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THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


THOMAS     MOO  HE, 


COLLECTED    BY    HIMSBLf. 


COMPLETE    IN    ONE   VOLUME. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.   B.   LIPPING  OTT    <fc    GO. 

18G4. 


CONTENTS  OF  MOORE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Pnge 

fBEFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  VOLCMB 11 

ODES  OF  ANACKEON;    TranBloKril   into  EogUsh 

V^r»e,  wllh  Noteii >4 

Dedication   to  bin  Royal    Hiebuciu   Ibe   Prince  of 

Wales 14 

Advertisement H 

Index  to  tlie  OJea 14 

Ao  Ode  by  the  Translator 16 

Kemarks  ou  Anacreon 16 

ODES IS 

1.  1  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure 1^ 

%  »ivu  me  (be  barpnf  epic  sou^ '^ 

3.  Listen  to  the  Miiae's  lyre SO 

4.  Vulcan!  hear  your  glorious  tank ■    20 

6.  Scullitor,  wouldnt  tbou  glad  my  soul 30 

6.  As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers ■•*•    91 

7.  The  woraen  tell  me  every  day 21 

a  I  care  not  for  the  idle  stale 21 

9.  1  pray  tbee,  by  the  gods  above 23 

10.  How  am  I  to  puuish  thee M 

11.  «'Tell  me.  gentle  youth,  1  pray  thee 23 

13.  They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  wilh  I'.ve 33 

13.  I  will,  I  will,  the  condiet's  past 23 

M.  Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees M 

15.  Tell  me,  why,  my  sweetest  dove 'J4 

16.  Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues .•••>■    35 

17.  Ami  I.  jw  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth 36 

18.  Now  Ibe  star  of  day  is  high 37 

19.  Here  recline  you,  gentle  moid 38 

2U.  One  day  the  Muses  twin'd  the  hands 38 

21.  Ob..erve  when  mother  earth  Is  dry 'Jfi 

33.  The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storra 29 

33.  I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre 90 

24.  To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven SI 

35.  Once  in  each  revolving  year ••    31 

36.  I'hy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms S3 

27.  Wo  read  the  flying  courser's  name S2 

2H.  As,  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  Home ■>....    93 

29.  Yee  — loving  is  a  painful  thrill 33 

SO.  "Twns  In  a  mocking  dream  of  night S3 

31.    Arm'd  with  a  hyacinlhine  rod S3 

yi.  strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves S4 

33.  'Twas  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 34 

3-1.   Oh  thou,  of  all  creation  blest 36 

S6.   Cupid  once  upon  a  bed S5 

36.  If  hoarded  gol.l  possess 'd  t  he  power 36 

37,  'Twos  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 36 

SB.  Let  us  drain  the  nectur'd  bowl 37 

39.  How  I  lovo  the  festive  boy 37 

40.  1  know  tbkt  Heaven  bath  sent  me  here 3» 

41.  When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene S8 

43.  Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine S» 

43.  While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 39 

44.  Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers 39 

45.  Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep 39 

46.  See  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring SU 

47.  'Tls  true,  my  fading  years  decline 39 

4B.   When  my  thirsiy  soul  I  steep 40 

49.  When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy 40 

60.  When  wine  I  quail,  before  my  eyes 40 

61.  Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow 41 

62.  Away,  awav,  ye  men  of  rules 41 

t3.  Wheu  I  behold  the  festive  train 43 

H.  Methinks,  the  pictur'd  bull  we  see 42 

65.  While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring 43 

66.  He,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 44 

67.  Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 44 

68.  When  Gold,  as  fleet  a«  zephyr's  pinion 45 

69.  Ripen'd  by  the  solor  beam 45 

— '  ...     46 

...     40 


76.  Hither,  gentle  Muse  of  mine... 

77.  Would  that  1  were  a  tuneful  lyri 
7a.   When  Cupid  sees  bow  thickly  ni 


60 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 60 

Let  me  resigu  tins  wretched  breath 60 

I  know  thou  lov'et  a  brimming  measure 60 

I  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest 60 

From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  sleep 6() 

Mix  mc,  child,  a  cup  divine 60 

EriGRAMS  FROM  THE  ANTHOLOGIA 60 

Kotice 60 

A  VTiTiaTftov  Zliwwv,  as  AvaXfiioVTa 60 

Toti  avrov,  £is  tov  aliTOf 61 

Toi;  avTov,  tij  rov  a«70v 6 

Tov  avTov^  £is  Tov  avTov °i 

JUVENILE  POEMS fj 

Preface,  by  the  Editor "J 

Dedication  to  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq 64 

Fragments  of  College  Exercises 64 

Is  there  no  call,  no  consec rating  cause M 

Variety 

To  a  Boy  with  a 
Bong ... 


lied. 


ny  sleeping  shell 
61.  Youth's  endearing 
63.  Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 
69.  To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  ehil 
61.  Haste  thee,  nymjih,  wh'tse  weli-aim 

65.  Like  soriie  wanton  filly  sporliug 

66.  To  thee,  the  tiueen  of  nymphs  divii 

67.  Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scoiu 

68.  Now  Neptune's  month  our  sky  def. 

69.  They  wove  the  loi 


I  Is  hung 49 


to  deck ..    4h 

70.  A  broken  cake,  with  h< 

71.  With  twenty  chords  m 
73.  Fore  thee  well,  perfidious  mai 

73.  Awhile  I  bloom'd  a  happy  flo 

74.  Monarch  Love,  resistleas  boy. 

75.  Spirit  of  Love,  whose  locks  uDrolI'd 49 


Written  for  n  friend.. 


To 


Reuben  and  Rose.    A  tale  of  romance  . 


'.  culumules  BgaiusC 


her  character.! 


To    .  .  .  . 

To  Julia,  in 
To  Juliu.. . 
The  Shrine 
To  a  Lady, 
ing  the  c< 
To  Julia... 


i  illiberal  criticlsi 


To    . 

Nature's  Labels.    A  fragment , 

'I'o  Julia.    On  her  birthday  ... 

A  Reflection  at  Sea 

Cloris  and  Fanny 

The  Shield 

To  Julia,  weeping 


To 


The  Sale  of  Loves. 


On  the  Death  of  0 


,ady.. 


The  Nalal  Genius.  A  dieam 
morning  of  her  birthday  .. 

Elegiac  Stanzas,  supposed  to  b 
the  death  of  her  brother  .. 

To  the  large  and  beautiful  Mil 
eion  to  some  partnership  in 
prompt  u • • 

A  Dream 

To 


creontic  . 


I  VirEin  of  Delphi,  at   the   tomb  of  tier 

....f 62 

"tu  Julia 62 


The  Surpiiee. ..  . 

To  Mis-s 

she  had  sleeplei 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  VOLUMB 64 

ODES  continued •••    C7 


(3) 


CONTENTS. 


Page 


Aristippus  to  a  Lamp*  which  had 
1  b;  Lais 

her  beautiiul  traQsIatioo  of  Voi- 


KoQdeau •••■     6^ 

Soag C9 

TnRo«a 09 


of  Follies' 

To  Rnaa 

Light  sounds  the  liarp 

Flora  theOreeU  of  Meleager. . 

Kong 

The  Resemblance 

Fuaoy,  dearest  

The  Riijp,  to 

To  the  iDvisible  Girl 

The  Ring,  a  tale 


i-plate  boot,  lalled  •■  The  Book 


To 


oo  seeing  he) 

■il  and  a  rich  girdle 

tieu  in  the  blaok  leaf  of  a  lady's 


To  Mrs.  Bl ,  wnUen  in 

To  Cora,  after  an  interval  n 
To  Cara,  on  the  dawning  of 
To 


her  album 74 


,  IbOl.. 


'-year's  day. 


rreRularode 75 


The  Genius  of  Harmo 

I  found  her  not — the  t 

To  Mrs.  Henry  Tighe,  on  reading  her  "Psyche"... 

From  the  High  Pries!  of  Apollo  to  a  Virgin  of  Delphi 

Fragment 

A  Night  Thought 

The  Kiss 

Bong 

The  Catalogue.. 


To 

To  Rosa 

To  Fhilli 

To  s  Lady  on  her  singing 

Song.     On  the  birthday  of  Mrs.  .     Written  iu 

Ireland,  17a0 

Song 

Morality.     A   familiar   eriatle.     Addressed  to    J. 

Atkinson,  Esq.  M.  R.  L  A 

The  Tell-tale  Lyre 

Peace  and  Giory.     Written  ou  the  approach  of  war 

Song 

Love  and  Reason 

14  ay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear 

Ar^pasia 

The  Grecian   Girl's  Dream  of  the  Blessed  Islands. 

To  her  lover 

To  Ctoe,  imitated  from  Martial 

The  Wreath  and  the  Chain 

To 


To 


I  Pictu 


Fragment  of  a  Mythological  Hymn  to  Love 

To  his  Kerene  Highness  the  Duke  of  Montpenaier, 
on  his  portrait  of  the  Lady  Adelaide  Forbes • 

The  Fall  of  Hebe.    A  dithyrambic  ode 

Rings  and  Seuls 

To  Miss  Susan  B— ckf— d.    On  her  singing 

Impromptu,  on  leaving  some  friends 

A  Warning.    To    

To    

Woman 

To ; 

A  Vision  of  Philosophy 

To  Mrs 

To  Lady  Heathirole,  on  an  old  ring  found  at  Tun- 
bridge  Wells 

The  Devil  among  the  Scholars.    A  fragment 

rOEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA 

Dedication  to  Francis,  Eailof  Moira 

Preface 

To  Lord  ViBcouol  Sliangri.rd.  Aboard  the  Phneloo 
frigate,  o?  Ibe  Azores,  by  moonlight 

Btanzas  ••-  

To  the  Flying-fish 

To  Miss  Moore.  From  Noifolk,  in  Virginia,  Nov. 
1603 

▲  Ballad.  The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp.  Writ- 
ten at  Norfolk,  inVirginia 

To  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegall.  From 
Bermuda,  January,  m04 


Odes  to  Nea 1 

Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again ] 

I  pi  ay  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 1 

Yiiu  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eyes I 

A  Dream  of  Antiquity I 

Well— peace  lo  Ihy  heart,  Iboogh  another's  it  bo.  I 

If  1  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear 1 

The  Snow  Spirit 1 

1  stole  along  the  tiowery  bank ] 

A  Study  from  the  Antique 1 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine ] 

To  Jo-eph  Atkinson,  Esq.     From  Bermuda I 

The  Steersman's  Song,  Written  aboard  the  Bos- 
ton frigate,  28tb  April 1 

To  the  Fire-fly...-; 1 

To  the  Lord  Viscount   Forbes.    From   the  city  of 

Washington ] 

To  Thomas  Hume,  Esq.,  M.  D.     From  the  city  of 

Washington ] 

Lines  written  on  leaving  Philadelphia 1 

Lines  writteu  at  the  Cohos,  or  Falls  of  the  Mohawk 

River 1 

Song  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods 110 

To  the  Hon.  W.  II.  Spencer.    From  Buffalo,  upon 

Lake  Erie 

Ballad  Stanzas 

A  Canadian  Boat  Song.     Writteu  oa  the  river  St. 

To  the  Lady  Charlotte  Kawdon.  From  the  banks 
of  the  St.  Lawrence 

Impromptu,  after  a  visit  to  Mrs.  ,  of  Montreal.. 

Written  on  passing  Deadman's  Island,  in  the  Gulf 
of  St.  Lawrence,  late  iu  the  evening,  September, 
inn 

To  the  Boston  Frigate,  on  leaving  Halifax  for  Eng- 
land, October,  ItiOl 

PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  VOLUME US 


A  Satire 122 


TWOPENNY  POST-BAG.    By  Thomas  Brown,  the 

Younger 1 

Dedication.    To  Stephen  Woolriche,  Esq 1 

Preface 1 

Preface  to  the  Fourteenth  Edition.     By  a  Friend  of 
the  Author 1 

INTERCEPTED  LETTERS.  &c ) 

Letter    I.      From    (he    Pr--nc— as    Ch— rl~e    of 

W— I— s  to  the  Lady  B— rb— a  Ashl— y ] 

Letter    II.     From    Colonel    M'M— h~u   lo    G— Id 

Fr— nc~a  L— ckie.  Esq 1 

Postscript : 

Letter  111.     From   G— ge  Pr — ce  R~g — t   to  tba 

E —  of  Y th I 

Letter  IV.    From  the  Right  Hon.  1'— tr— ck  D— 

gen— u  to  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  J— hn  N— ch— 1..., 


Lelli 

Lady 

Poal script. . 
Letter  VI. 

in  Ispaha: 
Gazel. 


1  the  Countess  Dowager  of  C— rk  t 
1  Abdallah,  in  Lcndou,  to  Mohassaa 


VII.    From  Messrs.  L— ck— gt— n  and  Co. 

to ,  Esq ; 

Letter  VIII.     From  Colonel  Th—m— a   to 

Sk— ff—ngt— n.  Esq '■ 

AppendiJ 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS : 

The  Insurrection  of  the  Papers.     A  Dream : 

Parody  of  a  celebrated  Letter '. 

Anacreontic  to  a  Plumassier ) 

Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  a  Politician : 

Epigram 

King  Crack  and  his  Idols.     Written  after  the  late 

Negotiation  for  a  Dew  M— n— stry : 

What's  my  Thought  likel : 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Epigram.      Dialogue  between  a  Calhnlic  Delegate 
•nd    Hit   R— y-l    H— ghn— bs  the   D— e  ot  C— 

b— I— il HI 

'Wreathe  for  the  Miiiimers.     An  Anaireoiitic 141 

Epigrnra.      Dialfigije    between    a  Itowager  and  her 

Moid  on  the  Night  of  Lord  Y— rra— th's  Fete....  141 
Horace.    Ode  XI.   Lib.  II.    Freely  translated  by  the 

rt— ce  R— g— t 142 

Horare,  Ode  XMII.    Lib.  1.     Freely  Iran.lated   hy 

Lord  Eld— 142 

The  New  Costume  of  the  Ministers 14'J 

Correspondence  between  a  Lady  and  Gentlemmi, 
upon  the  Advantage  of  (what  is  euUed)  "having 

Law  on  one's  Side" 113 

Occasional  Address  for  the  OiieninB  of  the  New  The- 
atre of  bt.  bt--i>h — n,  intended  to  have  been 
spoken  by  the  Proprietor  in  lull  Costume,  on  the 

24th  of  November,  1«12 144 

The  Sale  of  the  '1  nun 144 

Little  Man  and  Little  Soul.     A  Ballad 146 

Keiuforcements  for  Lord  Wellington 145 

Horace,  Ode  1.  Lib.  III.    A  Kragment 140 

Horace.  Ode  XXXVIU.  Lib.  I.  A  Fragment. 
Tianslated  by    a  Treasury  Clerk,  while  wuiting 

Dinner  for  the  Right  Hon.  <i— rge  K— se 146 

Impromptu.  Dpon  being  obliged  tn  leave  a  pleasant 
Party,  (mm    the  Wunt  of  a  Pair  of  Breeches  to 

dres.for  Dinner  ii 146 

Lord  Wellington  ai;d  the  Minibters 146 

IRISH  MELODIES 146 

Dedication  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal  146 

Piefuee 146 

Go  where  Glory  waits  thee 146 

War  Song.     Remember  the  Oloriea  of  Brien  the 

Brave 147 

Erin  !  the  Tear  and  Smile  in  thine  Eyes 147 

Oh,  breathe  not  his  Name 147 

When  he,  who  adores  thee 147 

Tile  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls 147 

Fly  not  yet 147 

Oh,  think  not  my  Spirits  are  always  as  light 148 

Tho'  the  last  Glimpse  of  Erin  with  Sonow  1  see..    148 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  Gems  she  wore 14C 

As  a  Beam  o'er  the  Face  of  the  Waters  may  glow.  14tj 

The  Meeting  of  the  Waters UH 

Ilow  dear  to  me  the  Hour 149 

Take  back  the  Virgin  Page.    Written  on  returning 

a  blank  Book 149 

The  Legacy 149 

How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried 149 

We  may  roam  lliruugb  ihis  World 149 

Kveleeo's  Bower IDO 

Let  F:rin  remember  the  Days  of  old JfiO 

The  Song  of  Fionnuala.. ..' 150 

Come,  send  round  the  Wine 151 

Sublime  was  the  Warning 151 

Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  Charms...  151 

Krin,  oh  Erin 151 

Drink  to  her 151 

Oh,  blame  not  the  Bard 153 

While  gazing  on  the  Moon's  Light 152 

llHlmens 152 

Before  the  Battle 152 

After  the  Battle 153 

•Tia  sweet  to  think 163 

The  Irish  Peasant  to  his  Mistress 153 

On  Mnsic 153 

It  is  not  the  Tear  ot  this  Moment  shed 154 

The  Origin  of  the  Harp 

Love's  Young  Dream 

The  Prince's  Day 

Weep  on,  weep  on 

LesbiB  hath  a  beaniing  Kye 

I  saw  thy  Form  in  youthrui  Prime 

By  that  Lake,  whobe  gloomy  shuie 

She  is  far  from  the  Land ,. 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear 

Avenging  and  bright 166 

What  the  Bee  ia  to  the  Floweret 

Love  and  the  Novice 

This  Lite  Is  all  chcquer'd  with  Pleaiurta  and  Woes 

Oh  the  Shamrock 

At  the  md  Hour  of  Night 

One  Bumper  at  parting 

'T.a  the  last  Rose  of  Summer 

The  young  May  Moon 

The  Minstrel- Boy 

The  Song  of  O'Ruork.  Prince  of  BielTui 

Ob.  had  we  some  bright  litlle  Ihle  of  our  own 

Farewell  '.—But  whenever  yon  welcome  the  Hour.. 


Pane 
Oh,  doubt  me  not 

I'd  Qtouin  the  Hopes 

Come  o'er  the  Sea lliO 

Has  Sorrow  thy  young  Davs  shaded 

No,  not  more  weltorae....' 

\A  hen  lirst  I  met  thee 

While  History's  Muse 

The  Time  I've  lost  in  wooing 

Where  IS  the  Slave 

Come,  rest  10  this  Bo.soa 

I  saw  from  the  Beach 162 

Fill  the  Bumi-er  tair 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country 162 

PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTH  VOLUME 163 

IRISH  MELODIES,  continued 167 

My  gentle  Harp 16? 

In  the  Morning  of  Life 167 

Asshiwour  Ship 167 

When  cold  in  the  Earth 16g) 

Remember  thee 168 

Wreath  the  Bowl 168 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  Eyes Ibo 

H  thou'lt  be  mine 168 

To  Ladies'  Eye! ICU 

Forget  not  the  Field 169 

They  may  rail  at  this  Lif.- Hi9 

Oh  for  the  swords  of  (orniei  Tunc 119 

St.  Sesanus  and  the  Ludy 169 

Ne'er  ask  the  Hour 170 

Sail  on,  sail  on 170 

The  Parallel I'd 

Drink  of  this  Cut 17tJ 

The  Fortune-teller 171 

Oh,  ye  Dead 171 

O'Donohue's  Mistress 171 

Echo J71 

Oh  banquet  not 172 

Thee,  thee,  only  thee J72 

Shall  the  Haip  then  be  silent 172 

Oh,  the  Sight  euttauciug 172 

Sweet  Innisfsllen 173 

•Twas  one  of  those  Dreams 173 

Fairest!  |iut  on  awhile 173 

Quick  !  we  have  bul  a  Second 174 

Anddolh  not  a  Meeting  like  this 174 

The  Mountain  Sprite 174 

As  vanquish 'd  Erin 174 

Desmond's  Song 176 

They  know  not  my  Heart 176 

1  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  Luke 176 

She  sung  of  Love 1'6 

Sin6-«ing--Musie  was  given 176 

Though  humble  the  Banquet 176 

Slug,  sweet  Harp 176 

Song  of  the  Battle  Eve 176 

The  wandering  Bard — 1*6 

Alone  in  Crowds  to  wander  on 177 

I've  a  Secret  to  tell  thee 177 

Song  of  Innisfail I'7 

The  Mghl  Dance 177 

There  aie  Soonds  ot  Mirth 177 

Oh:  Arranmore,  loved  Arrnnmore 176 

Lay  his  Sword  by  hie  Side 178 

Oh,  could  we  do  with  this  World  ot  oura 178 

The  Wine-eup  is  circling 178 

The  Dream  of  those  Days 179 

From  this  Hour  the  Pledge  la  given 179 

Silence  la  m  our  festal  Halls 179 

Appendix 1'9 

Advertisement  prefixed  to  the  First  and  Second 

Numbers...... n» 

Advertisement  to  the  Third  Number IbO 

Letter  to  the   Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal, 

piefixed  to  the  Third  Number 180 

Advertisement  to  the  Fourth  Number 183 

AdverlL-enient  to  the  Fifth  Nomher 183 

Advertisement  to  the  Sixth  Number 163 

Advertisement  to  the  Seventh  Number Ifc4 

Dedication  to  the  Marchioness  of  Headforl prefixed 

to  the  Tenth  Number IM 

NATIONAL  AIRS IM 

Advertiseraeni IM 

A  Temple  toFilendship.     Spanish  Air 184 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  River.     Portuguese  Air.. ..    185 

All  that's  bright  must  fade.     Indian  Air 1H6 

So  warmly  we  met.     Hungarian  Air 186 


1* 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Those  EvcnlDg  Belli.    Air.— The  Bells  of  St.  Pc- 
leraburgh 185 

ShmiM  those  fond  Hopes.     Porluguese  Air 188 

Reason.  Folly,  and  Beauty.     Italian  Air 185 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  !    Sirilian  Air 186 

Dost  thou  remember.     Portuguese  Air 186 

Oh,  cnme  to  me  when  Daylight  set*.     Venetion  Air  166 

Oft,  in  the  stilly  NiRht.    Scoteh  Air 166 

Hark!  the  Vesper  Hymn  is  stealing.     Russian  Air  lb? 

Love  and  Hope.     Swiss  Air 167 

There  comes  a  Time.     German  Air IM 

My  Harp  has  one  unchanging  Theme.  Swedish  Air  IM 
Oh,  no — not  ev'n  when  first  we  love.    Cashmerlaa 


Peace  be  around  thee.     Scotch  Air , 

Common  Sense  and  Genius.    French  Ai: 

Then,  fare  thee  well.    Old  English  Air 

Gaily  sounds  the  Castanet.      Maltese  Air 

Love  is  a  Hunter-boy.     Languedoeian  Air 

Come,  chase  that  starting  Tear  away.     French  Ail 

Joys  cf  Youth,  how  lleeting!     Portuguese  Air 

Hear  me  but  once.     French  Air 

When  Love  was  a  Child.     Swedish  Air 

Bay,  what  shall  be  our  Sport  to-day?    Sieiiian  Air 

Bright  be  thy  Dreams.     Welsh  Air 

Go,  then— 'tis  vain.     Sicilian  Air , 

The  Crystal  Hun 

Row  gently  here. 

Ob.  Days  of  Youth.     French  I 

When  first  that  Smile.     Venetian  Air. 

Peace  to  the  Slumlierere  !     Calalonian  . 

When  I hou  shalt  wander.     Sicilian  Air 

Who'll  buy  my  Love-knola?    Portuguei 

Bee,  the   Dawn   from    Heaven.     To  an 

Rome,  on  Christmas  £ve 

Nets  and  Cages.    Swedish  .Mr 

When  through  the  Piazzetta.     Venelia 
Go,  now. 


Venel 


Neapolilan  Air 

enelian  Air 

np  Stars.     Savoyard  t 


When  the  Wine  cup  is  smiling,  llaliai 
Where  shall  we  bury  our  Shame  7  Nea 
He'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  Schools, 

Air , 

Here  i-leeps  the  Bard.     Highland  Air.. 

Do  not  say  that  Life  is  waning 

The  Gaaelle 

Ho— leave  my  Heart  to  rest 

Where  are  the  Visions 

Wind  thy  Horn,  my  Hunter  Buy 

Oh.  guaidour  AtTrction 

Slumber,  oh  slumber 

Bring  the  bright  Garlands  hither 

If  in  loving,  singing 

Thou  lov'sl  no  more 

When  abroad  in  the  World 

Keep  those  Eyes  still  purely  mine 

Hope  cornea  again 

O  say,  thou  best  and  brightest 

When  Night  bringa  the  Hour 

Like  one  who,  doom'd 

Fear  not  thai,  while  around  thee 

When  Love  is  kind 

The  Garland  1  send  thee 

How  shall  I  woo7 


Th.iu  art.  O  God.     Air.— Ui 

The  Bird,  let  loo^e.     Air.— Beethoven 

Fallen  is  thy  Throne.     Air.— Maitini 

Who  isthe  Maidl     SI.  Jerome's  Love.     Air— B 

thoven 

This  World  is  all  n  Uceting  Show.     Air.— Slev. 

1  Tear.    Air 


Oh  Thou  who  dry'st  the  Mour 
Haydn 

Weep  not  for  those.    Air.— Av 
The  'I'urf  shall  be  my  fragrant  t 

Sound  the   loud  Timbrel.    Miri 

Oo,  lei 


Air.- Ste 
ug.     Air.- 


,0  Lord.     Air.— Haydn 

Were  -ot  the  sinful  Mary's  Tears.  Air.— Stevensci 
A«  >3\i-Q  in  the  sunlesa  Kelreats.     Air. — Haydn.. 


Page 
But  who  shall  see.    Air.— Stevenson 

Almighty  God.     Chorus  of  Priests.     Air.— Mozart.  199 
Oh  fair  1  oh  purest  I    Saint  Augustine  to  his  Sister. 

Air.-Moore ! 

Angel  of  Charity.     Air.— Handel 200 

Behold  the  Sun.    Air.— Loid  Morninglin 200 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  Day.    Air.— lit.  Boyce..  200 

Oh,  teach  me  to  love  Thee.     Air.  — Haydi 200 

Weep,  Children  of  Israel.     Air.— Stevenson SOI 

Like  Morning,  when  her  early  Breeze.    Air — Beeth- 
oven  201 

Come,  ye  disconsolate.     Air.— German 201 

Awake,  arise,  thy  Light  is  come.    Air.— Stevenson  201 

There  is  a  bleak  Desert.     Air.— Crescenlini ! 

Since  first  thy  Word.     Air.— Micholas  Freeman...  ! 

Hark!  'lis  the  Breeze.     Air.— Rousseau I 

Where  is  your  Dwelling,  ye  sainted  7    .\ir, — Hasse  ^ 
How  lightly  mounts   the   Musc'a    Wing.     Air.— 

Anonymous 

Go  forth  to  the  Mount.     Air.— Stevenson '. 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter.     Air.— Haydn..  203 

War  against  Babylon.     Air.— Hovello 

The  Summer  Fete 

Dedication  to  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Norton 204 

PREFACE  TO  THE  FIFTH  VOLUME 211 

EVENINGS  IN  GREECE ! 

First  Evening : 

Second  Evening '• 

LEGENDARY  BALLADS 1 

Dedication  to  the  Miss  Feildings 1 

The  Voice '■ 

Cupid  nnd  Psyche 1 

Hero  and  Leander ■ 

The  Leaf  and  the  Fountain : 

Cephalus  and  Procris I 

Y'oulh  and  Age ' 

The  dying  Warrior ' 

•Ihe  Magic  Mirror '■ 

The  I'llgrim : 

The  high-born  Ladye I 

The  Indian  Boat ' 

The  Slranger ' 

A  Melologue  upon  National  Music 1 

Advertisement '■ 

SET  OF  GLEES.     Music  by  Moore ' 

The  Meeting  of  Ihe  Ships.'. ■ 

Hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! ' 

Hush,  hush  ! ' 

The  Patting  before  the  Battle : 

TheWauhman.    A  Trio 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance? ] 

The  Evening  Gun ' 

BALLADS,    SONGS,   MISCELLANEOL'S    POEMS. 

ic • 

To-day,  dearest  1  is  ours * 

When  on  the  Lip  the  Sigh  delays ' 

Here,  take  my  Heart ' 

Oh.  call  it  by  some  belter  Name '■ 

Poor  wounded  Heart •.«•  ' 

The  East  Indian | 

Poor  broken  Flower ' 

The  pretty  Rose  Tree ' 

Shine  out,  Slars! '■ 

The  young  Muleteers  of  Grenada 

Tell  her,  oh  lell  her ' 

Nights  of  Music • 

Our  lirsl  young  Love ■ 

Black  and  Blue  Eyes ' 

Dear  Fanny '■ 

Fruin  Life  wilhout  Freedom 

Here's  the  Bower ' 

I  saw  the  Moon  rise  clear.     A  Finland  Love  Song..  ! 
Love  and  the  Sun-diul ; 

Love's  light  Summer-cloud ' 

Love,  waiid'iing  through  the  golden  Maze '. 

Merrily  every  Bosom  boundeth.   The  Tyrolese  Song 

of  Liberty * 

Remember  the  Time.     The  Caslilian  Maid i 

Oh,  soon  return '■ 

Love  thee? • 

One  dear  Sinile  '■ 

Yes.  ves.  when  the  Bloom '- 

The  bay  of  Love \ 

Lusitaniao  War-song.... ........ .....•..••...•.*.  ■ 

The  young  Rose ] 

When  'midst  the  Gay  1  meet S 


C  O  N  T  E-N  T  S , 


vn  I 


When  Twilight  Dew 236 

Young  JFfiaica S36 

How  liapjf.   ince S36 

lloT«  but  thtp 236 

Let  Joy  uloDe  tir  reinrmbcr'd  now 237 

Love  thee,  den^el^t  ?  love  tbea  7 237 

Mr  Heart  aod  Lute 237 

Peace,  peace  to  bim  tbal'agooe! 237 

Rose  or  the  Dinert 237 

Tisall  for  thee 237 

The  Song  of  the  Olden  Time 238 

'Wake  thee,  my  dear '£iH 

The  Bny  of  the  Al|ja 23H 

For  thee  alone 23ti 

Her  last  Wnrdn,  ut  parting 238 

Let'a  Inke  this  World  ai  some  wide  Scene 239 

Love'e  Victory 239 

Song  of  Hercules  to  hie  Daughter 239 

The  Dream  of  Heme 239 

They  tell  me  thou'rl  the  favour'd  Gueat 239 

The  young  iDdiQQ  Maid 240 

The  Homeward  March 240 

Wake  up,  BWeet  Melody 310 

Calm  be  thy  Bleep 240 

I'be  Exile 24U 

The  Fancy  Fair 240 

ir  thou  would'at  have  me  aing  and  play 241 

Btill  when  DayliKhl 241 

The  Summer  Wcbe 241 

Mind  not  though  Daylight 241 

1'hey  met  hut  once 241 

\Vith  MouQlight  beaming 241 

Child's  Song.     Froma  Masque 242 

The  Halcyon  baugb  o'er  t^ceau • 242 

The  World  was  huKh'd 242 

The  two  Lovea 242 

The  Legend  of  Fuck  the  Fairy 242 

Beauly  and  Song 243 

\\  hen  (hou  art  uigb.. 243 

Song  of  a  Hyperborean » 243 

Thciu  bidst  me  eing 243 

Cupid  armed 243 

Kound  the  World  goee 244 

Oh,  do  not  look  80  bright  and  bleat 244 

The  Musical  Box 244 

When  to  ead  Music  silent  yon  listen 244 

The  Language  of  Floweis 244 

The  Dawn  is  breaking  oVl  u 244 

SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY 348 

Here  a(  thy  Tomb.     By  Meleager 245 

Sale  of  Cupid.     By  Meleager 315 

To  weave  a  Uarlaud  for  the  Rose.    By   Faul,   the 

Sileotiary 546 

Why  does  she  en  long  delay  7    By  Paul,  the  Silen. 

liaty 245 

Twin'at    thou  with    lofly  Wreath   thy  Brow.    By 

Paul,  Ibe  Silentiary 246 

When  the  slid  Woid.     By  Paul,  the  Bileuliaiy 'J46 

My  Mopaa  is  lillle.     By  Philodemus 246 

Still,  like  Dew  iu  silence  lallmg.     By  Meleager 246 

Up,  Sailor  Boy.  'tis  Day '247 

In  Myrtle  Wreaths.     By  Alcaeu 247 

UNPUBLISHED  SONGS.  Sc 247 

Aak  not  if  still  1  live 247 

Dear?  yes 217 

Unbind  Ihee,  Love '^47 

There's  Homelhing  Btrjnge.     A  Buffo  Song 247 

I4ot  from  thee 248 

Guess,  guess 24S 

When  Love,  who  ruled 24ti 

Still  thou  Qiest 24U 

Then  tirst  from  Love 249 

Uu^h.  sweet  Lute 249 

Bright  Moon 249 

Lung  Years  have  pass'd 249 

Dreaming  for  ever '.i49 

Though  lightly  eounda  the  Song  i  aing.     A  Song  of 

the  Alpid 249 

The  Buasiao  Lover 349 

PREFACE  TO  THE  SIXTH  VOLUME S60 

LALLA  BOOKH 356 

Dedication 269 

The  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khoraasan 255 

Parudiae  and  Per 276 

The  Fire-Worshippers 2b3 

PBEFACE  TO  THE  SEVENTH  VOLUME S«3 


LaLLA  ROOICH,  continued 105 

The  Ughlotlhe  Ha 

POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS S14 

Linea  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  P— re— v 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  Two  Birds  of  Royally 814 

Lines  on  the  Death  ol  Sh— r— d— c 

Epislle  from  Tom  Crib  to  Big  Ben, 

fuul  Play  in  a  late  Transaction... 

THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

Preface Sl6 

Letter  I.    From  Misa  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 


Letter  111.     From  Mr.  Bob  Fudge  to  Richard , 

E»q : 

Lelter  IV.     From  Phelira  Connor  to i 

Leiler  V.     From  Misa  Biddy  Fudge  to   Miea  Doro. 

Ihy  ! 

Leiler  VI.     From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.  to  hia  Brother 

Tim  Fudge,  Esq.  Barriater  at  Law 322 

Lelter  VII.     From  Pbelim  Connor  to r 

Letter  VIII.  From  Mr.  Bob  Fudge  to  Richard , 

Esq { 

Letter  IX.     From   Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.  tu  the  Lord 

ViecouDi  C— St— r— gh I 

Letter  X.  From  Misa  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miaa  Dorothy 


Letter  XL    Fri 


I  Biddy  Fudge  tu  Misa  Doro> 


Fable  I.     The  Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alii! 


Fable  IV.    The  Fly  and  the  Bulluck.., 

Fable  V.    Church  and  State 

Fable  VL    The  Lillle  Grand  Lama.. . 

Faille  VII.    The  Exiinguishera 

Fable  VIIL     Louis  Fourteenth's  Wig.. 


Exlrait  VII S4« 

Extract  VIII 

Extract  IX 

Extract  X 

Extract  XI &l« 

Extract  XII 34t 

Extract  XIII S5« 

Exiract  XIV 

Extract  XV 

Exiract  XVI Sii 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 

Occasional  Epilogue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Corry,  in  the 
Character  of  Vapid,  after  the  Play  uf  the  Drama- 
lint,  at  the  Kilkenny  Theatre 

Extract  from  a  Prologue  wiitten  and  spoken  by  Ihe 
Author,  at  Ihe  Opeuing  of  Ihe  Kilkenny  Theatie, 
October.  lbU9 

The  Sylph's  Ball 


My  Birlh-Day. 

Song.  Fanny,  dean 
'Pr.malatious  fiom  ' 
Tibullua  to  Sulpic 


latk 


I  Catullus S51 

ia S5I 

Ihe  Fri 


I  Lord  Lansdowne  ] 
Verses    to    the  Poet  Crubbe's  Inkstand.      Written 

May,  ies2 ! 

To    Caroline,    Viscountesa    Valletort.     Written    at 

Lac(.ck  Abbey,  January,  lb32 I 

A  Speculation I 

To  My  Mother.     Written  in  a  Pocket  Book,  lb33..  i 

Love  and  Hymen •  i 

Linea  on  the   Entry  of  the  Austrians  into  Muplea, 

1621 i 


CONTENTS. 


FBEFACE  TO  THE  EIGHTH  VOLUME 3t>0 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS SW 

Fust  Angel's  Sloiy "iS 

Setond  Augel's  Story Sli6 

Third  Angel'a  Slory SiS 

MISCELLAN  EOUS  POKMS S" 

Stt-plicism *'^' 

A  Joke  Versilifd 3'6 

Ou  the  Death  uf  a  Friend J^o 

To  James  Crrv,  Ksq.,  on  hi8  making  me  a  Present 

Ota  Wine.Bl"a.ner 31| 

Fragment  or  a  Character.... 3'8 

What  Bliall  1  sine  Thee  I    To  f» 

Country  Dance  and  (iuadrille ^'^ 

GiCfi 3eO 

LiLes    on  the    Death   of  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.  of 

Doblin 380 

Genius  anil  Criticism 380 

To  Lady  J'r"y,  ou  being  asked  to  write  something 

in  her  Album 3^' 

To  the  same,  on  looking  through  her  .\lbum 361 

SATIBICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS 381 

To  Sir  Hudson  Lowe 3hl 

Amatory  Colloquy  between  Bank  and  Government..  Sbl 
Dialogue  between   a  Sovereign    and  a  One    Pound 

An  Expostulation  lo  Lord  King SB'2 

The  Sinking  Fund  cried 383 

Ode  to  the  G^jldess  Ceres.    By  Sir  Th-m— s  L-th- 

br— e 383 

A  Hymn  of  Welcome  after  the  Reiess 3»4 

Memorabilia  of  Last  Week 384 

All  in  the  Family  Way.     A  new  Pastoral  Ballad...  386 

Ballad  for  the  Cmbridge  Election 385 

Mr.   Roger  Dodsworth 385 

Copy  of  an  intercepted  Despatch.     F-  ~  ■-  -  *-'---• 

"    n    SIr,.Diln,tO    Diabnln.   EnV.>r    j^Aiiau*".- 

3S6 


Fate 

Song  Of  the  deparling  Spirit  of  Tithe 4OT 

The  Euthanasia  of  Van ■40' 

To  the  Reverend .     One  of  the  sixteen  Ite.jui- 

Bitioniets  of  Nottingham <06 

Irish  Antiquities WS 

A  n„rin„«EaeI <09 


tency  Don  Slrep'iloso   Diaboln.  Envoy  Extraordi 
nary  lo  his  Saianic  Maji   '"" 


The  Millennium.      Suggesled  by  the  late  Work  of 

the  Reverend  Mr.  Irv— ng  "On  Prophecy" i«^ 

The  Three  Do<tora 38' 

Epitaph  on  a  Tult-Hunter 367 

Ode  to  a  Hot ~° 

News  for  Country  Cousins 368 

A  Vision.     By  tlie  Author  of  Christaliel 388 

The  Petition  of  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland 389 

Cotton  and  Corn.    ADlalogue 391) 

The  Canonization  of  Sjint  B— tt— rw— ith 390 

An  Incantation.     Sung  by  the  Bubble  Spirit 390 

A  Dream  of  Turtle.     By  Sit  W.  Curtis 391 

The  Donkey  and  his  Panniers.     A  Fable 391 

Ode  lo  the  Sublime  Porte 892 

Corn  and  Catholics JJ' 

A  Case  of  Libel S9a 

Literary  Advertisement 39a 

The  Irish  Slave If* 

Ode  to  Ferdinand SM 

Hat  versus  Wig ■■••  395 

The  Periwinkles  and  the  Locusts.  A  Salmagundi 


Hyn 


395 


Batch  the  First 396 

1  the  Umbrella  Question.     By  Lord  Eld— n  31*6 

A'Pastoral  Ballad.     By  John  Bull 39' 

A  lale  Scene  at  Swanage 397 

Wo;  Wo! ^ 

Tout  pour  la  Tripe »« 

Eoiemt 398 

Dog  day  Refleclions.    By  a  Dandy  kept  in  Town....  398 

The  "Livins  Dog"  and  "The  Dead  Lion" 399 

Ode  to  Don  Miguel 399 

Thoughts  on  the  present  Government  of  Ireland....  400 

The  Limbo  of  lost  Reputations.     A  Dream 400 

How  to  write  by  Proxy «1 

Imitation  of  the  Inferno  of  Dante 401 

Lament  tor  the  Loss  of  Lord  B— th— sfs  Tail 40'2 

TheChetries.     A  Parable 40J 


I  of  Defeat. 


493 


PREFACE  TO  THE  NINTH  VOLUME 403 

B4.T1RICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS 404 

Ode    10    the    Woods  and  Forests.      By  one  of   the 

Board JO' 

eianzai*  from  the  Banks  of  the  Shannon 49o 

The  Annual  Pill *"f, 

-If"  and  "Perhaps" 40" 

Write  ot),  Write  on.     A  Ballad 406 


Brun 


•  keii 


410 


i-Lord  1 


Epistle  ot  Condolence.     I 

ton. Lord ■«»" 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades 411 

Alarming  Intelligence— Revolution  in  the  Dictionary 

—One  Gall  at  the  Head  of  it 411 

Resolutions  passed  at  a  late  Meeting  of  Reverends 

and  Right  Reverends <" 

Sir  Andrew's  Dream 412 

A  Blue  Love-Song.     To  Miss 4'3 

Sunday  Ethics.    A  Scotch  Ode 413 

Awful  Event 413 

The    numbering    of   the    Clergy.     Parody 

Charles  Han.  Willi         '    ' 
A  sad  Case 
A  Dream  ol 

The  Brunswick  Club 416 

Proposals  for  a  Gynaecocracy.     Addressed  10  a  late 

Radical  Meeting 416 

Lord  H— nl— y  and  St.  Cecilia 415 

Advertisement 416 

Missing 416 

The  Dance  of  Bishops  ;  or,  the  Episcopal  Quadrille. 
.\  Dream 417 


1  famous  Ode 413 

^ 414 

'  Hindostan 414 


A  corrected  Report  of  some  late  Speeches.. 

Moral  Positions.     A  Dream 

The  Mad  Tory  and  the  Comet.     Founded  c 


1  lale 


418 


,  .    iLndyEmma ....419 

Triumph  of  Bigotry..'. 420 

Translation  from  the  Gull  Language 420 

Notions  on  Reform.    By  a  Modern  Reformer 4110 

Tory   Pledges 42) 

St.  Jerome  on  Earth.     First  Visit 421 

St.  Jerome  on  Earth.     Second  Visit 422 

Thoughts  on  Tar  Barrels.     (Vide   Description  of  a 

late  Fete) 422 

The  Consultation 4'23 

To  the  Rev.  Ch-rl-s  Ov-rt-n,  Curate  ot  Romaldkirk  423 
from  a  Play,  acted  at  Oxford,  called  "  Malri- 


cula 

Late  Tithe  Case ™ 

Fools'  Paradise.     Dream  the  First 4« 

The  Rector  and  his  Cunte  ;  or.  One  Pound  Two.  ..  426 

Paddy's  Metamorphosis 4i5 

Cocker,  on  Church    Reform.     Founded  upon  some 

late  Calculations 425 

Les  Hommes  Automates 4afl 

How  to  make  One's  Self  a  Peer.     According  to  the 

newest   Receiit,  as  disclosed   in  a  late  Herald: 


Work., 


426 


riled  for 

428 

I  Romantic  Drama.  429 


r  Thalaba.    Addri 


led   lo 


The  Duke  is  the  Lad 4'.i7 

Epistle   from  Erasmus  on   Earth  to  Cicero  in  the 

Shades 4!7 

Lines  on  the  Departure  of  Lords  C— Bl— r— gh  and 

St— w— rt  tor  the  Continent 

To  the  Ship  In  which  Lord  C— st— r— gh 

the  Conlinent 

Sketch  of  the  First  Ac 
Animal  Magnetism.... 
The  Song  of  the  Box.. 
Announcement  of  a  J 

Robert  Southey,  Esq 

Rival  Topics.  An  Extravaganza 
The  Boy  Statesman.  By  a  Tory 
Letter  from  Larry  O'Branigan  to 

O'Mulligan ■•■" 

Musings  of  an  Unreformed  Peer 4fJ 

The  Reverend  Pamphleteer.    A  Romantic  Ballad..  4il2 
A  Recent  Dialc 
The  Wellinglo 
A  Character.. 

A  Ghost  Story 

Thoughts  on    the  late  destructive   Prcpoi 

the  Tories.     By  a  Common-Councilmac 
Anticipated   Meeting  of  the  British  Asso 


the  Rev.  Murtagb 


No.  I. 


Epistle  from  Henry  of  Ex— I— r  to  John  of  Tuwa..  436 
Song  of  Old  Puck *^ 


CONTENTS. 


Police  Reports.    Case  of  Impoatu 

KetU'c'liiina.     Adilresscd  to  Ilie  Ai. 

of  ihrCliurth  lu  Ibe  UatNurab 


rott 


fUiia 


New  Urauil  ICxhibilinn  of  Mulels  ol  the  two  Houat 
of  Pailiaineut 

Aiiiiour.cemelit  of  a  n«w  grand  Acceleration  Coir 
pany  for  ttie  I'roiQolion  nf  tlie  Speed  of  Lileratui 

Goiue  Account  of  tlie  talc  Uinncr  to  Dan 

New  Hoapilol  for  iiicli  Literati 

K.lisiou  and  Trade 

Ideated  by  tlie  late    I'rontotiou  of  Mn 


He 


Tribo 


lust    Non 

"  KonianiMU  iu  ireland" 

irund    Dinner  of   Type  and   Co.     A  poor   Vm 


HI 


Cllureh  Exieuaion 

Latent  Accounts  from  Olympus 4i'2 

Tlie  Triumphs  of  Farce 442 

Thnughts  on  Patrone,  Putts,  and  other  Matters.     Iu 

an  Epistle  from  T.  M.  to  S.  K 443 

Tliuughts  oo    Mi«chier.     By  Lord    St— ul— y.     His 

lint  attempt  at  Verse 443 

Eptstle  from  Captain  Rock  to  Lord  L— iidh— t 444 

Captain  lluck    iu  Loudon.     Le.ter  from  the  CaplalQ 

to  Terry  Alt,  lisq 444 

Sequel  to 
44S 

Prefiice '. 445 

Letter  I.  From  Patricit  Magan,  I'^q.,  to  the  Rev. 
Richard  — — ,  Curale  nf ,  in  Irela.d 446 

Letter  IL  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge,  to  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth  446 

Letter  Iir.    From  Miss  Funny  Fudpe,  to  her  Cousin, 

Mias    Kitty .     Stauztia  (inclosed)    to  my 

Sliiidnw;  or.  Why  I— What  J— H.i\»  ) 448 

Letter  IV.  From  Patrick  Mafao,  Esq.,  to  the  llev. 
Hichard 449 


Pag« 
Letter  V.     From  Larry  O'Sranigan,  In  England,  tu 

his  wife  Judy,  at  Mullinarad < 

Letter  VI.     From  Miaa  Biddy  Fudge,  to  Mrs.  ElUa- 

Letter    VIL       From     M:sa    Fanny' Vudcei' "to   her 
Cousin,  Miaa  Kilty .     Irregular  Ode 463 

Letter  Vili.     From  Bob   Fudge,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev, 
Mortimer  O'MulliKaD < 

Letter  IX.     Froin    Larry  O'llrauigan   to   his  Wife 

Judy i 

"      ■'        the  Rev.  Mortimer  O'Mulligaii,  to 


the  Kev. 
Letter  ,\1. 


I  Patrick  Magan,  Ksq.,  to  the  Rev. 


■t.-i? 


Richa. 
SONGS  FROM  M.  P.;  OR,  THE  BLUE  STOCKING  468 


MISOKLLANEOUS  POEMS 460 

At  Nieht 

To  Laily  llnlland.    On  Nnpcleon's  Legacy  of  a  ^Snuff 


Anne  lloleyn.    Translaliou  from  the  metrical  •■  His. 

toired'Aune  Boleyu" . 

The  Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters.    From  Dante 461 

Sovcreipn  Woman.     A  Ballad 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  Air  again.    A  Ballad.... 

PREFACE  TO  THE  TENTH  VOLUMB 

THE  EPICUREAN:  A  Tale 463 

ALCIPHRON:   A  Fragment 60« 


ADVERTISEMENT, 

The  Ediiion  of  tlie  works  of  Mr.  Pdoore,  now  offered  to  ihe  public, 
is  reprinied  from  that  recently  published  in  London,  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  Author,  and  may  therefore  be  deemed  authentic  and 
complete. 

The  London  Ediiion  is  in  ten  volumes;  and  to  each  are  prefixed 
Autobiographical  Sketches  and  Anecdotes  connected  with  the  Poems 
in  that  volume.  In  order  to  present  these  in  their  proper  connexion, 
and  to  elucidate  clearly  the  Author's  allusions,  the  American  publish- 
ers have  marked  the  beginning  of  each  volume  of  the  English  Edition, 
and  have  adopted  Mr.  Moore's  arrangement  throughout  the  entire 
work. 

(10) 


POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


TO     THE 

MARQUIS    OF    LANSDOWNE, 

IN   GRATEFUL   REMEMBRANCE   OF 

NEARLY    FORTY    YEARS    OF    MUTUAL    ACQUAINTANCE    AND    FRIENDSHIP, 

THESE    VOLUMES    ARE    INSCRIBED, 

WITH    THE    SINCEREST    FEELINGS    OF    AFFECTION    AND    RESPECT, 

BY    THOMAS   MOORE. 


PREFACE. 

FINDING  it  to  be  the  wish  of  my  Publishers  that 
at  least  the  earlier  volumes  of  this  colleclion  shouIJ 
each  be  accomi)anieJ  by  some  prefatory  matter,  illus- 
trating, by  a  few  biographical  memoranda,  the  pro- 
gress of  my  humble  literary  career,  1  have  consented, 
though  not,  I  confess,  without  some  scruple  aud  hesi- 
tation, to  comply  with  their  request.  In  no  country 
is  there  so  much  curiosity  felt  lespecting  the  interior 
of  the  lives  of  public  men  as  in  England" ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  "no  country  is  he  who  ventures  to  tell 
his  own  story  so  little  safe  from  the  imputation  of 
vaiiity  and  self-display. 

The  whole  of  the  poems  contained  in  the  first,  as 
well  as  in  the  greater  part  of  the  second  volume  of 
this  collection,  were  written  between  the  sixteenth 
and  the  twenty-third  year  of  the  author's  age.  But  I 
had  begun  still  t-arlier,  not  only  to  rhyme,  but  to  pub- 
lish. A  sonnet  to  my  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Samuel 
Whyte,  written  in  my  fourteenth  year,  appeared  at 
the  time  in  a  Dublin  Magazine,  called  the  Antho- 
iogia,— the  first,  and,  I  fear,  almost  only  creditable 
attempt  in  periodical  literature  of  which  Ireland  has 
to  boast.  1  had  even  at  an  earlier  period  (1793)  sent 
to  this  magazine  two  short  pieces  of  verse,  prefaced 
by  a  noie  to  the  editor,  requesting  the  insertion  of  the 
*' following  attonipts  of  a  youthful  muse;"  and  the 
fear  and  trembling  with  which  I  ventured  upon  this 
step  were  agreeably  dispelled,  not  only  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the^contribulinns,  but  still  more  by  my  find- 
ing myself,  a  few  months  after,  hailed  as  "our  esteem- 
ed correspondent,  T.  M." 

It  was  in  the  pages  of  this  publication,— where  the 
whole  ot  the  poem  was  extracted,— that  I  first  met 
with  the  Pleasures  of  Memory  ;  and  to  this  day,  when 
1  open  the  volume  of  the  Anthnlogia  which  cimtains 
it,  Ihe  very  form  of  the  type  and  colour  of  the  pajter 
brings  back  vividly  to  my  miud  the  delight  with 
which  I  first  read  that  poem. 


My  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Whyte,  though  amusingly 
vain,  was  a  good  and  kind-hearted  man  j  aud.  as  a 
teacher  of  public  reading  and  elocution,  had  long 
enjoyed  considerable  reputation.  Nearly  thirty  years 
Ijcfore  I  became  his  pupil,  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridatij 
then  about  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  had  been  placed 
by  Mrs.  Sheridan  under  his  care ;  »  and,  strange  to 
say,  was,  after  about  a  year's  trial,  pronounced,  both 
by  tutor  and  parent,  to  be  *'an  incorrigible  dunce." 
Among  those  who  took  lessons  from  him  as  private 
pupils  were  several  young  ladies  of  rank,  belonging 
to  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  hos- 
pitable festivity.  The  Miss  Mnntgonierys,  to  whose 
rare  beauty  Ihe  pencil  of  Sir  Joshua  has  given  im- 
mortaliiy,  were  among  those  whom  my  worthy  pre- 
ceptor most  boasted  of  as  pupils;  and,  I  remember, 
his  description  of  Ihem  long  haumed  my  boyish 
imagination,  as  though  they  were  not  earihly  women, 
but  some  spiritual  "  creatures  of  the  element." 

About  tiiirty  or  forty  years  before  the  period  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  an  eager  taste  for  private  thea- 
trical performances  had  sprung  up  among  the  higher 
ranks  of  society  in  Ireland  ;  and  at  Carton,  the  seat  tf 
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, 
nr  the  epilogue,  contributed  by  his  pen.  At  Marley, 
the  seat  of  the  Latouches,  where  the  Masque  of  Cnmus 
was  performed  in  the  year  1776,  while  my  old  master 


1  Some  confused  notion  of  this  fact  has  led  the 
writer  of  a  Memoir  prefixed  In  ihe  *' pocket  Edition  " 
of  my  Poems,  printed  at  Zwickau,  to  state  that  Ilrins- 
ley  Sheridan  was  my  tutor !  —  "  Gre.at  attention  was 
paid  to  hi:^  education  by  hlH  tutor,  Sheridan." 


J 


rii) 


12 


PREFACE. 


supplied  the  prolngue,  no  less  dis  iii'uislied  a  hand 
than  that  of  our  "  ever-glorious  Graitaii.''  i  fuinislied 
the  epiln^ue.  This  re  ic  of  his  pen.  ton,  is  the  nmre 
nieninrable,  as  being,  I  believe,  the  on'y  poetical  com- 
position he  i^as  ever  known  to  produce. 

At  the  lime  when  I  first  be^an  to  ^tlend  his  school, 
Mr.  Wliyte  still  continued,  to  the  no  small  alarm  ot 
many  parents,  to  encnutag^e  a  taste  f.ir  acting  among 
his  pupils  In  this  line  1  was  lon^  his  favour  iie  show- 
scholar;  and  among  the  play-bills  introduced  in  his 
volume,  to  illustr.Te  the  occasions  of  his  own  pio- 
In^ufcs  and  epilogues,  there  is  one  of  a  play  gut  up  in 
the  >ear  1790,  ai  Lady  Borrowes's  pti\ate  theatre  in 
Dubi.n,  where,  auiong  the  items  of  the  evening's 
emeriainmeiil,  is  "An  Epilogue,^  Squeeze  to  &t. 
PauVSy  Master  Moore." 

VViih  acting,  indeed,  is  ass-^ciated  the  very  first 
attempt  at  verse-making  to  which  my  menjory  enables 
nie  to  plead  guilly.  It  was  at  a  period.  1  ih  nk,  even 
earlier  ihan  the  date  l-is*  mentinned,  that,  while  pass- 
ing the  summer  holidays,  wiih  a  number  of  other 
young  people,  at  one  of  tho-e  bathing-places,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Dublin,  which  aflord  such  fresh 
and  healthful  retreats  to  i's  inhabitants,  it  was  pro- 
posed among  us  that  we  should  combine  together  in 
snme  theatrical  performance;  and  the  Poor  Soldier 
and  a  Harlequin  Pantomime  being  the  enterlainments 
agreed  upon,  the  par's  of  Patrick  ai;d  ihe  Motley  hero 
fell  to  my  share.  I  was  also  encouraged  to  \yrile  and 
recite  an  appropriale  epilogue  on  the  occasion;  and 
the  following  lines,  alluding  lo  our  speedy  return  to 
school,  and  reni:»ikable  only  fnr  their  having  lived  so 
long  in  my  memory,  formed  pari  of  this  juvenile 
effort : — 

Our  Pantaloon,  who  did  ho  aged  li.ok, 
Miist  now  resume  his  youth,  his  la-^k,  his  book  : 
Our  Harlequin,  who  Hkiiip'd,  lungh'd,  dniicM.  and  died, 
Must  now  Mlaud  t[enit)Iiiig  by  his  maater'ii  side. 

I  have  thus  been  led  hack,  step  by  step,  frnm  an 
early  date  to  one  siill  earlier,  with  the  view  of  ascer- 
laining,  for  those  who  take  any  interest  in  literary 
biography,  at  what  period  I  fir^t  shov^ed  an  aptitude 
for  the  now  common  ciaft  of  ve'se-making ;  and  ihe 
result  i^— so  far  back  in  childhood  lies  ihe  e|.r,ch-that 
I  am  really  unable  to  say  at  what  age  1  first  began  to 
act,  sing,  and  rliynie. 

To  the-e  dilterent  talents,  such  as  they  were,  the 
gay  and  soci  d  habits  prevailing  in  Dublin  affi^rded 
frequent  opportunities  of  displav  ;  while,  at  home,  a 
most  amiabe  faiher,  and  a  molher.  such  as  in  heart 
ai  d  head  has  rarely  been  equalled,  fui'ni:hed  me  with 
that  purest  stimulus  to  exertion—  the  desire  to  please 
those  whom  we,  at  once,  most  I'^ve,  and  most  respect. 
It  was,  I  think,  a  year  or  two  after  my  entrance  into 
collese,  that  a  masque  written  by  myself,  and  of 
which  I  had  adapted  one  of  the  songs  to  the  air  o 
Haydn's  Spirit-Song,  was  acted,  under  our  own  hum 
ble  roof  in  Aungier  Street,  by  my  elder  sister,  mysell 
and  one  or  two  other  young  peisons.  Tlie  littl 
drawing-room  over  tne  shop  was  our  grand  place  c 
representation,  and  young ,  now  an  eminent  pro- 
fessor of  music  in  Dublin,  enacted  for  us  the  part  of 
orchestra  at  the  piano-forte. 

It  will  be  seen  from  all  this,  that,  however  impru- 
dent and  ]>reiiiature  was  my  first  appjearance  in 
London  world  as  an  author,  "it  is  only  lucky  that  I  bad 
not  much  earlier  assumed  tliat  responsible  character 
in  wh:ch  c^se  'he  public  wnuld  pi'obably  have  treated 
my  nursery  productions  in  much  the  same  manner  ii 
which  that  >ensihle  cn'ic,  my  Uncle  Toby,  xvould 
have  disposed  of  ihe  *'  work  which  the  great  Lipsiu: 
produced  on  the  dav  he  was  Ijorn.'' 

While  thus  the  turn  I  had  so  earlyshown  forrhymt 
and  song,  w  'S,  by  the  gay  and  sociable  cii  cle  in  whici 
I  lived,  called  sn  encouraffingly  intt)  play,  a  far  deepe; 
feeling— :uid,  I  should  hope,  power— was  at  the  sami 
time  awakened   in   me  by  the  mighiy  change  then 

1  Byron. 


working  in  the  political  aspect  of  Europe,  and  the 
Stirling  influence  it  had  begun  to  exercise  on  the  spirit 
and  hopes  of  Irtland.  Born  of  Catholic  puents^  ' 
had  come  into  Ihe  world  with  the  slave's  >oke  aiound  j 
my  neck;  aid  it  was  alt  in  vain  hat  the  fond  ambi-  i 
li"n  of  a  m-'ther  lo(»ked  forward  to  the  Bar  as  open- 
ing a  career  that  inisht  lead  her  son  to  affluence  and 
hoiii  ur.  Ag  inst  the  ynung  Papist  all  suctt  avenues  to 
distinction  were  closed  ;  and  e>.en  the  Universi'y,  ihe 
professed  source  of  public  educalifii,  was  to  him  "a 
fountain  staled."  Can  any  one  now  wonder  that  a 
pe(ple  thus  trampled  upon  sbould  ha\e  hailed  the 
first  dazzling  outbreak  of  the  French  Revrpjtion  as  a 
signal  to  the  slave,  wherever  suffering,  that  the  day 
of  his  deliverance  was  near  at  hand?  I  ren. ember 
being  taken  by  my  father  (1792)  to  one  of  ihe  dinneis 
given  m  honour  of  that  great  event,  ai  d  sitting  upon 
the  knee  ot  the  chairman  while  the  followiig  toast 
was  enthusiaslically  sent  routd  ;  —  "  M  ly  the  breezes 
from  France  fan  <  ur  Irish  Uak  into  verdme." 

In  a  few  months  after  was  passed  the  memorable 
Act  of  1793,  sweeping  away  some  of  tlie  mo-t  mon- 
slrtius  of   he  rt-m  inir  g  sanclinns  of  the  penal  code; 
nd  I  was  n.yself  amnug  the  first  of  the  young  Helots 
of  Ihe  land,  who  ha'-tened  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
new  privilege  of  being  educated   in  their  country's 
ersily,— th-iigh  still  excluded  from  all  share  in 
those  coileze  honours  and  emoluments  by  which  Ihe 
nhition  of  il.e   youths  of  the  ascendant  class  \ 
imulated  and  rew.irded.     As  I  well  ki.ew  Ihat,  next 
my  attaining  si  me  of  the  e  distinctions,  my  show- 
g  that  I  dcsa-ved  to  attain  them  would  mo>t  gratify 
y  nnxious  mother,  I  eirered  as  cand;d  te  for  a  schol- 
arship, and  {-AS  far  a^  the  re  ult  of  the  examii  atinn 
went)  successfully.    But,  of  course.  Ihe  mere  barren 
ciedit  of  the  effort  was  all  I  enjoyed  for  my  pains. 

it  was  in  this  year  (1794),  or  about  the  beginning  of 
the  next,  that  I  lemember  having,  fnr  Ihe  first  tin 
Hied  mv  hand  at  poliical  satire.  In  iheir  very  worst 
limes  oV  slavery  and  sufieiing.  the  happy  disposition 
of  mv  countrymen  had  kept  their  thee' fulness  : 
unbroken  and  buojant;  and,  at  the  peiiod  of  which  I 
am  spe  king,  the  hope  of  a  brighter  day  dawn" 
up'^n  Ireland  had  given  lo  the  society  of  the  middle 
classes  in  Dublin  a  more  than  u  nal  flow  of  hilarity 
and  life.  Among  oiher  gay  re*^ul  s  of  this  festive 
spi'it,  a  club,  or  sncieiy,  was  i-stituted  by  sime  of  our 
most  convivial  citizens,  one  <f  whose  objects  w a i 
burlesque,  gocd-humouredly,  the  forms  aid  pomps  of 
royally.  With  this  view  they  established  a  sort  of 
mock  kingdom,  of  which  Dalkey,  a  sn  all  i-land  near 
Dublm,  was  made  the  seat,  and  an  eminent  pa- 
bri  ker.  named  Stephen  Aimitage,  much  renow 
for  his  agreeable  singing,  was  the  chosen  aud  popular 
monarch. 

Befoie  public  afifairs  had  become  tto  serious  for 
such  pastime,  it  was  usual  to  celebrate,  >early,  at 
D.ilkey,  the  day  rf  this  sovereign's  accession ;  and, 
among  the  gay  scenes  that  still  l.ve  In  my  memory, 
there ~are  few  it  recUs  with  more  fre^hne^s  than  the 
celebration,  on  a  fine  Sunday  in  summer,  of  one  of 
these  anniversaries  of  King  Stephen's  coronation. 
The  picturesque  sea-views  from  that  spot,  Ihe  gay 
crouds  along  the  shores,  the  innumerable  boats,  full 
of  life,  floatms  abou',  and,  above  ail,  th  t  true  sf 
of  mirth  which  ihe  Irish  lemperament  never  fails  to 
lend  to  sucli  meetii:gs  rendered  the  whole  a  scene  not 
easily  forgotten.  The  s'ate  cerenmnies  of  the  day 
we'B  peiformed,  with  all  due  gravity,  within  the 
ruins  of  an  ancient  church  'hat  stands  on  the  island, 
where  his  mock  majesty  bestowed  the  order  '  f  knight- 
hood upon  cer'ain  favoured  per  onages,  and  among 
others,  I  recollect,  upon  Incledon,  the  celebrated 
singer,  who  arose  from  under  the  touch  of  tlie  royal 
sword  with  the  appiopriate  title  of  Sir  Lha 
Melody.  There  was  also  selected,  for  (be  favours  of 
the  crown  on  that  day,  a  lady  of  no  ordinary  po 
talent.  M-s.  Battier,  who  had  gained  much  fame  by 
snme  spirited  satires  in  the  manner  of  C  luirchdl,  and 
whose  kind  encouragenient  of  my  early  attempts 
versification   were   to  me  a   source  of  much  pride. 


fr^ 


PREFACE. 


^ 


13 


This  lady,  as  wii  officially  inncunced,  in  tlie  course 
of  Ihe  d  ly,  had  been  appointed  liis  niajes  y's  poeiess 
laureate,  under  the  style  and  title  of  Menrietia,  Coun- 
teas  of  Laurel. 

There  could  liardly  be  devised  a  more  apt  vehicle 
for  lively  political  satire  than  this  gay  travesty  of 
monarchical  power,  and  its  stio«y  appurtenances,  so 
temptingly  supplied.  The  very  day,  indeed,  afier 
this  con.niemoration,  there  appe.red,  in  the  usual 
record  of  Oalkc-y  ^tate  intelligence,  an  amusing  pro- 
cl.imalion  finni  the  king,  otierir.g  a  larre  rewaid  in 
cratiebancs,i  to  the  finder  or  tii.ders  of  "his  majesty's 
crown,  whch,  owmg  to  his  '*h-iving  measuted  boih 
•ides  of  Ihe  ro.id"  in  his  pedestrian  progress  from 
D.ilkey  on  the  preceding  night,  had  unluckily  fallen 
from  the  rny.il  hroiv. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  whatever  natural 
turn  I  may  hive  pos-essed  for  the  lighter  skirmishing 
of  satire  should  have  been  callid  into  play  by  so  plea- 
sant a  held  f  tr  its  exercise  as  the  state  atfaiis  ■  f  ilie 
Dilkey  kingdom  afforded  ;  and,  accordingly,  my  first 
attempt  in  this  line  was  an  Ode  to  his  iMajcsty,  King 
Stephen,  con  rasting  Ihe  happy  state  of  stcurity  in 
which  he  lived  among  his  merry  lieges,  with  the 
"  metal  conch,'*  and  other  such  precautions  against 
mob  violence,  said  to  have  been  adopted  at  that  time 
by  his  loyal  brother  of  England.  Sjme  portions  of 
lliis  juvenile  sauib  still  live  in  my  memoiy;  hut  they 
fall  lar  too  short  of  Ihe  lively  demands  of  the  subject 
to  be  virorlh  pre-erving,  even  as  juvenili  i. 

In  college,  the  fiist  circumstance  that  drew  any 
attention  to  my  rhyming  powers  was  my  giving  in  a 
theme,  in  English  verse,  at  one  of  the  quarterly 
examinitions.  As  the  son  of  short  e-s.Tys  required  on 
those  occasions  were  cnnsidered,  in  general,  as  a  mere 
ma'ter  of  form,  and  were  written,  at  that  time,  i 
believe,  invaiiably,  in  Latin  prose,  the  appearance  of 
a  theme  in  Etglish  verse  could  hirdly  fail  to  attract 
some  notice,  it  was,  therefore,  with  no  small  anxie'y, 
that,  when  Ihe  moment  for  judging  of  the  themes  ar- 
rived. I  saw  the  examiners  of  the  difl'eient  divisions 
asemble,  as  usual,  at  the  bottom  of  ihe  hall  for  that 
purpose.  Still  more  trving  w.is  it  when  I  perceived 
that  Ihe  reveiend  inquisitor,  in  whnse  hands  wa;  my 
fate,  had  left  the  rest  of  the  awful  group,  and  was 
bending  h  a  steps  towards  the  table  where  I  was  seat- 
ed. Leaning  across  to  me,  he  asked  suspiciously, 
whether  the  verses  which  1  had  just  given  in  were 
my  own;  and.  on  my  answeiing  in  the  alBiiiative, 
added  the^e  cheering  words,  ■'  Miey  do  you  great 
CI  edit;  and  1  shall  not  fail  to  recommend  them  to  ihe 
notice  of  the  Board."  'i  his  result  of  a  step,  venured 
upon  with  some  little  fear  .iiid  scruple,  was,  of  cou'se, 
very  gratifying  to  mej  and  the  premium  I  receivid 
from  the  Board  was  a  well-hound  copy  of  the  TiaveU 
of  Anacharsis,  together  with  a  cerlifici'e,  siating,  in 
not  very  lofty  Litin,  lh»t  this  reward  had  been'cnn- 
ferred  upon  me,  "propter  laudabileni  in  veisibus 
compoiiendis  progressum." 

'I  he  idea  if  attempting  a  version  of  some  of  Ihe 
Songs  or  odes  of  Anicreon  had  very  eaily  occurred 
to  me  J  and  a  .specimen  of  my  first  ventures  in  this 
undert.iking  may  be  found  in  the  Dublin  Magazine 
already  referred  to,  where,  in  the  number  of  that 
work  .for  February,  1791,  appeared  a  "Taiaphrase  of 
Anacreou's  Fifth  Ode,  by  '1 .  Moo;e."  As  it  niav  not 
be  uninlerestirii!  to  future  and  betier  tianslators  of  the 
poet  to  compare  this  sclioolbny  experiment  wih  my 
Inter  and  more  labomed  version  of  the  same  Ode,  1 
shill  here  extract  the  specimen  found  in  the  Antho- 
logia :  — 

*'Li't  us,  with  the  clnsleriiig  vine, 

The  rose.  I.ove'n  titiishins  How^-r,  entwine. 

Fancy's  hmvl  our  chaplel»  wrcuthiiiB, 

V«,„l»w„,.„a,™n,l„sn„-,tl.i„Bi 

We  'M  gaily  drink    tiiM  gi.ljlels  quaflluB, 

At  flighted  Care  Hecurely  laughiny. 
"RoKrl  thou  balmr-sceuled  flower. 

Rear  il  by  Spriiij'a  niusl  losUriug  power, 


Thy  dewy  blostioma,  opening  bright. 
To  gods  themselves  can  givcdeliglil; 
And  Cypria'e  child,  wilh  roses  ciown'd. 
Trips  with  eatti  Grace  ihe  mazy  round. 


Bind  my  b 

row«.- 

-I  '11  tune  Ihely 

Love  my 

apuir. 

isslrains  jhall  1 

Near  Ea.c 
Wliile  rn, 
Led  hv  Ih 

:r;.!: 

ape-encirclcd  shr 
1  rny  hiuwe  enrw 
d  train  of  I'leati 

1  'II  dance 

with  n 

ympha  to  ...porliv 

In  pui 


ng  further  this  light  task,  the  only  object 
onie  time  in  view  was  to  lay  before  the 
select  number  of  the  Odes  I  h.ad  I 


h.id  for  : 
Board  a  seieci  numoer  oi  me  uaes  l  ti.au  men  trans- 
lated, with  a  hope,  suggested  by  the  kind  encourage-  ' 
meiit  I  had  alieady  received,— that  llrey  might  con- 
sider them  as  deserving  of  some  honour  or  reward. 
Having  experienced  much  hospitable  attention  from 
Doctor  Kearney,  one  rif  ihe  senior  fel.ows,ti  a  man 
of   most  amiable  character,  as  well  as  of   refined 
scholarship,  I  submitted  to  his  perusal  the  manuscript  I 
of  my  translation  as  far  as  it  had  then  proceeded,  and 
requested  his  advice  respectii  g  my  intention  of  lay-  ' 
iiig  it  before  the  Boaid.     On   Ihis  latter  point  his  ' 
opinion  was  such  as,  with  a  Imle  more  Ihouiht,  I  ' 
might  have  anticipated,  namely,  ihat  he  did  not  see 
how  the   Boaid  of  the  University  could  lend  their  < 
sanction,  by  any  public  reward,  to  writings  if  so  con- 
vivial and  amatory  a  nature  as  were  almost  all  those 
of    Aitacreon.      He   veiy   good-naturedly,   however,  1 
lauded  my  transl.ition,  and  advised  me  to  complete 
and  puhlish  it      I  was  also  indebted  hi  him  for  Ihe 
use,  during  my  task,  of  Spalelti's  curious  publication, 
giving  a  facsimile  of  llio  e  pages  of  a  MS.  in  the  ! 
Vatican  Library  which  contain  Ihe  Odts,  or  "  Sym-  ; 
posiac-,"a'tributed  to  Anaciei  n.3     And  here  I  shall 
venture  lo  add  a  few  pa-sing  woids  tn  a  point  which  i 
1  once  should  have  thi.ught  it  profanation  to  question,  i 
—  the  authenticity  of  these  poems.    The  cry  raised  | 
against   their  getiuineness  by  Rolortellus  and  other 
enemies  of  Henry  Stephen,  when  tli,>t  eminent  scholar 
first  introduced  them  to  the  leaned  world,  may   be 
thought  to  have  long  since  entirely  sub-ided,  leaving 
ilieir  claim  to  so  ancient  a  pateiniiv  safe  and  uiiquts- 
tioned.     But  1  am  forced  tc  confe'-s.  however  reluc- 
tantly. Ihat  there  appear  to  me  strong   giounds  for  ; 
pronouncing  these  light  and   beauiful   lyrics  to  he  I 
mciely  modem   labrications.      Sunie  of  ihe  reasons  i 
that  incline  me  to  .adopt  Ihis  unwelcrme  conclusion 
aie  thus  clearly  stated  by  the  same  able  scholar,  to 
whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  emendations  of  my  own 
juven.le  Gieek  Ode  :  —  'M  do  not  see  how  it  is  possi- 
ble, if  Auacieon  had  written  chiefly  in  Iambic  d. me- 
ter verse,  that  Horace  should  have  wholly  neglected 
that  metre.     1  may  add  that,  of  those  fragments  of 
Anacreon.  of  whoe  genuineness,  fiom  inteinal  evi- 
ience,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  almost  all  aic  written 
n  one  or  other  of  the  lighter  Horatian  met  es,  and 
scarcely  one  in  Iamb  c  dimeter  verse.     This  may  be 
•n  by  lookiog  through  the  list  in  Fi-cher." 
I  he  unskilful  attempt  at  Greek  verse  fi  om  my  own 
pen,  which  is  found  prefixed  to  the  'I  ransaiion,  was 
ntended  originally  to  illustrate  a  jiiclurc,  repiesent- 


*  Irish  halfjience,  s 


alltd. 


t2  Appointed  Provost  of  Ihe  University  in  thejear 
nag,  and  made  afterwards  Bishop  of  Otsory. 

a  When  the  monument  to  Piovost  Baldwin,  which 
stands  m  the  hall  of  the  College  of  Dublin,  arri\ed 
from  Italy,  there  came  in  the  same  packing-case  with 
it  two  copies  of  this  work  of  Spaletti,  one  of  which 
was  presented  bv  Dr.  Tioy,  the  Konian  Catholic  a'ch- 
hishop,  as  a  gift  fiom  the  Pope  to  the  Librar\  of  the 
University,  and  Ihe  other  (of  which  I  w.as  subsequent- 
ly favoured  wi'h  the  usei  he  piesenled,  in  like  man- 
ner, to  niv  friend.  Dr.  Kearnev.  Thus,  curi.  usly 
enough,  ivhile  Anacreon  in  EngUsh  w.is  coiisideied— 
and,  1  giant,  on  no  unreasonab'e  grounds  —  as  a  wmk 
to  »  hich  grave  collegiate  authorities  could  not  ojienly 
lend  their  sanction,  Anacreon  in  Greek  was  thought 
no  nnlitting  piesent  lo  be  received  by  a  Protestant 
bishop,  through  the  medium  of  a  Catholic  archbishop, 
f .1..,  ..-..J    ..  ^ thel'ope. 


from  the  hands  of  his  holm 


14 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


in^  Anacreon  conversing  with  the  Goddess  of  Wis- 
dom, from  which  the  fiontispiece  to  the  first  edition 
of  the  work  was  taken.  Had  I  been  biou^hl  up  with 
a  due  fear  of  the  laws  of  prosody  before  my  eyes,  I 
certainly  should  not  have  dared  to  submit  so  untutor- 
td  a  production  tti  the  criticism  of  the  trained  proso- 
dians  of  the  English  schools.  At  the  same  time,  I 
cannrit  help  adding  that,  as  far  as  mus  c,  dis  inct  from 
metre,  is  concerned,  I  am  much  mcliuei  to  prefer  the 
Ode  as  originally  written  to  its  present  correc'ed 
shape;  and  that,  at  all  events,  I  entertain  but  very 
liitle  doubt  as  to  whichol  the  two  a  composer  would 
most  willingly  jet  to  mus-c. 

For  the  meins  of  collecting  the  materials  of  the 
notes  appended  to  the  Translation,  1  was  chiefly  in- 
debted til  the  old  library  adjoining  St.  Patrick's  Caihe- 
dral,  called,  from  the  name  of  the  archbishop  who 
founded  it.  Marsh's  Libiary.  Thmugh  my  acquaint- 
ance with  ihe  deputy  libr.ri:in,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cradock, 
I  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  constant  access  to  this  col- 
lection, even  at  that  period  of  the  year  when  it  is 
alwiiys  closed  to  the  puhlic  On  these  occasions  1 
used  *to  be  locker!  in  ihere  alone;  and  to  the  many 
solitary  houis  which,  both  at  the  time  I  am  now 
speaking  of  and  subsequently,  I  pissed  in  hunting 
thron2:h  the  dusty  tomes  of  this  old  library,  1  oue 
much  of  that  odd  and  out-of-the-way  sort  of  reading 
which  may  be  found  scattered  through  some  of  my 
earlier  writings. 

Early  in  the  year  1799,  while  yet  in  my  nineteenth 
year,  I'left  Ireland,  fnr  lire  fi'st  lime,  and  proceeded 
to  London,  with  the  two  not  very  congenial  objec's, 
of  keeping  my  terms  at  the  Middle  Temple,  and  pub- 
lishing, by  subscription,  my  Translation  of  Anacreon. 
One  of  those  persons  to  whom,  through  the  active 
zeal  of  friends,  some  part  of  my  manuscript  had  been 
submitted  before  it  went  to  press,  was  Doctor  Laur- 
ence, the  able  fnend  of  Rurke  ;  and.  as  an  instance, 
however  sh^ht,  of  that  ready  variety  of  learning,  as 
well  the  lightest  as  the  most  solid,  for  which  lAur- 
ence  was  so  remarkable,  the  follnwinj  ex'ract  from 
the  letter  wrilien  by  him,  in  returning  the  mmu-cript 
to  my  friend,  Dr.  Hume,  may  not  be  without  some 
interest ; — 

**Dec.  20,  1799. 

**  I  return  you  the  four  odes  which  vou  were  so 
kind  to  communicate  for  my  poor  opinion.  They 
are,  in  many  parts,  ver}-  elegant  and  poetical ;  and,  in 
some  passages,  Mr.  Moore  has  added  a  pretty  turn  not 


to  be  fourd  in  the  rriginal.  To  confess  the  truth, 
however,  they  arc.  in  not  ?_  few  places,  rather  more 
paraphiastical  Itian  suits  my  notion  (peihaps  an  incor- 
rect notiuiOof  translation. 

*'  In  the  fifty-third  Ode  there  is,  in  my  judgment,  a 
no  less  sound  than  beautiful  emendation  suggested  — 
would  you  suppose  it?— by  a  Dutch  Lawyer.  Mr.  M. 
possibly  niay  not  be  aware  of  it.  I  have  endeavour- 
ed to  express  the  sense  of  it  in  a  c  uplet  interlined 
with  pencil.  "Will  you  allow  me  to  add,  that  I  am 
not  cerlam  whether  the  trauslation  has  not  missed  the 
meaning,  too,  m  the  former  pait  of  that  passage 
which  seems  to  me  to  intend  a  distinction  and  climax 
of  pleasure  :— '  It  is  sweet  even  to  prove  it  among  the 
brieiy  paths;  it  is  sweet  a^ain,  pluckinsr,  to  cherish 
wiih  tender  hands,  and  carry  to  the  fair,  i lie  flower  of 
love.'  This  is  nearly  liteial,  including  the  conjec- 
tural crreciion  of  Mynheer  Medenbac.h.  If  this  be 
right,  instead  of 

'  *T  is  sweet  to  dare  the  tangled  fence, 

I  would  propose  something  to  this  effect :  — 


tie  timid  beauty  Itlt-nre, 
with  leniler  handn  away 
i  that  nn  its  blushes  lay ;  1 


"I  would  dro'p  altogether  the  image  of  the  stems 
'•  druYfing  with  gems.''  I  believe  it  is  a  confused 
and  false  meiaphor,  unless  Ihe  painter  should  take  the 
figure  of  Aurora  from  Mrs.  Hastings. 

"There  is  ano'her  emendation  of  the  same  critic, 
in  the  followin?  line,  whch  Mr.  M.  may  seem,  by 
accident,  to  have  sufficiently  exj)ressed  in  the  phrase 
of  '  roses  shed  their  light.'' 

"I  scrii)ble  this  in  very  great   haste,  but  fear  that 
3'ou  ;ind  Mr.  M'Ote  will  find  me  too  long,  minute,  and 
impertinent.     Relieve  me  to  be,  very  sincerely, 
*'  Your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

"  F.  LAURENCE." 


»  "Quer}',  if  it  ought  not  to  be  lie?    The  line 
might  run. 

With  tender  hand  thi 
That  give  new  soflne 


ODES    OF    ANACREON 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE:  WITH  NOTES. 


TO    HIS    KOTAL    HIGHNESS 
THE    PRINCE    OF   WALES. 

Sir,  — In  allowing  me  to  dedicite  this  Work  to 
Tour  Royal  Hijhness,  you  have  conferred  upon  me  an 
honour  which  I  feel  very  sensibly :  and  1  hnve  only  to 
rejret,  that  the  pages  which  you  have  Ihus  dislin- 
CTlsheJ  are  not  more  deserving  of  such  illustrious 
patronage. 

Believe  me,  Sir, 
With  every  sentiment  of  respect. 

Your  Knyal  HiKliness's 
Very  grateful  and  devoted  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  that,  in  arranging 
Ibe  Odes,  Ihe  Translator  has  adopted  the  order  of  the 


Vatican  MS.  For  those  who  wish  to  refer  to  Ihe 
original,  he  has  prefixed  an  Index,  which  marks  the 
number  of  each  Ode  in  Barnes  and  the  other  editions. 


INDEX. 

Ode.  Bamej. 

1.  ANAKPEJ2N  t.Smv  p,e   .    .    .    .  -63 

2.  AoT£  /tot  Xvptjv  'OfiTjpov-    ...  48 

3.  Ay£,  ^ujypa^wv  aptCTTE      ....    -         49 

4.  Toi/  aoyiipov  TopttJuji/ 17 

5.  KaAAirt^^no  (tot  toqivo-ov      -    .    -    .  18 

6.  Ete^os  nXsKoiv  iroO'  tlfov i9 

7.  Atyovc-iv  al  yvvatKt^  ---.-     ..     n 

8.  Ov  /toi  ricKn  to  Tiiyou 15 

9.  A<pt%  ftr  Tovq  -Stovs  trot     -    ...    -         31 
10.  Tt  <rot  -SiAiis  ToiT;<7o)    •  ' 13 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


15 


Bpuira  Krjptvov  Tts  ---••---10 

Oi   /i£V   Ka\TJV    Kv(ST){i7}V 13 

GeXcu,  ^t\ui  <pt.Xrj(r(U  --•-•-••  14 

,  Et  <fivXXa  itavra  devdpojv     •    .    -    -    -  32 

,  Epacfitrj  ntXeia     ------.-•  9 

•  -AV£»  ^iMyga<Paiv  aptore-    --••-•  23 

rpa(/ȣ  fioi  3a9v\\ov  oirm 29 

Aors  ixoi,  SoTt   yvvaiKi^  --•••-  21 

,  riapa  TTjv  a-K'\Tjv,  Ba^vAAe    •    •    •    •    •  22 

,  Ai  Movaat  Tov  Epwra 30 

.  'ii  yrj  (iiXaLva  nivu     -•-•--•19 

.  'H  'VavTaXov  jtot'  ta-rrj 30 

.  QiXio  Xeyziv  Arpettfaj    -•---.-  1 

,  ^vcns  K£pfiTa  Tavpotff •  2 

,  Lv  (lev  0tA7/  ;^;fAii?(uv    -•--.--33 

Zv  fiev  Xcyus  ra  Btj/^tj^ IS 


Un 


27.  Kt  (o-,v*ot?  /i£ 

23.  'O  avijp  b  7y<;  KvOijqjj^ 


\aXmov  ■ 


0  /t£  (fiiXria-ai 
-ap  Tpo:\;a^at/ 

ais  TtQUvati 
wS  rrotf  (^jpaij 


EjTt   llVp(Tl 
M£<TOVV<TI 

MaKapi^ofuv 

'0  nXovTO^  uyc  ,'^;pv<rou  • 
Ata  vv/cro§  ey*ca9£t)dtuv  - 
'lAapot  TTtai/icv  oivov    •    - 

EttuStj  (3poTos  tTvxSijv  • 
Tt  KaXov  ea-Ti  (^a^i^iiv  • 
XloOcui  fi€V  Aiovva-ov  -  - 
llrt<pavov^  y.iv  KpOTa<poi<ri 
To  foSov  -,0  TOiV  £pa,Tc.l/ 
'Orav  TTtvio  TOV  oivov-  - 
I(Jfi,  TTOj  iapos  <}>aV€V7o^  - 
Eyu*  yepoiv  fi£v  elju  -  - 
'Oraf  6  BaKxos  ti<rtXOtj  - 
Tov  Atos  6  irats  BaKX<^J  " 
'Or'  tyw  JTiw  TOV  ott'ov  - 
Ml]  /is  f^vyj;5  opujca  -  - 
Tt  pLt  rovs  vofiovg  Sida<TK£ig 
'Or'  cyu)  t/£u>t/  dfiiXov 


VQOS  < 


[^'■OS", 


Lre0av?^0opov  fier'  Hpoj 
•Q  TOV  cv  itovoig  ampti  - 

ApT    TIJ  TOptVa-C    JZOVTOV     - 
'O    (JprtTTETT/S  6    XP^O""^       • 

Tov  /t£Xavo:\rp(uTa  jJOTpvv 
Ava  ^apScTov  Sovt](Tut  •    - 

rioXtOl   /t£V   7//ltV     7Ji59)      -     - 

Ay£  Ct},  ^tp'   ^fj-tv^  w  Tcai 
Tov  Epu)ra  yap  tov  AGpov 
Povvo/iat  ff'  t.Xa(f}7iGoXe    • 

rituXc   0p7?tft7^,    7£    dr]    fLt 

Qcavjv  avaa-a-a,  Kvirpi 
SI  not,  nap9eviov  /?\£Trwv  ■ 
Eyw  i5'  ovt'  av  A/taAOic?;? 
For  the  order  of  the  rest,  see 


BY   THE    TRANSLATOR. 

Em  podotvois  TaTijcrc, 
TtjIos  yror'   b  [itXic-Ttjs 

'lAapoj  ytXojv  £*C£ito, 
MiOvujv  ft  Kat  Avpi^tov' 

AfKpi    aVTOV    ol    5'    £pU>T£S 

'AnaXoi  cvvexop^va-av 
'O  {SiXrj  ra  ti]S  KvdijprfS 

EtTOUI,     i^VXV^    OICTTOVS- 

'O  dz  XevKOL  noptpvpoLtrt 
Kpiva  ffvv   ^oConn   irAE^aff, 
Ei^tAtt  OTc^tyv  yepovTa* 
•n  6i  ^£a(uv  avao-o-a, 
ZO^III  jtot'  £5   OXvfinov 
Eo-opuxr'   Ava/cpEovra, 
EcTopujca  Tovs  cpturas', 
'Ynoiiiidiacraas  ttnf 
]Eo^)«,  6'   toy  Avoicp£OVT<E 
Tov  a-o<puiTaTov  anavrwVf 
KfiA£oxf(r(v  ol  fTotfiKTTait 
Ti.  yjpojv,  Tcov  0LOV  /aev 
Toij  tpuj(n,   Tio   Avai</jf 
K'  ovK  ifioi  Kpartiv  fifftuicas; 
Ti  ^1X1)^1.0.  ri]q    KvB'iipi]£ 
Tt  Kt;n-£AAa   tov    Avaiov, 
Alu  y'    e7pv<l})}(rns   a^wv^ 
Ovtc  Efiovs  vo/iovs  (Ji^ao-Kojv, 
OvK   tfLov  Xaxf'V  awTov  ; 
*0  6t  Ti}{os   /.ilXlo-ttj^ 
MijTC  Cvax^paivt,  <pr)<n, 


•Ot 


fllV 


*0   (ro(l)(oTaTos  anavTaiV 
riapa  twv  a-o<}iu}V  KaAov/iat* 
*tA£tu,   niw,  Xvpi^uiy 
MtTtt  Twv  KttAtuv  yuvatKwv 
AfpiXuiS  dfi  T£pnva  nai^oi, 

'ilq    Avp);    yap,    £/tOV    T^TOp 

Avajrv£t   jlovovs  EpouTaj* 
'Q^£  PtoTov  XaXrjvrjv 
^iAecuv  /taAtCTTa  TraVTwv, 
Ov  <roff>o£  ficXu)6o^  tifii; 
Tij  (TO^utTEpoj  /i£v  EffTt ; 


REMARKS    ON    ANACREON. 

There  is  but  IKMe  known  with  cerlainty  of  the  life 
of  Aiiacreon.  Chameleon  Heracleotes,i  who  wrole 
ujioii  the  sutiject,  has  been  lost  in  Ihe  general  wreck  of 
ancient  lirerature.  The  editors  of  the  poet  have  col- 
lected the  few  IrifliMR  anecdotes  which  are  scattered 
through  the  exiani  authors  of  antiquiiy,  and,  supply- 
ing the  deficiency  of  materials  hv  fictions  of  their  own 
inu^inatioii,  have  arranged,  what  Ihey  caM,  a  life  of 
Anacreon.  These  specio-.is  f.ibricatious  are  intended 
to  indulee  that  interest  which  we  naturally  feel  in  the 
biography  of  illii«itriou8  men;  but  it  is  rather  a  dan- 
gerous kind  of  illusion,  as  it  confounds  (he  limits  of 


He  is  quoted  by  Athenaaus  cv  t^  n-tpt  tov  AvaX' 


16 


ODES    OF   ANAGREON. 


hisloiy  and  romance,*  and  is  too  often  supported  by 
unfaithful  cllarion.^ 

Our  poet  was  born  in  the  city  nf  Tens,3  in  the  deli- 
cious region  of  Ionia,  and  ttie  time  of  his  Inrth  appears 
to  have  been  in  the  sixth  centui  y  jel'ore  Christ.*  He 
flourished  at  that  leniarkahle  period,  «  hen,  under  the 
polished  tyrants  Hipparchus  and  Folycrates,  Athens 
and  Samoa  were  became  the  rival  avyiumN  nf  )>enius. 
There  is  nothing  certain  knowu  abiui  his  family,  and 
those  who  pretend  to  discover  in  Plato  thai  he  was  a 
descendant  of  the  monarch  Codrus,  show  much  more 
of  zeal  than  of  either  accuracy  or  judsment.s 

The  disp  silinn  and  talents  of  Anacieon  recommend- 
ed him  to  ihe  monarch  of  Samos,  and  he  was  formed 
to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  prince  as  Polycr.ites.  Sus- 
ceptible only  to  the  pbaauies,  be  fell  not  the  corrup- 
tions of  the  court;  and,  while  I'ythagoras  tied  from 
the  tyrant,  Anacreon  was  celebrating  his  praises  on  the 
lyre.  We  are  told  too  by  Maximiis  Tyrius,  that,  by 
tlie  influence  of  his  amatory  sonsjs,  he  softened  the 
mind  of  Polycrales  into  a  spirit  uf  benevolence  to- 
wards his  subjecis.6 

The  amours  of  the  poet,  and  the  rivalship  of  the 
tyrant. 1  I  shall  pass  over  in  silence;  and  there  are 
few,  1  presume,  who  will  regret  tlie  nmissinn  of  most 
of  those  anecdotes,  which  the  indus'iy  of  some  editors 
has  not  only  proniulged,  but  discussed.  Whatever  is 
repugnant  to  modesty  and  virtue  is  cnsidered  in  ethi- 
cal science,  by  a  suppo-ition  very  favourable  to 
humani'y,  as  impossible;  and  this  amiable  persuasion 
should  be  much  more  strongly  entertained,  where  the 
transgression  wars  with  nature  as  well  as  virtue.  But 
why  are  we  not  alloued  to  indulge  in  the  presump- 
tion ?  Why  are  we  officiously  teniinded  that  tliere 
have  been  really  such  instancue  of  depravity  ? 

Hipparchus,  who  nnw  maintained  at  Athens  the 
power  which  his  fa  her  Pi-istratus  had  usuriietl.  w*a^ 
one  of  those  princes  who  may  be  said  to  hive  polished 


>  The  History  of  Anacreon,  by  Gacon  (le  Poete 
sans  fard,  as  he  styles  himself,)  is  professedly  a 
romance  ;  nor  does  Mademoiselle  Scudeii,  from  whom 
he  borrowed  the  idea,  pretend  to  historical  veracity  in 
her  account  of  Anacreon  and  Sappho.  Th^-se,  then, 
are  allowable.  But  how  can  Barnes  be  forgiven,  who, 
with  all  the  confidence  of  a  bif)grai)her,  traces  every 
wandering  of  the  poet,  and  settles  him  at  last,  in  his 
old  age,  at  a  country  villa  near  Teos  ? 

*  The  learned  Bayle  has  detected  some  infidelities 
of  quotation  in  Le  Fevre.  {Dictionnaire  Historique., 
ifC.)  Madame  Dacier  is  not  more  accurate  than  her 
father:  they  have  almost  made  Anacreon  prime  min- 
ister to  the  "monarch  of  Samos. 

3  The  Asiatics  were  as  remarkable  for  genius  as  for 
luxury.  **  Ingenia  A^iatica  indyta  per  gentes  fecere 
Poetsp,  Anacreon,  inde  Minjuermus  at  Antiniachus, 
&c."—  Solmus. 

<  1  have  not  attempted  to  define  the  particular 
Olympiad,  but  have  adopted  the  idea  of  Bayle,  who 
sa\s, '' Je  n'ai  point  Marque  d  Olympiade ;  car  pour 
un  hommequi  a  vecu  85  ans,  il  me  semble  que  I'on  ne 
doit  pnint  s*enfermer  dans  des  homes  si  etroites." 

8  This  mistake  is  founded  on  a  false  interpretation 
of  a  very  obvious  passage  in  Plato's  Dialogue  on  Tem- 
perance ;  it  originated  with  Madame  D  cier,  and  has 
been  received  implicitly  bv  many.  Gail,  a  late  eOilor 
of  Anacreon,  seems  to  clVim  to  himstlf  the  merit  of 
detecting  this  error ;  but  Bayle  had  observed  it  before 
him. 

6  AvaK(i£D]V  T.a(iioi£  UoXvKQaTTjv  ■fi/iEpwffe. 
Maxim.  1  yr.  §  21.  Maxinius  Tyrius  mentions  tliis 
among  other  instances  of  the  inhuence  of  poetry,  if 
Gai!  had  read  Maximus  Tynus,  hnw  could  he  ridicule 
this  idea  lu  Moutonnet,  as  unauthenticated  ? 

1  In  the  romance  of  Clelia,  the  anecdote  to  which  I 
allude  is  told  of  a  young  girl,  with  whoni  Anacreon 
fell  in  love  while  she  pers  <nated  the  god  Apollo  in  a 
mask.  Put  here  Mademoiselle  Scuderi  consulted 
nature  more  thin  truth. 


the  fetters  of  their  subjects.  He  was  the  first,  accord- 
ing to  Plato,  who  edited  the  pocm^  of  Homer,  and 
commanded  them  to  be  sung  by  the  Rhapsodists  at  the 
celebration  of  the  Panathenaea.  From  his  coun,  which 
was  a  sort  of  galaxy  of  genius,  Anacreon  could  not 
long  be  absent.  Hipftarchns  sent  a  barge  for  him  ;  (he 
poet  readily  embraced  the  inviiation,  and  the  Muses 
and  the  Lnves  were  wafted  with  him  lo  Alhen.s.8 

The  manner  ofAn^creon's  death  was  singular.  We 
are  told  that  in  the  eJehty-hfth  year  of  his  age  he  was 
choked  by  a  grape-stone ;  9  and,  however  we  may 
smile  at  iheir  enthusiastic  partiality,  who  sec  in  this 
easy  and  characteristic  death  a  peculiar  indulgence  of 
Heaven,  we  cannot  help  admiring  that  his  fate  should 
have  been  so  emblematic  of  his  disposition,  CaeJioi 
Calcaennius  alludes  lo  this  catastrophe  iu  the  follow- 
ing epitaph  on  our  poet :  —  lO 

Those  bpy,  then,  hallow'd  eage,  which  pour'd  nIoDg 
A  music  swfti  as  any  cyjiiit^l's  s.iog, 

The  grape  halh  clua'd  for  ever  J 
Here  let  lUv  ivy  kiss  the  poet's  ti>mb, 
Here  let  the  rose  he  'ov'd  wilh  laurels  bloom, 

In  bands  that  iio'er  shall  never. 
But  far  be  thou,  oh  !  far,  unholy  vine, 
By  whom  the  favourite  minstre!  nf  ihe  Nine 

Lnat  his  sweet  vital  breath; 
Thy  God  himself  now  blushes  lo  confess, 
Ouce  liallowM  vine!  he  feels  he  loves  thee  lees, 
Since  poor  Anarreon's  death. 
It  has  been  supposed  by  some  writers  that  Anacreon 
and    Sappho    were    contemporaries ;    and   the    very 
thought  of  an  inteicoune  between  persons  so  conge- 
nial, both  iu  warmth  of  passion  and  delicacy  of  genius, 
gives  iuch  play  to  the  imagination,  that  the  mind  loves 
to  indulge  m  it.   But  the  vl^ion  dissolves  before  histori- 
cal tiuth  ;  and  Chamjelenn  and  Hermesianax,  who  are 
the  souice  of  the  supposition,  are  considered  as  having 
merely  indulged  in  a  poetical  anachroiii>m.ii 

To  infer  the  moral  dis|iositions  of  a  poet  from  the 
lone  of  sentiment  which  jeivades  his  works,  is  some- 
times a  very  fallacious  analogy  ;  but  the  scul  of  Ana- 


8  There  is  a  very  interesting  French  poem  founded 
upon  this  anecdote,  iniputed  toDcsyvelaux,  and  called 
**  Anacreon  Cit(  yen." 

9  Fabricius  appears  not  to  trust  very  implicitly  in 
this  story.  "  Uvie  pa-^sas  acino  landem  ^uttocatus,  si 
credinijs  Suidse  in  oii-oTrorj^^  ;  alii  enim  hoc  mortis 
genere  perii«se  Iradunt  yophoclem.'"— /'atricn  JiibliO' 
thee.  GrsEC.  lib.  ii.  can.  15.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
Lucian,  who  tells  us  that  Sophocles  was  choked  by  a 
giape-stone,  in  Ihe  very  sme  treative  mentions  the 
longevity  of  Anacreon,  and  yet  is  silent  on  the  man- 
ner nf  his  dea'h.  Cnuid  he  have  been  ignorant  of 
such  a  remarkable  c.>incidence,  or,  kr  owing,  could  he 
have  neiileefed  to  remark  it?  SeeRegnier^s  introduc- 
tion to  his  Anacreon. 

10  At  te,  sanc'e  senex,  acinus  sub  Tar'ara  misit ; 
Csgneafi  clausit  qui  tibi  vocis  iter. 
Vos,  hederK,  tnmulum,  tumulum  voscingite,  lauri, 

Hoc  ro?a  perpetuo  vernet  odora  loco  ; 
At  vitis  procul  bine,  procul  hinc  odiosa  faceesat, 

Qnas  causam  dirae  protulit,  uva,  necis. 
Creditor  ijise  minus  vitem  jam  Bacchus  amare, 
III  vatem  tantum  qux  fuit  ausa  nefas. 
The  au'hor  of  this  epitaph,  Caelius  Calcagninus, 
has  tiamlaied  or  imitated    the    epigrams    cig    tt^v 
Mvpfui'uj  {3ovv,  which  are  given  under  the  name  of 
Anacreon. 

*i  Barnes  is  convinced  (hut  verygratuitouslyJ,of  the 
synchronism  of  Anacreon  and  Sappho.  In  ci'ing  his 
authorities,  lie  has  strangely  neglected  the  line  quoted 
by  Fulvius  U'sinua,  as  from  Anacieon,  among  the 
testimonies  to  Sappho  :  — 

Eific  XaSuiV  ELcapas  T>a7T<Pto  iragOzvov  AJv^ovov. 
Fabricius  thinks  that  they  might  have  been  contempo- 
rary, but  cun^jllers  Iheir  amour  as  a  tale  of  imagination 
V'ossius  rt'itcts  the  idea  entirely  :  as  do  also  Olaus  Bor- 
ricliius  and  others. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


17 


creon  speaks  so  utietiuiv  cally  through  his  odes,  that 
we  nay  safely  consult  them  as  the  faitliful  niiimrs  nf 
his  heart.i  VVefinJ  him  there  the  elegant  voluptuary, 
diftusing  the  seductive  charm  of  sentiment  over  pas- 
sions and  propt-usilies  at  v\  hich  ri;id  morality  must 
frown.  Hisheait,  devoted  to  indolence,  seems  to  have 
thought  that  there  is  wealth  enough  in  happiness,  but 
seldom  happiness  in  meie  wealth.  The  cheeilulness, 
indeed,  witli  which  he  brightens  his  old  a£;e  is  inttre-^t- 
ing  and  endearing:  like  his  own  rose,  he  is  fra^nnt 
even  in  decay.  Bui  the  most  peculiar  fea'ure  of  his 
mind  is  thai  love  of  simnlicily,  which  he  atlrihutes  to 
himself  so  feelinglj',  and  which  breathes  characlerisii- 
cally  Ihrouiihout  all  that  he  hns  sunj.  In  truth,  if  we 
omit  those  few  vices  in  our  estimate  which  relig:ion,  at 
thit  time,  not  only  connived  at,  but  con'^ecrated,  we 
slnll  be  inclined  to  say  that  the  di'-pnsition  of  our  poet 
was  amiable;  that  his  morality  was  relaxed,  but  not 
:*bandoned ;  and  that  Virtue,  witli  her  zoi  e  loosened, 
mny  be  an  apt  emblem  of  the  character  of  Anacreon.^ 
Of  his  person  and  physiognomy  time  has  preserved 
such  uncerlain  meniorjals.  that  il  were  Letter,  perhaps, 
to  leave  (he  pencil  to  fancy;  and  few  can  lead  the 
Odes  of  Anacreon  withoui  imagining  to  themselves  Hie 
form  nf  the  anintate.l  old  Lard,  cruwned  with  roses, 
and  sin-iiig  cheerfully  to  his  lye.  But  the  he.id  of 
Anacreon,  prefixed  to  this  work, 3  has  been  considered 


*  An  Italian  poet,  in  some  verses  on  Belief's 
translation  of  Anacreon.  pretends  to  imagine  that  our 
bard  did  not  feel  as  he  wrote :  — 

Lyaeum.  Vouerfm,  Ciipidinenique 

t^eiiex  lufil  Anacreon  poe!a. 

SeO  quo  U-mporr  noc  copariort-s 

Rngabat  cyathns,  nt^c  inquit-tia 

Urcbatur  ainoribus.  Bed  ipsis 

Tantutn  versibus  et  i-K\s  amabnt, 

JJullum  prae  ee  tiabitum  gereim  amnntifc 

Tu  Lovrt  and  Baci'hus  ever  yjung 

While  sagi*  Anacreon  loiiched  Ihe  lyra 

He  neiltier  ft  It  Ilm  luveb  he  snug, 
Kor  filiM  h\9  b"wl  to  Bacchus  liieher. 

Those  fiuwpry  days  had  faded  long. 

When  youth  could  act  Ihe  lover's  part; 

And  pssflinn  trembled  in  hia  sonp, 
Bot  never,  never,  reuch'd  hi«  heart. 
^  Anacreon's  character  has  been  variously  coloured, 
Biirnes  lingers  on  it  wiih  enthusiastic  admira'ion  ;  but 
he  is  always  extr.ivagmt,  if  not  sometujiei  also  a  litlle 
prnfine.  Baillet  runs  too  iimch  into  Ihe  opposite  ex- 
treme, exiggerating  aUo  the  testimonies  which  he  has 
cniisulted  ;  and  we  cannot  sorely  agree  witii  him  when 
he  cites  such  a  compile-  as  Athenxui,  as  "  un  des  plus 
sivans  critiques  de  r3ntiquite."  —  /u<cme7ii  dcs  Sea- 
vans,  M.CV. 

Barnes  could  hardly  have  read  the  passage  to  which 
he  refers,  when  he  accuses  Le  Fevre  nf  having  cen- 
sured our  poel's  diameter  in  a  note  on  Longinus;  the 
note  in  question  being  manifest  irony,  in  allusion  to 
some  censure  passed  upon  Le  Fevre  for  his  Anacreon. 
It  is  clear,  indeed,  th^t  praise  rather  than  censure  is 
intimated.  See  Johannes  Vulpius  (de  Utilitate  Poeti- 
ces),  who  vindicates  our  poet's  reputation. 

3  It  is  laken  from  Ihe  Bibliotheca  of  Fulvius  Ursi- 
nu^.  Pellnri  h^s  copied  the  same  head  into  his  Ima- 
gines. Johannes  Faber,  in  his  description  of  the  coin 
of  Ursinus,  mentions  another  head  on  a  very  beautiful 
cornelian,  which  he  supposes  was  worn  in  a  ring  by 
some  admirer  of  the  ))oet.  In  the  Ic^nograpliia  of 
Cuiini  there  is  a  ynuihful  head  ''f  Anacreon  from  a 
Grecian  medal,  wiih  the  lellersTEIOE  around  it ;  on 
the  reverse  thTe  is  a  Nenlune.  holding  a  spear  in  his 
risht  hand,  and  a  do'jihin.  with  the  word  TiANflN 
inscribed,  in  Ihe  left;  "  volendoci  denotare  (sa\s 
Canini)  che  quelle  cittadini  I.i  coinasbero  in  honore  de! 
suocompairiota  poetn."  There  is  also  among  Ihe  coins 
of  De  Wilde  one,  which  thoush  it  bears  no  effigy.  w,<s 
probably  struck  to  the  memory  of  Anacreon.  It  has 
the  v\ord  THlfiN.  encircled  with  an  ivy  crown.  *'At 
quidni  respicit  hive  corona  Atacreontem,  nobilem  ly- 
ricutn  1''  —  Dc  IVilde. 


I  so  aulheniic.  that  we  scarcely  (ouM  be  jusliPed  in  the 
omission  of  il ;  and  some  have  even  thought  that  it  is 
by  no  means  deficient  in  Ihat  benevolent  suavity  of 
expre<;Mon  which  should  characteiise  the  countenance 
of  such  a  pott. 

Af'er  the  very  enthusiastic  eulogiums  bestowed  bolh 
by  ancients  and  modems  upon  the  pnems  of  Anacreon,* 
»e  i.eed  not  be  diflident  in  cxpiessing  our  raptures  at 
their  lefluty,  nor  liesilate  to  pronounce  them  the  most 
polished  remains  of  antiquity. 5  They  are,  indeed,  all 
beauiy,  all  enchantment. t>  He  seals  us  so  insensibly 
along  with  him,  that  we  sympathise  even  in  his  ex- 
cesses. In  his  amatory  odes  there  is  a  delicacy  tif  com- 
pliment not  to  be  found  in  any  other  arcieut  poet. 
Love  at  that  periled  wms  rather  an  unrehned  emotion  : 
and  the  intei course  of  the  sexes  wa&aiiimated  moie  by 
passion  than  by  seniiment.  They  knew  not  those  lit^ 
tie  tendetnesses  which  form  the  spiritual  part  of  afl'ec- 
tion  ;  their  expressionof  feeling  was  iherefore  rude  and 
unvaried,  and  Ihe  poetry  of  love  deprived  it  of  its  most 
captivatiTig  graces.  Anacreon.  however,  attained  come 
ideas  of  this  purer  gillantiy  ;  and  Ihe  same  delicacy  of 
mind  which  led  him  to  this  tetinement,  prevented  him 
also  from  yielding  to  the  freedom  of  lar guage.  "hich 
h.is  sullied  the  pages  of  all  the  other  poets.  His  descrip- 
tions are  warm  ;  but  the  warmth  is  in  the  ideas,  no! 
the  words.  He  is  iponive  withoui  being  wanton,  and 
ardent  without  being  licen'ious.  His  poetic  invention 
is  always  most  biilliantly  di5pla\  ed  in  those  allegorical 
fictiori-j  \^hich  so  many  have  endeavoured  to  imitate, 
though  all  have  confessed  them  to  be  inimitable.  Sim- 
plicity is  the  distinguishing  fealuie  of  Ihese  odes,  aud 
they  interest  by  iheir  innocence,  as  much  as  thev  fasci- 
nate by  theii  beauty,  1  hty  niay  be  said,  indeed,  to  be 
the  very  infants  of  the  Muses,  ati'd  tohsp  in  numbers. 

1  slia'l  not  be  accused  of  enthiisiastic  partiality  by 
those  who  have  read  and  felt  the  original  ;  but,  to 
others,  I  am  conscioi^s,  this  should  nnt  be  the  language 
of  a  tiatislator,  whose  faint  reflection  of  such  beauties 
can  but  ill  justify  his  admiration  of  them. 


2* 


*  Besides  those  which  are  extant,  he  w  rote  hymns, 
elegies,  epigrams,  &c.  Some  nf  the  epigrams  still 
exist.  Horace,  in  addition  to  the  mention  of  him  (lib. 
iv.  nd.  9.),  alludes  also  to  a  pnem  of  his  upon  (he  rivalry 
of  Circe  and  Penelope  in  the  affections  of  Ulysses,  lib. 
i.  od.  17.;  and  the  scholiast  upnn  Nicander  cites  a 
fragment  from  a  pnem  upon  Sleep  by  Anacreon,  and 
allribules  to  him  likewise  a  medicimi  treatise.  Ful- 
gentius  men'inns  a  work  of  his  upon  the  war  between 
Jupiter  and  the  Titans,  and  the  origin  of  the  consecia- 
tiou  of  the  eagle. 

*  See  Horace.  Maxii..us  Tyrius,  &c.  "His  style 
(says  ScaligerJ  is  sweeter  ihan'ihe  juice  of  the  Indian 
reed."  — Poc(.  lib.  i.  cap.  ^4.  »'Fiom  ihe  sofinessof 
bis  verses  (says  Olaus  Bnrrichius)  the  ancients  bestowed 
on  him  Ihe  epithets  sweet,  dehca'e.  graceful,  &c." — 
Disscrtationes  Academics,  de  Poetis,  diss.  2.  Scali- 
ger  again  praises  him  thus  in  a  pun  ;  speaking  nf  ihe 
fLtXoi;,  or  ode,  ''  Anacreon  antem  non  solum  dedit  hjec 
fit\T]  sed  eii  m  in  ipsis  mella,"  See  the  passage  of 
Kapin,  quoted  by  all  the  eJitors.  !  cannot  omit  citing 
also  the  following  very  spiriied  apostrophe  of  the  au- 
thor of  the  Commen'ary  prefixed  to  Ihe  Parma  edition  : 
"  O  vos  sublimes  anin.a?,  vos  Apnllinis  alumni,  qui  post 
unum  Alcmanem  in  tola  Hellade  lyricam  poesim  ex- 
suscitasiis,  coluistis.  amplificastis.  quajso  vos  an  ullus 
unqnam  fuerit  vates  qui  Ttin  cantnri  vel  naturae  can- 
doie  vel  metii  suavitale  palmam  prasripueut."  See 
likewise  Viricerzo  Gravini  riella  Rag.  Poetic.  lihro 
primn,  p.  97.  Among  the  Riiralli  of  Marino,  there  is 
one  of  Anacreon  beginning  *'  Cingetemi  la  fronte," 
&c.  &c. 

^  6  "  We  may  perceive,''  says  Vossins,  "  Ihat  the  item 
lion  of  his  words  c  nduces  very  much  (o  Ihe  sweetncs 
of  his  style."  HenryStephen  remarks  the  same  beauty 
in  a  no'e  nn  the  forty-fr-urlh  ode.  This  fitcure  nf  i'era- 
linn  is  bis  most  apjifopriate  grace  :  —  hut  Ihe  modern 
writers  of  Juvenilia  and  Basia  have  adopted  It  loan 
excess  which  destioys  the  effect. 


B 


18 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


In  the  as:e  of  Amcreon  music  and  pnetry  were 
insepaiabie.'  Tjicse  kindred  talents  were  fnr  a  long 
time  assoria'eJ,  and  ihe  poet  always  sung  his  own 
compositions  to  the  lyre.  It  is  probable  that  they 
were  not  set  to  any  regular  air,  but  rather  a  kind  iil 
musical  recitation,  which  was  vareJ  accordii  g  to  the 
fancy  and  feelings  of  the  moment «  The  poems  of 
Anacreon  were  sung  at  hauqneis  as  lale  as  Ihe  time  of 
AulusGellius,  who  tells  us  hal  he  heard  one  ot  the 
Oics  performed  at  a  birthday  entertainmenL* 

'1  he  singular  beauty  of  our  poet's  s'yle,  and  the  ap- 
parent facility,  perhaps,  of  his  metre,  have  attracted, 
as  I  have  already  remarked,  a  crowd  of  imitators. 
Some  of  these  have  succeeded  with  wonderful  felicily, 
as  may  be  discerned  in  the  few  Odes  which  are  altn- 
buted  to  writers  of  a  later  period.  But  none  of  his 
emulators  have  been  half  so  dangerous  to  his  fame  as 
those  Greek  ecclesiastics  of  the  early  ages,  who,  being 
con-cious  of  their  own  iuferinrity  to  their  great  pr -to- 
tvpes,  determined  on  removing  all  pnSMbility  of  com- 
narison.  and.  under  a  semblance  of  moral  zeal,  de- 
prived the  world  of  some  of  the  m  .st  exquisite  trea- 
sures of  ancient  times.3  The  work  of  Sappho  and 
Alcaeus  were  among  those  flowers  of  Grecian  liteia- 
ture  which  ihns  fell  bene-ith  the  rude  band  of  eccle- 
siastical presumptinn.  It  is  true  they  pretended  that 
■  sacrifice  of  genius  was  hallowed  by  Ihe  interests 
of  religion  ;  but  1  have  already  assigned  Ihe  most  pro- 
bable motive;''  and  if  Gregorius  Nazianzenus  had 
not  written  Anacreontics,  we  might  now  perhaps  have 
the  works  of  Ihe  Teian  unmulilated,  and  be  empower- 
ed to  say  exuliingly  with  Horace, 

Nvc  ei  quid  olim  lusit  ADacieoo 

Deltfvil  uelan. 
The  zeal  by  which  these  bishops  professed  to  be 
actuated,  gave  birth  more  innocently,  indeed,  to  an 
absurd  species  of  |,ari'dy,  as  lepugnant  to  piety  as  it 
is  to  taste,  where  the  poet  of  voluptuousness  was  made 
a  preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  his  muse,  like  Ihe  Venus 
in  armour  at  Lacedzeumn,  was  arrayed  in  all  the 
severities  of  priestly  instruction.  Such  was  the 
"Anacreon  Recintatus,"  by  Carolus  de  Aquino,  a 
Jesuil.  publi-hed  1701,  which  cnnsi-ted  of  a  series  of 
palinodes  to  the  several  songs  of  our  [loet.  Such,  too, 
was  the  Christian  An.acreon  of  Patrignanus,  another 
Jesuit,'  who  preposterously    tiaiisferred  to  a  most 


sacred  sulject  all  that  the  Grecian  poet  had  dedicated 
to  festivitv  and  loie. 

metre  has  frequently  been  adopted  by  the 
modern  Latin  poets;  and  Scaliger,  Taubnian,  Bar- 
iliius.s  and  olhe's,  have  show  n  Ihat  it  is  by  no  means 
uncongenial  wilh  Ihat  language.i  The  Aiiac  enutics 
of  Scaliger,  however,  scarcely  deserve  the  name;  as 
they  glit  er  all  over  with  conceits,  and,  though  often 
elegant,  are  always  laboured,  i  he  beautiful  fictions 
of  Angerianus  8  preserve  more  happily  than  any 
others  the  delicate  turn  of  those  allegorical  f.bles, 
which,  passing  so  frequently  through  the  mediums  c-f 
version  and  imitation,  have  generally  lost  their  finest 
rais  in  the  transmission.  Many  of  the  Italian  piets 
have  indulged  their  fancies  upon  the  s'ibjects,  and  in 
the  manner  of  Anacreon,  Bernardo  'lasso  first  intro- 
duced the  metre,  which  was  afterwards  polished  and 
enriched  by  Cbabrieta  and  other-. s 

To  judge  by  the  references  of  Degen,  the  German 
language  ab'.unds  in  Anncreon'ic  imitations;  and 
Hagedoin'O  is  one  among  many  who  have  assiinied 
him  as  a  model.  La  Faire,  Chaulieu,  anJ  the  otiier 
light  pnetsof  France,  have  also  profesed  to  cultivate 
the  niu»e  of  Teos;  but  they  have  aliained  all  her 
neslijence  with  little  of  the  simple  gare  that  embel- 
lishes it.  InthedelicalebardofSchirasH  we  find  the 
kindred  spirit  of  Anacreon:  some  if  his  gazelles,  or 
songs,  possess  ail  the  character  of  our  poel. 

We  come  now  to  a  re'rospect  of  the  editions  of 
Anacreon.  To  Henry  Stephen  we  are  indebted  for 
hiving  first  recovered  his  remains  from  the  obscurity 
in  which,  so  siii?iilaily,  they  had  for  ni'tiy  ages  re- 
posed.    He  found  the  seven. h  Ode,  as  we  are  told. 


.he  cover  of  an  old  book,  and  communicated  it  to 
Victorius,  who  mentions  the  circumstance  in  his 
Re.adiiigs.''  Stephen  was  then  veiy  young; 
and  this  di;cnvery  was  consideied  by  some  ciitics  of 
that  day  as  a  literaiy  impo-ition.'tJ  In  15,^4  however, 
he  gave  Auacieon  to  the  woild,i3  arcnmpanied  wilh 
annotations  and  a  Latin  version  of  the  greater  part  of 

ot 


I  In  the  Paris  edition  there  .are  four  of  Ihe  original 
Odes  set  to  nius)C,  by  Le  Sueur,  Gossec,  Mehul,  and 
Cheiubini.  "On  chante  du  Latin,  et  de  ITtalien," 
says  Gail,  "quclquef  lis  mcme  sans  les  eiitendie  ;  qui 
empeche  que  nous  iie  chantions  des  Odes  Grecques?'* 
The  chromatic  learning  of  these  composers  is  very 
unlike  what  we  are  told  of  the  simple  melody  of  the 
ancienis  ;  and  they  have  all,  as  it  appears  to  me,  mis- 
t-,ken  Ihe  accentuation  of  the  words. 

"i  The  Parma  commentator  is  rather  careless  in  re- 
ferring to  this  passage  of  Aulus  Gellius,  (lib.  xix.  cap. 
9.)  The  Ode  "as  not  sung  by  the  rhetorician  Juliaiius, 
as  he  says,  but  by  the  minstrels  of  both  sexes,  who 
were  introduced  at  Ihe  entertainment. 

3  See  what  Colomesius,  in  his  "  Literary  Treasures," 
has  q.ioted  from  Alcyonius  de  Exilio;  it  may  he 
found  in  BaxJer.  Colomesius,  af  er  citing  Ihe  pa  sage, 
adds,  "Haec  auro  conlia  cara  non  polui  non  appo- 

4  We  may  perceive  by  the  beginning  of  the  fi'st 
byir.r.  f  f  Bi?hnp  Synesius,'  that  he  made  Anacreon  and 
Sappho  his  models  of  composition. 

A'ye  /lot,   Aiyiia  dop/ii-j'?, 
MzTa   'I'jj'iav  cioiiav, 
Mera  AcaSiav  ti    iioXnav. 

MarguiiiiiS  and  Damascenus  were  likewise  authors  of 

pious  Anacreontics. 

»  This,  perhaps,  is  the  "  Jesui'a  quidam  Grseculus" 

alluded  to  by  B  rues,  who  has  himself  composed  an 

Avaxpsuiv  Xpio-Tiavo;,  as  alsurd  as  the  rest,  but 

somewhat  more  skilfully  executed. 


6  1  have  seen  somewhere  an  account  of  Ihe  MSS 
:arthius   written  just  after  his  death,  which 
lany  more  Anacreontics  of  his  that 
ever  been  published. 

Thus  too  Alberlus,  a  Danish  poet 


I  belli 


bav 


Fidil  tu 


Gaudfbo  semper  ilium 
Laudare  puniilillia 
AnacreouticilliB. 
See  the  Danish  Poets,  collected  by  Ros'gajird. 
The.-e  pretty  littlenesses  defy  translation.     A  beauli- 
fnl  Anacreontic,  by  Hugo  Grotius,  may  be  found.  Lib. 
i.  Farraginis. 

8  To  Angeriaiins,  Prior  is  indebted  for  some  of  his 
happiest  myihological  subjec's. 

s  See  Crescimbeni,  Hisloria  delta  Volg.  Poes. 
10  "  L'aimable    Hagedorn    vaut  quelquefois  Ana- 
creon."— /)'.»'(l(,  Idee'tk  la  Pacsie  Mlemande. 

■  1  See  Toderini  on  Ihe  learning  of  Ihe  Turks,  a« 
trnislated  by  de  Cournard.  I'rmce  Cantemir  has 
made  the  Russians  acquainted  wilh  Anacreon.  See 
his  Life,  p:efixed  to  a  translation  of  bis  Satires,  by 
the  Abbe  de  Guaco. 

12  Robortellus,  in  his  work  "Tie  Ratione  corri- 
fendi,"  pion.iunces  these  verses  to  be  the  Iririings  of 
some  insipid  Graecist. 

3  Ronsard  commemorates  this  event:  — 
ay  boire  a  Henrie  Etieunff 


Qui  lies  c 

Du  vieil  Anacreon  perdu, 

La  dnuce  lyre  Teicnne. 
I  fill  Ihe  bowl  m  Stephen's 

Who  retJCued  frnm  the  gl» 
The  Teisn  bard  nf  frative  fa 

AnO  brought  his  living  ly 


Ode 


.  book  5. 


ut  niehl 
)  litht. 


ODES    OF   ANACREON, 


19 


Ihe  Odes.  The  learned  still  besi'ated  to  receive  them 
aa  iht!  relics  of  the  Teiaii  baid,  and  su>|iec'ed  them  to 
be  Ihe  fabricatiDu  of  some  inoiiks  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  This  was  an  idea  fioni  which  Ihe  classic 
muse  lecoiled  ;  and  ihe  VaMcaii  manuscript,  Cnnsult- 
ed  by  Scsli^e-  and  Sa!ma>ius,  conlirmed  the  antiquity 
of  most  of  the  poems.  A  vety  Inaccunte  copy  of 
tills  MS.  was  talieii  by  Isaac  Vnssius,  and  this  is  the 
authority  which  Barnes  has  followed  iu  his  ci  llatinn. 
Accordingly  he  misrtpresrnts  almost  as  ofien  as  he 
quotes;  and  the  siiljsiiquent  ediiois,  rt;U  ins;  upon  his 
authority,  have  spoken  of  the  unnusciipt  with  not 


Tld, 


however,  has  at  lensrlh  been  gratified 
ous  memorial  of  the  poet,  bv  ttie  industry  of  the  Abbe 
Spaletii,  who  published  at  Rmie,  in  1781,  a  fac-simile 
of  ihose  pase-4  of  the  V:\ticaM  manuscript  which  con- 
lained  the  Odes  of  Anacreon.i 

A  cat;iloe;ue  has  been  given  by  Gail  of  all  the  dif- 
ferent editions  and  translations  of  Auaceon.  FinJ- 
inff  iheir  number  to  be  niucti  giealer  than  I  could 
possibly  have  had  an  opportunity  of  consulting,  1 
shill  here  content  luysolf  wi  h  enumenulng  only 
tho'e  edition*  and  versions  which  it  has  been  iu  my 
power  In  collect;  and  which,  though  very  few,  are,  i 
believe,  the  most  important. 

The  edition  by  Henry  Sit-phen,  1554,  at  Paris  — the 
Lritiii  version  is  altribuled  by  Colomesius  to  John 
Doi-at.* 

The  old  French  translations,  by  Ron-^ard  and  Bel- 
leau-the  fi.rmer  published  in  1555,  the  hitter  in  1556. 
It  appears  from  a  note  of  Muretus  ujion  one  of  the 
sonnets  of  Ron-ard,  that  Hrnry  Stephen  communi- 
cated to  this  p^et  his  manuscript  of  Anacreou,  before 
he  piomuleaied  it  to  the  world, 3 

The  edi'iou  by  Le  Fevre.  It60. 

The  edition  by  Madame  Dacier,  16S1,  with  a  prose 
translation  * 

The  edition  by  Longepierre,  1684,  with  a  transla- 
tion in  verse. 

The  edition  by  Baxter;  London,  1695. 

A  French  tr-n^iatioo  by  La  Fo^se,  1704. 

"  L'Histoire  des  Odes  d  Anacreon,"  by  Gacon  ;  Rot- 
teid^m,  1712, 

A  translntion  in  English  verse,  by  several  hands, 
1713,  in  which  the  Odes  by  Cowley  are  inserted. 

The  edition  by  Birnes  ;  London,  1721. 

The  edition  by  Dr.  Tiapp,  1733,  with  a  Latin  ver- 
sion in  eli'^iac  metre. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  John  Addison, 
1735. 

A  collection  of  Italian  tnrslations  of  Anacreon, 
published  at  Venice,  1736,  consisting  of  those  by  Cor- 
sini,  Regnier,^  Sr-ilvini,  Marchetti,  and  one  by  several 
anonymous  authors. 6 


A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Fawket  and 

Doctor  Broome,  1760.'' 

Another,  anonynious,  1768. 

'Ihe  edition  by  Spaletti,  at  Rome,  I7S1 ;  with  the 
fac-simile  of  the  Vatican  MS, 

The  edition  by  De^en,  1786,  who  published  also  a 
German  lianslation  of  Anaoeon,  estet-med  the  best. 

A  lianslation  in  English  verse,  by  Urquhart,  1787. 

The  edition  by  Gail,  at  Pans,  1799,  with  a  prose 
translation. 


t  This  manuscript,  which  Spaletti  thinks  as  old  as 
the  tenth  century,  was  brought  from  the  Palatine  imo 
the  Vatican  library:  it  is  a  kind  of  anlhojoey  of 
Gieek  epigram-;,  and  in  tlie  676th  page  of  it  are  found 
the  'HfitafiSia  l.vfino(rtaKa  of  Anacreon. 

•i  '•  Le  menie  (M.  Vossius)  m'a  dit  qu'il  avoit  pos- 
sede  un  Anacreon.  ou  Scaliger  avoit  marque  de  sa 
miin,  qu'  Henri  Etienne  n'etoit  pas  I'auteur  de  la  ver- 
sion Latjne  de*  Odes  de  ce  poete,  mais  Jean  Dorat.*'— 
Pauhis  CoInmesiiiSj  Particularites 

Cnlomesius,  however,  seems  'o  have  relied  too  im- 
plicitly on  Vossius;  —  almost  all  these  Paiticulari;es 
begin  with  "  M.  Votsius  m'a  dit." 

3  "  I,a  fiction  de  ce  sonnet  comme  l^uteur  memo 
m'adit,  est  prise  d'une  Ode  d'Anacreon,  encore  non 
inipnmee,  qu'il    a    depuis    traduit,   Zv    fiEV    0tAjj 

*  The  author  of  Nouvelles  de  la  Repub.  des  Lett, 
bestows  on  this  translntion  nmch  more  praise  than  its 
merits  appear  to  me  to  justify. 

»  The  notes  nf  Regniet  are  not  inserted  in  this  edi- 
tion ;  but  they  must  be  interesting,  as  they  were  tor 
the  most  pari  communicated  by  the  ingenious  Menage, 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


ODE  L 

I  saw  the  smiting  bard  of  pleasure. 
The  minstiel  of  the  i  eian  measure; 
'T  was  in  a  vision  of  the  night. 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wi:ndt'riiig  sight. 
1  heard  his  voice,  and  warmly  prest 
The  deir  enthusi.ist  to  my  breast. 
His  tresses  wore  a  silvery  dye, 
Put  beauty  spukled  in  his  eje; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire. 
His  lip  exhal'd,  wheneer  he  sigh'd, 
The  fragiance  of  the  racy  tide  ; 
And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet 
He  came  my  cordial  kiss  lo  meet, 
An  infant,  of  the  Cyprian  band, 
Guided  bini  on  with  tender  hand. 
Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drenr 
His  braiil,  ot  many  a  wauton  hue; 
I  took  the  wrea'h,  whose  inmost  twine 
Breath'd  of  him  aiid  blush'd  with  wine. 

This  ode  is  the  first  of  the  series  in  the  Vatican 
mnnuscript,  which  a'tiibutes  it  to  no  other  poet  than 
Anacreon.  They  who  ^s.^ert  that  Ihe  manu^ciipt  im- 
putes it  (o  Basilius,  have  been  misted  by  the  words 
Tov  avTov  HaaiXiKvjS  i"  'he  margin,  which  are 
merely  intendt-d  as  a  liile  lo  the  lollown:gode.  Whe- 
ther it  be  Ihe  production  of  Anacreon  or  not,  it  hns  all 
the  features  of  ancient  simplicity,  and  is  a  beautiful 
imitaiion  of  the  poet^s  happiest  manner. 

Sparkled  in  his  eyes  ofjirc, 

Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire.']  "  How  could  he 
know  at  the  first  look  (says  Baxter)  that  tjie  poet  was 
^Aedvos?"  There  are  surely  many  tell-tales  of  this 
propensity  ;  and  the  following  are  the  indices,  wliicli 
the  physiognomist  gives,  describing  a  disposition  per- 
haps not  unlike  that  of  Anacreon:  0(}>9aXfiot  kXv^o- 
7}tvotf  KVfiatvovT£^  tv  AuTOtj,  us  a(ppodi(na  koi 
tvnadiiav  cnTOTjvTai-  ovri  6t  aSiKoi.  ovtz  KUKovg- 
yot,  o'UTE  ^vfTfius  <pavXr)<;^  ovrt  arjovcroi.  —  Ma- 
mantius.  *'The  eyes  thai  are  humid  and  tiuctuaiing 
show  a  propensity  to  pleasure  and  love;  they  be-ptak 
loo  a  mind  of  integriiyand  beneficence,  a  generosity 
of  disposition,  and  a  genius  for  poetry." 

Baptista  Porta  tel  s  us  some  strange  opinions  of  the 
ancient  physiognomists  on  this  subject,  their  reasons 
for  \vhich  were  curious,  and  perhaps  not  altogether 
fanciful.     Vide  Phyiiognom.  Johan.  Baptist.  Portse. 

/  l:ni\  the  wrearh,  vjhose  inmost  ttvine 

Breathed  of  him^  ^c]     Philoi.'ttatus  has  the  same 


who,  we  may  perceive,  from  a  passage  in  the  Mena- 
gtan.i,  bestowed  some  research  on  the  subject.  *•  C"e  t 
anssi  Itii  (M.  Bigott  qui  s'est  donne  la  peine  de  con- 
ferer  des  manuscrits  en  Italie  dans  le  terns  que  je  tra- 
vailloit  sur  Anacreon." — MenaKiana,  seconde  paiiie. 

6  I  find  in  Haym's  Notizia  de'  Libri  rari,  Vei.ice, 
1670,  an  Italian  translation  by  Cappone,  mentionrd. 

'  This  is  the  most  complete  of  Ihe  English  transla- 
tions. 


20 


ODES    OF    ANACREON, 


I  hung^  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow, 
And  ah  !  I  feel  its  magic  now. 
1  feel  that  even  his  g:trl-ind  s  touch 
Can  make  the  bnsom  love  too  much. 
Ihojght  in  one  of  his  KpcuTtKa,  where  bespeaks  nf  the 
garland   which   he   bad  sent    lo   his  mislress.      Et  6i 
pov\a  Tt  (t)LKii}  X(^oi^^^dat,  ra  Xzi^pava  avrmtfi- 
xf/ov,  fi7]KtTi  TTVEovTa  ^oduiV  fJLOVov  oAAo  Kat  oov. 
"  if  thou  art  inclined  to  gritify  ihy  lover,  send  him  hack 
the  remains  of  the  garl-iiid,  no  longer  breathing  of  roses 
ooly,  bul  of  ihee  I"     Which  pretty  conceit  is  borrowed 
(is  the  author  of  the  Ob-erver  remarks)  in  a  well- 
krawD  little  bong  of  Ben  Jorison's:  — 

••But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe. 
And  sent  it  bark  tu  me  ; 
Bioce  wbfo  il  looks  and  emellst  I  sweaTt 
Not  o{  itseir,  but  tbee  !'* 
^nd  ah  I   I  feel  its  viagic  now  21     This  idea,  as 
Longepierre  remarks,  occuis   in  an  epigram  of  the 
seventh  book  of  the  Anlhologia. 

E.\oTi  fioi  mvovTi  avvia-Taova-a  XaptKAw 

IIvp  o\oov  danrtL  fiB. 

While  I  anconRcious  quatTd  my  wine» 

'Twaa  then  thy  fingers  slily  ctole 
Upon  my  brow  thai  wreath  uS  thine. 

Which  since  haa  maddened  all  my  bouU 


ODE  II. 
Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Which  Homer's  fin;;er  thrill'd  along; 
But  te:»r  away  the  sane^uine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite, 
1  'm  monarch  of  the  bo.ird  to-night; 
And  all  anund  shall  brim  as  high. 
And  quatf  the  tide  as  deep  as  I. 
And  when  the  cluster's  mell-iwing  dews 
Their  warm  enchanting  btlm  infuse, 
Our  feet  shall  catch  th*  elastic  bound, 
And  reel  us  through  the  dancers  lound. 
Great  Bacchus  I   we  shall  sing  to  Ihee, 
In  wild  but  sweet  ebriety  ; 
Flashing  around  such  sparks  of  thought. 
As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  t^iugbt. 
Then.  ?ive  the  hirp  of  epic  song. 
Which  Hnmer's  finger  thnll'd  alnng; 


Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite.]     The  ancienis 
escribed  certain  laws  of  drinking  at  their  (i 
I  of  which  see  the  commentators. 


prescr 


their  festivsU, 
Ana 

creon  here  acts  the  symposiarch,  or  master  of  the  fes- 
tival. I  have  translated  according  to  those  who  con- 
aider  nvTTcWa  St<riuuiV  as  an  inversioa  of  ^ec/aovj 

KVIttWliiV, 

ODE  III. 

Listen  to  the  Muse*9  lyre, 
Master  of  Ihe  pencilVfire  \ 
Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  display, 
Many  a  city  first  portray  ; 
Many  a  city,  re/elling  fiee, 
Full  of  loose  festivity. 
Picture  then  a  rosy  train, 
Bacchants  straying  o'er  the  plain; 
Piping,  as  they  roam  along, 
Roundelay  or  shepherd-song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  may 
Such  a  theme  as  this  portray, 
All  the  earthly  heaven  of  love 
These  delighted  mortals  prove, 
Li  Fosse  has  thought  proper  to  lengthen  thrs  poem 
by  considerable  inlerpnlatinns  of  his  own,  which  he 
I  thinks  are  indispensably  necessary  to  the  completion 
ol  the  description. 


ODE  IV, 

Vulcan  !  hear  your  glorious  task  j 

I  do  not  from  ynur  Inbourt;  ask 

In  gorgeous  pmoply  to  shine. 

For  war  was  ne'er  a  sport  of  mine. 

I\'o  —  let  nie  hrtve  a  siher  bowl, 

Where  I  may  cr  die  alt  my  soul ; 

But  miTid  tha',  o'er  its  simple  frame 

No  mimic  cuslellations  n:<me; 

Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side, 

Oiion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 

I  care  not  for  the  gliil'ring  wain. 

Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 

But  let  the  vine  luxuriant  roll 

Its  blushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl. 

While  many  a  lose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid 

h  cullii:g  clusters  in  their  shade. 

Let  sylvan  gr,ds,  in  antic  shapes, 

Wildly  press  the  gushing  grapes, 

And  flights  of  Loves,  in  wanton  play. 

Wing  ihrough  the  air  their  windmg  way  j 

While  Venus,  from  her  ai hour  green, 

Looks  laughing  at  the  joyous  scene, 

And  young  Lya?us  by  her  side 

Sits,  worthy  uf  so  bright  a  bride. 

This  ode,  Aulus  Gellius  tells  us,  was  performed  \t 
an  eulertainment  where  he  was  present. 

While  many  a  rose-lifped  bacchant  maid,  S^-cl  I 
have  availed  myself  hereof  the  additional  lines  given 
iu  the  Vatican  manu^crip*,  which  have  not  been  accu- 
rately inserted  in  any  of  the  ordinary  editions :  — 

TLotTjCTOV   aftTTCXoV^    flOL 

Kat  (3o7pva^  xar'  airtov 
Kat.  fiatva^as  Tpvyiutras. 
IlotEt  ^£  Xtjvov  oivov, 
AyvoSaTas  narovvras, 
Tovs  o'aTvpovs  yiXuiVraSt 
Kat  X9'V^o^S  "TwiJ?  £p(oTas, 
Kai  Kudtpijv  ytXujffaVf 
'Ofiov  Ka\(o  Avoitu, 
Epwra  k'    A4>Qo6i,Tijv 


ODE  V, 

Sculptor,  wouldst  thou  glad  my  soul, 

Grave  for  nie  an  ample  bowl, 

Woithy  to  shine  in  hall  or  bower, 

When  spring-time  brings  the  reveller's  hour. 

Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design, 

Fit  f'T  a  simple  board  like  mine. 

Display  not  theie  'he  barbarius  rites 

In  which  relieiouszeal  delights  j 

Nor  any  tale  of  tragic  fate 

Which  History  shudders  to  relate 

No —  cuJI  ihy  fancies  from  above. 

Themes  of  heav'n  and  i  hemes  of  love. 

Let  Bacchus,  Joves  ambrosial  boy. 

Distil  the  grape  in  drops  of  joy. 

And  whde  he  smiles  at  every  tear, 

Let  warm-ey'd  Venus,  da'  cing  near, 

With  spirits  of  the  genial  bed, 

The  dewy  herbage  def'ly  tread. 

Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms. 

In  timid  nakedness  of  charms; 

Degen  thinks  that  this  Ode  is  a  more  modern  imita- 
tion of  the  preceding.  There  is  a  poem  bv  Cselius 
Calcagninus,  in  he  manner  of  both,  where  he  gives 
instructions  about  ihe  making  of  a  ring. 

Tornabis  onnulum  mihi 

Et  fabre.  et  apte,  et  cnnamode,  ic,  4rc. 

Let  Love  be  there,  loithoitt  his  arms^  ^-c]     Thus 
Sannazaro  in  the  eclogue  of  Gallicio  nell'  Arcadia:  — 
Vegnan  li  vaghi  Amort 
Seaza  fiammelle,  n  slrali, 
Si-her2andu  insit-me  pargoleltl  e  nudl. 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


31 


And  all  the  Grace    'ink'd  with  l^ve, 
Slray,  laughing,  tli.ou^h  the  hhndowy  grov 
While  rosy  boys  disparting  round, 
Id  circlets  tiip  the  \elvet  ground 
But  ah!  if  there  Apollo  luys, 
1  tremble  for  the  roay  boys. 

Fbitterlnj;  nn  the  busjr  wing, 
A  tram  or  naked  Cupids  cnme, 

Spoiling  around  in  harnik-NS  ring. 
Without  a  dart,  withuul  n  Hams, 

And  thus  in 


the  Pervigiliun 
nymphae,  posuit  arma,  f< 
'e  la  diBarm'd — ye  nympl 
ur  boeuiiiM  now  inuy  bcBHt  a  holiday 


But  ah  !  if  there  Jipvllo  toys, 

I  tremble  fin-  the  rosy  hoys.}  An  allusion  ti 
fable,  that  Apolio  h.d  killed  his  beloved  bny 
cinth,  while  playing  with  him  at  quoits.  " 
(says  M.  La  Fosse)  is  assuiedly  (he  sense  of  the 
and  it  cannot  admit  of  ^ny  other." 

The  Italian  translators,  to  save  themselves  the 
ble  of  a  no'e,  have  taken  the  liberty  of  making 
creon  himself  explain  this  fable.  Thus  Salvini 
moat  literal  of  any  of  them  :  — 

Ma  cnn  lor  non  gluochl  AimiMo; 


ODK  VI. 

As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers, 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  m;.tm  Howers, 
Where  maiy  an  eirly  rose  was  wecpinj 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping. 
I  caught  the  boy,  a  goblei's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  liini  by  his  downy  wing 
And  whelm'd  him  in  the  racy  spring. 
Then  drank  I  down  the  poisnti'd  bowl, 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  snul. 
Oh,  yt-s^  my  soul  is  Cupids 


I  teel  him  flutterir 


..St. 


This  beautiful    fiction,   which   the  commentators 
have  atiriliuted  to  Julian,  a   roval  poet,  the  V,itican 
MS.  pronounces  to  be  the  genuine  ollspring  of  Ana- 
creoa.    It  has,  indeed,  all  the  fetlures  of  the  parent  :  — 
et  radl»  inaciis 
Noscitelur  ab  amnibu5. 
Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weepintr^ 
I  fmtnd  the  urchin  Cwpid  sleeping.]     This  idea  is 
prettily  imitated  in  the  following  epigram,  by  Andreas 
Nauge'nua:  — 
Florentes  diim  forte  varans  mea  Jlyclla  per  hnrtot 

Ti-xit  odoratia  itlia  cana  ronis, 
Ecre  rosBB  int^r  lalitantem  invfnlt  Amorem 

EI  slmut  aonexia  Horibus  implk-uit. 

Lurlatur  primn,  et  contra  mtentibns  alls 

Indomitus  Icntal  solvere  vincia  ptier* 

Mnx  ubl  lacIeolaB  el  di^^nas  matre  papillafl 

Vidit  et  ora  ip«n9  nala  m»ivere  Deust 
Impoaitnsqiie  romae  ambrosloa  ut  sentit  odores 
Qii09i]ue  legit  diti  messe  btatUB  Arabs  ; 


[(dixit)! 
ImperiG  a 


rit  npta 


libi,  mater.  Amoren!* 


As  fair  Hyelln,  Ihronnh  the  tvloomy  grove, 

A  wreath  of  many  mingled  flow'rets  wove. 

Within  a  rose  a  sleeping  Love  ahe  found, 

And  ill  the  twisted  wreaths  the  baby  bound. 

Awhile  he  struggled,  and  Impatient  tried 

To  break  ttie  rosy  bonds  the  virgin  tied  ; 

But  when  he  enw  her  bosom's  radiant  swell, 

Her  fealfffes,  where  the  eye  of  Jove  michl  dwell  ; 

And  CBUEht  th'  ambrosial  odours  of  her  hair, 

Rlrh  un  the  breathings  of  Arabian  air; 

"Oh  '  mother  Venus,"  (sakl  the  niptur'd  child. 

By  rharmR,  of  more  than  mortal  bloom,  beguifd,) 


This  epigrnm  of  Naugerius  is  imitated  by  Lodovico 

Dolce,  in  a  poem,  beginning, 

Mi-nfre  raccoglie  hor  uno,  hor  allro  fior« 
Viitiia  n  un  rio  di  chiare  et  lucid*  onda 
Lidla,  Ike.  dec. 


ODE  VII. 
The  women  tell  me  every  day 
That  all  my  bloom  has  past  away, 
**  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  or)', 
»'  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sit;h  ; 
The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few, 
And,  like  the  rest,  they  're  withering  too  I  " 
Whether  decline  has  thinn'd  my  hair, 
I'm  sijie  I  neither  know  nor  care: 
But  this  I  know,  and  this  I  feel, 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  1  steal, 
'ihat  still  as  death  ajiproaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer  j 
And  had  I  but  an  hour  to  live, 
Th-tl  little  hour  to  bliss  I  'd  give. 
Alberli  has  imitated  this  Ode,  in  a  poem,  beginning, 

NisB  mi  dlree  Clori 
Tirsi,  tu  »e'  pur  veglio. 
H'Ticthcr  decline  has  thimVd  my  hair^ 
/'m    sure    I  ntithcr  kmyw  nor  care ;"]      Henry 
Stephen  very  justly  remarks  ihe  elegant  negligence  of 
expression  in  the  original  here: 

Eyco  6t  TttS  Kofias  fuv, 

RiT  na-iv,  ut'  ajri^AQov, 

OvKDtia. 

And  Longepierre  baa  adduced  fmm  Catullus,  what  he 

thinks  a  smiilar  instance  of  this  simplicity  of  man 

Ipse  quis  sit,  ulrum  ait,  an  non  ait,  id  quoque  neurit, 

Longepierre  was  a  good  critic;  but  perhaps  the  line 

which  he  has  selected  is  a  Fpecimen  of  a  carelessness 

not  very  cnmmendatde.     At  the  same  time  I  confess, 

that  none  of  the  Latin  poets  have  ever  appeared  tome 

so    capable    of  imitating   Ihe   graces  ot^  Anacreon   as 

Catullus,  if  he  had  not  allowed  adepraved  imagination 

to  hurry  him  so  often  into  mere  vulgar  licentiousness. 

That  still  us  death  ajoproaches  7icarcr^ 

T/ie  jcrys  of  life  are  swtetcr,  dearer;]     Pontanus 

has  a  very  delicate  thought  upon  the  subject  of  old 

Quid  rides,  Matrona  7  senem  quid  lemnis  amantfiml 

Quisquis  amat  nulla  est  londitione  stnex. 

Why  do  you  scorn  my  want  of  youth. 

And  with  a  smile  my  brow  behold  7 

Lady  dearl  believe  this  truth, 

That  he  who  loveu  cannot  be  old. 


ODE  VI IL 

I  care  not  for  Ihe  Idle  state 
Of  Persia^  king,  the  rich,  the  great: 
"The  German  poet  Leasing  has  imitated  Ibis  Ode. 
Vol.  i.  p.  24."    Degen.     G.-iil  de  Editionibuf. 

Baxter  conjectures  that  this  was  written  upon  the 
cession  of  our  poet's  returning  the  money  to  Poly- 
crates,  according  to  the  anecdote  in  Stobxus, 
/  care  not  fur  the  idle  state 

Of  Persia's  kiv^,  SfC]  "There  is  a  f-v^ent  of 
Archilochus  in  Plutarch,  'De  tranquillitate  ariimi/ 
which  our  poet  has  very  closely  imilatea  here;  it 
begins, 

On  /iot  TO,  Vvynii  70V  koXvxqvo-ov  /izXci." 
£4 ''WES. 
In  one  of  the  monkish  imitators  of  Anacrp^n  <rD  find 
the  same  thought :  — 

xpvxfivtiiTjvtpwTi^, 
Tt  cot  StXzLS  ytvtadat ; 
BeXcis  rvyeoi  ra  Kai  ra  ; 


22 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


I  envy  not  the  monarch's  throne, 

Nor  wish  the  treasur'd  gold  my  own. 

But  oh  '.  be  miae  the  rosy  wreath, 

Its  freshness  o'er  my  brow  to  brea'he; 

Be  mine  Ihe  rich  perfumes  Ihat  flow, 

To  C(rt>I  and  scent  my  lucks  of  snow, 

To-d;»y  I  'M  haste  to  quaff  my  wine, 

As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  would  shine; 

But  if  lo-morrow  comes,  why  then  — 

I  'II  haste  to  quaff  my  wine  affsin. 

And  thus  while  all  our  days  are  bright, 

Nor  lime  h»s  dinimM  their  bloomy  light, 

Let  us  the  festal  hours  beguile 

With  mantling  cup  and  cordial  smile, 

And  shed  from  each  new  bowl  of  wine 

The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine. 

For  Death  may  come,  with  brow  unpleasant, 

M.iy  come,  when  least  we  wish  him  present, 

And  beckon  to  the  sable  shore, 

And  grimly  bid  us  —  drink  no  more  I 

Se  mine  the  rich  perfumes  tkatJloWy 
To  cool  and  scent  7ny  lockt  of  snow.]  In  the  origi- 
nal, fivpoKTi  KaraSptXf^iv  'bnTjvrjv.  On  account  of 
this  idea  of  perfuming  ihe  beard,  Cornelius  de  Fauw 
pronounces  the  whole  nde  lo  be  the  spurious  production 
of  some  lascivious  monk,  who  was  nursing  his  beard 
with  unguents.  But  he  should  have  known,  that  this 
was  an  ancient  eastern  custom,  which,  if  we  may  be- 
lieve Savary,  still  exists  :  "  Vous  voyez,  Monsieur  (s^ys 
this  traveller),  que  I'usage  antique  de  se  parfumer  la 
tete  et  la  barbe,*  celebre  par  le  prophete  Hoi,  subsiste 
encore  de  nos  jours."  Leltre  12.  Savary  likewise 
cites  this  very  ode  of  Anacreon.  Angerianus  has  not 
thought  the  idea  inconsistent,  having  introduced  it  in 
the  following  lines; 

Haec  mihl  cura,  rosis  et  cingere  tempora  inyrto, 

Et  curas  multo  Oelapidare  inero. 
HatfU  mill]  cura.  comas  et  barbam  tingere  succo 

Aesyrio  et  dulcea  continuare  joct«. 

This  be  my  cart*,  to  wreathe  my  brow  with  flowers, 
To  drench  n.y  sorrows  in  the  ample  bowl; 

To  pour  rich  perrumes  o'er  my  beard  in  thnwerg. 
And  give  tuU  loost:  to  mirth  aud  joy  ut  eou1> 


ODE  IX. 

I  pray  thee,  by  the  goJs  above, 
Give  me  the  mighty  bowi  I  tove, 
And  let  me  sin?,  in  wild  delight, 
"  1  will  --  I  will  be  mad  to-night !" 
Alcm^on  once,  as  legends  tell, 
Was  frenzied  by  the  tiends  of  hell  ; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread. 
Frantic  pacM  the  mountainhead  : 
And  why?  a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Haunted  them  still  where'er  they  strayed, 
B^t  ne'er  could  I  a  murderer  be, 
The  grape  alone  shall  bleed  by  me  : 
Yet  can  I  shout,  with  wild  delight, 
"  I  will  —  1  will  be  mad  to-night. 

Alcides'  self,  in  days  of  yore, 
Inibru'd  his  hands  in  youthful  gore, 
And  brandish'd,  with  a  maniac  joy, 
The  quiver  of  th'  expiring  boy  ; 
And  Ajax,  with  tremendous  shield. 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whose  hands  no  weapon  ask, 
No  armour  but  this  joyous  flask  ; 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  a  scatfer'd  wreath  of  flowers 
Ev'n  I  can  sine  with  wild  delight, 
*•  1  will  —  I  win  be  mad  to-night. 


••Sifut  nngoentum  in  cnpite  quod  descendit   to  bar- 
bam Aaronis."     Fseaume  133. 


The  poet  is  here  in  a  frenzy  of  enjoyment,  and  it  u 

indeed^  "amabilis  insania  ;"  — 
Furor  di  poeeia, 
Di  lascivia.  e  di  vino, 
Triplicato  furore, 
Bacco,  ApoUu,  et  Amore. 

Ritratti  del  Cavalttr  Mariuo, 

This  is  truly,  as  Scaliger  expresses  it, 
Et  aapidum  furere  furorem. 


ODE  X. 

How  ?m  I  to  punish  thee, 
For  the  wrong  thou  'st  done  to  me. 
Silly  swallow,  prating  thing  — 
Shall  1  clip  that  wheeling  wing? 
Or,  asTereus  did,  of  old, 
(So  the  fabled  tale  is  told.) 
Shall  1  tear  that  tongue  away, 
Tongue  thnt  ut'erM  such  a  lay? 
Ah,  how  thoughtless  hast  thou  been! 
Long  befoie  the  dawn  was  seen. 
When  a  dream  came  o'er  my  mind, 
Picturing  her  I  worship,  kind, 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  blest, 
Lnud  thj'  matins  broke  my  rest! 

This  ode  is  addres-jed  to  a  swallow.  I  find  from 
Degen  and  from  Gail's  index,  that  the  German  poet 
Weisse  has  imitated  it,  Scherz.  Lieder.  lih.  ii.  carm. 
5. ;  that  Rr^mler  al^o  has  imitated  it,  Lyr.  Blumenlese, 
lib.  iv.  p.  335.  ;  and  some  others.    See  Gail  de  Editi- 

We  ^»re  here  referred  by  Degen  to  th:*t  dull  book,  the 
Fpistlesof  Alciphron.  tenth  epistle,  third  book;  where 
Inphnn  compI.Tins  to  Erajion  of  lieing  wakened,  by  the 
crowing  of  a  cock,  from  his  vision  of  riches. 

Silly  swallow,  f  rating  thin^,  ^-cl  The  loquacity 
of  the  swallow  was  proverbial ized  ;  thus  Nicostratus  • 

Et  TO  cvvtx^S  'Cat  TroX.\a  Kat  Ta,'V:c(us  XaAtiv 
Hv  rov  (f'Qovtiv  Tiapamjiiov^  al  x^^'-^'^'^^S 
KXtyovT'  av  ^/tojv  o-wf^poi/torcpat  noXv. 

If  in  prating  Trom  morning  till  night 

A  sign  of  our  wisdom  there  lie, 
The  swallows  arc  wiser  by  right, 

For  they  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 

Or,  as  Tcrevs  did,  of  old,  Sz-c]  Modern  poetry  has 
confirmed  the  name  of  Philomel  upon  the  nightingale  ; 
but  many  respec'able  authorities  among  the  ancients 
assigned  this  metamorphose  to  Progne,  and  made  Philo- 
mel the  swallow,  as  Anacreon  does  here. 


ODE  XI. 

'*  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  (hec, 
What  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 
For  this  little  waxen  toy, 
Image  of  the  Paphian  boy  ?'* 
Thus  I  said,  the  other  day. 
To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  way : 
*'  Sir,"  (he  answer'd,  and  the  while 
Answer'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 
*'Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it; 
'T  was  not  I  who  dared  to  make  it ; 
No,  believe  me,  't  was  not  I : 
Oh,  it  has  cost  me  many  a  sigh, 

It  is  difficult  to  preserve  with  any  grace  the  narra- 
tive simplicity  of  this  ode,  and  Ihe  humour  of  the  turn 
with  which  it  concludes.  I  feel,  indeed,  that  the 
translation  must  appear  vapid,  if  not  ludicrous,  to  m 
English  reader. 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


23 


And  I  can  no  longer  keep 

Little  gods,  who  murder  sleep  !" 

•'  Here,  then,  here,"  (I  said  with  joy,) 

"  Here  is  silver  fcrlhc  hoy; 

He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest, 

Idol  of  my  pious  breast  1" 

Now,  young  Love,  1  have  thee  mine, 
Warm  nie  with  that  torch  of  thine 
Make  me  feel  as  I  have  felt, 
Or  thy  waxen  fr.ime  shall  melt : 
I  must  burn  wiih  warm  desire^ 
Or  thou,  uiy  boy  —  in  yonder  fire. 

And  I  can  no  longer  keep 

Little  f^vds^  tvfio  murder  sleep  11  I  h.ive  not  lite- 
rally rendered  ihe  epithet  navTotiEKra  ;  if  it  has  any 
meaning  here,  it  is  one,  peihaps,  belter  oiiiitled, 

/  mtist  bum  with  waiin  desire. 

Or  ihoH,  my  buy  — in  yonder  fire,"]  From  this 
Lnngepierre  conjectures,  lh:it,  whatever  Anacrenii 
mighi  say.  lie  felt  sometimes  Ihe  inconveniences  of  old 
age,  and  here  soliciis  from  the  power  of  Love  a  warmth 
which  he  could  no  longer  expect  from  nature. 


ODE  XH. 

They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love, 
Ro.ims  the  mount 'and  haunted  grovej 
C>bde'3  name  he  hnwls  nround, 
The  gloomy  blast  returns  the  sound  ! 
Oft  too,  by  Claros'  hallow'd  s::ring, 
The  vo'aries  of  the  laurell'd  king 
Quad"  the  insjiiring,  magic  s'ream, 
And  rave  in  wild,  prnphe'ic  dream. 
But  freiizied  dreams  are  not  for  me, 
Gre  .t  n^icchus  is  my  deity  ! 
Full  of  mirth,  and  full  of  nini, 
While  floating  odours  round  me  swim, 
While  niantlmg  bowls  are  full  supplied, 
And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 
I  will  be  mid  and  raving  loo  — 
Mad,  my  girl,  with  love  for  you  '• 

They  tell  how  Atys,  xoild  with  /ore, 

Roams  the  mmtnt  and  haunted  ^-ove ;]  There 
are  many  coolradictory  stories  ff  the  loves  of  Cybtle 
and  Alys.  It  is  certain  that  he  was  mutilated,  but 
whether  by  his  oun  fury,  or  Cybeie's  jealousy,  is  a 
point  upon  which  authors  are  not  agreed. 

CybeWs  name  he  howls  armind,  S,-c.}  I  Iiave  here 
adopted  the  accentuation  which  Elias  Andreas  gives 
to  Cybele:  — 

In  montibus  Cybelen 
Maguo  Boiiunti  boatu. 

Oft  too,  by  Claros''  hallow'd  sprinf^^  ^c]  This 
fnuntsin  was  in  a  grove,  consecrated  to  Apollo,  and 
situated  between  Colonhon  and  Lebcdos,  in  louia. 
The  god  had  an  oracle  inere,  Scaliger  thus  alludes  to 
it  in  his  Anacreontica ; 

Semcl  ul  roncitus  opslrn, 

Veliili  qui  Clarias  aquaa 

Ebihere  loquaoes, 

Quo  plua  cauuQt,  plura  volunt. 

JfTiile  floating  odoxtrs,  Src]  Spaletti  has  quite 
mistaken  the  import  of  ko^ktOel^,  as  applied  to  the 
poet's  mistress  —  '*  Mea  fatigatus  amicn  ;  "  —  thus  in- 
terpreting it  in  a  sense  which  must  want  either  deli- 
cacy or  gu.dntry ;  if  not,  perhaps,  both. 


1  will,  I  V 
And  I  'il  ( 
Cupid  has 
Invited  m 


ODE  XIII. 

ill,  the  conflict's  past, 
onsent  to  love  at  last, 
long,  with  smiling  art, 
i  to  yield  my  heart ; 


And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  mind 
Should  not  be  for  a  smile  resign'd  ; 
And  so  repeird  the  tender  lure, 
And  hopM  my  heart  would  sleep  secure. 

But,  slighted  in  his  boasted  charms, 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms  j 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame. 
He  took  his  how,  his  shafts  of  finne, 
And  proudly  snmmon'd  me  to  yield, 
Or  nn^et  him  on  the  martial  (itld. 
And  what  did  I  unthinking  do? 
I  lonk  to  anns,  undaunted,  too  ; 
As-um'd  the  corslet,  sliield,  :»nd  spear, 
And,  like  I'elides,  smil'd  al  fear. 
Then  (hear  it,  all  ve  powers  above  !J 
I  fought  with  Love  !  I  fought  with  Love  ! 
And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed, 
And  I  had  jus'  in  terror  fled  — 
When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 
To  see  me  thus  unbounded  fly, 
And,  having  now  no  other  dart, 
He  j^hot  himself  into  my  heart ! 
Mv  heart  ~  alas,  the  luckless  day  ! 
Keceiv'd  the  God.  and  died  away. 
Farewell,  farewell,  my  faiihles-  shield  ! 
Thy  lord  at  length  is  h.rc'd  to  yield. 
Vaui,  vain,  is  every  outward  care. 
The  foe's  within,  and  triumphs  there. 

And  what  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 

I  took  to  arms,  vndan.nted^  tooi'l  Longepierre 
has  here  quoted  an  epigram  fiom  the  Anlhologia,  in 
which  the  poet  assumes  Reason  as  the  armour  against 
Love. 

Q.n\i(T{i.ai  TTpo^  tpwra  K£pi  (rrt^vota-t  Aoyttr/iov, 
Ovit  fic  viKi)<ru,  (tovoi  tcuv  npo^  tva' 

Qvaro'i  tj'  aOuvarui  a-vi>f.\EV(rofiaL-  t}V  6e  fioTjOov 
lianxov  exVj  ^*  P.OVOS  jtqos  6v'  tyw  dvvafiat. ; 

With  Reason  I  cover  my  breael  as  n  nhieM, 
Anil  fearlpssly  mt-cl  little  Lnve  in  ttic  firld ; 
Thus  nphliiig  hiagod^Iiip.  I'll  in?Vr  hedismnyM; 
ihoulil  fver  advance  to  hie  aiil, 


cnnibat  the  (w 
whuttihouM  I  CjdT 


This  idea  of  the  irresistibility  of  Cupid  and  Bacchus 
united,  is  delicately  expresi-ed  in  an  Italian  poem, 
which  is  so  liuly  Anacreontic,  that  (is  introduction 
here  may  be  pardoned.  It  is  an  imilation,  indeed,  ol 
our  poet's  sixth  Ode, 


civetto  ml  acherza  al  cnr  ititorno. 
che  sarel  s*  lo  lo  bevessi  un  glorno, 
ro,  nel  luo  liquore  7 
ei,  piu  che  uon  sono  ebro  d'Amore. 


The 


chin  ( 


Wns  bathing  i 


the  bow  and  quii 


■iBhb 


nnp  riveo 


Where,  as  I  drank  on  yente 
(Shepherd-youth.  Ilie  tale  believe.) 
•T  wan  not  a  cooling,  crystal  ilranplit, 
•T  was  liquid  (lame  I  madly  quan'd; 
For  Love  was  in  the  rippling  tide, 
I  felt  hitn  to  my  bosom  plide; 
And  now  the  wily,  wanton  minion 
rieye  round  my  heart  with  rcsllesa  pinic 


A  day  ft  waa  of  Tatal  star, 
Put  ah,  'twi 


If,  Bacchus,  in  thy 
I  found  this  fliitt'n 
Then,  then  indeed  i 
Kv'ii  more  than  evi 


<  fatal  far. 


,  diuuk  wiUi  love) 


Andy  having  now  no  other  dart, 
He  fihot  himself   into  my  heart  .'1     Dryden  hu 
parodied   this   thought  in   Ihe  following  extravagant 


,  Love  shot,  and  shot  *o  faat. 


elf  into  my  brenul  at  last. 


24 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


CDE  XIV. 

Cnunt  me,  on  the  summer  trees^ 
Every  leaf  that  courts  ihe  breeze; 
Count  me,  on  ihe  Inamy  deep, 
Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep ; 

The  pnet,  in  this  catalogue  of  his  mistresses,  means 
nolhing  nuTC,  than,  by  a  lively  hyperbole,  to  iuform 
us,  that  his  heart,  unfettered  by  any  one  object,  was 
warm  with  devotinn  towards  Ihe  sex  in  general. 
Cowley  is  indebted  to  this  Ode  for  the  hint  of  his  bul- 
lad,  called  '•'  The  Chronicle ;  "  and  the  learned  Menage 
has  imitated  it  in  a  Greek  Anacreontic,  which  has  &o 
much  ease  and  spirit,  Ihal  the  reader  may  not  be  dis* 
pleated  at  seeing  it  here :  — 

npoz  BiaNA. 

El  a\(T£ojv  ra  ^vAA.a, 
Au^Lu3Viovs  Tt  irota^, 
Et  vvKTos  aiTTpa  Trai'ra, 
UapaKTiovs  rt  xpaiif^ovSy 
'AAos  Tt  KVfiaTuCr}, 
Avv7}f  Bicuv,  aptOfiLLVf 
Kat  rovs  tfiovs  cpturaj 
Avvrj,  Biuiv,  apidfLciv. 
KoptjVf  yvvaitcay  Xj^pav, 
ZfjuKp-qVf  Micnjv,  Mtytorijv, 
AcvKjjv  T£  Kat  MtAatvav, 
OQtLadaSi  NanaiaSf 
'tiTjQij'idas  Tt  TTOO-oS 
'O  tros  0tAoj  ^tAj^ct. 

TiaVTUiV  KOpOS  ft,tV  KTTtV, 
AVTT)V  VtUiV  EpuiriyV, 

Aitrnotvav  A(ppodiTr}V, 
Xpiitrv/v,  KaAr/v,  yAvKtiav, 
Epa(7/i.tav,  noQtivqVf 
All  fiovTjV  (PiXTjcrai. 
Eya>y£  fiTj  dovai^iTjV. 

Tell  Ihe  foliage  of  the  woodi. 
Tell  Ihe  billows  of  the  flnods. 
number  miOnight'B  slarry  •lore. 
And  Ihe  fanda  ttiat  crowd  the  shore. 
Then,  my  Bion,  thou  mayst  count 
Of  my  loves  the  vast  amount. 
I  've  been  loving,  all  my  days. 
Many  nymphe,  in  many  vuys  ; 
Virgin,  widow,  maid,  and  wife  — 
I've  been  doting  all  my  lire. 
NaiadB.  Nereids,  nymt^hs  of  fountainH 
Gotldesses  of  groves  and  moiinlama. 
Fair  and  eable,  great  and  amall, 
Ye-.  I  Bwear  I've  lov'd  them  all! 
Soon  was  every  passion  over, 
I  wan  but  the  momeut'B  lover; 
Oh!  I'm  Buch  a  roving  elf, 
That  the  doeen  of  Love  herself, 
Though  she  practiB'd  all  her  wilea. 
Rosy  bluHhes,  wreattied  fmilea, 
All  her  beauty's  proud  ende:iVoiir 
C'juld  not  rhain  ray  heart  for  ever. 

Count  me,  on  the  mmmer  treeSy 
Every  leaf,  ^c]  This  hgure  is  called,  by  rhctori- 
cians.  Hie  Impossible  {adwarov,)  and  is  very  fre- 
quently made  use  of  in  poetry.  The  amatory  writers 
have  exhausted  a  world  of  imagery  by  it,  to  expiess 
Ihe  Infinite  number  of  kisses  which  Ihey  require  from 
the  lips  of  their  mistresses:  in  this  Catullus  led  ;he 
way. 

—  Quam  sidera  multa,  cum  tacet  nox, 

Furtivn?  hominum  vident  amorea; 

Tam  te  bxeia  multa  bac^iare 

Ve^no  Batia.  et  auper.  Catiilto  est: 

Quae  nee  pernumerare  curioRl 

rasaint,  nee  mala  fascinare  hngua.  Carra.  7. 

As  many  stellar  eves  nf  liijht, 

Aa  through  Ihe  silent  waste  of  nlght» 

G»z-.ng  upon  this  world  of  shade. 

Witness  (tome  aeeret  youth  and  maid. 


Tlien,  when  you  have  number'd  thcM 
Billowy  tides  and  leafy  trees, 
Count  me  all  the  flames  !  prove, 
All  (lie  gentle  nymphs  I  love. 
First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids 
Sporting  in  Iheir  olive  t^hades, 
You  may  reckon  just  a  score, 
Nay,  J  '11  errant  you  iifieen  more. 
In  the  fam'd  Corinihian  grove, 
Where  such  countle>s  wantons  rove, 
Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found, 
Chains,  by  which  my  heart  is  bound 
Tbeie,  indeed,  are  nymphs  divine, 
Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  minct 
Many  bloom  in  Lesbos'  isle: 
Many  in  Ionia  smile  ; 
Rhodes  a  pietty  swarm  can  boast ; 
Caria  ton  contains  a  host. 
Sum  Ihem  all  — of  brown  and  fair 
Yi'U  may  cnunt  two  thousand  there. 
What,  you  s  are  ?  I  pray  you,  peace! 
More  I'll  tind  before  1  cease. 
Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames, 
'Mong  the  amorous  Syiian  dames? 
Have  I  numbered  eaery  one. 
Glowing  under  E^yp^'s  sun  ? 
Or  the  nymphs  \vho  blushing  sweet 
Deck  the  shrine  of  Love  in  Creie ; 
Where  the  God,  with  festal  play, 
Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 
Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 
Gades'  warm,  desiring  train  ; 
Slill  there  lies  a  myriad  more 
On  the  sable  India's  shore ; 
These,  and  many  far  reniov'd. 
All  aie  loving —  all  are  lov'd! 


Who  fair 


I  Iho 


d  fnnd  aa  I, 
In  stolen  juys  ennmoiir'd  lie,— 
S--  manv  kitses.  ere  I  !.!umber. 
ITpoD  those  dew-bright  lips  I'll  number; 
8o  many  kisses  we  ahnll  count, 
Envy  can  never  tell  Ihe  amount. 
Ho  tongue  shall  hlab  the  sum,  hut  mine; 
Nu  lipa  ."hall  faficinate,  but  thine  * 
In  the  fnm''d  Corinthiaji  grove, 
Where  sitch  cotmtlcss  wantons  rove,  ^-c]    Coriith 
was  very  famous  for  the  beauty  and  number  of  itf 
couilesans.      Venus  was  the  deity   principally   wor- 
shipped by  Ihe  people,  and  their  constant  prayer  was, 
that  the  gods  should  increase  the  number  of  her  wor- 
shippers.    We  may  perceive  from  the  application  of 
Ihe  verb  KopivOin^tLV.  in  ADstophanes,  that  ihe  lubri- 
city of  the  Corinthians  had  become  proverbial. 
There,  indeed,  are  nymphs  divine^ 
Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine!)     *'\Vilh  justice 
has  the  poet  attributed  beauty  lo  the  women  of  Greece." 
—  Degen. 

M.  de  Pauw,  the  author  of  Dissertations  upon  the 
Greeks,  is  of  a  different  opinion  ;  he  thinks,  that  by  a 
capricious  partiality  of  nature,  the  other  sex  had  all 
the  beauly  ;  and  by  this  supposition  endeavours  lo  ac- 
count for  a  very  singular  depravation  of  instinct  among 
thai  people. 

Gade-s^  warm,  desiring  train  ;)  The  Gadltanian 
girjg  were  like  the  Raladieres  of  India,  whose  dances 
are  thus  described  by  a  French  author  :  "  Les  danses 
sont  pre-que  toutesdes  pnn'ominies  d  amour  ;  le  plan, 
le  dessein,  les  altitudes,  les  mesurcs.  les  sons  et  les 
cadences  de  ces  ballets,  tout  respire  cetfe  passion  et  en 
exprime  les  vokiptes  et  les  fureurs."  — //uioiVe  du 
Commerce  des  Europ.  dans  les  deux  Indes.  Raynnl. 
The  music  of  the  Gaditanian  females  had  afl  the 
voluptuous  character  of  their  darcing,  as  appears  from 
Martial :  — 

Cantif 

Lodovico  Ariosto  had  th^a  ode  of  our  bard 
mind,  when  he  wrote  his 
bus."    See  the  Anthologia 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


25 


ODE  XV. 

Tel.  me,  why,  my  jweeUst  dove, 
Tliu-  yi'ur  huiiiid  piiioiis  move, 
Shedding  Ihroi^h  ihe  ale  in  showers 
Kssence  nf  the  lialmiest  flowers? 
Tell  me  whither,  whence  you  rove, 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove. 

Curious  stranger,  I  belong 
lo  the  bird  r.f  1  eiao  sni-i: ; 
VVi  h  hi:*  iii.indixie  now  I  fly 
To  the  nymph  of  izure  eye  ;  — 
iShe.  wlit:se  e\e  has  mr^dden'd  many, 
Hut  the  pot-t  m  Tf  than  any. 
Venus,  tor  a  hymn  of  love. 
Warbled  in  her  votive  grove, 
('T  was  in  sooth  i  gentle  lay,) 
Gave  me  to  'he  bird  away. 
See  me  now  his  (h.lhful  minion, 
'Ihus  with  softiy  gliding  pinion, 
Tohislnveiy  girl  I  he^r 
Songs  of  I  a-^sion  tlirnuch  ihe  air. 
Olt  he  blandly  whispers  me, 
"Soon,  niy  Ijird,  I  'il  se'  yi>u  free." 
Rut  in  vain  he'll  bid  me  fty, 
I  shalUerw;  him  (ill  Idle. 
Never  could  my  phnnes  su^^tain 
Ruliling  winds  and  ctiilling  rain, 
O'er  Ihe  plains,  or  in  the  dell, 
On  the  niouniaiu's  >av.iffe  swell, 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wnod 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  I  lead  a  tifeof  ense, 
Far  from  rugged  haun's  like  these. 
From  Anacivon'shand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet; 

The  dnve  of  Anacreon.  bearing  a  letter  from  the  poet 
to  bis  mistress,  is  met  by  a  stranger,  with  whom  this 
dialogue  is  imagined. 

The  ancients  made  u^e  of  le'ter-carrying  pigeons, 
when  they  went  any  dis'ance  from  hi>me.  a^  the  most 
cert  "in  means  of  convex  ing  intelligt-nce  b.ick.  'J'hat 
tender  domestic  atiachment.  which  atliac's  this  deli- 
caie  lilllebird  through  every  danger  and  difficulty,  till 
it  set  les  in  its  native  m-s'.  aftbrds  to  the  author  of  "Tlie 
pleasures  of  Memory"  a  tine  and  interesting  exempJi- 
iicatmn  of  his  subject. 


See  the  poem.  Daniel  Heinsiu"!,  in  speaking  of 
Dousa,  whoadojiled  ihis  uicthod  at  the  siege  of  Leydeu, 
expresses  a  similar  sentiment. 

Quo  pat: 
Postqua 

uller  tells  us,  that  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  the 
istians   intercepted  a   leiier,  tie^  to  the  legs  of  a 
e,  in  which  Ihe  I'er-lan  Emperor  promised  assist- 
ance to  the  besieged. —Holy  War,  ctp.  24,  book  i. 

ShCf  wftose  eye  has  maddened  manyt  fyc]  For 
rvpavvoVf  in  the  <irigrnal,  Zeune  and  Schneider  con- 
jec'uie  Ihai  we  should  lead  Tvpavvov,  in  allusion  to 
Ihe  st«ong  inriuenre  which  this  obji-ct  of  his  love  held 
over  Ihe  mind  of  I'olycates.  See  Degen. 
VcnxLS,  (or  a  hynui  oflovcj 

li'arLkd  in  licr  wtivc  ^/vc,  fyc-l  "This  pa^sige 
is  invaluable,  and  1  do  not  think  that  any  thing  so  beau- 
kiful  or  so  delica'e  has  ever  been  said.  What  an  idei 
does  it  give  of  Ihe  poetry  of  the  man,  from  whom  Ve- 
nus hf-r^elf,  the  mother  of  the  Graces  and  the  Pleasures 
urcha-^es  a  lit  le  hymn  with  one  of  her  favourite 
rives  I'"  —  Lo7i^epierrc. 

De  Pauw  otijects  to  the  authenticity  of  this  ode,  he- 
cau-e  ii  makes  Anacreon  his  own  pane^j-rist ;  but 
poets  have  a  license  for  praising  ihemselve-,  wh-ch. 
witli  Bome  indeed,  may  be  consdcred  as  comprised 
I  under  th^ir  general  privilege  of  ficiion. 


Flutter  o'er  his  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  fo;»my  wine  wiih  him. 
Then,  when  I  hive  wantou'd  round 
To  his  lyie's  beguiling  sound  ; 
Or  with  gentjy  moving  wings 
Fann'd  the  minstrel  while  he  sings: 
On  his  harp  I  sink  in  slun.bcis, 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers  ! 

This  Is  all  —  away  —  away  — 
Vou  have  made  me  waste  the  d  -y. 
How  I  've  chaHer'd  I  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  so. 


ODE  XVI, 

Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  huea 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse, 
Be^t  of  1  ain  ers,  come  pttiHay 
1  he  Invely  maid  that 's  far  away. 
Fat  aw;ty,  my  soul !  thnu  art, 
Hut  I  've  thy  beauties  all  by  heart. 
paint  herJKity  ringlet-  playing. 
Silky  locks,  like  tendrils  straying  ; 

This  ode  and  the  next  may  be  called  companion- 
pictures ;  they  are  highly  liiiished,  and  give  us  an  ex- 
cellent idea  of  Ihe  lasie  of  the  ancienl>  in  beau'v. 
Franciscus  Junius  quotes  them  in  his  third  book  "De 
Piclura  VetcTum." 

This  cide  has  been  imitated  by  Ronsard,  Giuliano 
Goselini,  &c.  &c.  Scaliger  alludes  to  it  thus  in  his 
AnacreoDtics: 

Ollm  lepore  blando. 
Litis  vc-ibibuH 
Candidus  Anacreon 


The  Teian  bard  of  former  days, 
Attmi'd  Iiin  BWtret  di-srriptivt;  lays, 
And  taught  llie  painter's  Itaiid  lo    trace 


Hia  fair  l>cliv 


ery  i 


In  the  dialogue  of  Caspar  Barlipus,  entitled  "An 
formosa  sit  ducenda,''  the  reader  will  find  many  cu- 
rious ideas  and  descriptions  of  womanly  beauty. 

Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 

Mimic  foiTii  aiid  soul  ui/uve,]  I  have  followed 
here  the  reading  of  (he  Vatican  M8.  flodt?,?.  I'ainiing 
is  called  "  ihe  rosy  arl,'»  either  m  rcterence  to  colour- 
ing, or  as  an  indefinite  epilhei  of  excellence,  from  ihe 
association  of  beauty  with  ihat  flower.  Salvini  has 
adopted  this  reading  in  his  hteral  translation  :  — 

Delia  rosea  arte  signore. 

The  lovely  maid  that 's  far  away.]  If  this  portrait 
if  the  pot^i'b  mistress  he  not  merely  ideal,  the  omi-sion 
if  her  name  i-  much  to  be  reeretted.  Melea-er,  in  an 
pigram  on  Anacreon,  mentions  "the  golden  Eury- 
pyle"  as  his  mistress. 

BiCXtiKixiS  ^^^pvffcijv  ;t;£tpa5  £7r'  Ev^vkvXtjv, 

Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  flaying. 

Silky  locks  like  toidrils  stray m t^  ;]  The  ancients 
have  ijeen  very  enthusiaslic  in  their  [raises  of  the 
beauty  of  hair.  Apu'eius,  in  the  second  book  of  his 
"'  '  M.ics,  savs,  that  Venus  herself,  if  Uie  were  bald, 
Iliough  surrounded  by  the  Graces  and  the  Loves,  could 
ni't  he  pleasing  even  lo  her  husband  Vulcan. 

Stesichorus  gave  the  epiihet  KaAAtTrAo/ca/toj  to  the 
Graces,  and  Sinionides  bestowed  the  same  upon  Ihe 
"  "uses.     See  Hadri  .n  Junius's  Dissert.iti.m  upo-i  Hair. 

To  this  passage  of  our  poet,  Selden  alluded  in  a  note 
on  the  Polyolbion  of  Drayton,  Song  the  second,  where 
observing  ihat  the  epithet  "black-haired"  was  given 
by  some  of  the  ancients  to  the  goddess  Isis,  he  say*, 
*•  Nor  will  I  Bweir,  but  that  Anacteon  (a  man  very 
judicious  in  the  provoking  motives  of  wanton  love). 


26 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


And,  if  paitting  h»th  the  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  disiil, 
Lei  every  little  luck  exhale 
A  si^h  o(  perfume  nu  the  gile. 
Where  her  tresses'  curly  liow 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  Ii?ht 
Burnish'd  as  the  ivor)  bright. 
Let  her  eyebrows  smoothly  rise 
In  jelly  arches  o'er  her  eyes, 
Each,  a  crescfiit  gently  eliding, 
Just  commiugliDg,  jusi  dividing. 

But,  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm, 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form  ? 


Lei  them  eftu 


;  the  a 


:  rays 


hat  in  Minerva'^  glances  bin 
Mix'd  with  the  liq-ji.l  light  that  ties 
In  Cytherea's  lai.guid  eyts. 
O'er  her  nose  and  cltcek  be  shed 
Flushirig  white  aod  s 'fteu'd  red  ; 
Mingling  tin's,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bavhfiil  ro.e. 
1  hen  her  lip,  ^ol■ich  in  bl.sses, 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses, 

intending  to  bestow  on  his  sweet  mistress  that  one  of 
the  titles  of  woman's  special  ornament,  well-haired 
{Ka^MnXoKafio^),  thought  of  this  when  he  gave  his 
painler  direction  to  make  her  black-haired." 

^nd  if  painting  hath  tfie  skill 

To  make  trie  spicy  balm  distil,  <Vc.l  Thus  Phi- 
lostratus,  speaking  of  a  picture;  tnaiviu  Km  rov  tv- 
6po(TOVTov  podujv,  Kai  (prjfii  y£y(>a4idai  avra  fiira 
7  7}s  0(TfjL7jS.  "I  admire  the  dewiness  of  lhe^e  loscs, 
and  could  say  that  their  very  smell  was  painted." 

JV/ix'rf  with  the.  liquid  light  that  lies 
In  CythLi-etCs  languid  eyes.]     RIaicbetti  explains 
thus  the  vygov  of  the  original  :  — 
Dipingili  uinidt^tli 
QuQt  gli  ha  Ciprt(,-iiu  I'ulnia  Dea  d'Amore* 

Tasso  has  painted  iu  the  same  manner  the  eyes  of 
Armida :  — 


Wilhin  her  humid,  melting   eyes 
A  brilliant  ray  of   laughter  lies, 
Soft  OS  the  broken  solar   bt-am. 
That  tremblts  in  the  azure  stream. 

The  mingled  expression  of  digntiy  and  tenderness 
which  Anacreon  requires  the  painter  to  infuse  imo  the 
eyes  of  his  niislress,  is  more  amply  described  In 
svibsequeut  ode.  Both  descriptions  are  so  exquisitely 
touched,  that  the  artist  must  have  been  great  indeed, 
if  he  did  not  yield  in  painting  to  li.e  poet. 

Min^lins:  tints  as  when  there  e^lovjs 
In  ^loury  milk  the  bashful  roac]     Thus  Proper* 
tius,  eleg.  3.  lib.  ii. 

Utfjue  rosae  piiro  lacte  natant  folia. 

And  Davenant,  in  a  little  poem  called  "The  Mis- 
tress," 

Catch  as  it  falls  the  Srythian  snow, 
Bring  blushing  roses  Eteep'd  in  milk. 
Thus  too  Taygetus :  — 

Q,uae  lac  alque  rosas  vincis  candore  rubenti. 


Then  htr  Zip,  so  rich  in  blisses. 

Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses,)  The  "  lip,  provoking 
feisses,"  in  the  original,  is  a  strong  and  heauliful  ex- 
pression. Achilles' Tatius  speaks  of  _Y£t^«  fiaXOaKa 
rrpog  ra  (fnXijttara,  "  Lips  soft  and  delica'e  for  kii^s- 


Rnsy  nest,  where  lurks  PersnasioB, 
Mutely  courting  Love's  invpsion. 
Next,  oeneaih  the  velvet  chin. 
Whose  dimple  hides  a  Love  within, 
Mould  her  neck  with  grace  descending. 
In  a  lieaven  of  beauty  ending  ; 
While  countless  charms,  above,  below, 
Sport  and  flutter  rnund  its  snow. 
Now  let  a  Moating,  lucid  veil, 
^hadow  her  firm,  but  not  conceal  ; 
A  charm  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  Fancy's  dieam. 
Eiv  u::h  —  't  is  she  !  'I  is  all  I  seek  ; 
it  glows,  it  lives,  il  soon  will  speak  ! 

ing."  A  grave  old  commentator,  Dionysius  Lambinus, 
in  his  notes  u|ion  Lucretius,  tells  us  with  the  apparent 
authority  of  experience,  that  "  Suavius  virns  osculan- 
tur  puetlas  fatjiosas,  quatn  qn^  sunt  btevibus  libris" 
And  ^neas  Sylvius,  in  his  tedious  uninteresting  story 
of  ihe  hives  of  Eurya'tus  and  Lucretia,  where  he  par- 
ticularises the  heau'ies  of  the  heroine  (in  a  very  false 
and  laboured  style  of  laliniiy),  describes  her  lips  thus: 
—  "  Os  );aivinii  decensque.  labia  corallini  coloris  ad 
morsum  aptissima."— Epist.  lU.  lib.  i. 

Next,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 
IV/iose  dimples  hide  a  Love  within,  fyc."]    Madame 
Dacicr  has  quoted  here  two  pretty  lines  of  Varro:  — 


n  her  chill  in  a  delicate  dimple, 
By  Cupid*n  own  finger  imprest; 
Peaitty  bewitihingly  simple, 


Ha 


thost 


Now  let  a  floating,  Incid  veil, 

Shadow  Iter  f  mm,  but  nU  conceal,  ^c]  This  deli- 
cate art  of  description,  «liich  leaves  imagination  to 
ccmplele  Ihe  piciure,  has  been  seldom  adopted  in  the 
imitations  of  this  beau'iful  poem.  Ronwird  is  excep- 
tionably  minule  ;  and  Pclitianus,  in  his  charming  por- 
trait of  a  girl,  fiill  of  rich  and  exquisite  diction,  has 
lifted  the  veil  rather  too  much.  The  '•  questo  che  ta 
m-  intendi"  should  always  be  left  to  fancy. 


ODE  XVI L 

And  now  with  all  thv  pencil's  truth, 
Portray  BalhyMus,  lovely  youth  1 
Let  his  hair,  in  masses  bright, 
Fall  rke  floating  rays  of  light; 
And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 
With  the  golden  sunbeam's  hues. 
Let  no  wrea'h,  with  artful  twine, 
The  flowing  of  his  locks  confine ; 

The  reader,  who  wishes  to  acquire  an  accurate  idea 
of  the  judgment  of  the  ancients  in  beauty,  will  be  in- 
dulged  by  consulting  Junius  de  Pictura  Vetemm,  lib. 
3.  cap.  9.  where  he  will  lind  a  very  curious  selection 
of  descrip'ions  3nd  epithets  of  personal  perfections. 
Junius  compares  this  ode  with  a  description  of  Theo- 
doric,  king  of  the  Goths,  in  the  second  epistle,  first 
book,  of  Sidonius  Apollinaris. 

Let  his  hnir,  in  n7asses  bright 

Fall  like  floating  rays  of  light,  Sfc]  He  here  de- 
scribes the  sunny  hair,  the  '*  flava  coma,"  which  the 
ancients  so  much  admired.  The  Romans  gave  this 
colour  artificially  to  their  h:iir.  See  Stanisl.  Kobien- 
zyck.  de  Luxu  Romanorum. 

Let  no  toreath  with  artful  twine,  .^-c.]  If  the 
original  here,  which  is  particularly  beautiful,  can  ad- 
mit of  any  additional  value,  that  value  h  conferred  by 
Gray's  admiration  of  it.    See  his  letters  to  West. 

Some  annotators  have  quoted  on  this  passage  Ilie 
description  of  Photis's  hiir  in  Apuleiusj  but  nothing 


OD  ES    OF   ANACREON 


27 


Hut  leave  lliem  loo^e  to  every  breeze, 
'J"o  take  \vh.T.t  sliape  and  course  they  please. 
Peiieath  the  foreluad,  fair  as  snow, 
Hut  llush'd  with  ni.inhond's  early  glow, 
And  guileless  as  the  dews  nf  dawn. 
Let  the  majestic  brows  be  driwn, 
Of  ebnn  hue,  enrich'd  by  gold, 
Such  as  d^rk,  hhii.iug  stakes  unEoM, 
Mix  ill  his  eyes  the  power  alike, 
With  love  lo  win,  with  awe  to  strike; 
Borrow  from  Mars  his  look  of  ire, 
From  Venus  her  soft  glaoce  of  lire ; 
RIeiiJ  them  in  such  expression  here, 
That  we  by  turns  may  hope  and  fear ! 

Now  from  ihe  sunny  apple  seek 
The  velvet  d  iwn  that  spre  ids  his  cheek  ; 
And  there,  if  an  sn  fir  cm  g<i, 
Th'  ingenuous  blush  of  boyhood  show. 
While,  f<ir  his  mouth  — but  nn,  — in  vain 
Would  wi>rds  iis  Witching  charm  explain. 
Make  it  Ihe  veiy  seat,  the  throne. 
That  Eloquence  would  claim  her  own; 

can  be  more  distant  from  the  simplicity  of  our  poet's 
manner,  than  that  att'eclafion  of  richness  which  distin* 
guishes  the  slyle  of  Apuleius. 

Jiniflush'd  with  manhood's  early  glaw^ 
And  guiltless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,  ^c]  Torren- 
tlus,  upon  the  words  "  insigucm  lenui  fronte,"  in 
Horace,  Od  33,  lib.  I,  is  of  opinion,  incorrectly,  I 
think,  that  "  tenui"  here  bears  the  same  meaning  as 
the  word  on-aAow. 

Mix  in  his  eyes  the  power  alikej 
With  love  to  loin,  with  awe  to  strike^  ^c]     Tasso 
gives  a  similar  character  lo  the  eyes  of  Cloi  inda  :  — 


The  poetess  Veronica  Cambara  is  more  diffuse  upon 
this  variety  of  expression  :  — 
Occhi  hicenti  e  bflli. 

Come  ewer  piio  rh'  in  un  medesmn  iHtante 
Wascan  de  voi  ai  niiove  forme  et  tatitcl 
I.iett,  mesti,  KU|ierbi,  hiiniil',  altieri, 
Vi  mo>*tratt'  in  un  piinto,  dntlc  di  epeme. 
El  di  timor,  de  empicte,  inc.  &c 

Oh',  tell  me,  brigtitly-beamiuf;  eye» 
Wtieiice  in  ynur  little  orliit  lie 
80  many  different  trails  of  fir«, 
Exprvesiiif;  e;icti  a  new  denirc. 
Now  with  pride  or  acorn  you  darkle. 
Now  with  love,  with  tiladiiefiB,  Bi:arklP, 
While  we  who  view  the  varying  mirror, 
Feel  by  turns  both  hope  and  terror. 

Chevreau,  citing  the  lines  of  our  poet,  in  his  critique 
on  the  poeuis  of  Milherbe,  produces  a  I.alln  version  of 
them  from  a  manuscript  which  he  hsd  seen,  entitled 
"Joan.  Falconis  Anacreontici  Lusus." 

That  Elmfucnce  would  claim  her  own ;]  In  the 
original,  as  in  the  preceding  Ode,  Piiho,  the  goddess 
of  persuasion,  or  eh/>quence.  It  v/as  worthy  of  the 
delicate  imaeination  of  the  Greeks  to  deify  Persua- 
sion, and  give  her  the  lips  for  her  throne.  We  are 
here  reminded  of  a  very  interesting  fragment  of  Ana- 
creon.  preserved  by  rhe  scholiast  npnn  Pindar,  and 
supposed  to  Ijelnng  to  a  pnem  reflecting  with  some 
severity  on  Simonides,  wlio  was  the  first,  we  are  told, 
that  ever  made  a  hireling  of  his  muse:  — 


And  let  the  lips,  though  si'enl,  wear 
A  life-look,  as  if  words  weie  there. 

Next  Ihnu  his  ivory  neck  must  trace, 
Moulded  with  sott  but  manly  gr-icej 
Fairas  ihe  neck  ofpajihia's  boy. 
Where  Paphia'sarnis  have  hung  in  joy. 
(iive  him  the  winped  Heimcs'hand, 
With  which  he  waves  his  snaky  wand  ; 
Let  Bacchus  the  broad  chest  supply, 
And  Leda's  son  the  sineuy  thisb  ; 
While,  through  his  whole  transparent  frame, 
Thou  show'st  he  stirriigs<f  that  flame, 
Which  kindles,  when  the  first  love-sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  \^by. 

But  sure  thy  pencil,  though  so  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delisht, 
Or  its  enamnur'd  touch  would  shove 
The  shoulder,  fair  ;ts  sunless  snow, 
Which  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Remov'd  from  all  but  Fa-  cy's  eve?. 
Now,  for  his  feet  —  but  hold  —  forbear  — 
1  see  tile  sun-gnd's  portrait  there; 
Why  paint  Batbyllus?  when,  in  truth, 
There,  m  that  god,  thou'st  skelch'd  the  youth. 
Enough  —  lei  this  brighi  form  be  mine, 
And  send  the  bov  to  Samos'  shrine; 
Phccbus  shall  then  Baihyllus  be, 
Baihyllusthen,  the  deity ! 

And  let  the  lips,  thmii^h  silent,  wear 

A  lift'look,  as  ifwm-ds  were  thcre.^  In  the  original 
AaAujv  aioiTT).  The  mistress  of  Petrarch  "  parla  con 
silenzio."  which  is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  female 
eloquence. 

Give  him  the  wiiiged.  Hermes''  hand,  Sfc'\  In 
Shakspeare's  Cymbeline  there  is  a  similar  method  of 
description:  — 


Ihie  in  tiifl  hand, 

His  foot  mcrcnrinl,  his 
The  brawns  of  Herculei 


arlial  thigh. 


We  find  it  likewise  in  Hamlet.  Longepierre  thinks 
that  Ihe  hands  of  Mercury  are  selected  by  Anacreon, 
on  account  of  the  graceful  t;e5tures  which  were  sup- 
posed to  characterise  the  g'>d  of  eloquence;  but  Mer- 
cury was  also  the  patron  of  ihieves,  and  may  perhaps 
be  praised  as  a  light-fingered  deity 

■ But  ftold  —  forbtar  — 

/  see  the  sun-s^nd^s  portrait  there;']  The  abrupt 
turn  here  is  spirited,  but  requiies  some  explanation. 
While  the  artist  is  pursuing  the  portrait  of  Bathyllus, 
Anacreon,  we  must  suppose,  turns  round  and  sees  a 
picture  of  Apollo,  which  was  intended  for  an  attar  at 
Samos.  He  then  instmtly  tells  ihe  painter  to  cease 
his  work;  that  this  piciure  will  serve  for  RithvUus; 
and  that,  when  he  goes  to  Samos,  he  may  make  an 
Apollo  of  the  portrait  of  the  boy  which  he  had 
begun. 

"  Balhyllus  (says  Madame  Dacier)  could  not  be 
more  elegantly  praised,  and  this  one  passage  does  him 
more  honour  than  the  statue,  hoxvever  beautiful  it 
might  be,  whioh  Polycrates  raised  to  htm." 


ODE  XVIII. 
Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 
Fly,  my  girls,  in  pity  fly. 
Bring  me  wine  in  brimming  urns, 
Cool  n.y  lip,  it  burus,  it  burib! 

An  elegant  translation  of  this  Ode,  says  Degrn, 
may  be  found  in  Ramler's  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  v,  p. 
403. 

Bring  me  wine  in  brimming  urns,  ^c)    Or?^. 


38 


ODES    OF   ANACREON, 


Siinn'd  by  the  meridian  fire, 

panting,  languid  1  expire. 

Give  nie  all  those  humid  llnwers, 

Dro[»  them  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 

Scarce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 

Lives  upon  my  feverish  brow  ; 

Every  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  tlowret's  dew, 

Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you? 

TTuiv  a/j  vo-Ti.  The  amyatis  was  a  method  of  drink- 
ing used  among  ihe  'Ihracians.  Thus  Horace, 
"Threicia  vincat  amystide."  Mad.  Dacier,  Lon^e- 
pierre,  &c.  kc. 

Farrhaaius,  in  his  twenty-sixth  epiatle,  (Thesaur. 
Critic,  vol  i.)  explains  the  amyslia  as  a  draught  to  be 
exbaij^led  without  drawing  breath,  *•  uno  haustu."*  A 
note  iu  the  margin  of  this  epistle  of  Parrhtsius,  says, 
"•Politianus  vestem  ease  putabal,"  but  adds  uo  reler- 
euce. 

Give  me  all  those  humid  flowers,  S,'C  ]  AccorJing 
to  the  original  reading  of  this  line,  the  poet  says, 
"Give  me  the  flower  otwme"— UMe  flosculus  Lyaei, 
as  it  is  iu  the  version  of  £lias  Andreas  j  and 


as  Regnier  has  it,  who  supports  the  reading.  The 
word  Avdos  would  undoubtedly  bear  this  application, 
which  is  s  niewhat  similar  to  its  import  m  the  epi- 
gram of  Simouides  upon  Sophocles :  — 

EoScg-Otjs  yspaiE  Zo^ckAces,  avdos  aotiwv, 

and  flos  in  the  Latin  is  frequently  applied  in  the  same 


iner — thus  Cethegui 
inlibitus  populi,  suadaeque 
late  flower  of  the  people, 
persuasion."  See  these  vcr 
lib.  xii.,  which  Cicero  pr; 
ridiculous. 

But  in  Ihe  passage  belbre  u*,  if  we  ; 
according  to  Faber's  conjecture,  the  se 
ly  clear,  without  having 


lied  by  E; 
idulla,  "The  immacu- 
\d  the  very  manow  of 
cited  by  Auiu^Gellius, 
d,  and  Seneca  thought 


to  such  refineuienbi. 


Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 

Sheds  its  tears,  aiid  withers  there.']  There  are 
some  beautiful  lines,  by  Angenanus,  upon  a  garland, 
which  I  cannot  resist  quoting  here :  — 


Ante  fores  raadidae 

Bic  flic  penijete  enrol! 

Mftne  orto  impcn 

t  Caelia  voa  capili ; 

Atquum  pernivean 

1  cervicem  influxeri 

Dicile.  non  roria 

ed  pluvia  haec  lacn 

By  Celia'B  arbour  all  the  night 

Hang,  humid  wreath,  the  Inver's  vow; 

Am)  liaj.ly,  at  th*;  mnriiing  light, 
My  love  ohall  twin?  thee  rouml  ber  brow. 

Then,  if  upr.n  her  boBom  bright 

Some  drops  of  dew  shall  fall  from  thee» 

Tell  her,  they  are  not  dro|i8  of  night, 
tt.i  tears  of  sorrow  shed  by  me ! 

It  .he  poem  of  Mr.  Sheridan's,  "  Uncouth  is  this 
nnss-covered  groUo  of  stone,"  there  is  an  idea  very 
lingularly  coincident  wilh  this  of  Angerianus  :  — 

And  thoa,  etony  grnt,  in  thy  nrch  mny'st  preHPrve 

Some  lingering  drops  of  the  oighl-fallen  dew; 
Irft  them  fall  on  her  bosom  of  enow,  and  they  '11  eerve 


But  to  youy  my  buniins:  hearty  ^c]  The  transi- 
tion here  is  peculiarly  delicate  ani  impassioned  ;  but 
the  commeniaiors  have  perplexed  the  sentiment  by  a 
variety  of  readings  and  conjectures. 


ODE  XIX. 
Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid, 
Sweet  is  this  embnwenng  shade  ; 
Sweet  the  young,  the  modest  tree5| 
RufHed  by  the  kissing  breeze; 
Sweet  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
Lulling  soft  tlie  mind  to  sleep  ; 
Hatk  !  they  whisi  er  as  they  roll, 
Calm  peisgasion  to  the  soul* 
'JVll  me,  tell  nie,-ilk  not  this 
All  a  stilly  scene  of  bliss? 
Who,  my  sirl,  would  pass  it  by? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  L 

The  description  of  this  bower  is  so  natural  and  ani- 
mated, Ih.il  we  almost  feel  a  degree  of  coolness  and 
fre=hness  while  we  peiuse  it,  Longepierre  has 
quoted  from  the  first  book  of  the  Anlhologia,  the 
following'  epigram,  as  EOmewhat  resembling  this 
Ode:  — 

Ep^^EO  /cat  Kar'  tfinv  l^cv  fftrvv,  &  to  fitMxpov 

rifjos  fiaXaKovs  vx^i-  <tK\tyLtva  ^E^t/povj. 
IlvicSc  /cat  KQOVviu p.a  fitXtiTTayss,  ivUa  ficXia-duv 
'Hdvv  tpTjpLaiots  iJTvov  ayui  KaXafiois. 
Come,  6it  by  the  shadnwy  pine 

That  covers  my  sylvan  retreat ; 
And  eee  how  the  branches  imliue 

The  breathing  of  zephyr  to  meet. 
See  the  foiintaln,  that,  flowing,  diffaties 

Around  me  a  glittering  spray; 
By  Ua  briiih,  bs  the  traveller  mnsen, 
1  soothe  him  to  sleep  wilh  my  lay. 

Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid,  ^c]  The  Vatican 
MS,  reads  (iaOvWov,  which  renders  the  whole  poem 
metaphorical.  Sume  commentator  suggests  the  read- 
ing of /3a^vAAov,  which  makes  a  pun  upon  the  name; 
a  grace  that  Plato  himself  has  condescended  to  in 
writing  of  his  Imy  AcTiyp.  See  the  epigram  of  this 
philosopher,  which  I  quote  on  the  twenty-second 
Ode. 

There  is  another  epigram  by  this  philosopher,  pre- 
served in  Laertius,  which  turns  upon  the  same  word. 
Ao-T7;p  KQiV  fjLtv  £>a/i7r£S  tvt  ^luotcriv  itooj, 

Nvv  di  S-aviov  XafintLS  iantpos  tv  (pdifxivois. 
In  life  thou  wert  my  morning  star, 

But  now  that  death  has  btol'u  thy  light, 


thou 


1  tar, 


Like  the  pale  beam  thai  weeps  at  Dight. 
In  the  Veneres  Blyenhurgicse,  under  the  head  of 


ceits  upon  i 
die  ages. 


finj  a  number  of  such  frigid  con- 
,  selected  fiom  the  poets  of  the  mid- 


llliOy  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 

Surely  neither  you  nor  1.]  The  finish  given  to  the 
picture  by  this  simple  exclamation  riy  av  ovv  6pwv 
naptXSoL,  is  inimitable.  Vet  a  French  translator 
says  011  the  pas-age,  '•  This  conclusion  appeared  to  me 
too  trifling  after  such  a  description,  and  I  thought  pro- 
per to  add  somewhat  to  the  strength  of  the  originaL" 


ODE  XX. 

One  day  the  Muses  twin'd  the  hands 
01  infant  Lnve  with  flow'ry  bands; 
And  to  celestial  Beauly  gave 
The  captive  infant  for  her  slave. 

The  poet  appears,  in  this  graceful  allegory,  to  de- 
scribe the  softening  influence  uhich  poetry  holds  over 
the  mmd,  in  making  it  peculiarly  ^usceptible  to  the 
impressions  of  beautv.  In  the  following  epigram, 
however,  by  the  philosopher  Pla'o,  (Diog.  Laert.  lib. 
3.)  the  Mu^es  are  represented  as  disavowing  llie  in- 
fluence of  Love. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON, 


29 


His  mother  comes,  wi'h  many  a  toy, 

To  nnsoiii  her  beloved  bny  ; 

His  niolher  sues,  but  all  in  vain,— 


He 


'ill  I 


i  agaii 


linuld  I  hey  take  his  chain 
he  litile  captive  slili  wmild  stay. 
If  i!ii.,"ht;  cries,  "  a  hoi.dage  be, 
coi-ld  wish  t'V  !ibcriy  i  " 


Oh 

*A  KvTTgt^  Mov(ra:ct,  Kooaaia,  rav  A^^odnav 
'i\fiaT\  J]  70V  K^<A>Ta  hfifnv  ef}>onXt(rofiat. 

At  Movira'.  non  Kvrrpiv,  Aptt  ra  (nm^vXa  tovto* 
'H/itv  ov  KCTarai  tovto  to  nat6a(>t.ov. 

"  \  ield  to  my  gentle  power,  Pariiaftsian  maids  ;  '* 

'I'hiis  In  Iht;  Muses  spoke  the  titieen  of  Ch  rina  — 
"Or  Love  shall  flutter  Ihroueh  ynur  otassic  ah.deB, 

And  make  your  grove  ttie  camj)  ut  Paphiaii  arms  1  '* 
••  No,"  said  the  virgiiis  of  Hie  tuneful  bower. 

••We  woTa  Ihiue  own  acd  all  (hy  unhiu'a  art; 
Though  tAarn  hau  tiembled  itt  ihe  infant's  power. 

Jits  thatt  is  poiutlc&ei  o*er  a  Muse's  heait :  " 

There  is  a  sonnet  by  Benedeito  Guldi,  the  thought 
of  which  was  suggdsted  by  ihis  Ode. 


Dell' 

E  lanlu 

Ulie  I 

Inia  d 
eia  1 

OU  BO 

pi  a 
ea, 

a  li. 

11a  vit 
ih'  ei 
ulcau 

li°'l 

enlia, 
e  fore. 

Quaiido 
Si,.h 

Tni  la.  I 
Dele 

ercn  ivi 
()cr  fnrZB 
altn  bet 

eepo  crill 

ate 
per 

jrdil] 

seiite  11  core 

Oiide  olTre  Id 

nUalc 
e  il  flg 

el  deK 

unl  la 

belln 

rcede, 
dea 

allri  '1  Btioulie,  cell  a  legar  si  riedc. 


jve,  wandering  thr 
Of  my  beloved's  h 

ound,  al  each  step, 
'J'hat  lapt  he  liiif*. 

ough  the  golden  ma 

Kuch  aweel  delays, 
r'd  there. 

nd  hnw,  indeed,  wu 

9  Love  to  fly, 

Or  how  his  freedni 
When  every  ringlet  whs  a  lie, 

A  chain,  by  Beauty  twin'd. 
In  vain  to  seek  her  boy's  release, 

Corues  Venus  from  above: 
Fond  molher,  Ifl  Ihy  etfnrts  cease, 

Love's  now  the  ulave  of  Love. 
And,  should  we  loose  his  p<'tden  chain. 
The  priscuer  would  leturii  again  ! 

His  mother  comcSy  with  many  a  toy^ 

To  ra7isom  Inr  Idovtd  boy  ;  SfC.}  In  the  first  idyl 
of  Moschua,  Venus  thus  proclaims  the  reward  for  her 
ngitive  child:  — 

'O  [lavvTas  ytga^  ig«, 
Mtff^oj  TOi,  TO  ^iXafia  to  Kvnptdo^'  tjv  d\  ayayjjj 

Ov  yvfivov  TO  <}nXafia,  tv  d\  w  Ilve,  koi  nKcov 

Oo  him.  who  the  haunts  nf  my  Cupid  can  show, 
A  kiss  uf  the  teiiderest  stamp  1  '11  bestow  ; 
But  he.  who  can  brinj;  back  the  urchin  in  chainF, 
Shall  receive  even  something  more  aweet  for  hia  paina. 
S'll'Joined  tn  this  Ode.  we  find  in  the  Vaticm  MS. 
thefolh)wiii5  lines,  which  appear  to  me  tn  bo.ist  as 
lit  le  sense  as  metre,  and  which  are  most  probably  the 
interpolation  of  the  transcriber  :  — 

Hci'/tfAijy  AvnKntwv 
lieviiEXTjs  6t  Zait<pui 
XllVCa^)L^cov  TO  6i  fioL  /tcNoj 
LvyKcgaea^Ti^eyXtoi 


Ta/io 


Kat  Atoi'iiiroj  tiazXOujv 
Kat  VlatpLt]  jrapa^Ypooj 
Kat  aVTog  Kptuj  Kav  ettieiv. 


ODE  XXI. 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 

She  drinks  the  droppings  of  *l;e  sky; 

And  then  the  dewy  coidial  ^ives 

'J'o  ev'iy  thiisty  plant  that  lives. 

Tlie  vapours,  which  at  eveiiii  e;  weep, 

Aie  beverage  to  the  hwelli^  g  deepj 

And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 

He  drinks  the  octan's  misry   ears. 

The  niooii  too  quails  her  palv  stream 

Of  jus're,  from  the  solar  beam. 

'I'hen,  hence  wiiii  all  your  yober  thinking  1 

Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  diinkingj 

I  'U  niake  the  laws  of  naluie  mine, 

And  pledge  ihe  universe  in  wine. 

Those  critics  who  have  endeavoured  to  throw  the 
chains  of  piectsion  over  the  siilut  of  this  beautiful 
trifle,  require  too  much  from  Anacreontic  philosophy. 
Among  others,  Gad  veiy  sapieotly  thinks  that  the  poet 
uses  the  epithet  (izXatvi),  because  black  earth  absorbs 
iiioisiure  ntore  quickly  than  any  o  her ;  and  accord- 
ingly he  indulges  us  with  an  experimenial  disquisition 
uu  (lie  subject.  —  See  Gail's  no'es. 

One  of  iho  Capilupi  has  imitaied  this  Ode,  in  an 
epitaph  on  a  drunkaid  :  — 

Duin  vixi  sine  fine  bibi,  aic  imbrifer  arcua 

Sic  tellus  pliiviaa  sole  perusta  bibtt. 
Sic  bibit  assidue  fontes  et  flumir.a  Pontup, 

Sk-  semper  ditiens  Sol  maris  hauiit  aquas. 
he  le  igitur  jactes  plus  me.  Sili-ne.  bibisse ; 

£t  mihi  da  viclab  tu  qu  que,  Bacche,  manue. 

HIPPOLY'TUS  CAPILUPUS, 

While  life  was  mine,  Ihe  little  hour 

In  dnr.kint'  »till  unvaried  »ew: 
I  drank  as  earth  imbibes  the  shower. 

Or  iia  the  rainbow  drinks  the  dew; 


And  Bacuhiis  was  outdone  by  mc  '. 
1  cannot  omit  citing  those  remarkable  lines  of  Shak- 
speare,  where  the  tli"ughts  of  the  Ode  before  us  are 
preserved  with  such  striking  similitude; 

I'll  example  you  with  thievery. 
The  Bun's  a  thief,  and  wilh  his  great  atlrartion 
Robs  the  vant  sen.     The  moon's  au  arrant  thief. 
And  her  pale  Hre  she  ai.Htche»  from  the  sun. 
The  aea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  mounds  into  salt  tenrs.     The  earth's  a  thief. 
Thai   feeds,  and  breeds  hy  a  composture  storn 
From  general  excremenlo. 

Timon  of  Atkentt  act  Iv.  sc.  S. 


The  Phiygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm, 
W.is  once  a  weepirg  matron's  form  : 
And  Progne,  hapless,  frantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  in  the  shade. 

a  wtrpirtg  niafron's  form  ;]  Niobe  — Ogilvie, 

in  his  E^s.•ly  on  the  Lyric  Poeliy  of  the  Ancients,  in 
remarkini;  upon  the  Odes  of  Anacreon,  savs,  "In 
some  of  his  pieces  there  is  exuberance  and  even  wild- 
1  CSS  of  imagination  J  in  that  pnrticularly,  which  is 
addres-ed  to  a  young  giil,  where  he  wishes  alternately 
to  be  transformed  to  a  mirror,  a  coat,  a  s'rtam,  a 
bracelet,  and  a  pair  of  shoes,  for  the  different  pur- 
poses which  he  recites;  this  is  mete  suort  and  wan- 
tonness." 

It  IS  the  wantonness,  however,  of  a  very  graceful 
Muse  ;  "  ludit  an.aliiliter."  The  coniplimeni  of  this 
Ode  is  exquisitely  delicate,  and  so  singular  for  Ihe 
period  in  which  Anacieon  lived,  when  (he  scale  of 
love  had  not  yet  been  graduated  into  all  its  little  pro- 
gressive refinements,  that  if  we  were  inclined  to 
question  the  authenticity  of  the  poem,  we  should  find 


3« 


30 


ODES    OF   ANACREON, 


Oh  !  Ibat  a  mirror's  f.rm  were  mine, 
Th>t  1  mii;ht  catch  (hat  smile  divine 
Ami  like  my  own  fmiii  farif-y  be, 
Rtflecttni  ihee  and  only  iliee; 
Or  c  »iiiil  I  be  the  fbe  which  holds 


That  i  at 
Or,  turiiM 


u1  Ion 


'itlii 


mo  a  f  uri 

Would  I  w, 
To  breathe  my  so-il 
Or,  better  >till,  ihes 
Close  lo  thy  breasi, 
Orev'n  those  enviot 
So  faintly  round  th:i 


>  to  Ids; 


lie  f -r  ihy  hair, 
11  fragrance  there; 
me,  tiiat  lies 
nd  feels  lis  sighs. 
i  pearls  thai  show 
iifck  of  snow  — 


a  mioh  more  plausible  arg-ument  in  the  features  of 
u.odern  gallantry  which  il  beais,  than  in  any  uf  those 
fastidious  conjecture'  tip>n  which  some  commeulalors 
nave  presumed  so  far.  Degen  thinks  it  spurious,  and 
DePauw  pronounces  it  to  be  miserable.  Longepierre 
and  Barnes  refer  us  tn  several  iuiiiatinns  of  this  Ode, 
from  which  I  shall  only  select  the  fjllowing  epigram 
of  Diouysius :  — 

Etd'  avifios  ytvo}n)v,  cv  dt  ye  aTUXovaa  Trop' 
avyas, 
T.Trjdta  yvfivuiicrais,  Kai  p.t  nvzovra  Aa^otj. 

EiGe  KQivov  yti'oix.r}v  Xlvkoxqoov ,  o<ppa  fit  ;^£fj(r(i' 
Apa^EVJ/,  fiaXXov  cqa  X9'^'^''VS  fCopcCTjs. 

I  wish  I  could  likezpphyr  steal 

And  Ihiiu  wnulilbt  ope  thy  'boHom-vpil, 


And  take  me  paiitinp  ro 

Ihy  breast! 

I  wish    I  raiglit  a  r-.8e.t>ii, 

Aiid  thou  wuuld.,t  cull  n 

e  from  (he  bow 

To  place  me  in  thai  breas 

or   9tJOW, 

Where  I  should  blnom, 

a  wintry  flower. 

I  wish  I  were  the  1ily*N  Je 

if, 

To  fade  upon  (hat  boson 

warm; 

Content  lo  wilher,  pale  ai 

d  brief. 

The  trophy  of  thy  faire 

rorm  t 

I  may  add,  that  Plalo  has  expressed  as  fanci.'ul   a 
vish  in  a  distich  preserved  by  Laertius  : 

LfTTEpa?  iiaaQpELg,  Actttjq  tfios,  uf)t  yevotfiijv 
Ovgavos,  i^S  TToWocs  ofifiaiTiV  els  O's  /SAch-uj. 

TO    STELLA. 

Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  the  sliy  7 

Oh*,  that  1  Were  Ihat  spangled  sphere^ 
And  every  star  HhDuld  be  au  eye, 


To^ 


thy  I 


Apuleius  quotes  this  epigram  of  the  divine  philoso- 
pher, to  justify  himself  for  his  ve^^es  on  Critias  and 
Chariiius.  See  his  Apology,  where  he  also  adduces 
the  exnm/ile  of  Anacreon ;  '*  Fecere  lamen  et  alii 
talia,  el  si  vos  ignoratis,  apud  Graecos  Teius  quidam, 
&c.  &c." 

Or,  better  still,  the  zone,  that  lies 

Close  to  thy  breast^  and  feels  its  sigTis !]  This 
7  aii'tij  was  a  riband,  or  band,  called  by  the  Romans 
f.isoii  and  strophium.  which  'he  women  wore  for  the 
purpose  of  restraining  the  exuberance  of  the  bosom. 
Vide  Polluc.    Onomast.     Thus  Martia! ;  — 


Fascia  c 


;  compeace  papillai. 


The  women  of  Greece  not  only  wore  this  zone,  but 
condemned  themselve>  to  fasting,  and  made  use  of  cer- 
tain 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  compass,  whic;  Aecessanly  cau-ed 
an  excessive  tumidity  in  the  bosom  See  Dioscorides, 
I  lib.  V 


What  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be  ? 
Oh,  any  thing  (hat  touches  thee  ; 
Na\ ,  snndals  for  those  airy  feet  — 
Kv*u  to  be  trod  by  them  were  sweet! 

Nay  sandals  for  those  airy  feet  — 

Ev^n  to  he  trod  by  thenn  mere  swe(V.'\  The  sopjjist 
Philostraliis,  in  one  of  his  love-leners,  has  borrowed 
1hi«-  thought ,  to  adtToi  nodss,  w  xaAAos  tXrvOepo^, 
u)  Tpi<Tiv6aiLLiuv  zyui  Kai  fiaKacw^  tav  TraTTyccTe 
fit.  — ^' Oh  lovely  feet!  oh  excellent  beauty!  oh! 
thiice  hippy  and  blessed  stiomd  I  be,  it  you  would 
but  tread  on  me  I"    In  Shakspeare,  Romeo  desires  to 


^  upon  that  hand, 


And,  in  his  Passionate  Pilgrim,  we  meet  with  an  idea 
sumewh:it  like  that  of  the  thirteenth  line :  — 


In  Burton's  Ana'omy  of  Melancholy,  that  whimsical 
farrago  of  ''  all  such  readin?  as  was  never  read."  we 
(ind  a  transhtion  of  this  ode  made  before  1632.— 
"  Englished  by  Mr.  B.  Holiday,  in  his  Technog.  act 


ODE  XXllI. 

I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre, 
This  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 
Could  raise  the  brea'h  of  song  sublime, 
To  men  of  f»me,  inf  rmer  time. 
But  when  (lie  soaring  iheme  I  try, 
Along  ihe  chi>rds  my  numbers  die, 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
*•  Our  sighs  are  given  to  love  alone  !" 
Indignant  at  the  feeble  lay, 
I  lore  the  panting  chords  away, 
Atlun'd  Ihrm  In  a  nobler  swell, 
And  struck  again  the  brea'hing shell: 
In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire. 
To  Hercules  r  uake  the  lyre. 
But  still  is  fainting  si^hs  repeat, 
*•  The  tale  of  love  alone  is  sweet  I" 

According  to  the  order  in  which  the  odes  are  usu- 
ally placed,  this  (GtAw  Xiyuv  ATpudns)  forms  the 
first  of  the  series  ;  and  is  ihouelit  to  be  peculi:irly  de- 
signed as  an  introduction  to  the  rest  U  however 
characterises  the  genius  of  ihe  Teian  but  very  inade- 
quately, as  wine,  the  burden  of  his  lays,  is  not  even 
mentioned  in  it : 


Mu 


nfiindere  i 


Ovid. 


The  twenty-sixth  Ode  2r  fijv  ^tytig  la  B-qStK, 
might,  w  ith  just  as  much  propriety,  be  placed  at  the 
head  of  bis  song-;. 

We  find  the  sentiments  of  the  ode  before  us  ex- 
pressed by  Bion  wjtii  much  simplicity  in  his  fourth 
idyl.  The  ah  )ve  transhtion  is,  perhaps,  too  para- 
phnslica!  ;  but  the  ode  has  been  so  frequently  trans- 
itte.1,  that  I  could  not  otherwise  avoid  triteness  and 
repetition. 

M  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire. 

To  Herci/its  I  wake,  the  lyre!)  Mai^ame  Dacier 
generally  translated  AvpTj  info  a  lute,  which  I  believe 
is  inaccurate.  "  D'expliquer  la  lyrede^^  anciens  (vays 
M.  Sorel)  par  un  !u(h,  c'est  igiiorei  la  ditierence  qu'il 
y  a  enlre  ces  deux  instrumens  de  musique."  —  Biblio- 
thequc  Frnricoise, 

But  still  Us  fainting  sighs  reptaty 

"  The  tale  of  love  almie  is  swetl  .'"J  The  word  «!»• 
Ttff)iu%>ti  in  Ihe  original,  miy  imply  that  kind  of  musi- 
cal dialogue  practised  by  the  ancienis,  in  which  the 
Ivre  was  made  to  i-espond  tn  the  questions  pniposed  by 
the  singer.    This  was  a  method  which  Sappho  used. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


31 


Then  fire  thee  well,  seJuctive  dream, 
That  niati'st  me  follow  Glory's  theme  ; 
For  ihou  my  lyre,  and  thou  my  heart, 
Shall  never  more  in  spirit  pari ; 
And  -xll  that  one  has  Tell  so  well 
The  Jlher  shall  as  sweetly  lell  i 


ODE  XXIV. 

Tc  all  iha'  breathe  the  air  of  heaven, 
Some  buon  of  strength  Was  Nature  ^iven. 
Ill  fo'minsthe  majestic  bull, 
She  fenced  wi  h  wreuhed  Imrns  hi'^  skull ; 
A  hoof  of  srreasth  she  lent  the  sleed. 
And  winsM  thi:  timo'ous  hare  with  speed. 
She  ^ave  the  lion  fin^  of  termr, 
And,  o'er  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
"■     f^ht  the  u^numherM  scaly  ihroug 

J  path  along; 

•aiieof  the^rove^ 
bling  world  of  love. 


Tot 

While  furtlie  > 

Slie  plum'd  the 

To  man  she  gave,  in  that  proud  liour, 
The  boon  of  m  cllectual  power. 
Then,  what,  oh  uoma..,  \vh.<t  for  thee, 
Was  left  in  Nature's  treasury  ? 
She  gave  thee  beauty  —  might.er  far 
Than  all  the  pump  aud  puwer  of  war, 

as  we  are  told  by  Hermogenes :  '*  6rav  tijv  >vpav 
iouira  LaTT(pui,  Kut  6rav   avTtj  o^roxpivyroi."  — 

rhpt   UCOIV,    TU)/i.    6tVT. 

Henry  Stephen  h.^s  imitnted  the  idea  of  this  ode  in 
the  following  lines  of  one  of  his  poems  ;  — 

Proviila  dat  cuuclia  Natura  aniruantibua  ariaa, 

Et  Btia  foeraiiieum  possidtl  arniQ  guuua, 
Unguluque  ut  defeiidil  equum,  alqua  ul  coinua  taurum, 

Armala  est  forma  rocmina  pulclira  una. 


And  the  same  tliought  occ 
by  Corisca  in  Pastor  Fido : 
Ofisi  nui  la  bellczza 


Ch* 


lObin 


)  in  those  lines,  spoken 


I  propria.  < 


La  form  dtl  1.- 

K  I'ingpgiio  de  1*  huorao. 

The  lion  boasts  his  savage  powers, 
And  lordly  mau  his  strt-nt'lli   i>(  mind; 

But  beauty's  charm  is  solely  ours, 
Pecul.ar  boon,  by   Heav'u  assiKu'd. 

"An  elegant  explication  of  the  beauties  of  this  ode 
(says  Degen)may  be  found  in  Grimm  an  den  Aumerk. 
ubeo  einige  Odrn  dus  An;tkr." 

To  man  she  eave,  hi  that  prmtd  hour, 
The  bocrn  ofinttlUclual  yr^icrr.]  In  my  first  at- 
temi)t  10  translate  this  ode,  1  had  in  erpreted  <l-pov7ifia, 
with  Baxter  and  Barnes,  as  implying  Ciuraee  and 
military  viriue  ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  the  gallantry 
of  tlie  'idea  suffers  Ity  ihe  import  which  1  have  now 
given  to  it.  ¥r,  why  need  ue  consider!  his  pfs-e^sion 
of  wisdom  as  excUi-ive  ?  and  in  truth,  as  'he  de-ign  of 
Anacreon  is  to  estima'e  the  treasure  of  bea 
all  the  rest  which  Nature  has  dis  ributed, 
haps  even  refining  upon  the  delicacy  of  llie  cnmfdi- 
ment,  lo  prefer  the  radiance  of  female  charms  to  the 
C'ld  illumination  of  wisdom  and  prudence;  and  to 
think  that  women's  e>e".  are 

the  books,  the  academie*, 

From  whence  doth  sprlug  the  true  Pri-mtlhean  fire. 

She  ^ave  thee  beauty  — mightier  far 

Than  all  the  "pump  and  -power  of  war.l  Thus 
Achilles  Tatius  :  — KaXAo^  olvTipov  Tirpwo-Kft  (it- 
lov%,Kai  6ia  tojv  o0^/aA/ia>v  ttg  ttjv  xpvxv^  '^^' 
rap^tt-  0<pOaXp.o<;  yup  AAoj  lotuTiKif}  Tpavfiari. 
*•■  Beauty  wounds  more  swiftly  tfian  the  airow,  and 

{luses  through  the  eye  to  the  very  soul  j  for  the  eye  is 
tw  inlet  to  the  wounds  of  love.'' 


Nor  steel,  nor  fire  itself  hath  power 
J, ike  wo'iian  in  her  coiiqueiing  hour, 
Pt:  tlioii  hut  fair,  manliiod  adore  thee, 
Siiiili;,  and  a  woild  is  weak  before  thee  I 

Be  thou  but  fair,  mankind  adore  thee, 
SmiUy  and  a  world  is  weak  litfure  ihic  /l  Longe- 
pierre's  remark  here  is  ingenious  :  —  **  The  Romans," 
says  he,  "  were  so  convinced  of  the  power  of  beauty, 
that  they  used  a  word  implving  sirength  in  the  phnce 
of  the  epithet  beautiful.  Tlius  f  lautus,  act  2,  scene  2, 
Bacchid. 

Scd  Bacchia  etiam  fortis  tibi  Ti.<a. 
*  Fortis,  id  est  fonuosa,'  say  Servius  and  Nonius, 


ODE  XXV. 

Once  in  each  revolving  year, 
(ieiitie  bird  I  w^find  thee  here. 
When  nature  wears  her  summer-vest. 
Thou  com'st  to  ^veave  thy  simple  nest  j 
But  wht-n  the  chilling  winter  lowers, 
Aciin  Ihou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
(»f  iMuiJiphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Wiiere  sunny  hours  for  ever  smile. 
Arid  thus  thy  pmiou  resis  and  roves, — 
Al.is  I  unlike  the  swarm  of  Loves, 
That  biood  within  this  hapless  breast, 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest  1 
Still  every  year,  and  ail  Ihe  year, 
Tliey  !ix  their  fated  dwelling  here  ; 
And  some  their  infant  pluniage  try, 
And  on  a  tei.der  winglet  fly  j 
While  in  the  shell,  imprt-go'd  with  fires, 
Srill  lurk  a  thousand  more  desires  ; 
Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping. 
And  some  in  formless  enibryo  sleeping. 
Thus  pei'pled,  like  ihe  vernal  groves, 
My  breast  resounds  with  warbling  Loves; 
One  uichm  inips  the  other's  feather, 
Then  Iwin-desires  they  wjng  tosether. 
And  fast  as  Ihty  thus  take  their  ilight, 
Still  other  urchi.s  spring  to  light.  ^ 
But  is  there  then  no  kii.dly  art. 
To  cha^e  these  Cupids  from  my  heart? 
Ah,  no  !  I  feai,  in  sadness  fe.ir, 
They  will  for  ever  ueslle  here  ! 

We  have  here  another  ode  addressed  to  the  swallow, 
Albert!  has  imi'afed  both  in  one  poem,  beginning 


Mas !  iiiilike  the  swarm  of  Loves^ 

That  bruvd  within  this  hapless  breast, 

Jind  7ieutr,  never  changr.  their  nest .']    Thus  Love 

is  represented  as  a  bird,  in  an  epigram  cited  by  Longfr* 

piei  I  e  from  the  A  nthologia  ;  — 

dvvu  p.tv  tv  ovamv  7)Xo?  tpwros", 
,ya  noOoi^  ro  y\vKV  daicov  (/<£p« 
I,  ov  ^cyyos  (Koifitaiv,  aAA'  imo  d>iA- 

'  Kpa^tT}  yToiffTo?  tvtfTTi  Tirn-og. 
pi)  Kai  TioT^  i(l:in7a<T9at  ptv  EotoTts 
HTroTTTi/vat  d'  onO'  b<xov  i.^x'^^'^* 

'  that  murmurs  in  my  breast, 
kcB  me  Nhfd  the  «fcut  ti-or; 
lor  niyht  my  eoul  hath  rest, 
tit  and  day  hit)  voice  1  hear. 

within  my  heart  I  find," 


0/i/i-a  Ct 
Ov6'  i)  vvl 


Sul'Ii  as  within  my  heart  is  teen. 
Oh,  bird  of  Lnve'.  with  aong  sn  dreai 

Make  not  mv  sniil  the  nest  of  pmi 
Bui  let  the  wiiijf  which  brouirhl  thei 

In  pity  wait  ttiee  hence  aifain  1 


32 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


ODE  XXVI. 


ay  sin?  of  Troy's  alarms, 
iletif  Tlieb.'.n  .uI^^; 


Thy  har.i  m 
Or  tell  the  t 
With  0  her  wars  my  song  i^hall  bnrn, 
F'»r  o*t;er  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn 
' T  vv&«  not  Ihe  cre'led  warrior's  dan, 
That  drank  Ihe  curreiit  of  my  hearl  j 
Nnr  naval  arms,  i.or  mailed  steed, 
Have  made  this  vanquished  bosom  bleed  j 
Nn       'I  uaa  fn.m  iryes  of  liquid  blue, 
A  host  of  quiver'd  Cupids  riew  ; 
And  iio^v  my  heart  all  bleedniE;  lies 
Beneath  that  army  of  the  eyes  1 

''The  German  poet  Uz  has  imitated  this  ode. 
Compare  also  Weisse  Scherz.  Lieder,  lib.  iii.,  der  Sol- 
dM."    Gail,  Degen. 

No  —  '(  was  from  eyes  of  Uauid  hint 

A  hosl  nf  qinver'd  Cupidijt'.'w :]  Loiieepierre  has 
f|Uotfd  p.irt  of  an  epier.im  fioni  the  seventh  book  of 
Ihe  Authologia,  which  has  a  fancy  something  like  Ibis. 

Ov  fi£  \e\r}daSi 
ToloTU,   74r}vo<f)L\as  ofi}ia<rL  KpvnroixivoS' 

Arclier  Love?  thouph  slilv  crpcping. 

Well  I  knf>w  where  thou  dobt  lie; 
I  fiaw  Ihei*  throiifrh  ttie  curtom  pefping, 

That  fuiiges  Zenophelia't*  eye. 

The  poets  abonnd  with  conceits  on  the  archery  of 
the  eyes,  but  few  have  turned  the  Ihought  ^o  n.»tur:il!v 
as  Anacreon.  Ronsard  gives  to  the  eycs  of  his  niio- 
Iress  ''  uu  petit  camp  d'amoui-s." 


ODE  XXVII. 

We  read  the  flying  courser's  name 

Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame  ; 

And,  by  their  lurban'd  brows  alone, 

Ths  warriors  of  the  Ea-^t  nre  known. 

Bnl  in  the  lover's  fflowing  eyes, 

The  inlet  lo  his  bosom  lies; 

Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark, 

Where  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  sp<\rk  ! 

This  ode  forms  a  part  of  the  preceding  in  the  Vati- 
can MS.,  btit  1  h^ve  conformed  to  the  editions  in 
translating  them  separately. 

''Compare  with  this  (says  De^en)  the  poem  of 
Raniler  W.ihrzeichea  der  Liebe,  in  Lyr.  Blumenlese, 
lib.  iv.  p.  313." 

But  in  the  lover^s  gloimn^  eyes, 
The  inlet  to  his  hos«m  lies  ;]     "  We  cannot  see  into 
the  htart,"  says  Madame  Dacier.     But  the  lover  an- 
swers — 

II  cor  ne  gli  occhi  et  ne  ta  fronte  ho  scrilto. 
M.  Li  Fosse  has  eiven  the  following  lines,  as  en- 
larging on  the  thovigiit  of  Anacreon  :  — 
Lorscjue  je  vois:  un  amant, 
A  le  traliir  tout  cnnsptre. 


In  vain  the  lover  triep  to  veil 
The  flame  that  in  his  bosom  lies; 

Hifi  cheeks'  confn^irn  it-lln  ihe  tale. 
We  rend  it  in  his  hinguid  eyv.H: 

And  while  his  words  the  heart  betrav, 

Hi(»  silence  sptakKcv'n  innre  Uian  tlity. 


ODE  XXVIII. 

As,  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  flame, 

1  he  hu-band  ot  the  P^phian  dame 

Moulded  ihe  glowing  steel,  to  form 

Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrillin;  warmj 

And  Venus  3-5  he  plied  his  art. 

Shed  hotiev  round  each  new  mnde  dart, 

While  Lo'ye,  at  hand,  to  finish  all, 

Ti|  pM  every  arrow's  poirit  with  gall ; 

It  chanc'd  the  Lord  of  Battles  came 

To  visit  ;hat  deep  cave  of  flame. 

'T  was  f  om  tlie  ranks  of  war  he  rush'd. 

His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blush'd  ; 

He  saw  the  fiety  darts,  and  smii'd 

Contemptuous  at  the  archer-child. 

'•  What  !^'  sad  tlie  urchin,  "do^t  thou  smile/ 

Here,  tiold  this  IitHe  dart  awhile, 

And  thnu  wilt  fiiid.  though  5wilt  of  flight, 

My  bolts  are  not  so  feathery  li^ht." 

Mars  took  Ihe  shaft  — and,  oh,  thy  look. 
Sweet  Venus,  when  the  shaft  he  took!  — 
Siehins.  he  felt  ihe  urchins  ait. 
And  cried,  in  a^ony  of  heart. 
'*  II  IS  nnt  lishi  —  I  sink  wilh  pain  ! 
Take  —  take  thy  arrow  hick  ^gain." 
"  No/'  said  the  child.  "  it  musi  not  be; 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee!  " 

This  ode  is  referred  to  bv  Li  Mothe  le  Vayer,  who, 
I  believe,  was  the  author  u(  lli.it  curious  little  work, 
called  ■*  Ilexameron  Rustique."  He  makes  U'^eof  ihis, 
as  uell  as  tlie  thirty-fifth,  in  his  ingenious  but  indeli- 
cate explaTialion  of  Homer's  Cave  of  the  Nymphs. — 
Journee  Quiineme. 

While  Love,  at  hand,  to  finish  ally 

T'j-'p''d  every  arrow's  point  with  gall;]  Thus 
Claudian:  — 

L'lbuniur  E^emini  fnriteR,  hie  dulcis,  amarua 
AHer,  et  infusis  corrutnpil  niflla  veneiiis, 
Unde  Cupidineas  armavit  fama  sagittas. 

In  Cyprus'  isle  two  rippling  fountains  fall, 
And  one  with  honey  flowG,  aiid  one  with  gaU; 
In  these,  if  we  may  take  tt:e  tale  from  fame. 
The  t»on  of  Venua  dips  his  darts  of  Oame. 

See  Alciatus,  emblem  91,  on  Ihe  close  connection 
which  sub^iss  between  sweets  and  bitterne'»s.  '*  Apes 
ide-  puneunt  (says  PetrnniuO,  quia  ubi  dulce,  ibi  el 

The  allegorical  description  of  Cupid's  employment, 
in  Horace,  may  vie  with  this  before  us  iu  fancy,  though 
not  in  delicacy:  — 

ferus  et  Cupido 

Semper  Brdcntee  ecuens  sai^iitas 
Cote  cruenta. 


Secundus  has  borrowed  this,  but  his  somewhat 
oftened  the  image  by  Ihe  omission  of  the  epithet 
'  cruenU." 

Faltur  an  ardentes  acuebat  cote  sagittaa  7     Kleg.  I. 


ODE  XXIX. 

Yes  —  lovinr  is  a  painful  thrill, 
And  not  to  love  more  painful  still ; 
But  oh,  it  is  ihe  woist  of  jwin. 
To  love,  and  not  be  lov'd  again  ! 

Ves—  loving  is  a  pahifvl  thrill^ 

Jind  not  iu  love  mure  painful  still;  fyc]  The 
followiitg  Anacreontrc,  addressed  l;y  Menage  to  llanie! 
Iluet,  enfcrces,  with  much  grace,  the  "  necessity  of 


OD  ES    OF   ANACREON 


33 


Aifection  now  his  fled  from  enrtli, 
Nnr  fir,!  of  ^ti.ius,  i.olile  bir.li. 
Nor  huavenly  v.rhie.  cin  lie'iiile 
From  licauly's  clreek  one  favnunng  smile. 
Gold  is  llrr;  womnn's  only  Ihenre, 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  dre.in. 
Oh  !  never  be  Hut  wretch  foigiven  — 
Forgive  him  no',  iiidignairt  heaven  ! 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  idore, 
Wh.ise  heart  cnuid  pant  for  sordid  ore. 
Since  (hat  devoted  ihirst  began, 
Mm  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man  ; 
'I  tie  pulse  of  social  life  i>  de:rd, 
Ar:d  all  its  fonder  feelings  lied  ! 
Vr.xr  too  has  sull  ed  Njlures  charms. 
For  gold  provokes  Ihe  world  10  arms  ■ 
And  oh  !  the  worst  of  all  its  aits, 
li  tends  a!>under  loving  hearts, 

ricoi  Tov  duv  ^iXi)<rnt. 
IIpos  liiToov  Aawi;Xo  'Tjttov. 
Meya  ^avfia  tuiv  aotdtov, 
Xnoir>ov  ,9(iAo;,  •Y£r-£, 

*l>£r/0-£  (TEHl'OS  rtV7?p. 

'i'o  TLKVOV  TOV  2I(JU0pOVt(r<OV, 

Eo'/icT/S  TtaTTjp  anaaj)^. 
'Vl6'  avtv  ytvOiT'  EpuoTOj; 

AKOVt]  ILCV  £0-71  l//UX')S-* 

XlTtitvyEiTaiv  £t5  OXViinov 

BpaJfas"  TiTijyjitvoidi. 
B£.\££C7C  t%ayunH. 
ntipi  >.a;irrai!os  (pauvut 
PvnaotuTtpov^  KnOatga, 


ttki 


lipE. 


AotKtus  <!e  Aoi-Topovi'Ti 
Ayiovs  Epwray  ^[uuv 
Kaicoi'  £i'|o;i«i  TO  fiovvov, 
*lva  [IT)  dvvaiT'  tKuvo^ 


i-nd! 


,lher  fin-nJ  abM' 


1  to  love. 
Loving  la  a  simple  lore, 
Gravrr  men  linvc  leDru'd  before; 
HBy,  Ille  bonut  of  former  ages, 
^VJ^e8t  of  the  wisest  sapes, 
Sophroniccus'  prudent  eon. 
■Was  by  love's  illusion  won. 
Oh  1  how  heavy  life  would  move, 
If  we  knew  nol  ho     "    ' 


Love's  ( 
Thus  'I 

WlMII   1 
I.nv,.  ra 

Wh,n  I 


lind; 


pd,  Ihu 
dvjc. 


Ihe 


eps  Ihe  heart. 
Love  ran  wake  it  wilh  his  d  rt ; 
When  the  mind  Is  doll  and  dnrk, 
Love  can  lighl  it  with  his  spark  '. 
Come,  oh  1  come  tllen,  lei  us  hasts 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day. 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away! 
And  when  hearts,  from  loving  free, 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
Frown  ujion  oor  gentle  flame. 
And  Ihe  sweet  delusion  blame; 
This  shall  be  my  only  curse, 
(Could  I,  could  I  wish  tliern  worse?) 
Mav  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove, 
Of  the  smile  from  lips  we  love ! 


ODE  XXX. 

T  was  In  a  mocking  dream  of  night  — 
I  fancied  I  had  wings  as  light 
As  a  young  bird's,  and  (lew  as  fleet ; 
Wliiie  Love,  around  whose  be.iuteous  fett, 
1  knew  not  why,  hun;  chains  of  lead, 
Pursued  me,  as  I  tremhling  (led  ; 
And,  strange  to  say,  as  swifl  as  thought, 
Spite  of  my  pinions,  1  was  caught ! 
What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 
By  sttch  a  s'rauge,  illusive  scene  ? 
I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breas', 
That  you,  sweet  maid,  have  stol'n  i's  rest ; 
That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 
Haih  hung  on  liiany  a  woman's  smile, 
1  soon  dissnlv'd  each  passing  vow. 
And  ne'er  was  caught  by  love  till  now  1 

Barnes  imagines  from  this  allegory,  that  our  port 
nianied  very'late  in  lile.  But  I  see  noihme  in  the 
t)de  which  alludes  'o  ma  limony,  except  it  Le  Ihe  lead 
upon  the  f,et  of  Cuj.id  ;  and  I  agree  in  the  opinion  of 
Madame  Dacier,  in  her  life  of  the  poet,  thai  he  wai 
always  loo  fond  of  pleasure  to  marry. 


ODE  XXXI. 

Arm'd  wilh  hyacinlhine  rod, 

(Arms  enough  for  such  a  god,) 

Cupid  bade  trie  wing  my  pace. 

And  try  wilh  him  Ihe  rapid  race. 

O'er  many  a  torrent,  wild  and  deep, 

Bv  taiiiled  brake  and  pendent  steeji, 

Wilh  u  eaiy  foot  I  panting  Hew, 

Till  my  blow  dropp'd  with  chilly  dew. 

And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying. 

To  my  lip  was  faintly  (lying  j 
The  de-ign  of  this  liitle  fiction  is  to  intimate,  that 
much  greater  pain  attends  in-ensibilitv  than  can  ever 
result  fiom  the  tenderest  inipie  sionso'f  love,  Longe- 
pierre  has  quoted  an  ancient  epigram  v\hich  bear« 
some  similitude  to  this  Ode  ;  — 


n  lentil 


K'tia 


Carpebain,  et  somno  lumins  vieta  dabarn ; 
Cum  me  saevus  Amor  prensum,  sursumque  capillia 

Excitiit,  et  laeerum  pervigilare  jubet. 
Tu  famulus  nieus,  iniiuil,  ames  cum  mille  puellaa. 

Solus  lo,  solus,  dole  jaeeie  putes? 
Exilio  et  pedihus  nudis,  liinicaque  soluta, 

Omne  iter  Impedlo,  nullum  iter  expedio, 
Nunepropero  nunc  irepiget  ;  rursumque  rcdlre 

Poeiiitet;  et  pudor  est  stare  via  media. 
Ecee  tacciit  voces  liominnm,  strepilusque  ferarum. 

El  volurrum  eantus   turliaque  fida  canum. 
Solus  ego  ex  runctis  paveo  aoninumque  tonimque. 

El  sequor  imperium,  saeve  Cupido,  tuum. 

Upon  my  couch  I  lay,  at  night  profound. 


iVhen  Cupid  eame  and  siiuleh 
\nd  lorc'd  me  many  a  weary 
■  Whiill  (said  the  god)  shall  you, 


ny  to  iread. 


•  This  line  is  borrowed  from  an  epigram  by  Al- 
pTieus  of  Miivleiie  which  Menace,  I  Ihink,  says  some- 
where he  was  himself  Ihe  first  to  produce  to  the 
irorld :  — 

^vxT,s  ES-Tiv  Epojs  afovs;. 


Who  love  BO  many  nymphs, 

1  rise  and  follow  ;  all  the  night  I  stray, 

Unsheller'd,  trembling,  doubtful  of  my  way: 

Tracing  with  naked  fool  the  painful  trnek. 

Loth  to  proieed,  yel  feorful  lo  go  liack. 

Yes,  at  that  hour,  when  Nature  seems  interr 

Nor  warbling  birds,  nor  lowing  Socks  are  hea 

I,  I  alone,  a  fugitive  from  rest, 

Passion  my  guide,  and  madness  in  my  breast 


Till  my  brow  drcpp'd  with  chil'y  dew.)  I  have 
followed  "these  who  read  rupiv  li'pios  for  irt.pll' 
i'(*oo?  ;  the  former  is  partly  anthorised  by  Ihe  MS, 
wllich  reads  netQcv  Idputs, 

And  now  my  sojil,  exhausted^  dyings 

To  my  lip  was  faintly  Jlying ;    S^t^l     In  the 


34 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


And  now  I  thought  the  spark  haJ  fled, 
When  Cupid  hover'd  u'er  in\  head, 
And  fanning  li^h'  liis  breezy  pinion, 
Rescued  my  soul  from  deatli's  dominion  j 
Then  said,  in  accents  h;*l(-reiirovinp, 
**  Why  hast  ttiou  been  a  foe  to  loving  ?" 

origiDal,  he  says,  his  heart  flew  to  his  nose ;  but  our 
inaDner  more  na  urallv  t'ansfcis  it  lo  Ihe  lips.  Such 
is  the  tflect  that  Plato  tells  us  he  felt  from  a  kiss,  in  a 
distich  quoted  by  Aulus  Gellius ;  — 
I^Tivi^vxyv,  ;\ya9uiva<l>t\(oV:  cm  ;\;£tX£(7tv  icrxov- 
HA^E  yap  i)  TXrjfiujv  ih^  dtaSrjaofLtVTj. 

Whtfiie'er  thy  nectar'd  kiss  I  sip, 

Aud  drink  thy  bieaih,  iu  trauce  diTiDe* 
My  80ul  Iheti  tluliem  in  my  lip, 
Ready  tu  Ity  and  mix  with  thine. 
Au!us  Gellius  subjoins  a  paraphrase  of  this  epigrnm, 
in  which  we  find  a  number  of  ihose  mi^Tiardises  of 
expression,  which  luark  Ihe  etlemination  of  the  Latin 
language. 

^7jd  fanning  lie;ht  his  breezy  pinion^ 
Rescued  my  suuijrom  death's  dominion  ;]     **  The 
facility  with  which  Cupid  recovers  him,  signifies  that 
the  sweets  of  love  make  us  easily  forget  any  solici- 
tudes which  he  may  occasion." —  La  Fosse. 


ODE  XXXII, 

Strew  me  a  ii2.ejAut  bed  of  leaves, 
Where  lotus  \\ith  Ihe  myrtle  weaves  j 
And  while  in  luxury's  dream  I  sink, 
Let  me  the  b.ilm  of  Bacchus  drink  ! 
In  this  sweet  hnur  of  revelry 
Youni;  Love  shall  my  attendant  be 
Dresi  for  the  task,  wilh  tunic  round 
His  snowy  neck  aud  sliOuMers  bound, 
Himself  shall  ho\er  by  my  side, 
And  minister  the  racy  tide ! 

Oh.  swift  as  wheels  that  kindling  roll, 
Our  life  is  hurrying  tn  ihe  goal : 
A  scanty  dust,  to  feed  the  v^  ind, 
Is  all  the  trace  't  will  leave  behind. 
Then  wherefore  waste  the  roses  bloom 
Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb  ? 
Can  flowery  breeze,  or  odour's  breath, 
Affect  the  still,  cold  sense  of  death? 
Oh,  no  :  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 
With  iragtant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep  : 
But  now,  while  every  puUe  is  glowlnp. 
Now  let  me  breathe  the  balsam  flowing; 
Now  let  the  rose,  wiih  blush  of  fire, 
Upon  my  brow  in  sweets  expire  ; 
And  bring  the  nymph  whose  eye  halh  power 
To  brighten  even  death's  cold  hour. 
Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  shade  retire, 
Tn  join  Ihe  blest  elysian  choir, 
With  wine,  and  love,  arid  social  cheer, 
I  'II  make  my  own  elysium  here! 

We  here  have  the  poet,  in  his  true  attributes,  re- 
clining upon  myrtles,  with  Cupid  for  his  cup-bearer. 
Sonie  interpreters  have  ruined  "he  picture  by  making 
Eoios  the  name  of  his  slave.  None  but  Love  should 
liil  the  goblet  of  Anacreon.  Sappho,  in  one  of  her 
fragnienis,  has  assigned  this  office  lo  Venus.  EXBt, 
Kvffpt,  ;\;pi'0-cmto-iv  tv  KvXtKto-criv  &€poiq  crv/i/ie/i- 
lyiievov  ^aAtaiCTi  vtKrap  oivoxovca  tovtoici  Totj 
iTaiQoti  EfioL^  y£  /cat  croij. 

Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased  :  — 

Hither.  Venua.  quepD  of  ki«n<>8, 

This  Hhall  be  the  night  of  hlisaes  ; 

This  the  night,  to  friendehip  dear, 

Thou  Bhnlt  be  our  Hebe  here. 

Fill  the  golden  brimmer  high. 

Let  it  sparkle  hke  thine  eye; 


Bid  the  rosy  current  goeh. 
Lei  it  maiKle  tike  thy  blush, 
GoddesM.  heat  ihou  e'er  abovo 
Seen  a  feast  sn  rich  in  love  I 
N(U  a  enul  that  in  not  mine! 
liot  a  aoul  that  is  not  thine! 

*'  Compare  with  ihis  Ode  (says  the  Geraan  coai- 
mentator)  the  beautiful  poem  in  Ramler's  Lyr.  Bl'«i- 
meultrse,  lib.  iv.  p.  296.,  *  Amor  als  BieQer.'  '> 


ODE  xxxnr. 

'T  was  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  su  1  len  Bear  is  seen  to  rol  1 ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  dty, 
Are  slunibeiing  all  their  cares  away: 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Ctme  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
And  wak'd  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  bhield  him  fiom  Ihe  midnii;ht  air. 
"  And  who  art  tlmii,"  I  waking  cry, 
*'  That  bid'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  ?" 
"  Ah,  gentle  sire  !  "  the  infant  said, 
"  In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed  ; 
Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Illumes  the  drear  and  misty  way  1 " 

1  heard  the  baby's  tale  of  vpre  ; 
I  heard  the  bitter  night-winds  blow; 
And  Sighing  for  his  piteous  fa'e, 
I  trimm'd  riiy  lamp  and  op'd  the  gate. 
*T  was  Love  !  the  little  wandering  sprite, 
His  pinion  sparkled  through  ihe  night. 
I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 
I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart, 
Fofidlv  I  t^ke  him  in.  and  nre 
The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze  ; 
Press  frnm  his  dank  and  clinging  hail 


Til 


of  Ihe  fn 


And  in  my  hai  d  ar.d  b^som  hold 
His  little  hngers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 
Had  \\arm'd  his  anxious  fears  a«ay , 
*'  1  pray  thee,"  siid  Ihe  wanion  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smil'd,) 
'■  1  pray  thee  lei  me  try  my  how, 
For  through  the  lain  1  've  wander'd  so, 
That  much  I  fear,  ihe  midnight  shower 
Has  injur  d  its  elas  ic  power." 
The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew  : 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew  ; 
As  swifily  flew  as  glancing  flame, 
And  to  my  inmost  spirit  caiiie  ! 
"Fare  thee  well,"  I  heard  him  say, 
As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away  j 
*'  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  i  know 
The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow; 
It  still  c-in  ^enda  thrilling  dart. 
As  thou  shall  own  wilh  all  thy  heart !  '* 

M.  Bernard,  the  au'hor  of  L'Art  d'aimer,  has  writ- 
ten a  ballet  called  '  Les  Surprises  de  i'Amour,"  in 
which  the  subject  of  the  third  entree  is  Anacreon.  and 
the  s'ory  of  this  Ode  sugges  s  one  of  the  scenes. — 
(Euvresde  Bernard,  Anac.  scene  4lh. 

The  German  annotator  refers  us  here  to  an  imita- 
tion  by  V?.,  lib.  iii.,  *'  Amor  und  sein  Bruder ;  "  at  d  a 
poem  of  Rieist,  *'die  Heilung."  La  Fontaine  has 
translated,  or  rather  imitated,  this  Ode. 

"  Arid  ivho  art  thottj"  I  waking  cry^ 

'*That  bid'st  my  blissful  visitms  fly  ? "]  Ana- 
creon appears  to  have  been  a  voluptuarj-  even  in 
dreaming,  by  the  lively  regret  which  he  exj  resses  at 
being  disturbed  (roni  his  visionary  eujoymen  s.  See 
the  Odes  X  and  xxxvii. 

^Twas  Love !  the  little  waiideriiig  sprite.^  ^-c]  Sue 
the  beautiful  description  of  Cupid,  by  Moschus,  tu  hi 
first  idyl. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


35 


ODE  XXXIV, 

Oh,  thou,  nf  all  creation  blest, 
Sweet  msec,  'hai  dcli^htVt  to  rest 
Upon  the  wild  woods  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  niomiiig  drops, 
And  chifp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee, 
That  hapiiict  kings  may  envy  Ihee. 
Whatever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Whate'er  ihe  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  buds,  whatever  blows, 
For  Ihee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  yet  art  '.hou  ihe  peasant's  fear, 
To  hiin  thy  friendly  noies  are  dearj 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew  ; 
And  slill,  when  summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  ID  paint  the  bloomy  plain. 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain ; 
'I  hy  siveet  propheijc  str:»in  we  hear, 
And  bless  the  iioleji  and  thee  revere ! 
The  Muses  love  thv  shnlly  tone; 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own  ; 
'T  was  he  who  gave  thai  voice  to  thee, 
'Tis  he  who  tunes  thy  minstrelsy. 

Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline, 
The  f.ideless  blooms  nf  youth  are  thine. 
Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth, 
Id  wisdom  mirthful^  wUe  in  mirth; 

In  a  Latin  Ode  addressed  to  the  grasshopper,  RnpiD 
has  preserved  some  of  the  thoughts  of  our  author:  — 

O  quae  virenti  graminis  in  torn, 
Cioada,  dlande  sidis,  el  herbidoa 
8altus  oberraa,  udcsus 


Oh,  thou,  ttiat  nn  (he  grassy  bed 
Which  Nature's  vernjil  hniid  has  Bprcad, 
RcL-linfst  soft,  auLl  tun'et  Ihy  »:)ni;, 
The  dewy  herba  and  Itavt^s  among  I 


Whcihe 


ir,uly'.st, 


Drunk  with  the  balmy  morniiig-ohoMers, 
Or,  &.C. 

See  what  Licctus  says  about  grasshoppers,  cap.  93. 
and  185.  ^ 

And  chirp  thy  song  with  stuck  a  glee,  ^c.l  "Some 
authnis  have  affirmed  (says  Madame  Dacier),  that  it 
Is  only  male  grasshoppers  which  sin^,  and  that  the 
femiles  nre  silent ;  and  on  this  circumstance  is  found- 
ed a  bnn-mot  of  Xenaichus,  the  comic  poet,  who  says 

££T'     tL<XlV    ol    T£TTty£5    OVK    £V(Jat/tO Vt J,    (bv    TrttS 

yvvailiv  011(5'  in  ovv  tpuivr}^  tvt  ;  *are  not  the 
grasshoppers  happy  in  having  dumb  wives?'  "  This 
note  isoriginallv  Henry  Stephen's  ;  but  I  chose  rather 
to  make  a  lady  my  authoriiy  for  it. 

The  Muses  lave  thy  shrilly  tone,  fyc]  Phile,  de 
Animil  Propriet.it.  calls  this  insect  Movaais  ^iXog, 
the  darling  of  the  Muses;  and  Movo-cuv  opviv,  the 
bird  of  the  Muses;  nnd  we  find  Plalo  compared  for 
his  eloquence  to  Ihe  grasshopper,  in  the  following 
punning  lines  of  Tinion,  preserved  by  Diogenes  iaer- 

Tov  navToiV  6*  yyeiTO  itXarvtrraTos  aXV  ayo- 

•H(Jv£jrj?5  TCTrt^tvio-oypat^oj,  ol  9'  'Exad-qfiov 
^ivdpu  e^t^ofLtvot  on  a  Xitpiotaaav  Itia-i. 

This  last  line  is  borrowed  from  Homer's  Iliad,  y, 
where  there  occurs  Ihe  very  same  simile. 

Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth.']  Longeprerre  has 
ouotfd  the  two  first  lines  of  .in  epigram  of  Antipaler, 
nom  Ihe  first  book  nf  the  Anthoiogia,  where  he  pre- 
fcn  the  grasshopper  to  the  swan  : 


Exempt  from  every  \veak  decay. 
That  withers  vulgar  fr.imes  away; 
With  not  a  dn'p  ol  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  puier  vein  ; 
So  ble  t  an  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  seem'st  — a  little  deity  ! 

pKci  TtTTtyaj  yLtOvcFat  Spotro^,  a>Xa  iriovTij 
AiiCav  KVKvutv  £i<7t  yiyujvoTLpoi. 

Id  (lew,  that  drops  Trom  morning'H  win^s^ 

Tlie  gay  Ciimla  sipfung  tlnats ; 
And.  drunk  with  dew,  hia  malin  sjQga 

Sweeter  Ibaa  any  cygnet's  uoteit. 


ODE  XXXV. 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 

Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head ; 

Luckless  uichin,  not  to  see 

Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  bee  ! 

Theocritus  has  imitated  this  beautiful  ode  in  his 
nineteenth  idyl ;  but  is  very  inferior,  I  think,  to  his 
original,  in  delicacy  of  point  and  naivete  of  expres- 
sion Spenser,  in  one  of  his  smaller  compositions,  has 
sported  more  difl'usely  on  the  ^anie  subject.  The 
poem  to  which  1  allude,  begins  thus  :  — 

Upon  a  day,  as  Love  lay  aweelly  slumbering 

All  in  his  molher's  Up; 
A  gentle  ber,  with  his  loud  trumpet  murmuring, 

About  him  Hew  by  hap,  <Scc.  ^c. 

In  Almeloveen's  collection  of  epigrams,  there  is  one 
by  Luxorius,  conchpondent  somewhat  with  the  turn 
of  Anacreon,  where  Love  complains  to  his  molher  of 
being  wounded  by  a  rose. 

The  ode  before  us  is  tlie  very  flower  of  simplicity. 
The  infantine  complaiain^s  of  the  little  god,  and  the 
natural  and  impressive  reflec'ions  uhich  they  draw 
from  Venus,  are  beauiies  of  inimi-able  grace.  I  may 
be  pardoned,  jierhap-i,  fur  introducing  here  another  of 
Menage's  Anacreontic'*,  not  fur  its  similitude  to  the 
subject  of  this  ode,  but  for  some  faint  tiaces  of  the 
same  natunl  simplicity,  which  it  appears  to  me  to  have 
preset  ved ;  — 

Eouij  TTOT^  cv  ;t;op£(at5 
T^v  napdtvu}v  aujrov, 
'Vtjv  [loL  0tA7/v  KopivvaVf 
'Sis  tidtv,  (bj  TTpo?   avTtjv 
lipoaidpafK.-  rpaxv^t^ 
^idvfias  T£  %£ipa5  anruyv 

^l\tL    fJLE,    flrjTEp,     tiTTl. 

KaXoviiivT)   Kopivva, 
MlJTTJp,    Epvdpia^Ut 
'S2s  7Tap9ivo^  iLLv   ov<ra. 
K'  avTos  (Tc  6v<Tx^puivttiVf 
"52?  Oftfiaa-i  nXavqeeis, 
Kpu.s  ipvOpm^u. 
Eyuj,  (?£  ol    nagao-Tas, 
Mj;  6vcrx£pai,vc,   ^rj/iu 
livwpiv  Tt   Kac  Kooivvav 


Km  ol  p\i 

OVK    EXOVCf, 
'OVlti    0%V. 

As  dancing  o'er  t 

he  enamell'd  plain. 

The  flow'ret  of  t 

My  souI'h  Corinn 

liphtly  play'd, 

Young  Cupid  eaw 

the  grarerul  maid 

He  saw,  and  in  a 

And  round  her  n 

ok  liis  arm»  he  th 

Saying,  with  ami 

es  of  infant  jny. 

*'Oh!  ki89me.  m 

'.her,  ki8»  thy  boy 

The  modest  vlrai 

blufh'd  with  shan 

And  angry  (^upid 

scarce  believing 

4 


3G 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


The  bee  awak'd—  with  an^er  wild 
The  bt«  auak'd,  and  siung  the  child, 
Louil  and  pilenus  aiehis  cries  ; 
'Jo  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  flies  ; 
'•Oh  nioiher!  — I  am  wi.unded  through  — 
I  die  with  pain  —  iu  soo  h  I  do  ! 
Stui.g  iiy  s  line  lit'le  an^iy  ihing, 
Some  s^ri-ent  on  a  tiny  wiiiiC  — 
A  ^ee  it  was—  r.r  once,  1  know 
1  hj<rd  a  rustic  caU  il  s;«." 
Thus  he  >pnke,  and  she  ihe  while 
Heard  him  w  iih  a  soothu  g  soiile  ; 
Then  sa  d,  '•  My  infant,  it  so  much 
Thou  fpel  the  li  tie  wild-bee's  touch, 
How  must  the  heart,  ah,  Cupid  !  be, 
The  hipless  he.irl  that's  slung  by  thee  I" 


ODE  XXXVI. 

If  hoarded  gold  pnssessM  the  power 

To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour. 

And  purchase  from  the  hand  nf  death 

A  little  span,  a  moment's  breaih, 

How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore  I 

And  eveiy  Inur  should  swell  my  store; 

That  when  Death  came,  with  shadowy  pinion, 

To  waft  me  to  his  bleak  dominion, 

I  might,  by  bribes,  my  doom  delay, 

And  bid  him  call  some  distant  day. 

But,  since,  not  all  earth's  gnlden  &tore 

Can  buy  Cor  us  one  brigh'  hour  more, 

Why  should  we  vainly  mourn  our  fate, 

Or  sigh  at  life's  unceriain  d^\e  ? 

Nor  wealth  nor  grandeur  can  illume 

The  silent  midnight  of  the  tumb. 

No  —  give  to  others  hoarded  treasures  — 

Mine  be  the  brilliant  round  of  pleasures; 

The  g  .blet  rich,  the  board  of  friends 

Whose  social  souls  the  goblet  blends  ; 

And  mine,  while  yel  I  've  life  to  live, 

Those  joys  that  love  alone  can  give. 

Fontenelle  has  translated  this  ode,  in  his  dialogue 
between  Anacreon  and  Aristotle  in  the  shades,  where, 
weighing  the  merits  of  both  these  personages,  he 
bestows  the  prize  '  f  wisdom  upon  the  poet, 

"  The  German  imi'ators  r  f  this  ode  are,  Lessing,  in 
his  poem  *Ge8(ern  Binder,*  &c.  ;  Gleim,  in  the  ode 
*An  den  Tod  ;'  and  Schmidt,  in  der  I'oet.  Blumenl., 
Golliug.  1783,  p.  l.^'  —  Degen. 

That  when  Death  camCt  with  shadow]/  pmton. 
To  waft  me  to  his  bleak  dominion,  ^-c]  The 
onimeiitator^,  who  are  so  fmd  of  disputing  "de  lana 
caprini,"  have  been  very  busy  on  the  auhoiiiy  of  the 
phrase  fi»*  av  Bavuv  tntMT).  The  reading  of  iv' 
BavaTos  £ki\6i),  which  de  Medetibach  proposes 
his  Amcenttates  iJienrije,  was  nlieady  hinted  by 
Le  Fevre,  »  ho  seldom  suggests  any  thing  worth  notice. 

The  goblet  rich,  the  board  offiHends, 
Whos&  social  smtjs  the  s^obld  blcudx  ;"]  This  com- 
muniin  of  fiiendship,  which  swee'envd  the  bowl  of 
Anacreon,  has  nnt  t)een  firgotten  by  the  author  of  the 
followini;  fch'dinm.  where  the  blesMngs  of  life  are 
in'^merated  wiiJi  proverbial  simplicity.  'Xyiaivuv 
«v  api^Tov  avdpi  Svyruj.  AtfTEpov  Ct,  KaXov 
ftvi^v  ytveo-Oai  TorpiTOV  ^e.  ttXovthv  a6o\itig. 
iat  TO  TfTaprov  awtfiav  fiera  rmv  ^lAoiv, 


or  mortal  blessings  here  the  ftrst  is  health. 


ODE  XXXVI I. 

'T  was  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  warm'd  my  thirsty  soul  j 
As  lull'd  in  slumber  I  was  laid. 
Bright  visions  o'er  my  fancy  play'd. 
With  maidens,  blooming  as  the  dawo, 
I  seem'd  tn  skim  llie  opening  lawn  ; 
Light,  OD  tiploe  bath'd  in  dew, 
We  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew ! 

Some  ruddy  stiipliiigs,  who  lookM  on  — 
With  cheeks,  that  like  the  wine-god's  shone. 
Saw  me  chasing,  free  and  wild. 
These  Iilooming  maids,  and  slyly  smiPd  j 
Smil'd  indeed  with  wanton  plee, 
Though  none  could  doubt  they  envied  me. 
And  still  I  flew  — and  now  had  caught 
The  panting  nymphs,  and  fondly  thought 
To  gather  from  each  rosy  lip 
A  kiss  that  Jove  himself  might  sip  — 
When  sudden  all  my  dream  of  joys, 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 
All  were  ^one  !  -  "  Alas  l""  I  said, 
Sii;hingfor  th'  tMusion  fled, 
"■  Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore, 
Oh  1  let  me  dream  it  o'er  and  o'er !  " 

"Compare  with  this  ode  the  beautiful  poem  *der 
Traum'  of  Uz."  —  Dtgcii. 

Le  Fevre,  in  a  note  upon  this  ode,  enters  into  an 
elaborate  and  learned  justiHcation  of  drunkenness; 
and  this  is  probably  the  cau-e  of  the  severe  reprehen- 
sion which  he  appears  to  have  suft'ered  for  his  Ana- 
creon. "  Fuit  ohm  faleor  (says  he  in  a  note  upon 
Longinus),  cum  Sapphonem  amabam.  Sed  ex  quo 
ilia  me  perditissima  focmina  pene  miserum  perdidit 
cum  sceleratissimosuocongerrone,  (Anacreontem  dico, 
si  nescis,  Lector,)  noli  sperare,  &c.  &c.''  He  ad- 
luces  on  this  ode  the  authority  of  Plalo,  who  allowed 
briety,  at  the  Dionysian  festivals,  to  men  arrived  at 
their  fortieth  year.  He  likewise  quoles  the  following 
from  Alexis,  which  he  says  no  one,  who  is  not 
totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  can  hesitate  to  confess 
the  truth  of;  — 


••  No  lover  of  drinking  ^ 


IV  avOgfjiiro^  KaKO£, 


J^Hien  sudden  all  my  dream  of  jays ^ 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 
Jill  were  gm'ie !]     *•  Nonnus  siys  of  Bacchus,  almost 
in  the  same  words  that  Anacreon  uses, — 

Eypo^cvoj  St 
XlapBevov  ovk  tKixv*^^^  "***  tjdiXev  av9is  tavav.'* 


Again  to  clusp  tbe  shadowy  maid. 

LONGEPIERRE, 

"  Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore^ 
Oh!  let  me  dream  it  o'er  a7id  o'er  I  ^^]  Doctor 
Johnson,  in  hia  preface  to  Shakspeare,  animadverting 
upon  the  commentators  of  that  poet,  who  pretended, 
in  every  little  coincidence  of  thought,  to  detect  an 
imitation  of  some  ancient  poet,  alludes  Jn  the  follow- 
ing words  to  the  line  of  Anacreon  before  u^ : — "I 
have  been  told  that  when  Caliban,  after  a  pleasing 
dream,  says,  '  1  cried  to  sleep  again,'  the  author  imi- 
tates Anacreon.  who  had,  like  any  other  man,  tbe 
same  wish  on  the  sime  occasion.'* 


ODES    OF  ANACREON. 


37 


ODE  xxxvni. 

Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
Let  us  raise  ihe  snng  <  f  soul 
To  him,  the  p>>d  ^\  ho  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  thL.-  choial  swell ; 
The  god  who  t.iugln  the  sons  of  earth 
To  Ihrid  the  tangled  dance  of  niirlh  ; 
Him,  who  was  nursd  with  infant  Love, 
And  crndled  in  the  Paphiau  grove  j 
Him,  that  the  snnwy  (^ueen  of  Charma 
ijo  oft  has  fondled  in  her  arms. 
Oh,  M  is  from  him  (he  transport  flows, 
Which  sweet  int -xicalion  knows; 
VVi'h  him,  Ihe  brow  forgets  its  gloom, 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  bloom. 

Kehold  !  —  my  boys  a  goblet  bear, 
Wh"se  sparkling  foam  lights  up  the  air. 
Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh? 
To  Ihe  winds  they  fly.  they  fly  ! 
Grasp  the  bowl ;  in  nectar  sinking, 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking  ! 
Say,  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  .ivail  us  aught? 
Can  we  discein,  with  all  our  lore. 
The  pa'h  we've  yet  to  journey  o'er? 
Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 
'T  is  only  wme  can  strike  a  spark. 
Then  let  me  quati"  the  foamy  tide, 
And  thr  ugh  the  d.uice  meandering  glide; 
Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 
Of  odours  chaPd  to  fr  igrant  death  ; 
Or  from  the  lips  of  love  mbale 
A  more  ambrosial,  richer  gale! 
To  hearis  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,  Ihe  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choial  swell ! 

*' Compare  with  this  beautiful  Ode  to  Bacchus  the 
verses  of  Hagedorn,  lib.  v.,  'das  Gesellschaftliche  j  * 
and  of  Burger,  p.  51,  &c.  &.C.'*  —  Degen, 

Him,  that  the  snmoy  Queen  of  Charms, 
So  oft  has  fondled  in  her  amis.]  RoboTlellus, 
upon  the  epitli.ilamium  of  Catullus,  mentions  an  in- 
genious derivation  of  Cytheiaea,  the  name  of  Venus, 
naga  to  KtvGtiv  tovs  tpiara^,  which  seems  to  hint 
that  "  Love's  fairy  favours  are  lost,  when  not  con- 
cealed." 

Maa^  alaSy  m  ways  sj  daTkf 

^Tis  only  wine  can  strike  a  spark!]  The  brevity 
of  life  allows  arguments  for  the  voluptuary  as  well  as 
the  moralist.  Among  many  parallel  passages  which 
Longepierre  has  adduced,  I  shall  content  myself  with 
this  epigram  from  the  Anthologia. 

Aovaafitvott    llpodiKrjy    TrvKacw/tcffa,    Kat    rev 
aKparov 

'EXicwfLEV,  KvMKa?  fiti^ova?  apafitvot. 
•Poto5  6  xa'poi'Ttyv  EO-Ti  ftios.  cira  to  XotTra 

rijpas  KfuXvcrtiy  Kai  to  tz\os  ^avaTo$. 

Of  which  the  following  is  a  paraphrase :  — 

L»*t*s  fly,  my  love,  from  nonnHay'n  beam* 
To  pluiiee  U8  in  ynii  onoling  slrcam ; 
Tticn,  haelening  lo  the  festal  bowtr. 
We  '11  pass  m  mirth  liie  evening  hour; 
'T  is  thus  nur  ace  of  bli*.»  shall  fly. 
A?sw«'el,  (hough  pqsbhir  a*  ihat  sigh, 
Which  eeems  tn  wliisper  oVr  your  lip, 
"  Come,  while  you  may,  of  raplur*;  sip." 
For  Bge  will  steal  the  graceful  form. 
Will  ohill  the  pulBe,  while  throbhiiig  warm; 
ADt  death  — alas',  that  h«-artB,  which  thiill 
Ltk  1  yours  aod  mine,  should  e'er  be  %\i]\ ! 


ODE  XXXIX, 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy. 
Tripping  through  the  d^nce  of  joy  1 
How  1  love  the  mellow  sRge, 
Smiling  through  Ihe  veil  of  age  I 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  nf  joy  appears, 
Sno\»s  may  o'er  his  head  be  flung, 
But  his  heart  —  his  heart  is  young. 

Snows  may  o^er  his  head  be  ftung^ 

Bui  his  htart  —  his  heart  is  ymnif:.']  Saint  Pavin 
mnkes  the  sime  dislinctiou  in  a  sonnet  to  a  young 
girh 

Je  bqIr  hieo  que  lea  deslineet 
Out  mal  compasse  nos  nnnees 
Ne  regardez  que  mon  amour; 

II  eat  jeuLe  el  nVst  cjue  du  jour. 

Belle  Ins,  que  je  voua  al  vu. 
Fair  and  young  thou  bloomeet  now. 

And  I  full  many  a  year  bnve  told; 
But  read  the  heart  mid  iiol  the  brow, 

Thou  tahall  mit  find  my  love  is  old. 
My  love'a  a  child;  and  thou  canst  saj 

How  much  hia  little  age  may  be. 
For  he  was  born  the  very  day 

When  tirsl  I  aet  my  eyes  oa  thee  I 


ODE  XL. 

I  know  that  Heaven  hath  sent  me  here, 
To  lun  this  moital  life's  career; 
The  scenes  which  I  h:>ve  journeyed  o'er, 
Return  no  moie—  alas!  no  mo*e; 
And  all  Ihe  path  I  »ve  >et  logo, 
I  neither  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Away,  then,  wizard  Care,  nor  think 
Thy  "fetters  round  this  soul  to  link  ; 
Nf  ver  can  heart  that  feels  with  me 
De:>cend  to  be  a  slave  to  Ihee  I 
And  ohl  before  the  vilal   hrill, 
Which  trembles  at  mv  heart,  ,s  still, 
1  'II  gather  Joy's  luxuiianl  fiov^ers, 
And  gild  with  bli>s  my  fading  hours; 
Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom, 
And  Venus  d-tnce  me  to  the  tomb ! 

Never  ca7i  heart  that  ftels  with  me 

Descend  to  he  a  slave  to  thee !]  Lonijepierre quotes 
here  an  epigtam  fiom  the  Anthologia,  on  account  of 
the  similarity  of  a  particular  phrase.  Though  by  no 
means  Anacreontic,  it  is  marked  by  an  interesting  sim- 
plicity which  lias  induced  me  to  paraphrase  it,  and 
may  atone  for  its  intrusion. 

EXkis  Kai  cv  7VXV  /*«ya  ;t'*'P'"'  ^"^  Xijitv* 

fOpov* 
Ovdtv  iiiot  x'  *;itv,  nat^nt  rov^  fitr^  tfiu 

At  length  to  Fortune,  and  lo  you, 
Delu?>ive  Hope  I  a  last  adieu. 
The  charm  that  once  beguil'd  is  o*er. 
And  I   have  reach'd  my  destin'd  short, 
Awny,  away,  your  flattering  aria 
May  now  betray  some  simpler  hearts. 
And  you  will  xmile  at  their  believinir. 
And  they  Bball  weep  at  your  deceiving  [ 

Bacchus  shall  hid  my  winte:  bloom, 

^nd  Venus  dance  »iic  to  the  tomb!]  The  ?ame 
coninient-ttor  luis  qtioied  an  epilapn,  writte;  upon  our 
poet  by  Julian,  in  which  he  makes  him  promulgate 
the  precepts  of  good  fellowship  even  from  the  tomb, 

UoXXaKt  (isv  T0i3'  aaaa,  KOt  £K  rvfiCov  dt  ^oi}CiMj 
nti-cTC,  rrptv  lavryv  ap-t^iCaXricQi  xovtv. 

This  lesson  oft  in  life  I  siinR, 

And  ffom  my  grave  1  Btill  shall  cry. 

**  Drink,  mortal,  drink,  while  time  is  yoonc, 
Ere  death  has  made  thee  cold  as  I." 


3% 


ODES    OF   ANACREON, 


ODE  XLI. 

When  Spring  adorns  Ihe  dewy  scene, 

How  sweet  lo  walk  Ihe  velvet  green, 

And  hear  the  west  wind's  aentie  sighs, 

As  n'er  the  gentle  mead  it  flies  ! 

How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine, 

Ready  to  burst  in  tears  o|  wii.e  ; 

And  with  snnie  maid,  who  breathes  but  love, 

To  walk,  at  noun  ide,  thrnu^^h  the  grove, 

Or  sit  in  some  cool,  green  recess  — 

Oh,  is  not  this  true  happiness? 

And  vjitfi  some  maid,  who  breathes  hut  tovCy 
To  walk,  at  nocnttidt,  through  t/ic  grove,]     Thus 
Horace :  — 

Quid  habea  illius,  ilHua 
Quae  Mpiraljat  amores. 
Quae  me  surpuerat  mihi.        Lib.  Iv.  Carm.l3. 

And  does  there  tlieo  remain  but  this. 
And  haul  thou  loijt  eacti    rusy  ray 

or  tier  who  brtath'd  the  soul  of  bliss, 
Aud  Btuie  me  from  myself  awuy  J 


ODE  XUI. 

Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine. 
Where  humour  sparkles  from  the  wine. 
Around  nie,  let  the  youthful  choir 
Respond  lo  my  enlivening  lyre  ; 
And  while  the  red  cup  foams  along. 
Mingle  in  soul  as  well  as  song. 
Then,  while  I  sit,  with  fiow'rets  crown'd, 
To  regulate  ihe  goblet's  round, 
Let  but  the  nymph,  our  banquet's  pride, 
Be  seated  smiling  Ijy  my  side. 
And  earth  has  not  a  gift  or  power 
That  I  would  envy,  in  that  hour. 
Envy  !  — oh  never  let  its  blight 
Touch  Ihe  gay  he.irls  met  here  tn-night. 
Far  hen(f«  be  slandei's  sidelong  wounds. 
Nor  hirsh  dispute,  nor  discord's  s-iuuds 
Di!-turb  a  scene,  uhere  all  should  be 
Attuned  to  peace  and  harmony. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  harp's  gay  note 
Upon  the  breeze  inspiring  float. 
While  round  us,  kindling  into  love. 
Young  maidens  through  the  light  dance  move. 
Thus  blest  with  inTih,  and  love,  and  peace, 
Sure  such  a  liie  should  never  cease! 

The  character  of  Anacreon  is  here  very  strikingly 
depicted.  His  love  of  soci^W,  harmonised  pleasures,  is 
expressed  with  a  warmth,  amiable  and  endearing. 
Among  the  epigrams  imputed  to  Anacreon  is  the  fol- 
lowing; it  is  the  only  one  worth  translation,  and  it 
breathes  the  same  sentiments  with  this  ode:  — 

i)v  (^Xo5,  d£  K()7)T7}(n  Ttaga  nXzut  otvoTrora^cuv, 
NuKsa  Kat  noXtpLov  6aKpvo£VTa  Xsyu. 

AAA'  6(TTi£  Movo-eojv  t£,  Kat  ay\aa  dojp,  A<f)go- 

ZviifiuTyuiV,  tgaTT}^  fivrja-KETat  tv<PQ0<TVV7]$. 

When  to  the  lip  the  brimming  cup  ia  prest, 
And  hearts  are  all  adoal  upon  its  stream. 

Then  baiiihh  Trom  my  board  th*  unpoli-hM  guest. 
Who  makes  the  feuls  of  war  hin  barbarous  theme. 


And  bli^nds  refine 


With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 

The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 

And  while  the  harp  impa^sionM,  flingt 

Tuneful  rapture  from  its  strings, 

S  'iiie  airy  tiymph,  with  grncetul  bound, 

Keeps  measure  to  ihe  music's  sound  ; 

Waving,  in  hersnowy  hand, 

The  leaiy  Bacchanalian  wand, 

Which,  as  the  tripping  wanton  flies, 

Trembles  all  over  lo  her  sighs. 

A  youth  the  while,  with  lobsen'd  hair, 

Floa'ingon  the  listless  air, 

Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  lender  tone, 

A  tale  of  woes,  alas,  his  own  ; 

And  oh,  the  sadness  in  his  sigh. 

As  o'er  his  lip  the  accents  die  ! 

Never  sure  on  earth  has  been 

Half  so  bright,  so  blest  a  scene. 

It  seems  as  Love  himself  had  come 

To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home  ;  — 

And  Venus,  too,  with  all  her  wJes, 

And  B:icchu3,  shedding  rosy  smiles, 

Ail,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Genius  of  Festivity  ! 

And  while  the  harp,  impassion*dtJiing9 
Tuneful  rapture  from  Us  strings^  SfC]  Respecting 
the  harbittin  a  host  of  authorities  maybe  collected, 
which,  afier  all,  leave  us  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  Ihe 
instrument.  There  is  scarcely  any  point  upon  which 
we  are  so  totally  uninformed  as  the  music  of  the  an- 
cients. The  authors*  extant  upon  Ihe  subject  are,  I 
imagine,  liille  understood  ;  and  certainly  if  one  of 
their  moods  was  a  progression  by  quarter-lones,  which 
we  are  told  was  Ihe  nature  of  the  enharninnic  scale, 
simplicity  was  by  no  means  the  ch^iracteristic  of  their 
melody  ;  for  this  is  a  nicely  of  progression,  of  which 
modern  music  is  not  susceptible. 

The  invention  of  the  barbiton  is,  by  Athenaeus,  at- 
tributed to  Anacreon.  See  his  fourth  book,  where  it 
is  called  to  £i)p7jfia  to  AvuKptovros.  Neanlhes  of 
Cyzicus,  as  quo'ed  by  Gyraldus,  asserts  Ihe  same. 
Vide  Chibot,  in  Horat.  on  the  words  '* Lesboum bar- 
biton," in  the  first  ode. 

And  oh,  the  sadness  in  his  sigh^ 
As  o'ct-  his  lips  the  accents  die !]     Ij^ngeplerre  has 
quoted  here  an  epigram  from  the  Aolhologia ;  — 

KovpTj  Ttj  /t'£0iX7^(r£  Tco6t<rJT£ga  ;^f£i:>£0-iv  {fypotj. 
KtKTaptrjv  TO  ^tAiy;i.a.  to  yap  a  to  fia  viKrapos 

trrvEi. 
Nvv  fLt9v(a   TO  (JM-Xtjiiay  koXvv  tov   epmra   tti- 

TrcuKcuj. 

Of  wliich  the  following  paraphrase  may  give  some 
idea :  — 

The  kis9  that  she  left  on  my  lip. 
Like  a  dew-drnp  ehnll  hngertng  He; 

•Twas  neclar  nhe  gave  me  to  sip, 
'T  wan  nectar  1  drank  in  her  sigh. 

From  the  moment  she  printed  that  kfsB, 


It  Seems  as  Love  himself  had  come 

To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home. ;  — ]  The  intro- 
duction of  these  deities  to  the  festival  is  merely  allego- 
rical. Mad:>me  Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  describes 
a  masquerade,  where  these  deities  were  personated  by 
the  company  in  masks.  The  translation  will  coDform 
with  their  idea. 

AJU  0.^1  f^re  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Genius  of  Festivity!]  Kw/io?,  the  deily  or 
genius  of  mirth.  Philoslratus,  in  the  third  of  his  pic- 
tures, gives  a  very  lively  description  o'  this  god. 


Collected  by  Meibomiv». 


ODES    OF   ANACREON, 


39 


ODE  XLIV. 

Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 

CuU'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers, 

In  the  bowl  ot  llacclius  steep, 

Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep. 

Twine  the  rose,  the  garUnd  twine, 

Every  leaf  distilling  wine; 

Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  tliink 

That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink. 

Rnse,  Ihou  art  the  sweetest  (lower 

That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower; 

Rose,  (hou  ait  the  fondest  child 

Of  dimpled  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild. 

Even  the  Gods,  who  walk  the  sky, 

Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh, 

Cnpid,  too,  in  Paphjan  shades. 

His  hair  with  rosy  fillets  braids, 

When,  with  the  blushing,  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, 

Wrea'hing  my  brow  with  rose  and  vine, 

1  lead  some  bright  nymph  through  the  dance, 

Commingling  soul  with  every  glance  ! 

This  spirited  poem  is  a  eulogy  on  the  rose;  and 
again,  iu  Ihe  fift>-fifih  ode,  we  ^hall  find  our  author 
rich  in  the  praises  of  thai  flower,  la  a  fragment  of 
Sappho,  in  the  romance  of  Achilles  Talius,  to  which 
Barnes  refers  us,  the  rose  is  fancifully  styled  "  the  eye 
of  flowers;"  and  Ihe  same  poetess,  in  another  fiag- 
menl,  calls  the  favours  of  the  Muse  "  Ihe  roses  of  Fie- 
ri.*."   See  the  notes  on  the  fifty-fifth  ode. 

"  Compare  with  Ibis  ode  (says  ihe  German  annota- 
tor)  the  beauliful  ode  of  Uz,  *  die  Rose.'  " 

JVfieyi  with  the  blvfthing;  sister  Graces^ 

The  loantaii  wi7idin§  dance  he  traces^]     "This 

sweet  idea  of  Love  dancing  with  the  Graces,  is  almos! 

peculiar  to  Anacreon,"  — Dts:cn, 

I  lead  snme  bright  nymph  through  the  dance^  ^c] 
The  epithet  fiaOvKoKnos-,  which  he  gives  lo  the 
nymph,  is  literally  "full-bosomed." 


ODE  XLV. 

Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

1  cradle  all  my  woes  to  steep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  fear, 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear? 

For  death  will  never  heed  Ihe  sigh, 

Nor  soften  at  the  tearful  eye  ; 

And  eyes  tliat  sparkle,  eyes  Iliat  weep, 

Must  all  alike  be  seaJ'd  in  &leep. 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray, 

In  search  of  thorns,  from  pleisure*s  way; 

But  wisely  quaff  the  rosy  wave. 

Which  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gave; 

And  in  Ihe  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  sleep. 

Then  let  ua  never  vainly  stray^ 
In  search  of  thurns^  from  pleasure's  way  ;  ^c  ]    I 
have  thus  endeavoureii  to  convex  the  meaning  of  rt 
6c  Toi  iSioi'  nXaviuftai ;  accoiding  to  Regnier's  paia- 
piirase  "t  the  line:  — 

Kchi-  val.  fufir  tVlIn  etrada 
\)f\  \mvt-Tf  alma  e  sradiia. 


While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way. 
The  murmuring  billoivsof  tile  deep 
H  ive  languish'd  into  silent  sleep  : 
And  mark!  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  Ihe  reflecting  wave; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  nmrky  clouds  away; 
And  cultiir'd  field,  and  winding  stream. 
Are  freshly  glittering  in  his  beam. 

Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  leafy  buds  and  flov»ery  bells; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine, 
Cluslers  ripe  festoon  the  vine  ; 
All  along  the  bratiche>  creeping, 
Through  (he  velvet  foliage  peeping. 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see, 
Nursing  into  luxury. 

The  fastidious  nft'ectalioa  of  some  commentators 
has  denounced  this  ode  as  spurious.  Degen  pronoun- 
ces the  four  last  lines  to  be  the  patch-work  of  some 
miserable  versificator,  and  Brunck  condemns  the 
whole  ode.  It  appears  to  me,  on  Ihe  contrary,  to  be 
elegantly  graphical ;  full  of  delicate  expressions  and 
luxuriant  imagery.  The  abruptness  of  Ms  nuiS  £Opos 
f^avivTo^  is  striking  and  spirited,  and  has  been  imi- 
tated rather  languidly  by  Horace  :  — 

Vides  ul  alfn  etel  nive  candidum 


i  is  infinitely  more  impressive; — 


The  imperat 
as  iu  Shakspea 

But  Inok.  the  morn,  in  russet  matille  riad. 
Walks  o'er  the  dcw  of  ycu  higli  cBHtern  tiill. 

There  is  a  simple  and  poetical  description  of 
Spring,  in  CaluUuss  beautiful  farewell  to  Bithynia. 
Carni.  44. 

Barnes  conjectures,  in  his  life  of  our  poet,  that  this 
ode  was  written  after  he  had  returned  from  Athens, 
to  settle  in  his  paternal  seat  at  Teosj  where,  in  a 
little  villa  at  some  distance  from  the  ci'y,  command- 
ing a  view  of  the  ^gean  Sea  and  the  islands,  he  con- 
templated the  beauties  of  na'ure  and  enjoyed  Ihe 
felicities  of  retirement.  Vide  Barnes,  in  Ana'c.  Vita, 
§  XXXV.  This  supposition,  however  unauthenticated, 
forms  a  pleasing  association,  which  renders  Ihe  poem 
more  interesting. 

Chevreau  says,  that  Gregory  Nazianzenus  has  para- 
phnsed  somewhere  this  description  of  Spring;  but  1 
cannot  meet  wi  h  it.     Sie  Chevteau,  (Euvres  Mtlees. 

'•  Compare  wiih  this  Ode  (says  Uegen)  the  verses  of 
Hagedorn.  book  fourth,  'derFiuhling,*  and  book  filth, 
*der  Mai.'  '* 

While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May^ 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way.)  Ue  Pauw  reads, 
XaoLTUS  (to^a  p^tvovtriv,  "the  ro?es  display  their 
graces."  This  is  not  uningeninus;  but  wu  lose  by  it 
the  beauty  of  the  |  ersonification,  to  the  boldness  ol 
which  Regnier  has  rather  frivolously  objected. 

The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 

Have  lansruish'd  into  silent  sleep;  Sfc]  It  has 
been  justly  remarked,  that  (he  l»quid  flow  of  the  line 
arra^vvtraL  yaXijvT]  is  perfectly  expressive  of  the 
tranquillity  which  it  desci.bes. 

And  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream,  <^-c.]    By 
/5poraiV  epya  **  the  works  of  men  "  (stys  R-txter).  he 
ms  citi.s.  temples,  and   town-,  which  aie  then 
minated  by  the  beams  of  the  sun. 


ODE  XLVIL 
T  is  true,  my  fading  yeara  decline. 
Yet  can  I  quaflT  the  brimming  wine 


[^^ 


40 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


As  deep  a?  any  stripling  fair, 
Whose  chetks  the  flush  of  morning  wear; 
And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 
I'm  caird  lo  wind  ine  dance's  due, 
Then  shaK  thou  see  this  vijotnus  hand, 
Not  faltering  on  Ihe  Haccbaul's  wand, 
But  brandishing  a  rosy  fla^jk. 
The  only  thyrsus  e'er  1  Ml  ask  I 

Let  those,  who  pant  for  Glory's  charms^ 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  arms  ; 
While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  be>ond  this  bowl. 
T  hen  hll  it  high,  my  ruddy  slave, 
And  bathe  me  in  its  brinmiing  wave. 
For  though  my  fading  yeais  decay. 
Though  manhood's  prime  hath  passM  away, 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine, 
With  blushes  borrow'd  Ironi  my  wine, 
I  'II  wanion  'mid  ihe  dancing  train, 
And  live  my  follies  o'er  again  ! 

But  brandishing  a  rosy  flashy  ^c]  A<rKo$  was  a 
kind  of  leathern  vessel  for  wine,  very  much  in  use,  as 
should  seem  by  Ihe  proverb  aaicoi;  /cat  -S-vAaKoj, 
which  w,is  applied  to  those  who  were  inlemperate  in 
eating  and  drinking.  This  proverb  is  meniioiied  in 
some  verses  quoted  by  Athenaeus,  from  the  ilesioue  of 
Alexis. 


The  only  thyrsus  e'er  I  'W  ask  .'1  Phornutus  assigns 
as  a  reason  for  the  consecration  of  the  thyrsus  to  Bac- 
chus, thai  inebriety  often  renders  the  support  of  a 
stick  very  necessaiy. 


ODE  XLVIH. 

When  my  thirsty  soul  1  steep, 
Every  surrow's  lulld  to  sleep. 
T-ilk  of  monarchs  !  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  hrst  of  men ; 
Careless  o"er  my  cup  I  sing, 
F.*ncy  mak'-s  nie  more  than  king; 
Gives  me  wealtliy  Cro&sus'  store, 
Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 

On  my  velvet  couch  reclining, 
Ivy  leaves  niy  brow  eniwining. 
While  my  soul  expands  with  glee, 
Whai  are  kinss  and  crowns  to  me. 
If  before  my  feei  ihey  lay, 
I  would  spurn  them  all  away  ! 

Arm  ye,  arm  ye,  men  of  might, 

Ha'^ten  to  the  sanguine  fight ; 
But  let  me,  my  budding  vine  ! 
Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine. 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 
Thit  alone  shall  vanquish  me  — 
Who  think  il  better,  wiser  far 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  Iq  war. 


Ivy  leaves  my  hroio  aitwinivg^  ^c]  "  The  ivy 
was  con-^ecrated  to  Bicchu-^  fsa\s  Montfaucon),  be- 
cau<ie  he  formerly  I  >y  hid  under  that  tree,  or,  ns  others 
will  have  it,  be-ause  ifs  leaves  resen-.hle  those  of  the 
vine."  Other  reasons  for  its  consecraiion,  and  the  use 
of  it  in  gai  lauds  at  banque  s,  may  be  found  in  Longe- 
pierre,  Barnes,  &c.  &c. 

Jrjn  ye,  arm  ye,  mcyi  of  viisht, 
HasUn  to  tht  sariifuirie  fight;]     I  have  adopted 
Ihe  interpretation  of  Regnier  and  others :  — 


ODE  XLIX. 

When  Bicchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy 
The  ro*y  harbinger  of  juy, 
Who,  wii  h  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 
Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul  — 
When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides, 
And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 
A  How  ot  joy,  a  lively  heat. 
Fires  my  br^^in,  and  wings  my  feet, 
Calling  up  round  me  visions  known 
To  lovers  of  the  bowl  alone. 

Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  music's  sound 
In  melting  cadence  float  amund, 
While,  my  young  Venus,  thou  and  I 
Responsive  to  i's  murmurs  sigh. 
Then,  waking  from  our  blisstul  tmnce, 
Again  we'll  sport,  again  we '11  dance. 

Tins,  the  preceding  ode,  and  a  few  more  of  the 
same  chancter,  are  merely  chansons  a  bojre  ; —  ihe 
etfusions  probably  of  the  moment  of  conviviality,  and 
afterwards  sung,  we  may  imagine,  with  rapture 
throughiiut  Greece.  But  that  ineresling  associaiiun, 
by  which  they  always  recalled  Ihe  convivial  emutions 
thit  produce  1  Ihem.  can  nmv  be  little  felt  even  by  the 
most  enthusistic  leader;  and  much  less  by  a  phleg- 
matic graninianan,  who  sees  nothing  in  Ihem  but  dia- 
lects and  i)ariicles. 

WhOy  with  the  sunshiite  of  the  howl, 

Thaws  the  ivinter  of  our  scful  —  ^c]  Avatoj  is 
the  title  which  he  gives  to  B  cchus  in  the  original.  It 
is  a  curious  circumstance,  that  Plutarch  mislonk  the 
name  of  Levi  amon^  the  Jews  for  Atiji  (one  of  (he 
bacchinal  ciies),and  accordingly  supposed  that  Ihey 
worshipped  Bacchus. 


ODE  L. 

When  wine  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 
Drenms  of  poetic  glory  ri-e  ; 
And  frevhen'd  by  the  goblet's  dews, 
Mv  snul  invokes  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  glonmy  i.hanlom  of  Ihe  mind. 
When"  1  drink  wine,  th"  ethereal  boy, 
Bacclius  hmisclf,  partakes  my  joy ; 

Faber  thinks  this  Ode  spurious;  but,  I  believe,  he  is 
singular  in  his  opinion.  It  has  all  the  spirit  of  our 
author.  Like  the  wreath  which  he  presented  in  the 
dre^m,  "  it  smells  of  Anacreon.'* 

The  form  of  Ihe  original  is  remarkable.  It  is  a  kind 
of  song  of  seven  quatiain  stanzas,  each  beginning  with 
the  line 

'Or'  cycu  TTtui  tov  oivov* 

The  first  stanza  alone  is  incomplete,  consisting'  but 
of  three  lines. 

"  Compare  with  this  poem  fsays  Degen)  the  versea 
of  Hagedorn,  lib.  v.,  '  der  VVein,'  where  that  divine 
poet  has  wantoned  in  the  praises  of  wine." 

ll^en  wine  I  quaff,  before  my  eyes 

Dreams  of  poetic  tloj-yrise;}  '  Anaereon  is  not 
the  only  one  (says  Longepierre)  wh-m  wine  has  in- 
spired with  piefry.  We  find  an  epigr.im  in  the  first 
book  of  the  Anthologia,  which  begins  (bus;  — 

Oivos  Tot  ,Yapt£i'Ti  (iiyus  niXii  Ittoj  aoii!^, 

'T(Jajp  6i  nivojVf  KaXov  ov  TfKois  £toj. 


If  \ 


■  you  fill  uji  your  eiaw 


ODES    OF    ANACREON, 


41 


And  while  we  dance  itirough  vena!  btwers, 
Who  e  every  bipatti  comes  fresh  from  flo»  jrs, 
In  wine  he  ni.ikes  mj'  senses  swim, 
Till  the  gale  breathes  of  nought  but  him  1 

Again  I  drink,  —  and,  lo,  there  seems 
Ac;»lmer  light  t..  fill  niyd-e-n.^; 
The  lately  rutHed  wreath  I  spread 
Wilh  sieadier  hand  around  my  head  ; 
Then  ttke  the  lyre,  and  smj?  *'  how  blest 
1  he  life  nf  him  who  lives  at  rest !" 
But  then  cnme3  witching  wine  again, 
With  glanous  wnman  in  its  train  ; 
And,  while  rich  perfumes  round  me  rise, 
Th.-t  seem  ihe  b.ealh  of  won.an's  sighs, 
Bright  shapes,  of  every  hue  and  form. 
Upon  my  kindling  fancy  s^*3^m, 
Till  the  whole  world  of  beau'y  seemi 
To  crowd  into  my  dazzled  dreams! 
When  thus  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 
And  riMis  as  the  cup  declines  ; 
Rises  in  the  genial  flow^ 
Th.it  none  but  social  spirits  know, 
When,  wi'h  young  revellers,  round  the  bo  a'1, 
The  old  themselves  grow  young  in  soul  t 
Oh,  when  I  drink,  true  joy  is  mine, 
There  -s  bliss  in  every  diop  (f  wjue. 
All  other  blessings  1  have  known, 
]  scarcely  dar'd  to  call  my  own  ; 
But  lhi^  Ihe  Fates  can  ne  er  destroy, 
Till  deith  o'eishadows  all  my  joy. 

jjnrf  while  we  dance  throusch  vcmal  lowers,  ^c] 
If  s  me  of  the  translators  had  obsc  ved  Doctor  Trapp's 
caution,  wiih  regard  to  TioXvavdiciv  /*'  tv  Ofoaig, 
"Cave  ne  coclum  intelli^as."  they  would  not  "hive 
spoiled  (he  siniplicity  of  Ariacreon's  fancy,  by  such 
extravagant  concepiions  as  the  following  :  — 

Quand  je  bois  mon  oeil  »'imagine 
Que,  dans  un  lourl)il!oii  plciin;  de  parfums  divers, 
Bacchus  mVmpartf  daiH  k-s  airs, 

Reinpli  de  ta  liqueur  diviae. 

Or  this :  — 


I'er  la  vaga  aura  serena. 

TVhcnj  ivith  yovn^  revellers,  round  the  luwt^ 
The  old  themsdvis  grew  young  in  soid!\  Sub- 
joined to  Gait's  edition  of  Anacrenn,  we  find  some 
curio'js  letters  upon  the  Qiavoi  of  the  ancient ,  which 
appeared  in  the  French  Journals.  At  the  npening  of 
the  Odeon  in  Paris,  the  managers  of  that  spec'acle  le- 
quested  Professor  Gail  to  give  them  some  uncommon 
name  for  their  fetes.  Mesui^eested  the  word  "Thiase,'" 
which  was  ;.dapftd ;  but  the  literati  of  Paris  ques- 
tioned the  propiietv  of  the  term,  and  addre-^sed  their 
criticisms  to  Gail  through  the  medium  of  the  public 
prints. 


ODE  LT. 

Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow, 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  not  so. 
Thoueh  the  wane  of  age  is  mine, 
Though  youh'j.  brilliant  Hush  be  thine, 

Alherli  has  imitated  this  ode  ;  and  Capilupus,  in  Ihe 
following  epigram,  has  given  a  ver^ioii  of  it  :  — 


,  Lalagp, 


iiu7 


1  piilthra  pui-l 
Ne  fusias.  f»irit  ppart-n  liii-l  int-a  t»>inporn  caniB, 

Inque  liio  rusi-u.*  fulycal  nrc  rolor. 
Aspicif  ul  hitexlafl  dect'ant  qtioquc  ttore  coroll: 

C^andiUa  purpureis  lilia  misia  rosifi. 

Oh  \  why  rrpel  my  boiiI'h  impasBino'd  vow. 
And  fly.  liel-ivt-d  maid.  IheMe  loni-ing  arma? 

Is  it,  that  wintry  tim*-  has  slrfw'il  my  brow. 
While  Ihine  are  all  Ifc^  Humrner's  rose^i'c  cl 


Still  I  'm  dnom*d  to  sigh  for  thee, 
files',  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  uie  \ 
See  in  yonder  flowery  btaid, 
Cull'rt  for  thee,  niv  biu-^hing  maid, 
How  thero-^e,  of6iien!  glow. 
Mingles  with  the  lily's  sn^w; 
JMaik,  how  3u  eel  Ihiir  In. t-*  agree, 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me  ! 

Be«*  the  rich  garland  cult'd  in  vernal  weathi 


See,  in  yonder  flowery  braids 

CulVdfu)-  thic,  ray  blushing  maid !]  "  In  the  same 
manner  ihat  Anacreon  pleads  for  the  whiteness  of  his 
locks,  froiii  ihp.  beauty  of  the  colour  in  garland*,  a 
shepherd,  in  Theocritus,  endeavours  to  recommend  his 
black  hair : — 

Kat  TO  lov  fitXav  ta-Ti,  Kai  &  yparrra  iaxcvfloj, 

AAA'  zfircas  tv  TotS  o'TE'Pavoi^  ra  rrptuia  Xiyov- 

Tar.'*  Longepicrrtj  BanteSy  3fU 


ODE  LII. 

Away,  awav,  ye  men  of  rules, 

What  have  I  to  do  with  sch(.ols? 

They  'd  make  me  leam,  they  'd  make  me  think, 

But  would  they  make  me  love  and  drink? 

Teich  me  this,  and  let  me  swim 

My  soul  upon  the  goblet's  brim  ; 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

Some  f('nd,  responsive  heart  to  mine. 

Tor,  age  begins  to  blanch  my  brow, 

I  've  time  for  nought  but  pleasure  now. 

Fly,  and  cool  mv  goblet's  glow 
At  yonder  fount;.in-s  gelid  flow  ; 
I  Ml' quaff",  mv  bov.  and  calmly  sink 
Thiss  ul  (orlumberasl  d-ii.k. 
Soon,  too  soon,  my  jocund  sla\e, 
You  "11  deck  your  master's  grassy  erave  j 
And  there's  an  end  —  for  ah.  vou  know 
They  drink  butliule  «ine  below! 

'  This  is  doubtless  the  work  of  a  more  moderii  poet 
than  Aincrecn;  for  at  the  perind  when  he  lived 
rhetoriciins  were  not  known."  —  Dcgin. 

Though  this  ode  is  found  in  the  Vatican  manuscript, 
I  am  much  inclined  to  agiee  in  this  argument  against 
its  authenticity;  for  though  the  dawning^  of  the  art 
of  rhetoric  might  already  have  appeared,  Ihe  firs' 
who  gave  it  any  celebrity  m  as  Cornx  of  Syncuse,  and 
he  flourished  in  the  centu'y  af'er  Ai  acreon. 
Our  pnet  aniicipa-ed  the  ideas  of  Epicuru-:,  in  his 
ersion  to  the  labours  cf  Itaming,  9s  well  as  his 
devotion  to  voluptuousness.  Xiaaav  naiitiav 
fiaKapiot  4>cvy£rc,  sa:d  Ihe  philosopher  of  the  garden 
"n  a  letter  to  Fythocles, 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

Somcfo7td,  resj}onsive  hiart  lo  mme.]  By  XP^^V? 
A(^po^iT7;?  here,  1  tinder*Iand  snnie  beantiftd  girl,  in 
same  manner  Ihit  Avato?  is  often  used  fur  wine. 
"Golden"  is  frequemly  an  epi'het  of  beauty,  'thus 
in  Virgil,  "  Venns  aurea;"  and  in  Proper'ji.s.  "Cyn- 
thia aurea,"    Tibullus,  however,  calls  an  old  woman 

golden.'* 

The  translation  d'Antorj  Anonimi,  as  usial,  ivan- 
tons  on  Ibia  pusage  of  Anicreou  : 

Fnnne  Bfcorte  d'involare 

Ad  amab'le  hrltadu 

II  bel  cinio  U'  onestadc. 

^nd  there's  an  end— for  ah,  you  \now 

They  drink  but  little  wine  bdou  .'J     Thus  M 


d 


4« 


4^ 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


La  Morte  nous  gueOe ;  et  quaod  bcs  luia 

Is'ouB  oDt  eiifermea  un«  fnis 

Au  Mein  d'une  foase  profnnde, 

Adieu  bona  vins  el  boa  repas; 

Ma  science  oe  trouve  pas 

Des  cabarets  eu  I'autre  monde. 

From  Mainard,  GonbauM.  and  De  Cailly.  old 
French  poets,  some  of  the  best  eiii^rams  of  the  Eng- 
lish language  have  been  borrowed. 


ODE  LIII. 

When  I  behold  the  festive  train 

Of  dancing  y"uth,  1  'm  yoiin?  again  ! 

Memory  wakes  her  ma^ic  trance, 

And  Wings  me  lijhtly  through  the  dance. 

Come,  Cybeba,  smihng  maid  ! 

Cull  the  flower  and  twme  the  braid  ; 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  forehead's  snows; 

And  let  me,  while  the  wild  and  young 

Trip  the  m^zy  d.ince  alone, 

Fling  my  heap  of  yeais  away, 

And  be  as  u  iid,  as  ynung,  as  they. 

Hither  haste,  smne  cordial  soul  I 

Help  to  my  lips  Ihe  brimming  howl; 

And  you  shall  see  this  hoary  sage 

Forget  at  once  his  locks  and  age. 

He  still  can  chant  Ihe  festive  hymn, 

He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet'b  brim  ; 

As  deeply  quatt,  as  largely  fill, 

And  play  the  fool  right  nobly  still. 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  forehead's  snowi  ;  if-c.'\  Lice'us, 
in  his  Hieioelyphica,  quoting  two  of  our  pnei's  odes, 
wheie  he  calls  to  his  attendants  for  garlands,  remarks. 
*'  Const.^t  i^itur  floreas  coronas  poelis  et  potantibus  m 
symposio  convenire,  non  autem  sipientibus  el  fihiloso- 
phiam  affectantibus." — "It  appears  that  wreaths  of 
flowers  weie  adapted  fnr  poets  and  revellers  at  ban 
quets.  but  by  no  means  became  those  who  bad  preten- 
sions to  wisdom  and  philosophy."  On  ttii-*  principle, 
in  his  I52d  chapter,  he  discovers  a  refiriement  in 
Virgil,  describing  the  garhnd  of  the  poet  Silenus,  as 
fallen  off;  which  distinguishes,  he  thinks,  the  divine 
intoxication  of  Silenus  trom  that  of  common  drunk- 
ards, who  always  wear  their  crowns  while  they 
drink.  Such  is  the  "labor  ineptiarum"  of  com* 
meotators ! 

He.  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim ;  ^c.}  Wine  is 
prescribed  by  Galen,  as  .in  excellent  medicine  for  old 
men:  *"Quod  frigidos  et  hunioribus  expletos  cale 
faciat,  &c.  ;  "  but  Nature  was  Anacreon's  physician. 

There  is  a  proverb  in  EriphuB,  as'quoted  by 
Athenzeus,  Avhich  says,  '*  that  wine  makes  an  old  man 
dance,  whether  be  will  or  not." 

Aoyos  EOT'  ap;^aio9,  ov  Ka^wj  ex^jv^ 
Olvov  \£yov(ri  rovs  ytpovray,  cu  narep, 
Ueiduv  xoozetv  ov  ^tkovras. 


ODE  LIV. 

Methinks.  the  pidurM  bull  we  see 
Is  aniornus  J'we  —  it  must  be  he  ! 
How  fiMidly  blest  he  seems  io  bear 
That  fairest  of  Fhoenici  m  fair  : 
How  proud  he  breasts  the  f"amy  tide, 
Ai:d  spurns  the  billowy  >urge  aside  ! 
Cnii!d  any  bea.t  of  vulgu  vein. 
Undaunted  thus  defy  'he  main  ? 


No:  he  de-cends  from  climes  above, 
He  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove ! 

This  Ode  is  writien  upon  a  picture  which  repr»- 
Bented  the  lape  of  Eurnpa." — Madame  Daaer. 

It  may  probably  have  been  a  description  of  one  of 
those  coins,  which  the  Sidnnians  struck  off  in  honour 
of  Europa,  representing  a  woman  carried  across  the 
sea  by  a  bull.  _  Thus  Natalis  Comics,  lib.  viii.  cap.  23. 
"Sidonii  numbm^tacum  fcemiia  lauridorso  insidente 
ac  mare  tratisfretante  cuderunl  in  ejus  honorem."  In 
the  little  tieatise  upon  the  goddess  of  Syria,  attributed 
very  falsely  to  Lucian,  theie  is  mention  of  ihis  coin, 
and  of  a  temple  dedicated  by  the  Sidonians  to  Astarte, 
whom  some,  it  appears,  confounded  with  Europa. 

The  poet  Mnschus  has  left  a  very  beautiful  idyl  on 
Ihe  story  of  Europa, 

No:  he  descends  from  climes  above. 
He  looks  the  Gody  A«  Inxathes  of  Jove ,']    Thus 
Moschus;  — 

Kpv^//£  ^lov  Kai  TpEtpz  dtfias'  KOt  yiVETo  7avpo$. 


ODE  1,V. 

While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spnng, 
Resplendent  rose  !  to  thee  we  'II  sing  ; 
Resplendent  rose,  the  flower  of  flowers, 
Whose  breath  i  e-fumps  ih'  01ym[iian  bowerj. 
Whose  virgiti  bh;sh,  of  chasten'd  dye, 
Enchants  sn  much  our  mortal  eye. 
When  pleasure's  spring-tide  season  glows, 
The  Graces  love  to  wreathe  the  rose  ; 
Ai:d  Venus,  in  its  ficsliblown  leaves, 
An  enibleni  of  herself  perceives. 

This  Ode  is  a  brilliant  panegyric  on  the  rose,  "  All 
antiquity  isiys  Barnes)  has  produced  nothing  more 
beautiful." 

From  the  idea  of  peculiar  excellence,  which  Ihe 
ancients  a  tached  to  this  fl  iwer.  arose  a  pre'ly  prover- 
bial expression,  used  by  Aristophanes,  according  to 
Suidas,  ^oda  fi^  tipT/was,  ''You  have  spoken  roses," 
a  phrase  somewhat  similar  to  the  **  dire  des  fleurettes" 
of  the  French.  In  the  same  idea  of  excellence 
originated,  I  doubt  not,  a  very  curious  application  of 
the  i\ord  ^odov,  for  which  the  inquisitive  reader  may 
consult  Gautininus  upon  the  epilhalamium  of  our 
pf  et,  where  it  is  introduced  in  the  romance  of  ThlSo- 
dorus.  Murefus,  in  one  of  hi»  elegies,  calls  his  mis- 
tress his  rose:  — 
Jam  I«  igilur  rurBue  teneo,  formnsula,  jam  te 

,  te  leoeo.     Eleg.  6. 


1  thei 


ng  nri 


ntnld  the 


AgaiD,  my  rose,  again  I  hold  tliee. 
This,  like  most  of  the  terms  of  endearment  in  (he 
modern  Latin  poet^;,  is  taken  from  Flautus  ;  they  were 
vulgar  and  collnquial  in  his  time,  but  are  among  the 
elegancies  of  the  modern  Latinists, 

Passeratius  alluile-^  to  the  ode  before  us,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  his  poem  on  Ihe  Rose  :  — 

Carmine  digna  roaa  e.it  ;  vellem  cancretur  ul  illara 
Teius  ar;ruta  cecinil  testiidme  vatt-B. 

Resplendent  rose!  to  thee  we'll  sing;]  I  have 
parsed  over  the  line  (tvv  iTaintt  av^EtfiiXn 7}i',  which 
Incorrupt  in  Ihi-*  orii^inal  reading,  and  has  been  very 
little  improved  by  the  anno'.ators.  I  should  hUfipose 
it  to  be  an  ii'lerpolati'm,  if  it  were  not  for  a  line 
which  occurs  afterwaids  :  (psyi  67}  <Pvtnv  Acyto/itv. 

Jind  ^enus,  in  its  fresh- blown  leaves,  ^c]  Belleau, 
in  a  note  up'm  an  old  French  poet  qu  'ling  the  origi- 
nal here  a4>podL(Tiu)V  t'  advpfta,  translalfS  it, 
'*  comme  les  delicea  ut  mit^nard  ises  de  Venus," 


ODES   OF  ANACREON, 


43 


Oft  hath  the  pne's  mnjjic  tongue 
The  rose's  fur  luxuriance  sung  ; 
And  ion^  ihe  Muses,  lieavenly  mi'ids. 
Have  real VI  it  m  Ihcir  luneful  shades, 
Wlien.  at  the  enrly  glance  of  morn, 
It  sleeps  upon  the  flittering:  ihorn, 
'T  is  sweet  to  dare  (he  tangled  fence, 
the  timid  Jloweret  thence, 


And  wipe  < 


iih  1 


iider  hand  awav 


The  tear  that  on  its  blushes  lay  ! 
»T  is  s\veet  to  hold  the  infant  stems, 
Yet  droppini;  with  Aurora's  ^eiiis, 
And  fresh  inhale  the  spicy  si^hs 
Thai  from  the  weeping  buds  arise. 

When  revel  reiena,  when  mirth  is  high, 
And  Bacchus  beams  in  every  eye, 
Our  rosy  fillets  scent  exh^de, 
And  fill  with  balm  the  fainting  fi:ale. 
There's  imuaiht  in  mture  bright  or  gay 
Where  roses  do  not  shed  their  lay. 
When  morning  paints  the  orient  skies, 
Her  fingers  bum  wiih  rnseaie  dyes  ; 
young  nymphs  he'ray  the  rose's  hue, 
O'er  whi'est  arms  it  kindles  through. 
In  Cytherea'sfnim  it«Io«s, 
And  mingles  with  the  livmg  snows. 

The  rose  distils  a  healing  balm, 
The  be-ating  |'.ulse  nf  pain  to  calm; 
Preserves  the  cold  iiurned  clay, 
And  mocks  tlie  vestige  of  decay : 

Oft  ha^  the  poeVs  magic  to72^e 

The  rose's  far  luxur  once  sung;  ^c.\  The  follow- 
ing ts  a  fragment  of  the  hesl)ian  p')etess  It  is  cited 
in  Ihe  romance  of  Achilles  Tatius.  who  appears  to 
have  resnhed  the  numbers  into  prnse.  Et  rotj  av- 
0£<nv  r}Ot\£v  6  Ztvs  emOeLvat,  /3ao-tX£0,  to  ^o6ov 
av  Tttiv  avOzujv  E/3a<TtX£V£,  yjj?  tort  KoafioSy  <f^v- 
TU)V  ayXaftT/ia,  otjidnXpLo^  avOeioVj  Aci^wvoj  tpv- 
Ojjfjia^  Ka'KXo<;  atTTpaKTOv.     EftwToj  Trvtt,  A0po(5t- 

TTjV    TTpollVU,   CVuSkTI,    (PvWoi^    KOpia,    IVKiVr/TOl^ 

ireraAoij  Tpi;0a.  to  mraXov  t^  Z£v0vp^  ycXd.* 

If  Jove  woulil  give  tht-  leafv  bowera 
A  qu^en  for  ull  their  world'of  floweri, 
The  rose  woulj  Ik  the-  clu.iee  of  Jove, 
And  blubh,  the  queeu  of  every  grove. 
Sweetest  child  of  wet-ping  morning, 
Gem,  the  vest  of  earth   adorning; 
Kye  nf  (gardens,  hghl  of  lawns, 
Nursling  of  soft  Bumnii>r  dawns; 
Love'fi  own  earliest  eich  it  biealhes. 
Beauty's  brow  with    hJstre  wreathes, 
And,  to  young  Zephyr" 


Bprt-adH  abroad  its  \ 

erdan 

1  tresBcs, 

Till.  bluBhinf  with 

111-   w 

aiiton's  play. 

Its  check  wear»  ev' 

n  a  r 

Cher  ray  I 

JVhcn  ynnmi7is;  paints  the  orient  skies. 
Hit  finders  burn  Wfth  roseate  dyes  ;  .ycl  tn  the 
orii;iual  here,  he  enumerates  the  many  epiihels  nf 
beiiily,  biirrinveti  fioin  rnscs,  which  «ere  lised  by  the 
poels.  raoa  tuh'  aoijiuiv.  We  see  thai  pnels  were 
tligoified  in  Greece  with  the  title  nf  sa^es:  even  the 
careless  Anaci'enii,  wlio  lived  bill  f  ,r  Itive  and  vnlup- 
tuniisness,  was  called  by  Plain  the  wise  Anacreoii  — 
"full  hasc  sa[iientia  qunndant.'^ 

Preserves  the  cold  iniirned  clay,  ^e.]  He  here  al- 
ludes In  the  use  of  the  rose  in  eiiiliilmin?  ;  and,  per- 
haps (as  Barnes  thinks),  to  the  rosy  niisuent  with 
which  Vemis  anninted  Ihe  cnrpse  nf  [lector.  —  Hn 
iner's  Iliad  \p.  II  m.ay  likewise  regard  Ihe  ancient 
practice  nf  pulling  garlands  of  roses  on  the  dead,  as  in 
Statius,  Theh.  lib.  x.  782. 

hi  serlls,  hi  verla  honore  noliito 

Arcumulaiit  arliin,  palriaque  io  aede  repoDunt 
Corpus  otloratum. 


And  when  at  length,  in  pale  iJecline, 

lis  rinrid  beauties  fatle  and  pine, 

Sweet  as  in  you:."!,  is  balmy  breath, 

Dirt'uses  odour  even  in  death  1 

Oh !  whence  ciuld  such  a  plant  hare  sprung  ? 

Listen,  —  for  thus  the  tale  is  sung. 

When,  humid,  from  Ihe  silvery  sireani, 

Eflusiiig  beau  y's  warmest  beam, 

Venus  appear'd,  in  Bushing  hues, 

Mellow  d  by  ocean's  briiiy  dews ; 

When,  in  the  slariy  courts  above, 

The  ptestnant  brain  of  mighty  Jove 

DisclosM  the  nymph  of  azure  glance, 

The  nymph  who  .■.hakes  the  marl  al  lance;  — 

Then,  ilien,  in  strange  eventful  hour, 

The  earth  j.rodi.c'd  an  infant  flo«er, 

Whicli  sprung,  in  blushing  glories  drest. 

And  waiitnn'd  o'er  its  ])  rent  bieast. 

The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birlh. 

And  h ail'd  Ihe  Rose,  the  boon  of  eai  Ih  ! 

With  neclar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 

The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed, 

And  bade  them  binnni,  the  flowers  divine 

Of  him  who  gave  Ihe  gloiious  vine; 

And  bade  them  nn  the  spangled  thoin 

Expand  Iheir  bosoms  to  the  morn. 

Where  "  veris  honor,"  though  it  mean  every  kind  of 
flowers,  may  seem  more  pirticulaily  to  refer  to  Ihe 
rose,  which  nur  poet  in  aiio  her  ode  calls  lapoi  ficK- 
i)/to.  We  read,  in  the  Hieroglyphics  of  Pieriua.  lib. 
Iv.  that  some  of  the  ancients  used  to  order  in  their 
wills,  Ihal  roses  should  be  annually  scattered  on  Iheir 
lombs,  and  Pieiius  has  adduced  some  sepulchral  io- 
scriplions  to  this  purpose. 

Jlnd  mocks  the  veslige  of  decay:']  When  he  says 
that  this  flower  prevails  over  lime  itself,  he  still  al- 
ludes to  i  s  efficacy  in  enihalment  (teuera  pnneiel  ossa 
rosa.  Properl.  lib.  i,  eleg  17.),  or  peihaps  lo  the 
subsequent  idea  of  its  fiagrance  surviving  ils  beaulv  ; 
for  he  c;in  scaicely  nie.in  lo  praise  for  duration  the 
"mmium  bieves  flnres"  of  ihe  rose.  Pliilnslialuo 
compares  this  flower  wi'h  love,  and  says,  that  they 
both  defy  Ihe  itilluence  of  lime;  xpi^ov  iJt  otiTt 
Kpius,  ovTt  (ioiJa  Oifcv.  Unfortunately  the  simili- 
tude lies  not  in  Iheir  dur.ilion,  but  Iheir  transcieuce. 

Sweet  as  in  yoiilh,  ils  balmy  breath 
Diffuses  odmir  even  in  death !]    Thus  Cisper  Bar- 
teus,  in  his  Rilus  Nupliarum: 


When  all  its  Hushing  beHuIies  die; 
Nnr  lews  ambrosial  balm  diffuses, 
When  wither'd  by  the  solar  eye. 

IVith  nectar  drops,  a  niby  tide, 

The  sweetly  orient  biids  they  dyed,  ij-c]  The  author 
of  Ihe  ■'  Pervigilium  Veneris"  (a  poem  atlriliuled  lo 
Catullus,  the  style  of  which  ap[iears  to  me  lo  have 
all  Ihe  laboured  lu.\iiriance  of  a  much  hiler  period) 
ascribes  Ihe  linc'ure  of  Ihe  rose  lo  Ihe  blood  from  the 
wound  of  Adonis — 


iccording  to  Ihe  emendation  of  I.ipsins.    In  t'^e  fnl- 
lowing  epigram  Ihis  hue  is  difTerenlly  accounted  lor  ;— 

Ilia  qiiidem  stiidioBa  sliiim  dptpndere  Adunim, 


Albaque  diviiio  pivta  t-ruore  rt 
While  the  f  ncmnur'd  arnn  of  joy 


Fli 

On 
She 


In  IT 


r  blood,  and  blushes ! 


Jl 


44 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


ODE  LVI. 

He,  who  instructs  the  ynulhful  crew 
To  b  ithe  them  in  Ihe  brimmer's  dew, 
And  tas'e,  uncloy'd  by  rich  exctsses, 
All  ihf  bliss  that  «  rne  possesses; 
He.  who  inspires  Ihe  youth  to  bound 
Elasllc  through  the  dince's  round,  — 
Bacchus,  Ihe  gnd  again  is  here, 
And  leads  along  the  bluiibing  year  ; 
The  blushing  i,ear  with  vintage  teems, 
Ready  lo  shed  those  cordiil  streams, 
Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  niirlh, 
Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth  I 

Then,  when  the  ripe  and  vermii  wine  — 
Blesl  infant  of  the  pregnant  vine, 
Which  uow  in  mellow  clusters  swells, — 
Oh  !  \\  hen  it  bursts  its  roseate  cells, 
Brightly  Uie  joyous  stream  shall  flow, 
To  balsam  every  mortal  woe  ! 
None  shall  be  then  ca-t  down  or  wealc, 
For  health  and  joy  shall  light  each  cheek  ; 
No  heart  will  then  despnnding  sigh. 
For  %vine  shall  bid  despondence  fly 
Th'13  —  till  anoiher  autumn's  glow 
Shall  bid  another  viutage  flow, 

"Compare  with  thii  elegant  ode  the  verses  of  Uz, 
lib.  i.  *die  Weinlese."  —  i)f^c?i. 

This  appears  to  be  one  ot  ihe  hvning  which  were 
sung  at  Ihe  anniversary  fes'iv.ij  df  the  vintage  ;  one  of 
the  £-!tiXt]Vioi  VfivvL,  as  our  poet  himself  terms  them 
in  Ihe  fifty-ninth  ode.  We  cannot  help  feeling  a  sort 
of  reverence  for  these  classic  relics  of  the  religion  r  f 
antiqi:ily.  Hoiace  may  be  supp"sed  to  have  written 
the  nineeen  h  ode  of  h's  second  bnok,  and  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  the  third,  for  some  bacchanalian  celebration  of 
this  kind. 


IVhich,  sfarhling  in  the  cup  of  rmrtky 
Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth!]  In  the  original 
noTov  acTTovov  /co/ti^tuv.  M.idnnie  Dacier  thinks 
Iha'  the  poet  here  had  the  nepenthe  of  Homer  in  his 
mind,  Udyssev.  lib.  iv.  This  nepenthe  was  a  some- 
thing of  exquisite  charm,  infused  by  Helen  into  the 
wine  of  her  guests,  which  had  the  power  of  dispel- 
ling every  anxiety.  A  French  writer,  De  Mere,  con- 
jectures that  ihia  spell,  which  made  the  bowl  so  be- 
guiling, was  the  charm  of  Helen's  conversation.  See 
Bayle,  art.  Heleue. 


ODE  Lvn. 

Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 
Upon  this  di.-k  the  ocean's  bed  ? 
And,  in  a  flight  of  fancy,  high 
As  au^ht  on  earthly  wing  can  fly, 

This  ode  is  a  very  animated  description  of  n  picture 
of  Venus  on  a  discus,  which  represented  the  goddess 
in  her  first  emergence  from  the  waves.  About  two 
centuries  after  our  poet  wrote,  the  pencil  of  the  artist 
Apelles  embellished  this  subject,  in  his  famous  paint- 
ing of  the  Venus  Anadyomene,  the  model  of  which, 
u  Pliny  informs  us.  was  the  beautiful  Campaspe, 
given  to  him  by  Alexander;  though,  according  to 
Natalis  Comes,  lib  vii.  cap.  16.,  it  was  Phryne  who 
sat  to  Apelles  for  the  face  and  breast  of  this  Venus. 

There  are  a  few  blemishes  in  the  reading  of  the 
ode  before  us,  which  have  influenced  Faber,  Heyne, 
Brunck.  &c.  to  den'mnce  the  whole  pnem  as  spurious. 
But.  '-non  egr)  paucis  offendar  maculis."  1  think  it 
is  quitt  beautiful  enough  lo  be  authentic. 

JVhose  was  the  artist  hand  that  sfread 
Upon  this  disk  the  octanes  Led  P\     The  abruptness 
of  a()a  TiS  rogtvo-e '-  ^—~* ' ' 


,  is  finely  expressive  of 


Depicted  Ihus,  in  semblance  warm. 

The  Queen  of  Love's  voluptuous  form 

Floating  al-.ng  the  silv'ry  sea 

In  beauty's  naked  majesty  ! 

Oh  !  he  hath  given  th'  enamour'd  sight 

A  witching  banquet  of  delight, 

Wheie,  gleaming  through  the  waters  clear, 

Glimp  es  of  undreamt  ch.ums  appear. 

And  all  Ihat  mystery  loves  to  ^creen, 

Fancy,  like.Faith,  adores  unseen. 

Light  as  a  leaf,  that  on  the  breeze 
Of  summer  skims  the  glassy  seas, 
She  floats  along  the  ocean's  breas', 
Which  undula'e^  in  sleepy  rest  j 
While  s  ealiiig  on,  she  gently  pillows 
Her  bosom  on  the  heavme  billows. 
Her  bo^om,  like  the  dew-wash'd  rose, 
Her  neck,  like  April's  sparkling  snows, 
Illume  the  liquid  path  she  traces, 
And  burn  within  the  slieam''^  embraces. 
Thus  on  she  moves,  in  languid  pride, 
Encircled  by  Ihe  azure  tide, 
As  some  fair  lily  o'er  a  bed 
Of  violets  bends  its  gr.icetui  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  the  briny  caves 
Around  the  pomp  their  t^an.bnls  play, 
And  gleam  aluiig  the  watery  way, 

sudden  admiration,  and  is  one  of  Iho^e  beauties,  which 
we  cannot  but  admire  in  their  source,  though,  by 
frequent  imitation,  Ihey  are  now  become  fauiihar  and 
unimpressive. 

*3nd  all  that  mystery  loves  to  screen, 

Fanq/y  like  Faith,  adores  ujiseni,  <^c.l  The  pic- 
ture here  has  all  the  delicate  character  of  the  Femi- 
reducta  Venus,  and  ailords  a  happy  specimen  of  what 
the  poetry  of  passion  oui^ht  to  be — glowing  but 
through  a  veil,  and  stealing  upon  the  heart  from  con- 
cealment. Few  of  the  ancienis  have  att-ined  this 
modesty  of  docription,  which,  like  the  golden  cloud 
that  hung  over  Jupiter  and  Juno,  is  impervious  to 
every  beam  but  that  of  fancy. 

Her  bosom,  like  the  dew-washed rosr^  ^-c.]  " '  PoJtwv 
(says  an  anonymous  annotator)  is  a  whimsical  epithet 
for  the  bosom.'l  Neither  Catullus  nnr  Gray  have 
been  of  his  opinion.    The  former  has  the  expression, 

En  hie  in  roeels  latet  papillis. 

And  the  latter, 

Lo!  where  the  ro»y-bosoni*d  huurs,  &.O. 

Crottus,  a  modern  Latini^t,  mi2:ht  indeed  be  cen- 
sure! for  too  vague  a  use  of  the  epithet  "  msy,"  wheo 
he  applies  it  to  the  nyts :  —  "  e  roseis  oculis." 


ymins;  Desire,  ^c]     In  the  original  'T/icpof, 

who  was  the  same  deity  with  Jocus  among  t^e  Ro- 
mans.   Aurelius  Augurellus  has  a  poem  beginntug  — 


Which  Parnelt  has  closely  imitated  :  — 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Ertrourt's  wine* 

A  nobie  meal  benpoke  ua  ; 
AtiiJ  for  the  gucets  that  were  lo  dinn. 

Brought  Comus,  Lnve,  and  Jocne,  &ie» 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


4S 


ODE  LVIII. 


5  zephyr's  prnion, 


When  Gold,  as  fleet : 

Escapes  like  any  taiil 

And  flies  me  (as  he  li 

Ur>  I  pursim  him?  never,  never  I 

No,  let  thtif:il-e  de<e  ter.^n, 

For  who  would  c  url  h.s  direst  foe? 

But,  when  I  feel  my  ligh  en'd  mind 

No  more  by  ^rovelliii^  t;<»hi  coiifi;i'd. 

Then  loobc  I  all  such  diugine  c;ires, 

And  cast  them  lo  ihe  vaf^iaut  airs. 

Then  feel  I,  tO),  the  Muse's  >ne,l, 

And  wake  to  life  the  dulcet  shell, 

Which,  ruus"d  or.ce  nioie,  to  beauty  ?ings, 

While  love  dissolves  along  the  strings  I 

But,  scarcely  has  my  heart  been  taugh* 
How  little  Gold  deserves  a  thou-ht, 
When,  lo  !  the  slave  returns  once  ntore, 
And  wi'h  him  wafts  delcinus  s'ore 
Of  racy  wine,  whose  genial  art 
Id  slumber  seals  the  anxious  heart. 
Again  he  tries  my  soul  to  sever 
From  love  and  song,  perhaps  for  ever  I 

Away,  deceiver  !  why  pursuing 
Ceaseless  thus  my  heiri's  undoing? 
Sweet  is  the  Sf-ng  o(  aniorou-  fre. 
Sweet  the  sighs  that  ihrill  the  lyte; 
Oh  !  sweeier  far  (ban  all  the  gold 
Thy  wings  cm  waft,  Ihy  niiiicscan  hold. 
Well  do  I  know  thy  ar  s,  thy  wiles  — 
They  wither'd  Love's  young  wieathed  smiles; 
And  o'er  his  lyre  >uch  d  irkue^'S  t-hed, 
I  thought  i!s  soul  of  song  was  fled ! 
They  dash'd  Ihe  wine  cup.  iha',  by  him, 
Was  tilled  with  kisses  to  the  brim. 

I  have  followed  Barnes's  arrtngement  of  this  ode, 
which,  though  deviating  somewhat  from  the  Vaticau 
MS.,  appears  In  me  thj  more  natural  order. 

When  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr^s  pinion, 
Escapes  like  any  faithless  inini<^i,  S,-c)  In  the 
original  'O  doaneTTjg  6  x^vao^.  '1  here  is  a  kind  of 
pun  in  these  words,  as  M'.dime  Dicier  has  already 
remarked;  for  Chrysns,  which  signifies  gold,  was 
also  a  frequent  name  for  a  slave.  In  one  of  Lucian's 
dialogues,  there  is,  1  think,  a  similar  play  upon  the 
word,  where  the  followers  of  Chrysippus  are  called 
golden  fishes.  The  puns  of  the  ancients  are.  in  gen- 
eral, even  more  vapid  than  our  own;  some  of  the 
hest  are  those  recorded  of  Diogenes, 


^nd  flies  me  (as  he  flies  me  ever),  ^-c]  Att  d\ 
act  pit  <pevyu.  This  grace  of  iteraion  has  already 
been  taken  notice  of.  Though  sometimes  merely  a 
playful  beauty,  it  is  peculiarly  expresive  of  impas- 
sioned sentiment,  and  we  may  easily  believe  that  it 
was  one  of  the  many  sources  of  that  energetic  --ensi- 
bility  which  breathed  through  the  style  of  Sappho. 
See  Gyrald.  Vet.  J'oet.  Dial.  9.  It  will  not  be  said 
that  this  is  a  mechanical  ornament  by  anyone  who 
can  feel  its  charm  in  those  lines  of  Catullus,  where  he 
complains  of  the  infidelity  of  his  mistress,  Le&bia:  — 


;i   sic  omnia  dixisset ! — but  the  rest  does  not   bear 
itatioQ. 

They  Insh'd  the  winc-cnp,  that,  hy  him^ 

tVas  Jilltd  lodh  hisses  to  the  bnm.]     Oi  iginal :  — 

9tXqfLaTojv  <H  ke^vmv, 
Ilo^ujv  KvntWa  Kipvrjs* 


Go  —  fly  to  haunts  of  sordid  men, 

But  come  n  it  near  the  bard  ;igain, 

Thygliiterin  the  Muse's  shade, 

Scues  frnn    her  bouerttie  tuneful  ir.aid; 

And  not  foi  worlds  would  I  forego 

Tliil  luoiiieKof  poetic  kIovv, 

WlHii  iriy  full  soul,  in  Fancy's  streim, 

pNurs  o'er  Ihe  lyre  i*s  swelling  tbeine.' 

Away,  away!  to  wolldling^  hence, 

Who  fet-t  not  this  divmer  sense  ; 

Give  gold  to  those  who  love  that  pest,— 

But  leave  the  poet  poor  and  blest. 

Horace  has  "  Desidertque  'emperarc  poculum,**  not 
hguratively.  ho\vever.  Itke  Anacieon,  but  importing 
the  love-philtres  of  ihe  witches.  By  "cu|8  of  kisses" 
our  poet  may  allude  to  a  favourite  gallantry  among 
the  ancients,  of  drinkiner  when  the  lips  of  their  mis- 
tiesses  h.id  touched  the  brim  :  — 


And  1  'II  not  ..dk  for  wine." 

Ls  in  Ben  Jonson's  translation  from  Fhilostratus  j  and 
-ucian  has  a  conceit  upon  the  same  idea,  "  'Ivo  xai 
■ivi}^  A/itt  Kai  0tA?jj,"  "  that  you  m  ly  at  once  both 
rink  and  kiss." 


ODE  LIX. 

Ripen 'd  by  the  solar  beim. 
Now  Ihe  ruddy  clusters  lecm, 
In  osier  biskets  burue  along 
By  all  the  festal  viniage  throng 
Of  rosy  youths  and  virtjns  fair. 
Ripe  as  'the  melting  fiuits  they  bear. 
Now,  now  they  |  re-^s  the  pregranl  scrapes, 
And  now  the  captive  streim  e  cape  , 
In  fervid  tide  of  nectar  gu^hini;. 
And  for  its  bondage  proi.dly  bhishinj! 
While,  round  the  vat's  impurpled  brim, 
The  choral  song,  the  vint  <ge  hymn 
Of  rosy  youths  and  virgins  fair, 
Steals  on  the  chaim'd  and  echoing  air. 
Maik,  how  thev  drink,  with  all  ftieireyes, 
The  orient  tide  that  sparklinj;  flies. 
Tr.e  infant  Bacchus,  born  in  mnih, 
While  Love  stands  by,  to  hail  the  birih. 

When  he.  whose  verging  years  decline 
As  deep  into  the  vale  as  mine, 
When  he  inhales  the  vintage-cup, 
His  feet,  new-wmg'd,  from  earth  spring  up. 
And  as  he  dancfs,'the  fiesh  air 
Pla\s  whispering  through  his  sdvery  hair. 
Meanwnile  young  groups  whom  Inve  invites. 
To  jo\s  ev'n  rivalling  wine's  delights, 
Seek,  arm  in  arm,  the  shadowy  grove, 
And  there,  in  woids  and  lor  ks  of  love, 
Such  as  fond  lovers  look  and  say. 
Pass  the  sweet  moonlight  hours  away.* 

The  title  ETrtXiyvtoj  -fc/ivo?,  which  Barnes  las 
given  to  this  ode,  is  by  no  means  apprnpriate.  We 
have  alieidy  had  one  (T  those  hvmni  (ode  56.),  hut 
this  is  a  dc-crijdion  ot  the  vintage;  and  Ihe  title  cig 
oivov,  which  i(  bears  in  the  Vatican  MS.,  is  morecoi- 
recl  than  anv  tliat  have  been  sugeested. 

"     f  literary  scepticism. 


Dejen 
dnubis  that  this  ode  is  genu 

reason  for  sich  a  suspicion  ;  —  '*non  amo  te,  Sabidl, 
nee  possum  dicere  qua  e."  But  this  is  far  from  being 
satisfactory  cri:ici5m. 


*  Those  well  acquainted  wi'h  the  orisinal  need 
hardly  be  reminded  that,  in  ttese  few  concluding 
verses,  I  have  thoueht  rieht  to  give  cnlv  the  geneni 
meaning  of  my  author,  leaving  hu  details  untouched. 


40 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


ODE  LX. 

Al'tit:  to  life,  my  -leeping  shell. 
To  Plidljus  let  tliy  numbers  S"  ell ; 
AiiJ  though  no  glorious  priz;;  be  thine, 
No  I'ylhian  wieaih  around  -bee  twine, 
Yet  every  Imur  is  ^loiy's  hour 
To  hiiii  whoeatheis  wi-ilom's  flower. 
Tlien  wake  thee  from  ihy  voiceless  slnnibera. 
And  to  the  sofi  anJ  Thry^'an  nuoibers, 
Which,  tremblingly,  my  lips  repeat. 
Send  echoes  fmm  toy  chord  a^  s\veet, 
'T  is  llius  the  swan,  wilh  fa.bns  notes, 
Down  the  C:i>ster's  Ci.rient  Hoals, 
While  amor  lus  breezes  linger  round, 
And  sigh  responsive  sound  for  sound. 

Muse  of  ihe  Lyre  !  illume  my  dream. 
Thy  Phccbus  is  my  fancy's  Ihen.e; 
Ani  hillow'd  is  the  harp  1  bear. 
And  hallow'd  is  the  \v-reith  I  wear, 
Hallow'd  by  him,  the  501!  of  lays, 
Who  modulates  the  choral  maze. 
1  sin^  Ihe  lo-e  which  Daphne  twin'd 
Around  Ihe  ^odhe;id's  yielding  mind  : 
I  siiifc  the  blushing  Daphues  flight 
FioiM  this  eiheieal  sun  of  Lisiy  ; 
And  hnw  Ihe  tender,  limid  m.iid 
Flew  trembling  to  ibe  kindly  shade, 
Re^igii'd  a  form,  alas,  too  fai', 
And  grew  a  verdaut  laurel  there  ; 
Whos    ha-  es.  wilh  sympathetic  Ihrill, 
In  lenor  -eem'd  to  Ireiiibie  still ! 
The  g'd  I  u  su"d,  with  wins'd  desire; 
And  when  his  hopes  were  ;ill  on  fire, 
And  when  to  clasp  the  n\nip!i  he  thought, 
A  lif.le-5  iree  wa-  all  he  caught ; 
And,  stead  of  si2;hs  that  pleasure  heaves. 
Heard  but  the  west-wind  in  the  leaves  I 

But,  pause,  my  soul,  tio  more,  no  more  — 
Eu'husiast,  wbilber  do  I  soar? 
This  sweeily-mad'ning  dicm  of  soul 
Hath  hurried  me  bevond  the  goal. 
Why  should  I  sing  The  mighty  darts 
Which  fly  to  wound  celes  lal  hearts. 
When  ah.  the  song,  wiih  sweeter  tone, 
Can  tell  the  darts  that  wound  my  own  ? 

