  cost  he  knew. 

Were  like  themselves,  and  had  no  end  to  'em. 

Oh  judgment  dire  on  judges  bold. 
Who  meddle  with  music's  sacred  strains! 

Judge  Midas  tried  the  same  of  old, 
And  was  punish'd,  like  H — nl — ^y,  for  his  paiDflU 

But  worse  on  the  modem  judge,  alas  I 
Is  the  sentence  launch 'd  from  Apollo's  throne; 

For  Midas  was  given  the  cars  of  an  ass, 
While  H — nl — ^y  is  doom'd  to  keep  his  own  I 


ADVERTISEMENT.' 


1830. 


M1S8IKO  or  lost,  last  Sunday  night, 
A  Waterloo  coin,  whereon  was  trac'd 

The'  inscription,  **  Courage  I "  in  letters  bright. 
Though  a  little  by  rust  of  years  defac'd. 

The  metal  thereof  is  rough  and  hard. 
And  ('tis  thought  of  late)  mix'd  up  with  brass; 

But  it  bears  the  stamp  of  Fame's  award. 
And  through  all  Posterity's  hands  will  pass. 

How  it  was  lost,  God  only  knows. 

But  certain  City  thieves  they  say, 
Broke  in  on  the  owner's  evening  doze. 

And  filch'd  this  **gift  of  gods  "  away  I 

One  ne'er  could,  of  course,  the  Cits  suspect. 
If  we  hadn*t,  that  evening,  chanc*d  to  see, 

At  the  robb'd  man's  door,  a  Mare  elect. 
With  an  ass  to  keep  her  company. 

Whosoe'er  of  this  lost  treasure  knows, 
Is  begg'd  to  state  all  facts  about  it. 

As  the  owner  can't  well  face  his  foes. 
Nor  even  his  friends,  just  now,  without  it   . 

And  if  Sir  Clod  Tvill  bring  it  back. 
Like  a  trusty  Baronet,  wise  and  able. 

He  shall  have  a  ride  on  the  whitest  hack  * 
That's  left  in  old  King  George's  stable. 


then  Prime  Mlniiler,  aetinc  under  the  tnaplrmtfoni  of  Mr  CI— d-» 
II— nt— r  and  other  City  worthlea,  adviaed  hia  Ma)c«ty  to  five  up 
his  announced  intention  of  dining  with  the  Lord  Mayor. 

*  AmooK  other  remarkAble  attributei  by  which  Sir  Cl— d— • 
diatinguiahcd  himaelf,  the  ***— »*«g  whitaneM  of  hk  fkTooilte  atced 
waa  BoC  the  kaat  oooaploiKMH. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


623 


tood  forth  to  caper, 

le  floor  as  he  doth  on  paper — 

lappcr  Dancing  Dervise, 

es  his  whole  church-service — 

midst  those  reverend  souls, 

U,  such  cabrioles, 

t\  such — rigmaroles, 

»w  low,  now  this,  now  that, 

uld  guess,  what  the  devil  he'd  be  at; 

:hing  his  various  steps,  some  thought 

1  the  Church  was  all  he  sought. 

!  while  thus  so  gay, 

id  dancers  frisk'd  away, 

iself  (not  the  saint,  but  he 

•house)  could  brisker  be, 

d  a  gloom  around  their  glee  — 

lich  came  and  went  so  fiist, 

could  say,  ***Tis  there,**  'twas  past  — 

1  the  scene  again  was  clear*d, 

.ncers  had  disappcar'd! 

led  quadrillcrs  swept 

low*d  floor  where  late  they  stept, 

was  all  that  footed  it  still, 

side  of  that  grand  Quadrille! 

vorst:  —  still  danc*d  they  on, 
>  was  sadden *d,  the  smilo  was  gone; 
om  time  to  time,  the  same 
rkness  round  them  came — 
}  the  light  broke  out  anew, 
X)k'd  less  by  a  dozen  or  two; 
St  there  were  only  found 
enough  for  a  four-hands-round; 
iwoke,  impatient  getting, 
holy  pair  poussetting  ! 

dies  in  years,  it  seems, 
piest  knack  at  solring  dreams, 
o  my  ancient  feminine  friends 
trd  to  say  what  this  portends. 


DICK 


*     «    *    * 


A   CHA&ACTER. 

scraps  and  fragments  built, 
1  alike  from  fools  and  wits, 
d  was  like  a  patchwork  quilt, 
of  new,  old,  motley  bits — 

of  the  method  of  executing  thli  itcp  majr  be 
rformen  in  the  uime  Hoe:  —  "  Ce  p«s  est  com- 
ivemetu  difl?reni,  Mvoir.  plirr,  et  Miater  nir  wt 
ur  rautre."—DH:tioHnaire  de  Dante,  art.  CknUn- 

to  the  maintenance  and  education  of  a  clergy 
rular  vow»  ufcrJibacy,  which,  a*  it  irwre,  tfttvt  them 
<miy  famUy,makmg  itjUl  thepktou  tff/atkerttnd 


Where,  if  the  Co,  call'd  in  their  shares, 

If  petticoats  their  quota  got. 
And  gowns  were  all  refunded  theirs. 

The  quilt  would  look  but  shy,  God  wot 

And  thus  he  still,  new  plagiaries  seeking, 

Bevers*d  ventriloquism's  trick. 
For,  *8tead  of  Dick  through  others  speakinjir, 

*Twa8  others  we  heard  speak  through  Dick. 
A  Tory  now,  all  bounds  exceeding. 

Now  best  of  Whigs,  now  worst  of  rats; 
One  day,  with  Malthus,  foe  to  breeding, 

The  next  with  Sadler,  all  for  brats. 

Poor  Dick  I — and  how  else  coidd  it  be? 

With  notions  all  at  random  caught, 
A  sort  of  mental  fricassee. 

Made  up  of  legs  and  wings  of  thought— 
The  leavings  of  3ie  last  Debate,  or 

A  dinner,  yesterday,  of  wits. 
Where  Dick  sat  by,  and,  like  a  waiter, 

Had  the  scraps  for  perquisites. 


A  CORRECTED  REPORT  OF  SOME  LATE 

SPEECHES. 

**  Then  I  heard  oneaaist  speaking,  and  another  taint  mid  nnto 

that  Mint" 

1834. 

St.  S — NCL — R  rose  and  declar*d  in  sooth, 

That  he  wouldn't  give  sixpence  to  Maynooth. 

He  had  hated  priests  the  whole  of  his  Ufe, 

For  a  priest  was  a  man  who  had  no  wife,' 

And,  having  no  wife,  the  Church  was  his  mother, 

The  Church  was  his  father,  sister,  and  brother. 

This  being  the  case,  he  was  sorry  to  say. 

That  a  gtdf  *twixt  Papist  and  Protestant  lay," 

So  deep  and  wide,  scarce  possible  was  it 

To  say  even  "how  d*ye  do?'*  across  it: 

And  though  your  Liberals,  nimble  as  fleas. 

Could  clear  such  gulfs  with  perfect  ease, 

'Twas  a  jump  that  nought  on  earth  could  make 

Your  proper,  heavy-built  Christian  take. 

No,  no,  —  if  a  Dance  of  Sects  must  be. 

He  would  set  to  the  Baptist  willingly,* 

At  the  Independent  deign  to  smirk. 

And  rigadoon  with  old  Mother  Kirk; 

Nay  even,  for  once,  if  needs  must  be. 

He'd  take  hands  round  with  all  the  three; 

But,  as  to  a  jig  with  Popery,  no, — 

To  the  Harlot  ne'er  would  he  point  his  toe. 

mother  and  ftrolAer.**— Debate  on  the  Grant  to  Majnooth  Col- 
lege.  The  Timet,  April  19. 

*  *'  It  had  always  anwared  to  him  that  between  the  Catholic  and 
Protestant  agrtttt  ipAf  intervened,  which  rendered  it  impoMible,'* 
Itc 

4  **  The  Baptist  mifEht  aooeptahly  extend  the  offlcet  of  religion  to 
the  Freibyteriaa  and  (he  Independent,  or  the  member  of  the  Church 
of  England  to  any  of  the  other  threei  but  the  GathoUc,'*  an. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ic  was  the  next  that  tow,— 
ri  rounr],  aa  peiUar.  );i>ca, 
k  of  pietc  and  prnsc. 
lOl  encuEli,  God  knows, — 
I  ihnt  Papisia  were  mach  inclin'd 

I  ■!]  of  I^oKstiuit  kind. 
[juldn't.  in  truth,  >o  much  rondemn, 

■  wish  to  extirpate  lAcm; 
h  eiiard  against  toistakc, — 
t  iLem  for  their  doctririe'9  sake; 
In  Chorchmen  aiwaya  maker  — 
.t,  when  they've  prime  control, 
:tiinc»  roiuting  heretio  whole. 
k  the  boUyfor  Htke  of  the  aouL 

II  St.  J~hnst— n  jollily  forth, 
U  Dogbenj  of  the  North,' 
ffc  fellow,  und.  what's  more, 
I"  like  hi<  type  of  yore  j 

'  if  wo  grant  inch  toleration, 

lie  n»e  of  our  Befonnatioii  ? ' 

«  of  oar  Chnrcb  and  StUe? 

^  Articles,  Tithe,  And  Kate? 

I  he  jell'd  oat  - whafa  the  n»e?  " 

I  from  their  cells  rocloBi 

jentiiripf  ■ili^pt,  broke  loose, 
."H'AolV  Mr  !«(?'■ 


Then'EloodmyLcrdEia— n.codorsinsi 
TliouKh  ua'to  whieli  dde  sh(>uld  Ue  n 
doubtiug. 


Al  length,  safe  arriy'd,  1  went  throngh  ' 

Dclirer'd  my  poods  in  ihe  primesi  cci 

And  next  mominc  rend,  in  the  Brnlgrtim 

"Just  arriv'd  by  'The  Trnlh,"  ■  new 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


625 


a  Question,  the  Bank,  the  Five    But  too  awful  that  sight  for  a  spirit  so  shaken,^- 

I      Down    dropped   the   poor    Tory   in  fits    and 
I  into  two)  with  their  rigmarole  <  grimaces, 

i;* —  Then  off  to  the  Bedlam  in  Charles  Street  was 

>ds,  how  this  now  iricnd  of  ours  taken, 

,  right  and  left,  all  diplomacy's        And  is  now  one  of  Halford's  most  favourite  cases, 
e-calis! 


FROM  THE  HON.  HENRY- 
TO  LADY  EMMA 


an  Whigs  at  onr  downfall  should 

s,  and  suns,  in  one  general  hustle! 
in  vengeance,  we  welcome  the 

Partf,irarc*  30. 1831 

'f  L^^.^"*^^'*"  ^^^  ^""^^  ^"  '  "^^^  ^id  ™«  e^Pl^"'  ™y  de"  a^gry  Ma'amselle, 

How  I  came  thus  to  bolt  without  sayhig  farewell; 

And  the  truth  is, — as  truth  you  will  ha.\e,  my 

sweet  railer,  — 

There  are  two  worthy  persons  I  always  feel  loth 

To  take  leave  of  at  starting, — my  mistress  and 

tailor,—  [both; 

As  somehow  one  always  has  scenes  with  them 

The  Snip  in  ill-humour,  the  Syren  in  tears, 

She  calling  on  Heaven,  and  he  on  the*  attorney, — 
Till  sometimes,  in  short,  'twixt  his  duns  and'  her 
dears, 
A  young  gentleman  risks  being  stopp'd  in  his 
journey. 


d  Russell.' 

ad  Lord,  as,  with  telescope  rais*d, 
r  eye  on  the  heavens  he  set; 
jthing  destructive  appeared  as  he 

hat  there  would  before  Parliament 


Id  shapes  seem*d  to  flit  through 

t  is  now,''  the  poor  maniac  cries; 
|r  with  forms  but  too  monstrous. 


I  Tory  zodiac,  peoples  the  skies: — 


But,  to  come  to  the  point, — though  you  think,  I 

dare  say, 
Tliat  'tis  debt  or  the  Cholera  drives  me  away, 
'Pon  honour  you're  wrong;— such  a  mere  baga- 
telle 
As  a  pestilence,  nobody,  now-a-days,  fears ; 
And  the  fact  is,  my  love,  I'm  thus  bolting,  pell- 
mell,  [Peers;* 
To   get  out  of  the  way  of  these  horrid  new 
This  deluge  of  coronets,  frightful  to  think  of, 
n  double  star^of  the  nebulous  kind,  '  Which  England  is  now,  for  her  sins,  on  the  brink  of; 
lini,  R— den   and    L— rt— n,   no    This  comuge  of  w)6/m,— coin'd,  aU  of 'cm,  badly, 

And  sure  to  bring  Counts  to  acfucoimt  most  sadly. 


ig  body,  good  heavens,  how  big! 
ucky"  or  Taurus  I  cannot  well 

:hcre's  Eld — n's  old  Chancery-wig, 
aphelion  fast  fading  away. 

^ose  fatuous  meteors  behind, 
— ry,  in  vacuo,  flaring  about ; 


•h !  'faith,  I  first  thought  'twas  the 

in  Milton,  it  made  me  quite  pale; 
h  the  same  *  horrid  hair*'  coming 

of  vapour,  but — where  is  the  tail?  " 


oft  jump'd  the  gazer  elated — 
•ight  glass  a  phenomenon  show'd, 
I   to   be   C — mb — rl — d,  upwards 

natural  course,  Cother  road ! 

leae  Protocola,  the  AnnuAl  Reffifter,  for  the 


Only  think,  to  have  Lords  overrunning  the  nation, 
As  plenty  as  frogs  in  a  Dutch  inundation; 
No  shelter  from  Barons,  from  Eiirls  no  protection. 
And  tadpole  young  Lords,  too,  in  every  direction, — 
Things  created  in  haste,  just  to  make  a  Court 

list  of, 
Two  legs  and  a  coronet  all  they  consist  of : 
The   prosi)ect'8    quite  frightful,    and  what    Sir 

George  R — se 
(My  particular  friend)  says  is  perfectly  true, 
Tliat,  so  dire  the  ahemative,  nobody  knows, 
'Twixt  the  Peers  and  the  Pestilence,  what  he's 

to  do; 


>  "  And  from  hi*  horrid  hair 

Shake*  peetilence  and  war.*' 
*  A  new  erection  of  Feen  wee  leneralljr  expcoled  ftt  thie  tlint. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


627 


i)e,  there  never  were  yet 
of  the  alphabet, 
hem  form'd  so  grim  a  spell, 
and  of  Galls  so  well, 
(irful  riddle-me-ree 

D.  K  B.  T. 

*  •  * 

struggling  Freedom's  cry; 
ye  nations,  or  I  die; 
a's  fight,  and,  on  the  field 
pire,  your  doom  is  seal'd." 
ig  hears  the  awakening  call, 
mon*d  his  Peers  and  Patriots  all, 

"  Ye  noble  Gulls,  shall  we 
y  by  at  the  fall  of  the  Free, 
.  curse,  nor  deal  a  blow?  ** 
swer,  with  voice  of  thunder,  *•  No." 

flashing  swords  in  the  air!  — 

0  they  rest  suspended  there? 

1  blight,  what  baleful  charm, 
each  eye,  and  checked  each  arm? 
virithering  hand  hath  thrown 

a  off  that  fatal  stone, 
■^  now,  with  sapless  finger, 
CTC  dark  those  letters  linger,  — 
and  letters  three, 
>.  E  B.  T. 

roof,  each  lifted  brand 

lis  from  every  hand; 

Patriot  knits  his  brow,  — 

is  staple,  fails  him  now. 

King  like  a  hero  treads, 

f  the  Treasury  shake  their  heads; 

lis  talk  of  **  brave  and  free," 

;ettcth  His  Majesty 

E.  D.  E.  B.  T." 

whole  Gull  nation  feels 
ly  spcll-l)Ound,  neck  and  heels; 
he  face  of  the  laughing  world, 
t  down,  with  banners  furlM, 

all  their  dreams  sublime 
1  war  to  —  some  other  time. 


TIONS   ON  REFORM. 

'  A  MODERN  REFORlfER. 

ifortunes  as  yet  brought  to  pass 
net-like  BiU,  with  its  long  tail  of 

nd  worst  is  the  schism  which,  alas ! 
d  between  W — th — ^r — 1*8  waistcoat 
ceches. 


^k>me  symptoms  of  this  Anti-Union  propensity 

Had  oft  broken  out  in  that  quarter  before; 
But  the  breach,  since  the  Bill,  has  attained  such 
immensity, 
Daniel  himself  could  have   scarce  wish'd    it 
more. 

Oh !  haste  to  repair  it,  ye  friends  of  good  order. 
Ye  Atw— ds  and  W — nns,  ere  the  moment  is 
past; 
Who  can  doubt  that  we  tread  upon  Anarchy's 
border. 
When  the  ties  that  should  hold  men  are  loosen- 
ing so  fast? 

Make  W— th — r— 1  yield  to  **  some  sort  of  Re- 
form" 
(As  we  all  must,  God  help  us!  with  very  wry 
faces), 
And  loud  as  he  likes  let  him  bluster  and  storm 
About  Corporate  Rights,  so  he'll  only  wear 
braces. 

Should  those  he  now  sports  have  been  long  in 
possession. 
And,  like  his  own  borough,  the  worse  for  the 
wear. 
Advise  him,  at  least,  as  a  prudent  concession 
To  Intellect's  progress,  to  buy  a  new  pair. 

Oh !  who  that  e'er  saw  him,  when  vocal  he  stands. 
With  a  look  something  midway  'twixt  Filch's 
and  Lockit's, 
While  still,  to  inspire  him,  his  deeply  thrust  hands 
Keep    jingling  the   rhino  in  both    breeches- 
pockets — 

Who  that  ever  has  listen'd,  through  groan  and 

through  cough. 
To  the  speeches    inspir'd  by  this    music    of 

pence, — 
But  must  grieve  that  there's  anything  like  falling 

off 
In  that  great  nether  source  of  his  wit  and  his 

sense? 

Who  that  knows  how  he  look'd  when,  with  grace 
debonair. 
He  began  first  to  court — rather  late  in  the 
scaNon — 
Or  when,  less  fastidions,  he  sat  in  the  chair 
Of  his  old  friend,  the  Nottingham  Goddess  of 
Reason ; ^ 

That  Goddess,  whose  borough-like  virtue  attracted 
All  mongers  in  both  wares  to  proffer  their  love; 

1  It  will  be  reeolleetcd  thmt  the  kanied  imitleiiHui  hitnwlf 
'  boMted  one  nHrht  In  the  Hoa«e  of  Commom,  of  hariag  Mt  in  Hm 
I  Tety  chair  which  this  aUrgOfknl  lady  had  oocttpted. 


^^^^^^^B 

MOORE-S  WORKS. 

e  the  swolof  thcP)-lhoncs8»ctcA 
-r— l-a    mniii.  ciet   since,  go   lo 

would  not  grieTB.  if  a  man  of  hit 

rejecting,  onwamM  by  ih*  piwt, 
R«f<Fn.i"  or«Mirofnewbr«w. 
7,  —  he-U  aU  tail  to  inecca  u  Um. 

rORT  PLEDGES. 

wirthroajth  Ihict  and  thin, 
(tiU.  with  ical  JcYont, 
att,  pour  devile,  in, 
he  Ids,  the  wretches,  onL 

wir,  thoDgh  mneli  herett 
Id  mean*  of  ruling  ill, 
most  of  wliat  are  left, 
lo  oU  Oiat'ii  rotUQ  itiO. 

the  dnvR  of  place  and  pelf, 
i  Du  more  take  all  iho  liouev, 
elf  lo  cram  iin-Mlf 
u.ii.ir|)iil,i;cmi)i..y; 

Or  if  ibc  kipfc,  let  il  console  us, 
«f  ma  have  plcntv  of  ral  coato, 

To  cram  the  Chnreh.  lh«  gcHial  boto 
UuwD  aaj  gif 'a  auioiuii  of  throau. 

I  dearly  Lore  the  Frankfort  DicL— 
Tliink  nerspapcn  the  wont  of  aim 

And  would,  to  give  «omc  chance  ol'  qu 
Hang  all  the  wriien  of  The  'niiieti 

Break  all  their  correfipoadeDts*  bonea, 

Froin  the  Aoti-Ton-,  Colonel  J— «<, 
Xu  the  Anti-Saciee,  Mr.  P— jntd— r. 

Such  are  ihc  Pledge  I  propw«: 
And  ihougli  I  can't  now  offer  gold, 

Tliere's  manv  a  way  of  bujinjc  ihote 
WhoVc  but  the  tasla  for  being  sold. 

So  her«'B,  with  three  limea  three  hmrml 

A  toast,  of  nhirh  rou'll  not  compUiu 

-Lone  life  to  jobbing;  may  the  da<> 

ST.  JEHOME  ON  EARTH 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


629 


Grace  preventing,  Grace  particular, 

that  breed  called  Quinquartieular '  — 

he  ruinmag*d  his  holy  mind, 

£t  description  of  Grace  to  find, 

los  conld  represented  be 

tman  in  full  livery. 

>ut  loud  in  a  laugh  he  broke, 

v\j  the  good  saint  lov'd  his  joke)* 

I — surveying,  as  sly  he  spoke, 

ly  palace  from  roof  to  base  — 

t  isn't,  at  least,  a  saving  Grace! " 

**  said  the  lackey,  a  man  of  few  words. 

jchbishop  is  gone  to  the  House  of  Lords.* 

House  of  the  Lord,  you  mean,  my  son, 

my  time,  at  least,  there  was  but  one; 

such  m&uj-fold  priests  as  these 

v'n  in  their  Lord,  pluralities!  "■ 

e  for  gab,"  quoth  the  man  in  lace: 

miming  the  door  in  St  Jerome's  face, 

:urse  to  the  single  knockers  all, 

finish  his  port  in  the  servants'  hall, 

pose  a  toast  (humanely  meant 

dc  even  Curates  in  its  extent) 

as  serves  the'  Establishment." 


ST.  JEROME  ON  EARTH. 

SECOND  VISIT. 

ach  I  dare  ny.  that,  linee  lording  and  loiterinic  hath 
reaching  hath  come  down,  eontranr  to  the  Apoitlee* 

they  preached  and  lorded  not :  and  now  they  lord  and 
ErcT  ftinoe  the  Prelatee  were  made  Lorda  and 

plonifh  ftandeth  i  there  ia  no  work  done,  the  people 
xi^imer,  Sermon  qftke  Ptonok, 

nore,"  said  Jerome,  *'  Fll  run  up  and  see 
Church  goes  on,"  —  and  off  set  he. 
1  the  packet-boat,  which  trades 
our  planet  and  the  shades, 
v*d  below,  with  a  freight  so  queer, 
^es ! "    said    Jerome,    *'  what    have    we 
;re?"— 

aw,  when  nearer  he  explor'd, 
i  cargo  of  Bishops'  wigs  aboard, 
.re  ghosts  of  wigs,"  said  Charon,  **  all, 
rom  by  nobs  Episcopal.^ 
ks  on  earth,  who've  got  a  store 
>  off  things  they'll  want  no  more, 
id  them  down,  as  jrifts,  you  know, 
ertain  Gentleman  here  below." 


dfrom  th^proceedinge  of  the  Synod  of  Port. 

I  hie  well-known  pan  on  the  name  of  hie  adterMry, 

,  whom  he  ealla  faoetionily  Dormitantlna. 

ipidoB  attached  to  eome  of  the  eariy  Fathen  of  heing 

idr  doctrine  would  appear  to  deriTe  eoma  conflnnation 


!   t« 


C«  whldi  had  ao  long  formed  an 


tialpwt  oftha 


**  A  sign  of  the  times,  I  plainly  see," 
Said  the  Saint  to  himself  as,  pondering,  he 
Sail'd  off  in  the  death-boat  gallantly. 

Arriv'd  on  earth,  quoth  he,  **  No  more 
**  m  affect  a  body,  as  before; 

For  I  think  Fd  best,  in  the  company 
*'  Of  Spiritual  Lords,  a  spirit  be, 
"And  glide,  unseen,  from  See  to  See." 
But  oh!  to  tell  what  scenes  he  saw, — 
It  was  more  than  RabcUiis'  pen  could  draw. 
For  instance,  he  found  Ex — t — r. 
Soul,  body,  inkstand,  all  in  a  stir, — 
For  love  of  God?  for  sake  of  King? 
For  good  of  people?  —  no  such  thing; 
But  to  get  for  himself,  by  some  new  trick, 
A  shove  to  a  better  bishoprick. 

He  found  that  pious  soul.  Van  M — Id — t. 

Much  with  his  money-bags  bewilder'd; 

Snubbing  the  Clerks  of  the  Diocess,* 

Because  the  rogues  showed  restlessness 

At  having  too  little  cash  to  touch. 

While  he  so  Christianly  bears  too  much. 

He  found  old  Sarum's  wits  as  gone 

As  his  own  beloved  text  in  John,*— 

Text  he  hath  prosed  so  long  upon. 

That  'tis  thought  when  ask'd,  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 

His  name,  he'll  answer  **  John,  v.  7." 

•*  But  enough  of  Bishops  I've  had  to-day,** 

Said  the  weary  Saint,  —  *•  I  must  away. 

••  Though  I  own  I  should  like,  before  I  go, 

**  To  sec  for  once  (as  I'm  ask'd  below 

**  If  really  such  odd  sights  exist) 

♦*  A  regular  six-fold  Pluralist." 

Just  then  he  heard  a  general  cry  — 

"There's  Doctor  Hodgson  galloping  by! " 

*♦  Ay,  that's  the  man,"  says  the  Saint,  "  to  follow," 

And  off  he  sets,  with  a  loud  view-hollo. 

At  Hodgson's  heels,  to  catch,  if  he  can, 

A  glimpse  of  this  singular  plural  man. 

But,— talk  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  bird!* 

To  compare  him  with  Hodgson  is  absurd. 

"  Which  way,  sir,  pray,  is  the  doctor  gone?  " — 

"  He  is  now  at  his  living  at  Hillingdon." — 

"No,  no, — you're  out,  by  many  a  mile, 

"  He's  away  at  his  Deanery,  in  Carlisle." — 

"Pardon  mc,  sir;  but  I  understand 

"  He's  gone  to  his  living  in  Cumberland." — 

"God  bless  mc,  no,  —  ho  can't  be  there; 

"  You  must  try  St  George's,  Hanover  Square.** 


dreee  of  an  Ensliah  Uihop,  was  at  thii  time  »*f<iiiit«t  to  be  di*> 
penaedwith. 

•  See  the  Biahop'e  Letter  to  acnry  of  hli  DIoeeea. 

*  1  John.T.  7.  A  text  whicb.  though  long  Kiren  np  by  all  the 
reetof  the  orthodox  world,  ia  itlll  pertinadowly  adhered  to  by  thie 
Bifht  Rererend  eeholar. 

7  It  wae  a  eayinc  of  the  well-known  Sir  Boyle.that**  a  maaeovld 
not  be  in  two  plaoae  at  onoc,  unleei  ha  vae  a  bird.** 

3  A 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


631 


the  comforting  thought  that,  in  place  and  in 

pelf, 
Qcceeded  hj  one  jnst  as — ^bad  as  himself? 

Whig  (looking  flattered),--Why^  to  tcU  you 

the  tnith,  Fve  a  small  matter  here, 
1  yon  help'd  me  to  make  for  my  patient  last 

year,— 

[GoeM  in  a  cupboard  and  bring9  out 
a  Btrait  waistcoat  and  gag, 
nch  rest  Fyc  enjoy*d  firom  his  raving  since 

then, 
[  have  made  np  my  mind  he  shall  wear  it 

again. 

Tory  {embracing  him), — Oh,  charming  I 

My  dear  Doctor  Whig,  you're  a  treasure, 
to  torturing  myMe(f,  to  help  you  is  a  pleasure. 

[^Aiufisting  Dr.  Whig. 
me  leave— Fve  some  practice  in  these  mad 

machines; 
— tighter — the  gag  in  the  month,  by  all 

means, 
itful! — all's  snug — not  a  squeak  need  you 

fear, — 
aay  now  put  your  anodynes  off  till  next  year. 

[Scene  cloaes. 


THE  REV.  CH— RI/-S  OV— RT— N, 

CURATE   OF  BOMALDKIBK. 

TBOIl  OF  THB  rOBTICJU.  POUTmAITUBS  OV  VMB  eSORCS.' 

1833. 

T  singer  of   Romaldkirk,    thou    who    art 

reckoned, 
itics  Episcopal,  David  the  Second,' 
s,  as  a  Curate,  so  lofty  your  flight, 
think,  in  a  Rectory,  how  yon  would  write! 
fairly  inspired  by  the  **  Tithe-crown'd  Apollo," 

beats,  I  confess  it,  our  by  Phoebus  hollow, 
ig  gotten,  besides  the  old  Nine*  inspiration, 
Venth  of  all  eatable  things  in  creation,) 
's  nothing,  in  fact,  that  a  poet  like  you, 
-nin'd  and  he-tenth*d,  couldn't  easily  do. 
1  the  lips  of  the  sweet-tongued  Athenian' 

they  say, 
I  yet  but  a  babe  in  his  cradle  he  lay, 
honey-bees  swarm'd,  as  a  presage  to  tell 
;  sweet-flowing  words  that  thence  afterwards 

feU. 


Edlnbonh  B«Tlev,  No.  117. 

Mr  I^yrdihlp,**  mjt  Mr.  Or-rt-n.  in  the  Dedication  of  hk 
•  IIm  Biihop  of  Chetlcr,  **  Ium  kindlr  txpnmti  your  per*a»- 
Imr  'Mom  will  always  be  a  Mute  of  iaci«dM»c,MMl  that 
itmntda$I>ttvitC»wa$.*"  t 


allram  miitor  In  alltem 
>  I  UMcnntarquc  Ubtm 
Fer  di^ttoi,  humtnitQM  ploma. 


Just  SO  round  our  Ov — ^rt — n*s  cradle,  no  doubt, 
Tenth  ducklings  and  chicks  were  seen  flitting  about ; 
Groose  embryos,  waiting  their  doom'd  decimation. 
Came,  shadowing  forth  his  adult  destination. 
And  small,  sucking  tithe-pigs,  in  musical  droves, 
Announc'd  the  Church  poet  whom  Chester  ap- 
proves. 

O  Horace  I  when  thou,  in  thy  vision  of  yore. 
Didst  dream  that  a  snowy-white  plumage  came  o'er 
Thy  ethercalis'd  limbs,  stealing  dowiiily  on, 
Till,  by  Fancy's  strong  spell,  thou  wert  tum'd  to  a 

swan,^ 
Little  thought*8t  thou  such  fate  could  a  poet  befall, 
Without  any  effort  of  fancy,  at  all; 
Little  thought*8tthou  the  world  would  in  Ov— rt — n 

find 
A  bird,  ready-made,  somewhat  different  in  kind. 
But  as  perfect  as  Michaelmas'  self  could  produce. 
By  gods  yclept  anter,  by  mortals  a  goose. 


SCENE 

FaOM  ▲  PLAT,  AOTBD  AT  OXrOKD,  CAIXIO 

•*  MATRICULATION."  » 


1834. 


>» 


CB07  dlBOorered  at  atable.vith  the  Thirty-nine  Artlclei  before 
him.  —Enter  the Bt.  Ber.  Doctor  Pli-Up-t«.j 

Doctor  P. — There,  my  lad,  lie  the  Articles — (Boy 

begins  to  count  them)  just  thirty-nine — 
No  occasion  to  count — you've  now  only  to  sign. 
At  Cambridge,  where  folks  are  less  Uigh -church 

than  we, 
The  whole  Nine-and-Thirty  are  lump'd  into  Three. 
Let's  run  o'er  the  items; — there's  Justification, 
Predestination,  and  Supererogation, — 
Not  forgetting  Salvation  and  Creed  Athanasian,. 
1111  we  reach,  at  last.  Queen  Bess's  Ratification. 
That's  su£Scient — now,  sign — having  read  quite 

enough. 
Ton  **  believe  in  the  full  and  true  meaning  thereof  ? 

(Boy  stares.) 
Oh,  a  mere  form  of  words,  to  nmke  things  smooth 

and  brief, — 
A  commodious  and  short  make-believe  of  belief. 
Which  our  Church  has  drawn  up,  in  a  fbrm  thus 

articular. 
To  keep  out,  in  general,  all  who're  particular. 


•  **  It  aiipean  that  when  a  Tontti  of  fifteen  gon  to  be  matrlcnlaied 
at  Oxford,  and  ti  required  flrrt  to  rabtenbe  Thirty-nine  Artielee 
of  Rellflona  Belief,  thte  only  meana  that  be  encacca  hlnuelf 
aflenrarda  to  nndcrttand  what  la  now  abore  hi*  oompreheniion  1 
that  he  ejcprcMCi  no  aitent  at  all  to  what  he  dgni  1  and  that  he 
{•(or  (mgkt  to  be) at  Aill  liberty,  when  he  has  etodicd  the  rab- 
Jeet,  to  withdraw  hie  pnmUknal  usnUT'-JSdttibmrgk  JUview, 

3a  2 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


638 


4« 


U 


**  YouTl  an  rejoice  to  hear,  Tm  sure, 
''Lord  Charles  has  got  a  good  sinecure; 
**  And  the  Premier  says,  my  youngest  brother 
«*  (Him  in  the  Guards)  shsJl  have  another. 
Isn't  this  yery,  very  gallant! — 
As  for  my  poor  old  virgin  aunt, 
Who  has  lost  her  all,  poor  thing,  at  whist, 
**  We  must  quarter  her  on  the  Pension  List/' 
Thus  smoothly  time  in  that  Eden  roll'd; 
It  seem'd  like  an  Age  of  real  gold. 
Where  all  who  lik'd  might  have  a  slice. 
So  rich  was  that  Fool's  Paradise. 

But  the  sport  at  which  most  time  they  spent. 
Was  a  puppet-show,  called  Parliament, 
Perform'd  by  wooden  Ciceros, 
As  large  as  life,  who  rose  to  prose. 
While,  hid  behind  them,  lords  and  squires, 
Who  own'd  the  puppets,  pull'd  the  wires; 
And  thought  it  the  very  iJest  device 
Of  that  most  prosperous  Paradise, 
To  make  the  vulgar  pay  through  the  nose 
For  them  and  their  wooden  Ciceros. 

And  many  more  such  things  I  saw 

In  this  Eden  of  Church,  and  State,  and  Law; 

Nor  e'er  were  known  such  pleasant  folk 

As  those  who  had  the  best  of  the  joke. 

There  were  Irish  Rectors,  such  as  resort 

To  Cheltenham  yearly,  to  drink— port. 

And  bumper,  **  Long  may  the  Church  endure. 

May  her  cure  of  souls  be  a  sinecure. 

And  a  score  of  Parsons  to  every  soul 

A  moderate  allowance  on  the  whole." 

There  were  Heads  of  Colleges,  lying  about. 

From  which  the  sense  had  all  run  out. 

Even  to  the  lowest  classic  lees. 

Till  nothing  was  left  but  quantities ; 

Which  made  them  heads  most  fit  to  be 

Stuck  up  on  a  University, 

Which  yearly  hatches,  in  its  schools, 

Such  flights  of  young  Elysian  fools. 

Thus  all  went  on,  so  snug  and  nice. 

In  this  happiest  possible  Paradise. 

Bat  plain  it  was  to  see,  alas! 

That  a  downfall  soon  must  come  to  pass. 

For  grief  is  a  lot  the  good  and  wise 

Don't  quite  so  much  monopolise. 

But  that  (**  lapt  in  Elysium  "  as  they  arc) 

Even  blessed  fools  must  have  their  share. 

And  so  it  happen 'd: —  but  what  bcfel. 

In  Dream  the  Second  I  mean  to  tell. 


THE  RECTOR  AND  HIS  CURATE  ; 

OB,  OKE  POUND  TWO. 

**  I  tnivk  we  ihall  part,  m  we  met,  in  peace  aad  charit  j.  My  kit 
:  pajrmentto  yotipeidymirnlMTnptotbe  litofthiimonth.  Sfnoe 

that,  I  owe  yoo  fbr  one  month,  which,  beinc  a  long  month,  of  thirty* 

one  dayi,  amoant*,  aa  near  aa  I  can  calculate,  to  fix  pounds  eicht 
,  ihiUinct.   My  steward  retami  yon  aa  a  debtor  to  the  amount  of 

UTBM  rooNiM  TBit  •■lu.iMot  FOR  coMoAc»B-«aouMD,  whlch  IcaVca 
i  lome  trifling  balance  in  my  favour."— L«ftor  qf  Dumiimtl  from 

the  Rtv.  Marcus  Bernford  to  hi*  Cwatit,  the  iter.  T.  A.Li/oiu, 

Thb  account  is  balanc'd  — the  bill  drawn  out, — 
The  debit  and  credit  all  right,  no  doubt  — 
The  Rector,  rolling  in  wealth  and  state. 
Owes  to  his  Curate  six  pound  eight; 
The  Curate,  that  least  well-fed  of  men. 
Owes  to  his  Rector  seven  pound  ten. 
Which  maketh  the  balance  clearly  duo 
From  Curate  to  Rector,  one  pound  two. 

Ah  balance,  on  earth  unfair,  uneven 
But  sure  to  be  all  set  right  in  heaver^ 
Where  bills  like  these  will  be  check'd,  some  day, 
And  the  balance  settled  the  other  way : 
Where  Lyons  the  curate^s  hard-wrung  sum 
Will  back  to  his  shade  with  interest  come; 
And  Marcus,  the  Rector,  deep  may  rue 
This  tot,  in  his  favour,  of  one  pound  two. 


PADDY'S  METAMORPHOSIS.' 


1833. 


About  fifty  years  since,  in  the  days  of  our  daddies. 
That  plan  was  commenc'd  which  the  wise  now 
applaud. 

Of  shipping  off  Ireland*s  most  turbulent  Paddies, 
As  good  raw  materials  for  settlers,  abroad. 

Some  West-Indian  island,  whose  name  I  forget. 
Was  the  region  then  chosen  for  this  scheme  so 
romantic; 
And  such  the  success  the  first  colony  met. 

That  a  second,  soon  after,   set  sail  oVr  the' 
Atlantic. 

Behold  them  now  safe  at   the  long-look*d  for 
shore. 
Sailing  in  between  banks  that  the  Shannon 
might  greet. 
And  thinking  of  friends  whom,  but  two  years 
before. 
They  had  sorrow'd  to  lose,  but  would  soon 
again  meet. 


1  I  have  already.  In  a  preerding  page,  refcired 
being  one  of  tho«  wrung  from  me  by  the  IrUi 
frinda.  (he  WUia. 

SA  3 


to  this  ■quibwat 
Goerelpn  Act  of  my 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


635 


Which,  wonnd  np  carefiillj  once  a  week« 
Might  just  like  parsons  look  and  speak, 
Naj  even,  if  requisite,  reason  too. 
As  well  as  most  Irish  parsons  do. 

The'  experiment  having  succeeded  quite, 

(Whereat  those  Lords  must  much  delight, 

WhoVe  shown,  by  stopping  the  Church's  food 

They  think  it  isn't  for  her  spiritual  good 

To  be  senr'd  by  parsons  of  flesh  and  blood,) 

The  Patentees  of  this  new  invention 

Beg  leave  respectfully  to  mention. 

They  now  are  enabled  to  produce 

An  ample  supply,  for  present  use. 

Of  these  reverend  pieces  of  machinery, 

Beady  for  vicarage,  rectory,  deanery, 

Or  any  such-like  post  of  skill 

That  wood  and  leather  are  fit  to  filL 

N.B. — In  places  addicted  to  arson. 

We  can't  recommend  a  wooden  parson : 

But,  if  the  Church  aa/  such  appoints, 

They'd  better,  at  least,  have  iron  joints. 

In  parts,  not  much  by  Protestants  haunted, 

A  figure  to  look  at*a  all  that's  wanted  — 

A  block  in  black,  to  eat  and  sleep. 

Which  (now  that  the  eating's  o'er)  comes  cheap. 

P.S. — Should  the  Lords,  by  way  of  a  treat, 

Permit  the  clergy  again  to  eat, 

The  Church  will,  of  course,  no  longer  need 

Imitation-parsons  that  never  feed; 

And  these  wood  creatures  of  ours  will  sell 

For  secular  purposes  just  as  well — 

Our  Beresfords,  tum'd  to  bludgeons  stout, 

May,  'stead  of  beating  their  own  about. 

Be  knocking  the  brains  of  Papists  out; 

While  our  smooth  O'Sidlivans,  by  all  means. 

Should  transmigrate  into  turning  machines. 


HOW  TO  MAKE  ONp'S  SELF  A  PEER, 

^CCORDIKO    TO    THB    KEWE8T    RECEIPT,    A8    DIS- 
CLOSED IK  A  LATE  HERALDIC  WORK.* 

18S4. 

Choose  some  title  that's  dormant — the  Peerage 

hath  many  — 
Lord  Baron  of  Shamdos  sounds  nobly  as  any. 
Next,  catch  a  dead  cousin  of  said  defanct  Peer, 
And  marry  him  off-hand,  in  some  given  year. 
To  the  daughter  of  somebody, — no  matter  who, — 
Fig,  the  grocer  himself,  if  you're  hard  run,  will  do; 
For,  the  Medici  piU*  still  in  heraldry  tell. 
And  why  shouldn't  loUypopa  quarter  as  well? 

1  Tb«  CUlm  to  the  Iwroiiy  of  Chaados  (if  I  nooUoet  risht)  od- 
>  by  tho  Ute  Sir  £c-r-4-n  Br  d  ■. 


Thus,  having  your  couple,  and  one  a  lord's  cousin. 
Young  materials  for  peers  may  be  had  by  the  dozen ; 
And  'tis  hard  if,  inventing  each  small  mother's  son 

of  'em, 
Tou  can't  somehow  manage  to  prove  yourUlf  one 

of  *em. 
Should  registers,  deeds,  and  such  matters  refractory. 
Stand  in  the  way  of  this  lord-manufactory, 
I've  merelv  to  hint,  as  a  secret  auricular. 
One  grand  rule  of  enterprise, — don*t  be  particular. 
A  man  who  once  takes  such  a  jump  at  nobility. 
Must  not  mince  the  matter,  like  folks  of  nihility,' 
But  clear  thick  and  thin  with  true  lordly  agiUty. 

Tis  true,  to  a  would-be  descendant  firom  Kings, 
Parish-registers  sometimes  are  troublesome  things; 
As  oft,  when  the  vision  is  near  brought  about. 
Some  goblin,  in  shape  of  a  grocer,  grins  out; 
Or  some  barber,  perhaps,  with  my  Lord  mingles 

bloods. 
And  one's  patent  of  peerage  b  left  in  the  suds. 

But  there  are  ways — when  folks  are  resolv'd  to 

be  lords  — 
Of  expurging  cv'n  troublesome  parish  records: 
What  think  ye  of  scissors?  depend  on't  no  heir 
Of  a  Shamdos  should  go  unsupplicd  with  a  pair 
As,  whate'er  eUe  the  leom'd  in  such  lore  may 

invent. 
Your  scissors  does  wonders  in  proving  descent. 
Yes,  poets  may  sing  of  those  terrible  shears 
With  which  Atropos  snips  off  both  bumpkins  and 

peers, 
But  they're  nought  to  that  weapon  which  shines 

in  the  hands 
Of  some  woidd-be  Patrician,  when  proudly  he  stands 
O'er  the  careless  churchwarden's  baptismal  array. 
And  sweeps  at  each  cut  generations  away. 
By  some  babe  of  old  times  is  his  peerage  resisted? 
One  snip, — and  the  urchin  hath  never  existed! 
Does  some  marriage,  in  days  near  the  Flood,  in* 

terfere 
With  his  one  sublime  object  of  being  a  Peer? 
Quick  the  shears  at  once  nullify  bridegroom  and 

bride, — 
No  such  people  have  ever  Hv*d,  married,  or  died  I 

Such  the  newest  receipt  for  those  high-minded 

elves. 
Who've  a  fancy  for  making  great  lords  of  them- 
selves. 
Follow  this,  young  aspirer,  who  pant'st  for  a  peerage. 
Take  S — m  for  thy  model  and  B — z  for  thy  steerage. 
Do  all  and  much  worse  than  old  Nicholas  Flam 

does, 
And — who  knows  but  youll  be  Lord  Baron  of 
Shamdos? 


3  **Thk  ve  call  pore  nlhUity,  or  moro  nothinf. 
Logic 

3a  4 


Ifottt'c 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


637 


e,  too,  —  a  portrait,  (in  spite  of  what's 
ortal  e'er  yet  got  a  glimpse  of  his  head,') 


Never  mind  how  thy  jnniors  in  gallantry. scoff. 
Never  heed  how  perverse  affidavits  may  thwart 
thee, 
tges,  which  India  would  think  somewhat    But  show  the  young  Misses  thou'rt  scholar  enough 
'or't,  ~  -  _     -  -     . 

as  some  full-grown  Director  had  sat 

' » ^^ 

?ntion  the'  et  cateras  of  Genii  and 

inxes, 

ory,  and  other  such  semi-clad  minxes ; — 

ns*,  —  the  idols  here  most  idolised; 

om  some,  alas,  might  too  well  be  com- 

cd 

idy-made  Saints,  as  they  died  cannon- 

» 

Ititude  more  of  odd  cockney fied  deities, 
such  pomp  that  quite  shocking  to  sec 

s; 

[  what  better  the  Rector  could  do 

irine  there  his  own  beloved  quadruped 

urely  a  tithe-pig,  whate'er  the  world 

ks,  is 

:er  beast  for  a  church  than  a  Sphinx  is. 

Td  off  to  dinner  —  grace  just  has  been 

st  waits  for  nobody,  living  or  dead. 


LINES' 


EPARTURE  OF  LORDS  C — 8T — R— OH 
T — W — RT  FOR  THE  CONTINENT. 

« *  et  FntTM,  et  <iq1  rmro^re  nib  illlf , 
Ui9rc  manua  CkIs  hoc,  Mene1ai>)  nefandai. 

Otio.  Mttam.  lib.  zliL  T.  Mt. 

•8  in  wisdom — go,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
'  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with 

pinions  I 
J  best  lover  we  have  —  of  his  years, 

other.  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain*8 
inions. 

'  Chancery,  blest  with  the  smile 

isscs  that  love,  and  the  monarchs  that 

thee; 

Aug— lo  T — yl — r  awhile, 
ailors  but  him  who  so  well  dandifies 


"Necoontigltnlli 

Hoe  TidiiM  capat.  '*  (huiooiAif . 

MM,  Rioa,  kjc  k.e. 

KB  following  fqaib,  which  mntt  hare  been  written 
9I&-1C  hare  been  by  ntne  oreniffht  miiplaoed. 
iken  In  aajlnff  that  it  WM  **  at  Paris  "these  n^a- 


To  translate  **■  Amor  Fortis  "  a  love,  about  forty! 

And  sure  'tis  no  wonder,  when,  fresh  as  young 
Mars, 
From  the  battle  you  came,  with  the  Orders 
you'd  eam'd  in't. 
That  sweet  Lady  Fanny  shouldcxyont "  My  starsT 
And  forget  that  the  Moon,  too,  was  some  way 
concem*d  in't. 

For  not  the  great  R — g — ^t  himself  has  endur'd 
(Though  I've  seen  him  with  badges  and  orders 
all  shine. 

Till  he  looked  like  a  house  that  was  over  insur'd) 
A  much  heavier  burden  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  'tis  plain,  when  a  wealthy  young  lady  so 
mad  is, 
Or  any  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray. 
As  to  many  old  Dandies  that  might  be  their  dad- 
dies, 
The  stars*  are  in  (ault,  my  Lord  St— w — ^rt,  not 
they! 

Thou,  too,  t'other  brother,  thou  Tully  of  Tories, 

Thou  Malaprop  Cicero,  over  whose  lips 
Such  a  smooth  rigmarole  about  **  monarchs,"  and 
"  glories," 
And  **  nuUidge\"  and,**  features,"  like  syllabub 
slips. 

Gro,  haste,  at  the  Congress  pursue  thy  vocation 
Of  adding  fresh  sums  to  this  National  Debt  of 
ours. 
Leaguing  with  Kings,  who,  for  mere  recreation. 
Break  promises,  fiist  as  your  Lordship  breaks 
metaphors. 

Fare  ye  well,  fare  ye  well,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with 
their  pinions! 
The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have  —  of  his  years. 
And  the  other.  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's 
dominions. 


dona  tranMetiona  took  place—  we  ihonid  read  *at  Ttenna." 

»  **  When  weak  women  go  attzmj. 

The  ftan  are  more  in  fanlt  than  they*** 

i  Itif  thnt  the  noble  lord  pronooncei  the  wmd  *'  knowledge  "  — 
derlTing  it,  aa  fur  aa  hia  own  ahai*  ia  oonoanwd,  from  the  Latin, 
•*nuUna." 


TO  TUE  SHIP 


Ladv's  prayers  pravniL' 

in— £*>  too,  and  Imrid  fir — ggo's, 
II  l*g  a  fBTonring  gale 
linn,  that  Mer  Bage,' 
hee  on  lliv  ductia'J  wif, 


>.  R~g- 


lialf.' 


Iri/nre,  quarter  or  a  King  — 
■  any  otlicr  calf, 
nilhoul  much  figuring). 
Ji  ye  kind);  lirMiei!, 
In  IatiI  of  place  auc)  pelf, 
'  'fl  Lordaliip  pli'jsea, 
xere  lo  Old  Mclc  biitu«H! 

(  face  of  brftM  ivb?  his,' 
u  Congress  sliow'd  his  phii  — 
the  Rights  of  Man 
I  throata  ojid  Austrian  juggle; 
a  sinking  Afrieau* 
bout  one  siiviHg  slruKRla  — 
ers  from  Korth  and  South, 
IS  laek  of  shnmc  and  wnse, 
:  siim  of  •■  Bull  and  Mouth  " 


When  each,  in  turn,  liad  ran  tttcir  r 
Necessity  bri>iighl  in  the  Whigs:  " 
And  oh.  1  blush,  I  blush  ui  saj, 

Wbon  these,  in  turn,  were  pat  to 
Illnglriona  T — MP— K  flew  away 

With  bU  u/pau  lie  had  nongkt  to 
In  short,  what  viU  not  tnqnal  niiui  i 

Anil  now.  that — strife  and  bluodi 
We're  done  on  cartli  what  barm  wc 

We  gravely  lake  to  heaven  at  lad 
And  think  iu  fiivouHlv  cmile  to  pur 
(Oh  Xiiri.  good  Lord  IJ  by — buitdiu 


SKETCH  OF  THE  FIRST  ACT 
NEW  ROMANTIC  DBAM 
"  Amd  now,"  quoth  the  etHldctK,  in  a« 
"  Having  got  good  materials,  I'll  brew 
I  "Of  Doublfl  5  miM'hief  oa,  mortali  ihi 
'  "  They 'vo  not  known  iu  equal  for  many . 
I  Here  she  wink'd  to  her  Eubaltem  imps  v 
I  And  all  n-agg'd  [heir  fire-tipp'dtaib  and 

"So  now  for  llie'  ingredients:  —  fire 

Whereon,  a  wliole  bevy  of  imps  mn  lo 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


639 


True,  tnie,*'  said  the  hag,  lookiDg  arch  at  her 

elves. 
And  a  double-£x  dose  they  compose,  in  them- 

selYcs." 
Iiis  joke,  the  sly  meaning  of  which  was  seen  lucidly, 
et  all  the  devils  a  laughing  most  deucedly, 
o,  in  went  the  pair,  and  (what  none  thought 

surprising) 
how'd  talents  for  sinking  as  great  as  for  rising; 
rhile  not  a  grim  phiz  in  that  reahn  but  was 

lighted 
nth  joy  to  see  spirits  so  twin-like  united — 
h  (plainly  to  speak)  two  such  birds  of  a  feather, 
0  one  mess  of  venom  thus  spitted  together. 
[ere  a  flashy  imp  rose—some  connection,  no  doubt, 
)f  the  young  lord  in  question — and,  scowling 

about, 
Hop'd  his  fiery  friend,  St — nl— y,  would  not  be 

left  out; 
Aa  no  schoolboy  onwhipp'd,  the  whole  world 

must  agree, 
'  Lor'd  mischief  pure  mischief,  more  dearly  than 

he." 

)ut,  no — the  wise  hag  wouldn't   hear  of  the 

whipster; 
Sot  merely  because,  as  a  shrew,  he  eclips'd  her, 
A.nd  nature  had  given  him,  to  keep  him  still  young. 
If  och  tongue  in  his  head  and  no  head  in  his  tongue ; 
But  because  she  well  knew  that,  for  change  ever 

ready, 
H«'d  not  even  to  mischief  keep  properly  steady; 
ThiU  soon  even  the  wrong  side  would  cease  to 

delight, 
•^d,  for  want  of  a  change,  he  must  swerve  to  the 

>M)ile,  on  eeuik,  so  at  random  his  missiles  he  threw, 
^hat  the  side  he  attacked  was  most  safe  of  the  two. — 
^»'u  ingredient  was  therefore  put  by  on  the  shelf, 
^ere  to  bubble,  a  bitter,  hot  mess,  by  itself. 

And  now,"  quoth  the  hag,  as  her  caldron  she  ey'd, 
ltd  the  titbits  so  friendlily  rankling  inside, 
lliere  wants  but  some  seasoning; — so,  come, 

ere  I  stew  'em, 
Xiy  way  of  a  relish,  we'll  throw  in  *  +  John  Tuam.' 
Xji  cooking  up  mischief,  thcrc*s  no  flesh  or  fish 
Xjke  your  meddling  High  Priest,  to  add  zest  to 

the  dUh." 
Hus  saying,  she  pops  in  the  Irish  Grand  Lama — 
^hich  great  event  ends  the  First  Act  of  the  Drama. 


ANIMAL  MAGNETISM. 