This  hymn  to  Apollo  is  supposed  not  to  have  been 
written  by  Anacreon  ;  and  it  is  undoubtedly  rather  a 
sublimer  flight  than  Ihe  Teian  wing  is  accustomed  to 
soar.  But,  in  a  pnet  of  whose  works  so  small  a  pro- 
portion has  reached  us,  diversity  of  style  is  by  no 
means  a  safe  criterion.  If  we  knew  Horace  but  as  a 
satirist,  should  ^^e  easily  believe  there  could  dwell 
such  animation  in  his  lyre?  Suidas  5.iys  that  our  pnet 
wrote  hymns,  and  this  peihap^  is  one  of  them.  We 
can  perceive  in  what  an  alleied  and  imperfect  stale 
his  works  ai-e  at  present,  when  we  find  a  scholiast 
upon  Horace  citing  an  ode  from  the  third  book  of 
Anacreon. 


And  how  the  tender^  timid  maid 
Flew  trembling  to  the  kvitdly  thade,  ^c."]     Origin- 
al :— 

To  /lev  EKTTttfilVyS  KZVTpOV, 

1  6nd  the  word  kivtoov  here  has  a  double  force,  as 
it  also  signifies  that  'omnium  pireutem,  quam  saiic- 
tus  Numa,  &c.  &c."  (.See  Martial.)  In  order  to  con- 
firm this  import  of  the  word  here,  those  who  are 
curious  in  new  readings,  may  place  the  stop  after 
^vfftwj,  thus;  — 

To  fitv  tKirE<l)tvyt  Ktvrpov 
i'vasuiSj  J'  apittipe  fiop^ptiv. 


Still  be  Anacreon.  still  in-pire 

Tbe  d  scant  of  the  Tean  lyre: 

Still  lei  ihe  nec'at'd  numbers  float, 

Disilling  love  in  eveiy  noie  1 

And  »i  hen  some  you  h,  whose  g'owing  loul 


H.s  leh  the  Pai^hiau  star's 
WIeii  he  tie  liquid  lay^-h.ll  lit 
His  lieut  will  flutter  to  his  ear. 
And  drinking  there  of  song  (iivi 
Banquet  oii'inlellectual  wine! 


Still  be  Anaa-eon,  still  inxpire 

The  dacaiit  cf  ihe  Temu  lyrr:^  The  original  is 
Tov  Afa/cp£0V7-a  fjitfiov,  I  Imve  translated  it  under 
Ihe  supposition  thai  Ihe  hymn  is  by  Anacreon;  though, 
1  fear,  fr.-m  this  very  line,  that  his  claim  10  it  can 
scarcely  be  su|  poiltd. 

Tov  AvaKoiovra  fiifiov^  "Imitate  Anacreon." 
Such  is  Ihe  lesson  given  us  ly  Ihe  Ivrist;  and  if,  in 
poetry,  a  simile  elegmce  r  f  sentimeut,  eiriched  by 
the  most  pl  -yful  feliciiies  nf  fancy,  be  a  charm  which 
invi'es  or  deseives  imitation,  where  shall  we  find 
such  a  guide  as  Aiacieon?  In  molality,  loo,  with 
some  little  reserve,  we  need  iml  blush,  i  think,  to 
folbiw  in  his  foolsteps.  Kor  if  his  s-  ng  te  ihe  lan- 
guage of  Ins  heart,  thi  ugh  lu.xurmus  and  relaxed,  he 
uas  artless  and  benevolent;  and  who  wou'd  no'  for- 
give a  few  irregularities,  when  atoned  fi-r  by  virtues 
so  rare  and  so  endearing?  When  we  think  of  the 
sentiment  in  those  lines  ;  — 

Away  !  I  hate  thf  Blanderoiis  dart. 
Wliicli  flieals  to  wouiid  Ih'  unwary  heart, 

how  manv  are  there  in  the  world,  to  whom  we  would 
wish  to  say,  Tov  Avaxgiovra  /ii/ioti! 

Here  ends  the  last  of  the  odes  in  the  Vatican  MS., 
whose  authority  hei|is  to  confirm  the  genuine  aniiquily 
of  them  all.  though  a  few  h  ve  stolen  among  the 
number,  which  we  mav  hesi'a'e  in  altribuiing  to 
Anacreon.  In  the  lit  le  essay  piefi.-«ed  m  this  transla- 
tion. I  observed  thit  H.arnes  has  quoted  this  manu- 
script incorrectly,  relyiigiipon  an  impeifeci  copy  of 
it,  which  Isa'C  Vossius  had  taken.  I  shall  just  men- 
tion two  or  three  instances  of  this  inaccuracy  —  the 
fir>t  which  occur  to  me.  In  Ihe  ode  of  the  Dove,  on 
Ihe  words  nrtoeio-t  cvyKa>,v^'^,  he  says,  ''Vatican 
MS.  (rtrricm^wv,  etiam  Pr.siiano  invilo:"  but  the 
MS.  reads  o-nvxaAvi^iu,  with  a-vc-Ktaa-ui  inleilined. 
Degen  too,  on  the  same  line,  is  somewhat  in  error.  In 
the  twenty-second  ode  of  this  series,  line  thirteenth, 
the  MS.  h;is  Tii-ti)  wi  h  ai  interlined,  Jiid  Barnes  im- 
putes 10  it  the  reidiiig  of  iivIt).  In  the  fifly-sevenlh, 
line  twelfth,  he  profi  sses  to  have  p.eseived  the  read- 
ing of  the  MS.  AAa.\»;/ui'i)  <!'  fa  arr?;,  while  the 
latter  has  aAaAij/iivos  i'  £Jr'  avru.  Almost  all  the 
other  annoiatojs  have  Iransplan  ed  these  eirojs  from 
Barnes. 


ODE  LXI. 


Youth's  eMdeirii_ 

Hoary  locks  def.nm 

Bloomy  graces,  dall 

All  the  flowers  of  life  decay. 


harms  a-e  fled; 
y  bead ; 


The  intrusion  of  this  melancholy  ode,  among  tlie 
care'ess  levities  of  cir  poef,  leminds  ";S  of  the  skele- 
tons which  the  Egyptians  used  lo  hang  up  in  their 
l;anquet-rooms.  to  inculcate  a  thought  of  mortality 
even  amids'  the  dissipations  of  miilli.  It  it  weie  not 
for  the  beau  y  of  its  nunihers  the  'I  eiaii  Muse  should 
disown  this  ode.  "Quid  habel  illius,  illius  qus  spi- 
ratat  amores  ?  ' 

To  SInbasus  we  are  indebted  for  it. 

Bloomy  sraces,  dalliance  ^ay. 

Ml  the  flowers  of  life  decay.)     Horac  t  often,  with 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


47 


Witherinsf  a^e  begins  to  trace 
Sad  lueniorials  o'er  my  (ace  : 
Time  has  >heJ  its  svvt-etest  bloom, 
All  the  future  must  lie  slnoin. 
This  it  isth.t  sea  me  sishii.s?  : 
Dreary  is  (he  iliought  t-f  dying  I 
Lone  and  di-mal  is  ihe  rn;ul, 
Down  tn  I'luii.'s  dark  abi^de  ; 
And,  when  once  llie  journey  's  o'er, 
Ah  !  we  cm  return  nu  more  i 

feeling  and  elegance,  deplore-^  the  fu^acity  of  humrin 
enjoyments.  See  hook  ii.  ode  U.;  and  thus  iu  the 
sucoud  episile,  book  ii. :  — 


Wi:hei8Mnme 
Ana  w^iliH  fr»i 
Tlie  baiiquKt'fe 


rlh,  Uiti  Virgil 


Dreary  is  the  thmts:ht  of  dyin^ !  Src]  Ueznier,  a 
libertine  Fiench  pnet,  has  written  some  sonnets  on  the 
approach  of  dua'h,  full  of  gloomy  and  liembling  re- 
pentance. Cb.iulieu,  however,  supports  ni' re  consist- 
ently the  spirit  fit  the  K))icurean  pluiosopher.  See  his 
poem,  addre>sed  lo  the  Marquis  de  Lafare  — 


PluB  j'apprache  du  terme  et  i 


■  je  le  TcUoute,  J:o. 


And,  when  mice  the  journey '«  o'er^ 

Ah!  we  can  return  no  more!]  Scall^er,  upon 
Catullus's  well-known  lines,  "Qui  nunc  it  per  iter, 
&c.,"  remarks,  that  Acheron,  with  the  same  idea,  is 
cr.Iled  avElo6oS  by  Theocritus,  and  ^va-iKd^Ofio^  by 
Nicander. 


ODE  LXII. 

Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  dransibt, 

As  eVr  was  till'd,  as  e'er  was  quaff'd  ! 

But  let  the  water  amplv  finw. 

To  cool  the  grape's  inlcn^perate  glow  ; 

Let  not  the  fiery  ^od  be  single, 

But  with  Ihe  nymphs  in  uni:.n  mingle. 

For  though  tlie  bowl 's  the  grave  of  sadness, 

Ne'er  let  it  be  (he  birth  of  madness. 

No,  banish  from  our  board  to-niglU 

The  revelries  of  rude  delight  j 

This  ode  consists  of  two  fragments,  which  are  to  be 
found  iit  Athenieus.book  x.,  and  which  Barnes,  from 
the  similarity  of  their  tendency,  has  cnmbined  into 
one.  I  (hink  tht^  a  very  jusiihable  liberty,  and  have 
ad'  pted  i(  in  some  other  fragments  of  our  poet. 

Kewn  refers  us  here  to  veises  of  Uz,  lib.  iv.,  **der 
Trinker." 

But  let  lite  water  anifly  flow^ 

To  cool  tfie  p'ttp'.'i  intemperate  glow ;  ^-c]  It  was 
Amphictyon  who  (irst  taught  the  Greeks  to  mix  water 
with  their  wine  ;  in  commemoration  of  which  circum- 
aarvj*  .hey  erected  altars  to  Ricchus  and  the  nymphs. 
On  this  mythological  allegory  the  following  epigram 
is  founded : 

Ardentem  ex  u  ero  Scmelps  lavere  Lyaeum 

NaiH.U-H,  exiinrto  fijlmiiiis  i[,'ii«  fatri; 
Cum  nympliis  ijritur  trB-tabiliH,  at  sine  nymphis 
UaiiUuiili  rurHUs  fulmine  currtpitur. 

Pterins  P^ala'iamis, 
Which  is,  non  verbum  verbo, — 

While  hi-avt-nly  fire  cnnsum'U  hip  Thi-bnii  ilame, 

A  Naiml  rauKht  young  Bacchus  from  the  llnme, 

And  Oipp'J  him  burniuK  in  ht-r  purest  lymph  ; 

Hence,  Htillht?  [oven  the  Naiml's  rryslnl  iini, 

res  loo  flrrrely  burn, 

I  of  the  fuuntain-iiymph. 


To  Scythians  leave  these  wild  excesses, 
Ours  be  the  joy  th^t  sonihes  and  besses ! 
And  while  the  temperate  bowl  we  wreathe, 
In  concert  let  our  vi>ices  breathe, 
Bfi^uilirig  eveiy  h'njr  alone 
VViih  harmony  of  soul  and  song. 


ODE  LXIII, 

To  Love,  the  snfi  and  blooming  child, 
I  touch  the  harp  in  desrant  WJIJ  ; 
To  Love,  llie  liabe  of  Cyprnn  bowers, 
The  boy,  who  breithes  and  blushes  flowers; 
To  Love,  for  heaven  and  e;irlh  adore  him, 
And  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  him  I 

"This  fragment  is  preserved  in  Cleniens  Alexandri- 
Dus.  Sinun.  lib.  vi.  atid  in  Arsenius,  Collect.  Grtec." 
—  Jiaj^nts. 

It  appears  to  have  been  (he  opening  of  a  hymo  in 
praise  of  Love. 


ODE  LXIV. 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  uhose  well-aimed  spear 

Wounds  Ihe  fleeting  moi  ntain-deer! 

Dian.  Jove's  immnr  a!  child. 

Huntress  of  Ihe  savage  wild  ! 

Godde-s  with  the  sun  bright  hair! 

Listen  to  a  people's  |ira\cr. 

Turn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 

Tht-re  thy  v.uKiuish'd  people  mourn! 

Come  to  Lethe's  «avy  shore, 

Tell  ibem  thev  shall  mourn  no  more. 

Thine  th-ir  hearts,  their  altars  thine; 

Must  they,  Dian  —  must  ihey  pine? 

Thishynm  lo  Diana  is  extant  in  Hepha-sfion.  There 
is  an  antTilnte  of  our  poet,  which  has  led  souie  to 
doubt  whether  he  ever  wmle  any  odes  of  this  kind. 
It  is  related  by  the  Scholiast  upon  Pindar  {Isfhminnic. 
od.  ii.  v.  I.  as  cited  by  RarnesJ  that  Anacreon  being 
a-ked,  wtiy  he  addressed  all  his  hymns  to  women,  and 
none  to  the  deities?  answered,  "Because  womeu  aie 
my  dei'ies." 

I  have  assumed,  it  will  be  seen,  in  reporting  this 
anecdote,  the  smie  liberty  which  1  have  thought  it 
iit;ht  to  take  in  transl.ilint;  some  of  the  odes  ;  and  it 
were  to  be  wished  that  Ihe-e  little  inhdelities  were 
always  allowable  in  mterpreting  the  writings  of  the 
ancients;  thus,  when  nature  i-.  forgotten  in  theoiiginal, 
in  the  translation  "  tamen  usque  recurret." 

Turn,  tn  Lelhe\i  river  titrvj 

There  thy  vanqiiish''d  people  monrti !]  Lethe,  a 
river  of  Ionia,  according  to  Strabo,  falling  into  the 
Meander.  In  its  neighbourhood  was  the  city  called 
Magnesia,  in  favour  of  whose  inhabitan's  our  poet  is 
supposed  to  have  addressed  this  supplication  to  Diana. 
It  was  written  (as  M.idame  Dacier  conjectures)  on  (he 
occasion  of  some  battle,  in  which  the  Magnesiaiis  bad 
been  defeated. 


Like  some  wanton  fillv  sporting. 

Maid  of  Thnce,  thmiflySf  my  courting, 

W.ntonhlly:  lelln.euhy  ^ 


think  mvdoitii 


1  the  bri.lhi 


And  s. 

Is  nnv 

Believe  me,  sjirl.  it  is  not  so; 

Thou 'it  bud  ihisskiHul  band  car 

The  reins  around  that  fender  fori 

However  wild,  however  warm. 


48 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


Yes  —  trust  me  I  cm  lame  thy  force, 
And  luin  and  "ind  tliee  in  Ihe  course, 
Thrv,i-h,  ua.tiii^  now  thy  carelf>.b  hours, 
Thou  spun  amid  the  herbs  aud  liowers, 
Soon  bhall  thou  feel  the  rein's  continl. 
And  tiemble  at  the  wished  fur  goal ! 

""his  nde,  which  is  addre^sc-d  to  some  Thrnci^n  ?irl, 
s's  in  Hemchdes,  and  h.is  been  iniita'ed  very  fre- 
quently by  Horace,  as  all  Ilie  aunoiators  liave  re- 
maiked.  Madame  U.icier  rejects  the  nllegnry,  which 
s  sn  obviously  through  the  poem,  and  supposes  ii  to 
have  bt^eii  addi'es&ed  to  a  youn?  nure  heluneing  to 
Polycrafes. 

"'lerius,  in  the  fourth  bonk  of  his  Hieroglyphics, 
cires  this  ode,  and  informs  us  that  the  horse  was  the 
hieiogl)phical  emblem  of  pride. 


ODE  LXVI. 

To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine, 
Fairest  uf  all  thai  fairest  slime  i 
To  thee,  who  rul'st  with  darts  nf  fire 
This  world  of  mortal?,  ynui  g  Desire! 
Ami  oh  !  Ihou  riupliHl  Tower,  to  thee 
Who  beai'sl  ol  life  the  guard  .an  key, 
Breathing  my  soul  in  fervent  pr^iise, 
And  weaving  wild  my  voiive  lays, 
Tor  Ihee,  O  Queen  !  i  wake  the  lyre, 
For  ihee,  ihou  blushing  young  Desire, 
And  oh  !  fur  thee,  thou  miplial  Power, 
Come,  and  illume  this  genial  hour. 

Look  on  thy  bride,  too  happy  bojr. 
And  while  thy  lambent  glance  of  joy 
Plays  over  all  her  blushine:  chirms, 
Delay  not,  smtch  her  to  thine  arms, 
Before  the  lovely,  trembling  prey, 
Like  a  young  birdling,  wing  av\  ay  ! 
Turn,  Stiatocles,  too  happy  youth, 
Dear  to  Ihe  Queen  of  amorous  trulh. 
And  dear  to  her,  whose  yielding  zone 
Will  sonn  resign  her  all  thine  own. 
Turn  to  Myrdt.^.  turn  thine  eye, 
Breaihe  to  Myrtlla,  brea'he  ihy  sigh. 
To  those  beuiichmg  bean'ies  turn  ; 
For  l)iee  Ihey  blujh,  for  Ihee  they  burn. 

Not  more  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
Oulblushes  all  the  bloom  of  bovvers, 
Than  ^he  unrivall'd  grace  discloses. 
The  sweetest  mse.  where  all  aie  roses. 
Oh !  may  the  sun.  benignant,  shed 
His  blandest  influence  o'er  Ihy  bed  ; 
And  foster  there  an  infant  tree, 
To  bloom  like  her,  and  tower  like  thee! 

This  ode  is  introduced  in  the  Romance  of  Theod'Tus 
Prodrnnms  and  is  Ihat  kind  of  epithalaniium  which 
Wrts  sung  like  a  scolium  at  the  nuptial  banquet. 

Among  the  many  wotks  of  Ihe  impassioned  Sappho, 
of  which  limeand  ignorant  superslilion have  dep^'ived 
us,  the  loss  of  her  epihalamiums  is  not  one  of  the 
east  that  we  deplore.  The  following  lines  are  cited 
s  a  relic  of  one  of  those  poems  :  — 

0A/3tc  ya^cfioe.  (rot  (lev  6t]  yauog  wj  apaOf 

EKT£T£\tcrT\  ex^t-S  5^  Tra(id£Vov  av  apao. 

See  Scaliger,  in  his  Poetics,  on  the  Epilhalamium. 

Jind  fofittr  there  an  infant  tree. 
To  bloom  like  her,  andto%oer  like  thee!]  Original 
ivnaatTTo^  ic  nc<pvKot  tmi  cvt  Ki}nu).  Passeratius. 
upon  the  words  "cumcastum  amisit  florem,"  in  the 
Nuptial  Song  of  Ca'ulhis.  after  explaining  "fins''  in 
eomewh.»t  a  similar  s^ense  to  that  which  Gaulminus 
iitril)ute8  to  (SoiJov,  says,  "  Hor  um  qu- que  vocani  in 
*luo  flos  ille  carpitur,  et  Graecis  K7]t:ov  tort  to  iiPt)- 
I  0aiov  yv 


I  may  here  remrvrk,  in  pa-^sing,  that  the  author  of  the 
Greek  version  of  ihis  ctiaiming  ode  of  Catullu-,  has 
neglected  a  m*  s'  striking  and  anacieontic  be.iuty  in 
those  verses  "  Ut  flos  in  seplis,  &c.."  which  is  the 
repeliti(rn  of  the  line,  "  IVtuIti  ilium  pueri,  mui'ie  rp- 
tavere  pueli^,'  wilh  the  slight  aiter.tion  of  nuili  and 
iiullae.  Criiuliu-i  him  elf,  however,  has  been  equally 
injudicious  in  his  version  of  the  funous  ode  of  Sappho  ; 
havint;  transited  yEAtutraS  IfiepOLV,  but  omitted  al] 
notice  of  the  accnnq-anying  charm,  itju  <ptuVov(7aS. 
Horace  has  caught  Ihe  tpirit  of  it  mme  failhlully  : 


DuVe 


X)uk. 


ODK  LXVIL 

Rich  m  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  ueal  h  of  Amalthea's  horn; 
Noi  should  I  ask  to  call  the  ihrone 
Of  Ihe  Tartessian  prii.ce  my  own  : 
To  lotter  through  liis  train  of  years, 
The  vic'im  cf  decliniig  fears. 
One  little  hour  ot  joy  to  me 
Is  worth  a  dull  eternity  ! 


Of  the  Tartessian  prince  my  cnon  ;1  He  here  al- 
ludes to  Aiganthon:us,  who  lived,  according  to  Lucian. 
an  hundred  and  fifly  years  ;  and  reigned,  according  to 
Herodotus,  eighty.    See  Baraes. 


ODE  LXVHL 

Now  Neptune's  mrnth  our  sky  deforms. 

The  angry  night-cloud  leems  wiih  stormsj 

And  s-ivage  winds,  infuriate  driven, 

Fiy  howling  in  the  face  of  heaven  ! 

Now,  now,  my  friends,  the  gathering  gloom 

Wilh  lo-e.ite  rays  of  wine  illume: 

And  while  our  wreaths  of  par^ley  spread 

Their  fadeless  foliage  round  our  head. 

Let's  hymn  Ih' alm'iuhly  jiouerof  wine, 

And  shed  libations  on  his  shrine  ! 

This  is  composed  of  two  fragments;  the  seventieth 
and  eiehiy-firat  in  Barnes.  They  are  both  fouud  lo 
Eustalfaius. 


ODE  LXIX. 

They  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck 
And  fan  with  pensile  wrealheach  neck; 
Ar  d  every  guest,  to  shade  his  head. 
Three  little  fragrant  ch.iplets  spread  j 

Three  fragments  form  this  lillle  ode,  all  of  which 
are  preserved  in  A'hcnapus.  They  are  the  eighty 
second,  seventy-fifth,  and  eightythiid,  in  Barnes. 

^7irf  every  :^cst,  to  shade  his  head. 

Three  little  frag ra7it  chajilets  spread;"]  Longc- 
pierre,  lo  give  an  idea  of  the  luxurio  s  esiimatinn  in 
which  garlands  were  held  by  ilie  ancients,  relaies  an 
anecdote  of  a  cour"e-;an,  who  in  ordt-r  to  ^raufy  thiee 
lovers,  wiihoul  leaving  cause  for  jealnu-y  with  any  of 


them,  gave  a  kis?  to 


,  let  the  other  di  ink  after  he 


and  put  3  garland  on  the  brow  of  Ihe  third  ; 


that 


each  was  satisHed 

>elt  with  the  prefe 

This  circiimstar 

ject  of  one  of  the 


his  favour,  and  flattered  hi) 


[nbles  very  much  the  sub- 
rf  Savnri'  de  Maiileon,  a 
troubadour.  See  L'Histoire  Litteraire  des  Trouba- 
dours. The  recital  is  a  curiuus  picture  of  the  puenle 
gallantries  of  chivalry. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON, 


49 


And  one  was  of  Ih'  Egyptian  leaf, 

The  rest  weie  r  ses,  fair  and  brief; 

While  frnni  a  g'lden  vase  profound, 

To  nil  on  (lowcry  beds  around, 

A  Hfbe,  of  celeslinUhape, 

Puut'd  tJie  rich  drop^jings  of  Ihe  grape  I 


ODE  LXX. 

A  broken  cake,  \vith  honey  sweet, 
Is  all  my  spare  and  simple  treat : 
And  H  hlle  a  generous  bowl  I  crown 
To  float  my  litile  banquet  down, 
I  take  the  soft,  ihe  amorous  lyre, 
And  sing  of  love's  delicious  lire  : 
In  mirthful  measures  warm  and  free, 
I  sing,  dear  maid,  and  slug  for  Ihee  ! 

Complied  by  Barnes,  from  Atheuseus,  Hepbaestion, 

and  Ar<>eniu3.    See  Barnes,  SOtb. 


ODE  LXXI. 

With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung, 
And  while  1  wake  them  all  for  thee, 

Thou,  O  maiden,  wild  and  young, 
Disporl'sl  in  airy  levity. 

The  nursling  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 
Its  aniler'd  mother  leaves  behind, 

Is  not  more  wantonly  afraid, 
More  timid  of  the  rustling  wind ! 

This  I  have  formed  from  the  eighty-fourth  and 
eighty-filth  of  Rarues'd  edition.  The  two  fragments 
are  found  in  AthensT'Us. 

The  nursling  faioii^  that  in  some  shade 
Its  aniler'd  inothtr  leav&s  behind^  ^-c]     In  the 
original :  — 

*0j  IV  i\T}  KCpOEO-fTT/S 

AKoXtitpOits  iino  iJ-tjTgo^, 

"  Horned"  here,  undoubtedly,  seems  a  strange  epi- 
thet; Madame  Dacier  however  observes,  ihat  Sopho- 
cles, Callimachus,  &c.  have  all  applied  it  in  the  very 
same  manner,  and  vhe  seems  to  agree  in  the  ci'njec- 
tui-e  of  Ihe  scholiast  upon  Pindar,  ihat  perhaps  horn? 
are  not  always  peculiar  to  the  males.  I  think  we  may 
with  more  ease  conclude  it  to  be  a  license  of  the  poet, 
*'jussit  habere  puellam  coruua." 


ODE  LXXII. 

Fnre  thee  well,  perfidious  maid, 

My  soul,  too  long  on  eirlh  delayed, 

Delay'd,  perfidious  girl,  by  thee, 

Is  on  the  wing  for  liberty. 

I  fly  to  seek  a  Kindlier  sphere. 

Since  thou  liast  ceas'd  to  love  me  here! 

This  frasnient  is  preserved  by  the  scholiast  upon 
Aristophanes,  and  is  tlie  eighty-seveuib  in  Barnes. 


ODE  LXXIII, 

Awhile  1  bloonrd,  a  happy  flower, 
Till  Love  appro.ich'd  one  f:^tal  hour, 
And  made  niv  leiider  branches  feel 
The  wounds  of  his  avenging  s'eel. 
Then  lost  I  fell,  like  some  poor  willow 
That  falls  across  the  wintry  billow  ! 


This  Is  to  be  found  in  Hepha£s:ion,  and  is  Ihe  eighty. 
ninth  of  Larms's  edition. 

1  have  omitted,  from  among  the  e  scraps,  a  very 
consiileratile  fragment  imputed  to  our  poet,  "Eavdrj  d' 
F.vi'VnvXr}  fieXtt,  &.C.  which  is  pieserved  In  the 
twelfth  bnok  of  Aiht naeus,  and  is  the  ninety-lirsl  in 
B.irnes.  If  it  was  really  Anncrenn  who  wroie  it, 
"  nil  full  unquam  sic  impar  sibi."  It  is  In  a  style  of 
gross  -atire,  and  ab.  unds  with  expressions  th;it  never 
could  be  gracefully  translated. 


ODE  LXXIV. 
Monarch  Love,  resistless  boy. 


of  Jov, 

Heaven's  hue, 


With  whom  the  ro-y  Q 

And  nymphs,  whose  eyes  liai 

Disporting  ireid  ihe  m^untai: 

rrnpitious,  oh!  receive  my  sit^hs.   ' 

Which,  glowing  wi'h  entreaty,  rise, 

Tl'at  rhou  wilt  whis;  er  to  the  bieasl 

Of  her  I  love  thy  soft  behest ; 

And  counsel  her  to  It-arn  from  thee, 

That  lesson  th^u  hast  liu^ht  to  me. 

Ah!  if  my  heart  no  flattery  tell, 

Thou  Ml  own  I  Ve  ieaiu'd  that  lesson  well  I 

A  fragment  preserved  bv  Dion  Chrysostom,    Orat 
il.  de  Regno.    See  Barnes, "93. 


ODE  LXXV. 

Spirit  of  Love,  whose  Incks  unroIPd, 
Stream  on  the  breeze  like  flnaiing  gold  ; 
Come,  within  a  fragrant  cloud 
Blushing  wi;|)  light,  thy  votaiy  shroud  ; 
And,  on  those  win^s  that  sparkling  play. 
Waft,  nh,  waftmehei.ceauayj 
L've  !  my  soul  is  full  of  thee. 
Alive  to  all  thy  luxury. 
But  she.  the  nymph  for  whom  I  glow, 
The  lovely  Lesbi.m  mocks  my  woe; 
Smiles  at  the  chill  and  hoaiy  hues. 
That  (ime  up^o  my  forehead  strews. 
Alas  !  I  fear  she  keeps  her  charms. 
In  stnre  for  younger,  happ-ier  arms  ! 

This  fragment,  which  is  extant  in  Aihf  naeus  fli^rnes, 
101. 1,  is  supposed,  on  the  au-hority  of  Chamaileon,  to 
h.ive  been  .iddres-ed  to  S.^ppho.  We  have  also  a 
stanza  attnbutfd  to  her.  which  snme  romancers  have 
supposed  to  be  her  answer  tn  Anacreon.  *'  Mais  par 
malheur  (as  B.iyle  says),  Sappho  vint  au  monde  envi- 
ron cent  nu  >ix  vii.gt  ans  avai.t  Anacreon."  —  JVou- 
vtlles  de  la  Jiep,  des  Lett.  tom.  ii.  de  Novembre,  I6S4 
The  f.>IIowing  is  her  fragment  the  compliment  of 
which  is  finely  imagined  ;  she  supposes  that  the  Muse 
has  dictated  the  verges  of  Anacreon  :  — 


Kttvov,  to  xpv<roOpo 
'TfivoVf  EK  Ttjq  KaAAiyv 

ll(itcCv<;  ayavos- 


Mo 


I  hymn  of 


But,  O-KJdi-ss  from 

•Ihe  nw.flvHl  lijmn 

Ue  lately  learu'U  i 


on  efMen  ttironi', 
wjtohine  •"O'* 

laitchl  liy  Ihep; 

hv  ihroiif  of  gold. 


ODE  LXXVL 

Hither,  gentle  Mu<e  of  mine, 
Come  and  teich  thy  vo<ary  old 

M^ny  a  golden  hymn  divine. 
For  the  nymph  u  iih  vest  of  gold. 


50 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


Pretiy  nvmph,of  tender  age, 

Fair  tiiy  silky  locks  unfold  ; 
Lisien  to  a  ho.iry  s.i2;e, 

Svveete*  maid  with  vest  of  gold  1 

Formed  nf  the  121th  and  llOih  fiasrments  in  Barnes, 
both  of  which  are  to  be  found  in  Sc  Niger's  Poeiics. 

De  Pauvv  thinks  that  those  delaclied  lines  and 
couplets,  which  Scali^er  has  adduced  :'8  examples  in 
his  Poetic?,  are  by  uu  uieaus  au.hentic,  but  of  bis  own 
fabricatiou. 


ODE  LXXVII. 

Would  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre, 

Of  buriiish'd  ivory  fair, 
Which,  in  the  Dinnysian  choir, 

Some  blooming  boy  should  bear! 

Would  that  I  were  a  golden  va.se, 
That  some  bright  nymph  might  hold 

My  spotless  frame,  with  blushing  grace, 
Herself  as  pure  as  gold  ! 

This  is  genenlly  inserted  among  the  remains  of 
Alcseus.  Some,  however,  have  attributed  it  to  Ana- 
creon.  See  our  poet's  twenty-iecond  ode,  aad  the 
notes. 


ODE  LXXVIII. 

When  Cupid  sees  how  thickly  now, 

The  snows  of  Time  fall  o'er  my  biow, 

Upon  his  win?  of  g-lden  lis^ht. 

He  passes  with  an  eaglet's  flight, 

And  iiiftiiig  onward  seems  to  say, 

"  Fare  thee  well,  thou  'st  had  thy  day  ! " 

See  Barnes,  173d.  This  fragment,  to  which  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  adding  a  turn  not  to  be  found  in 
the  origini.,  is  ci'ed  by  Lucian  in  bib  short  essay  on 
the  Gallic  Heicules. 


Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray, 
That  lights  our  life's  meandering  way, 
That  God,  within  this  bosom  stealing. 
Hath  waken'd  a  strange,  mingled  feeling, 
Which  pleases,  though  so  sadly  teasing, 
And  teases,  though  so  sweetly  pleasing  I 

Barnes,  I25th.    Thia  is  in  Scali;er's  Poetics.    Gail 
has  omitted  it  in  his  collection  of  fragments. 


Let  me  resign  this  wretched  breath, 

Since  now  remains  to  ine 
No  other  balm  than  kindly  death, 

To  soothe  my  misery  1 

This  frasment  is  extant  in  Arsenius  and  Hephaes- 
tion.  See  Barnes  (69th),  who  has  arranged  the  metre 
of  il  very  skilfully. 


I  know  thiu  lov'st  a  brimming  measure. 

And  art  a  kindly,  cordial  host; 
But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasure  — 

Thus  1  enjoy  tlie  goblet  most. 

Barnes,  72d.  This  fragment,  which  is  found  in 
Athenseus,  contains  an  excellent  lesson  for  the  vota- 
riea  of  Jupiter  Hospitalis. 


I  fear  thr^t  love  disturbs  my  rest. 
Vet  feel  not  love's  impasiou'd  caie; 

I  think  there's  madness  in  my  breast, 
Vel  cannot  liud  that  madness  there  ! 

jnd  in  Hepha?slion  (see  Barnes,  65th),  and   re- 
s  one  somewhat  of  the  following  :  — 
ill  et  amo;  qnare  id  faciHOi  fortase*;  requiris; 
ItBtio:  Bfd  fieri  scntio.  et  excrucior.        Carm.  63. 


,  but  cauQut  tell  why. 


Fmm  dre;id  Leucidia's  frowning  steep, 
]  'II  plunge  into  the  whitening  deep  ; 
And  there  lie  cold,  to  death  res;gii'd, 
Since  Love  intoxicates  my  mind  ! 

This  is  also  in  Hephasstion,  and  perhaps  is  a  frag- 
ment of  some  poem,  in  which  Anacreon  had  coni- 
memoraled   the  fate  of  Sappho.     It  is  the   I23d  of 


Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine, 
Crys'al  water,  ruby  wine  : 
Weave  the  frontlet,  richlv  flushing, 
O'er  my  wintry  temples  blushing. 
Mix  the  brimmer—  Love  and  I 
Shill  no  more  the  contest  try. 
Here  —  ujion  this  hdly  bowl. 
1  surrender  all  my  soul ! 

Collected  by  Barnes,  from  Demetrius  Phalareus  a 
Eustathius,  and  subjoined  in  his  edition  to  (he  e 
er.ms  attributed  to  our  p'  et.  And  here  is  the  last 
those  litile  scattered  (loweis,  which  i  though;  I  mi; 
venture  with  any  grace  to  transplant;  —  happy  i{ 
could  be  Slid  of  the  garland  which  they  form.  To 

CU^'    AvaKp£OVTOS. 


Among  the  Epis:rams  of  the  Anthniogia,  are  found 
some  paneg}  rics  on  Anacreon,  which  I  had  tramla'ed 
and  originally  intended  as  a  sort  of  Coronts  to  this 
work.  But  I  found  upon  consideration,  that  they 
wanted  variety ;  and  that  a  frequerit  recurrence,  in 
them,  of  the  same  thought,  would  render  a  collection 
of  such  poems  uninteresting.  I  shall  take  the  liberty, 
however,  of  subjoining  a  few,  selected  from  the  num- 
ber, that  I  may  nnt  appear  to  have  totally  neglected 
those  ancient  tributes  to  the  fame  of  Anacreon.  The 
four  Epigrams  which  I  give  are  imputed  to  Antipater 
Sidonius.  They  are  rendered,  perh.ips,  with  too  much 
freedom  ;  but  designing  originally  a  translation  of  all 
that  are  extant  on  the  subject,  I  endeavoured  to  enliven 
their  uniformity  by  sometimes  indulging  in  the  liber- 
ties of  paraphrase. 


ANTinA'l'POY  ZIAQNIOY,  EIS  ANAKPE- 

ONTA. 

eAAAOI    TtTpa/copv/i&of,    Ava/cptov,   a^0t    di 

&Spa  rt  XzLfiinviDv  nopfftvpcutv  ffcraXa" 
nijyai  6*  anyivoivTO^  ava9Xt6oLVTo  ya^aKTOJ, 

cvoj^i^  d'  ano  y:;?  i)dv  X^Otro  {if-Gv, 
oi^pa  Kt  TOi  (T-noHTj  it  Kai  ocrrza  rto-'piv  ap£Tat, 

u  ^t  riq  (pOifiEvoi^  ;^pt^ffT£Tat  £tj0foo-vvo, 
0)  TO  i^tXov  arsplas,  4>ikt,  fiap6i.Tov,  w  cvv  ootffa 

iravTa  6ian-Acoo-«s  Kai<rvv  tpmrt  (3iov. 


ODES    OF    ANACREON. 


51 


Around  the  "omb,  oh,  bard  divine  1 

Where'  snfi  thy  hallow'd  brow  reposes, 

Long  may  the  de.ithtess  ivy  twine, 

And  buiiiuier  s|irea(l  her  waste  uf  ruses ! 

And  ihere  sliall  nianv  a  fnunt  disUl, 

And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  liowera; 
But  wine  sliall  be  each  pmple  lilU 

And  every  Tount  be  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  him,  whom  Nature  taught 

To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure. 
Who  give  to  love  his  lenderesi  Ihought, 

Who  give  to  love  bis  fondest  measure,— 

Thus  after  death,  if  shides  can  feel, 

Thou  miy'si,  from  odours  round  thee  streaming, 
A  pulse  of  pisi  enjoyment  steal, 

And  live  again  m  blissful  dieammg! 

Antipa  er  Sidouius,  the  author   of   this  epigram, 

lived,  according  to  Vos-iius,  de  Poetis  Gracis,  iu  the 
second  year  of  the  169th  Olympiad.  Heappears,  from 
what  Cicero  and  Quintilim  have  said  of  htm,  lo  have 
bet-n  a  kind  of  improvisatore.  See  Institut.  Orat.  lib. 
X.  cap.  7.  There  is  nothing  more  known  respecting 
this  poet,  except  some  particulars  alwut  his  illness  and 
death,  which  are  menilnned  as  curinus  by  Pliny  and 
olhers;— and  there  remain  of  his  works  but  a  few 
epigrams  in  the  Anlholusiai  an^'*"?  v^hich  are  feu nd 
Ihese  inscriptions  upon  Anacrenn.  These  remains 
have  been  sometimes  imputed  to  another  poeti  of  the 
same  nmie,  of  whom  Vossms  gives  us  the  following 
account  :—Antiparer  Thes-alonicensis  vixit  tempore 
Augusii  Caesari",  ut  qui  saltantem  viderit  Pyladem, 
sicut  constat  ex  quodam  CjUS  e[*igrammate  Av9oXo- 
ytas,  lib.  IV.  tit.  Eiq  ogx^-^'^P'-^'^S-  At  eum  ac  Ba- 
ihyllum  primos  fuis  e  pmtommtns  ac  sub  Augusto 
claruisse,  satis  rjoluni  ex  Dioue,  &c.  &c." 

The  reader,  who  ihinks  ir  worth  observing,  miy 
find  a  strange  oversight  in  Hotlman's  quopaiiou  of  Ihis 
article  from  Vo^grus,  Lexic.Univers.  By  the  omission 
of  a  sentence  he  has  ina.Ie  Vossius  as^eri  that  the  poet 
Antipaler  was  one  of  the  tirst  panioiuime  dancers  in 
Home. 

Barnes,  upon  the  epigram  before  us,  men'ions  a  ver- 
sion of  it  by  Brodsus,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in 
that  commentator;  but  he  more  than  once  coi. founds 
Brodaeus  with  another  annolatnr  on  the  An'holngia 
Vinceniius  Obsopccus,  who  has  given  a  translation  of 
tlie  epigram. 


TOY  AYTOr,  EIE  TON  ATTON. 

TYMBOE  Ava<pt.iovTos-  f>  Ttjio?  ivOadt  kvkvos 

AxfiTiv  Xlloloivti  /ttAc^ETQi  afKpL  ]iaOv\\<a 

"l^cpa*  Kai  KKTcrov  AevKog  odwdt  XtOos- 
Ovd'  Ai67}iarot  tQutras  a-!: i(t6c<t^v,£V  6*  Ax^povT os 

Here  steeps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied  shade ; 
Here  mute  in  death  the  Teian  sxvan  is  laid. 
Cold,  cold  that  heait,  which  while  on  earth  it  dwelt 
All  the  sweet  frenzy  of  love's  passion  felt. 

the  Teimi  swan  is  laid.}    Thus  Horace  of 

Pindar : — 

MuItQ  Dirraeum  levat  aura  cycnum. 

A  swan  was  the  hieroajlyphical  emblem  of  a  poet. 
Anacreon  has  been  called  the  swan  of  Teos  by  an- 
other of  his  eulogists. 

EV  TOiJ  [ItXiXpOl^  ']fltpOl(Tt  O-VVTOO^OV 

Avato5  AvaKQiovTa,  Tijtov  kvktov, 
Kff^ijAas  iiypij  vcfcrapoj  fiEXTjfovTf. 

EvytvovSt  AvOoXoy. 


And  yet,  oh.  Bard  I  thou  art  not  mute  in  death, 
Still  do  we  catch  thy  lyre's  luxurious  breath  j 
And  still  thy  songs  of  soft  Haihylla  bloom, 
Green  as  ihe  ivy  round  thy  nmuldering  tonib. 
N'lr  yet  has  death  obscui'd  thy  tire  of  love, 
For  ptill  it  lights  thee  through  the  Elysian  grove; 
Where  dreams  are  thine,  that  bless  th'  elect  alone, 
And  Veuu!)  calls  thee  even  4n  death  her  own  1 

Gnd  of  the  grape*,  thou  hast  belray'd 

III  wiriL-'a  bt-'wildencig  tlrt^am, 

The  fairesl  swan  that  ever  play'd 

Aluiig  Ihe  Muse's  slream  1  — 

The  Teian,  nurs'cl  with  all  those  boney'd  boys, 

The  yuuug  Deoires.  Itglit  Loveti,  and  ruse-lipp'd  Joytl 

Still  do  we  catch  thy  lyre*s  htxitrioits  brtath;} 
Thus  Simonides,  speaking  of  our  poet :  — 

MoXinjg  6^  ov  Xtj^tj  /iEAtTcpTreo?  aXX'  tTt  Keivo 
UapjStrov  ov6t  ^■avuiV  ivvacrtv  tiv  atdr}. 

LifiovidoVf  AvOoXoy. 

Not  yet  are  all  hia  numbers  mule, 

Though  Unik  within  the  tomb  he  lies; 

But  liviiiK  Nlill.  hiN  amoruus  lule 
With  blet-plesy  animation  sighs! 

This  is  the  famous  Simonides,  whom  Plato  styled 
*'  divine."  though  Le  Fevre,  in  l»is  Poetes  Grecs,  sup- 
poses that  the  epig  ams  under  his  name  are  all  falsely 
impuled.  T  he  most  considerable  of  his  remains  is  a 
satirical  pnini  upon  women,  preserved  by  Stobxus, 
xpoyos  yvvaiKuiV. 

VVe  mayjudie  from  the  lines  I  have  just  quoted, 
and  the  import  of  the  epigram  before  us,  that  the 
works  of  Anacreon  were  perfect  in  Ihe  limes  of  Simo- 
nides and  Anlipa'er,  Obsopceus,  the  commentator 
here,  ajpears  to  exult  in  their  desiruction,  and  telling 
us  they  were  burned  by  Vie  bishops  and  patriarchs,  he 
adds,  "nee  iane  id  nec«iuicciuam  feceiunt,"  attnbuiinj 
to  this  outrage  an  eiiect  which  it  could  not  possibly 
have  produced. 


TOY  AYTOY,  ElZ  TON  AYTON. 

s.FJS E,  ra(f)ov  napaXiTov  AvuKptiovTos aXupuiV^ 

El  Tt  Tot  tK  (iipiXuv  TiSeev  tixwv  otpaos, 
T.nua-ov   tfit]  (jno6n}t  (ttiektov  yavoj,  o0pa  Ktv 

Oo-TEa  y't]Ot}aE  ra/ia  voTt^oftsvat 
'Sl<;  b  Atovuo-ov  ii£iu\7]fiEvos  ovaa-t  Kujfios^ 

'52  6  (piSaKprjTov  avvTpv<l)og  A,piiovtT)S, 
Mrjdt.  KaTa0(Jt/t£Vos  IJaK;\;ov  ^ixa  tovtov  i/Tzota-ui 

'VOV  yiVtJj  //CpOTTUJV  X'^po'^  o(l>Et.\oit,ivov. 

Oh,  stranger!  if  Anacrenn's  shell 
Have  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  suell 
With  passion's  throb  or  pleasure's  sigh, 
In  pity  turn,  as  wandering  nigh. 

The  spirit  of  Anacreon  is  supposed  to  utier  these 
verses  from  Ihe  tonib, — somew  hat  "  niutatus  ab  illo," 
at  least  in  simplicity  of  expression. 

if  AnacreorCs  shell 

Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell,  ^c]  We  may 
guess  fn  ni  the  wor.Is  £K  /3i/Mu*v  tfimVy  that  Anacreon 
was  not  meiely  a  writer  of  billets-doux,  as  some 
French  critics  have  called  him.  Amongst  these  Mr, 
(,e  Fevre,  wiih  all  his  piofessed  admiration,  has 
given  our  poet  a  character  by  no  means  of  an  elevated 
cast :  — 

AushI  c'eal  pour  cela  que  la  posterile 
L*a  toujoura  justenienl  d'age  en  age  chanle 
Comme  un  franc  gogueiinrd.  ami  de  &oiiifrerie» 
Ami  Uc  billets-doux  et  de  badinerie. 


'  52 


ODES    OF   ANACREON. 


And  drop  thv  goblet's  richest  tear 
In  lettdeiest'libaticn  here! 
So  si  all  my  sleening  ashes  thrill 
\Vi:h  visions  of  enjoyment  still. 
Not  even  in  dea'h  can  I  resign 
The  fest.l  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
When  Harmony  pursu'd  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wmtnu'd  to  my  lays. 
Oh  !  If  lieli^jht  could  charm  no  more, 
If  all  the  goblet*^  bliss  were  o'er, 
When  faie  had  once  our  doom  decreed. 
Then  dying  unuld  be  death  indeed  j 
Nor  coulc  I  think,  unblest  by  wine, 
Divinity  itself  divine  1 

See  the  verses  prefixed  to  his  Poetes  Grecs.  This  is 
unlike  the  language  ol  Theocritus,  to  whom  Anacreon 
is  indebted  for  the  following  simple  eulogium  :  — 

FAZ   ANAKPE0NT02  ANAPIANTA. 


£5  VIK.OV  tvQri%- 


Qacrai  tov  avdfuavTa 
cnovSa,  kul  Aty',  ti 

It^oaStisSt    ;^;cuTt  rots 
tgtLS  aTQiKeui^  o\ov  tov  avd^a* 

Upon  the  Statue  of  Anacreon. 

Stranger  '.  who  near  (his  etalue  chance  to  roam. 
Let  it  awhile  your  ttludmus  eyeu  engage; 

That  you  may  say,  returning  to  yniir  home, 
"  I  've  seen  the  image  of  the  Teian  sage, 
Best  of  the  bariJii  who  deck  the  Muse'o  page.'* 

Then,  if  you  add,  "That  Htnplmgs  lov'il  him  well," 

You  tell  them  all  he  waa,  and  aptly  telt. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  dn  justice  to  the  simplicity  of 
this  inscription  by  rendering  it  as  literally,  1  believe, 
ts  a  verse  translation  will  allow. 

jSnrf  drop  thy  gobleVs  richest  tear,  ^c]  Thus 
Simonides,  in  another  of  his  epitaphs  on  our  poet:  — 

Kat  fitv  atL  Tcyyoi  vorto-q  5f)ocroj,  1)5  6  ycpatoj 
AapoTEpov  fiaXaKuiv  tirvtzv  zk  o-To/iaTujj;. 

Lei  vinee,  in  rluslering  beauly  wreath'd. 
Drop  all  their  treasures  on  his  head. 

Whose  lips  a  dew  of  eweetiiess  brealh'd, 
Richer  than  viue  hath  ever  fltieU  \ 

And  Bacchus  wantmVd  to  my  lays^  8,-c.]  The 
original  here  is  corrupted,  the  line  di^  6  Aiovvcov. 
&.C.  is  unintelligible. 

Brunck's  emend  it  ion  improves  the  sense,  but  I 
doubt  if  it  can  l)e  conimenieJ  for  elegance.  He  reads 
the  line  thus:  — 

&S  6  AiuiVV<Toio  X£Xrt(j;tcvoj  ovrrort  jccu/toit 

See  Brunck,  Analecta  Veter.  Poet,  Graec.  vol.  ii. 


TOY  AYTOY,  EIE  TON  AYTON. 

EYAEIE  tv  (f)difi£voi.(nVt  AvaKpsov,  ca-QXa  irovij- 
era? 

tidti  (5'  ^  yXvKEpr}  vvKTiXaXo^  KtOapa, 
tidtt  Kat  Zpt£p6LS^  TO  UoOov  tap,  u>  uv  ficXt<rd(aVt 

(iap(it.T\  avaKpovov  veKrng  tvapfioviov. 
riiOfsiv  yap  KpwToj  c^vs  (tkouo';-  £$  Ci  at  fiowov 

Tola  Tt  Kat.  ffKoAtaj  £(,\'£v  iKijfioXias. 

At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wing'd  their  flight, 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepeth; 

Thy  harp,  fliat  whisper'd    (hrough  each  liogering 
night, 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  sleepeth  1 

Thy  harpy  that  whispered  through  each  Imstring 
night,  t^c.J     in  another  of  these  poems,  '*  the  nightly' 


She  too,  for  wnom  that  harp  profusely  shed 

The  purest  neclarof  its  numbers, 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  hath  fled, 

And  wilh  her  blest  Anacreon  slumbers  ! 

Farewell !  Ihnu  hadVapulse  for  every  dart 
That  mighty  Love  could  scatter  from  his  quiver  ; 

And  each  new  beauiy  found  in  thee  a  heart. 

Which  thou,  with  all  thy  he.trt  atid  soul,  didst  give 
her ! 


(1)5  (5  <pL\aKp7}To^  Tt  Kai  oivopapT}^  ^iXoKw/ioy 
navvvxtos  Kpovoi  ^  ttjv  0tAorrat^rt  x^^''^'^' 

Ziiiuivtdov,  us  AvaKptovTU, 

To  beauty's  smile  and  wine'o  delight. 
To  joys  he  Inv'd  on  earth  so  well. 

Still  hthnll  his  Hi^irit.  all  (he  night, 
Attune  the  wild,  aerial  shell  1 

She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  .^c]  The 
original,  to  no9uiV  tap,  is  beau'ifut.  We  regret  that 
!>uch  praise  should  be  l.vished  so  preposterously,  and 
feel  th.i!  the  poefs  mislress  Eurypyle  would  have  de- 
served  it  bet'er.  Her  name  has  been  lold  us  by  Melea- 
ger,  as  already  quoted,  and  in  another  epigram  by 
Aniipater. 

tjypa  (?£  StpKOfiEvoia-tv  tv  ofLfiao-iv  ovXov  atidoiSj 

at9vc<Tujv  Xiiraprfs  av9os  i'TTtpOt  KOfiTj^f 
7}C  TTpos  EvpvKvXijv  TtTpafifitvoi    .     ,    •    . 


Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  play, 

Eurypyle,  thy  kouI's  deeire, 
Backing  her  beautiea  in  the  ray 

That  lighta  thine  eyes'  dissolving  fire' 


The  expression  here,  av9os  Kofirjg,  "  the  flower  of 
the  hair,"  is  borrowed  from  Anacreon  himself,  as 
appears  by  a  fragment  of  the  poet  preserved  in  Sto* 
basus :  A7r£K£ipas  d'  &iTaXT]S  afio^ov  avOoj. 

The  purest  nectar  of  its  numlers,  Sfc]  Thus,  says 
Brunck,  in  the  prologue  to  the  S  itires  of  Persius  :  — 

Caiitare  credaa  Pegaeelum  nectar. 

"  Melns"  is  the  u?ual  reading  in  this  line,  and  Causa- 
bf)n  has  defended  it  j  but  "nectar"  js,  I  think,  much 
more  spirited. 

Farewell !  thou  had^st  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  <5-c.] 
tr}>V£  o-Konos,  "scopu-erasn.ttura,"  not  "speculator," 
as  Barnes  very  falsely  interprels  it. 

Viiicentius  Obsnpceus,  upon  Ibis  passage,  contrives 
to  indulge  us  with  .1  little  a^trnlogical  wisdom,  and 
talks  in  a  style  of  learned  scandal  about  Venus,  **  m:ile 
posila  cum  Marte  in  domo  Saturni." 

And  each  new  heavty  found  in  thee  a  heart,  ^c] 
This  couplet  is  not  otherwise  wnrranied  by  the  origi- 
nal, ihan  as  it  dilates  the  thought  which  Antipater  has 
figuratively  expres'^ed. 

Criijas,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate 
gallantry  of  Anacreon,  calling  him,  with  elegant  con- 
ciseness, yvvuLKUiV  Tjntpontviia. 

Tov  dc  yvvuKtidiV  fitXtaiv  irXilavra  ttot'  tuflag, 
'H6vv  AvaKpttovra^,  Tfujj  £ts  'EAAaJ*  avr/ycv, 
T>Vfinoo-iov  tpiOtu (la ,  yvvaiKuiV  rjntporrzvfjLa, 


t  Brunck   has  Kpoviuv  ;  hut  Kpovoi,  the  common 
reading,  better  suits  a  detached  quotation. 

^  Thus  Scaliger,  in  his  dedicalory  verses  to  Ron- 
sard;— 

Blandus,  BuavilnquuB,  dulciA  Anacreon. 


jtave  to  Greece  her  trcnsure, 
Ua^e  Aiiacreon,  Huge  in  loving; 
FuiiJly  weaving  lays  of  [ileasuie 

For  the  niaiils  who  blut:h'd  ai>[>roTing. 


When  ill  nightly  hanqueta  flrorting, 

Where's  Ihe  guent  could  ever  fly  him' 

Whfu  with  love'a  Beilui-tion  courting, 
Where  'b  the  n>  inph  could  e'er  deny  hln 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


PREFACE    DT   THE    EDITOR.' 

The  Poems  which  1  take  the  liberty  of  publishing, 
weie  never  iiileiideJ  tiy  Ihe  author  to  pass  beyond  Ihe 
c.rcle  of  his  I'neiidt.  He  thought,  wiih  some  justice, 
Ihal  what  .ire  called  Occasiojial  Poems  must  be  always 
insipid  and  uninteresting  to  the  greater  pari  of  their 
leaders.  The  particular  ^ituitions  in  which  they  were 
wrilte;i ;  the  chiracler  of  Ihe  author  and  of  his  asso- 
ciates ;  all  these  peculiarities  must  be  known  and  lelt 
before  we  can  enter  into  the  jpirit  of  such  composi- 
II  .ns.  This  consideration  would  hive  always,  1  be- 
lieve, preveuiel  Ihe  author  himself  Irom  submitting 
these  trifles  to  Ihe  eye  iif  dispassionate  crilicism  :  and 
if  their  posthumous  iniroduciion  to  the  world  be  ' 


Ihe  advantage  of  the  latitude  vvbich  the  moralj  of  those 
times  so  criminally  allowed  to  Ihe  paesioDs,    All  this 
depraved  his  imagination,  and  m.ide  it  ihe  slave  of  his 
senses.     But  still  a  native  sensibility  is  oflea  very 
warmly  perceptible;  and  when  he  touches  the  chord 
of  pathos,  he  reaches  iminedialely  the  hiarl.    They 
who  have  fell  the  sweets  of  retuin  to  a  home  from 
which  they  have  long  been  absent  will  couless  Ihe 
beauty  of  those  simple  uuatVecled  lines ;  — 
O  quid  Bolulin  est  beatius  rurist 
Cum  mens  onus  re|>oi>iI,  ac  peregrine 
Labore  renal  veuimiis  Lfirem  ad  Dostruio 
Desidernloque  act{ui«sciiDiis  Icctn. 


His 


1  the  death  of  his  brntlier  are  Ihe  very 


tice  to  his  memory,  or  intrusion  on  the  public,  the    ,ears  of  poesy  ;  and  when  he  complains  of  the  i.igrat 
be  imputed  to  the  injudicious  pailiality  of   ^^^^  ^f  mankind,  eien  the  inenperienced  cannot  but 


friendship. 

Mr.  I.ittle  died  in  his  one-and-twentieth  year;  and 
most  of  these  Poems  were  written  at  so  eariy  a  period 
that  their  eirors  may  lay  claim  to  some  indulgence 
from  the  critic.  'I  heir  author,  as  unambitious  as  in- 
dolent, scarce  ever  looked  beyond  Ihe  moment  of  com- 
position ;  but,  in  general,  wrote  as  he  ple.ised,  careless 
whether  he  pleased  as  he  wrote,  li  may  likewise  be 
remembeied,  that  they  were  all  the  productions  of  an 
age  when  ihe  passions  very  ofen  give  a  colouring  too 
warm  to  the  imagination  ;  and  this  may  pilliate,  if  it 
cannot  excuse,  thai  air  of  levity  which  pervades  so 
many  of  them.  The  "  aurea  legge  s'ei  piace  ei  lice," 
he  too  much  pursued,  and  too  much  inculcates.  Few 
can  regiel  this  more  sincerely  than  myself;  and  if  my 
friend  had  lived.  Ihe  judgment  of  riper  years  would 
have  cluslened  his  mind,  and  tempeied  the  luxuriance 
of  his  fancy. 

Mr.  Little  gnve  much  of  his  time  to  the  study  of  the 
amatory  wrileis.  If  ever  he  expected  to  find  in  the 
ancients  that  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  variety  of 
fancy,  which  are  so  necessary  to  refine  and  animate 
the  poelry  of  Love,  he  was  much  disappointed.  I  know 
not  any  one  of  them  who  can  be  regarded  as  a  model 
in  that  style  ;  Ovid  made  love  like  a  rake,  and  Proper- 
lius  like  a  schoolmaster.  The  iiiythological  allusions 
of  the  latter  are  called  erudition  by  his  commentators  ; 
but  such  ostentatious  displav,  upon  a  subject  so  simple 
as  love,  would  be  now  eseemed  vague  and  puerile, 
and  was  even  in  his  own  times  pedantic.  It  is  astonish- 
ing that  so  many  critics  should  have  pieferred  him  to 
the  genlle  and  touching  Tibullus  ;  but  those  defects,  1 
believe,  which  a  common  reader  condemns,  have  been 
regarded  rather  as  beauties  by  th'ise  erudite  men,  the 
commentators;  who  find  a  field  for  their  ingenui'y 
and  research,  in  his  Grecian  learning  and  quaint  ob- 
scurities. 

Tibullus  abounds  with  touches  of  fine  and  natural 
feeling.  ')  he  idea  of  his  unexpected  return  to  Delia, 
"Tunc  veniani  subito,"^  &c.  is  imagined  with  all  Ihe 
oelicate  ardour  of  a  lover  ;  and  the  sentiment  of  "  nee 
te  posse  carere  velim,"  however  colloquial  Iheexpres. 
Bion  may  have  been,  is  natural,  and  from  the  heart. 
But  t'-le  poet  of  Verona,  in  my  opinion,  possessed  more 
genuine  feeling  than  any  of  them.  His  life  «  as,  I  be- 
lieve, unfortunate ;  his  associates  were  wild  and  aban- 
doned ;  and  Ihe  warmth  of  his  nature  took  too  much 


palbi 

1  endeavou 
those  beauties 


ere  a  poet ;  I  should 
to  catch,  by  tianslation,  the  spirit  of 
vhich  1  have  alnays  so  warmly  ad- 


seems  to  have  been  peculiarly  the  fate  of  Calul- 
that  the  better  and  more  valuable  nail  of  his  poe- 
try has  not  reached  us;  for  there  is  confessedly  nothing 
in  his  extant  works  to  authorise  the  epithet  "  doctus," 
so  univeisilly  bestowed  unon  him  by  the  ancien's.  If 
time  had  sutfered  his  otiiei  vvriiings  lo  escape,  we 
perhaps  should  have  found  among  them  some  more 
purely  amatory ;  but  of  those  we  possess,  can  there 
be  a  sweeter  specimen  of  warm,  yet  chastened  de- 
scription than  his  loves  of  Acme  and  Septiniius  ?  and 
the  few  little  songs  of  dallinnce  to  Lesbia  are  distin- 
guished by  such  an  exquisite  playfulness,  that  they 
haye  always  been  assunud  as  models  by  the  most  ele- 
gant modern  Litini^ts.  Still,  it  must  be  confessed,  iu 
the  midst  of  all  these  beauties, 

— — —  Medio  de  fonte  lepornm 
Surgit  amari  aliquid,  quod  in  ipsis  lloribue  aDeat.4 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  Ihe  ancients  knew 
nothing  of  gallantry;  and  we  are  sometimes  told 
there  was  loo  much  sincerity  in  their  loye  to  allow 
them  to  trifle  thus  with  the  semblance  of  passion. 
But  I  cannot  perceive  that  ihey  were  any  thing  more 
constant  than  Ihe  moderns  :  they  felt  all  the  same  dis- 
sipation of  the  heart,  though  ihey  knew  not  those 
seductive  graces  by  which  gallantry  almost  teaches  it 
to  be  .imiable.  Wotton,  the  learned  advocate  for  the 
moderns,  deserts  them  in  considering  this  point  of 
comparison,  and  praises  Ihe  ancients  for  their  ignor- 
ance of  such  refinements.  But  he  seems  lo  have  col- 
lected his  notions  of  g.illantry  from  Ihe  insipid 
fadeurs  of  the  French  roniances,  which  have  no. 
thing  congeni.al  with  the  graceful  levity,  the  "grata 
prolervitas,"  of  a  Rochester  or  a  Sedley. 

As  far  as  I  can  judge,  Ihe  early  poels  of  our  own 
languase  were  the  models  which  Mr.  Little  selecteil 
for  imitation.  To  attain  their  simplicity  ("aevo 
rarisbima  nosiro  simplicitas  ")  was  his  fondest  amlii- 
lion.  He  could  not  have  aimed  at  a  grace  more  dif- 
ficult of  attainment ;  »  and  his  life  was  of  too  short  a 


1  A  portion  of  the  Poems  included  in  this  and  Ihe 
succeeding  volume  were  published  originally  as  the 
works  of  ''  the  late  Thomas  Little,"  with  the  Preface 
here  given  prefixed  to  them. 

■»  Lib.  i.  Eleg.  3. 


»  In  the  folloiving  Poems,  will  be  found  a  trai 
tion  of  one  of  his  finest  Carmina  ;  but  1  fancy  it  is 
only  a  mere  schoolboy's  es-ay,  and  deserves  to  be 
praised  for  little  more  than  the  attempt. 

*  Lucretius. 

»  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  labour  which 
simplicity  requires,  that  the  Ramblers  of  Johnson, 


"5»" 


54 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


date  to  allow  liim  tf>  perfect  such  a  taste ;  but  how  far 
I'as  likely  to  have  succeeded,  the  critic  may  judge 
from  his  productions. 

1  have  found  among  his  papers  a  novel,  in  rather 
an  imperfect  slate,  w  hich,  as  snoti  as  1  have  arranged 
and  collected  it,  shall  be  submitted  to  the  public  eye. 

Where  Mr.  Little  was  born,  or  what  is  the  gene- 
alogy of  his  parents,  a'e  points  in  which  very  few 
readers  can  he  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  direction.  His  char.»cter  was 
well  known  to  all  who  were  acquainted  with  him; 
for  he  had  loo  much  vanity  to  hide  its  virtues,  and 
not  enough  of  art  to  conceal  its  defects.  The  lighter 
traits  of  his  mind  miy  be  traced  perhaps  in  his  vvrit- 
tings ;  but  the  few  for  which  he  was  valued  live  only 
in  the  remembrance  of  his  friends.  T.  M. 


TO  JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESa. 

My  dear  Sir, —  I  feel  a  very  sincere  pleasure  in 
dedicating  to  you  the  Second  Ediuim  of  our  tnend 
Little's  Pitems.  I  am  noi  unconscious  thtt  there  are 
many  in  the  collection  which  perhaps  it  would  be 
prudent  to  have  altered  or  omitted  ;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  I  more  than  once  revised  them  for  that  pu 
pose;  but,  I  know  not  why,  I  distrusted  either  m 
heart  or  my  judgment;  and  the  consequence  is,  you 
have  them  in  their  original  form  : 


ultae,  Fan 


I  am  convinced,  however,  that,  though  not  quite  a 
casuiste  re/oc/ic,  you  h^ve  charity  enough  to  forgive 
such  inoftensive  follies:  you  know  that  the  pious 
Beza  was  not  the  less  revered  for  those  sportive  Juve- 
7tilia  which  he  published  under  a  fictitious  name  ;  nor 
did  the  levity  of  Rembo'^s  poems  prevent  him  from 
making  a  \ery  good  cardinal. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  friend, 

With  the  truest  esteem, 
Yours, 

T.  M. 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES. 

Mobilitas  sola  est  atque   unica  virtus.    Juv. 

Mark  those  proud  boasters  of  a  splendid  line. 
Like  gilded  rufiis,  mouldering  while  they  shine, 
How  heavy  sits  that  weight  of  alien  show, 
Like  martial  helm  upon  an  infant's  brow  ; 
Those  borrow  d  splendours,  whose  contrasting  light 
Throws  tack  the  native  shades  in  deeper  night. 

Ask  the  proud  train  who  glory's  shade  pursue, 
Where  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  grew  ? 
The  genuine  virtues  thst  with  eagle-gize 
Sought  young  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaze! 
Where  is  the  heart  by  chymic  truth  retin'd, 
Th* exploring  soul,  whose  eve  hath  read  ni  <nkind  ? 
Where  are  the  links  that  twin'd,  with  heavenly  art, 
His  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  heart  ? 


elaborate  as  they  appear,  were  written  with  fluency, 
and  seldom  required  revision  ;  while  the  simple  hn- 
Euage  of  Rousseau,  which  seems  to  come  flowing 
frnm  the  heart,  was  the  slow  production  of  painful 
labour,  pausing  on  every  word,  and  balancing  every 
sentence. 


Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause, 
Approv'd  by  Heav*n,  ordain'd  by  nature's  laws, 
Where  justice  Hies  the  nerald  of  our  w.iy. 
And  truth's  pure  beams  upon  the  banners  play  ? 

Yes,  there 's  a  call  sweet  as  an  angel's  breath 
To  slumb'ring  babes,  or  innocence  in  death  ; 
And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  Heav'n  within, 
When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin. 

Oh  !  'lis  our  country's  voice,whnse  claim  should  meet 
An  echo  in  the  soul's  mos'  deep  retreat ; 
Along  the  he:irl's  responding  chords  should  run, 
Nor  let  a  tone  there  vibrate  —  but  the  one ! 


VARIETY. 

Ask  what  prevailing  pleising  power 
Allures  the  sportive,  wandering  bee 

To  roam,  untired,  from  flower  to  flower, 
He  'II  tell  you,  't  is  variety. 

Look  Nature  round,  her  features  trace, 
Her  seasons,  all  her  changes  see  j 

And  ov\  n,  upon  Creation's  face. 
The  greatest  charm  'a  variety. 

For  me.  ye  gracious  powers  above ! 

Still  let  nie  roam,  unfix'd  and  free; 
In  all  things,— but  the  nymph  I  love, 

I'll  change,  and  taste  variety. 

But,  Patty,  not  a  world  of  charms 

Could  e'er  estrange  my  heart  from  thee  ; 

No,  let  me  ever  ^eek  those  arms, 
There  still  I  '11  find  variety. 


TO  A  BOY,  WITH  A  WATCH. 
WRITTEN  FOR  A  FRIEND. 

Is  it  not  sweet,  beloverl  youth, 

To  rove  through  Erurlition's  bowers, 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  tru»n. 
And  gatherFaiicys  brilliant  flowers? 

And  is  it  not  more  sweet  than  this. 
To  feel  Ihy  p  irents'  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  swee'ens  all  the  fruiis  of  truth, 

And  makes  the  flowers  of  fancy  brighter. 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy, 
May  sometimes  leach  (by  soul  to  ponder, 

If  indolence  or  siren  joy 
Should  ever  tempt  that  soul  to  wander, 

»T  will   tell  thee  that  the  winged  day 

Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  bv  man's  endeavour; 

That  life  and  time  shall  fade  away. 

While  heav'n  and  virtue  bloom  for  ever  I 


SONG. 

If  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you  'H  allow, 
Its  look  is  BO  shifting  and  new, 

That  the  oath  I  might  take  on  it  now 
The  very  next  glance  v^ould  undo. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


55 


Those  babies  that  nestle  so  sly 

Such  thousands  of  arrows  have  e^ot, 

That  aTi  oath,  od  (he  trlance  of  an  eye 
Such  as  yours,  may  be  off"  id  a  shot. 

Should  I  sweir  by  Ihe  dew  on  your  lip, 
ThoUifh  each  niomeiit  the  treasure  renews, 

If  my  cnstaiicy  ivi>hes  to  trip, 

1  may  kiss  off  the  oath  when  I  choose. 

Or  a  si^h  may  disperse  from  that  flow'r 
Bnth  the  dew  and  the  oath  th-it  are  there; 

And  I  'd  m  ike  a  new  vow  ev'ry  hour, 
To  lose  thein  ao  sweetly  in  air. 

But  clear  up  the  heav'n  of  your  brow 
Nor  lanijy  my  failh  h  a  feaiher; 

On  my  heart  I  will  pledge  you  my  vow, 
And  they  both  niust  be  broken  together  1 


Remember  Mm  thou  leav'st  behind, 
Whose  heart  is  warmly  bound  tn  thee, 

Close  as  the  teiid'rest  links  can  bind 
A  heart  as  warm  as  heart  can  be. 

Oh  !  I  had  long:  in  freedom  rovM, 

Though  many  seemd  my  soul  to  share; 

»T  was  f.assion  when  I  thought  I  lov'd, 
'T  was  fancy  when  1  thought  l!iem  fair. 

Ev'n  she,  my  muse's  early  theme, 
Beguil'd  me  only  while  she  warm'd  ; 

'T  was  youn^  desire  Ihii  fed  the  dream, 
And  reason  broke  what  passion  form'd. 

But  thou  —  ah  !  better  had  it  been 
If  I  h»d  still  in  ficedom  rov'd, 

If  I  had  ne'er  thy  beauiies  seen, 
For  then  1  never  sliould  have  lov'd. 

Then  all  ihe  pain  which  lovere  feel 
Had  never  to  this  beirt  been  known  ; 

But  then,  the  joys  that  lovers  steal, 
Should  they  have  ever  been  my  own? 

Oh !  trust  me,  when  I  swear  thee  this, 
Dearest !  the  pain  of  lo\  in^  ihee, 

The  very  pain  is  sweeter  bhss 
Thau  p.ission's  wildest  ecs  agy^ 

That  little  cage  I  would  not  part, 
In  which  my  soul  is  prison'd  now, 

For  the  most  light  and  winged  heart 
That  wantons  on  the  passing  vow. 

Still,  my  belov'd!  still  keep  in  mind, 
However  far  remnv'd  from  me, 

That  there  Is  one  thou  leav'st  behind, 
Whose  heart  respires  for  only  theel 

And  thnugh  ungenial  ties  have  bound 

Thy  fatt  unto  another's  care, 
That  arn',  which  clasps  tliy  bosom  round, 

Cancot  contiae  the  heart  that's  there. 

No,  no!  that  heart  is  only  mina 

By  ties  all  other  ties  above, 
For  1  have  wed  it  at  a  shrine 

Where  we  have  had  no  priest  but  Love, 


SONG. 

When  Time,  vcho  s'eals  our  years  away. 

Shall  s'ea!  our  pleasures  'oo, 
The  mem'ry  of  the  past  will  stay, 

And  half  our  joys  renew. 


Then,  Julia,  when  thy  beauty's  flow'r 

Shall  feel  the  wintry  air. 
Remembrance  will  recall  the  hoir 

When  thou  alone  wert  fair. 
Then  talk  no  more  of  future  gloom; 

Our  jr>\s  shall  always  last ; 
For  Hope  sh"II  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  Meni'ry  gild  the  past. 

Come,  Chine,  fill  the  genial  bowl, 

I  drink  to  Love  and  thee: 
Thou  never  can-t  decay  in  soul. 

Thou  Ml  sill  be  young  for  me. 
And  as  thy  lips  ihe  tearnlrop  chase, 

Which  on  my  cheek  they  find, 
So  hope  shall  steal  away  the  trace 

That  sorrow  leaves  behind. 
Then  fill  Hie  bowl  —  away  with  gloom  I 

Our  joys  shall  always  last ; 
For  Hope  5hall  briehfen  days  to  come, 

And  Meni'ry  gild  the  j;asl. 

But  mark,  at  thoueht  of  future  years 

When  love  shall  lose  its  soul, 
My  Chloe  drops  her  tinjid  tears, 

They  mingle  v^ith  my  bowl. 
How  like  this  bowl  of  wiue,  my  fair, 

Our  lovnig  life  thall  fleet; 
Though  tears  may  sometimes  mingle  there, 

The  draught  will  still  be  sweet. 
Then  fill  the  cup  — awav  with  gloom  I 

Our  joys  shall  always  hist; 
For  Hiipe  will  brighten  days  to  come. 

And  Alem'ry  gild  the  past. 


SONG. 

Have  you  not  *een  the  timid  tear, 

Steal  trembling  fn>m  mine  eye? 
Have  you  nrt  mark'd  ihe  flush  of  fear. 

Or  c.iught  the  murmurM  sigh  ? 
And  Ciin  }0u  think  my  \c\e  is  chill, 

Nor  fix'd  on  jou  alone  ? 
And  can  you  rend,  by  dnuMing  still, 

A  heart  so  much  your  own  ? 

To  you  my  bouI's  affections  move, 

iJevotitly,  warnilv  tiue; 
My  life  has  been  a  task  of  love. 

One  long,  long  thought  of  you 
If  all  your  tender  faith  be  o'er, 

If  still  my  truth  you'll  try; 
Alas,  I  know  but  oiie  pioof  more  — 

1  '11  bless  your  name,  and  die ! 


REUBEN    AND    ROSE, 
A   TALE   OF   ROMANCE. 

The  darkness  that  hung  upon  Wilhimberg's  walls 
Had  long  lieen  remembcr'd  with  awe  and  dismay; 

For  years  not  a  sunbeam  had  play'd  in  its  halls, 
And  it  aeem'd  as  shut  out  from  the  regions  of  day. 

Though  the  valleys  were  hriph'en'd  by  many  a  beam, 

Yet  none  could  Ihe  wo.  ds  of  that  castle  illume  ; 
And  the  lightning,  which  flash'd  on  the  neighbouring 

Flew  back,  as  if  fearing  to  enter  the  gloom  I 

"Oh  !  when  shall  this  horrible  darkness  disperse!** 
Said  Willumberg's  lord  lo  the  Seer  of  the  Cave;  — 

"  It  can  never  dispel,"  said  the  wi7;ird  of  verse, 
"Till  the  bright  star  of  chivalry  sinks  in  the  wave!" 


5G 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


And  who  was  the  bright  star  of  chivalrv  then  ? 

\VhrtCt/M/(ibe  but  Reulien,  thefl.w'r  of  the  age? 
For  Reuben  w.is  first  in  the  cninbst  of  men, 

Though  Youth  had  bcarce  ^vriiten  his  name  on  her 


For  \Villumberff*s  daughter    his   young   heart   had 
berit,— 
For  R  se,  who  was  bii^-ht  as  the  spirit  nf  dawn, 
When  v\ith  wanl  drcppingdiamouds,  and  silveiy  feet. 


It  1 


alks  o'er  ihe  flo 


of  the  mountain  a.ud  1 


Must  Rose,  then,  from  Reuben  sn  fatally  sever? 

Std,  'ad  were  the  words  rf  the  Seer  of  the  Cave, 
Thit  d:iikness  ahouli  cover  thai  c:isile  for  ever, 

Or  Reuben  be  5uuk  iu  tiie  merciless  wave ! 

To  the  wizard  ^he  flow,  saying,  "  Tell  me,  oh,  tell ! 

Shall  my  Reuben  iin  m  re  be  res'or'd  to  my  eyes?" 
"Yes,  yes—  when  a  spirit  shall  toll  the  great  bell 

Of  ttic  mouldering  aobey,  your  Reuben  shall  rise  !  " 

Twice,  thrice  he  repeated  *'  Your  Reuben  shall  rise  !  " 
And  RfJ-e  felt  a  mnmeni's  release  from  her  pain  ; 

And  wip'd,  while  she  listen'd,  the  tears  from  her  eyes, 
And  hop'd  iihe  might  yet  see  her  heio  again. 

That  hero  could  smile  at  the  terrors  of  death, 

When  he  felt  that  he  died  for  Ihe  sire  of  his  Rose  ; 

To  the  Oder  he  Hew,  and  there,  piuneine;  beneath, 
In  the  depth  oi  the  billows  soon  found  his  repose.— 

How  -strangely  'he  order  of  destiny  falls  !  — 
Not  long  in  the  waters  the  warrinr  lay, 

WhtTi  a  suiil)eam  w  >s  seen  to  glance  over  the  walls, 
And  the  castle  of  Willumbe.g  bask'd  ia  the  ray  1 

All,  all  but  the  soul  nf  the  maid  was  in  light. 

There  sorrow  and  terror  Uy  elf»omy  and  blank  : 
Two  dav^  did  she  wander,  and  all  the  long  night, 

Id  quest  of  her  love,  on  the  wide  river's  bank. 
Oft,  oft  did  she  pause  for  the  toll  of  Ihe  bell. 

And  heard  but  the  breathings  of  night  in  the  air; 
Long,  long  did  she  Kaze  on  the  wateiy  swell, 

And  saw  but  Ihe  foam  oi  the  white  billow  there. 

And  oflen  a^  midnight  its  veil  would  undraw, 

As  she  lookM  at  the  light  of  the  moon  in  the  stream, 
She  ihnu^jht  M  W3S  his  helmet  of  silver  she  saw. 

As  the  curl  of  the  surge  glillerd  high  in  the  beam. 
And  now  the  third  ni^ht  w,is  begemming  the  sky; 

Poor  Ro'iC,  on  ihe  cold  dewy  margenl  reclin'd. 
There  wept  till  tlie  tearalnio:,!  froze  in  her  eye, 

When  —  hark  !  —  't  was  the  bell  that  came  deep  in 


Ihe 


ind' 


Shes'artled,  and  saw,  tliroujh  the  glimmering  shade, 
A  form  o'er  the  wa'eis  in  majesty  glide; 

She  knew  't  wa>  her  love,  though  his  cheek  was  de- 
cay'd, 
And  his  helmet  of  silver  was  washM  by  the  tide, 

Wa-*  this  whit  the  Seer  of  the  Cave  had  foretold?  — 
Dim,  dim  through  the  phantom  the  moon  shot  a 
gleam ; 

n  wss  Reuben,  but,  ah  !  he  wa«  deathly  and  cold, 
And  fleeted  away  like  the  spell  of  a  dieam  1 

Twice,  thrice  did  he  rUe,  and  as  often  she  thought 
From  the  bank  to  embrace  him,  but  vain  her  en- 
deavour! 

Then,  plunging  beneath,  at  a  billow  she  caught, 
And  sunk  to  repose  ou  its  bosom  for  ever  ! 


'T  n  a«  a  new  feeling  —  B->mething  more 
Than  we  had  dared  to  own  before, 

Which  then  we  hid  not  j 
We  saw  if  in  each  other's  eye, 
And  wtsh'd,  in  every  hilf-breath*d  aigh| 

T'xpeak,  but  did  not. 


She  felt  my  lips'  inipassion'd  touch  — 
*T  was  Ihe  first  lime  I  dared  so  much, 

And  yet  she  chid  not; 
But  whi^pei  d  o'er  my  burning  brow, 
•'  Oh  !  do  you  doubt  1  love  you  now  ?* 

Sweet  soul !  I  did  not. 

Warmly  I  felt  her  bosom  thrill, 
1  press'd  it  closer,  closer  still. 

Though  gently  bid  not; 
Till  — oh  I  the  world  hath  seldom  heard 
Of  lovers,  who  so  nearly  err'd, 

And  yet,  who  did  not. 


That  wrinkle,  when  first  I  espied  it, 
At  once  put  my  heart  out  of  pain  : 

Till  the  eye,  that  was  glowing  beside  it, 
Disturb'd  my  ideas  again. 


When,  fading  from  all  tliat  is  pleasant, 
She  bids  a  good  night  to  her  sins. 

Yet  thou  still  art  so  lovely  to  me, 

I  would  S'Oner,  my  exquisite  mother  I 

Repuse  in  (he  sunset  of  ihee, 
Thau  bask  in  Ihe  noon  of  another. 


ON     SOME     CALUMNIES     AGAINST 
HER     CHARACTER. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  eentle  mind  ? 
Is  not  that  heart  a  heart  refin'd  ? 
Hast  thou  not  every  gentle  grace, 
We  love  in  woman's  mind  and  face  ? 
And.  oh  !  art  thou  a  shrine  for  Sin 
To  hold  her  hateful  worship  iu? 

No,  no,  be  happy  —  dry  that  tear  — 
Though  some  thy  heart  hath  harbour'd  near 
May  now  repay  its  love  vvilh  blame  ; 
Though  man,  who  ought  to  shield  thy  fame. 
Ungenerous  man,  be  first  to  shun  thee  ; 
though  all  the  world  look  cold  upon  ihee, 
Yet  shall  thy  pureness  keep  thee  siill 
Uiiharm'd  by  ihat  surrouiiding  chill ; 
Like  the  famed  drop,  in  crystal  found,* 
Floating,  while  all  was  froz'n  around  — 
UnchilPd,  unchanging  shalt  thou  be, 
Sate  in  thy  own  sweet  purity. 


ANACREONTIC. 

"—  Iu  tacJirymas  verterat  omne  merum. 

Tib.,  Ub.  i.  e)eg.  ft. 

Press  the  grape,  and  let  it  pour 
Around  the  biwl  its  purple  show'r; 
And,  while  the  drops  my  g"blet  sleep, 
I  '11  think  in  woe  the  clusters  weep. 


»  This  alludes  to  a  curious  gem,  upon  which  Clau- 
dian  has  left  us  some  very  elaborate  epigrams.  It  was 
a  drop  of  pure  water  enclosed  within  a  piece  of  crys- 
tal. See  Claudian.  Epigram.  "deCrvslallo  cni  .<qua 
inerat."  Addison  meniions  a  curiosity  of  this  kind  at 
Milan;  and  adds,  'Ml  is  such  a  rarity  a>  this  that  I 
saw  at  Vendome  in  France,  which  they  there  pretend 
is  a  tear  that  our  Saviour  shed  over  Laza'us,  and  was 
gathered  up  by  an  angel,  who  put  it  itito  a  little  crystal 
vial,  and  made  a  i)resent  of  it  to  Mary  Magdalen."  — 
Addison-s  Ucmarks  on  several  Parts  oj  Italy. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


51 


Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  pouting  vine ! 
Heavn  israiit  na  tears,  but  teais  of  wii 
Weep  on  ;  and,  as  lliy  sorrows  flow, 
I'li  taste  the  luxuiy  ofwoe. 


TO 


When  I  lov'd  you,  I  canM  but  allow 
I  hail  many  an  eicqulsie  minute  ; 

put  the  scoru  that  [  teel  tor  you  now 
H.ith  even  muie  luxury  m  it. 

Thus,  whether  we  Ve  on  or  we  're  off, 
Some  witchery  seenia  to  await  you  ; 

To  love  you  was  pleasmt  enoi;gh, 
Aiidj  oh  !    t  IS  delicious  to  hate  you 


TO   JULIA. 

IN    ALLUSION     TO     SOME    ILLIBERAL 
CRITICISMS. 

Whv,  let  the  stintless  critic  chide 
With  all  that  fume  of  vacant  pride 
Which  miiitle>  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapour  on  a  sfagnant  pool. 
Oh !  if  l!ie  sone,  to  feeling  true, 
Can  plea  e  th'  elect,  the  sacred  few, 
Whose  souls,  by  T.i-te  and  Nature  taneht, 
Thrill  with  the  Keiiuine  puUe  of  thought  — 
If  some  fond  feeling  maid  lilte  thee, 
The  warmey'd  child  of  Sympathy, 
Shall  say,  while  o'er  my  simple  theme 
She  languishes  in  Passion's  dream, 
"  He  was,  indeed,  a  lender  ^oul  — 
•*  No  critic  law,  no  chill  control, 
*' Should  ever  freeze,  by  timid  art, 
**  1  he  flowlngs  of  so  find  a  heart  •  " 
Vcs,  soul  of  Nature  !  soul  of  L'lve  ! 
That,  hov'ring  like  a  snow-wing'd  dove, 
Brcath'd  o'er  my  crndle  warbhngs  wild, 
And  haii'd  me  Passion's  warmest  child,— 
Grant  me  the  tear  from  Reauty'a  eye, 
From  Feeling's  breast  the  votive  sigh  ; 
Oh  !  let  my  sotig,  my  mem'iy,  find 
A  shrine  within  the 'lender  mind: 
And  f  will  smile  when  critics  chide, 
And  1  will  scorn  the  fume  of  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool. 
Like  vapour  round  some  Elagiiaut  pool  t 


TO   JULIA, 

Mock  me  no  more  with  Love's  beguiling  dreanii 

A  dream,  1  find,  illusory  as  s^eet : 
One  sniile  of  friend-hip,  nay,  of  cold  esteem. 

Far  dearer  were  than  passion's  bland  deceit  I 

I've  heard  you  oft  eternal  truth  declare; 

Your  heart  was  only  mine,  I  once  believ'd. 
Ah;  shall  I  say  that  a'll  your  vows  weie  air? 

And  must  I  say,  my  hopes  were  all  dectiv'd  ? 

Vow,  then,  no  longer  that  our  souls  are  twin'd, 
That  all  our  joys  are  felt  with  muiua!  zeal: 

Julia  !  —  't  Is  pity,  pity  makes  yon  kind  ; 

You  know  i  lo've,  and  you  would  seem  to  feel. 

But  shall  I  still  go  seek  wphin  those  arms 
k  joy  in  which  affectior  uikes  no  part? 

No.  n?,  farewell !  you  ^ive  me  bu'  your  charms, 
WtfkZ  1  had  fondly  thought  you  gave  your  heart. 


THE    SHRINE, 


My  fates  had  destin'd  me  to  rove 
A  long,  long  pilgrimage  of  love; 
And  many  an  aitar  on  my  v\ay 
Has  lur'd  my  pious  steps  to  stay  ; 
For,  if  the  saint  uas  young  and  fair, 
I  turn'd  and  sung  my  vespeis  lhe:e. 
This,  fiom  a  youihful  pilgrim's  fiie, 
Is  «  hat  your  pretty  saints  require: 
To  pa's,  nor  tell  a  single  bead, 
With  them  would  be  profane  indeed  I 
But,  trust  me,  ail  this  young  devotion 
Was  but  lo  keep  my  zeai  in  motion  j 
And,  ev'rv  humblet  altar  past, 
I  now  have  leach'd  the  shrijic  at  last  t 


TO    A    LADY, 

WITH     SOME     MANUSCRIPT     POEM3,     ON 
LEAVING    THE    COUNTRY. 
When,  casting  many  a  look  behind, 

I  leave  the  triends  I  cherish  here  — 

Pe'Chance  some  other  friends  to  find, 

But  burely  finding  none  so  dear  — 

Hapiv  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  thought  for  me. 

But.  oh  !  in  pity  let  not  those 

Whose  hearts  are  not  of  gentle  mould, 
Let  not  the  eye  that  seldom  Hows 

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  alt  my  loving  lays  reprove. 

But  if.  perhaps,  some  gentler  mind, 

Which  ritlier  loves  to  praise  than  Maine, 

Should  in  my  pa^e  an  interest  find. 
And  linger  kmdly  on  my  name ; 

Tell  him— or,  oh!  if,  gentler  still, 
Rv  female  lips  my  n:ime  be  blest : 

For,  where  do  all  afleciions  thrill 
So  sweetly  as  in  woman's  breast  ?  — 

Tell  her,  that  he  whose  loving  themes 

Her  eye  indulgent  wanders  o'er, 
Could  t-nmetinies  wake  from  idle  dreams, 

And  bolder  flights  of  fancy  soar  j 

That  Glory  oft  would  claim  the  lay. 
And  Friendship  off  his  numt)ers  move ; 

But  whi-'per  then,  that,  "  sooth  to  say, 
*'  His  sweetest  song  was  giv'n  to  Love  I*' 


TO   JULIA. 

Though  Fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us  part. 

Our  souls  it  cannot,  shall  not  sever  ; 
The  heait  will  seek  i's  kindred  heart, 
And  cling  to  it  as  close  as  ever. 

But  must  we.  must  we  part  indeed  ? 

Is  all  our  dream  of  rapture  over? 
And  does  not  Julia's  bosom  bleed 

To  leave  so  dear,  so  fond  a  lover? 

Does  she  too  mourn  ?  —  Perhaps  she  may ; 
Perhaps  she  mourns  our  bliss  so  fleelinj. 


!  is  beating? 


ris 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


I  oft  have  lov'd  thait  sunny  glow 
Oi  5l;idness  in  her  blue  eye  ^It-aming  — 

But  cm  Ihe  tosom  bleed  wiih  woe, 
While  joy  IS  in  the  glances  beaming? 

No,  no  !  —Yet,  love,  I  will  not  chide ; 

Allhough  your  heart  were  f.-nJ  of  loving, 
Nor  ihal,  iror  all  the  word  beside 

Could  keep  your  fairhful  boy  from  loviny. 

Yuu  'II  soon  be  di  ta'it  from  his  eye. 

And,  With  ynu,  a!l  that 's  worth  possessing. 

Oh  :  then  il  will  be  hweet  to  die. 
When  life  has  lost  its  only  blessing  I 


TO 

Sweet  lady,  look  not  thus  affain  : 
Those  bright  deluding  smiles  recall 

A  maid  runieruber'd  now  with  pain. 
Who  was  my  love,  my  life,  my  all ! 

Oh  !  while  this  heart  bewilder'd  took 
S'.veet  poison  from  her  ihiiMiugeye, 

Thus  would  she  smile,  And  lisp,  and  look, 
And  I  would  hear,  and  gaze,  and  sigh  1 

Yes,  I  did  love  her— wildly  love  — 

She  was  her  sex's  best  dfceiver! 
And  oft  she  swoie  she  'd  never  rove  — 

And  I  was  destin'd  to  believe  her  I 

Then,  lady,  do  not  wear  the  smile 

Of  one  whose  smile  could  thus  betray: 

Alas  I  I  think  the  lovely  wile 
Again  could  steal  my  heart  away. 

For,  when  those  spells  that  charm'd  my  mindi 

On  lips  so  pure  as  thine  I  see, 
I  fear  the  heart  which  she  resign'd 

Will  err  again^  and  fly  to  thee  I 


NATURE'S   LABELS. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

In  vain  we  fondly  strive  to  trace 

The  soul's  rertecilon  in  the  face; 

In  vain  we  dwell  on  lines  and  crosses, 

Crooked  mouth,  or  short  proboscis  ; 

Boobies  have  look'd  as  wise  and  bright 

As  PI  I  to  or  the  St.igi  rite: 

And  many  a  s^ge  and  learned  sknil 

Has  peep'd  through  windows  dark  and  dull. 

Since  then,  though  art  do  all  it  c:in, 

We  ne'er  can  reach  the  inward  man, 

Nor  (howsoe'er  *'  learn'd  Thebans"  doubt) 

The  inward  woman,  from  without, 

Methmks  'I  were  well  if  Nature  could 

(And  Nature  cmild,  if  Nature  would) 

Some  pilhy,  short  descriptions  write, 

On  tablets  large,  in  black  and  while, 

Which  she  might  ban?  about  our  throttles, 

Like  labels  upon  physic-bottles ; 

And  where  all  men  might  read  —  but  stay  — 


As  dialectic 


nple 


The  argument  most  apt  and  ? 
For  common  use  is  the  example. 
For  instance,  then,  if  Nature's  care 
Had  not  portray'd.  in  lines  so  fair. 
The  inward  s^u!  of  Lucy  I/-nd-n, 
This  is  the  label  she'd  have  pinn'd  on. 

LABEL   FIRST. 

Within  this  form  there  lie?  enshrin'd 
The  purest,  brightest  gem  of  niind. 


Though  Feeling's  band  may  sometimes  throw 
Upon  its  chirms  Ihe  shade  of  woe, 
The  lustre  of  the  gem,  when  veiPd, 
Stiall  be  butmellow'd,  not  concealed. 


Now,  sirs,  imagine,  if  you're  able, 
That  Nature  wrote  a  second  label, 
They're  her  own  word>— at  least  supp 
And  boldly  pin  it  on  Pouiposo. 

LABEL    SECOND. 

When  I  compos'd  the  fustian  brain 
Of  this  redoubled  Captain  Vain, 
I  had  at  hand  bu(  few  ingredient':, 
And  so  was  forc'd  to  use  expedients, 
1  put  therein  some  small  discerning, 
A  gram  of  sense,  a  grain  of  learning; 
And  when  I  saw  (he  void  behind, 
I  fiird  it  up  with  —  froth  and  wind  I 


TO   JULIA. 
ON     HER     BIRTHDAY. 

When  Time  was  entwining  the  garland  of  years, 
Which  to  crown  my  beloved  was  given, 

Though  some  of  the  leaves  might  be  sullied  with  tears, 
Yet  the  flow'rs  were  all  gather'd  in  heaven. 

And  long  may  this  g:irland  be  sweet  to  the  eye, 

May  its  veiduie  Ibr  ever  be  new  ; 
Young  Love  shall  enrich  it  with  many  a  sigh, 

And  Sympathy  nurse  it  with  dew. 


A   REFLECTION    AT  SEA. 

See  how,  benea'h  the  moonbeam's  smile, 
Yon  little  billow  heaves  i's  breast, 

And  foams  and  sparkles  for  awhile, — 
Then  murmuring  subsides  to  rest. 

Thus  man,  the  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 
Rises  on  time's  eventful  sea; 

And,  having  swell'd  a  moment  there, 
Thus  melts  into  eterniiy  ! 


CLORIS   AND    FANNT. 

Cloris!  if  I  were  Persia's  king, 
1  'd  make  my  graceful  queen  of  thee; 

While  Fanny,  wild  and  artless  thing. 
Should  but  thy  humble  handmaid  be. 

There  is  but  one  objection  in  it  — 
That,  verily,  I'm  much  afraid 

I  should,  in  some  unlucky  minu'e, 
Forsake  the  mistress  for  the  maid. 


THE    SHIELD. 

Say.  did  you  not  hear  a  voice  of  death  ! 

And  did  you  not  maik  the  paly  form 
Which  rode  on  the  silvery  mist  of  the  heatb. 

And  sung  a  ghostly  dirge  in  the  stoim  ? 

Was  it  Ihe  wailing  bird  of  the  gloom. 
That  shrieks  on'  the  house  of  woe  all  night  ? 

Or  a  shivering  fiend  that  i\cw  to  a  tomb. 
To  howl  and  to  feed  till  Ihe  glance  of  light  ? 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


59 


T  was  iwt  the  denth-bird's  cry  from  Ihe  wood, 
Nor  shivering  tiend  ilial  hung  on  Ihe  blast ; 

T  was  the  shade  of  Helderic  —  man  of  blnod  — 
It  screams  for  the  guilt  of  days  that  are  past. 

See,  how  the  red,  red  ligjhtntng  strays, 

And  ^cares  the  gliding  ghosts  of  the  heath  I 

Now  on  rhe  leide^s  yew  it  plays, 

Where  hangs  the  shield  of  this  son  of  death. 

That  shield  is  blushing  with  murderous  stains; 

Long  has  it  hung  from  the  cold  yew's  spray  j 
It  is  bIo\vn  tjy  storms  and  wash'd  by  taius, 

But  ueither  cao  take  the  btood  away  1 

Oft  by  that  yew,  on  the  blasted  field. 
Demons  dance  to  the  red  moon's  light ; 

While  the  damp  boughs  creak,  and   the  swinging 
shield 
Sings  to  (he  raving  spirit  of  night  I 


TO   JULIA, 
WEEPING. 

Oh  !  if  your  tears  are  giv'n  to  care, 
If  real  woe  disturbs  your  peace. 

Come  to  my  bosom,  weeping  fair! 
And  I  will  bid  your  weeping  cease. 

But  if  with  Fancy's  vision'd  fears. 

With  dre.ims  of  woe  your  bosom  thrill ; 

You  look  so  lovely  in  your  tears. 
That  I  must  bid  you  drop  them  still. 


In  slumber,  I  prithee  how  is  it 

That  souls  are  oft  taking  the  air, 
And  paying  each  other  a  visit, 

while  bodies  are  heaven  knows  where  ? 

Last  night,  H  is  in  vain  to  deny  it, 

Yonr  Soul  look  a  fancy  to  mam, 
For  1  heard  her,  nn  tiptoe  so  quiet. 

Come  ask,  whether  inine  was  at  boiiie. 

And  mine  let  her  in  with  delight. 

And  tliey  talk'd  and  they  bughd  the  time  through; 
For,  when  souls  come  together  at  night. 

There  is  no  saying  what  Ibey  niayn^t  do  I 

And  your  little  Soul,  heaven  bless  herl 

Had  much  to  complain  and  to  say, 
Of  how  sadly  you  wrong  and  oppress  her 

By  keeping  her  prison'd  all  day. 

**  If  I  hapi>en,"  said  she,  "  but  to  steal 
*'  For  a  peep  now  and  then  to  her  eye, 

"Or,  to  quiet  the  fever  I  feel, 
"  Just  venture  abroad  on  a  sigh ; 

•*  In  an  instant  she  frightens  me  in 
"  With  some  phantom  of  prudence  or  terror, 

**For  fear  I  should  stray  into  sin, 
**0r,  what  is  still  worse,  into  error  1 

"  So,  instead  of  displaying  my  graces, 
*•  By  daylight,  in  language  and  mien, 

•*  I  am  shut  up  in  corners  and  places, 
**  Where  truly  I  blush  to  be  seen  !  " 

Upon  hearing  this  piteous  confession, 

My  Soul,  looking  tenderly  at  her, 
DeclarM,  as  for  grace  and  discretion. 

He  did  not  know  much  of  the  matter ; 


"  But,  to-mnrrow.  sweet  Spirit !  "  he  said, 
"  Be  at  home  after  midnight,  and  then 

'*I  win  C">nie  when  your  lady's  iu  bed, 
*'  And  we'll  talk  o'er  the  subject  again." 

So  she  whisper'd  a  word  in  his  ear, 
1  sup[K)se  to  her  d  lor  to  direct  him, 

And,  just  after  midnight,  my  dear, 
Your  polite  little  Soul  may  expect  him. 


WRITTEN    DURING    ILLNESS. 

The  wisest  soul,  by  anguish  torn, 
Will  soon  unlearn  the  lore  it  knew; 

And  when  the  shrining  casket's  worn, 
The  gem  within  will  tarnish  too. 

But  love 's  an  essence  of  Ihe  soul. 

Which  sinks  not  with  this  chain  of  clay 

Which  throbs  beyond  the  chill  control 
Of  with'ring  pain  or  pale  decay. 

And  surely,  when  the  touch  of  Death 
Dissolves  the  spiril's  earihly  lies. 

Love  still  attends  th'  immorl.il  breath. 
And  makes  it  purer  for  the  skies  ! 

Oh,  Rosa,  when,  to  seek  its  sphere, 
My  soul  shall  leave  Ihi'^  orb  of  men, 

That  love  which  form'd  its  treasure  here, 
Shall  be  its  best  of  treasures  then  ! 

And  as.  in  fabled  dreams  of  old, 
Some  air-born  genius,  child  of  time, 

presided  o'er  each  star  that  roli'd, 
And  track'd  it  through  its  path  sublime; 

So  thou,  fair  planet,  not  unled, 
Shait  through  (hy  mortal  orbit  stray; 

Thy  lover's  shade,  to  thee  still  wed. 
Shall  linger  round  thy  earthly  way. 

Let  other  spirits  range  the  sky, 

And  play  around  each  starry  gem  j 

I'll  bask  beneath  fhar  lucid  eye, 
Nor  envy  worlds  of  &uns  to  ihem. 

And  when  that  heart  shall  cease  to  beat. 
And  when  that  breath  at  length  is  free, 

Theu.  Rosa,  soul  to  s^ul  we  Ml  meet, 
And  mingle  to  eternity  1 


SONG. 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Is  fair —  but  oh,  how  fair, 
If  Pity's  hand  had  stoPn  from  Love 

One  leaf  to  mingle  there  ! 

If  every  rose  with  gold  wete  tied. 

Did  gems  for  dewdrnps  fall. 
One  faded  leaf  where  Love  had  sigh'd 

Were  sweetly  worth  them  all. 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wovo 

Our  emblem  well  may  be  ; 
Its  bloom  is  yours,  but  hopeless  Love 

Must  keep  its  tears  fur  me. 


THE    SALE    OF    LOVES 

I  dreamt  that,  in  the  Paphiari  groves, 
My  nets  by  moonlrght  laying, 

I  caught  a  night  of  wanton  Loves, 
Among  Ihe  rose-buds  playing. 


60                               JUVENILE   POEMS. 

Some  just  had  left  their  silvVy  shell, 

I  could  have  lov'd  you  —  oh,  so  well !  — 

While  some  were  full  in  feather ; 

The  dream,  ihat  wishing  boyhood  knowi, 

So  nre'ty  a  lot  of  Loves  to  sell. 
Were  never  yet  strung  logether 

Is  but  a  bright,  beguiling  spell, 

That  only  lives  while'patsion  glows: 

Come  buy  my  Loves, 

Come  buy  niy  Loves, 

But,  when  this  early  flu^h  declines, 

Ye  dames  and  r'se-lip,  'd  misses! 

When  the  heart's  sunny  morning  fleets, 

They  're  new  aud  bright, 

You  know  not  then  how  close  il  twines 

The  cost  is  light, 

Round  (he  first  kindred  soul  it  meets. 

For  the  coiu  of  this  isle  is  kisses. 

Yes,  yes,  I  could  have  lov'd,  as  one 

First  Cloris  came,  with  looks  sedate. 

Who,  while  his  youth's  enchantments  fall, 

The  coin  on  her  lips  was  rmdy  ; 

Finds  something  dear  to  rest  upon, 

"  I  buy,"  quolh  she,  ■•  my  Love  by  weight, 
"  Full  giowu,  if  you  please,  and  steady." 

Which  pays  him  for  the  lo=s  of  all. 

"  Let  mine  be  light,"  said  Fanny,  "pray  — 

*'i=uch  lasling  toys  undo  one; 
"A  little  light  Love  that  will  last  to-day,— 

*'  To-morrow  1  Ml  sport  a  new  one." 
Come  buy  my  Loves, 
Come  buy  my  Loves, 

TO 

Ve  dames  and  rose-lipp'd  misses  '.  — 

Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 

There's  some  will  keep. 

You  want  not  aniiquity'ss  amp  ; 

Some  light  and  clieap. 

A  lip,  that  such  fragrance  discloses. 

At  from  ten  to  twenty  kissus. 

Oh  !  never  should  smell  of  the  lamp. 

The  learned  Prue  took  a  pert  young  thing. 
To  divert  her  virgin  Muse  with, 

And  pluck  sometimes  a  quill  from  his  wing 
To  indite  her  billet  doux  wiih. 

Old  Cloe,  whose  wilherin?  kiss 

Hath  Ions  set  the  Loves  at  defiance. 

Now,  done  with  the  science  of  bliss. 
May  take  lo  the  blisses  of  science. 

Poor  Cloe  would  give  for  a  well-fledg'd  pair 

But  for  you  to  be  buried  in  books  — 

Her  only  eye,  if  you 'd  ask  it  ; 
And  Tabiiha  begg'J,  old  toothless  fair. 

Ah,  Fanny,  they  're  pitiful  sages, 
Wtio  could  not  in  one  of  your  looks 

For  the  youngesi  Love  in  the  basket. 
Come  buy  uiy  t/3ves,  &c.  &c. 

Read  more  than  iu  millions  of  pages. 

Astronomy  finds  in  those  eyes 

But  one  was  left,  when  Susan  came, 

Better  light  than  she  studies  above ; 

One  worth  them  all  toi^eiher ; 

And  Music  would  tiorrow  your  sighs 

At  sight  of  her  dear  looks  of  shame. 

As  the  melody  fittest  for  Love. 

He  smilM,  and  pruned  his  feather. 

She  wish'd  the  hoy  —  't  was  moie  than  whim  — 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

Her  looks,  her  sighs  betray'd  it; 

If  to  count  your  own  charms  you  endeavour: 
And  Eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

But  kisses  were  not  enough  for  him. 

1  ask'd  a  heart,  and  she  paid  it ! 

When  you  swear,  that  you  'U  love  me  for  ever. 

Good-by,  my  Loxes, 

Good  by,  my  Loves, 

Thus  you  see,  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

'T  would  make  you  smile  to  've  seen  us 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you  ;— 

First  trade  for  this 

A  course  of  more  exquisite  science 

Sweet  child  of  bliss. 

JIan  never  need  wish  to  pursue. 

And  then  nurse  the  boy  between  us. 

And,  oh  !—  if  a  Fellow  like  me 

May  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts, 

With  my  lip  thus  I  send  \our  degree. 

My  divine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 

TO 

■ 

The  world  had  just  begun  to  steal 

Each  hope  Ihal  led  me  lightly  on ; 

I  fell  not,  as  I  us'd  to  feel. 

And  life  grew  dark  and  love  was  gone. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LADY. 

No  eye  to  mingle  sorrow's  tear. 
No  lip  lo  mingle  pleasure's  lireath. 

Sweet  spirit  1  if  thy  airy  sleep 

Nor  sees  my  tears  nor  hears  my  sighs, 

Ko  circling  arms  to  draw  me  near  — 
'T  was  gloomy,  and  1  wish'd  for  death. 

Then  will  1  weep,  in  anguish  weep. 
Till  the  last  hearl's  drop  fills  mine  eyes. 

But  when  I  saw  that  gentle  eye. 

But  if  thy  sainted  soul  can  feel. 

Oh  !  sonielhing  seeni'd  lo  tell  me  then, 

And  mingles  in  our  misery  ; 

That  I  was  yet  too  young  to  die. 

Then,  then  my  breaking  heart  I  '11  seal  — 

And  hope  and  bliss  might  bloom  again. 

Thou  Shalt  not  hear  one  sigh  from  me. 

With  every  gentle  smile  Ihat  crost 

The  beam  of  morn  was  on  the  stream. 

Your  kindlint:  cheek,  you  lighted  home 

Rut  sullen  clouds  the  day  deform  : 

Some  feeling,  which  my'heart  had  lost, 

Like  ihee  was  Ihat  young.orient  beam, 

And  peace,  which  far  had  leurn'd  lo  roam, 

Like  death,  alas,  ihat  sullen  storm  1 

•T  was  then  indeed  so  sweet  lo  live. 

Thou  wert  not  form'd  for  livine  here, 

Hope  look'd  so  new  and  F^ove  so  kind. 

So  link'd  ihv  soul  was  with  Ihe  sky  ; 

Thai,  Ihnujh  1  mourn,  1  yet  forgive 

Yet,  ah,  we  held  lliee  all  so  dear, 

Th';  ruin  ihey  have  left  behind. 

We  thought  Ihou  wert  not  form'd  to  die. 

JUVENILE   POEMS. 


61 


INCONSTANCY, 

Aod  do  1  ihen  woiider  tliat  Julia  deceives  me, 

When  surely  tlieic's  uothiug  iu  nature  ui ore  com- 
mon ? 

She  vows  In  be  true  and  while  vowing  she  leaves  me— 
Aud  could  I  expect  any  nioie  from  a  woman  ? 


Oh,  woman  !  your  heart  is  a  pitiful  treasure; 

And  Mahomet's  d  clrine  was  not  too  severe, 
When  he  held  that  you  were  but  materials  of  pie; 
sure, 

And  reason  aud  thinking  were  out  of  your  sphere 

By  your  heart,  when  the  fond  sighing  lover  can  win  i 
He  thinks  ih  -t  an  ige  o*"  anxiety  's  paid  ; 

But.  oh,  while  he's  bt'est,  let  hmi  die  at  the  minute- 
If  he  live  but  a  day^  he  '11  be  surety  betray 'd. 


THE    NATAL   GENIUS. 

A  DREAM. 

TO , 

THE   MORNING    OF  HER   BIRTHDAY. 

In  witching  slumbers  of  the  night, 
I  dreanit  I  was  the  airy  sprite 

That  on  thy  natal  moment  smil'd; 
And  thought  I  wafted  on  my  wing 
Those  HowVg  wliich  in  Elysium  spring. 

To  crown  my  lovely  mortal  child. 

With  olive-branch  I  bound  thy  head, 
Heart's-ease  alnng  thy  pa'h  I  shed, 

Which  was  to  bloom  through  all  thy  years  ; 
Nor  yet  did  I  forget  to  birjd 
love's  roses,  with  his  myrtle  t«  in'd, 

Aud  dew'd  by  &ympathe;ic  tears. 

Such  was  the  wild  but  precious  boon 
Which  Fancy,  at  her  ma^ic  noon, 

Bade  me  to  Noi.a's  imaje  payj 
And  were  it  thus  my  fate  to  be 
Thy  little  guardian  deity, 

How  blest  around  thy  steps  I  'd  play  I 

Thy  life  should  glide  in  peace  along, 
Calm  as  some  lonely  shei)herd'8  song 

That's  heard  at  distance  in  the  grove; 
No  cloud  should  ever  dim  thy  sky, 
No  thorns  along  thy  pathway  lie, 

But  all  be  beauty,  peace,  and  love. 

Indulgent  Time  should  never  bring 
To  thee  one  blight  upon  his  wing, 

So  eeutly  o'er  thy  brow  he  'd  tly ; 
And  death  itself  should  but  be  felt 
Like  that  of  daybeams,  when  they  melt, 

Bright  to  the  last,  in  evening'^  &ky  1 


ELEGIAC   STANZAS, 

SUPPOSED     TO     BE    WRITTEN    BY    jrjLIA, 
ON    THE    DEATH    OF    HER    BROTHER. 

Though  sorrow  long  !ias  worn  my  heirt ; 

Though  every  day  I  've  counted  o'er 
Hath  brought  a  new  and  quirk'nin^  smart 

To  wounds  that  rankled  fresh  before ; 

Though  in  my  earliest  life  bereft 

Of  tender  links  by  nature  tied  ; 
Though  hope  deceiv'd,  and  pleasure  left ; 

Though  friends  betray'd  and  foes  belied  ; 


I  still  had  hopes  —  for  hope  will  stay 

After  (he  sunset  of  delight; 
So  l.ke  li.e  s'ar  which  ushers  day. 

We  scarce  can  ihiuk  it  heralds  night !  — 

X  hop'd  that,  after  all  its  strife, 

My  weary  heart  at  length  should  rest, 

And,  fainting  from  the  wa\es  of  life, 
Find  harbuur  in  a  brottjcr's  breast. 

That  brother's  breis*  was  warm  with  truth, 
Was  bright  v\ith  honour's  purest  ray  j 

He  was  the  de.ires',  gentlest  youih  — 
Ah,  why  then  was  he  torn  away  ? 

He  should  havestay'd,  have  linger'd  here 
To  soothe  his  Julia's  every  woe  i 

He  shoi.Id  have  chas'd  each  biiier  tear, 
And  not  have  caus'd  those  tears  lo  flow. 

We  saw  within  his  soul  expand 

The  fruits  of  genius,  nur&'d  by  taste. 

While  Science,  wilh  a  fo^t'ring  hand, 
Upon  his  brow  her  chiplet  plac'd. 

We  saw,  by  bright  degrees,  his  mind 
Grow  rich  in  all  that  m)ke>  men  dear; 

Enlighten'd.  social,  hi  d  retir.'d, 
In  friendship  fi.m,  in  love  sincere. 

Such  was  the  youth  we  lov'd  so  well, 
And  such  the  hopes  that  fate  dented  ; 

We  lov'd,  but  ah  !  could  scarcely  tell 
How  deep,  how  dearly,  till  he'  died  ! 

Close  as  the  fondest  links  could  strain, 
Twjn'd  wilh  mv  very  heart  he  grew  ; 

And  by  that  f^Ie  which  breaks  the  chain, 
The  heart  is  almost  broken  too. 


TO    THE    LARGE    AND    BEAUTIFUL 

MISS , 

In  allnsicm  to  some  Partnership  in  a  Lottery  Share 
IMPROMPTU. 

—  Ego  para Virt, 

In  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies, 
Where  in  blanks  and  in  pnzes  we  deal ; 

But  how  cnmes  it  that  you.  such  a  capr-al  prize, 
Should  so  long  have  remain'd  iu  the  wheel? 

If  ever,  by  Fortune's  indulgent  decree, 

To  me  ouch  a  ticket  should  roll, 
A  sixieenth,  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  though'  he  stole  thy  heart  away, 
And  placM  it  near  to  mine. 

I  saw  thy  heart  begin  lo  melt, 
Like  ice  before  the  sun  ; 

Till  both  a  glow  congenial  felt, 
Aud  mingled  into  one ! 


TO 


With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part, 
Since  botr.  are  anxious  to  be  free  ; 

And  I  xviil  send  you  home  your  heart. 
If  you  will  send  back  mine  to  me. 


62 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


We  'v/»  had  snrae  happy  hours  together, 
But  joy  must  often  change  its  wing  ; 

And  sprin»  would  be  bijt  glnnmjf  utalher. 
If  we  hai  nothing  else  but  spring. 

*T  is  not  thai  I  exp^ct  to  find 
A  njnre  develed,  fund,  and  true  one, 

With  rosier  chetk  '>r  sweeter  mind  — 
Enougli  for  me  that  she's  a  new  one. 

Thus  let  us  leave  the  bower  of  love, 
Where  we  have  loilei'd  long  in  bliss; 

Ant  you  may  down  that  pathway  rove, 
While  I  shall  take  my  way  tlirough  thii. 


ANACREONTIC, 

•*  She  never  look'd  so  kind  before  — 
"  Yet  wliy  the  wanton's  smile  recall  ? 

•*  I  've  seen  this  w  itchery  o'er  and  o'er, 
**  'T  is  hollow,  V.Tin,  and  heartlcLS  all !" 

Thus  I  said  and,  sighing,  drainM 

The  cup  which  she  so  late  had  tasted  j 

Upon  whose  rim  sill  fresh  remained 
The  bieath,  so  oft  in  falsehood  wasted. 

I  took  the  harp,  and  would  have  sung 

As  if  n  were  not  of  her  I  sang ; 
But  still  the  notes  (m  Lanii:i  hung  — 

On  whom  but  Lamia  cuuld  they  hang? 

Those  eyes  of  hers,  that  floating  shine. 
Like  diamonds  in  snme  Eas.eru  river  ; 

That  kiss,  for  which,  if  worlds  were  mine, 
A  world  for  every  kiss  I  'd  give  her. 

That  frame  so  delicate,  yet  warmM 
Wiih  (lushes  of  love's  genial  hue  ;— 

A  mould  liansparent,  as  if  lorm'd 

To  let  the  spirit's  light  shine  through. 

Of  these  I  sung,  and  notes  and  words 

Were  sweet,  as  if  the  very  air 
From  Lamia's  lip  hung  e'er  the  chords. 

And  Lamia's  voice  still  warbled  there  1 

But  when,  alas,  1  turn'd  the  theme. 
And  when  of  vows  and  oaths  I  spoke, 

Of  ti-ulh  and  hope's  seducing  dream  — 
The  chord  beneath  my  hn^er  bioke. 

False  harp  \  false  woman  !  —  such,  oh.  such 
Are  lutes  too  frail  and  hearis  too  willing: 

Any  hand,  whatever  its  touch. 

Can  set  their  chords  or  pulses  thrilling. 

And  when  that  thrill  is  most  awake, 

And  when  you  think  Heaven's  joys  await  you, 

The  nvmph  will  change.  Hie  chord  will  break  — 
Oh  Love,  oh  Music,  how  I  hate  you  1 


I  saw  the  peasant's  hand  unkind 
From  yonder  oak  the  ivy  sever; 

They  seem'd  in  very  being  twin'd  ; 
Yet  now  the  oak  is  fresh  as  ever  I 

Not  80  the  widowM  ivy  shines  : 
Torn  from  its  dear  and  only  stay, 

Id  drooping;  widowhood  il  pines. 
And  scatters  all  its  bloom  away. 

Thus,  Julia,  did  our  hearis  entwine, 
Till  Fate  disturbed  their  tender  lies  : 

Thus  8fay  indifference  blooms  in  Ihine, 
While  mine,  deserted,  droops  and  dies! 


HYMN    OF   A   VIRGIN    OF   DELPHI, 
AT   THE  TOMB   OF  HER    MOTHER. 

Oh.  lost,  for  ever  lost  —  no  more 

Shall  Vesper  light  our  dewy  way 
Alon^  the  mcks  o|  Cnssa's  shoie, 

Th  hymn  the  fading  Hreaofday; 
No  mo:  e  to  Tenipe's  distant  vale 

In  holy  musings  shall  we  roam, 
Thiough  summer's  glow  and  winter's  gala, 

To  bear  the  mystic  cbaplets  home.* 
'T  was  then  my  soul's  expanding  zeal, 

By  nature  warm'd  ai  d  led  by  ihee, 
In  every  breeze  was  laught  to  feel 

The  breathings  of  a  Ueity. 
Guide  of  my  heart  I  still  hovering  round. 

Thy  looks,  thy  words  are  slill  my  own 
I  see  thee  raislnt;  from  the  gmund 

Some  laui'e',  by  the  winds  o'c  thrown. 
And  hear  Iheesay,  "This  humble  bough 

"  Was  plan-ed  for  a  doom  divine  j 
"And,  though  it  droop  in  languor  now, 

"  Shall  fluurisb  on  the  Delptiic  shrine  I 
'»  Thus,  in  the  vale  of  e^rrhiy  sen-e, 

*'  Though  sunk  awhile  the  spirit  lies, 
"A  viewless  hand  shall  cull  il  thence. 

**  To  bloom  immortal  in  the  skies  1** 

All  that  the  young  should  feel  and  know, 

liy  Ihee  v\a.  laught  sosv^eetly  well. 
Thy  words  fell  s(,ft  as  vernal  snow. 

And  all  was  brightness  where  they  felU 
Fond  soother  of  my  infant  tear. 

Fond  sharer  of  my  infant  joy, 
Is  not  thy  shade  still  lingering  here? 

Am  I  not  still  thy  soul's  employ  ? 
Oh  }  es  —  and,  as  in  former  days. 

When,  meeting  on  the  sacred  mount, 
Our  nymphs  awak'd  their  choral  lays 

And  danc'd  around  Cassotis'  fount ; 
As  then,  't  was  all  thy  wish  and  care, 

That  mine  should  be  the  simplest  mien. 
My  lyre  and  voice  the  sweetest  there, 

My  foot  the  lightest  o'er  the  green  ; 
So  >>till,  each  look  and  step  to  mould, 

Thy  gnardi.in  care  is  round  me  spread, 
Arranging  every  snowy  fold, 

And  guiding  every  mazy  tread. 
And,  when  I  lead  the  hymning  choir, 

Thy  spirit  still,  unseen  and  free, 
Hovers  netween  my  lip  and  lyre. 

And  weds  them  into  harmony. 
Flow^  Plistus,  flow,  thy  murmuring  wive 

Shall  never  drop  its  silv'ry  tear 
Upon  80  pure,  so  blest  a  grave. 

To  meBiot  y  so  entirely  dear  1 


SYMPATHY. 
TO  JULIA. 

—sloe  me  sit  nulla  Venu9.        Sv, 

Onr  hearts,  my  love,  were  forir.  'd  to  be 
The  genuine  twins  of  Sympathy, 
They  live  with  one  sensation  : 


1  The  laurel,  for  the  common  uses  rif  the  temple,  for 
adorning  the  altars  and  sweeping  the  pavement,  was 
supplied  by  a  tree  near  the  fountain  nf  Castalia; 
upon  all  important  occasions,  they  sent  to  Tempe  for 
their  laurel.  We  find,  in  Pausanius,  that  this  valley 
supplied  the  biaixhes  of  which  the  temple  was  origi- 
nally constructed  ;  and  Plutarch  says,  in  his  Dialogue 
on  Music,  **'rhe  youth  who  biings  the  Tempic  laurel 
to  Delphi  is  always  attended  hya  player  on  the  flute." 
AXSa  fiTjV  Kai  rto  KaraKOfu^ovTi  TTn:.di  rt/v  'Vifi- 
niKi}v  6a(PvT)V  tis  AtA^oug  napofiapru  av\7}T'i)$, 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


63 


lu  jny  or  ^rief,  but  most  in  love, 

Like  chords  in  uiiiscm  tlify  move, 

And  thrill  wilh  like  vibraliou. 

How  oft  I  've  fieard  Ihee  fondly  jay, 
'Jhy  viial  imlsi^  sliill  cease  lo  play 

When  niifieni.  more  is  moving; 
Since,  no^jf,  to  feel  ;i  jny  almie 
Were  worse  to  ihee  than  feeling  none, 

So  twiuii'd  are  we  in  loving. 


THE    TEAR. 

On  beds  of  snow  the  moonbeam  slept, 
And  chilly  was  the  midnight  gloom, 

When  by  the  damp  grave  Ellen  wept  — 
Fond  maid  !  it  wa»  her  Lindor's  tomb  1 

A  warm  tear  guahM,  the  wintry  air 
Coiigeal'd  It  :is  it  flow'd  awa\  : 

All  night  it  lay  an  ice-drop  thure, 
At  niurn  it  glitter'd  in  the  ray. 

An  angel,  wandVing  from  her  sphere. 
Who  saw  this  brighl,  this  frozen  gem, 

To  duw-ey'J  Pily  biouaht  the  tear, 
And  hung  it  on  her  di.idem  i 


THE    SNAKE. 

My  love  and  I,  the  other  day, 
Within  a  myrtle  arbour  lay. 
When  near  us,  frnm  a  rosy  bed, 
A  little  Snake  put  forth  iis  head. 

"See,'" said  the  maid  with  thoughtful  eyes  — 
"  Yonder  the  fatal  emblem  lies  ! 
*'  Who  could  expect  such  hidden  harm 
*'  Beneath  the  rose's  smiling  charm  ?  " 

Never  did  grave  remark  occur 
Less  a-propvs  than  this  from  her, 

I  rose  to  kill  the  snake,  but  she. 
Half-smiling,  pray'd  it  might  not  be. 
*'  No,"  said  the  mnideu  —  and.  alas, 

Her  eyes  spoke  volumes,  while  she  said  it  — 
*'  Long  as  the  snake  is  in  tlie  grass, 

"  One  may^  perhaps.  ha\  e  cause  to  dread  it : 
"  But,  when  its  wicked  eyes  api 

''And  when  we  know  for  wh; 
**  One  must  be  very  siniph 

**  To  let  it  wound  one  —  duu't  you  ihink  80  ?  " 


\hat  they  wink  so, 


TO    ROSA. 

Is  the  son?  of  Rosa  mute  ? 
Once  such  lays  inspired  her  lute  I 
Never  doth  a  sweeter  snng 
hte:\\  the  breezy  lyre  along. 
When  the  wind,  in  odours  dying. 
Wooes  it  with  enamour'd  sighing. 

Is  my  Rosa's  lute  imstrung? 
Once  a  tale  of  peace  it  sutig 
To  her  lover's  ;hrobI)ing  breast  — 
Then  was  he  divinely  blest ! 
Ah  !  but  R'lsa  loves  no  more. 
Therefore  Rosa's  sonp  is  o*er; 
And  her  lute  negleded  lies ; 
And  her  boy  forgotten  sighs. 
Silent  lute —  forgotten  lover- 
Rosa's  love  and  song  are  over  I 


ELEGIAC   STANZAS. 


Vhcn  wearied  wretches  sink  to  f-leep, 
Ilnw  hcaierily  soft  iheir  slumbers  lii 

low  sweet  is  death  tu  thnse  u  ho  wiej 
To  those  who  weep  and  long  to  die! 


Saw  you  the  soft  and  grassy  bed, 

Where  llowreis  dtck  the  green  earth'a  brewt? 
'T  is  there  I  wish  to  l.iy  my  head, 

^T  is  there  1  wish  to  slei-p  at  rest. 

Oh,  let  not  tears  embalm  my  tonib, — 
None  but  the  dews  at  twilight  given  I 

Oh,  let  not  sighs  disluib  the  gloom,— 
None  but  the  whispering  winds  of  beaveni 


LOVE    AND    MARRIAGE. 

Squo    brevi    verbo   fcrre   perenne    malum* 

Htcundus,  cieg.  vii. 

Still  the  question  I  must  parry. 
Still  a  wayward  truant  prove: 

Where  1  love,  I  must  not  marry  ; 
Where  I  marry,  cannot  love. 

Were  she  fairest  of  creation, 
Willi  the  least  presummg  mind  ; 

Learned  wi-hout  atfectalion; 
Not  deceitful,  yet  rehn'd ; 

Wise  enough,  but  never  rigid  ; 

Gay,  but  not  too  ligliily  free; 
Clia!,te  as  snow,  and  yel  not  frigid  , 

Foud,  yet  satisfied  with  me : 

Were  she  all  this  ten  times  over, 
All  that  heav'n  to  eailh  allows, 

I  should  be  ttjo  much  her  lover 
Ever  lo  become  her  spouse. 

Love  will  never  hear  ensbving; 

Sumnier  g  rmei.ts  suit  him  best ; 
Bliss  itself  is  not  worth  having, 

If  we  're  by  compulsion  blest. 


ANACREONTIC. 

I  filled  to  thee,  lo  thee  I  drank, 
I  nf.thin^.Iid  bnl  ilriiik  and  till; 

The  bowl  bv  turns  uas  bn^lil  and  blank, 
'T  was  drinking,  filling,  drinking  still. 

At  length  I  bid  an  artist  paint 
Thy  ini  ige  in  this  ample  cup. 

Thai  I  might  see  the  dimpled  saint, 
To  whom  I  quafi'd  my  nectar  up. 

Behold,  how  bright  that  purple  lip 
Now  blushes  through  the  wave  at  me; 

Every  rosrate  droji  I'^ip 
Is  just  like  kissing  wine  from  thee. 

And  still  !  drink  the  more  for  this  ; 

For.  ever  when  the  draught  1  diain, 
Thy  lip  invites  another  ki-s, 

And  —  in  the  nectar  flmvs  again. 

So,  liere  's  to  thee,  my  gentle  dear, 
And  may  that  eyelid  never  shine 

Beneath  a  darker,  bitterer  tear 
Thau  bathes  it  in  this  bowl  of  mino: 


64 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


THE    SURPRISE. 

Chloris,  I    wear,  by  all  1  ever  swore, 
Th.1t  from  this  hour  I  shall  noi  love  thee  more.— 
*'  Whal  !  love  no  iiime?  Oh!  why  thisaher'd  vow?" 
Because  I  caimot  love  tliee  more  —  Ihau  now  I 


ON    HER    ASKING    THE    AUTHOR    WHY     SHE 
HAD    SLEEPLESS    NIGHTS. 

I'll  ask  the  sylph  who  round  thee  flies, 
And  in  thy  breath  hi&  pinion  dips, 

Who  suns  him  in  thy  radiant  eyes, 
And  faints  upon  Ihy  sighing  lips  : 

I'll  ask  him  where 's  the  veil  of  sleep 
That  us'd  to  shade  ihy  looks  of  light; 

And  why  those  eyes  their  vii^il  keep, 
When  other  suns  art  sunk  in  night? 

And  I  will  S3V  —  her  an^el  breast 
Has  never  fhmbbd  with  guilty  sting; 

Her  bosom  is  ilie  sweete>t  nest 

Where  Slumber  could  repose  hia  wing  ! 

And  I  will  say  —  her  cheeks  ihat  flush, 

Like  vernal  roses  in  the  sun, 
Have  ne'er  by  shame  been  taught  lo  blush, 

Except  for  what  her  eyes  have  done  I 

Then  tell  me,  why,  thnu  child  of  air! 

Does  slumber  from  her  eyelids  rove  ? 
What  is  her  heart's  impassiou'd  caie  ? — 

Perhaps,  oh  syiph  1  perhaps,  't  U  Icve. 


THE    WONDER. 

Come,  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found, 
Whose  heart  can  love  wiihout  deceit, 

And  I  will  ranne  the  world  around, 
To  sigh  one  moment  at  her  teet. 

Ohl  tell  me  where  's  her  sainted  home, 
V/hat  air  receives  her  blessed  sigh, 

A  pilgrimage  of  years  I  'il  roam 
To  catch  one  sparkle  of  her  eye  ! 

And  if  her  cheek  be  smooth  and  bright, 
While  truth  within  her  bosom  lies, 

I  'II  z^ze  upon  her  morn  and  night, 

Till  my  heart  leave  me  through  my  eyet. 

Show  me  on  earth  a  thing  so  rare, 
I  'II  own  all  miracles  are  true  ; 

To  mike  one  maid  sincere  and  fair, 
Oh,  't  is  the  utmost  Heav'n  can  do  ! 


He  con  le  lor  bugie  p^on  divini.    Mauro  d*Arcai 

I  do  confess,  in  many  a  sigh, 
My  lips  have  breath'd  you  many  a  lie; 
And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 
Would  lose  them,  for  a  lie  or  two? 

Nay, — look  not  thu«,  with  brow  reproving 
Lies  are,  my  dear,  the  --oul  of  loving, 
If  hilf  we  tell  the  girls  were  true, 
If  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do, 
Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion, 
This  world  would  be  in  strange  confusion. 
If  ladies'  eyes  were,  every  one, 
A*^  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  sun. 
Astronomy  must  leave  the  skies, 
To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyes. 


Oh,  no  —  believe  me,  lovely  gir!, 
VVhen  nature  tunis  your  teeth  to  pearl, 
Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  Jire, 
Your  amt'cr  locks  to  golden  wire, 
Then,  only  then,  can  Heaven  decree 
That  you  should  live  for  only  me. 
Or  I  fur  you,  as  night  and  morn, 
We  've  swearing  kist,  and  kissing  sworn. 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear, 
For  once  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  dear. 
Whenever  yru  may  chance  to  meet 
Some  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet. 
Long  as  you  're  false  and  lie  believes  you, 
Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you, 
So  Ion?  the  blis-ful  bond  endures, 
And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours : 
But,  oh !  you  've  wholly  lost  the  youth 
The  instant  that  he  teUs  you  truth. 


ANACREONTIC. 

Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

'T  will  chase  that  pensive  tear; 

*T  is  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip, 

Bu',  oh  I  't  is  more  sincere. 

Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'T  will  steal  away  (hy  mind 
But,  truer  than  love's  dream. 
It  leaves  no  sting  behind. 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade ; 

These  flovv'rs  were  cnll'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  i-v  not  o'er; 
But  once  when  love  's  betray'd, 
lis  sweet  life  blooms  no  more. 

END     OF     VOL.     I, 


PREFACE 
TO  THE  SECOND  VOLUME. 

The  Poems  suseesled  to  me  by  my  visit  to  Bermuda, 
inthe  \e-ir  lS03,as  well  as  bythe  tour  which  I  made 
subsequently,  through  some  parts  of  North  America, 
have  been  hitherto  very  injudiciously  arranged  ;— any 
distinctive  character  they  may  possess  having  been 
disturbed  and  confused  by  their  being  mixed  up  not 
only  with  trifles  of  a  much  eailier  date,  but  also  with 
some  portions  of  a  classical  story,  in  ihe  form  of  Lel- 
te'S.  which  I  ban  rnade  some  progress  in  before  my 
departure  finm  England.  In  the  pres^ent  edition,  this 
a\vkward  jumble  has  been  remedied  ;  and  all  the 
Poems  relating  to  my  Transatlantic  voyage  will  be 
found  classed  by  th^niselves.  As,  in  like  manner,  the 
line  of  route  by  which  I  proceeded  through  some  parts 
of  the  Sta'es  and  the  Caiiadas.  has  been  left  hitherto  lo 
be  traced  confusedly  through  a  few  detached  notes,  I 
have  thought  that,  to  future  readers  of  these  poems, 
some  clearer  account  of  the  course  of  that  journey 
might  nol  be  unacceptable, — toge'her  with  such  ves- 
tiges as  miy  still  linger  in  my  memory  of  events  now 
fast  fading  Into  'he  back-ground  of  time. 

For  the  precise  date  of  my  departure  from  Ene^land, 
in  the  Phaeton  frigate,  I  am  indebted  to  (he  Naval  Re- 
collections of  Captain  Scott,  then  a  midshipman  of  that 
ship.  "We  were  soon  ready,"  says  this  gentleman, 
"for  sea,  and  a  few  days  saw  Mr.  Merry  and  suite 
embarked  on  board.  Mr.  Moore  likewise  took  his 
passage  with  us  on  his  wav  to  Bermuda.  We  (;uitted 
Spithead  on  Ihe  2r»th  of  September  (1803),  and  in  a 
•hort  week  lay  becalmed  under  the  lofty  peak  of  Pico. 
!h  this  situation,  the  Phaeton  is  depicted  in  the  frontis- 
piece of  Moore's  Poems.'* 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


65 


During  Ihe  voyn^e,  I  dined  verv  frequently 
the  officers  of  th(j  giin-r<>oin  ;  and  it  was  no'  a 
ffralityin?  tn  me  i"  le.xrn,  from  ih  s  geiileni.tiri 


lume,  Ihat  llie  cnrtiial  regan 

Ihrsc   social  and  o 

heartfil    liu-Ti    in-pirrd   in    ii 

e  was  no;  «lllly  <i 

lur.ieil.  on  their  pan.     Af!tT 

ii.eiilionin!;  our  an 

a'  Norlolk   in  Vii-ima,  Clap' 

\\n  Sc  >ll  savs,  "  Mr. 

Mrs.  .Merry  letl  the  P  ;aetnn 

un.k-r  the  usual  ja 

acconipaiiit-d  b\  Mr.  .Mooie  ; 

•  tlii-n  addiui  some  1 

kind 


Willi  a  senieiice  which  it  gave  me  tenfold  mnie  plea 
tuie  to  read,— "'Ihe  guii-iooui  mess  witnessed  tlie  day 
of  his  departu;e  with  genuine  soirow."  Frcm  Nor- 
folk, after  a  stay  of  about  leu  davs,  unde-  ihe  hospi- 
table lonf  of  the  Kritish  Consul.  Colt-nel  Hamilioti,  I 
piocetded  in  the  Driver  slnup  of  uar.  to  Bermuda 

'Iheie  was  iheQ  on  thai  siatioti  another  youthful 
saihir,  u  hn  h.i^  sitice  earned  fur  himself  adistiii'uihed 
name  amon;;  EMglish  writers  (  f  t?-avels,  Captain  Basil 
Hall -then  a  midshipman  on  bonrd  the  Le<nder.  In 
his  Frainien's  oi  Voy-iges  and  Tiavela,  this  writer  has 
called  up  some  agreeable  reminiscences  of  that  perioJ  ; 
in  perusing  which,— sj  full  of  life  and  rt-a  it\  are  his 
sketches.— I  found  all  my  cwn  naval  recUections 
hronght  freshly  o  my  mmd.  The  xery  names  of  ihe 
diHVreiit  ships,  then  so  familiar  to  my  e-us.— the  l^-an- 
der.  the  Boston,  the  Cambii.in,— traisported  me  hack 
to  Ihe  season  of  youth  and  those  Sunimer  Isles  once 

The  testimony  borne  by  so  competent  a  witness  a; 
Capt.in  Hall  to  the  truth bl  my  sketches  of  ihe  tteau 
tiful  sceiieiy  of  Bermu-ia  is  of  far  too  mnch  vluetf 
me.  m  mv  capacity  of  traveller,  to  be  here  omitted  by 
me,  hov^ever  cnnscious  I  mu>t  feel  of  but  ill  deserving 
the  praie  he  lavishes  on  me.  as  a  pnet.  Not  that  1 
pretend  lo  be  at  all  indilierent  to  such  kind  tributes, 
—on  the  coiiir.iry,  th  «e  are  always  he  m  '^i  ;ilive  to 
paise.  who  feel  inward  y  least  cnnhdence  in  the 
soundness  of  their  own  dlle  to  it.  In  the  i  resent  in- 
Bt-nce.  however,  my  vanity  (for  so  thib  unt-asv  feel* 
ine;  is  aU^ay^  called)  seeksits  fond  in  .»  different  direc- 
tion. It  is  not  as  a  poet  I  invoke  the  a.d  c^f  Capt 
Hall's  opinion,  but  as  a  traveller  and  observer ;  ii  is  i 
10  my  invention  I  ask  bim  to  bear  te.-timony,  but  to 
my  matter  cf-fict. 

"The  most  pleasing  and  mnst  exact  description 
which  1  know  of  Beimud>,"  says  Ihi-  gentleman,  *•  is 
lobe  found  in  iMoore's  Odes  and  Epistles,  a  work  pub- 
lished  many  years  ago.  The  reason  why  his  account 
excels  in  beau'y  as  well  as  in  piecisinn  that  of  other 
men  prohably  is,  that  the  scenes  de  ciibtd  lie  so  much 
beyond  the  scope  of  ordinaiy  observaion  in  colder 
climates,  and  the  feelings  which  ihey  exci'e  in  the 
beholder  aie  so  much  higher  than  tli' se  produced  by 
the  scenery  we  have  been  accustomed  to  look  at,  that, 
unless  the  iniaginarion  be  deeply  drawn  upon,  and  ihe 
diction  sustained  at  a  cnI^l•^p  ndent  pitch,  ihe  words 
alone  strike  ihe  ear.  while  the  listeners  fancy  remains 
where  it  was.  In  Moore's  account  there  is  not  only 
no  exaggeration,  but.  on  the  contrary,  a  wonderful 
drgreeof  temperance  in  the  midst  of  a  feast  which  to 
his  rich  fancy,  niu^i  have  been  peculiarly  templing. 
He  has  C'-intrived  by  a  m^gic  peculiarly  his  i)Wii,  yet 
without  departing  from  ihe  truth,  lo  .sketch  what  was 
before  him  with  a  fervnur  which  those  who  have 
never  been  on  the  !;po(  might  well  be  excused  for  set- 
ling  doivn  as  the  sport  of  ihe  poet's  invention.'"* 

How  truly  politic  it  is  in  a  poet  to  conm  ct  his  verse 
with  well-known  and  interesting  loci  lities.— to  wed 
his'ong  to  scenes  ahetdy  invested  with  fame,  and  thus 
lend  it  a  chance  <•{  sharing  Ihe  chirm  which  encircles 
•hem,— I  hive  my-elf,  in  more  dian  one  instance,  very 
jgreeably  experienced.  Among  Ihe  meni'irialsnf  this 
description,  which,  as  earn  with  pie  isure  at  d  pride, 
ittill  keep  Tie  reraenKe-red  in  some  of  tho^e  beautiful 
regi":is  of  the  West  which  I  visited,  I  r-hall  mention 
bu'  one  slight  ii. stance,  as  showiig  how  potently  the 
Genius  of  ttie  Place  may  lend  to  song  a  life  ana  im- 


perishableness  lo  which,  in  itself,  it  boasts  no  claiBi 
or  pfeiensi'in.     J  he  fultowing  lines,  in  one  of  my 

Bernmdi.in  I'oenis, 


With  a  (c\ 

still  live  in  memory,  1  am  told,  rn  thr-se  fairy  shores, 
coijiecling  my  lame  with  Ihe  picturesque  spot  the» 
dc  cube,  and  the  noble  old  tree  wi.ich  i  believe  still 
^d  MIS  ii.'i  One  of  Ihe  few  lre;*sin  es  (of  any  kind)  1 
P'ssfss,  is  a  goblet  formed  ofoi.e  of  the  frun-shoiis  of 
this  remarkable  tiee,  which  was  brought  firm  Ber- 
muda, a  few  years  since,  by  Mr.  Uud  ey  Cos'ello,  and 
which  that  gentleman,  Inving  had  it  lastefully  mriini- 
ed  as  a  goldel,  very  kindly  [iiescnied  t  •  me  ;  tfu  fol- 
lowing woids  beii  g  part  of  the  iiisciipt.on  winch  it 
bears  :  —  '*  To  Thomas  Moore,  Ksq.,  this  cup,  formed 
of  a  calabash  which  giewon  the  tree  thai  beai^  his 
name,  near  VVaNingliam,  Bermuda,  is  msciibed  Ly 
one  who.''  &c,  &c. 

From  Berniud.1  I  proceeded  in  the  Boston,  with  my 
friend  C;ipiain  {now  Admiral)  J  E.  Dougl-s.  lo  New 
Vork.  from  w  hence,  after  a  shoit  >iay,  we  sailed  for 
Nnrtulk.  in  Vngima;  and  about  ihe  beginning  of 
June,  1^04,  I  sei  oul  fnni  that  city  on  a  tour  through 
part  of  the  Sia'es.  At  Washington,  I  passed  snme 
d.ys  with  the  Knglish  mini.ier,  Mr.  Meny  ;  and  w;is, 
by  him,  [.resented  at  the  levee  of  Ihe  President,  Jef- 
feison,  «hoin  1  found  si  ting  wilh  General  Dearborn 
and  one  ot  two  oi|,er  ofi'.cer,,  and  in  the  same  homely 
costume,  coinp'isini;  slippers  and  Connemara  stock- 
ings, in  which  Mr.  Meny  had  been  received  by  him 
—much  to  ilut  foMi.al  imnisier's  honor-when  wait- 
ing upon  him,  in  full  dress,  to  deliver  his  credentials. 
My  single  inleivicw  wiih  this  remaikable  person  w-.s 
of  ver)  sin Tl  duration;  but  to  have  seen  and  spoken 
with  the  man  uho  drew  up  the  declaration  of  Ameri- 
can Indejendei.ce  vvas  an  eveiii  n  il  to  be  forgotten. 

At  Philadelphia,  Ihe  society  I  was  chietly  made 
acqu  tinted  wiih,  and  to  which  (as  the  versts  address- 
ed to  '-Dehuare's  green  banks"  3  sufficiently  te»tiiy) 
1  was  indebted  for  some  ol  my  most  agiee;«ble  recol* 
lecli">is  of  the  United  Slates  con  isted  entirety  of  per- 
sons uf  -he  Ffdeialist  or  An'i-IJeniOcratic  parly.  Few 
and  lian-^ienl,  loo.  .'S  had  been  my  0|  poituiiities,  of 
judging  for  myself  of  (he  political  or  social  stale  of 
ihe  country,  niy  mind  w;is  left  o(^eu  too  much  to  the 
influence  of  the  feelings  ai;d  prejudices  of  those  I 
chieily  con-oned  widi;  and,  ceri.iinly,  in  no  (juarler 
was  I  sO  jureto  hnd  decided  hostility,  both  lo  the  men 
and  Ihe  principles  ihen  dominant  throughout  the 
Union,  as  am  ng  officers  of  the  Biitish  navy,  and  in 
Ihe  ranks  of  an  angry  Federalist  npp-ailion.  For  any 
bias,  Iherefore,  ihat,  under  such  cncuiiistance-,  my 
opmii^ns  and  feelings  may  be  thocnht  to  have  receiv- 
ed, full  aliowaiicc.  of  c  'Oise,  h  to  be  made  in  api-iais- 
ing  'he  weight  due  to  m>  authority  on  the  subject. 
AM  I  can  answ.--:  fwr,  u  the  .;.fect  sin.erily  and 
carne-tness  of  Ihe  i-^iuif  Impics'ons,  \vhether  true  or 
ertoneous,  under  w  '"^  r-.}  Kpislles  froni  the  United 
St.ites  were  written;  and  si  s'rong,  at  the  time,  I 
confess  w'ere  those  impres.^ions,  that  it  was  the  only 
period  of  my  past  life  during  which  I  have  found 
m^'self  at  all  sceptic  il  as  lo  the  soundness  of  that 
Liberal  creed  of  politics,  in  the  profe^Mon  and  advo- 
cacy of  which  I  may  he  almo^^t  literally  said  to  have 
begun  life,  ;ind  shall  most  probablv  end  it. 

Reachine,  for  the  second  lime,  New  Yoik,  I  set  out 
from  thence  on  the  now  fimiliar  ai.d  easy  enterprise 
of  visiting  the  Falls  of  Niagaia.  It  is  but  too  true,  of 
all  grand  objects,  whether  in  nature  or  art,  that 
facility  of  .iccess  to  them  much  diniinishes  Ihe  feeling 
of  reverence  they  ought   to   inspire.    Of  this    faul', 


*  Fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels,  vol.  11.  chap. 


^A  representation  of  this  calabash,  taken  from  a 
drawing  of  rt  made,  on  the  spot,  by  Pr.  Savage,  of 
the  Royal  ArtiHery,  has  been  introduced  in  the  vig- 
nette prefixed  tc  ihis  volume, 

3  See  Epistle  lo  Mr.  W.  R.  Spencer,  p.  110  of  thif 
volume. 


66 


JUVENILE    POEMS, 


however,  the  rout*  to  Nia;ira,  at  that  period  — at 
least  ihe  potlioa  of  ;t  ivhich  led  through  tlie  Genesee 
country  —  could  not  justly  be  accused.  'Ihe  latter 
part  of  the  journey,  which  lay  chieliy  through  jet 
but  half-cleared  wood,  we  were  obliged  to  perform  on 
foot;  and  a  slight  accident  1  met  inth,  in  Ihe  course 
of  our  rugged  walk,  laid  me  up  lor  ^onie  days  at 
liutfalo.  In  the  rapid  ^rowlh,  in  that  wonderful 
region,  of,  at  least,  the  iiiateri.ils  if  civillzaiion, — 
however  ultinia'e  y  they  may  be  turned  lo  account, — 
this  (lourishing  to«n,  which  stands  on  Lake  Erie, 
be.irs  nio-t  ample  testimony.  Though  little  belter,  at 
the  lime  ulieii  1  visi.ed  it,  th.in  a  mere  village,  con- 
sisting chietly  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  ap- 
purtenances of  a  aipital. 

In  adverting  to  the  compiratively  rude  state  of 
Buffalo  at  that  period,  I  should  be  ungrateful  were  I 
to  omit  mentioning,  that,  even  then,  on  ihe  shores  of 
those  far  lakes,  the  title  of  "  Poet,"— however  un- 
worthily in  that  instance  bestowed, —  bespoke  ;i  kind 
and  distinguishing  welcome  for  its  wearer;  and  tha' 
the  Captain  who  commanded  the  packet  in  which  I 
crossed  Lake  Ontario,*  in  addition  lo  other  marks  of 
courtesy,  begged,  on  parting  vvith  me,  to  be  allowed 
to  decline  payment  for  my  passage. 

Wtien  we  arrived,  at  length  at  the  inn,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  ihe  Falls,  it  was  too  late  to  think  of 
visiting  them  ihat  evening ;  and  1  lay  awake  .ilinost 
the  whole  night  wiih  the  sound  of  the  cataiact  in  my 
ears.  The  day  following  I  consider  as  a  sort  of  era 
in  my  life;  and  the  first  glimpse  1  caught  of  that 
wonderful  calaiact  gave  me  a  feeling  which  nolhiug 
in  tilts  worid  can  ever  awaken  again.*  It  was 
through  an  opening  among  the  trees,  as  we  approach- 
ed the  spot  where  the  full  view  of  the  Falls  was  to 
burst  upon  us,  that  I  caii'ht  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  ttie  awful  spectacle  I  was  ap- 
proaching, that,  during  the  short  interval  that  follow- 
ed, imagination  had  far  outrun  the  reality  ;  and,  vast 
and  wonderful  as  w  as  the  scene  that  then  opened  upon 
me,  my  first  feeling  was  that  of  disappointment.  It 
would  have  been  impossible,  indeed,  for  any  thing 
real  to  come  up  to  the  vision  I  had,  in  these  few 
seconds,  formed  of  it;  and  th' se  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  imagination, 
the  triumph  of  reality  was,  in  the  end,  but  the 
greater;  for  the  gradual  glory  of  the  scene  that  open- 
ed upon  me  soon  took  possession  of  my  whole  mind ; 
presenting,  from  day  to  day,  some  new  beauty  or 
wonder, and,  like  all  that  is  most  sublime  in  nature  or 
art,  awakening  sad  as  well  as  elevating  thoughts.  I 
retain  in  my  memory  but  one  other  dream  —  for  such 
do  events  so  long  past  appear —  which  can  in  any  re- 
spect be  associated  with  the  grand  vision  I  have  just 
been  describing;  and,  however  difleient  the  nature  of 
their  appeals  to  the  imagination,  I  should  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  say  on  which  occasion  I  felt  most  deeply 
afiected,  when  looking  on  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  or 
when  standing  by  moonlight  among  the  ruins  of  the 
Coliseum. 

Some  changes.  I  understand,  injurious  to  the  beau'y 
of  the  scene,  have  taken  place  in  the  s!  ape  of  Ihe 
Falls  since  the  time  of  my  visit  to  them  ;  and  among 
these  is  the  total  disa|  nearance,  by  the  gradual  cium- 
bling  away  of  the  rock,  of  the'  small  leafy  island 
which  then  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  Great  Fall,  and 
whose  tranquillity  and  unapproachableness,  in  Ihe 
midst  of  so  much  turmoil,  lent  it  an  inerest  which  I 


t  The  Commodore  of  the  Lakes,  as  he  is  styled. 

^  The  two  first  sentences  of  the  above  paragraph, 
as  well  as  a  passage  that  occurs  near  the  foot  of  this 
column,  stood  originally  as  part  of  the  Notes  on  one 
of  the  American  Poems. 


thus  tried  to  avail  myself  of,  in  a  Song  of  Ihe  Spirit 
of  that  region :  a  — 

There,  amid  tlie  Islaod-sedBe, 
Just  atjove  llie  cat  itai-tN  eilKe. 
Wtiere  the  foot  of  living  man 
Wfver  trod  since  time  IjpRaii, 
Lone  I  Bit  at  dune  of  clay,  Ac.  &c. 

Another  characteristic  feature  of  the  vicinity  of  the 
Falls,  which,  1  undeisand,  no  longer  exists,  w.is  the 
interesting  selllenient  of  the  Tuscarora  Indians.  With 
the  gallant  Brock  *  who  then  commanded  at  Fort 
George,  I  passed  the  grea'er  part  of  mv  time  during 
the  few  weeks  I  lemained  at  Niag.ira;  and  a  visit  I 
paid  to  these  Indians,  in  company  with  him  and  his 
brother  oflrcers,  on  his  going  to  distribute  among  them 
the  customary  presents  and  prizes,  was  not  the  least 
curious  of  the  many  new  scenes  1  witnessed.  These 
people  received  us  in  all  their  ancient  costume.  The 
young  men  exhibited  for  our  amusement  in  the  race, 
the  bat-game,  and  other  sports,  while  the  old  and  the 
women  sat  in  groups  under  Ihe  suirounding  trees; 
and  the  whole  scene  was  as  picturesque  and  beautiful 
as  it  was  new  to  me.  It  is  said  that  West,  the  Ameri- 
can painter,  when  he  first  saw  ihe  Apollo,  at  Rome, 
exclaimed  instantly,  "A  young  Indian  warrior  !  "  — 
and,  however  stirtling  ihe  association  may  appear, 
some  of  the  graceful  and  agile  forms  which  I  saw  that 
day  among  the  Tnscaioras  were  such  as  would  account 
for  its  arising  in  the  young  painter's  mind. 

After  crossing  "Ihe  fiesh-waler  ocean  "of  Ontario, 
I  passed  down  Ihe  St.  Lawrence  to  Montreal  and 
Quebec,  slaying  for  a  sh'rt  time  at  e;ich  of  these 
places;  and  this  part  of  my  journey,  as  well  as  niv 
voyage  on  from  Quebec  to  Halif.x,  is  sufficiently 
traceable  through  ihe  tew  pieces  of  poetry  ih  it  were 
suggested  to  me  by  scenes  and  events  on  the  way. 
And  here  I  must  again  venture  to  avail  myself  of  the 
valuable  testimony  of  Captain  Hall  to  the  t  ulh  of  my 
descriptions  of  some  if  those  scenes  tbtcugh  which 
his  more  practised  eye  followed  me;  —  taking  the 
iiberly  to  omit  in  my  extracts,  as  far  as  may  te  done 
without  injury  to  the  style  or  context,  some  of  that 
generous  sur|ilusage  of  praise  in  which  friendly  criti- 
cism delights  to  indulge. 

In  speaking  of  an  excursion  he  had  made  up  the 
river  Ottawa.— "a  stream,"  he  adds,  "which  has  a 
classical  p'ace  in  every  one's  imagination  from  Moore's 
Canadian  Boat  Song,"  Cap  ain  Hall  proceeds  as  fol- 
lows :—"  While  the  poet  above  alluded  lo  has  re- 
tained all  that  is  essentially  characteristic  and  pleas- 
ing in  these  boat  songs,  and  rejec'ed  all  that  is  not  so, 
he  has  contiived  to  borrow  his  inspiration  from 
numerous  surrounding  circums'ances,  presenting  no- 
thing rcmark.able  to  the  dull  senses  of  ordinary  travel- 
lers. Vet  these  highly  poetical  images,  drawn  in 
this  way,  as  it  were  carelessly  and  from  every  hand, 
he  has  combined  with  such  graphic  —  I  h<d  almost 
said  geographical  —  truth,  that  the  effect  is  great  even 
upon  those  who  have  never,  with  their  own  eves, 
seen  the  '  Utawa's  tide,'  nor  'flown  down  the  Rapids,' 
nor  heard  the  'bell  of  St.  Anne's  toil  its  evening 
chime  ; '  while  the  same  lines  give  to  distant  regions, 
previously  consecrated  in  our  imagination,  a  vivid- 
ness of  interest,  when  viewed  on  the  spot,  of  which 
it  is  difllculi  to  siy  how  much  is  due  to  the  magic  of 
the  poetry,  and  how  much  lo  the  beauty  of  the  real 
scene."  5 


9  Introduced  in  the  Kpistle  to  Lady  Charlotte  Raw. 
don,  p.  1 12  of  this  volume. 

=  This  brave  and  amiable  oflir^r  was  killed  at 
QueensioD,  in  Upper  Caimda,  soon  after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  war  with  America,  in  the  year 
I.S12.  He  was  in  Ihe  act  of  cheering  on  his  men 
when  he  fell.  The  insciiption  on  the  monument 
raised  lo  his  memory,  on  Queenston  Heights,  does  but 
due  honour  to  his  manly  character. 

'  "  II  is  singularly  gratifying,"  the  author  adds,  "to 
the  Canadian  voyagcur$ 


discover  that,  to  this  he 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


67 


While  on  the  subject  of  the  Canadian  Boat  Sone,  an 
SDecdote  connected  with  thai  once  popular  ballad  may, 
for  my  nmsical  leadeis  at  least,  possess  some  interest. 
A  few  years  since,  while  s'aying  in  Dublin,  1  was 
presenled,  at  his  own  letiuesl,  to  a  ^enlleman  who 
lold  me  that  his  family  had  m  their  possession  a  cu- 
rious relic  (if  mv  ydulhfut  days,— being  the  first  nota- 
tion I  had  nnde,  in  pencilling.  <*f  the  a.r  and  wordw-f 
the  Canadian  lioal  Son?,  while  nn  my  way  down  the 
S'.  Lawrence.— and  tlial  il  w.is  their  wi^h  I  should  add 
my  signatuie  to  a'test   the  authen'icity  of  the  auto 


never  omit  their  oflerings  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Anne, 
before  ci. gaging  in  any  enterprise  j  and  that,  during 
i's  performance,  they  omit  no  opporlu'  ity  of  keeping 
ip  so  propitious  an  intercnur>e.  The  flouriNhini; 
illage  which  suirounds  (he  church  on  the  'Giet-n 
.jle  '  in  questi  n  owes  its  existence  and  support  entire- 
ly to  these  pious  contributions." 


graph,  I  assured  him  with  truth  that  I  had  wholly 
tUKotten  even  the  existence  of  such  a  memorandMm  ; 
that  it  would  be  as  much  a  curiosity  to  myself  as  it 
could  be  to  any  one  else,  and  that  I  should  feel  thank* 
ful  to  be  allowed  to  see  it.  In  a  day  or  two  afier,  my 
leijuest  was  complied  with,  and  ihe  following  is  the 
history  of  this  musical  '•  relic." 

In  niy  passage  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  I  hid  with 
me  t*vo  travelling  companious,  one  of  whom,  named 
Harkness,  the  son  nf  a  wealthy  Dublin  me:  chant,  has 
bt-eii  some  years  dead.  To  this  young  friend,  on  part- 
ing uilh  him,  at  Quebec.  I  gave,  ^s  a  keep>ake,  a 
volume  I  had  been  reading  on  the  way,— Priestley's 
Lectures  on  History  ;  and  it  was  upon  a  fly-leaf  of  this 
voiumel  found  I  had  taken  down,  in  pencilling,  both 
the  notes  and  a  few  of  the  words  of  the  original  song 
by  which  my  own  boat-glee  had  been  suggested.  The 
following  is  the  form  of  my  memorandum  of  the  origi- 
nal air :  — 


Then  follows,  as  pencilled  down  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  hrat  verse  of  my  Canadian  Boat  Song,  with 
air  and  words  as  they  are  at  present.  From  all  this 
it  will  be  perceived,  iha',  in  my  own  setting  of  the 
air,  I  departed  in  almost  every  respect  but  Ihe  lime 
from  the  strain  our  voya^eurs  htd  simg  to  us,  leaving 
the  music  of  the  glee  nearly  as  much  my  own  as  the 
words.  Vet.  how  strongly  impressed  I  had  becnme 
with  the  notion  that  this  was  the  identical  air  sung  by 
the  boatmen,— how  closely  it  linked  itself  in  my  imagi- 
nation with  the  scenes  and  sound"  amidst  wliich  it  had 
occurred  tr.  me, — may  be  seen  bv  reference  lo  a  note 
appended  to  the  glee  as  firs'  published,  which  will  be 
found  in  the  following  pages. i 

To  the  few  desultory  and.  j  erhaps,  valueless  recol- 
lections 1  have  thus  called  up,  respecting  the  conients 
of  our  second  volume,  I  have  only  to  add,  that  the 
heavy  storm  of  censure  and  ciiticisin.— some  of  it,  I 
fear,  but  too  well  deserved,— vxhich,  both  in  America 
and  in  England,  the  publication  of  my  "Odes  and 
Epistles"  drew  down  upon  me,  wns  followed  by  results 
wnich  have  far  inoie  than  compensated  for  any  pain 
such  attacks  at  the  tinje  may  have  inflicted.  In  the 
moat  formidable  of  all  my  censors,  at  that  period,— 
the  great  master  of  ihe  art  of  criticism,  in  our  day,— I 
have  found  ever  since  one  of  the  most  cordial  and 
hishly  valued  of  all  my  friends;  whde  the  good  will 
I  have  experienced  fiom  more  than  one  distinguished 
American  sufliciently  assures  me  that  any  injustice  1 
may  have  done  to  that  land  of  freemen,  if  not  long 
since  wholly  forgotten,  is  now  remembered  only  to  be 
forgiven. 

As  some  consolation  to  me  for  the  onsets  of  criti- 
cism. I  received,  shortly  after  the  appearauce  of  my 
volume,  a  letter  from  Stockholm,  addressed  to  "the 
author  of  Epistles,  Odes,  and  other  Poems,"  and  in- 
forming me  that  *'  the  Princes,  Nobles,  and  Gentle- 
men, wh(  composed  the  Geneial  Chapter  of  the  nmst 
Illustrious,  Equps'rian,  Secular,  ard  Chtp'eial  Order 
of  St.  Joachim."  had  elec'ed  me  as  a  Knight  of  Itiis 
Order.  Notwithstanding  the  grave  and  official  style 
of  the  letter,  I  regarded  it,  I  own.  at  first,  as  a  mere 
iMinderoug  jriece  of  pleasantry  ;  and  even  suspected  that 
in  the  name  of  St.  *■  loachim*'  I  could  detect  the  low 
and  irreverent  pun  of  St.  Jokehim. 

On  a  little  inquiry,  however,  I  learned  that  there 
actually  existed  such  an  order  of  knighthood  j  that  the 


title,  insignia,  &c.  conferred  by  it  had,  in  the  instances 
of  Lord  Nelson,  the  Duke  of^  Bouillon,  and  Colonel 
Imhoff,  who  were  all  knights  of  Si.  Joachim,  been 
authorized  by  the  British  court ;  but  that  since  then, 
this  saiiciion  of  the  order  had  been  withdrawn.  Ot 
course,  to  the  reduction  thus  caused  in  the  value  of  the 
honour  was  owing  its  descent  in  the  scale  of  distinc- 
tion to  "  such  small  deer''  <f  Farnassub  as  myself.  I 
wrote  a  letier,  however,  full  of  giateful  acknowledg- 
ment, lo  Monsieur  naiisson,  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the 
Order,  saying  thai  I  was  unconscious  of  having  enti- 
tled myself,  hv  any  public  service,  to  a  rev^aid  due 
only  to  the  benefactors  of  mankind  ;  and  therefore 
begged  leave  most  respectfully  to  decline  it. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 

THE  PHILOSOPHER  ARISTIPPUS,^ 

TO     A     LAMP 
WHICH    HAD    BEEN   GIVEN   IIIM    BY   LAIS, 

Duloia  coneeia  lectnli  lucernn. 

Martial,  lib.  xiv.  epig.  39, 
«'  Oh  !  love  the  Lnmp  "  (my  Mistress  said), 
"The  faithful  I^mp  that,  many  a  night, 
"Reside  thy  Lais'  lonely  bed 
"  His  kept  its  little  m  atch  of  light. 


1  Page  112  of  this  volume. 


^  It  does  not  appear  to  have  been  very  difl^cult  to 
become  a  philosopher  amongst  Ihe  ancients.  A 
moderate  stoie  of  learning,  with  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  confidence,  and  just  wit  enough  to  produce  an 
occasional  apophthegm,  seem  to  have  been  all  the 
qualifications  neces-ary  for  the  purpose.  The  prin- 
ciples of  moial  science  were  so  very  inqierfectly  un- 
derstood that  the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  in  forming 
his  ethical  code,  might  consult  either  fancy  or  tem- 
pi-rament,  and  adapt  it  lo  his  own  pis-ions  and  pro- 
pensities  ;  so  that  Maliomet,  with  a  little  more  learn- 
ing, micht  have  flourished  as  a  philosopher  in  those 
diys,  and  would  have  required  hui  the  polish  of  the 
schools  to  become  the  rival  of  Ari-tippus  in  morality.  1 
In  the  science  of  nature,  too,  though  some  valuable 
truths  were  discovered  hy  ihem,  they  seemed  hardly 
to  know  they  were  trtiths,  or  at  least  were  as  weJI 
satisfied  with  errors;  and  Xenophanes,  who  asserted 


168 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


"  Full  often  has  it  seen  her  weep, 

"  Aud  lix  !ier  eye  U|.oi.  its  flame, 
••Till,  weary,  she  lias  sunk  to  sleep, 

«'Re|ieating  liei  btlovcd's  name. 

••  Then  love  the  Lamp  —  H  will  of'en  lead 

"  1  hy  s  ep  through  Itatnii.gN  sacred  »ayj 
"And  ^vhenthc.se8udi"U^eJ>5■hail  read, 
"Atnii.linghl,b>  ilsh.nely  r.,y 

"Of  thin?s  sublime,  of  nature's  birth, 
"Of  all  liiafsbrirtt  in  heaven  or  earth, 
I'  Oh,  think  tl,a  she,  by  whom  't  was  giveir, 
1'  Adoi  ei  thee  more  than  earth  or  heaveu  ! 

Yes  —  dearest  Lamp,  by  every  charm 

On  which  thy  midmsht  beam  has  hung;  I 

The  head  reclin'd,  the  graceful  arm 
AciO;S  the  Lrow  of  ivory  Hung; 

Tbe  heaving  bnsom,  partly  hid. 
The  severd  hrs'  unc  .nsc...u^  sighs. 

The  fringe  that  from  the  half-shut  hd 
Adowii  the  cheek  of  roses  lies : 

By  these,  by  all  that  bloom  untold, 
And  long  as  all  shall  cliarm  my  heart, 

1  '1!  love  my  little  Lamp  of  gold  — 
My  Lamp  and  I  shall  never  part. 

And  often,  as  she  smiling  faid. 

In  fancy's  hour,  ihv  gentle  rays 
Shall  suide  my  visionary  tread 

Through  poesy's  enchanting  ma2e. 
Thy  flame  shall  light  the  page  refin'd, 

Where  still  vie  catch  the  Chian's  breath, 

Where  still  the  bard,  though  cold  in  death, 
Has  left  his  soul  unqueich'd  behind. 
Or,  o'er  thy  humbler  legend  shine, 

Oh,  man  of  Ascri's  diearv  glades.i 
To  whom  the  nijhtly  warbling  Nine  3 

A  wind  of  inspiraiioii  gave,'' 
Pluck'J  from  the  greenest  tiee,  that  shades 

The  crj'stal  of  Caslalia's  nave. 

Then,  turning  to  a  purer  lore, 
We'll  cull  the  sages'  deep-hid  store, 
Trom  Science  ste  il  her  goldtn  clue. 
And  every  m)^tic  path  pursue, 
Where  Nature,  far  fnni  vulgar  eyes. 
Through  labyiinlhs  of  wonder  flies. 
'T  IS  ihu<  my  heart  5h.all  learn  to  know 
How  fleeting  is  this  world  below. 


Where  all  that  meets  the  morning  light, 
Js  cbang'd  before  the  fall  of  night !  s 

I'll  tell  thee,  as  1  trim  thy  fire, 

"  Swift,  swift  the  tide  of  being  runs, 

"And  1  ime,  who  bids  thy  flame  expire, 
**  Will  -lUo  quench  yon  heaven  of  suds." 

Oh,  then  if  earth's  united  power 
Can  ne^er  chain  one  feathery  hour; 
If  every  print  we  leave  to  day 
To-morrow's  wave  will  sweep  away; 
Who  pau-es  to  inquire  of  heaven 
Why  were  the  fleeting  tieasuies  given. 
The  sunny  days,  the  shady  nights. 
And  all  their  brief  but  dear  delights. 
Which  heaven  has  made  frir  man  to  use. 
And  man  should  think  it  crime  to  lose? 
Who  that  has  cuU'd  a  fresh-blown  rose 
Will  ask  it  why  it  brea'hes  and  glows. 
Unmindful  of  the  blushing  ray. 
In  which  it  shines  its  soul  away  ; 
Unmindful  of  the  scented  sigli, 
With  which  it  dies  and  loves  to  die. 

Pleasure,  thou  only  good  on  earth !  s 
One  precious  moment  gi.'n  to  thee 

Oh  I  by  my  Lais'  lip,  't  is  worth 
The  sage's  immortality. 

Then  far  be  all  the  wisJom  hence. 

That  would  our  joys  one  hour  delay  I 
Alas,  the  feast  of  s-.ul  and  sense 

Love  calls  us  to  in  youth's  bright  day. 

If  not  soon  tas'ed,  fleets  away. 
Ne'er  wert  thou  formed,  my  Lamp,  to  shed 

Thy  splendiiur  on  a  lifeless  page;  — 
Wliate'e:  my  blushing  Liis  said 

Of  thoughtful  lore  and  s'udies  sage, 
'T  was  mockery  all  —  her  glance  of  joy 
Told  me  thy  dearest,  best  empl"y.i 
And.  soon  as  ni^ht  sliali  close  the  eye 

Of  heaven's  ynung  wanderer  in  the  west; 
When  seers  are  gaaing  on  the  sky. 
To  find  their  future  orbs  of  rest ; 


that  the  'tars  were  igneous  clouds,  lighted  up  every 
night  and  extinguished  again  in  the  ni'rning,  was 
thought  and  styled  a  philisopher,  as  generally  as  he 
who  anticipated  Newton  in  developing  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  universe. 

For  this  opinion  of  Xenophanes.  see  Plutarch,  de 
Placil.  Philo^oph.  lib.  ii  cap.  13.  Il  is  impossible  to 
read  this  treaiise  of  Plmarch,  without  alternately 
admiring  Ihe  genius,  and  smiling  at  the  absurdities  of 
the  philos  iphers. 

1  The  ancients  had  their  hicernae  cubiculariae  or 
bedchamber  lamps,  which,  as  Ihe  Emperor  Galienus 
said,  '*nil  eras  memineie  ;'' and,  with  the  same  com- 
mendalion  of  secrecv.  Praxagora  addresses  her  lamp 
in  Aristophanes,  EkkAjj;.  We  may  jidiC  howfanci- 
ful  they  were,  in  the  use  and  emhellishmeni  of  their 
lamps,  from  the  famous  syniholic  Lucerna,  which  we 
find  in  the  Romanuni  Museum  Mich.  Ang.  Causei,  p. 
127. 

0.  Heslod.  who  tells  us  in  melancholy  terms  of  his 
father's  Might  In  the  wretched  village  of  Ascra.  Epy. 
Kai  'Hmp.  v  231. 

3  EvvvYittt  artixov,  ntpLicaWia  uatrav  utcat. 
Theog.  V. 'lO. 

-*  Kat  fLOLa-KyTT7povt6ov,Sa(fiVT]^£OL9ri\£ao^ov, 
Id.  V.  30. 


'■Pfiv  Td  liXa  jrorajLOv  ltK7)V,  as 
among  the  dogmas  of  Heiacliius  the  Ephesian,  and  1 
with  the  same  image  by  .Seneca,  in  whom  we  find  a 
beautiful  diffusion  of  the  thought.  "  Nemo  est  mane, 
qui  fruit  pridie.  Corpora  nostra  rapiuntur  fluminum 
more  ;  quidquid  vides  currit  cum  tempore.  Nihil  ex 
his  qujE  videmus  manet.  Ego  ipse,  dum  loquor 
mutari  ipsa,  niutatus  sum,"  &c. 

6  Aris.ippus  considered  motion  as  the  principle  of 
happiness,  in  which  ide»  he  dififered  fri.m  Ihe  Epi- 
cuieaiis,  who  looked  to  a  stale  of  repose  as  the  only 
true  voluptuousness,  and  avoided  even  the  too  lively 
agilalions  of  pleasure,  as  a  violent  and  ungraceful 
derangement  of  the  senses. 

1  Mauperluis  has  been  still  more  explicit  than  this 
philosopher,  in  raniiing  the  pleasures  of  sense  above 
Ihe  sublimest  pursuits' of  wi-doni.  Speaking  of  the 
infant  man,  in  his  production,  he  calls  him,  "uae 
nouvelle  creature,  qui  pourra  comprendre  les  choses 
les  plus  sublimes,  el  ce  qui  est  bieii  au-dessus.  qui 
pourra  gouter  les  memes  plai 
Phys'que.     This  appears  to  be 


Ven 

le  of  the  eflorts  at  I 
Fontenelle's  gallaut'ry  of  manner,  for  which  the 
learned  President  is  so  well  and  justly  ridiculed  in  j 
Ihe  Akakia  of  Voltaire.  i 

M'uper'ui!  mav  be  tlioueht  to  have  borrowed  from 
the  ancient  Arisllppus  that  indiscrimina'e  theory  of 
pleasures  which  lie  Ins  set  forth  in  his  Essai  de  Phi-  i 
losophe  Morale,  and  for  which  he  was  so  very  jcstly 
condemned.  Aristippiis,  according  to  Laertius,  held  , 
/IT)  emipepuv  T£  ftSovriv  ']6ovr}';,  which  irrational  j 
sentiment  has  been  adopted  by  Maupenuis:  "Tant 
qu'on  ne  considere  que  I'et  t  present,  lous  les  pUisin 
sont  du  meme  genre,"  &c,  4:c.  1 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


69 


Then  shall  I  take  my  trembling  way, 
Unseen  but  to  Ihos'o  worlds  atKjve, 

And,  led  by  thy  mvsterious  ray^ 
bteal  to  the  night-bower  of  my  love. 


TO  MRS 

ON   HER    BEAUTIFUL   TRANSLATION    OF 
VOITURE'S  KISS. 

Mon  amp  eur  mon  levre  etoit  lors  toute  entierf^ 
Tour  eavoiirer  W  miel  qui  ifuT  la  vutre  elUl; 

Muis  en  me  retirai.I,  ille  re  la  derriere, 
Tuut  tlece  doux  Jjlaiwr  ramuice  la resloit.  Yottun 

How  heav'niy  was  the  poet's  donm, 
To  bieathe  his  spii  it  lhrous;h  a  kiss  ; 

And  lose  wilhiu  so  sweet  a  tomb 
The  trembling  messenger  of  bliss  1 

And,  sure  his  soul  relurn'd  to  feel 
That  it  again  could  ravisli'd  be  : 

For  in  the  ki^s  that  thou  didst  steal, 
His  life  and  soul  liave  fled  to  thee. 


RONDEAU. 

"  Good  iiijsht !  good  night !"  —  And  is  it  so  ? 

And  must  i  from  my  Kosa  go  ? 

Oh  Rosa,  say  "  Good  night !"  once  more, 

And  I  '11  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er, 

Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  light 

Shall  lind  us  saying,  still,  "  Good  night," 

And  still  "  Good  night,"  my  R.-sa,  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  slay  his  flight. 
To  listen  to  our  sweet  "  Good  uigtit." 

»'Good  night !"  you'll  murmur  with  a  sigh, 

And  tell  me  il  is  time  to  lly  : 

And  I  will  vow,  will  swear  to  go, 

While  still  th.it  sweet  voice  murmurs  "  No  ;» 

Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight  — 

AuJ  then,  my  love,  my  soul,  *■  Good  night  I" 


SONG. 

Why  does  ajure  deck  the  sky 
'Tis  lo  be  like  thy  Inckbof  blue; 

Why  is  red  the  rose's  dye  ? 
Recanse  it  is  thy  blushes'  hue. 

All  thai 's  fair,  by  Love's  decree, 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee 

Why  is  falling  snow  so  white, 
Biit  to  be  like  thy  bosnm  fair  ? 

Wily  are  solar  beams  so  bright  ? 
Tiia'  they  may  seem  Ihv  gnldcn  h: 

All  that 's  brieht,  by  Love's  decree. 

Has  lieen  made  resembling  thee  ! 

Why  are  nature's  beauties  felt? 

Oh!   t  is  thine  in  her  we  see! 
Why  has  music  power  lo  melt  ? 

Oh  !  because  it  speaks  like  thee. 
All  that  '8  sweet,  liy  Love's  decree, 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee  ! 


TO   ROSA. 

Like  one  who  trusts  to  summer  ski», 
And  puts  his  liltle  bark  lo  sra, 

Is  he  who,  h.r'd  by  smiling  eyes. 
Consigns  his  simple  heait  to  thee. 

For  fickle  is  the  summer  wind. 
And  sadly  may  the  bark  be  tost ; 

For  Ihou  art  sure  to  change  thy  mind. 
And  then  the  wretched  heart  is  lostl 


WRITTEN   IN   A   COMMONPLACE    BOOK, 
CALLED  "THE   BOOK  OF  FOLLIES; 
III  which  every  one  that  oyened  it  was  to 
contribute  something. 

TO   THE   BOOK   OF   FOLLIE.S. 

This  tribute  's  from  a  wretched  elf. 
Who  hails  thee,  emblem  of  himself. 
The  book  of  life,  which  I  have  Irac'd, 
Has  been,  like  thee,  a  motley  waste 
Of  follies  scribbled  o'er  and  o'er, 
One  folly  btingilig  hundreds  more. 
Sonie  have  indeed  been  writ  so  neat, 
In  chaiacters  so  fiir,  so  sweet. 
That  those  who  judge  not  too  severely. 
Have  said  they  lov'd  such  follies  dearly. 
Y'et  still,  0  bonk  1  the  nllusion  stands; 
For  these  weie  penn'd  by  female  hands; 
The  rest  —  alas  !  I  own  the  truth  — 
Have  all  been  scrihtded  so  uncouth 
That  I'nideiice,  wilh  a  v\iih'iing  look. 
Disdainful,  flings  away  Ihe  book. 
Like  thine,  \U  pages  here  and  there 
Have  ofi  been  s'ain'd  with  blots  of  care; 
And  sometimes  houis  of  peace,  I  owu, 
Upon  some  fairer  leaves  have  shown. 
White  as  the  snowmgs  of  that  heav'n 
By  which  Ihose  hours  of  pe.ace  were  given. 
Bui  now  no  longer—  such,  nh,  such 
The  blast  of  Di  appointment's  touchi 
No  longer  now  those  hours  appear  j 
E.ich  leaf  is  sullied  by  a  tear: 
Blank,  blank  is  ev'ry  page  with  care, 
Not  ev'n  a  folly  brighlens  there. 
Will  they  yet  brighten? — never,  never! 
Then  $hut  the  look,  0  God,  for  ever ! 


TO   ROSA. 

Say,  why  should  the  girl  of  mv  soul  be  id  teari 

At  a  meeling  of  rapture  like  this. 
When  the  glooms  of  Ihe  past  and  the  sorrow  of  years 

Have  been  paid  by  one  moment  of  bliss? 

Are  they  shed  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight. 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  yet  ? 
Do  they  flow,  like  the  dews  of  the  love-breathing  night, 

From  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set  ? 

Oh !  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  languishing  smile. 

That  smile,  which  is  loveliest  then ; 
And  if  such  are  the  drop,  that  delight  can  beguile, 

I'hou  shall  weep  them  again  and  agaio. 


LIGHT   SOUNDS   THE    HARP. 

Light  sounds  Ihe  harp  when  Ihe  combat  is  over, 
When  heroes  are  resting,  and  jny  is  in  bloom  j 

When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  cf  ihe  lover, 
And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plum* 


70 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


But,  when  the  foe  returns, 
A^nin  the  hero  burns  ; 
High  flames  ihe  swi.rd  iu  his  hand  once  more: 
The  clang  r,fn..nihnga-n.s 
Is  Ihen  the  sound  that  charms, 
And  brazen  notes  of  war,  that  s'lrriigtiunipe'spour;— 
Then,  again  comes  ihe  Harp,  when  the  couibat  is 
over  — 
When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom  — 
When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover, 

And  Cupid  makes  wing-*  r>f  the  warrior's  plume. 
Light  went  the  harp  when  Ihe  VVar-God,  reclining, 

Lay  luU'd  on  the  white  arm  nf  Betuty  to  rest, 
When  round  his  rich  ;.rmour  the  myrtle  hung  twining, 
And  flti^hts  of  young  doves  oiade  ins  helmet  their 
nest. 

But,  when  the  battle  came, 
The  hero's  eye  breathed  fl.ime  : 
Soon  from  his  neck  the  white  arm  was  flung j 
While,  to  his  wakening  ear, 
No  01  her  sounds  were  dear 
But  brazen  notes  t-f  war,  by  thousand  trumpets  sung. 
But  then  came  the  light  haip,  when  danger  was  ended, 
And  Beauty  once  more  lull'd  the  War-God  to  rest ; 
When  tresses  uf  gold  with  his  laurels  l?v  blended, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  bis  helmet  their 
nesU 


FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER.t 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  liquid  flame, 
And  -peak  my  Helindora's  name. 
Repeat  its  iii.igic  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  let  the  sound  my  lips  adme, 
Live  in  the  breeze,  till  every  tone, 
And  word,  and  breath,  speaks  her  alone. 

Give  me  the  wreath  that  withers  theie. 
It  was  but  Uht  delicinus  night, 
■  It  circled  her  luxuriant  hair, 

And  caught  her  eves'  reflected  light. 
Oh  !  haste,  and  twine  it  round  my  broir, 
»TisaU  of  her  that's  left  me  noiv. 
And  see  —  each  rosebud  drops  a  tear. 
To  find  Ihe  nymph  no  longer  here  — 
No  longer,  wheie  such  hetvenly  charms 
As  hers  should  be—  withm  these  arms. 


SONG. 

Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy  '.  to  me, 
Thou  wilt  never  find  any  sincerer; 

I  '11  give  up  the  world,  O  Bessy !  for  thee, 
1  can  never  meet  any  that's  dearer. 

Then  tell  me  no  more  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh. 
That  our  loves  will  be  censurM  by  many  ; 

All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny- 
That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any  ? 

When  your  Up  has  met  mine  in  communion  so  sweet, 

Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  ?— 
Have  we  felt  as  if  heav'n  denied  them  to  meet  ?— 

No,  rather  't  was  heav'n  thai  did  it. 
So  inniceiif,  love,  is  the  joy  we  then  sip, 

So  little  of  wrong  is  theie  in  it, 
Thit  I  wish  all  mv  errors  were  lodg'd  on  your  lip, 

And  I  "d  kiss  them  away  in  a  minute. 


Eyxcii  Kflt  iraXtv  ftJi-c,  naXiv,  traXtt',  HXioffwpaj 
EtTTC,  (Tvv  aKQ7]Ttu  TO  yXvKV  /itcry'  ovofia. 

Mva/ioo-vvov  KEivas,  afi(piTi9i.i  o-TE-^avov 
^aKpvu  ^iAcpaffrov  liov  ^o6ov,  ovvtKa  Kuvav 
AXkoi/i  k'  ov  KoXnoLS  TjfiiTtpoLS  £aoi,a. 

Brunck.  Aimlcct.^  tom.  i.,  p.  28. 


Then  come  to  your  lover,  oh  !  fly  to  liis  shed. 

From  a  world  which  I  know  thou  despisest  ; 
And  slumber  will  huver  as  light  o'er  our  bed 

As  e'er  on  the  couch  of  the  wisest. 
And  when  o'er  oiir  pillow  the  tempest  is  driven, 

And  thou,  pre'ty  innocent,  fearest, 
I  'II  ttll  ihee.  It  is  not  the  chiding  of  heav'n, 

'T  is  only  our  lullaby,  dearest. 

And,  oh  !  while  we  He  on  our  deathbed,  my  lev©. 

Looking  back  on  the  scene  cf  nur  errors, 
A  sigh  from  my  Bessy  sh;<ll  plead  then  above, 

And  Death  be  disarm'd  of  his  teirors. 
And  each  to  the  other  embiacing  will  say, 

''Farewell !  let  us  hope  we're  forgiven." 
Thy  last  fading  glance  will  illumine  the  way, 

And  a  kiss  be  our  pai^sport  to  heaven  1 


THE    RESEMBLANCE. 


La  (ieoiala  vcstra  forma  * 

Petrarc.  Sonnett.  14. 

Yes,  if  H  were  any  common  love, 
That  ltd  my  plimt  heart  astny, 

I  grant,  there's  not  a  power  above, 
Could  wipe  the  faithless  crime  away. 

But,  't  was  mv  doom  (o  err  with  one 

In  every  ln^k  so  like  to  Ihee 
That,  underneath  yon  blessed  sun, 

So  fair  there  are  but  thou  and  she. 

Both  born  of  beauty,  at  a  birth, 
She  held  with  thine  a  kindred  sway. 

And  wore  Ihe  only  shape  on  earth 
That  could  have  lur'd  my  soul  to  stray. 

Then  blame  me  not,  if  false  J  be, 
'T  was  love  that  uak'd  the  fond  excess; 

My  heart  liad  been  more  true  to  thee. 
Had  mine  eye  priz'd  thy  beauty  less. 


FANNY,    DEAREST. 

Yes  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Fanny,  deare>f,  for  thee  I  'd  sigh  ; 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  tufa 

To  tears  when  thou  art  nigh. 
But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep, 

So  busy  a  life  I  live, 
That  even  the  time  it  would  lake  to  weep 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 
Then  hid  me  not  to  de-pair  and  pine, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears! 
The  Love  that  "s  oider'd  to  b*the  in  wine, 

Would  be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 
Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies; 

But,  :ih.  the  mirror  wi  uld  ctase  to  shinty 
If  dimm'd  too  often  with  sighs. 

Thev  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light. 
Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear; 

And  't  is  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 
That  I  keep  niv  eve-beam  clear. 

Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow 
Fanny,  dearest  —  the  hope  is  vain ; 

If  sunshine  cannot  di-^solve  thy  snow 
I  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


71 


THE    RING. 
TO 

No  —  Lady  !  Lady  !  keep  the  ring : 
Oh!  Iliirik,  h()»-  ni:iiiy  a.  future  year, 

Of  placid  smile  and  dnwuy  wing, 
May  sleep  within  its  holy  sphere. 

Do  not  disturb  their  tranquil  dream^ 

Though  love  hath  ne'er  the  mystery  warni'J  ; 

Vet  heav'u  will  shed  a  soothing  beam, 
To  bless  the  bond  itself  hath  form'd. 

But  then,  that  eye,  thai  burning  eye,— 
Oh  I  it  doth  a>k,  wiih  witching  power. 

If  heaven  can  ever  bless  Ihe  tie 
Where  love  iuwreaths  no  genial  flower  ? 

Awav,  away,  bewildering  look, 

Or  ai!  the  boast  of  virtue  's  o'er  J 
Go—  hie  thee  to  ihe  sage's  bnok. 

And  learn  from  him  to  feel  no  more. 

I  cannot  warn  thee ;  every  touch, 
That  brings  my  pulses  close  to  thine. 

Tells  nie  I  want  thy  aid  as  much  — 
Ev'n  more,  alas,  than  thou  dost  mine. 

Yet,  stay,—  one  hope,  one  eflort  yet  — 

A  moment  turn  Ihose  eyes  away, 
And  let  me,  if  I  can,  forget 

The  light  that  leads  my  soul  astray. 

Thou  say'st,  that  we  were  born  to  meet, 
That  our  hearts  bear  one  couimon  seal ;  — 

Think,  Ladv,  Ihink,  how  man's  deceit 
Can  seem  to  sigh  and  feign  lo  leel. 

When,  o'er  thy  face  some  gleam  of  thought, 
Like  davbeams  through  Ihe  moining  air 

Halh  gradual  stole,  and  I  have  caught 
'I'he  feeling  ere  it  kindled  Iheiej 

The  sympathy  I  then  lielray'd, 
I'erhaps  was  but  the  child  of  art, 

The  guile  of  one,  who  long  halh  play'd 
With  all  these  wily  nets  of  heart. 

Oh  !  thine  is  not  my  earliest  vow  ; 
Though  few  the  years  1  yet  have  told. 
Canst  Ihou  believe  I  've  lived  lill  now, 

With  loveless  heart  or  senses  cold  ? 

No  —  olher  nymphs  to  joy  and  pain 
This  wild  and  wandering  htart  hath  mov'd  ; 

With  some  it  sported,  wild  and  vain, 
While  some  it  dearly,  truly,  lov'd. 

The  cheek  to  thine  I  fondly  lay. 
To  theirs  haih  been  as  fnndly  laid; 

The  words  lo  thee  I  warmly  say, 
To  them  have  been  as  warmly  said. 

Then,  scorn  at  once  a  worthless  heart, 
Wnrihless  alike,  or  fiY'd  or  free  ; 

Think  of  Ihe  pure,  bright  soul  thou  art, 
And  —  love  not  me,  oh,  love  not  me. 

Enough  —  now,  turn  thine  eyes  again  ; 

What,  still  that  look  and  still  that  sigh  ! 
Dost  thou  not  feel  my  counsel  then  ? 

Oh!  no,  beloved, —  nor  do  1, 


TO    THE    INVISIBLE   GIRL. 

They  try  lo  persuade  me,  my  dear  little  sprite. 
That  you  're  not  a  true  daughter  of  ether  and  light. 
Nor  have  any  concern  with  those  fanciful  forms 
That  dance  upon  rainbows  and  ride  upon  storms; 


That,  in  short,  you  're  a  woman ;  yoar  lip  and  your 
tye 

As  mortal  as  ever  drew  gods  from  the  sky. 

But  I  will  not  believe  Iheni  —  no.  Science,  to  you 

1  have  long  bid  a  last  aud  a  careless  adieu: 

Still  laying  from  Natuie  to  study  her  taws, 

And  dulling  delight  by  exploring  its  cause, 

Vou  forget  how  superior,  for  mortals  below. 

Is  the  fiction  they  dream  to  the  truth  that  they  know. 

Oh  !  who,  th.it  has  e'er  enjoyed  r.ipture  complete. 

Would  ask  huw  we  feel  it,  or  why  it  is  sweet ; 

How  rajs  are  confiis'd,  or  how  particles  fly 

Through  the  medium  refin'd  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh ; 

Is  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather  have 

known  it. 
Than  written,  with  Harvey,  whole  volumes  upon  it  ? 

As  for  you,  my  sweet-voiced  and  invisible  love, 
You  must  surely  be  one  of  those  spirits,  that  rove 
By  the  bank  where,  at  twilight,  the  poet  reclines. 
When  the  st.ir  of  the  west  on  his  solitude  shines. 
And  the  magical  fingers  of  fancy  have  hung 
Every  breeze  with  a  sigh,  eiery  leaf  with  a  tongue. 
Oh!  hint  lo  him  then,  'lis  retirement  alone 
Can  hallow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone ; 
Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  seclusion  between, 
His  song  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen. 
And  like  you,  a  legitimate  child  of  Ihe  spheies, 
Escape  froni  the  eye  to  enrapture  the  ears 

Sweet  spirit  of  mystery  '.  how  I  should  love, 
In  the  wearisome  ways  I  am  fated  lo  rove. 
To  have  you  thus  ever  invisibly  nigh. 
Inhaling  for  ever  your  song  and  your  sigh 
Mid  the  crowds  of  Ihe  world  and  the  murmurs  of 

care, 
I  might  sometimes  converse  with  my  nymph  of  the 

air. 
And  turn  with  distaste  from  Ihe  claniorous  crew 
To  steal  in  the  pauses  one  whisper  from  you. 

Then,  come  and  be  near  me,  for  ever  be  mine. 
We  shall  bold  in  Ihe  air  a  communion  divine, 
As  sweet  .as,  of  old,  was  imagin'i  to  dwell 
In  Ihe  siotto  of  Numa,  or  Socra'es'  cell. 
And  oft,  at  those  lingering  moments  of  night. 
When  ihf  heart's  busy  thoughts  have  put  slumber  to 

fl  ght. 
You  shall  come  lo  my  pillow  and  tell  me  of  love. 
Such  as  angel  to  angel  might  whisper  above. 
Sweet  spirit!  — and  then,  could  you  borrow  Ihe  lone 
Of  thai  voice,  to  my  ear  like  some  fiiry-snng  known, 
1  he  voice  of  the  one  upon  earth,  who  has  Iwiii'd 
Wilh  her  being  forever  my  heart  and  my  mind, 
Though  lonely  and  far  from  Ihe  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  Caia  is  near; 
That  she  conies  with  consoling  enchantment  lo  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  realities  frown  as  they  will, 
Hope,  fancy,  and  Caia  may  smile  for  me  still. 


THE    RING.t 
A   TALIS. 

Annuliis  illc  viri.  — Ovid.  Amor.  lib.  11.,  eleg.  16. 

The  happy  day  at  length  arriv'J 

When  Rupert  was  io  wed 
The  f.iire-1  maid  in  .Saxony, 

Aud  take  hej-  to  his  bed. 


I  should  be  sorry  lo  Ihink  that  my  friend  had  aojr 


72 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


As  soon  as  morn  was  in  the  sky, 
Tbe  feast  and  sports  began  ; 

Tlie  men  admirM  the  happy  maid, 
'J  he  maids  ihe  happy  man. 


of  1 


In  many  a  sweet  device 
The  day  was  pass'd  ,.lon 

And  some  the  fea'Iy  dance 
And  some  the  dulcet  son 


The  younger  maids  with  Isabel 

Disponed  through  the  bowers, 
And  deck'd  her  robe,  and  crowned  her  head 

VVilh  motley  bnddl  flowers. 

The  matrons  all  in  rich  attire, 

Wilhiu  the  ca.tle  walls. 
Sat  lis'ening  lo  the  choral  strains 

That  echo'd  through  the  halls 

Young  Ruper!  and  his  friends  repair'd 

Unto  a  spacious  court, 
To  St  I  ike  the  bounding  tennis-ball 

In  feat  and  manly  sport. 

Tlie  bridegroom  on  his  finger  wore 

The  weddins^-ringso  bright. 
Which  was  lo  grace  the  lily  hand 

Uf  Isabel  that  night. 

And  fearing  he  might  break  Ihe  gem, 

Or  lose  it  in  the  play, 
He  look'd  around  the  court,  to  see 

Wheie  he  the  ring  might  by. 

Now,  in  the  cnurt  a  statue  stood, 
Which  there  full  long  had  been  ; 

It  might  a  Ht-a'hen  poddess  be, 
Or  else,  a  Heathen  queen. 

Upon  its  marble  finger  then 

He  tried  the  ring  10  fit; 
And,  thinkmg  it  was  safest  there, 

Thereon  he  fasten'd  it. 

And  now  the  tennis  sports  went  on, 

Till  they  were  w>aried  all, 
And  mesi^en^ers  annonncM  to  them 

Their  dinner  iu  the  hall. 

Young  Rupeit  for  his  wedding-ring 

Unto  the  statue  went ; 
Bu',  oh,  how  shock'd  w.is  he  to  find 

The  marble  finger  bent ! 

The  hand  was  clos'd  upon  the  ring 

With  firm  and  mighty  clasp; 
In  vnin  he  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried. 

He  could  not  loose  the  grasp  1 

Then  sore  surpris'd  was  Rupert's  mind 

As  well  his  mind  might  be; 
•*  I  Ml  come,"  quuth  he,  "  at  night  again, 

*•  When  none  are  here  to  see." 

He  went  unto  the  feast,  and  much 

He  thought  upon  his  ring; 
And  niarvell'd  sorely  what  could  mean 

So  very  strange  a  thing! 


serious  intentions  of  frijhtening  the  nursery  by  this 
story  :  1  rather  hope  —  th"iigh  the  manner  of  it  leads 
me  to  doubt  —  that  his  design  was  to  ridicule  that  dis- 
tempered taste  which  prefers  thuse  monsters  of  the 
fancy  to  the  "  speciosa  miracula"  of  true  poetic  imagi- 
uatinn. 

I  find  by  a  note  in  the  manuscript,  that  he  met  with 
this  s'ory'in  a  German  author,  fromi/mu  ufwn  Fasci- 
nation^ book  iii.,  part  vi.,  ch.  18.  On  cDn-uliing  the 
work.  I  perceive  that  Fromman  quotes  it  from  Belua- 
censis,  among  many  other  stories  equally  diabolical 
and  interesting.     K. 


The  feast  was  o'er,  and  to  the  court 

He  hied  without  del  .y, 
ResoIvM  to  break  the  marble  band 

And  force  the  ring  aw  ay. 

But.  mark  a  stranger  wonder  still  — 

The  rt.iguas  (here  no  more, 
And  yet  the  marble  hand  uugraspM, 

And  open  as  before  ! 

He  searched  the  ba^e.  and  all  the  court. 

But  nothing  could  he  find  ; 
Then  to  the  castle  hied  he  back 

With  sore  bewilder^  mind. 

Within  he  found  thenn  all  in  mirth, 

The  night  in  dancing  flew  ; 
The  youth  another  ring  procur'd, 

And  none  the  adventure  kne^v. 

And  now  the  priest  has  ioin'd  their  hands, 

Tbe  hours  of  love  advance 
Rupert  almost  f')rgets  to  think 

Upon  the  morn's  misctiauce. 

Within  the  bed  fair  Isabel 

III  bitishiiig  sweetness  lay, 
Like  tlowers,  half-open'd  by  Ihe  dawn, 


And  1 


ling  for  the  dav. 


And  Rupert,  by  her  lovely  side, 

In  \outhful  beauty  kIows, 
Like  Pl)f£bus,  w  hen  he  bends  to  cast 

His  beams  upon  a  rose. 

And  here  my  song  would  leave  them  both, 

Nor  let  Ihe  lest  be  loid, 
If  'I  were  not  for  the  horrid  tale 

It  yet  has  to  unfold. 

Soon  Rupert,  'Iwixt  his  bride  and  him, 

A  death-cold  crcass  found  ; 
He  saw  it  not,  but  ihousht  he  felt 

Its  anus  embrace  him  round. 

He  started  up,  and  then  return'd, 

But  found  ilie  phantom  still; 
In  vain  he  shrunk,  i'  clipp'd  him  round, 

With  damp  and  deadly  chill ! 

And  when  he  bent,  the  earthy  lips 

A  kiss  of  horror  gave  ; 
'T  was  like  the  smell  from  charnel  vaults, 

Or  from  the  mouldVing  grave  1 

Ill-fated  Rupert !  —  wild  and  loud 

Then  cried  he  to  his  wife, 
"Oh  !  save  me  fiom  ihis  horrid  fiend, 

*'  My  Isabel  I  my  life !" 

But  Isabel  had  nothing  seen, 

She  Ir.okVl  around  in  vain; 
And  much  she  mourn'd  the  mad  conceit 

That  rack'd  her  Rupert's  brain. 

At  length  from  this  invisible 
These  words  to  Rnpe.tcame: 

(Oh  God  !  while  be  did  hear  the  words 
What  terrors  shook  his  frame  IJ 

"  Husband,  husband,  I've  the  ring 

**  Thou  g'v'st  to  day  to  nie  ; 
"And  ihou'rt  to  me  f  t  ever  wed, 

"  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  T* 

And  all  the  ni£ht  the  den.on  lay 

Cnld  chiMiiig  by  his  side, 
And  ^train'd  him  with  such  deadlv  grasp, 

He  Ihoi.ghl  he  should  have  died. 
But  when  the  dawn  of  day  was  near, 

The  horrid  phantom  fled. 
And  left  th'  atlrighted  youth  lo  weep 

By  Isabel  in  bed. 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


73  i 


And  all  tliat  dav  a  ?lonmy  cloud 

Was  seen  on'Kuptrt's  browsj 
Tair  Isabel  was  likewise  sad, 

2u   strove  to  cheer  her  spouse. 

And,  ns  the  dav  advant'd,  he  thought 

Of  cimiMi?  ilight  with  fear; 
Alas,  that  he  should  dread  lo  view 

The  Led  that  should  be  dear! 

At  lenslh  the  second  ni^ht  arrived, 

Again  their  cnuch  they  pres^'d  ; 
Ponr  Rupert  hnpM  ihal  all  was  O'er, 

And  iook'd  for  love  and  rest. 

But,  oh  '.  when  midnight  came,  again 

The  fieiid  was  at  his  side, 
And,  as  it  strain'd  him  in  its  grasp, 

With  howl  exulting  cried:  — 

»*  Husband,  husband,  I  've  the  ring, 

*'  The  ring  Ihdu  giv'st  to  me  ; 
"And  thou 'ft  lo  me  for  ever  wed, 

*'  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  I  " 

In  a^ony  of  wild  despair, 

He  started  from  the  bed  ; 
And  Ihus  to  his  bewilderM  wife 

The  trembling  Rupert  said  : 

**0h,  Isabel !  dosi  thou  not  see 

*'  A  shape  of  horrors  here, 
"  That  strains  me  to  its  deadly  kisn, 

**  And  keeps  me  from  my  dear  ?" 

"  No,  no,  my  Inve!  my  Rupert,  1 

"Nn  shape  of  hnrroVs  see; 
*'Aitd  much  1  mourn  the  phantasy 

'*  That  keeps  my  dear  from  me." 

This  night,  just  like  the  niglit  befor^ 

In  tenors  pass'd  away. 
Nor  did  the  demon  vaii>sh  thence 

Befire  the  dawn  of  day. 

S^id  Rupert  then,  "  My  Isabel, 

*'  Pear  partner  of  my  woe, 
*'To  FalhiT  Austin's  hnly  cave 

"This  instant  will  I  go." 

Now  Austin  was  a  reverend  man, 

Who  acied  wonders  maint  — 
Whom  all  the  country  round  believM 

A  devil  or  a  saint! 

To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 

Then  Rupert  slrai-htwiy  went ; 
And  told  him  all,  and  a^k'd  him  how 

These  horrors  to  prevent. 

The  father  heard  the  youth,  and  then 

HetirM  awhile  to  pray  ; 
And,  having  prayM  for  half  an  hour, 

Thus  (0  the  youth  did  s:iy  : 

**  There  is  a  jilace  where  four  roads  meet- 

"  Which  I  will  lell  to  thee; 
"Be  there  tl.is  eve,  at  fall  n(  night, 

"And  list  what  thou  shall  see. 

"Thou  'It  see  a  sroup  of  figures  pass 

"  In  strange  disorder'd  cniwd, 
"Travelling  by  torchlight  Ihrough  the  roads, 

"  Wiih  noises  stnnge  and  loud. 

"And  one  that 's  high  nbnve  the  rest, 

"Terrific  towering  n'er, 
•'  Will  make  thee  kn<nv  him  at  a  glance, 

"So  1  need  say  no  more. 

"To  him  from  me  these  table's  give, 

"They'll  t|iiick  be  understonj  ; 
"Thou  need'st  not  fear,  but  give  them  straight, 

"  I  've  scrawl'd  them  with  mv  blood  !  " 


The  night-fall  came,  and  Rupert  all 

In  pale  amazement  went 
To  where  the  crObs-rtiad>  met,  as  he 

Was  by  the  Fa  her  sent. 

Ana  lo  !  a  group  of  C'sures  came 

In  s'range  disorder  a  crnwd, 
Travelling  by  torchlight  ihrnugh  the  roads, 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And,  as  the  Rloimy  train  advanc'd, 

Rupert  beheld  fiom  far 
A  female  form  of  wanton  miea 

High  sealed  on  a  car. 

And  Rupert,  as  he  gaz'd  upon 

The  loosely-vested  dame, 
Thought  of  tlie  marble  staUie's  look, 

For  hers  was  just  the  same. 

Behind  her  walk'd  a  hideous  form, 

With  eyeballs  flashing  deaHi ; 
Whene'er  he  breath'd,  asulphur'd  smoke 

Came  burning  in  his  breath. 

He  seem'd  the  first  of  all  the  croxvd, 

Teriific  tnweringn'er; 
"  Yes,  ye>,"  said  Rupert,  "  this  is  he, 

'*  And  1  need  ask  no  more." 

Then  slow  he  went,  and  to  this  fiend 

The  tablets  trembling  gave. 
Who  iook'd  and  read  them  with  a  yell 

That  would  disturb  the  grave. 

And  when  he  saw  the  Mood-scrawl'd  name, 

His  e\es  with  fury  bhine; 
"  I  thought,"  cries  he,  *'  liis  time  was  out, 

"  But  he  mubt  soon  be  mine  1 " 

Then  darting  at  (he  youth  a  look 
Which  rent  his  soul  with  fear, 

He  went  unto  the  female  tiend, 
And  whisperM  in  her  ear. 

The  female  fiend  no  sooner  heard 

Than,  with  reluctant  look, 
The  very  rin«  that  Rupert  lost, 

She  from  her  finger  look. 

And,  giving  it  unto  the  youth, 
With  eyes  that  breath'd  of  hell, 

She  said,  in  that  tremendous  voice, 
Which  he  remember'd  well: 

"  In  Austin's  name  lake  back  the  ring, 

*'  The  ring  thou  gav'st  to  me  ; 
"  And  thou  'rt  to  me  no  longer  wed, 

"  Nor  longer  I  to  thee." 

He  took  the  ring,  the  rabble  pass'd, 

Hehnmere'uVn'd  again; 
His  wife  was  then  the  happiest  fair, 

The  happiest  he  of  men. 


ON     SEEING     HER     WITH    A    WHITE     VEIL 
AND    A    RICH    GIRDLE. 

MapyagLTai  dijXovo-t  ^aKpvwv  ^ouv. 

Jlp.  Nicephor.  in  Oiieirocritico, 

Put  off  the  vestiil  veil,  nor,  oh  ! 

Ut  weeping  an-els  view  it; 
Your  cheeks  belie  is  virgin  snow, 

And  blush  repenting  through  it. 

Put  off  the  fatal  zone  you  wear; 

The  shining  pearls  around  it 
Are  tears,  that  fell  from  Virtue  there, 

The  hour  when  Lnvc  unbound  it. 


74 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  BLANK  LEAF 
OF  A.  lady's   commonplace   book. 

Here  is  one  leaf  re-^erv'tl  foi  Aie, 
Fiom  all  thy  sweet  memorials  free; 
And  he<e  my  simple  song  might  teil 
The  fillings  Ihou  musi  guess  so  well. 
But  cnuld  i  ihus.  within  thy  mlod, 
One  htlle  vacani  corner  find, 
Where  no  impre-sjnn  yet  is  seen. 
Where  no  memorial  yet  hilli  been, 
Oh  !  it  should  be  my  sweetest  care 
To  write  my  name  for  ever  there! 


WRITTEN     IN     HER     ALBUM, 

They  sny  that  Love  had  once  a  book 

(The  urchin  likes  to  ct>py  you), 
Where^  all  who  came,  the  pencil  took, 

And  wrote,  like  us,  a  line  or  two, 

'Twas  Innocence,  the  maid  divine. 
Who  kept  this  volume  bright  and  fair, 

And  saw  th.^t  no  unliallowMIine 

Or  thought  profane  should  enter  there; 

And  dailv  did  the  pages  fill 

Wiih  fond  device  and  loving  lore, 

And  every  leaf  she  lurn'd  was  siill 

More  bright  ihan  that  she  lurn'd  before. 

Beneath  the  tonch  of  Hope,  how  soft, 
How  tight  the  ma^ic  pencil  ran  I 

Till  Fear  would  con^e,  abs,  as  oft. 
And  trembling  close  what  Hope  began, 

A  tear  or  two  had  dropp'd  from  Grief, 
And  Jealousy  would,  now  and  then, 

Ruffle  in  hr-ste  some  snow-white  leaf. 
Which  Love  had  still  to  smooth  again. 

But.  ah!  there  came  a  blooming  boy, 
Who  often  turn'd  the  pa=:es  o'er, 

And  wrote  therein  puch  words  of  joy, 
That  all  who  reaJ  (hem  sigh'd  for  more. 

And  Plertsure  wa  .  this  spirit's  name. 
And  ihoush  s'    soft  his  voice  and  look, 

Yet  Innocence,  ivhene'er  he  came, 
Would  tremble  for  her  spo;iess  book. 

For,  oft  a  Bacchant  cup  he  bore, 

VVith  earth's  sweet  nectar  sparkling  bright  J 
And  much  she  fear'd  lest,  mantling  o'er. 

Some  drops  should  ou  the  pages  light. 

And  so  it  chanc'd,  one  luckless  night, 

The  urchin  let  thai  goblet  fall 
O'er  the  fiir  book,  so  pure,  so  white, 

And  sullied  lines  and  marge  and  all  * 

In  vain  now,  touch'd  with  shame,  he  tried 
To  wash  those  fatal  stains  away; 

Deep,  deep  had  sunk  the  sullying  liJe, 
The  leaves  grew  darker  every  day. 

And  Fancy's  sketches  lost  their  hue. 

And  Hope's  sweet  jmes  we^e  all  effac'd, 

Anil  Love  himself  now  scarcely  knew 
What  Love  himself  bO  lately  trac'd. 

At  length  the  urchin  Pleasure  fled, 
(For  how,  alai !  could  Pleasure  stay  ?) 

And  Love,  while  many  a  tear  he  shed, 
Reluctant  Hung  the  book  aivay. 

The  index  now  alone  remains. 

Of  all  the  pages  spoil'd  by  Pleasure, 

And  though  it  bears  some  earthy  s'ains, 
Yet  Memory  counts  the  leaf  a  trensurc. 


And  oft,  they  say,  she  scans  it  o'er, 
And  uH,  by  this  memorial  aided, 

Brings  back  the  pages  now  no  more, 
And  thinks  of  lines  that  long  have  faded. 

I  know  not  if  this  tale  be  true, 

But  thus  the  simple  fads  are  stated; 

And  I  reffer  their  (ruth  to  you, 
Since  Love  and  you  are  near  reUted. 


TO   CARA, 
AFTER    AN   INTERVAL   OF   ABSENCE 

ConceaTd  within  the  shady  wood 
A  mother  left  her  sleeping  child, 

And  flew,  to  cull  her  rustic  food, 
The  fruitage  of  the  forest  wild. 

But  storms  upon  her  pathway  rise, 
0      The  mother  roams,  astray  and  weeping  j 
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  nighf-wind's  breath  j 

Yet  no  —  't  is  gene  —  the  storms  are  keen, 
The  infant  may  be  chilTd  to  deaih  ! 

Perhaps,  ev'n  now,  in  darkness  shrouded, 
His  litile  eyes  lie  cold  and  stiil  ;— 

And  yet,  perhaps,  they  are  not  clonded, 
Life  and  love  may  light  ihem  siill. 

Thus.  Cira,  at  our  last  farewell, 

When,  fearful  ev'n  thy  hand  to  touch, 

I  mutely  asked  those  eye>  to  tell 

If  parting  paiu'd  thee  half  so  much ; 

I  thought,— and,  oh  !  forgive  the  though!| 
For  none  was  e'er  by  love  inspir'd 

Whom  fancy  had  not  al-o  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,  wliich  I  called  my  own- 

Oh  blest !  though  but  in  fancy  blest, 

How  did  I  ask  of  Pity's  care, 
To  >hield  and  strengthen,  in  thy  breast, 

The  nursling  I  had  cradled  there. 

And,  many  an  hour,  beguilM  by  pleasure, 
And  many  an  hour  of  sorrow  numbering, 

I  ne'er  forgot  the  new-born  treasure, 
I  left  within  thy  bosom  slumbering. 

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  i 


TO    CARA, 
ON  THE    DAWNING    OF  A  NEW  YEAR*S    TAT. 

When  midnight  came  if  close  the  year. 
We  sigh'd  In  think  it  thus  should  lake 

The  hours  it  gave  us—  hours  as  dear 
As  sympathy  and  Inye  could  make 

Their  blessed  moments,— every  sun 

Saw  us,  my  love,  more  closely  one. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


75 


But,  Cara,  when  the  dawn  was  nigh 

\Vhich  came  a  new  year's  ligh*  to  shed, 

That  smile  we  caught  fiom  eye  to  eye 
Told  us,  those  moments  were  not  fled: 

Oh,  no,— we  felt,  some  future  sun 

Should  see  us  still  more  closely  one. 

Thus  may  we  ever,  side  by  side, 
From  happy  years  to  happier  glide  j 
And  still  tiius  may  the  parsing  sigh 

We  give  to  houis,  that  vanish  o'er  us, 
Be  follow'd  by  the  smiling  eye, 

That  Hope  shall  shed  oc  scenes  before  us  1 


TO  , 


,  ,  I&OU 


To  oe  the  theme  of  every  hour 

The  heart  devotes  to  Fancy's  power. 

When  her  prompt  magic  fills  the  mind 

With  friends  and  joys  we've  left  l)ehind, 

And  joys  return  and  friends  are  near, 

And  all  are  welcomed  with  a  tear:  — 

In  the  mind's  purest  seat  to  dwell,  . 

To  be  reinember'd  oft  and  well 

By  one  whose  heart,  though  vain  and  wild, 

By  passion  led,  by  youih  beguil'd, 

Can  proudly  still  aspire  to  be 

AH  ifiat  may  yet  win  smiles  fi-om  thee:  — 

If  thus  to  live  in  every  pait 

Of  a  lone,  weary  wanderer's  heart; 

If  thus  to  be  its  sole  employ 

Can  give  thee  one  faint  gleam  of  joy, 

Believe  it,  Mary,— oh  i  believe 

A  tongue  that  never  can  deceive, 

Though,  erring,  it  too  oft  betray 

Ev*n  more  than  Love  should  dare  to  aiy,— 

la  Pleasure's  dream  or  Snrrow's  hour. 

In  crowded  hall  or  lonely  bower, 

The  business  nf  my  life  shall  be. 

For  ever  to  remember  thee. 

And  though  that  heart  be  dead  to  mine, 

Since  Love  is  life  and  wakes  not  thine, 

I  'II  take  tliy  image,  as  the  form 

Of  one  whnm  Love  had  faipd  to  warm, 

Which,  thojgh  it  yield  no  answering  thrill, 

Is  not  less  dear,  is  worshipp'd  still  — 

I  'II  take  it,  wheresoe'er  1  stray, 

The  bright,  cold  burden  of  my  way. 

To  keep  this  semblance  fiesh  in  bloom. 

My  heart  shall  be  its  las'ing  tomb, 

And  Memory,  with  embalming  care, 

Shall  keep  it  fresh  and  fadeless  tliere. 


THE   GENIUS   OF    HARMONY, 

AN   IRREGOLAR    ODE, 

All  harmoaiani   canere   muudum* 

Cicero  de  Nat.  Dear,  lit),  m. 

There  lies  a  shell  beneith  the  wares. 
In  manv  a  hollow  winding  wreath'd. 
Such  as  of  old 
E;hoed  the  brea'h  that  waibling  sea-maide  breatUM; 
This  masic  shell. 
From  the  white  tiosoni  of  a  syren  fell, 
As  once  she  wander'd  by  the  tide  that  laves 
Sictlia's  sands  of  gold. 
It  bears 
Upon  its  shining  side  the  mystic  notes 
Of  those  entrancing  airs,» 


"  Iq  the  "  Histoire  Naturelle  des  Antilles"  *bcre  is 
ao  account  of  some  curious  fhells,  found  at  Curacoa, 
00  the  back  of  which  \vere  .'ines,  filled  with  musical 
charactera  so  distinct  and  perfect,  that  the  writer 
assures  us  a  very  charming  trio  was  sung  from  one 


The  genii  of  the  deep  were  wont  to  swell, 
When   heaven's  eltrnal  orbs  their  midnight  music 
roird  ! 
Oh  !  seek  it,  wheresoe'er  it  floats; 
And,  if  the  power 
Of  thrilling  numbers  to  thy  soul  be  dear, 
Go,  bring  ihe  bright  shell  to  my  bowcr. 
And  I  will  fold  thee  in  such  douny  dreams 
As  lap  Ihe  Spirit  of  the  Seventh  Sphere, 
When  Luna's  distant  tone  falls  faintly  on  his  ear!* 
And  Ihnu  ^halt  own, 
That,  through  the  circle  of  creation's  zone, 
Where  mailer  slumbers  or  where  spirit  beams  : 
From  the  pellucid  tides,3  that  whirl 
The  planets  through  their  maze  of  soug. 
To  the  smill  rill,  ihat  weeps  along 
Murmuring  o'er  beds  of  pearl ; 
From  the  rich  sigh 
Of  the  sun's  arrow  through  an  evening  sky,« 
To  the  faint  breath  the  tuneful  osier  yields 

On  Afnc's  burning  fields;  ^ 
Thou  'It  wuudering  own  this  universe  divine 

Is  mine! 
That  I  respire  in  all  and  all  in  me, 
One  mighty  mingled  soul  of  boundless  harmony. 


of  1  hem.  "On  le  nomme  musical,  parcequ'il  porie 
sur  le  dos  des  lignes  uoiratres  pleines  de  notes,  <]ui  ont 
une  espece  de  cle  pour  les  mettre  en  chant,  de  snrle 
que  Ton  diroit  qu'il  ne  manque  que  la  leltre  a  cetie 
'abl  ituie  naturelle.  Ce  cuiieux  gentilhomme  (M.  du 
Montel)  rappnile qu'il  en  a  vuqui  avoient  cinq  hgiies, 
une  cle,  el  des  notes,  qui  formoieni  un  accord  parfait. 
Quclqu'un  y  avnj!  ajou'e  la  letire,  que  la  nature  avoit 
oiiblite,  el  la  faisoit  chan'er  en  forme  de  trio,  dont 
IVir  etuii  fort  agre.ble  "—Chap.  xix.  art.  II.  The 
author  adds,  a  jioet  might  inngine  that  these  shells 
were  used  by  the  syiens  at  their  concerts. 

^According  to  Cicero,  and  his  commentator,  Ma- 
cmbius.  the  lunar  tone  is  the  gr.ivest  aiid  f.iintesl  on 
Ihe  planetary  Iiept  chord.  ••  Quam  nb  causam  sum- 
mus  ille  cceli  stellifer  cursufl,  cujus  conversio  est  con- 
ci'alior,  atulo  el  exciiato  movetur  sono;  gravis'-imo 
auteni  hiC  lunaris  atque  iiiHmus "  — 6'om7i.  Scip. 
Because,  says  Macrobuis,  "spiritu  ut  in  extreniitate 
langiiescente  jam  volvitur,  et  propter  anguslias  quibus 
penullimus  orl-is  arctaiur  impetu  lenioreconvertilur." 
—  in  Sonm.  Scip  lib.  ii.  c«p.  4.  In  their  musical 
anangemeut  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  ancient 
writers  are  not  very  intelligible. —  See  Ptohm,  lib. 

Leone  Hebreo,  pursuing  the  idea  of  Aristotle,  that 
the  heavens  are  animal,  altribuies  their  harmony  to 
perfect  and  reciprocal  love.  **Non  pero  nianca  fia 
loro  il  peifetto  et  leciproco  amore:  la  causa  prin- 
cipale,  che  ne  inostra  il  loro  amore,  e  la  lor  amicilia 
armonica  et  la  concordairza,  che  perpetuamente  si 
trova  in  loro."—  Diilcitr.  il  di  Amore,  p.  n8.  This 
"reciprnco  amore"  of  Leone  is  the  (JjiXottjs  of  the 
ancient  Empedocies.  who  seems,  in  his  Love  and  Hate 
of  the  E  enient",  to  have  given  a  glimpse  of  the  j-rin- 
ciples  of  attractpon  and  repulsion.  See  the  fragment 
to  which  I  allude  in  Lnertius,  AXXote  fiiv  (piXoTttTt. 
(ruvcp;^;o/t£v\  k.  t.  A.,  lib.  viii.  cap.  2.  n.  12. 

3  Leucippus  Ihe  atomist,  imagined  a  kind  of  vor- 
tices in  the  heavens,  which  he  borrowed  from 
Anaxagoias,  and  possibly  su:^gested  to  Descaites. 

*  Heiaclirles,  up:n  the  alIeenrie^  of  Homer,  conjec- 
tures Ihat  the  i(if  I  of  Ihe  harmony  of  the  spheres 
origina'ed  with  this  poet,  who,  in  repre-etiting  the 
solar  beam^  as  armws,  suppcses  Ihem  to  emit  a  pecu- 
liar sound  in  the  air. 

*  In  he  account  nf  Africa  which  D'Abtancourt  has 
iranslated.  thuie  is  menlion  nf  a  tree  in  that  countiy, 
whose  branches  when  shaken  by  the  hand  produce 
very  sweet  sounds.  "  Le  nieme  auieur  (AbenzegarJ 
dit,  qu'il  y  a  nn  certain  arbre,  qui  produit  des  gaules 
comme  d'nsier,  et  qu'en  les  prenant  a  la  main  et  lea 
br;inlant,  elles  font  une  espece  d'harmnnie  fcrt  agre- 
able,"  &c.  &c.  —  VJfrique  de  Marmol, 


76 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


Welcome,  welcome,  mystic  shell  I 
Many  a  star  has  ceas'd  to  burn,' 
Many  a  lear  has  Saturn's  urn 
O'er  the  colJ  bos'im  of  the  oceau  wept,* 
Since  tliy  aerial  spell 
Hath  in  the  waters  slept. 
Noiv  blest  I'll  fly 
With  the  bright  treasure  to  my  choral  sky, 
Where  she,  who  w^k'd  iis  early  swell. 
The  Syren  of  the  heavenly  chnjr. 
Walks  o'er  the  great  snn?  of  my  Orphic  LyrejS 
Or  guides  arnund  the  Lurnins  pole 
The  winged  chariot  of  some  blissful  soul :  * 
While  thovi  — 
Oh,  son  of  earth,  what  dreams  shall  rise  for  thee  J 
Reneaih  Ilispania's  sun, 
Thou  'It  see  a  jtreamlet  run, 
Which  1  've  imbued  witli  Ireathing  melody;  5 
And  there,  when  ni^ht-winds  down  the  current  die, 
Thou 'It  h.ar  how  like  a  harp  iis  waiers  sigh; 
A  liquid  chord  in  every  wave  ihat  flows, 
An  airy  plectrum  every  breeze  that  biuws.s 

There,  by  that  wondrous  stream, 

Go,  lay  thy  languiU  hrow. 
And  I  will  send  thee  such  a  gndlike  dream, 
As  never  bless'd  the  slumbers  even  of  hini,^ 
Who.  many  a  night,  \vith  his  primordial  lyre,a 

Sate  on  the  chill  Pangjem  mount.a 


1  Alludin?  to  the  extinction,  or  at  least  the  disap- 
pearauce,  of  some  uf  (hose  fixed  slars,  which  we  are 
taught  to  consider  as  suns,  attended  each  by  its  system. 
Descartes  thought  that  our  eanh  might  formerly  have 
been  a  sun.  which  became  ib-cured  by  a  thick  incrus- 
tation over  its  surface.  This  probably  suggested  the 
idea  of  a  central  fire. 

^  Porphyry  says,  that  Pythagoras  held  the  sen  to  be 
a  tear,  Ttjv  -S-aXarTav  tizv  £Ka\u  zivai  daKQVOv 
{De  Vila  ;)  and  s  'me  one  el-e.  if  I  mistake  nnt,  has 
added  the  planet  Saturn  as  ihe  source  of  it.  Empc- 
dncles,  with  similar  ati'ect.ition,  called  ihe  sea  "the 
swe^t  of  Ihe  eanh:"  IdpojTa  Tt]<;  yi^j.  See  JiiUcrs- 
husiiis  upon  Porphyry y  Num.  41. 

3  The  system  of  the  harmonized  orbs  was  styled  by 
the  ancients  Ihe  Gre:it  Lyre  of  Orpheus,  for  which 
Lucian  thu'^  acc'iunis:— ^  6e  Avqt}  tTrrniino^  tovtra 
T7]V  Tojv  KLVovft-tviuv  a<TTgtov  dp/tovtav  avvt^ah' 
Xeto.  k.  t,  a.  in  ^strolog. 

4  Aat\E  ^^vxo-%  L<TaoL9[Lovs  rots  ao-Tpoi?,  tviifiE 
^'  iiia{7TT]v  ngos  Uao-rov,  Km  £/t/5^^ao■a?  'i2E 
FAZ  OXHMA— ''DisTihuling  the  souls  severally 
among  the  stars,  and  mounting  each  soul  upon  a  star 
as  on  its  chariot"—  Plaio,  Thixsus. 

5  This  musical  river  is  mentioned  in  thi 
of  Achilles  Taiius.  Enti  noTatx.ov  .  ,  t)v  6t  aKovaai 
^zXr}^  Tov  -bdaTog^aXovvTos-  The  Utin  version, 
in  supplying  the  hiatus  which  is  in  the  original,  ha> 
placed  Ihe  river  in  Hi^pania.  'Mn  Hi&pania  quoque 
fluvius  est,  quern  primo  ai-pectu,"  &c.  &;c. 

I  6  These  two  lines  are  translated  from  the  words  of 
Achilles  Tatius.  Eav  yap  oXiyn^  avtfios  tis  ra£ 
iivas  i^maT),  to  pLCV  vdwp  oj?  X^Q^V  ^^povtTat.  to 
6e  TTVivna  TOV  v6aTos  n^r]lCTOov  yivfirat.  ro  ^iv- 
fia  6t  u)S  KiOaga  XaXu.  —  Lib.  ii. 
1  Orpheus. 

8  They  called  his  lyre  apx^i-OTgoTrov  l-iTTaxoodov 
Op0ctu5'.  See  a  curious  work  by  a  professor  of  Gieek 
at  Venice,  enitled  "  Ilebdomades,  sive  septem  de 
septenario  libri."—  Lib.  iv.,  cap.  3,  p.  177. 

9  Eratosthenes,  in  mentioning  the  extreme  venera- 
tion of  Orpheus  for  A[»ollo,  siys  'hat  he  wa^  accus- 
tomed to  go  In  the  P.tnga'an  mouniain  at  day-break, 
and  there  wait  the  rising  nf  the  sun,  that  he  liiighl  be 
the  first  to  hail  i's  beims.  Kniyitpofitvos  tc  ttjs 
*««Tos,  Kara  Ttjv  kiuOtVTiV  int  to  ooos  to  kuXov- 


And,  looking  to  the  orient  dim, 
Watch'd  Ihe  first  lowing  of  that  sacred  fount, 

From  which  his  soul  had  drunk  its  tire. 
Oh  I  think  what  visions,  in  that  Jontly  hour, 
Stole  o'er  his  musing  breast ; 
What  pious  ecstasyio 
Wafted  his  prayer  to  that  eternal  Power, 
Whose  se;il  upon  this  new  born  world  impreet*l 
The  vari  us  forms  of  bright  divinity! 

Or,  dost  thou  know  what  dieanis  I  wove, 

'Mid  the  deep  horror  of  tint  silent  bower,'* 

Where  the  rapt  Samian  slept  his  holy  slumber  ? 

When,  free 

From  every  earthly  chain, 

From  wreaths  of  pleasure  and  from  bonds  of  p&b. 

His  spirit  flew  through  fields  above. 
Drank  at  ihe  source  of  nature's  fontal  number,»3 
And  taw,  m  mystic  cboir,  around  him  move 
The  btai-s  <.f  song,  Heaven's  burning  miuslrelsyl 
Such  dieams,  so  heavenly  bright, 
I  swear 
By  the  great  diadem  that  twines  my  hair. 
And  by  ihe  seven  gems  ihat  sparkle  there, »* 

Mingling  their  beams 
In  a  soft  iris  nf  harmonious  light, 
Ob,  mortal !  such  shall  be  thy  radiant  dreams. 


I  found  her  not  —  the  chamber  seem'd 
Like  some  divinely  haunted  place 

Where  fairy  fornis  had  lately  beam'd, 
And  left  behind  (heir  odorous  trace! 


fiivov  riayyntov,  itgociinvt  to?  avaToXa^^  Iva 
idT]  TOV  'UXiov  TTf-uiTov.  —  KaTao-T£pio-/i.  24. 

1 0  There  are  some  verses  of  Orpheus  preserved  to  us. 
which  contain  sublime  ideas  of  the  unity  and  magni- 
ficence of  the  Dei'y.  For  instance,  those  which  Jus- 
tin Martyr  has  produced : 


OvTos  fitv  x^Xk 
XpvoTcw  zvi  -^go 


£?  ovpavoi'  t<T7r]ptK7at 
K.  T.  A.   ^d  Grxc.  Cohortat. 


It  is  thought  by  some,  that  these  are  to  be  reckoned 
aniongst  the  fabrications,  which  were  frequent  in  the 
early  times  of  Christianity.  Stilt,  it  appears  doubtful 
to  whom  they  are  to  be  attributed,  being  too  pious  for 
the  Pagans,  and  loo  poetical  for  the  Fathers. 

11  In  one  of  the  Hymns  of  Orpheus,  he  attributes  a 
figured  seal  to  Apollo,  wilh  which  he  imagines  that 
dei'y  to  have  stamped  a  variety  of  foims  upon  the 
universe. 

I'i  Alluding  to  the  cave  near  Samoa,  where  Pylhn- 
goras  devoted  the  greater  part  of  his  days  and  nights 
tn  niediation  and  the  mysteries  of  his  philosophy. 
larnblich  de  Vit.  This,  as  Holstenius  remaiks,  was 
in  iniif.ition  of  the  Magi. 

13  The  tetracty;,  or  sacred  number  of  the  Pythago- 
reans,  on  which  ihey  solemnly  swore,  and  which  the7 
called  -nayav  azvaov  <Pv(Tt(u<;,  *'the  fountain  of  pe- 
rennial nature."  Lucian  has  ridicnU-d  this  religious 
arithmetic  very  cleverly  in  his  Sale  of  Philnsopheis. 

14  This  diadem  is  ii:tended  to  represent  the  analogy 
between  Ihe  notes  of  niusic  and  the  prismatic  colours. 
We  find  in  Plutarch  a  vague  intimation  nf  this  kin- 
dred harmony  in  colou'S  aid  sounds.  —  0^//i?  re  fcat 
nKoi),  iina  <piuV7)$  tz  xai  ^u>toj  ti/v  &piioviav 
cirtipatvov<n.  —  De  Mtisica. 

Cas<iodorus,  whose  idea  1  may  he  supposed  to  liave 
borrowed,  says,  in  a  letter  u[ion  music  to  Boetius, 
*'Ut  diadema  oculis,  varia  luce  gemmarum,  sic  cythara 
diversitale  soni,  blarditur  auditui."  This  is  indeed 
the  only  tolerable  thought  iu  the  letter.  —  Lib.  ii. 
Variar. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


77 


It  felt  as  if  her  lips  had  shed 
A  sish  around  liei,  ere  slie  iled, 
Which  hiine,  as  on  a  nielliii^  lute, 

mute, 


After  the 


slill 


jiLlii 


aih 


iluX 


i  deaih, 


Of  melodies  which  had  been  there. 

I  saw  the  veil,  which,  all  the  day, 
Had  tiotled  ii'er  her  cheek  of  rose, 

I  saw  llie  couch,  where  iaie  she  lay 
Ju  languor  of  divine  repose  ; 

And  I  could  trace  the  hillow'd  i  rint 
Her  limbs  had  left,  as  pure  and  warm, 

As  if  'twere  done  in  laplure's  mini, 
And  Love  himself  had  stamp 'd  the  form. 

Oh  my  sweet  mistress,  where  wert  thou? 

Itt  pity  fly  not  thus  fr.im  me  j 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  esNence  now, 

And  my  soul  dies  of  wanting  ttiee. 


TO  MRS.  HENRY  TIGHE, 
ON    READINO     HER     "PSYCHE. 

Tell  me  the  witchinjtale  ag^iin, 
For  never  has  my  heart  or  ear 

Huiip  on  so  sweet,  si  pure  a  strain, 
So  pure  to  feel,  so  sweet  to  hear. 

Say,  Love^  in  all  thy  prime  o!"  fatne, 

When  tile  high  heaven  iiself  was  Ihmej 

When  jjiety  confessd  the  tlamc. 
And  even  thy  errors  were  divine; 

Did  ever  Muse's  hand,  so  fair, 
A  t;!oiv  round  thy  temples  spread? 

Did  ever'lips  amhtnsial  air 
Such  fr.igiance  o'er  thy  altars  shed  ? 

One  maid  there  was,  who  round  her  lyre 
The  niysiic  mville  wildlv  wrealh'dj— 

But  all  her  sighs  wee  siirhs  of  lire. 
The  myrtle  wither'd  as  she  hreath'd. 

Oh  I  you,  that  love's  celestial  dream, 
In  all  i's  (Uiily,  wnuld  know, 

Let  not  (he  senses'  ardeni  beam 
Too  strongly  through  the  vision  glow. 

Love  safest  lies,  conceal'd  in  night. 

The  nigh'  where  lie.ven  has  bid  him  lie: 

Ob!  shed  not  Inere  unhallow'd  ligl.t. 
Or,  P.-yche  knows,  the  boy  willfly.i 


«  See  the  story  in  Apuleius.  With  re<ppct  to  this 
beiutiful  allegory  of  Love  and  Psyche,  there  is  an  in- 
genious idei  sugjesled  by  the  sei'i.ilor  Kuonarntii,  in 
his  "  Osservazioni  sopra  alcuni  f  amnienti  di  vas'i 
antii-i."  He  thinks  the  fable  is  taken  from  some  very 
occult  my>teries,  which  had  long  been  celebi-ated  in 
honour  of  Love  ;  and  accounts,  upon  this  suj'pnsitinn. 
for  the  silence  of  the  more  ancient  authors  upon  the 
subject,  as  it  was  not  till  towards  the  decline  of  pagan 
superstition,  that  wrileis  could  venture  to  reveal  or 
discuss  sucll  ceremonies.  Accordingly,  observes  this 
auihor,  we  find  Lucian  and  Plutarch  treating,  wiihout 
reserve,  of  the  Dea  Syria,  ^is  well  as  of  Isis  and  Oi- 
ris;  and  Apuleiiu,  to  whom  we  are  indehed  for  the 
beautiful  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  has  also  detailed 
some  of  the  myleries  of  Isis.  See  the  Giornale  di 
Litterati  d'ltalia,  torn,  xxvii,  arlicol.  I.  See  also  the 
ohstr\ations  upon  the  ancient  gems  in  the  Museum 
Florentinuni,  vol.  i.,  p.  156. 


7* 


Sweet  Psyche,  laany  a  charmed  hour, 
Through  many  a  wild  and  magic  waste, 

To  the  fair  fount  and  hii  st'ul  bower  » 
Have  I,  in  dre.ims,  lliy  light  foot  Irac'd! 

Where'er  thy  joys  are  nuniber'd  now, 
lieiieaih  whatever  shades  of  lesl, 

The  Genii  s  of  the  starry  brow  3 

Hath  bound  thee  to  thy  Cupid's  breast. 

Whether  above  (he  horizon  dim, 

Along  wh  ■>e  veige  our  spiiits  stray,— 

Half  sui.k  beneath  the  shadow)  rim, 
Half  brighten'd  by  (he  ui  per  ray,*  — 

Thou  dwelle^t  in  a  world,  all  jia-ht. 
Or,  lingering  here,  dost  love  to  be, 

To  other  souls,  the  gualdian  bright 

That  Love  was,  through  this  gloom,  to  the 

Still  be  the  song  to  Psyche  dear, 

'i  he  song,  whose  gentle  voice  was  given 

To  be,  on  earth,  to  mortal  ear. 
An  echo  of  her  own,  in  htaven. 


FROM  THE  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  APOLI.O, 
TO    A    VIRGIN   OF   DELPHI. s 


Cum  digno  ttigna 


Sulpieia 


>'  Who  is  (he  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
"  With  eye  of  hre,  and  foot  of  air, 
''  Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells, 
"The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells'" 
'T  was  thus  the  deity,  who  treads 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  proudly  sheds 
Day  from  his  eyelids  —  (bus  he  -poke, 
As  through  my  cell  his  glories  broke. 

Aphelia  is  the  Delphic  fair.s 
With  eyes  of  hre  and  golden  hair, 
Aphelia's  are  the  airy  feet. 
And  hers  the  harp  divinely  sweet ; 


I  cannot  avoid  remarking  heie  an  error  into  which 
the  French  Encyclopedistes  have  been  led  by  M. 
Spoil,  in  iheir  article  Psyche.  'I  hei  sar,  '•  Petione 
lait  unrecit  de  la  ponipe  nnpdale  de  ces  deux  am 
(Amour  et  P-yche.)  Deja,  dit-il,'  &c.  &r.  The 
Psyche  of  Petrnnius,  however,  is  a  servant-maid,  i 
the  marriage  which  he  describes  is  !h.it  of  the  )oung 
Pannychis.  See  Spon's  Reclierches  curieuses.  Sic. 
Dissertat.  5.  ' 

"i  Allusions  (0  Mrs.  Tighe's  Poem. 

3  Cons(ancy. 

*  Py  (his  image  the  Phalnnists  expre-sed  the  middle 
state  of  (he  soul  between  sensible  and  iiitelleclual 
existence. 

5  This  poem,  as  well  as  a  few  o'he'S  in  the  folli 
ing  volume,  formed  part  of  a  work  which  I  had  early 
projected,  and  even  announced  to  the  public;  hit 
which,  luckily,  perhaps,  for  myself,  had  been  inter 
rupted  by  my  vi-it  lo  An.erica  in  the  year  IS03. 

Among  lbi.se  iniposlmes  in  which  the  piiesls  of  the 
pag;iii  Irmples  are  kn-.wn  lo  have  indulged,  one  t  f 
most  favoori  e  was  lha(  of  ai  nounciiig  lo  son  e 
volaiy  of  (he  shrine,  llial  (he  God  himself  had  brcc 
ei  amourcd  of  her  btaulv,  and  would  descend  in 
his  glory,  (o  p.ay  her  a  visit  w  ilhin  the  recesses  of  the 
fane.  An  adventure  of  this  desctiplion  formed  _.. 
episode  in  the  d.issic  romance  which  I  had  sketched 
out;  and  the  short  fragment,  given  above,  belongs  (o 
311  epistle  by  which  the  story  was  (o  have  beeu  intro- 
duced, 

f  In  the  9'h  Pvthic  of  Pindar,  wnere  Ajiollo,  in  the 
same  manner,  require,  of  (  hiion  some  inforniation 
respecdng  the  fair  Cyrene,  (li-i  Centaur,  in  obeying, 


178 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


For  foot  so  light  has  never  trod 
The  lauielM  c^'venis  i  of  the  gnd, 
Is'i't  harp  so  S'tt  hilh  ever  ^iveii 
A  sigh  10  earth  or  hymn  to  heaven. 

•'Then  tell  the  virgin  to  unfold, 
«'  III  luoser  pomp,  her  Inck-  of  gold, 
'*  And  bid  Ihriae  eye>  nioff  fondly  shine 
*'  To  welcome  down  a  Spouse  Divine  j 
"Since  He,  ulio  lights  the  pa  h  of  years  — 
"  Even  fruni  'he  fount  uf  uiorning's  tcari 
*'  'l'i»  wheie  his  selling  splend"u-s  burn 
•'  Upon  the  western  sea  maid's  urn  — 
**Doih  not,  in  a  I  hia  course,  behold 
**SiJch  eyes  of  ft  e,  such  h^irof  gold, 
"Tell  her,  he  comes,  in  b!is  fut  piide, 
*'  Hts  hp  yet  sparkling  wiih  ihe  tide 
*'That  nianties  in  Olvmpian  bowls,— 
*-The  nectar  of  denial  souU  1 
"For  her,  tor  her  he  quits  the  skies, 
*' AiiJ  to  her  ki-9  trnni  nectar  flie-. 
*'0h.  he  would  quit  Ins  3t,<r-thron'd  height, 
•' Atid  leave  the  world  m  pine  f..r  li^h', 
*'  Miiht  he  hut  pas>  the  hours  of  sh  -de, 
*'  Heside  his  peerless  Delphic  maid. 
"  She,  mnr*-  than  earthly  woman  blest, 
"  He,  more  than  god  on  woman's  bieast !" 

There  is  a  cave  beneath  Ihe  sleep,* 
Where  !i  itig  rdis  of  ciystal  ueep 
O'er  hrihage  of  the  loveliest  hue 
That  v'.ci  spring  bfgemm'd  «  ith  dew; 
'1  here  it'i  thr  gieenswad's  glossy  tint 
h  biigtiteii'd  by  the  recent  print 
Of  many  a  faun  and  naiads  feel, — 
Scarce  u  uching  earth,  their  step  so  fleet,— 
'Jhat  there,  by  moonlight's  ray.  hnd  trod, 
In  lii^hl  dance,  o'er  the  verdaat  and. 
*'  Thtre,  there."  Ihe  god,  im|  a^  ion'd,  said, 
*'Soon  as  the  iwitight  tinge  h  fled, 
*'  And  the  dim  orb  of  lu.iar  souls  3 
"Along  its  ^hadowy  pathway  rolls  — 
*'  Tliere  ^hall  we  meet,—  and  not  ev'n  He, 
"The  Grd  who  reigns  immortally, 
"  Where  Babel's  turrrts  paint  their  pride 
*'  Upon  th'  Euphrates'  ^hil^ing  tide,* — 
*'  Not  ev'n  u  hen  to  hi-  midnight  loves 
*'  In  mystic  majesty  he  moves, 
"  Lighted  bv  many  an  odorous  fire, 
"And  hymii'd  by  alt  Chaldapa's  choir,— 
*'  E'er  yet,  o'er  mortal  brow,  let  shine 
"Such  (-ffluence  of  L'-ve  Divme, 
"As  shall  to-night,  blest  maid,  o'er  thine." 


'ery  gravely  apologizes  for  tellmg  the  GM  what  his 
imniscience  must  know  so  perfectly  already: 
Ki  6c  yi  X9V  "'**  ^^9  O'O'pov  avTt^ipi|ai, 
Ep^u,. 
'  AA/\'  £t$  (Ja^vw^j;  yi/aXa  (?i)(Topiai  radz. 

Euripid.  Ion.  v.  76. 
*!  The  CorycTan  Cave,  which  Paus-anias  mentron=. 
The   inhabitants  of  Parnassus  held   it  sacred   to  the 
'iirycian   nymphs,  who  were  children  of  the  river 
Plistus. 

3  See  a  preceding  note,  ante^  p.  127.  It  shnuld 
seem  that  lunar  spirits  ueie  of  a  purer  order  than 
spirits  in  generd,  as  Pyihag'-ras  uas  said  by  his  f  1- 
■  ers  tn  have  descended '  from  the  regions  of  the 
moon.  The  hereviarch  Minis,  in  the  same  manner, 
.gnied  that  the  sun  and  moon  are  the  resider  ce  of 
I  Christ,  and  that  Ihe  ascension  was  nothing  more  than 
i  flight  to  those  orbs. 

1  The  temi>le  of  Jnpiter  Belus,  at  Rahylon  ;  in  one 
whose  towers  there  was  a  large  chape!  set  apart  lor 
these  celestial  sssigniiti'  ns.  "  N-i  man  U  allowed  to 
sleep  here,"  says  Hen  dnius ;  "but  tiie  apar  ment  \^ 
appropriated  to  a  female.  \\  hom,  if  w-e  '-elieve  the 
Qialdaean  priests,  the  deiiyselecs  from  the  women 
of  the  country,  as  his  favouii  e."    Lib.  i.  cap.  ISl. 


Happy  the  maid,  whom  he;  ren  allows 
To  breik  for  heaven  her  viigiii  vows  1 
Hai  py  the  maid  !  —  her  robe  of  shame 
Is  whiten'd  by  a  heavenly  flame, 
Whose  glory,  with  a  lingering;  trace, 
Shines  through  and  deities  her  race  1  A 


FRAGMENT. 

Pity  me,  love!  I'll  pity  ihee, 

If  (li'iu  ii.deed  hast  felt  like  me. 

AM,  all  xin  bosom's  peace  is  o'er  ; 

At  niehf,  which  ^oaa  my  hour  of  toim, 

\Vhen  (lom  the  page  of  classic  lore. 

From  the  pure  fount  of  ancient  lav 

My  soul  h..s  drawn  the  placid  balm. 

Which  charm'd  its  every  giief  aw^y. 

Ah  !  there  I  find  that  balm  no  mnre, 

1  hose  spells,  which  m  ike  us  oft  for->t 

The  fleeting  troubles  nf  the  day. 

In  deeper  sorrows  Only  whet 

The  slings  they  cannot  tear  axvay. 

When  to  my  nillNW  rack'd  I  fly. 

With  weanea  9en*:e  and  wakeful  eye. 

While  my  bram  maddens,  where,  oh,  where 

Is  that  serene  cns^'ling  pray'r, 

Which  once  has  harbinger'd  my  rest, 

When  the  still  soothing  voice  of  Heaven 

Hath  seein'd  to  whisper  in  my  breast, 

*'  Steep  on,  thy  eno  s  are  foigiven  !" 

No,  iho  gh  I  still  in  semblance  pray, 

My  thoughts  are  wandering  far  away, 

And  ev'n  'he  name  of  Deity 

Is  murmur'd  out  in  sighs  for  thee. 


A    NIGHT   THOUGHT. 

Hnw  oft  a  cloud,  with  envious  veil, 

Olscuresynn  bashful  light. 
Which  seems  so  nmdestlv  to  steal 

Along  the  waste  of  night  I 
'T  is  thus  the  world's  obtrusive  wrongs 

Obscure  wirli  malice  keen 
Some  timid  heart,  which  only  longs 

To  live  and  die  unseen. 


THE    KISS. 

Grow  to  my  lip,  thou  sncred  kiss. 
On  which  my  soul's  beloved  swore 
That  there  shoj'd  come  a  time  of  hlrss, 
When  she  would  mock  mv  hopes  no  more. 
And  fancy  shall  thy  glow  fenew, 
In  sighs  at  morn,  and  dreams  at  night, 
And  none  shall  steal  thy  hnly  dew 
Til!  thou  'ri  alisolv'd  by  rapture's  rite. 
Sweet  hours  that  are  to  make  me  blest, 
Fly,  swift  as  breezes  tn  the  gO"I, 
Arid  let  my  love,  my  more  than  soul, 
Cnme  blushing  to  this  ardent  breast. 
Then,  while  in  every  glance  I  drink 
The  rich  n'trflowings  of  her  mind, 
Oh  !  let  her  all  enamnur'd  sink 
In  sweet  ahandnnment  resign'd, 
Blushing  for  all  our  st-uggles  past. 
And  murmuring,  "  I  am  thine  at  last !" 

5  Fnntenelle,  in  his  piavful  rifacivievto  of  the 
lea-ned  materials  of  Van-Dale,  has'telaled  in  his  own 
inimital)le  manner  an  adven'nre  of  ihis  kind  which 
was  detected  and  exposed  at  Alex.iiidria.  See  L'Hii 
toiie  des  Oracles  di  sert.  2.  chap.  vii.  Ciehillon,  tm 
in  one  of  his  most  amu>ins  little  stories,  has  made  the 
Genie  Mange-Taupes.  of  the  Isle  Jonqnille,  assert 
this  privdegeof  spnitn^^l  beinss  in  a  iraiiter  rather 
formidable  to  ihe  hu!^band3  of  the  inland. 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


79 


SONG. 

Think  on  that  look  whose  melting  ray 
For  one  swett  niotiieni  mix'd  «iili  mine, 

And  for  liiat  nmnieiil  seeniM  to  say. 
**  1  dare  not,  or  I  would  be  thine  !'* 

Think  on  thy  ev"ry  smile  and  sclance, 
On  all  thou  liabt  t:>  cr  arm  and  move; 

And  then  fortcive  my  bosom's  trance, 
Nor  led  me  it  is  bin  ;o  love. 

Oh,  not  to  Inve  Ihee  were  the  sin : 
For  sure,  if  Fife's  deciees  be  done, 

Thou,  thou  art  destin'd  still  to  win, 
As  X  am  deatin'd  to  be  won  I 


THE    CATALOGUE. 

*»Conie,  fell  me,"  s^ys  Rosa,  aa  kissing  and  kisf. 

One  d-iy  she  rectin'd  on  my  bieast ; 
••Come,  lell  me  the  number,  repeal  me  the  list, 

•'  Of  the  nymphs  you  have  lov'd  and  carest."  — 
Oh  Rosal  ■(  was  only  my  fancy  thai  roved, 

My  heart  at  tlie  moinent  w.is  free; 
But  I'll  teil  thee,  my  pirl,  how  nuny  I've  loved, 

And  the  number  sh-^ll  finish  with  Ihee. 

My  tutor  was  Kittv  ;  in  infancy  wild 

Hhe  tauglil  me  the  way  to  be  blest ; 
She  tanjht  me  to  Inve  her,  I  lov'd  like  a  child. 

But  Kilty  could  fancy  the  icst. 
This  lesson  of  dear  and  enrapturing  lore 

I  have  never  foient,  I  allow: 
1  hive  had  it  by  rote  very  ofien  before, 

Bui  never  l/y  heart  until  now. 

Pretty  Martha  was  next,  and  my  soul  was  all  flame. 

But  my  head  was  so  f,,ll  of  r  -ma'  ce 
That  I  fancied  her  into  some  chivalry  dame, 

And  I  was  lier  knitjht  of  ihe  hnce. 
But  Martha  ^^as  not  of  this  fanciful  school, 

And  she  lau^h'd  a'  her  loor  little  kiii2:ht ; 
While  I  thiiu^lit  her  a  fC'dde-s  tthe  thnuf,^lit  me  a  fool, 

And  1  Ml  s»ear  she  was  most  in  the  right. 

My  soul  was  now  calm,  till,  by  Cloris's  looks, 

Agiin  1  was  lempted  to  rove; 
But  Ctoris,  1  found,  was  so  learned  in  books 

That  she  gave  me  more  lo^ic  than  love. 
So  I  left  this  yonn?  Sappho,  and  hasten'd  to  fly 

To  those  swee'er  logicians  in  bliss. 
Who  arjuL-  the  point  with  a  s'^uUtflling  eye. 

And  convince  us  at  once  with  a  ki^s. 

Oh!  Susan  was  then  all  the  world  unto  me, 

Bu!  Susan  was  piously  given  ; 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  we  c  uld  never  agreo 


On  Ihe  mad  ihat  was  shnrlesl  to  He 

aven. 

"Oh.  Susan!"  I've  said,  in  the  monu 

nis  of  mirth, 

••  What's  lievnlion  to  ihee  or  to  me 

?                    ' 

•*  I  devoutly  believe  there  's  a  heaven 

on  earth, 

**Aud  lelieve  tliat  that  heaven  ^s  in  iheti  * 

IMITATION   OF   CATULLUS. 
TO     HIMSELF. 

MiBcr  Catullus  deainas  inerlirc,  &o. 

Cease  the  siphin^  fool  to  pla^ 

Cease  to  Irilie  life  away; 

Nor  vainlv  think  lhose"j"VS  thine  own. 

Which  ali,  alas,  have  fal-ely  flown. 

Whil  hou™,  Catullus,  once  were  thine. 

How  fairly  seeni'd  thy  day  to  shine, 


When  lightly  thou  didst  fly  to  meet 
The  girl  whose  smile  wa«  then  so  sweet  — 
The  )t;irl  thou  lov'dst  with  fonder  pain 
Than  e'er  thy  heart  can  feel  again. 

Ye  mel  —  your  souls  seeni'd  all  in  one, 
I. ike  Mpers  llial  c  niiiiin»lin«  shone; 
Thy  hc.irl  wa<  warm  enough  lor  bmb. 
And  hers,  in  trulh,  was  nothing  loth. 

Such  were  Ihe  hours  that  once  were  tbine 
But,  nh  !  those  liouis  no  lonsrer  shine. 
For  now  the  nymph  delights  no  more 
In  whai  she  lov'd  so  much  before: 
And  all  Calulliis  now  can  do. 
Is  to  be  proud  and  frigid  too  ; 
Nor  follow  where  the  wanton  flies. 
Nor  sue   he  bli-s  that  she  denies. 
False  maid  !  he  bids  f.irewell  to  thee. 
To  love,  and  all  love's  misery  ; 
The  heyday  of  his  lieart  is  o'er, 
Nor  will  he  c^uil  one  favour  more. 

Flv,  perjui'd  girl  !  —  but  whither  fly  ? 
Who  now  will  ijiaise  thy  cheek  and  eye? 
Who  now  will  drink  Ihe  syren  tone, 
Which  tells  him  th..u  art  all  his  own? 
Oh,  none  :  — and  he  who  lov'd  before 
Can  never,  never  love  thee  more. 


"  Neither  do  I  condumn  thee  ;  go,  and  sin  no  more ! " 
SI.  John,  chap.  Till. 
Oh,  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile 

Thy  S!)ul  hath  striy'd  from  honour's  track, 
>T  is  niercy  only  can  beguile. 

By  gentle  ways,  the  wai.deier  back. 
The  slain  that  on  thy  virtue  lies, 

VVavh'd  by  those  te.irs.  not  long  will  stay; 
As  clouds  that  sully  morning  skies 

May  all  be  wept  ii.  show'rs  away. 
Go,  go,  be  innoceni,— and  live; 

I'lie  tongues  of  men  may  wound  thee  sore; 
But  lleav'n  in  pi  y  can  forgive. 

And  bids  tliee  "  go,  and  sin  no  more  1** 


NONSENSE. 

Good  reader  !  if  you  e'er  liave  seen, 

Wbe  I  I'htchu,  hjsens  to  his  |iillow. 
The  mermaids,  with  ilieir  tresses  green, 

Dancing  i  poii  Ihe  we-tern  billow: 
If  you  have  -cen,  at  twilight  dim, 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Float>  wild  along  Ihe  w  inding  shore, 
If  you  have  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
The  lairy  tiain  iheir  ringlets  weave. 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  green  :  — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
God  bless  me,  what  a  deal  you  've  seen  I 


EPIGRA!\f, 
FROM     THE    FRENCH. 
'  I  never  give  a  kiss  (savs  Prue.) 

"  To  naushtv  man,  for  1  abhor  it." 
Ihe  will  nntpuea  kiss,  'I  is  true; 
She  '11  lake  one  though,  and  thank  you  for  it. 


ON    A    SQUINTING    POETESS. 

To  no  oiic  Muse  does  she  her  glance  confine, 
But  has  an  eye,  at  once,  to  all  (Ae  JVijie .' 


so 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


Die  wlieii  you  will,  j'ou  DeeJ  not  wear 
At  ileal  e.i's  Court  a  form  more  fair 

'1  Iian  Beaulv  liere  on  eartlj  lias  given  ; 
Keep  but  the  ioiely  looks  we  see  — 
The  voice  we  hear  —  and  ynu  will  be 

An  augel  ready-mads  for  Heaven  I 


TO    ROSA. 
A  far  coiiserva,  e  cumulo  d'amanll.         Patt.  Fid. 
And  arc  you  then  a  thin^  of  art, 

SeJuciiig  all,  and  loving  ofiue  ; 
And  liave  I  sirove  to  gain  a  heart 

Which  eveiy  coxcomb  thinks  his  own  ? 
Tell  meat  once  if  this  be  true. 

And  I  will  calm  my  jealous  breast  ; 
Wdl  learn  to  join  ihe  dangling  crew, 

And  share  your  simpers  with  the  rest. 
But  if  your  heart  be  nnt  so  free, — 

Oh  :  if  another  share  that  heart, 
Tell  n..t  the  hateful  tale  to  me, 

IJut  mingle  nieicy  with  your  art. 
I  'd  rather  think  you  "  false  as  hell," 

Than  find  you  In  he  all  divine,— 
Thill  know  that  heait  could  love  so  wci;, 

Tet  know  that  heart  would  not  be  mine  ! 


TO    P  H  1  L  L  i  S . 

Fhillis,  you  liltlerosy  rake, 

That  heart  of  your.  I  long  to  rifie: 

Come,  give  it  uie,  and  do  not  make 
So  uiuch  ado  about  a  Irijte  1 


TO  A  LADY, 
ON     HER     SINGINQ. 

Thy  song  has  laught  my  heart  to  feel 

Tho  e  soothing  thoughts  of  heav'nly  love- 
Which  o'er  the  sainted  spirits  seal 

When  lisl'niiig  to  the  spheres  above  I 
When,  tir'd  of  life  and  misery, 

I  iiish  to  sigh  my  lalest  brealh, 
Oh,  Emma!  1  wilj'fly  to  ihee. 

And  Ihou  shall  sing  me  into  death. 
And  if  along  thy  lip  and  cheek 

That  smile  of  heav'nly  softness  play. 
Which,— ah!  forgive  a  mind  that  '8  weak,— 

So  oft  his  stol'n  my  mind  away; 
Thiu  'It  seem  an  angel  of  the  sky. 

That  comes  to  charm  nie  into  bliss: 
I  'II  gaze  and  die— VVho  would  not  die. 

If  death  weie  half  so  sweet  as  Ihisf 


SONG. 

OS   THE    BIRTHDAY   OF   MRi5.  

\^R1TTEN   IN   IRELAND,  1799. 

Of  all  mv  happiest  hours  of  joy, 
And  even  I  hsve  hid  my  measure, 

When  hearts  were  full,  and  ev'ry  eve 
Hath  kinclled  wilh  the  light  of  pleasure, 


*  The  words  addressed  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cher 
hory  to  the  beautiful  Nun  at  Murano.— See  his  Life. 


An  hour  like  this  1  ne'er  was  given. 

So  lull  of  friendshi|''s  purest  blisses  ; 
youi:g  Love  himself  looks  down  fiom  heavea. 
To  smile  on  such  a  day  as  this  is. 

Ihen  cnnie,  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 

tet  's  feel  as'if  we  ne'er  could  sever; 
And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
lie  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever! 

Oh  !  banish  ev'ry  thought  to-night, 

VVliicli  could  disturb  our  soul's  comniunich'i ; 
Abaiid'n'd  thus  10  dear  dcltgh'. 

We  'II  tv  n  for  once  forget  ihe  Union! 
On  that  let  sta'esmen  irv  their  poiv'is, 

And  tremble  iier  the' rights  they'd  die  for; 
The  union  of  Ihe  soul  be  ours, 

And  ev'ry  union  else  we  sigh  for. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  &c. 

In  ev'ry  eye  around  1  mark 

The  feelings  rif  the  heart  o'erflowing; 
From  ev'ry  suul  I  catch  the  spaik 

Of  sympathy,  in  friendship  glowing. 
Oh  !  could  such  moments  ever  fly  ; 

Oh  !  that  He  ne'er  were  dmni'd  to  lose  'em; 
And  all  as  biighl  as  Chirlotle's  eye. 

And  all  as  pure  as  Charlotte's  bo'^om. 

Ttien  come,  my  Iriends,  &c. 

For  me,  whate'er  my  span  of  years, 

Whatever  sun  may  light  my  rovmg; 
Wheher  I  w  ste  mv  life  in  tears. 

Or  live,  as  now,  f.r  mirth  and  loving; 
This  day  shall  come  wuh  aspect  kind, 

\Vhcrcver  fa'e  nny  cast  your  rover  ; 
He'll  ihink  of  those  he  Irft  behind. 

And  drink  a  health  to  bliss  that's  over! 

Then  couie,  my  friends,  kw 


SON  G.I 

Mary,  I  helrev'd  Ihee  true. 

And  1  lias  blest  in  thus  believing; 

But  now  I  mourn  ihat  e'er  1  knew 
A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving. 
Fare  ihee  well. 

Few  have  ever  lov'd  like  me, — 

Ves  1  have  I  v'd  ihee  to-,  smreiely! 

And  few  h-ive  e'er  deceiv'd  like  thee, — 
Alas!  deceiv'd  me  too  severely. 

Fare  thee  well  !—  yet  think  awhile 
On  one  wliose  bosom  bleeds  to  douht  thee ; 

Who  now  would  rather  Irii  t  that  smile. 
And  die  wilh  thee  tli.an  live  without  thee. 

Fare  thee  well  !  I  'II  think  of  thee, 
Ihou  hav'sl  me  many  a  bitter  token; 

For  see.  distracting  woman,  sec, 
My  prace  is  gone,  my  heart  is  broken!  — 
Fare  thee  well  I 


MORALITY. 

A     FAMILIAR     EPISTLE. 

ADDRESSED   TO 

J.  AT-NS— N,  ESQ.  M.R.I. A. 

Though  long  at  school  and  college  dozing, 
O'er  books  of  verse  and  bo.^ks  of  )irosilig. 
And  copying  from  their  nior.il  pagei 
Fine  recipes  lor  making  sages  ; 


;  written  to  t!ie  pathetic  Scotch 


JUVENILE    POEMS- 


SI 


Though  Inji^  wilh  those  divines  at  school, 
Who  think  In  iii;>ke  us  ^uod  by  rule  ; 
VVh".  in  meihoiiic  Inrms  advinciug, 
Teichms  in-.iality  like  dancing, 
Tell  U5,  for  Heav'u  or  monev's  sake. 
What  steps  v\e  are  Ihrnuj;!!  hfe  to  Like: 
Ih  'ueh  ihu^  my  friend,  so  long  eniploy'd, 
With  so  much  midnight  <iil  des'ioy'd, 
I  must  confess,  my  seaiches  past, 
I  've  o  ly  learn'd  to  di/ubt  at  last. 
1  find  the  doctors  and  '.he  siges 
Have  ditler'd  in  all  climes  and  ages, 
And  two  in  fitty  tcarce  agree 
On  what  is  pure  morality. 
'T  is  like  (he  rainbow's  shifting  zone, 
And  every  vision  makes  its  own. 

The  doctors  of  the  pnrch  aivise, 
As  modes  of  bdn^  great  and  wise. 
That  we  should  ceise  to  own  or  know 
The  luxuries  that  from  ftelin?  flow  :  — 
*'  Reason  alone  must  claim  direction, 
*'  And  Apathy's  the  soul's  peifection. 
**Like  a  dull  Lke  ihc  heait  must  lie; 
"  No-  pass  on^  gale  tior  pleasure's  sigh, 
*'  Though  Heiv'n  tjie  breeze,  the  b'eaih.  supplied, 
**  Must  curl  the  wave  or  swell  the  liie  1" 

Such  was  the  rigid  Zenn's  plaa 
To  f  Tm  his  philosophic  man  ; 
Such  wee  the  modes  he  taught  mankind 
To  weed  the  ga'den  cf  the  mind: 
They  tore  from  thence  some  weeds,  *t  is  true, 
But  all  Uie  ilowVs  were  ravaged  loo  I 

Now  listen  to  the  wily  strains. 
Which,  on  Cyrene's  sandy  plains 
When  Pleasure,  nymph  wiih  loosenM  zone, 
UsurpM  the  phd<'sophic  ih-one,— 
Hear  what  the  courtly  saire'si  longue 
To  his  surrounding  pupils  sung  — 
"Pleasuie's  tluMmly  noble  end 
**T'>  which  all  human  pow'is  should  tend, 
•'  And  Virfnt  gives  htr  heav'nW  lore, 
*'  Rut  to  make  Pleasu-e  p'ease  'us  more. 
"  Wisdom  and  she  were  both  de  ign*d 
**To  make  the  senses  more  refin'd, 
*'  Thit  man  might  revel,  free  from  cloying, 
"Then  mosl  a  ^age  when  Uiost  enjoying!'' 

Is  this  morality  !  —  Oh,  no  ! 
F.v'n  I  a  wiser  jialh  could  show. 
The  flow'r  witliin  this  vase  confinM, 
The  pnre,  the  unfading  flow'r  of  mind, 
Must  not  hrow  all  i  s  sweets  away 
Upon  a  moital  monlj  of  day: 
No,  '  0, — Its  richest  breath  should  rise 
In  viriue's  incense  to  the  skies. 

But  thus  it  i',  all  sects  we  see 
Have  u  .tchword-i  of  moiali-y: 
Some  cry  out  Venus,  '  thers  Jove  ; 
Here  'I  is  Religion,  theie'tis  Love. 
B'.t  uhile  »hey  Ihu-  so  widely  wander, 
While  m\ sites  dream,  and  doctors  ponder; 
And  some,  in  d.a>ecii<s  hrni. 
Seek  Virtue  in  a  ni  (Idle  term  ; 
While  thus  they  strive,  in  Heaven's  defiance, 
To  chain  nioia  i  y  with  science  ; 
The  plain  good  niin.  whoi-e  ac  ions  teach 
Mote  virtue  'han  a  sect  can  preach, 
Pursues  his  course,  uu'-asely  blest, 
His  tiirnr  whispMng  in  his  breast  j 
Nor  could  he  -c  a  purt-r  pan, 
Th  ugti  he  had  Tiilly  all  by  heart. 
And  when  he  diops  the  fear  on  woe, 
He  little  knows  or  cares  to  know 
That  Kpicleius  blam'd  Ihat  tear. 
By  Heav'a  appmv'd,  to  viitue  dear! 


Oh  I  when  Pve  seen  the  mdrning  beam 
Fl'  atiMg  within  the  dimpled  slreaui ; 
While  Nature,  \vak'niiig  from  the  night, 
lias  just  pui  on  her  lobes  of  light, 
Have  i,  wilh  cold  opiician's  gaze, 
Explor'd  the  doctrine  t>{  those  rays? 
No.  pedants,  1  have  left  to  you 
Nicely  to  sep'ra'e  hue  from  hue. 
Go,  give  thai  moment  up  to  ait, 
When  Heav'n  and  nature  claim  the  heart; 
And,  dull  lo  all  llieir  bebt  attraction, 
Go  —  measure  angles  of  rtfraclion. 
While  1,  in  feeling's  sweei  romance, 
Look  on  each  daybeam  as  a  glance 
From  the  great  eye  of  Him  above. 
Wak'uing  his  world  with  lookb  ot  love! 


THE    TELL-TALE   LYRE. 

I  *ve  heard,  there  was  in  ancient  days 
A  Lyre  of  most  melodious  spell : 

rr  waJ  heav'n  to  hear  its  fairy  lays, 
If  half  be  true  that  legends  tell. 

T  was  plav'd  on  by  the  gentlest  sighs, 
And  to  tlieir  brt-alh  it  btt^aih'd  again 

In  sucli  entrancing  melodies 
As  ear  had  never  drunk  till  then! 

Not  ha-mnny^s  serenesl  touch 
So  siilly  could  the  noies  pridong; 

They  were  not  heavenly  snn^  so  much 
As  they  were  dieams  of  heiv'nly  song! 

If  sad  the  heart,  whose  murmuring  air 
Along  the  chords  in  languir  stole, 

The  numbers  it  auaken'd  th.re 
Were  eloquence  t'rum  pity's  soul. 

Or  if  the  sigh,  serene  and  light, 

Was  bui  ;he  breath  of  fancied  woes, 

The  string,  thai  fell  Us  airy  flight. 
Soon  whispcr'd  it  to  kind  repose. 

And  when  young  lovers  tatk'd  alone, 
If,  mid  their  bliss  that  Lyre  was  near 

It  made  their  .»ceen's  all  it,-,  own, 
And  sent  forih  notes  thai  heav'n  might  hear. 

There  was  a  nvniph,  who  long  had  lov^ 
But  d.i  'd  not' tell  the  world  how  well: 

The  shades,  where  she  at  evemni;  rov'd, 
Alone  coiild  know,  alone  could  tell. 

»Tas  there,  at  twilight  time,  she  stole, 

Wheu  the  hist  btar  announc'd  the  night,— 

Wilh  him  whoclaim'd  her  inmo>t  soul. 
To  wander  by  that  soothing  light. 

It  chancM  that,  in  the  fairy  bower 

Wheie  blest  they  woocd  e^ch  other's  smile, 
This  Lyrf,  of  sliange  and  magic  power. 

Hung  wlMsp'ring  o'er  their  heads  the  while. 

And  as,  with  eyes  commingling  fire, 
They  liste:;'d  to  each  utht-rVvow, 

The  youih  fu'l  ofi  would  make  the  I.yre 
A  pillow  lor  the  maiden's  biow  : 

And,  whi'e  Hie  melting  words  she  breafhM 
Were  by  itsecInTS  wafted  lound. 

Her  lock-  .'iad  with  the  chords  so  wreath'd, 
One  knew  not  which  gave  forth  the  sound. 

Alas,  their  hearts  but  tittle  thought, 

While  thus  they  talk'd  the  houis  away, 

That  every  sound  the  I.yte  was  la-ight 
Would  [inger  long,  and  Ion;  betray. 


82 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


So  mingled  with  its  tuneful  sr^ul 

VVeie  .ill  their  lender  murmurs  gfown, 

Th^t  other  sigi.s  unaiisvvtrVI  siole, 

Nor  words  it  breah'd  but  theirs  alone. 

Unhappy  nymph!  ihy  name  was  sung 
To  every  breeze  ttiat  wanJei'd  byj 

The  sfcrei's  of  ii,y  genile  tongue 

Were  br^atird  in  sung  lo  eirlh  and  sky. 

The  fatal  Lyre,  by  Envy's  hind 

Hung  high  amid  the  whisp'img  grove^ 

T"  every  gale  by  which  'i  was  fannd, 
frxlain-ed  the  mystery  of  your  loves. 

Nor  long  ihus  rudely  was  thy  name 
To  earth's  derisive  echoes  given  ; 

Some  pitying  spirit  downward  »ame, 
And  look  the  Lyre  and  thee  lo  he.iven. 

There,  freed  from  earth's  unholy  wrongs, 
Potli  happy  m  Loves  home  shall  be  ; 

Thou,  utienng  nnu^hl  but  seraph  son^s, 
And  that  sweel  Lyre  siitl  echoing  thee  ! 


PEACE    AND   GLORY. 
WRITTEN   ON  THE   APPROACH   OF   WAR. 

Where  is  now  the  smile,  that  lighten'd 

Eveiy  hero's  couch  of  rest  ? 
Where  is  n  >w  u  e  h-pe.  th.it  brighten'd 

Honour's  eyea-^d  Pity's  b-east  ? 
K^ve  v\e  lost  ihe  wrea  h  «e  braided 

Fnr  our  weary  ivarrinr  men? 
Jsihe  r^ilhless  olive  faied? 

Must  the  bay  be  pluck  d  again  ? 

Passing  hour  of  sunny  weather 

Lovely,  in  ynur  light  awhile, 
Peace  and  Glory,  wed  to^eiher, 

Wanier'd  through  our  bles  ed  isle. 
Ai  d  the  eyes  ff  Peace  would  glisteu, 

Dewy  as  a  morning  sun, 
When  the  limid  mail  \vr<uld  listen 

To  tlie  deeds  her  chief  had  doi.e. 

Is  their  hour  of  dalliance  over  ? 

Must  (he  maiden's  'rembling  feet 
Waft  her  frnni  her  warlike  l.-ver 

To  the  desert's  still  reTeat  ? 
Fare  you  well!  with  sighs  we  banish 

N>  mph  so  f^ir  and  eues's  so  bright ; 
Yet  ihe  smile,  with  wliicli  ynu  vanish^ 

Leaves  behind  a  soothing  light ;  — 

Soothing  light,  that  Ion?  shall  sparkle 

O'er  \our  warrior's  sangmn'd  way, 
Throush  Ihe  field  where  horrors  darkle, 

Sheddins  hnpe's  consoling  ray. 
Long  the  smile  hs  heart  will  cherish, 

To  its  absent  idol  true ; 
While  around  him  myriads  perish, 

Glory  siill  will  sigh  for  youl 


SONG. 

Take  back  the  sigh,  thy  lips  of  art 

In  passion's  moment  breath'd  lo  me  J 
Yet.  no  —  it  must  not.  » ill  not  part, 
'T  is  now  the  life-breath  of  my  heart, 
And  has  become  too  pure  for  thee. 

Take  back  Ihe  kiss,  that  faithle  s  sigh 
With  all  the  warmth  of  t-ulh  imprest; 

Tet,  no  —  the  fatal  kiss  niay  lie. 

Upon  thy  lip  its  sweets  would  die. 
Or  bloom  to  make  a  rival  blest. 


Take  back  the  vows  that,  ni^hl  and  day, 

My  heart  receiv'd,  I  thought,  from  tbioe; 
Yet,  no  — allow  them  ftill  lo  stay, 
They  might  some  other  heait  betray, 
As  sweetly  as  they've  rmn'd  mine. 


LOVE    AND    REASON. 

"Qtinnd   I'bomme  commence  a  raisonner.  il   cease  d 
■eulir."  J.  J.  HoufSfau.l 

*T  was  in  the  summer  time  so  sweet, 

When  hearts  and  fiouers  are  bo  h  in  season, 

Thnt  —  who,  of  all  the  world,  should  meet, 
One  early  dawn,  bnt  Love  and  Reason  ! 

Love  told  his  dream  of  yesternight, 

While  Reason  talked  ab.>ut  the  weather. 

The  morn,  in  snoth,  was  fair  and  bright, 
And  on  they  took  their  way  together. 

The  boy  in  mmy  a  gambol  flew, 
While  Reason,  like  s  Juno,  stalk'd, 

And  from  her  portly  figure  threw 
A  lengthen'd  shadow,  as  she  walk'd. 

No  wonder  Love,  as  on  thev  pass'd. 
Should  find  that  sunny  morning  chill, 

For  still  the  shadow  Reason  cast 
Fell  o'er  the  boy,  and  cooPd  him  still. 

In  vain  he  tried  his  vvings  to  warm, 

Or  find  a  pa  hway  nol  w  dim. 
For  still  the  maid's  gigantic  form 

Would  stalk  between  the  sun  and  him. 

"This  must  not  be."  said  little  Love  — 
*'  I  he  sun  was  made  for  more  than  you." 

So,  turning  through  a  myrtle  erove, 
He  bid  the  portly  nymph  adieu. 

Now  gaily  roves  the  laughing  boy 
O'er  many  a  mead,  by  many  a  stream  ; 

In  every  breeze  inhaling  jny, 

And  drinking  bliss  in  eveiy  beam. 

From  all  the  gardens,  all  the  bowers. 
He  culPd  the  many  sweets  Ihey  shaded. 

And  nte  ihe  fruit-;  and  smelTd  the  flowers, 
Till  taste  was  gone  and  odour  faded. 

But  now  the  sun,  in  pomp  of  noon, 
Look'd  blazing  o'er  the  sultry  phins; 

Alas  !  Ihe  boy  jrew  biuijiil  snon. 

And  feier  Ihrill'd  Ihrnugh  all  his  veins. 

The  dew  forsook  his  babv  brow. 

No  more  with  heal'hy'hloom  he  ^mil'd  — 

Oh  !  where  was  tranquil  Reason  now, 
To  cast  her  shadow  o'er  the  child? 

Reneaih  a  gteen  and  a^ed  palm, 

His  foot  at  length  for  shel  er  turning, 

He  91W  the  nymph  reclmintr  calm. 
With  brow  as  cool  as  his  was  burning. 

"Oh  \  take  me  to  that  bosom  cold," 

In  murmurs  at  her  feet  he  siid  ; 
And  Reason  op'd  her  e-irment's  fold. 

And  flung  it  round  his  fever'd  head. 

He  felt  her  bosnm's  icy  touch. 

And  sonn  il  Uill'd  his  pulse  to  rest; 

For,  ah  !  the  chill  was  quite  too  much, 
And  Love  expir'd  on  Reason's  breas;  t 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


83 


Nay,  do  nnt  weep,  my  Fanny  dearj 

While  ill  these  arms  vou  lie, 

This  world  hath  not  a  wish,  a  fear, 

That  ouiht  lo  cost  that  eye  a  tear, 

That  heart,  one  tingle  sigh. 


The 


->rld  ! 


ah,  Fanny,  Lnve  must  shun 


One  heari  to  be  \u^  only-oue, 
Aie  quite  enuugh  for  Love. 

What  can  we  wish,  that  is  not  hero 

Retweeii  your  arms  and  mine  ? 
Is  there,  on  earth,  a  space  so  dear 
As  that  within  the  happy  sphere 


)  eul\^ 


For  nie,  there  *s  not  a  lock  of  jet 

Adown  ynnr  temples  CU'IM, 
Within  whose  glos-y,  tangling  net, 
My  soul  dnth  not,  at  once,  forget 
All,  all  this  worthless  world. 

H'is  in  those  eyes,  so  full  of  love, 

My  only  woilds  I  see  ; 
I^t  but  thtir  orbs  in  eunshine  move, 
And  earth  below  and  skies  above 

May  frown  or  smile  for  me. 


»T  was  in  the  fair  Aspasia*s  bower, 
That  Love  and  Learning,  many  an  hour, 
In  d;tlli.ince  met;  and  Le;irning  smil'd 
With  ple^^ure  on  the  playful  child, 
Who  of'en  stole,  to  find  a  nest 
Within  the  folds  of  Learnings  vest. 

There,  as  the  lislenin*  statesman  hung 
In  transpoit  on  Aspasia's  tongue, 
The  destinies  of  Athens  took 
Their  clour  from  Aspasia's  look. 
Oh  happy  time,  when  laws  of  s  ate 
When  all  that  rul'd  the  country's  fate, 
Its^lory,  qtiiet,  or  alarms, 
Was  plann'd  between  two  snow-white  arms! 

Blest  times!  they  could  not  always  last  — 
And  yet,  ev'n  now,  thev  are  not  past. 
Though  we  have  lost  tlie  giant  mould, 
In  which  their  men  were  cast  nf  old. 
Woman,  dear  woman,  still  the  sanie. 
While  beauty  breathes  through  soul  or  frame. 


While  man  possesses  heart  or  eyes. 
Woman's  bright  empire  never  dies ! 

No,  Fanny,  love,  they  ne'er  shall  say, 
Thit  beaiiiy^a  charm  hath  pass'd  away  ; 
Give  but  the  universe  a  soul 
Attuii'd  to  woman's  soft  control, 
And  Fanny  hath  the  charm,  Ihe  skill, 
To  wield  a  universe  at  will. 


THE   GRECIAN   GIRL»S  DREAM 

OF   THE   BLESSED  ISLANDS,* 

TO  HER  LOVER. 

hXf-   TE   KttXoJ 

AnoXXuiV  JTEpt  IlAiurtvov.    Oracul.  Mtlric.  a 
Joan.  Opsop.  colluta. 

Was  it  the  monn,  or  waa  it  morning's  ray, 

Tfcat  call'd  thee,  dearest,  from  these  arms  away  ? 

f       1  It  ni9  imagined  by  some  of  the  ancients  that 


Scarce  hadst  thou  left  me,  when  a  dream  of  night 

Came  o'er  my  spirit  so  distinct  and  bright. 

That,  while  I  yet  can  vividly  recall 

Its  witching  wonders,  thou  shall  hear  them  all. 

Meihought  I  s-w,  upon  the  lunar  beam, 

Two  winded  bnys,  such  as  thy  muse  might  dreoiDf 

Descending  fr.im  above,  at  that  still  hour. 

And  gilding,  with  smooth  step,  into  my  bower. 

Fair  as  the  beauteous  spirits  that,  all  day. 

In  Ainatha's  w.irm  fnuiits  impnson'd  a:ay,' 

Hut  the  .it  midnight,  from  th'  enchanted  rill, 

Tu  cool  their  plumes  upon  some  moonlight  hill. 

At  once  I  knew  their  mission;  —  't  was  to  bear 
My  spirit  upward,  through  the  paths  of  air. 
To  that  elysian  realm,  from  whence  stray  beams 
So  oft,  in  sleep,  had  vi^ited  my  dreams. 
Swift  at  their  touch  difsolv'd  the  ties  that  clung 
All  earthly  round  me,  and  aloft  I  sprung; 
While,  heavnward  guides,  the  little  geiiii  flew 
Thro'  palbs  of  light,  refresh'd  by  heaven's  own  dew. 
And  fann'd  liy  airs  still  flagrant  wiih  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  biue  ether  rnlls,3 
Gemm'd  with  bright  islands,  where  Ihe  chosen  souls, 
Who  've  pass'd  in  lore  and  love  'heir  earthly  hours, 
Repose  for  ever  in  unfading  bowers. 
Tha'  very  moon,  whose  solitaiy  light 
So  often  guides  thee  to  my  bower  at  night, 
Is  no  chill  planet,  but  an  isle  nf  love, 
Floating  in  splendour  thfugh  those  seas  above. 
And  peiipled  with  bright  ftirms,  aerial  grown. 
Nor  knowing  aught  of  earth  but  love  alone. 
'Ihither,  !  thought,  we  wingd  our  airy  way:  — 
Mrld  o'er  its  villeys  stream'd  a  silvery  day, 
While,  all  around,  on  lily  beds  of  rest, 
Reclin'd  the  spirits  of  the  immortal  Blest.* 

tl 


an  ethereal  oce.in  abnve  u*;,  and  that  the  sun 
and  moon  are  two  flna'ing,  luniiiifius  islands,  in  which 
the  spiri:s  of  the  blest  reside.  Accordingly  we  find 
that  the  word  ilKiavo^  was  sometimes  synonymous 
with  aiip,  and  death  was  not  unfreijuenily  called 
SlKEavoLo  no(}oSy  or  "  the  passage  of  the  ocean." 

2  Eunapiu',  in  his  life  of  lamblichus,  tells  m  of 
two  beautiful  little  spirits  or  loves,  which  lamblichus 
raised  by  enchantmeni  from  the  warm  springs  at 
Gadara;  "dicens  astantibus  fsays  the  auihor  of  the 
Oii  Fatidici,  p.  160,)  illos  e^se  loci  Genios: "  which 
words,  however,  are  nnt  in  Eunapius. 

I  find  frt>m  Cellarius  that  Amatha,  in  the  neigh- 
bourlrond  of  Gadara,  was  also  celebrated  for  its  warm 
springs,  and  I  have  preferred  if  as  a  more  poetical 
name  than  Gadara.  Cellarrus  quotes  Hreronymus. 
'*  Est  et  alia  villa  in  viciuia  G  .dai^e  nomine  Aniatha, 
ubi  calidjR  aquje  erumpunt."  — GeogJ"a/;A,  Jlntiq.  lib, 
iii.  cap.  13. 

3  Thisbelief  of  anocean  in  the  heavens,  or"  waters 
above  the  firniament."  was  one  of  the  many  physical 
erri>rs  in  which  the  early  fathers  bewildered  them- 
selves. Le  P.  Baltua,  in  his  '*  Defense  des  Saints 
Peres  accuses  de  Pluionisme,"  taking  it  for  granted 
that  Ihe  ancien's  were  moe  coirect  in  their  notions 
(which  by  no  msans  afiptars  from  what  I  hue  already 
quoted  )  adduces  the  obstinacy  of  the  fathers,  in  this 
whimsical  opinion,  as  a  proof  of  their  repugnance  to 
even  (ru'h  (rom  the  hands  of  the  philosophers,  T^.>^ 
is  a  strange  way  of  defending  the  farhers,  and  attri- 
butes much  more  th<n  they  deserve  to  the  phih'so- 
phets.  For  an  abstract  of  this  work  of  Raltis,  (the 
oppnser  of  Fon'enelle,  Van  Dale.  &c.  in  Ihe  famous 
Oracle  controversy.)  see  *' Riblio  heqiie  des  Auteurs 
Ecdesiast,  du  18o  siecle,  part  I.  lorn,  ii.'* 

♦  There  wt;re  various  opinions  among  the  ancients 
with  re  pect  to  their  lunar  es  abli>hmeni ;  some  made 
it  an  elysium,  and  others  a  purgatoiy;  while  some 
supposed  il  to  be  a  kind  of  entrepot  between  lieaven 
and  earth,  where  souls  which  had  left  their  bodies, 


84 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


Oh!  there  I  met  Ihoje  few  cnn^enial  maids, 

Whom  iove  haih  warin'd,  in  philosophic  shades; 

There  still  Leontiuiii,i  on  her  -ase's  bieast, 

Found  lore  and  love,  was  tuior'<|  and  carfSl ; 

And  Ihe,  e  the  cl.i>p  of  F\  Unas'  'i  gentle  arin» 

Rfpaid  the  zeal  winch  deiliL-d  her  chaims. 

The  Athc  M-ister,3  m  Asna-ia's  e.\es, 

Forijot  the  yoke  ot"  less  eiidcartng  lies; 

VVlnle  f,\ir  'IheaiK.,^  innocently  fair, 

Wrealira  playful  y  her  bann.m's  flowing:  hair,» 

Whosa  soul  now  iix'd,  its  iiansmigr;itions  past, 

Found  in  those  arms  a  resting-pl  ice,  at  last  j 

And  smiling  own'd.  wh-*lc'er  his  dreamy  thought 

In  mystic  numbers  long  had  v-iinly  snu^ht, 

The  One  ibat 's  lonn'dof  I  wo  whom  loie  hath  bound, 

Is  the  best  number  gods  or  roen  e'er  found. 

But  think,  my  Theon,  wiih  what  joy  I  thrill'd, 
When  neir  a  (junt,  which  ihmunh  the  valley  rill'd, 
My  fancy's  eve  beheld  a  form  rtchiie, 
(^f  lunar  tace,  but  so  resenibhng  thine 

and  those  that  were  on  their  way  to  join  them,  were 
deposited  in  the  valley^  of  Ilec:<te,  and  remained  till 
furllier  orders.  Tot?  Trt^jt  fftAiyi'i/v  atpt  Xtyciv 
avTa£  KuTOLKEiv,  Kai  an-'  avry^  Kartu  j^wpEtv  ttj 
T^iv  TTtptyaov  ytvt.aLV.—Stub.  l.b.  i.  Eclug.  Physic. 

1  The  pupil  and  mistress  of  Epicurus,  who  called 
her  his  "dear  litile  Leiniium"  (Atoi'Taptov,)  as  ap- 
pears by  a  fragment  of  one  of  his  letteis  in  Ij^priius. 
This  Leiintium  was  a  wonian  of  (a  eut ;  "  she  bad  the 
impudence  (says  Cicero)  lo  write  agiinst  Tiieopbras- 
tus  ;  "  and  Cicero,  al  ihe  same  timet  give^i  her  a  tiame 
which  IS  neither  polite  nor  trar  slalable.  *' Mere- 
tricula  eiam  Leoniium  contra  'I  he<)ph<a<>tum  scribeie 
nuv*  ^\."  ^  Ue  Naliir.  Deor.  She  Itfi  a  daughter 
called  Danae,  who  was  just  as  rigid  an  Epicme^n  as 
her  mother;  Komethmg  tike  Wieland's  Danae  in 
Ag^lhon. 

ii  would  sound  much  belter^  I  think,  if  the  name 
were  Lei'ntia,  a^  it  occurs  the  tirsi  lime  in  Laerlius; 
but  M.  Menage  will  out  liear  ot  this  residing. 

^  Pythias  wa?  a  woman  whom  Aristotle  loved,  and 
to  whom  afer  her  death  fie  paid  duine  honours, 
solemnizing  her  niemory  by  ihe  -aine  -acufices  which 
the  Athenians  odered  to  the  Goddess  Ceres.  For  this 
impious  g-illantry  the  philosopher  was,  of  cou'se, 
censured;  but  it  would  be  well  if  certain  of  our 
modern  Slagirites  showed  a  little  of  this  supeistition 
about  the  menioiy  of  Iheir  iinalies^es. 

3  Socrates,  who  used  to  console  him  elf  in  the 
sociely  of  Aspasia  for  ihose  **  less  endearing  ties" 
which  he  found  at  home  with  Xantippe.  For  an 
account  of  this  extraonlinaiy  creature,  Aspasia,  and 
her  school  of  erudite  luxury  at  Athens,  see  L'Hitoire 
de  I'Academie,  &.c.  torn.  xxxi.  p.  69.  Segur  rather 
f^ils  on  the  inspiring  subject  of  Aspasia.  —  *•  Les 
Femmes,"  tnni.  i.  p.  122. 

The  Author  of  the  "Voyage  du  Monde  de  Des- 
cartes'*  has  als)  placed  these  phib)snpheis  in  the 
moon,  and  has  allotted  seigueuries  to  them,  as  well  :is 
to  the  a>tronnniers  ([ait  ii.  p.  M3;)  but  he  ought  not 
to  have  forgotten  their  v\ivesand  mistrtssesj  •* curie 
Don  Ipsa  in  morte  rtrlmquunt." 

*  There  are  some  -ensible  letters  extant  under  the 
nanie  of  this  fair  Pyihagmean.  They  aie  addiessed 
to  her  female  fr;ends  U|  on  Ihe  ediica' ion  <  f  children, 
the  treatment  of  serxants,  &c.  One,  in  particular,  to 
Nicostrata,  whfse  hu  band  had  given  her  reasons  f >r 
jealousy,  contains  such  truly  considera'e  and  rational 
advice,  (hat  it  ought  to  be  translated  for  the  edifica- 
tion nf  a!!  married  ladies.  See  Gales  Opuscul.  Myih. 
Phys.  p.  741. 

*  Pythagoras  was  remarkable  for  fine  hair,  and 
Doctor  Thiers  (in  his  Hi^ti  ire  dt^  Perruques)  seems 
to  take  for  granted  it  was  all  his  own  ;  as  he  has  not 
mentioned  him  among  Ihose  ancients  uho  weie 
obliged  10  have  recourse  to  the  "coma  apposititia." 
L'Hist.  des  Perruques,  chap.  i. 


That,  oh  !  't  was  but  fidelity  in  me, 
To  Hy,  to  cla-p,  and  worship  it  for  thee. 
*'"  ".id  of  words  the  unbodied  soui  requires. 


To  waft ; 


^'li-hi 


But  by  a  piiwer,  to  spiuls  only  given, 
A  deep,  mule  impulse,  only  (elt  in  lieaven. 
Swifter  than  nieteor  shaft  ttin-ugh  summer  skies, 
From  soul  to  soul  the  glanc'd  idea  flies. 

Oh,  my  btloved,  hnw  divinely  sweet 
Is  the  puie  joy,  when  kindred  spirits  meet ! 
Like  him,  the  rjver-god,6  whose  waters  flow, 
With  love  their  only  lijht,  through  cave^  U  t«T 
Wafting  in  Inumph  all  the  flowery  biaids. 
And  festal  rings,  with  which  Olympic  maids 
Have  deck'd  his  current,  as  an  nflering  meet 
To  lav  -'t  ArethusVs  shmingfeet. 
Think,  uhen  he  meets  at  la'st  his  fount.iin-bride, 
Whit  perfect  love  must  ihnll  the  blended  tide  I 
Each  lost  m  eac 
Their  lot  the  same  for  shai 
A  t\pe  of  true  love,  to  the  deep  they  run. 
'T  was  thus - 

Bu",  Theon.  *t  is  an  endless  theme, 
And  thou  grow'si  weary  of  my  half-told  dream, 
l)h,  would,  my  love,  we  were  together  now. 
And  I  would  uoo  sweet  patience  lo  thv  brow, 
And  make  thee  smile  at  all  the  magic  tales 
Of  slailisrh!  boueis  and  plane  aiy  vales, 
Which  niy  fond  soul,  iuspir  d  by  thee  and  love, 
In  slumber's  lo  m  h  ith  fancfuily  wove. 
But  no ;  nn  more  —  soon  as  tn-morrow's  ray 
O'er  soft  Ili-sus  shall  have  died  away, 
I  Ml  come,  and,  while  love's  planet  in  the  west 
Shines  o'er  our  meeting,  lell  thee  all  the  rest. 


TO    CLOE. 
IMITATED   FROM    MARTIAL. 

I  could  resign  that  eye  of  blue, 

Howe'erils  'plendr>nr  ustd  to  thiill  me; 
And  ev'n  that  cheek  of  roseate  hue, — 

To  lose  it,  Cloe,  scarce  w»  uld  kill  me. 


Thai  snowv  r 

eck  I  ne'e 

should  miss 

However  ii 

uch  1  'ip  r 

aVd  ab.  ut  it 

And  sweetly 

AS  Ihnt  lip 

can  kiss. 

1  tltink  1  cu 

uld  exist  V 

t'itliout  it. 

In  short,  so  well  I  've  learn'd  to  fast, 

Thai,  sonth  my  hue,  I  know  not  whether 

I  might  not  bring  myself  at  last. 
To — do  without  you  altoge  her. 


THE  WREATH  AND  THE  CHAIN. 

I  bring  thee,  love,  a  golden  chain, 

I  bring  thee  too  a  flowcy  wieath; 
The  gold  shall  never  wear  a  s'ain, 

The  flow'rets  Inngsliall  swee'ly  breathe. 
Come,  tell  me  which  'he  tie  ?hill  be, 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 
The  Chain  is  fnrm'd  of  golden  threads, 

Bright  as  Minerva's  yellow  h  lir. 
When  the  la^t  beam  of  evening  sheds 

lis  calm  and  sober  lustie  there. 

6  The  river  Alpheus,  which  flowed  by  Pisa  or  I 
Olympia,  and  into  which  it  was  custonarv  to  throw  I 
ofterings  .  f  different  kinds,  during  the  celebration  of  , 
the  Olympic  games.  In  the  pretty  romance  of  Clito*  ' 
phon  and  Leucippe,  the  river  is  supposed  to  carry  | 
the  e  offerings  as  bndal  gifts  to  the  fountain  Arethusa.  I 
Kat  Z7TL  TQv  ApcOova-av  ovtuj  tov  AA(tt'ov  vv(i(^9  t 
ToAct.  brav  ovv  7}  tu>v  oAu/tn'iujv  iopnj,  k,  t,  A.  I 
Lib.  i. 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


85 


The  Wrcalh  's  of  brishlcst  myrtle  wove, 
With  suii-lit  ilic.ps  i.f  bliss  aiuoiig  it, 

And  many  a  rose-le.if,  cull'J  by  Love, 
To  heal  his  lip  when  lieis  h,ve  stmig  it. 

O'nie,  tell  me  which  ihe  lie  shall  be, 

I'o  bind  thy  gentle  lieut  tu  nie. 

Yes,  yes,  I  read  that  ready  eye. 

Which  answes  whe:;  the  longue  is  loilh, 
Tl.ou  l.k-st  Ihe  (c-.-si  of  eithei  lie, 

And  sprejd'st  ihy  playful  hinds  for  both. 
Ah  I  —  if  there  \\  eie  not  some  InnR  wrong, 

The  world  would  see  them  blended  ofl ; 
The  Chain  would  ni.ike  Ihe  VVrealli  ■■)  strong! 

The  Wreath  would  make  the  Chain  »o  soft ! 
Then  might  the  gold,  Ihe  fl"W'rels  be 
Sweet  fetters  for  my  love  and  me. 

But,  Fanny,  so  uid)lesf  they  twine, 

That  (heaven  alone  can  tell  the  reason) 
When  mingled  thus  ihey  cease  to  shine. 

Or  shine  but  for  a  Iransieul  season. 
Whether  the  Chain  mav  press  too  much, 

Or  that  the  Wreath  is  sliglitly  braided, 
Let  but  Ihe  gold  Ihe  llow'tcts  touch, 

And  all  their  bl  oni,  their  glow  is  faded! 
Oil!  better  to  bi;  always  free, 

Than  thus  to  bind  my  love  to  me. 

The  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head, 

And,  as  she  turn'd  an  i.pward  glaocei 
1  saw  a  doubt  its  tw  ilight  spread 

Across  her  brow's  divine  expmse. 
Just  then,  Ihe  garland's  brightest  rose 

Cave  one  of  its  love-breathing  sighs  — 
Oh  !  who  can  ask  how  Fanny  chose, 

That  ever  look'd  in  Fanny's  eyes  ? 
"  The  Wreath,  my  life,  the  Wreath  shall  be 
*'  The  tie  to  bind  my  soul  to  thee." 


TO 


And  hast  thou  mark'd  Ihe  pensive  shade, 
'I'hat  many  a  time  obscures  my  brow. 

Midst  all  Ihe  joy,  beloved  maid. 

Which  thou  canst  give,  and  only  thou  ? 

Oh  !  't  is  not  that  I  then  forget 
The  bright  lo  ks  lh;il  before  me  ibiiie; 

For  never  Ihrobb'd  a  bosom  jet 
Could  feel  their  witchery,  like  mme. 

When  bashful  on  my  bnsom  hid. 
And  blushing  to  have  felt  so  blesfj 

Thou  dust  but  lift  thy  languid  lid. 
Again  to  close  it  on  my  breast  j— 

Yes,— these  are  minutes  all  thine  own. 
Thine  own  to  give,  and  mine  to  feel  j 

Tet  ev'n  In  them,  iny  hearl  has  known 
The  sigh  lo  rise,  the  tear  lo  steal. 

For  I  have  thought  of  former  hours. 
When  he  who  first  Ihy  soul  possess'd, 

Like  me  awak'd  ils  wi'ching  powers. 
Like  me  was  lov'd,  like  me  was  blest. 

Upon  his  name  thy  murmuring  tongue 
Perhaps  hath  all  as  sweetly  dwell  j 

Upon  his  words  thine  ear  hath  hung, 
With  transport  all  as  purely  felt. 

For  him —  yet  why  the  past  recall. 
To  damp  and  wilher  present  bliss 

Thou'rt  Eow  my  own,  heart,  spirit,  all. 
And  heaven  could  grant  no  more  than  thii 

Forgive  me,  dearest,  oh  1  forciue; 

I  would  be  first,  be  sole  to  tliee, 
TSau  shouldst  have  but  besun  to  live. 

The  J«ur  thai  gave  thy  heart  lo  mc. 


8 


Tby  book  of  life  rill  Ihen  effac'd, 

Love  should  have  kept  thai  leafailoDe 

Ou  wliich  he  first  so  brightly  tracJ 
riiat  (bou  wen,  aoul  aod  all,  my  owa. 


TO 'S    PICTURE, 

Go  then,  if  she,  whose  shnde  thou  art, 
No  nio'e  will  let  thee  snothe  my  p-iinj 

ye»,  ted  her,  it  h.ts  cos?  this  heart 
Some  pangs,  to  give  thee  back  again. 

Tell  her  the  smile  was  not  so  dear, 

Wiih  which  -he  made  thy  semblance  mine, 

^9  hitter  is  the  Ijnmiiiff  tear. 

Wilh  which  1  now  the  gift  reaign. 

Yet  SCO  — and  could  shn  still  restore, 
Aa  some  exchange  for  taking  thee, 

The  fnnquil  lock  which  first  I  wore, 
When  her  eyes  found  me  calm  and  free; 

Could  she  give  back  the  careFess  flow, 
The  spirit  that  my  heart  then  knew  — 

Yet,  no,  't  is  vain  —  go,  picture,  go  — 
Smile  at  me  once,  and  then  —  adieu  I 


FRAGMENT   OF   A    MYTHOLOGICAL   HYMN 
TO  LOVK.i 

Ulest  infant  of  eternity  ; 
Before  the  day-star  le.irn'd  to  move, 
In  pomt'  of  fire,  along  his  ffrand  career, 

Glancing  the  beamv  shafts  of  Ir»ht 
From  hi*,  rich  quiver  to  the  farthest  sphere, 
Thou  wert  alone,  oh  Love* 
Nes'Iine  benea'h  the  wines  of  ancient  Night, 
Whose  liorrors  scem'd  to  smile  in  shadowing  thee. 

No  form  of  beauty  sooth'd  thine  eye, 
As  through  the  dim  expanse  it  wander'd  wide 

No  kindred  ^pir■it  caught  thy  sigh, 
As  o'er  the  watery  waste  it  lingering  died. 

Unfelt  the  puise,  unknown  The  power, 
That  lateiit  in  his  heart  was  sleeping, — 

Oh  Sympathy  1  that  lonely  hour 
Saw  Love  himself  thy  absence  weeping. 

But  look,  what  glory  through  Ihe  darkness  beams  ! 
Celestial  airs  along'the  water  glide:  — 
What  Spirit  art  thmi,  moving  o'er  the  tide 
So  beautiful  ?  oh,  not  of  earth, 
But,  in  thai  glowing  hnur,  (he  birth 
Of  the  young  Gridhead's  own  creative  dreams, 

n'isshe! 
Psyche,  the  firstborn  spirit  of  the  air. 
To  thee,  oh  Love,  she  turns, 
On  thee  her  eyebeam  burns  : 
Blest  hour,  before  all  worlds  ordain'd  to  be! 

They  meet  — 
The  blooming  gnd  —  the  spirit  fair 
Meet  in  communion  sweet. 


i  Love  and  Psyche  are  here  considered  as  the  ac- 
tive and  pa5sive  principles  of  creation,  and  the  uni- 
verse is  supposed  to  have  received  its  first  Jiarnionizing 
impulse  from  the  nuptial  sympathy  between  these  two 
powers.  A  marriage  is  geriera'lv  the  first  step  in  cos- 
mogony. Tima^us  held  Form  to  be  Ihe  father,  and 
Matter  the  mother  of  the  World  ;  Elion  and  Berouth, 
I  think,  are  Snnclioniatho's  first  spiritual  lovers,  and 
Mancn-ca|iac  and  his  wife  introduced  creation  amongst 
the  Peruvians.  In  short,  Harlequin  seems  to  have 
stud  ied  cosmogonies,  w  hen  he  s^iid  "■  tutto  il  mondo  e 
fatto  come  la  nostra  famiglia." 


86 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


Now,  Sympathy,  the  hour  is  tliinej 
AH  lutiire  feels  the  Ihrill  divi.,e, 
'ihe  veil  of  Chsus  is  withdrawn, 
And  their  fir»t  kiss  is  great  Creatiou's  dawn ! 


TO    HIS   SERENE   HIGHNESS 

THE    DUKE    OF   MONTPENSIER, 

ON     HIS    PORTRAIT     OF     THE     LADY    ADE- 
LAIDE  FORBES. 

Doninston  Park,  1802. 

To  catch  the  thought,  by  paintinsr's  8pell, 
Howe'er  remote,  howeei   reliird, 

Aii.i  o'er  the  kindling  cauv  ss  tell 
The  silent  story  of  the  niindj 

O'er  nature's  form  to  e'lnce  the  eye, 
And  fix,  by  immic  light  and  shade, 

Her  motnins;  tinges,  ete  Ih.  y  fly, 

Her  evening  blushes,  ere  they  fadej— 

Yes,  these  are  Painting's  prnude>t  powcre  ; 

The  cift,  by  which  her  an  divine 
Above  all  others  proudly  towers  — 

And  these,  oh  Prince!  are  richly  thine. 

And  yet,  when  Friendship  sees  thee  trace, 

In  aininsi  living  truth  exi>rest, 
This  bright  memorial  of  a  face 

On  which  her  eye  delights  to  rest; 

While  o'er  the  lovely  look  serene. 
The  ^mile  of  peace,  the  hloom  of  youth, 

The  chet-k,  thai  blushes  to  be  seen, 
The  eye  thit  tells  the  bosom's  truih  j 

While  o'er  each  line,  so  brightly  true, 
Our  eyes  wilh  lingeiing  pleasure  rove, 

Blessing  the  touch  whose  various  hue 
Thus  brings  to  mind  the  furm  we  love 


We  feel  the  magic  of  Ihy  art, 
And  own  it  with  a  /.est,  a  zeal, 

A  pleasure,  nearer  to  the  heart 
Than  critic  taste  can  ever  feel. 


THE    FALL   OF    HEBE. 

A    DITHYRAMBIC    ODE.» 

'T  was  nn  a  day 
When  the  immrialsat  their  banquet  lay; 
The  bowl 
Sparkled  with  starry  dew, 


The  weeping  of  those  myriad  urns  of  light, 
Within  whose  orbs,  the  almighty  Power, 
At  nature's  diwnin^  hour, 
StorM  the  rich  fluid  of  ethereal  soul.* 

Around, 
Soft  odorous  clouds,  that  upward  wing  their  flight 

From  eastern  isle? 
(Where  they  have  balh'd  them  in  the  orient  ray, 
And  with  rich  fragrance  all  their  bosoms  fili'd), 
III  circles  flew,  and,  melting  as  Ihey  flew, 
A  liquid  daybreak  o'er  the  board  distiUd. 

All.  all  was  luxury  ! 

AU  must  he  luxurv.  where  Lyseus  smiles. 

Hfs  locks  divine 

Were  crown'd 

With  a  brighi  meteor-braid. 

Which,  like  an  ever-springing  wreath  of  vine, 

Sho:  into  brilliant  leafy  shapes. 

And  n'er  his  brow  in  lambcni  tendrils  play'd , 

While  mid  the  foliage  hung, 

Like  lucid  grapes, 

A  thousand  clustering  buds  of  light, 

CuUM  from  Ihe  gardens  of  the  galaxy. 

Upon  his  bosom  Cytherea's  head 

Lay  lovely,  as  when  first  the  Syrens  sung 

Her  beauty's  dawn, 
And  all  the  curtains  of  the  deep,  undrawn, 
Reveal'd  her  sleeping  in  its  azure  bed. 
The  captive" deity 
Hung  lingering  on  her  eyes  and  lip. 
With  looks  of  ecsta-y. 

Now,  on  his  arm. 
In  hlushes  s-he  repcs'd, 
And,  while  he  gazed  on  each  bright  charm, 
To  shade  his  burning  eyes  her  hand  in  dalliance  stole. 

And  now  Fhe  rais'd  her  rosy  mouth  to  sip 
The  nectar'd  wave 
LvEEus  ga\e, 
And  froi'n  her  eyelids,  half*way  clos'd, 

5eni  filth  a  meliing  gleam. 

Which  fell,  like  sun-dew,  in  the  bowl : 
While  her  bii^ht  hair,  in  ma?y  flow 

Of  gold  descending 
Adown  her  cheek's  luxurious  glow. 

Hung  o*er  ti.e  goblet's  side, 
And  was  reflected  in  its  cr)htal  tide, 


1  Though  I  h-ive  styled  this  poem  a  Dithyranibic 
Ode,  I  cannot  presume  Xn  say  that  it  possesses,  in  any 
degree,  the  characteristics  of  that  species  of  poetry. 
The  nature  of  the  ancient  Dithyramb  c  is  very  im- 
perfectly known.  According  to  M.  Bure'te,  a  licen- 
tious irregularity  of  metre,  an  extravagant  research  of 
thouffht  and  expres«;inii,  and  a  rude  embarrassed  con- 
struction, are  among  i!s  m-^st  distinguishing  features; 
and  in  all  tliese  respects.  I  have  hut  too  closely,  I  fear, 
followed  my  models.  Bure'te  adds  "  Ces  caracteres 
des  dithyramhes  se  font  sentir  a  ceux  qui  li^ent  at- 
tentivement  les  odes  de  Pindtre."—  Mcmoires  de  VA- 
cad.,  vol.  X.,  p.  306.  The  same  opinion  may  be  col- 
lected from  Schmidi's  dissertation  upon  the  subiect 
I  think,  however,  if  the  Dithyrambics  of  Pindar  were 
in  our  possession,  we  should  find  that,  however  wil*^ 
and  fanciful,  they  were  by  no  nie:ins  the  tasteless  jar 
gon  they  are  represented,  and  that  e-.en  their  irregu 
larilv  v\as  what  Boileau  calif  *'un  beau  desordre' 
Chiabrera,  who  has  been  sl\led  the  Pindar  of  Italy. 
and  from  whom  all  its  poetry  upon  the  Greek  model 


was  called  Chiibreresco  fas  Crescimheni  informs  us, 
lib.  i..  cap.  12  )  has  gi\en,  amongst  his  Vendenimie, 
a  Dithyrambic,  '-all'  nso  de'  Greci  :"  full  of  those 
compourd  epithets,  uhich,  we  are  told,  were  a  chief 
charActeristicof  thestilc  {(TwOtTovict  Ac^tij  crroi- 
oiiv.— Suid.  ^levpafifioSid.)-,  such  as 

Bri>!liii(lr,r!i(n  Pegaeo 

^ul)ical|)P^^ta^or. 
But  I  cannot  suppose  that  Pindar,  even  amidst  all  the 
licen-^e  nf  Dithyrambics,  would  ever  have  descended 
to  ballad-language  like  the  following: 

Delia  Filli,  e  helln  Clori, 
Nnn  pill  liar  prt-Rin  a  tue  bellezze  e  tad, 
Che  se  Baccn  fa  '"ezzi  alle  mie  labbra 
Fo  le  fi.he  n'  vostri  hnri. 

. esser  Torrel  Coppier, 

E  se   Iroppo  drsiro 
Deh  fossi  io  BottigUpr. 

Rime  del  Chiabrera,  part,  ih,  p.  952. 

*»  This  vs  a  Platonic  fancy.  The  philofopher  sup- 
poses, in  his  Tinispus,  that,  when  the  Deity  bad  formed 
the  sou!  of  the  world,  he  proceeded  to  the  composition 
of  other  souls,  in  which  process,  says  Plato,  he  made 
u<e  nf  the  snnie  cup.  though  the  ingredients  he  min- 
gled were  not  qui  e  so  pure  as  for  the  former  ;  and 
having  refined  the  mixture  with  a  little  nf  his  own 
he  distributed    it    among  ihe  s'ars,   which 


rved 


of  the  fluid.  —  Ta 
f  ini  Tov  npoTcpov  Kpa77)(>a 
OS  tpvxiiv  Kipavvvs  ifiLcryt,  \ 


TtlV    70 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


87 


Like  a  bright  crocus  flower. 
Whose  sunny  leaves,  at  evening  hour 
With  loses  of  Cyrene  blenJins,! 
Uao^  o^er  the  mirror  of  some  silvery  stream. 

The  Olympian  cup 
ShO[ie  in  the  hands 
Of  dimpled  Hebe,  as  she  wing'd  her  feet 

Up 
The  eniuvreal  mount, 
To  drain  the  s  -ul-iirops  at  their  stellar  fount;* 
And  still 
As  the  re-piendeiit  rill 
Gushed  forth  intu  ihe  cup  with  mantling  heat, 
Her  watchful  care 
\\a^  still  10  cool  it=  liquid  fire 
With  snow-white  sprinklings  of  that  feathery  air 
The  children  of  (he  Pole  respire, 
In  those  ench:inted  lauds,3 
Where  lite  is  all  a  spring,  and  north  winds  never 
blow. 

But  oh! 
Bright  Hebe,  what  a  tea r^ 
An'l  what  a  blush  were  thine, 
When,  as  the  breath  of  every  Gr-ice 
Wafied  Ihy  ft-e'  along  the  s'udded  sphere, 
With  a  bright  cup  for  Jove  himself  to  drink, 
Some  star,  that  shnne  beoea-h  thy  tread, 

Riising  its  amorous  he^d 
To  ki-s  those  maichless  feet. 

Checked  thy  career  too  fleet ; 
And  all  heaven's  host  of  eye* 
Enlranc'd.  hut  fearful  ^U, 
Saw  thee,  sweet  Hebe,  prostrate  fall 

Upon  the  bright  floor  of  the  azure  skies  j  « 
Where,  niid  its  stars,  rhy  bemiy  by, 
As  b'ohsom,  sh.iken  from  the  spiay 
Of  a  spring  ihorn 
Lies  mid  the  liquid  sparkles  of  the  mom. 
Or,  as  in  temples  of  the  Paphian  shade. 
The  worshippeis  of  Beauiy's  queen  behold 
An  image  of  their  rosy  idol,  laid 
Upon  a  diamond  shrine. 


i  We  lesrn  from  Theophr.isius,  that  the  roses  of 
Cyrene  were  particularly  fragrant.  —  Kvoa-fiara  ra 
if.  TO.  IV  Kx'Qi)VT)  ^o6a, 

^  Heraclitus  CPhysicusJ  he'd  the  soul  to  be  a  spark 
of  the  stellar  essence— •*  ScinMlla  stellaris  essentiie." 
—  Macroiiiis,  in  Sonui.  Scip..  lib.  J.,  cap.  14. 

3  The  country  of  the  Hyperboreans,  These  people 
were  supposed  to  be  placed  so  f;ir  nor'h  that  the  north 
wind  could  not  afiect  them;  they  lived  longer  than 
any  other  mortals;  parsed  their  whole  time  in  music 
and  dancing,  &c  &c.  But  the  most  extravagant  fiction 
related  of  ihem  is  Hiat  to  which  'he  two  lines  pre- 
ceding allude.  II  was  imagined  that,  jnsead  of  our 
vulgar  atmosphere,  the  H\pfiboreans  breathed  no- 
thing but  feathers!  According  to  Her'do'us  and 
Pliny,  this  idea  was  suggesttd  by  Ihe  quanii  y  of 
snow  which  was  observed  to  fall  in  ttio-e  regions; 
thus  the  former:  '{'a  tov  mtpa  ziKa^o^'ras  rrjv 
Xtova  Tov^  l.KvBa^  rt  /cat  tov^  nc^toiKovs  doKnu 
Hyuv.  —  Htrodot.  lib.  iv.  cap.  31.  Ovid  tells  the 
fable  fiiherwise:  see  Melamorph.  lib.  xv. 

Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  some  other  Irish  Antiquirians. 
have  been  at  great  expense  of  learning  to  prove  that 
the  strange  couniry.  where  they  tonk  snow  for  fea- 
thers, was  Ireland,  and  that  the  famous  Ahans  was  an 
Irish  Druid.  Mr.  Rowland  however,  will  have  it 
(hat  Abaris  was  a  Welshman,  and  Ihat  his  name  is 
only  a  ci»rruption  of  Ap  Kees  ! 

*  It  is  Servius,  I  believe,  who  mentions  this  un- 
lucky trip  which  Hebe  ma.1«  in  her  r.ccupaiinn  of 
cup-bearer;  and  Hotfman  telU  it  after  him :  **Cum 
Hebe  pocula  Jovi  admin istrans,  perque  lubricum 
minus  caute  incedens,  cecidisset,"  &c. 


The  wanton  wind, 
Which  had  pursued  the  flying  fair, 
And  sported  mid  the  tresses  uiicontined 
Of  her  bright  hair. 
Now,  as  she  fell,—  oh,  wanton  breeze  1 
Riiflled  'be  robe,  whose  graceful  flow 
Hung  n'er  those  limbs  of  unsunu'd  snow, 
Purely  as  the  Eieunnian  veil 
Hangs  o'er  the  Mysteries  1  6 

The  brow  of  Juno  flush'd  — 

Lovebless'd  the  breeze! 
TheMusesblush'dj 
And  every  cheek  was  hid  behind  a  l}Te, 
While  every  eye  looked  laughing  through  the  striogs* 

But  the  brisht  cup?  (he  nectar*d  draught 
Which  Jove  himstjlf  was  to  have  quali'd  ? 
Alas,  alas,  uplurii'd  it  lav 
By  the  falPii  Hebe's  side; 
While,  in  slow  lingering  drops,  th'  ethereal  tide, 
As  conscious  of  its  own  rich  essence,  ebb'd  away. 

Who  was  the  Spirit  that  remeraber'd  Man, 
In  that  blest  hour, 
And,  with  a  wing  of  love, 
Brusli'd  ofl'  the  goblet's  scattered  tears, 
As,  trembling  near  the  edge  of  heaven  thev  ran, 
And  sent  them  flnating  to  our  orb  below  ?  6 
Essence  of  immortality ! 

The  shower 
Fell  glowing  through  the  spheres; 
While  all  around  new  lints  of  bliss, 
New  odours  an<i  new  light, 
Enrich'd  its  radiant  flow. 

Now,  with  a  liquid  kiss. 
It  stole  along  the  thriltins  wire 
Of  Heavep  '5  lumn.ous  Lvre.7 
Stealing  the  s"ul  of  rnu-»lc  in  its  flight: 
And  ni.w,  amid  the  breezes  blarjd. 
That  whisper  from  the  planets  as  Ihey  roll, 
The  bright  libaiion.  soltiv  fann'd 
By  all  their  sighs,  meancfering  stole. 
Thf-y  who,  fiom  Atlas'  height, 

Beheld  this  rnsy  flame 
Descending  (hrongh  Ihe  wa<^te  of  night, 
ThoushI  '(  "as  some  planet,  who^e  empyreal  frame 

Had  kindled,  as  tl  rapidly  revnU'd 
Around  its  fervid  axle,  ai  d  drssolv'd 
Into  a  flood  so  bright  I 

The  you'hful  Pay, 
Wl  hin  his  twilight  bower, 
Lay  sweetly  sleeping 
On  the  flLsh'd  bo  om  of  a  lotos-flower ; " 


*  The  arcane  symbols  of  this  ceremony  were  de- 
posi'ed  in  ihe  cista,  where  tliey  lay  religiously  con- 
cealed from  the  eyes  of  Ihe  profane.  They  were 
generally  carried  in  the  procession  by  an  ass;  and 
hence  the  proverb,  which  one  may  so  often  apply  in 
the  world,  "as  nus  portat  niysteria."  See  the  Divine 
Legation,  book  ii.  sect.  4. 

6  In  the  Genponica,  lib.  li.  cap.  17,  there  is  a  fable 
somewhat  like  this  descent  of  the  nectar  to  earth. 
Ev  ovpavcj  TUJ7/  Si<uv  tvojxovfuv<uv,  *cai  tov 
vtKTagos  7ToX\ov  napaKUfitvov,  avaa-KtprT)<Tni. 
^opiid.  TOV  Kpwra  *cat  o"ii(r<r£[(rai  tw  mtpd}  tov 
KpttTTjpog  Tr]v  ^acrtv,  kui  ntoLTpefpai  fitv  avrov* 
TO  i5e  vtKTap  ct5  Ti;v  yT/v  i<xi'Stit,  k.  t.  A.  Vid, 
Autor.  de  He  Rust.  edit.  Caniab.  1704. 

1  Theconstellition  Lyra.  T  he  astrologers  a ttribut* 
great  vir'uea  to  this  siijn  in  ascendenti,  which  are 
enuroeialed  by  Ponlano,  in  his  Urania: 

Emndulaim,  muk-clqiii;  novo  vaga  eiilera  rintu. 
Quo  far'BP  nasteulum  animae  ijoocordia  ducunt 
Pectora.  4:c. 
8  The  Egyp'ians  represented  the  dawn  cf  oay  by  a 
young  boy  seated  upon  a  lotos.     EiTt  Aiyvnrovs 


8B 


JUVENILE    POEMS, 


Whji  round  him,  in  profusion  weeping, 
Dropp'd  the  celestial  shower, 

Steeping 
The  rosy  clouds,  that  curl'd 
Ai)Out  his  infant  head, 
Like  myrrh  upon  the  locks  of  Cupid  shed. 

But.  when  the  waking  boy 
Wav'd  his  exhaling  Iresses  through  the  sky, 
O  morn  of  joy  1  — 
The  lide  divine, 
All  glorious  wi  h  ihe  vermil  dye 
It  drank  beiie.ilh  his  orient  eye, 
UislilPd,  in  dews,  upon  the  world, 
Ai  i  every  drop  was  wine,  was  heavenly  wiiiel 

niesl  be  the  sod.  ar.d  htesi  the  flower 
fc.       On  which  descended  first  that  shower. 
All  fresh  from  Jove's  nectarenus  springs  ;  — 
(th,  far  less  sweet  the  flower,  the  sod. 
O'er  which  the  Siiiiit  of  the  Rainbow  flings 
The  magic  mantle  of  her  solar  God  U 


RINGS   AND   SEALS. 

Achilles  rafita,  lib. 

"Go!  "said  the  angry,  weeping  maid, 

**The  charm  is  broken  !  — once  herray'd, 

**  Never  can  this  wrong'd  heart  rely 

*M)n  word  or  look,  on  oa^h  or  sigh. 

*'  Take  back  Ihe  gifts,  so  fundly  given, 

**  Willi  promis'd  faith  and  vows  to  heaven  J 

**  That  liKle  ring  which,  night  and  morn, 

*'  Wiih  wedded  truth  my  hand  hath  wornj 

''That  seal  which  oft,  in  moments  blest, 

"Thou  hast  upon  my  Irp  imprest, 

*'  And  sworn  ils  sacied  spring  should  be 

**  A  fountain  seal'J  ^  for  only'lhee: 

•'  Take,  take  them  back,  the  gift  and  tow, 

"All  sullied,  lost  and  hateful  now  1" 

T  tnok  the  ring  — the  seal  I  took, 
While,  oh,  her  every  tear  and  Innk 
Were  such  as  angels  look  aud  shed, 
W'hen  man  is  by  Ihe  world  misled. 
Gently  I  whis|;er'd,  "Fanny,  dertr! 
"  Not  hUf  thy  lovers  gifts  are  here  : 


ifogaKuj^  apxv^  avaroXT]^  nat^iov  vzoyvov  ypa- 
0ovras  tni  Awrdi  Ka9t.^o[itvov  —Plutarch,  ncpi 
Tov  }it}  ,Ypav  tfi-fit-rp.  See  alsn  his  Treatise  de  Isid. 
et  Osir.  Observing  that  the  lotos  showed  i's  head 
above  watt-r  at  sunrl-e,  and  sank  again  at  his  setting, 
they  conceived  the  idea  of  consecrating  this  fiower  to 


rthe 


This  symbol  of  a  youth  sitting  upon  a  lotos  is  very 
frequent  on  the  Abraxases,  or  R.isilidian  stones.  See 
Montfaucon,  torn,  ti  planche  158,  and  the  "Supple- 
ment," &c.  tom.  ii.  lib,  vii.  chap.  5. 

1  The  ancients  esteemed  Ihose  flowers  and  trees  the 
sweetest  up^n  which  the  rainbow  had  appeared  to 
rest ;  and  'he  wood  they  chiefly  burned  in  sacrifices, 
was  that  which  the  smile  of  Iris  lad  consecraled. 
Plutarch.  Sym])Os,  lib.  iv.  cap.  2.  where  (as  Vnssius 
remarks)  Kaiovo-i^  insre^d  of  KaXovcri,  is  undoubtedly 
the  genuine  reading.  See  Vossi'S,  for  some  curious 
pariicu'ari'iea  of  the  rainbow,  De  Origin,  et  Progiess. 
Idololat.  lib.  iii.  cap.  13. 

5  "  There  are  gardens,  supposed  to  be  those  of  King 
Solomon,  in  the  neishbonrlmod  of  Bethlehem.  The 
friars  show  a  fnuntain,  which,  they  say,  is  (he  *  sealed 
fountain  '  to  which  the  holy  spouse  in  the  Canticles  is 
compared  ;  nnJ  they  pretend  a  tradition,  thit  Solomon 
shut  up  these  springs  and  put  his  signel  upon  the  donr, 
to  keep  them  for  his  own  drinking." — Afaundreirs 
Travels.  See  also  the  notes  to  Mr,  Good's  Transla- 
tion of  the  Song  of  Solomon. 


"  Say,  where  are  all  the  kisses  given, 

"  From  morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to  even,-^ 

"  Those  signets  of  true  love,  worth  more 

"  Where  are  those  gift?,  so  sweet,  so  many  ? 
"  Come,  dearest,—  give  back  all,  if  any." 

While  thus  I  whisper'd,  trembling  too, 
I,est  all  the  nymph  had  sworn  was  true, 
1  saw  a  smile  relentii  g  rise 
'ftlid  Ihe  moist  azure  of  her  eves, 
l.ike  d  lylight  o'er  a  sea  of  blGe, 
While  yet  in  mid  air  hangs  the  dew. 
She  let  her  cheek  repoye  on  mine, 
She  let  my  ai  ms  around  her  t»  ine  ; 
One  kiss  was  half  allowed,  and  then  — 
The  ring  and  seal  were  hers  again. 


TO    MISS   SUSAN   B— CKF— D» 
ON    HER     SINGING. 

I  more  than  once  have  heard,  at  night, 
A  song,  like  those  thy  lip  hath  ?iven, 

And  it  was  sung  bv  shapes  of  light. 

Who  louk'd  and  breath'd,  like  thee,  of  heayeQ. 

But  this  was  all  a  dream  of  sleep. 
And  I  have  said,  when  mnrnine  shone, 

"  Why  should  the  ni«rht-wi  ch.  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  thai  Heaven  had  sent 

A  voice,  a  form  like  thine  on  earth. 

And  ye*,  in  all  that  fiowery  maze 

Through  which  my  path  of  life  has  led, 

When  I  have  heard  the  sweetest  lays 
From  lips  of  rosiest  lustre  shed  j 

When  I  have  felt  the  warbled  word 
From  Beauty's  lip,  in  sweetness  vying 

With  music's  oun  melodious  bird, 
When  on  the  rose's  bosom  l>ing; 

Though  form  and  song  at  once  combin'd 
Their  lovtliest  bloom  and  softest  thrill, 

My  heart  hath  sigh'd,  my  ear  hath  pin'd 
For  something  lovelier,  softer  slill:  — 

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, 

AH  that  I  e'er,  in  wildest  flig-ht 

Of  fancy's  dreams,  could  hear  or  see 

Of  music's  sigh  or  beauty's  light 
Is  realiz'd,  at  once,  in  thee  ! 


IMPROMPTU, 
ON     LEAVING     SOME     FRIENDS. 
O  dulces  comitum  vatete  coetus!     Vatullit 

No.  never  shall  my  soul  forget 
The  frieirds  I  found  so  cordial-hearted; 

Dear  shall  be  the  day  we  met, 

And  dear  shall  be  the  night  we  parted. 

If  fond  regrets,  however  sweef, 
Must  with  the  lapse  nf  time  decay 

Yet  still,  when  thus  in  mirth  vou  meet. 
Fill  higli  to  him  that 's  far  away  ! 


3  The  present  Duchess  of  HamiltoQ 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


I.mg  be  the  IiRht  of  memory  found 
Alive  within  V"ur  social  glass  ; 

Let  that  be  slill  Ihe  imgic  tound, 
O'er  which  Oblivirn  dares  not  pans. 


A    WARNING. 

TO 

Oh,  fair  as  bea\en  and  chaste  as  tt^iit  I 
Ditl  nature  mould  thee  all  s>  bright, 
That  ihou  shouldal  e'er  he  brought  to  weep 
O'er  htiguid  virtue's  fa'al  sleep, 
O'er  sh^me  extmaruish'd.  honour  fled, 
peace  lost,  heart  wiiher'd,  feeling  dead  } 

No,  no  !  a  star  was  born  with  thee, 
Which  sheds  eternal  purity. 
Thnu  hast,  within  those  sainted  eyes, 
So  fair  a  transcript  of  the  skies. 
In  lines  of  haht  sucli  heaveniy  lore, 
That  man  should  read  them  and  adore. 
Yet  hive  I  known  a  genMe  maid 
Whose  mmd  and  form  uere  both  arrayed 
In  ni^ture's  purest  light,  like  thine;  — 
Who  wore  that  cleir,  celestial  sign, 
Which  seems  to  mark  Ifie  brow  that  *»  fair 
For  destiny's  peculiar  care: 
Whose  bosom  too,  like  Dinn's  own, 
Was  gruarded  by  a  s-cred  zone, 
Where  the  brgtit  ffem  of  virtue  shone  ; 
Whose  eyes  had,  in  their  light,  a  charm 
Against  all  wrong,  and  ^niie,  and  harm. 
Yet,  hiple«  maid,  in  one  sad  hour, 
These  spells  h:ive  lost  their  guaidian  power; 
The  gem  has  been  beguil'd  away  ; 
Her  eyes  have  )nst  their  chastening  ray  ; 
The  modest  pride,  the  guiltless  shame, 
The  smiles  that  from  reflection  came, 
All,  all  have  fled,  :ind  left  her  mind 
A  faded  monument  behind  ; 
The  ruins  of  a  once  pure  shrine. 
No  longer  fit  f -  r  guest  divine. 
Oh :  't  was  a  sight  I  wept  to  fee  — 
Heaven  keep  the  hst  one's  fdte  from  thee  I 


TO  , 


T  is  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now. 
While  \et  my  souI  is  something  free: 

While  yet  those  dangerous  eyes  allow 
One  minute's  thought  to  stray  fom  thee. 

)h  !  thou  becom'st  each  moment  dearer  ; : 
Every  chance  that  brings  me  nigh  thee. 

Brings  my  ruin  nearer,  nearer, — 
I  am  lost,  unless  I  fly  Ihee. 

Nav,  if  thou  dost  not  scorn  and  hate  me, 
lioom  nie  not  thus  so  sonn  tn  fall  ; 

Duties,  fame,  and  hopes  await  me,— 
But  that  eye  would  blast  them  all  • 

For,  thou  hast  heart  as  false  and  cold 

As  ever  yet  allur'd  or  sway'd. 
And  cnuldst,  without  a  sigh,  behold 

The  ruin  which  thyself  had  made. 

Tet,— cou/rf  I  think  that,  truly  fond. 
That  eve  but  once  would  sniile  on  me, 

Kv'n  as  thou  art,  how  far  beynd 

Fame,  duty,  weal  h,  that  smile  would  be ! 

Oh  !  but  to  win  it,  night  and  day, 

Inglorious  at  thy  feet  reclin'd, 
I  'd  si*h  my  dreams  of  fame  away. 

The  world  for  thee  forgot,  resign'd. 


Tliy  Ireacbery  has  undone  for  ever 


WOMAN. 

Away,  a«-:iy— you're  all  Ihe  same, 
A  smiling,  flulteririg,  jilting  throng  ; 

And,  wise  too  la'e,  I  Gum  with  sliaiiie, 
To  think  I  've  been  your  slave  so  long. 

Slow  to  be  won,  and  quick  to  rove, 
Krnni  folly  kind,  from  cunnins  loath. 

Too  cold  for  blis-,  too  weak  for  love. 
Yet  feigning  all  that 's  best  in  both ; 

Still  panting  o'er  a  crowd  to  reign,— 
More  joy  it  ijivea  to  woman's  breast 

To  make  ten  frigid  coxcombs  vain, 
Than  one  true,  manly  lover  blest. 

Away,  away  —  your  smile 's  a  cuise  — 
Uh  I   blot  me  from  the  race  of  n.en, 

Kind  pityitiff  Heaven,  by  death  or  worse, 
If  e'er  1  love  such  Ihiiigs  again. 


Noffti  TO  ^iXmra.      Euripida. 

Come,  take  thy  harp  —  't  in  vain  to  musa 

Upon  the  ga  hering  ills  we  see  ; 
Oh  !  lake  ihy  ha^p  and  let  nre  lose 

All  thoughts  of  ill  in  hearing  thee. 

Sin?  to  me,  love  !  —  though  death  were  near, 
Thv  sous  C'lUld  mike  my  soul  foiget  — 

Nay,  nai,  in  pity,  diy  that  tear, 
All  may  be  well,  be  ha|ij)y  yet. 

Let  me  biit  see  that  snowy  arm 
Otice  more  upon  the  dear  h  irp  lie, 

And  1  will  cease  to  dream  of  harm. 
Will  smile  at  fate,  while  thuu  art  nigh. 

Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch, 
We  ns'd  to  love  lone;,  long  ago. 


As 


•  hearts  had  kn 

,  alas  !  they  bleed  to  kn 


Sweet  notes  !  they  tell  of  former  peace. 
Of  all  that  look'd  so  smiling  then. 

Now  vaiiisti'd,  lost  —  oh,  pray  thee,  cease, 
1  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again. 

Art  then,  loo,  wretched  ?  ves,  thnu  art ; 

I  see  Ihy  tears  (low  fast  with  mine- 
Come,  come  to  this  devoted  heart, 

'T  is  breaking,  but  it  still  is  thine ! 


A   VISION   OF   PHILOSOPHr. 


The  I 


I  In  Plutarcli's  Essay  on  the  Decline  of  the  Oracles, 
Cleombrotus,  one  of  the  interlocutors,  describes  an 
extraordinary  man  whom  he  had  mot  with,  after  long 
research,  upon  Ihe  banks  of  the  Red  Sea.  Once  in 
every  year  this  supernatural  personage  appeared  to 
niorlals,  and  conversed  with  them;  the  rest  of  his 
time  he  passed  among  the  Genii  and  the  Nymphs. 
IlEpi  T7]V  iQvfigav  ^aXacaav  li'Qov,  nvdpuiKot^ 
ava  itav  r.Tos  dtro^  iVTvyxovovra,  raX^a  ft  (fvv 
ratj  vvfifl>atSy  I'o/mrrt  Kai  dainoTi,  u)5  £0£ 


_J 


00 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Min?led  ih  softness  with  the  vigorous  thought 
That  lowerM  upon  his  hr  j\v  j  and,  when  he  spoke, 
'Twas  laneu,ige   sweeteo'd   itito    song  — such  holy 

sounds 
As  oft,  they  say,  the  wise  and  virtuous  licar, 
Prelusive  to  the  harmony  of  he.ven, 
When  death  is  nigh  ;  »  nnd  still,  as  he  uucloa'd 
His  sacred  iijts,  an  ndmr,  all  a^  bland 
As  ocean-breezjs  ealher  from  ihe  flowers 
Thit  blo^snni  in  tlysium.i  brealh'd  around. 
With  silent  awe  we  lis'en'd,  while  he  told 
Of  the  dark  veil  which  many  an  a^e  had  hunj 
O'er  Nature'^  form,  till,  hn  g  explored  hy  man, 
The  mystic  shroud  s;rew  Ihin  and  luminous. 
And  glimpses  of  that  heavenly  form  shone  throus^h  :— 
Of  ma^ic  wonders,  that  were  known  and  taught 
By  him  (or  Cham  or  Zoroaster  named) 
Who  musM  amid  the  mighty  cataclysm. 
O'er  his  lucle  tablets  of  primeval  lore  j  3 
And  gathering  round  him,  In  the  s:\cred  ark, 
The  mighty  sec  re  s  nf  th^t  r.rmer  globe, 
Let  not  the'  livine;  star  of  <icience  ■»  sink 
Beneath  Ihe  waters,  which  ingulph'd  a  world!  — 
Of  visions,  by  CalHope  reveal  d 
To  him, 6  who  trac'd  upon  his  typic  lyre 


spoke  in  a  tone  not  far  removed  froir 
wheiiCYer  he  ipened  his  lips,  a  frigni 
place;  (pOcyyofitvov  6e  tov  tottov  evi 

9j  ■i)di<TTov  arroTT 
Cleombrolus  Je.irncd  the  ducinne  of  a  plurality  of 


The  diripason  of  man''5  mingled  frame, 
And  (he  grand  Hoiic  hep'achord  of  heaven. 
Wiih  all  of  puie,  of  wondrous  and  arcane, 
Which  the  giave  sons  of  Mochus,  many  a  nighty 
Told  to  the  yung  and  hrigh'-hair'd  vintant 
Of  CarmeKs  s.<cred  mount  6  —  Then,  in  a  flow 


70S- 


rida. 


The  celebrated  Janus  Dousa,  a  little  befre  his 
death,  imagined  that  he  liea-d  a  strain  nf  music  in  (he 
See  Ihe  poem  of  Heinsius.  *■  In  harmoniam 
n  paulo  ante  obitum  audire  sibi  visus  est  Dousa." 
Page  301. 

a  tv9a  fjLaKap(uv 

vaa-ov  cuKcai'cc^cg 
avpnineQinvtova-tv  av- 
6tpi.a  6e  ;^;pi;troi'  (jtXtyti. 

Pindar.  Olymj).  li. 
8  Cham,  the  son  of  Noah,  is  supp-st-d  to  have  taken 
with  him  into  tlie  ark  th.;  principal  doctrines  of 
magical,  or  rather  of  nslu  al.  science,  which  he  had 
inscribed  upon  some  vtry  durable  snbs'ances,  in  order 
that  tht-y  might  re-ist  ihe  ravages  of  the  deluge,  and 
transmit  the  secrets  of  antediluvian  knowledge  to  h<s 
posterity.  See  ihe  extracts  made  by  Bayle,  in  his 
article,  Cham.  The  identity  of  Cham  and  Zoroaster 
depends  upon  the  authority  of  Berosus  (or  ralher  the 
impostor  Annius),  and  a  few  more  such  respectable 
testimonies.  See  Naude's  Apologie  pour  les  Grands 
Homines,  &c.  chap,  viii.,  where  he  takes  more  trou- 
ble than  is  necessary  in  refuting  this  gratuitous  suppo- 
ilion. 

4  Chamum  a  posteris  hujus    artis   admira'oribus 
Zoroastriini,  seu  \ivum  aslium,  prop'erea  fmsse  dic- 
1  el  pro  Deo  habitum. —  Bochart.  Geograph.  Sacr. 
iv.  cap   1. 

'  Orpheus,—  Paulinus,  in  his  Hehdomades,  cip.  2. 
iii.  has  endeavoured  to  show,  alter  the  Platonists, 
that  man  is  a  diapason,  or  oct.ive,  made  up  of  a  tiia- 
lesseron,  which  is  his  soul,  and  a  diapenie,  which  is 
his  boJy.  Those  frequent  allusions  to  music,  by 
wh'ch  the  ancient  philosophers  illus  rated  their  sub- 
lime theories,  must  have  tended  very  much  to  elevate 
the  character  of  the  art,  and  to  enrich  it  w  i  h  associa- 
tions of  the  grandest  and  mfjst  interesting  nature.  See 
a  preceding  note,  for  their  ideas  upon  the  harmony  of 
the  spheres.  Heraclilus  cnipir  d  the  mixture  of 
good  and  evil  in  this  world,  to  the  blended  varieties 
of  harmony  in  a  musical  instrument  (Plutarch,  de 
Anim3gProcreil.;)aiidEuryphaum-,  thePylhagorean. 
in  a  fragment  preserved  by  StobEPus,  de'-cribes  human 
life,  in  its  perfection,  as  a  sweet  and  well-tuned  lyre. 
Some  of  the  ancients  were  so  fai.eiful  as  to  suppose 
that  the  operations  of  the  memory  were  regulated  by 


a  kind  of  musical  cadence,  and  that  ideas  occurred  to 
it  "per  arsin  el  thesin,"  while  others  converted  (he 
whole  man  in:o  a  mere  harmonized  machine,  whose 
motion  depended  up' n  a  certain  tension  of  the  body, 
amlo^ous  to  that  of  the  strings  in  an  instrumcnl. 
Cicero  indeed  ridicules  Aris'oxenus  for  this  fancy, 
and  jays,  •'  Let  him  teach  singing,  and  leave  philoso- 
phy (u  Aristotle  j  "  but  Ari;.totIe  himself,  though  de- 
cidedly ojiposed  to  the  harmonic  speculations  of  the 
Pythagoreans  and  Platonisis,  could  sometimes  con- 
descend to  enliven  his  doclrmes  by  reference  to  the 
beauties  of  musical  scit-nce ;  a-.,  iu  the  treatise  Ilcpi 
Kovfiov  atliibu  ed  to  him,  Ka&anep  6z  tv  x^^**- 
Komxpatov  KaraQlavToq.  k.  t.  A. 

The  Abbe  Ba'teux.  in  his  eiKjuiry  into  the  doc'rin 
of  the  Stoics,  a'tributes  to  those  philosophers  the 
fame  mode  of  illustration.  "  L'ame  etoit  cau-e  actn 
K'jiiLv  acTio^ ;  le  cnr|  s  catise  passive  ijSe  tov 
rrao-j^ttv:  —  Tune  agis  ant  dins  J'aulre ;  et  y  pre- 
nant,  pnr  son  action  meme,  un  caiactere,  des  fun 
des  niodifica  ions,  qu'elle  n'.ivoii  pas  par  elle-meme  ; 
a  peu  pres  comme  iMr.  qui,  chasse  dans  un  instr 
le  miisique,  fait  connoitre,  par  les  diflTerens  ^o 
qu'il  proiuit,  les  diff'erentes  modihcations  quM  y  i 
C"il."  See  a  fine  simile  founded  up^n  (his  notion  in 
Caidinal  Polignac's  poem,  lib.  5.  v.  734. 

6  Pythagnras  is  represented  in  lamblichus  as  de- 
scending with  great  solemiuiy  from  Mount  Carmel, 
for  which  reas<,n  Ihe  Carmei'es  have  claimed  hii 
one  of  their  fraternity.  This  Mochus  or  Muschus, 
with  the  descendaiiis  of  whom  Pythagoras  conversed 
in  Phoenicia,  and  from  whom  he  derived  thedocirines 
of  ai(unic  philosophv,  is  supposed  hy  some  to  be  the 
same  with  Mo^es  'lluett  has  adoj-ted  this  idea,  De- 
mon-iratir)n  Evanseliqiie,  Prop.  iv.  chap.  2.  §  7 ;  and 
I  e  Cleic,  among.rotheis,  has  refu'ed  it.  See  Biblinth. 
Choisie,  turn.  i.  p.  75.  It  is  certain,  however,  that 
ihe  doctrine  of  aionis  \*as  knoivn  and  proniulgated 
long  before  Epicurus.  **  With  'he  fountains  of  Demo- 
cnliis,"  says  Cicero,  "the  g-rdensof  Epicurus  were 
waieied  ; "  and  Ihe  learned  author  of  the  Intellectual 
Sys'em  has  shown,  that  all  the  earlv  philosophers,  till 
the  time  of  Plato,  uere  a'omis  s.  We  find  Epicurus, 
however,  boisling  that  his  tenets  were  new  and  un- 
borrowed, and  perhaps  few  among  the  ancients  had 
any  stronger  claim  to  oiiginalily.  In  (ruth,  if 
examine  their  schools'of  philo>ophy,  notwithstanding 
the  pecnliaiilies  "hich  seem  to  distinguish  ihem  from 
each  other,  we  may  generally  observe  that  the  differ- 
ence IS  hut  verbal  and  trifling;  and  thai,  among  those 
varinus  and  It-amed  heusies,  theie  is  scarcely  rne  to 
be  selected,  whose  opinion^  are  its  own.  original  and 
exclusive.  The  doctrine  of  the  world's  eternity  niay 
be  traced  through  all  the  seels.  The  continual  me- 
tempsychosis nf  Pyihagora?,  the  grand  periodic  year 
of  the  S'bics,  (at  the  cui. elusion  "t  v\  Inch  Ihe  universe 
is  suppo-ed  to  return  (o  its  origiial  order,  and  com- 
mt'Tice  a  new  revolution,)  the  successive  dissolution 
and  combiiia'ion  (f  atoms  maintained  by  the  Epi- 
cureans—all these  tenets  are  but  difl'erent  intinia- 
(ions  of  the  same  ffener:*l  belief  in  the  eternity  of  the 
world.  As  explained  by  St.  Austin,  the  periodic  year 
of  Ihe  Stoics  dis^igrees  only  so  far  w  ith  the  idea  of  the 
Pythagoreans,  th^t  in  ttad  of  an  ddless  transmission 
of  the  soul  through  a  variety  of  bodies,  it  restores  the 
same  body  and  soul  to  re[ieat  their  foimer  round  of 
exis'ence,  so  that  Ihe  "  identical  Plato,  who  lectured 
in  the  Academy  of  Athens,  sliali  asrain  and  again,  at 
certain  intervils,  duiing  the  lap^e  of  eternity,  aypear 
in  the  same  Academy  and  resume  the  same  Suc- 
tions—'*  sic  eadeni  teinpora    tempoialiunique  ■ 

icrum  volumina  repeti,  ut  v.  g.  sicnt  in  islo  sxculo 
Plato  philosophus  in  urbe  Athenienr.,  in  ea  schola  | 


JUVENILE   POEMS, 


91 


Of  calmer  converge,  he  beeuiPd  us  on  Through  many  a  systemj  where  the  scalter'd  .ight 

Thmugli  mat.y  a  n-ase  of  Garden  and  of  Porch,  Of  heavenly  truth  lay,  like  a  broken  beam 


que  Acadcmil  dicta  est,  discipulos  dncuit,  [ta  per  i 
tunumcraliilia  rttro  s»ciila,  mulium  pit-xis  quidcm  ' 
iiitt;rvallis.  vr.i  ceitis,  et  idem  Flati*,  et  eadein  civitas, 
eadeimiiK^  mIimIm,  iidenique  discipnh  reperiii  ct  per 
innimieial.ilirx  drinde  ckcuU  lepeiendi  unU—De 
Civiiat.  Dti,  hb.  xii.  dp  13-  Vanini,  in  hts  dia- 
hgues.  ht3  ^iven  us  a  similar  exp.icAtion  of  the 
periodic  revnltitu'iis  of  the  world.  "  Ea  de  causa, 
qui  nunc  sunt  in  usu  riius,  ceniies  niiliies  fLCiunt, 
lotiesque  ren.i5ceiitur  quoiies  cecidcrnnt."  52. 

The  paradoxical  notions  of  the  Stoics  upon  the 
beauty,  the  riches,  the  dnmininn  of  their  imaginary 
»a»e,  arc  among  the  most  distinguishing  chancterisiics 
of  Iheir  school,  and,  accniding  lo  their  advocate  Lip- 
sius,  were  peculiar  lo  that  seel.  "Priora  ilia  (decretaj 
quae  passim  in  philo-ophanlium  scholis  feie  obtinent, 
ista  quae  peculia"ia  huic  sfc'se  et  habent  contiadiclio- 
nem  :  i.  e.  paradoxa."  —  Manvduct.  ad  Stoic.  Philos, 
lib  iii.,  dissertat.  2,  But  ii  is  evident  (as  the  Al>be 
Garnier  has  remarked,  Memnires  de  l*Acad.,  toni. 
jcxxv.)  that  even  these  absurdities  of  the  Stoics  are 
borrowfd,  and  ih  't  Fla'o  is  the  source  of  all  their  ex- 
travagant paradoxes.  We  find  their  dogma,  "dives 
qui  sapiens,"  (which  Clement  nf  Alexandria  has  trans- 
ferred fiom  the  Philosopher  to  the  Chrisli.n,  Panla- 
gog.,  lib.  iii.,  op.  6.)  expressed  in  the  prayer  of  So- 
cra'es  at  the  end  of  the  Phsedrus.  U  6tAc  nav  tc  koi 
aXAot  (^o-ot  Tf?(?£  Sioi,  dmijTS  /toi  KaXut  yevia-lJai 
rav^oBtv  ra^tuflev  (re  fia-a  fX-M*  "^^^-S  ivro^  su'at 
fAoi  (f)i\ta-  Tr\ov(nov  6c  vufju^oifii  tov  <to(}>ov.  And 
many  other  instinces  mi<ht  be  adduced  from  the 
Avrspao-Tac,  the  XloXntKos.  &c.  to  prove  that  these 
weeds  of  paradiix  were  all  gathered  among  the  bowers 
of  the  Academy.  Hence  it  is  that  Cice  o,  in  the  pre- 
face to  his  Paradoxes  calls  them  S  'cra  ica  ;  and  Lip- 
sius  eiulting  in  the  paironage  of  Socrates  says  "  Ille 
totus  est  nosier."  This  is  inde-d  a  c  alition.  whrch 
evinces  as  much  as  can  be  wished  the  confusKl  simili- 
tude of  ancient  philosophical  opininni:  the  father  of 
scepticism  is  here  enmlled  :<mongst  the  founders  of  (he 
Portico;  he,  «ho>e  best  knowUdge  was  that  of  his 
own  ignorance,  is  called  in  to  authorize  the  prctcn 
sions  nf  tlie  most  obstinate  dngniafists  in  all  antiquity. 
Rutilius,  in  his  Iiinerarium,  his  ridiculed  the  sab- 
bath of  the  Jews,  as  "las  ali  mollis  imago  Dei ;"  but 
Epicurus  gave  an  eternal  h"lyday  lo  his  gods,  and, 
rather  than  disturb  the  slumbeis  of  Olympus,  denied 
at  once  the  inteiftrence  of  a  Providence,  f^e  does 
not,  however,  seem  to  have  been  singular  in  this  opin- 
ion. Thenphiius  "f  Antinch,  if  he  deserve  any  credit, 
imputes  a  similar  belief  to  Pylhasoras  :  —  (/)^<n  (IIv- 
flayopa?)  rt  Tiuv  Kavrutv  ^eovs  avOgtunvtv  ftrj^sv 
AoovTt^HV.  And  Plutarch,  though  so  hostile  to  the 
followers  of  Epicurus,  has  unaccf>untably  adopted  'he 
very  same  theological  error.  Tims,  af  er  quoting  the 
opinions  of  Anaxagoras  and  Plain  upon  divini  y,  he 
aids,  Kotvi»S  ovv  afiapTavov(nv  a^^oTfpot,  Art 
TOV  -9eov  ETToirja-av  trn(TTt<pofisvov  tcuv  ai'^po- 
mv<uv.  —  De  Pladt.  Philwovh.,  lib.  i..  cap.  7.  Plato 
himself  ha^  attributed  a  degree  of  inditference  to  the 
gods,  which  is  not  far  rem-n-ed  from  the  apathy  of 
Epicurus's  heaven  ;  as  thus,  in  his  I'hilebus,  where 
Pro'archns  a  ks,  Ovkovv  tiKog  ye  ovte  x^^P^^'^  ^^' 
01'?,  oi'TE  TO  tvavTiov  ;  and  sociates  answers  Flaw 
fiEv  ovv  ct«os',  arrxfift-ov  yovv  avTtuv  iKarigov 
•yiyvofttvoi'  ectiv;— while  Aris'otle  supposes  a  still 
more  absurd  neutrality,  and  concludes,  by  no  very 
flatiering  analogy,  thit  the  deity  is  as  incapible  of 
virtue  as  of  vice.  Kai  yap  wairep  ovStv  Stjoiov  L<nt 
KAfCia,  ov(5'  apcT»|,  oirtoj  ovSe  '■^sov.  —  Ethic  Ntco- 
tntch.  lih.  vii.cap.  I.  In  truth,  Aiistotle,  upon  (he 
subject  of  Providence,  was  little  more  crrect  than 
Epicurus.  He  suppo-ed  the  moon  to  be  the  limit  of 
divine  interference,  excluding  of  course  this  sublunary 
world  from  its  influence.  The  tirst  definition  of  (he 
world,  in  -is  treatise  Tlipi  Koa-ftov  (if  this  treatise  be 
reallv  the  woik  of  Aristuile)  ai^rees,  almost  verhum 


verbn,  with  that  in  the  letter  of  Epicurus  to  Pytho- 
clesj  and  both  omit  the  mention  of  a  deity.  In  hi- 
Etbics  ton,  he  intima'esa  doubt  whether  (he  gods  feel 
any  in  erest  in  the  concerns  of  aankmd. —  Et  >op 
rit,"  eniftzStia  raiv  avOpiunivtuv  iino  -^ituv  ytvtrot. 
It  is  true,  he  adds,  *i2o-7rE{/  doKtt,  but  even  ihis  is  very 
sceptical. 

In  ihe-e  erroneous  conceptions  of  Aristotle,  we  trace 
tne  cause  <f  that  general  legleci  which  hi>  philosophy 
experienced  among  the  early  Christians.    Plato  is 
doiii  much  more  orthodox,  but  the  obscure  enthusi; 
of  his  :^lyle  allowed  them  to  accommodate  all  his  I 
cies  to  (heir  (iwn  purpcpe.     ^^ch  glowing  sleel  was 
easily  moulded,  and  Platonism  became  a  sword  in  it 
hands  of  the  fathers. 

The  Providence  of  the  Stoics,  so  vaunted  in  the 
school,  was  a  power  as  conlempibly  inefficient  as  tl 
rest.  All  was  fate  in  the  sys'em  of  the  Portico.  The 
chains  of  destiny  were  thrown  over  Jupiter  himself, 
and  their  deity  was  like  the  Borgia  (■(  the  epigram- 
matist, "et  Caesar  et  nihil."  Not  even  (he  Language 
of  Seneca  can  reconcile  this  degradation  of  divini'y. 
*'  Ille  ipse  omnium  conditor  ac  rector  scripsit  quidam 
fata,  sed  st  quilur  ;  seniper  paret,  semel  jussit."— Z.iA. 
de  Prooideyitia,  cap.  5. 

Wiih  re  pect  lo  the  difference  between  the  Stoics, 
Perpitctics,  and  Acaden.ici.in=,  the  following  woids 
of  Cicero  prove  that  he  saw  hut  liitle  to  distinguish 
them  from  each  otlier:  —  "Peripiteticos  et  Academi- 
cf'Sj  nominibus  ditfeientes,  re  congruentes ;  a  quibus 
Stoici  ipsi  verbis  maglsquam  sententiis  dis^enserunf." 
—  Academtc.  lib.  ii.  5  ;  and  perhaps  what  Reid  has 
remarked  upon  one  of  their  poin's  of  controversy 
might  he  apilied  as  efffclually  to  ihe  reconcilenient 
nf  all  the  re-'t.  "  1  he  dispute  between  the  S'oics  a 
Pefipatttics  was  probably  all  for  want  of  definiiii 
The  one  said  they  weie  good  under  the  contrnl  of  r 
5on,  the  o'her  that  (hey  should  be  eradicated."  — 
Essays,  vol.  jij.  In  short,  it  appears  a  no  less  difficult 
matter  to  c^tabtish  the  boundane.  of  opinion  bet\\e 
any  two  of  the  philosophical  sects,  than  it  would  be 
to  fix  the  landmarks  of  those  estates  in  the  moon, 
which  Ricciolus  so  generously  allotted  to  his  bio'her 
astri'iionier".  Accotdtngly  we  observe  some  of  the 
greatest  men  of  an'iquily  passing  without  scruple  froin 
school  to  school,  according  to  the  fancy  or  conve- 
nience of  the  moment.  Cicero,  the  father  of  Ronan 
philo-ophy,  is  sometimes  an  Academician,  snniedmes 
a  Stoic  ;  and,  more  than  once,  he  acknowh:!eesa  con- 
formity with  Epicurus;  *Mion  sine  causa  igitur  Epi- 
;  curus  ausus  est  diccre  semper  in  plunbus  bonis  < 
sapitii  em,  quia  semper  sit  in  voluptatibus."  — Twj- 
ndan.Qtixst,  \\b.  V.  Though  often  pure  in  his  theo- 
logy, <- icero  sometimes  smiles  at  futurity  as  a  fiction  ; 
I  ttiu's,  in  his  Oration  for  Ctuentius,  speaking  of  punish- 
ments in  the  life  to  come,  he  says,  '*  Quae  si  falsa  sunt, 
id  quid  omnes  inlelliguni,  quid  ei  taiidem  alind  n 
eripuit.  prseter  sensum  doloris?":  —  though  here 
should,  perhaps,  do  him  but  justice  by  agreeing  tvith 
his  comnienta'or  Sylvius,  who  remarks  upon 
passage.  "  Hsec  autem  dixit,  ut  causae  suas  sobse 
1  rei.'"  The  poet,  Horace,  roves  like  a  butterfly  thrci 
!  the  schords,  and  now  wings  along  the  walls  of  the 
Poich.  now  baiks  among  the  flowers  of  ihe  Garden  ; 
while  Virgil,  with  a  tone  of  mind  strongly  phiiosopbi 
!  cal.  has  \et  left  us  wholly  uncertain  as  to  the  sect 
I  which  he  espoused.  The  balance  of  opinion  declai 
him  to  have  been  an  Epicurean,  but  the  ancient ; 
thor  of  his  life  asserts  that  he  was  an  Ac^demicia 
and  we  liace  through  his  poetry  the  tenets  of  almost 
all  the  leading  sec's.  The  same  kind  of  eclecti< 
dillereiice  i*  observable  in  most  of  the  Roman  writer-. 
'Ihns  Propertius,  in  the  fine  elegy  to  Cynthia,  on  bis 
departure  for  Athens, 

Illic  vcl  studiis  animum  emcndnre  Platonia, 
Incipiam,  aut  hortis,  dotte  Epicure,  tiiic 

Lib.  iii.  Eleg.  21. 


1)2 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


From  the  pure  sun,  which,  Ihongh  refracted  all 

Into  a.  thousand  hue?,  is  sunshine  still, ^ 

And  bright  thmugh  every  change  !  —  he  spoke  of  Him, 

The  loi.e,2  e'ernal  t>ne.  who  dwells  above, 

And  of  the  soul's  untraceable  descent 

111  that  high  fount  of  spirit,  tbrough  the  grades 
Of  intt^Uficlual  being,  till  it  mix 
With  aloms  va^ue,  corrupiible,  and  dark  ; 

r  yet  ev'n  then,  though  sunk  in  eirihly  dross, 

Tupted  all.  nor  its  ethereal  touch 
Quite  lost,  but  lasting  of  the  fountain  still. 
As  some  brisht  river,  which  h^a  roll  d  along 
1  hroush  meads  ot  flowery  light  and  mii.es  of  gold, 
When  pout'd  at  lenglh  intn  the  dusky  deep, 

i^iiis  to  take  at  once  its  briny  taint, 
Rut  keepj  uuchaiisied  awhile  ihe  lustrous  tinge, 
Or  balmy  freshness,  of  the  scenes  it  left. 3 

Lactantius  asserts  that  all  the  truths  of  Christiani- 
ty may  be  found  dispeised  through  the  ancient  philo- 
sophical sects,  and  that  any  one  who  would  collect 
these  scattered  fragmen's  of  orthodoxy  might  form  a 
code  in  no  respeci  ditfer.ng  fjom  that  of  the  Christian. 

extitisset  aliquis,  qui  veritatem  3p:irsain  per  sm- 
?ulns  per  secta-^que  ditl'usam  colligeret  in  unum,  ac 
redit^eret  in  corpus,  is  piofecto  uon  diaseDtirel  a  no- 
bis."—  Jiist,  lib.  VI,  c.  7. 

*   To    ^lOVOV  KOt  lOTJflOV. 


I      And  here  the  old  man  ceased  —  a  winged  train 
Of  nvmphs  and  genii  bore  him  from  our  eyes, 
Thefair  illusion  (led!  and.  as  I  wak'd, 
'T  was  clear  that  my  rapt  soul  had  roamed,  the  while. 
To  thai  bright  realm  of  dteams.  thai  spirit-world, 

Which  mortals  ' '--■>-    ._.... 

O'er  iiiidDight'i 


Though  Rroeckhusius  here  reads,  '*dux  Epicure," 
vhicli  seems  to  hx  the  pnet  under  the  banners  of  Epi- 
curus. Even  the  Stoic  Seneca,  w  h"se  doctrines  hi*ve 
en  considered  so  orthodox,  that  St.  Jerome  has 
nked  him  amongst  the  ecclrsiastical  writers,  while 
Bocc-iccio  doubts  (in  con>i(]eralion  of  his  supposed 
correspondence  with  St  Pful)  whether  Dante  should 
have  pl:tced  him  in  Limb,  with  Ihe  rest  of  the  Pa- 
gans—even the  rigid  Sentca  has  Le'to^ed  such  cnm- 
inend  itions  on  Epicurus,  tha  if  only  tiiose  passages  of 
lis  works  were  preserved  to  us,  we  culd  not  hesiiale, 
I  think,  in  pronouncing  him  a  confirmed  Epicurean. 
Wiihsmiilar  inconsistency,  we  find  Porphyry,  in  liis 
work  upon  abstinence,  referring  to  Ep  cun.s  as  an  ex- 
nple  of  the  most  strict  Pytlni;orean  lempeiance  ;  and 
Lancelotti  (ihe  author  of  "  Farfallonj  degli  an  ici  Is- 
torici")  has  been  seduced  by  this  grave  reputation  of 
Epicurus  into  the  aburd  error  f>f  associating  him  wiih 
Chrysii  pu%  as  a  chief  of  ihe  Sloic  school.  There  s 
o  doubt,  indeed,  that  however  the  Epicurean  sect 
light  have  relaxed  from  its  orisinat  puriiy,  the 
morals  of  its  fr-under  v»ere  as  correct  as  ihnae  of  any 
nng  the  ancient  philosophers;  and  his  doctrines 
upon  pleasure,  as  explained  in  the  letter  :o  Menteceus, 
rational,  amiable,  aid  con  isteni  «ith  nur  nature 
A  late  writer,  I)e  Sahlons.  in  his  Grands  Hommes 
inges.  expresses  strong  indignation  against  ihe  En- 
_  clopedis'es  for  their  just  and  animated  praises  of 
Epicurus,  aud  discussing  the  question,  *'si  ce  philo- 
phe  eloit  vertueux."  denies  it  upon  no  other  autho- 
■itv  than  the  calumnies  collected  by  Pluiarcli,  who 
umself  confesses  that,  on  this  jiarticular  subj.ct,  he 
consulted  only  opinion  and  report,  without  pausing  to 
estigate  their  truth.  — AAAa  Tr)v  dolav^  ov  tjjv 
n\tjOtiav  a-KonovfLzv-  To  the  factions  yeal  of  his 
illiberal  livals,  the  Stoics,  Epicuru*  chiefly  owed  these 
gross  rni^repre-entaiions  of  the  li'e  and  opinions  of 
himse'f  and  his  associates,  which,  notwithstindinar  ihe 
learned  exertions  of  Gassendi,  have  still  left  an  odium 
on  Ihe  name  of  his  philosophy ;  and  we  ou^ht  to  exa- 
"  le  the  ancient  accounts  of  this  philosopher  with 
about  the  smie  desree  of  cau'ious  belief  which,  in 
reading  ecclesiastical  history,  we  jicid  to  the  invec- 
;s  of  the  fathers  against  the  he-etics,— trussing  as 
li'tle  to  Plutirch  upon  a  do^ma  of  Epicurus,  as  we 
vould  to  the  vtlienient  St.  Cyril  upon  a  tenet  of  Mes- 
Drins.     (1801.) 

The  preceding  remarks.  I  wish  the  reader  to  ob- 
serve, were  written  at  a  time,  when  I  thought  the 
studies  10  which  tht-y  refer  much  more  iniporian'  as 
II  as  more  amusing  than,  I  freely  confess,  they  ap- 
pear to  me  at  present. 


'  by  lis  long  track  of  light 
&ky,  and  call  the  Galaxy.* 


TO   MRS. 


To  see  thee  every  day  that  came, 
And  find  thee  stfll  each  day  ibe  same; 
In  pleasure's  smile,  or  sorrow's  tear 
To  me  still  ever  kind  and  dear;  — 
To  meet  iliee  early,  leave  thee  late, 
Has  been  so  Jong  my  bliss,  my  fate. 
That  lite,  without  this  cheering  ray, 
Which  came,  like  sunshine,  every  day, 
And  all  my  pain,  my  soirow  cha^'d, 
Is  now  a  lone  and  loveless  waaie. 

Where  are  the  chords  she  u-M  to  touch  ? 
The  aiis,  ihe  songs  she  hiv'd  s  <  much  ? 
Tliose  6ongs  are  hushed,  those  choiUs  are  rtiU, 
And  so,  perhaps,  will  every  thrill 
Of  feeling  soon  be  lulTd  to  rest, 
Which  late  I  wak'd  in  AimaV  breast. 
Yet,  no  —  the  simple  notes  1  play'd 
Fiom  menioiy's  tablet  soon  may'f.ide: 
The  sougs,  «  hich  Anna  lov'd  to  hear, 
Miy  vanish  from  her  heirl  and  ear  ; 
But  friendship's  voice  shall  ever  hnd 
An  echo  in  that  gentle  mii-d, 
Nor  memory  lose  nor  time  impair 
The  sympathies  that  tremble  there. 


TO    LADY    HEATH COTE, 

ON  AN    OLD    RING    FOUND   AT   TUNBRIDGE- 
WELLS. 

"Tun 


bridpe  en!  a  ]a  m 

cmediilan 

e  de  LnndreB,  que 

leau  Test  de  Parif 

Cc  qu'il 

y  a  dr   teau  et  de 

m  I'un  ft  dans  r 

Dtie    nr'ie 

6'y  rasseroble  au 

gal  a  lit    da 

terns  tlt-e  cnux.     Li  compagnit,"  &c.  A'c 

See  Memvires  de  OrammunU  Seronii  Part.  chap.  }ii. 

Timhiidge.-lVdls. 
When  Grammont  grac'd  these  happy  springs, 

Ai'd  Tunbrid^e  saw,  upnn  her  Pantiles, 
The  merriest  wight  of  al  I  the  kings 

That  ever  rul'd  these  gty,  gallant  isles ; 

Like  us,  by  dav,  thev  rode,  they  walk'd, 

At  eve,  thev'did  as  we  may  do. 
And  Grammont  just  like  Spencer  talk'd. 

And  lovely  Stewart  smil'd  like  you. 

The  only  d.fferenl  trait  is  this. 

That  woman  then,  if  man  heset  her, 
W^^s  rather  given  to  .saying  "  yes," 

Because, —  as  yet,  she  knew  no  better. 

Each  night  they  held  a  coterie. 

Where,  every  ftar  to  slumber  charm 'd, 

Lovers  were  all  they  ought  to  be, 
And  hubiiids  noi  the  le.ast  alarni'd. 


Thi 


i  bold  Platoni 
in  Father  Bnu( 
inserted  in  Pi 


mage  I  have  taken  from  a 
it's  letter  upon  the  Metemp- 
I's  Cerem.  Relig.  tom.  iv. 


pa"sag( 
sychosi 

*  According  to  Pyihaeoras,  the  people  of  Dreams 
are  souls  collec  ed  together  in  the  Galaxy.  —  Arjfios 
6t  OTBtpuiV,  Kara  TlvOayopav,  al  i/'t;,\ai  dj  trvva- 
ytffOai.  <pij(Tiv  £ts  701/  y aXaliav,  —  Forphjr,  de 
Antro  Nymj-h. 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


93 


Then  call'd  tliey  up  their  schoolday  pranks, 
Nor  ilinught  it  much  "heir  sense  beiieatU 

To  play  M  liJdles,  quips,  and  cranks 
And  lurjg  show'd  wii,  and  Indies  teeth. 

Jis—*'  Why  are  husbands  like  the  mini?" 
Because,  t  -rsooth,  a  hii-baiid's  duly 

Is  but  in    el  the  naiiit:  .>iid  print 
That  gi*e  a  currency  to  beauty. 

"  Why  is  a  rose  in  nettles  hid 

**Like  a  young  widow,  fiesh  and  fiir?" 
Because  't  is  sighing  to  be  rid 

Of  weedSy  that  *'have  no  business  there  1 " 

And  ihii3  thpy  niiss'd  and  thus  they  hit, 

And  now  iliey  struck  and  now  they  parried  j 

And  some  lav  in  of  full-grown  wit, 
While  tJlhers  of  a  pun  miscarried. 

*T  was  one  of  those  facetious  nigh's 
Thill  Graunnont  gave  this  forfeit  rinj 

For  breikin*  grave  conundrum-nles, 
Or  punning  ill,  or  —  some  such  thing :  — 

From  whence  it  c:in  be  fjirly  tracM, 

Tlirougli  many  a  brancli  and  many  a  bough, 

From  iwig  to  Iwiic,  until  it  gr..c'd 
Ttie  snowy  hand  that  wears  it  now. 

All  this  I  *1I  prove,  and  then,  to  you, 

Oh,  lunbndge!  and  your  springs  ircnii'col, 

I  sue.tr  by  Heaihcote's  eye  ot  bhe 
To  dedicate  th'  important  chronicle. 

Long  m:iy  your  ancient  inmates  give 
Their  inaniles  to  your  ni'dern  lodgers, 

And  Charles's  Inves  in  Heathcote  live, 
And  Charles's  bards  levive  in  Rcgers. 

Let  no  pedantic  fools  be  there ; 

For  ever  be  those  f  ps  abolish'd. 
With  heads  as  wooden  as  thy  ware, 

And,  heaven  knows!  not  half  so  polish*d. 

But  still  receive  ihe  young,  the  eay, 
The  few  who  know  the  rare  delight 

Of  reiding  Grammont  every  day, 
Aud  acting  Gramniout  every  night. 


THE  DEVIL  AMONG  THE  SCHOLARS, 
A     FRAGMENT. 

Tt  KOKov  6  ytXaj?  ; 
Chrysost.  Homil.  in  Epist.  ad  itebrtcos, 
#  #  #  « 

But,  whither  have  Ihe'C  gentle  ones. 
These  rosy  nvmphs  and  black-eyed  nung, 
With  all  of  Cupid  8  wild  rnn.ancing, 
Led  my  truarit  brains  a  dancing? 
Instead  of  studying  Uimes  scholastic, 
Ecclesi  islic,  or  nionas'ic, 
Off  I  fly,  careering  far 
In  chaae'of  Pollys,  prettier  f.ir 
Than  any  of  their  names  kes  are,— 
The  polymaths  nnd  Polvhislors, 
Polvglots  and  all  their  sisters. 
So  have  1  known  a  h^pt-ful  \oulh 
Sit  down  in  ipiest  of  lore  and  truth. 
With  Innies  sufllcient  to  confound  him. 
Like  Tohu  nohu.  heaped  abound  him,— 
Maniurra  *  stuck  to  'I  heophrastu*, 
And  Galen  tumbling  o'er  IJomb.istus'a 


1  Mamurra,  a  dogmatic  philosopher,  who  never 
doubled  aitout  any  itiing,  except  who  was  his  ftther. 
—  **  Nulla  de  re  uiiqnam  praeterquam  de  patre  dnbi- 
tavil.'* — /m  Kif.  He  w;.s  very  learned — "  La- de- 
Jans,  (thai  is,  in  his  head  when  it  was  opened,)  le 


When  1 1 !  while  all  that 's  learn'd  and  wiso 

Absorbs  the  boy,  he  lifts  liis  eyes. 
And  through  the  window  of  his  study 
Beholds  some  damsel  fair  and  ruddy, 
Wiih  eyes,  aN  brightly  turn'd  upon  him  as 
The  angel's  3  were  on  Hieronymus. 
Quick  hv  the  foli.'S,  widely  scalter'd. 
Old  H.  ii'ier's  laurel'd  brow  i>s  bitier'd, 
Ahd  Sappho,  headlong  sent,  tlies  just  iD 
The  reveitnd  eye  of  St.  Augustm. 
Raplur'd  he  quits  each  duziiig  sage, 
Oh,  woman,  for  ihy  lovelier  page: 
Sweet  book  I  —  unlike  'he  book>  of  art,— 
Whose  eirors  are  thy  faireM  part ; 
In  whom  ihe  dear  eriata  column 
Is  the  best  page  in  all  the  volume !  * 

But  to  begin  my  subject  rhyme  — 
»T  W.1S  jusi  about  this  devili-h  time, 
When  scarce  there  happen'd  any  frolics 
Th.it  were  not  done  by  Diabojtcs, 
A  eld  and  loveless  son  of  Lucifer, 
Who  UTiman  scorii'd,  nor  ;-aw  llie  use  of  her. 
A  blanch  of  Dagon'.- family, 
(Winch  U.igon,  whether  He  or  She, 
Is  a  dispute  that  vavly  belter  is 
Rf  ferr'd  to  Scaliger  &  et  ceteris,) 
Finding  thai,  in  ihis  cige  of  t(;ols. 
The  wisest  so's  ndotn  the  schools. 
Took  it  at  once  his  head  Satanic  in. 
To  grow  a  sre.it  schol  istic  manikin, — 


Punique  heurle  le  I'ersan,  I'Heb  eu  choque  PArabi- 
que,  ponr  ut  puint  pailer  de  la  niauvaise  iitelligence 
du  Latin  avec  \e  G'tc,*'  Sic— See  VHisloirt  dc  Mviit' 
»miur,  tom.  li.  p  91. 

^  Bonibistus  was  one  of  the  names  of  that  great 
schtlar  and  quack  Paracelsus. —  "  Pliilippus  Hoinb.is- 
tus  latet  ^ub  ^plendido  tegmine  Anienli  l  heophrasti 
P^racel-i,''  says  Siadeli-is  de  circumforanea  Litera- 
loruin  vanitate.  —  He  used  m  fight  the  devil  every 
n:glit  with  a  broadswoid,  to  the  no  sm:tll  terror  of  his 
pupil  Oporinus,  who  has  lecoided  the  circums'ance. 
(Viile  op.iin.  Vit  apud  Chrisiian.  Gr\ph.Vit  Select, 
quorundam  Eriidilis'-imoium,  &c.)  Paracelsus  had 
bul  a  poor  oj)inion  of  Galen:  —  *'My  very  beard 
(says  he  in  hi-  Para!2;i£iium)  has  more  learning  in  li 
than  either  Galen  or  Avicenn;!." 

3  The  angel,  who  scolded  St.  Jeroni  for  reading 
Cicero.  asGtatian  tells  ihe  story  in  his  "  Coneordantia 
discordaniium  Canonum,"'  and  s.iys,  that  for  this  rea- 
son bishops  vi-eie  not  allowed  to  leid  the  Class-ca: 
'*  Episcopus  Gentilium  libros  non  legat.*'  —  Dul'.nct. 
37.  Bui  Grati.m  is  no  orious  for  lying— besides, 
angels,  as  the  illustrioua  pupil  of  Pantenus  asriies  us, 
h^ve  got  no  tongues.  Ovx'  f^S  Vf-tv  ra  mra,  oirtug 
EK£ivo(.5  tj  ykiuTTa'  ov6'  av  opyava  rtj  Cwif  tptuvij^ 
ayyEAots.  —  Cltm.  MUxand.  ktroniat. 

4  The  idea  of  the  Rabbms,  respecting  the  origin  of 
w  man.  is  not  a  li'Ile  smgul  .r.  They  think  'ha^t  man 
was  orisiinlly  fo  nifd  with  a  tail,  1  ke  a  monkey,  but 
that  the  Oei  y  cuioifihis  a[  pt-ndage,  and  made  woman 
of  it.  Up'-n  this  cxiiaordinary  hupposition  the  fol 
lowing  retliclion  (s  founded  :  — 


i  Ihe  t 


•  hftw 


The  niiiiiy  who  v>eJH  ih  a  pitirul  eU', 

Fur  lif  lakttt  lo  tnu  mil  like  an  id>ot  agai 

Ami  thuH  maUcH  a  Jei'lurable  ape  uf  tii 


Why  he— l-Qvt-.H  he 


fi  ScTliger.  de  Eniendat.  Tenipor.  —  Dagnn  was 
thought  by  others  lo  be  a  rerlatri  sea  monster,  who 
cmie  every  dav  out  of  the  Red  Sea  to  leach  the 
Syrians  husbandry. —See  Jaques  Gattarel  (Curiositcs 
Inouies,  chap,  i.),  who  sa\s  tie  Ihinks  this  story  of 
Ihe  se.»-monsler  "  carries  little  show  of  probability 
with  it." 


94 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


A  doctor,  quite  as  learnM  and  fine  as 

Scotus  John  or  Tom  Aquinas,* 

Lully,  Hales  Irrefiaffabilis, 

Or  any  di'clni  of  the  rabble  is. 

In  lanH:ua!ies2  the  folyslots, 

Coiiip^r'd  lo  liiiit,  were  Bibel  sots; 

Hechaiei'd  more  than  ever  Jew  did, 

Sanhedrim  a.td  Hriest  included, 

Piie-^t  nnd  holy  ^aMhedriui 

Wtre  une-and  seven  y  fools  to  him. 

Rut  chief  the  learned  demon  felt  a 

Zeal  so  strong  lur  gamma,  delta, 

'Ihaf,  all  for  Greek  and  le.irning's  glory,' 

He  nightly  tippled  "Graeco  more," 

And  never  paid  a  bill  or  bil.ince 

Except  upon  the  Grecian  Kalends  :  — 

From  whence  ynji  schol.ir^,  when  they  want  tick, 

Say.  to  beJiUic'a  tn  be  on  lick, 

In  I05.cs,  he  was  quite  Ho  P,.nu  ;  * 

Knew  as  much  a^  ever  njan  knew. 


i  I  wish  it  were  known  with  any  decree  of  cer- 
tainty whether  the  Commeniaiy  on  Boelhius  attri- 
buted to  Thomas  Aquinas  be  really  the  work  of  this 
Angelic  Doctor.  'Ihere  are  some  bold  assertions 
hazarded  in  it :  for  instance,  he  say3  that  I'lnio  kept 
school  in  a  town  called  Acadeniia,  :uid  ihai  Alcibiades 
was  a  very  heauliful  \\oman  »  honi  some  of  Aristo'le's 
pupils  fell  in  love  with  :  -  "  Alcibi  ules  mulier  fuit 
pulcherrima,  quam  videntes  quidam  discipuli  Aris- 
loteWs,^'  kc  —  Hec  Jheytag  Md};arat.  Litttrar.  art. 
86.  lorn.  i. 

2  The  followins;  compliment  was  paid  to  Lauren- 
tius  Valla,  upon  his  accuiate  knowledge  of  the  Latin 
language : — 


Since  Val  arriT'd  in  Pluto's  Bhade, 
His  Qouni*  and  pniiiouns  all  so  pat  in, 

Plmo  himself  wouM  be  afraiJ 
To  Bay  hiHSoul'ti  his  own,  in  Latin! 

See  for  these  lines  the  "Auctorum  Censio^of  Du 
Verdier  (p.ige  29.) 

3  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Martin  Luther, 
with  all  his  talents  for  reforming,  should  yet  be  vulgar 
enough  to  laugh  at  Camerarius  for  writing  to  him  in 
Greek.  *•  Master  Joacliim  (says  he)  has  ^ent  me 
some  dates  and  some  raisin-,  and  has  also  written  me 
two  letters  in  Greek.  As  soon  as  I  am  recovered,  I 
shall  answer  them  in  Turkish,  th.it  he  too  may  have 
the  pleasuie  of  reading  what  he  does  not  understand." 
"  Graeca  sunt,  legi  n  n  possunt,"  is  Ihe  ignorant  speech 
attributed  to  Accursius;  but  very  uigusHv  :  — for,  far 
from  asserting  that  Greek  could  not  be  read,  that 
worthy  juris-consult  upon  the  Liw  6.  D.  de  Bonor. 
Possess,  expressly  savs,  *' Graeca*  \i\er?e 'possu7it  intel- 
liffi  et  legi."  (Vide  "Nov.  Libror.  R:irior.  Cfdieciion. 
Fascic.  IV.)  —  Scipio  CarteromacliMs  seems  to  have 
been  of  opinion  that  there  is  no  salvation  out  of  the 
pate  of  Greek  Literature:  "Via  prima  saluMs  Graia 
pandetur  ab  urbe:"  and  the  zeal  of  Lauieotivis 
Rhodomannus  cannot  be  i-ufficieiitly  admired,  when 
he  exhorts  his  countrymen,  "  per  gloriam  Chiisii,  per 
salutem  patrise.  per  reipublicae  decus  et  emolumen 
tum."  lo  study  the  Greek  language.  Nor  must  we 
forget  Phavorinus,  the  excellent  Bishop  of  Nocera, 
who,  careless  of  ail  the  w--ual  commendations  of  a 
Christian,  required  no  further  eulngiuni  on  his  tomb 
than  "Here  lieth  a  Greek  Lexicographer." 

4 'O  nnvv. —The  introduction  of  this  language 
into  English  poetry  has  a  good  etl'ect,  and  ought  to  be 
more  universally  adopted.  A  uoid  or  two  of  Greek 
in  a  stanza  would  serve  as  ballast  to  ttie  most  "light 
0*  love  '*  verses.  Ausooius,  among  (he  ancients,  may 
serve  as  a  model :  — 

Ov  yap  fJL(n  -^sfiis  tcriv  in  hac  regione  fiivovri 

A|tov  ab  nostris  iiriSivza  esse  KafiTjvais 


He  fought  the  conib.it  svllogistjc 

With  sr.  much  skill  and  .ri  eristic, 

That  though  y^u  were  the  learned  Stagirite^ 

At  once  upon  ilie  hip  he  had  you  right. 

In  mu^ic.  though  he  had  no  ears 

Kxcept  for  tl.at  amoneist  the  spheres, 

(Which  niopt  ot:  all,  as  he  averr'd  it. 

He  dearly  loved,  'came  no  one  heard  it.) 

Yet  aptly  he,  at  sight,  could  read 

Kach  tuneful  di.ierani  m  Bede, 

And  find,  by  Euclid's  cOroHaria, 

The  ratK'S  of  a  jig  or  aria. 

But.  as  f  rail  your  waibling Delias, 

Orpheusfs  and  Saint  Cecili.s, 

He  ounVI  he  thought  them  much  surpasa'd 

P.v  that  redoubled  Hyah  clast  S 

VVho  still  coiitriv'd  by  dint  of  throttle, 

Where'er  he  went  to  crack  a  bottle. 

Likewi-e  to  show  his  mighty  knowledge,  be, 

On  things  unknown  in  physiology, 
Wrote  many  a  chapter  lu  divert  us, 
(Like  that  great  little  man  Albertus,) 
\V  herein  he  show'd  the  reason  why. 
When  children  first  are  he.trd  to  cry 
If  boy  the  b.iby  chance  to  be, 
HecrjfsO  A!— if  girl,  O  E  !  — 
Which  are,  quoth  he,  txceedin^  fair  hints 
Respecting  their  first  sinful  patents; 
•'Oh,  Eve!"exclaimeth  little  madam. 
While  little  maeter  cries  "  Oh,  Adam  I  "  8 

But,  'I  was  in  Optics  and  Dioptric, 
Our  daemon  play'd  his  fi-st  and  top  tricks. 
He  held  that  sunshine  passes  quicker 
Through  wine  than  any  other  liquor; 
And  thoush  he  saw  no  great  objection 
To  steady  light  and  clear  reflection, 
He  thought  the  aberrating  ra\s, 
Which  phy  ab'iut  a  bumper's  blaze, 
Were  by   he  Doctois  look'd,  in  common,  on, 
As  a  nmre  r,ire  and  nch  phenomenon. 
He  wisely  said  that  the  sensorium 
Is  for  the  eyes  a  great  emporium. 
To  which  these  noted  picture-stealers 
Send  all  they  can  and  nieet  with  dealers. 
In  mai  y  an  optical  proceeding 
The  br.iin,  he  said,  show'd  great  good  breeding: 
For  instance,  when  we  ogle  women 
(A  trick  which  Barbara  tulor'd  him  in,) 
Although  the  dears  are  apt  to  get  in  a 
Strange  position  on  the  retina, 
Yet  insantly  the  modest  brain 
Doth  set  them  on  their  legs  again  *t 

Our  doctor  thus,  with  "stuff'd  suflSciency" 
Of  all  omnigenous  omnisciency, 
Began  (as  who  would  not  begin 
That  h.-id,  like  him.  so  much  within?) 
To  let  it  out  in  books  of  all  sorts. 
Folios,  quartos,  large  and  small  sorts; 
poems,  so  very  deep  and  sensible 
Th.U  they  were  quite  incomprehensible,^ 


Ronsard,  the  French  poet,  has  enriched  his  sonnets 
and  odes  with  many  an  exquisite  morsel  from  the 
Lexicon.  His  "chere  Knteiechie,"  in  addie-sing  his 
mistrees,  can  only  be  equalled  by  Cowley's  "  Anti- 
peris:asis-" 

s  Or  Glass-Breaker— Morhofius  has  given  an  ac- 
count of  this  extiaordinary  man,  in  a  work,  publish- 
ed 1682,— "De  video  scypho  fracio,"&c. 

G  Translated  almost  literally  from  a  passage  in 
Albertus  de  Secretis,  &c. 

1  Alluding  to  that  habitual  act  of  the  judgment,  by 
which,  notwithstanding  the  inversion  of  the  image 
upon  the  retina,  a  correct  impression  of  the  object  is 
conveyed  to  the  sensorium. 

8  Under  this  description,  I  believe  "the  Devil 
among  Ihe  Scholars''  may  be  included.     Yet  Leibnitz 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


f).5 


PioiC,  which  had  been  at  learning's  Fair, 
And  bought  up  all  ihe  trumpeiy  there, 

found  out  the  uses  of  incompiehensibility,  wheu  he 
VIM  appoinled  secretary  to  a  society  of  ihilosxpheis 
at  Nuretiibcrp.  cliit^tiy  tor  his  in;;eiiiJity  in  utiImisj  a 
cabakMical  k-lter.  iioroiie  wi.rd  ..f  wh.ch  fillier  thty 
or  hi  nselfcnuld  in  rrpret.  Sue  the  Elo^e  HI^lollque 
de  K.  de  LeibnUz.  lEurope  Savaiile.  —  People  in  all 
age-i  have  loveti  to  be  puzzled.  VVe  find  l!icero 
thanking  Adieus  for  havini;  .eni  him  a  work  of  Sera- 
pion  'ex  quti  (s.ys  he)  qiiidein  trgo  (quod  in'er  nos 
liceat  dicerej  millesimam  partem  vix  intelligo."  Lib. 
ji.  epist.  4.  And  we  know  that  Avicenna,  the  learned 
Arabian,  read  Aristotle's  Metaphysics  foity  times  over 
for  the  mere  pleasure  of  being  able  to  inform  the 
world  that  he  could  not  coniprehetid  one  syllable 
throughout  them.     (Nicolas  Massa  in  Vit.  Avicen.) 


The  tatler'd  rags  of  every  vest. 

In  which  the  Gieeks  and  Romans  drest, 

And  o'er  her  figure  swoH'u  and  ai.tic 
Sea  ter'd  them  all  with  airs  so  frantic, 
Thtl  those,  who  saw  what  fits  she  had, 
Declared  unhapj^y  i'f(>^e  whs  mad  I 

Epic?    he    win    ,■     ,Mi   I    s,     ..,■■,     r.\     ItblJbStS, 

All  as  neat  ,.^  ■  i  ■,    I  ■  i, ,<..■.,  ; 

E!i;g,  aiidal  ,.;-,  ,  .  >  i  ■[   i.h,,, 

Gianuiiais,  pi  i)r  -I.  uks  -    ^hl  'twere  tedious, 

Did  1  bui  tell  Ihce  tialf.  to  follow  me: 

Not  Ihe  scribbling  lard  of  Ftolemy, 

No  —  nor  the  hoary  Tiismegistus, 

(Whose  writing>  all,  thank  heaven  !  havo  niissM  us,) 

E'er  till'd  with  lumber  such  a  wareroom 

As  this  great  **  poicus  liieiaruni  1" 


POEMS    RELATING   TO   AMERICA, 


TO  FRANCIS,  EAnL  OF  MOIRA, 

GENERAL  IN  HIS  MAJKSTY*S  FORCES,  MAS- 
TER-OENERAL  OF  THE  ORDNANCE,  CON- 
STABLE   OF    THE    TOWER,    ETC. 

My  Lord,  —  It  is  impossible  lo  think  of  addressine 
a  Dedication  to  your  Lordship  without  calling  to 
mind  the  well-known  reply  of  the  Sparian  to  a  rheto- 
rician, who  prop  sed  lo  pronounce  an  eulogium  on 
HercnJes.  "On  Ilercule-  !"  j^ud  the  honesi  Spartan, 
"who  ever  thought  of  bUniin?  Hercules  ?'»  In  a 
similar  manner  the  concurrence  of  public  opininn  has 
left  to  Iha  paneeyrisi  of  your  L'Tdsliip  a  very  s'lper- 
fluons  task.  I  shall,  therefore,  be  silent  on  the  subject, 
and  merely  entreat  your  indulgence  to  the  very  hum- 
ble inbiite  of  gratitude  which  1  have  here  the  houour 
to  present. 

I  am,  my  Lord, 

VViih  everv  feelins  of  allachment 
and  reaped. 
Your  Lordship's  very  devoted  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 
27  Sury  Street^  St.  James^Sy 
^pril  10,  1806. 


PREFACE. 1 

The  principal  poems  in  the  following  collection 
were  written  during  ati  absence  of  fourteen  months 
front  Europe.  Though  curi'sity  wa<?  certainly  not 
the  motive  of  my  voyage  lo  America,  yet  it  hippened 
that  Ihe  gratification  of  curiosiiy  "as  the  only  advan- 
tage wh-ch  I  deiived  from  it.  Finding  myself  in  the 
cnun'ry  of  a  new  people,  whose  infancy  had  promised 
so  much,  and  whose  progress  to  maturity  has  been  an 
object  of  such  interesting  speculation,  I  deiermitied  (o 
employ  the  short  period  of  time,  wh'ch  my  plan  of 
reiurn  in  ELfope  alForded  me,  in  travelling  ihn'Ugh  a 
few  of  the  S'a'.es,  and  acquiring  some  knowledge  of 
theinhabtlants. 

The  impression  which  my  mind  received  from  Ihe 
char<cter  aiid  manners  of  these  leputilicans,  suggested 
the  Epistles  ^^  hich  are  wnfteo  from  the  cilv  of  VVa-h- 
ingtonand  Like  Erie.l    How  Ur  I  «as  rig'h',  in  thus 

I  This  Preface,  as  well  as  the  Dcdicition  which 
precedes  it,  were  prefix'-d  originally  to  Ihe  miscella- 
neous volume  enfitled  "Odes  and  Epistles,"  of  which, 
hilherto,  the  poems  relating  to  my  Americao  tour 
have  formed  a  part. 

a  Epistles  VI.,  VIL  and  Vll!, 


assuming  the  tone  of  a  sa'irist  against  a  people  whom 
I  viewed  bul  as  a  sinnger  and  a  visiter,  is  a  doubt 
which  mv  feelings  did  not  allow  m»*  time  to  invesli- 
gafe.  All  1  prcMime  to  answer  for  is  the  fidirlily  of 
tlic  jiicture  u  hich  1  have  given  ;  and  though  pntdence 
might  have  dictated  genifer  language,  Irulb,  i  Ihink, 
Wi.uld  have  justified  >eveier. 

\  went  to  America  with  prepossessions  by  no  ni'^ani 
unfavourable,  and  indeed  r.itber  indulged  in  niany  ol 
Ih'  se  illusive  ideis,  wiih  respect  to  ihe  pnrity  of  the 
enveri  ment  and  the  primitive  happiness  of  the  people, 
which  I  had  early  imbibed  in  my  native  cunlry, 
where,  unfortunately,  discontent  at  home  enhances 
every  dis'ani  lenip'alion,  ;'nd  the  western  world  h.is 
long  been  looked  to  as  a  relieat  from  real  or  imagi- 
nary opprtssion  ;  as.  in  sh'Tt,  the  elysian  Ailanhs, 
where  |,ersecuted  patriols  might  find  llieir  visions 
realised,  and  be  welcomed  by  kindred  spiii  s  to  liberty 
atid  repose.  In  all  Ihese  flatteiing  expec'atirns  1 
found  myself  conipletely  disapporiited,  and  felt  in- 
clined to  say  to  Americi,  as  Hotace  says  to  his  mis- 
Irtss.  "  inlenta'a  nites."  Brissot,  in  the  preface  to  his 
travels,  ob.er^es,  that  "freedom  in  that  country  is 
earned  to  so  high  a  degree  a»  to  lorder  upon  a  s'ale 
of  nature;"  and  theie  certainly  is  a  close  approxima- 
tion to  s.ivage  life,  not  oi  }y  in  the  liberty  which  they 
enjoy,  bui  in  the  violence  of  parly  spint  at^d  of  pii- 
vate  animosity  vvhicii  results  f,om  .t.  This  illiberal 
zeal  embilttTs  all  s  ctal  intercourse;  aid,  though  1 
scarcely  couM  hesitate  in  selecting  the  party,  whose 
viewj.  api  eirtd  to  n.e  the  more  pu  e  ^nd  aliMial.  >et 
I  w  s  so-ry  to  observe  that,  in  as^eiting  iheir  opinion", 
they  boih  a  some  an  equal  sluie  (  f  intolerance  ;  the 
Democrats  consistently  with  their  princi|)les,  exhibit- 
ing a  vuUarity  of  r.inconr,  which  the  Federalists  loo 
ofien  are  s  >  f^ifgetful  of  Iheir  cause  as  lo  iniitate. 

The  lude  fanuliantv  of  ihe  lower  orders,  and  in- 
deed  thj  unpolislted  state  of  sociey  in  gener.l,  would 
neither  sur|Tise  nor  disgust  if  ihev  seemed  to  tl(»w 
from  that  simplicity  of  character, 'that  honest  ipno. 
ranee  of  the  gl  ss  of  refinen.ent  uhicli  may  be  looked 
for  in  a  new  and  inexperienced  peo|>le.  Ftnt,  when 
we  find  them  arrived  at  maturity  in  mrsi  of  the  vUe^, 
and  all  the  pride  of  civilisvinn,  wljie  Ihey  aie  s'lll 
so  far  remnved  from  its  higher  and  better  ctiarac^er- 
ist;cs,  it  is  nnpossihte  not  n.  ft-et  that  this  vouthfnl  de- 
cav,  ihis  crnde  anticipation  of  the  natuial  period  of 
cor  uption,  must  re  ress  e\eTy  sanguine  hope  of  the 
future  ei.ergy  and  gre>tne'-s  r^f  America. 

I  am  conscious  that,  in  venturing  the^e  few  remarks, 
I  hive  said  just  enc  ugh  to  otlVnd,  and  by  no  nie<ns 
snmcieni  t-.  convince  ;^ for  the  limits  of  a  preface  pie- 
vent  me  from  entering  into  a  justification  of  my  opin- 
ions, and  1  am  commitied  ou  ifie  sulject  as  efli^ctually 
as  if  I  had  wfillen  volumes  in  their  di-fencc.  My 
reider,  however,  is  apprised  of  the  very  cursory  nb- 


96 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


011S  are  fo'jndpd,and 
1  the  degree  of  atltu- 


Wi'l, 


I  aj.iilo^.se  to  ilk 


'  ncial,  whicb occupy 

[;  .'    Ill  what  maimer  U> 

u  ling  Upon  their  r.ntice 

iich  a  mass  of  unconi.ec  ed  trifles,  f^uch  a  world  of 

I  epiciifran  atoms  as  I  have  bere  brought  in  conflict 

loieiher  1     To  say  lli.it  I  have  lean  templed  by  ihe 

Iibenl  oflers  of  my  bookseller,  1=  an  excu-.e  which 

I  can  h"pe  for  but  Ihtle  indulgence  from  the  cii'ic;  yet 

I  1  own  that,  uithoui  this  seasonable  induceinenl,  these 

pr.ems  very  possibly  wnuld  never  have  been  subniit* 

ted   to    the  world.     The  gla-e  r-f  publication    is    mo 

strong  for  such  imperfect  pmduclioiis  :  thev  should  be 

5howii  but  tn  ihe  eye  of  f.iendship,  in  that  dim  light 

of  privacy  which  is   as  f.ivonrable  to  poetical  as  to 

female  "beauty,  and  servts  as  a  ceil  for  faults,  while  it 

enlianceti   e\eiy  charm   which  it   disphy-.     Besides, 

this  is  not  a  period  for  Ihe  idle  occupations  of  poetry, 

and  times  like  the  present  require  talent*  more  active 


rful.     Few  hav 


'  the 


:  to  1 


POEMS 

RELATING    TO    AMERICA. 


TO  LORD  VISCOUNT  STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD  THE   PHAETON  FRIUATE,  OFF  THE 
AZORES,    BY    MOONLIGHT. 

Sweet  ^fooIl!  if,  like  Crntona's  ssge,^ 

By  any  spell  my  hand  could  tlare 
To  make  lliy  disk  ils  ample  page, 

Aiid  "lite  mv  Ihnughls,  my  ivishes  there; 
How  many  a  friend,  whose  careless  eye 
Now  wanders  o'er  that  stirry  sky. 
Should  smile,  upon  thy  orb  lo  meet 
The  recollection,  kind  and  sweet, 
The  reveries  of  fond  ie:5ret. 
The  promise,  never  to  foiRet, 
And  all  my  heart  and  sool  would  send 
To  many  a  dear-IovM,  distant  friend  I 

How  little,  when  we  parted  last, 
I  Ihoueht  those  pleasant  limes  were  past, 
For  eve'  pa.t.  when  brilliant  joy 
Was  all  my  vicant  heart's  employ: 
When,  fresh  fpom  minh  lo  minh  arain, 

We  thought  the  rapid  horns  too  few; 
Our  only  use  foi  knowledge  then 

To  sather  bl.ss  from  all  we  ki.ew. 
Delicious  d.iys  of  «  him  arid  soul  ! 

When,  minf;lini!;  loie  and  lau'h  tojether, 
We  Ican'd  Ihe  hook  on  Plewure's  bo«l. 

And  turn'd  the  leaf  wilh  Folly's  fealher. 
Little  I  thonehl  that  all  were  fled, 
Thai,  ere  thai  summer's  bloom  Mas  shed, 
My  eye  should  see  the  sail  unfurl'd 
Thai  wafis  me  to  the  western  world. 

And  vet,  't  was  linie  ;— in  youth's  sweet  days, 
To  cool  that  season's  flowing  rays, 
The  heart  awhile,  wilh  wanlon  win";, 
Mav  .liii  and  dive  in  IMea<u.e's  spring; 
Bnl.  if  il  wail  for  winter's  breeze. 
T  he  spriiii;  will  chill,  the  heart  "ill  freeze. 
And  then,  that  H"pp.  thai  fairy  Hope,— 

Oh  I  she  awak'd  such  happy  ilreams, 
And  eave  my  soul  such  lemplinR  scope 

For  all  ils  deaiest,  fondest  schemes, 


I  See  the  forcjoin^  Note,  p.  B5,  I. 

1  rylhaeoras;  who  was  supposed  to  have  a  power 
of  wnline:  upon  Ihe  Moon  by  Ihe  means  of  a  magic 
mirror.  — See  Bayle.  ait.  Pylhns:. 


Thai  not  Verona's  child  of  song. 
When  fl\  in»  from  the  Phrysiin  soore, 

Wilh  liehler  heart  could  bound  alon^, 
Or  pant  to  be  a  wanderer  more  I^ 

Even  n"w  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  Ihe  dark  legrels  I  feel, 
Soothing,  as  yonder  placid  leam 

Tuisues  the  murniuTers  of  the  deep, 
And  tigh  s  them  wilh  consoling  gleam. 

And  smiles  ihem  into  tranquil  sleep. 
Oh  !  such  a  blessed  night  as  this, 

1  often  think,  if  friends  "ere  near. 
How  we  shouid  feel,  and  gaze  wilh  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here  I 

The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake. 

And,  o'er  its  calm  the  ve^sel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  it  fear'd  to  "ake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides. 
The  01, ly  envious  cloud  that  lowers 

Hath  hung  ils  shade  on  Pico's  heishi,* 
Where  dimly,  mid  the  dusk,  he  loweis, 

And  scowling  at  this  heav'n  of  light,     ' 
Fxulis  10  see  the  infant  storm 
Cling  daikly  round  his  giant  form  ! 

Now,  could  I  range  those  verdant  isles, 

Invisible,  at  this  soft  hour. 
And  see  the  looks,  the  beaming  smiles, 

That  brighten  many  an  orange  bovver; 
And  c  uld  I  lift  each  pious  veil, 

And  see  the  blushing  cheek  it  shades, — 
Oh  !  1  should  have  full  many  a  tale, 

To  leli  of  young  Azorian  maids. 5 
Yes,  S:rangford.  at  this  hour,  perhaps, 

^ome  lover  (not  ton  idly  blest. 
Like  those,  who  in  llici'  ladies' laps 

Mav  ciadle  every  wih  to  rest,) 
Warbles,  lo  touch  hi^  dear  one's  soul. 

Those  madiigals,  of  breath  divine, 
Which  Camoens'  hirp  from  Rapture  stole 

And  gave,  all  glowing  warm,  to  thine.6 
Oh  I  conld  Ihe  lovet  learn  fromihee. 

And  bieathe  them  with  thy  gracelul  tone, 
Such  sweet,  beguiling  niinstielsy 

Would  make  the  coldest  nymph  his  own. 

But,  haik  !—  Ihe  b^atsHain's  pipings  tell 
'T  is  lime  lo  bid  my  dream  farewell  : 
Eight  bells:  — the  middle  walch  is  set; 
Good  night,  niy  Stiangfoid  I  —  ne'er  forget 
That,  f.ir  beyond  Ihe  wes'ern  sea 
Is  one,  whose  heart  remembers  thee. 


STANZAS. 


QviLOS  is. 


•  /i£  TTpocrdiw 


VtviuatcE  TavO^wKua  firj  aiSuv  ayav. 
^schyl.  Fragment, 
A  beam  of  tranquillity  smil'd  in  the  west, 

The  storms  of  Ihe  morning  pursued  ns  no  more  i 

And  Ihe  wave,  while  il  welcom'd  Ihe  moment  of  est, 

Slill  heav'd,  as  rememhering  ills  that  were  o'er. 

3  Alluding  to  these  animated  lines  in  the  44lh  Car- 
men of  Catullus:  — 

Jam  mi"(>e  praeterpidann  ovet  vacari. 
Jam  lat-ti  stuilio  ^wdcs  vigesount  ! 
*  A  very  high  mnuntain  on  one  of  the  Azores,  fmm 
which  Ihe  isl  'ud  derives  its  name.     It  is  said  by  some 
to  be  as  hig5  as  Ihe  Peak  of  Teneriffe. 

5  I  believe  it  is  Guthrie  who  says,  that  the  inhabi- 
tants  of  the  Azores  are  much  addicted  to  gallantry, 
Ihl-'  is  an  ;»B3eriion  in  ^vhtch  even  Guthrie  ntay  bo 
credited. 

6  These  jslands  belong  to  the  Portuguese. 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


97 


Serenely  my  heart  took  Ihe  hue  of  the  hour, 

Its  passitnis  utre  sUepnisj,  were  uiu'e  as  the  dead  ; 

And  the  spirit  bec.ihn'd  but  remember'd  Iheir  power, 
Ai  the  billow  the  fuice  of  the  gale  that  was  fled. 

I  thouaht  of  those  d.ivs,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  graiVcil  a  whh  or  li  sigh  ; 

When  the  s:icl.ifsi  einoljcin  my  bosom  hud  known, 
Was  pily  lor  those  who  «ere  wiser  ib.in  1. 

1  reilecled,  how  soon  In  the  cup  of  Desire 
The  [learl  u(  the  soul  may  be  melted  away; 

How  quickly,  alas,  the  pure  sparkle  of  fire 

We  inherit  from  heav'u,  may  be  quenchM  id  the 
clay ; 

4od  I  pray'd  of  that  Spirit  who  Ii?Tiled  tlie  flame, 
Thit  Pleasuie  no  more  mie:bt  its  purity  dim  j 

So  that,  sullied  but  little,  or  brisrhtiy  (he  same. 
1  migtit  give  back  ilie  boon  1  had  b.iriow'd  from 
Him. 

How  blest  was  the  thought !  it  appeared  as  if  Heaven 
Had  already  an  openiri;;  lo  Paradise  shown; 

As  if,  passion  all  chasten'd  ;in<l  error  forgiven, 
My  heart  then  began  to  be  puiely  its  ov\u. 

I  lonkM  to  the  west,  and  the  be^u'Iful  sky 

Which    moinihg    h.^d    clouded,   was    clouded    no 
more: 

**  Oh  !  thus"  I  exclaimed,  **  may  a  heavenly  eye 
**±3hed  light  ou  the  soul  that  wa^  darkcnM  before." 


TO   THE    FLYING-FISH. t 

When  1  have  seen  thy  snnw-whjte  winj 
From  the  blue  wave  ;it  evening  spriii?,' 
And  show  those  scales  of  silveiy  white, 
So  ffady  to  the  eye  of  light, 
As  if  thy  frame  were  fnrm'd  to  rise, 
And  live  amid  Ihe  gloiious  skie-s; 
Oh  !  it  has  made  me  pruidly  feel, 
How  like  ihy  wing*8  impaiient  zeal 
Is  Ihe  pure  soul,  that  rests  not,  pent 
Wiihin  this  world's  gro-s  element. 
But  lakes  the  win^  ihat  God  hns  given, 
And  rises  into  light  and  heweu  ! 

But,  when  I  see  that  win?,  so  bright. 
Grow  languid  with  a  momenta  flight, 
Attempt  Ihe  paths  nf  air  in  vain. 
And  sink  into  the  w.ives  again  ; 
Alas!  the  fluttering  pride  is  o'er; 
Like  ihee.  awhile,  the  soul  miy  soar, 
But  erring  man  ninst  blush  to  think, 
Like  thee,  agxin  the  soul  may  sink. 

Oh,  Virtue  !  when  thy  clime  I  seek, 
Let  not  my  spirit's  th^Ut  be  weak  : 
Let  me  not,  hke  this  feeble  thing, 
Wilh  b  ine  still  dropping  from  its  wing, 
Just  sp.irkle  in  the  solar  glow 
And  plunge  again  lo  depths  below  ; 
But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  ihrnng 
With  whom  my  soul  halh  dwelt  so  long, 


»  It  is  the  opinion  of  St.  Austin  upon  Genesis,  and 
I  believe  of  nearly  all  tlie  Fathers,  that  birds,  like 
fish,  were  originally  produced  from  the  waters;  in 
defence  of  which  idea  ttiey  have  collected  every 
fanciful  circumstance  which  can  tend  lo  prove  a 
kindred  similiiude  bet^^efn  them  ;  rrvyycveiav  rots 
jtsTOfitvoLS  npos  ra  vijtcra.  Wiih  this  thought  in 
our  minds,  when  we  first  ?ee  the  Flying-Fish,  we 
could  almost  fancy,  that  we  are  prt-sent  at  the  nio- 
nient  of  creation, '-.ud  witness  the  binh  of  the  first 
bird  from  the  waves^ 


Let  me,  In  (hat  a-^piring  day. 
Cast  every  lingering  stain  away, 
And,  paiiline  for  thy  purer  air. 
Fly  up  at  oiicti  and  fijc  me  iheie. 


TO    MISS    MOORE. 


FUOM    NORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA,  NOVKMBER, 
1803. 

In  days,  my  Kafe,  when  life  wns  new. 
When,  luli'd  with  innocence  and  you, 
1  heird,  in  home's  beloved  shade, 
^  din  the  world  a^  di>t.iiice  niide ; 


Wh. 


erynighl,  I 


Anil,  mild  .as  ev 
Looks  on  the  fa 


And  blu^s'd  the 


eary  head 
mthori;ed  bed, 
ling's  ma'roii  hour, 
ily  shutting  flower, 
:•  evelid^  close, 

— -...  into  pure  repose; 

I  nen.  haply  if  a  wetk,  a  day, 
I  liiiger'd  from  tt,at  home  aw,iy, 
How  long  Ihe  little  absence  seem'd  ! 
How  bright  the  lonk  of  welcome  beam'd, 
As  mute  ynu  heard,  with  eager  smile, 
My  tjies  of  all  that  pass'd  the  while  I 

Yet  now,  my  Ka'e,  a  gloomy  sea 
Rolls  wide  between  thai  home  and  me, 
The  moon  may  thrice  be  b^^rn  and  die, 
Ere  ev'n  that  seal  can  reach  uiine  eye, 
Which  used  so  oft,  so  quick  H>  come, 
Slill  hre:iihing  j]l  the  breaih  of  home,— 
As  if.  siill  fiesh.  tbecoidial  air 
From  hps  betov'd  were  lingering  there. 
But  now,  al  is,—  tar  difl'erenl  fale  ! 
it  comes  o'er  ocean,  slow  :md  late. 
When  the  dear  hmd  that  fill'd  its  fold 
With  woids  of  bweetue^B  may  lie  cold. 

But  hence  that  gloomy  thought !  at  last, 
Beloved  K  iie,  the  wa\e^  are  past : 
1  tread  on  enrth  securely  now. 
And  ihegfeen  cedars  hung  bough 
Brea'hes  moie  refre  hnieni  lo  my  eye» 
Thau  could  a  Claude's  divinest  dyes. 
At  length  I  touch  the  ha|ipy  snheie 
To  libeity  and  virtue  dear, 
Where  man  looks  up,  and,  proud  to  claim 
His  rank  williiu  the  social  frame, 
Sees  a  grand  system  round  him  roll, 
Himself  its  centre,  sun,  and  fouI  ! 
Far  ftom  the  shocks  of  Kurope—  far 
From  everv  wild,  elliptic  star 
That,  shooting  with  a  devious  fire. 
Kind  ed  by  heaven's  avenging  ire, 
So  oft  ha'h  into  chaos  huil'd 
The  syitums  of  the  ancient  world. 

The  warrior  here,  in  arms  no  more. 

Thinks  of  the  toil,  ide  confl-ct  o'er, 
And  glorying  in  the  Ireedom  won 
For  hearth  and  t-hiinc,  for  f.irc  and  son, 
Smiles  on  the  dusky  webs  that  hide 
His  sleeping  sword's  rememberd  pride. 
While  Peace,  wiih  sunny  cln-eks  of  toil, 
Walks  o'er  the  free,  unlordcd  soil, 
Effacing  wilh  her  splendid  share 
The  drops  that  war  had  sprinkUd  there 
Thrice  b.^ppy  land  !  wheie  he  who  fliej 
From  the  dark  ills  of  other  skies. 
From  scorn  or  want's  unnerving  woes. 
May  shelter  him  in  pioud  repose  : 
Hope  sings  along  the  yellow  sand 
Ilib  welcome  to  a  pairiol  land  ; 
The  miehty  wood,  wilh  p'^mp,  receivei 
The  stranger  in  it:>  world  of  leaves. 


J3 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA, 


Which  soon  their  barren  plory  yield 

To  the  warm  shed  and  culiur'd  field; 

And  he.  who  came,  of  ail  bereft. 

To  whom  maliffnaut  fate  had  left 

Nor  home  nor  f  nenda  nor  country  dear, 

Finds  home  aud  friends  and  couniry  here. 

Such  15  the  picture,  warmly  ?uch, 
That  Fancy  .oii^,  with  (lurid  touch, 
Had  paiiiteJ  to  my  sanguii:e  eye 
Of  maii's  new  world  of  liberly. 
Oh  !  ask  me  not,  if  Tn.th  have  yet 
Her  seal  on  Fancy's  pmniise  s-t ; 
If  ev*n  a  glimpse  my  eyes  behold 
Of  that  mwgnrd  as:e  of  gold  j— 
Alas,  not  yet  onegleiming  trace!  1 
Is'ever  did  y  u'h,  who  lov'd  a  face 
As  sketcliM  by  some  fnnd  pencil's  skill, 
And  made  by  fancy  lovelier  still. 
Shrink  back  wnh  more  of  sad  surprise, 
When  the  live  model  iret  his  eyes, 
Than  I  have  felt,  in  sonow  felt. 
To  find  a  dream  on  which  1  've  dwelt 
From  boyhood's  hour,  thus  fade  and  flee 
At  touch  of  stern  reality  1 

But,  courage,  yet,  my  wavering  heart  1 
Blinie  not  the  temple's  meanest  part,** 
Till  thou  ha-st  trac'd  the  fabric  o'er;  — 
As  yet,  we  have  beheld  no  Diore 
Th.»n  just  ihe  porch  to  Freedom's  faoe; 
And,  though  a  sable  sp^t  may  ttain 
The  vestibule,  't  is  wrong,  't  is  sin 
To  doubt  the  gndhe>d  re  gus  within  ! 
So  here  I  pause  —  and  now,  my  Kate, 
To  you,  and  those  dear  friends,  whose  fate 
Touches  more  near  this  home  sick  soui 
Than  all  the  Pmvers  from  pnle  lo  pole, 
One  word  a(  parting,— in  the  t  'ne 
Most  sweet  to  you,  and  most  my  own. 
The  simple  strain  I  send  you  here, 3 
Wild  th'ush  it  be,  would  charni  y  ur  ear, 
Bid  you  but  know  ihe  trance  of  thought 
In  which  my  mind  its  numbers  caught. 
»Tw;i9  one  of  those  lialf-wakmg  dieams, 
That  haunt  me  oft,  when  music  seems 
To  btar  my  soul  in  sound  along, 
And  turn  its  feelings  all  to  song. 
I  thought  of  home,  the  according  lays 
Came  full  of  dreams  of  other  days  ; 
Freshly  in  each  succeeding  note 
I  found  some  young  remembrance  float. 
Till  fiiliowing,  as  a  clue,  that  strain, 
1  wander'd  back  to  home  again. 

Oh  !  love  the  song,  and  let  it  oft 
Live  on  your  Up  in  accents  soft. 
Say  that  it  tells  ym,  smtpJy  well, 
Ail  I  have  bid  its  wild  notes  tell,— 


>  Such  romantic  work- as  "  The  American  Farmer's 
Letters,"  and   the  account  of  Kentucky   by  Imlay, 
would  sednce  us  into  a  belief,  that  innocence,  peace, 
i  and  freedom  had  deserted  the  rest  of  the  world  for 
i  Martha's  Vineyard  and  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.     The 
I  French  travellers,  too,  almost  all  from  revolutionary 
motives,  have  contributed  their  share  to  the  diffusino 
of  this  (lallering  misconception.    A  visit  to  the  coun- 
try is,  however,  quite  sulficieni  to  correct  even  the 
most  enthusiastic  prepossession. 
o  Norfolk,  it  must  be  owned,  presents  an  unfavour- 
ble  specimen   of  America.    The  characteristics  of 
Virginia  in  general  aie  not  such  as  can  delight  either 
the  politician  or  the  monlisi,  and   at   Norfolk  they 
;  exhibited  in  their  least  a'tncrive  form.     At  the 
le  when  we  arrived  the  yellow  fever  hid  not  yet 
appeared,  and  every  odour  that  assailed  us  in  tlie 
streets  very  strongly  accounted  for  its  visitation, 

3  A  trifling  attempt  at  musical  composition  accom- 
panied this  Epistle 


Of  Memory's  dream,  of  thoughts  that  yet 
Glow  wiih  the  light  of  jny  that»s  set. 
And  all  ihe  fond  heart  keeps  in  store 
Of  friends  and  scenes  beheld  no  more 
And  nciw.  adieu  !  —  this  artless  air. 
With  a  few  rhymes,  in  t^a^^c^ipI  fair 
Are  all  Ihe  gif  s  I  >et  cin  boast 
'Jo  send  yi  u  from  Columbia's  coast  j 
But  when  the  sun,  with  warmer  smile, 
Shall  lighi  nie  to  my  de^linM  isle,* 
You  shall  have  many  a  cowsIip-t>eII, 
Where  Ariel  slept,  and  many  a  shell. 
In  which  that  gentle  spiiildrew 
f  rooi  honey -flowers  the  moining  dew. 


A    BALLAD, 

THE    LAKE   OF   THE   DISxMAL   SWAMT. 

WRITTEN  AT  KORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA, 

"  They  tell  ofa  youti^ 
death  of  a  girl  he  loved, 

frnm  hiu  frit-nda,  wtiM  never  aflciwards  hrard  ut.  As  he 
had  frequently  enid,  in  hia  ravinpn,  that  the  girl  wa«  not 
dead,  but  gone  tu  the  Dismal  Swamp,  it  is  sujip^.Eed  he  had 
wandered  into  that  dreary  wittleriieBs,  and  had  died  of 
hunger,  ur  been  loiit  in  some  o(  its  dreadful 
Anon. 


**  They  made  her  a  gmve,  (oo  cold  and  danip 

'*  F'-r  a  snul  so  w.irm  and  irue  ; 
"  A  nd  <he  >  iroiie  to  the  L  ke  of  Ihe  Dismal  Swamp,* 
"  Where,  all  nieht  long,  by  a  fire  fly  lamp, 

"She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 

**  And  her  fire-flv  lamp  I  soon  f^hall  see, 

"  And  her  piddle  I  soon  5hali  hear: 
•'Loi.g.Ui.l  l-ving  our  life  ^hill  be, 
"And  1  '11  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree, 

'*  Wtien  the  footstep  of  Death  is  near." 

Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds ~- 

His  path  was  rugged  and  so-e, 
Thr  ugh  (angled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds. 

And  man  never  trod  before. 

And,  when  on  Ihe  earth  he  sunk  lo  sleep. 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  kneu. 
He  lay,  v\  here  the  deadly  vine  dofh  weep 
Its  venr:jnous  tear  and  nightly  steep 

The  flesh  with  blistering  dew  i 

And  near  him  the  she-wolf  slirr'd  the  brake, 
And  the  copper-snake  bretth'd  in  his  ear. 
Till  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 
**0h  !  when  shall  I  see  Ihe  dusky  Lake, 
"And  tlie  while  canoe  of  my  dear?" 

He  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  pl.y'd  — 
"Welcome,"  he  said,  "  mv  dear-one*s  light  !* 
And  the  dim  shore  echoed,  for  many  a  uigbt, 

The  name  of  the  deaib>coId  maid. 

Tin  be  hollow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark. 

Which  carried  him  ofl"  from  shore; 
F-r,  far  he  follow'd  the  meteor  spark, 
The  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  dark, 

And  the  boat  return'd  no  more. 


<  Bermuda. 

*  The  Great  Dismal  Swamp  is  ten  or  twelve  miles 
distant  from  Norfolk,  and  the  Lake  in  the  middle  of  it 
v'aDoiit  seven  niileg  lung)  is  cilled  Druninioud's 
Pond. 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


99 


But  oH,  from  the  Indi»n  hunter's  camp 

This  lover  and  maid  so  true 
Are  seen  al  the  hour  of  midnight  damp 
To  cross  the  Lak«  by  a  fire  liy  lamp, 

And  paddle  their  white  cauoc! 


TO   THE   MARCHIONESS   DOWAGER 
OF    DONEGALL. 

FROM   BERMUDA,  JANUARY,  1804. 

Lady  !  where'er  you  roam,  whatever  land 

Wons  tlie  bright  touches  of  that  artist  hand  ; 
Whelher  you  sketch  the  valley's  golden  meaJs, 
Where  mazy  Lmth  his  lingering  current  leads  j* 
Euaiiii'ur'd  citch  the  mellow  hues  Ihat  sleep, 
Al  eve,  on  Meillerie's  iinniorlal  sleep  ; 
Or  niuMiig  o'er  the  Lake,  ai  d  ly's  decline, 
Maik  the  last  shadow  on  that  holy  shnne.^ 
Where,  many  a  night,  the  hhide  uf  Tell  complaiDS 
or  Gallia's  triumph  aud  Helvetia's  chaius; 
Oh!  hy  the  pencil  for  a  momeol  by, 
Tuin  from  the  canvass  th<t  creative  eye, 
And  let  iis  splendour,  like  the  morning  ray 
Upon  a  shepherd's  harp,  illume  my  lay. 

Yet,  Lady,  no—  for  song  so  rude  as  mine, 
Chase  noi  ihe  wonders  of  your  art  divine; 
Srill,  radinnt  eye,  upm  the  canvass  dwell ; 
Still,  niiieic  finger,  we.ive  your  potent  spell; 
And,  while  I  !>iiig  rhe  Animated  smiles 
of  fairy  nature  in  these  sun-born  isles, 
Oh,  might  Ihe  song  awake  some  bright  design, 
Inspire  a  touch,  or  prompt  one  hippy  line, 
Proud  were  my  snul,  to  see  iis  humble  thought 
On  painting's  miifor  so  divinely  caughi ; 
While  wondering  Genius,  as  he  lean'd  lo  trace 
The  t.ual  cnicepiion  kindling  into  grace, 
Might  love  my  numbers  for  the  spark  Ihey  threw, 
Aud  bless  the  lay  lliat  lent  a  charm  to  you. 

Say,  have  you  ne'er,  in  nightly  vision,  stray'd 
To  those  pure  isles  of  ever-blooniing  shade, 
Which  haids  of  old,  wiih  kindly  fmcy,  plac'd 
For  hajipy  spirits  in  th' Atlantic  waste?  3 
There  listening,  while,  from  earth,  each  breeze  that 

came 
Brought  echoes  of  their  own  undying  fame, 
In  eloquence  of  eye,  and  dre:inis  of  song. 
They  charm'd  their  lapse  of  nighlless  hours  along:  — 
Nor  yet  in  song,  thai  mortal  ear  might  suit, 
For  every  spirit  was  ilself  a  lute, 
Where  Virtue  waken'd,  with  elysian  breeze, 
Pure  tones  uf  thought  aud  mental  harmonies. 

Believe  me,  Lady,  when  the  zephyrs  bland 
Floated  our  bark  to  this  enchan  eJ  land, — 
Thee  leafy  isles  upon  the  ocean  thrown. 
Like  siuds  of  emerald  o'er  a  silver  zone, — 
Not  all  the  chmii,  ihat  ethnic  fincy  gave 
To  blessed  arbours  o'er  the  western  wa\e, 

1  Lady  Donegall,  I  ha'I  reason  to  suppose,  was  at 
this  time  still  in  Switzerland,  where  the  well-known 
pouers  of   her  pencil  musl  have  been  fiequeully 


akeiied. 
a  The  chapel  of  Willi: 


I  Tell  on  the  Lake  of  Lu- 


3  M.  Gebelin,  says,  in  his  Monde  PrimiUf,  "Lors- 
que  Sirabon  crnt  que  les  ancieiis  theoingiens  et  poetca 
placoient  les  champs  elysees  dans  les  isles  de  I'Ocean 
Atiaiiii(;ue,  il  n'emendit  neu  a  leur  doc'nne."  M 
Gebelin'ii  supposition,  1  have  no  doubi,  is  tfie  more 
correct ;  hut  that  of  Strabo  is,  in  the  present  ins'ance, 
most  to  my  purpose. 


Could  wake  a  dream,  more  soothing  or  sublime. 
Of  bowers  ethereal,  and  the  Spirit's  clime. 

Briglit  rose  the  morning,  every  w^ave  was  still 
When  the  tir-t  pe  fume  of  a  ctdar  bill 
Sweetly  a^ak'd  us,  and,  wiih  smiiing  charms, 
The  fairy  harbour  woo'd  u-*  to  its  arins.4 
Geiill\  we  stele,  befoie  the  whispering  wind, 
'I'liiough  pl^iniain  shades,  tb>«t  round,  like  awoiaa, 

twin'd 
And  kiss'd  on  either  side  the  wanton  sails. 
Breathing  our  welcome  to  these  venal  vales: 
While,  far  reflected  o'er  rhe  wave  serene, 
Each  WdodeJ  island  shed  so  soft  a  gieen 
That  the  enanmur'd  keel,  wi  h  whispering  pby, 
Through  liquid  heibage  seeui'd  tu  steal  its  way. 

Never  did  weary  bark  more  gladly  glide, 
Or  rest  its  anchor  m  a  lovelier  tide  ! 
Along  the  margin,  many  a  shining  dome, 
Whi  e  as  the  palace  of  a  Lapland  ^nome, 
Brighien'd  the  wave  ;  —  in  every  myrtle  grove 
Secluded  bashful,  like  a  shrine  of  love, 
Snnie  elfin  mansion  (sparkled  through  the  shade; 
And,  while  the  foliage  interposing  play'd, 
Lending  the  scene  an  ever-changing  grace. 
Fancy  would  love,  in  glimp-es  vague,  lo  trace 
The  flowery  capir;il,  the  shaft,  the  porch,* 
And  dream  of  temples,  till  her  kindling  torch 
Lighted  me  back  lo  all  the  glorious  days 
Of  Attic  genius;  and  I  seem'd  to  gaze 
On  marble,  fmm  the  rich  Pentelic  mount. 
Gracing  the  umbrage  of  some  Naiad's  fount. 

Then  thought  I,  tno,  of  thee,  mnst  sweet  of  all 
The  spiiit  race  thai  c< me  al  poet's  call, 
Delica.e  Aiiel  !  "ho,  in  brigtier  hours, 
Liv'd  nn  Ihe  peifume  of  these  honied  bowers, 
In  vtlvel  buds,  at  evenii  g,  lov'd  to  lie, 
And  win  Willi  music  evtry  rose's  sigh. 
Though  wtak  the  ma^ic  of  my  humble  strain 
To  charm  your  spii  it  from  iis  orb  again, 
Yet,  oh,  for  her,  bentalh  whose  smi  e  1  sing, 
For  her  (whose  pencil,  if  your  rainbow  wing 
Were  dinim'd  or  rultted  by  a  winlry  sky, 
Could  smooth  its  feather  and  relume  iis  dye,J 
Descend  a  moment  from  y-ur  starry  sphe  e, 
And,  if  the  lime-tree  giove  that  once  was  dear. 
The  sunny  wave,  the  bnuer,  the  breezy  hill, 
The  sparkling  grotio  c>m  delight  you  still. 
Oh,  cull  their  choicest  tints,  their  softest  light, 
Weave  all  these  spells  into  one  dream  of  night, 
And,  while  the  lovely  artii^l  slumbering  lies. 
Shed  Ihe  warm  picture  o'er  her  mental  eyes; 
Take  for  the  task  her  own  creative  spells. 
And  brightly  show  what  song  but  faintly  tells. 


4  Nothing  cm  be  more  romantic  than  the  little  har- 
bour of  SI.  George's.  'I  he  number  of  beautilul  islets, 
the  singular  clearness  of  ihe  water,  and  the  animated 
play  of  the  graceful  little  boats,  gliding  for  ever  be- 
tween the  islai  d^,  and  seeming  lo  ^all  fom  one  cedar- 
grove  into  anoiher,  formed  altogether  as  lovely  a 
uiiniature  of  nature's  beauties  as  can  well  be  ima- 
gined. 

5  This  is  an  illusion  which,  lo  the  few  who  are 
fanciful  enough  to  indulge  m  it,  renders  ilie  scenery  of 
Bermuda  particularly  interesting.  In  the  *hort  but 
beautiful  Uvilighlof  their  spring  evening-i,  the  while 
cotages,  scattered  over  the  islands,  and  but  partially 
seen'thnugh  the  trees  that  snrround  them,  assume 
often  the  appearance  of  li'tle  Grecian  temples;  and  a 
vivid  fancy  njay  embellish  Ihe  poor  fisherman's  hut 
v^ith  columns  such  as  the  pencil  i  f  a  Claude  might 
imitate.  1  had  one  favourite  object  of  this  kind  in 
my  walks,  which  the  liospitali'y  of  its  owner  robbed 
me  of,  by  asking  me  to  visit  him.  He  w.is  a  plain 
good  man,  and  received  me  well  and  warmly,  but  I 
could   never  tuiu  his  house  into  a  Grecian  temple 


100 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA. 


ro   GEORGE    MORGAN,    ESQ. 

OF   NORFOLK,    VIRGINIA.' 

FROM     BERMUDA,     JANUARV,    1804. 

KtivTj  d^  t]Vifiot<r<ra  /cat  arpoffo?,  otti  -5-'  dXiffXr^g, 
AiOviTfi^  Kat  fjtaWov  Eitidofios  flJETrep  lirnoiSt 
n.ov7(i>  tvi<rT7}i<raL. 

Catlimach.  Hyrmij  in  Dd.  v.  II. 

Oh,  what  a  sea  of  stnrm  we  've  pa's'd  !  — 

Hi£;h  mouiitaiu  wave*  and  fj.miy  showeri, 
Aiiil  bntlling  Winds  whose  swage  blast 

But  ill  agrrees  with  one  whose  hnure 

Have  passed  in  old  Anacrenn's  bowers. 
Yet  think  do(  poesy's  bright  cliarm 
F'Tsook  me  in  ihis  rude  alarm  :  '^ — 
When  close  they  reePd  the  timid  sail, 

When,  every  f.laiik  coniplaiinng  loud. 
We  lahour'd  in  the  n.idnishi  gale, 

And  ev'n  our  h  iughi\  main-niaat  bow'd, 
Even  then,  in  that  imlovtly  hour^ 
The  Muse  sdlt  brought  her  soothing  power, 
And,  midst  the  war  of  waves  and  wind, 
In  song's  Elysium  lapp'd  my  mind. 
Nay,  when  no  numtjers  of  my  own 
Responded  to  her  wakening  tone, 
She  npKuM,  with  her  golden  key, 

The  casket  where  my  memory  lays 
Those  gems  of  classic  poesy, 

Which  time  has  sav'd  fiom  ancient  days. 

Take  one  of  these,  to  Lais  sung, — 
I  wrote  it  while  my  hammock  swung, 
As  one  mislit  wi  ile  a  di^sertatinn 
Upon  "i>ui>pended  Animation  !  " 


'  This  gentlemcin  is  attached  lo  the  British  consu- 
late at  Nbifolk,  His  talenis  are  worthy  of  a  mucl 
higher  sphere;  but  the  excellent  disposi  ions  of  thi 
family  with  whom  he  resides,  and  the  cordial  repose 
he  enjoys  amongst  some  of  llie  kindest  hearts  in  the 
world,  should  be  almost  enough  lo  atone  to  him  for 
the  worst  caprices  of  fortune.  The  consul  him-^elf, 
Colonel  Hamilton,  is  one  among  ihe  very  few  instan- 
ces of  a  man,  ardently  loyal  lo  his  king,  and  yet  be- 
loved by  the  Americans.  His  house  is  (he  very  tem- 
ple of  hospitali'y,  and  I  sincerely  piiy  Ihe  heart  of 
th.it  stranger  who,  warm  fnim  the  welcome  of  such  a 
board,  could  sit  d^wu  to  write  a  libel  on  his  host,  in 
the  t  ue  spirit  of  a  modern  philosophist.  See  the 
'J'ravels  of  Ihe  Duke  de  la  Rouchefuucault  Liaucourt, 
vol    ii. 

2  We  were  seven  days  on  our  passage  from  Nor- 
folk to  Bermuda,  during  three  uf  which  we  were 
foiced  lo  lay-to  in  a  gale  of  wind.  The  Driver  sIoo[ 
of  war,  in  which  1  went,  was  built  at  Bermuda  of 
cedar,  and  is  accoun'ed  an  excellent  sea-boaf.  She 
was  then  conmianded  l»y  my  very  much  regretted 
friend,  Capttin  Complon,  who  in  jiily  laM  was  killed 
aboard  the  Lily  in  an  action  with  a  French  privateer. 
poor  Compton !  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  str.uige  im- 
pclicy  of  allowing  such  .i  miserable  thing  as  the  Lily 
to  remain  in  the  service;  so  small,  crank,  and 
manage:ible,  that  a  well-manned  merchautman 
at  any  time  a  match  f-r  her. 

3  This  epigram  is  by  Paul  'he  Silentiarv,  and  may- 
be found  in  the  Analt-cla  of  Brunck,  vol'  lii.  p.  72, 
As  the  reading  Iheie  is  somewhat  diflVrent  from  what 
I  hive  foMowed  in  this  iransla'ion,  1  shall  give  it  as  I 
had  it  in  my  memory  at  the  lime,  and  .-is  it  is  in 
Heinsius.  who,  1  believe,  first  produced  the  epigram. 
See  his  Foem.>ta. 

Hdv  fitv  t(T7i  <}nXij^a  TO  Aaidos'  fjdv  St  avruv 


Gush  from  your  eyelids,  such  as  start 
When  those  who  've  dearly  lov'd  must  part. 
Sadly  you  lean  your  head  to  mine, 
And  mute  Iho^e  arms  around  me  twine, 
Ydui  hair  adow  n  my  bosom  8i)read, 
All  ;;iittering  with  the  tears  you  shed. 
In  vam  Pvekiss'd  those  lids  of  snow, 
For  stilll,  like  cease!e,^s  founts  they  flow, 
Bathing  our  clieeks,  whene'er  they  meet. 
Why  IS  it  thus  ?  do,  tell  me,  sweet ! 
Ah,  Lais!  are  my  ly>  tigs  right? 
Am  I  lo  lose  you?        .,-night 

Our  last go,  iAise  lo  lieaven  and  ma  I 

Your  very  tears  are  tieachety. 


Such,  while  ir  jlt  I  floating  hung, 

buch  was  the  strain,  Moigante  miol 
The  muse  and  I  together  sung, 

Wiih  Boreas  to  make  out  the  trio. 
But.  bless  the  liltle  fairy  isle ! 

How  sweetly  afler  all  our  ills. 
We  saw  the  sunny  morning  smile 

Seenely  o*cr  its  fragrant  hills  j 
And  felt  the  pure,  delicious  flow 
Of  airs,  Ihrtt  round  Ibis  Eden  blow 
Freshly  as  ev'n  the  gales  that  come 
O'er  our  own  healthy  bills  at  home. 

Could  you  but  view  (he  scenery  fair, 

That  now  beiiea  h  my  window  lies, 
You  'd  (hink,  that  nature  lavish'd  there 

Her  purest  wave,  her  softest  skies. 
To  nnke  a  heaven  for  love  to  sigh  in, 
For  bards  to  live  and  saints  to  die  in. 
Cl'ise  to  my  wooded  bank  below, 

In  glassy  c.ilm  the  waters  sle^p, 
And  lo  Ihe  sunbeam  proudly  show 

The  coial  rocks  they  love  to  steep.4 
The  fainting  breeze  of  morning  fails  ; 

The  d^ow^y  boat  moves  slowly  past, 
And  I  can  almost  touch  its  sails 

A'  loose  they  flap  around  Ihe  mast. 
The  noontide  sun  a  (.plendour  pours 
That  lights  up  all  these  leafy  shores  ; 
While  his  own  heav'n,  i's  clouds  and  beams 

So  piclured  in  the  waters  he, 
That  each  snail  l»ark,  in  parsing, seems 

To  float  along  a  burning  sky. 

Oh  for  the  pinnace  lent  to  thee,* 

Blest  dreamtT,  who,  in  vision  bright. 

Didst  sail  oVr  heaven's  solar  sea, 
And  touch  at  all  ils  isles  of  light. 


Koi  rroXv  KixXt^ovca  aoSeis  iv€o<ttdvxov  oiyAi/v, 

'llfLiTipa  Kt<paX7)v  d7]()OV  Eoito-afici't], 
Mfpo/i£f jjv  6*  t<}>iXi)(Ta'  Ttt  d'  ois  fpocrtpi/j  airo 

AaKQva  iiiyvvfitvuiv  Trmrt  Kara  <TTOfiaTtuv* 
Eirrt  d'  aviiQOfitvcj,  Ttvog  ovvcxa  daKpva  Aa^ttg  ; 
Attdia  fii]  (It  XltctjS'  tcTfi  yap  dpnaTrarai. 

*  The  w.iter  is  so  clear  around  the  island,  that  the 
rocks  are  seen  beneath  to  a  very  great  depth;  and,  as 
we  entered  the  harbnur,  they  appeared  lo  us  so  near 
the  5urface  that  it  t^eemed  impossible  we  should  not 
strike  on  them.  There  is  no  necessity,  of  course,  for 
heaving  the  lead;  and  the  negro  pilot,  looking  down 
at  the  rocks  fmm  the  bow  of  the  ship.  lakes  her 
through  this  difficult  navigation,  wi'h  a  skill  and  con- 
fidence which  seem  to  astonish  some  of  the  oldest 
sailoiB. 

*  In  Kircher's  "  Ecstatic  Journey  to  Heaven,"  Cos- 
miel,  the  genius  of  the  world,  gives  Thendidactus  a 
boat  of  asbestos,  wilh  which  he  embarks  into  the  re- 
gions of  the  sun.  *'Vide5{^ays  Cosmiel)  banc  ashes- 
tinam  naviculam  commodita'i  tuae  pras|-aratani."  — 
Hmtrar.  L  Dial.  i.  cap.  5.  This  work  of  Kircher 
abounds  w  ith  strange  fancies. 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA, 


101 


Sweet  Venus,  what  a  clime  he  found 
W'i  hin  Ihy  orlj's  ambrosial  round!— l 
There  spring  the  breezes,  rich  and  warm. 

That  8is:h  around  Ihy  vesper  car  j 
And  angels  d\«ell,  so  pure  of  form 

That  each  appe-*rs  a  living  star.* 
These  are  the  >prites,  celestial  queen  I 

Thou  semlest  nightly  to  the  bed 
Of  her  I  love,  with  t.ucli  unseen 

Thy  plantt's  brighiening  lints  to  shed  ; 
To  lend  Ihat  eye  a  iifflit  still  clearer, 

To  Kive  thai  cheek'one  rose-blush  more, 
And  bid  that  blushing  lip  be  dearer, 

Which  had  been  all  too  dtar  before. 

Ei,  whither  means  the  muse  to  roam? 

'Tib  time  to  call  Ihe  wandeier  home. 

Who  cnuld  have  thought  the  nymph  would  perch  her 

Up  in  Ihe  clouds  wi-h  F^ither  Kiicher  ? 

So,  health  and  love  In  all  your  niausioii ! 

Lont;  may  tlie  biiwl  that  pleasures  bloom  in, 
The  (low  of  heart,  the  snuIN  expansion, 

Mirth  ai'd  sone,  your  board  illunilne. 
At  all  your  feas's.  remember  too, 

When  cups  are  sparkling  to  the  brini| 
Thai  here  is  one  who  drinks  lo  yny, 

And,  oh  \  as  warmly  drink  to  him. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  A  STORM  AT  SEA. 

That  sky  of  clouds  is  not  the  sity 
To  light  a  lo\er  lo  the  pillow 

Of  her  he  loves  — 
The  swell  of  ynnder  foaming  billow 
Hesembles  n»t  the  liappy  sigh 

That  rapture  moves. 

Yet  do  I  feel  more  tranqiiil  far 
Amid  the  gloomy  wild,  of  ocean, 

Inthi-  dark  hour, 
Than  when,  in  pa^siol^s  young  emotioiii 
I  've  stolen,  beneath  the  evening  etar, 

To  Julia's  buwer. 

Oh  '.  there  's  a  holy  calm  profound 
In  awe  like  this,  that  ne'er  was  given 

To  pleasure's  th. ill; 
'T  is  as  a  solemn  voice  from  heaven, 
And  tlie  soul,  lis'ening  to  Ihe  ^ouud, 

Lies  mule  and  btill. 

»Tis  true,  it  lalka  of  danger  nigh, 

Of  slumbering  with  ihe  dead  to-morrow 

In  Ihe  cold  deep, 
Where  pleasure's  Ihrob  or  (ears  rf  norrow 
No  more  sh  dl  wake  the  heart  or  eye, 

But  all  must  sleep. 

Well '.  —  there  are  some,  thou  stormy  bed, 
To  whom  thy  sleep  would  be  a  treasure; 

Oh  !  most  to  him, 
Whose  lip  hath  drain'd  life*3  cup  of  pleasure, 
Nor  left  one  hoiiev-drop  to  shed 

Round  s      '     "       " 


I  When  the  Genius  of  the  world  and  his  fellow-tra- 
veller  arrive  at  the  planet  Venus  they  find  an  i^laud  of 
lovfcline-s,  full  of  odours  and  mielligences,  wheie  an- 
gels preside,  who  shed  the  cosmetic  influence  nf  this 
planet  over  the  earth  ;  such  bein?,  according  to  .islro- 
fogers,  the  "vis  intiuxiva"  of  Venus.  When  ihey 
are  in  this  part  of  the  heavens,  a  casiii^Hcal  question 
occurs  to  TheoJidacius,  and  he  asks,  •'  Whether  bap- 
tism may  be  pei  formed  »  ith  the  valers  nf  Venus  ?" — 
**  Anaquis  globi  Veneris  bap  ismus  instilui  possit  ?"  to 
which  the  genius  answers,  "  Certainly." 

1  This  idea  is  Faiher  Kircher's.  "Tot  aniraatos 
soles  dixisses.'*—  Itinerar.  I.  liial.  i.  cap.  5, 


Yes  — he  can  fniile  serene  at  death: 

Kind  heaven,  ilo  thou  but  chase  the  tveepinr 

Of  friends  who  hive  hini; 
Tell  thein  that  lie  lie?  calmly  sleeping 
Where  sorrow's  stin^  or  envy's  Lreath 

Is'u  more  shall  niove  h.m. 


ODES     TO     NEAJ 

WRITTEN     AT     BERMUDA. 


NEA  iv^avvEi. 

Euripid.  Media,  t.  967. 


Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again, 

'1  here  was  a  lime  when  love  was  flweet: 
Dear  Nea  !  had  1  known  Ihee  then, 

Our  ^ouls  had  not  been  slow  lo  meet. 
But,  oh,  this  weary  heart  hath  run, 

JSo  many  a  time,  the  rounds  ot  pain. 
Not  ev'n  for  thee,  lliou  lovely  one. 

Would  1  endure  such  pangs  again. 

If  there  be  climes,  where  never  yet 
The  piint  nf  beauty's  fool  was  set. 
Where  man  may  (la^s  his  loieless  nights, 
Ui.fever'd  bv  her  false  delighls. 
Thither  my  wounded  soul  would  fly, 
Where  ro-y  clietk  or  r  .diani  eve 


Shnuld  bri 
Norfelli 


iheirblii 


De 


:  to  e 


ab-e 


Ith  agii 


r  pam, 


:  eyes  of  li^hl, 

ny  own, 


Thnuirb  li'tlepn 
Now  fl  ,at  before  n 

As  »  hen  they  tiist  ei.aniouriii^  shone,— 
What  hours  and  d.iys  have  I  see~n  glide, 
While  fix'd.  enchained,  by  thy  side, 
Unmindful  of  the  Heeling  day, 
1  've  let  life's  dream  dissolve  away. 
O  bloom  ol  youih  iinrfu>ely  shed  ! 

0  moments  !  simply,  vainly  s|  ed. 
Yet  sweetly  loo  —  for  Love  perfum'd 
The  flame  which  thus  my  life  cnsum'd  ; 
And  brilliant  w  is  the  chain  of  tioweis, 
lu  which  he  led  my  vic'im-hours. 

Say,  Nei,  say,  couldst  thou,  like  her. 
When  warm  to  feel  .riid  quick  lo  err, 
Of  loving  fond,  of  rovrng  fonder. 
This  ihoughtless  soul  might  wish  to  wander,— 
Couldst  thou,  like  her,  the  \\\A\  reclaim, 

Endearing  still,  reproaching  never, 
Till  ev'n  this  heari  should  burn  with  shame. 

And  be  thy  own  more  fix'd  than  ever? 
No,  no—  on  earth  there  's  only  one 

Could  bind  such  faithless  folly  fast; 
And  sure  on  earlli  Iiut  one  alone 

Could  make  such  virtue  lalseatlasti 

Nea,  the  heart  which  she  forsook. 

For  thee  were  but  a  worllilesa  shrine  — 

Go,  lovely  irirl,  ih.it  angel  look 
Must  thrill  a  soul  more  pure  than  mine. 

Oh  !  thou  Shalt  be  all  else  lo  me. 
That  heart  can  fee!  or  tongue  can  feign, 

1  '11  praise,  admire,  and  worship  thee. 

But  must  not,  dare  not,  love  again. 


Tale  iter  omne  cnTe. 

Propifrt,  lib.  It.  ellf.  6. 

I  pray  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore. 


102 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


Where  late  we  Ihonghtlets  stray'd  ; 
T  was  not  for  us,  wJiotii  heaveo  intends 
To  be  no  mnre  ihnn  simple  ttiends, 

Such  lonely  walks  were  made. 

That  little  Ray,  "here  turning  in 
Froiii  ocean's  i  iidc  ar  d  angry  din, 

As  I'lveis  -teai  lo  bliss, 
The  billows  ktss  Ihe  •■lu.re,  and  thea 
Flow  back  inin  ihe  deep  again, 

As  thuugh  ihey  did  nut  kibs. 

Remember,  o'er  its  circling  floaj 

In  ^vha'  a  dangerous  dream  we  stood  — 

Ihe.-siieur  sea  befme  us, 
Around  u*,  alt  ilie  gloom  of  grove, 
That  ever  lent  its  sliade  to  love, 

Wo  eye  but  heaven  's  o'er  us  ! 

I  saw  you  blush,  ynu  felt  me  tremble. 
In  vain  w^.uld  luniul  art  dissemble 

All  ue  then  lookM  and  thought; 
'T  was  more  than  Inngue  could  date  reveal, 
'T  was  ev*iy  thing  that  young  hearts  feel, 

By  Love  and  Waiure  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  kist  the  shell,  I  kist  it  too  — 

How  sweet,  how  wrong  it  seem*d  ! 

Oh,  trust  me,  't  was  a  place,  an  hour, 
The  worst  that  e'er  the  templer'i  power 

Could  tangle  me  or  yuu  in ; 
Sweet  Nea,  let  us  mam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  >hore, 

£ucli  walks  may  be  our  rL.iu. 


You  read  it  in  these  spell-bnnnd  eyes, 

And  there  alone  shnuld  love  be  read  ; 
You  hear  me  say  it  all  in  sighs. 

And  thus  ainne  should  love  be  s.iid. 
Then  dread  no  more;  I  will  not  speak j 

Although  my  he.irt  lo  angnish  thrill, 
I  '11  spare  the  burning  of  your  cheek, 

And  look  it  all  in  silence  still. 
Heard  you  the  wi^-h  I  dar'd  to  name, 

To  murmur  on  that  luckles  night. 
When  px-si'  n  broke  the  bonds  of  shame, 

And  Inve  grew  madness  in  your  sight? 
Divinely  through  the  graceful  dance, 

Vou  seenrd  to  fi0:Tt  in  silent  snng. 
Bending  to  earth  that  suony  glance, 

As  if  to  hght  your  steps  along. 
Oh  !  how  could  others  dare  to  touch 

That  hallow'd  form  with  hand  so  free, 
When  but  to  look  was  bliss  too  much. 

Too  rare  for  all  but  Love  and  me  ! 
With  smiling  eyes,  "hat  little  thought 

How  fatal  "eie  the  beams  they  threw, 
My  trembling  hands  you  lichtly  caught, 

And  round  me,  like  a  spirit,  flew. 
Heedless  of  all,  but  you  alone,— 

And  yoii^  al  lea-t,  should  no;  condemn. 
If,  whfn  such  eyes  before  me  shniie, 

My  soul  forgot  all  eyes  but  them, — 
I  dar'd  to  whisper  passion'!:  vow, — 

For  love  had  ev'n  of  thought  beref:  me,— 
Nay,  half-w  .y  bent  to  kiss  thii  binw. 

But,  with  a  bound,  yotj  blushing  left  me. 
Frtnfrt,  forget  thai  night's  ofiWnce, 

Forgive  it,  if,  alas!  you  can; 
T  w;t9  love,  't  was  passion  —  f^oul  and  sense  — 
T  W2a  all  tliat  's  best  and  worst  in  oian. 


That  moment,  did  th'  asgcmblcd  eyes 
Of  heaven  and  earth  my  madness  view, 

I  should  have  seen  through  earth  and  skisty 
But  you  alone  —  but  only  you. 

Did  not  a  frown  frnm  you  reprove, 
Myiiads  of  eyes  lo  me  were  none; 

Enough  f'tr  me  to  win  your  Inve, 
Aiid  die  upon  the  spot,  wheu  won. 


A   DREAM   OF   ANTIQUITY, 

I  just  had  turn'd  Ihe  classic  pnge, 

And  irac'd  that  happy  period  over, 
Wiien  blest  ;tlike  weie  youth  and  age, 
And  love  inspiied  the  wisest  s.ige. 

And  wtiidom  graced  the  leuderest  lover* 

Before  I  Ind  me  down  to  sleep 

Av\hilel  from  the  lattice  gaz'd 
Upon  ihal  stdl  ai  d  m<ionlii:h  det^p. 

With  isles  like  floating  gaideiis  rais'd. 
For  Ariel  there  his  spcrls  to  keep  ; 
While,  gliding  't  wixt  their  leafy  shores 
The  lone  highl-ii;her  phed  his  oars, 

I  felt,— so  strongly  fancy's  power 
Came  o'er  me  in  that  witching  hour, 
As  if  the  whole  bright  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky. 
And  1  then  breath'd  the  blissful  air 

That  late  had  Ihrilld  to  Sappho's  sigh. 

Thus,  waking,  dreamt  I,— and  when  Sleep 

Canie  o'er  my  sense,  the  dream  went  on 
Nor,  through  her  curtain  dim  and  deep, 

Hath  ever  lovelier  vision  slione. 
I  thought  that,  all  enr.<pt,  I  stray'd 
Through  that  -erene,  luxurious  shade,* 
Whfre  Epicurus  taught  (he  Loves 

To  pidish  virtue's  native  biigh'ness,— 
As  pearls,  we  're  told,  that  fondling  di.ves 

Have  play'd  wiih,  wear  a  smoother  whitenea*.* 
»T  was  one  r.f  those  delicious  nights 

Sn  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  withdraws  but  half  ite  lights, 

And  alt  is  moonshine,  balm,  and  peace. 
And  ihou  wert  ihere,  my  own  belov'd, 
And  by  ihy  side  I  fondly  rovd 
Through  many  a  temple's  leverend  gloom, 
And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom, 
Where  Beauty  learn'd  what  Wisdom  taught, 
And  sages  sigh  d  and  lover*  thought ; 
Where  schoolmen  conn'd  no  maxims  stern. 

But  all  was  fnrm'd  to  soothe  or  move, 
To  make  the  dullest  love  lo  learn. 

To  make  (he  coldest  learn  to  love. 

And  now  the  fairy  pathway  seem'd 
To  lead   us  through  enchanted  ground^ 

Where  all  that  bard  h^s  eve?  dream'd 
Ofl  ve  or  luxury  blonm'd  around. 

Oh!  'twas  a  bright,  bewildering  ^cene  — 

Along  the  alley's  deepening  green 

Soft  lamps,  that  hnng  like  burning  flowers. 

And  ; '    -  '   "       ■-■  "-  •-- - 


nted  and  illum'd  the  bowt 


1  Gassendi  thinks  that  the  girdens,  which  Pausa- 
nlas  nieritioiis,  in  his  first  book,  »ere  tho-e  of  Epicu- 
rus; and  Stuart  says,  in  his  Antiquities  of  Athens, 
'*Near  this  convent' ithe  convent  of  Hagios  Asomatos) 
is  the  I  I'ce  called  at  picenl  Kepoi,  or  the  Gardens; 
and  Anipelos  Kepos.  or  the  Vineyard  Garden  :  these 
v*ere  probably  the  gardens  which  Pausanias  visited." 
Vol.  i.  chiip.  2. 

^  This  method  of  polishing  pearls,  by  leaving  them 
awhile  to  be  played  with  by  doves,  is  men  ioiied  b^ 
the  fanciful  Cardauus,  de  Kerum  Varietal,  lib.  Tii> 
cap.  34. 


POEMS    RELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


103 


Seem'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  rovet 
Amid  the  lone  Hercyoian  grove?, 
Appear  those  countless  birds  of  light, 
That  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night. 
And  from  their  witi^s  difl'use  a  lay 
Along  the  traveller's  weary  way.i 
'T  was  light  of  ihat  Miy>terious  kind, 

Thrnugh  which  the  soul  perchance  may  roam, 
When  It  has  left  this  world  helund, 

AnJ  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home. 
And,  Nca,  Ihou  wert  by  my  side, 
Tlirough  all  Ihis  heav'ii-ward  path  my  guide. 

But,  lo,  as  wand'ring  thus  we  ranged 
That  upward  patli,  the  vision  chang'd  ; 
And  now,  inetlumglii,  we  stole  along 

Through  halls  of  more  vuluptuous  glory 
Than  ever  liv'd  in  Ttian  song, 

Or  wantoii'd  in  Milesian  story. « 
And  nymphs  were  there,  whose  very  eyes 
SeemM  sotten'd  o'er  wiih  breath  of  sighs; 
Wh'se  evry  ringlet,  as  it  wiealh'd, 
A  mute  appeal  to  passion  breath'd. 
Some  flew,  with  amber  cups,  around, 

Touring  the  tlowery  wines  of  Crete  ;  3 
And,  as  they  pa<-sM  with  youthful  bound. 

The  onyx  shone  beueaih  their  feet.* 
While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow 

Eutwiu'd  by  snakes  of  burnish'd  gold,' 
And  showing  charms,  as  loih  to  show. 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold.s 
Glided  among  the  festal  throng 
Bearing  rich  urns  of  flowers  along. 
Where  roses  lay,  In  Languor  breathing. 
And  the  young  beegrape,^  round  them  wreathing, 
Hung  on  their  blu!.he5  warm  and  meek, 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek. 

Oh,  Nea!  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  Ihat  Ilius  divinely  bound  me? 

Why  did  i  wake?  how  cmild  I  »ake 

With  thee  uiy  own  and  heaven  around  me ! 


Well  —  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be, 
Aud  health  to  that  cheek,  though  il  bloom  not  for  v.r 


1  In  llercynio  GermaniiP  sallu  inusitala  genera  ah* 
turn  accepimus,  quarum  plumse,  ignium  luudo,  collu* 
ceant  noctibus,  — /"iin.  lib.  x.  cap.  47, 

^  The  Miiesiacs,  or  Milesian  fables,  had  their  ori- 
gin in  Miletus,  a  luxurious  town  of  Ionia,  Aristides 
was  the  most  celebrated  author  of  these  liceniinus 
fictions.  See  Plutarch  (in  CrassoJ,  who  calls  them 
OKoAacTa  fSiSMa. 

3  "  Some  of  the  Cretan  wines,  which  Athenaeua 
calls  Oivo?  avOotTfuas,  from  their  fragrancy  restni- 
biing  that  of  the  finest  flowers."  —  Bairy  mi  H'itiiSt 
chap.  vii. 

4  It  appears  that  in  very  splendid  mansions,  the 
floor  or  pavement  was  fiequenily  of  onyx.  Thus 
Martial :  ■*  Calcatusque  tuo  sub  pede  lucet  onyx.-' 
£pig.50,  lib.  xii. 

3  Bracelets  of  this  shape  were  a  favourite  ornament 
among  the  women  of  amiqui  y.  ()i  tniKapJTiot  ofpti^ 
Kai  ai  ;vP''-'*'«' f  «'5ttt  BaiCos  Kai  Afno-Tayopay  «ai 
AatCo<i  <l>ap^t.aKa.—  Philostrat.  Epist.  xl.  Luclan, 
too,  tells'us  of  the  ppaxioia-t  tTpa^covTcj.  Sec  his 
Aniores,  where  he  tlesciiljcs  the  dressing  room  of  a 
Grecian  lady,  and  we  lind  the  **  silver  vase."  the 
rouge,  the  tooih-pjvvder,  and  all  the  *'  mystic  order"  of 
arondcra  toilet. 

vov  ano  ttjs  'I'agavrtvtuv  XPW^'^S  Kat  Tpu^Tjj, 
—  PoUvx. 

'  Apiana,  mentioned  by  Pliny,  lib.  xiv.  and  "  now 
called  the  Muscatell  (a  muscaru'm  tclis)",  says  P.mci- 
rollus,  book  i.  sect.  I.  chap.  17. 


To-morrow  I  sail  for  those  cinnamon  grove8,8 
Where  nightly  the  ghost  of  (he  Carribee  roves, 
And,  far  from  the  light  of  those  eyes,  1  may  yet 
Their  allurements  forgive  and  their  splendour  forget 

Farewell  to  Bermuda, 9  and  long  may  the  bloom 
Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  valleys  perfume  j 
May  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade, 
Where  Ariel  has  warbled  and  Waller  lo  has  stray'd. 
And  thou— when,  at  dawn,  tliou  shait  happen  to  roam 
Thn-ushlhe  lime-cover'd  alley  thtt  leads  to  thy  home, 
Where  oft,  when  ihe  dance  and  the  revel  weie  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!  think  <if  the  past  —give  a  sigh  to  ihose  times, 
And  a  blessing  for  me  to  ibat  alley  of  limes. 


If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear, 

And  thou  the  ivle  it  clasps  around, 
I  would  not  let  a  foot  come  near 
My  laud  of  bliss,  my  fairy  ground. 

If  I  were  yonder  conch  of  gold, 
And  thou  ihe  pearl  within  if  plac'd, 

1  would  not  let  an  eye  belmld 
The  sacred  gem  my  arms  embrac'J. 

If  I  were  yonder  orange-tree, 

And  thou  the  blossom  hUmming  there, 
I  would  not  yield  a  biealh  of  thee 

To  scent  the  most  imploiing  air. 

Oh  !  bend  not  o'er  the  water's  brink, 
Give  not  the  wave  that  odorous  sigh, 

1  of  thine  eye, 

Th-it  glossy  hriir,  Ihat  glowing  cheek, 
So  pictur'd  in  the  wafers  seem. 

That  1  could  sla.lly  phwige  lo  seek 
Thy  image  in  the  glassy  stieani. 

Blest  fate!  at  once  my  chilly  grave 
And  nuptial  bed  that  s'reain  might  be; 

1  Ml  wed  thee  in  i's  mimic  wave, 
AnJ  die  upon  the  :>hade  of  thee. 

Behold  the  leafy  mane^rove,  bending 
O'er  the  walers  blue  and  hlipht, 

Like  Nea's  silky  lashes,  lending 
Shadow  to  her  eyes  uf  light. 


Oh.  my  bclnv'd  I  v;\ 
Some  irace  of  Ihei 

•n  every  star  thy  gla 
Thy  blush  on  eve 


■  I  turn, 


y  flow'ret  lies. 


9  The  inhabitants  pronounce  the  n»me  as  if  il  were 
written  Hermooda.  See  the  comnienlalors  on  the 
words  "still-vex'd  Rermodthes,"  in  the  Tempest.  —I 
wonder  it  did  not  occur  to  some  of  Ihose  all-reading 
geritlcn.eii  tliat.  p  *sil  ly,  llit- di-c.'veier  of  this  ••  island 
of  iv^-.   H,  I  .1,  1.1,  ■■  iMi  :l,t  hur  l.ri'ii  no  le^s  a  per- 

sniu-,      I    I,     111.     .■    .    ,1  .'     l,n    ];.   iini.!.;-,   w|iO,  ahoul   lllC 

saiiM-  ;-      I     ■,      !.      M    I         1     I,     ,,,  ,-enlh  century), 

w.i-.  I  .III-.  Il    I     III    I   |||:,  .1  ui.'l,  111  Elhi.ipia, 

and  U^s  li-ll  us  must  u-u  .l.i  li,l  i,t..i  hs  i.f  tlie  Amazons 
and  tin;  Gridius  which  hi-  i  iicoiinUied.  —  Travels  of 
the  Jcmits.  vol.  i.  I  am  afiaid,  hoivever.  it  would 
lake  Ihe  Patriirch  rather  too  much  out  of  his  way. 

10  Johnson  does  not  think  Ihat  Waller  was  ever  at 
Berniuila;  but  Hie  "Account  of  the  Eumpean  Settle- 
ments in  America  "  affirms  it  conridentij-.  (Vol.  ii.) 
I  mention  this  work,  however,  less  for  its  authority 
ttian  for  Ihe  pleasure  I  feel  in  (jiinlin^  an  unacknow- 
ledged produclion  of  the  great  Edmuiid  Burke. 


104 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA. 


Nor  find  I  in  creation  aught 
Of  bright,  or  beautiful,  or  rare, 

Sweet  to"the  sense,  or  pure  to  thought, 
But  thou  art  found  reflected  there. 


THE    SNOW    SPIRIT. 

No.  ne'er  did  the  wave  in  its  element  steep 

An  island  of  lovelier  chirms  ; 
It  blooms  in  the  giant  embrace  of  the  deep, 

Like  Hebp  in  Hercules' arms. 
The  blush  of  ynur  bowers  is  light  to  the  eye, 

And  their  melody  balm  to  the  ear; 
But  the  tiery  planet  of  day  is  ton  nigh, 

And  the  Suuw  Spirit  never  comes  here. 

The  down  from  his  wing  is  as  while  ae  the  pearl 

That  shines  through  thy  lips  when  they  part, 
And  it  falls  on  the  greei,  earth  as  melting,  my  girl, 

As  a  murmur  of  Uiine  on  Ihe  he.irt. 
Oh  ;  fly  to  the  clime,  where  he  pillows  the  death, 

As  he  cradles  the  birth  of  the  ye.ir ; 
Bright  are  ynur  bowers  and  balmy  their  breath, 

But  the  Snow  Spirit  cannot  come  here. 

How  sweet  to  behold  him,  when  borne  on  the  gale, 

And  brightening  ihe  bosom  of  morn, 
He  flings,  like  Ihe  priest  of  Diana,  a  veil 

O'er  the  brow  of  e^ch  virginal  thorn. 
Yet  thiok  not  the  veil  be  so  chillingly  casta 

Is  the  veil  of  a  vestal  severe; 
No,  no,  thnu  wilt  see,  uha'  a  moment  it  lasts, 

Should  the  Snow  Spint  ever  come  tjere. 

But  fly  to  his  region  —  lay  open  thy  zone, 

And  he'll  weep  all  his  brilliancy  dim, 
To  think  that  a  bosom,  as  white  as  his  own, 

Should  not  melt  in  the  daybeam  like  him. 
OhI  lovely  the  print  of  those  deiicite  feet 

O'er  his  luminous  path  will  appear  — 
Fly,  my  beloved  !  this  island  is  sweet. 

But  the  Snow  Spirit  cannot  come  here. 


EvravBa  Se  Kadwpfiia-Tat  i/fiiv*  Kat  6,  rt  jitv 
ovoita  Tjf  vr)<T(f>,  ovk.  oida'  %pvo-ij  d*  av  rrpoj  ys 
sfAOV  ovofia^oiTo.  —  Philostrat.  Icon.  17.  lib.  ii. 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank, 
"While  many  a  bending  seagrape  >  drauk 
The  sprinkle  of  the  feaiheiy  nar 
That  wing'd  me  round  this  fairy  shore. 

'T  was  noon  ;  and  every  orange  bud 
Hung  languid  o'er  the  crys'al  flood. 
Faint  as  the  lids  of  maiden's  e>e3 
When  love-thnughts  in  her  bosom  riso 
Oh,  for  a  naiad's  sparry  bower, 
lo  shade  me  in  that  glowing  hour] 

A  little  dove,  of  mllk^  hue, 
Before  nic  from  a  planliin  flew, 
Ar.d,  light  along  the  water's  brim, 
I  steer'd  niy  genlle  bark  by  him ; 
lor  fancy  Inld  me,  Love  had  sent 
This  gentle  bird  with  kind  intent 
To  lead  my  s'eps,  where  I  should  meet  — 
1  knew  not  what,  but  something  sweet. 

And— bless  the  little  pilot  dovel 
He  had  indeed  been  sent  by  Ijive, 
To  guide  me  to  a  scene  so  dear 
As  fate  allows  but  seldom  heie: 


:  grnpe,  a  iiative  of  thi 


One  of  those  rare  and  brilliant  hours, 
That,  like  the  aloe's^  lingering  flowera, 
May  blossom  to  ihe  eye  of  man 
But  once  in  all  his  weary  span. 

Just  where  the  margin's  opening  shade 
A  vista  from  ihe  waters  made, 
My  bird  re|.os'd  tiis  silver  plume 
Upon  a  rich  banana's  bloom. 

Oh  vi^^ton  bright !  oh  spirit  fair  \ 
What  spell,  what  magic  rais'd  her  there? 
'TwasNea!  slumbering  calm  and  mild, 
And  bloomy  as  the  dimpled  child, 
Who-e  spirit  in  elysium  keeps 
Its  playful  sabbath,  while  he  sleeps. 

The  broad  banana*s  green  embrace 
Hung  shadowy  round  each  tranquil  grace 
One  little  beam  alone  could  win 
The  leaves  to  let  it  wnnder  m, 
And,  sterling  over  all  her  charms. 
From  lip  to  cheek,  from  neck  to  arms, 
New  lustre  to  each  beauty  lent, — 
Itself  all  trembling  as  it  went ! 

Dark  lay  her  eyelid's  jelly  fringe 
I'pnn  thai  cheek  v^hnse  roseate  tinge 
JSlix'd  ;vifh  Its  fhade,  like  evening's  light 
Just  touching  on  the  verge  of  night. 
Her  eyes,  though  thus  in  slumber  bid, 
Seem'd  glowing  ihrough  the  ivory  lid. 
And,  as  I  thought,  a  lustre  threw 
Upon  her  lip's  reflecting  dew, — 
Such  a^  a  night-iamp,  left  to  shine 
Alone  on  some  secluded  shrine, 
Miy  shtd  ut  on  ihe  votive  wreath, 
Which  pious  hands  h.^ve  hung  beneath. 

Was  ever  vision  hnlfso  sweet! 
Think,  think  how  quick  my  heart-pulse  oeat, 
As  o'er  tlie  rustling  bank  I  stole; — 
Oh  !  ye,  that  know'the  lover's  soul, 
ll  is  for  ynu  alone  lo  guess, 
That  momenl's  trembling  happiness. 


A  STUDY  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE, 

Behold,  mv  love,  the  curious  gem 

Within  "this  simple  nng  of  gold  ; 
»T  is  hallow'd  by  ihe  touch  of  them 

Who  liv'd  m  classic  hours  of  old. 

Some  fair  Athenian  girl,  perhaps. 
Upon  her  hand  tins  gem  di^play'd, 

Nor  thought  that  time's  succeeding  lapse 
Should  see  it  grace  a  luvelier  maid. 

Look,  dearest,  what  a  sweet  design ! 

The  more  we  gaze,  it  charms  the  morej 
Come  — closer  bt-ing  that  cheek  to  mine, 

And  trace  with  me  i's  beauties  o'er, 

Thnu  seest,  it  is  a  simple  youth 

Ry  some  eiiamour'd  nyniph  enibrac'd  — 

Look,  as  she  leans,  and  say  in  sonth 
Is  not  that  hand  most  fondly  plac'd  ? 

Upon  his  curled  head  behind 

II  seems  in  careless  play  to  lie, 3 
Yet  presses  gently,  hall  inclin'd 

To  bring  the  iruanl's  lip  more  nigh. 

^The  Agiive.     This,  I  am  aw. re,  is  an  errore 
notion,  but  it  is  quite  t^ue  enough  fr)r  poeiry.     Plato, 
I  think,  allows  a  poet  to  be  "three  removes  fiom 
truth  ;  "  TptTttTo?  atio  Tr}<i  a^'q^aa^. 

3  Somewhat  like  the  symplegma  of  Cupid  and 
Psyche  at  Floience,  in  which  the  position  of  Psyc.ie's 
hand  is  flnely  and  delicately  expressive  of  alTectioo. 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA, 


105 


Oh  happy  maid  !  too  happv  boy  ! 

TIte  one  eo  fond  and  little  loth, 
The  other  yieldine;  slow  to  joy — 

Oil  Hire,  mdted,  but  blissful  both, 

Imngine,  love,  that  I  am  he, 

And  jUit  as  warm  as  lie  is  chilHng; 
Imigine,  loo,  tli.it  thou  art  she, 

Hut  quite  as  coy  as  she  is  willing: 

So  may  we  try  the  graceful  way 

III  which  theii  geutle  arms  are  twiuM, 

And  thus,  like  her,  my  haud  I  lay 
Upon  thy  wrealhed  locks  behiud  : 

And  Ihus  1  feel  thee  breathing  sweet, 
As  slow  to  miue  thy  head  1  move  j 

And  thus  our  lips  together  meet. 
And  tlius,— and  thus,— 1  kiss  thee,  love. 


Ai-islot.  Khttor.  lib.  iii.  cap*  4. 

There 's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine, 

My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot  ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  hid  a  ringlet  shine, 
Nor  ^iv'n  thy  locks  one  sraceful  twine 

Which  I  remember  not. 

There  never  yet  a  murmur  fell 

Fnim  that  beguiling  tnngi.e, 
Which  did  nut,  with  a  liuseriiig  spell, 
Upon  my  charmed  sell^es  dwell, 

Like  songs  fri<m  Kdeu  suug. 

Ah  I  that  I  could,  at  once,  forget 

All,  nil  that  haunts  me  so  — 
And  yet,  thou  witchin;;  ^irl,— and  yet, 
To  die  weie  sweeter  tha:.  to  let 

The  lov'd  remembrance  go. 

No  ;  if  this  slighted  heirt  musi  see 

Its  f.uthlui  pulse  decay. 
Oh  let  it  die,  remt^niheiing  Ihce, 
Arid,  Irke  the  burnt  aroiua,  be 

Consum'd  in  sweets  away. 


TO   JOSEPH    ATKINSON,    ESQ. 

FROM     BERMUDA.* 

"  The  daylizht  Is  gooe  —  but,  before  we  depart, 
"  One  cup  shall  go  round  to  the  friend  of  mv  heart, 
"  The  kiiid(;st,  the  dearest  —oh  !  jud^e  by  the  tear 
^*I  now  ^hed  while  1  nauie  bim,  how  kiud  and  bov 
dear." 

See  the  Museum   Florentinnm,  torn.  ii.  lab.  43,  44. 
There  are  few  subjects  on  which  poetry  could  be  mo 
interestingly  employed  than  iu  illustrating  some  of 
these  ancient  statues  and  gems. 

«  Pinkerlnn  has  said  ihat  "a  ^nnd  Iii^tory  and  de- 
scription of  the  Bermudis  miirbl  atVnid  a  plea 
addition  lo  the  geoj;r.iphical  lib  ary  ;  "  but  there  ct;r- 
tatnly  are  not  materials  fir  such  a  work.  'I  he  island, 
since  the  lime  of  ils  discovmy,  has  experienceil  so 
very  few  vicJssitu'ie-i,  ihe  i  e  pie  have  been  so  in-io- 
lent,  and  their  liade  sn  limited,  that  there  is  but  liitle 
which  the  historian  could  amplify  into  importance; 
and,  with  respect  to  'lit?  iiaUral  [r  reductions  of  the 
country,  the  few  which  the  inh.ibitanis  can  be  in- 
duced to  cultivate  are  o  conmrtii  in  ihe  West  Indies, 
that  they  have  been  dcsc  ibed  by  rvery  natuialist  who 
has  writ'en  any  account  of  those  i^l.^nds. 

It  isofien  asserted  bv  the  tr.ms-AIl mtic  politicians 
that  this  little  colony  deseivei  moie  at  euiion  from 
the  mother-country  than  it  lecei'ves,  and  it  ceriamly 


was  thus  in  the  shade  of  (he  Calabish-Tree, 
With  a  few,  who  could  feel  and  remember  like  me, 
I  he  charm  that,  to  sweeten  my  gobtel,  1  threw 
Was  a  Sigh  to  the  past  and  a  blessing  un  you. 

Oh !  sav,  is  it  thus,  in  the  mirth-bringing  hour, 
When  fi  lends  are  assembled,  u  lien  wit,  in  Cull  flower, 
lis  fuith  from  the  lip,  under  H.'Cchus's  dew, 
losvom^  of  ihouaht  ever  spriN^ing  and  new  — 
nu  sometimes  tenieiT.^er,  .md  halhnv  the  brim 
Of  your  cup  with  a  sit-h,  as  >ou  crown  it  to  him 
Who  IS  lonely  and  ^ad  in  ihese  valleys  so  fair, 
And  would  pine  in  clysium,  if  friends  weieaol  there 

Last  niglil,  when  we  came  from  the  Calabash-Tree, 
When  my  limbi  were  at  lest  and  my  spirit  was  free, 
The  glow  of  the  gr-ipe  and  the  dreums  of  the  day 
Set  the  magical  ^p^ings  of  niy  fancy  in  play, 
And  oh,— such  a  vision  as  haunted  me  theu 
1  would  slumber  for  ages  to  witness  again. 
The  many  I  like,  and  the  few  I  adore. 
The  friends  who  were  dear  and  beloved  before, 
lim  nuver  lilt  now  so  beloved  and  dear. 
At  the  call  of  my  F-ncy,  suironnded  me  here  j 
And  soon,—  vU,  at  once,  did  (he  light  of  their  smiles 
To  a  paiad  se  brighten  this  region  of  isles; 
More  lucid  the  wave,  as  they  louk'd  on  it,  flow»d, 
And  blighter  the  rose,  as  they  g:Uher'd  it,  giow'd. 
Not  tlie'valle;s  Heiaen  (though  water'd  l)y  lills 
Of  the  pea  best  Mow.  from  ih "se  pastoral  hills.1 
Where  the  Song  ri  the  .^hepherd,  pnn.rv.il  and  wild, 
Was  taught  to  the  nymphs  by  iheir  mystical  child,; 


po-8es=es  advantages  of  situation,  to  which  we  should 
not  be  long  insensible,  if  ii  were  once  in  the  hands  of 
an  enemy.  I  was  told  by  a  ceteltraied  friend  of 
Washington,  at  New  York,  that  they  had  furn.ed  a 
plan  f.T  i:s  capture  towards  the  conclusion  ol  the 
American  War;  »'  with  the  in'enlion  (as  he  expIe^sed 
hum^elf,  of  making  it  a  ne>t  of  hornets  fc<r  the  aniH-y- 
ance  of  British  trade  in  thai  pari  of  ihe  woild."'  And 
there  is  no  doubt  it  lies  so  convenun-iy  in  the  liack  lo 
the  VVest  Indies,  that  an  enemy  might  with  ease  con- 
vert it  into  a  ver;  harassing  impednntnt. 

The  plm  of  liish-p  lierkeley  fur  a  college  at  Per- 
muda,  where  Amcric-in  sa^a-es  might  be  converted 
;*nd  educaled,  lhuui;h  concurred  in  by  the  go\ernment 
of  the  day,  was  a  wild  and  u-eless  speculation.  Mr. 
Haiiiiltr  n.  who  was  g.tvenior  ^f  the  island  some 
years  snce,  p'Oposeii,  if  I  mist-ifce  not,  the  esablish- 
ment  of  a  marine  academy  for  the  i.  stiucfion  of  (hose 
children  of  West  Indians,  who  might  be  intended  for 
:tny  nautical  empb  yn.enf.  This  was  a  more  lational 
idei,  and  for  son.elhing  of  this  nature  the  island  is 
admirably  calculated.  But  Ihe  plan  should  be  much 
more  extensive,  and  embrace  a  geneial  system  of 
ednCition;  which  *»ouid  lelieve  Ihe  c  touisis  from 
the  alternative  lo  which  ihey  aie  reduced  .>t  niesent, 
of  either  sending  llieir  sons  to  tngland  (or  iiislruc'ion, 
or  iuirusiinglhtm  to  colleges  in  the  sfa'esof  Anieiica, 
where  ideas,  by  no  meius  favourable  to  Oieat  Britain- 
are  ve.y  sedulously  inculc..:ed. 

The  wnnien  of  lit-rniuda,  though  not  generally  hand- 
sf>nie.  have  an  affection  ile  1  mguor  in  their  look  and 
manner,  which  is  always  iniere  ting.  What  the 
French  imply  by  ihuir  epithet  aimautt  seems  very 
much  the  character  of  the  young  Bertnndian  girla  — 
tin'  prtdisposiiion  to  loving,  which,  with' ut  beiu 
awakened  by  any  particular  object,  tliliuses  itself 
ttirou-h  the  general  manner  in  a  tone  of  lendernesi 
that  never  ftjls  o  fascinate.  1  he  men  of  the  island, 
I  confess,  are  not  very  civilised  ;  and  ihe  old  pbilnso. 
pher.  who  imagined  that,  after  Ihi^  life,  men  v.ould 
he  chansed  in'o  niules,  and  women  in'o  lurlie-dovc-*, 
wr. ul!  linl  the  metamorphosis  in  some  degree  anlici- 
p  ted  al  lierniuda. 

^Mountains  of  Sicily,  upon  which  D-iphnis,  Ihe 
first  inventor  of  buccdic  poetry,  \v;ts  tiuised  by  tlie 
nymphs.  See  the  lively  description  of  ihe-e  moun- 
tains in  Di'  duriis  Siculus,  lib.  iv.  'W^aia  yap  opi) 
*caro  Tqv  Et/crXiav  EffTtv,  it,  i^affi  KaAAet,  K.  r.  A." 


106 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


Could  boast  such  a  luslre  o'er  HnA  and  o'er  wave 
As  (he  magic  of  love  lo  this  priradise  gave. 

Oh.  maitc  of  love  !  unembellish'd  by  you, 
H^ttl)  liiegaidfii  a  blusji  or  Ihe  landscape  a  hue? 
(Jr  shines  there  a  visa  in  nature  or  art, 
Like  ihat  which  Love  opes  thro*  the  eye  to  the  heart  ? 

Alas,  that  a  vision  so  happy  should  fade  ! 
That,  when  innrnin?  around  me  in  brilliancy  pJay'd, 
The  rnse  and  the  stieam  I  had  thought  nf  at  night 
Should  still  lie  before  me,  imfadingly  bright ; 
While  the  friends,  who  had  seeni'd  to  hang  over  the 

stream, 
And  to  gather  the  roses,  had  fled  with  my  dream, 

Bui  look,  *vhere,  ali  ready,  in  sailing  array, 
[  The  bark  that 's  to  carry  these  pages  away^t 
Impatiently  flutters  her  wing  to  the  wind, 
And  will  Foori  leave  the^e  islets  of  Ariel  behind. 
What  billows,  what  gales  is  she  fated  to  prove. 
Ere  she  >leep  in  the  lee  of  the  land  that  I  love  ! 
Vet  pleasaril  the  swell  of  the  billows  would  be, 
And  the  roar  of  those  gales  would  be  music  ?o  me. 
Not  the  trai.quill«t  ajr  that  the  winds  ever  blew, 
Not  Ihe  sunniest  tears  of  the  summer-eve  dew, 
Were  as  sweet  as  the  storm,  or  as  bright  as  the  foam 
Of  the  surge,  that  would  hurry  yuur  wanderer  home. 


THE    STEERSMAN»S    SONG, 

WRITTEN  ABOARD    THE    BOSTON    FRIGATE, 
ii8TH    APRIL.'i 

When  freshly  blous  the  northern  gale, 

And  under  courses  snug  we  tly  ; 
Or  when  liglii  breezes  suell  the  sail, 

And  ro)aIs  proudly  svveep  the  sky  ; 
*Longside  the  wheel,  unwearied  s'lU 

I  stand,  and,  as  my  waictiful  eve 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  1  love,  and  cry, 

Port,  my  boy!  port. 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 

Ri^ht  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer; 
When  by  the  wind  cIo--e-haui'd  we  go. 

And  s'rive  in  v  >in  ihe  poit  to  near; 
X  think  *t  is  thi;s  the  faies  defer 

My  bliss  with  one  that's  faraway, 
And  while  remembrance  springs  to  her, 

I  watch  the  sails  and  sighing  say. 

Thus,  my  boy  !  thus. 

But  see  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft. 

All  hands  are  up  the  yarJs  to  square, 
And  now  the  floating  stu'n-sails  wall 

Our  stalely  ship  through  waves  aisd  air. 
Oh  !  then  I  thmk  that  yet  fnr  me 

Some  breeze  of  fortune  thus  may  spring, 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee  — 

And  in  that  hope  1  smiling  sin;, 

Steady,  boy !  BO. 


TO   THE   FIRE-FLT.a 

U  morning,  when  the  eirth  and  sky 
Are  flowing  with  the  Mih'  of  spring, 

,Ve  see  thee  not,  fhou  humble  fly  ! 
Nor  think  upon  ihy  gleaming  wing. 


>  A  ship,  ready  to  sail  for  England. 

5  I  left  Bermuda  in  the  Boston  about  the  middle  of 
April,  ill  company  with  the  Cambrinn  and  Leander, 
aboard  the  lalter  of  which  was  the  Admiral,  Sir 
AziiTerr  Mitchell,  who  divides  his  ye^r  between 
Halifax  and  Bermuda,  and  is  the  very  soul  of  society 


But  when  the  skies  have  lost  their  hue, 
Anfl  sunny  lights  no  linger  play, 

Ob,  Ihtn  we  see  and  bless  thee  too 
For  sparkling  o'er  the  dreary  way. 

Thus  let  me  ho)ie,  when  lost  to  me 
The  lighls  Ihat  now  my  life  illume, 

Some  milder  joys  may  come,  like  thee. 
To  cheer,  if  not  to  warm,  the  gloom  1 


TO  THE  LORD  VISCOUNT  FORRES. 

FROM   THE   CITY    OF   WASHINGTON. 

If  farmer  times  had  never  left  a  trace 

Of  human  fnilty  in  their  orll^ard  race, 

Nor  o'er  their  pathway  wriiten,  as  thev  ran, 

One  dark  memorial  of  the  crlme^  of  man  j 

If  every  age,  in  new  unconcinus  prime, 

Rose,  like  a  phenix,  from  ihetites  of  time, 

To  wing  Its  way  unguided  ai.d  alone. 

The  future  smiimg  and  ihe  p^st  unknown  ; 

Then  ardent  man  would  to  himself  be  new, 

Eai  th  at  his  foot  and  heaven  within  his  view  : 

We  1  might  the  novice  ht.pe,  the  sanguine  scheme 

Of  full  perfeclion  prompt  his  daring  dream, 

Ere  cold  experience,  with  her  veleran  lore, 

Could  itll  him,  foots  had  dreamt  as  much  before. 

But,  tracing  as  we  do,  through  age  and  clime. 

The  plai  s  of  virtue  midst  the  deeds  of  crime. 

The  ihinking  follies  and  the  reasoning  rage 

Of  nian.  at  once  the  idiot  and  the  sage  ; 

When  still  we  see,  through  every  varying  frame 

Of  arts  and  polity,  his  course  ihe  same. 

And  know  thit  ancient  fools  but  died,  to  make 

A  space  on  earth  for  modern  fools  lo  take  ; 

'Tis  stiantie,  how  quickly  we  ihe  past  totget; 

That  Wisdom's  self  j^hould  not  be  tu'or'd  ye', 

Nor  tire  of  w.tching  for  the  monstrous  birth 

Of  pure  perfection  midst  the  sons  of  earth  I 

Oh  !  nothing  but  Ihat  soul  which  God  has  given, 
Could  lead  us  thus  to  look  on  earth  for  heaven: 
O'er  dross  wiihc.il  to  shed  Hie  light  within, 
And  dream  of  virtue  while  we  tee  but  sin. 

Even  here,  beside  Ihe  proud  Potowmac's  stream, 
Might  vagts  s  ill  pursue   he  flattering  theme 
Of  d.iys  to  come,  when  man  shall  conquer  fate, 
Ri=e  o'er  tlie  level  of  hi?  mottal  state. 
Belie  the  monuments  v{  fiailty  past, 
And  plant  perfection  in  this  world  at  last! 
*'  Here,"  might  they  say,  "shall  power's  divided  reign 
"Evince  thai  patiiols  have  not  lied  in  vain, 
'*  Here  godlike  liberty's  herculean  >nulh, 
*'  Cradled  in  peace,  and  nurtured  up  by  truth 
"To  full  maturity  of  nerve  and  mind, 
"Shall  crush  the  giants  that  bestride  mankind.* 


and  good-fellowship  to  both.  We  separa'ed  in  a  few 
days,  and  ihe  Boston  alter  a  shoit  ciuise  proceeded  to 
New  York. 

3  The  livelv  and  varying  illumination,  wr'h  "hirh 
these  fire  fl  es  I'ght  up  the  wood-  at  night,  gives  quite 
an  idea  of  enchantment.  *'Puis  ces  mnuches  ae 
developpant  de  I'obscurite  de  c^-s  arbres  et  s'appro- 
chani  de  nous,  nous  les  voyinns  'ur  les  orangers  voi- 
sins,  qu'ils  melloent  toui  en  feu,  nous  rendant  la  vue 
de  leiirs  beaux  fruits  dores  que  la  nuit  avojt  ravie," 
&c.  &c.  —  See  VUiUoirc  dts  Antilles,  art  2.  chap.  4. 
liv.  i. 

*  Thus  Mope.  "  Here  the  sciences  and  the  arts  of 
civilised  life  are  to  receive  Iheir  hiehest  improve- 
ments :  here  civil  and  religious  liberty  are  lo  flourish, 
unchecked  by  the  cruel  hand  of  civil  or  eccles  asiical 
tyranny:  here  penius,  aided  by  all  ihe  imprnvemeiitB 
of  former  age!<,  is  to  be  exerted  in  humanBing  niaa- 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


107 


**  Here  shall  religion's  pure  and  balmy  draught 
**  Jn  form  no  more  from  cups  of  sta'e  be  quatl'd. 
*'  But  flow  fnr  all,  through  nation,  rank,  and  >ect, 
'•  Free  as  that  heaven  its  tranquil  wave^  retted, 
"Around  the  columns  of  the  public  shrine 
*•  Shall  growing  arts  their  srauml  wreath  entwine, 
"  Nor  breaihe  corruption  from  ihe  flowering  braid, 
"  Nor  MKiie  that  fabr.c  which  they  biooni  In  shade. 
*'  No  longer  here  shall  Jus:ice  bound  her  view, 
"Or  wrong  the  many,  while  she  nghis  the  few  ; 
*'  But  take  her  range  through  all  the  social  frame, 
**  Pure  and  pervading  as  thar  vital  flnme 
**  Which  warms  at  once  nur  best  and  meanest  part, 
**  Aud  thrills  a  hair  while  it  expands  a  heart  T' 

Oh  golden  dream  !  what  soul  that  loves  to  scan 
The  bright  disk  ra'her  than  the  dark  of  man, 
That  ort  ns  Ihe  good,  while  sniarting  wiih  the  ill, 
And  loves  Ihe  woi  Id  with  all  its  frailty  still,— 
What  ardent  bosom  doc  not  spring  lo  meet 
The  generous  hi'pe,  with  all  that  heavenly  heat. 
Which  makes  the  soul  uawilting  to  resign 
The  thoughis  of  growing,  even  on  earth,  divine  1 
Yes,  dearest  friend,  I  see  thee  glow  lo  think 
The  chain  of  as;es  yet  m.iy  bo.ist  a  link 
Of  purer  texture  Ihwi  Ihe  world  hns  known, 
And  lit  to  bind  us  lo  a  Godhead's  throne. 

But,  is  it  thus  ?  dnth  even  the  glorious  dream 
Borrow  from  truth  Ihat  dim,  uncertain  eleani, 
Which  tempts  us  still  to  t;ive  such  lai  cies  5Cope, 
As  chock  not  reason,  while  they  nourish  hnpe? 
No,  no,  believe  me,  'tis  not  so  —  ev'n  now, 
While  yet  u(>on  Columbia's  rising  btow 
The  showy  smile  of  young  presump'ion  plays, 
Her  bloom  is  poison'd  and  her  heait  decays. 
Even  now,  in  dawn  of  life,  her  sickly  breath 
hums  with  Ihe  taint  of  enjpires  i^ear  their  death  ; 
And,  like  the  nymphs  of  her  own  wiihering  dime, 
She 's  old  in  youth,  she 's  blasted  iu  her  prime. & 

Already  has  the  child  of  Gallia*s  school 
The  foul  Fhiloy  phy  tliat  sins  by  rule. 
With  all  her  Ir.uti  of  reasoning,  damning  art% 
Begot  by  brilliant  heads  on  worthless  heaifs, 
Like  things  Ihat  quicken  after  Nilus'  flood, 
The  venoiii'd  biilh  of  sunshine  and  of  mud,— 
Already  has  she  pour'd  her  poison  here 
O'er  every  ch  irm  that  makes  existence  dear  ; 
Already  blighted,  with  her  blackening  trace, 
The  opening  bloom  of  every  >ocial  giace, 
And  all  those  courtesies,  that  love  to  shoot 
Hound  virtues  s'em,  Ihe  flow'rets  of  her  fruit« 

And,  were  lhe?e  errors  but  the  wanton  tide 
Of  young  luxuriance  or  uncha;ten'd  pnde  ; 
The  fervid  follies  and  the  faults  of  such 
Ab  wrongly  feel,  because  they  feel  loo  much; 
Then  misht  experience  make  Ihe  fever  less. 
Nay,  graft  a  virtue  on  each  warm  excess. 
But  no  ;  't  is  heanless,  speculalive  ill, 
All  youth's  trangression  with  all  age's  chill; 
The  ap;iihy  of  wrong,  the  bosom's  ice, 
A  slow  and  cold  stagnation  into  vice. 


iind,  in  expanding  and  enriching  their  minds  with 
religious  and  philosophical  knowledge,"  &c.  &c.  —  P. 
5tiy. 

»  **  What  will  be  the  old  a?e  of  this  government,  if 
it  19  thus  earlv  dicreprt  !"  Such  w.is  the  rennik  nf 
Fauchei,  the  French  minister  at  Philadelphia,  in  that 
famous  des[>atch  to  his  government,  which  was  inter- 
cepted by  one  nf  nur  cruisers  in  Ihe  \ear  1794.  1  his 
curi>us  mem  rial  ni:»y  i  et mnd  in  Porcupine's  Woiks, 
vnt.  i.  p.  279.  It  remains  a  striking  m-nuinent  of 
republican  intrigue  on  one  side  ai  d  rep  hMcaii  prnflj. 
g.icy  On  the  other;  and  I  woidd  recommend  the  peru- 
sal of  it  to  every  honesi  politician,  who  ma\  labour 
under  a  moment's  delusion  with  respect  to  the  purity 
of  American  patriotism. 


Long  has  the  love  of  gold,  that  meanest  rage, 
And  latest  folly  of  man's  sinking  age. 
Which,  rarely  venturing  in  the  van  of  lift, 
While  nobler  passions  wage  their  healed  strife. 
Comes  skulking  l;ist,  with  selfi»hness  and  fear. 
And  dies,  collecting  luniber  in  the  rear,— 
Long  has  it  p:ilsied  every  g^J^ping  hand 
And  greedy  spirit  through  this  b.irtering  land; 
Turn'd  life  to  traffic,  set  the  demon  gold 
So  loose  abroad  that  virtue's  self  is  sold, 
And  conscience,  truth,  and  honesiy  are  made 
To  rise  and  fall,  like  other  wares  of  trade.^ 

Already  in  this  free,  this  virtuous  state. 
Which,  Frenchmen  tell  us,  was  ordain'd  by  fate, 
To  show  the  world,  what  high  perfection  springi 
From  rabble  senators,  and  merchant  kings,— 
Even  here  already  patriots  learn  lo  steal 
Their  jwivate  perquisi  es  from  public  weal, 
And,  guardians  of  Ihe  country's  saciedfire, 
Like  Afric's  priest,  let  out  the  flame  for  hire. 
Those  vaunted  demagogues,  who  nobly  rose 
From  England's  debiois  to  be  England  s  foes,3 
Who  could  iheir  monarch  in  iheir  purse  forget. 
And  break  allegiance,  but  to  cancel  debt, 4 
Have  prov'd  at  length,  the  mineral's  templing  hue. 
Which  makes  n  patriot,  can  unmake  Iiini  too.a 
Oil!  Fieedoin,  Freedom,  how  1  hate  Ihy  cant! 
Not  Eastern  Unmbast,  not  the  savage  rant 
Of  purpled  madtnen,  were  lliey  iiumber'd  all 
From  Unman  Nero  down  to  Russian  Paul, 
Could  grate  upon  my  ear  so  mean,  so  base, 
As  the  rank  jargon  of  that  factious  race, 
Who,  poor  of  heart  and  prodigal  (>{  word*, 
Foim'd  10  be  slaves,  ye^  struggling  to  be  lords, 
Sfru!  forth,  -fs  p.ttilnis,  Tom  their  negio-maits, 
And  shout  for  rights,  with  lapine  in  their  hearts. 

Who  can,  with  pafience,  for  a  moment  see 
The  medley  mass  of  pr.de  and  misery, 
Of  wiiips  and  charters,  nianacles  and  rights, 
Of  slaving  blacks  and  demcvcjaiic  white9,(> 


*^  '*  Nous  voyons  que,  dans  les  pays  on  Ton  n'est 
afTec'e  que  de  Fesprit  de  cummerce,  on  trafique  de 
toules  les  actions  huniaines  et  de  ton  es  les  vertus  niO- 
rales." — Montesquieu^  dc  VEsprit  des  Lois,  liv.  xx. 
chap.  2. 

3  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  a  wish  lo  justify 
those  arbitrary  steps  of  the  English  government  which 
the  colonies  found  it  so  necessary  to  resist ;  my  only 
object  here  is  to  expose  the  selfish  motives  of  some  of 
the  leading  American  demagogues. 

*  The  most  persevering  enemy  lo  the  inferesfa  of 
this  country,  amongst  the  politicians  of  the  western 
world,  has  been  a  Virginian  meichant,  who,  finding 
it  easier  to  settle  his  conscience  than  his  debts,  was  one 
of  the  first  to  raise  the  s'andard  against  Great  Britain, 
and  has  ever  since  endeavoured  to  revenee  upon  the 
whole  country  the  obligations  which  he  lies  under  to 
a  few  of  its  merchants. 

*  See  porcupine's  account  of  the  Pennsylvania  In- 
suirection  in  179-1.  In  short,  see  Porcupine's  works 
throughout,  for  ample  coirobnration  of  every  senti- 
ment  which  I  have  ventured  to  express.  In  saying 
this,  1  refer  le-s  to  the  comments  of  Ihat  writer  ihan 
to  the  occurrerjoes  wliich  he  has  rcia  ed  aid  the  docu- 
ments which  he  has  preseived.  Opiiiion  may  be  sus- 
pected ot  bias,  but  fac  s  speak  for  themselves. 

6  In  Virginia  the  eflec's  of  ihis  s\stem  begin  to  be 
frit  rather  seriously.  While  t),e  master  ra^es  of 
iibtriy,  the  slave  carmot  bul  catch  the  contagion,  and 
accordingly  Iheie  seldom  elapses  a  moith  without 
son^e  alarm  of  insurrection  amongst  the  negr'^es.  The 
acct'-sion  of  Louisian:*,  ii  is  feared,  will  increase  'his 
embar-assnicnt ;  as  the  numerous  emigrations,  which 
are  cxpeci'd  lo  take  place,  from  the  southern  sta'es  to 
this  nev\ly  acquired  leriitory,  will  consideralily 
diminish  the  white  population,  and  thus  strengthen 
the  pioportion  of  negroes,  to  a  degree  which  must 
uli'mately  tie  tutnous. 


108 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA. 


And  all  Ihe  piebald  polity  that  reigns 

111  free  cnnfusion  o'er  Columbia's  plains  ? 

To  thii^k  that  man,  thou  jus  and  genile  Gnd ! 

Should  stand  before  thee  wiih  a  tyrant's  rod 

O'er  creatures  like  himself,  with  s  -ula  fiom  thee, 

Yet  dare  to  boast  of  ptifect  liherry  ; 

Away,  aw.iy—  i  *d  lather  h"ld  my  neck 

By  doubtful  tenure  fn.in  a  sul  an'*  beck, 

la  climes,  where  liberty  has  scaice  leea  nam'd, 

Nor  any  right  but  th:it  uf  ruling  cUini'd, 

'Vhrin  ihus  lo  live,  where  bastard  Freedom  waves 

Her  fustian  fla?  in  mockery  over  slaves  ; 

Where  — molley  laws  admiiting  no  degree 

Betwix'  the  vilely  shiv'd  and  aiidty  frte  — 

Alike  the  bor.d.ige  and  Ihe  license  suit 

The  bru;e  made  ruler  and  the  inau  made  brute. 

But,  while  I  thus,  my  fiiend,  in  flowerless  song, 
So  feebly  paint,  wiiat  yet  I  feel  so  strong, 
The  ills,  the  vices  of  the  land,  where  first 
Those  rebel  fiends,  that  lack  the  world,  were  nurst, 
Where  treason's  arm  by  n)yaHy  was  nerv'd, 
And   Fieuchmeii  learu'd   to  crush  the  throne  they 

set  v'd  - 
Thou,  calmly  lull'd  In  dreams  of  classic  Ihoughti 
By  birds  illumrn'd  and  hy  ^agea  taui^ht, 
l^^nfst  to  be  all,  upon  ibis  mortal  scene, 
That  bard  hath  fancied  or  that  sage  hath  oeen. 
Why  should  I  wake  Ihee?  why  severely  chase 
The  lovely  forms  i<f  virtue  and  of  grace, 
That  dwfil  before  thee,  like  he  pictures  spread 
Ry  Spartan  matrons  round  the  gen  al  bed, 
Moulding  ihy  f.ncy,  and  with  tradu^il  ut 
Brightening  the  young  conceplums  of  thy  hearf. 

Forgive  me,  Forbes  —  and  should  the  song  destroy 
One  genep'us  hope,  one  thiob  of  social  jny, 
One  high  pulsation  of  the  zeal  for  mnn, 
Which  few  cm  feel,  and  bless  that  few  who  can,— 
Oh  !  turn  to  him,  beneath  wh"se  kindred  eyes 
Thy  talents  open  and  ihy  virtues  use. 
Forget  where  nature  his  been  dark  or  dim. 
And  proudly  study  all  her  lights  in  him. 
Yes,  yes  in  him  the  ernng  world  forget, 
And  feel  Ibat  man  may  leach  perfection  yet. 


TO   THOMAS    HUME,    ESQ.,    M.  D. 

FROM  THE  CITY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Aijjyjjo'o/iat  Jnjyij/tara  icrwy  aniCTa.  Koivojva  <i>v 
KtnovOa  ovK  txuiv. 
Xtnvphont.  Ephes,  Ep/iesiac.  lib.  v. 

'T  is  evening  now  ;  beneilh  the  western  star 
Soft  sighs  Ihe  lover  through  his  sueet  segar, 
At.d  fills  the  ears  of  some  consenting  she 
With  puffs  and  vows,  with  sntoke  and  constancy. 
The  patriot,  fresh  fmin  Freedom'^  councils  come, 
Now  pleas'd  retires  lo  lash  his  slaves  at  home  j 
Or  won,  perliaps,  some  black  A-pasia's  charms. 
And  dream  of  freedom  in  his  bondsmaid's  arms.* 

In  fancy  now,  beneath  the  twilight  gloom. 
Come,  let  me  lead  thee  o'er  this  ''second  Rome  !  "5 


1  The  "  black  Aspasia  "  nf  Ihe  present  ****##  of 
the  Uniied  Slates,  inter  Avernales  hand  ignotissima 
nymph;is.  has  t;iven  rise  lo  much  pleasantry  among 
tlie  anti-democrat  wiis  in  America, 

0  ■*  On  the  original  location  of  the  grnund  now 
allolted  for  the  seat  of  the  Federal  City  (says  Mr. 
WeldJ  tlie  idenlcal  spot  on  which  ihe  capitol  now 
stands  was  called  Home.  This  anecdote  is  rela'ed  by 
many  ag  a  certain  pfognostic  of  the  future  magnifi- 
cence of  this  city,  which  is  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  second 
Rome."  — fVe/d'5  Travels^  letter  iv. 


Where  tribunes  rule,  where  dusky  Davi  bow, 

And  what  was  Goose-Creek  once  is  Tiber  now :  *  — 

This  embryo  capital,  where  Fancy  eees 

Squares  in  morasses,  obelisks  in  trees; 

Winch  secnudsigh  ed  seers,  ev'n  now,  adorn 

With  shrines  unbuilt  and  heroes  yet  unborn. 

Though  nought  but  i^oods  4  and  J n  they  see, 

Where  streets  should  run  and  sages  ought  to  be. 

And  look,  how  calmly  in  yon  radiant  wave, 
The  dying  sun  prepares  his  golden  grave. 
Oh,  mighty  river  I  oh,  ye  banks  of  shade! 
Ye  inatchiess  scenes,  in  nature's  morning  made, 
While  still,  in  all  th'  exuber.mce  of  prime, 
She  pour'd  her  wonders,  lavishly  sublime, 
Nor  yet  had  learn'd  lo  sloop,  with  humbler  care, 
From  grand  to  so:t,  from  wonderful  to  fair  ;  — 
Say,  were  your  towering  hills,  your  boundless  floods, 
Your  rich  savannas  and  majestic  woods, 
Where  bards  should  meditiie  and  heroes  rove, 
And  woman  cliaim,  and  mari  deserve  her  love,— 
Oh,  say,  was  world  so  bright,  but  born  to  grace 
Its  own  half -organised,  hill-minded  race  5 
Of  weak  baib.irians,  swarmitig  o'er  its  breast, 
Like  vermin  gender 'd  on  the  linn's  crest? 
Were  none  but  brutes  to  call  th»l  soil  their  home. 
Where  none  hut  demigi  ds  should  dare  to  roam  ? 
Or  worse,  thou  wondrous  world  !  oh  !  doubly  worse, 
Old  heaven  design  thy  lordly  land  to  nurse 
The  m'  tley  dregs  of  every  dis'ant  clin.e, 
Kach  blast  of  anarchy  and  taint  of  crime 
Wh'ch  Europe  shake?  frf  m  her  perturbed  sphere, 


In  full  malii 


'  to  I 


nkle  here? 


3  A  litde  stream  runs  th-ough  the  cily,  which,  with 
intolerable  attrclation,  they  have  >tyled'lhe  Tiber,  It 
was  originally  called  Goo^e-Creek. 

4  '*To  be  under  the  necessity  of  going  through  a 
deep  wooti  for  one  or  two  miles,  perhaps,^in  order  to 
see  a  next-door  neighbour,  and  in  Ihe  same  city,  is  a 
curious  and,  I  believe,  a  novel  Circumslance.''—  H'dd. 
letter  iv. 

The  Federal  Cily  f  if  it  must  he  called  a  city)  has 
not  been  much  increased  since  Mr.  Weld  visited  it. 
Most  of  tlie  public  buildings,  which  were  then  in 
some  degree  of  forwardness,  have  been  since  utterly 
suspended.  The  hotel  is  already  a  ruin  j  a  great  pari 
of  i's  roof  his  f.illen  in,  and  the  rooms  .ire  left  to  be 
occupied  gia'uilously  hy  the  mi>eiable  Scotch  and 
Irish  emigr.inls.  The  President's  house,  a  very  noble 
slruc'nre,  is  by  no  means  suited  to  the  jhilosophical 
humility  of  ilspiesent  possessor,  who  inhabits  but  a 
comer  of  Ihe  mansion  hiuiself,  and  abandons  Ihe  rest 
to  a  stale  of  uncleanly  desolation,  which  those  who 
are  not  philos  pliers  cannot  look  at  without  regret. 
This  giand  edihce  is  encircled  by  a  very  rude  pahng, 
through  which  a  comui' n  rustic  stile  introduces  the 
visiieis  of  Ihe  firs!  man  in  America.  With  respect  to 
all  that  is  within  Ihe  house,  I  shall  imitate  the  pru- 
dent foibeaiance  of  Herodotus,  and  say,  za  d  iv 
anoggijTfo. 

The  private  buildings  exhibit  Ihe  same  charac- 
teristic dis|ilay  of  arrogaiit  speculation  ard  premature 
luin  ;  and  the  few  langes  nf  houses  which  were  begun 
some  yenrs  ago  have  rema  ned  so  long  waste  and  un- 
limshed  Ihat  tliey  aie  now  for  the  most  part  dilapi- 
dated. 

s  The  picture  which  BuiTon  and  De  Pauw  have 
drawn  of  the  Americ-n  Indian,  though  very  humiliat- 
ing, is,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  much  more  correct  than 
the  flattering  repre-en'alioiis  which  Mr.  Jellerson  hai 
given  us.  See  ihe  Nrtes  en  Virginia,  where  this  gen- 
tlern^m  endeavours  (o  disprove  in  general  the  opinion 
maintained  so  strongly  by  some  philosophers  that 
nature  (as  Mr.  Jelleison  expresses  it)  bc-lilths  her 
productions  in  the  WLslcin  world.  M.  de  Fauw  attri- 
butes the  imperfection  of  animal  life  in  America  to 
Ihe  ravages  of  a  very  recent  deluge,  from  whose 
effec's  upon  its  soil  and  atmosphere  it  has  not  yet 
sufficiently  recovered.  —  Rccheiches  sur  Ics  Jtmcrh 
cains,  part  i.  torn.  i.  p.  102. 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA. 


109 


But  hold,— observe  ynn  litlle  mount  nf  pines, 
Where  the  breeze  niumm  s  and  ilie  fire-fly  shines. 
There  let  thy  fancy  r.ise,  in  bold  lehef, 
The  Bculptur'd  iriiaue  of  ihal  ve  fr.iii  chief  i 
VVhn  lost  thu  rebel's  in  the  hen.'s  uame» 
And  cIirV>'U  o'er  jimstrate  loyalty  1(j  fame; 
IJeiieath  v:  iOse  sword  Columbia's  (lairiot  train 
Cast  oif  their  monarch,  that  Iheir  mob  might  reigu. 

How  shall  we  rank  thee  npon  glory's  page? 
Thou  more  than  soldier  and  just  less  than  sage  I 
Of  peace  too  fond  lo  act  the  conqueror^  pirt, 
'I'ou  long  in  camps  to  learn  a  staiesman's  art, 
Nature  designed  thee  for  a  hero's  mould, 
llut,  ere  she  cast  Ihee,  lel  the  stufl"gruw  cold. 

While  loftier  snuls  command,  nay,  make  their  fate, 
Thy  fate  made  ihee  and  forc'd  thee  to  be  great. 
Yet' Foi  tune,  who  so  oft,  so  blindiv  sheds 
Her  brightest  halo  round  the  weakest  heads, 
Found  l/tee  undazzled,  tranquil  as  befoie, 
Proud  to  be  useful,  scorning  lo  be  more  ; 
Less  mov'd  by  glory's  than  by  dut\'s  cl;um, 
Ki  nnwn  the  meed,  but  (-elf-applause  the  aim; 
^11  that  thou  wert  reflects  less  f  mie  on  thee, 
Far  less,  than  al!  thou  duhi  fi.thcar  to  be. 
Nor  yet  the  patriot  of  (tne  land  abne.— 
For,  thine 's  a  name  all  na'i'ins  claim  their  own; 
And  every  shoie,  where  brealh'd  the  good  and  brave, 
Eclio'd  the  plaudits  thy  own  country  g»ve. 

Now  look,  my  friend,  where  faiut  the  moonlicht 
r«lls 
On  yon  Jer  dome,  and,  in  those  princely  halls,— 
If  thou  canst  bn\e,  as  suie  thai  s')ul  niusi  hate, 
Which  loves  the  viituons  and  reveres  the  great,— 
If  Ihou  canst  loathe  and  execrate  with  me 
The  poisonous  drug  of  French  phil  sophy. 
That  nauseous  slaver  of  these  f.aniic  times, 
With  which  filse  liber'y  dilutes  her  cunies,— 
If  thou  has'  goi,  within  thy  freeborn  breast. 
One  pulse  that  bents  moie  proudly  than  the  rest, 
Wilti  honest  scorn  for  that  inglorious  soul 
Which  creeps  and  winds  benea'h  a  mob's  control. 
Which  courts  the  rabble's  smile,  tlie  rabble's  nod, 
And  makes,  like  Egypt,  every  beast  its  god, 
There,  in  those  walls  —  but,  buiniiig  tongue,  forbear! 
Rank  must  be  leverenc'd.  even  the  rank  Ihit 's  tliete: 
So  here  I  pause  — and  now,  dear  Hume,  we  part; 
But  oft  again,  in  fr;iijk  exchange  of  heart. 
Thus  let' us  meet,  and  mingle  converse  dear 
By  Thames  at  home,  or  by  Potowni:^c  here. 
O'er  lake  and  marsh,  through  fevers  and  through  fogs, 
Midst  bears  and  yankecs,  democa's  and  fiogs, 
Thy  fo()t  shill  follow  me,  thy  heari  ;tnd  eyes 
With  me  sh:ilt  wonder,  and  with  me  desidse.a 
While  I,  as  oft,  in  fancy's  dreim  sliall  rove. 
With  thee  conversing,  through  thai  land  I  love. 


»  On  a  small  hill  near  'he  capitol  there  is  to  be  an 
equestrian  statue  of  General  VVashinglon. 

2  In  the  ferment  which  the  Ftench  revolution  ex- 
cited among  the  d-^moca's  of  America,  and  the  licen- 
tious sympathy  with  which  they  shared  in  the  wildest 
excesses  of  jacobinism,  we  may  find  one  source  of 
tha'  vulgarity  of  vice,  that  hostiliiy  to  all  the  gnces 
of  life,  which  disiinguishes  the  pre-ent  demagogues 
of  the  United  States,  and  has  become  irjdeed  too  gene- 
rally the  characteris'ic  of  their  countrymen.  But 
there  is  another  ciuse  of  the  corruption  of  private 
niomls,  which,  eucnurased  as  it  isbv  the  government, 
and  identified  with  the  in'erests  of  the  comniunily, 
*icems  to  threaten  the  dec^iv  of  all  honest  princiide  in 
Americi.  I  allude  to  tho-,e  fraudulent  violations  of 
neutrality  to  which  they  are  indebted  for  the  most 
lucrative  part  nf  Iheir  Cf-mmerce.  and  hv  which  they 
h  lye  so  long  infringeil  and  counterac  ed  the  maritime 
rieht?  and  advantages  of  this  country.  This  unwar- 
rantable  trade  is  necessarily  abetted  by  such  a  system 
of  collusion,  imposture,  and  perjury,  as  cannot  fail  to 
ppread  rapid  c  'nlamination  around  it. 

"To 


Where,  like  the  air  that  fans  her  fields  of  greeD, 
Her  freedom  spreads,  unfevcr'd  and  serene; 
Andsoveieign  man  can  condescend  to  see 
The  throne  and  laws  more  sovereign  still  than  be. 


LINES  WRITTENON  LEAVING   PHI- 
LADELPHIA. 

T7}v6£  TTjv  noXtv  ^tAcoj 
Et^wv,  tnalia  yap. 

Sophod.  CEdip.  Colon,  v.  758. 

Alone  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  rov'd, 
And  bright  were  its  flowery  banks  to  his  eye; 

But  tar,  very  far  were  the  friends  th  it  he  lov'd, 
And  he  gazed  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh. 

Oh  Nature,  though  blessed  and  bright  are  thy  rays, 
O  er  the  brow  of  creation  enclian  ingly  (hVowni 

Vet  faint  are  they  all  to  the  hisire  that  plays 

In  a  smile  froi'n  the  heait  that  is  fondly  our  own. 

Nor  long  did  the  soul  of  the  stranger  remain 
Unblest  by  the  smile  he  had  hntcuish'd  lo  meet ; 

Though  scarce  did  he  hope  it  would  soothe  him  again. 
Till  the  threshold  of  home  had  been  prest  by  his  feet. 

But  the  Jays  of  his  boyhood  had  slol'n  to  tlieir  car, 
And   they  lov'd  what  they  knew  ol  so  humble  a 
nanie  ; 
And  they  told  him,  with  flat'ery  welcome  and  dear, 
That  they  found  in  his  heart  something  better  than 
fame. 

Nor  did  woman  —  oh  woman !  whose  form  and  whose 
soul 

Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  we  pursue : 
Whether  S'mn'd  in  the  tropics  or  chill  d  at  the  pole, 

if  woman  be  there,  there  is  happiness  too:  — 

Nor  did  she  her  enamouring  magic  deny, — 
That  magic  his  heart  had  relinquish'd  so  long,— 

Like  eyes  he  had  lov'd  was  /itr  eloquent  eye, 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

Oh,  blest  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 

May  its  spaikle  be  shed  o'er  the  wanderer's  dream  , 

Thrice  blest  be  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  soft, 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam  ! 

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, 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone. 


LINES  WRITTEN  AT  THE  COHOS,  OR  FALLS 
OF  THE  MOHAWK  HIVER.3 


e  of  morn  (ill  set  of  sun 
I  tfie  mighty  Mohawk  run ; 


3  There  is  a  dreary  and  savage  character  in  the 
country  immediately  about  the^e  Falls,  which  is  much 
more  in  harmony  with  the  wildness  of  such  a  scene 
than  the  cultivated  lands  in  the  neighhouihood  of 
Niagara.  See  the  drawine;  of  them  in  Mr.  Weld's 
book.  According  to  him,  the  perpendicular  height  of 
the  Cohos  Fall  is  fifty  feet ;  tut  the  Marquis  de  Chas- 
tellnx  makes  it  seventy-six. 

The  fine  rainbow,  which  is  contlnunllv  forming  and 
he  spray  rises  in'o  the  light  of  tlie  sun, 


110 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


And  as  I  mark'd  the  woods  of  pine 

A!on5  his  mirror  darkly  shine, 

Like  tall  and  glnnniy  fnrms  hat  pass 

Before  the  wizard's  midniihl  g'ass  j 

And  as  I  vie»M  the  huriying  pace 

Wiih  which  he  ran  tiis  lurbid  race, 

Ruhhin^,  ahke  untir'd  and  wild, 

'I  hrou^li  shades  ihai  fro^n'd  and  flowers  that  s 

Flying  by  eve  y  gieeu  recess 

That  %vou'd  him  lo  i(s  calm  caress, 

Yet,  s  nietimes  lurning  with  the  wind, 

As  if  to  leave  one-  look  behin5,— 

Oft  have  I  thought,  and  Ihinkins  si^hd, 

How  like  to  thee,  ihou  lestless  tide, 

M.iy  be  the  lot,  the  life  of  him 

Who  roims  along  thy  waei's  brim  ; 

Through  what  alternate  wastes  of  woe 

And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go  j 

How  niany  a  shelter'd,  dim  retreat 

May  woo  ihe  while  my  weiry  feet, 

While  still  pursuing,  stdl  unblest, 

1  wander  on,  nor  dare  to  rest ; 

But,  urgent  as  Ihe  doom  that  calli 

Thy  water  to  its  deslin'd  falls, 

I  feel  the  world's  bewilderiig  forco 

Hurry  my  heirt's  devoted  course 

From  lapse  to  lapse,  tilt  life  be  done, 

Aud  the  spent  current  cease  to  run. 

One  only  prayer  I  dare  to  make, 
As  onward  'hus  my  course  I  lake  ;— 
Oh,  be  my  f.iUs  as  brigh'  as  thine  ! 
May  heaven's  relenting  rainbow  bbine 
Upon  the  mi  t  thai  circles  me, 
As  soft  as  DOW  it  hangs  o'er  ibee  I 


SONG  OF  THE  EVIL  SPIRIT  OF  THE  WOODS.! 


Now  the  vapour,  hot  and  damp, 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp, 
Through  the  misy  ether  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  mandieads; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  thnll. 
Fitful  ague's  shiveiing  chill  1 

Hark  !  I  hear  the  traveller's  song, 
As  he  winds  the  wood-,  along  ; — 
Christian,  'i  is  the  song  of  fear; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near, 
And  the  wild  thou  dat'st  to  roam  — 
Think,  U  was  once  the  Indian's  home  !* 

Hither,  sprites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm, 
Bv  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakes, 
And  the  cayman  3  loves  to  creep. 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  >leep  : 

>  The  idea  of  this  poem  occurred  'o  nie  in  pas-ing 
through  the  very  dreaiy  vvildeines-'  between  Batavis, 
a  new  settlement  in  the  midst  of  the  woods,  and  the 
little  village  of  Buffalo  upon  Lake  Erie.  This  is  the 
most  fatiguing  part  of  the  route,  in  travelling  through 
the  Genesee  country  to  Niagara. 

«  "The  Five  Confederated  Nations  fof  Indians) 
were  settled  along  the  bniks  of  the  Snsquehannah  ai.d 
the  adjacent  country,  until  the  year  1779,  "  hen  Gene- 
ral Sullivan,  wiih  an  army  of  4000  men,  drove  Ihem 
from  their  country  to  Niagara,  where,  being  c  bligcd 
lo  live  on  silled  provisions,  to  which  they  were  ui. ac- 
customed, great  numbers  of  i hem  died.  Two  hundied 
of  them,  it  is  said,  were  buiied  in  one  grave,  where 
they  had  eucumped,"— Morse's  American  Geography. 

s  The  alligator,  who  is  supposed  to  lie  in  a  torpid 


Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits, 
And  the  f-huddering  murderer  sits,* 
L'  ne  beneath  a  roof  of  blooJ  ; 
While  upon  his  po.son  d  food, 
Fiom  the  corpse  of  him  he  ^lew 
Drops  the  chill  and  gory  dew. 

Hither  bend  ye,  turn  ve  hither, 
E\eb  ih-u  blast  nnd  wings  that  witherl 
Cio^s  the  wandeiing  Christian's  way, 
Le.id  him,  eie  the  g.impse  of  day, 
Many  a  mile  of  mad'ning  error 
1  h rough  Ihe  maze  of  night  and  terror, 
Till  the  n.orn  behold  hiju  lying 
On  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying. 
Mock  him,  when  his  eager  >ight 
Seeks  the  codial  cotlage-light ; 
Gleam  then,  like  Ihe  lightning-bug, 
T  empl  him  10  the  den  ihal  's  dug 
For  the  loul  and  fanij.-ih'd  bniod 
Of  the  she  wolf,  gaunt  f  t  blood  ; 
Or.  untu  the  dangemus  jjass 
O'er  Ihe  deep  and  dai  V,  morass, 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings, 
T  ributes  to  be  hnng  in  air. 
To  the  Fiend  pie&idiiig  itieie!* 

Then,  when  night's  long  labour  past, 
VVildei'd,  faint,  he  falls  at  last, 
Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edge 
Moulders  in  the  hlimy  sedge, 
There  let  every  noxious  ihmg 
Trail  i's  filth  and  tix  its  t>ting  ; 
Let  (he  bull-toad  taint  him  over, 
Round  hmi  let  mu  quiloes  hover, 
In  his  ears  and  eyeballs  tingling, 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingling, 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  fires, 
Rankling  all,  Ihe  wretch  expires  1 


TO  THE  HONOURABLE  W.  R.  SPENCER. 
FROM  BUFFALO,  UPON  LAKE  ERIE. 


Nee  venlt  ad  durra  musa  voeaia  Getafl, 

Ovtd.  ex  Ponto,  lib.  L  ep.  6. 

Thou  oft  hast  told  me  of  the  happy  hours 

Enjoy 'd  by  thee  in  fair  Italia's  bouers, 

Where,  lingering  \et,  the  gho^t  of  ancient  wit 

Mids  modern  mniiks  jirofanely  dnres  to  flit, 

And  Fagan  spirits,  by  the  Pope  unlaid, 

Haunt  every  stream  and  smg  through  eveiy  shade. 

There  still  the  bard  who  (if  his  numbeis  be 

His  tongue's  light  echo)  must  have  talk'd  like  thee,- 

vtateall  Ihe  winter,  in  the  bmk  of  snme  creek  or  pond, 
having  prevmu  ly  sw^llnwed  a  large  nuniber  of  pr 
knots,  which  are  his  only  sustenance  during  the  lii 

*  1  his  was  the  mode  of  punishmenl  for  mu'der  (« 
Charlevoix  tells  us)  among  Ihe  Huron'.  ** 'I  hey  laid 
the  dead  body  upon  poles  at  the  top  of  a  cabin,  and  ihe 
murderer  was  obliged  lo  lemain  several  d.iys  t"getht 
and  to  receive  all  that  dropped  from  the  carcass,  not 
only  on  himself  but  on  his  food." 

6  '*  We  find  also  collars  of  porcel-Tin,  tobacco,  ea; 
of  m.Vi7e,  skins,  &c.  by  the  side  of  diftkuli  and  danse 
ous  ways,  on  mcks,  or  by  the  side  of  the  falls  j  an 
these  are  t-o  many  offerings  ni:tde  to  Ihe  spirits  whic 
preside  in  these  places."— See  CAnrZeuo/x'j  i£»er  o 
the  Traditions  and  the  Kchgion  oj  the  Savages  of 
Canada, 

Fa  her  Hennepin  loo  mentions  this  ceremony  j  he 
als'  says,  *'  We  took  notice  of  one  barbarian,  v  ' 
made  a  kind  of  sacrifice  upon  an  oak  at  ihe  Cascade 
of  St.  Anthony  of  Pndus  upon  the  tivfr  Misaissipi 
—  Sec  Iltnncjjin's  yoyage  into  North  America, 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


Ill 


The  courtly  bard,  from  whom  tliy  mind  has  caught 
Those  playful,  stinsliiue  liolyilays  of  thouglit, 
In  which  the  S|)irit  laskm^ly  n  dines, 
Iiri§h(  wUhnut  elf..rt,  resim^  while  it  shines,— 
There  sliil  he  roves,  :»iui  laiighins  h>ves  to  see 
How  modern  piiesis  wilh  ancitiil  rakes  a^ree; 
How,  'neath  the  cowl,  Ihe  iL&tal  tcarland  shir;es, 
And  Xxive  siill  liuds  a  niche  in  ChribtiAU  shrines. 

There  silll,  too,  romi  those  oiher  souls  of  song, 
With  whom  t^iy  spjnt  hath  commuii'd  so  long, 
That,  quick  as  lis^lit,  their  i-arest  gems  of  thought. 
By  Memory's  niasjtc  to  thy  lip  are  brought. 
Hu'  here,  alas !  by  Erie's  sturuiy  like, 
As  far  tntni  such  bright  hautits  my  course  I  take, 
No  proud  remembrance  o"er  the  fancy  jjlajs, 
rio  classic  dream,  no  star  of  other  diys 
Hath  left  that  visionary  light  behind, 
Thai  lingering  radl^mce  ot  intmorlal  mind, 
Which  gilds  and  hallows  even  the  rudest  ^cene, 
The  humblest  shed,  where  Genius  once  has  been  I 

All  that  creation's  varying  mass  assumes 
Of  grand  or  lovely,  heie  aspires  and  blooms  j 
Bold  rise  the  mountains,  rich  the  gardens  glow, 
Bright  lakes  expand,  and  conquering  i  rivers  dow  j 
But  mind,  inimort'il  mind,  witliout  whose  ray 
This  world  's  a  wilderness  and  man  but  clay, 
Mind,  mind  alone,  in  barren,  still  repose, 
Noi  blooms,  nor  rises,  nor  ex)iands,  nor  flows. 
Take  Chiistians,  Mohawks,  democri  s,  and  all 
From  the  lude  wig-wam  to  tlie  congress-hall, 
From  man  the  savage,  whetlier  slav'd  or  free, 
To  mau  the  civiliz  d,  less  tame  than  he,— 
'T  is  one  dull  chaos,  one  ui. fertile  strife 
Bet^vixt  half-polish'd  and  half-baibaroua  life  ; 
Where  every  ill  tlie  ancient  world  c  >uld  brew 
Is  mix'd  with  every  giossne^s  of  the  new  ; 
Where  all  corrupts,  though  little  can  eoiice, 
And  Qoughl  is  known  of  luxury,  but  its  vice  1 

Is  this  the  region  then,  is  this  the  clime 
For  soaring  fancies?  fT  those  dnams  sublime, 
Which  all  iheir  nii-ncles  of  litjht  reveal 
To  heads  that  meditate  and  heatls  ihat  feel  ? 
Alas  !  not  so  —  the  Muse  of  Nature  l.ghts 
Her  glories  round  ;  she  scales  the  mountain  heights, 
And  roams  (he  f.*re8ts  ;  every  woiid'rous  spot 
Burns  wiih  her  step,  yet  man  regar.ts  it  not. 
She  whispers  round,  her  words  are  in  the  air. 
But  Io>t,  unheard,  thev  linger  freezing  there,^ 
Without  one  breith  of  soul,  divinely  strong, 
Une  ray  of  mind  to  thaw  them  into  song. 

Yet,  yet  forgive  me,  oh,  ye  sacred  few. 
Whom  late  by  Delaware's  green  banks  1  knew; 
Whom,  known  and  lov'd  through  many  a  sncial  eve, 
*T  was  bliss  to  live  with,  and  'I  was  pain  to  leave. 3 


!■  This  epithet  was  suggested  by  Charlevoix's  strik- 
ing description  of  the  confluence  of  tl-e  Missouri  with 
Ihe  Mississippi.  "I  believe  this  Is  the  finest  conflu 
ence  in  t^ie  worH,  The  two  rivers  are  much  of  the 
same  breidih,  each  ab  ut  half  a  league  ;  but  the  Mis- 
souri  is  by  far  the  most  rapid,  and  seems  to  enter  (he 
Mississippi  like  a  conqueior,  thinuih  which  it  catries 
its  white  waves  to  the  opposite  shnie,  without  mixing 
them  :  afterwirds  it  gives  its  colour  to  the  Mississippi, 
which  it  never  loses  again,  but  carries  quite  down  to 
the  sea." — Leter  xxvii. 

*  Alluding  to  the  fanciful  notion  of  "  wordi  con- 
gealed Ml  northern  air." 

3  In  Ihe  society  of  Mr.  Dennle  and  his  friends,  at 
Philadelphia,  I  passed  the  few  agiee«ble  momtn't 
which  my  tour  through  the  St  'les  atTnded  nje  Mr. 
Dennie  has  succeeded  inditfusinir  through  this  culti- 
vated liitle  circle  that  love  for  go  d  li  t^ra  ure  and 
sound  politics,  which  he  feels  so  zealously  himself, 
and  which  is  so  very  rarely  the  characteristic  of  his 
countrvnien.  They  will  not,  I  trust,  accuse  me  of 
illiberality  for  the  picture  which  I  tiave  given  of  the 


Not  with  more  joy  the  lonely  exile  scanned 
The  writing  traced  upon  the  desert's  sand, 
Where  his  lone  heart  but  liltic  hop'd  lo  hnd 
(ine  hace  of  life,  one  slamp  of  human  kind, 
'I  ban  did  I  hail  the  pur.-,  th'  enlu^hten'd  ze,.I, 
Tiiubtien'^rh  to  reason  and  the  wamith  to  fccL 
Tliennihly  poll  hand  ilie  ilUiniinVl  fsie, 
Wliich."»mid  (he  nulanili<-lv,  heatt  ess  wast© 
My  toot  h.is  ir>ver.'d  —  oh,  )ou  -acied  few! 
1  found  by  Delaware's  gieen  b.uik»  with  y>  u. 

Long  may  you  loathe  the  G;tliic  dross  Ihat  runp 
Throutch  your  fair  country  and  conup  s  its  sons: 
Long  love  the  ar:9,  (he  gh  rius  which  adorn 
Tliose  fields  of  freedom,  wheie  your  sires  were  born. 
Ob  !  if  America  can  ye;  be  great, 
If  neither  chun'd  by  choice,  nor  dnom'd  by  fate 
To  the  mob-nnnia  which  mibru'es  her  now. 
She  yet  can  raise  the  crown'd,  yet  civic  brow 
Of  Single  majesty,—  cin  add  the  grace 
Of  Bank's  rich  capital  lo  Freedom's  ba^e, 
Nor  feir  the  rnighiy  shaft  will  feebler  prove 
For  the  fair  ornament  ihat  flowers  above  ;  — 
If  yet  releas'd  from  all  that  pedant  throng, 
So  vain  of  error  and  so  pledged  lo  wrong, 
Who  hourly  teach  her,  like  themselve?,  to  hid* 
Weakness  in  vaunt,  and  btrreiiness  in  pride, 
She  yet  can  rise,  can  wieathe  the  Attic  chirnis 
Of  8  ifi  rehiienient  round  the  ponip  of  arms, 
And  see  her  poets  flash  the  flies  of  son?. 
To  light  her  waniors' thunderbolts  along  j^ 
It  is  to  you,  to  souls  that  favouring  heaven 
Has  made  like  yours,  the  glorious  tjsk  i^-  given  :  — 
Oh  !  but  for  sxtch,  Colnmbia's  day:,  were  done; 
Rank  without  iipeness,  quicken'd  witlK.utsuu, 
Crude  at  the  surface,  ro'ten  at  Ihe  core. 
Her  fruits  would  fall,  before  her  spiing  were  o'er. 

Believe  me,  Spencer,  while  I  wiiig'd  the  hours 
Where  Schuylkill  winds  his  way  through  banks  of 

floxvers, 
Thoueb  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenintrs  few. 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  with  mn  d  ihey  flew, 
'Ihai  my  charm'd  soul  forgot  lis  wish  to  roam, 
And  res  ed  there  as  in  a  dream  of  home. 
And  looks  I  uiet,  like  looks  I'd  lov'd  before. 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  ihey  trembled  o'er 
1  he  chi  id  <if  memory,  foui  d  full  many  a  tone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concoid  with  'heir  own. 
Yes,— ue  had  nights  lif  that  communion  free, 
'Ihat  flow  of  heart,  which  I  have  kno^n  with  thee 
So  o(t,  BO  warmlv;  nights  of  mirth  and  mind, 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  follies  Ihat  rclin'd. 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them  ?  when,  re-'lor'd 
'io  the  g.iy  feast  and  inlellecual  board, 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  «  i  h  thee  and  ihine 
Those  whims  :hat  teach,  those  fnlhes  that  refine? 
Even  now,  as,  wandering  np  n  Kne's  shore, 
I  hear  Niagara's  dis'ani  cataract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  home — alas!  thee  we^ry  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet. 

anATPir, 'flELOYKAPTANTN  MNEIAN 


BALLAD   STANZAS. 

I  knew  by  the  sm-^ke,  that  so  gracefully  curlM 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  collate  was  near, 

And  I  said.  ••If  there's  peace   lo  be  found   lu  Ihe 
woi  Id, 
**A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here  !', 


ignorance  and  cnrrup'ion  that  sui  round  them.  If  I 
did  nol  lute,  as  I  ought,  the  rabble  to  which  they  are 
opposed,  1  could  not  value,  as  1  do,  the  spirit  with 
which  Ihey  defy  it;  and  in  learning  from  them  what 
Americana  can  /le,  1  but  see  with  the  mure  indignation 
whiit  Americans  are. 


112 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA, 


It  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  lan^nish'd  around 

In  silence  repos'd  the  volupluous  hue  ; 
Every  leaf  was  at  re>t,  and  I  heaid  nnl  a  sound 

But  the  woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow  beech-Ires. 

And.  '•  Here  in  this  lone  little  wood,"  I  exclaimM, 
"  Wi'h  a  m.iid  who  was  lovely  lo  soul  and  to  eye, 

*'\Vho  would  blu->h  when  1  prais'd  her,  and  weep  iT 
I  hlani'd, 
"  How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could  I  die  ! 

*'  By  the  shade  of  ynn  sumach,  whose  red  berry  dips 
"III  ihe  gush  of  ihe  founi;iiii,  how  sweet  to  recline, 

»*And  to  knoiv  ihat  I  sighM  upon  innocent  lips, 
"  Which  had  never  been  sigh'd  on  by  any  Lut 
mine  I " 


A   CANADIAN    BOAT    SONG. 
WRITTEN  ON  THE  RIVER    ST.  LAWRENCE.* 
£t  remigeni  ( 

Faintly  as  Inllg  the  evening  chime 
Our  voices  keep  tune  and  our  oars  keep  time. 
Sotm  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
We  'II  sinff  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  h\  mn.* 
Row,  bn'thers,  row,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight 's  past. 


>  I  wrote  these  words  to  an  air  which  nur  boati 
snng  to  us  frequen'ly.  The  wind  was  so  uufavourable 
that  they  were  obliged  to  row  all  the  way,  and  we 
Were  hve  days  in  de-cending;  the  river  frnm  Kingston 
to  Mon'real.  exposed  to  an  intense  ^un  during  the  dav, 
and  at  night  fo'ced  to  take  shelter  fiom  Ihe  dews  in 
any  iniserable  hut  upon  the  banks  that  would  receive 
U9.  But  tlie  maiinificent  sctuery  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
repays  all  such  diflicullies. 

Our  voyageurs  had  good  voices,  and  sung  peifeclly 
in  tune  tngetlier.  The  original  words  of  the  air,  to 
which  I  adapted  these  stanzas,  appeared  to  be  a  long, 
incoherent  btory,  of  whicli  I  could  understand  bai 
Utile,  from  the  barbarous  pronunciation  of  the  Cana- 
dians.    II  begins 


Deux 


And  the  refrain  to  every  verse  was, 


I  ventured  to  harmonise  this  air,  and  have  published 
it.  Without  that  charm  which  associaiion  gives  to 
every  little  memorial  of  scenes  or  feelings  that  are 
pa?;t,  the  melody  mav,  perhaps,  be  thought  common 
and  triHmg;  but  I  lemt-mber  whsn  we  hiive  entered, 
at  sunset,  upon  one  of  those  beautiful  hikes,  into  u  hich 
the  St.  Lawrence  so  grandly  and  unexpectedly  opens, 
I  have  heard  this  simple  air  with  ;i  pleasure  which 
the  finest  compositions  of  the  lirst  masters  have  never 
given  me  ;  and  now  there  is  not  a  note  of  it  which 
dnes  not  recall  to  mv  memnry  the  dip  of  our  oars  in 
tlie  SI.  Lawrence,  the  flight  of  our  boat  down  the 
Rapids,  and  all  those  new  and  fanciful  impressions  to 
which  my  heart  was  alive  durmg  Ihe  whole  of  this 
very  iniere^tiog  voyage. 

The  above  stanzas  are  supposed  to  be  sung  by  those 
i?o?/Qgein*  whogo  to  the  Grand  Portage  by  the  Uia- 
was  River.  For  an  account  of  this  wonderful  under- 
taking see  Sir  Alexander  Macke-zie's  General  His- 
tory of  the  Fur  Trade,  piefixt-d  to  ha  Journal. 

«  "  At  the  Rapid  of  St.  Ann  they  are  obliged  (o  take 
out  part,  if  not  the  whole,  t.f  iheir  lading.  It  is  from 
this  spot  ttie  C^indiaiis  consider 'hey  t^ke (heir  d. par. 
ture,  as  it  pr.ssesses  Ihe  last  chuich  on  the  island, 
which  IS  d(dicated  to  the  tutelar  saint  of  voyagers.'' — 
Mackenzie,  General  History  of  the  Fur  Trade. 


Why  should  we  yet  our  s^il  unfurl  ? 
There'is  nnt  a  breaih  the  blue  wave  to  curl, 
Bui,  when  the  wind  blows  oif  the  shore, 
Oh  I  sweedy  we'll  re&t  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezts.  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
'ilie  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight 's  past. 

Utawas'  tide!  this  treniblin^  mof>n 
Shall  see  us  rioat  over  ihy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle!  hear  our  jnayers, 
Oh,  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favouring  airs. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight 's  past 


TO  THE  LADY  CHARLOTTE  RAWDON. 

FROM  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Not  many  months  hnve  now  been  dream'd  away 
Since  yrnder  sun,  bei  eath  whose  evening  ray 
Our  l)oat  glides  swiftlv  p:*st  these  wooded  shores, 
S'W  me  where  Trent  nis  mazy  current  poura, 
And  Doningtoii'fi  old  oaks,  to  every  breeze. 
Whisper  the  tale  of  by-gone  centuries; — 
Those  oaks,  to  me  as  sacred  as  Ihe  groves, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  pious  Persian  roves, 
And  heais  the  spint-voice  of  aire,  or  chief, 
Or  loved  mistiess,  sigh  in  every  leaf.3 
'Ihere,  oft,  dear  Lady,  while  thy  lip  hath  snn^ 
I\Iy  own  luipolisii'd  lays,  how  pioud  1  've  hung 
On  every  tuneful  acceni  !  prnud  to  frel 
That  notes  like  niine  should  have  the  fate  to  steal, 
As  o'er  Ihy  hiiMowing  iip  ihey  sigh'd  along, 
Such  breath  i>i  passion  and  such  soul  of  song. 
Yes,— I  have  wondei'd,  like  si>me  peasant  boy, 
Who  sings,  on  Sabbath  eve,  his  stiaiiis  of  jtiy, 
And  when  he  hears  the  wild,  unlutor'd  note 
B  ick  to  his  ear  on  softening  echoes  flo;it. 
Believes  il  still  sonie  at.sweiing  spirit's  tone, 
And  thinks  it  all  too  sweet  lo  be  his  own  ! 

I  dreamt  not  then  that,  ere  the  rolling  year 
Had  fiil'd  its  circle,  1  should  wander  here 
In  musing  awe  J  should  (read  this  wondrous  world, 
See  all  its  store  of  inland  waers  huri'd 
In  one  vast  volume  doivn  Niagara's  steep, 
Or  calm  behold  them,  in  transparent  sleep, 
Where  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  slied 
1  heir  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed  ; 
Should  trace  the  grand  Cadaraqui.  and  glide 
Down  the  while  lapids  of  his  lordly  tide 
TIiTOugh  n  assy  woods,  mid  islets  flowering  fair, 
And  blooming  glades,  wtisre  the  fi  s'  sinful  pair 
Fur  cnnsnlaiinii  mi^hi  have  weeping 'rod, 
When  laiiish'd  fiom  the  garden  of  their  God, 
Oh.  L-idy  !  these  are  miracles,  which  n.an, 
Cag'd  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pign-y  sf^an, 
Can  scarcely  dream  of,— which  his  eye  must  sea 
To  know  how  wonderful  this  world  can  be  I 

But  lo,— the  last  tints  of  the  west  decline, 
And  nigh'  falls  dewy  oVr  these  banks  of  pine. 
Among  Ihe  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  boat 
Is  rock'd  to  rest.  Ilie  wind's  complaining  note 
Dies  like  a  half-hreath'd  whispeting  of  (lules  ; 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoots, 
!  AnJ  I  can  trace  hinC  like  a  waieiy  ^ta^,4 
':  Down  the  s'eep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 
Amid  the  foaming  bieakers'  silverv  light. 
Where  yon  rough  rapids  sjarkle  through  the  night. 

3  **  Avendoessi  percos'umediaverein  venerazione 
gli  alberi  grandi  et  nntichi,  quasi  che  si.itio  spesso 
riceltpccoli  di  ariiime  Iiea'e."— Pic/ro  della  I'alle,  parL 
second.,  leHera  16  da  i  giardini  di  Sciraz. 

*  Anburey,  in  his  Travels,  has  noticed  (his  shoot- 
ing  illumiriHiion  which  porpoises  ditfuse  at  ui^bt 
through  Ihe  river  St.  Lawrence.  —  Vol.  t.  p.  29. 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA, 


113 


Here,  aa  alon^  this  shadowy  bank  I  stray, 
And  the  snin(ith  glass  snake  i  gliding  o'er  my  way, 
Slious  the  dim  nimjnlie:lit  ihrmigh  his  scaly  form, 
Fancy.  wiMi  all  'he  ^celle"s  enchantnietil  warm, 
Heaisiii  the  nmriuiir  dJ  the  nightly  breeze 
Some  Indian  Spinl  waible  words  like  these  : — 

From  the  land  beyond  the  sea, 
Whi  htrh:\|ii.y  spiii  s  flee  ; 
Where,  traiisform'd  to  sicreJ  doves,** 
Many  a  blessed  Iniliaii  rove^ 
Through  ihe  air  on  wini,  as  whito 
As  those  w  nd'nius  stones  of  li^ht,3 
Which  ihe  eye  of  morning  counts 
On  the  Apall  chiin  mounts,— 
Hither  »fi  niv  flight  I  take 
Over  HumnVlucid  lake, 
Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew^ 
Sleeps  beneath  the  lii,'lil  canoe, 
Whicli,  rcfleced,  flouiig  there, 
Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air.* 

Then,  when  I  have  stray'd  awhile 
Through  ihe  Muiatatilin  i  Ie,» 
Breathing  all  i^s  hi.ly  bloom, 
Swift  I  mount  me  on  the  plume 
Of  my  WakOM-nird.Saiid  (ly 
Where,  beiea'h  a  burning  sky. 
O'er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake 
Slumbers  many  a  wa'er-nake, 
AViant  within  the  web  of  leaves, 
Whiih  the  uater-Iily  weaves.i 
Next  1  chase  the  fiow'ret-king 
Through  hia  rosy  reilm  of  s[)ring; 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  his  neck  and  wings  su£['u  e, 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink. 
Thirsting  fur  hi>  balmy  d'ink; 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire. 
Lovely  in  his  l.joks  of  ire, 


t  The  glass-snake  is  brittle  and  transparent. 

5  '*The  deparied  spirit  goes  into  Ihe  Country  ff 
Souls,  where,  according  to  sotne,  it  is  tran-formed  into 
a  dove,"  —  Charlevoix^  npon  the  Traditions  and  the 
Relisio7i  of  the  Savaa:cs  of  Canada.  See  the  curious 
fable  of  the  American  Orpheus  in  Lafitau,  tom.  i.  p. 
402. 

3  "The  mountains  appeared  to  he  sprinkled  with 
white  stones,  which  glistened  in  the  sun,  and  were 
called  by  the  Imliaris  luai  etoe  aseuiah,  or  spirit- 
stunes."—  Mackenzie's  Journal. 

•  These  lines  were  suggested  bv  Carver*^  description 
oforieof  the  Ameiican  lakes.  **  When  it  was  ealin." 
he  says,  '*and  the  sun  shone  bright,  1  cnuld  sit  in  my 
canoe,  where  the  depth  was  upwards  of  six  fa'homs, 
and  plainly  see  huge  piles  of  ^time  at  the  boifoni,  of 
dilVert-nt  shapes,  some  of  which  appeared  as  if  they 
had  been  hewn  ;  the  water  was  at  lh'5  time  as  pnre 
and  transparent  as  air.  and  my  canoe  seemed  as  if  it 
hung  suspended  in  that  element.  It  was  impossible  to 
look  attentively  through  this  limpid  medium,  at  the 
rocks  below,  without  finding,  before  many  minutes 
were  elapsed,  your  heid  swim  and  >our  eyes  no 
longer  able  to  behold  the  dazzling  scene.'' 

*  Apres  avoir  traverse  plusieurs  isles  pen  conside- 
rables, nous  en  Imuvanies  le  qu.Ttrieme  jour  une  ta- 
meusc  nnmmte  ri>le  de  Marritoualin.  —  k'oijai(es  du 
Baron  de  Lahmitan,  torn.  i.  let.  15.  Mana'aulin  sig- 
nifies a  Place  of  Spirits,  and  this  island  in  Uke  Huron 
is  held  sacied  by  the  Indians. 

6  "The  Waknn-Bird.  which  probably  is  of  the 
same  species  with  the  bird  of  Paradise,  receives  its 
name  from  the  ideas  the  Indiana  have  r.f  its  superior 
excellence  ;  the  Waknn-Bird  beine,  in  their  language, 
the  Bird  of  the  Great  Spiri'," —  Morse. 

1  The  islands  of  Lnke  Erie  are  surrounded  to  a  con- 
siderable distance  by  Ihela'^ge  pnnd-lily,  whose  leave* 
spread  thickly  over  the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  form 
a  kind  of  bed  for  the  water-snakes  in  Bummer. 

in* 


Breaking  every  infant  stem, 
Scatleriiii;  everv  velvet  gem, 
WliL-re  lus  little  tyrant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip. 

Then  my  playful  hand  I  steep 
^Vliere  the  gold-tlire.id  8  loves  to  creep. 
Cull  troin  thence  a  tangled  wicalh, 
\Vonls  <,f  Miagic  round  it  breathe. 
And  the  sunny  chap'el  spread 
O'er  Ihe  sleeping  liy-bird's  head, 9 
Till,  wi'h  dremis  of  honey  blest, 
Ilaunied,  in  his  downy  nest. 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells. 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells, 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  Ihe  fly-biid's  heaven  of  flowers. 
Oft,  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakci 
Meit  along  the  ruQItd  lakes, 
Wlien  the  g  ay  moose  sheds  his  horas, 
When  the  t  ack,  at  evening,  warug 
Weary  hunters  of  Ihe  way 
To  the  wig-wain's  cheering  ray, 
Then,  alofl  through  frecziuV  air, 
With  the  snow. bird  'o  sofi  and  fair 
As  t!ie  ihece  that  heaven  fiinga 
O'er  his  litlle  pearly  wings, 
Lrghl  above  tiie  rocks  I  play. 
Where  Niagara's  stariy  spiay. 
Frozen  on  the  cliH',  appears 
Like  a  giant's  siaiting  tears. 
1  heie,  amid  the  island-sedg«. 
Just  upon  tlie  cataiact's  edge. 
Where  Ihe  hflt  of  living  man 
Never  trtd  since  time  began, 
Lone  1  sit,  at  close  of  day. 
While,  bencalh  the  g,dden  ray, 
Icy  columns  gleam  below, 
Fe.ither'd  roui,d  wilh  filling  snow. 
And  .an  arch  of  glorv  springs. 
Sparkling  .IS  Ihe  chain  of  rings 
Round  Ihe  neck  of  virgins  hung, — 
\'ir,in3,»i  who  have  wanJer'd  young 
O'er  Ihe  "  aters  of  Ihe  west 
To  tile  land  where  spirits  rest ! 
Thus  have  I  charm'd,  with  visionary  lay. 
The  lonely  moments  of  Ihe  nicht  away  ; 
And  now,  fiesh  daylight  o'er  the  v*afer  beams  ! 
Once  more,  embark 'd  upon  the  elitlering  slreami, 
Our  boat  flies  lisht  along  ihe  lealy  slinie, 
Shontine  the  falls,  wi  houl  a  dip  of  oar 
Or  brealh  of  ze|  hyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 
The  poel  saw.  in  dremis  divincl'v  dark, 
Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  flood,"a 
While  on  ils  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood. 


8  ''Thegnld-tliread  is  of  the  vine  kind,  and  grows 
in  swamps  'I  he  roots  spread  themselves  ju>l  under 
Ihe  suiface  of  the  mora-ses,  and  are  easily  drawn  out 
by  handfuls.  'I'hey  resemble  a  large  eniangled  ikeiu 
of  silk,  and  aie  ofa  bright  yellow."— A/orie. 

9  "  L'oiseau  mouche,  gros  cnmme  un  hanneton,  est 
de  tou'es  coulenrs.  vives  et  changeantes :  il  tire  sa 
subsistence  des  fleurs  coninies  lea  alieilles  ;  son  nid  eat 
fait  d'un  colion  Ires-tin  suspendu  a  une  branche  d'ar- 
bre.'— (-'o^ngc!  aux  Inila  Occidcntales,  far  M. 
Bosnc,  secon.le  part,  lett.  xx. 

■  0  Eniberiz.x  hyemalis.  —  See  Iml(iy''s  Kcntuchi/,  p. 
280.  ■' 

*t  Lafilan  supposes  'hat  there  was  an  order  of  ves- 
tal, esinblishe  I  among  Ihe  Iroquois  Indians. —Mduri 
dts  Sauvages  Americains,  ^c.  torn.  i.  p.  173. 
H    Vedi  che  sdcgiia  eli  argomenli  uniani  : 
.Si  che  renin  non  vuol.  ne  altro  velo, 
Che  1'  ale  sue  tra  lit!  si  lonlani. 

Vedi  come  I'  ha  drilte  verso  'I  cielo 
Tiatiando  I'  aerc  con  1'  elerne  penne  ; 
Che  uou  si  niutan,  come  mortal  pelo. 

Dante,  J'urgator.  cant.  il. 


114 


POEMS    RELATING   TO    AMERICA. 


And,  with  his  win?t  of  living  light  nnfurt'd, 
Coasted  the  dim  shores  of  aiiother  wuild  ! 

Yet,  oh  !  tielieve  me,  mid  Ihia  mingled  maza 
Of  natures  bcaunes.  where  Ihe  ta-cy  sttays 
From  cliarni  to  chann,  where  evefy  finvv'rel's  hue 
H)ih  soiiieliitig  stnnge,  and  every  leaf  is  uew,— 
I  never  feel  a  joy  to  pme  anJ  s  ili, 
So  (iiiy  f^lt,  as  when  some  bruok  or  hil!» 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  hise  rtmemberM  well, 
Smie  niouutani  ecl;0  or  some  wild-dowers  smell, 
(For,  who  c^n  siy  by  what  small  fairy  tiei 
The  mem'ry  clings  to  pleasure  as  ii  flies?) 
Reminds  mv  heart  of  many  a  svlvan  dream 
I  once  indufg'd  by  Trent's  iiis^piring  stream 
Of  all  my  sunny  moms  and  moonlight  nights 
On  Djningtou's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heighti. 

Whether  I  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o'er 
When  I  have  seen  thee  cull  the  fruns  of  lore, 
With  him^  the  pnlish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
A  sister's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride ! 
When  thou  hasi  read  of  heroes,  tn>phied  high 
In  aiiciei.l  fame,  aid  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read, 
F'>r  pu'e  and  brightening  comments  on  the  dead  ;— 
Or  whether  memory  lo  my  mind  reraHi 
The  fes'al  zjraucieur  of  those  lordly  halls. 
When  gues's  have  met  around  Ihe  spa  kling  board, 
And  welcome  wami'd  the  cup  I  hat  luxury  pour'dj 
Whe-i  Uie  biight  future  Star  of  England's  throne, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  bmqiiet  shone, 
Winning  respect,  nor  claimms:  whai  he  won, 
Rut  tem|ieriiig  greatness,  like  an  evening  sua 
Whose  light  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire, 
Radiant,  but  mild,  all  softness  yei  all  fire  ;— 
Whatever  hue  my  recllectionN  take, 
Even  the  regret,  the  very  pam  they  wtke, 
Is  mix'd  vvith  h:ippines5  ;  —  but.  ah  !  no  more  — 
Lady  !  adieu  —  my  heari  has  lingerM  o'er 
Those  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lie*, 
i}treaui,  banks,  ai.d  bowers  have  faded  ou  my  eyes ! 


IMPROMPTU, 
AFTER  A  VISIT  TO  MRS. ,  OF  MONTREAL. 

'T  was  but  for  a  moment  —  and  yet  in  that  time 
She  crowded  lli'  impressions  of  many  an  hour: 

Her  eve  had  a  glow,  like  the  sun  of  her  clime. 
Which  wak'd  every  feeling  at  once  into  (lower. 

Oh  !  could  we  have  borrow'd  from  Time  but  a  day, 
To  renew  such  impre-sions  again  arid  a>iain, 

The  things  we  should  look  and  imagine  and  say 
Would  be  worth  all  the  life  we  had  wasted  (ill  then. 

What  we  had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 
We  should  find  some  more  spiritual  mode  of  re- 
vealing. 

And,  between  us.  should  feel  just  as  much  in  a  week 
As  others  would  take  a  nullenuiuot  in  feeling. 


WRITTEN 

ONPASSING  DEADMAN'S  ISLAND,* 

IN  THE  GULF  OF  ST,  LAWRENCE, 

LATE  IN  THE  EVENING,  SEPTEMBER,  1S04. 

See  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark, 

Fast  gliding  along,  a  gloomy  bark  ? 

Her  sails  are  full,— tliough  the  wind  is  still. 

And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill  ! 


Say,  what  do'h  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear? 
^  he  Silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there, 
Save  nou  and  again  a  dea'h  knell  runic. 
And  the  Hap  of  the  sails  with  night-fog  hung. 

There  llctli  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 
Of  cold  and  pitiKss  Labrad-.r; 
Where,  under  Ihe  umnn,  upon  mounts  of  fros^ 
Full  many  a  mariner^  boue&  ate  tost. 

Yon  shadowy  hark  hath  been  to  that  wreck, 
And  the  dim'  blue  fire,  that  lights  her  deck, 
Doth  play  on  as  p:»le  and  livid  a  crew 
As  ever  yet  drank  the  churchyard  dew. 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  blast, 
To  Ueadmau's  Isle,  she  speeds  her  (ast ; 
By  skeleton  shapes  her  sails  are  furl  d, 
And  (he  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  this  world  . 

Oh  !  hurry  thee  on  —  oh !  hurry  thee  on. 
Thou  terrible  bark,  ere  the  njght  be  gone, 
Nor  let  mnrning  look  on  to  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  for  ever  her  lo^y  light  I 


TO   THE    BOSTON   FRIGATE, a 

ON    LEAVING     HA  L1FAX     FOR     ENGLAND, 
OCTOBER,    1804. 

NooTov  ffpo^aciS  yXvKcpov. 

Pindar.  PyiK  4. 

With  triumph  this  morning-,  oh,  Bos'on  !  I  hail 
The  slir  of  thy  deck  and  Ihe  spread  of  thy  sail, 
F^r  they  tell  me  1  suon  shall  be  wafted,  m  thee, 
To  the  flourishing  I'sle  of  the  brave  and  the  free, 
And  that  chill  Nnva^Scotia's  unpromising  strand  3 
Is  the  last  I  shall  (read  of  American  land. 
Well— peace  to  the  land  !  may  hersonski!Ow,at  length. 
That  ill  hiiih-minded  honour  lies  liberty's  strength, 
That  though  man  be  as  fiee  as  the  fetterless  wind, 
As  the  wantonest  air  that  the  norlh  can  unbind. 
Yet,  if  health  do  not  temper  and  sweeten  the  blast, 
If  no  harvest  of  mii.d  ever  sprung  wheie  it  pa»s'd. 


1  This  is  one  of  the  Magdalen  Islands,  and,  singu- 


larly ennugh,  is  the  property  of  Sir  Isaac  CofTin.  1  he 
above  lines  were  suggested  by  a  superstition  very 
common  among  sailors,  who  call  this  ghost-ship,  I 
think,  *'  the  Flying  Dutchman." 

We  uere  thirteen  days  on  our  passage  from  Quebec 
to  Halifax,  and  1  had  been  so  spoiled  by  Ihe  truly 
splendid  hospiiality  of  my  friends  of  (he  Miaeton  and 
Boston,  thai  I  w..s  but  ill  prepared  for  Ihe  miseries  of 
a  Canadian  vessel.  'I'he  we,»Iher,  however,  was 
pleasant,  and  the  scenery  al"i.g  ihe  river  delightful. 
Our  passage  through  the  Gut  of  Canso.  with  a  bright 
sky  and  a  fair  wind,  was  particularly  striking  and 
romantic. 

5  Commai;ded  by  Captain  J.  E.  Douglas,  with 
whom  I  returned  lo  Engiaid,  and  to  whom  I  am  in- 
dtbteit  for  many,  many  kindnesses.  In  truth,  I  shculd 
but  offend  the  delicacy  of  niy  fiiend  Douglas,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  do  injustice  to  my  own  feelings  of 
gratitude,  did  1  at;enipt  lo  say  how  much  1  owe  to 
him. 

3  Sir  John  Wentworlh.  the  Governor  of  Nova- 
Scotia,  veiy  kindly  allowed  me  to  acconipany  him  on 
his  vi^it  to  the  College,  which  they  haie  la'ely 
ps'ablished  at  Windsor,  about  forty  miles  from  Hali- 
fax, and  I  was  indeed  most  pleasantly  surprised  by 
(he  beauty  and  fertili  y  of  the  country  which  opened 
upon  u^  after  the  bleak  and  rocky  wildcness  by  which 
Hahfay  is  surrounded.— I  \\as  told  that,  in  travelling 
onward*,  we  should  find  the  soil  and  the  scenery  im- 
prove, and  it  gave  me  much  pltasure  lo  know  that  the 
worthy  Governor  has  by  no  means  such  an  '*  mama- 
bile  legnum  "  as  1  was,  at  first  sight,  iuclined  lo 
believe. 


PREFACE    TO    THE   THIRD    VOLUME.      115 


Then  unbtest  is  such  freedom,  and  b'sltfiil  its  mighty — 
Free  only  ti>  luin,  and  strung  but  to  b!ie;ht! 

Farewell  lo  the  few  1  have  left  with  regret ; 
Miy  Iliey  snmeiinu-b  rt-call,  what  I  wimot  for-ret, 
'I'he  di:li:tht  of  llmse  evenings.—  too  bi  lef  a  delight ! 
When  in  converse  and  srmg  wehavestol'non  tlie  nigh'; 
When  they  've  askM  me  the  m^Doers,  the  iniudt  or 

the  mien 
Of  some  bard  I  had  known  or  some  chief  I  had  seen, 
Whose  glory,  thonijh  distant,  tliey  long  had  ador'd, 
Whose   name  had  oft  hallow'd   the  wine-cup  they 

pour'd ; 
And  still  as,  with  sympathy  humble  but  true, 
I  have  told  of  each  bright  son  of  f;«me  all  I  knew. 
They  have  lis  en"d.  andsighM  ihat  the  powerful  stream 
Of  America's  empire  should  pass,  like  a  dre.im, 
Without  leivingone  relic  of  genius,  to  say 
How  sublime  was  the  tide  which  h:id  vamsh'd  away! 
Farewell  to  the  few  —  though  we  never  may  meet 
On  this  planet  a^in,  it  is  soothing  and  sv^eet 
To  think  that,  whenever  my  song  or  my  n;ime 
Shall  recur  to  their  ear,  they  'II  lecalt  me  the  same 
1  have  been  to  them  now,  young,  unthouglitful,  and 

blest, 
Ere  hope  bad  deceive  me  or  sorrow  deprest. 


But,  Douglas !  while  thus  1  recnll  to  my  mind 
The  elect  of  the  land  we  sh  -ll  soon  leave  behind, 
I  can  read  in  the  weather-wise  glance  of  thine  eye, 
As  it  fnllows  the  r.irk  fiiitinc  "ver  tne  sky, 
'I'haltbe  faint  conimg  breeze  will  be  fair  fnr  our  flight, 
And  shall  steal  us  away,  ere  the  falling  of  nighi. 
Dear  Dougl  is  !  thou  kiiowest,  w  ilh  thee  by  my  side, 
With  thy  frrend>.liip  tnsoothe  me,  thy  cnur.ige  lo  guide, 
There  ie  not  a  bleak  isle  in  those  sumineiless  aeas, 
Where  the  day  cnmes  in  daikness,  or  shines  but  to 

freeze, 
Not  a  tract  of  the  line,  not  a  barbarous  shore, 
'ihat  I  could  not  wKh  patience,  with  pleasuie explore! 
Oh,  think  then  how  gl;.dly  I  T  llow  thee  new. 
When  Hope  smooths  the  billowy  path  of  our  prcw, 
And  e.ich  prosfterous  sigh  of  the  west-springing  wind 
Takes   me    nearer   the   home    wliere    my    heftrt  is 

enshrin'd  ; 
Where  the  smile  of  a  father  shall  meet  me  again, 
And  the  ears  of  a  mother  turn  bliss  into  pain  -j 
Where  the  kind  voice  of  sisters  shall  steal  to  my  heart, 
And  ask  it,  lu  sighs,  bow  we  ever  cuuld  part  ?  — 

Rut  see !  —  the  bent  top-sails  are  ready  to  swell  — 
To  the  boat-l  am  with  thee-Columbia,  farewell  I 


END     or     VOL.     II. 


PREFACE   TO    THE   THIRD    VOLUME. 


The  three  satirical  Poems  with  wliich  this  Volume 
coniHieiices,  were  jujblislied  originally  wittiout  thi 
author's  name;  *•  Corruption  "  and  •*  Intolennce"  ii 
the  yeir  1803,  and  "The  Sceptic"  in  the  year  follow 
ioa:.  The  poli'ical  opinions  adop-ed  in  the  first  of 
tliesc  Satires— the  Poem  on  Corruption — »ere  chiefly 
caught  up,  as  is  inlmialed  in  the  original  Preface, 
from  the  wri  inss  of  Bolingbroke,  Sir  William 
VVyndham,  and  other  s  atesinen  of  that  factious 
petind,  when  the  sinie  sort  of  alliance  took  place 
between  Toryism  and  what  is  now  called  Radicali-m, 
which  is  always  likely  to  ensue  on  the  ejection  of  the 
Tory  party  from  power. »  In  this  sfjnewhat  rash 
elfusion,  it  will  be  seen  that  neither  of  the  two  great 
Kngllsb  parties  is  handled  with  niuch  respect ;  and  ! 
remember  being  taken  to  task,  by  one  of  the  few  of 
my  Whig  acquaintances  that  ever  looked  into  the 
poem,  fur  the  following  allusion  lo  the  silencing 
efl'ecls  of  official  station  on  certain  orators ;  — 

;  their  hum. 


But  these  attempts  of  mine  in  the  stately,  Juvenal ian 
style  of  sitire.  met  with  but  little  success  —  never 
having  attained,  1  believe,  even  llie  honours  of  a 
second  edition;  and  I  found  that  lighter  form  of 
weapon,  to  which  I  afterwards  betook  myself,  not 
only  mote  easy  to  wield,  but,  from  its  very  lightness, 
perhaps,  more  sure  to  reach  its  mark. 

It  would  almost  seem,  too,  as  if  the  same  unembit- 
tered  spirit,  the  same  freedom  from  all  real  malice 
with  whicti,  in  most  instances,  this  sort  of  squib- 
warfaie  has  been  waged  by  me,  was  felt,  in  some 
degree,  even  by  those  who  uere  themselves  the 
objects  of  it;  — so  generously  forgiving  have  I.  in 
must  instances,  found  them.  Eventhe  high  Peison 
age  ag'inst  wliom  the  earliest  and  iierhaps  most  sue- 
ce.sful  of  my  lighter  missiles  were  launched,  could 
refer  to  and  quote  tliem,  as  I  learn  from  an  incident 
mentioned  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  wih  a 
degree  of  gn„dhutn..ur  and  plavfuliiess  which  was 
ciedit.able  alike  to  his  temper  and  good  sense.  At  a 
memorable  dinner  given  by  the  Regent  to  Sir  Walter 


>  Bolingbroke    himself  acknowledges  that  "both 
parlies  weie  become  factions,  in  the  strict  seme  of  the 


in  the  year  ISlo,  Scott,  among  other  stories  with 
which  his  royal  host  I'as  much  amused,  told  of  » 
sentence  passed  by  an  old  friend  of  his,  the  Lord  Jus- 
lice  Cleik  Biaslield,  atiended  by  ciicums  ances  in 
which  the  cruelty  of  this  waggish  judge  was  eveD 
more  conspicuous  than  his  humour.  *' 'J  he  Regent 
laughed  heartily,"  says  the  bingiapliir,  "at  this  speci- 
men  of  Brixfields  brutal  humour;  and  "I'  faith, 
Wal  er,"  said  he,  "this  old  big-wig  seems  to  have 
taken  things  as  coolly  as  my  tyrannical  self.  Don'i 
vou  remember  Tom  Moure's  descripiioo  of  me  at 
breakfast  ?  — 


Death-w 

In  reference  to  this,  and  other  less  exalted  Instances, 
of  the  good-humoured  spirit  in  which  my  "innocui 
sales  '  have  m  general  been  taken,  I  shall  venture  to 
cite  here  a  few  Haltering  sentences  which,  coming  as 
they  did  from  a  poliiical  adversary  and  a  stranger, 
touched  me  far  more  by  their  generosity  than  even  by 
their  prai>e.  In  sr>eakiiig  of  the  pension  which  had 
jnst  then  been  conferred  upon  me,  and  expressing,  in 
wainMernis,  his  approval  of  the  grant,  the  editor  of 
a  leading  Tnrv  journal  ^  thus  lilierally  ex|iresses  him- 
self:— "  We  know  that  some  will  blame  us  for  our 
prejudice— if  it  be  prejudice,  in  favour  of  Mr. 
Mnorej  but  we  cannot  help  it.  As  he  tells  us  him- 
self, 


the  most  obdurate  political  antipathies.  #  #  #  We  do 
not  believe  that  anyone  was  ever  hurt  by  libels  so 
witty  as  those  of  Mr.  Moore:— great  privilege  of  wit, 
which  renders  it  impossible  even  for  Ihosa  vihoso 
enemies  w  its  are,  to  hate  iheni  !  " 

To  return  to  the  period  of  the  Regency  :  —  In  the 
numerous  allacks  from  the  sovernmcnl  press,  which 
my  volleys  of  small  shot  against  the  Couil  used  lo 
diaw  down  upon  me,  it  was  constaiillv  alleged,  as  an 
aggravation  of  my  misdeeds,  Ihat  1  had  been  indebted 
to  tlie  Royal  |  ersonage  thus  assailed  by  me  for  many 
kind  aud  substan  ial  services.  Luckily,  the  list  of  llie 
henciils  showered  upon  me  from  Ihat  high  quarter 
may  be  despatched  in  a  few  seuteuces.    At  the  re- 


a  The  Standard,  August  24,  IS35. 


lie      PREFACE   TO   THE   THIRD    VOLUME. 


quesl  of  Lord  M'>ira,  nne  of  my  earlicet  and  best 
friends,  his  Royal  Urghue-s  graciously  fjerjuitted  me 
to  dedicate  to  liim^iny  'Iranslatioi.  of  ihe  Odes  of 
Anacreon.  I  was  twice,  I  llniik,  admittfd  to  the 
honour  of  dining  at  Carlton  Houst;  and  when  the 
frince,  on  his  being  made  Recent  m  t81I,  gave  his 
memiirible  fete,  I  was  one  of  the  crowd— ab<,ut  1500, 
1  believe,  in  number  — who  enjojed  the  privilege  of 
bein^  his  guests  ou  the  occasion. 

There  nccur  some  allusions,  indeed,  in  the  Two- 
penny Z'osl-B.ig,  to  the  absurd  la^ite  displayed  in  the 
oinniients  of  the  R-yal  supper  (able  at  that  fete  ;  i 
and  this  violation  —  for  such,  to  a  certain  extent,  I 
allow  it  to  hnve  been— o(  Ihe  reverence  due  to  the 
lites  of  the  Ho-pi:able  Jove,*  which,  whether  ad- 
ministered by  prince  or  peasant,  ought  to  be  sacied 
from  puch  expo^uie.  I  am  by  no  means  disposed  tu 
defend.  But,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  Ihe  taste 
or  piuderice  of  some  of  these  satires,  there  exists  no 
longer,  I  ai'prebend,  much  ditterence  of  opinion  re- 
spectuig  the  chiracler  of  the  Royal  personage  against 
whom  ihev  were  aimed.  Aheady,  indeed,  has  the 
stem  verdict  which  (he  voice  ot  History  cannot  but 
pronounce  upon  him,  been  in  some  degree  anticj- 
paled,^  in  a  sketch  of  the  domestic  events  of  his 
reign,  supposed  to  have  proceeded  fiom  the  pen  of 
one  who  was  himself  an  acior  in  some  of  iis  most 
painful  scenes,  and  who,  from  hi'^  prt  fesaional  posi- 
tion, commauded  a  near  iUbight  into  the  character  of 
that  exalted  individual,  both  as  husband  and  father. 
To  the  same  hi^h  authority  I  must  refer  for  an  ac- 
count of  the  mysterious  "  Book,"  4  to  which  allusion 
IS  more  than  once  made  in  the  following  paees. 

One  of  the  first  and  m  bt  successful  of  the  numer- 
ous trifles  I  wrote  at  tliat  perioi,  was  the  Parody  on 
Ihe  Regenl*s  celebrated  Letter,  announcing  tu  the 
world  that  he  "had  no  predilections,"  &c.  Th  s 
very  opportune  squib  w.is,  at  firs',  circulated  pri- 
vately; my  friend,  Mr.  Perry,  having  for  some  lime 
hesifa'ed  to  publish  it.  He  got  some  copies  of  it, 
however,  prin'ed  otf  for  me,  which  I  sent  round  to 
se\er.»l  members  of  the  Whig  party;  and.  havir.g  to 
meet  a  number  of  theni  at  dinner  immediately  after, 
found  it  no  easy  mailer  to  kepp  my  couniei^ance  while 
they  were  discussing  am  'i-g  them  llie  merits  of  the 
Parody.     One  of  Ihe  party,  i  recollect,  having  quoted 


t    The  same  fanteuUs  and  girandoles  — 

The  same  g"M  avses,  preMy  sou's. 

That,  in  this  rich  and  cl  issic  dome, 

Appear  so  peifectlj  at  home  ; 

The  same  bright  tiver,  'mong  Ihe  dishes, 

But  not  —  ah  !  not  the  same  dear  fishes. 

Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones;  — 

So,  steid  nf  silver  and  of  gold  ones, 

(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  "thai  sptcte  now  a-days) 

Some  sprats  hive  been,  by  V— rm— h's  wish, 

Promoted  Into  silver  fish, 

And  gudgeons  (so  V— ns— tt— t  told 

The  Reg— tj  are  as  good  as  gold. 

Twopenny  Post-Bag,  p  136- 
a    Ante  oresslabat  Jovis  Hospitis  aia.        Ovid, 

3  Edinbrirgh  Review,  No.  cxxxv.,  George  the 
Fourth  and  Qiuen  Caroline  —  '*  When  the  Prince 
entered  ui>on  put)lic  life,  he  was  fm-id  to  have  ex- 
hausted the  resourceiiof  a  career  of  pleasure;  to  have 
gained  followers  wilhout  making  friends;  to  have  ac- 
quired much  envy  and  some  admiration  among  the 
unthinkine  ni'iltitude  of  polished  society;  but  not  to 
command  in  any  quarter  either  respect  or  e-ii'eem.  *  * 
The  porttait  which  we  have  pam'ed  of  him  is  un- 
doubtedly one  of  tiie  daikest  shades,  and  most  repul- 
sive form." 

4  "  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  The  Book, 
written  by  Mr.  Perceval,  and  privaleiy  prinied  at  his 
house,  under  Lord  Eldon's  superintendence  and  his 
own,  was  prepared  in  concert  with  the  King,  and  was 
intended  to  sound  Ihe  alirm  against  Carlton  House 
and  the  Whigs."  — £(i.  Review,  ib. 


to  me  Ihe  following  description  of  the  stale  of  both 
King  and  Regent,  at  that  moment,— 


grew  rallier  provoked  with  me  for  not  enjoying  the 
fun  of  the  parody  as  much  as  himself. 

While  thus  th^  excitenient  of  parly  feeling  lent  to 
the  political  trifles  contained  in  this  volume  a  reliit 
and  pungency  not  their  own,  an  eti'ect  has  been  aitri- 
buted  to  two  squibs,  wholly  unconnected  with  politics 
—  the  Letters  fiom  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Corke, 
and  from  Me-srs.  Lackinglon  and  Cn.^  — of  which  1 
myself  had  not  the  slightest  notion  till  1  found  it  thus 
alluded  to  in  Mr.  Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scotl. 
In  s|teaking  of  the  causes  which  were  supposed  to 
have  cot.tiibult-d  to  ihe  comparative  failure  of  the 
Poem  of  "  Roktby,"  the  bii'gi.i]>lier  says,  "It  is  fair 
to  add  till',  anions  the  Louden  circles,  at  least,  some 
sarcastic  llings.  in  Mr.  Mooies  Two-penny  Post-Bag, 
must  have  had  an  unfavourable  intluence  on  this  occa- 
sion,'"6 

Among  Ihe  translations  that  have  appeared  on  the 
Continent,  of  the  geaer  pari  of  my  jioeiical  works, 
there  has  been  no  attempt,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  to 
give  a  version  of  any  of  my  satirical  writings, — with 
the  single  exception  of  a  squib  contained  in  this  vo- 
li.me,  eritiiled  "  Little  Man  and  Little  Soul,"  i  of  which 
there  is  a  translation  into  Geman  verse,  by  the  late 
distmgu  shed  oriental  scholar.  Professor  Von  Bohlen.8 
'1  h  'Ugh  unskilled,  myself,  in  Germ^m,  I  can  yet  per- 
ceive—sufficiently to  marvel  at  il— the  dexterity 
and  ease  wiih  which  the  Uld  Ballad  metre  of  the  on- 
cinal  is  adopted  and  managed  in  the  translation.  As 
thistrijie  may  be  considered  curious,  not  only  in  itself, 
but  still  more  as  connected  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 
my  very  early  Jacclix^  "The  Rdbbinical  Origin  of 
Woman.** 

"THERE    WAS    A    LITTLE    MAN." 
{Translated  'ty  Professor  von  Bohletu) 

Es  war  fin  kleiner  Mann 
L'nd  iler  hall  'ij  kleinen  Geist 
Und  er  sprach  :  kleiner  GeiBt  sehn  wlr  zu,  2a,  2o, 

6  Twcpenny  Post-Bag,  p.  135-  I  avail  myself  of 
the  nienlion  here  of  this  lafer  squib,  lo  recant  a  cor- 
rection which  1  too  hastily  made  in  the  two  follovviug 


Forgetting  that  Pope's  ear  wa-^  satisfied  with  the  sort 
of  rhyme  here  used,  I  foolislily  altered  (and  spoiled) 
the  whole  couplet  to  get  rid  of  it. 

6  "See,  for  instance,"  says  Mr.  Lnckhart,  "the 
Epistle  of  Lady  Corke ;  or  thai  of  Messrs.  Lacking- 
ton,  bioksellers,  to  one  of  their  dandy  auUiJts:  — 

'ShoulJ  yrrn  fer!  any  touch  oT  poetical  glow, 
We  've  a  wchenif  lo  sufc'Eetit :— Mr.  So— it,  you  muftt  kncm, 
(Who,  wc  're  HOrry  to  say  it,  nnw  wurkH  fnr  the  Row,*) 
Having  quilted  tlie  Biirdere,  to  seek  new  renown, 
Ifl  comiijp.  by  louu  Quarto  (slages,  lo  Town ; 
And  beginning  wiUi  Rnkeby  (tlic  job's  sure  to  nay) 
Meaos  to  ^    —  "  -  "      ■■  -       ■    -     - 
Now,  Ihe 


g  coachc»— 


n) 
To  etarl  a  fresh  Poet  through  Highgate  to 
Who.  by  ra-ans  <,f  qiiiik  prrKjfs— no  revises- 
May  d  '  a  few  villas,  bcfoie  Sc— 11  jippro-ich 
I.nl,-i'd,  ir.iur  Pepasus  be  nol  .  urst  sl.abliy, 
He'li  reach,  without  fimnd'iing,  III  least  Wuburn  Abbey.'" 

t  Alluding  to  a  speech  delivered  in  Ihe  year  1SI3by 
the  Right  Hon.  Charles  Abbot  (then  Speaker)  against 
Mr.  Giattan'H  motion  for  a  Committee  on  the  ciaiius 
of  the  Catholics. 

8  Author  of  "  The  Ancient  Indian.*' 

*  Paternoster  Row. 


CORRUPTION    AND    INTOLERANCE. 


117 


Ob  uas  moglich  wchl  wird  eeyn 

Su  eiu  kleiues  K('(;t:leiii 
Dm  wir  liallttii,  kleii.er  icii  und  kk-iiter  clti.  du,  do, 

Dan  w]r  hullcii.  Kleiner  iili  uud  kkiutr  ilu. 

Und  der  kleinc  Oei^t,  der  brarh 

Aua  Ucrin    Luch«   »iiiii   und  Kpruch  : 
let  tehaui.-rn.  kitit:-'    Mi^uo,  du  bint  kecit,  kecki  ktck,      | 

Niiom  uicljt  ubA  Hijsj  /wfiicU 

Abt-r  siifje  mir,  2uiii  Teufel, 
Hat  die  klelne  kiciiie  Kt-d'  eiiicii  iN^fe-li,  7weck,  xweck. 

Hat  die  kli^iiie  kk-iiie  Ked'  t:iiit:a  z week  I 


Uod  er  uprach  :  kleintri  Geist  sey  t;eHcheut,  Birheot.acheut ; 

KlciiRT  k'ti  utid  kk-iiter  du 

tiiiid  berurtfii  ja  duzu 
Zu  V(.Td:tmineu  uinl  bt-kthrt^n  alle  Leut',  Lpiit*,  Leul* 

Zu  veiOamiiii^u  und  btrkctireu  alle  Lcuk' 

Uud  Hie  linger)  beide  ao 

Der  kli-in«  Ueist  und  kleiDU  Mann. 
Paukleu  ab  ibre  lltde  bo  kleiu.  klein,  klein; 


Uud  die  ganz  Welt  fur  wahr 
Meintt  das  auf^cbhnt'iie  Vaar 
Musst  eiH  wmiigtB  Pfivtleltin  iiur  eeyn»  Beyn,  B«y% 
Mutibl  triu  wiDZiKVH  I'fait'clein,  uur  seyii 

H.ivinR  thus  brought  togetlier,  aa  well  from  the  re- 
cords of  others,  as  (lOni  luy  own  rtcollection,  what- 
ever iiicideiilal  lights  could  be  thrown  Iruni  those 
sources,  on  bome  of  ihe  satirical  ettusions  coutamcd 
ill  thtsc  pages,  I  sliall  now  reseive  all  auch  itiniuis- 
cences  and  notices  as  relate  to  the  Irish  Melodies,  for 
our  next  vuluine. 

It  13  ri^ht  my  readers  should  here  be  apprized,  that 
the  plan  of  classing  my  poetical  works  accoiding:  to 
the  o  der  of  their  hrst  publication,  Is  pursued  no  fur- 
ther (haii  the  Second  Volume  of  this  Collection  ;  and 
Ihai,  therefore,  Ihe  arrangement  of  the  contents  of  the 
succeeding  Volumes,  though  not,  in  a  general  way, 
departing  much  from  this  rule,  is  uut  to  be  depended 
upon  as  ob&erving  it. 


CORRUPTION,    AND    INTOLERANCE. 

TWO    POEMS. 

ADDRESSED  TO  AN  ENGLISHMAN  BY  AN  IRISHMAN. 


rjtEFACR. 

The  practice  which  has  been  lately  introduced  into 
literature,  nf  writing  very  long  no  es  upon  very  indif- 
ferent verses,  a))pears  to  me  raher  a  liappy  inven- 
tion ;  as  it  supplies  us  with  a  mnde  of  turning  dull 
poetry  to  account ;  and  as  hoTsts  too  heavy  for  tiie 
saddle  may  yet  serve  well  enough  to  draw  lumber,  no 
roenisof  this  kind  make  excellent  beasts  rf  burden, 
and  will  bear  notes,  though  they  may  not  bear  read- 
ing. IJesides,  the  comments  in  such  cas-es  are  so  lilile 
under  the  necessity  of  pnying  any  servile  deference  to 
the  text,  that  they  may  even  adopt  that  Socratic  dogma, 
"  Quod  supra  nos  nihil  ad  n"s. 

In  the  hrst  of  ihe  two  foliowinc  Poems,  I  have  ven- 
tured to  speak  of  the  Revolutinn  of  IbSS,  in  language 
which  has  sometimes  been  employed  by  Tory  wi  iters, 
and  which  is  Iheiefore  neither  very  new  nor  popular. 
But  however  an  Englishman  might  be  reproached 
with  ingratitude,  for  depreciating  the  n«nis  and  re- 
sults of  a  measure,  which  he  is  taught  to  regard  ;is  the 
souiceof  his  liberties  — however  ungrateful  it  might 
appear  in  Alderman  R— reh  to  ijuestion  for  a  moment 
the  purity  of  th.it  glorious  era,  to  which  he  is  indebt- 
ed (or  the  seasoning  of  so  many  orations —  yet  an 
Irishman,  whu  has  none  of  Ihe^e  obiit;aijous  to  ac- 
knowledge ;  to  whose  c  uniiy  the  Revolution  brought 
nothing  but  injury  and  insul',  and  wlio  lecollecls  that 
the  book  of  Molyneus  was  burned,  by  order  of  VViI- 
iiam\  Whig  Palianient,  for  daring  to  extend  to  un- 
fortunate Ireland  tho.se  principles  on  which  Ihe  Revo- 
Julion  was  professedly  founded— an  Irishman  may  be 
allowed  to  cri  icise  freely  the  measures  of  that  period, 
without  exposing  himself  other  to  Ihe  tmpu  aiion  of 
ingraritude,  or  to  ihe  suspicion  of  being  iniluenced  by 
any  Pupi  h  remains  of  Jacobitisin.  No  nation,  it  is 
true,  WIS  ever  blessed  with  a  more  golden  opportunity 
of  establishing  and  securing  i(s  libeilies  foi  ever  than 
the  conjuncture  of  Eighty-eight  pre'ented  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Great  Biitain.  But  t^he  disgraceful  reigns  of 
Charles  and  Janies  had  weakened  and  degraded  Ihe 
national  charader.  The  b(jld  notions  of  popular 
right,  which  had  arisen  out  of  the  snuggles  belween 
Charles  the  First  and  his  Parliament,  were  gradually 
supplanted  by  those  slavish  d  ctrines  for  which  Lmd 
H— kesb— ry  eulogises  the  cliurchmen  of  that  period  ; 
ar.d  as  the  Rertrniation  had  happened  too  sor>n  for  the 
purity  of  religion,  so  the  Revolution  came  too  ia'e  for 
the  spirit  of  liberiy.  Its  advantages  accordingly  were 
for  the  wost  part  specious  and  transitory,  while  the 


I  evils  which  it  eotailed  are  strU  felt  and  slill  increas- 
I  ing.  By  rendeiing  unnecessary  Ihe  frequent  exercise 
j  of  Preiogalive,— that  unwieldy  power  which  cannot 
I  move  a  step  without  alarm,— it  diminished  the  only 
i  interference  of  the  Ciown,  which  is  singly  and  inde- 
:  peiidenily  exposed  before  tlie  people,  and  w^hose 
.  abuses  tlierefoie  are  obvious  to  their  se^^es  and  capaci- 
lies.  Like  the  myrlle  over  a  celebrated  statue  in 
Minerva's  temple  at  Aihen^  it  skilfully  veiled  from 
the  ptblic  eye  the  only  obtrusive  feature  of  royalty. 
At  the  same  time,  however,  (hat  the  Revolution 
nbridged  this  i.npopular  aitnbute,  it  amply  compen- 
sated by  Ihe  Sibslitntiun  of  a  new  power,  as  much 
more  potent  in  its  elVect  as  it  is  more  secret  in  its  ope- 
rations. In  Ihe  disposal  of  an  immense  revenue  and 
the  extensive  [almnage  annexed  to  it,  the  liist  foun- 
dations of  ihis  pov\cr  of  the  Cmwn  were  laid;  the 
innovation  of  a  tlmding  army  at  once  increased  and 
strengihened  it,  and  ihe  few  slight  barriers  which  the 
Act  of  Settlement  opposed  to  ils  progiess  have  all 
been  gr,. dually  removed  dming  the  whiggish  reigns 
Ihat  succeeded  ;  till  at  length  this  spirit  of  influence 
has  become  Ihe  vital  principle  of  the  state,— an 
agency,  subtle  aiid  unseen,  which  pervades  every  pad 
of  the  Cuns  itution,  lurks  under  all  its  forms  and 
regulttes  all  iu  movements,  and,  like  Ihe  invisible 
sylph  or  grace  which  presides  over  ihe  motions  of 
beauty, 


The  cause  of  Liberty  and  the  Revolution  are  so  hahi- 
lually  associated  in  the  mmds  of  Englishmen,  ihat 
probably  in  objecting  to  the  latter  I  may  lie  thought 
hostile  or  inJifierent  to  the  former.  But  assuredly 
nothing  could  be  more  unjust  than  such  a  suspicion. 
The  very  object,  indeed,  which  my  humble  animad- 
versions would  attain  is,  that  in  the  crisis  to  which  I 
think  EiiEland  is  now  hastening,  and  between  which 
and  foreign  subjugation  she  niay  soon  be  conipeiled  lo 
choose,  Ihe  errors  ai;d  omissions  of  168S  should  be 
remedied  ;  and,  as  it  was  then  her  f..te  to  experience 
a  Revolution  with  Reform,  so  she  m;iy  now  endeavour 
10  accomplish  a  Ref  rm  wilhou'  a  Revolution. 

In  speaking  of  the  i  arties  which  have  so  long  agi- 
tated England,  it  will  be  observed  that  I  lean  as  litlle 
to  the  Whigs  as  to  their  adversaries.  Bolh  facr'.ons 
have  been  equally  cmel  to  Ireland,  and  perhaps 
equally  insincere  m  iheir  efforts  for  the  liberties  c'  [ 


^118^ 


CORRUPTION. 


England.  There  is  one  name,  indeed,  connected  with 
whiggi-in,  of  which  I  can  never  think  but  with  vene- 
ration and  tendernos-;.  As  justly,  however,  might  the 
light  of  the  sut)  be  claimed  bv  any  pariicular  nation, 
as  the  sinclinn  of  that  name  he  monnpdiized  by  any 
par'y  whatsoever.  Mr.  Fox  l'eh)[:ged  tu  maukiod, 
and  they  h.ive  lost  in  him  their  ablet  frie  d. 

With  respect  to  the  few  lines  ufmn  Intolerance, 
which  I  have  tubjoined,  ihey  are  but  the  imperfect 
beginning  of  a  Ion?  series  of  Essays,  with  wh  ch  I 
lie:e  menace  my  readers,  upcn  the  same  important 
subject,  I  shall  look  lo  no  higher  n)eril  in  the  task, 
than  that  of  giving  a  new  form  to  claims  and  remon- 
Btrances,  which  have  often  been  much  more  eh  que ntly 
urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now  have  produced 
their  effect,  hut  that  'he  minds  of  jome  of  our  states- 
met,  like  the  pupil  of  the  human  eye,  contract  (hem- 
seKes  (he  more,  the  stroi  ger  light  there  is  shed  upon 
tbem. 


CORRUPTION. 

AN    EPISTLE. 


TaVTa'  avTEKXrjKTat  6e  avTi  toutujI',  i;0'  wv 
anoXoiXe  Kaf.  vcvuaijKiv  i/  'EXXag.  Tavra  d' 
t<jTi  Ti  ;  ^TjXos,  «  Ttq  EtXrjtpt  tl-  ytXo}<;  av  bfioXo' 
yij-  avyy vui fLTi  TOii  tXsyxofit'^oiS  /iicro?,  av  rov 
Totj  T(5  fntTiixa,'  raAAa  Trat'ra,  taa  zk  tov  (Jui- 
go6o<uv  ijQTijTOi.  Dtmosth.  Philij)p,  iii. 


And  feel,  though  close  our  wedded  countries  twicfl| 
More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  tkinc 

Yet  pause  a  moment  —  and  if  truths  severe 
Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear, 
Which  hears  no  news  but  W— rd's  gazetted  lies, 
And  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  hut  Pye's,— 
If  ausht  can  please  thee  but  ihe  good  nld  saws 
Uf  '*Chuich  and  Slate,"  and   '^AViUiam's  niatchle« 

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  fur  speeching  lords,—  * 
'I'urn,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found, 
Wheie  most  she  look'd  for  life,  her  deadliest  wound  j 
How  biave  she  struggled,  while  her  foe  was  seen. 
How  faint  since  Indiitnce  lent  ihal  f ■  e  a  screen  ; 
How  strong  o'er  James  and  Popery  she  prevad'd, 
How  weakly  fell,  uheu  Whigs  and  gold  assail'd.* 

While  kings  were  poor,  and  all  those  schemes  un- 
known 
Which  drain  the  people,  to  enrich  the  throne  j 
Ere  yet  a  yielding  Commnt  s  had  supplied 
Those  chains  of  gold  by  which  themselves  are  tied ; 
Then  proud  Prerogative,  untaught  to  creep 
Wiih  btibeiy's  silent  foot  on  Freedom's  sleep, 
Frank'y  avowM  his  bold  enslaving  plan, 
And  claim'd  a  right  from  God  lo  trample  man  I 
But  Luther's  schism  had  loo  much  rous'd  mankind 
For  Hampden's  truihs  m  liigefclong  behind  ; 
Nor  ihen,  when  king  like  popes  had  f.tllen  so  low, 
Could  pope-like  kings  ^  escape  the  levelling  blow. 


Boast  on,  my  friend  —  though  stript  of  all  beside, 
Thy  struggling  na'ion  still  retains  her  piide  :  i 
Thai  ptide,  which  once  in  genuine  glory  woke 
When  Marlboiough  fought,  and    brilliant  St,  John 

spoke ; 
That  pride  which  still,  hy  time  and  shime  unstung. 
Outlives  even  Wh— tel-cke's  sword  and  H— wk— a- 

bVy's  tongue  1 
Boast  on,  my  friend,  while  in  this  humbled  isle  ^ 
Where  Honour  mourns  and  Freedom  fears  to  smile, 
Where  the  bnght  light  of  England's  fame  is  known 
But  by  the  shadow  o'er  our  fortunes  ihrown  ; 
Where,  doom'd  ourselves  to  nought  but  wrongs  and 

slights,3 
We  hear  you  boast  of  Britain's  glorious  rights, 
As  wretched  slaves,  thtt  under  hitches  lie, 
Hear  th'tse  on  deck  extol  the  sun  aid  sky  ! 
Boast  on.  while  wandering  thrnugh  my  native  haunts, 
I  coldly  listen  to  ihy  patriut  vaunts  ; 


I  Angli  suos  ac  sua  omnia  impense  mirantur;  cae'e- 
ras  nptiones  de^pt'ctui  habent. — Barclay  (as  quoted 
in  one  of  Drydeu's  prefaces). 

*  Kngland  b*-gan  very  eirly  to  fee!  the  efTects  of 
cruelty  towards  htr  dependencies.  "  The  severity  of 
her  government  (says  Mscpher.on)  contributed  mon 
to  deprive  her  of  the  continental  dominions  of  ihi 
familv  of  Flantageiiet  thaa  ihe  arms  of  France."— See 
tiR  ^iJtOTT,',  vol.  i. 

3  "  Bv  Ihe  total  relnclion  of  Ihe  kingdom  r,f  Ireland 
in  I69r{says  Burkes  the  ruin  of  Ihe  naiive  Irish,  and 
in  a  gieat  measure,  too,  t  f  the  fir^t  races  of  the  Eng- 
lish, was  completely  accomplished.  The  new  Eng- 
lish interest  wasse'tled  with  as  solid  a  stability  .ts  any 
thing  in  human  alfairs  can  lo<<k  for.  A  the  penal 
laws  of  that  unpanlleied  code  of  nppressinn,  which 
were  made  after  the  l.ist  event,  were  manifestly  the 
effi-c's  of  national  hatred  and  scorn  towards  a  con- 
quered penple,  "  honi  the  victors  delighted  lo  traniple 
\  upon,  and  we^e  md  at  a.l  afiaid  to  piovoke."  Vet 
I  thi'4  is  the  era  to  which  the  wise  common  council  of 
I  Dublin  refer  ut  for  *^  invaluable  blessing^'  ^c. 


*  It  never  seems  to  occur  to  those  oiators  and  ad- 
dres  ers  "ho  round  ofl'  so  mai  y  sentences  ar  d  para- 
grajihs  with  ihe  Bill  of  Rights,  the  J.ct  of  Seiilement, 
&c  ,  that  most  of  the  prnvisioris  which  ihese  Ads 
cnnt:itned  f'T  ihe  preservation  of  parliam^ntaTy  inde- 
petdence  have  been  long  la^d  aside  a^  lomantic  a:;d 
troublesome.  I  never  meet,  I  conTe^s,  wiih  a  politi- 
cian who  quotes  Fcinnsly  the  I)eo!aration  of  Rights, 
&c.,  tn  prove  the  aduai  existence  fif  English  liberty, 
that  I  do  not  think  of  that  marqui?,  whom  Montesqideo 
men'ion>-,*  who  set  abnut  looking  for  niiiie*  in  the 
Pyrenees,  on  the  strength  of  authorities  u  hich  he  h-td 
rend  in  sonie  ancient  authors.  The  poor  marquis 
toiled  and  searched  in  vain.  He  quo  ed  his  authori- 
ties to  Ihe  last,  but  found  no  mines  after  all. 

i  The  chief,  perhaps  the  only  advantage  which  has 
resul'ed  fmm  the  s\s  em  of  influence,  is  ihat  tianqnil 
course  of  unin'errupied  ac  ion  which  it  has  given  lo 
the  administration  of  gDvernmenl.  If  kings  mutt  be 
paramount  in  the  state  (and  their  minis  ers  for  the 
time  being  always  think  so),  the  country  is  indebted 
to  Ihe  Revolution  for  enabling  them  to  become  so 
quietly,  and  for  removing  skilfully  the  danger  of  those 
shocks  and  collisions  which  the  alarming  eflbrts  of 
prerogative  never  failed  to  prcHliice. 

Instead  of  vain  and  disturbing  efforts  to  establish 
that  speculative  b.ilance  of  the  constitution,  which, 
perhaps,  has  never  existed  but  in  the  pages  of  Montes- 
quieu ai  d  De  Lnlme,  a  prepnnderance  is  now  silently 
yielded  to  one  of  Ihe  three  es'ates.  which  carries  the 
other  two  almost  insensibly,  bul  still  efTecfually,  along 
with  it;  and  even  though  the  path  nay  lead  eventu- 
ally to  destruction,  vet  its  specious  and  gitded  smooth- 
ness almost  atones  for  the  danger;  atid,  like  Milton's 
bridge  over  Chaos,  it  may  be  ^aid  to  lead, 

•'Smooth,  eosy,  Inoffensive,  down  to .'* 

6  The  drivelling  correspondence  between  James  I, 
and  his  *'dng  Steenie"  (the  Duke  cf  Buckingham), 
which  we  find  anmng  Ihe  Hardwicke  Papers,  suffi- 
ciently shnws.  if  we  wanted  any  such  illustration, 
in  0  wh;*t  doting,  idiotic  brains  the  plan  of  arbitrary 
power  may  enter. 


Liv.  ixi.  chap.  2. 


__J 


CORRUPTION, 


119 


That  prnderous  sceptre  (in  wliose  place  we  bow 

To  Mie  light  lalisniiiii  of  iufluence  now), 

Too  gross,  too  visible  to  work  the  spell 

Which  modern  pnv\er  pertoims,  in  fngmerits  fell: 

In  fragments  lay,  fill,  pa'ch'd  and  painlej  o'er 

With  Ueurs-de-lys,  it  shone  and  scourged  once  more. 

*T\vas  then,  my  friend,  thy  kneeling  na'inn  quiff'd 
Long,  lonu:  and  deep,  the  cliurchnian'sopia'e  draught 
Of  p  'ssive,  jiroiie  obedience  —  then  took  (light 
AM  sense  of  man's  true  dignity  and  right; 
And  Hrilnns  slept  so  sluggish  in  their  chain, 
That  Fieedom's  watch-viiice  cali'd  almost  in  vain. 
Oh  England  !  Englind  <  ivhat  a  chance  was  thine, 
Whenlhe  last  tyrant  of  that  ill*slarr*d  line 
Fled  from  his  sullied  crown,  and  left  thee  free 
To  found  thy  nwn  eternal  liberty  I 
How  nobly  high,  in  that  propitious  hour. 
Might  patriot  hands  have  rais'd  the  triple  tower  * 
Of  British  freedom,  on  a  rock  divine. 
Which  neither  force  could  bt-irm  nnr  treachery  mine  ! 
But  no  — the  lumi.oiis,  the  lofiy  plan. 
Like  mighty  B^bel,  seein'd  too  bold  for  man  ; 
The  cuise  of  jar.  ing  ti.ngues  again  was  given 
To  thwart  a  work  whicti  raised  men  nearer  heaven. 
While  Tories  mair'd  wliat  VVhigs  had  scarce  begun, 
While  Whigs  undid   what  Whigs   themselves  had 
done,'* 


I  Tacitus  has  expres>ed  his  opinion,  in  a  passage 
very  freqrently  quoted,  that  such  a  distribution  of 
power  as  the  theory  of  th<;  Brlti^h  c-nsti  ution  exhi- 
bits is  me  ely  a  subject  of  bright  speculation,  •*  a  s}s- 
lem  more  easily  praised  than  praciised,  and  which, 
even  could  it  happen  to  exist,  would  certainly  not 
prove  permanent  ,"  and,  in  truth,  a  review  of  Eng- 
land's annals  would  dispose  us  to  agee  u  ilh  the  gteat 
historian'-,  remark.  For  we  find  that  at  no  period 
wlia  ever  hn  tins  balance  of  the  three  estates  exis  ed  ; 
that  the  nobles  predomimted  till  the  policy  oi  Henry 
VII.  and  his  juccessor  reduced  theirweighi  by  break- 
ing up  the  feuJal  ststem  of  properly  ;  that  the  power 
of  the  Crown  became  then  supreme  and  absolute,  till 
the  bol.l  encroachments  of  the  Commons  subverted  the 
fabric  altogether;  that  the  alternate  ascendency  of 
prerog.tiie  and  privilege  districted  the  period  which 
followed  the  Restoraiion  :  and  Ih.d,  lasily,  the  Acts  of 
16b8,  bv  laying  the  fonidalion  of  an  unbounded  court- 
infliience,  have  secured  a  prepordeiance  to  the 
Throne,  which  evoiy  succeeding  year  incroases.  So 
that  the  vaunted  British  coiis:itution  has  never  per- 
haps existed  but  in  mere  theory. 

*  The  monarchs  of  Great  Biitain  can  never  be  suf- 
ficiently grateful  for  that  accommodating  spirit  vi  liich 
led  the  Revoluiioi  ary  Whiits  to  give  ,iway  the  crown, 
without  imposing  any  of  those  restraints  or  stipula- 
tions whcli  othei  men  might  have  taken  advantage  of 
so  f.Tvnurable  a  moment  to  eiif  .rce.  and  in  the  fiaming 
of  which  they  bad  so  good  a  modrl  to  follow  as  the 
limitations  proposed  by  the  I.nrds  Essex  and  Halifax, 
in  the  debate  upon  ihe  Exclusion  Bill.  They  not 
only  condesceiiiled,  however,  to  accept  of  places,  but 
look  care  that  these  di;nltio^  should  be  no  impedi- 
ment to  their  ■'  voice  potential"  in  alTairs  of  legisla- 
tion :  and  although  an  Act  was  af  er  manv  yeais  suf- 
fered to  I  ass  which  hy  one  of  its  articles  ill  qualified 
pl.acenien  from  serving  as  members  of  Ihe  House  of 
Commons,  it  was  yet  not  allowed  to  Imerferc  witli 
the  influence  of  the  reigning  monarcli,  nor  with  that 
of  his  successor  Anne.  ']  be  purifving  clause,  indeed, 
Wis  not  to  takeeaVct  till  ..fter  Ihe  deceaeof  Ihe  latter 
sovereign,  and  she  very  c 'nsiderately  rejeahd  it 
altogether.  So  that,  as  representation  has  continued 
ever  since,  if  Ihe  king  were  simple  enough  to  send  to 
foreign  courts  amba  sadors  who  were  nn  st  of  them  in 
the  pay  of  those  courts,  he  would  be  just  as  honestly 
futed  as  are  his  people.  It 
umerate  all  the  favours  which 
were  conferred  upon  Will  am  bv  those  "aposiale 
Whgs."  TI.ey  c  impl.meiite.i  Iiim  with  the  fi.sl  sjs- 
peuiioo  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  which  had  been 


The  hour  was  lost,  and  William,  with  a  smile. 
Saw  Freedom  weeping  o'er  Ihe  unhnish'd  pilel 
Hence  all  the  ills  you  suffer,—  hence  remaia 
"uch  galling  fragmems  of  thai  feudal  chain,3 
Whose  links,  around  yon  by  ihe  Isiorman  Hung, 
Though  loo.ed  and  broke  >o  oflen,  still  have  clung. 
Hence  sly  Prerogative,  like  Jove  of  old. 
Has  tunrd  liis  thunder  into  showers  of  gold. 
Whose  silent  courtship  Wins  secuier  jo)'s,* 
Taints  by  degiees,  and  ruins  without  noise. 


h.azarded  since  the  confirmation  of  that  privilege ;  and 
this  example  of  our  Deliverer's  reign  has  not  been  lost 
upon  any  of  his  successois.  'J  iiey  promoted  the 
establishment  of  a  .standing  army,  and  circulated  in 
its  defence  the  celebrated  '*  Balancing  Letler,"  in 
which  It  is  insinuated  that  England,  even  llien,  in  her 
bo.isted  hour  of  regeneration,  was  arrived  at  such  a 
pitch  of  taction  and  coriuption,  thai  nolhiiig  could 
keep  her  in  order  but  a  Whig  ministry  and  a  standing 
aiiiiy.  They  refused,  as  long  as  they  could,  toshoiteu 
the  duration  of  paiiiamenis;  and  though,  in  the 
Declaiation  of  Rigtits.  Ihe  necessity  of  sucli  a  reform 
was  acknowledged,  they  were  able,  by  arts  not  un- 
known to  modem  minisieis,  to  brand  those  as  traitors 
and  republicans  who  urged  i  .*  Hut  the  arand  and 
dis'ingttisliing  trait  of  their  measures  w,is  the  power 
they  besowed  on  the  Crown  of  almost  aninhilaling 
tne  freedom  of  elections,— of  turning  tioni  its  course, 
and  for  ever  dehliiig  that  great  slieain  of  Represent.a- 
tion.  which  had.  eieii  in  Ihe  most  apitalid  |  ei  lods, 
rcflec'ed  S"me  fe.itiires  of  the  people,  but  which,  from 
tlieiiceforth.  became  the  P.  clolns,  Ihe  "aurifer  am- 
nis,"  of  the  couit,  and  seived  as  a  minor  of  Ihe 
nation. I  will  and  popular  feeling  no  longer.  We 
need  but  con  ull  the  wiilings  of  that  lime,  to  under- 
stand the  astonishment  then  excited  by  nieasuies. 
which  lhe])r..ctice  of  a  century  ha-  rendered  not  only 
familiar  but  necessary,  tee  a  pamphlet  called  "  The 
Damier  of  inercenarv  Parliaments,"  IbSS;  Sbale 
Tracts,  Will.  HI.  vol.  li. ;  see  al,o  "Some  Paradoxes 
presented  a=  a  New  Year's  Gifi,"  (Stale  Poems,  vol. 
iii.) 

3  The  last  great  wound  given  to  Ihe  feudal  system 
was  the  Act  of  the  I2ih  of  Charles  II.,  which  abol- 
ished Ihe  tenure  of  knight's  service  in  atjjilc,  and 
which  Blackslone  comp.ares,  for  its  salutary  influence 
upon  properiv,  to  the  boasted  provisions  of  Magna 
Chaila  itself.'  Yet  even  in  this  Act  we  see  Ihe  ettects 
of  that  counteracting  spirit  which  has  contrived  to 
weaken  every  ellbrt  of  the  English  nation  lowaids 
liberty.  The  exclusion  of  copvholders  fiom  their 
share  tf  elective  tights  was  permit'ed  to  icmaiu  as  a 
brand  of  feudal  servitude,  and  as  an  ob<tacle  to  the 
rise  of  that  slrongcouiilerbalai.ee  which  an  equal  re- 
presentation of  property  would  opoose  to  Ihe  weight 
of  the  Crown.  If  the  maimgers  of  the  Revolution 
had  been  sincere  in  their  wishes  for  reform,  they 
would  not  only  have  taken  this  feber  oil"  Ihe  rights  of 
election,  but  would  ha>e  renewed  the  mode  adopted 
m  Cromwell's  time  of  increasing  the  number  of 
knigbtsof  tlie  shire,  lo  the  exclusion  of  those  rotten 
insignificant  borougln  which  have  t  iiited  the  whole 
mass  of  the  constitution.  Lord  Clarei.din  calls  this 
measure  of  Cromwell's  "an  alteration  hi  to  be  more 
w.arraiitable  made,  and  in  a  better  lime."  It  formed 
part  of  iMr.  Pitts  plan  in  I7S3;  but  Pi  t's  plan  of  re- 
form was  a  kind  of  announced  dramatic  piece,  about 
as  likely  to  be  ever  acted  as  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Furtsl- 
ers  " 

*       fore  enim  lutum  iter  et  patens 

Converso  in  pietiurn  Deo. 

Aurum  per  medios  ire  satellites,  &c. 

Horat. 

•  See  a  pamphlet  published  in  IGS3,  upon  the  King's 
refusing  to  sign  the  Triennial  Bill,  called  "A  Dis- 
course between  a  Yeoman  of  Kent  and  a  Knight  of  a 
Shire."- '•  Hereupon  (says  the  Yer.man)  Ihe  gentle- 
man grew  angry,  and  said  that  1  talked  like  a  oase 

allh  man." 


120 


CORRUPTION. 


While  parliament?,  no  more  those  sacred  things 
Which  make  and  rule  the  destiny  of  kings, 
Like  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown, 
And  each  new  set  of  sharpers  cog  tlieir  own. 
Hence  ihe  rich  oil,  that  from  the  Treasury  steals, 
Drips  smooth  o'er  all  Ihe  Consiiiution's  wheels, 
Giving  the  old  njaclilne  such  ).liaut  play.l 
That  Court  and  Comirrnns  jog  m.e  joltless  way. 
While  Wisdom  tieiiiMes  for  the  crazy  car, 
So  gilt,  so  rotten,  carrying  fools  so  far  j 


It  would  be  a  task  not  uninstructive  to  trace  the  his- 
tory of  Prerogrlive  from  the  date  of  its  strength  under 
the  Tudor  princes,  wlien  Her.rv  Vll.  and  his  succes- 
sors "  laught  Ihe  penple  (as  Nathaniel  Bacon  says)' 
to  dance  to  Ihe  tune  of  Allegiance,"  to  the  period  of 
the  Kevolutlon,  when  the  '1  hrone,  in  i!s  a'lacks  upon 
liberty,  began  to  exchange  the  noisy  expl  sions  of 
Prerogali\e  for  the  slenl  and  eli'ectual  air  gun  of  In- 
fluence, In  following  its  course,  too,  since  that 
memorable  era,  we  shall  hnd  that,  while  ihe  royal 
powt-r  lias  been  ab  idged  in  branches  where  it  might 
be  made  conducive  to  the  in'eresis  of  ihe  people,  it 
has  been  lefl  m  full  and  un-hackled  vigour  against 
almost  every  point  where  the  iiilegiity  of  the  consti- 
tution is  vulnerable.  For  instance,  ihe  pouer  of 
chartering  boroughs,  to  whose  capricious  abuse  in  Ihe 
hands  of  the  Stuarts  we  are  indebled  for  most  ■  f  ihe 
present  anomalies  of  represenlation,  might,  if  suG'er- 
ed  to  remain,  have  in  some  degree  atoned  for  ils  mis- 
chief, by  restoiing  the  old  unchar  erpd  biroughs  to 
their  rights,  and  widening  more  equally  the  basis  of 
Ihe  legi;ialurc.  Hu',  by  Ihe  Aci  of  Union  with  Scot- 
land, this  pait  of  the  prerogative  was  removed,  lest 
Freedom  should  have  a  chance  of  being  tiealed,  even 
by  Ihe  rust  of  the  spear  which  had  formerly  wound- 
ed her.  1  he  dangerous  power,  however,  of  creating 
peers,  which  has  been  so  often  exercised  for  the  gn- 
vemmerit  against  the  constitution,  is  still  left  in  free 
and  unqualified  activity;  nolwithslaiiding  the  exam- 
ple of  ihai  celeb  a'ed  Bill  for  the  limilaiion  of  ihis 
evei-budding  branch  of  prerogative,  which  was  pro- 
posed in  the  reign  of  George  I.  under  the  jieculiar 
sanction  and  recommendation  of  the  Crown,  but 
which  the  Whigs  ihought  iight  to  reject,  with  all  that 
characteristic  delicacy,  which,  in  gi-neral.  prevents 
them  when  enjoying  Ihe  sweets  of  oifice  themselves, 
from  taking  any  rincourtly  advantage  of  ttie  Throne. 
It  will  be  recollected,  however,  that  the  crea'ion  of 
the  twelve  peeis  by  Ihe  Tories  in  Anne's  reign  (a  niea- 
sure  which  Swift,  like  a  true  party  man.  defends)  gave 
these  upright  Whigs  ail  possible  alarm  for  their  liber- 
ties 

With  regard  to  the  generous  fit  about  his  preroga- 
tive which  seized  so  unroyally  the  good  king  George 
I.,  hisloriaiis  have  hinted  Ihat  the  paroxysm  originated 
far  mure  in  haired  to  his  son  ihau  in  love  to  Ihe  oni- 
slitution.t  This,  of  course,  however,  is  a  Cilumny: 
no  loyal  person,  acquainted  with  the  annals  of  the 
three  Gei  rges,  could  possibly  suspect  any  tme  of  those 
gracious  monarclis  either  of  ill-will  to  his  heir,  or  in- 
diflereiice  for  the  consiiiution. 

I  '-They  drove  so  fist  (says  Welvpood  of  the  minis- 
ters of  Charles  I.),  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  the 
wheels  and  chariot  broke.'*  (Memniys,  p.  35.)  — But 
Ihis  fatal  accident,  if  we  may  jud^e  from  experience, 
is  to  be  imputed  far  less  to  the  fnlly  and  impetuosity 
of  the  drivers,  than  to  the  want  of  Ihat  suppling  oil 
from  the  Treasury  which  has  been  found  so  necessary 
to  make  a  government  like  that  of  England  run 
smoothly.  Had  Charles  tieen  as  well  provided  with 
this  article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  the  happy 
Revolution,  his  Commons  worrld  never  have  merited 
from  him  the  harsh  ajinellalion  of  "  seditious  vipers," 
but  would  have  been  (as  they  now  are,  and  1  trust 
always  will   be)   "dutilul  Commnns,"  "loyal   Coni- 

«  Historic,  and  Politic.  Discourse,  &c.  part  ii.  n 
114.  '^ 


And  the  duped  people,  hourly  doom'd  to  pay 

The  sums  that  biibe  Iheir  liberties  away.'i 

Like  a  young  eagle,  who  has  lent  bis  plume 

To  fleilge  the  shaft  by  which  lie  meets  his  doooi,- 

See  their  ow  ii  fealheis  pluck'd,  to  wing  the  dart 

Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  lieartl 

But  soft !  nielhiiiks  I  hear  thee  proudly  say, 

"  What  I  shall  I  listen  to  the  impious  lay, 

"  That  daies,  with  lory  license,  to  profane 

"  The  bright  bequests  of  William's  glorious  reign? 

"  Shall  Ihe  great  wi.-dom  of  our  patriot  sires, 

"  Whom  H— wks— b— y  quotes  and  savoury  B— nil 

admires, 
"Be  slaiider'd  thus?  shall  honest  St— le  agree 
'■  With  virlucus  R-se  to  call  us  pure  and  free 
"  Vet  fail  to  prove  it  ?     Shall  our  patent  pair 
"  Of  wise  slate-poeis  wasie  ihtir  words  in  air, 
'  And  I'—e  unheeded  bieathe  his  prosperous  strain, 
And  C— nn— ng  lake  t/ie  peojiles  seme  in  vain  ?"  a 

,.  J*"^  f.?"''''^ '  ~  '''•  """  Freedom's  form  should  slay 
Wheie  freedom's  spiiit  long  hath  pass'd  away  ' 
That  a  false  smile  should  play  aiouud  Ihe  dead,' 
And  Hush  the  features  when  the  soul  hath  tied  '  4 


him  ship, 
light  have 


mons,"  &c.  &C-,  and  would  have  giver 
money,  or  any  other  son  of  money  he 
fancied. 

Ji  Among  those  auxiliaries  which  the  Revolution  of 
16SS  marshalled  on  the  side  of  the  Throne,  Ihe  bug- 
bear of  I'opery  has  not  been  Ihe  least  convenient  aiid 
serviceable.  Those  unskilful  tyranLs,  Charles  and 
James,  insleid  of  profiling  by  that  useful  subserviency 
which  has  always  distinguished  the  minislcrs  of  our 
religious  esLabhshmeni,  were  so  inlalualed  as  to  nlan 
the  ruin  of  ihis  best  bulwark  of  their  power  and 
moreover,  connec  ed  llieir  designs  upor  the  Church  sc! 
undisguisedly  with  their  attacks  upon  the  Consiiiu- 
tion, th.at  they  identilied  in  the  minds  of  Ihe  reonle 
Ihe  luieresis  of  their  religion  and  their  liberties 
During  those  limes,  therefore.  "  No  Fopeiy  "  w.is  the 
watchword  of  freedom,  and  served  to  keep  the  public 
spiiil  awake  against  the  invasions  of  bigoirv  and  nre- 
rogalive.  The  Revolulinn,  however,  by  removing 
this  object  of  jealousy,  has  produced  a  reliance  on  the 
orthrdoxy  of  the  '1  hrone,  of  which  the  Throne  has 
not  failed  to  lake  advantage;  and  Ihe  cry  of  "No 
I'opery  "having  thus  lost  ils  power  of  alarming  the 
people  against  the  inroads  of  the  Crown,  has  served 
ever  since  Ihe  very  difl'erenl  pi.rpose  of  siieiigthening 
tlie  Crown  ai;aiiist  Ihe  pretenioi.s  and  stiu'glcsof  the 
people.  The  danger  of  the  Chuich  from  Papis's  and 
Pretenrlers  was  the  chief  pretext  for  Ihe  repeal  of  the 
Triennial  Bill,  for  Ihe  .adoption  of  a  standing  army, 
lor  the  numerous  suspensions  of  Ihe  Habeas  Coipus 
Act,  and.  in  short,  for  all  those  spiriied  infractions  of 
the  constitution  by  which  the  reigns  of  the  last  cen- 
tury were  so  eminently  distirgui-hed.  We  haie  seen 
very  lately,  loo,  how  the  Thione  has  been  enabled 
by  the  same  scarecrow  s  rt  of  alarm,  to  select  its 
ministers  from  among  men,  who,e  servility  is  their 
only  claim  to  elevation,  and  who  are  pledged  (if  such 
an  alternative  cnuU  arise)  to  take  pari  with  the 
scruples  of  the  King  against  the  salvation  of  the  em- 
pire. 

3  Somebody  has  said,  "  Quand  tons  les  pnelM 
seraient  noyes,  ce  ne  seraient  pas  grand  dommage  •" 
hut  I  am  aware  that  this  is  not  fit  lansuage  to  be  held 
me  when  ourbirth-dav  odes  and  staie-papeis  are 
Ml  by  such  pretty  poets  as  Mr.  P-e  and  Mr. 
C— nn— ng.  All  I  wish  is,  that  the  latter  gentleman 
would  change  places  with  his  brother  P-e,  by  which 
s  we  sh'.uld  have  somew  hat  less  prose  in  our 
and  certainly  less  i  oetry  in  our  politics. 
'  It  is  a  scandal  (said  Sir  Charles  Sedley  in  Wil- 
liam's  reign)  that  a  government  so  sick  at  heart  as 
ours  IS  should  look  so  well  in  the  face  ;"  and  Edn-und 
Buike  has  said,  in  the  present  reign,  "  When  tht  peo- 
ple conceive  Ihat  laws  and  tribunals,  indeven  p„pular 
-"■'"''■'■■"  '"  perverted  from  the  ends  of  Iheir  insti- 


CORRUPTION, 


121 


When  Home  bad  lost  hep  virtue  with  her  rights, 
When  her  (mil  tyrant  sat  on  C^tprea-'s  lit- i^hts  i 
Amid  his  rufllan  spit-s,  and  dooniM  to  dL;illi 
K-vch  noble  nan.e  ihey  hl;»st<-d  witli  iheir  brfath,— 
Even  then,  (in  mockery  «'f  that  ko  den  t.me, 
When  the  Uepnhlic  rose  revered,  sublime, 
And  hi:r  [iroiui  sons,  dill'u-ed  f r  tni  zone  to  zone, 
Gave  kins:^  (o  every  na'inn  but  their  own,) 
Even  ihe.i  the  senate  and  the  lrih:ines  stond, 
In-nltins  ma-ks,  m  show  how  hi;;h  the  (loud 
Of  Freedom  flowM,  iii  t;lorys  l)y-ffone  day, 
And  how  it  ebb'd,— for  ever  ebb'd  away  I  * 

Lf'Ok  but  around  —  thnueh  vef  a  tyrant's  swnrd 
Nor  haun's  >Mir  >lepp  nor  -jlitters  o'er  our  board, 
Thnus;!!  hiood  be  bi-t'er  d-awn,  by  nmtlern  q-iacks, 
With  Ircnry  leeches  Ihan  uith  sword  or  axe; 
Yet  s^y,  could  even  a  prostrate  ir  Imiies  poHer, 
Or  a  mock  semte.  in  Rome's  servile  hour, 
lu'ult  SI  much  the  clami-i.  'hf  'igtits  nf  man, 
As  doth  that  fL-lrerM  mob.  ih  it  free  divan, 
Of  III  tilr  1 .1.1,  and  honnur.ih  e  ki  ;ivfs. 
Of  perisit.n'd  pUriofs  aud  prlvile^el  'lives;— 
ThaT  parly-C'I'iirM  mass,  whicti  nought  can  warm 
But  nnk  corruption's  hett  —  whose  q'ticken'd  swarm 
Spread  their  li.^ht  wings  in  Bribcrv's  goMen  sky, 
Unzz  for  a  peri-  d   lay  their  e^gs,  and  die  ;— 
That  greedy  vampite,  which  from  Freed  >m's  tomb 
Comes  f  .r  h,  with  Ml  the  mimicry  of  bloom 
Upon  its  lifeless  cheek,  and  suck-;  and  drains 
A  people's  blood  to  feed  its  putrid  veins  I 

Thou  stariV,  mv  friend,  afpic'ure  drawn  so  dark— 
"  Is  there  no  light?"  Ihon  ask'st— '■  no  lingering  spark 
'*  Of  ancient  fire  to  warm  us?     Live?  there  none, 
"  To  act  a  Marvell's  part  ?"3_ab9  !  not  one. 
7*0  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  tends, 
In  place  and  power  al!  public  spirit  ends  ;  < 

tuMnn,  they  ti-d  in  'hesc  name?  of  degenerated  estab- 
lishments only  new  motives  In  discontent.  Those 
bodies  which,  wlien  full  of  life  and  beauty,  lay  in 
their  arms  and  were  their  joy  and  cmfo-t,  when  dead 
ore  loathsome  from  remenibrance 
nts.'* — Thoughts  on  the  prcserit 


and  putrid  become  i 
of  former  endeirm 
DifC07iCentSt  1770. 


i  Tutor  habcri 

Principis,  Augustri  Caprearnm  in  mpepedcntls 
Cum  gresce  ChnUaex  Juvenal.  Sat.  x.  v.  92. 
The  senate  still  ct>ntiniied.  durir^g  the  reign  of  Titie- 
rius,  to  n-ana!<e  all  the  bu-ineas  of  the  public;  the 
money  was  then  anJ  I  ng  after  coined  by  their  author- 
iy,  and  every  other  public  affair  received  their  sanc- 
tion. 

We  are  told  by  Tacitus  of  a  ceitain  race  nf  men, 
who  made  themselves  particularly  us- ful  to  the  Ro- 
man emperors,  and  were  IhertTnre  railed  "  instru- 
iiienta  regni,"  or  "couil  tonls."  From  this;  it  ap- 
pears, that  my  Lords  M ,  C ,  &c.  &c.  are  by 

no  means  things  of  modern  invention. 

^  There  is  something  very  touching  in  what  Tacitus 
tells  us  of  ihe  hopes  th^t  revived  in  a  few  patriot 
bosoms,  when  the  death  of  Augustus  was  near  ap- 
proaching, and  the  fund  expec'ation  with  which  (hey 
already  becan  "  bom  liber  atis  incassum  disserrere." 

Accoriiiig  to  Ferguson,  Caesar's  inleiference  with 
the  rights  of  election  '-made  the  subversion  of  the 
republic  moie  felt  thin  anv  nf  the  former  acts  of  his 
power." —  Rimnn  RepxibUc,  book  v.  chap.  i. 

3  Andrew  Marvell.  the  hftnes'  oppn^er  of  the  court 
during  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  Ihe  last 
member  nf  parliament  who,  according  to  the  ancient 
mode,  look  wa^es  from  his  cons  iiuents.  The  Com- 
mons have,  since  then,  noich  chinged  their  pay- 
ma'slers.  —  See  the  Slate  Poems  for  iome  rude  but 
spirited  effusions  of  Andrew  Marvell. 

*  The  following  arlles-J  speech  of  Sir  Francis  Win- 
nington,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  will 
amuse  tho^e  who  aie  fully  aware  .T  the  porfeciion  we 
have  since  attained   in   that  system  of  government 


Like  haidv  plants,  that  love  (he  air  and  sky, 
When  o«(  'I  will  thrive—  bjt  takca  ih,  'twill  die  I 

Not  bolder  truths  of  sscred  Freedom  hung 
From  Sidney's  pen  or  burn'd  on  Fox's  tongue, 
Than  upstart  Whigs  produce  each  market-night. 
While  yet  their  coiiscience,  as  their  purse,  is  Iij''t ; 
While  debts  ai  home  exci'C  their  care  for  those 
Wh  ch,  dire  to  tell,  their  much-lovM  country  owes, 
And  loud  and  upright,  till  iheir  prize  be  known, 
They  thwart  ttie  King's  supplies  lo  raibc  their  own, 
Hut  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum  — 
So,  settling  upon  places,  Whigs  grow  dumb. 
And,  th()Ugh  mo>t  base  is  he  wh'",  'nealh  Ihe  shade 
Of  Kreedoin's  ensign  plies  corruption's  trade. 
And  makes  the  sicied  (lag  he  daies  to  show 
His  passport  to  ihe  market  nf  her  fue. 
Yet,  yet.  1  own,  so  venerably  dear 
Are  Freedom's  grave  old  anihems  to  my  ear, 
That  I  enjoy  them,  though  by  traitois  sung, 
And  reverence  Scripture  even  froin  Satan's  tonjue. 
Niy.  when  Ihe  consii'ution  has  eX[iired, 
I  'II  have  such  men,  like  Irish  wakers,  hired 
To  chant  old  "  Habe;is  Colpu^"  l)y  its  side, 
And  ask,  in  purchasd  diities,  why  it  died  ? 

See  yon  smooth  lord,  whom  nature's  plastic  pains 
Would  seem  tu  've  f  ^hionM  for  those  Eastern  rel^uB 
When  eum.cii    ilmi  i  h  [,  und  such  nerveless  things 
As  men  ri-)r,ir  I  ^-,,1,   u,,    J,., sen  of  kings;— 6 
Even  Ae,  to.-.,    t,,  ,   i,  ir  m,  i.  .Jail  the  worst!) 
Dared  to  a^.MlOM   il:r  pi  [mil's  name  at  first  — 
Thus  Pitt  began,  and  ih'^s  begin  his  apes: 
Thus  devils,  w  hen /ir*i  raised,  lake  pleading  shapes. 
But  oh,  poor  Ireland  !  if  revenge  be  swcel 
Fit  centuries  of  wrong,  for  datk  deceit 
And  wilhering  insult  —  for  the  Union  thrown 
Into  \h\  hitler  cup. 6  when  thd  alone 
Of --laverys  draught  w.is  wanting  t  —  if '"or  this 
Revenge  be  sweet,  thou  hast  that  demon's  bli^s : 

whose  humble  beginnings  so  much  astonished  the 
worthy  barcnet.  "1  did  observe  (savs  he)  that  all 
those  who  had  pensions,  nnd  most  of  those  who  h-Aii 
offices,  voled  all  of  a  side,  as  ihey  were  directed  by 
some  great  onicer,  exactly  as  if  their  business  in  this 
House  had  been  to  preserve  their  pensions  and  offices, 
and  not  to  make  laws  for  the  good  of  them  who  sent 
thein  here."— He  alludes  to  llinl  pailianjeni  which 
was  called,  jpar  cxcdlaicc,  the  Pensionary  P-irliamenl. 
fi  According  to  Xenophon,  the  chief  circumstance 
which  recommended  these  creatures  to  the  seivice  of 
Eastern  priices  was  the  ignominious  station  they 
held  in  society,  and  the  probability  of  their  being, 
upon  this  account,  more  devoted  to  the  will  and 
caprice  of  a  master,  from  whose  notice  alone  they 
derived  consideration,  and  in  »  hose  favour  lliey  might 
seek  refuge  from  the  general  conempt  of  mankind. — 
A(5o|ot  ovTcs  ol  ivvovxoi  Tzapa  tol;  aAAot?  av- 
dpioTTOLS  Kat  Cia  70VTU  Cito-noTov  tniKovpov  n'l-'Oj- 
dsovTQt.— Hut  1  doubt  whether  even  an  Eastern 
prince  wi>uld  have  chosen  an  entire  admiuis:ratioii 
upon  this  principle, 
6  "And  in  the  cup  an  UiiioJi  shall  be  thrown." 
htmilct. 
t  Among  the  many  measures  which,  since  the 
Revolution,  have  contributed  to  increase  Ihe  intluence 
of  Ihe  1  hrone,  and  In  feed  up  this  ''Aaron's  serpent" 
of  Ihe  constitution  to  its  present  healthy  and  rtsptcl- 
able  magnitude,  there  hive  been  few  more  nutritive 
than  the  Scotch  and  Irish  Unions.    Sir  John  Packer 

j  said,  in  a  drb.tle  upon  the  former  question,  tliai  "  he 
would  submit  it  to  the  House,  whether  nun  who  h-id 

I  basely  betravcd  Iheir  trust,  by  giving  ip  Iheir  ,'nde- 
pendent  constitution,  were  fit  to  be  admilied  inli  Ihe 
English  House  of  Commons."  But  Si:  John  wnold 
have  known,  if  he  hnd  not  been  out  o(  p'ace  at  the 
time,  that  the  pliancy  of  such  maieiials  u  as  not  among 
the  least  of  their  recommendations.     Indeed,  the  pro 

1  molers  of  the  Scotch  Union  weie  by  no  nteans  di^ap   j 


11 


122 


INTOLERANCE. 


For,  sure,  't  is  more  than  hell's  revenge  to  see 
That  Kogland  tru^is  the  men  who  've  ruin'd  thee;— 
That,  in  these  awful  days,  when  every  hr.ur 
Creates  some  new  or  bUsts  some  ancient  power. 
When  prnud  Napoleon,  like  th'  enchanted  shield  ' 
Whose  lighi  conipell'd  each  wondering  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  ahould  not  have 

died, 
All  thai  devoted  England  can  o-  pose 
To  enemies  made  liends  and  frieiids  made  foes, 
Is  the  rank  refuse,  ihe  despised  remains 
Of  that  unpilying  power,  wtmse  whips  and  chains 
Drove  Ireland  tiisi  to  turn,  with  harlot  glance, 
Tow'rds    other   slioies,    and    woo    Ih'  embrace    of 

France  ;— 
Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  foully  fit 
For  the  grand  artisan  of  mischief,  P— it, 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ. 
So  weiik  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy  — 
Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  ihrealen'd  shore, 
Oh  England  !  sinking  England  :  ^  boast  no  more. 


poitited  in  the  leidins  nblect  of  rheir  measure,  for  the 
inumphaiit  majiiriiiesof  the  courl-pariy  m  parliament 
m^y  be  dated  from  ihe  admision  of  the  45  a  d  the  lb. 
Once  or  twice,  upon  the  alieiatioii  of  their  la^v  of 
treason  and  Ihe  impogilion  of  the  malt-tax  (nieasure> 
which  were  m  direct  viola:ion  of  the  Aci  of  Union), 
these  worthy  North  Britons  arrayed  themselves  in 
opposition  to  the  court ;  but  finding  thi^  effut  for  their 
countrv  unavailing,  they  prudently  determinei  I" 
think  thencefor\\arJ  of  themselves,  and  few  men  have 
ever  kept  lo  a  laudable  resolution  more  ti  inly.  The 
eitecr  of  Irish  rep.  esent.*lion  on  the  liberties  of  Eng- 
land will  be  no  less  perceptible  and  permanent, 

Ov5'   6y£  Tav^ov 

AemtTai  avriKAovTos.' 
The  infusion  of  such  cher,p  and  useful  ingredients  as 
my  Lord  L..  Mr.  U.  B.,  &ic.  ^c.  in'o  the  legislature, 
cannot  but  act  as  a  powe^  ful  al'era  ive  on  the  consti- 
tution, and  clear  it  by  degrees  of  all  tioublesome  hu- 
mours of  honesty. 
1  The  magician's  shield  in  Ariosto ;  — 
E  toltn  per  vt^rtu  dello  spttriiilore 


].a  hbeil 


Cant.  3. 


We  are  lold  that  Csesar's  corle  of  morality  was  con- 
tained in  the  following  lint;s  of  Euripides,  which  thai 
great  man  Irecjuenlly  repeated  :  — 

EtTrcp  yap  aditctiv  XPV  7vpavvt.6os  Tztpt. 


^  The  following  prophetic  remarks  occur  in  a  letter 
written  bv  Sir  R..bert  Talboi,  who  attended  the  Duke 
of  Bedford  to  Paris  in  1762.  Talking  of  states  which 
have  grown  powerful  in  conimerce,  he  says,  "  Ac- 
coidintj  10  the  nature  and  common  cour-e  of  things, 
tliere  is  a  confederacy  againsl  ttien),  and  consequently 
in  the  same  proporiion  as  they  increase  in  riches, 
ihev  appro ich  lo  destruction.  The  address  of  our 
King  VVilliam,  in  making  all  Eur-pe  take  the  alarm 
at  Fiance,  has  brought  that  country  before  us  near  that 
ineviiable  period.  We  must  necessarily  have  our 
lurn,  ar.d  Great  Rri'ain  will  attain  it  as  soon  as  France 
shall  have  a  declaimer  with  organs  as  proper  for  ihat 
political  purpose  as  were  those  of  our  William  the 

Third With'>ut  doubt,  niy 

Lord,  Great  Britain  must  lower  her  tiight.    Eurripe 

•  From  Aratus  (v.  715.)  a  poet  who  wrote  upcn 
aslrononiy,  though,  as  Cicero  assures  us.  he  knew  no. 
thing  whatever  "ahout  the  subject:  just  as  the  gre;il 
Harvey  wine  "  De  Genera:ione,"  though  he  hail  as 
liMe  to  do  with  Ihe  matter  as  my  Lord  Viscount  C. 


INTOLERANCE, 

A     SATIRE. 


"TMs  clamour,  which   pretenda    to   be    raiped  for  the 
Borely  nf  ri'ligion,  has  almost  wi,rn  out  the  very  appei 
ance  nf  it,  and  ri-udercd  us  not  only  Ihe  mo<it  divided  but 
Ihc  must  iinuiufhl  people  npnii  the  face  of  Ihe  earth." 
Addtson,  Freeholder^  Ho.  37. 


Start  not,  my  frimd,  nor  think  Ihe  Muse  V  ill  sta'n 
Her  cbssic  fingeiB  with  the  dust  jitofane 
Of  Bulls,  Decrees,  and  all  those  thundering  scrolls, 
Which  lonk  such  freedom  once  with  royal  souls,3 


will  remind  us  of  the  balance  of  commerce,  as  she  has 
reminded  Ftance  of  the  balu-ce  of  power.  The  ad- 
dress of  our  statesmen  will  in.morialjse  them  by  con- 
triviiis  f  M  us  a  descent  wbich  shall  not  be  a  fall,  by 
making  us  rather  rt-semble  Holland  than  Carthage 
and  Venice."  —  LetUrs  07i  the  French  Natiori, 

3  The  kinj-deposit.g  doc'rine,  notwithstanding  its 
many  mischievous  ab^uid.lies,  v^as  of  no  liilie  service 
to  the  cause  of  (..olilical  libetty,  by  inculcating  Ihf 
right  of  lesistairce  to  tyrants,  and  asserting  (tie  will  of 
the  people  lo  be  ihe'i-nly  true  fountain  of  power. 
Bellarmine,  the  most  violent  of  the  .idvncales  for 
I  apal  authority,  was  one  of  the  ft'st  to  main'ain  [Dc 
Punif.  \\h.  i.  cap.  7,)  "Ihat  kings  have  not  theii 
auibnntv  or  office  immeiiia  elv  tiom  G  d  nor  his  law, 
(,ut  only  from  the  law  of  rlation-;;  »  and  id  Kiig 
J-mes's  "Delence  of  ihe  H'shls  of  Kings  a<(aiiist  Can 
dinal  Perron,"  we  find  Ins  Majesty  expie:^sing  s'rong 
iridigi.aiion  against  the  Cardinal  inr  having  asserted 
**  that  to  the  deposing  of  a  king  the  consent  of  Ihe 
people  must  be  ob'ained"  —  "for  by  Ihe^e  words 
(says  James)  the  people  are  exal'ed  above  the  king, 
;ind  made  the  judges  of  the  king's  diposing,"  p,  <124. 
Even  in  jMan.mas  celebrated  book  whe^e  the  non 
st^nse  of  bigotry  d^'es  no'  interfere,  INere  may  be  louid 
many  liberal  .uid  eidigh'eoed  views  of  the  principles 
of  government,  of  the  resrraints  wjiich  should  be  nn- 
p'sed  up  -n  royal  power,  of  tl  e  suboidinaiinn  of  ihe 
Throne  to  the  inieresls  of  the  people.  &c.  &c.  {De. 
Rege  et  Rt^is  histiiutimic.  See  pariicuiaily  lib.  i. 
ca|.  6.  8.  and  9.)  It  is  la'her  lemarkable,  loo,  thai 
Eiig'and  sh' nlj  be  indebted  to  another  Jesuit  for  the 
earliest  defence  of  that  principle  upon  which  Ihe 
Revolulion  was  founded,  namely,  the  right  of  the 
people  lo  change  the  succession.  (See  Dolem 
'*Conference--,"  vvrilten  in  suppmlof  ihe  title  of  ihe 
Infanta  of  S|  ain  agiinst  that  of  James  I  )  When 
En:<lishmen,  therefore,  say  that  Popery  is  the  relitiic 
of  slavery,  they  should  imt  o.  ly  recollect  that  the 
own  b 'asred  cinsti'u'inn  is  the  work  and  bequest  of 
l-opish  ancestors;  they  should  not  onlv  ren.enpber  Ihe 
lavs  of  Edward  III.,  "under  whoi'n  (sa>s  Bolrng- 
broke)  the  constitution  of  our  mrlMinents.  and  tlie 
whole  form  of  our  g  iveinmen',becinie  reduced  into 
bet'er  f)rm;"  but  they  should  know  that  even  the 
errors  ch  irged  (  n  Popery  have  leaned  lo  Ihe  cauye  r.f 
iibertv,  and  that  Pap  sis  weie  the  hr.st  [romnlgators 
of  the  doctrines  wtuch  led  to  Ihe  RlvoIuIioo.  " 
general,  however,  the  poliiical  piinciples  of  the 
Roman  Ca  bolica  have  been  described  as  hippei.ed  lo 
suit  Ihe  teo  pora  y  conveniei  ce  of  their  oppressors, 
and  have  been  rep'-esenled  abernately  as  slavish  or 
refracloiy,  according  a'<  a  prelrxi  f  -r  tormenting  them 
"as  wanting.  The  same  incotisistency  Las  ina'ked 
every  other  imputaiion  a^iainsl  them.  'I  hey 
charged  with  laxi'y  in  the  (ib>tTvaiice  of  oath?,  though 
an  (.a'h  has  been  found  sufficient  to  sbut  them  out 
from  all  worldly  advantages  1!  they  reject  certaii 
deci-ions  <>(  Iheir  church,  they  are  said  lo  be  sceptics 
^nd  b.id  Chri-tians;  if  they  admit  those  ve  y  deci- 
sions, thcv  are  branded  as  bigo's  and  bad  subjects. 
We  are  b'ld  that  confidence  and  kindncsa  will  make 
Ihem  enemies  to  Ihe  goveinmen',  though  we  know 


INTOLERANCE. 


123 


When  heaveu  was  yet  the  pnpe's  exclusive  trade,        ( 

And  kings  were  damn'd  as  fast  as  nuw  they  Ye  made. 

No,  no  —  let  I)— jt-n— n  search  the  papal  chair  * 

For  fra^raiK  treasures  loii^  for^oiteii  rhere; 

And,  as  tlie  \viichot  sunless  L^ipland  thinks 

'I  hat  little  swarthy  gnnmes  delight  in  stinks, 

Let  sallow  p_rc-v-l  snuti  up  the  gale 

Which  wizard  U— gen— n's  ealhei'd  sweets  exhale. 

Enough  for  nie,  v\tinse  heart  has  learn 'd  to  !.cora 

Bigots  alike  in  Rome  or  England  born. 

Who  loathe  the  venom,  whencesne'er  it  springs, 

From  popes  or  lawyer-^,*  p  stry-cnoks  or  kings,— 

t^nough  for  me  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns, 

As  iitinh  provokes,  or  indignation  burns, 

As  C— on— ng  v'priurs.  or  as  Fiance  succeeds, 

As  H— wk— sb'ry  pioses,  or  as  Ireland  bleeds  1 

And  thou,  my  friend,  if,  in  these  headlong  days, 
When  bigoi  Zeil  hei  diunken  antici-  plays 
So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  the  while 
Look  breathless  on  and  shudler  while  they  smile  — 
If,  in  such  fearful  d.ys,  thou  'It  dare  to  louk 
'lo  haplfs>  Ireland,  to  this  rankling  nook 
VVbich  Heaven  hath  freed  from  poisonous  things  id 

While  G— ff— rd's  tongue  and  M— sgr — ve's  pen  re- 

If  thou  hast  yet  no  golden  blinkers  got 

Tn  shade  ihine  eyes  from  this  devoted  spot, 

Whose  wrongs,  tliough  bl.izon'd  o'er  the  world  they  be, 

Placemeti  alone  are  privileged  not  to  see  — 

Uh  I  turn  awhile,  and,  though  ihe  shamrcck  wreathes 

My  homely  harp,  yet  shall  the  song  il  breathes 

Of  Ireland's  slavery,  and  of  Ireland's  woe^, 

Live,  when  the  memory  of  her  tyrant  foes 

ijhall  hut  exist,  Ml  future  knaves  to  warn, 

£nibalniM  in  hale  and  cmonised  by  scorn. 

When  C— sti— r— gh,  in  sleep  s  i^l  mnre  profound 

Than  his  own  opiate  ti'iigue  now  deals  aiound, 

bhall  wait  th'  iinpeachmeni  of  that  awful  day 

Which  even  his  practised  hand  caut  bribe  away. 

Yes,  nny  dear  friend,  wert  thou  but  near  me  now, 
To  ^ee  how  Spring  lights  up  on  Erin's  brow 
Smiles  that  shine  out.  uiicni)qner..bly  |(iir, 
Even  through  tlie  blood-marks  left  by  C— nid— n  3 

there,— 
Cnuld'st  thou  but  see  what  verdure  paints  the  sod 
Whicii  none  but  tyrants  and  'heir  slaves  have  trod, 
And  didsl  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  and  brave, 
That  warms  the  soul  of  each  insulted  slave, 


that  exclusion  and  injuries  have  hardly  prevented 
them  from  being  its  fnends.  In  short,  nothing  can 
belter  illusiiate  ttie  misery  nf  tho^e  shifis  and  evasiom 
by  which  a  l^ng  course  of  cowaidly  injustice  must  bi 
supported,  than  the  whole  hisiory  of  Great  Britain' 
conduct  towards  the  Cath'd'C  part  of  her  empire. 

1  The  *' Sella  Stercoraria"  of  the  popes. —Tin 
Right  Honourable  and  learned  Doctor  will  find  ai 
engraving  of  tliis  chair  in  Spanheim's  "  Disquisitio 
Historica  de  Papa  Foemina"  (p.  118;)  and  I  recom- 
mend It  as  a  model  for  the  fashion  of  thit  seat  which 
the  U  ctor  js  about  to  lake  in  the  privy-counciI  of 
Ireland. 

*  When  Innocent  X.  was  entreated  to  decide  the 
controversy  between  the  Jtsuils  and  the  Jan^enisls,  he 
answeicd,  that  '*he  had  been  bred  a  lav^yer,  and  had 
therefore  nothing  to  do  with  divinity."— It  were  to  be 
Wished  that  some  of  our  Engbsh  pettifoggers  koev/ 
their  own  fit  element  as  well  as  Pope  Innocent  X, 

3  Not  tlieC— md-n  who  speaks  thus  of  Ireland  :— 

**To  wind  up  all,  whether  we  regaid  the  fruiiful- 
ness  of  the  sod,  the  advantage  of  the   sea,  with  so 

I  many  cnmnr-dious  havens,  or  the  natives  themselves, 
who  ate  ^^ailike,  insenmus,  handsome,  and  well-cnm- 
plexionfd,  s'ft-skmned  and  verv  nimble,  by  reison  of 
I  the  pliantne.s  of  iheir  muscle^  Ihis  UlanJ  is  in  many 
respec  s  so  happy,  that  GiraUlus  might  very  well  say, 
I  *  Naue  had  regarded  with  more  f  ivourableeyes  than 
]  ordinary  this  Kingdom  of  Zephyr.*  " 


Who,  tired  with  struggling,  sinks  beneath  his  lot, 
And  seems  by  all  but  watchful  France  forgot  *  — 

by  heart  wnuld  burn --yes,  even  thy  Pittite  heart 
Would  burn,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  part 
Of  the  world's  garden,  rich  in  nature's  charms. 
And  hll'd  with  soci.il  souls  and  vigorous  arms, 
Should  be  the  viciini  of  that  canting  crew, 
So  smooth,  so  gi'dly,—  yet  so  devilish  too ; 
Who,   arm'd  at  unce  with   prayer-books  and  with 

wh.ps.5 
Blood  on  their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips. 


*  The  example  of  toleration,  which  Bonaparte  has 
held  foith,  Will,  1  fear,  produce  no  other  etTect  than 
that  of  determining  the  Bi  ilish  government  to  persist, 
frnni  Ibe  \ery  spirit  of  opposiiion,  in  their  own  old 
system  of  intolerance  and  injustice;  just  as  the  Sia- 
mese blacken  their  teeth,  •'  because,"  as  they  say, 
*•  the  devil  has  white  ones."* 

6  One  of  *he  unhappy  results  of  the  controversy 
between  Prntest.mis  and  Catholics,  is  the  mutual  ex- 
posure which  their  c  iminatioiis  and  lecriminafions 
have  produced.  In  vain  do  ihe  Frote=ianls  chaige  the 
Papists  wnh  closing  the  door  of  salvation  upon  others, 
while  many  of  therr  own  writings  and  articles  breathe 
the  rame  uncharitable  spirit.  No  canon  of  Constance 
or  Laleran  ever  damned  heretics  more  efleciually 
than  the  eichth  of  the  'J'hirty-nine  Articles  consigns  to 
perdition  eveiy  single  member  of  the  Greek  church; 
and  I  doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  clause  of  dam- 
nation was  ever  proposed  in  the  niosi  bigo  ed  council, 
than  that  which  the  Calvinisiic  theory  of  predesti- 
nation in  Ibe  seventeenth  of  these  Articles  exhibits. 
It  is  Irua  'hat  no  liberal  Proiestanl  avows  snch  exclu- 
sive opinions  ;  that  every  honest  clergyman  must  leel 
a  pang  while  he  subscribes  to  them  ;  that  some  even 
assert  the  Athan.isiaa  Creed  to  be  the  fiTgery  of  one 
Vigilius  Tapseo'is,  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  cen- 
tuty,  ar,d  that  eminent  divines,  like  Joitin,  have  not 
besi'ated  lo  say,  '•  ThiTe  are  propositions  contained  in 
our  Liturgy  and  Articles,  which  no  man  of  cnnmion 
sen^e  among  us  believes."t  But,  while  alt  ibis  is 
fiirelv  conceded  to  Protestan's ;  while  nobody  doubts 
their  sinceiity,  when  they  declare  ihat  Ihetr  arlicles 
are  not  essentials  of  (ailh.  but  a  collection  of  opinions 
which  hive  been  promulgated  by  fallible  men,  and 
from  many  of  which  they  fee!  Ihemsehes  juslil:ed  in 
dissenting,— while  so  niuch  lilerty  of  letiactaiion  is 
allowed  to  Protes  ants  upon  their'own  declared  aiid 
subscribed  Aiticles  of  religion,  is  it  not  strange  thai  a 
similar  indulgence  should  be  so  ob^iii  ately  refused  to 
the  Catholrcs,  upon  tenets  u  Inch  their  church  has  uni 
formly  resisted  and  condemned,  in  eveiy  countiy 
where  it  has  independently  flonrivhed  ?  When  the 
Catholics  say,  "  The  Decree  of  Ihe  Council  of  Lateran, 
which  you  object  to  us,  has  no  claim  whatever  upon 
either  our  faiih  or  (.ur  leason  ;  it  did  not  even  profess 
to  contain  any  doctrinal  decision,  but  was  merely  a 
judicial  proceeding  of  that  .tssenibly  ;  and  it  would  be 
as  fair  for  us  to  impu  e  a  wijt-hilling  doctrine  to  tl;e 
Protestants,  because  their  first  pope,  Henry  VIIL,  w;i8 
sanctioned  in  an  indulgence  of  ihat  propensity,  as  for 
you  to  coicliidft  that  we  have  inl;erited  a  kmg-de- 
posing  taste  from  the  acts  o{  the  Council  of  Lateian, 
or  the  secular  pre'ensions  of  our  pope,'.  With  re- 
spect, too,  to  the  Decree  of  the  Council  of  Constance, 
upon  ihe  strength  of  uhich  you  accuse  us  of  breaking 
faith  with  heretic>.  we  do  not  hesitate  to  pionounce 
that  Decree  a  calunini'jus  forgery,  a  forgerv.  too,  so 
obvious  and  ill-f.iljncattd,  that  none  but  our  enemies 
have  ever  venlured  to  give  it  the  slightest  ciedit  for 
au;benlic.ly  »  When  ttie  Catholics  make  these  de- 
clarations  (and  they  are  almost  weary  with  ni-king 
them,)  when  they  show,  too,  by  their  conduct,  that 
these  declarations  are  sincere,  and  Ihat  their  faiih  and 
morals  are  no  n.oie  reguUted  by  the  absurd  decrees  of 
old  councils  and  popes,  than  their  science  is  intiuenced 


t  Strictures  on  the  Arlicles,  Subscriptions,  &c. 


124 


INTOLERANCE. 


Tyranta  by  creed,  and  torturers  hv  text, 

Make  this  life  liell,  in  lionour  ofllie  next .' 

Your    R— desd— les,    P— re— v— la,— gieat,    glorious 

Hea>en. 
If  I  'm  presumptuous,  le  my  tongue  forgiven, 
When  heie  1  aweir,  l.y  my  eouI's  hope  of  rest, 
1  'd  rather  have  l.een  bo.  n,  e  e  man  was  blest 
With  tlie  puie  dawn  of  Reielation's  light. 
Yes,—  rather  plunge  me  back  in  I'agan  night, 
And  take  niv  cliance  uitli  Sncales  for  bliss.l 
1  iiau  be  the  Christian  of  a  faith  like  this, 
Winch  liuilds  on  heavenly  c.iiit  it=  ejrlhly  Eway, 
And  in  a  convert  moui  iis  to  lo-e  a  piey ; 
Which,  ir.i8))ing  human  hearts  with  d  uble  holiJ,- 
Like  Danae's  lover  mixing  g.  d  and  gold,*  — 


,vbo 


Corrupts  both  state  and  church,  and  makes  an  oath 
The  knave  and  atheist*s  passport  into  both  ; 
Which,  while  it  dooms  dissenting  souls  to  know 
Nor  bliss  above  nor  liberty  below. 
Adds  the  slave's  sulleriiig  to  the  sinner's  fear, 
And,  lest  he  'scape  hereafter,  racks  him  heic  !  3 


and 


by  the  jiapal  anathema  against  that  Irishman 
first  found  out  the  Amipodes.— is  it  not  strange  that  s.a 
manvstiUvvilfu*y  distrust  what  every  guod  man  is  so 
much  interested  in  believing}'  That  so  lo  .iiy  should 
prefer  the  d.irk-lantern  of  the  13th  ctntury  to  ilie  sun- 
shine of  intellect  which  has  since  overspread  the 
world,  and  that  cveiy  dabbler  in  theology,  from  Mr. 
Lc  Wesurier  down  to  the  Chancellor  of  ihe  Exche- 
f|uer,  should  date  to  op]iise  the  rubbish  of  Constance 
and  Lateraii  to  the  bright  and  triumphaut  progress  of  t 
justice,  generosity,  and  truth  ? 

'  In  a  singular  work,  written  by  one  Franciscus 
Collius,  "upon  the  "^ouls  of  the  Pagans,"  the  author 
discusses,  with  much  coolness  and  erudition,  alt  the 
prob.ble  chances  of  salvation  upon  which  a  heathen 
philosoplier  miglit  calculate.  Consigning  to  perdi.ion 
without  much  difiiculiy,  Plato,  Socrates,  &c.  the  only 
sage  at  whose  fate  he  seems  lo  hesitate  is  Pythagoias, 
in  consideraiion  of  his  golden  thigh,  and  the  many 
miracles  which  lie  performed.  But,  having  balanced 
a  little  his  claims,  and  fmdine  reason  to  father  all  these 
miracles  on  the  devil,  he  at  Tength,  in  the  twenty-fitth 
chapter,  decides  upon  damning  him  also.  {DtAni- 
viabus  Paganorum,  lib.  iv.  cap.  20.  and  25.)  'Ihe 
poet  Daiite  cnmpromi-es  the  matter  with  the  Pagai  s, 
and  gives  them  a  neutral  territory  or  limbo  of  iheir 
own,  where  iheir  employment,  it  must  be  owned,  is 
not  verv  enviable  —  "Sei.za  speme  vivenio  in  desio." 
Cant.  iv.  Among  the  numerous  errors  imputed  to 
Origeii,  he  is  accu^ed  of  having  denied  the  elerniiy  of 
future  punishment ;  at  d,  it  he  never  advanced  a  more 
irrational  doctrine,  we  may  venture,  I  ttiink,  lo  for- 
give him.  He  went  so  far,  however,  as  to  include  Ihe 
devil  himself  in  the  gcnenl  hell-delivery  which  he 
supposed  would  oi.e  day  or  other  take  place,  and  in 
tins  St.  Augnstin  thinks  him  rather  too  merciful  — 
"Miserecoidior  profecto  tuil  llngenes,  ijui  et  ipsum 
diabolum,"  &c.  (Be  t'lmtal.  Dei.  lib.  xxi.  cap.  17.) 
According  to  SI.  Jernni,  it  was  Origeii's  opinion,  that 
"  the  devil  himself,  afier  a  certain  time,  will  be  as 
well  off  as  the  angel  Gabriel  "  —  '■  Id  ipsum  fore 
Gabrielem  quod  diabolum."  (See  his  Epistlelo  Pam- 
machivs)  But  Halloix.  in  his  Defence  of  Origen, 
denies  strongly  that  this  leaned  father  had  any  such 
misplaced  tenderness  for  the  devil. 

9  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  S|ipech  on  the  Repeal  of  Ihe  Test 
Act  (1790.)  thus  condemns  the  inteimixture  of  le- 
ligion  with  the  political  cons'i  ulion  of  a  s'ate : — 
"What  purpose  (he  asks)  can  it  serve,  except  the 
baleful  purpo-e  of  communicating  and  receiving  con- 
tamination ?  UiidiT  sucli  an  allMiice  corruption  must 
alight  upon  Ihe  one,  and  slavery  overwhelm  the 
other." 

Locke,  loo,  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  opposiie,  who 
imxes  these  two  societies,  which  are  in  their  original, 
*  Virgilius,  surnamedSolivagU',  a  native  of  Ireland, 
who  maintained,  in  ihe  gih  ceiittirv.  Ilie  doctiine  of 
the  Antipodes,  and  was  anatluniatised  accordingly  by 
the  Pope.  John  Scotus  Engena,  another  Irishman, 
was  Ihe  first  that  ever  wrote  against  Iransubstai.tia- 
tion. 


end.  business, 
and  infinitely  dille 
ier  o?i  Tulerntion. 

The  corruptions  introduced  into  Christianity  may 
be  dated  from  the  peiiod  of  its  establishment  un.  rr 
Coiistanline,  nor  could  all  the  splendour  which  it 
then  acquired  atone  for  the  peace  and  purity  which 
it  lost. 

3  There  has  been,  after  all,  quite  as  much  intole- 
rance among  Protestants  as  among  Papists.  Accord- 
ing to  the  hackneyed  quotation  — 

Iliacoa  intra  murns  peicatur  ct  extra. 
Even  Ihe  great  champion  of  the  Heforniation,  Me- 
lancthon.  whom  Jortin  calls  "a  divine  of  much  mild- 
ness and  jotid-?mIi/re,"  thus  expresses  his  approbation 
of  the  burning  of  Servetus:    '  Le^i  (he  savs  to  Bullin- 
ger)  quae  de  Serveti  blasphemiis  respnndistis,  et  pieta- 
judicia  vesira  proho.     Jndico  etiam  setiatum 
iiseni  recte  fecisse,  quod  hominem  pertinacem 
omissurum  blasphemias  sustulit ;   ac  miratus 
e  qui  seveiiiatein  illam  imprr-bent."— 1  have 
great    pleasure  in  contiasting  wi'h  tbe-e  "mild 


P.pi 


ured"  seniiments  the  following  words  of  Ihe 
BaUize,  in  addressing  his  friend  Conringius: 
im  anicmus,  mi  Conringi,  ct  lametsi  diversas 
nes  lueiiiur  in  causa  reiigionis,  nionbus  tai 
i  nou  simus,  qui  eadeni  liierarum  studia  secia- 
—  HiTman.  Cmring.  Epistol.  par.  secui.d.  p. 


Hume  tells 
of  Chailesthi 
of  Ihe  Kiig- 
book  which 
their  great  d 


that  the  Commons,  in  the  beginning 
list's  reign,  "attacked  Montague, 
:liaplains,  on  account  of  a  mode 
bad  lately  composed,  and  which,  to 
isl,  saved  virtuous  Catholics,  as  well 

1118,  trnni  eteri  al  toruienls." — In  the 

same  manner  a  complaint  was  lodged  before  Ihe  Lords 
of  the  Council  against  th.t  excellent  wiiter  Hooker, 
for  having,  iu  a  Sermon  against  Popery,  attempted  to 
save  many  of  his  Popish  ancestors  for  ignorance.  — 
To  these  examples  of  Piotestant  toleration  I  shall  beg 
leave  to  oppose  ihe  following  extract  from  a  letter  of 
old  Roger  Ascham  (the  tutor  of  Queen  Elizabeth), 
which  is  preserved  among  the  Harring  on  Papers,  and 
lo66,  to  Ihe  Earl  of  Leices'er,  com- 
plaining of  Ihe  Archbishop  Young,  who  had  taken 
away  his  prebend  in  the  chuch  of  Yoik:  "  Master 
B  rurne  *  did  never  grieve  me  half  so  moche  in  otter- 
ing me  wrong,  as  Mr.  Dudley  and  Ihe  Pyshopp  of 
York  doe.  in  taking  away  my  right.  No  byshopp  i 
Q.  Mary's  time  would  have  so  dealt  with  me ;  not  M 
Bourne  hymself,  when  Wmchiser  lived,  durst  have 
so  dealt  with  me.  For  sucbe  good  estimation  in  th 
dayeseven  the  learnedst  and  wvsesl  men  as  Garde: 
and  Cardinal  Poole,  made  of  niy  poore  service,  that 
alih'Ugh  they  knewe  perfectly  that  in  religion,  both 
by  open  wrjiingeand  pryvie  laike,  I  was  contrarye 
unto  them  ;  yea,  when  Sir  Francis  Englefield  by  name 
did  note  me  specialhe  at  the  councill-board,  Gardei 
would  not  suffer  me  lo  be  called  thither,  nor  toucli 
ellswheare,  saiinge  suche  words  of  nie  in  a  lettre, 
though  lettres  cannot,  1  blushe  lo  wriie  them  lo  your 
lordship.  Wii. Chester's  good-will  stoode  not  in  speak- 
ing f.ire  and  wishing  well,  but  lie  did  in  deede  that 
for  me,t  wheieby  my  wife  aid  children  shall  liv 
better  when  I  am  gone."  (See  Nu£,t>  Antiquas.  v 
p|i.  9S,  99.)— If  11  en  who  acted  this  were  bigots, 
what  shall  we  call  Mr.  P-rc-v— I  ? 
In  Sutcliffe's  "Survey  of  Popery"  there  occurs  the 

«  Sir  John  Bourne,  Principal  Secielary  of  State  to 
Queen  Miiy. 

t  By  Gardener's  favour  Ascham  long  held  his  fel- 
lowship, thouth  not  resident. 


INTOLERANCE, 


125 


But  no  —  far  other  fiilh,  far  milder  beams 

Of  heavenly  justice  warm  tile  Chrisli  ill's  dreams 

His  creed  is  writ  nn  Mercy's  paje  above,, 

ily  llie  pure  li.i.ds  c.f  all-.l is  Love  ; 

fie  weeps  t.i  see  aljused  Ileligir'il  twine 
Hound  Tyranny's  crr.trse  brow  her  wrea'h  divine; 
And  lie,  while  rriuiid  Irini  sects  and  lialior.s  raise 
1  o  tire  one  G("i  llieir  v  iryinic  notes  of  praise, 
niesses  each  voice,  wliate'er  its  lone  may  be, 
That  serves  to  swell  the  general  harm  my. i 

Such  was  the  spirit,  gentiv,  Rrandly  bright, 
Tirat  fill'd,  oh  Fox!  thy  peaceful  soul  wi  h  light; 
\\  bile  free  and  spacious  as  thai  ambrent  air 
Wlnth  fi'ids  our  planet  in  its  circling  cue, 
'llie  mighty  sphere  of  thy  Irar  sparenl  mind 
Kiirbraeed  the  world,  and  breathed  for  all  mankind. 
Last  ol  llie  great,  farewell  I  —  yet  lio(  the  last  — 
'lliough  Britain's  sun-hrne  hour  with  tliee  be  past, 
lerne  still  one  ray  of  glory  ^ives, 
And  feels  but  half  thy  loss  while  Grattan  Kvcs. 


APPENDIX. 

To  the  fiire^ning  Poem,  as  first  published,  were 
subjoined,  in  the  sha'pe  of  a  N'He,  or  Appendix,  the 
following  rennrks  on  ihe  History  and  Music  of  Ire- 
luid.  This  fragment  was  originally  intended  1o  form 
part  of  a  Preface  lo  the  Irish  Melodies  ;  but  after- 
wards fur  some  leasoo  which  1  do  not  uottr  recollect, 
Wis  thrown  a^ide. 

Our  history,  for  many  centuries  past,  it  creditable 
neiiher  lo  our  neighbours  iior  our--elves,  and  ought  not 
111  be  read  by  aiiy  I^l^hInan  who  uishes  either  to  love 
Enghnd  or  to  feel  proud  of  Ireland.  The  loss  of  in- 
dependence verv  early  debased  nurcljar-icter  ;  and  our 
feuds  aiid  lebellions,  though  frequt-nt  and  ferocinus, 
hui  seldom  dif.played  ihar  generous  spirit  of  entei prise 
wiiti  vvliich  (tie  pride  of  an  independent  monarchy  so 
long  dignified  the  struggles  of  ic  tiand.  It  Is  true 
this  island  has  given  binh  to  hernes  who,  under  more 
favourable  circumstances,  mi:;ht  have  left  in  the 
hearis  of  their  c-unt  ytneii  rt-collectinns  as  dear  as 
those  of  a  Bruce  or  a  vv'all.ice ;  but  success 
iiig  to  con^ecr^te  re>is'ance,  their  cause 
wiih  the  disheirlenin; 
oppressed  country  w;is  such  a  blank  among  rali<ms, 
that,  like  the  adveniuies  of  th.tse  woods  which  Ruialdo 
wished  to  explore,  the  fame  of  their  actions  v\as  lost 
in  the  obscurity  of  the  place  where  ihey  achieved 
tbem. 


•  EiTaud>  tn  quelll  boachi 


Ma< 


as  want- 

hianded 

of  treason,  and   their 


follnwing  assertion  :  — '*  Papists,  that  positively  hold 
the  heretical  and  f.*lse  docrines  of  ihe  modern  church 
of  Rome,  cannot  pns-ihly  be  sived  "—As  a  contrast 
to  this  and  other  specimens  of  Protestant  liberality, 
which  it  would  be  m>  ch  more  easv  thin  pleasant  to 
collect.  I  refer  my  reader  lr>  the  t)eciar.itinn  of  Le 
Pare  Coyrayer  ;-dnijbting  not  thai,  while  he  reads 
the  seniiiiients  of  this  pious  man  np'^n  loleiation,  he 
will  feel  inclined  to  exclaim  with  Htflsh»m,  "Blush, 
ye  Protestant  bigots !  and  be  confnundtd  at  the  com- 
parison of  your  own  wretched  and  malignant  preju- 
dices with  Ihe  gene-ous  and  enlarged  idei-,  the  nohle 
and  animated  language  of  this  Popish  priest."  —  Es- 
saySy  xxvil.  p.  S6. 

I  *'  La  tolerance  est  la  chose  du  monde  la  plus  pro- 
pre  a  nmener  le  siecle  d'or,  et  a  f 'ire  un  concert  et 
mie  hirnionie  de  plusieuts  voix  et  instruments  de  dif- 
fereii's  tons  el  n  tes,  aus-i  agreable  pour  le  moms  que 
riiniformite  d'une  seule  vt,ix."-Bavle.  Coioineniaire 
Phil'>sophifiue,  &c.  part  ii.  chap,  vi.— Roth  Rayle  and 
Locke  would  have  treated  the  subjrct  of  Tnleratinn  in 
a  manner  much  more  wnrlliy  of  themselves  and  of  ihe 
cause,  if  they  had  wiitten  in  an  age  less  distracted  by 
religious  prejudices. 


11* 


Hence  it  is  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through  a 
lapse  of  six  hundred  years,  exhibit  not  one  of  those 
shining  names,  not  one  of  those  themes  of  nahonal 
pride,from  which  poetry  borrows  her  noblest  inspira- 
tion; and  that  history,  which  ou^ht  lo  he  the  richest 
£Arden  of  the  Muse,  yields  no  growth  to  her  in  this 
hapless  island  hut  cypiess  and  wetds.  In  truth,  the 
poet  who  would  embellish  his  song  with  allusions  to 
Iri-h  names  and  events,  must  he  contented  to  seek 
them  in  those  early  period'i  when  our  cliar:icter  was 
yei  unallojed  aiid  Original,  before  the  imp^  litic  craft 
of  our  conquerors  had  divided,  weakened,  and  dis- 
graced us.  1  he  sole  traits  of  heroism,  indeed,  which 
he  can  venture  at  this  day  to  commemo  a  e,  either 
with  safety  !o  hiniseh",  or  honour  to  his  country,  are 
lo  be  looked  for  in  tiiose  a-.cient  times  when  the  na- 
tive monarchsof  Ireland  displayed  and  fostered  virtues 
worthy  of  a  better  age ;  when  our  Malachies  wore 
around  their  necks  c  liars  of  gold  which  they  had  won 
in  single  combat  from  the  invader.^  and  our  Briens 
deserved  and  won  the  waim  atiections  of  a  people  by 
exhitiiing  all  the  most  e>limab!e  qu.ilities  of  a  king. 
It  may  be  said  that  ihe  mngic  of  (i-adiiion  has  slied  a 
charm  overihisremoie  period,  to  which  it  ism  reality 
but  little  entitled,  and  that  most  of  the  pictures,  which 
we  dwell  on  so  fondly,  of  days  when  this  island  was 
distinguished  amidst  the  gloom  of  Europe,  by  Ihe 
sanctity  of  her  morals,  the  spirii  of  her  knighthood, 
.ind  the  polish  of  her  schools,  aie  little  more  than  Ihe 
inventions  of  national  partial!  y,  — that  bright  but  spu- 
rious offsprmg  which  vanity  engenders  upon  igno- 
ra'icp,and  with  which  Ihe  first  recoids  of  every  pe.  pie 
.abound.  But  Ihe  sci'pMc  is  scarcely  to  be  envied  who 
woild  pause  for  slionger  proofs  ihan  we  already 
possess  of  Ihe  early  elones  of  Irt-land  ;  and  were  even 
veraci'y  of  all  these  proofs  surrendered,  yet  who 
Id  not  tiy  to  such  Haltering  fictions  from  the  sad 
adiiis  truths  which  the  history  of  later  times  pre- 
sents to  us? 

Ihe  language  of  sorrow,  however,  is,  in  general, 
best  suited  lo  our  Mu-.ic,  and  with  themes  of  this  na- 
lure  Ihe  poet  niay  be  amply  supplied.  There  is 
scarcely  a  page  of  our  annals  that  will  not  furnish 
him  asutiject,  and  «hile  the  iiaiional  Muse  of  niher 
countries  adorns  her  lemple  proudly  with  ir  phies  of 
the  p;tvt,  in  Ireland  her  melancholy  altar,  like  the 
shrine  of  Pity  at  Athens,  i^  to  be  kilown  only  by  the 
tears  Ih^t  aie  shed  upon  it  j  ^^  lacryniis  altana  su- 

1  here  is  a  well-known  s'orv,  rela'ed  of  the  Antio- 
chians  under  Ihe  reign  r-f  '1  he"dosius,  which  is  not 
onlvhnni'ur:ib!e  to  the  powers  of  mustc  in  general,  but 
wh'ich  api-Iies  so  p-culiarlv  to  the  mournful  niehdies 
of  Iielmd.lhat  I  cannot  le'sist  the  teuipt.ition  of  intro- 
ducing it  here.  —  The  pio'y  of  I  he'  d'isius  u  riuld  have 
been  admirahle.  had  it  not  been  s'auied  with  intole- 
rance; but  under  his  reign  was,  I  telieve,  first  set  the 
example  of  a  disqualifying  penal  code  enacted  by 
Christians  against  Christians.^  Whether  his  inter- 
ference with  the  religion  of  the  Antiochians  had  any 


*  Arioslo,  canto  iv. 

a  See  Wari.ei's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  bonk  ix. 

*  S*atius,  ThebuJJ.  hb  xii. 

6  "A  sort  of  civil  excommunica'ion  (yays  Gibbon), 
which  sepaiated  them  from  Iheir  fellow-ci'izens  by  a 
peculiar  brand  of  infamy;  and  Ihis  decbraiion  of  ihe 
supreme  magistiate  tended  to  juslify.  or  at  least  to 
excuse,  the  insnhs  of  a  fanatic  populace.  'Ihe  secta- 
res  were  gradually  disqualified  for  the  pn-se-sinn  of 
hoLonrable  or  b  criitive  employments  and  Theodnsius 
wassatisfiel  with  Ins  own  justice  when  he  decreed, 
that,  as  the  Euuomians  distingnished  the  nature  of  the 
Son  from  that  of  the  Father,  they  should  be  incapable 
of  making  their  wills,  or  of  receiving  any  advantage 
from  leslamcnlary  donations." 


126 


THE    SCEPTIC. 


share  in  the  alienatinn  of  their  loyally  is  not  expressly 
ascertained  by  historians;  hut  severe  edicts,  heavy 
lax^itioii,  and  the  rapacity  and  indolence  of  Ihe  men 
whom  he  sent  t;)  ^nvern  iheni,  sufficiently  account  for 
the  di3C0hIents  of  a  warm  and  susceptible  people. 
Kepeniaiicesoori  folIowe<l  the  crimen  rnto  ivtuch  tlieir 
impatience  hid  hunied  them;  but  the  vengeance  of 
the  tiniperur  wa-s  implacable,  and  puiiishmen's  of  ihe 
mosl  dredful  nature  bun?  over  the  cry  of  Aftioch, 
wliose  dfvoted  mhabi'an  s,  totally  resigned  to  despon 
deuce,  wandered  'brtu^hthe  streets  and  public  assem* 
blies,  givin;  utterance  lo  their  grief  in  dirges  of  the 
most  loucliin^  laineiitatiou.x     M  leoglh,   Flavianu^, 


1  MtXjj  Tiva  o\o(pvpfiov  JfAT^oT;  kui  avfifraOua^ 
irvv9i{itvoi,  TOiS  (i£Aait?iatj  tTir/dov. — Niccfh'nr, 
lib.  xii.  cap.  43.  This  story  J-.  lold  also  in  S^zomen, 
lib.  vii.  cap.  28.  ;  but  unfortunately  Chrysostom  says 
nothiug  whatever  about  it,  and  be  not  only  had  the 


their  bishf^p,  whom  they  had  sent  to  intercede  with 
Theodosius,  finding  all  his  entreaties  coldly  rejected, 
adop  ed  the  exppdient  of  teaching  these  songs  of  sor- 
row which  he  liad  heird  from  the  lips  of  his  unforlu- 
nae  cou'i'rsmeri  to  ihe  minstrels  who  performed  for 
tlie  Em|)er6r  at  tabie.  The  heart  of  Theodosius  ould 
not  resist  this  a|>peal ;  tears  tell  fast  inio  his  cup  while 
he  listened,  and  the  An'.inchians  weie  forgiven. — 
Surely,  if  music  ever  spi'ke  the  misfortunes  of  a  peo- 
ple, o.  clujI  1  ever  cnnciliate  forgiveness  for  tlieirerrors, 
Ihe  musicof  Ireland  ou^ht  to  po3-e-s  those  powers. 


best  nppo  tu'iities  of  mforma  ion,  but  was  loo  fond  f 
music,  as  appears  by  his  prai^^es  of  p=aliiiody  (Expo- 
sit,  iu  P-alni.  xli.),  to  omit  such  a  flattering  illustra- 
tion of  its  powers.  He  imputes  their  reconciliatioD 
to  the  interference  of  the  ,Antiochiaii  solitar  es,  while 
Zozimus  attributes  it  to  the  remcnstiances  of  the  so- 
phist Libanius.  — Gibbon,  I  think,  dues  not  even 
allude  tu  this  story  of  the  uiusiciaus. 


THE    SCEPTIC, 
A   PHILOSOPHICAL    SATIRE. 

No/iov  navTdiV  ^airtXta,  — Pindar,  ap.  Berod,  lib.  iii. 


PREFACE. 

The  Sceptical  Philosophv  of  the  Ancients  has  been 
no  less  misrepresented  than  the  Epicurean.^  Pyrrho 
may  perhaps  have  carried  it  to  rather  an  irrational 
excess;— but  we  must  not  believe,  with  Eeatlie,  all 
the  absurdities  imputed  lo  this  philosopher:  and  it 
appears  to  nie  that  the  doctrines  of  Ihe  school,  as  ex- 
plained by  Sexlus  Empiricus,*  are  fa--  more  suited  to 
the  uants  and  infiinuties  of  human  reason,  as  well  as 
more  conducive  to  the  mild  virtues  of  humility  and 
patience,  than  any  of  those  systems  of  philosophy 
which  preceded  the  introduction  of  Chris'ianiiy.  'Ihe 
Sceptics  may  be  said  to  have  held  a  middle  path  be- 
tween  the  Dogmatists  and  Academicians;  Ihe  former 
of  whom  b.-asfed  that  thev  had  attained  Ihe  truth, 
while  the  latter  denied  that  any  attainable  truth  ex- 
isted. The  Sceptics,  however,  without  either  assert- 
ing  or  denying  its  exisence^  professed  to  be  modestly 
and  anxiously  in  search  of  it;  or,  as  St.  Augustine 
expresses  it,  in  his  liberal  tract  against  the  Manichx- 
ans.  **  nemo  nostrum  dicat  jam  se  invenisse  verita'em  ; 
sic  earn  quaeramusquasi  ab  ulrisque  ne3cia'ur."3  From 
Ihis  habit  of  impartial  investigation,  and  the  neceB--i'y 
which  it  imposed  upon  them,  of  studying  not  only 
every  system  of  philosophy,  but  every  art  and  science, 
which  professed  to  lay  its  o^sis  in  truth,  they  necessa- 
rily took  a  wider  range  of  erudition,  and  were  far 
more  travelled  in  the  regions  of  philosophy  than  those 
whom  conviction  or  bigotry  h^d  domesticated  in  any 
piriicular  system.  It  required  all  the  learning  of  dog- 
matism to  overthrow  the  dogmatism  of  learning  ;  and 
the  Sceptics  may  be  said  to  resemble,  in  this  respect, 
that  ancient  incendiary,  who  stole  from  the  alUr  ihe 
fire  with  which  he  destroyed  the  temple.  This  ad- 
vantage over  all  the  other  sects  is  allowed  to  them 
even  bv  Lipsius,  wh-  se  treati^e  on  the  miracles  of  the 
Virgo  Hallensis  will  sufficiently  save  him  from  all 
suspicion  of  sce[iticism.  "Lahore,  ingenio,  memo- 
ria."  he  says,  "  supra  nmnes  pene  philos'iphos  fuis'^e. 
— Quid  nonne  omnia  alinrum  secia  teneie  debnerunt 
et  inquirere,  si  pnterunl  refellere  ?  res  dicit.     Nonne 


»  Pyrrh.  Hvpoth.  —  The  reader  may  find  a  tole- 
rably clear  abstract  of  this  work  of  Sextus  Empiricus 
in  La  Verite  des  Sciences,  by  Meiseone,  liv.  i.  chap. 
ii.,  &c. 

»  Lib.  contra  Epist.  Manichasi  quam  vocant  Fundi- 
■nenti,  Op.  Paris,  torn.  vi. 


orationes  varies,  raras,pubtiles  inveniri  ad  tam  recep- 
ta^,  daras,  ceila5(ut  videbatur)5enleritiaseverlenda3  r* 
&c.  &C.4  —  Manduct.  ad  Philosoj:h.  Stoic.  Dissert.  4. 
Between  the  scepticism  of  the  anciems  and  Ihe  mo- 
derns the  great  difl'erence  is.  that  Ihe  former  doubled 
for  the  purpose  of  investigating,  as  may  be  exemplified 
by  the  third  book  of  Aristotle's  Meiaphysic9,5  while 
the  latter  investigate  for  the  purpose  of  doubting,  as 
niay  be  seen  througli  most  of  Ihe  philosophical  works 
of  Hume  6  indeed,  the  Pynhonism  of  latter  days  is 
not  only  moie  subtle  than  that  of  antiquity,  but,  U 
must  be  c>  nfessed,  niore  dangerous  in  its  tendency. 
The  happiness  of  a  Christian  depends  so  essentially 
upon  his  belief,  that  it  is  but  n.itural  he  should  feel 
alarm  at  the  progiess  of  doubt,  lest  it  should  steal  by 
degrees  into  that  region  fiom  which  he  is  most  inter- 
esed  in  excluding  it.ai-d  poison  at  last  the  very  spring 
of  his  consolali' n  and  hope.  Still,  however,  Ihe 
abuses  of  doubling  ought  not  to  deter  a  philosophical 
mind  from  indulging  mildly  and  rationally  in  its  usej 
and  there  is  nothing,  surely,  more  consistent  with  the 
meek  spirit  of  Chi  istianily,  than  ihat  humble  scepti- 
cism which  pnies-es  not  to  extend  i's  distrust  beyond 
Ihe  circle  of  human  pursuits,  and  the  pretensions  of 
human  knowledge.  A  follower  of  this  school  maybe 
among  Ihe  readiest  to  admit  the  claims  of  a  superin- 
tending Intelligence  upon  his  failh  and  adoration:  it 
is  only  to  the  wisdom  of  this  weak  world  that  he  re- 
fuses, or  at  least  delays  his  assent ;— it  is  only  in  pass- 
ing through  the  shadow  of  earth  tlial  his  mind  under- 
goes the  eclipse  of  scepticism.  No  follower  of  Pyrrho 
has  ever  spoken  more  strongly  agaii  st  the  Dognialiste 
than  SI.  Paul  himself,  in  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rin'hians;  and  there  are  passages  in  Ecclesiastes  and 
other  parts  of  Scripture,  which  justify  our  utmnst  dif- 
fidence in  all  thai  human  re.^son  originates.    Even  the 


*  See  Martin.  Sclioockius  de  Sceplicismo,  who  en- 
deavours,—weakly,  I  think,— to  refute  this  opinion  of 
Lipsius. 

»  Ecrri  dc  roicre  vnop7}(rat  {iov\ofiivoi^  ffpovp- 
yov  TO  diajrop»^o"a;  xaAws. — Mtiaphya.  lib.  iii, 
cap.  1. 

6  Neither  Hume,  however,  nor  Berkeley,  are  to  be 
judged  by  the  misrepre^enlalions  of  Beattie,  whose 
book,  however  amiably  intended,  puts  forth  a  most 
unphilosophical  appeal  to  popular  feelings  and  preju- 
dices, and  is  a  continued  petitioprincipit  throughout. 


THE    SCEPTIC. 


127 


Sceptics  nf  antiquity  refrained  carefully  from  tlie  mys- 
teries of  thc'ilog^ ,  and,  in  en'eiing  the  temples  of  re- 
ligion, laidaaide  their  philos'iphy  at 'he  porch.  Sextus 
Einpiricus  thus  declare-,  the  acquiescence  of  his  ^ect 
in  ihe  generil  belu-t  of  ;.  d.vire  .ind  f-ire-kofuving 
Fnurr :  —  'J'^  fitv  fittxt  icar aKoXovOovvr i';  a^olatr- 
Twj  <pa/itv  iivat  -^covs  Kat  trtpofiiv  -^tovs  kqi 
jroovoiiv  avTovs  (PafiivA  In  short,  it  appears  to 
mV,  llinl  this  rali'iiial  uid  vxell-iegulated  scepiirisrn  is 
Ihr  <iiilv  daugh  er  of  the  Schnoh  that  en  safely  I'e 
sflecicd  asa  tundniaid  for  Pie'y.  He  who  distrusts 
'he  liicht  of  leason,  will  be  the  first  (o  follow  a  nioie 
l.miiiious  guide;  and  if,  with  an  ardent  love  fiir  truth, 
he  has  soui^ht  tier  in  viin  through  the  ways  of  this 
life,  lie  will  but  turn  with  the  niorehopeto  Ihat  be'ter 
world,  wl  ere  all  is  simple,  true,  and  everlasting  :  for, 
there  is  no  parallax  at  the  zenith  ;— it  i>  only  near,  ur 
trouhled  horizon  that  ohjects  deceive  us  lulo  vague 
and  erroneous  calculations. 


THE    SCEPTIC. 


As  the  gay  tint,  that  decks  the  vernal  rnse,^ 

Not  in  the  flower,  but  m  our  vision  clows  j 

As  the  ripe  flivour  .f  Falemian  tides 

Not  in  the  wine,  b-it  in  our  (as'e  re^iites  ; 

So  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 

ThT  Marco's  honest  and  that  Susan's  fair, 

'Tis  in  our  minds,  and  not  in  Susin's  eyea 

Or  Mtrco's  life,  the  wor  h  nrheiu'v  li.s: 

For  she,  in  flit-nnsi-d  China,  wnuld  ajipeaf 

As  phin  a  thiti^  as  Lady  Anne  is  here  ; 

And  one  li(chr  jnke  at  rirh  Loreltos  dome 

Would  rank  good  Marco  with  the  damn"d  at  Rome. 

There':)  no  deformity  so  vile,  so  ba'e, 
That  'tis  not  S'-.niewhere  tlmu^ht  a  charm,  a  grace; 
No  foul  reproach,  that  may  not  sieal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  ble-ich  it  to  esteeiii.3 


1  Lib.  iii.cap.  t. 

a  "The  pirticular  bulk,  number,  fie^u'e,  and  mo. 
tion  of  the  parts  of  fire  orsnowaie  really  in  them, 
whe'her  any  one  perceives  them  or  no',  and  there* 
fore  they  may  be  called  real  quall'ies.  because  they 
leally  exist  in  ihose  bodies;  buf  light,  heat,  white- 
ness, or  coldness,  are  no  more  really  in  them  than 
sickness  or  pain  is  in  mmna.  Take  away  Ihe  sensa- 
tion of  them  ;  let  not  ihe  eye  see  lizht  or  cnlours,  nor 
the  ears  hear  sounds;  lei  the  palate  not  taste,  nor  the 
nose  smell,  and  all  cfdours,  tastes,  oddurs.  and  sounds^ 
as  they  are  such  puticular  ideas,  vanish  and  ceaee."— 
Locke,  book  ii.  chap.  8. 

nivhop  Berkeley,  it  is  well  known,  extended  Ibis 
doc'rlne  evi-n  to  primary  <}ualitiet,  and  supposed  that 
matter  ilself  has  but  an  idea!  existence.  Hut,  h'lw 
arc  we  to  apply  his  theory  to  that  period  wtiich  pre- 
ceded the  formation  of  man.  wTen  our  sys'em  of  sen- 
Mtile  tliini;s  was  produced,  and  the  sun  shone,  and  the 
wa  era  fltwed,  without  anysen'ient  being  t"  witness 
them  ?  The  spectator.  ^^  hom  Whiston  sur'pltes,  will 
scarcely  solve  the  difficuhy:  "To  speak  my  mind 
frt-ely,"  ^ays  he.  "I  believe  thai  the  Messias  was 
theieac'Uiiily  pre-'ent."  — 5ee  IVhisturiy  of  the  Mosaic 
Creation. 

3  Boetius  employs  this  argument  of  the  Sceptics 
among  his  consolatory  reflections  upon  the  enjpiiness 
of  fame.  **  Quid  qnod  diversarum  gentium  mores 
inter  seatnue  insltnta  discordant,  nl  quod  apud  alios 
laude,  apud  alios  supplicio  dignum  judicetur  ?"— Lib. 
ii.  prnsa.  7.  Many  amusing  instaiices  of  diversily,  in 
the  tastes.  m:tnner9.  and  morals  of  different  nation^, 
may  be  found  throughout  the  works  of  that  amu-ing 
Sceptic  Le  Mothe  le  Vayer.  —  See  his  Opuscule  Seep 
tique,  his  Treatise  »' I)e  la  Secte  Sceptrque,"  and, 
above  all,  tliose  Dialogues,  not  to  be  found  in  his 
works,  which  he  published  under  the  name  of  Hnra- 


Ask,  who  is  wise? —  ynu  'It  find  the  self-same  uiao 
A  9iE;e  in  Fnnce,  a  madman  in  Japan ; 
Ai\d  hire  some  head  beneath  a  mitre  swells, 
Which  there  had  tingled  to  a  cap  and  bells: 
Nay   tiifte  may  yet  jicme  monstrous  rei^inn  be, 
Unknown  lo  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  Iree, 
Wheic  C~stl— r— gh  would  for  a  patriot  pass, 
And  mouthing  M ve  scarce  be  deem'd  au  assl 

*'  List  not  to  reason  (Epicurus  cries.) 