^^OUOH  fam'd  was  Mesmer,  in  his  day, 
«r  lc88  80,  in  ours,  is  Dnpotet, 


To  say  nothing  of  all  the  wonders  done 
By  that  wizard.  Dr.  Elliotson, 
When,  standing  as  if  the  gods  to  invoke,  he 
Up  waves  his  arm,  and — down  drops  Okey !  * 

Though  strange  these  things,  to  mind  and  sense, 
If  you  wish  still  stranger  things  to  see  — 

If  you  wish  to  know  the  power  immense 

Of  the  true  magnetic  influence. 
Just  go  to  her  Majesty's  Treasury, 

And  learn  the  wonders  working  there  ^ 

And  I'll  be  hang'd  if  you  don't  stare! 

Talk  of  your  animal  magnetists. 

And  that  wave  of  the  hand  no  soul  resists. 

Not  all  its  witcheries  can  compete 

With  the  friendly  beckon  tow'rds  Downing  Street, 

Which  a  Premier  gives  to  one  who  wishes 

To  taste  of  the  Treasury  loaves  and  fishes. 

It  actually  lifts  the  lucky  elf. 

Thus  acted  upon,  aboi^e  himself;  — 

He  jumps  to  a  state  of  clairvoyancej 

And  is  placeman,  statesman,  all,  at  once! 

These  effects  observe  (with  which  I  begin). 
Take  place  when  the  patient's  motion'd  in ; 
Far  different,  of  course,  the  mode  of  affection. 
When  the  wave  of  the  hand's  in  the  out  direction; 
The  effects  being  then  extremely  unpleasant, 

As  is  seen  in  the  case  of  Lord  B m,  at  present^ 

In  whom  this  sort  of  manipulation 

Has  lately  produc'd  such  inflammation. 

Attended  with  constant  irritation. 

That,  in  short — not  to  mince  his  situation  — 

It  has  work'd  in  the  man  a  transformation 

That  puzzles  all  human  calculation ! 

Ever  since  the  fatal  day  which  saw 

That  **  pass*"  perform *d  on  this  Lord  of  Law — 

A  pass  potential,  none  can  doubt. 

As  it  sent  Harry  B m  to  the  right  about — 

The  condition  in  which  the  patient  has  been 
Is  a  thing  quite  awful  to  be  seen. 
Not  that  a  casual  eye  could  scan 

This  wondrous  change  by  outward  survey; 
It  being,  in  fact,  the*  interior  man 

That's  turn'd  completely  topsy-turvy:  — 
Like  a  case  that  lately,  in  reading  o'er  'em, 
I  found  in  the  Acta  Eruditorum, 
Of  a  man  in  whose  inside,  when  disclosed. 
The  whole  order  of  things  was  found  transposed ; ' 


1  The  name  of  the  beroliie  of  the  pcrfbnneaoee  at  the  North 
I>>ndon  Ho«pit»L 

-  The  technical  term  for  the  morementa  of  the  macneUeer'e 
hend. 

s  Omiiee  fork  lntemMoorpoeiei«rt«eUiTenoo(diiM  rite*.  ~^el. 
BrmiMLlWL 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


641 


ruinoTU  rigs  as  thine, 
i  havoc  lie  in  a  ditfcrcnt  line, 
I  find  this  new,  improy'd  Destroyer 
e  wig  of  a  Yankee  lawyer; 
a  **  alien,'*  alias  man, 
ntry  or  party  guess  who  can, 
inej  half,  half  Jonathan ; 
3,  to  make  the  thing  completer 
1  the  genuine  Thalaba  metre, 
irreguhu*  as  thy  feet  are;  — 
Whig  Pindarics  rambling 
w  Tory  doggrel  scrambling; 
is  theme,  now  Church  his  glory 
3th  Tory  and  ama-tory), 
'  Old  Bailey-lay  meandering, 
t  couplet  style  philandering; 
,  in  lame  Alexandrine, 
lis  wounded  length  along,* 
rg'd  by  Holland's  silken  thong. 

jar  Bob,  Destroyer  the  Second 
a  match  for  the  First  be  reckon'd ; 
nmr  Thalaba's  talent  lay 
g  old  conjurors  clean  away, 

at  aldermen  deals  his  blows, 
reat  conjurors  arc,  God  knows,) 
orations,  by  wholesale,  level, 
i  of  Parliament  to  the  devil, 

whole  Milesian  race — 
ons  of  Paddies,  face  to  face; 
ig  that  magic  wand,  himself, 

thy  conjurors  left  on  the  shelf, 
i  the  boys  of  the  Boyne  and  Liffey 
'-eigners^  in  a  jiffey  — 
casts,  every  soul  of  'em ! 
>r  whips  and  chains,  the  whole  of  'em ! 

hort,  did  parallel 

0  heroes  gee  so  well ; 

Ig  the  points  in  which  they  fit, 
;,  dear  Bob,  I  can't  omit, 
ng,  hectoring  blade  of  thine 

1  in  the  Domdaniel  line;  * 
It  rendering  justice  due, 

t  ours  and  his  Tory  crew 
liel  most  devoutly  too. 


RIVAL  TOPICS.' 

AN  EXTRAYAOANZA. 

n — ngt — n  and  Stephenson, 
3m  and  evening  papers. 


Alexandrine  endi  the  tonz 
vx/tnucd  maktt  drstft  iu  elow  length  alooc.** 


f> 


Times,  Herald,  Coorier,  Globe,  and  Sun, 
When  ye  will  cease  our  ears  to  stun 

With  these  two  heroes'  capers? 
Still  **  Stephenson  "  and  "  W— U— ngt— n. 

The  everlasting  two! — 
Still  doom'd,  from  rise  to  set  of  snn. 
To  hear  what  mischief  one  has  done, 

And  t'other  means  to  do:-~ 
What  bills  the  banker  pass'd  to  friends, 

But  never  meant  to  pay; 
What  Bills  the  other  wight  intends, 

As  honest,  in  their  way;  — 
Bills,  payable  at  distant  sight. 

Beyond  the  Grecian  kalends. 
When  all  good  deeds  will  come  to  light. 
When  W — 11 — ngt — n  will  do  what*s  right, 

And  Rowland  pay  bis  balance. 


To  catch  the  banker  all  have  sought, 

But  stiQ  the  rogue  unhurt  is; 
While  t'other  juggler — who'd  have  thought? 
Though  slippery  long,  has  just  been  caught 

By  old  Archbishop  Curtis;  — 
And,  such  the  power  of  papal  crook. 

The  crosier  scarce  had  quiver'd 
About  his  ears,  when,  lo,  the  Duke 

Was  of  a  BuU  delivered! 

Sir  Richard  Bimie  doth  decide 

That  Rowland  **  must  be  mad." 
In  private  coach,  with  crest,  to  ride. 

When  chaises  could  be  had. 
And  t'other  hero,  all  agree, 

St.  Luke's  will  soon  arrive  at. 
If  thus  he  shows  off  publicly. 

When  he  might  pass  in  private. 

Oh  W — ^11 — ngt — n,  oh  Stephenson, 

Ye  ever- boring  pair. 
Where'er  I  sit,  or  stand,  or  run. 

Ye  haunt  me  everywhere. 
Though  Job  had  patience  tough  enough. 

Such  duplicates  would  try  it; 
Till  one's  tum'd  out  and  t'other  off. 

We  shan't  have  peace  or  quiet. 
But  small's  the  chance  that  Law  affords — 

Such  folks  arc  daily  let  off; 
And,  'twixt  the'  Old  Bailey  and  the  Lords, 

They  bothy  I  fear,  will  get  off. 


t  "  Vain  are  the  tpellt,  the  Dettroyer 

Treadi  the  Domdaolel  floor." 

rAato6o.ftMctrieal 
>  The  date  of  ttdf  tovlb  mwC  havB  been,  I  think,  •boot  lOMi. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


643 


OF  AN  UNREFORMED  PEER. 

Id  plans  of  this  monstrously  queer  age, 
s  that  of  reforming  the  peerage; — 
I,  great  dons,  with  a  title  and  star, 
on  exceedingly  well,  as  we  are, 
I  all  the  functions  of  noodles,  by  birth, 
ly  as  any  bom  noodles  on  earth. 

escend,  is  in  law-books  displayed, 

iseacrcB  descend,  ready  made; 

fit  of  our  rank  in  Debrett's  nomen- 

re, 

s,  bom  legislators  by  nature; — 

1}^,  to  water  instinctively  taking, 

like  quackery,  take  to  law-making; 

rbid  any  reform  should  come  o'er  us, 

nore  wise  than  our  sires  were  before  us. 

ans  of  old  the  same  policy  knew — 
was  a  cook,  you  must  be  a  cook  too: 
ig,  from  father  to  son,  a  good  trade 

right  (so  no  more  could  be  said  of  it), 
ike  our  lordships,  a  pretty  mess  made 

I  for  consercative  stomachs,  the'  Egyp- 

ry  face  bolted  all  the  prescriptions. 

Ve  among  us  some  peers  of  the  past, 
ze  with  the  present  most  awfully  fast — 
ipen  beneath  the  new  light  now  arising 
hat  to  us,  old  conserves,  is  surprising, 
n  whom — potted,   for  grandmanmia 

de  a  sunbeam  to  find  any  juices. 

,  I  fear,  midst  the  general  movement, 

>u$e,  God  help  it,  is  doom*d  to  im- 

nent, 

ve  furniture,  nobly  descended, 

m  out,  must  be  sent  to  be  mended. 

es  *mong  us,  like  Br m  and  like 

— m, 

r'n^ft<re» should  leara  to  bestir  'em; 
ye  gods,  be  that  terrible  day, 
)layful  Old  Nick,    for  his  pastime 

old  houses  sometimes,  m  a  storm — 
>e  whipt  off,  some  night,  by  Reform; 
like  Loretto*s  fam'd  house ',  through 

It  devils,  our  lordships  shall  bear, 

phizzes,  unusM  to  the  sky, 

i,  like  cherabs,  to  wish  us  "  good-by." 


nfti,  foppoKd  to  hare  been  Mirled  1»7  angttla 
•m  Galilee  to  Italy. 


While,  perch'd  up  on  cloudi,  little  imps  of  ple- 
beians. 
Small  Grotes  and  O'Connells,  shall  sing  lo  Fseans. 


THE  REVEREND  FAMPHLETEER. 

▲  BOMINTIO  BALLAD. 

Oh,  have  yon  heard  what  hap'd  of  late? 

If  not,  come  lend  an  ear. 
While  sad  I  state  the  piteous  fate 

Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

All  prais'd  his  skilful  jockeyship, 

Loud  rung  the  Tory  cheer. 
While  away,  away,  with  spur  and  whip. 

Went  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

The  nag  he  rode — ^how  anJd  it  err? 

'Twas  the  same  that  took,  last  year. 
That  wonderful  jump  to  Exeter 

With  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

Set  a  beggar  on  horseback,  wise  men  say. 
The  course  he  wiH  take  is  clear; 

And  in  that  direction  lay  the  way 
Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  Trath,  but  vain  her  cry  — 

Left  far  away  in  the  rear. 
She  heard  but  the  usual  gay  **  Good- by  " 

From  her  faithless  Pamphleteer. 

Tou  may  talk  of  the  jumps  of  Homer's  gods. 
When  cantering  o'er  our  sphere — 

I'd  back  for  a  bounce,  'gainst  any  odds. 
This  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

But  ah,  what  tumbles  a  jockey  hath! 

In  the  midst  of  his  career, 
A  file  of  the  Times  lay  right  in  the  path 

Of  the  headlong  Pamphleteer. 

Wliether  he  tripp'd  or  shy'd  thereat. 

Doth  not  so  clear  appear: 
But  down  he  came,  as  his  sermons  flat^ 

This  Reverend  Pamphleteer! 

Lord  King  himself  could  scarce  desire 

To  see  a  spiritual  Peer 
Fall  much  more  dead,  in  the  dirt  and  mire. 

Than  did  this  Pamphleteer. 

Yet  pitying  parsons,  many  a  day. 
Shall  visit  his  sikoit  bier. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


646 


meddling,  restless  still  to  show 
i*s  clock,  repair*d  by  Whigs,  will  go; 
hen  others,  more  sincere  Uian  they, 
hands  to  the  true  time  of  day. 

harch,  high-fed  and  haughty  dame, 
dandled,  in  his  dawn  of  fame; 

3  smird,  and  bless*d  the    flippant 

% 

i 

fate  of  unborn  tithe^pigs  hung. 
I  paint  the  grandam's  grim  dismay, 
leform  entic*d  her  boy  away; 
'd  she  heard  him  ape  the  rabble's 

Sarum's  fate,  foredoom  her  own! 

s  cried,  while  tears  roll'd  down  her 

ongucd  youth,  he  means  not  what  he 

u 

^p,  these  Whig  professions  flow, 

8  lymph,  runs  Toryism  below. 

ongue  should  start  thus,  in  the  race, 

an  reach  and  regulate  its  pace!  — 

outstripped  by  tongue,  poor,  lagging 

3p,  still  further  limps  behind. 

he  boy !  —  whatever  his  wand'ring  be, 

lis  heart  to  Toryism  and  me. 

odd  shapes,  ponray'd  in  Dante's  lay,* 

I  fix'd  on,  the  wrong  and  backward 

1  eyes  pursue  a  direrse  track, 

e  march  onward,  Me«e  look  fondly 

knew  him — well  foresaw  the  day, 
ath  come,  when  snatch'dfrom  Whigs 

3  changeling  drops  the  mask  he  wore, 
stor'd,  in  granny's  arms  once  more. 

now,  mixt  brood  of  modem  light 
darkness,  can*st  thou  bend  thy  flight? 
\i  factions,  and  to  neither  true, 
i  did  school,  laugh'd  at  by  the  new; 
ieeble,  and  for  thai  too  rash, 
-  more  of  fire,  thai  less  of  flash; 
lou  stand,  in  isolation  cold, 
worlds,  the  new  one  and  the  old, 
**  vex*d  Bermoothes,'*  which  the  eye 
seaman  sees  —  and  passes  by. 


lie  dalle  reni  era  tomato  1  rolto, 
hidktro  venir  li  convenia. 
erchi  *1  T«dcr  dinanxi  en  lor  tollo.** 


To 


A  GHOST  STORY. 


AiB  OP  **  UirvoKTOKATa  Mm  BaiLtr. 


1815. 


Not  long  in  bed  had  L — ndh — rst  lain. 

When,  as  his  lamp  bum'd  dimly. 
The  ghosts  of  corporate  bodies  slain,* 

StcKKi  by  his  bed-side  grimly. 
Dead  aldermen,  who  once  could  feast. 

But  now,  themselves,  are  fed  on. 
And  skeletons  of  mayors  deceas*d, 
This  doleful  chorus  led  on:  — 
"  Oh  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
•*  Unmerciful  Lord  L — ndh — rst, 
"  Ck)rpses  we, 
«*  All  burk*d  by  thee, 
**  Unmerciful  Lord  L — ndh — rst ! " 


**  Avaunt,  ye  frights!"  his  Lordship  cried, 

**  Ye  look  most  glum  and  whitely.** 
**  Ah,  L — ndh— rst,  dear! "  the  frights  replied, 

•*  YouVe  us'd  us  unpolitely. 
**  And  now,  ungrateful  man !  to  drive 

^  Dead  bodies  from  your  door  so, 
**  Who,  quite  corrupt  enough,  alive, 
**  YouVe  made,  by  death,  still  more  so. 
•*Oh,Ex.Chancellor, 
<*  Destructive  Ex-Chancellor, 
**  See  thy  work, 
**  Thou  second  Burke, 
"Destructive  Ex-Chancellor! " 

Bold  L — ^ndh — rst  then,  whom  nought  could  keep 

Awake,  or  surely  that  would. 
Cried  "  Curse  you  all  " — fell  fast  asleep  — 

And  dreamt  of  **  Small  v.  Attwood.'' 
While,  shocked,  the  bodies  flew  down  stairs. 

But,  courteous  in  their  panic. 
Precedence  gave  to  ghosts  of  mayors 
And  corpses  aldermanic. 

Crying,  **  Oh,  Lord  L — ^ndh — rst, 
•*  That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
"Not  Old  Scratch 
"  Himself  could  match 
•*  That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rst." 


X  Btfeirmg  to  t^  Uim  takin  bj  Lord  L—ndh— at,  on  the  qi 
tion  of  Municipal  Refbnn. 

SB 


^H 

^B^^^^l 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

.HT8 

(iSi    OF    rHB    TOWKS.' 

V  chair. 

lorning  pnpora; 
V  Idok  of  ilcspnir, 

:i'<l  said, 

em  cut  mud  a 

(1  the  liiiht  of  day 
ivit-s  away; 

^jcuslo'm'd  tolb, 
diM  aud  Fools!  — 

poau  and  places 

s  „nc  l,.v  cne. 

.»o  siiMinio, 

A  inmHe  of  polvpi  — nobodj  knew 

Wbich  was  the  head  or  »hi<-h  llic  qwae. 

//cri,  lngliB,  tnni'd  to  a  uuis-coloiw. 

Was  dancing  tbe  bay.  with  Hume  and  GroM: 

TAn-t  ripa  for  riol.  Recordrr  Sbaw 

Wbji  learning  from  Rochnck  "C'-ira:" 

WhilB  Stanlay  and  Graham,  a«  pwiarff*  wtiicbti 

St-ream'd  'ahar!"  from  the  Tory  beodiM; 

And  Peel  and  O'Conncll.  cbcck  bv  jowl, 

Were  daDctng  an  Irish  cBimsgnole. 

The  Lord  prescrrc  us!  — if  dreams  come  line, 
What  u  this  hapless  n^aho  to  do? 

ANTICIPATED  MEETISG 

BBinSH  ASSOCIATION  IS  THE  TEAS  ml. 

Aftks  Mime  obaervationi  from  Dr.  U-Grig 

Of  those  wigs,  made  fi>r  amediluvian  wear, 
Which,  it  BMDia,  stood  the  Flood  ?rithoiU  mraiiE 

a  hair - 
Itr.  Tumkiin  rose  np,  and  requested  aReaiiM 
To  lii,l5  ii.>  k-^=  «-uri,lix-us  »  hi^h  hi  ha,i  to  Vfnoai 

1 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


647 


The  whole  Genus  Clericam  formerly  fed ; 

And  which  having  lately  himself  decomponnded, 

Ja^t  to  see  what  'twas  made  of,  he  actually  found  it 

Composed  of  all  possible  cookable  things 

That  e'er  tripp'd  upon  trotters  or  soar'd  upon 

wings — 
All  products  of  earth,  both  gramineous,  herbaceous, 
Hordeaceous,  fabaceous,  and  eke  farinaceous. 
All  clubbing  their  quotas  to  glut  the  oesophagus 
Of  this  ever  greedy  and  grasping  Tithophagus.* 
**  Admire,"  exclaim'd  Tomkins,  *<the  kind  dis- 
pensation 
**  By  Providence  shed  on  this  much-favour'd  nation, 
*'In  sweeping  so  ravenous  a  race  from  the  earth, 
"That  might    else   have   occasioned  a   general 

dearth — 
"  And  thus  burying  'em,  deep  as  even  Joe  Hume 

would  sink  'em, 
**  With  the  Ichthyosaurus  and  Falieorynchum, ' 
**  And  other  queer  ci-devant  things,  under  ground — 
**Not  forgetting  that  fossilised  youth',  so  renown 'd, 
**  Who  liv'd  just  to  witness  the  Deluge — was  gra- 
tified 
"Much  by  the  sight,  and  has  since  been  found 
stratified!" 

This  picturesque  touch— quite  in  Tomkins's  way — 
Caird  forth  from  the  eavane  a  general  hurrah; 
While  inquiries  among  them  went  rapidly  round. 
As  to  where  this  young  stratified  man  could  be 

found. 
The  **  leam'd  Theban's  "  discourse  next  as  Uvelily 

flow'd  on. 
To  sketch  t'other  wonder,  the*  Amtocratodon — 
An  animal,  differing  from  most  human  creatures 
Not  eo  much  in  speech,  inward  structure,  or  features. 
As  in  having  a  certain  excrescence,  T.  said. 
Which  in  form  of  a  coronet  grew  from  its  head^ 
And  devolv'd  to  its  heirs,  when  the  creature  was 

dead; 
Nor  matter'd  it,  while  this  heir-loom  was  trans- 
mitted. 
How  unfit  were  the  heada,  so  the  coronet  fitted. 


He  then  mention'd  a  strange  zoological  fact, 
Whose  announcement  appear'd  much  applause  to 

attract. 
In  France,  said  the  learned  professor,  this  race 
Had  so  noxious  become,  in  some  centuries'  space. 
From  their  numbers  and  strength,  that  the  land 

was  o'errun  with  'cm, 
Every  one's  question  being,  **  What's  to  be  done 

with 'em?" 


*  nit  aoological  ttnn  for  a  tith«-e«ter. 

t  Tim  man  fimad  bj  8eh«oehMr,  and  roitpowd  bj  him  to  ban 


When,  lol  certain  knowing  ones — savane^  mayhap, 
Who,  like  Buckland's  deep  followers,  understood 

trap,' 
Slily  hinted  that  nought  upon  earth  was  so  good 
For  Arivtocratodons,  when  rampant  and  rude. 
As  to  stop,  or  curtail,  their  allowance  of  food. 
This  expedient  was  tried,  and  a  proof  it  affords 
Of  the*  effect  that  short  conmions  will  have  upon 

lords; 
For  this  whole  race  of  bipeds,  one  fine  summer's 

mom. 
Shed  their  coronets,  just  as  a  deer  sheds  his  horn. 
And  the  moment  these  gewgaws  fell  off,  they  became 
Quite  a  new  sort  of  creature—  so  harmless  and  tame. 
That  zoologists  might,  for  the  first  time,  maintain 'em 
To  be  near  akin  to  the  genus  humanum. 
And  the'  experiment,  tried  so  successfully  then. 
Should  be  kept  in  remembrance,  when  wanted  &^uin. 


SONGS  OF  THE  CHURCH. 
No.  1. 

LSATE  ME    ALONE. 

**  We  are  erer  itanding  on  the  defenrive.    A 11  that  we  aaj  to  them 
ia, '  hare  tu  etiont.'    The  Eitablished  CThnrch  U  port  and  parcel  oT 
the  conatitution  of  thi»  country.    T ou  are  bound  to  conform  to  thU 
constitution.     We  a«k  of  jou  nothing  moni  —  Ut  tur  aluiu."— 
Letter  in  The  Timest  Not.  183S. 


IMS. 


Co)i£,  list  to  my  pastoral  tones. 

In  clover  my  shepherds  I  keep; 
My  stalls  are  well  fumish'd  with  drones, 

Whose  preaching  invites  one  to  sleep. 
At  my  spirit  let  infidels  scoff, 

So  they  leave  but  the  substance  my  own ; 
For,  in  sooth,  I'm  extremely  well  off, 

If  the  world  will  but  let  me  alone. 

Dissenters  are  grumblers,  we  know;  — 

Though  excellent  men,  in  their  way. 
They  never  like  things  to  be  so. 

Let  things  be  however  they  may. 
But  disscnting's  a  trick  I  detest ; 

And,  besides,  'tis  an  axiom  well  known^ 
The  creed  that's  best  paid  is  the  best, 

If  the  unpaid  would  let  it  alone. 

To  me,  I  own,  very  surprising 
Your  Newmans  and  Puseys  all  seem. 


vitncaaed  the  Delage  ("homo  diluTii  teetii "),  tmt  who  twMd  oat, 
I  am  tonj  to  ray,  to  be  merely  a  freat  lisard. 
*  Particularly  tb«  formatioo  called  Tnuuitiom  Trap. 

3b  2 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


649 


ht  mud,  now  in  the  air 

'tis  for  mischief  reckless  where. 


Y  knowledge,  there's  no  end  to*t, 
re  I  haven't  it,  I  pretend  to't; 
!ad  of  taking  a  leam'd  degree 

dull  university, 

md  it  handier  to  commence 

certain  share  of  impudence, 

tasses  one  off  as  leam'd  and  clever, 

all  other  degrees  whatever; 

ibles  a  man  of  lively  sconce 

[aster  of  a//  the  Arts  at  once. 

er  what  the  science  may  be  — 

Physics,  Theology, 

atics.  Hydrostatics, 

ics  or  Pneumatics  — 

?r  it  be,  I  take  my  luck, 

:he  same  to  ancient  Puck; 

lead's  so  full  of  all  sorts  of  wares, 

>rother  imp,  old  Smugden,  swears 
but  of  law  a  little  smatt'ring, 
be  perfect  >  —  which  is  flatt'ring. 

as  a  linguist  all  must  know 
:t  me  abroad  some  months  ago; 
tard  me  abroad  exceedingly,  too, 
loods  and  tenses  of  parUz'Vous) 
is  old  Chambaud's  shade  stood  mute, 
such  French  to  the  Institute 
led  those  learned  Thebans  much, 

V  if  'twas  Sanskrit  or  High  Dutch, 
jht  have  pass'd  with  the'  unobserving 
of  the  unknown  tongues  of  Irving. 

y  talent  for  ubiquity, 
nothing  like  it  in  all  antiquity, 
mgo  (my  peculiar  care), 
re,  Tm  dere,  Fm  cbery  where.*** 
ne*s  wanted  to  take  the  chair, 
ly  subject,  anywhere, 
k  around  and  —  Puck  is  there! 
laughter's  at  hand,  your  bird  of  prey 
known  to  be  out  of  the  way; 
lerevcr  mischief's  to  be  got, 
Puck  instanter  on  the  spot. 

kd  me  in  negus  and  applause, 
1  your  man  for  ant/  cause, 
r  the  cause,  the  more  my  delight; 
nn't  object  to  it,  ev'n  when  righit 
r  can  vex  some  old  friend  by't; 

D— rh— m,  for  instance; — to  worry  him 

my  cup  of  bliss  to  the  brim! 


(kotb  bt  thb  editor.) 

Those  who  are  anxious  to  run  a  muck 
Can't  do  better  than  join  with  Puck, 
They'll  find  him  ben  diabU — spite  of  his  phiz — 
And,  in  fact,  his  great  ambition  is, 
While  playing  old  Puck  in  first-rate  style. 
To  be  thought  Bobin  Goo<Ucllow  all  the  while. 


Thif  tiUmto  la  only  •qnaUad  hj  thai  of 
>  his  medical  fricnd,Dr.  —  i  "H  M  oonnoitcn  toati 
en  ta  mMfedue.** 


POLICB   REPORTS. 

CASE  OF  DfPOBTUBB. 

Among  other  stray  flashmen,  dispos'd  of,  this  week, 

Was  a  youngster,  nam'd  St — nl — j,  genteelly 

connect^ 

Who  has  lately  been  passing  off  coins,  as  antique, 

Which  have  prov'd  to  be  sham  ones,  though  long 

unsuspected. 

The  ancients,  our  readers  need  hardly  be  told. 
Had  a  coin  they  call'd  **  Talents,"  for  wholesale 
demands;' 
And  'twas  some  of  said  coinage  this  youth  was  so 
bold 
As  to  fancy  he'd  got,  God  knows  how,  in  his 
hands. 

People  took  him,  however,  like  fools,  at  his  word; 

And  these  talents  (all  prized  at  his  own  valuation) 
Were  bid  for,  with  eagerness  ev*n  more  absurd 

Than  has  often  distinguish'd  this  great  thinking 
nation. 

Talk  of  wonders  one  now  and  then  sees  advertis*d 

•*  Black  swans  "  —  **  Queen  Anne  farthings  " — 

or  ev'n  "  a  child's  caul "  — 

Much  and  justly  as  all  these  rare  objects  are  priz'd, 

♦•St-  nl — y's  talents"   outdid    them  —  swans, 

farthings,  and  all! 

At  length,  some  mistrust  of  this  coin  got  abroad; 
Even  Quondam  believers  began  much  to  doubt 
or  it; 
Some  rung  it,  some  rubb'd  it,  suspecting  a  fraud — 
And  the  hard  rubs  it  got  rather  took  the  shine 
out  of  it. 

Others,  wishing  to  break  the  poor  prodigy's  fall. 
Said  'twas  known  well  to  all  who  hiui  studied 
the  matter, 


'  Stmt  in  "Tht  PMUoek.** 
s  For  «n  ■ceoant  of  the  onln  «alMI  lUwti  Iqr  the 
Bndinu  (k  Amc,  ud  tht  otter  wriun  (k  At  Naminaril. 

8e  3 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


651 


NEW  GRAND  EXmBITION  OF  MODELS 

or  TBS 

TWO  HOUSKS  OF  FABLIAMENT. 

Come,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  here  ye  may  view 

An  exact  and  nat'ral  representation 
(Lake  Sibum's  Model  of  Waterloo ') 

Of  the  Lords  and  Commons  of  this  here  nation. 

There  they  are — all  cnt  out  in  cork  — 
The  "  CoUectire  Wisdom  *'  wondrous  to  see ; 

My  eyes !  when  all  them  heads  arc  at  work. 
What  a  vastly  weighty  consam  it  must  be. 

As  for  the  "wisdom,"— rta<  may  come  anon; 

Though,  to  say  truth,  we  sometimes  see 
(And  I  find  the  phenomenon  no  uncommon  'nn) 

A  man  who's  M.  P.  with  a  head  that's  M.  T. 

Oar  Lords  are  ralher  too  small,  'tis  true; 

But  they  do  well  enough  for  Cabinet  shelves; 
And,  besides, — whaft  a  man  with  crecturs  to  do 

That  make  such  werry  small  figures  themselves? 

There — don't  touch  ihose  lords,  my  pretty  dears — 

Corse  the  children! — this  comes  of  reforming  a 
nation : 
Those  meddling  young  brats  have  so  damag'd  my 
peers, 
I  must  lay  in  more  cork  for  a  new  creation. 

Them  yondcr's  our  bishops  —  **  to  whom  much  is 
given," 
And  who're  ready  to  take  as  much  more  as  you 
please: 
The  seers  of  old  times  saw  visions  of  heaven, 
But  these  holy  seers  see  nothing  but  Sees. 

Like  old  Atlas'  (the  chap,  in  Cheapside,  there 
below,) 
Tis  for  so  much  per  cent,  they  take  heaven  on 
their  shoulders; 
And  joy  'tis  to  know  that  old  High  Church  and 
Co., 
Though  not  capital  priests,  are  such  capital- 
holders. 

There's  one  on  'em,  Ph— lip— tts,  who  now  is  away. 
As  we're  having  him  fiU'd  with  bumbustible 
stuff, 

Small  crackers  and  squibs,  for  a  great  gala-day. 
When  we  annually  fire  his  Right  Reverence  off. 


'Twould  do  your  heart  good,  ma'am,  then  to  be  by. 

When,  bursting  with  gunpowder,  'stead  of  with 

bile. 

Crack,  crack,  goes  the  bishop,  while  dowagers  cry, 

**How  like  the  dear  man,  both  in  matter  and 

style  I 


ff 


Should  you  want  a  few  Peers  and  M.P.S,  to  bestow. 
As   presents    to  friends,  we  can  recommend 
these:* — 
Our  nobles  are  come  down  to  nine-pence,  you 
know, 
And  we  charge  but  a  penny  a  piece  for  M.P.S. 

Those  of  6ott2f-corks  made  take  most  with  the  trade, 
(At  least,  'mong  such  as  my  Iriah  writ  summons,) 
Of  old  whiskey  corks  our  O'Connells  arc  made. 
But  those  we  make  Shaws  and  Lefrovs  of,  are 
rum  'uns. 
So,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  &c.  &c. 

Da  Capo. 


I 


I  OiM  of  the  moct  InterwOiig  and  eurlotu  of  *I1  the  cxhlUtioni 


ANNOUNCEMENT 

or 
▲  NEW  GRAND  ACCELERATION  COHPANT 
FOB  raa  moMonoir  or 
THE  SPEED  OF  LITERATURE. 

Loud  complaints  being  made,  in  these  quick -read* 

in^  times. 
Of  too  slack  a  supply,  both  of  prose  works  and 

rhymes, 
A  new  Company,  form'd  on  the  keep- moving  plan. 
First  propos'd  by  the  great  firm  of  Catch- 'cm-who- 

can, 
Beg  to  say  they've  now  ready,  in  full  wind  and 

speed, 
Some  fast-going  authors,  of  quite  a  new  breed  — 
Such  as  not  he  who  runs  but  who  gcUiopt  may 

read  — 
And  who,  if  well  curried  and  fed,  they've  no  doubt. 
Will  beat  ev'n  Bontley's  swift  stud  out  and  out. 
It  is  true,  in  these  days,  such  a  drug  is  renoum. 
We've  "  Immortals  "  as  rife  as  M.  P.s  about  town ; 
And  not  a  Blue's  rout  but  can  off-hand  supply 
Some  invalid  bard  who's  insnr'd  "  not  to  die." 
Still,  let  England  but  once  try  our  authors,  she'll 

find 
How  fast  they'll  leave  ev'n  these  Immortals  behind; 
And  how  truly  the  toils  of  Aloides  were  light. 
Compared  with  his  toil  who  can  read  all  they  write. 

*  The  bUfd  of  the  Inranuaoe  Offlot  In  Chei^Mlde. 

s  PrododBf  ftbagftilloflonbMDulgtntleiDca. 

3b  4 


^^^^^^B 

MOORFS  WORKS. 

Eio  gainfii!  Iho  tnidc. 

.lit  «n  "  Un.lvme  One," 
iunea  ft  Buying  One  j 
.■^  lo  witnesB  the  honr, 
v\oe  Iho  mare-motire" 

,  read,  mid— forgol,  in 

icndima  ctlerity. 

■lief  of  posterity— 

.■  .U'ljit  of  fame, 

>viih  ft  name 

T>iich  tickle  Tom  Tegg 

sef(md-|iricM  F«g:HsuB)i 
[nurc  lu  BboiT  hoir  im- 

iid  of  ponnda,  shillings 

3  himself,  in  onr  day, 
t  flr^t  n»  mlUy- 
ire  BOOT!  mny  compiire, 
t.  will,  our  Birmiiigham 

r  in  citlicr  of  these  lines. 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LATE  DDiSEB 
TO  DAN. 

From  tongue  lo  longua  the  rumour  fiew; 
All  lak'd.  agFuist,  "rs't  true?  is't  trae?" 

But  none  knew  whether  'twa*  feci  or  MAt-. 
And  Etin  the  nnholj  mmonr  lan. 
From  Tory  woman  to  Tory  man. 

Though  none  lo  come  at  the  truth  was  ahi»- 
Till,  lo.  ftl  last,  the  fuel  came  oni. 
The  horrible  facl,  Iterood  all  doutrt. 

That  Dan  hud  din'd  at  the  Vipcro*'«  inhki 
Hod  flesh'd  his  Popish  knife  nnd  fork 
Id  the  heart  of  ihoVEiiablisIi'd  munott  and  fcA'. 

That  ncwj  prcinc'd  in  this  orthodox  fialionf 
Di'ftns.  reelora,  enrntcs,  all  agrerd. 
If  Dan  w»»  allow'd  at  the  Cn»tle  to  fted. 
'Twas  cU'nrly  atf  H>  with  the  Pmeitint  nwl! 

Been  heard  of.  in  DnbliD,  «o^  ilut  d*r 
When,  dnring  the  finl  grand  exhibition 

Of  Don  Qiovanni,  that  nanghty  pUj, 
There  appcarU  u  if  raii'd  by  nccrDainiieM. 

All  Mfro  devil  among  the  dancers! 
YcB-cv'n.  one  suw,  with  fearful  thrill. 
That  a  ile'vil  too  maeh  had  joln'd  Che  q<ia.!iil!t^' 
A»d  sulphur  wa..  »mell,  and  the  InmTs  l»ftU 

■ 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


658 


;PITAL  FOR  SICK  LITERATI 

inmilitj  we  beg 
the  public  that  Tom  Tegg — 
his  spankj  speculations, 
ap  dead  repntations, 
mode  of  galvanising 
must  own,  b  quite  surprising, 
ad  authors  move  again, 
thej  still  were  living  men; — 
lo,  manag*d  in  a  trice, 
wo  magic  words,  "  Half  Price," 
igs  the  charm  so  quick  about, 
•out  poets,  left  without 
^uot  whereon  to  stand, 
to  go  at  second  hand;  — 
se  the  public,  we  repeat, 
lat  Tegg,  who  works  this  feat, 
fore,  knows  what  care  it  needs 
ivc  Fame's  invalids, 
in  Hospital,  in  town, 
jf  knock'd-up  renown — 
;ures,  dangerous  £pic,/ite 
called  CantitM%  stabs  from  wits; 
1  wounds  for  which  they're  nurst, 
from  publishers,  the  worst;— 
and  other  such  fatalities, 
en  to  frail  immortalities, 
ire  so  expertly  treated, 
imes,  when  the  cure's  completed. 
It's  made  robust  enough 
I  few  more  rounds  of  puff^ 
he  ghosts  of  Dante's  lay, 
1  into  thin  air  away! 

x>ets  (being  phenomenons) 
t4)  mix  wiUi  low  and  common  'uns, 
ispital  has  separate  wards, 
)r  literary  lords, 
w«-peers,  of  immoderate  length, 
I,  when  they've  outgrown  their  strength, 
(,  whom  their  friends  despair  of, 
to  bed  and  taken  care  of. 

3  to  contradict  a  story, 

2nt  both  with  Whig  and  Tory, 

tor  W— rb— t— n,  M.P^ 

(vn  for  his  antipathy, 

y  hate,  good  man,  to  all 

of  poets,  great  and  small — 

that  he's  been  heard  to  own, 

most  willingly  cut  down 
St  groves  on  Pindus'  mount, 
he  timber  to  account! — 

actually  goes,  that  he 
»  at  Tegg's  Infirmary; 
not  only  stints  for  spite, 
nts  in  their  copy-right. 


But  that,  on  being  call'd  in  lately 
To  two  sick  poets,  suffering  greatly. 
This  vaticidal  Doctor  sent  them 
So  strong  a  dose  of  Jeremy  Bentham, 
Thbt  one  of  the  poor  bards  but  cried, 
•*  Oh,  Jerry,  Jerry!  "  and  then  died; 
While  t'other,  though  less  stuff  was  given. 
Is  on  his  road,  'tis  fear'd,  to  heaven! 

Of  this  event,  howe'er  unpleasant, 
Tegg  means  to  say  no  more  at  present, — 
Intending  shortly  to  prepare 
A  statement  of  die  whole  affair. 
With  full  accounts,  at  the  same  time. 
Of  some  late  cases  (prose  and  rhyme), 
Subscrib'd  with  every  author's  name. 
That's  now  on  the  Sick  List  of  Fame. 


RELIGION  AND  TRADE. 


**81r Robert  Feci  believed  itwme  neoewurto  orlgtaiftteall  re- 
ipeetinc  religion  and  trade  in  a  Committee  of  tlie  Houae."— CkvrQfc 
£r(eiMHm,  May  SS,  1830. 

Sat,  who  was  the  wag,  indecorously  witty. 
Who,  first  in  a  statute,  this  libel  convey'd; 

And  thus  slily  referr'd  to  the  self-same  committee, 
As  matters  congenial.  Religion  and  Trade? 

Oh  surely,  my  Ph — Up— tts,  'twas  thou  didst  the 
deed; 
For  none  but  thyself,  or  some  pluralist  brother, 
Accustom'd  to  mix  up  the  craft  with  the  crce<l. 
Could  bring  such  a  pair  thus  to  twin  with  each 
other. 

And  yet,  when  one  thinks  of  times  present  and 
gone. 
One  is  forc'd  to  confess,  on  maturer  reflection. 
That  'tisn't  in  the  eyes  of  committees  alone 
That  the  shrine   and  the  shop  seem  to  have 
some  connection. 

Not  to  mention  those  monarchs  of  Asia's  fair 
land. 
Whose  civil  list  all  is  in  "god-money  "  paid; 
And  where  the  whole  people,  by  royal  command. 
Boy  their  gods  at  the  government  mart,  ready 
made;' — 

There  was  also  (as  mention'd,  in  rhyme  and  in 

prose,  is) 

(rold  heap'd,  throughout  Egypt,  on  every  shrine. 

To  make  rings  for   right   reverend   crocodiles' 

noses^>  [in  thine. 

Just  such  as,  my  Ph — Up — tts,  would  look  well 

i  The  BIrmana  xnaj  not  bnytheMcred  marMe  in  iDMi,bat  mwl 
pordiaie  flffima  of  tht  dettr  almdy  1 


3 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


655 


'.  most  shj,  the  Sisters  Blae 
cate  taste  and  judgment  too. 
;  the  poor  man  suffering  greatlj 
nrful  stuff  he  has  thrown  up  lately  — 
,  indeed,  to  the  alarm  of  all, 
on  a  fit  of  what  doctors  call 
pistico^monomania 
(vith  such  a  long  word  to  detain  ye), 
;ed  the  part  of  a  kind  physician, 
their  gift  to  the  patient's  condition; 
m  as  'tis  ready  for  presentation, 
iblish  the  facts,  for  the  gratification 
ily-favour'd  and  Protestant  nation. 

to  the  great  alarm  of  his  neighbours, 
tinues  his  Qtuwterly  labours; 
las  strong  No-Popery  fits, 
iten  his  old  nurse  out  of  her  wits, 
he  screams,  like  Scrub  in  the  play,* 
Jesuits!  Popery!"  night  and  day; 
*rinter*s  Devil  for  Doctor  Dens,* 
\i  him  heaps  of  High-Church  pens;" 
Deril  (himself  a  touchy  Dissenter) 
his  hide,  like  arrows,  enter, 
iwallowing  wholesome  stuff  from  the 
gist's, 

)  raring  of  "Irish  Thuggists;*** 
y  all  go  murd'ring,  for  fun, 
f  mom  till  set  of  sun, 
s  fast  as  a  minute«gun!* 
w  comes  it  the  gown  and  cassock  are 
:,  'mid  this  general  massacre  — 
t  that  Pat's  own  population 
the  more  for  this  trucidation  — 
}n,  for  all  such  memoranda, 
;Ati;es  of  the  Propaganda  !  "  ' 

f e're  got,  for  the  present,  to  say  — 
ke  up  the  subject  some  future  day. 


DINNER  OF  TYPE  AND  CO. 

A  POOR  poet's  dream.' 

my  study,  lone  and  still, 
•  Sergeant  Talfourd's  Bill, 
ech  by  Lawyer  Sugden  made, 
igenial,  for  **  the  Trade,' 


ft 


lagem. 

of  the  article  hu  groped  about,  with  much  nioce«, 

I  **  the  dariL  reoenee  of  Dr.  Dena'a  diaQuIsitioni."  — 


V. 


we  Mk,  hM  there  been  anj  rebellloni  moTement 
land.iince  the  pUntlnc  of  the  Ubter  coloniM.in 
g  of  the  kind  wm  not  Tisible  unong  the  Prceby- 
flrth?"-/6«. 


41 


«( 


«« 


U 


Sudden  I  sunk  to  sleep,  and,  lo. 

Upon  Fancy's  reinless  night-mare  flitting, 
I  found  myself,  in  a  second  or  so. 
At  the  table  of  Messrs.  Type  and  Co. 

With  a  goodly  group  of  diners  sitting;— 
All  in  the  printing  and  publishing  line, 
Drest,  I  thought,  extremely  fine. 
And  sipping,  like  lords,  their  rosy  wine; 
While  I,  in  a  state  near  inanition. 

With  coat  that  hadn't  much  nap  to  spare 
(Having  just  gone  into  its  second  edition). 

Was  the  only  wretch  of  an  author  there. 

But  think,  how  great  was  my  surprise. 
When  I  saw,  in  casting  round  my  eyes. 
That  the  dishes,  sent  up  by  Type's  she-cooks, 
Bore  all,  in  appearance,  the  shape  of  books; 
Large  folios  —  Grod  knows  where  they  got  'em. 
In  these  smcJl  times — at  top  and  bottom; 
And  quartos  (such  as  the  Press  provides 
For  no  one  to  read  them)  down  the  sides. 
Then  flash'd  a  horrible  thought  on  my  brain. 
And  I  said  to  myself,  "  'Tis  all  too  plain; 
Like  thoie,  well  known  in  school  quotations, 
Who  ate  up  for  dinner  their  own  relations, 
"  I  see  now,  before  me,  smoking  here, 
"  The  bodies  and  bones  of  my  brethren  dear;  — 
Bright  sons  of  the  lyric  and  epic  Muse, 
All  cut  up  in  cutlets,  or  bash'd  in  stews; 
**  Their  works,  a  light  through  ages  to  go, 
**  Themselves,  eaten  up  by  Type  and  Co. '  " 

While  thus  I  moralis'd,  on  they  went. 
Finding  the  fare  most  excellent; 
And  all  so  kindly,  brother  to  brother. 
Helping  the  titbits  to  each  other; 
•*  A  slice  of  Southey  let  me  send  you  "  — 
"  This  cut  of  Campbell  I  recommend  you  "  — 
**  And  here,  my  friends,  is  a  treat  indeed, 
"•  The  inmiortal  Word^orth  firicassce'd! " 

Thus  having,  the  cormorants,  fed  some  time. 
Upon  joints  of  poetry  —  all  of  the  prime  — 
With  also  (as  Type  in  a  whisper  averr'd  it) 
"Cold  prose  on  the  sideboard,  for  such  as  pre- 

ferr'd  it "  — 
They  rested  awhile,  to  recruit  their  force. 
Then  pounc'd,  like  kites,  on  the  second  course. 
Which  was  singing-birds  merely  —  Moore  and 

others  — 
Who  all  went  the  way  of  their  larger  brothers; 

*  **LordLorton,  fbr  initanoe,  who,  for  elearing  hii  ectate  of  a 
Tillage  of  Iriih  Thoggiita,"  lee.  lee — Quarterly  Review, 

•  *'  Obeerre  how  mozder  after  morder  i«  oommitted  like  minute- 
guns."  —  Ibid, 

0  *'  Might  not  the  arehiTca  of  the  Flopaganda  poarfblr  rappljthe 
kejr" 
7  Written  dining  the  late  agitatioii  of  UMqueatloa  of  Copyright. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


667 


I  other  sman  facts,  well  deaeiring  attention, 
our  Oljrmpic  despatches  make  mention. 
;chas  is  still  yerj  ill,  thej  aUege, 
leyer  recorer'd  Uie  Temperance  Pledge, 
the  Irish! "  he  cried— **  those  I  look'd  to 
e  most! 

give  up  the  sptnt,  I  gire  up  the  ghost:** 
omns,  who  osM  of  the  gods  to  make  fun, 
Socialist  now,  and  declines  there  are  none  I 

e  changes,  though  curious,  are  all  a  mere 
rce, 

1  to  the  new  **  casus  helli "  of  Mars, 
r  jears,  has  been  suffering  the  horrors  of 
liet, 

d  bj  one  glinmier  of  bloodshed  or  riot! 
rom  the  clouds  his  belligerent  brow 
pop  forth,  in  hopes  that  somewhere  or 
»mehow, 

at  a  fair,  he  might  **  coax  up  a  row :  ** 
joke  wouldn't  take— the  whole  world  had 
3t  wiser; 

1  not  to  take  a  Great  Gun  for  adviser; 
1  less,  to  march  in  fine  clothes  to  be  shot, 
verj  well  knowing  for  whom  or  for  what, 
Qcb,  who  of  slaughter  had  had  their  full 
ving, 

•ntent  with  a  shot,  now  and  then,  at  their 
Jng; 

1  England,  good  fighting's  a  pastime  so 
ard  to  gain, 
s  left  to  fight  irirt,  but  Lord  C — rd — ^g — n. 

lless  to  saj,  then,  how  monstrously  happy 
)  has  been  made  by  what's  now  on  the  tapis; 
ch  it  delights  him  to  see  the  French  rally, 
ty's  name,  around  Mehemet  Ali ; 
owing  that  Satan  himself  could  not  find 
:tion  of  mischief  much  more  to  his  mind 
}  old  Bonnet  Rouge  and  the  Bashaw  com- 
in'd. 

ell,  too,  he  knows,  that  there  ne*er  were 
ttackers, 

ir  their  cause,  that  they  didn't  find  backers; 
ny  slight  care  for  Humanity's  woes 
ooth'd  by  that  '*  Art  Diplomatique,"  which 
hows 

come,  in  the  most  approv'd  method,  to 
»lows. 

ill,  for  to-day — whether  Mars  is  much  vext 
iend  Thiers  s  exit,  we'll  know  by  our  next. 


lUottbuProvmeiales  majbenldtobeof  tbe  highett 

IX  d'etprit^  or  tquilw. 

■MU  ia  tkt  iMtropoUf  b  ezlrfBMiy  vtU  ooalriTwl  for 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  FARCE. 

OuB  earth,  as  it  rolls  through  the  regions  of  space. 
Wears  always  two  faces,  the  dark  and  the  sunny ; 

And  poor  human  life  runs  the  same  sort  of  raoe^ 
Being  sad,  on  one  side — on  the  other  side,  funny. 

Thus  oft  we,  at  eve,  to  the  Haymarket  hie. 
To  weep  o'er  the  woes  of  Macready ;  —but  scarce 

Hath  the  tear-drop  of  Tragedy  pass'd  from  the  eye. 
When,  lo,  we're  all  laughing  in  fits  at  the  Farce. 

And  still  let  us  laugh  —  preach  the  world  as  it 
may  — 
Where  the  cream  of  the  joke  is,  the  swarm  will 
soon  follow; 
Heroics  are  very  grand  things,  in  their  way. 
But  the  laugh  at  the  long  run  will  carry  it  hollow. 

For  instance,  what  sennon  on  human  affairs 
Could  equal  the  scene  that  took  place  t'other  day 

'Twixt  Romeo  and  Louis  Philippe,  on  the  stairs-^ 
The  Sublime  and  Ridiculous  meeting  half-way ! 

Tes,  JocusI  gay  god,  whom  the  Gentiles  supplied. 

And  whose  worship  not  ev'n  among  Chnstiaiis 

declines. 

In  our  senate  thou'st  languish'd  since  Sheridan 

died. 

But  Sydney  still  keeps  thee  alive  in  our  shrines. 

Rare  Sydney!  thrice  honour*d  the  stall  where  he 
sits. 
And  be  his  every  honour  he  deigneth  to  climb  at! 
Had  England  a  hierarchy  form'd  all  of  wits. 
Who  but  Sydney  would  England  proclaim  as 
its  primate? 

And  long  may  he  fiourish,  frank,  merry  and  brave — 

A  Horace  to  hear,  and  a  Pascal  to  read; ' 
While  he  laughs,  all  is  safe,  but,  when  Sydney 

grows  grave, 
We  shall  then  think  the  Church  is  in  danger  indud. 

Meanwhile,  it  much  glads  us  to  find  he's  preparing 

To  teach  other  bishops  to  *•  seek  the  right  way;"* 

And  means  shortly  to  treat  the  whole  l^nch  to  an 

airing. 

Just  such  as  he  gave  to  Charles  James  t'other 

day. 

For  our  parts,  though  gravity's  good  for  the  soul. 
Such  a  fancy  have  we  for  the  side  that  there's 
fun  on, 
We'd  rather  with  Sydney  south-west  take  a  ••stroll," 
Than  coach  it  north-east  with  his  Lordship  of 
Lnnnun. 

your  Tx>rdihip*a  ■pNch  i  bat  mppoit.  mj  daar  Lord,  that  iailMd 
of  ffoinc  E.  and  NJE.  jroo  had  twnwl  ftboot,"  At.  ««.  —  Ssmibv 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1. 1117  friend  1  H  miiD  of  rhymcl, 
Ivr  still,  a  man  uf  ^ujn'^ 
I'palrune,''  in  thc»B  times, 
Bhor<>  Ihrivc,  like  spjuning  jeniiivs> 
■  :ht'»  iwUt  and  Bulwtr'a  piige 
ugh  at  patnjDBge! 

fe  timfB  arc  poss'd  nwaT, 
m'd  in  upper  floors  10  sou-  it, 
;rib'd  vj  lords  hU  lav, — 
e  wbilc.  my  Lord  MuuntgwroL 
I  bees,  with  air  dependent, 
ftrk  nuij  sail  stioiidani'' 
Inu  lordly  skipper's  rtccragej 
b  trinmiihant  in  Ilie  Kow, 
■Mnrraj's  >elf  in  tow, 

"lar  Chambtr  and  ilie  peerjiee. 

d!  when  srarce  a  sail 
n  England  by  the  gale, 
>oBrd  some  authors,  shipp'd 
Lliores,  ali  well-eqnjpp'd 
I  btHjk-muking  mathiiitry, 

morals,  umnuerii,  scenery, 
Hnods  as  they  eball  Me, 


The  itate,  now,  taking  to  tbo  till, 
Uak  fijieu'd  shop  on  Ludgote  IliU 
[Far  bandirr  than  ihe  Hill  of  Pindu*, 
Ai  seen  from  bard's  back  attic  Hindu' 
And  ■wftUoH'ing  thare  widiont  cctmlj 
Lar^  draughta  { at  tight)  of  iiupiraiii 
Touches  thfl  Nolei  for  each  new  theme 
'While  still  fresh  "  cAmufa  comae  o'er  he 

What  Steam  is  on  ihc  deep  — and  mo 
In  the  viut  power  of  Puff  on  shore; 
Which  jiim|)S  10  glorv's  future  loniei 
Before  the  present  eien  comniencct; 
And  ouUccs  "imtnortal  "  and  "dirine 
Before  the  world  has' read  one  line  of 

In  old  ljme«,  when  Ihe  God  of  Song 
Drove  his  own  two-horse  team  Hloog^ 
Corryini;  inside  a  bard  or  two, 
Book'd  for  posterity  "  all  ibttingh :  "— 
Their  laggage.  a  few  cloie-pock'd  rhvn 
(Like  yours,  my  Iricnd.)  for  AneT'iimn 
80  slow  the  pnll  to  Fame's  abode. 
That  folks  oft  slept  upon  the  ruad;" 
And  Homer's  self,  sumetimei.  thcj  u], 
Took  10  his  nighltap  on  the  way.' 