•'Hut  trust  the  senses,  l/mre  conviction  lies:"* 
Alas  I  t/icy  judsie  not  by  a  purer  light, 
Nor  keep  Ihejr  fountains  more  unlinged  and  bright; 
H  tbit  so  mar.  tliem,  lhat  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  tr..in-oil,  while  he  sips  Champagne; 
And  health  so  rules  them,  that  a  fever's  heat 
Would  uiake  even  Sh— r— d— u  think  water  sweet* 


Just  as  the  mind  the  erring  sense  *  believes, 
he  erring  mind,  in  turn,  tlie  sense  deceives  j 


tins  Tubero.  — The  chiff  objection  lo  these  writings 
of  Le  Vayer  (and  it  is  a  blemish  which  may  l)e  felt 
also  in  the  Esprit  des  Loix),  is  the  suspicions  obscurity 
of  tie  sources  from  whence  he  fieijuenlly  draws  his 
,  instances,  aid  ilie  indiscriminate  use  made  by  him  of 
the  louesl  pojiulace  of  the  library,— those  lying  tra- 
velleis  and  \v,  nder-moriger-;,  of  «  hnm  Shafiesbury,  io 
his  Advice  to  an  Author,  complains,  as  having  tend^-d 
in  his  own  time  to  the  ditfusinn  ol  a  very  shallow  and 
vicinu^  soil. .fscepiicism.  — Vol.  i.  p.  532.  TheP>r- 
rlmnism  nf  Lf^  Vayer,  hi'Wever,  is  of  the  most  innocent 
and  plavfnl  kind;  and  Villemandy,  the  author  of 
ScepdciMnui  Debella  us,  exempts  him  specially  in  the 
derlaraiion  of  war  which  he  denounces  agairis'  t'"^ 
oiiier  armed  neutrals  of  Ihe  sect,  in  consideration  of 
the  orthodox  limits  u  ilhin  which  be  couliues  his  incre- 
dulity. 

4  This  was  the  creed  also  of  those  modem  Epicu- 
reans, whom  Ninon  de  I'Knclos  collecled  around  her 
in  the  Rue  des  Toumelles.  and  wh.se  object  seems  to 
have  been  to  f^ecry  the  faculty  of  reason,  as  tending 
only  to  embarnss  our  whole:-ome  u-e  of  pleasures, 
without  enabling  us,  in  any  degree,  to  avoid  their 
abuse.  Madame  des  Houlieies.  the  fair  pupil  of  Ues 
Rarreaux  in  the  ar's  of  p'iC'iy  and  gallantry,  has  de- 
voted most  of  her  verses  to  this  laudable  purpnse,  and 
is  even  snch  a  determined  fne  to  reason,  tint,  in  one 
of  her  pastorals,  she  congratulates  her  sheep  on  the 
want  nf  it.  St.  Evremont  speaks  thus  upon  the  sub- 
ject :  — 


Ou  1 


]  la  rlnrte  dps  angon, 
jeiiM  df a  BJ  milieu  acim 


Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased  :  — 

Ha<I  miin  been  made,  ut  noture's  birth. 

Of  only  flame  nr  only  earll). 

Had  he  bcti)  rorm'd  a  perfect  whole 

Of  purely  that,  or  groxsly  this, 
Thrn  Bens.;  would  neVr  have  rloudid  soul. 

Nor  sniil  redlrnin'd  the  Bi>n6e'H  t>lit>B. 
Oh  happVr  had  his  li;^ht  befu  strong. 

Or  had  ht^  nevttr  shaTt6  a  li^lit, 
Wliii-h  shin''*  en  'iiRh  lo  show  hi,-  *8  wroDg, 

But  not  enough  lo  lead  bim  right. 

*  See,  among  the  frngmen's  of  Petronius.  those 
verses  lieginning  '*  Fallunt  nos  ocuti."  &c.  The  most 
scep'ical  of  the  ancient  poets  was  Euripides;  and  it 
would.  I  think,  puzzle  the  whole  school  of  Pyrrho  to 
produce  a  doubt  more  startling  than  the  following :  — 

Tij  A'  oidtv  ct  j^ijv  Tovfl'  6  KZK\7}Tai  -Savav, 
To  ^7jv  d«  -^vrjO-Ktiv  xtrri. 

See  I^ert.  in  Pyrrh, 

Socra'es  and  Plato  were  the^and  sources  of  ancient 
scep'icism.  According  to  Cicero  fde  Orator,  lib.  iii.), 
they  supplied  Arcesilas  with  the  doctrincB  of  the 


128 


THE    SCEPTIC. 


And  cold  disgust  can  find  but  wrinkles  there^ 
Where  passion  faticies  all  that's  smooth  and  fair. 

A  face  for  which  ten  tlioiisaud  poumls  were  paid, 

Can  lell,  how  quuk  belori:  a  jury  llies 

The  spelt  that  niock.'d  the  warm  seducer's  eyes. 


ithr 


vhich  Judijmeiil'a 


Self  is  the  niediui 
Cau  seldom  pass  wilhoul  beiii^  tuni'd  astray. 
The  smith  of  KfUiesusi  thoui;ht  Uiairs  shrine, 
By  which  tiis  cralt  most  llinive,  the  most  divine; 
And  ev'n  the  iruL  Uilh  seems  not  half  so  true, 
When  liiik'd  wuh  une  good  living  as  wilh  two. 
Had  VV— Ic— t  first  been  pcnsionM  by  the  Ihrone, 
Kings  would  have  sutterd  by. his  praise  alone; 
And  t* — ine  pcrnaps,  lor  something  snug  per  aun., 
Had  lau^h'd,  like  W— U— sley,  al  all  Rights  of  Man. 

But  '1  is  not  only  individual  minds, — 
Whole  nations,  too,  the  same  delusion  blinds, 
'I'hus  England,  hot  from  Denmark's  smoking  meads, 
Turns  up  her  eyes  at  tiallia's  guiKy  deeds  ; 
'1  hus.  self-pleas'd  still,  the  same  dishonouring  chaia 
She  binds  in  Ireland,  she  would  break  in  Sitaiu  ; 
While  piajs'd  at  distance,  hut  at  home  toibid, 
Kebeis  lu  Lurk  are  patriots  at  Madrid. 

If  Grotius  be  thy  guide,  shut,  shut  the  book,— • 
In  force  alone  for  haws  of  Nations  look. 
Let  shipless  Danes  and  whining  yankees  dwell 
On  naval  rights,  with  Grutius  and  Vallel, 
VVhile  C— bb — t's  pnale  code  alone  appears 
Sound  moral  sense  lo  Knglaud  and  Algiers. 

Wne  to  the  Sceptic,  in  these  party  days, 
Who  wafts  to  neither  shrine  his  puds  of  praise! 
For  him  no  pension  pours  its  annual  fruits, 
No  fertile  sinecure  spontaneous  shoots  ; 
Not  Aii  the  meed  that  crown'd  Don  H—kh—m's  rhyme, 
Nor  sees  he  e'er,  in  dreams  of  future  lime, 
Tliose  shadowy  forms  of  sleek  reversions  rise, 
So  dear  to  Sroxhmen's  second-sighted  eyes. 
Yet  who,  that  looks  to  History's  d.imning  leaf, 
Where  Whig  and  Tory,  thict  opposed  to  thief, 
On  either  side  in  lofiy  shame  are  seen.^ 
While  freedom's  form  hangs  crucified  between  — 
Who,  B— rd — II,  who  such  rival  rogues  can  see, 
But  dies  from  tot/i  to  Houtsiy  and  thee  ? 

If,  weary  of  the  world's  bewildering  maze,3 
Hopeless  of  finding,  through  its  weedy  ways, 


One  flower  of  truth,  the  busy  crowd  we  shuD, 
And  lo  the  stiades  of  tranquil  learning  run. 
How  many  a  doubt  pursues  I  ^  how  ott  we  sigh, 
When  histories  charm,  to  think  that  histories  liel 
That  all  are  gr.ive  romances,  at  the  best. 
And  M— sgr~ve*b6  hut  more  clumsy  than  the  rest. 
By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  pa^e  beguiled. 
We  faiicv  Cturles  was  just  and  StraUord  mild;  6 
And  Fox  himself,  with  parly  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  "  for  the  good  old  cause  !"^ 
Then,  rights  and  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats, 
As  French  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats; 
And,  when  they  lell  Corunna's  story  o'er, 
They'll  disagree  in  all,  but  honouring  Moore: 
Nay,  future  pens,  to  flatter  future  courts. 
May  cile  perhaps  the  Faik-guns'  gay  reports, 
To  prove  that  England  trimnph'd  on  tha  mom 
Which  found  her  Junot's  jeat  and  Europe's  scorn. 


Middle  Academy;  and  how  closely  these  resembled 
the  tenets  of  the  Sceptics,  may  be  seen  even  in  Sextus 
Empiricus  (lib.  i.  cap.  33.),  who  with  all  his  distinc- 
tions, can  scaicely  prove  any  difi'erence.  it  appears 
strange  that  Epicurus  should  have  been  a  dogmatist ; 
and  his  natural  temper  would  most  prob.ibiy  have  led 
him  to  the  repose  of  scepticism,  had  not  the  Stoics,  by 
their  violent  opposition  to  Jus  doctijnes,  compelled 
liini  to  be  as  obstinate  as  themselves.  Fiutaich,  in- 
deed, in  reporting  some  of  his  opinion?,  represen' 
him  as  having  delivered  them  with  considerable  hes 
tation.  —  iCTTLKov{iOS  ov6zv  anoytvwa-Ku  tovtiu^ 
txojitxtos  Tov  LvSixoiitvQV.—Dt Placxt.  Philosop} 
lib.  ii.  cap.  13.  See  also  the  21st  and  22d  chapter: 
But  that  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  sect  wer 
self-suflTiciency  and  d  'gmatism,  appears  from  wh; 
Cicero  says  of  Velleius,  iJe  Natur.  /Jeor.  —  "  Tui 
Velleius,  fiden'er  sane,  ul  solent  isli,  nihil  tarn  verei 
quam  ne  dubitare  aliqiia  de  re  videretur." 

>  Mts,  chap.  xix.     *•  For  a  certain  man  named  De- 
metrius, a  silversmith,  which  made  silver  shnnei 
Diana,  brought  no  small  gain  unto  the  craftsmen.' 

^"  Those    two   thieves,"   s^iys    Ralph,   '-betv 
whom  the  nation  is  crucified."  —  Use  and  Abuse  of 
Parliaments. 

3  The  agitation  of  the  ship  is  one  of  the  chief  dif- 
ficulties which  impede  the  discnveiy  »f  the  longitude 
at  sea;  and  the  tunmlt  and  hurry  of  life  are  equally 


In  science,  too — how  many  a  system,  riis 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  awhi'le  halh  blazed 
With  lights  of  fjiicy  and  with  forms  of  pri( 
Then,  melting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious 
■'  '3  Earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky, 
y  Newlon  puts  the  paltry  planet  by  ; 


;ed 


favourable  to  that  calm  level  of  mind  which  is 
necessary  to  an  inquirer  after  truth. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  modest  Sceptic,  in  the 
absence  of  truth,  contents  himself  with  probabilities, 
resembling  in  this  respect  those  suitois  of  heuelope, 
who,  on  finding  that  they  could  not  possess  the  mis- 
tress herrelf,  very  wisely  resolved  to  put  up  with  her 
maids;  tv)  Ti7iv£ho7T/j  nXtjuia^uv  firi  dwafitvoi^ 
Tais"  TavT7j-i  tfuyvvvTO  ^t^aiiai.vai.%.—Pluiardiy 
UiiJi  UaiSosv  AytoyTys. 

4  See  a  curious  work,  entitled  "Reflections  upon 
Le.irniiig,"  written  on  the  plan  of  Agrippa's  *' De 
Vanitate  Scieniarum,"  but  much  more  honesily  and 
skilfully  executed. 

5  This  historian  of  the  Irish  rebellions  has  outrun 
even  his  predece-sor  in  the  pime  task,  Sir  John  Tem- 
ple, for  whose  character  with  respect  to  veracity  the 
reader  may  consult  Carte's  Collection  of  Oimond's 
Original  Papers,  |^  207.  See  also  Dr.  Nalson's  ac- 
count of  him,  in  the  inlroduction  to  the  second  volume 
of  his  Historic.  Collect. 

6  He  defends  Strafford's  conduct  as  "  innocent  and 
even  laudable."  In  the  same  spirit,  speaking  of  the 
arbitrary  sentences  of  the  Star  Chamber,  he  says,— 
"The  severity  of  the  Star  Chamber,  which  was 
generally  ascribed  to  Laud's  passionate  disposition, 
was,  perhaps,  in  itself,  somewhat  blameable." 

1  Ttiat  flexibility  of  temper  and  opinion,  which  the 
habits  of  scepticism  are  so  calculated  to  produce,  are 
thus  pleadetl  f.r  by  Mr.  Fox,  in  the  very  sketch  of 
Monmouth  to  which  1  allude;  and  this  part  of  the 
picture  tlie  historian  may  be  ihuught  to  have  drawn 
from  himself.  "  One  of  the  most  conspicuous  leatures 
in  his  charac'er  seems  to  have  been  a  remarkable, 
and,  as  some  think,  a  culpable  degree  of  flexibility. 
That  such  a  disposition  is  preferable  to  its  opposite 
extienie  wili  be  admitted  by  all,  who  think  that 
modesty,  even  in  excess,  is  more  nearly  allied  to  wis- 
dom than  cmceit  and  setf-sufficiency.  He  who  has 
attentively  considered  the  political,  or  indeed  the 
general  concerns  of  life,  may  possibly  go  still  turlher 
and  may  rank  a  willingness  lO  be  convinced,  or,  io 
some  cases,  even  without  conviction,  to  concede  our 
own  opinion  to  that  of  other  men,  among  the  prin- 
cipal ingredien's  in  the  composition  of  practical  wis- 
(jnni."  — It  is  rit-hl  to  observe,  however,  that  the 
Sceptic's  re  dine>s  of  concession  arises  rather  from 
iiricer'amty  than  convic'ioii,  more  from  a  suspicion 
that  his  own  (  pinion  may  be  v^vow^,  than  from  any 
persuasion  that  the  opinion  of  his  a.lversary  is  right. 
"  It  may  be  so."  was  the  courteous  and  sceptical  for- 
mula, uilh  which  the  Dutch  were  accustomed  to 
,  reply  to  the  sia'ements  of  ambassulois.  See  Lloyd^l 
State  JVo^thies,  art.  Sir  Thomas  Wyat. 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG, 


129 


Nttw  whims  revive  hftneath  Hescartes's  i  pen, 
Which  JtouJ,  assall'd  by  Locke's,  expire  again. 
And  when,  pertiaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  pov%ers, 
We  think  the  keys  u(  Naure's  kin^id  -m  ou^s, 
Some  Liavy's  inaiic  touch  tlie  dream  unsettlea, 
And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  in  inela:s. 
Or,  should  we  T0;ini.  in  iiteiaphy!>ic  maze, 
ThrouRh  fair-huilt  Uicnrie-  of  former  days, 
Some  !)i— miTi-d  'i  frnm   he  iiorlh.  niore  ably  skillM, 
Like  <'thcr  G^'tlis,  to  ruin  ihm  to  build, 
Tramples  tnuinpharit  lhrous:h  our  fanes  overthrown. 
Nor  leases  one  grace,  one  glory  of  his  own. 

Oh,  Learning,  whatsoe'er  thy  pomp  and  boast, 
r/»letteiM  minds  have  taught  and  charm 'd  men  most. 
The  rude,  uuread  Columbus  was  our  guide 
To  worlds,  which  learn'd  Lactanfius  had  denied; 
And  one  wild  Shakspearc,  fallowing  Nature's  lighti, 
Is  worth  whole  plaucts,  fiU'd  with  Stagintes, 

See  grave  Theilogv.  when  once  she  strays 
From  Kevel.ition's  path,  "hal  tricks  she  plays; 
What  virions  heav'ns,— all  fit  fir  bards  to  sniff,— 
Have  churchmen  dream'd,  from  Papias^  down  to 
King!* 


>  Descartes,  who  is  considered  as  tlie  parent  of 
modern  scepticism,  says,  that  there  is  nothirig  in  the 
whole  range  of  philosophy  which  does  not  admit  of 
two  opposite  opinions,  and  which  is  not  involved  in 
doubt  and  uncerLiinty.  "  In  Philosophia  nihil  adhuc 
reperiri,  de  quo  non  in  utram(iue  parlein  disputatur^ 
hoc  est,  quod  non  sit  incertuni  eldubiuni."  Gassendi 
is  likewise  to  be  added  to  the  list  of  modern  Sceptics, 
and  Wedderk'  pif,  in  his  Dissertation  **  De  Scepticismo 

Erofano  ct  sacro  "  (.Argentorat.  1666),  has  denounced 
ramius  also  as  a  follower  of  Pyrrho,  for  his  opinions 
upon  the  Trinity,  and  some  other  subjects  To  these 
if  we  add  the  n  ^ma  nf  liayle,  Mallebranche,  Dryden, 
I/icke,  &c.  &c..  I  think  there  is  no  one  who  need  be 
ashamed  of  doubting  in  such  company. 
^  See  Ihis  gentleman's  Acidemia  Queslions. 
3  Papias  lived  about  the  time  of  the  apostles,  and  is 
supposed  to  have  given  birth  to  the  heresy  of  the 


While  hell  itself,  in  India  nought  but  smnke,6 
In  Spain's  a  lurnace,  and  in  France  —  ajoke. 

Hail,  modest  Ignorance,  thou  goal  and  prize, 
Th'iu  last,  besi  knowUil-.-  of  the  simply  wise! 
Hail.  liumlj!c  l)'.;.l  ■,  v\i,.  i,  mmi's  waves  are  past, 
•     I  M  purl  *>  at  last, 
iHM  lured  nor  awed, 
li.ii  roar  abroad. 
.  konvvs  how  frail 
lU  Bummer's  gale, 
lose  beacon  glows 
her  fnet'ds  or  foes. 
There  Faiih  retires,  and  keeps  her  whi'e  sail  furi'd. 
Till  cali'd  to  spread  it  for  a  better  world  ; 
While  Patience,  watching  on  the  wedly  shore, 
And,  nmlely  wailing  till  the  stoini  be  o  er 
Oft  turns  to  Hope,  who  still  directs  her  eye 
To  some  blue  .spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky  ! 

Such  are  the  mild,  the  blest  associates  given 
To    hini   who  doubts,  — and   trusts    in    nought  but 
Heaven  \ 


And,  there,  bv  i 
Smile  at  the  b;i'tl;.  -  ,m;  ; 
Thnr  gentle  Ch:in'V,  wlu 
Tlic  bark  of  Vinue,  even  i 
Sits  l-y  the  nightly  fire,  u^ 


Chiliastfc,  whose  lieaven  wa^  by  no  means  of  a  >piri- 
tual  nature,  but  rather  an  anticipation  of  ihe  Prophet 
of  Hera's  elysium.  See  Kusebius,  Hi>t.  Ecciesiast. 
lib.  iii.  cap.  33..  and  Hieronym.  de  Scriptor.  Eccle- 
siast.  From  all  I  can  find  in  these  authors  cincerning 
Papias,  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  impute  to  him  those 
gross  imaginations  in  which  the  believers  of  the  sen- 
sual millennium  iudnlged. 

4  King,  in  his  Morsels  of  Criticism,  vol  i..  supposes 
the  sun  to  be  the  receptacle  of  blessed  spirits. 

5  The  Indians  call  hell  *■  the  House  nf  Smoke." 
See  PiCTrt  upon  the  Religion  of  the  Pan^ans.  'Ihe 
reader  who  is  curit>us  about  infernal  matiers,  may  be 
edified  by  consulting  Knsca  de  Inferno,  particularly 
iib.  ii.  cap.  7.  8.,  where  he  will  find  ihe  piecise  sort 

ascertained  in  which  wicked  spirits  are  to  he 


burned  he 


after. 


6  "  Chere  Sceptique.  douce  pafure  de  mnn  ame,  et 
I'unique  port  de  salut  a  un  esprit  quiaimele  lepose  !'* 
—  La  Mothe  le  Vayer. 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 
BY   THOMAS    BROWN    THE   YOUNGER, 


Elnpsae  manlbas  secldere  tabellae.  —  0»iif. 


D  EDI  CATION, 
TO   STEPHEN    WOOLRICHE,    ESQ. 

My  Dear  Woolriche,— It  is  now  about  seven  years 
since  I  promised  {and  I  grieve  to  think  it  is  almost  as 
long  since  we  me')  lo  dedicate  to  you  the  very  first 
Book,  of  whatever  size  or  kind,  I  should  publish. 
Who  could  have  thought  that  so  many  years  would 
elapse,  without  my  giving  the  least  sigiia  of  life  upon 
Ihe  subject  of  this  important  promise?  Who  could 
have  imagined  that  a  volume  of  dnggerel,  al'ter  all, 
would  be  the  first  nftmng  that  Gratitude  would  lay 
upnn  t|.ie  shrine  of  Friendship  ? 

If  you  continue,  h'lwever,  to  be  as  much  interested 
abmit  me  and  mv  pursuits  as  formerly,  you  will  be 
happy  10  hear  tliai  doggerel  is  not  my  only  occupation  ; 
but  that  I  am  prenaring  to  throw  my  nnne  tn  the 
Swans  of  the  Temple  of  Immortalitv.i  leaving  it.  of 
course,  to  the  said  Swan''  to  determine,  whe'her  they 
ever  will  like  the  trouble  of  picking  it  from  the 
Btream. 

1  Ariosto,  canto  35. 


In  the  mean  time,  n.  dear  Woolriche,  like  an  or- 
thodox Lutheran,  you  must  judge  of  me  rather  bv  my 
failli  than  my  works  ;  and  hnwever  trifling  the  tri- 
bute vWiich  I  here  ofil-r,  never  doubt  the  fidelity  with 
wliicb  1  am,  and  always  shall  be, 
Your  sincere  and 

attached  friend, 

THE  AUTHOR 
March  4,  1613. 


PREFACE. 

The  Bag,  from  which  the  following  Letteis  sre 
selec'ed,  was  dropped  by  a  'I'wnpenny  Postman  about 
two  months  since,  and  picked  up  by  an  emissary  of 
the  Society  forthe  Suppression  of  Vice,  "ho,  supposing 
it  niijht  materially  a-^sist  the  private  researches  <.f  that 
Institution,  immediately  took  it  to  hi'^  emplnyerr.  and 
was  rewarled  handsomely  for  his  truble.  Such  a 
treasury  of  secrets  was  worth  a  whole  host  of  inform- 
er* ;  and,  accordingly,  like  the  Cupids  of  the  poet  (if 
i  may  use  so  profane  a  simile)  who  "fell  at  odds 


130 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


about  the  swee'-ba?  of  a  bee,"  »  those  venerable  Sup- 
pressors almost  foughl  with  each  other  for  the  honour 
and  delightof  iirst  ransacking tlie  Post-Bag.  Unluckily, 
however,  il  turned  out,  upon  exatninatiDn,  that  the  dis- 
coveries of  profli?acy  which  it  enabled  them  to  make, 
lay  chiefly  in  those  upper  regions  of  society,  which 
their  weli-brcd  rci^utations  forbid  Ihein  t^>  molest  or 
meddle  with.  —  In  C(»n>cquence,  Ihcy  g;»iiicd  but  ve  y 
victims  by  their  prize,  and,  after  I>  ms  1' 


'  under  Mr.  Uaichard's 


quence  of  this  graceless  Utile  book,  a  certain  diBtio- 
gui^hed  Personage  prevailed  upon  another  tlistinguinh- 
ed  Personage  to  withdmv  from  the  author  Ih't  notice 
and  kindness  with  which  he  had  so  long  and  so  liber- 
ally honoured  him.  In  this  story  there  is  not  one 
sylUblenf  trulh.  For  the  maenanimil)  "f  \he  former 
of  these  persons  I  wrmid,  indeed,  in  no  l.\,e  answer  too 
rashly;  hut  of  the  conduct  of  the  latltr  Inwards  my 
friend    1  have  a  proud  gralihcat 


its  violated  con;enls,  was  sold  for  a  trifle  t>  a  friend  of 
mine. 

It  happened  tnat  I  had  been  just  Ihen  seizf  d  with  an 
ambition  (having  never  tried  the  s  rei'gih  of  my  wing 
but  in  a  Neivspaper)  to  publish  something  or  other  in 
he  slwpe  of  a  fioi>k  ;  and  ii  occurred  lo  me  that,  the 
present  being  such  a  letter-writing  era,  a  few  of  thee 
Twopenny-Post  Epistles,  turned  into  easy  verse,  would 
be  as  light  and  popular  a  task  as  I  could  possibly  select 
f  >r  a  commencement.  I  did  not,  ho\\  ever,  tJiink  it 
prudent  to  give  too  mmy  Letters  at  firs*,  and,  accord- 
mgly,  have  bee  i  obliged  (in  order  to  eke  out  a  sufii- 
cient  number  of  pages)  to  reprint  some  of  those  trille^, 
which  h:\d  .already  appeared  in  the  public  journals. 
As  in  the  battles  of  ancient  times,  the  shades  of  the 
departed  «ere  sometimes  seen  among  the  comba'anls, 
so  I  thought  I  mii;ht  mmage  to  remedy  the  thinness  of 
my  ranks,  by  conjuring  up  a  few  dead  and  forgotten 
ephemerons  to  fill  them. 

Such  are  the  motives  and  accidents  that  led  to  the 
present  publication;  and  as  this  is  the  hrst  time  my 
Muse  has  ever  ventured  out  of  the  go-cart  of  a  New^. 
proper,  though  I  feel  all  a  parent's  delight  at  seeing 
little  Miss  go  alone.  I  am  also  not  without  a  parent's 
anxiety,  lest  an  unlucky  fall  should  be  thecou-^equence 
of  the  experiment;  and  I  need  not  point  out  how 
many  living  instances  might  be  found,  of  Muses  that 
have  suffered  very  .-■everely  in  their  he  ids,  from  taking 
rather  too  early  and  rashly  to  their  feet.  Besides,  a. 
Book  is  so  very  different  a  thing  from  a  Newspaper! 
—  in  the  former,  your  doggerel,  without  either  com- 
pany or  shelter,  must  stand  shivering  in  the  middle  of 
a  bleik  p.ige  by  itself;  whereng,  in  the  latter,  it  is 
comforiauly  backed  bv  ad  ertisements,  and  has  some- 
times even  a  Speech  of  Mr.  St — ph— n's,  or  some- 
thing equally  warm,  for  a  chaujfcpitd ~  so  that,  in 
general,  the  very  reverse  of  '*  laudatur  el  alget  "  is  its 
destiny- 
Ambition,  however,  must  run  some  risks,  and  I 
shall  be  very  well  sati-fied  if  the  reception  of  these 
few  Letters,  should  have  the  effepi  of  sending  me  to 
the  Fost-Bag  for  more. 


ter.  ttie  Bag.  with    it  has  never  ceased  to  be 


he  nmst  remember 


PREFACE 

TO   THE   FOURTEENTH    EDITION. 

BY   A    FRIEND   OP  THE   AUTHOR. 

In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  present  on 

a  tour  through ,  I  feel  myself  ealtea  upon,  ; 

his  friend,  to  notice  certain  misconceptions  and  mi 
representations,  to  which  this  little  volume  of  TriMi 
has  given  rise. 

In  the  first  place,  if  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Brown  ha'* 
had  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note,  indeed, 
which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his  Prefice,  may 
very  naturally  hive  been  the  origin  of  such  a  supposi- 
tion ;  but  that  note,  which  was  merely  the  C'^quelry  of 
an  author,  I  have,  in  the  present  edition,  taken  upon 
myself  to  remove,  and  Mr.  Brown  must  therefore  be 
considered  (like  the  molber  of  that  unique  produ^-'tion, 
the  Cen'aur.  fiova  Kai  p.ovov'^)  as  alone  responsible 


th  indelible  gratitude  ;— a  gratitude  the  more  cheer- 
fully and  vxannly  paid,  from  its  not  being  a  debt  in- 
curred solely  on  his  oun  -iccount,  but  for  kindness 
shared  with  those  nearest  ar.d  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  1  am  aware  is  decisive  of 
his  utter  reprobation,  in  the  eves  of  those  exclusive  I 
pa'eiitees  of  Christianity,  so  worthy  to  have  been  the 
followers  of  a  certain  enlightened  Bishop,  Donatu5,3 
who  held  *'  that  God  is  in  Africa  and  not  elsewhere.^* 
But  from  all  this  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that 
Mr.  Brown  is  a  Papist;  and,  indeed,  I  have  the 
strongest  re.uoiis  for  suspecting  tliat  they,  who  s:»y  bo, 
are  somewhat  mistaken.  Not  that  I  presume  to  liave 
ascertained  his  opinions  upon  such  subjects.  All  1 
profess  to  know  of  his  orthodoxy  is  thai  he  has  a  Pro- 
testant wife  and  tuo  or  three  liille  Protestant  children, 
and  that  he  has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for 
whole  year  together,  lisiening  to  the  sermons  of  his 

ruly  reverend   and  amiable  friend,  L)r. ,  and 

lehaving  there  as  well  and  as  orderly  as  nios'  people. 
There  are  yet  a  few  other  mistakes  and  falsehood.* 
:bout  Mr.  Brown,  lo  which  I  had  intended,  with  all 
becoming  gravity,  'o  advert ;  but  I  begin  to  think  the 
task  is  quite  as  u-eless  as  it  is  tiresonie.  Misrepresen- 
tations and  calumnies  of  this  strt  are,  like  the  atgu- 
ments  and  statements  of  Dr.  Duigenan,—  not  at  all  the 
less  vivacious  or  les»  serviceable  to  their  fabiiclnrs. 
for  having  been  refuted  and  disproved  a  thousand 
times  over.  They  aie  biought  forward  again,  as  good 
as  new,  whenever  nialice  or  stupidity  m  'y  be  in  want 
of  tliem:  and  ae  quite  as  useful  as  the  old  broken 
lantern.  Ill  Fielding's  Amelia,  which  the  watchman 
always  keeps  leady  by  htm,  to  produce,  in  proof  of 
riotous  Conduct,  against  his  victims.  I  shall  therefore 
give  up  the  f.uitless  toil  nf  vindication,  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  (his  edi- 
tion,  which  I  found  in  the   Morning  Chronicle,  and 
knew  lo  be  from  the  pen  of  my  fiiend.     The  rest  of 
the  volume  remains  *  in  its  original  state. 
^pril  20,  1814. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS,  ETC. 


for  the  uhole  content^;  of  th( 
In  the  next  place  it  has 


volun 


aid,  that  in  conse- 


I  Herrick. 

a  Pindar,  Pyth.  2.— My  friend  certainly  ( 


LETTER  I. 

FROM  THE  PR — NC— SS  CH— RL— E  Or 
W  — L— S  TO  THE  LADY  B— RB — A 
ASK — Y.* 

3  Bishop  of  Casse  Nigrae,  In  the  fourth  century. 

*  A  new  reading  has  been  suggested  in  the  orieinal 
of  the  Ode  of  Horace,  freely  transla'ed  bv  Lord  F.ld- 
— n.  paee  189.  In  the  line  '*Sive  per  Syrleis  iter 
as-^tuos.is,"  it  is  proposed,  by  a  very  trifling  alteration, 
to  read  "  Surtces,^''  iiistt^d  of  "  Sytteis,'"  w  hich  brings 
the  Ode,  it  is  said,  more  home  to  the  noble  translator 
and  gives  a  peculiar  force  and  aplne-^s  to  the  epithet 
"  aes>luosas."  1  merely  throw  out  this  emendation  for 
the  learned,  being  un.ible  myself  to  decide  upon  iti 
I  merits. 
I      •  This  young  Lady,  who  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  Iiad 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG, 


131 


My  dear  Lady  Bab,  you  '11  be  sliock'd,  1  'm  afraid, 
When  ynu   htar  Ihe  sad  rumijus  your  Ponies  have 

made 
Since  (he  time  of  horse-consuls  (now  lorifj  out  of  date), 
No  nat;s  evei  tnnde  ^uch  a  stir  in  Ihe  stale.. 
Lord  Eld— n  fust  heard  —and  as  instantly  pray'd  lie 
To  "God  and  his  Kins;"— that  a  Popish  youni;  Lady 
(Fo-  though  you've  bright  eyes  and  twelve  Ihousand 

a  yt- ar, 
U  is  still  but  too  true  you  're  a  Papist,  my  dear,) 
Had  insidiously  sent,  by  a  tall  Irish  giouin. 
Two  priist-ridden  Ponies,  jus!  landed  froni  Rome, 
And  so  full,  little  rogues,  of  ponlihcal  tricks, 
That  the  dome  of  St.  PauPs  was  scarce  safe  from  their 

kicks. 

Off  at  once  to  Papa,  in  a  flurry  he  flies  — 
For  P-ipa  always  does  wh.it  these  statesmen  advise, 
Un  coiiditioQ  that  they'll  be.  in  turn,  so  polite 
As  In  no  case  whale'er  to  a'!  vise  him  too  right  — 
"  Pretiy  doings  are  here,  Sir  (he  angrilv  cries, 
While  by  diut  of  dark  eyebrows  he  strives  to  look 

**  'T  is  a  ^chenle  of  the  Romanists,  so  help  me  God  ! 
*' To  ride  over  your  most  Royal  Highness   lougb- 

shod  — 
"Excuse,    Sir,    my    tears  —  they're   from    loyalty's 

"  Rad  enough  't  was  for  Troy  to  be  sick'd  by  a  Horse^ 
"But  for  us  to  be  ruin'd  by  Ponies  still  worse !" 
Quick  a  Council  is  call'd  — the  whole  Cabn.et  sita  — 
The  Aichbishops  declare,  fnghten'd  out  of  their  wits, 
That  if  ojice  Popish  Ponies  shnuld  eat  at  my  manger, 
From  that  awful  moment  the  Church  is  in  danger! 
As,  give  them  but  s'abling,  and  shnrtly  no  s'alls 
Will  suit  their  proud  stomachs  but  those  at  St.  Paul's. 

The  Doctor,*  and  he,  Ihe  devout  man  of  Leather,* 
V— Tis-lt-f,  now  I.Tviiie  their  .Siint-he>d?  toi;elher, 
Declare  that  these  skittish  young  a-boininatimis 
Are  clearly  foretold  in  Chap.  vi.  Revelations- 
Nay,  they  verily  think  they  could  point  out  the  one 
Wtiich  the  Doctor's  friend  Death  was  to  canter  upon. 

Lord  H — rr — by,  hnping  that  no  one  imputes 
To  the  Court  any  fancy  to  persecute  bru'es, 
Protes's,  on  the  word  of  himself  and  his  cmnies, 
Tlial  had  these  said  creatuie*  been  Asses,  not  Ponies, 
The  Court  would  have  started  no  sort  of  objeciion. 
As  Asses  were,  tfierCj  always  sure  of  pro'eciion. 

*<lf  the  Pr— nc— ss  mill  keep  them  (says  Lord  C— s- 

tl-r-gh), 
"  To  make  them  quite  hirmless,  the  onlv  true  way 
'*Is(s5Ctrtain  Chief  Justices  do  with  their  wives) 
**  To  flog  them  withm  half  an  inch  of  their  lives. 
"  If  they  *ve  any  bid  Irish  blood  lurking  about, 
'*This  (he  knew  by  experience)  would  soon  draw  it 

out.'* 
Should  this  be  thought  cruel,  his  Lordship  proposes 
'*  The  new  Ke(o  snaffle  3  to  bind  down  their  noses  — 
"A  pretiy  contrivance,  made  out  of  old  chains, 
"  Which  appears  to  iudulge,  while  it  doubly  restrains; 
"Which,  h'wcver  high-mellied,  their  ganiesonieiiess 

checks 
"(Adds  his  l^rdahip  humanely),  or  else  breaks  their 

necks !" 

This  proposal  receiv'd  pretty  general  applause 
Fioni  the  Statesmen  around—  and  ibe  neck-breaking 


lately  made  a  present  of  some  beautiful  Ponies  to  the 

Pr— nc— ss. 
«  Mr.  Addington,  so  nicknamed. 
a  Alluding  to  a  lax  lately  laid  upon  leather, 
3  The  qutfsiion  whether  a  Veto  wasfo  he  ullnwed 

to  the  Crown  in   the  appointment  of  Irish  Catholic 

Bishops  was,  at  this  time,  very  generally  and  actively 

agitated. 


fliid  a  vigour  about  it,  which  soon  reconcil'd 
Even  Eld— n  himself  to  a  measure  so  mud. 
So  llie  snalHcs,  my  dear,  were  agreed  to  nem.  con.f 
And  my  l.nrd  C— sti — r — gh,  having  so  ofien  shone 
In  tlie  fctttfing  line,  is  to  buckle  them  on. 

I  shall  drive  to  your  door  in  these  ^ctos  some  day 
But,  at  present,  adieu  !  —I  mu;-t  hurry  away 
To  go  see  wy  M.unma.  as  I  'm  suHer'd  tn  nieet  her 
For  just  half  an  hour  by  the  Qu— i.'s  Lest  repeater, 
Ch— RL— TTK, 


LETTER   II, 

FROM      COLONEL      M'm— II — N     TO     G — LI 

FR — NC — S   L— CKIE,    ESQ. 

Dear  Sir,  I  »ve  just  had  lime  to  look 
Inio  your  very  learned  Rook,* 
Wherein — as  plain  as  man  can  speak, 
Whose  English  is  half  niodern  Gieek  — 
You  prove  ihal  we  can  ne'er  intrench 
Our  hnppy  isles  against  the  French, 
Till  Royalty  in  England's  m.ide 
A  much  mnie  independent  trade  ;  — 
Jn  short,  umil  the  House  of  Guelph 
La\s  Lords  and  Commons  on  the  shelf, 
And  boldly  sets  up  for  itself. 

All.  that  can  well  be  understood 
In  this  said  Book,  is  vastly  good  ; 
And,  as  to  what's  incomp  etiensihle, 
I  dare  be  suoru  *t  is  full  as  sensible. 

But,  to  your  work  *s  imniOttal  credit. 
The  Pr-n-e,  good  Sir,  the  Pr— n-e  has  read  it 
(The  only  Book,  himeif  remarks, 
Which  he  ha^  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's.) 
I-ast  levee-mom  he  look'd  ii  through, 
During  that  awful  hour  or  two 
Of  grave  tonsorial  preparation, 
VVhich,  to  a  fond,  admiring  na'ion, 
Sends  frtrth,  announced  by  trump  and  drum, 
The  best-nigg'd  pr— n— e  in  Chtistendom. 

He  thinks  with  ynu,  th'  imaginatioa 
0(  partnership  in  legislation 
Cnuld  only  enter  in  the  noddles 
Of  dull  and  ledger-keeping  twaddles. 
Whose  heads  on  firms  are  runniiiK  so, 
They  ev'n  must  have  a  King  and  Co., 
And  hence,  most  eloquently  show  forth 
On  checks  and  bala7iceaf  and  so  forth. 

But  now,  he  trusts,  we  *re  coming  near  a 
Far  more  royal,  loy.tl  era  ; 
When  En^l.tnd's  monarch  need  but  say, 
"Whip  me  those  scoundrels,  C— stI— r— gh!" 
Or,  "  Hang  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld— n," 
And  't  will  be  done  —  ay,  faith,  and  well  done. 

With  view  to  which,  I  've  his  command 
To  bee,  Sir.  from  your  Iravell'd  hand, 
(Round  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm  6) 
A  Plan  of  radical  Reform; 
Compil'd  and  clms'n  as  best  you  can, 
In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 
And  qui'e  iiplurniiig.  branch  and  root, 
Lords,  Commons,  and  Burdett  to  hoot 

But,  pray,  wha'e'er  you  may  impart,  write 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  M.ijor  C— rtwr— ^ht: 


«  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary  work  of  Mr. 
Leckie,  see  the  Edinbuigh  Review,  vol.  xx. 

»  "  The  truth  indeed  seems  to  oe,  (hat  havmg  lived 
90  long  abroad  as  evidently  to  have  loaf,  .n  a  gr.-at 
degree,  the  use  of  his  native  language,  Mr.  Leckie  lias 
gradually  come,  not  onlv  to  s(>eak,  but  to  feel,  lik«  a 
foreigner."—  £di«Z;i«;r"/t  Review. 


132 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


Else,  though  (he  Fr e  be  Inns  in  rigging, 

'T  would  t»ke,  at  least,  a  forlnig^ht's  wigging,- 
Two  wia;s  to  every  paragraph  — 
Before  he  well  could  get  through  half. 

You  Ml  send  it  also  speedily  — 
As,  truth  In  say,  '(wixt  you  and  me, 
His  Highness,  hea'ed  by  your  wt.rk, 
Already  ihiiiks  him  elf  Giand  Tnik  ! 
And  vou  'd  have  laugh'd,  h.id  y'lu  seen  how 
He  sc'ar'd  ihe  Ch— nc— 11— r  just  i.o^^'. 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  eniKnng  putl'd)  he 
Slapp'd  his  back  and  call'J  him  "  Mufli !  » 

The  lailors  too  have  got  commands, 
To  put  directly  in'o  hands 
All  sorts  of  Diilimans  and  Pnuches^ 
With  Sashes,  Turbans,  and  Pabou  ches, 
(While  V— rrn— th  's  sketching  out  a  plaa 
Of  new  Moustaches  a  I'Ottotnane) 
And  all  things  tilting  and  expedient 
To  turkify  our  gracious  R— g— nl  I 

You,  therefore,  have  no  time  lo  waste  ^ 
So,  send  your  System. — 

Yours,  ia  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,  'i  were  as  well  you  miss'd  'em. 

For  instance  —  in  Seras^lio  ma'ters  — 

Your  Turk,  whom  girlVh  fondness  tiatters, 

Would  fill  his  Hara'm  (tasteless  fool  !j 

With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  school. 

But  here  (as  in  Uiat  fairy  laod, 

Where  Love  and  Age  ueut  hand  in  hand  ; 

Where  lips,  till  six'y,  shed  no  honey, 

And  Gruid^nis  "ere  worth  any  money,) 

Our  Sultan  his  much  riper  notions  — 

So,  let  your  list  of  sAe-piomntions 

Include  those  only,  plump  and  sage, 

Who've  reach'd  (he  regulation-Age ^ 

That  is.  (as  near  as  one  can  hx 

From  Peerage  dates)  full  bfiy-six. 

This  rule's  for  fav'rites — nothing  more  — 
For,  as  to  wivcs^  a  Grand  Signor, 
Though  noi  decidedly  without  them, 
Need  never  care  one  curse  about  them. 


LETTER    in. 

FROM     G— GE     PR— CE    R— G — T    TO     THE 
E OF  Y TH.* 

We  miss'd  you  last  night  at  the  "  hoary  old  sinnerV' 
Who  gave  us,  as  nsual,  the  cream  nf  gnod  dinners; 
His  soups  scientific  —  his  fi  hes  quite  prime  — 
His  pates  superb  —  and  his  cutlets  sublime ! 


'  The  learned  Cnlnnel  must  a'lude  here  to  a  descrip 
Hon  of  the  Mysterious  Isle,  in  the  History  of  Abdalla. 
Son  of  Hanif,' where  such  inversions  of  the  order  of 
na'ure  are  said  to  have  taken  place.  "A  score  of  old 
women  and  the  same  number  of  old  men  played  here 
and  there  in  the  couri,  some  at  chuck-faithing,  others 
at  tip-cat  or  at  cackles."  And  ajain,  "Jhere  is 
nothing,  believe  me,  ntoie  eng;»i;iiig  Ihm  those  lovely, 
wrinkles,"  &c.  &.C.  See  Tales  of  the  Eastj  vol.  lii 
pp.  607.  60S. 

^  This  letter,  as  the  reader  wiJI  perceive,  was 
written  the  day  afier  a  dinner  given  by  the  M— rq— s 
of  H-d-t. 


In  short,  U  was  the  snug  sort  of  dinner  to  stir  a 
Stomachic  orira«m  in  my  Lord  El — b — gh, 
Who  Slit  to,  to  be  sure,  with  miraculnus  force, 
And  exclaini'd,  between  mouthluls,  "a  i/c-Cook,  0( 

course  !  — 
"While  you  live  — (what's  there  under  that  cover? 

pray,  look)- 
"  While  you  live-  (I'll  just  taste  it)  —  ne'er  keep  a 

She-Cook. 
•*'Ti3  a  sound    Salic  Law  —  (a  small  Lit  of   that 

totst)  — 
'•  Which  ordains  that  a  female  shall  ne'er  rule  the 

roast : 
'*  For  Cookery 's  a  secret— this  turtle  's  uncommon) — 
"  Like  Masonry,  never  found  out  by  a  woman  i" 

The  dinner,  vou  know,  was  in  gay  celebration 
Of  my  brilliant  triumph  and  H — ni's  condemnalioD  ; 
A  conijliment,  loo,  to  his  Lordshij)  the  Judge 
For  his  Speech  to  the  Jury  — and  zounds  I  who  would 

grudge 
Turtle  soup,  though  it  came  to  five  guineas  a  bowl. 
To  reward  such  a  loyal  and  complaisant  soul  ? 
We  were  all  in  hi^hgig  —  Roman  Punch  and  Tokay 
Traveli'd  round,  till  our  beads  travtlTd  just  the  same 

way  ; 
And  we  car'd  not  for  Juries  or  Libels  —  no  —  damme ! 

nor 
Ev'n  for  the  threats  of  last  Sunday 's  Examiner ! 

More  good  things  were  eaten  than  said  —  but  Tom 
T— rrh— t 
In  quoting  Joe  Miller,  you  know,  has  some  merit; 
And,  hearing  the  sturdy  Jus  iciary  Cliief 
Say —  sated  wih  turtle  —  **  I  '11  now  try  the  beef"  — 
Tommy  whisper'd  him  {giving  his  Lordship  a  sly 

hit) 
"  I  fear 't  will  be  Aung--beef,  my  Lord,  if  you  try  it !" 

And  C— nid— n  was  there,  who,  that  morning,  had 

gnne 
To  fit  his  new  Marquis's  coronet  on  ; 
And  the  dish  set  before  him— oh  dish  well-devisM  !— 
Was,- what  old  Mother  Glasse  calls,  "a  calf's  head 

surpris'd  !" 
The  brains  were  near  Sh— ry,  and  07ice  had  been  fine, 
Rut,  of  late,  they  had  lain  sn  long  soaking  in  wine, 
Ttiat,  though  we,  from  courtesy,  still  chose  to  cill 
These  brains  very  fine,  they  were  no  brains  at  alL 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  we  drank,  every  one, 
In  a  bumper,  *•  the  venial  delights  of  Crim.  Coo.  ;" 
At  which  H — df— t  with  warm  reminiscences glnated, 
And  E— b'r— h  chuckled  to  hear  himself  quoted. 

Our  next  round  of  toasts  was  a  fancy  quite  new, 
For  we  drank — and  you  II  own  't  was  benevolent  too— 
To  those   well-meaning  husbands,   cits,  parsons  or 

pe^rs. 
Whom  we've,  any  time,  honoured  by  courting  their 

de  ITS : 
This  museum  of  witfols  was  comical  rather ; 
Old  H— df— t  gave  M— ss— y,  and  /  gave  your  f— 

th-r. 

In  short,  not  a  snul  till  this  morning  would  bud^e — 

We  were  all  fun  and  frolic.— and  even  the  J e 

Laid  aside,  for  the  time,  his  juridical  fashion, 
And  through  the  whole  night  wasn't  once  in  a  pas- 
sion 1 

I  write  this  in  bed,  while  my  whiskers  are  airing, 
And  M~c3  has  a  sly  dose  rf  jalap  preparing 
For  poor  T— mmy  T— rr— t  at  breakfast  to  quaff- 
As  1  teel  1  want  something  to  give  me  a  Itugh, 
And  there's  nothing  so  good  as  old  T— mmy,  kept 

close 
To  his  Cornwall  accounts,  af  fer  taking  a  dnse. 

3  Colonel  M'Mahon. 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


133 


LETTER   IV. 

FROM  THE  RIGHT  HON.  P— TR — CK 
D— GEN— N  TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  SIR 
J — HN   N— CH — L. 

DubUn.i 
Last  week,  dear  N— ch— 1,  nuking  merry 
At  dinner  with  ouc  Secretary, 
When  all  were  drunk,  or  pretty  near 
(The  time  foi-  dnin°j  business  tiere,) 
Says  lie  lo  nie,  "Sweel  Bully  Bottpm  ! 
"'i'hese  Papist  dogs  — hiccup  — 'od  rot 'em!  — 
"  Deserve  to  be  bespalter'd  —  hiccup  — 
"  With  all  ihe  din  ev'n  you  can  pick  up. 
"Hut,  aslhePr— ce  (here's  to  lilm  — fill  — 
"  Hip,  hip,  hurra  !)  —  is  Tying  still 
"To  humbug  Ihem  with  kind  professions, 
*' And,  as  you  deal  in  strong  eipreslons  — 
'•  lioifue  "  —  '•  tiwlor  "  —  hiccup  —  and  all  that- 
*'  You  must  be  muzzled.  D"ctor  fa' !  — 
"  You  must  indeed  —  hiccup  —  that 's  flat."— 

Ye*  — "muzzled"  was  Ihe  word,  Sir  Joha  — 
These  fools  luve  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 
The  boldest  inr.ulh  IJlat  e'er  ran  o'er 
Wilh  slaver  of  lire  times  of  yoreia- 
Was  il  for  this  that  back  I  went 
As  far  as  Lateran  and  Trent, 
To  prove  that  Ihey,  who  d.inin'd  us  then. 
Ought  now,  in  turn,  be  damn'd  again  ?— 
The  silent  viclini  sllll  to  sil 
Of  Gr— II— n's  fire  and  C— nn— g's  wit, 
To  hear  ev'n  noisy  M— th— w  gibble  on. 
Nor  mention  once  Ihe  W-e  of  Babylon  1 
Oh  !  't  IS  loo  much—  who  now  Will  be 
The  Nishlnian  of  No  Popery? 
What  Courtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop, 
Such  learned  tilth  will  ever  iisli  up? 
If  there  among  our  raiiks  be  one 
To  take  my  pljce,  't  is  thou.  Sir  John  ; 
Thou,  who,  like  me,  art  dubb'd  llrght  Hon. 
Like  me  too,  art  a  Lawyir  Civil 
That  wishes  Papists  at  the  devil. 

To  whom  ihen  but  lo  thee,  my  friend, 
Should  Paliicka  his  Porl-fdio  send? 
Take  il  -  'I  is  Ihine  — his  learnd  Porl-folio, 
Wilh  ail  iis  theologic  olio 
Of  Bulls,  half  Irish  and  half  Roman  — 
Of  Doctriiifs,  now  believ'd  by  no  man  — 
t)f  Councils,  held  for  men's  salvation, 
Yel  ah\  ays  ending  in  damnation  — 
(Which  shows  th  il,  since  Ihe  world's  creation. 
Your  Piiesls,  whate'er  their  senile  shamming, 
Have  always  had  a  lasle  f  ir  d.imning,) 
And  many  more  such  pious  scmps. 
To  prove  (whai  we^vt  long  prov'd,  perhaps,) 
That,  mad  as  Christ Jans  usd  lo  be 
About  Ihe  Thirleerrth  Century, 
There  still  are  Cliris'iai:s  to  be  h^d 
In  this,  Ihe  Nineteenth,  just  .as  mad! 

Farewell—  I  send  with  this,  dear  N— ch— I, 
A  rod  or  two  I  've  had  in  picfile 
Wherewi  h  to  trim  old  Gr-li-n's  .iackel.— 
The  rest  shall  go  by  Monday's  packet, 

P.  D. 


I  This  le'ter,  which  contained  some  very  heavy 
enclosures,  seems  to  have  been  sr-nt  lo  London  hy  a 
privite  hand,  and  then  put  iii'o  Ihe  Twopenny  Pust- 
OIHce,  lo  save  tri.nhle.     See  the  Appendix. 

•i  In  sendinglhis  sheet  to  the  Pre-s.  however.  I  learn 
that  Ihe  ''  muzzle  "  has  been  'aken  olf,  and  the  Right 
Hon.  Doctor  a^ain  let  loose  1 

»  A  bad  name  for  poetry ;  but  D— gen— n  is  still 
worse.  As  Prudentius  says  upon  a  very  ditlerent  sub' 
ject  — 

Torquotur  Apollo 
NomlDe  percusBUB, 

12 


Amons  the  Enclosures  in  the  foregoing  Letter  was 
the  folluwing  ' '  Unanswerable  Argument  against 
the  Papists.^* 

«  #  »  • 

We  're  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 
Mide  use  nf  spittle  in  lu^tntinn  j  * 
{yide  Lactaniium  ap.  G.illaeurn  —  » 
I-  e.  you  need  not  read  but  see  'em  j) 
Now,  Iiish  Papists,  fact  surprising, 
Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptizing} 
Which  proves  ihem  all,  (/Finns,  O'Fagans, 
Connor.,  and  T'»ole3,  alt  di>wnright  F.igans. 
This  fact 's  enough  j  —  li'l  no  one  tell  us 
To  free  such  sad,  salivous  (trllowa. 
No,  no— the  man.  baptizM  with  spittle, 
Hath  no  truth  in  him  —  not  a  tittle  1 


LETTER    V. 

FROM    THE    COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  C — RK 
TO    LADY  . 

My  dear  Lady !  I  've  been  just  sending  oat 

About  five  hundred  carda  (or  a  snug  little  Kout  — 
(By  the  bye,  you  've  seen  Rukeby  ?  —  this  moiuenl  got 

The  Mail-Coach  Edition® —  prodigiously  fine!) 
But  I  can't  conceive  how,  in  this  very  cold  weather, 
1  'm  ever  t »  bring  my  five  hundred  togeiher; 
As,  unless  the  Iheiinoineter 's  ne^r  bailing  heat, 
Une  can  never  get  half  of  one's  hundreds  lo  meet. 
Apropos  — you'd  have  laugh'd  tu  see  Townsend  last 

night, 
Escort  to  their  chairs,  with  his  stiff,  so  polite, 
'Ihe  "  three  m.'ide  .  Miseries,"  all  m  a  fright ; 
Foor  Townsend,  like  Meicury,  hllingtwo  posts, 
Supervisor  of  thieoes^  and  chief-usher  o(  ghosts  i 


But,  my  dear  Lady  - 


-,  canU  you  bit  on  some 


At  least  for  one  night  to  set  London  in  motion  ?  — 
As  to  having  the  K~-g— nt,  that  show  is  gone  by  — 
Bi^sides.  I  've  remarked  that  (between  you  and  I) 
The  Marche  a  and  he,  inconvenient  in  more  ways, 
Have  t.iken  much  la'ely  to  whi>pering  in  doorways; 
Which  —  consid'ring,  you  kuovv,  dear,  the  size  uf  the 

two  — 
Makes  a  block  that  one's  company  cannot  get  through ; 
And  a  hiiuse  such  as  mine  is,  wilh  doorways  so  small, 
Has  no  room  for  such  cumt-etsnine  love-work  at  ,ill.^ 
(Apropos,  ttiough,  of  love-work —  you  *ve  heard  it, 

hnj)e, 
That  Napoleon's  old  mother's  to  marry  the  Pope, — 
What  a  comical  pair  \)  —  but.  to  stick  to  my  Rout, 
•r  will  be  hard  if  -ome  novelty  c^n't  be  struck  out. 
Is  there  no  Algerine.  no  Kamchatkan  arriv'd  ? 
No  Pleiiipo  F^cha,  three-tail'd  and  len-wiv'd? 
No  Russian,  whose  dissmiant  consonant  name 
Almost  rattles  lo  fragments  the  trumpet  of  fame  ? 

I  remember  the  time,  three  or  r>«r  winters  bick, 
When— provided  tlifir  wigs  were  but  decently  black — 
A  few  Patriot  monsteis.  from  .Spain,  were  a  sigtit 
That  would  people  one's  house  for  one,  night  after 
ni^ht. 


4  Lustralibus  ar;e  salivis 

Expiat  Pers.  sat.  2. 

ft  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  examining  the  Doc- 
tor's reference  here,  and  find  him,  for  once,  cnrrt-ct. 
The  ft. Mowing  are  the  words  of  his  ir-digi:ani  referee 
Gallai'13  — "  Asserere  ion  vereinur  sacrum  bapli^mum 
a  Papislis  pr  'fanari,  et  sputi  usum  in  peccatorum  ex- 
piatione  a  Paginis  non  a  Christianis  manusse.^* 

6  See  Mr,  Murray's  Advertisement  about  (be  Mail- 
Coach  copies  of  Rokeby. 


134 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


But—  whether  fhe  Ministers  pauj'rf  them  too  much  — 
(And  you  know  how  they  spoil  whatsoever  they  touch) 
Or,  whether  Lord  G—rge  (the  young 
Has,  by^dint  of  bad  poetry,  '--"'• —  •' 


about  town) 

^ ,    ten  them  down, 

—  certamlv  lost  one's  jye7n'?wiiZar  rage  j 

And  the  only  stray  Patriot 
Has  been  at  sucli  pi 
As  old  Mrs.  V— gh- 


,  (think,  how  the  fit  cools  !) 
s  or  Lord  L— v— rp— i's. 


But,  io  short,  my  dear,  names  like  Wintztschit, 

stopsctiinzoudhott" 
Are  the  Only  things  now  make  an  ev'ning  go  smooth  off: 
So,  gel  me  a  Russian  —  till  death  I  'm  your  debtor  — 
If  he  brings  the  whole  Alphabet,  so  much  the  belter. 
And  —  Lord  I  if  he  would  but,  in  character,  sup 
OH' his  fish-oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite  set  me  up ! 

^u  reuoir,  my  aweet  girl — I  must  leave  you  in 
haste  — 
Little  Gunter  has  brought  me  the  Liqueurs  to  taste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

By  tbe  bye.  have  you  found  any  friend  that  can  con- 
strue 
That  L:itin  account,  t'other  day.  of  a  Monster?! 
If  we  can't  get  a  Russian,  and  that  thiii^  in  Latio 
Be  not  too  improper,  I  think  1  Ml  bring  that  in. 


LETTER   VI, 

FROM     ABDALLAH,^     IN     LONDON,    TO     MO- 
HASSAN,    IN   ISPAHAN. 

Whilst  thou.  M'lhissan.  (happy  thou  !) 

Dost  daily  bend  thy  loyal  brow 

Before  our  K^u^  —  our  Asia's  treasure! 

Nutmeg  nf  Comfort ;  R"se  of  Pleasure !  — 

And  bear'st  as  many  kicks  and  biuises 

As  the  said  Rose  and  Nutmeg  chonses  ; 

Thy  held  still  near  the  bowstring's  borders, 

And  but  left  on  lill  further  orders  — 

Through  London  streets,  with  turban  fair, 

And  caf'an,  fl'ia'ing  to  the  air, 

I  saunter  on,  'he  admiration 

Of  this  shnrt-coated  population  — 

This  sew'd-up  r  -ce  —  this  bulldn'd  nati'->n  — 

Who,  while  they  boast  their  laws  so  free, 

Leave  not  one  limb  at  liberty. 

But  live,  with  all  their  lordly  speeches, 

The  slaves  of  buttons  and  tight  breeches. 

Yet,  though  they  thus  their  knee-pans  fetter 
(They're  Christians,  and  ihey  know  no  better)^ 
in  some  things  they  're  a  thinking  nation  j 
And,  on  Religious  Toleration, 
I  own  I  hke  iheir  notions  quite. 
They  are  so  Persian  and  so  right ! 
You  know  our  Sunnites,*  —  hateful  dogs  ! 
Whom  every  pious  Shiite  flogs 

1  Alluding,  1  suppose,  to  the  Litin  Advertisement 
of  a  Lusus  Nalnras  in  rhe  Newspapers  lately. 

*  1  have  made  ninny  inquiries  about  this  Persian 
gentleman,  but  cannot  saiistac'orjly  ascertain  who  he 
ts.  From  his  noiions  of  Rfligious  Liberty,  ho-vever, 
I  conclude  that  he  is  an  importation  of  minister? ;  and 

he  has  ^irrived  just  in  time  to  assi?r  the  P e  and 

Mr.  l^ck— e  in  their  new  Oiient^l  Plan  of  Reform. 
—  See  the  second  of  these  Letters.  —  How  Ahdall  ill's 
epistle  to  Isp.ihan  found  i's  way  into  the  Twopenny 
I  post-Bag  is  moTe  than  I  cm  pretend  to  account  for. 
I  3  "  C'est  un  honnete  homme,"  ^aid  a  Tuikish  go- 
I  vernor  of  De  Ruyterj  "c'est  grand  dommage  qu'il 
toit  Chretien." 
I  *  Su7i7iites  and  Shiites  are  the  two  leading  sects 
'  into  which  the   "..ihomelan  world   is  divided;  and 


Or  longs  to  flog  6  —  't  is  true,  they  pray 

To  God,  but  in  an  ill-bred  way  ; 

With  nerher  arms,  nor  legs,  nor  faces 

Stuck  in  their  righ',  canonic  places.^ 

'Tis  (rue,  Ihey  uor^hip  Alis  name—  i 

Their  Heav'n  and  oiirs  aie  just  the  same  — 

(A  Persian's  He«v'n  is  eas'ly  made, 

'T  is  but  black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 

Yet,  though  we've  tried  for  cen  uriesback  — 

We  can't  persuade  this  stubborn  pack, 

By  bastinadoes,  screws,  or  nippers. 

To  wear  th'  establish'd  pe^-green  slippers.8 

Then,  only  think,  the  libertines  ! 

They  wash  their  tnes —  Ihey  comb  their  chins,^ 

With  many  more  such  deadly  sins  ; 

And  what  "s  the  worst,  though  last  1  rank  it) 

Believe  ;he  Chapter  of  the  Blanket ! 

Yet,  spite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 
{Which  jjtiist,  at  bottom,  be  seditious  j 
Since  no  man  living  would  refuse 
Green  slippers,  but  from  treasonous  viewsj 
Nor  MaOi  his  toes,  but  v^'ilh  intent 
To  overturn  the  govemn.ent,)— 
Such  IS  our  mild  ind  tolerant  way, 
We  only  curse  them  twice  a  day 
(According  tn  a  Form  that's  set,) 
And,  far  fnni  torturing,  only  let 
All  orihodox  believers  oeal  'em. 
And  twitch  Iheir  beards,  where'er  they  meet  'em. 

As  to  the  rest,  they  're  free  to  do 
Whate'er  their  fincy  prompts  them  to, 
Provided  they  make  noihing  of  it 
Tow'rds  rank  or  honour,  power  or  profit; 
Which  things,  we  nai'nlly  expect. 
Belong  to  wt,  the  Establish'd  seel, 
Who  disbelieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked  !) 
Th'  aforesaid  Chapter  of  the  Blanket, 
T  he  same  mild  views  of  Toleiaiinn 
Inspire,  I  find,  thiii  button'd  nation. 
Whose  Papists  (fu)l  as  giv'n  to  rogue, 
And  only  Sunmtes  with  a  brogue) 
Fare  ju-t  as  well,  with  all  their  fuss, 
As  rascal  Suuutiesdo  with  us. 

The  tender  Gazel  I  enclose 
Is  for  my  love,  my  Syrian  Rose — 
Take  it  when  night  begins  to  fall. 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  wall. 


rest  thou  the  hour  we  pist,- 
*  the  happiest  and  the  last  ? 


they  have  gone  on  cursing  arid  persecuting  each  othei 
without  any  intermission,  for  about  eleven  hundted 
years.  The  Sunni  is  the  established  sect  in  Turkey, 
and  the  Shia  in  Persia  ;  and  the  differences  bet' 
them  turn  chiefly  upon  tho=e  important  points,  which 
our  pious  friend  Ahdallah,  in  the  true  spirit  of  Shiite 
Ascetidency,  reprobates  in  this  Letter. 

*  "  Les  Sunniles.  qui  etoienf  comme  les  CalhoHques 
de  Musulmanisme."  —  D'Htrhclot. 

fi  "  In  contradistinction  to  the  Souni 


prayer;*  cross  their  r.:^nds 
bieast,  the  Schiahs  drop  th< 
and  as  the  Sounis,  at  certai 


ho  in  their 

'  lower  part  of  the  | 
8  in  straight  liies;  I 
lods  of  the  prayer, 
press  their  foieheads  on  the  ground  or  carpet,  the 
Schiahs,"  &c.  &c  —  Forster's  Voyage,  , 

T  *'  LesTurcs  ne  de  esteni  pas  Ali  reciproqucn«ent ; 
an  coniraire,  ils  le  lecoimuissent,'*  &c.  &.C. — Ciiardin. 

8  "The  Shiites  wear  green  clippers,  which  the 
Sunniles  consider  as  a  great  abomination.'*  —  Mariti. 

9  For  these  points  of  difference,  as  well  as  fi)r  the  ! 
Chapter  of  the  Blanket,  r  mu't  refer  the  reader  (not 
h.ivmg  the  book  by  me)  to  Picarl's  Accoaut  of  the  . 
Mahometan  See's.  | 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


135 


Oh  !  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn 

To  summer  bee-J,  al  break  of  morn, 

Not  half  so  suet-r,  through  d^le  and  dell, 

I'o  C^tnels^  ears  the  tinkling  betl| 

A-i  is  Ihe  snolhing  niemnry 

Of  that  one  precious  hour  to  me. 

How  cnn  we  live,  so  far  apart  ? 
Oh!  whv  not  rather,  heart  (o  heart, 

United  live  and  die  — 
Like  those  sweet  biid^,  that  fly  together, 
With  feather  always  toucliing  feather, 

Linked  by  a  hook  and  e}e  !  i^ 


LETTER   VII. 

FROM     MESSRS.    L — CK — GT — N     AND     CO. 
TO • ,   ESQ.3 

Per  Post,  Sir,  we  send  your  MS.  —  look'd  it  thro'— 
Very  sorry  —  but  caii'i  uiideriake  —  't  would  n't  do. 
Clever  work.  Sir  !— would  get  up  prodigiously  well — 
Its  only  defect  is — it  never  would  sell. 
And  thoufi;h  Statesmen  may  glory  in  being  unboushtf 
III  an  Author  'I  is  not  so  desirable  thought. 

Hard  times,  Sir,  —  most  books  are  too  dear  to  be 

read  — 
Though   the  gold  of  Good-sense  and   Wit's  small' 

change  nre  fled. 
Vet  the  pa}}cr  we  Publishers  nass,  in  their  s'ead, 
Kises  hijrtier  each  day,  and  ('t  is  frightful  to  think  H) 
Not  even  such  names  as  F — tz^ — r—d's  can  sink  it! 

However,  Sir —  if  you  're  for  trying  again, 

And  at  somewhat  ihai  's  vendible  —  we  are  your  men. 

Since  the  Chevalier  C — rr  3  took  to  marrying  lately, 
The  Trade  is  in  want  of  a  Trawllei'  greatly  — 
No  job,  Sir,  more  easy— your  Cauutry  once  plann'd, 
A  innn'h  abon-d  ship  and  a  fortnight  on  land 
Puts  your  Quarto  of  Travels,  Sir,  clean  out  of  hand. 

An  Ea4-lndia  pamphlet's  a  thing  that  would  tell— 
And  a  lick  at  the  P  ipisis  is  sure  to  sell  well. 
Or  —  suppo-iug  you've  nothing  original  in  you  — 
Write  PartKiies,  Sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win  you, 
You  "11  get  to  the  Blue-stocking  Rouis  of  Albinia  !  * 
(Mind  —  not  to  her  dinnei'S  —  a  secondhand  Muse 
Musm'l  think  of  aspiring  to  mtss  wiih  the  Blues.) 
Or —  in  case  nothing  else  in  this  world  you  can  do  — 
The  deuce  is  in 't,  Sir,  if  you  cannot  rcviexol 

Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We've  a  Scheme  to  suggest — Mr. Sc — tt,  you  must 

know, 
(Who,  we're  sorrytnsay  it,  now  works  for //(ei?(7MJ,*) 
Having  quilled  the  Horders,  to  seek  new  renown. 
Is  coiuiijg,  l-v  Ion?  tiuario  Mages,  to  Town  ; 


»  This  will  appear  strange  to  an  English  reader,  buf 
it  is  lite  ally  tr^insla'ed  fmm  AbHallah's  Persian,  and 
the  cuiinus  bitd  lo  wh  eh  he  alludes  is  (he  Juftak,  of 
which  I  find  the  following  account  in  Richardson:  — 
*  A  sort  of  I  ird,  that  s  said  to  have  but  one  wing ;  on 
'he  r.ppnsite  side  In  i  hich  the  male  has  a  hook  and 
the  ft-m^le  a  ring,  so  Ihar,  when  they  fly,  they  are 
fastened  together." 

*!  From  mo'ives  of  delicacy,  and,  indeed,  o(  fellow- 
feeling,  I  suppress  the  nime  of  the  Au'hnr.  whose 
rejfc  ed  manuscript  was  enclosed  iu  this  letter.  See 
the  Appendix. 

3  Sir  John  Carr,  the  author  of  "Tours  in  Ireland, 
Holland,  Sweden,"  &c.  &c. 

*  This  alludes,  I  believe,  to  a  curious  cnrre-pon- 
dence.  which  is  said  to  have  passed  lately  betwL*eii 
Alb— n— a.  Countess  of  B— ck— gh— ms— e.'and  a  cer- 
tain ingenious  Parodist, 

*  Paternoster  Row. 


And  beginning  with  Rokeby  (ijie  job  h  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  ail  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 
Now,  the  Scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys  can 

beat  him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Pnet  through  Highgale  to  meet  him  ; 
Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs  — no  revises  —  long 

cn.-iches  — 
May  do  a  few  Villas,  before  Sc— tt  appi-oaches. 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby. 
He'll   reich,  without  found'ring,  al  least  Woburn- 

Abbey. 
Such,  Sir,  is  our  plan  —  if  you  're  up  to  the  freak, 
'T  is  a  match !  and  we  'II  put  you  in  trainitig  next 

week. 
Al  present,  no  more  —  in  reply  to  this  Letter,  a 
Line  will  oblige  very  much 

Yours,  et  cetera. 
Temple  of  the  Mioses, 


LETTER   VIM. 

FROM     COLONEL     TH — M — S     TO   

8K — FF — NOT — N,    ESQ. 

Come  to  our  Fete,6  and  bring  with  thee 
Thy  newest,  best  embroidery. 
Cf>me  to  our  Fe'e,  and  show  a^ain 
That  pea-gieen  coat,  thou  pink  of  men, 
Which  rharm'd  all  eyes,  thai  last  surveyed  it ; 
When  Br-mm— Is  ^elf  inquii'd  '•  who  made  it  ?" 
When  Cit^  came  wond  ring,  fmm  Ihe  East, 
And  thought  ibee  Poet  Pye  at  least .' 

Oh  I  come,  (if  haply  't  is  thy  week 
For  looking  pale,)  with  paly  cheek  ; 
Though  more  we  love  thy  roseate  days. 
When  Ihe  rich  rouge-pot  pours  its  blaze 
Full  o'er  thy  face,  and,  amply  spread. 
Tips  ev'n  thy  whisker-tops  with  red  — 
Like  the  last  tints  of  dying  Day 
That  o'er  some  darkling  grove  delay. 

Bring  thy  best  lace,  thou  gay  Philander, 
(That  lace,  like  H— rry  Al-x-nd-r, 
'l"oo  precious  to  be  wa  h'd,) — thy  rings, 
Thy  >eal9—  in  short,  thy  pretiies't  things  ! 
Put  all  ihy  wardrobe's  glories  on. 
And  yield  in  frogs  and  fringe,  to  none 
But  the  great  R — g — t's  self  alone  ; 
Who  —  by  particular  desire  — 
For  that  7itght  only,  means  to  hire 
A  dress  from  Romeo  C — les,  Esquire.t 
Hail,  first  of  Actors  !  «  best  of  R— g_(s  ! 
Born  for  each  other's  fond  allegi mce  ! 
Both  gay  Lotharios  —  both  good  dressers  — 
Of  serious  Farce  both  learn'd  Professors  — 
Both  circled  round,  for  use  or  show. 
With  cock's  combs,  wheresoe'er  they  go!  9 

Thou  know'st  the  time,  thou  man  of  lore' 
It  lakes  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor  — 
Thou  know'st  the  time,  too.  well-a-day ! 


It  takes  tndaice  that  chalk  ; 


xay. 


6  This  Let'er  enclosed  a  Card  for  the  Grand  Fete  on 
the  5th  of  February. 

1  An  amateur  actor  of  much  risible  renown. 

8  Quern  tu,  Me'pnmene,  semel 

N.iscentrm  placido  luminey  vidcris,  kc,     Ilorat, 
The  Man,  \\\\nn  whom  lliou  liaM  dcignM  to  look  funny. 

Oil.  Trai;it!y'M  Muf-e  !  at  Ihe  hmir  of  hi«  hirlh  — 
Let  themii  y  wli«l  (hey  will,  that  *»  Ihe  Man  for  my  money, 

(Jive  others  thy  tears,  hul  let  me  have  Ihy  mirlti  ! 

9  The  crest  of  Mr.  C— les.  the  very  amusin*  ama 
lenr  traeedian  here  alluded  to,  was  a  cock  ;  and  mosi 
profusely  were  his  liveiies,  harness,  &c.,  covered  with 
this  ornament. 

*o  To  those,  rvlio  neither  go  to  balls  nor  read  Ihe 
Morning  Post,  it  may  be  necessary  to  ri'ention,  Iti&l 


136 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


The  Ball-rnom  opena  —  far  and  nigh 

Comets  and  suns  beneath  us  lie; 

O'er  snow-white  moons  and  s'ars  we  walk, 

And  ll.e  lloor  seems  one  sky  of  chalk  I 

But  soon  shall  lade  that  bright  deceit. 

When  many  a  maid,  wilU  busy  feet 

That  sparkle  in  Ihe  lustre's  ray. 

O'er  the  while  path  shall  bound  and  play 

Like  Nymphs  along  the  Milky  Way  :  — 

With  every  step  a  5:ar  hath  tied, 

And  suiii  510W  dim  beneath  their  tread  ! 

bn  passeth  lite— (thus  Sc—tt  would  write, 

And  spiusier>  read  him  with  delight,) — 

Hours  are  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on, 

'lime  is  not  chalk,  yet  lime 's  soou  goue !  1 

But,  hang  this  long  digressive  flight !  — 
1  meant  to  say,  thou  'It  see,  that  night, 
What  falsehood  rankles  io  their  hearts, 

Who  say  the  Pr e  neglects  thearfs  — 

Neglects  the  arts?— no,  Str— hi— g,'i  no; 
Thy  Cupids  answer  *■  t  is  not  so  j " 
And  every  floor,  that  night,  shall  tell 
How  quick  thou  daubest,  and  how  well. 
Shine  as  thou  may  st  in  French  veimilion, 
'J'hou  'rt  6esl,  beneath  a  French  cotillion  j 
And  still  com'st  oti,  whateer  thy  faults, 
With  Jiying  colours  in  a  Waltz, 
Nor  need'st  Ihou  mourn  the  transient  data 
To  thy  best  works  as&ign'd  by  fate. 
While  some  chet-d'ceuvres  live  to  weary  one, 
Thine  boast  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one 
Their  hour  of  glory  past  and  gone 
With  *^  Molly  put  the  kettle  on  I "  3 

But,  bless  my  soul !  I  've  scarce  a  leaf 
Of  paper  leU  —  so,  must  be  brief. 

This  festive  Fete,  in  UcU  will  be 
The  former  Fete  's  facsimile  ;  ■» 
The  same  long  M.isqueiade  of  Rooms, 
All  trick'd  up  in  such  odd  costumes, 
(These,  V— rt— r,5  are  Iby  glnrious  works!) 
You'd  swear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 
Bearing  Good^Taste  some  deadlv  malice, 
Had  clubb'd  to  raise  a  Fic-Nic  i^alace ; 
And  each  to  make  the  olio  pleasant 
Had  sent  a  State-Room  as  a  present. 
The  same  fauteuils  and  girondoles 
The  same  gold  Asse-i,^  pretiy  '-ouls  ! 
Tliat,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 
Appear  so  perfectly  at  home. 
The  same  bright  nver  'mong  the  dishes, 
But  710/  —  all  I  not  the  same  dear  fishes - 
Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones 
So  'stead  of  silver  and  of  gnid  ones, 
(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 
Fiih  of  that  specie  now-a-days) 
Some  sprats  have  been  by  Y — rm — th's  wlsb, 
Promoted  into  6'iiuer  Fish, 


the  floors  of  Rall-ronms,  in  general,  are  chalked,  for 
safety  and  for  ornament,  with  various  fanciful  devices. 

1        Hearts  are  nol  flint,  yel  flints  are  rent, 
Hearls  are  not  tteel,  yet  steel  is  bent. 
After  all,  however,  Mr.  Sc— tt  may  well  say  to  the 
Colonel,  (and,  indeed;  to  much  better  wags  than  the 
Colonel,)  ^aov  /iui/iEcc^ai  7/  fufizLadai. 

^  A  foreign  artist  much  patronized  by  the  Prince 
Regent. 

3  The  name  of  a  popular  country-dance. 

4  *'  C— rl— I— n  H e  wjll  exhibit  a  complete /ac- 

sixnile,  in  respect  to  interior  ornament,  to  what  it  did 
at  the  last  Fete.  The  jame  splendid  draperies,"  &.c. 
&c.  —  Morning  Post. 

fi  Mr.  Walsh  Porter,  to  whose  taste  was  left  the 
furnishing  of  Ihe  rooms  of  Carlton  House. 

6  Thesait-cellars  on  the  Pr e's  own  table  were 

in  the  form  of  an  Ass  with  Panniers. 


And  Gudgeons  (so  V— ns— tt— t  told 
The  K— g— t;  are  as  good  as  Gold! 


APPENDIX. 

LETTER  IV.    Page  133. 

Among  the  papers,  enclosed  in  Dr.  D — g — n— n's 
Letter,  uasfcundan  Heroic  Epistle  in  Latin  verse, 
from  Pope  Joan  to  her  Lover, of  which,  as  it  is  rather 
a  cuiious  document,  1  shall  venture  to  give  some  ac" 
count.  1  his  female  Pontitlwas  a  native  of  England, 
tor,  according  to  others,  of  Germany),  who,  at  an 
early  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  altire,  and  fal 
lowed  her  lover,  a  young  ecclesiastic,  to  Athens, 
where  she  studied  with  such  etlect,  that  upon  her 
arrival  at  Rome,  she  was  thought  worthy  of  being 
raised  to  ihe  Fouiihcate.  I'his  Epistle  is  addressed 
to  her  Lover  (whom  she  had  elevated  to  the  dignity 
of  Cardinal),  sonn  after  the  fatal  accouchemtaity  by 
whtch  her  yallibiiiiy  was  betrayed. 

She  begins  by  remindmg  him  tenderly  of  the  time, 
"hen  they  were  together  ai  Alliens — when,  as  she 
says, 

—  "  by  Ilissus'  stream 
"  We  whispering  walk'd  along,  and  learn'd  to  speak 
"  The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek  j — 
■*  Ah,  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope, 
»^  Dearest  of  men,  that  I  should  e'er  be  Pope  !  1 
"  That  I,  the  humble  Joan,  who^e  housewife  art 
"Seem'd  just  enough  to  keep  thy  house  and  heart, 
"  (And  those,  alas,  at  sixes  and  at  sevtus), 
"  Should  soon  keep  all  the  keys  of  all  Ihe  heavens  !" 

Still  le^s  (she  continues  to  say)  could  they  have  fore- 
seen, that  such  a  calastrophe  as  had  happened  iu 
Council  would  befall  them— that  she 

"  Should  thus  surprise  Ihe  Conclave's  grave  decorum, 

"  And  let  a  little  Pope  pop  out  before  'em  — 

"  P"[)e  Innocent!  al^s,  the  only  one 

*'  That  name  could  e'er  be  justly  fix'd  upon." 

She  then  very  pathetically  laments  Ihe  downfall  of 
her  grealnebs.  and  enumerates  the  various  tieasuies  to 
which  she  is  doojued  to  bid  farewell  for  ever  :  — 

"But  oh,  more  dear,  more  precious  ten  limes  over  — 
'*Faiewell  my  Lord,  mv  Cardinal,  my  Lover! 
'•  I  m  ide  thet  Cardinal  —  thou  niad'st  me  —  ah  1 
*'  Thou  mad  st  the  Papa  of  the  world  Mamma ! 

I  have  not  time  at  present  to  translate  any  more  of 
this  Epistle;  but  1  presume  the  argument  which  ihe 
Right  Hon.  Doctor  and  his  friends  mean  to  deduce 
from  it,  IS  (in  their  usual  convincing  strain)  'hat  Ro- 
manists must  be  unworthy  of  Emancipation  Jioio, 
because  thty  had  a  Petlicnal  Pope  In  the  Ninth  Cen- 
tury.  Noihing  can  be  moie  logically  clear,  and  I  find 
that  Horace  had  exactly  the  same  views  upon  the 
subject, 

Romanut  (eheu  pnstcri  rcgu'jilis !) 
Emancipatus  Fueminae 

Fert  vallum  ' 


LETTER  VIL    Page  13a. 

The  Manuscript,  found  ercloscd  in  the  Bnokseller's 
Letter,  turns  out  to  be  a  Meln-Drama,  in  two  Acts, 

'  Spanheini  attributes  the  unanimity,  with  which 
Joan  was  elected  to  that  innate  and  irresistible  charm, 
by  which  her  sex,  though  latent,  operated  upon  the 
instinct  of  the  Cardinals  —  "N'on  vi  aliqu.T,  sed  con- 
cordiier,  omnium  in  se  convei«.o  des;derio,  quae  sunt 
blandieutis  sexus  artes,  lalentes  in  hac  q  janqiiam  t" 


TWOPENNY    POST-BAG. 


137 


eotilled   "The  Book."  l   nf  which  the  Theatres,  of 

course,  had  had  the  refusal,  bt'fore  it  \\as  presented  to 
Messrs.  L— cti-n^l— n  &  Co.  This  rejeded  Dnn-a, 
however,  po>£esses  considerable  nieni,  and  1  bhall 
take  ihe  liberty  of  laying  a  sketch  of  it  before  my 
Readers. 

The  first  Act  opens  in  a  very  awful  manner — Time, 
three  o'elnck  in  ibe  morning — Scn?e,  the   BonrbOn 

Chamber  a  in  C— rl— 1— n  House— Entt-r  'he  P e 

R— er— t  solus  —  Afier  a  few  broken  sentences,  he  thus 
exclaims :  — 

Awny  — Away  — 
Thou  haiinlM  my  fancy  so,  thou  devilish  Rook, 
I  nieel  thee  — irace  ihee,  wheresne'er  I  look. 
1  see  thy  dinint;d  ink  in  Eld~n's  brows  — 
I  see  \hy  foo'-scap  on  my  H— rtf — d's  Spouse  — 
V — ns — 1(—  's  head  lecills  thy  halhern  case, 
And  alt  thy  hlanh'leavts  stare  from  H— d — r's  face! 
While,  turning  here  (laying  his  hand  on  his  heart), 

I  tind.  ah  wretched  elf. 
Thy  List  of  dire  Errata  in  myself. 

(IValhs  the  sta^e  m  considerable  agitation^ 
Oh  Roman  Punch  !  oh  potent  Curacoa! 
Oh  Maraschino  '.  Mare-chiio  oh  I 
Delicious  dr;tms  !  why  have  you  not  the  art 
To  kill  this  gnawing  Jiook'woi'm  in  my  heart? 

He  is  liere  iiiteiTupted  in  his  Soliloquy  by  perceiving 
on  the  ground  some  scnbtded  frte;nieD's  of  pajjer, 
which  he  ins'au'ly  collects,  and  "  by  ihe  Vizht  of  two 
maeiiificent  cuidelaliras"  discnvers  the  followins;  un- 
connected words,  "  t'Vife  ncgUcicd^''  ~-  *■  ihe  BociC^  — 
*'  IVrons:  Measures''''—^'-  the  Queen'*— '•  Mr.  LamherV^ 
—  "(/leR— g-t. 

Ha  !  treason  m  my  house  ! — Curst  words,  that  wither 
My  princely  B'»u1,  (shaking   the   papers  violently) 

what  Demon  brought  you  hither? 
*' My  Wife;"  — "the  Bgok"  tool  —  stay— a  nearer 

look  — 
(holding  the  fras^ments  closer  to  the  Candtlabras) 
Alas !  too  plain,  H.  double  0»  K,  Book- 
Death  and  destruction ! 

He  here  rings  all  the  hells,  and  a  whole  legion  of 
valets  enter.  A  >ccnc  of  cnrsin*  and  sweaiine  (very 
much  in  the  Ge-man  s^le)  ensues,  in  the  course  .T 
which  mes-*engers  are  despatched,  m  dilterent  direc- 
tions, for  tht:  L— rd  Ch-nc-ll-r,  Ihe  D-  e  of  C— 
b-i— d.  &c.  &c.  'I'he  intei  media'e  time  is  filled  up 
by  another  Soliloquy,  at  the  cnnclnsion  of  u  hich  the 
aforesaid  Personas;es  rush  on  alarmed;  Ihe  D— ke 
with  his  stays  only  half-'aced.  and  the  Ch-nc— II— r 
with  his  "ig  thrown  has  ily  overan  old  red  ntghl-cap, 
'*  to  maintain  the  becoming  splendour  of  his  office."  3 
The  R— g— t  produces  the  appillin^  fragmen's  upon 
which  Ihe  Ch— nc — II— r  breaks  nui  into  exclamations 
of  loyally  and  tenderness,  and  relates  the  following 
portentous  dream. 


<  There  iv.as.  in  like  manner,  a  mysterious  Riok,  in 
the  I6th  Century,  which  emph-yed  all  the  anxmus 
curiosity  of  the  Learned  of  th:il  time.  Every  one 
s[inke  of  it :  many  wrote  again-l  it  ;  though  it  does 
not  appear  Ihat  anybody  had  ever  seen  it ;  and  Grotius 
is  of  opinion  Ih-il  no  such  Book  ever  existed.  It  was 
entitled  *' Liber  de  tribus  impostoribus."  (See  Mor- 
hof.  Cap.  de  I.jbns  damnatis.)  — Our  more  mndern 
mystery  of  ■*  the  Book"  resembles  this  in  many  par- 
ticulars ;  and,  if  he  number  of  Lawyers  employed  in 
drawing  it  up  be  staled  correctlv,  a  slight  aller.itinn 
of  the  title  into  »' a  tribus  impnstoriiais"  would  pro- 
duce a  cr>incidence  altogctlier  very  remark  Me.  ! 

5  The  same  Chamber,  doubtless,  lint  was  prepared  ' 
f'>r  the  reception  of  ihe  Bourb>ns  at  Iht  fir^t  Gnnd 
Fete,  and  wliuh  w:.s  ornamn.led  CH  "  furlhc  Delive- 
rance of  Europe'')  \wi\hfl<xtrs-de-lys. 

3  "To  enable  th^  individual,  who  holds  the  office 
of  Chancell'.t,  .'o  niain'ain  it  in  becoming  splendour." , 
(A  hnid  Jaueh.)  Lord  Castlereagh's  Speech  upon  \ 
ihe  {'icC'Chancelloi-'s  Bill,  .  I 

~\2^ 


'T  is  scarcelv  two  hnurs  since 

I  had  a  fearful  dream  if  llice,  my  P e  .— 

Methought  I  heard  Ihee,  midst  a  conrrly  tfowd, 

Say  from  lliy  throrie  of  pold.  in  niandale  loud, 

"  VVoisliip  my  whiskers !"  — fiuiejusj  not  a  knee  wii 

1  here 
Rill  bent  and  worshipp'd  Ihe  Illuslrinus  Pair, 
Which  curl'd   in  ccaiscii.us  majesty!  ijmll)  out  hit 

handkcrclMf)  —  while  cries 
Of '•Whiskers,  wlll^ke^s  !"  shnok  Ihe  echoing  skies.— 
Just  in  that  prl'"i""«  li'ur,  melhou^hl,  there  came, 
Wilh  looks  of  injur-d  piide,  a  Prii.celv  Dame, 
And  a  young  maiden,  clinging  hy  her  side, 
As  if  she  fear'd  some  lyraui  would  divide 
Two  liearts  Ihat  nature  and  aifeclion  lied  ! 
The  Malrim  came—  within  her  righi  hand  glow'd 
A  radiint  torch  ;  while  from  her  lejt  a  load 
Of  Papers  hung  —  (wifts  his  eyes)  collected  in  her 

The  venal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale, 
Tlie  wounding  hint,  Ihe  cuireiit  lies  tiiit  pass 
F  om  Post  to  Criurier,  forni'd  Ihe  motley  mass  ; 
Which,  wilh  disdain,  before  the  'I  hroue  she  throws, 
And  lights  the  Pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

(ITeejis.) 
Heav'ns,  how  it  blaz'd  I  — I  'd  ask  no  livelier  liie, 
(  With  animation)  To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gracious 

Sire!-  J>     /  = 

Bat  ah  !  the  Evidence  — (■iceejjs  again)  I  mourn'd  to 

Cast,  as  it  burn'd,  a  deadly  light  on  Ihee: 

And  Tales  and  Hiins  their  raid sparkles  flung. 

And  hiss'd  and  cnckled.  like  an  old  maid  s  tongue ; 
While  Post  and  Courier,  fiilhlul  to  their  fime 
Made  up  in  stink  for  what  Ihey  lack'd  in  flame. 
When,  lo,  ye  Gods  !  the  tire  ascending  I'risker, 
Now  singes  out,  now  l.glils  tht  olher  whisker. 
Ah!  where  was  Ihen  the  .Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
Her  fairy  s'andard  in  defence  of  curls  ? 
Throne,  Whiskers,  Wig  soon  vanish'd  into  smoke, 
The  w  atchman  cried  "  Past  One,"  and  —  I  awoke. 

Here  his  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than  ever, 
and  Ihe  R— g— t  (who  lias  been  very  much  asilat.-d 
during  the  recital  of  the  Dream)  liy  a  mnvemeiit  as 
cha  acerislic  as  that  of  Charles  Ml.  when  he  wis 
shut,  clasps  his  hands  to  his  whiskers  In  feel  if  ail  be 
really  safe.  A  Privy  Council  is  held  — all  the  Ser- 
vants, Sic.  are  examined,  and  it  appears  iha'  a  Tailor, 
who  had  come  to  measure  the  K — g — t  for  a  Dress 
(which  takes  ihiee  whole  pages  nf  Ihe  best  superfine 
clinquant  in  describing)  was  the  only  jerson  who  had 
been  in  the  Bourbon  Chamber  during  Ihe  day.  II  is, 
accordinsiy,  determined  to  seize  the  Tailor,  and  the 
Cnuncil  breaks  up  with  a  unanimous  resolution  to  be 
vigoious. 

'I'he  commencement  of  the  Second  Act  turns  chiefly 
upon  the  Tiial  and  Imjinsonment  of  two  Hiolhersi- 
but  as  this  forms  the  iindtr  plot  of  the  Drama.  I  shall 
content  myself  with  ixnacting  from  it  Ihe  followiug 
speech,  which  is  addressed  lo  Ihe  two  Brothers,  as 
they  '-exeunt  severally"  lo  Fiisou  :  — 

Go  to  your  prisons  —  though  Ihe  air  of  Spring 
No  mountain  conhiess  lo  your  cheeks  shall  bring  ; 
Though  Summer  flowers  shall  pass  unseen  away. 
And  all  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 
Mav  be  some  solitary  beam  thai  falls. 


,  upon  you 


alls 


Some  b<  am  that  en'ers',  tremhlin^  as  if  au  'd, 
To  tell  how  giy  the  young  world  laushs  abrond  ! 
■Vet  go—  for  Ihoujhis  as  blessed  as  the  air 
Of  Siiriiig  or  Summer  flowers  await  you  there; 

le,  who  feasts  his  courtly  crew 


Thnughts,  s 


elfe 


I    {•*'' 
I  ihel 


-the  smiles  that  light  within  — 
1  he  7.1-al,  whose  circlin;  charities  begin 
With  the  few  lov'd-oncs  Heaven  has  plac'd  it  near, 
And  spread,  till  all  Mankind  are  in  its  sphere ; 


I  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  and  liis  brother. 


138 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS, 


The  Pride,  that  sutfers  without  eaunt  or  plea, 
And  the  fiesh  Spnit,  that  can  warble  free, 
Through  prison-bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty! 

The  Scene  next  changes  to  a  Tailor's  Work -shop,  and 
a  fancit'ully-arran2;ed  group  of  these  Artists  is  discover- 
ed upon  the  Shop-bnard  —  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  "  Derry  Down." 

My  brave  brother  Tailors,  come,  straighten  your  knees, 
For  a  moment,  like  geullemen,  stand  up  at  ease, 

While  I  sing  of  our  P e  (and  a  tig  for  his  railers) 

The  Shop-board's  delight !  the  Maecenas  of  Tailors  ! 
Derry  dowu,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note. 
While  His  short  cut  to  fame  is  — the  cut  of  his  coat; 
Philip's  Sod  thought  the  World  was  too  small  for  his 

Soul, 
But  our  K — g — t's  finds  room  in  a  lac'd  button-hole, 
Derry  down,  &c. 

Look  through  all  Europe's  Kings  —  those,  at  least 

who  go  loose  — 
Not  a  King  of  them  all 's  such  a  friend  to  the  Goose. 
So,  God  keep  him  increasing  in  size  and  renoun, 

Still  the  fattest  and  best  fitted  F e  about  town  ! 

Derry  down,  &c. 


During  the  "  Derry  down  "  of  this  last  verse,  a  ine>> 

senger  fioro  the  S— c — t— y  of  S e's  Office  rushes 

on,  and  the  singer  (who,  luckily  for  the  etfecl  of  the 
scene,  is  the  very  Tailor  suspecied  of  the  mysterious 
fragments)  is  interrupted  in  ilie  midst  of  his  laudatory 
exertions,  and  hurried  away,  to  the  no  small  surprise 
and  conslernalioii  ol  his  comrades.  The  Plot  now 
haslens  rapidly  in  its  developernent  —  the  manage- 
ment of  Oie  Tailor's  examination  is  highly  skilful,  and 
the  alarm,  which  he  is  made  to  betray,  is  natural 
without  being  ludicrous.  The  explanation,  too, 
which  he  finally  gives  is  not  more  smiple  than  satis- 
factory. It  appears  that  the  said  fragments  formed 
part  of  a  self-exculpalory  note,  which  he  had  intend- 
ed to  send  to  Colonel  M'M n  upon  subjects  purely 

professional,  and  the  corresponding  bits  (which  still 
lie  luckily  in  his  pocket)  being  produced,  and  skilfully 
lard  bt'side  the  others,  the  following  billet-doux  is  the 
satisfactory  result  of  their  juxta-position. 
Honoured  Colonel — my  Wife,  who  's  ths  Queen  of  all 

slal'erns, 
Neglected  to  put  up  the  Pook  of  new  Patterns. 
She  sent  the  wrong  Measures  too— shamefully  wrong — 
They  're  the  same  us'd  for  poor  Mr,  Lambert,  when 

young ; 
But,  bless  you !    they  wouldn't  go  half  round  the 

R-g-t- 
So,  hope  you  '11  excuse  yours  till  death,  most  obedient 

This  fully  explains  the  whole  niyster>'  — the  R— g— t 
resumes  his  wonted  smiles,  and  the  Drama  terminates, 
as  usual,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS    POEMS. 

SXOAAZONTOS    ASXOAIA. 


THE  INSURRECTION  OF  THE  PAPERS. 

A      DREAM. 

*•  It  would  be  Impossible  for  his  roynl  highness  to  disen- 
f;a({e  his  person  from  the  Bccumulaliii^  pitt;  of  pnpers  that 
encompassed  il. —  Lord  Cnstlerench's  Specc/i  iipan  Colo* 
net  M'Mahon'8  Appotntmenti  April  IJ,  lf^l2. 

Last  night  I  toss'd  and  turn'd  in  bed. 
But  coul  J  not  sleep  —  at  length  I  said, 
»'  I  'II  think  of  Viscount  C— stl— r— gh, 
*'Aiid  of  his  speeches—  that 's  the  way." 
And  so  it  was,  for  ins'anlly 
I  slept  as  sound  as  sound  could  be. 
And  then  I  dreamt  —so  dread  a  dream 
Fuseli  has  no  such  theme; 
Lewis  never  wrote  or  borrowed 
Any  horror,  half  so  horrid  ! 

Methoiight  the  Pr e,  in  whisker'd  state 

Before  me  at  his  breakfast  sate  j 

On  one  side  lay  unread  Petitions, 

On  t'other,  Hints  from  five  Physicians  ; 

Here  tradesmen's  bills,— official  paptrs, 

N'^tes  from  niy  Lady,  drams  for  vapours  — 

There  plans  of  saddles,  tea  and  teas', 

Death-warranisand  the  Mornii^g  Post. 


When  lo  !  the  Papers,  one  and  ; 
As  if  at  srmie  magician's  call, 
Began  to  flutter  of  themselves 
From  desk  and  table,  floor  and  shf 
And,  cutiing  each  snme  diilerent  < 
Advanc'd,  t'U  Jacobinic  papers  ! 
As  though  they  said,  "Our  soled 
"To  BufTocite  his  Royal  Highnes 
The  Leader  of  this  vile  sediiion 
Was  a  huge  Catholic  Petition, 


Ives, 


With  grievances  so  full  and  heavv, 

It  IhreaienM  worst  of  all  tlie  bevy. 

Then  Common-Hall  Addresses  came 

In  swaggering  sheets,  and  look  their  aim 

Right  at  (be  R— g-t's  «ell-dress'd  head, 

As  rf  determined  to  be  read. 

Next  Tradesmen's  Rills  began  to  fly. 

And  Tradesmen's  BiiU,  we  know,  mount  high; 

Nay  ev'n  Death-warrants  thought  they'd  best 

Be  lively  too,  and  join  the  rest. 

But,  oh  the  basest  of  defections! 
His  Ijctier  about  '*  predilections"  — 
His  own  dear  Letter,  void  of  grace, 
Now  (lew  up  in  its  parent's  face  I 
Shock'd  "  i'h  this  breach  of  filial  duty. 
He  just  could  murmur  •*  et  Tu  Bnite?^ 
Then  sunk,  subdued  upon  the  floor 
At  Fox's  bust,  10  rise  no  more! 

I  wak'd — and  pray'd,  with  lifted  hand, 
"  Oh  !  never  may  this  Dream  prove  true 

**Thou!;h  paper  overwhelms  the  land, 
*'  Let  il  not  crush  the  Sovereign  too  I" 


PARODV  OF  A  CELEBRATED  LETTER.i 

Al  length,  dearest  Freddy,  the  moment  is  nigh, 
When,  wiih   P— re — v— I'a  leave,  1  may  throw  my 

chains  by ; 
And.  as  time  now  is  precinus.  the  first  thing  I  do, 
Is  to  sit  down  and  write  a  wise  letter  to  you. 


»  Leiter  from  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  Regent 
to  the  Duke  of  Vnrk,  Feb.  13,  Vi\2. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


139 


I  meanf  before  now  to  have  ^ent  you  this  Letter, 
But   Y — mi— tU  and  1  thought  perhaps  'twould  be 

belter 
To  wait  till  the  Irish  affairs  were  decided  — 
(That  i9,  till  both  Houses  had  prosed  aud  divided, 
Wiih  all  due  appeanuce  of  thought  and  digestion)— 
For,  though  H— rtf— rd  House  hwd  long  settled  the 

question, 
I  thought  it  but  decent,  between  me  and  you. 
Thai  the  two  otliey  Houses  should  settle  it  loo, 

I  need  not  remind  you  boiv  cursedly  bid 
Our  atiairs  were  all  looking,  when  Father  went  mad  j" 
A  stiait-waisicoat  on  him  and  restriclioiis  on  me, 
A  more  limilcd  Monarchy  could  not  well  be. 
i  was  cali'd  upon  then,  in  that  moment  (<f  puzzle, 
To  chonse  my  own  Minister  — just  as  they  muzzle 
A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disaster, 
By  bidding  him  choose  out  his  own  daticing-master. 

I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  son, 
Was  to  do  as  Old  Royalty's  self  would  have  done.^ 
So  I  sent  word  to  say,'  1  would  keep  the  whole  batch  in, 
The  same  chest  nf  tools,  without  cleansing  or  patching; 
For  tools  of  this  kind,  like  Marlinus's  >conce,3 
Would  lose  all  iheirbenuty,  if  purified  once; 
Aud  think  — only  think— if  our  Father  should  find, 
Upon  graciously  coming  ngain  to  his  mind,* 
That  improvement  had  spotl'd  any  favourite  adviser— 
That  R— ?e  was  grown  lioiiesl,  or  W— sim— rel— nd 

That  R— d-r  was,  ev*n  by  one  twinkle,  (he  brighter— 
Or  L— v — rp— Ps  speeches  but  half  a  pound  lighter — 
What  a  shock  to  hi>  old  royal  heart  it  would  be  ! 
No  ! — f.ir  were  such  dreams  of  improvement  from  me  : 
And  it  pleased  me  to  hud,  at  the  House,  where,  you 

ki.ow.a 
There  's  sucii  good  mutton  cutlets,  and  'trong  curac^a.c 
That  the  Marchioness  call'd  me  a  duteous  old  boy. 
And  my  V—rui— ih's  red  whiskeis  grew  redder  fi>r  joy. 

You  know,  my  dear  Freddy,  how  off,  if  I  would, 
By  the  law  uf  last  Sessions  i  mi^ht  have  done  good. 
1  rnight  have  withheld  these  poliijcdl  noodles 
From    knocking    (heir    heads    against    hot    Yankee 

D!K>dles ; 
I  might  have  (old  Ire'and  I  pitied  her  lot, 
Might  have  soolh'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  Ik  jealous. 
But  find  that,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  Ihe  shelf, 
We  've  been  all  «.f  us  nearly  as  mad  as  himself. 
Vou  smile  a'  niy  hopes  —  but  the  Doctors  and  I, 
Are  the  last  that  cau  (hink  the  K— ng  ever  will  die.T 


»  *'  I  think  it  hardly  necessary  to  call  your  recollec- 
...m  to  the  recent  circumstances  under  \vhich  I  as- 
sumed Ihe  authority  delegated  to  me  by  Pailiament." 
—  Pnnce's  Letter. 

^  '*My  sense  of  duty  to  our  Royal  father  solely  de- 
cided that  choice."  — /6id, 

8  The  antique  shield  of  Martinus  Scriblerus,  which, 
upon  scouring,  turned  out  t-j  be  only  an  old  sconce. 

*  "  I  waived  ■niy  peisnnal  gratification,  in  order  that 
his  Majefiiy  might  resume,  on  his  re-toratioii  to  health, 
every  power  and  prerogative."  &c.  — /6id. 

6'*  And  I  have  the  sitisfac'ion  of  knowing  that 
such  was  the  opinion  of  persons  for  whose  judg- 
ment," &c.  &c.  —  Ibid. 

6  The  leiter-wrjter's  favourite  luncheon. 

'  '*  I  ceriainly  am  the  last  person  in  (he  kingdom  to 


A  new  era 's  arriv'd  8 — though  you  'd  hardly  believe 

And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  receive  it. 
New  villas,  new  fetes  (which  ev'n  Waithmaa  at- 
tends) — 
New    siddies,    new  helmets,  and  —  why   not    new 
friends  ? 


I  repeat  it,  *'  New  Friends" —  for  !  cannot  describe 
The  delight  I  am  in  with  this  p— re— v— I  tribe. 
Such   capering!  — Such   vapouring  1  —  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 

And  leave  us  no  friends — but  Old  Nick  and  Algiers. 

When  I  think  of  Ihe  glory  they  've  beaniM  on  my 

chains, 
'T  is  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains. 
It  is  true  we  are  bankrupts  iri  commerce  and  riches, 
But  think  how  we  find  our  Allies  in  new  breeches! 
We  've  lost  the  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish,  'I  if  granted, 
But  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted, 
To  put  the  last  lingeiing  few  wtjo  remain. 
Of  the  Walcheren  wan  lOis,  out  of  their  pain. 
Then  how  Wellington  iights !  and  how  squabbles  his 

brother ! 
For  Papists  the  one,  and  with  Papists  the  other; 
One  crushing  Napoleon  by  taking  a  Citv, 
While  t'oiher  lays  waste  a  whole  Calh'l'ic  Committee. 
Oh,  deeds  of  renown  !  —shall  I  bougie  or  flinch, 
With  such  pri'SpfCts  befoie  me?  by  Jove,  nut  an  inch. 
No  —  let  England's  atfairs  go  to  rack,  if  they  will, 
We'll  look  after  th'aflaiis  of  Ihe  Ci/ntinent'sftW  ; 
And,  wi  h  nothing  at  home  but  at  iriation  and  riot. 
Find  Lisbon  in  bread,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 

I  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilections,^ 
My  hcatt  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scalter'd  affections 
Are  just  danc'd  about  for  a  moment  or  two, 
And  ihe^Her  they  are,  the  more  sure  lo  run  through  : 
Neither   feel   I  lesentmen's,  nor  \vish  thcie  should 

come  ill 
To    nioital  —  except     (now    I    think    ou't)     Beau 


Br. 


Who  Ihieateu'd  last  year,  in  a  superfine  passion. 
To  cut  me.  and  bring  the  old  K— ng  into  fashion. 
'Ihis  is  all  I  cin  lay  to  ny  conscience  at  present; 
When  such  is  my  lemner,  so  neutial,  so  pleasant. 
So  royally  free  fmm  all  troublesome  feelings, 
So  little  eiicumber'd  by  fai'h  in  my  dealings, 
(And  that  1  'm  consistent  the  world -will  allow 
What  I  was  at  Newmarket  tlie  same  I  am  now.) 
When  such  are  my  merits  (you  know  I  hate  crackinff.) 
I  hope,  like  the  Vender  of  Best  Patent  Blacking, 
"  To  meet  with  the  gen'rous  and  kind  approbation 
*'  Of  a  candid,  enlighten'd,  and  liberal  naiion." 

By  the  bye,  ere  I  do  e  this  magnificent  Letter, 
(No  man,  except  Pi  le,  could  h.<ve  uril  you  a  belter,) 
'T  would  please  me  if  Itiose,  whom  1  've  hunibug'd  so 

long  10 
With  ttie  notion  (good  men  !)  that  I  knew  right  from 

wrong. 
Would  a  few  of  them  join  me —  mind,  only  a  few  — 
To  let  too  much  light  in  on  me  never  wnuld  do  ; 


whom  it  can  be  permitted  to  despair  of  our  royal 
father's  recovery."  — /'n^iCL'f  Lttier. 

8  ''  A  new  era  is  now  arrived,  and  I  cannot  but  re- 
flect with  satisfaction,"  &c.  —  Itid. 

s  "  1  have  no  predilections  to  indulge, —  no  resent- 
ments to  graiify."— /i^■(i. 

i«  "  1  cannol  conclude  wl'hout  expressing  ihe  grati- 
fica'ion  1  should  feel  if  some  of  itiose  persons  with 
whom  the  early  habits  of  my  public  life  were  formed 
would  strengthen  my  hands,  and  constitute  a  pari  ©f 
my  government."  —  /bid. 


140 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS) 


But  even  Grey's  biiglitiiess  shan't  make  iiie  afraid, 
While  1  've  C— ii.d— u  and  Eld— n  lo  fly  to  for  shade  ; 
Nor  will  Holland's  clear  mlellecldo  us  much  harm, 
While  there's  W— slm— rel— ud  near  him  to  weakea 


the 


As  for  Moira's  high  spirit,  if  aught  can  subdue  it, 
Sure  joinius  with  H-rIf— rd  aud   Y— rm— th  will 

do  It! 
Between  R— d— r  and  Wh— rt— n  let  Sheridan  sit. 
And  the  fogs  will  soon  qr.euch  even  Sheridan's  wit: 
And  agaiusi  all  the  pure  public  feeling  that  glows 
E»'u  in  Whilbiead  himself  we've  a  Host  lu  G— rge 

R— se : 
So,  in  shoit,  if  they  wish  to  have  Places,  they  may, 
And  I  '11  thank  you  lo  tell  all  these  malleis  to  Grey,' 
Who,  I  doubt  not,  will  write  (as  there's  no  time  to 

lose; 
By  the  tvvopenny  post  to  lell  Gienville  the  news; 
And  now,  dciresl  i'red  {though  I've  no  predilection), 
Believe  me  yours  always  with  truest  aflection. 

P.  S.    A  copy  of  this  is  to  P— re— 1  going —  3 
Good  Lord,  how  St.  Stephen's  will  ring  with  his 
crowing  i 


ANACREONTIC  TO  A  PLUMASSIER 

Fine  and  feathery  artisan. 
Best  of  Pluniis's  (if  you  can 
With  your  art  so  far  presume) 
Wake  for  me  a  I'r— ce's  Plume 
Fealhers  soft  and  feathers  raie, 
Such  as  suits  a  Prince  to  wear. 

Firs',  thou  downiest  of  men, 
Seek  me  out  a  fine  Pea-hen  j 
Such  a  Hell,  so  tall  and  grand, 
As  by  Juno  s  side  might  sland, 
If  there  were  no  cicks  at  hand. 
Seek  her  feithers,  soft  as  down. 
Fit  to  shine  on  Pr— ce's  crown; 
If  thou  canst  not  hiid  ttiem,  stupid  1 
Ask  the  way  of  Prior's  Cupid.3 

Ranging  these  in  ortler  due, 
Pluck  nie  next  an  old  Cuckoo; 
Emblem  of  the  liajipy  lalfs 
Of  easy,  kind,  cornuled  males. 
Pluck  him  well  —  be  sure  you  do 
IVho  wuuld'nt  be  an  old  Cuckoo, 
Thus  10  have  his  plumaje  blest. 
Beaming  on  a  R— y— 1  crest  ? 

Bravo,  Plumist !  —  now  what  hirj 
Shall  we  find  for  Plume  the  third  1 
You  niuit  get  a  leirned  Owl, 
Bleakest  of  black-letter  fowl  — 
Bigot  bird,  thai  hales  the  light,* 
Foe  to  all  Ihat  's  fair  and  bright. 
Seize  his  quill^,  (so  form'd  to  pen 
Books,'  Ihat  shun  the  search  of  men; 
Books.  Ihat,  far  from  every  eye. 
In  "swelter'd  veiiOm  sleeping"  lie.) 
Stick  them  in  between  ihe  two, 
Proud  Pea-hen  and  Old  Cuckoo. 
Now  you  have  the  triple  feather, 
Bind  the  kindred  stems  together 


i  '*you  are  authorized  to  communicate  these  senti- 
ments to  Lord  Grry.  w'ho,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  make 
them  known  to  Lord  Grenville.  —  Prince's  Letter, 

^  ''  I  slnll  'end  a  copy  of  this  letler  immediately  to 
Mr.  Perceval."— Ziirf. 

3  See  Prior's  poem,  entilled  "  The  Dove." 

*  P— re— V— i. 

6  In  allusion  to  '*  the  Book"  which  crea'ed  such  a 
sensation  at  that  pet  iod. 


With  a  silken  lie,  whose  hue 
Once  was  brilliant  Butf  and  Blue; 
Sullied  now  — alas,  how  much  I 
Only  fit  for  Y— rm— th's  touch. 

There  —  enough  —  thy  task  is  done 

Present,  worthy  G ge's  Son  : 

Now,  benCTth,  in  letters  nea', 
Write  "  1  serve,"  and  all 's  complete. 


EXTRACTS   FROM  THE   DIARY  OTA 
POLITICIAN. 

IVcdnesday, 
Through  M— nch— st— r  Square  took  a  canter  just 

now  — 

Met  the  old  yellow  c?ion'o(,6  and  made  a  low  bow. 
This  I  did,  of  course,   thinking,    't  was   loyal   and 

civil, 
But  got  such  a  look  —  oh  'I  was  black  as  the  devil ! 
How  unlucky  \--inco^.  he  was  trav'iling  about. 
And  I,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out. 

Atcm. 


To  1 


;prii 


)w  chariot  I  ride, 
cely  inside* 


Tfivrsday, 
At  Levee  to  day  made  another  sad  blunder  — 
What  can  be  come  over  me  lately,  I  wonder? 
The  Pr— ce  was  as  cheertui,  as  if,  all  his  life, 
He  had    never   been    troubled    with    Friends   or  a 

Wife  — 
'*Fine  weilher,"  says  he  —  to  which  I,  who  must 

prate. 
Answered,  *'  Yes,  Sir,  but  changeable  rather,  of  late.'' 
He  look  it,  I  fear,  for  he  look'd  somewhat  irruif. 
And  handled  his  new  pair  of  whiskers  so  rough, 
That  before  all  the  courtiers  I  fear'd  Ibey  'd  come 

olt; 
And  then.  Lord,  how  Geramb ''  would  triumphantly 

scotf ! 

JVfem  — lo  buy  for  son  Dicky  some  unguent  or  lotion 
To  nourish  his  whiskers  —  sure  road  to  promotion  I  8 

Saturday, 

Last  ni^ht  a  Concert  —  vastly  gay  — 
Given  by  Lady  C— sll— r— gh. 
My  Lord  loves  music,  and,  we  know, 
Has'Mvvo  strings  al'Aa\stohis  bow, "9 
lu  choosing  songs,  the  R — g — I  nam'd 
"  Had  1  a  heart  for  falsehood  fram'd,^ 
While  genlle  H— rif— d  begg'd  and  pray'J 
For  *'  Young  I  am  and  soi'e  afraid,^ 


EPIGRAM. 

What  news  to-dav  ?  —  "  Oh  !  worse  and 
'■  Mac  10  is  the  Pr— ce'-  Privy  Pur=e  !"■ 
The  Pr — ce's  Purse  !  no.  no,  you  fool. 
You  mem  Ihe  Pr— ce's  Ridicule. 


u  The  incog,  vehicle  of  the  Pr— ce. 

'  Baron  Geramb,  the  rival  of  his  R  H.  in  whiskers 

8  England  is  not  the  only  country  where  merit  of 
this  kind  is  noticed  and  rewarded.  "  I  remember," 
says  Tavernier,  "To  have  seen  one  of  ihe  King  of 
Persia's  porters,  whose  mn-tachcs  were  so  long  that 
he  could  tie  them  behind  his  neck,  for  which  reason 
he  hid  a  double  pension." 

0  A  rhetorical  figure  used  by  Lord  C— stl— r-gh, 
in  one  of  his  speeches. 

10  Colonel  M— cm— h— n. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


141 


KING  CRACK  !  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

WRITTEN  AFTER  THK   LA TL:   NE(iOTIAT10N 
FOR    A    NEW    M — N — STRY. 

King  Crack  was  llie  best  of  all  possible  Kings, 
(At  least,  so   his  Couitiets  would  swear  (o  you 
gladly,) 

But  Crack  iiitu-  and  then  would  do  heCrodox  things, 
And,  at  last,  to(»k  to  worshipping  Images  sadly. 

Some  broken-down  Idols,  that  long  had  been  placM 
In  his  hihtr's  old  Vabimt,  pleas'd  him  so  much, 

That  he  knctt  dou  n  arid  wofshipp'd,  thougli  —  such 
was  his  taste  !  — 
They  were  monstrous  to  look  at,  and  rotten  to  touch. 

And  these  were  tlie  beautiful  Gods  of  King  Crack  !  — 

But  his  People,  disjaining  to  worship  such  things, 
Cried  aloud, one  and  all,  "Come,  vour  Liodsliips  must 
pack  — 
"You'll   not  do  for  uj,  though  you  may  do  for 
Kings." 

Then,  trampling  these  images  under  their  (eQ^^ 
'J'liey  sent  Crack   a   petition,  beginning   "  Great 
Caesar ! 
"  We  Ve  willing  to  worship  ;  but  only  entreat 
"That  you'll  tiiid  us  some  dtcenter  Godheads  than 
these  are," 

"  I  '11  try,"  says  King  Crack  —  so  they  furnisli'd  him 

models' 

Of  belter.shap'd  Gods,  but  he  sent  them  all  back  j 

Some  were  chisell'd  too  hue,  some  had  heads  'stead 

of  noddles. 

In  short,  they  were  all  miuh  too  godlike  for  Crack. 

So  he  took  to  his  darling  old  Idols  again. 
And,  just   mending  ttieir  legs  and  new  bronzing 
their  faces. 
In  open  defiance  of  Gods  and  of  man, 
Set  the  monsters  up  griuning  once  more  in  their 
places. 


WHAT'S  MY  THOUGHT   LIKE? 

Quest.  Why  is  a  Pump  like  V— sc— nt  C— sti— r— gh  ? 

Jiiisw.  Because  il  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood. 
That  up  and  down  ils  awkward  arm  doth  sway, 
And  cofjlly  spout  and  spout  and  spoul  away 

In  one  weak,  wasliy,  everlasting  flood  1 


EPIGRAM 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  CATHOLIC  IlELE- 
GATE  AND  HIS  R— Y— L  H— GHN— SS 
THE    D — E    OF    C — n — L— D. 

Said  his  Highness  to  Ned,'-  with  that  grim  face  of  his, 
"  Why  refuse  us  the  K.(o,  dear  Catholic  Neddy  ?" 

"Because,  Sir,"  said  Ned,  looking  full  in  his  phiz, 
"  You  're  f'lrhidding   enough,    in    all   conscience, 
alreaJy !" 


«  One  of  those  antediluvian  Princes,  with  whom 
M:inelho  and  Whistnn  seem  so  intrma'e'y  acquainted. 
If  we  had  the  Memoirs  of  Thoth,  frnni  which  Mane- 
tho  compiled  his  Ilislnrv.  we  should  find,  I  dare  sav, 
that  Crack  wa=  only  a  Regent,  and  tl  at  he,  pi-rhap's, 
succeeded  Typhon,  who  (as  Whiston  says)  was  Ihe 
last  Kingofthe  Anlediluvian  Dynasty. 

»  Edward  Byrne,  the  head  of  the  Delegates  of  the 
Irish  Catholics. 


WREATHS  FOR  THE  MINISTERS. 

AN   ANACREONTIC. 

Hillicr,  Flora,  Queen  of  Flowers  ! 
Hasle  llice  from  t)ld  Bromplon's  Lower*  — 
Or,  (if  sweeer  ih,at  ab  de) 
From  Ihe  King's  well-odour'd  Rtou, 
Where  each  lillle  nucery  bud 
Brealhes  the  dust  and  quatVs  ihe  mud. 
Hither  come  and  gaiiy  twine 
Brightes'  herbs  and  llowtrs  of  thine 
Into  wreaibs  for  those,  who  rule  us. 
Those,  who  rule  and  (some  say)  fool  us  — 
Flora,  sure,  will  love  to  please 
England's  Household  Deiiies  !  3 

First  you  must  then,  willy-nilly, 
Fe  ch  wie  many  an  orange  lily  — 
Orange  of  ttie  darkest  dye 
Irish  (i— rt'— rd  can  sufiply  ; — 
Choose  me  out  the  l  ingest  sprig, 
And  stick  it  in  old  Eld— u's  wig. 

Find  me  next  a  poppy  posy. 
Type  of  his  harangues  so  dozy, 
Ga'land  gauily,  diiil  and  cool, 
To  crown  Ihe  head  of  L— v— rp— 1. 
'Twill  console  his  brilliant  brorts 
For  that  loss  of  laurel  boughs. 
Which  they  suBcr'd  (what  a  piiy!) 
On  the  road  to  Paris  City. 

Next,  our  C— sil— r— gh  to  crown. 
Bring  ii,e  from  Ihe  County  Down, 
Wilher'd  Shamr.icks.  "  hich  have  been 
Gilded  o'er,  to  hide  the  green  — 
(Such  as  H— dt— t  biouglit  away 
From  Fall-Wall  last  Patricks  I)ay4)  — 
Stitch  the  g  aland  through  and  through 
With  shabby  threads  of  every  hue  ;  — 
And  as,  Goddess  t  —  eiitre  voiis  — 
His  L  .idsliip  loves  (though  best  of  men) 
A  little  ti^ytiire,  now  and  then, 
Crimp  the  leives,  lh"U  first  of  .Syrens, 
Crimp  them  with  Ihy  cuiling  irons. 

Thai 's  enough  —  away,  away  — 
Had  1  leisure.  I  could  say 
Ibiw  the  oldest  rose  lh.il  grows 
Must  he  pluckd  to  deck  Old  Rose  — 
Hnw  Ihe  Doctor's  i  brow  should  sniilo 
Crowii'd  with  wreaths  of  camomile. 
But  time  presses — to  Ihy  taste 
1  leave  the  rest,  so,  priihee,  haste  I 


EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  DOWAGER  AND 
HER  MAID  ON  THE  MGUT  OF  LORD 
Y — RK— TH'S   fete. 

"  I  wart  the  Court  Guide,''  ^aid  mv  lady,  "  lo  look 

"  If  Ihe  House.  Seymour  Place,  lie  at'30  or  20.''  — 
"  We  've  Ic'S'  the  Court  Guide,  Ma'am,  but  heie  's  the 
Red  Beck. 
"  Where  \ou  'il  land,  I  dare  say,  Sejmour /"/acey  in 
plenty  I" 

3  The  ancients,  in  like  manner,  c  owned  their 
Lares,  or  Household  Grds.  See  Juvt-nal,  Sat.  9  v. 
13S.  —  Plulaich,  too,  tells  us  that  Household  Gods 
were  then,  as  Ihey  are  now,  "much  eiven  to  War 
and  penal  Statutes." — iptvvviuCus  nai    rrotvi/xovj  j 

4  Certain  llnsel. imitations  of  the  Shamrock  which  | 

are  distribu'ed  by  ihe  Servants  of  C n  Ht 

every  Patrick's  Day. 

*  The  sobriqiiet  given  to  Lord  Sidnioulh. 


]42 


SATIRICAL   AND    HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


HORACE,  ODE  XI.  LIB.  II. 

FREELY      TRANSLATKD      BY      THE      PR — CE 
K  —  U  — T.^ 

1  Come,  V— rm— th,   my   boy,   never  Irouble  your 

Ab  ut  wh  il  your  old  crony, 
Tbe  Kinpeior  Honey, 
Is  tlouig  or  brewing  on  Aluacovy's  plains  j 

3  Nor  tremble,  my  lad.  at  the  state  of  our  granaries: 
Should  lilt-re  come  famine, 
Still  pleniy  (o  cram  in 
You  always  shall  have,  my  dear  Lord  of  the  Stan- 
Brisk  let  us  revel,  while  revel  we  may  ; 
*  For  the  gay  bloom  of  htty  soon  passes  awav 
And  I  lien  people  get  f^t, 
And  intirni,  and --all  that, 

5  And  a  wig  (I  coufess  ii)  sn  clumsily  sits. 

That  it  frightens  the  liiile  Loves  out  of  their  vrits; 

6  Thy  whiskers,  too,  Y— rm— th  !  —  alas,  even  they, 

Though  so  rosy  they  burn, 
Too  (juickly  must  turu 
(What  a  hearl-Lireaking  change  for  thy  whiskers!) 
to  Grey. 


Your  mill  I  about  matters  you  dnn't  UTiders'and  ? 
Or  whyshnu  J  you  wrileyourseltdown  fur  an  idiot, 
Because  ■*  yoUy"  forsooih,  "/uivc  Uie'pen  in  your 
hand .' '' 

Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  teller, 
(Which  both  you  and  I 
Shnuld  avoid  by  Ihe  bye,) 
How  much  pleastnter  'I  is  to  sit  under  Ihe  bust 
Of  old  Charley, 9  my  friend  here,  and  drink  like 

While  Charley  look-  sulky  and  frowns  at  me.  just 
As  the  Ghobl  iu  the  Pantomime  frowns  at  l)ou 
Juan. 

10  To  crown  us,  Lord  Warden, 

In  C— mb — rl— nd"s  garden 
Grows  pien'y  of  monk's  hood  in  venomous  sprigs  : 

While  Otto  of  Rojcs 

Refreshing  all  noses 
Shall  hweetly  exhale  from  our  whiskers  and  wigs. 


I  This  and   the  following  are  extracted    from    a 
Work,  which  may,  some  time  or  oiher,  meet  ihe  eye 
of  the  Public — ei.liiled  **  t)des  of  Horace,  done  into 
English  by  seveial  Persons  of  Fashion." 
a        Quid  beliic'-sus  Can'aber,  et  Scythes, 
Hirpine  Quincii,  cogitet,  Hadna 
Uivisus  objecto,  lemiltas 
Q.,sre.e. 
s  Nee  trepides  in  UbUin 

Fosceniis  asvi  pauca. 

*  _  fugit  retro 
Levis  juvenlas  et  decor. 

*  Pelleiite  lascivos  amures 

Caintie. 
6  Neque  uno  Luna  rubciis  nitet 

Vultu. 
'  Quid  EEternis  minorem 

Consilns  aninmm  faligas? 
'        Cur  nnn  sub  alta  vel  plalano,  vel  hac 

Pinu  jaceiites  sic  tenieie. 
9  Charles  Fox. 

»•  Rosa 

Canos  odora'i  c.ipillos, 

Duni  licet,  Assyriaque  nardo 
Potamiis  uncti. 


"What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  cur  Nona 
In  that  sireaiTilel  delicious, 
That  down  'midst  Ihe  dishes. 
All  full  nf  Kold  fishes, 
"    h  (low?  — 


13  Or  «  hii 

Unio  M 


III 


rpau 


And! 


r  Sq e, 

f  the  gentle  Marc^iesa  be  there  ? 


Go  — bid  her  has'e  hither, 
13  And  let  her  bring  with  her 
The  newest  No-Poperv  Sermon  that's  going  — 
'*Uh  !  let  her  come,  with  her  dark  tresses  llowing, 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gay, 
iu  Ihe  manner  of— Ackeruiann's  Dresses  for  Maj  1 


HORACE,  ODE  XXII.  LIB.  U 

FREELY    TRANSLATED  BY    LORD   ELD — N. 

i^The  man  \vho  keeps  a  conscience  pure, 
(If  not  his  own,  ai  leasl  his  Prince's,) 
Through  toil  and  danger  walks  secure. 
Looks  big  and  black,  and  never  winces. 

iGNo  want  h.is  he  of  sword  or  dagger, 
Cock'd  hat  or  ringlets  of  Ger mib  ; 
Though  Peers  may  laugh,  and  Papists  swagger, 
He  doesn't  care  one  single  d-nm. 

nWhelher  midst  lri<h  chairmen  going 
Or  ihrough  St  Giles's  alley-  din-, 
'Mid  driinken  Sheelahs,  blisting,  blowing, 
No  matter,  'I  is  all  one  to  him. 

'8For  instance.  I,  one  evening  late, 
Upon  a  g.ay  vacation  sally. 
Singing  the  prai  e  nf  Church  and  Slate, 
Got  cGod  knows  how)  to  Cranbnurne  Alley. 


11  Quis  pner  ocius 

Restinguel  ardeiiiis  Falerni 
Pncula  pnelti-cunte  lympha 

i>       Quis eliciel  domo 

Lj  den  ? 
13      Eliuina,  die  age,  cum  lyra  (qu.  Jiar-a) 

MatureL 
1*  Incnmtam  Lacseias 

More  coniam  reiigata  nodo. 

15  Integer  vitae  scelerisque  purus. 

16  Nnn  eget  Mauri  jaculis,  neque  arcu, 
Nfc  veuenatis  gravida  sagi  lis, 

Fusee,  pharelra. 
1'  Sivc  per  Svrles  iter  ass'uosas, 

S^ive  fac  urns  per  inhos|iilalem 
Caucasum,  vel  qux  loca  fabulosus 
Laiiibit  Hydaspes. 
The  Noble  Tiansla'or  had.  at  first,  laid  Ihe  scene 
of  these  imagined  dangers  i  f  his  Man  of  Conscience 
among  the  Pajiis's  of  .Spain,  and   had   transla'ed  ihe 
words  '•  qujB  ]ncA  fabtdosus  lamlit  Hyda-pes"  thus 
—  "  The /aUidg  Spaniaid  licks  Ihe  Fiench;"  l.ut, 
recollecting  that  it  is  our  interest  just  now  tn  be  re- 
spectful to  Spanish  Catholics  (Ih'ugh  ihere  is  certain- 
ly no  earhly  reason  f.r  our  being  even   cimnmnly 
civil  to  Irish  ones),  he  altered  the  pa-sage  as  it  sta'ids 
at  present. 

18      Nanique  me  silva  lupus  in  Sabina, 
Duiii  nieini  cmto  Lalagen,  et  ultra 
Terminuin  cuiis  vag'T  expedilis, 
Fugil  inermein. 
I  cannot  help  callinz  ihe  reader's  allenlion  to  the 
peculiir  ingenuity  with  whicli  these  lines  are  para, 
pliia-ed.     Not  to  ineulion  Ihe  h^ppy  conversion  of  the 
Wolf  into  a  Papist    (seeing  lint  Komulu^  "  as  suckled 
by  a  wolf,  that  R  >me  was  founded  by  R  inului,  and 
that  Ihe  Pope  his  always  reigned  at  Rome.)  there  is 
something    particularly   neat    in    supp  isiiig  '•ultra 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


143 


When  lo  !  an  Irish  Papist  darted 
Acrnss  my  path,  gaunt,  gnni,  and  big^ 

I  did  l)Ut  frov\n,  and  oil'  he  slAi-ltd, 
Scar'd  at  me,  even  williout  my  wig. 

»  Yet  a  more  fierce  an  I  raw-bnn*d  dog 
Goes  not  lo  Muss  in  Dublin  CMy, 
Nor  shakes  his  brofjue  o'er  Allen's  Bog, 
Nor  spouti  in  Catholic  Commiltec. 

»  Oh  !  place  me  midst  O'Hourkps,  O'Tooles, 

Ihe  ragiCd  roval-Wood  of  Tara  ; 

Or  place  me  where  Dick  M— rl— n  lules 

'J  he  houseless  wilda  of  Connemara  ; 

a  Of  Church  and  Stale  I  'II  warble  st  II, 

•|hnu»h  ev'n  Dick  M—rt—n's  self  should  grumble; 
Sweet  Church  and  .Stale,  like  Jack  and  Jill, 
*  So  lovingly  upon  a  hill  — 

Ah  !  ne'er  like  Jack  and  Jill  to  tumble  ! 


THE  NEW  COSTUME  OF  THE  MINISTERS. 

Novo  monslra  creavlt. 

Ovid.  MelartK^rph.  1.  1.  ».  «7. 

Having  sent  off  the  troops  of  brave  Major  Camac, 
Wiih  a  swinsini  horse-tiil  al  each  valmous  back, 
And  such  helmets,  God  bless  us  !  as  never  deck'd  any 
Male  creature  before,  except  Signor  Giovanni  — 
"  Let's  see."  said  the  R— g— t  (like  Titus,  perplex'd 
With  the  duties  of  empire.)  •'  whuui  shall  1  dress 

He  looks  in  the  gla*s  —  but  perfection  is  there. 
Wig,  whiskeis,  and  chin-tufls  .ill  right  to  a  hair ;  » 


Not  a  single  cx-curl  on  his  forehead  he  traces  — 
For  cuilsare  like  Minis'eis,  strange  as  the  case  is, 
The /a/ver  they  aie.  the  more  lirm  in  '.heir  places. 
His  coal  he  next  views  — but   the  coal  who  could 

cloiihl  ? 
For  hisY— im— Ih'sown  Frenchifitd  hand  cut  it  out; 
Eveiy  pucker  and  seam  were  niaJe  mailers  of  state, 
And  a  Grand  Household  Council  v\a!>  held  on  each 

plait. 


*  ?  sl.all  he  new-rig  his 


termxftum^  to  mean  vacation-time;  and  then  the 
modest  cnnsciousnes>  with  which  the  Noble  and 
Leiriied  Translator  his  avoided  toucliin^  upnn  the 
words  ■'  curls  expcdilw,"  (<ir,  as  it  ha*  b.en  otherwise 
read.  "  caiwi'j  expeditis,''*)  and  the  felicitous  idea  of 
his  beiii5  ■'inerniis"  ^\  hen  "withnut  his  wje,"  are 
alin^elher  the  most  deleciablo  Sj  ecimetis  ot  [lara- 
phrase  in  our  language. 

Quale  portentum  neque  militaris 


Dau 


.  alii 


ulelif 


Nee  Jubae  lellus  genca'  leuuum 
Arida  nuirix. 
3  Pone  me  pigris  uhi  nulla  campis 

Arbor  ^Esliva  recre  itur  aura  : 
Quod  Utus  mundi,  net^ulas,  malusque 
Jupi'er  urgct. 
I  must  here  remark,  that  ihe  said  Dick  M— rt— n 
bemg   a  very  good  fellow,   it  was  not   at   all  fair  to 
make  a  "  in^Ius  Jupiter  "  of  him. 

3  Dulce  rideniem  Lalagen  aniabo, 

Dulcc  loquentem. 
■•There  cannot  be  imigined  a  more  happy  illus- 
tration of  Ihe  ineeparabiltiy  of  Chnrch  and  Slate,  and 
their  (what  is  called)  '*  standing  and  falling  together," 
than  this  ancient  apologue  of  Jack  and  Jill.  Jack,  of 
course,  represents  (he  S:ate  in  lUU  ingenious  li.tle 
Allegory, 

Jack  fell  down. 
And  btuh'.  his  Crown, 
And  Jill  came  lurabhng  aflfr. 
»  That  model  of  Frinces,  the  Emperor  Commodus, 
was  particularly  luxurious  in  (he  drt^ssiit»  ;tnd  orna- 
menting of  his  hair.     His  conscience,  however,  would 
not  suffer  him  to  trust  hiniself  with  n  barber,  and  he 
used,  accordingly,  lo  b' vn   off  his  heard— "  limore 
lonsoris."  says   Lampridius.     (Hist,  ^u^wtt.  Scrip- 
tor.)     The  dissolute   /Elius  Verus,  too,  was   equilly 
attentive  to   the  decoration   of  his  wig.     (See  Jul. 
Capilolin.)    Indeed,  this  was  not  ihe  on/y  princely 
trait  in  the  character  of  Verus.  as  he  h;id  likewise  a 
I  most  hearty  and  dignified  contempt  for  his  Wife.     See 
I  his  iusuliing  answer  to  her  in  Sparlianus. 


Then  wh<im  shall  h. 
brother, 
Great  C— mb-rl— d's  Duke,  with  some  kickshawr  or 

olher? 
And  kindly  invent  him  mote  Christian-like  shapes 
For  his  feather  bed  nt-ckclorhs  and  pillory  c^>cs, 
Ahl  nn_I,ere  hi^  ardour  would  meet  w.ih  delays. 
For  the  Duke  bad  been  lifely  pack'd  up  in  new  Stays. 
So  complete  for  ihe  wjnler.'be  >aw  verv  plain 
*r  would  be  devilish  liard  work  to  unpack  him  agtin. 

So,  what's  to  be  done?  — there's  the  Ministers, 

bleS'^  *eni  !  — 
As  he  ninde  Ihe  puppets,  why  shouldn't  he  dress  'em  ? 
"  An  excellent  thought  !-c  <ll  thf  (ailors— be  nimble- 
"Let   Cum   bring  his  spy-glass,  and  II— rtf-d  her 

thimtije  J 
"While  Y— rm— th  shall  give  u?,  in  spile  of  all 

quizzers, 
*'  The  last  Paris  cut  with  his  true  Gallic  scissors," 

So  saying,  he  calls  C— sH— r— gh.  and  the  rest 
Of  his  heaven-horn  statesmen,  to  come  and  be  drest. 
While  Y-rm— Ih,  with  smp-like  and  brisk  expe- 

dition, 
Cuts  up,  all  at  once,  a  lirje  Cath'Iic  Petition 
In  long  tailors'  measures,  (the  P e  crying  '*  Well- 
done!") 
And  first  puts  in  hand  my  Lord  Chancellor  Eld— n. 


CORRESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN  A  LADV  AND  GENTLEMAN, 

UPON  THE  ADVANTAGE  OP  (WHAT  IS 
called)  *' having  law  ®  ON  0NE*8 
SIDE." 

The  Ocntleman''s  Proposal, 

"  I.eege  aurea, 
B'ei  place,  et  lice." 

Come,  fly  to  these  arms,  nor  let  beauties  so  bloomy 

To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied  ; 
Your  piutles   may   revile,   and   your  old   ones  look 
gloomy, 

But,  dearest,  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

Oh!  think  the  delight  of  two  lovers  congenial. 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  iheir  laptureshow  wniai, 

When  once  they  've  got  Law  on  Iheir  side, 

nr  is  a   thing,  that  in  every   King's  reign  has  been 

Then  why  should  il  now  be  deciied  ? 
If  the  F.ther  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  Ihe  Son,  loo  ? 
For  so  argues  Law  on  our  side. 

And,  ev'n  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  be  tried, 
They  can  hut  bring  it  in  •'  a  misfortune,"  my  beauty, 

As  long  as  we  've  Law  on  our  side. 


»  In  allusion  to  Lord  Ell— nb— gh. 


144 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


The  Lady^s  J3ns7ver, 

Hold,  hold,  my  ^ood  Sir,  go  a  liMle  more  slowly: 

For,  srant  me  so  faithless  a  bride, 
Sucli  siiiiie-s  as  we,  a^e  a  liiHe  too  IowIj/j 

To  hope  to  have  Law  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Pr:iice,  to  whose  star  shining 

The  people  should  lotik  for  their  guide, 
Then  your  liiijliuess   (and   welcome!)  might  kick 
down  decorum  — 
You  'd  always  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Were  y^u  ev'n  an  old  Marquis,  in  mischief  grown 
hoary. 

Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 
To  [he pleasures  of  vice,  is  alive  to  Us  glory  ~~ 

you  still  would  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Hut  for  you,  Sir,  Crim.  Con.  is  a  path  full  of  troubles  ; 

By  my  advice  therefore  abide. 
And  leave  the  pursuit  lu  those  Princes  and  Noble* 

Who  iiave  such  a  Law  on  their  side. 


OCCASIONAL    ADDRESS 

FOR  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  NEW  THEATRE 
OF  bT     ST— PH— N, 

INTENDED  TO  HAVE  BEEN  SPOKEN  BY 
THE  PROPRIETOR  IN  FULL  COSTUME, 
ON    THE    24tH    of    NOVEMBER,  1612. 

This  day  a  New  House,  for  your  edification, 
VVe  open,  nv  st  thinking  and  i  ight-he.ided  n.ilion  ! 
F.vcusu  the  materials  — though  rotten  and  bad, 
'IhtT  're  I  he  hesl  tha'  for  ninney  just  now  could  be  had  ; 
And",  if  echo  the  charm  of  such  hi-uses  should  be, 
You  will  find  it  shall  echo  my  speech  to  a  T. 

As  for  actors,  we  've  got  the  old  Company  yet, 
The  sime  motlev.  odd,  tragi-comical  set; 
And  considVinj^  thev  all  weie  bui  clerks  t'other  day, 
It  is  truly  surprising  hr.w  well  they  can  ]>l.iv. 
Our  Manager,!  [he,  who  in  Uls'er  was  nursf, 
And  sung  Erai  ^o  Brah  for  the  galle  ies  (ir-I, 
But,  on  lindiiig  /^tfl-inierest  a  much  beUer  thing, 
ChanjM  his  note  of  a  sudden,  to  God  save  the  Khig,) 
Sfill  wise  as  be  's  blooming,  and  fat  as  he  s  clever, 
Himself  and  his  speeches  as  lengthy  as  ever. 
Here  oilers  you  still  the  full  use  of  his  bre.ith. 
Your  devoted  and  long-winded  proser  till  death. 

Vou  remember  last  season,  when  things  went  per- 

We  had  t '  engage  (as  a  block  to  rehearse  on) 
One  Mr.  V— ns — ti— t,  a  good  sort  of  person. 
Who's  also  euiploy'd  for  this  stason  In  plav. 
In  "  Raising  ihe  Wind,'' and  "the  Devil  to  Fay."^ 
We  expect  too— at  least  we've  been  plotting  and 

Tn  eel  thai  t:r<a'  actnr  fmm  Liverpool,  C— nn— g ; 
And,  a^  ..[  '!:'■  (  rrv,,,  '[lore  "s  nothmi:  attracts 
Like  a  L{      !  ,.        n'.iMM-.Mi-hi  HI 'iwixt  the  acts. 

If  tlu-  Ml    .  ',      !  ;    ^^  ith'heh'-l|.of  SirP— ph-m, 

Gi-n|:r,.-.  .'  r  ■  Mv  nn,!  C— nn-gsh-.uldslop"em, 
Wh<>kn'>\vs  hut  we  'tl  hnve  to  announce  in  the  papers, 
*' Grand  h^ht — econd  time — with  addi'ional  capers." 

Be  your  taste  for  the  ludicrous,  humdrnm,  or  sad, 
There  is  pleniv  of  each  in  this  House  lo  he  h.td. 
Where  our  Manager  rule'h,  there  weeping  will  be, 
Fi»r  a  dead  hand  at  tragedy  always  was  he  j 


1  Lnrd  C— sti— r— gh. 
^  He  had  recently  been  appointed  Cha 
Exchetjuer. 


And  ihere  never  was  dealer  in  dagger  and  cup, 

Who  50  srnili?tgly  goX  all  his  tragedies  up. 

His  powers  poor  Ireland  will  never  foiget. 

And  Ihe  widows  of  Walcheren  weep  o'er  them  yet. 

So  much  for  the  actors;  — for  se::rel  machinery. 
Traps,  ai'd  deceptions,  and  shitting  of  scenery, 
Y— nn— ih  and  Cum  aie  tlie  best  we  can  find, 
To  transaci  all  that  tiickery  business  behind. 
The  former's  emploj'd  lr.o  to  teach  us  French  jigs, 
Keep  Ihe  whiskers  in  curl,  and  look  after  the  wigs. 

In  taking  my  leave  now,  I  've  only  to  say, 
A  few  ^eats  in  the  florise,  not  as  yet  sold  away. 
May  be  had  of  the  Manager,  Pat  C— stl— r— gh. 


THE    SALE    OF    THE    TOOLS 

Inblrnmenla  rvuni. —  Tacitus, 

Here's  a  choice  set  of  Tools  for  you.  Ge'mmen  and 

Ladies, 
They  '11  fit  you  qui'e  handy,  whatever  your  trade  is ; 
(Except  it  be  CabiikLt-rnaking ;  —  no  doubt, 
In  that  delicate  service  they  're  lather  wotw  out ; 
Though  their  owner,  bright  youth!  If  he'd  had  his 

own  will. 
Would  have  bungled  away  with  titem  joyously  still.) 
You  can  see  they've  been  pretty  well  hack'd  —  and 

Whar  tool  is  there  job  afier  job  wil!  not  hack? 

Their  edge  is  but  dullish,  it  must  be  confess'd, 

And  thfir  temper,  like  E nb'r h's,  none  of  Ihe 

best; 
But  you  '11  liod  them  good  hard-working  Tools,  upon 

trying, 
Wer'l  but  fir  their  brass^  they  are  well  worth  the 

buying; 
They're  famous  fnr  nnking  IHnds,  sliders^  and  screens^ 
And  aie,  someof  ihtm,  excellent  turning  machines. 

1  he  first  Tool  I  '11  put  up  (thev  call  it  a  Chanctllor) 
Heavy  concern  ro  b  th  puiclM.er  and  seller. 
Though  made  of  pig  iron,  \et  worthy  of  note  't  is, 
'Tis  ready  to  melt  at  a  half  minute's  notice. 3 
Who  bids?  Gen  le  buyer!  'twill  turn  a^  thou  shapes!  j 
'  r  will  make  a  g  nd  ihumb-crew  lo  tor  ure  a  Papist  j 
Or  else  a  cramp-iron,  to  slick  in  the  wall 
Of  some  church  Ihal  old  women  are  feaiful  will  fall; 
Or  better,  perhaps,  (for  I  'm  guessing  at  ramloni,) 
A  hfavv  ding-chain  for  some  L-lwyer'^  old  Tandem. 
Will  nobody  bid?  It  is  cheap,  I  am  sure,  Sir- 
Once,   twice. —  going,   going,— thrice,  gone! — it  is 

yours,  Sir. 
To  pay  re-idy  money  you  sha'n't  be  distres', 
As  a  hill  at  long  date  suits  the  Chancellor  best. 

Come,  Where's  the  next  Tool?  — Oh!  'tis  herein 

This  implement,  Ge'mnien,  at  first  was  a  Vice; 
(A  tenacious  and  close  sent  of  to^d.  that  will  let 
Nolhing  out  of  its  gra^p  it  once  happens  tn  get ;) 
But  it  >i[ice  has  leceived  a  new  coa'ing  of  Tm, 
Bright  enongh  for  a  Prince  to  behold  himself  m. 
Come,  what  shall  we  say  for  it  ?  biiskly  !  bid  on, 
VVe  '11  the  sooner  get  rid  of  it  —  going  —  quite  gone, 
h  tools,  if  not  quickly  knnck'ddown, 
t  cost  their  owner—  how  much  ?  why,  a 


God  be 

Might  at 

Crown 

The  next  Tool  I  'II  set  up  has  hardly  hnd  handsel  or 
Trial  as  yet,  and  is  also  a  Chancellor- 
Such  dull  things  ns  these  should  be  sold  by  the  gross  ; 
Yet.  dull  a-  it  is,  't  will  be  found  to  shaoe  cZose, 
And  like  other  close  shavers,  some  counge  lo  gather, 
This  blade  first  began  by  a  flourish  on  leather.* 

3  An  allusion  to  Lord  Eld — n's  lachrymose  tenden- 
cies. 

4  "Of  Ihe  tixes  proposed  by  Mr.  Vansittart,  that 
principally  opposed  in  Parli.iment  was  Ihe  additional 
duly  on  leither."  — .^7in.  Register. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


145 


]    You  shall  have  it  for  nothing — then,  marvel  with  nie 

At  the  leirilile  (iiiktring  work  tliere  must  be, 
'  Whore  >  Tnol  iuch  as  this  is  (I  'II  leave  you  to  judge  it) 
U  placed  by  ill  luck  a.  the  top  of  tht  Budget  I 


LITTLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 
A    BALLAD. 


DEDICATED   TO   THE    RT.    HON.    CH — RL — S 
ABB— T. 


Et  einf-are  pares. 

1S13. 
Tflere  was  a  little  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  Soul, 
And  he  said,  •'  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try, 
"Whellier  it's  within  our  reach 
"  To  make  up  n  little  Speech, 
"Just  between  little  you  and  lillle  I,  1, 1, 
"  Just  between  little  you  and  little  1  !"- 

Then  said  his  little  Soul, 

Peeping  from  her  little  hole, 
**  I  protest,  little  Man,  you  are  s'out,  stout,  stout, 

*'  Hut,  if  it 's  noi  uncivil, 

"  I'ray  tell  me  what  ttie  devil 
"Must  our  liitle,  little  speech  be  about,  bout, bout, 
"  Must  our  liitle,  little  speech  be  about  ?" 

The  little  Man  Inok'd  b\g, 
Wilh  th'  assistance  of  his  wi^. 
And  he  call'd  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order, 
Till  she  fe»rM  he  *d  make  her  jog  in 
■Jo  gaol,  like  Thomas  Crojgan, 
(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  litlle  Man  then  spike, 

*' Little  snul,  it  is  no  joke. 
**  For  as  sure  as  J — cky  F— II — r  loves  a  sup,  sup,  sup, 

"  I  will  tell  ttie  Prince  and  People 

"  What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
"And  my  liitle  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up,  up.  up, 
*•  And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up." 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Little  Man  and  little  .Soul 
Went  and  spoke  Iheir  little  speech  to  a  tittle,  tittle, 
little. 
And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  prif;?ish  liitle  pair 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  lillle.  little,  litlle, 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  little  I 


REINFORCEMENTS     FOR     LORD 
WELLINGTON. 


1S13. 
As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  ?nt. 
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  off  ttie  Ministry,  bndy  and  bones  to  him  ? 
'Ihe.e's  not  in  all  England,  I  'd  venture  to  swear. 
Any  men  we  could  half  so  conveniently  spare; 
And,  though  they  've  been  helping  the  French  for 
\l  years  pisi, 

j(  We  niay  thus  make  them  useful  to  England  at  last. 


C— sll— r— gh  in  our  sieges  might  save  some  disgrace*, 
Being  us'd  tci  Ihe  tahhig  and  keeping  of  places; 
And  Volunteer  C-iin-g,  still  ready  for  joining, 
Might  show  oll'his  talent  for  sly  uiidirmtning. 
Cnnid  the  Household  but  spare" us  its  glory  and  pride. 
Old  H  — df~t  at  Aorji-UJWif  again  might  be  tried. 
And  tlie  C— f  J— st— e  make  2i bold  charge  aX  his  side: 
While  V— ns— tl— I  cond  victual  Ihe  troops  upon  (icA, 
And  the  Doctor  look  after  the  baggage  and  sick- 
Nay,  I  do  not  see  why  the  great  R— g— t  himself 
Should,  in  times  such  as  these,  stay  at  home  on  the 

shelf: 
Though  ihiough  narrow detiles  he's  not  fitted  to  pass. 
Vet  who  could  resist,  if  he  bore  down  en  masse r 
And  though  f'ff,  of  an  evening,  perhaps  he  niigtil  prove. 
Like  our  Spanish  confed'rates,  "  unable  10  niove."  i 
Yet  there 'soile  thing  in  war  of  advaniage  unbounded. 
Which  is,  that  he  could  not  with  ease  be  surroumicd. 

In  my  next  I  shall  sing  of  their  arms  and  equipment ; 
At  preseot  no  more,  but — good  luck  to  the  shipment ! 


HORACE,   ODE    I.    LIB.    III. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

Otii  prr>'Rnum  vulgus  ft  arceo  : 
Favele  liiiKui.s:  carmiiia  non  prlu« 
Au'lila  Musarum  sacerdns 
Virginitiua  piierihtjue  canto. 
Regum  timendorum  in  propriiis  ereges, 
Beges  in  ipi>os  imperium  cut  Joviu. 

1SI3. 
I  hale  thee,  oh.  Mob,  as  my  Lady  hales  delf ; 

To  .sir  Francis  I  'II  give  up  ihv  claps  and  ihy  hisset, 
Leave  old  Magna  Charta  to  shift  for  itself. 
And,  like  G— d*v--n,  write  books  fur  young  mas- 


md 


Oh  !  it  IS  not  high  rank  thai  can  make  the  heait  merry. 
Even  monarclis  themselves  are  not  free  from  mis- 
hap: 
Though  the  Lords  of  Westphalia  must  qualie  before 
Jerry, 
Poor  Jerry  himself  has  to  quake  before  Nap. 


HORACE,  ODE  XXXVIIL  LIB.  L 
A     FRAGMENT. 

Persicnfl  odi,  pner,  ddparatuB  ; 

Mitte  sccrart,  RoeH  v»o  I'^cortim 
Sera  inorelur. 

TRANSL.\TED  BY  A  TREASURY  CLERK, 
WHILE  WAITING  DINNER  FOR  THE 
RIGHT     HON.    G — RGE     R — SE. 

Boy,  tell  the  Cook  that  I  hate  all  nick-nackeries, 
Fricassees,  vol-au-venis,  [lutfs.  and  gim-crackeries  — 
Six  by  Ihe  Horse-Gund^  '  — old  Geoigv  is  late  — 
Bu'  conie— lay  the  lable-cloih— pounds  !  do  not  wait, 
Nor  atop  to  inquire,  while  'he  dinner  is  slaving. 
At  which  of  his  pKices  Old  R— e  is  delaying  1  a 


'  The  charac'er  given  to  the  Spanish  soldier,  in  Sir 
John  Murray's  memorable  dfs|iatch. 

^  The  literal  closeness  of  Ihe  version  here  cannot 
bui  be  admiied.  The  Tianslaor  has  added  a  long, 
erudite,  and  flowery  note  upon  Rcscs,  of  *vhich  I  can 
merely  give  a  speci'men  a'  present.  In  tlie  hist  plrce, 
he  ransacks  llie  Uosarium  Politirnuio(  Ihe  Persian 
poet  Sadi,  with  Ihe  hope  r'f  linding  some  Political 
Roses,  to  match  the  gentlentaii  in  the  text  —  but  in 
vain;  he  Hien  tells  us  that  Ciceio  accused  Verres  of 


13 


146 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


IMTROMPTU, 

UPON  BEING  OBLIGED  TO  LEAVE  A  PLEA- 
SANT PARTY,  FROM  THE  WANT  OF  A 
PAIR  OF  BREKCHKS  TO  DRESS  FOR  DIN- 
NER   IN. 

1810. 
Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  ditTerence  is, 

'I'linugh  a  paradi-e  ctcli  has  been  forc'd  to  resign, 
Thai  he  never  wore  breeches,  (ill  tuni'd  out  nf  his, 
While,  for  want  uf  uiy  bieeches,  I  'ni  banish'd  from 


re|)osirji?  upon  a  cushion  "  Melitenai  rosa  farlumy^' 
which,  from  the  odd  mixture  of  words,  he  supposes  to 
be  a  kmJ  of  Iri^h  Bed  of  Roses,  like  Lord  Castle- 
reach's.  The  learned  Clerk  next  favours  us  with 
some  remarks  upon  a  well-known  punning  epiiaphon 
fair  Rosamond,  and  expresses  a  most  loyal  hope,  ihat, 
if  **  Rosa  munda  "  mean  •*  a  Rose  with  clean  hands  " 
it  may  be  found  applicable  to  Ibe  Right  Honourable 


LORD  WELLINGTON  AND  THE    MINISTERS, 

1813. 
So  gently  in  peace  Alcibiades  smil'd, 

While  in  battle  he  shone  forlh  so  terribly  ffrand, 
That  the  emblem  thev  ^ravM  on  his  seal,  was  a  child 

With  a  lUundtrbolt  ptac'd  in  its  mnuceut  hand. 

Oh,  Wellington,  long  as  such  Ministers  wield 
Your  magnificent  a-im,  the  same  emblem  will  do; 

For  while  l/iey'ie  in  the  Council  and  you  in  the  Field,  ' 
We  've  the  babies  in  them^  and  the  Ihunda-  m  yuu  I  . 


Rose  in  question.  He  then  dwells  at  some  length 
upon  the  "  Kosa  aurca^^''  which,  1houa;h  descriptive,  ■ 
in  one  sense,  of  the  old  Treasury  Statesman,  yet,  as 
being  consecrated  and  worn  by  the  Pope,  must,  of 
course,  not  be  biought  into  the  same  atmosphere  with 
him.  Lastly,  in  reference  to  the  words  ^^ old  Rose,'* 
he  winds  up  with  the  pathetic  lamentation  of  the  Poet 
"  consenuisse  Rosas.''  The  whole  nore  indeed  dhows 
a  knowledge  of  Roses,  that  is  quite  edifying. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


DEDICATION. 

TO   THE   MARCHIONESS    DOWAGER 
OF   DONEGAL. 

It  13  now  many  years  since,  in  a  Letter  prefixed  to 
the  Third  Number  of  the  Irish  Melodies,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  inscribing  the  Poems  of  Ihat  work  to  your 
Ladyship,  as  to  one  whose  character  reflected  honour 
oil  the  country  to  which  they  relate,  and  whose  friend- 
sliip  had  long  been  the  pride  and  happiness  of  their 
Author.  With  the  same  feelings  of  attection  and 
respect,  confirmed  if  not  increased  by  the  experience 
of  every  succeeding  year,  1  now  place  those  Poems  in 
their  present  new  form  under  your  protection,  and 

With  perfect  sincerity, 
Your  Ladyship's  ever  attached  friend, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


PREFACE. 

Though  an  edition  of  the  Poetry  ff  the  Irish  Melo. 
dies,  separate  from  the  Music,  has  long  been  called 
for,  yet,  having,  for  many  reasons,  a  strong  objection 
to  this  sort  of  "divorce,  I  should  with  difficulty  have 
consented  to  a  disunion  of  the  words  from  the  airs, 
had  it  depended  solely  upon  me  to  keep  them  quietly 
and  indissniubly  together,  Bu',  besides  the  various 
shapes  in  which  these,  as  well  as  my  other  lyrical 
wrilineis,  have  been  published  throughout  America, 
they  are  included,  of  course,  in  all  theedili.-ns  of  my 
wo'ks  prined  on  ihe  CoMtine-it,  and  have  also  ap- 
peared,  in  a  volume  full  of  tvpognphical  enors,  in 
Dublin.  I  have  therefore  readily  acceded  to  ihe  wish 
expressed  by  the  Proprietor  of  the  Irish  Meloiies,  for 
a  revised  and  cnmpieie  edition  of  the  poetry  of  the 
Work,  though  well  aware  that  my  verges  must  lose 
even  more  ihan  Ihe  "  miimse  d'niidium^*  in  being 
detached  from  the  beautiful  airs  lo  which  it  was  Iheir 
'  good  fortune  to  be  a^socil^ed. 

I  The  Advertisements  which  were  prefixed  to  the 
[  different  numbers,  the  Prefatory  Le'ier  upon  Mu»ic, 
I  &c.  will  be  found  in  an  Appendix  at  the  end  of  the 
I  Volume. 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THEE. 

Go  where  glory  wai's  thee. 
But  while  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh!  still  remember  me. 
When  Ihe  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 

Oh  I  then  remember  me. 
Other  arms  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee, 
All  the  jojs  thai  bless  ihee, 

Svveeier  far  may  be  ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest, 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me  ! 

When,  at  eve,  thou  rovest 
By  Ihe  s'ar  ihou  lovest, 

Oh  I  then  remember  me. 
Think,  when  home  reluming. 
Bright  we 


'  clo 


liber  me. 


Oh!  thu 
Oft  as  sun 
Wlien  thir 


Once  so  lov'd  by  ihee, 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them 
Her  who  made  Ihee  love  then 

Oh!  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying, 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 

(Jh !  then  remember  ine. 
And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing, 

Oh!  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soul  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heart  appealing. 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee  ; 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Str.Tins  I  us'd  to  sing  thee,— 

Oh '  then  remember  me. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


147 


WAR     SONG. 

REMEMBER  THE  GLORIES  OF  BRIEN  THE 
BRAVE.  I 

Remember  the  glnnes  of  Brien  the  brave, 

Th<»'  the  (Ji*ys  of  the  hero  are  o'er  ; 
Tho'  lost  m  Mononia  i  ai.d  cold  in  the  grave, 

He  returns  to  Kiiikora3  no  more. 
The  star  of  the  helil.  which  so  ofien  hath  pour'd 

l(s  beam  nn  the  battle,  is  set ; 
But  Ciiough  of  its  glory  remains  on  each  sword. 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet. 

Mononia!  when  Nature  embellish'd  the  tint 

Of  thy  fields,  and  thy  niount.iins  so  (air. 
Did  she  ever  intend  thai  a  tyrant  sliould  print 

The  footatep  of  >lavery  there  ? 
No !  Freedom,  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  lell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That  M  is  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  aee  at  thy  shrine, 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  iu  chains. 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions,  who  stood  * 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side; 
While  the  moss  of 'he  valley  grew  led  with  their  blood, 

They  stirrVI  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died. 
That  sun  which  now  blesse.  our  arms  with  his  light, 

S«w  them  fall  upnn  Ossnry's  plain  ;  — 
Oh  :  let  him  n-it  bimh,  when  he  leaves  us  to-night, 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain. 


ERIN!   THE    TEAR    AND    THE    SMILE    IN 
THINE  EYES. 

Erin,  the  tear  nnd  (he  smile  in  thine  eyes, 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skies  1 
Shining  through  sorrow's  sireani, 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam, 
Thy  suns  with  doubtful  gleam, 
Weep  while  they  rise. 

Erin,  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin,  thy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increase, 

Till,  like  the  raini  ow'b  light, 

Thy  various  lints  unite. 

And  form  in  heaven's  sight 
One  arch  of  peace  1 


OH!  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

Oh !  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade. 
Where  cold  and  unhonour'd  his  relics  are  laid  : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark,  be  the  tears  ihat  we  shed. 
As  the  night-dew  lh;tt  fills  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 


i  Brian  Bnrnmhe.  the  great  monarch  of  Ireland, 
who  W.18  killed  M  the  battle  of  Clontarf,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  nth  century,  afler  having  defeated  the 
Dalies  in  twenty-five  engagements. 

0  Munster.  3  The  palace  of  Brien. 

-<  This  alludes  to  an  interesting  circumstance  Telafed 
of  the  Dalgais  (he  favourite  troops  of  Brien,  when 
they  were  interrupted  in  iheir  return  from  the  battle 
of  Clontarf,  by  Filzpatrick,  prince  of  Ossoiy,  The 
wounded  men  entrea'ed  that  they  might  be  allowed  to 
fight  with  the  rest.  _  Ae(  stakes  (they  said)  be  stuck 
in  the  e^ouiid,  and  suffer  each  of  us,  tied  to  and  sttp- 
ported  by  one  of  these  stakes,  to  be  placed  in  his  rank 
bif  the  side  of  a  sound  man."  •*  Between  seven  and 
eight  hundred  wounded  men  (adds  O'Halloran)  pale. 
emaciated,  and  supported  in  this  manner,  appeared 
mixed  with  the  foremost  of  the  troops  ;  —  never  was 
iuch  another  sight  exhibited." — History  of  Ireland, 
book  xii.  chap.  i. 


Bui  the  ni^ht-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it  weep% 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleep*; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  cur  souls. 


WHEN  HE,  WHO  ADCRES  THEE. 

When  he,  who  adores  thee,  has  left  but  the  name 

Of  his  t^anlt  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
Oh  !  say  wilt  then  weep,  when  they  darken  the  fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd  ? 
Yes.  weep,  and  however  my  fues  may  condrnin, 

Thy  tears  shall  etlace  iheir  decree  ; 
For  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee. 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  earliest  love ; 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine  ; 
In  my  last  humble  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above, 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine. 
Oh  I  blest  are  ttie  lovers  and  friends  who  bhall  live 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see  ; 
But  the  next  dearest  blessing  that  Heaven  can  give 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee. 


THE  HARP  THAT  ONCE   THROUGH  TARA'S 
HALLS, 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  balls 

The  soul  of  music  shed. 
Now  hangs  as  mnte  on  Tara's  walls, 

As  if  thatM»ul  were  fled.— 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er, 
And  hearts,  Ihat  once  beat  high  for  praise. 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 

No  mere  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells; 
The  chord  alone,  (hat  breaks  at  night. 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Fieednm  now  so  seldom  wakes. 

The  only  throb  ..he  gives, 
Ib  when  some  heirt  indignant  breaks, 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 


FLY    NOT    YET, 

Fly  not  yet,  't  is  just  the  hour. 
When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flower 
That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light, 
Begins  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night, 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon. 
T  was  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shade 
That  beauty  and  the  moon  were  made; 
'T  is  then  their  soft  attractions  glowing 
Set  the  tides  and  goblets  flowing. 

Oh!  stay,— Oh!  stay,— 
Joy  so  seldom  weaver  a  chain 
Like  this  to-nighi,  that  oh,  't  is  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 

Fly  not  yet,  the  fnunt  th.it  play'd 

111  times  of  old  through  Ammon'a  shade,^ 

Thoueh  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran, 

Yet  still,  like  ^oul8  of  mirth,  began 

To  burn  when  night  was  near. 
And  thus,  should  woman's  heart  and  looki 
At  noon  be  cold  as  winter  brooks, 


8  Solis  Fons,  near  the  Temple  of  Ammon. 


148 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


Nor  kindle  lill  the  night,  relurnina;, 
Brings  Iheir  genial  hour  for  burning. 

Oh  1  stay,— Oh  1  stay,— 
When  did  morning  evei  break, 
And  lind  sucli  beaining  eyes  awake 

Ao  those  that  sijaikle  here  ? 


OH  I  THINK   NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE  ALWAYS 
AS  LIGHT. 

Oh!  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light, 

And  as  free  front  a  pang  as  Ihey  seem  lo  you  now; 
Nor  expect  that  the  htarl-be^ming  smile  utto-night 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  niy  brow. 
No  :  —  lite  is  a  waste  oi  wearisome  hours. 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns  ; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flowers, 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touched  by  the  tliorns. 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  awhile  — 

May  we  never  meet  wor^e,  in  our  pilgrimage  here, 
Than  the  tear  thai  enjoyment  may  gild  with  a  smile, 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  lo  a  tear. 

The  thread  of  our  life  would  be  dark,  Heaven  knows  ! 

If  it  were  not  with  fnendirliip  and  love  itilertwin'd  J 
And  I  care  not  liow  soou  I  may  sink  to  repose, 

When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to  my 
mind. 
But  they  who  have  lov'd  the  fondest,  the  purest. 

Too  ofttii  have  v\ept  o'er  the  dream  Ihey  believ'd  ; 
And  the  heait  that   has  sluuiber'd  iu  friendship  se 
curest, 

Is  happy  indeed  if  't  was  never  deceiv'd. 
But  send  round  the  bowl ;  while  a  relic  of  truth 

Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  praytr shall  be  mine, — 
That  the  sunshine  of  Inve  may  illumine  our  youth, 

And  the  moonlight  of  friendship   console  our  de- 
cline. 


THO'  THE  LAST  GLIMPSE  OF   ERIN    WITH 
SORROW  I  SEE. 


Tho'  the  last  elimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see, 

Yet  wherever  thou  art  sliaM  seem  Erin  to  me; 

In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  siill  be  my  home, 

And  thine  eyes  make  my  clinjate  wherever  vre  roam. 

To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  nicky  shore, 
Where  the  eve  of  the  s'ranger  can  haunt  us  no  more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  tlie  rough  wind, 
Less  rude  than  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind. 

And  I  '11  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair  as  graceful  it  wreaihes, 
And  hang  o'er  (hy  soft  Naip,  as  wildly  it  breathes; 
Nor  dread  that  the  cold-heaited  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that  hair.i 


t  "  In  the  Iwen'y-eighth  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII,,  an  Act  was  made  respecting  the  habits,  and 
dress  in  eeneral.  of  the  Irish,  whereby  all  |  ersous 
were  restrained  from  being  shirr  or  shaven  above  the 
ears,  or  from  wearing  Glibbes,  or  Coulins  (long 
locks),  on  their  heads,  or  hiir  on  their  upper  lip, 
called  Cromnieal.  (in  tjiis  occasion  a  song  was  writ- 
ten by  one  of  our  batds,  in  v\  hich  an  Irish  viigin  is 
made  to  give  the  preference  to  her  dear  Coulin  (or 
the  youth  with  ilie  HnwinK  locks)  to  all  strangers  (by 
which  the  English  were  meint).  or  those  who  wore 
their  habits.  Of  this  song,  the  air  alone  has  reached 
us,  and  is  univer-ally  admired."—  lViilkcr''s  Histori- 
cal Memoirs  of  Irish  Sards,  p.  134.  Mr.  Walker 
informs  us  also,  that,  about  the  sanie  period,  there 
were  some  harsh  measures  taken  against  the  Irish 
Mu.Etrels. 


RICH    AND    RARE   WERE    THE    GEMS  SUE 

WORE.^ 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 

And  a  bright  gold  rin^  on  her  wand  she  borej 

But  oh  !  her  beauty  was  far  beyor.d 

Her  sparkling  gems,  or  snow-wbile  wand. 

"  Lady  !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  s'ray, 

"So  lone  and  lovely  through  this  bleak  way? 

"  Are  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold, 

"  As  not  to  he  tempted  by  wonian  or  gold  ?  " 

"  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 

"No  son  of  Erin  will  otternie  harm:  — 

''  For  though  they  love  woman  and  golden  store, 

"Sir  Knight!  tliey  love  hone ur  and  virtue  morel" 

On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  sniile 
In  safetv  lighted  her  rnuiid  the  green  isle; 
And  bit'st  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  daikness  and  coldness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  ting'd  with  a  warm  sunny  smile, 
Though  the  coldheart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  while. 
One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o"er  our  joys  and  our  woes, 
To  which  life  nothing  darker  or  brighter  can  bring 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm  and  affliction  no  sting  — 

Oh  !  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stay. 
Like  a  dead,  leahess  branch  in  the  summer's  bright 

ray; 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  round  it  in  vam, 
It  may  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again. 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.3 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vile  in  whose  bnsnm  the  bright  waters  meet  ;* 
Oh!  the  last  rays  of  feelmgand  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  froni  my  heart. 
Yet  it  was  not  that  na'ure  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brighle-t  of  green  ; 
'T  was  not  her  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
Oh  I  no, —  it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

*T  was  that  friends,  the  belov'd  of  my  bosom,  were 


2  This  ballad  is  founded  upon  the  following  anec- 
dote : — "The  people  were  inspired  with  such  a  spirit 
of  honour,  virtue,  and  religion,  by  the  great  example 
of  Brian,  and  by  his  excellent  administration,  tha',  as 
a  proof  of  it,  we  are  informed  that  a  young  lady  of 
great  beauty,  adorned  with  jewels  and  a  costly  die  s, 
undertook  a  j'Hirney  alone,  from  one  end  of  the  king- 
dom to  the  other.  \\'\  h  a  wand  only  in  her  hand,  at 
the  top  of  which  was  a  rine  of  exceeding  great  value; 
and  such  an  impression  had  the  laws  and  government 
of  this  Monarch  made  on  the  minds  of  all  the  people, 
that  no  attempt  was  made  upon  her  hnnnur,  nor  was 
she  robbed  of  her  clothes  c  jewels." — IVamer^s  Hit- 
to7~y  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  x. 

3  "The  Meeting  of  the  Waters"  forms  a  part  of 
that  beautiful  scenery  which  lies  between  Kalhdruni 
and  Arklow,  in  the  county  of  Wicklow,  and  these 
lines  were  suggested  by  a  visit  to  this  romantic  spot, 
in  the  summer  of  the  year  ISO/. 

4  The  rivers  Avon  and  Avoca, 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


149 


wc  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Avoci !  how  calm  could  1  rest 

In  Ihy  b.>s<.m  of  sliaJe,  wiih  the  friends  I  love  besf^ 

Where   the  atomia  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease, 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  miDgled  in  peace. 


HOW  DEAR  TO  ME  THE  HOUR. 

How  dear  lo  me  the  hour  when  daylight  dies, 
And  suiibtanis  nifti  along  the  silent  sea, 

For  then  sweet  dreams  of  other  days  aiise. 
And  memory  breathes  her  vesper  sigh  lo  ttiee. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  line  of  light,  that  pbys 

Along  the  smooth  wave  tow'rd  the  burning  west, 

3  long  to  tread  that  golden  path  of  riys, 
And  tbiuk  U  would  lead  to  some  bright  isle  of  rest. 


TAKE  BACK  THE  VIRGIN   PAGE, 
WRITTEN   ON   RETURNING  A  CLANK    BOOK. 

Take  back  the  virgin  page, 

White  and  unwritten  still; 
Some  haiid  more  calm  and  sage, 

The  leal  must  fill. 
Thoughts  come,  as  pure  as  light, 

Pure  as  even  you  require  ; 
But,  oh  !  e'ch  woid  I  write 

Love  turns  to  lire. 

Yet  let  me  keep  the  book  : 

Oft  shall  my  heart  renew, 
When  on  its  leaves  I  look, 

Dear  thnunhts  of  ynu. 
Like  you,  't  is  fair  and  bright; 

Like  you,  too  bright  and  fair 
To  tel  wild  p.is^ion  write 

One  wrung  wish  there. 

Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  1  roam, 
Shi'uld  calmer  ihnu£;his  arise 

TowVds  you  and  home  j 
Fancy  may  trace  ^onle  line, 

Worthy  ihoae  eyes  to  meet, 
Thoughts  that  not  burn,  but  shine, 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet. 

And  as,  o'er  ocean  far. 

Seamen  Iheir  records  keep, 
Led  by  some  hidden  star 

Through  the  cnid  deep; 
So  may  the  words  I  write 

Tel!  thro'  what  storm"  I  stray  — 
You  still  the  unseen  light, 

Guiding  ::ty  way. 


THE    LEGACY. 

Whe^  in  death  I  shall  calmly  recline, 
0  bear  mv  heart  lo  my  mistress  dear ; 

Tell  her  it  I'iv'd  upon  smiles  and  wine 
Of  Ihe  brightest  tme,  while  it  lin^er'd  h«' 

Bid  her  cot  shed  one  tear  of  sorrow- 
To  sully  a  heait  sn  brilliant  and  light ; 

But  balmy  dn)ps  of  the  red  grape  borrow. 
To  bathe  Ihe  relic  from  mo-n  till  night. 


When  the  light  of  my  song  is  o'er, 

Then  take  my  harp  to  your  ancient  ball; 
Hang  it  up  al  that  friendly  door, 

Where  weary  travelle  s  love  to  call.' 
Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken, 

Revive  its  soft  note  in  passing  along. 
Oh  !  let  one  thought  of  its  master  waken 

Your  watmesl  smile  for  the  child  of  song. 

Keep  this  cup,  which  is  now  o'erflowing, 

To  grace  yuur  revel,  «  hen  I  'm  at  rest  ; 
Never',  oh  !  never  its  balm  bestowing 

On  lips  thai  btauty  halh  seldnm  blest. 
But  when  s-mie  warm  devoted  lover 

To  her  he  adnies  shall  lia'he  its  brim, 
Then,  then  my  spirit  around  stiall  hover. 

And  halluw  each  drop  tliat  fuama  fur  him. 


HOW  OFT  HAS  THE   BENSHEE  CRIED 

How  oft  has  the  Renshee  cried, 
How  oft  has  death  uniied 
Bright  links  that  Glory  wove, 
Sweet  bonds  entwtn'd  by  Love  ! 

Peace  to  e.ich  manly  soul  that  sleepeth  ; 

Rest  to  each  faithful  eye  that  weejieth; 
Long  niay  the  fair  and  brave 
Sigh  o'er  Ihe  hero's  grave. 

We're  fall'n  ui)on  gloomy  days  I  * 

Star  after  siar  decays, 

Every  bright  name,  that  shed 

Light  o'er  the  land,  is  i/ed. 
Dark  falls  the  tear  of  him  who  mourneth 
Lost  joy,  or  hope  that  ue*er  returnelh  ; 

But  brighily  (Iowa  the  tear. 

Wept  o'er  a  hero's  bier. 

Quench'd  are  our  beacon  lights  — 
'Jhoii,  of  the  Hundred  Fighls  !  3 
Thnu,  on  whose  burning  tongue 
Truth,  peace,  and  freedom  hung!  * 

Both  mute,—  but  long  as  valour  shineth. 

Or  mercy's  soul  at  war  repineih, 
So  long  shall  Erin's  pi  ide 
Tell  how  they  liv'd  and  died. 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THROUGH  THIS  WORLD. 

We  may  roam  thro'  this  world,  like  a  child  at  a  feast, 

Who  hut  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flies  to  the  rest ; 
And,  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  the  east, 

We  may  order  our  wings  and  be  ofl'  to  the  we&t : 
Bui  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  sunbriglit  eyea. 


1  '•  Tn  every  Jiouse  was  one  or  two  harps,  free  tt^  all 
travellers,  v'bo  were  the  more  caressed,  (he  mure 
they  excelled  in  music." —  CHalloran. 

2  I  have  endeavoured  here,  without  losing  that 
Irish  character,  which  it  is  my  object  to  ptei^crve 
throushout  this  work,  to  alludeto  Ihe  sad  and  omi- 
nous fatality,  by  which  England  has  been  deprived  of 
so  many  great  and  good  men.  at  a  moment  when  she 
Diost  requires  all  the  aids  ot  talent  and  integrity. 

3  This  designation,  which  has  been  before  ajiplied 
to  Lord  Nelson,  is  the  title  given  to  a  celebrated  Irish 
Hero,  in  a  Poem  by  O'Guive,  Ihe  bard  of  OWiel, 
which  is  quoted  in  the  "  Philosophical  Survey  of  the 
South  of  Ireland,"  p.  433.  "Con,  of  the  hundred 
Fights,  sleep  in  thy  grass-grown  tomb,  and  upbraid 
not  our  defeats  with  Ihy  victories.'* 

*  Fox,  *'  Ronianorum  ultimus.** 


]3* 


150 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


In  England,  the  garden  of  Beauty  is  kept 

By  a  dragon  of  prudery  placed  within  call ; 
But  so  ofi  this  unaiiiiable  dragon  has  slept, 

That  the  garden  's  but  carelessly  watch "d  after  all. 
Oh  I  they  want  the  wild  sweet-briery  fence, 

Which  round  the  flowers  nf  Erin  dwells  ; 
Which  warns  the  touch,  while  winning  the  sense, 

Nor  chirms  us  least  when  it  niost  repels. 
Then  remember,  whi;rever  your  gnblet  is  crown'd, 

Thro'  this  world,  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  ro.im, 
vVhen  a  cup  to  the  sn-ile  of  dear  woman  goes  round, 

Oh  1  remember  the  smile  that  adorns  her  at  home. 

In  France,  when  the  heart  of  a  woman  sets  sail, 

On  the  ocean  of  wedlock  ils  for'une  to  try, 
Love  seldom  eoes  far  in  a  vessel  so  frail, 

But  just  pilofs  her  otf,  and  then  bids  her  good*bye. 
While  the  daughters  of  Erin  keep  the  boy, 

Ever  siiiiltug  beside  hi:^  faiihful  oar. 
Through  billows  of  woe,  and  beams  of  joy, 

The  same  as  he  look'd  when  he  left  the  shore. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 

Thro'  this  world,  wiieiher  eastward  or  westward 

When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round, 
Ob  I  remeotber  the  smile  that  adorns  her  at  home. 


EVELEEN'S    BOWER. 

Oh  !  weep  for  the  hour, 

When  to  Eveleen's  bower 
The  Lord  of  the  Valley  with  false  vows  came: 

The  moon  hid  her  light 

From  the  he:ivens  ihat  night, 
And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  the  maiden's  shame. 

The  clouds  pass'd  sonn 

From  the  ch-sie  cold  moon. 
And  heaven  smil'd  .'gain  with  her  vestal  flame: 

But  none  will  see  the  d:»y, 

When  theclotids  shrill  pass  away. 
Which  that  dark  hour  left  upon  Eveleen's  fame. 

The  white  snnw  lay 

On  the  tiairou'  puth-way, 
When  the  Lord  of  the  Valley  crost  over  the  moor  ; 

And  manv  a  deep  print 

On  the  white  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  Eveleen's  door. 

The  next  sun-s  ray 

Soon  melted  away 
Every  tr^ce  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord  came; 

But  there's  a  light  above, 

Which  alnne  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  tiie  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame. 


LET  ERIN  REMEMBER  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD. 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old, 

Ere  her  faithless  snnsbetrav'd  her; 
When  Malachi  wore  ihe  collar  6f  goId,i 
Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader. 


>  "This  brought  on  an  encounter  between  MalachL 
(the  Monarch  of  Ireland  in  the  lenih  cer,tnry)  and  the 
Danes,  in  «hicli  Malachi  defeated  two  of  iheir  ch^ni- 
pi(  lis,  wtiom   he  encountered  successively,  hand  to 


When  her  kings,  with  standard  oF  green  unfurlM. 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger;— 4 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  wcslern  world 

Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 
On  Lough  Neagh's  bank  as  the  hsherman  strays, 

When  the  clear  cold  eve -s  declining, 
He  sets  the  round  lowers  of  other  days 

In  the  wave  beneath  hmi  shining; 
Thus  shall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime, 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  thai  are  over: 
Thus,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of  time 

For  the  long*faded  glories  they  cover.a 


THE  SONG  OF  FIONNUALA.* 

Silent,  oh  Moyle,  be  Ihe  roar  of  thy  water, 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  vour  chiin  of  repose, 
While,  murmurmg  mournfully,  Lir'a  lonely  daughter 

Tells  to  the  night-star  her  tale  of  woes. 
When  shall  the  swan,  her  deatli-note  singing, 

Sleep,  with  wings  in  darkness  furl'd  ? 
When  will  heaven,  ifs  sweet  bell  ringing, 

Call  my  spirit  from  this  slormy  world  ? 

Sally,  oh  Moyle,  to  thy  winder-wave  weeping, 

Fate  bids  me  languish  long  ages  away  ; 
Yet  sill  in  her  darkness  doth  Erin  lie  sleeping, 

Still  doth  Ihe  pure  light  its  dawning  delay. 
When  will  that  day-star,  mildly  springing, 

Warm  our  isle  with  peace  and  love? 
When  will  heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing. 

Call  my  epirit  to  the  fields  above  ? 


hand,  taking  a  collar  of  gold  from  the  neck  of  one, 
and  carrying  ofl'  the  sword  of  the  other,  as  trophies 
of  his  victory."  — Wanitr's  History  of  Ireland,  vol. 
i.  book  ix. 

^  "  Military  orders  of  knights  were  very  early 
established  in  Ireland  :  long  before  the  birth  of  Christ 
we  find  an  hereditary  order  of  Chivalry  in  Ulster, 
called  Ciiraidhe  7io  Craiolhe  ritadh,  or  the  Knights 
of  the  Red  Br.inch,  from  their  chief  seat  in  Emania, 
adif.ining  to  the  palace  of  (he  Ulster  kings,  called 
Tcfig/i  na  Craiubhe  ruadh,  or  the  Academy  of  the 
Red  Branch;  and  contiguous  to  which  was  a  Urge 
hospital,  founded  for  the  sick  knights  and  soldiers, 
called  hroiil'hear^,  or  the  House  of  the  Sorrowful 
Soldier. "— 0'//a/^oran's  Introduction,  ^c,  part  i. 
chap  5. 

3  It  was  an  old  tradition,  in  the  time  of  Giraldns, 
that  Lnush  Neagh  had  been  originally  a  fountain,  by 
wliose  sud'Ien  overflowing  the  country  was  inundatedi 
and  a  whole  region,  like  the  Atlantis  of  Plaio,  over- 
whelmed. He  says  lhat  the  fishermen,  in  clear  wea- 
ther, u-ed  to  point  out  to  strangers  the  tall  ecclesiasti- 
cal toivers  under  the  water.  Piscaiores  aqux  iliius 
turres  cedes lasticas,  qum  more,  jjatrix  arctse  sunt  et 
altx,  necnonct  rotu7ids,  sub  uudis  inanifcste  streno 
tenifore  coiispiciunt.  et  cxtraneis  transctaitilnis,  rei- 
que  causas  admirantibus,  frequenter  ostcjidw it  — 
■Jopogr.  Hib.  dist.  2.  c.  9. 

4  To  m^ke  this  story  in'elligible  in  a  song  would 
require  a  much  grea'er  number  of  verses  than  any  one 
is  authorized  to  inflict  upon  an  audience  at  once  ;  the 
reader  must  therefore  be  content  to  learn,  in  a  note, 
that  Fionnuala,  Ihe  daughter  of  Lir,  was.  by  some 
supernatural  power,  Iransfoimed  into  a  swan,  and 
condemned  to  wander,  for  manv  hundred  years,  over 
certain  lakes  and  rivers  in  Ireland,  till  the  coming  of  \ 
Ch'i>tianiiy,  uhen  the  first  sound  of  Ihe  mass-hell  was 
tn  be  the  sign.il  of  her  release.  —  I  found  Hiis  fanciful 
fiction  among  some  manuscript  translations  from  the 
Irish,  which  were  begun  under  the  direction  o(  that 
enlightened  friend  of  Ireland,  the  late  Countess  of 
Moira. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


151 


COME  SEND  ROUND  THE   WINE. 

Come»  send  round  ihc  wine,  and  leave  points  Of  belief 

To  sinipletod  sages,  and  reasoning  fouls ; 
This  nionient  's  a  (lower  too  fair  and  brief, 

To  he  witherVi  and  stAJn'd  by  the  dust  of  the  schools. 
Your  glass  niay  be  purple,  and  mine  inav  be  blue, 

But,  while  ihey  ai  e  lilld  from  the  same  bright  bowl, 
The  lonl,  who  would  quarrel  for  diflerence  of  hue, 

Deserves  not  the  coniforl  Ihey  shed  o'er  the  soul. 

Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my  side 

In  the  cau^e  of  mankind,  rf  our  creeds'agree  ? 
Shall  1  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued  and  tried, 

If  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  alt.ir  with  me? 
From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  aoul  should  I  fly, 

To  seek  somewhere  else  a  more  orthodox  kiss? 
No,  perish  the  hearts,  and  the  laws  that  try 

Truth,  valour,  or  love,  by  a  staudard  like  this  1 


SUBLIME   WAS  THE   WARNING. 

Sublime  was  the  warning  that  Liberty  spoke, 
And  grand  was  the  moment  when  Sp.miards  awoke 

Into  life  and  revenge  from  the  conqueror's  chain. 
Oh,  Liberty  1  let  not  this  spirit  have  rest, 
Till  it  move,  like  a  breeze,  o'er  the  waves  of  the 

west  — 
Give  the  light  of  your  look  to  each  sorrowing  spot, 
Nor,  cih,  be  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  forgot 

While  you  add  to  your  garland  the  Ulive  of  Spain' 

If  the  fame  of  our  fathers,  bequeafh'd  with  their  rights, 
Give  to  country  its  cbarm,  and  to  home  \t<  delights, 

If  deceit  be  a  wound,  and  suspicion  a  stain 
Then,  ye  men  of  Iberia,  our  cause  is  the  same ! 
And  oh  !  may  his  tomb  w.mt  a  tear  and  :i  name, 
Who  would  ask  for  a  nobler,  a  holier  death, 
Than  to  turn  his  last  sigh  into  victory's  biea'h, 

For  (he  Shamrock  of  Eriu  and  Olive  of  Spain  1 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donneh,  whose  fathers  resign'd 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  s'rangcrs  to  find 
That  repose  which,  at  home,  they  had  sigh'd  for  in 

Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  Ihe  flame,  which  you  light. 
May  be  felt  yet  in  Krin,  as  calm,  and  as  brii;hr, 
And  forgive  even  Albion  while  blushing  she  draws, 
Like  a  truant,  her  swoiJ,  in  the  long-slighted  cause 
Of  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain! 

God  prosper  Ihe  cause  !  —  oh,  it  cannot  but  thrive, 
While  the  pulse  of  one  patriot  heart  is  alive, 

Its  devotion  to  feel,  and  its  i  ights  to  maintain  ; 
Then,  how  sainted  by  sorrow,  its  martyrs  will  die! 
The  (ineer  of  Glory  shall  point  where  they  lie  ; 
While,  far  from  the  footstep  of  cnward  or  slave. 
The  young  spirit  of  Freedom  shall  shelter  their  grave 

fieuealb  Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  Olives  of  Spain  1 


BELIEVE  ME,  IF  ALL  THOSE  ENDEARING 
YOUNG  CHARMS. 

Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  younj  charms, 
Which  I  ^7.e  on  so  fondly  to-day, 

to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my  arms. 


s  moment  thou  art, 


Like  fairy-gifts  fading  away, 
Thou  wouldst  still  beador'd,  astl 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  w 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 

V\'3uld  entwine  itself  verdantly  still. 

It  is  not  while  beauty  anrf  you'h  are  thine  own, 
And  Ihv  cheeks  UTiprofanM  by  a  tear. 

That  the  "fervour  and  faith  of  a  snul  can  he  known, 
To  which  time  will  but  make  thee  more  dear  : 


No,  the  heart  that  has  truly  lov'd  never  forgeti, 

"  it  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close. 
As  the  sun-Ilower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  set^ 
lie  same  look  which  she  turuM  when  he  rose. 


ERIN,   OH,   ERIN. 

Like  the  bright  lamp,  that  shone  in  Kildare's  holy 
fane.i 

And  burn'd  thro*  long  ages  of  darkness  and  storm, 
Is  Ihe  heart  that  sorrows  have  frowu'd  on  in  vam, 

Whose  spirit  outlives  then),  uuf  idiiig  and  warm. 
Erin,  oh,  Erin,  thus  bright  thro'  the  tears 
Of  a  long  night  of  bondage,  thy  spirit  appears. 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  young, 
Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  oihers  are  set; 

And  iho'  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  morning  hath  hung, 
The  full  noon  of  freedom  shali  beani  round  thee  yet. 

Erin,  oh,  Erin.  Iho'  long  in  the  shade, 

Thy  star  will  shine  out  when  the  proudest  shall  fade. 

Unchill'd  by  the  rain,  and  unwak'd  by  the  wind. 
The  lily  lies  sleepiiig  thro'  winter's  cold  hour. 

Till  Spring's  light  (ouch  her  fetters  unbind, 

And  d:iylight  and  liberty  bless  the  young  flower.l 

Thus  Erin,  oh,  Erin,  thy  winter  is  pa^I. 

And  Ihe  hope  that  liv'd'throMt  shall  blossom  at  last. 


DRINK    TO    HER. 

Drink  to  her,  who  long 

Halh  wak'd  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

Whit  gold  could  never  buy. 
Oh  !  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone; 
By  otiier  (irgeis  plav'd. 

It  yields  not  hilf  the  tone. 
Then  here's  'o  her,  ^^  ho  Inn? 

Halh  wak'd  the  poefs  sigh. 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  nevet  buy 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass, 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stood, 
They  ai^k'd  her,  *'  which  might  pass  }  ' 

She  answer'd.  "  he,  who  could." 
Wiih  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  p.iss  —  but  't  would  not  do: 
While  Wit  a  diamond  brought. 

Which  cut  his  bright  way  through. 
So  here's  to  her,  wh  .  long 

Halh  wak'd  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  eirl,  who  give  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home 

Where  we»lfh  or  grandeur  shines, 

Is  like  the  gloomy  gnome. 
Thai  dwells  in  dark  gold  mines. 

But  oh !  the  poet's  love 
t'an  boasi  a  bi  ighter  sphere  j 


;horT 


above 


'Iho'  woman  keeps  ii  here. 


i  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  KiU 
dare,  which  Giraldus  mentions  :  —  "  Apud  Kildariam 
occurrit  Ignis  Sanciae  Brigida?,  quem  inextinguibitem 
vocani  ;  noil  quod  extingui  non  pO'sit,  sed  quod  lam 
solicite  nioniales  et  sanclae  muliercs  ignem,  suppetente 
materia,  fovent  et  nutrinnt,  ut  a  tempore  virgmis  per 
tot  annofnm  curricula  semper  mansit  inextinctus  "  — 
Girald.  Camb.  dt  Mirabil.  Hibcm.  dist.  2.  c.  3-1. 

^  Mrs.  H.  Tighe,  in  her  exquisite  lines  on  the  lily, 
lias  applied  this  image  to  a  s'lll  more  important 
object. 


152 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


Then  drink  to  her,  who  Img 
Haih  wakd  ihe  poet's  sigh, 

The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 
What  guld  could  never  buy. 


OH!  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD.* 

Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard,  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers, 

Where  Pleasure  lies,  carelessly  smiling  at  Fame  ; 
He  was  born  f-r  much  nu)re,  and  in  happier  hi^urs 

His  soul  nii^ht  have  burn'd  with  a  hulier  flame. 
Tlie  slriijg,  ihat  nr.w  lai.-ui  hes  loose  o'er  the  lyre, 

MIkIiI  b;u-e  bent  a  proud  bow  to  ihe  warrior's  dart  ;^ 
Ami  I  lie  lip,  which  now  bre.ithes  but  thesnngof  desiie, 

Mi;<ht  have  pour'd  ihe  full  tide  of  a  palriul's  beait. 

But  alas  for  his  country  !  —  her  pride  is  gone  by, 
And  Ibal  spirit  i>  brn'ken.  which  never  would  bend; 

O'er  tl.e  rum  her  children  in  secret  must  s'gh. 
Fnr  'I  is  treason  to  love  her,  and  dcalh  to  defend. 

Uiipriz'd  a^:  her  sons,  till  they  've  learned  lo  belray  j 
Undisliuguith'd  Ihey  live,  if  tbcy  shame  not  their 

And  the  torch,  that  would  light  them  thro' dignity's 

way, 
Must  be  caught  from  Ihe  pile,  where  their  country 

expires. 
Then  bl, 


He 


t  the  bard,  if  in  plensure's  soft  dream, 
houtd  try  to  forgei,  wl.at  he  m  '      ' 


can  heal 
but  a  hope  —  let  a  vis'a  but  gleam 
Thruugh  the  gloom  of  his  country,  and  mark  how 
he'll  fL-el! 
That  instant,  bis  heart  at  her  shrine  would  lay  down 

Every  passion  it  nurs'd,  every  blis^  it  ador'd  ; 
While  the  myrrle,  now  idly  enlwin'd  with  his  crown, 
Like  the  wreath  of  Harmodius,  should  cover  bis 
sword  3 
Bnl  tho'  glory  be  gone,  and  tho'  hope  fade  awny, 
Thy  name,  Invtd  Erin,  sliail  live  in  his  songs; 
Not  ev'ii  in  Ihe  hour,  when  his  henrl  is  most  gay, 
Will  he  lose  the  remembrance  of  thee  and  thy 

The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains  ; 

The  sigh  fif  Ihv  harp  shall  be  sent  o'er  Ihe  deep, 
Till  ihy  masters 'thentselves,  :is  Ihcy  rivel  Ihy  chains, 

tjhatl  paubc  al  Ihe  song  of  their  captive,  and  weep! 


W^HH>E  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT. 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 
A  nvmenl  from  her  smile  1  tiirn'd, 

To  tnnk  at  orbs.  ihat.  more  bright. 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  buru'd. 


1  We  may  siijiprse  ths  npolngy  to  hai-e  been  uttered 
by  one  of  Ihr)-e  u,iiiJL'iiinc  baids,  whom  .Spenser  ^o 
severely,  and,  perhaps,  tmly,  de.<ribes  in  his  State  of 
Irelind,  and  whnse  (juenis.  he  tells  lis,  "  were  spiin 
kled  with  snme  pietty  flower,  of  iheir  na'ural  device 
which  have  good  grace  and  comeliness  unio  tbein,  Ih 
which  it  is  great  pity  to  sen  abu'^ed  t<»  the  gracing  of 
wickedness  ai:d  vice,  wbicli,  with  good  usa^e,  uould 
serve  to  rtdnrn  .ind  beautify  virtue." 

^  It  is  coi'jec'ured  by  Wormius,  that  the  name  of 
Ireland  Is  derived  from  Yr,  the  Runic  for  a  hoWj  in 
the  use  of  wliich  weapon  the  Irish  were  once  very 
expeit.  Ttiis  derivation  is  certainly  more  cteditable 
to  us  than  Ihe  fidlowing:  "So  Ihat  Ireland,  called  the 
land  of  /re,  fmni  the  cnnstant  broils  theiein  for  400 

I  years,    was  now   becme   the   land  of   conc'rd"  — 
Lloyd's  State  IVorthits^  art.  The  Lord  Grandison. 

3  See  the  Hymn,  allribu'ed  lo  AIc:eus,  Ev  fivprov 
K}.aSL  TO  li^^o^  ^opj^ffuj  — "■!  will  carry  my  sword, 
hidden  in  myrtles,  like  Harmodius,  and  Anstogitun," 

l&c. 

1 : 


But  ( 00  far 

Each  proud  star, 
For  me  to  fee]  its  warming  flame; 

Much  moe  dear 

That  mild  sphere. 
Which  near  our  planet  smiling  came:  * 
Thus,  Mary,  be  but  Ihou  my  own  ; 

While  bi'igh'er  eyes  unheeded  play, 
I  'II  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, 
lllumin'd  all  the  pale  flowers, 
Like  liojie  upon  a  mourner's  cheek, 
I  said  (while 
The  moon's  smile 
Pl.iy'd  o'er  a  stream,  in  dimpling  bliss,) 
"  The  moon  looks 
*'  On  many  brooks, 
*'  The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this  j "  » 
And  thus,  I  thought,  our  forrunes  run, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee, 

While  oh !  I  feel  there  is  but  07ic, 

One  Mary  in  the  world  for  me. 


ILL    OMENS. 

When  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the  billow, 

And  stars  in  the  heavens  still  lingering  shone, 
Young  Kittv,  all  blushing,  rose  up  from  her  pillow-, 

The  last  time  she  e'er  v. as  to  press  it  alone. 
For  the  youth  whom  she  treasured  her  heart  and  her 
soul  in, 

Had  pnmii  ed  to  link  the  last  tie  before  noon  ; 
And  when  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is  stoleD 

The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon. 

As  she  look'd  in  the  class.which  a  woman  ne'er  misseSj 

Nor  ever  w.nts  time  for  a  sly  glance  or  two, 
A  butterfly, 6  fresh  from  the  night-flower's  kisses, 

Flew  over  the  minor,  and  shaded  her  view. 
Enrag'd  with  the  Insect  for  hiding  her  graces, 

Shebrush'd  him  — he  fell,  alas;  never  to  rise: 
'*AhI  such,"  said  Ihe  girl,  "  is  Ihe  pride  of  our  faces, 

•*  For  \vhich  the  soul's  innocence  too  often  dies.'' 

While  she  stole  thro'  the  garden,  where  hearts-ease 
was  growing, 

She  culld  some,  and  kiss'd  oflf  its  mght-fallen  dew; 
And  a  rose,  further  on,  Inok'd  so  tempting  and  glowing. 

That,  spite  of  her  bas!e.  she  must  gather  it  too ; 
But  while  o'er  the  rose^  too  carelessly  leaning. 

Her  zone  flew  in  two,  and  the  hearts-ease  was  lost ; 
"Ah!  this  means,''  said  the  girl,  (and  she  sigh'd  at 
its  meaning,) 

"  That  love  is  scarce  worth  the  repose  it  will  cost  I" 


BEFORE    THE    BATTLE. 

By  the  hnpe  within  us  springing. 
Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife; 

By  that  sun,  whose  light  is  bringing 
Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  life  — 


*  "Of  such  celestial  bodies  as  are  visible,  Ihe  sun 
excepted,  the  single  moon,  as  despicable  as  it  is  in 
coni|  arison  'o  most  of  Ihe  othera,  is  much  more  bene- 
ficial than  Ihey  all  put  together." — VVIiistoyi's  Theory^ 
f,-c. 

In  the  Entrct}e7U  d'Ariste,  among  other  ingenious 
emblems,  we  find  a  s:arry  sky  without  a  moon,  with 
these  words,  Non  niille^  quod  ahscns. 

6  This  imas:e  was  suggested  by  the  following 
thousht,  which  occurs  somewhere  in  Sir  William 
Jones's  works  :  ''  The  morm  looks  upon  many  night- 
flowers,  the  night-flower  sees  but  one  moon." 

6  An  emblem  of  the  soul. 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


153 


Oh !  remember  life  can  be 
Ko  charm  fur  hiiii,  who  lives  nM  free! 

Like  the  Jay*st.ir  in  ihc  wave, 

Sinks  a  hcio  m  his  grave, 
Midst  the  dew'-f^U  of  a  lution^s  tears. 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 
The  smiles  of  home  may  sjolhing  shine 
And  light  hmi  down  the  sxep  of  years  : — 
Rut  oh,  how  blcbt  they  sink  to  lebt, 
Who  close  their  eyes  on  victory's  breast  t 

OVr  his  watch-fire'a  fadmff  enibers 

Now  ihe  foennn's  cheek  tuma  white, 

When  his  heart  that  field  lenienibers, 
Where  we  lamed  his  tyrant  might. 

Never  lel  him  bind  again 

A  ch.iin,  liku  !h  it  we  broke  from  them. 

Hark  :  the  h^ni  of  con.bAi  calls  — 

Ere  Ihe  golden  evening:  falls, 
IVby  »e  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round  !  i 

Many  a  heart  that  now  be;its  hi'h. 
In  slumber  cold  at  ni?lil  shall  lie, 
Nor  waken  even  al  victory^s  souid  :  — 
But  oh,  how  blesi  that  hero's  sleep. 
O'er  whom  a  wond'nng  world  shall  weep  I 


AFTER   THE    BATTLE. 

Night  clos'd  around  the  conqueror's  wnr, 

And  hghlnings  show'd  the  distant  hill, 
Where  those  whn  Inst  that  ilreaJful  diy, 

.Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  s!ill. 
The  soldier's  hope,  ibe  patriot's  zeal, 

For  ever  dinim'd,  for  ever  crost  — 
Oh  1  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

When  all  but  life  and  honour's  lost? 

The  hsi  sad  hour  nf  freedom'?  dream, 

And  valour's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
While  mute  they  watch'd,  till  mornin^N  beam 

Shruld  rise  and  sive  lliem  l-^ht  to  die. 
There  's  yet  a  world,  where  smuIs  are  Iree, 

Where  tviants  taint  not  nature's  bliss:— 
If  death  that  world's  bright  openin-<  be. 

Oh  !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this  ? 


'TIS    SWEET    TO   THINK, 

'Tis  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  we  rove, 

We  are  sure  lo  (ind  s  -metiims  bli>sfi,l  and  dear. 
And  th>t.  when  we  'le  far  fnuii  the  lips  we  Inve, 

We  'vc  but  to  make  love  t^  lliu  lips  we  are  near* 
The  he.rt,  like  a  tendril,  nccustomM  tnclin?, 
'    ■  ■"        rv  wheie  it  will,  cannot  tlourish  alone, 
1  10  the  neires',  and  hiveliest  thjng, 
ne  wiih  itself,  and  make  closely  its  own, 
hat  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove, 

imething,  still,  that  is  dear, 


But  Willi 
It  can  t 

Then  oh  ! 
To  be  s 

And  to  kti 
We  've 


ow,  wht?n  far  fiom  'ne  lips  we  love, 
but  to  make  love  to  the  tips  we  are  near. 


5  *'The  Irish  Coma  was  not  entirely  devoted  to 
marfial  purposes.  In  the  heroic  a^es,  our  ancestors 
quaffed  Meadh  out  of  them,  as  (he  Danish  hunters  do 
their  beverage  at  tho  day."—  IValher. 

»  1  believe  it  is  Mannontel  who  siys,  "  Quand  on 
tVa  pas  ce  que  Von  ai7ne,  ilfattt  aimerce  que  Von  o.*' 
—  There  ate  so  m  my  nntter-nf-fact  people,  who  take 
such  jettxd"ejpn*r  as  this  defence  of  inconstancy,  (o  be 

the  actual  :ind  genuine  sentii       

them,  ttiat  ihey  compel  one, 
matter-of-fact  ^is  ihemaelves, 
Demncritus  was  not  the  wor; 
-layfully  contended  that  sno 
mus,  in  any  decree,  the  h 


an  ingen 


1  of  folly. 


iients  of  hi 

in  self-defence,  to  be  as 
and  to  remind  them,  that 
e  physinlogisi,  for  having 
w  was  black;  nor  Eras- 
,  for  having  written 


'T  were  a  shame,  when  flowers  around  us  rise, 

To  make  light  of  the  rest,  if  the  rose  isn't  there ; 
And  the  world  s  an  rich  in  resplendent  eyes, 

'  r  wete  a  pity  to  limit  one's  love  to  a  pair. 
Love*s  win^  aud  the  peacock's  are  nearly  .ilike, 

ihey  are  both  of  them  bright,  but  they  're  change- 
able too. 
And,  wherever  a  new  beam  of  beauty  c-in  strike, 

It  will  tincture  L'lvcs  plume  with  a  diiierenl  hue. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  wr  ruve, 

It)  be  sure  to  hnd  SMnieilun-;,  still,  that  is  dear, 
And  l>i  kno>v,  when  far  from  Ihe  hps  we  love, 

We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near. 


THE   IRISH    PEASANT  TO   HIS   MISTRESS.^ 

Through  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile  hath 

cheer'd  my  w.iy, 
Till  hope  seem'd  to  bud  from  each  thorn  that  round 

me  lay ; 
The  darker  our  fortune,  the  brighter  our  pure  love 

burn'd. 
Till  shinie  into  ginry,  till  fear  into  zeal  was  turn'd; 
Ves,  slave  as  I  was,  i;i  ihy  arms  my  spirit  fell  free. 
And  blc^ss^d  even  tjie  sorrows  that  made  me  more  dear 

to  thee. 

Thy  rival  was  lior.our'd,  while  thou  wert  wrong'd 

niid  scorn'd, 
Thy  crown  w,is  of   briers,  while  gold   her  brows 

adorn'd  ; 
She  woo'd  me  to  lemple-',while  thou  lay'st  hid  in  caves, 
Her  friends  were  all  masters,  while  thine,  alas  1  were 

slaves: 
Vet  cold  in  the  earth,  at  Ihy  feet,  I  would  rather  be, 


They  slander  thee  sorely,  who  say  thy  vows  are  frail — 
Hadst  thou  been  a  f.dse  cue,  thy  cheek  had  look'd  less 

p.ile. 
They  say,  too,  so  long  thou  hast  worn  those  lingering 

chains. 
That  deep  in  thy  heart  they  have  printed  their  servile 

Oh!   foul  is  the  slander, —  no  chain  could  that  soul 

subdue  — 
Where shiueih  (/inspirit,  there  liberty  shincth  too!* 


ON    MUSIC. 

When  tliro'  life  unblest  we  rove, 

Losing  all  thilniade  life  dear, 
Should  some  notes  we  used  to  love, 

In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear, 
Oh  !  how  welcome  bi  eatlies  the  strain  ! 

Wakening  thnuijhfs  that  long  have  slept  ; 
Kindhng  former  smiles  at^^ir. 

In  faded  eyes  that  lung  have  wept. 

Like  the  gale,  that  sighs  along 

Beds  of  oriental  flowere, 
Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours; 
Fill'd  with  balm,  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  floivers  have  sunk  in  death; 
So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone, 

Its  memory  live^  in  Music's  breath. 

Music,  oh.  how  faint,  how  weak, 
Language  fades  before  thy  -pell ! 

Why  should  Feeling  ever  speik, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 


allegoricatly,  the  ancient  Church  of 


*  "  Where    the   Spirit  of  the    Lord    is,  tbero  'm 
liberty.*'  — S/.i'au;,  2  Corinthians^  iii.  17. 


154 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


Fri'indshtp's  b?.!my  words  may  feign, 
Lovi's  are  ev'ii'more  false  Ihan  they; 

on  I  't  is  only  music's  strain 
Can  sweetly  soothe,  and  not  betray. 


IT  IS  NOT  THE  TEAR  AT  THIS  MOMENT 
SHED.i 

It  is  not  the  tear  al  this  moment  shed, 

VVhe.i  the  cold  turf  his  just  been  laid  o'er  him. 
That  can  teil  how  helov'd  was  the  fne-id  that's  fled, 

Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore  hira. 
>T  is  the  tear,  thro'  many  a  Ion?  day  wept, 

'  1'  is  life's  whole  path  o'ershaded  ; 
>T  h  the  one  rememb-ance.  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  shtll  look  fiirer,  and  truth  moie  bright, 

When  we  think  how  he  liv'd  but  to  love  them. 
And,  as  fresher  flowers  ihe  sod  perfume 

Where  buried  samls  ire  lymff, 
So  CUT  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweet'ning  bloom 

From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying  I 


THE    ORIGIN    OF    THE    HARP. 

'Tis  beltev'd  that  this  Harp,  which  I  wake  now  for 

thee, 
Was  a  Siren  of  old,  who  sung  under  the  sea  ; 
And  who  often,  at  eve,  ihro*  ihe  bright  wa  ers  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,  alt  the  night,  her  gold  tresses  tn  steep ; 
Till  heav'n  lonk'd  wiih  pity  on  true-love  so  warm, 
And  chang'd  to  this  soft  Harp  the  sea-maiden's  form. 

Still  her  bnsnm  rose  fair  —  still  her  cheeks  smiPd  the 

While   her  sea-beauties  gracefully  form'd  the  light 

frame ; 
And  her  hair,  as,  let  loose,  o'er  her  white  arm  it  fell, 
Was  chang'd  to  bright  chords  utl'ring  melody's  spell. 

Hence  it  came,  that  this  soft  Harp  so  long  hath  been 

known 
To  mingle  love's  language  with  sorrow's  sad  tone; 
Till  thmi  didst  divide  th^m,  and  leach  the  fond  lay 
To  speak  love  when  I  'm  near  thee,  and  grief  when 

away. 


LOVE'S   YOUNG    DREAM. 

Oh  !  the  days  are  gone,  when  Beauty  bright, 

My  heart's  chain  wove  ; 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 
Was  Inve.  still  love. 
New  hnpe  may  bloom, 
And  days  mav  come, 
Of  milder  calmer  beam. 
But  there's  nnlhinchalf  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  youncdreim: 
No,  'here's  nothins  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dr*;am, 

Tho'  the  bard  to  purer  fame  may  soar, 

When  wild  voulh*<*  past  ; 
Tho'  he  win  the  wisp,  who  frown'd  before, 

To  smile  al  last ; 

Thesf  lines  were  occasioned  liy  the  loss  of  a  very 
IT  <nd  lear  relative,  who  had  died  lately  at  Ma- 


_._  shed  ; 
ling's  winged  dream  ; 


He'll  never  meet 
A  joy  so  sweet, 
In  all  his  noon  of  fame, 
As  when  first  he  sung  (o  woman's  ear 

His  sDul-felt  flame, 
And,  at  every  close,  she  blush'd  lo  hear 
The  one  lov'd  name. 

No,— :hat  hallow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot 

Which  first  love  trac'd  ; 
Still  it  lingering  haums  the  greenest  spot 
On  meiiiury's  waste. 
'T  was  odour  fled 
As  soon 
'T  wa    .         ..^_ 
»T  was  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  agaiD 

On  life's  dull  siream; 
Oh  !  't  was  light  (har  ne'er  can  shine  again 
Ou  life's  dull  stream. 


THE   PRINCE'S   DAY.^ 

Tho'  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to  day  we'll  forget  the; 
And  smile  through  our  tears,  tike  a  sunbeam  in 
showers: 

There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would  let  them. 
More  fi'rm'd  to  be  gr.iiefu!  and  blest  Ihaa  ours. 
But  jus;  when  Ihe  chain 
Has  ce.sed  tn  pain, 
And  hope  has  enwreatU'd  it  round  with  flotvers, 
Theie  comes  a  new  link 


Our  spir 


i  to  : 


Oh  the  joy  ihat  we  tasie,  like  the  light  of  the  poles, 
Is  a  tf.ish  amid  daikne^.  too  biilhant  to  stay ; 

But,  Ihnugh  'twere  the  last  liltlespaik  in  our  souls. 
We  must  light  it  up  now,  ou  our  Prince's  Uay. 

Contempt  on  the  minion,  who  calls  you  disloyal ! 

Tho'  herce  to  your  foe,  loyonr  friends  you  are  true  ; 
And  the  tribute  most  high  to  a  head  that  is  royal, 

Is  love  from  a  heart  that  loves  liberty  too. 
While  cnwards,  who  blight 


■  fanif 


ght. 


Would  shrink  from  the  bltze  of  the  battle  array, 
IheStandiid  of  Green 
In  front  would  be  seen,— 
Oh,  my  life  on  your  f^ith !  were  you  summon'd  this 
minute, 
You  'd  cast  every  bitter  remembrance  awav, 
And  sh'iw  what  the  arm  of  old  Erin  has  in  it, 
When  rous'd  by  the  foe,  on  her  Prince's  Day. 

He  loves  the  Green  Isle,  and  his  love  is  recorded 

In  hearls,  which  have  suflei'd  too  much  to  forget; 

And  hope  shall  be  c^n^vn'd,and  attachment  rewarded. 

And  Erin's  gay  jubilee  shine  out  yet. 

The  gem  may  be  broke 

By  niar.y  a  siroke, 

But  Dothin?  can  cloud  its  native  ray ; 

Eich  fiagment  will  cast 

A  light,  to  the  last,— 

And  thus.  Erin,  my  courilry  tho'  broken  thou  art, 

There  's  a  lustrff  within  thee,  that  ne'er  will  decay  j 
A  spirit,  which  beams  through  each  suffering  P'''rt, 
And  now  smiles  at  all  pain  on  the  Prince's  Day. 


WEEP   ON,    WEEP   ON, 

W«p  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past ; 

Your  dreams  nf  pii'Ie  are  o'er; 
The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast, 

And  you  are  men  no  more. 

^  Thi*!  son?  was  wri'ten  for  a  fete  in  honour  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Birthd.y,  given  by  my  friend,  Ma- 
jor Bryan,  at  his  seat  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


155 


In  v&in  the  hero's  heart  hath  bled  ; 

The  sage's  tongue  hath  warn'd  in  vain  j— 
Ob,  Freedom  !  once  Ihy  flame  halh  fled, 

Jt  never  light:*  again. 

Weep  on  —  perhaps  in  after  days, 

They  '11  learn  to  love  your  name  ; 
When  many  a  deed  may  wake  in  praiso 

That  long  halh  slept  in  blame. 
And  ivhen  they  treaU  the  ruiuM  isle, 

Where  re^i,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slave, 
They  '11  wondei  ing  ask,  h'lvv  hands  so  vile 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave? 

••  'T  was  fate,"  they  '11  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

*'  Your  web  of  discord  wove  ; 
•*  And  while  your  tyianis  ioin'd  in  hate, 

"Vnu  never  jo.n'd  in  love. 
"But  hearis  fell  otT,  rhat  ought  to  twine, 

"And  man  profan'd  what  Gi>d  had  given j 
••Till  some  were  heard  lo  curse  the  shrine, 

'*  Where  others  knelt  to  heaven  1 " 


LESBIA  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye, 

Rut  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beameth  : 
Right  and  left  its  arrows  fly, 

But  what  ihey  aim  al  no  one  dreamelh. 
Swee'er  't  is  to  gaze  upon 

My  Nora's  lid  that  seldom  rises; 
Few  its  idoks,  but  every  one, 
Like  unexpec'ed  liijht,  surprises  I 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear. 
My  gentle,  b.ishfu!  Nora  Creina, 
Beauty  lies 
In  many  eyes. 
But  Love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Creina. 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold. 

But  all  so  close  the  nymph  hath  lic'd  if, 
Not  a  charm  of  beauty's  mould 

Fresumps  lo  s'ay  "here  naiure  plac'd  it. 
Oh  1  my  Nora's  gown  for  me, 

Ttiat  floats  as  wild  as  niounlaln  breezes, 
leaving  every  beauty  free 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleises. 
Yes.  my  Nora  Creina,  dear, 

My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina, 
Nature's  dress 

The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina. 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  refin'd, 

Rut,  when  is  points  are  glciming  round  us, 
Who  can  tell  if  they  're  design'd 

To  dazzle  merely,  or  lo  wi^und  us? 
PiUow'd  on  n.y  Nora's  heart. 

In  safer  slumber  Love  reposes  — 

Bed  of  peace  !  whose  roughest  part 

is  but  the  crumpling  of  the  roses. 

Oh!  my  Nora  Creina,  dear. 
My  miid,  mv  an  less  Nora  Creina! 
\Vit.  iho'bnghr, 
Halh  nosuch  lieht, 
As  warms  your  eyes,  my  Nora  Creina. 


I  SAW  THY  FORM  IN  YOUTHFUL  PRIME. 

I  saw  Ihy  form  in  you'hful  prime, 

Nor  thought  that  pale  dec^y 
Would  steal  hefnte  ihe  steps  of  Time, 

And  waste  its  bloom  away.  Mary  ! 
Tet  still  thv  features  wore  that  light, 

Which  fleets  not  with  the  breath  ; 
And  life  ne'er  look'd  more  truly  bright 

Than  in  thy  smile  of  death,  Mary  I 


As  streams  that  run  o^er  golden  mines, 

Yet  huniblv.  calmly  glide. 
Nor  seem  to  know  (he  wealth  that  shinea 

Within  Iheir  gentle  tide,  Mary  I 
So  veil'd  beneath  the  sintplest  guise, 

Thy  radiant  genius  shone, 
And  that,  which  charm'd  nil  other  eyes, 

ijeem'd  worthless  lu  thy  own,  Mary  > 

If  souls  could  always  dwell  above, 

Thou  ne'er  hadsl  left  that  sphere  ,• 
Or  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love, 

We  ne'er  bad  lost  thee  here,  Mary! 
Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet, 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see, 
To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet. 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Mary  1  >■ 


BY  THAT  LAKE,  WHOSE  GLOOMY  SH(lRE.« 

By  (hat  Lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 
Sky-lark  never  warbles  o'er,3 
Where  the  elilF  hangs  high  and  steep, 
Young  Saint  Kevin  s'ole  lo  sleep. 
"  Here,  at  least,"  he  caUnly  said, 
"  Woman  ne'er  shall  find  my  Led.'* 
Ah  :  the  good  Saint  little  knew 
What  that  Wily  sex  can  do. 

'T  was  from  Kathleen's  eves  he  flew,— 
Eyes  of  nmst  unholy  blue! 
She  had  lov'd  him  well  and  long, 
Wish'd  him  hers,  nor  thought  it  wrong. 
Wheresoe'er  the  Saint  would  fly, 
Siill  he  heard  her  light  foot  nigh  j 
East  or  west,  where'er  he  turn'd, 
Still  her  eyes  before  him  burn'd. 


On  the  bold  cliff' 

bosom  cast, 

In 

nquil  now 

he 

sleeps  at  last ; 

Drf 

anis  of  lie 

av'n 

,  nor  thinks  that  e'er 

\Vr 

man's  sni 

le  can  haunt  him  there. 

Hu 

nor  earlh 

heaven  is  free 

i'rn 

m  her  pf)v 

'er, 

if  fond  she  be  : 

Kv 

2n  now,  M 

hilr 

calm  he  sleeps, 

Ka 

hieeii  o'er 

hill 

leans  and  weeps. 

Fearless  fihe  had  track'd  his  feet 
To  this  rocky,  wild  retreat ; 
And  when  morning  met  his  view, 
Her  mild  glaices  met  it  loo. 
Ah,  your  baints  have  cruel  hearts! 
Sternly  from  his  bed  he  s'arts, 
And  with  rude,  repulsive  shock. 
Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock, 

Glendatough.  thy  gloomy  wave 
Soon  was  gentle  Kathleen's  grave  ! 
Soon  the  saint  (yet  ah  !  too  late.) 
Felt  her  love,  and  mourn'd  her  fate. 
When  he  said,  "  Heav'n  rest  her  soi 
Round  the  Uke  light  music  s'ole; 
And  her  ghost  was  seen  to  glide, 
Smiling  o'er  the  fatal  tide. 


<  I  have  here  made  a  feeble  effort  to  imitate  that 
exquisite  inscription  of  Shenstone*?,   "  Heu  !   o 
minus  est  cum  reliquts  versari  quam  tui  niemini: 

*This  ballad   is   founded  upon  one  of  the  many 
s'ories  related  of  S'.  Ki-vin,  whose  bed  in  the  rf-ck  is 
lo  he  seen  at  Glendah'Ugh.  a  most  gloomy 
tic  spot  in  the  county  ot  Wicklow. 

3  There  are  many  other  curious  traditions  concern- 
ing this  Lake,  which  nray  be  found  io 
gan,  &c. 


incern- 
is.  Col- 


156 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  aleeps, 

And  lovera  are  mund  her,  siehing: 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  tbeir  gaze  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Every  no?e  which  he  lov'd  awaking  ;— 

Ah  !  little  they  thir.k  wlio  delight  in  her  strains, 
How  the  heart  of  the  Minstrel  is  hreakiug. 

He  had  livVI  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died, 
'1  hey  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwin'd  hmi ; 

Njrsoon  shall  the  tears  of  hi3  country  be  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 
When  Ihey  promihe  a  glorious  niorrniv; 

They'll  shineo'erhersleep,iikeasniilefrom  the  West, 
From  her  own  lov'd  island  of  sorrow. 


NAY    TELL  ME   NOT,  DEAR. 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear,  that  (he  goblet  drowni 

One  charm  of  feelimj,  one  fmd  regret  j 
Believe  ine,  a  few  of  ihy  angry  frowns 
Are  all  I  've  sunk  in  its  bright  wave  yet. 
Ne'er  hath  a  beam 
Been  lost  in  the  stream 
That  ever  was  shed  from  thy  form  or  aoul ; 
The  sf)ell  of  those  e\e8, 
The  balm  of  thy  sighs, 
Still  float  on  the  surface,  and  hallow  my  bowL 
Then  fancy  irot,  deares',  that  uine  can  sttal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heari  from  me; 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal, 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 

They  tell  us  that  Lnve  in  his  fairy  bnwer 

Had  tuo  blush-roses,  of  birth  divine; 
He  sprinkled  the  fine  with  a  lainbnw's  shower 
But  baih'd  the  other  wi-h  mantling  wine. 
Soon  did  the  buds 
That  drank  of  the  flnnds 
Distiird  by  the  rainbow,  decline  and  fade; 
While  ihnse  \vhirh  the  tide 
Of  ruby  had  dy'd 
All  bhish'd  into  be  miy.  like  thee,  sweet  maid ! 
Then  fancy  not,  dearesi,  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  ihe  heart  from  me ; 
Like  founts,  that  awnken  the  pilgrim's  zeal, 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 


AVENGING   AND   BRIGHT. 

Avenging  and  bright  falls  the  swift  sword  of  Erin  1 
On  hini  who  the  biave  sons  of  Usna  betray 'd  1  — 

ForevVy  fond  eye  he  hath  waken'd  a  tear  in. 
A  drop  from  his  heart-wounds  shall  weep  o'er  her 
blade. 


I  'I  he  words  of  this  snng  «eie  sujges'ed  by  tlie 
verj- aticient  Irish  siory  cali^ed  *' Deirdri,  or  the  La- 
mentable Fate  of  the  Soi.sof  Usnach,"  which  has  been 
translated  literally  from  lh»f  Gaelic,  by  Mr.  IVFUna- 
gan  (see  vol.  i.  of  TVnrisactions  of  the  Gnclic  S  ciety 
of  Dublin),  and  upon  which  il  appears  'hat  the  '•  Dar- 
thulaof  Macpho.snn"  U  founded.  '1  he  tre-.chery  of 
Conor,  King  of  Ulster,  in  pu'ting  to  deith  Ihe  three 
sons  of  Usna,  was  the  cause  of  a  desolating  war  against 
UU'er,  uhich  terminated  in  the  desliuction  of  Lm  ni. 
"This  story  (savs  Mr.  O'Flatagan)  has  been,  from 
time  immemorial,  he d  in  high  lepule  as  one  of  the 
thnst  tra5;ic  stones  of  the  Irish.  These  aie,  'The 
detth  of  Ihe  children  of  louraiii'  'The  deatli  of  the 


By  the  led  cloud  that  hung  over  Conor's  dark  dwell* 

When   Ulad's^   three  champions  lay  sleeping  in 
go-e  — 
By  the  billows  of  war,  which  so  often,  hiiih  swelliDg, 
Have  wafled  these  heroes  to  victory's  shore  — 

We  swear  to  revenge  them  !  —  no  joy  shall  be  tasted, 

The  harp  shall  be  silent,  the  maiden  unwed, 
Our  halU  shall  be  mule  aiid  our  tie  ds  shall  lie  ivasted, 

Till  vengeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's  head. 
Yea.  monarch  !  tho'  sweet  are  nur  home  recollect  ions, 

Though  sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  tenderness  fall; 
Though  sweet  are  our  fricudshtps,  our  hopes,  oui 
atreciinns. 

Revenge  on  a  tyrant  is  sweetest  of  all ! 


WHAT  THE  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWERET. 

/fe,— Whnt  the  bee  is  to  Ihe  floweret, 
When  he  looks  for  honey -dew, 
Throus;h  the  leaves  that  close  embower  it, 
That,  my  love,  1  '11  be  to  you. 

She,  —What  the  bank,  with  verdure  glowing, 
Is  to  waves  that  wander  near. 
Whispering  kisses,  while  they  're  going, 
That  1  'II  be  to  you,  my  dear. 


STie.— But  they  siy,  the  bee 's  a  rover. 

Who  u  ill  fly.  when  swee's  are  gone; 
And,  when  once  the  kiss  is  over, 
Faithless  brocks  will  wander  on. 

/Tc— Nay,  if  flowers  will  lose  their  looks, 
^If  sunny  banks  will  wear  away, 
'T  is  but  righr,  iha'  bees  and  brooks 
Should  sip  aud  kiss  llieui,  while  tbcy  may* 


LOVE    AND   THE    NOVICE. 

"Here  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers, 

"  VVhere  angels  of  light  o'er  our  orisons  bend  ; 
"  Where  sighs  of  devotion  and  breathings  ol  flowers 
"'jo  hea\en  in  mngled  odour  ascend, 
"  D.I  not  di^turb  our  calm,  oh.  Love! 
*'Sn  like  is  thy  form  to  the  cherubs  above, 
*'  It  well  might  deceive  such  heart?  as  ours." 

Love  stood  near  the  Novice  and  listen'd. 

And  Love  is  no  novice  in  taking  a  hmt ; 
His  lau2;hmg  blue  e}es  soon  uilh  piety  glisten'a; 
His  losy  wing  lurn'd  to  he.*ven's  own  tint. 
•'  Who  would  have  thuu^ht,"  the  urchin  cries, 
*'  That  Love  C'mld  so  well,  sn  gravely  disguise 
'*Hi-s  wanderii'g  wings,  and  wounding  eyes?" 

Love  DOW  warms  tht-e,  waking  and  sleeping, 
Youne:  Novice,  to  him  all  thy  nri-,ons  ri^e. 

Be  tinges  the  heavenly  fount  with  his  weeping, 
He  biightci.s  the  ceners  flame  wiih  his  sighs. 


children  of  Lear'  (both  regarding  Tuntha  de  Danans): 
and  this  'The  death  of  the  children  of  Usnach.' 
which  is  a  Milesian  story. '»  It  will  be  recollected, 
that  in  the  Second  Number  of  these  Melodies,  there  is 
a  ballad  upon  the  story  nf  the  children  of  Lear  or  Lir: 
"Silent,  ch  Moyle!"  &c. 

Whatever  n  ay  be  thought  nf  those  sanguine  claims 
to  antjqui'y,  which  Mr.  O'Ftanagan  and  others  ad- 
vance for  Ihe  li:erature  of  Irelaid,  it  would  be  a  last- 
ing repioach  upon  our  nalionality,  if  the  Gaelic  re- 
searches of  thi^  eeiitlpman  did  not'  meet  with  all  the 
liberal  encouragement  they  iO  well  nicrjt. 

*  "Oh,  Nasi !  view  that  cloud  that  I  here  see  in  the 
sky  !  I  see  over  Eman-£;reen  a  chilling  cloud  of  blood- 
tinged  red  "  —  Deirdri's  Song. 

3  UMer. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


157 


Love  is  the  Saint  en^llrin^l  in  thy  breast, 
Ami  angels  tlieniselves  would  admit  sucil  a  guest| 
If  he  came  to  then;  cloth'd  in  Piety's  vest. 


THIS  LIFE  IS  ALL  CHEQUER'U  WITH  PLEA- 
SURES AND  WOES. 
This  life  is  all  chequer'd  with  pleasures  and  woes, 

That  cha>e  one  auoltier  like  waves  of  llie  deep,— 
Each  brighlly  or  darlily,  as  onward  it  flows, 

Relleciing  our  eyes,  as  they  sparkle  or  weep. 
So  closely  our  whims  on  our  miseries  tread, 

That  ihe  laugh  is  awak'd  ere  the  teir  can  be  dried  : 
And,  as  fast  as  Ihe  rain-drop  of  Piiy  is  slied, 

'I  he  goose-plumage  of  Fully  can  turn  it  aside. 
But  pledge  nie  Itie  cup  —  if  existence  would  cloy, 

With  hearis  ever  happy,  and  heads  ever  wise, 
Be  ours  the  li^ht  .Sorrow,  half-sister  to  Joy, 

And  the  light,  brilliant  Folly  that  flashes  and  dies. 

When  Hylas  was  sent  with  his  uin  to  Ihe  fount, 

Thro' helds  full  of  light,  and  with  heart  full  of  play. 
Light  rambled  the  boy,  over  meadow  and  mount, 

And  neglected  his  task  for  the  llowers  on  the  way.> 
Thus  many,  like  me,  who  in  youth  should  have  lasted 

'J'he  fountain  that  runs  by  Philosoiihy's  shrine. 
Their  time  with  the  flowers  on   Ihe  margiu  have 
was'ed. 

And  left  their  light  urns  all  as  empty  as  mine. 
But  pledge  me  the  goblet;  —  while  Idleness  weaves 

T  hese  flowerets  logether.  should  Wisdom  but  see 
One  bright  drop  or  two  that  has  fall'n  on  Ihe  leaves 

Froci  her  fountain  divine,  't  is  sufijcieut  for  me. 


OH    THE    SHAMROCK 

Through  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sp^n  awhile. 
As  Love  and  Valour  wander'd, 

Wilh  Wit,  the  sprite, 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squandei'd. 

Where'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass^ 
Shoots  up,  » ith  dew-drops  streaming, 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds  seen 
Thro'  purest  crystal  gleaming. 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  gieen,  immortal  Shamrock  1 

Chosen  leaf. 

Of  Baid  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  I 

Says  Valour,  »'See, 

"  They  spring  for  me, 
"Those leafy  gems  of  morning!" 

Sa^s  Love.  "No,  no, 

*'  For  ?nr  they  grow, 
*'  My  fragrant  palh  adorning,* 

Hut  Wit  perceives 

The  Iriple  leaves. 
And  cries,  "Oh  !  do  noi  sever 

"  A  type,  that  blends 

"Ttiree  godlike  inends. 
"  Love,  Valour,  Wit,  for  ever  I" 


»  Proposilo  florem  prrEtnlit  officio. 

Prcyirl.  lib  i.  eleg.  20. 

'  II  is  said  thai  St.  Patrick,  \>hen  preaching  Ihe 
Trinity  to  the  Pagan  Irish,  usoil  to  illusl  a'e  his  sub- 
ject by  reference  to  hat  specie-  of  irrfoil  called  in 
Ireland  by  the  name  of  the  Shunnck;  and  hence, 
perhaps,  the  Island  of  Saints  adop'eJ  this  plant  as  her 
tiational  emhiem.  Hope,  ainong  the  a'  cients,  was 
sonielimes  represented  as  a  beatitiful  child,  standing 
upon  ti|>-toes,  and  a  trefoil  or  three-coloured  grass  in 
her  hand. 


Oh  the  Shamrock,  the  grten,  immortal  Shamrock  1 
Chosen  le  / 
Of  Hard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 

So  firmly  fond 

May  last  the  bond. 
They  wove  that  inorn  together, 

And  ne'er  miy  lall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  leather. 

May  Love,  as  twine 


Hisflo 


idlVll 


Of  thorny  falsehood  need  'em  j 

May  V.ilour  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom  ! 
Oh  the  Shamrock,  Ihe  green,  immortal  Shamrock! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  ! 


AT  THE  MID  HOUR  OF  NIGHT. 

At  the  mid  hovirof  night,  when  sta^sare  weeping,  I  fly 
To  the  lone  vale  we  lov'd,  when  life  shone  warm  in 


thii 


eye 


And  I  think  oft,  ifspirits  can  steal  from  the  regions 

of  air. 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  delight,  thou  will  come  to 

me  there. 
And  tell  me  our  love  is  remember'd,  even  in  the  sky. 

Then  I  sing  the  wild  song  't  was  once  such  pleasure  to 
hear ! 

When  our  voices  commingling  brealh'd,  like  one,  on 
the  ear ; 
And,  as  Echo  far  off  through  the  vale  my  sad  orison 

rolls, 
I  think,  oh  my  love!  *t  is  thy  voice  from  the  King- 
dom of  Souls,3 

Faintly  answering  tlill  Ihe  notes  that  once  were  so 
dear. 


ONE  BUMPER  AT  PARTING. 

One  bumjjer  at  parting  !  —  Iho'  many 

Wivc  circled  the  hoard  since  we  met. 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any 

Remains  to  be  cro«  n'd  by  us  yet. 
The  sweetness  that  pleasure  halh  in  it. 

Is  alwavs  so  slow  'n  come  forth. 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  Ihe  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth. 
But  come, — may  our  life's  haptiy  measure 


Be  all  of  s 


up; 


They  're  born  on  Ihe  bosom  of  Fie 
They  die  'inidsl  the  tears  of  the  cup. ' 

As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  anil  inhabit  awhile 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present. 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderne-s  smile! 
But  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master, 

Cries  '■  Onward  \  "  and  spur,  the  gay  hourg- 
Ah.  never  doth  Time  travel  faster. 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But  come  —  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moment-  made  up  ; 
Thev  're  horn  on  the  liosoni  of  Pkasiire, 

Thi-y  die  'mid-t  the  tears  of  the  cup. 


"  There  are  countries."  says  Montaigne.  "  where 
they  believe  the  soul  of  the  happy  live  in  ail  nianner 
of  liberty,  in  delightful  fields ;  and  that  it  is  those 
souls,  repeating  the  words  we  utter,  which  we  call 
Echo." 


14 


158 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


We  saw  how  Ihe  sun  look'd  in  sinking, 

The  waters  beneath  him  hnw  brtghl  j 
And  now,  let  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Resemble  that  f.uewell  of  light. 
You  SAW  h(.w  he  iirnsh'd,  by  darting 

His  beam  <i'er  a  deep  billow's  hrint  — 
So,  till  np,  let's  stiine  at  our  parting, 

In  full  liquid  gloty,  like  Itim. 
And  oh!  may  our  lile's  h.ipp)  measure 

Of  momens  like  ihis  be  made  up, 
'T  ^'■aa  bom  on  the  bnsoiii  of  Pleasure, 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  uf  the  cup. 


'TIS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER, 

'T  is  the  last  rose  of  summer 

Lefi  blooming  alone  ; 
All  her  h>vely  cnnipanioni 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rose-hud  is  nigh, 
To  reflect  back  her  bhishes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 

I  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one  I 

Topiueon  the  stem; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping, 

Go,  sleep  tliou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed, 
Where  thy  ma'es  of  the  garden 

Lie  sceiiiless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may;  follow, 

When  friendships  decay, 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away. 
When  true  hearts  lie  wiiher'd, 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
Oh!  uho  would  inh;ibit 

This  bleak  world  alone? 


THE   YOUNG    MAY    MOON. 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love. 
The  glow. worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love, 

Plow  sweet  to  rove 

Through  Mnrn.'s  grove,> 
When  the  drowsy  world  is  drenming,  love! 
Then  awake  !  —  the  heavens  lodk  bright,  my  dear, 
'T  is  never  loo  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  dearl 

Now  all  the  world  13  sleeping,  love, 

But  Ihe  Sage,  his  s'ar-watch  keeping,  love, 

And  1,  whose  star, 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  thai  casement  peeping,  love. 
Then  awake !  —  till  rise  of  sun,  niv  dear, 
The  Sage's  glas'.  we  *ll  shun,  my  dear, 

Or.  in  vvatching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  nf  light. 
He  mighi  happen  to  take  ihee  for  one,  my  dear. 


THE    MINSTREL. BOY. 

The  Minstiel-Boy  to  the  war  is  gone. 
In  the  ranks  of  death  you  'H  find  him; 

His  fa  her's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 
And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him.- 


**  Land  of  song!"  said  the  warrior-bard, 
*'Tho'all  the  world  betrays  thee, 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  nghts  slialt  guard, 
•*0/ie  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee!  " 

The  Minstrel  fell !— hut  Ihe  foeman's  chain 

Could  nut  bring  his  proud  soul  under  j 
The  hirp  he  loi'd  ne'er  spoke  again. 

For  he  tore  its  chords*  asunder  j 
And  said,  ''  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

*'Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
"  Thy  songs  were  made  for  ihe  pure  and  free, 

"  They  shall  never  sound  iu  slavery." 


THE    SONG    OF    0»RUARK, 
PRINCE   OF   BREFFNI.'* 

The  valley  lay  smiling  before  me. 

Where  lately  i  left  her  behind  j 
Yet  I  trembled,  and  sitmething  hung  o'er  nie, 

That  saddened  the  joy  of  my  mind. 
I  look'd  for  the  lamp  which,  she  told  me. 

Should  shine,  when  her  Pilgrim  returu'd; 
But,  though  darkness  began  to  enfold  me, 

No  lamp  from  the  battlements  buru'd  I 

I  flew  to  her  chamber — *t  was  lonely, 

As  if  the  lov'd  tenant  lay  dead  ;— 
Ah,  would  }l  were  death,  and  dea'h  only  ! 

But  no,  the  young  false  one  had  fled. 
And  there  hung  the  lute  that  could  soften 

My  very  worst  pains  into  bliss  j 
While  the  hand  that  had  wakM  it  so  often. 

Now  throbb'd  to  a  proud  lival'skiss. 

There  was  a  time,  false^l  of  women, 

When  Brett'ni'sgood  sword  would  have  sought 
That  man,  thm'  a  million  of  foemen, 

Who  dar'd  but  to  wrong  ihee  in  thought! 
While  now  — oh  degenerate  d.»ughter 

Of  Erin,  how  fall'n  is  thy  f:>Die ! 
And  thro'  ages  of  bondage  and  slaughter. 

Our  country  shall  bleed  for  thy  shaDie. 

Already,  the  curse  is  upon  her, 
And  strangers  her  valleys  profane  ; 

They  come  to  divide,  to  dishonour. 
And  tyrants  they  long  will  remain. 


i  "Steals  silently  to  Morna's  grove."  — See,  in  Mr 
Bunting's  collection,  a  poem  Iranslitcd  from  the  Irish 


by  the  late  John  Brown,  one  of  my  earliest  college 
companions  and  friends,  whose  death  was  as  singular'  | 
ly  melancholy  and  unfortunate  as  his  life  had  been  | 
amiable  honourable,  and  e^iemplary.  | 

^  These  stanzas  are  founded  upon  an  event  of  most  ' 
melancholy  impor'ance  to  Ireland  ;  if,  as  we  are  told  , 
by  our  Irish  historians,  it  gave  England  the  first  op- 
portunity of  profiting  by  our  divisions  and  subduing 
u9.  The  following  are  the  circumstances,  as  re- 
lated by  O'Halloran  :  —  "  The  king  of  Leinster  had 
long  conceived  a  violent  affection  for  Dearbhorgil, 
daughter  to  the  king  of  Meaih,  and  though  she  had 
been  for  some  time  married  to  ORuark^  prince  of 
Brefl'ni.yet  it  could  not  restrain  his  passion.  They 
earned  on  a  priva'e  conespondence.  and  she  informed 
him  that  O'Ruai  k  intended  soon  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage 
(an  act  of  piety  frequent  in  those  diys).  and  conjured 
him  to  embrace  that  opportunity  of  conveying  her 
from  a  hu-'band  she  dttested  to  a  lover  -he  adoTed. 
Mac  Murchad  too  punctually  f>be\ed  Ihe  summons, 
and  had  the  lady  conveyed  to'his  capi'al  of  Ferns."— 
The  monarch  Roderick  espoused  the  c;iuse  of  O'Ruark, 
while  Mac  Murch.id  tied  to  England,  and  obtained 
I  the  assis'ance  >'(  Henrv  II. 

"  Such,"  adds  Giral^us  Cambrensis  (as  I  find  him  in 
an  old  translation ),  "  is  the  variable  and  fickle  nature 
of  woman,  by  whom  all  mischief  in  the  world  (for 
the  most  part)  do  happen  and  come,  as  may  appear  by  j 
Marcus  Antoniua,  ant?  by  the  destrucliou  of  Troy." 
-  J 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


15') 


banner  rearingi 


But  onward  !  —  the  green  banner  re: 
Go,  tlesh  every  sword  to  the  liiUj 

Or.  fmr  side  is  Virlue  :ind  Erin, 
Uu  theirs  is  tbe  Saxun  aud  Guilt. 


OH  !   HAD  WE  SOME    BRIGHT  LITTLE   ISLE 
Of  OUR  OWN. 

Oh  !  had  we  some  bright  lillle  isle  of  our  own, 
111  a  blue  summer  ocean,  taroiiand  alone. 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still  bluomlng  bowers, 
And  the  bee  bauqueis  ou  through  a  whole  year  of 
Jiowers ; 

Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fcmd  a  delay, 
Tli;it  the  ni^ht  only  draws 
A  thm  veil  o'er  the  day; 
Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live, 
Is  worth  (he  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give. 

There,  with  souls  ever  ardent  and  pure  as  tbe  clime, 
We  sliouldlove,aslhey  lov'd  in  the  first  golden  lime; 
'J'he  §low  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
Would  steal  lo  our  heart<^,  and  make  all  bummer  there. 
Wilhafleciicn.ii,  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers, 
And,  with  hope,  like  the  bee, 

Living  always  on  flowers. 
Our  life  should  resemble  a  loni;;  day  of  lia;ht, 
And  our  death  come  on,  hoiy  and  calm  a^  ihe  Dtgbt. 


FAREWELL!  — RUT  WHENEVER  YOU  WEL- 
COME THE   HOUR. 

Farewell !  —but  whenever  you  welcome  the  hour, 
That  awakens  Ihe  mght-snng  of  mirth  in  your  bower, 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcom'd  it  too, 
And  foigot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
H  IS  gi  iefs  may  return,  not  a  hope  may  reniaiii 
Of  the  few  that  have  bnghten'd  his  pathway  of  pain, 
But  he  ne»er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that  threw 
Its  euchanlmeut  around  him,  while  liogering  with 
you. 

And  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
To  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  hearl  and  each  cup, 
Where'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
My  soul,  happy  friends,  shall  be  wi'ih  you  thnt  njsht ; 
Shall  join  iu  your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your  wiles, 
And  re'urii  to  me,  beaming  all  o'er  with  your  sniiles— 
Too  blest,  if  il  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer 
Some  kind  voice  had  murmur'd,   "I  wish  be  were 
here  I" 

Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  jny, 
B  ii(ht  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy; 
Which  come  in  the  mght-lime  nf  sorrow  and  care, 
And  bring  h^ck  the  features  thai  joy  used  to  wear. 
I/)ng,  long  be  my  hearl  with  such  memones  fill'd  ! 
Like  thevase,  in  which  roses  h:iveonce  been  dis-ili'd— 
You  may  break,  yu  may  shatter  the  vase,  if  ynu  will, 
Bit  the  scent  of  tbe  roses  will  hang  round  it  still. 


OH!    DOUBT    ME    NOT. 

Oh  !  d.  ubt  rue  not  —  the  season 

h  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rove. 
Arid  now  the  vestal.  Reason, 
Shall  watch  Ihe  hre  awak'd  by  Love. 
AUho*  this  heart  was  early  blown, 

And  fairest  hinds  disturb'd  the  tree. 

They  only  shook  some  blossnnis  down, 

Its  fruit  has  all  been  kept  for  thee. 


Then  doubt  me  not — the  season 
Is  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rove, 

And  now  the  vestal,  Reason, 

Shall  watch  Ihe  hie  awakM  by  Love. 

And  tho'  my  lute  no  longer 

May  sing  of  Taj-^ion's  ardent  spell, 
Yei,  dust  me,  all  the  stronger 
1  feel  the  bliss  I  do  not  tell. 
The  bee  through  many  a  garden  roves, 

And  hums  his  lay  oi  courtship  o'er, 

But  when  be  tiuds  the  Ilower  he  loves, 

He  settles  there,  and  bums  no  more. 

Thendoub'  me  n'>t  — the  se.isoii 

Js  o'er,  when  Folly  kept  me  free, 
And  now  the  vestal.  Reason, 
Shall  guard  the  Ilame  awakM  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  wa^  the  li^ht  of  their  lowly  col. 
Totjelher  they  toil'd  through  winds  and  rains, 

'I  ill  William,  at  length,  in  sadness  said, 
"  We  must  seek  our  fmtune  on  other  plains  i**  — 

Then,  sighing,  she  left  her  lowly  shed. 

They  roam'd  a  long  and  a  weary  way. 

Nor  much  was  the  maiden's  bean  at  ease, 
When  now,  at  close  t,(  one  stormy  day, 

They  see  a  proud  castle  ami  ng  the  trees. 
"Tn-uighl."  5aid  the  jouih,  "we'll  shel'er  there: 

*'The  wind  blows  cdd,  the  hour  is  late :  " 
So  he  blew  the  horn  with  a  chieftain's  air. 

And  the  Porter  bow'd,  as  ihey  pasa'd  the  gate. 

"Now,  welcome,  Ladv,'* exclaimed  the  youth, — 

*'  This  cislle  is  thine,  and  these  dai  k  woods  all  I »» 
She  believ'd  him  crazed,  but  his  words  were  Irulh, 

F.ir  Ellen  h  Lady  of  Rosna  Hall  I 
And  dearly  the  Lord  of  Rosna  loves 

Whai  William  tbe  s  ranger  woc'd  and  wed  ; 
And  >he  light  ot  bli:^>>.  in  these  iordly  groves, 

Shines  pure  as  it  did  in  the  lowly  shed. 


I'D    MOURN    THE    HOPES, 

IM  mourn  the  hn|  es  that  leave  me, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  me  tof>; 
I'd  wie|)  when  friends  deceive  me, 

If  Ibi.u  vvert,  like  Ihem.  untrue. 
But  w  bile  I  've  thee  before  me, 

With  heart  so  warm  and  eyes  so  bright, 
N"  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me. 

That  smile  tuins  them  alt  to  light. 

*T  is  not  in  fate  lo  harm  me, 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  me; 
*T  IS  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 

Unless  joy  be  Mmed  with  thee. 
One  minute's  dream  about  thee 

Were  worth  a  lone,  an  endless  year 
Of  waking  bli's  »iIbont  'h-e, 

My  own  love,  my  only  dear  ! 

And  tho'  tbe  hope  be  gone,  love, 

1  hat  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way, 
Oh!  we  shill  journey  on,  love, 

More  safely,  without  its  ray. 
Far  better  lights  shall  win  me 

Along  the  path  I  *ve  yet  lo  roam:'^ 
The  mind  that  burns  within  me. 

And  puie  smiles  from  thte  ai  home. 


I  This  ballad  was  suffgested  by  a  well-known  ai 
interesting  story  told  of  a  certain  noble  taiuily 

England. 


rr 


u;o 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


Thus,  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

'1  he  iraveller  ai  first  goes  out, 
He  feels  awhile  benighted, 

And  looks  round  in  ff-av  and  doubt. 
But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing, 

By  cloudless  starlight  nn  he  treads, 
And  thinks  no  iatnp  so  cheeung 

As  that  light  wbicb  Heaven  sheds. 


COME    O'ER    THE    SEA. 

Come  oVr  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me, 
Mine  thru' sunshine,  sorm,  and  snows: 

Se.isons  may  roll, 

But  the  truK  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fite  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not; 
'Tis  lite  wherethmi  art,  'tisdeaih  where  thow  art  not. 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 

M:Aiden,  with  me, 
Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blows; 

Seasons  may  roll, 

Ent  the  true  s^ul 
Burns  the  same  v%here*er  it  goes. 


Was  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  Free, 

Land  for  couris  and  chains  alone  ? 


He 


But.  on  the  waves, 
Love  and  Liberty  's  all  our  own. 
Nn  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us, 
Ail  earth  forgot,  and  all  heave. i  around  us  — 

ThfU  come  o'er  ihe  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Mine  thro*  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  irue'  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 


HAS  SORROW  THY  YOUNG  DAYS  SHADED. 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded. 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleei  ? 
Too  fast  have  those  yonng  days  laded. 

That,  even  in  sorrow,  were  sw  eet  ? 
Does  Time  with  his  cold  wing  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  de.ir?  — 
Then,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hither, 

I  'il  weep  with  Ihee,  tear  (or  tear. 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  tender. 

Been  like  lur  Lagenian  mine.! 
Wheie  sp.irkles  of  golden  splendour 


All 


rthe 


But.  if  in  pursuit  we  go  deeper, 
Allur'd  hv  the  gleam  that  shone, 

Ah!  f.ilse  as  Ihe  dieam  of  he  sleeper. 
Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone. 

Has  Hope,  like  Ihe  bird  in  the  st.ir)',^ 

That  fiitled  from  tree  lo  tree 
With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory  — 

Has  Hope  bt^en  ih  «>  bird  to  thee  ? 
On  branch  after  t.rarch  alighting, 

The  gem  did  she  still  display. 
And,  when  neare-t  :ind  mo^t  inviting, 

Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away  f 


i  Our  VVicklow  Gold  Mines,  to  which  this  verse 
allude?,  deserve,  I  fe«r,  but  too  well  the  character 
here  given  of  them. 

^  "  The  bird,  liaving  eot  its  prize,  settled  not  far 
ott;  with  the  talisman  in  his  month.  The  prince  drew 
near  it.  hoping  it  ^vould  drop  i( ;  b^it,  as  he  approached, 
the  biid  took  wing,  and  settled  a^ain,"  &u:.— Arabian 
Nit:kts. 


If  thus  the  young  hours  have  fleeted, 

When  sorrow  itself  looked  bright; 
If  thus  Ihe  fair  hope  hath  cheated, 

'J  hat  led  (hee  along  so  light; 
If  thus  the  cold  world  now  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear :  — 
Come,  child  of  misfonuue,  come  hither, 

1  'U  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 


NO,  NOT    MORE    WELCOME, 

No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 

Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear, 
When  half-awaking  from  feaiful  slumbers. 

He  thinks  li.e  full  quire  of  heaven  is  near, 
Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken, 

This  heait  1  >ng  had  sleepirg  I.im, 
Nor  thought  its  cold  pul^e  would  ever  waken 

To  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

Sweet  voice  of  comfort  !  't  was  like  the  stealing 

Of  sunnner  winiJ  throSome  wreathed  shell  — 
Each  secret  winding,  etch  inmost  feeling 

Ofall  my  soul  echoed  to  its  spell. 
*T  was  whispt-red  balm— 't  was  sunshine  spoken  ! 

I'd  live  years  of  gnef  and  pain 
To  have  my  long  sleej)  of  sorrow  broken 

By  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 


WHEN    FIRST    I   MET    THEE. 

When  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young, 

There  shone  such  truth  about  thee, 
And  on  thy  lip  such  promise  hung, 

I  dij  not  d^re  to  doubt  thee. 
I  saw  thee  change,  yet  s'ill  relied. 

Still  duns;  with  hope  the  f<inder. 
And  ihought,  tho'  faJ  e  to  all  beside, 

from  me  thou  couldst  not  wander. 
But  go,  deceiver!  go, 

The  heart,  whose  hopes  could  make  it 


)  falM 


l)e^eIves  that  thou  shouldst  break  it. 

When  every  tongne  thy  follies  nanfd, 

I  (it;d  the  unuelcome  story; 
Or  found,  in  ev'n  the  faul's  Ihey  blam'd, 

Son-e  gleams  of  future  glory. 
/  still  was  true,  when  nearer  friends 
Conspired  to  wrong,  to  slight  Ihee; 
The  heart  that  now  thy  falsehood  rends, 
Would  then  have  bled  to  right  thee. 
Btil  go,  deceiver'  go,— 

Some  day.  perhaps,  thou  'It  waken 
From  pleasure's  dre.tm,  to  know 
The  grief  of  hearts  forssken. 

Even  now,  tho'  youth  its  bloom  has  shed, 

No  lighrs  rf  age  adorn  thee: 
The  few,  who  lov'd  thee  once,  have  fled, 

And  they  who  flaiter  scorn  thee. 
Thy  midnight  cup  is  pledg'd  to  slaves, 

No  genial  ties  enwre.ilh  it; 
The  smiling  there,  like  light  on  graves. 
Has  rank  cold  hearts  beneath  it. 
Go  —  go  —  tho'  worlds  V'  ere  thine, 

I  wou'd  not  now  surrender 
One  tail. tless  tear  of  mine 
For  all  thy  guilty  splendour! 

And  days  may  come,  thou  false  one  !  yet, 

When  even  ih  .se  hes  shall  sever; 
When  th  u  wilt  call,  with  vain  regret. 

On  her  thou  'st  lost  forever; 
On  her  who,  in  Ihy  fortune's  fall, 

Wiih  smiles  had  still  receiv'd  thee, 
And  gl  idly  died  lo  prove  tliee  all 

Her  fancv  lirst  beiiev'd  thee. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


lef 


Go  —  go,  —  H  is  vain  to  curse 
'T  is  weakness  to  upbraid  thee 

Hate  cainint  wisli  thee  worse 
Thau  guilt  and  shame  have  made  thee. 


WHILE    HISTORY'S    MUSE. 

While  History's  Muse  the  memorial  was  keeping 

Of  all  that  theda.k  liand  of  Destiny  weaves, 
Beside  her  (he  Genius  of  Erin  stood  weeping, 

For  hers  was  the  story  that  blotled  the  leaves. 

Rut  oh  !  how  ihe  tear  in  her  eyelids  t^rew  hriglit, 

When,  aiter  whole  pages  of  sorrow  and  shanie> 

She  saw  History  write, 

Wiih  a  pencil  of  light 

That   illuniM   the  whole  volume,  her  Wellington'a 

name. 

"  Hail,  Star  of  my  Isle '."  said  the  Spirit,  all  sparkling 
With  l>eams,  such  as  break,  from  her  own  dewy 
skies  — 
'*Thro'  ages  of  sorrow,  deserted  and  darkling, 

»'  I  've  watch'd  fi>r  some  i^lory  like  thine  to  arise. 
"  For,  Ilio'  Heroes  1  've  number-d,  unblest  was  iheir  lot, 
*'And  unhillow'd  they  sleep  in  the  cross-ways  of 
Fame  j  — 

*-Ilutoh!  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'a  thou  hast  yet 
known; 

**  Tho'  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  unchaining, 
'*  Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy  own. 

"At  the  fool  o(  that  throne,  for  whose  weal  thou  hut 

'Go,  plead  for  the  land  that  first  cradled  thy  fain«| 
"  And,  bright  o'er  the  flood 
"Of  luT  tears  and  her  blood, 

'  Let  the  rainbow  of  Hope  be  her  Wellinguiu's  name 


THE  TIME  I'VE  LOST  IN  WOOING. 

The  time  I  've  lost  in  wooing, 
in  watching  and  pursuing 

The  li2:ht,  that  lies 

In  wnniaM's  eyes, 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Tho'  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
!  scorn'd  the  lore  she  brought  mo 

My  only  books 

Were  wonmi's  looks. 
And  folly  'b  all  they  've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  Beauty  granted, 
1  hunff  with  gaze  enchanted, 

Like  him  the  Sprite,* 

Whom  maids  by  nitrht 
Oft  meet  in  glen  ihat  's  haunted. 
Like  him,  too.  Beauty  won  me, 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  me, 

If  once  their  ray 

Was  lurn'd  away 
O!  winds  could  net  outrun  me. 


1  This  alludes  to  a  kind  of  Irish  fairy,  which  is  to 
be  met  with,  they  say,  in  the  fields  at  dusk.  As  long 
as  you  keep  your  eyes  upon  him,  he  is  fixed,  and  in 
your  power;  —  but  the  monnent  you  look  away  (ai>d 
tie  is  ingenious  in  furni^^hing  some  inducement)  he 
vanishes.  I  had  thought  that  this  was  the  sprite 
which  we  call  Ihe  Leprechaun  ;  but  a  high  authority 
upon  such  sulijfcs.  Lidy  Morgan,  (in  a  note  upon  her 
national  and  inleres'ing  novel,  O'Donnel,)  has  given  a 
very  different  account  of  that  goblin. 


And  are  those  follies  going? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growin 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing 
No,  vain,  alas  I  th'  endeavour 
froni  bonds  so  sweet  to  sever) 

poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever. 


WHERE    IS   THE    SLAVE 

Oh,  where 's  the  slave  so  lowly, 
Condemu'd  to  chains  unholy, 

Who,  could  he  burst 

His  bonds  at  first, 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly? 
What  soul,  whose  wrongs  degrade  it 
Would  wail  till  time  decay'd  it, 

When  thus  its  wing 

At  once  may  spiing 
To  the  throne  ot  Him  who  made  itr 

Farewell  Erin,— farewell,  all, 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall  1 

Less  dear  the  laurel  growing, 
Alive,  untouch'd  and  blowing, 

Than  Ihat.  whose  braid 

Isplnckd  to  shade 
The  brows  with  victory  glowing. 
We  tread  the  land  Ihat  bore  us, 
Her  green  Hag  glitters  o'er  us. 

The  friends  we've  tried 

Are  by  our  side. 
And  Ihe  foe  we  ha^e  before  us. 

Farewell,  Erin,— farewell,  all, 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

Come  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer, 
Tho*  Ihe  herd  have  lied  from  thee,  thy  home  is  still 

here ; 
Here  s'ill  is  Ihe  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast, 
And  a  heart  and  a  baud  all  thy  own  to  the  last. 

Oh  1  what  was  love  made  for,  if  't  is  not  the  same 
1  hro' joy  and  thro'  lormenl,  thro' glory  and  shame? 
I  know  not,  I  ask  nf)t,  if  guilt 's  in  Ihat  heart, 
I  but  know  that  1  love  tliee,  whatever  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Aneel  in  moments  of  bliss, 
And  ihy  Aneel  I  '11  be,  'mid  the  hormrs  of  this,— 
Thro'  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  Ihy  steps  to  pursue, 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  Ihte, — or  perish  there  too  I 


»TIS   GONE.   AND   FOR    EVER. 


d  for  ever,  the  light  we  saw  breaking, 
hrst  dawn  o'er  ihe  sleep  of  the  dead- 


er 18  gone 

Like  H( 
When  Man,  from  the  slumber  of  a^es  iwaking 

Look'd  upward,  and  bleas'd  tlie  pure  ray,  ere  it  fled. 
'T  is  gone,  and  the  gleams  it  has  left  of  its  burning 
But  deepen  the  long  night  of  bondage  and  mourning. 
That  dark  o'er  the  kingdoms  of  earth  is  returning 

And  darkest  of  all,  hapless  Erin,  o'er  thee. 

For  high  was  thy  hope,  when  those  glories  were 
darting 

Around  thee,  thro'  all  Ihe  gross  clouds  of  the  world  j 
When  TruHi,  from  her  fetters  indignantiy  starling, 

At  once,  like  a  Sun-burst,  her  banner  unfurPd.* 

a  '*  The  S.in-bur.t"  was  the  fanciful  name  given  by 
the  ancient  Irish  to  the  Royal  Banner. 


162 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


Oh !  never  shall  earth  see  a  moment  so  splendid  ! 
'1  hen,  then  — had  one  Hymn  of  Deliverance  blended 
The  ton»ues  of  all  nalious  —  how  sweet  had  ascended 
The  tirsl  nole  of  Liberty,  Erin,  from  thee  ! 

But,  shame  on  those  tyrants,  who  envied  the  blessing  ! 

And  shame  on  the  light  race,  unworthy  its  good, 
Who,  at  Dtath's  reekiui;  al  ar,  lilie  furii-s,  caressing 

The  youiig  hope  of  Freedom,  b.ip.iz'd  it  in  bluod. 
Then  v.iiiish'd  for  ever  that  fair,  sunny  virion, 
Which,  spite  of  the  slavish,  the  cold  hearCs  derision, 
Shall  long  be  remember'd,  pure,  bright,  and  elysian, 

As  tiisl  it  arose,  my  lost  Erin,  on  thee. 


1   SAW    FROM   THE    BEACH. 

I  saw  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shining, 
A  barb  o'er  the  wafers  move  gloriously  on  ; 

I  came  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  declining. 
The  bark  was  still  there,  but  the  waiers  were  gone. 

And  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise, 
So  passing  the  spring-tide  of  joy  we  have  known  ; 

Each  wave,   that   we  danc'd  on  at  morning,  ebbs 
from  us, 
And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone. 

I^e'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  our  night  j— 
Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness  of 
Morning, 
Her  clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Evening's  best 
light. 
Oh,  who  would  not  welcome  that  moment's  returning. 
When  passion  first  wak'd  a  new  life  thro'  liis  frame. 
And  his  soul,  like  the  wood,  that  grows  precious 
burning. 
Gave  out  all  its  sweets  to  love's  exquisite  flame. 


FILL    THE    BUMPER    FAIR. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 
Wit's  electric  flame 

Ne'er  so  swiftly  passes, 
As  when  thro'  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  britnniing  glasses. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair  I 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooihs  away  a  wrinkle. 

Sages  can,  Ihey  say. 

Grasp  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. 


Vould'sl  thou  know  what  first 
Made  our  souls  inherit 

rhis  ennobling  thirst 
For  wine's  celes  ial  spirit? 

t  chaiic'd  upon  thai  day. 
When,  as  bards  inform  us. 


slole 


vay 


The  living  fires  llial  warm  i»  i 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 
To  Glory's  fount  aspiring. 

Took  nor  urn  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  buwi  of  Bacchus  lying  ! 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl. 

Remains  of  last  nighl's  pleasui 
With  which  the  Sparki  of  Soul 

Mix'd  (heir  burning  treasure. 
Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  us; 
Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Caie 

Smooihs  away  a  wrinkle. 


DEAR  HARP  OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country !  in  darkness  I  *'ound  thee. 

The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  ihee  long,' 
When  pmudly,  my  own  Island  Harp,  I  unh  und  Ihee, 

And  gave  all  thy  chords  lo  light,  freedom,  and  song! 
The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  noie  of  gladness 

Have  waken'd  thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  Ihiill ; 
But,  so  oft  hast  Ihou  echo'd  the  deep  sigh  of  sadness. 

That  ev'n  in  thy  mirth  it  will  steal  Irom  thee  still. 
Dear  Harp  of  my  coumry  !  faiewell  lo  thy  numbers. 

This  sweet  wiealh  of  song  is  the  last  we  shall  Iwine  ! 
Go.  sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  slumbers, 

Till  toncli'd  by  some  hand  less  unwonhy  than  mine  ; 
If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover. 

Have  ihrobb'd  al  our  lay,  't  is  thy  glory  alone; 
1  was  but  a^  the  wind,  parsing  heedlessly  over, 

And  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  wak'd  was  thy  own. 


'  In  that   rebellious  but  beautiful   song,   "  When 
Erin  first  rose,"  there  is,  if  I  lecollect  right,  the  fol- 
lowing line :  — 
"The  dark  chain  of  Silence  was  tlirown  o'er  the  deep." 

The  chain  of  Silence  was  a  sort  of  practical  figure 
of  rhetoric  among  the  ancient  Irivh.  VValker  tells  us 
of  "a  celeb'a'ed  contentinn  for  precedence  between 
Finn  and  Gaul,  near  Finn's  palace  at  Almhaim, 
where  the  attending  Bards,  anxious,  if  possible,  to 
produce  a  cessation  of  hostilities,  >hook  the  chain  of 
Silence,  and  flung  themselves  anvng  the  ranks."  S^-e 
also  the  Ode  to  Gaul,  tfie  Soil  of  Montij  in  Miss 
Brooke's  Rdiques  of  Irish  Poetry, 


END     OF     VOL.     III. 


PREFACE   TO    THE   FOURTH    VOLUME. 


The  recollections  connected,  in  my  mind,  with  that 
early  perioi  ni  niy  life,  when  I  lirst  thought  of  inter- 
pre  ing  in  verse  the  louching  language  of  my  country's 
music,  tempt  me  a^.^in  lo  advert  to  th"se  long  p.ist 
days;  2nd.  even  at  the  risk  of  being  thought  lo  in- 
dulge overmuch  in  what  Colley  Cibher  calls  "the 
great  pleasure  of  writing  about  one's  self  all  day,"  to 
Do;ice  briefly  some  of  those  impressions  and  influences 


under  which  the  atttempt  to  adapt  \vnrds  to  our  an- 
cient Mel  dies  was  for  some  lime  meditated  by  me, 
ani.  at  last,  undertaken. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  thit  to  the  zeal  and  industry 
of  Mr.  Bunting  his  country  is  indebied  (  t  the  preser- 
va'ion  of  berold  naiioii.il  »irs.  During  (he  prevaleace 
of  the  Penal  Code,  the  music  of  Ireland  waa  m  »de  to 
share  in  the  fate  of  its  people.    Both  were  alike  shut 


PREFACE   TO   THE  FOURTH  VOLUME. 


1G3 


out  from  the  pale  of  civilised  life;  and  seldom  any 
where  but  in  ihe  huls  of  Mie  proscribed  race  could  the 
sweet  voice  of  the  songs  of  olher  days  be  heard.  Evt-n 
of  ihai  cias>,  ihe  itinerant  harpers,  auiong  whom  for 
a  l>ng  peiiod  our  aiicieni  music  had  been  kepi  ali\e, 
there  reiiiijiied  but  tew  lo  cmtiinue  the  precious  tr.»- 
ditiuii ;  and  a  gteal  music-meeting  held  ai  Kelfa^t  in 
the  year  1792,  at  which  Ihe  two  or  three  still  remain- 
ing of  Ihe  old  race  of  wandering  harpers  as-.istrd, 
exhibited  Ihe  hst  public  elioit  made  by  ihe  lover*  of 
liish  music,  to  preserve  to  their  coumry  ihe  only 
grace  or  ornanieul  left  to  her,  out  of  Ihe  wreck  of  all 
her  libei  ties  and  hopes.  Thus  what  the  fierce  legis- 
Utuie  of  the  F»le  liad  endeavoured  vainly  through  so 
many  centuries  lo  effect,— ihe  utter  extinciion  of  Ire- 
land's Miosii-elsy,— ihe  deadly  pressure  of  the  Tenal 
Laws  had  nearly,  at  the  clo^e  of  ihe  eighteenth  cen- 
1  tury,  accompliiihed  ;  and,  but  for  the  zeal  and  tntetli- 
gent  research  of  Mr.  Bunting,  at  that  crisis,  the  gieater 
part  of  our  nm.sical  treasures  woiild  probably  hive 
been  hist  to  Ihe  world.  It  was  in  the  year  1796  that 
this  gentleman  published  his  first  volume;  atid  tlie 
national  spirit  and  hope  then  wakened  in  Ireltnd,  by 
the  rapid  spread  >  f  the  democratic  piinciple  ihrimghoul 
Kurope,  could  not  but  insure  a  mosi  cordial  reception 
for  such  a  work; — fla'leriiig  as  it  was  to  the  fond 
dreams  of  F.riu's  early  da\s,  and  containing  in  itself, 
indeed,  remarkable  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her  claims 
to  an  early  dale  of  civilisaii'n. 

It  was  in  the  yetr  1797  ihat,  through  the  medium 
of  Mr.  Bunting's  book,  I  was  tirst  made  acquainted 
with  the  bfau  ies  of  our  native  music.  A  yung  friend 
of  our  family,  Edward  Hudson,  Ihe  nephew  of  an 
eminent  deulist  of  Ihat  name  who  placed  with  much 
taste  and  feeling  on  the  flute,  and,  unluckily  ir  him- 
self, was  but  too  deeply  warmed  with  tlie  patriotic 
ardour  then  kindling  around  him,  was  the  first  who 
made  known  o  me  this  rich  ntine  of  our  counir)'s 
melodies ;— a  mine,  front  ihe  wirking  of  which  my 
humble  labours  as  a  pi  el  have  since  derived  their  sole 
lustre  and  value.  About  ihe  sanie  period  I  fnimedan 
acnuaintai.ee,  whi^h  soi.n  grew  into  iutinjacy,  with 
young  Rubeit  Emmet.  He  was  my  senior,  I  think, 
by  one  class,  in  the  university  ;  for  when,  in  the  first 
ytar  of  iny  course,  1  became  a  meniber  of  the  Debat- 
iDi!  Sociei\, —  a  sort  of  nursery  to  the  autlK>rised  His- 
torical Society  —  1  found  him  in  full  reputation,  n<>t 
only  for  his  learning  and  eloquence,  but  :tUo  for  the 
blanielessness  of  his  life,  and  the  grave  suavity  of  his 
manners. 

Of  the  political  tone  of  ibis  minor  school  of  oratorj-, 
which  was  held  weekly  at  the  roonis  of  dilfereoi 
resident  member!:,  some  notion  may  be  fo  nied  fmm 
the  naure  of  the  questions  proposed  fur  discussion,— 
one  of  which,  1  recillect,  was,  *•  Whe'her  an  Aristo- 
cracy or  a  Democracy  is  nu'Sl  favourable  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  science  .»nd  liierUure?''  while  another, 
bearing  even  more  pointedly  on  the  relative  position 
of  the  government  and  the  people,  at  this  crisis,  was 
thus  significantly  profiounded  :  —  '*  Whether  a  soldier 
was  bound,  on  all  occasions,  to  ol  ey  the  orders  of  his 
comm  nding  officer  ?"  On  the  former  of  ihese  (jues- 
lions.  the  effect  of  Emmet's  eloquence  upon  his  young 
auditors  was,  I  lecollect,  most  sriking.  The  piohi- 
bitinn  agunst  touching  upon  modern  politics,  which 
it  was  subsecjuently  found  necessary  lo  enforce,  had 
not  yet  lieen  inln^uced  ;  and  Emmet,  who  took  of 
course  ardently  the  side  of  deniocracy  in  the  debate, 
after  a  brief  review  of  Ihe  republics  of  antiquity, 
showing  how  much  they  had  all  done  for  the  advance- 
ment of  science  and  the'  arts,  procteded,  lastly,  to  the 
grand  and  i  erilnus  exaniple,  then  pasf.ing  before  alt 
eyes,  the  young  Republic  of  France.  Referring  -o  the 
circumstance  tnld  of  Cae-ar,  iha',  in  swimming  across 
the  Rubicon,  he  contrived  to  carry  with  him  hn  Com- 
mentaries and  his  sword,  Ihe  young  orator  said,  "  Thus 
Fiance  wades  through  a  sea  nf  storm  and  blood  ;  but 
while,  '■-  fne  hand,  she  wields  the  sword  againsi  her 
agicressors,  with  the  other  she  upholds  Uie  glories  of 
science  and  literature  unsullied  by  the  ensinguined 
tide  ihrough  which  she  s'ruggles.     In  another  of  his 


remarkable  speeches,  I  remember  his  saying,  "  When 
a  people  advancing  rapidly  in  knowledge  and  power, 
perceive  .at  last  how  far  Iheir  government  is  lagging 
behind  them,  what  then,  1  ask,  is  to  be  done  in  such  a 
case?  What,  but  to  pull  Ihe  government  uji  to  the 
people  ?" 

In  a  few  months  after,  both  Emmet  and  myself 
were  admitted  members  of  the  greater  and  recognised 
institution,  called  the  Historical  Society;  aid  even 
here,  the  political  feeling  so  rife  abroad  contrived  10 
mix  up  its  restless  spirit  with  all  our  debates  and  pro- 
ceedings; notwithstanding  the  constant  watchfulness 
of  the  colleee  authorities,  as  well  as  of  a  sirong  party 
within  the  Society  itself,  devoted  adherents  to  the 
policy  rif  the  gt»vernmeiit,  and  taking  invariably  part 
%viih  the  Provost  and  Fellows  in  all  their  restrictive 
and  inquisitorial  measures.  The  most  distinguished 
and  eloquent  of  these  supporters  of  power  weie  a 
young  man  named  Sargent,  of  whose  fate  in  after 
days  I  know  nothing,  and  Jebb,  the  late  Bishop  of 
Limerick,  who  was  then,  as  he  continued  to  be 
through  life,  much  respected  for  his  private  worth 
and  learning. 

Of  the  popular  side,  in  the  Society,  Ihe  chief  cham- 
pion and  ornament  was  Riberl  Emmet ;  and  though 
every  care  was  I:iken  to  exclude  from  (he  subjects  ol 
debate  all  questions  verging  tt)ward>*  ihe  politics  of  Ihe 
day,  it  was  always  easy  enough,  by  a  side-wind  of 
digression  or  allusion,  to  bring  Ireland  and  the  pros- 
[lecis  then  opening  upon  her  within  the  scope  of  the 
orator's  view.  So  exciting  and  powerful,  in  this  re- 
spect, were  Emmet's  speeches,  and  so  little  were  even 
the  most  eloquent  of  the  adverse  party  able  to  cope 
with  his  powers,  th;it  it  was  at  length  thought  ad- 
visable, by  the  higher  authorities,  lo  send  amor'g  us  a 
man  of  more  advanced  standing,  as  well  as  belonging 
lo  a  former  race  of  renowned  speakers,  in  Ihat  Society, 
in  order  that  he  might  answer  the  speeches  itf  Emmet, 
and  endeavour  in  obviate  Ihe  niischievous  impression 
they  were  thought  to  produce.  The  name  of  this 
mature  champion  of  the  higher  powers  it  is  not  neces- 
sary here  In  record;  but  the  object  of  his  niission 
among  us  was  in  some  respect  gained  ;  as  it  uas  in 
replymg  to  a  lor^g  oration  of  his,  one  night,  that 
Emmet,  much  to  the  mortification  of  us  who  gloried 
in  him  -■'s  our  leader,  became  suddenly  embarrassed  in 
the  middle  of  his  speech,  and,  to  use  the  parliament- 
ary phiase,  broke  down.  Whether  from  a  moment- 
ary confusion  in  the  thread  of  his  argument,  or  p.-s- 
sib  y  from  difhdence  in  encountering  an  adversary  so 
much  his  senior,— for  Emmet  "as  as  modest  as  he 
was  high-minded  and  brave,— be  began,  m  the  full 
career  of  his  eloquence,  to  hesilate  and  repeal  his 
words,  and  then,  alter  an  effort  or  two  to  recover  him- 
•elf.  Bale  down. 

It  fell  to  my  own  lol  to  be  engaged,  about  the  same 
time,  in  a  brisk  struggle  with  the  dominant  party  in 
the  Society,  in  consequence  of  ,i  burlesque  poem 
which  I  gave  in,  as  candidate  for  Ihe  Literary  Medal, 
entitled  *'  An  Ode  upon  Nothing,  with  Notes,  by  Tns- 
megistus  Rusiituslius,  I).  I).*'  &c.  &c.  For  this  squib 
against  the  gre.t  Dons  of  learning,  ihe  medal  was 
voted  to  me  by  a  triumphant  nMJcrily,  But  a  motion 
was  made  in  the  following  week  to  rescind  this  vote  ; 
and  a  fierce  contest  beiween  the  two  parties  ensued, 
which  1  at  last  put  an  end  to  by  vrduntarily  withdraw< 
ing  mv  composition  from  the  Sf>ciety's  Bonk. 

1  have  already  adverted  to  the  period  when  Mr. 
Bunting's  valuable  volume  first  became  known  lo  me. 
There  elapsed  no  very  long  time  before  I  was  myself 
Ihe  hippy  proprietor  of  a  copy  of  the  work,  and, 
though  never  regularly  instructed  in  music,  could 
play  over  Ihe  airC  with  tolerable  facility  on  the  piano- 
forte.  Robert  Emmet  used  soiiu times  to  sit  by  me, 
when  I  was  thus  engaged  ;  and  1  remember  one  day 
his  starling  up  as  from  a  reverie,  when  I  had  just 
finished  playing  that  spirited  tune  called  the  Red 
Fox,»  and  exclaiming,  "  (.)h,  that  I  weie  at  the  head 
of  t»  en'y  thousand  men,  marching  to  that  air ! " 


i  **  Let  Er 


nemher  the  days  of  old.' 


]G4 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FOURTH  VOLUME. 


How  little  did  I  then  think  that  in  one  of  the  most 
touchinsrtit  the  sueet  airs  I  used  tn  jiiay  to  him,  his 
OWD  dying  words  would  find  an  interpreter  so  wonhy 
of  their  sad,  bnl  proud  feelinK;  *  or  that  another  of 
those  mournful  strains  '^  wnuld  lon^  Lie  associated,  in 
the  hearts  of  his  counlryni'-n,  \\\\.\\  ihe  memory  of 
her  a  wlio  shared  « ith  Ireland  his  last  blessing  and 

Though  fully  alive,  of  cnur»e,  to  the  feel'ingrs  which 
such  nm&ic  cnuld  not  but  inspire,  1  hid  not  yet  under- 
taken the  task  of  ad.ipliiii;  words  to  any  of  Ihe  airs; 
and  il  was,  1  am  nshamed  lo  say,  in  dull  and  turgid 
prose,  thit  I  made  my  first  appearance  in  print  as  a 
champi  in  of  Ilie  popular  cause.  Towards  the  latter 
end  ol  the  year  1797,  the  celebrated  newspaper  called 
*'  The  Press"  was  set  up  by  AnliurU'Connor,  Thomns 
AdJis  Enjmeti,  and  other  chiefs  of  the  United  Irish 
conspiracy,  with  Ihe  view  of  preparing  and  ripening 
the  public  mind  f  r  Ihe  great  crisis  then  fast  approach- 
ing. This  memor.tble  juurn.tl,  according  lo  the  im- 
pression I  at  pre^^ent  regain  of  it,  was  far  more  distin 
guished  for  ear11estnes5nfpurpf.se and  m're[iidity,  than 
for  any  great  display  of  literary  talent;  —  the  bold 
letters  written  by  Emmell  (the  elder),  under  the 
signature  of  "Montanus.''  being  the  only  composi- 
tions I  can  now  call  to  mind,  as  entitled  to  praise  for 
their  literary  merit.  II  required,  however,  but  a 
small  sprinkling  of  talent  to  make  bold  writing,  at  that 
lime,  palatable;  and,  froni  the  expeiience  of  my  own 
home,  1  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  after  supper. 

It  may  easily  be  conceived  that,  what  with  my 
ardour  for  the  national  cause,  and  a  growing con-cjnus- 
ness  of  some  little  turn  for  authorship,  I  was  na  urally 
eager  to  become  a  contribulor  lo  ihose  patriotic  and 
popular  columns.  But  the  C(>n5tant  anxie'y  about  me 
which  I  knew  my  own  family  fell,— a  feeling  more 
wakeful  far  than  even  their  zeal  in  the  public  cause, 
—  « ithheld  me  from  hazarding  any  step  that  miglit 
cause  them  alarm.  I  had  ventured,  indeed,  one 
evening,  to  pop  privately  into  the  lelter-bnx  of  The 
Press,  a  short  Fras^ment  lu  imitation  of  Os-ian.  But 
this,  though  inserted,  p.S'^ed  oft"  quietly  ;  and  nobody 
was,  in  any  sense  of  the  phia^^e,  the  wi^er  for  if.  I 
was  soon  lempted,  however,  to  try  a  more  daring 
flight.  Without  cnnimunicatiitg  my  secret  to  anyone 
but   Edwaid   Hudson,  I  addressed  a  Ion?  Letiei,  in 

prose,  to   the of ,  in  which  a  pro. 

fusion  of  bad  tlowers  of  iheloric  was  enwreittied 
plentifully  wiih  that  weed  which  Nhakspeare  calls 
"the  cockle  of  rebellion.'-  and.  in  the  same  manner 
as  before,  committed  il  tremblingly  to  the  ch.inces  of 
Ihe  letter-box.  I  hardly  expected  my  piose  would  be 
honoured  with  insertion,  when,  lo,  on  the  next  even- 
ing of  publicaiion,  when,  seated  as  usual  in  my  li  lie 
corner  by  Ihe  fire,  I  unfolded  the  i^per  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reading  it  to  my  select  auditoiy,  there  was  niy 
own  Letler  st;iring  me  full  in  the  face,  being  honoured 
with  so  conspicu"u9  a  place  as  lo  be  one  of  the  fiisl 
articles  my  audience  would  expect  to  hear.  Assum- 
ini^  an  outwird  appearance  of  ease,  while  every  nerve 
Within  me  was  trembling,  I  conrived  to  accomplish 
the  reading  of  the  Lelter  without  raising  in  either  of 
my  auditoVs  a  suspicion  that  it  was  my  own.  I 
enjoyed  the  pleasure,  loo,  of  hearing  it  a  good  deal 
li'-aised  by  ihem ;  and  might  have  been  temp'ed  by 
this  to  acknowledge  myself  the  author,  had  1  not 
fonn.I  that  ihe  language  and  sentiments  of  Ihe  article 
were  considered  by  both  to  be  "  very  bold,"* 


<  *'  Oh,  breathe  not  liis  name." 

1  "  She  is  far  from  the  laud  where  her  young  hero 
sleeps." 

3  Miss  Curran. 

*  So  thought  also  higher  authori'ies ;  for  amnng  the 
ertrirU  front  Tb**  PrpsR  brought  forward  by  theSeciet 


I  was  not  destined,  however,  to  remain  long  unde> 
tecied.  On  the  following  day,  Edward  Hudson,* — 
Ihe  only  one,  as  I  have  said,  entrusted  with  my  secret, 
called  to  pay  us  a  morning  vi^it,  and  had  not  been 
long  rn  the  mom,  conversing  with  my  nio'her,  when 
lonkioL'  significantly  at  me,  he  sa:d,  •'  Well,  you  saw 

"     Heie  he  stopped  ;  but  ihe  mother's  eye  bad 

foilnwed  his,  with  the  rajiidiry  of  lightning,  to  mine, 
and  at  once  she  perceived  the  whole  truth.  "That 
Letter  was  yours,  then?'"  she  a>ked  of  me  eagerly; 
and.  without  hesita'ion,  of  course,  1  acknowledged  Ihe 
fact ;  when  in  the  most  earnest  manner  she  enlreated 
of  me  never  agiin  to  have  any  connexion  with  that 
paper;  and,  as  every  wish  of  hers  was  to  me  law,  I 
readily  pledged  the  solemn  promise  she  required. 

Though  well  av^are  how  easily  a  sneer  may  be 
raised  at  the  simple  details  of  this  domes'ic  scene,  1 
have  yet  ventured  to  put  it  on  record,  as  atiording  ao 
ins'ance  of  the  gentle  aid  womanly  watchfu'ness,— 
the  providence,  as  il  may  be  called,  of  the  linle  world 
of  home,— by  which,  although  placed  almost  in  the 
very  curren'  of  so  headlong  a  movement,  and  living 
familiarly  with  some  of  the" most  djhng  of  ihose  who 
propelled  it,  I  yet  was  guarded  from  any  participation 
in  their  secret  oaths,  counsels,  or  plans,  .nid  thus 
escaped  all  share  in  that  wild  s'ruggle  to  which  so 
many  far  better  men  than  myself  fell  victims. 

In  the  mean  while,  Ihisgieat  conspiracy  was  hasten- 
ing on,  with  fearful  precipitancy,  to  its  outbreak  ;  and 
vague  and  shapeless  as  are  now  knovvn  to  have  been 
the  views,  even  of  those  who  were  engaged  praci- 
cally  in  the  plot,  it  is  not  any  wonder  that  to  the 
young  and  uniliaied  like  myself  it  should  have  opened 
prosptcts  partaking  far  more  of  the  wild  dreams  of 
poesy  than  of  the  plain  and  honest  prose  of  real  life. 
Bur  a  crisis  was  then  fast  approaching,  when  such 
se'f-delusions  C'^uld  no  longer  be  indulged;  and  when 
Ihe  mys'ery  which  had  hitherto  hung  over  the  plans 
of  the  cons|iira'ors  was  to  be  rent  asunder  by  the 
stern  hand  of  power. 

Of  the  horrors  tliat  fore-ran  and  followed  the  flight- 
fu!  explosion  of  the  year  I79S,  I  have  neither  incli- 
nation, nor,  luckily,  occasion  to  speak.  But  among 
th'se  introductory  scenes,  \vhich  had  somewhat  pre- 
pared the  [iublTt  mind  for  such  a  catastrophe,  there 
was  one,  of  a  painful  description,  which,  as  Iiaving 
been  myself  an  aclor  in  it,  I  may  be  allowed  briefly 
to  notice. 

It  WAS  not  many  weeks,  I  think,  before  this  crisis, 
that,  owing  to  information  gained  by  the  college 
authorities  of  the  rapid  spread,  amottg  the  studenls, 
not  on'y  of  the  principles,  but  ihe  organisation  of  the 
Iri^h  Union. 6  a  solemn  Visilation  was  held  by  Lord 
Clare,  the  vice-chancellor  of  the  University,  with  the 
view  of  inquiring  into  the  extent  of  this  branch  of  the 
plot,  and  dealing  summarily  with  those  engaged  in  it. 

Imperious  and  harsh  as  then  seemed  the  policy  of 
thus  setting  up  <t  sort  of  inquisitorial  tribunal,  armed 


Comniittees  of  the  House  of  Commons,  to  show  how 
formidable  had  been  the  designs  of  the  United  Iiish- 
men,  there  are  two  ur  three  paragraphs  cited  from 
this  redoubtiible  Letter. 

b  Of  the  depth  and  extent  to  which  Hudson  had 
involved  hiniself  in  ihe  conspiracy,  none  of  our  faniily 
had  harljourtd  the  least  notion  ;  till,  on  the  seizure  of 
the  thirteen  Leins'er  delegates,  a'  Oliver  Bond  9,  in  the 
month  of  March,  179S,  we  found,  to  our  asionishment 
and  >orrow,  that  he  was  one  of  ihe  number. 

To  those  unread  in  Ihe  painful  histor>  of  this  period, 
it  is  right  lo  mention  that  almost  all  Ihe  leaders  of  the 
United  Irish  conspiracy  were  Pro'eslan  s.  Among 
those  companions  of  my  own  al'uded  to  in  these  pages, 
1  scnicely  remember  a  single  Catholic. 

6  In  the  Report  from  the  Secret  Committee  of  the 
Irish  Hou«e  of  Lords,  this  extension  of  the  plot  to  the 
College  is  noticed  zl^  "  a  desperate  pn^ject  of  the  same 
faction  to  corrupt  the  youth  of  the  country  tjy  intro- 
ducing tlieir  organised  system  of  treason  into  the  Uni- 
versity." 


PREFACE  TO   THE  FOURTH   VOLUME. 


1(^5 


with  the  power  of  examining  witnessea  on  oalh,  and 
ill  a  place  devoted  to  the  inslructinn  oi'  yimth,  1  can- 
not but  confess  that  the  facts  which  came  out  in  the 
course  of  the  evidtnce,  ^^ellt  far  tuvvaids  justifying 
even  this  arbiliary  pruceedin^;  and  to  iJie  ntany  v\h  ', 
like  myself,  were  acquainted  only  with  the  general 
views  of  the  Union  leadeis,  wilhoul  even  knowing, 
except  from  conjtctuie,  who  those  leaders  uere,  ur 
what  their  pl.ins  (ir  objei;ts,  it  was  most  slanling  lo 
hear  the  disclosures  winch  every  succeeding  wiliiess 
brought  forth.  There  were  a  few, —  and  among  that 
number,  poor  Rubtrt  Eniniet,  John  Brown,  and  the 
two*  **  *  *  *s,»  whose  total  absence  from  the 
whole  ^cene,  as  well  as  ttie  dead  silence  that,  day  after 
day,  followed  the  calling  out  of  their  mines,  pro- 
claimed how  deep  had  been  Iheir  share  in  the  unlaw- 
ful proceedings  inquired  into  by  this  tribunal. 

Iliit  there  was  one  young  friend  of  mine,  ****##, 
wliose  appearance  among  the  suspected  and  examin- 
ed as  much  surprised  as  it  deejJy  and  painfully  in- 
terested me.  He  and  Emmet  had  long  tjeen  intimate 
and  attached  friends;  —  their  congenial  fondness  for 
niathenuticat  studies  having  been,  1  think,  a  t^r  mure 
binding  symp.ilhy  belween  lliem  than  any  ari-^ing  out 
of  their  political  opinions.  From  his  bemg  called 
up,  however,  en  thi^  diy,  when,  as  it  appeared  alter- 
ward:>,  all  the  most  imporlaut  evidence  was  brought 
forward,  there  could  be  little  doubt  that,  in  addiiion  lo 
his  intimacy  with  Emmet,  the  college  authorities 
must  have  possessi^d  >ume  niiorination  which  led  them 
lo  suspect  him  of  being  an  accomplice  in  the  con- 
spiracy. In  the  coU'Se  of  his  examination,  some 
qiiestinns  were  put  to  him  which  he  refused  to 
answer, —  most  probably  from  their  tendency  to  in- 
volve or  inculpate  others;  and  he  was  accordingly 
dismis>ed,  with  the  melmchtly  certainly  that  his 
future  prospects  in  life  were  bias  ed  ;  it  being  already 
known  ihal  the  punishment  for  such  contutnacy  was 
nut  merely  expulsion  from  the  University,  but  exclu- 
sion from  all  the  learned  [trofessions. 

The  proceedings,  indeed,  of  ihis  whole  day  had 
been  such  as  to  send  me  ti>  my  home  in  the  evening 
wi'h  no  very  agreeable  feelings  or  p  Ohptcls,  1  hid 
heard  evidence  given  afiecling  even  the  live*  of  snme 
of  those  friends  whom  1  had  long  regarded  with  ad- 
uiiraiioii  as  well  as  atlcclion ;  and  what  wr.s  stilt 
worse  than  even  their  danger. —  a  dinger  ennobled,  I 
thought,  by  the  cause  in  u  hich  they  sutieied,—  was 
the  -shameful  spectacle  exhibited  by  Uiose  who  had 
appeared  in  evidence  asaiusi  ihem.  Of  these  wit- 
nesses, the  greater  unntljer  had  been  themselves  in- 
volved in  the  plot,  and  now  canie  forward  ei  her  as 
voluntary  informers,  or  else  were  driven  by  'he  fear 
of  the  cimsequences  of  refusal  to  secure  their  own 
safely  at  the  expense  of  companions  and  friends. 

I  well  remember  the  gloym,  so  unusual,  that  hung 
over  our  faniily  circle  on  that  evening,  as,  talking 
together  of  the  events  of  ihe  day,  we  discussed  the 
likeliho'd  of  my  being  among  those  who  uould  be 
called  up  for  txamination  on  the  morrow.  The 
deliberate  conclusion  to  vvhich  niy  dear  Iioncsl  ad- 
viseis  came,  was  that,  overwhelming  as  the  conse- 
quences weie  to  all  their  plans  and  hnpes  for  me,  yet, 
if  the  ques'inns  leading  tu  criminate  others,  which 
had  been  put  to  alnnst  all  examined  on  that  day,  and 
which  poor  *  *  *  »  alone  h.*d  refused  to  answer,  1 
must,  in  (he  same  nianiier,  and  at  all  risks,  return  a 
simdar  refusd.  I  am  not  quite  certain  whether  I  re- 
ceived any  ititima  inn,  on  the  following  morning,  that 
I  was  to  be  one  nf  those  examined  in  the  cour^e  of  the 


day;  but  I  rather  think  some  such  notice  had  been 
conveyed  (o  me  ;  —  and,  at  last,  my  awful  turn  came, 
and  1  stood  in  presence  of  the  formidable  tribunal.  , 
'Ihere  sate,  with  severe  look,  the  vice-ch.tncellor,  and, 
by  his  side,  the  memorable  Doctor  Duigenan,— 
memorable  for  his  eternal  pamphlets  against  the 
Catholics. 

'J  he  oath  was  proffered  to  me.  "I  have  an  objec- 
tion, my  Lord,"  Slid  i,  '*  lo  laking  this  oath."  "What 
is  your  objt,-cli"n  ?  "  he  asked  sternly.  "I  have  no 
fears,  my  Und,  that  any  thing  I  might  say  would 
criminate  myself;  but  it  might  lend  lo  involve  others, 
and  I  despise  the  character  of  the  person  who  could 
be  led,  under  any  such  circumstances,  lo  infotm  against 
his  ass(ici.ites."  I'his  was  aimed  at  some  of  Ihe  reve- 
lations of  Ihe  pieceding  day  ;  and,  as  1  learned  after- 
wards, was  ^o  understodd.  '*How  old  are  you,  Sir  ?'* 
he  then  askrd.  "Between  seventeen  and  eighteen, 
my  Lord."  He  then  turned  to  his  assessor,  Uuigenan, 
and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  him,  in  an  under 
lone  of  voice.  "  We  cannot,"  he  resumed,  again  ad- 
dressing me,  "sutler  any  one  (o  remain  in  our  Uni- 
versity, who  refuses  to  labft  this  oath."  "1  shall, 
then,  iny  Lord,"  i  replied,  "lake  the  oath,— still  re- 
seiving  to  mjself  the  power  of  refusing  to  answer 
ariy  such  questions  as  I  have  just  described."  "  We 
do  not  sit  here  to  argue  wnh  you,  Sir,"  he  rejoined 
shaiply  ;  upon  which  I  took  the  oath,  and  seated  my- 
self m  Ihe  witius^es'  chair. 

The  following  are  the  (Questions  and  answers  that 
then  ensued.  After  adverting  to  Ihe  proved  existence 
of  United  Irish  Societies  in  the  University,  he  asked, 
«'  Have  you  ever  belonged  lo  any  of  these  societies  ?" 
*'  No,  my  Lord."  *•  Have  you  ever  known  of  any  of 
the  proceedings  that  h.ok.  plane  in  (hem  ?''  "  No,  my 
Lotd."  '*Uid  you  ever  hear  of  a  proposal  at  any  of 
their  meetings,  for  Uie  puichase  of  arms  and  ammu- 
nition ?■'  "  Never,  my  Lord."  "  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  proposition  made,  in  one  of  these  societies,  with 
respect  10  the  expediency  of  aesassinalion  ?"  "  Oh  no, 
niV  Lord."  He  then  luined  again  to  Duigei  an,  and, 
after  a  tew  words  with  him.  snid  to  nie:  — "  When 
such  are  the  answers  you  aie  able  to  give,^  pray  what 
was  the  cause  of  vour  great  lepugnance  to  taking  the 
oath  ?"  **1  have  already  tcdd  your  Lordship  my  chief 
rea>ou  ;  in  addition  lo  which,  it  was  the  tiist  oath  I 
ever  took,  and  the  hesitation  was,  1  think,  natural. "3 

I  was  now  dismissed  without  any  f^ilher  question- 


»  One  of  these  btothers  has  long  been  a  general  in 
the  French  army;  havins  taken  a  |iait  in  all  those 
great  enterprises  of  Napoleon  winch  have  now  be- 
come matter  of  history.  Should  these  pages  meet  the 
eye  of  General  ■  •  •  •  "^  they  will  c«ll  lo  his  mind 
the  days  we  pas'-ed  lo^eher  in  Ntirmandy,  a  few  ^um- 
niers  since;  —  more  esptcially  our  excursion  to  Ba\- 
eux,  when,  as  we  talkeii  ou  Ihe  way  of  old  college 
times  and  friends,  all  Die  eventful  and  s'otmy  scenes 
he  had  passed  tlnough  since  aeeined  forgotten. 


1  There  had  been  two  q'jestions  put  *o  all  those 
examined  on  Ili-i  first  day,—*'  Were  you  ever  asked  to 
joinanvof  these  societies  ?"— and  "By  whom  were 
you  a-k"ed?"— which  I  sh*uld  have  refused  lo  answer, 
and  must,  of  course,  have  abided  Ihe  consequences. 

3  For  the  correctness  of  the  above  report  of  this 
short  examination,  i  can  pretty  confidently  answer.  It 
may  amuse,  therefore,  my  readers,  —  as  showing  the 
manner  in  which  biographers  make  the  most  of  ^niall 
iacts.—to  see  an  extract  or  two  from  another  account 
of  Ihis  affair,  published  not  many  years  since  by  an 
old  and  zealous  friend  of  our  fan.ily.  After  stating 
with  tolerable  correctness  one  nr  two  of  my  answers, 
the  writer  thus  prt^ceeds  :  —  '*  Ui)nn  Ihis,  Lord  Clare 
repeated  the  question,  and  >oung  M'>oie  made  such  an 
appeal,  as  caused  his  Lordship  lo  relax,  austere  and 
rigid  as  he  was.  The  words  I  cannot  exactly  remem- 
ber; the  eubs'ance  was  as  follows:  —  that  lie  entered 
college  to  receive  'he  education  of  a  scholar  and  a 
gentleman;  that  he  knew  not  how  to  compromise 
these  characters  by  informing  against  his  college  com- 
panions; that  his  own  speeches  in  the  debating  so- 
ciety had  been  ill  construed,  when  the  wor>l  that 
could  be  said  of  them  was,  if  truth  had  been  spoke'i. 

thai  they  were  panotic that  he  was  awaie  of 

the  higli-niindtd  nobleman  he  had  the  honour  of  ap- 
pealing  to,  and  if  his  lordship  could  for  a  moment 
cndescend  lo  step  from  his  high  station  and  place 
himself  in  his  situation,  (hen  ^ay  how  he  would  act 
under  such  circunistances,— it  would  be  his  guidance." 
—  IJerbtTt's  Irish  yaneties,     London,  1636. 


166 


PREFACE  TO   THE  FOURTH   VOLUME. 


ing;  and,  however  tn-io^  had  been  this  short  opera- 
tion, was  amply  repaid  for  it  by  the  kind  zeal  with 
which  my  young  triends  and  coinpamons  Hocked  to 
congratulate  me  j — imt  so  much,  1  was  inclined  to 
hope,  on  my  acquittil  by  Ihe  ccuii,  as  on  the  ntanner 
in  which  I  had  arqui  ted  rnyxcff.  Of  my  reception, 
on  returning  home,  afier  the  feats  en'ertaioed  of  so 
very  ditfererjt  a  result,  1  will  not  attempt  any  descrip- 
tion ;  —  il  was  all  that  siuJi  a  home  aloue  could  fur- 
nish. 

I  have  been  induced  thus  to  continue  down  to  the 
very  verge  of  the  waruing  outbreak  of  1798,  the  slight 
sketch  nf  my  early  diys  which  I  ventured  to  com- 
mence in  the  First  Vnjumenf  ihis  C' 'I lection  :  nor  could 
I  have  furnished  the  Irish  Melodies  wiih  ;'ny  more 
pregnant  illustia'ion,  as  it  was  in  those  times,  and 
among  Ihe  ever.ts  then  stirring,  (hat  the  feeling  which 
afterwards  found  a  voice  in  my  country's  mu^ic,  was 


1  and  I 


ured. 


i  shall  now  string  loge'her  such  detached  notices 
and  memoranda  respecting  this  woik,  as  I  think  may 
be  likely  to  interest  my  readeis. 

Of  the  few  songs  written  vvith  a  concealed  political 
feeling.— such  as  *•  When  he  who  adnres  thee,"  and 
one  or  two  more,— the  mnsi  successful,  in  its  dav,  was 
"When  firs'  I  me'  ihee  warm  and  young,"  which 
alluded,  in  its  hidden  sense,  lo  the  Fr.nce  Regent's 
desertion  nf  his  pntiiical  friends.  It  was  little  less,  I 
own,  than  prnfanai  'n  to  disturb  the  sentiment  '•{  so 
beautiful  an  air  by  any  connexion  with  'uch  a  subject. 
Ihe  great  succe  s  nf  this  soiig.  eoon  after  1  wrote  itt 
among  a  large  pirtv  slaving  at  Chalswoith,  is  thus 
alluded  in  n.one  of  Lord  Byron's  iefers  to  me:  —  ■' I 
have  heard  fiom  Lnndon  that  you  have  left  Chats- 
worth  and  all  'here  full  of  *  entusymu^y' 

and.  in  particular,  that  *  When  fi.st  I  met  thee*  has 
been  quite  overwhelming  in  is  eti'ect.  I  told  you  it 
was  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever  vvrote,  though 
that  dog  *  #  »  *  wanted  yuu  lo  omit  pait  nf  it." 

It  has  been  sometimes  su|)pi.sed  ttiat  ••  Oh,  tireathe 
not  his  name,"  was  meant  to  allude  to  Lord  Edwal"d 
Fitzgeiald  :  but  this  is  a  mistake;  the  song  having 
been  suggested  by  the  well  known  passage  lu  R  >bert 
Emniet'o  dying  speech,  "Let  no  man  write  my  epi- 
taph   let  my   tomb  remain   uninscribed,   ii>I 

other  times  and  other  men  shall  learu  to  do  justice  to 
my  memory." 

The  fei'ble  attempt  to  commemorate  the  glory  of 
our  great  Duke—*'  When  Hisory'a  Muse,"  &c.  — is 
in  so  far  remaikable,  that  it  made  up  amply  f*ir  its 
w.tni  of  poetical  spirit,  by  an  out  pnuring,r>  rely  granted 
to  bard)  in  these  days,  of  the  si'irit  ot  Prophecy.  It 
was  in  the  year  1S15  that  th«  following  lines  fiist  Diade 
their  appearance :  — 

And  Bljll  Itie  last  rrnwn  nrthy  toils  Is  remaining, 

Tlie  granUesl,  the  purest,  ev'n  tkou  hast  yet  knnwn  ; 

Though  [troiid  waa  tliy  l:isk,  other  natioiui  unchaitiing. 
Far  proud<-r  to  heal  the  deep  wuunda  of  thy  own. 

At  tht;  foot  of  that  throne,  for  whuse  weal  thnu  hast  stood. 
Go,  plead  for  the  laud  that  firHt  cradled  thy  fame,  Sec* 

About  four'een  years  after  these  lines  were  written, 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  reconmiended  to  the  throne 
the  grt-at  measure  of  Catholic  Emuicipalion. 

The  fancy  nf  the  "  Origin  of  the  Irish  Harp,"  was 
(as  I  have  elsewhere  acknowledged)  *  suggested,  by  a 


I  '*  When,  in  consequence  nf  Ihe  compact  en'ered 
into  between  goveinment  and  the  chief  leaders  of  the 
conspirac\',  the  State  Prisoners,  before  proceeding  into 
exile,  were  allowed  to  see  their  friends,  I  paid  a  vi'-il 
to  Edward  Hudson,  in  the  jail  of  Kilniainham,  where 
he  had  then  lain  immured  for  fnur  or  five  nmn  b-, 
hearing  of  friend  afier  friend  being  led  nut  to  death. 


and  < 


rpec  1 


found  'hat  to  ; 


ek  hi 


I  toe 


ith  ch< 


lilude  he  had  made  a  large 
1  on  the  wall  of  his  prison 


ling  that  fancied  origin  of  the  Irish  Harp. 
some  years  after,  1  adopted  as  the  Nubjecl  of 
Melodies.'"— /,(/«  and  Death  of  Lord 
rd  Fitzgerald,  vol.  i. 


of   til 


drawing  made  under  peculiarly  painful  circumstances, 
by  the  friend  so  otten  mentioned  in  this  sketch,  Ed- 
ward Hudson. 

In  connexion  with  another  of  these  matchless  airs, 
—one  that  defies  all  potliy  lo  do  it  justice,— I  find  the 
following  singular  and  touching  statement  in  an  article 
of  Ihe  Quarterly  Review.  Speaking  of  a  young  and 
promising  poetess,  Lucretia  Davidson,  who  died  very 
eaily  from  nervous  excitement,  the  Reviewer  says, 
*'  Stie  was  particularly  .sensitive  to  music.  There  was 
one  song  (it  was  Moore's  Farewell  lo  his  Harp)  to 
which  she  look  a  special  fancy.  She  wished  to  hear 
it  only  ai  twilight,— thus  (wi  fa  that  lame  perilous  love 
of  excitement  which  made  her  place  ttte  .d^oliaii  harp 
m  the  window  when  she  was  ci>mp05ing,j  seeking  to 
increase  Ihe  ell'ect  which  Ihe  song  produced  upon  a 
nervous  system,  already  diseasedly  susceptible;  for  it 
is  said  that,  whenever  she  heard  this  song,  she  became 
cold,  pale,  and  almost  fainting ;  yet  it  was  her  favour- 
i'e  of  all  songs,  and  gave  ncciston  to  those  verses  ad- 
dressed in  her  litteemh  year  lo  her  sister."^ 

With  the  Melody  enlilied  •*  Love,  Valour,  and 
Wit,"  an  incident  is  connected,  which  awakened  feel- 
ings in  me  of  proud,  but  sad  pleasure,  to  think  that 
my  songs  had  reached  the  hearts  of  some  of  the 
descendants  of  those  great  Irish  families,  who  found 
themselves  forced,  in  the  dark  days  of  persecution,  to 
seek  in  other  lands  a  refuge  from  theshime  and  ruin 
of  their  own  ;  —  those,  whtse  stoiy  I  have  thus  asso- 
ciated with  one  of  their  country's  most  characteristic 

Ye  Dlakes  and  O'Donnella.  v^hose  fathers  rceiBii'd 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  amony  8iraiigL-rs  to  find 
That  repuse  which  at  home  they  had  sigh'd  for  iu  valu. 

From  a  foreign  lady,  of  this  ancient  extraction, — 
whnse  names,  could  1  venture  to  mention  them,  «oiild 
lend  to  the  incident  an  additional  Irish  charm. —  ]  re- 
ceived, about  two  years  since,  through  the  hands  of  a 
gentleman  to  whom  it  had  been  entrusted,  a  large 
portfolio,  adorned  inside  with  a  btauiiful  drawing, 
representing  Love,  Wit,  and  Valour,  as  described  in 
the  song.  In  the  border  that  surrounds  the  drawing 
are  introduced  the  favourite  emblenis  of  Erin,  the 
harp,  the  shamrock,  the  mitred  head  of  St.  Patrick, 
together  with  scrolls  containing  each,  inscribed  in  lel- 
teis  of  gold,  ttie  name  of  some  favourite  melody  of 
the  fair  artist. 

This  present  was  accompanied  by  the  following  let- 
ter from  the  lady  her-elf ;  and  her  Irish  race,  1  fear, 
is  bm  toodiscermble  in  the  generous  indiscretion  with 
which,  in  this  ins  ance,  she  allows  praise  so  much  to 
outstrip  desert :  — 

"  Lc  25  ^outj  1836. 

**  Monsieur, 
••  Si  les  poetes  n'etoient  ei»  quelque  sorte  une  pro- 
priete  intelleciuelledoni  chacunprend  sa  part  a  raison 
de  la  puis-arice  qu*ils  exercent,  je  ne  saurois  en  verite 
comnient  fa  ire  pour  just  ifier  nion  courage  I  — car  il  en 
falloit  beaucnup  pour  avoir  ose  consacter  mon  pauvre 
t:iient  d'amaleur  a  vos  delicieuses  pne^ies,  et  plus 
encore  pour  en  renvoyer  le  pale  reflet  a  son  veritable 
auteur. 

•*  J'espere  toufefois  que  ma  sympathie  pour  I'lrlande 
vous  feia  juger  ma  foible  prndnciion  avec  cette  heu- 
reu-e  partialife  qui  imp'se  silence  a  la  critique:  car, 
si  je  n'appariiens  pas  a  I'lle  Veite  par  ma  nai-sance, 
ni  mes  relations,  je  puis  dire  que  je  m'v  imeresse  avec 
un  cccur  Irlandais,  et  que  jai  conserve  plus  que  le 
nomde  mes  peres  Cela  seul  me  fait  esperer  quemes 
pefi's  vf>yageurs  ne  subiront  pas  le  triste  noviciat  des 
e'rangera.  Puissent-ils  remplir  leur  mission  sur  le 
sol  natal,  en  agis.ant  conjoiniement  et  toujnurs  pour  la 
cause  Irlandaise,  et  arnener  enfin  une  ere  nouvelle 
pour  cetie  heroique  et  malheureuse  nation:  — le 
nioyen  de  vaincre  de  tels  advers^ires  s"ils  ne  foul 
qu'un  ? 

"Vous  dirai-je,  Monsieur,  les  doux  moments  que  je 
dois  a  vos  ouvrages  ?  ce  i-eroit  repeter  une  fois  de  plus 


^  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  xH.  p.  294. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


isr 


[idfpit  de  I'espace 


ce  que  vous  entendez  tous  les  jours  et  de  tous  les  cojds 
de  la  lerre.  Aussi  j'ai  garde  de  vous  ravir  un  terns 
trop  precieux  par  Techo  de  ces  vieilles  verites. 

"  Si  jamais  nion  etoile  me  conduit  en  Irlande,  je  ne 
m'y  croirai  pas  etraneere.  Je  sais  que  le  passe  y 
laisse  de  longs  souvenirs,  et  que  la  conforu 
desirs  et  des  e  perancesrapprocnecni 
et  du  teins. 

•*Jusque  la,  reccvez,  je  vou8  prie,  I'aasurance  de  ma 
l^arfaite  consideration,  avec  laquelle  j'ai  I'hooueur 
d'etre, 

"  Monsieur, 

"  Votre  tres-humble  servantc, 

*'LA  COMTESSE  ••••♦.» 

Of  the  translations  that  have  appeared  of  the  Melo- 
dies in  diliereiit  languages,  I  sliatl  here  mentioa  such 
as  h:ive  come  to  my  knowledge. 

Z.a(m.—  "  Cantus  Hibernici,'*  Nicholas  Lee  Torre, 
London,  1835. 

Italian.— O.  Flechia,  Torino,  1S36.— Adele  Custi, 
Milan..,  1836. 

French  —Madame  Belloc,  Paris,  1823.— Loeve  Vei- 
mars,  Paris,  1829. 

^twsia/i.— Several  detached  Melodies,  by  the  popu- 
lar Russian  pnet  Kozlof. 

Polish.  — Seleciions,  in  the  same  manner,  by  Niem- 
cewich,  Kosmian,  and  others. 

I  have  now  exhausted  not  so  much  my  own  recol- 
lections, as  the  patience,  I  fear,  of  my  readers  ou  this 
subject.  We  are  told  of  painteis  calling  those  last 
touches  of  the  pencil  which  Ihey  give  to  sume  favour- 
i'e  picture  the  "ultima  basia ;"  and  with  tlie  same 
sort  of  atFectionate  feeling  do  I  now  take  leave  of  the 
liish  Melodies, — the  only  work  of  my  pen,  as  I  very 
sincerely  believe,  whose  fame  (thanks  to  the  swte'l 
music  in  which  it  is  enibalmed)  may  bnast  a  chance 
of  prolonging  its  existence  to  a  day  much  beyond  our 


IRISH    MELODIES. 

CONTINUED. 

MY   GENTLE    HARP. 

My  gentle  Harp,  once  more  I  waken 

The  sweetness  of  thy  slumbering  strain  j 
In  teais  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 

And  now  in  fears  we  meet  again. 
No  li?ht  of  joy  bath  o'er  thee  broken. 

But,  like  thnse  Harps  whose  heav'nly  ekill 
Of  slavery,  dark  as  ibine,  bath  spoken, 

Thou  bang'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  turn'd  to  shnmfi. 
Yet  even  then,  while  Peace  was  singing 

Her  halcyon  song  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Tbo'  jny  and  hope  to  others  bringing, 

She  only  brought  new  tears  to  thee. 

Then,  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure. 

My  drooping  Harp,  from  chords  like  thine? 
Alas',  the  lark'-  gay  morning  me  sure 

As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline  ! 
Or  how  shsll  I.  who  love,  who  bless  ihee. 

Invoke  i!:y  breath  for  Freedom's  strains. 
When  ev'n  the  wreaths  in  which  I  dress  Ibee, 

Are  sadly  mix'd  -  half  fiow'rs,  half  chains? 

But  come  —  if  vet  thy  frame  can  borrow 
One  breith  of  jov,  oh.  breithe  for  me, 

And  sh"w  the  v^orld,  in  chains  and  sorrow. 
How  sweet  thy  niusic  still  can  be; 


How  gaily,  ev'n  mid  gloom  surrounding, 
Thou  yet  canst  wake  at  pleasure's  thrill  — 

Like  Memnon's  broken  image  sounding, 
'Mid  desolation  tuneful  still  I  & 


IN  THE   MORNING  OF  LIFE, 

In  the  morning  of  fife,  when  its  cares  are  unknown 

And  its  pleasures  in  all  their  new  lustre  begin, 
When  we  live  in  a  bright-beaming  world  of  our  own 

And  the  light  that  surrounds  us  is  all  from  within  ; 
Oh  't  is  not,  believe  me,  in  that  hapjiy  time 

We  can  love, as  in  hours  of  less  transport  we  may  ;— 
Of  our  huiiles,  of  our  hopes,  't  is  the  gay  sunny  prime, 

But  att'ection  is  truest  when  these  fade  away. 

When  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  by, 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  slreani  that  will  never  return ; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so 
high. 

First  tastes  of  the  other,  the  dark -flowing  urn  ; 
Then,  then  is  the  time  when  atltction  holds  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  nei.er  knew  j 
Love,  nursed  aniong  pleasures,  is  faithless  as  they. 

But  the  love  born  of  Sorrow,  like  Sorrow,  is  true. 

In  climes  full  of  sunshine,  though  splendid  the  flowers, 

Their  sighs  have  no  freshness,  their  odour  no  worth  ; 
'Tis  the  cloud  and  the  mist  of  our  own  Isle  of  showers, 

That  call  the  rich  spirit  of  fragrancy  forth. 
So  it  is  not  mid  splendour,  prosperity, 'mirth, 

That  the  depth  of  Love's  generous  spirit  appears  ; 
To  the  sunshine  of  smiles  it  may  first  owe  ils  birth. 

But  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out  by  tears. 


AS   SLOW    CoR    SHIP. 

As  stow  our  ship  her  fnamy  tmck 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving. 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  back 

To  that  dear  isle  'I  wa«  leaving. 
So  loath  we  part  from  all  we  love, 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us; 
So  turn  our  hearts  as  on  »e  rove, 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us. 


When,  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk,  wi'h  jnyous  seeming  — 
With  smiles  that  might  as  well  be  tears, 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming; 
While  mem'ry  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us. 
Oh,  sweet's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us. 

And  when,  m  other  climes,  we  meet 

Some  isle,  or  vale  enchanting. 
Where  all  looks  flowVj^  wild  and  sweet, 

And  nought  but  Inve  is  waniing; 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss. 

If  Heav'n  had  but  a'sign'd  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this. 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us! 

As  IravMIers  off  look  back  at  eve. 

When  east  waid  darkly  facing, 
To  grize  upon  that  light  they  leaie 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing. 
So,  when  the  clo-e  of  plensuie's  day 

'I'o  gloom  halb  near  cnnsign'd  us, 
We  'urn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 


168 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH, 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  Ihou  hast  loved, 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  foie;ot  by  thee  then  ; 
Or.  if  Irom  their  slumber  the  veil  be  reniov'd. 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence,  and  close  it  ;igain. 
And  oh  !  if  't  is  pain  to  remember  how  far 

From  the  pathways  of  light  he  was  tempted  to  roam, 
Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wcrt  the  star 

That  arose  on  his  darkness,  and  guided  him  home. 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

The  revealin^s,  that  taught  him  true  love  to  adore, 
To  feel  the  brisjht  presence,  and  turn  him  with  shame 

From  the  idols  he  blindly  had  knelt  to  before. 
O'er  the  waves  of  a  life,  long  benighted  and  wild. 

Thou  earnest,  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the  sea; 
And  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

Uu  his  ev'aing  horizon,  the  light  was  from  thee. 

And  tho\  sometimes,  the  shades  of  past  folly  might 

And  tho'  falsehood  again  would  allure  him  to  stray, 
He  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  m  those  eyes, 

And  the  folly,  the  falsehood,  anon  vanish 'd  away. 
As  the  Priests  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew  dim. 

At  the  day-beam  aioiie  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  this  heart, 
it  shall  never  forget  thee,  all  lorn  as  thou  art ; 
More  dear  in  thy  sorrow,  thy  gloom,  and  thy  showers, 
Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  Ibeir  sunniest  hours, 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee,  great,  glorious,  and 

First  flower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea, 
1  might  hail  thee  with  prouder,  with  happier  brow. 
But  oh  !  could  1  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  ? 

No,  thy  chains  as  thev  rankle,  fhy  blond  as  it  runs, 
But  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons  — 
Whose  hearts,  like  the  young  of  the  deserf-bird's  nest, 
Drink  love  in  each  life-drop  that  flows  from  thy  breast. 


WREATH    THE   BOWL 

Wre.ath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  snul, 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us  : 
We'lMake  a  flight 
TowVds  heaven  to  nighf. 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  ui. 
Should  Love  amid 
The  wreaths  be  hid, 

That  joy,  th'  enchanter,  brings  us, 
No  danger  fear, 
While  wine  is  near. 

We'll  diown  him  if  he  stings  us. 
Then,  wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 

Tlie  brightest  Wit  can  find  us; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Tow'nls  heaven  tn-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

'T  was  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  't  is  said, 
Tbei-  Jnnos,  Joves  ApoUos 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  ion. 
The  rich  receipt 's  as  follows  ; 


Take  vv 

ne  like  If 

19, 

Lei  loni 

s  of  bliss 

Around  il  w 

ell  be  blended. 

'I'lien  b 

iiig  Wit's 

beam 

To  wai 

ji  the  sti 

earn, 

And  there  's 

your  nee 

ar,  splendUt 

So  wren 

til  the  bo 

vl 

Willi  n 

nvers  of 

oul, 

The  brighie 

t  Witca 

find  us; 

We'll  lake  a  Hiffht 
Tow'ris  beaveuto-nijht, 
And  leave  dull  earth  hehiud  us, 

Ssy,  whv  did  Time 

His  glass  sublime 
fill  up  with  sands  unsightly, 

VVhen  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through. 
And  sparkles  far  more  biightly  ? 

Oh,  lend  il  us. 

And,  smiling  thus, 
The  glass  in  two  we  'II  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  forever! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

Wilh  flowfrs  of  soul 
The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us; 

We '11  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  lo-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 


WHENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EVES. 

"Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes, 

So  full  of  hope,  and  jny,  and  light, 
As  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise, 

To  dim  a  heav'n  so  purely  bright  — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  that  biwv 

111  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray. 
And  ihat  light  heart,  so j-yous  now, 

Almost  forgel  it  once  was  gay. 

For  time  will  come  wilh  all  its  blights, 

The  ruined  hojie,  the  friend  unkind. 
And  love,  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 

A  chill'd  or  burning  heart  behinil  ;  — 
While  youlh,  Ihat  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  Ihe  dark'ning  rain. 
When  once  'I  is  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears 

Can  never  shine  so  bright  again. 


IF   THOU'LT    BE    MINE. 

If  thou 'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air. 
Of  earth,  and  sei,  shall  lie  at  thy  feel; 

Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fair, 
Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  sounds  most  sweef. 
Shall  be  ours  — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  1 

Bright  flowers  shall  blnoni  wherever  we  rove, 
A  voice  divine  shall  talk  in  each  stream  ; 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love, 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
la  our  eyes  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high. 
Like  streams,  that  come  from  hciven-ward  hi  b, 

Shall  keep  our  hearts,  like  meads,  Ihat  lie 
To  be  bathed  by  Iho-e  eternal  rills, 
Evergreen,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine  love! 

All  this  and  more  Ihe  Spirit  of  I.nve 
Can  breathe  o'er  Iheni.  who  feel  his  spells; 

That  heaven,  which  forms  his  lion  e  above. 
He  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dwells, 
As  thou  '11  own,—  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love! 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


169 


TO    LADIES'    EYES. 

To  Ijiidies*  eyes  around,  b^y. 

We  can'l  refuse,  we  can't  refuse, 
Tho'  briehl  eyes  so  .ibound,  boy, 

'T  is  hard  lo  choose,  't  is  hard  10  choose. 
For  thick  2s  stars  that  lighten 

Yon  airy  bow'rs,  ynn  airy  bnw'rs, 
The  countless  eyes  that  bngh'en 

This  eirth  of  ours,  this  earth  of  oura. 
But  fill  ilie  cup  —  where'er,  boy, 

Our  chriice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We're  suie  lo  find  Love 'here,  boy. 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all ! 

Some  looks  there  are  so  hnly, 

Thev  seem  but  givn.  they  seem  but  glv'D, 
As  shining  beacons,  solely. 

To  light  to  beav'n,  to  light  lo  heav  n. 
While  some  — oh!  ne'er  believe  them  — 

With  tempting  ray,  wiih  tempting  ray, 
Would  lead  us  (God  forgive  them  !) 

The  oilier  way,  the  other  way. 
Bui  fill  the  cup—  where'er,  b>y, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We  're  sure  to  lind  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  ail  1  so  drink  Ihem  all  I 

In  some,  as  in  a  mirror. 

Love  seems  pourtray'd.  Love  seems  pourlray  a, 
But  shun  the  fi  itlenng  error, 

'T  is  but  his  shade,  't  is  but  his  shade. 
Himself  has  fixd  his  dwelling 

In  eyes  we  know,  m  eyes  we  know, 
And  lips— bul  this  is  telling  — 

So  here  they  go  !  so  here  ihey  go  ! 
Fill  up,  fill  up—  where'er,  boy. 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy. 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all ! 


FORGET    NOT    THE    FIELD 

Forget  nol  the  field  where  Ihey  perish'd, 

The  truest,  the  last  of  ihe  brave, 
All  gone— and  liie  bri2ht  hope  we  cherish'd 

Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grave ! 
Oh !  could  we  from  death  but  recover 

Th'fe  hearts  as  they  bounded  before. 
In  the  face  of  hi?h  heav'ii  to  fi'ht  over 

That  combat  for  frecd.'m  once  more; 

Could  Ihe  chain  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Which  Tyranny  flung  round  us  Ihen, 

No,  't  is  not  in  Man,  nor  in  Heaven, 
To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again  ! 

But 't  is  past  —  and,  iho'  btazon'd  in  story 

The  name  of  tur  Victor  mav  be. 
Accurst  is  the  march  of  that  glory 

Which  treads  o'er  Ihe  hearts  of  the  free. 

Far  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison, 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name. 
Than  the  trophies  of  all,  who  have  risen 

On  Liberty's  ruins  to  fame. 


THEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LIFE. 

They  may  rail  at  Ihis  life  —  from  the  hour  I  began  it, 

1  f.un.l  it  a  life  full  of  kindness  and  bli>s: 
And,  until  ihty  can  show  nic  some  hapiiier  planet, 

More  social  and  hrighl,  I  'II  conteni  nie  w  ilh  Ihis. 
As  long  as  the  world  has  such  lips  and  such  eyes, 

As  before  me  ttiis  moment  enraplmed  1  see, 
They  may  say  what  thev  will  of  their  orbs  in  the  skies. 

But  this  earth  is  Ihe  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 


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

New  sunshine  and  wit  from  the  fountain  on  high, 
Tho'  the  nvniphi  may  have  li  velier  poets  lo  sing  theni,« 

They  've  none,  even  there,  nioie  enamour  d  than  1. 
And,  as  long  as  this  harp  can  be  waken'd  lo  love. 

And  that  eve  ils  divine  iuspiralion  shall  be. 
They  mav  talk  as  thev  will  of  their  Edeiis  above. 

But  Ihis  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 
In  that  star  of  the  west,  by  whose  shadowy  splendour, 

Ai  twilight  so  often  we  've  roam'd  thrnugh  the  dew 
There  are  maidens,  perhaps,  who  have  bosoms  as 
tender. 

And  look,  in  their  twilights,  as  lovely  as  you.a 
But  tho'  they  were  even  more  briglil  Ihan  Ihe  queen 

Of  that  isle  they  inhabit  in  heaven's  lilue  sea, 
As  1  never  those  fair  young  celesiials  have  seen, 

Why— this  earth  is  the  plaoel  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

As  for  those  chilly  orbs  on  the  verge  of  creation, 
Where  sunshine  and  smiles  must  be  ecpially  rare. 

Did  Ihey  want  a  supply  of  cold  hearts  for  that  station, 
H&iv'n  knows  we  have  plenty  on  earth  we  could 

1 !  thiiik  what  a  world  we  should  have  of  it  here. 
If  the  haters  of  peace,  of  atieclion  and  giee, 
'ere  to  fly  up  to  Saturn's  comfortless  s|  here. 
And  leave  earth  to  such  spirits  as  you,  love,  and  me, 


OH  FOR  THE  SWORDS  OF  FORMER  TIME! 

Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  lime ! 

Oh  for  the  men  who  boie  them, 
When  arm'd  fiir  Right,  they  stood  sublime, 

And  tvranls  crouch'd  bef  re  them: 
When  free  yet,  ere  courts  began 

With  honours  lo  enslave  him, 
The  hi  St  honours  worn  by  Man 

Were  tliose  which  Virtue  gave  him. 
Oh  for  the  swords,  &c.  &c. 

Oh  for  the  Kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  Ihal  crown'd  them. 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  fieeborn  men 

VVeie  all  the  ramparN  round  them. 
When,  safe  built  on  bosoms  irue. 

The  Ihroiie  was  but  the  cer.tre, 
Round  which  Love  a  circle  drew. 

That  Treason  durst  not  enter. 
Oh  for  the  Kines  who  flourish'd  Ihen! 

Oh  for  Ihe  pomp  tliat  crnwn'd  them, 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  freeborn  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them ! 


ST.  SENANUS  AND  THE  LADY. 
ST.    SENANUS.' 


**0h  !  hasle  and  leave 
•*  Unholy  bark,  ere  mi 


s  sacred  isle, 
iig  smile ; 


1  Tons  leshabitans  de  Mercure  sont  vUa.—PluraUU 
du  Maiid&a. 

»  La  Terre  pourra  etre  pour  Venus  I'etoile  du  ber- 
ger  ei  la  mere  des  amours,  comnie  Venus  Test  pour 
nous.  —  Ibid. 

a  In  a  metrical  life  of  S'.  Si-nanns,  which  is  taken 
from  an  old  Kilkeniiv  MS.,  and  may  be  found  among 
the  .Seta  Savclonim  HiUrniz,  we  are  told  of  his 
flight  lo  Ihe  island  of  Scalleiy,  and 
to  .admit  any  woman  of  the  nariy 


efused 


isler  > 


nt,  St,  Ca 


had  taken  to  the  island  for  the  express  purpose  ol 
introducing  her  to  him.  The  following  was  the  un- 
gracious  answer  of  Senanus,  according  to  his  poetical 
biographer :  


15 


170 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


**  For  on  thy  deck,  though  dark  it  be, 

**  A  female  form  I  see  ; 
*'  And  I  have  sworo  this  sainted  sod 
"Shall  ne'er  by  woman's  feet  be  trud,'* 

THE     LADY. 

•*  Oh  !  Fnther,  send  not  hence  my  bark, 
"Through  wintry  winds  aiul  billows  dark: 
•*  ]  come  v\ith  bumble  heart  io  share 
"  Thy  morn  and  evening  prayer  ; 
•'  Nor  mine  the  feet,  oh  !  holy  Saint, 
"The  brightness  of  thy  sod  to  taint." 

The  Lady's  prayer  Senanus  spurn'd  ; 
The  winds  blevv  fresh,  Ihe  bark  returnM  ; 
Eul  legends  hint,  that  had  the  maid 

Till  morn-iiig's  Hght  delay'd, 
And  given  the  sahit  one  rosy  smilei 
She  ne'er  had  left  his  lonely  isle. 


NE'ER   ASK   THE    HOUR. 


Ne'cY  ask  the  hnur  —  what  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  deals  out  his  treasures? 
The  golden  momeiUs  lent  us  thus, 

Are  not  his  coin,  but  Pleasure's. 
If  cnunting  ihem  o'er  could  add  to  their  blisses, 

I  M  number  each  glorious  second  : 
Bui  moments  of  joy  are,  like  Lesbia's  kisses. 

Too  quick  and  sweet  lo  be  reckon'd. 
Then  fill  the  cup— what  is  ii  to  ua 

How  time  his  circle  measures? 
The  fairy  hours  we  cWI  up  thus, 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's.. 

Youn^  Joy  ne'er  thought  of  counting  hours. 

Till  Care,  one  summer's  morning, 
Set  up,  among  his  smiling  floweis, 

A  dial,  by  way  of  warning. 
But  Joy  loved  better  to  gaze  on  the  sun 

As  long  as  its  liijht  was  glowmg, 
Than  to  watch  with  old  Care  how  the  shadow  stole  c 

And  how  fast  that  li^ht  was  going. 
So  fill  the  cup— IV  hat  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  his  circle  measures? 
The  fairy  hours  we  c;tll  up  thus, 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's. 


SAIL    ON,    SAIL    ON. 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark  — 

Wtierever  blows  the  welcome  wind, 
It  cmnot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark. 

More  sid  than  tho?e  we  leave  behind. 
Each  wave  th^it  passes  seems  to  say, 

'* Though  deatli  beneath  our  smi!c  may  be, 
"  Less  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they, 

"  Whose  smiling  wreck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Sail  on,  sail  on,— through  endless  space  — 

Through  c^lni — through  tempest— stop  no  more: 
The  stormiest  sea's  a  res'ing  place 

To  him  who  haves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or  —  if  some  desert  land  we  meet, 

Where  never  yet  false-hear'ed  men 
Profan'd  a  world,  that  else  were  sweet,— 

Then  re.l  thee.  ba:k,  but  not  till  then. 


Cui  Prnecvl,  quid  foeminia 
Commune  est  cum  mmiachtt  T 
KfC  te  nee   uU-im   aUnm 

See  the  Mta.  Sanct.  Hib.,  page  610. 

According  to  Dr.  Ledwicli,  St.  Senmus  was  no  less 
9  personage  than  the  river  Sliannon  ;  but  O'Connor  and 
olherantiquanansdeiiy  thenietaniorphose  indignantly. 


TH  E    PARALLEL, 

Yes,  fad  one  of  Sion,i  if  closely  resembling. 

In  shame  and  in  sorrow,  (by  wither'd-up  heart— 

If  drinking  deep,  deep,  of  the  sAtue  "ccp  uf  treiD- 
biiiig" 
Could  make  us  thy  children,  our  parent  thou  art. 

Like  thee  do'h  our  nation  He  conquered  and  broken. 
And  fall'n  from  her  head  is  ihe  once  royal  crown; 

In  her  streets,  in  her  halls,  Desolation  hath  spoken. 
And  "while  it  isdty  yet,  her  sun  hath  gone  down."* 

Like  thine  doth  her  exile,  *mid  dreams  of  returning, 
Die  f  tr  froni  tlje  home  it  were  life  to  behold  j 

Like  ihine  do  her  sons,  in  ihe  day  ot  their  mourning, 
Remember  the  bright  things  thaibl&ss'd  them  of  old. 

Ah.  well  may  we  call  her,  like  thee  "  the  For5aken,"» 

Her  boldest  are  vanquisli'd,  her  proudest  are  slaves; 

And  the  harps  of  her  minstrels,  when  gayest  they 

waken. 

Have  tones  mid  their  mirth  like  Ihe  wind  over 

gravei ! 

Yet  hadst  thou  thy  vengeance  —  yet  came  there  the 

That  shines  out,  at  last,  on  the  longest  dark  night. 
When  Ihe  sceptre,  that  smote  thee  with  slavery  and 

Was  shiver'd  at  once,  like  a  reed,  in  thy  sight. 

When  that  cup,  which  for  others  Ihe  proud  Golden 
City* 
Had  biimm'd  full  of  bitterness,  drench'd  her  own 
lips ; 
And  the  world  she  had  trampled  on  heard,  without 
pity. 
The  bowl  in  her  halls,  and  the  cry  from  her  ships. 

When  the  curse  Heaven  keeps  for  the  haughty  came 

Her  merchants  rapacious,  her  rulers  unjust. 

And.  a  ruin,  at  last,  for  the  eanhworm  to 'cover,* 

The  Lady  of  Kingdoms  ^  lay  hiw  m  the  dust. 


DRINK    OF    THIS    CUP. 

Drink  of  this  cup  ;  —  you  'II  find  there 's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  d'Op  'gaii'st  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  bu'  this  is  reality. 
Would  you  forget  Ihe  dark  world  we  are  in, 

Just  las'e  of  the  bubble  that  gleams  on  the  top  of  it ; 
But  would  you  rise  ^bove  earth,  'ill  akin 

To  Immortals  themselves,  you  must  drain  every 
drop  of  it; 
Send  round  the  cup  —  for  oh.  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  j 
Talk  of  the  cordial  thjt  spa-kled  for  Helen  ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

Never  was  philter  fnrm'd  with  such  power 
To  charm  and  bewilder  as  ihis  we  are  quaffingj 

Its  magic  began  when,  in  Autumn's  rich  hour, 
A  harvest  of  gold  in  Ihe  fields  it  stood  laughing. 


1  These  verses  were  written  after  Ihe  perusal  of  a 
treatise  by  Mr.  Hamilton,  professing  to  prove  that  Ihe 
Irish  were  origimlly  Jews, 

1  *'  Her  sun  is  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day.'*  — 
Jer  XV.  9. 

5  "Thou  shalt  no  more  be  termed  Forsaken,"  — 
Isaiiih.  Ixii.  4. 


6  "  Thy  pomp  is  brought  down  to  ths  erave  .  •  •  •  • 
and  the  worms  cover  thee." —  Isaiah,  xiv.  4, 

6  **  Thou  Shalt  no  more  be  called  the  Lady  of  Kiog* 
doms." —  Isaiah,  xlvii.  5. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


171 


There  having,  by  Nature's  enchaatnient,  been  fiUM 

With  th£   balm  and   the  bloom  of  ber  kiudliest 
I  weather^ 

This  wonderful  juice  from  its  cnre  was  distill'd 

To  enliven  such  ht-arls  as  are  here  brought  together. 
Then  diink  of  the  cup— you'll  hnd  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  '£r,iin  t  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  coidial  that  sparkled  for  Helen! 

Her  cup  was  a  ficiion,  but  this  is  reality. 

And  though,  perhaps  —  but  breathe  it  to  no  one  — 

Like  liquor  the  witch  brews  at  nildni«tht  so  awful, 
This  philier  in  secret  was  fir^t  t.iu^lit  to  flow  on, 

Yet  'I  is  n't  less  potent  for  being  unlawful. 
And,  ev'n  though  ii  taste  of  the  smoke  of  that  flame, 

Which  in  silence  extiac'ed  its  virtue  forbidden  — 
Fill  up  —  there  's  a  fire  in  some  hearts  I  could  name, 

Which  may  work  too  its  charm,  though  as  lawless 
and  hiJden. 
So  drink  "f  the  cup  —  for  oh,  there 's  a  spell  in 

lis  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cnrdial  'hat  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  i  'II  tell  ynu  your  (orlune  truly 

As  ever  '1  was  told,  by  the  [lew-nmon's  light, 
To  a  young  maiden,  shining  as  newly. 

But,  fnr  the  world,  lei  no  one  be  nigh, 
Lest  haply  the  stars  should  deceive  me; 

Such  secrets  between  ynu  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  f.irtlier,  believe  uie. 


of  hia 


If  at  that  hour  the  heav'ns  be  not  d 

RIy  science  shall  cill  up  befo 
A  male  apparition,— the  image 

Wtiose  destiny  '( is  to  adore  you. 

And  if  to  that  phantom  you  *I1  be  kind. 
So  fondly  around  you  he  Ml  hover. 

You  '11  hardly,  my  dear,  any  difference  find 
'Twixt  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  feet,  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
He  'li  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  devotion  — 

An  ardour,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprite 
Ynu  'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

What  o^her  thoughts  and  events  may  arise, 
As  in  destiny's  book  I  've  not  seen  them, 

Must  only  be  left  to  t*ie  stars  and  your  eyes 
To  settle,  ere  uiCi'niiig,  between  them. 


OH,    YE    DE  ADI 

Oh,  ye  Dead  !  oh,  ye  Dead  !  i  whom  we  know  by  the 

light  you  give 
From  your  cold  gleaming  eyes,  though  you  move  like 
men  who  live. 

Why  leave  yon  thus  your  graves, 
In  fir.-'ff  fields  and  waves. 
Where  the  worm  and  the  sea-bird  only  know  yourbed, 
To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 
Those  eyes  that  wept  your  fill, 
And  the  hearts  that  waiPd  you,  like  your  own,  lie 
dead? 


I  TauI  Zealand  mentions  that  there  is  a  mountain  in 
some  part  of  Ircl-ind.  w  here  Hie  ghosts  of  persons  who 
have  died  m  foieign  lands  walk  about  and  converse 
with  those  they  niee',  like  living  people.  If  asked 
whv  they  do  not  return  to  their  homes,  they  siy  ihey 
are  obliged  to  go  to  Mount  Hecla,  and  disappear  im- 
mediately. 


It  is  true,  it  is  true,  we  are  shadows  cold  and  wan; 
And  the  fair  and  the  brave  whom  we  lov'd  on  earth 
are  gone ; 

But  still  thus  ev'n  in  death. 
So  sweet  the  living  breath 
Of  the  fields  and  the  flow'ra  in  our  you  3i  wo  wanderM 
o'er, 

That  ere,  condemn'd,  we  go 
To  freeze  *mld  Hecla's  snow, 
We  would  taste  it  awhile,  and  thins  we  live  once 
more ! 


O'DONOHUE'S    MISTRESS. 

Of  all  the  fair  months,  that  round  the  sun 
In  light-linkM  dance  their  circles  run, 

Sweet  May,  shine  ihou  fnr  me  ; 
For  still,  when  thy  earliest  beams  arise, 
That  youih,  who  beneath  the  blue  lake  lies, 

Sweet  May,  returns  to  me. 

Of  all  the  bright  haunts,  where  daylight  leaves 
Its  lingering  smile  on  golden  eves, 

Fair  Lake,  thou  'rt  dearest  to  me ; 
For  when  the  last  April  sun  grows  dim, 
Thy  Naiads  prepare  his  steed  ^  fnr  him 

Who  dwells,  bright  Lake,  in  thee. 

Of  all  the  proud  steeds,  that  ever  bore 
Young  plumed  Chiefs  on  sea  or  shore. 

While  Steed,  most  joy  to  thee  ! 
Who  still,  with  the  first  vounc  glance  of  spring. 
From  under  that  glorifius  lake  dost  bring 

My  love,  my  chief,  to  me. 

While,  white  as  (he  sail  some  hark  unfurls, 
When  newly  launch'd,  thv  long  mane  3  curls, 

Fair  Steed,  as  white  and  free  ; 
And  spiiits.  from  all  the  lake's  deep  bowers 
Glide  o'er  ihe  blue  wave  scattering  flowers, 

Around  my  love  and  thee. 

Of  all  the  sweet  deaths  that  maidens  die, 
Who^e  lovers  beneath  the  cold  wave  lie, 

Most  sweet  that  death  will  be. 
Which,  under  the  next  May  evening's  light. 
When  thou  and  thy  steed  are  lost  to  sight, 

Dear  love,  I  '11  die  for  thee. 


ECHO. 

How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  music  at  night. 
When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes, 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes. 

Goes  ansvvering  light. 

*  The  particulars  of  the  tradition  respecting  O'Do- 
nohne  and  his  White  Horse,  may  be  found  in  f" 
Weld's  Account  of  Killarney,  or  nmre  fully  detailed  in 
Derrick's  Letters.  For  miny  years  after  bis  death, 
the  spirit  of  ihis  hern  is  supposed  to  have  been  seen  or 
the  niornins  of  May-day.  gliding  over  Ihe  lake  on  hi) 
favourite  white  hor-e.  lo  the  sound  of  sweet  unearthly 
music,  and  preceded  by  groups  of  youths  and  maidt 
who  flung  wreaths  of  delicate  spring  flowers  in 
path. 

Among  other  stories,  connected  with  this  Legend  of 
the  Likes,  if  is  said  ihal  there  was  a  ynung  and  beau 
lifui  girl  whose  imagination  was  so  impressed  with 
the  idea  of  ihis  visionary  chieftain,  that  she  fancied 
herself  in  love  with  him,  and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  insani- 
ty,  on  a  May-morniug  threw  hdself  into  the  lake. 

3  The  boatmen  at  Killarney  call  those  waves  which 
come  nil  a  windy  day,  crested  with  foam,  "O'Douo- 
hue's  white  horset." 


173 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


Yet  Love  hath  echnea  truer  iar, 

Aud  far  more  eweer. 
Than  e'er  beneath  the  moonligi.s  star, 
Ul'  horn  or  lute,  or  scit't  euilar, 

The  5ongs  repeal. 

'Tis  when  the  sis:h,  in  voulh  sincere, 

And  niily  then,— 
The  sitch  th.it  's  breath'd  for  one  to  hear, 
Is  by  Ihat  one,  tha»  c.iily  dear, 

Breathed  back  again  1 


OH   BANQUET   NOT. 

Oh  banquet  not  in  tho-e  shining  bowers, 

Where  Youth  resorts,  but  c  'ine  to  me: 
For  mine  's  a  guden  of  fadfd  flowers, 

More  fii  for  sorrnw,  for  age,  and  thee. 
And  theie  we  shall  have  our  fe-isl  of  tears, 

And  many  a  cup  in  silence  pour  ; 
Our  guests,  llie  shades  of  former  >ear3, 

Our  toasts,  lo  lips  that  bloom  no  more. 

There,  while  the  myrtle's  withering  boughs 

Their  lifeless  leaves  around  us  shed, 
We'll  brim  the  bow]  lo  broken  vows. 

To  friends  long  lost,  the  changed,  the  dead. 
Or,  while  snme  blighted  laurel  waves 

Its  br.mches  o'er  the  dreaiy  spot, 
We  'II  drink  to  those  neglected  graves, 

Where  valour  sleeps,  unnamed,  forgot. 


THEE,  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

The  dawning  of  morn,  the  daylight 's  sinking, 
The  nighi's  long  hours  still  find  me  thinking, 

Of  ihee,  thee,  only  thee. 
When  Iriendi  are  met,  and  goblets  crown'd, 
And  smiles  are  near,  that  once  enchanted 
Unreach'd  by  all  Ihat  sunshine  round. 
My  s-iul,  like  s''>me  d  irk  spot,  is  haunted 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 


Whatever  in  fanieN  high  path  could  waken 
My  spirit  once,  is  now  forsaken 
For  Ihee,  thee,  rnly  thee. 
Like  shores,  by  which  some  headlong  bark 

To  th'  ocean  hurries,  resting  nei.er. 
Life's  scenes  t;o  by  me,  bright  or  dark, 
1  knnw  not,  heed  not,  hastening  ever 
To  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

I  have  not  a  j^y  but  of  thy  bringing, 

And  pnin  itself  seems  sweet  when  springing 

From  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  spells,  that  nought  on  earth  can  bre:»k, 

Ti  I  lips,  that  know  the  chnrm,  have  spoken. 
This  heait.  hovve'erthe  world  mav  wake 
Its  grief,  ils  scorn,  can  bu'  be  broken 
By  ttiee,  thee,  only  thee. 


SHALL    THE  HARP  THEN  BE  SILENT. 

I  Shall  the  Harp  then  be  silent,  when  he  who  first  gave 
To  our  counrry  a  name,  is  withdrawn  frnm  all  eyes  ? 
Shall  a  MinP'.rel  of  Enn  stand  nuite  by  'lie  grave. 
j       Where  the  fifst- where  the  la^-t  of  her  Patriots  lies? 
No— fnint  tho'  the  dea'h-son^  may  fall  frm  his  lips, 
Tho'  his  Harp,  like  his  soul,  may  with  sliadows  be 
crost, 
Yet,  yet  shall  it  sound,  'mid  a  nation's  eclipse. 
And  proclaim  lo  the  world  what  a  star  hath  been 
lost  ;i— 


-  where  he 
of  alt  tis'.e; 


What  a  union  of  all  the  affec'ions  and  powers 
By  which  life  is  exalted,  embellish'd,  rehned. 

Was  emt-raced  in  that  spirit — u  h"se  centre  was  ours, 
While  its  mighty  circumfereuce  circled  mankind. 

Oh,  who  that  loves  Erin,  or  who  that  can  see, 

Through  the  wa.ite  of  her  annals,  that  epoch  sub- 
Like  a  p>  ram 
And  his  glo 

That  ojie  lucid  interval,  snatch'd  from  the  gloom 
And  ihe  madness  of  ages,  «  hen  fill'd  « ith  his  soul, 

A  Nation  o'erleap'd  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom, 
And  for  07ie  sacred  mstant,  touch'd  Liberty's  goal  ? 

Who,  that  ever  hath  heard  him  — hath  drunk  at  the 

Of  that  wonderful  elcquence,  all  Erin's  own, 
In  whose  Iiigh-thoushted  daring,  the  Hre,  and  Ihe  force, 
And  the  yet  untamed  spring  of  her  spirit  are  shown  ? 

An  eloquence  rich,  wheresoever  ils  wave 

Wander"d  free  nud  Iriumphant,  with  thoughts  that 
shone  through, 

As  clear  as  the  brook's  "stone  of  lustre.''  and  gave, 
With  the  flash  of  the  gem,  i'.j  solidity  too. 

Who,  that  ever  approach'd  him,  when  free  from  the 
crov\d, 
In  a  home  lull  of  love,  he  delighted  to  tread 
'Mong  the  trees  which  a  nation  had  giv'n,  and  which 
bowM, 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  his  head — 

Is  there  one,  who  halh  Ihus,  through  his  orbit  of  life 
But    at    distance    observed  him  — through    glory, 
through  blame, 
In  the  calm  of  retreat,  in  the  grandeur  of  strife. 
Whether  shimng   or  clouded,    still    high  and  the 
same, — 
Oh.  no,  not  a  heart,  that  e'er  knew  him,  but  mourna 
Deep,  deep  oer  the  grave,  wlicrc  such  glory  is 
shrined  — 
O'er  a  monument  Fame  will  preserve,  'mong  the  urns 
Of  the  wisest,  the  biavest,  the  best  of  mankind  ! 


OH,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCING. 

Oh,  the  sight  entrancing, 

When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files  airay'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes,  irt  the  gay  wind  dancing) 
When  henrts  aie  all  high  beating, 
And  the  trumpet's  voice  repealing 

That  song,  whose  breath 

May  lead  (o  death, 
But  never  to  retreating. 
Oh,  the  sight  enliancing. 
When  morning's  beani  is  glancing 

O'er  files  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes,  in  the  gay  wind  dancing. 

Yet,  't  is  not  helm  or  feather  — 
For  a^k  yon  despot,  whether 

His  plumed  bands 

Coidd  bring  snch  hands 
And  hearts  as  ours  together. 
Leave  pnnips  to  (ho-e  who  need  'em  — 
Give  man  but  heait  and  freedom, 

And  prnud  he  braves 

The  gaudies!  slaves 
That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  'em. 
The  sword  may  pieice  the  beaver, 
Stone  walls  m  time  m'«y  sever. 


*  These  lines  were  "  ritten  on  the  death  of  our  great  | 


» the  ye 


r  1S20. 
niended 


B  only  the  t    _ 
ittid  to  be  sung-  j 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


173 


T  h  mind  alone, 

VVorth  steel  and  stone, 
That  keeps  lueri  free  for  ever. 
Oil,  that  sight  eiitraiicitig, 
When  the  ujoriiing's  beam  is  glancing, 

O'ei  lUes  a  I  ray 'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  iu  rrecdomS  cause  advancing  1 


SWEET    INNISFALLEN. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well, 
May  calm  and  sunshine  long  be  thine  I 

How  fair  thou  art  let  others  tell,— 
To  feci  how  fair  shall  long  be  mine. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  long  shall  dwell 
111  memory's  dieani  ihal  suiiuy  smile, 

Which  o'er  Ihee  on  111  it  evening  fell, 
When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  isle. 

'T  was  lighi,  indeed,  too  blest  f  r  one, 
Who  had  to  luin  to  paihs  of  care  — 

Through  crowded  hauii  s  again  to  run. 
And  leave  Ihee  bright  and  silent  there; 

No  more  unlo  thy  shores  to  come, 
But,  on  the  woildN  rude  iccan  tost. 

Dream  of  thee  sometimes,  as  a  home 
Of  sunshine  he  had  seen  aud  lost. 


in  thy 


Like  sorrow's 


veeping  hours 
:e,  a,  1  do  now, 
thy  blooming  bowers, 
;il  on  beauty's  brow. 


For,  though  unrivall'd  slill  thy  grace. 

Thou  dust  not  look,  as  then,  I'lO  blest, 
But  thus  in  shadow,  seem'si  a  place 

Wheie  erring  man  might  hope  to  rest- 
Might  hope  to  rest,  and  find  in  thee 

A  gloom  like  Eden's,  on  the  day 
He  left  I's  shade,  when  eveiy  tree, 

Like  thine,  hung  weeping  o'er  his  way. 

Weeping  or  smiling,  lovely  isle  I 
And  all  Ihe  lovelier  for  thy  tears  — 

For  iho'  but  rare  thy  sunny  smile, 
'T  is  heav'u's  own  glance  when  it  appears. 

Like  feeling  hearts,  whose  joys  are  few, 
But,  w  hen  indted  they  come,  divine  — 

The  brighle-t  lighl  the  sun  e'er  ihrew 
Is  lifeless  to  one  gleani  of  thine  1 


'T  WAS  ONE  OF  THOSE  DREAMS.t 

'T  was  one  of  those  dreams,  that  by  music  are  brought, 
Like  a  briglit  summer  haze,  o'er  the  pi-et'a  waim 

thought  — 
When,  lost  it.  the  future,  his  soul  wanders  on, 
And  all  of  Ihis  life,  but  its  sweetness,  is  gone. 

The  wild  no'es  he  heard  o'er  llle  water  were  those 
lie  had  taught  to  sing  Erin's  daik  bondage  and  woes. 
And  the  breath  i  f  the  bujle  now  wafted  them  o'er 
From  Dinis'  green  isle,  to  Glena's  wooded  shore. 

He  li-ten'd  —  w  hile.  high  o'er  Ihe  eagle's  n.de  nest. 
The  lingering  sounds  mi  their  way  loved  to  rest; 
And  the  echoes  sung  back  fiom  Iheir  full  mouutiin 

quire. 
As  if  liitb  to  let  song  so  enchanting  expire. 

•  Written  during  a  visit  to  Lord  Eenmare,  at  Kil- 
larney. 

15*  " 


It  seem'd  as  if  ev'ry  sweet  note,  that  died  here, 
Was  again  brought  Jo  life  in  some  airier  sphere, 

e  heav'n  in  those  hills,  wheie  the  soul  of  the  strain 
That  had  ceased  upon  eaith  v/as  awaking  again  ! 

Oh,  forgive,  if,  while  listening  to  music,  whose  breath 
Seem'dlo  circle  his  name  wiih  a  charm  against  death. 
He  should  teel  a  proud  Spirit  wrhin  him  proclaim, 
"Even  so  shall  thou  live  in  the  echoes  of  Fame : 

"  Even  80,  ihn'  thy  memory  should  now  die  away, 
'"T  will  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day, 
"  And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  [irolong, 
**  Through  Ihe  answering  Futuie.  thy  name  and  thy 
song." 


FAIREST!  PUT  ON  AWHILE. 

Fairest!  put  on  awhile 

I  hese  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 
O'er  scenes  so  full  of  bloom. 

As  I  shall  waft  thee  over. 

Fields,  where  the  Spring  delays 

And  fearlessly  meets  the  ardour 
Of  the  warm  Summer's  gaze, 

Wiih  only  her  tears  to  guard  her. 
Rocks,  through  myrtle  bouglis 

In  grace  majestic  frowning. 
Like  some  bold  warrior's  brows 

That  love  hath  just  been  crowning. 

Islets,  so  fiestilv  fair. 

That  never  hath  bird  come  nigh  Iheni, 
But  from  his  couise  thro'  air 

He  haih  been  won  down  by  them  ;  i  — 
Types,  sweet  maid,  of  thee, 

Who'e  look,  wh'  se  blush  inviting. 
Never  did  Love  yet  see 

From  Heav'n,  wiihout  alighting. 

Lakes,  where  Ihe  pearl  lies  hid,' 

And  caves,  where  the  gem  is  sleeping, 
Bright  as  the  tears  thy  lid 

Lets  fall  in  lonely  weeping. 
Glens,*  wliere  Ocean  comes. 

To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancour. 
And  Harbours,  worthiest  homes 

Wheie  Fieedom's  (leet  can  anchor. 

Then,  if,  while  scenes  so  grand. 

So  beanliful,  shine  before  thee. 
Pride  for  thy  own  dear  land 

Should  haply  be  stealing  o'er  thee, 
Oh,  let  grief  come  first. 

O'er  pride  ilself  victorious —  [ 

Thinkin»  how  man  hath  curst  | 

What  Heaven  had  made  so  glorious  ! 

9  In  describing  the  Skeligs  (islands  of  ihe  Barony  ol 
Forth),  llr.  Kealingsays,  "1  liere  is  a  certain  attrac- 
tive vinue  in  the  soil  which  draws  down  all  the  birds 
that  aOcmi.t  to  fly  over  it,  and  obliges  them  to  light 
upon  the  rock. 

»  "  Nennius,  a  British  writer  of  the  nin'h  century, 
mentions  Ihe  abundance  of  pearls  in  Ireland.  Their 
princes.  he  says,  hung  them  behind  their  ears:  and 
this  we  find  confirmed  by  a  present  maile  A.  C.  I09J, 
bv  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Linierick,  to  Anselm,  Aich- 
bishop  of  Canlerliiiry,  of  a  considerable  quantity  of 
Irish  pearls."  —  O'Halloran.  "I 
I      «  Glengariff.  ! 


174 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


QUICK!   WE  HAVE  BUT  A  SECOND. 

Quick  !  we  hsve  but  a  second, 

Fiil  rnund  the  cup,  while  vou  may; 
for  Time,  the  chin  I,  ha  h  beckou'd, 

And  we  must  away,  away  ! 
Grasp  the  pleasure  th  I 's  flying, 

For  nh,  not  Orpheus'  s'rain. 
Could  keep  sweet  hours  from  dying, 
Orchauii  theii>  10  life  again. 
Then,  (juick  !  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckou'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away  1 

See  the  glass,  how  it  Rushes, 

Like  some  yung  Hebe's  lip. 
And  half  nieeis  thine,  and  blushes 
That  thou  shouldsl  deljy  to  sip. 
Shame,  oh  shame  unto  thee, 

If  ever  ihou  seest  thai  d-iy, 
When  a  cup  or  lip  shall  woo  thee, 
And  tuMi  untoucli'd  away  ! 
Then,  quick  !  we  liave  but  a  second. 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckou'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away  ! 


AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  THIS. 

And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make  amends. 

For  all  the  l"iii;  yeare  1  've  been  wand'ring  away — 
To  see  thus  around  me  niy  youth's  eaily  friends, 

As  smiting  and  kind  as  in  ihat  liappy  day  ? 
Though  haply  o'er  some  nf  your  brows,  as  o'er  mine, 

Thesnow-lall  of  lime  m  .y  be  stealing— what  Iheu  ? 
Like  Alps  in  the  sunset,  thus  lighted  by  wine. 

We  '11  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  youth's  roses  again. 

What  soften'd  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart, 

In  gazing  on  thnse  we  've  been  lost  to  so  long! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  ihey  weie  p»rt. 

Still  round  tliem.  like  visions  of  veslerday,  ihrong. 
As  letters  some  h.nid  hath  invi^ibly  trac'd. 

When  held  to  the  flame  will  s.eil  out  on  the  sight, 
So  many  a  feeling,  that  lon»  seem'd  ttfjCfd, 

The  warmth  ot  a  moment  like  this  brings  to  light. 

And  thus,  as  in  memory's  bark  we  shall  glide, 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew, 
Tho'  oft  we  may  see,  looking  down  on  the  tide. 

The  wreck  ot  full  many  a  hope  shinmu  through; 
Yet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  lo  the  flowers. 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore, 
Deceived  for  a  mnmenl,  we'll  think  them  still  ours, 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  life's  morning  once 
more.' 

So  brief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  lie  most. 

Is  all  we  cm  haveof  ihe  few  ive  hold  dear; 
And  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  Ir.sf, 

For  want  of  some  he  irt,  ihat  could  echo  it,  near. 
Ah.  well  may  we  Mope,  when  lh:s  short  life  is  gone, 

To  meet  in  some  woi  Id  of  more  pt-nnanent  bl:ss, 
For  a  smile,  or  a  gni*p  of  Ihe  hand,  ha-t'uing  on, 

Is  all  we  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this.a 


Juuri 


Je 


charmans,  quand  je  songe  a  vous  heuieux 
ase  renionter  le  fleuve  de  mes  ans  : 


Etm 

Respire  encore  fair  pur  du  n.alin  de  la  vie. 
»  The  same  ihoujhl  h  is  been  happih  expressed  by 
my  friend  Mr.  Washington  I' vmg  in  h\i  Srnc, bridge 
Hall,  vol.  i.  p.  213.  The  sincere  pleasure  which  1 
feel  in  calling  this  gentleman  mv  fritnd,  is  much  en. 
hancd  by  the  rellecii  .n  that  he  is  too  go  4  an  Ameri- 
can, to  have  admitted  me  so  readily  to  such  a  distinc- 
tion, if  he  had  not  known  that  my  feelings  towards 


But,  come,  the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the  heart, 
The  more  we  should  welcome  and  bless  Iheni  the 

They're  ours,  when  we  Dieel,  — they  are  lost  when 
we  pail, 

Like  buds  thai  bring  summer,  and  fly  when  'lis  o'er. 
Thus  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ere  we  drink. 

Let  Sympathy  pledge  us,  thro'  pleasure,  thro'  pain, 
That,  fast  as  a  feelii  g  but  touches  one  link, 

ijer  magic  shall  seud  it  direct  thro'  the  chain. 


THE    MOUNTAIN    SPRITE. 

In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 

A  youth,  whose  moments  had  ca  mly  flown. 

Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  dai  and  night. 

He  was  hauuted  and  watch'd  by  a  Mountaiu  Sprite. 

As  once,  by  moonlight,  he  wander'd  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  fooi-print  sparkled  before  his  sight —  ' 
'T  was  llie  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite  1 

Beside  a  fountain,  one  sunny  day. 

As  bending  over  the  stream  he  1  y, 

There  peep  d  down  o'er  him  two  eyes  of  light, 

And  he  saw  in  that  mirror  Ihe  Mountain  Sprite. 

He  turn'd,  but,  lo,  like  a  startled  bird, 

That  spirit  fled  1  —  and  the  youth  bui  heard 

Sweet  mu-ic,  such  as  marks  the  night 

Of  some  bird  of  song,  from  the  Mountain  Sprite, 

One  night,  still  haunted  by  that  bright  look, 

1  he  bi.y,  bewildei'd,  his  pencil  toi  k. 

And,  guided  only  by  memory's  tight. 

Drew  the  oiice-»een  form  of  Ihe  Mountain  Sprite; 

"Oh,  thou,  who  lovest  the  shadow,"  cried 
A  voice,  low  whisp'ring  by  his  side, 
"  Now  turn  and  see,"—  heie  the  youth's  delight 
Seal'd  Ihe  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

"  Of  all  the  Spi.  its  of  land  and  sea," 

Then  rapt  he  iiiurmur'd,  "  there  's  none  like  thee, 

"  And  oil,  oh,  oft,  may  Ihy  fool  thus  light 

"lo  this  lonely  bower,  sweet  Muuulaiu  Sprite  !" 


AS    VANQUISH'D    ERIN. 

As  vanquish'd  Erin  wept  beside 

The  ISoyiie's  ill-fated  river. 
She  saw  »  here  Discoid,  in  ibe  tide, 

Had  dropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
"  Lie  hid,"  she  cned,  "  ye  veiiom'd  darts, 

"  Where  morial  eye  may  shun  you: 
"  Lie  hrd  —  the  slain  of  manly  hearts, 

**  i  hat  bled  for  me,  is  on  you." 

But  vain  her  wish,  her  weeping  vain,— 

As  Time  loo  well  hath  taught  her  — 
Each  year  Ihe  Fiend  re'urns  again. 

And  dives  into  that  waer; 
And  brings,  iriumphant,  from  beneath 

His  shafts  of  desolation, 
And  sends  them,  wing'd  w  ith  worse  than  death. 

Through  all  her  madd'nritg  nation. 

Alas,  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns, 

Ev'n  now,  besi.le  Ulat  river  — 
Unwearied  siill  Ihe  Fiend  returns, 

And  stored  is  s  ill  his  quiver 


the  great  and  free  country  that  gave  hinr  birth,  nave 
been  long  such  as  every  real  lover  ol  the  Irberly  and 
happiness  of  the  human  race  must  entertain. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


175 


**  When  will  this  end,  ye  Powers  of  Good  ?'' 

She  weeping  asks  for  ever; 
But  nnly  hears,  tVnin  nut  that  flood, 

The  Demon  answer,  "Never!" 


DESMOND'S    SONG.l 

By  the  Feal's  wave  benighted, 

No  star  in  the  skits, 
To  thy  dnor  by  L^ve  lighted, 

I  fusi  s;\w  rim^e  eyes. 
Son.e  vnice  whisper^  o'er  ine, 

As  the  thieshold  I  cmst, 
There  was  rum  before  me, 

if  I  loved,  I  was  lost. 

Love  came,  and  brought  sorrow 

Too  soon  in  his  Iriiin  j 
Vet  so  sweet,  ihU  to-morrow 

'T  «ere  welcome  again. 
Though  misery's  full  measure 

My  portion  should  be, 
I  would  dram  it  with  pleasure, 

If  pour'd  out  by  thee. 

You,  who  call  it  dishonour 

To  bow  to  this  flame, 
If  you  've  eyes  hmk  but  on  her, 

And  blush  while  you  blame. 
Hath  the  pearl  less  whiteness 

Recluse  of  its  birth  ? 
Ha'h  the  violet  less  brightness 

For  grov\  ing  near  earth  ? 

No -Man  for  his  glory 

To  aiice^-lry  flies; 
But  Woman's  bnelit  story 

Is  told  in  here\t-s. 
While  the  Monaich  but  traces 

Thro' mortals  his  line, 
Beauly,  born  of  the  Giaces, 

Haiiks  next  to  Divine  I 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MV  HEART 

They  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  y.uiig  hour, 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flow'r, 
I  c  uld  h.irm  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  ynun?  features  are. 
There 'a  a  light  round  thy  he^t  which  is  lovelier  far: 
I'  t>  not  Ihit  cheek  — 'i  is  the  soul  dawning  clear 
Thro'  its  innocent  blush  makes  ihy  beauty  so  dear; 
As  Hie  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and  fair. 
Is  look'd  up  lo  the  more,  because  Heaven  lies  there  ! 


1  WISH  I  WAS  BY  THAT  DIM  LAKE. 


When 

t  "Thomas,  the  heir  of  the  Desmond  family,  had 
accidentally  been  so  eniiajcd  in  the  chase,  that  he  was 
lienightt^d  near  Tralee.  and  obliged  to  take  shelter  .it 
the  Abhev  of  Feal.  in  the  house  of  or.e  of  Ms  deperd- 
ants,  called  Mac  Cnrmic.  Caihfiine.  a  beautiful 
daughter  of  his  host,  insian'ly  inspired  the  Earl  with 
a  violent  passion,  which  he  could  not  subdue,  lie 
married  he',and  by  Ihi^  inlet  i ir  .illiance  alien.-.letl  his 
followers,  whose  bru'al  pride  rrsarded  his  indulgence 
of  his  love  as  an  unpardonable  degndat:on  ui  hi> 
family.'*—  Lttand,  vol,  ii, 

a  These  verse';  are  meant  to  allude  to  that  ancieot 


Of  this  vain  world,  and  half-way  lie  ' 
In  death's  cold  sh  idow,  ere  they  die. 
There,  there,  far  from  thee, 
Deceilful  world,  my  home  should  be; 
Where,  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pain. 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again. 

The  lifeless  skv,  the  mournful  sourrd 

Of  unseen  waters  falling  round  ; 

The  diy  leaves,  quiv'ring  o'er  my  head. 

Like  man,  unquiet  ev'n  when  dead  I 

These,  ay,  these  shall  wean 

My  soul  from  life's  deluding  scene, 

And  turn  each  thought,  o'ercharged  with  glooro, 

Like  willows,  downward  tuw'ids  the  tomb. 

As  they,  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  win  repose,  first  quench  the  light, 
So  must  the  hope?*,  th.*t  keep  this  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd,  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold,  this  heart  mu-t  grow, 
Unmoved  by  either  joy  or  woe, 
Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  lo  stone. 


SHE    SUNG    OF   LOVE. 

Shp  sung  of  Love,  while  o'er  her  lyre 

The  rosy  rays  of  evening  fell, 
As  if  to  feed  with  their  so(i  fire 

The  sou!  within  lh.it  trembling  shell. 
The  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 

And  play'd  uround  those  lips  that  sung 
Ami  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  speak, 

If  Love  could  lend  their  leaves  a  tongue. 
But  soon  the  West  no  longer  burn 'd. 

Each  ro-y  ray  from  hei^'n  withdrew; 
And.  when  to  g-ize  again  I  tnrn'd. 

The  minsTel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  heav'n's  were  one, 

The  glo-y  all  had  left  that  frame  ; 
And  from  her  glimmering  lips  the  tone, 

As  fiom  a  parting  spirit,  canie.3 

Who  ever  loved,  but  had  the  thought 

Th.it  he  and  all  he  loved  niusi  p.rt? 
Filld  Willi  this  fear,  I  flew  and  caught 

The  r-ding  image  to  my  heart  — 
And  cried.  "  Oh  Love  !  is  this  thy  doom  ? 

"Oh  li?ht  of  youth's  resplendent  day! 
"  Must  ye  then  lose  ynur  golden  bloom, 

'*  And  thus,  like  f-unsliine,  die  away?'* 


haunt  of  superstition,  called  Patrick's  Purgatory.  "  In 
the  midst  of  these  gloomy  rejjions  of  Donegal  (sayi 
Dr.  Campbell)  lay  a  lake,  which  was  to  become  (he 
mystic  theatre  of  (his  fabled  and  intermediate  state. 
In  the  lake  were  several  islands;  but  one  of  them 
was  dignified  with  that  called  the  Mouth  of  Purga- 
tory, which,  during  the  da'k  ages,  attracted  the  notice 
of  all  Christendom,  and  w;<s  the  rtsort  of  penitents 
and  pilgrims  from  almost  every  country  in  Europe  " 

»MI  was,"  as  the  same  writer  tetjs  us,  "one  of  the 
most  dismal  and  dreary  spo!s  in  the  North,  almost  in- 
accessible, through  deep  glens  and  rugged  niounlain 
frightful  wiih  impending  rocks,  and  the  hollow  niu 
niurs  of  the  western  winds  in  dark  caverns,  peopled 
only  wilh  such  fantastic  beings  as  the  mind,  however 
gay.  is,  from  s'r.ui?e  association,  wont  lo  appropriate 
In  such  gloomy  scent  s  "  —  Strictures  on  the  Etclesias- 
lical  and  Literai'y  History  of  Irdaiid. 

3  The  thought  here  was  sngiesled  by  some  beautiful 
lines  in  Mr.  Rogers's  poem  of  Human  Life,  begii 
ning  — 

"  Nnw  In  the  plimmcring,  dyin?  light  she  grows 
Lens  and  V-ss  eaitlily." 


176 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


SING  — SING  — MUSIC  WAS  GIVEN. 

Sing  —  sing  —Music  was  piven, 

To  brishleii  Iheg.iy,  ami  kmclle  tiie  loving; 
Soul«  here,  liiie  planets  in  Heaien, 

By  harmony's  laws  alor.e  are  kept  moving. 
Beaulv  nwy  bnasl  of  her  ejcs  anJ  her  cheeks, 

But' Love  from  tlie  lips  his  Irue archery  wings; 
And  she,  whu  hul  feathers  the  dirt  when  she  speaks, 
Al  once  sends  il  home  to  the  heart  when  she  sings. 
Then  ?liig — sing —  Music  was  given. 

To  briglilen  the  g.iy,  and  liindle  the  loving  ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving, 

VVIien  Love,  rock'd  by  his  mother. 

Lay  sleeping;  as  cilm  as  slumber  could  make  him, 
"Hush,  hush."  said  Venus,  "no  other 

*'  S.veet  voice  bul  his  oi\n  is  worthy  (o  wake  Dim.' 
Dreaming  of  music  he  slumber'd  Ihe  while, 

Till  faint  from  hi-  lip  a  solt  melody  broke, 
And  Venus,  enchanted,  look'd  on  with  a  smile, 
While  Love  lo  his  own  s"  eet  singing  awoke. 
Then  sing  — sing — Music  was  given. 

To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving; 
Soiih  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 


THOUGH  HUMBLE  THE  BANQUET. 

Though  humble  the  banquet  to  which  I  invite  Ihee, 
Thou 'It  find  there  the  best  a  poor  bard  can  com- 
mand ; 
Eyes,  helming  with  welcome,  shall  throng  round,  to 
light  Ihee, 
And  Love  serve  the  feast  with  his  own  willing  hatjd. 

And  though  Fortune  may  seem  to  have  turn'd  from 
the  dwelling 

Of  him  thou  regardest  her  favouring  ray, 
Thou  wilt  find  there  a  gift,  all  her  treasures  excelling, 

Which,  proudly  he  feels,  hath  ennobled  his  way. 

'Tis  that  freedom  of  mind,  which  no  vulgar  dominion 
Can  turn  from  the  path  a  pure  conscience  apptoies  ; 

Which,  wilh  hope  in  the  heart,  and  no  chain  on  the 
pinion, 
Holds  upwards  its  course  to  the  light  which  it  loves. 

'T  is  this  makes  the  pride  of  his  humble  retreat, 
And,  with  this,  though  of  all  other  lieasures  be- 
reaved. 

The  breeze  of  his  garden  to  him  is  more  sweet 
Than  the  costliest  incense  that  Pomp  e'er  j  eceiv'd. 

Then,  come,— if  a  hoard  so  untempting  hath  power 
To  win  thee  from  grandeur,  its  best  shall  be  thine; 

And  there's  one,  long  the  light  of  Ihe  bard's  happy 
bower. 
Who,  smiling,  will  blend  her  bright  welcome  with 


SING,    SWEET   HARP, 

Sing,  sweet  Harp,  oh  sing  to  nie 

Some  song  of  ancient  thays, 
Whiise  8'iundi.  in  this  sad  memory, 

Long  buried  dieanis  shall  laise  ;— 
Some  lay  that  tells  of  vanish'd  fame. 

Whose  light  once  round  us  shone; 
Of  noble  pride,  now  turn'd  lo  shame, 

And  hopes  for  ever  g"ne,  — 
Sing,  sad  Haip,  thus  sing  to  me; 

Alike  ourd-om  is  cast. 
Both  lost  to  all  but  memory, 

We  live  but  in  Ihe  pas'. 


Howmnurnfullv  Ihe  midnight  »ir 

Among  thy  chords  doth  sigh. 
As  if  it  sought  some  eciio  there 

Of  voices  lung  gone  by  ;_ 
or  Chief  airs,  iiow  fnri^nt,  who  seem'd 

The  foremost  then  in  fame; 
Of  hards  who,  once  immortal  deem'd. 

Now  sleep  without  a  name.— 
In  vain,  sad  Harp,  ihe  midnight  air 

Among  thy  chords  do'h  sish  ; 
In  vain  it  sefks  an  echo  there 

Of  voices  long  gone  by. 

Could'st  thou  but  call  those  spirits  rounil. 

Who  once,  in  bower  and  hall, 
Sate  listening  to  thy  magic  sound, 

Now  mule  and  mouldering  all;  — 
But,  no;  they  would  but  wake  to  weep 

Their  children's  slavery  ; 
Then  leave  them  in  their  dreamless  sleep. 

The  dead,  al  least,  are  free  !  — 
Hush,  hush,  sad  Harp,  that  dreary  tone. 

That  knell  of  Freedom's  day  ; 
Or,  listening  lo  its  death-like  moan, 

Let  me,  too,  die  away. 


SONG   OF   THE    BATTLE    EVE. 
TIME — THE    NINTH   CENTURY. 

To-morrow,  comrade,  we 
On  Ihe  battle-plain  nmst  be, 

Theie  to  conquer,  or  both  lie  low! 
The  morning  star  is  up.— 
But  there  's  wine  still  in  the  cup, 

And  we  'II  take  another  quail',  ere  we  go,  boy  rt 

We  'II  take  another  quaff,  ere  we  go. 
*T  is  true,  in  manliest  eyes 
A  passing  tear  will  rise. 

When  we  think  of  the  friends  we  leave  lone : 
But  what  can  wailing  do? 
See,  our  goblet 's  weeping  too  I 

With  its  tears  we  '11  chase  away  our  own,  boy  ctt 

With  its  tears  we'll  chase  away  our  own. 
But  diylisht's  stealing  on  ;  — 
The  la-t  that  o'er  ns  shone 

Saw  our  children  around  us  play, 
The  next— ah  !  where  shall  we 
And  those  rosy  urchin^  he? 

But —  no  matter  —  gra^p  thy  sword  and  away,  boy 
away ; 

No  matter  —  grasp  thy  sword  and  away  I 

Let  those,  who  brook  the  chain 
Of  Saxon  or  of  Dane, 

Ignobly  by  their  fire-sides  stay; 
One  sigh  to  home  be  given. 
One  heartfelt  prayer  to  heaven. 

Then,  for  Erin  and  her  cause,  boy,  hurra  I  hurrs! 
hurr« ! 

Then,  for  Erin  and  her  cause,  hurra! 


THE    WANDERING    BARD. 

What  life  like  that  of  the  bard  can  be,— 
The  wandering  tiard,  who  roams  as  free 
As  'he  mountain  !aik  that  o'er  him  sings, 
And,  like  that  lark,  a  music  brings 
Wiihin  him,  where'er  he  comes  or  goes  — 
A  fount  that  for  ever  Hows  ! 
The  world  's  to  him  like  some  plav-grouiid. 
Where  fairies  dance  their  moonlithrri.und  J- 
If  dimm'd  the  turf  ivhere  late  Ihey  tiod. 
The  elves  but  seek  some  greener  sod  ; 
So,  when  less  bright  bis  scene  of  glee. 
To  another  away  flies  he ! 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


IT 


Cl\,  what  would  have  been  young  Beauty's  doom, 

Wiihou'  a  bard  to  fix  tier  bloom  ? 

They  lell  u>,  in  'he  ntoon's  biight  round, 

Tilings  lost  in  ihisiitik  world  are  found; 

Su  cbaiiiis,  rui  ea'th  loii^  (lasii'd  and  gone, 

In  tlie  p>.el's  lav  live  on  — 

Would  ye  have  sniiies  that  ne'er  grow  dim  ? 

Ynu  've  only  to  give  them  all  ti»  him, 

Who,  with  but  a  touch  of  Fancy's  wand, 

Can  lend  Iht-ni  life,  this  life  beyond, 

And  fix  Ihein  hi^h,  in  Poesy's  sky,— 

Young  siars  thai  never  die !' 

Then,  welcome  the  bard  wf.ere'er  he  comes,— 

For,  tlinugh  he  hath  couiilless  airy  homes, 

To  whicii  his  wing  excursive  roves, 

Vet  still,  fr'ui  time  to  lime,  he  loves 

To  light  upon  earih  and  fitid  such  cheer 

As  brightens  our  banquet  here. 

No  matter  how  far,  linw  tket  he  flies. 

You  've  only  to  light  up  kiud  young  eyes, 

Such  signal  fires  as  here  are  ^iven,— 

And  down  he  'II  drop  from  Fancy's  heaven, 

The  minute  such  call  to  love  or  mirth 

Proclaims  be 's  wanting  ou  earth  1 


ALONE  IN  CROWDS  TO  WANDER  ON. 

Alone  in  crowds  to  wander  on. 

And  feel  that  all  the  ch.irm  is  gone 

Which  voices  dear  and  eyes  beloved 

Shed  round  us  once,  where'er  we  roved  — 

This,  this  the  doom  must  be 

Of  all  who've  loved,  and  lived  to  see 

The  few  bright  things  they  thought  would  stay 

For  ever  near  them,  die  away. 

Tho*  fairer  forms  around  us  throng, 

Their  smile.  1o  ollies  all  belong. 

And  want  that  chami  which  dwells  alone 

Round  those  the  fond  heart  calls  its  own. 

Where,  where  the  sunny  brow  ? 

The  long-known  voice —  where  are  thev  now? 

Thu9  ask  I  still,  nor  ask  in  vam. 

The  silence  answers  all  too  plain. 

Oh,  what  is  Fancy's  magic  worth, 

If  all  htr  art  cmnot  call  forth 

Or.e  blis5  like  thise  we  felt  of  old 

Fiom  lips  now  nmte,  and  eyes  now  cold  ? 


No 


ell  i 


As  soon  could  she  bring  back  again 
Those  eyes  themselves  from  out  the  grave, 
As  wake  again  one  bliss  they  gave. 


I'VE  A  SECRET  TO  TELL  THEE. 

1  've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  but  hush  !  not  here, — 

Oh  !  not  where  the  world  its  vigil  keeps  : 
I  'II  seek,  to  whisper  it  in  thine  ear. 

Some  shore  where  the  Spirit  of  Silence  sleeps; 
Where  summer's  wave  unmurmuring  dies, 

Nor  fay  can  hear  the  fountain's  gu>li ; 
Where,  if  but  a  ir-te  her  night-bird  sighs, 

Tiie  rose  saith,  chidingly,  *'  Hush,  sweet,  hush ! 

!  Theie,  amid  the  deep  silence  of  that  hour, 

!      When  siars  can  be  heard  in  ocem  dip, 

I  Thyself  shill,  under  some  rosy  bower, 

I      Sit  mute,  wiih  thy  finger  on  thy  lip; 

.  Like  hint,  ttie  boy,i  \\h<  born  among 

j      The  floweis  that  on  the  Nile-stream  blush, 

I  Sits  ever  thus, —  liis  only  song 

I      To  earth  and  heaven,  "  H  ush ,  all,  hush  I  ^* 


The 


SONG    OF    INNISFAIL. 

;  fr(  m  a  land  beyond  the  sea, 
'   'the 


And  I 
Set  sail,  in  their  good  ships,  gallantly. 

From  the  sunny  land  of  Spain. 
•'Oh,  Where's  the  Isle  we've  seen  in  dreams, 

"  Our  desin'd  home  or  grave  ?  '  » 
Thu^  sung  the>  as,  by  the  morning's  beams, 

They  Btvept  the  Atlantic  wave. 

And,  lo,  where  afar  o'er  ocean  shines 

A  spaikle  of  radiant  green. 
As  though  in  that  deep  l.iv  emerald  mines, 

Whose  light  thio'  the  wave  w;»s  seen. 
•'  'T  is  lunisTail  2  _  't  is  Iniiisfail !'» 

Rings  o'er  ihe  echoing  sea  ; 
While,  bending  m  heav'n,  the  warriors  hail 

That  borne  of  the  brave  and  free. 

Then  turn'd  thev  unto  Ihe  Eastern  wave, 

Where  now  their  Day-God's  eye 
A  look  of  such  sunny  omen  gave 

As  lishled  up  sea  and  sky. 
Nor  frown  was  seen  through  sky  or  sea. 

Nor  tear  o'er  leaf  or  sod. 
When  first  on  their  Isle  of  Destiny 

Our  great  forefathers  trod. 


THE    NIGHT   DANCE. 

Strike  the  gay  harp  I  see  the  moon  is  on  high. 

And,  as  true  lo  her  beam  as  the  tides  of  (he  ocean, 
Young  hearts,  "hen  (hey  feel  the  soft  light  ot  litrcye, 

Obey  the  mute  call,  and  heave  into  motion, 
Then,  sound  notes  —  the  gayest,  the  lightest. 

That  ever  took  wing,  when  heiv'n  look'd  brightest ! 
Again  !  Again  ! 
Oh  !  could  such  heart-siitring  music  be  heard 

In  that  City  of  Sta'ues  desciib'd  bv  lomancers, 
So  w.kenine  its  spell,  even  stone  would  be  stirr'd, 

And  statues  themselves  all  start  into  dancers! 

Why  then  delay,  with  such  sounds  in  opr  ears, 

And  the  flower  of  Beauty's  own  garden  before  ug,— 
While  st.irs  overhead  leave  the  song  of  their  spheres, 

And  li-.i'niMg  to  ours,  hang  wondering  o'er  us  ? 
Again,  that  strain  !—  to  he-ir  jl  thus  sounding 

Alight  set  even  Death's  cold  pulses  bounding  — 
Again  I  A^ain  ! 
Oh,  what  delight  when  the  youthful  and  gay. 

Each  with  eye  like  a  sunbeam  and  foot  like  a  fea- 
ther, 
Thus  dance,  like  the  Hours  to  the  music  of  May, 

And  mingle  sweet  song  and  sunshine  together  1 


THERE  ARE  SOUNDS  OF  MlRTH. 

There  are  sounds  of  mirth  in  the  night-air  ringing, 

And  lamps  from  e\ery  casement  sh"wn  ; 
While  voices  blithe  within  are  singing. 

That  seem  to  say  '*  Come."  in  every  tone. 
Ah  !  once  how  light,  in  Life's  young  season, 

My  heart  had  lt*ap'd  at  that  --weet  l;iy ; 
Nor  paus'J  to  ask  of  greybenrd  Reason 

Should  I  Ihe  syren  cal'l  obey. 


^  *'  Milesius  renienihered  Ihe  remarkable  prediction 
of  the  piiiicipil  Druid,  who  foretold  that  the  po^terity 
ofGadelus  should  obt.in  Ihe  pnsvession  of  a  Western 
Island    (which  was  Ireland),  and  there  inlMbit.'»  — 

3  The  Ishnd  of  Destiny,  one  of  the  ancient  naiUM 
of  Ireland. 


178 


IRISH    MELODIES, 


And,  see  —  the  lamps  sfill  livelier  glitter, 

The  syren  lips  more  foodly  sound; 
No.  seek,  \e  nymphs,  some  victim  liner 

To  sink'  in  your  rosy  bundase  bound. 
Shall  a  bard,  whom  not  the  world  in  arms 

Could  bend  to  lyraonys  rude  conlrol, 
Thus  quail,  al  sight  of  woman's  cbain.s, 

And  yield  to  a  smile  his  frecborn  aoul? 

Thus  suns  the  sage,  while,  slyly  stealing, 

The  nymphs  iheir  feliere  around  hini  cast, 
Aud,— their  laughing  eyes,  Ihe  while,  concealing,- 

Led  Freedom's  Bard  iheir  slave  ai  last, 
for  the  Poet's  heart,  still  prone  lo  lovin?, 

Was  like  that  r"Ck  of  the  Uiuid  race,' 
Which  the  gentlest  touch  at  once  set  moving. 

But  all  earth's  power  couldn't  cast  fruui  i^s  base. 


OH  !  ARRANMORE,  LOVED  ARRANMORE. 

Oh  !  Arranmore,  loved  Arranmore, 

How  oft  1  dream  of  thee, 
And  of  those  days  when,  by  thy  shore, 

1  wander'd  young  and  fiee! 
Full  many  a  path  I  've  tried,  since  then, 

Throush  pleasure's  flowery  maze, 
But  ne'er  could  tiiid  the  bliss  again 

1  felt  in  those  sweet  days. 

How  blithe  upon  thy  breezy  cliffs 

At  sunny  nmrii  I  've  stood. 
With  heart  as  tinunding  as  ihe  skiffs 

That  danced  along  thy  flood  ; 
Or,  when  the  we-lein  wave  grew  bright 

With  daylight's  parlii  g  wing. 
Have  sought  tliat  Eden  in  its  light 

Which  dreaming  poets  sing'i;  — 

That  Eden  where  th'  imniortal  brave 

IJivell  in  a  land  serene,— 
■Whiisebow'is  bevoiid  Ihe  shining  >vave, 

Al  sunset,  oft  ai-e  seen. 
Ah  dream  loo  full  of  sadd'ning  truth  ! 


The 


-the 


Are  like  the  hi'|-es  1  built  in  youth 
As  sunny  and  as  vain  1 


LAY  HIS  SWORD  BV  HIS  SIDE. 

Lay  his  sword  by  his  side, 2  —  it  hath  served  him  too 
well 

Not  to  rest  near  his  pillow  below ; 
To  the  last  moment  tiue,  from  bis  hand  ere  it  fell, 

lis  point  was  still  turn'd  lo  a  Hying  foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers  in  life,  let  them  slumber  in  death, 

Side  by  side,  as  becomes  tlie  reposing  biave,— 
That  sword  which  beloved  s  ill  unbroke  in  its  sheath, 

And  himself  unsubdued  in  his  giave. 

Yet  pause  —  for,  in  fancy,  a  still  voice  I  hear, 
As  if  breathed  from  Ins  brave  bean's  remains  ;  — 

F.iiiit  echo  of  that  which,  in  Sl.very's  ear, 
Once  sounded  Ihe  \var-word,  *' Burst  your  chains!" 


1  The  Ricking  Stones  of  the  Druid«,  son  e  of  which 
no  force  is  able  to  dislodge  from  their  stations, 

2  "The  inhabitants  of  Arranmore  are  still  per. 
luaded  that,  in  a  cle.r  dav,  they  ran  see  from  tliis 
coast  Hy  linsail  or  the  Enchanted  Islmd,  tl  e  Paradise 
of  the  Pagan  Irish,  and  concerning  \vhicb  thev  relate 
a  number  of  romaii'ic  stories."  —  JieauforVs  AilciciU 
Topop-afjhy  of  Ireland. 

2  It  was  the  custom  of  the  ancient  Irish,  in  the  man- 
ner of  the  Scythians,  to  buiy  Ihe  favourite  swords  of 
their  heroes  along  with  them. 


And  it  cries,  from  the  grave  where  the  heio  ties  deep, 

"  Tho'  the  d  ly  of  your  Cliieflain  for  ever  hath  set, 
'*  Oh,  leave  not  his  swnrd  thus  inglorious  to  sleep, — 

"  It  hath  victory's  life  in  it  yet  ! 
"  Shf'uUl  some  alien,  unworthy  such  weapon  to  wield, 

"  Dare  to  touch  lliee,  mv  oun  gallant  sword, 
•"Tlien  rest  in  ihy  >bealh,'like  a  lalisman  seal'd, 

"  Or  re  urn  to  the  grave  of  thy  chainless  lord. 
"  But,  if  gr.isp'd  by  a  hand  that  hath  leain'd  the  proud 
use 

"  Of  a  falchion,  like  thee,  on  the  battle-plain,— 
'Then,  at  Liberty  s  sui ons.  like  rglilning  let  lonse, 

'•Leap  forth  from  thy  datk  sbeatb  again  I  " 


OH,  COULD  WE  DO  WITH  THIS  WORLD 
OF  OURS. 
Oh,  could  we  do  with  this  wnrld  of  ours 
As  thou  dnst  with  thy  garden  boi\ets, 
Reject  the  weeds  and  keep  the  flowers, 

What  a  heaven  on  earth  we'd  make  it! 
So  bright  a  dwelling  should  be  oui  own. 
So  warran'ed  free  from  sigh  or  frown. 
That  angels  soon  would  be  coming  down. 

By  the  week  or  month  to  take  it. 

Like  these  gay  flies  that  wing  thro'  air. 
And  in  themselves  a  luslie  bear, 
A  slTk  of  lisht,  still  ready  there. 

Whenever  Ibey  wish  lo  use  il ; 
So,  in  this  world  I  'd  make  for  ilice, 
Our  hearts  should  all  like  fire-flies  be. 
And  the  flash  of  wit  or  pnesy 

Break  forth  whenever  we  choose  it. 

While  ev'ry  jny  that  glads  our  sphere 
Ha'h  still  some  shadow  hovering  near, 
In  this  new  world  of  ours,  mv  dear, 

Such  shadows  will  all  be  omitted  ;  — 
Unless  they're  like  that  graceful  one. 
Which,  wtien  thou  'rt  dancing  in  the  SUD, 
Still  near  thee,  leaves  a  charm  upon 

Each  spot  where  it  halh  flitted  ! 


THE  WINE-CUP  IS  CIRCLING. 

The  wine-cup  is  circling  in  Almhin's  hall,* 

And  Its  Chiet,  'mid  his  heroes  reclining. 

Looks  up,  with  a  sigh,  to  ihe  tiophied  wall, 

Where  his  sword  hangs  idly  shining. 

When,  balk!  that  shout 

From  the  vale  witlmut,— 
"  Arm  ye  quick,  the  Dane,  the  Dane  is  nigh  !  " 

Ev'ry  Chief  starts  up 

Fr i-  foaming  cup, 

And  "To  baltle,  to  battle!  "  is  the  Finian's  cry. 

The  mins'rels  have  seized  iheir  harps  of  gold. 

And  thev  sing  such  thrilling  iiumbeis,- 
>T  is  like  the  voice  of  the  Brave,  of  old, 
lire. king  forth  f  nm  their  place  of  slumbers! 
Spear  lo  buckler  rang, 
As  the  miu'lrels  sansr. 
And  llie  Suubiirst  s  o'er  them  floated  wide; 
Whi'e  leiiicmb'ring  the  yoke 
Which  their  fathers  broke, 
"  On  for  liberty,  for  liberty  !"  the  Fini  ms  cried. 


*  The  PaLace  of  Fin  Mac-Cumhal  (Ihe  Fingal  of 
Macjiheison)  in  Leins'er.  It  was  buiH  on  the  top  of 
the  hill,  which  has  retained  from  Ihenco  ibc  name  of 
Ihe  Hill  of  Allen,  in  the  C"unly  of  Kildaie.  The 
Finians,orFeiii..  "  ere  Ihccelebialed  Nalionil  Mililia 
of  Ireland,  which  this  Chief  commanded.  The  intro 
dnclion  of  the  Danes  in  the  ab.ve  song  is  an  ana- 
cbronisni  common  to  most  of  Ihe  Fmian  aud  Ossianic 
legends. 

fi  '1  he  name  given  to  the  banner  of  the  Irish. 


IRISH    MELODIES. 


173 


Like  clouds  of  the  night  the  Northmen  came, 

O'er  the  valley  of  Alnihin  lowering  ; 
White  onward  moved,  in  the  light  of  its  fame, 
Thai  bamitrr  if  Eriti,  to\\eriiig. 
With  ilie  miiighiii;  shock 
Kiiii^  c'.iA'  and  rockf 
While,  rank  un  r.uik,  (he  invaders  die: 
And  the  -hout.  thai  ta^t 
O'er  the  dyin^  passd, 
Wjs  *'viclory!  "victory  1 "—  the  Fiuian's  cry. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THOSE  DAYS. 

The  dream  of  those  days  when  first  I  sun:?  thee  iao'er, 
Thy  triuinph  hath  slain'd  the  charm  thy  sorrows  then 

And  ev'n  of  the  light  which  Hope  once  shed  o'er  thy 

chains, 
Alas,  not  a  gleam  to  grace  thy  freedom  remains. 

Say,  is  it  that  slavery  sunk  so  deep  in  ihy  heart, 
That  still  the  dark  brand  is  there,  tho'  chainless  thou 

art; 
And  Freeilom's  sweet  fruit,  for  which  thy  spirit  long 

b.irnM, 
Now,  reaching  at  last  thy  Hp,  to  ashes  hath  lurn'd  ? 

Up  Liheity*3  s'eep  by  Truth  and  Eloquence  led, 
With  eyes  on  her  temple  fix'd,  how  proud  w.»8  thy 

tread  I 
Ah,  better  thou  ne'er  h^d'st  lived  that  summit  to  gain. 
Or  died  in  the  porch,  than  thus  dishuuour  the  fane. 


FROM  THIS  HOUR  THE  FLEDGE  IS  GIVEN. 

From  this  hour  the  pleda:e  is  given, 

From  this  h^ur  my  snul  is  thine: 
Come  whit  will,  fnim  earth  or  heaven, 

Weil  or  woe,  thy  fa^e  be  mine. 
When  the  proud  and  great  stood  by  thee, 

None  dared  ihv  rights  o  spurn  ; 
And  if  now  ihev'ie  faUe  nnd  fly  thee, 

Shall  I,  too,  ba-ely  tun.? 
No  ; —  whate'er  the  fires  that  try  thee, 

lu  the  same  this  heart  shall  burn. 

Tho*  the  sea,  where  thnu  embaikest, 

Otreis  now  no  friendly  shore. 
Light  may  come  where  all  looks  darkest, 

Hope  liath  life,  when  life  seems  o"er. 
And.  of  those  past  ages  dreaming, 

When  gl  irv  derk'd  ihv  brow, 
Oft  [  fondly  tiiiuk.  Ihoui^h  seeming 

Sofall'n  and  clouded  n  .iv, 
Thou 'It  again  break  fonh,  all  beiming,— 

None  so  bright,  so  blest  as  thou  I 


SILENCE  IS  IN  OUR  FESTAL  HALLS.« 

Silence  is  in  our  festal  halls, — 

Sxveet  Son  of  Song  !  ihy  c-urse  is  o*er; 
In  vnin  on  thee  sad  Eiipi  cxlls, 

HerniinsTel's  v  ice  responds  no  more: — 
All  silent  as  th'  Eohan  shell 

Steeps  at  the  close  of  snnie  biight  day, 
When  ihe  sweet  breeze,  ihal  waked  i's  swell 

At  sunny  morn,  bith  died  away. 


I  It  is  hardly  necessary,  perhaps,  to  inform  the 
reader,  th  it  ihese  lines  a'e  nieant  ns  a  Irihule  of  sin- 
ceie  friendship  tn  the  memory  of  an  old  and  valued 
cnlleigue  in  this  work,  Sir  John  Stevenson. 


Yet,  at  our  feasts,  Ihy  spirit  long. 

Awaked  by  music's  spell,  shall  risej 
For,  name  so  Iink'd  with  dea'hiess  song 


PaMake 


I  char! 


And  ev'n  within  the  holy  fa  e. 

When  music  wafts  Ihe  soul  to  heaven, 

On<.'  thought  t..  him,  whose  tarliest  stiain 
Was  echoed  there,  shall  long  be  given. 

But.  where  is  now  tlie  cheeiful  day, 

The  social  night,  when,  by  thy  .side, 
He,  who  now  weaves  this  pirtiug  lay, 

Hjs  hkilless  voice  vMth  thme  allied; 
And  sung  tho^  songs  wh-  se  ever>  tone, 

When  bard  and  minsirei  lont;  have  past, 
Shall  slill,  in  sweetness  all  their  own, 

Embaliii'd  by  iaiiie,  undying  last. 

Yes,  Erin,  thine  alone  the  fame,— 

Or,  if  thy  bard  have  shaied  the  crown, 
Fn)m  ihee  the  borrowed  glory  c^me, 

And  at  Ihy  feet  is  now  bid  do»u. 
Enough,  if  Freedom  still  inspire 

His  latest  song,  and  st>ll  Iheie  be, 
As  evening  closes  round  his  lyre, 

One  ray  upuu  iti  chords  from  thee. 


APPENDIX: 

CONTAINING 

THE    ADVERTISEMENTS 

Originally  prejbcfd  to  the  Diffcrtnt  Numlerif 
AND    THE 

PREFATORY    LETTER    ON  IRISH   MUSIC, 


ADVERTISEMENT  PREFIXED  TO  THE  FIRST 
AND  SECOND  NUMBERS. 

Power  lakes  the  liberty  of  announcing  to  the  Public 
a  Work  which  has  long  been  a  Desideratum  in  this 
countiy.  I  h"Ugh  the  Ijeauties  of  the  National  Musie 
of  Ireland  have  been  veiy  generally  felt  and  acknow- 
ledged, yet  it  has  happened,  through  the  want  of  ap- 
propriate English  words,  and  if  the  arrangement  ne- 
cess.iry  to  adapt  them  to  the  voice,  tliat  mnny  of  the 
most  excellent  composi'ions  havehi'heito  leinainedin 
obscurity.  It  is  intended.  Iherefoie.  to  f  rm  a  Col- 
lection of  the  best  Original  Irish  Melodies,  with  cha- 
racteristic Symphonies  and  Acconipaninienis ;  nod 
wi'h  Words  containing,  as  frequently  as  possible, 
allusions  to  the  manners  and  history  of  the  countiy. 
Sir  John  Ste%ensnn  has  very  kind'y  consented  to 
undertake  the  arrangement  of  the  Air^ ;  and  Ihe  lovers 
of  Siniple  National  music  may  rest  secure,  that  In  such 
taslelul  hand-,  the  n.iti^e  charms  of  the  original  me- 
hidy  will  not  be  S'Crificed  to  the  ostentation  of  science. 

In  the  poetical  P.^ri.  power  has  had  promises  of 
assistance  from  several  distinguished  Li'e'ary  Cha>ac* 
leis;  particulaily  from  Mr.  Moore,  whose  lyrical 
tilent  is  so  peciili:irly  suited  to  such  a  task..ind  whose 
zeal  in  the  undertaking  \v'-\l  he  host  understood  frcra 
the  followini  Extract  of  a  Letter  which  he  has  id- 
dresse.1  to  Sir  John  Stevenson  on  the  si^bjtci :  — 

*I  feel  very  anxious  rhnt  a  work  of  this  kind  should 
be  undertaken.     We  have  too  Jong  neglected  the  only 
talent  for  which  our  English  neigl'b'Ufs  ever  deigned  ,  | 
to  allow  us  any  credit.     Our  Na'i  'iral   Music   has 
never  been  properly  collected  j'i  and,  v^hile  the  con>- 


^  The  writer  forgot,  when  he  made  this  asserti-'n, 
that  Ihe  public  are  mdehted  to  Mr.  Bunting  for  a  very 
valuable  C'JIection  of  Irish  Music;  and  tlKit  the  pa- 
triotic eeniu<i  of  Miss  Owenson  has  been  employetj 
upon  some  of  our  finest  airs. 


180 


PREFATORY   LETTER   ON   IRISH   MUSIC. 


posers  of  the  Cnntinent  have  enriched  theirOperas  and 
Sonatas  with  Mtlodies  borrowed  from  Irelaiid,— very 
often  wiihoiit  even  the  liOnesty  of  acknowledgment,— 
we  have  kit  ihtse  treasures,  in  a  §reat  degree,  un- 
cla.nied  and  fusiiive.  'I  hus  nur  Airs,  like  too  many 
of  our  couiitrjiiieii,  have,  for  want  of  protection  at 
home,  passed  into  the  service  of  furtifji.ers.  But  we 
are  come,  I  hope,  to  a  heiter  [leriod  nf  both  Politics 
and  Music  J  and  liow  much  they  are  conneced,  in 
Ireland  at  least,  appears  too  pl.iinly  in  the  tone  of 
sorrow  and  depression  which  chaiac  erizes  most  of  our 
early  Son^. 

"The  ia-k  which  you  propose  to  me,  of  adapting 
words  to  these  ai-s,  is  by  no  means  easy.  The  Poc, 
who  would  follow  the  various  semimen  s  which  they 
express,  niust  feel  and  undeistand  th.it  rapid  fluctua- 
tion of  spirits,  that  unaccountable  mixtuie  of  gloom 
and  levity,  which  cnmpo-es  the  character  of  my  coun- 
trymen, and  has  deeply  tinned  their  Music.  Kven  in 
their  livelit-t  strains  we  tind  S''me  melancholy  note 
intrude, — some  minor  Third  or  (lat  Sevenlh, — which 
thiows  its  shade  as  it  pisses,  and  makes  e\en  mirtli 
inlereslin^.  If  Burns  had  been  an  iii^hinan  (^md  1 
Wduld  willingly  give  up  all  our  clainis  upurj  Ussian  for 
him),  his  heart  would  have  been  proud  of  such  luusic, 
and  his  genius  would  liave  made  it  immorial. 

"Another  difficulty  (which  is,  I  owever,  purely  me- 
chanical) arises  li^ni  the  irregular  structure  of  many 
of  those  airs,  and  the  lawless  kind  of  metre  which  it 
will  in  conseipience  be  nt-cessary  to  adaji!  to  them.  In 
these  instances  Wie  Poet  must  wrie,  not  lo  the  e\e,  but 
to  the  ear ;  and  must  be  cntent  to  have  his  verses  of 
thai  description  which Ciceio  mentinns, '  Qucssicantu 
spolinvcris  nuda  reniait.lit  oratw.^  'I  hal  tieauilul 
Air,  'TheTwisfingoniie  Rope,'  wh.ch  has  all  the 
romantic  character  of  the  Swiss  Ranz  des  loaches,  is 
one  of  those  wild  and  sentimen'al  pokes  which  it  will 
not  be  very  easy  to  lie  dnwn  in  sober  wedlock  with 
Poetry.  However,  notwihs  anding  all  these  difficul- 
ties, and  the  very  modeiate  poition  of  talent  which  I 
can  bring  to  surmount  ihem,  the  design  appeals  to  me 
80  truly  National,  that  I  shall  feel  much  pleasure  in 
giving  it  ail  the  assistance  in  my  power. 

*' Leicestershire,  Ftb.  1S07." 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  THIRD  NUMBER. 

In  presenting  the  Third  Number  of  this  work  to  the 
Public.  Power  tjegs  leave  h.  ntft-r  his  ncknowleds- 
ments  for  the  very  libeial  patronage  wi'h  which  it  lias 
been  honoured  ;  ai  d  to  expie^s  a  hope  that  the  una- 
bated zeal  of  those  who  have  Inthertn  s'>  admirably 
conducted  it,  will  enable  him  to  continue  it  thiough 
many  future  Numbers  with  equal  spirit,  variety,  and 
t»ste.  The  siock  of  popular  Melodies  is  far  from 
being  exhausted  ;  and  (here  is  stil!  in  reserve  an  abun- 
dance of  beautiful  Airs,  which  call  upon  Mr.  Moore, 
in  the  language  lie  so  well  understand--,  to  save  them 
from  the  oblivion  to  which  tliey  are  hastening. 

Power  respectfully  trus's  he   will    not   be  thought 

Eresumptuous  in  saying,  that  he  fiels  proud,  as  an 
rishman,  in  even  the  very  suboidina'e  share  "hich 
he  can  claim,  in  promn  jng  a  Woik  so  creditable  lo 
the  talents  of  the  Count ly,— a  Work  which,  from  the 
spirit  of  nationality  it  b  eathes,  will  do  more,  he  t^ 
C'tnvinced.  towaids  liberalizing  the  feelings  of  society, 
and  producing  thai  biolhcrhood  of  sentiment  which  it 
)  is  sn  much  our  interest  to  cheri>Ii.  than  could  ever  be 
effected  by  the  mere  arguments  of  well-inteiitioned  but 
uninteresting  politicians. 


in  general,  I  have  much  pleasure  in  selecting  onefrom 
thai  number,  to  whom  rny  share  of  the  Work  is  par- 
ticulaily  dedicated.  1  know  that,  though  your  Lady- 
ship lias  been  so  long  alisent  fmm  Ireland,  >ou  still 
continue  to  remen.btr  it  well  and  warmlv,— that  you 
have  not  sufl'ered  the  altrattions  of  Engliah  society  to 
produce,  like  the  taste  of  the  lotus,  any  forgeifulness 
f  your  own  cnuiitrv,  but  that  even  the  humble  tribute 
vhich  !  otlerdeiives  its  chief  claim  upon  your  inte- 
rest and  sympathy  from  the  appeal  which  it  niakes  lo 
•  patriotism.  Indeed,  absence,  lioweier  fatal  to 
;  atlectiuns  of  (he  heart,  rather  tends  to  strengthen 
our  love  for  the  land  wliere  we  weie  born;  and  Ire- 
aiid  is  the  country,  of  all  othei^,  wh  ch  an  exile  from 
t  must  remember  wi'h  most  enihusiasm.  Those  few 
darker  and  less  amiable  traits  with  w  bich  bigoiry  aud 
misrule  have  stained  her  character,  and  which  are  too 
apt  to  disgust  us  upon  a  rit-aifr  in'e'cnirse,  btcome  at 
a  dislaiice  s^-fientd,  or  aitog.  ther  invisible.  Nothing 
is  renieuibered  but  Itei  virtues  and  her  misfortunes,— 
the  zeal  with  which  she  his  always  loved  liLer'y,  and 
the  barbarous  policy  which  has  aluays  withheld  it 
from  her, —  the  ease  with  which  her  generous  spirit 
might  be  conciliated,  and  the  cruel  iigei.u.ly  which 
has  been  exerted  to  *•  wring  her  mtn  unduiiiuli.ehs  ''' 
It  has  been  often  rt-m.rktd.  and  s'lll  ofeitr  fell, 
thai  in  nur  music  is  found  the  truest  v(  all  comments 
upon  our  history.  The  tone  ol  deliance,  succeeded  by 
the  linguor  of  despondency,— a  bust  of  turbulence 
dying  away  into  snftness, — the  sorrows  cf  one  moment 
lust  ID  the  levity  of  the  nex',— ai:d  all  that  romantic 
uiixtu  e  of  mirh  and  -adness  wh;ch  is  naturally  pro- 
djiced  by  the  eiJoits  of  a  lively  temperament  to  shake 
off,  r,r  forget,  the  wrongs  which  lie  upon  it.  Such  are 
the  features  of  our  Ins  ory  and  character,  which  we 
find  strongly  and  f.iiibfully  reflected  in  our  music  ;  and 
there  are  even  many  airs,  wliich  it  is  difficult  to 
li^ten  to,  wi'hout  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  lecolleclion,  we 
can  fancy  that  we  behold  the  brave  allies  of  Mon- 
tro•^e,^  muching  to  the  aid  of  the  royal  cause,  notwith- 
standing all  the  petfidy  of  Charles  ar  d  his  ministers, 
ai  d  remenibering  just  enough  of  pa?t  suH'erings  to  en- 
hance ttie  genernsify  of  their  present  sacrifice.  The 
plaintive  melodies  i)f  Carolan  take  us  back  to  the 
limes  in  whicli  he  lived,  when  our  pour  countrymen 
were  driven  to  worship  their  God  in  cavefs,  or  to  quit 
lor  ever  the  land  of  iheir  birth,— like  the  bird  that 
abandons  the  ne^t  which  human  touch  Ik-s  violated,  lu 
many  of  these  mournful  songs  we  seem  to  hear  the 
last  farewell  of  the  exile,3  mingling  regret  for  the  ties 


LETTER  TO  THE  MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER 
OF  DONEGAL, 

PREFIXED    TO   THE    THIRD    NUMBER. 

While  the  publisher  of  these  Melodies  very  properly 
inscribes  them  to  (he  Nobility  and  Gentry  ut  Ireland 


1  A  phrase  which  occurs  in  a  Letter  from  the  Earl 
of  Desmond  lo  the  Earl  of  Ormond.  in  Elizabeth's 
time.  —  Scrinia  Sacra,  as  quoted  by  Curty. 

a  There  are  some  gratifying  accounts  of  the  gallan- 
try of  these  Irish  auxiliaries  in  '-The  complete  His- 
tory of  the  Wars  in  Scotland  under  Montrose"  (It»60). 
See  particularly,  for  the  conduct  of  an  Irishman  at  the 
battle  of  Abeidten.  chap.  vi.  p.  49  ;  and  for  a  ri  jhiite 
to  the  bravery  of  Colonel  O'Kyaii,  chap.  vii.  55. 
Clarendon  owns  that  the  Ma.quis  of  Montrose  was 
indebted  for  much  of  his  miraculous  success  lo  ihe 
small  band  of  Irish  heroes  undef  Macdounell. 

3  The  associations  of  the  Hindu  music,  though  more 
obvious  and  defined,  uere  far  less  toiictiiiig  and  cha- 
racteristic. They  divided  their  songs  according  to  ihe 
seasons  of  the  year,  by  which  (says  Sir  William  June-) 
*•  Ihey  were  able  to  recall  the  memory  of  autumnal 
inerrimeiit.  at  the  close  of  the  htrvesi.  or  of  separation 
and  melancholy  duiing  the  cold  months,*'  &c.— ^Wa- 
tic  Transactions,  vol.  iii.  on  the  Musical  Modes  of  ilie 
Hindus.— Wliat  the  Abbe  du  Bos  says  of  the  sym|  ho- 
niesof  Luily,  may  be  assented,  with  much  more  pio- 
b;*bility,  of  ourbbid  aud  impassioned  airs:  — "Ellea 
auroiettt  produit  de  ces  etl'ets.  qui  nous  paroisaent  f^bu 
leux  dans  le  recit  des  ancieus,  si  on  les  avcil  hit  euten- 


PREFATORY   LETTER   ON   IRISH   MUSIC. 


181 


which  he  leaves  at  home,  wiih  sanguine  hopes  of  ihe 
high  honours  tiia'  .iwail  hioi  nbroail,— such  honours  as 
weie  vvun  on  he  field  of  fontenoy,  where  the  valour 
of  Irish  (  alh'lics  turntd  the  fonune  of  the  day,  and 
extorted  (i-jui  Genixe  the  Second  that  memorable 
clain.tiinn,  •'  Cutst-d  be  the  lawa  which  deprive  w 
such  subjects!*' 

T1k)U!;Ii  much  has  been  said  of  the  antiquity  of  our 
iTiusic,  it  is  certain  that  our  lineat  and  most  popular 
airs  are  modern  ;  and  perhaps  we  may  look  no  further 
than  the  la  t  disffraceful  century  for  (he  origin  of  moat 
of  these  wild  and  iiiehncholy  strains,  which  were  at 
once  the  ottspring  and  ^niact'  of  grief,  and  were  ap- 
plred  (o  the  miod  as  mu^ic  was  furmerly  to  Ihe  b'dy, 
*•  decantare  Inca  duleulra."  Mr.  Pinktrton  is  of  opin- 
ion 1  (hat  none  of  ihe  Scotch  popular  airs  are  as  old 
as  the  middle  of  llie  sixteentli  century  j  and  thout^h 
musical  antiqnaiies  refer  us.  for  sume  df  <  ur  melo- 
dies, to  so  early  a  period  as  the  fifh  century,  1  am 
persuaaed  that  there  are  few,  cf  a  civiliztd  descrip- 
tion, (and  by  this  I  mean  to  exclude  all  the  sava£;e 
Ceanaiia,  Criea,^  &c.)  which  c:in  claim  quite  so  an- 
cient a  date  as  Mr.  Finkerton  allows  to  the  Scotch, 
ilul  music  is  not  the  ouly  subject  upnn  which  our 
taste  for  antiquity  has  been  rather  ui  reasonably  in- 
dulged; and,  however  heretical  it  may  be  to  dissent 
froni  these  nimantic  Bpeculations,  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  it  is  possible  to  love  our  country  very  zeal- 
ously, and  to  feel  deeply  interested  in  her  honour  and 
happiness,  wiihiiui  believing  that  Irish  was  ihe  lan- 
guage spoken  in  Paradise;  3  that  our  ancestors  were 
kind  enough  to  take  the  trouble  of  polishing  the 
Greeks,*  or  that  Abaris,  the  Hyperborean,  was  a 
native  of  the  North  of  Ireland. 6 

By  some  of  these  zealous  antiquarians  it  has  been 
imagined  that  the  Irish  were  early  acquainted  v^  ith 
counter-point ;  6  and  they  endeavour  to  support  this 
conjecture  by  a  well-known  passage  in  Giraldus, 
where  he  dilates,  with  such  elaborate  praise,  upon  the 
beauties  of  our  national  minstrelsy.  But  the  terms 
of  this  eulogy  are  much  too  vague,  loo  deficient  in 
technical  accuracj^,  to  prove  that  even  Giraldus  him- 
self knew  any  Ihmg  of  the  artifice  of  counter-point. 
There  are  many  expre-sion-  in  the  Greek  and  Latin 
writers  \vhich  niight  be  cited,  wi'h  much  more  plau- 
sibility, to  prove  that  they  nnderslood  the  arrange- 
ment of  music  in  parts  ;i  and  it  is  in  general  now 


dre  a  des  hommes  d'un  naturel  aussi  vif  que  les  Aihe- 
njens."—  Rcfiex.  sur  la  Pcmttire,  &c.  tom.  i.  sect.  45. 

1  Dissertation,  prefixed  to  the  2d  volume  of  his 
Scottish  Ballads. 

»  Of  which  some  genuine  specimens  may  be  found 
at  the  end  of  Mr.  Walker's  Wurk  upon  the  Irish  baids. 
Mr.  IJuntiiig  has  di^fii^ured  hi-s  last  splendid  volume 
by  too  many  of  these  barbarous  ihapsodies. 

3  See  Advertisement  to  the  Transactions  of  the 
Gaelic  Society  of  Dublin. 

4  O'Hailoran,  vol.  i.  part  iv.  chap.  vii. 
s  Id.  ib.  chap.  vi. 

6  It  is  also  supposed,  but  wilh  as  little  proof,  that 
they  understood  the  diesis,  or  enharmonic  interval. — 
The  Greeks  seem  to  have  formed  their  ears  to  this 
delicate  gradation  of  s'>und  ;  and,  whatever  diflicul- 
ties  or  objections  may  lie  in  the  way  of  its  practical 
use,  we  must  agree  with  Rleisenne,  (Preludes  de 
PHarmonie,  quest.  7.)  that  the  t'teory  of  Music  would 
he  imperfect  withoi.t  it.  Even  in  practice,  loo,  as 
Tosi,  among  others,  very  justly  remarks,  (Observa- 
tions OD  Florid  Song,  chap,  i.  sect-  16,)  there  is  no 
good  perfiirmer  on  the  vi-  hn  who  d  es  not  make  a 
sensible  difference  between  D  sharp  and  E  Hal.  though. 
from  the  imperfection  of  the  iristrumeuf,  they  are  ihe 
sanie  notes  upon  the  piaiio-forle.  Theefftcl  of  nmdu- 
laiion  Dy  enharmonic  transitions  is  also  very  striking 
and  beautiful. 

1  The  words  noiKiXia  and  tTEpo^tovia,  in  a  pasra^e 
of  Plato,  and  some  expressions  cf  (Jicero  in  Fngment, 
lib.   ii.  de  Republ.,  mduced   the  Abbe  Fiaguier  to 

_       __ 


conceded,  1  believe,  by  Ihe  learned,  that,  howi 
grand  and  pathetic  tiie  melody  of  the  ancients  may 
t,a\e  been,  it  was  reserved  for  Ihe  ingenuity  of 
modern  Science  to  transmit  the  "light  of  Song"' 
thiougli  the  v.iriegaling  piism  of  Harmimy. 

Indeed,  the  irre^iular  scale  of  tlie  early  Iri-h  (in 
which,  as  in  the  music  of  Scotland,  the  inteiva'  ' 
the  f.,urth  %>as  wannngS)  must  have  furnished  but 
wild  and  refiactory  subjects  'o  the  harmnni-t.  It  wa 
only  when  the  invention  of  Gtndo  began  to  be  known, 
and  the  po"  ers  of  the  harp  9  were  enlarged  b^  nd 
ditional  airings,  that  our  airs  can  be  supposed  lo'have 
assumed  the  sweet  cliaracter  which  interests  u. 
present ;  and  while  Ihe  Scotch  persevered  in  the  old 
mutilation  of  the  scale, '0  our  music  became  ly  de- 
grees more  amenable  to  the  laws  of  harmony  and 
C"Uiiter-poiiit. 

While  profiing,  however,  by  Ihe  improvements  of 
Ihe  moderns,  our  siye  still  keeps  ils  original  charac  ■ 


maintain  that  the  ancients  had  a  knowledge  of  coun- 
ter-point. RI.  Burette,  however,  has  answered  him, 
I  think,  satisfactorily.  (Examen  d'un  Passage  de 
f  laion,  in  Ihe  3d  vol,  of  Fii-toiie  de  I'Acad.)  iM.  Huel 
is  of  opinion  (Pensees  Diverses),  thai  what  Cicero 
>ays  of  the  music  of  the  fpheics,  in  his  dream  of 
Scijiio,  is  sufficient  to  prove  an  acquaintance  with 
haritiony  ;  but  one  of  the  strongest  passages,  which  1 
rec"llcct,  in  lavour  of  ihis  supposi  ion,  occurs  in  Ihe 
'Irtaiise  (Dtpi  Koo-^ov;  attributed  to  Aristotle  — 
Mova-^KTjic  o|£is  ifia  xoi  /Sapiif,  k.  t.  X. 

8  An  ther  lawless  peculiarity  of  our  music  is  the 
frequent  occurrence  of,  what  composers  call,  conse- 
cutive fifths;  but  ihis,  I  must  say,  is  an  irregularity 
which  can  haidly  be  avoided  by  jiersnns  not  convers- 
ant with  all  the  rules  of  composition.  If  I  may  ven- 
ture, indeed,  to  cile  my  own  wild  attempts  in  Ihis 
way.  It  is  a  fault  which  I  find  myself  continually  com- 
mitting, and  which  has  even,  at  times,  appeared  so 
pleasing  lo  my  ear,  that  I  have  suriendered  it  to  the 
critic  w  ilh  no  sm  ill  reluciancf  May  there  not  be  a 
little  pedantiy  in  adhering  too  rigidly  to  this  rule  ?  — 
1  have  been  told  ihat  there  are  instances  in  Haydn,  of 
an  undisguised  succession  of  fifths;  and  Mr.  Shield, 
in  his  Introduction  to  Harmony,  seems  to  iulimaie 
that  H  indel  has  been  sometimes  guilty  of  the  saiiie 
irregularity, 

s  A  singular  oversight  occurs  in  an  Essay  upon  Ihe 
Irish  Harp,  by  Mr.  Beauford,  which  is  iiiserled  in  the 
Appendix  o  Walker's  Historic  il  Memoirs  :  —  "  The 
Irish  (says  he)  accoiding  to  Biomlon.  in  the  reign  of 
Heiiiy  II  ,  had  two  kinds  of  Harps.  '  Hibernici  lanien 
in  duobus  music!  generis  instriinifciilis,  quanivis  prie- 
cipitem  el  velocem,  suavem  tameu  et  jucuiidum  :  the 
one  greaily  hold  and  quick,  the  other  suit  and  pleas- 
ing.'—How  a  man  of  Mr.  Beaufoid's  learning  could 
so  mistake  the  meaning,  and  mutila'e  the  grammali- 
cal  construction  of  ihis  extract,  is  unaccountable. 
'Ihe  following  is  the  passage  as  1  find  it  entile  in 
Bromtou;  and  it  requires  but  linle  Latin  to  perceive 
the  injustice  which  lias  been  done  lo  the  words  of  the 
old  Chronicler:  — -'Jit  cum  Sc  lia,  hujus  lerrae  filia, 
uialur  lyra,  tympario  et  choro,  ac  Wallia  citliara, 
•  ubis  et  choro  Hibernici  tanien  in  duobus  musici 
generis  ins  ruuienXis, quamvis  jirscipitejn  etvdoa:m, 
suavem  tamen  et  jticundam,  cri^pitis  modulis  et 
inlricatis  nntulis,  cfficiunl  Anrt/uuiiani."— Hist. 
Anglic.  Script  page  1075.  1  should  not  have  thought 
Ihis  error  worth  lemarking,  but  that  the  compiler  of 
the  Dissertalion  on  the  Harp,  prefixed  to  Mr.  Bunt- 
ing's last  Work,  has  adopted  it  implicitly. 

">  The  Scotch  lay  claim  to  some  of  our  best  airs,  but 
there  are  strong  tiails  of  difl'erence  between  ihcir 
melodies  and  ours.  They  had  formerly  the  same 
passion  for  robbing  us  of  oui  Saints  and  llie  learned 
Dempster  was  f.T  this  oflence  called  "The  Saint 
Stealer."  It  musi  have  been  some  Iri>hm>n,  1  sup- 
pose, who,  by  way  of  reprisal,  stole  Deni|ister'a 
beiutiful  wife  from  him  at  Pis t.— See  this  anecdote  in 
Ihe  Pinacolhica  of  Erythnus,  part  i.  page  3h, 


1«2         PREFATORY   LETTER   ON   IRISH  MUSIC. 


ler  sacred  from  llieir  refinements;  and  though  Caro-  borrow  an  image  of  St.  Augustin  '),  from  which  the 
}h.n,  it  appears,  had  fienueni  npporiunities  of  hearing  wine  of  error  might  be  adniinislered.  To  those  who 
the  works  of  Geniiniiiil  and  oilier  great  masters,  we  ideulify  naliorialiiy  with  Irea-on,  and  who  see,  in 
but  rarely  hnd  him  siiciificing  his  nalive  siniplicily  to  ]  every  ett'orl  for  Ireland,  a  system  of  hos  ility  towards 
any  ambition  of  tlieir  otnamenls,  or  alfeciation  of  j  Englai.d,— lo  those,  too,  who,  nursed  in  the  gloom  of 
their  science.  In  that  curious  cmiposition,  indeed,  ]  prejudice,  are  alarmed  by  t)ie  f.intest  gleam  of  libe- 
called  his  Concerto,  it  is  evident  that  he  laboured  to  j  raliiy  that  threatens  lo  disturb  Iheii  d..rkness,— like 
imitate  Corelli  ;  and  this  union  of  manners,  so  very  :  thai  Deniophon  of  old,  who,  when  the  sun  sboae  upon 


„_,  ,    kind  of  uneasy  sen^a-  !  him,  shivered,' —  to  such  men  I  shjil  not  ctindescend 

tion  which  is  fell  at  a  n.ixture  of  ditfeient  styles  of  i  to  oBei  an  apology  for  the  too  gieat  warmth  of  any 
architecture.  In  eeneral,  however,  the  artless  flow  !  political  seutimeiil  which  may  occur  in  the  course  of 
of  our  music  his  pie>erved  il-elf  free  from  all  tinge  :  these  pages.  But  as  there  are  mam,  among  the  more 
of  foreign  innova'ion  ;  «  and  ihe  chief  corruptions  of  ,  wise  aud  tolerant,  who,  with  feeliig  enough  to  mourn 
which  we  have  to  complain  arise  from  ilie  unskilful  ,  over  tlie  wrongs  of  their  ci.untry,  and  sense  enough  to 
performance  of  our  own  itinerant  musicians,  from  '  perceive  all  the  danger  of  noi  redressing  Ihem,  may 
whom,  too  frequently,  the  aiis  are  noted  down,  encum-  i  yel  be  of  opinion  that  allusions,  in  the  least  degree  in- 
beied  by  their  tas'eless  dec  .rations,  and  les,  onsible  ,  flainmatory.  should  be  avoided  in  a  publication  of  this 
for  all  their  ignorant  anomalies.  Though  it  be  some-  !  popular  descripiiou—  I  beg  of  these  respecled  persons 
times  impossible  to  trace  ihe  original  sriain.  yet,  in  to  believe,  thai  tliere  Is  no  one  who  more  smceiely 
most  of  them,  "aun  per  ram, is  aiaa  refulget,"*  the  deprecates  than  I  do,  any  apjieal  to  the  passions  of  an 
pure  gold  of  ^he  melody  shines  through  the  ungiace- j  isnoraiit  and  angry  multitude;  but  that  it  is  not 
ful  foliage  which  surrounds  it,- and  ihe  most  delicate  |  through  that  gross  and  inflammable  region  of  society, 
and  difficult  duty  of  a  compiler  is  to  endeavour,  by  a  work  of  ihis  nature  coulj  ever  have  been  intended 
ie:renchingthese  inelegant  sujierlluities,  and  collating  to  circulate.  It  loots  much  higher  lor  its  audience 
the  various  methods  of  playing  or  -inging  each  air,  to  and  leadeis,—  it  is  found  upon  the  piano-fortes  of  the 
restore  the  resutarily  of  its  foini,  and  the  chaste  sun-  rich  and  the  educated,—  of  tliose  who  can  ati'oid  to 
plicity  of  its  character.  have  their  national  zeal  a  little  stimulated,  without 

1  must  again  observe,  th.it  in  doubting  the  antiquity  exci'ing  much  dread  of  the  excesses  into  »  hich  it  may 
of  our  music,  my  scepiicism  extends  but  to  Ihose  po-  hurry  them  ;  and  of  many  whose  nerves  may  be,  now 
lished  specimens  of  the  ait,  which  it  Is  difficult  to  and  then,  alarmed  with  advantage  as  much  more  is  lo 
coiiceiveanterii>r  lot  he  dawn  of  modern  improvement;  '  be  gained  by  their  fears,  than  could  ever  be  expected 
and  that  I  would  liy  no  means  invalidate  'he  claims  ^  fioni  their  justice. 

of  Ireland  lo  as  early  a  rank  in  the  annals  of  min-  Having  thus  adverted  to  the  principal  objection, 
Btrelsy,  as  the  nios'  zealous  antiquary  may  be  inclined  which  has  been  hitherto  made  to  the  p*  etical  part  of 
lo  allow  her.  In  addition,  indeed,  to  the  power  which  this  work,  allow  me  to  add  a  few  woids  in  defence  of 
music  must  always  have  possessed  over  the  minds  of  my  ingenious  coadjutor.  Sir  John  Stevenson,  who  has 
a  people  so  ardent  and  susceptible,  the  stimulus  of  ,  been  accused  of  having  spoiled  the  simplicity  of  Ihe 
persecution  was  not  wanting  to  quicken  our  taste  into  ]  airs  by  Ihe  chromatic  richness  of  his  symphonies,  and 
enthusiasm;  the  cliarms  i  f  s  mg  were  ennoblel  with  the  elaborate  variety  of  his  harmonies.  We  might 
Ihe  glories  of  martvrdom,  and  the  acts  agiinst  mm-  cite  the  e>aiiiple  of  the  admirable  Haydn,  who  has 
strels,  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Elizabeth,  were  sp  ried  thiough  all  the  n.azes  of  musical  science,  in 
as  successful,  I  doulit  not,  in  making  my  c,iuntr\men  ]  his  arrangemeni  of  the  simplest  Scottish  melodies;  but 
musicians,  as  the  penal  laws  have  been  in  keeping  I  it  appears  lo  me,  that  Sir  John  Stevenson  has  brought 
them  Catholics.  I  to  this  task  an  innate  and  national  feeling,  which  it 

With  respect  to  the  verses  which  I  have  written  for  |  would  be  vain  lo  expect  from  a  foreigner,  however 
these  Melodies,  as  (hey  are  intended  rather  to  be  sung  tasteful  or  judiciius.  Through  many  of  his  own  com- 
than  read.  I  can  answer  for  Iheir  sound  with  soniewhat  '  positions  we  trace  a  vein  of  Irish  sentiment,  which 
more  confidence  than  for  their  sense.  Yet  it  would  be  i  points  him  out  as  peculiarly  suited  to  catch  the  spirit 
affectation  to  deny  that  I  have  given  much  atleniioii  to  I  of  his  country's  music ;  and,  far  from  agreeing  with 
Ihe  task,  and  that  it  is  not  through  any  want  of  zeal  those  fastidious  ci  it.cs  who  think  that  his  symphonies 
or  industry,  if  I  unf  rtunately  disgrace  the  sweet  airs  '  have  noiliing  kindied  wiih  the  airs  which  they  inlro- 
of  my  cou'ntiy,  by  poelry  altogether  unworthy  of  their  duce,  I  would  say  that,  on  Ihe  contrary,  they  resenible, 
laste,  Iheirenerey,  and  their  lei. derness.  in  general,  those  illuminated   initials  of  old   nianu- 

Thoiigh  the  humble,  nature  of  my  contributions  lo  scripts,  which  are  of  the  same  character  with  Ihe 
Ihii  work  may  exempt'  them  from  Ihe  rigours  of  liie-  writing  which  follows,  though  moie  highly  coloured 
rary  criticism,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  those  and  more  curiously  ornamented, 
touches  of  political  feeling,  those  tones  of  national  In  those  airs,  which  he  has  arranged  for  voices,  his 
complaint,  in  which  the  poelry  sometimes  sympa-  skill  has  particulatly  distinguished  itself,  and,  though 
thizes  with  the  music,  would  be  sullered  to  pass  with-  it  cannot  be  denied  that  a  single  melody  most  nalu- 
out  censure  or  alarm.  It  has  been  accordingly  said,  rally  expresses  the  language  otfeeling  and  passion,  yet 
that  Ihe  tendency  of  this  publication  is  mischievous, tJ  ]  often,  w  hen  a  favourite  strain  has  been  dismissed,  as 


nd  that  I  have  chosen  tti 
dangerous  politics, —  as  fair  and  precious  vessels  (to 


1  Among  other  false  refinements  of  the  art,  our 
music  (With  the  exception  perhaps  of  the  air  called 
'•Mamma.  Mamma.'  and  one  or  two  more  of  the 
same  ludicrous  description,)  has  avoided  that  puerile 
mimicry  of  natural  noises,  mo  inns,  &c.  which  d,s- 
graces  so  often  the  works  of  even  Handel  himself. 
U'Alembert  ought  to  have  had  better  taste  than  lo 
become  the  patron  of  Ihis  imitative  affectation,— i)i.!- 
cours  Pretitninaire  de  V Encydopetlie  The  reader 
may  find  some  good  remarks  on  the  subject  in  Avison 
upon  Musical  Expression;  a  work  which,  though 
under  Ihe  name  of  Avison,  was  written,  it  is  said,  by 
Dr.  Brown. 

»  Virgil,  ^neid,  lib.  vi.  verse  204. 

*  See  Letters.  undT  Ihe  signatures  of  Tinraeus,  &c. 
in  he  Muming  Post,  Pilot,  and  other  papers. 


charm  of  novelty  for  the  ear,  it  retu 
in  a  haimonized  shape,  with  new  claims  on  our  inte- 
rest and  attention;  and  to  those  who  study  the  deli- 
cate artifjcea  of  conip'sitinn.  the  construction  of  the 
inner  parts  of  these  piece,  must  atTord,  1  think,  con- 
siderable satisfaction.  Every  vo  ce  has  an  air  to  itself, 
a  flowing  succe-sion  of  notes,  which  might  be  heard 
with  pleasure,  independently  of  the  rest ;— so  artfully 
has  the  harmonist  (if  I  may  thus  express  il)  gavelied 
the  melody,  distributing  an  equal  portion  of  its  sweet- 
ness to  every  part. 
If  your  Ladyship's  love  of  Music  >Tcro  not  well 

*  "  j»jon  accuso  verba,  quasi  vasa  electa  atqiie  pre- 
tiosa  ;  sed  vinum  erroris  quod  cum  eis  nobis  propina- 
lur." —  Lib.  i.  Confess,  cliap.  xvi. 

6  This  emblem  of  niodern  bigots  was  head-butler 
(Tijairt^on-oio;)  to  Alexander  the  Great.  —  Sell. 
Empir.  Pyi-rk.  Hypoth.  Lib,  i. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


183 


known  to  nie,  I  shnnld  not  have  hazarded  so  long  a 
let'er  upon  the  subject  :  but  as,  |  robably,  1  may  have 
presumed  too  far  upon  your  partiality,  the  best  revenue 
you  nnw  can  lake  is  to  write  me  just  as  long  a  letter 
upon  Painlin*  ;  and  I  promise  to  allend  to  your  theory 
of  the  art,  with  a  plea>ure  only  surpassed  by  thil 
which  1  li.u'e  so  often  deriped  from  your  practice  of 
it.— May  the  mind  which  "^uch  talents  adorn,  continue 
calm  as  il  is  brighr,  and  happy  as  it  is  \iriuousI 
Believe  me,  your  Ladyship's 

Grateful  Friend  and  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FOURTH 
NUMBER. 

This  Number  of  the  Melodies  ought  to  have  ap- 
peared much  earlier  J  and  ihe  writer  of  the  words  is 
ashamed  lo  cnnfess,  that  the  delay  of  its  publication 
must  be  impu'ed  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  to  him.  He 
finds  it  necessary  to  make  this  avowal,  not  only  for 
the  purpose  of  removingall  blame  froin  the  Publisher, 
but  in  consequence  of  a  runinr,  which  has  been  cir- 
culated industriously  in  Dublin  thai  the  Irish  Gnvern- 
meiit  had  lulerfered  to  prevent  the  continuance  uf  the 
Work. 

This  would  be.  indeed,  a  revival  of  Henry  Ihe 
Eiglith's  enactments  against  Minstrels.  And  ii  is  fla'ter- 
ing  lo  find  Ih^t  ^o  much  importaiice  is  attached  to  our 
compilaion,  even  by  such  persons  as  the  inven'ors  of 
the  report.  Bi>hop  Lowth,  it  is  true,  was  of  opinion, 
that  07Je  fiong.  like  the  Hymn  to  Harmodius,  would 
have  done  more  'ow  nds  r.-usms  the  spirit  f.f  Ihe  Ro- 
mans, than  nit  the  Philippics  of  Cicero.  But  we  live 
in  wiser  i\nd  less  musical  times;  ballads  have  long 
lost  their  revolutionary  powers,  and  we  question  if 
even  a  '*  LillibuHem"'  wjuld  produce  any  veiy  jcnouJ 
consequences  al  present.  It  is  needless,  therefore,  lo 
add,  thai  there  is  i  o  truth  in  the  report  j  and  we  trust 
that  whatever  belief  It  obtained  was  fnunded  mce 
upon  the  character  of  the  Gouirnmcjit  ihan  of  the 
Work. 

The  Airs  nf  ihe  last  Number,  though  fnll  of  origi- 
nality and  bein'y,  were,  in  general,  [lerhaps,  too 
cnriitusly  selected  to  become  all  at  once  as  popular  as, 
we  Ihink,  they  deserve  to  be.  The  public  are  apt  to 
IfC  reserved  towards  new  acquaint-incea  in  music,  and 
this,  perhaps,  is  one  of  Ihe  rea-ons  why  many  modern 
composers  introduce  none  but  old  friends  lo  their  no- 
lice.  It  is,  indeed,  natural  that  persons,  who  love 
music  onlv  by  assnciaiion,  should  be  somewhat  slow 
in  feeling  the  charms  of  a  new  and  stranee  melody ; 
while  Iho-e.  on  the  other  hand,  who  have  a  quick 
sensibility  fnr  this  enclianting  art.  will  as  natuiallv 
set'k  and  enjny  novelty,  because  in  every  variety  of 
s'rain  they  find  a  fresh  cunibination  of  ideas  ;  and  the 
sound  has  scarcely  reached  the  ear,  before  the  heart 
has  as  ra|iidly  rendered  it  into  imagery  and  sentiment. 
Alter  all,  huwevtr,  It  cannot  be  denied  ihit  Ihe  most 
popular  of  our  National  Airs  are  also  Ihe  most  beauti- 
ful ;  and  it  has  been  our  wish,  in  the  pre-ent  Num- 
ber, lo  select  fjom  those  Melodies  only  which  have 
long  been  lisened  to  and  admired.  The  le^st  known 
in  the  colleclioni^the  Airof  ^'Love's  Young  Dream  ;^^ 
but  it  will  be  found,  1  think,  one  of  those  easy  and 
artless  strangers  whose  merit  Ihe  heait  instantly  ac- 
knowledges. T.  M. 


Sury  Street,  St.  Jameses,  Ncv.  ISII, 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIFTH  NUMBER. 

It  is  but  fair  (o  those,  who  take  an  interest  in  thia 
Wnrk,  to  stale  lha(  it  is  now  veiy  near  its  termination, 
and  that  the  Six  h  Number,  which  shall  speedily  3).- 
ptar,  will,  most  probably,  be  the  last  of  Ihe  series. 


Three  volumes  will  then  have  been  completed,  ac- 
cording to  the  original  |)Ian,  and  ihe  Proprietors  desiro 
me  to  say  that  a  List  of  Sub-cribers  will  be  publishtti 
wilh  Ihe  cnncluding  Number. 

It  is  not  so  much,  i  must  add,  from  a  want  of 
materials,  and  sill  les'  from  any  abatement  of  zeal  or 
industry,  ttiat  we  have  adopted  the  reanluiionof  bring- 
ing our  task  to  a  ricse;  but  we  feel  so  proud,  still 
more  for  our  country's  sake  than  our  own,  of  the 
general  interest  ivhich  this  purely  Irish  Work  has 
excited,  and  so  anxious  lest  a  particle  of  that  interest 
should  be  lost  by  too  long  a  protraction  of  Its  exist- 
ence, that  we  think  it  wiser  to  take  away  the  cup 
from  the  lip,  while  lis  llavour  is  yet,  we  trust,  fresh 
and  aweet,  than  to  lisk  any  further  trial  of  the  charm, 
Or  give  so  much  as  no!  to  leave  some  wish  for  more. 
In  speaking  thus,  I  allude  entirely  lo  Ihe  Airs,  which 
are.  of  course,  Ihe  main  aitrac  lon  of  these  Volumes; 
and  ihough  we  hive  still  a  great  many  popular  and 
delightful  Melodies  lo  produce,*  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  we  should  soon  experience  considerable  diffcully 
in  equalling  the  richness  and  novehy  of  the  earlier 
numbers,  for  which,  as  we  had  the  choice  of  all  before 
U-,  we  naturally  selected  only  the  most  rare  and  beau- 
tiful. The  P>  etry.  tot),  would  be  sure  to  synii)a(hise 
with  the  decline  of  Ihe  Music;  and,  however  feebly 
my  words  have  kepi  pace  «ith  the  excellence  of  the 
Airs,  they  would  follow  Iheir  /a/img-  off:  I  fear,  wilh 
wonderlul  alacrity.  Both  pnde  ai.d  prudence,  there- 
fore, counsel  us  to  come  to  a  close,  while  yet  our 
Work  is,  we  believe,  flourishing  and  attractive,  and 
thus,  in  the  imperial  attitude,  ^* stantes  niori,"  before 
we  incur  the  cliarge  either  of  altering  for  Ihe  worse, 
or  what  is  equally  unpardonable,  conlinuing  loo  long 
Ihe  s.inie. 

We  beg  to  say,  however,  that  it  is  only  in  the  event 
of  our  failing  to  find  Airs  .is  gnod  a-;  most  of  those  wc 
have  given,  'hat  we  mean  thus  to  anticipaie  the  natural 
period  of  dissolution  (like  those  Indians  who  when 
their  relatives  beconie  worn  out,  put  them  to  dealh) ; 
and  ihey  wlio  a:  c  desirous  of  retarding  this  Euthana- 
sia if  the  Irish  Melodies,  cannot  better  effect  their 
wish  than  by  contributing  in  our  collection,— not  what 
are  called  curious  Airs,  for  we  h^ve  abundance  of 
such,  and  Ihey  are  in  general,  only  curious,— but  any 
real  sweet  and  expressive  Songs  of  our  Country, 
which  either  chance  or  research  may  have  brought 
into  their  hands.  T.  M. 

Mayjicld  Cottage^  Ashbourne^  VecemUrj  1S13. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  SIXTH  NUMBER. 

In  presenting  this  Sixth  Number  to  Ihe  Public  as 
our  last,  and  bidding  adieu  to  Ihe  Irish  Harp  for  ever, 
we  shall  not  answer  very  confidently  for  the  strength 
of  nur  resolution,  nor  feel  quite  sure  that  it  may  not 
turn  out  to  be  one  of  those  eternal  farewells  which  a 
lover  takes  occasionally  of  his  mistress,  merely  to 
enhance,  perhaps,  the  pleasure  nf  their  next  meeting, 
(lur  only  motive,  indeed,  for  discontinuing  Ihe  Work 
was  a  fcrthal  our  Ireisures  weie  nearly  exh.iusted, 
arid  a  n  'lural  unwillii  gness  to  descend  to  the  gather- 
ing of  mere  seed-|iearl,  after  the  really  prec'wjs  gems 
it  has  been  our  lot  to  string  together.  The  announce- 
ment, however,  of  this  intention,  in  our  Fifth  Num- 
ber, has  excited  a  deg-ee  of  anxteiy  in  the  loveisof 
Irish  Mu-ic,  not  only  |  leasant  aid  fla'tering,  but 
liighly  useful  to  us  ;  for  the  various  conlnbulions  we 


1  Among  these  is  Savounia  Deelish,  which  I  have 
been  hi'herio  only  witliheld  from  selecting  by  the 
diffidei  ce  I  fed  in  treading  upon  ihe  same  ground 
uith  Mr.  Can  pbell,  whose  beautiful  words  to  this 
fine  Air  have  taken  too  strong  possession  of  .ill  ears 
and  he:»rts,  forme  to  think  of  following  in  his  foot- 
steps wi'h  any  success.  1  suppose,  however,  as  a 
marer  of  duly,  I  must  attempt  the  air  for  our  next 
Number. 


184 


DEDICATION,    &c. 


have  receired  in  consequence,  have  enriched  our  col- 
tectinn  with  so  many  choice  and  bc.iutiful  Airs,  thai 
should  we  adhere  to  our  present  resolution  of  publish- 
ing no  more,  it  would  certainly  furnish  an  instance 
of  forbe,irance  unexampled  in  the  history  of  poefs 
and  musicians.  To  one  Gentleman  in  paiticular,  who 
has  been  for  m:iny  years  re>ii!en'  in  England,  but  who 
has  not  forgot,  among  his  various  pursuits,  either  the 
language  or  the  melodies  of  his  native  country,  we 
beg  lo  ofler  our  best  thanks  for  the  many  interesting 
communications  with  which  he  has  favoured  u-.  We 
trust  that  neither  he  nor  any  other  of  our  kind  fi  iends 
will  relax  in  those  efforts  by  which  we  have  been  so 
cori-iderablyassisted  ;  (or,  though  our  work  must  now 
be  looked  ujjon  as  detune',  yet  —  as  [teauniur  found 
out  the  art  of  nukitig  the  cicada  &ing  after  it  was 
dead  —  it  is  just  possible  that  we  may,  some  time  or 
other,  try  a  similar  experiment  upon  the  Irish  Melo 


T.  M. 


Mayfiddj  Ashbourne,  March,  1815 


ADVERTISEMENT    TO    THE     SE- 
VENTH    NUMBER. 

Had  I  consulted  only  my  own  ju  Jtrment,  this  Work 
would  not  have  extended  beyond  the  Six  Numbers 
already  published  ;  which  contain  the  flower,  perhaps, 
of  our  national  melodies,  and  have  now  attained  a 
rank  in  public  favour,  of  which  I  would  not  willingly 
risk  the  (orfeiture,  by  degenerating,  in  any  vvay,  from 
tho:ie  merits  that  weie  its  source.  Whatever  trea- 
sures of  our  music  were  still  in  reserve,{and  it  willbe 
seen,  I  trust,  that  they  are  i-umerous  and  valuable,)  I 
would  gladly  have  left  to  future  poets  to  glean,  and, 
with  the  ritual  words  "  tibi  trado^^^  would  have  de- 
livered up  the  torch  into  other  hands,  before  it  had 
lost  much  of  its  light  in  my  own.  But  the  call  for  a 
continuance  of  the  work  has  been,  as  I  understand 
from  the  Publisher,  so  general,  and  we  have  received 
80  many  contributions  of  old  and  beautiful  air>,» — the 


t  One  Gentleman,  in  particular,  whose  mme  I  shall 
feel  happy  in  being  allowed  to  mention,  has  not  only 
sent  us  nearly  forty  ancietit  airs,  but  has  cnmiutii- 
caled  many  curious  frasinents  of  Irish  poetry,  and 
some  interesting  Iraditions  current  in  the  country 
where  he  resides,  illustrated  by  sketches  of  the  ronian- 


suppression  of  which,  for  the  enhancement  of  those 
have  published,   would   too  much  resemble  the 

policy  of  the  Dutch  in  burning  their  spices,— that  I 
;  been  persuaded,  though  not  without  much  diffi. 

dence  in  my  success,  to  commence  a  new  series  of  the 

Irish  Melodies.  T.  M, 


DEDICATION    TO    THE    MARCHIONESS    OF 
HEADFORT, 

PREFIXED    TO    THE    TENTH    NUMBER. 

It  is  with  a  pleasure,  not  unmixed  with  melancholy, 
that  I  dedicate  the  last  Number  of  the  Irish  Melodies 
to  your  Ladyship;  nor  can  I  have  att^  doubt  that  the 
feelings  with  which  you  receive  the  tribute  will  be  of 
the  same  mingled  and  saddened  tone.  To  you, — who 
though  but  little  beyond  the  seasonof  childhood,  when 
the  earlier  nunibers  of  this  work  appeared,—  lent  the 
aid  of  your  beautiful  voice,  and,  even  then,  exquisite 
feeling  for  music,  to  the  h:ip[>y  circle  who  met,  losing 
them  together,  under  your  laiher's  roof,  the  gratifica- 
tion, whatever  it  may  be,  which  this  humble  oflering 
brings,  cannot  be  otherwi>e  than  darkened  by  the 
mournful  reflection,  how  niany  of  the  voices,  which 
then  joined  with  ours,  are  now  silent  in  death  I 

I  am  not  without  hope  that,  as  far  as  regards  the 
grace  and  spirit  of  the  Melodies,  you  will  find  this 
closing  portion  of  the  work  not  unworthy  of  what  has 
preceded  it.  The  Sixteen  Airs,  of  which  the  Number 
and  the  Supplement  consists,  have  been  selected  from 
the  immense  mass  of  Irish  music,  \vhich  has  been  for 
yeas  pist  accumulating  in  my  hands;  aijd  it  was  from 
a  desire  to  include  all  that  appeared  most  worthy  of 
preserva'ion,  that  the  four  supplementary  songs  which 
follow  this  Tenth  Number  have  been  added. 

Trusting  that  I  may  yet  again,  in  remembrance  of 
old  times,  hear  our  voic«-s  lozeiher  in  someof  the  har- 
monized airs  of  this  Volume,  I  have  the  honour  to 
subscribe  myself. 

Your  Ladyship*s  faithful  Friend  and  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


Sloftrtan  Cottage,  May,  1S34. 


tic  scenery  to  which  ihey  refer  j  all  of  which,  though 
too  late  for  the  preseni'Number,  will  t)e  of  infinite 
service  to  us  in  the  prosecution  of  our  task. 


NATIONAL   AIRS 


ADVERTISEMENT, 

It  is  Cicero,  I  believe,  who  says  "  natitra  ad  mo- 
dos  ducitnur;^^  and  the  abundance  of  \vild.  indigenous 
airs,  which  almost  every  country,  except  England, 
possesses,  sufficiently  proves  the  truth  of  his  assertion. 
The  lovers  of  this  simple,  but  ineresting  kind  of 
music,  are  here  presented  with  the  first  number  of  a 
collection,  whith.  I  trust,  their  contributions  will 
enable  us  to  continue.  A  pretty  air  wittu  ut  words 
resembles  one  of  tho^e  half  creatures  of  I'lato,  which 
are  described  as  wandering;  in  search  of  'he  ren.ainder 
of  themselves  through  the  world.  To  supply  this 
other  half,  by  uniting"  with  congrnial  words  the  many 
fugitive  melodies  which  have  hitherto  had  none. —  or 
ordy  such  as  are  tminlelligible  to  the  generality  of 
their  hearers.—  is  the  obJL^ct  and  ambition  of  the  pre- 
sent work.  Neither  is  it  <  ur  inten  i  m  to  cnifije  our- 
selves to  what  are  snc'ly  called  National  Meiodie-, 
but,  wheiever  we  meet  with  any  wandering  nnd 
beautiful  air,  to  which  poetry  ha-i  not  yet  assigned  a 
worthy  home,  we  shall  venture  lo  claim  it  as  an  estray 


swan,  and  enrich  our  humble  Hippocrene  with  its 
song. 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 

A  TEMPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP.* 
(SPANISH    AIR.) 

'  A  Temple  to  Friendship."  said  Laura,  enchanted, 
'*  I  MI  Luild  in  this  garden, — the  thought  is  divine  I' 

Fler  temple  was  huilt,  and  she  now  only  wanted 
An  iniage  of  Friendship  to  place  on  the  shrine. 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


185 


She  flew  to  a  sculptor,  uho  set  tiown  before  her 

A  Friendship,  tile  f.iiiest  tii9  art  cniild  in\eiit ; 

But  so  cold  and  bO  d'.ill.  Dial  tlie  youthful  adorer 

Kavv  plainly  this  was  iiiit  ^he  idul  site  meant. 
'Oh  1  never,'*  she  ciied,  "could  !  thiiik  of  enshrining 
"An  image,  whose  looks  are  so  jovless  and  dimj— 
'But  yon  lillle  gild,  upon  roses  lecliniug, 
•'  We  'II  make,  if  you  plensi:,  Sir,  a  Friendship  of 
him," 
So  the  har^ain  was  struck  ;  with  the  lillle  und  laden, 

,'ihe  joylully  Hew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove  : 
'Farewell,"  said  the  sculptor,  "you're  not  the  fust 
maiden 
"  Who  came  but  for  Friendship  and   took  away 
Love." 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER. 
(PORTUGUESE   AIR.) 

Flow  on,  thou  shininir  river  ; 

Rut,  ere  thou  leach  the  -ea, 
Seek  Elba's  bower,  .ind  give  her 

'I'he  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thee. 
And  tell  her  thus,  it  slie'll  be  mine, 

Tlie  c  rrrent  of  cur  lues  >hall  be, 
"With  joys  along  their  cour-e  to  shine, 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  oo  tliee. 

But  if,  in  wandering  thither. 

Thou  find  St  she  mocks  my  piayefi 
Then  leave  those  wreathe  to  «iiher 

Upon  ihecnld  bank  ttieie; 
And  tell  her  thus,  when  youth  ii  o'er, 

Her  lone  and  lovele.s  charms  shall  b« 
Thrown  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore. 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  tbee. 


ALL  THAT 'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADE. 
(INDIAN   AIR.) 

All  that 's  bright  must  fade,— 

The  brightest  still  the  I'.eeest 
All  that's  sweet  "as  made. 

But  tn  be  lost  when  sweetest. 
Stars  iha'  shine  and  fall  ;  — 

Tlie  (lower  (hat  drops  iu  springing:  — 
These,  alisl  are  type;  of  air  ^' 

To  which  our  hearts  are  clinging. 
All  that's  blight  niusi  fade,— 

The  brightest  still  (he  fleetest: 
All  that  s  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweelesi ! 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

Delights  that  end  in  aching? 
Who  would  trust  to  (ies 

That  even  hour  are  breaking? 
Better  far  to  be 

In  utter  darkness  lying, 
Than  to  be  bless'd  wiih  liehl  and  see 

Thai  light  forever  flving. 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade,— 

The  brightest  siill  the  fleetest; 
All  th.at's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest  I 


SO    WARMLY    WE    MET. 
(HUNGARIAN   AIR.) 

So  wirmly  we  met  and  so  fondly  we  parted. 

That  which  was  the  sweeter  e'v'n  I  could  not  tell,— 

Tl.it  first  look  of  welcome  her  sunny  eyes  darted. 
Or  that  tear  of  passion,  which  bless'd  our  faiewell. 


To  meet  was  a  heaven,  and  lo  part  thus  another,— 
Our  joy  and  our  sorrow  seem'd  rivals  in  bliss; 

Oh  !  Cupid's  two  eyes  are  not  liker  each  other 
iu  smiles  and  iu  tears,  than  that  moment  to  this. 

The  first  was  like  day-break,  new,  sudden,  delicious, — 
'1  he  da»  n  of  a  |>leasuie  scarce  kindled  up  \  et ; 

The  last  like  the  fare  » ell  of  daylight,  more  precious, 
More  glowing  and  deep,  as  'tis  nearer  its  set. 

Our  meelii.g,  though  happy,  was  tinged  by  a  sorrow 
To  think  ttiat  such  ha}ipitiess  could  not  remain  ; 

While  our  jiartiug,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that 

Would  bring  back  the  bless'd  hour  of  meeting  a^ia. 


THOSE    EVENING    BELLS 
(AIR. — THE  BELLS   OF   ST.  PETERSBURGH.) 

Th"se  evening  bells !  those  evening  bells  J 


Hn 


any  a  tale  llle 


Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime  ! 

Those  joyous  hours  are  past  away; 
And  nuny  a  hean,  that  II. en  was  g»y. 
Within  the  tomb  now  d.irkly  dwells. 
And  heais  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

And  so  't  will  be  when  I  am  gone; 
That  luneful  peal  will  still  ring  on. 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  eveuing  bells  1 


SHOULD    THOSE    FOND    HOPES. 
(PORTUGUESE   AIR.) 

Should  those  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee.l 

Winch  now  so  sweetly  (hy  liear(  employ  ; 
Should  the  cold  woild  come  (o  wake  (hee 

From  all  thy  visions  of  youth  and  joy; 
Should  the  gay  fiiends,  for  whom  thou  wouldst  banish 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  yoin  g  heart  his  own. 
All.  like  spring  birds,  f.ilsely  vanish. 

And  leave  thy  winter  unheeded  and  lone;-* 

Oh  !  't  is  then  that  he  thoo  hasi  sligh(ed 

Would  come  lo  cheer  thee,  when  all  seem'd  o'er; 
Then  the  IruanI,  lost  and  blighted. 

Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  more. 
Like  that  dear  bird  we  both  can  remember, 

Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  round. 
But,  when  chill'd  by  bleak  December, 

On  our  thieshold  a  welcome  still  found. 


REASON,  FOLLY,  AND  BEAUTY. 


(ITALIAN   AIR.) 


Reason,  and  Folly,  and  Beauty,  they  say. 
Went  on  a  partv  of  pleasuie  one  day : 

Folly' plai'il 

Around  the  maid, 
The  bells  of  his  cap  rung  merrily  out : 

While  Reason  look 

To  his  sermon-book  .— 
Oh  !  which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt, 
Which  was  the  pleisaiiter  no  one  need  doubt. 


I  Thi> 


of  'he 


^  instances  among'  my 
lyrical  poems,— (hough  the  above,  it  must  be  owned, 
is  an  extreme ca!e,—where  the  melie  has  been  necej. 
sarily  sacrificed  to  Ihe  structure  of  the  air. 


16« 


Beauty^  uhj  likrs  1o  be  thought  very  sage, 
Turn'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  page, 

Till  Folly  s. id, 

*'  Loi.k  here,  sweet  Inii^  !"  — 
The  sight  of  his  c^p  brought  her  back  to  herself; 

VVhile  Reason  read 

His  le-ives  of  lead, 
With  no  one  to  mind  him,  pnor  sensible  elf! 
No,— no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 

Then  Reason  grew  jealous  of  Folly's  gay  cap  j 
Had  he  that  on.  he  her  heart  mighi  entrap  — 

*'  'I'here  it  is," 

Quoth  Folly,  "old  quiz!" 
(Folly  was  alwavs  gond-naiured,  't  is  said,) 

"Under  the  jun 

*' There',  no  such  fun, 
"As  Reason  wiih  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head 
"Reason  wiifa  my  Cap  and  bells  on  his  head  1" 

But  Reason  Ihe  head-dress  po  awkwardly  wore, 
That  Beauty  now  liked  hirn  siill  less  ihan  before: 

While  Folly  took 

Old  Reason's  book, 
And  twislcd  the  leave-'  iii  a  cap  of  such  ton. 

That  Beauly  vow'd 

(Thnush  nut  aloud), 
She  liked  him  still  heiier  in  that  than  his  own. 
Yes,—  liked  him  still  belter  in  that  than  his  own. 


FARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE  I 
(SICILIAN     AIR  .) 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one! 

Lovely  s'itl.  but  dear  no  more 
Once  his  Soul  of  irulli  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 
Thy  words,  wha'c'er  their  flati'ring  spell, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived ; 
But  eyes  thai  acted  truth  so  well 

Were  sure  to  be  believed. 
Then,  faie  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one! 

Lovely  still   but  dear  no  more; 
Once  his  snui  of  truh  is  gone, 

t/>ve's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 

Yet  thnse  eyes  look  constant  still. 

True  as  slars  thev  keep  their  li^ht : 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil 

Of  blushiogaluays  bright. 
'T  is  onlv  on  thv  chanceful  heart 

The  blame  of  (al>ehood  lies  j 
Love  lives  in  every  niher  pirt, 

But  there,  alas!  he  dies. 
Then,  f.tre  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  t^one, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o"er. 


DOST   THOU    REMEMBER, 

(pORTlTGrTESE    AIR.) 

DosI  thou  remember  that  pince  so  lonely, 
A  place  for  lovers,  and  lovers  only, 

Where  hrst  I  told  thee  all  my  secret  sighs? 
When,  as  the  moonbeam,  that  trembled  o'er  thee. 
Illumed  ihy  blushes,  I  knelt  before  thee, 

And  read  mv  hope's  sweet  triumph  in  those  eyes? 
Then,  then,  while  closely  heart  was  drawn  to  heart, 
Love  bound  us— never,  never  mere  lo  part! 

And  when  I  callM  thee  by  names  the  dearest  i 

That  love  could  fancy,  the  fondest,  nearest. — 

"My  life,  my  only  life  1"  among  the  lesl  j 


In  Ihofie  sweet  accents  that  still  enthral  me, 

Th'iU  saidst,  'Ah'  wherefoie  ihv  life  thus  call  me? 

*'Thy  sou!,  thy  snul's  ihe  name  that  I  love  best; 
*'For  life  soon  pas-sts,— but  how  faless'd  to  be 
'*  'J  liat  Soul  which  never,  never  parts  from  thee?" 


OH,  COME  TO  ME  WHEN  DAYLIGHT  SETS. 
(VENETIAN    AIR.) 

Oh,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets; 

Sweet!  then  come  to  me, 
When  snioothly  so  our  gondolets 

O'er  Ihe  moonlight  sea. 
When  Mirth  's  awake,  and  Love  begins, 

Beneath  that  glancing  ray, 
With  sound  of  lutes  and  mandolins, 

To  steal  young  hearis  away. 
Then,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets; 

Sweet !  Ihen  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  t.ur  goudolets 

O'er  ihe  moonlight  sea. 

Oh,  Ihen's  Ihe  hour  for  those  who  love, 

Sweet,  like  thee  and  me; 
When  all's  so  calm  below,  above. 


Wh 


In  He;iv'n  and  o't 

idens  sing  sweet  barcarolles,' 


And  Echo 
So  sweet,  that  all  vvithears  and  souls 

Sh  luld  love  and  listen  then. 
So.  come  lo  me  when  dajlight  sets; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me. 
When  snioothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  tuuouligbt  sea. 


OFT,   IN   THE    STILLY   NIGHT. 
(scotch    air.) 

Oft,  m  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber  s  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  o  her  days  aniund  me; 
The  smiles,  the  tears, 
Of  bovhnrd's  years, 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken ; 
The  eye'*  thai  shone, 
Now  dmim'd  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  I 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  Imk'd  together, 
I've  seen  ar.und  me  fall. 
Like  leaves  in  wintry  wealher 
I  feel  like  one. 
Who  trea-is  alone 
Sonie  banquel-h.*ll  deserted, 
Whose  Itehts  are  fled, 
Whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  cham  has  bcund  mt. 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
L/f  other  days  around  me. 


1  The  thought  in  ihis  ve 
original  Portuguese  words. 


5  Barcarolles,  softe  de  chan^ions  en   langne  Veni- 
borrowed  from  the    tienne.  que  chantcnt  les  gondoliers  a  Venlse. — Rou»' 
seau,  Dictionnairt  de  Musiqite, 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


187 


HAKKI  THE  VESPER  HYMN  IS  STEALING. 
(RUSSIAN     AIR.) 

Hark  !  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 

O'er  the  waters  soft  and  clear; 
Nearer  vel  aiiJ  nearer  pealing, 

Jubilate,  Amen. 
Farther  now,  nnw  fai  (her  stealing, 
Soft  it  fades  upon  the  ear. 
Jubilate,  Amen, 

Now,  like  moonlight  waves  retrealinj 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along  ; 
Now,  like  ani^ry  surges  meeting, 
Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  song. 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Hushl  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  the  shore,  it  dies  along, 
Jubilate,  Aniea. 


LOVE    AND    HOPE. 
(SWISS  AIR.) 

At  morn,  beside  yon  summer  sea, 
Young  Hoiw  ai.d  Love  reclined  ; 

But  scaice  had  nooii'tide  come,  whtn  he 

Into  his  bark  leap'd  smilmgly, 
And  left  poor  Hope  behind. 

"  1  go,"  faid  Love,  *'  to  sail  awhile 

**  Across  this  sunny  main  ;  " 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
That  Hope,  who  never  dreamt  of  guile, 

Believed  he'd  come  again. 

.She  linger'd  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay  ; 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thoughtful  dream, 
Oft  traced  his  n  une.  whiclfstill  the  stream 

As  often  washd  away. 

At  length  a  sail  appears  in  sight, 

And  tnw'rd  the  maiden  moves! 
»T  is  Weahh  that  comes,  and  giy  and  bright. 
His  golden  bark  reflects  the  light. 
But  ah  I  it  is  not  Love's. 

Another  sail  —  'I  was  Friendship  show'd 

Her  night-hmp  o'er  the  sea  ; 
And  calm  the  light  that  lanjp  bestow'd  ; 
But  Love  had  lights  that  warmer  glow'd. 

And  where,  alas  !  was  he  ? 

Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 

Night  threw  her  darkling  chain; 
The  sunny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  morning  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er,— 
Love  never  came  again  ! 


THERE    COMES    A    TIME. 
(GERMAN   AIR.) 

There  comes  a  time,  a  dreary  time. 

To  him  whose  heart  hath  flown 
O'er  all  the  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime. 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
'T  is  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Tho.e  dreams  so  bright,  so  f  .nd  ; 
Oh!  then 's  the  time  to  die  at  once, 

For  life  has  nought  beyond. 

When  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore. 

That  instant  all  is  nighi  ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er. 

When  Love  withdraws  his  light  ;  — 


Nor,  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 
Through  twilight's  dim  delay, 

The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone. 
Of  fire  long  pass'd  away. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING  THEME. 
(SWEDISH     AIR.) 

My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme. 

Dire  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
Its  languid  clinrd,  as  't  were  a  dream 

Of  iny  that 's  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air. 

To  wake  the  hreatiiing  string; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there, 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breathe  on,  breathe  on,  thou  languid  strain. 

Henceforth  be  ail  my  own; 
Though  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain 

Few  hearts  can  bear  thy  tone. 
Yet  oft  thou  'rl  sweet,  as  if  the  sigh. 

The  breath  that  Pleasure's  wings 
Gave  out,  ivhen  last  they  wanton 'd  by. 

Were  3lil]  upon  thy  strings. 


OH,  NO  — NOT  EV'N  WHEN  FIRST  WE 
LOVED. 

(CASHMERIAN   AIR.) 

Oh,  no  —  not  cv'n  when  first  we  loved, 

Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art ; 
Thy  beauty  then  my  senses  moved, 

But  now  thy  virnes  bind  my  heart. 
What  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before. 

Has  since  been  lurn'd  to  Reason's  vow  ; 
And,  though  I  then  might  love  thee  more, 

Trust  me,  1  love  thee  better  now. 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Might  kindle  with  more  wild  desire. 
Believe  me.  it  has  gain'd  il  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  more. 

Yet,  oh,  I  love  thee  better  now. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 
(scotch  air.) 

Peace  be  around  thee,  wherever  thou  rov'st; 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day. 
And  all  that  thou  wishesi,  and  all  that  thou  IotV, 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 
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  bliehl  o'er  all, 

And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death, 
O'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  thai  side  the  sun  's  upon 

Be  all  that  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances ! 


188 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


common  sense  and  genius 
(frencu  air.) 

While  I  touch  the  gtrin?, 

Wreathe  niy  brows  with  laurel, 
For  the  tale  i  sing 

Has,  for  once,  a  moral. 
Common  Sense,  one  night, 

Though  not  used  to  g.*Dibols, 
Went  out  by  moonlight, 

With  Genius,  on  hia  rambles. 
While  I  touch  the  string,  kc. 

Common  Sense  went  on, 

Many  wise  tilings  saying  j 
While  the  light  thntshoue 

Soon  set  Genius  straying. 
07ie  hU  eye  ne'er  rais^jd 

From  the  patli  before  hiui; 
Toother  idly  gazed 

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,  whose  look 

Was  in  Heaven  that  minute, 
Never  saw  the  brnok, 

But  tumbled  headlong  in  it ! 

While  I  louch  the  string,  &c. 

How  the  Wise  One  smiled, 

When  safe  oVr  the  torrent, 
At  that  youth,  so  wild, 

Dripping  from  the  current  I 
Sense  went  home  to  bed  ; 

Genius,  left  lo  shiver 
On  the  bai.k.  't  is  snid. 

Died  of  thai  cold  riverl 

While  i  touch  the  string  &c. 


THEN,  FARE  THEE   WELL, 

(OLD    ENGLISH    AIR.) 

Then,  fare  thee  welt,  my  own  dear  love, 

This  world  has  now  tor  us 
No  ereiter  grief,  no  pain  above 

The  painof  parting  thus, 


Dl: 


■  love 


The  pain  of  parting  thus. 

Had  we  but  known,  since  first  we  met, 
Some  few  short  hours  of  bliss. 

We  mi?ht,  in  numbering  them,  forget 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  this, 

Dear  love ! 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  this. 

But  no,  alas,  we've  never  seen 
One  glinipse  nf  pleasure's  ray. 

But  s'ili  ihere  came  some  cloud  between. 
And  chased  it  all  away, 

Dear  love ! 
And  chased  it  all  awiy. 

Yet,  ev'n  could  those  sad  moments  last, 

Far  dearer  to  my  heart 
Were  hours  of  grief,  together  past, 

Than  ye:irs  of  mirth  apart, 
De.ir  love  ! 

Than  years  of  mirth  apart 


Fsrewell  !  on 

r  hope 

was  bor 

n  in 

fears, 

And  liurved 

'mid  V 

ain  le^r 

Is; 

Like  winter  . 

iins,  i 

ro>e  in 

earn 

Likelhem 

n  tear 

,  It  sets, 

Dear 

love ! 

Like  them 

n  tear 

B  It  lets. 

GAILY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET. 

(MALTESE  AIR.) 

Gaily  sounds  the  castanet, 

Beating  lime  to  bounding  feet, 
When,  after  daylight  s  golden  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonlight  meet. 
Oh,  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth, 
Led  by  light  from  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  ejes  on  earth. 

Then,  Ihe  joyous  banquet  spread 

On  the  cotil  and  Iragnnt  ground, 
Willi  heav'n's  bright  sparklers  overhead. 

And  still  bnghrer  sparkling  round. 
Oh.  then,  how  sweet  to  s<y 

Into  some  loved  ones  ear, 
T hough's  reserved  ihmugh  many  a  day 

'J"o  t>e  thus  whisper'd  heie. 

When  the  dance  and  feast  are  d'me, 

Arm  in  arm  as  home  we  stray, 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  check's  warm  blushes  pliy  I 
Then,  too,  the  farewell  kiss  — 

1  he  words,  whose  patting  lone 
Lingers  siill  in  dreams  of  bliss, 

That  haunt  young  hearts  aloue. 


LOVE    IS   A    HUNTER-BOY. 
(languedocian  air.) 

Love  is  a  hunter-boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  his  prey ; 
And,  in  his  nets  of  joy. 

Ensnares  them  night  and  day. 
In  vain  conceat'd  they  lie  — 

Love  tracks  them  everywhere; 
Id  vain  aloft  lliey  fly — 

Love  bboots  them  flying  there. 

But  'I  is  his  joy  most  sweet, 

At  early  dawn  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet, 

And  give  the  trembler  chase. 
And  if,  ihrough  virgin  snow. 

He  tracks  her  footsteps  fair, 
How  sweet  for  Love  to  know 

None  went  before  bim  there  I 


COME,  CHASE  THAT  STARTING  TEAR 
AWAY, 

(FR  ENCH     AIR.) 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away, 

Ere  mine  to  nieet  it  springs; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whate'er  tn-niorrow  brings. 
Like  sun-set  gleams,  that  linger  late 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast. 
Are  hours  like  these  wesnatch  from  Fate  — 

The  brightest,  and  the  last. 

Tiien,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c. 

To  gild  the  deepening  gloom,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow. 
Oh.  think  Ih.il  one  bright  hour  is  given^ 

In  all  its  splendour,  now. 
Let's  live  it  out  — then  sink  in  night, 

Like  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell,  are  fnuch'd  with  li^t. 

Then  Inst  for  evermore  1 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &C. 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


189 


JOYS  OF  rOUIH,  HOW  FLEETING! 
(PORTUGUESE     AIR.) 

Whisp'rinffs,  heard  by  nakeful  maids, 

To  whom  Ihe  niglii-stars  guide  u»; 
Stolen  walks  ihrou^h  moonlight  shades, 
With  th'.se  we  love  beside' us, 
Hearts  beating, 
At  meeting; 
Teafs  slariing, 
At  parting; 
Oh,  sweel  youth,  how  soon  it  fades! 

Sweet  joys  of  youih,  how  fleeting! 
Wand'rin^s  faraway  from  home, 

With  life  all  new  before  us ; 
Greetings  warm,  when  home  we  come, 
From  heans  whose  prayers  watchd  o'er  us. 
Tears  starting, 
At  parting; 
Heans  be.ling, 

Oh,  sweet  youlh,  bow  lost  on  some  ! 
To  some,  how  bright  aud  flee'ing! 


HEAR    ME    BUT    ONCE 
(FRENCH     AIR.) 

Hear  me  but  once,  while  o'er  Ihe  grave. 
In  which  our  Love  lies  c*ild  and  dead, 

I  count  e.ich  flatt'riiig  hope  he  gave 

Of  joys,  now  lost,  and  charms  now  fled. 

Who  could  have  thought  the  smile  he  wore, 
When  litst  we  met,  would  fadeaway? 

Or  that  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 
Those  eyes  so  bright  through  many  a  day  ? 
Hear  me  but  once,  &c. 


WHEN    LOVE    WAS    A    CHILD, 
(SWEDISH     AIR.) 

When  Love  was  a  child,  and  went  idling  round, 
'Mong  flowers,  the  whole  sunmjer'.s  day, 

One  morn  in  ihe  valley  a  bovver  he  found, 
So  sweet,  it  allured  him  lo  stay. 

O'erheid,  from  the  trees,  hung  a  garland  fair, 

A  fountain  ran  d-iikly  beneath  ;  — 
»T  was  Pleasure  had  hung  up  the  flow'rets  there ; 

Love  knew  it,  and  junip'd  at  Uie  wre.ah. 

But  Love  didn't  know  —  and,  at  his  weak  years, 
Wliat  urctiin  was  likely  to  know  ?  — 

Thit  Sorrow  had  made  of  her  own  salt  tears 
The  fountain  that  mumiur'd  below. 

He  caught  at  the  wreath— but  with  too  much  haste, 

As  bo>s  when  impatient  will  do  — 
It  fell  in  those  waters  of  briny  tas  e, 

And  the  flowers  were  all  wet  through. 

This  garland  he  now  wears  night  and  day; 

And.  though  it  all  sunny  appears 
Witb  Pleasure's  own  lisht,  each  leaf,  they  say 

Still  tastes  of  the  Fouulaiu  of  Tears. 


SAV,  WHAT  SHALL  BE  OUR  SPORT  TaDAY? 
(SICILIAN     AIR.) 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  ? 

There  's  noihing  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air. 
Too  bright,  ton  high,  loo  wild,  too  gay, 

For  spirits  like  niine  to  dare  ! 


'T  is  ike  the  reluming  bloom 

Of  those  days,  alas,  gone  by, 
Whe..  I  loved,  each  hour— I  scarce  knew  wbom- 

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, 

'T  was  grddy  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. 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAMS. 

(WELSH    AIR.) 

Bricht  be  thy  dreams—  may  all  thy  weeping 
Turn  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping. 
Mav  those  by  de-ith  or  seas  removed, 
The  friends,  wh-.  in  thy  spring-tmie  knew  thee, 

All,  'hou  hast  ever  prized  or  loved 
In  dre.ims  come  smiling  to  thee! 

There  nny  the  child,  whose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  (hou  ^le^est; 
Still  as  she  was  —  no  charni  forgot  — 
No  lustre  Inst  that  life  had  given  ; 

Or,  if  changed,  but  chairged  to  what 
Thou  'It  find  her  yet  in  Heaven  ! 


GO,    THEN  — 'TIS   VAIN. 
(SICILIAN    AIR.) 

Go,  then  —  't  is  vain  lo  hover 

'I  hus  round  a  hope  that  's  dead  ; 
At  length  my  dream  is  over; 

'T  was  su  eet  —  't  was  false  —  't  is  fled  I 
Farewell  !  since  nought  it  moves  thee, 

Such  truth  as  mrne  lo  see  — 
Some  one,  who  f,ir  less  loves  thee. 

Perhaps  more  bless'd  will  be. 

Farewell,  sweef  eyes,  whose  brightneis 

Ns'.v  life  around  me  shed; 
Farewell,  fnlse  heart,  whose  lighttiesB 

Now  leaves  me  death  instead. 
Oo.  iiow,  those  chaims  surrender 

To  some  new  lover's  sigh  — 
One  wh",  though  far  le«s  tender, 

May  be  mere  bless'd  Uian  1. 


THE    CRYSTAL-HUNTERS. 
(SWISS    AIR.) 

O'er  mountains  bright 

With  sn'.w  and  light, 
We  CryslalHuiiterfi  speed  along; 

While  rocks  and  caves, 

Arid  icy  waves, 
Eat-h  instant  echo  to  our  song; 
And,  when  we  nieel  with  stoie  of  gemi, 
We  grudge  not  kiiifi;s  their  diadems. 

OVr  m'luntaiiis  bright 

Wi  h  snow  and  light, 
We  Crystal-Hunters  speed  along; 

While  gntts  and  caves, 

And  icy  waves, 
Each  ir.staul  echo  to  our  song. 

Not  h-ilf  50  oft  Ihe  lover  dreams 
Of  spaikles  from  his  lady'p  eyes, 

As  we  nf  thoBe  refreshing  gleams 
That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies; 


190 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


Though,  next  to  cryst.il,  we  too  grant, 
Thatladie&'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 
O'er  mountains  brig;ht,  &c. 

Sometimes,  when  on  Ihe  Alpine  rose 

Theeolden  sunset  leaves  its  -ay, 
So  like  a  ^ein  theflow'iet  ulnws, 

We  rhither  b<^nd  our  he  dlong  w.iy ; 
And,  though  we  htid  i,o  treasuie  here, 
We  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 
Oer  mountain^  bright, 
Withsnnw  and  light. 
We  Crys'al-Hunters  speed  along; 
While  rocks  and  caves. 
And  icy  waves. 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 


ROW    GENTLY    HERE. 

(VENETIAN    AIR.) 

Row  gently  here, 

My  gondoher, 
So  snfOy  wake  the  fide, 

That  not  an  ear, 

On  earth,  niay  hear, 
But  herg  to  whom  we  glide. 
Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  sjieafe,  as  well 

As  s'arrv  eyes  to  see, 
Oh.  think  what"  tales  't  would  have  to  tell 
Of  wand'ring  youths  like  me  1 

Now  rest  thee  here, 

Mygndolier; 
Hush,  hush,  f-r  up  I  go, 

To  climb  yon  light 

Balcony's  height. 
While  thou  keep'st  watch  below. 
Ah!  did  we  lake  for  Heaven  abnve 

But  half  such  paius  as  we 
Take,  day  and  night,  fir  woman's  love, 
What  Angels  we  should  be! 


OH,    DAYS    OF    YOUTH 

(FRENCH    AIR.) 

Oh,  days  of  youth  and  joy,  long  clouded, 

Why  thus  for  ever  haunt  my  view? 
When  in  the  grave  your  light  lay  shrouded, 

Why  did  not  Memory  die  there  too? 
Vainly  doth  Hope  her  strain  now  sing  me, 

Telling  of  joys  that  yet  remain  — 
No,  never  more  can  thi^  life  bring  me 

One  joy  that  equals  youth's  sweet  pain. 

Dim  lies  the  way  to  death  before  me, 

Cold  winds  of  Time  blow  round  my  brow  ; 
Sunshine  of  youth!  that  once  fell  o'er  me, 

Where  is  your  warmth,  your  glory  now  ? 
^Tis  notth.it  then  no  pain  could  sting  nie; 

'Tis  not  ttiat  now  no  Joys  remain  ; 
Oh,  M  is  that  life  no  more  can  bring  me 

One  joy  so  sweet  as  that  worst  pain. 


WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMILE. 

(VENETIAN    AIR.) 

I  When  first  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  bJess'd  my  sight, 


Oh  whst  ; 


nn  tht 


'  love,  of  calm  and  pure  delight, 
SeeniM  in  that  buiile  lo  pass  bftoie  nie. 

NeVrd.d  the  peasant  dream  of  summer  skies. 
Of  golden  fruit,  and  fiarves's  si)nn:iirig. 

With  fonder  hope  than  I  of  those  swft-t  eyes, 
And  of  Ihe  joy  their  light  was  bringing. 


I  Where  now  are  all  thnse  fondly-promised  houn? 
Ah!  woman',  f.ilh  IS  like  her  brightness- 
Fading  .IS  fasi  as  rainbows,  or  day-llower,-. 

Or  augtit  that 's  known  for  gr.ce  and  iightness. 
Short  as  the  ^e^^iaIl's  pia>er,  at  close  of  day, 
Should  be  e.icb  vow  ot  Li\e's  repeating; 
luick  let  him  worship  Beauiy's  precious  ray  — 
Even  while  he  kueels,  that  ray  is  fleeting  ! 


PEACE  TO  THE  SLUMBERERSl 

(CATALONIAN    AIR.) 

Peace  to  the  slumberers! 

They  lie  on  the  battle-plain, 
Wiih  no  shroud  to  ever  them  ; 

The  dew  and  the  summer  rain 
Are  ait  that  weep  over  them. 

Peace  to  the  etumberers! 

Vain  was  their  bravery  !  — 
The  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay. 

Across  the  wintry  river  ; 

But  brave  hearts,  once  swept  away, 

Are  gone,  alas  I  forever. 

Vain  was  their  bravery  I 

Woe  to  the  conqueror ! 

Our  limbs  shall  lie  as  cold  as  theirs 
Of  whom  his  sword  bereft  us, 

Ere  we  forget  the  deep  arrears 
Of  verige3,nce  ihey  have  left  us! 
Woe  lo  the  couqueror  1 


WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER. 
(SICILIAN  AIR.) 

When  thou  shalt  wander  by  that  sweet  liglit 
We  u-ed  to  g.i2e  on  so  many  an  eve, 

When  love  was  new  and  hope  vvas  bright, 
Ere  1  could  doubt  or  thou  deceive  — 

Oh,  then,  rememb'ring  how  swift  went  by 

Those  hours  of  transport,  even  thuu  may'st  sigh. 

Yes,  proud  one  I  even  thy  heart  may  own 
That  love  like  ours  was  far  loo  sweet 

To  be,  like  sumnjer  garments,  'hrown 
A'iide,  when  pas&'d  ihe  summer's  heat ; 

And  wi-h  in  v-iin  to  know  again 

Such  days,  such  nights,  as  biessM  thee  theo. 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS? 

(PORTUGUESE  AIR.) 

Hymen,  late,  his  love-knots  selling, 
Caird  at  many  a  majiten'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  resminded. 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  I 

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  '11  buy  my  love-knois  ?  "  — 
All  at  that  sweet  ciy  assembled  ; 
Some  laugh'd,  some  blush'd,  and  some  trembled. 

**  Here  are  knots,*'  s:^id  Hymen,  taking 
Some  loose  flowers,  **of  Love's  own  makln|(| 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


101 


'ill 


**  Here  are  gold  ones  —  you  may  trust  'em  "  — 
(These,  of  course,  found  ready  cubtom.) 

**Coine,  buy  my  love-knots! 

•■Come,  buy  my  I  .ve-knt»  s  ! 
"Some  are  hbellM  'Knols  to  lie  men  — 
"Love  Ihe  linker —  itnuglit  of  Hymen."* 

Scarce  iheir  bargains  were  cnniplefed, 
When  Ihe  nvmi)h>  all  cried,  '•  We're  cheated  I 
"  See  ^he^e  flowers  —  Ihey  'le  dtouping  sjdiy  ; 
"  This  goid-knot,  too,  ties  but  badly  — 

"  Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 

'*  Who'd  buy  such  love-knots? 
*'  Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it  — 
"  All  a  sham  —  He  never  bound  it." 

Love,  who  saw  (he  whole  proceedino^. 
Would  have  laugh'd,  but  fi,r  good  breeding; 
While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 
Cries  like  Ihat  these  dames  gave  loose  to  — 

"  Take  back  our  iove-kuots ! 

*•  Take  back  our  love-knots  !  '* 
Coolly  said,  '*  There  's  no  returning 
**  Wares  ou  Hymen's  hands  —  Good  morning  I  ^ 


SEE,  THE  DAWN  FROM  HEAVEN. 

(to    an    air    sung    AT    ROME,    ON    CHRIST- 
MAS   EVE,) 

See,  the  dawn  from  Heaven  is  breaking 

O'er  our  siglit. 
And  Earth,  from  sin  awaking, 

Hails  the  light! 
See  those  groups  of  angels,  winging 

From  the  realms  aliove. 
On  their  brows,   from  KJl-m,  bringing 

Wreaths  of  Hope  ar,d  Love. 

Hark,  their  hymns  of  glory  pealing 

Through  the  air, 
To  mortal  ears  revealing 

Who  lies  there  1 
In  Ihat  dwelling,  d  .rk  an  J  lowly, 

Sleeps  Ihe  Heavenly  Son, 
He,  whnse  hon.e's  above,— the  Holy, 

Ever  Holy  One! 


NETS    AND    CAGES.* 

(SWEDISH    AIR.) 

Come,  listen  to  my  story,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 
At  what  I  sing  some  maids  will  smile, 

While  >ome,  perhips,  may  sieh. 
Though  Love's  the  theme,  and  Wisdom  blamet 

Such  florid  songs  an  curs, 
Yet  Truth  sometimes,  like  eastern  dames, 

Can  speak  her  thoughls  by  fli»wers. 

Then  lis'en.  maids,  come  lis'en,  while 
Your  needle's  ta^k  you  ply  ; 

At  wh^t  1  sing  there  's  some  may  smile, 
While  some,  perhaps,  will  sigh. 

Young  Cloe,  bent  on  catching  Loves, 

Such  nets  had  le.irn'd  to  frame. 
That  none,  in  all  our  vales  and  grovei. 

E'er  caught  so  much  small  game: 


«  Suggested  by  the  following  remark  of  Swift*3:  — 
*'The  reason  why  so  few  n.arriaaes  are  h^ppy.  is, 
bec:»use  young  ladies  spend  theirtinie  in  making  nets, 
not  in  making  cages." 


But  gentle  Sue.  less  giv^n  to  roam, 

While  Cloe's  nets  were  laking 
Si'ch  lots  of  Loves,  sal  still  ai  home, 

One  little  Love-cage  making. 

Come,  listen,  maids,  &c. 

Much  Cloe  1  (ugh'd  at  Susan's  task; 

But  nu'k  how  ihings  went  on: 
Thee  li^ht-c^ughl  Loves,  eie  you  could  ask 

Their  name  and  age,  were  gone  ! 
So  weak  poor  Cloe'^  nets  were  wove. 

Thai,  though  she  charm 'd  into  them 
New  ganie  each  hour,  (he  youngest  Lovo 

Was  able  (o  break  thniugh  them. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  &c. 

Meanwhile,  young  Sue,  whose  cage  was  wrought 

Of  bars  too  strong  to  sever, 
One  Love  with  golden  pinions  caught, 

And  caged  him  (here  for  ever; 
Instruc'ing,  thereby,  all  coque'les, 

Whate'er  their  looks  or  ages, 
Thar,  though  't  is  pleasant  weaving  Nets, 

'T  is  wiser  to  make  Cages. 

Thus,  maidens,  thus  do  I  beguile 

'Ihe  task  your  fingers  ply.— 
May  all  who  hear  like  Sus:iD  smile^ 

And  not,  like  Cloe,  sigh  1 


WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PIAZZETTA. 
(VENETIAN     AIR.) 

When  through  the  Piazzetia 
Night  breathes  ht-r  cool  air. 

Then,  dearest  Ninelta, 
I'll  come  to  thee  there. 

Beiieilh  thy  mas-k  shrouded. 


Hi! 


s,  th  'Ugh  cloudedj 
■eningS'ar 


In  earb,  then,  resembling 

Some  gay  gondolier, 
I'll  whisper  thee,  trembling, 

"Our  bsrk,  love,  is  near: 
"Now,  now,  while  there  hover 

"Those  clouds  o'er  ilie  moon, 
■^^T  will  wnit  Ihee  sale  over 
*Yoii  silent  Lagoon.'* 


GO,    NOW,    AND    DREAM. 
(SICILIAN     AIR.) 

Go,  now,  and  dream  o'er  that  jov  in  thy  slumber— 
Monients  so  sweet  ascain  neVr  shall  tliou  number. 
Of  i'ainV  bitter  diaught  the  flavour  neer  flies. 
While  Pleasure's  scarce  touches  'he  hp  ere  it  dies. 
Go,  then,  and  dream,  &c. 

That  moon,  which  hungo'er  yourpirling.so  splendid, 
Often  will  shine  again,  bright  as  she  then  did  — 
Hui.  never  moie  will  the  be;im  she  saw  burn 
In  those  hajipy  eyes,  at  your  meeling,  return. 
Go,  then,  and  dieam,  ^c. 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 
(NEAPOLITAN   AIR.) 

Take  hence  the  bnwl ; — though  beaming 

Krighily  asbowl  e'er  shone, 
Oh,  it  but  se's  me  dre:iming 

Of  happy  days  now  gone. 


192 


NATIONAL    AIRS, 


There,  in  its  clear  reflection, 

As  iti  a  wizard's  g'a^s, 
Losr  li'tpes  and  dead  atfection, 

Like  sbades,  before  nie  pass. 

Each  cup  I  drain  brinss  hither 

Some  scene  of  1,1  iss  gone  by  ;— 
Brisbt  lips,  ton  brijhl  to  wilher, 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die. 
Till  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  tlio^e  Inng.vanish'd  years, 
-Alls,  the  wine  before  tne 

Seeois  turning  all  to  tears  1 


FAREWELL,    THERESA 

(VENETIAN   AIR.) 

Farewell,  Th 

He 
Will 

Swifi  o'er  the  wide  wave  shall  wander  from  thee. 


'  yon  cloud  that  over 
n's  pale  night-star  gath'ring  we  see, 
rce  from  ihat  pure  orb  have  pass'd,  ere  thy 


Long,  like  that  dim  cloud,  I  've  hung  around  Ihee, 

Dark'ning  thy  prospects,  sadd'ning  tliy  browj 
With  gay  heart,  Theresa,  and  bright  cheek  I  found 
thee; 
Oh,  think  how  changed,  love,  how  changed  art  thou 
now! 

But  here  I  free  thee  :  like  one  awaking 

Fr(mi  fearful  slumber,  fhnu  break'st  the  spell; 

'Tis  over  — the  moon,  too,  her  bondage  is  breaking  — 
Fast  are  the  daik  clouds ;  Theresa,  fdrewell ! 


HOW  OFT  WHEN  WATCHING  STARS. 
(9.*.V0YARD     AIR.) 

on,  when  the  watching  stars  grow  pale. 
And  round  me  steeps  the  moonlight  scene, 

To  hear  a  (lute  through  yonder  vale 
r  from  my  casement  lean. 

"  Come,  come,  my  love  !"  each  note  then  seems  to  s; 
Oh,  come,  my  love  !  the  night  wears  fast  away  !' 


Ne 


orlal  ( 


Could  words,  though  warm  they  be, 
Speak  Pa-sion's  langmge  Jiilf  so  clear 
As  do  those  notes  to  nie  ! 

Then  quick  my  own  light  lute  I  seek, 

And  strike  the  chords  with  loudest  swell; 
And,  though  they  nonghl  lo  others  speak. 

He  knows  their  language  well. 
"  I  come,  my  love  !"  each  note  then  seems  to  say, 
**I  come,  my  Invel  —  thine,  thine  till  break  of  day.' 
Oh,  "  eak  the  power  of  words, 
The  hues  of  i)ainting  dim, 
Compared  to  what  those  simple  chords 
Tliea  say  and  paint  lo  him  ! 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SUMMER  BEE. 
(GERMAN     AIR.) 

When  the  fir^t  summer  bee 
()*er  the  ynuog  rose  shall  hover, 
Then,  like  thai  gay  rover, 
I 'II  come  lo  Ihee. 
He  to  (lowers,  1  to  lips,  full  of  sweets  to  the  brim - 
What  a  meeling,  what  a  meeting  for  me  and  for  hii 
When  the  first  summer  bee,  &c. 


Then,  to  every  bright  free. 
In  the  garden  he'll  wander; 
While  I,  oh,  much  fonder, 
Will  stay  with  thee. 
In  search  of  new  sweetness  through  thousands  LeTI 

run, 
While  I  find  the  sweetness  of  thousands  in  one. 
Then,,  to  every  bright  tree,  tc. 


THOUGH  'TIS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM. 

(FRENCH     AIR.) 

Though  't  is  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best. 
And  slill,  uhen  happiest,  soonest  e'er, 
Yet.  even  in  a  dream,  lo  be  ble>s'd 
Is  so  sueel,  that  ]  ask  for  no  more. 

The  bosom  that  opes 

With  cirliesl  hopes. 
The  soonest  finds  those  hopes  untrue; 

As  Howers  that  first 

In  spring-time  burst 
The  earliest  wilher  loo! 

Ay  —  H  is  all  but  a  dreara.  See. 

Though  by  friendship  we  oft  are  deceived. 

And  find  love's  sunshine  soon  o'ercast, 
■Vet  friendship  will  slill  be  believed, 
And  love  tiusled  on  lo  the  last. 

The  web  'mong  the  leaves 

The  spider  weaves 
Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hings  o'er  men  : 

Though  often  she  sees 

'T  is  broke  by  llie  breeze. 
She  spins  Ilie  bright  tis-ue  again. 

Ay  —'1  is  all  but  a  dieam,  &c. 


WHEN  THE  WINE-CUP  IS  SAHLING. 
(ITALIAN     AIR.) 

When  the  wine-cup  is  smiling  before  us, 

And  we  pledge  round  to  liearls  that  are  true,  oov 
h'ue,  '      ' 

Then  the  sky  of  this  life  opens  o'er  us, 

And  Heaven  gives  a  glimpse  of  its  blue. 
Talk  of  Ad.im  in  Eden  reclining. 

We  .ire  beiler,  far  betler  ofl'  ihus,  boy.  thus; 
For  hijn  but  two  bi  ight  eyes  were  shining  — 

See,  whal  numbers  are  sparkling  for  us  ! 
When  on  one  side  the  grape-juice  is  dancing, 

While  on  I'olher  a  blue  eye  beams,  boy,  faeami, 
'T  is  enoush,  'Inixt  the  wine  and  the  glancing, 

To  disturb  ev'n  a  saint  from  his  dreams. 
Vet.  though  life  like  a  river  is  flowing, 

i  c^re  not  how  last  it  goes  on,  boy,  on. 
So  Ihe  grape  on  its  bank  is  siill  growing. 

And  Love  lights  the  waves  as  they  run. 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  EURV  OUR  SHAME  ? 
(NEAPOLITAN     AIR.) 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame  ? 

Where,  in  w^^^t  desolate  place, 
Hide  the  last  wreck  of  a  name 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace? 
De  «th  may  dissever  the  chain, 

Oppres-ion  will  cease  when  we  're  gone ; 
Bu'  the  dishonour,  the  stain, 

Die  as  we  may,  will  live  on. 
Was  it  forlhis  we  sent  out 

Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore? 
Was  it  for  Ibis  Ihat  her  shout 

Thrlll'd  to  the  world's  very  core? 


NATIONAL    AIRS, 


193 


Tbns  to  live  cowards  and  slaves !  — 
Oh,  ye  free  hearts  thai  lie  dead, 

Do  you  not,  ev'n  in  your  graves. 
Shudder,  as  o'er  yi'u  we  tread? 


NE'ER  TALK  OF  WISDOM'S  GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

I  M  A  H  R  A  T  T  A.     AIR.) 

Ne'er  lalk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools  ; 

Give  me  llic  sage  wlio's  able 
T"  draw  his  moral  Ihuui^lits  aud  rules 

From  Ihe  study  of  the  table  ;  — 
Who  leains  hoiv  lightly,  fleetly  pas* 

This  world  and  all  thai 's  in  it, 
From  the  bumper  that  but  crowns  his  glass, 

Aud  is  gone  again  next  minute  ! 

The  diamond  sleeps  within  the  mine, 

The  peail  bene.th  the  water; 
While  Jrutli,  more  precious  dwells  in  wine, 

The  grape's  own  rosy  daughter. 
And  noiie  can  prize  her  charms  like  him, 

Oh,  none  like  him  obtain  her, 
Who  thus  can,  like  Leander,  swim 

'i'biough  sparkling  flouds  to  gain  her  1 


HERE    SLEEPS    THE    BARD. 

(HIGHLAND     AIR.) 

Here  sleeps  the  Bard  who  knew  so  well 
All  the  sweet  windmgs  of  Apollo's  shell 
Whether  its  music  roll  d  like  torrents  near, 
Or  died,  like  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear. 
Sleep,  sleep,  mute  b.iid  ;  alike  unheeded  now 
The  storm  and  zephyr  sweep  thy  lifeless  brow  ;  — 
That  storm,  whose  ru^h  is  like  thy  martial  lay  ; 
That  breeze  which,  like  thy  love-song,  dies  away  t 


DO  NOT  SAY  THAT  LIFE  IS  WANING. 

Do  not  say  that  life  is  waning, 
Or  that  Itope's  sweet  day  is  set ; 

While  I've  thee  and  love  rcuiajning. 
Life  is  in  th'  horizon  yet. 

Do  not  think  those  charms  are  Hying, 
Though  thy  roses  fade  And  fall; 

Beauty  hath  a  grace  utidying, 
Which  in  these  sui  vives  them  all. 

Not  for  charms,  the  newest,  brightest. 
That  on  other  cheeks  mav  shine, 

Would  I  change  the  least,  the  slightest. 
That  is  Img'ring  now  o'er  thine. 


THE    GAZELLE. 

Dost  thou  not  hear  the  silver  bell, 
Thro'  yonder  lime-trees  ringing? 

'Tis  my  lady's  light  gazelle. 
To  me  her  love  thoughts  bringing,- 

All  the  while  that  silver  bell 
Around  his  d.irk  neck  ringing. 

See.  in  his  mouth  he  bears  a  wreath, 
My  love  hath  kist  in  tying; 

Oh,  what  tender  thoughts  beneath 
'Those  silent  flowers  are  lying,— 

Hid  wi'hin  the  niystic  wreath. 
My  love  hath  k:st  in  lying  I 


Welcome,  dear  gazelle,  to  thee. 

And  joy  10  her,  the  fairest. 
Who  thus  hath  breathed  her  soul  to  me. 

In  every  leaf  tlioii  beaiest; 
Welcome,  dear  gaeelle,  to  thee. 

And  jny  to  her  the  fairest! 

Hail  ye  living,  speaking  flowers, 
'J'hat  breailie  of  l,t  r  who  bound  ve; 

Oh,  't  was  not  in  tieds,  or  lioueis, ' 
'Twas  on  her  lijif,  she  f  und  ye  ;  — 

Yes,  ye  blushing,  5|.eakiiig  tloHers, 
''T  was  on  her  lips  she  found  ye. 


NO  — LEAVE  MY  HEART  TO  REST. 

No  —  leave  my  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may, 

When  you'h,  and  love,  and  liope,  have  pass'd  away* 

Could'bt  thou,  when  summer  h-urs  are  lied. 

To  some  poor  leaf  that's  fall'n  and  dead. 

Bring  back  Ihe  hue  it  wore,  the  scent  it  shed  ? 

No—  leave  this  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may. 

When  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'sl  like  sunny  skies, 

Too  late  to  cheer  the  seaman's  eyes. 

When  wreckd  and  lost  his  bark  before  him  lies  ! 

No  —  leave  this  heait  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may. 

Since  youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd  away. 


WHERE    ARE    THE    VISIONS. 

*'  Where  are  the  visions  that  round  me  once  hover'd, 
**  Forms  that  shed  grace  from  their  -hadows  alone  j 

"Looks  fresh  as  light  from  a  star  just  discovered, 
"Aiid  voices  that  Music  might  take  for  her  own  ?" 

Time,  while  I  spoke,  with  his  wings  resting  o'er  me, 
Heard  me  say,  "Where  aie  those  visions,oh  where?'! 

And  pointing  his  wand  to  the  sunset  before  me, 
Said,  with  a  voice  like  the  hollow  wind,  "  There." 

Fondly  I  looked,  when  the  wizard  had  spoken, 
And  there,  mid  t)ie  djni-shlitinj  ruins  of  day, 

Saw,  by  their  light,  liki^  a  lal.si.nn  broken. 
The  last  golden  fr.tgtiieiits  vi  h;.pe  melt  away. 


WIND  THY  HORN,  MY  HUNTER  BOY. 

Wind  thy  horn,  my  huri'er  buy, 

And  leave  thy  lute's  iiigloiious  sighs; 

Hunting  is  the  hero's  joy. 

Till  war  his  nobler  game  supplies. 

Ha>k  !  the  liound-bflls  rinirinit  sweet. 

While  hunters  shout,  and  the  wor-ds  repeat, 
Hiili-ho !  Hilli-ho  1 

Wind  again  thy  cheerful  horn, 
Till  echo,  faint  with  answering,  dies: 

Burn,  bright  torches,  burn  till  nairii, 
And  lead  us  where  the  « ild  biar  lies. 

Hark  !  the  cry,  "  He  's  found,  he  's  fcraud.' 

While  bill  and  valley  our  shouti  resoiii,<l, 
Hilli-lio!  liilli-lia. 


OH,  GUARD  OUR  AFFEC' :CK. 

Oh,  guard  our  affection,  nor  e'er  let  it  feel 
The  blight  that  this  world  o'er  the  warmest  will  slwli 
While  the  faith  of  all  round  us  is  fading  or  pas!. 
Let  ours,  ever  green,  keep  its  blxim  to  the  Iwt. 


17 


194 


NATIONAL   AIRS. 


Far  safer  for  Love  't  is  to  wake  and  to  weep, 
As  lie  used  in  his  prime,  than  go  smiling  to  sleep; 
for  de;tlh  on  his  slumber,  cold  death  follows  fast, 
While  the  love  that  is  wakeful  lives,  on  to  the  last. 

And  thii\  as  Time  gathers  liis  clouds  o'er  our  hfad, 
A  shnde  snn.ewhal  diirker  o'er  life  Ihey  may  tpread, 
TranspareLil,  :it  least,  be  the  sliadow  they  cai', 
Ho  ihat  Lovers  softcaM  light  may  shine  through  to  the 
last. 


SLUMBER,    OH    SLUMBER, 

"Slumber,  oh  slumber;  If  sleeping  thou  mak*st 
**Wy  heart  beat  so  wildly,  I  'm  lost  if  thou  wak'st." 
Thus  sung  I  to  a  maiden, 

Who  slept  one  summer's  day, 
And,  like  a  flower  o'erladen 
With  loo  much  sunshine,  lay. 
Slumber,  oh  slumber,  &c. 

**£reat):e  not,  oh  breathe  not,  ye  winds,  o'er  her 

cheeks ; 
"If  mute  thus  she  charm  me,  Vm  lost  when  she 

speaks.*' 
Thus  sing  I,  while,  awaking, 

She  murmurs  words  tliat  seem 
As  if  her  lips  were  taking 

Farewell  of  some  sweet  dream. 

Breathe  not,  oh  bieathe  not,  &c. 


BRING  THE  BRIGHT  GARLANDS  HITHER. 

Bring  the  bright  garlands  hither, 

Ere  yet  a  leaf  is  dyin^ ; 
If  so  soon  they  must  wither, 

Ourg  be  their  last  sweet  sighing. 
Hark  !  that  low  dismal  chime  ! 
'T  is  the  dreary  voice  of  Time, 
Ob,  briijg  beauty,  bring  roses, 

Bring  all  ihat  yet  is  ours; 
Let  life's  day,  as  it  closes. 

Shine  to  the  last  thro'  flowers. 

Haste,  ere  the  bowl's  declining, 

Drink  of  it  now  or  never ; 
Now,  while  Beauty  is  shining, 

Love,  or  she 's  lost  for  ever. 
Hark  !  again  that  dull  chime, 
*T  is  the  dreary  voice  of  Time, 
Oh.  if  life  be  a  torrent, 

Down  to  oblivinii  going. 
Like  this  cup  be  its  cutrent, 

Blight  to  the  last  drop  flowing  I 


IF   IN   LOVING,   SINGING, 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day 

We  could  tiifle  merrily  life  away. 

Like  a'oins  dancing  in  the  beam. 

Like  day-flies  skimming  o'er  the  stream, 

Or  summer  blossoms,  born  to  sigh 

Their  swee'ne^s  out,  and  die  — 

How  brilliant,  thoughtless,  side  by  side, 

Thou  and  I  could  make  our  minutes  glide ! 

Nn  atoms  ever  glanced  so  bright, 

No  d;iy-flies  ever  danced  so  light, 

Nor  summer  blossoms  mix'd  their  sigh, 

So  clo^e,  as  thou  and  1 ! 


THOU    LOV'ST    NO    MORE. 

Too  plain,  alas,  my  doom  is  spokt-n, 
Nor  canst  thou  veil  the  sad  truth  o'er; 

Thy  heart  is  changed,  ihy  vow  Is  bioken. 
Thnu  lov'sl  n-t  m'»re  —  thou  lovsl  no  more. 


Tho'  kindly  still  tho^e  eyes  heboid  me, 
The  smile  is  gone,  which  once  they  worej 

Tho>  fondly  snll  those  arms  enfold  me, 
'T  is  not  the  same  —  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Too  lon^  my  dream  of  bliss  belie\  ing, 
I've  ihoughi  thee  all  thou  weil  I.  lore  j 

But  now —  alas  1  there  's  no  deceiving, 
*!'  IS  all  too  plain,  thou  lovM  no  more. 

Oh,  Ihou  as  soon  the  dead  couldst  wakeo, 

As  lost  aflection's  Itfe  restore, 
Give  peace  to  her  lb<il  is  forsaken. 

Or  bring  back  him  who  loves  no  more. 


WHEN  ABROAD  IN  THE  WORLD. 

When  abroad  in  the  world  thou  appearest. 

And  the  yTiung  and  the  lovely  are  there. 

To  my  heait  while  of  all  thou  'rl  the  dearest, 

To  my  eyes  thou  'rt  of  all  ttie  most  fair. 

They  pass,  one  by  one, 

Like  wavch  of  the  sea, 
That  say  to  the  Sun, 

"See,  how  fair  we  can  be.'* 
But  Where's  the  light  like  thine. 
In  sunorshadeto^hine? 
No  —  no,  'mong  them  all.  there  is  nothing  like  thee 
Nothing  like  thee. 

Oft,  of  old,  without  farewell  or  warning. 

Beauty's  st-lf  used  to  sttal  from  the  skies  ; 
Fiiug  a  mist  round  iier  head,  sr>me  fine  morning, 
And  po.t  down  to  earth  m  dis:^uise ; 
But,  no  m.ilter  what  shioud 

Around  her  mighl  be, 
Men  peep'd  through  the  cloud. 
And  whisper'd,  *■  'T  is  She." 
So  thou,  whore  ihnusauJs  are, 
Shin'st  forih  tlie  only  star, — 
Tes,  yes,  *m(>ng  them  all,  there  id  oolLiug  like  thea, 
Nothing  like  thee. 


KEEP  THOSE  EYES  STILL  PURELY  MINK. 

Keep  those  eyes  still  purely  mine, 

Tho'  far  ott"  I  be: 
When  on  others  most  they  shine. 

Then  think  they  're  turu'd  on  me. 

Should  those  lips  as  now  respond 

To  sweet  minstrelsy, 
When  their  accenls  aeem  most  fond, 

Then  think  Ihey  're  breathed  for  me. 

M'ke  what  hearts  thou  will  Ihy  own, 

If  when  all  on  thee 
Fix  their  charmed  thoughts  alone, 

Thou  thiuk'at  the  while  on  me. 


HOPE    COMES    AGAIN. 

Hope  comes  again,  to  this  heart  long  a  stranger, 
Once  more  she  sings  me  her  (!at  ering  stiain  j 

But  hu^h,  gentle  syren  —  for,  ah,  theie's  less  danger 
In  still  bulfring  on,  than  iu  hoping  again. 

Long,  long,  in  sorrow,  too  deep  for  repining. 
Gloomy,  but  tranquil,  this  b  snm  haih  lain ; 

And  joy  coming  now,  like  a  sudden  light  shining 
O'er  eyelids  long  darkeu'd,  would  bring  me  but  paia. 

Fly  then,  ve  visions,  that  Hope  would  shed  o'er  me; 

L('?t  to  the  future,  my  sole  cb.ince  of  rest 
Now  lies  not  in  dreaming  of  bliss  that's  before  me, 

But,  ah  —  in  forgetting  how  once  I  was  blest. 


NATIONAL    AIRS. 


196 


0  SAT,  THOU  BEST  AND  BRIGHTEST, 

O  saT,  thou  best  and  brightest, 

My  fiial  love  and  my  last, 
When  he,  whom  now  ihou  slightest, 

From  life's  dark  scene  hath  jiast, 
Will  kinder  ihous^hls  then  move  Ihee? 

Will  pitv  «ake  onethiill 
F>r  him  who  lived  tu  love  thee, 

Aud  dying  luved  Ihee  still  ? 

If  when,  that  hour  recalling 
From  which  he  dales  hia  woes, 

Thnu  feei'st  a  tear-drop  falling, 
Ah,  blu^h  not  while  it  flows  i 

But,  all  the  past  forgiving, 
Bend  gently  u'er  tits  shrine, 

And  say,  "  This  heart,  when  living, 
With  all  its  faults,  was  mine." 


WHEN  NIGHT  BRINGS  THE  HOUR. 

When  night  brings  the  hour 

Of  starlight  and  joy, 
There  comes  to  my  bower 

A  fairy-wing'd  bny  ; 
With  eyes  so  bright, 

So  full  of  wild  arls, 
Like  neisof  light, 

To  tangle  young  hearts  j 
With  lips,  in  whose  keeping 

Love  8  secret  may  dwell, 
Like  Zephyr  a-leep  in 

Some  rosy  sea  shell. 
Guess  who  he  is, 

Name  bu(  his  name. 
And  his  best  kiss, 

For  reward,  you  may  claim. 

Where'er  o'er  the  ground 

He  prints  his  light  feel. 
The  nuvv'is  there  are  found 

Most  shining  and  sweet  i 
His  looks,  as  snft 

As  lightning  in  May, 
Though  dan£:erous  ofi, 

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, 

N  tme  but  his  name, 
And  his  best  kiss. 

For  reward,  you  may  claim. 


LIKE   ONE   WHO,    DOOM'D. 

Like  one  who,  doomM  o'er  distant  seas 

His  weaiy  pith  to  measure, 
When  home  at  length,  with  fav'ring  breeze, 

He  brings  the  far-sought  treasure ; 

His  ship,  in  sight  of  shore  goes  down, 
That  shore  lo  which  he  h^^sled  ; 

And  all  the  wealth  he  thought  his  own 
1b  o'er  the  waters  v\a:.ted  ! 

Like  him,  tliis  heart,  thro'  many  a  track 

Of  toil  and  sorrow  stravlt.g. 
One  hope  alone  hroneht  fundly  back. 

Its  toil  and  giief  replying. 

Like  him,  alas,  I  see  that  ray 

Of  hcpe  before  me  perish, 
And  one  datk  minute  sweep  awav 

What  years  were  given  lo  cherish. 


FEAR  NOT  THAT,  WHILE  AROUND  THE* 

Fear  not  fb^t,  while  nmund  thco 

Life's  varied  bieasln^s  pour. 
One  6igh  of  hers  shall  >vuo>id  thee, 

Whose  smile  thou  sctk'sl  no  moro. 
Nn,  deid  Ai.d  cold  for  ever 

Let  our  past  luve  reinatn ; 
Once  gone,  its  si'iiit  nevLT 

Shall  bauDt  thy  rest  a^ain. 

May  the  new  ties  that  bind  lhe« 

Far  sweeter,  happier  prove, 
Nor  e'er  of  me  remind  thee, 

But  by  their  truth  and  love. 
Think  how,  asleep  or  waking, 

Thy  image  haunts  me  yet: 
But,  how  this  heart  is  breaking 

For  thy  own  peace  forget. 


WHEN    LOVE    IS    KIND. 

When  love  is  kind. 

Cheerful  and  free. 
Love  's  sure  to  find 

Welcome  from  me. 

But  when  Love  brings 

Heartache  or  pang, 
Tears,  and  such  things  — 

Love  may  go  hang  I 
If  Love  can  sigh 

F  r  one  alone, 
Well  pleaded  am  I 

To  be  that  one. 

But  should  I  »ee 
Love  giv'n  to  rove 

To  two  or  three, 

Then  —  good-hy  Love  I 

Love  must,  in  short. 
Keep  fond  and  true, 

Through  good  report 
And  evil  too. 

Else,  here  I  swear. 
Young  Love  may  go. 

For  aught  !  care  — 
To  Jericho. 


THE  GARLAND  I  SEND  THEK 

The  Garland  I  send  thee  was  cull'd  from  thos*k*f)wert 
Where  thou  and  I  ivander'd  in  long  vanish'd  haurs; 
Not  a  leaf  or  a  blossom  its  bloom  here  dispU^s, 
But  bears  some  remembrance  of  those  happy  days. 

The  roses  were  gathered  by  thai  garden  gate. 
Where  our  meetings,  Iho'  early,  seemed  always  too 

late; 
Where  ling'ring  full  oft  through  a  summer-night*B 

Our  partings,  tho'  late,  appeared  always  too  soon. 

The  rest  were  all  cull'd  from  the  hanks  of  that  glade, 
Where,  watching  the  fuo^ef.  so  often  we've  stray'd. 
And  mourn'd,  as  (be  time  went,  that  Love  had  no 

power 
To  bind  in  his  chain  even  one  happy  hour. 


HOW   SHALL   I    WOO? 

If  I  ^peak  to  thee  in  friei-dshlp's  name. 
Thou  ihinkst  I  speak  too  coldjy; 

If  I  mention  Love's  devnied  lltnie, 
Thou  lay'st  I  speak  too  boldly. 


Vm 


SACRED   SONGS. 


BeUveen  these  two  iincqu^!  fires. 


Whvd 


s  to  llie_. 
.eudship,  tlio'  en  foot  she  come, 


I'm  a'fricnt],  if  such  thy  heart  requires, 

If  jnore  lliou  seeker,  a  lover. 
Which  5.*iali  It  be  ?     How  shall  I  woo? 
I'air  one,  choose  betweeu  the  two. 

Tho'  ihe  wings  of  Love  will  brightly  play, 

When  firsl  h^  ciunes  la  woo  thee, 
Tlicre  *s  a  chai  ce  ihat  he  in.iy  liy  away 

As(  s-  af  '■"  ^  -  '""— ' 
\Vhi.. ....p, 

No  hidits  of  fancy  iryii'g, 
\Vi],  Iheictore,  oft  be  fou-.d  at  home, 

When  Love  abinad  is  llyii.g. 
Which  shall  it  be?    How  sh.ill  I  woo? 
Dear  oue,  choose  betweeu  Ihe  two. 

If  neither  feeling  suits  thy  heart, 

I^l'a  see,  tn  please  the'e,  whether 
We  may  not  learn  some  precious  art 

To  mix  their  charms  together; 
Ooe  feeling,  btill  more  swei't,  to  forna 

Kitim  two  BO  sweet  alre*dy  — 
A  friendship  that  like  love  is  warm, 

A  love  like  friendship  ste;idy. 
Thi.s  let  it  be,  thus  let  me  won, 
I)eare::t,  thus  we'll  join  the  two. 


SPRING    AND    AUTUMN. 

Every  season  hath  its  pleasures  ; 

Spring  may  boast  her  flowery  prime, 
Tet  the  vineyard's  ruby  treasures 

Brighten  Autumn's  sob'ier  time. 
So  Life's  year  begins  and  closes; 

Days,  tho'  shortening,  siiU  can  shine; 


Phillis  when  she  miglit  have  canght  me, 

All  Ihe  Spring  looked  c-y  and  shy. 
Yet  her^clf  m  Autumn  sought  me, 

Wheu  the  flowers  were  all  gone  by. 
Ah,  toolafe;— she  found  her  hwer 

Calm  and  free  beneath  his  vine, 
Drinking  to  the  S[. ring-time  over, 

In  his  best  autumnal  wiue. 

Thus  may  we,  as  years  are  flying. 

To  iheir  flight  our  pleasure's  suit, 
Nor  regret  the  blossouis  dying, 

While  we  still  may  taste  the  fruiL 
Oh,  while  days  like  this  are  ours, 

Where's  the  lip  that  dares  re[)ine? 
Spring  may  lake  our  loves  and  flow'rs, 

bo  Autumn  leaves  us  friends  and  wiue. 


LOVE    ALONE. 

If  thou  wonld'st  have  thy  charms  enchant  our  eyes, 
First  xvin  our  hearts,  for  there  thy  enipire  lies: 
Beauty  in  vain  would  mount  a  heartless  thione, 
Her  Right  Divine  is  given  by  Love  alone. 

What  would  the  rose  with  all  her  pride  be  worth, 
Were  there  no  sun  tn  call  htr  brightness  forth  ? 
Maidens,  unloved,  like  flowers  in  darkness  thrown, 
Wail  but  that  light,  which  comes  from  Love  alone. 

Fair  as  thy  charms  in  yonder  glass  appear, 
Trust  not  their  bloom,  they  'II  ftde  from  year  to  year: 
Would'si  thou  they  siill  should  hhineas  first  they  ihone. 
Go,  fix  iby  mirror  in  Love's  eyes  aloue. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


TO    EDWARD    TUITE    DALTON,    ESQ. 
THIS   FIRST   NUMBER    OF   SACRED   SONGS  IS   INSCRIBED 

BY     HIS     SINCERE     AND     ArFEUTIONATE     FRIEND 
THOMAS    MOORE. 

Mayfxld  Cottage,  Jlshboume,  May,  IS16. 


SACRED    SONGS. 

THOU    ART,    O    GOD. 
(air.— UNKNOWN.*) 

^The  dny  is  thine;  the  night  ateo  is  thine:  thou  hast 
pfppBrf'iI  the  light  and  the  sun. 

"Tlmu  hiist  6L-t  all  the  birders  of  the  earth :  thou  hast 
made  Hummer  aud  uiater."  —  Psalm,  Ixxiv.  IC,  17. 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light 
(If  all  this  wondrnus  world  we  see; 

Its  qlow  by  day,  its  snii'e  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  Thee. 


I  I  have  heard  that  this  air  is  hy  the  late  Mrs. 
Sheridan.     It  is  ^une;  to  ihe  henuliful  old  words,  *' 1 

do  cunfrss  th  u'rt  smO'lh  and  Jnit." 


Wherever  we  turn,  (hy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine! 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  Even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  Heaven  — 

Those  hues,  that  make  ihe  Sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  Night,  wiih  wings  of  s'arry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  eanh  and  skies, 

Like  some  dark,  beautenus  bird,  whose  plome 
Is  sp  irk  ling  "  ith  unnuuiber'd  eyes  — 

That  sacred  glonni,  those  fires  divine. 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  voufhftil  Spring  amund  us  breathej, 
Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

And  every  flower  the  Summer  wreahet 
Is  bnrn  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  gloiies  shine, 

And  all.lhings  fair  and  bricht  are  Thins, 


SACRED    SONGS. 


197 


THE    BIRD,    LET    LOOSE. 

(air.  —BEETHOVEN.) 

The  bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  Bkies,l 

Whtn  hastening  fondly  home, 
NeVr  stoops  to  eanh  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warMers  roam. 
But  tiigh  she  shoots  ihrough  air  and  llght^ 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  lier  flight, 

Nor  8h.idow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God,  frnjn  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free. 
Aldt,  through  Virtue's  puierair. 

To  hold  my  course  to  'I'hee  I 
Ho  sin  to  cliiud,  no  lure  lo  stay 

My  Soul,  as  hiinie  she  springs; 
Thy  Sunshine  on  her  jr-yful  way 

Thy  Freedom  iu  her  « ings ! 


FALLEN    IS   THY    THRONE. 

(air.  —  MARTINI.) 

Fall'n  is  (hy  Throne,  oh  Israel ! 

Silence  is  o'er  ihy  plains; 
Thy  dwellings  all  liedesnlate. 

Thy  children  veep  in  chains. 
Where  are  Ihe  dews  th:»l  fed  thee 

On  Etham's  barren  shore? 
That  fire  fmm  Heaven  which  led  thee, 

Now  lighls  thy  path  no  more. 

Lord  !  thou  didst  love  Jerusalem  — 

Once  she  wa^  all  thy  own  ; 
Her  love  thy  f,iirest  heritage,* 

Her  power  thy  gh'iy's  throne.' 
Till  evil  came,  and  bligtited 

Thy  lotig-lov'd  olive-iree  ;«  — 
And  Salem's  shriies  were  lighted 

For  oiher  gods  than  Thee. 

Then  sunk  Ihe  star  of  Snlyma  — 

Then  pas-.'d  her  glory's  day, 
Like  he.ith  that,  in  the  wilderness,* 

The  wild  wind  whils  aw^iy. 
Silent  and  waste  her  bowers, 

Wheie  once  the  mighty  trod, 
And  sunk  ihnse  guilty  tuwers, 

While  Baal  reign'd  as  God, 

•'Go'»— said  the  Lord  — "Ye  Conquerors  I 

*'Steep  in  her  Mntid  ynnr  swords, 
"And  raze  to  earth  her  b,ittlements,6 

*'  For  they  are  not  the  Lord's. 
"  Till  Zion's  mournful  daughter 

•'O'er  kindred  bones  shall  tread, 
**And  llinnnm's  vale  of  slnughleri 

*'  Shall  bide  but  half  her  dead  •■' 


«  The  carrier-pigeon,  it  is  well  known,  flies  at  an 
eleva'ed  pitch,  in  order  to  surnrunt  every  nbslacl 
between  her  and  the  place  to  which  she  is  destined. 

^"I  have  left  mine  heritage;  I  have  given  the 
dearly-beloved  of  n.y  soul  iiilo  ihe  hands  of  her  ene- 
mies."  —  Jeremiah,  x'n.  7. 


\VHO    IS    THE    MAID? 

ST.    Jerome's    love,» 

(air.  —  BEETHOVEN.) 

Who  is  the  Maid  my  spirit  seeks. 

Through  cold  reproof  and  slander*8  blifM? 
Has  she  Love's  roses  on  her  cheeks? 

Is  hers  an  eye  of  this  world's  light? 
iS'o—  wan  and  sunk  with  midnight  prayer 

Are  the  pale  Infks  of  her  I  ^oye  j 
Or  if.  at  times,  a  light  be  there, 

Jts  beam  is  kindled  from  above. 

1  chose  not  her,  my  heart's  elect, 

From  those  who  seek  their  M-ker'a  ihrios 
In  gems  nnd  garlands  piotidly  dcck'd, 

As  if  themsehes  were  things  divine. 
No  —  Heaven  but  faintly  warms  the  breait 

That  beats  beneath  a  broider'd  veil  j 
And  she  who  comes  in  glittering  vest 

To  mourn  her  frailty,'stiil  is  frail.9 

Not  so  the  faded  form  I  prize 

And  love,  because  its  bloom  is  gone; 
The  glory  in  those  sainted  eyes 

Is  all  the  gr»ce  her  brow  puts  on. 
And  ne'er  was  Beauty's  dawn  so  bright, 

So  touching  as  Ihat  firm's  decay. 
Which,  like  the  alt,.r*s  trembling  light, 

In  holy  lustre  wastes  away. 


THIS   WORLD    IS  ALL  A  FLEETING  SHOW. 
(  AIR.  — STEVENSON.) 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 


Fo 


illusion  given ; 
mules  of  Joy.  the  tears  of  Woe, 
Iful  shine,  deceiiful  (low  — 
ire's  nothing  true  but  Heiven  ! 


The 

Dece 
Th 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  Even; 
And  Love  and  H-^pe.  and  Reauty^s  bloom, 
Are  blossoms  galher'd  for  the  tomb  — 

There  's  nothing  bright  but  Heavea  I 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day. 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven, 

And  Fancy's  flash,  and  Rea-on's  ray. 

Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way  — 

There  "s  nothing  calm  but  Heaven! 


OH  THOU  WHO  DRVST  THE  MOURNER'S 

TEAR. 

(AIR.  —  HAYDN.) 


Oh  Thou  who  dry'si  the  mourner's  tear, 
How  dark  this  world  would  be, 

If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 
We  could  nnt  fly  to  Thee! 


*  "The  j^ord  called  thy  name  a  green  oUve-Iree; 
fair  ani  of  goodly  fruil."  kc.  —Jer.  xi.  16, 

6  "  For  he  shall  be  like  the  heath  in  Ihe  desert.'-  — 
Jer.  xvii.  6. 


'"Therefore,   behold,  the  days  come,   aaith  the 
liOrd,  that  it  th*U  no  more  be  called  Tophet,  nor  the 


Valleyof  the  Son  of  Hinnom.bnt  the  Valley  of  Slaugh- 
ter; for  they  shall  bury  in  Topliet  till  there  be  no 
place." —  Jer.  vii.  32. 

8  These  lines  were  susgesfed  by  a  passage  in  one  of 
St.  Jer.mie's  Letters,  replying  lo  some  calumnioya 
remarks  ihat  had  been  circulated  respecting  his  inti- 
macy with  ihe  milron  Paula:  —  "Numqnid  me  ves- 
tes  sericae,  nite^U!^  gennnaB,  prcta  f^cies,  aut  auri 
rapuil  ambilio  ?  Nul<a  foil  alia  Rom%  matronarum, 
quae  meam  possit  edomare  mentem,  ni^i  )ns:en^  atque 
jejunans.  fleiu  pene  CKcata  " — Epi^t.  ".St  tii\  Tf'Utem,^* 

9  Ov  ycrp  Kprso^opsiv  ryv  fatcpvovaav  Ja.— 
Chrysost.  Homil,  8.  in  Epist.  ad  Tim, 


17* 


198 


SACRED    SONGS. 


The  friends  who  in  oor  sunshine  live, 

When  WfUter  cnines,  are  flown; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  lo  give, 

Must  weep  Ihnse  tears  alone. 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  bmken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  tra^nnce  from  the  woundtd  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

When  jny  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  even  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  oVr  nur  tears, 

Is  dininiM  and  vanish'd  too. 
Oh,  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  Wing  of  Love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  Peace-branch  from  above  ? 
Then  sorrow,  touch'd  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  j 
Ab  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day ! 


WEEP    NOT    FOR    THOSE. 
(air.— AVISON.) 

Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes, 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom, 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. 
Deathchill'd  the  fair  foun'ain.ere  sorrow  hadsiain'd  it; 

'T  was  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  iis  course, 
And  but  sleeps  till  the  sunshine  of  Heaven  has  un> 
Cinin'd  it, 

To  water  rhat  Eden  where  first  was  its  ponrce. 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  vt-il  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  ha'h  hid  from  our  eyes. 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spiri's  young  bloom, 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. 

Mourn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  the  Vale,i 

Our  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  lo  us  now, 
Ere  life's  early  luslre  had  time  to  grow  pale. 

And  the  garland  of  Lnve  was  yet  fresh  i>u  her  brow. 
Oh.  then  was  her  moment,  dear  spirit,  for  flying 

From  this  gloomy  world,  while  its  gloom  was  un- 
known — 
And  the  wild  hymns  she  warbled  •'O  sweetly,  in  dying, 

Were  echoed  in  Heaven  by  lips  like  her  own. 
Weep  not  for  her —  in  her  sprjng-'ime  bhe  flew 

To  that  land  where  the  wings  of  the  soul  are  un- 
furl'd  ; 
And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew, 

Looks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


THE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

(air.  —  STEVENSON.) 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine ; 
My  temple.  Lord!  that  Arch  of  (hine; 


«  This  second  ver^e,  which  I  wrote  long  after  th 
first,  alluries  to  the  fiteof  a  very  [nvtlv  and  amiable 
girl,  the  daughter  of  ttie  lata  Coir  nel  Kainbrisge,  whn 
was  married  in  Astibourne  church,  Ocu.ber  31,  I8I5, 
and  died  of  a  fever  in  a  (ew  weeks  af'er :  the  sound 
of  her  marriige-hells  set-med  scarcely  out  of  our  ears 
when  we  heaid  of  her  death.  Dunne  her  !asf  deli- 
rium  she  sung  sever  tl  hymns,  in  a  voice  even  clearei 
and  vweeter  llian  usuti,  and  :tnioiig  itiem  were  somt 
:  from  the  present  c^-lleclion,  (pariicu'aily,  '*  Th' 
nothing  hrieh'  but  H    "■      '■   •    -"      


My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers.^ 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 

W  hen  murmuring  homeward  to  their  ca\ei, 

Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea, 

Even  more  than  uiusic,  breathes  of  Thee  ! 

I  '11  seek,  bv  day,  some  glade  unknown. 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  Throne ; 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  Qight, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  Heaven,  on  which  't  is  bliss  lo  look, 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book, 
Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  gluries  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

I  '11  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  th»i  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  ihy  Love, 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment,  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again  I 


sound  the  loud  timbrel. 
Miriam's    song. 

(air.  —  AVISON.^) 

"  And  Miriam,  the  Prophetess,  the  sister  of  Aaron,  took 
a  timbrel  in  her  hsrtd ;  and  all  the  wfimrn  went  out  after 
her,  with  timbrels  and  with  dances."  —  £xod.  xv.  20. 

Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jehovah  h'S  trinmph'd  —  his  pe'  pie  are  free. 
Sine  —  for  the  p-ide  of  the  Tyrant  is  broken, 

Hischirio'Nhis  horsemen,  >]|  splendid  and  brave- 
How  vain  was   their  boast,  for  the  Lord  bath  but 
spoken, 

And  chiriors  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the  wave, 
Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egvpt's  dark  sea ; 
Jehovah  has  tnumph'd  —  his  people  are  free. 

praise  to  the  C"nquernr,  praise  to  the  Lord  ! 

His  wnrd  wasour  arrow,  his  breath  was  our  sword. — 

Who  sh.Tll  teturn  to  tell  Egypt  the  slory 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pride  ? 
For  the  Lord  hMh  lonk'd  nut  from  his  pillar  of  gIo.y,4 

And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  the  tide. 
Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea, 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd  —  bis  people  are  free  I 


GO,    LET    ME    WEEP. 

(air.  —  STEVENSON.) 

Go,  let  me  weep  — there's  blis-<  in  tears. 
When  he  who  sheds  them  Inly  feels 

Some  lingering  stain  <  f  early  years 
Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steals. 


*i  Pii  orant  tacite, 

3  I  have  -iO  much  altered  the  charac'er  of  this  air, 


£  fif  oue  of  Avison' 
fishioned  co-icertos.  that,  \\ilhnut  this   acknowledg- 
ment, it  could  h-irdly,  I  ihink,  be  lecoemzed. 

4  «' And  it  came  to  pass.  that,  in  the  morning  watch, 

^^ ^ _ __.   _,  ,  .._      _  y  inter- 1  the   Lord   looked   unto   the  host  of  the  Egyptims, 

I  erting  girl  bad  often  heard' me  siug  during  the  sum-    through  the  pilhr  of  fire  and  of  the  clnud,  and  trou- 
nier.  |  bled  the  host  of  the  Egyptians  "  —  fxod.  xiv.  84. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


19!) 


The  fruitless  showers  of  worldly  woo 
Fall  dark  to  earth  and  never  rise ; 

While  tears  thai  from  repentance  (low, 
Id  bright  exhalemirnt  reach  the  skies. 
Go,  let  me  weep. 

Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  hours  that  flew 

More  idly  iban  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fr^^rance  tlirew, 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind.  — 
The  waimest  si^li  that  pleasure  heaves 

Is  C'dd,  13  faint  to  (hose  that  swell 
The  heart,  where  pure  repentance  grieves 

O'er  hours  of  pleasure,  loved  tuo  well. 
Leave  me  Id  sigh. 


COME    NOT,    OH    LORD. 

(air.  —  IIAYDN.) 

Come  not,  oh  Lord,  in  the  dread  robe  of  splendour 
Thou  wor'st  on  the  Mount,  in  the  day  of  thine  ire ; 

Come  veil'd  in  thot-e  stiadows,  deep,  awful,  but  tender, 
Which  Mercy  flinsa  over  thy  features  of  tire! 

I/>rd,thou  rememb'rest  the  night,  when  thy  Nation  * 
Stood  fronting  her  Foe  by  the  red-rolling  stream; 

O'er  F-gypt  (by  pill;»r  shed  dark  dcsnialion, 
White  Israel  bask'd  all  the  night  in  its  beam. 

So,  when  the  dread  clouds  of  anger  enfuld  Thee, 
From  us,  in  thy  mercy,  the  dark  side  remove; 

While  shrouded  in  terrors  the  guilty  behold  '1  hee, 
Oh,  turn  upon  us  the  mild  light  of  thy  Love! 


WERE  NOT  THE  SINFUL  MARY'S  TEARS. 

(air, —  STEVENSON.) 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

An  oftering  worthy  Heaven, 
When,  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years, 

She  wept — and  was  forgiven  ? 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 

Her  d  'y  of  luxury  stored, 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallnw'd  feet 

The  precious  odours  pour'd  ; — 

And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  hair, 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone; 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  tbtn 
Which  shine  for  God  alone! 

Wee  not  those  swee's,  so  humbly  shed  — 
That  hair  —  those  weeping  eyes  — 

And  thesrmk  heart,  that  inly  bled  — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice? 

Thou,  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 
Oh,  would'st  thou  wake  in  Heaven, 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"Love  much''*  and  be  forgiven! 


AS  DOWN  IN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS. 
(air.  —  HA\  DN.) 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  Ocean, 
Sweet  flowers  ;tre  spriiming  no  mortal  can  see, 

So.  deep  in  my  soul  the  -till  pr.yer  of  devolini, 
Untieard  by  the  world,  rises  s-leiit  to  Thee, 

i  "And  il  came  hetxveen  the  camp  of  the  Ef^yptians 
and  the  r^mp  of  Israel ;  and  il  was  a  cloud  and  d  trk- 
nes'  to  tlieni.  but  it  gave  light  by  night  to  these.'* — 
Exod.  xiv.  20. 


My  God!  silenr,  to  Thee  — 
Ture,  warm,  silent,  to  Thee. 

As  siill  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 
1  he  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  jea. 
So.  dark  as  1  roam,  in  this  winti-y  world  shrouded, 
The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  to  Thee, 
My  God  !  trembling,  to  Thee, 
True,  fond,  trembling,  to  Thee. 


BUT    WHO    SHALL    SEE. 
(air.  —  STEVENSON.) 

But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day 

When,  throned  on  Zion's  brow. 
The  Lord  shall  rend  that  veil  away 

Which  hides  the  na'ions  now?3 
When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  fear 

Of  his  rebuke  shall  lie;* 
When  pain  shall  cease,  ar,d  every  tear 

Be  wiped  from  every  eye.* 

Then,  Judah,  thou  no  more  shalt  mourn 

Beneath  the  heathen's  cliain; 
Thy  days  of  splendour  shall  return, 

And  :4ll  be  new  again.** 
The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quaff'd 

In  peace,  by  all  who  come  ;  i 
And  every  wind  thai  blows  shall  waft 

Some  long-lost  exile  home. 


ALMIGHTY    GODI 

CHORUS     OF    PRIESTS. 

(AIR,  —  MOZART.) 

Almigh'yGod!  when  round  thy  shrine 
The  F.alm-tree's  heavenly  branch  we  twine,8 
(Emblem  of  Life's  eternal  ray. 
And  I.ove  that  "  fadelh  ho!  away,") 
We  bless  the  flowers,  expanded  all,9 
We  bless  the  leaves  that  never  fall, 
And  trembling  sav,—  "  In  Eden  thus 
"  The  Tree  of  Life  mny  flower  for  us  I" 
When  round  ihv  Cherubs  — smiling  calm 
Without  their  flames  »o— we  wieaihe  the  Palm, 


»  *'  And  he  will  destroy,  in  this  mountain,  the  face 
of  the  covering  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  vail  that 
is  spre.id  over  all  nations."  —  Isaiah,  xxv.  7. 

4  "The  rebuke  of  his  people  shall  he  take  away 
from  off  all  the  earth." —  Isaiah,  xxv.  8. 

*  '*  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes;  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain."  — Act), 
xxi.  4. 

6  "And  he  that  sat  upon  the  throne  said.  Behold,  1 
irnke  all  things  new." —  Rev.  xxi.  5. 

1  "  And  whosoever  will  let  him  lake  the  water  of 
life  freely.'* — Rev.xxW.  17. 

8  "The  Scriptures  having  declared  that  the  Temple 
of  Jerusalem  was  a  type  of  ihe  Me-*siah.  it  is  natural 
to  conclude  that  the  pahns,  whicli  made  so  corspicu- 
ous  a  figure  in  that  s'ruciure,  reprt-sen'ed  'hat  Life 
and  hiimurtality  \vhich  were  brought  fo  lijhi  bv  the  ( 
Gospel." —  Ohstrvatiuns  on  the  Palm,  as  a  sacred 
Etnbltm,  by  W.  Tiiihe. 

»  "  And  he  carved  all  the  walls  of  the  house  round 
about  with  carved  figures  of  cherubiins.  aud  palm- 
trees,  and  openJlowtrsV —  I  Km^s,  vi.  29. 

10  "  When  the  passover  of  the  tabernacles  was  re- 
vealed to  the  great  lawgiver  in  the  mount,  then  the 


SACRED    SONGS, 


Oh  God  !  we  feel  Ihe  emblem  true  — 
Thy  Mercy  is  eternal  tno, 
Thnse  Cherubs,  with  their  smiling  eyes, 
That  crown  of  Faim  which  never  dies, 
Are  bul  the  types  of  Thee  abive  — 
Elernal  Life,'  ajid  Peace,  and  Love  ! 


OH  FAIR!  OH   PUREST! 

SAINT   AUGUSTINE  TO    HIS   SISTER.' 

(air.—  MOORE.) 

01  faT !  oh  purest !  be  thou  the  dove 
That  flies  alone  to  some  sunny  ^rove. 
And  lives  unseen,  and  bathes  her  wing, 
All  vestal  white,  in  the  limpid  spring. 
There,  if  Ihe  hovering  hawk  be  near, 
That  limpid  sprin»  in  its  mirror  clear 
Reflects  him,  ere  he  reach  his  prey, 
And  warns  the  timorous  bird  away. 

Be  ihou  this  dove; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  thou  this  dove. 

The  sacred  pa^es  of  God's  own  bonk 
Shall  be  the  spring,  the  eternal  brook, 
lu  whose  holy  mirror,  night  and  day 
Thou  MI  study  Heaven's  reflected  ray; 
And  should  the  foes  of  virlue  dare, 
With  gloomy  wing,  to  seek  thee  there. 
Thou  wilt  see  how  dark  their  shadnws  lie 
Between  Heaven  and  ihee,  and  trembling  fly  I 

Bo  !h  u  that  dnve  ; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  Ihou  that  dove. 


ANGEL    OF    CHARITY 

(AIR.  —  HANDEL.) 

Angel  of  Charity,  who.  from  above, 

Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here, 
Thy  voice  is  music,  thy  smile  is  love, 

And  Pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear. 
When  on  the  >hrine  of  God  were  laid 

First-fruits  of  ail  most  g'>nd  and  fair, 
That  ever  bloom'd  in  Eden's  shade, 

Thine  was  the  holiest  oflering  there, 

Hope  and  her  sister.  Faith,  were  given 

But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky  ; 
Soon  as  thev  reach  the  verge  of  heaven, 

There,  lost  in  peifed  bliss,  they  die.* 
But,  long  as  Love,  Almighty  Love, 

Sh;*n  on  his  throne  of  thrones  abide, 
Thnu,  Charity,  shslt  dwell  ;ibove, 

Smiling  for  ever  by  His  side  ! 


cherubic  images  which  appeared  in  that  structure 
were  no  longer  sui  rounded  by  flames;  for  the  taber- 
nacle was  a  type  of  the  dispensati  m  of  mercy,  by 
which  Jehovah  confirmed  hU  gracious  c'>venant  to 
redeem  mankind." — Observations  on  the  Palm. 

J  In  St.  Augustine's  Treatise  upon  theadv  mfages  of 
»  solitary  life,  addressed  to  his  sister,  there  is  the  fol- 
lowing fanciful  passage,  from  which,  the  reader  will 
perceive,  the  thought  of  this  song  was  taken  :  —  *'  Te, 
80ror,  nunquam  nolo  essesecurain,  ^ed  timere  semper* 
que  tuam  fragilita'em  habere  suspectam,  ad  inslar 
psvids  colunibae  frequentare  rivos  aqur'rum  et  quisi 
in  speculo  accipitris  cemere  supervolaittis  efligiein  el 
cavere.  Rivi  aquarum  sententiae  sunt  scripturarum, 
quae  de  llmpidissinio  sapienllas  funle  proflueutes,"&,c. 
sjc.'-'Dt  Vit.  Ereynit.  ad  Soj-urcm. 

4  *'  Then  Faith  shall  fail,  and  holy  Hope  shall  die, 
One  lost  in  certainty,  and  one  in  joy."     Prior. 


BEHOLD  THE  SUN. 
(air.  —  LORD  MOKNINQTON. 

Behold  the  Sun,  how  bright 

Frn[]i  yonder  E;i^t  he  springs, 
As  if  the  soul  of  hie  and  light 

Were  breathing  from  his  wings. 

So  bright  Ihe  Gnspel  broke 

Upon  the  s;tuls  of  men; 
So  fresh  the  dre:imiug  world  awoko 

In  Tiuih's  full  radiance  then. 

Before  yon  Sun  arose, 

Stars  clusier'd  through  the  sky  — 
Bul  oh  how  djm,  how  pale  were  those. 

To  His  one  burning  eye ! 

So  Truth  lent  many  a  ray. 

To  bless  the  Pagan's  night  — 
Bu',  Lord,  how  weak,  liovv  cold  were  Ihey 

To  Thy  One  glorious  Light  I 


LORD,   WHO  SHALL  BEAR  THAT  DAY. 
(air.  —  DR.    BOYCE.) 

Lord,  \vho  shall  bear  that  day,  90  dread,  so  splendid, 
VVhen  we  shall  see  'hy  Angel,  hov'riug  o'er 

This  sinful  world,  with  hand  to  heav'n  extended, 
And  hear  him  sweir  by  Thee  that  Time's  no  more  ?3 

When  Earth  shall  feel  thy  fast  consuming  ray  — 

Who,  Mighly  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  (hat  day? 

When  through  the  world  thy  awful  call  halh  sounded— 
"  Wake,  all  ye  Dead,  to  judgment  wake,  ye  Dead  !"* 

And  from  the  clouds,  by  seraph  eyes  surroundtd, 
The  Saviour  shall  put  for'h  his  radiant  head  ;  5 

While  Earth  and  He-.v'n  before  Him  pa^saway  6  — 

Who,  Mighly  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  ? 

When,  with  a  glance,  th'  Eternal  Judge  shall  sever 
Earth's  evil  spirits  from  the  pute  and  bright, 

And  say  to  those,  *'  Dep  -rl  from  me  for  eier  !" 
To //je5P,'-Crme,  dwell  with  nie  in  endless  light !"  i 

When  each  and  all  in  silence  take  their  way  — 

Who,  Mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  ? 


OH,  TEACH  ME  TO  LOVE  THEE. 

(air. —  HAYDN.) 

Oh,  teach  me  to  love  Thee,  to  feel  what  thou  art, 
Till,  fill'd  With  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 


3  ''And  the  angel  which  I  saw  stand  upnn  the  sea 
and  upon  the  earlii,  lifred  U|>  his  hand  to  heaven,  and 
sware  by  Him  Ihat  Uvelh  for  ever  and  ever,  that  Ihere 
should  be  time  no  longer."  —  Rev.  x.  5,  6. 

*  "Awake,  ye  Dead,  and  come  to  judgment." 

6  "  They  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  the 
clouds  of  heaven —and  all  the  angels  with  him.''  — 
Matt.  xxiv.  30,  and  xxv.  31. 

6  ''  From  his  f-ice  the  earfh  and  the  heaven  fled 
away,"  — iJeu.  xx.  IL 

■I  "And  before  Him  shall  be  gathered  all  nations, 
and  He  shall  separate  'hem  one  from  another. 

"Ihen  shall  the  King  say  unto  Ihem  on  his  right 
band,  C"me,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  Ihe 
kingdom  prepared  for  you,  &c. 

*''l'hen  shall  Hesay  also  unto  them  on  the  left  hand. 
Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  &c. 

"And  these  shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punish- 
ment ;  but  the  righteous  into  life  eternal."— Mii(/.  xxv. 
37  et  seq. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


201 


Shall  all  other  paEsions  disown  ; 

Like  snme  pure  teiuple,  thai  shines  apart, 

Reserved  fur  'Ihy  wot  ship  alone. 

Id  joy  and  in  sorrow,  thn-ugh  praise  and  through 

bhnie. 
Thus  still  Irt  me,  livin?  and  dyin^  (he  same, 

Id  Thy  service  bloimi  and  decay  — 
Like  some  Ic-ne  alar,  whose  votive  flame 

In  holiness  wasteth  away. 

Though  born  in  this  desert,  ai.d  doomM  by  my  birth 
To  pain  and  alUictinn,  lo  darkness  and  dearth, 

Un  I  hce  lei  luy  spirit  rely  — 
Like  some  rude  dial,  thit,  fix'd  on  earth, 

Siill  looks  for  its  li^ht  from  the  sky. 


WEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 
(AIR.— STEVENSON.) 

Weep,  weep  for  him,  the  Man  of  God  —  • 
111  yondt-r  vale  he  sunk  to  rest  j 

But  none  of  earih  can  point  the  sod  "^ 
That  flowers  above  his  s.icred  bre.ist. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep! 

His  doctrine  fell  like  Heaven's  rain, 3 
His  woids  lefresh'd  like  Heaven's  dew  — 

Ob,  ne^er  shall  Israel  see  again 
A  Chief,  to  God  and  her  S'.  true. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

Remember  ye  his  parting  gaze, 
His  farev\ell  song  by  Joi-daii's  tide. 

When,  full  of  gh.ry  nnd  of  d;.ys, 
He  saw  the  pomised  land  —  and  died.* 
Weep,  chitdren  of  Isr;iel,  weepl 

Tet  died  he  not  as  men  who  sink, 
Before  our  eyes,  to  soulless  clay  ; 

But,  changed  to  spirit,  like  a  wink 
Of  suiiimer  lighinin^,  i)assM  away.* 
Weep,  childieu  q{  ibiael,  weep  ! 


LIKE  MORNING,  WHEN  HER  EARLY 
BREEZE. 

(AIR, — BEETHOVEN.) 

Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze 
Breaks  up  the  surface  of  Ihe  seas, 
'Jhat,  III  tliose  furrov\s,  dark  with  night, 
Her  hand  may  sow  ihe  seeds  uf  light  — 

Thy  Grace  can  send  ils  breathings  o'er 
'Jhe  Spirii.  dark  and  V  st  tcfure; 
And,  iresh'ning  alJ  i^  depths,  prepare 
Vor  Tiulh  divine  to  enler  there. 


J  *•  And  Ihe  children  of  l-rael  wept  for  Moses  in 
the  plains  uf  Mnab.''—  ZJdwf.  xxxiv.  S. 

2  "  And  he  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of 
Moab:  but  no  man  knc.welh  of  his  sepulchre  unto 
this  day."— /itrf.  ver.  6. 

3  **  My  doctrine  shall  diop  as  the  rain,  my  speech 
shall  distil  as  ihe  dew."  —  Moses^  Song. 

*  "  ""^Jave  ciused  thee  to  see  it  with  thine  eyes,  but 
tliou  sh^ll  not  go  over  ihither."  — /)tK(.  x.xxiv.  4. 

6  '•  As  he  w;is  going  lo  embrace  Eleazer  ;iiid  Joshua, 
and  was  si  ill  discoursing  with  iht-m,  a  cloud  slond 
over  him  on  the  sudden,  a'  d  he  disappeared  in  a  cer- 
tain vallijy.  although  he  wrote  in  ihe  Holy  Books  iJial 
he  died,  which  was  done  out  of  fear,  lest  tlity  should 
ventuia  to  say  tha',  tiecau  e  of  his  ext  jot.liiiaty 
virtue,  be  went  to  Qod.^'  —  Jvscphus,  book  iv.  chap. 
Tiii. 


Till  David  louch'd  his  sacied  lyre, 
In  ailtiice  lay  ih'  unbreathing  wire; 
But  u  hen  he  swept  ils  chords  along, 
Ev'u  Angels  sioop'd  to  liear  that  song. 

So  sleeps  the  soul,  till  Thou,  oh,  Lord, 
Khali  deign  to  touch  ils  lifeless  cliotd  — 
Till,  w;.ked  by  Tine,  ils  breath  shall  rise 
la  music,  worthy  of  the  skies  1 


COME,    YE    DISCONSOLATE. 
(  AIR  .  —  GERMAN.) 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you  languish, 

Come,  ai  Gnd'a  altar  fervenily  kneel ; 
Here    biing  your   wounded  heans,  here    tell  your 
anguish  — 

Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heaU 

Joy  of  Ihe  desolate.  Light  of  the  straying, 
Hope,  when  all  others  die.  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  s.iyii)g  — 
'*  Earth  has  no  soirow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure.'* 

Go,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us, 
VVtiat  charm  for  aching  hearls  he  can  reveal, 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Ho\>c  sings  us  — 
*'  Earlh  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal.'* 


AWAKE,  ARISE,  THY  LIGHT  IS  COME. 
(air.  —  STEVENSON.) 

Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come;  6 

The  nalions,  thai  befoie  oulshone  Ihee, 

Now  al  thy  feet  lie  dark  and  dumb  — 
The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  on  thee  ! 

Arise  — the  Gentiles  to  thy  rav. 

From  ev'ry  nook  of  earih  sh.ill  cluster 

And  kings  and  princes  haste  to  pay 
Their  homage  to  thy  lising  lustre. i 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  around,  and  see. 
O'er  foreign  fields,  o'er  farthest  waters. 

Thy  exiled  ^ons  relum  to  thee, 
To  thee  return  thy  home-sick  daughlers.8 

And  camels  rich,  from  Midisn's  tents. 
Shall  lay  iheir  treasures  down  before  thee: 

And  S.ba  bring  her  gold  and  sceni-s 
To  fill  ihy  Air,  and  sparkle  o'er  thee.9 

See,  who  are  these  that,  like  a  cloud,"  o 
Are  gaUieiiiig  from  ail  earth's  dnniinions. 

Like  doves,  long  ;tbsent,  when  allow'd 
Hocjewaid  to  shoot  their  trembling  pinions. 

Surely  Ihe  isles  shall  wait  forme,** 
The  ships  of  Tarshish  round  will  hover, 

To  bring  thy  fOos  acro^s  ihe  sea, 
And  waft  their  gold  and  siher  over. 


B*' Arise,  shine;  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  ths 
glory  of  the  Lord  is  lisen  upon  thee."  —  Isaiah,  Ix, 

T  *' And  the  Gentiles  shall  cnme  (o  thy  light,  and 
kings  lo  the  brightness  of  thy  rWw^."  —  fUd. 

8  "  Lift  up  ihine  eyes  round  about  and  see;  all 
they  gather  Ihemselvts  together,  tlit-y  come  lo  lliee: 
thy  sons  shail  come  from  afar,  and  Ihy  daunbters  shall 
he  ntirsed  al  ihy  =ide."  — /iid. 

9  "  I  he  mu.titude  of  camels  shall  cover  thee  ;  the 
dromedaries  of  Midiaii  and  Ephahjall  they  from 
Sheba  shall  come  j  (hey  shall  bring  gold  and  ii.ceiibc." 
—  IbiJ. 

10  "  wim  are  these  th  t  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the 
doves  to  their  win.iuws?  "  — /tid. 

11  "Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  forme,  and  the  ships 


20i2 


SACRED   SONGS. 


And  Lebanon  thy  pomp  shall  grace  — » 
The  fir,  Ihe  pine,  the  palm  victorious 

Shall  beautify  our  Holy  Place. 
And  make  the  ground  1  liead  on  glorious. 

No  more  shiil  Discord  haunt  thy  ways,* 
Nnr  ruin  waste  Ihy  cheerless  nation  j 

But  thou  bhalt  call  thy  portals,  Prai^e, 
And  thou  shalt  name  thy  walls,  Salvation. 

The  sun  no  more  shall  make  thee  brighl,3 
Nor  moon  shall  lend  her  lustre  to  ihee, 

But  God,  Himself,  shall  be  thy  Light, 
And  flash  eternal  glory  through  thee. 

Thy  sun  shall  never  more  go  down  ; 

A  ra",  from  heav'n  itself  descendtd, 
Shall  light  thy  everlasting  cro«n  — 

Thy  days  of  mouruiugall  are  ended.* 

My  O'^^n,  elect,  and  righteous  Land  ! 

Tl  K  Branch,  f  t  ever  green  and  vernal, 
WhKh  I  have  planted  wiih  this  hand  — 

lnV  thou  &halt  in  Life  ElernaU^ 


THERE   IS  A  BLEAK  DESERT. 

(AIR. — CRESCENTINI.) 
Thijre  is  a  bleak  Desert,  where  daylight  grows  weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dreary  — 

What  may  that  Desert  be? 
'TIS  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joys  thai  come 
Are  lost,  like  that  daylight,  for  't  is  not  ibcir  home. 

There  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  before  whose  faint  eyes 
The  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  (lies  — 

Who  may  thai  Pilgrim  be? 
'T  is  Man,  hapless  Man,  through  this  hfe  tempted  on 
By  fair  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gone. 

There  is  a   bright   Fountain,   through  that   Desert 

stealing 
To  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  revealing  — 

What  may  that  Foui.tnin  be? 
'Tis   Truth,  holy  Truth,   that,  like  springs  under 

ground, 
By  the  gifted  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found. 6 

There  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
To  point  where  those  waters  in  secrecy  dwell  — 

Who  niav  that  Spirit  be? 
'Tis  Fsith,  humble  Faith,  who  hath   learn'd   that. 


vhe 

nd  bends  to  worship,  the  Truth  must  be  there  '. 


of  Tarshish  first,  to  bring  thy  sons  from  far,  their 
silver  and  their  gold  with  them."  —  Isaiah,  lie. 

I  "  The  glory  of  Lebanon  shall  come  unto  thee  ; 
the  fir-tree,  the  pine-tree,  and  the  box  together,  to 
beautify  the  place  of  my  sanctuary,  and  I  will  make 
the  place  of  my  feet  glorious." —  Ibid. 

^"Violence  shall  no  more  be  heard  in  thy  land, 
wasting  nor  destruction  within  Ihy  borders  ;  but  thou 
shalt  call  thy  walls,  Salvation,  and  thy  gales,  PraibC." 
—  Ibid. 

3  "Thy  sun  shall  be  no  more  thv  light  by  day; 
neither  for  brightness  shall  the  mooii  give  light  unto 
thee:  but  the  Lord  shall  be  unto  tliee  an  everlasting 
light,  and  thy  God  thy  gh'ry."— /Wd. 

*  "Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down;  for  the  Lord 
shall  be  thine  everlasting  licht,  and  the  days  of  thy 
mourning  shall  be  ended." — Ibid. 

»  "Thy  people  also  shall  be  all  righteous;  they 
shall  inherit  the  ImJ  ft.r  ever,  thf  branch  of  my 
planting,  the  work  of  my  hands." — Ibid 

t>  In  singing,  the  following  line  had_  better  be 
aJo}»te<I,— 

•'  Can  but  by  the  gifted  of  Heaven  be  found.** 


SINCE    FIRST    THY    WORD. 

(air.— NICHOLAS    FREEMAN.) 

Since  fi^^t  Thy  Word  awaked  my  heart 

Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me. 
Where'er  I  turn  mine  eyes,  Thou  arL 

All  light  and  love  before  me. 
Nought  else  1  feel,  or  hear  or  see  — 

All  bnnds  of  earth  1  sever  — 
Thee,  0  God,  and  only  Thee 

1  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

Like  him  whose  fetters  drnpp'd  away 

When  ligh'  shorje  o'er  his  prison, ^ 
My  spirit,  touch'd  by  Mercy's  ray, 

Hath  from  her  chains  arisen. 
And  shall  a  soul  Thou  bidst  be  free, 

Return  to  bondage  ?  —  never  ! 
Thee,  O  God,  and  only  Thee 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 


HARK!    »TIS    THE    BREEZE. 
(air.  —  ROUSSEAU.) 

Hark  !  't  is  the  breeze  of  twilight  calling 

Earth's  weary  children  to  repose; 
While,  round  the  couch  of  Nature  falling, 

Gently  the  night's  soft  curtains  close. 
Soon  o'er  a  world,  in  sleep  reclining, 

Numlierlpss  stars,  through  yonder  dark, 
Shall  look,  like  eyes  of  Cherubs  shining 

From  out  the  veils  that  hid  Ihe  Ark. 

Guard  us,  oh  Thou,  who  never  sleepest, 

Thnu  who,  in  silence  ihnned  above, 
Throughout  all  lime,  unwearied,  keepest 

Thy  watch  of  Glory,  Pow'r,  and  Love. 
Grant  that,  benea  h  Ihine  eye,  securely, 

Our  souls,  awhile  from  life  u  ithdrawn, 
May.  in  their  darkness,  slilly.  purely, 

Like  "se.iled  fountains,"  rest  till  dawD. 


WHERE  IS  YOUR  DWELLING,  YE  SAINTED? 
(AIR     —  HASSE.) 

Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  Sainted 

Through  what  Elysium  more  bright 
Than  fancy  or  hope  ever  painted. 

Walk  ye  in  glory  and  light  ? 
Who  the  same  kingdom  inherits? 

Breathes  there  a  soul  that  may  aare 
Look  to  that  world  of  Spirits, 

Or  hope  to  dwell  with  you  there? 
Sages!  who,  ev'n  in  exploring 

Nature  through  all  her  bright  wayi, 
Went,  like  the  Setaphs,  adoring, 

And  veil'd  your  eyes  in  the  blaze  — 
Martyrs!  who  left  for  our  reaping 

Truths  you  had  sown  in  your  blood  — 
Sinners!  whnm  lon^  years  of  weeping 

Chaalen'd  from  evil  to  good  — 

Maidens!  who,  like  the  young  Crescent^ 

Turning  awav  your  pa'le  brows 
From  earth,  and  the  light  of  the  Present, 

Look'd  to  your  Heavenly  Spouse  — 
S^y,  'hrough  what  region  enchanted 

Walk  ye,  in  Heaven's  sweet  air? 
Say,  to  wha'  spirits  '1  is  eranted, 

Bright  souls,  to  dwell  with  you  there? 

1  "And,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  cinie  upon 
him,  and  a  tight  shined  in  the  prison,  and  his  rbaiiu* 
fell  off  from  his  hiud..''  ~  ^cts,  xii.  7. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


303 


HOW  LIGHTLY  MOUNTS  THE  MUSE'S  WING.    IS  IT  NOT  SWEET  TO  THINK,  HEREAFTER 


(air.  —  ANONYMOUS.) 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Mtise's  wine:, 
Wliose  thetiie  is  in  the  5l<ie>  — 

Liite  morning  tarks,  that  sweeter  sing 
The  Dcircr  Heav'n  iliey  rise. 

Though  Love  his  magic  lyre  may  tune. 
Yet  ah,  ttie  tlow'rs  he  round  it  vvieailies 

Were  pluck'd  bene.ttli  pnle  Passion's  moon 
Whose  madness  in  their  oJour  bieathes. 

How  purer  far  the  sacred  lute, 

Round  which  Devotion  lies 
Sweet  tiow'rs  that  turn  to  heav'niy  fruit, 

And  palm  thai  never  dies. 

Though  War's  high-sounding  harp  may  be 
Most  welcome  to  iLe  hero's  ears, 

Alas,  hisctiordsof  vic'ory 
Are  wet,  all  o'er,  with  human  tears. 

How  far  more  sweet  their  numbers  run, 
Who  hymn,  like  Saints  above. 

No  victor,  but  th'  Eternal  One, 
No  trophies  but  of  Love  ! 


GO  FORTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

(air. — STEVENSON.) 

Go  forth  to  the  Mount— hi  ing  the  olive-branch  home,' 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 
From  that  lime.^  when  the  moon  upon  Ajalon's  vale, 
Looking  motionless  down,3  saw  the  kings  of  the 

earth, 
Iq   the   presence  of  Gnd's  mighty  Champion,  grow 

pale  — 
Oh,  never  had  JuJah  an  hnur  c.f  such  mirth  ! 
Go  forth  to  the  Mount — bring  the  olive-braiich  home, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 

Bring  myrtle  and  palm— bring  (he  boughs  of  each  tree 
That '»  worthy  to  wave  o'er  Ihe  lenls  of  the  Free.' 
From  that  day,  when  the  footsteps  of  Israel  shone, 

With  a  light  not  their  own,  through  the  Jordan's 
deep  tide, 
Whose  w.iter8  shrunk  back  as  the  Ark  glided  on —  * 

Oh,  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  pride! 
Go  forth  10  Ihe  Mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home, 
And  rejoice,  for  Ihe  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come! 


I  "And  th.it  they  should  publish  and  proclaim  in 
all   their  cities,  .ind  in  Jerusalem,  saying,  Go  forth 

unto  the  mount,  and  fetch  olive-bfauches,"  &c.  &c 

A'e/l.  viii.  15. 

»  "  For  since  Ihe  days  of  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun 
unto  that  day  had  not  the  children  of  Israel  done  so: 
and  there  was  very  gre^it  gladness."  —  lUoL  17. 

»"Sun,  stand  thou  still  upon  Gibenn  ;  and  thou. 
Moon,  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon."  — /osA.  x.  12. 

<"  Fetch  olive-branches,  and  pine-branches,  and 
mvrtle.  branches,  and  palm-branches,  nnd  branches  of 
thick  trees,  to  make  booths."-  A'cA.  viii.  15. 

»  "  And  Ihe  priests  ihal  hare  Ihe  ark  of  the  cove- 
nant )f  the  l.nrd  stood  firm  on  dry  ground  in  the 
midst  rf.  Jordan,  and  all  ihe  Israelites  passed  over  on 
dry  protiud." — Joth.  iii.  17. 


(air. — HAYDN.) 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter, 
When  the  Spirit  leaves  this  sphere, 

Lo»e,  with  deathless  wing,  shall  waft  her 
To  those  she  long  hath  niourn'd  for  here  ? 

Hearts,  from  which  't  was  death  to  sever, 
Eyes,  this  world  can  ne'er  restore, 

Theie,  as  warm,  as  bright  as  ever. 
Shall  meet  us  and  be  lost  no  more. 

When  wearily  we  wander,  asking 
Of  earth  and  heav'n,  where  are  they. 

Beneath  whose  smile  we  once  lay  basking, 
Blest,  and  thinking  bliss  would  stay  I 

Hope  still  lifts  her  radiant  finger 

Pointing  to  th'  eternal  H.une, 
Upon  whose  portal  \et  ihey  linger, 

Looking  back  for  us  to  come. 

Alas,  alas  — doth  Hope  deceive  us? 

Shall  friendship— love— shall  all  those  tiea 
That  bind  a  moment,  and  llicn  leave  us, 

Be  found  again  where  nothing  dies? 

Oh,  if  no  other  boon  were  given, 
To  keep  our  lie:»rls  from  wrong  and  Btam, 

Who  would  not  try  to  win  a  Heaven 
Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again? 


WAR  AGAINST  BABYLON. 
(air. —  NOVEL  LO.) 

"  War  against  Babylon  !  "  shout  we  around,* 

Be  our  banners  Itirough  earth  nnfurl'd  ; 
Rise  up.  jenations,  yekings,  at  the  sound— 1 

"  War  against  Babylon  !  "  shout  through  the  world  I 
Oh,  ihou,  that  dwellest  on  many  waters,8 

'1  by  day  of  pride  is  ended  now  ; 
And  ilie  dark  curse  of  Israel's  daughter* 

Breaks,  like  a  thunder-cloud,  over  thy  brow  1 
War,  war,  war  against  Babylon! 

Make  bright  the  arrows,  and  galher  Ihe  shields,' 

Set  the  standard  of  Gi:d  on  hiih  ; 
Swarm  we,  like  locusts,  o'er  all  her  fields, 

"Zion"our  waich\^ord,  And  "vengeance  "  our  cry  1 
Woe  1  woe  !  —  the  time  of  ihy  visitation  to 

Is  come,  [iroud  Land,  thy  doom  is  cast  — 
And  the  black  surge  of  desolation 

Sweeps  o'er  Ihy  guiliy  head,  at  last ! 

War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 


«  "Shout  against  her  round  about.»—/er.  1.  15. 

■■  "  Set  up  a  standard  in  the  land,  blow  the  trumpet 
among  the  nations,  prepare  the  nations  against  her, 
call  bgelher  against  her  the  kingdoms."  &c.  &c.— 
liiid.  li.  27. 

any  walen,  thy 

'  Make   bright   the  arrows ;  gather  the  shieldi 
.  .  set  the  standard  upon  the  walls  of  Bibylon." 


)  "  Woe  unto  them !  for  their  day  is  com*,  tha 
:  of  their  visilalion  !"  — /ii'd.  I.  iii. 


204 


THE   SUMMMER   FETE, 


THE    SUMMER    FETE 


TO  THE  HONOURABLE  MRS.  NORTON. 

For  the  groundwork  of  the  following  Poem  I  am 
indebted  lo  a  niemoTable  Fere,  given  some  years  since, 
at  Boyle  Farm,  Ihe  seat  of  Ihe  late  Lord  Henry  Fitz- 
gerald. In  commemoraiion  of  that  evening  — of 
which  the  lady  to  whom  these  pa^es  are  inscribed 
was,  I  well  recollect,  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
ornainen^s  —  I  was  induced  at  Ihe  lime  to  write  some 
veues  which  were  aferwards,  however,  thrown  aside 
uvifinisbed,  on  my  discovering  that  the  same  task  had 
been  undertaken  by  a  nnble  poet,i  whose  playful  and 
happy  jtu-cftsprit  on  the  subject  has  since  been  pub- 
lished. It  was  but  lately,  Iha',  on  finding  the  frag- 
ments of  my  own  sketch  among  my  papers  I  thought 
of  founding  on  them  such  a  de'Cupiion  of  an  imagi- 
nary Fete  a»  mi<ht  furniith  me  with  situations  for  the 
iutroduction  of  music. 

Such  is  the  origin  and  object  of  Ihe  following  Poem, 
acd  10  Mrs.  Norton  it  is,  with  every  feeling  of  admi* 
ra'iou  and  regard,  inscribed  by  her  father's  warmly 
attached  friend, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

Sloperton  Cottage,  November,  IS3I. 


THE    SUMMER    FETE, 


"  \Vhere  are  ye  now,  ye  summer  days, 

"Thai  cnce  inspired  the  pnel's  lais? 

"  Bleel  time!  ere  Eneiand's  nvniphs  and  swains, 

"  For  lack  of  sunbeams,  tonk  lo  cuals  — 
"  Summers  of  lijhi.  undimm'd  bv  raii.s, 
**  Whose  only  mocking  irace  remains 

*'  In  watering-pots  and  parasols." 

Thus  spoke  a  youn^  Patrician  maid, 
As,  oil  the  morning  of  that  Fete 
Which  bards  unborn  shall  celebrate, 

She  backwaid  drew  her  curtain's  shide, 

And,  closing  one  halfdazElcd  eye, 

Peep'd  with  the  other  at  the  sky  — 

Til'  important  sky,  whose  lizhl  or  gloom 

Was  to  decide,  this  day.  Ihe  doom 

Of  some  few  hundred  beauties,  wits. 

Blues,  Dandies,  Swains,  and  Exquisites. 

Faint  \\  ere  her  hopes  ;  for  June  had  now 

Set  in  wi'h  all  his  usmi  rigiur ! 
Youik;  Zephyr  yet  scarce  knowing  how 
To  nurse  a  bud,  or  fan  a  bough, 

But  Euius  inperpeiu,il  vigour; 
And,  such  the  biling  summer  air. 
That  she.  Ihe  nymph  now  neslling  there  — 
Sn'iff  as  her  own  bright  gems  recline, 
At  iii?lii,  wiihin  their  cotton  shrine  — 
H*d.  more  than  once,  been  caught  of  late 
Kneeling  befoie  her  blazing  grate, 
Like  a  young  wor-hipper  of  fire, 

Wi'h  h.nds  uplifted  to  Ihe  tlanic. 
Whose  gloiv,  as  if  to  woo  ihem  ninher, 

Through  the  white  fingers  flushing  came. 

But  r,!i !  the  lishf,  the  unhoped-for  lish'. 
That  now  illumed  this  morning's  heaven! 

Up  sprung  lanthe  at  the  sight. 
Ttough  —  hark  !  —  the  clocks  but  strike  eleven 


t  Lord  Francis  Egerton. 


And  rarely  did  the  nymph  surprise 
Mankind  so  early  with  her  eyes.  " 

Who  now  will  say  that  England's  sun 
(Like  England  s  self,  these  spendthrift  dan) 

His  stock  of  wealih  halh  near  outrun. 
And  must  retrench  his  golden  rays  — 

Pay  for  the  pride  of  sunbeams  past. 

And  to  mere  moonshine  come  at  last? 

"  Calumnious  thought !"  lanthe  cries. 

While  coming  mirlh  lil  up  each  glance, 
And,  prescient  of  the  ball,  her  eyes 

Already  had  begun  to  dance  : 
For  brighter  sun  Than  thai  which  now 

Sparkled  o'er  London's  spires  and  fower», 
Had  never  beni  from  heaven  his  brow 

To  kiss  Firenze's  Cily  of  Flowers. 

What  must  it  be  -  if  thus  so  fair 

jMid  the  smoked  groves  of  Grosvenor  Square  — 

Whai  must  it  he  wheie  Thames  is  seen 

Gliding  between  his  banks  of  green 

While  rival  villas,  on  each  side. 

Peep  from  ti.eir  bowers  to  woo  his  tide. 

And,  like  a  Turk  between  two  rows 

Of  Harem  beauties,  on  he  goes  — 

A  lover,  loved  for  ev'n  the  grace 

With  which  he  slides  from  their  embrace. 

In  one  of  those  enchanted  domes, 

One,  the  mosi  flowery,  cool,  and  bright 
Of  all  by  which  that  river  roams. 

The  Fele  is  lo  be  held  lo-nighl  — 
That  Fele  already  link'd  to  fame. 

Whose  cards,  in  many  a  fair  one's  sight 
(When  look'd  for  long,  al  last  they  came,) 

Seeni'd  ciiclcd  wilh  a  fairy  light  ;— 
That  Fe'e  to  which  Ihe  cull,  the  flower 
Of  England's  beauty,  rank  arid  power, 
From  Ihe  young  spinster,  just  come  out, 

To  Ihe  old  Premier,  too  long  in  — 
From  legs  of  far  descended  gout, 

To  the  last  new-mustachio'd  chin  — 
All  were  convoked  by  Fashion's  spells 
To  the  small  circle  ivhere  she  dwells, 
Collec'ing  nightly,  to  allure  us, 

Live  atoms,  which  logether  hurl'd, 
She,  like  another  Epicurus, 

Sets  dancing  thus,  and  calls  "  Ihe  WorH." 

Behold  how  busy  in  those  bowers 

(Like  May-flies,  in  and  out  of  flowers,) 

The  coiinlless  menials  swarming  run. 

To  furnish  forth,  ere  set  of  sun, 

The  banquel-table  richly  laid 

Beneath  yon  a"  nine's  lenglhen'd  shade. 

Where  fruits  shall  lempl,  and  wines  eiitil», 

And  Luxury's  self,  at  Gunter's  call. 
Breathe  from  her  summer-throne  of  ice 

A  spirit  of  coolness  over  aU. 

And  now  the  important  hour  drew  nigh, 
When,  'ncath  Ihe  (lush  of  evening's  sky. 
The  wesl-end  "  world"  for  mirth  lei  loose, 
And  moved,  as  he  of  .Syracuse  tl 
Ne'er  dreamt  of  moving  worlds,  by  force 
Of  four-horse  power,  had  all  combined 
Through  Grosvenor  Gate  to  S)  eed  iheir  course. 


O  Archiaiedrs. 


THE   SUMMER   FETE. 


205 


Leavinfp  that  portinn  of  minkind, 

VVhoBi  they  call  "  Nubody,"  behind  j-- 
No  elir  for  LnjiJoii's  leisis  lo-Jay, 
Nn  moo  .  tif  bi-ai.tv,  new  Ihis  M.v, 
T,i  Ipiil  U.-,  iiijhther  cifsceiil  lay;— 
Nolliitiic,  In  shorl,  fnr  car  or  eye, 
Bui  iivt>  ,.111  belles,  and  wlls  f;i>i;e  by, 
The  lelles  o(  a  past  beau-munde, 
A  world,  like  Cuvier's,  loig  dethroned! 
Ev'ii  i'arli.nieni  Ihi^  evening  nods 
Benea^t)  111'  harangues  of  minor  gods, 

On  half  its  usual  opiate's  share; 
Tlie  *reat  dispensers  of  repose, 
The  tirsl-rale  furnishers  of  piose 

Being  all  call'd  to  — prose  elsewhere. 

Soon  aa  through  Grosvenor's  lordly  square  i 

That  last  inipre^nahfe  rrdiubt, 
Where,  guarded  Willi  Pattician  care, 

Pnineval  Error  slill  holds  out  — 
Where  never  gleam  of  gas  must  dare 

'Gainnt  aiii*ient  Darkness  to  revolt, 
Nor  sninn'h  Macadam  hope  to  spare 

The  dowagers  f>ne  single  jolt ;  — 
Wliere,  far  too  sta'ely  ai7«I  sublime 
To  priitil  by  the  lights  of  lime. 
Lei  Inlellect  march  how  it  will, 
They  stick  to  ml  and  watchmen  slill  :  — 
Eouu  aa  through  that  illu-trious  squaie 

The  first  epislobiry  hell, 
Snii'.iiin  bv  fits  upon  the  air, 

or  parling  pennies  rung  the  knell ; 
W.irn'd  by  thai  lell-iale  of  llie  hours, 

And  by  the  div-light's  weltering  beam. 
The  ynuiig  If.ilb'e,  «  ho,  wiih  flowers 

Half  crown'd,  had  sat  in  idle  dream 
Belore  her  glass,  scarce  knowing  where 
Hei  lingers  roved  through  Ihat  bright  hair. 

While,  all  capriciously,  she  now 

Dislodged  some  curl  from  her  white  brow. 
And  now  again  re;daced  it  there;  — 
As  though  her  task  was  me.nl  to  be 
One  endless  change  of  ministrv  — 
A  rouling-npot  Loves  and  Graces, 
But  10  plant  others  in  their  places. 

Meanwhile  — what  sirain  is  thai  whirh  finals 
Through  the  small  boudoir  ne,-.7—  like  notes 
Of  some  young  bird,  its  'ask  repealing 
for  the  next  Imnel  music-nu'eting? 
A  voice  it  was,  whose  gentle  sounds 
Still  kept  a  m-idest  octave's  bounds, 
Nor  ye'  hid  ventured  to  e.iall 
I's  rash  ambilion  to  B  alt, 
Tlial  point  towards  which  when  ladies  rise. 
The  wi.e  man  takes  his  hat  and  —  Hies. 
Tones  of  a  harp,  loo,  gently  played, 
■""  "■  ■"  ■     )lce  communing; 


Came 


■ilh  this  yiiu'hfiir' 
Tones  true,  for  once,  wilhout  Ihe  _  ^ 

Of  thai  inflictive  process,  tuning  — 
A  process  which  inusl  oft  have  given 

Poor  Milton's  ears  a  deadly  wound; 
So  pleased,  among  Ihe  joys  of  Heaven, 

He  specifies  "  harps  ever  tuned  "'i 
She  vvlio  now  sung  this  gentle  s'rain 

Was  our  young  nymph's  siill  younger  sister - 
Scarce  ready  yet  for  Fashion's  Irain 

In  their  light  legions  to  enlist  her, 
But  counted  on,  as  sure  to  bring 
Her  force  into  the  field  nexl  spring. 


'  1  am  not  certain  whether  the  Dowagers  of  this 
Sijuare  hive  vet  yielded  to  the  innova  inns  of  Gas  and 
Police,  but  at  ihe  time  when  Ihe  above  lines  "ere 
svritlen  they  slill  obslma'elv  persevered  in  their  old 
rKTime  ;  and  would  not  sufl'er  Ihemselves  to  be  either 
Weil  guarded  or  well  lighted. 

^ their  golden  harps  they  took  — 

fiaryis  ever  luiied.  Paradise  Lost,  book  iii. 


The  SOI  g  she  thus,  like  Jubal's  shell. 
Gave  forlh  "so  sweellv  and  so  well," 
Was  one  in  Morning  Post  much  fjn.ed 
From  a  rfiuuif  collection,  n.imcd. 

"Slings  ci(  the  Toilei"  — every  Lay 
Taking  frsubjfcl  of  its  Muse, 

Some  bianch  of  feminine  array. 
Some  ilniii,  with  full  scope,  to  choose, 
From  diain.'ndsdovvn  li.  dancing  shoes  ; 
From  Ihe  las!  hal  thai  Herbaulls  bauds 

Bequeath'd  loan  ailiniring  wnrld, 
Down  to  Ihe  latest  flounce  that  s'ands 
Like  Jacob's  Ladder  —  or  expands 

Far  forlh,  tempestuously  nnfnri'd. 
Speaking  of  one  of  these  new  Lays, 
The  Morning  PosI  thus  sweetly  says  :  — 
"  Not  all  lh.1t  breathes  from  Bishop's  lyre, 

"Ihal  Harnetl  dieams  or  Cooke  conceives, 
"  Can  match  for  swcelness,  strength,  or  fire, 

"This  fine  Canlata  u|,on  Sleeies. 
"  The  very  notes  themselves  reveal 

"  The  cut  of  each  new  sleeve  so  well; 
"  A  flat  betrays  the  linlccillcs.'i 

"  Light  fugues  the  liying  lappets  tell ; 
•'  While  rich  cathedral  ciinrds  awAe 
"Our  homage  for  the  Manchts  dEotijue.'" 

T  was  the  first  opening  song—  the  Lay 

Of  all  least  deep  in  loilet-lore. 
That  Ihe  young  nymjih,  lo  is  bile  away 

The  tiring-hour,  thus  »arWed  o'er;  — 


SONG. 


Array  thee,  love,  arr.iy  Ihee,  love, 

In  :ill  thy  best  array  Ihee; 
The  sun  's  below  —  the  moon  's  above  — 

And  Night  and  Bliss  obey  Ihee. 
Put  on  Ihee  all  Ihat 's  bright  and  rare. 

The  zone,  the  wiealh,  Ihe  gem, 
Not  so  much  gracing  charms  so  fair. 

As  borrowing  grace  from  Iheni. 
Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love. 

In  all  lliat's  bright  airay  Ihee; 
Thes.in's  below  — Ihe  moon's  above  — 

And  Night  and  Bliss  obey  Ihee. 

Put  on  ;^e  plumes  thy  lover  gave, 

The  plumes,  that,  prnudly  dancing. 
Proclaim  lo  all,  where'er  ll'iey  wave, 

Vic'orioiis  eyes  advancing. 
Bring  fo.lh  Ihe  tobe,  wh  se  hue  of  heaven 

From  theedeiives  such  light, 
Th  il  Iris  would  give  all  her  seven 

To  boast  but  mie  so  bright. 
Anay  Ihee,  love,  ariay  thee,  love, 

Sc.  &c.  &c. 

Now  hie  Ihee,  love,  now  hie  Ihee,  love. 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  thee. 
And  hearts,  where'er  Ihy  foots'eps  move. 

Will  be  it,  when  they  come  nigh  Ihee. 
Thy  every  word  shall  be  a  spell, 

Thy  every  look  a  ray, 
And  tracks  of  wondering  eyes  shall  tell 

The  glory  of  thy  way  i 
Now  hie  thee,  love,  now  hie  thee,  love. 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  Ihee, 
And  hearts,  where'er  thy  foots'eps  move. 

Shall  beat  when  they  come  nigh  Ihte. 


Now  In  his  Palace  of  the  West, 

Sinking  lo  slumber,  the  bright  Day, 

Like  a  tiieil  monarch  f'liu'd  to  rest, 
Mid  the  cool  aiis  of  Evening  lay  ; 


18 


206 


THE    SUMMER    FETE. 


While  round  his  couch's  golden  rim 

The  gaudy  clouds,  like  courtiers,  crept  — 
Strugglmg  each  otherV^  ligh'  m  dim, 

And  catch  liis  la  i  sniiU  ere  he  slept. 
Hnw  e-ny   ^5  0'ertlie  gliding   I  h;»n.es 

The  gniden  eve  Us  \u^'t^  pour'd. 
Shone  out  the  high-iioni  k  ights  and  dames 

Noiv  ijrnuped  ai(iuiid  that  lt;-,t;il  boardj 
A  living  mass  of  plumes  and  ll()vvt;rs, 
As   hough  they  'd  iiihl'M  loth  birds  and  bowers— 
A  pe  pled  rainbow,  swamiirjg  through 
Wiih  hat.ilaiiisof  every  hue; 
Wiile,  as  ihe  sparkliitg  juice  of  France 
Hiiih  ill  theciy^tal  brimineis  flowed, 

Each  5un»et  ray  that  imxed  by  chance 
Wiih  the  wine's  sparkles,  showed 

How  Bunbe.mis  may  be  taught  to  dance. 

If  not  in  written  form  exprest, 
'T  was  known,  at  leisf,  to  every  guest, 
That,  though  n  't  bidden  to  pa  ade 
Their  scenic  powers  in  masquerade, 
(A  pastime  little  found  to  thrive 

In  (he  bleak  fog  of  England's  skies, 
Where  wit  '3  ihe  thing  we  best  contrive, 

As  masqueraders,  to  disguise.) 
It  yet  was  hoped  —  .nnd  well  that  hope 

Was  answered  by  the  young  and  gay- 

That.  in  (he  t>NletS  task  to-day, 
Fancy  should  lake  her  wihies'  scope;  — 
That  Ihe  npt  milliner  should  be 
Let  loose  through  fields  of  poesy. 
The  tailor,  in  invemive  trance, 

Up  to  the  lieighfs  u(  Eiic  clamber, 
And  all  the    egions  of  Romance 

Be  ransicked  by  the  fetnme  dt  chanihre. 

Accordingly,  with  gay  Sultanas, 
Rebeccas,  Sapphos,  Roxalanas  — 
Circassran  slaves  wh'>ni  Love  would  pay 

Half  his  maternal  re*hns  'o  ransom  j  — 
Young  nuns,  whose  chief  religion  lay 

In  looking  m"st  profanely  handsome;  — 
Muses  in  muslin  —  pastoral  maide 
With  hats  from  the  Arcade-ian  shades, 
And  fortune-lellers,  rich,   t  was  plain, 
As  forIune-Au«(er*  form'd  their  train. 

With  these,  and  more  such  female  groups, 
Were  mixed  no  less  fant.^stic  (rnops 
Of  male  eshibiters  — all  willing 
To  look,  even  more  than  usual,  killing;  — 
Beau  tyran's,  smock-faced  braggadocios, 
And  brigaiids,  charmingly  ferocious  ;  — 
M.  P.'s  turned  Turks,  good  Moslems  then, 

Who,  last  night,  voted  for  the  Greeks; 
And  Friars,  staunch  No-Popeiy  men, 

In  close  ctinfab  with  Whig  Caciques. 

But  where  is  she  — the  nymph,  whom  lata 

We  left  before  her  glass  delaying, 
Lik«:  Eve,  when  bv  the  lake  she  sate, 

In  the  clear  wave  her  charms  surveying", 
And  saw  in  that  first  glassy  mirror 
The  first  fair  face  thnt  lured  to  error. 
•'  Where  is  she,"  a^k'st  thou  ?—  watch  all  looks 

As  cent'ring  to  one  point  they  bear, 
Like  sun  flowers  by  the  sides  of  brooks, 

TurnM  to  the  sun— and  she  is  there. 
Ev'n  in  di-guise,  oh  never  doubt 
By  her  own  light  you  'd  track  her  out : 
As  \Then  the  nionn,  close  shawl'd  in  fog, 
Steals  as  she  thinks,  through  heaven  incoe.. 
Though  hid  herself,  some  sidelong  ray, 
At  every  step,  deects  her  wtij. 

But  not  in  dark  disguise  to-night 

Hath  our  young  heroine  \eiIM  her  light ; — 

For  see,  she  walk^  the  eaith.  Love's  own, 

His  wedded  bnde.  bv  holiest  vnw 
pledged  in  Olympus,  and  ninde  knowD 


To  mortals  by  the  type  which  vow 
Hangs  glittering  on  her  »nriwy  btoWf 
That  butieifly,  mysterious  trinket. 
Which  means  Ihe  Soul  (Iho'  few  would  tbiok  10, 
And  sfiarkling  thus  on  brow  so  white, 
Tells  us  we  've  Psycht^^ere  lu-night ! 

But  liaik  !  some  a"ng  hath  caught  her  ears  — 

And,  lo,  how  pleased,  as  though  she'd  ne'er 
Heaid  the  Grand  Upeia  of  the  Spheies, 

Her  goddess-ship  approves  the  air; 
And  to  a  mere  terrestrial  strain, 
Insjurcd  by  nought  but  pink  champagne. 

Her  bu  lertiy  as  giily  nods 
As  though  she  sate  with  all  her  train 

At  some  great  Concert  of  the  G0J3, 
With  Pha:bus  leader  — Jove  director, 
And  half  the  audience  drunk  with  nectar. 

From  a  male  group  the  carol  came 
A  few  Kay  youth-,  whom  round  Ihe  board 

Tlie  last-tt  ied  flask's  superior  fame 
Had  lured  to  taste  the  tide  it  pour'd; 

And  one,  who,  from  his  youth  and  lyre, 

Seem'd  grandson  lo  the  Teian  sire, 

Thus  gaily  sung,  while,  lo  his  song, 

Replied  in  ch  rus  the  g.iy  tlirong:  — 


SONG. 


Sonti 


rials  the 


ly  be,  so  wise,  or  so  fine, 

AS  in  evenings  iiRe  this  no  enjoyment  to  sec; 
But  as  /'77i  not  particular—  wit,  love,  and  ivii.e, 

Are  for  one  night's  antnsement  sutiicient  for  nie. 
Nay— humble  and  strange  as  my  tastes  may  apjiear. 

If  driv'n  to  the  wnrs',  I  could  mnnage,  thank  Heavec, 
To  put  Dp  with  ejes  svich  as  beam  round  me  here,       [ 

And  such  wine  as  we're  sipping,  siJt  days  out  of 

So  pledge  me  a  bumper  —  your  sages  profound  | 

Maybe  blest,  if  ihey  will,  on  their  own  paient  plan:  \ 

But  a-,  we  are  not  sages,  why —send  the  cup  rouud—  ; 
We  must  only  be  happy  the  best  way  we  can. 

A  reward  by  some  king  was  once  ofTer'd,  we're  told,  i 

To  whoe'er  c.mld  invent  a  new  bliss  for  mankind:    j 
But  talk  oineiii  plensuies  !  — give  me  but  the  old, 

And  I'll  leave  your  inventors  all  new  ones  they  find. 
Or  should  1,  in  quest  of  fresh  realms  of  bliss, 

Set  -ail  ill  the  pinnace  of  Fancy  some  day, 
Let  the  rich  rosy  sea  I  embark  on  be  this,  I 

And  such  eyes  as  we  've  here  be  :he  stars  of  my  way ! 
In  the  mean  time,  a  bumper —  your  angels,  on'hi^h, 

May  h.ive  pleasures  utjknown  to  life's  limited  span ; 
But  as  we  are  not  Argels,  why—  let  the  fiask  fly  — 

We  must  only  be  Inppy  all  ways  that  we  can. 


Now  nearly  fled  was  sunset's  light, 

Leaving  but  so  much  of  its  beam 
As  cave  to  olijects.  bte  so  bright. 

The  C'louiitig  of  a  shadowy  dream; 
And  there  was  stiti  where  dav  had  set 

A  flush  that  spoke  him  lothto  die  — 
A  last  link  nf  his  glory  yet. 

Binding  'ogether  ear  h  and  sky. 
Say,  why  is  it  that  twilight  best 
Bee 'mes  even  brr-ws  the  loveliest  ? 
That  dimness,  with  its  anfiening  touch, 

Can  bring  out  giace,  unfelt  before, 
Anil  cliarms  we  ne'er  can  see  too  much, 

Wh  n  seen  but  half  enchant  the  more? 
Alas,  it  is  that  every  joy 
In  fulness  finds  its  worst  alloy. 
And  half  a  bliss,  but  hoped  or  gue^s'd. 
Is  sweeter  than  the  «  hole  pnsseis'd  ; — 
That  Beauty,  when  least  shone  ipon, 

A  creature  most  ideal  grows; 
And  there's  no  light  from  moon  or  sun 

Like  that  JmagLnaiion  tlnnws;— 


THE   SUMMER   FETE, 


207 


\  is,  alas,  that  Fancy  shrinks 

Even  fmni  a  brijlit  reali  V, 
And  tuninif  inlv,  feels  and  ihinks 

Far  heavenlier  Ihings  ihan  e  er  will  be. 

Such  was  ih'  effec  of  twiliglil's  h"ur 

On  the  fair  giouln  IliaS  i    ii..d  and  rminj, 
From  elade  lo  giol,  fri.nj  lj;uik  lo  bower, 

Now  wan.ler'd  Ihrouch  Ihis  f.irv  tfiound; 
And  ihnsdid  Fancy— ai.d  cliampagne  — 

Work  on  the  sight  their  dazzling  spells, 
'fill  nymphs  thai  look  d,  al  nonn-ilay,  plain, 

Now  brighlen'd,  in  the  gloom,  to  belles; 
And  the  brief  interval  nf  t  nie, 

'  r  wixl  after  dinner  and  before, 
To  dowagers  brought  bick  their  prime, 

And  shed  a  halo  round  iwoscore. 

Meanwhile,  new  pastimes  for  the  eye, 

'I  he  ear,  the  f.incy  quick  succeed  ; 
And  now  along  the  waters  liy 

Light  gondoles,  of  Venetian  breed, 
VViih  knights  and  dames,  wli",  calm  reclined, 

Lisp  out  love-sonnets  as  they  glide  — 
Astonishing  old  Thames  to  find 

Such  doings  on  his  moral  tide. 

So  bright  was  still  that  tranquil  river, 
Wilh  the  lasl  shift  from  Daylight's  quiver, 
Thai  many  a  group,  in  turn,  were  seen 
Embarking  on  its  wave  serene  ; 
And,  'mong  the  rest,  in  chorus  gay, 
A  band  of  mariners,  fiom  th'  isles 
<Jf  sunny  Greece,  all  song  rind  smiles, 
As  sinonlh  they  (lualed,  lo  the  play 
Of  their  oars'  cadence,  sung  Ihis  lay:  - 


TRIO. 

;  on  the  ses 


t  hoy, 


Our  home  is 
Our  home  i 

When  Nature  gave 
The  ocean-wave. 
She  mark'd  il  for  the  Free. 
Whatever  slorms  befall,  boy. 
Whatever  storms  belall. 
The  island  bark 
Is  Freedom's  ark. 
And  fioals  her  safe  ibrough  all. 


Behold  yon  sea  of  isles,  boy, 

Behold  yon  sea  of  isles. 

Where  every  shore 

Is  sparkling  o'er 

With  Beaiilv's  richest  sm 

For  us  hath  Freedom  claim 

For  us  hath  Freedom  cla 

Those  ocean-nests 

Where  valour  rests 

His  eagle  wing  untamed. 


d.boy, 


And  shall  Ihe  Moslem  dare,  boy. 
And  shall  Ihe  Moslem  dare. 
While  C.recian  hand 
Can  wield  a  brand, 
To  plant  his  Crescent  there  ? 
jjo  —  by  our  fathers,  no,  boy, 
No,  by  the  Cioss  we  show  — 


I  Mail 


rills 


>  hills 


Like  pleasant  thouehls  that  o'er  Ihe  mind 
A  minute  conie,  and  go  again, 

Ev'n  so,  by  snatches,  in  the  wind. 
Was  cauglit  and  lost  that  choral  strain, 

Mow  full,  n.'W  faint  upon  llie  ear. 

As  the  bark  floated  far  or  near. 


tt  length  when,  lost,  the  closing  note 
Had  down  ihe  wateis  died  along, 

•.,vlli  Irnni  another  faiiy  boat, 
Freighled  with  music,  came  tliij  sciag.  — 


SONG. 


Smoothly  flowing  through  verdant  vales, 

Geiille  liver,  thy  curient  runs, 
Shellei'd  safe  fnm  winter  gales. 

Shaded  cool  from  summer  suns. 
Thus  our  Youth's  sweet  momeuts  glide. 

Fenced  with  tiow'ry  shelter  round; 
No  rude  tempest  wakes  Ihe  lide. 

All  iis  path  IS  f.iiry  ground. 

But,  fair  river,  the  day  will  come. 

When,  woo'd  liy  whisp'ring  groves  in  vain. 
Thou  'II  leave  Ihiise  banks,  ihy  shaded  home, 

To  mingle  with  'he  stormy  niain. 
And  thou,  sweet  Vnulh,  too  s  on  wilt  pan 

Into  the  worlds  unshellerd  sea, 
Wheic,  once  thy  wave  hath  inix'd,  alas, 

All  hope  of  peace  is  lost  fur  thee. 


Next  turn  we  to  the  gay  saloon, 
Resplcideni  as  a  summer  noon. 

Where,  *neath  a  pendent  wicath  of  lights, 
A  Zodiac  of  llowers  and  lapeis  — 
(Such  as  in  Kussian  ball-rnoms  sheds 
Its  glory  o'er  young  dancers'  heads) — 

Quadrille  peifirms  her  mazy  rites. 
And  reigns  supreme  o'er  slides  and  capers;  — 
Working  to  death  each  opera  strain, 

As,  with  a  foot  that  ne'er  reposes. 
She  jigs  through  sacred  and  prolane. 

From  "  Maid  and  Magpie ''  up  to  "  Mosei ;  "  —  » 
Wearing  out  tune,  as  las!  as  shoes. 

Till  fagg'd  Rossini  scarce  respiies; 
Till  Mayerlieer  fnr  mercy  sues. 

And  Weber  at  her  feet  expires. 

And  now  Ihe  set  hath  ceased  —  the  bowB 
Of  fiddlers  t.sle  a  brief  repose. 
While  light  along  the  painled  floor. 

Arm  wilhin  arm,  the  couples  stray. 
Talking  their  slock  of  n-,thii  gs  o'er, 

1  ill  —  nothing  's  let',  at  l.asr,  lo  say. 
When,  lo  !  —  lunsl  opportunely  seni  — 

Two  Exquisites,  a  he  and  she. 
Just  bionght  from  Dandvland   and  meant 

For  Fashion's  grand  Menagerie, 
Eiiter'd  the  room  —  and  scaice  \\ere  there 
When  all  tlnck'd  round  iheni.  glad  to  stare 
At  any  monsters,  aity  whete. 

Some  thought  them  perfect,  to  their  tastes; 
While  others  hinled  that  the  wais's 
(That  in  particular  of  the  he  thing) 
Left  far  too  ample  room  for  biealliing: 
Wheieas,  lo  meet  Ihese  cri'ics'  wishes. 

The  isthmus  there  should  be  so  small, 
That  Exquisiles  at  last,  like  fishes, 

Musi  111  mage  not  to  breathe  at  all. 
The  female  (ihese  sinie  critics  said), 

Thriujh  orrhodrix  frum  loe  h.  chin, 
Yet  lack'd  that  spacious  width  of  head 

To  hat  of  loadslnol  much  akin  — 
That  build  of  bonnet,  whose  extent 
Should,  like  a  doctrine  of  dissent. 

Puzzle  church-doors  to  let  it  in. 


1  In  England  the  fartition  of  this  opera  of  Rossini 
was  transferred  to  tlie  story  of  Peter  ibe  Hermit ;  by 
which  means  Ihe  indecorum  of  giving  such  names  as 
"  Moyse  "  "  Phar.ann,"  Sc.  to  Ihe  dances  selected 
from  it  (as  was  done  in  Paris),  hai 


oidwi. 


208 


THE    SUMMMER   FETE. 


Hnwever  —  sad  as  't  was,  no  dfiubt, 

Th-it  nynipli  so  -mart  should  go  about, 

Willi  head  uncn.iscinusof  ihe  place 

It  mif^ht  In  till  in  InlinileSiince  — 

Tel  all  allow'd  that,  r.f  her  hind, 

A  pretiler  snow  'I  w.is  hnrj  lo  /i.  d  ; 

While  of  ihat  (ioubitul  geni-s,  "dressy  men," 

The  male  \v,.s  tlioui:!i'  a  fiisl-rale  'pecimeu. 

Such  SavanSy  loo,  as  u-i-hd  tn  Irace 

The  manners   hal,ils  of  lliis  race — 

To  know  what  rank  (if  rank  al  all) 

'Jlnni;  leas'riiig  ihinzs  to  hem  should  fall  — 

What  sort  of  nolions  heaven  imparls 

T"  high-tuill  he.ds  and  lijhi-laced  hearts, 

And  liow  lar  Sonl,  which,  Plato  says, 

Abhors  restraint,  can  act  in  slays  — 

Might  now,  if  eilied  with  discerning, 

Fii'd  opportunities  if  learnii.g: 

As  the-e  t\vf>  c'lalnres— from  iheir  pout 

And  frown,  'twas  plain— had  just  l.ill'n  out; 

And  all  theii  liille  ihoughl.-.,  of  course, 

Weie  stirring  in  full  fret  and  f.Tce;  — 

Like  niitLS,  thr.'ugh  micro-cope  espied, 

A  world  of  nothing!  magnihed. 

But  mild  the  vent  such  beings  seek. 

The  tempest  of  their  s'luls  lo  speak: 

As  Opera  swains  to  fiddles  sigh, 

To  fiddles  light,  lo  hdd  es  die, 

Even  so  ihi!  tender  couple  ^et 

Their  well-bred  woes  to  a  Duet. 


WALTZ    DUET.i 

Hli. 

Long  as  T  wallz'd  with  only  thee, 

Each  bl.ssful  Wednesday  ihit  went  by, 
Nor  slyiish  Siiiltz,  nor  neat  tsugee 
Ad  Mii'd  a  youth  so  bltsl  as  1. 
Oh  !  ah  !  ah  l  oh ! 
Those  happy  days  are  gone  —  heighho  ! 

SHE. 
Long  as  with  thee  I  skimm'd  the  ground, 

Nnr  yet  was  sroin'd  l"r  Lady  Jane, 
No  blither  nvniph  telotumd  round 
To  Coliinei's  immortal  strain. 
Oh  !  ah  !  &c. 
Those  bajijiy  days  are  gone  —  heighbo  ! 

H  E  . 

With  Lady  Jane  now  whirl'd  about, 

1  know  no  bounds  of  imie  or  brealh  ; 
And,  should  Ihe  chirmers  head  hold  out, 
My  heart  and  heels  are  hers  lilt  death. 
Oh  I  ah  :  &c. 
Stdl  round  aud  round  through  life  we'll  go. 

SHE. 

To  Lord  Fi'znoodle's  eldest  son, 

A  youth  renown'd  for  wais  c^ats  smart, 
1  now  have  given  (e.\cnse  Ihe  puu) 
A  vested  interest  in  my  heart. 
Oh  !  ah  !  &c. 
Still  round  and  round  with  him  1  'II  go. 

II  E  . 

What  if,  by  fond  remembrance  led 

Again  lo  wear  our  mutual  chain, 

For  me  fhon  cnr'st  Filznoodle  dead. 

And  I  hvnrit  from  Lady  Jane. 

Oh!  ah:  &c. 

Still  round  and  round  again  we'll  go. 


II  is  hardly  necessary  to  remind  Ihe  reader  Ihat 
Duet  is  a  parody  of  ihe  ofen-lrinslated  and  paro- 
died ode  of  Horace,  "  Uanec  gratus  eram  tibi,"  &c. 


SUE. 

Though  he  the  Noodle  honours  give. 

And  thine,  de.r  yintll,  are  not  so  high, 
With  thee  in  endless  wall?.  I  'd  live. 

With  ihee,  to  Weber's  Stop-Wallz,  die! 
Oh  !  ah  !  &c. 

Thus  rouiid  and  round  through  life  we  '11  go. 
lExcunt  wanting. 


While  thus,  like 


i  that  dance  away 
lay, 


These  gay  Ihinis.  bon  but  lo  quadrille, 
'1  he  ciicle  of  iheir  doom  fulfil  — 
(Ihat  dancing  doom,  whose  law  decrees 

T  hat  they  should  live,  on  the  aleit  toe, 
A  life  of  ups  and-downs,  like  keys 

Of  Bmaduood's  in  a  long  concerto  :  — ) 
While  thus  the  fiddle's  spell,  within. 

Calls  np  its  realm  of  restless  sprites. 
Without,  as  if  some  Mandarin 

Were  holding  there  his  Feast  of  Lights, 
Lamps  nf  all  hues,  fi.m  walks  and  bowers, 
Broke  on  'he  eje,  like  kindling  flowers, 
'Fill,  budding  into  lit;hl,  each  tree 
Bore  is  full  frnil  of  brilliancy. 
Here  shone  a  garden  —  lamps  all  o'er, 

As  th 'Uuh  the  Spirits  of  ihe  Air 
H'd  lak'n  It  in  their  heads  lo  pour 

A  shower  of  summer  nielei.is  there  ;  — 
While  tierea  lighted  shrubbeiv  led 

I  o  a  small  lake  that  sleeping  lay. 
Cradled  in  foliage,  but,  oer-head, 

Open  to  tieaven's  sv^eet  breath  and  ray; 
While  round  its  rim  tlieie  liurnings.ood 

Lamps,  iviih  young  fiowers  be.ide  them  bedded, 
That  shrunk  from  such  warm  neighbourhood  ; 
And,  looking  bashful  in  Ihe  fiood, 

Blu-h'd  lo  beiiold  themelves  so  wedded. 
Hither,  tn  this  embouer'd  retreat, 
Fit  but  for  nights  so  still  aiidsucef : 

Nights,  such  as  Kdeu's  calm  recall 

In  lis  first  lonely  houi,  when  all 
Ho  silent  is,  behm,  on  high. 
Thai  if  a  star  falls  down  tlie  sky, 

You  almost  tliiiik  ynu  hear  it  fall  — 

Hither,  to  this  recess,  a  few. 

To  siiiin  the  dancer^'  v\  ilderirig  noise. 

And  give  an  hour,  ere  night-time  Hew, 
To  mus'c's  more  elhereal  joys, 

Came,  with  liter  voices  — ready  all 

As  Echo,  wailing  lor  a  call- 
in  hymn  or  ballad,  dirge  or  glee. 

To  weave  their  mingling  minstrelsy. 

And,  first,  a  dark  ey'd  nymph,  array'd  — 

Like  her.  whom  Art  hath  deaihle  >  made. 

Bright  Miina  Lisa 'i  — with  Ihat  biaid 

Of  hair  acioss  the  brow,  and  one 

Small  geiii  Ihat  in  the  centre  shone  — 

With  lace,  loo,  in  its  form  re  embliii» 
Da  Vinci's  lle,iul.es  — the  daik  eves. 

Now  lucid,  as  thiough  cystal  ireniblii  g, 
Now  soft,  as  if  sufluscd  with  sighs  — 

Her  lute.  Ihat  hung  beside  her.  tonk, 

And,  bending  o'er  it  with  shy  look. 

More  tieautiful,  in  shadow  thus. 

Than  when  with  life  most  luminnus, 

Pass'd  her  light  finger  o'er  the  chords. 

And  uug  to  them  these  mournful  words:  — 


SONG. 

Bring  hither,  bring  thy  lute,  while  day  iadvinz  — 
Heie  will  I  lay  me,  and  list  lo  Ihy  song;' 


«The  celebrated  portrait   by  Lionardo  da  Vi»ci, 
vhich  he  is  said  lo  have  occupied  four y airs  in  paiot- 


THE   SUMMER   FETE. 


209 


Should  tones  of  other  dnys 
Tones  cf  1  liglit  liearl,  n 


And  let  Iljy  llieiiie  be  \ 
Siui,  ( 


;aga 


ix  with  its  sigl 

'  banlsh'd  so  to 

:  but  pain, 


n,  thou  mournful  lute  — day  is  fast  going, 
huuii  will  its  light  Iroui  thv  chords  die  away  j 

One  lillle  gleam  in  the  west 'is  still  glowing, 
When  that  halli  vanish'd,  farewell  to  thy  lay. 

Maik,  how  it  fades!— see,  it  is  fled  ! 

^ow,  sweet  lute,  be  thou,  loo,  dead. 


The  group,  that  late,  in  garb  of  Greeks, 

Suijg  their  light  chorus  o'er  the  tide  — 
Forma,  such  as  up  the  wooded  creeks 

(If  Helle's  shore  at  noon-day  glide. 
Or,  nightly,  on  her  glistening  sea, 
Woo  Ihe  bright  waves  wiill  melody  — 
Mow  liiik'd  their  triple  league  agam 
Of  voices  sweet,  and  sung  a  strain, 
Such  as,  had  S.p|.lio's  tuneful  car 

liut  cauglit  it,  on  Ihe  tai.il  sleep. 
She  would  have  paused,  entranced,  to  heaPf 

And,  for  that  day,  deferred  her  leap. 


SONG    AND    TRIO. 

On  one  of  those  sweet  nights  that  oft 
'Iheir  luslreo'er  ih'Aigean  fling, 

Keneaih  my  casement,  low  and  soit, 
1  heard  a  Lesbian  lover  smg  ; 

And,  listening  both  with  eir  and  ihought. 

These  sounds  upon  the  night-breeze  caugiit  — 
'•  Oh,  hapjiy  as  Ihe  gods  is  he, 
*'  Who  g-izes  at  this  hour  on  thee  !" 

The  song  was  one  bv  Sappho  sung. 
In  Ihe  first  love-dreams  i.f  her  Ijre, 

When  words  of  passion  from  her  tongue 
Fell  like  a  shower  of  living  fire. 

And  still,  at  close  of  every  strain, 

1  heard  these  burning  words  again  — 
*'  Oh,  happy  as  the  gods  is  he, 
"  Who  listens  at  this  hour  to  thee  !  " 

Once  more  to  Mona  Lisa  lurnM 

Kach  asking  e}e  —  nor  turn'd  in  vain  ; 

Though  Ihe  quick,  transient  blush  that  burn'd 
Bright  o'er  her  cheek,  and  died  again, 

Shnw'd  with  what  inly  shame  and  fear 

Was  utter'd  what  all  loved  to  hear. 

Yet  not  lo  sorrow's  languid  lay 
Uid  she  her  Ime-song  now  devote; 

But  thus,  with  voice  thai,  like  a  ray 
Of  southern  sunshine,  seem'd  to  float- 
So  rich  wilh  climate  was  each  note  — 

Call'd  up  in  every  heart  a  dream 

Of  Italy  with  Ibis  soft  theme  : - 


SONG. 


Oh,  where  art  thou  dreaming, 

On  land,  or  on  sea  ? 
In  niv  laltice  is  aleaniing 

The  watch-light  for  thee; 
And  this  food  heart  is  glowing 


veic 


:  IhB 


And  the  night  is  fast  going, 
Sat  thou  art  not  come : 

No,  thou  corn's!  not ! 

T  IS  the  time  when  nighi-flowers 
Should  wake  from  their  rest; 

•T  is  the  hour  of  all  hours, 
When  the  lu'e  singetb  best. 

1),  * 


But  the  flowers  are  half  sleeping 
Till  //ly  glance  they  see; 

And  the  hustiM  lute  is  keeping 
its  music  lor  thee. 

Vet,  thou  coni'st  not! 


Scarce  bad  the  last  word  left  her  lip 
When  a  light,  boyish  loroi,  with  liip 
Fanlaslic,  up  the  green  walk  came, 
trank'd  in  gay  vest,  lo  which  the  hama 
Of  every  laiii|.  he  pass'd,  or  blue, 
Orgreeii,  orciliiison,  lent  its  hue: 
As  thouL;h  a  live  caineleon's  skm     ' 
He  had  despoilM,  to  robe  him  in. 
A  zone  he  wore  of  clattering  shells. 

And  fiom  his  lofty  cap,  where  shone 
A  peacock's  plume,  Ihere  dangled  bells 

That  rung  as  he  came  dancing  on. 
Close  after  him,  a  paic—  il.  dress 
And  shape,  his  miniature  express  — 
An  ample  basket,  hll'J  with  store 
Of  toys  and  trinkets,  laughing  bore; 
Till,  having  .each'd  tins  verdant  5e?t, 
He  laid  il  at  his  master's  feel. 
Who,  half  in  sjieccli  and  lip.il  in  song, 
Chauutud  this  invoice  lo  the  thiong:  — 


SONG. 

Who  '11  buy  ? — 't  is  Folly's  shop,  who  '11  buy  ?  — 

We've  toys  to  suit  all  ranks  and  ages; 
Besides  our  usual  f.  ols'  supply. 

We  've  lilts  of  playthings,  too,  for  sages. 
For  reisoneis,  here  's  a  juggler's  cup. 

That  fullest  seems  when  nothing's  in  it; 
And  nine-pins  set,  like  systems,  up, 

To  be  knock  d  down  the  following  minu'e. 
Who  '11  buy  ?  —  'tis  Folly's  shop,  who'll  buy? 

Gay  caps  we  here  of  foolscap  make. 

For  bards  to  wear  in  dog-day  weather; 
Or  bards  the  bells  alone  may  lake. 

And  leave  to  wits  the  cap  ai  d  fealher. 
Tetotums  we  've  for  |ialriots  got. 

Who  court  Ihe  mob  with  an  ics  humble; 
Like  theirs  the  palriol's  dizzy  lot, 

Agloiious  spin,  and  Iher  — a  tumble. 

Who  '11  buy,  <ic.  &c 

Here,  wealthy  misers  to  inter. 

We  've  shrouds  of  neat  post-obit  paper ; 
While,  for  Iheir  heiis,  we  've  ^ta'cfcsitver. 

That,  favt  as  ihev  can  wish,  will  caper. 
For  aldermen  we  ve  dials  true. 

That  tell  no  hour  but  that  of  dinner; 
For  couitly  paisoi.s  sermons  new. 

That  suit  alike  both  saint  and  sinner. 

Who'llbuy,  Sic.&c. 

No  time  we've  now  to  name  our  terms. 

But,  whalsne'er  the  whims  that  seize  you, 
This  oldest  of  all  moilal  firms. 

Folly  and  C".,  will  try  lo  please  you. 
Or,  should  you  wish  a  daiker  hue 

Of  g'U'ds  than  we  can  rccnnmend  you, 
■Why  then  (.s  we  with  lawyers  dn) 

To  Ivnaveiy's  shop  ue-tl  d.ior  ivc'll  send  you 
Who  '11  buy,  &c.  &c. 


While  ihus  tlie  blissful  moments  roli'd, 

Monienis  of  rare  and  lee  ing  liglil, 
That  show  themselves,  like  grains  of  gold 

In  the  mine's  refuse,  few  and  bright; 
Behold  where,  cpeiiing  far  away, 

'I  he  long  Conservatory's  range, 
Strlpp'd  of  'he  llowers  it  wore  all  day, 

But  gaining  lovelier  in  exchange, 


210 


THE    SUMMER    FETE. 


I  Dresden's  costliest  ware, 
ich  as  Gods  niigh  share. 


Presents,  ( 
A  supper  sue 

Ah  niuch-Iov'd  Supper!  —  blithe  repast 

Of  other  liiues,  IK>«  (hviiidliiig  last, 

Since  Dinner  far  into  the  night 

Advanced  ttie  niarcti  of  appeii'e; 

Deploved  his  never-ending  foices 

Of  various  vintage  and  three  crmrses, 

And,  lilie  those  Uoths  wlio  play  d  the  dickens 

Witii  Rome  and  all  her  sacred  chickens, 

Put  Supper  and  her  fowls  so  whre, 

Legs,  wings,  and  drumsticks,  all  to  flight. 

Now  waked  once  more  by  wine —  whose  tide 

Is  the  true  Hippocreue.  where  glide 

The  Muse's  swans  with  happiest  wing, 

Dipping  their  bills,  liefore  they  sing  — 

The  niinslrelsof  the  tble  gleet 

The  listening  ear  wiih  descant  sweet : 


SONG  AND  TRIO. 


THE    LEVEE    AND    COIICHEE. 

Call  the  Loves  around. 

Let  the  whispeiing  sound 
Of  their  wings  be  heard  alone, 

Till  soft  to  rest 

My  Lady  blest 
At  tiiis  bnghi  hour  hath  gone. 

Let  Fancy's  beams 

Play  o'er  her  deani«, 
Till,  louch'd  with  light  all  through, 

Her  spirit  be 

Like  a  summer  sea. 
Shining  and  slumbering  too. 
And,  while  thu.<t  hush'd  she  lies. 
Let  the  nhisper'd  chorus  rise  — 
»Gooil  evening,  good  evening,  to  our  Lady's  bright 
eyes  " 

But  the  day-beam  breaks. 

See,  our  Lady  w  kes  ! 
Call  the  Loves  around  once  more. 

Like  stars  that  wait 

At  Morning's  gate, 
Her  first  sreps  to  adore. 

Let  the  veil  of  night 

From  her  diwning  sight 
All  gently  pass  away. 

Like  mists  that  flee 

From  a  summer  sea, 
Leiving  it  full  of  day. 
And,  while  her  last  dream  flies, 
Let  the  whisper'd  chorus  rise — 
"  Good  morning,  good  morning,  to  our  Lady's  bright 
eyes." 


SONG. 


If  to  see  thee  be  to  Inve  thee, 

If  to  love  thee  be  to  prize 
Nought  of  earth  or  heav'n  above  thee, 

Nor  to  live  but  for  those  eyes : 
Ifsuchlovelo  morli.l  given. 
Be  wrong  to  ear'h.  be  wrong  to  heaven, 
'T  is  not  for  thee  the  fault  to  bhme. 
For  from  those  eyes  the  madne-s  came. 
Forgive  but  thou  the  crime  of  loving. 

In  this  lieart  more  pride  't  will  raise 
To  be  thus  wrone,  with  iliee  a|iproving, 

Than  light,  with  all  a  world  to  praise! 


Fut  say,  while  lieh'  these  songs  resound. 
What  means  that  buzz  of  wliisper-ng  round, 
From  lip  lolip  — asif  IliePower 
Of  Mystery,  iu  this  gay  hour. 


Had  thrown  s^me  secret  (as  we  (ling 
Nuts  among  children)  to  that  nug 
Of  rosi,  restless  lip-,  to  be 
Thus  scramb  ed  foi  so  wantonly? 
And,  mark  ye,  still  as  each  reveals 
The  mystic  news,  her  hearer  s  eals 
A  look  low'rds  yon  enchanted  ctiair. 

Where,  like  ihe  Lady  of  ihe  Masque 
A  nymph,  as  exquisi'e'y  fair 

As  Love  himself  for  bride  could  ask, 
Sits  blushing  deej),  as  if  aware 
Of  the  wing'd  secret  circling  (here. 
Who  is  this  nymph  ?  and  what,  oh  Mt>-', 

What,  in  the  name  of  all  odd  things 
That  woman's  resiless  brain  pursues. 

What  mean  these  mystic  whisperings? 

Thus  runs  the  tale  :  —  yon  blushing  maid, 
Who  sits  in  beauty's  light  array'd, 
While  o'er  her  leans  a  tall  young  Dervise, 
(Who  fnim  her  e>es,  as  all  observe,  is 
Learning  by  heart  itie  Mariiage  Service,) 
Is  tlie  bright  heroine  of  our  song. — 
The  Love-wed  P-yche,  whom  so  long 
^Ve've  miss'd  among  this  mortal  train. 
We  thought  her  wiiig'd  to  heaven  again. 

But  no  —  eat  th  si  il  I  demands  her  smile ; 
Her  friends,  ihe  Gods,  oiust  wait  awhile. 
And  if,  for  maid  of  heavenly  birih, 

A  young  Duke's  prnffei'd  heart  and  hand 
Be  things  worth  waiting  for  on  earth. 

Both  are,  this  hour,  ai  lier  command. 
To-night,  in  yonder  half-lii  si  ade. 

For  love  concerns  expressly  meant, 
The  fond  proposal  lirst  »as  made, 

And  love  and  silence  blu-h'd  consent. 
Parents  aid  friends  (all  lieie,  as  Jews, 
Knchantcrs,  housemaids,  Turks,  Hindoos,) 
Have  heard,  approved,  and  blest  the  ijej 
And  now,  hadsl  thou  a  poet's  eye, 
'i  hou  mighi'st  behold,  in  th'  air,  above 
Th.il  biiliianl  brow,  triumphant  Love, 
Holding,  as  if  to  drop  it  down 
Gently  upon  her  curls,  a  ciown 
Of  Ducal  shape  —  but.  oh,  such  gems  ! 
Pilferd  from  Peri  diadems. 
And  set  in  gf  Id  like  iliat  which  shines 
To  deck  Ihe  Fairy  of  the  Mines  : 
In  short,  a  crown  all  glorious  —  such  as 
Love  orders  when  he  makes  a  Duchess. 

But  see,  't  is  morn  in  heaven  :  the  Sun 
Up  the  bright  orient  hath  be-un 
'lo  canter  his  iliiniortal  lean-; 

And,  though  not  >et  arrived  in  sight. 
His  leaders'  nostiils  send  a  s'eam 

Of  radiance  fnrh,  S"  rosy  b'  ight 

As  makes  their  onward  path  all  light 
What 's  to  be  done  ?  if  .Sol  will  be 
So  deuced  early,  so  must  we  ; 
And  when  'he  day  thus  shines  ontright, 
Ev'ii  dearest  friends  must  bid  good  night. 
So,  farewell,  scene  of  mirth  and  masking, 

Now  almost  a  by-gone  rale  ; 
Beauties,  late  in  lamp-Iigbl  basking 

Now,  by  daylight,  dim  and  pale  ; 
Harpers,  yawning  o'er  your  harps. 
Scarcely  knowing  flats  from  sharps; 
Mothers  who.  while  bored  you  keep 
Time  by  m  d.iing.  nrd  to  slei p  : 
Heads  of  hair,  that  s'ond  last  night 
tVipe.  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  tliat 's  bright; 
Tvre  and  Sidon  had  their  day. 

And  even  a  B.1II  — has  but  its  night  I 


END     OF     VOL. 


IV. 


PREFACE  TO   THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 


211 


PREFACE   TO    THE   FIFTH    VOLUME. 


Id  spite  of  (he  satirist^s  assertion,  tliat 

I  foolish  thing 


I.gn 


AThat  % 


1  shall  yel  venture  to  prefix  to  this  Volume  a  few  in- 
trnduclury  pae:es,  out  relatiiii;  so  niucli  to  the  iSoiigs 
which  it  cotilaihs  as  to  mv  own  thoughts  and  recollec- 
tions respecting  song-wtit'mg  in  general. 

The  do  e  alliance  known  to  have  existed  betxveen 
poetry  and  mnsic,  dnriiig  the  infancy  of  both  these 
arts,  has  sonielimes  led  'O  the  coi  elusion  that  they  are 
essentially  kindied  to  each  other,  arjd  that  the  true 
poet  oushi  to  he,  if  not  practically,  at  least  in  ta 


indi 


That 


Hit 


lh< 


early  times  of  ancient  Cireece.  and  that  her  poets  then 
not  only  set  their  own  verses  to  music,  but  sung  llieni 
al  public  festivals,  there  is  every  reason,  from  all  we 
know  on  the  subject,  to  believe.  A  similar  union  be- 
tween the  two  arts  attended  the  dawn  of  mode<n  lite- 
rature, in  the  twelfth  century,  and  was,  in  a  certain 
degree,  continued  down  as  far  asllie  lime  of  Feirarch, 
"hen,  as  it  appears  from  his  o»n  menior.ndums.lhat 
poet  used  to  sing  his  verses,  in  composing  iheni ;  t  and 
when  it  was  tlie  custom  with  all  writers  of  sonne'sand 
canzoni  to  prefix  to  their  poems  a  sort  of  key-nole,  by 
which  the  intonation  in  reciting  or  chanting  them 
was  to  be  regulated. 

As  the  praclice  of  uniting  in  one  individual, — whe- 
ther Bard,  Scald,  or  Troubadour,— the  chaiacter  and 
functions  both  of  musician  and  poet,  is  known  to  have 
been  invaiiably  the  mark  of  a  rude  state  of  iocie'y,  so 
the  gradual  separation  of  these  two  callings,  in  accord- 
ance with  that  great  principle  of  Political  Economy, 
the  division  of  labour,  h's  been  found  an  equally  sure 
index  of  improving  civilization.  So  far,  in  England, 
indeed,  has  this  partition  of  workmanship  been  car- 
ried, that,  with  the  signal  exception  of  Millon,  there 
is  not  to  he  found,  I  believe,  among  all  the  eminent 
poets  of  England,  a  single  musician.  II  is  but  fair,  at 
the  same  'inie,  to  acknowledge,  that  out  of  the  ivoiks 
of  these  very  poets  might  be  produced  a  select  num- 
ber of  songs,  surpassing,  in  fancy,  grace,  and  tender- 
ness, all  that  tlie  language,  perhaps,  of  any  other 
country  could  furnish. 

We  witness,  in  our  own  times,— as  fir  as  the  know, 
ledge  or  prac'ice  of  music  is  concerned,— a  similar 
divorce  between  the  two  arts;  and  my  friend  and 
neighbour,  Mr.  Bowles,  is  the  onlv  distinguished  poet 
of  our  day  whom  I  can  call  to  mind  as  being  also  a 
musician  «  Not  to  d"  ell  further,  hi>wever,  on  living 
writers,  the  strong  feeling,  even  to  tears,  with  which 
I  have  seen  Byrj'ii  listen  to  some  favourite  melody, 
has  been  elsewhere  described  by  me  ;  anil  the  musical 
taste  of  Sir  Walter  Scolt  1  ought  to  be  the  last  person  to 
call  in  (jueslinn,  after  the  very  cordial  tribute  he  has 
left  on  record  to  my  own  untutored  minstrelsy.3    Hut 


1  The  fr'llnwing  is  a  specimen  of  these  memoran. 
dums,  as  given  by  Fnscolo  :— "  1  must  make  these  two 
verses  ovei  agiin,  singing  them,  and  I  must  transpose 
them— 3  o'clock,  A.  .M.  19lh  October."  Frequenly 
to  swinets  of  that  'ime  such  notices  as  the  following 
we?e  prefixed  : — hUmiatum  per  Francuni" — "  Scrip- 
tof  deJit  sooiini." 

«  The  late  Rev.  William  Crowe,  author  of  the 
noble  poem  of  ■'  Lewisdeii  Hill,"  was  likew  ise  a  mu- 
sician, and  has  left  a  Ireatiseon  Eogli-h  Versification, 
to  whii:ti  his  knowledge  of  the  sister  art  lends  a  pecu- 
liar interest. 

So  little  dnes  even  the  origin  of  Ihe  woid  "lyrick," 
as  applied  to  poetry,  seem  to  be  present  to  the  minds 
of  some  writers,  that  the  pnet,  Voung,  has  left  us  an 
Essiy  on  Lyric  Poetry,  in  which  there  is  not  a  single 
aJlusion  to  !\Iusic,  from  beginning  lo  end. 

a  Life  by  Lockhart,  vol.  vi.  p.  12S. 


I  must  say,  that,  pleased  .as  my  illustrious  friend  an- 
peared  really  lo  be,  when  I  first  sung  for  him  at  Ab. 
botsford,  it  was  not  till  an  evening  or  two  alter,  at  his 
own  hospitable  supper-table,  that  I  saw  him  in  his  trua 
sphere  of  musical  enjoyment.  No  sooner  had  the 
ijnai^h  taken  lis  round,  after  our  repast,  than  his 
trieiid.  Sir  Adam,  was  calltd  upon,  with  the  general 
acclaim  of  the  whole  table,  for  the  snng  of  "Hey 
tutlie  lattie."  and  gave  il  out  to  us  with  all  the  true 
national  relish.  But  it  was  during  Ihe  chorus  that 
Scotts  delight  at  this  festive  scene  chitfli  showed 
itself.  At  Ihe  end  of  every  verse,  the  whole  cmiipani 
ro  e  from  theirseats,  and  stood  round  the  table  with 
arms  crossed,  so  as  to  grasp  ihe  hand  of  the  neighbour 
on  each  side.  Thus  interlinked,  we  continued  to 
keep  measure  to  the  strain,  by  moving  our  arms  up 
and  down,  all  chanting  forth  v  ciferously,  "Hey 
tultie  taltie,  lley  tultie  taltie."  Sir  Walter's  enjoy, 
ment  of  this  old  Jacobite  chorus, —  a  little  increased, 
doubtless,  by  seeing  how  I  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it, 
—  gave  to  Ihe  whole  scene,  I  confess,  a  zest  and  charm 
in  my  eyes  such  as  the  finest  musical  performance 
could  »ot  h.ive  btstowed  on  it. 

Having  been  thus  led  to  allude  to  this  visit,  I  am 
tempted  lo  menlinn  a  few  other  circumstances  con- 
nected with  It.  From  Abbutsford  I  proceeded  to 
Edinburgh,  whiiher  Sir  Waller,  in  a  few  days  after, 
followed ;  and  during  my  short  stay  in  that  city  an 
incident  occurred,  which,  though  already  mentioned 
by  Scolt  in  his  Diary, ■>  and  owing  its  chief  interest  to 
the  cooiiexion  of  his  name  with  it,  ought  not  to  l>e 
omitted  among  these  memoranda.  As  I  had  expressed 
a  desire  to  visit  the  Edinburgh  theatre,  which  opened 
hut  the  evening  liefore  my  departure,  it  was  proposed 
to  Sir  Waller  and  myself,  by  our  friend  JetlVey,  that 
we  should  dine  with  him  at  an  early  hour  for  thai 
purpr-se,  and  both  were  good-natured  enough  lo  ac- 
company me  to  the  theatre.  Having  found,  in  a 
volume  s  sent  to  me  by  sonie  anonynious  correspond- 
ent, a  more  circunisiantial  account  of  the  scene  of  that 
evening  than  Sir  Walter  has  given  in  his  Diary,  I 
shall  here  avail  mi  self  of  its  graphic  and  (with  one 
exception)  accur.te  details.  After  adverting  to  the 
sensation  p-oduced  by  the  apjiearance  of  the  late 
Duchess  of  St  Alban^  in  one  of  the  boxes,  the  writer 
thus  proceeds:— "There  was  a  general  buzz  and 
stare,  for  a  few  seconds ;  the  audience  then  lurned 
their  b.icks  to  the  lady,  and  their  attention  lo  the 
stage,  to  wait  till  the  first  piece  should  be  over  ere 
they  intended  staring  again.  Just  as  it  terminaied, 
another  pirly  quielv  glided  in'o  a  box  near  that  tilled 
by  Ihe  Duchess.  One  phasing  female  was  with  the 
three  male  comers.  In  a  minute  the  cry  ran  round  :— 
•Eh,  you's  Sir  Waller,  »i'  Lockhart  an'  his  rife,« 
and  wl.a's  the  wee  bil  bodie  wi'  Ihe  pavskie  ter.  ? 
Wow,  but  il 's  Tarn  Moore,  jusi  —  Scott,  Scott! 
Moore,  Moore  I'  —  with  shouts,  cheers,  bravos,  ani 
applause.  But  Scott  would  not  rise  to  appropriate 
these  tributes.  One  could  see  that  he  urged  Moore 
to  do  so;  and  he,  though  m  destly  reliiclanl,  ai  lasl 
yielded,  and  bowed  band  nn  heart,  with  much  aiiinia- 
lion.  The  cry  for  Scolt  was  then  redoubled.  He 
gathered  himself  up.  and,  with  a  benevolent  bend, 
acknowledged  this  deserved  welcome.  The  orches- 
tra played  alternately  Sc  tch  and  Irish  Melodies." 

Among  Ihe  choicest  of  my  recollections  of  that 

4  "  We  went  to  the  theatre  together,  and  the  house 
being  luckily  a  givid  one,  received  T.  M.  with  rap- 
ture. I  could  have  hugged  them.  f"r  il  paid  back  the 
debt  of  Ihe  kind  reception  I  met  with  in  Ireland." 

»  Written  by  Mr.  Benson  Hill. 

6  The  writer  w.a3  here  mistaken.  There  was  one 
lady  of  our  party  ;  but  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Loclhart 

as  present. 


212 


PREFACE  TO   THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 


flying  visit  to  Edioburgh,  are  the  few  days  I  passed 
with  I/)idJeft'iey  at  his  agreeable  retre.ii,  Craig  Crook. 
I  had  then  recently  uriiien  the  words  and  music  of  a 
glee  contained  in  this  volume,  'Sl.ip  ahoy  I"  which 
there  won  its  hrst  honours.  So  nfien,  indeed,  was  I 
called  upon  to  reptal  it,  ihat  ihe  upland  echoes  of 
Craig  CrO'k  ought  long  to  have  had  its  buiden  by 
heart. 

Having  thus  got  on  Scottish  ground,  I  find  myself 
awakened  to  the  remembiai.ce  of  a  name  which, 
whenever  song-writint;  is  Ihe  theme,  ought  to  rank 
second  to  none  in  that  sphere  uf  poetical  fatne.  Robeit 
Hums  was  wholly  im-killed  in  music;  yet  the  rare 
art  of  adapting  words  huccessfully  to  notes,  of  wed- 
ding vei-se  in  congenial  union  uith  melody,  which, 
were  it  lOt  fur  his  example,  I  should  s.iy  none  but  a 
poet  vei  jed  in  the  sisier-art  ought  to  aHempt,  has  yet, 
Ly  him,  wilh  Ihe  aid  of  a  mus^c,  to  uhich  my  own 
country's  str<ini  are  al"ne  cniparable,  been  exercised 
wi'h  io  workniaiily  a  hand,  as  well  as  wilh  so  lich  a 
varie  y  of  p:ission.  playfulness,  and  power,  as  nn  song- 
writer, peihaps,  but  himself,  has  ever  yet  disjilaied. 

That  Burns,  however  unLiught,  was  yet,  in  car  and 
feeling,  a  musician, i  is  clear  fmm  the  skill  with 
which  he  adapts  liis  verse  to  the  structure  and  cha- 
racter of  each  diflerent  str.iin.  Still  more  strikingly 
did  he  prove  his  fitness  for  this  pi  culiar  task,  by  the 
sort  of  instinct  with  which,  in  nn^re  th.m  one  in- 
glance,  he  di.-cerned  the  real  and  innaie  seniimeut 
which  an  air  was  calculated  lo  cnvey,  thouiih  alw:iy. 
befoTC  a5s  icialed  wi  h  woids  e.\pres>'ing  a  to  ally  dif- 
ferent feeling.  Thus  the  air  of  a  ludicrous  old  &ong. 
"Fee  him,  father,  fee  him,"  has  been  made  ihe 
medium  of  one  of  Burns's  mnst  pathetic  efl'usioi.s ; 
while,  still  more  marvellously,  "Hey  tuttie  taitie' 
h«  been  elev  ited  by  him  into  that  heroic  strain, 
•'Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  ;  "—a  song  which, 
in  a  great  nalional  crisis,  wnuld  be  i  f  nn-re  avail  than 
all  the  eloquc'ce  of  a  Demosthenes. i 

It  was  impossible  that  the  example  of  Burns,  in 
these,  his  highei  iiispiralinns,  should  not  materially 
contribute  to  elevate  the  cliaracler  of  EnsUsh  Eong- 
writing,  and  even  to  lead  to  a  re-vniou  .  f  the  gifts 
which  it  requires  if  not,  as  of  old,  in  the  same  iiidi- 
vidual,  yet  in  Ihat  per:ect  i-ynn.athy  betwetn  poet 
and  mu>ician  which  alnmst  am  mnis  to  ide:itity,  and 
of  which  we  have  sei-n.  in  our  own  limes,  so  inter- 
est! g  an  example  in  Ihe  few  snnss  bearing  the  uniiei 
names  of  th^se  two  s;sier  mu-e:i,  Mro.  Arkwrighl, 
and  (he  late  Mrs  Hemins. 

Very  different  was  the  state  of  the  snng-depTrtment 
of  English  poesy  at  the  time  when  hist  [  tried  my 
novice  h.uid  at  the  lyre.  'I'he  divorce  Leiween  song 
and  sense  had  then  reached  Us  utmost  range;  and  to 
all  verses  connected  with  nm^ic,  from  a  Birth-d.Ty 
Ode  di'wu  to  the  libretto  of  the  las'  new  opera,  mit^ht 
fairly  be  applied  the  solution  Fi,:;a>o  gives  of  the 
quality  of  the  words  of  soneis,  in  gei^eral, — "  Ce  qui 
ne  vaut  pas  la  peine  d'etre  dit,  on  le  ch  inte." 

It  may  here  be  suggested  that  the  convivial  lyrics  of 
Captain  Morris  pre-ent  an  exception  lo  the  t;eneral 
character  I  have  given  of  the  songs  of  this  period ; 

1  It  appears  certain,  notuilhsianding,  that  he  was, 
In  hisyou'h,  wholly  insensible  to  music.  In  speik- 
i'lg  of  him  and  his  broiher,  Mr.  Mu'dnch,  their  pre- 
ceptor, says,  "  Roher 's  ear,  in  puticular,  was  re- 
markably dull  and  his  voice  U'  tui-able.  It  wa-*  long 
before  1  could  get  him  to  distinguish  oue  tune  from 
another." 

^  I  know  not  whether  it  has  ever  been  before  re- 
marked, that  the  well-known  lines  in  one  of  Burus's 
most  spirited  songs. 


may  possibly  have  been  su?:gested  by  the  following 
pasea^e  in  WychcrU-y's  play,  'he  "Counlry  Wife:" 
—  *' I  weigh  the  man.  tt^t  liis  title;  'lis  not  the 
King's  stamp  can  m^ke  the  me'al  bciter." 


and,  assuredly,  h^d  Morris  written  mi3ch  that  at  all 
ai  proached  the  following  verses  of  his  "Keasons  for 
Drinking,"  {which  I  quote  from  recollection,)  few 
would  have  equ.dled  him  either  in  fancv,  or  in  that 
hgh'er  kind  of  palhos,  which  comes,  as  in  Ihis  in- 
stance, like  a  few  melancholy  notes  in  the  middle  of 
a  giy  air,  throwing  a  soft  and  passing  slial*:  Lver 


lirlh : 


"My 


N.i  tTul>c  Hit^hu 


But  rouml  a  bowl  nhe  Ml  dip  and  fly, 

Like  ewall.ms  round  a  lukt. 
jr  tlien  tlie  nymph  must  hiivt*  her  fihare. 

Before  she  Ml  bieR»  bf-r  Bwain. 
Wtiy,  that  I    ihiiik'8  a  rentiou  fair 

To  fill  my  glass  ugaio. 

*'Then,  many  &  lad  I  lik'd  is  dead, 
And  many  a  lub.s  giowu  old  ; 
And,  as  ttie  li'sson  strikes  my  head, 

My  weary  heart  gruws  rold. 
B'll  wine  awfiile  httliist  otT  ilespair, 

^ay,  bids  a  hnpe  remain;  — 
And  ih.ll  I  Think'8  a  reason  fair 
To  till  my  glaaa  again." 

How  far  my  own  labours  in  this  field  —  if,  indeed, 
the  gathering  of  such  idle  flowers  n.ay  be  so  desig- 
naed  — have  helped  to  advance,  or  even  kept  pace 
wilh  the  progiessive  imp'ovt  nienl  I  have  here  de- 
scrilied.  it  is  not  fur  me  to  presume  to  decide.  1  only 
know  rjial  ill  a  strong  and  inborn  feeling  for  music 
lies  the  source  of  v\  hatever  ta  ent  I  m^y  have  shown 
for  pnetical  composition  ;  and  that  it  was  the  eflorl  to 
iran-Iate  into  language  the  eniolions  and  passions 
which  XT\m\c  appeared  to  me  to  expre  s,  liial  hrst  led 
to  my  writing  any  poetry  at  all  deserving  of  Ihe  name. 
Dr>den  has  happily  described  music  as  being  ■*  in- 
ar  iculate  poetry  ;  "  and  I  have  always  fell,  in  adapt- 
ing woids  to  ail  expressive  air,  that  I  was  but  btstow- 
ing  upon  it  the  gift  of  articulation,  and  thus  enabling 
it  10  speak  to  oihers  all  th^t  was  conveyed,  in  its 
wordless  eloquence,  to  myself. 

Uvvingtolhe  space  I  w  s  led  to  devote  to  my  Irish 
reminiscences,  in  our  last  Volume,  1  found  myself 
oliliged  tf>  postpone  some  recollections,  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent de-ciipiion,  respecting  the  gala  at  Boyle  Farm, 
by  which  my  poem,  entitled  'I  he  Summer  Fete,  was 
•  uggesied.  In  an  old  lelter  of  my  own,  'o  wnirh  I 
have  had  acce?^,  giving  an  account  of  this  brilliant 
fe-iival  to  a  friend  m  lieland,  I  find  some  memoran- 
dums which,  besides  their  reference  to  the  subject  of 
the  pf^em,  con'ain  s  ^me  incidents  also  connec  ed  wilh 
the  first  ai'pearance  befoie  the  piblic  of  one  of  the 
most  successful  of  all  my  wriings,  the  stoiy  of  ihe 
Epicurean.  I  shall  give  my  extiac's  from  this  lelter, 
in  their  original  diary-like  form,  without  alteration 
or  dressing  :  — 

Jure  30,  1837.— Day  threatening  for  the  Fe'e.  Was 
with  Lnrd  E-sex3  at  three  o'clock,  and  sarled  about 
half  an  hour  afier.  The  whole  road  swarming  with 
carriages  and  four  all  the  way  to  Bnyie  Farm,  uJiich 
l.ady  (fe  Knos  has  lent,  for  ihe  occasion,  to  ileir^  ;— 
the  five  givers  of  the  Fele.  being  Lords  Chesteifieid, 
Ca^tlereagh,  Alvanley,  Henry  de  Roos,  and  li  .be»t 
Grosverior,  subscribing  four  or  hve  hund'ed  pounds 
eich  towards  it.  *lhe  an^ngements  all  in  'he  Vftry 
best  ta^te  The  pavilion  for  quadrilles,  on  Ihe  br^r.k 
of  the  river,  "i'h  steps  destending  to  ihe  water, 
quite  e:»s;ern— like  what  one  sees  in  Daniel's  pictures. 
Towards  five  ihe  elite  nf  the  giy  world  »as  assem- 
bled— the  women  all  looking  the:r  best,  and  scarce  a 
single  ugly  face  to  be  found.  About  half  past  fiv«. 
sat  down  to  dinner,  450  under  a  tent  on  the  lawn,  ana 
fif;y  to  the  Royal  Table  in  ihe  conservatory.  'Ihe 
'lyrolese    musicians  sung   duiing  dinner,  and    there 


3  1  cannot  let  pa<s  the  incidental  mention  here  of 
this  social  and  public-spii  ited  ncjblenian,  without  ex- 
pre-sing  my  strong  sen-e  of  his  kmdiy  qualities,  anJ 
lamenting  the  loss  which  not  only  society,  but  the 
cause  of  sound  and  progressive  Political  Refoim,  has 
sustained  by  his  death. 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


213 


were,  after  dinner,  gnndoUs  on  'he  river,  with  Cara 
dori,  I)e  Begiiis,  Velluti,  &c.,  s-iogini^  barcaroUea  and 
ro«  iiig  0(1' occasionally,  so  as  to  let  their  voices  die 
avxay  and  ajain  return.  After  these  succeeded  a 
pary  in  dominos,  Madame  Vestns,  Fanny  Ayion, 
Ac,  who  rosved  ab  >ui  in  the  sanie  manner,  and  sun?, 
among  other  things  njv  gcndida  song,  "  Oh,  come  to 
me  uhen  daylight  sets.'''  '1  he  evening  was  delicious 
and,  as  soon  as  it  grew  d^rk,  Itie  Kfoves  were  all 
lighted  up  with  cohmied  lamps,  in  diflerent  shajies 
and  devices.  A  little  lake  near  a  gtolio  took  my 
fancy  paiticularly,  the  shrubs  all  round  being  illumi- 
nated, and  the  lights  reflected  in  ihe  wattr.  "Six-md- 
Iwenty  of  the  preliiesi  girls  nf  the  world  of  f  shion, 
Xhe  F  #  »  »  *  t  »  rs,  Br  *  d  *  *  *  lis.  De  R  •  *  s's, 
Miss  F  *  *  Id  *  #  »  g.  Miss  F  *  x,  Miss  R  *  ss  *  11, 
Miss  B  #  *  ly,  were  dresst-d  as  Rosietes,  and  opent-d 
the  quadrilles  in  the  pavilion While  talk- 
ing wiih  l>— n  (Lord  P's.  brother),  he  said  to  me,  -  I 
never  read  any  thing  so  ti)uching  ua  the  death  of 
your  heroine."  "  What !  "  said  1.  *•  have  you  got  so 
f.ii  already  ?»»  "Oh,  I  read  it  in  the  Litenry 
Gazette."  This  anticipation  of  my  cala^lrrphe  is 
abominable.  Soon  after,  the  Marquia  F~lm— a  said 
to  nie,  as  he  and  1  and  B — ni  stood  together,  looking 
at  the  gay  scene.  "'Ihis  is  like  one  of  your  Fetes." 
*'0h.  ye^,"said  B— m,  thinking  he  alluded  to  Lalla 
Rookh,  "quite  niienial."  •' Non,  non,"  replied 
P— Im— a  "Jeveux  dire  cette  Fete  d'Athenes,  dont 
j'ai  lu  la  description  dans  la  Gazette  d'aujnurd'hui." 
Respecting  the  contents  of  the  present  Volume  I 
have  bu'  a  few  more  words  to  add.  Accustomed  as  1 
have  always  been  to  consider  my  songs  as  a  sort  of 
compound  creations,  in  which  the  music  forms  no  I 
e:isential  a  part  than  the  verses,  it  ia  with  a  feel 


which  1  can  hardly  ejpect  my  unlyrical  readers  to 
uiiders'and,lhat  I  see  such  a  swa-ni  of  songs  as  crowd 
these  pages  all  sepai  a'ed  fiom  the  beautiful  airs  which 
have  formed  hitheno  their  chief  ornament  and 
Etrengh— their  "decusit  luiamen."  But,  indepen- 
dently of  th'S  uneasy  feeling,  or  fancy,  there  is  yet  an- 
other inconvenient  consequence  of  the  divorce  of  the 
Js  from  the  music,  which  will  be  more  easily, 
perhaps,  comprehended,  and  which,  in  justice  to  my- 
If,  as  a  metru-Mionger,  ought  to  be  noticed.  'I'hose 
:casional  breaches  of  tlie  laus  of  rhythm,  which  the 
task  of  adapting  woids  to  aits  demands  of  the  poet. 
though  very  frequently  one  of  the  happiest  results  erf 
his  skill,  become  blemishes  when  the  verse  is  sejw- 
rated  from  the  melody,  and  require,  to  justify  th«Ci, 
the  presence  of  hu  music  to  whose  wildness  or  sncut- 
ness  the  saci  itice  had  been  made. 

Ill  a  preceding  page  of  this  preface,  1  have  men- 
lioned  a  TreaUse  by  (lie  late  Kev.  Mr.  Crowe,  on 
English  versification;  and  1  remember  hia  Idling  mc, 
in  reference  to  the  poin'  I  have  just  touched  upi  u, 
that,  hhould  another  edition  of  that  woik  be  called  for, 
he  meant  to  produce,  as  examples  of  new  and  anoma- 
lous forms  of  veisilication,  the  following  songs  from 
the  Irish  Melodies :  — "Oh  ihe  days  are  gone  when 
Beauty  bright"  — "At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when 
stars  are  weeping,  I  fly,"^  and,  "Through  grief  and 
through  danger  thy  smile  hath  cheered  my  way."* 


1  I  shall  avail  myself  of  ihis  opportunity  of  noticing  j 
the  charge  brought  by  Mr.  Bunting  against  Sir  John  I 
Stevenson,  of  having  made  alterations  in  many  of  the  [ 
airs  that  formed  our  Irish  Collection.  Whatever 
chantres  of  ihis  kind  ha\e  been  ventured  upon  (and  j 
they  "are  but  few  and  slight,)  the  responsibiliiy  for 
them  rests  solely  wilh  nie ;  as,  leaving  the  Harmo- 
nist's department  to  my  friend  Steven>on,  1  reserved 
the  selectionandmanagement  of  the  melodies  entirely 
to  myself. 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE 


In  thus  connecting  together  a  serirs  of  Songs  by  a 
thread  of  poetical  narrative,  my  chief  object  has  been 
to  combine  Recitatiun  wilh  Music,  so  as  to  enable  a 
greater  number  of  persons  to  join  in  the  performance, 
by  enlisting,  as  readers,  those  who  rnay  not  feel  will- 
ing or  competent  lo  take  a  part,  as  singers 

The  Isl.ind  of  Zea,  where  the  scene  is  laid,  was 
called  by  the  ancients  Ceos,  and  was  'he  birth-place 
of  Simoiiides,  Bacchylides,  and  other  eminent  person-. 
An  account  of  its  p'csent  stale  may  be  found  in  the 
Travels  of  Dr.  Clarke,  who  says,  that  **it  appeared 
lo  him  tn  be  the  best  cultivated  of  any  of  Ihe  Grecian 
Isles."— Vol.  vi.  p.  174.  T.  M. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


FIRST    EVENING. 

*Theskv  is  bright  — the  breeze  is  fair, 
'*And  the  mainsail  flowing,  full  and  free  — 

*Our  farewell  wo'd  is  woman's  prayV, 
**  And  the  hope  before  u?  —  Liberty  I 

•'Firewell,  farewell. 
"To  Greere  we  give  our  shining  blades, 
•*And  our  heaits  to  you,  young  Zean  Maids!' 

"  The  moon  is  in  the  heavens  above, 
*'  And  the  wind  Is  on  the  foaming  sea  — 

*  Thus  shines  the  star  of  woman's  love 
.iberty ! 


1  "On  the  glorious  sirife  of  Lit 

'  "Farewell,  farewell. 


**  To  Greece  we  give  our  shining  blades, 

"  And  our  hearts  to  you,  young  Zean  Maids  ! 

Thus  sung  (hey  from  the  bark,  that  now 
Turn'd  to  the  sea  i's  gallant  prow, 
Bearing  within  it  heails  as  hnve. 
As  e'er  sought  Freedom  o'er  the  wave; 
And  leaving  on  that  islet's  shnie. 

Where  still  the  farewell  beacons  burn, 
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  jiarenis  in  their  wintry  hour. 
The  love  of  maidens,  and  the  pride 
Of  the  young,  happy,  blushing  bride, 
Whose  nuptiil  wreath  has  not  yet  died  — 
All,  all  are  in  that  precious  bark. 

Which  now,  alas,  no  more  is  seen— ■ 
Though  every  eye  siill  turns  to  mark 

The  moonlight  spot  where  it  lud  been. 

Vainly  you  look,  ye  maidens,  sires. 

And  mothers,  your  beloved  a'  e  gone  !  — 
Now  may  vou  quench  those  signal  fires, 

Whose  ligh'  they  long  hu.k'd  back  upon 
From  their  dark  deck  —  watching  the  flame 

As  fast  it  f-ded  f'OUi  their  view, 
With  tJiouiffr.'B,  ^hat,  but  f  )r  manly  shame, 

H>d  ii.&dd  them  droop  and  ><cvcp  li^»  >ou 
Honi£  to  your  chandters  !  home,  nA  i>iiy 
For  the  bright  coming  of  that  day. 


314 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


When,  blessM  by  lieav 
The  Crescent  from  ilit 
And  your  b  ave  \\  ar  tn 
Will  brin^such  ftlorie 
As  shall,  for  mu  y  an 
Shed  light  aroiind  thei 


n,  the  Cr'ss  shall  sireep 


n^  hack, 


and  home. 


There  is  a  Fount  on  Zea's  isle, 
Round  which,  i^i  s  ft  lusutia  ce,  smile 
All  the  sweet  flowers,  of  every  kind. 

On  which  the  sun  of  Greece  looks  down, 

Fie  sed  as  a  lover  on  the  crown 
His  mistress  for  her  brow  ha'h  twined, 
When  he  beholds  eacti  floweret  there, 
Himself  bai  wjsh'd  her  mnst  to  wearj 
K«re  bloomed  the  lau' el-rose,'  whose  wreath 

Han<'  radiant  mund  the  Cypriot  shrines, 
And  here  ih'i?e  bnimbU-floWers,  that  breathe 

Their  odour  into  Zante's  wines:^  — 
The  splendid  woodbine,  ihst,  al  eve, 

To  grace  their  floral  diadems. 
The  lovely  maids    f  Fatmos  weave  :  3  — 

And  tha  f  .ir  plant,  whose  tantiled  stems 

Shme  I;ke  a  Nereid's  hair,*  when  i^pread, 

Dtsheveli'd,  o'er  her  azure  bed  ;  — 

All  ihese  bi  ight  children  <  f  the  clime, 

(Each  at  its  own  most  genial  time, 

Tlie  summer,  or  the  year's  sweet  prime). 

Like  beautiful  ear;h-stirs,  adorn 

The  V.dk-y,  where  that  Fount  is  born: 
While  round,  to  grace  its  cradle  green, 
Groups  of  Velani  oaks  are  ^eeii, 
Towt-ringoti  every  Vfidant  height  — 
Tall,  shadowy,  in  the  evenmg  light, 
Like  Genii,  set  to  waich  ihe  birth 
Of  some  enchanted  child  of  earth  — 
Fair  oaks,  that  over  Zea's  vales, 

Stand  with  their  leafv  pride  wnfurlM  ; 
While  Commerce,  fr  m  her  ihousand  snils 

Scatters  their  fruil  throughout  the  world  !  " 

*T  WIS  here  —  as  soon  as  player  and  sleep 
(Those  truest  friends  to  all  wh  >  weep) 
Had  ligh  eu'd  every  heart,  and  made 
Ev'n  sorrow  wear  a  s  Tier  shades 
»T  w^s  here,  in  Ihis  secluded  sp>'t. 

Amid  wirose  breathings  cJm  and  sweet 
Grief  might  be  s  mthed,  if  noi  forgot, 

The  Zean  nymphs  resolved  to  meet 
Bach  evening  now,  bv  Ihe  ^aIne  light 
That  saw  their  farewell  tears  that'nigbt; 

And  try,  if  sound  of  lute  and  snng, 

If  wandering  nnd  tiie  moonlight  flowerg 

In  various  talk,  could  charm  along 

With  lighter  step,  the  lingering  hours, 

Till  tidings  of  (hat  Bark  should  come, 

Or  Victory  waft  their  warriors  honie! 

When  first  (hey  met  —Ihe  wonted  smile 
Of  greeting  having  gleam'd  awhile  — 
'T  would  touch  ev'n  Moslem  heait  to  see 
The  sadness  thai  cante  suddenly 
O'er  their  young  brows,  when  they  look'd  round 
Upon  that  bright,  enchinted  ground  ; 
And  thought,  how  niany  a  lime,  with  those 

Who  H'lw  weie  gone  to  the  rude  wars. 
They  there  h 'd  n.e',  at  evening's  close, 

And  danced  tilt  m-n a  outshone  Ihe  s-ars  ! 


»  **  Nerjiim  Oleander.  In  Cyprus  it  retains  its  an. 
cient  name,  Rhodojiphne,  and  the  Cyoriots  adorn 
their  churches  wjih  the  flowers  on  feast-days," — Jour- 
nal of  Dr.  Hibtkotye^  fValpole^s  Turkey. 

aid. 

*  Lonicera  Caprifolium,  used  by  the  girls  ol  Fatmos 
fcv  garlands. 

*  Cuscutta  europaea  "  From  the  twisting  and  twin- 
ing of  the  stems  it  is  compared  by  he  Greeks  to  the 
dishevelled  hair  oi  the  Nereids,'' — Wxl'poli's  Turkty. 

*  *'  The  pm<hic«  of  the  island  in  these  acorns  alone 
amounts  annually  tc  fifleen  thousand  quiulals.''  — 
ClarAe'f  TrawU, 


But  seldom  long  doth  hang  th'  eclipse 

Of  sorrow  o'er  such  youthful  breasti^ 
The  bieath  from  her  own  blushing  lipv, 

Tha'  on  the  maiden*s  mirror  rests, 
Not  swifter,  lighter  from  the  glass, 
Than  sadness  frotn  her  brow  doth  pass. 
Soon  did  they  now,  as  round  the  Well 
They  sat,  beneath  the  rising  moon  — 
And  some,  with  voice  of  awe,  would  tell 
Of  midnight  fays,  and  nymphs  who  dwell 
In  holy  founts — while  some  would  tune 
Their  idle  lutes,  that  now  had  lain, 
For  days,  without  a  single  strain  ;  — 
And  others,  from  the  rest  apart. 
With  laugh  that  told  the  lighten'd  heart, 
Sat,  whispering  in  each  other's  ear 
Secrets,  that  all  in  turn  would  he:ir;« 
Stion  did  ihey  find  this  thnuglitless  play 
So  su  ifily  steal  their  griefs  away. 

That  many  a  nymph,  thoush  pleased  the  while- 
Reproach'd  her  r)wn  forge  ful  smile, 
And  sigh'd  to  tliink  she  could  be  gay. 

Among  these  maidens  there  was  one, 

Who  10  Leucdia  t  intt  had  been 
Had  stood,  beneath  the  evening  sun, 

On  Its  white  towering  clitis,  and  seen 
The  very  spot  where  Sappho  sung 
Her  svvaii-like  music,  ete  she  sprung 
(Still  holding,  in  that  fearful  leap, 
By  her  loved  lyie,)  into  the  deep, 
And  dying  quench  d  [he  latal  tire, 
At  once,  of  bo:b  her  heart  and  lyre. 

Mutely  they  lis'en'd  all  —  and  well 
Did  the  young  travell'd  maiden  tell 
Of  Ihe  dread  height  to  which  that  steep 
Beei  les  above  the  eddying  deep  '  — 
Of  the  lone  sea-birds,  wheeling  lound 
The  dizzy  edge  with  mournful  souhd  — 
And  of  tho-e  scented  lilies  a  found 
Still  blooming  on  that  fearful  place  — 
As  if  caird  up  by  Love,  to  grace 
The  immortal  spot,  oer  which  the  last 
Bright  footsteps  of  his  martyr  passM  \ 

While  fresh  to  every  listener's  thought 
The^e  legends  of  Leucadia  brought 
All  that  of  Sappho's  hapless  flame 
Is  kept  ahve,  siill  watch'd  bv  Fame  — 
The  maiden,  tuning  her  soft' lute. 
While  all  the  rest  stood  round  her,  mute, 
Thus  sketch'd  the  languishment  of  soul. 
That  o'er  the  lender  Lesbian  stole  ; 
And,  in  a  voice,  «  hose  thrilling  tone 
Fancy  might  deem  the  Lesbian's  own, 
One  of  those  fervid  fragments  gave, 

Which  s:ill,— like  sparkles  of  Greek  Firo, 
Undying,  ev'n  benea'h  the  wave,— 

Burn  on  thro'  Time,  and  ne'er  ejcpirc. 


SONG, 


As  o'er  her  loom  the  Lesbian  Maid 
In  love-sick  languor  hung  her  head. 

Unknowing  where  her  fingers  stray'd. 
She  weeping  turn'd  away,  and  said, 


6  Now  Santa  Maura  — the  island,  from  whoie 
clifTs  Sappho  leaped  into  Ihe  sea. 

1  "The  precipice,  which  is  fearfully  dizzy,  is  about 
one  hundred  and  fourteen  feet  from  the  water,  which 
is  of  a  profound  depth,  as  appe.irs  from  the  dark  blue 
colour  and  ihe  eddy  that  plays  round  the  pointed  and 
projecting  rocks."  —  Uoodissoii's  Ionian  Isles, 

•  See  Mr.  Goodisson's  very  interesting  de«<riptioii 
of  all  these  circumstances. 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


215 


**0h»  my  sweet  Mother  —  H  is  in  vain 
"  I  cannot  weave,  as  once  I  wove  — 

**  So  wilder'd  is  my  heart  and  brain 

"  With  thinking  of  that  youlh  I  love  !"  « 

Again  the  wel»  she  tried  to  trace, 

Rut  tears  fell  o'er  each  tangled  thread  j 
While,  looking  m  her  mothei's  face. 

Who  walchtul  o'er  her  leauM,  she  said, 
"Oh,  n.v  sweei  Mother  — 'tis  in  vain  — 

"  I  cannot  weave,  a,  once  i  uove  — 
*'So  vvildei'd  is  mv  heart  ai-d  brain 

**  With  thinking  of  that  >oulh  Hove!'* 


A  silence  follow'd  this  sweet  air. 

As  each  in  tender  niu^in^  stood, 
Thinking,  with  lips  that  moved  in  pray'r, 

Of  Sappho  and  that  fearful  flood  : 
While  bonie,  who  ne'er  till  now  had  known 

How  much  ilieir  hearts  resembled  hers, 
Felt  as  they  made  her  griefs  iheir  own, 

That  (Aey,  too,  were  Love's  ivorshippers. 

At  lengh  a  murmur  all  but  m.ite. 
So  faint  it  was,  came  from  the  lute 
Of  a  young  melancholy  maid, 
Whose  fingers,  all  uiiceitain,  play'd 
From  chord  to  chord,  a^  if  in  chase 

Of  some  lost  melody,  some  strain 
Of  other  times,  whose  faded  trace 

bhe  ftoughi  among  those  chords  again. 
Slowly  the  liaH-forgntten  theme 

(Though  born  in  feelings  ne'er  forgot) 
Came  to  her  memory  — as  a  beam 

Falls  broken  o'er  some  sh.ided  spot  j— 
And  while  her  lute's  sad  symphony 

Fill'd  up  each  ^igIllng  pmse  between; 
And  Love  himself  might  weep  to  see 

Whit  ruin  comes  where  he  hath  been  — 
As  wither'd  s'ill  Ihe  grass  is  found 
Where  fays  have  danced  their  merry  round  — 
Thus  simply  to  the  listening  throng 
She  bieath'd  her  melaticholy  snng  :  — 


SONG. 


Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through  the  long  day, 
Lonely  and  wearily  life  wears  away. 
Weeping  for  ihee,  my  love,  through  the  long  nigW  — 
No  re^t  in  dirkncss  no  joy  in  li^hi ! 
Nought  left  but  Memory,  whose  dreary  fread 
Sounds  ihroush  this  ruin'd  heait,  wlie-e  all  lies  dead- 
Wakening  the  echoes  of  joy  long  fled! 


Of  many  a  stan2i,  this  alone 
Had  scaped  oblivion—  like  Ihe  one 
Strav  fragment  of  a  wreck,  which  thrown, 
Willi  the  lost  vessel's  name,  asiiore, 
Tells  who  they  were  that  live  no  more. 

When  thus  'he  heart  is  in  a  vein 
Of  tender  thought,  the  simplest  strain 
Can  touch  it  with  peculiar  power  — 

As  when  the  air  is  warm,  Ihe  scent 
Of  the  moat  wild  and  rus  ic  flower 

Can  fill  the  whole  rich  element  — 
And,  in  'uch  moods,  the  homeliest  tone 
That 's  link'd  with  feelings,  once  nur  own  - 
With  friends  or  joys  gone  by —  will  be 
Worth  choirs  of  loftiest  harmony  I 

But  some  there  were,  among  Ihe  group 
Of  damsels  there,  too  liaht  of  hearl 

To  let  their  spirits  longer  droop 
Ev'n  under  music's  meltiugart; 


'  '  I  have  attempted,  in  these  four  lines,  to  give  some 
;  idea  of  that  beautiful  frasmenl  of  Sappho,  beginning 
j  TXvKita  /irtTEo,  which  represents  so  truly  (as  Warton 
j  remarks)  "the  languor  and  lisilessness  of  a  person 
deeply  in  love." 


And  one  upspringing,  with  a  bound, 
From  a  kiw  bank  of  flowers,  look'd  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  cclebraie 

The  Feast  of  May,  on  the  sea-shore. 


SONG, 


When  the  Balaika** 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
I'll  dance  the  Romaika 

By  moonlight  with  thee. 
If  wsves  then,  advancing, 

Should  steal  on  our  play, 
Thy  white  feet,  in  dancing, 

Shall  chase  them  away.s 
When  Ihe  Balaika 

is  heard  o'er  Ihe  sea, 
Thou 'It  dance  the  Romaika, 

My  own  love  with  me. 

Then,  at  the  closing 

Of  each  merry  lay, 
How  sweet  'tis,  reposing, 

Benea'h  the  night  ray  I 
Or  if.  declining. 

The  moon  leave  the  skies, 
We'll  talk  by  the  shining 

Of  eachotlier'8  eyes. 

Oh  then,  how  feally 

The  dance  we  'II  renew, 
Treading  so  fleetly 

Its  light  mazes  through  :  * 
Till  s'ars,  looking  o'er  us 

From  heaven's  high  bow'rs, 
Would  change  their  bright  chorus 

For  one  dance  of  ours  I 
When  Ihe  Balaika 

Is  heard  o'er  Ihe  sea, 
Thou  'It  dance  the  Romaika, 

My  own  love,  wiih  me. 


How  changingly  for  ever  veers 

The  hearl  of  youth,  'twixt  smiles  and  tears  ! 

Ev'n  as  in  April,  the  light  vane 

Now  ])oinls  to  sunshine,  now  to  rain, 

Ins'ant  this  lively  lay  dispell'd 

The  shadow  from  each  blooming  brow. 
And  Dancing,  joyous  Dancing,  held 

Full  empire  o'er  each  fancy  now. 


^  This  word  is  defrauded  here,  I  suspect,  of  a  sylla- 
ble  ;  Dr.  Clarke,  if  I  recollect  right,  makes  it  '*  Ba- 
lalaika.'* 

3  *'  I  saw  above  thirty  parties  engaged  in  dancing 
the  Romaika  upon  the  sand  ;  in  some  of  (hose  groups, 
the  girl  who  led  them  chased  the  retreating  wave." — 
Voii^tass  on  the  Modem  Greeks. 

<  "In  dancing  the  Romaika  (says  Mr,  Douglass) 
they  begin  in  slow  and  solemn  step  till  they  have 
gained  the  time,  bul  by  degrees  the  air  becomes  more 
sprightly;  the  conductress  nf  the  dance  sometimes  set- 
ting to  her  partner,  snnietimes  darting  before  the  rest, 
and  leading  them  through  Ihe  most  rapic  revolutions; 
sometimes  crossing  under  the  hands,  which  are  held 
up  to  let  her  pass,  and  giving  as  much  liveliness  and 
she  can  to  the  figures  into  which  she  cot]-  j 


due's  her  compan 
he.  in  all  h. 
or  losing  1h( 


vhile  their  business  is  to  follow' 
enfs,  without  breaking  the  chain, 


316 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


But  siy  —  ivhat  shall  the  measure  be  ? 

*•  Shall  we  the  old  Kimiaika  tread, 
(Some  eager  ask'dj  "as  anciently 

*"T  was  by  Uie  maids  <'f  Dcl^s  led, 
•'  When,  slow  at  fiisi,  llieii  circling  fast, 
**  As  the  giy  spiiits  rose  —  ar  last, 
**  Wilh  hand  irt  hand,  like  links,  enlock'd, 

'*  Throu^ti  the  light  air  ihey  seem  d  to  flit 
"In  labyrinthine  nuze,  thai  mnck'd 

•*  The  dazzled  eye  that  follow'd  it  ?" 

Some  call'd  aloud  "  the  Foun'ain  Dance  !" 

While  one  young,  darlt-ey^d  Amazon, 
Whose  btep  was  ait-like,  and  who^e  glance 

flashd.  like  a  >abre  in  the  sun, 
Sportively  said,  "Shame  on  these  soft 
*'  And  Ians;uid  strains  we  hear  so  oft. 
"I)<*ugher-i  of  Kreednm  !  have  not  we 

*'l..earird  iVom  our  h)vers  and  our  sires 
"The  Dance  of  Greece,  while  Greece  was  free- 

"  'i'hat  Dance,  where  neiiher  rimes  nor  lyres, 
**  But  sword  nnd  shield  clash  on  the  ear 
*'  A  music  t\  rants  quake  to  hear  ?  i 
"  Heroines  of  Zea,  ai  m  with  me, 
"And  dance  the  dance  of  victory  !'* 

Thus  saying,  she,  with  playful  grace. 
Loosed  the  wide  hat,  thai  o  er  her  face 
(From  AnatoUa^  can.e  the  maid) 

Hung,  stiadowing  each  snnny  charm  ; 
And,  with  a  fair  young  armourer's  aid, 

Fixing  it  on  her  rounded  arm, 
A  mimic  shield  with  prule  di  play'd  ; 
Then,  springing  tow'rds  a  grove  that  spread 

Its  canopy  of  foliage  near, 
Fluck'd  otf  a  lance-like  twi?,  and  said, 
*'To  arms,  to  arms!"  while  o'er  her  head 

She  waved  the  light  branch,  as  a  spear, 

Fromply  the  laughing  maidens  all 
Obeyed  their  Chief '>  heroic  call  ;— 
Round  the  shield-arm  of  each  was  tied 

Hal,  turb.n,  shawl,  as  chance  might  be ; 

'i'he  grove,  their  verdant  aimi'ury. 
Falchion  and  lance^  alike  supplied  ; 

And  as  their  glossy  locks,  let  free, 

Fell  down  their  sh.mlders  careltssly, 
You  might  have  dieam'd  you  ^aw  a  throng 

Of  yimihful  Thvads.  by  the  beam 
Of  a  May  m'On,  bounding  almg 

Peneus'  silver-eddied  *  stream  ! 

And  now  Ihev  stepp'd,  with  measured  tread, 

Martiallv,  o'er  the  shining  field  j 
Now,  to  the  mimic  combat  led 
(A  heroine  at  each  squa'lron's  head,, 

Struck  lance  to  lance  and  snord  to  sliield: 
While  still,  through  every  varying  feat, 
Their  voices,  heard  in  contrast  sweet 
With  some,  of  deep  but  s"ften'd  sound. 
From  lips  of  aged  sires  around. 
Who  smiling  vvaich'd  iheir  children's  play- 
Thus  sung  the  ancient  Pyrrhic  lay :  — 


Such  were  the  sounds,  to  which  the  warrior  boy 
Danced  in  those  happy  days,  when  Greece  was  fie 
When  Spart,.'s  youth,  ev'n  in  the  hour  of  joy, 
Thus  irain'd  their  steps  to  war  and  victory. 
"  Kaise  the  buckler  —  poise  the  lance  — 
*'  Now  here  — now  ttitre —  retreat  —  advance!*' 
Such  was  the  Sitattau  warriors' dance. 

"Grasp  the  falchion —gird  the  shield  — 
"Attack— defend  — do  all,  but  yie,d." 

Thus  did  thy  sons,  oh  Greece,  one  glorious  night, 
Dance  by  a  moon  like  this,  till  o'er  the  sea 

That  mnrning  dawn'd  by  whose  immortal  light 
They  nobly  died  for  Ihee  and  liberty  [  S 

'■  Riise  the  buckler —  poise  the  lance  — 

"Now  here- now  there—  retreat  —  advance!" 

Such  was  the  Spartan  heroes'  dance. 

Scarce  had  Ihey  closed  this  martial  lay 
When,  tlmging  their  light  spears  away, 
The  c.mbalan  s,  iu  broken  ranks. 

All  breathless  from  the  war-field  fly; 
And  down,  upon  the  velvet  banks 

And  riduery  sl-'pes,  exhausled  lie, 
L'ke  ro^y  huntresses  of    I  iirace, 
Resting  at  sunset  iiom  the  chase. 

*'  Fond  girls  !'*  an  aged  Zean  said  — 
One  who,  himself,  had  fought  and  bled, 
And  n  'W,  wilh  feelings,  half  delight, 
Half  sadness,  walch'd  their  mimic  fight  — 
"Fondma.ds!  who  thus  with  War  can  jest  — 
"  Like  Love,  in  Mars's  helmet  drest, 
"When,  in  liis  childish  innocence, 

"I'lea.ed  with  the  shade  that  helmet  fliugs, 
"He  Ihmks  not  of  the  blond,  that  thence 

"  Is  droi)pjng  o'er  his  snowy  wings. 
"Ay  —  true  it  is.  young  patriot  miids, 

*•  If  Honour's  arm  siill  won  ihe  fray, 
*' If  luck  but  shone  on  riglilems  blades, 

'*  War  were  a  game  for  gods  to  play  ! 


,  ala 


,vho  well 


Halh  irack'd  the  fortunes  of  ihe  brave  — 

par  me,  in  mournful  ditty,  tell 

What  glory  waits  the  patriot's  grave:  — 


SONG. 


As  by  the  shore,  at  break  of  day, 
A  vaDquish'd  Chief  expiring  lay. 
Upon  the  sands,  with  broken  swnrd, 

He  traced  his  farewell  to  the  Free; 
AntI,  there,  ihe  last  unfinish'd  word 

He  dying  wrote  was  "  Liberty  !" 

At  night  a  Se;i-bird  shriek'd  the  knell 
Of  him  who  ihus  for  Freedom  fell; 
The  words  he  wrote,  ere  evening  cami 

Were  cover'd  by  I  lie  sounding  sea  i— 
So  pass  a»av  the  cause  and  n^me 

Of  him  who  dies  for  Liberty  ■ 

That  tribute  of  subdued  applause 
A  charm'd,  but  timid,  audience  pays, 

That  murmur,  w  hich  a  minstiel  diaws 
FriMii  hearis,  that  feel,  bul  fear  to  praia 

Fnlhnv'd  this  song,  and  left  a  pause 

Of  sih-nce  af'eri',  that  hung 

Like  a  fix'd  spell  on  every  tongue. 


For  a  description  of  the  Pvrrhic  Dance,  see  De 
Guys,  &c.  — It  aj)pears  from  Apuleius  (lib.  x.)  (hat 
this  war-dance  was,  among  the  ancients,  sometimes 
performed  by  females.  I 

a  See  the  costjime  of  the  Greek  women  of  Natolia 
in  Casttilan''5  Mccurs  des  Olhomans.  j  

>  The  sword  was  the  weapon  chiefly  used  in  this        »  It  is  'aid  that  Leonidas  and  his  companions  em-  j 
^*"*^^*  ployed  themselves,  on  the  eve  of  ihe  battle,  id  uuiic  i 

*  Homer,  11. 2. 753.  and  the  gynmastic  exercises  of  their  coanlry.  j 


At  length,  a  low  and  tremulous  sound 
Was  heard  fiom  m  dst  a  group,  that  rouui 
A  bashful  inai*en  >t.od,  to  hide 
Her  blushes,  while  the  lute  she  fried- 
Like  roses,  gathering  round  to  veil 
The  song  of  some  young  nightingale, 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


217 


Whose  trembling  nole?  steal  out  between 
The  clustery  leaves,  herself  unseen. 
And,  while  that  voice,  in  tones  that  more 

Through  feeling  than  through  weakness  crr'd, 


Cai 


ith  a  f 


r.grr 


Th'  attentive  ear,  Ijiis  strain  was  hearil:  — 


SONG. 


I  saw,  from  yonder  silent  cave,* 

Two  Fountains  runnins,  side  by  side, 
The  (»ne  was  Mt^m'rv's  limpid  uave, 

The  other  cold  Olilivion's  tide. 
•'  Oh  Lnve :"  ^aid  I,  in  thoughtless  mood, 

As  deep  I  drank  ot  Leilte's  stream, 
"  Be  all  my  sorrous  in  this  flnod 

'•Forgotten  like  a  vanisb'd  dream  1" 

But  who  could  bear  that  gloomy  blank. 

Where  jny  was  Insl  as  well  as  pain  ? 
Quickly  of  Memory's  fount  I  drank, 

And  brought  ttie  past  all  back  again  ; 
And  said,  "Oh  Lme!  wha-e'er  niy  lot, 

*' Still  let  this  soul  to  thee  be  true  — 
*'  Rather  than  have  one  bliss  forgot, 

*'  iie  all  my  pains  remember'd  too  I" 


The  group  that  stond  around,  to  shade 
The  blushes  of  that  bashful  m^id, 
Had,  by  degrees,  as  came  the  lay 
More  stnmgly  forth,  retired  away. 
Like  a  fair  shell,  whnse  valves  divide, 
To  show  the  fairer  pearl  ln?ide: 
For  such  she  was—  :»  crea*ure,  brigbl 

And  delrcate  as  tliose  diy-flow'rs, 
Which,  while  they  last,  make  up,  in  light 

And  sweetness,  what  they  want  in  hours. 

So  rich  upon  the  ear  had  grown 
Her  voice's  melody  —  i's  tone 
Gatlierine;  new  coursj^e.  as  it  fnund 
An  ech'i  III  each  b'>som  round  — 
1  ha',  ere  the  nymph,  wi  h  d  'Wncast  eye 
S'ill  on  the  chords,  her  Inie  laid  by, 
*' Another  Snng,'' all  lips  exclaimed. 
And  each  some  xn  <tchless  f.tvouri  e  named ; 
While  blushing,  as  her  fingtrs  ran 
O'er  the  sweet  chords,  she  thus  began  :  — 


SONG. 


Oh,  Memory,  how  coldly 

Thou  paintest  'y>y  gone  by  : 
Like  rainbows,  thy  pic'ures 

But  mournfully  shine  and  die. 
Or,  if  some  tin:s  'hou  keepest, 

That  former  days  recall. 
As  o'er  each  ime  ihou  weepest 

Thy  tears  ellace  them  all. 

But,  Memory,  too  truly, 

'i'hou  paintest  crief  that 's  past ; 
Jny's  colours  are  fleeting, 

But  'ho-e  of  Sorrow  last. 
And,  wliile  thou  bring'st  before  us 

Dark  pictures  of  past  ill, 
Life's  evening,  closing  o'er  us, 

But  makes  ibem  darker  still. 


So  went  the  moonlight  houre  along. 
In  this  sweet  giade ;  and  so,  with  song 


"This  morning  we  paid  our  visit  to  the  Cave  of 
Trophonius,  and  the  Fountains  <■(  Memory  and  Obi 
vion,  just  upon  the  waer  of  Hercyna.  which  flow 
through  stupendous  ivcks  " —IVilliams^s  Travels  t; 
Greece. 


And  witching  sounds  —  not  such  as  they, 

The  cvmbahsts  of  Os?a,  pliy'd, 
To  chase  the  moon's  eclipse  away,3 

Rut  soft  and  holy  —  did  each  maid 
Ijuhleu  her  heart's  eclipse  awhile, 
And  win  back  borrow  to  a  smile. 

Not  far  from  this  secluded  place, 

On  the  ?ea*5hore  a  ruin  stood  ;  — 
A  relic  of  th'  exiinguish'd  race. 

Who  once  look'd  o'er  that  foamy  flood, 
When  fair  loulis,^  by  the  light 
Of  co'den  sunset,  on  the  sight 

Of  mariners  who  sail'd  ihat  sea, 
Rose,  like  a  city  of  chrysolite, 

Cali'd  from  tlie  wave  by  witchery. 
Thib  ruin  —  now  by  barbarous  hands 

Debased  into  a  molt-y  shed, 
Where  the  once  splendid  column  stands 

Inverted  on  its  leafy  head — 
Fomi'd,  as  they  teli,  in  times  of  old. 

The  dv\elling  of  that  bard,  whose  lay 
Could  melt  lo  fears  the  stern  and  cold, 

And  sadden,  mid  their  mirth,  ihe  gay  — 

Simonides,*  who^e  fame,  through  years 
And  3ges  past,  still  bright  appears  — 
Like  liesperus,  a  star  of  tears  ! 
'T  was  hiilier  now  —  to  catch  a  view 

Of  the  white  waters,  as  they  play'd 
Siltntlv  in  the  light  — a  few 

Of  the  more  restless  damsels  strayed  ; 
And  some  would  linger  'mid  the  scent 

Of  hanging  foliage,  that  perfumed 
The  ruin'd  walls;  while  others  went, 

Culling  whatever  Iioweret  Lloonid 
In  the  lone  Ie>fy  si  ace  between, 
Where  eilded  ctianibers  once  had  been  j 
Or,  turning  sadiv  to  the  sea, 

Sent  o'er  the  wave  a  sigh  unblest 
To  some  brave  champion  of  the  Free  — 
Thinking,  alns,  h-iw  cold  might  be, 

At  that  siill  hour,  his  pl.ice  of  rest ! 
Meanwhile  there  came  a  sound  of  song 

From  the  dark  ruins  —  a  faint  strain. 
As  if  some  echo,  thai  among 
Those  minstrel  halls  had  slumbered  long, 

Were  murmuring  into  life  again. 

But  no  — llie  nymphs  knew  well  the  tone  — 

A  maiden  of  their  train,  who  loved, 
Like  the  night-bird,  to  sing  alone. 

Had  deep  into  those  ruii  s  roved. 
And  ihere,  all  other  thoughts  forgot, 

Was  warbline  o'er,  in  lone  delight, 
A  lay  that,  on  ihat  very  spot. 

Her  lover  sung  one  moonlight  nighl :  — 


SONG. 

Ah  !  where  are  Ihey,  who  heard,  in  former  hours, 
The  voice  of  Song  in  these  neglected  bow'rs? 
They  are  gone  —  all  gone  I 

The  youth,  who  told  his  pain  in  such  sweet  tone, 
That  all.  who  heard  him,  wish'd  his  pain  their  own- 
He  is  gone  — he  is  gone  I 

And  she,  who,  uhiJe  he  sune,  sal  lis'enirpbv. 
And  thought,  tostrains  like  these 't  were  sweet  lodie — 
She  is  gone  —  &he  too  is  gone  ! 


5  This  superstitious  custom  of  the  Thessalians  exists 
also,  as  I'ietio  della  Valle  tells  us,  among  the  Persians 

3  An  ancient  ctty  of  Zea,  the  walls  of  which  were 
of  marble.  Its  remains  (says  Clarke)  "extend  from 
the  shore,  qni'e  into  a  valley  watered  by  the  streanis 
of  a  fountain,  whence  loulis  received  its  name.'* 

*  Zea  was  Ihe  birth-place  of  this  poet,  whose  venes 
are  by  Catullus  called  "tears." 


la 


218 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


'T  is  thus,  in  future  houn,  some  bsrd  will  say 
Of  her,  who  hears,  and  him,  who  sin^  (his  lay-*- 
They  aie  gone  —  they  both  are  gone  ! 


The  moon  was  now,  from  heaven^s  steep, 

Rendinic  In  dip  her  silvery  urn 
Into  the  bright  and  silenl  deep  — 

And  the  y>un^  n\m|jlis,  on  iheir  return 
From  those  romantic  ruins,  found 
Their  other  playmales,  ranged  around 
The  sacred  Spruii;.  prepared  lo  tune 
Their  parting  hyniri,i  ere  sunk  the  moon 
To  that  fair  Fountain,  by  wh  -se  stieam 
Their  hearts  had  form  d  so  many  a  dream. 

Who  has  not  read  the  tales,  that  tell 
Of  old  Eleusis'  sacred  Well, 
Or  heard  what  legend-smgs  recount 
Of  Syra.  and  its  hn!y  Fount.1 
Gushing,  at  once,  from  tl:e  hard  rock 

Into  the  laps  nf  living  flowers  — 
Where  village  niaiden>  loved  to  flnck, 

On  summer-niahts,  and,  l,ke  the  Hours, 
Link'd  i.i  harninujo'i-  danc^-  and  son?, 
Charin'd  the  unconscious  night  along; 
While  holy  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Uelos'  isle,  s'ood  looking  on. 
Enchanted  wi  h  a  scene  so  gay, 

Nor  sought  their  boats,  till  morning  shone. 

Such  was  the  *cene  Ihis  lovely  g'ade 
And  its  fair  inmates  now  display'd. 
As  round  the  Fount,  in  liIifc«^i  r::'^. 

They  went,  in  cadence  sIct/  jud  light, 
And  thus  to  th^t  enchanted  S:;.rlzf; 

Warbled  their  fareweil  for  Ice  night:  — 


SONG. 

Here,  while  the  moonlight  dim 
F^lls  on  that  mossy  brim, 
Sing  we  our  Founlain  Hymn, 

Maidens  of  Zta  ! 
Nothing  but  Music's  strain, 
When  Lovers  part  in  p'in. 
Soothes,  illl  they  meet  again, 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zeal 

Bright  Fount,  so  clear  and  cold 
Round  which  the  nymphs  of  old 
Stood,  with  their  I'^cks  of  gold, 

Fountain  of  Zea ! 
Not  even  Cas'aiy, 
Famed  though  its  streamlet  be, 
Murmurs  or  shines  like  Ihee, 

Oh,  Fount  01  Zeal 

Thou,  while  our  hymn  we  sing, 
Thy  Silver  voice  shalt  bring, 
Answerm?,  answering, 
Sweet  Fount  of  Zea  ! 


t  These  "Songs  of  the  Well,"  as  they  were  called 
aidoig  the  ancients,  still  exist  in  Greece.     De  Guys 
■  3  US  that  he  h  is  seen  "the  young  women  in  Princes 
^nd,  as-enib'ed  in  the  evening  ai   a  jiuhlic  well, 
ieiily  strike  up  a  dance,  while  others  sung  in  con- 
cert to  them." 

"  The  inhabitants  of  Syra,  both  ancient  and  mo- 
dern, mav  oe  considered  as  tht:  ivorshippers  of  water. 
~"  e  old  f  luntirn,  at  which  the  nymphs  of  the  inland 
;mhled  in  ihe  earliest  age*,  exists  in  its  original 
state;  the  same  rendezvous  as  it  was  formerly,  whe- 
r  of  love  and  galUntry,  or  of  gossiping  and  tale- 
telling.  It  i^  neir  lo  ihe  town,  and  Ihe  most  limpid 
water  gushes  coiitinmlly  from  he  solid  mck  It  is 
\  regarded  by  the  inhibi'anis  with  a  degree  of  religious 
I  veNerati(  n  ;  and  Hiey  preserve  a  fradi  i-rn,  that  ihe 

Eilgrimt  of  old  lime,  in  their  way  lu  DeUs,  rtsoited 
ither  for  punfica  ion,"  —  Clarke 


For,  of  all  rills  that  run, 
cpafkliog  by  moon  or  sun, 
Thou  art  the  fairest  one, 
Bright  Fount  of  Zea! 