Te  Gods:  how  different  is  the  aiorj 
With  our  new  galloping  sons  of  glort, 
Wl„j.  ^o.niini:  :iU  =mh  .latk  and  bio*  r 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


659 


}HTS  ON  MISCHIEF. 

Y  LORD  ST-NI^-Y. 

tST  ATTEMPT   VX  YEBSE.) 

U,  be  thou  my  good."  MiLTOif. 

ire  the  inspirations 
len,  in  different  national 
mpts  to  good  or  eril, 
Muse,  some  raise  the  deviL 
that  pink  of  sages, 
non,  on  board  wages, 
rith  him  incog., 
:s  give  his  wits  a  jog. 
,  in  our  day,  we  know, 
lays  of  imps  below, 
om  that  nameless  spot, 
is,  hot  and  hot. 

re  old  L — nd — st's  doings — 
[Iccate's  "hell-broth"  brewings- 
Stanley,  but  my  will, 
mischief  prettier  still; 
bining  boyhood's  tricks 
arest  politics; 
Teaks,  the  veteran's  gall, 
c'd,  and  matchless  all; 
nought  in  history  reaches 
1,  when  first  in  breeches! 

Goddess  multiform, 
0,  witch-like,  rid*st  the  storm, 
de  cockhorse  behind  thee— 
key  could  they  find  thee. 
,  as  I'm  well  aware, 
done,  you  care  not  where, 
nost  my  fancy  tickle 

to  play  the  Pickle; 
edit  for  inventing 
method  of  tormenting  — 
all  the  Stanley  fashion, 
1  Ireland  in  a  passion; 

the  mixture  due 
.  insult  too; 
►ears  upon't 

Stanley's  brazen  front. 

told,  means  land  of  Ire ; 
I  so,  none  need  inquire, 
millions,  martial,  manly, 
IS  by  me,  Lord  St — nl — j. 
e  breeze  I  scent 
coming  devilment; 
le  more  stirring  fur 
lum  or  the  Sulphur  war, 
Irug  ferments  are. 
•  to  tliis  Tory  soul 

pests,  from  pole  to  pole, 
jwelter'd  venom  "  got 
eland's  "charmed  pot;*** 

er'd  venom,  ■leeping  got, 
um  fint  r  the  charmed  pot.** 


And,  thankf  to  practice  on  that  land, 

I  stir  it  with  a  master-hand. 

Again  thou'lt  see,  when  forth  hath  gone 

The  War-Church-cry, "  On,  Stanley,  on! " 

How  Caravats  and  Shanavests 

Shall  swarm  from  out  their  mountain  nests. 

With  all  their  meny  moonlight  brothers. 

To  whom  the  Church  («/ep-dame  to  others) 

Hath  been  the  best  of  nursing  mothers. 

Again  o'er  Erin's  rich  domain 

Shall  Rockites  and  right  reverends  reigpn; 

And  both,  exempt  from  vulgar  toil. 

Between  them  share  that  tiUieful  soil; 

Puzzling  ambition  which  to  climb  at. 

The  post  of  Captain,  or  of  Primate. 

And  so,  long  life  to  Church  and  Co. — 
Hurrah  for  mischief ! — here  we  go. 


EPISTLE  FROM  CAPTAIN  ROCK  TO 
LORD  L— NDH— T. 

Dear  L — ndh — ^t,  — ^you'll  pardon  my  making  thus 

free, — 
But  form  is  all  fudge  'twixt  such  **  comrogues  "  as  we. 
Who,  whate'er  ^e  smooth  views  we,  in  public, 

may  drive  at. 
Have  both  the  same  praiseworthy  object,  in  private— 
Namely,  never  to  let  the  old  regions  of  riot. 
Where  Rock  hath  long  reign'd,  have  one  instant 

of  quiet. 
But  keep  Ireland  still  in  that  liquid  we've  taught  her 
To  love  more  than  meat,  drink,  or  clothing — hot 

water, 
» 
All  the  difference  betwixt  you  and  me,  as  I  take  it. 
Is  simply,  that  you  make  the  law  and  /  break  it; 
And  never,  of  big-wigs  and  small,  were  there  two 
Play'd  so  well  into  each  other's  hands  as  we  do; 
Insomuch,  that  the  laws  you  and  yours  manufacture. 
Seem  all  made  express  for  the  Rock-boys  to  fracture. 
Not  Birmingham's  self— to  her  shame  be  it  spoken — 
E'er  made  things  more  neatly  contriv'd  to  be  broken ; 
And  hence,  I  confess,  in  this  island  religious. 
The  breakage  of  laws — and  of  heads  ur  prodigious. 

And  long  may  it  thrive,  my  Ex-Bigwig,  say  I, — 
Though,  of  late,  much  I  fear'd  all  our  fun  was 

gone  by; 
As,  except  when  some  tithe-hunting  parson  show'd 

sport. 
Some  rector — a  cool  hand  at  pistols  and  port. 
Who  "  keeps  dry  "  his  powder,  but  never  himself-^ 
One  who,  leaving  his  Bible  to  rust  on  the  shelf. 
Sends  his  pious  texts  home,  in  the  shape  of  ball- 

cartridges. 
Shooting  his  "  dearly  beloved,"  like  partridges; — 


THE    EPICTJEEAN. 


sc 


PREFACE. 


This  Story  was  intended  originally  to  be  told 
in  Terse;  and  a  great  portion  of  it  was  at  first 
written  in  that  form.  This  fact,  as  well  as  the 
character,  perhaps,  of  the  whole  work,  which  a 
?ood  deal  partakes  of  the  cast  and  colouring  of 
f>oetry,  have  been  thought  sufficient  to  entitle 
X  to  a  place  in  thisf  general  collection  of  my 
poetical  writings. 

How  little  akin  to  romance  or  poesy  were 
some  of  the  circumstances  under  which  this 
work  was  first  projected  by  me,  the  reader  may 
have  seen  from  a  preceding  preface  * ;  and  the 
Tollowing  rough  outline,  which  I  have  found 
among  my  papers,  dated  Paris,  July  25,  1 820, 
will  show  both  my  first  general  conception,  or 
fore-shadowing  of  the  story,  and  likewise  the 
extent  to  whic)]  I  thought  right,  in  afterwards 
"•working  out  this  design,  to  reject  or  modify 
^Q&e  of  its  details. 

**  Began  my  Egyptian  Poem,  and  wrote 
*^ut  thirteen  or  fourteen  lines  of  it.  The 
^rj  to  be  told  in  letters  from  a  young  Epicu- 
'^an  philosopher,  who,  in  the  second  century 
'^  the  Christian  era,  goes  to  Egypt  for  the 
Urpose  of  discovering  the  elixir  of  immortality, 
''Hich  is  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  secrets  of 
^e  Egyptian  priests.  During  a  Festival  on 
^«  Nile,  he  meets  with  a  beautiful  maiden, 
^«  daughter  of  one  of  the  priests  lately  dead. 
^)ie  enters  the  catacombs,  and  disappears.  He 
Overs  around  the  spot,  and  at  last  finds  the 
''ell  and  secret  passages,  &c.  by  which  those 
''lio  are  initiated  enter.  He  sees  this  maiden 
^  one  of  those  theatrical  spectacles  which 
termed  a  part  of  the  subterranean  Elysium  of 
be  Pyramids  —  finds  opportunities  of  convers- 
tig  with  her — their  intercourse  in  this  myste- 
ious  region  described.  They  are  discovered ; 
Jid  he  is  thrown  into  those  subterranean  pri- 

•  Ffcflwe  to  "  The  Lotc*  of  the  AnceU." 


sons,  where  they  who  violate  the  rules  of  Initi- 
ation are  confined.  He  is  liberated  from 
thence  by  the  young  maiden,  and  taking  flight 
together,  they  reach  some  beautiful  region, 
where  they  linger,  for  a  time,  delighted,  and 
she  is  near  becoming  a  victim  to  his  arts.  But 
taking  alarm,  she  flies ;  and  seeks  refuge  with 
a  Christian  monk,  in  the  Thebaid,  to  whom  her 
mother,  who  was  secretly  a  Christian,  had  con> 
signed  her  in  dying.  The  struggles  of  her 
love  with  her  religion.  A  persecution  of  the 
Christians  takes  place,  and  she  is  seized  (chiefly 
through  the  unintentional  means  of  her  lover), 
and  suffers  martyrdom.  The  scene  of  her  mar- 
tyrdom described,  in  a  letter  from  the  Solitary 
of  the  Thebaid,  and  the  attempt  made  by  the 
young  philosopher  to  rescue  her.  He  is  carried 
off  from  thence  to  the  cell  of  the  Solitary. 
His  letters  from  that  retreat,  after  he  has  be- 
come a  Christian,  devoting  his  thoughts  en- 
tirely to  repentance  and  the  recollection  of 
the  beloved  saint  who  had  gone  before  him.  — 
If  I  don*t  make  something  out  of  all  this,  the 
deuce  is  in't." 

According  to  this  plan,  the  events  of  the 
story  were  to  be  told  in  Letters,  or  Epistolary 
Poems,  addressed  by  the  philosopher  to  a 
young  Athenian  friend ;  but,  for  greater  vari- 
ety, as  well  as  convenience,  I  afterwards  dis- 
tributed the  task  of  narration  among  the  chief 
personages  of  the  Tale.  The  great  difficulty, 
however,  of  managing,  in  rhyme,  the  minor 
details  of  a  story  so  as  to  be  clear  without 
growing  prosaic,  and  still  more,  the  diffuse 
length  to  which  I  saw  narration  in  verse  would 
extend,  deterred  me  from  following  this  plan 
any  further ;  and  I  then  commenced  the  tale 
anew  in  its  present  shape. 

Of  the  Poems  written  for  my  first  experi- 
ment, a  few  specimens,  the  best  I  could  select, 

3c  2 


THE    EPICUEEAN. 

A    TALE. 


TO 

LOBD    JOHN    BUSSELL 

THIB  YOLUVB  18  nrSCSIBBD 
IT  OVS  WHO  ASXIBBS  HIS  CHAIUOTXB  AVD  TALKlTTfl.  AXD  18  PBOW  OV  HI8  nUSVDBEIT. 


LETTER  TO  THE  TRANSLATOR, 


CidiO,JlllMl8.ino. 

Mt  deab  Sib, 

DuRiKO  a  yisit  lately  paid  by  me  to  the  mo- 
nastery of  St.  Macarius — which  is  situated,  aa  yon 
know,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Lakes  of  Natron — I 
was  lucky  enough  to  obtain  possession  of  a  curious 
Greek  manuscript  which,  in  the  hope  that  you  may 
be  induced  to  translate  it,  I  herewith  transmit  to 
you.  Obscrviu)^  one  of  the  monks  rery  busily 
occupied  in  teuing  up  into  a  variety  of  fantastic 
shapes  some  papers  which  had  the  appearance  of 
being  the  leaves  of  old  books,  I  inquired  of  him 
the  meaning  of  his  task,  and  received  the  following 
explanation: — 

The  Arabs,  it  seems,  who  are  as  fond  of  pigeons 
as  the  ancient  Egyptians,  have  a  superstitious  no- 
tion that,  if  they  place  in  their  pigeon-houses  small 
scraps  of  paper,  written  over  with  learned  charac- 
ters, the  birds  are  always  sure  to  thrive  the  better 
for  the  charm;  and  the  monks,  who  are  never  slow 
in  profiting  by  superstition,  have,  at  all  times,  a 
supply  of  such  amulets  for  purchasers. 

In  general,  the  fathers  of  the  monastery  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  scribbling  these  fragments 
themselves ;  but  a  discovery  lately  made  by  them, 
saves  all  this  trouble.  Having  dug  up  (as  my 
infofinant  stated)  a  chest  of  old  manuscripts, 
which,  being  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  alchemy, 
xnust  have  been  buried  in  the  time  of  Dioclesian, 
**  we  thought,"  added  the  monk,  **  that  we  could 
Hot  employ  such  rubbish  more  properly,  than  in 

1  The  dcKiiptioD,  her*  blinded  to.  niBy  alio  be  found,  o(v<ed 
^tfbattM  from  Sethoa,  in  the  "  YujuKct  d*Antenor."— **  In  that 
HMkwofMwl  nnwDee,  oaikd  *La  Vie  de  Sethoe,*"  my  Wat- 


tearing  it  up,  as  you  see,  for  the  pigeon-houses  of 
the  Arabs." 

On  ray  expressing  a  wish  to  rescue  some  part 
of  these  treasures  from  the  fate  to  which  his  indo- 
lent fraternity  had  consigned  them,  he  produced 
the  manuscript  which  I  have  now  the  pleasure  of 
sending  you — the  only  one,  he  said,  remaining 
entire — and  I  very  readily  paid  the  price  which 
he  demanded  for  it. 

Tou  will  find  the  story,  I  think,  not  altogether 
uninteresting ;  and  the  coincidence,  in  many  re- 
spects, of  the  curious  details  in  Chap.  VI.  with 
the  description  of  the  8ame  ceremonies  in  the 
Romance  of  Sethoa  >,  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  strike 
you.  Hoping  that  you  may  be  induced  to  give  a 
translation  of  this  Tale  to  the  world, 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Very  truly  yonrs. 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


CHAPTER  L 

It  was  in  the  fourth  year  of  the  reign  of  the  late 
Emperor  Valerian,  that  the  followers  of  Epicurus, 
who  were  at  that  time  numerous  in  Athens,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  election  of  a  person  to  fill  the  vacant 
Chair  of  their  sect; — and,  by  the  unanimous  voice 
of  the  School,  I  was  the  individual  chosen  for  their 
Qiief.  I  was  just  then  entering  on  my  twenty- 
fourth  year,  and  no  instance  had  ever  before  oc- 

barton,  **  we  find  a  mudi  Jniter  Moonnt  of  otd  EcyptiAn  wledom, 
tlian  In  aU  the  pretnded * Hiitoire  dn  Ckl.*** .  Dig.  2^. book,  in 
14. 

80  8 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


667 


oration  to  the  memory  of  our  Master  (in  which  it 
was  usual  to  dwell  upon  the  doctrines  he  had  in- 
culcated), endeavoured  to  attain  that  art,  so  useful 
before  such  an  audience,  of  lending  to  the  gravest 
subjects  a  charm,  which  secures  them  listeneis 
even  among  the  simplest  and  most  volatile. 

Though  study,  as  may  be  supposed,  engrossed 
but  little  the  nights  or  mornings  of  the  Garden, 
yet  all  the  lighter  parts  of  learning — that  portion 
of  its  Attic  honey,  for  which  the  bee  is  not  com- 
pelled to  go  very  deep  into  the  flower —  was  some- 
what xealously  cultivated  by  us.  Even  here, 
however,  the  young  student  had  to  encounter  that 
Idnd  of  distraction,  which  is,  of  all  others,  the 
least  favourable  to  composure  of  thought ;  and, 
vith  more  than  one  of  my  fair  disciples,  there 
Hied  to  occur  sach  scenes  as  the  following,  which 
«  poet  of  the  Garden,  taking  his  piaure  from  the 
wdf  thus  described : — 

**  A»  o'er  tha  lake.  In  •Tcnlnc'i  elov. 

That  temple  threw  iti  lengthening  ihadt, 
Upon  the  marble  atept  below 

There  aate  a  fkir  Corinthian  maid, 
<}raoefally  o'er  aome  volume  bending  i 

While,  by  her  ride,  the  yoathftal  Sage 
Held  back  her  ringleta,  leat,  denending, 

They  ihoold  o'er-ahadow  all  the  page.** 

But  it  was  for  the  evening  of  that  day,  that  the 
richest  of  our  luxuries  were  reserved.  Every  part 
of  the  Garden  was  illuminated,  with  the  most 
akHful  variety  of  lustre ;  while  over  the  Lake  of  the 
Temples  were  scattered  wreaths  of  flowers,  through 
which  boats,  filled  with  beautiful  children,  floated, 
aa  through  a  liquid  parterre. 

Between  two  of  these  boats  a  mock  combat  was 
perpetually  cjuried  on;  —  their  respective  com* 
manders,  two  blooming  youths,  being  habited  to 
represent  Eros  and  Anteros :  the  former,  the  Ce- 
leatial  Love  of  the  Platonists,  and  the  latter,  that 
more  earthly  spirit,  which  usurps  the  name  of 
Love  among  the  Epicureans.  Throughout  the 
wfacde  evening  their  conflict  was  maintain'd  with 
various  success ;  the  timid  distance  at  which  Eros 
kept  aloof  from  his  lively  antagonist  being  his  only 
safeguard  against  those  darts  of  fire,  with  showers 
of  which  the  other  assailed  him,  but  which,  falling 
short  of  their  mark  upon  the  lake,  only  scorched 
die  few  flowers  on  which  they  fell,  and  were  ex- 
tinguished. 

In  another  part  of  the  gardens,  on  a  wide  glade, 
illuminated  only  by  the  moon,*  was  performed  an 
imitation  of  the  torch-race  of  the  Panathensa  by 
young  boys  chosen  for  their  fleetness,  and  arrayed 
with  wings,  like  Cupids;  while,  not  far  off,  a  group 
of  seven  nymphs,  with  each  a  star  on  her  forehead, 
represented  the  movements  of  the  planetary  choir, 
and  embodied  the  dream  of  Pythagoras  into  real 
motion  and  song. 

At  every  turning  some  new  enchantment  broke 
ttiesqwctedly  on  tl^  eye  or  ear;  and  now,  fix>m  the 


depth  of  a  dark  grove,  from  which  a  fountain  at 
the  same  time  issued,  there  came  a  strain  of  sweet 
music,  which,  mingling  with  the  murmur  of  the 
water,  seemed  like  the  voice  of  the  spirit  that  pre- 
sided over  its  flow; — while,  at  other  times,  the 
same  strain  appeared  to  come  breathing  from 
among  flowers,  or  was  heard  suddenly  from  under 
ground,  as  if  the  foot  had  just  touched  some  spring 
that  set  its  melody  in  motion. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  now  dwell 
upon  all  these  trifling  details;  but  they  were  to  me 
full  of  the  future ;  and  everything  connected  with 
that  memorable  night — even  its  long  repented 
follies — must  for  ever  live  fondly  and  sacredly  in 
my  memory.  The  festival  concluded  with  a  ban- 
quet, at  which,  as  master  of  the  Sect,  I  presided ; 
and  being,  myself,  in  every  sense,  the  ascendant 
spirit  of  the  whole  scene,  gave  life  to  all  around 
me,  and  saw  my  own  happiness  reflected  in  that 
of  others. 


CHAPTER  n. 

The  fiestival  was  over;  —  the  sounds  of  the  song 
and  dance  had  ceased,  and  I  was  now  left  in  those 
luxurious  gardens,  alone.  Though  so  ardent  and 
active  a  votary  of  pleasure,  I  had,  by  nature,  a  dis- 
position full  of  melancholy ;  —  an  imagination  that, 
even  in  the  midst  of  mirth  and  happiness,  pre- 
sented saddening  thoughts,  and  threw  the  shadow 
of  the  future  over  the  gayest  illusions  of  the  pre- 
sent. Melancholy  was,  indeed,  twin-bom  in  my 
soul  with  Passion;  and  not  even  in  the  fullest 
fervour  of  the  latter  were  they  ever  separated. 
From  the  flrst  moment  that  I  was  conscious  of 
thought  and  feeling,  the  same  dark  thread  had  run 
across  the  web;  and  images  of  death  and  annihil- 
ation came  to  mingle  themselves  with  even  the 
most  smiling  scenes  through  which  love  and  enjoy- 
ment led  me.  My  very  passion  for  pleasure  but 
deepened  these  gloomy  thoughts.  For,  shut  out, 
as  I  was  by  my  creed,  from  a  future  life,  and  having 
no  hope  beyond  the  narrow  horizon  of  this,  every 
minute  of  earthly  delight  assumed,  in  my  eyes,  a 
mournful  preciousness;  and  pleasure,  like  the 
flower  of  the  cemetery,  grew  but  more  luxuriant 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  death. 

This  very  night  my  triumph,  my  happiness,  had 
seemed  complete.  I  had  been  the  presiding  genius 
of  that  voluptuous  scene.  Both  my  ambition  and 
my  love  of  pleasure  had  drunk  deep  of  the  rich 
cup  for  which  they  thirsted.  Looked  up  to  as  I 
was  by  the  learned,  and  admired  and  loved  by  the 
beautiful  and  the  yotmg,  I  had  seen,  in  every  eye 
that  met  mine,  either  the  acknowledgment  of 
bright  triumphs  already  won,  or  the  promise  of 
I  others,  still  brighter,  that  awaited  me.    Yet,  even 

30  4 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


669 


-tonching,  as  it  did,  a  chord  so  ready 
— should  have  affected  me  with  more 
ary  power,  and  even  sank  deeper  into 
Y  with  every  effort  I  made  to  forget  it. 
i  I  mock  at  my  own  weakness;  —  such 
n  is  seldom  sincere.    In  vain   did   I 

accustomed  pkasores.  Their  sest  was, 
jrever  new;  but  still,  in  the  midst  of 
ojment,  came  the  cold  and  saddening 
ess  of  mortality,  and,  with  it,  the  recol- 

that  visionary  promise,  to  which  my 
defiance  of  reason,  still  continued  to 

I  indulging  in  reveries,  that  were  little 
.  continuation  of  my  dream,  I  even  cxm- 
the  possible  existence  of  some  mighty 
whidi  youth,  if  not  perpetuated,  might 
t  prolonged,  and  that  dreadful  vicinity 

within  whose  circle  love  pines  and 
ickens,  might  be  for  a  while  averted. 
>ws,"  I  would  ask,  **  but  that  in  Egypt, 
n  of  wonders,  where  Mystery  hath  yet 
3ut  half  her  treasures — where  still  re- 
eciphered,  npon  the  pillars  of  Seth,  so 
ten  secrets  of  the  antediluvian  world  — 
^11  bnt  that  some  powerful  charm,  some 
lay  there  lie  hid,  whose  discovery,  as 
torn  hath  promised,  but  awaits  my 
some  compound  of  the  same  pure  atoms, 

the  essence  of  the  living  stars,  and 
iision  into  the  frame  of  man  might 
n  also  unfading  and  immortal!" 
bndly  did  I  sometimes  speculate,  in 
le  moods  of  mind,  when  the  life  of  ex- 
in  which  I  was  engaged,  acting  npon  a 
rt  and  vivid  fancy,  produced  an  intoxi- 
spirit,  during  which  I  was  not  wholly 
This  bewilderment,  too,  was  not  a  little 
by  the  constant  struggle  I  experienced 
ny  own  natural  feelings,  and  the  cold, 
•ecd  of  my  sect  —  in  endeavouring  to 
m  whose  deadening  bondage  I  bnt  broke 
the  realms  of  fantasy  and  romance. 
1  my  Gobcrest  moments,  however,  that 
ision  for  ever  haunted  me;  and  every 
ade  to  chase  it  from  my  recollection  was 
i;.  The  deliberate  conclusion,  therefore, 
I  at  last  came,  was,  that  to  visit  Egypt 
my  only  resource;  that,  without  seeing 
of  wonders,  I  could  not  rest,  nor,  until 

of  my  folly  by  disappointment,  be 
3.  Without  delay,  accordingly,  I  an- 
to  my  friends  of  the  Garden,  the  in- 
had  formed  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  land  of 
.  To  none  of  them,  however,  did  I  dare  to 


iperljr,  perhapt, "  The  Colnma  of  th«  Ftllan.**  Vide 
leUtkvn  de  TEnrpte  ami  the  note*  nTM.de  Sacy.  The 
»  round  thii  eoltunn  (furmerly  rtedpuled  Pompry't, 


confess  the  vague,  visionary  impulse  that  actuated 
me;  —knowledge  being  the  object  that  I  alleged, 
while  Pleasure  was  that  for  which  they  gave  me 
credit  The  interests  of  the  School,  it  was  feared, 
might  suffer  by  my  absence;  and  there  were  some 
tenderer  ties,  which  had  still  more  to  fear  from 
separation.  But  for  the  former  inconvenience  a 
temporary  remedy  was  provided;  while  the  latter 
a  skilful  distribution  of  vows  and  sighs  alleviated. 
Being  fiimishcd  with  recommendatory  letters  to 
all  parts  of  Egypt,  I  set  sail  in  the  summer  of  the 
year  257,  ▲.d.,  for  Alexandria. 


CHAPTER  m 

To  one,  who  so  well  knew  how  to  extract  pleasure 
fVom  every  moment  on  land,  a  sea-voyage,  how- 
ever smooth  and  favourable,  appeared  the  least 
agreeable  mode  of  losing  time  that  could  be  de- 
vised. Often,  indeed,  did  my  imagination,  in 
passing  some  isle  of  those  seas,  people  it  with  fair 
forms  and  loving  hearts,  to  which  most  willingly 
would  I  have  paused  to  offer  homage.  Bnt  the 
wind  blew  direct  towards  the  land  of  Mystery; 
and,  still  more,  I  heard  a  voice  within  me,  whis- 
pering for  ever,  **  On." 

As  we  approached  the  coast  of  Egypt,  our 
course  became  less  prosperous;  and  we  Imd  a 
specimen  of  the  benevolence  of  the  divinities  of 
the  Nile,  in  the  shape  of  a  storm,  or  rather  whirl- 
wind, which  had  nearly  sunk  our  vessel,  and 
which  the  Egyptians  on  board  declared  to  be  the 
work  of  their  deity,  Typhon.  After  a  day  and 
night  of  danger,  during  which  we  were  driven  out 
of  onr  course  to  the  eastward,  some  benigner 
influence  prevailed  above;  and,  at  length,  as  tlie 
morning  freshly  broke,  we  saw  the  beautiful  city 
of  Alexandria  rising  from  the  sea,  with  its  proud 
Palace  of  Kings,  its  portico  of  four  hundred 
columns,  and  the  fair  Pillar  of  Pillars ',  towering 
in  the  midst  to  heaven. 

After  passing  in  review  this  splendid  vision,  we 
shot  rapidly  round  the  Rock  of  Pharos,  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  found  ourselves  in  the  harbour  of 
Ennostus.  The  sun  had  risen,  but  the  light  on 
the  Great  Tower  of  the  Rock  was  still  burning; 
and  there  was  a  languor  in  the  first  waking  move- 
ments of  that  voluptuous  city — whose  houses  and 
temples  lay  shining  in  silence  around  the  harbour 
^-that  sufficiently  attested  the  festivities  of  the 
preceding  night. 

We  were  soon  landed  on  the  quay;  and,  as  I 


hat  now  known  to  haT*  bwn  elected  in  hoooor  of  Dloderiea)  wm 
■till«tandJn«,M.de8M>jM3rg,lathatiiMof8ia«dia.  VideLord 
Valt$Uia*M  TtaveU, 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


671 


tst  revels,  condaced  still  more  to  deepen 
K>m. 

elebration  of  the  annual  festival  of  Serapis 
d  to  take  place  daring  my  stay,  and  I 
re  than  once,  induced  to  mingle  with  the 
Ititndes  that  flocked  to  the  shrine  at 
I  on  the  occasion.  Day  and  night,  as 
this  festival  lasted,  the  great  canal,  which 
a  Alexandria  to  Canopus,  was  covered 
ats  full  of  pilgrims  of  both  sexes,  all 
g  to  avail  themselves  of  this  pious  licence, 
nt  the  zest  of  a  religious  sanction  to  plea- 
id  gave  a  holyday  to  the  follies  and 
of  earth,  in  honour  of  heaven, 
returning,  one  lovely  night,  to  Alexandria, 
th  wind,  that  welcome  visitor,  had  cooled 
tiened  the  air,  while  the  banks,  on  either 
the  stream,  sent  forth,  from  groves  of 
ind  henna,  the  most  delicious  odours.  As 
ifl  all  the  crowd  behind  me  at  Canopus, 
18  not  a  boat  to  be  seen  on  the  canal  but 
;  and  I  was  just  yielding  to  the  thoughts 
»litude  at  such  an  hour  inspires,  when  my 
were  suddenly  broken  by  the  sound  of 
oale  voices,  coming  mingled  with  laughter 
ams,  from  the  garden  of  a  pavilion,  that 
rilliantly  illuminated,  upon  the  bank  of 
I. 

twing  nearer,  I  perceived  that  both  the 
nd  the  alarm  had  been  caused  by  the 
f  some  playful  girls  to  reach  a  hedge  of 
which  grew  near  the  water,  and  in  bend- 
u'ds  which  they  had  nearly  fallen  into  the 
Hastening  to  proffer  my  assistance,  I 
[>gnised  the  voice  of  one  of  my  fair  Alex- 
friends;  and,  springing  on  the  bank,  was 
led  by  the  whole  group,  who  insisted  on 
ing  their  party  in  the  pavilion:  and, 
ung  around  me,  as  fetters,  the  tendrils  of 
which  they  had  just  plucked,  conducted 
n willing  captive,  to  the  banquet-room, 
d  here  an  assemblage  of  the  very  flower 
mdrian  society.  The  unexpectedness  of 
ing  added  new  zest  to  it  on  both  sides; 
:>m  had  I  ever  felt  more  enlivened  myself, 
ided  better  in  infusing  life  and  gaiety  into 

g  the  company  were  some  Greek  women, 
wording  to  the  fashion  of  their  country, 
Is;  but,  as  usual,  rather  to  set  off  than  to 
their  beauty,  some  bright  gleams  of  which 
istantly  escaping  from  under  the  cloud. 
us,  however,  one  female,  who  particularly 
my  attention,  on  whose  head  was  a 
of  dark-coloured  flowers,  and  who  sat 
id  silent  during  the  whole  of  the  banquet. 
:  no  share,  I  observed,  in  what  was  pass- 
nd :  the  viands  and  the  wine  went  by  her 
td,  nor  did  a  word  that  was  spoken  seem 


addressed  to  her  ear.  This  abstraction  from  a 
scene  so  sparkhng  with  gaiety,  though  apparently 
unnoticed  by  any  one  but  myself,  struck  me  as 
mysterious  and  strange.  I  inquired  of  my  fair 
neighbour  the  cause  of  it,  but  she  looked  grave, 
and  was  silent. 

In  the  meantime,  the  lyre  and  the  cup  went 
round;  and  a  young  maid  from  Athens,  as  if  in- 
spired by  the  presence  of  her  coimtryman,  took 
her  lute,  and  sung  to  it  some  of  the  songs  of  Greece, 
with  a  wamth  of  feeling  that  bore  me  back  to  the 
banks  of  the  Ilissus,  and,  even  in  the  bosom  of 
present  pleasure,  drew  a  sigh  from  my  heart  for 
that  which  had  passed  away.  It  was  daybreak  ere 
our  delighted  party  rose,  and  most  unwillingly 
re-embarked  to  return  to  the  city. 

We  were  scarce  afloat,  when  it  was  discovered 
that  the  lute  of  the  young  Athenian  had  been  left 
behind;  and,  with  a  heart  still  full  of  its  sweet 
sounds,  I  most  readily  sprang  on  shore  to  seek  it. 
I  hastened  at  once  to  the  banquet-room,  which 
was  now  dim  and  solitary,  except  that  —  there,  to 
my  utter  astonishment,  was  still  seated  that  silent 
figure,  which  had  awakened  so  much  my  curiosity 
during  the  evening.  A  vague  feeling  of  awe  came 
over  me,  as  I  now  slowly  approached  it.  There 
was  no  motion,  no  sound  of  breathing  in  that 
form;  —  not  a  leaf  of  the  dark  chaplet  upon  its 
brow  stirred.  By  the  light  of  a  dying  lamp  which 
stood  on  the  table  before  the  fignre,  I  raised,  with 
a  hesitating  hand,  the  veil;  and  saw — what  my 
fancy  had  already  anticipated — that  the  shape 
underneath  was  lifeless,  was  a  skeleton !  Startled 
and  shocked,  I  hurried  back  with  the  lute  to  the 
boat,  and  was  almost  as  silent  as  that  shape  itself 
during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage. 

This  custom  among  the  Egyptians  of  placing  a 
mummy,  or  skeleton,  at  the  banquet-table,  had 
been  for  some  time  disused,  except  at  particular 
ceremonies;  and,  even  on  such  occasions,  it  had 
been  the  practice  of  the  luxurious  Alexandrians  to 
disguise  Uiis  memorial  of  mortality  in  the  manner 
just  described.    But  to  me,  who  was  wholly  un- 
prepared for  such  a  spectacle,  it  gave  a  shock  from 
which  my  imagination  did  not  speedily  recover. 
This  silent  and  ghastly  witness  of  mirth  seemed  to 
embody,  as  it  were,  the  shadow  in  my  own  heart. 
The  features  of  the  grave  were  thus  stamped 
upon  the  idea  that  had  long  haunted  me,  and  this 
picture  of  w^hat  I  was  to  be  now  associated  itself 
constantly  with  the  sunniest  aspect  of  what  I  was. 
The  memory  of  the  dream  now  recurred  to  me 
i  more   livclily  than   ever.      The  bright,  assuring 
!  smile  of  that  venerable  Spirit,  and  his  words,  **  Go 
to  the  shores  of  the  dark  Nile,  and  thou  wilt  find 
j  the  eternal  life  thou  seekcst,"  were  for  ever  pre- 
'  sent  to  my  mind.    But  as  yet,  alas,  I  ha<l  done 
nothing  towards   realising  the    proud    promise. 
i  Alexandria  was  not  Egypt;  — the  very  soil  on 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


il  Memgihiij  hnd  iiUiatKrod  age* 

mti;  "it  u  onlv  boiiea.th  the 
i|>lii«.  (IT  in  the  ni;'stiG  IIiilU  of 
ie  liu!;  nrconn  arc  lo  b«  round, 
iluvian  wuriil  has  maJe  Egjpt 
f-  wirioli  — Ueallhoiietill  — llw 


:apteb  rv. 

1,  of  all  others,  the  conntrj  moot 
lU  mixtnm  or  iha  mclaiiclioly 
.  which  miirkccl  the  rlmrattBr  of 
igion,  uul  hiT  ncencrf,  tu  ufTcct 
id  t«inpeniiiient  liku  mine,  and 
r  tremblingly  aliTe.  WTiowver 
l.'lil  the  rtetKrt  find  the  f^Bnlen, 
f  their  ilMolntion  and  bloom.  I 
tomb  Etaniling  sidn  hv 
I  land,  PIcBsnre  and  DcatJi  kept 
ib  other.  In  ihu  ttry  liixurj 
lai  the  name  eaddenin);  iu- 
:  iplm  ■         -   ■      • 


Knchuiicd  with  the  wbrile  Kent,  I  ]inga 
lighledly  on  mj  Toynge.  riaiting  all  tbose  I 
OU3  and  venerable  places,  -whoss  Gimiea  hai 
eonsHcralad  by  iho  wonder  of  age*.  At  Sii 
present  during  ber  Fextival  of  Lunpa.  and  n 
the  bloie  of  innumerable  hghia,  tboM  ■ 
wordf  on  the  temple  of  Ncitha':  —  'I  ami 
hna  been,  thM  is,  and  thai  wiU  be,  and  n 
both  ever  lifted  mj  veil."  1  nrandered  asw 
prostnite  obcb»ks  of  Heliopolis ',  and  w 
wiiliout  a  sigh,  tbe  aim  smiling  over  her  a 
if  in  mncki'ry  of  the  mass  of  perishable  gn 
that  had  onee  railed  ttvelf.  in  iu  pride,  "  Tl 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


673 


rill  look  his  last  —  it  was  not  till  this  . 
tiat  the  great  secret  announced  in  my  , 
in  rose,  in  all  its  inscmtable  darkness 
bonghts.    There  was  a  solemnity  in  the  i 
esting  apon  those  monuments — a  still- 
>f  reverence,  in  the  air  that  breathed 
iui,  which  seemed  to  steal,  like  the  music 
mes,  into  my  heart.     I  thought  what 
f  the  wise,  the  beautiful,  and  the  brave, 

into  dust  since  earth  first  saw  those 
and,  in  the  sadness  of  my  soul,  I  ex- 
-**  Must  man  alone,  then,  perish?  must 
I  hearts  be  annihilated,  while  pyramids 

Oh,  Death,  Death!  even  upon  these 
;  tablets — the  only  approach  to  inmior-  : 

kings  themselves  could  purchase — thou  [ 
en  our  doom  awfully,  and  intelligibly,  , 
There  is  for  man  no  eternal  mansion*  but 

• 

urt  sank  at  the  thought;  and,  for  the 
[  yielded  to  that  desolate  feeling,  which 
is  the  soul  that  hath  no  light  from  the 
iut  again  the  buoyancy  of  my  nature 

and  again,  the  willing  dupe  of  vain 
!  dclnd^  myself  into  Uie  belief  of  all 
heart  most  wished,  with  that  happy 
lich  enables  imagination  to  stand  in  the 
appiness.  **  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  immortality 
ithin  man's  reach;  and,  as  wisdom  alone 
of  such  a  blessing,  to  the  wise  alone  must 
have  been  revealed.  It  is  said,  that  deep 
ider  pyramid,  has  lain  for  ages  concealed 
of  Emerald',  on  which  the  Thrice-Great 
in  times  befbre  the  flood,  engraved  the 
lUchemy,  which  gives  gold  at  wilL  Why 
f  not  Uie  mightier,  the  more  god-like 
at  gives  life  at  will,  be  recorded  there 

was  by  the  power  of  gold,  of  endless 
t  the  kings,  who  now  repose  in  those 
nctures,  scooped  earth  to  its  very  centre, 
d  quarries  into  the  air,  to  provide  for 
.8  tombs  that  might  outstand  the  world, 
tell  but  that  the  gift  of  immortality  was 
B?  who  knows  but  that  they  themselves, 
at  over  decay,  still  live; — those  mighty 
,  which  we  call  tombs,  being  rich  and 
g  palaces,  within  whose  depths,  concealed 
withering  world,  they  still  wander,  with 
'led  who  have  been  sharers  of  their  gift. 


•eeoaat  of  the  TaUe  of  Emerald.  Tide  Lttttt 
Dieia  ^Effi/pte.  l>«Pawmippoae«ittobcA  modem 
9  AralM.  Mimjrwriteri  hmy  fancied  that  th«  art  of 
I  was  the  great  leeret  that  lay  hid  under  the  forma  of 
«oloc7.  "  La  edcnoe  herm^tique,'*  eajri  the  Benedio- 
u  **  I'art  eaeerdotal,  ^toit  la  Kmree  de  toutet  lea  richeeeei 
gyirta,  et  Tobjet  de  oei  royit^res  ri  cach^  eoni  le  Tulle 
cndne  Beliglon/*— /"oMe*  Egirptkmie*,  The  hiero- 
formerly  ooTcred  the  Pyramid*,  arc  nippowd  by  •ome 
itaa  to  relate  to  the  nme  art.    See  JTvIm  Ltbtr, 


through  a  sunless,  but  ever  illuminated,  elysium 
of  their  own?  Else,  wherefore  those  structures? 
wherefore  that  subterranean  realm,  by  which  the 
whole  vaUey  of  Egypt  is  undermined?  Why, 
else,  those  labyrinths,  which  none  of  earth  hath 
ever  beheld — which  none  of  heaven,  except  that 
God,  who  stands,  with  finger  on  his  husheid  hp', 
hath  ever  trodden?  " 

While  thus  I  indulged  in  fond  dreams,  the  sun, 
already  half  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  was  taking 
calmly  and  gloriously,  his  last  look  of  the  Pyra- 
mids -  as  he  had  done,  evening  after  evening,  for 
ages,  till  they  had  grown  familiar  to  him  as  the 
earth  itself.  On  the  side  turned  to  his  ray  they 
now  presented  a  front  of  dazzling  whiteness*, 
while,  on  the  other,  their  great  shadows,  lengthen- 
ing away  to  the  eastwa^,  looked  like  the  first 
steps  of  Night,  hastening  to  envelope  the  hills  of 
Araby  in  her  shade. 

No  sooner  had  the  last  gleam  of  the  sun  disap- 
peared, than,  on  every  house-top  in  Memphis,  gay, 
gilded  banners  were  seen  waving  aloft,  to  proclaim 
his  setting — while,  at  the  same  moment,  a  full 
burst  of  harmony  was  heard  to  peal  fronr  all  the 
temples  along  the  shores. 

Startled  ft^om  my  musing  by  these  sounds,  I  at 
once  recollected,  that,  on  that  very  evening,  the 
great  festival  of  the  Moon  was  to  be  celebrated. 
On  a  little  island,  half-way  over  between  the 
gardens  of  Memphis  and  the  eastern  shore,  stood 
the  temple  of  that  goddess, 

whoee  beams 
Brtof  the  eweet  time  of  iiiirhi>flowera  and  dreamt. 
ITot  the  cold  Diaa  of  the  North,  who  chain* 
In  Tcstal  kse  the  current  of  yoonc  Teins: 
Bat  ihe«  who  hanntt  the  gay,  Bnba^ian  *  grore. 
And  owns  ehe  eeea,  from  her  brii^t  heaTen  abore 
Nothing  on  earth  to  matdi  that  heaTen,  but  loTe  I 

Thus  did  I  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  one  of  their 
own  Egyptian  poets,  as,  anticipating  the  various 
deUghts  of  the  festival,  I  cast  away  fh>m  my  mind 
all  gloomy  thoughts;  and,  hastening  to  mv  httle 
bark,  in  which  I  now  lived  the  life  of  a  Nile-bird, 
on  the  waters,  steered  my  course  to  the  island- 
temple  of  the  Moon. 


s  •*£gfQ]gajpoQ,i^,,q„^gQtoll  mjg^l^g^l^^  n  est  Timi  que 
e'ftolt  anas!  le  Dien  dn  Silence;  il  mettoit  le  doigt  rar  la  bonelH 
parceqn'on  adoroit  le  solcil  aTce  nn  rcspeetneux  silenoe,  et  c'cst  de 
Uk  qu'est  Tenn  le  Sig^  des  Basilidieni,  qui  tiroicnt  lenr  oiiicine  de 
rEgypte."—  BeoMoftre. 


•  **By  reflecting  the  smi*8  rays.**  sayi  Clorte, 
Pyramids, "  they  appeared  white  as  snow.** 

*  Tat  Babastis,thaDlaiuiof  the  Egyptians,  Tide 
iii.oap.4. 


tiM 

lib. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


675 


d  the  sounds  were  bom  together,  a 
larmonj  came  mingling  with  the 

I — by  that  light,  which  ^  shone  fall 
g  maiden's  features,  as,  starting  at 
ze,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  portal, 
y  let  fall  their  lids  again — it  was 
what  even  my  own  ardent  imagina- 
!t  vivid  dreams  of  beaaty,  had  never 
i  Psyche  herself,  when  pausing  on 
Df  heaven,  while  its  first  glories  fell 
lids,  could  have  looked  more  purely 
lushed  with  a  more  innocent  shame. 
[  felt  the  power  of  looks,  none  had 
ito  my  soul  so  deeply.  It  was  a  new 
(v  sense — coming  as  suddenly  upon 
idiance  into  the  vestibule,  and,  at 
my  whole  being; — and  had  that 
)ut  lingered  another  motncnt  before 
ould  in  my  transport  have  wholly 
I  was  and  wherp,  and  thrown  my* 
ttc  adoration,  at  her  feet 
y  had  that  gush  of  harmony  been 
he  sacred  bird,  which  had,  till  now, 
motionless  as  an  image,  spread  wide 
d  flew  into  the  Temple;  while  his 
g  worshippers,  with  a  fleetness  like 
?ed — and  she,  who  had  left  a  dream 
ever  to  be  forgotten,  vanished  along 
As  she  went  rapidly  past  the  pillar 
,  I  leaned,  the  ivy  that  encircled  it^ 
r  drapery,  and  disengaged  some 
ich  fell  to  the  ground.  It  was  the 
which  I  had  seen  shining  on  her 
ily  and  tremulously  I  picked  it  up, 
>  restore  it;  but  she  was  already  lost 
the  crowd- 

I  I  try  to  follow;  —  the  aisles  were 
,  and  numbers  of  eager  pilgrims 
ds  the  portal.  But  the  servants  of 
enied  all  further  entrance,  and  still, 
1  myself,  their  white  wands  barred 
plexed  and  irritated  amid  that  crowd 
.rding  all  as  enemies  that  impeded 
I  stood  on  tiptoe,  gazing  into  the 
id  with  a  heart  beating  as  I  caught, 


iDMcnited  to  Oririi.  Vide  Diodor,  Sic  1. 10. 
SB,'*  Mjrs  DupvU^  dcMribinff  the  i»rooeMione  of 
I  miroin  attach^  h  leurs  ^pftulca,  ailn  de  multi- 
dans  tons  Ics  Koa  lei  images  de  la  IMeeae.**-. 
torn.  Tiii.  p.  847.  A  mirror,  it  appear*,  mm  aleo 
•  in  the  myiteries  of  Baochu*. 
ine  la  territnire  de  Sakkarah  ftcdtia  KtoopoHt 
lb,  et  le  faubonnr  oppoa^  li  celul-ci,  od  M>ot  lei 
xh.  Tine  autre  "Vllle  dea  ICorta,  qui  terminoit 
*^— Denow. 

;  known  with  certainty  •■  to  the  rite  of  Memphii, 
(ivcd  that  the  description  of  ita  poeition  giren  bjr 
retpondt,  in  almost  erery  particular,  with  that 
(the  French  eontoUfbir  many  years,  at  Cairo) 


from  time  to  time,  a  glimpse  of  some  spangled 
zone,  or  lotus  wreath,  which  led  me  to  fancy  that 
I  had  discovered  the  fair  object  of  my  search. 
But  it  was  all  in  vain; — in  every  direction,  files 
of  sacred  njrmphs  were  moving,  but  nowhere 
could  I  discover  her  whom  alone  I  sought 

In  this  state  of  breathless  agitation  did  I  stand 
for  some  time — bewildered  with  the  confusion  of 
faces  and  lights,  as  well  as  with  the  clouds  of 
incense  that  rolled  around  me — till,  fevered  and 
impatient,  I  could  endure  it  no  longer.  Forcing 
my  way  out  of  the  vestibule  into  Uie  cool  air,  I 
hurried  back  through  the  alley  of  sphinxes  to  the 
shore,  and  flung  myself  into  my  boat 

There  lies,  to  the  north  of  Memphis',  a  solitary 
lake,  (which,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  mingles 
with  the  rest  of  the  waters,)  upon  whose  shores 
stands  the  Necropolis,  or  City  of  the  Dead — a 
place  of  melancholy  grandeur,  covered  over  with 
shrines  and  pyramids,  where  many  a  kingly  head, 
proud  even  in  death,  has  lain  awaiting  through 
long  ages  the  resurrection  of  its  glories.  Through 
a  range  of  sepulchral  grots  underneath,  tihe 
humbler  denizens  of  the  tomb  are  deposited  — 
looking  out  on  each  successive  generation  that 
visits  them,  with  the  same  face  and  features* 
they  wore  centuries  ago.  Every  plant  and  tree, 
consecrated  to  death,  from  the  asphodel-flower  to 
the  mystic  plantain,  lends  its  sweetness  or  shadow 
to  this  place  of  tombs;  and  the  only  noise  that 
disturbs  its  eternal  calm,  is  the  low  humming 
sound  of  the  priests  at  prayer,  when  a  new  inha- 
bitant is  added  to  the  Silent  City. 

It  was  towards  this  place  of  death  that,  in  a 
mood  of  mind,  as  usual,  half  gloomy,  half  bright, 
I  now,  almost  nnconscionsly,  directed  my  bark. 
The  form  of  the  young  Priestess  was  continually 
before  me.  That  one  bright  look  of  hers,  the 
very  remembranoe  of  which  was  worth  all  the  actual 
smiles  of  otiiers,  never  for  a  moment  left  my 
mind.  Absorbed  in  such  thoughts,  I  continued 
to  row  on,  scarce  knowing  whither  I  went,  till,  at 
length,  startled  to  find  myself  within  the  shadow 
of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  I  looked  up,  and  beheld, 
rising  in  succession  before  me,  pyramid  beyond 
pyramid*,  each  towering  more  loftily  than  the 


has.  In  his  work  on  Egypt,  lefl  as.  It  mnsi  be  always  borne  la 
mind,  too,  that  of  the  distances  between  the  rcspectlTe  places  here 
mentioned,  we  hare  no  longer  any  aocurate  means  of  Judging. 

4  "  Par-lli  non-sculcment  on  oonsenroit  Ics  corps  d'nne  fkmin« 
entitle,  mais  en  descendant  dans  era  lienx  softtnrainSfOli  ils^toient 
d^poe^on  ponroit  se  repr^smter  en  un  inatant  tons  ses  ancMice 
depnis  plusieurs  mi  liters  d'ann^ea,  tele  4  pen  prie  qn'ilf  ttoicnt  da 
lenr  Tirant.**—  MaUUU 

*  '*  Mnltas  olim  pyramidas  fbiase  e  nrinb  axgnltnr.**  Zotga.— 
Fiaiufefr,  who  Tisitcd  more  than  ten  of  the  smaller  pyramids.  Is  of 
opinion  that  there  must  haTe  originally  been  a  hundred  In  tills 
place. 

'  See,  on  the  subject  of  the  lake  to  the  northward  of  m— wpKff^ 
Sham'0  2>wwis,  p.  SOt. 


^^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^^^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B 

1 

MOORE'S  WOKKS. 

i"il-loppe<l  in  gruidBurbj  ' 
iLl  liic  bright  iiiiHtn  rested 

Lq  rfmre.  which  wa*  mffi. 
thia  silent  oily  of  tombs 
Tiiiiitttioa,  I  tested  mj  oar,  | 
lock  iilly  upon  the  water;  ' 
.  my  tboughls,  left  equally 
['  ulUiwed  to  fluctuaic  ai  , 
rarioUB  were  the  dreanu 
:li  my  mind— that  bright 
11  mingling  iwelf  with  alll 
l*fure   me,  like   Bn  atrial  , 
k-mcotofmmiioiuidUBht, 
her  ninub,  was  her  ouly 
uiiimuleil   with   posulou, 
:ilure  of  earth,  slio  Kcmed 
I  looks  of  IcoderncsB,  which 
hul  Ibr  one   iintiuit,  to 
■  the  ilark  fanviea,  thol  ever 
-I  auw  her  eold,  parched,  ■ 
tho  gluom  of  tbow  ctcmal 

fl  shudiler.  from  the  ceme- 

I  heanl  tho  sound  of  an  ' 
,iit;li  tlio  water,  and,  in  a 
■■iin;jl)ast  me  lowanU  the 

II  whicli  «at   two   females 
1  veiled.      Having  landed 
M-   .,«.!    wliiT...    u.„Ur    the 

to  the  ipot,  but  there  wa«  not  s  sign  of  lib  aloni 
and.  bad  raj  ereod  eiModcd  lo  itQOthet  wort 
might  have  fancied  tbEw  fonna  were  >[>■">*<  < 
down  from  thence    to   mock    me— >o   intlai 

death.    At  length,  in  examining  oneof  ibetide 
the  pyramid,  which,  for  a  few  feet  from  the  groo 
wae  furnished  with  6lep^  I  found,  midway  beiw. 
peak  and  base,  apan  of  its  (uriacc,  which.  »U!i« 

cealed  opeuing. 

Usi,  more  hy  accident  than  tkilt,  prested  the  >pr 

Slant  tho  portal  sUd  aside,  and  disclosed  a  nur 
■tairway  within,  the  two  or  three  first  utft 

the  raat  were  all  kxit  iu  utter  darkness.     Tbtm 
it  was  difficult  to  concsire  that  the  persooi  wk 
1  hiid  been  pursuing  would,  have  ventorcd  to  p 
through  Uii»  gloomy  opening,  yet  to  aciiwuil 

cult.    At  all  events,  my  curiosity  wu  now  I 

eager  in  the  chase  lo  relinqnish  il;— th«  spirit 
adventure,  once  raised,  could  not  he  so  CAsilv  1* 
1  Accordingly,  having  scut  up  a  gay  praytr  lo  ib 
bliae-loving  Queen  whose  eye  nlonc  wu  apan  n 
1  iias'-cd  thiuuifli  the  puitul,  axid  licactkU'.J  a' 

1 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


677 


a  full  and  distinct  view.  Over  the  walls 
vntary  were  painted  some  of  those  various 
;  by  which  the  mystic  wisdom  of  the 
ns  loves  to  shadow  ont  the  History  of  the 
ie  winged  globe  with  a  serpent  -  the  rays 
ing  from  above,  like  a  glory — and  the 
beetle  \  as  he  comes  forth  after  the  waters 
ssed  away,  and  the  first  sunbeam  falls  on 
nerated  wings. 

B  middle  of  the  chapel,  on  a  low  altar  of 
lay  a  lifeless  female  form,  enshrined 
k  case  of  crystal  * —  as  it  is  the  custom  to 
\  the  dead  in  Ethiopia  —  and  looking  as 
beautiM  as  if  the  soul  had  but  a  few 
3parted«  Among  the  emblems  of  death ', 
front  of  the  altar,  were  a  slender  lotus 
)roken  in  two,  and  a  small  bird  just  wing- 
light  from  the  spray. 

lese  memorials  of  the  dead,  however,  I 
;  little  attention;  for  there  was  a  living 
her©  upon  which  my  eyes  were  now  in- 

KCd. 

unp,  by  which  the  whole  of  the  chapel  was 
ted,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  pale 
1  the  shrine;  and  between  its  light  and  me 
female  form,  bending  over  the  monument, 
^aze  upon  the  silent  features  within.  The 
in  which  this  figure  was  placed,  intercept- 
trong  light,  afforded  me,  at  first,  but  an 
:t  and  sluidowy  view  of  it.  Yet  even  at 
c  outline  I  felt  my  heart  beat  high  —  and 
had  no  less  share,  as  it  proved,  in  this 
than  imagination.  For,  on  the  head 
^  its  position,  so  as  to  let  a  gleam  fall 
i  features,  I  saw,  with  a  transport  which 
.ost  led  me  to  betray  my  lurking-place, 
'as  she  —  the  young  worshipper  of  Isis  — 
e,  the  very  same,  whom  I  had  seen, 
ing  the  holy  place  where  she  stood,  and 
like  an  inhabitant  of  some  pnrer  world, 
lovement,  by  which  she  had  now  afforded 


it  en  EcTpte.  aprte  la  retnite  dn  Nil  et  la  i^condation 
l«  llmon  coDTcrt  d'ime  multitude  de  tcarabecs.  Un 
Mxntee  a  AH  Kinbler  aax  EcTptiena  le  plna  propre  li 
c  nourclle  exiitcnoe."—  M.  Jambard.  Partly  for  the 
1,  and  partly  for  another,  ttiU  more  fknciful,  the  early 
ued  to  apply  thi«  emblem  to  Christ.  "  Bonus  ille  scara- 
,"  sayfe  St.  Auffustlne. "  non  e&  tantom  de  cansA  quod 
qood  ipeemet  sui  auctor  mortalium  speciem  indunrit, 
1  hae  nostrft  fooe  lese  Tolutarerit  et  ex  hac  ipsA  nasd 


inrpticns  ont  fait  aussi,  poor  conserrer  lenrs  morts,  dci 
erre."— />e  Pauw.  He  mentions,  also,  in  another  place, 
insparent  substance,  which  the  Ethiopians  used  for  the 
tea,  and  which  was  frequently  mistaken  by  the  Greeks 

«tre,  qui  brise  la  tige  d'nne  fleur,  des  oiseanx  qui  s*en- 

t  les  emblimM  de  la  mort  et  de  rtme  qui  se  a^pazt  da 

enon. 

mploys  the  same  Image  in  the  Phvdra  :— 


;  me  an  opportunity  of  recognising  her,  was  made  in 
raising  firom  the  shrine  a  small  cross*  of  silver, 
which  lay  directly  over  the  bosom  of  the  lifeless 
fig^ure.  Bringing  it  close  to  her  lips,  she  kissed  it 
,  with  a  religious  fervour;  then,  turning  her  eyes 
moumfuUy  upwards,  held  them  fixed  with  a 
degree  of  inspired  earnestness,  as  if,  at  that 
moment,  in  direct  communion  with  Heaven,  they 
saw  neither  roof,  nor  any  other  earthly  barrier, 
between  them  and  the  skies. 

What  a  power  is  there  in  innocence  I  whose  very 
helplessness  is  its  safeguard — in  whose  presence 
even  Passion  himself  stands  abashed,  and  turns 
worshipper  at  the  very  altar  which  he  came  to 
despoil!  She,  who,  but  a  short  hour  before,  had 
presented  herself  to  my  imagination  as  something 
I  could  have  risked  immortality  to  win  —  she, 
whom  gladly,  from  the  floor  of  her  own  lighted 
temple,  in  the  very  face  of  its  proud  ministers,  I 
would  have  borne  away  in  triumph,  and  dared  all 
punishments,  divine  and  human,  to  make  her  mine 
—  that  very  creature  was  now  l)efore  me,  as  if 
thrown  by  fate  itself,  into  my  power  —  standing 
there,  beautiful  and  alone,  with  nothing  but  her 
innocence  for  her  guard!  Yet,  no — so  touching 
was  the  purity  of  the  whole  scene,  so  calm  and 
august  that  protection  which  the  dead  extended 
over  the  living,  that  every  earthly  feeling  was 
forgotten  as  I  gazed,  and  love  itself  became 
exalted  into  reverence. 

But,  entranced  as  I  felt  in  witnessing  such  a 
scene,  thus  to  enjoy  it  by  stealth  seemed  to  me  a 
wrong,  a  sacrilege  —  and,  rather  than  let  her  eyes 
encounter  the  flash  of  mine,  or  disturb,  by  a 
whisper,  that  sacred  silence,  in  which  Youth  and 
Death  held  communion  through  undying  Love,  I 
would  have  suffered  my  heart  to  break,  without  a 
murmur,  where  I  stood.  Gently,  as  if  life  itself 
depended  on  my  every  movement,  I  stole  away 
from  that  tranquil  and  holy  scene  —leaving  it  still 
holy  and  tranquil  as  I  had  found  it —  and,  gliding 


*  A  croei  wm,  among  the  Egyptians,  the  emblem  of  a  ftitnra 
life. 

**  The  singular  appearance  of  a  Cross  so  frequently  recurring 
among  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt,  had  excited  the  curiotity  of  the 
Christians  at  a  very  early  period  of  ecclesiastical  hiitoryt  and  as 
some  of  the  Priests,  who  were  aoqusinted  with  the  meaning  of  the 
hieroglyphic*,  became  converted  to  Christianity,  the  secret  trans- 
pired. *  The  converted  heathens,'  sajs Socrates Scholastieus, '  ex- 
plained the  symbol. and  declared  that  it  signified  Lift  to  Come.'  **— 
Ciarkt, 

Lipsius,  therefore.  Is  mistaken  In  supposing  the  Cross  to  hare 
been  an  emblem  peculiar  to  the  Christians.  See,  on  this  subject, 
VUvtuirt  efea  Juift,  liv.  vi.  c.  16. 

It  is  singular  enough  that  while  the  Cross  was  thus  held  sacred 
among  the  Egyptians,  not  only  the  custom  of  nuirking  the  fore- 
head with  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  but  Baptism  and  the  consecration 
ut  the  bread  in  the  Eucharist,  were  imitated  in  the  mysterious 
oexemonics  of  Mithra.—  TrrhUl.  de  Profcripttone  litretieorum. 

Ztxga  is  of  opinion  that  the  Cross,  said  to  have  been  for  the  first 
time  fuund,  ou  the  destruction  of  the  temple  of  Serapis,  by  the 
Christians.could  not  have  been  the  crux  ansatai  as  nothing  Is  move 
common  than  this  tmblem  on  all  the  Egyptian  monuuMnls.' 

3D 


^^^^^^^ 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

sages  snil  windings  by 
died  a^ain  thu  niLmiw 
into  lifbt 

md.  from  the  summit  of 
uring  dovvn  his  bcaois 
ers  — Mif  proud  oflasi 
divine  Isis.  now  bding 
lour  of  her  L«iriL    My 
nio  from  this  dangerous 
pleasures  seek  fowel- 
■:■■ !  >::■]  iiist  witnesiod, 
■  ■   ..1    ilif  rircle  of  this 
:    10  V   own    sns- 
..  U'A  any  doubt 
i:  .    -I'l^ll  that  is  Duw 

urtsandresolTes,   Etcii 

spot,  I  found  my  steps 

the  pyrnmid— my  eyes 

rtnl  ivliith  seroreil  this 

I-    rt,^   living.     Hour 

...:l,    tliai    City  of 

..  ■.  .i.iy.  and,  nnder 

..    _;iti    pymmid  of 

■lumber  surprise  me,  my  heart,  if  not  my  tu 
miffht  itill  keep  watch,  aod  her  footslcp,  light  L 
it  wa..  could  uol  fail  to  awake  me. 

drowtiiicss,  I  at  lenjrth  jonlc  into  sleep  — bui™ 
int«  forgetfnhicss.     The  same  image  aiiU  huiniN 
me,  in  eTery  variety  of  shape,  with  which  imigj- 
nation,  assisted  by  memoir,  could  invest  it.    Ntnt, 
like  Che  goddess  Ncllha.  upon  her  Ihnme  al  StU 
■he  seemed  to  .it.  with  ths  thI  jnst  raised  &■ 
that   brow,  which  till  then    no   mciui  had  era 
heheld-and  now,  like  the  bcanliful  mdunlrta 
Rhodope,  I  saw  her  rise  thim  oat  the  pyrusd  ia 
which  she  had  dwcU  for  apx.— 

■■  ™.  Bludnial.  u  Mm  UUi. 
Thf  brirtl  uimrum  Bimnh.  ■ho  AnU> 
■KM  huKmeiM  iDiI  Itnb  Ud, 
TbeLBlicmlKflrtiiiMI" 

So  long  hid  my  sleep  continued,  that,  iriini  I 

thehorison.     But  all  aronnd  was  looking  lnui<]ul 
and  lileless  as  before;  nor  did  a  printon  l>»  pw 
belmy  that  any  foot  bad  passed  there  fince  my <nE 
Refreshed,  however,  by  my  long  test,  and  iriik  i 
fancy  still  mora  excited  by  the  mTiUc  wmdat  tf 
which  I  had  been  dreaming.  1  now  remkri  a 
revisit  the  chapel  in  the  pyramid,  and  pot  in  esi 
if  possible,  to  this  strange  mystery  that  hsanliJ 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


679 


roD^b  me  like  a  yoice  of  ill-oinen,  and 
ioabtcd  whether  I  should  not  abandon 
rise.  The  hesitation,  however,  was  bat 
y;  —  even  while  it  passed  throngh  my 
id  touched  the  spring  of  the  portal.  In 
>nds  more,  I  was  again  in  the  passage 
le  pyramid;  and,  being  enabled  by  the 
ay  lamp  to  follow  the  windings  more 
K>n  found  myself  at  the  door  of  the 
)el  in  the  gallery. 

ed,  still  awed,  though  there  was  now, 
ht  living  within.  The  young  Priestess 
led  like  a  spirit  into  the  darkness;  and 
t  remained  as  I  had  left  it  on  the  pre- 
:ht.  The  lamp  still  stood  burning  upon 
I  shrine;  the  cross  was  lying  where  the 
the  young  mourner  had  placed  it,  and 
mage,  within  the  shrine,  wore  still  the 
quil  look,  as  if  resigned  to  the  solitude 
-of  all  lone  things  the  loneliest.  Re- 
g  the  lips  that  I  had  seen  kiss  that 
kindling  with  the  recollection,  I  raised 
itely  to  my  own; — but  the  dead  eyes,  I 
net  mine,  and,  awed  and  saddened  in 
of  my  ardour,  I  replaced  the  cross  upon 

ow  lost  every  clue  to  the  object  of  my 
id,  with  all  that  sullen  satisfaction  which 
even  when  unwelcome,  brings,  was  about 
my  steps  slowly  to  earth,  when,  as  I 
my  lamp,  on  leaving  the  chapel,  I  per- 
it  the  gallery,  instead  of  terminating 
.  a  sudden  and  snake-like  bend  to  the 
1  had  before  eluded  my  observation,  and 
med  to  give  promise  of  a  pathway  still 
:o  those  recesses.  Re-animated  by  this 
which  opened  a  new  source  of  hope  to 
I  cast,  for  a  moment,  a  hesitating  look 
ip,  as  if  to  inquire  whether  it  would  be 
irough  the  gloom  I  was  about  to  en- 
nd  then,  without  further  consideration^ 
jerly  forward. 


I 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

led,  for  a  while,  through  the  same  sort 
windings  as  those  which  I  had  before 
sd  in  descending  the  stairway;  and  at 
:ncd,  in  a  similar  manner,  into  a  straight 
gallery,  along  each  side  of  which  stood, 
nged  and  upright,  a  file  of  lifeless 
hose  glassy  eyes  appeared  to  glare  upon 
laturally  as  I  passed. 

w  enstom  of  trniylnir  the  dead  mtrlirht.  (**  poit  ftraos 
corpora.'*  a«  SUtliu  detcrlbei  it.)  Dr.  Clarke's  prefiuc 
tloBofhkflithTolainc.   Thnr  oied  to  inacrt  predoot 


Arrived  at  the  end  of  this  gallery,  I  found  my 
hopes,  for  the  second  time,  vanish;  as  the  path,  it 
was  manifest,  extended  no  further.  The  only 
object  I  was  able  to  discern,  by  the  glimmering  of 
my  lamp,  which  now  burned,  every  minute,  fainter 
and  fainter,  was  the  mouth  of  a  huge  well,  that 
lay  gaping  before  me — a  rescn'oir  of  darkness, 
black  and  unfathomable.  It  now  crossed  mj 
memory  tliat  I  had  once  heard  of  such  wells,  as 
being  used  occasionally  for  passages  by  the  priests. 
Leaning  down,  therefore,  over  the  edge,  I  ex- 
amined anxiously  all  within,  in  order  to  see  if  it 
afforded  the  means  of  effecting  a  descent  into  the 
chasm;  but  the  sides,  I  could  perceive,  were  hard 
and  smooth  as  glass,  being  varnished  all  over 
with  that  sort  of  dark  pitch,  which  the  Dead  Sea 
throws  out  upon  it  slimy  shore. 

After  a  more  attentive  scrutiny,  however,  I  ob- 
served, at  the  depth  of  a  few  feet,  a  sort  of  iron 
step,  projecting  dimly  from  the  side,  and,  below 
it,  another,  which,  though  hardly  perceptible,  was 
just  sufficient  to  encourage  an  adventurous  foot  to 
the  triaL  Though  all  hope  of  tracing  the  young 
Priestess  was  now  at  an  end  —  it  being  impossible 
that  female  foot  should  have  ventured  on  this 
descent — yet,  as  I  had  engaged  so  far  in  the  ad- 
venture, and  there  was,  at  least,  a  mystery  to  be 
unravelled,  I  determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  explore 
the  chasm.  Placing  my  lamp,  therefore,  (which 
was  hollowed  at  the  bottom,  so  as  to  be  worn  like 
a  helmet,)  firmly  upon  my  head,  and  having  thus 
both  hands  at  liberty  for  exertion,  I  set  my  foot 
cautiously  on  the  iron  step,  and  descended  into 
the  well 

I  found  the  same  footing,  at  regular  intervals, 
to  a  considerable  depth ;  and  had  already  counted 
near  a  hundred  of  these  steps,  when  the  ladder 
altogether  ceased,  and  I  could  descend  no  further. 
In  vain  did  I  stretch  down  my  foot  in  search  of 
support — the  hard  slippery  sides  were  all  that  it 
encountered.  At  length,  stooping  my  head,  so  as 
to  let  the  light  fall  below,  I  observed  an  opening 
or  window  directly  above  the  step  on  which  I 
stood;  and,  taking  for  granted  that  the  way  must 
lie  in  that  direction,  contrived  to  clamber,  with  no 
small  difficulty,  through  the  aperture. 

I  now  found  myself  on  a  rude  and  narrow  stair- 
way, the  steps  of  which  were  cut  out  of  the  living 
rock,  and  wound  spirally  downward  in  the  same 
direction  as  the  well.  Almost  dizzy  with  the  de- 
scent, which  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end,  I, 
at  last,  reached  the  bottom,  where  a  pair  of  massy 
iron  gates  were  closed  directly  across  my  path,  as 
if  wholly  to  forbid  any  further  progress.  Massy 
and  gigantic,  however,  as  they  were,  I  found,  to 
my  surprise,  that  the  hand  of  an  infant  might 

•tonef  In  the  plaee  of  the  eyea.      **  Lea  jtux  Mofent  flanaH 
d'riD»raadeB,dt  tiuvM<Ma,**  Ac-YIde  JToaoiMr,  quotad  bj  QtMif- 

3d  9 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


•ver,  had  I  passed  through,  than 
I  din,  wilb  which  the  gates  cUshed 
ach  as  might  have  an-akenod 
edas  if  eycty  echo'  throiigh- 
inean  world,  from  the  Cal»- 
kailria  to  Thebes's  Valley  of  Kings 
lund  repealed  the  thnndering  eoand. 
■■       s  hy  the  crasi 


could  d 


1  my  a 


n  light  that  now  broke  around  me 

'  weleomE,  ai  are  the  itars  of  his 

I  the  Gfi»  of  the  tnariaer  who  has 

■uring  tlirongh  the  cold  seas  of  the 

g  fur  the  eouive  of  this  splendour, 

an  archway  opposite,  a  long  illu- 

iretching  away  as  far  as  the  ejo 

b  fenced,  on  one  side,  with  thickcu 

fthnibsi  while  along  the  other  ex- 

lof  loft;  arcades,  Dt>m  which  the 

he  whole  btdb,  issued.     As  aoon, 

r  the  deep  echoes  fiail  Bobsiilud. 

ully  on  tny  car  a  strain  of  ehordl 

pcBTed  to    cotne   mellowed   and 


this  potsage,  u  I  looked  shuddering} 
chilled  my  very  blood,  ll  was  not  so  mi 
ne«s.  as  a  son  of  livid  and  ghastly  iwili 
a  damp,  like  that  of  death-vaolta, 


hovering. 

Looking  amioiiily  round,  to  disoover 
formidable  outlet,  I  saw,  over  the  vast 
gates  ihrongh  which  I  bad  just  pasaod 
tremulous  £une,  which,  after  plaving  fi 
BKconds  over  the  dark  ground  of  the  | 
settled  gradually  iuto  characters  of  li; 
formed  the  fol!o^vtng  words :  — 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


681 


lick  dai^ess,  which,  though  far  less  horrible, 
I,  at  this  moment,  still  more  discon«ertiDg,  as 

lamp,  which  had  been,  for  some  time,  almost 
less,  was  now  fast  expiring.  Besolved,  how- 
ff,  to  make  the  most  of  its  last  gleam,  I  hastened,  ; 
h  rapid  step,  through  this  gloom/  region,  which  j 
reared  to  be  wider  and  more  open  to  the  air 
in  anj  I  had  jet  passed.  Nor  was  it  long 
ore  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  bright  blaze  in 
I  distance  announced  to  me  that  mj  first  great 
ial  was  at  hand.  As  I  drew  nearer,  the  flames 
ore  me  burst  high  and  wide  on  all  sides; — and 
:  awful  spectacle  that  then  presented  itself  was 
ji  as  might  have  daunted  hearts  far  more  ac- 
tomed  to  dangers  than  mine, 
rhere  laj  before  me,  extending  completely 
OSS  my  path,  a  thicket,  or  grove,  of  the  most 
nbustible  trees  of  Egypt — tamarind,  pine,  and 
abian  balm;  while  around  their  stems  and 
inches  were  coiled  serpents  of  fire',  which, 
sting  themselves  rapidly  from  bough  to  bough, 
ead  the  contagion  of  their  own  wild-fire  as  they 
Qt,  and  involved  tree  after  tree  in  one  general 
ze.  It  was,  indeed,  rapid  as  the  burning  of 
«e  reed-beds  of  Ethiopia',  whose  light  is  often 
n  brightening,  at  night,  the  distant  cataracts  of 

NUe. 

rhrough  the  middle  of  this  blazing  grove,  I 
dd  now  perceive  my  only  pathway  lay.  There 
B  not  a  moment,  therefore,  to  be  lost — for  the 
iflagration  gained  rapidly  on  either  side,  and 
eady  the  narrowing  path  between  was  strewed 
ii  vivid  fire.  Casting  away  my  now  useless 
ip^  and  holding  my  robe  as  some  sUght  protec- 
Q  over  my  head,  I  ventured,  with  trembling 
iba,  into  the  blaze. 

[nstantly,  as  if  my  presence  had  given  new  life 
the  flames,  afresh  outbreak  of  combustion  arose 
all  sides.  The  trees  clustered  into  a  bower  of 
)  above  my  head,  while  the  serpents  that  hung 
ring  from  the  red  branches  shot  showers  of 
irkles  down  upon  me  as  I  passed.  Never  were 
arion  and  activity  of  more  avail:  —  one  minute 
er,  and  I  must  have  perished.  The  narrow 
sning,  of  which  I  had  so  promptly  availed  my- 
t,  ck)0ed  instantly  behind  me;  and  as  I  looked 
:k,  to  contemplate  the  ordeal  which  I  had 
■ed,  I  saw  that  the  whole  grove  was  already 
B  mass  of  fire. 

Rejoiced  to  have  escaped  this  first  trial,  I  in- 
ntlj  plucked  from  one  of  the  pine-trees  a  bough 


■  Cm  eeoiidlndoBf  nw  portent  li  penier  qpc,  dam  iM  mytt^rctt 
^talent  beaiKoup  mieuz  exficuiftM^  et  niu  oom- 
.pln>  tCRlblai  li  Tklde  de  qnalqne  oompodtiom  pjrrique.  qui 
eomrae  odlc  du  fen  Qr^geob.'*— />e  Pauw. 
*I1  n*j  A  point  d'antre  raoyen  que  de  porter  le  fen  dani  oet 
ii  d«  roaaanz,  qnl  r^pandent  alon  dam  tont  le  pab  nne  lumi^re, 
I  oMMlilfiaMr  qne  oelle  de  Jonr  mPme.**— JfaaIIe<,  torn.  i.  p.  61. 
Ite  jntotiWNv  taUa  M,  waa  admittMl  Into  the  Pyramid. 


that  was  but  just  kindled,  and,  with  this  for  my 
only  guide,  hastened  breathlessly  forward.  I  had 
advanced  but  a  few  paces,  when  the  path  turned 
suddenly  off,  leading  downwards,  as  I  could  per- 
ceive by  the  glimmer  of  my  brand,  into  a  more 
confined  region,  through  which  a  chilling  air,  as 
if  from  some  neighbouring  waters,  blew  over  my 
brow.  Nor  had  I  proceeded  far  in  this  course, 
when  the  sound  of  torrents' — mixed,  as  I  thought, 
from  time  to  time,  with  shrill  wailings,  resembling 
the  cries  of  persons  in  danger  or  distress  —  fe£ 
mournfully  upon  my  ear.  At  every  step  the 
noise  of  the  dashing  waters  increased,  and  I  now 
perceived  that  I  had  entered  an  immense  rocky 
cavern,  through  the  middle  of  which,  headlong  as 
a  winter-torrent,  the  dark  flood,  to  whose  roar  I 
had  been  Ustening,  poured  its  waters;  while  upon 
its  surface  floated  grim  spectre-like  shapes,  which, 
as  they  went  by,  sent  forth  those  dismal  shrieks  I 
had  heard — as  if  in  fear  of  some  awful  precipice 
towards  whose  brink  they  were  hurrying. 

I  saw  plainly  that  across  that  torrent  must  be 
my  course.  It  was,  indeed,  fearful;  but  in  courage 
and  perseverance  now  lay  my  only  hope.  What 
awaited  me  on  the  opposite  shore,  I  knew  not;  for 
all  there  was  inmiersed  in  impenetrable  gloom, 
nor  could  the  feeble  light  which  I  carried  send  its 
glimmer  half  so  far.  Dismissing,  however,  all 
thoughts  but  that  of  pressing  onward,  I  sprung 
from  the  rock  on  which  I  stood  into  the  flood, 
trusting  that,  with  my  right  hand,  I  should  be 
able  to  buffet  the  current,  while,  with  the  other, 
as  long  as  a  gleam  of  my  brand  remained,  I  might 
hold  it  aloft  to  guide  me  safely  to  the  shore. 

Long,  formidable,  and  almost  hopeless  was  the 
struggle  I  had  now  to  maintain;  and  more  than 
once,  overpowered  by  the  rush  of  the  waters,  I  had 
given  myself  up\  as  destined  to  follow  those  pale, 
death-like  apparitions,  that  still  went  past  me, 
hurrying  onward,  with  mournful  cries,  to  find 
their  doom  in  some  invisible  gulf  beyond. 

At  length,  just  as  my  strength  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted, and  the  last  remains  of  the  pine  branch 
were  dropping  from  my  hand,  I  saw,  outstretching 
towards  me  into  the  water,  a  light  double  balus- 
trade, with  a  flight  of  steps  between,  ascending 
almost  perpendicularly,  from  the  wave,  till  they 
seemed  lost  in  a  dense  mass  of  clouds  above.  This 
glimpse  for  it  was  nothing  more,  as  my  hght 
expired  in  giving  it  —  lent  new  spring  to  my 
courage.    Having  now  both  hands  at  liberty,  so 


4  **  On  ezerQolt,**  eayi  2>vp«i«,**le«  redpiendairca,  pendant  phi- 
rienra  Joan,  A  travener,  li  la  nace,  une  grande  ^tendne  d'ean.  On 
lee  7  Jettoit,  et  oe  nVtolt  qu'avec  peine  qu'ila  I'en  retiroient.  On 
appliquoit  le  fer  et  le  feu  rar  lean  memhrea.  On  lai  fktioit  pewnr 
h  traren  lee  flammce." 

The  aapi rants  were  often  in  oonsidcrabia  danger,  and  Pythagoraa, 
we  are  told,  nearly  loet  hla  life  in  tha  triala.    Vide  JKecAenAci  < 
let /mfiiKioM,  par  ifoUa. 

dD  3 


THE  EPICUREAN, 


683 


)f  Blnmber  seemed  to  preside,  and,  pointing 
f  to  a  bed  of  dried  poppy-leaves,  left  me  to 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

(H  the  sight  of  that  splendid  scene,  whose 
opened  upon  me  like  a  momentary  glimpse 
other  world,  had,  for  an  instant,  re-animated 
ength  and  spirit,  yet,  so  completely  was  my 
frame  subdued  by  fatigue,  that,  even  had  the 
f  the  young  Priestess  herself  then  stood  be- 
e,  my  limbs  would  have  sunk  in  the  effort 
h  her.  No  sooner  had  I  fallen  on  my  leafy 
than  sleep,  like  a  sudden  death,  came  over 
id  I  lay,  for  hours,  in  that  deep  and  motion- 
{t,  which  not  even  a  shadow  of  life  disturbs, 
awaking,  I  saw,  beside  me,  the  same  vener- 
ersonage,  who  had  welcomed  me  to  this 
■anean  world  on  the  preceding  night  At 
>t  of  my  couch  stood  a  statue,  of  Grecian 
anship,  representing  a  boy,  with  wings, 
gracefully  on  a  lotus-flower,  and  baring 
efinger  of  his  right  hand  pressed  to  his  lips, 
tction,  together  with  the  glory  round  his 

denoted,  as  I  already  knew,  the  God  of 
i  and  Light.* 

aticnt  to  know  what  further  trials  awaited  me, 
about  to  speak,  when  the  Priest  exclaimed, 
sly,  **  Hush!  " — and,  pointing  to  the  statue 
foot  of  the  couch,  said,  —  **  Let  the  spell  of 
pirit  be  upon  thy  lips,  young  stranger,  till 
sdom  of  thy  instructors  shall  think  flt  to 
i  it.  Not  unaptly  doth  the  same  deity  pre- 
er  Silence  and  Light;  since  it  is  only  out 

depth  of  contemplative  silence,  that  the 
ight  of  the  soul.  Truth,  can  arise ! '' 
e  used  to  the  language  of  dictation  or  in- 
an,  I  was  now  preparing  to  rise,  when  the 
again  restrained  me;  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
two  boys,  beautiful  as  the  young  Genii  of  the 
entered  the  pavilion.  They  were  habited  in 
arments  of  the  purest  white,  and  bore  each  a 
golden  chalice  in  his  hand.*  Advancing 
A  me,  they  stopped  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
and  one  of  them,  presenting  to  me  his  chalice 


ILb  Rarpoerate^tolt  uilf  mr  le  lotos,  qnl  eit  U  plante  du 
-Hist,  da  Juijt. 

he  two  eopt  Dted  in  the  myiteriet,  lee  VHUiUArt  deMJuifa, 
IS. 

I,  ondcT  the  name  of  Serapia,  wm  rappowd  to  role  oTcr  the 
lemn  world  i  and  performed  the  office  of  Pluto,  in  the 
r7  of  the  Egyptians.  *'  They  beUeTed."  says  Dr.  Prichard, 
pla  presided  over  the  retclon  of  departed  sools.  during  the 
their  ahsenee.  when  lamniiahinir  without  bodies,  and  that 
were  dtpoait«d  In  his  palace."— w^fioiysji  qf  lAc  Eyyptkm 

iWam  lUflm  Mioun  poft  mortem,  tanqoam  Heinspoenhun, 


of  gold,  said,  in  a  tone  between  singing  and  speakp 
ing.— 

"  Drink  of  this  eop  -  Osiris  s  sips 
The  same  in  his  halls  tielow; 
▲nd  the  same  he  gives,  to  cool  the  lips 
Of  the  Dead*  who  downward  go. 

**  Drink  of  this  cop  -  the  water  within 
Is  fresh  firom  Letlie's  stream  i 
TwUl  malie  the  past,  with  all  its  rfn. 
And  all  its  pain  and  lorrows,  wem 
Like  a  long-forgotten  dream  1 

**  The  pleasora,  whose  ehanns 
Are  stcep'd  in  woei 
The  knowledge,  that  harms 
The  sool  to  know  I 

**  The  hope,  that,  bright 
As  tlie  lake  of  tlie  waste, 
Allures  the  sight. 
Bat  mocks  the  tastei 

**  The  loTC,  that  binds 
Its  innocent  wreath. 
Where  tlie  serpent  winds. 
In  Tenom,  beneath; — 

**  All  that,  of  evil  or  fiUse.  by  thee 
Uath  ever  been  known  or  seen. 
Shall  melt  away  in  this  cup,  and  be 
Forgot,  as  it  ncTer  had  been  I  '* 

Unwilling  to  throw  a  slight  on  this  strange 
ceremony,  I  leaned  forward,  with  all  due  gravity, 
and  tasted  the  tup;  which  I  had  no  sooner  done 
than  the  young  cup-bearer,  on  the  other  side*, 
invited  my  attention;  and,  in  his  turn,  presenting 
the  chalice  which  he  held,  sung,  with  a  voice  stiU 
sweeter  than  that  of  his  companion,  the  following 
strain:  — 

**  Drink  of  this  cnp—when  Isis  led 
Her  boy,  of  old ,  to  the  beaming  sky. 
She  mingled  a  draught  divine  ft,  and  said  — 
'  Drink  of  this  cup,  thou'lt  nerer  diet ' 

**  Thus  do  I  say  and  sing  to  thee. 

Heir  of  that  boundless  heaven  on  high. 

Though  frail,  and  fall'n,  and  lost  thou  be, 

Drink  of  this  cup,  thou'lt  never  die  I  ** 

Well  as  I  had  hitherto  kept  my  philosophy  on 
its  guard  against  the  illusions  with  which,  I  knew* 
this  region  abounded,  the  young  cup-beanDr  had 
here  touched  a  spring  of  imagination,  over  which 
my '  philosophy,  as  has  been  seen,  had  but  little 
control.  No  sooner  had  the  words,  **  thou  shah 
never  die,"  struck  on  my  car,  than  the  dream  of 
the  Garden  came  fully  to  my  mind;  and,  starting 
half-way  from  the  couch,  I  stretched  forth  mf, 


expetltam."    Zoeffo^  The  Lethe  of  the  Kgyptiaas  was  called 
Ameles.    See  Dupuit,  tom.  vili.  p.  ttl. 

*  **  Enfin  on  disoit  qn'il  y  avolt  deux  conpes.  Tune  en  hant  et 
I'autre  en  bas.  Celui  qui  buvoit  de  la  coupe  d'en  bas,  avolt  ton- 
Jours  loif.  ses  d/sirs  s'augmentoit  au  lieu  de  sVtdndre;  mali  celni 
qui  bnvoit  de  Is  coupe  en  haut,  ^toit  rempli  et  content.  Cette 
premiire  coupe  C-toit  la  connoissance  de  la  Nature,  qui  ne  sattsfliit 
Jamais  pleinement  ceux  qui  en  sondcnt  les  myvUresi  et  la  seconde 
coupe,  dans  laquelle  on  dcvolt  boire  |iour  n'svoir  Jamais  soif,  ^tult 
la  connoisaanoe  des  mystires  du  Ciel."— iftsf.  du  Jui/k^  liv.  iz. 
chap.  16. 

*  The  rift  cMmmmmmt  ^aMMutor,  whlch,  acoordiag  to  Diodoms  ttea- 
1ns,  Isis  prepared  tat  her  son  Oms—Iib.  L 

Sd  4 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


685 


earth,  eyen  so,  to  the  sad  and  8clf>hnm- 
,  doth  many  a  mystery  of  heaven  reveal 
'hich  they,  who  walk  in  the  light  of  the 
Id,  know  not!** 

led  me  towards  a  rustic  seat  or  alcove, 
ch  stood  an  image  of  that  dark  Deity  ', 
vrithont  a  smile,  who  presides  over  the 
dom  of  the  Dead.*  The  same  livid  and 
;  was  upon  his  features,  that  hung  over 

in  this  dim  valley;  and,  with  his  right 
pointed  directly  downwards,  to  denote 
elancholy  kingdom  lay  there.  A  plan- 
t  favourite  tree  of  the  genii  of  Death — 
nd  the  statue,  and  spread  its  branches 
Icove,  in  which  the  Priest  now  seated 
id  made  a  sign  that  I  should  take  my 
is  side. 

long  pause,  as  if  of  thought  and  pre- 
-"Nobly,"  said  he,  "young  Greek,  hast 
ined  the  first  trials  of  Initiation.  What 
ns,  though  of  vital  import  to  the  soul, 
h  it  neither  pain  nor  peril  to  the  body. 
>w  proved  and  chastened  thy  mortal 
he  three  ordeals  of  Fire,  of  Water,  and 
;  next  task  to  which  we  are  called  is  the 
1  of  thy  spirit — the  effectual  cleansing 
vtffd  and  immortal  part,  so  as  to  render 
e  reception  of  the  last  luminous  reveal- 
in  the  Veils  of  the  Sanctuary  shall  be 
de,  and  the  Great  Secret  of  Secrets  un- 
thy  view!  —  Towards  this  object,  the 
id  most  important  step  is,  instruction. 

three  purifying  elements  thou  hast 
mgh  have  done  for  thy  body,  instruction 

for ** 

at  lovely  maiden !  *'  I  exclaimed,  burst- 
my  silence,  having  fallen,  during  his 
to  a  deep  reverie,  in  which  I  had  for- 
1,  myself,  the  Great  Secret,  everything 

by  this  profane  interruption,  he  cast  a 
irm  towards  the  statue,  as  if  fearful  lest 
ihould  have  heard  my  words.     Then, 

me,  in  a  tone  of  mild  solemnity,  "  It  is 
in,**  said  he, "  that  thoughts  of  the  upper 
d  of  its  vain,  shadowy  delights,  still 
ue  far  too  much,  to  allow  the  lessons  of 
jink  profitably  into  thy  heart  A  few 
leditation  amid  this  solemn  scenery — of 
some  meditation,  which  purifies,  by  sad- 
nay  haply  dispose  thee  to  receive,  with 
^  of  reverence,  the  holy  and  imperii/h- 
ledge  we  have  in  store  for  thee.    With 

it  le  puMce  dcfl  Hoi\«».**^Sitho9.  Strabo  raentioiia 
or  piU,  oonitructed  for  the  ptirpoM  of  astronomical 
which  lay  in  the  Heliopolitan  pzeftcture,  beyond 

lol  Inftrua.— Atbenodorof,  acriptor  retnatna,  apod 
JexaDdiinmn  in  Protrfptico,  ait  **  linralaera  8«i«pldla 
I  oobm  oMnaleo  ct  nivricaate."  Maerobftna,in  wbia 


this  hope  I  now  leave  thee  to  thy  own  thoughts, 
and  to  that  God,  before  whose  calm  and  mournful 
eye  all  the  vanities  of  the  world,  from  which  thou 
comest,  wither  !*• 

Thus  saying,  he  turned  slowly  away,  and  passing 
behind  the  statue,  towards  which  he  bad  pointed 
during  the  last  sentence,  suddenly,  and,  as  if  by  en* 
chantment,  disappeared  from  my  sight. 


CHAPTER  rX. 

Beiwo  now  left  to  my  own  solitary  thoughts,  I 
was  fully  at  leisure  to  reflect,  with  some  degree  of 
coolness,  upon  the  inconveniences,  if  not  dangers, 
of  the  situation  into  which  my  love  of  adventure 
had  hurried  me.  However  prompt  my  imagina- 
tion was  always  to  kindle,  in  its  own  ideal  sphere, 
I  have  ever  found  that,  when  brought  into  con- 
tact with  reality,  it  has  suddenly  cooled; — ^like 
those  meteors,  that  appear  to  be  stars  while  in  the 
air,  but  the  moment  they  touch  earth  are  extin- 
guished. And  such  was  the  feeling  of  disenchant- 
ment that  now  succeeded  to  the  wild  dreams  in 
which  I  had  been  indulging.  As  long  as  Fancy 
had  the  field  of  the  future  to  herself,  even  immor- 
tality did  not  seem  too  distant  a  race  for  her.  But 
when  human  instruments  interposed,  the  illusion 
all  vanished.  From  mortal  lips  the  promise  of 
immortality  seemed  a  mockery,  and  even  imagi- 
nation had  no  wings  that  could  carry  beyond  Uie 
grave. 

Nor  was  this  disappointment  the  only  feeling 
that  pained  and  haunted  me; — the  imprudence  of 
the  step,  on  which  I  had  ventured,  now  appeared 
in  its  Aill  extent  before  my  eyes.  I  had  here 
thrown  myself  into  the  power  of  the  most  artful 
priesthood  in  the  world,  without  even  a  chance 
of  being  able  to  escape  fVom  their  toils,  or  to  resist 
any  machinations  with  which  they  might  beset  me. 
It  appeared  evident,  from  the  state  of  preparation 
in  which  I  had  found  all  that  wonderful  apparatus, 
by  which  the  terrors  and  splendours  of  Initiation 
are  produced,  that  my  descent  into  the  pyramid 
was  not  unexpected.  Numerous,  indeed,  and  active 
as  were  the  spies  of  the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis, 
it  could  little  be  doubted  that  all  my  movements, 
since  my  arrival,  had  been  watchfully  tracked; 
and  the  many  hours  I  bad  employed  in  wandering 
and  exploring  around  the  pyramid,  betrayed  a  cu- 
riosity and  spirit  of  adventure  which  might  well 

deaeriptii,  f  6.  dooet  noa  apod  .ffigypttoa  **  rimnlawm  aolla  inftn 
flngi  colore  cmnileoJ"—Jablon$H.  *  Oalria. 

s  This  tree  waa  dedicated  to  the  Genii  of  the  Shadea,  from  ita 
bein«  an  emblem  of  repoae  and  ooolinc  ain.    "  Cni  imminet  mnaa' 
folium,  qnod  ah  latde  infers  feniiaqve  ei  addictlfl  mann  ff«ii  ioUtom  I 
umbram  leqniemQus  tt  auraa  Mgidaa  anUndicitar*  Tidatur."— 

^0400. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


68 


\ 


the  souls  that  hare  nerer  lost  their  high,  hearenlj 
rank,  still  soar,  withoat  a  stain,  above  the  shadow- 
less stars,  and  there  dwell  together  in  infinite 
perfection  and  bhss!" 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  a  burst  of  pure, 
brilliant  light',  like  a  Biiddcn  opening  of  heaven,  ; 
broke  through  the  valley;  and,  as  80on  as  mj  , 
eyes  were  able  to  endure  the  splendour,  such  a  [ 
Tiaion  of  glory  and  loveliness  o])encd  upon  them,  | 
as  took  even  my  sceptical  spirit  by  surprise,  and 
made  it  yield,  at  once,  to  the  potency  of  the  spelL 

Suspended,  as  I  thought,  in  air,  and  occupying 
the  whole  of  the  opposite  region  of  the  valley, 
there  appeared  an  immense  orb  of  light,  within 
which,  through  a  haze  of  radiance,  I  could  see 
distinctly  fair  groups  of  young  female  spirits, 
who*  in  silent,  but  harmonious  movement,  Uke 
that  of  the  stars,  wound  slowly  through  a  variety 
of  fiincifhl  evolutions ;  scemhig,  as  they  linked 
and  unlinked  each  other^s  arms,  to  form  a  living 
labyrinth  of  beauty  and  grace.  Though  their  feet 
appeared  to  glide  along  a  field  of  light,  they  had 
also  wings,  of  the  most  brilliant  hue,  which  Uke 
rainbows  over  waterfalls,  when  played  with  by 
the  breeze,  reflected,  every  moment,  a  new  variety 
of  g^lory. 

As  I  stood,  gazing  with  wonder,  the  orb,  with 
all  its  ethereal  inmates,  began  gradually  to  recede 
into  the  dark  void,  lessening,  as  it  went,  and  be- 
coming more  bright,  as  it  lessened; — till,  at 
length,  distant,  to  all  appearance,  as  a  retiring 
comet,  this  little  world  of  Spirits,  in  one  small 
point  of  intense  radiance,  shone  its  last  and 
Yaniahed.  "  Gro,"  exclaimed  the  rapt  Priest,  **  ye 
happy  souls,  of  whose  dwelling  a  glimpse  is  thus 
given  to  our  eyes, — go,  wander,  in  your  orb, 
through  the  boundless  heaven,  nor  ever  let  a 
thought  of  this  perishable  world  come  to  mingle 
its  dross  with  your  divine  nature,  or  allure  you 
down  earthward  to  that  mortal  full  by  which 
spirits,  no  less  bright  and  admirable,  have  been 
ruined!" 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which,  still  under  the 
inflnence  of  wonder,  I  nent  my  fancy  wandering 
after  the  inhabitants  of  that  orb — almost  wishing 
myself  credulous  enough  to  believe  in  a  heaven, 
of  which  creatures,  so  much  like  those  I  had 
worshipped  on  earth,  were  inmates. 

At  length,  the  IMest,  with  a  mournful  sigh  at 
the  sad  contrast  he  was  about  to  draw  between 
the  happy  spirits  we  had  just  seen  and  the  fallen 

■i<M«y  m  n§m0tf  «m««m  mfpm»v\  th«  ftbode  of  dlTtnlty,  of  inaooeooc, 
•Bd  of  life." 

1  TbK  power  of  prododnc  %  mddeii  and  daxzHnc  «fftaiion  of 
Bg3it«  vhich  WM  one  of  the  art*  employed  by  the  eontriven  of  the 
MwfcBt  Mjrttcrie*,  !•  thus  deacribed  In  a  fev  vurdt  by  Apuleiufl, 
«riio  vae  hlmiclf  admitted  to  wltnt«  the  Iviac  cer«m«mlra  at 
Oorinth  ^— **  Nocte  mediA  ridf  solem  tranilido  comtcantem  Imuine." 

t  In  the  ori^nal  eoattniction  of  this  work,  there  was  an  eptaode 
iatfodiiecd  bcre  (which  I  have  tinoe  publiahed  In  a  mon  cztendod 


ones  of  earth,  resumed  again  his  melanchol 
History  of  the  SouL  Tracing  it  gradually,  froi 
the  first  moment  of  earthward  desire  *  to  its  fini 
ecli])se  in  the  shadows  of  this  world,  he  dwei 
upon  every  stage  of  its  darkening  descent,  with 
pathos  that  sent  sadness  into  the  very  depths  c 
the  heart.  The  first  downward  look  of  th 
s])irit  towards  earth  —  the  tremble  of  her  wings  o; 
the  edge  of  Heaven  —  the  giddy  slide,  at  lengtl 
down  that  fatal  descent — and  the  Lethean  cuf 
midway  in  the  sky,  of  which  when  she  has  one 
tasted.  Heaven  is  forgot  —  through  all  these  gra 
dations  he  traced  mournfully  her  fall,  to  that  las 
stage  of  darkness,  when  wholly  immersed  in  thi 
world,  her  celestial  nature  becomes  changed,  sh 
no  longer  can  rise  above  earth,  nor  even  re 
member  her  former  home,  except  by  glimpses  s* 
vague,  that,  at  length,  mistaking  for  hope  what  i 
only,  alas!  recollection,  she  believes  those  gleam 
to  be  a  light  from  the  Future,  not  the  Past. 

**  To  retrieve  this  ruin  of  the  once -blessed  Sou 
—  to  clear  awav  from  around  her  the  clonds  o 
earth,  and,  restoring  her  lost  kings',  facilitat 
their  return  to  Heaven — such,"  said  the  rcveren( 
man,  ^  is  the  great  task  of  our  religion,  and  sucl 
the  triumph  of  those  divine  Mysteries  in  whos 
inmost  depths  the  life  and  essence  of  that  hoi; 
religion  lie  treasured.  However  sunk,  an( 
changed,  and  clouded  may  be  the  Spirit,  yet.  a 
long  as  a  single  trace  of  her  original  Ught  re 
mains,  there  is  still  hope  that ** 

Here  the  voice  of  the  Priest  was  interrupted  b; 
a  strain  of  mournful  music,  of  which  the  lo^ 
distant  breathings  had  been,  for  some  minutei 
audible,  but  which  now  gained  upon  the  ear  to 
thrillingly  to  let  it  listen  to  any  more  eaxthl, 
sound.  A  faint  light,  too,  at  that  instant  brok 
through  the  valley  — and  I  could  perceive,  not  fa 
from  the  spot  where  we  sat,  a  female  figun 
veiled,  and  crouching  to  earth,  as  if  subdued  b; 
sorrow,  or  under  the  influence  of  shame. 

The  feeble  light  by  which  I  saw  her,  came  froi 
a  pale,  moonUkc  meteor  which  had  graduall 
formed  itself  in  the  air  as  the  music  approache( 
and  now  shed  over  the  rocks  and  the  lake 
glimmer  as  cold  as  that  by  which  the  Dead,  i 
their  o^-n  kingdom,  gaze  ujwn  each  other.  Th 
music,  too,  which  appeared  to  rise  fn)m  out  of  tli 
lake,  full  of  th%breath  of  its  dark  waters,  spoke 
despondency  in  every  note  which  no  languog 
could  express; — and  as  I  listened  to  its  tones,  an 

foKm\  Ulnatratinff  the  doctrine  of  the  fkll  of  the  lonl  toy  ttw  Oi 
ental  fable  of  the  Lores  of  the  AnireU. 

S  In  the  lamroaice  of  Plate,  llierorlea,  Jkc,  to  **  reatore  to  the  M 
\U  wing*."  li  the  main  object  both  of  religion  and  philosophy. 

Dama*ciu»,  In  hli  Life  of  Liidonii,  tat «,  **  Ez  antiqulMimb  phil 

I  tophis  Pythatcoram  et  Platnnem  Lddurut  ut  Deoa  eolult,  et  ton 

aninuu  alntoM  tMte  <UxJt.  qnac  in  locum  ■uperooleatem  inqoe  eai 

pum  Teritali*  et  pratum  elevatai,  diTlab  putarit  Ideli  paicL" 

Apmi  PkoL  BAUotkee, 


^^B 

^^^^^^B 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

it.  (tw  ,och,  Ific  holy 
form   before   ili.)    mi 
[he  scene  Uke  powes- 
ost  painfnl  anxiety,  I 

efbre  [hat  form  rose 
MOQ;  — the  Hir  around 
.)e   mceor  overhead 
nd  livinp  light.     The 
jQded  the  iiieo  of  the 

,■,  L-rn.lu«lly  ili»cIose4 

'.  _iv   «Mchcd    the 

-r  inod  from  mj 

ux™..   of   the    Moon 
liuled  hflfotn  luy  ej-esl 

her  van  my  6m  im- 
rri(»l  lield  me  firmlr 
eh  had  hegaa  [o  flow 
aelfinailood  of  glory 
e  Mood.    Instead  of 
of  the  most   cxAlted 

the    yonng    maidfln, 
fllit  Imrjorh.  BuiiLla 
I  fcU  uiuii  b«r  m  the 
o  [he  air. 

ivl"I  exclaimed.  OS, 
■  il]^    rriu,t.   1    llnij- 

back  )o  [DT  heart  all  ihe  hopaa  and  ^ciea  in  wliieh, 

during  my  dcweni  from  earth.  I  had  indulged.    I 
had  iiow  seen  uncu  tnons  that  matchlen  ereanrb 

realm!  and  that  the  ivaidcitiiied  tube,  in  toDUirtj, 

mo.  I  saw  no  reawa  [o  doubt     There  was  a  nb- 
limity,  loo,  in  the  doctrioei  of  my  reivrend  leatliCT. 
and  even  a  hope  in  [he  promise  of  immoruliij 
held  out  hy  him.  which,  in  spile  of  reoiou.  «uii 
inacusibly  both  upon  my  fancy  and  my  pride. 
The  Future,  however,  was  now  but  of  leomdcT 

Present,  woman,  were  the  objecU  thai  cogrowed  idj 
whole  touL     It  was.  indeed,  for  Ihe  take  of  sach 

heinga  alone  (hat  I  considered  immonality  deffinibk. 
nor,  withonl  them,  would  eiernal  life  bateapjuifiTl 
to  me  wiBlh  a  single  prayer.     To  eircry  further  lri»l 
of  wy  patience  and  foitli.  1  now  made  up  mj  muni 
to  submit  withoul  a  mnrmnr.     Some  kiad  cliaure. 

nearer  lo  the  object  of  my  adoration,  and  enaf* 
me  lo  address,  as  monal  wooutn.  one  wbo  taA 
hitherto  been  to  me  but  as  a  vision,  a  riiade. 

a[  an  end.     Both  frame  and  .sioiit  had  now  f^o^i 
(he  trial;  and  us  [he  crowning  irai  of  the  pnrificf 
tion  of  iho  Ullcr  was  that  power  of  weing  inio 
the  world  of  Jipirils.  wilh  which  I  had  pro™!  mi- 
'.■If.  in   Ihi'  Viiik'v   of  ViMouB.    lu    i«    iTi.law,-.!. 

1 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


689 


cre«8  of  the  stars  from  the  beginning  of  time,  the 
annals  of  a  still  earlier  world,  and  all  the  marvel- 
lous secrets,  both  of  heaven  and  earth,  which 
would  have  have  been. 


*&tifforthbke7« 
I^oft  in  th«  Unifcnal  Sea." 


Ketuming  to  the  region  from  which  we  had  de- 
scended, we  next  visited,  in  succession,  a  series  of 
small  shrines  representing  the  various  objects  of 
adoration  throughout  Egypt,  and  thus  furnishing 
to  the  Priest  an  occasion  for  explaining  the  mys- 
terious nature  of  animal  worship,  and  the  refined 
doctrines  of  theology  that  ky  veiled  under  its 
forms.  Every  shrine  was  consecrated  to  a  par- 
ticular faith,  and  contained  a  living  image  of  the 
deity  whidi  it  adored.  Beside  the  goat  of  Mendes ', 
with  his  refulgent  star  upon  his  breast,  I  saw  the 
crocodile,  as  presented  to  the  eyes  of  its  idolater  at 
Arsinoe,  with  costly  gems'  in  its  loathsome  ears, 
mnd  rich  bracelets  of  gold  encircling  its  feet.  Here, 
floating  through  a  tank  in  the  centre  of  a  temple, 
the  sacred  carp  of  Lcpidotum  showed  its  silvery 
settles;  while,  there,  the  Isisc  serpents'  trailed 
languidly  over  the  altar,  with  that  sort  of  move- 
ment which  is  thought  most  favourable  to  the  as- 
pirations of  their  votaries.  In  one  of  the  small 
chapels  we  found  a  beautiful  child,  employed  in 
feeding  and  watching  over  those  golden  beetles, 
which  are  adored  for  their  brightness,  as  emblems 
of  the  sun;  while,  in  another,  stood  a  sacred  ibis 
upon  its  pedestal,  so  like,  in  plumage  and  attitude, 
to  the  bird  of  the  young  Priestess,  that  most  gladly 
would  I  have  knelt  down  and  worshipped  it  for 
her  Bake, 

After  visiting  all  these  various  shrines,  and  hear- 
ing the  reflections  which  they  suggested,  I  was  next 
led  by  my  guide  to  the  great  Hall  of  the  Zodiac,  on 
whose  ceihngwas  delineated,  in  bright  and  undying 
colours,  the  map  of  the  firmament,  as  it  appeared 
at  the  ^rst  dawn  of  time.    Here,  in  pointing  out 
the  track  of  the  sun  among  the  spheres,  he  spoke 
of  the  analogy  that  exists  l^tween  moral  and  phy- 
sical darkness — of  the  sympathy  with  which  all 
•[nritnal  creatures  regard  the  sun,  so  as  to  sadden 
tod  decline  when  he  sinks  into  his  wintry  hemi- 
sphere, and  to  rejoice  when  he  resumes  his  own  j 
empire  of  light.    Hence,  the  festivals  and  hymns,  ; 
with  which  most  of  the  nations  of  the  earth  are  ' 
wont  to  welcome  the  resurrection  of  his  orb  in 
spring,  as  an  emblem  and  pledge  of  the  re-ascent  i 
of  the  soul  to  heaven.    Hence,  the  songs  of  sorrow,  I 
the  mournful  ceremonies* — like  those  Mysteries 


I  F«r  an  aeeoont  of  the  aniiiMl  womhip  of  the  Egyptians,  Me  De 
J'taNPctom.  iL 

S  HcrodotiM  (JStUerp.)  tells  us  that  the  pec^le  about  Thebn  and  | 
Ijakm  Moerfai  keirt  a  number  of  tame  crocodiles,  which  thtfy  wor-  ' 
Aipfiad,  anddreaed  tham  out  with  geme  and  golden  (nuaments  in 


of  the  Night*,  upon  the  Lake  of  Sais — in  which 
they  brood  over  its  autumnal  descent  into  the 
shades,  as  a  type  of  the  Spirit's  fall  into  this  world 
of  death. 