Now,  by  those  stars  that  glance 
Over  heav'n's  stilt  exp.mse, 
Weave  we  our  mirthful  dance, 

IJaughlers  of  Zea  ! 
Such  as,  in  former  days. 
Danced  they,  by  Dian's  rays. 
Where  the  Eurolas  strays,^ 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zea ! 

But  when  to  merry  feet 
Hearts  with  no  echo  beat, 
Say,  can  the  dance  be  sweet  ? 

Maidens  of  Zea ! 
No,  nought  but  Music's  strain, 
When  lovers  part  in  pain, 
Soo'hes,  till  thev  meet  again. 

Oh,  Maids  of  Zeal 


SECOND    EVENING, 


When  evening  shades  are  falling 

O'er  Ocean  s  eunny  sleep. 
To  pilgrims'  hearts  recalling 

Their  home  beyond  the  deep  j 
When,  rest  o'er  all  descending, 

The  shores  ujrh  gladness  smile, 
And  lutes,  their  echoes  blending, 

Are  heard  from  isle  to  isle. 
Then,  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea« 
We  pray,  we  pray,  to  thee  1 

The  noon-day  teaipest  over, 

Now  Ocean  toils  no  more. 
And  wings  of  halcyons  hover, 

Where  all  was  strife  before. 
Oh,  thus  may  life,  in  closing 

lis  short  tempestuous  day, 
Beneaih  heaven's  smile  reposing, 

Shine  all  its  stoims  away: 
Thus,  Mary,  Sar  of  the  Sea, 
We  pray,  we  pray,  tu  thee ! 


On  Hclle's  sea  the  light  grew  dim, 
As  the  Ia<t  sounds  of  that  sweet  hyma 

Floa'ed  alonj  its  azure  tide- 
Floated  in  light,  as  if  the  lay 
Had  niix'd  with  sunset's  fading  ray, 

A"d  light  and  song  toge'her  died. 
So  soft  through  evening's  air  had  brealhM 
That  choir  of  ynuthful  voices,  wreathM 
In  many  linked  harmony, 
That  b  als.  then  huirying  o'er  the  sea. 
Paused,  when  ihey  reach'd  this  f-iiry  shore, 
And  liuger'd  till  the  strain  was  o'er. 

Of  those  young  maids  who  *ve  met  to  fleet 

In  song  atid  dance  this  evening's  hours. 
Far  happier  now  the  bosoms  heal, 

'I  ban  when  they  last  adorn'd  the$e  bowers; 
For  tidings  of  ghd  sound  had  come, 

At  break  of  day,  fiom  the  far  isles  — 
Tidings  like  biealh  of  life  to  some  — 
That  Zea's  sons  would  soon  wing  home, 

Crown'd  with  the  light  of  Victory's  smiles  ; 


•  "  Qualis  in  Eumtae  ripis,  aut  y^r  jug^  Cynthi 

Exercet  Diana  choros."  —  Kirgii. 

♦  One  of  the  titles  of  the  Virgin:- "Maria  iMu* 
linatrix,  sive  Stella  Maris."— /iirfor. 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


219 


To  meet  that  brightest  of  alt  meeds 
That  wait  on  high,  heroic  deeds, 
When  gentle  eyt:<)  that  sctice,  for  tears, 

Could  trace  the  warrior's  paiiiiig  track» 
Shall,  like  a  misty  morn  that  clears, 
When  the  long  absent  ^iun  api  ears, 

Shine  out,  all  bliss,  to  hail  him  back* 

How  fickle  still  the  ynuthful  breast !  — 

More  fond  of  chan^^e  than  a  young  mooH) 
No  j  .y  so  new  was  e'er  possest 

But  Youth  woijd  lesve  for  newer  soon. 
These  Zeaii  nymphs,  ihough  biiglit  the  spot, 

Where  first  tht-y  held  their  evening  play, 
As  ever  fell  to  fairy's  lot 

To  wanton  o'er  by  midnighl's  ray, 
Had  now  exchanged  that  sheltered  scene 

For  a  w  ide  glade  beside  the  eea  — 
A  lawn,  wliose  sofi  expanse  of  ^reeo 

Turn'd  to  the  west  sun  Mnitingty, 
Ai  though,  in  conscious  beauty  bright, 
It  joy'd  to  give  him  light  for  ii^hi. 

And  ne'er  did  evening  more  serene 

Look  down  fiom  heaven  on  lovelier  scene. 

Calm  lay  the  flond  around,  wliile  fleet, 

O'er  ihe  blue  shining  element, 
Light  barks,  as  if  with  fairy  feet 

That  stiirM  not  the  hush'd  waters,  went ; 
Some  that,  ere  rosy  eve  fell  o'er 

The  blushing  wave,  with  mainsail  free, 
Had  put  forth  f r<  ni  the  Attic  shore. 

Or  the  near  Isle  of  Ebony  ;  — 
Some,  Hydiiot  barks,  ihat  detp  in  caves 

Beneaih  Colonna's  pillar'd  clitis, 
Had  all  day  lurk'd,  and  o'er  the  waves 

Now  shot  their  long  and  dart-like  skiffs. 
Woe  (o  'he  cfaff,  however  fleet. 
These  sea-hawks  in  theii  course  shall  meet, 
Laden  wKh  juice  of  Lesbian  vines, 
Or  rich  from  Naxo&>  emeiy  mines  ; 
For  not  mure  sure,  when  owlets  flee 
O'er  the  dark  crags  of  Pendelee, 
Doth  the  night-faicon  mark  his  prey, 
Or  pounce  uu  it  more  fleet  than  they. 

And  what  a  moon  now  lights  the  glade 

Where  these  young  island  nymphs  are  met  1 
FuII*orb'd,  yet  pure,  as  if  no  shade 
Had  touch*d  lis  virgin  lustre  yet ; 
And  freshly  bright,  as  if  just  made 
By  Love's  ()wn  hands,  of  new-born  light 
StoPn  from  hiamoiher's  star  to-night. 

On  a  bold  rock,  that  o*er  the  flood 
Jutted  from  thai  soft  glade,  there  stood 
A  Chipel,  fronting  towards  the  sea, — 
Built  in  some  by-gnne  ceniury, — 
Where,  nightly,  as  the  seama'n's  mark. 
When  waves  rose  high  or  clouds  were  dark 
A  lamp,  bequeath'd  by  some  kind  Saint, 
Shed  o'er  the  wave  its  glimmer  faint, 
Waking  in  way-worn  men  a  sigh 
And  pra\er  to  heaven,  as  they  went  by, 
'T  was  there,  around  that  rnck-built  shrine, 

A  group  of  maidens  and  their  sires 
Had  stood  to  wa'ch  Ihe  day's  decline. 

And,  as  the  light  lell  o'er  their  lyres, 
Sung  to  the  Queen-Star  of  the  Sea 
That  soft  and  holy  melody. 

But  lighter  thoughts  and  lighter  song 

Now  woo  Ihe  coming  houis  along. 

Tor,  maik,  where  smooth  'he  herbiige  lies. 

Yon  gay  pavilion,  curiaiu'd  deep 
With  silken  folds,  throush  which  bright  eyes, 

From  time  lo  time,  are  seen  to  peep  j 
While  twinkling  ligh's  that,  to  and  fro. 
Beneath  those  veils,  like  meteors,  go. 

Tell  of  some  ppells  at  work,  and  keep 
foung  fancies  chamVi  ii>  mu  e  suspen-e. 
Watching  \^UM  next  may  shine  from  thence. 


Nor  long  the  pause,  ere  hands 

Thnt  mystic  curtain  bnckward  drew, 
And  all,  that  late  but  shone  between, 

In  half-c«uglit  ifleains,  now  burst  to  view 
A  picture  't  was  of  the  early  days 
Of  glorious  Greece,  ere  yet  those  rays 
Of  rich,  immortal  IVlmd  were  hers 
That  made  mankiiid  her  worshippers: 
While,  yet  unsung,  her  landscapes  shone 
With  glory  lei.t  by  heaven  ahme: 
Nor  temples  c'own'd  her  nameless  hills, 
Nor  Muse  immortalised  her  rills; 
Nor  aught  but  the  mule  poesy 
Of  sun,  and  stars,  and  shining  sea 
Illumed  that  land  of  bards  to  be. 
While,  pie^cieni  of  the  gifted  race 

That  yet  would  realm  so  blest  adorn. 
Nature  took  pains  to  deck  the  place 

Where  glorious  Art  was  to  be  born. 

Such  was  the  scene  that  mimic  stage 

Of  Alliens  and  her  hills  portrayed; 
Athens,  in  her  first,  youthful  age. 

Ere  yet  Ihe  simple  violet  braid, I 
Which  iheii  adorn'd  her.  had  shone  dowm 
The  glory  of  earth's  lotiiesi  crown. 
While  yet  undream'd,  her  seeds  of  Art 

Lay  sleeping  in  ihe  marble  mine  — 
Sleeping  til)  Genius  bade  them  start 

lo  all  but  life,  in  shapes  divine; 
Till  deified  the  quarry  shone 
And  all   Olympus  stood  in  stone ! 

There,  in  the  foreground  of  that  scene, 

On  a  soft  bank  of  living  green. 

Sate  a  young  nymph,  with  her  lap  full 

Of  nev\I)  galher'd  flowers,  o'er  which 
She  graceful  lein'd.  infeni  to  cull 

All  that  was  there  of  hue  most  rich, 
To  form  a  wrea'h,  such  as  the  eye 
Of  her  young  lover,  who  stood  by, 
With  pallet  mingled  fresh,  niight  choose 
To  fix  by  Painting's  rainbow  hues. 

The  wreath  was  form'd ;  the  maiden  raised 

Her  speaking  eye^  to  his,  while  he  — 
Oh  not  upon  the  flowers  now  gaz'd, 

But  on  that  bright  look's  wiichery. 
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  raptured  'ask  went  on, 
And  forth  each  kindling  feature  shone. 
Sweet  voices,  through  tlie  moonlieht  air, 

From  lips  as  moonlight  fresh  and  pure. 
Thus  hail'd  the  bright  dream  passing  there, 

And  sung  the  Birth  of  Portraiture.^ 


SONG. 


As  once  a  Grecian  maiden  vrnve 

Her  garland  mid  tlie  summer  bowers, 
There  stood  a  youth,  with  eyes  of  love. 

To  watch  her  while  she  wreaih'd  the  flowers. 
The  youth  was  sktlPd  in  Painting's  art, 

Rut  ne'er  h:»d  sliulied  woman's  brow, 
Nor  knew  «  hat  mai;ic  hues  the  heart 

Can  shed  o'er  Nature's  chainis,  lill  now. 

CHORUS. 

Blest  be  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
All  that  '8  fair  and  bright  below. 


'  "Violet-crowned  Athens." — Pindar, 
*  The  whole  of  this  scene  was  suggested  by  Pliny's 
and  bis  mistress  Glycera, 


•22U 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


His  hand  had  pictured  many  a  rose, 

And  sketch'd  ihe  raya  tliat  lii;ht  ihe  brook  j 
But  what  were  these,  or  whit  weie  those, 

To  woniao's  blu'-h,  to  womau's  look? 
"  Oh,  if  such  ni;tgic  pow'r  there  be, 

"  This,  this,"  he  cried,  "  is  all  my  prayer, 
"To  paint  tliat  living  light  I  see, 

**  Aud  fix  the  soul  thai  sparkles  there." 

His  prayer,  as  soon  as  breaihM,  was  heard  j 

His  pallet,  toucb'd  by  Ldve,  grew  warm, 
And  Painiingsaw  her  hues  franaferr'd 

Front  Ijfeless  flower^  to  woman's  form. 
Still  as  from  tint  to  tint  he  stole, 

Thft  fair  design  shone  out  the  more. 
And  there  was  now  a  life,  a  soul, 

Where  only  colours  glow'd  before 

Then  first  carnations  learn'd  to  speafe, 

And  lilies  into  life  were  brought; 
While,  mantling  on  the  maiden's  cheek, 

Youn?  roses  kindled  into  thought. 
Then  hyacinths  their  darkest  dyes 

Upon  the  locks  of  Reanty  threw; 
And  violets,  transform'd  to  eyes, 

Eushiin'd  a  soul  within  their  blue. 

CHORUS. 

Blfst  be  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
All  that's  fafr  and  bright  below. 
Sing  was  cold  and  Faintingdim 
Till  song  and  Fainiing  h:aru*d  from  him. 


Soon  as  the  scene  had  closfd,  a  cheer 

Of  genile  voices,  old  and  vo'jEg, 
Rose  frnni  the  groups  'hat  stood  to  bear 

This  tale  of  yore  so  aptly  sung; 
And  while  some  nymphs,  in  h  iste  to  tell 
The  workers  of  Ihat  fairy  gpell 
How  crown'd  with  praise  their  task  had  been, 
Stole  in  behind  the  curtainM  scene. 
The  res',  in  h^ppv  converse  siray'd  — 

Talking  Iha'  ancient  iove-'ale  o'er  — 
Some,  to  the  groves  Ihat  skirt  the  ghde, 

Some,  to  Ihe  chai)el  by  the  shore, 
To  loi.k  what  lights  were  on  the  sea, 
And  think  of  the'  absent  silently. 

But  soon  that  summons,  known  so  well 

Thioiigh  bower  and  hall,  in  Eastern  lands, 
Whose  sound,  more  sure  than  gong  or  bell, 
hovers  and  slaves  alike  commands, — 
The  cl:ippingof  young  fema'e  hands, 
Calls  back  the  groups  from  rock  and  field 
To  see  some  new-fnrm'd  scene  reveal'd  ;  — 
And  fleet  and  eager,  down  the  slopes 
Of  Ihe  ereen  glade,  like  antelopes, 
When,  in  lheir\hirs(,  they  hear  Ihe  sound 
Of  distant  rills,  the  light  nymphs  bound. 

Far  different  now  the  scene  — a  waste 
Of  Libyan  s  smds,  by  moonlight's  ray; 

An  ancieiit  well,  whereon  were  traced. 
The  warning  words,  for  such  as  siray 
Unarmed  there,  '•  Drink  and  away  1"  i 

While,  near  it.  from  the  nisht-ray  screen'd, 
And  like  his  bells,  in  hush'd  repose, 

A  cimel  slept  — young  as  if  wean'd 
When  last  the  star,  Canopus,  rose.* 


1  The  traveller  Shaw  mentions  a  beautiful  rill  in 
Barbery,  which  is  received  into  a  large  basin  called 
S/iJ-ub  wee  knib,  "Drink  and   away"— there  being 
great  danger  of  mee  ing  with  thieves  and  assassioi,  ' 
such  places. 

*  The  Arabiin  shepherd  has  a  peculiir  ceremony 
weaning  the  voung  camel:  when  the  proper  tii 
arrives,  he  turns  the  cimel  towards  the  rismg  s': 
i  Cauppus,  a;id  says,  "  Do  you  see  Canopus?  iu.izi  tl 


3  huo 


Such  was  the  back-ground*3  silent  scene;— 

While  nearer  lay,  fast  slumbering  too, 
In  a  rude  tent,  wiih  brow  serene, 
A  youth  whose  cheeks  of  way- 
And  pilgrini-bonnet,  told  the  tale 
Tha'  he  had  been  to  Mecca's  Vale: 
Haply  in  pleasant  dreams,  ev'n  now 
Thinking  the  long-wish'd  hour  h  come 
When,  o'er  the  well-known  porch  at  home, 
His  hand  shall  hang  the  aloe  bough  — 
Trophy  of  his  accomplish'd  vow, 3 

But  brief  his  dream  — for  now  the  call 

Of  the  camp-chiefs  from  rear  to  van, 
"  Bind  on  your  burdens,"  *  wakes  up  all 

The  u  idely  slumbering  caravan  j 
And  thus  meanwhile,  to  greet  the  ear 

Of  the  young  pilgrim  as  he  wakes, 
The  s'jng  of  one  who,  lingering  near. 

Had  waich'd  his  slumber,  cbeerly  breaks. 


SONG. 


Up  a' d  march  1  Ihe  timbrel's  sound 
Wakes  the  slumb'ring  c^mp  around  j 
Fleet  thy  hour  of  rest  hath  gone, 
Armed  sleeper,  up,  and  on  ! 
Long  and  weary  is  our  way 
O'er  Ihe  burning  sands  lo-day  ; 
But  to  pilgrim's  homeward  feet 
Ev'n  the  desert's  path  is  sweeU 

When  we  lie  af  dead  of  night, 
Looking  up  -o  heaven's  light. 
Hearing  but  the  watchman's  tone 
Faintly  chantm^  "God  is  one,"* 
Oh  what  Ih'iUKhts  then  o'er  us  come 
Of  our  dist  ml  vil^tge-home, 
Where  that  chant,  when  evening  se'a. 
Sounds  from  all  the  mioarets. 

Cheer  thee!  —  soon  shall  signal  lights, 
Kindling  o'er  (he  Red-Sea  heights. 
Kindling  quick  from  man  to  man, 
ifbiil  our  coming  caravan  :  s 
Think  what  bliss  thai  hour  will  be  I 
Looks  of  home  again  to  see. 
And  our  names  again  to  hear 
Murmui'd  out  ty  voices  dear. 


So  pass'd  the  desert  dream  away, 
Fleeting  as  his  who  heard  this  lay. 
Nor  long  the  pause  between,  nor  moved 

The  spell  bound  audience  from  that  spolj 
While  still,  as  usual,  Fancy  roved 

On  to  the  joy  that  yet  was  not  j— 
Fancy,  who  ha'h  no  present  home, 
But  builds  her  bower  in  scenes  to  come. 


3  *'  Whoever  returns  fmm  a  pilgrimaje  to  Mecca 
hangs   this    plant   (the   mitreshaped    Aloe)   over 
street  door,  as  a  token  of  his  having  performed  this 
holy  journey."  — Hasselquixt. 

4  This  form  of  notice  (o  the  caravans  to  prepare  for 
marching  was  applied  by  Haftz  to  the  necessity  of  i 
linqui-hing  the  pleasures  of  this  world,  and  preparing 
for  death:  —  "  For  me  what  room  is  there  for  plea- 
sure in  the  bower  of  Beauty,  when  every  moment  the 
bell  makes  proclamation,  *  Bind  on  your  burdens  ?'" 

5  The  watchmen,  in  the  camp  of  (he  caravans,  go 
their  rounds,  crying  one  after  another,  *'  God  is  Cue," 
&c.  &c. 

6  "It  was  customary,"  sayi  Irwin.  **  to  light  op 
fires  on  the  monntair...  wMhin'viewof  Cosseir,  logive 
notice  of  the  approach  of  the  caravans  that  caoia  Irou 
the  Nile." 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


221 


Walking  for  ever  in  s  light 

That  flows  from  regions  out  of  sight. 

But  see,  by  gradual  dawn  descried, 
A  mJuiitain  realm— nigged  as  e'er 
Upraised  to  heav'n  its  summits  bare, 

Or  told  to  earth,  with  frown  of  i-ride, 
That  Freedom's  falcon  nest  was  Uiere, 

To*^  high  for  hand  of  lord  or  king 

To  nood  her  brow,  or  chain  her  wing, 

»Tis  Maina's  land— her  ancient  hills, 

The  aluide  of  nymphs  i —her  countless  rills 

And  torrents,  in  ibeir  downward  da^h 

Shining,  like  silver,  ihrough  the  shade 
Of  the  sea-pine  and  flowering  ash — 

All  with  a  tru'h  so  fresh  pnurtray'd 
As  wants  but  touch  of  Itle  to  be 
A  world  of  warm  reality. 

And  now,  light  bounding  forth,  a  band 

Of  moumaineers,  all  smile^,  ndvance^ 
Nymphs  with  their  lovers,  hand  in  hand, 

XJnk'd  in  the  Ariadne  dai;ce  j  a 
And  while,  apart  from  that  gav  throng, 
A  rr.instrel  ynuth,  in  viried  song, 
Tells  of  the  loves,  ftie  joys,  the  ilia 
Of  the^e  wild  cliildren  of  the  hills, 
The  rest  by  tu'ns,  or  fierce  or  gay, 
As  war  or  sport  inspires  the  hy, 
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, 
Wheie,  throned  above  Ihi-i  world,  he  hears 

Its  strife  at  dis'ancedle. 
Or,  should  the  sound  of  hostile  drum 
Proclaim  below,  *•  We  come  —  we  come," 
Each  crag  'hit  totvers  in  air 
Gives  answer,  '*  Come  who  dare  I" 
While,  like  bees,  from  dell  and  dingle, 
Swifl  the  swaiming  warriors  mingle, 
And  their  cry  "  Hurra!"  will  be, 
*'Huri-a,  to  victory  I'* 

Then,  when  battle's  hour  is  over, 

See  Ihe  happy  mountain  lover. 

With  the  nymph,  who  '||  soon  be  bride. 

Sealed  blushing  by  his  side,— 

Every  shadow  of  his  lot 

In  her  suimy  '^mile  forgot. 

Oh.  no  life  is  like  the  nr  untaineer's, 

His  home  is  near  the  sky. 
Where,  throned  above  this'world,  he  hears 


ItE 


Nor  only  thus  through  summer  suni 
His  blithe  existence  cheerly  runs  — 
Ev'n  winter,  h\e:xk  and  dim, 
Bring,  joyous  hours  to  him; 
When,  his  nrte  behind  him  flinging. 
He  watches  the  roe-buck  spiinging. 
And  away,  o'er  the  bills  aw.y^  ^* 
Re-echoes  his  glad  "  hurra." 

Then  how  hies',  when  ni^ht  is  closing, 

By  the  kindled  hearth  reposing. 

To  his  rebeck's  drowsv  song. 

He  beguiles  the  hour  al"ng  ; 

Or.  provoked  bv  merrv  elances, 

To  a  brisker  movement  dances. 


a  See,  tor 
veli 

L .=zz 


■  virgiiiibus  bacchala  I.aconis 
account  of  this  dance,  De  Guy's  Tra- 


Till,  weary  at  last,  in  slumber's  chain 

He  dreanis  o'er  chase  and  dance  agaiUi 

Dreams,  dreams  them  o'er  agaic. 


As  slow  that  minstrel,  at  Ihe  close, 
Sunk,  while  he  sun?,  to  feign'd  repose, 
Aptly  did  'hey,  whose  niiniic  art 

FolUnv'd  tlie  changes  of  his  lay, 
Pourlray  the  lull,  Ihe  nod,  the  start, 

Through  which,  as  faintly  died  aivay 
His  lute  and  voice,  the  minstrel  pass'd, 
'T  ill  voice  and  lule  lay  bush'd  at  last. 

But  now  far  other  son^  came  o'er 

Their  startled  eats  —  song  that,  at  first. 
As  solemnly  the  night-wiiid  bore 

Across  the  wave  its  mournful  burst, 
Seern'd  to  the  fancy,  like  a  dirge 

Of  some  lone  Spirit  of  the  Sea, 
Singing  o'er  Helle's  ancient  surge 

"The  requiem  of  her  Brave  and  Free. 

Sudden,  amid  their  pastime,  pause 

The  wondering  ii\  inphs  ;  and,  as  Ihe  sound 

Of  that  strange  music  nearer  draws, 
Willi  mute  enquiring  eye  look  round. 

Asking  each  o'her  what  can  be 

The  souice  of  this  sad  minstrelsv  ? 

Nor  longer  can  they  doubt,  the  song 
Comes  from  some  island-bark,  which  now 

Courses  the  bright  waves  swifl  along, 
And  siion,  perh.ips,  benea  h  Ihe  bro.v 
Of  Ihe  Saint's  Hock  will  shool  its  prow. 

Instantly  all,  with  hearts  that  sich'd 
'Twixl  fear's  and  fancv's  influence. 
Flew  lo  Ihe  rock,  and  saw  fioni  thence 
A  red-saii'd  pinnace  tow'rds  Ihem  glide, 
Whose  shadow,  as  il  swept  the  spiay, 
Scaiier'd  Ihe  moonlight's  smiles  away. 
Soon  as  the  mariners  saw  that  ihroirg 

From  the  cliff  gazing,  young  and  old 

Sudden  they  slack 'd  their  sail  and  song; 

And,  while  their  pinnace  idly  roll'd 

On  the  light  surge,  these  tidings  told : 

'T  was  from  an  isle  of  mournful  name, 
From  Missoloiighi.  last  Ihey  cam-, — 
Sad  Missoloiighi,  sorrowing  yet 
O'er  him,  the  noblest  S'ar  of  Fame 

Thai  e'er  in  life's  young  glory  set !  — 
And  now  were  on  their  mournful  way, 

Wafting  Ihe  news  through  Helle's  isles  ;  — 
News  that  wouM  cloud  ev'n  Freedom's  ray. 

And  sadden  Victory  'mid  her  smiles. 
Their  tale  thus  told,  and  heard,  wiih  pain, 
Out  spread  thegalliol's  \\  ings  again  J 
And,  as  she  sped  her  swift  career, 
A^ain  tha'  livmn  rose  on  Ihe  ear  — 
"Thou  art  nnt  dead— Ihou  ait  not  dead  !  " 

As  oft  'I  was  sung,  in  azes  flown. 
Of  him,  the  Aihen.an,  who.  to  shed 

A  tyrant's  blood,  pour'd  out  his  own. 


SONG. 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  !  3 

No.  dearest  Harmodiu.,  no. 
Thy  soul,  to  realms  above  us  fled, 
Thnugh.  like  a  star,  il  dwells  o'erhead, 

Still  lights  this  world  below. 
Thou  art  not  dead  —  'hou  art  not  dead  I 

No.  dearest  Ilarniodiis.  no. 
Through  isles  of  light,  where  heroes  tread 

And  flowers  ethereal  oiow, 

■  4tXTa0'  'ApfioSt*  ovmt  jcQvqKu^, 


19* 


222 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


Thy  god-like  Spirit  now  is  led, 
Thy  Up,  with  life  ainhrosiai  fed, 

i'orgels  all  laste  of  woe. 
Thou  art  not  dead  —  tlinu  art  not  dead  ! 

HOf  deare&t  ilariiiodius,  iiO. 

The  myrtle,  round  that  falchion  spread 
Which  struck  the  mimortal  blow, 

Throughuut  ail  time,  with  leaves  unshed  — 

The  patriot's  hope,  the  tyrant's  dread  — 
Kouod  Freedom's  shrine  shall  grow. 

Thuu  an  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  1 
J*to,  dearest  Harinodius,  no. 

Where  hearts  like  thine  have  broke  or  bled, 
Though  quench'd  the  vital  glow, 

Their  memory  lights  a  tiame,  instead, 

Which,  ev'u  Irnm  out  the  narrow  bed 
Of  death  Us  beams  shall  throw. 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  I 
Mo,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Thy  name,  by  myriads  sung  and  said, 

from  age  to  age  shall  go, 
Long  as  the  oak  and  ivy  wed, 
As  bees  shall  haunt  Hymetius*  head, 

Or  Helle's  waters  How. 
Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead! 

^o,  dearest  harmodms,  uo. 


'Mong  those  who  Hnger'd  listening  there, — 

ListeiJing,  with  ear  and  eye,  as  long 
As  breath  of  night  could  tow'rds  them  bear 

A  murmur  of  that  mournful  song,— 
A  few  there  were,  in  whom  the  lay 

Had  call'd  up  feelmgs  far  too  sad 
To  pass  with  the  Lrief  strain  away, 

Or  turn  at  once  to  theme  more  glad; 
And  who,  in  mood  untuned  to  meet 

The  light  laugh  of  the  happier  tiatn, 
Wander'd  to  seek  some  moonlight  seat 
Where  they  might  rest,  in  converse  sweet, 

Till  vanish'd  smiles  should  come  again. 
And  seldom  «'er  hath  noon  of  night 
To  sadness  lent  mure  soothing  light. 
On  one  side,  in  the  daik  blue  sky, 
Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eye 
Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  oiher, 

'Mopg  tiny  s  ars  that  round  her  gleam'd, 
The  young  moon,  like  the  Ronian  mother 

Among  her  living  "jewels,"  beamed. 

Touch'd  by  the  lovely  scenes  around, 
A  pensive  maid  —one  who,  though  young, 

Had  known  what  'twas  to  see  unwound 
'I'he  ties  by  which  her  heart  had  clung  — 

Waken'd  her  soft  tanibuura's  sound. 
And  to  its  faint  accords  thus  sung:  — 


SONG, 

Calm  as,  beneath  its  mother's  eyes, 

In  sleep  the  smiling  infant  lies, 

So,  watch'd  by  all  the  stars  of  night. 

Yon  landscape  sleeps  in  light. 

And  while  the  ni«ht-breezedies  away. 

Like  relics  of  (iome  faded  strain, 
Loved  voice*,  lost  for  many  a  day, 

Seem  whispering  roui  d  a^ain. 
Oh  youth  !  oh  love  !  ye  dreams,  that  shed 
Such  glory  once— where  are  ye  lied? 

Pure  ray  of  light  that,  down  the  sky. 
Art  pointing,  like  an  angel's  wand, 

As  if  to  guide  to  realms  that  lie 
In  that  bright  sea  beyond  : 


Who  knows  but,  in  some  brighter  deep 
'Jhan  even  that  tranquil,  moon-lit  main. 

Some  land  may  lie,  wheie  those  who  weep 
Shall  wake  to  smile  again! 


With  cheeks  that  had  regain'd  their  power 
And  play  of  smiles,— and  each  bright  eye. 

Like  violets  after  morning's  shower, 
The  blighter  for  the  tears  gone  by. 

Back  to  the  scene  such  smiles  should  grace 

These  wandering  nymphs  their  path  retrace, 

And  reach  the  spot,  with  rapture  new 

Just  as  the  veils  asunder  flew, 

And  a  fresh  vision  burst  to  view. 

There,  by  her  own  bright  Attic  flood, 
The  bh.e-ey'd  Queen  of  Wisdom  stood  ;— 
Not  as  she  haunts  the  sage's  dreams, 

Wiih  trow  unveii'd,  divine,  severe; 
But  Roften'd.  as  on  birds  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  stern  features,  gently  sings. 

But  who  is  he  —  ihat  urchin  nigh, 

With  quiver  on  the  ro^e-trees  hung, 
Who  seems  just  dropp'd  from  yonder  sky. 
And  stands  to  watch  Ihat  maid,  with  eye 

So  full  of  thought,  for  one  so  young?  — 
Thatchild  — but,  silence!  lend  thine  ear. 
And  thus  in  song  the  tale  thou  'It  hear :  — 


SONG, 


As  Love,  one  summer  eve,  was  strayinj. 

Who  should  he  see,  ai  that  soft  hour, 
But  young  Minerva,  gravely  playing 

Her  flute  within  an  olive  bower. 
I  need  not  say,  't  is  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  given 

To  learned  dames  his  smiles  or  sighs, 
So  handsome  Pallas  lonk'd,  that  even. 

Love  quite  forgot  the  niaid  was  wise. 
Besides,  a  youth  of  his  discerning 

Knew  well  that,  by  a  shady  rill, 
At  sunset  hour,  whaie'er  her  learning, 

A  woman  will  be  woman  siill. 

Her  flute  he  praised  in  terms  exiatic, — 
Wishing  it  dumb,  nor  cared  how  soon  ;— 

For  Wisdoni'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  thrill 

As,  weak  or  wise  —  it  doesn't  matter- 
Woman,  at  heart,  is  woman  still. 

Love  changed  his  plan,  with  warmth  exclaimioj 

"  How  rosy  was  her  lips*  soft  dye  !'* 
And  much  tha'  flute,  the  flatterer,  blaming, 

For  twisting  lips  so  sweet  awry. 
The  nymph  look  d  down,  beheld  her  features 

Reflected  in  the  passing  rill. 
And  started,  shock  d—  for,  ah,  ye  creatures! 

£v'u  when  divine,  you  're  women  still. 

Quick  from  the  lips  it  made  so  odious 

1  hat  graceless  flute  the  Goddess  took, 
And,  white  yet  filPd  wjlh  breaih  melodious, 

Flung  it  into  the  glassy  brook  ; 
Where,  as  its  vocal  life  was  fleeting 

Adown  the  current,  faint  and  shrill, 
T  was  heard  in  plaintive  tone  repeating, 

*'  Woman,  alas,  vain  woman  sliU  !'* 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


223 


Ad  inttrvfti  of  dark  repose  — 

Such  as  the  sniumer  hgliini'  g  knows, 

'Tvvixt  rtabh  and  Hash  as  slill  more  bright 

The  quick  revealment  comes  and  goca, 
Op'-uiiig  c.ich  lime  the  veila  of  mghl, 
To  show,  wilhiu,  a  world  of  Ii2;hi  — 
Such  pause,  so  brief,  now  p.iss'd  between 
This  last  ^^y  vhwn  and  the  scene, 

Which  now  its  depth  of  li^ht  disclosed. 
A  bower  it  seenrd,  an  Indian  bower, 

Wiitiin  whose  shade  a  D>mph  reposed, 
Sleeping  away  uoim's  sunny  hour  — 
J-ovciy  as  she,  the  hrnte,  who  weaves 
ller  mansion  of  sweet  Duiva  leaves, 
And  there,  as  Indian  legends  say, 
Drcama  the  long  summer  hours  away. 
And  mark,  how  chaim'd  thi^  sleeper  seems 
Wiih  some  hid  fancy  — hhe,  too,  dreams! 
Oh  for  \  Wizard's  art  to  tetl 

The  wonders  that  now  ble^s  her  sight  I 
'T  is  done  —  a  true.,  hfdier  spell 
Than  e'er  from  wizard's  lip  yel  fell 

'i'bus  brings  her  vision  all  to  light; 


SONG, 


•'  Who  comes  so  gracefully 

"  Glidmg  alou?, 
"  Wliile  Ihe  blue  rivulet 

*' Sleeps  t')  her  song  j 
•'Song,  richly  vying 
"  Wiih  the  faint  sighing 
"  Which  swans,  in  dying', 

**  Sweetly  prolong  ?'* 

So  sung  Ihe  shepherd-boy 

By  the  stream's  side, 
W;itching  that  fairy  boat 

Down  the  flood  glide, 
t,ike  a  bird  winging. 
Through  the  waves  bringing 
That  Syren,  sitieing 

To  the  hush'd  tide. 

"  Stay,"  said  Ihe  shepherd-boy, 

**  Fairy-boat,  stay, 
** Linger,  sv\eet  minstrelsy, 

"  Linger,  a  day." 
But  vain  his  pleading, 
Fast  him,  unheeding. 
Song  and  tioat,  speeding, 

Glided  away. 

So  to  our  youthful  eyes 
Joy  and  h^'pe  shone  ; 

So,  while  we  gazed  on  them, 
Fast  they  flew  on  j — 

Like  Ilowers.  declining 

Ev'n  in  the  twinintr, 

One  moment  shining, 
And,  Ihe  next,  gone  I 


Soon  as  the  imagined  dreim  went  bv, 
Uprove  the  nyniph,  wiih  anxious  eye 
Turnd  to  Ihe  clouds,  as  though  some  boon 

She  wailed  from  that  sun-biisiht  dome, 
And  marveird  that  i(  came  nt)t  soon 

As  her  young  thnugh's  would  have  it  come. 
But  joy  is  ill  her  glance  !  —  the  wiug 

Of^a  white  bird  is  seen  above  ; 
And  oh.  if  round  his  neck  he  bring 

The  ^ong-wi^h'd  tidings  from  her  love, 
Not  half  so  precious  in  her  eyes 

Ev'n  that  high-omen'd  bird  i  would  be, 
Who  dooms  the  brow  o'er  which  he  tlies 

To  wear  a  crown  of  Royalty. 


>  The  Huma. 


She  had  h 

Tl 


lUtdi 


elf,  last  ( 


elemeut. 


le  walch'd  till,  lessening  out  of  sight, 
F.ir  lo  the  golden  West  it  went, 
WaflJiig  to  hint,  her  dis'ant  love, 

A  missive  in  that  language  wrought 
Which  ilowers  can  speak,  when  aptly  wove, 

Each  hue  a  word,  each  leaf  a  thought. 

And  now  — oh  speed  of  pinion,  known 
'J'o  Love's  light  messengers  alone  1  — 

Its  farewell  of  the  golden  lakes, 

She  sees  another  envoy  fly, 

With  the  Wish'd  answer,  through  the  sky. 


Welcome,  sweet  bird,  through  the  sunny  air  wi  f 
ingi 

Swiff  liast  thou  come  o'er  Ihe  far-shining  sea, 
Like  Seba's  dove,  on  thy  snowy  neck  bringing 

Love's  written  vows  from  my  lover  to  me. 
Oh,  in  thy  absence,  wlial  hours  did  I  uuuib*» '.  -^ 

Sa>  ing  oft,  "  Idle  bird,  how  could  he  rest  ?" 
But  thou  art  come  at  lasl,  take  now  thy  slumber, 

And  lull  thee  in  dreams  of  all  thou  lov'st  best. 

Yet  dost  thou  droop  —  even  now  while  I  uff er 
Love's  happy  welcome,  thy  puUe  dies  away  ; 

Cheer  ihee,  my  bird  —  were'il  life's  ebbing  flutter, 
This  fondling  bosom  should  woo  it  to  slay. 

But  no—  thouVt  dying— thy  last  task  is  over- 
Farewell,  sweet  martyr,  to  Love  and  to  me  '. 

The  smiles  thou  hast   wakend  by  news  from  mv 
lover,  ■' 

Will  now  all  be  turn'd  into  weeping  for  thee. 


While  thus  this  scene  of  snng  (their  last 
For  the  sweet  sunmier  season)  pass'd, 
A  few  presiding  nymphs,  whose  care 

Waich'd  overall,  invisibly. 
As  do  those  guardian  sprites  of  air. 

Whose  watch  we  feel,  but  cannot  see. 
Had  from  Ihe  circle— scarcely  miss'd, 

Ere  they  were  sparkling  there  again  — 
Glided,  like  fairies,  to  assist 

Their  handmaids  on  the  moonlight  plaia 
Where,  hid  by  intercepling  shade 

From  the  strav  glance  of  curious  eyes, 
A  feast  of  frui  s'and  wines  was  laid 

Soon  to  shine  out,  a  glad  surprise  I 

And  now  the  moon,  her  ark  of  light 

S'eering  throuih  Heav'n,  as  though  she  bor« 
In  safely  llimugh  that  deep  of  night. 
Spirits  of  earth,  the  good,  the  bright, 

To  some  remote  immortal  shore, 
Had  half-nay  sped  her  glonous  way. 

When,  round  reclined  on  hillocks  green, 
In  groups.  bene.a'h  thai  Iramiuil  rav, 

'i  tie  Zeans  at  their  feast  were  seen. 
Cavuas  Ihe  pic  ure-uvery  maid 
Wh-'in  la'e  the  lighted  i-rcne  display'd, 
Slill  in  her  fancy  gaibarray'd  ;  — 
1  he  Artbian  pilgrim,  smiling  here 

Be  ide  the  nymph  ol  India's  sky; 
White  'here  tile  Mainiote  mountaineer 
Whi-.per"d  in  young  Mineiv  I's  ear. 

And  urchin  Love  stood  laughing  by. 

Meantime  the  elders  round  the  boarri, 

By  ninth  and  wit  themselves  made  young. 

High  cups  (if  juice  Zacyn'hian  pour'd, 
Aud,  while  the  flask  went  round,  thus  sung :  - 


29A 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


Up. 


»giii 


■1  wixt  the  tluodanil  brii 
When  hath  the  world  ^el  eyes  on 

Aughl  to  ii.alch  ihis  hgiit, 
Winch,  o'er  our  cujj's  horizon, 

Dawns  ia  bumpers  blight? 

Truth  ill  a  deep  well  Helh  — 

So  tilt  wise  aver: 
But  Truth  ihc  fictdenielh  — 

Water  suits  not  her. 
No,  her  abode's  in  brimmers, 

Like  this  mighty  cup  — 
Waiting  till  ive,  good  swimmers, 

Dive  to  bring  her  up. 


Thus  circled  round  the  snn^  of  glefi, 
And  all  was  tutiefJ  mi-th  Ihe  while, 
Save  on  ilie  cht-eks  of  some,  whose  smile, 

As  fix'd  ihey  gaze  upon  tlie  se:i, 

Turns  into  paleness  suddenly  ! 

What  see  they  there?  a  bright  blue  light 
That,  like  a  me  eor,  glidme;  o'er 

The  distant  wave,  grows  on  The  sight. 
As  though  *t  were  winged  to  Zea  s  ghore. 

To  some,  'mon?  those  who  came  to  gaze, 

It  seem'd  ihe  niglii-lght*  far  away, 
Of  some  lone  fisher,  by  ihe  blaze 

Of  pine  loich,  luring  on  his  prey; 
While  others,  as,  '(wixt  awe  and  mirth. 

They  breatli'd  the  bless'd  Panaya's  »  name, 
VowM  that  such  light  was  n"t  of  earih, 

But  of  that  drear,  iH-omen'd  flame, 
Which  mariners  see  on  sail  or  mast, 
When  Death  h  coming  in  the  blast. 
While  marvelling  thus  they  stood,  a  maid, 

Who  sate  apar'.  with  downcast  eye, 
Nor  yet  h-id,  like  (he  lesl,  surveyed 

That  coming  light  which  now  was  njgh, 
Soon  as  it  met  her  sight,  with  cry 

Of  pain-like  joy,  '■ '  I  is  he  !  't  is  he  !  " 
Loud  she  exdami'd,  and,  hurrving  by 

The  assembled  thnng.  rush'd  (ow'rds  the  sea. 
At  bur.-t  so  wild,  alarm'd,  amazed, 
All  stood,  like  statues,  mute,  and  gazed 
Inio  each  other's  eyes,  to  seek 
What  meant  such  mood,  in  maid  so  meek? 

Till  now.  the  tale  wa^  known  to  few, 
Bui  now  from  lip  to  lip  it  flew:  — 
A  youth,  the  flower  of  all  the  band, 

Who  lale  had  left  ihis  sunny  i.hore, 
When  last  he  kis^M  th-t  maiden's  hand, 

Lingering,  to  kiss  it  o'ei  and  o'er, 
By  his  sid  brow  too  plainly  told 

The  ill-onii-n'd  th'.ught  which  cross'd  him  thei 
That  once  those  han-Is  should  lose  their  hold, 

They  ne'er  would  meet  i 


In^ 


Lin  h\i 


nistn 


■trt  from  Self  as  free 


But  wit 

As  zeuf 

VeiiM  her  own  fears  to  l>anish  his;  — 

Willi  frank  lebuke,  but  still  more  vain, 
Did  a  rnugh  warrior,  \\  h<i  stood  by, 

Call  to  hi.  inird  this  maMial  strain. 
His  favouriie  oucb,  ere  Beauti's  eve 
Had  taught  his  soldier-heart  to  sigh  :  — 


1  The  name  which  the  Greeks  give  to  the  Virgin 
Marv. 


SONG. 

March  !  nnr  heed  those  arms  that  hold  the^ 

Though  so  fondly  close  ihey  come; 
Closer  still  will  they  enfold  thee, 

When  thou  bring'sl  fresh  l-turels  home. 
Dost  thou  do(e  on  woman's  brow? 

Dost  Ihou  live  but  in  her  breath? 
M^rch  !  —  one  hour  of  victory  now 

Wins  thee  woman's  smile  till  death. 

Oh,  whit  bliss,  when  war  is  over, 

Beauty's  long-miss'd  smile  to  meet, 
And,  when  wreaths  our  temples  cover, 

Lay  them  shining  at  her  feet. 
Who  would  not.  that  hour  to  reach, 

Breathe  out  life's  expiring  sigh, — 
Proud  as  waves  that  on  the  beach 

Lay  their  war-crests  down,  and  die. 

There  !  I  see  thy  soul  is  burning- 
She  heiself,  who  clasps  thee  so. 

Paints,  ev'n  now,  thy  glad  reiurning, 
And,  while  clasping,  bids  thee  go. 

One  deep  sigh,  (o  passion  given, 
One  last  gluwmg  tear  and  then  — 

March  '.  —  nor  rest  thy  sword,  till  Heaveu 
Brings  thee  to  those  aims  again. 


Even  then,  ere  loth  their  hands  could  part, 

A  promise  the  you^h  gave,  which  bore 
Some  balm  unto  the  maiden's  heart, 

Thas  soon  as  the  fierce  li^ht  was  o'er, 
To  hnme  he  'd  speed,  if  safe  and  free  — 

Nav.  ev'n  if  d\ing,  still  would  come, 
So  the  blest  word  of  **  Victoiy  !" 

Might  be  Ihe  last  he  'd  breathe  at  home. 
*'  By  day,"  he  cried,  "  Ihou  'It  know  my  bark  ; 
•'  Hut,  slmuld  I  come  through  midnight  dark, 
*'A  blue  light  on  the  prow  shall  tell 
*'That  Greece  hath  won,  and  all  is  well  1» 

Fondly  thje  maiden,  every  night. 
Had  stolen  to  seek  "hat  promised  light; 
Nor  long  her  eyes  had  now  been  turned 
From  Witching,  when  the  bignal  burn'd. 
Signal  of  jnv  —  for  her,  for  all  — 

Fleeilv  the  boat  now  nears  the  land, 
While  voices,  from  the  shore-edge,  call 

For  lidings  of  the  long-wish'd  band. 

Oh.  the  blest  hour,  when  those  who  ^ve  been 

Thiough  peril's  paths  by  land  or  sea, 
Lockd  in  our  arms  ag.iin  are  seen 

When  heart  to  heart  we  fondly  strain, 
Questioning  quickly  o'er  and  o'er  — 

Then  hnid  them  oft;  to  gaze  again. 
And  a^k.  though  answet'd  oft  before, 
If  thej',  indeed,  are  ours  once  more  ? 

Such  is  the  scene,  so  full  of  joy, 
VVhich  welcomes  now  this  warrior-boy. 
As  fahers.  sisteis,  friends  all  run 
Bounding  to  meet  him  —  all  but  oue, 
Who,  slowest  on  his  neck  to  fall. 
Is  yet  the  happiest  of  them  all. 

And  now  behold  him,  circled  round 

Wiih  beaming  faces,  at  that  b  ard, 
While  cups,  with  l-.urel  foliage  crown'd, 

Are  to  Ihe  coming  waniors  pourM  — 
Coming,  a^  l:e,  their  her. Id,  told. 

With  blades  from  vic'ory  scarce  yet  cold, 
Wi^h  hetrts  untouch'd  by  Moslem  s'eel, 
And  wounds  that  home's  sweet  breath  will  heal. 

•'  Ere  morn."  said  he,— and,  while  he  spoke, 
Tu'n'd  to  Ihe  east,  where,  clear,  and  pale, 

The  star  of  dawn  alre^dv  broke  — 
'*  We  'll  greet,  on  yonder  wave,  their  sail  I" 


LEGENDARY   BALLADS. 


225 


Then,  wherefore  part?  all,  all  agree 

'i'o  wait  them  here,  beneath  this  bower; 
Aral  thus,  while  even  iiiiidst  iheir  glee, 
t.  irh  eye  is  turn'd  lo  watch  the  sea, 
With  sODg  liicy  cheer  the  anxious  hour. 


SONG. 


"Tis  (he  Vine!  'tis  the  Vine  I"  said  the  cup-loving 
boy. 

As  he  saw  it  spring  bright  from  the  earth, 
And  caird  ihe  young  Genii  of  Wit,  Love,  and  Joy, 

To  wiuiess  and  hallow  ii5  binh. 
The  fruit  w.is  full  grown,  like  a  ruby  it  flamed 

Ti'.l  the  sun-beam  that  kiss'd  it  louk'd  pale : 
**'Tia  the  Vine!  'tis  Ihe  Vine!"   ev'iy  Spirit  ex- 
claiiii'd, 

"  Hill,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail  I ' 

First,  (leet  as  a  bird,  to  Ihe  summons  VVit  flew, 
Wiiile  a  light  nil  the  vine-leaves  there  broke, 

In  flashes  so  quick  and  so  brilliant,  all  knew 
'T  n'as  the  light  froui  his  lips  as  he  spoke. 


"Bright  Iree  !  let  Ihy  nectar  but  cheer  me,"  he  cneJ, 
"And  the  fount  of  Wit  never  can  f  .il  :" 

"Tis   the  Vine!   'tis   the  Vine !"  hills  aud  valleyt 
reply, 
"Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine-tree,  all  hail !" 

Next,  Love,  as  he  leanM  o'er  the  plan  'to  admire 

Each  tendril  and  clusler  it  wore. 
From  his  rosy  mouth  sent  such  a  breath  of  desire, 

Ab  made  the  Iree  tienible  all  '.'ir. 
Oh,  never  did  flower  of  ihe  earth,  sea,  or  sky, 

Such  a  soul-giving  odoui  inhale: 
"'T  is  ihe  Vine  !  'tis  the  Vine  !"  all  re-echo  the  crv, 

"  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  mirth-waking  Iree  met  his  eye, 

When  a  laugh  spoke  wliaf  Joy  could  not  say  ; — 
A  liugh  of  the  heart,  which  was  echoed  around 

Till,  like  music,  it  swell'd  on  Ihe  gale; 
'"Tis  the  Vine!  'lis  the  Vine!"  laughing  myriads 
resound, 

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


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 


TO    THE    MISS    FEILDINGS, 

THIS    VOLUME   IS   INSCRIBED, 

BY     THEIR     FAITHFUL     FRIEND     AND     BERVANT, 

THOMAS    MOORE. 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 


THE    VOICE. 

It  c:ime  o'er  Jicr  sleep,  like  a  vcice  of  those  days, 
When  love,  only  love,  was  Ihe  li^l't  of  her  ways; 
And,  intt  as  in  momeiils  of  bliss  lon^  ago, 
It  wliisper'd  her  name  from  the  garden  below, 

"Alas,"  sigh'd  the  maiden,  '*ho\v  fancy  can  cheat ! 
"The  world  once  had  lips  that  could  whisper  thus 

sweet ; 
**  Rut  cold  M'nv  they  slumber  in  yon  fatal  deep, 
"Where,  nh,  that  beside  them  this  heart  (co  could 

sleep  !" 
She  sunk  on  lier  pillow—  but  no,  H  was  in  vain 
To  chase  Ihe  illusinn,  that  Voice  came  a^ain  I 
She  flew  lo  the  casement— but,  hushM  a^  the  g:ravc, 
In  moonlight  lay  slumbering  woodland  and  wave. 

"Gh,  sleep,  come  and  shield  me,"  in  anguish  she 

said, 
»'  From  that  c;ill  nf  the  buried,  that  cry  of  Ihe  Dead  !" 
And  sleep  came  around  her— bu',  starling,  she  woke, 
For  Biill  from  Ihe  garden  that  s[)irit  Voice  spoke  I 

•*I  come,"  she  exclaimed,  "be  thy  home  where  it 

may, 
"  On  earth  or  in  heaven,  that  call  I  obey ;  " 
Then  f>rlh  through  Ihe  moonlight,  with  heart  beat* 

in^  fist 
And  loud  as  a  dealh-watch,  the  pale  maiden  past. 

SjII  round  her  the  scene  all  in  Inneline'S'f  shone; 
And  still,  in  the  di-^lance,  that  Voice  led  her  on  ; 
But  whither  ^he  wander'd,  hy  wave  or  by  shore, 
None  evf:r  cculd  tell,  for  she  came  back  no  more. 


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

stood, 
That  nighi,  in  the  tower  which  overshadows  *be  flood, 
Saw  dimly,  't  is  said,  o'er  the  moon-.'ighicd  spray, 
A  youth  on  a  steed  bear  the  maiden  away. 


CUPID    AND    PSYCHE. 

They  told  her  thai  he,  to  whose  vows  she  had  listenM 
Through  night's  fleeting  hours,  was  a  Spirit  un- 
blest;  — 

Unholy  Ihe  e\es  that  beside  her  had  glisten'd, 
And  evil  the  lips  she  In  darkne^^  had  prest. 

*'  When  next  in  thy  chamber  Ihe  bridegroom  reclineth, 
"  Ri  ing  near  him  thy  lamp,  when  in  slumber  he  lies; 

'*  And  thei  e,  as  Ihe  tight  o'er  his  dark  features  shine'h, 
•*Thou'lt  see  what  a  demon  hath  won  all  Ihy  sighs!'* 

Too  fond  to  believe  them,  yet  doubling,  ye'  fearinp^. 
When  calm  lay  the  slee[ier  she  Mole  wiifc  her  light; 

And  saw  —  snclj  a  vision  !  — no  image,  apj  earing 
To  bards  iu  their  day-dreams,  was  ever  sc  bright, 

A  youth,  but  just  passing  from   childhood^s  rwM 

morning. 

While  round  him  still  linger'd  its  innocen'  ray; 

Though  gleams,  from  beneath  his  shut  eyelids  gaT* 

warning- 

Of  suDimer-noon  lightnings  that  under  them  lay. 

His  hrow  had  a  grace  more  than  mortal  around  h, 
While,  gli'ssv  as  gold  from  ■  fairy-land  mine. 

His  sunny  hair  hung,  and  the  flowers  ihai  crown'd  it 
Seeiit'fJ  fresh  from  the  breeze  of  some  garden  divine. 


226 


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 


''atraDCeJ  stood  the  bride,  on  that  miracle  gazing, 
What  late  was  Lut  love  is  idolatry  nowj 

But,  ah  —  in  her  tremor  the  fatal  lamp  raising  — 
A  sparkle  flew  from  it  and  dropp'd  on  his  brow. 

All*a  lost— with  a  start  from  his  rosy  sleep  waking. 
The  Spirit  liash'd  o'er  her  his  gaiices  uf  ftie; 

Then,  slow  from  the  clasp  of  her  snowy  arms  bre-iking, 
Thus  said,  in  a  voice  more  of  sorrow  than  ire: 

•*  Farewell— what  a  dream  thy  suspicion  hath  broken ! 

*'  Thus  ever  Ail'eclion'a  fi>nd  vision  is  crost  j 
"Dissolved  are  her  spells  when  a  doubt  is  but  spoken, 

'  *  Aud  love,  ouce  distrusted,  for  ever  is  lost ! " 


HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

•'The  night-wind  is  moaning  with  mournful  sigh, 
"There  gleameih  no  moon  in  the  misty  sky, 

"  No  star  over  Helle's  sea  j 
"Tet,  yet,  there  is  shining  one  holy  light, 
**  One  love-kmdled  star  through  the  deep  of  night, 

"  To  lead  me,  sweet  Hero,  to  thee  I  '* 

Thus  saying,  he  plunged  in  the  foamy  streami 
Stifl  fixing  his  gaze  on  that  distant  beam 

No  eye  but  a  lover's  could  see  ; 
And  still,  as  the  surge  swept  over  his  head, 
"To-mght,"  he  said  tenderly.  "  living  or  dead, 

**  Sweet  Hero,  I  '11  rest  with  thee ! " 

But  fiercer  amund  him  the  wild  waves  speed; 
Oh,  Love  !  in  that  hour  of  thy  votary's  need, 

Where,  where  could  thy  Spirit  be? 
He  struggles— be  siuke- while  ihe  hurricane^s  breath 
Bears  rudely  away  his  last  farewell  in  death  — 

"Sweet  Hero,  I  die  for  thee  I  " 


THE   LEAF  AND  THE   FOUNTAIN. 


'Tell  me,  kind  Seer,  I  pray  tbee, 
■'So  may  the  stars  obey  thee, 


'  So  may  ( 


iiry 


*  Moon-elf  and  fairy 
"Nightly  Iheir  homage  pay  thee! 
"  Say,  by  what  spell,  above,  below, 
"In  stars  that  wink  or  flowers  that  blow 

**  I  may  discover, 

"  Ere  night  is  over, 
"  Whether  my  love  loves  me,  or  no, 
"  Whether  my  love  loves  me." 

"  Maiden,  the  dark  tree  nigh  thee 
"Hath  charms  no  gold  could  buy  thee; 

"  Its  stem  enchanted, 

"By  moon-elves  planted, 
"Will  all  thou  seek'st  supply  thee. 
"Climb  to  yon  boughs  that  highest  grow, 
"Bring  thence  their  fairest  leaf  below  ; 

"And  thou'lt  di>cover, 

"  Ere  night  is  over. 
"  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee  or  no, 
"  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee," 

"  See.  up  the  dark  tree  going, 

'*  With  blossnms  round  me  blowing, 

"From  thence,  oh  Father, 

•-  This  leaf  I  gather, 
"  Fairest  that  there  is  growing. 
"Say,  by  what  sign  I  now  shill  knovT 
"If  in  this  leaf  lie  bliss  or  woe, 

"  Ami  thus  discover 

"Ere  night  is  over, 
"  Whether  niy  love  Inves  me  or  no, 
"  Whether  my  loTe  loves  me." 

"Fly  to  yon  fount  that's  welling 
"Where  iDOont>eam  ne'er  had  dwelling, 


"  Dip  in  its  water 

*•  That  leaf,  oh  Daughter, 
"  And  mark  the  tale  'I  is  telling ;  i 
"  Watch  thou  if  j.ale  or  bri.^ht  it  grow, 
'•  List  thou,  Ihe  while,  that  founlaio's  flow 

"  And  Ih'  u  'II  discnver 

**  Whether  thy  lover, 
"  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee  or  no, 
"  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee." 

Forth  (lew  the  nymph,  delighted, 
To  seek  ihat  fount  benigbled; 

Bu',  scarce  a  minute 

The  leaf  lay  in  it, 
When,  lo,  its  bloom  was  blighted  ! 
And  as  she  ask'd,  with  voice  of  woe - 
Listening,  the  while,  that  fountain's  flow  — 

"Shall  i  recover 

"  My  truant  lover?" 
The  fountain  seem'd  to  answer,  "No;" 
The  fountain  answered,  "No." 


CEFHALUS   AND   PROCRIS. 

A  hunter  once  in  that  grove  recline:!, 

To  shun  the  nnon's  bright  eye. 
And  ofi  he  wooed  the  wandering  wind. 

To  cool  his  brow  with  its  sigh. 
While  mute  lay  even  the  wild  bee's  hum, 

Nor  breath  could  stir  the  aspen's  h^ir. 
His  song  was  still  "Sweet  air,  oh  come!" 

While  Echo  answered,  "Come,  sweet  Air!" 

But,  hark,  what  sounds  from  the  thi'cktt  rise! 

VVhat  meaneih  that  rustling  spray  ? 
"'Tis  Ihe  white-hoin'd  doe,"  the  He  iter  cries, 

"I  have  sought  since  break  of  day." 
Quick  o'er  the  sunny  glade  he  springs, 

The  arrow  flies  from  his  sounding  bow, 
"Hilliho  — hiliihol"  he  gaily  sings. 

While  Echo  sighs  forth  "Hillibc  '■' 

Alas,  t  was  not  the  white-horn'd  doe 

He  saw  in  the  rustling  grove, 
But  the  bridal  veil,  as  pure  as  snow, 

Of  his  own  young  wedded  love. 
And,  ah,  too  sure  that  arrow  sped. 

For  pale  at  his  feet  he  sees  her  lie;— 
"Icie,  idie,"  was  all  she  said. 

While  Echo  murmur'd,  "1  die,  I  die!" 


YOUTH    AND    AGE. a 

"Tell  me,  what's  Love?"  said  Youth,  one  day 

To  drooping  Age,  who  crnst  his  way. — 

"  It  is  a  sunny  hour  of  play, 

*'Fur  which  repentance  dear  doth  pay; 

"Repentance!  Repentance! 
"And  this  is  Love,  as  wise  men  say." 

"Tell  me,  what 's  Love?"  said  Youth  once  moi 

Fearful,  yet  fond,  of  Age's  lore.  — 

"Soft  as  a  p^-ssing  summer's  wind, 

"  Would'st  know  the  blight  it  leaves  behind  ? 

"Repentance!  Repentance! 
"And  this  is  Love—  when  love  is  o'er." 


1  The  ancients  had  a  mode  of  divination  somewhat 
similar  to  this;  and  we  find  tlie  Emperor  Adri 
uhen  he  went  (o  consult  the  FtiLUtain  of  Castalia, 
plucking  a  bay-leaf  and  dipping  it  into  Ihe  sacred 
water. 

3  The  air,  to  which  I  have  adapted  these  words, 
was  composed  by  Mrs  Arkwright  to  some  old  verses, 
"  Tell  me  what 's  love,  kind  sheplaTd,  pray  ?"  and  it 
has  been  my  object  lo  retain  as  much  of  the  structure 
and  phraseology  of  Ihe  original  words  u  possible  | 


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 


227 


"  Tell  me.  what  H  Love  ?"  said  Youth,  agaiD 
Trusting  tne  bliss,  but  not  the  pain. 
•'Sweel  as  a  M.>y  tree's  scented  air  — 
*'  Mark  ye  what  bitler  fniii  H  will  bear, 

*' Repentance !  Repentance! 
"This,  this  is  Love  — sweel  Youih,  beware." 

Just  then,  young  Love  himself  came  by, 
And  ;a5t  ou  Youih  a  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  could  resisi  that  glance's  ray? 
In  vain  did  At^e  his  warning  say, 
'*Repen'anceI  Re[)entance !" 
Youth  laughing  went  with  Love  away. 


THE   DYING   WARRIOR 

A  wounded  chiefiain,  lying 
By  the  Danube's  le:ify  side, 

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

'T  was  then,  in  life's  last  quiver 
He  (lung  the  scarf  he  wore 

into  the  foaming  river, 

Which,  ah  loo  qmckly,  bore 
That  pledge  of  one  nu  more  1 

With  fond  impatience  burning. 
The  C:hieftain'siady  stood, 

To  watch  her  love  returning 
In  trium[)h  dou  d  the  flnod, 
Front  that  day's  field  of  blood. 

Ihif,  field,  alas,  ill-fated! 

The  lady  saw,  instead 
Of  the  bark  whose  sjieed  she  waited, 

Her  hero's  scarf,  ,^  11  red 

With  the  drops  his  heart  had  shed. 

Une  shriek  —  and  all  was  over  — 
Her  life-pulse  ceased  to  beat ; 

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


THE   MAGIC  MIRROR. 

'*  Come,  if  thy  magic  Glass  have  power 

"Tncall  upforms  wesieht.  see; 
"Show  me,  my  love,  in  that  rosy  bower, 

•*  Where  last  she  pledged  her  tiuth  to  me." 

The  Wizard  show'd  him  his  Lady  bright. 
Where  lone  and  pale  in  her  Ijo'w'r  she  lay ; 

"True-hearted  maid," said  the  happy  Knight, 
"She's  thinking  of  one,  who  is  far  away." 

But,  In  !  a  page,  with  looks  of  joy, 

Brinffs  tidings  to  the  Lady's  ear; 
•»  'T  is."  said  the  Kr.ight,  *'  ihe  same  bright  boy, 

"  Who  used  to  guide  me  to  my  dear." 

The  Lady  now,  from  her  fav'rite  tree, 

Hath,  smiling,  pluck'd  a  rosy  flower; 
"Such."  he  exclaim'd,  *•  was  the  gift  (hat  she 

*'  Each  motning  sent  me  from  that  bower  !" 

S  e  gives  her  page  the  blooming  rose. 

With  Itnks  that  sav.  "  Like  lightning,  fly'" 

"  Thus,"  thought  tl.e  Kn'ght,  "  she  soothes  her  woes, 
*'  By  fincying,  still,  her  true-love  nigh.'* 

But  the  page  returns,  and— oh,  what  a  sight, 

For  trusting  lover's  eyes  to  s^e  I  — 
Leads  to  Ihathnwer  another  Knight, 

As  young  and,  ata'^,  as  loved  a^  he ! 


'  (luoin  tne  Youm,  "  is  Woman's  love!" 
Then,  darting  forth,  with  furious  bound, 
Dash'd  at  Ihe  Mirror  his  iron  glove, 
And  atrew'd  it  all  in  fragmeuts  round. 

MORAL. 

Such  ills  would  never  have  come  to  pass, 
Had  he  ne'er  s  uglit  that  latal  view  ; 

The  Wizard  would  siill  have  kept  his  Glass, 
And  (he  Knight  still  thought  his  Lady  true. 


THE    PILGRIM. 

Still  thus,  when  twilight  gleamM, 
Far  off  his  Castle  seem'd. 

Traced  on  the  sky; 
And  still,  as  fancy  bore  him 
To  those  dim  towers  before  him, 
He  gazed,  with  wishful  eye, 

And  thought  his  home  was  nigh. 

•*  Hall  of  my  Sires!"'  he  said, 
*'  How  long,  with  weary  tread, 

"Must  I  toil  on? 
**  Each  eve,  as  thus  I  wander, 
*'  Thy  lowers  seem  rising  yonder, 
"But,  scarce  hath  daylight  slione, 

"  VVhen,  like  a  dream,  thou  'rt  gone !" 

So  went  the  Pilgrim  still, 
Down  dale  and  over  hill. 

Day  after  day ; 
That  glimpse  of  home,  so  cheering, 
At  twilight  still  appearing. 
But  still,  with  niorniiigN  ray. 

Melting,  like  mist,  away  1 

Where  rests  the  Pilgrim  now  ? 
Here,  by  this  cvpress  bough. 

Closed  his  career; 
That  dream,  of  fancy's  weaving, 
Nn  more  his  s'eps  deceiving, 
Alike  past  hope  and  fear. 

The  Pilgrim's  home  is  here. 


THE    HIGH-BORN    LADYE. 

In  vain  all  the  Knights  of  the  Underwald  wooed  her, 
Tho' brigli'esl  of  maidens,  the  proudest  was  she; 

Brave  chieftains  they  sought,   and  young  minstrels 
they  sued  her, 
But  worthy  were  none  of  the  high-born  Ladye. 

**  Whomsoever  I  wed,"  said  this  maid,  so  excelling, 
"That  Knight  must  the  conqu'ror  of  conquerors  be  ; 

<*He  must  place  me  in  halls  fit  for  mouarchs  lo  dwell 
in; — 
"Nonielse  shall  be  Lord  of  the  high-born  Ladye!" 

Thus  spoke  the  proud  damsel,  with  scorn  lOoking 
round  her 

On  Knights  a-r!  on  Nobles  of  highest  degree; 
Who  humbly  an.,  -opelessly  left  as  Ihev  found  her. 

And  worshipp'd  at  distance  the  high-oorn  Ladye. 

At  length  came  a  Knight,  frnm  a  far  land  to  woo  hei, 
With  plumes  on  his  helm  like  the  foam  of  the  sea  ; 

His  vizf.r  was  down  — but,  with  voice  that  thrill'd 
through  her. 
He  whisper'd  his  vows  to  the  high-born  Ladye. 

•*  Proud  maiden!  I  come  with  high  spousals  to  grace 
thee, 

"  In  me  the  great  conqu'ror  of  conquerors  see ; 
'*Enthroi;ed  in  a  hall  fit  for  monarch'*  I  Ml  place  thoe, 

"And  minelhou  'rt  for  ever,  thou  high  born  Ladye!" 


228 


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 


The  maiden  she  smiled,  and  in  jewels  array'd  her, 
Of  thrones  and  tiaras  already  dreamt  she  ; 

And  proud  was  the  siep,  as  her  bridtgroom  convey'd 
her 
Id  pomp  to  his  home,  of  Ihat  liigh-borD  Ladye, 

"But  whither,"  she,  slarling,  exclaims,  "have  you 


ted  ] 


nought  but  a  tnmb  and  3  dark  cypress  tree; 
**  U  this  the  bright  palace  in  which  thou  wouldst  wed 
me?" 
With  scorn  in  herglance  said  the  high-born  Ladye. 

«<»Tis  the  home,"  he  replied,  '* of  earth's  loftiest 
creatures"  — 
Then  lifted  his  helm  for  the  f.iir  one  to  see  ; 
But  she  sank  oa  the  ground  —  'twas  a  skeleton's  fea- 

And  Death  was  the  Lord  of  the  high-born  Ladye  1 


THE    INDIAN    BOAT. 

'T  was  midnight  dark, 

Theseiman's  bark, 
Swift  o'er  the  waters  bore  him, 

When,  through  the  night, 

He  spied  a  light 
Shoot  o'er  the  wa\e  before  him. 
»' A  sail!  a  sail  !"  he  cries^ 

"She  conies  from  the  Indian  j-hore, 
**  And  to-night  shall  be  our  prize, 
"  With  her  freight  of  golden  ore  f 

"Sail  on!  sail  on  ! »» 

When  morning  shone 
He  saw  the  gold  still  clearer; 

Rnl.  thi>ughso  fast 

The  «ave%  he  pass'd, 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nearer 

Bright  daylight  came. 

And  still  ihe  same 
Rich  bark  before  him  floated ; 

While  on  the  prize 

His  wishful  eyes 
Like  any  ynung  lover's  doated  : 
''More  s.Til  !  nmre  sail !"  he  cries, 

While  the  waves  o'ertop  the  mast 
And  hisbou.idint^gnlley  flies. 
Like  an  armw  before  Ihe  blast. 

Thus  on,  and  on. 

Til!  day  wa^  gone, 
And  Ihe  moon  through  heaven  did  hie  he 

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  morn  succeeded  t 

While  Mill  his  flight. 

Through  day  and  night, 
That  restless  manner  speeded. 


Who  Knows  —  who  knowi  what  seaa 

He  is  nmv  careering  o'er? 
Behind,  the  eternal  breeze, 
And  Ihat  mocking  b.irk,  before! 

for.  oh,  till  sky 

And  earih  shall  die, 
And  their  death  lea?.'  none  to  rue  it, 

Thai  boat  mus;  flee 

0*er  Ihe  boundless  Fea, 
And  that  ship  in  vaio  pursue  it. 


THE    STRANGER. 

Come  list,  while  I  tell  of  the  hearl-wounded  Stranger 
Who  sleeps  her  last  slumber  in  this  liaunted  ground} 

Where  ofien,  at  midnight,  ihe  lonely  wood-ianger 
Hears  sotc  fairy  music  re-echo  around. 

None  e'er  knew  the  name  of  that  henrt-stricken  lady, 
Her  language,  though  sweet,  none  could  e'er  UD 
dersiand  ; 

But  her  features  so  sunn'd,  and  her  eyelash  so  shady, 
Bespoke  her  a  child  of  some  far  Kaslero  land. 

'T  was  one  summer  night,  when  the  village  lay  sleep 
ing, 
A  soft  strain  of  melody  came  o'er  our  ears; 
So  sweet,  but  so  niournful,  half  song  and  half  weep- 
in?, 
Like  music  that  Sorrow  bad  steep'd  iu  her  tears. 

We  thought  't  was  an  anthem  some  angel  had  sung 

But,  soon  as  Ihe  day -beams  had  gush'd  from  on  high, 
With  wonder  we  saw  this  bright  s'ranger  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, 

Which  conies  when  the  day  of  this  world  is  nigh 
ended. 
And  light  from  anotlier  already  shines  through. 

Then  her  eyes,  when  she  sung  —  oh,  but  once  to  have 

Left  thoughts  in  (he  soul  that  can  never  depart ; 
While  her  looks  and  her  voice  made  a  language  be- 
tween them, 
That  spoke  more  than  holiest  words  to  the  heart. 

But  she  pass'd  like  a  day-dream,  no  skill  could  restore 

Whate'er  was  her  sorrow,  its  ruin  came  fast ; 

She  died  with  the  same  spell  of  mystery  o>r  her. 

That  song  of  past  days  on  her  lips  to  the  last. 

Nor  ev'n  in  the  grave  is  her  sad  heart  reposing  — 
Still  hovers  the  spirit  of  grief  round  her  tomb  ; 

For  oft,  when  the  shadows  of  midnight  are  closing, 
The    same  strain  of  music  is  heard   through   t!i.j 
gloom. 


MELOLOGUE  UPON   NATIONAL  MUSIC.  2-29 


A  MELOLOGUE  UPON  NATIONAL  MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT.  i 

Ttwe  verses  were  writlen  for  a  Benefit  at  the  Dub- 
lin Theit-e,  .md  were  spoken  by  Miss  Smilh.  with  a 
,l„„ree  of  succe-s,  wliich  itiey  owed  solely  lo  her  ad- 
raliie  manner  of  recilin?  llieni.     I  wro'e  Ihem  in 
sle;  iin'l  it  very  'arely  happens  Iha^  ptetry,  «liich 
s  ci'Sl  but  little  labour  in  the  writer,  is  prodiiclive 
of  any  great  pleisure  lo  the  reader.    Under  ihis  ini- 
pressiun,  I  cerlain'y  should  not  have  publiNhed  Ihem 
if  they  had  not  found  iher  n■^y  int  i  some  of  the  news- 
papers, "ilh  such  an  addiiion  of  errors  to  their  own 
original  ■■nek.  thai  I  thought  it  but  fair  to  limit  Iheir 
rI;sponsibilily  to  those  faults  alone  which  really  belong 
to  them. 

Willi  re-pect  to  the  title  which  I  have  invenled  for 
this  Poem.  I  feel  even  more  ihan  ihe  scruples  of  the 
Enipeior  Tiberius,  when  he  humbly  asked  pardon  of 
Ihe  Koman  Senate  for  usin?  "Ihe  outlandish  term, 
monopoly."  But  ihe  trulh  is,  having  writ'en  Ihe 
Poem  with  the  sole  view  of  serving  a  Benefit,  I 
thought  Ihat  an  uninlelligible  word  of  this  kind  w.iuld 
no'  be  wiihoul  its  altraclion  for  Ihe  inullitiide,  W'ilh 
whom,  "  If  'I  i'  not  sense,  at  least  '1  is  Greek."  To 
some  of  mv  readfrs,  howevf  r,  it  may  no  be  superflu- 
ous to  say,  that  by  "  Melologue,"  I  mean  that  mix'ure 
of  recilation  and  music,  which  i.  frequenlly  adopted  in 
the  perf  rniance  of  Collins's  Ode  on  ihe  Passions,  and 
of  which  the  most  sinking  example  I  can  remember 
is  the  prophetic  speech  of  Joad  in  the  Atbalie  of  Ra- 
cine. T.  M. 


MELOLOGUE. 

A.   SHORT   STRAIN   OF    MUSIC    FROM    THE 
ORCHESTRA. 

There  breathes  a  languase.  known  and  felt 

Far  as  the  pure  air  spreads  ils  living  zone  ; 
Wherever  raeo  can  rouse,  or  pitv  melt. 
That  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  r.nd  known. 
From  those  m-ridian  plains. 
Where  ofi,  of  old,  on  some  high  tower. 
The  sofi  Peruvian  pnut'd  his  niidiiighl  strains. 
And  c.ll'd  his  distant  love  wilh  such  sweet  power, 

Ilia',  "ben  she  he.rd  Ihe  lonely  lay, 
Not  woiMs  ciiild  keep  her  from  Ins  arms  away,« 
To  the  bleak  cliims  of  p.ilar  night. 
Where  blillie,  beneath  a  sunless  sky, 
The  Lipland  lover  bids  his  rein-'ieer  fly. 
And  siiii:8  along  the  lengthening  waste  of  snow, 
Giilv  as  if  ihebcssed  light 
Of  vernal  Phrcbus  hiirn'J  upon  his  brow  J 
Oh  Music  !  thy  celestial  claim 
Is  sill  resistless,  still  the  same; 
And.  faithful  as  the  mighty  sra 
To  Ihe  pale  star  thai  o'ei  ils  realm  presides. 
The  spell-bouud  tides 
Of  human  passion  rise  and  fall  for  thee! 


GREEK  AIR. 

recian  maid  that  sings, 
lissus'  silvery  springs. 


She  draws  the  cool  lymph  in  her  graceful  urn. 
And  by  her  side,  in  Music's  charm  dissolving, 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving, 
Dreams  of  bright  days  that  never  can  return; 
When  Athens  nurved  her  olive  bough, 

With  hands  by  tyrant  power  unchainM  ; 
And  braided  for  Ihe  muse's  brow 
A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstain'd. 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  field 

Where  coward  fee^  now  fainlly  falter; 

When  every  arm  was  Freedoni's  shield. 

And  every  heart  was  Freedom's  altar  1 

FLOURISH  OK  TRUMPETS. 

Hark,  *t  is  Ihe  sound  Ihat  charms 

The  war-steed's  wakening  ears  I  — 
Oh  !  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 
Round  her  boy-soldier  when  that  call  she  hears; 
And,  thnugli  her  fond  heart  sink  wilh  fears, 
Is  proud  lo  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 
With  valour's  fever  at  the  sound. 
See,  from  his  n.tive  hills  af.ir 
The  rude  Helvetian  Hies  to  war; 
Careless  for  whit,  for  whom  he  fights. 
For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs  or  rights 

A  conquemrnft— a  hero  never  — 
Yet  lavish  of  his  life-blood  s'ill. 
As  if  'I  were  like  his  mountain  riU, 

And  gush'd  lor  ever! 

Yes,  Music,  here,  even  here, 
Amid  this  thouglitless.  vague  career. 
Thy  soul-felt  charm  a-serls  ils  wondrous  power — 

1  here's  a  wild  air  which  oft,  among  Ihe  locks 
Of  his  own  loved  land,  at  evening  hour, 
Is  heard,   when  shepherds  honieward   pipe  their 
flocks, 
Wh-'se  eierv  no'e  hath  power  to  ihrill  his  mind 

Wilh  lenderest  thoughts ;  to  bring  around  his  knees 
The  rosy  child.en  whom  he  left  beliind, 
And  fill  each  litile  angel  eye 
Wi  h  spe  king  tears,  tha'  a-k  him  why 
He  wandei'd  frcni  his  hut  lor  scenes  tike  these. 
Vain,  vain  is  tlien  ihe  irumpei's  brazen  roar; 

leel  notes  of  home,  of  love,  a^e  all  he  hears  ; 
And  the  stern  eyes,  that  look'd  for  blond  before. 
Now  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in  tean. 

SWISS  AIR.  —  "  RANZ  DES  VACHE8." 

But.  wake  the  trumpet's  blast  again. 
And  rouse  ihe  ranks  of  warrior-men  ! 
Oh  W.ir,  when  Trulh  Ihy  arm  employs, 
Ar  d  Freedom's  spirit  guides  ihe  I.iboiiring  storm, 
'Tis  then  thy  vengeance  lakes  a  hallow'd  form. 

And.  like  Heaven's  ligh'tnin^.  sacredly  destroys. 
Nor,  Music,  through  thy  breathing  sphere. 
Lives  there  a  sound  more  gra'eful  to  the  ear 
Of  Him  who  made  all  h'rnionv. 
Than  ihe  hless"d  sound  of  felleis  breaking. 
And  the  first  hymn  ihat  man,  aiiaking 
From  Slavery's  slumber,  brealhes  to  Liberty. 


SPANISH    CHORUS. 


A  certain  Spaiiard.  one  night  laie,  met  an  Indian  Hark  I  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 

iinan  in  Ihe  streets  of  Cozco,  and  would  have  taken  Biirsis  Ihe  bold,  en'husiast  strain, 

to  his  home,  but  she  cried  out, '  For  find's  sake.  Like  mon  ing's  music  on  the  air; 

Sir,  let  me  go  ;  fir  that  pipe  ivhicli  von  hear  in  yondi-r  And  seems,  in  every  nnle,  lo  swear 

tower,  calls  me  wilh  great  pission,  and  1  cannot  refuse  By  Saragossa's  ruiii'd  streets, 

the  summons  ;  for  love  constrains  me  I"  g'u  that  I  may  By  brave  Gernna's  dea'hful  story, 
be  his  wife,  and  le  my  husband.' "— GiirciiaMO  dc  la    Thai,  while  mie  Spaniard's  life-blood  beats, 
I'ega,  in  Sir  Fas  Rycaut's  translation.                          '     That  blood  shall  stain  the  conqueror's  glory. 

20 


230 


SET     OF    GLEES. 


SPANISH    AIR.  - 


'  YA    DESPERTO." 


But  ah  !  if  vain  the  patriot's  zeal, 
If  neither  valour's  force  nor  wibJoni's  light 
Can  breali  or  iiiell  ihat  blood-cemented  seal, 
Which  shuts  so  close  the  book  of  Europe's  right  — 

What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 


Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded, 
Of  buried  hopes,  rememher'd  well. 

Of  ardour  queiich'd,  and  honour  faded  ? 
What  muse  shall  njourn  the  breathless  brave, 

In  sweetest  dirge  at  Memory's  shiine? 
What  li:irp  shall  sigh  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 
I  OhEnn,  Thtne! 


SET   OF  GLEES:   MUSIC  BY  MOORE. 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  SHIPS. 

When  o'er  the  silent  seas  ainne, 
For  days  and  nights  we  've  cheerless  gone, 
Oh  they  whn've  felt  it  know  how  sweet, 
Some  suDiiy  morn  a  sail  to  meet. 

Sparkling  at  once  is  evVy  eye, 

"  Ship  ahoy  !  ship  ahny  !"  (lur  joyful  cry  ; 

While  answerini;  back  the  sounds  we  hear, 

"  Ship  ahoy  I  ship  ahoy  I"  what  cheer  !  what  cheer  ? 

Then  sails  are  back'd,  we  nearer  cnme, 
Kind  words  are  s:iid  of  fiiends  and  home; 
And  8onn,  too  soon,  we  part  with  pain, 
To  sail  o'er  silent  se;is  ag.iin. 


HIP,    HIP,    HURRAH! 

Come,  fill  round  a  bumper,  fill  up  to  Ihe  brim, 

He  who  shrinks  from  a  b>  mper  1  pledge  n<it  lo  him  ; 

Here's  the  girl  that  each  loves,  be  her  eye  of  what 

hue, 
Or  lustre,  it  may,  so  her  heart  is  but  true. 

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

Come  charge  high,  again,  boy,  nor  let  Ihe  full  wine 
Leave  a  space  in  the  brimmer,  where  daylight  may 


shii 


Here  T 


the  friends  of  our  youth  —  tho'  of  some 
we  're  bereft, 
May  Ihe  liuks  ihat  are  lost  but  endear  what  are  left  !'* 
Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  liurra  ! 

Once  more  fill  a  bumper  —  ne'er  talk  of  the  hour; 
On  hearts  thus  nniled  old  Time  has  no  powY. 
May  our  lives,  tho'.  alas  !  like  the  wine  of  tn-night. 
They  must  soon  have  an  end,   to  the  last  fluw  as 
bright. 

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

Quick,  quick,  now,  I'll  give  you,  since  Time's  glass 

will  run 
Ev'n  faster  than  ours  doth,  three  bumpers  in  one; 
Here  's  the  poet  who  sings —  here  's  the  warrior  who 

fights  — 
Here's  the  statesman  who  speaks,  in  the  cause  of 

men's  righis  ! 

Chai  ge !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra ! 

Come,  once  mnre,  a  bumper!  —  then  drink  as  you 

Tho-,  '10(10  could  SU  naif-way  to  toast  such  as  these? 
Here's  our  next  juyous  meeting  — and  oh  when  we 

meet. 
May  our  wine  be  as  bright  and  our  union  as  sweet ! 
Charge  1  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurra,  hurra! 


HUSH,    HUSH! 

*•  Hush,  hush  !"  —  how  well 
That  sweet  word  s  lunds, 

When  Love,  ihe  liltle  sentinel, 
Walks  his  night-rounds ; 


Then,  if  a  foot  but  dare 

One  rose-leaf  crush. 
Myriads  of  voices  in  the  air 

Whisper,  -'Hush,  hush:" 

"Hark,  hark.  Mis  he  !» 

The  night  elves  cry, 
And  hu=h  their  fairy  harmony, 

While  he  steilsby; 
But  if  his  silv'ry  feet 

One  devv-drnp  brush, 
Voices  are  heard  in  chorus  sweet, 

Whispering,  *'Hush,  hush!'* 


THE  PARTING  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 
H  E. 

On  lo  the  tield,  our  dnom  is  seal'J, 

To  conquer  or  be  slaves : 
This  sun  >hall  see  our  nation  free, 

Or  set  upon  our  graves, 

SHE. 
Farewell,  oh,  farewell,  my  love. 

May  Heaven  Ihy  guardian  be, 
And  send  bright  angels  from  above 

To  bring  Ihee  back  lo  me. 

H  E. 

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

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


THE    WATCHMAN 

A     T  K  I  0. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past  twelve  o'clock —  past  twelve. 
Good  night,  good  nieht,  my  dearest - 

How  fast  the  mnnients  fly  ! 
'T  is  time  (o  part,  thou  hearest 

That  hateful  watchman's  cry. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past  one  o'clock  —  past  one. 
Yet  slay  a  moment  longer  — 


WA  TC  H  M  AN. 

Past  two  o'clock  —  past  two. 
Now  wrap  thy  cloak  about  thee  — 

The  hours  must  sure  go  wrong. 
For  when  they're  past  without  thee^ 

They  're,  oh,  ten  times  as  long, 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


231 


WATCHMAN. 
Past  three  o'clock  —  past  three. 

Again  that  dreadful  warning  I 
Had  ever  lime  such  flight? 

And  see  the  sky,  't  is  morninfj- 
iso  now,  indcedj  good  night, 

WATCHMAN. 

Fast  three  o'clock  —  past  three. 
Good  night,  good  night. 


SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  WE  DANCE? 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance? 
Shall  we  bound  along  the  monniight  plaiU| 
To  music  of  Haly,  Greece,  or  Sp^in? 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance? 
Shalt  we,  like  those  who  rove 
Through  bright  Grenada's  grove, 
To  the  lighl'Roleiu's  measures  move? 
Or  choose  the  Guar.icia's  languishing  lay, 
And  thus  to  its  sound  die  away  ? 

Sirike  the  gay  chords, 
Let  us  hear  each  sirnin  from  ev'ry  shore 
That  music  haunts,  or  young  feet  wander  o'er. 


Hark  !  't  is  the  light  march,  to  whose  measured  time, 

The  Polish  ladj,  by  her  lover  led. 

Delights  through   gay  saloons  with  step  untired  to 

tread, 
Or  sweeter  slill,  through  moonlight  walks 
Who^e  shadows  serve  to  hide 
The  blush  thnt's  raised  by  him  who  talks 
Of  love  the  while  by  her  side, 

'J  heu  comes  the  smooth  waliz,  to  whose  floating  sound 
Like  dreams  we  go  niiding  around. 
Say,  which  shall  we' dance?  which  shall  we  dance? 


THE    EVENING    GUN. 

Rcmeniher'st  thou  that  setting  sun, 

The  last  1  saw  wilh  thee. 
When  loud  we  heard  the  evening  gun 

Peal  o'er  the  twilight  sea? 
Boom  !  —  the  sounds  appear'd  to  sweep 

Far  o'er  the  verge  ot  d'^y. 
Tilt,  into  realms  beyond  the  deep, 

They  seem'd  to  die  away. 

Oft,  when  the  toils  of  day  are  done, 

In  pensive  dreams  of  thee, 
I  sit  to  hear  that  evening  gun, 

Peal  o'er  the  stormy  sea. 
Boom  !  —  and  while,  o'er  billows  curl'd, 

The  distant  sounds  decay, 
I  weep  and  wish,  from  this  rough  world 

Like  them  to  die  away. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  ETC. 


TO-DAY,  DEAREST !  IS  OURS. 

To-f^ay,  dearest  I  is  ours; 

Why  should  Love  carelessly  lose  it? 
This  life  shines  or  loa'is 

Just  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
»T  i'  time  enough,  when  its  llow'rs  decay, 

To  think  of  the  Ihoms  of  Sonow  j 
And  Joy,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day, 

May  wither  before  to-morrow. 

Then  why,  dearest !  so  long 

Let  the  sweet  moments  fly  over 
Thnu£;h  now,  blooming  and  young, 

Tliou  hast  me  devouUy  thy  lover, 
Yet  Time  from  both,  in  his  silent  lapse. 

Some  ti  tasure  may  steal  or  borrow  ; 
Thy  charms  u)»y  be  les-.  in  bloom,  perhaps, 

Or  I  less  in  love  (o-morrow. 


WHEN  ON  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DELAYS. 

When  on  the  Up  the  sigh  delays. 
As  if  't  would  linger  there  for  ever  ; 

When  eyts  would  give  the  worU  to  gaze, 
Yet  still  look  down,  and  venturs  Kever  ; 

When,  though  with  fairest  nymphs  we  rove, 
There  's  one  we  dieani  of  more  than  any  — 

If  all  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  yet  when  ntar,  wilh  heari  to  heait, 

Sit  mule,  and  listen  to  their  beating : 
To  see  but  one  blight  oLjecI  move. 

The  only  moon,  where  s:ars  are  maiiy- 
U  all  this  18  not  downright  love, 

I  prithee  say  what  w,  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  own  heads  'he  most  of  any  — 
If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love. 

Then  jou  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny. 


HERE,    TAKE    MY    HEART. 

Here,  lake  my  heart— 't  will  be  safe  in  thy  keeping. 

While  I  go  wand'ring  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea  ; 
Smiling  or  sorrowing,  waking  or  sleeping, 

What  need  I  care,  &o  my  heart  is  with  thee  ? 
If,  in  the  race  we  are  destined  to  nin,  love, 

They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  be, 
Then,  happier  siill  must  be  thev  who  have  none,  love, 

And  that  will  be  my  case  w  hen  mine  is  with  thee. 
It  matters  not  w  here  I  may  now  be  a  rover, 

1  care  not  how  many  bright  eyes  1  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  po— 1  've  a  treasure  beyond  her. 

As  long  as  my  heart's  out  at  int'rest  wilh  thee  I 


OH,  CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAME. 

Oh,  call  it  by  some  better  name, 
For  Friendship  sounds  too  cold. 

While  Love  is  now  a  worldly  lame, 
Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold ; 


232 


ALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


And  PassioOj  like  the  sun  at  noon, 

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

TUea,  call  il  none  u I"  these. 

Imagine  something  purer  far, 

More  free  fmni  ^taln  of  clay 
Tlian  Friendship,  Love,  ur  FassioD  are, 

Yel  human  &till  as  they  : 
And  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this, 

Is'o  mortal  word  can  frame, 
Go,  ask  of  angels  whar  it  is, 

And  call  it  bv  that  name. 


POOR    WOUNDED    HEART 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 
'Ihy  hour  of  rest  is  come; 
Thou  soon  will  reach  ihy  home. 
Poor  wijuuded  heut,  laiewell ! 
TLe  pain  thou 'It  feel  in  breaking 

Lests  bitter  far  will  be^ 
Than  that  Inn?,  de.nlly  aching, 
I'his  life  has  been  lo  thee. 

Thete  —  broken  he^trt,  farewell! 
The  pans. s  o'er - 
The  parting  pang  is  o'er; 
Ttiou  now  wilt  bleed  no  more, 
Poor  bruken  heart,  farewell ! 
No  rest  for  thee  but  dyirg  — 

Like  waves,  whose  strife  is  past, 
On  death's  co  d  shore  ihus  lying, 
Thnu  sleep'at  in  peace  at  last  — 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell  I 


THE     EAST    INDIAN. 

Come,  May,  with  all  Ihy  fiowers, 

Thy  sweetly-scenTed  thorn, 
Thy  cooling  ev'uing  showers, 

Thy  fragrant  breath  at  morn  : 
When  May-rties  haunt  the  willow, 

When  May  buds  tempt  the  bee, 
Then  o'er  the  shining  billow 

My  love  will  come  to  me. 

From  Eastern  Mes  she's  winging 

Thioiigh  wat'ry  wilds  her  way, 
And  on  her  cheek  is  bringing 

The  bright  sun's  orient  ray; 
Oh,  come  and  court  her  hither, 

Ve  breezes  mild  and  warm 
One  winter's  gale  would  wilher 

So  soft,  so  pure  a  form. 

The  fields  where  she  was  strayin* 

Are  blest  witli  endless  light, 
With  zephyrs  always  playing 

Through  gardens  always  bright. 
Then  now,  sweet  May  '.  be  sweeter 

Than  e'er  thou 's'  been  before  j 
Let  srghs  from  roses  meet  her 

When  she  comes  neir  our  shore. 


POOR    BROKEN    FLOWER. 


what  nrt  c^n  now  recover  thee? 
1  that  fed  tliy  rosy  breath  — 


hath  forsaken  her,- 
d  lost  as  thou  j 


.rek 


To  warm  thai  faded  cheek  ; 
The  dews  of  heav'n,  that  once  like  balm  fell  over 
thee. 
Now  are  but  tears,  to  weep  thy  early  death. 


So  droops  the  maid  whoi 
Thrown  from  his  arms,  as  lone 
In  vain  the  smiles  of  all 
Like  suij-beams  round  her  fall ; 
The  only  soiile  that  could  fnm  death  awaken  ber, 
That  smile,  alas!  is  gone  lo  others  now. 


THE  PRETTY  ROSE-TREE. 

Being  weary  of  love, 
I  flew  lo  the  grove. 
And  chose  me  a  tree  of  ihe  fairest; 
Saying,  ''Pre!ty  Rnse-trce, 
"Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 
•'And  I'll  worship  each  l>ud  thou  bearest. 
"For the  hearii  of  this  world  aie  hollow, 
*'And  fickle  the  smiles  we  follow  j 
'*Aiid  'lis  sweet,  when  all 


The 


■ilch'r 


.pail. 


*'  To  have  a  pure  love  to  fly  to  : 

**So,  my  pretty  Ruse-tree, 
"Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 

*'ADd  the  only  one  now  1  shall  sigh  to." 

When  the  beauliful  hue 

Of  thy  cheek  through  the  dew 

Of  morning  is  b.ishfully  peej-ing, 
*•  Siveet  tears,"  1  shall  Say 
(As  I  brush  them  away), 

"At  least  there's  no  art  in  this  weeping." 
Allhouffli  thou  shouldst  die  to-morrow, 
'T  Will  not  be  from  pain  or  sorrow ; 
Aad  Ihe  boms  of  thy  steni 
Are  not  like  Iheni 

With  which  men  wound  each  other: 
So  my  pretty  Rose-tree, 
Thou  my  mistress  shall  be, 

And  I'll  ne'er  again  sigh  to  another. 


SHINE    OUT,    STARS! 

Shine  out,  Stars!  let  Heav'n  assemble 

Round  us  every  festal  rav, 
Ligh's  (hat  move  n''t,  lights  thit  tremble, 

All  to  grace  thi^  Eve  of  May. 
Let  the  fiow'r-beds  ^11  lie  waking, 

And  Ihe  odiurs  shut  up  there. 
From  their  downy  pr  guns  brraking, 

Fij'  abroad  through  aei  and  air. 

And  would  Love,  too,  biing  his  sweetness, 

Wjlh  our  other  joys  to  ivcave. 
Oh  whai  glory,  what  com|)leteness, 

Then  would  cmwn  this  bright  iMay  Eve! 
Shine  out.  Stars  !  let  night  assemble 

Rnui'd  US  every  fe-tal  ray, 
Lights  th»t  move'  not,  lights  that  tremble, 

To  adoru  Ihia  Eve  of  May. 


THE  YOUNG  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA 

Oh,  the  ioyi  of  our  ev'ning  pnsada. 

Where,  resting  ai  clnse  of  day, 
We.  ynnnc  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 

Sit  and  sing  the  surshii.e  .^way; 
So  merry,  that  even  Ihe  slumbers, 

Thit  round  us  hung,  seem  gone; 
Till  the  lute's  sof:  drowsy  numbers 

Again  beguile  thcni  oc. 
Oh,  the  joja,  &c. 

Then  as  each  to  his  kv'd  sultana 
In  sleep  siill  breathe^  the  sigJi, 

The  name  of  some  black-eved  Tirana 
Escapes  our  lipa  as  we  lie. 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC, 


233 


Till,  with  morning-'s  rosy  twinkle, 

Afjain  we're  lip  and  gone  — 
While  the  iiiulc-tieirs  drowsy  tinkle 

Rf«uiles  tite  rouah  way  on. 
Oh  liii^  j.iyi  of  our  merry  p^jsadu, 

Wliere,  resting  al  cl.^e  of  d.y. 
We,  yiiui.^  Mulrteers  of  Grenada, 

Thus  iii'ig  the  gay  moments  away 


TELL    HER,   OH,   TELL    HER 

Tell  hnr,  oh,  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
lieiiea.h  Ihe  ^lecn  arbour  is  still  lying  there; 

And  brcei£s,  l^ke  liiveis.  around  it  nre  siglitng, 
But  not  a  sof.  ivhisper  replies  to  tlieir  pray'r 

Tell  her,  oh,  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going, 
Beside  Ihe  gifen  arl)niir  she  playfully  set, 

As  lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing, 
And  not  a  bright  teatlet  has  fall'n  from  it  yet. 

So  while  away  from  tint  arbnur  forsaken, 
The  maiden  is  wandering,  still  let  her  be 

As  true  as  ftie  Iiile,  ihit  no  sighing  can  waken, 
And  bloaniiiig  fur  ever,  unchanged  as  the  tieel 


NIGHTS    OF   MUSIC. 

Nights  of  music,  nights  of  loving, 

I^osl  ti*o  sor>n,  reineinber'd  long, 
When  we  went  by  nmonlight  roving, 

Hearts  all  love  and  lips  all  song. 
When  this  faithful  luie  recorded 

All  my  spirit  lelt  lo  Ihce; 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded  — 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  ine  1 

Nijliis  of  son;^,  and  nighls  of  splendour, 

Fill'd  wi:h  j"ys  too  sweet  lo  last  — 
Joys  •hat.  like  the  siar-Iight,  lender, 

While  tliey  shone,  no  shadow  cast. 
Though  all  other  happy  hours 

From  my  fading  niem'ry  fly. 
Of  thai  star-light,  of  those  bowers, 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf  shall  die  1 


OUR    FIRST   YOUNG    LOVE. 

Our  first  young  love  ^e^emblea 

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

Through  Aprils  earliest  day. 
And  not  all  life  before  us, 

Howe'cr  its  lighis  may  play, 
Can  shed  a  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  that  tir^t  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squander 

A  blaz.e  >erener,  grander; 

Our  antuniii  lieam 

May.  like  a  dn-am 

Of  heav'n,  die  calm  away: 

But,  no— let  life  before  us 

Bring  all  Ihe  li>;lit  it  mav, 

'Twill  ne'er  shed  luEire  o'er  us 

Like  that  hrst  youlliful  ray. 


ELACK    A,\D    BLUE    EYES, 


The  brilliant  black  eye 
Way  in  triumph  let  liy 

20  *~" 


All  ils  dar's  without  cnrinp  who  feels  'em  > 
Rut  the  soft  eye  of  blue, 
Though  it  settler  wounds  too. 

Is  much  htttter  pleased  when  it  heals  'em  — 
near  Fanny  ! 

Is  much  better  plt:a:ied  when  it  heals  *ein. 

The  black  eye  may  say, 

*■  Come  and  worsliip  my  ray  — 

*'  By  adorin?,  perhaps  you  may  move  me  !'* 
Rut  tliehiue  eye,  half  hid, 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 

**  I  love,  and  am  yours,  if  you  love  me  1'* 
Yes.  Fanny  I 
'Ihe  blue  eye,  half  hid. 
Says,  troin  under  its  lid, 

*'I  love,  and  am  yours,  if  you  love  me  I" 

Come  tell  me,  then,  why, 

In  that  lovely  blue  eye. 
Not  a  charm  of  its  tint  I  discover; 

Oh  why  should  you  wear 

'1  he  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "'No"  to  a  lover? 

Dear  Fanny  ! 

Oh,  wliy  should  ynu  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "J^o'^  to  a  lover? 


DEAR    FANNY. 

"She  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep  your  heart 
cool  ; 
"She  has  wit,  but  you  mustn't  be  caught  so;" 
Thus  Ruason  advises,  but  Re  icon's  a  fool, 
And  'I  is  not  Ihe  tirst  time  I  hive  thought  so, 

Dear  Fanny. 
*Tis  not  the  first  lime  I  have  thought  so. 

"She  is  lovely  ;  then  love  her,  nor  let  the  bliss  fly  ; 

"'T  is  the  charni  of  youth's  vani.shiiig  season  :" 
Thus  Love  has  advised  me,  and  \vh'»  ivill  deny 

That  I.nve  reasons  much  better  than  Reason, 
Doar  Fanny  ? 

Love  reasons  much  heller  than  Reason. 


FROM  LIFE   WITHOUT  FREEDOM. 

From  life  without  freedom,  srf^,  who  would  not  fly? 
For  one  day  of  freednni,  oh  !  who  wou'd  nr>t  die  ? 
Hark  !— hark  I  't  ih  the  trumpet!  the  call  of  ihe  brave, 
Thedeaih-bon^of  lyranis.  the  dirge  i,i  ihe  slave. 
Our  country  lies  bleeding  —  haste,  haste  to  her  aid  j 
One  arm  ttiat  defends  is  worth  hosts  that  invade. 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains  — 

'J"he  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  nn  chains. 

On,  nn  to  the  cnml.at !  the  hemes  that  bleed 

For  virtue  and  ntarikind  are  hemes  indeed. 

And  oh,  ev'n  if  Freednni  from  tfiit  «orld  be  driTen^ 

Despair  not — at  least  we  shall  tii.d  her  in  hea.eu. 


HERE'S 


THE    BOWER. 


Here  's  the  bower  she  loved  so  nm 

Anil  Ihe  tree  she  pj.mted  ; 
Here  's  the  harp  she  used  to  Inuch  — 

Oh,  how  that  touch  enchanled  ! 
Roses  now  unhee.led  sigh; 

Where  's  ihe  hand  lo  wreathe  them  ? 
Songs  around  neglected  he; 

Where 's  the  lip  to  breathe  thpm  ? 

Here 'a  the  bower,  &c. 


234 


BALLADS,    SONGS,   ETC, 


Sprins;  may  bloom,  bul  she  we  loved 

Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness  ; 
Time,  thai  once  sn  lieelly  iiiOved, 

Now  halh  lost  its  fleetness. 
Years  were  days,  when  here  she  stray'd, 

Days  were.iiiomenls  near  her  ; 
Heaven  ne'er'Toini'd  a  brighter  maid, 

Nor  i'ily  wept  a  dearer  ! 

Here  's  tlie  bower,  &c. 


I  SAW  THE   MOON  RISE  CLEAR. 
A   FINLAND   LOVE   SONG. 

I  saw  the  ninnn  rise  clear 

OVr  hiU.  and  vales  ol  snow, 
Nor  told  my  lleet  rein-deer 

The  track  1  wish'd  to  go. 
Yet  quick  he  bounded  forth; 

For  well  my  rein-dter  knew 
I've  but  one  path  on  earth  — 

The  palh  which  leads  to  you. 

The  gloom  that  winter  cast 

HowsnoM  the  heait  forgets, 
When  Summer  biiligs,  at  last, 

Her  sun  that  never  sets! 
Sodawn'd  my  love  for  you  ; 

So,  lix'd  ilirough  joy  and  [lain, 
Than  summer  sun  more  true, 

'T  will  never  set  again. 


LOVE  AND  THE   SQN-DIAL. 

Young  Love  found  a  Dial  once,  in  a  dark  shade. 
Where  man  ne'er  had  w.uider'd  norsuirbeam  play'd  j 
"  Wliy  thus  in  darkness  he!"  whisper'd  ynuiig  Love, 
"Thou,  whose  Kay  hours  in  sunshine  should  move."' 
•'  I  ne'er,"  said  the  Djai,  "  liave  .-een  the  warm  sun, 
"So  nooiid.iy  and  midnight  to  me.  Love,  are  one." 

Then  Love  took  the  dial  awav  from  the  shade. 
And  placed  her  where  Heav'ii's  beam  warmly  play'd. 
There  she  reclined,  beneath  Loves  gazing  eye. 
While,  mark'd  all  with  sunshine,  her  hours  liew  by. 
"Oh,  how,"  said  the  Dial,  "can  any  fair  maid, 
"That  *s  born  to  be  shone  upon,  re>t  in  the  shade?" 

But  night  now  comes  on,  and  the  sunbeam  's  o'er, 
And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more. 
Alone  and  neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Are  storming  around  her,  » ilh  sorrow  she  finds 
That  Love  had  but  nuniher'd  a  few  sunny  hours, — 
Then  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers  ! 


LOVE     AND    TIME 

'T  «  said  —  but  whether  true  or  not 

Let  bards  declare  who  've  seen  'em 
That  Love  and  Time  have  only  got 

One  pair  of  wings  between  'em. 
In  courtship's  first  delicious  hour. 

The  boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em  ; 
So   loitering  in  his  lady's  bower. 

He  lets  the  grey-be.ird  wear  'em. 
Then  is  I  ime's  hour  of  play  ; 
Oh,  how  he  tlies.  Hies  away  ! 

But  short  the  moments,  short  as  bright, 
When  he  Ihe  wings  can  borrow  ; 

If  Time  to-day  has  had  his  liight, 
Love  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 


Ah  !  Time  and  Love,  your  change  ii  then 

'Ihe  saddest  and  most  trying. 
When  one  begins  to  limp  again. 
And  t'other  takes  to  (lying. 
'1  hen  is  Love's  hour  to  stray  ; 
Oh,  how  he  flies,  flies  away  ! 

Bul  there's  a  nymph,  whose  chains  I  fee., 

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  holyday  ; 
Oil,  how  he  flies,  flies  away ! 


LOVE'S  LIGHT  SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Fain  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us  — 
Youth  rnav  wither,  but  feeling  will  last; 
All  the  shad'ow  that  e'er  shall  tali  o'er  us 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  only  shall  cast. 
Oh,  if  to  love  thee  moie 
Each  hour  I  number  o'er  — 
If  this  a  pasMou  be 
Worthy  of  thee, 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee, 

Charnis  may  wither,  but  tee] ing  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  shall  thou  steal  ; 
Beam,  bright  eyelid,  no  \\eeping  shall  stain  thee, 
Tears  of  laplure  alone  shall  thou  feel, 
(ih,  if  iheie  be  a  charm 
111  love,  to  baui-h  harm  — 
H'  pie. sure  s  truest  spell 
l;e  10  love  well. 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Chai  ms  m,.y  wiiher,  but  feeling  shall  last : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  sumnier-doud  sweetly  shall  cast. 


v£,  WAND'RING  THROUGH  THE  GOLDEN 
MAZE. 
Love,  wand'ring  (lirough  the  golden  maze 

Of  my  beloved's  hair, 
Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delays, 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 
And  soon  he  found  't  were  vain  to  fly; 
"' 1  heart  was  close  confined, 


For, 


glet  ' 


A  chain  by  beauty  twined. 


MERRILY    EVERY   BOSOM   BOUNDETH, 

THE  TYROLESE  SDNG  OF  LIBERTY. 

Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth. 

Merrily,  oh! 
Where  the  song  of  ^eedom  soundeth, 


Slimc  more  tender; 
Every  joy  ttie  land  surroundeth, 
Merrily,  oh  !  merrily,  oh  ! 

Wearily  every  bosom  pi neth, 

Wearilv,  oh ! 
Where  the  bond' of  slaverv  twiDoth 

Wearily,  oh .       " 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


^35 


There  the  warrior's  dart 

Halh  no  fleetness ; 
There  the  miidt-n's  heart 

Hafh  nn  sweetness  — 

Every  rinwer  of  hfe  decUneth, 

Wearily,  oh  1  wearilv,  ohl 

Cheerily  Ihen  from  hill  and  vallej; 

'  Cheerily,  oh! 
Like  your  native  fuun'aina  sally, 
Chetrily,  oh ! 
If  a  glorious  death, 
VVnn  by  bravery 
Sweeter  be  than  biealh 
Sigh'd  in  .-lavery, 
Round  the  Hag  of  Freedom  rally, 
Clieerily,  oh:  cheerily,  oh  I 


REMEMBER    THE    TIME. 

THE  CASTIUAN  MAID. 

Remember  the  time,  in  La  Mancha's  shades, 

When  our  moments  so  blissfully  (lew  ; 
When  you  call'd  me  the  flower  of  Castilian  maids, 

And  I  blush'd  to  be  call'd  so  by  you  ; 
When  I  taught  you  to  warble  the  g-y  seguadille, 

And  to  datice  to  ihe  light  castariet ; 
Oh,  never,  dear  ynutli,  let  you  roam  where  you  will, 

The  delight  of  thoie  moments  forget. 


They  tell  me,  you  lovers  from  Erin's  green  isle, 

Every  hour  a  new  p:i-sion  can  feel ; 
And  that  soon,  in  the  light  of  some  lovelier  smile, 

You'll  forget  Ihu  poor  maid  of  Caslje. 
But  they  know  n<'t  how  brwe  in  the  battle  you  are. 

Or  they  never  cnuld  think  you  would  rove ; 
For  H  is  always  (he  spirit  mosi  gallai^t  in  war 

That  is  fondest  and  truest  in  love. 


OH,    SOON    RETURN. 

Our  white  salt  causrht  the  evening  ray. 

The  wave  beneaih  us  seem'd  to  burn, 
When  all  ihe  weeping  m. 'id  could  say 

Was,  "  Oh,  soon  return  !" 
Thn-iiirti  nnnyaclime  our  ship  was  driven, 

u'rr  KMi  y  a  billow  rudely  Ihrown; 
Nt-i'V  ctnllM  benenth  a  nmlhern  heaven, 

N'vv  sunn'd  in  sununer'a  zone: 
And  still,  where'er  we  bent  our  way. 

When  evening  I'id  the  west  wave  uurn, 
1  fancied  still  I  heard  her  say, 

"Oh,  soon  return  1" 

If  ever  yet  my  bosom  found 

Its  thoughts  one  moment  turn'd  from  thee, 
*T  was  when  the  combat  ra^ed  around. 

And  lirave  men  look'd  to  me. 
But  though  the  war-tield's  wild  alarm 

For  gentle  Love  was  all  unmeet, 
He  lent  to  Glory's  brow  the  chirm, 

Which  made  even  d^uger  sweet. 
And  still,  when  vict' rj-s  calm  came  o*«r 

The  hearts  where  ra^e  had  ceased  lo  burn, 
Those  parting  \7ords  1  hvi.d  once  more, 

"Oh,  soon  return!  — '  ii,  soon  return'.** 


LOVE    THEE. 

Love  thee?  —  so  well,  so  tenderly 
Thou  'rt  hived,  adored  by  me, 

Fame,  forune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 
Were  wrrlhless  without  Ihee, 


Though  brimm'd  wilh  blessings,  pure  and  rare, 

Life's  cup  before  me  lay, 
Unle-^s  thy  iove  were  mingled  there, 

1  'd  spurn  Ihe  draught  away. 
Love  thee  !  — so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  nie, 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty. 

Are  worthless  without  thee. 

Without  thy  smile,  the  monarch's  lot 

To  me  were  dark  and  lone, 
While,  lott/t  it,  ev'n  the  humblest  cot 

Were  l)righter  than  his  thione. 
Those  worlds  for  which  (lie  conqueror  sighs, 

For  me  would  have  no  charms; 
My  only  world  ihy  gemle  eyes  — 

My  throne  thy  circling  arms  ! 
Oh,  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me, 
Whole  realms  of  light  and'liberty 

Were  woithless  wilhout  thee. 


ONE    DEAR    SMILE 

Could-t  Ihou  look  as  dear  as  when 

First  I  stgh'd  for  Ihee; 
Couhht  thou  make  me  feel  a^in 

Every  wish  I  breath'd  Ihee  then, 
Oh.  how  blishful  life  would  be! 

Hopes,  that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 
Joys,  that  lie  in  slumber  cold  — 

All  would  wike,  couldsl  thou  but  give  me 
One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

No— there's  nothing  left  us  now, 

Bui  to  mourn  the  past ; 
Vain  was  every  ardent  vow  — 
Never  yet  did  Heaven  allow 

Love  so  w.irm,  so  wild,  lo  last. 
Not  even  hope  could  now  deceive  me  — 

Life  itself  looks  d.irk  and  cold  : 
Oh,  Ihou  never  more  canst  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 


YES,  YES,  "WHEN   THE  BLOOM. 

Yes,  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is  o^er, 
He  '11  turn  into  friendship  tli.it  feels  no  decay  ; 

And,  though  Timemsy  take  from  hiro  the  tvings  he 
once  wore, 

The  chirms  that  remain  will  be  bright  as  before, 
And  he'll  lose  but  his  young  trick  of  Hying  away. 

Then  let  it  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay. 
That   Friendship    our  last    happy    moments  will 

Like  the  shadows  of  morning,  Love  lessens  away, 

While  Friendship,  like  thnse  at  the  closing  of  dny, 

Will  linger  and  lengthen  as  life's  sun  goes  down. 


THE    DAY    OF    LOVE. 

The  beam  of  morning  Irenibling 
Stole  o'er  the  m-uniain  brook, 

With  timid  ray  resend)ling 
Aiiectioii^s  early  i-  k. 
Thus  love  be-ins  —  swtet  mnrn  of  love ! 

The  noon-tide  rav  ascended, 
And  o*er  the  valley'-*  sreara 

Dift'used  a  glow  as  splendid 
As  passion's  riper  dream. 
Thus  love  expands-- warm  neon  ot  lote. 


20 


236 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


But  evening  came,  o'ershading 

The  glories  of  the  bky. 
Like  laiili  and  louduess  lading 


LUSITANIAN    WAR- SONG. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains, 

'J'ilt  not  one  hateiiil  link  remains 

Of  slavery's  lingering  chamsj 

Till  niu  one  l}r.tnl  tread  our  plains, 
Nor  traitor  lip  pollute  our  founlams. 

iS'o  !  never  till  that  glurious  day 

fchall  Lusiiaiiia's  sons  be  gay, 

Or  hear,  oh  I'eace,  thy  welcome  lay 
ResouuUnig  through  her  suiiuy  mountains. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountainsi 
Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smilin?,  say, 
''  your  cloud  of  foes  hath  pa>s'd  auay, 
"  And  i'reedoni  coiiies,  with  uew-boru  ray, 

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

Retiouudiiig  through  her  sunny  mouulaius. 


THE    YOUNG    ROSE. 

The  young  rose  I  give  thee,  so  dewy  and  bright, 
Was  the  Itow'ret  most  dear  to  ihe  sweet  bird  of  night, 
Who  oft,  by  the  nioon,  o'er  her  bhishes  liath  hung, 
And  thnll'd  every  leaf  wiUi  the  wjid  lay  ."^e  sung. 

Oh,  take  thou  this  young  rose,  and  let  her  life  be 
Prolong'd  by  Ihe  breath  she  ivjU  burrow  from  thee; 
For,  while  o'er  her  bosom  thy  s  ft  notes  shall  thrill, 
bhe  *U  thmk  the  sweet  night-bird  is  courting  her  still, 


WHEN  'MIDST  THE  GAV  I  MEET. 

When  'midst  the  gay  I  meet 

'Ihatgenllesniiieof  thine, 
Though  still  on  me  it  lurus  most  sweet, 

1  scarce  can  call  it  mine: 
But  when  to  me  alone 

Vour  secret  lears  you  sliow. 
Oh,  then  1  feel  those  tears  my  own, 

And  claim  them  while  they  flow. 
Then  still  wiih  bright  h.oks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  Ihe  free; 
Give  smiles  to  those  who  love  you  less 

Jiut  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

The  snow  on  Jura's  steep 

Can  smile  in  many  a  beam. 
Yet  still  in  chains  ol  coldness  sleep, 


How  bright  ! 


ep-felt 


appears, 


But,  when  son 

VVhose  touch  i 
Oh,  then  Ihe  smile  is  warmd  away, 

And,  melting,  turns  in  tears. 
Then  still  wiih  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  Ihe  cold,  the  free  ; 
Give  smiles  lo  those  who  love  you  less. 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 


WHEN    TWILIGHT    DEWS 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love, 
I  waich  the  s'ar,  whose  beam  so  oft 

Ua«  lighted  me  to  thee,  love. 


And  thou  loo,  on  that  orb  so  dear, 

Dost  often  gaze  a  I  even. 
And  ihiiiU,  though  lost  for  ever  here. 

Thou  'It  yet  be  mine  in  heaven. 

There's  not  a  garden  walk  1  tread, 


'Jhp 


}  not  a  tlovt 


,  love 


But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that's  fled. 
Some  joy  that 's  gone  with  thee,  love. 

And  still  1  wish  that  hour  was  ntar, 
VVhen,  friends  and  foes  forgiven, 

The  piins,  Ihe  ills  we've  wept  through  here, 
May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven. 


YOUNG    JESSICA. 

Young  Jessica  sat  atl  the  day. 

With  heart  o'er  idle  love-ihoughls  piniug: 
Her  needle  bright  beside  her  Uy, 

So  aciive  ouce  !  —  now  idly  sinning. 
Ah,  Jessy,  't  is  in  idle  hearts 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble; 
The  safest  shield  against  ihe  darts 

Of  Cupid,  IS  Minerva's  thimble. 

The  child,  who  with  a  magnet  plays. 

Well  knowing  all  its  aris,  so  wily, 
The  lenipter  near  a  needle  lays, 

And  l.tughiiig  says,  *'  We'll  steal  it  slily." 
The  needle,  having  nought  to  do, 

is  ple.ised  lo  let  iJie  magnet  wheedle; 
Till  closer,  closer  come  Ihe  Iwo, 

And  —  oli',  at  leng.h,  elopes  the  needle. 

Now,  had  Ihis  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

To  some  g.iy  reticule's  construction. 
It  ne'er  had  >iiay'd  fiom  duiys  tie. 

Nor  felt  the  magnet's  sly  seduction. 
'J  hus,  girls,  would  you  keep  quiet  hearts, 

Voui  snowy  tir.f:er8  must  be  nimble; 
Tht'  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

Ot  Cupid,  IS  Miuei  va's  thimble. 


KOW    HAPPY,    ONCE, 

Kow  happy,  once  tho'  wing'd  with  sighs, 

My  moments  flew  alnng, 
Wh;!e  looking  on  those  smiling  eyej, 

And  list'ning  to  thy  ntagic  song! 
But  vanish'd  now,  lijte  sunaner  dreams. 

Those  monients  smile  no  more; 
For  me  ihat  eye  no  longer  beams, 

That  song  for  me  is  o'er. 
Mine  the  cold  brow, 
That  speaks  thy  aller'd  vow. 
While  others  feel  thy  sunshine  now. 

Oh,  could  I  change  my  love  like  thee, 

One  hope  miglil  yet  be  mine  — 
Some  other  eyes  as  bright  to  see, 

And  hear  a  voice  as  sweet  as  thioe ; 
But  never,  never  can  Ihi-,  heart 

Be  waked  to  life  ag.iin  ; 
With  thee  it  lost  its  vital  part, 

And  wi  her'd  then! 
Cold  iis  pulse  l;es, 
And  mute  are  e'en  itssiphB, 
All  other  grief  it  now  defies. 


I    LOVE    BUT    THEE, 

If,  after  all.  you  still  will  doubt  and  fear  me, 
And  think  this  heart  to  other  loves  will  s'r; 

If  I  mua  suear,  then,  lovely  doubter,  hear  n: 
By  ev'ry  dream  I  have  iv  hen  thou 'rt  auay. 

By  ev'ry  throb  1  feel  when  thou  'it  near  me, 
I  love  but  thee—  I  love  but  thee  I 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC 


237 


By  those  Jark  eyes,  where  light  is  ever  playine:. 

Where  l^ve.'in  de|itli  of  stminw,  holds  his  throne, 
And  by  th'>se  lips,  which  give  w  hale  er  thou  'rt  sayiug, 


By  that  fsir  brow,  where  Innocence  reposes, 
As  pure  a^  moiinlie;ht  hieepii.i;  upon  snuw, 

And  bv  that  check,  wlio  e  fleeing  blush  discloses 
A  h'le  too  brij^lit  lo  bless  this  world  below, 

And  only  fit  10  dwell  ou  Kden's  roses, 
i  love  but  thee  —  1  love  but  Ihee  I 


LET  JOy  ALONE  BE  REMEMBERED  NOW. 

Let  thy  jovs  alone  be  remember'd  now, 

Let  tliy"sorrt)wsgo  sleep  a^vhile  ; 
Or  if  ihonsht's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow, 

Let  Love  light  it  up  witli  his  smile. 
For  thus  to  i.ieet.  aud  thus  hi  find. 

That  Time,  whose  touch  can  chill 
Each  (lower  of  form,  each  grace  of  mind, 

liath  left  thee  blonmins  still, — 
Oh,  joy  alnne  should  be  Ihouj^lit  of  now, 

Let  oui  sorrows  go  sletp  awhile  ; 
Or  should  thouj^hl's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy  brow; 

Let  Love  li^ht  it  up  with  his  smile. 

When  the  (!owers  of  life*s  sweet  garden  fade, 

If  but  mie  bright  le.f  remain. 
Of  the  many  that  once  its  glory  made, 

It  is  not  for  us  lo  comp  ain. 
But  thus  to  meet  and  tlius  to  wake 

In  all  Love''s  early  bliss; 
Oh,  Time  all  other  gil;s  may  take, 

So  he  hut  leaves  i,s  this  1 
Then  let  joy  alone  be  rememherM  now, 

Let  riui  sorroWh  go  sleep  awhile; 
Or  if  tliought's  d<»rk  cloud  come  o'er  the  brow, 

Lei  Love  liglit  it  up  wiih  his  smile  ! 


LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST?  LOVE  THEE? 

Lo\e  thee,  dearest?  love  thee? 

Yes,  by  yonder  star  1  swear, 
Wh'ch  tliio'  tears  ..hove  thee 

Shines  so  sadly  lairj 
Thnuih  uffendim, 
W,th  te.rs,  like  lum. 
Like  hini  my  truth  will  shine, 

And  —  love  Ihte,  dearest?  love  thee? 
Yes,  till  death  I'm  thme. 

Leave  Ihee,  dearest  ?  leave  thee  ? 

No,  that  s'ar  is  not  more  true; 
When  my  vows  deceive  thee, 

lit  will  wander  loo. 
A  cloud  of  night 

May  veil  his  hght, 
And  iealh  sh^ll  darken  mine  — 

Kul  —  leave  Ihee,  dearest?  leave  thee? 
No.  tiU  death  I'm  thine. 


MY    HEART    AND    LUTE. 

1  give  thee  all  —  I  can  no  more  — 

Iho'  poor  Ilie  ott''ring  be  ; 
M>  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 

Thai  \  can  biiiig  to  lhe«. 
A  lute  wh"se  gentle  sone  reveals 

ities^iul  of  love  full  well; 
A  -0,  better  far,  a  heart  that  feels 

Much  mire  than  lute  could  tell. 


Tho'  \ove  and  song  may  fail,  alas ! 

To  Keep  life's  clouds  away^ 
At  least  't  will  make  them  lighter  fas* 

Or  gild  them  if  they  slay. 
And  ev'n  if  Care,  at  moments,  flingi 

A  discord  o'er  life's  ha|»py  slmin, 
Let  Love  but  gently  touch  the  strings, 

'X  will  all  be  sweet  again  1 


PEACE,  PEACE  TO  IILM  THAT'S  GONEl 


When  I  am  dead, 
Then  lay  my  ht-ad 
J  some  lone,  distant  dell, 
Where  voices  .-e'er 


Shall  !-tir  the  air. 
Or  break  its  silent  spell. 

If  any  sound 

Be  heard  around. 
Let  the  sweet  bird  alone, 

That  weejis  in  song, 

Sitig  all  night  long, 
"Peace,  jieace  to  him  tliat*s  gone!" 

Ye',  oh.  were  mine 

One  sigh  of  thine, 
One  pitying  word  from  thee, 

Like  gleams  of  heaven, 

TosiiMieis  given, 
Would  be  that  word  to  me. 

Howe'er  unblebt, 

My  shade  would  rest 
While  lisl'iiing  to  (hat  tone  ; — 

Enough  '(  would  be 

To  hear  from  tlite, 
*'  Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  gone!" 


ROSE     OF    THE     DESERT. 


Rose  of  the  Desert!  tl 
Lnnelv  and  lovely,  fleet 


In  vestal  silence  lefi  lo  live  and  d 

Rose  of  the  De>eit!  thus  -should  woman 

Sluuing  uuconrted,  lone  and  sate,  like  th 


;  blushing  ray, 
Loneh  and  lovely,  fleets  un-een  a\*ay  ; 
No  hand  lo  cull  ihee,  none  to  woo  thy  sigh, — 


Rose  of  the  Garden,  how  unlike  thy  doom  ! 
Destined  for  others,  not  thyself,  to  bloom  : 
Culi'd  e'er  thy  beauty  lives  tlirough  half  its  diy  ; 
A  nionient  cherish'd.  and  then  cast  nway ; 
Rose  of  the  Garden  !  such  is  wonian's  lot, — 
Worshipp'd,  while  Llooming — when  she  fades,  forgot. 


'TIS    ALL    FOR    THEE. 
If  life  for  me  haih  joy  or  light, 


.11  frc 


I  the 


My  thouglits  by  day,  my  dreams  by  night 

Are  but  of  thee,  of  only  thee. 
Whate'er  of  hope  or  peace  I  know 
Mv  zest  in  joy,  my  balm  in  woe, 
To  those  dear  eyes  of  thine  I  owe, 
'T  is  all  from  thee. 

My  heart,  ev'n  ere  I  saw  those  eyes, 

Seeni'd  doom'd  to  Ihee  ; 
Kept  pure  till  then  from  o'her  ties, 

'T  was  all  for  thee,  for  only  Ihee. 
Like  plants  thai  sleep,  lill  sunny  May 
Calls  foith  their  life,  my  spirit  lay, 
Till,  h'uch'd  by  L-ve's  awak'nim;  rav, 

It  lived  for  thee,  it  liied  for  thee'. 


^233 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


When  Fame  would  call  me  to  her  heights, 

She  speaks  by  thee  ; 
And  dim  would  shine  her  proudest  lights, 

Unshared  by  thee,  unshared  by  thee. 
Whene'er  I  ^efk  the  Mule's  sh.it.e, 
Where  Bards  have  huii?  their  wrearha  divii 
And  wish  lliost;  wreathe  of  ?!orv  mine, 

'T  is  all  fur  thee,  tor  only  thee. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  OLDEN   TliME.» 

There's  a  son^  of  the  olden  time, 

Falling  s.id  o'er  (he  ear, 
Like  the  dteam  of  some  village  chime. 

Which  in  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 
And  ev'n  amidst  the  grand  and  g.iy, 

When  Music  tries  her  gentlest  art, 
1  never  hear  so  sweet  a  lay, 

Or  one  that  han^s  so  round  my  heart, 
As  that  song  of  the  olden  time, 

Falliiii!  sad  o'er  the  ear, 
Like  the'dream  nf  snme  village  chime, 

Which  ill  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

And  when  all  of  this  life  is  gone, — 

Ev'n  the  hope,  ling'ring  now, 
Like  the  last  ui'  the  leaves  left  on 

Autumn's  sere  and  faded  bough, — 
'T  will  seem  as  still  those  friends  were  near 

Wlio  loved  me  in  yau'h'a  early  day, 
If  in  tha!  paiiing  h-ur  1  hear 

The  Mine  s«eet  noles,  and  die  away,— 
To  that  V  <  of  ihe  olden  time, 

Brealh''i,  like  H"pe's  farewell  strain, 
To  say,  i-i  »onie  brighter  clime, 

Life  and  )outh  will  shine  agiin  ! 


WAKE    THEE,  MV    DEAR, 

Wake  thee,  my  dear  —  thy  dreaming 
Till  da  ker  hours  will  keep; 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 
'Tis  wrong  tow'rds  Heav'u  lo  ileep. 


^iber. 


Moments  there  are  we  i 

Moments  of  pain  and 
Which  to  oblivi'  us  slumber, 

Gladly  the  wretch  would  spire. 
Bur  now, —  whoM  think  of  dreaming 

When  Love  his  watch  should  keep? 
While  such  a  m  )on  is  beaming, 

'T  is  wrong  tow'rds  Heaven  to  sleep. 

If  e'er  the  fates  should  sever 

My  life  and  hopes  from  thee,  love, 
The  sleep  ihat  lasts  fi>r  ever 

Would  then  be  sweet  to  me,  love* 
But  ni'W,— away  wi  h  dreaming! 

Till  darker  hours  *l  will  keep  ; 
While  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 

'T  is  wrong  tow'rds  Heaven  to  sleep. 


THE  BOY  OF  THE  ALPS.» 

IJghtly,  Alpine  rover, 
Tread  'he  nioun'ains  overj 
Rude  is  the  path  thou'sr  yet  to  go; 

S.iow  cliffs  banging  o'er  thee, 

Fields  of  ice  before  thee, 
While  the  hid  tonent  moios  belovr. 


i  In  this  sons,  which  is  one  of  the  many  set  to 
music  by  myself,  the  ocdsional  lawlessness  of  ihe 
metre  arises,  !  need  hardly  say,  from  the  peculiar 
structure  of  the  air. 


Hark,  the  deep  thunder, 

Through  the  vales  yonder! 

'T  is  the  huge  av'lanche  downward  cait; 

From  ruck  to  rock 

Rebounds  Ihe  shock. 
But  courage,  boy    the  danger  's  past. 

Onuard;  youthful  lOVer, 

Tre.id  Ihe  glacier  over, 
Safe  sh^lt  thou  reach  thy  home  at  last. 
Oil.  ere  light  forsake  thee, 
Sonn  will  du^k  o'ertake  thee  : 
O'er  ynn  ice-bridfte  lies  Ihy  way! 

Now,  for  Ihe  risk   prepare  theej 

Safe  il  yel  m,iy  bear  thee, 
Though  't  will  melt  in  morning's  ray. 

Hark,  that  dread  howling  I 
'Jis  the  wolf  prowling,— 
fccent  of  fhy  irack  ihe  foe  lia!h  got; 

And  clift"  and  shore 

Resound  his  lOar. 
But  courage,  bny, —  the  danger's  past ! 

Watching  eyes  have  found  thee, 

Loving  arms  are  round  Ihee, 
Safe  hast  thou  reach'd  ihy  father's  col. 


FOR    THEE    ALONE. 

For  Ihee  alone  I  brave  the  boundless  deep, 
Those  eyes  my  light  through  ev'ry  distant  sea; 

My  waking  thoughis,  ihe  dream  thai  gilds  my  sleep, 
The  noontide  revVie,  all  are  given  to  tbee, 
To  thee  alone,  to  thee  alone. 

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

When  neaier  view'd,  (he  fiiry  phniitom^  fly, 
The  ciowds  dissolve,  and  thou  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'nng  on,  tliat  when  some  \ear.s  are  o'er, 
One  bright  reward  shall  crown  my  toil  at  last, 
Thy  smile  alone,  ihy  smile  alone. 

Oh,  place  beside  ihe  transport  of  that  hour 
All  eailh  can  boast  of  fair,  of  rich,  and  bright, 

Wealth's  radiant  mines,  the  loftv  thrones  of  power, — 
Then  ask  where  first  thy  lover's  choice  would  light? 
Ou  thee  alone,  ou  thee  alone. 


HER  LAST  WORDS,  AT  PARTING. 

Her  last  words,  ai  parting,  how  can  1  forget  ? 
Deep  treasured  llirough  lile,  in  my  heart  they  shall 
stay  ; 
Like  music,  whose  charm  in  the  soul  lingers  vet, 
When  lis  sounds  fiom  the  ear  have  long'melted 
auay. 
Let  Fortune  assail  me,  her  threal'nmgs  are  vain  ; 

Those  still-hreathing  words  shall  my  talisman  be,— 
"Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
*'  There  's  one  heart,  unclunging,  that  beats  but  for 
Ihee." 

From  the  deserts  sweet  well  tho'  the  pilgrim  roust 
hie. 
Never  more  of  that  fresh-sprirgiog  fountain  (o  taste, 
He  haih  sull  of  its  bright  drops  a  treasured  supply, 
Whose  sweeiness  lends  lile  to  his  lips  ihroLgh  the 
waste. 


2  This  and  Ihe  Song?  that  follow  fas  far  as  page  245^, 
have  been  published,  with  music,  by  Messrs.  Addison 
ind  Ee^le,  Regent  Street. 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


239 


SOt  dark  as  my  fate  is  Btill  riooniM  lo  remain, 

Thtse  worilssliall  my  wtli  lu  (lie  wilderness  be,— 

"  iibiiieiiiber,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 

"  Jijeie  's  one  lieart,  unchanging,  that  beats  but  for 

tliCC." 


LET  S  T^KE  THIS  WORLD  AS  SOME  WIDE 
SCEME. 

Let 's  talte  tliis  world  as  some  wide  scene, 

Tliruugti  which,  m  trail,  but  buoyant  boat, 
Willi  sliies  now  dark  and  now  serene, 

Together  tilou  and  1  must  lluat  j 
Beholding  oft,  ou  either  shore, 

Jjrighl  spots  where  we  should  love  to  stay; 
But  Time  plies  swift  his  flying  oar, 

And  away  we  speed,  away,  away 

Should  chilling  winds  and  rains  cotne  on. 

We'll  raise  our  awning  'gainst  Iheshow'r; 
Sit  closer  till  the  storm  is  gone. 

And,  sinilmg,  wait  a  sunnier  hour. 
And  it  that  sunnier  liour  should  shine. 

We'll  know  its  brightness  cannot  slay. 
But  bajipy,  while  >l  is  thine  and  mine, 

Complain  not  when  it  fades  away. 

So  shall  we  reach  at  last  that  Fall 

Down  which  hies  currents  all  must  go, 
The  d.uli,  the  Liilhanl,  destined  all 


1  o  ! 


Nor 


.  the 


id  be 


hari 


v'u  Ih.it  hour  shall  w 
If,  side  by  side,  stilt  tond  we  keep. 
And  calmly,  in  each  other's  arms 
Together  link  d,  go  down  the  slLcr 


LOVE'S    VICTOR  y. 

Sing  to  Love  —  for,  oh,  't  was  he 

Who  won  the  glorious  day 
Strew  the  wreaths  of  vicloiy 

Along  the  couqu'ror's  way. 
Yoke  the  Muses  to  his  car, 

Let  them  ^ing  each  trophy  won ; 
While  his  mother's  joyous  star 

Shall  light  the  triumph  ou. 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love, 

Let  spirits  sing  around  ; 
While  ihe  hill,  the  dale,  and  grove, 

With  "mighty  Love"  resound  ; 
Or,  should  a  sigh  of  sorrow  steal 

Amid  the  sounds  thus  echo'd  o'er, 
>T  will  but  leacli  the  god  to  feel 

His  victories  the  more. 

See  his  wings,  like  amethyst 

Of  sunny  Ind  their  hue; 
Bright  as  when,  by  Psyche  kist, 

'1  hey  trembled  through  and  through. 
Flowers  spiing  benealh  his  feet; 

Angel  forms  beside  him  run  ; 
While  unnuniher'd  lips  repeat 

**  Love's  victory  is  won  !  " 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love,  &c. 


SONG  OF  HERCULES  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER.! 

**  I  've  been,  oh,  sweet  daughter, 

**  To  founlain  and  sea, 
"To  seek  in  their  water 

"  Some  bright  gem  for  thee. 


«  Founded  on  Ihe  fable  reported  by  Arrian  (ii 
Indicii)  of  Hercules  having  searched  Ihe  Indiai 
Ocean,  to  find  the  pearl  with  which  he  adorned  hi 
daughter  I'audaea. 


•'  Where  diamonds  were  sleeping, 
"  Their  sparkle  I  souitht, 

'  Where  crystal  was  weeping, 
**  Its  tears  I  have  caught. 

"  The  sea-nymph  I've  courted 

"  In  rich  cr.ial  halls; 
"  With  iNaiads  have  sported 

"  ll\  brisht  waleilalls. 
"  Kul  sijoilive  or  tender, 
_"  S  ill  sought  1  aiound 
"  Tiial  gem,  wilh  whose  splendour 

"Thuu  yet  shall  be  crown'd. 

"  And  see,  while  I'm  speaking, 
"Yon  solt  light  afar;  — 

"  The  pearl  I  've  been  seeking 
"There  floats  like  a  star! 

**  In  the  deep  Indian  Ocean 

"And  quick  as  light's  motion 
"Its  wealth  shall  be  thine." 

Then  eastward,  like  lightning. 

The  hero-god  flew. 
His  sunny  looks  bright'ning 

The  air  he  went  through. 
And  sweet  was  the  duly. 

And  hallow'd  the  hour, 
Which  saw  thus  young  Beauljr 

£lubcllish'd  by  Power, 


THE    DREAM    OF    HOME. 

Who  has  not  fell  how  sadly  sweet 

The  dream  of  home,  the  dream  of  home. 
Steals  o'er  the  hear',  loo  soon  to  fleet. 

When  far  o'er  sea  or  land  we  roam  ? 
Sunlight  more  soft  may  o'er  us  fall. 

To  greener  shores  our  bark  may  come  ; 
But  far  more  brii;ht,  moie  dear  than  all, 

'I'hat  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  home. 

Ask  of  Ihe  sailor  youth  when  far 

His  light  bark  bounds  o'er  ocean's  foam. 
What  charms  him  niost,  when  ev'ning's  star 

Smiles  o'er  the  wave?  to  dream  of  iionie. 
Fond  thoughts  of  absent  friends  and  loves 

At  that  sweet  hour  around  him  come; 
His  heart's  best  joy  where'er  he  roves. 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  home. 


THEY  TELL  ME   THOU  'RT  THE  FAVOUR'D 
GUEST,* 

They  tell  me  thou  'rt  Ihe  favour'd  guest 
Of  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng ; 

No  wit  like  thine  lo  wake  the  jest. 

No  voice  lillc  thine  to  breathe  the  song  ; 

And  none  could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 

7'liat  thou  and  I  are  far  apart, 

Alas!  alas!  how  different  flows 
With  lliec  and  me  the  time  away  ! 

Not  thai  I  wi^h  thee  sad  —  heav'n  knows  — 
Slill  if  thou  can'st,  be  light  and  gay 

I  only  know,  that  without  thee 

The  sun  himself  is  dark  to  me. 


'  Part  of  a  translation  of  some  Latin  verses,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  addressed  by  Hippolvia  Taiirella 
lo  her  husband,  during  his  -ibsence  at  the' gay  court  of 
Leo  the  Tenth.  The  verses  may  be  found  i>  the  Ap- 
pendix to  Roscoe's  Work, 


240 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC, 


Do  I  thus  hnsle  to  lull  and  bower, 
Am;)iig  llie  prouii  and  gay  lo  shine? 

Or  deck  i.iy  liair  wUli  guoi  and  tlower, 
To  tlafler  luhtTojcs  lh..n  lliji^e? 

'lljou  liad'jt  llic  i;i»t,  Ihou  liaj'sl  llie  last. 


Trili    YOUNG    INDIAN    MAID. 

Tlitre  caoie  a  nymph  dauciug 

Graceludv,g]..ce|i,ll., 
Hereyeal,shigl..ucius 

J-ike  the  Ijlucsea; 
And  while  all  lhl>  gladucss 

Around  her  steps  bnne, 
Such  sweet  notes  i>(  saduess 

Her  genlle  lips  sung, 
rhif  ne'er  while  1  live  Ironi  my  inem*ry  shall  fade 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  juaid. 

Her  zone  of  bells  ringing 

Chcenlv,  cheerily," 
Chimed  h.  Iiersi„giiig 

Li-hl  echos  of  giie; 
But  in  vail,  did  she  torrow 

Of  mi: 111  the  gay  tout, 
Her  voice  spoke  of  sorrow. 

And  soriow  ah.ne. 
Nor  e'er  while  1  live  from  my  mem'ry  sliall  fade 
The  song,  or  Ihe  look,  of  that  young  indiau  maid. 


THE    HOMEWARD    MARCH. 

Be  still  my  heart :  1  hear  them  come  : 
Those  sound?  announce  my  lover  near: 

Tlie  march  ihal  brings  our  vvarriors  bouie 
Troclaiuis  he'll  soon  be  here. 

Hark,  the  distant  tread. 

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

And  the  lnresl  deer 

Stand  s  ill  lo  hear, 
As  those  echoing  steps  ring  round. 

Be  still  my  heart,  I  hear  them  come, 
Thuse  sounds  that  s[)eak  iiiy  soldier  near; 

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

But  liaik,  more  faint  the  footsteps  grow, 
And  now  they  wind  to  dis  am  glades; 

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

Like  sounds  in  a  dream, 

The  footsleps  seem, 
As  down  Ihe  hills  they  die  away  ; 

And  the  niarch,  whose  song 

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

'T  is  past,  'f  is  o'er, —  hush,  heart,  thy  pain! 

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

Brings  sons  and  lovers  home. 


WAKE    UP,   SWEET    MELODY. 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody  ! 

Now  is  the  hour 
When  young  and  loving  hearts 
Feel  niosi  thy  power. 
One  note  of  music,  by  moonlight's  snft  ray  — 
Oh,  'I  is  worth  thousands  heard  coldly  by  day 


Then  wake  up,  sweet  melody  I 

Now  is  the  hour 
Wiien  young  and  loving  hearU 

Feel  most  thy  power. 

Ask  the  foi.d  nightingale. 

When  his  sweet  llouer 
Loves  most  lo  hear  his  soug, 

in  her  green  bower? 
Oh,  he  will  tell  thee,  through  sumnier-nighla  OBB, 
fondest  she  lends  her  whofc  soul  to  his  song. 
Then  wake  up,  -vveet  melody  1 

Now  is  the  hour 
When  young  and  loving  harts 

Feel  most  thy  power. 


CALM    BE    THY    SLEEP. 

Calm  be  tliy  sleep  as  infants'  slumbers  ?^ 

Pure  as  angel  thoughts  thy  dreams! 
May  every  joy  tliis  bright  woild  numbers 

Shed  o'er  Ihee  their  minglej  beams! 
Or  if,  where  Pleasure's  wii.g  hath  gilded. 

There  ever  musi  S'lue  pang  remain. 
Still  be  Ihv  lot  wall  me  divided,— 

Thine  all  the  bliss,  and  mine  the  pain 

Day  and  night  my  thoughts  shall  hover 

Round  Illy  sieps  where'er  they  stray; 
As.  ev  n  when  clouds  his  idol  cover, 

Fondly  the  Per?ian  tracks  ils  ray. 
Ifthis  be  wionir,  if  Heav'ii  olended 

Bv  worship  lo  its  cieaiure  oe. 
Then  lei  my  vows  to  both  be  blended. 

Half  hrealtied  to  Heav'n  and  half  lo  thee. 


THE     EXILE. 

Night  waneth  fast,  the  morning  s!ar 

Saddens  wiih  light  ihe  glimnr'ring  sea. 
Whose  waves  shall  soon  lo  realms  af.ir 

Waft  me  fiom  hope,  fiom  love,  and  thee. 
Cold'v  the  beam  from  yonder  sky 

Looks  o'er  the  waves  lliat  onward  stray; 
But  colder  s  ill  the  stranger's  eye 

To  him  whose  home  is  far  away. 

Oh,  not  at  hour  so  chill  and  bleak. 

Let  thoughts  of  me  come  o'er  Ihy  breast; 
But  of  Ihe  lost  one  thiok  and  speak, 

When  summer  sun?  sink  calm  lo  lest 
So,  as  I  wander.  Faucv's  dieam 

Shall  bring  me  o'er  the  sunset  seas, 
Thv  look,  in  every  melliog  beam, 

thy  whisper,  iu  each  dyhig  brce.e. 


THE    FANCY    FAIR. 

Come,  maids  and  youths,  for  heie  we  sell 
All  wondious  things  of  earth  and  air; 

Whatever  wild  romancers  tell. 
Or  poets  sing,  or  lovei-s  swear. 
You  'II  find  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

Heie  eyes  are  made  like  stars  to  shine, 
And  kept,  for  yeais,  in  such  repair. 

That  ev'n  when  lurn'd  of  thinv-nine, 
Thev  'II  hardly  look  the  worse  for  wear. 
If  bought  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

We've  lots  of  tears  for  baids  to  shower, 
And  hearts  that  such  ill  usasefiear. 

That,  though  they  're  broken  ev'rv  hour. 
They'll  still  in  rhyme  fresh  breaking  blar, 
If  purchased  at  our  Fancy  Fair. 


BALL-ADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


241 


As  fasbinns  change  in  ev'ry  Ihing, 
Wo  've  goods  lo  suit  e.ich  seasnn's 

F.lenral  frieiidshilis  for  the  spring, 
Ai.d  euJIe-s  loves  for  sujiiiiier  vvea 
AM  sold  at  this  our  Fancy  fair. 

We've  reputations  while  as  snow, 
Tlial  Ion-  will  la>t,  if  used  wi^h  c 

Nay,  safe  Ihrougli  all  life's  journey  g 
If  lack'd  and  iiiark'd  as  "  brillle  i 
Just  puVcliased  at  the  Fancy  Fair. 


IF   THOU    VVOULD'ST  HAVE   ME   SING 
AND  FLAY. 

If  thou  would'st  hive  me  sing  and  play, 

As  once  1  play'd  and  sung. 
First  take  ihis  time-worn  lute  away, 

And  bring  one  freshly  strung. 
Call  back  the  lime  when  pleasure's  sigh 

First  breathed  among  the  sirii.ga  ; 
And  Time  himself,  in  Hilling  by, 

Made  uiusic  with  tiis  wings. 

But  how  is  this  ?  though  new  the  lute, 

And  stiiuing  fresh  the  cliords, 
Beneath  this  hand  ihey  slumber  mule, 

Ur  speak  but  dreamy  ivord^. 
In  vain  I  seek  the  soul  Ihat  dwelt 

Within  that  once  sweet  shell, 
Which  told  so  warmly  what  it  ftit. 

And  felt  what  nought  could  tell. 

Oh,  ask  not  then  for  passion's  lay, 

From  lyre  so  coldly  sprung; 
With  this  I  ne'erjJan  sii  g  or  play, 

As  once  1  play'd  and  sung. 
No,  bring  that  lo.ig-loved  lute  again, — 

Ih  ugh  cinird  by  years  il  be. 
If  llwii  wilt  call  the  slumb'ring  strain, 

n'  will  wake  again  fur  ihee. 

Tho'  time  have  froz'n  the  tuneful  stream 

l)f  Ihoughls  thit  gush'd  abng. 
One  look  from  ihee,  like  summer's  beam. 

Will  thaw  thein  inlosong. 
Then  give,  oh,  give,  that  wakening  ray, 

And  once  more  blithe  and  young. 
Thy  bard  again  will  sing  and  play, 

As  once  he  play'd  and  sung. 


STILL    WHEN    DAYLIGHT. 

Still  when  diyliirht  o'er  the  wave 
Bridii  and  soft  its  farewell  gave, 
I  used  to  hear,  while  light  was  falling, 
O'er  the  wave  a  sweet  voice  calling, 
Mournfully  at  distance  calling. 

Ah  !  once  how  blest  that  maid  would  cotne, 
To  meet  her  sea-boy  hast'ning  home  ; 
And  ihrongh  Ihe  night  those  sounds  repeating, 
Hail  his  birk  with  joyous  greeting, 
Joyousl)  his  light  baik  greeting. 

But,  one  sad  night,  when  winds  were  high. 
Nor  earth,  nor  heaven,  could  hear  her  cry. 
She  saw  bis  boat  come  tossing  over 
Midnight  s  wave,— hut  not  her  loverl 
No,  never  more  her  lover. 

And  .still  Ihat  s.ad  dream  loth  to  leave. 
She  comes  with  waml'ring  mind  at  eve. 
And  oft  we  hear,  when  night  is  falling, 
Faint  her  voice  thnugh  twilight  calling. 
Mournfully  at  twilight  calling. 


THE    SUMMER    WEBS. 

The  summer  webs  that  float  and  sbioe, 

The  summer  dews  that  fall, 
Tho'  light  they  be,  this  heart  of  mine 

Is  ligliter  still  than  all. 
It  tells  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! 

With  light  thus  round,  within,  above, 

With  nought  10  wake  one  sigh. 
Except  Ihe  wish,  that  all  we  love 

Were  at  this  nM,menl  nigh,— 
It  seems  as  if  life's  hrillianl  sun 

Had  stopp'd  in  full  career. 
To  make  this  hour  its  biightest  one. 

And  rest  m  radiance  heie. 


MIND  NOT  THOUGH  D.\YLIGHT. 

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

waking? 
Sound  the  merry  viol,  and  daylight  or  nn^. 
Be  alt  fur  one  hour  in  the  gay  dance  Ibtgot. 

See  young  Aurora,  up  heav'n's  hill  advancing 
Iho'  fresh  from  her  pillow,  ev'n  she  loo  is  dancing. 
While  thus  all  creation,  eanh,  heaven,  and  sea. 
Are  dancing  around  us,  oh,  why  should  not  we? 


Who  'U  say  that  moments  we  use  thus  are  was'ed  ? 
Such  sweet  drops  of  time  only  (iow  to  be  tas  e.1  ; 
Wtiile  hearls  are  biiih  beaiing,aiid  harps  full  in  tuoe. 
The  fault  is  all  morning's  for  coming  so  soon. 


THEY    MET    BUT   ONCE. 

They  met  but  once,  in  youth's  sweet  hot 

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

To  chase  thai  dream  awaj'. 
They  've  seen  the  suns  of  other  skies. 

On  olher  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  ; 
And  still  their  hearts  thai  day  recall. 

As  fresh  as  then  it  Hew. 

Sweet  dream  of  youth  !  oh,  ne'er  again 
Let  either  meet  the  brow 

■  lift  so  smooth  and  smiling  then, 


Or  > 


vhat 


,  Vonth    Ihe  spell  was  only  thi 

Fiom  thee  alone  tli' enchainment  Hoi 
Thai  make,  the  woild  around  thee  shil 

Wiih  l;glit  thjfelf  bestows. 
They  me  but  oi  ce, —  oh,  ne'er  again 

Let  either  meet  the  brow 
They  left  so  smooth  and  smiling  then. 

Or  see  what  it  is  now. 


WITH   MOONLIGHT  EEAMIXG 

With  moonlight  beaming 

Th'is  o'.  r  the  deep. 
Who'd  linger  dieaminff 

In  idle  sleep  ? 
Leave  joyless  souls  10  live  by  day. 
Our  life  begins  with  yonder'rav  ; 


21 


BALLADS,   SONGS,    ETC, 


And  while  thus  brighlly 

I'lie  nioilieuls  (lee, 
Our  barks  skini  lighlly 

'J'he  &biuiiig  Sda. 

To  jails  of  splendour 

Let  gre^t  ones  hie  ; 
Through  light  more  lender 

Our  (lalhways  lie. 
Wtule  round,  Iroin  banks  of  brook  or  lake, 
Our  company  blithe  echoes  make; 
And.  as  we  lend  'eiu 

Sweet  word  or  strain, 
blill  back  they  send  'eui. 

More  sweei,  again. 


CHILD'S  SONG.    FROM  A  MASQUE. 

1  have  a  g:»rden  of  my  own, 

Sliinmg  With  tlowers  of  every  hue; 
1  loved  It  dearly  wtiile  alone, 

But  1  shall  love  it  moie  wiih  you: 
And  ttiere  the  golden  hers  sliall  come, 

in  i»uutinei-time  at  break  of  nioro, 
And  wake  us  with  their  busy  hum 

Around  the  Siha's  fragrant  thoru. 

1  have  a  fawn  from  Adeti's  land, 

On  le.ly  buds  and  lie.nes  nurst ; 
And  you  shall  teed  tiiui  Ironi  your  hand, 

'J  hough  he  m  ly  slait  wilh  tear  at  hrst. 
And  1  will  lead  you  wliere  lie  lies 

i'or  sheller  in  Uie  Uiion-tlde  hiat ; 
And  you  may  to  cli  his  sleeping  eyea, 

And  leel  his  little  silv'ry  lect. 


THE  HALCYON  HANGS  O'ER  OCEAN. 

The  halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean, 
The  sea-lark  skiins  Ihe  bri..e; 

This  bright  world's  all  in  inolioo, 
No  heart  seems  sad  but  mine. 

To  walkthrough  sun-bright  places, 
Wilh  heart  all  cold  the  while; 

To  look  in  smiling  faces, 

When  we  uo  more  can  smile; 

To  feel,  while  earth  and  heaven 
Around  thee  shine  with  bliss, 

To  thee  no  liglit  l>  given,— 
Oh,  what  a  doom  is  this! 


THE   WORLD  WAS  HUSH'D. 

The  world  was  hush'd,  the  moon  above 

Saii'd  through  elher  si   wjy, 
When,  near  the  casement  of  my  love. 

Thus  I  wl.ispei'd  hiwly,— 
"Awake,  awake,  hiiw  canst  thou  sleep? 

"'I'he  field  i  seek  10-niuriow 
*'Is  one  u  here  man  liath  fame  to  reap, 

*'  And  woir.an  gleans  but  sorrow." 

"  Let  battle's  field  be  what  it  may," 

■Jhus  spoke  a  voice  replying, 
"Think  not  thy  love,  while  thou'rt  away, 

"Will  here  sit  idly  sighing. 
"No  — woman's  Siiul,  if  not  for  fame, 

"  for  loie  can  brave  all  danger  1' 
Then  forth  from  out  the  casement  came 

A  plumed  and  armed  &■  ranger. 


A  stranger?    No  ;  't  was  she,  the  majd, 

Heisell  beh>re  ine  beaming. 
With  casque  ariay'd,  and  falchion  blaiie 

beneath  her  giidle  gleaming  ! 
Close  side  by  side,  m  treedom's  light, 

'Ibat  blessed  muining  lound  us  i 
In  Vid'ry  s  light  «e  stood  ere  night. 

And  Love,  the  morrow,  crowu'd  us! 


THE    TWO    LOVES. 

There  are  two  Loves,  the  poet  sings 

Both  born  of  Beauty  at  a  birth  : 
The  one,  akin  to  heaven,  hath  wings, 

'Ihe  otiier,  earthly,  walks  on  earth. 
Willi  (his  through  bowers  below  we  play. 

With  that  through  clouds  above  ne  soar; 
With  both,  perchance,  may  lose  our  way  ;  -* 
Then,  tell  me  which, 

Tell  Die  which  shall  we  adore  ? 

The  one,  when  tempted  down  fcom  air, 

At  ^leisure's  fount  to  lave  his  lip, 
Nor  lingers  long,  nor  oft  will  dare 

His  wing  within  the  wave  to  dip. 
While,  plunging  deep  and  long  beneath, 

The  other  bathes  him  o'er  and  o'er 
In  that  sweet  curieiit,  ev'n  to  death  ;  — 
■Ihen,  tell  me  winch. 

Tell  me  «  hich  shall  we  adore  ? 

The  boy  of  heav'n,  even  while  he  lies 

In  Beauty's  lap,  recalls  his  liijiiie; 
And  when  most  happy,  inly  sighs 

For  somethiDg  happier  still  to  come. 
While  he  of  earth,  too  fully  blest 

Wilh  this  bright  woild  to  dream  of  more, 
Sees  all  his  heav'n  on  Be.iuly's  breast:  — 
'Ihen,  tell  me  which, 

Tell  me  which  shall  we  adore? 

The  maid  who  heard  the  poet  sing 

These  twin-desires  of  ear.h  and  sky. 
And  saw,  while  one  inspired  his  string, 

'1  he  other  glislen'd  m  his  eye,— 
To  name  Ihe  earlhlier  boy  ashamed, 

To  choose  the  other  f,  ndly  loalh. 
At  length,  all  blushing,  she  eiclaiin'd,— 
"Ask  not  nhich, 

"  Oh,  ask  not  which  —  we  '11  worship  both. 

"Th'  extremes  of  each  thus  taught  to  shun, 

"  Wilh  hearts  and  souls  between  them  giv(D 
"  When  weary  of  this  earth  wilh  one, 

"  We'll  with  the  o,lier  wing  to  heaven." 
Thus  pledged  the  maid  her  vow  of  bliss  ; 

And  while  one  Love  wrote  down  the  oath. 
The  other  stai'd  il  with  a  kiss; 
And  Heav'n  look'd  on, 

Heav'n  look'd  on,  and  hailow'd  both. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  FUCK  THE  FAIRY. 

Would'sl  know  what  tricks,  by  the  pale  nioonliiht. 
Are  play'd  by  me,  Ihe  meiry  little  Sprite, 
Who  wing  ihrough  air  from  the  camp  to  the  court. 
From  king  10  clown,  and  of  all  make  port ; 

Singing,  1  am  the  Sprile 

Of  Ihe  merry  midnight, 
Who  laugh  at  weak  mortals,  and  love  the  moonlight 

To  a  miser's  bed,  where  he  snoring  slept 
And  dieanit  of  his  cash,  I  slilv  ciept ; 
Chink,  chink  o'er  his  pillow  like  nionev    rang, 
And  he  waked  to  catch  — but  away  1  sprang. 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


243 


I  «aw  Ihrough  Ihe  leaves,  in  a  damsers  bower, 
She  was  waiting  her  love  at  that  s  atli^hl  hour: 
"  Hisl  — hist !"  quo  h  I,  xvith  an  amorous  sigh, 
Aiid  she  hew  to  the  door,  hut  away  dt-w  I, 
i}iiiging,  lam  the  Sprite,  ^c. 

While  a  bard  sat  indiiin?  an  ode  'o  his  love, 

Like  a  pair  ot  blue  iiieleors  1  stared  fnij-  -' 

Aud  he 


iiM  — tor  he  thought  'twas  the  ghost 


Of  Is  lady's  eyes, 
Smgiijg 


1  the  Sprite,  &.C. 


BEAUTY    AND    SONG. 

Down  in  yon  summer  vale, 

Wheie  the  rill  flows. 
Thus  said  a  Nightingale 

To  his  loved  Rose:  — 
"Though  rich  the  pleasures 
"  t)f  song's  sweitt  measures, 
"Vnin  weieiis  melody, 
"Rose,  without  thee." 

Then  from  the  green  recess 

Of  her  tiight-bowV, 
Beaming  «ith  bashfulne^s, 

^Ipnke  the  bright  flowV;  — 
'*  Though  morn  should  lend  her 
'■  Ilh  sunniest  splendour, 
"What  uould  ihe  Rose  be, 
"Un!>ung  by  thee?" 

Thus  still  let  Song  attend 
Woman's  bright  way; 

Thus  still  let  woman  lend 
Light  10  the  lay. 

Like  stars,  ilirou^h  heaven's  sea^ 

Floating  in  harmony, 

Beauiy  should  glide  along. 

Circled  by  Song, 


WHEN    THOU    ART    NIGH. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  it  seems 

A  new  creation  round  ; 
The  sun  hath  fairer  beams, 

The  lute  a  sofier  sound, 
Th"u.gh  thee  alone  I  see. 

And  hear  alone  thy  sigh, 
'T  is  light,  *t  is  song  to  me, 

'T  isall  —  when  thou  ai  I  nigh. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  no  thought 

Ot  grief  comes  o'er  my  heart  ; 
I  only  think —cduld  aught 

Rut  joy  be  where  thou  art  ? 
Life  seems  a  wa.ie  of  bre.ith, 

When  far  from  ihee  I  siijh ; 
And  death  —  ay,  even  death 

Were  .-weet,  if  thou  wert  nigh. 


SONG    OF   A    HYPERBOREAN. 

I  come  from  a  land  in  the  sun-bright  deep, 

Where  golden  gardens  grow  ; 
Where  ihe  winds  of  Ihe  north,  becalro'd  in  sleep, 
Their  conch-shells  never  biow.i 
Haste  to  that  hnly  Isle  with  me, 
Haste  —  haste ! 


1  On  the  Tower  of  the  Winds,  at  Athens,  There 
a  conch-shell  placed  in  the  hmds  of  Boreas.  —  See 
StuarVs  ^ntiquitits.     '*Tbe  north  wind, ''says  Hero 
dotus,  in  speaking  of  Ihe  Hyperboreans,  **  never  blow 
with  theni.'^ 


So  near  the  track  of  the  stars  are  wb,^ 

That  olt,  on  night's  pale  beams, 
The  distai.t  sounds  of  their  harmony 

Come  10  our  ear,  like  dreams. 
Then,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me,  &c.  &c. 

The  Moon,  too,  brings  her  world  so  nigh, 

That  when  Ihe  night-seer  looks 
To  that  shadnwless  orb,  in  a  vernal  sky, 

He  can  number  itti  hills  and  brooks. 

Then,  baste,  £^c.  &.C. 

To  the  Sun-god  all  our  hearts  and  lyres  * 

By  day,  by  niglit,  belong; 
And  the  breath  we  draw  from  his  living  fires, 

We  give  him  back  in  song. 

'I'heu,  haste,  &c.  &.c. 

From  us  descends  the  maid  who  brings 

To  Delns  gifts  divine; 
And  our  wild  beus  lend  their  rainbow  wings 
To  glitter  on  Delphi's  shrine.* 
Then,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me, 
Haste  —  haste  1 


THOU    BIDST    ME    SING, 

Thou  bidst  me  sing  the  lay  I  sung  to  thee 

In  other  days,  ere  joy  had  left  this  biow  ; 
But  ihink,  (hough  still  unchanged  the  notes  may  be, 

How  diti'rent   feels  the  heart  that  breathes  them 
now  ! 
The  rose  thnu  wear'st  to-night  is  still  the  same 

VVe  saw  this  morning  on  its  slt-m  so  gay  ; 
But,  ah  !  Ihat  dew  of  dawn,  that  breath  which  came 

Like  life  o'er  all  its  leaves,  halh  pass'd  away. 

Since  first  that  music  touch'd  thy  heart  and  mine, 

How  many  a  ji-y  and  pain  o'er  bo  h  have  past, — 
The  joy,  a  light  t-o  piecious  long  to  shine. 

The  pain,  a  cloud  whose  shndowa  alwa>s  last. 
And  though  that  lay  would  like  the  voice  of  home 

Breathe  o'er  our  ear,  'twould  waken  now  *  sigh  — 
Ah  !  not,  as  then,  for  fancied  woes  to  come, 

But,  sadder  far,  for  real  bliss  gone  by. 


CUPID    AHMED, 

Place  the  helm  on  thy  brow. 

In  thy  hand  tike  the  spear;— 
Thnu  art  arm  d,  Cupid,  now. 
And  thy  battle-fmur  is  near. 
March  on  !  march  on  !  ihy  sh  ft  and  bow 

Were  weak  against  such  charnis ; 
March  on  !  march  on  !  so  pioud  a  foe 
Scorns  alt  but  martial  ainis. 

See  the  darts  in  her  eyes, 

Tipt  with  scorn,  how  they  shine ! 
Ev'ry  shaft,  as  i!  flies, 
Mocking  proudly  at  thine. 
March  on  '.  march  un  !  thy  feather'd  darts 

Soft  bosoms  soon  might  move; 
But  ruder  aims  to  mdcr  hearis 
Must  teach  what  'i  U  to  love. 


^"Sub  ipso  siderum  cardine  jacent," — Pompon, 
Mda. 

3  "  They  can  show  the  niooD  very  near."  —  Diodar. 
Sicul. 

4  Hecatieus  tells  us,  Ihat  this  Hyperborean  Is.and 
was  dedic:4led  to  Apollo;  and  most  of  the  inhabitauta 
were  either  priesti  or  songsters, 

t  Pausan. 


1244 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    ETC. 


Place  the  helm  on  thy  brow  ; 

Ir,  Ihy  hand  take  the  spear,— 
Thou  art  aiiii'd,  Cupid,  now, 

Aud  thy  Liattle-liour  is  uear. 


BOUND  THE   WORLD  GOES. 

Round  the  world  goes,  by  day  and  night, 

While  wi-h  It  also  round  go  i>e; 
And  in  the  flijht  of  one  day's  iigllt 

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

The  best  thing  a  man  can  do, 
Is  :o  make  it,  al  least,  a  merry-go-rouud, 

By  — sending  the  wine  round  loo. 

Our  first  gay  stage  of  life  is  when 

Youth.  I.,  iis  dawn,  salutes  the  eye- 
Season  of  bliss  !  Oh,  who  wouldn't  then 

Wish  to  try,  "  Sir.p  !"  to  earth  and  sky  ? 
But,  round,  r.'und,  both  b  >y  and  girl 

Are  whisk'd  through  ihat  sky  of  blue  j 
And  much  would  their  hearts  enjoy  the  whiil, 

If  — their  heads  didn't  whirl  louud  too. 

Next,  we  enjoy  our  glorious  noon, 

■Ihinkingall  life  a  life  of  lighl  ; 
But  shadows  come  on,  'I  is  evening  soon. 

And,  ere  we  can  s.ay,  "  How  short  I''— 'lis  nighl. 
Bound,  round,  slill  all  goes  round, 

Ev'n  while  I  'm  thus  singing  to  you  ; 
And  the  best  way  to  make  il  a  meiiT/-so-rouiid, 

Js  to  —  chorus  my  song  round  loo. 


OH,  DO  NOT  LOOK  SO  BRIGHT  AND  BLEST. 

Oh,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest, 

For  "lill  there  comes  a  fear, 
When  brow  like  ihiiie  looks  happiest. 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 
There  lurks  a  dread  in  all  delight, 

A  shadow  near  each  ray. 
That  warns  us  then  lo  fear  their  fl.gnf, 

When  most  we  wish  their  siay. 
Then  look  not  tlmu  so  brisht  and  blest, 

For  ah  '.  there  comes  a  fear, 
Wlien  brow  hke  thine  look*  happie«t, 

Thai  grief  is  then  most  near. 

Why  is  it  thus  that  fairest  things 

The  soonest  fleet  and  die  ?  — 
That  when  most  light  is  on  their  wings, 

They  're  then  bul  spread  to  fly  ! 
And,  sadder  still,  the  pain  will  stay  — 

The  bliss  no  moie  ai.pears; 
As  rainbows  lake  their  light  away, 

And  leave  us  but  the  (ears  ! 
Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blesi, 

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

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 


THE    MUSICAL    BOX. 


"  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  al  home. 
"  And  Ih.mgh  in  fieeduui  s  air  he  dwell, 

♦•Nor  bond  nor  chain  his  spirit  knows, 
"Touch  bul  the  spring  ihou  knon'st  1,0  well, 

"  And  —  hark,  how  sweet  Ihe  love  song  flows !» 
yl  syinfjhuny.) 

Thus  pleaded  I  for  freedom's  right ; 

But  VI  hen  young  Beauty  takes  the  field, 
And  wise  men  seek  delence  in  (light, 

The  doom  of  poels  is  10  yield. 
No  mure  my  heart  Ih'  enchantress  braves, 

1  'm  noiv  m  Beauty  s  prison  hid  ; 
Tlie  Sprite  and  I  are  fellow-sla\es, 

Aud  1,  too,  sing  whene'er  I'm  bid. 


WHEN  TO  SAD  MUSIC  SILENT  YOU  LISTEN. 

When  to  sad  MuMC  silent  you  listen, 

And  tears  on  lliose  eyelids  tremble  like  dew, 
Oh,  Ihen  there  dwells  in  those  e>es  as  they  glisten 

A  siveel  Indy  cliaim  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  liills  bounding 

Was  ne'er  in  its  mirlh  so  graceful  as  thou. 
When  on  Ihe  skies  at  midnight  thou  gazest, 

A  lus  re  so  pure  thy  features  then  wear. 
That,  when  lo  some  s'ar  thai  bright  eye  thou  raises!. 

We  feel  '1  is  lliy  home  thou  'rl  looking  lor  there. 
But,  when  the  word  for  the  gay  dance  is  given, 

So  buoyant  ihy  spirii,  so  hearlfell  ihy  mirlh. 
Oh  then  we  exclaim,  "  Ne'er  leave  earih  lor  heaven, 

"  But  linger  still  here,  to  make  heaven  of  earth." 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 

Fly  swift,  my  lighl  gayelle. 

To  her  vvlin  now  lies  waking, 
To  lie.ir  thy  silver  bell 

Ihe  niiduighl  silence  breaking. 
And,  when  thou  com's',  wilh  gladsome  feet, 

Beneath  her  lallice  springing. 
Ah,  well  she'll  know  how  sweet 

Tlie  words  of  love  thou  'rt  bi  inging. 

Yet,  no—  not  words,  for  they 

But  half  can  tell  love's  feeling; 
Sweet  flowers  alone  can  say 

What  passion  fears  revealing. 
A  once  bright  rose's  wilhei'd  leaf, 

A  tow'nng  lily  broken,— 
Oh  these  mav  paint  a  grief 

No  words  could  e'er  have  spoken. 

Not  such,  my  gay  gazelle, 
The  wreath  thou  speedest  over 

Yon  moonlight  dale,  lo  lell 
My  lady  how  I  love  her. 

And,  what  to  tier  will  sweeter  be 
Than  gems  the  richest,  rarest,— 


Jilhl 


n'd  Ml 


ighiDg  eyet, 
hid. 


"  Look  here,"  said  Rose,  ' 

"Within  this  box,  by  n 
"  A  tuneful  Sprite  imprist 

"  Who  sings  to  me  whe 
"Though  roving  once  his .  „. 

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

"Then  hark,  how  sweet  and  blithe  his  song!" 
(,A  syviphony.) 


8  bid. 
i  and  wing. 


From  Truth 


orlal  I 


One  fadeless  leaf  thou  bearest. 


THE  DAWN  IS  BREAKING  O'ER  US. 

The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us 
See,  heaven  hath  caughl  ils  hue! 

We've  day's  long  light  before  us, 
What  sport  shall  we  pursue? 


1  Tb«  tree  called  in  the  East  Amrili,  or  Ihe  Im- 
mortal.   


SONGS   FROM   THE   GREEK   ANTHOLOGY.        245 


The  hunl  o'er  hill  and  lea? 
Hie  snilo'er  summer  .vea  ? 
Oh  lei  n  t  lioir  so  sweet 
liinvii.ij'd  by  pleasure  fleet. 
The  davvji  i>  breaking  f*er  us, 

See,  lioven  ha'h  caughl  iis  hucl 
We've  d.iy'»  lo:i»  liglit  before  us, 

What  &j)url  shall  we  pursue? 

But  see,  while  we're  deciding, 

VVlial  inorniii'  sport  lo  play, 
The  dial's  h:iHd  is  RlidiMg, 

And  innrn  lialh  pas.'d  away  ! 
Ah,  who  'd  have  thought  th*t  noon 

Would  o'er  us  steal  so  soon, — 
That  ni'irn's  sweet  hour  of  prime 

Would  last  so  short  a  time  ? 


But  come,  we've  day  before  us. 
Still  heaven  looks  bright  and  blue; 

What  sport  shall  we  pursue? 

Alas!  why  thus  delaying? 

We  're  now  at  evening's  hourj 
Its  farewell  beam  is  playing 

O'er  hill  and  wave  and  bower. 
Thai  light  tve  tlinueht  would  last. 
Behold,  ev'ii  now,  't  is  past ; 
And  all  . 


Ha 


ish'd  with 


But  com  _.    _ 
Sad  lesions  fl 

For  ni.in  will  h 
Just  what  he 


Is  beams! 
lin  to  borrow 

lis  lay. 


i  been  to-day. 


SONGS  FROM  THE   GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


HERE,    AT    THY    TOMB.l 
BY    MELEAOER. 

Here,  at  thy  tomb,  these  tears  I  shed. 
Tears,  which  though  vainly  now  they  roll. 

Are  all  love  h  ilh  lo  give  the  dead. 
And  wept  o'er  thee  with  all  love's  sou!  ;  — 

Wept  in  remembrance  of  that  light, 

Which  nnuslil  on  earth,  without  Ihee,  gives, 

Hope  of  my  heart  !  now  quench'd  in  nighl. 
But  dearer,  dead,  than  aught  that  lives. 

Where  is  she?  where  the  blooming  bough 
That  once  niy  life's  sole  lustre  made  ? 

Torn  oil'  by  death,  'I  is  wiih'rini;  now, 
And  all  its  flowers  in  dust  are  laid. 

Oh,  earth!  that  lo  thy  matron  breast 
Ha^t  taken  all  those  angel  charn  a. 

Gently,  I  pray  thee,  let  her  rest,— 
Geiilly,  as  iu  a  molher's  arms. 


SALE    OF    CUPID. » 
BY    MELEAGER. 

Who'll  buy  a  little  boy?    Look,  yonder  is  he. 

Fast  asleep,  sly  rogue,  on  his  mother's  knee; 

So  bold  a  young  in,p  't  isn't  safe  to  keep. 

So  I'll  part  with  him  now,  while  he's  sound  asleep. 

See  his  arch  liltle  no^e,  how  sharp  't  is  curled, 

His  wings,  too,  even  in  sleep  unfurl'd; 

And  those  fingers,  which  slill  ever  ready  are  found 

For  mirth  or  for  mischief,  to  tickle,  or  wound. 

He'll  try  with  his  tears  your  heart  to  beguile, 
But  never  you  mi. id  — he's  liughingall  "the  while; 
For  little  he  care*,  so  he  has  his  own  whim, 
And  weeping  or  laughing  are  all  one  lo  him. 
His  eye  is  as  keen  as  ihe  lighming'.s  fla<h. 
His  tongue  like  the  red  bfdt  quick  and  rash  ; 
And  so  savage  is  he,  ihai  his  own  dear  mother 
Is  scarce  more  safe  iu  his  hands  than  another. 

In  short,  to  sum  up  this  darling's  praise, 
lie's  a  downright  pest  in  all  sorts  of  ways; 


A  p.  BntTick. 
-  Xlm\tLaOwt  Kat,  jiaipo^  it^  tv  koAttoktc  Kadcv- 
tuiv. 

Ap.  Bnwck,  Analcd.  xcv. 

21^ 


And  if  any  one  wan's  such  an  imp  to  employ. 
He  Shalt  have  a  dead  bargain  of  this  lillle  buy. 
Bui  see,  the  boy  wakes—  his  bright  tears  flow  — 
His  eyes  seem  lo  ask  could  1  sell  him  ?  oh,  no. 
Sweet  child  no,  no —  iliough  so  naughty  you  be. 
You  shall  live  evermore  with  niy  Lesbia  and  me. 


TO  WEAVE  A  GARLAND  FOR  THE  ROSE.' 
BY    PAUL,   THE   SILENTIAKY. 
To  weave  a  garland  for  Ihe  rose. 

And  ihink  thus  crown'd  'l  would  lovelier  be, 
Were  far  less  vain  than  to  suppose 

That  silks  and  gems  add  grace  to  thee. 
Where  is  the  pearl  whose  orient  lustre 

Would  not,  tieside  ihee,  look  less  bright? 
What  gold  ciiuld  match  the  glossy  cluster 

Of  those  young  ringlets  full  of  light  ? 
Bring  from  the  land,  where  freh  it  gleams. 

The  bright  blue  gem  of  India's  mine. 
And  see  how  soon,  though  bright  its  beams, 

'T  will  pale  bef'.re  one  glance  of  thine  : 
Those  lips,  too,  when  ttieir  sounds  have  blest  us 

Wi  h  some  divine,  mcllilluous  air. 
Who  would  not  sav  that  Beauty's  cestus 

Had  let  loose  all  its  witch'ries  there?* 
Here,  to  this  conq'ring  host  of  charms 

I  now  give  up  my  spell  bound  heart. 
Nor  blush  to  yield  ev'n  Reason's  arms, 

When  thou  her  bright-ey'd  conq'ror  art. 
Thus  to  the  wind  all  fears  are  given; 

Henceforth  those  eies  ahne  I  see. 
Where  Hope,  as  in  her  own  blue  heaven. 

Sits  beck  uing  me  to  bliss  and  thee ! 


WHY  DOES  SHE  SO  LONG  DELAY?* 

BY    PAUL,   THE   SILENTIARY. 

Why  does  she  so  long  delay  ? 
Nighl  is  waning  fast  away. 


3  OtiT£  ^o^uiv  CTtrpavwv  zntdi*'i<ratf  ovrt  a 

Ap.  Biitnck.  xvii. 

* icat  55  f-t^Lfjivpros  EKUV7} 

H'Seos  dfj/i'.t'ti;,  KZfTTOs  t^pv  Hafpit)^, 
•  AijOvvti.  KKioipaVTis. 

Ap.  Bninck.  xiviii. 


246 


SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK   ANTHOLOGY. 


Thrice  have  I  my  lamp  renewU, 
Waching  here  in  SMiilude. 
Where  can  she  so  Inng  delay? 
Where,  so  long  delay  ? 

Vainly  now  have  two  lamps  shone  j 
See  Ihe  ihird  is  nearly  gone  :  i 
Oh,  Ihat  Love  would,  liKe  (he  ray 
Of  that  we^ry  lamp,  decay! 
But  u<>,  alas,  il  hums  still  on, 
Slill,  sliil,  burns  00. 

Gods,  how  oft  (he  traitress  dear 
Swore,  by  Venus,  she  'd  be  here  I 
Rui  to  one  so  filse  as  she 
What  is  man  or  deily  ? 
Neither  d  ith  this  proud  one  fear, 
No,  neither  dolh  she  feat. 


TWIN'ST  THOU  WITH  LOFTY  WREATH  THY 
BROW?  2 

BY    PAUL,   THE   SILENTIARY. 

Twin'st  thou  with  lofty  wreaih  thy  brow? 

Such  glory  then  Ihy  beautv  sheds, 
I  aliciosi  think,  while  awed  'l  bow, 

'T  IS  Rhea's  self  befo.e  me  treads. 
Be  what  thou  wilt,— this  heart 
Adores  whate'er  thou  art ! 

Dost  thou  Ihy  loosen'd  rinslefs  leave, 
Like  sunny  "aves  to  wander  free? 

Then,  91, ch  a  chain  of  charms  they  weave. 
As  draws  m^■  inmost  soul  from  me. 

Do  what  thou  wilt,—  I  must 

Becharm'd  by  all  thou  dusl! 

Ev'n  when,  enwrapped  in  silvery  veils,3 
Those  sunny  locks  elude  the  si£;h',— 

Oh,  not  ev'n  then  their  glory  fails 
To  haunt  me  with  its  unseen  light. 

Change  as  thy  beauty  may. 

It  charms  in  every  way. 

For,  thee  the  Graces  still  attend, 

Presiding  o'er  each  new  attire. 
And  lending  every  dart  they  send 

Some  new,  peculiar  touch  of  fire. 
Be  whal  thou  wilf,_ihis  heart 
Adores  whate'er  thou  art ! 


WHEN  THE  SAD   WORD.* 

BY     PAUL,     THE     SILENTIARY. 

When  Ihe  sad  word,  "Aiieu,"  from  my  lip  ii  nigh 
falling, 

And  with  it,  Hope  parses  away. 
Ere  Ihe  tongue  hath  half  breathed  il,  my  fond  heart 
recallinj 

That  fatal  farewell,  bids  me  slay. 
For  oh  !  'I  is  a  penance  so  weary 

One  hour  from  thy  presence  to  be. 
That  death  to  this  soul  were  le'S  dreary. 

Less  dark  than  long  absence  from  thee. 


>  6  6c  rpiTOS  apxtrai  ijijs 

Avxvo;  vnoKXa^uv. 
5  KtKpv^aAot  (T-^iyyovo-t  Tttiv  rmxa  ; 

Ap.  Brunch,  xxxiv. 
3  ApyrvvaTs  o9ovT](n  Kartjo^a  {Sotrrpvxa  Kiv- 
dfi;. 

*  £ui^EO  (Tot  /ieXAuiV  tVtITtiV. 

Ap.  Brunck.  xxxiT. 


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  Elory, 

While  thine  halh  a  voice,'  on  whose  breath. 
More  sweet  than  the  Syren's  sweel  story, >> 

My  hopes  hang,  through  life  and  through  death  I 


MY    MOPSA    IS    LITTLE.' 

BY    PllILODEMUS. 

My  Mopsa  is  litlle,  my  Mnpsa  is  brnwn, 

But  her  cheek  is  .is  smooth  as  the  peach's  soft  down, 

And,  for  blushing,  no  rose  can  come  near  herj 
In  short,  she  has  woven  such  nets  round  my  heart, 
y  dear  litlle  Mopsa  can  part, — 
me  that's  dearer. 

Her  voice  hath  a  music  Ihat  dwells  on  Ihe  ear, 
And  her  eye  froni  its  orb  gives  a  daylight  so  clear, 

Thjt  I  'm  diraled  whenever  I  meet  her ; 
Her  ringlets,  so  curly,  are  Cupid's  own  net. 
And  her  lips,  nli  iheir  swee  ness  I  ne'er  shall  forget— 

Till  1  light  upon  lips  that  are  sweeter. 

But  't  is  not  her  beauty  Ihat  charms  me  alone, 

'T  is  her  niind.  't  is  that  t.inguage  whose  eloquent  tone 

From  the  depths  of  Ihe  grave  could  revive  one  : 
In  short,  here  I  sivear,  that  if  death  were  her  doom, 
1  would  inslanlly  jnin  my  dead  love  in  the  tomb  — 

Unless  I  could  meet  with  a  live  one. 


STILL,  LIKE  DEW   IN  SILENCE   FALLING.' 
BY      MELEAGER. 

Stilt,  like  dew  in  silence  falling. 
Drops  f 'r  thee  the  nightly  tear ; 

Still  Ihat  voire  the  past  reciUing, 
Dwells,  lik  :  echo,  on  my  ear, 
Still,  still! 


hy  form  fir 
So 'tis  graven  on  this  heart. 
Deep,  deep  ! 

Love,  oh  Love,  whose  bitter  sweetness. 
Dooms  me  to  this  lasting  pain. 

Thou  who  cain'sl  with  so  much  tleetness. 
Why  so  slow  to  go  again  ?  s 
Why?  why? 


»  Hftari  yop  ato  ^tyyoj  it^oaov.  aWa  to  /itv 
nov 

A^floyyow. 
6  JIv  (J'r/iot  Kai  TO  \a\rjfia  ffitptis 

KeIVO,  to  EflpT^VUJV  yXvKvspoiTspov, 

'  MiKut)  Kai  ficXavtVffa  ^iXtvviov, 

Ap.  Brunei,  x. 
8  Atrt  not  Svvtt  fitv  tv  ovatriv  tjxos  EpeoTOS. 

Ap  Brunch,  llii, 
s  fl  TTTOvot,  fLi)  KatTTor^  n^iJt T acrO at  /i£i',Epa>T«5^ 
Oti5aT',  ajroJTTjjvai  5'  ovd  dtrov  ttrj^^VETf. 


UNPUBLISHED    SONGS,    ETC. 


247 


UP,   SAILOR   BOY,   'TIS    DAY. 

Up,  sailor  boy,  '1  is  day  1 

The  west  wiud  biovvin?, 

The  sptinj  lide  (lowing, 
Sunniion  thee  hence  away. 
Didst  Ihou  not  hear  yon  soaring  swnllow  sing? 
Chirp,  chirp,—  in  every  note  he  seem'd  10  say 
'T  is  Spring,  'I  is  Spring. 
Up,  boy,  away,— 
Who  M  stay  on  land  (o-day? 

The  verv  flowers 

Would  from  Iheir  bOwer« 
Delight  to  wing  away! 
Leave  lariffnid  youths  to  pine 


0ns 


But  he  ihe  billows 
Of  the  «reat  deep  Ihine. 

Hark,  to  the  ^ail  'lie  breeze  sings,  "  Let  us  fly  j" 
While  sofi  Ihe  ^ail,  replying  to  the  breeze 
Says,  witji  a  yielding  si^h, 
"Yes,  whe  e  yon  please." 
Up,  boy  :  Ihe  wind,  the  rav, 

The  blue  sky  o'er  thee, 

The  deep  before  lliee, 
All  cry  aloud,  "Away  !" 


IN    MYRTLE    WREATHS. 
BY     ALC*;C!S. 

In  myrtle  wreaths  my  votive  sword  I'll  cover, 

Like  them  of  old  whose  one  inmiorlal  blow 
Struck  ofl"  the  galling  fetters  that  hung  over 

Their  own  bright  land,  and  laid  her  tyrant  low. 
Yes,  lov'd  Harniodius,  Ibou  'it  undying; 

Still  miJst  Ihe  brave  and  free, 
Xn  isles,  o'er  ocean  lying, 

Thy  borne  shall  ever  be. 

Id   myrile   leaves  my  sword   shall  hide  ill  light* 
ning, 
Like  his,  the  youlh,  whose  ever-Elorious  blade 
Leap'd    forlh    like    llame,    the    niiduiglil    banquet 
hrighl'ning, 
And  in  the  dust  a  despot  victim  laid. 
Blest  youths,  how  bright  in  Freedom's  story 

Your  wedded  names  shall  be; 
A  tyrant's  death  your  glory. 
Your  meed,  a  uatlua  free! 


UNPUBLISHED    SONGS,    ETC, 


ASK    NOT    IF   STILL   I    LOVE. 

Ask  nol  if  still  1  love, 

'loo  plain   hese  eyes  have  told  thee; 
Too  uell  Iheir  lear^  imisl  prove 

How  near  and  dear  1  hold  Ihee. 
If,  where  Ihe  brightest  shine, 
To  see  no  form  but  thire. 
To  feel  thcl  eaih  can  show 

No  bliss  above  thee,— 
If  this  be  love,  ihen  know 

That  thus,  thai  thus,  1  love  Ihee, 


'T  is  not  in  pleasure's  idle  hour 

Tlial  llnni  can'si  kii'iw  alleclion's  pow'r 

No,  Irv  its  slreu^lh  in  grief  or  pain  ; 

Atlempt,  as  noiv,  its  bonds  lo  sever, 
Thou  'II  hiid  true  love 's  a  cliain 

That  binds  for  ever! 


DEAR?    YES. 

Dear  ?  yes,  IJio'  mine  no  more, 
Ev'n  this  but  makes  thee  dearer; 

And  love,  since  hope  is  o'er, 
But  draws  thee  neater. 

Change  as  thou  will  to  me. 
The  >ame  thy  charm  must  be  j 
New  loves  may  come  lo  weave 

Their  wi'cheiy  o'er  Ihee. 
Yet  still,  Ihough  false,  believe 

That  1  adore  Ihee.  yt-s,  s'ill  adore  thee. 
Think'sl  ihou  that  aught  but  death  could  end 
A  tie  rail  falsehood's  self  can  rend? 
No,  when  alone,  far  off  1  die, 

No  nioie  to  see,  no  more  caress  thee,, 
Ev'n  then,  my  life's  last  sigh 

.Shall  be  to  bless  Ihee,  yes,  still  lo  bless  Iheo. 


UNBIND    THEE,    LOVE. 

Unbind  thee,  love,  unbind  thee,  love. 

From  those  dark  lies  ui.bind  thee; 
Though  faiiest  hand  Ihe  chain  hath  wove. 

Too  long  Its  links  have  twined  thee. 
Aw  ay  from  earlh  !  —  thy  w  iugs  were  made 

In  yon  mid-sky  to  hover. 
With  earth  beneath  their  dove-like  shade, 

And  heav'n  all  radiant  over. 

Awake  Ihee,  boy,  awake  thee,  boy, 

T  on  long  thy  soul  is  sleeping  ; 
And  thou  may's!  from  this  minute's  joy 

W.ke  lo  eternal  weeping 
Oh,  think,  this  woild  is  nol  for  Ihee  ; 

Th'Ujh  haid  lis  links  to  sever; 
Though  sweet  and  bright  and  dear  they  be, 

Break,  or  thou 'rl  losi  forever. 


there's  something  strange. 

(a   buffo  song.) 

There's  something  strange,  I  know  not  what. 

Some  phantom  1  've  for  ever  got 

Before  me. 
I  look  on  high,  and  in  the  sky 

'Tis  shining; 
On  earih,  its  light  with  all  things  bright 

Seeiits  twining. 
Id  vain  1  try  this  goblin's  spells 


And  Ihen  what  tricks  by  day  and  night 

It  plays  me  < 
In  ev'ry  shape  the  wicked  sprite 

Waylays  me. 


^248 


UNPUBLISHED    SONGS,    ETC. 


Soniettmes  like  two  bright  eyes  of  blue 

'Ti.  gla..cin?j 
Sometimes  like  feet,  in  slippers  neat, 

Crimes  dancing. 
By  whispers  round  of  every  sort 

1*111  taiiD'ed. 
Never  was  nior  at  man,  in  short, 

So  h.iuijled. 


NOT    FROM    THEE. 

Not  frnm  Ihee  rhe  wound  should  come, 

No,  nol  Iroui  thee. 
I  care  ii!>t  wh-i   or  whence  my  doom, 

So  not  frnm  thee ! 
Cold  triumph  !  lirsi  to  make 

'1  his  heart  Ihy  own  ; 
And  then  ihe  mirror  break 
Where  tix'd  ihou  sliin'st  alone. 
Nol  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 


Oh, 


ot  fr( 


I  tilt 


Yet  no — my  lips  that  wish  recall; 

From  Iliee,  from  thee  — 
If  ruin  o'er  ih.s  head  must  fall, 

'Twill  welcome  be. 
Here  to  the  bl.de  I  bare 

'ibis  faithful  heart; 
Wound  deep  —  thou 'It  find  that  there. 

In  every  pLl^ethou  art. 
Yes  from  thee  1  '11  btai"  it  all : 

If  ruin  be 
The  doom  that  oV  this  heart  must  fall, 

'Twcre  sweet  fiom  thee. 


GUESS,    GUESS. 


Hot 


maid,  a  mystic  maid, 

Whose  form  no  eyes  but  mine  can  see  j 
She  comes  in  li^ht,  she  comes  in  shade, 

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

And  oil  she  ivhispera  in  my  ear 
Such  words  as  when  to  others  tnid. 

Awake  the  sigh,  or  wring  the  lear;— 
Then  gness,  guess,  who  she, 
The  l.idy  of  my  love,  may  be, 

I  find  Ihe  lustre  of  her  brnw, 

And  feel  as  if  her  voice,  ev'n  now, 
VVere  echoing  far  off  my  hys. 

There  is  no  scene  of  joy  or  woe 
But  she  doth  gild  with  influence  bright; 

And  shed  o'er  all  so  rich  a  glow 

As  makes  ev'n  tears  seem  full  of  light: 

Then  guess,  sness.  who  she, 

The  lady  of  my  love,  may  be. 


WHEN  LOVE,  WHO  RULED 

When  Love,  who  ruled  as  Admiral  o'er 
His  rosy  moiher's  i^L-s  of  light, 

Was  cruising  off  the  Paphian  >.hore, 
A  s,iil  at  sunset  hove  in  sight. 

*'A  chase,  a  ch:ise!  mv  Cupids  all,'* 

Said  Love,  the  litile  Admiral. 

Aloft  the  winged  sailors  sprung. 

And,  swarming  uj)  the  mast  like  bees, 

The  snow-white  sails  expanding  flung, 
Like  broad  magnolias  to  the  t-?#.^«, 

**Yn  ho,  yo  ho.  my  Cupids  all  '.^ 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 


The  chase  was  o*er  —  the  bark  was  caught. 
The  winged  crew  her  freight  explored  ; 

And  found  ^1  was  just  as  Love  had  thought. 
For  all  was  contiaband  aboard, 

"A  prize,  a  prize,  my  Cupids  all  I" 

Said  Love,  the  litHe  Admiral. 

Safe  stow'd  in  many  a  package  there. 
And  Ubeird  slyly  o'er,  as  "Glass," 

Weie  lots  of  all  ih'  illegal  ware. 

Love's  Custom-House  foibids  to  pass. 

"U'erhaul,  o'erhaul,  my  Cupids  all,'* 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

False  curls  they  found,  of  every  hue, 
Wiih  rosy  blushes  rea,iy  made  j 

And  teeth  of  ivory,  good  as  new, 
For  veterans  in  the  smiling  trade. 

*' Ho  ho,  ho  ho,  my  Cupids  all,'* 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Mock  sighs,  too. —  kept  in  bags  for  use, 
Like  breezes  Louifhl  of  Lapland  aeera,— 

Lay  re^dy  here  to  be  let  loose. 

When  wanted,  in  young  spinsters*  ears. 

*'Ha  ha,  ha  hi,  my  Cupids  all," 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

False  papers  next  on  board  were  found, 
Sham  invoices  of  flames  and  darts. 

Professedly  for  Paphos  bound, 

Bui  meant  fnr  Hymen's  golden  marts, 

«  For  sh.iDie,  for  shame,  my  Cupids  all  1" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral, 

Nay,  still  to  every  fraud  awake, 

Those  pirates  all  Love's  s-gn.ils  knew, 

And  hoisted  oft  his  flag,  to  make 
Rich  wards  and  heiresses  bring-to.^ 

•*  A  foe,  a  fue,  my  Cupids  all!" 

Said  Love,  the  liille  Admiral. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  the  boy  exclaims, 
*'  In  vain  I  rule  the  Paphian  seas, 

"If  Love's  and  Beauiy's  sovereign  names 
*'Are  lent  to  cover  frauds  like  these. 

*'  Prepare,  prepare,  my  Cupids  all  I" 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 

Each  Cupid  stood  with  lighted  match  — 
A  broadside  struck  the  smuggling  foe, 

And  swept  the  whole  unhallo^vM  batch 
Of  Falsehood  to  the  depths  below. 

**  Hi.zza,  huzza  !  my  Cupids  all !» 

Said  Love,  the  liitle  Admiral. 


STILL    THOU    FLIEST. 

Still  thou  fliest,  and  still  I  woo  thee, 

Lovely  phantom,- all  in  vain; 
Restless  ever,  my  thoughts  pursue  thee, 

Fleeting  ever,  thou  mock'st  their  pain. 
Such  doom,  of  old,  thai  yoirh  beided, 

Who  wo  led.  he  thought,  some  aneePs  cbarmt^ 
But  found  a  cloud  that  from  him  glided, — 

As  thou  d'st  from  these  oul-s'relched  arms. 

Scarce  I've  said,  "How  fair  thou  shinest,'* 

Ere  thy  light  hath  vanisli'd  by; 
Ai'd  't  is  when  tliou  Inok'st  divinest 

Thou  ait  still  most  sure  to  fly. 
Ev'n  as  the  lightning,  tha',  dividing 

The  clouds  of  night,  faith  "  Look  on  me," 
Then  flits  again,  its  splendour  hiding, — 

Ev'n  such  ihe  glimpse  I  catch  of  thee. 


«  "  To  Bring-tOf  to  check  the  course  of  a  ship.' 
Fhlconer. 


UNPUBLISHED    SONGS,    ETC 


249 


THEN  FIRST  FROM  LOVE. 

Then  first  from  Love,  in  Nature's  bow'rs, 

DiJ  Paiiiliii?  learn  her  hiiy  skill. 
And  cull  the  hues  of  lovelies   fl.iw'ls, 

To  picture  woman  h'velirr  siill. 
For  vain  was  ev'ry  radiant  hue, 

Till  I'assion  lent  a  soul  lo  art, 
And  taught  the  painter,  ere  he  drew, 

To  fix  the  model  in  his  heart. 

Thus  smooth  his  toil  awhile  went  on, 

Till,  lo,  one  louch  his  aTt  defies; 
The  brow,  the  lip,  the  lilu^he^  shone, 

nut  who  coulJ  d,irc  lo  paint  those  eyes? 
IT  was  all  in  vain  the  pai..ier  strove; 

So  lu-riini;  to  that  hoy  divine, 
"Here  lake."  he  Slid,  "the  pencil.  Love, 

"  N<  hand  should  paint  such  eyes,  but  thine.' 


IIUSH       SWEET    LUTE. 

Hush,  sweet  Lute,  thy  s'lnes  remind  me 

Of  pa^t  jnys,  now  turn'd  lo  pain  ; 
Of  ties  tha'  loni;  have  ceased  lo  bind  me, 

But  whose  buinini;  marks  remain. 
In  each  lone,  some  echo  falleih 

On  my  ear  of  .{oys  gone  by  ; 
Ev'ry  note  some  dieairi  recalleth 

Of"  bright  hopes  bul  born  to  die. 

Vet,  sweet  Lute,  thoujh  pain  it  bring  me, 
Once  more  let  fhy  numbers  thrill  ; 

Thoueh  death  were  in  the  strain  they  sing  mo, 
1  must  woo  its  aueuish  still. 

Since  no  time  can  e'er  recover 

Love's  sweet  liffht  when  once  'tis  set, — 

Better  to  w-eep  such  pleasures  over, 

Than  smile  o'er  any  lefl  us  yet. 


BRIGHT    MOON. 

Brijlit  moon,  that  high  in  heav'n  art  shininj. 

All  smiles,  as  if  wiihin  Ihv  bower  to-night 
Thy  own  Endymiou  lav  recliuin^. 

And  thou  wouid'st  wake  him  with  akissoflight!- 
By  all  the  bliss  tliv  beam  discovers. 

By  all  those  visions  far  ton  bright  for  d.ay. 
Which  dreaming  bards  and  wakii.g  lovers 

Behold,  this  night,  beneath  thy  ling'ring  ray,— 

I  pray  thee,  queen  of  that  bright  heaven, 

Quench  not  to  night  thy  love-lamp  in  the  sea. 
Till  Anthe,  in  this  bovver,  hath  given 

Benea'h  thy  beani,  her  long-vovv'd  kiss  to  me. 
Guide  hither,  guide  her  steps  benighted. 

Ere  thou,  sweet  ni'ion,  thy  bishfu!  crescent  hide; 
I.et  Love  but  in  this  bow'r  be  llghled, 

Then  shroud  in  darkness  all  the  world  beside. 


LONG   YEARS   HAVE    PASS'O. 

Long  years  have  pass'd,  old  friend,  since  Te 

First  met  in  life's  yuiig  day  ; 
And  friends  long  loved  by  I  bee  and  me. 

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

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

And  the  few  who  're  left  us  yet. 

Our  locks,  old  friend,  now  thinly  grow, 
And  some  hang  while  and  chill ; 

While  some,  like  tiow'rs  'mid  Autumn's  snov 
Retain  youth's  colour  still. 


And  so,  in  our  hearts,  though  one  by  one, 
Youth's  sunny  hopes  have  set. 

Thank  heav'n,  not  all  iheir  light  is  gone,- 
We've  some  to  cheer  us  yel. 

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

May  Ihr  u  and  1  thus  meet, 
To  brighlen  still  with  wine  and  song 

This  short  life,  ere  it  fleet. 
And  still  as  deaih  conies  stealing  on. 

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

How  uiaiiy  are  left  Us  yet. 


DREAMING    FOR    EVER. 

Dreaming  fur  ever,  vainly  dreaming. 

Life  to  the  last  pursues  is  flight ; 
Dav  ha'h  its  visions  fairly  beaming, 

But  false  as  Itii  se  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,  'lis  past. 

Here,  then,  by  this  dim  lake  reposing. 

Calmly  I  'II  waich.  while  light  and  gloon 
Flit  o'er  i  s  face  till  nieht  is  closing  — 

F.mblem  of  life's  short  doom! 
But  thoueh.  bv  turns,  thus  daik  and  shining 

'T  is  s'ill  unlike  nun's  changeful  day, 
Whose  light  leturns  not,  once  declining. 

Who  e  cloud,  once  come,  will  stay. 


THOUGH  LIGHTLY  SOUNDS  THE  SONG  I 

SING. 

A    SONG   OF   THE   ALPS. 

Though  lightly  sounds  the  song  I  sing  lo  thee, 
Thoujh  like  the  lark's  its  soaring  music  be. 
Thou 'II  find  ev'n  htre  some  mournful  note  that  tells 
How  near  such  April  joy  lo  weeping  dwells. 
'T  is  'mOMg  the  gayest  scenes  that  ofl'nest  steal 
Those  saddening  thoughts  we  tear,  yet  love  to  feel; 
And  niu-ic  never  half  so  sweer  appears. 
As  when  her  mirth  forgets  itself  in  tears. 

Then  say  not  thou  this  Alpine  song  is  gay  — 
It  conies  fiom  hearts  that,  like  their  mountain-lav. 
Mix  joy  with  pain,  and  oft  when  pleasure's  breaih 
Most  warms  the  surface,  feel  most  sad  beneath. 
The  very  beam  in  which  the  snow-wreaih  wears 
Its  gayest  smile  is  that  which  wins  its  tears, — 
And  passion's  pow'r  can  never  lend  the  glow 
Which  waliens  bliss,  w  ithout  some  touch  of  wee. 


THE    RUSSIAN    LOVER. 

Fleetly  o'er  the  moonlight  snows 

Sjieed  we  to  my  lady's  bow'r ; 
Swift  our  sledge  as  lightning  goes. 

Nor  shall  stop  till  morning's  hour. 
Bright,  my  steed,  the  nortliero  star 

Lights  us  from  von  jeweli'd  skies; 
But.  to  gleet  us.  brighier  far, 

Morn  shall  bring  my  l.idy's  eyes. 

Lovers,  luU'd  in  sunny  bow'rs. 

Sleeping  out  their  dream  of  time. 
Know  not  half  the  bliss  that's  ours. 

In  this  snowy,  icy  clime. 
Like  von  s'ar  ihat  livelier  gleams 

From  the  frosty  heavens  around. 
Love  himself  the  keener  beams 

When  with  snows  of  coyness  crownM. 


I  250 


PREFACE   TO   THE   SIXTH  VOLUME. 


Fleet  then  on,  my  merry  s^eed, 

Bound,  my  ?Iedge,  o^er  hill  and  dale;  - 
What  can  match  a  lover's  speed  ? 

See,  't  is  daylight,  breaking  pale  I 


Brightly  hath  the  northern  star 
Lii  Ub  f^roin  yon  radiant  skies; 

But,  behold,  how  brighter  tar 
Yonder  Bhine  my  lady's  eyea! 


END     OF     VOL.     V. 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SIXTH   VOLUME. 


The  Poem,  or  Romance,  of  LalU  Rookh,  having 
now  reached,  I  undeisiand,  iis  twentieth  edition,  a 
short  accouni  of  the  oiiaiu  and  progress  of  a  work 
which  has  been  hitherto  so  very  fortunate  in  i's 
course,  may  not  be  deemed,  perhaps,  superfluous  or 
misplaced. 

It  was  about  the  year  1812,  that,  far  more  through 
the  encouraging  suggestions  of  friei.ds  than  horn  any 
confident  promptings  of  my  own  ambition,  1  conceiv- 
ed the  design  ot  writiug  a  Poem  iipcn  some  Oriental 
subject,  and  of  llmse  tjuarto  dimensions  which  Scott's 
successful  publicalions  in  thai  furin  h  d  then  rendered 
the  regular  poetical  standard.  A  negotiation  on  the 
subject  was  opened  with  ttie  Messrs.  Lorii;man,  in  the 
same  year;  but,  (roni  some  causes  whicii  1  cannot 
now  recolleci,  led  lo  no  deci^ive  rei-ult  ;  nor  was  il 
till  a  year  or  two  after,  that  any  furiher  sti-ps  »ere 
taken  in  the  matter,— their  house  being  the  oiilv  one, 
it  is  right  (0  add.  with  which,  from  hrst  to  last,  J  held 
any  conimunicatimi  u[)on  the  sulyjtct. 

On  this  last  occasinti,  Mr.  Perry  kindly  offered  him- 
self as  my  reprr^entative  in  the  treaty;  ana,  what 
with  (he  friendly  zeal  nf  iny  negotiator  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  prompt  and  liberal  spirit  with  which  he 
was  met  on  the  other,  there  has  seldom,  I  think, 
occurred  any  transaction  in  which  Trade  and  Poesy 
have  shone  out  so  advan'ageously  in  eacli  other's  eyes. 
The  short  discussion  that  then  look  place,  betuetn 
the  two  [larfies,  may  be  comprised  in  a  very  few  sen- 
tences. *■  I  am  of  opii.i.in."  said  Mr  Perry,— en- 
fi  rcing  his  view  of  the  case  by  argun)ents  %^hich  it  is 
not  for  me  to  ci'e, —  "that  IVIr.  Moore  ought  to  re- 
ceive for  his  Pot-m  the  largest  price  that  has  been 
given,  in  our  day.  for  such  a  work."  " 'i'hat  ua>^,'' 
answered  the  Messrs.  Lnngman,  *■  three  thousand 
guineas."  *•  Exactly  so,"  replied  Mr.  Perry,  "and 
no  less  a  sum  ought  he  lo  receive." 

It  was  then  objec  ed,  and  \ery  reasonably,  on  the 
part  of  the  firm,  that  ihey  bad  never  yet  >een  a  single 
line  of  the  Poem;  and  rhat  a  peru-al  of  ihe  work 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  them,  before  Ihey  enrbarked  so 
large  a  sum  in  the  purchase.  But,  no,— the  ronianlic 
view  which  my  fnend,  Perry,  tonk  of  the  matter, 
waa,  that  this  price  should  Le  given  as  a  iribu'e  to 
reputa'ion  already  acquired,  without  any  condition 
for  a  previous  perus;d  (f  the  new  work.  This  high 
lone,  1  must  coiife>s.  not  a  little  startled  and  alarmed 
me:  but,  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  Romance, —  as 
well  on  the  puhlisheis'  side  as  the  jioet's,—  this  very 
generous  view  of  (he  tran-adjon  \^as,  without  any 
difficulty,  acceded  to,  and  the  firm  agreed,  before  we 
separated,  that  I  was  lo  receive  three  thousand  guineas 
for  my  Poem. 

At  the  time  of  this  agreement,  but  little  of  the 
work,  as  il  stands  at  pres.ent,  had  yet  been  written. 
But  the  ready  contidence  in  my  success  shown  by 
others,  made  up  for  the  deficieiicy  of  that  requisite 
feeling,  within  myself;  while  a  strong  desire  not 
whoHv  to  disajjpomt  this  "anguiiug  httpe."  became 
aim'  st  a  substitute  for  inspiration.  In  the  vear  1816, 
therefiie,  having  made  some  progress  in  mv  task,  I 
wrote  to  report  ihe  state  of  the  work  to  the  Messrs. 
Longman,  adding,  that  I  was  now  most  willing  and 
ready,  should  they  desire  it.  to  submit  Ihe  manu-cript 
for  their  consideiation.  Their  answer  to  this  offer 
was  as  follows:  —  "We  are  ceriainly  impatient  for 


the  perusal  of  the  Poem ;  but  solely  for  our  gratifica- 
tion.    Your  sentiments  are  always  honourable."  * 

1  contiimed  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  peiiod  employed  in  writing 
Lalla  Rookh.  At  length,  in  the  year  1816,  I  found 
my  work  suff.ciently  advanced  to  be  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  publishers.  But  the  s;ate  of  distress  to 
which  England  was  reduced,  in  that  dismal  year,  by 
the  exhausting  effects  of  the  series  of  wars  she  h^id 
just  iheii  concluded,  and  the  general  embarrassment  of 
all  classes  both  agriculiu'al  and  commercial,  rendered 
it  a  juncture  the  least  favourable  that  could  well  be 
cnoL-eived  for  the  first  launch  into  print  of  so  light 
and  cosily  a  venture  as  Lalla  Rookh.  Feeling  con- 
scious, therefore,  that,  under  such  circumstances,  I 
should  act  but  honotly  in  putrine  it  m  the  power  of 
the  Me-srs  Longman  lo  recon>i'ier  the  terms  of  their 
engagement  witli  me, — leavins  them  free  to  postpone, 
modify,  or  even,  should  such  be  their  wish,  relmquish 
it  altogether,  I  wrote  them  a  letter  to  that  effect,  and 
received  the  following  answer  :  —  *■  We  shall  be  most 
happy  in  the  pleasure  cf  seeing  you  in  February. 
We  agree  with  >ou,  indeed,  thai  the  times  are  most 
inauspicious  tor  '  j)0etry  and  thousands ; '  but  we 
believe  iha'  your  poetry  would  do  more  than  that  of 
any  other  living  [xiel  at  the  pre-ent  nntmenl."^ 

The  length  of  time  I  employed  in  writing  the  few 
stories  s'rung  logelher  in  Lalla  Rookh  will  appear,  to 
some  persons,  nmch  more  than  was  necessiry  for  the 
production  of  such  tasy  and  *•  light  o' love"  fictions. 
But,  besides  thai  I  have  been,  at  all  tinies,  a  far  more 
slow  and  painstaking  workman  ihan  would  ever  be 
guessed,  I  fear,  fiom  Ihe  result,  1  felt  that,  in  this  in- 
stance, I  had  taken  upon  myself  a  more  than  ordinary 
responsibility,  from  Ihe  immense  stake  ri:^ked  by 
others  on  my  chance  of  s^uccess.  For  a  long  time, 
therefore,  af.er  the  agieemeni  had  been  concluded, 
though  generally  at  work  with  a  view  lo  this  task,  1 
made  but  veiy  little  real  progress  in  it ;  and  I  have 
still  by  me  the  beginnings  of  several  stories,  continu- 
ed, soine  of  themr  to  Ihe  length  of  three  or  four  hun- 
dred lines,  which,  after  in  vain  endeavouring  to  mould 
them  into  shape,  I  threw  aside,  like  (he  tale  of  Cam- 
buscan, 'Mett  half-told."  Oneof  theses'ories,eiititled 
The  Peri's  Daughter,  was  meant  to  relate  the  loves  of 
a  nymph  of  tt.is  aerial  exlractinn  with  a  youth  of 
mortal  race,  the  rightful  Prince  of  Ormuz,  who  had 
been,  from  his  infaocv,  brought  up,  in  seclusion,  on 
tlie  banks  of  the  river  Amou,  by  an  aged  guardian 
named  M"hasjan.  1  he  s'ory  opens  wilh  the  first 
meeting  of  these  destined  lovers,  then  in  Iheir  child- 
hood;  the  Peri  having  wafied  her  daughter  to  this 
holy  retreat,  in  a  bright,  enchanted  boat,  whose  tirst 
appearance  is  thus  described:  — 


»  April  10,  1S15. 
^  >'ovember  9,  1816. 


PREFACE,  TO   THE  SIXTH  VOLUME. 


251 


"  II  comfi>,  tt  cornea,"  young  Orian 
And  paiiliii}!  to  MnhaBBiiii  Hiei. 
Th»-n,  down  upon  the  llowery  graiia 
Rfclint'B  to  see  the  virion  puKti ; 
With  iiarlly  joy  and  partly  Teur. 
To  find  iiN  wondrouM  liglit  «o  uear. 
And  hiding  ofl  his  datilvd  eyes 
Amocg  Ihu  flowera  on  wbicti  be  lie 


Within  the  hont  a  bnby  slept. 

Like  H  young  pearl  within  ila  shell; 
While  one,  wlin  neem'd  or  riper  yearn. 
But  not  of  earth,  or  earth-like  apherea. 

Her  watch  bemd.;  the  fllumberer  kepi; 

Orawfully  wnvioK.  in  h'^r  hand, 
The  feathers  of  anme  hnly  bird, 
With  which,  frum  time  to  lime,  ahe  atir 

The  fragrant  air,  and  coolly  fann'd 

The  baby'a  hrnw,  oi-  bruhh'd  away 
The  butlerniea  that,  bright  and  blue 

As  on  The  niountaina  of  Malay, 
Around  the  sleeping  infant  Aew. 


And 


now  the  fairy  boat  halh  Btopp'd 
Je  the  bank, —  the  nymph  has  droppM 
gulden  anchor  in  (he  atream  ; 


A  sont?  is  sun^  by  the  Peri  in  approaching,  of  which 
the  following  fnrnis  a  part:  — 

My  child  she  in  but  half  divine. 
Her  father  sleepo  in  the  "Jaapian  water  , 
,Sea-weedH   twine 
His  funeral  Bhrlne, 
Rut  he  livea  again  in  the  Peri'a  daughter. 
Fain  would  I  fly  from  mortal  sight 

To  my  own  ewpei  bowerw  of  Pertslan; 
But,  there,  (he  tlowera  are  all  too  bright 

For  the  eyes  of  a  baby  boro  of  man. 

Oil  flowers  of  earth  her  feet  must  tread ; 

So  hither  my  light-wing'd  bark  hath  brought  her; 

Slrnnger,  spread 

Thy  lenfiest  b.-d. 

To  rest  the  wandering  Peri*s  daughter. 

In  another  of  these  inchoate  fragmeiitg,  a  proud  fe* 
lale  !-aiiit,  named  Bannu,  plays  a  principal  print ;  and 
her  progress  thiouzh  the  streetti  of  Cufa,  on  the  night 
of  a  great  illuminated  festival,!  find  thus  described  :— 

It  was  a  scene  of  mirth  that  drew 

A  Minile  from  ev'n   the  Saint  Hnnon, 

Ar.  through  the  huah'd,  admiring  throngt 

She  went  with  stately  stepa  along, 

And  counted  o'er,  that  all  mighi  aee, 

The  rubies  of  her  rosar/. 

But  none  might  see  the  worldly  smile 

That  lurkM  beneath  her  veil,  the  while*.— 

Alia  forbid!  for,  who  would  wait 

Her  blewaing  at  the  temple's  gate,— 

What  holy  man  would  ever  ma 

To  kiiJH  the  ground  she  knelt  upon, 

If  once,  by  luckless  chance,  he  knew 

She  lookM  and  smil'd  as  others  do. 

Her  hands  were  join'd,  and  from  each  wrist 

By  threads  of  pearl  and  golden  twist 

Hung  relics  of  the  saints  of  yore, 

And  scraps  of  talismanic  lore, — 

Charms  for  the  old,  the  sick,  the  frail, 

Some  made   for  use,  and  all  for  sale. 

On  either  side,  the  crowd  withdrew. 

To  let  the  Saint  pass  proudly  through; 

While  turban'd  heads,  of  every  hue, 

Oreen,  while,  and  crimson,  bow'd  around. 

And  gay  tiaras  Inuch'd  the  ground.— 

As  tulip-bells,  when  o'er  their  beds 

The  mu»k-wfnd  passes,  bend  their  hands. 

Nay,  snrne  there  were,  among  the  crowd 

Of  Moslem  heads  that  round  her  bow'd, 

So  fill'd  with  zeal,  by  many  a  draught 

"'  "*■'  '"  '  profanely  (|unff'd. 


tiuking  low  in  i 
aever  rose  till  i 


f  then. 


I  agaii 


"hf  TP  are  yel  two  more  of  these  nnfinished  sketches, 
of  which  extends  In  a  much  greater  length  than 
j  [  was  aware  of;  and,  as  f.»r  as  I  can  judge"  from  a 


hasty  renewal  of  my  acquaintance  w:th  it,  Is  not  in- 
capable of  being  yet  turned  to  acctunt. 

■  only  one  of  these  unfinished  sketches,  the  tale  of 
The  Peri's  Daughter,  had  1  yet  ventured  to  invclu 
that  most  home-felt  of  all  my  inspirations,  which  h\>> 
lent  to  the  story  of  The  Fire-worshippers  its  main 
attraction  and  iiiteiest.  That  it  was  my  intention,  in 
the  concealed  Prince  of  Ormuz,  n  shadow  out  seme 

personalifMi  of  this  feeling,  1  take  for  gr;inted  from 
the  prophetic  words  supposed  to  be  a.idressed  to  bim 
by  his  aged  guardian :  — 

Bright  child  of  destiny  !  even  now 
I  read  the  promise  on  that  bmw, 
That  tyrants  shall  no  more  delilo 
The  glorieH  of  the  GreenSea  Isle, 
But  Ornuiz  shall  again  be  free. 
And  hail  her  native  Lord  in  thee  I 

I  none  of  the  other  fragments  do  I  find  any  trace 
of  this  sort  of  feelinc,  either  in  the  subject  or  the  per- 

igesof  the  intended  s'orv  ;  and  tins  wa-the  reason, 
„,_btless,  though  hardly  kiiown,  al  the  time,  to  my- 
self, that,  finding  my  subjects  so  slow  in  kindling  my 
own  sympathies.  I  began  to  despair  of  their  ever 
touching  the  hearts  of  others;  and  felt  oftea  inclined 
to  say, 

•'Oh  no,  I  have  no  voice  or  hand 
Fur  such  a  song,  in  such  a  land." 

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

Having  thus  laid  open  the  secrets  of  the  workshop 
to  account  for  the  tinie  expended  in  wnting  this  work, 
I  must  also,  in  justice  to  my  own  industry,  notice  the 
pains  1  took  in  Ion?  and  laboriously  reading  for  it. 
To  form  a  storehouse,  as  it  were,  of  illustration  purely 
Oriental,  and  so  familiarise  myself  with  its  various 
treasures,  that,  as  quick  as  Fancy  required  the  aid  of 
fact,  in  her  spirilings,  the  menmiy  vvas  ready,  like 
another  Ariel,  at  her  "  strong  biclding,"  to  furnish 
materials  for  the  ^pell-work, —  such  was.  for  a  long 
while,  the  sole  object  of  my  ^llJdles  ;  and  whatever 
time  and  trouble  this  preparatory  process  may  have 
cost  me,  the  etfecls  resulting  fioin  il,  as  f.ir  as  the 
humble  merit  of  tiulhfulness  is  concerned,  have  been 
such  as  to  repay  nie  m-re  than  sufficien  ly  for  my 
pains.  I  have  not  forgotten  how  greai  was  my  plea- 
sure, when  told  by  the  late   Sir  James  Mackintosh, 

Ihat  he  was  once  asked  by  Colonel  W s,  the 

historian  of  British  India,  "  whether  it  was  true  that 
Moore  had  never  been  in  the  East?''  "Never,"  an- 
swered Mackintosh.  *'  Well,  that  shows  me,"  replied 

Colonel  W s,  *■  that  readmg  over  D'Heibelot 

is  as  good  as  ridiiiff  on  the  back  of  a  tamel." 

1  need  hardly  sul'join  lo  this  lively  speech,  that  al- 
though D'Heibelot's  valuable  work  was,  of  course, 
one  of  my  manuals,  I  took  the  whole  range  of  all  such 
Orien'al  reading  as  \\as  accessible  lo  me;  and  became, 
for  the  time,  indeed,  far  more  conversant  with  all 
relating  to  that  distant  region,  than  I  have  ever  been 
with  the  f^cenerv,  pioduclions,  or  nudes  of  life  of  any 
of  those  countries  lying  most  within  my  reach.  We 
know  that  IVAnvilie,  though  never  in  his  lite  out  of 
P;»ris,  was  able  to  correct  a  number  of  errors  in  a  plan 
I  of  the  Troad  taken  by  De  Choiseul,  on  the  spot ;  and, 

1  Vol'aire,  in  his  tragedy  of  "  Les  Guebres,"  writ- 
ten with   a  similar  under-current  of  meaning,  was 

I  accused  of  having  transformed  his  Fire-worshippers 
into   Jansenisis  :  —  '•  tiuelques    figuristes,"    he    says, 

I  *'pretendent  que  les  Guebres  sont  les  Jansenlates." 


252 


PREFACE   TO    THE   SIXTH   VOLUME. 


nferic 


for  my  own  very  different,  as  well 
purposes,  the  knowledge  I  h>id  thus  acquired  of  distant 
localitieB.  seen  only  hy  me  in  my  day-dreams,  wa3  no 
less  rejidy  and  useful. 

An  aniple  rewaid  for  all  this  painstaking  has  been 
found  in  such  welcome  tributes  as  I  have  just  now 
ciied  ;  nor  can  I  deny  myself  ihe  gratificatiun  of  citing 
a  few  more  of  the  came  description.  From  anothtr 
distinguished  auihority  on  Eastern  subjecis.  the  late 
Sir  John  Milcolnij  I  had  myself  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing a  similar  opinion  publicly  expressed  ;—  that  emi* 
ne'nt  person,  in  a  speech  spoken  by  him  at  a  Lilerary 
Fund  Dinner,  having  remarked,  that  togelher  with 
ihnse  quali'ies  of  the  poel  which  he  much  tco  par- 
tially assigned  to  me  was  combined  also  "the  truth 
of  theh.stniian." 

Sir  Wiiliarn  Ouseley,  another  high  authority,  in 
giving  his  leslimony  lo  the  smie  etiect,  thus  nolicesan 
exception  to  ihe  general  accuracy  lor  which  he  gives 
me  credil :  —  "  Dazzled  by  the  beauties  <  f  th»s  com- 
position,i  few  readers  can  perceive,  and  none  surely 
can  regret,  that  )he  poet,  in  his  magnificent  caias- 
trojihe,  has  fnrgotien,  or  boldly  and  must  happily  vin- 
laled,  the  piecept  of  Zoroasler,  above  notictd.  which 
held  it  impious  to  consume  any  portion  of  a  huuian 
body  by  fire,  especially  by  that  which  glowed  upon 
their  allifs."  Having  long  lost,  I  fear,  must  of  my 
Eastern  learning,  I  can  only  cue,  in  defence  of  my 
ca'aslrophe,  an  old  Oriental  tradi  ion,  which  relates, 
that  Nimnid,  when  Abraham  refused,  at  his  command, 
to  worship  the  fire,  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  into 
the  midst  of  the  tlames.2  a  precedent  tro  ancient  for 
this  sort  of  use  of  the  worshipped  element,  would 
appear,  for  all  purposes  at  leait  if  pcjetry,  fully  suffi- 
cient. 

In  addilinn  to  these  agreeable  testimonies,  I  have 
also  heard,  and,  need  hardly  ;idd,  with  some  pride  and 
pleasure,  that  pans  of  this  work  have  been  rendered 
into  Pe.sian,  and  have  found  their  way  lo  Ispahan. 
To  this  f.ic,  as  I  am  willing  lo  think  ir,  allusion  is 
made  in  snme  lively  verges,  written  many  years  since, 
by  ray  friend,  Mr.  Luitrell :  — 

"I'm  told.dpar  Moore,  your  lays  are  sung, 
{Can  it  be  true,  you  lucky  man  7) 
By  moonlight,  in  the  Fersan  tongue. 
Along  the  streets  o(  iKpalian.** 

Thit  some  knowledge  of  the  woik  may  have  really 
reached  'hat  region,  appears  not  improbable  from  a 
passage  in  ihe  Travels  of  Mr.  Fiazer,  who  says,  that 
"being  delayed  for  s^'me  time  at  a  town  on  the  shores 
of  Ihe  Caspian,  he  was  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to 
amuse  himself  with  a  copy  of  Lalla  Rookb,  which  ; 
Persian  had  lent  him/' 

Of  the  descripiioji  of  Balbec,  in  *'  Paradise  and  thi 
Peri.»'  Mr.  Carne,  in  his  Letters  from  ihe  E^st,  ihu 
speak?  :  "  The  desc  ip'ion  in  Lalla  Rookh  nf  the  plan 
and  its  ruins  is  exqui^ilely  faithful.  The  minaret  i 
on  the  declivity  near  at  hand,  and  there  wanted  only 
the  muezzin's  cry  to  break  the  silence," 

I  shall  now  tax  my  reader's  patience  with  but  one 
more  of  these  generous  vouchers.  Whatever  of  vanity 
there  niay  be  in  citing  such  tributes,  ihey  show,  at 
least,  of  what  gteat  value,  even  in  poetry,  is  that  pro- 
saic quality,  industry  ;  since,  as  Ihe  reader  of  the  fore- 
going pages  is  now  fully  apprized,  it  was  in  a  slow 
and  laborious  cnlledion  of  small  facts,  that  the  first 
foundations  of  this  fanciful  Rouiance  wefe  laid. 

The  friendly  testimony  t  hive  just  referred  to,  ap- 
peared, some  years  since,  in  the  form  in  which  I  now 
give  it.  and,  if  I  recollect  right,  in  the  Athenaaum  :  — 

"  I  embnce  this  opportunity  of  beiring  my  indivi- 
dual testimony  (if  it  be  nf  any  value)  to  the  extraor- 
dinary accuracy  of  Mr.  Mon-e,  in  his  topographical, 
anliqiiarian.  and  chamcteristic  details,  whether  of 
costume,  manners,  or  less-changing  monuments,  both 


n  his  Lalla  Rookh  and  in  the  Epicurean.  !t  haa  been 
ny  fortune  to  rend  his  Atlantic,  Bermudean,  and 
American  Odes  and  EpiMles.  in  the  countries  and 
among  the  people  to  which  and  to  whom  they  related  ; 
I  enjoyed  also  the  exquisite  delight  of  r<ading  his 
Lalla  Rookh,  in  Persia  itself:  and  I  have  perused  the 
Epicurean,  while' all  my  recollections  of  Egypt  and 
ts  siill  existing  wonder-i  aie  as  fiesh  as  when  I  quit- 
ted the  banks  of  the  Nile  for  Arabia:  —  !  owe  it, 
therefore  as  a  debt  of  gratitude  (though  the  payment 
Is  most  inadequa'e),  for  the  great  pleasure  I  have  de- 
rived from  his  productions,  to  bear  my  humble  tes'J- 
mony  lo  llieir  local  fidelity.  J.  S.  B." 

Among  the  incidents  connected  with  thisVork,  I 
niusi  not  omit  to  notice  the  >p!endid  Divertissement, 
founded  upon  i',  which  was  acted  ai  the  Chateau 
Ro\al  of  Berlin,  during  Ihe  viiit  of  the  Grand  Duke 
Nicholas  to  thU  capiMl,  in  Ihe  year  1322.  The  dif- 
ferent  s  ories  composing  ihe  work  were  represented 
in  Tableaux  Vivang  and  songs  ;  and  among  the  crowd 
of  royal  .uid  nolle  personages  engaged  in  ihe  perform- 
ances. I  shall  menijon  tho=e  only  who  lepresented  the 
principal  characters,  and  whom  I  find  thus  ennnie- 
ra  ed  In  the  published  account  of  the  Divertissement. 3 

"Faaladin.CJrand-Nasir.Comfe  Jlaacii.{Marechal  daCoUr). 
Aliris,  Roi  dcBucharie,  S.  A.  I.  Le  Grand  Due, 
Lailah  Roukh,  S.  A.  I.  La  Grande  Duchesse. 
Aurungzeb.  iC  Grand   Mogol,  S.  A.  R.  Le  Prince  OuH- 

iuume./rere  du  Roi, 
Alxlallah,  Pere  d'AIiris,  S.  A.  R.  Le  Vue  da  Cumberland. 
La   Rcine,  eon  epijuae,   S.  A.   R.  La  Princesse  Louiae 
Radsivill.'* 

Besides  these  and  other  leading  personages,  there 
were  also  brought  into  action,  under  the  vaiious  De- 
nominations of  Seigneurs  et  Dames  de  Bucharie, 
Dames  de  Cachemire,  Seigneurs  ei  Dames  dansans  a 
la  Fetedes  Rose-,  &c.  nearly  150  persons. 

Of  the  manner  and  style  in  which  the  Tableaux  of 
the  different  siorjes  are  described  in  the  uork  fmm 
which  I  cile.  the  following  accnuni  of  Ihe  perf  Tm- 
ance  of  Paradise  and  the  Peri  will  aflbrd  some  speci- 
men: — 

**La  decoration  represenloit  les  pnrtes  brillantes  du 
Paradis,  entourees  de  nuages.  Dins  le  premier 
tableau  on  vnyoit  la  Peri,  iriste  et  desolee,  couchee 
eur  le  senil  des  partes  fermees,  el  PAngede  lumiere 
qui  lui  addres^edes  consolitiona  et  des  conseils.  Le 
second  repiesente  le  mnnienf,ou  U  Peri,  dans  I'esnoir 
que  ce  don  lui  ouvrira  I'entree  du  Par^idis  recueilte  la 
derniere  goulte  de  sang  que  vient  de  verser  le  jeuiie 
gueniei  Indien 

"  La  Pen  et  I'Ange  de  lumiere  repondorent  pleine- 
ment  a  I'lmage  et  al'iJeeqn'on  est  tentede  se  fairede 
ces  deux  indu  idus,  et  I'inipressinn  qu*a  faite  generale- 
inent  la  suite  des  tableaux  de  cet  episode  delicat  et 
interessani  est  loin  de  s'effacer  de  notre  souvenir,** 

In  Ihis  grand  Fete,  it  appears,  originaied  the  trans- 
!ati'<n  of  Lalla  Rookh  into  German  verse,  by  the 
Baron  de  la  Motie  Fouque;  and  the  circumslancee 
which  led  him  in  undertake  the  task,  are  described  by 
himself,  in  a  Dedicatory  Poem  to  the  Empress  of 
Russia,  which  he  has  prefixed  in  his  translation.  As 
soon  as  the  ptrformance,  he  tells  us.  had  ei^ded,  Lalla 
Rookh  (the  Empress  herself)  exclaimed,  with  asJt;h, 
"  Is  it,  tiien,  all  over  ?  are  we  now  at  the  clo^e  of  all 
that  hns  given  us  so  much  delight  ?  and  lives  there  no 
poet  who  will  impart  to  oihers,  and  to  future  limes, 
tome  notion  of  Ihe  happiness  we  have  enjoyed  this 
evening?"  On  hearing  this  appeal,  a  Knight  of  Cash* 
mere  (who  is  no  other  than  the  poetical  Baron  him- 
self) comes  forward  and  promises  to  attempt  to  pre- 
sent to  the  world  'Mhe  Poem  itself  in  the  measure  of 
the  original  :''— wheieupon  Lalla  Rookh,  it  is  added, 
approvingly  smiled. 


1  The  Fire-worshippers.  3  L^illa  Roukh,  Diveriasement  meledf- Chants  etde 

ft  Traduntautem  Hebrasi  banc  fabulam  quod  Abra- 1  Danses,  Berlm,  If?22.     1  he  work  contains  a  series  of 
ham  in  ignem  missus  sit  quia  igiiem  adorare  uoluit. —  |  coloured  engravinis,  repre>entirg  groups,  processions 


St.  Huron,  in  quxst.  in  Gene 


I  &c.,  in  different  Orjenial  costu 


L  A  L  L  A    R  O  O  K  EI . 


TO    SAMUEL    ROGERS,    ESQ. 
THIS    EASTERN    ROMANCE    IS    INSCRIBED, 

BT      HIS      VERY     GRATEFUI,      AND      AFFECTIONATE      FRIEND, 

THOMAS    MOORE. 
May  19, 1S17. 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


In  the  eleyenlh  vear  of  the  reign  of  Aurungzebe, 
Abdalla,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucharia,  a  lineal 
descendant  from  the  Great  Zingis,  having  abdicated 
tlie  throne  in  favour  of  his  son,  set  out  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Shrine  of  the  Prophet ;  and,  passing  into 
India  through  the  delightful  \alley  of  Cashmere,  rest- 
ed for  a  short  time  at  Delhi  on  his  «ay.  He  vvas 
entertained  by  Anrunszebe  in  a  style  of  niagniticent 
hospitality,  worlliy  alike  of  the  vi>iier  and  the  ho>l, 
and  was  afierwards  escorted  with  the  same  splendour 
to  Sural,  where  he  enibaiked  fxr  Arabia. l  Uuniig 
the  stay  of  the  Royal  Pilgrim  at  Uelhi,  a  niairiage 
was  agreed  upon  between  the  Piince,  bis  son,  and  the 
youngesi  daugbier  of  the  Kmperor,  Lalla  Ronkh;* 
—  a  Princess  described  by  ihe  poets  of  her  time  as 
more  beauliful  than  Leila, 3  Sbirine,«  Dewilde,'  or 
any  of  those  heroines  whose  names  and  loves  embel- 
lish the  songs  of  Persia  and  Hindostan.  It  was  iu- 
icnded  that  the  nuplials  should  be  celebrated  at  Cash- 
mere; where  the  young  Ku-g,  as  snon  as  the  cares  of 
empire  would  permit,  was  to  meet,  for  the  lirst  lime, 
his  lovely  bride,  and,  afler  a  few  months'  repose  in 
that  enchanting  valley,  conduct  her  over  the  snowy 
hills  into  Bucbaria. 

The  day  of  Lalla  Rookh's  departure  from  Delhi  was 
as  splendid  as  sunshine  and  pageaniry  could  iiialie  it. 
The  bazaars  and  ba  lis  were  all  covered  with  the 
richest  t  ipeslry  ;  hundreds  of  gi.ded  barges  upon  Ihe 
Jumna  tloited  with  their  banners  shining  in  the 
water;  while  through  the  streets  groups  of  beautiful 
children  went  strewing  Ihe  most  delici'us  flowers 
around,  as  in  that  Persian  fesiival  c;illed  the  Scatter- 
ing of  the  Roses ;  »  till  every  part  of  Ihe  city  was  as 
fragrant  as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from  Klioten  had 
passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having  taken  leave 
of  her  kind  lather,  who  at  pan iiig  hung  a  cornelian 
of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on  which  was  inscribed  a 
verse  from  Ihe  Koran,  and  having  sent  a  considerable 
present  to  ihe  Fakirs,  who  kept  up  Ihe  Perpetual 
Lamp  in  her  sister's  tomb,  meekly  asiended  ihe  palaii- 
keeu  prt-pared  for  her;  and,  while  Aurun^zebe  stood 


t: 


>  These  particulars  of  the  visit  of  the  King  of 
Bucharia  to  Autungzebe  .are  found  in  Dow^s  JJistury 
of  IJmdustan,  vol.  lii.  p.  392. 

»  Tulip  cheek. 

3  The  mistress  of  Mejnoiin,  upon  who^e  story  so 
many  Homances  in  all  the  languages  of  the  £a^t  are 
founded. 

4  For  the  loves  of  this  celebra'ed  beauty  with 
Khosiou  and  with  Feihad,  see  D'flcrUlot,  Uibbmi, 
Oriintat  Collections^  &c. 

s  "The  historvof  thelovesof  Dewildeand  Chizer, 
the  son  ol  llic  F.mperor  Alia,  is  written  in  au  elegant 
poem,  by  Ihe  noble  Chu^ero,"  —  Ferishta. 
Gul  Reazee. 


to  take  a  last  look  from  his  balcony,  the  processioo 
moved  slowly  on  the  road  to  Lahore. 

Seldoni  had  the  Kasleru  world  seen  a  cavalcade  so 
superb.  From  the  gardens  in  the  subuibs  to  the  Im- 
perial palace,  it  was  one  unbroken  line  of  splendour. 
Ibe  gallant  appearance  of  the  Rajahs  and  Mogul 
loids,  dislingnished  by  those  insignia  of  the  Kmperoi's 
favour, 1  the  feathers  of  the  egret  of  Cashmere  in  llieir 
lurbans,  and  Ibe  small  silver-rimm'd  keitle-druins  at 
the  bows  of  their  saddles; — the  cosily  armour  of  their 
cavaliers,  who  vied,  on  this  occasion,  with  Ibe  guards 
of  Ihe  great  Keder  Khan,'  in  the  brightness  of  Iheir 
silver  batile-axes  and  the  massiness  of  Iheir  maces  of 
gold  ;  —  the  glittering  of  Ihe  gilt  pine-apples  s  on  Ibe 
tops  of  the  palankeens; —  Ihe  embroidered  trappings 
of  the  elephanls,  bearing  on  their  b.acks  small  turrets, 
in  the  shape  of  little  antique  temples,  within  which 
the  Ladies  of  Lalla  Rookh  lay  as  it  were  enshrined  ; 
— the  rose-coloured  veils  of  ihe  Princess's  own  sump- 
tuous lilter,»o  at  the  front  of  which  a  fair  young  female 


1  "  One  mark  of  honour  or  knighthood  bestowed  by 
the  Emperor  is  Ibe  permission  to  wear  a  small  kettle- 
drum at  the  bows  ol  their  saddles,  which  at  hrst  was 
invented  for  Ihe  training  of  hawks,  and  to  call  them 
lo  the  lure,  and  is  worn  in  the  field  by  all  spoilsmen 
to  thai  end."  —  Fryer's  Travels. 

"  Those  on  whom  the  King  has  conferred  the  pri- 
vilege must  wear  an  ornament  of  jewels  on  the  right 
side  of  Ihe  turban,  surmounted  by  a  high  plume  of 
the  feathers  of  a  kind  of  egret.  This  bird  is  found 
only  in  Ca^hmere,  and  the  leathers  are  carefully  c  1- 
lected  for  the  King,  who  be>lows  them  on  bis  nob.es." 
—F'lphinstont's  Account  of  Caubul. 

8  "Khedar  Klian,  the  Khakan,  or  King  of  Tur- 
queslan  beyond  the  Gihoii  (at  Ihe  end  of  Ibe  eleveiilh 
century),  whenever  he  appe.ired  abioad  was  preceded 
b>  sev.-n  hundred  hoisemeii  with  silvei  batllc-axes, 
and  was  followed  by  an  equal  number  bearing  maces 
of  gold.  He  W.1S  a  great  patMii  of  poetry,  and  it  was 
he  who  used  to  preside  at  public  exeicises  ol  genius, 
with  four  basins  of  gold  and  silver  by  bim  lo  dislri- 
buleamong  the  poets  who  excelled.'' — Kicliardson's 
Disserlatioii  prefixed  to  bis  Dictionary. 

9  "  1  be  kubdeli,  a  Large  golden  knob,  generally  in 
the  shape  of  a  pineapple,  on  Ihe  inp  of  the  carn.py 
over  Ihe  Inter  or  p  ilanquin."— .S'cwi'j  Notes  ou  the 
Bahardani.fh. 

0  In  Ibe  Poi 


the    filloui 
maide 


of  Zohair,  in  Ibe  Moallakat,  there 
ly  description  of  "a  company  i 


lied  on  camels." 

"  I  III  y  a'C  mounted  in  carriages  covered  with  cost- 
ly awnings,  and  with  roee-coloured  veils,  the  linings 
of  which  have  the  hue  of  crimson  Andem-ivood. 

"  When  they  ascend  from  the  bosom  of  the  vale, 
they  sit  forivaid  on  the  saddle-cloih,  with  eveiy  mark 

of  a  voluptU'Us  gaiety. 

"Noiv  when  Ihey  have  reached  Ihe  brink  of  yon 
blue-2iiBbing  livnli-l,  Ihey  fin  Ibe  poles  of  their  tenia 
like  Ibe  Arab  with  a  settled  mansion." 


22 


254 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


slave  sat  fannins;  her  through  the  curtains,  with  fea-  1  lime,  made  her  indifferent  to  every  other  amusemenf. 
Ihers  of  the  Argiis  pheasant's  wing ,  i— and  the  lovely  I  But  L^Ila  Rnnkli  was  young,  and  the  youn^  love  va- 
troop  of  Tartariin  and  Cashmerian  n.aids  of  honour,  |  rie'y  ;  nor  could  iheconversa  ion  of  her  Ladies  and  the 
wliom  the  vi>un?  Kinj;  had  sent  to  .. cconip.it, y  his  ;  Greal  Chamberlain,  Fadladeen^  (the  only  persons,  o 
bride,  a  d  who  n-de  on  each  s  de  nf  the  litier,  upnn  I  course,  adinitled  to  her  pavilion),  sulliciently  enliven 
small  Arabian  horses;— all  "as.  brilliant,  tasteful,    those  many  vacant  hours,  wj.jch  were  devoted  neither 


and  maijnificeiit,  :-nd  pirased  even  ihe  critical  and 
lastidious  Fadladeen,  Greal  Nazir  or  Chamberlain  of 
the  Haram,  who  was  borne  in  hia  palankeen  imme- 
diately at'ter  the  Princess,  and  considered  himself  not 
the  lea?t  important  personage  of  the  pageant. 

F3'll;"-leen  was  a  judge  of  everything,  —  from  the 
pencilling  of  a  Circas-bn's  eyelids  to  the  deepest  ques- 
tions of  science  and  liierature ;  from  the  mixture  of  a 
conserve  of  rose-leaves  to  the  composition  of  an  epic 
poem:  and  such  intUience  had  his  opinion  upon  ihe 
various  lastes  of  the  day,  that  all  the  conks  and  poets 
of  Delhi  s'ood  in  awe  of  him.  His  political  conduct 
and  opinions  were  founded  upon  that  line  of  Sadi, — 
"Should  the  pnnce  at  noon-day  say,  li  is  night,  declare 
that  you  behold  the  moon  and  s;ats."— And  his  zeal  for 
religion,  of  which  Aurungzsbe  was  a  munificent  pro- 
tector,^ was  ubout  as  disinterested  as  that  of  the  gold- 
smith who  fell  in  love  with  Ihe  diamond  eyes  of  the 
idol  of  Jaghernaut.3 

During  the  first  days  of  their  journey,  Lalla  Lookh, 
who  had  pas-ed  all  her  life  within  the  shadow  of  the 
Royal  Gardens  of  Delhi,*  found  enough  in  the  beauty 
of  the  scenery  through  which  ihev  passed  to  inieresi 
her  mind,  and  delit^ht  her  imagination  ;  ani  when  at 
evenins,  or  in  the  heat  of  'he  d  *y,  Ihey  turned  off  from 
the  high  road  to  those  retired  and  romantic  places 
which  had  been  selected  for  her  encampnient-, — some- 
limes  on  the  banks  of  a  small  rivulet,  as  clear  as  the 
wa'ers  of  the  Lake  of  Pearl ;  5  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  nf  (he  West, 6  as  '*  places  of  melancholy, 
delight,  and  tafe'y,  where  all  the  company  around  was 
wild  peacocks  and  lurtle-doves  ;" — she  felt  a  charm  in 
these  £cenes,  so  lovely  and  so  new  to  her,  which,  for  a 


the  [ialankeen.  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  dilties  of  her  countr\',  about  the  loves  of 
Wamak  and  Ezra,T  ihe  fair-haired  Zal  and  his  mis- 
tress Rndahvtr  .  8  net  fnrgelting  ihe  combat  of  Rustam 
with  Ihe  terrible  While  Deinoii  9  Ai  other  times  she 
as  amused  by  those  graceful  d;mcing-girls  of  Delhi, 
ho  had  been  permitted  by  the  Bramins  of  Ihe  Gre.tt 
P-igoda  to  attend  her,  much  to  the  horror  of  the  good 
n  F^idladeen,  who  could  see  nothing griceful 
or  agreeable  in  idolaters,  and  to  whom  the  very  tink- 
ling of  their  golden  ankletsio  was  an  abomination. 

But  these  and  m.iny  olher  diversions  were  repeated 
till  ibey  lost  all  iheir  charm,  and  the  nights  and  noon- 
days weie  beginning  to  niove  heavily,  when,  at 
lengih.  it  was  recollected  that,  among  the  attendants 
sent  by  ihe  bridegroom,  was  a  young  poet  of  Cash- 
mere, much  celebiated  tliroughout  the  Valley  for  hiB 
manner  of  reciting  the  Stories  of  the  East,  on  whom 
his  Royal  Master  bad  conferred  the  privilege  of  being 
admitted  to  the  pavilion  of  ihe  Princess,  that  he 
might  help  to  beguile  Ihe  tedionsness  of  the  journey 
by  home  of  his  most  agreeable  recitals.  At  the  men- 
tion of  a  poel,  Fadladeen  elevated  his  critical  eye- 
brows, and,  having  refreshed  his  faculties  with  a  do&e 
of  that  delicious  opium  *i  which  is  distilled  from  the 
black  poppy  of  the  Thebais,  gave  orders  f'lr  the  min- 
strel lo  be  forlhwith  introduced  into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen  a  poet 
from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  herFaiher's  hall, 
and  had  conceived  from  that  specimen  no  very  favour- 
able ideas  of  the  Caste,  expected  but  little  in  this  new 
exhibition  to  interest  her  ;  ~  she  felt  inclined,  how- 
ever, lo  alter  her  opinion  on  the  very  first  appearance 


I  See  Bemier^s  description  of  the  aitendanis  on  Rau- 
Chanara-Begum,  in  her  progress  lo  Cashmere. 

a  This  hypocritical  Emperor  would  have  made  a 
worthy  associate  of  certain  Holy  Leagues. — "  He  held 
the  cloak  of  religion  (says  Dow)  between  his  ac'ions 
and  the  vulgar;  and  impiously  thanked  the  Divinity 
for  a  success  which  he  owed  to  his  own  wickedness. 
When  he  was  muideringand  persecuting  his  brothers 
and  their  families,  he  was  building  a  magnificent 
mosque  at  Delhi,  as  an  offering  to  God  fnr  his  assist- 
ance to  him  in  Ihe  civil  wars.  He  acted  as  high  pnest 
at  the  consecration  of  this  temple;  and  made  a  prac- 
tice of  attending  divine  service  there,  in  Ihe  humble 
dress  of  a  Fakeer.  But  when  he  lifted  one  hand  to 
the  Divinity,  he,  with  the  other,  signed  warrants  foi 
the  aisissination  of  his  relaiions."— //is(ott/  of  Hin- 
dostaii,  vol.  iii.  p.  335.  See  also  the  curious  letter  of 
Aumngzebe,  given  in  the  Orie7ital  Colltctions,  vol.  i. 
p.  320. 

3  "The  idol  at  Jaghernat  has  two  fine  diamonds  for 
eyes.  No  goldsmith  is  suffered  to  enter  the  Paaioda, 
one  having  st-ile  one  of  these  eyes,  being  locked  up  all 
night  with  the  idol."— rauemier. 

4  See  a  description  of  these  royal  Gardens  in  "An 
Account  of  the  present  State  of  Delhi,  by  Lieut.  W. 
Franklin." — Asiat.  Research^  vol.  iv.  p.  417. 

5  "  In  the  neighbourhood  is  Not(e  Gill,  or  the  Lake 
of  Pearl,  which  receives  ihis  name  from  its  pellucid 
water," — PennanVs  Hindostan. 

"Nasir  Jung  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Lake 
of  Tonnorj  amused  himself  with  sailing  on  that  clear 
and  beautiful  water,  and  g^ve  it  Ihe  fanciful  name  of 
Motee  Talah,  »the  I^ke  nf  Pearls,'  which  it  still  re- 
tains."— Pf'ilks's  South  of  India. 

6  Siv  Thomas  Roe,  Ambassador  from  James  L  to 
Jebanguire. 


1  "The  romance  VVcinakweazra,  written  in  Persian 
verse,  which  cmiains  the  loves  of  Wamak  and  Ezra, 
two  celebrated  lovers  who  lived  before  the  time  of 
Mahomet." — Note  oii  ihe  Oriciital  Talts. 

8  Their  amour  is  recounted  in  the  Shah-Nameh  of 
Ferdousi ;  and  iheie  is  much  beauty  in  the  passage 
which  describes  the  slaves  of  Rodahver  sitting  on  the 
bank  nf  the  river  and  throwing  flowers  info  the  stream, 
in  order  to  draw  the  attention  o(  Ihe  young  Hero  who 
is  encamped  on  the  opposite  side.  —  See  CharapioiVa 
translation. 

9  Rustam  is  the  Hercules  of  the  Persians.  For  the 
particulars  of  his  victory  over  the  Sepeed  Deeve,  or 
White  Demon,  see  Orltntal  CoUectio7is,  vol.  ii.  p.  45. 
— Near  the  city  i>{  Shirauz  is  an  immense  quadrangu- 
lar monunient,  in  commemoration  of  Ihis  combat, 
called  Ihe  Kelaat-i-Deev  Sepeed,  or  cslle  of  ihe 
White  Giant,  which  Father  Angelo,  in  his  Gazophi- 
lacium  Persicum,  p.  127,  declares  lo  have  been  Ihe 
most  memorable  monument  of  antiquity  which  he  had 
Been  in  Persia, — See  Omeley^s  Persian  Miscellanies. 

>0  »  The  women  of  the  Idol,  or  dancing  girls  of  Ihe 
Pagoda,  have  liille  golden  bells,  fastened  to  Iheir  feet, 
the  s'tff  harmonious  tinkling  of  which  vibrates  in  uni- 
son with  the  exquisite  melody  of  their  voices."— j>/au- 
rice's  Indian  Antiquities. 

**  The  Arabian  courtesans,  like  the  Indian  wonen, 
have  little  golden  bells  fastened  louiid  their  less,  nech, 
and  elbows,  to  Ihe  s^^und  of  which  they  dance  before 
the  King.  The  Araliian  princesses  wear  golden  rings 
on  Iheir  fingers,  to  which  little  bells  are  suspended, 
as  well  as  in  the  flowing  tresses  of  their  hair,  that 
their  superior  rank  may  be  known,  and  they  them- 
selves receive  in  passing  the  homage  due  to  them." — 
See  CalmeVs  Dictionary,  art.  Bells. 

ii  "Abou-Tige,  ville  de  la  TheUide,  ou  il  croil 
beaucoup  de  pavot  noir,  dont  se  fait  le  meilleui 
opium."  — /)'flerZ)e/o(. 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


255 


of  Feraninrz.  He  wria  a  youth  about  Lalla  Rookli'a 
own  age,  and  graceful  as  that  idol  ot  women, 
CrishtM,t  —  such  as  he  appears  tn  their  young  intagi- 
tations,  heroic,  beauiiful,  Urea  hiiig  niu-ic  from  his 
very  eyes,  and  exalliiig  the  religion  t-f  his  worship- 
pers iuto  love.     His  dress  was  simple,  vet  mU  »>th- 


nd  Ihe  Ladi 
iiiiig  ihat  Ihe  clo'h, 
u  cap.  was  of  the 


f  COstljlli 

princess  were  not  long  in  c 
winch  encircled  his  high 

most  delicate  kind  that  ihe  shawl-^oata  of  Tibet 
ply.*!  Here  and  there,  too,  over  his  vest,  which  was 
coiiiined  by  a  flowered  girdle  of  Kashan,  hung  strings 
of  hne  pearl,  disposed  wiih  an  air  of  sludied  negli- 
gence;—  nor  did  the  exqui-ile  enil)rn:dery  of  his 
sandals  escape  Ihe  oUseivalion  of  these  fair  critics ; 
who,  however  they  might  give  ^^ay  to  Fadladeen 
upon  the  uniinporiant  topics  of  religion  and  govern- 
nieut,  had  the  spirit  of  martyis  in  eveiy  thing  re- 
lating to  such  momentous  matters  as  jewels  and  em- 
broidery. 

For  Ihe  purpose  of  relieving  ihe  pauses  of  recita- 
tion by  music,  Ihe  young  Cashmenan  htld  in  his  hand 
a  kitar  ;— such  as.  in  old  times,  the  Arab  maids  of  Ihe 
West  used  to  listen  to  by  mooidight  in  Ihe  gardens  of 
the  Allunibra— and,  having  premised,  with  inucti 
liumility,  that  the  slory  he  was  .ibout  to  relate  was 
founded  on  the  adventures  of  that  Veiled  Piophet  of 
Khorassan,3  who,  in  the  year  of  ihe  Hegira  163, 
created  such  alarm  throughout  the  Kastern  Empire, 
made  aa  obeisance  to  the  Princess,  and  thus  began: — 


THE  VEILED  PROPHEr  OF  KH0RASSAN.4 

In  that  dellehtfu!  Province  ol  'Jie  Sun, 

The  tirst  of  Persian  lands  he    lines  upon, 

Where  all  the  loveliest  childri-n  of  his  beam, 

Flow'rets  and  fruiis,  blush  over  every  s'ream,* 

And,  fairest  of  all  streams,  the  Murga  roves 

Among  Merou's  s  bright  palaces  and  groves;  — 

There  on  Ihat  throne,  to  which  the  blind  belief 

Of  millions  rais'd  him,  sal  Ihe  Prophel-Chief, 

The  Great  Mokanna.    O'er  his  features  hung 

The  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  he  had  fluug 

In  mercy  there,  (o  hide  from  mort;U  sight 

His  dazzling  brow,  till  man  could  bear  its  light. 

For,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  said, 

Were  ev'n  the  gle.inis,  miraculously  shed 

0*er  Moussa'g  t  cheek,^  when  down  the  Mount  he 

trod, 
All  glowing  from  the  presence  of  his  God ! 


1  The  Indian  Apollo,  —"  He  and  Ihe  three  Ramas 
are  described  as  youths  of  perfect  beauty;  and  Uie 
princesses  of  Hinduvtan  were  all  pa>sionalely  in  love 
with  Chrishna,  who  continues  to  this  hour  Ihe  darling 
God  of  Ihe  Indian  women,"  — S^r  W.  JoncJ,  on  ihe 
Gods  of  Greece,  Italy,  and  India. 

•2  See  Turner's  Embassy  for  a  description  of  this 
animal,  "ihe  most  beautiful  among  the  whole  tribe  of 
goats."  The  material  for  ihe  ^halvls  (which  is  cairi- 
ed  lo  Cashmere)  is  found  next  the  skin. 

•■*  For  Ihe  real  history  of  this  Impostor,  whose 
origiLiI  name  was  Hakem  ben  H^ischem,  and  who 
was  called  M-Jcanna  fmin  (he  veil  of  silver  gauze 
(or,  as  others  say,  golden)  which  he  always  wore,  see 
D'Hei-ldot. 

•4  Khori5san  signifies,  in  the  old  Persian  language. 
Province  or  Region  of  Ihe  Sun.  —  Skt  IV.  Jones. 

6  "  The  fruiis  of  Meru  s.re  finer  than  tho-e  of  any 
other  place;  and  one  cannot  see  in  any  olher  city 
such  palaces  wiih  groves,  and  streams,  and  gardens." 
^■Ebn  WaufcaZ's  Geography. 

6  One  of  the  royal  ciiies  of  Khorassan. 

'  Moses. 

8''Se3  disciples   assuroient  qu'il    se  couvroit  le 


On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  ard  hands, 
His  chosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands ; 
Voung  hre-e)t;d  di?puiai  Is,  who  deem  their  s\vords, 
On  poinis  of  fai  h,  more  ehupieiil  ihan  words  ; 
And  9uch  their  y-tat,  tnerc's  not  a  you  h  with  brand 
Lplifitd  there,  bui,  al  the  Chitfs  cfimmand, 
Would  make  his  own  devoUd  heart  iis  sluath, 
And  bless  the  lips  thai  doom'd  so  dear  a  dc.iih  1 
In  hatred  to  Ihe  Caliph's  hue  of  night, » 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white; 
Their  weapons  various  —  some  equipped,  for  speed, 
VVuh  javelins  of  the  light  Kathai..u  reed  j  lo 
Or  bows  of  bufl'alo  horn  and  shining  quive.-s 
Find  with  tlie sterns  *»  Iha'  bloom  on  Iran's  rivers;** 
While  some,  for  wai's  more  terribie  aliacks. 
Wield  Ihe  huge  mace  and  ponderous  ballle-axe; 
And  as  they  wave  aloft  in  morning's  beam 

milk-while  plumage  of  their  helms,  they  seem 
Like  a  chenar-ree  gn-ve  i3  when  winter  throws 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  feaihering  snows. 

Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  that  uphold 
The  rich  moresque-work  ol  ihe  loof  of  gold, 
Alolt  the  Haram's  curlain'd  galleries  ri^e, 
Where  through  Ihe  silken  net-wo'k,  ElanciDS"  eyes, 
From  time  to  time,  Ike  budden  i^leams  that  glow 
Thri'u|h  au'umn  clouds,  sfnne  o'ei  the  pomp  below.— 
VVhat  impious  tongue,  >e  blusldng  saints,  would  dare 
To  hint  that  aughi  bul  Hcv'n  hath  plac'd  you  there? 
Or  that  the  loves  of  this  li^ht  world  cou!d  bind, 
In  their  gross  chain,  your  Prophet's  soaring  n.Ind  * 
No  —  wrongful  thought  1  —  conimission'd  f-oin  above 
To  people  Eden's  bowers  wi'h  ^hapes  of  love, 
(Creatures  so  brigh*,  thai  ihe  i-ame  lips  and  eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  serve  in  Paradise,} 
There  to  recline  amoi  g  Heav'n's  native  maids. 
And  crown  the'  Elect  wiih  bliss  thai  never  fades- 
Well  haih  the  Prophel-Chief  his  bidding  done; 
And  eveiy  beau'eous  race  beneath  the  sun, 
From  those  who  kneel  at  lUahnja's  burning  fount,** 
To  the  fre;.h  nymphs  bounding  o^er  Yemen's  uounts; 
From  Persia's  eves  of  full  and  fawn-like  ray, 
To  the  small,  h'ljf-shnt  glances  of  Kathay  ;U 
And  Georgia's  b'oom,  and  Azab's  darker  smi.'es, 
And  the  guld  ringlets  of  the  Wtsiem  Isles ; 
All,  all  aie  there;— each  Land  il>  flower  hath  given. 
To  form  that  fair  young  Nuiseiy  for  Heaven  I 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  arm'd  array  ? 
What  triumph  cro.vds  the  rich  Divan  tonJay 


visage,  pour  ne  pas  eblouir  ceux  qui  I'approchoient 
par  i'eclat  de  son  visage  comme  Moy=e."— D'/ZcricioZ. 

3  Black  was  the  colour  adopted  by  the  Caliphs  of 
the  House  of  Abbas,  in  their  garmen's,  tuibans.  and 
standards. — ''  II  faut  remarquer  ici  touchaut  les  habits 
blincs  des  di-ciples  de  H;ikem,  que  la  coulcur  des 
habits,  des  cneflures  el  des  elci'darls  des  Khalifes 
Abassides  etant  la  noire,  ce  chef  de  Rebelles  ne  pou- 
voil  pas  choisir  une  qui  lui  fut  plus  opposee."  — 
Ibid. 

*o  "Ourdark  javelins,  exquisitely  wmught  of  Kha- 
thaian  reeds,  slender  and  delicae."  — i'ocm  of  Amm. 

**  Fichula,  used  anciently  for  arrows  by  Ihe  Per- 

1^  The  Persians  call  this  plant  0^2.  The  cele- 
brated shaft  of  Istendiar,  one  <  f  their  ancient  hemes, 
was  mide  of  il. —  'Nothing  cm  be  more  beautiful 
than  the  a[ipearance  of  this  plant  In  flower  during 
the  rains  on  the  bank--  of  riveis,  where  it  is  usually 
interwoven  with  a  lovely  twining  asclepiaa."  —  .Sir 
IV.  JoiitSf  Botanical  Observations  on  ^select  Indira 
Plants. 

13  The  oriental  plane,  *'The  chenar  is  a  delight- 
ful tree  ;  its  bole  is  of  a  fine  white  and  smooth  bark  ; 
and  its  foliage,  which  grows  in  a  lutt  at  the  summit, 
is  of  a  bright  green." —  Mmiefs  Travels. 

14  The  burning  fountains  of  Brahma  near  Chi(t> 
gong,  esteemed  as  holy. —  T^imer. 

*fi  China. 


256 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


With  turban'd  heaJs,  of  evcy  hje  and  race, 
Bowing  before  thai  veii'd  and  awful  face, 
Like  (uiip-beds.i  of  diiferent  shtpeand  dyes, 
Bending  benea  h  ihe'  invinble  West-wind's  sighs  I 
What  iievv-aude  myslKry  novv,  for  Failh  to  sign, 
And  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine, 
What  dazzling  niinuckry  uf  God's  own  power 
Hath  the  boldi'rophet  plauu'd  to  grace  ihishour? 

Not  such  Ihe  pageant  now,  though  not  less  proud  ; 
Yon  waiiior  youlh,  advancing  fmm  the  crowd, 
With  silver  bi.w,  with  belt  of  broider'd  crape, 
An  J  fur-bound  bnnnet  of  Bucharian  shape,^ 
So  liercely  beautiful  in  form  and  eye, 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer  sky  ; 
Thai  youth  to-day,— a  pi05el\te.  worth  hordes 
Of  cooler  spirits  and  less  practis'd  swords,— 
Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  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  dtrkeii'd  o'er  his  downy  cheek, 
Uerwhelm'd  in  fight  and  captive  to  the  Greek,3 
He  lioKerM  iheie,  till  peace  dissolved  his  chams;— 
Oh,  who  could,  ev'n  in  bond;ige,  tread  the  plains 
Of  glorious  Greece,  nor  feel  his  spirit  rise 
Kindling  wiihin  him?  who,  with  heart  and  eyes, 
Could  walk  where  Liberty  had  been,  nor  see 
The  shining  fnoiprims  of  her  Ueily, 
Nor  feel  (hose  god-like  breathings  in  the  air, 
Which  niulely  t.-ld  her  spirit  had  been  there? 
Not  he.  thai  youthful  war-ior,— nn,  mo  well 
For  hjs  soul's  quiet  work'd  the'  awakening  spell; 
And  now,  re'ufjing  to  his  own  dear  land. 
Full  of  tliose  d.  earns  of  good  that,  vainly  grand, 
Haunt  the  young  heart,— proud  views  of  human-kind, 
Of  men  lo  Gods  exalied  and  rvfm'd, — 
FaUe  views,  like  that  horizor.'s  fair  deceit, 
Where  eaith  and  heavn  but  seem,  alas,  to  meet!  — 
Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  rais'd 
To  right  the  natinns.  and  beheld,  en.blay.M 
On  the  white  lias  Mnk.inna's  host  unfuiM'd, 
Those  words  of  sumhine,  "  Freedom  to  the  world," 
At  once  his  faiih,  his  sword,  his  soul  obey'd 
The'  inspiring  summons;  every  ciiosen  blade 
That  fo'jght  beneaih  that  banner's  ^acred  text 
Seem'd  doubly  ed:;'d,  for  this  v^'orld  and  the  next; 
And  ne'er  did  Faith  with  her  smoith  bandage  bind 
Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  be  blind, 
In  virtue's  cause  ; —  never  was  soul  insi  ir'd 
VVith  livelier  trust  in  what  il  most  desir'd. 
Than  his  the'  enthusiast  there,  who  kneeling,  pale 
With  pious  awe,  before  that  Silver  Veil, 
Believes  the  lorm,  lo  which  he  bend-  his  knee, 
Snme  puie,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
This  felter'd  world  from  every  band  and  stain, 
And  b<  ing  its  primal  glories  back  again  ■ 

Low  as  young  Azim  knelt,  that  motley  cro\vd 
Of  all  earth's  nations  sunk  the  knee  and  bow'd. 
With  shouts  of  '-Alia  !"  echoing  long  and  Inud  ; 
While  high  in  air,  above  the  Prophet's  head, 
Hundreds  of  banners,  to  ihe  sunbeam  sp'ead, 
Wav'd  like   he  wings  of  the  white  birds  that  fan 
Theflvin^  thro.e  of  star  taughi  Soliman.* 


1  "The  nime  of  tulip  is  said  to  be  of  Turkish  ex- 
traction, and  given  to  the  fl  ^wer  on  accnunl  of  its 
/tseiiibling  a  turban."  —  Beckma/ui's  History  of  In- 
ventions. 

^  "  The  inhabitants  of  Bucharia  wear  a  round  cloth 
bonnet,  shaped  nnich  after  the  Polish  fashion,  having 
a  large  fur  border  They  tie  their  kalians  about  the 
middle  with  a  girdle  of  a  kind  of  silk  crape,  several 
times  round  the  bmly." — Jccniutt  of  liuUpendent 
Tartary,  in  Pinksrton's  Collection. 

3  In  the  war  of  the  Caliph  Mihadi  asainst  the 
Empress  Irene,  for  an  account  of  which  vide  Gibbon, 
T(d.  X. 

*  This  wonderful  Throne  was  called  The  Star  of 


Then  thus  he  5pake: — *' Stranger,  though  new  the 

frame 
"Thy  soul  inhibits  now,  I've  track'd  its  flame 
*'  For  many  an  age,*  in  eve^y  chance  and  change 
*•  Of  that  existence,  through  whose  varied  range,— 
"  As  through  a  torch-race,  where,  from  hand  to  hand 
"  The  Hying  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand, 
"  From  iraire  to  frame  the  unexiinguish'd  soul 
"Rapidly  passes,  (itl  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  't  is  only  the  gross  Spirits,  warm'd 
«  With  duskier  lire  and  for  earth's  medium  form'd, 
"  That  run  this  course  ;— Beings,  the  most  divine, 
"  Thus  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 
"Such  was  Ihe  Essence  that  in  Adam  dwelt, 
"To  which  all  heav'n,  except  the  Proud  One,  knelt: S 
"Such  the  refind  Intelligence  that  glow'd 
"  In  Moussa's  ^  frame, — and,  thencedescending,  flow'd 
"  Through  many  a  Prophei's  breast ; " — m  Issa^  shone, 
"And  in  Mohammed  burn'd  ;  till,  hastening  on, 
"  (As  a  bright  river  that,  fiom  fall  to  fall 
"  in  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  through  all, 
"  Finds  some  fair  regi'>n  wliere,  each  labyrinth  past, 
"  In  one  lull  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last) 
"  That  Hnly  Spirit,  settling  calm  and  free 
"  From  lapse  or  shadow,  centres  all  in  nie  V* 

Again,  throughout  the'  assembly  at  these  words 
Thousands  of  voices  rung:  the  warriors' swordu 
Were  pointed  up  to  heaven  ;  a  sudden  wind 
In  the' open  banners  play'd,and  Irom  behind 
Those  Persian  hangings,  that  but  ill  could  screen 
The  Haram's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  seen 
Waving  embroider'd  scarves,  whose  motion  gave 
A  pertume  forth  — like  those  the  Houns  wave 
When  beck'ning  to  their  bovvers  th'  immortal  Brave. 

"  But  these,"  pursued  the  Chief,  "are  truths  sublime, 
'^That  claim  a  iiolier  mood  and  calmer  time 
"Than  earth  ailows  us  now  ;  —  this  sword  must  first 
"  The  darkling  prison-house  of  Mankind  burst, 
"  Ere  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  in 
"  Her  wakening  daylight  on  a  world  of  sin, 
"  But  then,— celes  ial  warriors,  then,  wlien  all 
*'  Earth's  shrines  and  thrones  before  our  banner  fall ; 


(he  Genii.  For  a  full  description  of  it,  see  the  Frag- 
ment, transla'ed  by  Captain  Franklin,  trom  a  Persian 
MS.  entitled  "The  History  of  Jerusalem,"  Oriental 
Colltctions,  vol.  i,  p.  235.— When  Soliman  travelled, 
the  eastern  writers  say,  "  He  had  a  carpet  of  green 
silk  on  which  his  throne  was  placed,  being  of  a  pro- 
digious length  and  breadth,  and  sufTicient  for  all  his 
forces  lo  stand  upon,  the  men  pi  icing  themselves  on 
his  right  hand,  and  ihe  spirits  on  his  left ;  and  that 
when  al!  were  in  order,  the  wind,  at  his  command, 
took  up  the  carpet,  and  tran--ported  it,  with  all  that 
were  upon  it,  wtierever  he  pleased  ;  ;he  army  of  birds 
at  the  same  time  Hying  over  their  heads,  and  forming 
a  kind  of  canripy  to  shade  them  from  the  &uu,"  — 
Salt's  Koran,  vol.  ii,  p.  214,  note. 

6  The  transmigration  of  souls  was  one  of  his  doo 
trines.— Vide  D'Herhelot. 

6  "And  when  we  said  unto  the  angels.  Worship 
Adam,  they  all  worshipped  him  except  Eblis '^Luci- 
fer), who  refused,"—  The  Koran,  chap.  ii. 

1  Moses. 

8  This  h  according  to  D'Herbelot*s  account  of  the 
doctrines  of  Mukanna:— "  Sa  doctrine  etoit,  que  Dieu 
avoit  p'is  une  forme  et  figure  humaine,  depuis  qu'il 
eut  c'lmmande  :>ux  Anges  d'adorer  Adam,  le  premier 
des  hnmmes.  Qu'apres  la  mort  d'Adam,  Dieu  etoit 
apparn  s^us  la  figure  de  plusieurs  Prophetes,  et  autres 
grands  honlme^  cji.'il  avoit  choisis,  jusqu'a  cequ'il  prit 
celle  d'Abii  Moslem,  Prince  de  Khorassan,  lequel  pro- 
fessoit  i'erreur  de  la  Tenas'Uklii,Th  ou  Metempschy- 
chose;  et  qu'apres  la  nu-rt  de  ce  Prince,  la  Divanito 
etoit  passee,  et  descendue  eu  sa  per^onnc." 

9  Jesus. 


VEILED    PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN. 


257 


«  When  the  ghd  Slave  shall  at  these  feet  lav  down 
*  His  broken  cliain,  tlte  tyrant  L-^rd  his  crown, 
"The  Friest  his  book,  the  Coo'(ueror  his  wrealh, 
'^  And  Iroiii  the  lips  of  TrLth  one  iiu^hly  breath 
"^hall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scalier  in 'its  breeze 
>'  I'hat  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries  ,  — 
"  Then  shall  the  rei^n  ot  mind  commence  ou  earth, 
"And  slarling  fresh  as  Irum  a  second  binh, 
"  Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring, 
"bihall  walk  transparent,  like  s  >me  holy  thing! 
•*'J"lien,  too,  your  i^rojihet  from  his  angel  brow 
"Shall  cast  ihe  Veil  that  hides  is  splendours  now, 
"And  ^laddeu'd  Karih  shall,  thiou^h  her  wide  ex- 

"Bask  III  the  glories  of  this  countenance! 

*'  For  thee,  young  warrior,  welcome  I — thou  hast  yet 
"Soaie  tasks  to  learn,  some  fr:iiUies  to  forget, 
"lire  the  white  war-plunieo'er  thy  brow  can  wa\'e; — 
"But,  once  my  own,  uiiue  all  till  in  the  gi-ave  I'* 

The  pomp  is  at  an  end  —  the  crowds  are  gone  — 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  IliriU'd  like  Alla's  own! 
I'he  Young  all  dazzled  by  ihe  plumes  and  lances, 
The    glillering    throne,    and     Haniiu's    ball-caught 

glances ; 
The  Old  deep  pondering  on  the  promised  reign 
Ot  peace  and  truth  j  and  all  Ihe  leniale  Irani 
Ready  10  risk  their  eyes,  could  they  hut  gaze 
A  iiionient  ou  thai  brow's  uiiraculous  blaze  1 

But  there  was  one,  among  Ihe  chosen  maids. 
Who  biush'd  behind  the  gallery's  silken  shades, 
One,  to  whose  soul  ihe  pageant  of  lo-day 
Has  been  like  death  :  —  you  saw  her  pale  dismay. 
Ye  wondering  sisterhood,  and  heard  Ihe  burst 
or  exclamation  fioin  her  lips,  when  hist 
She  saw  thai  youth,  too  well,  loo  dearly  known, 
Silently  kneeling  at  the  Proptiel's  thioue. 

Ah  Zelica  1  there  was  a  time,  when  bliss 
Shone  o'er  lliy  heart  trom  every  look  of  his; 
When  but  lo  see  him,  hear  him,  br.aihe  Ihe  air 
In  which  he  dwell,  was  Ihy  soul's  loudest  prayer; 
VVhen  round  him  hung  such  a  perpetual  spell, 
Whale'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he  touch'd  a  flower 
Or  gem  ol  thine,  't  w,is  sacred  from  Ih.il  hour; 
When  thou  didsl  study  him  lill  every  tone 
And  gesluie  and  dear  look  bcc.ime  Ihy  own,— 
Thy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  Ihiiie  reflected  with  still  lovelier  gr.ice. 
Like  echo,  sending;  hack  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  twice  Ihe'  aerial  sweetness  il  had  brought  1 
Yet  now  he  comes,—  brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beaiu'd  bet,  re,—  but,  ah  !  not  briehl  for  thee  ; 
No  — dread,  unlook'd  fur,  like  a  visili'ut 
From  Ihe'  other  world,  he  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight, 
L'.ng  lost  10  all  but  iiiein.iry's  aching  sight  :  — 
Sid  dreams  !  as  when  Ihe  Spirit  of  our  Youth 
Ketuius  in  sleep,  sparkling  wilh  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  back. 
In  mournful  mockery,  o'er  the  shining  track 
Of  our  young  life,  and  potn  s  out  every  ray 
Of  hope  aud  peace  we've  iust  upon  Ihe  way  I 

Oncq  happy  pair !  ^  In  proud  Bokhara's  croi  es, 
Who  had  uol  heard  of  iheir  hrst  voulhful  hives  i 
Born  by  that  ancient  tlond,!  which  from  ilB  spring 
In  the  dark  Mountains  swiftly  wandeiing, 
Enrich'd  by  every  pilgrini  brook  that  shiuea 
With  relics  from  Buchana's  ruby  mines, 


'  The  Amoo,  which  rises  in  the  Relur  Tag,  or  Dark 
Mount  liiis,  anJ  running  nearly  from  ea>t  lo  west, 
splits  inio  two  branches;  one  of  winch  falls  in'o  Ihe 
Caspian  sea,  and  Ihe  other  into  Aral  Nahr,  or  the 
Lake  of  Eagles. 


^2* 


And,  lending  to  the  Caspian  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cod  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length  ;  — 
There,  on  Ihe  banks  of  thai  bright  river  born. 
The  lioweis,  thai  hung  above  Ms  wave  at  morn, 
Bles^'d  not  Ihe  walers,  .as  thev  niurmur'd  by, 

liier  -cenl  and  luslre  than  Ihe  sigh 
And  viriiin-glaiice  of  firs'  atleclion  cast 
Upon  their  youth's  smooih  current,  as  it  pass'dl 
But  war  dislurb'd  this  vision,— lar  awiy 
From  tier  fond  eyes  summon'd  to  join  Ihe'  alTsy 
Of  Persia's  wariiors  on  the  hills  of  I  hrace, 
The  youlh  eiich,ing'd  his  sylvan  dwelling-place 
For  the  rude  lent  and  war-lield's  dealhtul  clash  ; 
His  Zetica's  sweet  glances  for  ihe  flash 
Of  Grecian  wild-hre,  aid  Love's  gei.tle  chains 
For  bleeding  bondage  ou  Byzauliuni's  plains. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  nf  soul 
Drooping,  the  maiden  saw  two  summers  roll 
I'heir  suns  away  —  but,  ah,  how  cold  and  dim 
Ev'n  summer  suns,  when  not  beheld  with  him  I 
From  tune  lo  lime  ill-nmen'd  rumours  came. 
Like  spiril-longiies,  mu  t'ring  the  sick  man's  name, 
Just  ere  li*-  dies  :  —  at  length  those  sounds  of  dread 
Fell  wiiliering  on  her  soul,  **  Aziiii  is  dead  I" 
Oil,  Grief,  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
t  iist  leaves  ilie  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  Ihe  wide  world,  wilhoul  thai  only  tie 
For  which  it  lov'd  lo  live  or  fear'd  to  die;  — 
Lorn  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,  eie  long,  her  sanguine  spirit  rose 
Above  Ihe  hrst  dead  piessuie  of  ils  uoes. 
Though  health  and  bloom  return'd,  Ihe  delicate  chaia 
Of  thought,  once  tangled,  never  cleai  d  agaiiu 
Warm,  lively,  soil  as  in  joulh's  happie-t  day, 
The  mind  was  siill  all  iheie,  bul  turn'd  asliay;  — 
A  wandeiing  bark,  upi  n  whose  pathway  shone 
All  slars  of  heaven,  except  the  guiding  one  I 
Again  she  smil'd,  nay,  u.uch  and  brightly  smil'd, 
But  'I  was  a  luslie,  strange,  unreal,  wild  ; 
And  when  she  snug  to  her  lule'-  touching  strain, 
'T  was  like  the  notes,  half  ecstasy,  half  pain. 
The  bulbul  2  utters,  eie  her  soul  depart. 
When,  vanquish'd  by  some  minsliel's  powerful  art, 
She  dies  upon  the  lute  whose  sweetness  broke  her 
heart! 

Such  was  the  mood  in  which  that  mission  found 
Young  Zelica,—  that  mission,  n  hich  around 
The  Eas.ern  world,  in  every  region  blest 
With  woman's  smile,  soueht  out  ils  loveliest, 
To  grace  thai  gilany  of  lips  and  eyes 
Which  Ihe  Veil'd  I'rophei  destm'd  lor  the  skies:  — 
And  such  quick  welcome  as  a  spaik  receives 
Dropp'd  on  a  bed  of  Autumn's  wither'd  le.ves, 
Did  every  tale  of  thee  enthusiasts  find 
In  the  wild  maiden's  soi  low-blighted  niiiid. 
All  fire  at  once  the  nadd'ning  ze>l  she  caught;  — 
Elect  nf  Baradisc!  blest,  rapluious  thought! 
Predestin'd  bride,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome, 
Of  some  brave  youlh — lial  durst  ihey  say  "of  «ojn«f" 
Mo— of  the  one,  one  only  object  trac'd 
In  her  heart's  core  loo  deep  to  be  eft'ac'd  ; 
'I  he  one  whose  niemorv,  fre-h  as  life,  is  twiii'd 
With  every  broken  link  of  her  losi  mind  ; 
Whose  image  lives,  Ihough  Ueison's  self  be  wreck  H, 
Safe  'mid  the  ruins  of  her  intellect ! 

Alas,  poor  Zelica!  it  needed  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  Ihy  mind  in  Ihrall, 
1  o  see  in  that  gay  Haiam's  glow  ing  maids 
A  sainted  colony  for  Eden's  shades  ; 
Or  dream  that  he,—  of  w  hose  unholy  flame 
Thou  werl  too  soon  ihe  victim,—  shn  ing  came 
From  Paradise,  hi  people  its  pure  sphere 
Wilh  .'ouls  like  thine,  which  he  hath  ruiii'd  heret 

«  The  nightingale. 


258 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


No  — had  not  reaaoo's  light  totAUj  set, 
And  left  thee  dark,  thou  hadst  an  amulet 
Id  the  jov'd  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  hive  sav'd  thee  from  the  tempter's  art, 
And  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath. 
That  purity,  whose  Tiding  is  love*a  death  !  — 
But  lost,  intlam'd, —  a  reiittess  zeal  took  place 
Of  the  mild  virgin's  siill  and  feminine  grace; 
First  of  the  Proj.bt-t's  favourites,  proudly  lirst 
In  zeal  and  charms, —  too  well  the*  Impostor  nurs'd 
Her  aouTs  delirium,  in  whose  active  flame, 
I'hus  lighting  up  a  young,  luxurirtnt  frame, 
He  saw  more  poteni  sorceries  to  bind 
To  his  dark  yuke  the  spirits  of  mankind, 
More  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twinM. 
No  art  was  sparM,  no  witchery  ;  — all  the  skill 
His  demons  L-iught  him  was  einploy'd  to  fill 
Her  mind  with  gloom  and  ecstasy  by  tums  — 
That  gloom,  through  which  Frenzy  but  fiercer  burns; 
Thai  ecstasy,  which  from  the  depth  of  sadness 
dares  like  the  niauiac^s  moon,  whose  light  is  mad- 
oessi 

*Twa8  from  a  brilliant  banquet,  where  the  sound 
Of  poevy  and  music  breathM  around, 
I'ogelhcr  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 
The  glories  of  that  heav'n,  her  destin'd  sphere, 
Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  lay 
Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  awny, 
And,  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 
E'er  wibh'd  or  dream 'd,  she  should  for  ever  rove 
Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  Azim's  side, 
His  own  bless'd,  purified,  e'emal  bride  !  — 
'T  was  from  a  scene,  a  witching  trance  like  this, 
He  hurried  her  away,  yet  brea'hing  bliss. 
To  (he  dim  charnel-ho'ipse  ;  —  through  all  its  steams 
Of  damp  and  death,  led  only  by  those  gleams 
Which  foul  Corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  show  the  gay  and  prtjud  she  loo  can  shme  — 
And,  passing  on  through  upright  ranks  of  Dead, 
Which  lo  the  maiden,  doubly  craz'd  by  dre.id, 
Seem'd,  through  the  bluish  death-light  round  them 

cast. 
To  move  their  1i[)s  in  mutterings  as  she  pass'd  — 
There,  in  that  awful  pl.<ce,  when  eich  had  quaffM 
And  pledg'd  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught, 
Such  —  oh  I  the  look  and  taste  of  that  led  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies— he  bound  her  soul 
T)y  a  dark  oath,  in  hell's  own  language  fram'd. 
Never,  while  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim'd. 
While  the  blue  arch  of  day  hung  o'er  them  both, 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath. 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  hts  side  to  sever  — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  charnel  echoed,  "Never, 

never !" 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely,  wildly  given 
To  him  and  —  she  believ'd,  Inst  maid  I  —  to  heaven ; 
Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  inflini'd, 
How  proud  she  stood,  when  In  full  Harrrni  nam'd 
The  Priestess  of  the  Faith  !  —  how  flashed  her  eyes 
With  light,  alas,  thai  was  not  of  the  skies, 
When  ruund,  in  trances,  only  less  than  hers. 
Site  siw  the  Harani  kneel,  her  prostrate  worahippers. 
Well  mieht  Mokanna  think  that  form  alone 
Had  spells  enough  lo  make  the  world  his  own:  — 
Light,  lovelj  limbs,  lo  which  the  spirit's  play 
Gave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray. 
When  from  i's  s'em  the  small  bird  wings  away; 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  sliesniil'd. 
The  soul  was  lost  ;  and  blushes,  bwiU  and  wild 
As  are  the  tnonientary  me'eors  sent 
Across  the'  uncalm,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And  then  her  look  — oh  !  where  *s  the  heart  so  wise 
Could  unbewilder*d  meet  those  n  atchle*s  eyes? 
i^uick,  restless,  strange,  but  exqui-ite  withal, 
Like  those  of  angels,  just  before  their  fall  j 
Now  shaJow'd  wiih  the  shames  of  earth— now  crest 
Py  glimpses  of  rhe  Heav'n  her  lie.rt  had  lost ; 
In  every  glance  there  broke,  without  contiol, 
The  fl^i^hes  of  a  bright,  but  troubled  soul. 


Where  sensibility  still  wildly  play'd. 

Like  lightoiiig,  ruund  Ihe  ruins  it  had  made  I 

And  soch  was  now  young  Zelica  — so  chmg'd 
From  her  who,  some  years  since,  delighted  rangM 
The  almoud-gioves  that  shade  Bokhara's  tide, 
All  life  and  r.liss,  with  Aziin  by  her  side  1 
So  alierVl  wii  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
Wlieo,  'uiid  the  proud  Divan'a  dazzling  array, 
'I'lic  vision  of  that  Youth  whom  she  had  lov'd, 
Had  wept  as  dead,  before  her  breath'd  and  niov'd  ;^ 
When  —  bright,  she  thought,  as  if  from  Eden's  track 
Hut  half-way  trodden,  he  had  wander'd  back 
Ag.»in  to  earth,  glistening  with  Eden's  light  — 
Her  beauteous  Aziui  shone  before  her  sight, 

O  Reason  !  who  shall  siy  what  (ipells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  ! 
Through  wkit  small  vistas  o^er  the  darktu'd  brain 
Thy  intellectual  day-beam  buists  ag^io  j 
And  how,  like  foris,  to  which  beleaguerers  win 
Unhop'd-for  entiance  through  some  friend  within, 
One  clear  idea,  wakened  in  Ihe  breast 
By  menioiy's  magic,  les  in  all  ihe  rest. 
Would  it  were  thus,  unhappy  girl,  with  thee! 
But  though  light  came,  it  came  but  partially  ; 
Enough  to  ?how  the  maze,  in  which  ihy  sense 
Wander'd  about.—  but  not  to  guide  it  theixe  j 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  wave, 
But  not  to  pniiii  the  hai hour  w hich  inighi  stve. 
Hours  of  delight  and  peace,  long  left  behind, 
With  Ihat  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind  ; 
But,  oh  I  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  shame  and  falsehood  since  those  momeuls  shone} 
And,  then,  her  oaih— lAtrc  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shuddering,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chain 
Of  menial  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light,  whose  everj'  ghmpse  was  agony! 
Vet,  one  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Bmughl,  mingled  with  its  pain, —  tears,  floods  of  team, 
Long  froyeu  at  her  heart,  but  now  like  lills 
Let  loose  in  spring-time  from  the  snowy  hilU 
And  gushing  warm,  after  a  eteep  of  fiost. 
Through  valleys  where  tlieir  flow  had  long  been  lost. 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  Ihe  first  time  her  frame 
Trembled  wiih  horror,  when  the  summons  came 
(A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  but  she, 
And  she,  till  now,  had  heard  with  ecstasy,) 
To  meet  Mokanna  at  his  place  of  prayer, 
A  garden  oratory,  cool  and  fair, 
By  the  stream's  side,  where  slill  at  close  of  day 
The  Prophet  of  the  Veil  retir'd  to  pray  ; 
Sometimes  alone — but,  oftener  far,  with  one, 
One  chosen  nymph  to  share  his  orison. 

Of  la'e  none  found  such  favour  in  his  sight 
As  the  young  Priestess  ;  and  though,  since  that  night 
When  the  death  caverns  echoed  every  tone 
Of  the  dire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
The'  Iniposlor,  sure  of  his  infatuate  prize, 
Had,  more  than  once,  thrown  off  his  soul's  disguis^ 
And  ntter'd  such  unheav'niy.  monstrous  things, 
As  ev'fl  across  the  despeiate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
Threw  startling  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt  ;— 
Vet  zeal,  ambition,  hertremendouu  vow. 
The  thought,  still  haunting  her,  of  that  bright  brow, 
Whose  bhize,  as  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceai'd. 
Would  soon,  proud  triunijih !  be  to  her  reveaPd, 
To  her  alone  ;— and  then  the  hope,  most  dear, 
Most  wild  of  all,  thit  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   flanie  and  smoke,  moat   welcome  lo    tin 

skies  — 
And  thai  when  Azim^s  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'n,  no  darkening  trace 
WuuM  on  that  bosom  he  once  lov*d  remiin, 
But  all  he  bright,  be  pure,  be  his  again  !  — 


VEILED  PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN. 


259 


These  were  (he  wilderin^  dreams,  whose  curst  deceit 
Had  chaiu'J  her  bouI  beuearh  the  tempter's  feet, 
And  made  her  thiuk  ev'u  damning  falsehood  sweet. 
Bill  now  that  Shape,  which  had  a|)iiall'd  her  view, 
Ttial  Seinhlarice  —  oh  how  terrible,  if  true  ! 
Which  came  across  her  frenzy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  coiisciousnfc;?,  cold,  deep,  severe, 
A^  when,  in  northern  seas,  at  midnight  d<rk, 
Ati  isle  of  ice  encounters  some  swift  bark, 
And,  starilliig  all  its  wre  ches  from  their  bleep, 
by  one  cold  impulse  hurls  Ihem  to  the  deep  i— 
Su  came  that  shock  not  frenzy's  self  could  bear. 
And  waking  up  each  long-luli'd  image  there. 
But  c'-ieck'd  her  headlong  soul,  to  sink  it  id  despair! 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  evening  dusk 
She  now  went  &luwly  to  ihit  &mall  kiosk, 
Where,  pondering  alune  his  impious  schemes, 
Mokanna  wailed  her  —  too  wrapt  in  dreami 
Of  the  fair-npening  futuie's  rich  success, 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritless, 
That  sat  upon  his  victtm's  downcast  brow. 
Or  mark  how  slow  her  step,  how  altered  now 
From  the  quick,  ardent  Prit-stes^,  whose  light  bound 
Came  like  a  spirit's  o'er  the'  unechoiug  ground, — 
From  that  wild  Zelica,  whose  every  glance 
Wts  thrilling  hre,  whose  every  thought  a  irancel 

*  pon  his  couch  the  veilM  Mokanna  lay. 
Wl  lie  lamps  around  —  not  such  as  lend  their  ray, 
Gtiinmering  and  cold,  to  those  who  nii^htly  pray 
In  holy  Koom,i  or  Mecca's  dim  arcades, — 
Hit  brilliant,  soft,  such  lights  as  lovely  maids 
Lo  )k  loveliest  in.  shed  iheir  luicurinus  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veils  white  glitteiing  (low. 
Bt'side  him,  'ste-id  of  beads  and  books  of  prayer. 
Which  the  world  fondly  thought  he  mused  on  there. 
Stood  Vase?,  fill'd  with  Kishmee's  **  golde;)  wine, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  Shiraz  vine  ; 
Of  which  bis  curtain'd  lips  full  many  a  draught 
Took  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  Ihey  quad'd. 
Like  Zemzem's  Spring  of  Holiness, a  had  power 
I'o  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  tlowerl 
And  still  he  drank  and  ponder'd  —  nor  could  see 
The'  approaching  maid,  $n  deep  his  reverie  ; 
At  length,  with  hendi-h  laugh,  like  that  which  broke 
From  Eblis  a(  the  Fall  of  Man,  bespoke:  — 
"  Yes,  ye  vile  race,  for  hell's  aniusenieut  given, 
**  Too  mean  for  earth,  yet  claiming  kin  with  heaven  j 
•* God's  images,  forsooth  I  —such  gods  as  he 
*'  Whom  India  serves,  the  monkey  deity  ;  *  — 
"  Ve  creatures  ot  a  breath,  pr:iud  things  of  clay, 
*'  To  whom  if  Lucifer,  as  grandam*  say, 
"Kefus'd,  though  at  the  forfi-il  of  heavcii»8  light, 
"  To  bend  in  worship,  Lucifer  was  right  I  *  — 


>  The  cities  of  Com  (orKonn.)  and  Cashan  are  full 
of  m'lsquc',  m.iu^oleunis,  and  sepulchres  of  the  de- 
scendants of  All,  the  Saints  of  Pt-rsia.—  CVwirdm. 

»  An  island  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  celebrated  for  its 
white  wine. 

3  The  miraculous  well  at  Mecca;  so  called,  aays 
Sale,  fiom  the  murmuring  of  its  waters. 

*  The  god  Hannaman.  —  "  Apes  are  in  many  parts 
;f  iQda  highly  venerated,  out  of  reN|,ect  lo  the  God 
Haiiuaitan,  a  deity  partikii  g  of  the  form  of  that 
race."—  PennariCs  Hiudoost.m. 

See  a  curious  account,  in  Stefhtii's  Persia^  of  a 
solemn  embassy  from  some  part  of  the  Ind.es  to  Goa, 
when  the  Portuguese  were  there,  nflering  vast  trea- 
sures for  the  recovery  i>i  a  monkey's  ton  h.  which 
they  held  in  grtat  ve.iera'ion,  and  which  had  bt-en 
taken  away  upon  the  conquest  of  (he  kingdom  of 
Jafan:tpatin. 

'  This  resolution  of  Eblis  not  to  acknowledge  the 
new  creature,  man,  was,  according  lo  Mahomet  m 
tr.»dilion,  thus  adopted  :—•'  I  he  earlb  (which  God 
had  selected  f  ^r  the  materials  of  his  work)  was  carri- 
ed intc  Arabia  to  a  place  between  Mecca  and  i'a)ef, 


"Soon  shall  I  plant  this  fool  upon  the  neck 

'M)f  yuurfoul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 

** Luxuriating  in  hate,  avenge  my  shame, 

"My  deep-felt,  long-nurst  loathing  of  man's  name!— 

**S<ion  at  the  head  of  myiiads,  bliiid  and  herce 

•'  As  hooded  falcons,  through  Itie  universe 

**  i  '11  sweep  my  darkening,  desolating  way, 

"  We^k  man  my  iiistiumenl,  curst  man  my  prey! 

'•  Ve  wise,  ye  learn'd,  who  grope  your  dull  way  on 
"  Hv  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  ot  ages  gone, 
"  Like  superHiitious  thieves,  who  think  the  light 
**  Fiom  dead   men's  manow   guides  them  best   at 

iiitihtt'  — 
*' Ve  sh.ill  have  honours— wealth,— yes,  Sages,  yes— 
"  I  know,  grave  fools,  your  Wl^dom'b  noihiugDess; 
'*  Und^izzt&l  it  can  track  yon  s'arry  sphere, 
*'  But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bauble  blinds  it  here. 
"How  1  shall  l^ugh,  when  trumpeted  along, 
"  In  lying  speech,  and  still  more  lying  song, 
"By  these  learn'd  slave:*,  the  meanest  of  the  throng; 
'*  Ttieir  w  iib  bought  up,  their  wisdom  shrunk  so  small, 
"A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  il  all ! 

**  Ye  loo,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
"Whose  faith  enshrines  the  monsters  which  it  breedi; 
"  Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  Ncmiod,  think  to  rise, 
"By  nonsense  hcap'd  on  nonsense,  to  the  skies  j 
"Ve  "hall  h:tve  miracles,  ay,  sound  ones  too, 
"Seen,  heard,  attested,  every  thing —  but  true. 
"  Vuur  preaching  zealots,  too  inspifd  to  seek 
'•One  giace  of  meaning  for  the  things  they  speak  j 
"  Vour  martyrs,  ready  to  shed  out  their  blood, 
"  For  truths  too  heavenly  to  be  understood  ; 
"  And  your  State  Priests,  sole  vendors  of  the  lore, 
"  That  works  salvation;  — as,  on  Av;i's  shore, 
"Where  none  hid  priests  are  privileg'd  lo  trade 
"  In  that  be^t  marble  of  which  Gods  ire  made ;  t 
"^hey^hall  have  my. tenes— ^y,  precious  slutf 
"For  knaves  to  thrive  by—  mysleries  enough; 
*'Dark,  tangled  doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can  weave, 
"  Which  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
'*  While  craftier  feign  Leiief,  till  they  believe. 
"  A  Heav'n  loo  ye  nlu^t  have,  ye  lords  of  dust, — 
"  A  splendid  Pa'iadi-e, —  pt  re  souls,  ye  must: 
*>Tliat  Prophet  ill  sustains  his  holy  call, 
"  Who  fin.ls  not  heav'nsto  suit  the  tastes  of  all; 
"  Houris  for  boys,  omniscience  for  sages, 
*•  Anl  wings  and  glories  foratl  ranks  ;ind  ages. 
"Vain  things!  — as  lust  oi  vanity  inspiies, 
"The  heav'u  of  eu'h  is  but  what  each  desiret, 
"And,  soul  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 
**  M  til  would  be  man  to  all  eternity  I 
"So  let  him  —  Eblis!  grant  (his  crowning  curse, 
"But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  Hell  weie  worse." 

"  Oh,  my  lost  soul  1"  excIalmM  the  shuddering  makL 
Whose  ears  had  drunk  l.ke  prison  all  he  taiJ  ■  — 
Mokanna  started  —  not  abash'd,  r.fi  aid, — 
He  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  dwells 
Beneath  the  tropics  knows  of  iciclesl 


where,  being  first  kneaded  by  the  angels,  it  was  aftei^ 
wards  fashioned  by  God  liimself  inio  a  hunnD  form, 
and  leh  to  dry  r»r  (he  space  of  foity  days,  or,  as 
oiliers  say,  as  many  years;  the  angels,  in  the  mean 
time,  often  visiting  it,  and  Eblis  (then  one  of  the 
angels  ntaiest  loG'^d's  presence,  aftei^vards  the  devil) 
among  the  re^I ;  bu'  he,  not  contented  «  ith  looking  at 
it,  kicked  it  with  his  foot  (ill  it  rung;  atd  knowing 
Gnd  designed  that  creature  In  be  his  si  perior,  took  a 
secret  resolution  never  to  acknowledge  him  as  such." 
—  Sale  on  the  K'  ran. 

«  A  kit  d  of  lantern  formerly  used  by  robbers,  call 
ed  fhe  Hand  of  Gl  ry,  the  candle  for  which  was  made 
of  the  fat  ot  a  dead  malefacti  r.  This,  however,  was 
ra'her  a  wes'ern  than  an  eastern  supersti'ion. 

1  The  ma'erial  of  which  images  of  Gaudma  (the 
Birnian  HeMy)  .ire  made,  is  held  racred.  "Birinans 
may  nut  purchnse  the  marble  in  mas^,  but  are  ouffcr- 
ed,  and  indeed  encouraged,  to  buy  fijrurfg  of  the  De  ty 
ready  njade."--.Sy»ni:j's  Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 


260 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Rut,  ID  those  dismal  words  that  reached  his  car, 
'*  Oh,  my  lost  soul !"  there  was  a  sound  so  drear. 
So  like  that  voice,  aiiiong  the  sinful  dead, 
In  which  the  legtnd  o'ei  Hell's  Gate  is  read, 
'Jhat,  new  as 't  was  fioni  her,  whom  Docght  could  dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  il  startled  even  him. 

"  Ha,  my  fair  Priestess  I"  —  thus,  with  ready  wile, 
The'iiijpus  <ir  turu'd  to  greet  her—  *  Ihou, whose  smile 
*'Haih  insi.iiati>  u  in  its  rosy  team 
*•  Ikyoud  Ihe*  Enthusiast's  iioue  or  Prophet's  dream  ; 
**Li-htof  the  Failh!  who  luin'st  religion's  2ea| 
"  Su  chise  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they  feel, 
*'  Wnr  which  to  sigh  for,  in  their  trance  of  heart, 
**  The  heav'n  thou  preachest  or  the  heav'n  thou  art  1 
»*  What  should  I  be  without  thee  ?  without  thee 
*'  How  dull  were  power,  how  joyless  victory  ! 
"Though  borne  by  angels,  if  that  smile  of  thine 
^'  Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'l  were  but  half  divine. 
i»  jiut— why  so  mournful,  child  ?  those  eyes,  that  shone 
"All  life  last  night— what!—  is  their  glory  gone? 
"Come,  come  — this  morn's  fatigue  hath  made  them 

pale, 
**  They  want  rekindling — suns  themselves  would  fail 
"  Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  1  to  thee. 
"  From  light's  own  fount  supplies  of  brilliancy. 
"  Thou  seest  this  cup —  no  juice  of  earth  is  liere, 
**But  the  pure  waters  of  Ihal  upper  sphere, 
"  Whose  nils  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow, 
"  Catching  the  gem's  bright  colour,  as  they  go. 
"Nightly  my  Geuii  come  and  hU  these  urns  — 
**  Nay,  drink  —  in  eveiy  drop  life's  essence  burns; 
'"Twill  make  that  sul  all  tire.  tho=eeiesall  light  — 
"Come,  come,  1  want  thy  lovelies!  bmilcs  to-night : 
"There  is  a  youth  — why  start?— thou  Baw'sl  him 

then ; 
"  Look'd  he  not  nobly  ?  such  the  godl  ike  men 
"'Ihou 'It  have  to  woii  ihee  in  the  bowers  above;  — 
"Though  he,  I  fear,  haih  thoughts  too  stern  for  love, 
"Too  rul'd  by  th,.t  cold  ei.eniy  of  bliss 
"The  world  calls  virtue  —  we  must  conquer  this; 
"  Nay,  shrink  not,  pretty  sage  1  't  is  not  lor  thee 
"  To  scan  the  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery  : 
"  The  steel  must  pass  through  fire,  ere  it  can  yield 
"  Fit  instruments  tor  mighiy  hands  to  wield, 
"This  very  ni-hl  1  mean  to  tiy  the  art 
"Of  powerful  beau'y  on  that  warrior's  heart. 
"  All  that  my  Haram  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit, 
"Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  exquisite, 
"Shall  leinpt  the  buy; — youug  Mirzalt's  blue  eyes, 
"  Whose  sleepy  lid  like  snow  on  violets  lies; 
"  Arouya's  checks,  ivarm  as  a  spring-d  ty  sun, 
"And  lips  that,  like  ihe  seal  of  Solomon, 
"  Have  magic  in  their  pressure  ;  Zeba's  lute, 
"And  Lllla's  dancing  feet,  that  gleam  and  shoot 
"Rapid  and  white  as  sea-birds  o'er  Ihe  deep  — 
"Ail  shall  cnmbme  their  witching  powers  to  steep 
"My  convert's  spirit  in  that  softening  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  1— though  each  nymph  of 

"  Hath  s  'me  peculiar,  practis'd  power  (o  please, 
"  Some  glance  or  s'ep  which,  at  the  mirror  tried, 
"  First  charms  herself,  then  all  the  world  beside; 
"  There  still  wa-iis  out,  to  make  the  victory  sure, 
"One  who  in  every  look  joins  eveiy  lure; 
''Through  whom  all  beauij's  beams  cnncenter'd  pass, 
"  Dazz  ing  and  warm,  as  through  love's  burning-giass; 
"  Whose  gentle  lip-i  persuade  without  a  word, 
"  Whose  words,  ev'n  when  unmeaning,  .-re  ador'd, 
"  Like  inarticulate  breathings  fr.im  a  shrine, 
**  Which  our  faith  takes  for  grantel  are  divine  ! 
"  Such  U  the  nymph  we  want,  all  warmth  and  light, 
"To  crown  the  rich  femptatims  of  to-night; 
1  "Such  the  refin'J  enchantress  that  must  be 
I  '*  J  his  hero's  vanquisher, —  and  thou  ait  she  1" 

With  her  hanils  clasp'd,  her  lips  npul  and  pale, 
!  The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  the  Veil 


From  which  these  words,  like  south  winds  throogb& 

fence 
Of  Kerzrah  fJow'rs,  came  fiU'd  with  pestilence  ;* 

bo  boldly  utter'd  too!  as  if  all  dread 
Of  fiowns  from  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  were  fled, 
And  ihf  wretch  feltassui'd  that,  once  plung'd  in, 
Her  woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  sin  \ 

AX  first,  tho'  mute  she  listen'd,  like  a  dream 
Seeiii'd  all  he  said  :  nor  could  her  mind,  whose  beam 
As  >tt  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  scheme, 
iiui  when,  at  leiiglh,  he  utiei'd,  "'Ihou  art  she  I" 
Ail  Ibsh'd  at  once,  and  shrieking  piieously, 
"Oh  not  for  worlds  1"  she  cried  — "Great  God  I  to 

whom 
"  1  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
''  Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heavenly  bliM, 
"My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  to  this, — 
"  To  live,  the  wanton  of  a  fiend  !  to  be 
"The  pander  of  his  guilt  —  oh  infamy '. 
*'  And  sunk,  myself,  as  low  as  hell  can  steep 
"  In  its  hot  liood,  drag  o:hers  down  as  deep  ! 
"Oihers  — ha!  yes  —  thai  youih  who  came  to-day  — 
'•"Nut  him  I  lov'd  — not  him— oh!  do  but  say, 
"  But  swear  to  me  this  moment  'tis  not  he, 
"And   I  will   serve,  dark  heud,  will  worship  even 
thee ;" 

"  Beware,  young  raving  thing !  —  in  time  beware, 
"Nor  utter  what  1  cannot,  must  not  bear, 
"  Kv'n  from  thy  lips.     Go  —  try  thy  lute,  thy  voice, 
"The  boy  must  feel  their  magic  ;  —  J  rejoice 
"  To  see  those  tires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
"  Once  more  illuming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes  ; 
"And  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes  shall 

^'■Indeed  resemble  th>  dead  lover's  form, 
"So  much  Ihe  hapj  ier  wilt  thou  find  (hy  doom, 
"  As  one  warm  lover,  full  of  life  and  bloom, 
"Kxcels  ten  thousand  cold  ones  in  the  tomb. 
"Nay,  nay,  no  frowning,  eweel!  — those  eyes  were 

niade 
**  For  love,  not  anger —  I  must  be  obey'd  I" 

"  Obey'd  !  —  '1  is  well  — yea,  I  deserve  it  all  — 
"On  me,  on  me  Heaven's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
"Too  heavily- but  Azim,  brave  and  true 
"And  beautiful- must  ht  be  ruiu'd  too? 
"  Must  hv  loo,  glorious  as  he  is,  be  driven 
"A  renegade  like  me  from  Love  and  Heaven? 
"Like  me?—  weak  wretch,  1  wrong  him  —  not  like 

me ; 
"  No  —  he 's  all  truth  and  strength  and  purity  1 
'*  Fill  up  your  madd'ning  hell-cup  to  the  brim, 
"  Its  witchery,  fiends,  will  have  no  ch.irm  for  him. 
"Let  loDse  your  glowing  wantons  from  their  bowers, 
"  He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  powers! 
"  Wretch  as  I  am,  in  his  heart  still  I  reign 
"  Pure  as  when  first  we  met,  without  a  slain  ! 
"  Though  ruin'd  —  lost  —  my  memory,  like  a  charm 
*'  Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm. 
"  Oh  !  never  lei  him  know  how  deep  Ihe  brow 
*  He  kiss'd  at  parting  is  dishonour'd  now  ;  — 
"  Ne'er  tell  him  how  debas'd,  how  sunk  is  she, 
"  Whom  once  he  Inv'd  —  once  !  —still  loves  dotingly. 
"Thou  laugh'st,  tormentor,— what !  — thou 'It  brand 

my  name? 
"  Do,  do  —  in  vain  — he  'II  not  believe  my  shame  — 
"  He  thinka  me  true,  thai  nought  beneath  God's  sky 
"  Could  tempt  or  change  me,  and— so  once  thought  \. 
'»  But  this  is  past  —  though  worse  than  dea'h  my  lot, 
**  Than  hell  — 't  is  nothing  while  ht  knows  it  not. 
*'Far  ofTto  some  benighted  land  I'll  fly, 
"  Wneie  sunbeam  ne'er  sh^Il  enter  till  I  die; 
'•  Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  whence  slie  came, 
"Lut  I  may  fade  and  fall  without  a  name. 


1  '•  It  is  commnnlv  said  in  Persia,  that  if  a  man 
bieathe  in  the  hot  south  wind,  which  in  June  or  July 
passes  over  that  flower  (the  Keizereb),  it  will  kill 
him." — Thcvtnot. 


VEILED   PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN. 


261 


'  And  thou  —  curst  man  or  fiend,  whale'er  thou  art, 
"  Who  found'st  this  burning  plague-spot  in  my  heart, 
'•And  spread'st  it  —  oh,  so  quick  — through  soul  and 

frame, 
"  With  more  than  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
"A  loaibsonie  Ihint;,  all  pesiilence,  all  flame!  — 

"  If,  ivheu  I  'm  gone " 

"  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
"  Nor  tempt  my  rage  —  by  Heaven,  not  halfso  bold 
"'I'he  puny  bird,  that  dares  with  leasing  hum 
*'  Within  the  crocodile's  stretchM  jaws  to  come  !  * 
"  And  so  thou  'It  fly,  forsooth  ?  —  wlial !  — give  up  all 
«  1  hy  chaste  dominion  in  ihe  Haram  Hall, 
"  Where  now  to  Love  and  now  to  Alia  given, 
"  Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  Ihnu  hangst  as  even 
"  Asdolh  Medina's  tomb, 'twixt  hell  and  heaven  ! 
"Thou 'II  fly?— as  easily  may  reptiles  run, 
"  The  gaunt  snake  once  hath  fix'd  his  eyes  upon; 
"  As  easily,  "hen  caught,  the  prey  may  be 
"  Pluck'd  from  his  lomig  folds,  as  thou  from  me, 
•'  No,  no,  't  is  fix'd  —  let  good  or  ill  betide, 
"Thou'rt  mine  till  death,  till  death  Mokanna's  bride! 
"  Hist  thou  forgot  Ihy  oath  i"  — 

At  this  dread  word. 
The  Maid,  whose  spirit  his  rude  taunts  had  stirr'd 
Through  all  its  dei  tlis,  and  rous'd  an  auger  there. 
That  burst  and  lighlen'd  even  through  her  despair  — 
Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  Ihe  breath 
'1  hat  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger'd  pale  as  death. 

"Yes,  my  sworn  bride,  let  others  seek  in  bowers 
"  Their  brfdal  place  —  Ihe  charnel  vault  was  ours! 
"  Instead  of  scents  and  balms,  for  thee  and  me 
"Rose  the  rich  steams  of  sweet  mortality  ; 
"Uay,  flickering  dealh-lighls  shone  while  we  were 

wed, 
**  And,  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  Dead, 
"  (Immortal  spirits  in  their  time,  im  doubt, ^ 
"  From  reeking  shrouds  upon  the  rile  look'd  out ! 
"  That  oath  thou  heard'st  more  I  ips  than  thine  repeat— 
"  That  cup  —  thou  shudderest.  Lady,—  was  it  sweet  ? 
"  That  cup  we  pledg'd,  the  charnrl's  choicest  wine, 
"  Hath  bciund  thee  — ay  —  body  and  soul  all  mine; 
"  Bound  thee  by  chains  Ihit,  whether  blest  or  curst 
"  No  matter  now,  not  hell  itself  shall  burst! 
"  Hence,  woman,  to  the  Haram,  and  look  g:iy, 
"  Look  wild,  look  —  any  thing  hut  sad  :  yet  say- 
"  Uue  moment  more  —  from   what  this  night  hath 

pass'd, 
"  I  see  thou  know'st  me,  know'st  me  well  at  last. 
"  Ha !  ha !  and   so,  fond   thing,  thou   thought'st  all 

true. 
"And  that  I  love  mankind?—  I  do,  I  do — 
"  As  Vict  ims,  love  theni ;  as  the  sea-dog  doats 
"Upon  the  small,  sweet  fry  that  round  him  floalsj 
"  Or,  as  the  Nile-bird  loves  the  slime  that  givfs 
"That    rank    and    venomous   food   on    which   she 

lives?*— 

"And,  now  thou  seest,  my  soul's  angelic  hue, 
'*»T  is  time  Iheie  features  were  uticurlain'd  loo; — 
"This  brow,  whose  light  — oh  rare  celestial  light  I 
"  Hath  been  reserv'd  to  bless  thy  favour  d  sight ; 
*'  These  dazzling  eyes,  before  whose  shrouded  might 
"  Thou'st  seen  immortal  Man  kneel  down  and  quake — 
•'  Would  that  they  were  heaven's  lightnings  for  hit 
sake! 


"  But  turn  and  look  —  then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
"  I  hat  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by  guilt, 
"Upon  the  hand,  whose  niischntfor  whose  mirth 
"Sent  me   hus  maini'd  and  monstrous  upon  earlhs 
"And  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
"  Than  mowing  apes,  are  denii-gods  to  me  ! 
"Here— judge  if  hell,  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
"Can  add  one  curse  to  Ihe  foul  thing  I  am!" 

He  rais'il  his  veil  -  the  maid  turn'd  slowly  round, 
Look'd  at  him— shriek'd— and  sunk  upon  the  ground  ! 


On  theirarrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of  encamp- 
ent,  they  were  surprised  and  delighted  to  find  Ihe 
groves  all  around  illuminated  ;  some  arlisis  of  Yamt- 
che"u3  having  been  sent  on  previously  for  the  pur- 
pose. On  each  side  of  the  green  alley,  which  led  to 
the  Royal  I'avilion,  arliticial  sceneries  of  bamboo- 
work  *  were  erected,  repl■e^enling  arches,  minarets, 
and  lowers,  from  which  hung  thousands  of  silken  lan- 
terns, painled  by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of  Canton. 
—  Nothing  could  be  moie  beautiful  than  the  leaves  of 
the  mango-trees  and  acacias,  shining  in  Ihe  light  of 
the  bamboo-scenery,  which  shed  a  lustre  round  as  soft 
as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 

Lalla  Ronkh,  however,  who  was  loo  much  occupied 
hy  the  sad  shiry  of  Zelica  and  her  lover,  to  give  a 
thousht  to  any  ihing  else,  evccpl,  perhaps,  him  who 
related  it,  hurried  on  through  this  scene  of  splendour 
to  her  pavilion,— grea'ly  to  ihe  mortification  of  the 
poor  artists  of  Yamlcheou,— and  was  followed  with 
equal  rapidity  by  Ihe  Great  Chamberlain,  cursing,  as 
he  went,  that  ancient  Mandarin,  whose  parental 
anxiely  in  lishting  up  Ihe  shores  of  the  lake,  where  his 
beloved  daughter  Ind  wandered  and  been  lost,wa9the 
oriein  of  these  fani:istic  Chinese  illuminations.* 

Without  a  moment's  delay,  youne  Feramorz  was 
introduced,  and  Fadladeen,  who  could  never  make  up 
his  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  a  poet,  till  he  knew  the 
religious  sect  to  which  he  belonged,  was  about  to  ask 
him  whether  he  was  a  Shia  or  a  Sooni,  when  IaU\ 
Rookh  impatiently  clapped  her  hands  for  silence,  and 
Ifie  youth,  being  seated  upon  the  musnud  near  her, 
proceeded :  — 


Prepare  thy  soul,  young  Azim  !  — thou  hast  braved 
The  bands  of  Greece,  still  mighty  though  enslaved  ; 


I  The  humming  bird  is  said  to  run  this  risk  fir  the 
purpose  or  picking  the  crocodile's  teeth.  The  same 
ciicnmstance  is  relued  of  Ihe  lapwing,  as  a  fact  to 
which  he  was  wiincss,  by  Paul  Lucas,  Voyage  fait  en 
1714. 

The  ancient  sinry  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or 
humming-bird, entering  "ith  impunity  into  the  mouth 
of  the  crncoJile,  is  firmly  believed  at  Java  —Barrow'a 
Cochin  China. 

»  Circum  easdem  ripas  (Nili,  viz  )  ales  est  Ibis.  Ea 
Berper.tium  pnpulatur  ova,  g  atissimamque  ex  his  es- 
cam  nidis  suis  referl.  —  Solinw. 


3  "  The  feast  of  Lanterns  is  celebrated  at  Yamtcheou 
with  more  magnificence  than  anywhere  else  :  and  the 
report  goes,  thai  Ihe  illuminations  there  are  so  splen- 
did, thai  an  emperor  once,  not  daring  openly  to  leave 
his  court  to  go  thither,  commilted  himself  with  the 
Queen  and  several  Princesses  of  his  family  into  the 
hands  of  a  magician,  who  promised  to  transport  them 
thither  in  a  trice.  He  made  them  in  the  night  to 
ascend  magnificent  thrones  lh>t  were  brrne  up  by 
swans,  which  in  a  moment  arrived  at  Yamtcheou. 
The  Emperor  saw  at  his  lei-uie  all  Ihe  solemnity, 
being  carried  upon  a  cloud  ttiat  hovered  over  the  city 
and  descended  by  degrees  ;  and  came  back  again  with 
the  ^al>le  spetd  and  equipage,  nobody  at  court  perceiv. 
ing  his  absence.— 7"/if  fresent  Stale  of  China,  p.  136. 
I  4  See  a  descri|ilion  of  the  nuptials  of  Vizier  Alee  in 
the  jisiatic  Annual  Register  of  1804. 

*  "  The  vulgar  ascribe  it  to  an  accident  that  hap- 
pened in  the  family  of  a  famous  mandarin,  whose 
daughter  walking  one  evening  U|ion  Ihe  shores  of  a 
lake,  fell  in  and  was  drowned  ;  this  afflicted  father, 
with  his  family,  ran  tliilhrr,  and,  Ihe  belter  to  find 
her,  he  causid  a  great  company  of  lanterns  to  be 
lighli-d.  All  Ihe  inhabilants  of  the  place  thronged 
afo-r  him  with  torches.  The  year  ensuing  they  niade 
fires  upon  Ihe  shores  Ihe  same  day;  they  continued 
Ihe  ceremony  every  year,  every  one  lighted  his  lan- 
tern, and  by  degri*es  it  commenced  into  a  custom.'*—. 
/•reicnl  State  of  China. 


262 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Hast  faced  her  phalanx,  ariii'J  with  all  its  fame, 

Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  Haiue  ; 

All  this  bast  fronted,  wiih  firm  heart  and  biow, 

But  a  more  perilous  tiial  waits  thee  now, — 

Woman's  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 

from  every  land  where  wonun  bmiles  or  sigbs. 

Of  every  hue,  as  Love  may  chance  to  r^ise 

His  black  or  azure  b  inner  in  iheir  blize  ; 

And  each  sweet  mode  of  warfaie,  from  the  flash 

That  lightens  boldly  ihiough  the  shadowy  lash, 

To  the  sly,  siealing  splendours,  almost  hid, 

Like    swords    halt-slieath'd,  beneath  (he  downcast 

hd;  — 
Such,  Azim,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host 
JSow  led  against  thee ;  and,  let  conquerors  boast 
Their  helds  of  fame,  he  who  in  vinue  arms 
A  youn^,  warm  spiut  against  beauiy's  charms, 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  Ihrall, 
Is  the  best,  bravest  couqueior  of  them  all. 

Now,  through  (he  Haram  chambers,  moving  lights 
And  busy  sliafies  pioclaim  (he  loilei's  riles;-— 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  han<lmaid5  hie, 
SomeskillM  to  wreath  the  turban  tasielully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
O'er  the  warni  bluhes  of  ihe  youihful  maid, 
Who,  if  between  the  folds  but  uue  eye  &hone, 
Like  Seba'a  Queen  could  vanquish  with  that  one;* — 
While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna,  to  imbue 
The  tingers'  ends  with  a  biigh'  n.seate  hue,* 
So  bright,  (hat  \q  the  ntirroi's  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  btanches  in  the  stream 
And  others  mix  the  Kohol's  jetiy  dye, 
To  give  Iha'  long,  dark  languish  to  "the  eye,3 
Which  makes  the  maids,  v.  hom  kings  are  proud  to  cull 
From  fair  Circassia's  vales,  so  beautiful. 
All  is  in  motion  ,  rings  and  pluniej  and  pearls 
Are  shining  everywhere:  — some  younger  girls 
Are  gone  by  mooolight  to  the  garden-beds, 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  their  heads  ;  — 
Gay  creatures!  sweet,  Ihough  mournful,  'i  is  to  see 
How  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
Which  brini;5  to  mind  her  childhood's  itmncent  day, 
And  Ihe  dear  helds  and  friendships  far  away. 
The  maid  of  iuiia.  blest  .igain  to  hold 
Id  her  full  lap  llie  Chanipac's  leaves  of  gold,* 
Thmks  of  the  time  when,  by  ihe  Ganges'  Hood, 
Her  little  play*matcs  scalieiM  many  .t  bud 
Upon  her  long  black  h:iir,  with  glnssy  gleana 
Just  dripping  front  iJie  consecrated  stream; 
While  Itie  young  Arab,  haunted  by  the  small 
Uf  her  own  mountain  Howcrs,  as  by  a  spell,— 


The  sweet  E!caya,6  and  that  courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy,6 
Sees,  caird  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents. 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  father's  ten;s; 
»ighs  for  Ihe  home  she  lelt  with  little  paiu, 
And  wiihes  ev'u  its  sorrows  back  again  1 

Meanwhile,  through  vast  illuminated  halla, 
Silent  and  bright,  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  coc    KiuDd 
From  many  a  jasper  fount,  is  heard  around, 
Vitung  Azim  roams  bewiJder'd, —  nor  can  guew 
What  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
Here,  the  way  leads,  o'er  tes^elaled  floors 
Or  mats  of  Cairo,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  rang'd  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns, 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns  ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
Tlie  bowers  of  Tibe',''  send  forth  odorous  light, 
Like  Pens'  w^nds,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode  :  — 
And  here,  at  once,  Ihe  glittering  s.iloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  biiglil  as  noon; 
Where,  in  the  iniJst,  reflecting  b^ck  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  founiaio  plays 
Hie;h  as  the'  enameli'd  cupola,  which  towers 
AH  rich  vMth  Arabesques  of  gold  and  flowers; 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  shines  through 
'I'tie  sprinkling  of  (hat  fountain's  silv'ry  dew, 
Like  the  wet,  glisiening  shells,  of  every  dye 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Ked  Sea  lie. 

Here  loo  he  traces  the  kind  visi^ings 
Of  woni.m's  love  in  those  fair,  living  things 
Of  land  and  «ave,  whose  fate —  in  bondage  thrown 
For  ihe.r  we.ik  loveliness— is  like  her  own  ! 
On  one  side  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  water.  Lnlliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  »hine, 
Like  gulden  ingots  from  a  faiiy  mine  ;— 
While,  Oil  the  other,  latticed  lighily  in 
Wiih  odoriferous  woods  of  Comonn,8 
Eacti  brilliant  bird  ihat  wings  the  air  is  seen  ;— 
Gay,  sparkling  loorie.^,  such  as  gleam  between 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  ireeS 
In  ihe  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea; 
Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon, lo  and  the  thrush 
Of  Hindostan,ii   whose  holy  warblmgs  gush, 
At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top  ;— 
Those  golden  birds  that,  in  the  spice-time,  drop 
About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  ihat  sweet  food  i* 
Whose  scent  hath  luied  (hem  o'er  the  summer  flood  ;13 


*  '*Thou  hast  ravished  my  heart  with  one  of  thine 
eyes.*'  —  Sol.  Song. 

*  *'  They  tinged  the  ends  of  her  fingers  scarlet  widi 
Henna,  so  ihit  thev  re^enibled  branclies  <if  coral."  — 
Story  of  PruicL  Futtun  in  Bahardanush. 

a  *•  The  women  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelids 
with  a  powder  named  the  black  Kohol." —  Russel. 

'*None  of  ihe?>e  Iadies,»*  says  5Aaio,  *'lake  them- 
selves (0  be  completely  dressed,  till  they  have  (inged 
Ihe  hair  and  edges  of  their  eyelids  wild  the  powder 
of  lead  ore.  Now,  as  this  opera'ion  is  performed  by 
dipping  first  into  Ihe  powder  a  ^m>ll  wooden  boilkm 
of  (he  thickness  of  a  quill,  and  then  dra^ving  it  after- 
wards ihrough  the  eyelids  over  the  ball  ol  (he  eye, 
we  shill  have  a  lively  image  of  wh.t  the  Frophet 
(Jer.  iv.  30)  may  be  supposed  to  njean  by  rending 
the  eyes  wUkyaniling.  I  ins  practice  is  uo  doubt  of 
great  an'iquily  ;  for  be-ides  the  instance  already  taken 
notice  of,  we  find  that  u  here  Jezeb'-l  >s  said  {2  Kings, 
ix.  30.)  to  have  painted  her  Jace,  the  original  woids 
are,  she  adjusted  her  cyts  with  the  powder  of  lead- 
ore."— SAauj's  Travels. 

4  *'  The  appeal  ance  of  the  blossoms  of  the  gold- 
coloured  Camp;\c  on  Ihe  black  hair  of  (he  Indian 
women  has  supplied  IhoSaosciit  Foets  with  many 
elegant  allusionB."  —See  Jisiatic  Researches^  vol.  iv. 


6  Of  tlie  genus  mimosa,  "  which  droops  i's branches 
whenever  any  person  approaches  it,  seeming  as  if  it 
saluted  ihose  «  ho  retire  under  its  shade." — Ihid* 

■I  '*  Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  In  the  com- 
position  of  the  perfumed  rods,  which  men  of  rank 
keep  constantly  burning  in  their  presence." — Turner^ 
Tibet. 

8  *'  C'est  d'ou  vient  le  boisd'aloes,  que  les  Arabes 
appellent  Oud  Coinari,  et  celui  du  sandal,  qui  s'y 
liouve  en  giande  quantile." — D'Jiertelot. 

*»  *' Thousands  of  variegated  loones  visit  the  coral- 
trees." —  Barruvo. 

10  *'  In  Mecca  there  are  quan'ities  of  blue  pigeons, 
which  none  will  atfright  or  abuse,  much  less  kill."— 
Pitl^i  Account  of  the  Mshomeians. 

11  "  The  Pag'^da  I  brush  is  esteemed  among  'he  first 
chori'-te  s  of  India.  It  sits  peiched  on  Ihe  hacred  pa- 
godas, aid  from  thence  delivers  its  melodious  song." — 
PennanV^  Hindostan, 

1^  Tavemitr  adds,  that  while  the  Birds  of  Paradise 
lie  in  this  intoxicated  slate,  the  emmets  come  and  eat 
oflT  their  tegs;  and  that  hence  it  is  they  are  said  to 
have  no  feet. 

<3  Birdsof  Paradise,  which,  at  the  nutmeg  sessoi^ 


VEILED   PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN. 


263 


ADd  those  th^it  under  Araby's  soft  sun 
Build  their  hie^h  nests  of  budding  cinn:iinnn  ;  > 
In  ?hort,  alt  rare  and  beiuleous  thiri(;s,  that  fly 
Through  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  lie 
Sleeping  in  light,  like  the  green  birds "^  that  dwell 
Id  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel ! 

So  on,  through  scenes  past  all  iniaglningf 
More  like  the  iuxuiie>  o(  th:it  in.pn.us  King,3 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  wiih  his  lightning  torch, 
Siruck  down  and  blasted  even  in  Pleasure's  porch, 
Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
ArniM  vviih  Heav'n's  sword,  for  man's  enfranchise- 
ment — 
Young  Azim  wander'd,  looking  slernty  round, 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound 
But  ill  according  wiltt  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place. 

**  Is  this,  then,"  thought  the  ynufh,  "  ii  this  the  way 
"  To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  dt-adening  sway 
'*0f  worldly  sloth,—  to  teach  him  while  he  lives, 
"To  know  (10  bliss  but  (hat  wliich  virtue  gives, 
"And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lof  y  name 
"A  ligh',  a  landmark  on  the  clitts  of  fame? 
"  11  was  not  so.  Land  of  the  generous  thought 
"  And  daring  aeed,  thy  god  like  sages  taught ; 
"It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease, 
'**l'hy  Freedom  imrs'd  her  sacred  energies ; 
"Oh!  not  beneath  the' enfeebling.  "  itherlng  glow 
"  ((f  such  dull  luxury  did  tho>e  myrtles  f;row, 
"  With  which  she  wreith'd  her  sword,  when  she 

would  dare 
"  Imnmrtal  deeds ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
"  Uf  toil,—  of  temperance,—  of  that  high,  rare, 
"  Ethereal  virtue,  which  alone  can  b-ea-he 
"  Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Fieednm's  wreath. 
"  Who,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  we  ptess, — 
"This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness, 
"This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas, 
"Tlie  pa-t,  the  future,  two  eternities  !  — 
••  Would  suWy  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  hi<h  res'ing-place  ? 
"  But  no  —  it  cannot  be,  that  one,  whom  God 
"  Has  sent  to  break  the  wizard  Fal-ehond's  rod,— 
"A  Prophet  of  the  Truth,  whose  mission  dravss 
•'  lis  righi:^  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  its  cause 
"  Wilh  the  world's  vulgar  pomps  ;— no,  no,— Isee  — 
'*  He  thinks  me  weak  —  this  glare  of  luxury 
"  Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
"Of  my  young  soul  —  shine  on,  'twill    stand   (be 
blaze  !" 

So  thought  the  youth  ;—  but,  ev'n  w  hile  he  defied 
This  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  wiichery  glide 
Through  ev'r\  sense.     The  perfume  breathing  round. 
Like  a  pervading  spirit ;— the  still  sound 
Of  tailing  waters,  lulling  .is  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  am'^et,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  Nllici,  and  deep 
In  its  blue  bltssoms  hum  themselves  to  slcf-p  ;  * 
And  music,  too  —  deir  music  1  that  can  touch 
Beyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much  — 


come  in  fligh's  from  the  southern  isles  to  Ind 
"the  strength  of  the  nutmeg."  says   Taverni 
intoxicates  them  that  they  fall   dead  drunk  to  the 
earth." 

»  "That  bird 


tid  builde 


hich  livelh  in  Aral 
its  nest  with  c\m\3.\wn\y  ~  Brown^^  Vulvar  Errors 

^  "The  spiri's  of  (he  marty-s  will  be  lodged  in  the 
crops  of  green  birds."  —  Gibbon^  vol.  xx.  p.  421. 

3  Shedad,  who  made  the  delicious  gardens  of  Trim, 
in  iniiiatinn  of  parulise,  and  was  des'royed  by  light- 
ning, the  HA  lime  he  alicnipted  to  enter  them. 

4  "My  Pandits  assu  •»  me  that  the  plant  Wore  m 
(the  NiliC')  is  their  Se).nalica,  thus  ?iamud  because  the 
beefl  are  supposed  to  sleep  on  its  blossoms.'' —  Sir  IV. 
Jones 


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  heait  could  nothing  feet,  that  felt  not  this; 
Soften'd  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wav6 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laidj 
He  thought  of  Zelica,  his  own  dear  maid. 
And  of  the  time  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  in'o  each  othei's  ejes. 
Silent  and  happy  —  as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  ou  this  siJe  heaven, 

"  Oh,  my  lov'd  mistress,  thou,  whose  spirit  sti:l 
"Is  with  me,  lound  me,  wander  where  1  will  — 
'*  It  ii  lor  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 
"  The  paths  of  glory ;  to  light  up  ihy  cheek 
"  With  warni  approval  —  in  that  gentle  look, 
"  To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel's  book, 
"  And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 
"  I  gain  a  smile  worth  immortality  ! 
"  How  shall  1  bear  the  moment,  when  restored 
"To  that  joung  heart  where  I  alone  am  Lord. 
"  Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy, —  since  the  best 
*•  Alone  deserve  to  lie  the  happiest ;  — 
"  When  from  those  lips,  unbreathed  upon  for  years, 
"1  shall  again  kips  oU"  the  soul-felt  tears, 
"  And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  they  started, 
"  Those  sacrei  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted. 
"0  my  own  life  1—  why  should  a  single  day, 
"  A  moment  keep  me  fr(>nt  those  arms  away  ?" 

While  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delcious,  dream-like  harmonies, 
Each  note  of  w  hich  but  adds  new^  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  towVd  the  sound,  and  far  away 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Of  countless  lamps,— like  the  rich  track  which  Day 
Leaves  on  the  waters,  when  he  sinks  from  us. 
So  long  the  pa'h,  irs  light  so  tremuhus;  — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  forms  advance. 
Some  chain'd  together  in  Ihe  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers, 
As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers;  » 
And  some  disporting  round,  unlink'd  and  free, 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sisters'  slavery; 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  io  wheeling  flight 
Went,  like  gay  mn:hs  about  a  lamp  at  night: 
While  others  wak'd,  as  gracefully  along 
Their  feet  kept  time,  Ihe  very  soul  of  song 
From  psaltery,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrill, 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still. 
And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye, 
Forms  such  as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  would  vie 
With  Fincy's  pencil,  and  give  birth  to  things 
Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturing?. 
Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide, 
Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 
Around  the  rich  pavilion  of  the  sun, — 
Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one, 
Through  many  a  path,  that  fiom  the  chamber  leads 
To  gardens,  terract-s.  and  moonlight  meads. 
Their  distant  lauthter  comes  upon  tlie  wind, 
And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind,— 
Beck'ning  fheni  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone, 
And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone; 
No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beau'enus  brow, 
In  its  young  ba>hfulness  more  beauteous  now; 
Rut  a  li^lit  golden  chain-work  round  her  hair  « 
Such  as  the  maids  rf  Yezd  i  and  Shiras  wear. 


6  "  They  deferred  it  till  the  King  of  Flowers  should 
ascend  his  throne  of  enamelled  foliage."  —  The  Ba- 
hardanttsh. 

6  "One  of  the  head-dresses  of  the  Persian  women 
is  compo-exl  of  a  light  gr.lden  chain-work,  set  wirh 
small  pe-.rls,  with  a  thin  gold  plate  pendent,  about  the 
bigne-s  of  a  cmwn-piece,  on  which  is  impressed  an 
Arabian  prayer,  and  which  hangs  upon  Ihe  cheek 
below  theear."- //tiMtoay's  Travels. 

■i"  Certainly  (he  women  of  Vezd  tre  Ihe  hand- 


264 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


From  which,  on  either  side,  gracefully  huug 

A  golden  amulet,  in  the'  Arab  tongue, 

Engraven  o'er  with  snme  immori.tl  line 

FroiJi  Holv  Writ,  or  bard  scarce  less  divine; 

While  her  ieft  hand,  as  sl.nnkin^lv  she  stood, 

Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  bandtl-wood, 

Which,  once  or  twice,  she  tnuch'd  with  hurried  strain, 

Then  took  her  trembling  fingers  ofl'  again. 

But  when  at  length  a  timid  gUnce  she  stole 

At  Azim,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 

She  saw  through  all  his  features  calmM  her  fear, 

And,  like  a  half-tam'd  antelope,  more  near, 

Though  shrinkine  btill,  she  came  ;— then  sat  her  down 

Upon  a  musnud's  *  edge,  and.  bolder  grown, 

Id  the  pa'hetic  mode  of  Isfahan^ 

TouchM  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began :  — 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  Bendemeer'9  3  stream, 

And  the  nightingale  ^ings  round  it  all  thed:iy  long; 
lo  the  time  of  my  childhnod  H  was  like  asweel  dream, 
To  sit  ID  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 

That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget. 

Rut  ofl  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 

I  think  — is  the  nightinirale  singing  there  yei  ? 
Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Benderoeer? 

No,  the  ro?es  snon  wither'd  that  hung  o'er  the  wave, 

But  some  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshly 

they  shone, 

And  a  dew  was  disf  ill'd  from  their  flowers,  that  gave 

All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  was 

gone. 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 
An  essence  that  brca'heg  of  it  many  a  year  ; 

Thus  bright  (o  my  soul,  as  't  was  then  to  my  eyes, 
Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  Bendemeer ! 

"  Poor  maiden  l"  thought  the  youth,  *'  if  thou  wert 
sent, 
"  VVith  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment, 
"  To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart, 
'*0r  lenipt  its  truth,  ihou  little  know'st  the  art. 
"  For  thnugh  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel  wroDg, 
"Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song, 
*'Bul  Ihnu  hast  brt-ath'd  such  purity,  thy  lay 
*'  Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  'lay. 
"  And  leads  thy  soul  —  if  e'er  it  w  ander'd  (hence  — 
«*  So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 
«'  That  1  would  sooner  stop  the  unchained  dove, 
"  When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love, 
*' And  round  i's  snowy  wing  new  fetters  tuine, 
"Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine  1" 

Scarce  had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 
through 
The  gently  cpenM  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  vei I'd  the  breezy  casenient.  countless  eyes, 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue  evening  skies, 
Look'd  laiighiiig  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  s<it  so  s!ill  and  melancliolv  there  ;  — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  af'er  them  in  play, 
Two  lightsome  maidens  spring,—  lightsome  as  they 
Who  live  in  the'  air  on  odours,—  and  around 
The  bright  saloon,  scarce  conscious  of  the  ground. 


soniest  women  in  Persia.  The  proverb  is,  that  to  live 
hippy  a  man  nmst  have  a  wife  of  ye7d,  eat  the  bread 
of  Yezdecas,  and  dnuk  the  wine  of  Shiraz."—  Taver 

J  Mu'inuds  are  cushioned  seats,  usuilly  reserved  for 
persons  of  distinction. 

»The  Persians,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their 
musical  modes  or  Fenlas  by  itie  names  of  dia'tren 
countries  or  cities,  as  the  mode  of  Isfahan,  the  modi 
of  Irak,  &c. 

»  A  river  wtich  flowi  near  the  ruins  of  Chilminar 


Chase  one  another,  in  a  varying  dance 
ur  mirth  and  Imguor,  coyness  and  advance. 
Too  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursuit  :  — 
While  she,  who  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away, 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summei's  ray, 
Bui  lakes  with  her  from  Azim's  heart  that  sigh 
We  sometimes  give  to  forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain, 
Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again  I 

Around  the  white  necks  of  the  nymphs  who  danc*d 
Hung  carcanets  ol  orient  gem?,  that  glaiic'd 
More  brilliant  than  the  sea-glass  giiliering  o'er 
The  hills  of  crystal  on  the  Caspian  shore  ; « 
White  from  their  long,  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 
Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  musical 
As  ihose  that,  on  the  golden-shafted  trees 
l)f  Eden,  shake  in  the  eternal  brteze.s 
Rung  round  their  s'eps,  at  every  bound  more  sweet, 
As  'I  were  the'  extaiic  language  of  their  feet. 
A'  length  the  chase  was  o'er,  arid  they  stood  wreath'd 
Wiihin  each  oher's  arms;  while  soft  there  breaih'd 
Through  ihe  cool  casenient,  mingled  with  the  sighs 
Of  moonlight  flowers,  music  that  seenrd  to  rise 
From  some  slill  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose  j 
And,  as  it  sweli'd  again  at  each  faint  close, 
The  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of  chords 
And  young  sweet  voices,  these  impassion'd  words:  — 


A  Spirit  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 
Is  burning  now  through  eaiih  and  air; 

Where  cheeks  are  blushing,  the  spirit  is  nigh, 
Where  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there! 

His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flowers  like  these. 

And  his  floating  eyes  —  oh  I  they  resemble* 
Blue  water-lilies,""  when  the  breeze 

I<  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble. 
Hail  to  ihee,  h^^il  to  thee,  kindling  power! 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spiril  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  ihe  moonlight  hour, 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  this. 

By  Ihe  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 
From  the  heat  of  the  sky; 

By  the  first  love-beat 

Of  the  youthful  heart. 
By  the  bliss  to  meet, 

And  Ihe  pain  to  part; 

By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  moitOs  given, 
Which  —  oh,  cuuld  it  last, 

This  earih  were  heaven! 


4  "  To  the  north  of  us  (on  the  coast  nf  the  Caspiin, 
near  Bidku,)  wa^  a  ni'ujnfaiii,  which  sparkled  like 
diamonds,  arising  from  the  sea-glass  and  crystals  wiih 
which  it  abounds." — Jowney  of  tlie  Jiiisnian  ,im- 
hassador  to  PcTsiOj  1746. 

5  t'To  which  will  be  added  the  sound  of  the  bells, 
hanging  on  the  trees,  which  will  he  put  in  motion  by 
the  w  ind  proceeding  friiu  the  throne  of  God,  as  often 
as  Ihe  blessed  wish  f •  r  music  "  —  ^ale. 

6  **  VVliose  wanton  e^s  resemble  blue  water-lilies, 
agitated  by  the  breeze."— Jai/ac/tva. 

1  The  blue  lotos,  which  grows  in  Cashmere  and  io 
Persia. 


VEILED   PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN. 


265 


We  call  thee  hither,  enirancin;  Power! 

Spinlof  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  1 
Thy  holiegl  time  is  the  nioonli^^hl  hour, 

And  there  never  was  nmonligtit  so  sweet  as  this. 


Impatient  of  a  scene  whose  hixuries  stole, 
Spite  of  himself,  too  (Jeep  into  his  soul, 
And  where,  midst  all  thai  the  youn^  heart  loves  most, 
Flowers,  music,  smiles,  to  yieid  uas  to  be  lost, 
The  youth  h:id  strirred  up,  aril  luni'd  away 
Fiom  the  light  nymph-,  and  iheir  luxurious  lay, 
To  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round,* — 
Uri^ht  imiges,  that  spoke  v*  i(h"ut  a  som  d, 
And  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground, 
Bui  here  again  new  spells  came  i.'er  his  sense :- 
All  thit  the  pencils  mute  omnipotence 
Could  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  f  >ir. 
Of  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  'here; 
Nor  yet  too  warm,  bui  touch'd  with  that  fine  art 
Which  paints  of  pleasure  hut  the  purer  i  art ; 
Which  knows  ev'n  Beauty  when  half-xeil'd  is  beat, — 
hike  her  own  radiant  planet  i  f  the  wes', 
Whose  orb  when  half-retir'd  looks  loveliest.* 
There  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii-King, 
Trac'd  lhr()U5h  each  gay,  voluptuous  wandering 
Wiih  her  from  Saba's  bowers,  in  wh-se  bright  eyes 
He  read  that  to  be  blest  is  to  be  wise;  3_ 
Here  fond  Zuleika^  wnos  with  open  arms 
The  Hebrew  bny,  who  flies  from  her  voung  charms, 
Yet,  living,  turns  to  gaze,  and,  half  undone, 
Wishes  ihat  HeaVn  and  she  could  both  be  won; 
And  here  Mnhanimed,  born  for  love  and  guile, 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Mary's  smile  ;  — 
Then  beckons  sonie  kind  an^el  from  above 
Wiih  a  new  text  to  conseciate  their  love.* 

With  rapid  step,  yet  pleasM  and  lingering  eye. 
Did  the  ynuth  pass  these  pic'ui'J  stories  by, 


1  It  h^s  been  generally  supposed  that  the  Mahome- 
tans prohibit  all  pictures  of  animals;  bm  TudtrUii 
shows  that,  though  the  practice  is  fmbi-lden  by  the 
Korin,  they  are  not  nioie  aver't:  to  painted  figuics 
and  images  than  other  people.  From  M'.  Mur|ciiy's 
work,  too,  we  find  that  ihe  Arabs  of  Spain  had  no 
objection  to  the  introduction  of  Hgures  into  pain'ing, 

5  This  is  not  qui'e  astronnmically  true.  •'  Dr.  Had- 
ley  (says  Keil)  has  shown  that  Venus  is  brightest  when 
she  is  about  forty  degiees  removed  from  the  si.n  ;  and 
Ihat  then  but  onlxj  a  fourthpart  of  her  lucid  disk  is 
to  be  seen  from  the  earlh." 