In  discourses  such  as  these  the  hours  passed 
away;  and  though  there  was  nothing  in  the  light 
of  this  sunless  region  to  mark  to  the  eye  the  decline 
of  day,  my  own  feelings  told  mo  that  the  night 
drew  near;  — nor,  in  spite  of  my  incredulity,  could 
I  refrain  from  a  slight  flutter  of  hope,  as  that  pro- 
mised moment  of  revelation  drew  nigh,  when  the 
Mystery  of  Mysteries  was  to  be  made  all  my  own. 
This  consummation,  however,  was  less  near  than 
I  expected.  My  patience  had  still  further  trials 
to  encounter.  It  was  necessary,  I  now  found,  that, 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  I  should  keep 
watch  in  the  Sanctuary  of  the  Temple,  alone  and 
in  utter  darkness — thus  preparing  myself,  by  me- 
ditation, for  the  awful  moment,  when  the  irradia- 
tion from  behind  the  sacred  Veils  was  to  burst 
upon  me. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  we  left  the  Hall  of  the 
Zodiac,  and  proceeded  through  a  long  line  of  marble 
galleries,  where  the  lamps  were  more  thinly  scat- 
tered as  we  advanced,  till,  at  length,  we  found 
ourselves  in  total  darkness.  Here  the  Priest, 
taking  me  by  the  hand,  and  leading  me  down  a 
flight  of  steps,  into  a  place  where  the  same  deep 
gloom  prevailed,  said,  with  a  voice  trembling,  as  if 
from  excess  of  awe, — "Thou  art  now  witliin  the 
Sanctuary  of  our  goddess,  Isis,  and  the  veils,  that 
conceal  her  sacred  image,  are  before  thee!  '^ 

After  exhorting  me  earnestly  to  that  train  of 
thought,  which  best  accorded  with  the  spirit  of  the 
place  where  I  stood,  and,  above  all,  to  that  full  and 
unhesitating  faith,  with  which  alone,  he  said,  the 
manifestation  of  such  mysteries  should  be  ap- 
proached, the  holy  man  took  leave  of  me,  and  re- 
ascended  the  steps; — while,  so  spell-bound  did  I 
feel  by  that  deep  darkness,  that  the  last  sound  of 
his  footsteps  died  upon  my  ear,  before  I  ventured 
to  stir  a  limb  from  the  position  in  which  he  had 
left  me. 

The  prospect  of  the  long  watch  I  had  now  to  look 
forward  to  was  dreadful  Even  danger  itself,  if  in 
an  active  form,  would  have  been  far  preferable  to 
this  sort  of  safe,  but  dull,  probation,  by  which  pa- 
tience was  the  only  virtue  put  to  the  proof.  Having 
ascertained  how  far  the  space  around  me  was  free 
from  obstacles,  I  endeavoured  to  beguile  the  time 
by  pacing  up  and  down  within  those  limits,  till  I 
became  tired  of  the  monotonous  echoes  of  my  own 
tread     Finding  my  way,  then,  to  what  I  felt  to  be 

s  **  On  augnroit  bien  de  serpens  isiaqnes,  lorsqn'lls  goCttoient 
ToflFhuide  et  se  trainoient  lentement  autour  de  I'autel/'-JOe  P^w. 

*  For  an  account  of  the  rarious  fcitirala  at  the  diflerent  periotto 
of  the  sun's  progress,  in  the  spring,  and  in  the  autumn,  see  Dupm$ 
and  PrickanL 

»  Vide  AtAcmag.  Ltg.pro  ChriM,,  p.  I18i 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


691 


d  seen.  Casting  a  look  toTvards  the  Veil, 
eemed  bursting  with  its  laminoas  secret,  I 
lost  doubting  to  which  of  the  two  chances 
1  commit  myself,  when  I  felt  the  riband  in 
id  pulled  softly  at  the  other  extremity, 
ovement,  like  a  touch  of  magic,  at  once 
me.  Without  any  further  deliberation,  I 
to  the  silent  summons,  and  following  ray 
who  was  already  at  some  distance  before 
nd  myself  led  up  the  same  flight  of  marble 
y  which  the  Priest  had  conducted  me  into 
ictuary.  Arrived  at  their  summit,  I  felt 
;e  of  my  conductress  quicken,  and  giving 
re  look  to  the  Veiled  Shrine,  whose  glories 
burning  uselessly  behind  us,  hastened  on- 
nto  the  gloom,  full  of  confidence  in  the 
that  she,  who  now  held  the  other  end  of 
ac,  was  one  whom  I  was  ready  to  follow 
Uy  through  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XL 

such  rapidity  was  %  hurried  along  by  my 

guide,  full  of  wonder  at  the  speed  with 
she  ventured  through  these  labyrinths,  that 
but  little  time  left  for  reflection  upon  the 
mess  of  the  adventure  to  which  I  had  com- 

myself.  My  knowledge  of  the  character 
Memphian  priests,  as  well  as  some  fearful 
rs  that  had  reached  me,  concerning  the  fate 
ften  attended  unbelievers  in  their  hands, 
led  a  momentary  suspicion  of  treachery  in 
nd.  But,  when  I  recalled  the  face  of  my 
as  I  had  seen  it  in  the  small  chapel,  with 
jvine  look,  the  very  memory  of  which 
t  purity  into  the  heart,  I  found  my  sus- 

all  vanish,  and  felt  shame  at  having  hor- 

them  but  an  instant. 

fie  meanwhile,  our  rapid  course  continued 
t  any  interruption,  through  windings  even 
^ipriciously  intricate'  than  any  I  had  yet 
,  and  whoso  thick  gloom  seemed  never  to 
een  broken  by  a  single  glimmer  of  light. 
seen  conductress  was  still  at  some  distance 
me,  and  the  slight  clue,  to  which  I  clung 


Idltkm  to  the  aeeonnti  which  the  ■ncientt  hare  left  as  of 
kIoui  exeavationi  in  all  parta  of  Epypt— the  flfteen  hun- 
Tiben  under  the  Labyrinth  —  the  mbterranean  italilea  of 
aid,  eontaininff  a  thotuand  horses  — the  cry pt«  of  Upper 
mriug  imder  the  bed  of  the  Nile.  *c.  ke. —  the  ctorl<fa  abd 
•  enrrent  mmong  the  Arabs  11111  preserve  thr  memory  of 
nderAil  aabsimctiuns.  **  Un  Arabe,"  says  Paul  Lucas. 
It  avec  mnia,  m'aasara  quVtant  cntr^  autrefoU  dan*  le 
hcilaToitmarch^dansleschambressnuterrainesJusqu'en 
crfk  il  y  aToit  one  inrande  place  enrln^nn^  de  plusirura 
il  resMnbioit  itde  petltes  boatiquea,  d'oti  I'un  entroit  dans 
alUta  ct  dans  chambrea.  sans  pouToIr  en  trourer  la  fin.*' 
lac*  toOi  of  the  aicadea  along  the  Nile,  near  Coeseir, "  Ila 


as  if  it  were  Destiny's  own  thread,  was  still  kept, 
by  the  speed  of  her  course,  at  full  stretch  between 
us.  At  length,  suddenly  stopping,  she  said,  in  a 
breathless  whisper,  **  Seat  thyself  here;''  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  sort  of 
low  car,  in  which,  obeying  her  brief  command,  I 
lost  not  a  moment  in  placing  myself,  while  the 
maiden,  no  less  promptly,  took  her  seat  by  my 
side. 

A  sudden  click,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring,  was 
then  heard,  and  the  car  —  which,  as  I  had  fdt  in 
entering  it,  leaned  half-way  over  a  steep  descent 
—  on  being  let  loose  from  its  station,  shot  down, 
almost  perpendicularly,  into  the  darkness,  with  a 
rapidity  which,  at  first,  nearly  deprived  me  of 
breath.  The  wheels  slid  smoothly  and  noiselessly 
in  grooves,  and  the  impetus,  which  the  car  ac- 
quired in  descending,  was  sufBcicnt,  I  perceived, 
to  carry  it  up  an  eminence  that  succeeded — from 
the  summit  of  which  it  again  rushed  down  another 
declivity,  even  still  more  long  and  precipitous 
than  the  former.  In  this  manner  we  proceeded, 
by  alternate  falls  and  rises,  till,  at  length,  from  the 
last  and  steepest  elevation,  the  car  descended  upon 
a  level  of  deep  sand,  where,  after  running  for  a 
few  yards,  it  by  degrees  lost  its  motion,  and 
stopped. 

Here  the  maiden,  alighting  again,  placed  the 
riband  in  my  hands — and  again  I  followed  her, 
though  with  more  slowness  and  difficulty  than 
before,  as  our  way  now  led  up  a  flight  of  damp 
and  time-worn  steps,  whoso  ascent  seemed  to  the 
wearied  and  insecure  foot  interminable.  Per- 
ceiving with  what  languor  my  guide  advanced,  I 
was  on  the  point  of  making  an  effort  to  assist  her 
progress,  when  the  creak  of  an  opening  door 
i  above,  and  a  faint  gleam  of  light  whicli,  at  the 
same  moment,  shone  upon  her  figure,  apprised  me 
that  we  were  at  last  arrived  within  reach  of  sun- 
shine. 

Jojiully  I  followed  through  this  opening,  and,  by 
the  dim  light,  could  disceni,  that  we  were  now  in 
the  sanctuary  of  a  vast,  ruined  temple — having 
entered  by  a  secret  passage  under  the  pedestal,  upon 
which,  an  image  of  the  idol  of  the  place  once  stood. 
The  first  movement  of  the  young  maiden,  after 
closing  again  the  portal  under  the  pedestal,  was, 
without  even  a  single  look  towards  me,  to  cast  her- 


me  dirent  mf  me  que  ces  toutcrrainee  HtAemt  d^  prafimdcs  qail  j  en 
aToient  qui  alloient  k  trols  Joum>'eade  lk,etqu*lls  oonduisoicnt 
dans  un  pays  oh  Ton  Toyoit  de  beau  Jardms,  qu'on  y  trouTuit  de 
belles  maisons."  ftc.  ke. 

See  also  in  JT.  Q¥atremlrt*a Mfmobre*  nrTEmiptft  tom.  L  p.  14S, 
an  aoooont  of  a  subterranean  rtsenrolr,  said  to  have  been  diaeorer^d 
at  Kals.  and  of  the  expedition  undertaken  by  a  party  of  persons,  in 
a  ions  narrow  boat,  for  the  purpoee  of  explorinir  it.  **  Leur  voyaice 
avoit  ^t^  de  six  Jours,  dont  les  quatre  premiers  furent  eniployre  k 
pi^na^trer  les  bords;  les  deux  autres  li  revenir  au  lieu  d'oU  lis  •  tolent 
partis.  Pendant  toutcrt  intcrvalle  ils  ne  purent  atteindre  IVxtrf- 
mit^  du  baadn.  LVmir  Ala-eddin-Tamboea,  vouvenieurde  Bch- 
neaa,^eriTit  oea  details  au  sultan,  qui  ea  flit  axtrtmeincnt  nuprla.** 


THE  EPICUREAN, 


69( 


ing  her — **  behold  him  still  by  thj  side  —  the 
MUDG.  the  very  same,  who  saw  thee  steal  from  under 
the  Veils  of  the  Sanctnaiy,  whom  thou  hast  guided 
"by  a  clue  through  those  labyrinths  below,  and  who 
now  only  waits  his  command  from  those  lips,  to 
deTOte  himself  through  life  and  death  to  thy  ser- 
I  Tioe.**  As  I  spoke  these  words,  she  turned  slowly 
roand,  and  looking  timidly  in  my  face,  while  her 
own  burned  with  blushes,  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt 
and  wonder,  **ThouI''  and  then  hid  her  eyes  in 
ber  hands. 

I  knew  not  how  to  interpret  a  reception  so  un- 
expected. That  some  mistake  or  disappointment 
had  occurred  was  evident;  but  so  inexplicable  did 
the  whole  adventure  apjiear  to  me^  that  it  was  in 
vain  to  think  of  unravelling  any  part  of  it  Weak 
•nd  agitated,  she  now  tottered  to  the  steps  of  the 
Temple,  and  there  seating  herself,  with  her  fore- 
head against  the  cold  marble,  seemed  for  some 
moments  absorbed  in  the  most  anxious  thou^^ht; 
while  silent  and  watchful  I  awaited  her  decision, 
though,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  feeling  which  the 
lesnlt  proved  to  be  prophetic  —  that  my  destiny 
was,  from  thenceforth,  linked  inseparably  with 
hers. 

The  inward  struggle  by  which  she  was  agitated, 
though  violent,  was  not  of  long  continuance. 
Starting  suddenly  from  her  scat,  with  a  look  of 
terror  towards  the  Temple,  as  if  the  fear  of  imme- 
diate pursuit  had  alone  decided  her,  she  pointed 
eagerly  towards  the  East,  and  exclaimed,  **To 
the  Nile,  without  delay!'*  —  clasping  her  hands, 
after  she  had  thus  spoken,  with  the  most  suppliant 
fervour,  as  if  to  soften  the  abruptness  of  the  man- 
date she  had  given,  and  appealing  to  me  at  the 
same  time,  with  a  look  that  would  have  taught 
Stoics  themselves  tenderness. 

I  lost  not  a  moment  in  obeying  the  welcome 
command.    With  a  thousand  wild  hopes  naturally 
crowding  upon  my  fancy,  at  the  thoughts  of  a 
voyage,  under  such  auspices,  I  descended  rapidly 
to  the  shore,  and  hailing  one  of  those  boats  tliut 
ply  upon  the  Lake  for  hire,  anrangc<l  s])ee<lily  for 
a  passage  down  the  canal  to  the  Nile.     Iluving 
lewncd,  too,  from  the  boatmen,  a  more  eoi^y  path 
np  the  rock,  I  hastened  buck  to  the  Temple  for 
■7  fair  charge;  and,  without  a  word  or  lixjk,that 
eoold  akirm,  even  by  its  kindness,  or  disturb  the 
iDnocent  confidence  which  she  iiow  evidently  re- 
posed in  me,  led  her  down  by  the  winding  path  to 
Uke  boat. 

Everything  around  looked  sunny  and  smiling 
ti  wc  embarked.  The  moniiiig  was  in  its  first 
ftieshness,  and  the  path  of  the  bri-eze  might  clearly 
he  traced  over  the  Lake,  as  it  went  wakening  up 
the  waters  from  their  sleep  of  the  night     The 

I  jKHoh,  lib.  tL  ». 

«  Calltd  ThaUmcgw,  from  the  p«Tilkm  <m  th*  diA.— Tide 


gay,  golden-winged  birds  that  haunt  these  shorcf 
were,  in  every  direction,  skimming  along  th 
Lake ;  while,  witha  graver  consciousness  of  beaut) 
the  swan  and  the  pelican  were  seen  dressing  thei 
white  plumage  in  the  mirror  of  its  wave.  To  adi 
to  the  liveliness  of  the  scene,  there  came,  at  in 
tervals,  on  the  breeze,  a  sweet  tinkling  of  musica 
instruments  from  boats  atadii^tance,  employed  thu 
early  in  pursuing  the  fish  of  these  waters*,  ths 
allow  themselves  to  be  decoyed  into  the  nets  b; 
music. 

The  vessel  I  had  selected  for  our  voyage  ws 
one  of  those  small  pleasure-bouts  or  yachts' — » 
nmch  in  use  among  the  luxurious  navigators  c 
the  Nile — in  the  centre  of  which  rises  a  pavilioi 
of  cedar  or  cy]»ress  wood,  adorned  richly  on  th 
outside,  with  religions  emblems,  and  gaily  fittC' 
up,  within,  for  feasting  and  repose.  To  the  doo 
of  this  pavilion  I  now  led  my  companion,  anr 
after  a  few  words  of  kindness  —  tempered  can 
tiously  with  as  much  reserve  as  the  deep  tendei 
ness  of  my  feeling  towards  her  would  admit — lej 
her  to  court  that  restoring  rest,  which  the  agita 
tion  of  her  spirits  so  nmch  reciuired. 

For  myself,  though  repose  was  hardly  less  necei 
sary  to  me,  the  state  of  ferment  in  which  I  ha 
been  so  long  kept,  api)eared  to  render  it  hopelea 
Having  thrown  myself  on  the  deck  of  the  vesse 
under  an  awning  which  the  sailors  had  raised  fc 
me,  I  continued,  for  some  hours,  in  a  sort  < 
vogue  day-dream — sometimes  passing  in  review 
the  scenes  of  that  subterranean  drama,  and  some 
times,  with  my  eyes  fixed  in  drow^y  vacancy,  n 
ceiving  passively  the  impressions  of  the  brigl 
scenery  tlirough  which  we  pa.<isvd. 

The  banks  of  the  canal  wrre  then  luxnriantl 
wooded.  Un<ler  the  tuf\s  of  the  light  and  towerin 
palm  were  seen  the  orange  and  the  citron,  intoi 
lacing  their  iMjugk*);  while,  here  and  there,  huj^ 
tamarisks  thickened  the  shade,  and,  at  the  vcr 
edge  of  the  bank,  the  willow  of  Babylon  stoo 
bending  its  graceful  branches  into  the  watc 
Occasionally,  out  of  the  depth  of  these  grove 
there  shone  a  small  t(>ni)ile  or  ple»sure-huu£< 
while,  now  and  then,  an  opening  in  their  liii 
of  foliage  allowed  the  eye  to  wander  over  exter 
sive  fields,  all  covered  with  beds  of  tho>e  pal 
sweet  roses*,  for  which  this  district  of  Egyi>t  is  t 
celebrated. 

The  activity  of  the  morning  hour  was  visible  i 
every  direction.  Flijjhts  of  doves  and  lapwing 
were  fluttering  among  the  leaves;  and  the  whii 
heron,  which  had  been  roosting  all  night  in  son 
date-tree,  now  stood  sunning  its  wings  u))on  tl 
green  bank,  or  flouted,  hke  living  silver,  over  tl 
flood.     The  flowers,  too,  both  of  land  and  wate 

*  A*  April  U  the  •euon  for  tratherinff  thete  rowfl  (mc  Mali 
BntH'$  Kcumnmical  Cahifiar\  iht  Eplcumji  oonld  not,  of  ooan 
mean  to  a^  thmt  he  mw  tkwn  actiMUy  in  flowtr. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


695 


anghten  of  the  Ptolemies*,  when  far  away, 
;ign  thrones,  have  been  known  to  sigh  in 
ist  of  their  splendour.  As  our  boat,  with 
led  sail,  was  gliding  into  the  current,  an 

from  the  boatmen,  whether  they  should  I 
for  the  night  in  the  Nile,  first  reminded  me 
ignorance  in  which  I  still  remained,  with 

to  the  motiye  or  destination  of  our  voyage, 
rassed  by  their  question,  I  directed  my  eyes 
s  the  Priestess,  whom  I  saw  waiting  for 
wer  with  a  look  of  anxiety,  which  this  si- 
ference  to  her  wishes  at  once  dispelled, 
ing  eagerly  the  Yolume  with  which  I  had 
T  so  much  occupied,  she  took  from  between 
s  a  small  leaf  of  papyrus,  on  which  there 
5d  to  be  some  faint  lines  of  drawing,  and 
>oking  upon  it  thoughtfully  for  a  few  mo- 
placed  it,  with  an  agitated  hand,  in  mine, 
he  meantime,  the  boatmen  had  taken  in 
ul,  and  the  yacht  drove  slowly  down  the 
rith  the  current;  while,  by  a  light  which 
en  kindled  at  sunset  on  the  deck,  I  stood 
ling  the  leaf  that  the  Priestess  bad  given 
er  dark  eyes  fixed  anxiously  on  my  coim- 
i  all  the  while.  The  lines  traced  upon  the 
s  were  so  faint  as  to  be  almost  invisible, 
vas  for  some  time  wholly  unable  to  form  a 
ure  as  to  their  import     At  length,  how- 

succeeded  in  making  out  that  they  were 
of  map,  or  outlines — traced  slighUy  and  j 
lily  with  a  Memphian  reed — of  a  part  of 
ountainous  ridge  by  which  Upper  Egypt  is 
4  to  the  east,  together  with  the  names,  or 
emblems,  of  the  chief  towns  in  its  immediate 
ourhood. 

IS  thither,  I  now  saw  clearly,  that  the  young 
ss  wished  to  pursue  her  course.    Without 

delay,  therefore,  I  ordered  the  boatmen  to 

yacht  before  the  wind,  and  ascend  the  cur- 
My  command  was  promptly  obeyed:  the 
iail  again  rose  into  the  region  of  the'breeze, 
e  satisfaction  that  beamed  in  every  feature 

faur  Egyptian  showed  that  the  quickness 
rhich  I  had  attended  to  her  wishes  was  not 
by  her.  The  moon  had  now  risen;  and 
I  the  current  was  against  us,  the  Etesian 
if  the  season  blew  strongly  up  the  river,  and 


ddmement  on  portolt  lei  eaoz  do  Nil  Ji]tqQ*k  dei  contrfei 
iDifes,  •(  nixtout  ches  let  prinoenM  da  Muig  do  Ptolom^ei, 
lans  des  families  ^tranx^res."— i>e  Pauw. 
•ler  thus  conveyed  to  other  Undi  wm,  m  we  may  collect 
renal,  chiefly  intended  fi>r  the  on  of  the  Temples  of  Isis, 
ed  in  those  oonntries. 

8i  Candida  jusierit  lo, 
Ihit  ad  iEnrpti  flnem,  calidaqne  petltas 
A  Meroe  portabit  aquas,  at  spargat  in  adtt 
Iridis,  antiquo  qa«  proxima  saisit  otUL 

nora  dn  mattre  j  itait  <crit,  pendant  la  nait,  en  lettres  d« 
iaOki. 


we  were  soon  floating  before  it,  through  the  rich 
plains  and  groves  of  the  Said. 

The  love  with  which  this  simple  girl  had  in- 
spired me,  was  partly,  perhaps,  from  the  mystic 
scenes  and  situations  in  which  I  had  seen  her,  not 
unmingled  with  a  tinge  of  superstitious  awe,  under 
the  influence  of  which  I  felt  the  natural  buoyancy 
of  my  spirit  repressed.  The  few  words  that  had 
passed  between  us  on  the  subject  of  our  route  had 
somewhat  loosened  this  spell;  and  what  I  wanted 
of  vivacity  and  confidence  was  more  than  com- 
pensated by  the  tone  of  deep  sensibility  which  love 
bad  awakened  in  their  place. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far,  before  the  glittering 
of  lights  at  a  distance,  and  the  shooting  up  of  fire- 
works, at  intervals,  into  the  air,  apprised  us  that 
we  were  then  approaching  one  of  those  night- fairs, 
or  marts,  which  it  is  the  custom,  at  this  season, 
to  hold  upon  the  Nile.  To  me  the  scene  was 
familiar;  but  to  my  young  companion  it  was  evi- 
dently a  new  world;  and  the  mixture  of  alarm 
and  delight  with  which  she  gazed,  from  under  her 
veil,  upon  the  busy  scene  into  which  we  now 
sailed,  gave  an  air  of  innocence  to  her  beauty, 
which  still  more  heightened  its  every  charm. 

It  was  one  of  the  widest  parts  of  the  river;  and 
the  whole  surface,  from  one  bank  to  the  others 
was  covered  with  boats.  Along  the  banks  of  a 
green  island,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  lay 
anchored  the  galleys  of  the  principal  traders — 
large  floating  bazaars,  bearing  each  the  name  of 
its  owner',  emblazoned  in  letters  of  flame,  upon 
the  stem.  Over  their  decks  were  spread  out,  in 
gay  confusion,  the  products  of  the  loom  and  needte 
of  Egypt — rich  carpets  of  Memphis,  and  likewise 
those  variegated  veils,  for  which  the  female  em- 
broiderers of  the  Nile  are  so  celebrated,  and  to 
which  the  name  of  Cleopatra  lends  a  traditional 
charm.  In  each  of  the  other  galleys  was  exhibited 
some  branch  of  Egyptian  workmanship — vases  of 
the  fragrant  porcelain  of  On — cups  of  that  frail 
crystal',  whose  hues  change  like  those  of  the 
pigeon's  plumage — enamelled  amulets  graven  with 
the  head  of  Anubis,  and  necklaces  and  bracelets 
of  the  black  beans  of  Abyssinia.* 

While  Conunerce  was  thus  displaying  her  various 
luxuries  in  one  quarter,  in  every  other,  the  spirit 


*  Gelled  Alawontes.  For  tticir  farittleneee  Martial  is  an  ao- 
thdrity: 

Tolle,  pner,  calices,  tepidiqae  torenmala  NiU, 
Et  mihl  securA  pocala  trade  mana. 

**  Sans  parler  id  dee  coupes  d*nn  Terre  port^  Jnsqu'Ji  la  portti  dn 
crystal,  ni  de  oelles  qu'on  appelott  Alassontcs,  et  qu'on  suppose 
arolr  reprtsentj  des  flfurea  doot  les  couleurs  changeoient  soiTuit 
Taspect  sous  leqnel  on  les  regardoit,  k  pen  prta  corome  oe  qu'on 
nonune  Tulgairement  gorge'dt-pigton^"  Jkc  -.Dt  Pauw. 

*  The  hean  of  the  Olydne,  which  is  so  beautiful  as  to  be  strtmc 
into  necklaces  and  bracelets,  is  generally  known  by  the  name  of 
the  black  bean  of  Abyssinia. -iTMdkr. 

SB  3 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


697 


ig  back,  and  letting  mj  eyes  wander  over  the 
ment,  as  if  seeking  to  disengage  them  from 
ascination  which  they  dreaded  —  **To  the 
,"  I  exchiimed,  **  for  ages,  of  skies  like  this, 
the  pensire  and  mystic  character  of  your 
a  be  traced.  That  mixture  of  pride  and 
icholy  which  naturally  arises  at  the  sight  of 

eternal  lights  shining  out  of  darkness;  — 

sublime,  but  saddened,  anticipation  of  a 
re,  which  steals  sometimes  over  the  soul  in 
ilence  of  such  an  hour,  when,  though  Death 
ITS  to  reign  in  the  deep  stillness  of  earth, 

are  yet  those  beacons  of  Immortality  burning 
B  sky." 

using,  as  I  uttered  the  word  **  immortality," 
a  sigh  to  think  how  little  my  heart  echoed  to 
ipa,  I  looked  in  the  face  of  my  companion, 
saw  that  it  had  lighted  up,  as  I  spoke,  into  a 

of  holy  animation,  such  as  Faith  alone  gives; 
ch  as  Hope  herself  wears,  when  she  is  dream- 
of  heaven.  Touched  by  the  contrast,  and 
ig  upon  her  with  mournful  tenderness,  I 
1  my  arms  half  opened,  to  clasp  her  to  my 
I,  while  the  words  died  away  inaudibly  upon 
lips, —  **Thou,  too,  beautiful  maiden!  must 
,  too,  die  for  ever?  " 
Y  self-command,  I  felt,  had  nearly  deserted 

Rising  abruptly  from  my  seat,  I  walked  to 
middle  of  the  deck,  and  stood,  for  some  mo- 
is,  unconsciously  gazing  upon  one  of  those 

which — according  to  the  custom  of  all  who 
i\  by  night  on  the  Nile — our  boatmen  had 
led,  to  scare  away  the  crocodiles  from  the 
iL  But  it  was  in  vain  that  I  endeavoured  to 
[XMc  my  spirit.  Every  effort  I  made  but  more 
ly  convinced  me,  that,  till  the  mystery  which 
;  round  that  maiden  should  be  solved — till 
secret,  with  which  my  own  bosom  laboured. 
Id  be  disclosed — it  was  fruitless  to  attempt 

a  semblance  of  tranquillity, 
y  resolution  was  therefore  taken; — to  lay 
i,  at  once,  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  as  far 
uch  revealment  might  be  hazarded,  without 
ling  the  timid  innocence  of  my  companion. 
s  resolved,  I  resimied  my  seat,  with  more 
posnre,  by  her  side;  and  taking  from  my 
•m  the  small  mirror  which  she  had  dropped  in 
Temple,  and  which  I  had  ever  since  worn 
ended  round  my  neck,  presented  it  with  a 
ibling  hand  to  her  view.  The  boatmen  had 
kindled  one  of  their  night-fires  near  us,  and 
ight,  as  she  leaned  forward  to  look  at  the 
or,  fell  upon  her  face. 

he  quick  blush  of  surprise  with  which  she  re- 
used it  to  be  hers,  and  her  look  of  bashfiil  yet 
:r  inquiry,  in  raising  her  eyes  to  mine,  were 
itls  to  which  I  was  not,  of  course,  tardy,  in 
rering.  Beginning  with  the  first  moment 
n  I  saw  her  in  the  Temple,  and  passing  hastily, 


but  with  words  that  burned  as  they  went,  over 
the  impression  which  she  had  then  left  upon  my 
heart  and  fancy,  I  proceeded  to  describe  the  par- 
ticulars of  my  descent  into  the  pyramid — my 
surprise  and  adoration  at  the  door  of  the  chapel — 
my  encounter  with  the  Trials  of  Initiation,  so 
mysteriously  prepared  for  me,  and  all  the  various 
visionary  wonders  I  had  witnessed  in  that  region, 
till  the  moment  when  I  had  seen  her  stealing  from 
under  the  Veils  to  approach  me. 

Though,  in  detailing  these  events,  I  had  said 
but  little  of  the  feelings  they  had  awakened  in  me 
—  though  my  lips  had  sent  back  many  a  sentence, 
unuttered,  there  was  still  enough  that  could  neither 
be  subdued  nor  disguised,  and  which,  like  that 
light  from  under  the  veils  of  her  own  Isis,  glowed 
through  every  word  that  I  spoke.  When  I  told 
of  the  scene  in  the  chapel — of  the  silent  interview 
which  I  had  witnessed  between  the  dead  and  the 
living — the  maiden  leaned  down  her  head  and 
wept,  as  from  a  heart  full  of  tears.  It  seemed  a 
pleasure  to  her,  however,  to  listen;  and,  when 
she  looked  at  me  again,  there  was  an  earnest  and 
affectionate  cordiality  in  her  eyes,  as  if  the  know-  - 
ledge  of  my  having  been  present  at  that  mournful 
scene  had  opened  a  new  source  of  sympathy  and 
intelligence  between  us.  So  neighbouring  are  the 
fountains  of  Love  and  of  Sorrow,  and  so  imper- 
ceptibly do  they  often  mingle  their  streams. 

Little,  indeed,  as  I  was  guided  by  art  or  design, 
in  my  manner  and  conduct  towards  this  innocent 
girl,  not  all  the  most  experienced  gallantry  of  the 
Garden  could  have  dictated  a  policy  half  so  seduc- 
tive as  that  which  my  new  master.  Love,  now 
taught  me.  The  same  ardour  which,  if  shown  at 
once,  and  without  reserve,  might  probably  have 
startled  a  heart  so  little  prepared  for  it,  being  now 
checked  and  softened  by  the  timidity  of  real  love, 
won  its  way  withont  alarm,  and,  when  most  diffi- 
dent of  success,  was  then  most  surely  on  its  way 
to  triumph.  Like  one  whose  slumbers  are  gra- 
dually broken  by  sweet  music,  the  maiden's  heart 
was  awakened  without  being  disturbed.  She  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  the  charm,  unconscious 
whither  it  led,  nor  was  even  aware  of  the  flame 
she  had  lighted  in  another's  bosom,  till  startled  by 
the  reflection  of  it  glimmering  in  her  own. 

Impatient  as  I  was  to  appeal  to  her  generosity 
and  sympathy,  for  a  similar  proof  of  confidence  to 
that  which  I  had  just  given,  the  night  was  now 
too  far  advanced  for  me  to  impose  upon  her  such 
a  task.  After  exchanging  a  few  words,  in  which, 
though  little  met  the  ear,  there  was,  on  both  sides, 
a  tone  and  manner  that  spoke  far  more  than  lan- 
guage, we  took  a  lingering  leave  of  each  other  for 
the  night,  with  every  prospect,  I  fondly  hoped,  of 
being  still  together  in  our  dreams. 


SB  3 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


699 


of  his  fame  both  among  Pagans  and  Chris- 
Endowed  richlj  with  the  learning  of  both 
he  brought  the  natural  light  of  philosophy 
trate  the  mysteries  of  faith,  and  was  then 
-oud  of  his  knowledge  of  the  wisdom  of  this 
when  he  fonnd  it  minister  usefully  to  the 
h  of  dirine  truth. 

though  he  had  courted  in  vain  the  crown 
tyrdom,  it  was  held,  tlurough  his  whole  life, 
ded  over  his  head;  and,  in  more  than  one 
ition,  he  had  shown  himself  cheerfully  ready 
for  that  holy  faith  which  he  lived  but  to 
and  uphold.  On  one  of  these  occasions, 
nentors,  having  habited  him  like  an  Egyp- 
riest,  placed  him  upon  the  steps  of  the 
e  of  Serapis,  and  commanded  that  he  should, 
manner  of  the  Pagan  ministers,  present 
tranches  to  the  multitude  who  went  up  into 
ine.  But  the  courageous  Christian  disap- 
1  their  views.  Holdmg  forth  the  branches 
1  tmshrinking  hand,  he  cried  aloud,  *  Come 
and  take  the  branch, — not  of  an  Idol 
e,  but  of  Christ.' 

indefatigable  was  this  learned  Father  in 
dies,  that,  while  composing  his  Commentary 
i  Scriptures',  he  was  attended  by  seven 
or  notaries,  who  relieved  each  other  in 
ing  the  dictates  of  his  eloquent  tongue; 
;he  same  number  of  young  females,  selected 
!  beauty  of  their  penmanship,  were  em- 
in  arranging  and  transcribing  the  precious 

nong  the  scribes  so  selected,  was  the  fair 
Theora,  whose  parents,  though  attached  to 
igan  worship,  were  not  unwilling  to  profit 

accomplishments  of  their  daughter,  thus 
ed  in  a  task,  which  they  looked  on  as  purely 
aical.  To  the  maid  herself,  however,  her 
rment  brought  far  other  feelings  and  conse- 
«.  She  read  anxiously  as  she  wrote,  and 
rine  truths,  so  eloquently  illustrated,  found 
ray,  by  degrees,  from  the  page  to  her  heart. 
',  too,  as  the  written  words  affected  her,  the 
rses  from  the  lips  of  the  great  teacher  him- 
hich  she  had  frequent  opportunities  of  hear- 
nk  still  more  deeply  into  her  mind.  There 
t  once,  a  sublimity  and  gentleness  in  his 
Df  religion,  which,  to  the  tender  hearts  and 
imaginations  of  women,  never  failed  to  ap- 
rith  convincing  power.  Accordingly,  the 
his  female  pupils  was  numerous;  and  the 

of  Barbara,  Juliana,  Herais,  and  others, 
lonourable  testimony  to  his  influence  over 

X. 

t  Theora  the  feeling,  with  which  his   dis- 
I  inspired  her,  was  like  a  new  soul — a  con- 

M  darinc  th*  eompoiltkm  of  his  gnat  eritloal  vo^  Um 
t,  th«t  Orifn  cmployid  tbcM  tanato  MrilNs. 


sdousness  of  spiritual  existence,  never  before  felt. 
By  the  eloquence  of  the  conmient  she  was 
awakened  into  admiration  of  the  text ;  and  when, 
by  the  kindness  of  a  Catechumen  of  the  school, 
who  had  been  struck  by  her  innocent  zeal,  she, 
for  the  first  time,  became  possessor  of  a  copy  of 
the  Scriptures,  she  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of 
her  sacred  treasure.  With  a  mixture  of  pleasure 
and  fear  she  hid  it  from  all  eyes,  and  was  like  one 
who  had  received  a  divine  guest  under  her  roo^ 
and  felt  fearful  of  betraying  its  divinity  to  the 
world. 

**  A  heart  so  awake  would  have  been  with  ease 
secured  to  the  faith,  had  her  opportunities  of 
hearing  the  sacred  word  continued.  But  cir- 
cumstances arose  to  depiive  her  of  this  advantage. 
The  mild  Origen,  long  harassed  and  thwarted  in 
his  labours  by  the  tjnranny  of  Demetrius,  Bishop 
of  Alexandria,  was 'obliged  to  relinquish  his 
school  and  fly  from  Egypt.  The  occupation  of 
the  fair  scribe  was,  therefore,  at  an  end :  her 
intercourse  with  the  followers  of  the  new  faith 
ceased;  and  the  growing  enthusiasm  of  her 
heart  gave  way  to  more  worldly  impressions. 

*'  Among  otlier  earthly  feelings,  love  conduced 
not  a  little  to  wean  her  thoughts  from  the  true 
religion.  While  still  very  young,  she  became  the 
wife  of  a  Greek  adventurer,  who  had  come  to 
Egypt  as  a  purchaser  of  that  rich  tapestry',  in 
which  the  needles  of  Persia  are  rivalled  by  the 
looms  of  the  Nile.  Having  taken  his  young  bride 
to  Memphis,  which  was  still  the  great  mart  of  this 
merchandise,  he  there,  in  the  midst  of  his  specu- 
lations, died— leaving  his  widow  on  the  point  of 
becoming  a  mother,  while,  as  yet,  but  in  her  nine- 
teenth year. 

**For  single  and  unprotected  females,  it  has 
been,  at  all  times,  a  favourite  resource,  to  seek  for 
employment  in  the  service  of  some  of  those  great 
temples  by  which  so  large  a  portion  of  the  wealth 
and  power  of  Egypt  is  absorbed.  In  most  of 
these  institutions  there  exists  an  order  of  Priest- 
esses, which,  though  not  hereditary,  like  that  of  the 
Priests,  is  provided  for  by  aipple  endowments,  and 
confers  that  dignity  and  station,  with  which,  in  a 
government  so  theocratic.  Religion  is  sure  to  invest 
even  her  humblest  handmaids.  From  the  general 
policy  of  the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis,  we  may 
take  for  granted,  that  an  accomplished  female,  like 
Theora,  found  but  little  difficulty  in  being  elected 
one  of  the  Priestesses  of  Isis;  and  it  was  in  the 
service  of  the  subterranean  shrines  that  her  mi- 
nistry chiefly  lay. 

**  Here,  a  month  or  two  after  her  admission,  she 
g^ve  birth  to  Alethe,  who  first  opened  her  eyes 
among  the  unholy  pomps  and  specious  miracles  of 


KoQ  Cffo  pratiilcriin  Bftbjrlonie*  pieU 
Totft,  SamfammU  QOM  Tmriuitiir  aeo. 
SB  4 


MarHai, 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


701 


her  fair  companions,  as  the  most  worthy  repre- 
sentatire  of  spiritual  loveliness,  in  those  pictures 
of  Elysium — those  scenes  of  another  world — by 
which  not  only  the  fancy,  but  the  reason,  of  the 
excited  Aspirants  was  dazzled. 

''To  the  innocent  child  herself  these  shows 
were  pastime.  But  to  Theora,  who  knew  too  well 
thm  imposition  to  which  they  were  subservient,  this 
pfofimation  of  all  that  she  loved  was  a  perpetual 
•onrce  of  horror  and  remorse.  Often  would  she — 
when  Alethe  stood  smiling  before  her,  arrayed, 
perhaps,  as  a  spirit  of  the  Elysian  world  —  turn 
away,  with  a  shudder,  from  the  happy  child,  al* 
most  fimcying  she  saw  already  the  shadows  of  sin 
descending  over  that  innocent  brow,  as  she  gazed 
upon  it. 

**  As  the  intellect  of  the  young  maid  became 
more  active  and  inquiring,  the  apprehensions  and 
difficulties  of  the  mother  increased.  Afraid  to 
ccMnmunicate  her  own  precious  secret,  lest  she 
should  involve  her  child  in  the  dangers  that  en- 
compassed it,  she  yet  felt  it  to  be  no  less  a  cruelty 
than  a  crime  to  leave  her  wholly  immersed  in  the 
darkness  of  Paganism.  In  this  dilenuna,  the  only 
TCsoorce  that  remained  to  her  was  to  select,  and 
disengage  from  the  dross  that  surrounded  Uiem, 
those  pure  particles  of  truth  which  lie  at  the  bottom 
of  all  religions;  —  those  feelings,  rather  than  doc- 
trines, of  which  God  has  never  left  his  creatures 
destitute,  and  which,  in  all  ages,  have  furnished, 
to  those  who  sought  after  it,  some  clue  to  his 

**  The  unity  and  perfect  goodness  of  the  Creator; 
the  fall  of  the  human  soul  into  corruption,  its 
straggles  with  the  darkness  of  this  world,  and  its 
final  redemption  and  re-ascent  to  the  source  of  all 
spirit; — these  natural  solutions  of  the  problem  of 
our  existence,  these  elementary  grounds  of  all 
religion  and  virtue,  which  Theora  had  heard  illus- 
trated by  her  Christian  teacher,  lay  also,  she  knew, 
Tciled  under  the  theology  of  £g3l)t;  and  to  im- 
press them,  in  their  abstract  purity,  upon  the  mind 
of  her  susceptible  pupil,  was,  in  default  of  more 
heATcnly  lights,  her  sole  ambition  and  care. 

**It  was  generally  their  habit,  after  devoting 
their  mornings  to  the  service  of  the  Temple,  to 
pass  their  evenings  and  nights  in  one  of  those 
small  mansions  above  ground,  allotted,  within  the 
precincts  of  the  Sacred  College,  to  some  of  the 
most  fovoured  Priestesses.  Here,  out  of  the  reach 
of  those  gross  superstitions,  which  pursued  them, 
at  every  step,  below,  she  endeavoured  to  inform, 
as  far  as  she  could  venture,  the  mind  of  her  be- 
lored  girl ;  and  found  it  lean  as  riaturaUy  and 
instinctive^  to  truth,  as  plants  long  shut  up  in 
darkness  will,  when  light  is  let  in  upon  them,  in- 
cline themselves  to  its  rays. 

**  Frequently,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  terrace 
at  night,  *^mmn^  that  glorious  assembly  of  stars, 


whose  beauty  first  misled  mankind  into  idolatry, 
she  would  explain  to  the  young  listener  by  what 
gradations  of  error  it  was  that  the  worship,  thus 
transferred  from  the  Creator  to  the  creature,  sunk 
still  lower  and  lower  in  the  scale  of  being,  till 
man,  at  length,  presumed  to  deify  man,  and  by 
the  most  monstrous  of  inversions,  heaven  was 
made  the  mere  mirror  of  earth,  reflecting  back  all 
its  most  earthly  features. 

**  Even  in  the  Temple  itself,  the  anxious  mother 
would  endeavour  to  interpose  her  purer  lessons 
among  the  idolatrous  ceremonies  in  which  they 
were  engaged.  When  the  favourite  ibis  of  Alethe 
took  its  station  upon  the  shrine,  and  the  young 
maiden  was  seen  approaching,  with  all  the  gravity 
of  worship,  the  very  bird  which  she  had  played 
with  but  an  hour  before— when  the  acacia-bough, 
which  she  herself  had  plucked,  seemed  to  acquire 
a  sudden  sacredness  in  her  eyes,  as  soon  as  the 
priest  had  breathed  upon  it — on  all  such  occasions 
Theora,  though  with  fear  and  trembling,  would 
venture  to  suggest  to  the  youthful  worshipper  the 
distinction  that  should  be  drawn  between  the 
sensible  object  of  adoration,  and  that  spiritual, 
unseen  Deity,  of  which  it  was  but  the  remem- 
brancer or  type. 

^'With  sorrow,  however,  she  soon  discovered 
that,  in  thus  but  partially  letting  in  light  upon  a 
mind  far  too  ardent  to  rest  satisfied  with  such  glim- 
merings, she  but  bewildered  the  heart  which  she 
meant  to  guide,  and  cut  down  the  feeble  hope 
around  which  its  faith  twined,  without  substituting 
any  other  support  in  its  place.  As  the  beauty,  too, 
of  Alethe  b^an  to  attract  all  eyes,  new  fears 
crowded  upon  the  mother *s  heart; — fears,  in  which 
she  was  but  too  much  justified  by  the  characters  of 
some  of  those  around  her. 

**  In  this  sacred  abode,  as  may  easily  be  con- 
ceived, morality  did  not  always  go  hand  in  hand 
with  religion.  The  hypocritical  and  ambitious 
Orcus,  who  was,  at  this  period.  High  Priest  of 
Memphis,  was  a  man,  in  every  respect,  qualified 
to  preside  over  a  system  of  such  splendid  fraud. 
He  had  reached  that  effective  time  of  life,  when 
enough  of  the  warmth  and  vigour  of  youth  remains 
to  give  animation  to  the  coimsels  of  age.  But,  in 
his  instance,  youth  had  left  only  the  baser  passions 
behind,  while  age  but  brought  with  it  a  more 
refined  maturity  of  mischief.  The  advantages  of 
a  faith  appealing  almost  wholly  to  the  senses,  were 
well  understood  by  him ;  nor  had  he  failed  either 
to  discover  that,  in  order  to  render  religion  sub- 
servient to  his  own  interests,  he  must  shape  it 
adroitly  to  the  interests  and  passions  of  others. 

*'  The  state  of  anxiety  and  remorse  in  which  the 
mind  of  the  hapless  Theora  was  kept  by  the  scenes, 
however  artfully  veiled,  which  she  daily  witnessed 
around  her,  became  at  length  intolerable.  No 
perils  that  the  cause  of  truth  could  bring  with  it 


^^^^^^H 

MOOIIE'S  WORKS. 

i1  u  this  endurance  of 
^r  child  wBi>,  as, vet.  |)ura 
ut  thai  Knlinel  of  the 
might  ihe  continue  so? 

decided  her:  all  other 
She  lEBOlved  instantly  to 
.1,.  si^,Tftofhor»out;  to 
'  .  1  -iilv  Lii>i>e  on  earth, 
.'.11,  and  then  fly 
...tlji'^anhBllowed 

li^  -iitiiins— loauy 

w.tit  UuJ  and  the  con- 
itbt  be  with  them, 
which  bet  yonng  pnpil 
c  truths  was  even  beyond 
u  like  the  lighting  of  one 
ed  WM  Aletbe'i  niind  for 
indeed,  waa  the  anxious 
her  misery,  by  this  per- 
aad    faith,  and  by  the 
flw  her  beloved  chUd  — 
hen  tint  led  bj  her  dam 
tily  hy  lier  lidei  at  the 

^nollongtolart.     The 
1  snffi'red  b^yan  lo  jirey 
Mt   her   alrcnf^th    daily 
1  of  leaving,  alone  and 
Ihat  irea-sure  which  she 

last  brealh.  the  renerahle  man.  lo  whom,  mutt 
Heaven,  slie  looked  for  the  pniieciion  and  nln 
lion  of  her  child. 

"  The  fini  violence  of  feeling  to  wMth  Aleth 
gave  way  was  lucceedod  hy  ■  fiied  aod  ttailts 

to  the  dangers  of  her  situation.    Her  sole  comfur 

where  the  beautifnlrcmwDSofTheora  lay.     Tbm 
night  after  night,  in  contemplation  of  those  pUcu 
featnrti,  and  in  prayers  for  the  peace  f.f  the  ie. 
parted  spirit,  did  she  pass  her  lonely  and  — tare- 
ever   sad  they  were  —  biq>piein    hoars.     Tbooel 
the  mystic  emblems  that  decorated  tluil  chi|tl 
wen  but  ill-suited  lo  the  slumber  uf  a  Chrirtiu, 
there  was  one  among  them,  the  Cross,  whidi,  bj 
a  remarkable  coincidence,   U  an   emblaii  alikt 
common  to  the  GHntile  and  the  Christian  —  being, 
lo  the  fonnrr,  a  shadowy  typo  of  that  immoruliir, 

assuring  pledge. 

"  Nightly,  upon  this  cross,  whieh  she  had  ofta 
seen  her  lost  mother  kiss,  did  she  breathe  fonb  > 
solemn  and  heartfelt  tow,  never  lo  iibandno  lit 
faith  which  that  departed  spirit  bad  bequeuhrf  to 

at  such  inonienu  rise,  thai,  bnt  fur  the  last  injunc- 
tions from  those  pallid  Ups,  she  would,  at  oofe. 
havo  avowed  her  ptriimui  eecret,  and  boldly  pi» 
iiotiiu-c(l  ihc  ivorii-.  '  1  am    ii  l_'iiri>iiaii.'  bumq- 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


708 


noxioiu.  The  accomplishments  of  Alciphron,  his 
popnlaritj,  wheierer  he  went,  and  the  bold  freedom 
with  which  he  indulged  his  wit  at  the  expense  of 
religion,  were  all  faithfnllj  reported  to  the  High 
Priest  bj  his  spies,  and  awakened  in  his  mind  no 
kindlj  feelings  towards  the  stranger.  In  dealing 
with  an  infidel,  such  a  personage  as  Orcus  could 
know  no  other  altematiTe  but  that  of  either  con- 
verting or  destrojing  him;  and  though  his  spite, 
as  a  man,  would  have  been  more  gratified  hj  the 
latter  proceeding,  his  pride,  as  a  priest,  led  him 
to  prefer  the  triumph  of  the  former. 

**The  first  descent  of  the  Epicurean  into  the 
pjramid  became  speedilj  known,  and  the  alarm 
was  immediatelj  given  to  the  priests  below.  As 
•oun  as  thej  had  discovered  that  the  young  phi« 
losopher  of  Athens  was  the  intruder,  and  that  he 
not  onlj  still  continued  to  linger  round  the  pjramid, 
but  was  observed  to  look  often  and  wistftdlj  to- 
wards the  portal,  it  was  concluded  that  his  curiosity 
would  impel  him  to  try  a  second  descent;  and 
Orcus,  blessing  the  good  chance  which  had  thus 
brought  the  wUd  bird  into  his  net,  resolved  not  to 
suffer  an  opportunity  so  precious  to  be  wasted. 

"Instantly,  the  whole  of  that  wonderful  ma- 
chinery, by  which  the  phantasms  and  illusions  of 
Initiation  are  produced,  were  put  in  active  prepara- 
tion throughout  that  subterranean  realm;  and  the 
increased  stir  and  vigilance  awakened  among  its 
inmates,  by  this  more  than  ordinary  display  of  the 
resources  of  priestcraft,  rendered  the  accomplish- 
ment of  Alethe*s  purpose,  at  such  a  moment,  pecu- 
liarly difficult.  Wholly  ignorant  of  the  important 
ahare  which  it  had  been  her  own  fortune  to  take 
in  attracting  the  young  philosopher  down  to  this 
region,  she  but  heard  of  him  vaguely,  as  the  Chief 
of  a  great  Grecian  sect,  who  had  been  led,  by 
either  curiosity,  or  accident,  to  expose  himself  to 
the  first  trials  of  Initiation ;  and  whom  the  priests, 
she  could  see,  were  endeavouring  to  insnare  in 
their  toils,  by  every  art  and  lure  with  which  their 
dark  science  had  gifted  them. 

**  To  her  mind,  the  image  of  a  philosopher,  such 
as  Alciphron  had  been  represented  to  her,  came 
associated  with  ideas  of  a^re  and  reverence;  and, 
more  than  once,  the  possibility  of  his  being  made 
instrumental  to  her  deliverance  flai«hed  a  hope 
across  her  heart  in  which  she  could  not  refnun 
from  indulging.  Often  had  she  been  told  by 
Theora  of  the  many  Gentile  sages,  who  had  laid 
their  wisdom  down  humhlv  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cross;  and  though  this  Initiate,  she  feared,  could 
hardly  be  among  the  number,  yet  the  rumours 
which  she  had  gathered  from  the  servants  of  the 
Temple,  of  hb  undisguised  contempt  for  the  errors 
of  Heathenism,  led  her  to  hope  she  might  find 
tolerance,  if  not  sympathy,  in  her  appeal  to  him. 

''Nor  was  it  solely  with  a  riew  to  her  own 
chance  of  deliverance  that  she  thus  connected  him 


in  her  thoughts  with  the  plan  which  she  meditated. 
The  look  of  proud  and  self-gratulating  malice,  with 
which  the  High  Priest  had  mentioned  this  *  Infidel,' 
as  he  styled  him,  when  giring  her  instructions  in  the 
scene  she  was  to  act  before  the  philosopher  in  the 
valley,  too  plainly  informed  her  of  the  dark  destiny 
that  hung  over  him.  She  knew  how  many  were 
the  hapless  candidates  for  Initiation  who  had  been 
doomed  to  a  durance  worse  than  that  of  the  grave, 
for  but  a  word,  a  whisper,  breathed  against  the 
sacred  absurdities  that  they  witnessed;  and  it  was 
evident  to  her  that  the  venerable  Greek  (for  such 
her  &ncy  represented  Alciphron)  was  no  less 
interested  in  escaping  from  the  snares  and  perils 
of  this  region  than  herself. 

**  Her  own  resolution  was,  at  all  events,  fixed. 
That  visionary  scene,  in  which  she  had  appeared 
before  Alciphron — little  knowing  how  ardent 
were  the  heart  and  imagination  over  which  her 
beauty,  at  that  moment,  exercised  its  influence — 
was,  she  solenmly  resolved,  the  very  last  unholy 
service,  that  superstition  or  imposture  should  ever 
command  of  her. 

"On  the  following  night  the  Aspirant  was  to 
watch  in  the  Great  Temple  of  Isis.  Such  an  op- 
portunity of  approaching  and  addressing  him  might 
never  come  again.  Should  he,  from  compassion 
for  her  situation,  or  a  sense  of  the  danger  of  his 
own,  consent  to  lend  his  aid  to  her  flight,  most 
gladly  would  she  accept  it — well  assured  that  no 
danger  or  treachery  she  might  risk  could  be  half 
so  odious  and  fearful  as  those  which  she  left  be^ 
hind.  Should  he,  on  the  contrary,  reject  the  pro- 
posal, her  determination  was  equally  fixed — to 
trust  to  that  God  whose  eye  watches  over  the  in- 
nocent, and  go  forth  alone. 

"  To  reach  the  island  in  Lake  Moeris  was  her 
first  great  object;  and  there  occurred  fortunately, 
at  this  time,  a  mode  of  effecting  her  purpose,' by 
which  both  the  difficulty  and  dangers  of  the  attempt 
would  be  much  diminished.  The  day  of  the  annuid 
visitation  of  the  High  Priest  to  the  Place  of  Weep- 
ing'— as  that  island  in  the  centre  of  the  Lake  is 
called — was  now  fast  approaching;  and  Alethe 
knew  that  the  self-moring  car,  by  which  the  High 
Priest  and  one  of  the  Ilierophants  are  conveyed 
doiKrii  to  the  chambers  under  the  Lake,  stood  then 
waiting  in  readiness.  By  availing  herself  of  this 
expedient,  she  would  gain  the  double  advantage 
both  of  facilitating  her  own  flight,  and  retarding 
the  speed  of  her  pursuers. 

**  Haring  paid  a  last  visit  to  the  tomb  of  her  be- 
loved mother,  and  wept  there,  long  and  passion- 
ately, till  her  heart  almost  failed  in  the  strug^e— 
having  paused,  too,  to  give  a  kiss  to  her  favourite 
ibis,  which,  although  too  much  a  Christian  to 
worship,  she  was  still  child  enough  to  love — she 


>  YUe  inVbrd; 


Ftmtmxkt  I,  tbL  M.  p.  US. 


THE  EPICUEEAN. 


705 


iu  oatlinefl  with  the  oonne  of  the  rirer,  as  well  as 
with  the  forms  of  the  rocky  hilL*  hy  which  we  were 
passing.  She  looked  pale  and  troubled,  and  rose 
eagerly  to  meet  me,  as  if  she  had  long  and  impa- 
tiently waited  for  my  waking. 

Her  heart,  it  was  plain,  had  been  disturbed  from 
its  security,  and  was  beginning  to  take  alarm  at 
its  own  feelings.  But,  tiiough  vaguely  conscious 
of  the  peril  to  which  she  was  exposed,  her  reliance, 
as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  increased  with  her  danger, 
and  upon  me,  far  more  than  on  herself,  did  she 
seem  to  depend  for  saving  her.  To  reach,  as  soon 
as  possible,  her  asylum  in  the  desert,  was  now  the 
urgent  object  of  her  entreaties  and  wishes;  and 
the  self-reproach  which  she  expressed  at  having, 
for  a  single  moment,  suffered  her  thoughts  to  be  di- 
verted horn  this  sacred  purpose,  not  only  revealed 
the  truth,  that  she  had  forgotten  it,  but  betrayed 
even  a  glimmering  consciousness  of  the  cause. 

Her  sleep,  she  said,  had  been  broken  by  ill- 
omened  dreams.  Every  moment  the  shade  of  her 
mother  had  stood  before  her,  rebuking,  with 
mournful  looks,  her  delay,  and  pointing,  as  she  had 
done  in  death,  to  the  eastern  hills.  Bursting  into 
tears  at  this  accusing  recollection,  she  hastily 
placed  the  leaf,  which  she  had  been  examining,  in 
my  hands,  and  implored  that  I  would  ascertain, 
without  a  moment's  delay,  what  portion  of  our 
Toyage  was  still  unperformed,  and  in  what  space 
of  time  we  might  hope  to  accomplish  it 

I  had,  still  less  than  herself,  taken  note  of  either 
place  or  distance;  and  could  we  have  been  left  to 
^lide  on  in  this  dream  of  happiness,  should  never 
have  thought  of  pausing  to  ask  where  it  would  end. 
Bat  such  confidence  was  far  too  sacred  to  be  de- 
ceived; and,  reluctant  as  I  naturally  felt,  to  enter 
on  an  inquiry,  which  might  soon  dissipate  even  my 
last  hope,  her  wish  was  sufficient  to  supersede  even 
the  selfishness  of  love,  and  on  the  instant  I  pro- 
ceeded to  obey  her  will 

There  stands  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Nile,  to 
the  north  of  Antinoc,  a  high  and  steep  rock,  im- 
pending over  the  flood,  which  has  borne,  for  ages, 
Arom  a  prodigy  connected  with  it,  the  name  of  the 
Mountain  of  the  Birds.  Yearly,  it  is  said,  at  a 
certain  season  and  hour,  large  flocks  of  birds 
assemble  in  the  ravine,  of  which  this  rocky  moun- 
tain forms  one  of  the  sides,  and  are  there  observed 
to  go  through  the  mysterious  ceremony  of  inserting 
each  its  bedc  into  a  particular  cleft  of  the  rock,  till 
the  cleft  closes  upon  one  of  their  number,  when  all 
the  rest  of  the  birds  take  wing,  and  leave  the 
selected  victim  to  die. 

Through  the  ravine,  rendered  famous  by  this 


1  The  Toygw  on  the  Nile  are,  under  fltvonrable  dreumitaiioei, 
peribnned  with  considerable  rapidity.  "  En  einq  on  riz  Joun."  Mjre 
Miatttet^** an  ponrroU  ai«<^ment  remontcr  de  r«mhouchure  da  Nil  4 
•M  caterartM,  oa  deeoendre  des  eataraelM  JaaQa'4  la  iner."   TIm 


charm — for  such  the  multitude  consider  it— 
there  ran,  in  ancient  times,  a  canal  from  the  Nile, 
to  some  great  and  forgotten  city,  now  buried  in  the 
desert  To  a  short  distance  from  the  river  this 
canal  still  exists,  but,  after  having  passed  through 
the  defile,  its  scanty  waters  disappear,  and  are 
wholly  lost  under  the  sands. 

It  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  place,  as  I 
could  collect  from  the  delineations  on  the  leaf — 
where  a  flight  of  birds  represented  the  name  of 
the  mountain  —  that  the  abode  of  the  Solitary,  to 
whom  Alethe  was  about  to  consign  herself,  was 
situated.  Little  as  I  knew  of  the  geography  of 
Egypt,  it  at  once  struck  me,  that  we  had  long 
since  left  this  mountain  behind*;  and,  on  inquir- 
ing of  our  boatmen,  I  found  my  conjecture  con- 
firmed. We  had,  indeed,  passed  it  on  the 
preceding  night;  and,  as  the  wind  had  been,  ever 
since,  blowing  strongly  from  the  north,  and  the 
sun  was  already  sinking  towards  the  horizon,  we 
must  be  now,  at  least  a  day's  sail  to  the  southward 
of  the  spot. 

This  discovery,  I  confess,  filled  my  heart  with 
a  feeling  of  joy  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  con- 
ceaL  It  seemed  as  if  fortune  was  conspiring  with 
love  in  my  behalf,  and,  by  thus  delaying  the 
moment  of  our  separation,  afforded  mc  a  chance 
at  least  of  happiness.  Her  look  and  manner,  too, 
when  informed  of  our  mistake,  rather  encouraged 
than  chilled  this  secret  hope.  In  the  first  moment 
of  astonishment  her  eyes  opened  upon  me  with  a 
suddenness  of  splendour,  under  which  I  felt  my 
own  wink  as  though  lightning  had  crossed  them. 
But  she  again,  as  suddenly,  let  their  lids  fall,  and, 
after  a  quiver  of  her  lip,  which  showed  the  con- 
flict of  feeling  then  going  on  within,  crossed  her 
arms  upon  her  bosom,  and  looked  down  silently 
upon  the  deck;  her  whole  countenance  sinking 
into  an  expression,  sad,  but  resigned,  as  if  she 
now  felt  that  fate  was  on  the  side  of  wrong,  and 
saw  Love  already  stealing  between  her  soiU  and 
heaven. 

I  was  not  slow,  of  course,  in  availing  myself  of 
what  I  fancied  to  be  the  irresolution  of  her  mind. 
But,  still,  fearful  of  exciting  alarm  by  any  appeal 
to  feelings  of  regard  or  tenderness,  I  but  addressed 
myself  to  her  imagination,  and  to  that  love  ol 
novelty  and  wonders,  which  is  ever  ready  to  be 
awakened  within  the  youthful  breast.  We  were 
now  approaching  that  region  of  miracles,  Thebes. 
"In  a  day  or  two,"  said  I,  "we  shall  see,  tower- 
ing above  the  waters,  the  colossal  Avenue  of 
Sphinxes,  and  the  bright  Obelisks  of  the  Sun. 
We  shall  visit  the  plain  of  Menmon,  and  behold 


great  nnoertalnty  of  the  naTiiration  ii  prorcd  by  what  Belmmi  teDi 
m:  — **  Nont  ne  mimea  cctte  foit  que  deux  joara  et  demi  pour  fkin 
le  trajet  da  Caire  4  Melawi,  anqntl,  dam  notrt  MoondToaracttiioai 
ATiooa  amployte  diz-hoit  Jonrt.'* 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


707 


and  eren  affectionate,  miresenre  of  her  manner, 
while  it  rendered  mj  trust  more  sacred,  made  it 
also  far  more  difficult. 

It  was  onlj,  however,  npon  subjects  unconnected 
with  our  situation  or  fate,  that  she  yielded  to  such 
interchange  of  thought,  or  that  her  voice  ventured 
to  answer  mine.  The  moment  I  alluded  to  the 
destiny  that  awaited  us,  all  her  cheerfulness  fled, 
and  she  became  saddened  and  silent.  When  I  de- 
scribed to  her  the  beauty  of  my  own  native  land — 
its  founts  of  inspiration  and  fields  of  glory  — her 
eyes  sparkled  with  sympathy,  and  sometimes  even 
softened  into  fondness.  But  when  I  ventured  to 
whisper,  that,  in  that  glorious  country,  a  life  full  of 
love  and  Uberty  awaited  her ;  when  I  proceeded  to 
contrast  the  adoration  and  bliss  she  might  command, 
with  the  gloomy  austerities  of  the  life  to  which  she 
was  hastening — it  was  like  the  coming  of  a  sudden 
cloud  over  a  summer  sky.  Her  head  sunk,  as  she 
listened; — I  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer;  and 
when,  half  playfully  reproaching  her  for  this  si- 
lence, I  stooped  to  take  her  hand,  I  could  feel  the 
warm  tears  fast  falling  over  it. 

But  even  this — feeble  as  was  the  hope  it  held 
out — was  still  a  glimpse  of  happiness.  Though  it 
foreboded  that  I  should  lose  her,  it  also  whispered 
that  I  was  loved.  Like  that  lake,  in  the  land  of 
Hoses  S  whose  waters  are  half  sweet,  half  bitter' 
I  felt  my  fate  to  be  a  compound  of  bliss  and  pain 
—  bat  its  very  pain  well  worth  all  ordinary  bUss. 

And  thus  did  the  hours  of  that  night  pass  along ; 
while  every  moment  shortened  our  happy  dream, 
fcnd  the  current  seemed  to  flow  with  a  swifter  pace 
iian  any  that  ever  yet  hurried  to  the  sea.  Not  a 
feature  of  the  whole  scene  but  lives,  at  this  moment, 
freshly  in  my  memory  ; — the  broken  starlight  on 
^he  water; — the  rippling  sound  of  the  boat,  as, 
without  oar  or  sail,  it  went,  like  a  thing  of  enchant- 
meat,  down  the  stream;  —  the  scented  fire,  burning 
t>eside  us  upon  the  deck,  and  then  that  face,  on 
which  its  light  fell,  revealing,  at  every  moment, 
lome  new  charm — some  blush  or  look,  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  last ! 

Often,  while  I  sat  gazing,  forgetful  of  all  else 
in  this  world,  our  boat,  left  wholly  to  itself,  would 
drive  firom  its  course,  and  bearing  us  away  to  the 
bank,  get  entangled  in  the  water  flowers,  or  be 
canght  in  some  eddy,  ere  I  perceived  where  we 
were.  Once,  too,  when  the  rustling  of  my  oar 
among  the  flowers  had  startled  away  from  the 
bank  some  wild  antelopes,  that  had  stolen,  at  that 
still  hour,  to  drink  of  the  Nile,  what  an  emblem 
did  I  think  it  of  the  young  heart  then  beside  me^ — 
tasting,  for  the  first  time,  of  hope  and  love,  and  so 
soon,  alas,  to  be  scared  from  their  sweetness  for 
ever! 


1  TiMproTlooeof  AndnoV.DOwFlomn.  *  Pai(l£«ea«. 

s  Tbcrt  hM  been  mndi  oootrortrqr  amonf  Um  AxtbUn  writnt. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  night  was  now  far  advanced  —  the  bend  of 
our  course  towards  the  left,  and  the  closing  in  of 
the  eastern  hills  upon  the  river,  gave  warning  of 
our  approach  to  the  hermit's  dwelling.  Every 
minute  now  appeared  like  the  last  of  existence ; 
and  I  felt  a  sinking  of  despair  at  my  heart,  which 
would  have  been  intolerable,  had  not  a  resolution 
that  suddenly,  and  as  if  by  inspiration,  occurred  to 
me,  presented  a  glimpse  of  hope,  which,  in  some 
degree,  calmed  my  feelings. 

Much  as  I  had,  all  my  life,  despised  hypocrisy — 
the  very  sect  I  had  embraced  being  chiefly  recom- 
mended to  me  by  the  war  they  continued  to  wage 
upon  the  cant  of  all  others — it  was,  nevertheless, 
in  hypocrisy  that  I  now  scrupled  not  to  take  refuge 
from  that  calamity  which  to  me  was  far  worse  than 
either  shame  or  death,  my  separation  from  Alethe. 
In  my  despair,  I  adopted  the  humiliating  plan  — 
deeply  humiliating  as  I  felt  it  to  be,  even  amid  the 
joy  with  which  I  welcomed  it — of  offering  myself 
to  this  hermit,  as  a  convert  tb  his  faith,  and  thus 
becoming  the  fellow-disciple  of  Alethe  under  his 
care! 

From  the  moment  I  resolved  upon  this  plan  my 
spirit  felt  lightened.  Though  having  fully  before 
my  eyes  the  mean  labyrinth  of  imposture  into 
which  it  would  lead  me,  I  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  chance  of  our  continuing  still  together.  In 
this  hope,  all  pride,  all  philosophy,  was  forgotten, 
and  everything  seemed  tolerable,  but  the  prospect 
of  losing  her. 

Thus  resolved,  it  was  with  somewhat  less  reluc- 
tant feelings  that  I  now  undertook,  at  the  anxious 
desire  of  my  companion,  to  ascertain  the  site  of 
that  well-known  mountain  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  which  the  anchoret's  dwelling  lay.  We  had 
already  passed  one  or  two  stupendous  rocks,  which 
stood,  detached,  like  fortresses,  over  the  river's 
brink,  and  which  in  some  degree  corresponded  with 
the  description  on  the  leaf.  So  little  was  there  of 
life  now  stirring  along  the  shores,  that  I  had  begun 
almost  to  despair  of  any  assistance  from  inquiry, 
when,  on  looking  to  the  western  bank,  I  saw  a 
boatman  among  the  sedges,  towing  his  small  boat, 
with  some  difficulty,  up  the  current.  Hailing  him 
as  we  passed,  I  asked, — **  Where  stands  the  Moun- 
tain of  the  Birds^  ?  "  — and  he  had  hardly  time,  as 
he  pointed  above  us,  to  answer  **  There,"  when  we 
perceived  that  we  were  just  then  entering  into  the 
shadow,  which  this  mighty  rock  flings  across  the 
whole  of  the  flood. 

In  a  few  moments  we  had  reached  the  mouth  of 
the  ravine,  of  which  the  Mountain  of  the  Birds 


wfth  TMpect  to  the  ilt«  of  thii  moaiitain,  ftv  which 
torn.  L  art.  jimoim. 


J^^^^^^l 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

he  Bidet:,  and  t!irout;h  which  the 
ax  the  Nile  fliia-i.     At  (he  sight  of 
1,  H-Hhin  some  of  whoM  dreary  re- 
id  righllv  interpreted  ihe  leafi  the 
'-ilitarj  was  to  be  fonnd,  our  voice* 
iiiu  n  lav  whisper,  while   Aletbo 
mo  with  a  look  of  awn  and  cjigcr- 
fid  whether  I  had  not  olread}-  dii- 
her  side.     A  quick  moTement. 
hiuid  towards  the  raviDe,  lold  too 
parpoBC  was  atill  unchanged.    Im- 
Ling,  therefore,  with  my  oars,  the 
«.M,  I  Buo^dud,  sfVer  no   emaU 
tiing  it  out  of  the  (current  of  ihu 
iiig  iDto  this  bleak  and  stagnant 

n  from  life  and  bloom  to  the  yeiy 
tion  was  immcdiWc     While  the 
Bide  of  the  ravine  lay  buried  in 
le  skeleton-like  crat-a  of  the  other 

through  which  we  monsl  yielded 
Mir.  and  the  shnek  of  a  few  water- 
hftJ  roused  from  their  fiwlnesNM, 
y  a  silence,  so  dead  and  nwful,  that 
afraid  to  disturb  it  by  a  br^nth  ; 
red  exchiinatiuns,  "  How  ilrcary  1 " 
1  '■  —  were  almost  the  onlj  words 

bost-fire  shone  n|»n  her  face.     1  mw 

npon  me  with  the  same  lenderaesa,  and  - 

on  the  point  of  bending  down  my  lips  towi 
when,  snddenly,  in  the  ail  abore  us,  ai  i 
direct  from  heaven,  there  butxt  forth  • 
choral  music,  that  with  iti  solemn  sweeti 
the  whole  viktley. 

Breaking  away  from  my  caress  at  ibe 
natnral  Bounds,  the  mudcn  threw  henelT  1 
upon  her  knees,  and,  not  daring  to  hx>) 
claimed  wildly.  "  My  mother,  oh  my  mot 

It  was  Ihe  Christhin's  morning  hymn 
heard ;  —  the  same,  as  I  learned  afivrwanb 
ihoir  high  terrace  at  Memjihi*,  she  had  be- 
by  h«r  mother  to  iing  to  the  ribing  «">■ 

Scarcely  less  startled  than  ray  comj 
looked  uji.  and  saw,  at  Ihe  very  snmm 
rock  uhore  us.  a  light,  appearing  to  com 
situill  opening  oi  window,  through  whi 
•oundi  likewise,  that  had  appeorrd  to  m 

we  had  now  found— if  not  the  dwellin 
anchurct— nt  k-ast,  the  haunt   of  som. 
Christian    hrothcrho;,d  of  thew  roi-ks,  t 

Th,.'  n.-lcr;,,,,.    1,111,    „1,„-),      Al^thi.    h 

■ 

THE  EPICUBEAN. 


709 


grottos*  into  some  of  which,  hanuui  hdngs  might 
ind  an  entrance ;  idiile  others  appeared  of  no 
larger  dimensions  than  those  tombs  of  the  Sacred 
Buds  which  are  seen  ranged  aronnd  Lake  Moeris. 
I  was  still,  I  foond,  but  half-waj  np  the  ascent, 
nor  was  thm  visible  any  further  means  of  con- 
tiniiing  my  coarse,  as  the  mountain  from  hence 
rose,  almost  perpendicnlarlj,  like  a  wall  At 
length,  howerer,  on  exploring  more  closelj,  I  dis- 
oo^^red  behind  the  shade  of  a  fi^-tree  a  large 
ladder  of  wood,  resting  firmlj  against  the  rock, 
and  affording  an  easy  and  safe  ascent  np  the  steep. 
Haring  ascertaihed  thus  far,  I  again  descended 
to  the  bMt  for  Alcthe,  whom  I  found  trembling 
already  at  her  short  solitude ;  and  having  led  her 
np  tke  stairway  to  this  quiet  garden,  left  her  lodged 
then  securely,  amid  its  holy  science,  while  I  pur- 
•ned  my  way  upward  to  the  light  upon  the  rock. 
At  the  top  of  the  long  ladder  I  found  myself  on 
another  ledge  or  platfbnn,  somewhat  smaller  than 
the  first,  butphmted  in  the  same  manner,  with  trees, 
and,  as  I  could  perceire  by  the  mingled  light  of 
morning  and  the  moon,  embellished  with  flowers. 
I  was  DOW  near  the  summit ;  — there  remained  but 
■Dodier  short  ascent,  and,  as  a  ladder  against  the 
rock  supplied,  as  before,  the  means  of  scaling  it, 
I  wna  in  a  ftw  minutes  at  the  opening  from  which 
the  light  issued. 

I  had  ascended  gently,  as  well  from  a  feeling  of 
twe  at  the  whole  scene,  as  from  an  unwillingness 
to  disturb  rudely  the  rites  on  which  I  intruded. 
Ify  mpi»t)ach,  therefore,  being  unheard,  an  oppor- 
taantj  was,  for  some  moments,  afforded  me  of  oh- 
Selling  the  group  within,  before  my  appearance  at 
the  window  was  discovered. 

In  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  which  seemed 
to  Imve  been  once  a  Pagan  oratory,  there  was  col- 
lected an  assembly  of  a^ut  seven  or  eight  persons, 
90016  male,  some  female,  ^neeliog  in  silence  round 
m  small  altar; — while,  among  them,  as  if  presiding 
fyrer  their  solemn  ceremony,  stood  an  aged  man, 
^vbo^  at  the  moment  of  my  arrival,  was  presenting 
to  one  of  the  female  worshippers  an  alabaster  cup, 
which  she  applied,  with  profound  reverence,  to 
Ups.    TIm   venerable    countenance    of  the 
r,  as  he  pronounced  a  short  prayer  over  her 
wore  an  expression  of  profound  feeling  that 
ri»owed  how  wholly  he  was  absorbed  in  that  rite; 
and  when  she  had  drunk  of  the  cup — which  I  saw 
liad  engraven  on  its  side  the  image  of  a  head', 
with  a  glory  round  it — the  holy  man  bent  down 
and  kissed  her  forehead.' 

After  this  parting  salutation,  the  whole  group 


>  Tim*  «M  WMUy,  Ttrtmttkm  tell*  m,  the  lmiff«  of  Chiift  oa 
Sit  MBBBmnloii-dips. 

*  **  W«  «•  irntlwr  (UapoMd  to  inftr.**  tayi  the  late  JNakop  qf 
XiMoIa,  in  bli  very  icarible  work  <m  TertuIIiaa,  **  that,  at  the  eon* 
I  of  all  their  meeting*  for  the  pnrpoae  of  derotloo,  the  cady 


rose  silently  from  their  knees;  and  it  was  then,  for 
the  first  time,  that,  by  a  ciy  of  terror  from  one  of 
the  women,  the  appearance  of  a  stranger  at  the 
window  was  discovered.  The  whole  assembly 
seemed  startled  and  alarmed,  except  him,  that 
superior  person,  who,  advancing  from  the  altar, 
with  an  unmoved  look,  raised  the  latch  of  the  door 
adjoining  to  the  window,  and  admitted  me. 

There  was,  in  this  old  man's  features,  a  mixture 
of  elevation  and  sweetness,  of  simplicity  and  energy, 
which  commanded  at  once  attachment  and  homage ; 
and  half  hoping,  half  fearing,  to  find  in  him  the 
destined  guardian  of  Alethe,  I  looked  anxiously  in 
his  face,  as  I  entered,  and  pronounced  the  name 
**Melanius!  " — **Melanius  is  my  name,  young 
stranger,"  he  answered;  **and  whether  in  nriend- 
ship  or  in  enmity  thou  comest,  Melanius  blesses 
thcw."  Thus  saying,  he  made  a  sign  with  his 
right  hand  above  my  head,  while,  with  involuntary 
respect,  I  bowed  beneath  the  benediction. 

**  Let  this  volume,"  I  replied,  **  answer  for  the 
peacefnlness  of  my  mission  " — at  the  same  time 
placing  in  his  hands  the  copy  of  the  Scriptures 
which  had  been  his  own  gift  to  the  mother  of 
Alethe,  and  which  her  child  now  brought  as  the 
credential  of  her  claims  on  his  protection.  At  the 
sight  of  this  sacred  pledge,  which  he  instantly 
recognised,  the  solenmity  that  had  at  first  marked 
his  reception  of  me  softened  into  tenderness. 
Thoughts  of  other  times  appeared  to  pass  through 
his  mind;  and  as,  with  a  sigh  of  recollection,  he 
took  the  book  from  my  hands,  some  words  on  the 
outer  leaf  caught  his  eye.  They  were  few — but 
contained,  most  probably,  the  last  wishes  of  the 
dying  Theora;  for,  as  he  read  them  over  eagerly, 
I  saw  tears  in  his  aged  eyes.  *'The  trust,*' he 
said,  with  a  faltering  voice,  **  is  precious  and  sacred, 
and  Grod  will  enable,  I  hope,  his  servant  to  guard 
it  faithfhUy." 

During  this  short  dialogue,  the  other  persons  of 
the  assembly  had  departed— being,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  brethren  from  the  neighbouring  bank  of 
the  Nile,  who  came  thus  secretly  before  daybreak', 
to  join  in  worshipping  their  Gk>d.  Fearful  lest 
their  descent  down  the  rock  might  alarm  Alethe, 
I  hurried  briefly  over  the  few  words  of  explanation 
that  remained,  and  leaving  the  venerable  Christian 
to  follow  at  his  leisure,  hastened  anxiously  down 
to  rejoin  the  young  maiden. 


ChrleCiaiia  vera  aeeaatoncd  to  irlve  the  ld«  at  peaoe,in  token  of 
the  brotherly  lore  labrfstlnir  between  them.** 

*  It  waa  amonff  the  aocniatlona  of  Cttmu  againat  the  C3irlatiaiH« 
that  they  held  their  a«embUes  priTaiely.  end  oontrary  to  law  i  and 
one  of  the  apeakcra,  in  the  enrloaiwork  of  Jr<MieiwAUs,eaUa 
the  Chriatiana  **  latebroea  ct  ladftvu  natto.** 

SF 


^^^^^^^^^^ 

I^^^^^^^H^BIH^^^^^H 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

IXVL 

Aral  of  thoM  icalons 
ullowme  iJie  recent  bx- 
l.arli-  furovrell  to  all  Ihti 

.,  ,.1  l.'r..f.k  theniMlves 
'  .'   <l^rt.      Leu 

■  ■    .'.'    vM,rU  inleuTinK 
-u,i.^n.  loUvewhoUv 
un  to  Imrnan  kind  »■« 
.■in.  HDd  ibal  even  hit 
llie  ad  Tan  tage  of  nthere. 

KB  himself  beyonil  the 
liiit   selocled   B  retreat 
the  udvantBgD)  of  >ali- 
es  of  being  useful  w  his 
bourbood  to  iheir  popu- 

nherit  from  lW\r  Elh<- 
olioBitifr  oul  all  Egy)il 

■■  .-  „f 

..■■(I.L. 

of  the  rich  dtr,  Anlinoe',  Ihoogh  he  mingled  no 
with  its  multitude,  hi>  name  and  his  fane  >er 
ever  among  them,  and.  to  all  who  Fought  aftn  in 

habits,  he  was  yp(  carcfiil  lo  provide  for  the  to* 
ftirtB  ofothors.    Ck>nt4:nt  with  a  rude  pallet  of  How 
hinuclf,  ho  had  always    for  the  smmger  a  kti 
homely  restiag-placo.     From  his  grotto,  the  *»>■ 

and,  idth  the  aid  of  wtoe  of  hi«  brethren,  he  faid 

which  gave  an  air  of  Ufe  and  eheeifnlnew  to  hi. 
rocky  dwolUng,  and  .n|,p1ied  him  with  the  ehiti 
necesasrios  of  sueh  a  climate— fruit  and  iadt 

Thongtj  the  a.-quaintflnce  he  bad  forronl  via 
the  mother  of  AUihc,  dnring  the  short  peiiod  K 
her  ntleadance  at  the  school  of  Ori^ni.  '**'  um 

iotcreit  which  he  had  then  token  in  her  fttt  ini 
far  too  lirelj  to  be  tbrgotien.     He  bad  Ktn  thi 
Knl  with  which  her  young  heart  -nelcomed  ii. 
Btnictioni  and  the  thought  that  so  pronuHnj  i 

over  his  mind. 

It  was.  therefore,  with  true  pleasuri;.  tli«t.  boi  a 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


711 


The  full  light  of  day  had  now  risen  upon  the 
desert,  and  our  host,  reminded,  by  the  faint  looks 
of  Alethe,  of  the  many  anxious  hours  we  had 
passed  without  sleep,  proposed  that  we  should 
seek,  in  the  chambers  of  the  rock,  such  rest  as  a 
hermit  8  dwelling  could  offer.  Pointing  to  one  of 
the  largest  of  these  openings,  as  he  addressed 
me — ^Thon  wilt  find,"  he  said,  **in  that  grotto 
a  bed  of  fresh  donm  leaves,  and  may  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  protected  the  orphan  sweeten 
thy  sleep!" 

I  felt  how  dearly  this  praise  had  been  earned, 
and  ahneady  almost  repented  of  having  deserved 
it.  There  was  a  sadne«s  in  the  countenance  of 
Alethe,  as  I  took  leave  of  her,  to  which  the  fore- 
bodings  of  my  own  heart  but  too  faithfully  re- 
sponded; nor  could  I  help  fearing,  as  her  hand 
parted  Ungeringly  from  mine,  that  I  had,  by  this 
sacrifice,  placed  her  beyond  my  reach  for  ever. 

Having  lighted  for  me  a  lamp,  which,  in  these 
recesses,  even  at  noon,  is  necessary,  the  holy  man 
led  me  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto.     And  here, 
I  blush  to  say,  my  career  of  hypocrisy  begau. 
With  the  sole  view  of  obtaining  another  glance 
It  Alethe,  I  turned  hmnbly  to  solicit  the  benedic- 
tion of  the  Christian,  and,  having  conveyed  to  her, 
while  bending  reverently  down,  as  much  of  the 
deep  feeling  of  mysoul  as  looks  could  express,  I  then, 
with  a  desponding  spirit,  hurried  into  the  cavern. 
A  short  passage  led  me  to  the  chamber  within — 
tiia  walls  of  which  I  found  covered,  like  those  of 
tlie  grottos  of  Lycopolis,  with  paintings,  which, 
though  executed  long  ages  ago,  looked  as  fresh  as 
If  their  colours  were  but  laid  on  yesterday.    They 
"Were,  all  of  them,  representations  of  rural  and 
doDDestic  scenes;  and,  in  the  greater  number,  the 
snelnncholy  inuigination  of  the  artist  had  caUed  in, 
as  usual,  the  presence  of  Death,  to  throw  his  shadow 
the  picture. 
My  attention  was  particularly  drawn  to  one 
of  subjects,  throughout  the  whole  of  which 
the  same  group — consisting  of  a  youth,  a  maiden, 
and  two  aged  persons,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
iSither  and  mother  of  the  girl — were  represented 
In  all  the  details  of  their  daily  life.     The  looks 
and  attitudes  of  the  young  people  denoted  that 
tbey  were  lovers;  and,  sometimes,  they  were  seen 
mtdng  under  a  canopy  of  flowers,  with  their  ejes 
fixed  on  each  other's  faces,  as  though  they  could 
nerer  look  away;  sometimes,  they  appeared  walk- 
ing along  the  banks  of  the  Nile, — 

on  (»•  of  those  0weet  nighU 

Wlicn  lab,  the  pure  itar  of  loven  Mights 

Her  bridal  creaoent  o'er  the  holy  itream  — 

When  w«iiderfaig  jroatht  and  maident  watch  her  beam. 

And  nmnber  o>r  the  nlghtt  the  hath  to  run. 

Krc  she  again  embraoe  her  bridegroom  ton.z 


1  Tide  PfMfOBndk.  <fe /fid. 

'  **  CoQjnnctio  eoUs  com  Inna,  gnod  eat  Telnti  ntrioaqiN  eooav- 


Through  all  these  scenes  of  endearment  the  two 
elder  persons  stood  by; — their  calm  countenances 
touched  with  a  share  of  that  bliss,  in  whose  perfect 
light  the  young  lovers  were  basking.  Thus  far, 
all  was  happiness; — but  the  sad  lesson  of  mortality 
was  yet  to  come.  In  the  last  picture  of  the  series, 
one  of  the  figures  was  missing.  It  was  that  of  the 
young  maiden,  who  had  disappeared  from  among 
them.  On  the  brink  of  a  dark  lake  stood  the 
three  who  remained;  while  a  boat,  just  departing 
for  the  City  of  the  Dead,  told  too  plainly  ^e  end 
of  their  dream  of  happiness. 

This  memorial  of  a  sorrow  of  other  times — of  a 
sorrow,  ancient  as  death  itself — was  not  wanting 
to  deepen  the  melancholy  of  my  mind,  or  to  add 
to  the  weight  of  the  many  bodings  that  pressed 
upon  it. 

After  a  night,  as  it  seemed,,  of  anxious  and  un- 
sleeping thought,  I  rose  from  my  bed  and  returned 
to  the  garden.  I  found  the  Christian  alone  — 
seated,  under  the  shade  of  one  of  his  trees^  at  a 
small  table,  on  which  there  lay  a  volume  unrolled, 
while  a  beautiful  antelope  was  sleeping  at  his  feet. 
Struck  by  the  contrast  which  he  presented  to  those 
haughty  priests,  whom  I  had.  seen  surrounded  by 
the  pomp  and  gorgeousness  of  temples,  ^  Is  this 
then,"  thought  I,  **the  faith  before  which  the 
world  now  trembles  —  its  temple  the  desert,  its 
treasury  a  book,  and  its  High  Priest  the  solitary 
dweller  of  the  rock?  *' 

He  had  prepared  for  roe  a  simple,  but  hospitable 
re])aj:t,  of  which  fruits  from  his  own  garden,,  the 
white  bread  of  Olyra,  and  the  juice  of  the  honey- 
cane,  formed  the  most  costly  luxuries.  His  man- 
ner to  me  was  even  more  cordial  and  fatherly  than 
before;  but  the  absence  of  Alethe,  and,  still  more, 
the  ominous  reserve,  with  which  he  not  only,  him- 
self, refrained  from  all  mention  of  her  name,  but 
eluded  the  few  inquiries,  by  which  I  sought  to  lead 
to  it,  seemed  to  confirm  all  the  apprehensions  I 
had  felt  in  parting  fix)m  her. 

She  had  acquainted  him.  it  was  evident,  with 
the  whole  history  of  our  flight.  My  reputation  as 
a  philosopher — my  desire  to  become  a  Christian 
— all  was  already  known  to  the  zealous  anchoret, 
and  the  subject  of  my  conversion  was  the  very 
first  on  which  he  entered.  Oh,  pride  of  philoso- 
phy, how  wert  thou  then  humbled,  and  with  what 
sliame  did  I  stand  in  the  presence  of  that  vene- 
rable man,  not  daring  to  let  my  eyes  encounter 
his,  while,  with  unhesitating  tmst  in  the  sincerity 
of  my  intention,  ho  welcomed  me  to  a  participation 
of  his  holy  hope,  and  imprinted  the  Kiss  of  Charity 
on  my  infidel  brow ! 

Embarrassed  as  I  could  not  but  feel  by  the  hu- 
miliating consciousness  of  hypocrisy,  I  was  even 
still  more  perplexed  by  my  almost  total  ignorance 
of  the  real  tenets  of  the  faith  to  which  I  professed 
myself  a  convert.    Abashed  and  confused,  and 

3f  8 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


B  own  deceit.  I  listened  to 

aqiiciit  grniuliiliona    of  Iha 

I  lliijuch  they  were  worda  in  b  dream. 

ink  ur  meaningi  nor  could  dis);ai!>c 

Dckery  of  a.  revcrenl  bow,   at  eyerf 

«1  wane  of  BclT-jKieieuioii,  and  erea 

pder  which  I  laboared, 

uch  irinl.  and  I  miut 
Bl  iiij  imposture.    Bni  the  holy  man 

-  .-    — and,  whctlier  nii»- 

il  to  be  ignorance, 

I   from  uij  [icrplesily  bj,   al   oncei, 

le  theme.     Kavini;  gonllj  Awakened 

llVom  it9  sleep,  "  Yon  hare  donbtleie," 

lard  of  my  brolhcr-anchoret,  Paul, 

!ave  in  the  marble  monntalus,  near 

sends  hoorl}'  the  blessed  '  sacritlee 

5  '  to  heaien.     Of  Ai'«  walks,  lliey 

is  the  companion ' ;  but,  for  me,"  he 

li  plavfol  and  signiflcant  smile,  "who 

n  of  taming  bat  on  the  gentler  atii- 

■  le  child  of  ihc  desert  is  a  far  finer 

'hen,  taking  his  xcaO*,  and  pntling 

I  volume  which  he  had  been  penuiiif 

nch.  that  huiiij  by  hi: 


[I  he.  ■ 

.t  thou  mnycs 


t  lh\.e 


|J«E  tastes,  between  the  liTing  lasor 
world  on  one  (idc.  and  the  dead,  pub 
of  the  desert  on  the  other.  When  n 
the  river,  what  a  pictBre  oT  animatu 
itself!  Near  ns  to  the  •oolh.  were 
colonnade!  of  Antinoc.  \u  proud,  popi 


On    I 


shore,  rich  plains,  all  teeming  with  c 
Ihe  water's  edge,  seemed  lo  otTer  up.  i 
doBt  altars,  their  truits  to  the  sun;  wl 
US,  the  Nile 


From  this  aeene,  on  one  side  of  the  n 
bad  but  to  turn  round  our  eyes  lo  Ih 
it  was  as  if  Nature  herself  had  becoi 
extinct;  —  a  wide  waste  of  sands,  blei 
rainable,  wearying  oat  the  sua  with 
of  desolation ;  —  black,  bumt-ap  rock) 
as  barriers,  at  which  life  stopped; 
only  signs  of  animation,  past  or  pre«i 
footprints,  here  nnd  there,  of  an  antclu 
or  the  bones  of  dcmi  caniels.  as  tbey  I 
at  a  distance,  marking  out  the  track  of 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


713 


B  region  around,  to  which  light  only  lent 
d  horror.  The  dead  whiteness  of  the  rocks, 
tood,  like  ghosts,  in  the  sunshine; — that 
)l7  pool,  half  lost  in  the  sands; — all  gave 
nd  the  idea  of  a  wasting  world.  To  dwell 
e  so  desolate  seemed  to  me  a  living  death ; 
Q  the  Christian,  as  we  entered  the  cave, 
[ere  is  to  be  thy  home,*'  prepared  as  I  had 
the  worst,  all  my  resolution  gave  way; — 
tling  of  disappointed  passion  and  humbled 
lich  had  been  gathering  round  my  heart 
ist  few  hours,  found  a  vent  at  once,  and  I 

0  tears. 

tomed  to  human  weakness,  and  perhaps 
at  some  of  the  sources  of  mine,  the  good 
without  appearing  to  take  any  notice  of 
tion,  proceeded  to  expatiate,  with  a  checr- 
>n,  what  he  called,  the  comforts  of  my 
.  Sheltered  from  the  dry,  burning  wind 
uth,  my  porch  would  inhale,  he  said,  the 
eeze  of  the  Dog-star.  Fruits  from  his 
nntain-garden  should  furnish  my  repast. 

1  of  the  neighbouring  rock  would  supply 
rage;  and,  "here,"  he  continued — lower- 
roice  into  a  more  solemn  tone,  as  he  placed 
i  table  the  volume  which  he  had  brought 
t,  my  son,  is  that  *  well  of  living  waters,' 
1  alone  thou  wilt  find  lasting  refreshment 

I  "  Thus  saying,  he  descended  the  rock 
oat ;  and,  after  a  few  plashes  of  his  oar 
1  upon  my  ear,  the  solitude  and  silence 
^ed  around  me  was  complete. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

I  fate  was  mine  I — but  a  few  weeks  since, 
g  over  that  gay  Festival  of  the  Garden, 
the  luxuries  of  existence  tributary  in  my 
nd  now — self-humbled  into  a  solitary  out- 
ic  hjrpocritical  pupil  of  a  Christian  an- 
-without  even  the  excuse  of  religious 
nn,  or  any  other  madness,  but  that  of  love, 
re,  to  extenuate  my  fall !  Were  there  a 
it,  by  this  humiliating  waste  of  existence, 
t  purchase  now  and  then  a  momentary 
of  Alethe,  even  the  depths  of  the  desert, 
!h  a  chance,  would  be  welcome.  But  to 
ad  live  thus — without  her,  was  a  misery 
neither  foresaw  nor  could  endure. 


f  dMM  k  (Wstrt  dea  hiroodellM  d*iiii  gti»  dair 
■qnel  elks  rolent.**  —  Daton, 


idlnf  to  Whkton'i  ide*  of  a  «oiii«t  hATlnc  CMued 
Oirwrd,h»,'riog  remarked  that tha  word  Tjrphoo 
■dda,  **0b  na  pant  catandra  par  la  taoM  da 


tha 


da 


Hating  even  to  look  upon  the  den  to  which  I 
was  doomed,  I  hurried  out  into  the  air,  and  found 
my  way,  along  the  rocks,  to  the  desert  The  sun 
was  going  down,  with  that  blood-red  hue,  which 
he  so  often  weacs,  in  this  climate,  at  his  setting. 
I  sa^ibthe  sands,  stretching  out,  like  a  sea  to  t^ 
horizon,  as  if  their  waste  extended  to  the  very 
verge  of  the  world  —  and,  in  the  bitterness  of  my 
feehngs,  rejoiced  to  see  so  large  a  portion  of  crea- 
tion rescued,  even  by  this  bairen  hbcrty,  from  the 
encroaching  grasp  of  man.  The  thought  seemed 
to  relieve  my  wounded  pride,  and,  as  I  wandered 
over  the  dim  and  boundless  solitude,  to  be  thus 
free,  even  amidst  blight  and  desolation,  appeared 
to  me  a  blessing. 

The  only  living  thing  I  saw  was  a  restless  swal- 
low, whose  wings  were  of  the  same  hue  with  the 
grey  sands  over  which  he  fluttered.'  **  Why 
(thought  I)  may  not  the  mind,  like  this  bird, 
partake  of  the  colour  of  the  desert,  and  sympathise 
in  its  austerity,  its  freedom,  and  its  calm?  " — thus 
vainly  endeavouring,  between  despondence  and 
defiance,  to  encounter  with  some  degree  of  fbrti* 
tude  what  yet  my  heart  sickened  to  contemplate. 
But  the  efibrt  was  unavailing.  Overcome  by  that 
vast  solitude,  whose  repose  was  not  the  slumber  of 
peace,  but  rather  the  sullen  and  burning  silence  of 
hate,  I  felt  my  spirit  give  way,  and  even  love 
itself  yielded  to  despair. 

Taking  my  seat  on  a  fragment  of  a  rock,  and 
covering  my  eyes  with  my  hands,  I  made  an  effort 
to  shut  out  the  overwhelming  prospect.  But  all 
in  vain — it  was  still  before  me,  with  every  ad- 
ditional horror  that  fancy  could  suggest ;  and 
when,  again  looking  forth,  I  beheld  die  last  red 
ray  of  the  sun,  shooting  across  the  melancholy 
and  lifeless  waste,  it  appeared  to  me  like  the  light 
of  that  comet  which  once  desolated  this  world ', 
and  thus  luridly  shone  out  over  the  ruin  that  it 
had  made  I 

Appalled  by  my  own  gloomy  imaginations,  I 
turned  towards  the  ravine ;  and,  notwithstanding 
the  disgust  with  which  I  had  fled  from  my  dwell- 
ing, was  not  ill  pleased  to  find  my  way,  over  the 
rocks,  to  it  again.  On  approachine  the  cave,  to 
my  astonishment,  I  saw  a  Ught  wiUiin.  At  such 
a  moment,  any  vestige  of  life  was  welcome,  and  I 
hailed  the  unexpected  appearance  with  pleasure. 
On  entering,  however,  I  found  the  chamber  all  as 
lonely  as  I  had  left  it.  The  light  I  had  seen  came 
from  a  lamp  that  burned  brightly  on  the  table ; 
beside  it  was  unfolded  the  volume  which  Melanius 
had  brought,  and  upon  the  open  leaves — oh,  joy 


TrphoB  que  oelci  pendaat  leqnal  k  dAnga  inooda  la  tarre,taiM 
pendant  laqnal  on  dttt  obwrrer  la  oomHe  qni  roocaaionna.  et  dont 
Tapparition  ftit,  non  wolement  poor  let  penplai  da  i'Ecypta,  et  da 
TEthiopk,  mais  encore  pour  toua  peoplei  le  prftage  foncata  de  knr 
dertnictkm  prcMiaa  totala."-  />eacH|rfJoii  df  ia  VaOdt  d»  TBgrnf 

3f  3 


J^ 


^^H 

^^^^^^H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

well-known    cross    of 

n,  coqM  hHre  prepared 
rhc  veiy  thouftht  nent  a  ^ 
v.'hivh  all  deipondeni^y 
ho  desort  was  for^leti,  ' 
brightened  inlo»biWer., 
p,  by  this  SBCTod  memo-  , 
id  pledged  to  her  under  , 
DOW  scrupled  not  lo  ra- 

.;..■   1  •■n.M  fulfil  it.             1 

1  iii.w  found  lobe, 

■    l..prd  Imlhcom- 

,    !         tur  Bvcniiore!" 

;.  t  iippcared  lo  me  1 

1  111;  eyes  from  the  ! 

■.■vlHyanychiirm 
■.iii-i.piiininysonL  ' 
Miiiiphiaa priest-  i 

ii;juri    r.'laiwd  imo  its 
to  tl.«  word  of  "  Life- 
■k  was  "Dentil!-           i 
r.  to  r-ossess  myself  oflhe  1 

Hour  after  hour,  with  the  same  eager  tni  A- 
mllory  curiosily,  did  I  turn  over  the  \ea.ra ;  —tn 
when,  at  length.  1  lay  down  to  rest,  my  hncy  wi 
still  hannted  by  the  unpressions  it  had  niceiTed. 
went  a^n  tlinii'ijh  the  variuiia  scenes  of  whidi 
had  read ;  digaiu  called  up.  io  sleep,  the  brigl 
images  that  had  passed  before  me  ;  aud  irtit 
awakened  at  early  dawn  by  the  aolcnui  Hub 
from  the  chapcU  itnagincd  that  !  wm  slill  littenio 
to  Che  sound  of  the  windii,  eighing  Diaanibl{ 
through  the  harps  of  Drael  on  the  wiUom. 

Starting  from  my  bed,  I  hniried  oal  uponlb 
rock,  with  a  hope  that,  amotig  ibe  tone*  of  ihi 
mominc  choir.  I  might  be  able  lo  distinfiiiiish  <h 
sweet  Toiee  of  Alelhe.  Bnt  the  slmin  had  ceaMd 
—  1  cuiiKhl  only  the  last  notes  of  the  Hnnti.  ■: 
echoing  up  thai  lonely  volley,  they  died  aw»y  iu 
the  silence  of  the  desert. 

With  the  first   glimpse   of  hubt  I  wu  uii 

towards  the  diatant,  half-eeen  erutlos  of  the  An 

of  its  claims  to  authority,  m  a  history,  I  neieruor 
panned  lo  consider.     mV  fonrv  alone  b^ing  iuni 
cstcd  hy  it,  lo  fancy  alone  I  referred  all  ihal  il  <M 
tnincd  :  and.  [lasfine  rapidly  frum  annaL*  lo  jim 

1 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


71 


!    . r 

I    oTcr  the  desert,  and  was  bj  the  side  of  one  of  those 
hollows  in  the  rocli,  those  natural  resenroins  in 

I    which  are  treasared  the  dews  of  night  fur  the  ; 
relreshment  of  the  dwellers  in  the  wilderness. 
Haring  learned  from  me  how  far  I  had  advanced 
in  m J  study — **  In  ronder  light/'  said  he,  pointing 
to  a  small  cloud  in  the  east,  which  had  been  formed 
OD  the  horizon  by  the  haze  of  the  desert,  and  was  | 
now  fiuntly  reflecting  the  splendours  of  sunset  — 
*  in  the  midst  of  that  light  stands  Mount  Sinai,  of 
whose  gloiy  thou  hast  read;  upon  whose  summit 
was  the  scene  of  one  of  those  awful  revelations,  in 
which  the  Almighty  has  renewed  from  time  to  - 
time  his  communication  with  Man,  and  kept  alive  | 
the  remembrance  of  his  own  Providence  in  this 
world." 

After  a  pause,  as  if  absorbed  in  the  immensity  of 
the  subject,  the  holy  man  continued  his  sublime 
theme.  Looking  back  to  the  earliest  annals  of  time, 
he  showed  how  constantly  every  relapse  of  the 
human  race  into  idolatry  has  bieen  followed  by 
some  manifestation  of  Divine  power,  chastening 
the  strong  and  proud  by  punishment,  and  winning 
hack  the  humble  by  love.  It  was  to  presen'c,  he 
said,  unextinguished  upon  earth,  that  great  and 
vital  truth — the  Creation  of  the  world  by  one 
Sapreme  Being — that  God  chose,  from  among  the 
nations,  an  humble  and  enslaved  race — that  he 
loooght  them  out  of  their  captivity  "on  eagles' 
wings,"  and,  still  surrounding  every  step  of  their 
ooiirse  with  miracles,  has  placed  them  before  the 
eres  of  all  succeeding  generations,  as  the  depo- 
sitaries of  his  will  and  the  ever-during  memorials 
of  his  power.* 

Passing,  then,  in  review  the  long  train  of  inspired 
interpreters,  whose  pens  and  whose  tongues  were 
made  the  echoes  of  the  Divine  voice*,  he  traced 
throughout  the  events  of  successive  ages,  the  gra- 
dual onfolding  of  the  dark  scheme  of  l^vidence 
^-darkness  without,  but  all  light  and  glory  within. 
The  glimpses  of  a  coming  redemption,  visible  even 
through  the  wrath  of  Heaven;— the  long  series  of 
innophecy  through  which  this  hope  runs,  burning 
and  alive,  like  a  spark  along  a  chain; — the  slow 
and  merciful  preparation  of  the  hearts  of  mankind 
fat  the  great  trial  of  their  faith  and  obedience  that 
was  at  hand,  not  only  by  miracles  that  appealed  to 
the  living,  but  by  prophecies  launched  into  the 
Ibtnie  to  carry  conviction  to  the  yet  unborn; — 

I  Ite  brtof  ikcteh  hen  cirra  of  the  Jewiab  dJipeoMtioo  acreef 
^fliy  much  with  tht  tIcw  taken  of  it  bj  Dr.  SauiDcr,  in  the  fliat 
Ckapteis  othiM  aloQucnt  worli,  the  **  Record*  of  the  Creation." 

S  I0  tiM  oriirfcid,  tlM  diieoiiraes  of  the  Hermit  are  giTen  modi 
BoraatlcBffth. 

•  **It  ia  impoHtUe  to  deny,"  mf  Dr.  Snmner,**  that  the  eane- 

tkoMstt  thm  Moaalc  Law  are  altucether  tempond. It  ie. 

ladced,  one  of  the  facta  that  can  011 1  y  be  explained  by  ackoowledirinK 
that  lie  really  acted  under  a  Divine  oommlMion,  promulyating  a 
liMporary  law  for  a  peculiar  purptur."  —  a  much  more  candid  and 
^■i4»»»»  way  of  ticatinf  thia  rery  diiHicult  point,  than  by  cither  en- 
iianwiflnf.  inre  Warburtoo,  to  eeeape  ttim  it  Into  a  pamdoat,  or. 


**  through  all  these  glorious  and  beneficent  gnul 
tions  we  may  track,"  said  he,  **  the  manifest  foo 
steps  of  a  Creator,  advancing  to  his  grand,  ultima 
end,  the  salvation  of  his  creatures." 

After  some  hours  devoted  to  these  holy  ii 
stmctions,  we  returned  to  the  rapine,  and  Melanii 
Icf^  me  at  my  cave;  praying,  as  he  paned  fro: 
me — with  a  benevolence  which  I  but  ill,  alas!  d 
served — ^that  my  soul  might,  under  these  lesson 
be  **  as  a  watered  garden,"  and,  ere  long,  **  bc) 
fruit  unto  life  eternal" 

Next  morning,  I  was  again  at  my  study,  and  eve 
more  eager  in  the  awakening  task  than  befor 
With  the  commentary  of  the  Hermit  freshly  in  a 
memory,  I  again  read  through,  with  attention,  tl 
Book  of  the  Law.  But  in  vain  did  I  seek  tl 
])romise  of  immortality  in  its  pages.'  '*It  tel 
me,"  said  I,  **  of  a  God  coming  down  to  earth,  bi 
of  the  ascent  of  Man  to  heaven  it  sjieaks  not  Tl 
rewards,  the  punishments  it  announces,  lie  all  < 
this  side  of  the  grave;  nor  did  even  the  Omnii)otci 
offer  to  his  own  chosen  servants  a  hope  beyoi 
the  impassable  limits  of  this  world.  Where,  the 
is  the  salvation  of  which  the  Christian  spoke?  c 
if  Death  be  at  the  root  of  the  faith,  can  Life  sprii 
out  of  it?" 

Again,  in  the  bitterness  of  disappointment,  did 
mock  at  my  own  willing  self-delusion — again  n 
at  the  arts  of  that  traitress.  Fancy,  ever  ready,  lil 
the  Delilah  of  this  wondrous  book,  to  steal  upun  tl 
slumbers  of  Reason,  and  deliver  him  up,  shorn  ai 
powerless,  to  his  foes.  If  deception,  thought 
be  necessary,  at  least  let  me  not  practise  it  on  m; 
self; — in  the  desperate  alternative  before  me,  1 
me  rather  be  even  hy])ocrite  than  dupe. 