3  For  the  loves  of  King  Solomon  (who  was  sup- 
posed to  preside  over  ilie  whole  lace  of  Genii)  with 
Balkis,  the  Queen  of  Sheba  or  Saba,  see  U^Herlelot, 
and  the  Notes  on  the  Koran,  chap  2. 

"  In  the  palace  which  Solomon  oidered  to  be  built 
against  the  arrival  of  the  Queen  of  Siha,  the  floor  or 
pavement  was  of  transparent  gl  is^  laid  over  running 
water,  in  which  fish  were  swimming."  'J'his  led  the 
Queen  into  a  very  natural  mi^take,  which  the  Koran 
has  not  th  lueht  bencaili  its  dignity  to  commenioraie. 
*'  It  was  said  unio  her,  *  Enter  the  palace.'  And  when 
she  saw  it,  she  imagined  it  to  be  a  great  wntei  ;  and 
slie  discovered  her  legs,  by  lifting  up  her  robe  to  pigs 
through  it.  Whereupon  Solomon  said  to  her.  *Veiih, 
this  is  the  phce  evenly  floored  with  glass.*  "-Chap.  27. 

4  Tlie  wife  of  Potiphar,  thu^  i  amed  by  the  Orientals. 
The  passion  which  this  frail  bemly  of  antiquity 

conceived  for  her  young  Hebrew  shve  hat  given  ri-e 
lo  a  much  esteemcl  poem  in  Ihe  Peisian  Imgua^e, 
entitled  Yusef  van  Zelihhn,  by  Nonrcddin  Jauu  ;  the 
manuscript  copy  of  uhich,  i<.  the  B  •dieian  Liir.iry  at 
Oxford,  is  supposed  m  be  the  finest  in  ilir  whole 
world." — Nottupon  NotCs  Translation  of  H<ifez. 

i>  The  particul.irs  of  Mahomet's  amour  wj  h  Mar*, 
the  Coptic  girl,  in  jus  itication  of  which  he  addel'a 
new  chapter  lo  the  Koran,  may  be  found  iQ  Gagnitr^a 
Notes  upon  Abulfeday  p.  151. 

23 


And  hasten'd  to  a  casement,  where  the  light 

Of  the  calm  monn  came  in,  and  freshly  bright 

The  fields  wit'wut  were  seen,  sleeping  as  stiU 

As  if  no  life  remain'd  Jo  bretze  or  nil. 

Here  paus'd  he,  while  the  music,  now  less  near, 

Brealh'd  with  a  holier  language  on  his  ear 

As  though  the  di-iance,  and  that  heavenly  ray 

Through  which  the  sounds  Cime  floating,  took  away 

All  that  h  id  been  too  earthly  in  (he  lay. 

Oh  !  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmov'd. 
And  by  that  light  —nor  dream  of  her  he  lov'd  ? 
Dream  on,  unconscious  boy  !  while  yet  thou  may'st; 
'T  is  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  t-liall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  vet  awhile  her  image  lo  Ihy  heirt, 
Ere  all  Ihe  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart. 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  uhen  thou  sawM  them  last, 
Clear,  beautiful,  by  nought  of  earth  o'ercast  j 
Hecall  her  tears,  to  thee  at  parting  given, 
Pure  as  they  weep,  if  angels  weep,  in  Heaven. 
Think,  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  ihee  now, 
With  Ihe  same  glow  of  heart  .md  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrink  in  solitude  —  thine  all,  thine  only. 
Like  Ihe  one  stai  atiove  thee,  bright  and  lonely. 
Oh  !  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoy*d, 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroyed  I 

The  song  is  hush'd,  the  laughing  nymphs  are  flown, 
And  he  is  left,  mu^irgof  bli-s,  alone  3— 
Alone?  — no,  not  alone —  ihal  heavy  sigh, 
That  sob  of  grief,  whicti  t)roke  from  some  one  nigh— 
Wtiose  could  it  be?— alas!  is  mi>ery  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  gmund  ? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  foim,  close  veil'd, 
Leaning,  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  had  failM, 
Against  a  pillar  near; —  not  glittering  o'er 
With  gems  and  wreaths  such  as  the  oihers  wore 
Rut  in  ihat  deep-blue,  melancholy  drcss,i 
B'khtra's  maidens  v^ ear  in  miiidfulnesa 
Of  friends  ffl-  kindred,  de.d  or  far  away  ;— 
And  siich  as  Zelic.k  l'.ad  on  'hai  diy 
He  lifi  her— when,  ^^ith  heart  too  full  to  speak. 
He  took  away  her  last  warm  tears  upon  his  cheek 

A  Grange  emotion  stirs  within  him, —  more 
Ihan  mere  cnnipa^sion  e^er  wak*d  before; 
Uncoiiscioualy  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Si'rings  forward,  as  wiih  life's  last  energy. 
But,  «w.>oniMg  in  that  one  convulsive  bound, 
Sinks,  ere  slie  resell  Ids  arms,  upon  the  ground; — 
Her  veil  falls  off— her  faint  hands  clasp  his  knees— 
'  r  is  she  herself !  —  »i  is  Zelica  he  sees  ! 
Rut,  ah,  so  pale,  so  chang'd  —  none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shi  ine  discover 
The  once  adord  divinity — ev'n  he 
Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  douhtingly 
Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gaz'd 
Upon  those  lids,  where  once  such  lustie  blaz'd. 
Ere  he  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own, 
0^^n  darling  maid,  whom  he  so  hmg  had  known 
In  joy  and  sorrow,  beautiful  in  both  ; 
Who,  ev'n  when  grief  was  heaviest  —  when  lotb 
He  left  her  for  the  wars  —  in  that  worst  hour 
Sat  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  night-flower 
When  darkness  brings  i's  weeping  glories  out. 
And  spreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about. 

**  I^ook  up,  ny  Zelica  —  one  monient  show 
"Those  eenie  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
"  Thy  life,  liiy  loveline-s  is  not  all  gone, 
"  Hut  I/icre,  at  least,  shines  as  il  ever  shone. 
"  Come,  look  uion  thy  Azim  —  one  dear  glance, 
*■  Like  those  of  (dd,  were  heav'n  I  whatever  chancp 
'^Hath  brought  thee  here,  oh, 't  wns  a  blessed  one! 
"There  —  my    lov'd  lips  —  they  move  — that   kisb 
hatb  run 


fi  "Deep  blue  is  their  mourning  colour."  —  Haiu 
way. 

1  The  sorrowful  nyclanlhes,  which  begina  tu  ipread 
iti  rich  ododr  alter  runset. 


266 


LALLA    ROOKH, 


''  Like  the  first  shoot  of  life  through  every  vein, 
'•  And  now  I  clasp  her,  mine  all  mine  a^ain. 
"Oh  ihe  delight  — now,  in  (his  very  hour, 
"  When  had  ihe  whole  rich  world  heen  in  my  power, 
*'  I  should  have  singled  out  thee,  only  thee 

From  the  whole  world's  collecled  (ressurv  — 
"  To  have  thee  here  ~  lo  han?  thus  fondly  o'er 
"JMv  own,  best,  purest  Zelica  Oute  more  1'' 

It  was  indeed  (he  touch  of  rhose  fond  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chasd  their  short  eclipse. 
And,  gradu.l  as  the  snow,  at  Htaveti's  breath, 
Melts  off  and  shows  the  azure  flowers  beneath 
Her  lids  unclos'd,  and  (he  bright  eyes  were  seen 
Gazing  on  his  —  iioi,  as  Ihey  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild,  but  nmurnfully  serenej 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tr.tnced  minute, 
So  near  his  heart,  had  coiisotaiinn  in  it; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  belov'd  c-iress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchedness. 
Huf,  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  pure, 
Oh,  't  was  too  much  —  too  dreadful  to  endure  i 
Shuddering;  she  broke  aw  ly  from  his  embrace, 
And,  hiding  with  both  hands  her  guiTy  face, 
Said,  in  a  tone  whose  anguish  would  have  riven 
A  heart  of  very  marble,  •*  Pure !  —  oh  Heaven  !'* 

That  tone  — those  looks  so  chang'd  —  the  wilher- 

ingbli^rht. 
That  sin  and  snrrow  leave  where'er  they  I<ght  j 
I  he  dead  despondency  (.f  those  sunk  eyes, 
VVheie  once,  had  he  thus  met  her  by  surprise. 
He  would  have  seen  himself,  too  happy  boy, 
Reflected  in  a  (housmd  lights  of  joy  ; 
And  then  the  place,—  thai  bright,  unholy  place. 
Where  vice  lay  hid  beiea'h  each  winning  giace 
And  charm  of  luxury,  as  the  viper  weaves 
lis  wily  covering  of  sweet  balsam  leues.'  — 
All  struck  upon  lijs  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
As  death  itself;—  it  needs  not  to  be  tuld  — 
No,  no—  he  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 
Of  burning  shame  can  mark  —  whatever  the  hand. 
That  could    from    Heav*u  and  him  ^uch   tnghlness 

sever, 
'T  is  done  —  to  Heav'n  and  h  im  she 's  lost  for  ever  I 
It  was  a  dreadful  moment ;   n  »t  the  tears, 
The  lingering,  lasiing  misery  of  years 
Could  ma'ch  that  minu'e's  anguish  —all  the  worst 
Of  sorrows  elements  in  that  daik  burst 
Broke  o'er  his  soul,  and,  with  one  crrish  of  fate, 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate. 

"  Oh !  curse  me  not,"  she  cried,  as  wild  he  toss'd 
His  desperate  hand  towards  Heav'n  —  **  though  I  am 

lost, 
"Think  not  that  guilt,  (hat  falsehood  made  me  fall, 
"No,  no— M  was  grief,  't  wa-^  m.dne-sdid  it  all ! 
"Nay,   doubt  me  not  —  though  all   thy  love  hath 

r.eas'd  — 
'M  know  it  hath  —  yet,  yet  believe,  at  least, 
"  That  every  spark  nf  reason's  light  mnst  be 
"  (Jnench'd  in  this  br.iin,  ere  1  conid  stray  from  thee. 
'They  told  me  Kmu  wert  dead  —  why,  Azim,  why 
"  Did  we  not,  toih  of  us.  that  mstani  die 
"When   we   were  parted?   oh  I    could'st  thou  but 

know 
"  Wifh  what  a  deep  devofedness  of  woe 
"I  wept  th\  absence  —  o'er  and  o'er  again 
"  Thinking  ol  thee,  still  thee,  (ill  thought  grew  pain, 
*'And  memory,  like  adr.tp  that,  night  and  diy, 
"  FalU  cold  a-id  ceaseless,  wore  my  ht-art  away. 
"  Didst  thou  but  know  how  paie  I  sat  at  home, 
*'  My  eyes  still  turii'd  the  "ay  Ihou  wert  to  come, 
«*  And,  all  the  long,  lonj  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
"  Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear  — 


»  "Concerning 
frequent  among  11 
cutar  in.juiry  ;sev 
,  Yainbo  and  Ji-Jda. 


Ihe 


'ipei 


s,  which  Pliny  says  were 
-trees.  I  in  ide  very  parii- 
brought  mo  alive  both  to 


"  Oh  God  !  thou  would'st  not  wonder  that,  at  last, 
"  When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'ercast, 
'*  VVhen  I  hetrd  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
"  jJzini  is  dead  .'  —  (his  wretched  brain  gave  way, 
'•And  1  became  a  wreck,  at  random  driven, 

"  Wi:hou  one  glimp-e  of  rruon  or  of  Heaven 

«*AI1  wild  — and  even  this  quenchless  love  within 
'*  'I  urn'd  to  foul  hres  to  light  me  into  sin  I  — 
"Thnu  piticbl  uie  — I  knew  thou  would'st  — (hat  sky 
•'  Hath  nought  beneath  it  half  so  lorn  as  I. 
'*  The  fiend,  who  lur'd  me  hither  —  hist !  come  near, 
"Or  thou  too,  thou  art  lost,  if  he  should  hear  — 
*'Told  me  such  ihings— oh  !  with  such  devilish  art, 
♦'As  would  have  ruin'd  ev'n  a  holier  heart  — 
**Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-radiant  sphere, 
"  Where  bless'd  at  length,  if  1  but  servM  Aim  here, 
"  I  should  for  ever  live  in  thy  dear  sight, 
*'  And  drink  from  those  pure  eyes  eternal  light. 
"Think,  think  how  lost,  how  madden'd  I  must  be, 
•*  To  hope  that  guilt  could  lead  to  God  or  thee  ! 
*'  Thou  weep'sl  for  me— do  weep — oh,  that  I  durst 
'*  Kifcfl  otl  (hat  tear  !  but.  no  —  these  lips  are  curst, 
"  They  mu'-t  not  touch  ihee  ;  —  one  divine  caress, 
"One  blessed  moment  of  forgetfulness 
"  1  've  hid  within  those  arms,  and  that  shall  lie, 
*'  Shrin'd  in  my  soul'i  deep  memory  till  1  die  ; 
"  The  lat  of  joy's  last  re  ics  here  below, 
"  The  one  sweet  drop,  in  all  this  waste  of  woe, 
"My  heart  h.is  (rea^ur'd  from  affection's  spring, 
*'  To  soothe  and  cool  its  deadly  withering  ! 
'•But  Ihoii  —  ves.  tliou  must  go  —  for  ever  go  ; 
"  This  plate  is  not  for  thee  —  fur  thee  I  oh,  no, 
"  Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  torlur'd  brain 
"  Would  burn  like  niine^  and  mine  go  wild  again! 
'•Enough,  that  GuiH  reigns  here  —  that  hearts,  once 
good, 

"Now  lained,  chilPd,  and  broken,  are  his  food 

"  Enough,  that  we  are  parted  —  that  there  rolls 
''A  flood  if  ht»dlong  file  between  our  souls, 
"  Whose  darkness  severs  me  as  wide  fiom  thee 
*'  As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  all  eternity  I" 

"  Zelica,  Zelica  I"  the  yny'h  e:Kclaim*d, 
In  all  the  tonuies  of  a  nnnd  inflam'd 
Almost  to  madness  —  "  by  that  sacred  Heav'n, 
"  Where  yet,  if  pray'rs  can  move,  thnu  *lt  be  forgiven, 
"As  thou  art  here  —  here,  in  Ihis  wri'hing  heart, 
"All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art! 
"  By  the  remembr.mce  of  our  once  pure  love, 
*■  Which,  like  a  church-yard  light,  still  burn    above 
'•The  grave  of  our  lost  souls—  vthich  guilt  in  thee 
•'  Cannot  extinguish,  nor  despair  in  me  ! 
"I  do  conjure,  implore  thee  to  fly  hence  — 
"  If  thou  hast  yet  one  jpark  of  innocence, 

"Fly  with  me  from  this  place " 

"With  thee!  oh.  blissl 
**'T  is  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  (his. 
**  What  :  take  the  lust  one  with  thee?—  let  her  rove 
*'  Ry  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love, 
*■  When  we  wt-re  bnlh  so  happy,  both  si  pure — 
"loo  heavenly  dream  !  if  there 'son  »*arih  a  cure 
"  For  Ihe  suhk  iie.irt.  't  is  this  —  day  after  day 
'*  In  lie  thf  blest  companion  of  thy  way  ; 
"  To  h*ar  thy  angel  eloquence  —  to  see 
"  1  h  'se  virinous  eyes  for  ever  lurnM  on  me  ; 
''Anil,  in  their  lishi  re  cliastcn'd  silently, 
"  Like  the  stain'd  web  that  whitens  in  the  sun, 
•'Gr.'w  pure  bv  being  purely  shoiie  upon! 
"And  Ihou  wtlt  pray  fMr  me  — I  know  thou  wilt  — 
"  At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  u  hen  ihough's  of  guilt 
"(^ome  heaviest  o'er  the  heart,  thnu  'It  lift  (lime  eyes, 
'  Full  of  sweet  tears,  untn  the  dark'ning  skies, 
•'And  plead  f-T  me  wiih  Heiv'n,  till  I  can  daie 
"  To  fi.v  my  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there; 
••Till  the  good  angels,  when  the\  see  me  cling 
"  ¥•  V  ever  near  thee,  pale  and  sor.owing. 
•'Shall  fnr  ihy  s^ke  pmnounce  my  soul  forgiven, 
"  And  liid  thee  take  thy  weeping  slave  to  Heaven  ! 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  'II  fly  with  ihce " 

I  Scarce  had  she  said 

These  breathless  words,  when  a  voice  deep  and  dread 

I  As  tliat  of  Monker,  waking  up  the  dead 


VEILED   PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN. 


267 


From  their  first  sleep  —  so  startling  't  was  to  both  — 
Rung  ttirou^h  the  casemeut  near,  '*Thy  oath  1  Ihy 

oath  I" 
Oh,  Heav'n,  the  ghastliness  of  that  Maid's  look  !  — 
*'  'T  is  he,"  faintly  she  cried,  while  terror  fchook 
Her  inmost  core,  nnr  durbt  she  lift  her  eyes. 
Though  (hrougti  the  ca:>emeiit,  now,  nought  but  the 

skies 
And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before  — 
"»Tishe,  and  i  am  his- all,  all  is  o'er — 
**Go  — fly  this  instant,  or  th-u  'rl  ruin'd  toe  — 
"  My  oalh,  my  oaih,  oh,  G<.d  I  't  is  all  too  true, 
"  True  ss  the  wot  in  in  this  cold  heart  it  is  — 
•*  I  am  Mokannj^'s  bride  —  his,  Azini,  his  — 
"The  Dead  siood  r<»und  us,  while  I  spoke  that  vow, 
"  Their  blue  lipsecho'd  it —  I  hear  them  now  ! 
'*  Their  eyes  glar'd  on  me,  while  I  phdg'd  Ihal  bowl, 
*'  'T  was  burning  blood  —  I  feel  il  in  my  soul  I 
"And  the  Veii'd  Bridegroom  — hist  I  I've  seen  to- 

□i£;ht 
"  What  angels  know  not  of—  so  foul  a  sight, 
"So  horrible  — oh  I  never  may'st  thou  see 
'*  What  there  Iie>  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me  I 
*'But  I  must  hence  — off,  off— lam  not  ihine, 
'*  Nor  Heav'n's,  nor  Love's,  nor  aught  that  is  divine— 
"Hold  me  no!— ha!  Ihmk'st  thou  the  fiends  that  sever 
"Hearts,   cannot  sunder  hands?  — Ihus,   then  — for 

ever  1" 

With  all  that  strength,  which  madness  lends  the 
weak, 
She  flung  nway  his  arm;  and,  with  a  shriek. 
Whose  sound,  though  he  should  linger  out  uwre  years 
Than  wretch  e'er  lold.  can  never  leave  his  ears — 
Flew  up  throunh  that  long  avenue  of  ligh', 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  of  night, 
Across  the  sun,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight ! 


Lalla  Rootch  could  think  of  nothing  all  day  but  the 
mi>ery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Her  gaiety  was 
gone,  and  she  lo'iked  pensively  even  upon  Fadladeen. 
She  felt,  too,  without  knowing  why,  a  scrt  of  uneasv 
pleasure  in  imagining  ihat  Aziin  must  have  been  jrjst 
auch  a  youth  as  Feramorz;  just  as  worthy  to  enjoy  all 
the  blessings,  witht.ut  any  of  the  pangs,  of  that  illu- 
sive passion,  which  too  often,  like  the  sunny  apples  of 
Istkahar,*  is  alt  sweetness  on  one  side,  and  alt  bilter- 
Dess  on  the  other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  after  sun- 
Bel,  they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the  bank,% 
whose  employment  seemed  to  them  so  strange,  that 
they  stopped  their  paUnkeens  to  observe  her.  She 
had  lighled  a  small  lamp,  tilled  with  oil  of  cocoa,  and 
placing  it  in  an  earthen  dish,  adorned  wi'h  a  wrealb 
of  flowers,  had  committed  it  with  a  trembling  hand 
to  the  stream  ;  and  was  now  anxiously  watching  its 
progress  down  the  current,  heedless  of  the  gay  caval- 
cade which  had  drawn  up  beside  her.  Laila  Rookh 
was  all  curiosity  ; — when  one  of  her  attendants,  who 
had  lived  upon  (he  banks  of  the  Ganges  ("here  this 
ceremonv  i>  so  frequent,  thai  of  en.  In  the  dusk  of  ihe 
evening  the  rivt-r  i.  Been  erlittering  all  over  with 
lights  'il^e  the  (Mon-fah  or  Sea  of  Star>,3)  informed 
tLe  Crincess  that  it  was  the  usual  w,iy,  in  which  the 
fi  iends  of  tho^e  who  had  gone  on  danger  us  voyages 
oBered  up  vows  for  their  safe  return.  If  the  lamp 
sunk  immediately,  the  omen  was  disie'rous  ;  but  if  it 


went  shining  down  the  stream,  and  continued  to  burn 
till  enlirely  out  of  sight,  the  return  of  the  beloved 
object  was  considered  ascertain. 

Lalla  Ilookh,  as  they  moved  on,  more  than  once 
lof.bed  back,  to  observe  how  Ihe  young  Hindoo's  lanip 
proceeded;  and,  while  she  saw  with  pleasure  that  it 
uas  ^tlII  unextinguish'd,  ^he  could  not  help  fearing 
Ihat  all  Ihe  hopes  of  this  life  were  no  better  than  that 
feeble  light  upon  the  river.  The  remainder  of  the 
jiiurnt-y  was  passed  in  silei  ce.  She  now,  for  Ihe  first 
time,  felt  thai  shade  of  melancholy,  which  comes  over 
Ihe  youthful  maiden's  heart,  as  sweei  and  transient  as 
her  own  brea  h  upon  a  mirror;  nor  was  it  till  she 
heard  the  lute  of  Feramorz,  touched  lightly  at  the 
door  of  her  pavilion,  that  she  waked  from  the  reverie 
in  which  she  Jiad  been  wandering.  Instantly  her  eyes 
were  lighted  up  with  pleasure;  and,  after  a  few  un- 
heard remarks  from  Fadladeen  upon  Ihe  indecorum 
of  a  poet  .-eating  himself  in  presence  of  a  Princess, 
everything  uas  arranged  as  on  the  preceding  evening, 
and  all  listened  with  eagerness,  while  the  story  was 
thus  continued:  — 


Wliose  are  the  gilded  tents  that  crowd  the  way, 

Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday  ? 

This  Ci'y  of  War  which,  in  a  few  short  hours, 

Hath  sprur/g  up  here,*  as  if  the  magic  powers 

Of  Him  who.  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star 

Htiilt  the  high  piliar'd  halls  of  thilminar, 

Had  cnnjut'd  up,  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 

Thii  world  of  tents,  and  domes,  and  sun-bright  ar- 

Princfly  p.ivilirns,  screen'd  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  and  lopp'd  wi!h  balls  of  gold  :  — 
Steeds,  "  ith  their  housings  of  rich  silver  spun, 
Their  chains  and  poirels  glittering  in  the  sun; 
And  camels,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  slells.s 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-ton'd  bells  1 

But  yester-eve 
So  mule  was  this 


vidu  plain,  that  not  a  sound 


I  *'In  the  territory  of  Is'kahar  there  is  a  kind  of 
apple,  half  of  which  is  sweet  and  half  sour."  — £/^n 
Haukal. 

^  For  an  account  of  this  ceremony,  see  Gra7idpr&*s 
Voyage  in  the  Indian  Ocean, 

8  "The  place  where  the  Whangho,  a  river  of 
Tibet,  risef,  and  where  theie  are  more  thnn  a  hun- 
dred springy  which  sparkle  like  -tars;  whence  it  is 
called  Hotun-nor,  that  is,  the  Sea  of  Stars."  — Z)e- 
teription  of  Tibet  in  Pi7ikirton. 


4  "The  Lescar  or  Imperial  Camp  is  divided,  like  a 
regular  town,  into  squares,  alleys,  and  streets,  and 
fiom  a  rising  ground  furnishes  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able prospects  in  the  world.  Starting  up  in  a  few 
houfs  in  an  uninhabied  plain,  il  raises  the  idea  of  a 
city  built  by  eiictiantmeiil.  Even  those  who  leave 
their  houses  in  ci'ies  to  follow  the  prince  in  his  pro- 
gress are  frequently  so  charmed  wi'h  the  Lescar, 
uhen  siiuated  in  a  beautiful  and  convenient  place, 
that  they  cannot  prevail  with  themselves  to  remove. 
To  prevent  this  inconvenience  to  tlie  court,  the  Em- 
peror, afiersuflicient  time  is  allowed  lo  the  tradesmen 
to  r.llow^  orders  them  to  be  burnt  out  of  their  tents.— 
Dow'b  Hindostan, 

Colonel  Wilks  gives  a  lively  picture  of  an  eastern 
encampment:  —  His  camp,  like  ih^t  of  most  Indian 
armies,  exhibited  a  nioiley  collection  of  covers  from 
the  scorching  sun  and  dews  of  the  night,  variegated 
according  to  the  la'^te  or  means  of  each  individual,  by 
exten-ive  inclosures  of  cloured  calico  surrounding 
superb  suites  of  ten's;  ly  lageed  cloths  or  blankets 
stretched  over  slicks  nr  branches,  palm  leaves  has  ily 
spread  over  similar  supports;  handsome  ten's  and 
splendid  canopies;  hordes,  oxen,  elefhanls,  and  cnm- 
els;.-ill  intermixed  without  any  exterior  mark  of  order 
or  design,  except  the  flaers  of  the  chiefs,  which  usually 
mark  Ihe  ceniies  of  a  congeries  of  these  niasses  ;  the 
onl\  regular  part  of  the  encampment  being  the  streets 
of  shops,  e:ich  of  which  is  constiucted  nenrly  in  the 
manner  of  a  l)onth  at  an  English  fair."  — //ts/cricai 
SkctcMes  of  the  South  of  India. 

6  The  edifices  of  Chil  minar  and  Balbec  are  supposed 
to  have  been  built  by  Ihe  Genii,  acting  under  Ihe  or- 
ders of  Jan  hen  Jan,  who  governed  the  world  long 
before  (he  time  of  A<lam. 

6  "A  superb  camel,  ornamented  with  strings  aod 
tufis  of  small  shells."- .4H  Scy. 


268 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


But  the  far  torrent,  or  the  locust  bird  » 

Huntioff  anioiiE;  the  thickets,  could  be  heard;  — 

Yet  hark  !  uh^t  discords  now,  of  every  kind. 

Show's,  laugh-,  and  fci&inisare  revelling  in  the  wind; 

The  neigh  of  cavalry  ;  —  the  tinkling  throngs 

Of  laden  camels  and  iheir  drivers'  s  -ngs ;  ^  — 

Ringing  of  arms,  and  flsppini;  in  ihe  breeze 

Of  streamers  from  ten  thouiand  canopies  ;  — 

War-music,  bursting  out  fiom  tinie  to  time, 

With  g  mg  and  tynibalon's  ti emend' lus  cliimc;^ 

Or,  in  the  pause,  when  harsher  sounds  are  mute, 

The  mellow  breathings  of  s  nie  hnrn  or  flute, 

'I  h^t  far  off.  br.>keM  by  the  eagle  note 

Of  (he'  Abyssinian  trumpet,3  swell  and  float. 

Who  leads  this  mighty  army  ?  — ask  ye  "  who?" 
And  mark  ye  not  those  bani^ers  of  dark  hue, 
The  Night  and  Shadow,*  over  yonder  lent?- 
It  is  the  Caliph's  glorious  ainiament. 
Rous'd  in  his  Palace  by  ihe  dread  alarms. 
That  hourly  came,  of  Ihe  false  Pro|.liet'a  arms 
And  of  his  h'-st  of  infidels,  who  hurIM 
nefi.nce  tierce  at  IsUm  5  and  the  world,— 
Though  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behind 
The  veils  of  his  bright  Palace  calm  reclm'd, 
Yet  brook'd  he  not  si.ch  blasphemy  should  staJD, 
Thus  unreveng'd,  the  evening  of  his  reign  ; 
Bui,  having  sworn  upon  ihe  holy  grave  6 
To  conquer  or  tn  ptrish,  once  mnie  gave 
His  shadowy  banners  proudly  to  the  breeze, 
And  with  an  army,  nurs'd  in  vc'ories, 
Herest.nds  lo  ctu^h  the  rebels  that  o'er-run 
His  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the  march  of  Mahadi  disptaj^ 
Sncti  pomp  before; — not  ev'n  when  on  his  way 
To  Mecca  s  lem|tle,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  spoil'd  to  feed  the  Pilgrim  s  luxury  ;1 
When  round  him,  mid  the  burning  sands,  be  saw 
Frui's  of  Ihe  North  in  icy  ftealmess  ihaw. 
And  coolM  his  Ihirs'y  lip,  beneath  the  glow 
Of  Mecca's  sun,  wiih  urns  of  Pcr^^ian  8n'>w:t— . 
Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  gr^nd  than  tluit 
pour  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  Caliphat. 
First,  in  the  van,  the  People  of  ihe  R"Ck,» 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  rojal  stock:  *** 


Then  chieftains  of  Damascus,  proud  to  see 
The  flashing  of  their  swords'  rich  marquetry :  «»^ 
Men,  from  Ihe  legions  near  the  Volga's  mouth, 
Mix'd  with  the  rude,  black  archers  of  the  South  J 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  while-turb-in'd  ranks. 
From  the  far  Sinde,  or  AUock's  sacred  banks, 
Wiih  dusky  legions  from  the  Land  of  Myrrh,*^ 
And  many  a  mace-arm'd  Moor  ar.d  Mid  sea  islander. 

Nor  less  in  number,  though  more  new  and  rude 
In  warfare's  school,  was  the  vast  multitude 
Thai,  tit'd  by  zeal,  or  by  oppression  wrong'd. 
Round  the  white  standard  of  the"  impostor  thronged. 
BesiJe  his  thousand  of  Believers—  blind. 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind  — 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
'I'he  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel, 
Flock'd  to  his  banner;—  Chiefs"of  the'  Uzbek  race, 
Waving  their  heron  ciests  wirh  niarlial  grace;  43 
Turkomans,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  forih 
From  the'  aromalic  pastures  if  the  nirlh  ; 
Wild  warrinrs  or  the  turquoise  hill-jM  —  and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  ihe  everlasting  snows 
(»f  Hindoo  Kosli.^s  in  stormy  ffeedom  bred. 
Their  fort  the  rock,  their  camp  the  torieni's  bed. 
But  none,  of  all  who  own'd  the  Chiefs  command, 
Rush'd  to  that  battle-field  with  bolder  hand, 
Or  steri^er  hate,  than  Iran's  oulaw'd  men, 
Her  Worshippers  of  Fire  »6  _  all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  the'  accursed  Saracen  ; 
Vengeance  at  last  for  their  dear  country  spurn'd. 
Her  throne  usurp'd.  and  her  bright  shrint-s  o'ertum*d. 
From  Yezd'^n  eiernal  Mansionnf  the  Fire, 
Where  aged  sainis  in  dreams  of  Heiv'n  expire: 
From  Badku,  and  those  fountains  of  blue  flame 
'I  hat  burn  into  the  Caspian. *8  fierce  they  came, 
Carele-s  for  what  or  whom  the  blow  was  >ped. 
So  vengeance  trmmph'd,  and  Iheir  tyrants  bled. 

Such  was  the  wild  and  miscellaneous  host, 
That  high  in  air  their  motley  banners  tost 


»  A  na'ive  nf  Khotassan.  and  allured  southward  by 
means  of  Ihe  wa-er  of  a  fountain  between  Shiraz  and 
Ispahan,  railed  the  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  which  it  is 
so  fond  that  it  will  follow  wherever  that  waier  is 
carried. 

^  "  Some  of  the  camels  have  bells  about  their  necks, 
and  some  about  their  legs,  like  those  which  our  car. 
riers  put  about  their  fnre  horses*  necks,  which  together 
with  the  servants  (who  belong  to  the  camels,  and  tra- 
vel on  foot,)  singing  all  night,  make  a  pleasant  noiae, 
and  the  journey  parses  away  delightfully."  — yiK's 
Account  of  the  Mahometans. 

"The  camel-driver  follows  the  camels  singing,  and 
sometimes  playing  upon  his  pipe  ;  the  louder  he  sings 
and  pipes,  ihe  faster  the  camels  go.  Nay.  Ihey  will 
stand  slill  when  he  gives  over  his  music"— TViucniKr. 

3  *'  This  trumpet  is  often  called,  in  AbvsMnia,  nesser 
rano,  which  signifies  the  Note  of  the  Kngle."  —  A'oie 
of  Brucc^s  Editor, 

*  The  two  black  standards  borne  before  the  Caliphs 
of  tlie  House  of  Abbas  were  called,  allegorically,  The 
Nighl  and  the  Shaduw.  —  See  Gibbon. 

fi  The  Mahometan  religion. 

6  "The  Persians  swear  by  the  Tomb  of  Shah  Be- 
sade,  who  is  buried  at  Casbin  ;  and  when  r.ne  desires 
annther  to  assevera'e  a  matter,  he  will  ask  him,  if  he 
dare  swear  by  Ihe  Holy  Grave."—  Stiiiy. 

^  Mahadi.  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  ex- 
pended fix  millionsof  dinars  of  gold. 

8  Nivem  Meccani  apportavil,  rem  ibi  aut  nunquani 
aut  raro  visam.  —  Aixdjcda. 

»  The  inhabitants  of  Hejaz  or  Arabia  Petrjea,  called 


L=^ 


10  '*Those  hnrses.  called  by  the  Arabians  Kochlani, 
of  whom  a  written  genealogy  has  been  kept  for  2000 
years.  They  are  said  to  derive  their  origin  from  King 
Solomon's  steeds."  —  Nielnihr, 

i»  *■  Many  of  the  figures  on  the  blades  of  Iheir 
swords  are  wrought  in  gold  or  silver,  or  in  marquetry 
with  small  gems.'' — ^siat.  Misc.  v.  i. 

>  -  Azab  or  Saba. 

13  "  The  chiefs  of  Ihe  Uzbek  Tartars  wear  a  plume 
of  white  heron's  feathers  in  their  turbans."— «3ccount 
of  Indejpendent  Tartary. 

»*  In  the  mountains  of  Nishapour  and  Tous  (in 
Khorassan)  they  find  turquoises.  — Ebn  Haukal. 

>i  For  a  description  of  these  stupendous  ranges  of 
mountains,  see  Elphinstone*s  CaubuL 

16  The  Ghebers  or  Guebres,  those  original  natives 
of  Persia,  who  adhered  to  their  ancient  faith,  the 
religion  of  Zoroaster,  and  who,  after  Ihe  conquest  of 
their  country  by  Ihe  Arabs,  were  either  persecuted  at 
home,  or  forced  to  become  wanderers  abroad. 

It  *»  Yezd,  the  chief  residence  of  those  ancient  na 
tives,  who  worship  Ihe  Sun  and  the  Fire,  which  Ut* 
ler  Ihey  have  cartfully  kept  lighted,  without  being 
once  exlinguished  f'>r  a  mnmen',  about  3000  years,  ou 
a  mountain  near  Yezd,  called  Ater  Quedah,  signifying 
the  House  or  Mansion  of  the  Fire.  He  is  reckoned 
very  unfnrfunale  who  dies  off  that  Diountain.  —Ste- 
phen's Persia. 

i»  *' When  th^  weaihrr  ishazy.  the  springs  of  Naph 
Ihi  (on  an  island  near-  Baku)  boil  up  the  hig-her,  and 
(he  Naphtha  often  lakes  fire  on  the  surface  of  Ihe 
earlh,  and  runs  in  a  flame  inio  the  sea  to  a  distance 
almost  incredible."- //anway  07*  the  EverloBting 
Fire  at  Baku. 


VEILED   PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN. 


2G9  ■ 


Around  the  Prophet  Chief — all  eves  slill  bent 
Upon  Ihat  glilleiin^  Vci:.  where'er  il  wecil, 
Tha(  beaccii]  Ihniugh  the  badle's  slurniy  tiond, 
'i''ut  raiiibnw  of    the  Held,  wliuie    biiuwers  were 
bluud  ! 

Twice  hatli  the  sun  upon  their  conflict  set, 
Alli  risen  as^iiti,  and  i  Uiid  ttiem  gtapplii  g  yet ; 
WJiile  streams  of  cainage  in  his  noontide  blaze, 
.Sni  )ke  u[)  lo  lleav'n  —  hot  as  that  crimson  haze, 
liy  which  llie  proslra  e  Caiavan  is  aw'd.i 
In  llie  red  Desert,  when  the  wind  's  abioad. 
*'  On,  buords  of  God  !"  the  panting  Caliph  calls, — 
*' Thioiies    for    the   living  —  Heav'u    for    him   wlio 

falls!"  — 
"On,  brave  avengers,  on,"  Mokanna  cries, 
*' And  Kblis  bias'  the  recreant  slave  tliat  niesl" 
Now  conies  the  brunt,  ttie  crisis  ot  the  day  — 
'riiey  clash  —  they  strive  —  the  Caliph's  troops  give 

way  1 
Mokannas  self  plucks  the  black  Banner  down, 
And  now  the  (Jrieiit  Wudd's  Imperial  crown 
Is  just  within  his  gra-p  —  when,  hark,  thai  shout! 
Some  hand  ImIIi  check'd  the  thing  Mo-leni's  r„ut; 
And  now  they  turn,  they  rally— at  their  head 
A  wairior.  (like  rhose  angel  ynii  hs  who  led, 
In  glorious  panoply  of  [leaven's  own  mail. 
■I'he  Chainpimrs  of  the  Kjitli  through  Bcdei's  vale,*) 
Bold  as  It  gifted  with  ten  thousand  lives, 
Turns  im  the  fierce  pursuers'  blades,  and  drives 
Al  once  the  niulliludiiious  torrent  back  — 
While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  his  track  ; 
And,  at  each  slep,  his  bloody  falchion  makes 
Terrible  vistas  ihrough  which  victoiy  breaks! 
In  vain  Mokanna,  midst  ttie  general  (light, 
Stands,  like  the  red  moon,  on  lome  stormy  night, 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds  that,  hurrying  by, 
Leave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  sky  — 
In  vain  he  yells  his  desperare  curses  out. 
Deals  death  pronii-cuonsly  to  a  1  about. 
To  foes  that  charge  and  coward  friends  that  fly, 
And  seems  ot  all  ihc  Gteat  Arch-eiremy. 
The  panic  spreads —  "  A  miracle  I"  throughout 
The  Moslem  ranks,  "a  miracle  I"  they  shout. 
All  gazing  on  Ihal  you  h,  wlio-e  coming  seenis 
A  light,  a  glorv,  such  as  breaks  ill  dreams  : 
And  eveiy  s.Miid.  true  as  o'er  bill. .w,  dun 
The  needle  tracks  llie  lode-star,  following  him  ! 

Right  low'ids  M  ikanna  now  he  cleaves  his  path, 
Impilient  cleaves,  a,  Ihongli  the  bolt  of  wrath 
He  bears  from  Heav'n  wi  hheld  its  awful  bur-t 
Kroni  weaker  heads,  and  smls  but  halt-way  curst. 
To  break  o'er  Hun,  the  mightiest  ard  the  worst  ! 
But  vain  his  speed  —  tlinush,  in  tli.it  hr.ur  of  blood. 
Had  all  tiod's  seraphs  round  Mnkanna  stood, 
With  swords  of  fire,  reidy  like  fate  to  fall, 
Mokanna's  soul  would  havedelied  them  all, 
Yet  now,  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong 
For  human  force,  hurries  ev'n  liim  along  ; 
In  vain  he  .-Irugsles  'mid  the  weJg'd  array 
Uf  flying  thousands  —  he  is  bmne  away  ; 
And  the  sole  Joy  his  battled  spirit  knows. 
In  this  lorcd  tliglit,  is  —  murdering  as  he  goes! 
As  a  griiii  tiger,  whom  the  torient's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parcb'd  ravine  a;  night. 


«  Sanary  8  rys  of  the  south  wind,  which  blows  in 
Fgypt  from  February  ro  Mav,  *-Sonie!iines  it  appears 
only  in  the  shape  of  an  impetuous  whirlwind,  which 
iiasses  rapidly,  and  i^  fa  al  to  the  traveller,  surprised 
in  the  middle  of  the  deserts.  Toi  rents  of  burning  sand 
mil  before  it,  the  flrniiment  is  enveloped  in  a  thick 
veil,  and  the  sun  appca  s  of  the  c  lour  of  blood. 
Sometimes  whole  ca'avans  are  buried  in  it." 

•i  In  the  great  vicrory  gained  by  Mahomed  at  Reder, 
he  was  assisted,  say  the  Mu-.suliiMns,  by  ihree  thou- 
sand angel.",  led  by  Gabriel,  niounled  on  Iris  horse 
H  az  rm. — See  The  Kuran  and  ill  Commmtatins. 

23* 


I  Turns,  ev'n  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  Hocks, 
Swept  vt'iih  him  in  Ihal  snow-flood  from  the  rocks 
And,  10  the  last,  devouring  on  his  way. 
Bloodies  the  stream  he  hath  not  power  to  shay, 

"Alia  ilia  Alia !"— the  glad  shout  renew  — 
"  All.i  AkL.ar!"a  — the  Caliphs  in  Merou. 
Hang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets. 
And  light  yonr  shriins  and  chaunt  your  ziraleets  4 
The  Swords  of  God  have  triumph'd  —  on  his  throne 
Your  Caliph  sits,  and  the  veii'd  Chief  halli  fiowu. 
Who  does  not  envy  that  young  wariior  now, 
lo  whom  the  Lord  of  Isl  ni  bend,  his  brow, 
In  all  the  giaceful  gratilude  of  power. 
For  his  ttirone's  satety  in  that  perilous  hour? 
Who  dolh  n  t  wonder,  when,  amidst  the'  acclaim 
Of  tlmnsand',  heralding  to  heaven  his  name  — 
'Mid  all  those  holier  harmonies  of  fame. 
Which  sound  along  rhe  p.illi  of  Virtuous  souls, 
Like  music  round  a  ptaiiei  as  ii  ndls.— 
He  trims  awav  —  coldly,  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  hisheart  no  iriumphs  can  illLme;  — 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whoe  blasted  gaze 
Though  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  il'plays. 
Ves,  wretclnd  Azini  1  thine  is  such  a  grief, 
Deyond  a  1  hope,  all  tenor,  all  relief; 
A  dark,  cnld  c  Ini,  which  nolhing  now  can  break, 
(ir  warm  or  hrighen,—  like  that  Syrian  Lake,' 
Upon  whose  surface  morn  and  suininer  shed 
■|  heir  smiles  in  vaiir,  frail  beneath  is  dead  !  — 
Hearts  Iheie  have  been,  o'er  w  hich  this  weight  of  woe 
Came  by  long  uve  of  sutiermg,  tame  and  slow  j 
But  thine,  lost  youth  '.  was  sudden  — over  thee 
Ir  brnke  at  once,  when  all  seernd  ersasv  ; 
When  Hope  lookd  up,  and  saw  the  gloo'my  Past 
Melt  into  splendour,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last  — 
'1'  was  then,  ev'n  then,  o'er  joys  so  freshly  blown, 
Ihismoilal  blight  of  misery  came  down; 
Ev'n  ihen,  ihc  full,  warm  giishings  of  tin  heart 
Were  check'd  -  like  fount-drops,  frozen  as  they  start — 
And  there,  like  Iheni,  cM.  ^unless  relics  hang. 
Each  fix'd  and  chiU'd  into  a  lasting  pang. 

One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains 
To  keep  life  s  lever  slill  within  his  veins, 
Vengeance  1— dire  ver.gearrce  on  the  wretch  who  cast 
O'er  him  ar  d  all  he  lov'd  th.il  ruirr.rus  blast. 
For  this,  when  rumours  reach'd  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  f.ir  away,  afler  that  fatal  iiighr,— 
Humour-,  ot  armies,  thronging  to  the'  attack 
Of  rhe  Veii'd  Chief,—  for  this  he  wing'd  him  back, 
Fleet  as  ihe  vulture  speeds  ro  flags  unfuii'd. 
And,  when  all  hope  seeni'd  dep'iate,  wildly  liurPd 
Himself  into  the  scale,  and  sav'd  a  world. 
For  Ibis  he  still  Irvis  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  th  it  Gloiy  on  his  path  lets  fall ; 
For  ihis  a. one  exists  —  like  liglitning-fire. 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire  I 

But  safe  as  yet  that  Spirit  of  Evil  lives  ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desperale  lugilives. 
The  1  .St  sole  slubbnrn  fi.agmeiit,  letl  uiiriven. 
Of  the  prond  hr.s'  that  late  slood  (routing  Heaven, 
He  gain'd  Merou  —  hieatli'd  a  short  ci.ise  of  blood 
O'er  Ills  los'  throne  — then  pass'd  tlieJilion's  flood,* 
And  ga'hering  ail,  whose  madness  of  belief 
Still  ^aw  a  Saviour  in  their  down-fall'n  (  hief, 
Rais'd  the  white  banner  within  NeksI.eb's  ga'es,' 
And  ;here,uutjin'd,  lhe'appio.iching conqueror  waits. 

3TheTecbir  orcry  of  the  Arabs.  "Alia  Acbar!" 
sa\s  Ockley,  means,  "God  is  most  mighty." 

«  The  ziraleet  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  vi-bich  the 
women  of  the  East  sing  upon  joytul  occasions. — 
lims.l. 

8  The  Dead  Sea,  which  contains  neither  animal  nor 
vegftalile  life. 

6  The  ancient  Oxus. 

1  A  city  of  Transoxiana. 


270 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Of  all  his  Haram,  all  that  biuy  hive, 
With  nm-^ic  and  wiih  sweels  sparkling  alive, 
He  took  bill  one,  the  i)ai  li  er  nt"  his  fliglit, 
One— nolfdr  |nve— not  f-r  he-  beautyMight  — 
N",  Zflica  stond  witheriitg  midsi  the  gay, 
W  III  as  ihit  blns=oin  tha'  fell  \eslenlay 
From  ihe' Alma  tiee  and  .lies;  while  overhead 
To-d.-iv's  vime  fl  pwer  is  springiri?  in  lis  stead. i 
Oh,  iin'  tnr  Inve  —  the  deepest  Dnnu'd  must  be 
I'UichM  with  Heaven'' glory,  ere  such  fiends  33  he 
Can  I--.;!  one  Klunp-anf  Lwe'a  divinity. 
But  no.  <he  is  hts  victim  ;  —  r/itrc  lie  all 
Her  charms  (or  him  ~  charms  that  cm  never  pall, 
As  iDng  as  htll  iviihin  his  hea.t  can  stir, 
Or  trie  faint  trace  of  Heaven  i-.  left  in  her. 
I "o  work  -iti  angel's  ruin,—  In  behold 
As  whi  e  a  p^^e  as  Virtue  e'er  unroll'd 
Rlicketi.  beneath  his  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  daniiiiiig  sins,  seal'd  wi  h  a  burning  sou!  — 
This  is  his  irinniph  ;  ihis  tlie  joy  acLursi, 
That  ranks  biin  among  demons  all  but  first: 
This  selves  the  victim,  that  beloie  him  lies 
Blighted  nnd  Inst,  a  glorv  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  like  that  wi-h  which  hell-fire  illumps 
The  ghastly,  wrilhiiig  wretch  whom  it  consumes  ! 

But  other  tasks  now  wait  him  —tasks  thit  need 
All  ihe  deep  daringiiess  "f  thought  and  deed 
With  which  the  Dives'*  have  giffed  him  — fornnrk, 
Over  ynn  plains,  which  night  had  else  nnde  daik, 
'Ihose  Unterns,  c  uiitless  as  the  winged  ligh  s 
That  S|.an-1.  1  .da's  fields  on  showery  nights,3  — 
Far  as  their  to  <ni  lahle  gleams  they  shed, 
Ihe  mighty  tei  t.  of  the  Lieleaguerer  spreid, 
Glimmering  a  nug  the'  horizon's  dusky  line, 
And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  (hey  shine 
Among  thtf  founts  and  gr  'ves  o'er  which  the  town 
In  all  its  arm'd  magnificence  jnoks  down, 
Vei,  fearless,  from  his  1  -fry  battlements 
Mokanna  ViCws  that  mnltiiude  of  tents; 
Nsy,  smiles  to  think  Iha',  though  enloii'd,  beset, 
Not  less  than  myriads  dare  o  f ■  om  him  yel ;  — 
That  friendless,  throneless,  he  thus  s'and-  at  b.iy, 
Ev'n  thus  a  ma  ch  for  niyriad?  sncli  as  they. 
"Oh,  f-rasweepof  ihat  daik  Angel's  wmg, 
"  Wh'i  brush'd  ihe  thousuids  of  the'  Assyrian  King  * 
"To  darkness  in  a  moment,  that  I  nnghi 
"People  Hell's  cli:imb<r>  with  yon  host  to-night ! 
"  Bu'.  come  what  may,  let  who  will  grasfi  the  throne, 
"  Caliph  or  Ptophel,  man  alike  shall  gnan  ; 
"Let  who  will  toriure  him,  Prie't-Cliph— King— 
"Alike  this  loathsome  wmid  of  his  shilJ  ring 
"  VVi:h  victims' shiieks  and  ho^lin^s  of  the  shve,— 
"Sounds,  tliat  shall  glad  me  ev'n  within  my  grave!" 
Thus,  (o  himself—  but  to  the  scanty  train 
Still  left  around  him,  a  fu  diffeieii-  strain:  — 
"Glnrious  Defenders  nf  the  sacred  Ciown 
"I   bear  from  Heav'u,  whose  light  nor  blood  shall 

drown 
"  Nor  shadow  of  earth  eclipse  ;  —  before  whose  gems 
"  The  paly  pomp  of  ihis  world's  diadem^, 
"The  crown  of  Gerashid.  thepillarM  throne 
"Of  Parvi7.,s  and  the  her.)ii  crest  thai  sh"ne,6 


I  "You  never  can  cast  your  eyes  on  iJiis  tree,  but 
you  meet  there  either  blossnms  ^r  fruit  ;  and  as  the 
blossom  drops  underneath  on  the  cround  (whch  is 
frequently  covered  with  these  pmple-C'ldured  flow- 
ers), others  come  forth  in  their  stead,"  &.c.  &c.— 
Nttuhnjf. 

^  The  Demons  of  the  Persian  mythology. 

3  Carreii  mentions  the  tirellies  in  India  during  Ihe 
rainy  s-^aso.i.-  See  his  Travels. 

4  Sennacher.b.  called  by  the  Orientals  King  of 
Moussal  — VHerUiot 

*  Chosroes.  For  the  de'icriptinn  of  his  Throne  or 
Pal.ce,  set;  Gibbon  and  1)  IhtUlat. 

There  weie  said  to  he  under  this  Thrnne  or  PWace 
of  Khosnu  Paiviz  ;i  hundred  vaults  filled  with  "  trea- 
sures so  immense  Ihat  some  Mahometan  writers  tell 


"  Magnificent,  o'er  Alj's  beauteous  eyes,' 
"  Fade  like  the  stars  when  mum  is  in  the  sties  : 
•'  Warriors,  rejoice  — the  port  lo  ^^hich  we've  pass's 
•'  O'er  Destiny's  dark  wa^**  beams  out  at  last ! 
"  Vicli.ry's  our  owij  —  't .-  written  in  that  Book 
*Upon  \*  hose  leaves  none  but  ihe  angels  lonk, 
"  Ih  it  Islam's  bceplie  shall  beneath  'he  power 
"Of  tier  great  foe  lall  broken  in  H.al  hour, 
*'  VVhen  the  moon's  mighly  orb,  before  all  eyes, 
"  Frniii  Neksheb's  Holy  Well  portentously  shall  rise! 

"  Now  turn  and  see  I" 

Tfiey  turn'd,  and,  as  he  spoka 
A  suilden  splendour  all  ar  uiid  them  broke, 
And  ihty  beheld  an  orb.  ample  anri  bright. 
Rise  from  Ilie  H"ly  VVell,^  and  cist  its  light 
Hound  Ihe  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles,"  — 
Fung  n^  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 
Of  ma  y  ad  me  and  fair-roof "d  imaret 
As  aut   inn  suns  ^hed  round  Ihem  when  they  set. 
Instant  from  ill  who  saw  the'  idusive  ^ign 
A  murmur  broke  —  "  Miraculous  I  divine  i'* 
The  Gheher  bow'd,  thinking  his  idol  star 
H.d  wak'd  and  burW  impatient  ihrough  the  bar 
'be  war  J 
,  in  that  ray. 
The  glorious  Li^ht  which,  m  his  freedom's  day, 
Had  rested  on  the  Ark,io  and  now  ngain 
Shone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  liis  chain. 

"  To  victo-y !"  is  a'  once  Ihe  cry  of  all  — 
Nor  sta.,ds  Mokanna  loitering  at  that  call ; 
Hut  ihsl  uit  the  huge  gates  are  fiui.g  aside, 
And  fnitli.  like  .i  diminutive  inounain-ude 
Into  the  boundle>s  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Right  on  ino  ihe  McsIliu's  iiiigh  y  force. 
The  waichmen  d  i  he  camp,—  w  ho,  in  their  rounds, 
Had  pausd.  ani  ev'n  forgo-  ihe  punctual  sounds 
Of  the  small  drum  with  whxh  they  count  the  uight,i» 
To  gaze  upon  ihat  supernatural  light,- 
Now  sink  beneath  an  unexpecletl  arm, 
And  in  a  de  Mh-groan  give  their  last  ahrm. 
"  On  lor  'he  lamps,  that  light  )on  l»fty  screen, »* 
"  Nor  blunt  your  blades  wnh  nussacre  so  mean; 


us.  their  Prophet,  to  encourage  his  disciples,  carried 
them  to  a  rock,  which  at  his  c-mm-ind  opened,  and 
gave  them  a  pro'-ped  through  it  of  the  treasures  of 
Kho^rou."— C/»iucr*aZ  HutoJ-y. 

6  *•  The  crown  of  Gerashid  is  cloudy  and  tarnished 
before  the  htmn  tuft  of  ihy  turban."—  From  one  of  the 
elegies  or  songs  in  praise  of  All,  written  m  characters 
of  gold  round  ihe  gallery  of  Abbas^  tomb.— See  Char- 
din. 

1  The  beauty  of  Ali's  eyes  was  so  remarkable,  that 
whenever  the  Persians  would  de-cribe  anything  as 
ve  y  lovely,  they  say  it  is  Ayn  Hali,  or  the  Eyes  of 
AW.— C/uLrdin. 

8  We  are  not  told  more  of  this  trick  of  the  Imprsfnr, 
thtn  that  it  w^s  '  une  machine,  qi.'il  disnit  etre  la 
Lune.'*  Accordi'g  lo  Richardson,  the  miracle  is  per- 
petuated in  Nekscli  b.—"Nak>hab,  the  name  of  .icily 
in  Tnnsoxi.inia,  where  they  say  there  is  a  well,  in 
which  the  appeatance  of  the  moon  is  lo  be  seen  uight 
and  day." 

9  "  II  amusa  pendant  deux  mois  le  peuplede  a  villc 
de  Nekhscheb.en  faisant  soriir  toules  les  nuitsdu  fond 
d'un  puils  un  CTps  lumineux  semhlable  a  Lune,  qui 
portoii  sa  lumiere  jusqu'a  la  distance  de  pinsieurs 
milles  " — DHerbelot.  Hence  he  was  called  Sazen* 
dehmah,  or  the  Moon-maker. 

10  The  Shechinah,  called  Sakinat  in  Ihe  Koran.— 
See  Sates  Nutr^  cha|».  ii. 

1'  The  pnrts  of  Ihe  night  are  made  known  as  well 
by  inslrnmeids  of  music,  as  by  the  rou.  ds  if  the  watch- 
men wj'h  cries  aid  smtll  drums.  —  See  i'urt/er'ji  Ori- 
eiital  Customs^  vol,  i.  p.  119. 

i*i  The  Serriipurda,  high  screens  of  red  cloth,  stiff- 
ened Willi  cane,  usud  to  encio  e  a  considerable  spacB 
round  the  royal  tents.— ?/o(es  o»i  llie,  BahardanuM. 


VEILED   PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN, 


271 


"  There  rests  the  Caliph — speed  — one  lucky  lance 

"  May  ii.ivv  achieve  ii.aT.kitul's  Ji  liverance." 

Despertle  he  die  —  ^uch  as  'hey  nmy  cast, 

Who  veil  vL-e  f  r  a  wnrld.  and  st-ikc  tlieir  last 

But  I'ae'a  J11  longer  with  him— ba<Je  for  blade 

S[)iiiit?8  up  lo  meet  them  thro*  the  glimmering  shade, 

And  as  Hie  clash  is  heard,  new  Iea:ir)ri-.  snoii 

Pnur  to  liie  s|/oI,  like  bees  of  Kaiizcrcon  » 

To  the  shrill  linibrel's  S'lmmnns  —  lill,  at  length, 

The  mighty  camp  swainia  out  infill  it,  streiiglh, 

And  b.ick  ">  Neksliebs  na  es,  coverine:  the  plain 

Wi  h  lan-iom  s'aushter,  drives  'he'  adventurous  train  j 

Ainon^  the  last  nf  wh    in  the  Silver  Veil 

Is  seen  glutenne  At  limes,  like  the  white  sail 

Of  vMine  ln5>M  vessel,  on  a  stormy  night. 

Catching  llie  leiiipes>'$  momentary  light  f 

And  ha'h  not  thuf  brought  the  pmud  spiiit  low  ? 
Nor  dasird  his  biow,  nor  check'd  his  daring?    No. 
Though  half  the  wre'clies,  whom  at  night  he  led 
To  throne?  and  viciory,  lie  di^grac  d  and  deid, 
Yet  morning  hear^  him  with  unshrinking  cre»', 
Still  vaunt  of  thn.ne-',  and  v  dory  to  ihe  rest ; — 
And  they  believe  him  !  —  nh,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  tha'  look  which  stetis  his  sout  away  ; — 
The  bal>e  may  cease  to  ihiuk  that  it  ciin  play 
With  Heaven^  rnnbow;—  alcliymi-ila  may  doubt 
I  he  shilling  gold  their  crucible  gives  nut ; 
But  Kaith.  fanatic  Faith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  si'me  dear  falsehood,  hugi  it  (o  the  last. 

And  well  the'  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  art» 
That  Lucifer  e'er  taught  to  tangle  heaits; 
N  T,  mid  ihese  Us'  bold  workings  of  bis  plot 
Against  men's  souls  is  Zelici  furgot. 
lli-fa'ed  Zeltca  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  Ihroujih  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  »t  was  not  so —  a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought,  almost  of  life,  c»me  o*er  the  intense 
And  pa  siomie  sruggles  of  rh.it  fearfnl  night, 
When  her  last  hnpe  of  peace  and  hev'n  took  flight: 
And  though,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  frenzy  broke,— 
As  through  s'ime  dull  volcano's  veil  of  sni'ke 
Ominous  flrishings  now  and  then  wil  start. 
Which  show  the  hre 's  >t.li  b  sy  al  its  heart ; 
Yet  was  she  mostly  wrappd  in  solemn  gloom,— 
Not  such  ns  Azini's,  brooding  o'er  i"s  doom, 
And  calm  withont.  as  is  the  brow  of  deaih, 
\Vhile  bu-y  worms  are  gnawing  undernea  h  — 
Rul  in  a  blank  and  pulsele  n  torpor,  fiee 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  sealM-up  apathy, 
Which  leH  her  oft,  with  scirce  one  living  thrill, 
The  cold,  pale  victim  of  her  torturer's  will. 

Again,  as  in  Merou,  he  had  her  deck'd 
Gorgeou-ly  out,  the  Priestess  of  the  sect ; 
And  led  her  glittering  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  rude  tr^in,  as  to  a  sacrifice,— 
Pallid  as  slie,  the  young,  devoted  Bride 
Of  the  fierce  Nile,  when,  deck'd  in  all  the  pride 
Of  nuptial  pomp,  she  sinks  into  his  tide.* 
And  while  the  wretched  maid  hung  down  her  head. 
And  stood,  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dftad. 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  fietid  would  tell 


His  credulou 


1  or  spi 


Posse-s'd  her  now, —  and  from  that  darkenM  trance 
Should  dawn  ere  hmg  iheir  Kai'h  9  dt-hveiance. 
Or  if.  at  times,  goadtxi  by  guilty  sh.ime, 

sonl  was  rons'd,aiid  words  of  wiidness  came, 
Jr.s'ani  the  bold  bia-phemer  wruld  ir.uisiate 
Her  lavings  into  oracles  of  fat* . 
Would  hail  Heav',.'s  signals  in  her  Ha-hing  eyes, 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skits! 

But  vain  at  length  his  arts — despair  is  seen 
Gathering  around  ;  and  famine  cornea  lo  glean 
All  that  the  swi.'id  had  left  unreap'd  :—  in  vain 
At  morn  and  eve  acro>s  the  nor'hetn  jilaiii 
He  looks  impa'ien!  for  the  [iromis'd  speara 
Of  the  wild  Hordes  and  Tartar  mountaineers; 
They  ciinc  not —  «  bile  his  fierce  beh-aguercrs  poll 
Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before, 3 
And  horrible  as  new  ;  ■*  javelins,  tl  at  fly 
Enwieath'd  with  smoky  Hames  rhtough  the  dark  sky, 
And  red-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mount, 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Naphtha  fount, & 


3  Tha'   they  knew  the 

among  the  Mussulmans  e  1: 

appear:)  from  Dowh  Acc-i, 

arrived  at  Moultan,  hni 


The  ten's  of  Princes  were  generally  illuminated. 
Norden  tells  us  that  the  tent  of  the  Bey  of  Girge  was 
distinguished  from  the  other  tents  by  forty  lanterns 
being  -uspended  before  it.— See  llarmerh  Observations 
on  Job. 

*  "From  the  groves  nf  orange  Iree'^  at  KanZProon 
the  bees  cull  a  celebrated  honey  ^^—Morier\t  Travels. 

*  "A  cu,lom  s'ill  subsls'ing  at  this  day,  seems  to 
me  to  prove  that  the  Egyptians  fornrerly  sacrificed  a 
young  virgin  to  the  God  of  (he  Nde;  (V>r  they  now 
make  a  st.tue  of  eiMh  in  shspe  r.f  a  girl,  to  which 
they  give  the  name  of  the  Betrothed  Rnde,  and  throw 
it  into  Ibe  river."  — Sarary. 


secret  of  the  Greek  fire 
■ly  in  ihe  eleventh  century, 
nt  of  .Manio.d  I.  ''When 
ling  that  the  coun'ry  of  th* 
Jits  was  defended  by  great  rivers,  he  ordered  fiftecr 
hundred  boats  to  be  built,  each  of  which  he  armed 
with  six  iron  spikes  projecting  from  tiieir  prows  ana 
Bides,  to  prevent  the.r  being  boarded  by  the  enemy, 
who  were  vety  ex|ierl  in  thai  kind  of  war.  When  ht. 
hnd  launched  ihis  fli-et,  he  ordered  twenty  aicliers 
into  e.nch  boat,  and  five  others  with  fire-b,»lls,  to  burn 
the  craft  of  the  Jils,  and  naphtha  to  set  the  whole 
river  on  fire." 

The  atrnec  aster,  tn^,  in  Indian  poems  the  Instru 
ment  of  Fire,  whose  flanie  cannot  be  extinguished,  i& 
supposed  to  signify  the  Greek  Fire.— See  IVilks'^S-  utb 
of  India,  vol.  i.  p.  471.— And  in  (hecuiions  J.iv-i 
poem,  the    Jirata   Yvdha  given   by   .Vir    Stamfoi 
Jiaffles  in  his  History  of  Jav.,  we  find,  '■  He  amu 
at  ihe  heart  of  Soeta  with  the  sharp-pointed  WeapoD 
of  Fire." 

The  mention  of  gunpowder  as   in   use  among  Ihe 
Arabians,  long  before  its  sn|ipo^ed  discovery  in  Eu- 
rope, is  in'rod'icf-d  by  Ebn  Fadhl^  the  Egyp  iari  e 
gra|ther,whnli\ed  in  the  thirleei.tli  century.  *•  Bodi( 
I  he  says,  '•  in  the  form  of  scorpions,  bound  round  anc« 
filled    wi'h  nitrous  powder,  glide  along,  maki' 
gentle  noise;    then,  exploding,   they   lighten,  ai 
were,  and   burn.     But  there  are  others  which,  ca-( 
into  the  air,  stre'ch  along  like  a  cloud,  roaring  hon ' 
biy,  as  thunder  roars,  and  on   all  sides  vfimitiny  0. 
flames,  bnr>t.  burn,  and  reduce  to  cinders  whalew 
comes  in  Iheir  way."     The  historian  Bot  Jlbdalla^  i 
speaking  of  the  sieses  of  Abulualid  in  Itie  yeir  of  lY, 
Hegira  712,  savs,  "A  fiery  gb  be,  by  means  of  conibn 
tible  matter,  vvi'h  a  mighty  n-iise  suddenly  emitttil, 
strikes  with  the  f>rce  of  lighining    and  shakes  the 
citadel."  — See  the  fxlracrs   from  Cn-viVPs   Biblioih. 
Ar.ib.  Hispan.  in  the  Appendix  lo  JitriiigtcnVn  Lite- 
rary History  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

*  The  Greek  fire,  which  was  occasinnaHv  lent  hy 
the  emperors  to  their  allies.  "It  «as."  savs  Gibbon 
"  either  launched  in  red-hot  b.ills  of  stone  and  iron,  o: 
darted  in  arrows  and  javelins,  twisted  lound  with  tiax 
and  tow,  which  had  deeply  imbibed  the  inflammable 
oil,'' 

5  See  Hmnvntfs  Account  of  the  Sprinss  of  Naph- 
tha at  Baku  (which  is  called  by  Liciitennnt  Potthifur 
Joala  Mookee,  or.  the  Flaming  Mouih,)  taking  fiie 
and  running  into  the  se^.  JDr.  Covkc,  in  his  Journal, 
mentions  some  wells  in  Circas-'ia,  strongly  impreg- 
nated wi  h  this  inflammable  oil,  from  v^tiich  issu<i3 
boiling  wafer.  •*  Tho  igh  the  weather.*'  he  adds, 
*' was  now  very  cold,  the  warmlh  nf  these  wells  ■  f  1 
hot  water  produced  near  them  the  verdure  and  fio%vers 
of  spring." 

Major  Scott  Ifann.g"  says,  (hat  naph'ha  is  used  hy 
the  Persians,  as  we  are  told  it  was  in  hett,  for  laijipt.  I 


272 


LALLA    ROOKH, 


Showers  of  con  umin^  fiie  o'er  all  below  ; 
LMoking,  as  ihroi.gh  the'  jlIiiminM  ni-ht  Ihey  go, 
Like  Iho-e  wild  birds  i  rbai  by  ihe  Nhgiaiis  oft, 
At  fcBiivals  of  lire,  uere  -.ent  nloft 
liiio  !he  air,  with  blazing  faints  lied 
To  their  hu^e  "ingx,  ?caiternig  combustion  wide. 
All  iii^hl  Ihe  groans  of  wretches  who  expire, 
In  a^ony,  bent-ath  these  daris  of  tire, 
King  rhiongh  the  ciiy  — while,  descending  o'er 
]  s  shrines  Mid  domes  and  streets  of  sycamore,— 
Its  lone  ba/.iis,  with  ibeir  bnghi  cloihb  of  gold. 
Since  ihe  list  [leaceful  paiceant  lefi  unroilVI,— 
lis  beaiiiei'us  marble  bilbs,  whose  idle  jes 
Now  gush  with  bio  d,— and  iis  tall  minarets, 
'I  hat  la'e  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Oi  the  red  >un,  unliallow'd  by  a  prayer;— 
O'er  each,  in  turn,  the  dreadful  (lame-bolts  fall, 
And  deaih  and  ct>nflat;ration  throughout  all 
The  desolate  ciiy  bold  high  festival  ! 

Mokanna  sees  ihe  world  is  his  no  more  ;— 
One  sfing  at  pariin^,  and  his  grasp  is  o'er. 
*   What  1   drooping  now?" — ibus   wiih  unblushing 

cheek, 
He  h  lis  the  few,  who  yet  can  hear  him  ?peak, 
Of  all  those  famish'd  slaves  around  him  lying, 
And  by  ihe  liijtil  ot  blazing  temples  dying  ; 

What!  — droi.piijg  now?  — now,  when  at  length 
we  press 
•'  Home  o'er  the  very  threshold  of  success ; 
*'  When  Alia  f.oni  our  ranks  h  -tli  thiou'd  away 
'*  Th'  se  grosser  branches,  iha'  kei-t  out  hi^  ray 
»'  Of  favour  from  u^,  and  we  s  a.  d  at  length 
*'  Heirs  of  his  light  and  childien  of  his  s  rength, 
"Thechnsen  few,  «  h^>  shall  survive  the  fall 
"Of  King^  and  Thrones,  triumphant  over  all ! 
"  Have  vou  then  lost,  weak  murrnurers  as  you  are, 
*'A1!  filth  in  him,  who  was  your  Lieht.  your  Star  ? 
*MIave  you  forgor  the  eve  of  glory,  hid 
'  Beneath  this  Veil,  the  flishing  of  whose  lid 
••Could,  like  a  suu-slroke  t,(  the  desert,  wither 
'■  Millions  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  brings  hither? 
'*  Long  have  its  ligtitnings  slept — too  long — but  now 
**  All  eardi  shiU  feel  Ihe'  uDveilmg  of  this  brow  I 
*'  Tn  night  —  yes,  sainted  men  !  this  very  night, 
*'  1  bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festal  rite, 
"  Where  —  having  deep  refreshed  eich  weary  limb 
'*  With  vi  iods,  such  as  feast  Heav'n's  cherubim, 
*' And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim, 
"  Wih  that  pure  wine  the  I)ark-e\'d  Maids  above 
"Keep,  seal'd  with  p:eciou3  musk,  tor  those  they 

love,  2— 
"[  will  myself  uncmlain  in  your  sight 
"  The  wonders  of  this  brows  ineffable  light ; 
'•  'I'lien  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
**  Yon  myriads,  howling  through  the  universe  ;" 

Eager  they  listen  — while  each  accent  darts 
New  life  into  their  chill'd  and  hope.,ick  hearts; 
Such  treacherous  life  as  the  coid  dr..ught  supplies 
'lo  him  np"n  the  stake,  who  drinks  and  dies! 
Wildly  Ihey  point  their  lances  lo  tlie  iight 
Of  Ihe  fast  sinking  sun,  and  shout  '*  Tu-i.ight  I"  — 


or  Htarry  lamjis  and  blaziiiK  cri-Bset-s  Ted 
With  naptitlia  and  as^haltue,  yielding  light 

I  "At  the  greif  festival  of  fire,  cilled  the  ShebSeze, 
they  used  to  set  fiie  to  large  bunches  of  dry  combus- 
tibles, fastened  lound  wild  beasts  and  birds,  which 
being  'hen  let  loose,  the  air  and  earth  appeared  one 
great  illiimiuation  ;  and  as  ibese  lerrlied  creatures 
naturally  fled  to  the  woods  for  shelter,  it  is  ei*y  lo 
conceivethecoiidagration  ihey  produced.'*—  Richard- 
soiis  Uisser'alion. 

3  *■  The  righteous  shall  be  given  to  drink  of  pure 
wine,  sealed;  the  seal  whereof  shall  be  musk."  — 
K(»'an,  chap.  Ixxxiii. 


To-nigh',"  tlieir  Chief  re-echoes  in  a  voice 
Of  fieiid-like  mockery  that  bids  hell  rejoice, 
Ueb.ded  vic'ims  I  —  never  halh  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  nmuintnl  as  their  mirth. 
the  few,  whose  iron  frames  had  stood 
king  wat.le  of  faniine  and  of  blood, 
F'^int,  dying  wretches  clung,  iriiin  whom  the  shout 
Of  triumph  like  a  nianiac's  laugh  broke  out:  — 
Thtre,  others,  lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire, 
Danc'd,  like  uan  ghnsts  about  a  funeral  pyre, 
Among  tlie  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  around  ;  — 
While   some  pale  wielch  look'd  on,  and  from  tail 

wound 
Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled, 
In  ghastly  transport  wav'd  it  o'er  his  head! 

'T  was  more  than  midnight  now  —a  fearful  pause 

Had  follow'd  the  long  shouts,  the  wild  a)  plause, 
That  lately  frnm  tho^e  Koval  Gardens  burst. 
Where  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accurst, 
When  Zelica  — alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart. 
In  every  horror  douurd  to  bear  its  part !    - 
Was  bidden  to  the  bani^ue'  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while  his  qniveri'  g  lip  the  summons  gave. 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  him  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  messige  ihrough,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shuddering  she  went  —  a  soul-felt  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  daik  doom  was  near, 
Rous'd  every  feeling,  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  :o  w  riihe  her  l.iS'  upon  Ihe  rack. 
All  round  seem'd  tranquil  —  even  the  foe  had  ceas*d, 
As  if  aware  of  that  deiitoniac  leas'. 
His  fiery  bolts  ;  and  though  Ihe  heavens  look'd  red, 
'T  w^s  bu'  some  distant  contla^ration's  spread. 
But  hark  — she  stops  — she  listens  — dreadful  tonel 
'T  is  her  Tormen'or's  laugh  —  and  now,  a  groan, 
A  long  death-groan  comes  with  i' :  —  can  this  be 
1  he  pi  ce  of  mirth,  (be  bower  of  revelry  ? 
She  enlers  —  Holy  Alia,  what  a  sight 
Was  there  before  lier  !     By  Ihe  glimmering  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  nilx'd  wiltt  the  fla-e  of  brandB 
That  rourid  1  .y  buming,  dropp'd  from  lifeless  hands, 
She  saw  Ihe  boird,  in  spleidid  mockery  spread, 
Rich  censers  hreathing  —  gat  lands  overhead  — 
The  uns,  the  cups,  from  which  they  late  had  quaff'd, 
All  gnld  and  gem-,  but— vihat  had  been  the  draught  ? 
Oh  !  who  i.eed  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests, 
With  their  suoll'n  heads  sunk  blackening  on  their 

breasts. 
Or  looking  pale  to  Heav'n  with  glassy  glare. 
As  if  they  sought  but  saw  no  mercy  there  ; 
As  if  Ihey  felt,  though  poison  rack'd  them  through, 
Remorse  the  deadlier  torment  of  the  two  I 
While  some,  the  br.vest,  hnrdiest  in  the  train 
Of  their  false  Chief,  who  on  the  haille-plain 
VVould  have  met  denth  with  transport  by  his  side, 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd  ;  —  but.  as  they  died, 
Lo"k'd  hnrnble  vengeance  with  their  eyes'  \-*tl  strain, 
And  clench 'd  the  slackening  hand  at  him  iu  vain. 

Dreidful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare, 
The  slr,n>  look  of  horror  and  despair, 
Which  sonie  of  these  expiring  victims  cast 
Upon  their  snuls'  tormen'or  to  the  last  ;  — 
Upon  tliat  mocking  Fiei.d,  whose  Veil,  now  rais'd, 
Show'd  them,  as  in  dea  h's  agony  ihey  gaz'd, 
Not  the  lone:-prnmisM  light,  ihe  brow,  whose  ('earning 
Was  lo  come  forth,  all  cocqucring,  all  reileeming. 
But  features  horribler  than  Hell  e'er  trac'd 
On  its  own  brood  ;  —  no  Demon  of  the  Waste,3 
No  church-yard  Ghole,  caught  lingering  iu  the  light 
Of  the  blesi  sun,  e'er  blasted  human  sight 


3  •*The  Afzhauns  believe  each  of  the  numerous 
solitudes  and  deseris  of  their  country  'o  be  iiihabitei 
by  a  lonely  demopi  wh^m  they  call  the  (ibooleo 
Beeahau,  or  Spirit  of  the  Waste.  They  often  illua^ 
Irate  'he  wildneaj  of  any  sequestered  tiibe.  by  saying, 
they  aie  wild  as  the  Demon  of  the  Wa9ie."-!-^jp,Wn- 
stojic^s  CauhuL 


VEILED   PROPHET  OF  KHO HASSAN. 


273 ; 


With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  Berce  as  those 

The  Impostor  now,  in  grinning  m'tckery,  shows :  — 

**'rherf,  ye  wise  Samts,bfhotd  your  Lighi,  youristar— 

'■  Ve  would  be  dnjies  and  victims,  and  ye  arc, 

"  Is  it  enough  ?  or  mu>t  I,  while  a  thrill 

"  Lives  in  your  Bapier.t  oosowis,  cheai  you  still  ? 

"Swear  ihal  the  burning  deah  ye  feel  wi  hin 

**  Is  but  the  trance  wiih  «hich  Heav^u's  joys  begin  j 

"That  this  foul  vi>age,  f.ml  as  e'er  disgrac'd 

"Evn  monstrous  man,  is  —  af  er  God  s  own  taste; 

*' And  that  —  but  see  1  —  ere  1  have  lialf-way  ;aid 

**  My  greetings  through,  the'  uncmrieous  souls  are  fled. 

'*  Farewell,  sweet  spirits  !  not  in  vain  ye  die, 

•'  If  Eblts  loves  you  half  so  well  as  |._ 

"Ha,  my  young  bride!  — 'tis  well  — take  thou  thy 

seat  ; 
"  Nay,  conie— no  shuddering— didst  thou  never  meet 
"  ']'he  Dead  before  r — they  grac'd  our  wedding,  sweet ; 
"  And  these,  my  guesta  to-mght,  have  brimni'd  so  true 
"  Their  parting  cups,  that  thou  shall  pledge  one  too. 
"But—  how  is  this?  — all  empty  ?  alldiunk  up? 
*'  Hot  lipi  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup, 
"Young  bride --jet  a  ay— one  precious  drop  remains, 
'■  Enough  10  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins  ;  — 
"Here,  drink  —  and  should  thy  lover's   conquering 

B<m 
**  Speed  hither,  ere  Ihy  lip  lose  all  its  charm, 
*'  Ciive  him  but  half  this  venom  m  thy  kiss, 
"And  I'll  forgive  my  haughty  rivals  blitil 

*'For,  m£—  I  loo  must  die— but  not  like  these 
*'  Vile,  rai.kling  things,  to  fester  in  the  breeze  ; 
"  To  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  trium[)h  shown, 
"  With  all  death's  grimneis  added  to  its  own, 
"And  rot  to  dust  berieith  'he  tauntiu^  eyes 
'*0f  slaves,  exclaiming,  'There  his  Godship  lies!' 
*'  No  — curbed  race  — since  first  my  soul  drew  breath, 
"They've  been  my  dupes,  and  shall  be  ev'n  in  death. 
"Thou  see'sl  yon  cistern  in  the  shade  — 't  is  fiii'd 
"  With  burning  drugs,  for  this  last  hour  distill'd  :  l  — 
"Ihere  will  I  plunge  me,  in  that  liquid  Hame  — 
"Fit  bath  tohve  a  dying  Prophet's  frame  !  — 
"There  pensh,  -.11  — ere  pulse  of  thine  shall  fail — 
"Nor  leave  one  limb  to  lell  mankind  the  tale. 
"So  r.hall  my  vn'aries,  wheres  e'er  they  rave, 
*'  Hioclaim  that  Heav'n  took  back  the  Saint  it  gave ; — 
"Ttiat  I've  but  vanish'd  fmm  this  earth  awhile, 
"  To  come  ag'in,  with  bright,  unshrouded  bmilel 
"So  shall  they  build  me  altars  in  Iheir  zeal, 
"  Where  knaves  shall  mini>ler.  and  fooK  shall  kneel; 
"  Where  Faith  may  utter  o'er  her  mysiic  spell, 
••  Written  in  blood  —and  Bigotry  may  swell 
"The  sail  bespreads  for  Heav'n  with  blasts  from  hell! 
"  So  shall  my  banner,  through  long  ages,  be 
"The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy  ;  — 
"  Kings  yet  u  .born  shall  rue  Mokanna's  name, 
"  And,  though  I  die.  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
"Shall  ualk  abroad  in'all  the  stormy  snife, 
"  And  guilt,  and  blooJ,  thai  were  its  bliss  in  life. 
"  But,  liirk  !  their  battering  engine  shakes  ihe  wall — 
"  Why  let  il  8!iake  —  thus  I  can  brave  them  all. 
*  No  ince  of  me  sh^ll  greei  them,  when  ihev  come, 
"And  I  c^n  trust  thy  faith,  for— thou  Ml  be  dumb. 
"Now  maik  how  readily  a  wretch  tike  me, 
"  In  one  bold  plunge,  commences  Deity  1" 

He  sprung  and  sunk,  as  the  last  words  were  said  — 
Quick  elos'd  the  burning  «aiers  o'er  his  head, 
And  Zelica  was  left  —  within  the  ring 
01  those  wide  walls  the  only  living  Ihir)g; 
The  only  u  retched  one,  still  cur^M  wiih  breath, 
In  all  that  frightful  wilderness  of  death  ! 


»  "  II  donna  du  poison  dan-?  le  vin  a  lous  ses  gens, 
et  he  jelta  lui-meme  ensuite  dans  une  cuve  pleine  de 
diogues  brulantes  et  cnnaumante-,  afin  q'l'il  ne  restat 
rien  de  tms  les  memb-ea  de  son  corps,  ei  que  ceux  qui 
restoient  de  sa  secte  pui^sent  cmire  quM  etoit  mone 
au  ciel,  ce  qui  ne  manqua  pas  d'arriver."— jOV/irie- 
tot. 


More  like  some  bloodless  ghost  —  such  as,  they  tell. 
In  the  Lone  Cities  of  the  Silent  ?■  dwell, 
And  there,  unseen  of  all  but  Alia,  sit 
Edch  by  Its  own  pale  carcass,  watching  it. 

But  morn  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
Throughout  the  camp  of  the  beleajuerers. 
Their  globes  of  tire  (the  dread  artillery  lent 
By  Greece  tr  conquering  Mahadi)  are  spent; 
And  now  the  jC'ipion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  tiii^h  balisia%  and  ihe  shielded  throng 
Of  s  'Idiers  swinging  tlie  huge  ram  along. 
All  speak  the'  impa'ient  Islamite's  intent 
To  (ry,at  length,  if  tower  and  batllement 
And  Ijaslion'd  wall  be  not  less  hard  to  win, 
Less  lous:h  to  break  down  than  the  hearts  within. 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he, 
The  burning  Aziin  — oh  !  could  he  but  see 
The'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  gra^p, 
Noi  the  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  boa's  clasp, 
Could  ma'ch  that  gripe  of  vengeance,  or  keep  pace 
With  Ihe  fell  heartiness  of  Haie'i  embrace  1 

Loud  rings  the  ponderous  ram  against  the  walls; 
Now  shake  the  rampait-,  now  a  buttress  falls, 
But  still  no  breach  —  "Once  more,  one  mighy  swing 
"Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering!" 
There  —  (he  v^all  shakes  — the  shouting  troops  eiull, 
"Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  catapult 
"  Kit;ht  nil  Ih.it  spot,  and  Neksheb  is  our  own  :»' 
H"  is  done  —  the  h.iitlemenis  C'-me  crashing  down, 
And  the  huge  wall,  by  that  stroke  riv'n  in  two, 
Yawnirg.  like  s  me  old  ciaier,  leni  anew, 
Sliows  Ihe  dim,  de^ola(e  city  smoking  through. 
But  strange!  no  signs  of  life—  nought  living  seen 
Above,  below  — wh-it  cm  this  stiUuess  mean? 
A  minute's  pause  su>-pends  all  hear  s  and  ej  es  — 
"  In  through  the  bieach,"  impetuous  Azim  criea ; 
But  the  cool  Caliph,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stilless.  checks  the  troops  awhile.— 
Just  then,  a  ligure,  with  slow  sep,  advanc'd 
Forth  fmni  the  ruin'd  walls,  and,  as  there  glancM 
A  sunbeam  over  it,  alt  eves  C'  uld  see 
'Ihe  wdl-known  Silver  Veil !  — " 'Tin  He, 'th  He, 
"  Mokanna,  and  alone  !"  Ihey  shout  aiound  ; 
Young  A7.\n\  from  his  steed  >pringi  in  ihe  ground  — 
"Mine,  Holv  Cabph!  mine,"  he  cries,  *■  the  task 
"  T"  crush  von  d.iring  wretch  —  't  i^  uU  1  ask." 
Eager  he  da'i  Is  l>  meet  the  demon  foe. 
Who  still  across  wide  heaps  of  ruin  slow 
And  fillet  ingly  comes,  till  they  are  near ; 
Then,  with  a  bound,  rushes  on  Azim's  spear, 
And  casting  otl'  the  Veil  in  falling,  shows  — 
Oh!  — 'lishisZelica'a  life-blood  that  flows! 

"  I  meant  not,  Azim,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  arm  she  lean  d  her  head, 
And,  lonking  in  his  face,  saw  anguish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  i|ie  quivering  flesh  can  bear  — 
"  I  meant  not  thou  shouldst  have  Ihe  pain  of  iliis  :  — 
"'llirugh  death,  with  ihee  thus  (astetf.  is  a  bliss 
"Thou  wouldst  not  rob  me  of,  didNl  thou  but  know, 
"How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  migtildie  so! 
"  But  Ihe  Fiend's  venom  was  loo  hcant  and  slow ;  — 
"  In  hngeron  were  maddening— and  I  thought 
"  If  once  that  Veil  —  nay,  look  not  on  it  —  cught 
"The  eyes  of  vour  fierce  soldiery.  |  should  be 
"Struck  by  a  tfiousaiid  death-d;irt^  iiisa Hy. 
"  But  this  is  sv^eeler  —  oh  !  believe  me,  yis  — 
**  I  would  ii'^t  change  Ihis  sad,  bul  dear  carets 
"  This  death  withir.  thy  arms  1  w nuld  not  give 
"Fur  the  most  smiting  lite  Hie  happiest  live! 
"  All,  that  stood  dark  and  diear  belbre  ihe  eye 
"Of  my  stiay'd  soul,  is  pa^sing  swifily  by  ; 

*  "They  have  all  a  great  reve  erice  for  burial- 
grounds,  which  thev  sometimes  call  bv  il;e  poetical 
name  of  Cities  of  ihe  Silen',  and  which  thev  people 
with  the  ghosts  of  the  deparied.  who  si'  each  at  the 
head  of  his  own  grave,  invisible  lo  mortal  eyes."  — 
Elphi?istoue. 


J 


274 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


"A  light  cornea  o'er  me  from  ihose  looks  of  love, 

"Like  the  tirst  dawn  nf  njercy  from  abi've; 

•*Aiid  if  fliy  hps  but  tetl  ine  I  'in  fnigiveii, 

'•AngeU  will  tc\io  Ihe  blest  woids  in  Heaven! 

"  Hiit  live,  my  Azim  ;  — oh  !  to  cill  thte  iniiie 

*'Thus  once  again  I  my  Azim  — dream  divine! 

"  Live,  if  Ihnu  ever  lov'dsl  me.  if  to  meet 

"Thy  Zt-lica  hereafter  would  be  sweet, 

"Oh,  live  10  pray  (or  her  —  ldT)i:iid  the  knee 

"  Morning  and  night  before  that  Dei'y, 

"To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  slain, 

"As  thine  are,  Azim,  never  breath'd  in  vain, — 

<-ADd  piay  ihai  He  may  pi.-don  her,— may  lake 

"Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  deir  sake, 

"  And,  nought  remembering  but  her  love  lo  thee, 

"  Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally  ! 

"Go  to  those  happy  fields  where  fir^l  we  twln'd 

'*Uur  youltiful  hearts  together — every  wind 

"  That  meets  tbee  there,  fresh  from  the  well-known 

flowers, 
"  Will  bring  Ihe  sweetness  of  those  innocent  hours 
"Back  to  thy  soul,  and  Ihou  mav'st  feel  ajaia 
"  For  ihy  p-nr  Zelica  as  ih'>u  diilsl  then. 
"So  shiU  thy  orisons,  like  dew  Ihal  flies 
"To  Heav'n  upon  Ihe  morning^s  sunshine,  rise 
"  With  all  love's  earliest  ardour  to  the  skies! 
"  And  should  they  —  bu',  alas,  n.y  senses  fail  — 
"Oh  fur  one  minute  !  — shnuld  thy  p  aye  s  prevail  — 
"  If  pardon'd  souls  may,  from  that  VVor  d  of  Bliss, 
"Reveal  their  joy  to  those  they  love  in  this  — 
"  1  Ml  come  to  thee — in  some  sweet  dream— and  tell — 
"  Oh  Heav'u— I  die— de.tr  love  !  farewell,  fjrewell  i" 

Time  fleeted  —  years  on  years  hid  pas^-M  away, 
And  few  of  those  who.  on  that  mournlul  day, 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  liieir  eyes.  !o  see 
The  maidens  deaih.  and  the  you'h's  agony, 
Were  living  still  —  when.  Ly  a  rustic  grave, 
Beside  the  swift  Amio^s  transparent  wave, 
An  aged  man,  who  had  giown  aged  there 
By  that  lone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  prayer, 
For  the  last  time  knelt  down  — and^  (h  u^h  the  shade 
Of  death  hung  darkening  over  him.  there  play'd 
A  gleani  of  np  ure  on  his  eye  and  cheek. 
That  brighten'd  even  Death  —  like  the  last  streak 
Of  inten>e  glory  on  the  horizon's  brim. 
When  night  o'er  all  Hie  re^t  h:ings  cliill  and  dim. 
His  ^OLJ  had  seen  a  Vision,  while  he  slept; 
She,  for  whose  spirit  he  had  pray'd  and  wept 
So  many  years,  had  come  to  bim,  all  dresi 
In  angel  smiles,  and  lold  him  she  was  blest! 
For  this  the  old  man  breath'd  his  thanks  and  died.— 
And  there,  upon  the  banks  of  that  lov'd  iide. 
He  and  his  Zelica  sleep  ^ide  by  side. 


The  story  of  Ihe  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan  being 
ended,  they  were  now  doomed  to  hear  Fadlideen's 
criticisms  upon  it.  A  series  of  disappoinrmeots  .ind 
acc'denisi  h'd  occurred  to  this  learned  Chamberlain 
during  ihc  journey.  In  the  fi^^t  place,  'hose  couriers 
sati'ined.  :»s  in  ihe  reign  of  Shah  jehan,  between 
Delhi  and  the  Western  coast  of  India,  to  secure  a  con- 
stant supply  of  mangoes  for  the  Royal  Table,  had,  by 
some  cruel  irregularity,  f.u'ed  in  their  duly;  and  to 
eat  any  ma1goe^  but  those  of  Maza^nug  »  as,  of  course, 
impossible. 1  In  the  next  place,  the  elephant,  laden 
ivilh  his  fine  antique  porcelii.,*^  had,  in  an  unusual 


may  . 


*  **  The  celebrity  of  Mazagong  is  owing  to  its  man- 
goes, which  are  ct-rtainly  the  t'cst  fiuil  I  ever  Insted. 
The  parent-tree,  from  which  all  those  of  this  species 
have  been  giafted,  is  honoured  during  the  fruit  reason 
by  X  guard  of  sepoys  ;  and,  in  the  reign  of  Shah  Jehan, 
couriers  were  stiiioned  between  Delhi  ar-d  Ihe  Mah- 
ratta  coast,  lo  secure  an  abundant  and  fresh  supply  of 
maNgoes  for  the  rt)yal  table."  —  Mrs.  Graham'^  Jour- 
nal of  a  Residence  in  India. 

«  This  old  porcelain  is  found  in  digging,  and  "  if  it 
is  esteemed,  it  is  not  because  it  h^s  acquired  any  new 


fit  of  liveline:%s,  shattered  the  whole  set  to  pieces  :  — 
an  irreparable  loss,  as  many  of  llie  vessels  were  so  ei- 
lely  old,  as  to  have  been  nsfd  under  the  Empe- 
Yan  and  CImn,  who  reigned  many  years  before 
the  dynasiy  of  Tang.  His  Koian.  too,  supposed  to  be 
the  identical  copy  between  the  haves  of  which  Ma- 
h'  met's  favourite  pigeon  used  to  nestle,  had  been  mis- 
laid by  his  Koran  hearer  three  whole  days  ;  not  with- 
ou'  much  spnitual  alarm  lo  Fadladeen,  who,  though 
professing  to  hold  with  ether  lo\al  ai  d  orthodox  Wus- 
sulniaiis,  that  silva  ion  could  only  be  fnund  in  the 
Koran,  was  stronjly  >uspt-cled  of  believing  in  his 
heart,  that  il  could  only  be  foui.d  in  h'S  own  particular 
copy  of  it.  When  to  all  these  grievances  is  added  the 
objiihacy  of  the  cooks,  in  putting  the  pepper  of  Canara 
lishes  instead  of  the  cini.amon  of  Serendib,  wc 
ily  supp  se  that  he  came  to  the  task  uf  criti- 
th,  a  leas',  a  sufTicienl  degree  of  in  liability 
for  the  purpose. 

"In  order,"  said  he,  impnrtanlly  swinging  about 
his  chaplet  of  pearls,  "to  convey  with  clearness  my 
opinion  of  Ihe  story  this  young  man  has  related,  it  is 
necessary  to  take  a  review  of  all  the  stories  Ihat  have 

evei *'  — "  My  good  Fadladeen!"  exclaimed  the 

Princess,  interrupting  him,  "we  really  do  not  de- 
serve that  you  should  give  yourself  so  much  trouble. 
Your  opinion  of  ihe  poem  we  have  jusl  heard,  will,  I 
have  no  doubt,  be  abundantly  edifying,  without  any 
further  waste  of  your  valuable  erudition."— "  If  that 
be  al  ,"  replied  the  crUtc.— eudently  m.-riified  at  not 
being  allowed  to  show  how  much  he  knew  .Tbout 
every  thing,  but  the  subject  inmiedia  ely  hefoie  him — 
"if  that  be  all  that  is  required,  ihe  matter  is  easily 
despa'ched."  He  then  proceeded  to  analyse  the  poem, 
in  Ihat  strain  (so  well  known  lo  the  uufoiluna'e  bards 
of  Delhi),  whose  censures  were  an  inlliction  from 
which  few  recovered  and  whote  very  piaises  were 
like  the  honey  extracted  from  ihe  bitter  flowers  of 
the  aloe.  The  chief  personage-;  of  the  story  were,  if 
he  rightly  understood  them,  an  ill-favoured  gentleman, 
wi'h  a  veil  over  his  f^cej- a  young  hidy,  who&e 
reason  went  and  came,  accordiig  as  ii  suited  the  poet's 
cnvenience  lo  be  sensible  or  otherwise  j — and  a  youlh 
in  one  of  those  hideous  Bucharian  bonne's,  who  look 
Ihe  aforesaid  gentleman  in  a  veil  for  a  divinity. 
"From  such  materials,"  said  he,  '»  what  can  be 
expec'ed?— after  rivalling  each  otiier  in  longsneeches 
and  absurdities,  through  some  thousands  of  lines  as 
indigestible  as  the  filberts  of  Berdaa,  our  friend  in  the 
veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aquafortis;  the  young  lady 
dies  in  a  set  speech,  wliose  only  recomniendalion  is 
thai  it  is  her  last;  and  Ihe  lover  lives  on  to  a  good 
old  age,  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost, 
which  he  at  last  happilv  accomplishes,  and  expires. 
This,  vnu  will  all  .w,  IS  i  fair  summary  of  the  siory ; 
and  if"  Nasser,  (he  Arabian  merchmt,  told  no  better, 
our  Holy  Prophet  (to  whom  be  all  honour  and  gloiy  !) 
had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his  abilities  for  story- 
telling _"» 

Willi  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of  Ihe  mat- 
ter;-it  had  not  even  Iho-e  politic  coi.trivances  of 
structure,  which  make  up  for  the  commonness  of  the 


decree  of  beauty  in  the  earth,  but  because  it  has  re- 
tained its  ancient  beau'y  ;  and  this  alone  i^  of  great 
importance  in  China,  where  they  give  large  sums  for 
the  smallest  vessels  which  were  used  under  the  Em- 
perors Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned  many  ages  tiefore 
Ihe  dynas'v  of  Ta"e,  at  which  time  porcelain  btgm 
to  be  u.ed  by  the  Emperor>"  (about  ihe  ve,'r  442).  — 
/>unn"s  Collection  of  Curi'ius  Ol  servati'ns  &c  ;  — a 
bad  translation  of  some  parts  of  the  Leitres  Edifianles 
et  Curieuses  of  the  Missionary  Jesuits. 

3  "  La  lecture  de  ces  Fables  plaisoit  si  fcrt  auit 
Arabes  que,  quand  Mahomet  ies  entretenoit  de  I'His- 
toire  de  I'Ancien  Tes  ament,  ils  Ies  meprisolent,  lui 
disant  que  celles  que  Nasser  leur  racontoieiit  etoient 
beaucoup  pins  belles.  Cet  e  preference  attira  a  Nas- 
ter  It  malediction  de  Alahomel  et  de  tous  ses  disci- 
ples." —  Z)/ferie/o<. 


VEILED   PROPHET   OF  KHORASSAN. 


275 


lhoua;hts  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  manner,  nor  thai 
stalely  poetical  phiaseology  by  which  sentiments 
nii-an  in  tlienibelves,  like  the  blacksmith's!  apron 
converted  into  a  bariner,  are  so  easily  gilt  and  ein- 
broidentd  in;o  consequence.  '1  hen,  as  to  the  versifi- 
caiinu,  it  was,  to  sav  no  worse  of  it,  execrable:  il 
had  neither  the  copious  (low  of  Feido-i,  the  ^weel- 
ne^s  of  llufez,  nor  the  sententious  niaich  of  Sadi ;  but 
a|'i)eaied  to  hint,  in  Ihe  uneasy  heavines-i  of  its  move- 
ineiits  lo  have  been  modelled  upon  llie  t^ait  of  a  vety 
tiled  dioinedary.  'I'he  iicei.sts,  too,  in  which  it  in- 
dulged, weie  UMpaidi'nah'e  ;—  (or  inslance  this  line, 
and  the  poem  abounded  wiiti  such;  — 

Like  the  faintf  extjuitiile  music-  of  a  ilream. 

"  What  critic  'hat  can  count,*'  said  Fadladeen,  "  and 
has  his  full  coiu|)lenienl  of  fingers  lo  count  withal, 
would  toleia'e  fur  an  instant  such  syllabic  superflui- 
ties?"—  He  heie  looked  lound,  and  discovered  that 
most  of  his  audience  were  asleep;  while  the  glmi- 
niering  lamps  seemed  iiiclined  to  foUou  their  exam- 
pie.  It  bec.ime  nectssaiy,  therefore,  however  psmful 
to  biniseli;  lo  put  an  end  lo  Ins  valuable  nnimadver- 
810113  for  the  present,  and  he  accordingly  concluded, 
with  an  air  of  dignitied  candour,  thus:  —  *'  Notwi  h- 
slanding  the  observations  whii-h  I  have  ihrnigh'  it  my 
duly  lo  make,  it  is  by  no  nie.ins  my  wish  to  discouratce 
the  young  man:  — so  far  from  it,  indeed,  that  if  he 
will  but  totally  alter  his  style  of  writine:  and  think- 
ing, I  have  very  tittle  duubt  that  1  shall  be  vastly 
pleased  with  hini." 

Some  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  the  Great 
Chamberlain,  befnreL;*lI.iRo(.kh  could  venture  lo  a-k 
for  another  stoiy.  'Jbe  you  h  was  still  a  uelcme 
guest  in  the  privilion— to  one  heart,  perhaps,  loo  dan- 
gerously weiconie;  — but  all  mention  of  poetry  was, 
as  if  by  comnion  con  ent,  avoided.  Though  none  of 
the  party  had  much  respect  for  Fadhtdeen,  yet  his 
cen-ures,  thus  magislerially  deliveied,  evidently  made 
an  impression  on  them  all.  The  Poet,  himself,  to 
whom  criticism  was  quite  a  new  oper4tiMn,  (being 
wholly  unknown  in  tlul  Paradise  of  ihe  Iridies,  Cash- 
mere,) fell  the  shock  as  it  is  generally  fell  at  hrst,  till 
u>e  has  mide  iI  more  tolenble  to  the  |  atienl ;  —  the 
Ladies  begin  lo  suspect  that  they  ought  not  lo  be 
pleased,  and  seemed  to  conclude  'hat  theie  mu-t  have 
been  much  good  sense  in  what  Fadladeen  said,  fiom 
its  having  set  them  all  so  soundly  toslfep;  —  while 
the  self-complacent  Chamberl.iin  was  left  to  triumph 
in  the  idea  of  havin?,  for  ihe  hundred  and  hftidh 
time  in  his  life,  extinguished  a  P>  et.  I.alla  Rookii 
alone  — and  Love  knew  why  —  [lersisted  in  being 
delighted  with  all  she  had  heard,  and  in  resolving  to 
hearmore  as  speedily  as  possible.  Her  manner,  how- 
ever, of  first  returning  to  the  subject  was  unlucky. 
It  aas  while  they  rested  during  the  heat  of  noon  near 
a  fnunt;(in,  on  which  some  hand  had  rudely  traced 
those  well-known  words  from  the  Garden  of  Sadi,— 
"  Miny,  like  me,  h^ve  viewed  this  fountain,  but  they 
are  gone,  and  their  eyes  are  cl'  sed  for  ever  !■» —  that 
she  took  occasion,  from  the  meiancholy  beauty  of  this 
pas-age,  to  dwell  up  in  ihe  charms  of  poetry  in  gen- 
er.tl.  '*  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  few  poets  cnn  imitate 
that  sublime  bird,  which  flics  always  in  the  air,  and 
never  touches  the  eanh : »—  it  is  only  once  in  many 


«  The  blacksmith  Gao,  who  successfully  resisted 
the  tyrant  Zohak,  and  whose  apron  tiec.mie  the  Koval 
Standard  of  Persia. 

^  "The  Hunia,  a  bird  pecuUir  (o  the  E.ist,  It  is 
supposed  to  fly  constanilv  in  the  air,  and  never  touch 
Ihe  ground;  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  bird  of  happy 
omen ;  and  that  every  head  it  overshides  will  iu  time 
wear  a  crown,"  —  liichardscni. 

In  Ihe  terms  of  alliance  mide  by  Fuzzel  Oola  Khm 
with  Hyder  in  I7G0,  one  of  the  stipulations  was, 
*'that  he  should  have  the  distinction  of  two  honorary 
attendants  standing  behind  him,  holding  fans  com- 
posed of  the  feathers  of  the  humma,  according  to  the 


ages  a  Genius  appears,  whose  words,  like  those  on  the 
Written  Moun  ain,  last  for  ever:3  —  but  still  there 
are  some,  a^  delightful,  perhaps,  tliongh  not  so  wuu- 
detful,  who,  if  noi  stars  over  our  head,  are  at  \jast 
lloweis  aloi  g  our  path,  and  whose  sweetne-s  of  the 
moment  we  ought  gratefully  to  inhale,  without  call- 
iig  upon  them  tor  a  hnghiness  »nd  a  dur  biti'y  beyond 
their  naUire.  In  shur  ,  continued  she,  blushing,  as  if 
conscious  of  being  caught  in  an  or;ilion,  "  it  is  quite 
cruel  thai  a  poet  cannot  wander  through  his  regiiuis 
of  enchantment,  without  having  a  ciitic  for  ever, 
like  Ihe  old  Man  of  the  Sea.  upon  liis  back  I'M  — 
Fadladeen,  il  was  niain,  took  this  last  luckless  allu- 
sion lo  himself,  :ina  would  treasure  il  up  in  hia  mind 
as  a  wheistntie  for  his  next  criticisn..  A  sudden 
silence  ensued  ;  and  the  Princess,  glancing  a  look  at 
Feramorz,  saw  plunly  she  must  wait  At  a  more 
courageous  moment. 

But  Ihe  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fragrant 
airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of  youthful  spi- 
rits, will  so.  n  heal  even  deeper  wounds  than  the  dull 
F.idladeens  of  this  world  on  in/iict.  In  an  evening 
or  two  after,  they  came  lo  Ihe  small  Valley  of  Gardens, 
which  had  bteii  planted  by  order  of  Ihe  Kinper'  r,  for 
his  favouriie  sister  Rochiiura,  during  their  progress  lo 
Cashmere,  some  years  before  ;  and  never  was  tlieie  a 
more  spa-kling  assemblage  of  i-weels,  since  the  Gu!- 
zar-e-Iiem,  or  Rose-bower  of  Irem.  Every  precious 
flower  was  Iliere  m  be  f  .und,  that  poetry,  or  love,  or 
reheion,  liaa  ever  consecnled ;  from  the  dark  hya- 
cinth, lo  which  Hafez  coiiijiares  his  mistress's  h.<ir,&  to 
the  Camalala,  by  whose  ro-y  blossoms  the  heaven  of 
Indra  is  scented. 6  As  they  sa'  in  Ihe  cool  fragrance  of 
this  delicousbpol,  and  LiMa  Ronkh  remarked  ihUshe 
could  fvicyil  the  abode  of  that  Flower-loving  Nvmph 
«hnn.  they  worship  in  the  temples  of  Kathay,'  or  of 
one  of  those  Peris,  those  beautiful  cie.itures  of  the  air, 
who  live  upon  perfumes,  and  to  whom  a  place  like 
this  might  make  some  amends  for  the  Paradise  Ihey 


practice  of  his  family."— fims's  South  of  India.  He 
adds  in  a  note ;  — ''Ihe  Humma  is  a  fabulous  bird. 
The  bead  over  which  i's  shadow  once  passes  will 
assuredly  be  circled  with  a  crown.  The  splendid 
little  bird  suspended  over  the  Ihrone  of  Tippoo  Sul- 
taun,  foutid  at  Sering;»|atam  in  1799,  was  intended  to 
represent  this  poelical  fancy." 

3  *'To  the  pilgrims  to  Mount  Sinai  we  must  altri- 
bu'e  the  inscrrptions.  figures,  &c.  on  those  rocks, 
which  ha\e  from  thence  acquired  the  name  of  the 
Written  Mountain."— Fu/7(ey.  M.  GebeMn  and 
o'hers  have  been  at  much  pains  to  a'tach  some  mys- 
teririue  and  impoilant  meaning  to  these  inscriptions; 
but  Niebuhr,  as  well  as  Volney,  thinks  that  they  must 
have  been  executed  at  idle  hours  by  the  travellers  to 
Mount  Sinai,  "who  were  satisfied  with  cutting  the 
unpolished  rock  with  any  pointed  inslrumen' ;  adiling 
to  their  names  and  the  date  of  their  journey^  some 
rude  hgiires,  m  hich  bespeak  Ihe  hand  of  a  people  but 
little  skdied  iu  the  arts."  — A*ittu;tr. 

4  TheStory  of  Sinbad. 

»  See  A'otrs  Hafez,  Ode  v. 

6  "The  Camalata  (called  by  Linnaeus,  Ipomaea)  is 
the  most  beautiful  of  iU  order,  both  in  the  colour  and 
form  of  its  leaves  and  flowers;  its  elegant  blossoms 
are  *celesliil  rosy  red.  Love's  proper  hue,' and  have 
justly  procured  il  the  name  of  Camalata,  or  Love^ 
Cree[)er." — Sir  IV.  Juries. 

"Camalata  may  also  mean  a  mythological  plant,  by 
which  all  desires  are  granted  to  such  as  inhabit  the 
heaven  of  Indra;  and  if  ever  flower  wis  worthy  of 
paradise,  it  is  our  charming  Ipomaea."— /A. 

1  "According  to  Faiher  Premare,  in  his  tract  on 
Chinese  Mythology,  the  mo  her  of  Fo-hi  was  the 
dangliter  of  heaven,  surnamed  Flower-loving;  and  as 
the  nymph  wag  walking  alone  on  the  bank  r/f  a  river, 
she  found  herself  encircled  by  a  rainbow,  after  which 
she  became  pregn.ial,  and,  ai  the  end  of  twelve  years, 
wasdelive-edof  a  son  ladiaut  as  herself."— ^siaf.  Ma, 


276 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


have  lost, --the  young  Poet,  in  whose  eyes  she  ap- 
peared, while  she  spoke,  tn  be  one  of  the  briglit  spi- 
ritual cre.-itures  she  was  describins;.  said  liesit.ttingly 
Ihal  he  renietribertd  a  Story  of  a  Peri,  which,  if  the 
Prince^3  had  no  .bjectini.,  he  would  veiilure  to  relate. 
"  It  IS,"  said  he,  wi  h  an  appealing  look  to  Fadladeen, 
'*in  a  Iiiihttr  and  humbler  s'ram  than  the  other ;" 
then,  s'nking  a  fe^v  caiele^s  but  luelaiicholy  chorda 
ou  his  kitar,  he  thus  begau  :  — 


PARADISE    AND    THE    PERI, 

One  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  st  .nd,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  Springs 

Of  Lite  within,  like  music  tioiving, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Throuijh  the  half-open  por  al  glowing, 
She  wept  lo  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  (hat  gloiious  place  1 

'*  How  happy,"  exclaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
*'  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

*'  Mid  tlowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall ; 
"Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
**  And  the  stars  themselves  have  tlowers  for  me, 

*'•  One  blossom  of  Heaven  oui-blooois  them  all  t 

"Though  sunny  the  Lake  of  cool  Cashmere, 
"'With  its  piane-lree  Isle  reflected  clear/ 

"And  swee-ly  the  founts  of  thit  Valley  fall ; 
"Though  blight  are  the  waters  of  Sing-sn-hay, 
"  And  the  golden  Hoods  thai  ijiitherward  slray,^ 
"Yet— oh,  't  IS  only  the  Blest  can  say 

"How  the  waters  of  Heiveu  outshine  them  all! 

"  Go,  wing  thy  flight  frnm  s'ar  to  star, 
"  From  world  to  luminc.us  world,  as  far 

"  As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall: 
"Take  all  ihe  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
"  And  muliiply  e»ch  through  endless  years, 

"One  minute  of  Heaven  ia  wurih  them  all  I" 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listened 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glislen'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  EdenN  founi^in,  when  it  lies 
On  Ihe  blue  tlow'r,  which  — Bramms  say 

Blcoins  nowhere  bul  in  Paradi^e.^ 

"  Nymph  of  a  fair  but  erring  line  !" 
Gently  he  said  —  "  One  hope  is  thine. 
"'Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 

"  T/ie  Pen  yet  may  be  forgiven 
"  IV/io  brings  to  this  Eternal  gate 

"  The  Gijt  that  is  most  dtar  to  Heaven  ! 


Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  the'  embraces  of  the  Sun  ;— • 

Fleeter  than  ihe  starr\  brands 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands* 

At  ihnsedark  and  daiing  spriies 

Who  would  climb    he' empyreal  heights, 

Down  the  blue  vault  Ihe  Pen  flies. 

And,  hghted  eailhward  by  a  glance 
Th:»t  just  then  broke  fiom  morning's  eyes, 

Hung  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 


•  The 


alth,' 


"of  ( 


vhich  unnuniberM 
"  Beneath  the  pillars  of  Chilminar  ;'  6 
"  1  know  wheie  the  hies  of  Perfume  are6 
"Many  a  fathom  down  in    he  sea, 
"  To  the  souih  of  sun-bright  Araby  ;  i 
"I  know,  (00,  where  the  Genii  hid 
"The  jeweli'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid,9 
"  With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high  — 
"  Bul  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  il.e  sky. 
"  Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  ihat  shone 
"Like  the  steps  of  Alla's  v^onderfuI  Throne? 
"And  the  Drops  of  Life— oh  !  what  would  they  be 
"In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity?'* 

While  thus  she  mus'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  thai  sweet  Ind.an  land, 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocein  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks,  and  amber  beds  ;  » 
Whose  mountains,  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  wiiti  dianionds  teeni  j 
Whose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brjde-^, 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneath  their  tides; 
Whcise  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of  spice 
Might  be  a  Peri's  f  aradi-e  I 
But  crimson  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  human  blood  —  ttie  sii.ell  of  death 
Came  reeking  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  man,  the  sacrifice  of  man, 

Mingled  his  tunt  with  every  breath 
Upwafted  from  the  innocent  flowers. 


»  "Numerous  small  islands  emerge  from  the  Lake 
of  Cshmere.  One  is  c.illed  Char  Chenaur,  from  the 
plane  trees  upon  it." — Foster. 

^  "  The  Al'an  Kol  or  Golden  River  of  Tibe',  which 
runs  into  the  Lakes  of  Sing-sn-hay,  has  abun, lance  of 
gold  in  ill  sands,  which  employs  Ihe  mhabiiants  all  the 
summer  in  gathering  \i:' —  Description  of  Tibet  in 
Pinkerton, 

3  "The  Brahmins  of  this  province  insist  that  the 
blue  campac  flowers  only  in  Paradise."— Sir  W.  Joius. 
It  appears,  hov^ever,  from  a  curious  lefer  of  the  Sul- 
l.in  of  Mmangeabow,  given  by  Maisden,  that  one 
place  on  earth  m:iy  lay  cl  lim  to  the  possession  of  il. 
*'This  istheSiilt.n,  who  keeps  the  flouet  ch  ^mpaka 
that  is  blue,  ar.d  to  be  foui  d  in  no  other  country  but 
Uii,  being  yeJlow  elsewhere." — Marsden^s  Sumatra. 


*  "The  Mahometans  suppose  that  falling  stars  are 
the  firebrands  wherewjth  the  good  angels  drive  away 
the  bad,  when  (hey  approach  too  near  the  empyrean 
or  verge  of  Ihe  heavens."- i'ryer. 

6  The  Forty  Pillars;  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins 
of  Persepolis.  It  is  imagined  by  them  that  this  piiace 
and  Ihe  edifice?  at  Ralbec  were  built  by  Genii,  for 
thepuiposeof  hiding  in  their  subteiraneous  caverns 
immense  treasures,  which  stiU  remain  there. 
D'Htrlelnt,  ^olney. 

6  Diodoriis  mentions  the  Isle  of  Panrhaia,  to  the 
south  of  Arabia  Felix,  where  theie  was  a  temple  of 
Jupiter.  This  isla- d  or  laiher  cluster  of  i_sles,  has 
disappeared,  "sunk  (says  Grandprt)  in  the  abyss 
made  by  the  lire  beneath  Ibeir  foundations."— Koyag-* 
to  the  Indian  Ocean. 

1  The  Isles  of  Panchaia. 

fl  "The  cup  of  J  nishid,  discovered,  theysaVj  \*-hen 
disjgiiig  for  Ihe  foundations  of  Persepolis."— iiic/iard* 
soil. 

s  "  It  is  not  like  ihe  Sea  of  India,  whose  bottom  is 
rich  with  pearls  and  an-ber^ris,  whose  mountains  of 
the  coast  are  stoied  wiih  g<ild  and  precious  stones, 
whose  gulfs  breed  creaturts  thai  yield  ivory,  and 
among  the  plants  of  whose  chores  aie  etiouy,  red 
wood,  and  the  wood  of  H  wrzan,  aloes,  caniphor, 
clove*,  sandal-wood,  and  all  other  spices  and  aro- 
matics  ;  where  parrots  and  peacocks  are  birds  of  the 
forest,  and  musk  and  civet  are  collected  upon  the 
lands."— rraueto  of  two  Mohammedajis. 


r 


PARADISE    AND    THE    PERI, 


277 


Land  of  the  Sun  !  wliat  fno»  invades 

Thy  P.ignd,  and  thy  pillarM  shades*  — 

Thy  cnvern  shrtnes,  and  Idol  stones, 

Thy  Monarch*;  ;»nd  their  thnu>3nd  Ihrones?* 

»T  IS  He  of  Gazna  a  —  fierce  in  wratli 

He  cniiie>,  ai'd  India's  diadems 
Lie  scatler'd  in  his  ruinous  path  — 

His  blonJhounds  he  adorns  with  gemi, 
Torn  Crom  the  violated  necks 
Of  many  a  y(Min?  and  InvM  Sultana  ;  « 
Maidens,  wiihin  their  pure  Zenana, 
i*i'i(sts  in  the  very  fane  he  slaughttrs, 
And  chnaks  np  with  the  glittering  wrecki 
Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters! 

Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  ear.e. 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  baze 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand, 

Alone  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hajid, 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 

**  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  "  live  to  sharo 

•»The  'mphies  and  the  crowns  I  bear!' 

Silent  that  ynu'hful  warrior  stood — 

Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 

All  crimson  with  his  country's  binod, 

Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart, 

For  answer,  to  the'  Invader's  he:irt. 

False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 

The  Tyrant  liv'd,  the  Hero  /ell  !  — 

Yet  markd  the  Peri  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  hid  shed, 

Before  its  free-born  spirit  fled  ! 
'  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
'  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gales  of  Light. 
*  Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  dis'il 

"On  the  held  of  waifare,  blood  like  this, 

**  For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is.* 
'  It  would  not  stain  the  purest  nil, 

*'  That  sparkles  among  Ihe  Bowers  of  Bliss  ! 


1 in  the  ground 

The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  pillar''d  shade^ 
High  over-arch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between. 
Milton. 
For    a    particular  description    and    plate    of   the 
Banyan-tree,  see  CorrfiHer's  Ceylon. 

5  '*  With  this  immense  treasure  Mimnod  returned 
•o  Ghizni,  and  in  ttie  year  400  prepared  a  magnificent 
festival,  where  he  displayed  to  ihe  people  his  wealth 
in  g  <tden  thrones  and  in  other  orn.iments.  in  a  great 
plain  without  the  city  of  Ghizni."— /Vn>A(a, 

3  *'  Mahmood  of  Gazna,  or  Ghizni,  who  conquered 
India  in  the  beginning  of  the  llth  century."— See  bis 
History  in  Daw  and  Sir  /.  Malcolm, 

*  "  It  is  reported  that  the  hunting  equipage  of  the 
Sultan  Mahmood  was  so  magnificent,  that  he  kept  JOO 
greyhouids  and  bloodhounds,  each  of  which  wore  a 
collar  set  with  jewels^  and  a  covering  edged  with 
gold  and  pearls."— t/^Hiuersal  llistoryy  vol.  iii. 

6  Objections  mav  be  mnde  to  my  use  of  the  word 
Liberty  in  this,  and  more  especially  in  the  story  that 
follows  it,  as  totally  inapplicable  to  any  state  of  things 
that  has  ever  existed  in  the  Ea^t;  but  though  I  can- 
not, of  course,  mean  to  employ  ji  in  that  enlarged 
and  noble  sense  which  is  so  well  understnod  at  the 
present  day,  and,  1  grieve  lo  say,  so  little  acted  upon, 
yet  it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  word  to  apply  it  to 
that  national  independence,  thit  freedom  from  the 
in  erference  and  dictation  of  f'rei/;ners,  without 
which,  indeed,  no  liberty  of  any  kind  cm  exist ;  and 
for  vhich  both  Hindons  and  Persians  fought  against 
their  Mussulman  invaders  with,  in  many  cases,  a 
bravery  that  deserved  much  better 


24 


"  Oh,  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 

*'  A  boon,  an  offering  Heaven  holds  dear, 

•''T  is  the  la^t  liba'ion  Liberty  draws 

**From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  iober  cause!" 

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

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
"Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  ttie  Brave 

"  Who  die  thus  for  their  native  Land.— 
**  But  see  —  alas  !  —  the  crys  al  Lar 
*'  Of  Eden  moves  not  —  holier  far 
*'Than  ev'n  this  drop  the  tjoon  must  be, 
"  That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee  1" 
Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted, 

Now  among  Afr.c's  lunar  Mountains,* 
Far  to  the  S-iiih,  the  Peri  lighted  ; 

And  sl.-ek'd  iier  plumage  at  the  fountain* 
Of  ihtt  Kg\|it..Tri  tide— whose  birth 
Is  hidden  from  the  sons  of  earth 
Deep  in  those  solitary  woods, 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
And  hail  the  new-born  Giant's  smile. i 
Thence  over  Eeypt's  palmy  groves, 

Her  gro's.  and  sepulchies  of  King5,8 
The  exii'd  Spirit  sighing  ro\es  ; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
In  warm  Rosetta's  vnleS—  now  loves 

To  watch  the  m  onlight  on  the  wings 
Of  the  while  pelicans  that  bre^k 
The  azure  calm  of  Mceris*  Lake.iO 
'T  was  a  fair  ^cene  —  a  Land  more  bright 

Never  did  nmrial  eye  beht>ld  ! 
Who  could  ha^e  thought,  that  saw  this  night 

Tho,e  valle\s  and  their  fruits  of  gold 
Basking  in  Heav'ii's  serenes!  light;— 
Those  gnujps  of  lovely  da'e  trees  bending 

Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads. 
Like  vouthfut  maids,  when  sleep  descending 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds;  »i — 
Those  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

Bathing  tlieir  beauties  in  the  lake, 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

When  'heir  beloved  Sun  's  awake  ;— 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Nought  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heird, 
Nought  seen  but  {when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  mocn,  nn>^heath  its  gleam,) 
Some  piirple-wing'd  Sultana  i^  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 


6  "The  Moun'ains  of  the  Moon,  or  the  Monte« 
Lunce  of  antiquitv,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is 
supposed  to  arise.*'  —  Bt-uce. 

"Sometimes  called,''  hays  JacftsoTi,  **Jibhel  Kum- 
rie.  or  the  white  or  lunar-coloured  mountains;  so  a 
white  horse  is  called  by  the  Arabians  a  moon*coloured 
horse." 

1  "  The  Nile,,which  the  Abyssinians  know  by  the 
names  of  At)ey  and  Alawy,  or  the  Giant."  — ^sini, 
Researc/i.j  vol.  i.  p.  387. 

8  See  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant  for  an  account  of 
(he  sepulchres  in  Upper  Thebes,  and  the  numberlevs 
grnts.  covered  all  over  wi'b  hieroglyphics  io  the 
mountains  of  Upper  Egypt. 

9  "The  orchards  of  Ro6e:ta  are  filled  with  turtle- 
doves." —  So7ini7ii. 

JO  Saviry  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  Mceris. 

*»  "The  superb  date*tree,  whose  head  languidly 
reclines,  like  that  of  a  haridsnme  wonian  overcome 
with  sleep."— Z>/i/arrfei  Hadad. 

la  "  That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest 
shining  blue,  with  purple  beak  and  legs,  the  na'ural 
and  living  ornament  of  the  temples  nnd  palaces  of  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  which,  fr  im  the  stateliness  of  its 
port,  as  well  as  the  brillimcy  of  its  colours,  has  ob> 
tained  the  title  of  Sultana." — Sonninu 


278 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


And  glittering  like  an  Idol  bird  !  — 

Who  could  liave  though!,  th.il  there,  ev*n  ther^ 

Aini'I  those  scenes  so  atill  and  fair, 

The  Demon  of  the  PI  .gue  hnth  cast 

From  his  hot  uni?  a  deadlier  blast, 

More  niorial  fat  than  ever  came 

From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame! 

So  quick.,  that  every  jivinff  ihing 

Of  hunitn  shape,  'Ouch  d  by  h  b  win^, 

Like  pianis,  where  (he  Simnoni  hath  past, 

At  once  tails  black  and  withering! 

The  siin  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Wliich,  full  ofbitK.ni  and  freshness  then, 
Is  raitkhiig  in  the  pes-house  now. 

And  ite'er  will  feel  that  sun  again. 
And,  oh  I  to  see  ttie'  uubuiied  heaps 
On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleefis  — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prev  ! 
Only  (he  fierce  hyaena  sialks  » 
Thrnughf>utthe  cit\N  desolate  walks^ 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnnge  plies;  — 

Woe  to  the  half-dead  wretch,  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes  3 

Amid  the  darkness  of  (he  streets  \ 

**Ponr  race  of  men!"  said  the  pitying  Spirit, 

"  Dearly  ye  pav  for  vour  pnmai  Fall  — 
"Some  (JoWretsof  Eden  yes'rll  inherit 

"  Hut  the  Irarl  of  (he  Serpent  is  n\er  them  all  ! 
She  wept  —  the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Arourid  he-,  as  the  briglil  drnps  rau 
For  there's  a  magic  in  each  tear, 

Such  kindly  Spirits  ueep  for  m.m  ! 
Just  then  betieaih  some  or-nge  trees, 
Wtiose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  ihe  breeze 
Were  wantoning  logelher,  free, 
Like  age  at  play  with  infancy  — 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Close  bv  the  Lake,  she  heard  liie  moan 
Of  one  who,  ai  thi^  silent  hour. 

Had  Ihither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 
One  who  in  life  where'er  he  mov'd. 

Drew  ifer  him  the  hearo  of  many; 
Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd, 

Dies  here  unseen,  unwept  by  any  I 
Knne  to  walch  i.ear  him  — none  to  slako 

'I  he  tire  ttiat  in  his  bosom  lies. 
With  ev'n  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake. 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 
No  voice,  well  known  through  many  a  day 

To  spenk  the  last,  the  par  ing  word, 
Which,  when  all  o.her  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard  ;— 
That  tender  firewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er, 
Which  clieers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Tuts  oil'  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  ainne 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  deatU — 
That  she,  whom  he  fr>r  year-  had  known, 
And  lov'd,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own, 

Was  safe  from  this  fnul  midnight's  brealh,— 
Safe  in  her  father's  princely  halls, 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  f 'un^ain  falls, 


Jackson,  speaking  of  the  plague  that  occurred  in 
West  Barhary,  when  he  was  there,  says,  "The  birds 
of  the  air  lied  aw;iy  from  'he  abode's  of  men.  The 
hyaenas,  on  the  contrary,  visited  the  cemeteries."  &c. 
"Gondar  was  full  of  hyiena*  from  Ihe  time  it 
turned  dark,  till  the  dawn  of  diy,  seeking  the  diCTer- 
ent  pieces  of  slauehlered  carcasses,  which  this  cruel 
and  unclem  people  expose  in  the  streets  wiltmut 
burial,  and  who  firmly  believe  that  these  animals  are 
Falashla  from  the  nei^hbnuring  mountains,  trans- 
formed by  magic,  and  come  down  to  eat  human  flesh 
n  the  dark  in  safety."  —  Bruce. 
9  Bruce, 


Freshly  perfum'd  by  mariy  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land, 
Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd. 

But  see  — who  yonder  comes  bv  •tcaltb,* 
This  melancholy  bower  lo  seek. 
Like  a  young  envoy,  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  "gifts  upon  her  cheek  ? 
*Tis  she  — faroli,  through  moonlight  dim 

He  knew  his  own  be  rothed  bride, 
She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him, 

Than  live  to  gain  the  world  beside!  — 
Her  arms  are  round  her  lover  now. 

His  livid  cheek  to  hers  she  presses, 
And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow. 

In  the  cool  lake  her  lonsen'd  tresses. 
Ah  I  once,  how  little  did  he  think 
An  hour  would  come,  when  he  should  shrink 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace, 

Those  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holy  as  is  the  cradling  place 

Of  Eden's  inf;intchtrubim! 
And  now  he  yields  —  now  turns  away 
Shuddering  ns  If  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  proti'er'd  lips  alone— 
Those  lips  tlia',  then  so  fearless  grown. 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  his  unasked  or  without  shame. 

*'  Oh  !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air, 

**  The  blessed  air,  that 's  brealh'd  by  thee, 
"And,  u  he  her  on  its  »in^  it  bear 

**  Healing  or  death.  '1  is  sweet  to  me ! 
"Ihere  — drmk  my  tears,  while  yel  they  fall- 

"  Would  that  my  boom's  bh'od  were  balm, 
*'  And,  well  thou  know'st,  I  'd  shed  it  all^ 

"  To  give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 
"  Nav,  turn  not  from  n.e  thai  dear  face  — 

•'Am  I  not  thine— thy  own  lov'd  bride  — 
"The  one,  the  chrisen  one.  whose  place 

"In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side? 
"Think'sl  thou  that  she,  whose  only  light, 

"  In  this  dim  world,  from  (bee  hath  shone, 
"Could  bear  the  long,  the  cheerless  night, 

"That  must  be  hers  when  thou  ait  gone? 
"Thit  I  c^n  live,  and  let  thee  go, 
"  Who  art  my  life  itself?  — No,  no — 
•■When  the  stem  dres,  the  leaf  that  grew 
"  Out  of  its  heart  niu;t  perish  too  ! 
"Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn, 
"Before,  like  thee,  I  fade  and  burn  ; 
*'  Chili;  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  share 
"  The  last  jmre  life  that  lingers  there  I" 

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

Her  lover  is  no  lon2:er  living  ! 
One  kiss  Ihe  maiden  ^ives  one  last, 

Longkisa,  which  she  expiies  in  giving! 

"Sleep,"  said  Ihe  Peri,  as  softly  she  stole 
The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  sonl. 
As  true  as  e'er  warm'd  a  v\  Oman's  breast  — 
"  Sleep  on,  in  visions  of  odour  rest, 
"  In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 
'*  Ihe' enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 
"  Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  dea1h-lay,» 
"And  in  mii>ic  and  perfume  dies  away  !" 


4  This  circumstance  has  been  olten  iutroducfd  into 
poetry  J— by  Vincentlu-*  Fabricius,  by  Darwin,  and 
lately,  with  very  poweiful  eSecf,  by  Mr.  Wilson. 

*  '*  In  the  East,  they  <^uppose  ihe  Phccnix  lo  have 
fifty  orifices  in  his  bill,  which  are  continued  lo  his  tail ; 
and  that,  after  living  (.ne  thousand  years,  he  builds 
himself  a  funeral  pile,  sings  a  melodious  air  of  difler- 
ent  harmonies  through  his  fifty  organ  pipes,  flaps  his 
wings  with  a  velocity  which  sets  fire  to  the  wood, and 
consumes  h'ia\stlS.'^-- Richardson, 


PARADISE    AND    THE    PERI, 


279 


Thus  Mving,  from  her  lips  she  spread 

Unearthly  brealliintrs  llirnugh  Ihe  pl.^ce, 
And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shed 

Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face, 
That  like  Iwo  lovely  sainis,  they  scem'd, 

Upon  the  eve  of  doomsday  taken 
From  their  dim  Riaves,  in  odour  >leepiDg; 

While  that  benevolent  Peri  bearn'd 
Like  their  Kmid  aipgei,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them  till  their  souls  would  waken. 

But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky; 

Again  the  Peii  soar^  above, 
Bearing  to  Heav'n  ihat  precious  sigh 

t)f  pure,  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  thrc*b'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elate, 

•Ihe  El\siaii  palm  she  soon  shall  win. 
For  the  tifight  Spirit  at  the  gile 

Smil'd  as  she  gave  that  odenng  in  ; 
And  she  alrfarly  hears  the  trees 

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

That  from  the  throne  of  Alia  swells; 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  howls 

That  lie  around  thai  lucid  like. 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  Souls 

Their  lirst  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  1 1 

But,  ah  !  even  Peris'  hopes  are  vain  — 

Again  Ihe  Faies  forbade,  again 

'1  he'  immortal  barrier  clos'd  —  "  Not  yet," 

The  Angel  said,  as.  with  regret, 

He  shut  from  her  that  glinipe  of  glory  — 

"Triie  was  the  maiden,  and  her  story, 

"  Wrillen  in  light  o'er  Alla's  he.ad, 

*'Bv  je-aph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 

"But,  Pcii.  >ee  — Ihe  crystal  bar 

•'  Of  Edeii  moves  not  —  hnl  ler  far 

•*  'I'han  e  'n  this  sigh  Ihe  boon  must  be 

"That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee." 

Now,  upon  Syria's  land  of  roses  1 
Sof.ly  the  lighl  of  Eve  rt-pises, 
And,  like  a  glory,  the  bro  id  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  Lebanon; 
Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towers, 

And  "hi'ens  with  eternal  sleet, 
While  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers, 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  bis  feet 

To  Or  e,  who  look'd  from  upper  air 
O'er  all  Ihe'  ench  'nied  regions  there. 
How  brau  eous  must  have  been  the  glow, 
The  life,  Ihe  sparkling  from  below  1 
Fair  girdens,  shining  sreanis,  with  ranks 
Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 
Moregilden  where  the  snn-light  falls;  — 
Gay  lizirds,  glittering  on  the  walls3 
Of  ruin'd  shrii.e«,  busy  and  bright 
As  they  were  all  alive  with  light ; 
And,  yet  mure  splendid,  numerous  flocks 
Of  pigems,  Set  ling  on  the  nicks. 
With  Iheir  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 
Variously  in  ihe  crinisoii  beam 


»  '  On  the  shotes  of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand 
thousand  joblets,  made  of  stars,  out  of  which  soi 


pndestined  lo  eiijcy  felicity  drink  the  crystal  „ 

—  From  Chateaubriand's  Description  of  the  Mahome- 
tan I'aradne,  in  his  BeautUs  of  ChriUianity. 

»  Sk.'-ardsnn  thinks  that  Syria  had  its  nnme  from 
Sun,  a  beautiful  and  delicate  species  of  rose,  fnr  which 
Iha'  countiy  has  b.-en  alwajs  famous ;  — hence,  Suris- 
tan,  Ihe  Land  of  Roses. 

3  "The  number  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  in  Ihe 
I  great  enuil  orihe  Temple  if  the  Sun  at  Balbec,  amount- 
ed to  many  Ihoosaiids;  the  ground,  the  «  alls,  and  stones 
H  the  ruined  buildings,  were  covered  with  them."— 
1 1  Bruce. 
I*-- 


Of  the  warm  West,— as  if  inlaid 
With  brilliants  from  ihe  mine,  or  made 
Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 
The'  unclouded  skies  of  Peristan. 
And  then  the  mingling  sounds  that  comC| 
Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,*  with  hum 
Of  the  wild  bees  of  Palestine,* 

Banqueting  through  the  flowery  vales; 
And,  Jotdan,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine. 

And  woods,  so  full  of  nightingales.^ 

But  nought  can  charm  the  luckless  Peri ; 
Her  S'lul  is  sad — her  wings  are  weary  — 
Joyless  .she  sees  Ihe  Suu  look  down 
On  that  great  Temple,  once  his  own,i 
Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime. 

Flinging  their  shadows  from  on  high, 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard,  lime. 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by  I 

Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conceai'd 
Bent-a:h  those  Chanibers  of  the  Sun, 

Some  amulet  of  gems,  anneal'd 

In  upper  fires,  some  tablet  seai'd 
With  the  great  name  of  Solomon, 
Which,  speird  by  her  illumin'd  eyes. 

May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon, 

In  earth  or  ocean,  lies  Ihe  boon. 

The  charm,  Ihat  can  restore  so  soon 
An  erring  Spirit  to  the  skies. 

Cheer'd  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither; 

Siill  laughs  Ihe  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

Nor  have  the  golden  boivers  of  Even 
In  the  rich  West  begun  In  wither  ;  — 
When,  o'er  the  vale  of  Balbcc  winging 

Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  play, 
Among  the  rosy  wild  flowers  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  ihey  ; 
Chasing,  \vith  eager  hands  and  eyes, 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel-flies.s 
That  flutter'd  round  ihc  ,jasn,ine  stems, 
Like  winged  flowers  or  flving  gems:  — 
And,  near  the  buy   who  lir'd  with  play 
Now  nestling  'uini  Ihe  roses  lay. 
She  saw  a  v\earied  man  disnidunt 

From  his  hot  s'eed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount  9 

Impatient  liing  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  lurn'd 

To  Ihe  fair  child,  who  feailess  sat. 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  hurn'd 

Upon  a  brow  more  tierce  than  that,— 
Sullenly  fierce  —  a  mix'ure  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire; 
111  which  the  Pen's  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ru'hiess  deed  ; 
Ihe  ruin'd  maid  —  the  shiine  profan'd  — 
Oaihs  broken  — and  the  threshold  slain'd 


*"The  Syrinx  or  Pan's  pipe  is  still  a  pastoral 
instrument  in  Syria."—  Aia«i. 

'"Wild  bees,  frequent  in  Palestine,  in  hollow 
trunks  or  branches  of  tiees,  and  ihe  clefts  of  rocks. 
Thus  it  is  said  (Psalm  Ixxxi.l,  ' honey  out  of  the 
stony  rockJ'  "  —  Burdtr's  Oriental  Customs. 

«  "  The  river  Jordan  is  on  both  sides  beset  with 
little,  thick,  and  pleasant  woods,  among  which  thou- 
smds  of  nightingales  warble  all  loge:her."  — r/iei*- 

7IOt. 

1  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec. 

8  "  You  behold  there  a  considerable  number  of  a 
reinarkalile  species  of  beautiful  insects,  the  elegance 
of  whose  appearance  and  their  aiiiie  procured  for 
them  tlie  name  of  Damsels.'' —  Somitni. 

9  Imarel,  "  hospice  on  on  Inge  el  nourril,  gratis,  les 
peleriiis  pindaiil  Irns  .jours."— 7'odcj-rjii,  (ro7u/a«crf 
by  Ihc  Abbe  de  Com  <ia/id.  —  See  also  CattcUan'i 
Mccu  s  des  01homan«,  torn.  v.  p.  145. 


280 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


With  blood  of  quests !  —  there  written,  all, 
Black  as  the  danining  drr.ps  that  fall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen, 
£re  Mercy  weeps  them  out  again. 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  l)almy  evening  lime 
Soflen'd  his  spiiit)  Jook'd  and  lay, 
Wa  ching  ihe  rosy  infantas  play  :  — 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  nil  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glance 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze, 
As  torches,  fhat  h.ive  burnt  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 

Kucounler  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But,  hark  !  Ihe  vesper  call  to  prayer, 

As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  ^ete, 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air. 

From  Syria's  thousand  minarets'. 
The  boy  has  started  from  Ihe  bed 
Of  Anwers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head. 
And  down  U|iom  the  fragrant  >od 

Kneels. »  with  his  foieheaJ  to  the  south, 
Lisping  the'  eternal  name  of  God 

From  Purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies, 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Faiadi^e, 
Just  lighted  on  that  tlowery  plain, 
And  seeking  for  i's  home  agiin. 
Oh  !  't  was  a  sight  —  that  Heav'n  —  that  child  — 
A  scene,  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 
Ev'n  haughty  Eblis  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  I 

And  how  felt  /le,  the  wretched  Man 

Reclining  there  —  while  memory  ran 

O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife. 

Flew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 

Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 

Nor  brought  tiim  back  one  branch  of  grace. 

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

Heart-huinbled  tones  —  "  ihi.u  blessed  child  I 

**  When,  young  and  haply  pure  aa  Ihou, 

"  1  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee  —  but  now  — » 

He  hung  his  head  —  each  nol)ler  aim, 

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

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept  —  he  wept ! 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow 
Is  felt  the  drsty  Ihe  only  sense 

Of  gnillless  joy  that  guilt  can  know, 
"There's  a  drop,'*  said  the  Feri,  *Mhat  down  fron 

(he  moon 
*'  Falls  through  Ihe  withering  airs  of  June 
"Upon  Egypt's  laiid,^of  so  healing  a  power, 
"  So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  ev'n  in  (he  hour 


1  "  Such  Turks  as  at  the  common  hours  of  prayer 
re  on  the  mad,  or  so  employed  as  not  to  find  con- 
enience  lo  attend  the  mn-ques,  are  slill  obliged  to 
xecute  th't  duly;  nor  are  they  ever  known  to  f.iil, 
whatever  business  they  are  then  about,  but  pray  im- 
mediately when  Ihe  hour  alarms  them,  whatever 
they  are  about,  in  tliat  very  place  they  chance  to  stand 
1 ;  insomuch  that  when  a  janissary,  uhnm  you  have 
lo  guard  ynu  up  and  down  the  city,  htars  Ihe  notice 
which  is  given  him  from  the  steeples,  he  will  turn 
about,  stand  still,  and  beckon  uiih  his  h^md,  lo  tell 
his  charge  he  must  have  i  a'ience  for  awhile;  when, 
taking  out  his  handkerchief,  he  spreads  it  on  the 
ground,  sits  cross-leKged  thereupon,  and  says  his 
prayers,  though  in  the  open  market,  which,  having 
ended,  he  leaps  briskly  up,  falutes  the  peisnn  whom 
he  undertook  u,  convey,  and  renews  his  journey  with 
the  miM  expression  of  Ghtlt  go/mnum  ^hell,  or 
Come,  dear,  fallow  me."—  ^oro»i  Hiirs  Travels. 
*i  The  Nucta,  or  Miuculous  Drop,  which  falls 


'That  drop  descends,  contagion  dies, 
'And  heallh  remimaies  earth  and  skiea!  — 
'Oh,  is  it  not  thus,  Ihou  man  of  sin, 

"  The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ? 
'Though  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  wiihin, 

** One  heavenly  drop  hath  dispelled  them  alll" 

And  now  —  behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  prayer, 
While  the  same  sunbeam  shines  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one. 
And  hymns  of  jny  proclaim  through  Heaven 
The  Iriuniph  of  a  Soul  Forgiven  I 

'T  was  when  the  golden  orb  had  set. 
While  on  their  knees  ihey  linger'd  yet. 
There  fell  a  light  moie  lovely  far 
Thiin  ever  came  from  sun  or  star, 
Upon  the  tear  lliat,  warm  and  meek, 
l)ew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek. 
To  moital  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  notthern  lia^h  or  me  eor  beam  — 
But  well  th' enraptured  Peri  knew 
'T  was  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  Ihat  tear 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

"  J^Vi  jf^y  foi"  ever !  my  task  is  done  — 

*'  The  Gales  are  ija.^s'd,  and  Heaven  is  won  I 

**  Oh  !  am  I  not  happy  ?  1  am,  I  am  — 

"  'J'o  thee,  sweet  Eden  !  how  d^rk  and  sad 
"  Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  Shadukiam,3 

"And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  Aniberabadl 

'*  Farewell,  ye  odours  of  Farth,  Ihat  die 

*'  My  feast  is  now  of  the  Tonba  tree,* 
*•  Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  ! 

•'  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flowers,  Ihat  shone 
"  In  my  ftiry  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief  ;- 
"  Oh  !  what  are  the  bnghtfst  that  e'er  have  blown, 
"To  the  loie-lree,  springing  by  Alla's  ihroue,* 

**  Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leaf, 
"Joy,  joy  for  ever!  —  my  ta.^k  is  done  — 
**  The  Gales  are  pass'd,  and  heav'n  is  won  I** 


"And  tills.''  said  the  Great  Chamberlain,  "is 
poetry  !  this  tllmsy  manufacture  of  Ihe  brain,  which, 
m  comparison  vvith  the  lofty  and  durable  monuments 
of  genius,  is  as  the  gold  filigreewnrk  of  Zamara  be- 
side the  eternal  architecture  of  Egypt!"  After  this 
gorgeous  sentence,  which,  with  a  few  more  of  ihe 
same  kind,  Fadladeen  kept  by  him  for  'are  and  iin- 
I  orfanl  occasions,  he  proceeded  to  the  anatomy  of  the 
short  poem  ju->t  recited.  The  lax  and  easy 'kind  of 
metre  in  which  it  was  written  ought  to  be  denounced, 
he  said,  as  one  of  the  le.iding  causes  of  the  ilarming 
growth  of  poe'ry  m  our  time?,  if  some  check  were 
not  given  lo  this  lawless  facility,  we  should  soon  be 
over-run  by  a  nee  of  baids  as  numerous  and  as  shal- 


Egypt   precisely  on  St.  John's  day,  in  June,  and  is 
supposed  to  have  the  effect  of  slopping  the  plague. 

STbeCountryof  Delight  — the  name  of  a  province 
in  the  kingdom  of  Jinnisinn,  or  Faity  Laid,  the 
capital  of  uhich  is  called  the  City  rf  Jewels.  Am- 
berabad  is  anuther  of  the  cities  of  Jinnis'an. 

*  The  tree  Tooba,  Ihat  stands  in  Paradise,  in  Ihe 
palace  of  Mahomet.  See  SnWs  Prelim.  Disc  — Tooba, 
says  V^HcrLcloty  signifies  beatitude,  or  eternal  bappi- 

*  Mahomet  is  described,  in  the  53d  chapter  of  the 
Koran,  as  having  seen  the  .mgel  Gabriel  *•  by  the  lotp- 
tree,  beyoi  d  which  'here  is  n"  passing:  ntar  it  is  Ihe 
Garden  of  Eteiial  Abode."  This  tree,  >ays  Ihe  com- 
mentators, st.inds  in  the  seventh  Heaven,  on  the  right 

i  hand  of  the  Throne  of  God. 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


231 


low  as  the  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  Streams  of 
Basra.'  They  who  succeeded  in  this  style  deserved 
chasiisenierit  for  their  very  sncceNS  ; — as  ^varriora 
have  been  (mnislu-d,  even  after  t(ainine;  a  victory, 
becati*e  thev  liaJ  taken  'he  liberty  of  piniing  it  in  an 
irregular  or  jneslalilishcd  manner.  VVha',  then,  w.ns 
to  be  said  to  those  vvlio  failed  ?  to  those  wh.i presumed, 
as  in  the  nreseiil  lanien  able  ins'ai.ce,  lo  iiiiilate  Ihc 
license  and  ea-e  of  the  b-dder  sons  of  son;,  without 
any  of  that  ^race  or  vigour  which  gave  a  dignity  even 
to  negligence  J — who,  like  ihein.  flung  the  jereed  3 
carelessly,  but  not.  like  them,  lo  the  iiiwk  ;  —  ^' aud 
who,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  to  exci  e  a  proper 
degree  of  wakefulness  in  his  hearers,  "contrive  lo 
appear  heavy  and  constrained  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
lailtuile  they  ;.|low  themselves,  l.ke  one  of  those 
vonng  pagans  that  dance  before  the  Princess,  who  is 
ingenious  enough  to  move  as  if  tier  limbs  were  fet- 
tered, in  a  pair  of  the  lightest  and  loosest  drawers  of 
Masulipa'ain  !" 

it  was  but  little  sui;able,  he  conlinued,  to  the  grave 
march  of  criticism  >•>  follow  this  faniastical  Peri,  of 
M  tiom  they  had  just  heard,  through  all  her  lllghts  and 
adventures  between  e  ir  b  and  heaven;  but  he  could 
not  help  adverting  to  the  puerile  conceiiednpjs  of  the 
Three  Gdts  which  she  is  supposed  to  carry  to  the 
^kies,— a  diop  of  blond,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear! 
How  the  first  of  these  arlicirs  was  delivered  inlo  the 
Angel's  *'  radiant  hand  *  he  professed  himself  at  a 
loss  to  disc'ver  ;  and  as  to  llie  safe  carriage  of  the 
si^fh  and  llie  'ear,  such  Peris  and  such  poets  were 
beings  by  far  too  incomprehensible  for  him  even  lo 
guess  bow  they  managed  .^uch  matters.  "But,  in 
short 7*  said  he,  "  it  is  a  waste  of  time  and  pa'ience  to 
dwell  longer  upon  a  thing  so  incurably  frivolous, — 
puny  even  among  its  own  puny  race,  and  such  as  only 
the  Banyan  Hospital  3  for  Sick  Insects  should  under- 
take." 

In  vain  did  Lalla  Rookh  try  to  soften  this  inexorable 
critic  ;  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  her  most  eloquent  com- 
mon-places,—reminding  hiiii  ttiat  poe's  weie  atiniid 
and  sensitive  rice,  whose  sweetness  was  not  to  be 
drawn  fonh.  like  that  of  the  fragiant  grass  near  the 
Ganges,  by  crushing  and  tr.inipling  upon  them;*  — 
that  seveiry  often  extinguished  every  chmce  of  the 
perfection  which  it  demanded  ;  and  tti.at,  after  all, 
perfection  was  like  tlie  Moon'ain  of  the  I  alisman.— 
no  one  hid  ever  >et  reached  its  sumnii'.*  Neither 
Ihe^e  gentle  axioms,  nor  the  s^ill  gentler  looks  with 
Vfhich  they  were  mculcatid,  c  mM   Inwer  fr  one  in- 


«  'It  is  said  that  the  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra 
were  reckoned  in  the  time  of  Petal  bin  Abi  Bordeh, 
and  amounted  lo  the  number  of  one  bundled  and 
twenty   thousand  streams."  —  Ebn  Hauhal. 

•>  The  name  of  tlie  javelin  wi'h  which  the  Easterns 
exercise.  See  Castellan.  Maun  dcs  Otlwmans,  torn, 
iii.  p.  161. 

5  "  This  account  excited  a  desire  of  visiting  the 
lianyan  Hospital,  as  1  had  heard  much  of  their  benevo- 
lence to  all  kinds  of  animals  that  were  eiiher  sick, 
lame,  or  infiim,  through  age  or  accident.  On  my 
arrivd,  there  were  presented  to  mv  view  many  horses, 
cows,  ind  oxen,  in  one  apa.tnieni ;  in  another,  dogs, 
sheep,  goals,  and  monkeys.  wi:h  clean  straw  for  them 
to  repose  on.  Above  s'airs  were  depositories  for 
seeds  of  many  sorts,  and  Hat.  broad  dishes  for  water, 
for  the  use  of  birds  and  insects."  —  Parsmi's  Travels. 
It  is  said  that  all  animals  know  the  Banyans,  that 
the  most  timid  approach  them,  and  that  birds  will  fly 
nearer  to  them  than  to  otiier  people.  —See  Grandpre. 
*  "A  very  fragrant  gra.s  from  the  banks  of  the 
Ganges,  near  Heridwar,  which  In  some  places  covers 
whole  acres,  a^d  dilTuses,  when  crushed,  a  strong 
odour,"  — Sir  tV.  Jones  on  the  Spikenard  of  the  An- 
cients. ' 

'  "  Near  this  is  a  curious  hilt,  called  Koh  Talism. 
the  Mountain  of  the  T.ilisman,  becau'e,  according  lo 
.  I  '-he  traditions  of  the  country,  no  person  ever  succeeded 
I,  in  g»iniDg  its  summit."— iTiniior. 


stant  the  elevation  of  Fadladeen's  eyebrows,  or  charms 
him  into  anything  like  encour-gement,  or  even  tolera- 
tion, of  her  poet.  Toleiation,  indeed,  was  not  among 
the  aveaknesses  of  Fadladeen  :—  he  carried  ihe  same 
spirit  into  mattera  of  poetry  and  of  religion,  and, 
though  little  versed  in  the  beauties  or  sublimities  of 
either,  was  a  perfect  master  of  the  art  of  pei^ecution 
in  both.  His  zeal  was  the  s. me,  too,  in  either  pur- 
suit ;  whetl  er  the  game  before  him  was  pagans  or  po- 
ttasteis,—  VAorshippeis  of  cows,  or  wriieis  of  ejiics. 

Thev  had  now  arrived  at  the  .splendid  city  of  1a- 
hore,  whose  mausoleums  and  .shiiiies,  magnihcent  and 
numberless,  where  Death  appeared  to  share  equal  ho- 
nours with  Heaven,  would  have  powerfully  aliecied  the 
heart  and  imagination  of  f-alla  Kookh,  if  leelings  more 
of  this  earth  had  not  taken  entire  possession  of  her  al- 
ready. She  was  here  met  by  messengers,  despatched 
from  Cashmere,  who  informed  her  lliat  the  King  had 
arrived  in  tJie  Valley,  and  was  himself  superintending 
the  sunijiluous  prepaiaiions  that  were  ihen  making  in 
the  Saloons  of  tlie  .Slialimar  for  her  leception.  Tlie 
chill  she  fell  on  receiving  this  intetligence,— which  to 
a  biide  whose  tieart  was  free  and  light  would  have 
brnught  oiilv  images  of  artection  and  pleasure, —  con- 
vinced her  ihal  her  peace  was  gone  for  ever,  ar"i  that 
slie  was  in  love,  irretiievably  in  love,  wiih  young 
FiramorT:.  The  veil  had  fallen  olf  in  which  this  pas- 
sion ai  first  disguises  itself,  and  to  know  that  she  loved 
was  now  as  painfnt  as  to  love  i/jit/iout  knowing  it  had 
been  delicious.  Feramnrz,  too, —  what  misery  would 
be  his,  if  the  sweet  hours  ol^  intercourse  so  iintirudently 
allowed  them  should  hive  sioleu  into  his  heart  t.he 
same  tatal  fa  ciuation  as  into  hers;  —  if,  notvviihstand- 
ing  her  rank,  and  ihe  rnndesi  homage  he  alwavs  pa  d 
to  it,  even  he  should  have  yielded  to  the  influence  of 
those  long  and  happy  in'erv  lews,  w  here  music,  poetry, 
the  delightful  scenes  of  nature,— all  had  tended  to  bring 
their  hearts  close  togettier,  and  to  waken  by  every 
means  that  loo  ready  passion,  which  often,  like  Ihe 
y  ung  of  Ihe  de-ert-biid,  is  warmed  into  lite  !.y  the 
-'     -'"     ^^-  "^    ■     le  way  to  preseive  hei- 

II  as  unhappy,  and  this, 
iolved  to  adopt.  Fera- 
Te  he  admitted  to  her  presence.  To 
have  strayed  so  far  into  the  dangerous  l.ibyrinth  was 
wrong,  but  to  linger  in  it.  while  Ihe  clue  was  yet  in 
her  hand,  would  be  criminal.  Though  the  heart  she 
had  to  offer  to  the  King  of  Bucharia  might  be  cold  and 
broken,  it  should  at  leist  be  pure  ;  aiidshe  nmsi  only 
endeavour  to  forget  the  short  dreim  of  hai  piiiess  she 
had  enjoyed,—  like  that  Arabian  shepherd,  who,  in 
wandering  into  the  wilderness,  caught  a  gl.mpse  of 
the  Gardens  of  Irim,  and  then  lost  ihem  aguin  for 

I  The  arrival  of  Ihe  young  Bride  at  Lahore  was  cele- 
brated in  the  most  eulhu-iastic  manner.  The  R.ijas 
and  (Jmr.i5  in  her  train,  who  had  kept  at  a  certain  dis- 
tance during  Ihe  journey,  and  never  encamied  nearer 
to  Ihe  Princess  'han  was  slnc'ly  necessarj  for  her  safe- 
guard, here  rode  in  splendid  cavalcade  thiough  tlie 
city,  and  distributed  the  most  costly  presents  to  the 
crowd.  Engines  were  erected  In  all  tlie  squares, 
which  cast  forth  showers  of  confectionary  among  the 
people;  while  ihe  artisans,  in  cliaiiots 8  adorned  with 
tinsel  and  flying  stieamers.  exhibited  the  bidgcs  of 
their  respective  tiades  through  the  streets.  Such  bril- 
liant displays  of  life  and  pageantry  among  Ihe  palaces, 
and  domes,  and  gilded  minarets  of  Lahore,  made  Ihe 
city  altogether  like  a  plare  of  enchantment ;— particu- 
larly on  the  day  w  hen  Lalla  Rookh  set  nut  again  upon 
her  journey,  when  she  was  accompanird  lo  Ihc  gate 
by  all  the  fairest  and  richest  of  the  nobility,  and  rode 
along  between  ranks  of  beauiiful  bo)s  and  girls,  w  ho 
kept  waving  over  their  heads  plates  of  gold  and  silver 


self  from  being  culp.ible 
however  painful,  ; 


6  "The  Arabians  believe  that  Ihe  ostriches  hatch 
their  yoiihg  by  only  bolting  at  Ihem."— y.  h'ansleht, 
Relat.  d-£giji.le. 

t  See  Sale's  Koran,  note,  »ol.  ii,  p.  4S4, 

8  Oriental  Tales. 


24* 


282 


LALLA    ROOKH 


fiowers/  and  then  threw  them  around  to  be  gathered 
by  the  populace. 

For  ni.iny  iliys  after  their  departure  frnm  Lahnre,  a 
considerable  decree  of  glnoni  hune  over  (he  whole 
party.  Lalh  Ror-kh,  who  had  intetided  lo  make  ill- 
ness her  exctise  for  not  adniiltine;  Ihe  young  ininsirel, 
as  usual,  to  the  pavilion,  soon  found  thit  to  feign  in- 
disposition was  unnecessary  i — Fadladeen  felt  the  loss 
ot  the  good  road  ihey  had  hittierto  (ravelled,  and  was 
veiy  nearcursin?  Jeh:in-Guire  (of  blessed  meniorv  !) 
for  not  having  coniinucri  his  delectable  alley  of  Iree^,*! 
at  least  as  far  as  the  nuiuntains  of  Cashmere  ;  —  while 
(he  Ladies,  who  had  nothing  i^ow  to  do  all  day  but  to 
be  fanned  by  peacicks' feithtrs  and  lis  en  to  Fadla- 
deen, seenied  hear  ily  weary  of  the  Hie  they  led,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  the  Great  Chamberlatn's  cri  Jcisnis,  were 
so  tasteless  as  to  wish  fTthe  poet  ag^in  One  even- 
ing, as  Ihey  were  pr  cecding  to  their  place  of  rest  for 
Ihe  night,  the  Princess  who,  for  the  fiecr  enjoyinent 
of  the  air,  hid  mounted  her  favourite  Aribian  pilfre/. 
in  passing  by  a  small  grove  heard  the  notes  of  a  hite 
from  within  its  le  ve",  and  a  voice,  which  she  but  too 
well  knew,  singing  the  following  words:  — 


Trll  I 


If  IhoBf  loiiks  that  I 

WouDtl  like  some  llmt  tj 

Who,  that  ffele  what  Lnve 

All  its  fulaehood— all  its 

Wnuld.  for  ev'n  Klysmm'* 


Riak  the  fatal  dn 


Stn 


lidHt  a  desert's  heat 
'atcrs  fade  away, 
ather  die  than  meet 
LjainasrabeaDtht-y? 


The  lone  of  mel.incholy  defiance  in  which  these 
vvoids  were  uttered,  went  to  l,;tlla  Rookh's  heart ;  — 
and,  as  she  reluctantly  rode  on,  she  conld  not  help 
feeling  it  to  be  a  sad  but  siil)  sweet  certainty,  that 
Feramorz  was  to  the  full  as  euamuured  and  miserable 
as  herself. 

The  phce  where  Ihey  encamped  that  evening  was 
the  first  delightful  spot  they  had  come  to  since  Ihey 
left  Lahore.  On  oi.e  side  of  Ilium  was  a  grove  full 
of  sm  ill  Hindoo  temples,  and  planted  with  the  most 
graceful  trees  of  the  Kast ;  where  the  tamarind,  the 
c.issii,  and  Ihe  eilken  plnnl-uns  of  Ceylon  were 
miiieied  in  rich  contrast  wiih  the  high  f.in-like  foliage 
of  the  Palmyra,—  that  favourite  tree  of  Ihe  luxnrmus 
bird  that  lights  up  the  chambers  of  iis  nest  with  fire- 
flies.3  In  the  middle  of  Ihe  lawn  where  Ihe  pavilion 
stood  there  was  a  tank  surrounded  by  small  niangoe- 
trees,  on  the  clear  cold  waters  of  which  floated  mul- 
titudes of  the  beautiful  red  lotusj*   while  at  a  dis- 


>  Ferishta.  "Or  rather  ''says  Scott,  upon  the  pas- 
sme  of  Fenshta,  from  which  this  is  t..ken,  "small 
coins,  slumped  with  Ihe  fiiuie  of  a  floiver.  They  are 
s'ilj  used  in  India  to  distribute  in  ch.irily,  and,  on  nc- 
cision,  thrown  by  the  purse-bearer^  of  the  great  among 
(lie  pnpulace." 

-  The  fine  road  made  by  the  Emperor  Jehan-Guire 
from  Agr.i  to  Lahore,  planted  with  tiees  on  each  side. 
This  load  19  250  leagues  in  length  It  has  'Millie  pyr- 
amids or  lurreis."  s-ys  Bemier,  "erected  every  half 
le.igue,  10  mark  the  ways,  and  frequent  wells  to  aflord 
drink  to  passengers,  and  to  water  the  young  trees." 

3  The  Baya,  or  Indian  Gross-beak.— Sir  IV.  Jones. 

*  "Here  is  a  large  pagoda  by  a  tank,  on  the  water 
of  which  llnai  multitudes  of  the  beauiful  red  lotus: 
the  flower  is  larger  than  that  of  llm  white  water-lily, 
and  is  the  m^-st  hwely  of  the  nympliaeas  I  have  heen.'> 
—  Mrs.  Qrahani's  Jour  lal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 


tance  stood  the  ruins  of  a  strange  and  awful-looking 
tower,  which  seemed  old  enough  to  have  been  the 
temple  of  some  religion  no  longer  known,  and  which 
spoke  Ihe  voice  of  desolation  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
blonni  and  loveliness.  'Ihis  singular  ruin  excited  (he 
wonder  and  conjectures  of  all.  Lalla  Rookh  guessed 
in  v.iin,  and  the  all-pretending  Fadladeen,  who  had 
never  till  this  journey  been  beyond  Ihe  precincts  of 
Delhi,  was  proceeding  most  leirnedlv  lo  show  tlwt  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  the  matter,  when  one 
of  the  Lidies  suggested  that  perhaps  Feramorz  could 
saii>fy  their  curiosity.  They  were  now  approaching 
his  na'ive  mountain-,  and  iliis  tower  mi^ht  perhaps 
be  a  relic  of  some  of  those  dark  superstitions,  which 
had  prevailed  in  that  country  before  the  light  of 
Islam  dawned  upon  it.  The  Chamberlain,  who 
usually  preferred  his  own  ignorance  to  the  best 
knowledge  tha'  any  one  else  could  give  him,  was  by 
no  means  pleased  with  Ihis  ofiicious  reference;  and 
the  Princess,  ton,  was  about  to  interpose  a  faint  word 
of  objection,  but,  before  either  of  thent  could  speak, 
a  slave  was  despatched  (or  Feramorz,  who,  in  a  very 
few  uiinuies,  made  his  appearance  before  them  — 
looking  so  jiale  and  unhappy  in  Lalla  Rookh's  eyes, 
that  she  repented  already  of  her  cruelly  in  having  so 
long  excluded  him. 

That  venerable  tower,  he  told  them,  was  the  re- 
mains of  an  ancient  Fire-Temple,  built  by  those 
Ghebers  or  Persians  nf  the  old  religion,  who,  many 
hundred  years  since,  had  fled  hitlier  from  their  Arab 
con(juerors,5  preferring  liberty  and  their  altan  in  a 
foreign  land  to  Ihe  alternative  of  apo^la^y  or  persecu- 
tion in  tlieir  own.  It  was  impossible,  he  added,  not 
to  feel  interested  In  the  many  glorious  but  unsuccess- 
ful struggles,  which  liad  been  made  by  these  original 
na'ives  of  Persia  to  cast  oH"  the  yoke  of  their  bigoted 
conquerors.  Like  their  own  Fire  in  tlie  B'lrning 
Field  at  Bakou,6  w  hen  suppressed  in  one  plate,  they 
had  but  broken  out  with  fresh  flame  in  another;  and, 
as  a  na'ive  of  Cashmere,  of  I.hat  fair  and  Holy  Val- 
ley, which  had  in  the  same  manner  became  the  prey 
of  strangL-rs,"'  and  seen  her  ancient  shrines  and  native 
princes  sweut  away  belore  the  march  of  her  intoler- 
ant invaders",  he  felt  a  sympathy,  he  owned,  with  the 
suli'erings  of  the  persecuted  Ghebers,  wliich  every 
monument  like  Ihis  before  them  but  tended  more 
powertully  to  awaken. 

It  Wis  the  first  time  that  Feramorz  had  ever  ven- 
tured upon  so  much  j^rose  before  Fadladeen,  and  it 
may  easily  be  conceived  what  efleci  such  prose  as 
this  must  have  produced  upon  that  most  orthodox  and 
most  pagan-hat ing  personage.  He  sat  for  some 
minutes  aghast,  ejaculating  only  at  intervals,  "  Bigot- 
ed conquerors  I — sympathy  willi  Fire-worshippers  1*8 
—  while  Feramorz,  happy  to  lake  advantage  of  this 
almost  speechless  horror  ot  the  Chamberbiin,  pro- 
ceeded lo  say  that  he  knew  a  melancholy  story,  con- 
nected with  the  events  of  one  of  those  struggles  of 
the  brave  Fire-worshippers  against  their  Arab  mas- 


6  "On  les  voit  persecutes  par  les  Khalifes  se  retirer 
dans  les  monlagnes  du  Kerman:  plusieurs  choisirent 
pour  retraite  la  Taitarie  el  la  Chine;  d'autres 
h'arreterent  sur  les  bords  du  Gange,  a  Pest  d»Uelhi." 
~M.  Anquclily  Meinoires  de  I'Acadeu'ie,  torn,  xxx'u 
p.  346. 


1  "  Cashmere  (says  its  historians)  had  its  own  prin- 
ces 4000  years  before  its  conquest  by  Akbar  in  1585. 
Akbar  would  have  fuund  s'-me  dilhculty  to  reduce 
Ihis  paradise  of  the  Indie^^,  situiled  as  it  is  viithin 
such  a  fortress  of  mountains,  but  its  monarch,  Ynsef- 
Khan,  was  basely  betnyed  by  his  Omiahs."  — i'en 
najit. 

fl  Voltaire  tells  us  that  in  his  TraRcdv,  "  Les  Gue 
bre-.,"  he  was  generally  supposed  to  have  alluded  lo 
the  Jansenists.  i  should  not  besurpij-ed  if  this  story 
of  the  Fire-worshippers  were  found  capable  U  a 
similar  doubleness  of  application. 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


283 


ters^  which,  if  the  evening  was  not  too  far  advanced, 
he  should  have  much  ijleasure  in  being  allowed  lo 
relate  to  the  I'rincess.  It  was  ini[jossiIjIe  for  Lalla 
Kotikh  to  refuse  ; — he  had  never  before  looked  half  so 
aniiiiated  ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  the  Holy  Valley,  his 
eves  had  sparkled,  &he  thoughl,  like  the  talismanic 
cnaraclers  on  the  scimitar  of  Solomon.  Her  consent 
was  Iherefore  most  readily  granted  ;  and  while  Fad- 
ladecn  sat  in  unspeakable  dismay,  expecting  treason 
and  abomination  in  every  line,  the  poet  thus  began 
hii  itory  of  the  Fire-worshippers:  — 


THE    FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

»T  is  moonlight  over  Oman's  Sea  j  i 

Her  banks  of  pe^rl  and  palmy  isles 
Bask  in  the  night-beam  beauteously, 

And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles, 
'Tis  moonlight  in  Harmozia's  «  walls, 
And  through  her  Emir's  por[ihyry  halls, 
Where,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  Hie  swell 
Of  trumpet  and  the  clash  of  zel,3 
Bidding  rhe  bright-eyed  sun  farewell  ;— 
The  peaceful  sun.  whnm  better  suits 

The  music  of  the  bulbul  s  nesf, 
Or  the  light  touch  of  lo\er!,'  lutes, 

To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest. 
All  hush'd  — there  's  not  a  breeze  in  motion; 
The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 
If  zephyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Nor  leaf  is  slirrM  nor  wave  is  driven;— 
The  wind-tower  oii  the  Emir's  dome  * 

Can  hardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven, 

Ev'n  he,  that  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 

Calm,  while  a  mijon  round  him  weeps; 

While  curses  h)ad  the  air  he  breathes, 

And  falchions  from  unnumberM  sheaihs 

Are  smarting  tn  avenge  the  shmie 

His  race  haih  broueht  on  Iran'^s  *  name. 

Hard,  heartless  Chief,  unmovM  alike 

Mid  eyes  that  vveep,  and  swords  that  strike  ;— 

One  of  that  saintly,  murderous  brood, 

To  carnage  and  the  Koran  given. 
Who  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 

Lies  their  directest  pii'h  to  heaven  ; 
One,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 

In  the  warm  blnod  his  hand  hath  pour'd, 
To  mutter  o'er  some  'ext  of  God 

Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword  ;  6  — 
Nay,  who  can  cooHy  note  the  line, 
The  letter  of  ih"se  words  divine, 
To  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art, 
Had  sunk  into  its  viciiiirs  heart  1 

Just  Alia !  what  must  be  thy  look, 

When  such  a  wretch  before  thee  stands 
Unblushing,  with  thy  Sacred  Hook, — 

Turning  the  leaves  with  blood  stainM  hands, 
And  wresting  from  its  page  sublime 
His  creed  of  lust,  and  hate,  and  orime;— 
Ev'n  as  thoae  bees  of  Trebizond, 

Which,  from  the  sunniest  flowers  that  glad 
With  their  pure  smile  (he  gardens  round, 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad.' 


t  The  Persian  Gulf,  -nnietimes  sn  called,  which 
leparales  the  shores  of  Persia  and  Ar.ibia. 

*  The  present  Gombaroon,  a  town  on  the  Persian 
lideoftheG.ilf. 

3  A  Moorish  instrument  of  music. 

4  "  At  Gombaroon  and  other  placei  in  Persia,  they 
have  towers  for  the  purpose  "f  catching  the  wind, and 
cooling  the  houses  "  —  Le  Bruyn. 

8  "  Iran  is  ttie  true  general  name  for  the  empire  of 
Persia."— .^vtttf.  Res.  Disc.  5. 

6  "On  Ilia  hladesof  iheir  scimitars  some  verse  from 
the  Koran  is  usually  inscribed."  —  RwiscJ, 


Never  did  fierce  Arabia  send 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great: 
Ne\er  was  Iran  doom'd  to  bend 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 
Her  throne  had  fall'n  — her  pride  was  cruah'd  - 
Her  suns  were  willing  slaves,  uor  blush'd, 
In  their  own  land,—  no  more  their  own, — 
To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 
Her  lowei-s,  where  Milhra  once  had  buru'd. 
To  Moslem  shrines  —  uh  shame  !  —  were  turned, 
Where  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword, 
Their  njean,  apostate  worship  pour'd. 
And  curs'd  the  faith  their  sires  ador'd. 
Vet  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  that  »s  set,— 

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

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  date; 
As  he  shall  ku-.w,  well,  de.rly  know. 

Who  sleep"  in  moonlight  luxury  there, 
Tranquil  as  if  his  spirit  lay 
Pecalm'd  in  Heav'n's  approving  ray. 
Sleep  on  — for  purer  eyes  than  thine 
Those  waves  are  hush'd,  those  planets  shine ; 
Sleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  unmov'd 

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

±>hould  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 

And  see  —  where,  high  above  those  rocks 
That  o'er  the  deep  (heir  shadows  Bin^, 
Yon  turret  stands;—  where  ebon  locks. 
As  flossy  as  a  heron's  wing 
Upon  the  turban  of  a  king,8 
Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild,— 
'T  is  she,  that  Emir's  blooming  child, 
All  truth  and  tenderness  and  grace, 
Though  born  of  such  ungentle  race  ; — 
An  image  of  You'h's  radiant  Fountaia 
Springing  in  a  desolate  mountain !  f 

Oh  what  a  pure  and  sacred  tiling 

Is  Beauty,  curlamM  from  the  sight 
Of  (he  gross  world,  illumining 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light! 
Unseen  bv  man's  disturbing  eye, — 

The  flower  that  blooms  beneath  the  sea, 
Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 

Hid  in  more  chaste  ob>curity. 
So,  Hiuda,  have  thy  face  and  mind. 
Like  holy  mysteries,  fein  enshrin'd. 
And  oh,  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  (he  veil  that  shades  them  oer!  — 
Like  those  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  soiue  fairy  shore, 

Where  mortal  never  trod  before. 
And  sleep  and  wake  in  scented  airs 
No  lip  had  ever  breath'd  but  theirs. 
Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide. 

On  Bummer-eves,  through  Vemen's**"  dales, 
And  bright  the  glancit  g  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils; — 
And  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  while  j.ismine  flowers  they  wear, 


1  "There  is  a  kind  of  Rhododendros  about  Trebi- 
zond, whose  flowers  the  bee  feeds  upnn.  and  the  honey 
thence  drives  people  mad  "—  Tonrncfort. 

8  "  Their  kinss  wear  plume<i  of  black  herons*  fea- 
thers upon  the  right  side,  as  a  badge  of  sovereignty." — 
Haiiway. 

s  *'  The  Fountain  of  Youth,  by  a  Mahometan  tra- 
dition, is  silua'ed  in  some  dark  region  of  the  East.*' — 
Richardson, 

10  Arabia  Felix. 


2S4 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Hath  Yemen  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Who,  lulIM  in  coni  kiosk  cr  bo\ver,» 
Before  their  mirrors  C"uitt  the  tirne,^ 

Auil  grow  B'lll  lovelier  every  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  Araby's  gav  Haram  smil  d. 
Whose  bnas'e^l  brightnc'^s  would  not  fade 

Bifore  Al  HiissaiVs  bloominsj  child. 

Li2ht  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
An  infani's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Ri  h  In  al!  woman's  loveliness;  — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  would  turn  abash'd  away, 
Blin-Jpd  like  serpems,  when  they  gaze 
Upon  the  emerald's  virgin  blaze  :  3 — 
Yet  fill'd  with  alt  youth's  sweet  clesires, 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  o'her  worlds  wiih  all  the  tiliss, 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this: 
**A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine, 

Where,  through  some  stiades  of  earthly  feeling, 
Religion's  snf.en  d  glories  shine. 

Like  light  through  -umnicr  foliage  stealing, 
Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue. 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too, 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
Morebeiuttful  ih.n  light  elsewhere. 
Such  is  the  maid  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hati!  risen  from  her  restless  sleep, 
And  sits  alone  in  that  hieli  lower, 

Watching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 
Ah  !  *t  was  not  thus, —  wi'h  tearful  eyes 

And  bea'ing  heart, —  she  us'd  to  gaze 
On  the  magnificent  earth  ami  skies, 

In  her  own  land,  in  happier  days. 
Why  lonks  she  now  so  anxious  down 
Among  those  rfcks,  who^e  rugged  frown 

BLtckeiis  the  mirror  of  the  deep  ? 
Whom  wai's  she  all  this  lonely  night 

Too  rough  I  he  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep, 
F'.r  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height  1  — 
And  had  it  deck'd  with  costliest  skill, 

And  fondly  thought  it  safe  as  fair:  — 

So  deem'd  at  least  her  Ihnughtful  sire, 
When  hi?h,  to  ca'ch  the  cool  night-air. 

After  the  day-be.im'b  withering  fi  e.< 
He  built  her  bower  of  freshness  there, 

1  "  In  the  miHst  of  'he  earden  is  the  chiosk,  that  is, 
a  large  mom,  conimonly  beautified  with  a  fine  fountain 
in  the  midjt  of  if.  It  is  raided  nine  or  ten  steps,  and 
inclosed  with  gilded  lafices,  round  which  vines,  jei- 
s^imines,  and  honeysuckles,  make  a  sort  of  green  wall ; 
large  trees  are  pi  nted  round  this  place,  which  is  the 
scene  of  their  greatest  pleasures."— Z-arfy  M.  IV.  Mon- 
tagu* 

^  The  women  of  the  East  are  never  without  their 
looking-glasses.  '-In  Barbery,"  snys  SAaio,  "they  are 
so  lond  of  iheir  looking-^la-ses,  which  they  hang  upon 
their  breasts,  that  (hey  will  not  lay  them  aside,  even 
when  atter  the  drudgery  of  the  day  they  are  obliged  to 
go  two  or  three  miles  with  a  pitcher  or  a  goat's  tkin 
to  fetch  water." — Travels. 

In  other  parts  of  Asia  they  wear  litHe  lookjng-glas'^es 
on  their  thumbs.  "Hence  (and  from  the  lotus  being 
considered  the  emblem  of  beauty)  is  the  meaning  of 
the  following  mute  intercourse  of  two  lovers  before 
their  p^^rents:  — 

"•  He  witli  salute  of  riefercnce  due, 
A  lutiis  ti»  hi«  fi)rchead  prest ; 
She  raiKM  her  mirror  to  his  view, 

Tlien  lurn'U  it  iuwnrO  to  her  breast."* 

Asiatic  Miscellany,  vol.  11. 

>  '*They  say  that  if  a  snake  or  serpent  fix  his  eyes 
on  the  lustre  of  those  s'ones  (emeralds),  he  immedi- 
ately becomes  blind." — Ahmed  btn  Aldalaziz,  Trea- 

•  "  At  Gombaroon  and  the  Isle  r.f  Ormus  it  is  some- 
times 80  hot,  that  the  people  are  obliged  to  lie  all  day 
in  the  water. ^—A/arco  Pvlo*  ^ 


Think,  reverend  dreamer!  think  so  still. 

Nor  wake  to  learn  what  love  can  duvj^ 
Love,  all-defying  Love,  who  sees 
No  charm  in  trophies  won  with  ease;  — 
Whose  rtrest,  dearest  fruil>  of  bliss 
Are  pluck'd  on  Danger's  precipice! 
Bolder  than  they,  who  dare  not  dive 

For  pearls,  but  when  the  sea's  at  rest, 
Love,  in  the  tempest  most  alive, 

Haih  ever  held  that  pearl  the  best 
He  finds  benea'h  the  stormiest  water. 
Yes  —  Araby's  unrivall'd  daughter, 
Though  high  that  tov\er,  that  rock-way  rude, 

'I  here  's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek, 
Would  climb  the'  untrodden  solitude 

Of  Ararat's  tremendous  peak,* 
And  think  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 
Heav'n's  pathways,  if  lo  thee  they  led  ! 
Ev'n  now  thou  seest  the  flashing  spray, 
That  lights  his  oar's  impatient  way  ; 
Ev'n  now  thou  liear'st  the  sudden  shock 
Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock. 
And  strelcbest  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 
As  if  10  lift  him  from  l>elovv  ! 
Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  ntght, 
The  bridegroom,  with  his  locks  of  light,« 
Came,  in  the  flush  of  love  and  pride, 
And  scal'd  the  terrace  of  his  bride  ;  — 
When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring. 
And  midway  up  in  danger  cling. 
She  flung  him  down  her  long  black  hair. 
Exclaiming,  breathless,  *  There,  love,  there  I» 
And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  uphtdd 

The  hero  Zal  in  that  fond  hour, 
Than  wiugs  the  youtli  who,  fleet  and  bold, 

Now  climbs  the  recks  to  Hinda's  bower. 
See  —  light  as  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock-goats  of  Arabia  clamber,' 
Fe.irless  from  crag  to  crag  he  le^tps. 

And  now  is  in  the  maiden's  chaniber. 
She  loves — but  knows  not  whom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came; 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves, 

Some  beauteous  bird  witlmul  a  name, 
Brought  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze, 
From  isles  in  the' undiscovei'd  seas, 
To  show  his  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wondering  eyes,  and  wing  away  ! 
Will  A«  thus  fly —  her  nameless  lover? 

Alia  forbid  !  't  was  by  a  moon 
As  fair  as  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  dilly  to  her  soft  Kanoon,8 


*  This  mountain  is  generally  supposed  to  be  Snac- 
ces4ble._  Siruy  says,  "I  can  well  assure  the  reader 
that  their  opinion  is  not  true,  who  suppose  this  mount 
to  be  inaccessible."  He  adds,  that  "  the  lower  part  of 
the  mountain  is  cloudy,  misty,  and  dark,  the  middle- 
most part  very  cold,  and  like  clouds  of  snow,  but  the 
upper  reeions  perfectly  c^lm." — It  was  on  this  moun- 
tain ihat  the  Ark  v\as  supposed  to  have  rested  after  the 
Deluge,  and  part  of  if,  they  say,  exists  there  still, 
which  Struy  thus  gravely  accnunts  for: — '*  Whereas 
none  can  remember  that  the  air  on  the  top  of  (he  hill 
did  ever  change  or  was  subject  either  lo  wind  or  rain, 
which  is  presumed  lo  be  the  reason  that  the  Ark  has 
endured  so  long  without  being  rotten."— See  CnrrerVi 
Travels,  where  the  Doctor  laughs  at  this  whole  ac- 
count of  Mount  Ararat. 

6  In  one  of  the  books  of  the  Shah  Nameh,  tvhen  Zal 
(a  celebrated  hero  of  Persia,  remarkable  for  bis  white 
hair.)  comes  to  the  ternce  of  his  mistress  Rodahver  at 
night,  she  lets  down  her  long  tresses  to  assist  him  in 
his  ascent;  —  he,  however,  manages  it  in  a  less  ro- 
maniic  way  by  fixine  hi^  crnok  in  a  projecting  beam." 
—  See  ChampW7i^s  Ferdosi, 

'  "On  the  lofty  hills  cf  Arabia  Pelrxa  are  rock- 
goats.*' — Niebtthr. 

•  "  Canum,  espece  de  p'^alterion.  avec  des  cordes  de 
boyaux;  les  dames  en  louchent  dans  ie  serrail,  avec 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


285 


Alniie,  al  this  same  wilchin?  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
Gleam  llip>ugh  the  lattice  of  ihe  bower, 

Where  liigli  ly  now  ihey  mix  'heir  sighs; 
And  thoiishi  SI  me  spirit  of  the  air 
(Kiir  wh't  could  waft  a  mnrtal  there?) 
Was  pauMUg  on  his  moonlight  way 
To  listen  to  tier  lonely  lav  ! 
This  fancy  ne'er  hath  left  her  mind : 

And  —  ihough,  when  terror's  swoon  had  pas!, 
She  saw  a  \outh,  of  monal  kind, 

Before  her  in  obeiHance  ca^t, — 
Yet  often  since,  when  he  haih  spoke 
Strange,  awful  words,—  and  gleams  have  brokea 
From  his  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear. 

Oh  !  she  ha  h  fear'd  her  soul  was  given 
To  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air, 

Some  erring  Spirit  cast  from  heaven, 
Like  those  angelic  ynu  hs  of  old, 
Who  burn'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mouM, 
Bewilder'J  left  the  glorious  skies. 
And  lost  their  heaven  for  woman's  eyes. 
Fond  girl  1  nor  hend  nor  angel  he 
Who  woos  thy  young  simpliciiy  ;  , 

Hut  one  of  earth's  impassiou'd  sons. 

As  warm  in  love,  as  tieice  in  ire 
As  'he  best  heart  whose  curreni  runs 

Full  of  the  Day-God'.,  living  fire. 

But  quench 'd  to-night  that  ardour  seem". 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  Ijrow ; 
Never  before,  but  in  her  dreams, 

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

But  sadden  every  waking  scene. 
Like  warning  ghosts,  that  Tcave  tlie  spot 

All  wiitier'd  where  they  once  have  been, 

"  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  maid. 
Of  lier  own  gentle  voice  afraid. 
So  long  had  thev  in  silence  stood. 
Looking  upon  that  tianquil  flood  — 
*'  How  sweetly  does  the  moon-beam  smile 
'*  To-night  upon  yon  le.ify  isle  I 
**Oft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 
•'  I  've  wish'd  thai  little  isle  had  wings, 
"And  we,  within  its  fairy  bowers, 

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

"  And  we  might  live,  love,  die  alone  ! 
"Farfr.)m  the  ciuel  and  Ihe  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  lurn'd,  th<t  he  might  see 

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

His  e^es  met  hers,  that  smile  was  gone; 
And,  bursting  into  heart-felt  lears, 
"  Ves,  yes,"  she  crii-d.  *  my  hourly  fears, 
*'  My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right  — 
"  We  part  —  for  ever  part  —  lo-nighl  I 
*'  1  knew,  I  knew  it  could  not  last  — 
"  'T  was  bright,  '1  was  heavenly,  but 't  is  past  1 
"Oh  !  ever  thus,  from  childhood's  hour, 
•*  1  've  seen  my  fondest  hnpes  dtcay  ; 
"  1  never  lov'd  a  tree  or  flower, 

"  But  't  w  .8  Ihe  first  to  fade  away. 
"  I  never  nurs'd  a  dear  gazelle, 

"To  glad  me  with  its  snfi  black  eye, 
•'  But  when  ii  came  to  know  me  well, 
"  And  love  me,  ii  was  sure  to  die  ! 
"Now  Ion  —  the  joy  most  like  divine 
"Cf  all  I  everdieiml  or  knew, 


des  decailles  arinees  de  pointes  de  cococ."— Torfcnnt 
tranalaitd  ly  De  Couniand. 


"  To  see  thee,  hear  Ihee,  call  thee  mine,— 

"  Oh  misery  !  must  I  lose  that  too  ? 
"Yel  go— on  peril's  brink  we  meet; — 

"Those  frightful  rocks  — that  treacherous  sea 
**  No,  never  come  again  —  though  sweet, 

"  Though  heaven,  it  may  be  death  to  thee. 
"  Farewell  —  and  blessings  on  thv  way, 

"  Where'er  thou  go  st,  beloved  straiigerl 
"  Better  to  sit  and  wa:ch  that  ray, 
"And  think  thee  safe,  though  f,ir  away, 

"  Thau  have  thee  near  me,  and  in  danger !" 

•'  Danger  !  —  oh,  tenipt  me  not  to  boast — " 
The  youih  exclaim'd  —  "thou  little  knoWst 
"  What  he  can  brave,  who.  born  and  uurst 
"  In  Danger's  jiaths,  has  dar'd  her  worst ; 
"Upon  whose  ear  the  signal-word 

"Of  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking; 
•'  Who  sleeps  with  head  upon  the  swnrd 

"  His  fever'd  hand  must  grasp  in  waking. 
**  Danger  I  — " 

"  Say  on  —  thou  fear'si  not  then 
**  And  we  may  meet  —  oft  meet  again  r"' 

•'  Oh  !  look  not  so  — beneath  the  skies 

"  1  now  fear  nothing  but  tin  se  eyes. 

"  If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 

"  My  spirit  from  ils  de-tin'd  curse, — 

"If  aught  could  make  this  soul  foiget 

**The  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set, 

"  'T  would  be  those  eyes  ;—  Ihey,  only  they, 

"  Could  melt  that  sacied  seal  away  ! 

"  But  no  — 'I  is  fix'd  —  my  awful  doom 

"  Is  fii'd  —  on  this  side  of  the  tomb 

"  We  meet  no  more; — why,  why  did  Heaven 

'•  Mingle  two  souls  that  earth  has  riven, 

"  Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 

"Oh,  Arab  maid,  as  soon  the  Bowers 

"Of  Light  and  Daikness  may  combine, 

"  As  1  be  iink'd  with  thee  or  Ihme  ! 

"Thy  FaUier " 

"Holy  Alia  save 

"  His  grey  head  from  that  ligtitning  glance ! 
"Thou  kiiow'st  him  not  — ne  loves  the  brave; 

*'  Nor  lives  there  under  heaven's  expanse 
"One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee 
"  Aiid  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 
"Oft  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

"  With  Ihe  bright  f.lchion  by  his  side, 
•'I  've  heard  him  siiear  his  lisping  maid 

"In  time  should  be  a  warrior's  bride, 
"And  siill.  whene'er  at  Haram  hours, 
"I  take  him  col  sherbets  and  tlowers, 
"  He  'ells  nie,  when  in  plavful  niood, 

"A  oeio  shall  my  brideg  com  be, 
"  Since  maids  are  besi  in  ijal'le  woo'd, 

•'Aid  won  wiih  sliohis  of  victory  I 
**Nay,  turn  not  from  me  — thou  alone 
"  Art  forni'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  own. 
uGo  — join  his  sacred  ranks  —  thou  know'st 

"  The' u:  holy  strife  these  Persians  wage:  — 
"Good  lleav'n,  that  frown  !— even  now  tliouglow'st 

"  Willi  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 
"Haste  10  the  camp  hy  morning's  light, 
"  And,  when  that  swoid  's  rais'd  in  fight, 
*'0h  still  remember,  Love  and  I 
'■  Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie ! 
"One  victory  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 
"  '1  hose  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

"Abhors " 

"  Hold,  hold  —  thv  words  are  death—" 

The  s'ranger  cried,  as  wild  he  flung 
His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  hcnea'h 

The  Gheber  belt   hat  round  him  clung.'— 


t  "They  (the  Ghebers)  lay  so  much  stress  on  their 
cushee  or  girdle,  as  not  to  dare  to  be  an  instant  with- 
out It."  — CJrosf's  Voyage.  — "l.e  jeune  homnie  nia 
d'abord  la  chose;  mats,  ayant  eie  ilepouille  de  sa 
r>^e,  et  la  large  ceinture  qu'il  poitoit  conin.e  Ghebr," 


286 


LALLA    RO.OKH. 


"  Here,  maiden,  look  —  weep  -  blush  to  see 
"  All  lliat  thy  sire  aUiors  in  me  ! 
II  Yes  —  /  am  of  thit  impious  race, 

"Those  Slaves  of  Fne  »ho,  morn  and  even, 
"  Hail  Ihejr  Cresloi's  d>vcllin?-i.lace 

"  Among  Ihe  livin?  I.ghis  ol  heaven  :  » 
li  yes  — 7  am  of  thai  oulcasl  lew, 
"  'lo  Iran  and  lo  vengeance  true, 
.  Who  curse  Ihe  hour  your  Arabs  came 
"T"  Hisola  e  oui  shrines  of  Uame, 
'•  Ai.il  s«ear,  before  Ood's  Luruiug  eye, 
"To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die. 
"Thy  bieot  sire,— nay,  lieinble  noi,— 

"  He   who  gave  binh  lo  ihose  dear  eyes, 
"Willi' me  is  sacred  as  the  spot  . 

"From  which  our  lires  of  wor'h'P  ■'•se  ! 
'•  But  know  -  't  was  he  1  sought  that  night, 
"  When,  from  my  watch-boat  on  [lie  sea, 
"  I  caught  this  turret's  glimmering  light, 

"And  up  Ihe  lude  rocks  despeialely 
"  Ru^h'd  to  my  piey  —  thou  know'st  the  rest  — 
"1  ciimb'd  the  gory  vullure's  net, 
"  Aud  found  a  trembling  dove  wilhin  ;  — 
"'fhiue,  thine  Ihe  victory —  thine  the  sin — 
"  If  Love  ha'h  made  one  thought  his  own, 
"  That  Vengeance  claims  first  —  last  — alone  1 
'•  Oh  :  had  we  never,  never  met, 
"  Or  could  this  heailev'n  now  iorget 
"  How  link'd,  how  bles='d  we  might  have  be«n, 
"Had  fate  not  frown'd  sodaik  between  I 
"Hadst  thou  been  horn  a  Persian  maid, 

"  In  neighbouring  valleys  had  we  dwell, 
"  Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd, 

"  At  the  same  kindling  aliar  knell,— 
"  Then,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties, 
"In  which  the  charm  of  Counlry  lies, 
"  Had  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
"Till  Iran's  cause  ani  thine  were  one; 
"  While  in  thy  lule's  awakening  Mgh 
"  I  heard  the  voice  of  days  gone  by, 
"  And  saw,  in  every  smile  ot  thine, 
"  Returning  hours  of  glory  shine  ; 
"While  Ihe  wrong-d  Spirit  of  our  Land 
"Liv'd,  look'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through 

"  God  !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand  ? 

"  l,s  very  flash  were  victory  ! 
"  Bui  now  —  estrang'd,  divorc'd  for  ever, 
"  Far  as  the  grasp  of  f  ale  can  sever ; 


&c  kc.-D'Herbdot,  art.  Agduani.  "Pour  se  dis- 
linguer  des  Idolaires  de  I'Inde,  lesGuebres  se  ceignenl 
lous  d'un  cordon  de  laine,  ou  Je  poll  de  chauieau."  — 
EnCMCloftdie  Francoise.  „       ,  , 

U'Herbelul    says   ihis    belt  was   generally  of  lea- 
ther. 

I  "They  suppose  the  Throne  of  ilie  Almighiy  is 
seated  in  Ihe  sun,  and  hence  their  worship  nf  Ihal 
luminary  "  —  //0'i«"i!/-  ■*'  '°  "'^'  '"'  Ohebers 
place  Ihe  spring-head  of  it  in  that  globe  of  fire,  the 
Sun  by  Iheni  called  Mythras,  or  Mihir,  to  which 
Ihey  pay  Ibe  highest  reverence,  in  g.aulude  for  the 
manifold  benefits  flowing  from  its  minisleriil  omni- 
science. But  they  are  so  far  from  confounding  ihe 
siib.irdination  of  Ihe  Servant  with  the  majesty  of  its 
Creator,  that  they  not  only  attribute  no  sort  of  seme 
or  reasoning  lo  the  sun  or  lii;e,  in  any  of  its  opera- 
tions, but  consider  it  as  a  purely  pasMve  blind  instru- 
meni,  directed  aud  governed  bv  Ihe  imniediale  im- 
pre-s'on  on  it  of  ihe  will  ot  God;  but  they  do  not 
even  give  that  luminary,  all-glonous  as  it  is,  m"re 
than  Ihe  second  rank  amongst  his  works,  reserving 
Ihe  first  (or  that  stupendous  producli.n  of  divine 
,«wer  Ihe  mind  of  man."-tt>o«.  1  he  false  charges 
brought  against  the  religion  of  these  people  by  their 
Mussulman  tyrants  is  but  one  prof  among  many  of 
the  trnlh  of  this  writer's  remark,  that  "calumny  is 
often  added  lo  oppression,  if  but  for  the  sake  of  jusli- 
fyi"«  '>•"  .^_^_ 


"Our  only  ties  what  love  lias  wove,-- 

"In  tai'h,  friends,  country,  sunder'd  widej 
"And  then,  then  only,  true  10  love, 

"  W  hen  false  lo  all  thai 's  dear  beside! 
"Thy  lather  Iran's  deadliest  foe  — 
"  Thyself,  perhaps,  ev'ii  n.-w  —  but  no  — 
"  Haie  never  look'd  so  lovely  yel  1 

..i\o  — sacred  lo  Ihy  soul  will  be 
"  The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

"All  but  that  bleeding  land  lor  lliee. 
"When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmov'd, 

"  Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  tall, 

"  Thou  'It  think  how  well  one  Gheber  lov'J, 

"  And  (or  Ms  sake  thou  'It  weep  lor  all  1 

"  But  look "  , ,       ,       ,^    .      , , 

With  sudden  start  he  lurn'a 
And  nointed  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where'lights,  like  charnel  meteors,  bum'd 

Bluely,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave  ; 
And  tiery  darts,  at  intervals,'^ 

Flew  up  all  sparkling  from  the  main, 
As  if  each  star  thai  nightly  falls. 

Were  shooting  back  to  heaven  again. 

"My  signal  lights!  — 1  must  away — 

"  Bolh,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 

"  Farewell  —  sweet  life !  thou  cling'st  in  vam- 

"Now,  Vengeance,  I  am  thine  again  !" 

Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  slopp'd. 

Nor  look'd— bul  from  ihe  lattice  dropp'd 

Down  mid  Ihe  pointed  crags  beneath. 

As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  death. 

While  pale  and  mute  young  H  iiida  stood, 

Nor  mov'd,  till  in  Ihe  silent  flood 

A  mi  nientary  plunge  below 

Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  woe  ;  — 

Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew, 

•'  1  come  —  1  come  —  if  in  that  tide 
"Thou  sleep'sl  to-night,  1  'II  sleep  there  too, 

"In  death's  cold  wedlock,  by  Ihy  side. 
"Oh  !  1  would  ask  no  happier  bed 

"  Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under  j 
"  Sweeter  lo  rest  together  dead, 

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

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

Where'er  that  ili-siarr'd  home  may  lie; 
And  calm  and  smooth  it  seeni'd  to  win 

Its  moonlight  way  before  the  wind, 
As  if  il  bore  all  peace  wilhin, 

Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind  1 


The  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  enough  already, 
could  have  wished  that  Feramorz  had  chosen  a  less 
melancholy  siory  ;  as  it  is  only  to  Ihe  happy  that  tears 
»re  a  luxury.  Her  Ladies,  however,  were  by  no 
means  si.rry  that  love  was  once  more  the  Poet  s 
theme:  for,  whenever  he  spoke  of  love,  they  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,  TanSein.3 

Their  rad  all  Ihe  morning  had  lain  through  a  very 
dreary  counlry  ;-through  valleys,  covered  wilh  a  low 

f  fiery 
3  resembled 


the 


5  "The  Mameluks  that  

when  il  ivas  dark  used  to  shoot  up  a 
anows  into  the  air  which  in  some  nieasi 
lightning  or  falling  8tais.''  —  iiaurng-arteu. 

3  "Within  Ihe  enclosure  which  surrounds  this  mo- 
nument (al  Gualior)  is  a  small  tomb  lo  the  memory  of 
Taii-Sein,  a  musician  of  incomparable  skill,  who 
flourished  at  the  court  of  Akbar.  The  tomb  is  over, 
shadowed  by  a  tree,  concerning  which  a  superstitious 
notion  prevails,  that  Ihe  chewing  of  lis  leaves  will 
give  an  extraordinary  melody  lo  the  voice."-  -AfniTO- 
hve  of  a  Journey  from  Jigra  to  Ouzein,  by  W.  Hun- 
ter, £>q. _ 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIP  PERS. 


2a7 


bushy  junffle,  where  in  more  than  one  place,  the 
awful  >ii;nal  of  the  bamboo  htatf,*  wilh  the  white  fla^ 
at  lis  top,  remindfd  the  traveller  that,  in  that  very 
spot,  the  tiger  ha<]  made  honie  human  creature  his 
7ictim.  It  was,  Ihetetore,  with  much  pleasure  that 
Iheynrrivetl  at  sunset  in  a  safe  and  luvely  t;len,  and 
jncimped  under  one  of  thnse  holy  tree»,  whot.e  sinrmih 
coluiiii.s  and  spreading  roofs  seem  to  destiiiC  Ihrm  (or 
ii:»hT;il  ttMiipUs  of  religion.  Beneith  this  spacious 
bh.idc-,  ^^)M1L■  |)i  us  h;inJsh'd  erected  a  row  of  pillars 
(irnaiiifiMfd  u  ilh  the  moit  heau'iful  porcelain,^  which 
nrtvv  su)t;.hed  ih*  use  of  mirrors  to  ihe  ymn^  maidens, 
as  they  aljus  ed  Iheir  hair  in  descendirif;  from  the 
palankeens.  Here,  while,  as  usual,  the  Frinciss  saf 
listeninnC  anxiously,  with  Fadladeen  in  one  of  Lis 
loftiest  moods  of  criticism  by  her  side,  the  yotng 
Poet,  leaning  against  a  branch  of  the  tree,  thus  con- 
tinued hi»  story  :  — • 


The  morn  hath  risen  clear  and  calm, 

And  n'er  the  Green  Sea  3  palely  shines, 
Revealing  Rahiein's*  groves  of  palm, 

And  lighting  Kishina's  *  amber  vines. 
Fresh  smell  the  shores  of  Araby, 
While  breezes  from  the  Indian  sea 
Blow  round  Selwn.i's!^  sainted  cape. 

And  curl  the  sliinin?  t1*iod  benea'h, — 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoa-nut  and  flowery  wreath, 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  tfiev  [  ass'd, 
Had  tow'rd  that  holy  hea^lland  Cast- 
Oblations  to  Ihe  Genii  there 
F'>r  gentle  skies  and  breezes  fair  ! 
The  nightingale  now  bends  her  flight  « 
From  the  high  trees,  where  all  the  nisht 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen; 
And  hides  her  fruin  the  morning  star 

Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn, —  bespangled  o'er 

With  dew,  whose  night-drcps  wuuld  not  stain 
The  best  and  bri^lites'  scimi  ar  t 
That  ever  youlliful  Sultan  wore 

On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign. 


»  "  It  is  usual  topl.ice  a  small  white  triangular  flap, 
fixed  to  a  bamboo  stalF  of  (en  or  twelve  feet  loiig.  at 
the  place  where  a  tiger  has  destroyed  a  man.  It  is 
common  for  the  passens^ers  also  to  throw  each  a  s'one 
or  brick  near  the  spot,  so  that  in  the  course  of  a  little 
time  a  pile  equil  to  a  good  wagon-load  is  collected. 
The  sight  of  these  (lags  and  piles  of  s'ones  imparts  a 
certain  melancholy,  not  peihans  altogether  void  of 
apprehension. "'  —  'JncH/a/  Fidd  Sj.'orts,  vol.  ii. 

a  "The  Ficus  Indica  is  railed  the  P  god  Tree  and 
Tree  of  Councils  :  the  (i<st,  from  the  td'ds  placed 
under  its  shade;  the  second,  because  meetings  wete 
held  under  its  cool  hrancht-s.  In  some  places  it  is 
believed  to  be  the  haunt  of  spectres,  as  Ihe  ancient 
spreading  oaks  of  Wales  have  been  of  furits;  in 
others  are  erected  beneath  Ihe  shade  pillars  of  stone, 
or  posts,  elegantly  carved,  and  ornamented  uith  the 
most  beautiful  porcelain  to  supply  the  Ube  ttf  mirrors.'* 
—  Pennant. 

a  The  Persian  Gulf.  —  "To  dive  for  pearls  in  the 
Green  Sea.  or  Persian  Gulf."—  Sit  W.  Jones, 

■»  hiandsin  ihe  Gulf. 

fi  Or  Sflemeh,  the  genuine  name  of  'he  headland  at 
Ihe  enrance  of  the  Gulf,  commonly  called  Cape  Mus- 
seldoni.  *'  The  Indims,  when  Ihi-y  pa-s  'he  pronion- 
tor",  throw  cocoa-nuts  fruits,  or  flowers  intu  the  sea, 
to  secure  a  propiiinus  voyage,"—  Morier. 

«  "The  nightingale  sings  frnnn  the  pomegranate- 
groves  in  the  day-time,  and  from  the  loftiest  trees  at 
night."—  RvssePs  Aleppo. 

1  Id  81  eaking  of  the  climate  of  Shiraz,  Francklin 
myt,  "  Tlie  dew  is  of  such  a  pure  nature,  that  if  the 


And  sec  —  the  Sun  himself  !  — on  wings 
Of  glory  up  the  East  he  springs. 
Angel  of  Light !  who  from  the  time 
Those  heavens  began  their  imrch  sublime^ 
Hath  tirst  of  all  ihe  starry  cho  r 
Trod  in  his  Maker's  steps  of  (ire! 

Wlit-re  are  the  da\s,  thou  wondrous  sphere, 
When  Iran,  like  a  ?un-Hower,  turn'd 
To  iiieei  ih,*t  eye  wheie'er  it  Imrn'd  ?^ 

Whtn,  fiom  Ihe  bu.ks  of  Pendemeer 
To  ttie  nul-grt-ve    of  Samarcand, 
Thy  temples  Can.'d  o'er  ^M  the  land? 
Wheie  are  they?  ask  the  shades  of  Ihem 

Who,  on  Ciidesia'sB  bloody  plains, 
Saw  lietce  invaders  pluck  Ihe  gem 
From  Iian's  brokt-n  diadem, 

And  bind  her  ai  cient  faith  in  chains:  — 
A^-k  the  po/>r  exite,  cast  alone 
On  f  reign  shores,  unlov'd,  unknown, 
Beyond  Ihe  Caspian's  Iron  Gates,** 

Or  on  the  stio  vy  Mossiaii  mountains, 
Far  from  his  beauieous  land  of  dates, 

Her  jasmine  bowers  and  sunny  fouutainsi 
Yet  happier  so  than  if  he  trod 
His  own  belov'd,  but  blighted,  sod, 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  !  — 
Oh.  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed ! 

Is  Irin's  pride  then  gone  for  ever, 

Quencli'd  wjih  ihe  flame  in  Mithra's  caves?  — 
No  —  she  has  sons,  that  never—  never  — 

Will  stoup  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves. 

While  heaven  has  light  or  earth  has  graves   — 
Spirits  of  (ire,  that  brood  not  long, 
But  flash  resentment  back  for  wrong  j 
And  hearts  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
Of  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds. 
Till,  in  some  treacherous  hour  of  calm, 
They  burs',  like  Zeilan's  giant  palm,*© 
Whose  buds  fly  open  with  a  sound 
That  shakes  the  pigmy  forests  round  ! 
Yes,  Emir  I  he,  who  scal'd  ihat  lower. 

And,  had  he  reach'd  thy  slumbering  breast. 
Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Ghehei's  power 

How  safe  evn  tyrant  heads  may  rest- 
Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he, 
Who  loathe  ihy  haughty  race  and  thee; 
Who,  though  'hey  know  the  strife  is  vain, 
Who,  though  they  know  the  riven  chain 
Snaps  but  to  enter  in  the  heart 
Of  hint  who  rends  its  links  apart, 
Yel  dare  the  issue.—  blest  to  be 
Fv'n  for  one  bleeding  moment  free 
And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty  ! 
Thou  know'st  ihem  well  —  *t  is  some  moons  since 

Thy  luiban'd  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 
Thnii  satrap  of  a  bigot  Prince, 

Have  swarm'd  among  these  Green  Sea  crags; 
Yet  here,  ev'n  here,  a  sacred  baud 
Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land 


brightest  scimitar  should  be  exposed  to  it  all  night,  il 
would  not  receive  ihe  least  rust." 

"  The  place  where  ihe  Persians  were  fiiiaiy  de- 
feated by  the  Arabs,  and  their  ancient  monarchy  de- 
stroyed, 

9  Derbend. — '*  Les  Turcs  appellent  ceMe  ville  De- 
mir  Capi,  por'e  de  Fer  ;  ce  LOnt  les  Casjiiae  Portse  des 
anciens."— fl/ftrKZot. 

»0The  Talpot  or  Talipot  tree.  "This  benitiful 
palm-tree,  which  grows  in  the  heart  >f  the  foiests, 
may  be  classed  aniong  the  loftiest  trees,  and  becomes 
still  higher  when  on  the  point  of  bnrsting  forth  from 
its  leafy  ?umniif.  The  sheath  which  then  envelopes 
the  flow'tr  is  very  large,  and,  whfn  it  bursts,  makes 
an  explosion  like  the  report  of  a  cannon," — Thu7i' 
berg. 


288 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Thou,  Arab,  dar^st  to  call  tliy  own, 
Their  spears  across  ihy  path  have  thrown 
Here  — ere  the  winds  half-win^'d  ihee  o'er— 
Rebelliyit  bravM  thee  ivom  the  shore. 
Kehellinn  !  foul,  di^honouniig  word, 

VVhnse  wrnugful  blighi  so  uf-  has  stain'd 
The  holiest  cause  ihat  tongue  or  sword 

Ul  mortal  evei-  lost  or  gaiti*d. 
How  many  a  spiiir,  born  to  bless, 

Halh  sunk  bKueath  Ihat  withering  name, 
Whnm  but  a  day^e,  an  hour's  success 

Had  walled  to  eternal  tame  ! 
As  exhalations,  when  they  burst 
Froni  Ihe  warm  earlh,  if  chiil'd  at  first, 
If  check'd  in  soannt;  from  the  [.lain, 
Darken  lo  fogs  and  si[ik  a2;ain  ;  — 
But,  if  they  once  triumphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  Ihe  mountain-head, 
Becme  euthron'd  in  upper  air, 
And  turn  to  suu-bright  glories  there  ! 

And  who  is  he,  that  wields  the  micht 

Ut  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink, 
Befoie  uhtise  sabre's  dazzling  light* 

The  eyes  of  Yemen's  warriors  wink  ? 
Who  conies,  embower'J  in  ihe  spears 
Of  Kermau's  hardy  mountaineers?  — 
Those  mountaineers  that  trues',  last. 

Cling  to  heir  country's  ancient  rites, 
As  if  that  God,  whose  eyelids  cast 

Their  closing  gleam  on  Iran's  heights, 
Aniong  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too! 

'T  is  Hafed  —  name  of  fear,  whose  sound 

Chills  like  the  mutternig  of  a  charm  I 
Shout  but  Ihat  awful  name  around, 

And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 
'T  is  Hafed,  most  accurs  d  and  dire 
(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  ar.d  ire) 
Of  all  Ihe  rebel  Sous  of  Fire; 
Of  wtiose  malign,  tremendous  power 
The  Arabs,  at  their  niid-walch  hour, 
Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell, 
That  each  atirighled  sentinel 
Pulls  down  his  cou!  upon  his  eye«, 
Lest  Hafed  in  the  midst  should  rise! 
A  mrin,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 
A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  ear  h, 
Sprung  from  those  old.  encliauied  kiugs,^ 

Who  i'l  their  fairy  helm*,  nf  yore 
A  fealher  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  the  Simr-or^h  resistless  wore; 
And  gified  by  the  Fiends  nf  fire. 
Who  groan'd  to  see  their  shrines  expire, 
With  ctiarms  that,  all  in  vain  withstood. 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood 

Such  were  (he  tales,  Ihat  won  belief, 

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

One  who,  no  more  than  m  Ttal  brave, 
Fonaht  fnr  the  land  his  soul  ador'd, 

For  happy  hmnes  and  altars  free, — 
His  only  talisman,  ihe  sword. 

His  only  spell-word,  Liberty! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line, 
AIntiif  whose  gh.rious  current  shine 
Names,  that  have  smcified  their  blood  ; 
As  Lebanon's  shiaLl  mountain-flood 

I  *•  When  Ihe  bright  elmitars  make  Ihe  eyes  of  our 
heroes  wink."—  T/ie  Muallahat^  Poem  of  Amru. 

^Tahmuras,  and  other  ancient  Kings  of  Persia; 
vhose  adventures  in  Fairy-lmd  among  Ihe  Peris  ,ind 
)ives  m^y  be  found  in  Rich-.rdson's  curious  Diseerta- 
ion.  The  grKJin  Simoorgh,  they  siy,  took  seme  fea- 
ht-rs  frnrn  her  bre;i8l  f)r  Talimur..s.  with  winch  he 
uiorned  his  helmet,  and  tranKmitted  them  af  erwards 
I  tc  his  descendants. 


Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 

Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks.3 

'T  was  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 

Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny  ; 

'T  was  not  for  him,  whose  souI  was  cast 

In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past, 

Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 

With  all  the  gl-ries  of  the  dead. 

Though  fram'd  for  Iran's  happiest  years, 

Waa  born  among  her  chains  and  tears  I  — 

'T  w.is  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 

Of  slavish  lieads,  that  shrinking  bow'd 

Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd, 

Like  shrubs  beneath  the  poison-blast  — 

No  — far  he  fled—  indignant  fled 

I  he  page.int  of  his  cuunlry's  shame; 
While  every  (ear  her  children  shed 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame; 
And,  as  a  Inver  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smite,  so  welcnm'd  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 
For  vengeance  aud  for  liberty  1 

But  vain  was  valour  —  vain  the  flower 
Of  Herman,  in  ihat  dealhful  hour, 
Against  Al  Hassan's  whelming  power.— 
In  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm, 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  realm 
He  C'me  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway, 
And  wiih  their  corpres  block'd  his  way  — 
In  vain  — for  every  lance  they  rais'd. 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blaz'd  ; 
For  every  arm  that  lin'd  their  shore, 
Myriads  (.f  staves  were  wafted  o'er, — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd, 
Before  who^e  swarm  as  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  clou^. 
There  s'ood  — butone  short  league  away 
From  old  Harmozia's  sultry  bay  — 
A  rocky  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 
Of  Oman  beetling  awfully  j4 
Alastandsolitaiy  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  that  reach 
Friim  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  beach. 
Around  its  ba-e  the  bare  r-'cks  stood, 
Like  naked  giants,  in  the  flood. 

As  if  to  guard  (he  Gulf  across ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  br.iv'd  the  sky, 
A  riiin'd  Temple  tower'd,  so  high 

Thai  oft  the  sleeping  albatross* 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing. 
And  from  her  cloud-rock'd  slumbering 


3Thi^ 


li,  is  called  the  Holy 
among  which  it  ri^es. 


t,  says  Dandii 
River  from  the  "cedar-saints'' 

In  the  Z^ttres  Edijiaiites,  ihere  is  ;i  different  cause 
assigned  for  its  name  of  Holy.  "  In  these  are  deep 
caverns,  which  formerly  served  as  so  many  cells  for  a 
great  number  of  recluses,  who  had  chosen  these  re- 
treats as  the  only  witnesses  upon  earth  of  the  severity 
of  their  penance.  The  tears  of  these  pious  penitents 
gave  the  river  of  which  we  have  just  treated  the 
name  of  the  Holy  River."'  — See  Chateaubriand's 
Beauties  of  Christianity. 

<  This  mnuntain  is  my  own  creation,  as  the  '*  stu- 
pendous cliain  "  of  which  I  suppose  it  a  link,  does  not 
extend  qiji'e  so  far  as  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf. 
•'  I  his  long  and  Icfly  range  of  mnuntains  formerly  di- 
vided Meilia  from  Assyria,  and  nov^  forms  Ihe  boun- 
dary of  Ihe  Persian  and  Tuikish  empires.  It  ruLi 
parallel  with  the  river  Tigris  ind  Persian  Gulf,  and 
almost  disafipearing  in  the  vicini'y  of  Gomberoon 
(Harmnzia)  st-ems  once  nmre  to  rise  in  the  southern 
disliicis  of  Kerman.  and  following  an  easterly  i 
thiou^h  the  centre  of  Meckraum  and  Balouchistan,  is 
eniirtly  lost  in  the  deseils  of  Hinde."—  Kimiierh  Per* 
sianEn.pire. 

*  Theve  birds  sleep  in  the  air.  They  are  most  com 
mon  about  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


289 


started  —  to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
III  her  own  silent  tiflds  of  air ! 
ilfiieatli.  tirritic  ctveri  s  srave 
Daik  welcome  lo  each  sioriiij-  wave 
'Ihal  ilaslid,  like  mid.ighl  revellers,  iii;  - 
And  such  Ihe  slraii.!;e,  iiuslerious  din 
At  times  ihroti^hnut  ihnstv  caverns  roll'd,— 
And  >uch  Ihe  tearful  wonders  told 
(If  res'less  5|irilcs  iniprisoii'J  there, 
'J  hal  tinlij  vvL-re  Mdslein,  who  would  dare, 
Al  luihslit  hour,  to  sicer  his  skill' 
llciieaili  tlie  Ghcber's  lonely  clili'.' 

On  the  land  side,  those  lowers  sublime, 
That  seenl'd  above  the  gras[)  of  Time, 
Were  sever'd  from  the  haunts  of  men 
Hj-  a  widcj  deep,  and  wizard  glen, 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom, 

No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between: 
It  seem  d  a  place  where  Clholes  niigh'  come 
Willi  their  foul  banquets  fiom  the  tomb, 

And  in  its  caverns  feed  unseen. 
Like  distant  thunder,  from  below. 

The  sound  of  many  torrents  came, 
Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 
If  't  were  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow, 

Or  floods  of  ever  restless  tlanie. 
For,  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 
Of  tlial  vast  mountain  stood  on  hre ; 
And,  though  for  ever  past  Ihe  days 
When  God  was  worshipp'd  in  the  blaze 
That  from  its  lofty  allar  shone,— 
Thiuiih  lied  Ihe  priests,  the  votaries  gone, 
.Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on,3 
Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and  ill, 
Like  lis  own  God's  eternal  will, 
Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable  1 

Thither  Ihe  vanquish'd  Hafed  led 

His  little  armv's  last  remains;  — 
'•  Welcome,  ternfic  glen  !"  he  said, 
"Thy  gloom,  that  Kblis'self  might  dread, 

"  Is  Hrav'u  lo  Him  who  Hies  from  chains  1" 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridge-way,  known 
To  him  ai.d  lo  his  Chiefs  alone. 
They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  Ihe  towers, — 
*'  This  home,"  he  cried,  "  at  least  is  ours  ;  — 
'*  Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  by  hymns 

"  Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head  ; 
"Here  we  may  fall,  nor  leave  our  limbs 

*'  To  quiver  lo  Ihe  M'  slem's  iread. 
"  Slrelch'd  00  this  rock,  while  vultures'  beaks 
'*  Are  wheltcd  on  our  yet  warm  cheeks, 
*'  Here  —  happy  that  no  tyrant's  eye 
"Gloals  on  our  torments —  we  may  die!"  — 

'T  was  night  when  to  those  towers  they  came. 
And  glnomily  the  fitful  flame, 


'  "There  is  an  ex'raordinary  hill  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, called  Kobe  Gubr,  or  Ihe  Guebre's  mriunlaiii. 
It  rises  in  Ihe  form  of  a  lofty  cupola,  and  on  ihe  suin- 
aiit  of  it,  lliey  say,  are  Ihe  remains  of  an  Alush  Kudu 
or  Fire  Temple  It  is  siiperstilinusly  held  lo  be  the 
residence  of  Ueeves  or  Sprites,  and  many  marvellous 
Holies  are  reciunted  of  the  injurv  and  w'ilchcrafl  suf- 
fered by  those  who  essayed  in  former  diys  lo  ascend 
or  explore  it."—yottingtr's  BeloochiMan. 

»  The  Ghebers  generally  built  their  temples  over 
subterraneous  fires. 

»  "  Al  Ihe  city  of  Yezd,  in  Persia,  which  is  di^lin- 
gu-hed  by  Ihe  appellation  of  ihe  Darub  Abadut,  or 
Sell  of  Religion,  the  Guelires  are  pcrmilted  lo  have  an 
Alush  Kudu  r.-r  Fiie  lemple  (which,  they  asserl,  has 
had  Ihe  sacred  fire  in  it  since  Ihe  days  I'f  Zoroaster)  in 
their  own  corop.arlment  of  the  citv  j  but  for  this  indul- 
gence Ihey  are  indebted  to  the  avarice,  not  the  toler- 
ance of  the  Persian  governmenl,  w  Inch  taxes  them  al 
Uvenly-five  rupees  each  amu"  —  Pottinser'i  Beloo- 
ch  Stan. 


That  from  the  ruin'd  allar  broke. 

Glared  on  his  fealures,  as  he  spoke:  — 

*"T  is  o'er  —  what  men  could  do,  we've  done- 

"  If  Iran  will  look  lamely  on, 

"  And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driven 

"Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
"A  wretch  who  stirines  his  lusts  in  Iieaven, 

"And  maki-s  a  pander  of  his  God  ; 
"  If  her  proud  sois,  her  h:gl;-born  s..uls, 

•■  .Men,  in  who-e  veins -oh  lasl  disgrace! 
"  'Ihe  hlood  of  Zal  and  Ruslain  '  rolls,- 

"  If  they  will  court  this  npF  art  race, 
"And  turn  froni  Miihras  ancieni  ray, 
"  To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday  j 
"  If  thev  wiU  crouch  to  Iran's  foes, 

"  Why,  lei  Iheni—  till  Ihe  land's  despair 
"  Cries  out  (n  Heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

"  Too  vile  for  ev'n  ihe  vile  to  bear  ! 
"  Till  shame  at  last,  long  hidden,  burns 
"  Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turns 
"  Kaeh  coward  tear  Ihe  slave  lets  fall 
"  Back  on  his  heart  in  drops  of  gall. 
"But  here,  al  least,  are  arms  unchain'd, 
"  And  souls  that  thraldom  never  slain'u  ;  — 

"  'I  his  spot,  al  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
*'  Or  satrap  ever  yet  profaned  ; 

"And  Ihougli  but  few  — though  fast  the  wave 
"  Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins, 
"  Eiioush  for  vengeance  slill  remains. 
"As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
"  Rush  from  Ihe  rnois  of  Lebanon 
"  Across  Ihe  daik-sea  robber's  way,B 
"  We'll  bound  upon  our  startled  prey  ; 
"And  when  some  heails  that  proudest  swell 
"  Have  fell  our  falchion's  lasl  farewell ; 
"  When  Hope's  expiring  lhr..b  is  o'er, 
"  And  ev'n  Despair  can  prompt  no  more, 
"  I'his  spot  shall  be  the  sacieil  grave 
"Of  the  lasl  few  who,  vainly  brave. 
"  Die  for  Ihe  land  Ihey  cannot  save !" 

His  Chiefs  stood  round  —  each  shining  blade 

Upon  the  broken  allar  laid — 

And  though  so  wild  and   desnla'e 

Those  ciiur  s,  where  once  ihe  Mighty  sa'e: 

Nor  longer  on  lho,e  mouldeiii  g  towers 

Was  seen  the  feast  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

With  which  of  old  the  Magi  fed 

The  wandering  Spirits  of  their  Dead  ;  " 

Though  neilher  priest  nor  rites  were  there, 

Nor  charmed  leaf  of  pure  pnmegianate  ;  ^ 
Nor  hymn,  nor  censer's  fragrant  air, 

Nor  symbol  of  their  worsliipji'd  planet  j  8 
"i'ct  Ihe  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Heard  lliem,  while  on  that  altar's  fires 


*  Ancieni  heroes  of  Persia.  "  Among  Ihe  Guebres 
there  are  some,  who  boast  their  descent  from  Rus- 
tani." — atep/icn^s  Persia. 

s  See  Russel's  account  of  (he  panther's  attacking 
travellers  in  the  night  on  Ihe  sea-shore  about  the  roots 
of  Leb.inon. 

6  "  Among  olher  ceremonies  the  M.igi  used  to  place 
upon  Ihe  tops  of  hisli  towers  various  kinds  of  rich 
viands,  u[ion  which  it  was  supposed  Ihe  Peiis  and  the 
spiri:s  of  their  departed  heroes  regaled  themselves." — 
Kichardion. 

■I  In  the  ceremonies  of  Ihe  Ghebers  round  their 
File,  as  described  bv  Lord,  "the  Daroo  "  he  s»\8. 
"givetli  them  water  to  drink,  and  a  poniegraiiale  leaf 
to  chew  in  the  moulli,  to  cleanse  them  from  inward 
uiicleanness," 

8  "Early  in  the  morning,  thev  (Ihe  Parsees  or 
Ghebers  al  Oulani)  go  in  crowds  io  pav  their  devo- 
tions to  Ihe  Sun.  lo  whom  upon  all  the  alias  Iheieare 
spheres  coiisecra'ed,  made  by  niagic,  lesemhliMg  Ihe 
circles  of  Ihe  sun,  and  when  ihe  sun  ri  es,  these  orbs 
seem  to  be  ilifl.imed,  and  lo  turn  round  with  a  great 
noise.  They  have  every  one  a  ci-nsir  in  llieir  tiands, 
and  offer  incense  lo  the  su.i."—  Itabii  llciijanun. 


25 


290 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


They  sworei  the  latest,  ho'ieat  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts,  siilt  lef  to  bleed, 
Should  be,  in  Ir.in's  iiijur'd  name, 
To  die  upon  dial  Moun;  of  Flame 
The  list  of  all  l;tr  (  atnol  Ime, 
Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  suiVering  souls  !  they  Utile  knew 
How  i)iai;y  a  icar  (heir  iujuries  drew 
From  one  n.etk  maid,  ont  gentle  foe. 
Whom  love  hii>t  touch'd  with  others'  woe 
Whose  hfc,  as  free  Iron,  llKuight  a^  siu 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  Love  threw  ia 
His  laliMiian,  and  w  ke  the  tide, 
And  spre.id  its  treiiihling  circles  wide. 
Once,  Kmir  !  thy  unheeding  child, 
Mid  all  this  havoc,  bloomd  and  smiPd, 
Tranquil  a^  on  some  battle  plain 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers,* 
Before  the  combat's  reddening  stain 

Hath  fall'n  upon  her  golden  flowers. 
Light-hearted  niaid,  unaw'd,  unmovM, 
While  Heav'n  but  spar'd  the  sire  she  lov'd, 
Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 
Unlistening  and  aloiif  she  siond  — 
And  oft,  when  thou  hast  pac'd  along 

Thy  Haram  halls  with  furious  heat, 
Hast  thou  not  cnrs'd  her  cheerful  song, 

That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet, 
Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  neai 
HelTs  confines,  that  the  damu'd  cau  beari 

Far  other  feelings  Love  hath  brought  — 

Her  soul  all  flame,  her  biow  all  sadness, 
She  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought, 

And  thinks  (hat  o'er,  almost  to  madness  ! 
Oft  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 
His  woids  —  "  for  my  salie  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  hi>  life-blood  seems  lo  swim  ; 
There's  not  an  arrow  wines  the  sky, 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  foots  ep  light 
Ai  Hassan's  falchion  for  the  figh' ; 
And  —  had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight, 
Had  not  the  mists,  ihat  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimm'd  hU  eyes  — 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shuddering  frame. 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  he  came, 
The  faltering  speech—  the  look  estrang'd  — 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  lieauly  chang'd  — 
He  would  have  markM  all  this,  and  known 
Such  change  is  wrought  by  Love  alone! 

Ah  !  not  the  Lnve,  that  should  have  bless'd 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast ; 
Not  the  pute,  open,  prosperous  Love, 
That,  pleJii'd  on  earh  and  sealM  above. 
Grows  in  the  world's  approving  eyes, 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home's  caress, 
Collecting  all  the  heari'>  sweet  ties 

Into  one  knot  of  happiness! 
No,  Hinda,  no.— thy  fatal  flame 
Is  nun.'d  in  silence,  sorrow,  sliame;— 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  rhy  soul's  darkness  buried  deep, 

It  lies,  like  sonie  ill-ffntten  treasure,— 
Some  idol,  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  which  its  pale-ey'd  votaries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  &leep. 


«  "Nul  d'entreeur  nseroit  se  parjurer,  quand  il  a 
jris  a  temnin  cet  element  terrible  ct  vengeur."— £n. 
cyclopedie  Francoise 

4  **A  vivid  verdure  succeeds  the  autuninal  rains, 
and  the  ploughed  fields  are  covered  with  the  Persian 
lilv,  of  a  resplendent  yellow  co\our,~- Kiissel's  Aleppo. 


Seven  oights  have  darken'd  Oman's  sea, 

Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  ray, 
She  saw  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Huriy  her  Oheber  s  bark  away,— 
And  slill  bhe  goes,  a!  midnight  hour, 
'Jo  weep  alone  in  that  hi^h  buwer, 
And  wach,  and  look  along  the  deep 
For  hint  whose  smiles  (irsi  made  her  weep  j^ 
But  ualching,  weeping,  all  was  vain, 
She  never  saw  his  baik  again. 
'J'he  owlet's  solitary  cry, 
The  night-hawk.  Hilling  darkly  by, 

And  ott  the  hateful  carrion  bud, 
Heavily  Happing  his  clogg'd  wing, 
Which  reek  d  with  that  dajS  banqueting 

Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

'T  is  the  eighth  morn  —  Al  Ha,san's  brow 

Is  brighlen'd  with  unusual  joy  — 
What  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now, 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  ? 
The  sparkle  upon  Herkend's  Sea, 
When  toss'd  at  midnight  furiously ,3 
Tells  not  of  wreck  and  ruin  nigh, 
More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye  ! 
"  Up,  daughter,  up  —  the  KernaN  *  breath 
»*  Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  death, 
*'  And  yet  Ihou  sleep  st  —  up,  child,  and  see 
"  This  blessed  day  for  Heaven  and  me, 
'*A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 
*'Than  ever  BashM  o'er  Oman's  flood. 
**  Before  anotlier  dawn  ?hall  shine, 
"  His  head  —  heart  —  limbs—  will  all  be  mioo* 
**This  very  night  his  blood  shall  steep 
*'  I'hese  hands  all  over  ere  J  sleep  1"  — 

"  His  blood  I"  she  faintly  scieam'd  —  her  mind 
Still  singling  07ie  from  all  mankind  — 
*' Yes  — spite  of  his  ravines  and  lowers, 
"  Hafed,  my  child,  this  night  is  ours. 
"Thanks  lo  all-conquering  treachery, 

"  Without  wht'se  aid  the  links  accurst, 
"That  bind  Ihe^e  impious  slue?,  would  be 

"Too  strong  for  Alla's  self  lo  burst ! 
"  That  rebel  fiend,  whose  blade  has  i^pread 
"  My  path  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
**  Whose  baffling  spells  had  almost  driven 
"Bick  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heaven, 
"  This  niKht,  with  all  his  band  shall  know 
"  How  deep  an  Arab's  s;eel  can  go, 
**  When  God  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow. 
"  And  —  Prophet !  by  that  holy  wreath 
"'ihou  wor'st  on  tJhod's  field  of  death,* 
"  I  swear,  for  every  sob  that  parts 
"  In  anguish  from  these  heathen  heaits, 
"A  gem  from  Persia's  plunder'd  mines 
•'  Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 
"  But,  ha  !  -  she  sinks  —  that  hxk  so  wild  — 
"lliose  livid  lips— my  child,  my  child, 
"This  life  of  bl  lod  befits  not  Ihee, 
"And  Ilmu  must  back  lo  Araby. 

'•  Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  ihy  timid  sex 
*'  In  scenes  that  man  hiniself  might  dread, 
*'  H  id  I  not  hop'd  our  every  tread 

"  Would  be  on  prostraie  Persian  necks  — 
"Curst  race,  they  cfler  swords  instead  ! 
"  But  cheer  thee,  maid,—  the  w  ind  that  now 
"  Is  blowing  o'er  thy  feverish  brow, 


3  "It  is  observed,  with  respect  to  the  Sea  of 
Herkend,  that  when  it  is  los-ed  by  lempestuoiw 
winds  it  sparkles  like  fire."  —  Trauefj  of  Two  Mo- 
hajnmedans* 

4  A  kind  of  trumpet;  —  it  "was  that  used  by 
Tamerlane,  the  s..und  of  which  is  described  as  un- 
commonly dreadful,  and  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  at  the 
distance  of  several  miles." —  Richardson. 

i"  Mohammed  had  two  helmet-,  an  interior  and 
exterior  one;  the  latter  of  which,  called  Al  Ma- 
washah,  the  fillet,  wreath,  or  wreathed  garland,  he 
wore  at  (he  battle  of  Ohnd."—  Univeisal  History. 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS, 


291 


•*  To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore  ; 
**  And,  e'er  a  drop  of  this  night's  eore 
"  Have  (line  to  chill  in  yonder  tinrers* 
"  Thou 'It  see  thy  own  sVeet  Arab  bowen  !** 

His  bloody  boast  was  all  too  Irue  ; 
There  lurk'd  one  wieich  among  the  few 
Whom  Hafed"s  eai;le  e\e  could  c.'unt 
Around  him  on  that  Fieiy  Mnnnt, — 
One  niiscreani,  who  for  gold  betray'd 
The  pathway  through  the  valley's  shade 
To  those  high  towers,  where  Fretdoni  stood 
In  her  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 
Left  on  the  field  rhal  drtradful  nighf. 
When,  sallying  from  their  Sacred  height, 
The  Ghehers  fought  hope's  farewell  tight, 
He  lay  —  but  died  not  wiih  tlie  brave  ; 
That  sun,  which  should  have  gilt  his  grave, 
Saw  him  a  traiif>r  and  a  slave  j  — 
And.  while  the  few,  who  thence  return'd 
To  Iheir  high  rocky  fortress,  mnurn'd 
For  hint  among  the  matchltss  dead 
'I  hey  left  behind  on  glury's  bed, 
He  liv'd,  and,  in  the  face  of  morn, 
LaughM  them  and  Faith  and  Heaven  to  scorn 

Oh,  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave. 

Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight, 
Conies  o'er  ihe  counciK  of  Ihe  brave, 

And  blasts  them  in  iheir  hour  of  mightl 
May  Life's  unbles-^ed  cup  for  him 
Re  druggM  with  treacheries  to  the  brim, — 
With  hopes,  that  but  allure  to  fi*, 

With  joys,  that  vanish  while  he  sips, 
Like  Dead-Sea  fruits,  that  'empl  the  eye. 

But  (urn  to  ashes  on  the  lips!  i 
His  cnuntryN  curse,  his  children's  shame, 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame, 
May  he,  at  last,  with  lips  of  tl.*me 
On  the  [>arch'd  desert  Ihirsiing  die, — 
While  lakes,  (hat  thone  in  mockery  nigh,^ 
Are  fading  oil',  untoucli'd,  untasted. 
Like  the  once  gh-rious  hupes  he  blas'ed  ! 
And,  when  from  earih  h>s  spirit  flies, 

Just  Prnphet,  let  the  d  imn'd-one  dwell 
Full  in  'he  sight  of  Par;»dise, 

Beholding  heaven,  and  feeling  hell ! 


»  "They  say  thnt  (here  are  apple-trees  upon  the 
sides  of  this  sea.  which  bear  very  lovely  fruit,  but 
within  are  all  full  of  ashes."  —  T/ievtiwt.  l  he  same 
is  as>eited  of  the  oranges  there  j  v.  IVitman'B  Tra- 
vels in  Asiatic  Turkev. 

*-Tlie  A-phalt  Lake,  known  by  (he  name  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  is  very  renurkal.ie  on  account  of  the  con- 
siderable proporttiin  of  sail  which  it  contains.  In 
this  re?pecl  it  surpasses  every  oilier  known  water  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  This  geat  proportion  of 
bitter  tasted  salts  is  the  rea-on  uhy  neither  animal 
nor  plant  can  live  in  this  water.'— A'/ay;ror/t's  Chemi- 
cal Analysis  of  the  W..ter  of  tlie  Dtad  Se:s  Annals  of 
FhiloM)phy,  Januarv.  I8l3.  /Jasselqmxt ,  however, 
doubts  (he  trulh  of  this  last  asseidon,  as  there  are 
■hell  fi<h  to  be  found  in  the  lake. 

Lord  Ryron  lias  a  siniil.ir  allusion  to  the  fruits  of 
Ihe  Dead  Sea,  in  that  wonderful  display  of  genius,  his 
third  tanto  of  Childe  Han'ld.— magtiiticent  beyond 
any  thing,  perli.ips,  ihat  even  he  has  ever  wriden. 

l»"TheSuhrabor  Water  of  the  Dtsert  issiid  to  be 
caused  by  the  rarefaction  of  the  atmosphere  from  ex- 
treme heat ;  and,  which  auffinen's  the  delusion,  it  is 
m-'st  frequent  in  holl 
peeled  tu  lodje.     I  have  si-en  bushe 


I^lla  Rrokh  had,  the  night  before,  been  visited  by 
a  dream  wliich,  in  vpite  of  the  impendine;  fate  of  poor 
Hrifed,  made  her  heart  more  llian  usually  cheerful 
during  the  morning,  and  gave  her  cheeks  all  the  fresh- 
ened animation  of  a  fhiwer  that  the  Rid-musk  has  just 
passed  (iver  3  She  fancied  that  she  was  sailing  on  l^at 
Kastein  Octan,  where  the  sea-gipsies.  who  live  for 
ever  on  the  water,*  enjoy  a  perpetual  summer  in 
wand^^ing  from  isle  to  i^le,  when  she  saw  a  small 
gildtd  l.aik  approiching  her.  It  was  like  one  of  those 
boats  which  the  Mnldivian  islanders  send  adrift, at  the 
mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  loaded  wiih  perfumes, 
fli)wers.  and  odoriferous  wowl,  as  an  oifering  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  dresm  to 
her  Ladies,  when  Feramorz  appeared  at  the  door  of 
Ihe  pavilion.  In  his  presence,  of  course,  everything 
else  was  forgotten,  and  the  continuance  of  the  story 
was  instintly  requested  by  all.  Fresh  wood  of  aloes 
was  bet  lo  burn  in  the  cassolets:— the  violet  sherbets  & 
were  hastily  branded  round,  and  after  a  (.hort  prelude 
on  his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of  Nav:f,«  which 
is  always  u^ed  to  express  the  lamentations  of  absent 
lovers,  the  Poet  thus  coutiaued :  — 


The  day  is  lowering  — stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heaven's  rack, 
Dispers'd  and  wild,  Mwixt  eirth  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  sh^iter'd  canopy. 
There's  not  a  cl-ud  in  that  blue  plain 

But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past ;  — 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  mane 

Of  a  yonng  war-horse  in  the  blast ;  — 
There,  roli'd  in  masses  dark  and  swelling, 
As  proud  to  be  the  thunder's  dwelling! 
While  some,  already  burst  and  riven, 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  of  heaven; 
As  thoui;h  the  infant  storm  had  rent 

The  mighty  womb  that  gave  him  birth, 


iuht  be  ex- 
ees  refl.cl- 
t  had  been 


.     .     J,  with  as  much  accu „ ^.. 

the  face  <>(  a  clear  .uid  still  lake."—  Po/f 

"As  to  the  untielievers,  (heir  works  aTe  like  a 
vapour  in  a  pl.tin,  which  the  t|iir>fy  traveller  thinketh 
to  be  waier,  until  when  he  cnmeth  thereto  he  findeh 
it  to  be  nothing."  —  Koran,  chap.  24. 


3  "A  wind  which  prevails  in  February,  called  Bid- 
musk,  from  a  small  and  odoriferous  flower  of  that 
name."— "The  wind  which  blows  these  flowers  com- 
monly las's  till  the  end  of  the  month." — Le  Bruyn. 

*  *'  The  Biajus  are  of  two  races  :  the  one  is  settled 
on  Borneo,  and  are  a  rude  but  warlike  and  industrious 
nation,  who  reckon  themselves  the  original  posssessors 
of  the  island  <  f  Borneo.  The  other  is  a  species  of  sea- 
gipsies  or  itinerant  fishermen,  who  live  in  small  cov- 
ered boats,  and  enjoy  a  perpetual  summer  on  the  east- 
ern ocean,  shiftint;  to  leeward  front  island  to  inland, 
with  Ihe  variations  of  the  monso'>n.  In  some  of  their 
customs  this  singular  race  resenible  the  na'ives  I'f  (he 
Maldivia  islands  The  Mald.vians  annually  launch  a 
small  baik,  loaded  "ilh  perfume-,  Eunis,  flowers,  and 
odoriferous  wood,  and  turn  it  adiift  at  the  mercy  of 
winds  and  waves,  as  an  olFerin^  to  (lie  S-pirit  of  the 
IVinds ;  and  sometimes  similar  nflVrings  are  m,ide  to 
(he  spirit  whom  they  (erm  the  Kine;  of  the  Sea.  In 
like  manner  the  Biajus  perform  tluir  offeiing  to  the 
god  of  evil,  launching  a  small  bark,  loaded  with  all 
the  sins  and  misfor'unes  of  the  nation,  which  are  im- 
agined to  f'll  on  the  unhappy  crew  that  may  be  so 
unlucky  IS  first  (o  meet  vviifi  it  '* — Dr.  Ltydcn  on  the 
Latigu.igesand  Lileiature  of  the  Indu-Chintse  Nnlions. 

fi  "The  sweet-scented  violet  is  one  of  Ihe  plants 
most  es'eemed,  |  atticuhrly  for  its  great  u^e  in  Sorbet, 
which  ihey  make  uf  vi'det  sugar."— //a-wdrjim/. 

"  The  shetbt-l  Ihey  most  esteem,  aid  wh.cli  »  drank 
by  the  Grind  Sisnior  himself,  is  made  of  violets  and 
sugar.'" — Tavtrnxer, 

6  "  Last  of  all  she  took  a  guitar,  and  sung  a  pathetic 
air  in  the  mea-ure  called  Nava.  which  is  always  u^ed 
tn  express  the  lanien'aiions  of  absent  lovers." — Persian 
TaUs, 


•292 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


On  erirtli  't  was  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  siieiice.  dread,  profound, 
Mnre  awlul  tluui  the  tempests  sound. 
The  diver  steer'd  f  r  Uriims'  iiowers, 
Ai.d  munr'd  liis  i-kitf  till  ciln.L-r  hi  ura  ; 
The  SHfl-tiird",  with  porteiiinus  bcreech, 
yiew  fast  U<  la'.d  ;  —  .poii  the  be  ch 
The  piln(  olt  had  paus'd,  with  gl.nce 
Turii'd  upward  lo  that  wild  expanse  j  — 
And  all  w.is  boding,  drear,  and  dark 
M  her  own  m.uI,  when  Hmda's  bark 
Went  slowly  (run  the  Persian  sliore. 
No  music  tmi'd  her  parting  oar,* 
Nor  fiiends  upon  the  lesseniniC  strand 
Linger'd,  to  wave  the  unseen  h-md, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  more ;  — 
But  lone,  unheeded,  from  the  bay 
The  vessel  lakes  its  mournful  way, 
Like  some  Jll-des'in'd  bark  ttia'  steers 
In  silence  thmugh  the  Gale  of  Tears.^ 
And  where  was  stern  Al  Hassm  then 
Could  noi  that  saintly  scouige  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  minute  for  a  farewell  there? 
No  — clo.e  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  prayer,  he  si's 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  the  coining  night  of  blood, — 

With  that  keen,  second-cent  of  death, 
By  which  ihe  vulture  snufls  his  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath  !  3 
While  o'er  the  \vave  his  weeping  daui^hter 
Is  wafted  from  these  scenes  of  slaughter, — 
As  a  youn?  bird  of  Babylon,* 
Let  loose  to  lell  of  victory  won, 
Flies  home,  with  wing,  ah  !  not  unstain'd 
By  the  red  hands  that  held  hei  chain'd. 

And  does  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Light  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks  ? 

Ttie  flowers  she  nursM  —  the  well-known  groves, 

Where  oft  in  dreams  her  spirit  roves  — 

Once  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 

Come  bounding  with  their  silver  bells; 

Her  birds'  new  plumige  to  behold, 

And  the  gay,  glemiing  fishes  cour-t, 
She  lefi,all  hlleted  with  gold. 

Shooting  around  their  jasper  fount ;  * 
Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see. 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hour, 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosuy  e 

In  lier  own  sweet  acacia  bower. — 


^  "  The  Gate  of  Tears,  the  strails  or  passage  into  the 
Red  Sea,  commonly  called  Babelmandel.  It  received 
this  name  from  the  old  Arabians,  on  account  of  Ihe 
danger  of  the  navigition,  and  Ihe  number  of  ship- 
wrecks by  which  it  was  distinguished  ;  which  induced 
them  to  consider  as  dead,  and  to  wear  mourning  for 
all  who  had  the  bildness  to  hazard  the  passage  through 
it  into  Ihe  Elhiopic  oct:in.-^~ liickardsofi. 

3  *■!  have  Leen  told  that  whensoeveran  animal  falls 
down  dead,  one  or  more  vulture?,  unseen  before,  iu- 
stanlly  appear." — Pennant. 

*  "They  fas.en  some  writing  to  the  wings  of  a  Rag- 
d.tt,  or  Habylonian  pigeon." — Travels  of  certain  Eitg- 
lufimtn. 

6  "  The  V.xr.  press  nf  Jehnn-Ouire  used  tn  divert  her- 
self with  feeding  tame  fish  in  her  canals,  some  of 
which  were  many  yeais  :ifterw,>rds  known  by  fiUels 
of  gold,  which  she  caused  lo  be  put  round  them.*^  — 
Harris. 

6  *•  l.e  Tespih,  qui  est  nn  cbapelet,  compose  de  99 
ftetites  boules  d'agaihe,  de  jaspe,  d'amhre,  de  corail,  ou 


Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  now, 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow  ? 
No,— silent,  from  her  train  apart, — 
As  if  even  now  she  felt  at  heart 
The  chill  of  her  approaching  doom, — 
She  sirs,  all  lovely  in  her  gloom 
Asn  p.ile  Angel  ot  the  Grave; 
Al  il  oVr  the  wide,  tempestuous  wave, 
Looks,  v\  i !  h  a  shudder,  (o  those  towers, 
Where,  in  a  few  slioit  awful  hour-, 
Blood,  blood,  in  streaming  tides  shall  run, 
Foul  incense  for  tu-morrow's  sun! 
'   Wheie  art  thou,  glorious  stranger!  thou, 
*  So  lov'd,  so  lost,  where  art  Ihou  now? 
*' Foe  — Gheber— infidel  — whate'er 
"The'  unhallow'd  name  thcu 'rt  doomM  lo  bear 
"Siill  glo^iou^  — stilt  to  this  fond  heart 
*'  Dear  as  iis  blood,  whate'er  thou  art! 
"Yes  — Alia,  dreadful  Alia!  yes  — 
"  If  there  be  wrong,  be  crime  in  this, 
"  Let  the  black  waves  that  round  us  roll, 
*'  Whelm  me  this  instant,  ere  my  soul, 
"  Forgetting  faith  —  home  —  father  —  all  — 
"Before  its  earthly  idol  fall, 
"  Nor  worship  ev'ii  Thvsetf  above  him  — 
"  For,  oh,  so  wildly  do  1  love  him, 
"  Thy  Pa-adise  itself  were  dim 
"  And  joyless,  if  not  shar'd  with  him  !" 
Her  hands  were  clasp'd  —  her  eyes  upturned 

Dropping  their  tears  like  moonlight  rain; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver  !  burn'd 

With  words  of  passion,  bold,  piofane, 
Yet  was  there  light  around  her  biow, 

A  holiness  in  those  daik  e>es. 
Which    show'd, —  though    wandering    earthwaii 

Her  spirit's  home  was  in  the  skies. 
Yes  — for  a  spirit  pure  as  hers 
Is  aiw;iys  pure,  ev'n  while  it  errs; 
As  sunshine,  bioken  iu  the  rill. 
Though  turn'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still  ! 

So  wholly  hid  her  mind  forgot 

All  thoughts  but  one,  she  heeded  not 

The  rising  storm  —  Ihe  wave  that  tast 

A  moment's  midnight,  as  it  pa^s'd — 

Nor  heard  the  frequent  shnui,  il,e  Iread 

of  gathering  tumuli  o'er  her  head — 

Clash'd  sword',  and  tongues  that  seem'd  to  vie 

With  the  rude  not  of  Ihe  sky.  — 

But,  hark  !  —  that  war-wlioop  on  the  deck  — 

That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there, 
Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  (o  wreck, 

Mid  yells  and  stampiners  of  despair  ! 
Merciful  Heaven  !  what  can  it  be  ? 
*T  is  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
The  ship  has  shudder'd  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain-waves  — '' Forgive  me,  God  ! 
"  Forgive  me"  —  shriek'd  the  maid,  and  knelt, 
Trembling  all  over  — for  she  felt 
As  if  her  judgment-hour  was  near; 
While  crouctiing  round,  half  dead  wi;h  fear, 
Her  handiiiaids  clung,  nor  breath'd,  nor  stirr'd  — 
When,  hjrk  I  —a  second  ciash  — a  ihird  — 
And  now,  as  if  a  bolt  of  thunder 
Had  riv'n  the  labouring  planks  asunder, 
'Ihe  deck  falls  in  — what  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
Come  mixM  together  through  the  chasm, — 
Some  wretches  in  Iheir  dying  spasm 
Still  fighting  on  —  and  some  that  call 
"  For  God  and  Iran  !"  as  they  fall  I 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  turn'd  awny 
The  perils  of  the'  infuriate  fray. 


d'auire  maiiere  prei 
Seigneur  Jerpos  ;  i. 
parfaites  et  egales, 
Toderini. 


J'en  ai  vu  un  superbe  ati 
le  belles  et  grosses  perle 
Irente  miUe  piastres."  — 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


293 


And  snatch'd  her  breatliless  from  beneath 
This  wildetment  of  wreck  and  death? 
She  knew  nnt—  ffir  a  fai.itness  came 
Chill  o'er  her,  and  lier  sinking  fr.tme 
Aniid  tite  ruins  i>f  that  h.>nr 
Lay  like  a  pale  and  scnrched  flower, 
Beneath  the  red  vnlcann's  shower. 
But,  oh  !  the  sights  and  sounds  of  dread 
That  shock'd  her  ere  her  senses  fled  1 
The  yawning  deck  —  the  crntvd  that  strove 
Upon  the  totlennt;  planks  above  — 
The  sail,  whose  friia:nients,  shivering  o'er 
The  strug^Iers'  heads,  all  dash'd  with  gora 
Fiulter'd  like  bloody  Hags  — the  clash 
Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 
Upon  their  bindes,  high  Ios^'d  about 
Like  meteor  brands  1 —as  if  thnrnghout 

The  elements  one  furv  lan, 
One  general  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Which  was  the  fiercer,  Heav'n  or  Man  ! 

Once  loo  —  but  no — it  could  not  be  — 

*T  was  fancy  all  —  yet  once  the  thought, 
While  vet  ht-r  fading  eyes  could  see, 

High'on  ihe  luin'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  that  unearihly  form, 

That  glory  of  her  soul,-  even  'hen, 
Amid  Ihe  whirl  of  wiecb  and  storm, 

Shining  above  his  fell"w-men, 
As,  on  some  black  and  troublous  night. 
The  Star  of  Kgyp',*!  who^e  proud  light 
Never  hath  beam'd  on  those  who  rest 
In  Ihe  While  Islands  of  Ihe  West.3 
Burns  through  the  storm  with  looks  of  flame 
That  put  Ileav'n's  cloudier  eyes  to  shame. 
But  no — 't  was  bul  the  minutes  dream  — 
A  fantasy—  and  ere  Ihe  scream 
Had  half-«ay  passM  her  pallid  Jij s, 
A  death-like  s^oon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  tense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  aud  she  sunk,  as  dead. 

How  calm,  hnw  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour,  wh^-n  storms  aregonej 
When  w.trring  winds  have  died  aw;iy, 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  ray, 
Mell  otf,  and  leave  Ihe  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity,— 
Fresh  as  if  Day  a^am  weie  born. 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn  !  — 
When  rhe  lighl  blossnnis,  rudely  lorn 
And  scatter'd  at  the  wliirhvind's  will, 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still, 
Filling  is  all  with  precious  balm, 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm  ;  — 
And  every  drop  the  thunder-showers 
Have  left  upon  Ihe  grass  and  flowers 
Sp;irkles,  as  't  were  that  lightning-gem  4 
Whose  liquid  flame  is  born  of  them  I 
When,  'stead  of  one  unclunging  bieeze, 
The^e  blow  a  thousand  gentle  air-^, 
And  each  a  dilVerent  perfume  bears,' 
As  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  trees 
Had  vassal  breezes  of  tlieii  own 
To  watch  and  wail  on  then  alone, 
And  waft  no  other  brealh  thin  Mieirs: 
When  the  blue  waters  rise  and  fall, 
In  sleepy  sunshine  mantling  all ; 


<  The  meteors  Ihat  Pliny  calls  "  faces." 
■^''Ihe  brilliant  Canopus,  unseen   in    European 
climates." —  Brown, 


*  A  precious  stone  of  the  Indies,  called  by  Ihe 
ancients,  Cerauniuin,  bt-c^use  it  was  supposed  to  be 
found  in  places  where  thunder  had  fallen.  Tertullian 
siys  it  has  a  glittering  appearance,  as  if  there  had 
been  fire  in  it ;  and  the  author  of  the  Dissertation  in 
Harris's  Voyages,  supposes  it  to  be  the  opal. 


And  ev'n  that  swell  the  tempest  leavei 
Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 
Of  lovers'  liearts,  when  uewly  blest. 
Too  newly  to  be  quile  at  rest. 

Such  was  the  golden  hour  that  broke 

Upon  the  world,  when  Hmda  woke 

From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 

No  motion  but  tlie  water's  sound 

Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side, 

As  slow  it  mounted  o'er  Ihe  tide. — 

But  vvhere  is  she?  — her  eyes  are  dark, 

Are  wilder^  still  —  is  this  the  bark, 

The  same,  that  from  Harninzia's  bay 

Bore  her  at  mom  —  whose  bloody  way 

Ihe  sea-dog  track'd  ?  —  no  —  strange  and  new 

Is  all  that  meets  her  wondering  view. 

Upon  a  galliot's  deck  she  lies, 

Beneaih  no  rich  pavilion's  shade,— 
No  plumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes, 

Nor  j.ismine  on  her  pillow  laid. 
But  the  rude  litter,  roughly  spread 
Wilh  war-cloaks,  is  her  homely  bed, 
And  sh.iwl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hung, 
For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 
Shuddering  she  look'd  around—  there  lay 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun, 
Resing  their  limbs,  a--  for  that  day 

Their  ministry  of  death  were  done. 
Some  gazing  on  the  (irowsy  sea, 
Lost  in  unconscious  reverie; 
And  some,  whu  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 
Thai  sluggish  calm,  with  many  a  look 
To  the  slack  s>il  impa'ient  cast. 
As  loose  it  flagg'd  around  Ihe  mast. 

Blest  Alia  !  who  shall  save  her  now? 

There's  not  in  all  that  warrior  band 
One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow 

From  her  own  Failliful  Moslem  land. 
Their  g.irb—  Ihe  leathern  belt  s  that  wraps 

Each  yellow  veslG  —  ihit  rebel  hue  — 
The  T.irtar  fleece  upon  their  c^ps  i  — 

Yes  — yes  —  her  fears  are  all  too  true, 
And  Heav'n  hath,  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
Abandoij'd  her  to  Hafed's  power  ;  — 
Hafed,  the  Gheber!— at  Ihe  ih' ught 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chills  within  ; 
He.  whom  her  soul  was  hourlv  tiught 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  henil  of  sin, 
Some  minis  er,  whom  Hell  had  seiii 
To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  he  went. 
And  fling,  a^  o'er  our  earth  he  irod, 
His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God  ! 
And  ^he  is  now  his  captive,—  thrown 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone; 
His  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
Alt  infldets  —  all  eneniies ! 
What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 
Cross'd  her  like  lightening,  as  again, 
With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent, 

She  darted  through  tint  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  in'ent^ 

That  ev*ri  the  sternest  warrior  bow*d 
Abash 'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught. 
As  if  he  guessM  whose  foim  they  sought. 
But  no  —  she  sees  him  not  —  't  is  gone, 
The  vision  that  before  her  shone 
Thro.jgh  all  the  maze  of  blood  and  stoim, 
Is  fled— 'twas  but  a  phantom  form — 
One  of  those  passing,  rainlinw  dieams, 
Half  light,  h  ilf  shade,  which  Fancy's  beams 


s  D^Herbdot^  art.  Agduani. 

G  ''The  Guebres  are  known  by  a  dark  yellow 
colour,  which  the  men  afllect  in  their  clothes.*  — 
Tf^venot. 

1  "  'Ihe  Kolah,  or  cap,  worn  by  the  Persians,  b 
made  of  the  skin  of  the  sheep  of  Tarlary."— 
IVarbig, 


25* 


294 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


But  now  the  hark,  with  livelier  bound, 
Scaler  Ihe  blue  wave  —  the  ciew's  in  motion, 

The  oars  are  ou',  and  with  li^ht  sound 
Kreak  the  briKht  mirror  of  the  ocean, 

Scatteiin?  jIs  brilliant  frapnients  round. 

And  now  she  sees —  with  horror  sees, 

Their  course  is  low'rd  that  mountain-hold,— 

Tho^e  (owers,  that  make  her  life-biood  freeze, 

Where  Mecca's  godless  enemies 
Lie,  like  bele-guet'd  scorpions^  roll'd 
Jn  their  lasi  deadly,  venomous  told  1 

Amid  Ihe'  iliumi^'d  land  and  flood, 

Sunless  that  mighty  mount.iiii  stood  ; 

Save  where,  above  iis  awful  head, 

There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood-red, 

As  't  were  the  flag  of  destiny 

Hung  out  to  mark  wheie  death  ivould  be  1 

Had  her  bewilder'd  mind  the  power 
Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour, 
She  %vel!  might  njarvel  where  or  how 
Man's  foot  could  scale  that  moun-aiu's  brow, 
Since  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 
Of  path  but  through  the  glen  atone.— 
But  every  thought  was  lost  in  fear, 
When,  as.  their  bounding  b:irk  drew  near 
The  craggy  base,  she  felt  the  waves 
Hurry  them  tow'rd  those  dismal  caves, 
That  from  the  Deep  in  windings  pass 
Beneaih  (hat  Mount's  volcanic  mass  ;  — 
And  t'tud  a  voice  on  deck  commands 
To  lower  (he  mast  and  light  ihe  brands!  — 
Instantly  o'er  Ihe  dashing  iide 
Wilhin  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide, 
Gloomy  as  that  eternal  Porch 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go  : — 
Not  ev'n  the  Aire  of  brand  ai.d  torch 
Its  flickering  light  could  further  throw 
Than  the  thick  Hood  Itiat  boil'd  below. 
Silent  thev  floated  — as  if  each 
Sal  breathle!.s,  and  ino  aw'd  for  speech 
In  thai  dark  cha^^m,  where  even  sound 
Seem 'd  dark,— so  ^ull«nly  around 
The  goblin  echoes  of  the  cave 
Mu'tei'd  it  o'er  the  long  bhck  wave, 
As  'I  were  some  secret  of  the  grave  ! 

But  soft  —  they  pause  —  the  current  turna 

Beneaih  'he'in  from  i's  onward  track  ;  — 
Some  mighty,  unseen  barrier  spurns 
The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back, 
And  scarce  the  oars*  redoubled  foice 
Can  stem  the  eddy*s  whirhng  force; 
When,  hark  !  —  some  despera'e  foot  has  sprung 
Among  the  rocks—  the  chain  is  flung  — 
The  oars  are  up  —  the  grapple  clings, 
And  the  tos5'd  bark  in  mooiiii*,*  swirigs. 
Just  then,  aday.beam  through  Ihe  shade 
Broke  tremulous —  bul,  ere  Ihe  miid 
Can  see  from  whence  'he  brightness  steals. 
Upon  her  brow  she  shuddering  feels 
A  viewless  hand,  that  promptly  lies 
A  bandage  round  her  burning  eves  ; 
While  Ihe  rude  litter  where  she  lies. 
Uplifted  by  the  wnrrior  throng. 
O'er  the  sleep  rocks  is  borne  along. 

Blest  power  of  sunshiTie  !  —  genial  Day, 
What  balm,  wh^t  life  is  in  thy  ray  ! 
To  feel  thee  is  such  real  bliss, 
That  had  the  world  no  joy  bi.t  this, 
To  sil  in  suushin*;  calm  and  sweet,— 
It  were  a  world  loo  exqui-ite 
For  man  to  leave  it  for  Ihe  gloom. 
The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  Ihe  tomb. 
Ev*n  Hindi,  though  she  saw  not  where 

Or  whither  wound  Ihe  perilous  road, 
Tet  knew  by  tlial  awakening  air, 

WUicb  suddenly  around  her  glow'd. 


That  'hey  had  risen  from  darkness  then, 
And  breathM  the  sunny  world  again  1 

But  soon  this  bahny  freshness  fled  — 

for  now  the  sleepy  labyrinth  led 

Through  damp  and  gloom  — 'mid  crash  of  boufhsi 

And  fall  of  loosen'd  crags  that  rouse 

Tlie  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep, 

Who,  star  ing,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey, 
And  long  is  heard,  from  s'eep  to  steep, 

Chasing  them  down  their  ihuodenng  way  1 
The  jackal's  ciy  —  the  distant  moan 
Of  the  hya;na,  tierce  and  lone — 
And  thai  eternal  saddening  sound 

Of  torrents  in  Ihe  glen  beneath. 
As 'twere  the  ever-dark  Profound 

That  rolls  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Dealht 
All.  all  is  fearful  —  ev'n  to  see, 

To  g'Ze  on  those  lerrihc  things 
She  now  but  blindly  hears,  would  be 

Relief  to  her  imaginings; 
Sii'ce  never  yel  was  shape  so  dread, 

But  Fancy,  thus  in  darkness  thrown, 
And  by  such  sounds  of  horror  fed. 

Could  frame  more  dreadful  of  her  owd. 

But  does  she  dream  ?  has  Fear  again 

Perplex'd  Ihe  workings  of  her  bram, 

Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 

Come  froni  ihe  gloom,  low  whispering  near^ 

"Tremble  not,  love,  thv  Gheber's  here?" 

.She  doe^  not  dream  — ail  ?etise,  all  ear, 

She  drinks  the  words,  '*  Thy  Gheber  's  here* 

'T  was  his  own  vice  —  she  could  not  err  — 

Throughout  ihe  breathing  world's  extent 
There  was  but  otie  such  voice  for  her. 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent  I 
Oh,  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale, 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

Open  her  bo-om's  glowing  veil,i 
Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A  breath  of  tiie  beloved  one  1 

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  ev'n  ruin  dear,- 
Vet  iOon  ihi'  gleam  of  rapture,  crost 
By  fears  for  him,  is  chill'd  and  lost. 
How  shall  the  ruthless  Hafed  brook 
That  one  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 
With  aughr  but  curses  in  his  eye, 
On  her— a  maid  of  Arabv  — 
A  Moslem  mud— the  child  of  him, 

Who-'e  bloody  banner's  dire  success 
Hath  lefi  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  turn  its  way  ? 
What  arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover, 
Or  from  her  father  shield  her  lover  ? 

"Save  him,  my  God  !"  she  inly  cries  — 
"S.vehim  this  mght  — and  if  thme  eye* 

*'  Have  ever  welcom'd  with  delight 
**lhe  sinner's  tears,  ihe  sacrihce 

"  Of  sinners'  hearts  —  guard  him  this  right, 
"And  here,  before  thv  throne,  I  swear 
"From  my  heart's  inmost  cire  to  tear 

"  Love,  hope,  remen-brance,  thoufjh  they  be 
"  LinkM  with  each  quivering  life-string  there, 
"And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee! 
"Let  him  but  live,— the  burning  tear, 
"The  sighs,  so  sinful,  yet  so  dear, 


1  A  frequent  image  among  the  orien'al  poets.  "The 
nightingales  warbled  their  enchanting  notes,  and  rent 
the  thin  veils  of  the  rrse-bud  and  the  rose.'*-  JamL 


THE    FIRE. WORSHIPPERS. 


295 


•  'Vhich  have  been  all  too  much  his  ovpti, 
"  Shall  from  this  hour  be  HeaveiiS  alone. 
"Youth  |)a>sM  i;i  peni  ence,  and  age 

*'  In  long  and  painful  pilgriniage, 
**  Shall  leave  iio  traces  ot  the  tlauie 
*'  Thai  wastes  ine  now  —  nor  shsll  hi»  name 
'*  Ere  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 
"  For  his  dear  spirit,  that  away 
*'  Casting  from  ils  angelic  ray 
'*  The'  ecliii.e  of  earrh,  he,  loo,  may  shine 
«'  RedeemM,  all  glorious  and  all  Thine  I 
"Thii.k  — think  what  victory  to  wm 
•*  One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin,— 
"  One  wanderiiit:  star  of  virtue  back 
"To  its  own  native,  heaven-ward  track  I 
"*  Let  him  but  live,  and  both  are  Thine, 
"  Together  thine  —  for,  blest  or  crost, 

*  Living  or  dead,  his  donm  is  mine, 
*'  And,  if  he  pe^i^h,  both  are  lost  I' 


The  next  evening  Lalla  Ronkh  was  entre.ited  by  her 
Ladies  to  continue  the  relation  of  her  wonderful 
dream;  but  ilie  fearful  interest  that  hung  round  the 
fale  of  Hinda  and  her  lover  had  completely  removed 
every  trace  of  it  from  her  mind  ; — much  to  ihe  disip- 
puiritnieut  of  a  f.iir  seer  or  two  in  her  train,  who 
prided  themselves  on  theirskill  In  interpreting  visions, 
and  who  had  already  remarked,  as  an  unlucky  omen, 
that  the  Triicess,  on  the  very  mnrning  after  the 
dream,  had  worn  a  silk  dyed  wuh  ihe  blossoms  of  the 
sorrowful  tree,  Nilica.i 

Fadladeen,  whose  indignation  had  mnre  than  once 
broken  out  during  the  recital  of  some  parts  of  this 
he'eiodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to  have  made  up 
his  mind  to  the  intliciion  ;  and  took  his  seat  this  even- 
ing with  all  the  patience  of  a  martyr,  while  the  Fuel 
resumed  bis  prot^aue  and  seditious  story  as  follows :  — 


To  tenrless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease, 

The  lealy  shons  a^id  sun-btight  seas, 

That  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height, 

Had  been  a  fair  enchanting  sigh*. 

'T  was  one  of  those  anibrnsial  eves 

A  day  of  sorm  so  often  leaves 

At  its  calm  setting —  when  the  West 

Opens  tier  goldeu  bowers  of  rest. 

And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 

Shoots  trembling  doun,  as  from  the  eye* 

Of  some  metk  peni'ent.  whose  last, 

Brit^ht  hours  alone  fordatk  ones  past, 

And  wh^'se  sweet  tears,  o'er  wrong  forgiven, 

Shine,  as  they  fall,  with  light  from  heaven  1 

»T  was  stillness  all  —  the  winds  that  late 

Had  rushM  through  Kerman's  almond  groves, 
And  shaken  from  her  bowers  nf  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  traveller  loves,^ 
Now,  lulPd  to  languor,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wave,  whose  v^aters  gleam 
Linipid,  as  if  her  mines  of  penri 

Were  niePed  all  to  form  the  s  ream  : 
And  her  fair  islets,  email  and  bright, 

Wi'h  their  green  sh  'res  reflected  there, 
Look  like  tlu.se  Fen  isles  of  li^ht. 

That  hang  by  spell-work  in  the  air. 


i  **  HloRsoms  of  the  sorrowful  N\c:an'hes  give  a 
durnble  colour  to  ^i\k.^^— lie  marks  on  the  Husbandry 
of  Bcnt^al  p.  200.  Ni'ica  is  one  of  the  Indian  names 
of  thisflower.— Sir  iV,Jon&s.  The  Persians  call  it 
Gul.  —  6'acrcn. 

1  "  In  parts  of  Kerman,  whatever  dates  are  shaken 
from  ihe  trees  by  the  wind  they  do  not  touch,  but 
leave  llient  for  those  who  have  not  any,  or  for  tra- 
vellers."—£t;i  HaukaU 


But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  Hind.is  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken. 
And,  pale  and  aw'd  as  those  who  waken 
In  their  dark  tombs  —  when  scowling  near. 
The  Searchers  of  the  Grave  3  appear, — 
She  shuddering  turn'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  flash'd  around  ; 
And  saw  those  towers  all  desolate, 

That  o*er  her  head  terrific  frownM, 
As  if  defying  ev'n  the  smile 
Of  that  soft  heaven  to  gild  (heir  pile. 
In  vain  with  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
She  looks  for  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come,  like  music,  to  her  ear  — 
Strange,  mocking  dream  !  again  't  is  fled. 
And  oh,  the  shoote^  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  through  her  inmost  boboni  run. 

When  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"Hafed  the  Chief!"  — and.  one  by  one, 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name! 
He  comes  —  the  rock  resounds  h  is  tread  — 
How  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  head, 
Or  meet  those  eyes  wiiose  scorching  glare 
Not  Yemen's  boldest  sons  can  bear? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells, 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells, 
As  in  those  hellish  fires  th't  light 
The  niandr  ike's  charnel  leaves  at  nighL« 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  tone, 
At  whose  loud  billle-cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran, 
Sea  ter'd  like  some  vast  caiavan, 
When,  siretch'd  at  evening  round  the  well, 
They  hear  the  thirsting  tiger^s  yell  ? 

Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down. 
Shrinking  beneath  the  fiery  froun. 
Which,  fancy  tells  her.  from  that  brow 
Is  flashing  o'er  her  fiercely  now  : 
And  shuddering  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Of  his  retiring  warrior  band.  — 
Never  was  pau-e  so  full  of  dread  ; 

Till  Hafed  with  a  trembling  hand 
Took  hers,  and.  leaning  o»er  her,  said, 
**  Hinda  ;'^ — that  word  was  all  he  spfke, 
And  'twas  enough  — the  shriek  that  broke 

From  her  full  bosom,  told  the  rest. — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  surprise, 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wrndermg  eyes, 

To  hide  them  on  her  Gheber's  breast! 
'T  is  he,  n  is  he—  the  man  of  blood. 
The  fellcst  of  the  Fire-fiend's  brood, 
Hafed,  the  demon  of  the  fight, 
Who&e  voice  unnerves,  wtiose glances  blight,— 
Is  her  own  loved  Gheber.  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smil'd 
In  her  lone  tower,  and  lef:  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams, 
That  she  believ'd  her  bower  had  given 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  hc£vea ! 

Moments  there  are,  and  thi-s  \vtE  one, 
Snatched  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  eun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclii>se  — 

Or,  like  those  verdant  ^^pots  that  bloom 
Around  Ihe  crater's  burning  lips. 

Sweetening  the  very  edee  of  doom  ! 
The  pa^t— the  future- all  \\v*\  Fate 
Can  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hnnrs,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  ladi mce  while  they  last ! 


3  The  two  terrible  angels,  Monkir  and  Nakir.  who 
are  called  "the  Searchers  ot  Ihe  Grave"  in  Ihe  "Creed 
of  Ihe  (irlhodox  Mahometans"  given  by  Ockley, 
vol.  ii. 

*  "The  Arabians  call  Ihe  mandrake  'the  Devil's 
candle,'  on  .iccomt  of  its  si  iuing  appearance  in  the 
uight.'*  —  Richardson. 


296 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Ev*n  he,  this  youth  —  though  dimniM  aod  gone 

Each  star  of  Hnpe  that  cheer'd  him  on  — 

Hia  gloiies  lost—  his  cause  betra>M  — 

Iran,  l.-s  dear-lov'd  country,  made 

A  land    f  carcasses  and  slaves, 

One  dreary  wa^^le  of  chains  and  graves!  — 

Himself  but  lingering,  dead  al  heart, 

'I'd  see  the  last,  lung  slruEgliug  breath 
Of  Liberty's  t;reat  snul  depart. 

Then  lay  him  down  and  share  her  death 
Ev'n  he,  SI)  -unk  in  wrelcheiiuess. 

Wiib  doom  still  darker  gathering  o'er  him, 
Yet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress, 

In  the  mild  eyes  thai  shone  befnre  hinif 
Peaniing  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  irmsports  known  on  earlh, 
That  he  was  h)vM  —  well,  warmly  h.v'd  — 
Uh  1  in  this  precious  hour  he  ]>rov'd 
How  deep,  how  thorough-felt  the  glow 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  woe; 
Hf'W  exquisi  e  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 
(If  misery's  cup  —  how  keenly  (luriff'd, 
Though  death  must  fuUovv  on  the  draught  1 

She,  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  si  ik  into  her  soul  so  deep, 
Forgeis  all  fears,  all  miseries, 

(ir  feels  them  like  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  fancy  cheata  into  a  smile, 
Who  dreams  of  jny  and  !^obs  the  whilel 
The  mighty  Ruins  where  thry  stood, 

Upon  ihe  ninunl's  high,  rocky  verge, 
Lav  open  Inu  »tds  file  ocean  flood, 

Where  liglnlv  o»er  the  illumm'd  surge 
Many  a  fur  batk  tlia',all  the  day. 
Had  lurk'd  in  shelieriiig  creek  or  tay, 
Now  bounded  on,  and  gave  their  sails, 
Yet  diippitig,  to  the  evening  gales  ; 
Like  eai^les,  when  Ihe  siorm  is  done, 
Spreading  their  uet  uings  in  the  sun. 
T  he  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight's  Star 
Had  sunk  behind  the  hitis  of  Lar, 
Were  still  with  lingering  glories  bright, — 
As  if,  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

I  he  Spirit  of  dep  trting  Lisht 
That  eve  had  left  his  bunny  vest 

Behind  him,  ete  he  wing'd  hi.  flight. 
Never  was  jcene  so  formM  for  love  ! 
Beneath  ilieni  waves  of  crystal  move 
In  silent  swell  -  Heav'n  gh-ws  above, 
And  iheir  pure  hearts,  to  transport  given, 
Swell  like  the  wave,  and  glow  like  Heav'n, 

But  ah  !  too  soon  that  dream  is  past  — 

Again,  ag^iiii  lier  fear  returns;  — 
Niehi,  dreadful  night,  is  galheijug  fas!, 

More  faintly  the  horizon  burns, 
And  e\ery  rosy  tiot  that  lay 
On  the  smooth  sea  hath  died  away, 
H:)siily  to  the  daikening  skies 
A  glance  she  casts  —  then  \*  ildly  cries 
^'At  night,  he  said  -  and,  look,  »t  is  near  — 

"  Fly,  fly  —  if  yet  thou  lov'sl  me.  fiy  — 
"Soon  will  his  murderous  band  be  here, 

**And  I  shall  see  Ihce  bleed  and  die. — 
*'  Hush  1  heard'tt  thou  mt  the  tramp  of  men 
"Sounding  from  yonder  ferirful  glen?  — 
*'  Pet  haps  ev'n  now  they  climb  the  wood  — 

"FIv,  fly— though  still  the  West  is  bright, 
'*He'li  come  — oh',  yes— he  wants  thy  blood - 

''  I  know  him  —  he  'II  not  wait  for  night  1" 

In  terrors  ev'n  to  agony 

She  clings  around  the  wondering  Chief;  — 
**  Alas,  poor  wihier'd  maid  !  to  me 

"I  hou  ow'st  this  raving  trance  of  grief. 
"  Lost  as  I  am,  nought  ever  grew 
"  Beneath  my  shade  bu'  [lerish'd  'no  — 
"My  doom  is  like  the  Dead  bca  rur, 
"And  u  'thing  lives  that  enters  there! 


"  VVhy  were  our  barks  together  driven 
"  Beneaih  this  niorning's  furious  heaven  ? 
»*  VVhy,  when  I  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

*'  Had  ihiown  into  niy  desperate  arms,-- 
*'  When,  casting  but  a  single  glance 

*'  Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms, 
"I  vow'd  (I hough  watching  viewless  o'er 

"Thy  safety  throigh  that  hour's  alarms) 
"  To  nteel  the'  unmanning  sight  no  more  — 
"  VVhy  have  1  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow 
"  Why  weakly,  madly  met  Ihee  now  ?  — 
**  Start  not  —  ih  it  noise  is  but  Ihe  shock 

"  Of  torrents  through  yen  valley  hurl'd  — 
"Dread  nothing  here  —  upon  ihis  r  ck 

**  VVe  stand  above  the  jarring  world, 
"Alike  beyond  its  hope  —  iis  dread  — 
"  III  gh.oniy  safetv,  like  the  Dead  ! 
"Or,  could  ev'n  earth  and  hell  unite 
•'  In  league  (o  storm  this  Sacred  Height, 
"  Fear  nothing  thou  —  myself,  to-nighf, 
"And  eich  overlooking  star  that  divells 
"  Near  God  will  be  thy  sentinels  ;  — 
"  And,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow, 

"  Back  to  thy  sire '* 

"  To-morrow  !  —  no 
The  maiden  scream'd  —  "  thou  'It  never  see 
"  Ti.-morrow's  sun— death,  death  will  be 
*''Jhe  night-cry  through  each  reeking  tower, 
"  Unless  we  liy,  ay,  fly  this  hour  ! 
"  'I  hou  art  beiray'd  — some  wretch  who  knew 
"Thai  dreadful  glen's  my.sterious  clew  — 
"Nav,  doubt  not—  by  yon  stirs,  't  is  true  — 
"  Hath  sold  thee  to  niy  vengeful  sire; 
"This  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 
"  He  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  alt, 
"And  s  amp'd  in  triumph  through  our  hall, 
*'  As  though  thy  heart  already  beat 
"Its  last  lile-throb  beneaih  his  feet ! 
"Good  Heav'n,  how  little  dream'd  I  then 

"  His  victim  was  my  own  lov'd  youth  1  — 
«t  Fly  _  send  —  let  some  one  «  atch  Ihe  glen  — 

"By  all  uiy  hopes  of  heaven,  'tis  tiu  hi" 

Oh  !  colder  than  Ihe  wind  that  freezes 

FouU'S,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd, 
Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 

The  trus'ing  bosom,  when  betray'd. 
He  felt  il  — deeply  felt  — and  stood, 
As  if  the  tale  had  froz'n  his  blood, 

So  niaz'd  and  motionless  was  he  ;  — 
Like  one  whom  sudden  spells  enchant, 
Or  Fome  mule,  marble  habitant 

Of  Ihe  still  Halls  of  hhmonie !  i 

But  soon  the  painful  chill  was  o'er, 
And  his  great  soul,  herself  once  more, 
Look'd  from  his  biow  in  all  the  lays 
Of  her  best,  happiesi,  grandest  days. 
Never,  in  moment  mo^t  elate, 

Did  that  high  spirit  lof'ier  rise  ;  — 
While  brighf,  serene,  determinate. 

His  looks  are  lifted  to  the  skies, 
As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes! 
'Tis  come  — his  hour  of  mattjrdom 
In  Iran's  sacred  cau?e  is  come; 
And,  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  lightning  on  a  slortny  day, 
Yet  shall  his  death-hour  leave  a  track 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright. 
To  which  the  brave  of  afier-times, 
The  siiflVring  brave,  shall  long  look  back 

With  proud  regret.—  and  by  its  light 

W;itch  Ihrovigh  the  hours  r.f  s-lavery's  night 
For  vengeance  on  the'  oppressor's  crimes. 


4  For  an  account  of  Ishmonie,  Ihe  petrified  city  in 
Upper  Egypt,  whi-re  it  is  said  there  are  many  siaiues 
of  men.  women,  &c.  to  be  seen  to  this  day,  see  Pcrry'B 
View  of  tfie  Levant. 


THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


ao: 


This  rock,  his  mnnument  alofl, 
.Shall  $pe»k  tlie  laie  lo  iiiany  an  age ; 


lid  heinei 


I1-.  and  tell 
:  Haftd  fell  J 


And  hithe 

Shall  cunie  in  se 
And  brius  llieir  w: 
'i'Ue  Wdnderitig  bo 

And  swear  them  on  triu  e  lot.e  remains 
Of  Iheir  lust  country's  ancient  fanes, 
iSever—  while  breath  nf  life  shall  live 
Wi  hin  them  —  ncvei  to  forgive 
The'  accursed  rice,  whose  ruthless  chain 
Halh  lelt  on  Iran's  neck  a  slain 
Blood,  blood  atone  can  cleanse  again  ! 

h'uch  are  the  swelling  Ihough's  that  now 
Enthrone  themselves  on  Hafed's  brow; 
And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  Iss.i '  gaze 

On  the  red  ivreath,  for  marljrs  tvvin'd, 
More  proudly  thin  the  youih  surveys 

That  pile,  which  through  the  gloom  behind, 
Half  lighlcd  by  the  altar's  lire. 
Glimmers— his  deslin'd  funeral  pyre! 
Ileaii'd  by  his  own,  his  comrades'  hands, 

Of  every  wood  of  odorous  breath, 
There,  by  the  Fire-God's  shrine  it  stands, 

Reidy  10  fold  in  radiant  death 
The  few  slill  left  of  those  who  swore 
To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er  — 
The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  flame. 
Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  and  shame, 
Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 
For  their  own  infant  Pmphet  spread, 
When  piiyin?  Heav'n  lo  roses  inrn'd 
Tbedeah-llamcs  thai  beneath  him  burn'd  !  » 

With  watchfulness  the  nraid  altends 
His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  beiid^  — 
Why  shoot  his  eyes  such  awful  beams? 
What  plans  he  tmw  ?  wbii  thinks  or  dreams  ? 
Alas  !  why  stands  he  nrusing  here. 
When  every  irionrent  teems  wiih  fear  ? 
*'  Hafed,  my  ou^n  beloved  Lord," 
She  kneeling  cries  —  "  first,  last  adorM 
"If  in  th.tsoul  thou'st  ever  felt 

"  Half  what  thy  lips  impassinrr'd  swore, 
"  Hce,  on  my  knees  ihil  never  knelt 

"  To  any  bul  Iheir  God  before, 
"  I  pray  thee,  as  thou  lnv'st  me,  lly  — 
''  Now,  now  —  ere  yet  their  blades  are  nigh. 
"  Oh  haste—  Ihe  bark  that  bnre  nre  liithtr 

"  Can, waft  us  o'er  yon  dirkeriin;;  sea 
''East— west — alas,  1  care  riot  whither, 

'■So  thou  art  safe,  and  I  with  thee  ! 
"  Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  in  thine, 

''Those  eyes  before  me  snrilirig  thus, 
*'  Through  good  and  ill,  through  s:oinr  and  shine, 

"  'I'he  woi  Id 's  a  world  of  love  for  us ! 
*'0n  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell, 
"  Where  't  is  no  crime  lo  love  too  well  j  — 
"  Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 
"  An  erring  child  of  Irshl  Irke  Ihee 
"  Will  not  he  sin— "r  if  it  be, 
''  Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away, 
"Together  kneeling,  night  and  day, 
"  Thou,  for  my  ~ake,  at  Alias  sin ine, 
"And  1  —  at  any  God's,  for  thine  1" 


'  Jesus. 

^TbeGhebeis 
Piophel,  was  Ihr 
the  tl.me  turned 
IhechilJ  sweetly 

Of  their  other 
told  in  Dion  Prusx^is,  Or'at.  36,  that'  the  lo' 
dom  aird  virtue  leading  him  lo  a  sniilary  life  upon  a 
mountain,  he  found  il  one  day  all  in  a  liame,  shining 
with  cele-lial  lire,  out  of  which  lie  came  without  any 
harm,  anil  instiluled  certain  sacrifices  lo  Gnd,  who, 
he  dtc'.iied,  rhen  appeared  to  him. —  v.  Patrick  on 
Eiodus,  iir.  2. 


say  that  when  Abraham,  iheir  great 
)wn  inlo  !he  tire  by  orderof  Ninirod, 
instantly  in!"  "a  bed  of  roses,  where 
rep'ised." — Tavtrnier, 
I'rnphel,  Znrrras'er-,  there  is  a  story 


Wililly  ttiese  passionate  words  she  spoke  — 
'I'heo  hung  her  head,  arrd  uept  for  shame  , 

Sobbing,  as  if  a  hrarl-siring  broke 

Witii  every  deep-heav'd  sob  ihat  cime. 

While  be,  young,  warm  — oh  1  wonder  not 
It,  for  a  moment,  pride  and  fame, 
Hrs  oath—  bis  cause  — thai  shrine  of  flame. 

And  Iran's  self  are  all  forgot 

For  her  w  horn  at  his  leet  he  seea 

Knetrlina  in  speechless  agonies. 

No,  blame  hni  not,  if  Hope  awhile 

Uawnd  III  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 

O'er  hours  lo  come— o'er  days  and  nights, 

Wing'd  vvilh  those  precious,  pure  delighls 

\Vhich  she,  v\  ho  berrds  all  beauteous  ihere. 

Was  born  lo  kindle  and  to  share. 

A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  how'd 
To  raise  Ihe  sui  pli.n',  trembling  stole, 
arn'd  burr  of  this  dangerous  cloud 


oflri 


'  his  Soul. 


S'aitm,.;,  be  brusb'd  the  drops  away, 
Uiiwortliy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray  ;  — 
hike  one  v*ho,  on  the  nrorn  of  fight, 
Shikfs  from  his  sword  the  dews  of  nighi. 
Thai  had  but  dimm'd,  not  starn'd  its  listit. 
Yet,  though  subdued  the'  unnerving  W    , 
lis  warmth,  rts  weakness  linger'd  stiL 

So  touching  in  each  look  and  lone. 
Thai  the  fond,  fearing,  hoping  niaid 
Half  counted  on  the  llighl  she  pray'd, 

Half  ihought  ihe  hero's  soul  was  grown 

As  soft,  as  yielding  as  her  own, 
Arrd  smii'd  and  bless'd  him,  while  he  said  - 
"  Ves—  if  Ihere  be  some  happier  sphere, 
"  VVhere  fadeless  trtith  like  ours  is  dear, 
"  If  there  be  any  lar,d  of  rest 

"  For  those  who  love  and  ne'er  forjel, 
"Oh  !  coiriforl  Ihee— for  safe  and  hltst 

'*  We  '11  meet  in  that  calm  region  y  et  I" 

Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask  her  heart 
If  ttood  or  ill  these  words  impart. 
When  the  rous'd  youlh  impatient  flew 
To  the  tower-wall,  where,  high  irr  view, 
A  ponderous  sea-horn  3  hung,  and  blew 
A  signal,  deeji  and  dread  as  tho>e 
Tlie  storm-fiend  at  tiis  rising  blows. — 
Full  well  bis  Chieftains,  sworn  and  true 
Through  life  and  deaih,  that  signal  knew; 
For  't  was  the'  appointed  w  irning-blast, 
Tlie'  alarm,  to  lell  when  hope  was  past, 
And  the  iremendous  death-die  cast  ! 
And  there,  upon  the  mouldering  tower, 
H.ilh  hung  this  sea-horn  many  an  Jiour, 
Keady  to  sound  o'er  land  and  sea 
Thai  dirge-note  of  the  brave  and  free. 
They  came— his  Chreft.iins  at  the  call 
Came  slowly  round,  and  with  them  all  — 
Alas,  how  few  !  —  the  worn  reniartis 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  Kerman's  plainj 
Weirt  gaily  prancing  lo  ihe  clash 

Of  Moorish  zel  and  lymbalon. 
Catching  new  hope  from  every  flash 

Of  their  long  lances  in  Ihe  sun, 
Ai  d,  as  Iheir  coursers  cirarg'd  the  whirl. 
And  the  white  ox-lails  st.earrr'd  behind  4 
Lookim;,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wirrg'd,  and  every  Chief  a  God  ! 
How  f.li'ri,  how  aller'd  irow  !  how  wan 
Kach  scarr'd  and  laded  visage  shone. 


3  "  The  shell  called  Siiankos,  common  In  Ind  a,  Af. 
rrca,  and  the  Mediterranean,  arrd  slill  used  in  mar- 
pans  as  a  trumpet  for  blowing  alarms  or  srivirrg  sig. 
nals:  it  sends  loith  a  deep  and  hollow  sound."- y«i. 
nant.  i 

4  "The  finest  ornament  for  the  horses  is  nade  of' 
fr.r£  large  Hying  tassels  of  long  whrte  hair,  takei  out  of, 
the  tails  of  wild  oxen,  that  are  to  be  found  in  some 
places  of  the  indie.."- r/icue)ii;(.  I 


298 


LALLA    ROOKH, 


As  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came  j  — 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast, 
As  mu'e  thty  pnus'd  before  the  flame 

To  li^lii  ilieir  torches  as  they  pass'd '. 
T  was  silence  all  —  the  youth  liad  plauu'd 
The  duties  of  his  soldier-band  ; 
And  each  deierminM  brow  declares 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  kuuw  theirs. 

But  minutes  speed  —  night  gems  the  skies  — 
And  oil,  hmv  soon,  ye  Ltesstd  eyes, 
That  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  slar-hres  cold  ! 
Breathless  wilh  awe,  inipalieoce,  hope, 
1  he  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Her  litter  sileiily  prepare, 

And  lay  il  at  her  trembling  feet ;  — 
And  nokv  the  youth,  with  gentle  care, 

Hath  placM  her  in  the  sheltered  seat, 
And  piess'd  her  hir.d—  that  linsjering  press 

(H  hands,  th.t  for  the  last  time  sever  j 
Of  hearis,  whose  pulse  of  happinese, 

When  that  hold  breaks,  is  dead  for  ever. 
And  yel  to  her  this  sad  caress 

G-ves  hnpe  —  so  f'ludly  hope  can  err  1 
'T  was  joy,  she  'hought,  jny's  mute  excess  — 

Their  happy  flight^s  dear  haibinger  j 
'T  was  warmth  —  absurance —  tt^nderness  — 

'T  was  any  thing  but  leaving  her. 
"  Haste,  haste  1*'  she  cried,  "the  clouds  grow  dark, 
**  But  still,  ere  night,  we  'U  reach  the  bark  ; 
"And  by  lo-morrow's  dawn  —  oh,  bliss! 

*'  With  thee  upon  the  i-un-bright  deep, 
*'  Far  ott",  1  Ml  but  remember  this, 

**  As  >onie  dai  k  vanistiM  dream  of  sleep  ; 
"And  thou "  but  ah  !  —  he  answers  not  — 

Good  Hea  v'n  '.  —  and  does  she  go  alone  ? 
She  now  has  leach'd  that  dismal  spot. 

Where,  some  hours  since,  bis  voice's  tone 
Had  come  to  soothe  her  fears  and  ills, 
Sweet  as  the  angel  Israhl"s,» 
When  e\eiy  leal  on  Kdeu's  tree 
Is  irembling  to  his  mius'relsy  — 
Yel  now  —  oh.  now,  he  is  not  nigh.— 

"Hafed!  my  H.fed'  — il  il  be 
"Thy  will,  thy  d' om  this  iiighi  lo  die, 

*•  Le'  me  but  >tay  to  die  with  Ihee, 
"And  I  will  ble-s  thy  loved  name, 
**TiIl  the  last  life-breaih  leave  this  frame. 
"  Oh  !  let  our  lips,  our  cheeks  be  l.Tid 
"But  near  each  other  while  they  fade; 
"Let  us  but  nnx  our  parting  brea  hs, 
"And  1  candle  ten  thousand  deaths! 
"  You  too,  who  hurry  me  away 
**  So  cruelly,  one  moment  stay  — 

"Oh  !  slay —one  moment  is  not  much  — 
•'  He  yet  may  come  —  for  him  I  pray  — 
"  Hafed  I  dear  Hafed  1  — "  all  the  way 

In  Wild  lameiitings  that  would  touch 
A  heart  of  stone,  she  shriek'd  his  nanie 
To  the  d.irk  woods  —  no  Hafed  came :  — 
No —  hapless  piir  —  you  've  look'd  your  last :  — 

Your  hearts  shou'd  both  have  broken  ihen: 
The  dre-vni  is  o'er  — ynur  doom  is  cast  — 

Vou  *11  never  meet  on  earth  again  ! 

Alas,  for  him,  who  hears  her  cries  ! 

b  ill  half-w.iy  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  teverish  eyes 

'J'he  glimmer  of  those  burning  bnnds, 
That  d.un  the  rocks,  with  n-nurnful  lay, 
Light  all  hf- loves  nn  earih  awav  ! 
Hopeless  as  Ihey  who,  far  at  sea. 

By  the  cold  moon  have  just  consigned 
The  coise  nf  one,  lovd  te.  dcrly, 

To  the  bleak  Hood  they  leave  behind  ; 


And  on  the  deck  slill  lingering  stay, 
And  long  loi>k  tiack,  with  sad  delay, 
To  warch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
Tliat  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  grave. 

Bui  see  —  he  starts  —  what  heard  he  then  ? 
That  dreadful  shout !  —  across  the  gleii 
Fr(im  the  land-side  it  comes,  and  loud 
hings  throuffh  the  ch  isni ;  as  if  the  crowd 
Of  fearful  ihings,  that  haunt  that  dell. 
Its  Gholes  and  Dives  and  shapes  of  hell, 
Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shoLl! 
"They  come —  the  Moslems  come  I" —  he  cries, 
Hi^  proud  suul  mounting  to  his  eyes,— 
"Now,  Spirlis  of  the  Brave,  who  roam 
"Enfranchis'd  through  yon  starry  dome, 
"Rejoice— for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
"  Are  on  the  wing  to  join  your  choir  !" 
He  said  —  and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimb'd  the  steep 
And  gain'd  the  Shrine —  his  Chiefs  stood  round  — 

'I'heir  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap, 
Together,  ai  that  cry  accurst, 
H^d  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst. 
And  hark  !  —  again  —  ag.iin  it  rings  ; 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 
Teal  through  the  chasm  —  oh  !  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men, 
Wilh  their  swords  grasp'd,  their  e\es  of  flame 
Turn'd  on  their  Chief—  could  diiubt  the  shame, 
The'  indignant  shame  wi  h  which  ihey  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still  ? 

He  read  their  thoughts  —  they  were  his  own  — 

"  What !  while  our  arnis  can  wield  these  bladei, 
"  Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

*'  Without  one  vicrim  lo  imr  shades, 
"  One  Moslem  heart,  where,  buried  deep, 
"  The  sabre  from  i's  toil  may  sleep  ? 
"  No  —  God  of  Iran's  burning  skies  ! 
"  Thou  scorn'st  the'  inglot  ious  sacrifice. 
"  No  —  though  of  all  eat  lh'»  hope  bereft, 
"  Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  s'ill  are  left. 
"  We  'il  make  yon  villey's  reeking  caves 

"  Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  men, 
"Till  lyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

"Tell  of  the  Ghebcr's  bloody  glen. 
"  Follow,  brave  hearts!  —  this  pile  remains 
"Our  reluge  still  from  life  and  chains; 
"  But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed, 
"  Who  sinks  entomb'd  in  Moslem  dead  !" 

Down  the  precipitous  rocks  Ihey  sprung, 
While  vigour,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart. —  The'  exulting  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  defiles  below, 
Track'd  by  his  torches'  lurid  hre, 

Wound  slow,  as  through  Golc-nda's  vale* 
The  mighty  serpent,  in  his  ire, 

Glides  on  with  glittering,  deadly  IraiL 
No  torch  tbeGhebers  need  —  so  well 
They  know  each  mystery  of  the  dell, 
So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  ihem  dwell. 

The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 
Lonk  out,  and  let  them  pa-^s,  as  things 

UntamM  and  fearless  like  'hemselves! 

There  v^as  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 
Yef  darkling  in  (he  Moslem's  way  ; 
Fit  spill  t'l  make  inwiders  rue 
The  many  f.ll'n  before  the  few. 
The  torreriis  fmni  thai  morning's  sky 
Had  hi  I'd  the  narr  -w  chasm  brea-t-high, 
And,  nil  each  side,  aloft  and  vviid, 
Huie  dirt-  and  toppling  crags  were  pil'd,— 
The  guards  with  winch  young  Freedom  lia<s 
The  pathways  to  her  mouiitaiu-shrines. 


2  See  Hoole  upon  thf  Story  of  Sinbad. 


THE    FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 


299 


Here,  at  this  pass,  the  scanty  band 
Of  Iran's  last  aveng^ers  'land  ; 
Here  w.tit.  in  silence  like  the  dexd, 
Ai'd  lisrcii  for  the  Moslem's  iread 
So  »nxi  u-ly,  (fie  carnon-bird 
Above  *Ueni  ^.^psliis  wing  unbeard! 

'Ihry  come  —  that  plunge  into  the  water 
GiMS  sig[i<l  fur  the  vvo:k  <if  slaughter. 
N<'w,  tihebers,  now—  if  e'er  your  hiadea 

Had  p  'iiit  IT  pruwess,  prove  them  now  — 
Woe  tu  the  file  Ihat  forentost  wades  ! 

They  come  — a  f.ilchion  greets  each  brow, 
And,  a"s  Ihey  tunible,  tiunk  on  trunk, 
Beneath  the  goiy  waters  sunk, 
Still  i-\{  their  drowning  bodies  press 
New  v-ctinis  quick  and  numberless; 
T  J^.  oU.rce  an  arm  m  Hafed-s  band, 

So  tierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 
Bit  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

The  sword  hangs,  cloggM  with  massacre. 
Never  \vas  horde  of  tyrants  met 
With  bloodier  welcome —  never  yet 
To  patriot  vengeance  h^th  the  sword 
Mo.e  terrible  libations  pour'd  ! 

Alt  u[»  the  dreiry^  long  ravine, 
Ry  the  red,  murky  glimnipr  seeu 
Of  half  queuch'd  br.inds,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Lie  scatter'd  round  and  burn  in  blond, 
What  ruin  glares  !  what  carnige  swims! 
Heads,  blazing  turbai*s.  quivering  limbs, 
Lost  swords  tliat.  droppM  from  m^ny  a  hand. 
In  that  thick  pool  of  blaugh  er  stand  ; — 
Wretches  who  vxadiog,  half  on  fire 

From  the  tossd  brands  thai  round  them  fly, 
n'  wixl  flood  and  ffan.e  in  shrieks  expire;— 

And  some  who.  grasp'd  by  those  that  die, 
Sink  woundles^  with  them,  smnther'd  o'er 
la  Iheir  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore  I 

But  vainly  hundreds,  thousands  bleed, 
Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed  ; 
Coun'less  as  tow^ds  some  flime  at  rtight 
I'he  Norths  dark  insects  wing  their  Ilight, 
And  quench  nr  perish  in  its  light. 
To  this  terrific  ^p^'  they  pnur  — 
Till,  biidg'd  with  Moslem  bcdies  o'er, 
It  bears  aloft  'heir  slippery  tread, 
And  oVr  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Tremendous  causeway  !  on  they  pass. 
Then,  haple  s  Ghebers,  then,  ala^ 
What  ho|»e  was  left  for  you  ?  fnr  you, 
WhoFC  >et  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 
Is  smoking  in  their  veLgeful  eyes  ;— 
Whose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce  they  knev 
And  burn  with  shame  to  find  how  few. 

Cnish'd  down  by  that  vast  multitude, 
Some  found  their  graves  where  first  they  stood  j 
While  some  \vith  hardier  struggle  died, 
And  >till  fought  on  by  Hafed^s  side, 
W!in,  fronting  tn  the  foe,  trod  bick 
Tow'rds  the  high  towers  bis  gory  (rack; 
And,  as  a  lion  swfpi  a^vay 

Ry  sudden  swell  of  Jordan's  pride 
From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay,* 

Long  hattlfs  with  the'  o'erwhelming  tide, 
So  tonghl  he  bick  with  fierce  delay, 
And  kept  both  foes  and  fate  at  bdy. 

But  whither  now  ?  their  'rack  is  lost. 

Their  prev  escTpM  —guide,  torches  gone  — 
By  l.>tTfiit.be(l-  and  labynn'hs  crsf, 

The  vcaiiei'd  crnud  rush  blindly  on  — 


«  *'  In  this  thicket  upon  the  ha-.ks  of  the  Jordan 
•ev?ral  sorts  of  w.id  hpasts  are  wont  m  ha'bnur  them- 
selves, whose  being  washed  out  of  the  covert  by  the 
overflowings  of  the  rive  .  cave  occisinn  to  Ihn  allu- 
sion of  Jeremiah,  he  shall  CL>me  up  like  a  lion  from 
the  noclUng  of  JoTdan.^^ ~  MaundrtlVs  Aleppo, 


"  Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  Ihat  wind," 

They  paniing  cry,  "so  far  behind  ; 

'*0h  for  a  bloodhound's  precious  scent, 

**  To  (r^ick  the  w  ay  the  Gheber  went  I" 

Vain  wish  —  confusedly  along 

They  rush,  more  desperate  as  more  wrong  t 

Till,  wilder'd  by  the  far  ofl"  lights. 

Yet  gliitering  up  those  gloomy  heights, 

1  heir  footing,  maz'd  and  lost,  they  miss, 

And  down  the  darkling  precipice 

Are  dashed  into  ihe  deep  abyss; 

Or  midway  hang,  impal'd  on  rucks, 

A  banquet,  vet  alive,  for  flrrcks 

Of  ravening  vultures,—  while  the  dell 

Re-echues  with  each  horrible  yell. 

Those  sounds  —  Ihe  last,  to  vengeance  dear, 
That  e'er  sh;ill  ring  in  Hafed's  ear,— 
Now  reach'd  him,  ^>  ah-ft,  alone, 
Upon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown. 
He  lay  Reside  his  reeking  blade, 

Resign'd,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er, 
1(8  last  bJnod-oflerint;  amply  paid, 

And  Iran's  self  could  claim  no  more. 
One  only  Ihoughi,  one  lingering  beam 
Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 
Of  piin  and  weariness  —  'twas  she, 
His  heart's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 
Above  Ihe  waste  of  memory, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  were  set 
And  never  to  his  mind  before 
Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 
It  seeni'd  as  if  eich  thought  that  stain'd, 

Each  fear  ih;it  chilPd  their  loves  was  past. 
And  not  one  cloud  of  earth  remain'd 

Between  him  and  her  ntdiance  cast; — 
As  if  to  charnis,  before  so  bright. 

New  grace  from  other  worlds  was  given. 
And  his  sonl  saw  her  by  the  light 
Now  breaking  o'er  itself  from  heaven  ! 

A  voice  spoke  near  him  —  't  was  the  lone 
Of  a  lov'd  friend,  ihe  only  one 
Of  all  his  warriors,  left  ui'h  life 

From  ihal  shod  night's  tremendous  strife. 

*■  And  must  we  then,  my  chief,  die  here? 
**  Foes  round  us,  and  Ihe  Shrine  so  near!** 
These  words  hive  rous'd  the  last  reniaiiis 

Ot  life  within  him- "what  I  not  yet 
"Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains  !'» 

The  thought  could  make  ev'n  Death  forget 
His  icy  bondage —  with  a  bound 
He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  ihe  ground. 
And  grasps  his  comrade's  arm,  now  grown 
Ev'n  feebler,  heivier  than  his  own. 
And  up  the  painful  pathway  leads, 
Death  gaining  on  each  step  he  treads. 
Speed  them,  thou  God   who  heard'st  their  vow! 
1  hey  monnt  —  they  bleed  —  oh.  save  them  now 
The  crags  are  red  they  've  clamber'd  o'tr. 
The  rock-weed's  dripping  with  their  gore;  — 
Thy  blade  too,  Hafed,  filseat  lenglii. 
Now  breaks  beneath  thy  totteringstrength  1 
Hasle,  haste  —  the  voices  of  Ihe  Foe 
Come  ne:»r  and  nearer  from  below  — 
Oneeifort  more  — think  Heav'n  !  'tis  past, 
They'vegain'd  the  topmost  stet-p  nt  list. 
And  nov\  they  touch  Ihe  'eniples  walls, 

Now  Hnfed  sees  the  Fire  divine- 
When,  III !  —  hi^  weak,  worn  comrade  falls 

De.d  ON  the  ihreslmld  of  Ihe  sliiine. 
"Alas,  brave  soul,  I.ioquicklv  fled! 

"And  must  I  leave  (bee  withei  ing  here, 
•*The  5p'-rl  of  every  ruffian's  tread, 

**  The  mark  for  every  coward's  spear? 

'*No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams!" 

He  cries,  and,  with  a  strength  that  seemi 

Not  of  this  world,  uplifts  the  frame 

Of  the  fall'n  Chief,  and  tow'rdB  the  flame 


!30i; 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Bears  him  along ;  —  wilh  dealh-damp  band 

The  corpse  upon  Ihe  pyre  he  lays, 
Then  lights  Ihe  consecraied  brand, 

And  hrcs  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blaze 
Like  lightning  bursts  e'er  Oman's  Sea.— 
**  ISow,  Freeduni's  God  !  1  come  lo  Thee," 
The  youth  excl  linis,  and  with  a  smile 
Of  triumph  vaulting  en  the  pile, 
In  that  last  ettbrt,  eie  the  tires 
Have  lurm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires  ! 

What  shriek  was  that  on  Oman's  tide  ? 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark, 
That  just  hath  caught  upon  her  side 

■Jhe  death-light  — and  again  is  dark. 
It  is  the  bual  — ah,  why  delay'd?  — 
That  bears  the  wretched  Wu->lem  maid; 
Couhded  to  the  walcliful  care 

Of  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 
Their  generous  Chieftain  would  not  share 

The  secret  of  his  final  doom, 
Bui  hop'd  when  Uinda,  safe  and  free, 

Was  reiider'd  to  her  father's  eyes. 
Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

The  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize.— 
Unconscious,  thus,  of  Haled's  late, 
And  proud  to  guard  Iheir  beauteous  freight 
Scaice  had  they  clear'd  Ihe  surly  waves 
Thai  foam  around  those  Irighllul  caves. 
When  the  cuisl  war-whoops,  known  so  well, 
Came  echoing  from  the  distaul  dell  — 
Sudden  each  o  ir,  upheld  and  still, 

Hung  diipping  o'er  the  vessel's  side, 
And,  diivingat  the  current's  will. 

They  rock'd  along  the  whispering  tide  ; 
While  every  eye,  in  muledisn.ay. 

Was  tow  rd  that  fatal  mountaiu  turn'd, 
Where  Ihe  dim  altar's  quivering  ray 

As  yet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd 

Oh  !  't  is  not,  Hinda,  in  the  power 

Of  Fancy's  mo. I  terrilic  touch 
To  paint  thy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour  — 

Thy  silent  agony  —  X  was  such 
As  tliiise  who  leel  could  paint  loo  well, 
iiut  none  e'er  felt  and  lii'd  to  lelll 
''l"  was  not  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lorn  s|iirit,  cru-h'd  by  fite, 
When,  thoush  no  more  leinains  lo  dread, 

The  panic'chill  "  ill  not  dep  .ri  ;  — 
When,  though  the  inmate  Hupe  be  dead, 

Her  ghos.  siill  haunts  Ihe  mouldering  heart; 
No  —  pleasures,  hopes,  ali'ections  gone, 
The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on, 
Like  things,  within  the  cold  rock  found 
Alive,  when  all 's  congeal'd  around. 
But  there's  a  blank  repcise  in  this, 
A  calm  stagnation,  that  weie  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain, 
Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain;  — 
That  spasm  of  terror,  mute,  intense, 
That  breathles-.,  agonis'd  suspense. 
From  whose  hot  Ihnib,  whnsede.^dly  aching, 
The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking  1 

Calm  ;s  Ihe  wave  —  heav'n's  brilliant  lights 

RelUcted  dance  beneath  the  prow  ;  — 
Time  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights, 


She  who  i 


nlate 


Coi.ld  sit  all  cheerlul,  though  aloi.e. 

And  ask  no  hajipier  joy  than  seeing 
That  star-lighl  o'er  the  waters  thrown  — 
No  joy  but  that,  to  make  her  blest. 

And  the  fresh,  buoyant  sense  nf  Being, 
Which  bounds  in  youth's  yet  careless  breast,- 
llself  a  star,  not  bnrrowiiis:  light, 
But  in  its  own  gl.ad  essence  brijht. 
How  different  now  !—  but,  hark,  again 
The  yell  of  havoc  rings  —  brave  men  I 
In  vain,  with  beating  beans,  ye  stand 
On  the  bark's  edge  —  in  vain  each  hand 


Half  draws  the  falchion  from  its  sh?ath; 

All  's  o'er  —  in  rust  your  blades  may  lie :  ^ 
He,  at  whose  word  they  've  scatter'd  death, 

Ev'n  DOW,  this  night,  himself  must  die  1 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower, 

And  ask,  and  wondering  guess  what  means 
The  balile-cry  at  lliis  dead  hour  — 

Ah  1  she  could  tell  you  —  she,  who  leans 
Unheeded  ihere,  pale,  sunk,  aghast, 
With  blow  assainst  the  dew-cold  mast ;  — 

'l\io  well  she  knows—  her  more  than  life, 
Her  soul's  first  idul  and  its  la-l, 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murderous  strife. 

But  see —  what  moves  upon  Ihe  height  ? 
Some  signal  1 —  't  is  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  ils  solitary  glare  ? 
In  gasping  silence  low'id  the  Shrine 
All  eyes  are  turn'd— thine,  Hinda,  Ihine 

Fii;  their  last  fading  lile  beams  there. 
'T  was  but  a  moment  —  fierce  and  high 
The  dtalh-pile  blaz'd  into  the  sky, 
And  far  away,  o'er  rock  and  hood 

Its  luelancholv  radiance  sent ; 
While  Haled,  like  a  vision  stood 
ReveaI'd  before  the  burning  pyre. 
Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spirit  of  Fire 

Shriu'd  in  its  own  grand  element ! 
"'I'is  he  I"—  the  shuddering  maid  exclaims,- 

Bul,  while  she  speaks,  he's  seen  no  more; 
High  burst  in  air  Ihe  funeral  flames, 

And  Iran's  hopes  and  hers  are  o'er! 
One  wild,  heart-broken  shriek  she  gave; 

Then  sprung,  as  if  to  leach  that  blaze, 

Where  stilfshe  hx'd  her  dying  gaze, 
And,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave, — 

Deep,  dee(), —  where  never  care  or  pain 

Shall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again  1 


Farewell- farewell  lo  thee,  Araby's  daiighler! 

(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  Ihee, 

Oh  1  (:     as  the  sea  flower  close  lo  Ihee  growing. 
How  light  was  ihy  heart  till  Love'a  witchery  carre. 

Like  Ihe  wind  of  the  south  '  o'er  a  summer  lute 
blowing, 
And  hush'd  all  ils  music,  and  wither'd  its  frame! 

But  long,  upon  Araby's  green  sunny  highlands. 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 

Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Mands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star »  to  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning,^ 
And  calls  to  Ihe  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old, 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village-maid,  when  with   flowers    she 
dresses 

Her  dark  llowing  hair  for  some  festival  day. 
Will  think  of  thy  fate  till,  neglecting  her  tresses, 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  a\vay. 


i  "This  wind  (Ihe  Samoor)  so  sufleiis  the  s'rings  oi 
lutes,  ihat  they  can  never  be  tuned  while  il  lasts."  — 
SteplwrCs  Persia, 

s  •*  One  of  the  grealest  curiosities  found  in  the  Per- 
sian Gulf  is  a  fish  which  tlie  Kn^lish  call  Star-fish. 
It  IS  circular,  and  at  night  very  luminous,  resembling 
the  full  moon  surrounded  by  rays."  —  A/irza  ALu 
Taleb. 

I*  For  a  description  of  Ihe  merriment  of  ihe  date- 
tinie,  of  their  work,  their  dances,  and  their  return 
home  fiom  the  palm-gmves  at  the  end  nf  autuBiD 
wi'h  the  fruits,  see  Ktjnpjer^  Mmanitat.  Exot. 


PREFACE  TO   THE   SEVENTH   VOLUME. 


301 


Nor  shall  Iran,  beloved  of  her  Hero  !  forget  Ihee  — 

'^llOU^h  tyraiils  vvalch  over  her  tears  as  they  start, 

Close,  cinse  by  li.e  side  of  Iha'  Hero  she  'II  set  ihee, 

Eiiiluliii'd  ill  ihe  iunerjiio>t  shrine  ol  her  heart. 
Faieivell  —  be  it  ours  to  eiobe'lih  thy  pillow 
j       VVittieveiy  thiiiil  beauteous  ihat  grous  in  thedeepj 
I  Each  (lower  ot  ihe  rock  iiiJ  eacli  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweelen  thy  bed  and  illuinine  thy  sleep. 
Around  Ihee  shall  Klislen  the  loveliest  amber 
I      That  ever  the  snrrowins  sea-bird  lias  we|.t ;  • 
With  litany  a  shell,  in  whose  huttow-wreattrd  cham- 
ber 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 


1  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a 
roiicieti'in  of  the  tears  of  birds.  —  See  Trcaoux^ 
Chambers. 


We  'II  dive  where  the  girdens  of  coral  lie  d^rkliig, 
And  plant  all  Ihe  rosiest  stems  ai  thy  head  ; 

We'll  sick  wheie  the  sands  of  the  Caspian 2  are 
sparkliriic. 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 


Farewell  — farewell— until  I'ilj's  sweet  fountain 

Is  lost  111  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  ihe  brave. 
They'll  v>  ecp   (or  the  Chieflain  who  died  on  that 

They  'II  weep  for  Ihe  Maiden  who  sleeps  in  tbla 


*  ''The  biy  Kieselarke,  which  is  otherwise  called 
the  Golden  Bay,  the  sand  whereof  shines  as  (ire."  — 
Stray. 


END     OF     VOL.     VI. 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SEVENTH    VOLUME. 


The  stalion  assigned  to  "The  Fudge  Family,"  in 
the  Cullou  in^  pages,  iiiimedialely  after  Lalla  Rookh, 
agrees  but  too  closely  wiih  rlie  ac  ual  order  in  which 
these  two  works  were  originally  urilteii  and  publish- 
ed. 1  he  >ucccss,  far  exceeding  my  hopes  and  de^erls, 
with  which  Lalla  Rookh  was'iminediately  crou  ned. 
lelieved  me  at  once  fiom  (he  anxious  feeling  ot  re- 
sponsibility under  which,  as  my  readers  have  seen, 
that  ente  prise  had  been  coinnifiiced,  and  uhich  con- 
tinued for  Mi|i>e  time  to  haunt  me  amidst  all  the 
enchantments  of  my  lask.  1  uas  'hertfore  m  Ihe  true 
holyday  mood,  when  a  dear  friend,  with  "h  se  lunte 
is  as>ociated  some  of  the  bngh  est  aid  pleasaniest 
hours  of  niy  past  l;fe,3  kmdly  otiered  me  a  seat  in  his 
carri  ge  Tt  a  sho:t  vi  it  to  I'aris.  This  proposal  I, 
of  course,  niost  gl'diy  accepied  ;  and.  in  ihe  aulunin 
of  the  year  1817,  found  myselt,  for  the  first  time,  in 
ihat  gay  capital. 

As  the  lestoiation  of  the  Bourbon  dynas'y  was  s:ill 
of  loo  recent  a  dale  for  any  amalgamation  to  have  )el 
taken  place  between  Ihe  new  and  ancient  order  of 
things,  all  ilie  m'  st  prominent  features  of  both  re^rnes 
w«re  just  then  brought,  in  their  fullest  reiiel,  into 
juxtaposilioii ;  and,  accordingly,  the  result  was  buch 
as  to  (■uggejt  lo  an  unconcerned  spectator  quite  as 
abundant  matter  f  t  ridicule  ns  for  grave  poliiical 
consiileation.  It  «ojld  be  difficult,  indeed,  to  con- 
vt  y  to  ihobc  u  ho  had  not  themselves  seen  ttie  Paris  of 
)|iat  period,  any  clear  notion  of  the  anomalous  aspect, 
boih  social  and  pnliicil,  which  It  then  presented.  It 
was  as  if,  in  the  days  succeeding  the  Deluge,  a  ^mall 
coterie  of  aniediluvians  hid  been  suddenly  evoked 
from  out  "f  the  deep  lo  take  the  command  of  a  new 
and  fiesliiy  slartins  world. 

To  me,  ihe  abunjnnt  amusement  and  interest  which 
■  jch  a  scene  could  no!  but  aftbrd  was  a  good  deal 
heigh  ened  by  niy  having,  in  my  youlhful  days,  been 
made  acquainted  w  ith  some  of  ihose  jjersonages  who 
,  were  now  most  interested  in  Ihe  future  succe-s  of  the 
;  Legitrmale  ciuse.  The  Cornte  D'Artois,  or  Monsi 
;  1  had  met  in  Ihc  year  1S02-3,  at  Doninglon  Park,  the 
ieal  of  the  Earl  of  Moira,  under  whose  princely  roof 
]  I  used  ofien  and  lontr,  in  those  days,  lo  find  a  mns' 
;  hospilable  home.  A'  small  parly  of  distinguished 
'  French  cmig-ants  were  already  itavingon  a  vis.t  in 
J  the  hou-e  when  Mons  eur  and  his  Mjite  arrived  ;  ai  d 
I  among  those  ^ee  the  (resenl  Kine;  or  ft:!  nee  and  his 
j  tivo  brf>lhe  s.  the  Due  de  M-mtpensier,  and  the  Com'e 
de  Bt-aujolais. 


26 


Some  doubt  and  uneasiness  had,  I  remember,  heen 
fell  by  the  two  latter  brothers,  as  to  the  reccpHcn 
they  were  likely  to  encouni 


I  ho; 


opped   and  unpowde  ed 

as  a  symbol  (.f  Jacobin- 

who,   like  many  other 

}  fa^hlon,  ihought  it, 

irder  to 


head  was  regirded  generally 
ism,  Ihe  Comte  lietujolais, 
young  men,  wore  his  tiair  in 
on  the  present  occasion,  most  prudent, 
a\oid  all  risk  of  oH'eiice,  not  only  to  put  |iow'der  in 
his  hair,  bui  aho  to  provide  himself  with  an  anificial 
queue.  This  nieasure  of  precaution,  however,  led  lo 
a  sligl  t  incidenr  af  er  dinner,  which,  though  not  very 
rojal  01  dignified,  was  at  le^st  creditable  to  tt,e  social 
g  -od-humour  -.f  the  future  Cliarles  X.  On  the  depar- 
ture of  the  ladies  from  Ihedining-ro  m,  «e  had  hard- 
ly seated  ouiselves  in  the  old  fashioned  style,  round 
the  Jiip,  when  Monsieur,  who  h:id  happened  to  place 
himself  nixt  (n  Heiujolais.  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
ascni  ions  tail,— which,  having  been  r:ither  carelessly 
pul  on,  had  a  eood  deal  straggled  out  of  ils  plice. 
With  a  sort  of  st-ieao)  orjocnUr  pleasure,  as  if  de- 


li^hied  at  thr 
appendage,  an< 
the  great  anoi 
it  inio  poor  gn 
On  one  of  tl 


zed  ilie  stray 
il  into  full  view,  to 
>le  company,  popped 
mouih. 

i  short  vistf  of  Mon- 
sieur, I  remember  Curran  arriving  U' expectedly,  on 
his  way  to  London;  and,  having  come  loo  late  for 
dinner,  he  j  ined  our  parly  in  the  evening-  As  the 
foreign  jiortjon  tif  the  coniprny  was  then  iiui'e  new  lo 
him,  1  v\as  able  to  be  uselul,  by  informing  him  of  Itie 
names,  r.mk.  and  other  particulars  of  the  party  he 
found  assembled,  from  Monsieur  himself  down  tn  the 
old  Z)uc  de  I.orge  and  ihe  Haron  de  Rolle.  When  I 
had  gone  through  the  w  hole  list,  "  Ah,  poor  fellows  !' 
he  exclaniied,  with  a  mixti.re  of  fun  arid  |iilhos  in 
his  lodk,  truly  Irish,  "Poor  fellows,  all  dismounted  | 
cavalry  1"  _  : 

On  ihe  last  evening  of  Monsieur's  stay,  I  waj  made  j 
to  sing  for  him,  among  other  songs,  "Farewell,  I 
Bess.v  I''  one  of  my  earliest  attenip's  at  musical  coin-  ! 
posrion.  As  soon  as  r  had  finishtd.  he  paid  me  ihe' 
complinient  of  reading  aloud  the  uoids  as  uiil'en  I 
under  the  music;  and  mosi  roy.tl  havr.c  dnl  he  make, 
as  to  this  day  1  remcrnlier,  of  w  hatever  litlle  sense  or 
metre  they  could  boast.  | 

Among  my  earlier  poe'ic  writinen,  more  than  one 
graiefu!  memorial  niay  be  found  of  the  hnppy  days  I  ' 
passed  in  this  hospifable  n>ausioi;,4~ 


I  Seeanie^  p.  112, 


3{)-2 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH   VOLUME. 


But  neither  veise  nor  prnse  cmld  do  any  jusMce  t"  ihe 
80r:  of  iiii|ire  sum  i  siill  retain  of  ihose  lunj^-vanKlied 
days.  I  lie  hb  ary  ;U  Onuingon  was"  extensile  and 
valuable;  and  tin  ush  Ihe  prnrt-^e  kindly  ii-anted  to 
uie  oi  reiinn^  thitlu-r  f.n  sli.dy,  even  when  the  taniily 
were  absent,  i  iftqueiiily  [);*>sed  wijciie  weeks  al.-ne 
ill  thai  tine  libraiy.  ii  dulling  in  all  ihe  li  st  airy 
castlc-bu.ldiii^  (»f  authorNhiji.  The  various  pmjec's, 
Indeed,  (if  future  vvorka  that  used  thei  to  pass  in  fruit- 
less succession  thiough  my  mind,  can  be  compared 
only  to  the  waves  as  described  by  the  poet, — 


'And  OI 


f  fullow 


r  touch'J  the  thore,  and  died* 


With  tliat  library  is  also  connec'ed  annther  of  my 
earlier  poems,— the  verse-,  addressed  to  (he  Duke  of 
Montpensier  on  his  portrait  of  the  Lady  Adelaide 
Forbes  ;•*  for  it  was  there  that  this  truly  noble  lady, 
then  in  Ihe  first  dawn  of  her  beauty,  u^ed  to  sit  for 
that  picture  ;  while,  in  anoiher  part  of  the  library, 
the  Duke  of  Orleans,— engaged  gei.er.Uy  at  that  time 
with  a  volume  of  Cl>rendon.— v^aa  by  auch  studies 
unconsciously  pieparin^  hiniself  fnr  ibe  hi^h  and 
arduous  des'iny,  which  not  only  the  Good  tienius  of 
France,  bul  his  own  sagacious  and  intrepid  spirit,  had 
nurked  out  for  him. 

I  need  hardly  say  how  totally  diiferent  were  all  the 
circumstances   under  which   Monsit-ur  hiniself  and 

year  lbl7  ;  ~  the  same  ac'ors,  ii  deed,  but  with  an 
entirely  new  change  of  scenery  and  decniaiinns. 
Among  tlie  v  ruty  of  aspeds  presented  by  (his 
change,  Ihe  lihculus  certainly  predoniinated  j  nor 
could  a  saiirsl  who,  like  Philocletes,  was  smitten 
with  a  fancy  for  shooting  at  geese, 3  ask  any  better 
supply  of  such  K;ime  thtn  ihe  higli  places,  in  France, 
at  that  period,  bolh  lay  and  ecclesiastical,  afforded. 
As  1  was  not  versed,  hov\ever,  sutTicitnly  in  French 
politics  to  venture  to  meddle  uttli  them,  even  in 
sport,  1  found  a  more  ready  conductor  of  laughter  — 
for  which  1  was  then  much  in  the  mood  —  in  those 
groups  of  ridiculous  F.nglish  who  were  at  ihat  lime 
swarming  in  all  direc'ions  throughout  Paris,  and  of 
all  whose  various  foims  of  cnckneyism  and  nonsense 
I  endeavoured,  in  Ihe  personages  o('  the  Fudge  Family, 
to  collect  the  concenirated  essence.  1  he  resnit.  as 
usual,  fell  very  far  short  of  whai  I  had  myself  pre- 
conceived  and  intended.  Bnt,  making  i's  appearance 
at  such  a  crisis,  the  w(  rk  brougtit  with  it  Ihat  best 
seasoning  of  all  such  jciix-d'e.yprit,  the  a-projios  of 
the  moment ;  and,  accordingly,  in  the  race  of  succes- 
sive editions,  Lalla  Rnokh  was,  for  some  lime,  kept 
pace  with  by  Mi3>  Biddv  Fudi;e. 

1  he  set  les  of  trifles  contained  in  th'S  volume,  enti- 
tled ''Rhymes  on  Ihe  R^ad."  were  written  partly  as 
their  title  implies,  and  partly  at  a  sub^equent  peiiod 
from  nieninrandunis  made  on  the  sj)0t.  This  will 
acc^iunt  for  so  many  of  those  pieces  bfing  little  better. 
I  fetr,  than  ''pmse  fringed  with  rh\me."  The  jour- 
ney to  a  pait  of  which  tliose  Rhymes  owed  their 
existence  was  coninienced  in  company  with  Lord 
John  Russell  in  the  autumn  of  the  yeai  1S19.  Altera 
week  or  two  passed  at  Paris,  to  enable  Lord  John  to 
refer  lo  Barilloii's  Letters  fur  a  new  edilion  of  liis  Life 
of  Lord  Kussell  then  preparing,  we  set  out  together 
for  the  Sirnplon,  At  Milan,  the  agreeable  society  of 
the  laie  Lord  Kinnaiid  detained  us  for  a  few  dtys; 
and  tlien  my  cnmpanion  tr>nk  Ihe  r.'ule  lo  Genoa, 
while  1  proceeded  on  a  visit  to  Lord  Byron,  at  Vei  ice. 


>  In  employing  the  past  tense  here,  I  do  the  present 
lord  injustice,  who"-e  hlial  wish  I  know  It  is  u<  keep 
all  at  Uoniiiglon  exactly  as  his  noble  father  left  it. 

1  See  ante^  p.  S6. 

3  "  Pirinigero,  nnn  armigero  in  corpore  tela  exer- 
ceanlur  ;''  —  the  words  put  by  Accius  m  the  mouth  of 
j  Philoctetes. 


It  was  during  the  journey  thus  briefly  described,  I 
addressed  the  well-known  Reinonsirance  to  my  noble 
friend,*  winch  Mas  of  l.iie  been  frequen'ly  coupled 
wiih  m\  prnphe'ic  versescn  ihe  Duke  ot  VVtllmgion,* 
from  the  piescjent  spirii  With  which  l>  so  confidemiy 
looked  forward  lo  all  ihat  L>ird  John  has  since  become 
iu    he  eyes  of  Ihe  uorld. 

Of  my  visit  lo  Lord  Rymn, —  an  event,  to  me  so 
memnr:*ble,— I  have  already  detailed  all  the  most 
interesting  paiticuhirs  m  inv  i)i.bliihed  Life  of  the 
poet;  and  shall  here  only  cite,  from  that  work,  one 
passage,  as  having  snnie  reterei.ce  to  a  j)icture  men- 
Itoncd  in  the  toHowing  pases.  ''As  we  were  con- 
vetsing  after  diin.er  about  ilie  various  col  lee  ions  of 
paititings  1  had  '■een  thai  morning,  on  niy  saying  that, 
fearful  as  1  was  of  ever  praising  any  picture,  lest  I 
should  draw  on  myself  the  connoisseur's  sneer,  for  my 
pain«,  i  would  yet,  to  him,  ven'ure  to  own  that  I  had 

seen  a  picture  at  Milan,   which '"ihe  Hagari's 

he  exclaimed,  cage  ly  interiupiing  me  ;  and  it  was,  in 
fact,  that  very  picture  1  was  about  to  mention  lo  him 
as  having  awakened  in  me.  by  tlie  tiu'h  of  Its  expres- 
sion, moie  real  emotion  than  any  1  had  yet  seenamoug 
the  chtjs-d'a.uvre.  of  Venice  " 

In  the  society  I  cnlefly  fived  with,  while  at  Rome, 
Icorsideied  myself  singularly  fortunate  ;  though  but 
a  blind  worshipper  of  those  powers  of  Art  of  which 
my  companions  were  all  Ingli-priests.  Caiiova  him- 
self Chanlrey,  Lawrence,  J.ickson,  Turner,  Ea^ilake, 
— such  weiellie  men  of  w  ho^e  presence  and  guidance 
I  enjoyed  the  advantage  in  visiting  all  that  unrivalled 
Rome  can  boast  of  beau  iful  and  grand.  That  I  de- 
rived from  Ills  course  rf  Imiiatiou  any  thing  more 
ihau  a  very  humbling  consciousness  of  my  own  igno- 
rance and  wan'  of  taste,  In  mailers  of  art,  I  will  not 
be  so  dishonest  as  to  pietend.  But,  to  Ihe  stranger  in 
Rome  every  s'ep  forms  an  epoch  ;  and,  in  addition  to 
all  Its  countless  apieal-  lo  memory  and  imagination, 
the  agreeable  au--pices  under  which  1  fits  visited  all 
its  memor.ible  places  could  not  but  render  eveiy  im- 
pression I  rectived  more  vivid  and  permanent,  'jhus, 
with  my  recnjleclion  of  the  Sepulchre  of  S'.  Peter, 
and  its  ever  burning  iani[is,  for  which  splendid  spot 
Canova  was  then  meditating  a  sia'ue,''  there  is  always 
connected  in  my  uiind  the  exclamation  which  I  heard 
breik  from  Chnnlrey  af'c  gazing,  for  a  few  moments, 
in  silence,  upon  that  gloiiuus  bite, —  "  What  a  place 


rk  for 


In  one  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  volunie  8  allu- 
sion is  made  to  an  evening  not  easily  forgotten,  when 
Chanlrey  and  my>elf  were  taken  ly  Canova  lo  Ihe 
Bnrghese  Palace,  for  the  purpo  e  <  f  showing  us.  by 
Ihe  light  of  a  taper  —  his  favourite  m  de  of  exhibi  - 
ing  Ihat  work -his  btauhful  stitue  of  the  Princess 
Borghe^e,  called  the  Venere  Vmcitrice.  In  C'hantrey's 
eagerness  to  point  out  some  grace  or  effect  that  pecu- 
liarly struck  him,  he  sna'ched  the  light  out  of  Cano- 
va's  hand  ;  and  to  this  circums  ance  the  following  pas- 
sage of  the  poem  leferred  to  was  meant  to  allude :  — 

■When  he,  thy  peer  In  art  and  fi.me. 
Hung  o'er  the  marble  with  <le]ight;9 
Aiiil,  wtiile  hifl  liij^f'iing  tiund  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  Iaper*B  iay», 
Gave   thee,  wilti  all  ttie  gen'routi   zeal 
SiK-h  roa.sler  spirits  only  Teel, 

That  best  of  fume  —  a  rival's  praise. 

One  of  the  days  that  still  lireer  most  pleasantly  in 
y  memory,  and  which,  I  irusT.  neither  LidyCalcott 
ir  Mr.  Easilake  hive  quite  forgotten,  was  ihat  of  our 


nor 


*  See  j30st,  p.  356. 

8  See  a/ife,  p.  161. 

6  Abraham  dismi-sing  Hagar,  by  Guercino. 

T  A  statue,  I  believe,  of  Pius  VL 

8  Seepo^r,  p.  353. 

9  A  slight  alterafion  here  bis  rendered  these  verses 
more  Irue  to  the  actual  fact  than  they  were  in  their 
original  form. 


PREFACE  TO  TH£-   SEVENTH  VOLUME. 


303 


viiif  trgether  \o  the  Pala'ine  Mount,  when,  as 
Bauntt-red  about  that   picturesque  spot,  cfijdving 
variird  Tiews  of  Home  which  it  cn.m  ruis.   hey  in 
nie,  for  the  ti^jt  lime.  acqun  n  ni  «  rll.  GuiJiS  spiri 
Ode  Oil  the  AiC'di  iijs,  in  "uhicli  there  ii^  poetry  eiiou^^h 
lo  make  aiiicnJs  for  all  'lie  uonsei.se  ut  hi>  Vhyiuiug 
biethren.     'I'ru'y  and  grandly  does  he  exclaim,— 

Indomitn  e  oupcrha  anr^jr  e  Roma 
nei.i'tie  81  vi-ggirt  rol  giaii  biislo  a  ttrra , 

Son  pien*  di  eplemlor  le  suo  ruine, 
E  il  eiaii  ceut>re  euo  si  mostra  cltriio." 

With  Canova,  while  sitting  to  J.icks^n  for  a  por- 
trait ordered  bj  Chantrey,  I  had  more  ttian  once  some 
interesting  cnnversaiion, —  or  rather,  lis'ened  while 
he  spoke,— respec  ing  the  poliiical  s'ale  of  Europe  at 
thar  period,  .uui  ihose  "  bricconi,''  as  he  styled  them, 
the  sovereigns  of  tlie  Holy  AHiar  ce  ;  and,  before  I  left 
Rome,  he  kindly  presented  lo  me  a  set  of  engravings 
fiom  sonie  of  his  finest  statues,  t"5ether  wjih  a  copy 
of  the  beautifully  printed  collection  of  Poems,  which 
a  Rom^n  poet  named  Missirini  bad  written  in  praise 
of  his  different  "Marmi."' 

When  Lnrd  John  Russell  and  myself  parted,  at 
Milan,  il  was  ai^reed  between  us,  lint  afler  a  short 
visit  to  Rome,  and  (if  pri<cticable  within  the  allowed 
time)  to  >aple3,  I  wa-*  to  rejuin  him  at  Genoa,  at  d 
from  thence  accompany  him  lo  England.  But  the 
early  period  for  which  Parliament  wns  summoned, 
that  year,  owing  lo  the  violent  proceedings  at  Man- 
chester, rendered  it  necessary  for  Lord  John  to  hasten 
his  return  to  England.  1  was,  therefote,  most  fortu- 
nate, under  SI  ch  circu:;.sianct;s,  in  being  permiited  by 
uiy  friends  Chantrey  and  Jackson  to  join  in  their 
journey  homewa'd;  through  which  lucky  arrange- 
ment, ihe  same  j-^ecious  privilege  I  had  enjnyed,  at 
Rome,  of  hearing  1h^  opinions  of  such  piaclised 
judges,  on  all  the  great  works  of  .irt  1  saw  in  their 
c  unpany,  was  afterwards  cntinued  to  me  thiougli  the 
various  collections  we  visited  together,  at  Florence, 
Bologna,  Modt-na,  P.irma,  Milan,  and  Turin. 

To  some  of  those  pictures  and  statues  that  moat 
took  niy  fancy, during  mv  lou'",  allusions  will  be  found 
in  a  few  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  volume.  But 
the  great  pleasure  1  derived  from  these  and  mitiy 
other  such  works  amse  fir  in  Te  from  the  poetical 
na'ure  of  their  si.bjecis  than  from  any  judgment  I  had 
learned  to  form  of  their  real  merit  :<»  works  of  art,— 
a  line  of  lore  in  which,  notwithstanding  my  course  of 
schooling,  I  lemained,  I  fear,  unenlightened  to  the 
last.  For  all  that  was  los'  upon  me,  howevc*-,  in  the 
halls  of  Art,  1  was  more  than  consoled  in  the  cheap 
picture-g'Ilery  of  Na'ure;  and  a  glorious  sunset  i 
witnessed  in  ascending  the  Simpton  is  slill  remem- 
bered by  me  with  a  depth  and  fieshness  of  feeling 
which  no  work  of  art  1  saw  in  the  galleries  of  Italy 
has  left  behind. 

I  have  now  a  few  words  to  devote  to  a  somewhat 
kindled  subjec!  with  which  a  p  em  or  two  contained 
in  the  following  pages  are  closely  connected.!  In  my 
iTeface  to  the  First  Volume  of  tliis  collection.  I  briefly 
nrtticed  the  laste  for  Private  The.trical  Perfoimances 
which  prevailed  {lnrin>r  the  latler  h  ilt  of  the  hsi  cen- 
tury among  the  higher"  nnks  in  Ireland.  This  laste 
continued  fiT  nearly  twenty  vear?  to  survive  the  epoch 
of  the  Union,  and  in  the  performances  of  the  Private 
Theatre  of  Kilkenny  gave  forh  its  last,  as  well  a«, 
perhajis.  brightest  flashes  The  life  and  s  'ul  of  this 
institution  was  our  manager,  the  late  Mr.  Rtcliard 
Pnwer,  a  gentleman  who  c  uld  bnast  a  larger  circle 
of  attached  friends,  and  ihrough  a  life  more  free  from 
shadow  or  alloy,  than  an\  individual  it  has  ever  been 
my  lot  to  know.  No  livelier  proof,  indeed,  could  be 
required  of  the  sort  of  feeling  en'ertained  towards  him 
than  was  once  vhown  in  the  reception  given  to  the 
two  following  homely  lines  which  occurred  in  a  Pro- 
logue I  wTOti  to  be  spoken  bv  Mr.  Corry  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Vapid. 


a,\/,e,ro 


B  friends.  2 


iTh 


<  Seep;igea354.  355, 


56  few  vimple  words  I  wrote  with  the  assured 
iciioH  that  they  wi>uld  proil.  ce  mo  e  eilVct  fr -in 
he  homefelt  trui-m  lliey  cont.nned  than  culd  be 
tiecied  by  the  mo^i  laboured  burst  ot  eU.ip.e  ce  ,  and 
he  result  i^as  just  what  I  had  antiiip.ied,  (nr  th- 
io  .^e  rung,  for  a  coneiderable  lime,  witli  the  heartiest 


p'audils. 

The  chief  comic,  or  ralher  fafi-'ical,  force  of  the 
company  lay  in  my  friend  Mr.  Coiry,  and  *' longo 
iDiervallo,"  my.-elfj  and  hough,  as  usu  d,  with  low 
cnmeiiians,  we  were  much  lo^-ked  down  upon  by  the 
lofty  loids  of  the  huskm,  matiy  was  the  sly  joke  we 
used  10  indulge  together,  at  the  exi)ense  of  our  heioic 
bieihren.  Some  waggtsh  critic,  indeed,  is  said  to 
have  declared  that  of  all  (he  personages  of  our  theatre 
he  most  adniired  the  prompter, —  *•  because  he  was 
least  seen  and  best  heard."  Bui  this  joke  was,  cf 
course,  a  meie  good-humoured  rlander.  1  here  were 
two,  at  least,  of  our  dramatic  corps.  Sir  Wrixon 
Becherand  Mr.  Rothe,  whose  powers,  asiiagic  actors, 
lew  amateurs  have  ever  equalled  ;  and  Mr.  Corry- 
peihips  alone  of  all  our  com|iariy  —  would  have  been 
sure  of  winning  laurels  on  tin:  public  s  age. 

As  to  my  own  share  in  these  lepresentations,  the 
following  list  of  my  most  succes  fiil  char.ders  will 
sliow  how  remote  from  Ihe  line  of  the  Heroic  was  the 
small  orbit  through  whicfi  I  ranged  ;  my  chief  parts 
having  been  Sam,  in  -Raising  the  Wind,'' Robin 
Riiughhead,  Mungo,  Sadi,  in  the  ''Mountaineers,'* 
Spad'i,  and  Peeping  Tom.  In  the  part  of  Spado  there 
occur  seveial  allusions  to  that  gay  rogue's  shorlness  of 
stature  which  never  failed  to  be  welronitd  by  my 
auditors  with  laugh  er  and  cheers;  and  the  words 
"  Even  Sanguino  alL.wa  I  an.  a  clever  little  fellow" 
w.is  alvvay>  a  signal  for  this  sort  of  friendly  explosion. 
One  of  the  >ong3.  indeed,  writlen  by  O'Kecfe  for  the 
characler  of  Spado  so  much  aboi-nds  with  point,  thus 
personally  applicable,  that  many  supposed,  with  no 
great  compliment  either  to  my  poetry  or  my  modesty, 
ihal  the  song  had  been  wrilten,  expressly  for  the  occa- 
sion, by  myself.  The  following  is  the  verse  to  which 
I  allude,  and  for  the  poelry  of  which  1  was  thus  made 
responsible :  — 


•Though  boi 

Yel  BO  M 

Aud.  vvheil 


to  be  little  •«  my  fate, 
s  Ihe  great  Alexaiidir; 


I've  no  need  tn  jttitnp  like  a  gander, 
I'm  no  lanky,  long  hoilily-dodily, 

Whose  pajer-kite  Bails  iu  tlie  sky  ; 
Though  wanling  two  feet,  in  my  body. 

In  soul,  1  am  thirty  feet  high." 

Some  further  account  of  the  Kilkenny  Theatre,  as 
ell  as  of  the  history  of  Private  Theatricals  in  gen- 
a),  will  be  found   In  an  arncle  I  wrote  on  the  sub- 
ject for  the  Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xlvi.  No.  92,  p. 
368. 


LALLA    ROOKPI. 

(CONTINUED.) 