These  self-accusing  reflections,  cheerless  as  thi 
rendered  my  task,  did  not  abate,  for  a  single  m< 
ment,  my  industry  in  pursuing  it.  I  read  on  and  o 
with  a  sort  of  sullen  apathy,  neither  channed  1 
style,  nor  transported  by  imager}* — the  fatal  bligi 
in  my  heart  having  communicated  it.>*elf  to  my  ini 
gination  and  taste.  The  curses  and  the  blessing 
the  glory  and  the  ruin,  which  the  historian  recordi 
and  the  prophet  had  predicted,  seemed  all  of  th 
world — all  temporal  and  earthly.  That  mortalit 
of  which  the  fountain-head  had  tasted,  tinged  tl 
whole  stream;  and  when  I  read  the  words,  **t 
ore  of  the  dust,  and  all  turn  to  dust  again  *'*  a  fef 
ing,  like  the  wind  of  the  desert,  came  withering 

•till  wone,  eontririnc  like  Dr.  OraTca,  to  incrcaae  ita  difflenlty 

irzplanation Vide  ''On  the  I'emtateuek.'*   See  alao  Jlonu't  1 

trwhtetiom,  Ac,  tuI.  L  p.  nSi 

«  While  Voltaire,  Volney.  Oc,  reftr  to  the  Eoeleeladce, 
aboandlnff  with  teneta  of  materialiam  and  Eplcuriflm,  M.  Dta  Vtr 
and  otlien  find  in  it  atrouB  proofii  of  belief  in  a  fbture  atatc.  T 
chief  didiculty  Ilea  in  the  chaiiter  fhmi  vhich  thia  text  ia  quote 
and  the  mode  of  eonttnicti<in  by  which  aome  writer*  attempt 
set  rid  of  it  — namely,  by  putting  theae  testa  intothe  mouth  o: 
foolish  reaaoncr —appeara  forced  and  gratnitooa.— Vlds  Dr.  Htdt 
Analifti$m 

3r  4 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


^acn '.  that  it  nea  the  very  Book  of  Xofe 
h  the  HenniL  had  spoken  I 
midnight  hjmn  of  the  ChriidBiDs  hod 
1  through  the  vtUley,  bcfuni  I  hod  yet 
nj  ere*  from  thst  Eacred  volume;  uid  Ihe 
hour  vf  the  ma  found  me  aguo  orer  its 


CHAPTER  IVIIL 

mode  of  exiateitM  I  had  now  passed  tome 

—  my  morningB  deToled  to  reading,  my 
lo  listening,  under  the  wide  canopy  of 
,  10  the  hot;  eloqaence  of  Melanius.  The 
trance  with  whiu'b  I  inquired,  and  the 
CSS  with  wliich  I  learned,  soon  lucceeded 
liring  mj  benevolent  instrucl^r,  who  mis- 
uriosily  for  leal,  and  knowledge  for  beUef. 
-cold,  and  barren,  and  earthly  was  that 
2dge — the  word  without  the  spirit,  (he  shape 
It  the  life.  Even  when,  at  a  relief  from 
*isy.  I  perGuadod  myselT  that  I  believed,  it 
Bt  a  brief  delmion,  a  Wth,  whose  hope 
led  at  the  loach  —  like  the  fruit  of  the 
-shrDb*.  shining  and  empty! 
,  though  my  loul  was  still  dark,  the  good 
I  saw  not  into  its  depths.  The  very  facility 
belief,  which  might  have  suggested  some 
of  its  Binccrity,  wm  but  regarded  by  his 
mt  teal,  as  a  more  signal  triumph  of  Ihe 
His  own  ingenuousness  led  him  to  a  ready 
n  olhcrai  and  the  esmaplea  of  such  convcr- 
s  that  of  the  philosoplier.  Justin,  who.  during 
t  by  Ihe  sea-shore,  received  the  lighl  inio 
111,  had  prepared  him  for  iltnmi  nations  of  the 
even  more  rapid  than  mine, 
ring  all  this  lime,  I  neither  saw  nor  heard 
:lhe  —  nor  could  ray  patience  have  endured 
'h  so  long  a  privation,  had  not  those  male 
ea  of  her  presence,  that  welcomed  me  every 
on  my  relum,  made  me  feel  that  I  was  still 
under  her  gentle  influence,  and  that  her 
Uhy  hung  ronnd  every  step  of  my  progress. 
too,  when  I  ventured  to  speak  her  name  to 
lius,  ihongh  he  answered  not  my  inquiry, 
was  a  smile.  I  thought,  of  promise  anon 
innlenanee.  which  love,  far  more  alive  than 
was  ready  to  interpret  as  it  desired, 
length  — il  vas  on  the  uxth  or  seventh 
ng  of  my  solitude,  when  I  Uy  resting  at  the 
of  my  cave,  after  the  study  of  the  day  —  t 
(tortled  by  hearing  my  name  called  loudly 


from  the  oppo»ie  rocks;  and  looking  up.  saw, 
upon  the  cliti'ncar  the  di-s^rted  groltus.  Melanin* 
and — ohi  1  couM  ko(  doubt  — my  Aleiho  by  Ml 

Though  I  had  never,  since  Iha  first  night  of 
mj  return  ftom  the  dosert,  ceased  to  flatter  myself 
with  the  fancy  that  I  was  still  living  in  her  pre- 
sence, the  actual  sight  of  her  once  more  made  me 
leel  for  what  a  long  age  we  had  been  separated. 
She  was  clothed  all  in  while,  and.  as  she  stood  ia 
the  last  rcmaini  of  the  sunshine,  appeared  to  my 
too  prophetic  fancy  like  a  parting  spirit,  whose 
last  footsteps  on  eanh  Ilial  pure  glury  encircled. 

With  a  delight  only  to  be  imagined,  I  saw  them 
descend  Ihe  rocks,  and.  placing  ihemselves  in  the 
boat,  proceed  directly  towards  my  cave.  To  dis- 
guise from  Melanins  the  mattial  delight  with  which 
we  again  met  was  impossible; — nor  did  Alelhe 
ei-en  attempt  lo  make  a  secret  of  her  joy.  Thougha 
blushing  at  her  own  happiness,  as  little  could  twr 
frank  nature  conceal  it,  aa  Uie  clear  waters  of 
Ethiopia  can  hide  their  gold.  Every  look,  everf 
word,  bespoke  a  fulness  of  affucliDn,  to  which, 
doubtliil  as  I  was  of  oar  tenure  of  happiness;,  I 
knew  not  how  to  respond. 

1  was  not  long,  however,  left  igOOTant  of  ths 
bright  fate  tliat  awaited  me;  hot,  as  we  wandered 
or  rested  among  the  rocks,  learned  eveijthing  that 
had  been  arranged  since  our  parling.  She  had 
made  the  Hermit,  I  foond,  acquainted  with  all  that 
had  passed  between  us;  had  told  him.  without  re- 
serve, every  incident  uf  oar  voyage  —  the  avowals, 
the  demonstrations  of  aSertion  on  one  side,  and  tba 
de«p  sentiment  that  gratiEude  had  awakened  on  the 
otber.  Too  wise  u>  regard  affections  so  natural 
wilh  severity  —  knowing  that  they  were  of  heaven, 
and  but  made  evil  by  man  —  the  good  Hermit  had 
heard  of  our  attachment  with  pleasure;  and.  fully 
satiiSed  as  to  the  houour  and  purity  of  my  views, 
by  the  fidelity  with  which  I  had  dehrered  my  inist 
into  his  hands,  saw,  in  my  afl'ectiou  for  the  yonng 
orphan,  bnl  a  providenliiil  rcsoorco  against  t*"* 
firiendlees  solitude  in  whicli  his  death  must  si 
leave  her. 

Aa,  hslening  ea^Krly,  I  collected  these  particnlan 
(torn  their  discourse.  I  could  hardly  tmst  my  ea 
It  seemed  a  happiness  too  greal  to  be  ime.  lo 
real  j  nor  can  words  convey  any  idea  of  [he  joy, 
the  shame,  the  wonder  with  which  I  listened,  whil 
the  holy  man  himself  declared  Ihal  he  awailcd  bi 
the  moment,  when  he  should  And  me  worthy  of  be- 
coming a  member  of  the  Christian  Church,  to  girs 
me  also  the  hand  of  Alelhe  in  that  sacred  union, 
which  alone  sanctifies  love,  and  makes  the  faith, 
which  it  pledges,  holy.  It  was  but  ycslerday,  ho 
added,  that  his  young  charge,  herself,  after  a  pre- 
paration of  prayer  and  repeniance,  such  as  eveu 
hor  pure  spirit  required,  bad  been  admitted,  by  tbt 
■acred  ordinance  of  baptism,  tnlo  Itw  boaom  of  ' 


THE  EPICUEEAN. 


reign  of  Vulcriiiii,  had  remored  from  Ih«m  all  frur 
of  a  rencH'Bl  of  those  lioirors,  which  they  hod 
experienceil  untl^r  ihe  rale  of  his  predecessor. 
DcciDi.  Of  lAte,  however,  Bomc  Igbb  friendlj  dis- 
pushiona  had  mftnifesled  themaelTes.  The  higoia 
of  the  coort,  takini;  alami  ul  the  rapid  s[iread  of 
the  new  taith,  had  succeeded  in  filling  the  mind  of 
the  monarcli  with  thai  religioos  jcaluiUf.  nhieh 
U  ihe  evcr-resdj'  parent  of  cniollj  uid  injustice. 
Among  these  counsellors  of  evil  wu  Macrianns, 
the  PrKtorian  Prefcet,  ivbo  vitts,  hy  Linh,  an 
£^plian,  and  had  long  made  himself  notorioos— 
BO  akin  is  supersmion  to  IntolerBuce^ — by  his 
addiction  to  the  dark  practices  of  demon-norslup 
■nd  magic. 

From  this  minister,  who  was  now  high  in  Ihe 
fkruar  of  Valerian,  tlie  new  meaiuies  of  sererity 
■gainst  the  Christians  were  expected  la  emanate. 
All  tongnoB,  in  all  qoatters,  were  bnsj  with  the 
Dews.  In  the  streels,  in  ihs  public  gardens,  on 
the  ileps  of  the  temples,  I  saw,  ererjwbcre, 
groups  of  Inquirers  collected,  and  hewd  the  name 
of  Macrianns  upon  every  tongnc.  It  was  drcad- 
bil,  too,  to  observe,  in  the  coantenances  of  tbose 
who  spoke,  Ihe  vaiiet;  of  feeling  with  which  the 
Tumour  was  discussed,  according  as  thuj  feared  or 
desired  its  truth — according  as  they  were  likely  to 
be  among  the  lonurers  or  Ihe  viciims. 

Alarmed,  thougli  still  ignorant  of  the  wbulc  ex- 
tent of  the  danger,  1  hurried  tuick  lo  the  ravine, 
and,  going  at  once  lo  the  grotto  of  Melanius,  de- 
tailed to  him  every  porticalar  of  the  intelligence  I 
tiad  collected.  He  listened  to  me  with  a  composure, 
whicli  1  mistook,  alast  for  conlideiice  in  his  own 
Mcarityi  and,  naming  the  hour  for  onr  evening 
walli,  retired  into  his  grotto. 

At  the  accoatomed  time,  accompanied  by  Alothe, 
he  came  lo  my  cave.  It  was  evident  chat  he  bad 
not  communicated  Co  her  the  intelligence  whieh  I 
had  brought,  Ibr  never  hath  brow  worn  such  hap- 
pneu  aa  thai  which  now  iilayed  around  hersi — 
il  tras,  alas!  not  of  this  eacih.  Melanins,  him- 
■elf,  though  composed,  was  thoughtful',  and  the  so- 
lemnity, almost  approaching  to  melancholy,  with 
which  he  placed  the  hand  of  Aletlie  in  mine  —  in 
the  perTamiance,  too,  of  a  ceremony  that  ouyht  to 
have  filled  my  heart  with  joy — saddened  and 
alarmed  me.  This  ceremony  was  our  betrothmenc, 
the  act  of  plighting  our  faith  to  each  other,  which 
we  now  Bolcninised  on  Ihc  rock  before  the  door  of 
my  cave,  in  tlic  face  of  that  calm,  sunset  heaven, 
whose  one  alar  stood  a.s  nur  witness.  After  a  bless- 
Uis  from  the  Hemiit  upon  our  spousal  pledge,  I 
placed  the  ring  —  the  earnest  of  oar  future  union 


n  her  fingeri  a 


in  the  blush,  with  which 
her  whole  heart  at  ihaf 
instant,  forgot  everything  but  my  happiness,  and 
fell  secure  even  against  fate! 

We  look  oar  accitsiomed  walk,  Ihal  evening,  over 
the  rocks  and  on  the  desert.  So  bright  was  the 
muon—  mora  like  the  daylight,  indeed,  of  other 
climes — that  wo  could  plainly  see  the  tracks  of 
Ihe  wild  antelopes  in  the  sandi  and  it  was  not 
without  a  sli);hc  tremble  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  as 
if  some  melancholy  analogy  occurred  to  him  as 
he  spoke,  that  the  good  Hermit  said.  "  I  have  ob- 
served, in  the  course  of  my  walks',  that  wherever 
Ihe  track  of  that  gentle  anima]  appears,  there  ia, 
almost  always,  [bund  the  foot-print  of  a  beast  of 
prey  aem  it."  He  regained,  however,  his  usual 
cheerfulness  belbre  we  parted,  and  fixed  the 
following  evening  for  on  CKCursiun,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ravine,  to  a  point  looking,  he  said, 
"  towards  that  nDrcliem  region  of  the  desert,  where 
the  hosts  of  the  Lord  encamped  in  their  departure 
out  of  bondaijc." 

Though,  when  Alethe  was  present,  all  my  fean 
even  for  hetself  were  forgotten  iu  that  perpetual 
element  of  happine&s,  which  encirelcd  her  like  the 
air  ibnt  she  breathed,  no  sooner  was  I  alone,  Ihui 
vague  lemirs  and  bodings  crowded  upon  me.  In 
vain  did  I  endeavour  to  reason  away  my  fears,  by 
dwelling  only  on  the  most  clieeriug  circumstance* 
—  on  the  reverence  with  which  Melanius  was  re- 
garded, even  by  the  Fagana,  and  the  inviolate 
security  with  which  he  bad  Uved  through  the  most 
perilous  periods,  not  only  safe  himself,  but  afford" 
ing  sanctuary  in  the  depths  of  his  grottos  to  others. 
Though  somewhat  cahned  by  these  constderalions, 
yet.  when  al  lengtli  I  sunk  off  lo  aleep,  dark, 
horrible  dreams  took  possession  of  my  mind. 
Scenes  of  death  and  of  torment  passed  confusedly 
before  me;  and,  when  I  awoke,  il  was  with  tha 
fearful  impre»sion  that  all  these  honors  were  leaL 


CHAPTER  XIX 

At  length,  the  day  dawncd^thal  dreadful  day! 
Impaticut  to  be  relieved  from  luy  suspense,  I  threw 
myself  into  my  boat  —  the  same  in  which  we  had 
performed  our  happy  voyage— and,  as  fast  as  oara 
conld  speed  mc,  bunded  away  to  the  city.  I  found 
the  suburbs  silent  and  solitary,  but.  as  I  approached 
Ihe  Fonmi,  loud  jells,  like  those  of  barbarians  in 
combat,  sirnck  on  mj  ear,  and.  whi'n  I  entered  it — 
great  God,  what  a  spectacle  preiieuled  itself !  The 
imperial  edict  against  the  Christians  had  arrived 
daring  the  night,  and  already  the  wild  Airy  of 
bigotry  waa  let  loose. 


^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^l^^^^^^^^^^^l 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

[ 

niddle  of  tho  Fornm, 
mor.    'IVo  statues— 
Usirifi  —  Blood  at  the 

nes.  to  which  tho  de-  i 
:vd  from  all  qasrtera 

tutu  the  llune,  or.  on  l 
:o  lOTture  and  death. 
Lhe  cunsiemition,  the  ■ 
-tho  pule,  silent  roso- 
e  Bhonta  of  laaghtcr 
0,  when  tho  dropping 
itlar  proclniined  aome 
:nd-like  triumph  with 
fcMors,  who  avowed 
D  Hie  flumeai  — never 

(w  tninotes,  in  those 
loiiph  for  ytan.    Al- 
;  iippe«r  w  flit  before 
hffard  them  ihual  her 

rror.llmtl  stood  fixed 

!■  .'-;iil  iirecionsncsa 

'i   ii.icht  be  on 
■:    liMlv  out  of 

too,  I  he«^  of  Orcna  —  Onms,  tli«  High  Priwt  of 

tbia  sanguinary  edict,  and  us  here  pretest  in  An- 
Iini>i',  aiiinialing  and  directing  its  executiini. 

In   lhi»   ilftto  of  tonare  I  fCmaincd  tffl  ttn 
arrival   of  the  Tribauc.      Absorbed  in  my  ow, 
thoni-hla,  I  had  not  perceived  his  cnbane*;  — nil 
hearing  a  voice,  in  a  tone  of  IHcodlv  mrprite,  ei- 
ckiiu,  "Aldphronl"    I  looked  a^  ud  in  dui 
legionary  Chief  recognised  a  jom.g  Kmun  of 
rank,  who  had  held  a  military  command,  tht  Tfu 
before,  at  Athe.ns.  and  was  one  of  the  mo«  dit 
tingniahed  viailora  of  the  Garden.     It  was  no  limc 

all  cordiality  to  greet  me.  bnt,  having  h«rd  liia 
!  order  my  inatont  releaw.  I  could  wait  for  no  iDare. 

hand,  I  flew  oiT,  like  one   frnntic,  through  ite 
1  street*,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  waa  on  the  river 
My  sole  hope  had  been  to  r«ach  the  GnoiM 
before  any  of  the  detached  parties  should  ■ni't, 
and,  by  B  timely  flight  Bcro»  Ihe  deaert,  rocaft 
at  least.  Alcthe  from  their  (nry.     The  ill-taed 
delay  thM  had  occurred  rendered  tfaia  hope  ataois 
deaperatei  but  the  tranqnillity  I  found  ereryirliOT 
as  I  proceeded  down  the  river,  and  mr  food  coo- 
tidenoe  in  the  .-acn^dnesa  of  the  Hernlit'i  ttneit 
kept  my  heart  from  sinking  altogether  nniier  iu 

Uclwfcn  Hie  cnircul  anil  my  oar-,  ihf  Unl  flf». 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


721 


Would  I  had  then  died! — Yet,  no,  Ahnighty 
Being — I  should  have  died  in  darkness,  and  I 
have  lired  to  know  Thee! 

On  retoming  to  my  senses,  I  found  myself  re- 
cUned  on  a  couch,  in  a  splendid  apartment,  the 
whole  appearance  of  which  being  Grecian,  I,  for 
a  moment,  forgot  all  that  had  passed,  and 
imagined  myself  in  my  own  home  at  Athens. 
Bat  too  soon  the  whole  dreadful  certainty  flashed 
upon  me;  and,  starting  wildly — disabled  as  I  was 
— from  my  couch,  I  called  loudly,  and  with  the 
shriek  of  a  maniac,  upon  Alethe. 

I  was  in  the  house,  I  then  found,  of  my  friend 
and  disciple,  the  young  Tribune,  who  had  made 
the  Gk>vemor  acquainted  with  my  name  and 
condition,  and  had  received  me  under  his  roof, 
when  brought,  bleeding  and  insensible,  to  Antinoe. 
From  him  I  now  learned  at  once  —  for  I  could 
not  wait  for  details — the  sum  of  all  that  had 
happened  in  that  dreadful  intervaL  Melanius  was 
no  more  — Alethe  still  alive,  but  in  prison! 

••  Take  me  to  her  " — I  had  but  time  to  say  — 
**  take  me  to  her  instantly,  and  let  me  die  by  her 
side"  —  when,  nature  again  failing  under  such 
shocks,  I  reUpsed  into  insensibility.  In  this  state 
I  continued  for  near  an  hour,  and,  on  recovering,  j 
found  the  Tribune  by  my  side.  The  horrors,  he 
said,  of  the  Forum  were,  for  that  day,  over,  —  but  | 
what  the  morrow  might  bring  he  shuddered  to 
contemphite.  His  nature,  it  was  plain,  revolted  ! 
from  the  inhuman  duties  in  which  he  was  engaged. 
Touched  by  the  agonies  he  saw  me  suffer,  he,  in  : 
some  degree,  relieved  them,  by  promising  that  I 
should,  at  nightfall,  be  conveyed  to  the  prison, 
and,  if  possible,  through  his  influence,  gain  access 
to  Alethe.  She  might  yet,  he  added,  be  saved, 
could  I  succeed  in  persuading  her  to  comply  with 
the  terms  of  the  edict,  and  make  sacrifice  to  the 
Gods.  — *'  Otherwise,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no  hope; 
— >the  vindictive  Orcus,  who  has  resisted  even  this 
short  respite  of  mercy,  mtIII,  to-morrow,  inexorably 
demand  his  prey." 

He  then  related  to  me,  at  my  own  request — 
though  every  word  was  torture — all  the  harrowing 
details  of  the  proceeding  before  the  Tribunal.  **  I 
have  seen  courage,"  said  he,  **  in  its  noblest  forms, 
in  the  field  ;  but  the  calm  intrepidity  with  which 
that  aged  hermit  endured  torments — which  it  was 
hardly  less  torment  to  witness  —  surpassed  all  that 
I  could  have  conceived  of  human  fortitude! " 

My  poor  Alethe,  too — in  describing  to  me  her 
conduct,  the  brave  man  wept  like  a  child.  Over- 
whelmed, he  said,  at  first  by  her  apprehensions 
for  my  safety,  she  had  given  way  to  a  full  burst 
of  womanly  weakness.    But  no  sooner  was  she 

1  Tfa*  merit  of  the  eoiift«km  **ChriftiftniuaQm,"  or**  ChrirtianA 
mm."  VM  oimMtTwhlj  cnluuioed  br  tbe  cleameM  and  diaUncUMM 
with  whida  it  wm  proDouiiccd.  Euitbiia  oiaatkHU  tht  martyr 
V«lii»  M  makiag  It  Aiw*«pOTiHv 


brought  before  the  Tribunal,  and  the  declaration 
of  h^  faith  was  demanded  of  her,  than  a  spirit 
almost  supernatural  seemed  to  animate  her  whole 
form.  **  She  raised  her  eyes,'*  said  he,  '*  calmly, 
but  with  fervour,  to  heaven,  while  a  blush  was  the 
only  sign  of  mortal  feeling  on  her  features: — and 
the  cleiur,  sweet,  and  ontrembling  voice,  with 
which  she  pronounced  her  own  doom,  in  the  words, 
'I  am  a  Christian!'*  sent  a  thrill  of  admiration 
and  pity  throughout  the  multitude.  Her  youth, 
her  loveliness,  affected  all  hearts,  and  a  cry  of 
*Save  the  young  maiden!'  was  heard  in  all 
directions." 

The  implacable  Orcus,  however,  would  not  hear 
of  mercy.  Hesenting,  as  it  appeared,  with  all  his 
deadliest  rancour,  not  only  her  own  escape  frt>m 
his  toils,  but  the  aid  with  which  she  had,  so  fataUy 
to  his  views,  assisted  mine,  he  demanded  loudly 
and  in  the  name  of  the  insulted  sanctuary  of  Isis, 
her  instant  death.  It  was  but  by  the  firm  inter- 
vention of  the  Governor,  who  shared  the  £^neral 
sympathy  in  her  fate,  that  the  delay  of  another 
day  was  granted  to  give  a  chance  to  the  young 
maiden  of  yet  recalling  her  confession,  and  thus 
affording  some  pretext  for  saving  her. 

Even  in  yielding,  with  evident  reluctance,  to 
this  respite,  the  inhuman  Priest  would  yet  accom- 
pany it  with  some  mark  of  his  vengeance. 
Whether  for  the  pleasure  (observed  the  Tnbune) 
of  mingling  mockery  with  his  cruelty,  or  as  a 
warning  to  her  of  the  doom  she  must  ultimately 
expect,  he  gave  orders  that  there  should  be  tied 
round  her  brow  one  of  those  chaplets  of  coral', 
with  which  it  is  the  custom  of  young  Christian 
maidens  to  array  themselves  on  the  day  of  their 
martyrdom;  —  *'and,  thus  fearfully  adorned," 
said  he,  **  she  was  led  away,  amidst  the  gaze  of 
the  pitying  multitude,  to  prison." 

With  these  harrowing  details  the  short  interval 
till  nightfall  —  every  minute  of  which  seemed  an 
age — was  occupied.  As  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  I 
was  placed  upon  a  litter — my  wound,  though  not 
dangerous,  requiring  such  a  conveyance — and* 
imder  the  guidance  of  my  friend,  I  was  conducted 
to  the  prison.  Through  his  interest  with  the 
guard,  we  were  without  difficulty  admitted,  and  I 
was  borne  into  the  chamber  where  the  maiden  lay 
immured.  Even  the  veteran  guardian  of  the 
place  seemed  touched  with  compassion  for  his 
prisoner,  and  supposing  her  to  be  asleep,  had  the 
litter  placed  gently  near  her. 

She  was  half  reclining,  with  her  face  hid  beneath 
her  hands,  upon  a  couch — at  the  foot  of  which 
stood  an  idol,  over  whose  hideous  features  a  lamp 
of  naphtha,  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  shed  a  wild 

s  **  UiM  de  OM  ooaroanM  de  grain  dm  oondl,  doiit  ]m  Hergw 
martTTM  omoiokt  iMa  ehcrwaz  en  allaat  k  la  mort."— £«f 
MttrtifT$» 


^^M 

^H^^^H 

1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

Ml-  before  ih?  imnce 
II    vesid    of  incciTse 
h,  thruwn  volunurilj 
ow.Mvethat  preciom 
»fla  Ihn  whole  scene, 
realilj.     Alclhc!  my 
I  Uicmght,  be  thou 

difflcall;.  ntiicd  her 
bicrving  which,  the 
WB  were  left  alone, 
ttth,  orer  her  ftatores ; 
lul  I  »aw  Uiem,  were 
or  this  world,  looked 
g  hernfllf  up.  she  put 
hw  fonihc«d,  whose 
nore  death-like  from 
» fully  aeroM  it. 
ule  vapielj,  her  cjes 
-and.  with  a  shriek, 
ung  from  tbe  couch, 
y  roj  udc     She  had 
now,  scarcely  imitcd 
my  lorel"  she  ex- 
it, call  me  from  this 
1 "     III  suyine  Ihus. 
oniinoua  w^iLlh,  and 
ni«T,  my  fcn.c.  M  if 

Shrinking  from  me.  as  I  spoke  —  bat  with  i 
look  more  of  lorrow   than   reproach —  - Whu. 

whoM  ilunosi  .piril  I  had  fondly  hoped  the  unic 

tbou  leagued  with  Ihem  who  wonid  tempi  me  W 
■  make  shipwreck  of  my   failh  !  "      Tbou.  who 
eouldil  alone  bind  me  to  life,  uie  not,  1  ealrtu 
Ihw,   ihy  power  ;  but    let  me  die,  a*  Ue  1  tem 

the  holy  Icstous  we  he*rd  together  on  tho«  ni^ti, 
tliojc  happy  iiiuhta,  when  both  the  prsBenl  and 
fiitiire  nnlled  npoo  na  — when  even   the  gift  of 
eternal  life  CHcae  more  wclcume  to  my  sonl,  fna 
the  glad  comiction  thai  tbou  wen  to  bt  a  than: 
in  its  hlewingg  ;  — >.hall  I  forfeit  now  tliat  ditiae 
privilege  ?  shall  I  de..y  the  true  God,  when  w 
(hen  learned  to  lore  T 

"No,  my  own   betrothed, "   she    eontinned  — 
pointing  to  the  two  rings  on  her  finger- -beJiolif 
theeo  pledges— they  are  both  sacred.    I  ihoihl 
have  been  as  tme  to  thee  as  I  am  now  to  bearFD. 
-  nor  in  that  life  to  which  I  am  battening  tkill 
our  lore  be  forgotten.     Should  the  Uptism  of  fin, 
IhroHKh  which  1  shall  pass  to-mom.w.  mato  m= 
worthy  to  be  heard  before  the  llimne  of  Gn-c. 
I  will  inlercedo  for  Ihy  soul  — I  will  |jraT  llui 
it    muy    vet  share  with  mine  tbat    '  inhcrilinre, 
immorlBl"   and    undi-f^l.'d,'   udl^h   M-rry  off^r. 

1 

■ 

THE  EPICUREAN. 


728 


was — oh  horrible! — a  componnd  of  the  most 
deadly  poiB4)n — the  hellish  invention  of  Orciis,  to 
satiate  his  yengeance,  and  make  the  fate  of  his 
poor  victim  secure.  My  first  movement  was  to 
untie  that  fatal  wreath — but  it  would  not  come 
away  ~  it  would  not  come  away  ! 

Roused  by  the  pain,  she  attain  looked  in  my 
face  ;  bat,  unable  to  speak,  took  hastily  from  her 
bosom   the   small   silver   cross   which    she    had 
'   broocht  with  her  from  my  cave.    Having  pressed 
I  it  tober  own  lips,  she  held  it  anxiously  to  mine, 
I  tnd,  seeing  me  kiss  the  holy  symbol  with  fervour, 
:  looked  happy,  and  smiled.    The  agony  of  death 
;  leemed  to  have  passed  away; — there  came  sud- 
denly over  her  features  a  heavenly  light,  some 
share  of  whidi  I  felt  descending  into  my  own 
sonU  and,  in  a  few  minutes  more,  she  expired  in 
my  arms. 


Here  end§  the  Manuacript;  hut,  on  the  outer  cover 
is  ftnmdf  in  the  handwriting  of  a  much  later 


period^   the  fttHowing  Notice,    extracted,  at    ii 
appairSffrom  tome  Egyptian  martyrology  :''^ 

"Alciphron — an  Epicurean  phnoso]ihcr,  con- 
verted to  Christianity,  a.  i>.  257,  by  a  young  Egyp- 
tian niniih  n,  who  sutifored  martynlom  in  that  year. 
Immediately  upon  her  death  he  l)etook  himself  to 
the  desert,  and  lived  a  life,  it  is  said,  of  much 
holiness  and  penitence.  During  the  persecution 
under  Dioclcsian,  his  sufferings  for  the  faith  were 
most  exemplary  ;  and  being  at  length,  at  an  ad- 
vanced age,  condemned  to  hard  labour,  for  refusing 
to  comply  with  an  Imperial  edict,  he  died  at  the 
Brass  Klines  of  Palestine,  a.  d.  297. — 

**As  Alciphron  held  the  opinions  maintained 
fince  by  Arius,  his  memory  has  not  been  spared 
by  Athanasian  writers,  who,  among  other  charges, 
accuse  him  of  having  l)een  addicted  to  the  su]x>r- 
stitions  of  Eg}'pt.  For  this  calumny,  however, 
there  appears  to  be  no  l)etter  foundation  than  a 
circumstance,  recorded  by  one  of  his  brother 
monks,  that  there  was  found,  after  his  death,  a 
small  metal  mirror,  like  those  used  in  the  cere- 
monies of  Isis,  suspended  around  his  neck.  *' 


ALCIPHEON. 


so 


ALCIPHKON: 


A  FRAGMENT. 


LETTER  L 

FROM   ALCIPHSON  AT   ALEXANDRIA   TO  CLEON   AT 

ATHEMS. 

Well  may  yon  wonder  at  my  flight 

From  those  fair  Oardens,  in  whose  bowers 
Lingers  whatever  of  wise  and  bright. 
Of  Beanty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  light, 

Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 
Well  may  my  comrades,  as  they  roam, 

On  such  sweet  eves  as  this,  inquire 
Why  I  have  left  that  happy  home 

Where  all  is  found  that  all  desire. 

And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire ; 
Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes. 

That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given. 
Comes  clustering  round,  like  road-siile  grapes 

That  woo  the  traveller's  lip,  at  even ; 
Where  Wisdom  flings  not  joy  away — 
As  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say. 
Once  flung  her  flute — but  smiling  owns 
That  woman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 
Worth  all  the  music  of  those  spheres 
So  many  dream  of,  but  none  hears ; 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile,  that,  loth 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell. 

We  finish  by  embracing  both. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own. 
From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flown ; 
And  even  while  thus  to  thee  I  write. 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  my  flight 
Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright. 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light, 

How  lovclily  they  all  must  shine ; 
Can  see  that  graceful  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  slope  its  lengthen'd  shade. 
While,  on  the  marble  steps  below. 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid» 


Over  some  favourite  volume  bending ; 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage 
Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending. 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page. 
But  hence  such  thoughts !  —  nor  let  me  grieve 
O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave. 
As  the  bird  quits  awhile  its  nest 
To  come  again  with  livelier  aest. 

And  now  to  tell  thee  — what  I  fear 
Thou'lt  gravely  smile  at — why  Fm  here. 
Though  through  my  life's  short,  sunny  dream, 

I've  floated  without  pain  or  care. 
Like  a  light  leaf,  down  pleasure's  stream, 

Caught  in  each  sparkUng  eddy  there ; 
Though  never  Mirth  awaked  a  strain 
That  my  heart  echoed  not  again ; 
Tet  have  I  felt,  when  even  most  gay, 

Sad  thoughts — I  knew  not  whence  or  why  — 

Suddenly  o'er  my  spirit  fly, 
Like  clouds,  that,  ere  we've  time  to  say 

*•  How  bright  the  sky  is  I "  shade  the  sky. 
Sometimes  so  vague,  so  undefiu'd, 
Were  these  strange  dark'nings  of  my  mind — 
While  nought  but  joy  around  me  beani'd  — 

So  causelessly  they've  come  and  flown. 
That  not  of  life  or  earth  they  scem'd. 

But  shadows  from  some  world  unkno^'n. 
More  oft,  however,  'twas  the  thought 

How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 

Of  life  and  gladness,  must  decay — 
Those  lips  I  pre&t,  the  hands  I  caught  — 
Myself —  the  crowd  that  mirth  had  bnmght 

Around  me — swept  like  weeds  away! 

This  thought  it  was  that  came  to  shed 
O'er  rapture's  hour  its  worst  alloys ; 

And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 
Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 

Oh,  but  for  this  disheart'ning  voice. 
Stealing  amid  our  mirth  to  say 

do  2 


ALCIPHRON. 


729 


thinking  of  such  creeds  as  thoa 
11  oar  Garden  sagcD  tliink, 
ere  something,  I  allow, 
euns  like  this  — a  sort  of  link 
rids  nnseen,  which,  from  the  hour 
could  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now, 
ster'd  me  with  speU-like  power. 

>  can  tell,  as  we*re  combined 

IS  atoms — some  refin*d, 

se  that  scintillate  and  play 

c*d  stars — some,  gross  as  they 

nrn  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  clay — 

1  be  sure,  but  'tis  the  best 

rightest  atoms  of  our  frame, 

most  akin  to  stellar  flame, 

oe  out  thus,  when  we're  at  rest ;  — 

iie  stars  themselves,  whose  light 

at  but  in  the  silent  night. 

hat  there  lurks,  indeed, 

ith  in  Man's  prevaiUng  creed, 

;  our  Guardians,  from  on  high, 

in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin, 

(le  senses*  curtain  by, 

n  the  wakeful  soul  look  in  I 

ught ! — but  yet,  howe*fer  it  be, 

more  than  once,  hath  proT'd  to  me 

truer  far  than  Oak, 

,  or  Tripod,  ever  spoke. 

is  the  words  —  thou 'It  hear  and  smile — 

ords  that  phantom  seem'd  to  speak — 

I  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

II  find  the  Eternal  Life  you  seek  —  " 
anting  me  by  night,  by  day, 

gth,  as  with  the  unseen  hand 

itself,  urg'd  me  away 

Athens  to  this  Holy  Land ; 

mong  the  secrets,  still  untaught, 

yst'ries  that,  as  yet,  nor  sun 

hath  reach 'd  —  oh,  blessed  thought  !  — 

eep  this  everlasting  one. 

—  when  to  our  Garden  friends 
k'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  sends 
»t  of  their  School  thus  far, 
ng  beneath  Canopus'  star, 
a  that,  wander  where  he  will, 
ivsoe'er  they  now  condemn 
e  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 
thy  of  the  School  and  them ;  — 
their  own  —  nor  e'er  forgets, 
'hile  his  heart  and  soul  pursue 
nal  Light  which  never  sets, 
any  meteor  joys  that  do, 
i  them,  hails  them  vrith  delight, 
they  meet  his  longing  sight, 
is  life  mtut  wane  away, 
!r  lives,  at  least  the  day, 


The  hour  it  lasts  shall,  like  a  fire 
With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 


LETTER  n. 

FBOM  THB  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

Jfempkii, 

'Tis  true,  alas — the  myst'ries  and  the  lore 

I  came  to  study  on  this  wondrous  shore. 

Are  all  forgotten  in  the  new  delights. 

The  strange,  wild  joys  that  fill  my  days  and  nights. 

Instead  of  diark,  dull  oracles  that  speak 

From  subterranean  temples,  those  /  seek 

Come  from  the  breathing  shrines  where  Beauty 

lives. 
And  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 
Instead  of  honouring  Isis  in  those  rites 
At  Coptos  held,  I  hail  her,  when  she  lights 
Her  first  young  crescent  on  the  holy  stream  — 
When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  her 

beam. 
And  number  o'er  the  nights  she  hath  to  run. 
Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 
While  o'er  some  mystic  leaf,  that  dimly  lends 
A  clue  into  past  times,  the  student  bend«. 
And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  learns  to  tread 
Back  through  the  shadowy  knowledge  of  the 

dead — 
The  only  skill,  alas,  /yet  can  claim 
Lies  in  deciphering  some  new  lov'd-one's  name  — 
Some  gentle  missive,  hinting  time  and  place. 
In  language,  soft  as  Memphian  reed  can  trace. 
And  where — oh  where's  the  heart  that  could  with- 
stand 
The*  nnnumber'd  witcheries  of  this  sun -bom  land. 
Where  first  young  Pleasure's  banner  was  unfurPd, 
And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  world! 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn. 
Hides  but  to  win,  and  shades  but  to  adorn ; 
Where  that  luxurious  melancholy,  bom 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  glo<An 
Making  joy  holy;  —  where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  leanis  from  Death 
The  instant  value  of  each  momeut*s  breath. 

Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poct*s  dream 
This  lovely  land  now  looks! — the  glorious  stream. 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
*Mong  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glitt'ring  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain. 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o*er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  outstretched  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread ; 
While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blob  «  heaven  as  ever  blesi'd  our  sphere, 

sod 


\ 


ALCIPHBON. 


781 


se,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
lbs,  but  ererlAsting  paliices, 
whose  depths,  hid  from  the  world  abore, 
>w  they  wander,  with  the  few  thej  love, 
ti  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 
m  on  earth,  wMch  hadi  nor  dawn  nor 
^ht!  [grand 

hy  those  deathless  stmctores?  whj  the 
Iden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land? 
ie  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  to  go 
i  the  dark  windings  of  that  realm  l^low, 
pht  from  heaVn  itself  except  the  God 
nee,  through  those  endleiBS  labyrinths 
»d?" 

[  dream — ^wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own, 
as  haunt  me  ever,  if  alone, 
t  pause,  'twixt  joy  and  joy  I  be, 
[p  hush'd  between  two  waves  at  sea. 
hese  spirit  whisperings,  like  the  sound 
irk  Future,  come  appalling  round ; 
break  the  trance  that  holds  me  then, 
o'er  Pleasure's  surge  I  mount  again! 

for  new  adventure,  new  delight, 
is  on  the  wing; — this  very  night, 
pie  on  that  Island,  half-way  o'er 
nphis'  gardens  to  the  eastern  shore, 
its  annual  rite '  to  her,  whose  beams 
sweet  time  of  night-flowers  and  dreams; 
)h,  who  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lakes, 
I  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  takes;  — 
ir  Dlan  of  the  North,  who  chains 
ce  the  current  of  young  veins, 
ho  haunts  the  gay  Bubastian'  grove, 
i  she  sees,  from  her  bright  heaven  above, 
n  earth  to  match  that  heaven  but  Love. 
3n,  what  bliss  will  be  abroad  to-night! — 
ose  sparkUng  nymphs,  who  meet  the  sight 
day,  familiar  as  the  sun, 
of  beauty,  yet  unbreath'd  upon, 
10  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies, 
3  arc  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes, 
ese  twilight  shrines — to-night  shall  be 
like  bir£,  for  this  festivity  I 

,  'tis  nigh;  already  the  sun  bids 
ig  farewell  to  the  Pyramids, 
li  done,  age  after  age,  till  they 
earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray; 
r  great  shadows,  stretching  from  the  light, 
the  first  colossal  steps  of  Night, 
across  the  valley,  to  invade 
It  hills  of  porphyry  with  their  shade. 
s  signals  of  the  setting  beam, 
d  flags  on  every  house-top  gleam: 
k! — from  all  the  temples  a  rich  swell 
o  the  Moon — farewell — farewelL 

1  The  grcst  Fodral  of  the  Moon. 


LETTER  nL 


WROU  THB  aAME  TO  THE  8AIIB. 


Thbkb  is  some  star — or  it  may  be 

That  moon  we  saw  so  near  last  night — 
Which  comes  athwart  my  destiny 

For  ever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  wise 

And  calm  I  feel,  there  quick  doth  fall 
A  spark  from  some  disturbing  eyes. 
That  through  my  heart,  soul,  being  flies. 

And  makes  a  wildfire  of  it  alL 
I've  seen — oh,  Geon,  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giVn  such  beauty  birth!  — 
That  man — but,  hold — hear  all  wat  pass'd 
Since  yester-night,  from  first  to  last 

The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow, 

And  beautiful,  as  if  ^e  came 
Fresh  firom  the  Elysian  bowers  below, 

Was,  with  a  loud  and  sweet  acdaim, 
Welcom'd  from  every  breexy  height, 
Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  light. 
And  well  might  they  who  viewed  the  scene 

Then  lit  up  all  around  them,  say. 
That  never  yet  had  Nature  been 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  loveUer  ray. 
Or  riv^'d  her  own  noon-tide  face. 
With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace. 

Memphis— still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

UnrivaU'd  Memphis,  that  could  seize 
From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  it  bright  through  centuries — 
Now,  in  the  moon^iine,  that  came  down 
Like  a  last  smile  upon  that  crown, — 
Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes. 

Her  pyramid  and  shrines  of  fire, 
Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming  still,  awakes. 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir: 
While  to  the  west — where  gradual  sinks 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Xibya  roll'd. 
Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphynx. 

That  Stood  in  kingly  courts,  of  old — 
It  seem'd  as,  'mid  the  pomps  that  shone 
Thus  gaily  round  him.  Time  look'd  on. 
Waiting  till  all,  now  bright  and  blest. 
Should  sink  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 

No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
Proclaim'd  the  festal  rite  begun. 
And,  'mid  their  idol's  fullest  beuns. 
The  Egyptian  world  was  all  afloat, 

s  BobMUi.  or  Iris,  WMtht  Diana  of  thtS/ypCluimytholfQgjr. 

3o  4 


^H 

i^^^m^^i 

1 

MOOHE'S  WORKS. 

f-liinl,  tnm'd  my  bont 
on  whose  shores, 
IS  and  Bycamorea, 
movrng  li|.hu 
tiu-  lo  the  riles, 
tike  rabir  fparks 
hu>d  barkj, 
kind  — ftxiiDlhoie 
c's  cktanci  flhool, 
J  barge,  that  rows 
at  andbreMbofHuti.'. 
t,  in  Hordi  of  fliime. 
19  moaler's  namei  — 
made  lliii  «a 
ahiU 

ught  Boddeoly 
g  of  aria 

*]e.  I  .oon 

aUer*  and  nnill  grants 
in  palm  ibe  Iote*. 
emplooftheMooni 
wU  Ihrongh  the  last 
ulc  I  pMs'd  — 
jry  pillnrs,  twin'd 

VT.  J  TOuld  MC 

maLdens  winil. 
(,  Iinlf  ilniirinKly. 

And  ret  ta  mi^.  lh«T«  *»iiiM  to  dircU 
A  chann  abonl  tbat  unseen  fnix  — 

A  (omething  in  tho  shade  (hat  frU 
OTcr  that  brow'a  imaj^ri'd  grace 

Which  won  me  more  Ihan  all  the  bat 

And  hfT  (lone  m;  eyca  euald  we. 
Ench«in'd  bj  lh>>  iwert  raysleiyi 
And  her  alone  I  Hatch'd.  aa  nmnd 
She  glided  o'er  (hat  marble  gnntnd. 

Than  if  a  Spirit  were  moring  ihen. 

Till  raddonly.  wide  open  flew 

The  Temple's  f.ilJing  gales,  and  threw 

A  splendour  from  wiihin.  a  flood 

Of  glnrj-,  where  theee  maideni  stood. 

WbUe.  with  that  Ucht— as  if  the  aame 

Rich  source  gave  hirtb  to  both—  there  <aii> 

A  tw«ll  of  harmony,  aa  grand 

Ai  e'er  wm  bom  of  voice  and  hand. 

Filling  the  gODteous  aisles  aronnd 

With  Ininrj  of  hght  and  lonnd. 

Then  was  it,  by  the  Rash  (hot  blu'd 
Full  o'er  her  features  —  oh  ■tuas  thtn 

Aa  BtaninKly  her  eyes  she  raia'd. 
But  quick  let  fall  their  licta  again, 

I  snw  — not  Psyche's  self,  when  first 
Umr,  thr.  tlire.hnMiiflheekics 

1 

■ 

ALCIPHRON. 


733 


Where'er  I  wmgtit  to  pass,  their  wands 
Motion*d  me  back,  while  man  j  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs — hat  ah,  not  thej 
Whom  my  ejes  look'd  for — throng*d  the  way. 
Perplex'd,  impatient,  'mid  this  crowd 
Of  faces,  lights — the  o'erwhefaning  cloud 
Of  incense  ronnd  me,  and  my  blood 
Fall  of  its  new-bom  fire — I  stood. 
Nor  moT*d,  nor  breathed,  bat  when  I  caaght 

A  glimpse  of  some  hlae,  spangled  lone, 
Or  wreath  of  Iotas,  which,  I  thought, 
like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

Bat  no,  'twas  Tain — hour  after  hour, 

Till  my  heart's  throbbing  tum'd  to  pain. 
And  my  strain'd  eyesight  lost  its  power, 

I  sought  her  thus,  but  all  in  rain. 
At  lengui,  hot — wilder'd — in  despair, 
I  rash*d  into  the  cool  night-air. 
And,  harrying  (thongh  with  many  a  look 
Back  to  the  busy  Temple),  took 
My  way  along  the  moonlight  shore. 
And  sprang  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandh^  forth. 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own  \ 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'erspread  — 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immortalis*d  in  8tone; 
And  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath. 

The  Ufeless,  rang*d  like  sacred  things. 
Nor  wanting  aoght  of  life  but  breath, 

lie  in  their  painted  coTerings, 
And  on  each  new  successive  race, 
"  That  yisit  their  dim  haunts  below, 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  (ace. 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  God,  who  loves 
The  neighbourhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves — 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air. 

Save  the  low,  humming,  moomfnl  sound 
Of  priests,  within  their  sl^rines,  at  prayer 

For  the  firesh  Dead  entomb'd  around. 

Twas  tow'rd  this  place  of  death — in  mood 

Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark^ 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  tum'd  my  light-wing*d  bark. 
The  form  of  that  young  maid,  in  all 

Its  beauty,  was  before  me  still; 
And  oft  I  thought,  if  thus  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will, 

I  KMrapolk,«rtteGttf  ortteDMd.totbenf«ikorMtBiphk. 


If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 
Bright  look  of  hers,  for  ever  gone. 
Was  to  my  heart  worth  all  the  rest 
Of  woman-kind,  beheld,  possest  — 
What  would  it  be,  if  wholly  mine, 
Within  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 
Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  shine  — 
An  idol,  worshipped  by  the  light 
Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night  — 
If  Hwas  a  blessing  but  to  see 
And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be  ? 

^n  thoughts  like  these  —  but  often  crost 
By  darker  threads — my  mind  was  lost. 
Till,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead. 
Wak'd  from  my  trance,  I  saw  overhead  — 
As  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

Suddenly  from  the  wave  to  rise  — 
Pyramid  over  pyramid 

Tower  in  succession  to  the  skies  ; 
While  one,  aspiring,  as  if  soon 

Twould  touch  the  heavens,  rose  o'er  all ; 
And,  on  its  summit,  the  white  moon 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal  1 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

And  temples  round,  where  nought  was  heard 
But  the  high  palm- tree's  tufted  plumes. 

Shaken,  at  times,  by  breeze  or  bird. 
Formed  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 
Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been ; 
To  those  gay  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er 
Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore. 
And  the'  unnuraber*d  lights,  that  shone 
Far  o'er  the  flood,  from  ^lemphis  on 
To  the  Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

My  oars  were  lifted,  and  my  boat 

Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rippling  stream  ; 
While  my  vague  thoughts,  alike  afloat. 

Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dream. 
With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unfix'd 
As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd. 
That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple — now. 
With  the  same  innocence  of  brow 
She  wore  within  the  lighted  fane  — 
Now  kindling,  through  each  pulse  and  vein. 
With  passion  of  such  deep-felt  fire 
As  Gods  might  glory  to  inspire ;  — 
And  now — oh  Darkness  of  the  tomb. 

That  must  eclipse  even  light  like  hers ! 
Cold,  dead,  and  blackening,  'mid  the  gluom 

Of  those  eternal  sepuld^es. 

Scarce  had  I  tarn'd  my  eyes  away 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought. 
When  by  the  sound  of  dashing  spray 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caog^t. 


^^^^^^^1 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 

rough  the  moonlight,  swl'd 

lark  thai  bore 

fl.  cltMclj-  vdl-d 

jwnriU  thai  funeral  gharc. 

il  the  boHt  again 

ffuterjr  ptaiD. 

0(A«ImBT- 
iBtb  totaa  the  chaaoe 

new  raj 

voico,  from  woroan'B  gUnce, 
d  me  how  it  might, 
-Ididnotbleis, 

a>  a  light, 

when  hopes  to  mn 
nj  heart  and  hrain, 

ttllnr'd  my  soul 

vagae  and  far 
who  fii'd  his  goal 

,  that  brought 

1  my  high-aown  thoo^t  — 

so  of  joy,  less  pare, 

aadwarihriTtom"' 
■LTj  isle  must  be 
blown  out  to  sea. 

Scarce  had  I  jwlt'd  mjielf.  «  Can  anght 

"  Tint  man  delights  in  sojouni  hew?  "  ■ 
When,  andJenly.  far  off,  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  hght,  remote,  but  clear— > 
Whose  welcome  glinimer  scem'd  MfWtf 

From  some  alcove  or  colL  Uuu  ended 
The  long,  Sleep,  marble  oorridor, 

Throi«fa  wUch  I  now,  all  hope,  detwad 
Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 
With  warier  tool  at  midoighl  glide. 
It  scem'd  as  echo'b  self  were  dead 
In  this  dark  place,  so  mute  my  tread. 
Reaching,  at  length,  that  light.  I  »aw— 

Ub  listen  to  the  scene,  now  raia'd 
Before  my  eyes  —  theo  guess  the  awe. 

The  stiJI,  rapt  awe  with  wluch  I  gai'd. 
'Twas  ■  smaU  chape!,  lin'd  anjinnd 
With  tbo  fair,  EpingUng  marble,  found 
In  many  a  niin'd  shrine  that  stands 
Half  seen  aliove  the  Libyan  sands. 
The  walls  were  richly  sculptnr'd  o'er, 
And  charaGtcr'd  with  that  daik  lure. 
Of  times  before  the  Flood.  whoK  key 
Was  lost  in  the"  "  Unirewal  Sea. "  - 
While  on  the  roof  was  pictnr'd  bright 

The  Thobun  beetle,  as  he  shiuca. 

When  UiD  Nile's  mighty  flow  declines. 
And  forth  the  creature  sprin^is  <o  light. 
With  life  rcecnerale  in  bis  wing*:  — 

■ 

ALCIPHRON. 


7S5 


Tet  did  mj  heart — I  scarce  knew  whj^ 

£Ten  at  that  shadow'd  shape  beat  high. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  full  in  sight 

The  figure  tom'd;  and  bj  the  light 

That  tooch'd  her  features,  as  she  bent 

Orer  the  crjaud.  monument, 

I  saw  'twas  she — die  same — the  same — 

That  latelj  stood  before  me,  faiight'liing 
The  holj  spot,  where  she  but  came 

And  went  again,  like  summer  lightning  1 

Upon  the  aysta],  o'er  the  breast 
Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest. 
There  was  a  cross  of  sUrer  Ijing — 

Another  type  of  that  blest  home. 
Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  djing 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come : — 
This  silTer  cross  the  maiden  rais'd 
To  her  pure  lips:  — then,  haying  gaz'd 
Some  minutes  on  that  tranquil  face. 
Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace. 
Upward  she  tum*d  her  brow  serene, 

As  i^  intent  on  hearen,  those  eyes 
Saw  then  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies ; 
And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made. 

And  that  fix'd  look  was  all  her  speech, 
I  saw  that  the  wrapt  spirit  pray'd 

Deeper  within  than  words  could  reach. 

Strange  power  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

To  its  own  hue  whate'er  comes  near. 
And  make  even  Tagrant  Passion  bum 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere  ! 
She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before. 
Had  come,  like  sudden  wild-fire,  o'er 
My  heart  and  brain  —  whom  gladly,  eren 

From  that  bright  Temple,  in  the  face 
Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heaTen, 

I  would  have  borne,  in  wild  embrace. 
And  risk'd  all  punishment,  divine 
And  human,  but  to  make  her  mine;— 
She,  she  was  now  before  me,  thrown 

By  fate  itself  into  my  arms  — 
There  standing,  beautiful,  alone, 

With  nought  to  guard  her,  but  her  charms. 
Tet  did  I,  then — did  even  a  breath 

From  my  parch 'd  lips,  too  parch'd  to  move. 
Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  beneath 
Earth's  silent  covering.  Youth  and  Death 

Held  converse  through  undying  love? 
No — smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt-^ 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight, 
Tet  seem'd  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt. 

To  win  by  stealth  so  pore  a  sight: 
And  rather  than  a  look  profane 

Should  then  have  met  those  thoughtful  eyes, 
Or  voice  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

That  link'd  her  spirit  with  the  skies^ 


I  would  have  gladly,  in  that  place. 
From  which  I  watch'd  her  heavenward  face, 
Let  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 
That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 
Gently,  as  if  on  every  tread. 

My  Ufe,  my  more  than  life,  depended. 
Back  through  the  corridor  that  led 

To  this  blest  scene  I  now  ascended. 
And  with  slow  seeking,  and  some  pain* 
And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vain, 
Emerg'd  to  upper  air 


The  sun  had  freshly  risen,  and  down 

The  marble  hills  of  Araby, 
Scatter'd,  as  firom  a  conqueror's  crown. 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 
There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light. 

Newly  put  on — as  if  for  pride 
Of  the  nigh  homage  paid  this  night 

To  his  own  Isis,  his  young  bride, 
Now  fading  feminine  away 
In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 

At  once  from  this  entangUng  net^ 
New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try, 
Or,  in  mirth,  wine,  and  luxury 

Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 
But  vain  the  effort — spell-bound  ^H, 
I  linger'd,  without  power  or  will 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door. 
Which  now  enclos'd  her  'mong  the  dead; 

Oh  £uicying,  through  the  boughs,  that  o'er 
The  sunny  pile  their  flickering  shed, 
'Twas  her  light  form  again  I  saw 

Starting  to  earth — ^ill  pure  and  bright, 
But  wakening,  as  I  hop'd,  less  awe, 

Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light. 

Than  in  that  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

But  no,  alas — she  ne'er  retum'd: 

Nor  yet — though  still  I  watch — nor  yet, 
Though  the  red  sun  for  hours  hath  bum'd. 

And  now,  in  his  mid  course,  hath  met 
The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 
Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile, 

like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless! — 
Nor  yet  she  comes — while  here,  alone, 

Saunt  nng  through  this  death-peopled  place, 
Where  no  heart  beats  except  my  0¥m, 
Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown. 

By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  trace 
These  lines,  that  are  to  waft  to  thee 
My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  that  Isle 
Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thon  and  I 


ALCIPHRON. 


787 


oms  that  Heayen  itself  into  a  place 
nted  sin  and  deified  disgrace, 
ring  Olympus  even  to  shame  more  deep, 
it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  cheap, 
lesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen*8  sacred  brood, 
I  £g7pt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food—- 
orthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  sees 
;8,  cau,  owls,  and  apes,  diyinities! 

e! — oh,  Decias,  thou,  who  feel'st  no  care 
ings  divine,  beyond  the  soldier's  share, 
akes  on  trust  the  faith  for  which  he  bleeds, 
d,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  needs  — 
canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangs 
as  thy  summer  war-cloak,  guess  the  pongs 
ithing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  heart, 
jm  as  mine  is,  acts  the  zealot's  part — 
eep  and  dire  disgust  with  which  I  wade 
gh  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade — 
Dud  profound  of  mystery,  where  the  feet, 
:ry  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit, 
mny  a  time,  when,  'mid  the  Temple's  blaxe, 
•rostrate  fools  the  sacred  cist  I  raise, 
not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 
>wer  this  priestcraft  gives  me  o'er  mankind — 
.T,  of  more  «night,  in  skilful  hand, 
•ve  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plann'd — 
Id,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 
'  own  mocker}',  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 
cd  round;  and — like  that  kindred  breed 
rercnd,  wclUdrest  croco<liles  they  feed, 
Q*d  Arsinoe' — make  my  keepers  bless, 
their  last  throb,  my  8harp-fang*d  Holiness. 

I  it  to  be  borne,  that  scoffers,  vain 

ir  own  freedom  from  the  altar's  chain, 

1  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  hast  sold, 

my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  to  uphold  ? 
it  not  be : — think'st  thou  that  Christian  sect, 
3  followers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 
crests  anew  and  swell  into  a  tide, 
threats  to  sweep  away  our  shrines  of  pride — 
'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  even 

they 

1  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  constant  play 
it's  resistless  archery  clear'd  their  way  ?  — 
noi'king  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes, 
)lemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummeiy  knows, 
i  wounding  flash  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 
ast-fulliug  creed,  prelusive  shines, 
t'ning  8uch  change  as  do  the  awfUl  freaks 
nmcr  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 

3  my  point — a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
le,  whom  Doubt  itself  hath  faiVd  to  cool 
to  that  freezing  point  where  Priests  despair 
r  spark  from  the'  altar  catching  there — 


the  trinket*  with  which  the  ncred  Cnwodilcs  w«rt 
Me  the  Epkoreiui,  ehap.  z. 


Hath,  some  nights  since — it  was,  methinks,  the  night 
That  foUow'd  the  fall  Moon's  great  anntial  rite — 
Through  the  dark,  winding  ducts,  that  downward 

stray 
To  these  earth-hidden  temples,  track'd  his  way. 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  Shrine,  and  me, 
The  choir  of  blooming  nymphs  thoa  long'st  to  see. 
Sing  their  last  night-hymn  in  the  Sanctuary. 
The  clangour  of  die  marvellous  Gate,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth — which  none  bat  hands 
Of  new,  untaught  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  dare  to  move— 
Gave  signal  that  a  foot  profiine  was  nigh  : — 
*Twas  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning's  sky. 
Had  been  observed,  curiously  wand'ring  roand 
The  mighty  fanes  of  oar  sepulchral  ground. 

Instant,  the'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepar'd,  — 
The  Fire,  Air,  Water ;  all  that  Orpheus  dar'd. 
That  Plato,  that  the  bright-hair'd  Samian'  pass'd. 
With  trembling  hope,  to  come  to — witat,  at  last  ? 
€k»,  ask  the  dupes  of  Priestcraft  I  question  him 
Who,  'mid  terrific  sounds  and  spectres  dim. 
Walks  at  Eleusis ;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seven  starry  gates  ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night-mysteries,  where  they  weep 
And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breeze, 
O'er  their  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities  — 
Amphibious,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd,  hang'd,  empal'd,  to  rise,  as  gods,  again; — 
Ask  thenif  what  mighty  secret  lurks  below 
This  seven-fold  mystery — can  they  tell  thee  ?  No ; 
Gravely  they  keep  that  only  secret,  well 
And  fairly  kept —  that  they  have  none  to  tell ; 
And,  dup'd  themselves,  console  their  humbled  pride 
By  duping  thenceforth  all  mankind  beside. 

And  such  the'  advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheas' 

time  — 
That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  sublime — 
So  many  minor  Mysteries,  imps  of  fraud. 
From  the  great  Orphic  Egg  have  wing'd  abroad. 
That,  still  to'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast. 
And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  most ; 
Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  round 
In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound ; 
Play  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 
With  changeful  skill ;  and  make  the  human  mind 
Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray. 
But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  its  way — 
Where  through  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard- rods. 
Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjur'd  into  Gods ; 
Wliile  Reason,  like  a  grave-fac'd  mummy,  stands, 
With  her  arms  swath'd  in  hieroglyphic  bands. 
But  chiefly  in  that  skill  with  which  we  use 
Plan's  wildest  passions  for  Religion's  views^ 


I 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


A. 


Aboalla,  King  of  the  Letter  Bucha- 

ria,  8.  kc.    See  Lall«  Rookh. 
Abdallah,  553.  Hit  Gasel,  553. 
Abdul  Fasil,  81. «. 
A  beam  of  tranquillity  imil'd  in  the 

vest,  SSI. 
A  Kruken  cake,  with  honej  tweet  (Ode 

LIZ.  Anacreon),  246^. 
JEfean  Sea,  the,  353. 355. 
Agnew,  Sir  Andrew,  616. 617.  et  patHm^ 

482. 
Ahl  where  are  they  who  heard  in  former 

lioart,  371. 
Albemarle,  Lord,  anecdote  of,  194. 
AilMUD,  the,  984. 440. 
Aldphron,  Athenian   philotopher,  an 
initiate  fai  Egyptian  Mytteriet,  709l 
His  recognition  by  the  Roman  tri- 
bune. TM.  Hit  daring.  729.  He  wit- 
nettet  the  death   of  the  Chrittian 
martyr  Alethe,  793.   Account  of  thi« 
Kplcurean  philotopher,  793.  797. 

Alciphron.  a  Fragment  of '  The  Epicu- 
rean,' at  originally  comenced  in 
Terte.  737—738.  Eplttle  f.  From 
Alciphron  at  Alexandria  to  Cleon  at 
Athent,  797.  H.  From  Alciphron  to 
Cleon,  739.  111.  From  Alciphron  to 
Cleon  731.  IV.  From  Orcut,  high 
priett  of  Memphit.  to  Deciut,  the 
Prvtorlan  prefect,  736. 

Alethe,  Story  of  the  Martyr.  698—703. 
€i  teij. 

Alexander,  Right  Hon.  H.,  555. 

AUrii.  King,  8.  70.  89.  Hit  nuptial* 
with  Lalla  Rookh.  83. 

All  that'i  bright  mutt  fade.  14iS. 

Alia,  name  of  God  In  Mahometan  coun- 
triet,  13.  {^Vide  Lalla  Rookh,)  184. 
193.     The  throne  of  Alia,  IR7.  199. 

Alone  in  crowdt  to  wander  on,  165. 

Alpt,  Song  of  the,  430. 

America,  Poemi  relating  to,  Preface, 
3IR.  320.  Dedication  to  Francit  Earl 
of  Moira,  Preface,  318.  The  poemr, 
830-343. 

Ammianut  tpeaking  of  Alexandria  in 
Egypt,  669. «. 

Amratree,  79.fa. 


Amrita,  the  Immortal  tree,  416. 
Amyttit,  the,  a  tingle  draught  of  wine, 


Anacreon.  Odet  of,  307. 

%*  The  Odei  are  gkten  At  this  Index 

in  the  order  of  the  initial  tetter  qf  each 
Ode. 
Anacreon.    Biographical  and  Critical 

Remarkt,  309.  Additional lyrict  attri- 
buted to  Anacreon,  348.    Panegyrirt 

in  the  Anthologia  on  Anacreon  349. 

351. 
Anacreontlct,  modem, 964.  273. 374.375. 

566.  668. 
And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  thit  make 

amendt,  198. 
And  hatt  thou  mark'd  the  pentive  thade, 

999. 
And  now  with  all  thy  pendl't  truth 

(Ode  XVII.  Anacreon),  939. 
Angelt  and  archangelt  of  the  celestial 

hierarchy  of  the  prinuBral  Syriant, 

183.  197. 
Angelt,  the  Fallen,  79.  187. 198. 
Angcrlanut,  Latin  Tertet  of,  trantlated, 

917.  n.  393.  «• 
Angletea,  Harquit  of,  lord-lieutenaot, 

603. 
Animal  Magnetitm,  640. 
Annual  Pill,  the,  608. 
Antelope  of  Brae,  78.  See  also  719. 
Anthology,  the  Greek :  —  Trantlationt 

of  tome  Epigramt  of,  349. 951.  Songt 

from  the  Greek.  394—396. 
Antlpater,  epigram  of,  950. 
Antique,  a  Study  fh>m  the,  831. 
Antiquity,  a  Dream  of,  328. 
Apollo,  the  god  of  poetry,  157. 
Apollo,  the  High-Priett  of,  to  a  ? irgin 

of  Delphi,  989. 
Apricott,  the  *  Seed  of  the  Sun,*  78. 
Arab,    the   tyrant,    Al  Hattan,  (vide 

I^la  Rookh.  the  Story  of  The  Fire- 
worthippert),  47.  et  ieq. 
Arab  Maid,  the.  48.  78. 79. 
ArabU,  47.  48. 

Arabian  Shepherd,  hit  camel.  374.  n. 
Ararat,  Mount,  48. 
Archangelt,  184, 188. 197. 
Ariadne,  dance  to  named,  375. 
Ariel,  328.433.  568. 

3H 


Arittippui,  to  a  Lamp  given  by  Late, 

876. 
Arm*d  with  hyacinthine  rod  (Ode  xxxl 

Anacreon).  329. 
Around  the  tomb,  O  bard  divine!  (An* 

thologia).  349. 
Arranmore  1  loved  Arranmore  !  133. 
Array  thee,  love.  350. 
Art,  373. 
At  by  hit  Lemnlan  forge't  flame  (Ode 

xxviii.  Anacreon),  328. 
At  by  the  there,  at  break  uf  day,  369. 
At  down  in  the  tunlett  retreatt,  169. 
Aik  notifttlUIIove.  416. 
At  late  I  tought  the  tpangled  bowert 

(Ode  VI.  Anacreon),  316. 
At  o'er  the  lake,  in  evening't  glow.  667. 
At  o'er  her  loom  the  Letbian  maid,  5K7. 
At  once  a  Grecian  maiden  wove.  374. 
Atpatla,  396. 
Aspen-tree,  the,  73. 
At  tlow  our  thip.  119. 
At  vanquith'd  Erin  wept,  139. 
AUIanUt,  Island  of,  673. 
Athent,  and  the  Sectarietof  theGardcn, 
665,  666.    Aldphron,  703.  737.  738. 
Pyrrho,  543.  et  seq.     The  mother  of 
art,  373, 
A-  hoi,  Duke  of,  579.  «. 
Atkinton,  Joseph,  Epittle  to,  393.Epitt1e 
from  Bermuda  to,  331 .  Tribute  to  hit 
memory,  439. 
At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  110. 
At  length  thy  golden  houit  have  wing'd 

their  flight  (Apthoiogia),  350. 
At  night,  when  all  it  ttill  around,  453. 
Attar  Gul,  or  (vulgarly)  Otto  of  Bote, 

81. 
Augustine  to  hit  Sitter.  169. 
Aurora  Borealit,  81. 
Aurungsebe,  Mogul  Emperor  of  Delhi. 

8.70. 
Auttriant,  their  entry  into  Naples,  434. 
Autumn  and  Spring.  161. 
Avenging  and  bright  fall  thetwift  tword 

of  Erin,  1091 
Awake,  arlte,  thy  light  it  come,  179. 
Awake  to  life,  my  tieeping  thcll  (Ode 

LX.  Anacreon),  943. 
Away,  away,  ye  men  of  roles  (Odeui. 
Anacreon),  938. 


INDEX. 


748 


Cotne,  ye  disconiolate,  where'er  you 

languUh,  171. 
Comet,  poetically  described,  190.    The 

mad  Tory  and  the,  624. 
ComraoD  Sense  and  Genius,  149. 
Condolence,  Epistle  of  :~From  a  Slave- 

Lord  to  a  Cotton<Lord,  614. 
Connor,  Phellin,  his  patriotic  Poetical 

Letter*,  450.  456.  466. 
Consultation,  the,  630. 
Cookery,  art  of  domestic ;  to  the  Reve- 
rend   *  61 1 . 

Coolburga,  or  Koolborga,  city  of  the 

Deccan,  83. 
Com  Question,  the,  563.  580. 593. 
Correspondence  between  a  Lady  and 

Gentleman  retipecting  Law^  571. 
Corruption,  an  ^istle,  by  au  Irishman, 

532—587. 
Corry,  Mr.,  hia  merit  as  an  amateur 

comedian,  43B.  51  a    To  James  Corry, 

CM}.,  on  the  present  of  a  wine-strainer, 

437. 
Cotton  and  Com,  a  dialogue,  589. 
Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees  (Ode 

XIV.  AnaereoD),  319. 
Country  Dance  and  Quadrille,  438. 
Court  Journal,  the,  486. 
Cousins,  Country,  News  for,  587. 
Crabbe,  the  Poet,  Verses  on  the  Ink- 
stand of.  433. 
Crib.  Tom,  Epistle  (h>m,  to  Big  Ben. 

577. 
Critias  of  Athens,  his  verses  on  Ana- 

creoo,  351.  II. 
Criticism,  the  genius  of,  440. 
Cross,  the,  an  emblem  of  (\ature  life  in 

Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  677. 703. 738. 

755. 
Crowe,  Rev.  William,  his  poetic  vdn, 

861.864. 
Crown  of  virgin  martyrs,  poisoned,  773. 

n. 
Crystal  Hunters,  the,  153. 
Cupid  arm'd,  414. 
Cupid    once  upon  a  bed  (Ode  xxxv. 

Aiukcreon),  331. 
Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 

Anacreontic),  348. 
Cupid,  poetical  allusions  to,  101.  146. 

348. 303.  309.  895.404.418.  Vide  Love. 
Cupid,  Sale  of,  by  Heleager,  394. 
Cupid's  Lottery,  393. 
Curious  Fact,  a,  611. 
Curran,  John  Philpot,  his  pleasantry, 

443. 
Curran,  Miss,  89. 

D. 

Dacre,  Lady,  Epilogue  to  her  Tragedy 
of  Ina,  43\ 

Damascus,  the  Green  Mosque  at.  71 .  n. 

Dan,  some  account  of  the  late  dinner 
to,  653. 

Dandies,  348. 851. 

Danes,  the,  101.  131. 184.  The  Scandi- 
navian pottrv.  511. 


Dante,  his  Inferno,  imitation  of,  604. 

The  Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters,  4M. 

His  contrition  of  mind,  563. 
David,  the  harp  of,  171. 
Davidson,  Lucretia,  93. 
Davy,  Sir  Humphrey,  his  lamp,  439. 
Dawn  is  breaking  o*er  us,  416. 
Day,  16&  350. 
Day 'dream,  the,  485. 
Dead-man*s  Isle :  —  Romance,  343. 
Dear  Fanny,  400. 
Dear  harp  of  my  country  I  in  darkness  1 

found  thee,  118. 
Dear?  Yes,  tho*  mine  no  more,  416. 
Death,  emblem  of,  677.    Opening  of  the 

Gates  of  Oblivion,  678.    The  upright 

bodies  in  catacombs,  679. 
Death  and  the  dead,  allusions  to,  166. 

170. 385.  686. 
Debt,  National,  687. 
Decius  Prsetorian  prefect,  Orcus,  high 

priest  of  Memphis,  to,  736. 
Delatorian  Cohort,  the,  445. 
Delhi,  visit  of  Abdalla  to  Aurangsebe 

at,  8.    Splendours  of  the  court  and 

city,  8.    Mogul  emperors  of,  77.  n. 
Delphi,  transport  of  laurel  to.  373.  The 

shrine,  414.  To  a  virgin  of,  889. 
Deluge,  tablets  saved  by  Seth  from  the, 

199. 
Deluge,  the.  Whlston's  notion  of  iU 

being  caused  by  a  comet,  713.  n. 
Dens,  Doctor.  488.  490. 
Derbyshire,  Mr.  Moore's  residence  in, 

IRO. 
Desmond's  Song,  and  tradition  relating 

to  that  chieftain,  139. 
Destiny,  the  Island  of,  133. 
Devil  among  the  Scholars,  the,  308. 
Dewan  Khafs,  built  by  Shah  Allum,  iU 

Inscription,  79.  it. 
Dialogue,  a  recenft,  644. 
Dick  — — ,  a  character,  688. 
Dictionary,  Revolution  in  the,  headed 

by  Mr.  Gait,  615. 
Did  not,  364. 
Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alliance;  a 

Dream,  496. 
Doctors,  the  Three,  685. 
Dodsworth.  Mr.  Roger  {mmo  1886),  583. 
Donegal.  Marchioness  of,  Letter   to, 

137.    Poetical  Epistle  from  Bermuda 

to  her  Ladyship,  333.    Dedication  to, 

94. 
Donkey  and  Panniers,  591. 
Dost  thou  remember,  147. 
Dove,  the,  169. 

Dove  of  Mahomet,  the,  197. 589. 
Drama,  Sketch  of  the  First  Act  of  a  new 

Romantic,  638. 
Dream  of  Hindostan,  a,  619. 
Dream  of  Home,  the,  408. 
Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters,  from  Danlc, 

430. 
Dream  of  those  days,  the,  135. 
Dream  of  Turtle,  bjf  SirfV.  Curtis^  591 . 
Dream,  Sir  Andrew's.  616. 
Dream,  the  Limbo,  ftc.,  G09L 


Dreaming  for  ever,  vainly  dreaming, 

419. 
Dreams,  poetical  mention  of,  152. 1.V6, 

Xhl.  368.  633. 
Drinking  Songs,  ftc.,  96.  99.  100.  111. 

188.  131. 134.  ftc. 
Drmk  of  this  cup,  133. 
Drink  of  this  cup,  Osiris  sips,  6H3. 
Drink  to  her,  who  long,  103. 
Druids,  and   Druidical    superstitions, 

133,133. 
Duigenan,  Doctor,  91. 
Duke  is  the  lad  to  frighten  a  lass,  the, 

636. 


E. 

East,  poetical  romances  of  the  (Italia 
Rookh),  9.  70.  83. 

F.blis,  the  evil  spirit  13.  187. 

Echo,  13  125.  147.203.355. 

Echoes,  New-fasrtioned,  613. 

Eden,  some  allusions  to.  43.  134.  181. 
188. 

Egerton.  Lord  Francis,  348. 

Kgypfs  dark  sea,  168.  The  desolation 
of,  168. 

Egyptians,  the  ancient ;  of  the  counte- 
nance of  the  women,  675.  n.  Their 
hieroglyphics.  609. 

Eldon.  Lord  Chancellor,  conservative 
tears  of,  60.  583.  Nightcap  of,  .VI7. 
A  wizard,  587.  His  hat  and  wig,  595. 
His  Lordship  on  the  Umbrella  Ques- 
tion, 597.  His  conscientious  conserv- 
atism {after  Horace,  Ode  xxii.  lib.  1.), 
570.    His  wig.  568. 

Eloquence,  hTJ. 

Emmett,  Robert ;  his  eloquence,  87. 
His  enthusiasm,  89.    His  offence.  90. 

Emmett,  Thomas  Addis,  89. 

Enchanted  tree,  the,  706. 

Enigma,  60a 

Rpicure's  dream,  876. 

Epicurean,  the,  665. 

Epicureans,  busts  of  the  most  celebrated 
philosophers  of  their  sect  at  Athens, 
666. 

Fpicurus,  307.  338.  666. 

Epigrams,  by  Mr.  Moore,  393.  437. 567. 

669.  574. 

Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia  in  praise  of 
Anacreon,  349—351. 

Epilogue,  occasional,  spoken  by  Mr. 
Corry  in  the  character  of  Vapid,  after 
the  play  of  the  Dramatist,  at  the  Kil- 
kenny theatre,  428.  To  the  tragedy  of 
Ina,  435. 

Erasmus  on  earth,  to  Cicero  in  the 
shades  ;  an  Epistle,  636. 

Erin,  oh  Erin,  103. 

Erin  I  the  tear  and  the  smile  In  thine 
eyes,  95. 

Erin,  poetical  allusions  to,  115, 116.  139. 
131.  13.5. 

Erin,  some  political  allusions  to,  598. 
et  passim.   See  Ireland. 

Essex,  the  lae  Earl  of,  363. 


KCDEX- 


745 


Harp  of  mj  country !   In  durknets  I, 

found  thee,  IIS. 
Harp,  the  origin  of  the,  105. 
Harp.  Farewell  to  the,  93. 
Harp  that  ouce  through  Tara*f  halls 

Th*.  96. 
Harut  and  Marut,  the  Angela,  186. 
Hal  •onrow  thy  young  dayi  shaded,  114. 
Hassan.  Al,  the  Prophet  Chief  of  Ara. 
bia,  4<  &6.  58.    See  Story  of  the  Fire, 
worshippers,  47.  el  $eq. 
Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  well-aimed 

spear  (Ode  lxit.  Anacreon),  344. 
Hastings,  Marquis  of  (Earl  Molra),  and 
▼isit  to  his  mansion  at  Donington, 
43.    His  library,  43. 341.    Dedication 
to  Francis  Earl  of  Molra,  318. 
Hat,  Ode  to  a,  586. 
Hat  versus  Wig,  595. 
Have  you  not  seen  the  timid  tear,  263. 
He  who  instructs  the   youthful  crew 

(Ode  LT1.  Anacreon).  211. 
Headfort,  Marchioness  of,  Dedication  to, 

143. 
Hear  me  but  once,  while  o*er  the  grave, 

151. 
Heard,  Sir  Isaac,  and  the  Peerage,  5^6. 
Heait  and  lute.  My,  405. 
Heart  to  rest.  No.  leave  my,  157. 
Heathcote,  to  Lady :  —  on  a  ring  found 

at  Tunbridge  Wells.  308. 
Hebe,  The  Fall  of :  — a  dithyrambic  ode, 

301. 
Henley.  Lord,  and  St.  Cecilia,  621. 
Henry  to  Lady  Emma,  625. 
Her  last  words  at  parting,  how  can  I 

forget?  407. 
Hercules  to  his  daughter,  song  of,  406. 
Here,  take  my  heart,  397. 
Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid  (Ode  xix. 

Anacreon),  2*24. 
Here  slei>ps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied 

shade  (AntholoRia),  249. 
Here  sleeps  the  Bard,  157. 
Here,  while  the  moonlight  dim,  871. 
Here's  the  bower  she  lov'd  so  much, 

400. 
Hero  and  Leander,  386. 
High-born  Ladye,  the,  388L 
Hinda,   the   Arabian  maid.     See   the 
Story  of  the  Fire-worshippers,  46.  et 
seq. 
Hither,   gentle   Mute  of  mine   (Ode 

Lxxvi.  Anacreon),  347. 
Holland,  Lord,  regret  for  the  death  of, 

662.    Translations  by.  562. 
HolUnd,  to  Lady,  on  a  legacy  by  Napo> 

I<'oa.  434. 
Holy  .Alliance,  Fables  for  the,  495. 
Hooker,  Bishop,  on  «i  and  «»,  588. 
Hope  comes  again,  to  this  heart  long  a 

stranger.  159. 
Hope,  poetical  allusiona  to,  148.  156. 

174.  392. 
Horare,  free  translations  of  some  Odes 
of :  —  Come, Yarmouth,  my  boy.  never 
trouble  your  brains  (Ode  xi.  lib.  8.), 
5«.9.     The  man  who  keeps  a  con- 


science pure  (Ode  xxIL  lib.  1.),  570. 
I  hate  thee,  oh  Mob,  as  my  Lady 
hates  delf  (Ode  L  lib.  3.),  574.  Boy 
tell  the  cook  that  I  hate  all  nick-nack- 
eries  (Ode  xxxviii.  lib.  1.),  £74.  Pa- 
rody of  '  Donee  gratus  eram  tibi,*  or 
Horace's  return  to  Lydia,  354. 

Horn,  the,  158. 

How  am  I  to  punish  thee  (Ode  x.  Ana' 
creon),  817. 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour,  99. 

How  happy  once,  tho*  wing'd  with  sighs. 
404. 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy  (Ode  xxxix. 
Anacreon),  333^ 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse^s  wing, 
173.        , 

How  shall  I  woo?  161. 

How  sweetly  does'the  moonbeam  smile, 
49. 

Hudson.  Edward,  recollections  of  him 
and  of  his  musical  taste,  90L  93. 

Hume,  David,  History  of  England  by, 
545. 

Hume,  Joseph,  esq.,  681.  581. ».  etpoS' 
tim, 

Hume,  to  Thomas,  esq.,  M.  D. ;  written 
at  Washington,  355. 

Humorous  and  Satirical  Poems,  477— 
660. 

Hunt,  Henry,  esq.,  his  spurious  coflRee, 
581. 

Hunter  boy,  the,  ISO.  158. 

Hush,  hush!— a  Glee ;  433b 

Hush,  sweet  lute,  419. 

Hussun  Abdaul,  valley  of,  70.     Royal 
gardens  near,  71. 

Hymen,  poetical  allusions  to,  153. 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the 
Tomb  of  her  Mother,  272. 

Hyperborean,  song  of  a,  414. 

L 

I  care  not  for  the  idle  state  (Ode  viii 

Anacreon).  216. 
I  dreamt  that  in  the  Paphian  groves, 

369. 
I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee,  176. 
I  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest  (Ana- 
creontic), 248. 
I  found  her  not— the  chamber  seem'd, 

28S. 
I  know  that  heaven  hath  sent  me  here 

(Ode  XL.  Anacreon),  334. 
I  know  thou  lov'st  a  brimming  measure 

(Anacreontic),  348. 
I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre  (Ode 

XXIII.  Anacreon),  326. 
I  pray  thee,  by  the  gods  above  !  (Ode 

IX.  Anaoreon),  317. 
I  pray  you,  let  us  roam  no  more.  327. 
I  saw,  front  yonder  silent  cave,  3701 
I  saw  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning 

was  shining,  117. 
I  saw  the  moon  rise  clear,  400. 
I  saw  the  smiling  bard   of   pleasure 

(Ode  L  Atiacreon),  214. 


I  saw  thy  form  in  youthftil  prime,  107. 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank,  330. 

1  thought  this  heart  enkindled  lay,  371. 

I've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  133. 

I  will,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past  (Ode 
XIII.  Anacreon),  318. 

I  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  lake,  13a 

laothe,  348.    Before  her  glass,  349. 

I'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me, 
114. 

Idols  In  the  house  of  Asor,  80.  Of 
King  Crack,  567.    Of  Jaghemaut,  9. 

If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  the  power 
(Ode  XXXVI.  Anacreon),  332: 

If  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you'll  allow,  361. 

If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear,  329. 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day.  158. 

If  thou'lt  be  mine.  130. 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  sing  and  play, 
410. 

If  to  see  thee  be  to  love  thee,  857. 

Ill  omens  :  —Young  KiUy,  &t,  103^ 

Imagination,  852. 

ImiUtion,  trom  the  French.  481.  See 
oUo  Anthologia,  Horace,  Arc 

Immortality,  stars  the  beacons  of,  697. 

Impromptu,  371. 804.  343.  574. 

In  myrtle  wreaths  my  votive  sword,  806. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  118. 

In  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies,  271. 

Ina,  by  Lady  Dacre,  435. 

Incantation,  an,  590. 

Inconstancy,  870. 

India,  poetical  allusions  to,&  70. 77. 78. 
etteq. 

Indiau  boat,  the,  889. 

Indian  maid,  the  young,  409. 

Indian  tree,  the,  433. 

Inkstand,  the  poet's.  433. 

Innisfail,  Song  of,  132. 

Innisfallen,  isle  of.  186. 

Insurrection  of  the  Papers;  a  Dream, 
564. 

Intercepted  Despatch,  Dlabolo's,  584. 

Intercepted  Letters,  the,  of  the  Two- 
penny Post- Bag,  548,  &C. 

Intolerance,  a  Satire :  Account  of**  Cor- 
ruption "  and  "  Intolerance."  See 
528.  Preface  to  Intolerance  and  Cor- 
ruption. 532.  533.    The  Satire,  541 . 

Invisible  Girl,  the.  28a 

Invitation  to  dinner  \  addressed  to  Lord 
Lansdowne,  431. 

Iran,  Land  of.  78.  See  Lalla  RooWh, 
pauim. 

Ireland,  and  her  national  music,  88, 
93. 

Ireland;  certain  traditions  and  romances 
respecting,  95.  100.  107.  109.  110.  118. 
124.  129.  131.  132.133.  135. 

Irehmd,  politics  and  political  sensibility 
of  the  kingdom  ot{$ee  the  Fudge  Fa- 
mily), 4I&  469.  475.  The  penal  coda 
584.  The  outbreak  of  1798,  314.  ei 
seq.  Romanism  in,  654.  Tlmughts 
on  the  present  government  of  (1828), 
603. 

IrUh  antiquities,  611. 


INDEX. 


747 


:tbee,  180.403. 
af,  403. 

ght  kummer  cloud,  401 . 
ictory,  406. 
oung  dream,  106. 
lie,  161. 191. 19a.  350.  370. 386  Jt. 
be  Persian,  6-S3. 
be  RuMian,  4S0. 
r  the  Angels,  181.    Preiitoe  to 
eiDi,183.  Thepoem,183L  First 
'•  Story,  188.    Second  Angel's 
188.   Third  Angel's  Story,  199. 
he  Sale  of,  269. 
ir  Hudson,  to,  A77. 
ian  war-eong,  403. 
e,  78. 892. 
176. 

e  poet's,  160. 
te  tell-tale,  294. 

H. 

rellan  policy,  condemned,  515. 
ttis,  prsetorlan  prefect,  719. 
Patrick,  Esq.,  his  Epistles  to 
ate  In  Ireland,  473.  479.  490. 
firror,  the,  387. 
,  woman  a,  194, 

eC,  religion  of  (we  Lalla  Kookh), 
ieq. 

et,  the  Seal  of  preceding  pro- 
,  194.  The  lamillar  dove  o', 
M. 

etant,  belief  of  the,  183. 185. 188. 
99.    The  chief  angels,  183. 184, 
H9. 196. 
med  Shaw,  feast  and  throne  of, 

,  the  sleeping,  158. 
sof  Zea,  ZJi.etpauim. 
s,  aUuslons  to,  421.  478.  60a 
t  nor  heed  those  arms  that  hold 
38a 

I,  the,  173. 719.  n\.,et»eg.i  the 
1  of  mar^rdom,  722. 723. 
07. 

ttar  of  the  sea,  872. 
bellev'd  thee  true,  293. 
rs.  Mr.  Cbarles,  642 
ilatlon,  scene  from  a  play  acted 
iford,  called,  631. 
fa-Sima,  or  the  sunken  island, 

wn,  the  young.  111. 
as,  the  hermit,  711.  713.717.721. 
er:  — Here  at  thy  tomb  these 
1  shed,  804.  Various  imitations 
.  279.  394.  396. 

es,  Irish,  94—142.  Succeeded  by 
National  Airs,  145.  et  $e^, 
abilia  of  last  week  (March  13. 
,562. 
y,  poetical  allusions  to,  148. 184. 

kis,  on  the  Nile,  674.;  sacred  col- 

of,68^ 

*,  Anacreontic  in  Greek  1^,  with 

Mlation,  228.  m. 


Merou,  city  of  Khorassan,  10. 32. 
Methinks  the  pictured  bull  we  see  (Ode 

UT.  Anacreon),  239. 
Miguel,  Don,  Ode  to,  602. 
Mileslus  and  the  Milesians,  133. ' 
Millennium,  the —  and  the  Rer.  Mr. 

Inrlng,  584. 
Miltlades,  the  Ohost  of,  614. 
Minaret,  chancs  from  an  illuminated, 

72.  M. 
Minenra,  or  Pallas,  and  Love.  377. 
Minenra's  thimble,  404. 
Ministers,  the  new  costume  of  the,  570. 

The  Sal«  of  the  Tools,  872. 
Ministers,  wreaths  for  the,  568. 
Minstrel  Boy,  the.  111. 
Miriam's  Song,  168. 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  428.  433. 436. 
Mischief,  thoughts  on,  hr  Lord  St— n- 

1— y,  his  first  attempt,  659. 
Misshig.  Lord  de  •  •  •.  618. 
Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  dlTine  (Anacreon- 
tic), 248. 
Mceris,  Island  of  the  lake,  692. 
Mohawk  River,  lines  written  at  the 

Cohos  or  Fails  of  the,  337. 
Mokanna,  the  prophet*chief  of  Kho. 

rassan,  10. 12.  et  $eq. 
Monarch   Love,   resistless  boy  (Ode 

LzxiT.  Anacreon),  247. 
Monopoly,  present  spirit  of,  581. 
Moot- Blanc,  sublime  prospect  of,  514. 
Montaigne  quoted,  511. 
Montpensier,  Duke  of,  to  the,  800. 
Moon,  poetical  mention  of  the,  370. 371. 

379.  ei  pa$*im. 
Moon,  that  high  in  heav'n  art  shining, 

419. 
Moore,  Mrs.,  xxxi.   To  my  mother, 

433L 
Moore,  to  Miss,  flrom  Norfolk  in  Vir- 

glnU,  321. 
Moral  positions,  a  dream,  624. 
Morality,  an  epistle,  2931 
Morgan,  George,  Esq.  (of  Norfo1k,Vlr- 

ginia),  epistle  to,  from  Bermuda,  825. 
Morning,  117. 171. 
Morning  Herald,  the,  585. 
Morning  Post,  tbe,  485. 
Morris,  (3apt,  his  song,  *  My  Muse,  too, 

when  her  wings  are  dry,*  S4& 
Moschus,  his  first  Idyl,  quoted,  221  n. 
Moses.  171. 

Mountain  Sprite,  the,  128. 
"  Mum  "  to  the  editor  of  the  Morning 

Chronicle,  575. 
Murray,  Mr;  his  contemplated  Mail- 
coach  edition  of  Rokeby,  55L 
Muse,  the,  356. 
Music,  Angel  of,  418.  n. 
Music  and  Melodies,  an  account  of  some 

of  our  modem  poets  who  had  a  taste 

for,  and  a  knowledge  of,  361.  et  $eq. 
Music,  tbe  Prefstory  Letter  oo  Irish, 

137. 
Music,  on :  —  Song,  ICtt.  415. 
Music,  poetical  allusions  to,  130.  135. 

157.  158.  202. 


Music,  a  Melologua  npon  National,  89a 

391. 
Music  of  the  spheres,  190. 
Musical  Box,  the :— Rose  and  the  Poet, 

415. 
My  gentle  harp.  118. 
My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

ua 

Mythology,  Egyptian  and  Greek,  666. 
etpauim, 

N. 

Nama,  199.  201. 

Namouna,  the  enchantress,  74     Calls 

down  sleep  on  Nourmahal,  76. 
Naples,  lines  on  the  entry  of  the  Aus- 

trisns  Into.  In  1821.  434. 
Napoleon,  the  Emperor,  consigned  to 

the  rock  of  St.  Hrlena,  577.     Allu- 
sions to  his  fldlea  fortunes,  369. 393. 

437.465. 
Natal  Genius,  the,  a  Dream :  to  _, 

the  morning  of  her  birthday,  270. 
National  Airs,  145.  &c. 
National   Music,  a   Melologue  upon, 

390.391. 
Nature's  Labels,  a  fragment,  966. 
Nay,  do  not  weep,  ray  Fanny  dear,  296. 
Nay,  look  not  there,  my  lore,  194. 
Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  a^n,  327. 
Nea.  Odes  to:  —  Wtiuea  at  Bermuda, 

327—331. 
Necropolis,  and  lake  near  Memphis, 

676.  et  aeq, 
Neu  and  Cages,  154. 
Ne'er  ask  the  hour,  what  is  it  to  ui  ? 

122. 

Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools, 
156. 

Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 
270. 

Night  Dance,  the,  183L 

NighUthought,  a,  290. 

NighUngales,  song  of.  72. 403.  410. 412. 

Nights,  such  as  Eden's  calm  recall,  854. 

Nile,  river,  694;  the  Isle  of  Gardens,  or 
Antirrhodus,  near  Alexandria,  664. 

Nile,  navigation  of  the,  673.  694.  69^. 
098. 

Nile,  nymphs  of  the,  698. 

Nile,  the  Garden  of  the,  78.  Snurcea 
of  the  river,  516. 

No  life  is  like  the  mounUineer's,  875. 

No,  not  more  welcome  the  lairy  num- 
bers, 114. 

Noble  and  illustrious  authors,  609, 612. 

Nonsense,  291. 

Nora  Creina,  107. 

Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 
417. 

Nourjehan,  *  the  Light  of  the  World,* 
71.  ». 

Nourmahal,  the  Light  of  the  Haram, 
71.  73.  74.  Her  spells,  75.  Her 
slffcp.  76.  She  Is  regretted  by  Seliro, 
77.  Her  disguise,  79,  80.  The  Geor- 
gian  maid's  song,  79.    Succeeded  by 


of  the  Moon,  the,  689. 

,  spoken  at  the  opening  of  the 

ay  Theatre.  October.  1809, 428. 

9W  to  write  by.  603. 

,  his  birds  taught  to  pronounce 

ie,  M6. 

S8.  299. 436. 

ag  of  old,  648w 

'fligate  Londoners,  617. 

y.  193. 

le  Testal  veil,  nor,  oh,  S84. 

t  of  Memphis,  672.    Rhodope, 

dy  of  the  Pyramid,  678. 

Q. 


Si. 


438.    Episcopal,  622. 
486. 

f  Review,  the,  616.  CM.  Re- 
ts addressed  to  the  Author  of 
Ocle  of  '*  the  Church  **  in  the, 

re  have  but  a  second,  128. 

R. 

» buckler,  poise  the  lance,  869. 

his  Fomarina,  518. 

to  the  Lady  Charlotte,  flrom 
oks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  341. 
ice  of  the  Indian  Spirit,  842. 
113.  146.297.394.400. 
Folly,  and  Beauty,  146. 
,  the,  89. 

u.  the,  in  December,  146. 
ad  his  curate,  the,  633. 
notions  on,  627. 
,  the  **  Sacred  Songs,**  165. 
and  trade,  653. 

in  the  East,  Brahma,  &c.,  II. 
alia  Rookh.) 

{ emblems  and  types,  169.  **  In- 
ce**  satirised,  538.  et  teq.    On 
tlon,  553.  rt  passim. 
er  him  thou  leav'st  behind, 

pr  the  time  in  La  Mancha's 

402. 

ertheel  119. 

ranee:  addressed  to  Lord  John 
I,  after  a  conversation  in  which 
intimated  some  idea  of  giving 
K>litical  pursuits,  429. 
mce.  the :  Yes,  if  'twere  any 
n  love,  279. 
nd  Rofe,  265. 

decimating,  ~  and   decimal 
nic,  695. 

,  Pamphleteer,  the,  643. 
s  and  Right  Reverends,  reso- 
passed  at  a  meeting  of,  615. 
,  Mr.  Thomas,  4i5. 

678.  Fable  of  the  Lady  of 
amid,  678. 

>n  the  Road,  extracted  from 
mal  of  a  Travelling  Member 
*oco-Curante  Society,  in  1819, 


INDEX. 


Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 

97. 
Rich  in  Miss,  I   proudly  scorn  (Ode 

Lxvii.  Anacreon),  243. 
Ring,  the ;  a  ule  of  Rupert,  981. 
Ring,  the :  -.  The  happy  day  at  length 

arriv'd,  282. 
Ring,  the :  >-  No,  Lady  I  Lady  I  keep 

the  ring,  280. 
Rings  and  Seals,  803. 
Ripen'd  by  the  solar  beam  (Ode  ux. 

Anacreon),  242. 
Rival  Topics :  —  An  Extravagansa.  641. 
Roche,  Sir  Boyle,  his  blunders,  601. 
Rock,  Caputn,  his   Epistle  to   Lord 

Lyudhurst,  659.    His  Letter  to  Terry 

Alt,  660. 
Rogers,  Mr.,  accompanied  by  the  author 

to  Paris,  43.    See  the  Dedications  to 

Samuel  Rogers,  Esq. 
Rome,  artisu  at,  509.    The  Palatine 

Mount,  509. 
Rokeby,  allutions  to.  Mi.  554. 
Romaika.  the,  danced  in  Zea,  868,  et 

seq, 
Romaldkirk,  to  the  Curate  of,  631. 
Rondeau :  —  **  Good  night  1  good  night,** 

277. 
Rosa,  to,  278. 

Rosa,  to,  written  during  illness,  968. 
Rosa,  to,  278.  292. 
Rose  of  Cashmere,  71.  ^ 
Rose,  the  Alpine,  152. 
Rose,  the,  and  summer  bee,  156. 
Rose  of  the  Desert  I  406. 
Rose  and  Nightingale,  413. 
Rose,  the  young,  403. 
Rose  tree,  the  pretty,  898. 
Rose  in  nettles  bid, the: — Conundrum, 

308. 
Roses,  the.  Festival  of  the  Scattering  of, 

9.  72.  IB.  8a    Of  the  Garden  of  the 

Nile,  78.  AtUrGul,  81. 
Roi«>s,  political,  574.  is. 
Round  the  world  goes,  by  day  and  night, 

415. 
Row  gently  here,  152. 
Rubi,  the  second  Angel,  188.  His  Story, 

188. 
Ruby,  magnificent.  78. 
Russell,  Lord  John,  remonstrance  on 

his  intended  retirement  fh>m  politics, 

429. 
Russian  Lover,  the: — Fleetly  o*er  the 

moonlit  snows,  420. 

S. 

Sacred  Songs,  163.    Dedication  to  Ed- 
ward Tuite  Dalton,  Esq.,  165. 

Sail  on,  sail  on.  thou  fearless  bark,  122. 

Sailor  boy,  'tis  day,  896. 

Salmagundi,  596. 

Sannaaaro,  his  Gallido  nell'  Arcadia, 
quoted,  215.  n. 

Sappho,  lyre  of,  355.    Legends  of  Leu- 
cadia,  367. 

Sarpi,  FraPaoli,444. 
3  I 


749 


Satirical  and  Humorous  Poems,  559. 
'  Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day, 
151. 
Say,  what  shall  we  dance,  494. 
Sceptic,  the;  a  Philosophical   Satlr«, 
642.    The  Preface  on  Ancient  Philo- 
sophy, and  the  Pyrrhonisu,  549.   The 
Satire,  543.  544 
Scepticism,  486L 

Scoa,  Sir  Walter,  his  musical  taste. 
861.    Interesting  scene  at  the  Edin. 
burgh  theatre,  362. 
Scriptures,  the  Holy.  169. 
Sculptor,  wouldst  thou  glad  my  soul 

(Ode  V.  Anacreon).  915. 
Sea,  the  Old  Man  of  the,  594.    A  Re- 
flection at.  267. 
See  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark, 

848. 
See  the  dawn  from  heaven,  154. 
Selim  and  Nourmahal,  74—80. 
Sephiroths  or  Splendours  of  the  Cabala, 

901.  M. 
Sepulture,  ancient  Egyptian  mode  of, 

679. 
Seraphim,  199. 
Serapis,  the  Ood,  683. 
Seth.  traditions  relative  to  the  patriarch. 

199. 
Shalimar  Palace,  the,  77. 80. 
Shall  the  harp  then  be  silent,  125. 
Shamrock,  Oh  the,  110. 
Shannon,  Stanzas  from  the  banks  of 

the,  612. 
She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her 

young  hero  sleeps!  108. 
She  never  look'd  so  kind  before,  272. 
She  sung  of  Love,  130. 
She  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep 

your  heart  cool,  400. 
Sheridan,  Rt.  Hon.  Richard  Brinsley, 
Lines  on  the  Death  of,  576.    His  cha- 
racter described,  577.    Intended  Life 
of,  160. 
Sheridan,  Mrs.,  air  composed  by,  165. 
Shield  the,  967. 
Shine  out,  sUrs,  399. 
Ship  a-hoy !  —  Song,  369. 
Ships,  and  wrecks,  157.  160.  179.  890. 

325.  326. 
Ships,  the  Meeting  of  the,  422. 
Shiras  wine.  78. 
Should  those  fond  hopes,  146. 
Shrtne,  the,  265. 
Silence,  emblem  of,  132. 
Silence  is  in  our  fesul  balls,  135. 
Silence,  chain  of,  118.  «. 
Simonides,  epitaphs  on  Anacreon  by, 

250.  ft. 
Sin,  184.  196. 
Since  first  thy  word,  172. 
Sing,  sweet  harp.  131. 
Sing,  sing,  music  was  given,  130. 
Sinking  Fund  cried,  681. 
Sinners.  178. 

Sirmio,  peninsula  of,  481. 
Slumber,  oh  slumberl  if  slMpteg  tboa 
mak'st,  156. 


INDEX. 


751 


and  Baechot  ever  joung, 

he  toft  and  blooming  child 

II.  Anacreon),  244. 

idow,  477. 

)t  feel  no  pain,  392. 

he  queen  of  nympht  divine 

'1.  Anacreon),  24!%. 

arest  I  U  ours,  397. 

i  every  day  that  came,  308. 

k  garland  for  the  rose,  394. 

alas,  my  doom  is  spolieo,  159. 

.iberty,  the,  438. 

tructive  propositions  of  the, 

sell  of  Pegu,  triple  coloured, 

,  and  the  Comet,  624. 

(ei.628L 

tor,  and  Dr.  Whig.  630. 

u.    See  Horace,  Antbologjr, 

le  young,  720.  722. 

liege,  Dublin,  an  examlna- 

tical.  et  seq  91. 

;  pour  la.  GOO. 

170.  416. 

acterised.  157. 172.  722. 
nan,  mountain,  72.  n. 

to  be  of  PurlLish  extraction, 

a  mocking  dream  of  night 

c  Anacreon),  229. 

It,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 

CTii.  Anacreon),  232. 

3  of  night,  when  round  the 

e  zxxii.  Anacreon),  230. 

of  those  dreams,  127. 

n  the  world  was  in  its  prime, 

for  a  moment,  and  yet  in 
n343. 

lou  with  lofty  wreath    thy 
?5. 

Post-Bag.     by     Thomas 
le  Younger,  546.   Dedication 
len    Woolricbe,    E*q.,    546. 
'.ice,  546.    The  Intfrceptod 
—  From  the  Princess  Char- 
Wales    to    Lady    Barbara 
,etter  I.,  548.    From  Colonel 
I   to    G.    F.    Leckie,    Esq., 
:..  549.    Its  Postscript,  55<). 
i  Regent  to  Lord  Yarmouth, 
L,  .•'SO.    From  the  Rt.  Hon. 
)uigenan  to  the  Rt.  Hon.  Sir 
:hoU  Letter  IV.,  551.    (En- 
ri  *  Unanswerable  Argtiment 
1^  Papi»ts,'  651 . )    From  the 
Dowager  of  Cork,  Letter  V., 
Postscript,  33.5.    From  Ab- 
a  London,  to  Mohassan  in 
Letter    VL,    652.      From 

on  and  Co.  to  ,  Esq^ 

^11.,    653.      From     Colonel 

to  SkefBngton,   Esq., 

III.,  454.    Appendix  to  these 
555—558. 


Tyrolete  Song  of  Liberty :  —  Merrily 
every  bosom  boundeth,  402. 

U. 

Unbind  thee,  love,  416. 

Up  and  march  !  the  timbrels  sound, 

375. 
Up,  tailor  boy,  *tit  day,  396. 
Up  with  the  iparkling  brimmer,  379. 

V. 

Valerian,  the  emperor,  719. 
Valletort,    to    Caroline    VIscounteu, 

written  at  Lacock  Abbey  in  the  year 

1832,433. 
Valley  of  Visions,  688. 
Valley,  the  Unequalled.  81. 
Van,  The  Ruthanasia  of,  610. 
Variety,  261. 
Veil,  the  Silver,  321. 
Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorasian,  11. 
Venice,  former  glory  of,  515.    Wais 

against  the  Turks,  51&     Her  tyran 

nical  oligarchy,  516.    Tortures,  516 

Her  fall  a  retribution,  516. 
Venus,  poetical  allusions  to  the  goddeu, 

130. 
Venus,  the  planet,  121.  326.  421. 
Venus  Anadyomene,  518. 
Venus  Papyria,  578. 
Virgin  of  Delphi,  the,  272. 
Virtue,  322.  328. 
Vishnu,  600. 
Vision,  a,  by  the  author  of  Christabel, 

387. 
Voice,  the,  385. 
Voit  lire's  Kiss,  rendered  by  Mrs. , 

277. 
VulcMn  !  hear  yonr  gtoriotu  task  (Ode 

IV.  Anacreon),  215. 

W. 

Wake  thee,  my  dear— thy  dreaming, 

4or.. 
Wake  up,  sweet  melody  I  409. 
Wales,  Princess   Charlotte  of.  549.  et 

seq. 
Walton.  Isaac,  71.  n. 
Waltz  Duet,  3.54. 
Waltiing,  430. 
Warning,  a,  .304. 
War  agninst  Babylon  !  174. 
War's  high-sounding  harp,  174. 
Warrifir,  the  Dying,  387. 
Washington,  city  of.  and  the  American 

rivers,  &c.,  3.33.  3.35.  et  seq. 
Watchman,  the ;  a  Glee,  423. 
Waterloo    coin.    Advertisement   of    a 

miit»ing  or  lost,  621. 
We  care  not ;  Song,  421. 
We  read  the  flying  courser's  name  (Ode 

xxvii.  Anacreon),  227. 
Weep,  Children  of  Israel !  171. 
Wee])  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  j 

the  tomb,  167. 


Weep  on  I  weep  on!  your  hour  is  past, 

107. 
Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through 

the  long  day,  367. 
Welcome,    sweet  bird,    through   the 

sunny  air  winging,  379. 
Well  I  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  ano- 
ther's it  be,  329. 
Well,  the  Holy,  alleged  miracutoui  ap- 
pearance of  the  moon  night  and  day 

in  the,  31. 
Wellington  Spa,  the,  644. 
Wellington,  Field  Marshal  the  Duke 

of,  93.    Reinforcements  for  him,  A73. 

His  Grace  and  the  Ministers,  576. 

624. 
Wellington,  Napoleon,  and  Waterloo, 

437.600. 
Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears,  168. 
What's  my  thought  like  ?  667. 
What  shall  I  sing  the«  ?  422. 
What  the  bee  Is  to  the  floweret,  109. 
When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy 

(Ode  XLix.  Anacreon),  237. 
When,  casting  many  a  look   behind, 

265. 
When  cold  in  the  earth  liei  the  Friend 

thou  hast  lov'd,  1 19. 
When  Cupid  sees  how  thickly  now, 

(Ode  Lxxviii.  Anacreon),  218. 
Wlien  evening  shades  are  foiling,  372. 
When  first  that  smile,  153. 
When  first  I  met  thee  warm  and  young, 

115.317. 
When  Gold,  as  fleet  as  sephyr's  pinioo 

(Ode  LViiL  Anacreon),  243. 
When  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  bt 

the  name,  96. 
When  1  behold  the  festive  train  (Ode 

Liii.  Anacreon),  239. 
When  1  lov'd  you,  I  can't  but  allow, 

264. 
When  Love  is  kind,  160. 
When  Lore,  rock'd  by  his  mother,  130. 
When  night  brings  the  hour,  160. 
When  Love  was  a  child,  151. 
When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep  (Ode 

XLVUi.  Anacreon),  237. 
When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene 

(Ode  XLI.  Anacreon),  234. 
When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone,  422. 
When  the  firm  summer  bee,  156. 
When  the  wine^cup  Is  smiling  before 

us,  \!>6, 
When  thou  shalt  wander.  153. 
When  the  sad  word  "  Adieu,"  39.^ 
When  though  art  nigh,  it  seems,  414. 
When  to  sad  music  silent  you  listen, 

41.5. 
When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays,  397. 
When  through  life  unblest  we  rove, 

195. 
When  through  the  Piarzetta,  155. 
When    Time,   who   steals   our   yean 

away,  262. 
When  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 

274. 


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^* 


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