The  singular  placidity  with  which  Fadladecn  had 
lisened,  during  the  laittr  part  of  thisobnoxinu-  afoiy, 
surprised  the  Princess  and  Feiamorz  exceedin-h  ; 
aid  even  inclined  towards  him  the  heaits  of  these  un- 
suspicious young  persons,  who  lilllc  knew  thes'Uiice 
of  a  complacency  so  marvellous.  The  truth  was  ''^ 
had  been  organizing,  for  the  last  few  da^s,  a  ni'»st 
notable  plm  of  persecution  again?!  the  poet,  in  con- 
sequence of  some  passages  that  had  fallen  from  him 
on  the  second  evening  of  recital, — which  appeared  to 


'■»  See  page  354, 


301 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


:  F..J 


wnrtliy  ChiTi.ber\a 
;,l.les,r(.r«hich  n( 
:i,iii..f  IhcClial'Uk 


(,f    th. 


a  10  contain  language 
hin^  -h'.n  of  ihe  sum 
nor.ldLeadvifal.le.     ll"as|      The  w 

n,ni«lialely  on  tneir  an  ival  .  mood  du 

ive  infuiiiialion  to  ihe  King  of  ,  (ul  soliii 
Kiy  din'eroLs  senumcnts  o(  his 
.  .G  u  u.,l  iluna-ely,  Ihai  luounch  did  not 
il^hle'viKoiir  on  Ihe  occasi.-l",  (Ihal  is,  if  he 
;.''heCl..h„kt.Feraii,oiz,ai.dai.laceto 
1  iliere  w.iiiid  be  all  e-  d  he  feared,  ol  all 
1  ,,  lie  V.vei  niiie.il  in  Bncharia.  He  coi.ld  nol 
'  ,,  I'.ciweter  au'unns  het  er  both  for  himself  and 
,1  ';,,ve  ol  iH.tenal.s  in  general;  and  il  was  the 
L  a  u  e  aniii'ig  fn.ni  ihese  if.ingled  !,..■  ici,.al,oi.s  ihal 
d  llosed  such  uiiusual  satisfadion  ih.ougli  his  features, 
ind'mkde  his  eyes  shii.e  out.  like  poj.pies  of  Mr 
ilescrl,  over  the  wide  and  liieless  »ildeu.s 

•^"h  ivii^s''decided  upon  the  Poei's  chaslisemeni  in 
tl,U  miiiier  he  thought  it  but  liuniaui  y  to  spare  hini 
the  minor  loruies  of  critici-rii.     Accoidingly,  wh 

^[l::";f:^"pe:^^^^""ur;:;;?;o■rE^:^^ 
,---'i^.:f™:iitrf;;:^^"^?^?T^ 

r,,,e",n  de-erved  to  he  Iri.d  al  a  much  higher  in- 
i  hu  lal  :  nud  llien  ,udJuily  lasted  rlV  .i,lo  a  pa"<=?yric 

,  , , ,  all  Mussulman  soveieigus,  more  paiticuiarly  Ins 
^     'IllTand  Impe'ml  ma  ler,  Auruugzebe,- the  u  ,se,t 

ott:'r  'iii^ii^'^h^^na  "^:^Z'z:^:^'^ 

'    h  n.   F»dl  ideen,  the  very  prolilable  pos  s  ol 
Be,el.carrier,'a,.d  Tas  e,  of  .berheu  U.  the  Lm,^^^^^^ 

Chief  Holder  of    'h^,,^'''''   °?   ^,f,;'/l,;    "  ' 
A  r'.-»nri  May  r  or  Chamberlain  tu  nie  H.irain. 
•l-^ey  "  ere  now  no,  ilu  from  that  Foi  bidden  R.ver,^ 

beyond  which  1.0  pure  Hind. oca  ■•  " 


unfading  cheerl'ulne 
that  rises  nightly  ov 


vallev  of  H 
Ab'da!.'i,'w'hi'cir  had'^lway^  been  a  f»f""^i"'  '■'; 

SdrJi^l-^'Xn'ir^heU^lt^f^V 

---«^=^;\^'hr'\v^uirs' 

Knokh  have  been   happy  lo  lema.n  I"''  " "•  ?')  ";« 

'■pni;rh:;e;n^:^';w;:.:ti^-'^v;X^^i^ 

"eveT  whose  every  look  belonged  to  another  ; 

,„d  '1-- -- -;^!^f;;^^  isr  dllT.'n^"'- ■' 

wmlllrio  life  During  the  Utter  pa.t  of  the  journey 
ind.ed,  she  had  -"JL;"^'^'^:;!';'::^;^  mi  r  l^ll^d 
rJ  r'her  '"li  'those  lam'^in'  t"o,^hs,  which  only 
ri^htup  when  the  ai.  is  admitted   it  "-s  only  a    his 

?;;:;•;?-:;  r,!;:dr>:s"^:^";'n;f'^;"^^ 

an  Vge  o'f  plea-ure;  she  saw  him  a  May 

!l;^S;i:'th^,^^.n;"^^-Ho"iur,hu,e.he 


they  ei'joy  to  one  genial  slat 
iheir  heads  6 

„,;  „  ..ideed,  seemed  in  their  liveliMt 

,,-  the  lew  days  they  passed  in  this  debght- 

e''    The  young  aMend.n.ts  of  the  Princeso, 

here  adowed  a  much  freer  r.iiige  than  they 

r,iuTd"safelv  he  indulged  with  in  a  less  sequestered 

pa  e    ran    wild  amo'ng  the  gadeus  a,id   bounded 

Through  the  meado>-s  I'S^tly  a.  young  loes  oyer  the 

aromatic  plains  of   Tibet.     While  Fadladeen,  in  ad- 

;ili,ni,  lo  ihi-  spiiiiual  comfor  derived  by  him  from  a. 

p   primage  to'he  toiiih  of  Ihe  Saint  from  whom  the 

vallev  IS  iiimed,  had  also  ■  l.por  uniliesof  indulging, 

,     a^small   way,  his  taste/ u    victims    by  pu»lug  to 

d"ath    some    hundreds    of   tho-e    ">'?■'■■'>•'««  '     '^^ 

lizards  6  wliich  all  pi"us  Mussulnnns  make  it  a  point 

o|-lhat|lo  kdli-Mkiug   fT  granled    [!'=;'  'heimnner.n 

mimicry  If  thrafiiude  in  which  the  Faithful  say 
"'Al,''ut''tro  miles  from  Hussun  Abd.iul  were  those 
Royal  Gardens,-"  wh.ch  had  grown  beautiful  undf 
care  of  so  many  lively  eye-,  and  were  beautiful  si  1  , 
,K,,„o-i,  ihnsp  eves  c.iuld  tee  lieni  no  longer.  1  his 
'p*^  e'  wiMi'tsZwers  and  tts  holy  si  e.ice,  interrupted 
onlv  iiv  lie  dipi  ing  of  Ihe  wingsof  birds  iii  its  niarb  < 
b"  ns  h  Id  vJi'.h  the  pure  water  of  those  hills,  was  t< 
lalla  Kookh  all  ih  t  her  lieart  could  fmcy  of  fa 
grance,  coolness,  and  almost  ''eaven  y  Ir.nquill.ty 
i,  ihe  Proiiliel  said  of  Damascus,  "it  was  loo  deli 
;?;',' ."«_and  here,  in  listening  to  the  sweet  voice 
of  Fei'auiotz,orre.adiug  in  hiseje.s  what  yet  he  nev.. 
dared  lo  tell  her,  the  most  exqnisi  e  moments  of  her 
who  e  life  were',  ass«l.  One  evenmg,  when  hey  had 
been  talking  of  the  Sidtaua  Nouim:ihal,  the  Light  of 
the  Haran.s  who  had  so  of  en  wander.d  among  thes 
lowers  and  fed  with  her  own  ha.  d„  in  Ih.  se  marbl 
a-ln-  lliesn.all  shining  fishes  of  which  she  was  s 
fond  10  -  Uie  y.iuth,  m  cider  to  delay  the  moment  of 


never  atHic'ed  with  sadnes-  or  n.elancholy;  on  th 
subject  the  Sheikh  Mual-Kheir-Miari  has  the  fof 

'""V'^t  '^'tl^nian  wilhout  care  or  sorrow,  (tell) 
It,,'  1  may  rub  my  h'lid  to  hiio.' 

"  '(nehulJ)  the  Zing.ans  wiihout  care  or  sorrow 

'""'^'S'ph,lo:;ph!/;s";::rd;sco;e;;d  ma,  .he  cause 

of  this  cheerfulness  pr,  ceeds  from  .he  influence 

e   star   Soheil  or  Canopus,  which  rl^es  over  IM 

erv  iiiehl."  -  Extract  from  a  Gcoj^raflncalJ  . 

"^  ,',5' '■„..■„,  r,.n,H  HM  Akiim.  or  the  Scv 


.  -  The  applic.tion  of  whips  or  rods.'--i3«loiJ 
■JKemi.fer  mentions  such  an  officer  among  t 
a      I     ,„   nf    ihf.   Kiiiir   of    Persia,   and   calls    a- 
allend.ints   of    the    lying   oi  /"^  "  *'.      ■  ., 

forma:  corporis  estin.aloi."    Ilis  ™>;  "f?.  ' 
slated  periods,  to  measu.c  the  ladies  of  lie  Ha 
rl  of  regulation-girdle,  whose  limils  it  w 
^i.l  graceful  lo  exceed.     If  any  of  them  outgrew 
„„Jf,andard  of  shape,  they  were  reduced  by  absti- 
nence till  tl.ey  came  within  proper  bounds. 

'  IkC.f  on'his  way  ordered  a  fort  to  be  built  upon 
the  Nllab,  which  he  died  Attock  which  means  in 
he  Indian  language  Forbidden;  for,  by  the  super- 
ol  the  Hiiid"Os,  il  was  held  unlawful  to  cross 
that  river." -Z)oi«'sHiud)slan. 

The  inhabitants  of  I  his  couiUryJZ^nge)  are 


.,»«^WamMcr,>7'cV.^M■■He/(  Aklivi    or  the  Seven 
Climates,  translated  by  IV.  Ousclc,j,  Esq. 

5  The  star  Soheil,  or  Canopus. 

6  '■  The  lizard  Stellio.  The  Arabs  call  it  Ilardun. 
The  Turks  k  II  it,  lor  Ihey  imagi.ie  that  by  declining 
n;^  head  .1  mimics  then,  »  hen  they  say  their  pray- 
ers."  — WnMdrymst.  ..j     .  i 

1  Forlhese  parlicu'ars  respecting  Hussun  ADclaull 
am  indebted  to  Ihe  very  interesting  lu,roduc,ion  of 
Mr.  Elphii.stone's  work  upon  Caubul. 

enter  a,  Iha,  B.azar,  wi.houl  Ihe  gates  of 
T,  .,  ■    ,v,„  see  the  G.ceii  Mosque,  so  called  be- 

^::!^'^:^,^rs^le^dwi,hgrenglazed^r.d<. 

'■  ^  ES'^m: s,ri^r:;v:;u£tt'e„  e .,. .-.., -y;.^^; 

wastoodelicious.'-TAcuoiot..  1  lis  reminds  one  ot 

the  following  Pf=">',,t'''**''"%'"  'I'^l"!:  a,d  looked 
"  When  I  sat  las.  on  tins  primr  >"=  "-J      ■         ch.rlB, 

rE:^:?o;;d^7;^^^;:;T;i'^o^;:^M^-i? 

werrloo  pleasant  ,o  be  looked  on,  but  only  on  holy- 

'''TNourmahal  signifies  Light  of  '^f  H'""]-    ^he 
was  afterwards  called  Nou'jehan,  or  the  Light  of  the 
World. 
10  See  note,  oiifc,  p-  292 


THE  LIGHT   OF   THE  HARAM. 


305 


separation,  proposed  to  recite  a  short  story,  or  ra'Iter 
rhapsf^tly  of  which  this  adored  t^ultana  was  the  hcro- 
iue.  II  lelaied,  he  said,  to  the  reconcilement  of  a  sort 
of  lovers'  qua  lel  which  look  place  between  her  and 
the  tiiipernr  d'.ling  a  Feast  of  Roses  al  Castiinere; 
ana  would  remind  ihe  Princess  of  lliat  dillereiice  be- 
tween Haioui.-aUKa  chid  ar.d  his  fair  mistress  Wari- 
da,t  which  was  ^o  happily  made  up  by  the  soft  strains 
of  the  musician,  Mous-ali.  As  the  s;ory  was  chielty 
to  be  told  m  soii^,  and  Feramorz  had  unluckilv  for- 
gotten his  own  lute  in  the  vallei,  he  borrowed  the 
Vina  of  Lalla  Rogkb's  little  FeisiaD  slave,  and  thus 
began : — 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  HARAM. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere, 

With  its  roses  the  brigliiest  that  earth  ever  gave,^ 

Its  temples  and  e^roftoes,  and  fountains  as  cle^ir 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hangover  their  %vave  ? 

Oh !  to  see  it  at  sunset,—  when  warm  o'er  the  Lake 

Its  splendour  at  paiting  a  summer  eve  throws 
Like  a  bride,  full  of  blushes,  when  lin^'ring  to  lake 

A  last  look  of  her  mirror  at  night  eie  she  goes  I  — 
When  Ihe  shrines  through  the  foliage  are  gleaming 

half  shown. 
And  each  hallows  the  hour  by  some  riles  of  his  oivn. 
Here  the  music  of  pra>'r  from  a  minaret  swells. 

Here  the  Magiaii  his  urn,  full  of  perfume  is  swing- 
ing. 
And  here,  at  Ihe  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 

liouud  Ihe  waist  of  some  fair  Indian  dancer  is  ring- 
ing. 3 
Cr  to  see  it  by  moonligh',—  when  mellowly  shines 
'Ihe  light  o'er  its  palaces,  gardens,  and  shrines  ; 
When  the  wa'er  falls  gleam,  like  a  quick  fall  of  stars, 
And  the  nightingale's  hvmn  from  thelsleof  Chenars 
Is  broken  by  laughs  and  light  echoes  of  feet 
From  the  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young  people 

nieet,  — 
Or  at  morn,  when  the  magic  of  daylight  awakes 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks, 
Hills,  cup.il.s,  founlains.  cali'd  f.irh  every  one 
Out  of  darkness  as  if  hut  just  born  of  the  Sun. 
When  the  Spirit  of  Fragrance  is  up  wi'h   he  day, 
From  his  Haram  of  nijh'-ll  iwer,,  stealing  away  : 
And  the  wind,  full  of  wanlooneis.  woos  like  a  lover 
The  young  aspen-tiees,''  till  Ihey  tremble  all  over. 
When  Ihe  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first  hones, 

And  Day,  with  his  banner  of  radiance  utifiirl'd, 
Shines  in  through  the  moon  ainons  jioiial  '  that  opes, 

Sublime,  from  that  Valley  of  blits  tii  the  world  1 


'  "  Haroun  Al  Raschid,  cinquieme  Khilifedes  Abas- 
sides,  s'ptaiil  un  jour  b-ouille  avec  une  de  ses  mai- 
tresses  nommee  Maridali,  qu'il  ainioil  ccpendaiil 
jusqu'a  I'exces.  el  cetle  mesinlel  igeiice  ayant  deja 
duree  quelque  tems  commeoca  a  s'ennuyer.  Giafar 
Parmaki,  son  favori,  qui  sen  appcrcut,  commanda  a 
Abbas  ben  Ahnaf,  excelleni  poete  de  ce  tems  la,  de 
composer  quelques  vers  sur  le  sujet  de  celle  brouille- 
ne.  Ce  poete  ejtecuta  I'ordre  de  Gi  ifar,  qui  fit  chan'er 
ces  vers  par  Mnussali  en  presence  du  Khalife.  et  ce 
prince  fut  tenement  louche  de  la  lendrei>e  des  vers 
du  poete  et  de  la  doiiciMir  de  la  voi.\  du  musicien  qu'il 
al  a  aus«i-tot  trouver  Maridah,  el  tit  sa  paixaiecelle." 
—  D'Heibdot. 

•>  "The  rose  of  Kashmire  fir  its  brilliancy  and 
delicacy  if  odour  has  long  been  iiroverbial  iu  the 
hisx."  —  Fonter. 

1  "Tied  round  her  waist  the  zone  of  bell-,  that 
sounded  with  ravishing  melody."— Sotij-  of  Jayadcva. 

*  "The  little  isles  in  the  Lake  of  Cachemire  are 
sit  wilh  arbours  and  ,arge-leaved  aspen-liees,  slender 
and  tall."  — £iniici-.  i  ,         uc 

'  "The  Tuckt  Suliman,  the  name  bestowed  by  Ihe 


Bum 
lode 


er  vet,  by  night  or  day, 

Of-spii 


ray, 


Hid  ihe  S"eet  \ alley  : 
As  now  il  shines  — all  love  and  light, 
Visidiis  by  day  and  feasts  by  night! 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow, 

Willi  (]iiieker  spread  each  heart  uncloses. 
And  all  is  ecsta  y. —  for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses  ;  6 
The  joyous  rime,  when  pleasures  pour 
Prnfuse'ly  lound  ani,  in  ihi'ir  shower. 
Hearts  open,  like  ihe  .Reason's  Rose, — 

The  Flow'relof  a  hundred  leaves,! 
Expanding  while  the  dew-fall  (lows. 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives. 


'T  was  when  Ihe  ho 


of  eve 


Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cord. 
When  Day  had  hid  h  s  sullry  (lame 

Rehiiid  the  palms  of  Raramoule,^ 
When  maids  besan  to  lift  their  heads, 
Refresh'd  from  their  embroider'd  be:^e, 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away. 
And  wak'd  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 
All  were  abroad  —  the  busiest  hive 
On  Bela's"  hills  is  less  alive. 
When  saflV.iii-beds  are  fnll  in  flower, 
Than  lookd  the  Valley  in  that  hour. 
A  Ihou-and  restless  torches  p  ay'd 
'I'hrough  every  grove  and  island  shade; 
A  thousand  sparklir  g  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighed  by  a  blaze  so  clear. 
That  you  could  see,  in  wandering  round, 
The  smallest  rose-leaf  on  the  ground. 
Yet  did  Ihe  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve  ; 
And  Ihere  «ere  glancing  eyes  about. 
And  cheeks,  tiiat  would  not  dare  shine  ou! 
In  open  day,  bui  thought  they  miglit 
Look  lovely  then,  because  't  was  night. 
And  all  Here  free,  and  uandering, 

And  all  exclaimd  lo  all  they  met, 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 

S.i  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ;  — 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  iijht 

So  clear  as  lliat  which  bless'd  them  Ihei 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  half  so  bright, 

^'or  they  themselves  look'd  half  so  fair 

And  what  a  wilderness  of  (lowers ! 
It  seem'd  as  Ih  lugh  from  all  the  bowers 
And  fairesi  fields  of  all  Ihe  year. 
The  mingled  spoil  were  scaltei'd  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  giiden  breathes, 

Wi  h  the  rich  buds  thai  o'er  it  lie,— 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wreaths 

Had  fall'ii  upon  it  from  llie  sky! 
And  then  the  sounds  of  joy,—  the  heat 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  lect ;  — 
1  he  minaret-crier's  chauni  of  glee 
Sung  frill     lis  lighted  gallerv,io 


i  hill,  forms  one  side  of  a  g:»nd 
-  Forster. 


Mahommetans  o: 
portal  lo  the  Lak 

6  "The  Feast  of  Roses  continues  the  whole  time  of 
their  rem  lining  in  bloom."  —  See  Pitlro  de  la  yaUt. 

1  "Gul  sad  berk,  the  Rose  of  a  hundred  leaves.  I 
believe  a  particular  species.  —  Oiueley. 

8  Bernier. 

1  A  place  mentioned  in  t!-«  Toozek  Jehangeerv,  or 
Memoirs  of  Jehanguire,  where  there  is  an  account  of 
Ihe  beds  of  sitfroii-noweisabaut  Casniiieic. 

•0  "  It  is  Ihe  custom  among  Ihe  women  lo  employ 
the  Maazeen  to  channi  from  Ihe  gallerv  vf  the  ni  arest 
minaret,  which  on  that  occasion  is  iriuminaled,  r.  id 
Ihe  women  a-srmhled  at  the  house  lo  re  pond  at  in- 
tervals wilh  a  ziraleet  or  joyous  chorus." — Ri.mll,     i 


26* 


u 


30G 


LALLA    ROOKH, 


And  answer'd  by  a  zirateet 

From  Deighbourint;  Hiiram,  wild  and  sweet ;  — 

1'he  merry  laugh'er,  echoing; 

From  gardens,  where  ilie  siikeu  swing  ' 

Walts  some  deli£;liied  s,it\  above 

Th5  tJpleavtsoI  ihe  orai.ge-grove  ; 

Or,  (rum  tho-e  infant  groups  at  play 

Aino-ig  tlie  teiiis  i  that  line  Ilie  way, 

Flingriig,  uiiaw'd  by  slave  or  inotlier, 

Handfuis  of  roses  at  each  other. — 
Then,  tne  sounds  troiii  the  Lake,— the  low  whisper- 
ing in  boats, 
As  they  shoot  through  the  njoonligbt  j— the  dipping 
oi  uars, 
And  the  wild,  airy  warbling  tliat  everywhere  floats, 
'i'hrough  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if  all  the 
shores. 
Like  those  of  Kathay,  ulter'd  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  sonp  lo  the  kiss  of  e.ich  wave. 3 
But  the  genilest  of  all  are  ihose  sounds,  tuU  of  feeling, 
That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  siealiug,— 
Some  lover,  who  knows  all  the  heart-touching  power 
Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour. 
Oh  :  best  of  deligh'9  as  it  everywhere  is 
To  be  near  the  lov'd  One,— what  a  rapture  is  hU 
Who  m  uiofjniight  and  music  thussweerly  may  glide 
O'er   the   Lake  of  Cashmere,  with  that  Ovie  by  his 

side! 
If  woman  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear, 
Think,  think  what  a  Heav'u  she  must  make  of  Cash- 
mere I 
So  fell  the  magnificent  Son  of  Acbar,* 
When  from  pov\er  and  ponip  and  the  trophies  of  war 
He  Hew  10  that  Valley,  furgetting  them  all 
With  the  Li^ht  of  ihe  Harain,  his  young  Nourmahal. 
When  free  and  uncrown'd  as  Ibe  O'lnqueror  rov'd 
By  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belovM, 
He  saw,  in  the  wreaths  .^he  would  playfully  snatch 
From  llie  hedges,  a  glory  his  ciowu  could  not  match, 
And  pieferrd'in  his  heart  ihe  leas:  ringlet  that  curt'd 
Down  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the  world. 

There  's  a  beauty,  fnr  ever  unchangingly  bright, 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  sunaner-day's  light, 
yhining  on,  stiining  on,  by  no  shadow  made  tender, 
Till  Love  falls  asleep  Ju  its  s.imeness  of  splendour. 
This  was  not  the  beauiy  —  oh,  ncjthing  like  ihis, 
That  to  young  Nourmahal  gave  such  ma^ic  of  bliss ! 
But  that  loveliness,  ever  m  motion,  which  plays 
Like  the  light  upon  ausuiiu'^  Sf>lt  shadowy  days. 
Now  here  and  nuw  there,  giving  w:irint!i  as  it  tlies 
From  Ihe  lip  to  the  chet-k,  fn^ni  the  clietk  (o  the  eyes; 
Now  melting  m  mist  and  nuw  brt.ikiiig  in  gleams, 
Like   the   glmipses  a  saint   halh  ot  Ueav'n   in  his 


1  "The  swing  is  a  favourite  pastime  in  the  East, 
as  pr«imoling  a  circulation  of  air,  extieniely  lefresb' 
ing  in  tho^e  sultry  climates." —  Ilichardson. 

"The  swings  are  adorned  wilh  festoons.  This  pas- 
time is  accompanied  wi  h  music  of  voices  and  of 
instruments,  hired  by  the  uiasleis  of  the  swings."  — 
Thcvenot. 

^  "  At  the  keeping  of  the  Feast  of  Roses  we  beheld 
an  infiuiie  number  >  f  lens  piicheJ,  \\\  h  such  acrowt" 
of  men,  women,  boys,  and  girl^,  with  music,  dances,' 
&c.  &c.  —  Herbert. 

3  "  An  old  commentator  of  the  Chou-King  says,  Ihe 
ancienis  having   remarked    ihal  a  curient  of  wr,t. 
made  some  of  the  s  ones  near  its  banks  send  forth 
sound,  they  detached  some  of  them,  and  being  charm- 
ed with  'he  delightful  sound  they  emitted,  coiistnicled 
King  or  musical  instruments  of  them."  —  Grosicr. 

This  niirnculous  cjualiiy  has  been  a'tribu'ed  ai^o  to 
the  shore  of  Atiica.  "Hujus  littns,  ait  Capella,  con- 
centum  musicum  illisis  terrx  undis  reddere,  quod 
propter  tantam  eruditioins  vim  puto  dic'um."  — 
Ludov.  Vives  in  Jiuguslin  dc  Civitat.  D&i^  lib. 
xviii.  c.  8. 

4  Jehanguire  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Acbar. 


When  pensive,  it  seem'd  as  if  that  very  grace, 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  born  with  her  face! 
And  when  angiy,— for  ev'n  in  the  tranquille»t  climes 
Light  breezea  will  rullle  Ihe  blossoms  sometimes  — 
'l"he  short,  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  au  aken 
New  beauiy,   like  lUnvers   llial  ajo  sweetest  wbeo 

sliaken. 
If  tenderness  touch'd  her,  the  dark  of  her  eye 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenlier  dye, 
From  Ihe  depth  of  w  hose  shadow,  like  holy  revealings 
From  innermost  shrines,CHme  the  light  of  her  fetling*. 
Then  her  mirth — oh  1  'c  was  sporti\e  as  ever  took  wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  the  wild-bird  in 

spring; 
lilumM  by  a  wit  that  wnuld  fascinate  sages. 
Vet  pla>ful  as  I'eris  just  loos  d  fmrn  iheir  c'ges.* 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  life,  without  any  control 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,   rung  from  her 

And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  discover, 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  lor  she  brighlen'd  all  over,— 
Like  any  fair  Uke  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
When  It  bleaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  Ihe  sun. 
Such,  such  were  the  peerless  encbaminents,  that  gave 
Nourmalial  the  proi.d  Lord  of  the  Last  forhersla\e: 
And  lliough  bright  was  his  Haram — a  living  pariene 
Of  the  tiow'rsti  of  this  planet  —  though  ireasuies  were 

there, 
For  which  Soliman*i  self  might  have  giv'n  all  the 

That  the  navy  from  Opliir  e'er  wing'd  to  his  shore, 
"es  of  them  ail, 
young  Nourmahal ! 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ?  — 

When  all  around  ber  is  so  bright, 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance, 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Into  the  vale  Ihis  happy  night, 

He  saw  that  Cit>  of  Uelighl  i 

In  Faiiy  lai.d,  whose  streets  and  lowers 

Aie  made  of  gems  and  li^ht  and  liuvvers! 

Where  is  the  lov'd  Suliana  ?  where, 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair, 

Does  !-lie,  the  faires',  hide  her  brow, 

In  melancholy  stillness  now? 

Alas  I  —  how  light  a  cause  rnay  move 

Dissension  between  heaits  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  bad  tried, 

A'd  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough. 

Vet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  ofT. 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea, 

When  he:iveii  was  all  tranquillity  J 

A  S'lmething,  light  as  air  —  a  look, 

A  word  unkind  or  urongly  taken  — 
Oh  !  love,  that  tempests  iicver  shook, 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  wnrds  will  soon  rush  in 
lo  spread  'he  breach  that  woids  begin; 
And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day; 
And  \  Dices  lose  the  Inne  that  shed 
A  Itji  derness  round  all  they  said; 
'J'ill  fast  declining,  one  by  one, 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone, 
And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 
Like  broken  ckuds,— or  like  the  stream, 


5  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever 
the  former  took  the  latter  prisoners,  "they  shut  Ihem 
up  in  Iron  cages,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees. 
Here  they  were  visited  by  their  companions,  who 
brought  them  the  choicest  odours."— /iic/iardjon. 

6  In  the  Malay  language  the  same  word  signifies 
wonien  and  flowers. 

T  The  capiLU  of  Shadukiam.  See  note,  antt^  p.  2S0. 


THE  LIGHT   OF   THE  HARAM. 


3a  / 


Breaks  into  tioods,  il.al  pari  fur  ever. 

Oh,  you,  Mial  have  ilie  chirge  of  Love, 
Keep  him  iii  ro-y  hmid.tg'i  bounJ, 

A^  ill  the  Fields  ot  Itljbs  above 

He  ftils,  with  How'rets  fetter'd  round  j  I 

Loose  not  a  lie  that  round  him  clings, 


rlei  hiMi 


'tngs; 


For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  nnnu(r"s  nii^ht 
Will  rob  Ihe  pluii.es  of  half  iheir  light. 
Like  that  celestial  biid,—  whose  nest 

Is  found  beneath  far  Kaslern  skies,— 
Whose  wini;s,  though  radiant  when  at  rest, 

Lose  all  tbeir  glory  when  he  fliea !  ^ 

Some  difference,  of  Ihis  dangerous  kind, — 

By  which,  though  light,  the  links  that  bind 

'Ihe  fondest  hearts  may  soon  be  riven; 

Soiiie  shadow  in  Love's  suniiuer  heaven, 

Which,  ttiough  a  Ileecy  speck  at  first, 

May  yet  in  awful  ttiunder  buist ;  — 

Such  cloud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 

The  heart  of  ihe  Imperial  Lover, 

And  far  tia^h  biuiishM  from  his  sight 

His  Nounnahal.  his  Haram's  Light  1 

Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  tiight. 

When  pleasure  through  'he  fields  and  rrovei 

Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves, 

And  every  heart  has  found  its  owu, 

He  wanders,  j-'vless  and  alone, 

And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 

Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-place.' 

In  vain  the  lovelies)  cheeks  and  eyei 
This  Eden  of  the  Karth  supplies 

Come  crowding  round  —  the  cheeks  are  pale, 
The  eyes  are  dun  :  —  thi>U£;h  rich  Ihe  iput 
Witti  eve-y  fiow'r  this  earlh  has  got. 

What  is  it  to  the  nightingale, 
If  there  his  dailitig  rose  is  not  ?< 
In  vain  the  Valley's  smliing  thmng 
Worship  liim,  as  he  moves  along  ; 
He  heeds  Iheni  not  —  one  smile  uf  ben 
Is  worth  a  "orld  of  worshippers. 
Thev  but  the  S'ar's  adoiers  are. 
She  is  the  Heav'n  that  lights  the  Starl 

Hence  is  it,  too,  that  Nourmahal, 

Amid  Ihe  luxuries  of  this  hour, 
Far  from  ihe  joyous  festival, 

Sits  in  her  own  sequester'd  bower, 
With  no  one  near,  to  soothe  or  aid, 
But  that  inspir'd  and  wond'ruus  maid, 
Namnuna.  Ihe  Enchantre-s  ;  —  one. 
O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sua 
For  unrememberM  years  has  run, 
Yet  never  saw  her  blnomitig  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  't  is  now. 
Nay,  rathtr.— as  the  west  wind's  sigh 
Freshens  Ihe  flower  it  passes  by, — 


1  See  the  represenfalion  of  the  Eastern  Cupid 
pinioned  closely  round  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  in 
Picart's  Ceremonies  Religieuses, 

^  "Among  the  birds  of  Tonquin  is  a  species  of 
goldfinch,  w  hich  sings  so  melodiously  thai  it  is  called 
Ihe  Celestial  Bird.  Its  wines,  when  it  is  perched, 
appear  variegated  with  beautiful  colours,  but  when  it 
flies  Ihey  lose  all  their  splendour  "—  Grosier. 

•  "As  these  birds  on  the  Bosphorua  are  never 
known  to  rest,  they  are  called  by  the  French  *ies 
ames  damnees.*  "  —  Dalloway. 

<  "  You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant 
herbs  and  flowers  before  ihe  nightuigale.  yet  hew"^ishe9 
not,  in  his  constant  heart,  for  more  than  Ihe  sweet 
breath  of  his  beloved  rose."  —  Jami. 


Time's  wing  but  seemM,  in  stealing o*er 
To  Irave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  her  smiles  a  sadne3>  hung. 
And  when,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  sung 
Of  other  worlds,  here  canie  a  lighi 
From  herdaik  eyes  so  strangely  bright, 
That  all  believ'd  nor  man  nor  earth 
Weie  conscious  of  Namouna  s  birih  I 
All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew, 

Frum  the  great  Manlra,^  which  around 
The  Air's  sublimer  Spirils  drew, 

To  the  gold  gems'*  of  Afric,  bound 
Upon  the  wandering  Arab's  arm. 
To  keep  him  from  the  SiHimST  harm. 
And  she  had  pledg'd  her  powerful  an, — 
Pledg'd  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 
Of  one  who  knew,  though  U'l^h  her  sphere, 
What  'twas  lo  lose  a  love  so  dear,— 
To  find  snme  spelt  that  should  recall 
Her  behni's  »  smile  to  Nourmahal  ! 

»Twa9  midnight— through  Ihe  lattice,  wreath'd 
Willi  woodbine,  inaiiy  a  perlunie  brealh'd 
From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 
From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 
Their  odour  to  themselves  all  day. 
But,  when  Ihe  sun-light  dies  away, 
Let  the  delicious  secrel  out 
To  every  breeze  that  loaius  about ; — 
W  hen  thus  Namouna  :  —  "  'T  is  the  hour 
*' I'hat  scalleis  spells  on  herb  and  flower, 
**  And  garlands  miglit  be  galher'd  noiv, 
'*  Tha',  twiii'd  around  Ihe  sleeper's  brow, 
*•  Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights, 
"Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights, 
'*  As  Genii  of  Ihe  Sun  behold, 
"At  evening,  fiom  Iheir  tents  of  gold 
"  Upon  the'  horizon  —  where  they  play 
"  Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 
**Ttieir  sunny  mansions  melt  away. 
*'  Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 
"Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  brealh'd, 
"  Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  strayM, 

"  Might  bring  >onie  Feri  froni  Ihe  skies, 
"  Some  sprite,  wh'*"'*  very  soul  is  made 

*'0f  fiow'rets*  bie^ths  and  lovers'  sighs, 

"And  who  might  tell '' 

"  For  me,  for  nje," 
Cried  Nourmahal  impatiently,— 
••Oh!  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-night." 
Then,  rapidly,  with  foot  as  light 
As  the  young  musk-roe's,  out  she  flew, 
To  cull  each  shining  leaf  that  grew 
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'rels  that  unfold 

Their  buds  on  Camadeva's  quiver  j  iO_ 
The  tube-rose,  with  her  silvery  light, 

That  in  Ihe  Gardens  of  Malay 


»  "He  is  said  lo  have  found  Ihe  great  Mantra^ 
spell  or  talisman,  through  whicli  he  ruled  over  ihe 
elements  and  spirits  of  all  denominations"— /rii/orrf. 

6  "The  gold  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  by 
the  Arabs  El  Herrez,  from  Ihe  supposed  charm  they 
contain."  —  Jackson. 

1  *'  A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  &.C.  in  a 
human  sh^pe."—  Richardsoit. 

8  The  name  of  Jehangi.ire  berore  his  accession  to 
tlie  throne. 

9  '*  Hemasi^ara,  or  the  Sea  of  Gold,  wilh  flowert 
of  tlie  brightest  gold  colour." —  .Sir  IV,  Jones, 

JO  *'  'Ihis  tree  (the  Nagacesara)  is  one  of  the  roost 
delightful  on  earlh,  and  the  delicious  odour  of  its 
blossoms  justly  gives  them  a  place  in  the  quiver  of 
Camadeva,  or  Ihe  God  of  Love."—  Hid. 


308 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Is  call'd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night,« 
So  like  .1  b<  ide,  scented  anJ  bright, 

Sheci-nies  oui  when  ihe  suns  a«ayj  — 
Aniaraiilhs,  such  i-s  crown  ihe  inaids 
That  vxaiider  through  Zainara's  shadesja  — 
Aud  the  while  iiit'uii-tiuwer,  as  it  shows, 
On  Seiendib's  high  crags,  to  those 
Who  near  Ihe  i-le  at  evetiin?  ;ail, 
bceiiliiig  her  clove-tret  s  in  thegaiej 
In  >hori,  all  ihiw'rels  ar.d  all  pl-uits, 

Kroni  the  divine  Anirita  liee,3 
Tliat  blesses  lieaven's  inliabitaiils 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  b,isil  lufl,*  that  \^ave• 
Its  flagrant  blossom  over  graves, 

Aud  to  the  humble  roseuiary, 
Whcse  sweeis  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  s  lent  the  desert  ^  aud  the  dead :  — 
AIKq  thai  maiden  bloom,  and  all 
Are  ga'her'd  by  young  Nourniahal, 
Who  helps  her  baskels  with  the  (Inwers 

And  leaves,  till  ihey  can  hold  no  more  J 
Then  to  Namouna  flies,  and  showers 

Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 
With  what  delitihl  ihe'  Eixh:»n'ress  views 
So  many  buds  bath'd  with  the  dews 
And  beams  of  that  bless'd  hour !  —  her  glance 

Spoke  something,  past  all  mortal  pleasuies, 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance, 

i>he  hung  above  ijiose  fragrant  treasures, 
Bei.ding  to  drmk  their  balmy  airs. 
As  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  iht-irs. 
And  't  was,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 
From  flow'rs  and  scenled  flame,  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life  —  f<>r  none  Ind  e'er 
Beheld  lier  lasie  of  moria!  fare. 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip, 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell, 
The'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  'pell, 
Thus  singing  as  she  winds  and  ueives 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leaves :  — 


I  know  where  the  winged  visions  dwell 

That  around  the  night-bed  play; 
I  know  each  herb  and  fluw'ret's  bell. 
Where  ihey  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 


«  "The  Malayans  style  the  tube-rose  {Polianlhes 
luberosa)  Sandal  Malam,  or  the  Mistress  of  the 
Night.'* —  Pennaiit. 

^  The  pe'-ple  of  the  Batfa  country  in  Sumatra  (of 
which  Zamara  is  one  of  the  ancient  names),  "  when 
not  engaged  in  war,  lead  an  idle,  inactive  life,  pasi^ing 
the  day  in  playing  on  a  kind  of  (lute,  crowned  with 
garlands  of  flowers,  among  which  the  globe-amaran- 
Ihus,  a  native  of  the  country,  mostly  prevails."  — 
Marsdcn, 

3  "The  argest  and  richest  sort  (of  (he  Jambu  or 
rose-apple;  is  called  Amrita,  or  immortal,  and  Ihe 
mythologis,3  of  Tibet  apply  the  same  word  to  a 
celestial  tree,  bearing  ambrosial  fruit."  —  Sir  W. 
Jcnts. 

*  Sweet  basil,  called  Rayhan  in  Persia,  and  gen- 
erally found  in  churchyards. 

**  The  women  in  Egypt  go,  at  least  two  days  in  Ihe 
week,  to  pr.iy  and  weep  at  the  sepulchres  of  the 
dead;  and  the  custom  then  is  to  throw  upon  the 
tombs  a  sort  of  herb,  which  the  Arabs  call  rihan^ 
and  which  is  our  sweet  basil.  —  MaiLlet,  Leit.  10. 

8  "  In  the  Great  Desert  are  found  many  stalks  of 
lavender  and  rosemary."  — .tfiiat.  lies. 


The  image  of  love,  thai  nightly  flies 

To  visit  the  ba^-hlul  maid, 
Steals  from  ttte  j<smine  flower,  that  sight 

Its  soul,  like  hef.  in  the  bhade. 
The  dream, nf  a  future,  li.ippier  hour, 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow. 
Springs  out  of  the  silvery  almoud-flc  wer, 

Th.it  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough. « 
'J'hen  hasten  «e,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dieams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

The  visions,  that  oft  to  worldly  eyes 

'J  he  glitter  td  mines  unfold. 
Inhabit  Ihe  moon'ain-htib,i  that  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  (awn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes  —  oh,  touch  not  them  — 

That  appal  tlie  murderer's  sight. 
Lurk  in  Ihe  fleshly  mandrake's  stem, 

That  shrieks,  when  pluck'd  at  night ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade 

The  dream  of  the  injur'd,  patient  mind, 

That  smiles  at  the  wrongs  ot  men, 
Is  found  in  the  bruis'd  and  wounded  riod 
Of  Ihe  cinnamon,  sweetest  then. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade 


No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown 

Placed  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fail. 

Upon  the  lids  of  Nourniahal ;  — 

And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 

As  lull  of  vniall,  rich  harmonies 

As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  tents 

Uf  AzabS  blew,  was  full  of  scents, 

Steals  on  her  ear,  and  floats  and  swells, 

Like  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wieathy,  Red-Sea  shells. 

Where  Love  bimsdf,  of  old,  lay  sleeping;  » 
And  now  a  Spirit  form'd,  'i  would  seem. 

Of  music  and  of  light, —  so  fair, 
So  brilliantly  his  features  beam, 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 


Of! 


Hovers  aiouud  her,  and  Ihu 


6  '^  The  almond-tree,  with  while  flowers,  blossoms 
on  the  bare  brancfies." —  Hasselquist. 

1  An  herb  nn  Mount  Libar;us,  which  is  said  fo  com- 
municate a  yellc  ^  golden  hue  to  the  teeth  of  Ihe 
goi  s  and  other  animals  (hat  graze  upon  it. 

Nttbuhr  thinks  ihis  may  l)e  the  herb  which  the 
Eastern  alchymists  look  to  as  a  means  of  making 
gold.  "  Mo-t  of  iho.se  alchymical  enlhusi;ists  think 
themselves  sure  of  success,  if  ihey  could  but  find  out 
the  herb,  which  gilds  the  teeth  and  gives  a  yellow 
colour  to  the  flesh  of  the  slieep  that  eat  it.  Even  Ihi 
oil  of  this  plant  must  be  of  a  golden  colour.  It  ii 
called  Haschischat  ed  dab." 

Father  Jerom  Danduii,  however,  asserts  that  tlie 
leeth  of  the  goals  at  Mount  Libanus  art-  of  a  silver 
colour;  and  adds,  *'this  confiims  me  ihnt  which  i 
observed  in  Candia:  to  wit,  that  the  animals  Ihat  ii' 
Oil  Mount  Ida  eat  a  certain  heib,  «hich  rei.ders  ihe 
teelh  of  a  golden  colour;  which,  accord  ng  to  my 
judgment,  cannot  otherwise  i-roceed  than  from  the 
mines  v%hich  are  under  ground." —  Dandini^  Voyage 
to  Mount  Libanus. 

8  The  myrrh  country. 

9  "This  idea  (of  deilies  l.ving  in  shells)  was 
unknown   to  the  Greeks  who  fepre^ellt  the  yo 
Nerites,  one  of  the  Cupids,  as  living  in  shells  on  the 
shores  of  the  Ked  Sea."  — JK,7/p?rf. 


THE   LIGHT   OF  THE  HARAM. 


3U9 


From  Chindara*si  warbling  fount  I  come, 
CaliM  by  til. I  moonlight  e.irland»s  spell  j 
Frnni  thiodara's  fminl,  myT-iry  home, 

Wheie  111  music,  niorn  and  niglit,  I  dwell. 
Where  luies  in  itie  air  ;ire  heard  abi'ul, 

And  vuices  are  singing  the  whole  day  long, 
And  evers  sigh  the  htart  trtathes  out 
it  turriM,  35  It  leaves  the  lip3,  to  songl 
HUher  1  come 
Kroin  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  uiagic  in  Music's  tttraini 
I  sw&ir  by  the  breath 
Of  that  mooTiligbt  wreath, 
Thy  Lover  bhall  sigh  At  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats. 
And  mine  aie  Ihe  murmuring:,  dying  notes, 
That  fall  as  soft  as  sm.w  on  the  sea, 
And  melt  in  ihe  bean  as  instsnlly  :  — 
And  tlie  p-issjonate  sir.in  that,  deeply  Eoinp. 

Refines  the  bnsnm  it  trembles  through. 
As  Ihe  musk-wind,  over  Ihe  water  blowu*^ 

KuOles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too. 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 

The  Spirits  of  past  Delishl  obey  ;  — 

Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound, 

And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 

And  mine  is  the  gentle  song  that  beirs 

From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  Inve, 
As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  cinnamon-seed  from  grove  lo  grove. ^ 

'T  is  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 

The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure;  3 

When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the  blissful  tone  that 's  sull  iu  the  ear  ; 
And  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near. 


The  warrior's  heart,  when  touchM  by  me, 

Can  a?  downv  s'lft  and  as  yielding  be 

As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  death 

Thnmgh  the  field  has  shone— yet  moves  with  abreath  I 

And,  oh,  how  the  eyes  of  Beauty  glisten. 

When  Music  has  reach'd  her  inward  soul 
Like  the  silent  s'ars,  that  wink  and  tistea 

While  Heiven's  eternal  melodies  rolL 
So,  hither  1  come 
From  my  fairy  home, 


>  **  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  ins'ruments  are  said 
to  be  constantly  playing."—  Richardson, 

^  "  The  Pompadour  pigeon  is  Ihe  species,  which, 
by  carrying  the  fruit  of  the  cinnamon  to  diflereni 
places,  is  a  great  disseminator  of  this  valuable  tree." 
—  See  Jirown's  Illustr.  Tab.  19. 

3  «•  Whenever  our  pleasure  arises  from  a  succession 
of  sounds,  it  is  a  perception  of  a  compliciled  nature^ 
made  up  of  a  se7uatio7i  of  the  present  sound  or  no'e, 
and  an  idea  or  remembrance  of  the  foregoing,  while 
their  mixture  and  concurrence  produce  such  a  myste- 
rious delight,  as  neither  could  have  produced  alone. 
And  it  is  often  heightened  by  an  anticipation  of  the 
succeeding  notes.  'I'hus  Sense.  Memory,  and  Imagi- 
nation, are  conjunctively  employed. '—  Getrard  on 
Tas'e. 

This  is  exactly  the  Epicurean  IheDry  of  Pleasure,  as 
explained  by  Cicero: — '*Quocirca  corpus  gaudere 
taindiu,dum  prsesitntem  sentiret  voliiptatem  :  animum 
et  praesenfem  pertipere  pariter  cum  corpore  et  pro- 
spicere  venienlem,  nee   prseteritam  prjelerfluere  si- 

Madame  de  S'ael  accounts  upon  the  same  principle 
for  Ihe  gratification  we  derive  from  rhyme.:  —  "Elle 
est  riiiiage  de  Temperance  et  du  souvenir.  Un  son 
nous  fait  desirer  celui  qui  doit  lui  repondre,  et  quand 
le  second  rctentit  il  u^us  rappelle  celui  qui  vient  de 
nous  echapper.'' 


And  if  (here's  a  magic  in  Music's  BtruD« 

I  swear  by  the  breith 

Of  that  moonlight  wreath. 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feel  again. 


'T  is  dawn  —  at  least  that  earlier  dawn, 
Whose  glimpses  are  agiin  withdrawn,* 
As  if  Ihe  morn  had  wakM,  and  then 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 
And  Nnurn.alial  i6  up,  and  trying 

The  vxondeis  of  her  lute,  whose  strings  — 
Oh,  bliss  !  —  now  murmur  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambr.  sial  Spii  it's  wings. 
And  then   her  voice  —  't  is  more  than  human  - 

Never,  till  now,  bad  il  been  given 
Tolipsof  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  noies  so  fie'h  Irom  heaven; 
Sweet  as  (he  bieath  of  angel  Mglis, 

When  angel  sighs  aie  most  divine.— 
*'()h  1  lei  it  last  till  night,"  she  cr.e?, 

*'  And  lie  IS  more  than  ever  mine." 


And  hourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  hea\enly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening,  fade  away,— 

For  things  so  heavenU  have  such  fleet n ess  I 
But,  f«r  fpni  fading,  it  but  grows 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  flows  ; 
Till  rapt  she  dwells  on  every  string, 

And  pouts  again  each  sound  along, 
Like  ech...  losi  and  languishing, 

In  love  with  her  own  wondious  song. 

That  evening,  (trusting  that  his  sou! 

Might  be  fmrn  hnunling  love  released 
By  ninth,  by  music,  and  Ihe  bowl,) 

The^  Imperial  Selim  held  a  feast 
In  his  magnificent  Shalimar:  6  — 
Iu  who^e  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 


*  "The  Persians  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobhi 
Kazim  and  the  Soobhi  S:idig,  the  fal.-e  and  the  real 
day-break.  They  account  for  this  phenomenon  in  a 
most  whimsical  manner.  They  say  that  as  the  sun 
rises  from  behind  (he  Kohi  Qaf  (Mount  Caucasus),  it 
passes  a  hole  perfora(ed  through  that  mountain,  and 
that  darling  its  rays  ihrough  it,  it  is  the  cause  of  the 
Soobhi  Kazim,  or  this  temporary  appearance  of  day- 
break. As  it  ascends,  Ihe  earth  is  again  veiled  in 
darkness,  until  the  sun  rises  above  the  mountain,  and 
brings  with  it  the  Soobhi  Sadig.  or  real  morning."'  — 
Scolt  IVaring.  lie  thinks  MiltOD  may  allude  to  this, 
when  he  sa)8, — 

"Ere  the  blahbing  Eastern  scout, 
'J'li«  nire  niorit  nn  Ihe  Indian  Eteep 
From  htr  cabin'd  luop-hole  peep." 

•  '*  In  the  centre  of  the  plain,  as  it  approaches  the 
Lake,  one  of  Ihe  Delhi  Emperors,  I  beheve  Shah  Je- 
ban,  constructed  a  spacious  garden  cUled  the  Shali- 
mar.  which  is  abundantly  stured  with  fruit-trees  and 
flowering  sbrulw.  S<ime  of  the  rivulets  which  inter- 
sect Ihe  plain  are  led  into  a  canal  at  the  back  of  the 
ta'den,  and  flowing  through  its  centre,  or  nccisionally 
thrown  into  a  variety  nf  water-works,  compose  the 
chief  beauty  of  the  Shaiim-»r.  To  dt-corate  this  spot 
the  Mogul  princes  of  India  have  displayed  an  equal 
magnificence  and  taste;  es|)ecially  Jeban  Gheer,  who, 
wiih  the  enchanting  Noor  Mahl,  made  Kashniire  his 
usual  residence  during  the  summer  mouths.  On 
arches  thrown  over  (he  canal  are  erected,  at  equal 
distances,  four  or  five  sinles  of  apartments,  cch  con- 
sisting of  a  saloon,  wilh  four  rooms  at  Ihe  angles, 
where  the  followers  of  the  court  aCend,  and  the  ser- 
van's  prepare  sherbets,  cotTee.  aod  the  ho<ikah.  The 
frame  of  the  doors  of  Ihe  principal  saloon  is  composed 
of  pieces  of  a  stone  of  a  black  colour,  streaked  witt 
yellow  lines,  and  of  a  closer  giain  and  higher  poU&c 


310 


LALLA    ROOKH, 


Of  evening  o'er  Ihe  watcts'trembled, 
The  Valley's  loveliesl  all  assembled; 
All  the  bn^ht  creauies  that,  like  dreams, 
Glide  tliinugh  its  foliage,  and  drink  beamt 
Of  beauty  from  its  fouu's  and  streams;  l 
And  all  th  ise  wandering  nuDstrel-maids, 
Who  leave— how  can  they  leive?— the  shadei 
Of  ih^I  dear  Valley,  and  .>re  found 

Singing  in  gardens  of  the  Sr^U'li  'i 
Those  song>,   hat  ne'er  so  sweetly  so«rrr4 

As  fioin  a  young  Cashmeriati's  moui^. 

There,  (oo,  the  Haram's  inmates  smile;— 

Maids  from  the  West    wuh  sun-brjght  hair 
And  from  the  GaiJeii  n(^  the  Nile, 

Uelicale  as  the  mses  iheie,3_ 
Daugliteis  of  Liive  from  Cyiiru:.'  rocks, 
With  Paphian  Diamonds  m  their  Iticksi*  — 
Light  Peri  forms,  such  as  there  are 
On  the  gold  meads  of  Caod,ihar ;  6 
And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyes, 

In  Iheirovvri  bright  Kathaian  hcwera, 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butlerflies, 

■|  hai  they  mii<ht  lancy  ihe  rich  flowers, 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighing 
Had  been  by  magic  all  set  flying.^ 

Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair 
From  E.ist  and  West  is  btushmg  there, 
Except  —  except  —  oli,  Nourmahal  1 
Thou  lovelies',  dearest  of  them  all, 
The  one,  whose  >mile  shone  out  alone, 
Aniid>t  a  world  the  only  one; 
Whose  light,  among  so  many  lights, 
Was  like  thai  star  on  starry  ninhls. 
The  seaman  singles  from  the  sky. 
To  steer  bU  bark  for  ever  by  ! 
Thou  wert  not  there  — so  Se'iin  thought, 

And  every  thing  seem'd  drear  without  thee; 
But,  ah  :  thou  wert,  thou  "ert,— and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  frtsh  ibout  thee. 
Mingling  unnotic'd  u  ith  a  band 
'Jf  lutanis's  from  many  a  land, 
And  veil'd  by  such  a  mask  a^  shades 
The  features  of  young  Arab  maids,  t — 


than  porphyry.  They  were  taken,  it  is  said,  from  a 
Hindoo  temple,  by  one  of  the  Mogul  princes,  and  are 
esteemed  of  great  value."  —  Forster. 

>  **  The  waters  of  Cachemir  are  the  more  renowned 
from  its  being  supposed  that  the  Cachemirians  are  in- 
debted for  their  beau'y  to  them."  —  Jili  Vezdi. 

^  "From  him  I  received  the  following  little  Gaz- 
zel,  or  Love  Son»,  the  noies  of  which  he  committed  to 
paper  from  the  voice  of  ni.e  of  (hose  singing  girls  of 
Cashmere,  who  wander  from  thai  delij^hiful  valley 
over  the  various  parts  of  India." — Persian  Miscella- 
nies. 

3  "The  roses  of  the  Jinan  Nile,  or  Garden  of  the 
'**le  (attached  to  Ihe  Emperor  of  MaroccoS  palace), 
are  unequalled,  and  matrasses  are  made  of  their  leaves 
for  the  men  of  rank  to  recline  upon.''  —  Jachson. 

4  "  On  Ihe  side  of  a  mountain  near  Paphos  there 

a  cavern  which  produces  the  mos'  beautiful  rock-cys- 
lal.  On  account  of  its  brilliancy  it  has  been  called  the 
Paphiaii  diamond."  —  Manli, 

*  "There  is  a  part  of  Candahar,  called  Peria,  or 
Fairy  Land."— r/n:ue?io(.  In  some  of  those  coun- 
tries to  the  north  of  India  vegetable  gold  is  supposed 
lo  be  produced. 

«  "  These  are  the  butterflies  which  are  called  in  the 
Chinese  language  Flying  Leaves.  Some  of  them  have 
such  shining  cdours,  and  are  so  variega'ed,  that  they 
may  be  called  flying  flowers;  and  indeed  they  art 
always  produced  in  the  finest  flower-gardens."  — 
Dunn* 

1  "  The  Arabian  women  wear  black  masks  witt 
little  clasps  preiily  >rtlered."  —  Carreri.  Niebuhi 
mentions  their  showing  but  one  eye  in  conversation. 


A  mask  that  leaves  but  one  eye  free. 

To  do  its  best  in  vvi  chery,— 

She  rov'd,  with  beating  heart,  around. 

And  wailed,  trembling,  fr  the  minute, 
When  she  might  try  if  still  the  sound 

Of  her  lov'd  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine  ; 
With  grapes  of  gold,  like  those  thai  shine 
On  Ca^bm's  hills;  8-  p(.megranates  full 

Of  melting  sv\  eetness,  and  the  pears, 
And  sunniest  apples  9  that  Caubul 

In  all  its  thou-atid  gardens  »o  bears  j— 
Plantains,  the  golden  and  the  green, 
Malaya's  necl-ir'd  mangusteen  ;  i* 
Prunes  of  Bokara,  and  eweei  nuts 

From  the  far  groves  of  Samarcand, 
And  Basra  date>,  and  apricots, 

Seed  of  Ihe  Suu,i'i  from  Iran's  land  ;  — 
With  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries,!^* 
Of  orange  flower.-.,  :ind  of  those  berries 
That,  Wild  and  fresh,  the  young  gazelles 
Feed  on  in  Erac"s  locky  dells.i4 
All  these  in  richest  vases  smile, 

111  baskets  of  pure  san'al-wood. 
And  urns  of  porcelain  fiom  that  islei& 

Sunk  undernea'h  the  Indian  flood, 
Whence  oft  ihe  lucky  diver  brings 
Vases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Wints,  ton,  of  every  clinie  and  hue, 
Around  their  liquid  lustre  threw  ; 
Ambei  Rosnlli. it*  —  the  bright  dew 
From  vinejards  of  Ihe  Green-Sea  gushing ; ' ' 
And  Sliiriz  wine,  that  richly  ran 

As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare, 
The  ruby  for  which  Kiiblai-Khan 
Otter'd  a  city's  wealth. »8  was  blushing 

Melted  within  the  goblets  there  1 

And  amply  Selim  quaffs  of  each, 

And  seems  resolv'd  the  flood  shall  reach 

His  inward  heart, —  shedding  around 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run, 
That  soon  shall  leave  no  suo  undrowu'd, 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 


8  *'  The  golden  grapes  of  Casbin.'' — Desa'iption  of 
Persia. 

9  "'Ihe  fruits  exporied  from  Caubul  arc  apples, 
pears,  pomegranates,"  &c.  —  Eij-hinslcnte, 

10  •»  We  sat  down  under  a  iree,  I.stened  to  Ihe 
birds,  and  talked  wiih  the  son  of  our  Mehmaundar 
about  our  coun'ry  and  Caubul,  of  which  he  gave  an 
enchanting  account :  that  city  j.ad  its  IOO,(XX) gardens,'* 
&c.  —  Id. 

i»  '*The  mangus'een,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  the 
world  ;  the  pride  of  the  Malay  islands."—  Marsdcn, 

»i  '*  A  delicious  kind  of  apricot,  called  by  Ihe  Per- 
sians tokm-ek-shems,  signifying  sun's  seed."  —  De- 
scription of  Ptrsia. 

13  "Sweetmeats,  in  a  crystal  cup,  consisting  of  rose- 
leaves  in  conserve,  with  lemon  of  Visua  cherry, 
orange  flowers,"  &c.  —  RusieU, 

14  "  Antelopes  cropping  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac.*' 
—The  Moallahat,  P(  em  of  Tarafa. 

1*  '*  Mauri-ga-Sima,  an  i-land  near  Formosa,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  sunk  in  Ihe  sea  for  the  crimes  of 
its  inhabitants.  The  vessels  which  the  fishermen 
and  divers  bring  up  from  it  are  sold  at  an  immense 
price  in  China  and  Japan.    See  Kcmj-fer, 

16  Persian  Tales. 

n  The  white  wine  of  Kishma. 

18  "The  King  of  Zeilan  is  said  to  have  the  very 
finest  ruby  that  was  ever  seen.  Kublai-Khan  sent 
and  oflered  the  value  of  a  city  for  ii,  but  the  King 
answered  he  would  not  give  it  for  the  treasitre  of  the 
world."  —  Marco  Polo. 


THE   LIGHT   OF   THE  HARAM. 


311 


He  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Cau  tloat  upon  a  goblet's  streaois, 
Lighting  them  with  his  saiile  of  joy  ;  — 

As  bards  have  seen  him  in  then  dreams, 
Down  the  blue  Ganges  laughing  glide 

Upon  a  rosy  loius  wreath,^ 
Calchiiig  new  luslre  from  Ihe  lide 

That  with  his  image  shone  beneath. 

Hut  what  are  cups,  without  th9  aid 

Of  song  Ic  speed  them  as  Ihey  How? 
And  see  —  a  love!)'  lieorgian  maid, 

VViih  all  the  blumu    je  Ireshen'd  glow 
Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks, 
When  warm  lliey  rise  from  Teflis'  brooks;  » 
And  wj.b  an  eye,  wiiose  restless  ray. 

Full,  doating  d.irk  —  oh,  tie,  who  knows 
Hi    heart  is  weak,  of  ileav'n  should  pray 

To  guard  him  tr>>m  such  eyes  as  tho:>e  1  — 
With  a  toiuptuous  wlldnes^  tlings 
Her  sncwy  liand  acrnss  tlie  strings 
Of  a  6yrinda,3  and  thus  sings:  — 


That  all  stood  hush'd  and  wondering, 

And  turo'd  and  look'd  into  Ihe  air, 
As  if  Ihey  thought  to  see  the  wing 

Of  Israhl  8  the  Angel,  there  j  — 
So  powerfully  on  every  soul 
That  new,  enchanted  me  sure  stole. 
While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 
Of  Ihe  charuiM  lute,  was  heard  to  tioat 
Along  i's  chords,  and  so  entwine 

lis  sounds  with  theirs,  that  none  knewnketber 
The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine, 

So  wondrously  they  went  together:  — 


There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  loiu. 

When  two,  that  are  link'd  in  one  I.eavenly  lie. 
With  heart  never  changing,  and  brow  never  cold. 


Come  hither,  come  hither  —  by  night  and  by  da», 
We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone  j 

Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away, 
Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  c<>mes  on. 

And  the  love  ihat  is  o'er,  in  expiring,  gives  birth 
To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unequ.ili'd  in  bliss; 

And,  oh!  if  there  be  in  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this.4 

Here  maidens  are  sighing,  and  flagrant  their  sigh 
As  the  (lower  of  ilie  Amra  jU't  op'd  by  a  bee;  6 

And  precious  their  tears  as  Ihat  rain  from  the  sky,S 
Which  turns  into  pearls  as  it  lalh  in  the  sea. 

Oh  !  think  what  the  ki^s  and  Ihe  smile  must  be  worth 
When  the  sigh  and  tlie  tear  ate  so  perfect  iu  bliss, 

And  own  if  there  be  an  Eljsiiim  on  earth, 
It  IS  tins,  it  is  this. 

Here  sparkles  the  nectar,  that,  hallow'd  by  love. 
Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from  their 
sphere. 
Who  for  wine  of  this  earth  ^  lefi  the  fountains  above, 
And  forgot  heaven't  s'ars for  the  eyes  we  have  her*. 
And,  bles  d  wi'ji  the  odour  our  goblet  gives  forth. 

What  Spirii  Ihe  sweets  of  hisE'len  would  miss? 
for,  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elv.ium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  is  Ibis. 


The  Georgian's  song  was  scarcely  mute. 
When  the  same  measute,  sound  for  sound. 

Was  caught  up  liy  another  lute. 
And  so  divinely  breathed  around, 

'  The  Indians  feign  that  Cupid  was  first  seen  float- 
ins  down  the  Ganges  on  the  Nymphsi  Nelunibo. — 
See  Ptrinatit. 

«  Teflis  is  celebrated  for  its  natural  warm  baths.— 
See  EOh  Haukal. 

3  "The  Indian  Syrinda,  or  guitar."  — S'ymei. 

♦"Around  the  exterior  of  the  Dewaii  Khafs  (a 
building  of  Shah  Allunr.^)  in  the  cornice  are  Ihe  fol- 
lowing lines  ill  letter*  of  gold  upon  a  ground  of  whi  e 
ni  Title  —  '  //  Ihert  be  a  paradise  ufon  earth,  il  is 
this,  it  is  this  '  "  —  Franklin. 

»  "  Delighiful  are  the  flowers  of  Ihe  Amra  trees  on 
Ihe  mouiiiain-tops,  while  ihe  murmuring  bees  pursue 
their  volupiuous  tii\.'— Soiig  of  Jayadcva. 

6  "The  Ni~an  or  drops  of  spring  rain,  whicli  they 
believe  lo  pioduce  pearls  if  Ihey  fall  into  shells."  — 
Richardmm. 

I    .,.'  f?,''  V  '"""f*  of  the  share  which  wine  had  in 
the  fall  .>f  the  angels,  see  Martti. 


love  on  Ihrough  all  ills,  and 
One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred 

Whole  a^es  of  heartless  and  ^ 

And,  oh  !  if  there  U  an  Elvsiun 

II  IS  this,  it  is'this. 


neon  till  Ihey  diet 
s  worth 

andering  bliss 

on  earth. 


'T  was  not  the  air,  't  was  not  the  words, 
But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords 
And  iu  the  lips,  that  gave  such  power 
As  Music  knew  not  till  th  a  hour. 
At  once  a  hundred  voicea  said, 
'*  It  is  the  nia-k'd  Aiabian  maid  '." 
While  Selim,  who  had  felt  the  stiaia 
Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 
Some  minutes  rapt,  as  in  a  trance. 

After  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er. 
Too  inly  louch'd  for  utterance, 

Now  motiou'd  with  his  hand  for  more 


[^ 


Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me, 
Gur  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  Ihee; 
Bui,  oh  !  the  choice  what  heart  can  doubt. 
Of  teDts  iviih  love,  or  thrones  without  ? 

Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 
The'  acacia  uaves  her  yellow  hair, 
hoiiely  and  sweet,  nor  lovM  the  less 
For  flowering  iu  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  hare,  but  down  their  slope 
The  silver\-fooied  antelnpe 
As  gracefully  and  gaily  sjuings 
As  o'er  (be  marble  courts  of  kings. 

Then  come  —  thy  Arab  maid  will  be 
The  lov'd  and  lone  acaciatree. 
The  anrelope,  whose  feet  bhall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  luneliness. 

Oh !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dar 
An  instant  -sunshine  Ihrouth  Ihe  heart,— 
As  if  the  soul  tliat  minute  caught 
Some  tieabure  it  through  life  had  sought ; 

As  if  Ihe  very  lips  and  eyes, 
Prede^Iin'd  to  have  all  our  sighs, 
And  never  be  forget  again, 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then  t 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  tone, 
When  fiisi  on  me  they  brealird  and  sTione: 
New,  as  if  bronght  from  other  .spheres, 
Yet  vxelcome  as  if  lov'd  for  years. 

8  The  Angel  of  Mumc.    See  nc(e,  aiite,  p.  298. 


3U 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


Then  fly  with  n  e,—  if  tliou  hast  known 
No  olher  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 
A  gem  away,  tl.at  thou  hadst  sworn 
Should  ever  in  Ihy  heart  be  worn. 

Come,  if  the  love  Ihou  h  ist  for  me 
Is  iiure  aud  freblt  as  mine  f»r  thee,— 
Fresh  as  tlie  fountain  under  ground, 
When  fifbl  H  is  by  (he  lapwiug  found.* 

Put  if  for  me  Ihou  dost  forsake 
tioiitt  ottier  maid,  and  rudely  break 
Her  worshippM  imat;e  from  its  base, 
To  give  to  me  tlie  ruiii'd  place  j  — 

Then,  fare  thee  well  —  I  'd  rather  make 
My  bovver  upon  some  icy  lake 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine. 
Than  tiust  to  luve  so  false  as  (hiuel 


There  was  a  pathos  in  this  by, 

That,  ev'n  witliout  enchantment's  art, 
Would  instantly  have  fnutid  its  way 

Deep  into  Selim's  burning  heart : 
But,  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  luies  and  lips  unknown  ; 
With  eveiy  chord  fre=h  from  the  touch 
Of  Music's  Spirit, —  't  was  too  much  I 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  the  cup, — 

Whicti,  all   he  lime  of  this  sweet  air, 
His  liand  had  held,  unt;isted,  up, 

As  if  M  were  fixd  by  magic  there,— 
And  naming  her,  so  long  unnam'd, 
So  long  unseen,  wildly  exciaim'd, 
"Oh,  iNourmahal!  oh,  Nourmah^l ! 

**  Hadst  iliou  but  suug  this  witching  strain, 
**1  could  forget  —  forgive  thee  all, 

*^  And  never  leave  ihose  eyes  again." 


f — the  charm  is  wrought^ 
heari  has  c:tught. 


The  mask  is 
And  Selini  to  h 

In  blu-hes,  more  than  ever  bright., 
Hts  Nourmahal,  his  H.- ram's  Ltglit ! 
Arid  well  do  v  iiii=h*d  frowns  enhance 
'J'he  charm  of  every  brigliten'd  gl.ince; 
And  dearer  ieems  each  dawning  -mile 
lor  having  los!  iis  light  awhile: 
And,  ha|.pier  now  for  all  her  sighs, 

As  on  Ins  arm  her  head  repose-;, 
She  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

"Remember,  love,  the  feast  of  Koses  I" 


Fadladeen,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  light  rhapsody, 
took  occasion  to  sum  up  his  opinion  of  the  young 
Cashmerian's  poetry,— of  "  hich  he  trusted,  ihe'y  had 
that  evening  heard  the  last.  Having  recapitulated 
the  epithets,  "  Irivolour,"— '-inhnrnionious"— **non* 
sensical,"  he  prnceeiled  to  say  that,  viewing  it  in  the 
most  favourable  light,  it  resembled  one  of  those  Mai- 
divianboats.  to  which  the  Prmce-s  had  alluded  in  the 
relation  of  her  dream,*!  — a  slight,  gilded  thing,  sent 
adrift  without  rudder  or  ballast,  and  wi-h  nothing  but 
vapid  sweets  and  faded  flnwers  on  board.  'Ihe  pro- 
fusi -n,  indeed,  nf  flowers  and  birds,  which  this  poet 
had  ready  on  all  occasinns.— not  to  mention  dews, 
gems,  &c.— was  a  moat  oppiessive  kind  of  opulence 
to  his  hearers ;  and  had  the  unlucky  etiecl  of  giving 
to  his  style  all  the  ghtler  of  the  iku^er-garden  with- 
Oct  its  method  ai.d  all  the  fluiier  of  Ihe  aviary  with- 
out its  song.  In  addiiiun  to  this,  he  chose  his  subjects 
fcadly,  and  was  ahvays  most  inspired  by  the  worst 
parts  of  them.  '1  he  charms  of  pag.mism,  the  merits 
of  rebellion,— these  were  llie  themes  honoured  with 


>  The  Hudhud,  or  Lapwing,  is  supposed  to  have 
Ihe  power  of  discovering  v\aler  under  ground. 
^SeeanU,  p.  291. 


his  particular  enthusiasm;  and,  in  the  poem  just  re- 
cited, one  of  hi?  most  palatable  passages  was  in  praise 
of  ihal  bevei-age  of  the  Unfaithful,  wine  ;—*' being, 
perhaps,*'  faid  he,  relaxing  into  a  smile,  as  ci<nsciou-i 
of  his  own  character  in  the  Haiam  on  thin  point, 
*'one  of  those-baidn,  whose  fancy  owes  all  its  illumi* 
nation  to  the  grape,  like  that  painted  porcelain, 3  so 
curious  and  so  rare,  whose  images  are  only  visible 
when  liquor  is  poi;red  into  ii."  Upon  the  whole,  it 
was  his  opinion,  from  the  specimens  which  they  had 
heard,  and  which,  he  begged  to  s.iy,  were  the  n 
tiresome  part  of  the  jouiney,  that — ulialeverot 
merits  this  well-dressed  young  gentleman  might  pos- 
sess —  poetry  was  by  no  mems  his  projjer  avocation  : 
"and  indeed,"  concluded  the  criiic,  "from  his  fimd- 
ness  for  Iloweis  and  for  birds,  1  would  ventme  to  sug- 
gest that  a  florist  or  a  bird-catcher  is  a  much  inore 
sui  able  calling  for  him  than  a  poet." 

They  liad  n(»vv  bet<un  to  ascend  those  barren  moun- 
tains, which  sejjarate  Cashme  e  from  the  rest  of 
India;  and,  as  the  heals  were  inti-lerable,  and  the 
time  of  thfir  encampments  limited  to  the  few  hours 
necessary  for  refreslunent  and  repose,  Ih^re  was 
end  to  ail  their  delightfol  evenings,  and  Lalla  Konkh 
saw  no  more  of  Ferainorz.  She  now  felt  that  he 
short  drenm  of  haipiness  was  over,  and  that  she  had 
nothing  but  the  recollection  of  its  few  blissful  hoi 
like  the  one  dr-iu^ht  of  sweet  water  thai  serves  the 
c-Tinel  across  the  uilderness,  to  be  her  heart's  refresh- 
ment dining  the  dieary  waste  of  life  that  was  before 
her.  The  blight  Ihal  had  fallen  upon  her  spiiils  80i)n 
lound  its  way  to  her  cheek,  and  her  hidies  saw  with 
regret  —  though  noi  without  some  suspicion  of  tlie 
cause  —  that  the  beauty  of  their  misties;^,  of  which 
tliey  v\ere  almost  iis  proud  as  of  their  own,  was  f^st 
vanishing  away  at  the  veiy  moment  of  all  when  she 
Iiad  most  need  of  it.  What  must  the  King  of 
Buchiria  feel,  when,  instead  of  Ihe  lively  and  beauli 
ful  Laila  Rookh,  uhom  ihe  poels  of  Delhi  had  de 
scribed  as  more  perfect  than  the  divinesi  images  ii 
the  house  of  Azor.*  he  should  receive  a  pale  am 
inanimate  victim,  upon  whose  cheek  neither  health 
nor  pleasure  bloomed,  and  from  «  hose  eyes  Love  had 
fled.— to  hide  him>elf  m  her  heart  ? 

If  any  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the  melan- 
choly of  !ier  spirits,  it  uould  have  been  the  fresh  ;  ' 
and  enchanting  scenery  of  thU  Valley,  which  the 
I'eisians  so  justly  called  the  Unequalled. 5  But  nei- 
ther the  coolness  of  its  atmosphere,  so  luxurious  afte 
toilingup  ih^se  bare  and  burning  niounlain  ,— nei'he 
the  splend<tur  of  the  minarets  and  pagoda^,  that  shone 
out  fpom  the  depth  of  its  wools,  nor  the  grotos, 
hermiages,  and  miraculous  fountains,^  which  make 


3  "  Ttie  Chinese  had  formerly  the  art  of  painting 
on  Ihe  ^ides  of  porcelain  vessel^,  fish  and  other  ; 
mals,  which  were  only  perceptible  when  the  vessel 
was  full  of  some  liquor.  They  call  this  species 
Kia-tsin,  tlial  is,  azure  is  put  in  press^  on  accoun 
(he  manner  in  vs  hich  the  azure  is  laid  rn" —  *'  They 
are  every  now  and  then  trjiug  to  recover  the  art  of 
this  magical  painting,  but  to  no  purpose.*'— Z^unn. 

4  An  eminent  carver  of  idols,  said  in  the  Koran  U 
he  f.ither  to  Abraham.  **  I  have  such  a  lovely  idol 
as  is  nut  to  be  met  with  In  the  house  of  Azor,"  — 
Ilafiz. 

6  Kachmire  be  Nazeer.— /"orj/er. 

6  "  'ihe  paidonnble  superstition  of  the  sequesteied 
inhabiinnts  h:^s  multiplied  the  places  <t  worship  of 
Mahadeo,  of  Beschan,  and  of  lirama.  All  Cashmere 
is  holy  land,  and  niiracuhuis  fountains  abound.'*— 
>/ajor  RejinePs  Memoirs  of  a  M^p  of  Hind  >btan. 

Jehanguire  meniions  "a  fountain  in  Cashmere 
cilled  Tirnagh,  which  signifies  a  snake;  pirbably 
because  some  1  iraie  snake  had  formerly  been  seen 
there"  — ••  During  Ihe  lifetime  of  m\  f.»ther,  I  w 
twice  lo  this  fuuniain,  which  is  about  twenty  cess 
from  the  city  of  Ca>hmete.  The  vestiges  of  placet 
of  worship  and  snnctity  are  to  be  traced  without  num- 
ber amongst  the  rums  and  llie  caves,  which  are  inter- 


LALLA    ROOKH. 


313 


every  spot  of  that  region  hnlv  ground, —  neither  the 
cnutittess  waterfalls,  that  rush'inlo  the  Valley  from 
all  thiise  hi,^h  arid  romantic  niountaiiis  that  encircle 
it,  r.or  the  fair  city  on  tlie  Lake,  whose  houses,  roofed 
with  tlo%ver3,»  appeared  at  a  dist.ince  like  one  vast 
and  vane^^ted  parierre;—  not  all  tlip^e  wnndeis  and 
glories  cifthe  most  lovely  ciiuntry  ut^L-r  the  sun  could 
steal  her  heari  for  a  ininutf  from  thnse  s.id  thnn^his, 
which  tjut  darkened,  and  grew  bitterer  every  step  she 
advanced. 

The  gay  pomps  and  procpssinrs  that  met  her  upon 
her  tntrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the  nngnificence 
with  which  the  roads  all  alon^  were  decorated,  did 
hooonr  tn  the  taste  and  gallaniry  of  ihe  young  King: 
It  was  nigtit  when  they  app'oached  the  ci'y,  and,  for 
the  last  two  miles,  thry  had  passed  under  arches, 
thrown  troni  liedge  to  hedge,  festooned  »itli  only 
those  rarest  roses  from  which  ihe  Aifar  Gul,  mure 
precious  tli^n  gold,  is  distilled,  and  illumma'cd  in  rich 
and  fanciful  forms  with  lanternsof  the  Iriitle-colouted 
toitoise-shell  nf  Pe^u.Q  Sf)melimes.  from  a  d.irk 
wo->d  by  Ihe  side  of  the  road,  a  d,splay  of  fue-wi^rks 
would  break  "ul,  so  sudden  and  so  brilliant,  that  a 
Br.thnnn  might  funcv  he  beheld  that  gr  tve,  in  whose 
purple  shaie  the  God  of  R.trtles  was  born,  bursting 
into  a  tlanie  at  the  niomeut  of  his  birth  ;—  while,  at 
other  times,  a  quick  and  i.Liylui  inadialinii  continued 
to  brigh'en  all  the  fields  and  gardens  by  which  they 
passed,  forming  a  luie  uf  dancing  lights  along  the 
hoiiz  in  ;  like  the  meteors  of  the  north  as  they  are  seen 
by  ihose  hunter5,3  whn  pursue  the  white  and  blue 
f.ixes  on  the  confines  of  the  Icy  Se ». 

'J'hese  arches  and  fire-works  delighted  the  Ladiei  of 
the  Princess  exceedingly  ;  and.  with  iheir  usual  good 
logic,  Ihey  deduced  from  his  taste  for  illumiiniions, 
thai  Ihe  King  of  Bucharia  would  make  the  m'st 
exemi)l.nry  husband  imaginable.  Nor,  indeed,  could 
Lalla  Hookh  herself  help  feeling  the  kindness  and 
splendour  \vi'h  which  the  ynung  bridegroom  wel- 
cnnied  her;— hut  she  :\hn  felt  how  painful  is  Ihe 
gratitude,  which  kindness  from  those  we  cannot  love 
excites;  and  ihat  tlieir  best  blandishments  come  over 
the  heart  with  all  that  chilling  and  deadly  sweetness, 
which  we  ran  fancy  in  the  cold,  odorifem-js  wind* 
thai  is  lo  blow  over  ihis  earth  in  the  last  days. 

The  mainage  was  fixed  Pt  the  morning  afier  her 
arrival,  when  she  was,  for  Ihe  first  tlnie,  to  be  pre- 
senti'd  to  Ihe  monarch  in  thai  Iniperial  Falace  beyond 
(he  lake,  called  ihe  Shalimar.     Though  never  before 


spersed  in  its  neighbourhood." —  Tooztk  Jchangcery. 
— V.  Jisiat.  Misc.  vol.  ii. 

1  heie  is  another  account  nf  Cashmere  by  Abul* 
F.izil,  the  author  of  the  Ayin-Achaiee.  "who,  says 
Majur  Reimel,  "appears  to  have  caught  some  of  the 
enlhu^iasm  of  the  valley,  by  his  description  of  the 
holy  places  in  it." 

1  '*()n  a  standing  roof  of  wood  is  laid  a  covering 
of  fine  earth,  which  sheHers  the  building  from  the 
ere;(t  quantity  of  snow  ihat  falls  in  Ihe  winter  season. 
This  fence  communicates  an  eipial  warmth  in  winter, 
as  a  refreshing  coolness  in  Ihe  summer  sea-^on,  when 
the  tops  (if  the  houses,  which  are  planted  with  a 
varie  y  of  tlnwers,  exhibit  at  a  distance  ihe  spacious 
view  of  a  beautifully  checqnered  parterre  ^^—Forster. 

*i-  "Two  hundred  slaves  there  are,  who  have  no 
other  ofTice  than  to  hunt  the  woods  and  marshes  f^r 
triple-coloured  tortoises  for  the  Kings  Vivarv.  Of 
the  sheIN  "f  these  also  lanterns  ai%m..de."—  Vincent 
UDlancH  Travels. 

3  F'T  a  description  of  Ihe  Aurora  Borealis  aa  it 
appears  to  these  hunters,  v.  Encyclopaedia. 

*  Thi>  wind,  which  is  to  biriw  from  Syria  Damas- 
cc'-a,  is.  according  to  the  Mahometans,  one  of  the 
signs  nf  the  Last  Day's  nppr -ach. 

Another  of  ihe  signs  is,  "  Gieat  distress  in  the  world, 
60  that  a  man  when  he  passes  by  another's  grave  shall 
say.  Would  to  God  I  were  in  his  place '"  —  Sn/e^s 
Preliminary  Discourse. 

_         _ 


h:id  a  niglit  or  more  u-akpful  and  anxious  thought 
Ijeen  passed  in  the  Happy  Valley,  yet,  wht-n  she  lose 
Jti  the  morning,  and  her  Ladies  caine  around  her,  to 
assisi  in  the  adjustment  of  Ihe  briiial  oin:tnient5,  Ihey 
tliDiighl  Ihev  had  never  seen  her  Icoli  half  so  beauli- 
lul  Whit  she  had  lost  of  llie  hlonm  and  radiancy 
if  her  cliarrns  was  nioie  than  made  u|i  by  lliat  iiilel- 
lediial  I'xiiression,  tliat  soul  beaming  for  li  from  the 
eyes,  which  is  woith  all  Ihe  les'  of  loveliness.  When 
thty  Ind  linged  her  lingers  »ilh  Ihe  Henna  leaf,  anil 
placed  upon  her  brow  a  small  coronet  nf  jewels,  of 
Ihe  shape  worn  by  the  ancient  Queens  nf  liucharia, 
they  lluiii;  over  her  bead  the  rose-coloured  biidal  veil, 
and  she  proceeded  lo  the  haige  llni  waslo  convey  her 
across  the  lake;— lirst  kissing,  with  a  mournful  look, 
Ihe  little  amulet  of  c.irnclian,  which  her  father  at 
parting  h.ad  hung  about  her  neck. 

The  morning  was  a?  fresh  and  fair  a-s  tlie  maid  on 
whose  nuptials  il  rose,  and  Ihe  shining  lake,  all 
covered  with  boats,  Ihe  minstrels  playing  upon  the 
shires  of  the  islands,  and  the  crowded  summer-hou-es 
on  Ihe  green  hills  around,  wiih  shawls  aid  banners 
waving  from  their  roofs,  jiresented  such  a  piclnie  of 
aninnled  rejoicing,  as  only  she,  who  was  llie  object 
of  II  all,  did  no!  feel  with  transpoit.  To  Lalla  Konkb 
alone  it  was  a  melancholy  pageant;  nor  could  she 
have  even  borne  to  look  upon  the  scene,  were  il  not 
for  a  hope  that,  among  ihe  crowds  around,  she  might 
once  inure  perhaps  caich  a  glimpse  of  Feramorz.  So 
nil  ch  was  her  imagination  haunted  by  Ihis  thought, 
that  there  was  scaicely  an  islet  or  boat  she  passed  on 
Ihe  way,  at  vibich  her  heart  did  not  flutler  with  the 
niointn'ary  fancy  that  he  was  there.  Happv.  in  her 
eye.,  the  humbltsi  slave  upon  whom  the  li^ht  of  his 
deir  looks  fell  !—  In  the  barge  iaimeilia'ely  after  the 
Princess  sat  FadlaJeen,  wilh  bis  silken  curtains 
thrown  widely  apart,  Ihat  all  might  have  the  beneht 
of  his  august  presence,  and  wilh  his  head  full  of  the 
speech  he  was  lo  deliver  to  the  King,  "concerning 
Keraniorz,  and  li.erature,  and  Ihe  Cliabuk,  as  con- 
nected therewith." 

They  now  bad  entered  Ihe  canal  \vhich  leads  from 
the  Lake  to  the  splendid  dorots  and  saloons  of  ilie 
Shalimar,  and  went  aliiling  on  through  the  gardens 
that  ascended  from  each  b.ank,full  of  tlowei  ing  shii  Ls 
that  made  Ihe  air  all  perfume;  while  from  the  mid- 
dle of  Ihe  canal  rose  jets  of  water,  sninolh  ami  un- 
broken, lo  such  a  dazzling  height,  thai  Ihey  stood  like 
tall  pillars  ofdiamoiid  in  the  sni.sliine.  After  sailing 
under  Ihe  arches  of  various  sahons,  they  at  lenelh 
arrived  at  the  last  and  most  ni.agi.iliceiil,  where  Ihe 
monarch  awaited  Ihe  coming  ol  his  bride  ;  and  such 
was  Ihe  agitation  of  her  heart  and  frame,  thai  il  was 
with  dilliuliy  she  could  walk  up  ihe  marble  steps, 
which  were  covered  wvh  cloth  of  gold  fur  her  asceni 
from  Ihe  barge.  At  the  end  of  the  ball  stood  two 
thrones,  as  precious  as  the  Cerulean  Tliione  of  Cool- 
biirga,s  on  one  of  which  sat  Aliris,  Ihe  youlhful  King 
of  Kuchari  and  on  ihe  other  was,  in  a  few  niinuies, 
to  be  placed  the  most  beautiful  Princess  in  the  woild. 


5  '■  On  Mahommed  Shaw's  return  to  Koolbiirga  (Ihe 
capital  of  Dekkan),  be  made  a  great  festival,  and 
nmunled  this  ihnnie  wilh  much  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence, calling  it  Firozeh  or  Cerulean.  I  have  heari 
some  old  persons,  who  saw  the  throne  Firoieh  in  the 
reign  of  .Sultan  Manioid  Bhamenee,  describe  il. 
They  say  Ihat  it  was  in  length  nine  feel,  and  three  in 
breadth  :  made  of  ebony,  covered  w  ilh  plates  of  pure 
gold,  and  ^et  with  jirecions  stones  of  immense  value. 
Kverv  prince  of  the  house  of  Bhamenee,  who  pos- 
sessed Ihis  throne,  made  a  point  of  adding  to  it  some 
rich  stones  ;  so  that  when  in  the  reign  of  Sultan 
Maniond  it  was  taken  to  pieces,  to  remove  some  of  the 
jewels  to  he  set  in  vases  and  cups,  the  jewelleis  valued 
It  at  one  cororeof  cons  (nearly  four  millions  s'erling). 
1  learned  also  that  i!  was  called  Firozeh  fiom  being 
partly  enamelled  of  a  sky-blue  colour,  which  was  in 
time  loially  concealed  by  the  number  of  jewels."  — 
F^iishta. 


314 


POLITICAL  AND   SATIRICAL   POEMS. 


Immediately  upon  the  entrance  of  Lalla  Rookh  into 
the  saloon,  the  moimch  descended  from  his  throne  to 
meet  her;  but  scarcely  had  lie  lime  to  lake  her  hmd 
in  his,  when  slie  screamed  with  surprise,  and  fainted 
at  his  feet.  It  was  Feraniorz  himself  that  stood  be- 
fore her  !  —  Ferainorz  was,  himself,  tlie  Sovereign  of 
Bucharia,  who  in  this  disguise  h?d  accompanied  his 
young  bride  from  Delhi,  and,  having  won  lier  love  as 
an  humble  minstrel,  now  amply  deserv«d  to  enjoy  it 
as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  Fadladeen  at  this  discovery 
was,  for  the  moment,  aimost  piiiable.  Rut  change  ot 
opiniou  is  a  resource  too  convenient  in  cimrts  for  (his 
experienced  courtier  not  to  have  learned  to  avail  him- 
self of  it.     His  criticisms  were  all,  of  course,  recanted 


instantly  ;  he  was  seized  w  ilh  an  admiration  of  the 
King's  verses,  as  unbounded  as,  he  beg^^ed  bim  to  ! 
believe,  it  was  disinterested ;  and  the  following  week  | 
saw  him  in  possession  of  an  additional  place,  swear- 
ing by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that  never  had  there 
existed  so  great-  a  poet  as  the  Monarch  Aliris,  and, 
moreover,  ready  to  prescribe  hib  lavourite  reginmn  of 
the  Chabuk  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that 
dared  lo  think  otherwise. 

Of  the  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Biicha- 
ria,  after  such  a  beginning,  there  can  be  but  liitle 
doubt ;  and,  among  Ihe  lesser  symptoms,  it  is  recorded 
of  L^lla  Kookli,  that,  to  (he  day  of  her  death,  in  me- 
mory of  their  delightful  journey,  she  never  called  the 
King  by  any  other  name  [han  Ferauiorz. 


POLITICAL  AND   SATIRICAL   POEMS. 


LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  P— RC— V— L.i  So  congenial  their  tastos,  that,  when  Fum  6rst  did 

light  on 
The  fiour  of  that  grand  China-warehouse  at  Brighton, 
The  lanterns,   and  dragons,  and   things  rouud    the 

dome 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  *'  Gad,"  says  Fum,  "  I»m 
at  home.''  — 
vheii,  turning,  he  saw  Bishop  h ge,  *'Zooks, 


In  the  dirge  we  sung  o'er  him  no  censure  was  he:\rd, 
L'nenibitler'd  and  free  did  the  teai-drop  descend  ; 

We  forgot,  in  that  hour,  how  the  malebnun  had  err'd. 
And  wept  for  the  husband,  the  father,  and  friend. 

Oh.  proud  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won, 

And  gen'rous  indeed  were  the  tears  tliat  we  shed. 

When,  in  grief,  we  forgot  all  ihe  ill  he  had  done, 
And,  though  wrougM  by  hini,  living,  bewaild  him, 
when  dead. 

Even  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intrude, 
'lis  to  wi^h  he  had  chosen  some  lowlier  state, 

Had  known  what  he  was  —  and,  content  to  be  goody 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspir'd  to  be  ^ratt. 

So,  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  move, 

His  years  might  have  roll'd  inotfensive  away  ; 
His  children  might  still  h.ive  been  bles^'d  with  his 
love, 
And  England  would  ne'er  have  been  curs'd  wilh 
his  sway. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 

Sir,  —  In  order  to  explain  the  following  Fragment, 
it  IS  ncce5S.iry  lo  refer  your  readers  to  a  late  ttorid 
description  of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton,  in  the  apart- 
ments of  which,  we  are  told.  "  Fum,  The  Chinese 
Bird  of  Royalty,"  is  a  principal  ornament, 

1  am.  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

MUM. 

FUM  AND  HUM,THETWOBIRDSOF 
ROYALTY. 

One  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royally.  Fum, 
Thus  accosted  our  own  Bird  of  Royalty.  Hum, 
In  that  Palace  or  China-shop  (Brighton,  winch  is  It  ?) 
Where   Funi   had  just  come  to'pay  Hum  a  short 

visit.— 
Near  akin  are  these  Birds,  though  they  differ  in 

(The  breed  of  Ihe  Hums  is  as  old  as  creation)  ; 
notd  full-craw'd  I.egilima'es  — both,  birds  of  prey, 
li()th,  c-TCklingaiid  lavenous  creaiures.  half  way 
»Twixt  the  goose  and  the  vulture,  like  Lwrd   C— s- 

tl gh. 

While  Fum  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  B.-'hea, 
peers,  Bishops,  and  Punch,  Hum,  .ire  sacred  lo  thee! 


And 

Quoth  the  Bird,  *'  Yes  —  I  know  bim  —  a  BoDze,  by 

hisphyz  — 
**  And  thai  jolly  old  idol  he  kneels  to  so  low 
''  Can  be  none  but  our  round-about  godhead,  fat  Fo !" 
It  chanced  at  this  moment,  th'  Episcopal  Prig 

Was  imploring  the  P e  to  dispense  wilh  his  wig.> 

Which  the  Hird,  overhearing,  flew  high  o'er  his  head, 
And  some   I  obit-like  mai  ks  of  his  patronage  shed, 
Which  sn  dimni'd  Ihe  poor  Dandy  s  idolatrous  eye, 
That,  while  Fum  cried  "Oh  Fu  I"  all  the  cmrt  cried 

"  Oh  tie  1" 

But,  a  truce  to  digression  ;  —  these  Biids  of  a  feather 
'I'hus  laik'd,  t'other  nisrht,  on  Slate  matters  t-^'gether: 

(The  P e  just  in  Led,  or  about  to  dep.irt  for  't, 

His  legs  full  of  gnut.  and  his  aims  full  of  H— rtf— d.) 
"1  sav,  Hum,"  says  Fum  — Fum,  of  couise,  spoke 

Chinese, 
But,  bless  you.  tha'  's  nothing  —  at  Brighton  one  sees 
Foieign  lingoes  and  Bishops  trmislatcd  with  ease  — 
*•  1  say,  Hum,  how  fares  it  with  R.-yaJty  now  ? 
"  Is  It  lip  ?  is  it  prin\e  F  is  it  spooticy —  or  how  ?" 
(The  Bird  had  just  taken  a  flash-n.an's  degree) 
Under  B— rr— ra— re,  Y th,  and  young  Master 


e) 

'As  for  us  in  Pekin" he 

from  the  bed-chamber  camt 


dev'l  of  a  din 
jere  that  long  Man- 


C— stl gh  (whom   Fum  calls  the  Confusiiu  of 

Prose), 
Was  rehearsing  a  speech  upon  Europe's  repose 
To  (he  deep,  double  bass  of  the  fat  laoPs  nobC. 

{Nota  bene  —  liis  Lordship  and  L— v— rp~I  come. 
In  collaieial  lines,  from  the  old  Mother  Hum, 

C— stl gh   a    Hum-bug  —  L—v—rp — 1    a    Hum- 

drum.)  » 

The  Speech  l)eing  finish'd,  out  rush'd  C— ?tl— gh. 
Saddled  Hum  in  a  hurry,  and,  whip,  spur,  away. 
Through  (he  regions  of  air.  like  a  Snip  on  his  hobby, 
Ne'er  paused,  tilt  he  lighted  in  Si.  Stephen's  lobby. 


»  In  consequence  of  an  old  promise,  that  he  should 
be  allowed  to  wear  his  own  hair,  whenever  he  might 
be  elevated  to  a  Bishopric  by  his  R 1  H ss. 


POLITICAL  AND   SATIRICAL   POEMS. 


315 


UNES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SH-R-D— N. 

PriDcipibuaque  placuiBse  ymal  —  Horat, 

Yei,  prief  will  have  way  —  bul  the  fa^t  falling  (ear 
Shall  be  ininfjled  wiih  dt-ep  execrations  on  ihuse, 

Who  could  l>a»k  iii  thai  SpiiitN  nieudiaii  career, 
Aud  yet  leave  it  thus  lonely  and  dark  al  its  close  :-^ 

Whose  vanity  (lew  round  him,  only  while  fed 
Hy  the  odour  his  fame  in  ils  summer-tinie  gave  ;— 

Whose  vanity  now,  wi!h  quick  scent  for  the  dead, 
Like  the  Ghole  of  the  Kast,  comes  to  feed  at  bis 
grave. 

Oh !  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow, 
And  spirits  so  mean  in  the  great  and  high-bornj 

lo  think  what  a  long  line  of  rules  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died—  friendless  and  lorn! 

How  proud  (hey  can  press  to  the  fun'ral  array 
Uf  one,  whom  they  sliunu'd  in  hia  sickness  and  sor- 
row: — 

How  baililfs  nny  seize  his  last  blanket,  to-day, 

Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-morrow! 

And  Thou,  too,  whose  life,  a  sick  epicure^s  dreano, 
Incoherent  and  gross,  even  grosser  had  passed. 

Were  it  not  for  that  cordiil  and  soul-giving  beam. 
Which  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thy  uolhingness 
cast ;  — 

No,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  land,  that  supplies  thee 
With  millions  to  heaji  upon  Fopper;i's  slirine  j— 

No,  not  for  the  riches  of  alt  tvho  despise  thee, 
Tho'  this  would  make  Europe's  whole  opulence 

Would  I  suffer  what  — ev'n  in  the  heart  that  thou 
hast  — 
All  niean  as  it  is  —  must  have  consciously  burn'd, 
When  the  pitt.ince,  %vhich  shame  had  wrung  from 
thee  at  last, 
And  which  found  all  his  wants  at  an  end,  was 
returiiM  1 1 

"  Was  this  then  the  fate,"  —  future  ages  will  gay, 
When  sotue  names  shall  live  but  iDhislor>*s  curse  ; 

When  Truth  will  be  heard,  and  these  Lords  of  3,  day 
Be  forgotten  as  fools,  or  remeniber'd  as  worse  j— 

**  Was  this  then  the  fa(e  of  (hat  high-gif(ed  man, 
*'The  pride  of  the  palace,  (he  bnwerand  the  hall, 

"The  orator,— dramatist,— minstrel,—  who  ran 
**  Through  each  mode  of  the  lyre,  and  was  master 
of  ail  J— 

'*  Whose  mind  was  an  essence,  compounded  with  art 
"  From   the   finest  and    best  of  all  other  men's 
powers ; — 
"  Who  ruled,  like  a  wizard,  the  world  of  the  heart, 
"  And  could  call  up  its  sunshine,  or  bring  down  its 
showers  j— 

**  Whose  humour,  as  gay  as  the  fire-fly*s  li?h(, 
**Pla>'d   round    every  subject,  and    shoue   as    it 
play'd  ;- 

**  Who^e  wit,  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright, 
*'  We'er  carried  a  heart-slain  away  on  its  blade  ; — 

"  Whose  eloquence  —  brielit'ning  uhatever  it  fried, 
*'  Whether  reason  or  fancy,  the  g;iv  or  (he  grave,— 

**  Was  as  rapid,  as  deep,  and  as  brilliant  a  tide, 
*' As  ever  bore  Freedom  aloft  on  its  wave  I" 

Yes  — such  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his  fate;— 

And  thus,  sooner  or  laier,  sh;»ll  all  have  to  grieve, 

Who  waste  their  morn's  dew  in  the  beams  of  (he  Great, 

And  expect 't  will  return  to  refresh  Ihem  at  eve. 


»  The  sum  was  two  hundred  pounds  —  o^frcd 
when  Sh— r— d— n  cnuld  no  longer  take  any  suste- 
nance, and  declined,  for  him,  by  his  friends. 


In  the  woods  of  the  North  (here  are  insects  that  prejr 
On  the  biain  of  the  elk  till  his  very  last  sigh^^ 

Oh,  Genius  1  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they, 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee  to  die ! 


EPISTLE  FROM  TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN  8 


CONCERNING   SOME    FOUL    PLAY  IN  A  LATE 
TRANSACTION.* 


-A  hi. 


I  Belli" -~ Metastasi 


What !  Ben,  my  old  hero,  is  this  your  renown  ? 

Is  this  the  new  go  .?-  kick  a  man  when  he  '3  down  ! 

When  the   foe  has  knock'd  under,  to  tread  on  him 

then  — 
By  the  list  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben  ! 
•*  Foul  !  foul !"  all  the  lads  of  the  fancy  exclaim  — 
Charlry  Shock  is  electrilied  —  Belcher  spits  tl:ime  — 
And  MolyneiiX  — ay,  even  Blacky*^  cues  "shame!" 

Time  was,  when  John  Bull  little  diiTerence  spied 
'Tvvixt  the  foe  at  bis  feet,  and  the  fiiend  at  his  side: 
When   he   found  (such  his  humour  in  fighting  and 

eating) 
His  foe,  like  bis  b-i-ef-steak,  the  sweeter  for  beating. 
But  this  conies,  Master  Ben,  of  your  curst  foreign 

nniiuns, 
Your  trinkets,  wigs,  thingumbobs,  gold  lace  and  lo- 

Your  Noyaus,  Curacoas,  and  the  Devil  knows  what — 
(One  swin  of  Jilut  liuiii  ^  is  worth  the  whole  lot ! 
Your  great  and  small  crwves— (my  eyes,  what  a  brood! 
A  cro^i-bu'tock  from  mc  would  do  souie  of  Ihem 

good  !) 
Which  have  spoilt  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my  old 

porpoise, 
Of  pure  English  claret  i?  left  in  yourcor;?i«; 
And  (as  Jim  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or  bad, 
Of  the  Fancy  you  're  up  to,  \t  filling,  my  lad. 
Hence  it  comes, —  Boxiana,  di>grace  10  thy  page  !  — 
Having  floor'd,  by  good  luck,  the  tirst  ^loeiiuf  the  age. 
Having  conquered  the  yriine,  onCy  that  milVd  us  all 

round, 
You  kick'd  him, old  Ben,  as  he  gasp'd  on  the  ground  ! 
Ay— just  at  the  lime  to  show  spunk,  if  you'd  got 

Kick'd  him,  and  jawM  him,  and  lag'^d  s  him  to  Botany  ! 
Ob,  shade  of  the  C/iecsemonger !  s  you,  who,  alas, 
DouUed  upy  by  the  dozen,  those  Mounseers  in  brass, 
On  that  great  day  of  mi7ii7jg-,  when  blood  hy  in  lakes, 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle,  and  Europe  ihe  stakes, 
Look  down  upon  Ben  — see  h\m,  dttngkitl  all  o'er. 
Insult  the  fall'n  foe,  that  can  harm  him  no  more ! 
Out,  cowardly  spowtey  ! — again  and  aeain. 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  bluRh  for  thee,  Ben. 
To  $how  the  white  feather  is  many  men's  doom, 
But,  whnt   o(  Qtie  feather?— Ben    shows    a   whole 
plume. 


^  Naturalists  have  observed  that,  upon  dissecting 
an  elk,  there  was  found  in  its  head  some  large  flies, 
with  its  brain  almost  eaten  away  by  them.  —  History 
of  Poland. 

3  A  nickname  given,  at  this  time,  to  the  Pr — ce 
R-g-t. 

*  Written  soon  after  Bonaparte's  transportion  to  St. 
Helena. 

6  Tom,  I  suppose,  was  *'  assisted"  to  (his  Motto  by 
Mr.  Jackson,  who,  it  is  well  known,  keeps  the  most 
learned  company  going. 

6  Names  and  nicknames  of  celebrated  pugilists  at 
that  lime. 

1  Gin. 

«  Transported. 

9  A  Life  Guardsman,  one  of  ffte  Fancy,  who  distin- 
guished himself,  and  was  killed  in  the  meiuorablo 
set-to  ^\  Waleiloo. 


316 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


THE    FUDGE    FAMILY    IN    PARIS 


PREFACE. 

In  what  manner  the  following  Epistles  came  into 
my  hands,  it  i>  ni^t  nece-sary  for  the  public  to  know. 
It  will  be  seen  by  Mr.  Fudge's  Second  Letter,  that  he 
is  one  of  ihose  genllemen  whose  Sccrtt  Services  in 

Ireland,  under  the  mild  ministry  of  my  Lord  C gh, 

have  been  so  amply  ^nd  g'^tefully  remunerated.  Like 
his  friend  and  asaucia'e,  Thomas  Reynolds,  Esq.,  he 
hid  retited  upon  the  leward  of  his  hnnest  indu-^try; 
bul  has  la!ely  been  induced  to  appear  again  in  active 
life  and  superintend  the  Irainii.g  of  Ihai  Delalorian 
CohoU,  which  Lord  S— dm— Ih,  ia  his  wisdom  and 
beiievideiice,  has  nrganized. 

Whether  Mr.  Fudge,  himself,  has  yet  made  any 
discoveries,  does  not  appeai  Trom  the  following  paaes. 
But  much  may  be  expec'ed  from  a  person  of  his  zeal 
and  sagacity,  and,  indeed,  to  him,  Lord  fci— dm— th, 
and  IheGrreiiland-bound  ^hip=,  the  e)e3  of  all  loveis 
oi discoveries  are  now  ninat  anxinusly  directed. 

I  resiet  much  Ihit  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  Mr, 
B'>b  Fudge's  'I  hird  Letter,  concluding  the  adventures 
of  his  U.y  with  the  Dinner,  tlpera.  &.c  i^c. ;  —  but, 
in  consequence  of  some  remaiksupon  Maiinctie's  Ihiii 
diapery,  which,  it  was  thought,  might  give  ollence  to 
certain  well-nieaniug  persons,  the  manuscript  was  sent 
back  to  Ktris  for  his  revision,  and  had  nut  returned 
when  the  la->t  sheet  was  put  to  press. 

it  will  not,  I  hope,  be  thought  presumptuous,  if  1 
take  thisop|iortumiy  (f  complaining  of  a  very  serious 
injustice  I  have  iut!>red  fiom  the  public.  Dr.  King 
wrote  a  treatise  to  piove  that  Bentley  "  was  not  the 
author  of  his  own  bock,"  and  a  similar  absurdity  has 
bt-en  asserted  of  me,  in  almost  all  the  best-informed 
literary  circles.  Wi  h  the  name  of  the  real  author 
staring  them  in  ihe  fice,  they  have  yet  persisted  in 
attributing  my  works  to  other  petiple  ;  and  Ihe  fame 
of  the  Twopenny  Pnst-B»g  — such  as  it  is  — having 
hovered  doubtfully  over  various  persons,  has  at  Ust 
settled  upon  tt;e  head  cf  a  certain  little  gentleman, 
who  wears  it,  I  understand,  as  complacently  as  if  it 
actually  behmged  In  him;  ^vllhout  even  the  honesty 
of  avowing,  wiih  his  own  favimrite  author,  the  will 
excuse  the  pun) 

Eyu)  6'  'O  MSIPOZ  apas 
Bdrj<raii7)v  fitTuiTtm, 

I  can  only  add,  that  If  any  lady  or  gentleman,  curi- 
ous in  such  mat  ers,  will  take  the  trouble  of  calling 
at  my  lodgings,  245.  Piccadilly,  I  shall  have  Ihe  ho- 
nour of  as-uring  them,  iii  propria  pCTSOnaj  that  1  am 
—  his,  or  her, 

Very  obedient 

And  very  humble  Servant, 
THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER. 
^pril  17,  1S18. 


LETTER    I. 

FROM    MISS    BIDDY    FUDGE   TO    MISS   DORO- 
THY  ,  OF    CLONKILTY,  IN    IRELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear  Doll,  while  Ihe  tails  of  nur  hordes  are  plaiting, 

The  tiurk^  lying  on,  and  Pa|a,  at  the  door, 
Int'"*  very  bad  French  is.  as  usual,  tntnslaiinff 

His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  sou  nmre, 


I  sit  dnvrn  to  write  you  a  line  —  only  think  !  — 

A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and  French 

How  delightful!  though,  would  you  believe  it,  my 

dear? 
I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wonderful  here; 
No  adventure,  no  sentiment,  far  as  we  've  come, 
But  Ihe  corn-helds  and  trees  qui'e  as  dull  as  at  home; 
And  till  for  the  post-boy,  his  boots  and  his  queue, 
I  might  jv3t  as  well  be  at  Clonkil'y  wjth  you  ! 
In  vain,  at  Desseiu's,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  Sterne,  and  fall   reading  "The 

Monk  ;" 
In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  Dead  Ass, 
And  remember  tlie  crust  and  the  wallet  —  alas  ! 
No  monks  can  be  had  now  for  love  or  for  money, 
(All  owing,  Pa  says,  to  that  infidel  Boney  ;) 
And,  though  one  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Namponl,  the  beast  was  alive  ! 

By  the  by,  though,  at  Calais,  Papa  had  a.  touch 
Of  romance  on  the  pier,  which  aflected  me  much. 
At  Ihe  sight  of  that  spot,  whtre  our  darling  Diihuit 
Set  the  first  of  his  own  dear  legitimate  feel.» 
(ModellM  out  so  exactly,  and  — God  bless  the  mark  ! 
T  is  a  foot,  Dolly,  worthy  so  Gravida  Monarijue,) 
He  exclaim'd,  *' Oh,  mou  Roi  I"  and,  with  tear-drop- 
ping eye, 
Stood  to  gaze  on  the  spot — while  some  Jacobin,  nigh, 
Multer'd  out  with  a  shrug  (w  hat  an  insolent  thing  !) 
»»Ma  foi,  he  be  right —  '( is  de  Englishman's  King; 
And  dat  ^us  pied  de  cochon  — bepar,  me  vil  say 
Dat  de  foot  look  mobh  better,  if  turn'd  toder  wav." 
There's  the  pillar,  loo— Lord  !  I  had  neaily  forgot— 
What  a  charniiiig  idea  ! —  rais'd  close  tt)  Ihe  spot ; 
The  mode  being  now,  (as  you 've  heard,  1  suppose,) 
To  build  tombs  over  legs,*  anJ  raise  pillars  to  toes. 

This  is  all  that 's  occuri'd  sentimental  as  yet ; 
Exce[)t,  indeed,  some  little  flow 'r-nymphs  we've  met, 
Who  distuib  one's  romance  «  iih  pecuniary  views, 
Flinging  flnw'rs  in  your  pa'h,  and  then— bawling  for 

sous  1 
And  some  picturesque  beggars,  whose  multitudes  seem 
To  recall  the  good  days  of  tjie  ancieii  rcgitne^ 
All  as  ragged  and  brisk,  you  'II  be  happy  to  learn, 
Aud  as  thin  as  they  were  in  the  time  of  dear  Steroe. 

Our  party  consists  (in  a  neat  Calais  job) 
Of  Papa  and  n.^y-elf,  Mr.  Connor  and  Bob. 
You  reujember  how  sheepish  Bob  look'd  at  Kilraody, 
But,  Lord  !  he 'g  quite  alter'd — they've  made  him  a 

Dandy ; 
A  thing    you  know,  whisker'd,  great-coated,   ap'* 

laced, 
Like  an  hnur-glass,  exceedingly  small  in  Ihe  wa'st: 
Quite    a    new    sort  of   creatures,  unknown  yet    to 

scholats, 
With  heads,  so  immovably  stuck  in  shirt-collars. 
That  seals,  like  our  music-stools,  soon  must  be  found 

them, 
To  twirl,  wheu  the  creatures  may  wish  to  look  round 

them. 


I  To  cnmmemorale  the  landing  of  Louis  le  Desire 
from  England,  the  impression  of  his  foot  is  marked 
out  on  the  pier  at  Calais,  and  a  pillar  with  an  inscrip- 
tion raised  opposite  to  the  spot. 

«  Ci-git  la  jamhe  de,  &c.  &c 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


317 


?  a  romuice? 
but   his  Travels  in 


In  shnrt,  dear,  »'a  Dmdy"  describes  what  I  mean, 

AikJ  Bob'  3  far  the  best  of  the  trains  I  've  seen  : 

An  im|iroviiig  young  man,  fond  of  learniDg,  anibili- 

And  goes  now  to  P;iris  to  study  French  dishes, 
Whose  names— think,  how  qu.ck  1  he  already  knows 

pat, 
A  la  braise,  petits  pates,  and  —  what  d  'ye  cnll  that 
They  indict  on  [jor.iti.es  ?  —  oh  !  niaitrc  dVioId^ 
I  assure  you,  dear  Dolly,  he  knows  Ihein  as  well 
As  if  noihiTi^  else  all  his  lite  he  had  e;it, 
Though  a  bit  of  ihem  Bobby  has  never  touchM  yet ; 
Kutjusi  knows  ihe  names  of  Fieiich  dishes  and  cooks, 
As  dear  Pa  knows  the  titles  of  authors  and  Looks. 

As  to  Pa,  what  d'ye  think  ?— mind,  \th  a.\\  entrenouSy 

B  M  you  know,  love,  I  never  keep  secrets  fr "" 

Why,  he  's  writing  a  book— what : 
No,  ye  Gods,  would  it  were  I  — 

France ; 

At  the  special  desire  (he  let  out  t'o'her  diy) 
Of  his  great  Iriend  and  patron,  my  Lord  C-sil-r-gh, 
Who  saiJ,  "  My  dear  Fudge" I  foiget  th'  exact 

word-, 
And,  it 's  straiiffe,  no  one  ever  remembers  my  Lo'd's ; 
But  't  was  sonietliing  to  say  that,  as  all  must  allow 
A  good  orthodox  wnrk  is  much  wanting  jU't  now, 
'lo  expound  to  the  world  the  new  —  thingununie  — 

science, 
Found  out  by  ihe — what  's-its-name  —  Holy  Alliance, 
And  prove  to  mankind  ihat  Iheir  rights  are  but  folly, 
Their  fieidon.  a  joke  (which  it  is,  you  know,  Dolly), 
*' There's  none,"  said  his  Lordship,  "if  /  may  be 

ji'dge, 
Hall  BO  fit  for  this  great  undertaking  as  Fudge  I" 

Tlie  matter's  soon  settled  —  Pa  flies  to  the  Row 
O  be  first  stage  your  touiists  now  usually  go), 
Settles  all  for  his  quarto —adxertisements,  praises- 
Starts  post  from  Ihe  door,  with  hia  tablet 

phrases- 

*'  ScoU's  Visit,"  of  course — in  short,  ev'ry  thing  he  has 
An  author  can  w  mt,  except  words  and  ideas;  — 
And,  lo  !  the  first  thing,  in  Ihe  spi  ing  of  ihe  year, 
Is  Phil.  Fudge  at  the  front  of  a  Quaito,  my  dear  I 

But,  bless  me,  my  paper 's  near  out,  so  I  'd  better 
Draw  fast  to  a  close  :  —  this  exceeding  long  letter 
You  owe  to  a  dejeuner  a  la  foitrchette^ 
Which  Bobby  would  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet.— 
Wl.a»  "n  r.ex'  ?  oh,  the  luior,  the  last  of  the  party, 
Vo.Mii-  toinjir:--they  say  he's  so  like  Bonaparte, 
His  'n-Bt  usi  his  chin—  which  Papa  rather  dreads, 
As  lii(j  Ijturo,)n^,you  know,  aie  suppressing  all  heads 
That  rebtrnible  old  Nap's,  and  who  knows  but  their 

honours 
Maylhifik,  in  their  friglit,  of  suppressing  poor  Con- 
nor's? 
Au  reste  (!»8  we  say),  the  young  lad  's  well  enough, 
Only  talks  much  of  Athens.  Rome,  viriue,  and  siuif; 
A  third  cnusin  of  ours,  by  the  «  ay  —  poor  as  Job 

(Though  of  roy.il  descent  by  the  side  of  ^iamma), 
And  tor  charilv  made  private  tutor  t-  Bob  ;— 

Enlre  nuu*,"  too,  a  Papist— how  lib'ral  (  f  Pal 

This  ii  all,  dear,— forgive  me  for  breaking  off*  thus, 
But  Bob's  dejtunerH  done,  and  Fapa':i  in  a  fuss. 

B.  F. 

P.  S. 

How  provokins:  of  pa  !  he  will  not  let  me  stop 
Just  to  run  ill  and  rnnmrge  some  milliner's  .shop: 
And  my  dchui  m  Paris.  Iblush  in  Ihink  on  it, 
Must  now,  Doll,  be  made  in  a  hideous  low  bonnet. 
But  I'ans,  dear  P.iris!  -  oh.  there  will  be  joy, 
And  romance,  and   high  bonnets,  aiid  M.aJame  Le 
Roi!  I 


LETTER    II. 

FROM     PHIL.    FUDGE,     ESQ.   TO     THE     LORD 
VISCOUNT    C— ST — R — GH. 

Paris. 
At  length,  my  Lord.  I  have  the  blisa 
To  date  to  \ou  a  line  from  this 
'*  Demoializ'd"  metropolis; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy 
The  throne  was  turu'd  qiiiie  (opsy  turvy, 
Aiid  Kingship,  tumbled  from  it^  seat, 
'*  Stood  prostrate''  at  the  people's  feet; 
Where  (still  to  use  your  Lordship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obediei.ce  slopes 
Upward  and  downward,  as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kicks  the  Leatn!'^ 
Where  (he  poor  Palace  changes  masters 

Quicker  than  a  snake  i's  skin 
And  Louis  is  roli'd  out  on  castors, 

While  Boiiey  's  borne  on  slioulders  in  :  — 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt, 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces,— 
That  't  is  the  Kiiigs  alone  turn  out, 

The  Ministers  still  keep  their  places. 

How  oft,  dear  Viscount  C gh, 

I  've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way, 
As  iu  my  jub  (what  place  could  be 
More  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  Ihee?)- 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
Upon  my  dicky,  (as  is  titling 
For  him  who  « rj.es  a  Tour,  that  he 
May  niore  of  men  and  manners  see.) 
I  've  thought  of  thee  and  of  ihy  glories. 
Thou  guest  of  Kings,  and  King  of  Tories! 
Reflecting  how  thv fame  has  fjrnwn 

And  spread,  bev'ond  nian\  usual  share, 
At  home,  abroad,' till  thou  art  known, 

Like  Major  Semple.  everywhere  ! 
And  marv'lling  with  what  pow'rs  of  breath 
Your  Lord^hip,  havin?  speecli'd  to  dealh 
Some  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men. 
Next  speech'd  to  Sovereigns'  cars,— and  when 
All  Sovereigns  else  wern  doz'd,  at  Inst 
Speech'd  down  the  Sovereigns  of  Belfast. 
Oh  !  mid  Ihe  praises  and  Ihe  trophies 
Thou  gain's!  from  Moros'^phs  and  Sophis; 
Mid  ail  Ihe  tributes  to  Ihy  fame. 

There's  07ie  thou  should's  be  chiefly  pleas'd  at  — 
That  Ireland  give,  her  snuft'  'hy  name, 

^nd  C gh'sthe  thing  now  sneez'd  at! 

But  hold,  my  pen  !  — a  truce  to  praising  — 

Though  ev'n  your  Lordship  will  allow 
The  theme's  temptations  are  amazing  ; 

But  time  and  ink  run  short,  and  now, 
(As  thou  wouldst  say,  my  guide  and  teacher 

In  these  gty  meiaphonc  fringes, 
I  must  embark  into  tUe  feature 

On  which  this  letter  cniefly  Am^e*;  *  — 


1  A  celebrated  mantua-maker  in  Pari^ 


27* 


•  ^  This  excellent  iniitalion  nf  the  ncible  Lnr  I's  slyl 
shows  how  Jeeply  Mr.  fudge  niust  ha\e  studied  hi 
great  orijiiial.  Irish  nr.itory,  iudied.  abounds  wit; 
such  s'anling  peculiarities.  Thus  the  eloquent  Coui, 
selliir  B ,  in  dc'Crihinj  some  livpncri  ical  pre- 
tender to  chaiily,  said,  "He  put  liis  hands  in  his 
breeclies-poclcet.  like  a  ciocudile,  and,"  &c.  &c. 

s  The  title  nf  llie  chief  magistrate  of  Belfisl,  before 
whom  his  Lordship  (witli  the  "sludiuni  iinniane  lo- 
quei.di"  allribuled  by  Ovid  to  Ihat  challerin;  and  ra- 
pacious class  of  birds,  the  pies)  delivertd  sundry  long 
and  self-gratulatory  orations,  on  his  return  from  the 
Coiitinen'.  It  was  at  one  of  these  Irish  dinners  Ihil 
his  E^illant  brother.  Lord  S  ,  proposed  Ihe  ticalth  of 
•*  The  best  cavalry  officer  in  Europe  —  the  Regent !" 

«  Verbatim  from  one  of  the  noble  Viscount's 
Speeches  — "And  now.  Sir,  1  must  embark  into  Iho 
feature  on  which  this  question  chiefly  hinges.'' 


318 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY   IN   PARIS. 


My  Bonk,  the  Rook  Ihat  is  to  prove  — 
And  will,  ISO  help  ye  Sprres  ..bove. 
Thai  si'  on  clouds,  .is  srave  ab  jud^e^, 
VVact.ii.s    lie   abni.rs  (if  Hic  Kudicesl) 
IVitl  pinvt;  lli:it    II  ilie  world,  at  present, 
h  i     a  Mii^  rxtirii.flv  ptt-.i.anr; 
Thai  Knropr  —  ihuik-i  to  n.y.il  awoids 

Aid  b,i>'ne's,  .iuA  ihe  Duke  commanding 
Enjnvs  a  peace  v^  hich,  like  the  Lord's, 

Pas-e  li  all  hiintan  uiider^taiidtrg : 
Thai  fi  mce  prrfers  her  ko-cuI  King 

To  sjcti  a  coward  scamp  as  Roney  ; 
Tbouib  round,  with  each  a  le. ding-string, 

'Ihere  s  andeth  many  a  R^yat  crony, 
For  fear  the  chubby,  loitering  thing 

Should  fall,  it  left  there  loiity-poney ; ^ 
Tliat  Enel.ii.d,  too,  the  more  her  debts. 
The  mnre  bbe  spends,  the  richer  gets; 
And  that  the  Iri?h,  grateful  nation! 

Remember  when  by  thee  reign'd  over. 
And  bk'-'S  thee  lor  their  fl.igellaiion, 

As  Helois.i  did  her  lover  ! »  — 
That  Poland,  left  lor  Russia's  lunch 

Upon  the  Side-board,  snug  reposes; 
Wh  le  Saxony  's  as  pleased  as  Punch, 

And  Norway  '-on  a  bt-d  of  loses  !*■ 
That,  a<  for  -ome  few  million  souls, 

Transferr'd  by  contract,  bless  Ihe  clods! 
If  half  were  stran^ied  — Spaniards  Poles, 

And  Frenchmen  — 't  vvnuldn't  make  much  odds. 
So  Europe's  goodly  Roy:il  ones 
Sit  easy  on  their  sacred  thrones; 
So  Ferdinand  embroiders  gail>,^ 
And  Louis  ea's  his  sabni,^  daily; 
So  time  is  left  to  Emperor  Sandy 
To  be  half  C;e-ar  and  half  Dandy  ; 

And  G KC  the  R— g— t  (whoM  forget 

That  d.iughliest  chieftain  of  the  >et  ?) 
Hath  wfierewithal  for  trinkets  new, 

For  dragons,  after  Chinese  models. 
And  chambers  where  Duke  Ho  and  Sot> 

Might  come  and  nine  times  knock  iheir  noddles'.— 
All  (his  my  Quarto 'II  prove— much  more 
Than  Quarto  ever  proved  before  :  — 
In  reas'ning  with  the  Pmt  I  'II  vie, 
My  facts  ihe  Courier  shall  supply, 
My  j'kes  V— ns— f,  P— le  my  sense,- 
And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence  1 

Mv  Journal,  penn'd  by  fits  and  starts, 

On  Biddy's  back  or  Bobby's  shoulder, 
(My  son,  my  Lord,  a  youih  of  parts. 

Who  longs  to  be  a  small  place-holder,) 
Is—  tlu)ugh  /say  »l,  tfiat  shouldn't  say- 
Extremely  good ;  and,  by  Ihe  way, 
07ie  extract  from  it  —  only  one  — 
To  show  its  spirit,  and  I  've  done. 
"/uZ.  thirty-first.—  Went,  after  snack, 

*'  To  (he  Cathfdral  of  St.  Denny  ; 
"  Sigh'd  o'er  the  Kings  of  ages  back, 

*' And— gave  the  old  Concieree  a  penny, 
"  A/em.— Mu-t  see  Rheims,  much  fani'd,  M  is  said, 
"For  m,iking  Kings  and  gingeibrfad.) 
'■  Was  shown  the  tomb  "heie  lay,  so  stately,  ' 

"  A  Utile  Bourbon,  buried  lately, 
"  Thrice  high  and  puissant,  we  we-^e  told, 
"Though  only  iweuly-four  hours  old  !  * 


1  See  her  Letters. 

2  It  would  be  an  edifying  fhing  to  write  a  history 
of  the  private  alllu^emems  of  s  tvereigns,  tracing  them 
down  from  the  r!y-s'icking  of  D  .mitian.  the  mole- 
catching  of  Ariabanu^.  the  hog  mimicking  of  Parmeni- 
des,  tiie  horse  cn-rying  of  Arelas,  to  the  petticoat- 
embroidering  oi  Ferdinand,  and  ihe  palience-pla}  ing 
of  the  P e  R— 1 ! 

3  Oi/za  TE,  ola  ti^ovst  diOTptfPtts  paii\7}c^, 

Homtr,  Odyss.  3. 
<  So  described  on  the  coffin:  "tres-haute  et  puis- 
MUte  Prince>Be.  agee  d'un  jour." 


'*Hear  this,  thought  I,  yc  Jacobins  : 

*'  Ye  Hurdelts,  uenible  in  yourbkinal 
•'If  Knv'll),  but  aged  a  day, 
"  tan  lio.ist  such  high  and  puissant  sway, 
*'  What  impjuus  hand  its  pow'r  would  fix, 
•*  Full  fiedgd  and  wigg'd  ^  at  filly-six T* 

The  argument's  quite  new,  you  see. 
And  proves  exactly  Q.  E.  D. 
So  now,  wilb  duty  to  the  R— g— t, 
1  am,  de^r  Lord, 

Your  most  obedient, 

ffotel  Sreteuil,  Rue  Rivoli. 
Neat  lodgings  —  rather  dear  for  me  ; 
But  Biddy  said  she  thought  'I  would  look 
Genteeler  thus  to  date  my  Booh  ; 
And  Biddy's  right  —  besides,  it  curries 
Some  favour  wiih  our  friends  at  Murray's, 
Who  scorn  what  any  nian  can  sav, 
That  dales  from  Hue  St.  Honore  <  6 


LETTER    III. 

FROM     MR.    BOB    FUDGE    TO    RICHARD 

,  ESQ, 

Oh  Dick !  you  may  talk  of  your  writing  and  reading, 
Your  Logic    and   Greek,   but  there's    nothing  like 

feeding ; 
And  this  is  the  place  for  it,  Dicky,  you  dog. 
Of  all  places  on  eirlh  —  Ihe  head  quarters  of  Prog! 
Talk   of    England  — her    famed    Magna    Cbarta,  I 

swear,  is 
A  humbug,  a  flam,  to  the  Carte  i  at  old  Very's ; 
And  as  for  your  Juries  —  who  would  not  set  o'er  'em 
A  Juiy  of  I  asters, a  with  woodcocks  before  *em  ? 
Give  Cart  wright  his  Parliaments,  fresh  every  year ; 
But  those  friends  of  short  Commons  would  never  do 

here; 
And,  let  Romilly  speak  as  he  will  on  the  question. 
No  Digest  of  Law's  like  Ihe  laws  of  digestion  ! 

By  the  by,  Dick,  /  fatten  —  but  n'importe  for  that, 
*T  is  the  nmde  —  your  Legitimates  always  get  fat. 
There »s    the  R— g— t,   there's    Louis  — and    Boney 

tried  too. 
But,  tho'  somewhat  imperial  in  paunch,  *t  wouldn't 

do:  — 
He  improv'd,  indeed,  much  in  this  point,  when  be 

wed. 
But  ne'er  grew  right  royally  fat  in  ihe  head, 

Dick,  Dick,  what  a  place  is  this  Ptis  '.—but  stay  — 
As  my  r.iptures  may  bore  you,  I  'II  just  sketch  a  Day, 
As  we  pass  it,  myself  and  some  comrades  I  've  got, 
All  Iborough-bred  Gnostics^  who  know  what  is  what. 

After  dreaming  some  hours  of  the  land  of  Cncaigne,* 

That  Elysium  of  all  that  is/ria^idand  nice, 
Where  for'hail  they  hAve  bon-bons,  and  claret  for  rain, 
And  the  skaters  in  winter  show  ntf  on  Cfeamictj 


»  There  is  a  fulness  and  breadth  in  this  portrait  o; 
Royalty,  which  reminds  us  of  what  Pliny  says,  in 
speaking  of  Tmjan's  great  qualities  :  —  *  Doniie  longe 
lateque  Principem  ostenlani  ?" 

6  See  the  Quarterly  Review  for  May,  1816,  where 
Mr.  Hobhouse  is  accused  nf  having  written  his  book 
*'  in  a  back  stieet  of  the  French  c.ipilal." 

1  The  Bill  of  Fare.  —Very,  a  well-known  Restau- 
rateur. 

8  Mr.  Bob  alludes  pirticularly,  I  presume,  to  the 
famous  Jury  Degustateur,  which  used  to  assemble  at 
the  Hotel  of  .M.  Griinod  de  la  Reyniere,  and  of  wl.Jch 
this  modern  Archesfratus  ha^  given  an  account  in  hit 
Almanach  des  Gourmands,  cinquieme  annee,  p.  78. 

»  The  fairy-land  of  cookery  and  gourmandiui 


THE  FUDGE  FAMIIV  IN   PARIS. 


Di9 


Where  bo  ready  all  nature  its  conkery  yields, 
Macaroni  aii  parrncsait  throws  in  ihc  helds; 
Liiik  biid^  Hv  al-out  vv>i|i  the  true  pheasaiii  taint, 
And  ltit'g<-'e>e  .irc  all  li  mu  uitli  a  liver  cnnipUinl  !  I 
jtr  —  |.ui  .  n  neck-clnUi  — stirt.  ii^ht,  a    tan  br — 
,.  l.id  who  ^ots  into  Uie  wmtd,  Uick,  like  me, 

I  6tiuii\d  tiavc  li.b  neck  Utd  u|i,  you  kiiuw  —  theie's  no 
douU  ot  It  — 
AIiiiosI  as  lia;h'  a^  sume  lads  who  ^o  out  of  it. 

1  VViih  \vhi>kers  well  nilM,  and  Wilh  boots  ihal  "  hold  up 
*'  The  mirnn  ro  iinture"  —  so  bright  you  could  sup 

I  Oil  tlie  k-aiher  like  clinia  ;  wilh  cnal,  loo.  that  draws 
On  the  tailor,  who  sutlers,  a  martyr's  applause  1  — 
Wilh  head  bridled  up,  like  a  lour-in-haiid  leader, 
Ami  slays— devil  's  m  them  — too  li^hl  for  a  feeder, 
1  strut  U.  Die  eld  Cafe  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  dejtitner  a  }a  Jou'rchctte. 
'J  here,  Dick,  what  a  bieaklast !  —  oh,  not  like  your 

;  gbosl 

Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  curst  tea  and  toast ;  2 
Bui  a  side-board,  you  dog,  wheie  one's  eye   roves 

about, 
Like  a  Tuik^s  in  the  Haram,  and  thence  singles  out 
line's  j-aie  of  larks,  just  lo  tune  up  the  Uirca', 
One's  small  limbs  ol  chickens,  d(.ne  en  ■papiUule^ 
One's  erudiie  cutlets,  drest  all  v%ays  bui  pLio, 

I  Or  one's  kidneys—  imagint-,  Dick  —  done  wiih  cham- 
pagne ! ' 
Then,  some  trlassesofiJeauJie,  to  dilute— or,  mayhap, 
C/tambtrtin'-i  which  >ou  know 's   the  pet  tipple  of 
Nap, 


"Pais,  ou  le  cifl  olTie  les  viaudes  outes  cuites,  et  ou. 
comme  on  parle,  les  alouet'ea  tonibem  toutes  roties. 
Du  Latin,  coquere." — Duchat. 

1  The  process  by  which  the  liver  of  the  unfortunate 
goose  is  enlarged,  in  order  lo  produce  tlut  richest  of 
ail  dainties,  ■-he  fuie  fcras,  of  which  >uch  renowned 
•pates  are  made  at  Strasbourg  and  Toulouse,  is  thus 
desciibed  in  the  Cmni-  Gumrouomiqut :  —  "On  de- 
plume I'esiomac  des  oies  ;  on  aiiuctie  tnsui:e  ces  am- 
maux  aux  chenets  d  une  cheminee,  ei  on  les  nourrit 
devaiit  le  IVu.  Li  cap:iviie  ei  la  chaleur  donnenl  a 
ces  volatiles,  una  maladie  hepalique,  4U1  fait  gouiler 
leur  foie,"  &c.  p.  206. 

a  Is  Mr.  Bob  aware  that  his  contempt  for  tea 
renders  him  liable  to  a  chaige  of  atheism  f  Such,  at 
least,  is  (he  opinion  ciled  in  Chrxstxan.  Falster. 
.^timnitat.  PkUolvg.  —  "  Atheum  inlerpreiabaiur 
hominem  ad  herbalhe  aveisum."  lie  would  not,  I 
think,  have  been  so  irreveient  to  this  beverage  of 
schnlars,  if  he  had  read  Ptter  PctiVs  roem  in  praise 
of  Tea,  addiessed  to  the  learned  Hutt  —  or  the  tpi- 
graphe  wltich  Pcchlinxis  wrute  for  an  altar  he  meant 
to  dedicate  lo  this  herb  —  or  the  AnacreontiCD  of 
Pdcr  franciits,  in  v\hich  he  calls  Tea 

0Eav,  -&E7/1/,  -^tai-vav. 

The  following  passage  from  one  of  these  Ana- 
creontics will,  1  have  no  dt^ubt,  be  gratifying  to  all 
true  Theisls. 

OfiOtS,  -&£UJV  T£  JTOTpi, 

AltJoi  TO  VEKTap  'llCl), 
Le  /tot  dLaiCUVOlVTO 
liKVipOL^  tV  /tDppiVDlUt, 

'Wo  KaKKiL  -n^tn'ovaai 
KaAaij  ;t^P^°'°"'  <oupai. 
Which  may  be  thus  translated  :  — 

Ves.  let  Hebe,  ever  ym 

High  in  heaVii  her  1 
AQd  to  Juve'a  immoria 

Pour  the  tiiie  in  rupa  of  gold  — 
J'll  not  envy  tieaveii's  Prjiicen. 

wy  hanld,  for  m 


And  which  Dad,  by  the  by,  that  legitimate  stickler. 
Much  scruples  to  taste,  but  /'m  not  so  parlic*i«r.— 
Vour  colVee  comes  uesi,  bv  piescripiifii:  and   then, 

D  ck.  's 
'I  he  c  tUc's  i,e'tr-lailing  and  i:i.)riMUs  a]>fit-hda, 
(If  books  h  d  but  ^ucn,  my  .Itl  (..rrcian.  ^lepcnd  on't, 
I'd   bu.ii  tivv  ev'u  W  — Ik— ns',  lor  sake  of  li.e  end 

A  neat  glass  of  farfait-artiour^  which  one  sips 
Just  as  if  bottled  velvet  *  lipp'd  ovt-r  out's  lips. 
Ins  repa»t  being  ended,  and  jaid  _/yr  — (how  oild  I 
Till  a  man  S  us'd  to  p>ying,  there  's  sninelhiug  so 


que 


!)- 


r  holJ, 


Kate  the  chii 


■cup  I 


And  pours  out  her  best  Buhea ! 
iTfae  favourite  wine  of  Napoleon. 


t,  »nd  the  girls  all  abroai, 
And  the  vvoild  enough  air'd  for  us,  Nul>9,  to  appear 

I  n't. 
We  lounge  up  the  Boulevards,  where— oh,  Dick,  the 

phyzzes, 
The  turn-i  uis,  we  meet  —  what  a  nation  of  quizzes  ! 
Here  loddle.  along  some  old  hi^ure  of   fun, 
With  a  c<  al  you  might  dale  Ann"  Domini  1. ; 
A  lac'd  hat,  worsted  suickiut;-,  and  —  noble  old  soul ! 
A  hi.e  ribbon  ond  ctoss  in  hi>  best  biulou-hole  j 
Just  such  as  our  Fr ce,  who  nor  reason  nor  fun 

dreads. 
Inflicts,  Without  cv*n  a  couit-marlial.  on  hundreds.* 
Here  irips  a  gnsdte,  with  a  fond,  n'gnish  eje, 
(Rather  eatable  things  these  piicltis  by  ll:e  b>)  j 
And  theie  an  old  dcniuiscUc^  almost  ns  fend, 
In  a  silk  that  has  stood  since  the  time  c^f  the  Fronde. 
There  goes  a  French  Dandy— ah,  Dick!  unlike  some 

We've  seen  about  Whi'e's  — the  Mouoseers  are  but 

Such  hats !  —  fit  for  monkeys  —  Pd  back  Mrs.  Draper 
'lo  cut  ueiter  weathei-bi^ards  out  of  brown  paper: 
Ai.d  coats—  how  I  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  distress  'em, 
They'd   club   for   old   Bi— mm— 1,  from   Calais,  to 

dresi  'em! 
The  collar  s'icks  ou'  from  th 

That  ynu  'd   swear  't  was 
lopping  naiion, 
To  leave  ihete  behind  them  a  snug  little  place 

For  the  head  to  drop  into,  on  dtcapitaiion. 
In  short,  what  with  mounteb^tnks,  counts,  and  friseurs, 
Some  munmiL-is  by  tr.ide,  and  the  rest  amateurs  — 
What  uiih   captaii.s   in  new  jocUey-buots  and  ttitk 
breeche?, 

Old  dustmen  with  swinging  grent  opera  hats, 
And  shoebl.icks  reclining  by  statues  in  niches. 

There  never  was  seen  such  a  lace  of  Jack  Sprats! 

From  the  Boulevards— but  hearken  ! — yes— as  1  'ni  a 

The  clock  is  just  stt iking  the  half-hnnr  to  dinner: 
So  no  more  at  present  ~  slunl  tjnie  for  ;idoTning  — 
My  Day  musi  be  Imish'd  some  other  fine  morning. 
Now,  hey  for  old  Beiuvillier>'  6  1  .rdei,  my  boy  ! 
And,  once  Ihere^  if  the  G"ddes>  oPBeauiy  and  Joy 


We 


•Con 


not  budge  — 
Not  a  step,  Dick,  as 


nd  kii 


:,  dear  Bob  i"  1  'd 
R,  FUDGE, 


LETTER    IV. 

FROM    PHELIM    CONNOR    TO  . 

*' Return!"  — no,  never,  while  the  withering  hand 
Of  Ingot  power  is  on  thai  hapless  land  ; 
While,  for  the  faith  my  fathcr>  held  to  God, 
Ev'n  in  Ihe  fields  where  free  those  fathers  trod. 


4  Fel&iirs  en  boutetUe. 

*  It  was  said  by  Wicquefort,  more  than  a  hundred 
years  ago,  "  Le  Ri>i  d'Ancle'erre  fait  seul  jdus  de 
chevaliers  que  tons  les  autrts  Rois  de  ^la  Chretiente 
ensemble."— What  would  he  say  now  ? 

6  A  relthrated  restaurateur. 


320 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


I  am  proscribe,  and  —  like  the  spot  left  bare 
III  Israel's  lull-,  ro  te!l  the  proud  and  fair 
Amid'-t  thtrir  inirth,  rhal  Slavery  had  been  there  —  * 
On  ;iU  1  l<i\t'.  hnijie.  parents,  friends,  I  trace 
'llie  ntnuritlul  ni  irk  uf  bondage  and  disgrace  ! 
No  !  —  lei  ihiin  stay,  "ho  in  ilieir  country's  pangs 
See  iiuuy;tif  b'tt  fnod  for  factious  and  harangues  ; 
Who  yearly  kneel  befTe  their  mailers'  doois, 
And  hawk  their  wrongs,  as  beg§ais  do  their  sores : 
IS  ill  let  v.-ur      *  *        '  *  *  « 


Still  hope  and  suffer,  all  who  can  !  —  but  I, 
\Vlii>dursl  not  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  must  fly. 

But  whither  ?  —  everywhere  Ihe  »coure;e  pursues  — 
'I  urn  whee  he  will,  the  wretched  wriuderer  views, 
In  the  bright,  bmkeii  hopes  of  all  his  Mce, 
Countless  reflections  of  th'  Oppressor's  face. 
Kverywhere  ^.illant  hearts.  an<l  spirits  true, 
Are  ^erv'd  up  victims  lo  the  vile  and  few ; 
While  [■:— 5t-d,  everywhere  — the  geueral  foe 
(If  Tinlh  and  f  icedom.  wheresoe'er  they  glow  — 
Is  first,  when  tyrants  strike,  lu  aid  the  blow. 

Oh,  E— gl— d  !  could  such  poor  revenge  atone 

For  wtong5,  flia'  well  iniglii  claini  the  deadliest  one  j 

Were  it  a  vengeance,  sueet  enough  to  sate 

The  wretch  uho  dies  from  thy  iulolerant  ha'e, 

To  hear  his  curses  on  such  barbarous  sway 

Echoed,  where'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  wayj — 

Could  ihis  content  him,  every  lip  he  meeis 

'J'eems  for  hi'-  vensieance  vvilh  Such  poisonous  sweets  ; 

Weie  this  his  luxury,  never  is  ihy  name 

frnuounc'd,  bui  he  doth  banquet  on  II. y  shame; 

He^rs  nialediciions  ring  froni  every  side 

Upo»  that  gr.isping  power,  that  selfish  pnde, 

Which  vaums  its  oau,  and  scorns  all  neht-,  beside  j 

That  low  and  desperate  envy,  which  to  blast 

A  neighbouj's  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  haat  j— 

That  monster.  Self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd, 

Which  ever  lurks  behmd  Ihv  prolier'd  shield;— 

That  fai.hless  craft,  u  hich,  in  thy  hour  of  need, 

Can  court  the  slave,  can  swear  he  shall  be  freed, 

Yet  ba^ely  spurns  him,  when  thy  point  is  gain'd. 

Back  to  his  masters,  ready  gat:gM  and  chain'd  1 

Worlhy  associate  of  that  band  of  Kings, 

Tliat  royal,  lav'ning  flock,  whose  vampire  wings 

O'er  slee|.ing  Europe  treacherously  brood 

And  fan  her'into  dreams  of  promis'd  good, 

Of  hope,  of  freedom  —  but  to  drain  her  blood  I 

If  thus  lo  ht-ar  thee  branded  be  a  blisi 

That  Vengeance  loves,  theie*s  yet  more  sweet  thin 

this, 
That  'I  wa5  an  Irish  he.'d,  an  Irish  heart, 
Made  thee  the  falPu  and  tarnishM  thing  thou  art; 
'i  hat,  as  the  centaur^  gave  th'  infected  vest 
In  which  he  died,  to  rack  his  conqueror's  bieisf, 

We  sent  Ihee  C gh  :  —  as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread, 
So  hath  our  land  breathM  out,  thy  fame  to  dim, 
'ihy  strength  to  waste,  and  rot  thee,  soul  and  limb, 
Her  worst  infec'ions  all  condens'd  in  him  ! 


When  will  the  world  shake  off  such  yokes?  oh,  when 
Will  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men, 


>  '*  They  used  to  leave  a  yard  square  of  the  wall  of 
he  house  unplas'ered,  on  which  they  write,  in  large 
letters,  either  the  fore-mentioned  veiseof  the  Psalmist 
(•If  1  forget  iliee,  O  Jerusalem,' &c.)  or  the  words  — 
*  '1  he  memory  of  tl:c  dtsolation.*"  —  Leo  of  Modcna, 
1  I  have  th  'ujht  it  prudent  to  omit  some  parts  of 
Mr.  Fhelim  Coni.oi's  letier  He  is  evidently  an  in- 
temperate  youni  nia-i,  anil  has  associated  wilh  his 
cousins,  the  i'udses.  i')  very  litlle  purpose. 
»  Menil'ra  el  Herculeos  toros 

Uritlues  Nes.ei 

lUe,  ille  victor  vincitur. 

S&uc.  Ti&rcvl.  (Et. 


That  shall  behold  them  rise,  e-ect  and  free 
As  Ileav'n  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should  be  1 
When  Reas  n  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 
To  Ihe  vile  pngod  thincs,  that  o'er  her  brow, 
Like  iiim  of  Jaghernaut,  drive  trampling  nc»w; 
Nor  CoiKpiest  daie  to  desolate  God's  earth  ; 
Noi  drunken  Victory,  with  a  Nero's  mirth. 
Strike  her  le«d  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 ! 

H-^cn  will  this  be?  — or,  oh  !  is  it,  in  truth, 

But  one  of  those  sweet,  d,iy-break  dreams  of  youth, 

In  which  the  Soul,  as  round  her  mnrnine:  spring  , 

'Twixt  s'eep  and  waking,  sees  such  dazzling  things! 

And  must  llie  ho[.e,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright, 

Be  all  resigned?  —  and  are  they  only  right, 

Wh..  say  ih.s  world  of  thinking  souls  was  m^de 

To  be  by  Kings  partitinn'd,  truck'd,  and  weigh'd 

In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun, 

Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 

Are  they  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 

The  rights,  the  ireedom  to  which  man  was  born? 

Who  ***** 


Who,  proud  to  kiss  each  separate  rod  of  power, 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  Ihe  minion  of  the  hour; 
Woiship  each  would-be  God,  tli.it  o'er  them  movi 
And  take  the  thundering  of  his  brass  for  Jove's! 
If  this  be  wisdom,  then  faiewell,  my  bo-  ks, 
Farewell,  ye  thrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brook*. 
Which  fed  my  soul  with  cuirents.  pure  and  fair, 
Of  living  Truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there!  — 
Ins'ead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light, 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  ininiortal  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  fiee, 
Would  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny. 
Instead  of  him,  lh'  Athenian  bard,  who^e  blade 
Had  stood  the  onset  which  his  pen  pourtray'd, 
Welcome    ***** 


And,  Ve,ad  of  Aiistides—  woe  the  day 

Such  names  should  mingle  '.—  welcome  C— -         gh  ! 

Here  break  we  ofT.  at  this  unhallow'd  name.* 
Like  priests  of  old,  when  words  ill-omen'd  came 
Mv  next  shall  tell  thee,  bitterly  shall  tell, 
Thoughts  that         *  *  *  * 


Thoughts  that  — could  patience  hMd  — t  were  wiier 

fir 
To  leave  still  hid  and  burning  where  they  are. 


4  The  late  Lord  C  of  Ireland  had  a  curious  theory 
about  names;— he  held  that  every  man  with  three 
n 'nies  was  a  jacobin.  His  instances  in  Ireland  were 
numerniis:  — viz  Archibald  Hamilton  Rowan.  Theo- 
bald W.dfe  Tone.  James  Napper  Tandy,  John  Phil- 
pnt  Curian.  &c.  &.c.  and.  in  England,  he  produced  as 
example^  Charles  James  Fox.  Richard  Hrinsley  She- 
ridan, John  Borne  Tooke,  Francis  Burdett  Jones,  &c. 
&c. 

The  Romans  called  a  thief  '*  homo  trinm  lileraruoi." 


Mb  vitiipeias?    Fur.* 

Fiautus,  Aulular.     Act  ii.  Scene  4. 

%  Dissaldeuv  supposes  this  word  to  he  a  glosaemat 
—  that  is,  he  thinks  '*  Fur"  has  made  hh  escape  from 
the  margin  into  the  text. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


321 


LETTER    V. 

FROM    MISS    BIDDY    FUDGE   TO    MISS   DOBO' 
THY  . 

What  a  time  since  I  wrote!  —  Pm  a  sad,  naughty 

girl  — 
For,  though,  like  a  tee-totum,  I  'm  all  in  a  twirl  j  — 
Vet  ev'n  (as  ynu  wittily  say)  a  tee-totum 
BetHtien  ail  its  twirls  gives  a  letter  to  note  *em. 
But,  Lord,  sucli  a  place  !  and  llieii,  Dolly,  my  dresses, 
My  gowns,  so  divine  '. — there  's  no  Jangu.ige  expresses, 
Except  just  the  two  words  '*  superhe,"  "  niaguifique," 
The  trininiiiigs  nf  that  which  1  had  home  last  week ! 
It  is  raird— I  forget— a  las  -melhing  which  sounded 
Like  aiicampanc  —  hut,  in  truth,  I 'ni  confounded 
And  botherM,  my  dear,  'twixt  that  troublesome  boy^s 
(Bob's)  cookery  language,  and  Madame  le  Hoi's: 
VVhai  with  hllets  of  roses,  and  hllels  of  veal. 
Things  ganii  with  lace,  and  things  garni  with  eel, 
One's  hair  and  one's  cutlets  both  en  papillott. 
And  a  thousand  more  things  I  shall  ne'er  have  by  rote, 
I  can  scarce  fell  Ihe  dill'rence,  at  least  as  to  phrase, 
Between  beef  a  la  Piyc/ie  and  curls  a  la  braise.— 
But,  in  short,  dear,  I  'm  Irick'd  out  quite  a  la  Fiancahe, 
With  my  bonnet— so  beautiful ! — high  up  and  poking, 
Like    things  that    are  put  to  keep  chimney:)  from 

flmokiug. 

Where  shall  I  begin  wilh  the  endless  delights 
Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  m  'nkeys.  and  sights  — 
This  dear  busy  place,  where  there's  noihiug  trans- 
acting 
But  dressing  and  dmnering,  dancing  and  acting? 
Imprimis,  Ihe  Opera  —  mercy,  niy  ears! 
Brother  Bobby's  remark,  t'other  night,  was  a  true 
one ;  — 
"This  must  be  the  music."  said  he,  **of  the  speara, 
*'For  I'm  curst  if   each  note  of  it  doesn  t  run 
thr< 

r  was  the  Jacobins  brought  every  mischief  abi'ut) 
That  this  pa-sinii  for  roaiing  has  come  in  of  late. 
Since  the  lalhle  all  tried  for  a  voice  in  the  S;ate. — 
What  a  frightful  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'erwhelm! 

What  a  chorus,  dear  Dolly,  would  soon  be  let  loose 
of  it. 
If,  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

Had  a  voice  tike  old  Lai:5,i  and  chose  to  make  use 
of  il! 
No  —  never  was  known  in  this  riotous  sphere 
Such  a  breach  of  the  peace  as  their  singing,  my  dear. 
So  bad  too,  you  'd  swt-ar  that  the  God  of  both  arts, 

Of  Music  and  Physic,  had  taken  a  frolic 
For  jetting  a  Inud  fii  of  asthma  in  parts. 

Arid  composing  a  fine  rumbling  base  to  a  cholic! 

But,  the  dancing  — aft  parlcz-mot",  Dolly,  de  ca  — 
There,  indted,  is  a  treat  that  charms  all  but  Papa. 
Such  beauty— »uch  grace— oh  ye  sylphs  of  romance! 

Fly  fly  to  Tiiania.  and  ask  her  i(  she  has 
One  light-footed  nvmph  in  her  irain,  that  can  dance 

Like  divine  B'gotiim  and  sweet  Fanny  Bias  ! 
Fanny  Bias  in  Flora— dear  creiiure  !— yovi  'd  swear. 

When  her  deMca'e  feet  in  the  dance  twinkle  round, 
Thai  her  steps  are  of  light,  thai  her  home  is  the  air. 

And  she  only  par  co»ip/oisajice  touches  Ihe  grounJ. 
And  when  Bigoitini  in  Psyche  dishevels 

Her  blick  llowing  hair,  and  by  daemons  Is  driven. 
Oh  !  who  does  not  envy  those  rude  little  devils, 

That   hold  her  and  hug  her,  and  keep  her  from 
heaven  ? 
Then,  the  music  —  so  sofily  its  cadences  die, 
So  divinely  — oh,  Dolly  !  between  you  and  I, 
It  >i  M  well  for  my  peace  that  there  's  nobody  nigh 
To  Bake  love  to  me  then —you're  a  soul,  and  can 

judge 
What  a  crisis  'I  would  be  for  your  friend  Biddy  Fudge ! 


The  next  place  (which  Bobby  has  near  lost  bis 
heart  in) 
They  call  it  the  Play  house— I  think— of  St.  Martin  ;i 
Quite  charming  —  and  very  religious  —  what  folly 
To  say  that  the  French  are  not  pious,  dear  Dolly, 
When  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  rightly. 
The  Testament  turiiM  into  melo-drames  nigtilly  i  3 
And,  doubiless,  so  fond  they  're  of  scri|)tural  facts, 
They  will  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 
Here  Daniel,  in  paniominie,'!  bids  bold  defiance 
To  Nebuchadnezzar  and  all  his  stutfd  lions. 
While  pretty  young  Israelites  dance  round  the  Prophet, 
In  verv  thin  clothing,  and  but  little  of  it ;  — 
Here  Hegrand,'^  who  shii.es  in  this  scriptural  path, 

As  the  lovely  Susanria,  without  ev'n  a  relic 
Of  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 

In  a  manner  that.  Bob  s  lys,  is  quite  Eoi-angelic  I 
But  in  short,  dear,  M  would  take  me  a  month  to  recite 
All  Ihe  exquisite  places  we  Ve  a',  day  and  night ; 
And,  besides,  ere  I  finish,  1  think  V(>u  '11  be  glad 
Just  (0  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  had. 

Last  nigh',  at  the  Beaujnn,6  a  place  where  — I  doubt 
If  its  charms  I  caD  paint— there  are  Car?,  that  set  out 
From  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air, 
And  rattle  you  down,  Doll— you  hardly  know  where. 
These  vehicles,  mind  me,  in  which  you  go  through 
This  delightfully  dangerous  journey,  hold  two. 
Some  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  whether 

Vou»ll  venture  duwu  with  him  — you  smile  — Uii 
a  match  ; 
Id  an  instant  you  *re  seated,  and  down  both  together 

Go  thund'ring.  as  if  you  went  pust  tn  old  scratch  !  t 
Well,  it  was  but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and  remaik'd 
On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls   who  em< 

bark'd, 
The  impatience  of  some  for  'he  perilous  flight, 
The  forc'd   gi^le   of  others,  'twixt  pleasure  and 

fright,- 
That  there  came  up  —  imagine,  dear  Doll,   if  you 

A  fine  sallow,  sublime,  sort  of  \Ver(er-fac*d  man, 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so  oft) 
The  dear  Corsair  expression,  half  savage,  half  soft, 


t  The  oldest,  mn^t  celebrated,  and  most  noisy  of  the 
ringers  at  the  French  Opera, 


^  The  Theatre  de  la  Porte  St.  Martin,  which  was 
built  when  the  Opera  House  in  the  Palais  Roval  was 
burned  down,  in  I7SI.— A  few  days  after  this  dreadful 
fire,  which  lasted  more  ihsn  a  wtek,  and  in  which 
several  persons  perished,  the  Parisian  elegantes  dis- 
played flan  I  e-co  Inured  dresses,  "couleur  de  feu  d'Ope- 
ra  \*'—DulaurCy  Curiosites  de  Parts. 

3  •'  The  Old  Testament,''  -ays  I'le  Ihea'rical  Critic 
in  the  Gazette  de  France,  "  is  h  mine  of  gold  for  the 
managers  of  our  small  play-houses.  A  multitude 
crowd  rnu'id  the  Theatre  de  la  f  laiete  every  evening 
to  see  the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea.'' 

In  the  play-bill  nf  one  of  these  sacred  melo-drames 
at  Vienna,  we  find  "The  Voce  of  G— d,  by  M. 
Sch^varlz." 

*  A  piece  very  popul-T  last  year,  called  "Daniel, 
ou  La  Fosse  aux  Linns."  The  following  scene  will 
give  an  idea  of  ihe  daring  subliiiii'y  of  'hese  sciiptural 
pan'omimes.  ".Sce7ic  20. —  La  f.urnaise  devient  un 
berceau  de  nuages  azures,  ati  fond  duquel  e:^t  un 
grouppe  de  nuaees  plus  lumineux,  et  au  milieu  '  Jeho- 
■  ■"  u  centre  d'un 
nonce  la  presence  di 

*  Madame  Begrand,  a  finely  formed  woman,  who 
acts  in  "  Susanna  and  the  Elders,"  —  "  L'Amour  et  la 
FoIie,"&c.  &c. 

6  The  Promenades  ^riennes,  or  French  Moun- 
tains.—^^ee  a  description  of  this  singular  and  faniasiic 
plicenf  amusement  in  a  pimphlel,  Irulv  uorihy  of  it, 
by  "  F.  F.  Cotterel,  Medecin,  Djcteur'de  la  Faculic 
de  Paris,"  &c.  &c. 

1  According  lo  Dr.  ('otterel  the  cars  go  at  the  rate 
of  forty-eight  miles  an  hour. 


322 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


As  Hysenas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  sonietliing  between  Abelacd  and  old  Biucherl 
Up  he  came,  Dull,  to  me,  aud.  uncovering  his  head, 
(Rather  bald,  but  so  warlike!)  in  bad  Kiiglish  said, 
"Ah!  iiiy  dear  — if  Ma'insclle  vil  be  so  very  good — 
Just  for  von  Intel  course"  —  though  1  soaice  under- 

Whal  he  wish'd  me  lo  do,  I  said,  thank  him,  I  would. 

J  we  set  — and,  though  faith,  dear,  I  hardly  knew 
whether 

My  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost  then, 
for  't  was  like  beav'u  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming  toge- 
ther,- 

Yet,  spile  of  the  danger,  we  dar'd  it  agr.in. 
And  ch  !  as  I  gaz'd  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  fur  me  all  this  peiil  defied, 
1  could  fancy  almost  he  and  1  were  a  pair 

Uf  unhappy  young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by  side, 
Weie  taking,  instead  of  rnpe.  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
Desperate  dash  down  the  falla  of  ISiagara  1 

This  achiev'd,  through  the  gardens'   we  launler'd 
about. 
Saw  the  fire-works,  exclaim'd  "  magnifique"  al  each 
cracker. 
And,  when  't  was  all  o'er,  the  dear  man  saw  us  out 
With  the  air,  1  wi/f  say,  of  a  hriuce,  to  ouryiacre* 

Now,  hear  me  — this  Stranger  — il   may  be  mere 

folly  — 
But  who  do  ynu  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dolly  ? 
Why,  bless   you,  no  less   than  the  great  King  of 

Prussia, 
Who's  here  now  incog.* — he,  who  made  such  a 

fuss,  you 
Remember,  in  London,  wi'h  Blucher  and  Phloff, 
When  Sal  was  near  ki-sing  old  Blurher's  cravat  off! 
Pa  says  he  's  come  here  to  look  alter  his  money, 
(Not'takins  things  now  as  he  us'd  under  Boney), 
Which  suits  wifh  our  friend,  lor  Bob  saw  him,  he 

Looking  sliarp  to  the  silver  receiv'd  at  the  door. 
Besides,  too,  ihey  sty  that  his  grief  for  his  Queen 
(Which  was  plain  in  this  sweet  fellow's  face  to  be 


ilhi 


Requires  such  a  stimulant  dnse 
Us'd  three  times  a  day  "i'h  young  ladies  in  Paris. 
Some  Doctor,  indeed,  hasdeclnr'd  that  such  grief 
Should  —  unless  't  would  to  utter  despairing  its  folly 
push- 
Fly  lo  the  Beaujon,  and  there  seek  relief 
By  rattling,  as  Bob  says,  "  like  shot  through  a  holly- 
bush." 

I  must  now  bid  adieu .—  only  think,  Dolly,  think 
If  this  should  be  the  King  —  J  have  scarce  slept  a 


With  imagining  how  :t  w 

And  how  all  tb"  Misse 

When  they  read  'hat  Co 


II  sound  in  the  papers, 
my  good  luck  w-iti  grudge, 
nt  Ruppin,  to  drive  away 


LETTER   VJ. 

FROM  PHIL.  FnDGE,  ESQ.  TO   HIS  BROTHEK 

TIM  FUDGE,  ESQ.  BARRISTER  AT  LAW. 

Yours  of  Ihe  12th  receiv'd  just  now  — 
Thanks  for  the  hint,  my  trusty  brother  1 

'T  is  truly  pleasing  to  see  how 

We,  Fudges,  s'and  by  one  another. 

But  never  fe-r —  1  know  my  chap. 

And  he  knows  jne  too  — vcrbttni  sap. 

My  Loid  and  1  are  kindred  spirits. 

Like  in  our  ways  as  two  young  ferrets  ; 

Bolh  fashion'd,  as  that  supple  race  is, 

To  twist  into  all  sorts  of  places  ; — 

Creatures  lengthy,  lean,  and  hungering, 

fond  of  blood  and  tuiroui-mongeriDg. 

As  to  my  Book  in  91. 

Caird  "  Down  with  Kings,  or.  Who'd  have  thought 
it?" 
Bless  you,  the  Book  's  long  dead  and  gone, — 

Not  ev'n  th'  Attorney-General  bought  it. 
And,  though  some  few  seditious  tricks 
I  play'd  in  95  and  6, 
As  you  remind  me  in  your  letter, 
His  Lordship  likes  me  all  Ihe  better;- 
We  proselytes,  that  come  with  news  full, 
Are,  as  he  says,  so  vastly  useful ! 

Reynolds  and  I  —  (you  know  Tom  Reynolds  — 

Drinks  his  claret,  keeps  his  chaise  — 
Lucky  the  dog  that  first  unkennels 

Traitors  and  Luddites  nnw-a-days; 
Or  who  can  help  to  bag  a  few. 

When  S— d th  wants  a  death  or  two  ;) 

Reynolds  and  I,  and  some  few  more, 

All  men,  like  us,  ot  Di/oriimttOTi, 
Friends,  whom  his  Lordship  keeps  in  store. 

As  wiirfer-saviours  of  Ihe  nation — a 
Have  form'd  a  Club  ihis  season,  where 
His  Lordship  sometimes  takes  the  chair. 
And  gives  us  many  a  bright  oration 
In  praise  of  our  sublime  vocation  ; 
Tracing  it  up  to  great  King  Midas, 
Who,  though  in  fable  typified  as 
A  royal  Ass,  by  grace  divine 
And  right  of  ears,  most  asinine. 
Was  yet  no  more,  in  fact  historical. 

Than  an  eiceediiig  well-bred  tyrant; 
And  these,  his  ears,  bnl  allegorical. 

Meaning  Informers,  kept  at  high  rent  *  — 
Geni'nien,  who  touch'd  the  Treasury  glisteners, 
Like  us,  for  being  trusty  listeners; 
And  picking  up  each  tale  and  fragment, 
Frir  royal  Midas's  Green  Bag  meant. 
"  And  wherefore,"  said  this  best  of  Peers, 
"  Should  not  the  R— g— t  too  have  ears,' 


Has  gone  down  the  Beaujon  with  Miss  Biddy  Fudge, 

Xota  Bene.  —  Papa  's  almost  certain  't  is  he  — 
for  he  knows  the  Legitimate  cut,  and  could  see. 
In  the  way  he  went  poising  and  manag'd  to  tower 
So  erect  in  the  car,  the  true  Balance  of  Power. 


«  In  the  Cafe  attached  lo  these  gardens  there  ai 
be  (as  Doctor  Cot'erel  informs  us)  "douze  negres, 
tres-alertes,  qui  contrasteroiit  par  I'ebenedeleur  peau 
avec  le  teiiit  de  lis  el  de  roses  de  nos  belles.  Les 
glaces  et  les  sorbets,  servis  par  une  main  bien  noire, 
fera  davantage  ressortir  I'albatie  des  bras  arrondis  de 
celles-ci."-P.  22. 

5  His  Majesty,  who  %vas  at  Paris  under  the  travel- 
ling name  of  Count  Ruppin,  is  known  lo  have  gone 
down  the  Beaujon  very  frequently. 


3  Lord  C.'s  tribute  to  Ihe  character  of  his  frieniJ. 
Mr.  Reynolds,  will  long  be  remembered  with  equal 
credit  to  both. 

4  This  interpretation  of  the  fable  of  Midas's  ears 
seems  Ihe  most  probable  of  any,  and  is  thus  staled  in 
Hoffmann:- ••  Hac  allegoria  sisnifiraium,  Midam, 
ulpole  tyrannum,  subauscultatores  dimittere  soliium^ 
per  quos.  quaecunque  per  oinnem  reeionem  vel 
fierent,   vel   dicereniur,  cognosceret,   niinirum  illis 

i  Brossette,  in  a  note  on  Ihis  line  of  Soileau, 
«* Midas,  le  Roi  Midas,  a  des  oreilles  d'Ane," 
tells  us,  that  "  M.  Perraiilt  le  Medecin  voulut  faire  * 
noire  auleur  un  crime  d'e'at  de  ce  vers,  comme  d'une 
maligne  allusion  au  Roi.''  1  trust,  however,  that  no 
one  will  suspect  the  line  in  the  text  of  any  such  .ii- 
decorous  allusion. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


323 


'To  reach  as  far, 


ilODK 


"Those  of  his  model,  good  King  Midas ?» 
T'ns  speech  was  thought  exlremely  good, 
And  (rare  (or  him)  was,  undeislood  — 
Instant  we  drank  "The  R-?— I's  Ears," 
With  three  tiniea  three  illustrious  cheers, 

Which  made  the  room  resound  like  thunder  — 
••  The  K— g— I's  Kars,  and  n.ay  he  ne'er 
*' From  foolish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

'•  Old  I  altry  luiga  to  kceiJ  them  under  I'M 
This  louih  at  our  old  Iriends,  Ibe  Whigs, 
Made  us  ;t8  merry  all  as  gri^s. 
In  short  (I  'l|  ihank  jou  not  to  mention 

The,e  things  again),  we  get  on  gaily  ; 
And,  thanks  t'l  pension  and  Suspension, 

Our  liille  Club  increases  daily. 
Casllcs,  and  Oliver,  and  such, 
Who  don't  as  yet  full  salary  (ouch, 
^or  keep  iheii  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 
Houses  and  lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 
Of  course  don't  rank  with  us,  saioatorj,* 
liul  merely  serve  the  Club  as  waiters, 
i-ike  Kinghls,  loo,  we  've  our  collar  days, 
(Fur  uj,  1  own,  an  aw  kward  plirase,) 
When,  in  our  new  coslume  adoro'd,— 
The  K— E— fs  buti-and-blue  coals  turned 
We  have  the  honour  to  give  dinners 

■Jo  the  chief  Rats  in  upper  stations  ;  3 
Your  W ys,  V ns  — hall  fledg'd  sinner^ 

Who  shame  us  by  their  imitations; 
Who  turn,  '1 13  true -but  what  of  that? 
Give  me  the  useful  peaching  Kat ; 
A'ut  Ihiiigs  as  mute  as  Punch,  when  bought, 
Whose  wooden  heads  are  all  they  've  brought: 
Who,  false  enough  lo  shirk  their  friends, 

Bui  loo  faint-hearttd  lo  betray. 
Are,  after  all  Iheir  twists  and  bends. 

But  souls  in  Limbo,  damu'd  half  way. 
No,  no,  we  nobler  vermin  are 
A  p;euus  useful  as  we  're  rare ; 
'Midst  all  the  things  miraculous 

Of  which  your  natural  historic 
The  rarest  must  be  Rats  Ike  us, 

Who  Ut  Itie  cat  out  of  the  bag. 
Yet  still  these  Tyros  in  the  cause 
Deserve,  I  own,  no  small  applause  j 
And  Ihcy  're  by  us  receiv'd  and  treated 
Wilh  all  due  honours  —  only  seated 
In  th'  inverse  sc.ie  of  (heir  reward, 
The  merely  promis'd  ne«l  my  Jjird  ; 
Small  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down, 

Rat  .after  rat,  ihey  graduate 
Through  job,  icd  ribbon,  and  silk  gown, 

'I'o  Chanc'llorship  and  .Marquisale. 
This  serves  to  nurse  the  r;.tl!Dg  spirit ; 
The  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  merit. 

Our  music's  good,  you  may  be  sure  ; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur  4  — 


1  brag, 


»  II  was  not  under  wigs,  but  tiaras,  that  King  Midas 
endeavoured  lo  conceal  these  appendages; 

lempora  purpureis  tentat  velare  tlarla. 

Ovid. 

The  Noble  Giver  of  the  toas',  however,  had  evidenl- 
iv,  f'lth  his  usual  clearness,  confounded  King  Midas, 
Mr.  Lision,  and  the  V e  R--g— t  together. 

»  Mr.  Fudge  and  his  friends  ought  lo  go  by  this 
nan  e  —  as  the  man  who,  some  years  since,  saved  the 
late  Right  Hon.  George  Rose  from  drowning,  was 
ever  after  called  Salvalar  Rosa. 

3  This  intimacy  between  the  Rati  and  Informers  is 
just  as  II  should  be  —  "  vere  dulce  jodalilium." 

«  His  Lordship,  during  one  of  the  busiest  periods 
of  his  Ministerial  career,  Itxik  lessons  Ihree  limes  a 
week  from  a  celebrated  music-n.aster,  in  glee-sing. 


Takes  every  part  with  perfect  ease, 

'1  hciiiilh  10  the  Base  by  nature  suited  ; 
And,  fnrni'd  for  all,  as  best  ni.iy  please. 
For  whips  and  bolts,  or  chords  and  keys, 
Turns  from  his  victims  lo  his  glees, 

And  has  itieni  both  well  executed* 
H 1 d,  who,  Iho'  no  Rat  himself, 

Uehghts  111  all  such  liberal  arts, 
Drinks  l.irgely  lo  the  House  ot  Guelph, 

And  superintends  Ihc  Comt  parts. 
Willie  C— iin-g,<i  who'd  be  /ml  by  choice. 
Consents  to  take  an  under  voice  ; 
And  Gr — v— s.t  who  well  that  signal  know*, 
Watches  the  l^oUi  Subiloa.' 

In  short,  as  I  've  already  hinted. 

We  lake,  of  late,  prodigiously; 
But  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  slinted 

For  Genllcmcii,  like  Tom  and  me. 
We'll  lake  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 
A  few  SquirtC7is  s  from  'lother  side  ;  — 
Some  of  those  loyal,  cunning  elves 

(Weofien  tell  Ihe  tale  with  laughter), 
Who  us'd  to  hide  the  pikes  Iheii.sclves, 

Then  hang  the  fools  who  found  tliem  after. 
I  doubt  not  you  could  hnd  us,  Ion, 
Some  Orange  Farsmis  thai  might  do  ; 
Among  the  rest,  \*'e  've  heard  of  one. 
The  Reverend  —  something  —  Hamilton, 
Who  stuli  d  a  Hgure  of  liimself 

(Delicious  Ihoucht  !)  and  had  it  shot  at. 
To  bring  some  I'apisis  lo  the  shelf. 

That  couldn't  olherw  ise  be  got  at  — 
If/u'll  but  join  tiie  Association, 
We  '11  vote  hmi  in  by  acclaniation. 

And  now,  my  brother  guide,  and  friend. 
This  somewhat  tedious  scrawl  must  end, 
1  've  gone  into  this  long  detail. 

Because  I  saw  vour  nerves  were  shaken 
Wilh  annious  fears  lest  I  shoul  j  fail 

In  this  new,  loyalj  course  I  *ve  laken. 
But,  bless  your  heart !  >ou  need  not  doubt  — 
We,  Fudges,  knovv  what  we  're  about. 
Look  round,  and  say  if  you  can  see 
A  much  more  thriving  family. 
There 's  Jack,  the  Doctor  —  night  and  day 

Hundreds  of  patients  so  besiege  him, 
You  'd  swear  that  all  Ihe  rich  and  gay 

Fell  sick  on  purpose  (o  oblige  hint. 
And  while  they  Ihink,  the  piecious  ninnies. 

He's  counting  o'er  their  pulse  so  steady. 
The  rogue  but  counts  how  many  guineas 

He's  fobb'd,  for  that  day's  work,  already. 
I'll  ne'er  forget  Ihe  old  maid's  alarm. 

When,  feeling  thus  Miss  Sukev  Flirt,  ho 
Said,  as  he  dropp'd  her  shrivell'd  arm, 

*'  Damu'd  bad  this  morning  —  only  thirty  !" 


*  How  amply  these  two  propensities  of  Ihe  Noble 
Lord  would  tiave  been  gratified  nmong  that  ancient 
people  of  Etruria,  who,  as  Aristotle  tells  us,  used  lo 
whip  Iheir  slaves  once  a  year  to  Ihe  sound  of  flutes  I 

6  This  Right  Hon.  Gentleman  ought  to  give  u|.  hi> 
present  alliance  wilh  Lord  C,  if  upon  no  other  prin 
ciple  than  that  w  hich  is  inculcated  in  the  lollowiug 
arrangement  betw  een  two  Ladies  of  Fashion  ;  — 

Says  Clarinda,  "though  tears  it  may  coat, 
It  ts  time  we  nhoutil  pari,  my  dear  Sue; 
For  ycur  rharacter  'b  toally  lost, 
And  /  have  not  eumcient  fcr  two!" 
1  The  rapidity  of  this  Noble  Lord's  transformation, 
at  the  same  instant,  into  a  Lord  of  the  Bed-chamber 
and  an  opponent  of  the  Catholic  Claims,  was  truly 
miraculous. 

B  Turn  instantly  —  a  frequent  direction  in  music- 
hooks, 
^  The  Irish  diminutive  of  Squire. 


334 


THE   FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


Yl  ir  down^jers,  loo,  every  one, 

S"  ceii'rous  are,  when  they  call  him  id, 
Tl.at  he  might  now  reirre  upon 

The  rheumatbnis  of  ihree  old  woiiiea. 
Then,  whaiM.e'er  your  aiimens  are, 

He  Cir(  so  learoedly  explain  ye  'em  — 
Your  cold,  of  course,  is  a  catarrfu, 

Your  headach  is  a  htnii-cranium  ;  — 
His  -kill,  loo,  in  yomig  ladies'  lungs, 

I'he  grace  wilh  which,  most  niild  of  men, 
He  bfgs  Iheni  to  put  out  their  tongues, 

Then  bids  Iheni  —  put  them  in  a^ain  : 
In  short,  there  ^s  nothing  now  like  Jack  1  — 

Take  all  your  docKirs  great  and  small, 
Of  p  esfnt  limes  arid  ages  back. 

Dear  Doctor  Fudge  is  worth  them  all. 

So  much  for  physic  — then,  in  law  too. 

Counsellor  I  iin,  to  thee  we  bow; 
Not  one  of  us  gives  more  eclat  to 

Th'  immortal  name  (if  Fudge  than  thou. 
Not  to  expaiiate  on  Ihe  art 
With  which  you  play'd  Ihe  p^^triofs  part, 
Till  sometliing  good  and  snug  should  otter;  — 

Like  one,  w'ht),  by  the  x^ay  he  acts 
1  h'  eiilighVuing  part  of  candie-snufler, 

The  manager's  keen  eye  aiiracis, 
And  is  promoted  thence  by  him 
To  s;rul  in  robes,  tike  thee,  my  Tim  !  - 
ti'ho  shall  descrilje  thy  powVs  of  face, 
Thy  "ell-fee'd  zeal  in  every  case, 
Or  wrong  or  right  —  but  ten  limes  warmer 
(As  suit^  thy  callin?)  in  ihe  former  — 
Thy  glorious,  la\*yer-Iike  dtlight 
In  puzzling  all  that 's  clear  and  right, 
Which,  though  conspicuous  in  thy  youth, 

Improves  so  with  a  wig  and  band  on, 
That  all  Ihy  pn  je  's  to  waylay  '1  ruth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leg  to  stand  od. 
Thy  uatent,  prime,  niorality,— 

Thy  cases,     ted  from  the  Bible  — 
Thy  caiid'iur,  when  it  falls  lo  ihee 

To  help  in  trotuicing  for  a  libel ;  — 
"God  knows,  I.  from  my  stul,  profew 

**To  hate  all  btgols  and  benighters  I 
"God  knows,  I  love,  to  ev'n  excels, 
•'The  sacred  Freedr.m  of  the  Fress, 

*■  My  only  aini  's  In  —  crush  the  writers.'* 
These  are  the  virti.es,  Tim,  that  draw 

The  briefs  into  thy  bag  so  fast ; 
And  these,  oh  1  ini —  if  Uaw  be  Law  — 

Will  raise  thee  to  the  Bench  at  last. 

I  blush  to  see  this  tetter's  length  — 

Hui  'i  was  my  wish  to  prove  to  Ihee 
H'HV  full  of  hope,  and  wealth,  and  strength, 

Are  all  our  prt-cious  family. 
And,  should  aff.iipj  go  on  as  pleasant 
As,  ihank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  present  — 
Should  we  bui  stiM  enjoy  the  away 

Of  S— dm— h  and  of  C gh, 

I  hope,  ere  lone,  t'l  see  the  day 

When  England's  wisest  stalesnien,  judges, 

Lawyers,  peers,  will  all  be  —  Fudgts  ! 

Good-bye  —  my  paper  's  out  so  nearly, 

i  ve  only  room  for  Yours  sincerely. 


LETTER    VII. 
FROM    PHELIM    CONNOR   TO  . 

Before  we  sketch  the  Present  —let  us  cast 
A  few,  short,  rapid  glances  to  the  Past. 

When  he,  who  had  defied  all  Europe's  streng'h, 

Beneath  his  own  weak  rashness  sunk  at  length;  — 

When,  lons'd,  as  if  by  magic,  froni  a  chain, 

That  seem'd  like  Fate's,  the  world  was  free  again, 

And  Europe  saw,  rejoicing  in  the  sight, 

The  cause  of  Kings, /or  once,  the  cause  of  Right  ;- 


Then  was,  indeed,  an  hour  of  joy  to  those 
VVho  sigh'd  for  justice  —  liberly—  repose, 
And  hop'd  the  fall  of  one  great  vulture's  nest 
Would  ring  its  wa'  ning  round,  and  scare  the  rest. 
All  then  was  bright  with  promise;  —  Kings  began 
To  own  a  symp.ilhy  with  Buttering  Man, 
And  Man  was  grateful ;  Patriots  oT  the  South 
Caught  wisdom  from  a  Cossack  Emperor's  mouth. 
And  heard,  tike  accents  thaw'd  in  Northern  air. 
Unwonted  words  of  freedom  burst  furth  there  I 

Who  did  not  hope,  in  that  triumphant  time. 
When  moiiarchs,  after  years  of  spoil  and  crime, 
Met  round  the  shnne  of   Peace,  and  Heav'n  iook*d 

on  — 
IVho  did  not  hope  the  lust  of  spoil  was  gone; 
That  that  rap-cinus  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
The  game  of  Pilnilz  o'er  so  oft,  was  laid  ; 
Ai-d  Europe's  Rulers,  conscious  of  the  past, 
Would  blush,  and  deviate  into  right  at  l^st  ? 
fiut  no  — the  hearts  (hat  nurs'd  a  hope  so  fair, 
Had  yet  to  learn  wtiat  men  on  thrones  can  dare; 
Had  yet  to  know,  of  all  earth's  ravening  things, 
The  only  quite  untameable  are  Kings  I 
Scarce  had  ihey  met  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
1  be  instinct  or  their  race  broke  out  anew  ; 
Promises,  treaties,  charters,  all  were  vain. 
And  *Raprne!  rapine!'*  was  the  cry  again. 
How  quick  they  carv'd  their  viclims,  aitd  how  well, 
Let  Saxony,  let  injur'd  Genoa  tell  :  — 
Lei  ail  the  human  stock  that,  day  by  day, 
Was,  at  thai  Royal  slave-mart,  truck'd  away,- 
The  million  souls  that,  in  the  face  of  heaven. 
Were  split  lo  fractions,*  barter'd,  sold,  or  given 
To  swell  some  despot  Power,  too  huge  before, 
And  weigh  down  Europe  with  one  Mammolh  more. 
How  safe  the  faiih  ©f  Kings  let  France  decide; — 
Her  charter  broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried  ;— 
Her  Press  enihrall'd  —  her  Reason  mock'd  again 
With  all  the  monkery  it  had  spurti'd  in  vain  ; 
Her  crown  disgrac'd  by  one,  who  dar'd  to  own 
He  thank'd  not  France  but  England  for  his  throne; 
Her  triumphs  cast  into  the  shade  by  those. 
Who  had  grown  old  among  her  bitterest  foe-s, 
And  now  relurn'd,  beneath  her  conquerors'  shields. 
Unblushing  slaves  I  to  claim  her  heroes'  fields; 
To  tread  doun  evtry  trophy  of  hei  fame. 
And  curse  that  glory  which  lo  them  was  shame !  — 
Let  these  —  let  all  the  damning  deeds,  that  then 
Were  dar'd  through  Europe,  cry  aloud  lo  men, 
Wilh  voice  like  that  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
Round  Alpine  huts,  Ihe  perhdy  of  Kings  ; 
And  tell  Ihe  world,  when  hau  ks  sliatl  harmless  bear 
The  shrinking  dove,  when  wolves  shall  learn  to  spare 
The  helpless  victim  for  whose  blond  they  lusted, 
Then,  and  then  only,  monatchs  niay  be  trusted. 

It  could  not  last  —  these  horrors  coitXd  not  last  — 
France  would  herself  have  ris'n,  in  might,  to  cast 
Th'  msulters  oti" — and  oh  !  that  then,  as  now, 
Chain'd  to  some  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 
Napoleon  ne'er  hid  come  to  force,  to  blight. 
Ere  half  matur'd,  a  cau  e  so  proudly  bright;— 
To  palsy  pairiot  arts  with  doubt  and  shame, 
And  wr'iie  on  Freedom's  fla?  a  despot's  name;— 
To  rush  into  the  lists,  unaskd,  alone, 
And  make  the  slake  of  all  ihe  game  of  one  ! 
Then  would  the  world  have  ^een  again  what  pfwcr 
A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour; 


I  "Whilst  the  Cnngre'is  was  re-constructing  Eu- 
rope— not  according  to  rijhis,  natural  affiances,  lan- 
guage, habits,  or  laivj.;  but  by  tables  of  finance,  which 
divided  and  subdivided  her  pojjulalion  into  toiils^ 
demisouls.  and  even  fractions,  according  to  a  cale 
of  the  direct  duties  or  taxes,  «  hich  cou'd  he  levied  by 
the  acquiring  stale,"  &c.—  ,S'fef/cA  of  the  Military  and 
Political  Power  of  Russia.  The  words  on  tlie  proto- 
col are  ames,  demi-ames.  &c. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


325 


Theu  would  the  fire  of   France  once  more  have 

bisz'd  ;— 
For  ever)  s  ugle  »vvord,  reluctant  rai^'d 
111  (lie  stale  c-iu^e  of  an  oppresaive  throne, 
Millions  wouUi  then  have  leapM  forih  la  her  own; 
And  never,  never  ImU  ih'  unhuly  slain 
Ui  iiuuiLun  Icet  di^grac'd  her  shoiesi  again. 

But  fate  decreed  not  so  —  th*  Imperial  Bird, 
Thai,  III  his  i.eif;hb(iuring  caj;e,  unlear'd,  unslirr'd, 
Had  seea.'d  lo  sleep  with  hei»d  bt  neath  his  wing, 
Vet  watch'd  the  inunient  fnr  a  danng  spring  ;— 
Well  mi^ht   he  watch,  when  deeds  were  dune,  thai 

His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shade  ; 
Well  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  tranipled  o'er 
Hy  clumsy  tyrants,  would  he  his  once  more :  ~ 
iorlh  from  hi9  cage  the  eagle  hurst  to  light, 
From  siceple  on  to  steeple  i  wing'd  his  (light, 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  Id  that  thnme 
From  which  a  Koyal  craven  just  had  flown  ; 
And  resting  there,  as  in  his  ^rie,  fuil'd 
Those  wings,  whose  very  rustling  shook  the  world ! 

What  was  your  fury  then,  ye  crown'd  array, 
Whose  least  ot  spoil,  wliuse  p.undeiing  holiday 
Was  thus  broke  up,  in  all  i  s  greedy  mirlh, 
21y  one  hold  chieftain's  stamp  un  Gallic  earth  1 
Fierce  was  the  cry,  and  lulmmtnt  the  ban, — 
*•  Assassinate,  who  will—  each  .in,  whc  can, 
"The  vile,  the  faithless,  ouHaw'd,  low-born  man!" 
**  Faithless  ;"  — and  this  frum  yuu  —  lioin  you,  fur- 
sooth, 
Ve  pious  Kings,  pure  paragons  of  truth, 
Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried  j 
Whose  true  Swiss  ze.il  had  serv'd  on  eveiy  side ; 
Whose  fame  for  breaking  faiili  so  long  w.is  kuowD| 
Well  might  ye  claim  the  cr.ftas  all  your  owu, 
And  lasli  your  lordly  tails,  and  funie  to  see 
Such  low-born  apes  of  Koyal  perlidy  ! 
Yes  — yes— 10  you  alone  did  it  belong 
To  sin  for  ever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong.  — 
The  frauds,  the  lies  of  Lords  legitimate 
Are  but  tine  pn|icy,  deep  strokes  of  state; 
Hut  lei  some  upstart  dire  lo  soar  so  high 
In  Kingly  cialt,  and  •'  outlaw"  is  the  cry  ! 
What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 
Had  peopled  full  y<'Ur  diplomatic  shelves 
With  ghosts  of  treaties,  niurder'd  'niong  yourselves ; 
Though  each  bv  turns  was  knave  and  dupe —  what 

then? 
A  Holy  League  would  set  all  straight  again  ; 
Like  Juno's  virtue,  which  a  dip  or  two 
In  some  btessM  fountain  made  as  good  as  new  l^ 
Most  faithful  Russia  — fairhlul  lo  whoe'er 
Could  plunder  best,  and  Rive  him  amplest  share; 
Who,  ev'n  when  vatiquish'd,  suie  to  gain  his  ends, 
For  want  o(  fues  to  rob,  made  free  w.tli/rte7i(ij,3 
And,  deepening  slill  by  amiable  gradations, 
When  fnes  were  strip!  of  all,  (hen  tleee'd  relations!  < 
Must  mild  and  sainily  Truss-a  —  steep'd  to  ih*  ears 
In  persecuted  Folands  blond  and  tears, 
And  now,  wiih  all  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
U'er  sever'd  Saxony's  devoied  head  ! 
Fure  Austria  too  —  whose  hist'ry  nought  repeats 
But  briken  lengues  and  subsidizd  defe,its; 
Whose  faith,  as  Prince,  extinjuish'd  Venice  shows. 
Whose  faiih,  as  man,  a  widow'd  daughter  knows ! 


<  *'L'ai*Ie  volera  de  clocher  en  clocher,  jusqu'aux 
lours  de  Notre-Ilanie."  —  Napoleon's  Proclamation 
on  landing  fmm  KIba. 

3  Singulis  aiinis  in  quodam  Atlicae  fonte  lola  virgi- 
nitaleni  recuperasse  fingitur. 

3  At  the  Peace  of  Tilsit,  where  he  abandoned  his 
ally,  Prussia,  to  Fiance,  and  received  a  portion  of  her 
territory. 

4  The  seizure  of  Finland  from  his  relative  of 
Sweden. 

28  ' 


And  thou,  oh  England  —  who,  though  once  as  shy 
As  cloister'd  maids,  of  shame  or  perlidy, 

Art  now  brukc  i/j,  and,  thanks  to  C gh, 

In  all  that 's  worst  and  faUesl  Icad'sl  the  way  1 

Such  was  the  pure  divan,  whose  pens  and  wits 
Th»  escape  trom  Elba  frighlei.'d  iniohl^j— 
Such  were  the  saints,  who  doom'd  Napoleon's  life. 
In  virtuous  frenzy,  to  ih'  assassin's  knife. 
Disgusting  crew  1  —who  would  not  gladly  fly 

lo  open,  downright,  bold-fac'd  tyranny, 
To  honest  gui.t,  hai  dares  do  all  but  lie. 
From  the  lalse,  juggling  craft  of  men  like  these, 

Their  canting  cnnies  and  varnish  d  villaniesj — 
These  Holy  Leagueis,  who  tlien  loudest  boast 
Of  fai.h  and  honour,  when  the)  He  stain'd  them  most 
From  who^e  atl't-clion  men  should  shrink  as  loath 
As  from  their  hale,  for  they  Mi  be  fleec'd  by  both; 
Who,  ev^i  wliile  plundrmg,  foige  Religion's  nama 
To  frtnk  their  spoil,  and,  withoui  fear  or  shame, 
Call  down  the  Holy  Trinity  i>  to  bless 
Partition  leagues,  and  deeds  of  devilishness! 
But  hold  —  enough  —  soon  would  this  swell  of  rage 
U'erflow  the  boundaries  of  my  scanty  page  ;— 
So,  here  I  pause  —  farewell  —  anoiher  day. 
Return  we  to  those  L"rds  of  pray'rand  prey. 
Whose  loaihsome  cant,  whose  fiauds  by  right  divine 
Deserve  a  la:>h—  oh !  weightier  far  than  mine  ! 


LETTER    VIII. 

FROM    MR.    BOB   FUDGE   TO   RICHARD 
,   ESQ. 

Dear  Dick,   while    old   Donaldson's  6    mending    my 

stays, — 
Which  I  knew  would  go  smash  with  me  one  of  these 

days, 
And,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full  to  the  throttle, 
We  lads  had  begun  our  desseris  with  a  bottle 
Of  neat  old  Conslanlia,  on  7ny  leaning  back 
Just  to  order  another,  bv  Jove  I  went  crack  I — 
Or,  as  honest  Toin  said,'  in  his  nautical  phrase, 
'*D— n  my  eyes.  Bob,  in  doubling  the  Cape  you've 

miss'd  itays-"'i 
So,  of  course,  as  no  gentleman's  seen  out  without 

them. 
They're  low  at  the  Schneider's 8  — and,  while  he*8 

about  them. 
Here  goes  for  a  letter,  post-haste,  neck  and  crop. 
Let  us  see—  in  my  last  I  was—  where  did  I  stop? 
Oh,  I  know  —at  the  Boulevards,  as  moiley  a  road  as 

Man  ever  would  wish  a  day's  lounging  upon  j 
With  its  cafes  and  gardens,  hotels  and  pagoda*, 

Its  founts,  and  old  Counts  sipping  beer  in  the  sun; 
With  its  houses  of  all  archiecures  you  please. 
From  the  Grecian  and  Gothic,  Did;,  down  by  degrees 
To  the  puie  Hotlenlot,  or  the  Briihtnn  Chinese  ; 
Wtiere  in  temples  antique  you  may  breakfast  or  din- 
ner it, 
Lunch  at  a  nio;que,  and  see  Punch  from  a  mit^aret. 


6  The  usual  preamble  of  the'^e  flagitious  compacts. 
In  the  sime  spirit,  Catheiine.  after  tlie  dreadful  mas- 
sacre of  Warsau  ,  ordered  a  solemn  *'  thanksgiving  to 
Gml  in  all  the  churches,  for  the  blesMiigs  conferred 
upon  the  Poles;"  and  commanded  that  each  of  Ihem 
should  *'swear  fidelity  and  lo\alIy  to  her,  and  to  shed 
in  her  defence  the  last  drop  of  iheir  blood,  as  they 
should  answer  for  it  'o  G^d.  and  his  terrible  judg- 
ment, kissing  the  holy  woid  and  cross  of  their  Sa- 
viour !" 

6  An  English  tailor  at  Paris. 

f  A  ship  is  said  to  misS  stiys,  when  she  does  not 
obey  the  helm  in  lacking. 

»  The  dandy  term  for  a  tailor. 


326 


THE   FUDGE  FAMILY   IN   PARIS. 


Then.  Dick,  the  mixture  of  bonnets  and  bowers, 
Of  foliase  and  frippery,  fiacres  and  flowers, 
Green-g;rocers,    green  gardens  —  one    hardly  knows 

whether 
'Tis  country  or  town,  they're  so  nncss'd  up  together  I 
And  there,  if  one  loves  the  roniaii'ic.  one  sees 
Jew  clotheh-men,  like  shepherds,  reclin'd  under  trees; 
Or  Quidnuncs,  on  Sunday,  just  fre&h  from  the  barber's, 
Enjoying  Iheir  news  and  gi-oseitlt  *  In  those  aibours; 
White  g.iily  Iheir  wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are  cutting, 
Aod   fdunts  of  red  currant-juice  ^  round   them  are 

purling. 

Here,  Dick,  arm  in  arm  as  we  chattering  stray, 
And  receive  a  few  civil  "  God  denis"  by  the  way,— 
For,  'tia  odd,  these  mounseers,  — though  we've  wast- 
ed our  wealth 
And  oui  sireiigih,  till  we've  thrown  ourselves  into  a 

phlhiMC, 
To  cram  d'nvn   their  tbroatB  an  old  King  for  their 
health. 
As  we  whip  Utile  children  to  make  them  take 
physic  ;— 
Yet,  spite  of  our  good-natur'd  money  and  slaughter, 
They  hale  us,  as  Beelzebub  hates  holy-waler! 
But  who  the  deuce  cares,  Dick,  as  long  as  ihey  nou- 
rish us 
Neatly  as  now,  and  good  cookery  flourishes  — 
Long  as,  by  bay'uets  piotected,  we,  i^atiies, 
May  have  our  full  fimg  at  their  salmis  and  pates? 
And,  truly,  I  always  declar'd  'twould  be  pity 
To  burn  to  tlie  ground  such  a  choice-feeding  cl'y. 
Had  Dad  but  his  way,  he'd  have  long  ago  blown 
The  whole  bitch  to  old  Nick— and  the  people,  town, 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  iheir  curst  monkey  louks. 
Well  deeerve  a  blow-up  —  but  then,  damn  it,  their 

Cooks ! 
As  to  Marshals,  and  Statesmen,  and  all  their  whole 

lineAge, 
For  au?ht  that /care,  you  may  knock  them  to  spin- 
age; 
Rut  think,  nick,  their  Cooks— what  a  lo&s  to  man- 
kind ! 
What  a  void  in  the  world  would  their  art  leave  be- 
hind ! 
Their  chroni)meter  spits— their  intense  salamanders— 
Their  ovens—  their  pots,  that  can  >often  old  ganders, 
All  vanish'd  for  ever  —  their  niiracles  o'er, 
And  Ihe  Marmite  Perpetuelle  3  bubbling  no  more  ! 
Forbid  it,  forbid  it,  ye  Holy  Allies! 
Take  whatever  ye  fancy  —  take  statues,  take  mo- 
ney— 
But  leave  them,  oh  leave  them,  their  Pertgueux  pies, 
Their   glorious    goose  livers,    and    high    pickled 
tunny  !4 
Though  many,  I  own,  are  the  evils  they  've  brought 

Though  Royalty  's  here  on  her  very  last  legs, 
Yet,  who  can  hel[i  loving  the  land  thit  has  taught  us 
Six  hundred  and  eighty-tive  ways  to  dress  eggs?^ 


*  '*  Lemonade  and  eau  de-grostiUe  are  measured 
Out  at  every  corner  of  every  street,  from  fantastic 
vessels,  jingling  with  bells,  to  ihnsty  tradesmen  or 
weaned  nies--engers."— See  Laiy  Morgan's  lively  de- 
Bcription  of  Ihe  streets  of  Paris,  ju  her  very  amuaing 
work  upon  France,  book  vi, 

*  These  gay,  portable  f'>untqin?,  from  which  the 
grnseille  water  is  administered,  are  anion?  the  most 
characteristic  ornaments  of  the  stree's  of  Paris. 

3  "Cette  inerveilleuse  Marmite  Perpetuelle,  sur  le 
feu  depuis  pres  d'un  siecle;  qui  a  dnniie  le  jour  a  plus 
deSOOOOOchapons"— vi/maji.  de  Gourmands,  Qua- 
trieme  Aimee,  p.  152. 

*  Le  thon  inaii'e,  one  of  the  most  favourite  and 
indigestible  hors-d'ceuvres.  This  tish  ts  taken  chiefly 
in  the  Golfe  de  Lynn.  "La  tete  et  le  des^ous  du 
ventre  sont  le^  parlies  les  plus  recherchees  des  gour- 
meU.^—Couri  Gastronomiqite,  p  252. 


You  see,  Dick,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  *'  Gnd-dain,* 
"  Coquin  Anglais,'*  et  caei'ra —  how  generous  I  am! 
And  now  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  *•  Day,*' 
Which  will  lake  us  all  night  to  gel  through  in  tbit 

way,) 
From   the  Iloulevards  we  saunter  through  many  a 

street, 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives  —  mine,  all  very  neat- 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  pohUcal  tops. 
And   hnd  twice  as  much  fun   in  the  Signs  of  the 

Shops;  — 
Hete,  a  Louis  Dix-huit  — (Acre,  a  Martinmas  goose, 
(Much  in  vogue  since  your  eagles  are  gone  out  of 

Henri  Qualres  in  shoals,  and  of  Gods  a  great  many. 
But  Sain's  are  Ihe  most  on  hard  duty  of  any :  — 
St.  Tony,  who  used  all  temptations  to  spurn, 
Htre  hangs  o'er  a  beer-shop,  and  tempts  in  his  turn  ; 
While  there  St.  Venecia**  sits  hemming  and  frilling 

her 
Holy  mouchoir  o'er  Ihe  door  of  some  milliner  j  — 
St.  Austin '>  the  *•  oui  ward  and  visible  sign 
"Of  an    inwaid"  cheap  dinner,  and  pint  of  small 

While  SI.  Henys  hangs  out  o'er  some  hatter  of  ton 
And  possessing,  good  bishop,  no  head  of  his  own.i 
Takes  an  int'rcbt  in  Dandies,  who've  got— next  to 

none ! 
Then  we  stare  into  shops— read  the  evening's  af- 

ficlies  — 
Or,  if  fonie,  who 're  Lotharios  in  feeding,  should  wish 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon,  (a  devilish  bad  trick, 
As  it  takes  off  ihe  bloom  of  one's  appeiile,  Dick,) 
To  (he  Passage  des  —  what  d'ye  call't— de*  Pano- 

We  quicken  our  pace,  and  there  heartily  cram  as 
Seducing  young  pates,  as  ever  culd  cozen 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  down  by  the  dozen. 
We  v::ry,  of  course — petitspates  do  07ie  day. 
The  next  we've  our  lunch  wiih  the  Gauffrier  Hol- 

lAndais,9 
That  popular  artist,  who  brings  nut,  like  So— tt, 
His  delightful  productions  so  quick,  hot  and  hot ; 
Not  tt>e  worse  for  the  exquisite  comment  that  fol- 

Divine  maresquinOj  which  —  Lord,  how  one  ewal- 

Once  more,  then,  we  siunter  forth  after  our  snack,  or 
Subscribe  a  few  francs  for  the  price  of  a  fiacre. 
And  drive  far  away  to  the  old  Montagues  Russes, 
Where  we  find  a  few  twirls  in  the  car  of  much  use 
To  regen'ra'e  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  us  sinners. 
Who've  laps'd  into  snacks — the  perdi'ion  of  dinners. 
And  here,  Dick  —  in  answer  to  one  of  your  queries, 
About  which  we,  Gourmands,  have  had  much  dis* 

cussion  — 
I've  tried   all  these  mountains,  Swiss,  French,  and 

Rugeieri's, 
And  think,  for  digestion,^^  there  's  none  like  the 

Russian  : 


»  The  exact  number  mentioned  by  M.  de  la  Rev- 
ere-"On  connoit  en  France  6S5  manieres  differ- 
rtes  d'.iccommoder  les  ccuf-. ;  sans  compter  cellet 
le  nos  savans  imagineni  chaque  jour." 
6  Veronica  the  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerchief  if 
so,  uirder  Ihe  name  of  Venisse  or  Venecia,  the  tute- 


saint  of  milliners. 

'  St.  Denvt  walked  three  miles  after  his  head  was 
cut  off.  'I  he  mot  of  a  woman  (^\'  wit  upon  this  legend 
is  well  known  :  —  "  Je  le  crois  bien  ;  en  pareil  cas,  il 
n'y  a  que  le  premier  pas  qui  coute." 

8  Off  the  Boulevards  Ttaliens. 

»  In  the  Palais  R-^yal ;  successor,  1  believe,  to  the 
Flamand,  so  long  celebrated  for  Ihe  moelUux  of  bis 
GaufrtB. 

*o  Doctor  Cotterel  recommends,  for  this  purpose, 
the  BeaujoD  or  French  Mountains,  anc'   calls  them 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


327 


So  equal  Ihe  motion  —  so  gentle,  though  fleet  — 

It,  in  short,  Bucb  a  light  and  Balubrious  bcaniper  19, 

That  take  whimi  ynu  please— lake  old  L— s  I)— xh— t, 

And  stull'  him  —  ay,  up  to  the  ueck  —  with  litew'd 

laniprejs.i 
So  \vhole!>i)nie  these  Mounts,  such  a  sdvait  I  Ve  found 

them, 
That,  lei  me  but  rattle  the  Monarch  well  down  tbem, 
The  heud.  Indigestion,  would  Hy  far  away, 
And  ihe  regicide  lampreys  2  be  toiled  of  their  prey  1 
Such,  IJick,  ate  the  clasbicat  spurts  that  content  us, 
'I'ill  five  o'clock  brings  on  that  hour  so  nionieiilous,3 
That  epoch but  woa  I  Biy  lad  —here  comes  the 

Schue'der, 
And,  curse   him,  has  niade  the  stays  three  inches 

wider  — 
Too  wide  by  an  inch  and  a  half —  what  a  Guy  ! 
Bui,  no  matter —  't  will  all  be  set  ri«ht  bj-and-by. 
As  we  've  Massino^'s  *  eloquent  carte  to  eat  still  up, 
An  inch  and  a  half's  but  a  tntlc  to  liU  up. 
Sn  —  not  to  lose  time,  Dick  —  here  goes  for  the  task ; 
^u  revoir^  my  old  boy  —of  the  Gods  1  but  ask, 
That  my   life,  like  *' the  Leap  of  the  German,"  6 

may  be, 
"  Du  lit  a  la  table,  d'la  table  au  lit !» 

R.F. 


LETTER    IX. 
FROM    PHIL.    FUDGE,    ESQ.    TO    THE    LORD 


VISCOUNT     C — ST- 


-GII. 


My  Lord,  th'  Instructions,  brought  to-day, 
"I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey." 
Your  Lordship  talks  and  writes  so  sensibly  ! 
And  —  whatsoe'er  some  wags  may  say  — 
Uh  !  not  at  all  incomprehensibly. 


*  uiie  medccine  aerienne,  c»iuleur  de  rose  ;"  but  1  own 
I  prefer  the  autlmnly  ot  Mr.  Bob,  who  seems,  from 
the  following  note  found  in  his  own  hand-wriiing,  to 
have  studied  all  Ihese  mountains  very  carefully:  — 
Memoranda —  Thfr  Swiss  little  noricf  destrvt-g, 
Wliilr  Ilic  r^ll  at  Ruti);ieri'«  1^  dealli  to  wt^ak  nerves; 
Aiia(wtiiitt;'fr  D'xtor  Cutt'rel  may  write  ou  the  question) 
The  luriial  the  Beaujoii  •*;  loo  ttliarp  for  digesttoD. 
I  doubt  whetlier  Mr  Bob  is  qulie  correct  in  accenting 
the  second  syllable  of  Kuggieri. 

1  A  dish  so  indigestible,  that  a  late  novelist,  at  the 
end  of  his  book,  could  mmgjije  no  more  suoimary 
mode  of  getting  rid  of  all  hts  heroes  and  heroiues  than 
by  a  hearty  supper  of  stewed  lampreys. 

»  They  killed  Henry  I.  of  Kngiand:  — "a  food 
(says  Hume,  gravely,)  which  always  agreed  belter 
with  his  palate  (haii  his  constitution." 

Lampreys,  indeed,  seem  alwa\s  to  have  been  a  fa- 
vounie  dj-h  with  kings  —  whether  from  some  conge- 
niality between  them  »nd  tliat  fish,  I  know  not;  but 
Dio  Cassias  te.^j  •}»  thai  PuHio  Tiltened  his  lampreys 
Witt)  human  blood.  St.  Louis  of  France  was  pariicu- 
larly  fond  of  (hem.  — See  the  anecdote  of  Thomas 
Aquinas  eating  up  his  majesty's  iamprey,  in  a  note 
upon  Rabelais^  liv.  Jii.  chap.  2. 

3  Had  Mr.  Bob's  Dinntr  Epislle  been  inserted,  I 
wns  prepared  wiih  an  abundance  of  learned  mailer  to 
illustrate  it,  for  which,  as,  indeed,  for  all  my  "  scien- 
lia  popiiiae,"  •  I  am  indebted  to  a  friend  in  the  Dubhn 
Universiiy.— whose  reading  forrnerly  lay  in  the  magic 
line  ;  but,  in  consequence  of  ihe  Provost's  enlightened 
alarm  at  such  studies,  he  has  taken  to  the  authors, 
*'rfe  re  i.iiirto"  instead;  and  has  left  Bodin.  hemi- 
gius^Jis^i-pfa  and  bis  little  dog  FiUohis,  for  Ayiciu^ 
Nonius,  and  that  most  learned  and  savoury  Jesuit, 
BtUengtrus. 

<  A  famous  Restaura'eur  —  now  Dupont. 

*  An  old  French  saying ;  —  *'  Faire  le  saut  de  I'Al- 
lemand,  du  lit  a  la  table  ei  de  la  table  au  lit.'' 

*  Seneca. 


I  feel  th'  inquiries  in  your  letter 

About  my  health  and  French  niosi  flattering 
Thank  ye,  my  French,  tliough  somewhat  belter, 

Is,  oil  the  whole,  but  weak  and  fcmattering  :  — 
Nothing,  of  course,  that  can  compaie 
W'iih  Ins  who  luade  the  Congress  stare 
(A  certain  J^(jrd  we  need  nol  namej, 

Who  ev'n  in  Frenct),  would  have  his  trope, 
And  talk  of  '>  balir  un  s}steme 

"  Sur  I'tquilibtx  de  I'Europe  i" 

Sweet  metaphor !  — and  then  th'  Epistle, 
Which  bid  ihe  Saxon  King  go  whistle,— 
That  tender  letter  lo  "  Mon  Prince,'* « 
Which  show'd  alike  thy  French  and  sense;— 
Uh  no,  my  Lord  — there  's  none  can  do 
Or  say  un-EuglisIt  things  like  you; 
And,  if  the  schemes  that  fill  thy  breast 

Cnuld  but  a  vent  congenial  seek. 
And  use  the  tongue  thai  suits  them  best, 

What  charming  Turkish  would'st  thou  speak  » 
But  as  for  me,  a  Freiichless  grub. 

At  Congress  never  boi  n  to  slanimer. 
Nor  learn  like  thee,  niy  l-ord,  to  snub 

Fall'n  Monarchs,  out  of  Chambaud's  grammar  — 
Bless  you,  you  do  not,  cannot  know 
How  far  a  little  French  will  go; 
For  all  one's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

On  some  tialf-dozen  words  like  tlie>e  — 
Comme  ca  —  j.ar-ta  —  la-bus  ~  ah  ha! 

They  '11  take  you  all  through  France  with  ease. 

Your  Lordship's  praises  of  the  scraps 

I  sent  you  from  my  Journal  lately, 
(Enveloping  a  few  Inc'd  caps 

For  Lady  C),  delight  me  greatly. 
Her  fiaflering  speech  —  "  What  pretty  things 

"One  finds  in  Mr.  Fudge's  i):iges  I" 
Is  praise  which  (.as  some  poet  sings) 

Would  pay  une  for  the  (oils  of  ageii. 

Thus  tialter'd,  I  presume  to  send 
A  few  mo'c  exiracis  by  a  friend  j 
And  I  should  (mpe  thev  'H  be  no  less 
Approv'd  of  than  my  last  MS.  — 
The  former  ones,  I  feat,  were  creas'd. 

As  Biddy  round  the  C'ps  would  pin  them  ; 
But  these  will  come  lo  hand,  at  least 

Unrunipled,  fur  there 's— nothing  in  tbem. 

Extracts  from  Mr.  Fudge's  Journal^  addrested  U 
Lord  C, 

Auj?.  10. 
Went  to  the  Mad-house  — saw  the  man,' 

Who  thinks,  poor  wretch,  that,  while  Ihe  Fiend 
Of  Di.cord  here  full  riot  ran. 

He,  like  the  rest,  was  guiHotin'd  ;— 
But  that  when,  under  Boney'a  reign, 

(A  more  discreet,  thauEh  quite  as  strong  one) 
The  heads  were  all  restor'd  again, 

He.  in  the  ficrani()le.  got  a  luroiig  one, 
Accmiiniily,  be  still  cries  out 

T  his  strange  he;»d  fits  him  most  unpleasantly; 
And  iilways  runs,  poor  dev'l,  aboui. 

Inquiring  for  his  ou  u  incessantly  ! 


fi  The  celebrated  letter  to  Prince  Hardenburgh 
(written,  however.  1  believe,  originally  in  English,) 
in  which  bis  L'T.lship.  profes>ing  o  see  "no  nioial 
or  pnlitical  objeciion"'  (o  ihe  d  snifmbenneiit  of  Sax- 
ot^y,  denouiced  the  unfortun;ile  K'lig  as  "not  only 
the  moat  devoied,  bu'  the  must  fav  Dured  of  Bonaiarle*B 

T  This  extraordinary  madman  U,  I  believe,  in  the 
Bicetre.  He  imagines,  exactly  as  Mr.  Fudi;e  states 
it,  iliat.  when  the  heads  of  those  who  h:id  been  guil- 
lotined were  restored,  he  by  mistake  got  some  other 
person's  instead  of  his  own.   ^' 


328 


THE   FUDGE   FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


While  to  his  cise  a  lenr  I  dropt, 

And  sauiiter'd  home,  thought  I  —  ye  Gods ! 
How  many  heads  migiil  ihus  be  swnpp'd, 

And,  after  all,  nnl  make  much  odds ! 
For  instance,  there's  V— s— tt— t's  head 
(*'Tam  caiiim^'^  it  may  vvt-Il  be  saidj 
Jf  by  some  curious  chance  it  cime 

Toselileon  Bill  Soames's'^  shoulderfi, 
Th'  eflect  would  turn  out  much  ihe  sauie 

On  all  respectable  cash-holders  : 
Except  rhat  while,  in  iis  jieiy  socket, 

'i  he  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win 
A  zi^-zag  way  into  one's  pocket, 

The  hands  would  plunge  directly  in. 

Good  Viscount  S— dm— h,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave,  respected  head, 
Might  wear  ('or  aught  I  see  thai  bars) 

Old  Lady  VVilhetmina  Frump's  — 
So  while  Ihe  hand  signM  Circulars, 

The  head  might  lisp  out  "  What  is  trumps?* 
The  R— g--t's  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  n:an-riiillirier, 
The  shop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  ribbon 
Would  go,  1  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on  j 
And,  vice  versot  take  the  pains 
To  give  the  P— ce  the  shopman's  brains, 
One  only  change  from  thence  would  tiow, 
Ribbons  would  not  be  wasted  so. 

'T  was  thus  I  ponder'd  nn,  my  Lord  ; 

And,  ev'n  at  night,  when  laid  in  bed, 
I  found  myself,  before  I  snnrM, 

Thus  cnopping,  swopping  head  for  head 
At  length  I  thought,  funlastic  elf! 
How  such  a  change  would  suit  myxelf, 
*TwiJtt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one, 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  nn, 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled  — 
Forgot  all  other  he  ids,  od  rot  'em  ! 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  1  was  — Bottom, 


Walk'd  out  with  dauehler  Bid  —  was  shown 
The  House  of  Comnions  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion's  just  ihe  same  3 
Napoleon  sal  on  —  what  a  shame  ! 
Oh.  can  we  wonder,  best  of  speechers, 

When  Louis  sealed  thus  we  see, 
That  Fniice's  *■  fundamental  feaiures" 

Are  much  the  same  they  us'd  to  be  ? 
However,-God  preserve  Ihe  Throne, 

And  cushion  loo  —  and  keep  them  free 
From  accidents,  which  have  been  known 

To  happen  ev'n  to  Royalty  !  * 

Aug.  28. 
Read,  at  a  stall  (for  oft  one  pops 
On  somelhliig  af  these  st:UIsand  hhops, 
'Ihat  does  lo  quote,  atid  Kives  one's  Book 
AfUssic.l  atid  knov%Jng  look.— 
Indeed  I  've  found,  in  Lalin,  lately, 
A  course  of  slalls  imp  oves  me  greatly)  — 


was  thus  I  read,  that,  in  the  East, 

A  monarch's  fnt^s  a  serious  matter; 
And  once  in  every  year,  at  least, 

e 's  weieh'd  —to  see  if  he  gets  faltei'  .  * 
Then,  if  a  pound  f.r  two  he  be^ 
Increas'd,  Ihei'e's  quite  a  jubilee  I  6 
Suppose,  my  Lord  —  and  far  from  me 
To  treat  such  things  with  levity  — 
Rut  just  suppose  Ihe  R— g_i's  weight 
Were  made  thus  an  ;iffair  of  state  ; 
A'ld,  ev'ry  sessions,  at  Ihe  close, — 

'Stead  of  a  speech,  which,  alt  can  see,  is 
Heavy  and  dull  enough,  God  knows  — 

We  were  lo  try  how  heavy  he  is. 
Much  would  it  giad  all  hearts  lo  hear 

'1  hat,  while  the  Nation's  Revenue 
Loses  so  many  pounds  a  year, 

The  P e,  God  biess  him  !  gains  a  few. 

With  bales  of  muslin,  chintzes,  spices, 

1  see  the  F.asterns  weigh  their  Kings;— 
But,  for  the  H-g— t,  my  advice  is. 

We  should  throw  iu  much  heavier  lhing«: 
For  instance 's  quarto  volumes. 

Which,  though  not  spices,  serve  lo  urap  them; 
Dominie  St-dd— I's  Daily  columns, 

** Prodigious  !"— in,  of  course,  we'd  clap  theni- 
Letiers,  Ibat  C— rtw fa  "  pen  indites, 

In  which,  with  logical  confusion, 
The  Major  like  a  Minor  writes. 

And  never  comes  lo  a  Conclusion: — 
Lord  S— m — rs'  pamphlet  —  or  his  head  — 
(Ah,  that  were  worth  its  weight  in  lead  I) 
Along  with  which  we  in  may  whip,  sly, 
The  Speeches  of  Sir  John  C — x  H — pp— sly ; 
That  Baronet  of  nianv  words, 
Who  loves  so,  in  the  Hou-jc  of  Lords, 
'Id  whisper  Bishop,  — and  so  nigh 

Unto  their  wigs  id  whisp'ring  goesi 
That  you  may  always  know  him  by 
A  pa'ch  of  powder  on  his  nose  ! — 
If  this  won't  do,  we  in  must  ctani 
The  '■  Reasons'*  of  Lord  B— ck— gh— ni ; 
(A  Book  his  Lordship  means  lo  w'lile. 

Entillfd  "  Reasons  f.r  my  Ratting  :") 
Or,  should  these  prove  loo  smill  and  !igbt, 

H  is  r p's  a  host  —  we  '11  bundle  that  io  1 

And.  still  should  all  these  niasses  fail 
To  stir  the  R — g — t'a  ponderous  scale. 
Why  then,  my  Lord,  in  heaven's  name. 

Pitch  in,  without  reserve  or  stint, 
The  whole  of  R— gl  — y's  beauteous  Dame— 

If  that  wu'a't  laise  him,  devil 's  iu  it  I 


J  Tam  cari  capitis.  —  Horat. 
1  A  celebrated  pickpocket. 

3  The  only  change,  if  I  recollect  right,  is  the  sub- 
stitution of  lilies  for  bees.  This  war  upon  the  bees 
19,  of  course,  universal  ;  **  exitium  misere  apibus," 
like  the  angry  nymphs  in  Virgil :  —  but  may  not  ijew 
9warms  arise  oul  of  Ihe  victims  of  Legitimacy  yet  ? 

4  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Fudge  allude?  here  lo  a  very 
awkward  accident,  which  is  well  known  to  have 
happened  lo  poor  L— s  le  D— s— e,  some  years  since, 
al  one  of  the  R— g-t's  Feles.  He  was  sitting  neit 
our  gracious  Queen  at  the  lime. 


Consulted  Murphy's  Tacitus 
About  tho^e  famous  f:pies  at  Rome,  8 


Aug.  31. 


»  "The  third  day  of  the  Feast  the  King  causeth 
himself  lo  be  weighed  with  great  cart-." — F,  Bet* 
nitr's  ypyage  to  Sural,  &c. 

6  *'  1  remember,"  says  Bernier,  "that  all  the  Om- 
rahs  expressed  greit  joy  that  ihe  King  weighed  luo 
pounds  more  imw  than  Ihe  >ear  preceding.''  —  Ano- 
ther author  lells  us  thai  '•  Fatnes-,  as  wt-ll  as  a  very 
Urze  head.  Is  c-.nsidered,  thrnughout  India,  as  one 
of  the  most  jirecious  gilts  (if  heaven.  An  ennrnMius 
skull  is  abs'»lutely  revered,  and  the  happy  owner  is 
looked  up  to  as  a  superior  being.  To  a  Prince  a  jouU 
ler  head  is  iiiv?.\uMe."  —  Oi'icntal  Field  imports. 

If  M^jorCariwright. 

8  The  name  of  the  fust  worthy  who  set  np  the 
trade  of  informer  at  Rome  (to  whom  our  Olivers  and 
Castleses  ouzht  to  eiect  a  s'atue)  was  Rnmanus  Hispo; 
— "  qui  formani  vilae  Iniil,  quam  postea  celebreni 
miseriae  lempoium  et  audacise  linmlnuni  fecerunt.^'^ 
'lacit.  ^Inital.  i.  14. 


THE  FUDGE   FAMILY   IN    PARIS. 


329 


Wlioin  certain  Whigs —  to  innke  a  fuss  — 
DesCDhe  as  much  reseniblins  us,  » 
liifornnni;  E;eiitlei>it;n,  ai  home. 
Bu't  bless  ihe  fools,  they  cmiH  be  serious^ 
To  say  Lord  S— dm— th'8  like  Tiberius! 
What !  tiCj  the  Peer,  thai  injures  no  man, 
Like  ihat  severe,  blood-tliiisl>  Romat.!— 
'  I  is  true,  the  Tvrant  lent  an  ear  to 
All  sorts  of  spies  — so  dulh  'he  Peer,  too. 
*T'fi  (rue  my  Lord's  Elect  tell  fibs 
And  dtral  in  per^rv —  dittu  I  ib's. 
'  lis  inie,  the  Tvrant  screeiid  and  hid 
m-i  rogues  from"  just  ice  ^  —  ditto  Sid. 
'Tis  true  the  Peer  is  grave  and  glib 
At  mnralsiieeches— diWoTib.  3 
'Tis  true,  the  feats  Ihe  Tyiant  did 
Were  in  his  doiage— ifuro  Sid. 

So  far,  I  own,  the  parallel 

»Tvvixt  Tib  and  bid  g.-es  vistly  well ; 

Hui  there  are  points  in  Tib  that  strike 

My  humble  mind  as  much  more  like 

Vourielf,  my  de.ire>t  L<.rJ.  or  him. 

Of  ih'  li.dia  Board  —  thai  snul  of  whim  1 

Like  him.  Tiberius  lov'd  his  joke,* 

On  mailers,  too,  where  few  can  bear  one; 
E.  g.  a  man,  cut  up,  or  bioke 

Upnn  the  wheel  —  a  devilish  fair  one  ! 
Your  common  fraciuns,  wouiuls,  and  fits, 
Are  nothmg  In  such  wholesomt-  witsj 
But.  let  the  sutiVer  gasp  for  life. 

'Ihe  joke  is  then  worth  any  money; 
And,  if  he  writhe  beneath  a  knifc» — 

Oh  dear,  that 's  something  quite  too  funny. 
In  this  respect,  my  Lord,  you  see 
The  Roman  wag  and  ours  agree: 
Now  as  to  ymif  resemblance —  mum  — 

This  parallel  we  need  not  follow  ;  5 
Though  'I  is  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 

Your  Lordship  beats  Tiberius  hollo^v 
Whips,  chains— but  these  are  things  too  serioM 

F(tr  me  to  meniiou  or  discuss  ; 
Whene'er  your  Lordship  acts  Tiberius, 

Phil.  Fudge's  part  is  Tacitus! 


Sept.  2. 


Was  thinking,  had  Lord  S— dm— th  got 
And  good  decent  sort  of  Plot 
Again-»t  the  winter-time  —  if  not, 
Alas,  alas,  our  ruin  's  fated  ; 
All  done  up,  and  spi/licnted ! 
Ministers  and  all  their  vassals, 

Down  from  C— tl gh  to  Castles, 

Unless  we  can  kick  up  a  riot, 
Ne'er  can  hope  fur  peace  or  quiet ! 


1  They  certainly  possessed  the  same  art  of  insti- 
gating their  victitiis,  which  the  Reporl  of  the  Secret 
Committee  altribu'es  lo  L"rd  Sidmouth's  agents:  — 
**«ocii/s  (says  'I'acitus  of  orie  of  ihem)  libidinum  et 
necessitatum,  quopUtnljus  indiciis  inligaret.^ 

^  *'  Neque  tanieu  id  Sereno  nnxa»  fuit,  queni  odium 
publicum  lutiatem  faciehat.  Nmi  ut  quis  distric  ior 
^cc\i%^\or  vclut  sacrosanclus  erat  ^'' —  Annal.  lib.  iv. 
36. —  Or,  as  it  is  tran-laled  by  Mr.  Fudge's  fiiend, 
Murphy: — *''Ihis  daring  nccu-er  had  ihe  c\irses  of 
the  yjcop/e,  and  the  protection  oi  the  Emperor.  In- 
formers, in  prop..rtion  as  they  rose  in  guilt,  h&cari}£ 
M2Cred  charactersJ*^ 

3  Murphy  even  confers  upon  one  of  his  speeches 
the  epithet  **constitutional."  Mr.  Fudge  might  have 
added  to  his  parallel,  that  Tiberius  was  a  good  pri- 
vate character:  —  "egrcgium  vita  fimaque  quoad 
privatiLS.'^ 

*  "  Ludihria  seriis  permiscere  snlitus  '* 

6  There  is  one  point  of  resemblance  between  Tibe- 
rius and  Lord  C.  which  Mr  Fudge  might  have  men- 
tioned —  "  $usptnsa  s&mp&r  et  obscura  v'.rba." 

28» 


What's  to  be  done  ?  — Spa-Fields  was  clever; 

But  even  that  brought  gibes  and  mockinga 
Upon  our  lieads — sn,  mem.  —  mu^t  never 

Keep  .imniunition  iu  old  stockings  ; 
Fnr  fenr  some  wag  should  in  bis  curst  head 
Take  it  to  say  out  force  was  worsted. 
Mtm.  too —  when  SiJ  an  army  riist-s, 
It  must  not  be  ''  incog."  like  Jlnyes^sz 
Nor  must  (he  Gei.eia.  be  a  hobbling 
Professor  of  the  art  of  cobbling  j 
Lest  men,  who  perpetra'e  such  puns. 

Should  say,  with  Jacobinic  grin, 
He  felt   ftoin  soking  li'LUi7igivns,^ 

A  ivellingtvns  great  soul  within  ! 
Nor  must  an  old  Apoihec^uy 

Go  take  the  Tower,  for  |;ick  of  pence. 
With  (\vh;it  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry,) 

Physical  force  and  phial-cnce  ! 
No  —  no  —  our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
Next  time  contrivM  more  skilfully. 
John  Bull,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
So  troublesomely  sharp  and  knowing, 
So  wise —  in  short,  so  Jacobin  — 
'T  is  monstrous  iiaid  (o  take  him  in* 

seft.  e. 

Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  Ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  surely  nettled  : 
But  think,  mv  Lord,  we  should  not  pass  it  o'er 

Till  all  this  matter  's  lairly  settled  ; 
And  here  *s  the  niode  occurs  to  me  :  — 
As  none  of  our  Nobility, 
Though  for  their  own  most  gracious  King 
(They  would  ki?s  hands,  or  —  any  thing), 
Can  be  persuaded  to  go  through 
This  farce-like  (rick  of  the  Ko-tou; 
And  as  these  Mandarins  wjoVt  bend, 

Without  some  mummiiij;  exhibition, 
Suppose,  my  Lord,  you  were  tu  send 

Grimaldi  to  them  on  a  mi^si(ln  ; 
As  Ijegatc^  Joe  could  play  bis  part, 
And  if.  in  diplonialic  art. 
The  "  volto  sciolln"'i's  meritorious, 
Let  Joe  but  grin,  he  has  it,  glorious ! 
A  title  for  him  's  easily  made  j 

And,  by  the  by,  one  Christmas  time, 
U  I  remember  right,  he  play'd 

Lord  Morley  in  some  pantomime  j  8  — 
As  Earl  of  M — rl— y  tlien  gazeile  lum, 
If  V  other  Earl  of  M— rl-y'll  let  l.im. 
(And  why  should  not  the  «orld  be  ble'.t 
Wiih  tvoo  such  stars,  for  East  and  West?) 
Then  when  before  the  Yellow  ticreen 

He's  brought  —  and,  suie,  the  veiy  essence 
Of  etiquet  e  would  be  thai  scene 

Of  Jue  in  the  Celestial  Piesence!  — 
He  thus  should  say :  —  "  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
*■  I  'II  plav  what  tricks  you  please  for  you, 
••  If  you  '11,  in  turn,  but  do  fur  me 
•'  A  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see, 
**lf  1  consult  yowr  Emperor's  liking, 
"  At  least  you  'II  do  the  same  for  my  King." 
He  then  should  give  them  nine  snen  grins, 
As  would  astound  ev'n  Mandarins; 
And  throw  such  somerse's  before 

The  picture  of  King  George  (God  bless  hira  i) 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  ihem  o'er, 

Would,  by  Confucius,  much  distress  him  ! 


6  Short  boots,  so  called. 

T  The  open  counteuancCj  recommended  by  Lord 
Chesterfield. 

8  Mr.  Fudge  is  a  little  mistaken  here.  It  was  not 
Grimaldi.  but  some  very  inferior  purfnrmer,  who 
played  this  part  of  "  Lord  Mojley"  in  ihe  pantomime, 
—  so  much  to  the  horror  of  the  distinguished  Earl  of 
that  name.  The  expostulatoiy  lefers  of  the  Noble 
Earl  to  Mr.  H— rr-s,  upon  'his  vulgar  pnifana'inn  of 
his  spick-and-span  new  title,  will,  1  trust,  »ome  time 
or  other,  be  given  to  the  wnrld. 


330 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


I  »tart  this  merely  as  a  hint, 

But  Ihintt  you  Ml  hud  sume  wisJom  in  H  ; 

And,  should  you  follow  up  the  job. 

My  son,  niy  Lord  (yuu  know  poor  Bob), 

Would  in  ihe  suite  be  fjlad  lo  go 

And  help  his  Kxcellency,  Joe  ;  — 

At  least,  like  noble  Amli— rst's  son, 

'I'be  Ud  will  io  to  practi:ie  on.*- 


LETTER   X, 

FROM    MISS   BIDDY   FUDGE    TO   MISS 
DOROTHY    . 

Weli,  it  is  n't  the  King,  after  all,  my  dear  creature  ! 

But  don'(  you  go  laugh,  now  —  there's  nothing  to 
qutz  in'i  — 
For  graii'ieur  of  air  and  forgrimness  of  feature. 

He  might  be  a  King,  Doll,  (hough,  hang  him,  he 

At  first,  I  fell  hurt,  for  I  wish'd  it.  I  own. 

If  for  no  oiher  cause  but  in  vex  Miss  Malone, — 

(The  great  heiress,  you  know,  of  Shandangau,  who  's 

here. 
Showing  off  with  such  airs,  and  a  real  Cashmere^ 
While  mine's  but  a  paltry,  old  rabbit-nkin.  dear!) 
Put  Pa  says,  on  deeply  colisid'nnc  Ihe  Ihing, 
*'  i  am  just  as  well  pleas'd  it  should  not  be  ihe  King; 
'*  As  I  ihink  for  niy  Hiddy,  so  gentille  and  jo/i>, 
"  VVhf>se  charms  may  their  price  in  an  honest  way 

fetch, 
"  That  a  Rrandenburgh" —  (what  is  a  Brandenburgh, 

Dolly?)  — 
**  Would  be,  after  all,  no  such  very  greit  catch, 
"If  the  R— g— t  indeed — "added  he.  lookinie:  sly  — 
(Ynu  remember  that  coniical  squint  of  his  eye) 
But  1  stopp'd  him  uiih  "  La,  Pa,  how  can  you  say  so, 
*»  When  Ihe  R— g— t  loves  nune  but  old  women,  you 

know  1" 
Which  is  fact,  mv  dear  Dolly — we,  girls  of  eighteen. 
And  so  slim  —  Lord,  he  'd  think  us  n<>t  fit  tn  be  seen  ; 
And  wouM  like  us  much  heller  as  old  —  ay,  as  old 
As  ihal  Countess  of  Desmond,  of  whom  I've  been 

told 
That  she  Iiv*d  tn  much  more  Ihm  a  hundred  and  ten, 
And  WIS  killM  by  a  fall  f.nm  a  cherry-iree  then  ! 
Wha'  a  fri-ky  old  girl  !  but—  to  come  to  mv  lover, 
What  thnui^h  not  a  King,  is  a  hero  I  'II  swear,— 
You  shall  hear  all  that's  happen'd,  just  briefly  run 


Let  me  see  —  't  was  on  Saturday  —  yes,  Dollv,  yes  — 
From  ihat  evening  I  daie  the  first  d;iwnof  rny  bliss; 
When  we  both  rattled  oft"  in  that  tfear  little  cariiage, 
Whose  journey.  Bob  says,  is  so  like  Love  and  Mai- 

riage, 
"Beginning  gay,  desperate,  dashing,  down-hilly, 
"And  ending  as  dull  .is  a  six-inpide  Dtllv!"3 
Well,  scarcely  a  wink  did  I  sleep  the  night  through  ; 
And,  next  d*y,  having  sctibbled  my  letter  to  you. 
With  a  heart  full  of  hope  this  --weet  fellow  to  meet, 
I  set  oui  u  fh  rap.1,  to  see  Lnuia  Dix-huit 
Make  his  how  in  some  half-dozen  women  and  bnys. 
Who  gel  U()  a  small  concert  of  shrill  yivtle  Rots  — 
And  how  vasily  genteeler,  my  dear,  even  this  is, 
Than  vulgar  Pall-Mall's  oraiotio  of  hisses  : 


The  gardens  seemM  full  —so,  of  course,  we  walkM 

o'er  'em,  i  ■, 

'Mong  ornnge-trees,  clipp'd  into  town-bred  deccrum,    I 
And  daphnes,  and  vases,  and  many  a  statue 

re  staling,  with  not  ev'n  a  stitch  on  them,  at  yon! 

The  ponds,  loo,  we  view'd  —  stood  awhile  on  the 

brink 

To  contemplate    the    play  of  those    pretty  gold 

fi'hes — 

**  Live  bvUion^""  says  merciless  Bob,  "  which,  I  think, 

"  Would,   if  coin'd,  with  a  little  mint  bauce,  be 

delicious !"  ■• 
Rut  vjhat^  Dolly,  what,  Is  the  giy  orange  ?rov«, 
Or  gold  lishes,  to  her  that  's  in  search  of  her  love? 
In  vain  did  1  wildly  explore  every  chair 
Where  a  thing  Like,  a  man  was—  no  lover  sale  there! 
In  vain  my  fond  eyes  did  I  eagerly  cast 
At  the  whiskers,  mustachios,  and  wigs  ihat  went  past, 
To  obtain,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl. — 
A  glimpse  of  those  whiskers,  as  sacred,  my  girl. 
As  the  lock  that,  Pa  says,i  is  to  Mussulmen  giv'n, 
for  the  angel  to  hold  by  that  *•  Itigs  Iheni  to  heaven !" 
Alas,  there  went  by  me  full  many  a  quiz, 
And  mustachios  in  plenty,  but  nothing  like  his  ! 
Disappointed,  I  found   myself  sighing  out  "  well-a- 

day,"— 
Thought  of  the  words  of  T— m  M— re's  Irish  Melody, 
Something  about  the  "green  spot  of  delight"** 

(Which,  you  know.  Captain  Mackintosh  sung  to  us 
one  day): 
Ah  Dolly,  my  "spot"  was  that  Saturday  night, 
And   ils  verdure,  how  fleeting,  had   withered  by 
Sunday ! 
We  din'd  at  a  tavern  —  La,  what  do  I  say  ? 
If  Bob  was  to  know  !  —  a  hestaurateui^s.,  dear; 


«  See  Mr.  EllisN  account  of  ihe  Embassy. 

2  See  Latlv  Morg.ufs  "France"  for  the  anecdo'e, 
told  her  by  Madame  de  Genlis,  nf  (he  ynum;  gentle- 
man whi^e  h>ve  was  cuied  bv  finding  that  his  Mis- 
tress wore  a  shawl  "  peau  de  lapiii." 

•  The  cars,  on  the  return,  are  dragged  up  slowly 
by  a  chain. 


■•  Mr.  Bub  need  not  be  ashamed  of  his  cookery 
jokes,  when  he  is  kept  in  countenance  by  such  men 
as  C'Jcero,  SY.  j:?ug-nsri«,  and  that  jovial  bishop,  Fe- 
nantius  Fmtunatics.  'Ihe  pun  of  the  great  orator 
up"n  the  *•  jus  Verrinum,"  which  he  calls  bad  ho^- 
broth,  from  a  play  u[)0n  both  the  wotd-',  is  well 
known  ;  and  the  Saint's  puns  upnn  the  conversion  of 
Lot's  wife  into  salt  are  equally  ingenious  :—'*  In 
salem  conversa  honiinibus  fidelibus  quoddani  pnestitit 
co?idimentuTn. quo saj)ia7it  aliquid,tinde  illud  caves- 
lur  exemplum.''--/)e  Civitat.  Dei,  lih.  xvi.  cap.  30. 
— Thejnkesof  the  pious  favour  ile  of  Queen  Radagun- 
da.  the  convivid  Bisiiop  ycnantius,  may  be  found 
among  his  poems,  in  some  lines  against  a  cook  who 
had  robbed  him.  '1  he  following  la  similar  to  Cicero^ 
pun:  — 

VXaa  juseella  Coci  quam  mea  j'ura  valeot. 

See  his  poems,  Ccti'pics  Podnr.  Latin,  lorn.  ii.  p. 
1732.  —  Of  the  same  kind  was  Montinaur\  joke, 
when  a  di--h  was  =pilt  over  him  — summum  jus,  sum- 
ma  injuria;'*  and  the  same  celebrated  parasite,  in 
ordering  a  sole  to  be  placed  before  him,  said,— 
Kligi  cut  dicas,  tu  mihi  sola  places. 

The  reader  may  likewise  see,  among  a  good  deal  of 
kitcltcn  erudition,  the  learned  Lipsius s  jokes  on  cut- 
ting up  a  capon  in  his  Saturnal.  Sermon,  lib.  ii. 
cap.  2. 

*  For  this  scrap  of  knowledge  *'  Pa*'  wa^^  I  suspect, 
indebted  lo  a  note  upon  VoIne\'s  Ruins;  a  book  which 
usually  forms  part  "f  a  Jacobin's  library,  and  wiih 
which  Mr.  Fudge  must  have  been  well  acquainted  at 
the  lime  when  he  wrote  hrs  "Down  with  Kings," &c. 
The  note  in  Volney  is  as  follows:— "li  is  Lv  this  tuft 
of  hair  (nn  the  crown  of  the  head),  worn  by  the  nn- 
jority  of  Mussulmans,  tha'  the  Angel  of  the  Tomb  is 
to  tuke  the  elect  and  carry  ttiem  to  Paradise." 

6  The  yrung  lady,  whose  memory  is  not  very  cct- 
rect,  must  allude,  1  think,  to  the  following  lines:  — 

Oh  that  (airy  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Whicb  First  Lnvetracfd; 
Still  rt  ling'ring  tiaimts  the  greeDczt  spot 

On  Memory's  waste ! 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY   IN   PARIS. 


331 


Where  yoar  vroperest  ladies  po  dine  every  day, 

And  drink  Rurt^umt   nut  of  large  tumblers,  like  beer. 
Fine  Rob  ifor  he  's  really  gro\»n  sujjcr-fme) 

Condescended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the  party; 
Of  course,  though  but  ihree,  we  had  dinner  for  nine, 

And  In  spite  nf  my  grief,  love,  I  own  1  e:it  hearty. 
Indeed,  Doll,  I  know  ntit  how  't  is,  but,  in  grief, 
1  have  always  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief; 
And  Hob,  who's  in  hue,  said  be  fell  the  sAme,  quite— 

"  My  sighs,"  said  he,  *'  ceas'd  with  the  first  glass  I 
drank  you  ; 
**The  latnb  made  me  (ranquil,  the  puff's  made  me 
light, 

"And  — now  that  alPs  o'er — why,  I*m  — pretty 
well,  thank  you !" 

To  my  great  annoyance,  we  sat  rather  late  ; 
For  Bnbhy  and  Fa  h,td  a  furious  debale 
About  singing  and  cookery  —  Bobby,  of  course. 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  full  force  ;> 
And  Pa  siying,  **  God  only  knows  which  is  worst, 

•'  The  French  Singers  or  Cooks,  but  1  wish  us  well 
over  it — 
«Wtiat  with  old  Uisand  Very,  I'm  curst 

"  If  my  head  or  niy  stomach  will  ever  recover  it !" 

*Twas  dirk,  when  we  got  to  the  Boulevards  to  stroll, 

And  in  viin  did  I  look  'inong  the  eireet  Macaronis, 
When,  sudden  it  struck  me  —  last  hope  of  my  soul  — 

That  Bome  angel  might  take  the  dear  man  to  Tor- 
toni^s  !^ 
We  cnter'd  —  and,  scarcely  had  Boh,  wilh  an  air, 

For  a  ^appe  a  la  jardiniere  cill'd  to  ihe  waiiers, 
When,  oh  Doll  I  {  saw  him  —  my  hero  was  there 

(For  I  knew  his  white  sinall-clolhes  and  brown  lea- 
ther gaiters), 
A  group  ot  tair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'erhim,3 
And  lois  of  red  currant-juice  spnrkling  befure  him  I 
Oh  Dolly,  these  heroes  —  wliar  creatures  they  are  ; 

lu  the  boudoir  the  same  as  in  fields  full  <>f  slaughter! 
As  cool  io  the  Reaujon's  prec.pitous  car. 

As  when  safe  at  Tortom's,  o'er  ic'd  currant  water! 
He  join'd  us  —  imaijiue,  dear  creature,  my  ecstasy  — 
Joiu'd  by  the  mau  I'd  have  broken  ten  necks  to  see! 
Bob  wish'd  to  treat  him  with  Punch  o  la  glace^ 
But  the  sweei  fellow  swore  that  my  bcauU^  my  gract^ 
Aud  my  je-ne  sais-quoi  (ihen  his  ^vhiskershe  IwirI'd) 
Were,  'o  Aim,  »'on  de  ti^pof  all  Ponch  in  de  vorld."— 
How  pretty  I  — though  oft  (as,  of  course,  it  must  be) 
Both  his  French  and  bis  English  are  Oieek,  Doll,  to  me. 
But,  in  fhort,  1  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart  did  ; 
Aud  happier  still,  when  't  was  fix'd,  ere  we  pined, 
That,  if  the  next  day  bhould  hz  pastoral  weither. 
We  all  would  iet  oif,  in  French  buggies,  together, 
To  see  MoiUrnurency  —  ihat  place  uhich,  you  know. 
Is  so  famous  for  cherries  and  Je^n  Jacques  Rousseau. 
His  card  then  he  gave  us— the  name^  rather  creas'd— 
But  ^  was  Calicot— something  — a  Colonel,  at  luasi ! 
After  which  — sure  theie  never  was  hero  so  civil — he 
Saw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  \u  Rue  Riuoli^ 
Where  hhlast  words,  a;*,  at  parimg,  he  threw 
A  soft  look  o»er  his  shoulders,  were  —  *'  How  do  you 
do  1»  * 


1  Cookery  hag  been  dignified  by  the  researches  of 

a  Bacoii ;  (see  his  Natural  History,  Receipts,  &c.) 
and  lakes  its  ^talion  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the 
following  piS'a-eof  Mr.  Dusald  Mtiwarr.-—'*  Agree- 
ably to  thiti  view  of  tlie  subjecl,  swtct  may  be  said  to 
tc- m(mwifafZt/ pleasing,  and  Litlcr  to  be  relatively 
pleasing;  while  both  arc,  in  m  my  cases,  equally 
essential  to  those  effr-cts,  which,  in  the  art  of  cookery, 
CO'TCpond  to  that  composite  hetwtyy  whicti  it  Is  'he 
object  of  the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create*'  — 
Philosophical  Essays^ 

'^  A  fashionable  ca/e  glacier  oa  the  Italian  Boule* 

vards. 

3  "Vou  eat  your  ice  at  Tortoni'e,"  says  Mr.  Scott, 
**  under  a  Grecian  group." 
*  Nol  an  unusual  mistake  with  foreigner!. 


But,  lord— there 's  Papa  for  the  Post— I  »m  so  vext— 
Moidmoiencij  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  niy  next. 
That  dear  Sunday  night !  —  I  was  charmingly  drest, 
And— 5y  providential ! —  was  looking  my  best ; 
Such  a  sweet  muslin  gown,  with  a  flounce  — aud  my 

frills, 
You've  no  notion  how  rich—  (though  Pa  has  by  the 

bills) 
And  you'd  smile  had  you  seen,  when  we  sat  rather 

Colonel  Calicot  eyeing  the  cambric,  my  dear. 

Then  the  flow'rs  in  my  bonnet— but,  la,  it's  in  vain— 

So,  good-by,  my  sweet  Doll — 1  ehall  soon  write  again. 

B.  F, 
N(Aa  bene  —  our  love  to  all  neighbours  about  — 
Your  Papa  in  particular  —  how  is  his  gout  ? 

P.S.—  I've  just  opened  niy  letter  to  say. 
In  your  next  you  must  tell  me,  (now  do,  Dolly,  pray, 
For  I  hate  to  ask  Bob,  he's  so  ready  to  quiz.) 
What  sort  of  a  thing,  dear,  a  Brandanbursh  is. 


LKTTER    XI. 

FROM   PHELIM    CONNOR    TO  . 

Yes,  *i  was  a  cause,  as  noble  and  as  great 

As  ever  hero  died  to  vindicate  — 

A  Nation's  right  to  speak  a  Nation's  voice. 

And  own  no  power  but  of  the  Nation's  choice ! 

Such  was  Ihe  grind,  the  glorious  cause  that  now 

Hung  trembling  on  Napoleon's  single  brow  ; 

Such  the  sublime  arbitrament,  that  pour'd, 

In  patriot  eyes,  a  ligtit  around  his  sword, 

A  hallowing  light,  which  never,  since  the  day 

Of  his  young  victories,  had  illum'd  its  way! 

Oh  *t  was  not  then  the  time  for  tame  debates, 

Ve  men  of  Gaut,  when  chains  were  at  your  gates  ; 

When  he.  who  late  had  fled  your  Chieftain's  eye, 

As  geese  from  eigles  on  Mount  Taurus  fly,* 

Denounc'd  agaiobt  the  taiul,  thit  spum'd  his  chain, 

Myriads  of  swords  to  bind  it  fast  again  — 

Myriads  of  fierce  invading  swotds,  to  (rack 

Through  your  besi  blood  his  path  of  vengeance  back  ; 

When  Europe's  King-*,  that  never  yet  combin'd 

But  (like  those  upper  Stars,  th;tt,  when  conjoin'd, 

Shed  war  and  pestilence,)  to  scourge  nnnkind, 

Gather'd  around,  wiih  hos's  from  every  shoie, 

Hating  Napoleon  much,  but  Freedoni  more, 

And,  in  that  coming  strife,  app.ili'd  to  see 

The  world  yet  left  one  chance  for  liberty  !  — 

No,  't  was  not  then  the  lime  to  w  eave  a  net 

Of  bond.ige  round  your  Chief;  to  cuib  and  fret 

Your  veteran  vvar-horse,  pawing  for  the  figlit. 

When  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might  — 

To  Waste  the  hour  of  ac'ioti  in  di>pute, 

And  coolly  plan  how  freedom's  boughs  should  shoot, 

When  your  invadei's  axe  was  at  tlie  root  ! 

No,  sacred  Liberty!  that  God,  who  throws 

Thy  light  around,  like  his  own  sunshine,  knows 

How  well  I  love  Ihee,  and  how  deeply  hate 

.^//  tyrants,  upstart  and  hegi'iniate  — 

Yet,  in  that  hour  were  France  my  native  land, 

I  would  have  folb.w'd,  wilh  quick  heart  and  hand, 

Napoleon,  Nero  —  ay,  no  matter  whom  — 

To  hualch  my  couuiry  froni  ihat  damning  d"om, 

That  deadliest  curse  that  on  theconquei'd  waits  — 

A  Conqueror's  satrap,  throii'd  within  her  gates  ! 

True,  he  was  filse  —  despotic —  all  vna  please  — 
Had  trampled  down  man's  holiest  libeities  — 


»  See  ^lian,  lib.  v.  cap.  29,— who  tells  us  Ihat  these 
geese,  fioni  a  consciousness  of  I  heir  own  loquacity, 
always  cross  Mount  Taurus  with  stones  in  (heir  bills. 
In  prevent  any  urducky  cackle  fnmi  betraying  them  (o 
the  eagles  — diarrtrovrat  (Titjjiruivrec. 


332 


THE   FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


Had,  by  a  g;enius,  formed  for  nobler  things 
I'hau  lie  within  the  grasp  of  vulgar  Kings, 
Hut  rais'd  the  hopes  of  men  —  as  eaglets  Ay 
Wiih  tortoises  alolt  into  the  sky  — 
'Jo  dash  them  Jnwn  as-iin  more  shatteringly ! 
AiMhislowu  — hut  btilM  *  * 


LETTER    XIK 

FROM    MISS   BIDDY   FUDGE  TO    MISS   DORO- 
THY    . 

At  la?t,  Dolly,— thanks  to  a  potent  emetic. 
Which  Bobby  and  Pa,  with  grimace  symi^athetic, 
Have  swallowM  tliis  morning,  tu  balance  ihe  bliss. 
Of  an  eel  inatdote  and  a  bisque  d'ecrevisses  — 

I  've  a  morning  at  home  to  myself,  and  sit  down 
To  describe  you  our  heavenly  ttip  out  of  toun. 
Hovv  agog  you  must  be  for  this  leller,  my  dear! 
Lady  J.ine,  in  the  novel,  less  languisli'd  to  hear 
If  that  eleg.uit  cnrnet  she  met  at  Lord  Neville's 
Was  actually  dying  with  love  or— blue  devils. 
But  Love,  Dully,  Luve  is  Ihe  iheme  /  [lursue; 

With  Blue  Devilc,  ihank  heav'ii,  1  have  noihingtodo— 
Except,  indeed,  dear  Colonel  Calicot  apies 
Any  imps  of  that  colour  in  certain  blue  eyes, 
Which  tie  stures  at  till  /,  Doll,  at  his  do  Ihe  samej 
Then  he  simpers— 1  blush — and  would  ofien  exclaim, 
If  1  knew  but  the  French  for  it,  "Lord,  Sir,  for 
ehame  1" 

Wei!, the  morning  was  lovely— Ihe  trees  m  full  dress 
For  the  happy  occasion—  the  sunshine  express- 
Had  we  order'd  it,  dear,  of  the  best  poet  going, 

II  scaice  could  befurmsh'd  more  golden  and  glowing. 
Though  lale  when  we  started,  Ihe  sceni  of  the  air 
Was  like  Gattie's  rose-water, —  and,  bnght,  here  and 

there, 
On  the  grass  an  odd  dew-drop  was  glittering  yet, 
Like  my  aunl's  diamond  pin  on  her  greeu  tabbinet ! 
While  the  birds  seein'd  to  warble  as  blest  on   the 

boughs, 
As  if  each  a  plun.^d  Caticot  had  for  her  spouse; 
And   the  grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing  in 

rows, 
And  —  in  short,  need  I  tell  you,  wherever  one  goes 
With  the  creature  one  loves,  'I  is  all  couleur  de  rose; 
And,  ah,  [  shall  ne'er,  liv'd  I  ever  so  long,  see 
A  day  such  as  ihat  at  divine  Ali)ntmorency  I 

There  was  but  one  Drawback— at  first  when  we 

started. 
The  Coliiiiel  and  I  were  inhumanly  parted  ; 
How  cruel  —  young  hearts  of  such  moments  to  rob  I 
He  went  in  I'a's  buggy,  and  I  went  with  Bob; 
And,  1  own,  I  felt  6|)i'efully  happy  to  know 
That  P.ipa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so-so. 
For  the  Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  Honey's  — 
Served  with  him  of  course— nay,  l*m  sure  they  were 

cronies. 
So  martial  Ins  features  I  de.ir  Doll,  you  can  trace 
Ulin,  Austerlilz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 
As  you  do  on  thai  pillar  of  glory  and  brass,** 
Which  the  poor  Due  de  B— n  must  hale  so  to  pass! 
It  appears,  too,  he  made  — as  most  foieigners  do  — 
About  English  all'airs  an  odd  blunder  ur  iwo. 


1  Somebody  (Fontenelle.  I  believe,)  has  said,  that  if 
he  had  his  hand  full  of  truths,  he  would  open  but  one 
finger  at  a  time ;  and  the  same  s^Tt  of  reserve  I  find 
to  be  nece'-SAry  wjih  respect  to  Mr.  Connor's  very 
plain-spoken  letters.  The  remainder  of  ihis  Epistle 
IS  so  full  of  unsafe  nialter-of-fact.  that  it  must,  for  the 
present  at  least,  he  withheld  from  the  public. 

•  The  column  in  the  Place  Vendonie. 


For  example  —  misled  by  the  names,  I  dare  Bay~> 

He  confounded  Jack  Castles  with  Lord  C gh  ; 

And  —  sure  such  a  blunder  no  niorlal  hit  ever  on  — 
Fancied  the  jjrcscnt  Lord  C— md — u  the  clevaroutl 

But  politics  ne'er  were  the  sweet  fellow's  trade; 
'  r  was  for  w.'tr  and  Ihe  ladies  my  Colonel  was  made. 
And,  oh,  had  you  tieard,  as  togeilier  we  walk'd 
'J'hru'  that  beautiful  forest,  how  sweetly  he  lalk'd; 
And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  Doll,  to  know 
All  the  life  and  adventures  of  Jean  Jacques  Rous- 

*''Tw.is  there,"  said  he  —  not  that  his  words  I  cao 

sate  — 
'T  was  a  gibb'rish  that  Cupid  alone  could  translate; — 
But  *Mliere,"  said   he,  (pointing  where,  small  and 

remote. 
The  dear   Hermitage    rose,)  *' there  his  Julie   be 

wrote,— 
"  Upon  paper  gill-edg'd,3  without  blot  or  erasure; 
**Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure, 
"And  —  i.h,  what  will  geiiins  and  fancy  not  do?  — 
*'Tied  the  leaves  up  loge  her  \\  tlh iiompareilU  blue!" 
What  a  trait  of  Kousseau  !  what  a  crood  of  emotions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribbons  are  conjur'd  up  here! 
Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite  *  notions 
Should   send  his  poor  bruits  to  Ihe  Fouudliug,  my 

dearl 

*"T  was  here,  too,  perhaps,"  Colonel  Calicot  said — 
As  down  the  innll  garden  he  pensively  led  — 
(Though  onoe  I  could  see  his  sublime  forehead  wrinkle 
Wiih  lage  not  to  hud  Ihere  the  lov'd  periwinkle)* 
"  'T  was  here  he  receiv'd  from  the  fair  D'Epiuay 
"  (Who  cali'd  him  so  sweetly  her  Bear,^  every  day,) 
"That  dear  flannel  petticoat,  puti'd  oil"  to  form 
**  A  waistcoat,  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm  !'*  ^ 

Such,  Doll,  were  the  sweet  recollections  we  ponder'd, 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley  ue  wauder'd. 
The  flannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is!) 
Led  us  to  talk  about  oher  comnuidilies, 
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  wliiskers  shone  down, 
VVhen  he  ask'd  me,  with  eagerness,  —  who  made  my 

gown  ? 
The  question  confus'd  me— for,  Doll,  you  must  know. 
And  1  ought  to  have  told  my  best  fnend  long  ago, 
That,  by  Fa's  strict  command,  1  no  longer  employ  8 
That  enchanting  couturiere^  Sladame  le  Hoi ; 


»  "Employant  pour  cela  le  plus  beau  papier  dore, 
sechant  I'ecnlure  avec  de  la  poudre  d'azuret  d'argent, 
et  cousant  nies  cahiers  avec  de  la  nompareille  bleue." 
—Les  Confessions^  p^rt  li.  liv.  9. 

4  This  word,  *  exquisite,"  is  evidently  a  favourite 
of  Miss  Fudge's ;  and  1  understand  she  was  not  a  little 
angry  when  her  brother  Bob  cmmitled  a  pun  on  the 
last  two  syllables  of  it  in  the  following  couplet ;  — 

"  I  '(J  fain  praise  your  Poem — but  tell  me,  how  is  it 
When  i  cry  out  "  Kxyuisite,"  Echo  i-ri.a  ••  quis  it  7" 

*  The  flower  which  Rousseau  brought  into  such 
fashion  among  the  F'irisians,  by  exclaiming  one  day, 
"Ah,  vnila  de  l.i  peivenchel" 

6  "  Afon  ourj,  voila  votie  asyte  — et  vous,  mon 
ours^  ne  viendrez  vous  pas  aussi  ?'^ —  &c.  &c. 

1  "Un  jour,  qu'il  geloit  ires  fortj  en  ouvrant  un 
paquet  qu'elle  m'envoyoit,  je  trouvai  un  petit  jupon 
de  flinelle  d'Angleiefre,  quelle  me  marqunjt  avoir 
porle,  et  dont  elle  vouloit  que  je  me  fisse  faire  un 
gilet.  Ce  sniii,  plus  qu'anucal,  me  paiut  si  lendre, 
comma  si  elle  se  fut  depouillee  pour  me  vetir,  que, 
dans  nion  emotion,  je  baisai  vingt  fois  en  pleurant  le 
billet  el  le  jupon." 

8  Miss  Biddy's  notions  of  French  pronunciation 
may  be  perceived  in  the  rhymes  which  she  always 
selects  for"ie  ^oi." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


333 


But  \m  forcM  now  to  have  Victorioe,  who  — deuce 

take  her  I  — 
It  seems  is,  at  present,  the  King's  mantua-maker  — 
I  nieao  of  his  parly — and,  lhoug;h  much  the  smarlest, 
Le  Roi  is  condemned  ^s  a  rank  Bonapartist.i 
Think,   Dull,   how   confounded    1   look'd  —  so  well 

knowing 
The  Colonel's  opinione— my  cheeks  were  quite  glow- 

ing; 
I  stammerM  out  Bomething  — nay,  even  half  nam'd 
The  ieg-tdma/c  sempstress,  when,  loud,  he  exclaim'd, 
**  Yes,  yes,  by  Uie  stitching  't  is  plain  to  be  seen 

"  it  was  made  by  that  liourbonile  b h,  Victorine!" 

What  a  word  for  a  hero  !  —  but  hemes  will  err. 
And  1  thought,  dear,  IM  tell  you  things  ju«I  as  they 

Resides,  though  Ihe  word  on  good  manners  intrench, 
1  assure  you  'I  is  not  hatf  so  shocking  in  French. 

But  this  cloud,  ihoueh  embarrassing,  soon  pass'd  away, 
And  the  bti»  altogether,  the  dreams  uf  (hat  day. 
The  thoughts  that  arise,  when  such  dear  fellows  v?oo 

The  nothings  that  then,  love,  are  everything  to  us  — 
Thai  quick  correspondence  of  glances  and  aighs. 
And    what   Bob  calls  the  **  Twopenny-post  of  the 

Kyes"- 
Ah,  Doll !  though  I  kiiow  you  've  a  heart,  *t  is  in  vain 
To  a  heart  st*  unpraciisM  these  things  tn  explain. 
They  can  only  be  felt,  in  their  fulness  divine, 
By  her  who  has  waudei'd,  at  evening's  decline, 
Through  a  valley  like  that,  with  a  Colonel  like  mine  ! 

Bnt  here  I  must  finish  —  for  Bob.  my  dear  Dolly, 
Whom  physic,  I  find,  always  makes  melancholy. 
Is  seiz'd  with  a  fancy  for  church  yard  rertectious; 
And,  full  of  all  yesterday's  rich  recoltt-ctions, 
Is  just  selling  oft'  for  Montmartre  —  '*  for  there,  is," 
Said  he,  looking  solemn,  **  the  tomb  of  the  Verjs  1  a 
**  Long,  long  have  I  wish'd,  as  a  votary  true, 

"  O'er  the  grave  of  such  tilents  to  utter  my  moans  ; 
"  And,  to-day  —  as  my  stomach  is  not  in  good  cue 

"  For  tUeJiesh  of  the  Verys — 1  '11  visit  their  i/onej.'" 
He  insists  upon  my  going  with  him  —  how  teasing  1 

This  letter,  however,  dear  Dolly,  shall  lie 
Unseal'd  in  my  draw'r,  that,  if  any  thing  pleating 

Occurs  while  Pni  out,  I  may  tell  you  —  good-bye. 

fi.  r. 

Four  oVlock. 
Oh,  Dnlly.  dear  DnJly,  I'm  ruin'd  forever  — 
1  ne'er  shall  be  happy  again,  Dolly,  never ! 


1  Le  Roi,  who  was  the  Coiduriere  of  the  Empress 
Maria  Lnuisa,  is  at  present,  of  course,  out  of  faiihinn, 
and  is  succeeded  in  her  station  by  the  Royalist  man- 
tua-maker, Victorine. 

^  It  is  the  brother  of  the  present  excellent  Restau- 
rateur who  ties  entombed  so  magnificently  in  Ihe 
Cimetiere  Montmarire.  'Ihe  inscription  on  the  co- 
lumn at  the  head  of  the  tomb  concludes  with  Ihe  fol- 
lowing words: — "Toutesa  vie  fut  cousacree  aux  arts 
utiUi*^ 


To  think  nf  the  wretch  —  what  a  victim  wat  1 1 
'Tis  loo  much  to  endure— 1  sh<ll  die,  I  shall  die  — 
My  brain  's  in  a  fever — my  pulses  beat  quick  — 
I  shall  die,  or,  at  least,  be  exceedingly  sick! 
Oh,  what  do  you  think  ?  ^fier  all  my  romancing, 
My  visions  ot  glory,  my  sighing,  niy  glancing, 
This  Colonel  —  1  scarce  can  commii  it  to  paper — 
This  Cnlonel's  no  moie  th.n  a  vile  linen-draper!! 
H'  is  true  as  I  live  —  I  had  coax'd  brother  Bob  so, 
(You  '11  hardly  make  out  what  I  'm  writing,  I  sob  so,) 
For  snnie  little  gift  on  my  birth-day—  September 
The  thirtieth,  dear,  1  'm  eighteen,  \ou  remember  — 
That  Bi)b  to  a  shop  kindlv  ordei'd  the  coach, 

(Ah,  little  1  thought  wh'n  Ihe  shopman  would  prove,) 
To  be^p^fak  me  a  tew  of  those  jnoiichoirs  de  poche^ 

Which,  in  happier  hours,  I  have  sigh'd  for,  my 

(The    most    beautiful   things  —  two  Napoleons  the 

price  — 
And  one 's  name  in  the  corner  embroidered  so  nice  !> 
Well,  with  heart  full  of  pleasure,  I  enter'd  the  shop, 
But — ye  Gods,  wli.il  a  phantom  I — 1  thuught  1  should 

drop  — 
There   he  stood,  my  dear  Dolly  — no  room  for  a 
doubt  — 
There,  behind  the  vile  counter,  these  eyes  saw  him 
stand, 
With  a  piece  of  French  cambric  before  him  rollM  out. 
And  that  horrid  yard-measure  upiais'd  in  htshand! 
Oh  — Fapa,  all  alone,  knew  the  secret,  'tis  clear  — 
*T  was  o  shopman  he  meant  by  a  '*  Brandeuburgh," 

dear  I 
The  man,  whom  I  fondly  had  fancied  a  King, 

And,  when  that  too  delightful  illusion  was  past, 
As  a  hero  had  worshipp'd— vile,  treacherous  thing— 

To  turn  out  but  a  low  linen-draper  at  last ! 
My  head  suam  amund— the  wretch  smil'd,  1  believe. 
But  his  smiling,  alas,  could  no  longer  deceive  — 
I    fell  back  on   Bob — my   whole  heart  seemed  to 

wither  — 
And,  pale  as  a  ghost,  I  was  carried  back  hither ! 
I  only  remember  that  Bob,  as  I  caugni  him, 

W'ilh  cruel  facetiousness  said,  *'  Curse  the  Kiddy  ! 
"A  staunch  Revolutionist  always  I  've  Ihought  him, 
*' But  now  1  find  out  he's  a  Counter  onCy  Biddy!" 
Only   think,  my  dear  creature,  if  this  should  be 
known 
To  that  saucy,  satirical  thing,  Miss  Malone  ! 
What  a  s'ory  't  will  be  at  Shandaigan  fnr  ever! 
What  laughs  and  what  quizzing  she'll  have  with 
the  men  ! 
It  will  spread  through  the  country  —  and  never,  oh 

Can  Biddy  be  seen  at  Kilrandy  again  ! 
Farewell  —  I  shall  do  something  desp'rate,  I  fear  — 
And,  ah  I  if  my  fate  ever  reaches  ynur  ear. 
One  (ear  of  compassion  my  Doll  will  not  grudge 
To  her  poor  — -  broken-hearted  —  young  friend, 

BIDDY  FUDGE, 

Nota  fccnc  — I  am  sure  you  will  hear,  with  delight. 
That  we  're  going,  all  three,  to  see  Brunet  to>night. 
A  laugh  will  revive  me  — and  kind  Mr.  Cox 
(Do  you  know  him  ?)  has  got  us  Ihe  Governor?a  box. 


334 


FABLES  FOR   THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY   ALLIANCE. 


Tu  Regibus  alao 
ErlpB. 

Virgil,  Oeorg.  lib.  It. 
——Clip  the  win^B 
or  theae  hlgh-flyiDti,  arbitrbry  Kmtjs. 

Dryiieo'B  TraailatioTU 


DEDICATION. 

TO    LORD    BYRON. 

Dear  Lord  Byron,— Though  this  Volume  should 
poBstss  DO  other  merit  in  your  eyes,  than  that  of  re- 
nniidiiig  you  of  the  short  time  we  passed  together  at 
Venice,  whcD  some  of  the  trifles  which  it  contaiiifl 
were  written,  you  will.  !  am  sure,  receive  the  dedi- 
cation of  it  with  pleasure,  and  believe  that  1  am, 
My  dear  Lord, 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 
T.  B. 


PREFACE. 

Though  it  was  the  wish  of  the  Members  of  the 
Poco-cuiante  Sticieiy  (who  have  lately  done  me  the 
honour  of  electing  me  their  Secretary)  that  1  should 
prehx  my  name  to  tlie  following  Miacellany,  il  is  but 
fair  to  them  and  to  Diyself  to  stale,  that,  except  in  the 
•'painful  pre-eminence"  of  being  employed  li  tran- 
scribe their  lucubrations,  my  claim  to  such  a  distinc- 
tion in  the  title-page  is  not  greater  than  thai  of  any 
other  genileman,  who  ha^  cuniribuled  his  share  to  the 
conlenis  of  the  volume. 

I  hid  originally  intended  to  take  this  opportunity  of 
givitig  some  accunt  of  the  origin  and  objects  of  our 
TnsIiIutiOii,  the  names  and  cliaraclers  of  the  different 
member-,  &c.  &c.~but,  as  1  am  ;it  present  preparing 
f(ir  the  press  the  First  Volume  of  the  "'Iransaclions 
of  the  Focn-curante  Society,"  I  shall  reservefDrth.it 
occasion  all  further  de'ails  upon  the  subject;  and 
content  myself  here  with  referring,  for  a  general 
insight  into  itur  tenets,  to  a  Song  which  will  be  found 
at  the  end  of  this  work,  and  which  is  sung  to  us  nn 
the  first  day  of  every  mon  !i,  by  one  of  our  oldest 
members,  to  the  tune  of  (as  far  as  1  can  recollect, 
being  no  musician,)  either  *'  Nancy  Dawson"  or  '•He 
stole  away  the  Bacon." 

Jt  m  .y  be  as  well  aho  to  state,  for  the  information 
of  th"se  cniics,  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  ^uch  assailants,  than  is  contained  in  the 
three  words  "  N<>n  curat  Hippoclides,"  (meaning,  in 
English,  "  Hippnclides  does  not  care  a  fig,"j  which 
were  spoken  two  thousand  years  ago  by  the  first 
founder  of  Poco-curanlism,  and  have  ever  since  been 
adopted  as  the  leading  dicluvi  of  the  s.cct. 

THOMAS  BROWN. 


FABLE    I. 

THE   DISSOLUTION   OF  THE   HOLY    ALLI- 
ANCE. 
A    DREAM. 

I  'vc  had  a  dream  that  bodes  do  good 
Unto  the  Holy  Bro  herhood. 


may  be  wrong,  but  I  cc  nfess- 
As  far  as  it  is  right  or  lawful 
'or  one,  no  conjurer,  to  guess  — 
it  seems  to  me  extremely 


fuK 


Melhought,  upon  the  Neva's  flood 

A  beautiful  Ice  Palace  stood, 

A  dome  of  frosi-work.  on  the  plan 

Of  that  once  built  by  Empress  Anne,» 

Which  shone  by  motmlighl  — as  the  talc  is  — 

Like  an  Aurora  Borealis. 

In  this  said  Palace,  furnish'd  all 

And  lighted  as  ihe  best  on  land  are, 
I  dreamt  there  was  a  splendid  Ball, 

Giv'n  by  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
To  enteriain  with  all  due  zeal, 

Those  holy  gentlemen,  who've  shown  a 
Regard  so  kind  for  Europe's  weal, 

At  I'roppau,  Laybacb,  and  Verona. 

The  thought  was  hippy— and  design'd 
To  hint  how  thus  the  human  Mind 
May,  like  the  stream  imprtson'd  there, 
Be  check'd  and  chill'd,  till  it  can  bear 
The  heaviest  Kings,  that  ode  or  sonnet 
E'er  yet  be-prais'd,  to  dance  upon  it. 

And  all  were  pleas'd,  and  cold,  and  stately. 

Shivering  in  grand  ilhiminalion — 
Admii'd  the  superstiucture  greatly, 

Nor  gave  one  thought  to  the  foundation. 
Much  tno  the  Czar  himself  exulted, 

To  nil  plebeian  fears  a  str;)nger, 
For,  Madame  Krudeoer,  when  ciKisnlted, 

Had  pledg'd  her  word  there  was  no  danger. 
iSo,  on  he  caper'd,  fearless  quite, 

Thinking  himself  extremely  clever. 
And  waMz'd  away  with  all  his  might, 

As  if  the  Frost  would  last  for  ever. 

Just  fancy  how  a  bard  like  me, 

Who  reverence  monarchs,  must  have  tiembled 
To  see  that  goodly  company, 

At  such  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Nor  were  the  fears,  that  thus  astounded 
My  loyal  soul,  at  all  unfounded  — 
For,  lo!  ere  long,  tho'^e  walls  so  mas<iy 

Were  seiz'd  with  an  ill-nmen'd  dripping, 
And  o'er  the  floors,  now  growing  glassy, 

Their  Holinesses  took  lo  slipping. 
The  Czar,  half  through  a  Polonaise, 

Could  scarce  get  on  for  downright  stumfc.^Dg* 
And  Prussia,  though  to  slippery  ways 

Well  us'd,  was  cursedly  near  lumblin^ 

Yet  still  't  was,  who  could  stamp  the  floor  most 
Russia  and  Austria  'mom;  the  foremost— 


»  "  It  is  well  known  that  the  Empress  Anne  boUt 
»  palace  of  ice  on  (he  Neva,  in  1740,  which  w»s 
fifty-two  feet  in  length,  and  when  illommated  had  & 
surprising  effect."—  Pinkerton- 


FABLES  FOR   THE   HOLY   ALLIANCE. 


335 


And  now,  tn  an  Italian  nir, 

This  (irecious  brace  would,  liand  in  hand,  go  j 
Now  —  while  old  Louis,  from  his  chair, 
Intreated  them  hia  tnes  to  spare  — 

CalJ'J  loudly  out  for  a  Fandango. 

And  a  Fandango,  'faith,  they  had, 

At  which  they  all  set  to,  like  mad  ! 

Never  were  Kings  (thou?:h  small  th'  expense  is 

Of  wit  amnnp  tlieir  Excejlenciesj 

So  out  of  all  their  princely  5eii9es. 

Bur,  ah,  that  dance  —  that  Spanish  dance 

Scarce  was  ihe  luckless  strain  hegun, 
When,  gl.irmi;  red,  as  't  were  a  glauce 

Shot  from  an  angry  Smiihern  sun, 
A  light  ihrnugh  all  the  chambeis  flam'd, 

Asionishing  nid  Father  Frost, 
Who,  hurst intj  into  tears,  exclaini'd, 

"  A  thaw,  by  Jove  -  we  're  lo>t,  we  're  lost  I 
"  Run.  France  —  a  st-cnnd  lVater]oo 
**ls  come  to  drown  you  — sauve  qui  pent  I^ 

Why,  why  will  monarchs  caper  so 

In  palaces  wirhnul  funndatiiins?  — 
Instantly  all  wan  in  a  How, 

Crowns,  fiddles,  sceptres,  decorations  — 
Tho»e  Ro\aI  Arms,  'hat  loob'd  so  nice, 
Cut  out  in  the  resplendent  ice  — 
Those  Eagles.Jiandsomt-Iy  provided 

With  d'uble  heads  for  double  dealings—- 
How  fast  the  globes  and  sceptres  glided 

Out  of  their  claws  on  all  the  ceilings  ! 
Proud  Prussia's  double  bird  of  prey 
Tame  as  a  spa'ch  Cf>ck.  slunk  away  ; 
While— ju8l  like  France  herself,  when  she 

Proclaims  Imw  great  her  nav.l  !kill  is  — 
Poor  Louis' drowning  deurs-de-Iys 

Iniagin'd  themselves  wafer-lilies. 

And  not  alone  rooms,  ceilings,  shelves, 

But  —  still  more  fatal  execution  — 
The  Great  Le^itim:«tes  lhem<<elves 

Seern'd  in  a  sta'e  nf  di>Sf'lu'ion. 
Th*  indignant  Czar—  when  just  ab  mt 

To  i>3ue  a  sublime  Ukase, 
**  Whereas  all  light  must  be  kept  out"— 

Dissolv'd  to  nothing  in  its  blaze. 
Next  Prussia  look  his  turn  (o  melt, 
And.  white  his  lips  illustrious  felt 
The  influence  of  this  southern  air, 

Some  word,  like  "  Constitutioii"  —  Jonj 
CongeaPd  in  frosty  silence  there  — 

Came  slowly  thawing  from  his  tongue. 
While  Louis,  lapsing  by  degrees, 

And  S'ghing  out  a  faint  adieu 
To  trutfies,  salmis,  toasted  cheese 

And  hmoking  fundus,  quickly  grew. 

Himself,  into  a  fondu  too  ;  — 
Or  like  that  goodly  King  they  make 
Of  >ugar  for  a  Twelfth-night  cake, 
When,  in  some  urchin's  mouth,  alas, 
It  melts  into  a  shapeless  mass  1 

In  short,  1  scarce  could  count  a  minute, 
Kte  the  bright  dome,  and  all  within  it, 
Kings.  Fiddlers,  Emperors,  all  were  gone 

And  notfiing  now  was  seen  or  heard 
But  Ihe  bright  river,  rushing  on, 

Happy  as  an  enfianchi>'d  bird. 
And  prouder  of  that  natural  ray, 
Shining  along  its  chainlets  way  — 
More  proudly  happv  thus  lo  gfide 

In  simple  grandeur  to  Ihe  sea, 
Than  when,  in  sparkling  tetters  tied, 
»T  was  deck'd  wiih  all  that  kingly  pride 

Could  bring  to  light  its  suvery! 


I  awfulD 


-  and,  I  confess. 


That  Spanish  Dance —  that  southetn  beam 
But  I  say  nothing  — there  's  my  dream  — 
And  Madame  Krudener,  the  bhe-prnpb«t, 
May  make  just  what  »he  pleases  of  iU 


FABLE    II. 

THE     LnOKING-GLASSES. 

PROEM. 

Where  Kings  have  been  by  mob-elections 

Hais'd  lo  Ihe  throne,  't  is  strange  to  see 
Wlut  dilVereiit  aiitl  what  odd  perfections 

Men  have  requn'd  in  Koy.lty. 
Some,  liking  monarchs  laige  and  pliimpy, 

Have  cho»'n  their  Sovereigiib  by  the  weight;— 
Some  wish'd  them  till,  snnie  ttiought  your  dumpT* 

Dutch-built.  Ihe  true  Legitimate.! 
The  Easterns  in  a  I'nnce,  'I  is  said. 
Prefer  what 's  cali'd  a  jolter-head  :  ^ 
Th'  Esyptiaiia  wer'n't  at  all  partic  lar. 

So  that  Iheir  Kings  had  iiot  red  hair  — 
Thii  fault  not  ev'n  the  greatest  stickler 

For  the  blnod-royal  well  could  bear. 
A  thousand  more  si>ch  illustraiioio 
Might  be  :idduc"d  from  various  nations, 
Bu',  'mong  the  many  tales  ihey  tell  us, 

Touching  th'  acqiiir'd  or  natural  right 
Which  some  men  have  lo  rule  their  fellows, 

There  'a  one  which  1  shall  here  recite  j  — 


FABLE, 

There  was  a  land  — to  name  the  place 
Is  neither  now  my  wi?*h  nor  duty  — 

Where  reign'd  a  certain  Roval  race. 
By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

t)f  these  great  persons'  chins  and  noses, 
By  right  ot  which  Ihey  rul'd  the  slate, 

No  history  1  have  seen  discloses. 

But  so  it  was  —  a  settled  case  — 
Some  Acl  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snugly, 

Had  voted  them  a  beauteous  race. 
And  all  their  faithful  suhjects  ugly. 

As  rank,  indeed,  sfo^^d  high  nr  low, 
Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs; 

Your  Peers  were  decern  — Knights,  so  so  — 
But  alt  your  common  people,  gorgona  ! 

Of  course,  if  any  knave  but  hinted 
That  the  King's  n"se  was  luin'd  awry 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  bless  her  !)  squinted  — 
The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurr'd. 
The  penple  'o  Iheir  King  were  duteons, 

And  touk  it,  on  his  Rf-yal  word. 
That  they  were  frights,  and  He  was  beauteous. 

The  cause  whereof,  among  all  classes. 
Was  simply  this  — these  island  elves 

Had  never  yel  seen  looking-glasses, 
And,  therefore,  did  not  hjiow  themsdvea. 


«  The  Goths  hr>d  a  law  to  choose  always  a  ahnrt,  I 
thick  man  for  their  King.  —  Mmvjj/ct-,  Cvsmog.  lib,  ' 
iii.  p.  164.  I 

2  "In  a  Prince  a  joltcr-head  is  infaluable."  — Ori* 
ental  Field  SporU. 


336 


FABLES   FOR   THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Sometimes,  indeed,  Iheir  neighbours'  faces 
Might  iirike  Iheni  as  more  lull  of  rtasou, 

Alore  fresh  ihan  ihose  in  certain  placea-- 
Eu'.  Lord,  the  yery  thought  was  treasoo  I 

Besides,  howe'er  we  love  our  neighbour 
And  take  his  face's  part,  't  is  known 

We  neVr  so  much  in  earnest  labour, 
As  when  the  face  attacked 's  our  own. 

So,  on  they  went  —  the  crowd  believing  — 
(As  crowds  well  govern'd  always  do) 

Their  rulers,  too,  Iheinselves  deceiving  — 
tio  old  the  joke,  they  thought  'I  was  Hue, 

But  jokes,  we  know,  if  they  too  far  go, 
Must  have  an  end  —  and  so,  one  day, 

Upon  ihat  coast  there  was  a  cargo 
Ot  looking-glasses  cast  away. 

*T  was  said,  some  Radicals,  somewhere, 
Had  laid  their  ivicked  heads  together, 

And  forc'd  Itiat  ship  to  founder  there, — 
While  some  beheve  ct  was  the  weatiier. 

However  Ihis  might  be,  the  freight 
Was  landed  williout  fees  or  duties  ; 

And  froni  (hat  hour  historians  date 
The  downfall  of  the  Race  of  Beauties. 


The  lookin^-gla 
And  grew  so 


Without  a 


sses  got  about, 
common  through  the  land, 
nker  could  walk  out, 
rror  In  his  hand. 


Comparing  faces,  morning,  roon. 
And  nighi,  their  constant  occupalioa 

By  dint  of  looking  glasses,  soon, 

They  grew  a  most  retlecting  nation. 

In  vain  the  Court,  aware  of  errors 
In  alt  the  old,  esiablish'd  mazards, 

Prohibited  the  use  of  mirrors, 
And  tried  to  break  them  at  all  hazards:  — 

In  vain  —  their  laws  might  just  as  well 
Have  been  wasie  paper  on  the  shelves; 

That  fatal  freight  had  bmke  the  spell ; 
People  had  look'd  —  and  knew  themselves. 

If  chance  a  Duke,  of  bifth  sublime, 

FresuniM  upon  his  ancient  tace, 
(Some  calf-head,  ugly  from  all  time,) 

They  popp'd  a  niirror  to  his  Grace :  — 

Just  hinting,  by  that  gentle  sign, 

How  iitiie  Nature  holds  it  true, 
That  what  is  call'd  an  ancient  line, 

Must  be  the  line  of  Beauty  loo. 

From  Dukes'  they  pass'd  to  reeal  phizzes, 
Compar'd  them  proudly  with  their  own, 

And  cried,  '*  How  could  such  monsirous  quizzes 
*'  In  Beauty's  name  usurp  the  throne  I"  — 

They  then  wrote  essays,  pamphlets,  books, 

Upon  Cosiiietical  (Economy, 
Which  made  the  King  try  various  looks, 

But  none  improv'd  UU  physiognomy. 

And  f^alires  at  the  Court  were  levell'd, 
And  small  lampoon?,  so  full  of  ••lynesses, 

That  soon,  m  short,  thi-y  qurte  bf-devil'd 
'Iheir  Majesties  and  Royal  Highnesses. 

At  lengih  — but  here  I  drop  (he  veil. 

To  "Spare  some  loyal  folks*  sensations; — 

Besides,  uhat  followM  is  the  tale 
Of  all  such  late-enlightenM  nations; 


Of  all  to  whom  old  Tine  discloses 
A  truth  they  should  have  sooner  known  ^ 

That  Kings  have  neither  rights  nor  noses 
A  whit  diviner  than  their  own. 


FABLE    in. 


THE   TORCH    OF  LIBERTY. 

I  saw  it  all  in  Fancy's  glass  — 
IIer>elf,  the  fair,  the  wild  marician. 

Who  bid  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 
And  nam'd  each  gliding  apparition. 

*T  was  like  a  torch-race—  such  as  they 
Of  Greece  perforni'd,  in  ages  gone, 

When  the  tleet  youths,  in  hmg  array, 
Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 

I  saw  th'  expectant  nations  stand, 

To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn;  — 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand, 
The  clear,  though  slruggliog,  glory  burs^ 

And,  oh,  their  jov,  as  it  came  near, 
»T  was,  in  ilsetf,  a  joy  to  see  ;  — 

While  Fancy  whispcr'd  in  my  ear, 
"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !^ 

And,  each,  as  she  receiv'd  the  flame. 

Lighted  her  altar  wiih  its  ray  ; 
Then,  smiling,  to  the  next  who  came, 

Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From  Albion  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 
W.1S  furnish'd  with  the  fire  already, 

Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine. 
And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steady. 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallia  took. 
And,  like  a  wild  Baccl.anle,  raising 

The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook. 
As  iUe  would  set  the  world  a-blazing! 

Thus  k-ndlinsr  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

Her  altar  blaz'd  inm  the  air, 
That  Albion,  to  ihat  fire  loo  nigh, 

Shrunk  back,  and  shudder'd  at  its  glare  ! 

Next,  Spain,  so  new  was  light  to  her, 
Leap'd  at  the  torch  —  but.  ere  the  spark 

That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 
'T  was  quench'd  —  and  all  again  was  dark. 

Yet,  no  —  Tin?  quench'd  —  a  treasure,  worth 

So  much  to  mortals,  rirely  dies: 

Again  her  living  light  look'd  foith, 

And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

Who  next  receiv'd  the  flame  ?  alas. 
Unworthy  Naples  — shame  of  shames, 

That  ever  through  such  hands  sliould  pass 
ihat  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames  1 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  touch'd  the  torch, 
When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 

Nfr  waiting  ev'n  to  feel  the  scorch. 
She  dropp'd  it  to  the  earth  —and  fled. 

And  fall'n  it  might  have  long  remain'd ; 

But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now, 
Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  staii.y. 

And  wav'd  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 


FABLES  FOR   THE   HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


337 


And  Fancy  l)ade  me  mark  where,  o*er 

Her  alar,  as  its  fl.*iiie  asrended, 
Fair,  laurellM  spiriis  seemed  to  scar, 

Who  thus  in  sotig  their  voices  blended  :  — 

•* Shine,  shine  for  ever,  glorious  Flame, 

"  Divitiest  gift  of  Gods  lo  men  ! 
*'  FroHi  Gieece  thy  earliest  splendour  came, 

*'  'lo  Gieece  thy  ray  returns  again. 

*'  Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round, 
•'  When  dinim'd,  revive,  when  Inst,  letum, 

"Till  not  a  shrine  through  eirth  be  found, 
*'  On  v/bich  thy  glories  shall  not  burn !" 


FABLE     IV. 
THE    FLY    AND    THE    BtTLLOCK. 


Of  at!  that,  to  the  safe's  survey, 

This  woild  presen's  of  ?opsy-lurvy, 

Theie'a  neught  so  much  disurbs  one's  patience. 

As  liirle  minds  in  lotly  stili  -ns. 

n'is  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder, 

Which  slender  cnlumns,  labnuring  under 

Knonnous  arches,  give  beholders  j  — 
Or  those  pot)r  Car\atides, 
Condemii'd  lo  smile  and  stand  at  ease, 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shoulders. 

If,  as  in  some  few  royal  cases, 

Small  minds  are  bot'ti  into  such  places 

If  they  are  there,  by  Rnjht  Divine, 

Or  any  such  S'ifficietit  reason. 
Why—  Ht-av'n  fnrbid  we  >hould  repine! 

'Jo  wish  it  othtr^^ise  were  treasuDj 
N^y,  ev\i  to  see  il  in  a  visifiO, 
Would  be  what  lawyers  call  misprision. 

Sir  Robert  Fitmer  sai'h  — and  he, 

Of  course,  knew  all  a!)Out  ttie  matter  — 
"  Bnih  men  and  beas's  love  Monarchy ;" 

Which  proves  hnw  rational  —  (he  tatttr, 
Sidney,  we  know,  or  wrong  or  right, 
Entirely  ditferM  from  the  Knight : 
Nay,  hiiis  a  King  may  lose  his  head, 

Bv  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle:  — 
But  (his  A  treasonous,  ill  bred, 
And  (now-a-d  lys,  when  King,  are  led 

lu  paeut  snakes,  downright  idle. 

No.  no— it  i=n'l  right-line  Kings. 
(Those  sovereign  lords  in  leading-strings 
Who,  fn.m  iheir  birih,  are  Faith-Defenders.) 
That  move  my  wraih  —  't  is  your  pretenders 
Your  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  eanh, 
Who— not,  like  t'others,  bores  hy  birth, 
Kstablish'd  pratia  Dei  blockheads, 
Born  with  three  kingdnms  In  (heir  pockets  — 
Vel,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  slops. 

Push  up  info  the  loftiest  stations. 
And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops, 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations  1 

This  class  it  is  that  moves  my  gall, 
And  stiis  up  bile,  and  spleen,  and  all. 
While  iither  senseless  things  appear 
To  know  the  limits  of  their  si.here  — 
While  not  a  cdvv  on  earlh  romances 
So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances  — 
While  the  most  jumping  frog  we  know  of, 
Would  scarce  at  Asiley's  hope  to  show  nil  — 
Tour  *  *  *  8,  ynur  *  ■♦  *  s  d  ire, 

Untraiii»d  as  are  iheir  minds,  to  set  them 
To  any  burliness,  any  whce. 

At  any  time  (hat  fools  will  let  them. 


But  leave  we  here  these  upstart  things  — 
My  business  is,  just  now,  with  Kings; 
To  whom,  and  lo  their  right-line  glory, 
i  dedicaie  the  following  story. 


The  wise  men  of  Egypt  were  secret  as  dummies ; 

And,  ev'n  when  they  most  cundeacended  lo  (each, 
They   pack'd   up  their  meaning,  as  they  did   their 

In  80  many  wrappers,  'twas  out  of  one's  reach. 

They  were  also,  good  people,  much  given  to  Kings- 
Fond  of  craft  and  of  crocodiles,  monkeys  and  mys- 
tery j 

But  blue-bottle  flies  were  their  best  belov'd  things  — 
As  will  partly  appear  in  this  very  short  history. 

A  Scythian  philosojiher  (nephew,  they  say. 
To  that  other  great  traveller,  young  Anacharsis,) 

Step!  into  a  temple  at  Memphis  one  day. 

To  have  a  short  peep  at  their  mystical  farces. 

He  saw «  a  brisk  blue-lmttle  Fly  on  an  altar, 

Made  much  of,  and  worshipp'd,  as  sonieiliing  divine; 

While  a   large,  handsome  Bullock,  led   there  ia  a 
halter. 
Before  it  lay  slabb'd  at  the  foot  of  the  shrine. 

Surprised  at  such  doings,  he  whisper'd  his  teacher  — 
'*  if  'i  isn't  imi  eriinent,  may  I  ask  why 

"Should  a  Bullock,  that  useful  and  powerful  creature, 
"  Be  thus  ofl'er'd  up  to  a  blue-boltle  Fly  ?'* 


»No 


nder' 


-said  t'other—''  you  stare  at  the  sight, 
**  But  we  as  a  Symbol  of  Monarchy  view  it  — 
Tliai  Fly  on  the  shrine  is  Legitimate  Right, 
*^And  that  Bullock,  the  People,  that's  sacrificed 
to  it." 


FABLE    V, 

CHURCH  AND  STATE. 

PROEM. 

•The  moment  any  religion  becomes  national,  or  estab- 
lished, its  purity  must  rertainly  be  lost,  bfcnuse  it  is 
then  imp<)H!4ib1c  lo  keep  it  uni-iinnecled  wiih  men's  in* 
ptents;  and,  if  cunneded,  it  must   inevitably  l>«  per- 


verted by  Ihem." —  S»i 


Thus  did  Sname  Jenyns  —  though  a  Tory, 
A  Lord  of  Trade  and  the  Plantations  ; 

Feel  how  Religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stainM  by  S'ate  associations. 

When  Catherine,  ere  she  crushM  th«  Poles 

AppealM  to  the  benign  Divinity  ; 
Then  cut  Ihem  up  in  protocols. 
Made  fractions  of  their  very  sonls  "^  — 

All  in  the  name  of  the  bless'd  Trinity; 
Or  when  her  grandson,  Alexander, 
That  mighty  NrTthern  salamauder,^ 
Whose  icy  touch,  felt  all  about. 
Puts  every  fire  of  Freedom  out  — 
When  he,  too.  winds  up  his  Ukases 
With  God  and  the  Panngia*s  praises  — 


29 


t  According  to  iElian,  it  was  in  the  island  of  Leu- 
cadia  they  pructised  this  '.'eremony— -^VEiv  }iovv  ratj 
fiviaiS'—Oe  A}iimaL  lib.  li.  cap.  8. 

*  Ames^  detni-ames^  &c. 

3  The  salamander  is  supposed  to  have  the  pow«r  of 
eitingui!>hiiig  hie  by  its  nituial  coldness  and  moisture. 


w 


338 


FABLES   FOR   THE   HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


When  he,  of  royal  Saints  tlie  type, 

In  holy  water  dips  the  spunge, 
With  which,  al  one  imperial  wipe, 

He  would  .^11  hiJiiiaii  rights  expunge; 
When  Li.uis  (whom  as  King,  and  eater. 
Some  name  Liix-huit,  and  some  Des-huitres,) 
Calls  down  **  St.  Louis'  God,'*  lo  witiie&s 
The  right,  humanity,  and  ftlncsa 
Of  sending  eighty  iJiuu&and  Uulcns, 

Sages,  with  muskels  and  lac'U  coats, 
To  cram  instruc  ion,  nolens  volens, 

Down  the  poor  struggling  Spaniards'  throats  — 
I  can't  help  <hinking,  (though  to  Kings 

I  n-ust,  of  course,  like  other  men,  bow,) 
That  when  a  Christian  monarch  brings 
Religion's  name  to  gloss  these  things  — 

Such  blasphemy  oul-Genbows  benbow!> 

Or  —  uut  so  far  for  facts  to  roam. 
Having  a  few  much  nearer  honie  — 
V/hen  we  see  Churchmen,  who,  jf  ask'd, 
*■*■  Must  Ireland's  slaves  be  tilh'd,  and  task'd, 
*■  And  driv'n,  like  Negroes  or  Croats, 

**That  you  may  roll  in  wealth  and  bliss?** 
Look  from  beneath  their  shovel  hats 

VViih  all  due  pomp,  and  answer  "Yes!" 
But  then,  if  quesiion'd,  *' Shall  the  brand 
"Intolerance  flings  throughout  that  laud,— 
*-  Shall  the  herce  strife  now  laught  to  grow 
**  Betwixt  her  palaces  and  hovels, 
"  Be  ever  quench'd  ?"  —  fmiu  the  same  ahoveli 
Look  grandly  forth,  and  answer  "  No,"  — 
Alas,  alas  !  have  these  a  cl.>im 
To  merciful  Religion's  name  ? 
If  more  you  ^eek,  go  see  a  bevy 
Of  bowing  paroi.s  at  a  levee  — 
(Choosing  your  time,  when  straw's  before 
Some  apoplectic  bishop's  door,) 
Then,  if  th<iu  canst,  wiih  life,  tscape 
That  rush  of  lawn,  that  press  of  ciape, 
Just  watch  their  rev'reiices  and  graces, 

As  on  each  smirking  suitor  f.isks. 
And  say,  if  thi'se  round  shining  fa':eB 

To  beav'n  or  earth  most  turn  their  disks? 

This,  this  it  is  —  Religion,  made, 

'Tvvixl  Church  and  State,  a  truck,  a  trade 

This  most  ill-match'd,  unholy  t'o,^ 

From  whence  ihe  ills  we  wimess  flow  ; 

The  war  of  many  creeds  with  one  — 

Th*  extremes  of  too  much  fsith,  and  none— • 

Till,  betwixt  anci<  ni  trash  and  new, 

*Twixt  Cant  and  Blasphemy  —  the  two 

Rank  ills  with  which  this  age  is  curst  — 

We  can  no  more  tell  which  is  worst. 

Than  erst  could  Egypt,  when  so  rich 

In  various  plague>,  determine  which 

She  thought  mnsi  pestilent  and  vile, 

Her  frogs  like  Benbow  and  Carlisle, 

Cloaking  their  native  mud-notes  loud, 

Or  her  fat  locusts,  like  a  cloud 

Of  plnralists,  obesely  lowering. 

At  once  benighting  and  devourmg !  -~ 

This  —  this  it  is  —  and  here  I  pray 

Those  sa;.ient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 
Who  make  us  poor,  dull  authors  say, 

Not  what  we  mean,  but  what  Ihey  choose; 
Who  to  our  most  abundant  t.hare9 
Of  nonsense  add  still  more  of  theirs, 
And  are  to  poets  just  such  evils 

As  caterpillars  hud  those  flies,^ 
Which,  not  content  to  sting  like  devils, 

Lay  eggs  upon  their  backs  likewise  — 


t  A  well-known  publisher  of  irreligious  books. 

4  *'  The  greatest  number  of  the  ichneumon  tribe 
are  seen  settling  upon  the  back  of  the  caterpillar, 
darting  at  diH'erent  intervals  their  stings  into  its  body 
—at  every  dart  they  depose  an  egg."  —  Goldsmith. 


To  guard  against  such  foul  deposits 
Of  other's  meaning  in  my  rhymes, 

(A  thing  more  needful  here,  becau>>e  it's 
A  subject,  ticklish  in  these  times) — 

I,  here,  to  all  such  wits  make  known, 

nihly  and  Weekly,  Whig  and   lory 


W/nsKeIn 


alo 
vmg  story  ;  — 


FABLE. 


When  Royalty  was  young  and  bold. 
Ere,  touch'd  by  'lime,  he  had  become - 

If  'I  isn't  civil  to  say  o/d, 
At  least,  a  ci-devant  jcune  homme  ; 

One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit, 
Uiivmg  along,  he  chancM  to  aee 

Religion,  passing  by  on  foot. 
And  took  him  in  his  vis-a-vis. 


This  said  Religion  was  a  Friar, 

The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men, 
Who  ne'er  had  notion  ordesire 

Of  riding  ju  a  coach  till  then. 

*'  I  say*' — quoih  Royalty,  who  rather 

Enjoy 'd  a  ma!>queiading  ji^ke  — 
*'  I  say,  suppose,  my  gnod  old  father, 

*'  You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

The  Friar  consented  —little  knew 

What  tricks  the  youth  had  in  his  head  ; 

Besides,  was  rather  templed  loo 
By  a  lac'd  coat  he  got  in  stead. 

Away  ran  Royalty,  slap-dash, 
Scanipering  like  mad  about  the  town  ; 

Broke  windows,  ••hiver'd  lamps  to  smash, 
And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  dowo. 

While  nought  could  they,  whose  heads  were  tiotu. 

Learn  uf  the  ■•*  why''  or  of  the  "  wherefore,^ 
Except  that  't  was  Heligion's  cloak 

'I'be  gentleman,  who  ciackM  them,  wore. 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  lurn'd 

By  the  lac'd  coat,  giew  frisky  too; 
Look'd  big — his  former  habits  spurn'd  — 
And  slorm'd  about,  as  great  nicu  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  eiiher  knave,  or  mad. 

As  work  like  this  was  unbefitting, 
And  flesh  and  blood  no  longer  bore  it. 

The  Court  of  Common  Sense,  then  sifting, 
Summoned  Ihe  culprits  bo:h  before  tt. 

Where,  afier  hours  in  wrangling'  spent 
(As  (Courts  must  wrangle  to  decide  well), 

Religion  to  St.  Luke's  v^as  sent. 
And  Royally  pack'd  oU'  to  Bridewell. 

With  this  proviso  —  should  they  be 
Restnr'd,  in  due  time,  to  their  senses, 

They  both  must  give  security, 
In  future,  against  such  otil'ences  ^ 

Religion  ne'er  to  lend  his  cloak^ 
Seeing  what  dreadful  work  it  leads  to; 

And  Royalty  lo  crack  his  j"ke,— 

But  not  to  crack  poor  people's  hcadi  too* 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


339 


FABLE    VI. 
THE     LITTLE     GRAND     LAMA. 

PROEM. 

Novella,  a  ynun^  B'^logiiese, 

The  daujliler  of  a  leaj  uM  Law  Doclor,« 
Who  had  wilh  all  the  suhtlclies 

Of  (lid  and  modern  jiirisis  slock'd  her, 
Was  50  exceeding  fair,  't  is  said, 

And  over  hearts  Iield  such  dominion, 
That  when  her  father,  sici!  in  l)ed, 
Or  busy,  sent  her,  in  liis  stead. 

To  Ifclure  on  the  Code  Justinian, 
She  had  a  curlain  dra\vn  before  her. 

Lest,  if  tier  charms  were  seen,  the  students 
Should  let  llieir  young  eyes  wander  o'er  her, 

And  cjuile  foigel  tlieir  jurisprudence.* 

Just  so  it  is  with  Trulh,  when  sun. 
Too  dazzling  far,—  't  is  from  behind 

A  light,  thin  allegoric  screen, 
She  thus  can  safest  teach  iitaiikind. 


FABLE. 


In  Thibet  once  there  reign'd,  weVe  told, 

A  little  Lama,  one  year  old  — 

Rais'd  to  the  throne,  that  realm  to  bless, 

Just  when  his  little  Holiness 

Had  cut  —  as  near  as  can  be  reckoned  — 

Some  say  hh  first  tooth,  some  his  stxoJid, 

Chronologers  and  Nurses  vary. 

Which  proves  historians  shoiild  be  wary 

We  only  know  th'  imporianl  trulh, 

His  Majesty  had  cut  a  looth." 

And  much  his  sul)jects  were  encllanted, — 

As  well  all  Lamas'  subjects  may  be. 
And  would  have  giv'n  their  heads,  if  wanlad, 

'I'o  make  lee-lotums  for  the  baby. 
Thron'd  as  he  was  by  Right  Uivine 

(VVh,at  lawyers  call  ^ure  fliumo, 
Meaning  a  right  to  yours,  and  mine, 

And  every  liody's  goods  and  rhino,) 
Of  course,  his  faithful  subjects'  purses 

Were  ready  wilh  their  aids  and  succours  I 
Nothing  was  seen  but  pension'd  Nurses, 

And  the  land  groan'd  with  bibs  and  tuckers. 

Oh  !  had  there  been  a  Hume  or  Bennel, 

Then  sitting  in  the  Thibet  Senate, 

Ye  Gods,  what  room  for  long  debates 

Upon  the  Nursery  Estimates ! 

What  cutting  down  of  swaddling-clothes 

And  pin-a-fores,  in  oighily  batllesl 
What  calls  for  papers  In  expose 

The  wa  te  of  sugar-plums  and  rattles! 
Bui  no—  if  Thibet  liad  M.  P.'s, 
Th»'y  were  far  better  bred  than  these ; 
Nor  gave  the  slightest  opposition,  _ 
During  the  Monarch's  whole  dentition. 


>  Andreas. 

3  Quand  il  etoit  occupe  d'aucune  essoine,  il  envoy- 
oit  Novelle,  sa  fille,  en  son  lieu  lire  aux  escboles  ei 
charge,  et,  a(in  que  la  bi:^ute  d'elle  n'enipechatja 
pensee  des  oyanis,  elle  avoit  une  petite  courtine 
vani  ell?.  —  Clirist.  d&  Pise^  die  dus  Vames,  p.  II. 
cap.  36. 

a  See  Turner's  Embassy  to  Thibet  for  an  account 
of  his  interview  with  the  Lama. — ''Teshoo  Lama 
(he  sa)s)  was  at  this  lime  eighteen  months  old. 
Though  he  was  unable  to  speak  a  word,  be  mwde  the 
most  expressive  signs,  and  conducted  himself  with 
astonishing  dignity  and  decorum." 


But  short  this  calm  ;—  for,  just  when  h« 
Had  reacli'd  th"  alarming  age  of  three, 
When  Royal  natures,  and,  no  doubt, 
Those  of  all  noble  beasts  break  out  — 
The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  quiet, 
Show'd  symptoms  of  a  taste  for  riot ; 
And,  ripe  lor  mischief,  early,  late. 
Without  regard  lor  Church  or  Stale, 
Made  free  with  wliosiie'er  came  nigh; 

■iweak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the  nose, 
Turn'd  all  Ihe  Judges'  wigs  awry. 

And  trod  on  Ihe  old  Generals'  toes; 
Pelted  the  Bishops  with  hot  buns. 

Rode  cock  horse  on  the  City  maces. 
And  shot  from  little  devilish  guns. 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects'  faces. 
In  short,  such  wicked  pranks  he  play'd. 

And  grew  so  mischievous,  God  bless  him  ! 
That  his  Chief  Nurse—  with  ev'n  Ibe  aid 
Of  an  Archbishop  — was  afraid. 

When  ill  these  moods,  to  comb  or  dress  him. 
Nay,  ev'n  the  persons  most  inclin'd 

Through  thick  and  thin,  for  Kings  to  stickle, 
Thought  him  (if  they  'd  but  speak  their  mind. 

Which  they  did  not)  an  odious  pickle. 


At  length  some  patriot  lords  —  a  breed 

Of  animals  Ihey  've  got  in  Thibet, 
Extremely  rare,  and  lit,  indeed. 

For  folks  like  PidCtick,  to  exhibit  — 
Some  patriot  lords,  who  saw  the  length 
To  which  things  went,  conibin'd  their  strength. 
And  penii'd  a  manly,  plain  and  free 
Remonstrance  to  the  Nursery  ; 
Protesting  warmly  that  they  yielded 

To  none,  that  ever  went  before  'em. 
In  loyally  to  him  who  wielded 

Th' hereditary  pap-spoon  o'er  *em; 
That,  as  fir  treason,  't  was  a  thing 

That  made  them  almost  sick  to  think  of — 
That  they  and  theirs  stood  by  Ihe  King, 

Throughout  his  measles  and  his  chin-cough, 
When  others,  thinking  him  consumptive. 
Had  railed  to  the  Heir  Presumptive  !  — 
Bui,  still  —  though  much  admiring  Kings 
(And  chiefly  those  in  leading-strings). 
They  saw,  with  shunie  and  grief  of  soul, 

1'here  was  no  longer  now  the  wise 
And  constitutional  cnn'rol 

Of  bitch  before  their  ruler's  eyes; 
But  that,  of  late,  such  pranks,  and  tricks, 
And  freaks  iiccurr'd  the  whole  day  long. 
As  all,  bul  men  with  hishiipncks, 

Allow'd,  in  ev'n  a  King,  «ere  wrong. 
Wherefore  it  uas  they  humbly  pray'd 

That  Honourable  Nursery, 
That  such  reforms  be  hencet'irth  made. 

As  all  good  men  desir'd  to  see;- 
In  other  words  (lest  Ihcy  might  seem 
Too  tedious),  as  the  gentlest  scheme 
For  putting  all  such  pranks  to  rest. 

And  in  its  hud  the  mischief  nipping— 
They  velilur'd  humbly  to  suggest 
His  Majesty  should  have  a  whipping. 

When  this  was  read,  no  Congreve  rocket, 

Uischarg'd  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 
E'er  equafl'd  the  tremendous  shock  it 

Produced  upon  the  Nursery  benches. 
The  Bishops,  who  of  course  had  votes, 
Bv  right  of  age  and  petticnais. 
Were  tirst  and  foremost  in  the  fuss  — 

"  What,  whip  a  Lama  I  sutler  birch 

••To  touch  his  sacred infamous  ! 

"  Deistical !  — assailing  thus 

"  The  fundamentals  of  the  Church  '.  — 
"  No  —  no  —  such  patriot  plans  as  these, 
"  (So  help  them  Heaven-  and  their  Sees'.) 
"  They  held  to  be  rank  blasphemies." 


340 


FABLES  FOR   THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Th'  alarm  thui  given^  by  the'=.e  and  olher 

Grave  iadies  of  ilie  Nurserv  side, 
Spnj.id  through  the  hi.d,  till,  such  a  pother, 

Sucii  party  squnlbles,  f,tr  and  wide, 
Never  in  history's  page  had  been 
Recorded,  as  were  then  between 
TheWhippers  and  Non-v^li  ppers  seen. 
Till,  things  arriving  at  a  s'.aie, 

Which  gave  some  fears  ct'  revolution, 
The  patri.M  lords' advice,  though  late, 

Was  put  at  last  in  execution. 
The  Parliament  of  Thibet  n.et  — 

The  little  Lama,  call'd  before  it, 
Did,  then  and  there*  his  whipping  get, 
And  (as  the  Nursery  Gazette 

Assures  usj  like  a  hero  bore  it. 

And  though,  'mong  Thibet  Tories,  some 
Lament  ihat  Royal  Martyrdom 
(Please  to  observe,  the  letter  I) 
In  this  last  word  's  pronuuiicM  like  B), 
Yet  to  th'  example  of  that  Prince 

So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor, 
That  her  long  line  of  Lamas,  since, 

Have  all  behav'd  themselves  itLtich  better 


FABLE    VII 


THE     EXTINGUISHERS. 


The  natural  allies  of  Courts. 
Woe  to  the  Monarch,  who  dependa 
Too  mucft  on  his  red  coated  friends; 
For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think  — 

Nay,  Colonels  have  been  known  to  rea«on,- 
And  reasoners,  whether  clad  in  pink. 
Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brink 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  tieasoo. 

Not  many  soldiers,  I  believe,  are 

As  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina  ; 
Else—  woe  to  Kings,  when  Freedom's  fever 

Once  turns  into  a  Scarletma! 
For  then  —  but  hold  —  't  is  best  to  veil 
My  meaning  in  the  followiug  tale :  — > 


FABLE. 


A  Lord  of  Persia,  rich  and  great. 

Just  come  into  a  large  estate:. 

Was  shock'd  to  find  he  had,  for  neighbours, 

Clo?e  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 

Whose  fires,  bent-ath  his  very  nose, 

In  heretic  combustion  rose. 

But  Lords  of  Persia  can,  no  doubt, 

Do  what  ihey  will  —so,  one  fine  morning, 
lie  turn'd  the  rascal  Ghebers  out, 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warning. 
Then,  thanking  heaven  most  piously. 

He  knock'd  their  Temple  lo  Ihe  grnuod, 
Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

Such  Pagan  rums  strew'd  around. 
But  much  it  vex'd  my  Lord  lo  find, 

That,  while  all  else  obey'd  his  will. 
The  Fire  these  Ghebers  led  behind, 

Do  what  he  would,  kept  burning  still. 
Fiercely  he  stonn'd,  as  I  his  frown 
Cnuld  scare  the  bright  insurgent  d>wn  ; 
But.  no— such  fires  are  head-troug  things. 
And  care  not  much  for  Lords  or  Kings. 


Scarce  could  his  Lordship  well  contrive 
The  flashes  in  one  place  lo  smother, 

Before —  hey  presto!  — all  alive. 
They  sprung  up  freshly  id  anoiher. 

At  length  when,  spite  of  prayers  and  damns, 

'T  was  found  the  sturdy  flame  defied  hini. 
His  stewards  came,  with  low  salayiis, 
Utiering,  by  cuntract^  to  provide  him 
Sonie  large  Lxtiuguishers,  (a  plan, 
Much  us'd,  Ihey  said,  at  Isiiahan, 
Vienna,  Petersburgh  —  in  short, 
Wherever  Light 's  forbid  at  court,) 
Machines  no  Lord  should  be  without, 
Which  would,  at  Once,  put  promptly  out 
All  kinds  of  fire^^,—  from  staring,  stark 
Volcanos  to  the  tiniest  spark  ; 
Till  all  things  slept  as  dull  and  dark, 
As,  in  a  great  Lord's  neighbourhood, 
'T  was  right  and  fitting  all  things  should 


Accordingly,  some  large  supplies 
Of  these  Extinguishers  were  furnishM 

(All  of  the  true  Imperial  size). 
And  there,  in  rows,  stood  black  and  buruiih^d, 

Reidy,  where'er  a  gleam  but  shone 

Of  light  or  fire,  to  be  clapp'd  on. 

But,  ah,  how  lordly  wisdom  errs, 
In  trusting  to  extinguishers  ! 
One  day,  when  he  had  left  all  sure, 
(At  least,  so  thoueht  he)  dark,  secure  — 
The  (lame,  at  all  its  exits,  entries, 

Obstructed  to  his  heart's  content, 
And  black  extinguishers,  like  sentries, 

Plac'd  over  every  dangerous  vent  — 
Ye  Gods,  imagine  his  amaze, 

His  wrath,  his  rage,  when,  on  reluroing, 
He  found  not  only  the  old  blaze. 

Brisk  as  before,  crackling  and  burning,- 
Not  only  new,  young  conflagrations, 
Popping  up  round  in  various  stations  — 
But,  still  more  awful,  strange,  and  dire, 
Th'  Extinguishers  themselves  on  fire  ! :  » 
They,  Ihey —  those  trus'y,  blind  machines 

His  Lordship  bad  so  long  been  praising, 
As,  under  Providence,  the  means 

Of  keeping  down  all  lawless  blazing, 
Were  now,  themsehes  —  alas,  too  true 
The  shameful  fact — turn'd  blazers  too, 
And,  by  a  change  as  odd  as  cruel. 
Instead  of  dampers,  served  for  fuel! 


Thus,  of  his  only  hope  bereft, 

**  What,"  said  Ihe  great  man,  "  must  be  done  ?"— 
All  that,  in  scrapes  like  this,  is  left 

To  great  men  is  —  to  cut  and  run. 
So  run  he  did  ;  while  to  their  grounds, 

The  banish'd  Ghebers  blest  returned  ; 
And,  though  their  Fire  had  broke  Its  bounds. 

And  all  abroad  now  wildly  burn'd, 
Tet  well  could  they,  who  lov'd  ihe  flame, 
Its  wand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim; 
And  soon  am-iher,  fairer  Dome 
Ar<ise  to  be  its  sacred  home. 
Where,  cherish'd,  guarded,  not  confin'd, 
The  living  glory  dwelt  enshrin'd, 
And.  shedding  tustre  urong,  but  even. 
Though  born  of  earth,  grew  worthy  heav'o. 


I  The  idea  of  this  Fable  was  caught  from  one  of 
those  brilliant  mots,  which  nbound  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  my  friend,  Iheauthnr  of  the  •' Letters  to  Julia," 
—  a  production  which  contains  Some  of  the  happiest 
specimens  of  playful  poetry  that  havo  appeared  in 
(his  or  any  age. 


FABLES  FOR   THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


341 


The  moral  hence  my  Muse  infers 
ISf  that  such  Lords  are  simple  elvesi 

In  trusting  (o  Kxlingiiiiihers, 
That  are  couibuaiible  themselves. 


FABLE    VIM, 

louis  fourteenth's  wig. 

The  money  rais'd  —  the  army  ready  — 
Drums  beating,  and  the  Royal  Neddy 
Valiantly  braying  in  the  van, 
To  the  old  .nne  "  £A,  eh,  Sire  Ant ."' «  — 
Nought  wanting,  but  some  cou-p  dramatic, 

To  make  French  sentiment  explode, 
Bring  in,  at  once,  the  gout  fanatic, 

And  make  the  war  "ia  dtmiere  mode^ 
Instantly,  at  the  Pavilion  Marsan^ 

Is  held  an  Ultra  consultation  — 
What 's  to  be  done,  to  help  the  farce  on? 

What  stage-etiect,  what  decoration, 
To  make  this  beauteous  France  forget 
In  one,  grand,  glorious  pirouette, 
All  she  had  sworn  to  but  last  week, 
And,  with  a  cry  of  '*  MagniJiqucV* 
Rush  forih  to  lhi>,  or  any  war. 
Without  inquiring  once —  "  What  for?" 

After  some  plans  propos'd  by  each, 
Loid  Chateaubriand  made  a  speech, 
(Quoting,  to  show  what  men's  rights  are, 

Or  rather  what  men's  rights  should  //e, 
From  Hobbes,  l^rd  Castlereagh,  the  Czar, 

AiJl  other  friends  lo  Liberty,) 
Wherein  he  —  having  first  protested 
'Gainst  humouring  (he  mob  —  suggested 
(As  the  most  high-bred  plan  he  saw 
For  giving  the  new  War  ec/af) 
A  grand,  liaptisma!  Mtln-drame, 
To  he  got  up  at  Notre  Dame, 
In  which  the  Duke  (who,  bless  his  Highness  I 

Had  by  his  hilt  acquird  such  fame, 
»T  was  hop'd  thai  he  as  little  >hyneps 

Would  show,  when  to  the  point  he  rame). 
Should,  for  his  deeds  so  lion-hearled. 
Be  christen'd  Hero,  ere  he  started  ; 
With  power,  by  Rnyal  Ordnnriance, 
To  hear  that  name  —  at  least  in  Fiance. 
Himself— the  Viscount  Chateaubriand  — 
(To  help  Ih'  atf^ir  with  more  esprit  on) 
Ollering,  for  this  baptismal  rite, 

Some  of  hi?  own  f:vm*d  Jordan  wa'er?— . 
(Maiie  Louise  not  having  quite 

Used  all  that,  for  young  Nap,  he  brought  her,) 
The  baptism,  in  this  case,  to  be 
Applied  lo  that  extremity. 
Which  B  'urbnn  heroes  most  expose; 
And  which  (as  well  all  Europe  knows) 
H  ippens  to  be.  in  this  Defender 
Of  the  true  Faitli,  extremely  teiider.3 


I  They  celebrated  in  tho  dark  a^es,  at  many 
churches  particularly  at  Rouen,  what  was  called  the 
Feast  of  the  Ass.  On  this  occasion  the  ass,  finely 
drest.  was  brought  before  the  alt.ir,  and  they  sung  be- 
fore him  Ihiselegintamhem.  "Eh,  eh,  eh,  SireAne, 
eh,  eh,  eh.  Sire  Ane."  —  IV^rton's  Essay  on  Pope. 

J  Brought  from  the  river  Jordm  by  M.  Ctiateau- 
ot  land,  and  presented  to  the  French  Empress  for  the 
christening  of  young  Napoleon, 

»  See  the  Diikc's  celebrated  letter  to  madame,  writ- 
ten during  hiK  campiign  in  ISI5,  in  which  he  says, 
'J^ai  le  posterieur  legerement  endommage." 


Or  if  (the  Viscount  said)  this  schemft 
Too  r.ish  and  premature  should  seem  — 
If  thus  discnunling  heroes,  on  lick  — 

This  glory,  by  anticipation, 
Was  too  much  in  the  genre  romantiqui 

For  such  a  highly  classic  nation. 
He  begg'd  to  say,  the  Abyasiniaus 
A  practice  had  in  their  dominions, 
Which,  if  at  Pans  got  up  well, 
In  full  C'U'IU7/ie,  was  sure  to  teU. 
At  all  great  ep"cbs,  good  or  ill, 

J'hey  have,  says  Bruce  (and  Bruce  ne*er  budget 
From  the  strict  truth,)  a  Grand  Quadrille 

In  public  danc'd  by  the  Twelve  Judges*^ 
And,  he  assures  us,  the  grimaces. 
The  ejitre-chats,  the  airs  and  graces 
Of  dancers,  so  profound  and  stately 
Divert  the  Abyssmians  greatly. 

"  Now  (said  the  Viscount),  there  *s  but  few 
**  Great  Empires,  where  this  plan  would  do: 
**  For  instance,  England  ;  —  let  them  take 

'*  What  p  (ins  they  would— 't  were  vain  loslrivft— 
"The  twelve  stiti  Judges  there  would  make 

"The  worst  Quadtille-set  now  alive. 
**  One  must  have  seen  them,  ere  one  could 
"  Imagine  properly  Judge  WooJ, 
*'  Ferf'orming,  in  his  wig,  so  gaily, 
"  A  qittue-dc-chat  with  Justice  Bailey  ! 
**  French  Judges^  though,  are,  by  no  means, 
"This  sort  of  stili,  he-wieg'd  machines; 
"  And  we,  vvhi'»  *ve  seen  them  at  SaumuVf 
"  And  Poitiers  lately,  may  be  sure 
"They  *d  d^nce  quadrilles,  or  aiiylhing, 
"  That  would  be  pleasing  to  the  King  — 
"  Nay,  stand  upon  their  heads,  and  more  do, 
"To  please  the  little  Duke  de  Bordeaux  1" 

After  these  several  schemes  there  c-ime 
Some  others  —  needless  now  to  name, 
Since  that,  which  Monsieur  plann'd,  himself, 
Soon  donni'd  all  others  to  the  shelf. 
And  «as  receivM  par  acclaination, 
As  truly  worthy  the  Grande  Nation, 

It  seems  (as  Monsieur  told  the  story) 
That  Louis  the  Fourteenth,— that  glory. 
That  Coryphee  ot  all  croun'd  pates,— 
That  pink  of  the  Legilin.aies  — 
Had,  when,  with  many  a  pious  pray'r,  he 
Bequeath'd  unto  the  Virgin  Mary 
His  marriage  deeds,  and  cordon  bleu^ 
Bequeath'd  lo  her  his  Slate  Wig  loo  — 
(An  otTeriiig  which,  at  Court,  'i  is  thought, 
1  he  Virgin  values  as  she  ought)  — 
That  Wig,  the  wonder  of  all  eyes. 
The  Cynosure  of  Gallia's  skies. 
To  watch  and  tend  whose  curls  adored, 

Rebuild  its  towering  roof,  v\  hen  flat, 
And  round  its  rumpled  base,  a  Board 

Of  sixty  Barbers  daily  sat.tJ 


29* 


4  "On  certain  ?real  occasions,  the  twelve  Jn<i|te« 
{who  are  eenerally  beUveen  six'y  and  seventy  vein 
of  a2;e)  sing  the  sung  and  dance  the  figure-dance,"  tic. 
—  Bofik  V. 

»  "  Louis  XIV.  (it  present  a  la  Vierge  de  son  cordon 
bleu,  que  I'on  conserve  soigiieu^enient,  et  lui  envoya 
en~uite,  sui  Conlral  de  Mai  iage  el  le  Traite  des  Pyre- 
nera.  niagiiifiiiueinenl  relie."— it/cmoices,  Jnecdola 
pour  sfj-uiV.  &c. 

6  The  learned  author  of  Rechcrchcs  Histmiques  mr 
Us  Permques  says  tliat  the  Hoard  consisted  of  bu:  forty 
—the  same  nurnl)er  as  the  Academy.  "  Le  plus  beau 
leins  des  [lerruques  fu'  celiii  nu  LoiiisXIV.  conimenca 

a  porter,  lui-jneme,  perruqiie ; On  ignore 

I'tpnqiie  ou  sc  fit  cetle  revolution  ;  mais  on  sait  qu'elie 
eiigagea  Louis  le  Grand  a  y  d(,nner  ses  soins  palernels, 
en  creant,  en  I6j6,  quaranle  clia'ges  de  perruquiers, 
suivani  la  cour  ;  et  en  1673,  il  f..rnia  un  corps  de  deux 
centg  perruquiers  pour  li  Ville  de  Paris."  — P.  lU. 


342                    RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 

With  Subs,  or  Slale-Days,  to  assist. 
Well  pension'd  from  the  Civil  List :  — 
That  wondrous  Wig,  array'd  in  which, 
And  foriii'd  alike  to  awe  or  wilch, 
He  beat  all  oilier  heirs  of  crowns, 
in  taking  mistresses  and  towns, 
Hequiring  but  a  shot  at  one, 
A  smile  at  ('  other,  and  't  was  doue  I  — 

"Thai  Wig  (said  Monsieur,  while  his  brow 
Rose  proudly,)  **  is  existing  now  ;  — 
*''l'hat  Grand  Ferruque,  amid  the  fall 

"  Uf  every  othtr  Kojal  glorv, 
"  With  curls  erect  sui  vives  them  all, 

"  And  tells  in  every  hair  their  slnry. 
"  Think,  think,  how  welcome  at  this  time 
"A  relic,  so  belov'd,  sublime! 
"  Whit  woithier  standard  of  the  Cause 

"Of  Kingly  Righl  can  France  demand? 
*'  Or  who  among  our  ranks  can  pause 

"To  guard  it,  while  a  curl  shall  stand? 
"  Behold,  my  friends  —  (while  thus  he  cried, 
A  curtain  which  couceal'd  this  pride 
Of  Frincely  Wigs  was  drawn  aside) 
"Behold  that  Grand  Perruque  — how  big 

"  With  recollections  for  the  world  — 
"  for  Fiance  -  for  us  -  Great  Louis'  Wig, 

"  By  Hippolyte  i  new  frizz'd  and  curl'd  — 
"New  Jrizz'dt  alas,  'tis  but  too  true. 

"  Well  may  you  start  at  that  word  new  — 
"But  «ucli  the  sacrilice,  my  fi lends, 
"Th' Impel  lal  Cosack  recommends: 
"Thinking  such  snull  concessions  sage, 
"  'J'o  meet  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
'And  do  what  best  that  spirit  tlatlers, 
"in  Wigs  —  if  not  iu  weightier  matters. 
"  Wherefore,  to  please  the  Czar,  and  show 
**  'i  hai  we  too,  niuch-wrung  d  BourboDs,  know 
'•  What  liberalism  in  Mona'rchs  is, 
"  We  have  conceded  the  New  Friz! 
"  Thus  arm'd,  ye  gallant  Ultras,  say, 
"Can  men,  can  Fienchmen,  fear  the  fray? 
"With  tins  proud  relic  in  our  van, 

"  And  D'Aiigouleme  our  worthy  leader, 
"Let  rebel  Spain  do  all  she  can, ' 

"  Let  recreant  England  arm  and  feed  hel, 
"  Urg'd  by  that  pupil  of  Hunt's  school, 
*'  That  Radical,  Lord  Liverpiiol  — 
"France  can  have  nought  lo  fear— far  from  it— 

"  When  tiice  astounded  Europe  sees 
**The  Wig  of  Louis,  like  a  Comet, 

'■  Streaoiing  above  the  Pyrenees, 
"  All 's  o'er  wilh  Spain  —  then  on,  my  sons, 

"On,  my  incompaiable  Duke, 
"And,  shouting  tor  the  Holy  Ones, 

"  Cry  yiiie  la  Guerre  —  et  la  Perntqut !" 

>  A  celebrated  CoiJJcur  uf  the  present  day. 

RHYMEtS    ON    THE    ROAD, 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  JOURNAL  OF  A  TRAVELLING  MEMBER  OF 
THE   POCO-CURANTE    S  0  C  IE  T  Y,  1819. 

The  greater  part  of  the  following  Rhymes  were 
written  or  composed  in  an  old  caieclte,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  beguiling  the  cimui  of  solitary  travelling; 
and  as  verses,  made  by  a  gentleman  in  his  sleep,  have 
been  lately  called  "a  psytJtologicat  curiosity,"  it  is  10 
be   hoped   that  verses,  coniposed  by  a  gentleman  to 
keep   himself  awake,  may  be  honoured  wilh  some 
appellation  equally  Greek. 

If  you  consult  Montaigne  3  and  Pliny  oo 
The  subject,  't  is  their  joint  opinion 
Thai  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
Abroad,  among  the  woods  and  fields; 
That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  relaii, 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop ; 
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  Eastern  Prince,  who  leaves 
For  distant  war  his  Haram  bowers, 
The  Sun  bids  farewell  lo  the  tloivers. 
Whose  heads  are  sunk,  whose  tears  are  flowing 
Mid  all  the  glory  of  his  going!  — 
Ev'n  /  have  fell,  beneath  those  beams. 

When  wandYiiig  through  the  fields  alone, 
Thnughis,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams, 

Which,  far  too  bright  to  he  my  own, 
Seem'd  lent  me  bv  the  Sunny  Power, 
That  was  abioad  at  that  stiil  hour. 

If  thus  i  've  felt,  how  must  they  feel, 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms; 
Upon  whose  souls  he  stamiia  his  seal. 

Graven  with  Reality's  countless  forms;  — 
The  few  upon  this  earth,  who  seem 
Born  to  give  truth  lo  Plato's  dieam, 
Since  in  Iheii  thoughts,  as  in  a  glass, 

Shadows  of  heavenly  things  appear, 
Relleclions  of  bright  shajies  that  pass 

'i'hrough  other  worlds,  above  our  sphere ! 

INTRODUCTORY    RHYMES. 

Different  Attitudes  in  which  Authors  compose 

£a!/M,  Henry  Stephetis,  Herodotus,  SfC.—IVriting 
in  Bed  —  in  the  Fields.  —  Plato  and  Sir  Richard 
Blackmore.—  Fiddling  with  Gloacs  and  Twigs.— 
Madame  de  Stael. —  Rhyming  on  the  Road,  in  an 
old  Caleche. 

What  various  altitudes,  and  ways 

And  tricks,  we  authors  have  in  wri'ing! 
While  some  virile  sitting,  some,  like  Bayes, 

Usually  stand,  while  they 're  indiliiig. 
Poets  there  are,  who  wear  the  Hoor  out, 

Measuring  a  line  at  every  stride ; 
While  some,  like  llmry  Stephens,  pour  out 

Rhymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.a 
Herodotus  wrote  most  in  bed  ; 

And  KicI.erand,  a  French  physician, 
Declares  the  clock-work  of  the  head 

Goes  best  in  that  recliird  position. 

3  "  Mes  pensees  dormen',  si  je  les  assis."—  JIfon 
taigne.     Animus  eorum  qui  in  aperto  acre  anibu  »Dt, 
attollitur.  —  Pimy. 

*  Pleraque  sua  carniiiiaequiianscomposuit.— /'ara- 
Vicin.     Singular. 

RPIYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


343 


But  this  reminds  me  I  distress ;  — 

For  Plato,  too,  prnduc'd,  H  is  said, 
(Am  one,  indeed,  might  almost  guess,) 

His  glorious  vlsioits  all  in  bed.* 
•T  was  In  his  carriage  the  sublime 
Sir  llichArd  Hiackmore  used  lo  rhyme ; 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wrong) 
Twixt  death •»  and  epics  pass'd  his  time, 

Scribbling  and  killmg  all  day  long  — 
Like  Fhixbiis  in  his  car,  at  ease, 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofly  song, 
Now  murdering  the  young  Niobea. 

There  was  a  Iiero  'mong  the  Danes, 
WliO  wrote,  we  're  told,  'mid  all  the  pains 

And  horrors  of  exenteration, 
Nine  charming  odes,  which,  if  you  'II  look, 

Vnu  'II  And  pre&erv'd,  with  a  translation, 
By  Karthotinus  in  his  book  3 
In  short, '(  were  endless  to  recite 
'ihe  various  modes  in  which  men  write. 
Some  wits  are  only  in  the  mind, 

When  beiius  and  belles  are  round  them  prating; 
Some,  when  they  dress  for  dinner,  tind 

1'heir  muse  and  valet  both  in  waiting; 
And  manage,  at  the  selfsame  time, 
To'  adjust  a  neckcloth  and  a  rhyme. 

Some  bards  there  are  who  cannot  scribblo 
Without  a  glove,  lo  tenr  or  nibble; 
Or  a  small  twig  to  whisk  about  — 

As  if  (he  hidden  founts  «(  Fancy, 
Like  wells  of  old,  were  thus  found  out 

liy  niysiic  tricks  of  rhabdomancy. 
Such  was  the  lillle  feathery  wand,* 
That,  held  for  ever  in  the  hand 
Of  her,s  who  wnn  and  wore  (be  crown 

Of  female  geniu-*  iii  this  age, 
Set^m'd  the  coi'diiclor,  that  drew  down 

Thjse  words  of  lightning  to  her  page. 

As  for  myself —  to  come,  at  last. 
To  the  odd  way  in  which  /  write  — 

Havmg  employ "d  these  few  months  past 
Chieliy  in  travelling,  day  and  night, 

I  've  got  into  l!ie  easy  mode, 

Of  rhyming  thus  along  the  road  — 

Making  a  u ay-bill  of  my  pages, 

Counting  my  stanzas  by  my  Mages  — 

'Twixt  lays  and  re-lays  no  lime  lost  — 

lu  sliort,  in  two  words,  writing  post. 


E  XTRACT    I. 

Geneva. 
Fiew  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva  from  the  Jura,*  — 
Anxioux  to  reach  it  before  tlic  Sun  went  down.  — 


t  The  only  aulhorify  I  know  for  imputing  this 
practice  to  Plato  and  Herodoius,  is  a  Latin  poem  by 
M.  de  Valoison  his  Bed,  in  which  he  says:  — 


^  Sir  Richari  Rlackmoie  was  a  physician,  as  well 
IS  a  bad  pnet. 

3  Eadcn)  cura  nee  minnres  in*er  crncta'us  animam 
infehcem  agenti  fiiit  Asbiorno  Prudae  Danico  heroi. 
cum  Rrusn  ipsum,  intestina  ex'rahens,  inimaniler 
torquerel,  tunc  enini  nnvem  carmina  cecinit,  &c.— 
Bartholin,  de  Catisis  Contcttijt.  Mmt. 

4  Made  of  paper,  twisted  up  like  a  fan  or  feather, 
ft  Ma<lame  de  Sl.^el. 

6  Between  Vattay  and  Gei. 


Obliged  to  "proceed  on  Foot.— Alps. ~Mimt  Biant. 
—  Ejfect  of  the  Scene, 

'T  \vas  late  —  the  sun  had  almost  shone 
His  last  and  besJ,  when  I  ran  on, 
Anxious  to  reach  that  splendid  view, 
Before  the  day-beanis  quite  withdrew  ; 
And  feeling  as  all  feel,  on  first 

Approaching  scenes,  where,  they  are  told, 
Such  glories  on  their  eyes  will  burst, 

As  youthful  barJs  in  dreams  behold. 

*T  was  distant  yet,  and,  as  I  ran, 

Full  often  was  my  wistful  g^ze 
Turij'd  to  the  sun,  who  now  began 

To  cill  in  all  his  ou  -post  rays. 
And  form  a  denser  march  of  light, 
Suth  as  beseems  a  hero's  dight. 
Oh,  how  I  wish'd  for  Joshua's  power, 
To  htiy  the  brightness  of  that  hour  1 
But  no  —  the  sun  still  less  became, 

Diminish'd  to  a  speck,  as  splendid 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  flame, 

That  on  th'  Apostles'  heads  descended  ! 

'T  was  at  this  instant  —  while  there  glow'd 

This  last,  in'eiisest  gleam  of  light  — 
Suddenly,  through  the  opening  road, 

The  valley  burst  upon  my  sight ! 
That  Ejlorious  valley,  with  its  Lake, 

And  Alps  on  Alps  in  clusters  swelling, 
Mitihty,  and  pure,  and  fit  to  make 

The  rampurts  of  a  Godhead's  dwelling. 

1  stood  entranced  —  as  Rabbins  say 
This  whole  assembled,  gazing  world 

Will  stand,  upon  that  au-ful  d.y, 
When  the  Ark's  Light,  al"ft  unftiri'd, 

Among  the  opening  clouds  shall  shine, 

Divinity's  own  radiiul  sign! 

Mighty  Mont  Blanc,  thou  wert  to  me, 

That  minute,  with  thy  brow  iu  heaven, 
As  sure  a  bign  of  Deity 

As  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given. 
Nor  ever,  were  I  destined  yet 

To  live  my  life  twice  o'er  again. 
Can  I  the  deep-felt  awe  forget, 

The  dream,  the  trance  that  rapt 


e  then ! 


T  was  all  that  consciousness  of  power 

And  life,  beyond  this  mortal  hour; — 

Tho^e  mountings  of  the  soul  within 

At  thoughts  of  Heav'n  —  as  birds  begin 

By  in^-tinct  in  the  cage  to  rise, 

When  near  their  lime  for  change  of  skies  ; 

That  proud  assurance  of  our  claim 

To  rjnk  among  the  Sons  of  Liirhl, 
Mingled  with  shame—  oh  bitter  shame  !- 

At  having  risk'd  that  splendid  right, 
For  aughi  that  eanh  through  all  its  range 
Of  glories,  otTers  in  exchange  ! 
'T  was  all  this,  at  that  instant  brought. 
Like  breaking  sunshine,  o'er  my  thought  — 
»T  was  all  this,  kindled  to  a  glow 

Of  sacred  zeal,  which,  could  it  shine 
Thus  purely  ever,  man  might  grow, 

Ev'n  upon  earth,  a  thing  divine, 
And  be,  once  more,  the  creature  made 
To  walk  unsiain'd  th*  Kly&ian  shide? 

No,  never  ^haII  I  lose  the  trace 

Of  what  I  've  felt  in  this  bright  place. 

And,  sliould  mv  spirit's  hope  grow  weak, 

Should  I,  ohGod.e'crdmibi  thy  power, 
This  nii^hiy  scene  again  I  'II  seek. 

At  the  same  calm  nnd  glowing  hour, 
And  here,  at  the  sublimest  shrine 

That  Nature  eier  rear'd  to  Tiiee, 
Rekindle  alt  that  hope  divine. 

And  feel  my  intmurlality  ! 


344 


RHYMES    ON    THE   ROAD. 


JBXTBACT    II. 

Geneva. 

lATK  OF  GENEVA  IN  THE  YEAK  1782. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

yes —  if  there  yet  live  some  of  tijose, 
\Vho,  wtien  this  small  Kepublic  rose, 
Quick  as  a  startled  hive  of  btes. 
Against  her  leaguerln;  enemies  —  1 
When,  as  the  Royal  Satrap  shook 

His  well-known  fetteis  at  lier  gates, 
£v^n  wives  and  mothers  arnrd,  and  took 

Their  stations  by  their  sons  and  mates  ; 
And  on  these  walls  there  stood  —  ye',  no, 

Shame  to  the  traitors  —  %vould  have  stood 
As  tirni  a  band  as  e'er  let  flow 

At  Freedom^  base  their  sacred  blood; 
If  those  yet  live,  who,  on  that  night. 
When  all  were  watching,  girt  for  tight. 
Stole,  like  the  creeping  of  a  pest. 
From  rank  to  rank,  frum  breast  to  breast, 
Filling  the  weak,  the  old  with  fears, 
'J'uriiing  the  heroine's  7'  al  to  tears, — 
Betraying  Honour  to  that  brink. 
Where,  one  step  more,  and  he  must  sink  — 
And  quenching  hopes,  wliicii,  though  the  last. 

Would  yet  have  led  t"  death  inore  bright, 
Than  life  e'er  loi.k'd,  in  all  its  light ! 
Till  si'on,  too  sonn,  distrust,  alarms 

Throughout  til'  embattled  thousands  rao. 
And  the  high  spirit,  late  in  arms, 
The  zeal  that  inighi  have  work'd  such  charms, 

Fell,  like  a  broken  talisman  — 
Their  ^ates,  that  thev  had  sworn  should  be 

The  gales  of  Deit'h,  iliat  very  dawn. 
Gave  passage  widely,  bloodlessly, 

'J'othe  pritud  foe  —  nor  sword  was  drawn. 
Nor  ev'n  one  martyr'd  b^'dy  cast 
To  s'aiii  iheir  foois  ep>,  as  ihey  passM ; 
But,  of  the  many  sworn  at  night 
To  do  or  die,  snhie  fled  ihe  sight. 
Some  siood  to  Innk,  wilh  sullen  frown. 

While  some,  in  im[)0tent  despair. 
Broke  their  biigh'  armour  and  lay  down. 

Weeping,  upon  the  fraginenls  there  1  — 
If  those,  I  say,  who  bi  ought  that  shame, 
That  bla~t  upon  Geneva's  name. 
Be  living  still  —  though  crime  so  dark 

Shall  hang  up,  fix'd  and  unforgiven, 
In  History's  page,  th*  e'ernal  mark 

For  Scorn  to  pierce  —  so  help  me.  Heaven, 
I  wish  fhe  Iraito^.^us  slaves  no  worse, 

No  deejier.  deadlier  disaster, 
From  all  earth's  ills  no  f.uler  curse 

Than  lo  have  »»**»»»*»»*  their  master ! 


EXTRACT    III. 

Geneva. 
Fancy  and  Truth,  —  Hi-pfomenea  and  Atalanta,  — 
Mont  Blanc.  —  Clouds, 

Even  here,  in  this  region  of  wonders,  I  find 
'I'hai  light-foo'ed  Fancy  leaves  '1  ruth  far  behind  J 


Or,  at  least,  like  Hippomenes,  turns  her  astray 
By  the  golden  illusions  he  ilings  in  her  way ,3 

What  a  glory  it  seem'd  the  first  evening  I  gaz'd! 
IVlont  Blanc,  like  a  vision,  then  suddenly  rais'd 
On  Ihe  wreck  of  the  sunsit  — and  all  his  array 

Of  hi^h-loweringAlfis,  louch'd  still  wilh  a  light 
Far  holier,  purer  than  that  of  Ihe  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  Ihey  IcM  but  a  ray. 
One  roseate  ray,  that,  too  precious  to  tiy. 

O'er  Ihe  Mighty  of  Mountains  still  glowingly  hung. 
Like  the  last  sunny  siep  of  Aslraea,  when  high 

From  the  summit  of  earlh  to  Elysium  she  sprung  1 
And  those  infinite  Alps,  stretching  out  from  the  sight 
Till  they  mingled  with  Heaven,  now  shorn  of  iheir 

light, 
Stood  iolty,  and  lifeless,  and  pale  in  the  sky, 
Like  Ihe  ghosis  of  a  Giant  Creation  gone  by  ! 

That  scene—  I  have  view'd  it  this  evening  again. 
By  the  same  brilliant  light  thai  hung  over  it  then  — 
The  valley,  Ihe  lake  in  their  teuderest  charms  — 

Mont  Blanc  in  his  awfullest  pomp— and  the  whole 
A  bright  picture  of  Beauty,  redin'd  in  Ihe  arms 

Of  Sublimity,  bridegroom  elect  of  her  soul ! 
But  where  are  Ihe  mountains,  that  round  me  at  first. 
One  dazzling  horizon  of  miracles,  burst? 
Those  Alps  beyond  Alps,  without  end  swelling  on 
Like  the  waves  of  eternily  —  where  are  they  gone  ? 
Clouds— clouds— they  were  nothing  but  clouds,  after 
all !  3 

That  chain  of  Mont  Blancs,  which  my  fancy  flew 
o'er. 
With  a  wonder  that  nought  on  this  earth  can  recall. 

Were  but  clouds  of  the  evening,  and  now  are  no 

What  a  picture  of  Life's  young  illusions !  Oh,  Night, 
Drop   thy  curtain,  at  once,  and  liide  all  from  mv 

Bight. 


EXTRACT    IV. 


Milan. 


The  Picture  Gallery.—  Mbano's  Rape  of  Proaerpini 
—Rtflutiont.  —  Universal  Salvation.  —  Mrahan, 
tending  away  .3gar,  by  Guercino.  —  Genius, 

Went  to  the  Hrera  —  saw  a  Dance  of  Loves 
By  smooth  Albano ;  *  him,  whose  pencil  teems 

With  Cupids,  numerous  as  in  summer  groves 
The  leaflets  are,  or  niotes  in  summer  beams. 

T  is  for  the  theft  of  Enna's  flower  »  from  earth. 
These  urchins  celebrate  their  dance  of  mirlh 


1  In  the  year  1782,  when  the  forces  of  Berne,  Sar-  I 
dinia,  ar:d  France  laid  siege  ;o  Geneva,  and  when,  ' 
Alter  a  denionstralioii  of  heroism  and  self-devmion, 
which  promised  to  rival  the  feats  of  ihcir  ance-lors  in 
1602  ."gainst  Savoy,  the  Genevans,  eiiher  panic-slruck 
or  betrayed,  to  ihe  surprise  of  all  Enmpe,  opened 
their  gates  fo  Ihe  besiegers,  aid  subnii:ied  without 
asirugsle  10  the  extinction  "f  their  liberties.  —See  an 
account  of  this  Revolution  in  Coxe's  Switzerland. 


tl  niiidique  cupidine  pomi 

Declinat  cursus,  aurumque  volubile  tollit. 

Quid. 
s  It  is  often  very  difScult  to  distinguish  belweei 
clouds  and  Alps;  and  nn  the  evening  when  ]  fii»( 
saw  this  magnificent  scene,  the  chiud's  were  so  dm- 
posed  along  'lie  whole  horizon,  as  to  deceive  ine  inio 
an  idea  of  ihe  stnpendcns  extent  of  ihese  mouniains. 
wh'ch  my  subseijuent  observ.iticn  was  very  far,  of 

4 'I  his  picluie,  Ihe  Agar  of  Guercino,  and  the 
Aposiles  of  Guide  (Ihe  ti>n  l.illernf  which  are  now 
the  chief  ornaments  of  the  BreraJ,  were  foriiieily  in 
the  Palazzo  Zampieri  at  Bologna. 

»  that  fair  field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine,  gathering  floweli, 
Herself   a  fairer  flower,   by  gloomy  Uis  was 
gather'd. 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


345 


Round  the  ^reen  tree,  like  fays  upon  a  heath  — 

Those,  that  are  neares",  linkM  in  order  bright, 
Cheek  :itter  cheek,  like  rcse-buds  in  a  wrealh  ; 
And  those,  mure  distant,  showing  from  beneath 

The  others*  wings  iheir  little  eyes  of  light. 
While  see,  among  the  clouds,  their  eldest  brother, 

nut  just  flown  up,  tells  wilh  a  .';niile  of  btisa 
This  prank  <  f  Fluto  to  his  charmed  mother, 

Who  turns  to  greet  the  tidings  with  a  kiss  I 

Weil  might  the  Loves  rejoice  — and  well  did  they, 

Who  wove  these  fables,  picture,  in  (heir  weaving, 
That  blessed  truth,  (which,  in  a  darker  day, 

Ori^en  hst  his  saintship  for  believing,^) — 
That  Love,  eternal  Lnve,  whose  fadeless  ray 

Nor  iinie,  nor  death,  nor  sin  can  overcast, 
Ev'n  to  the  depths  of  hell  will  find  his  way, 

And  soothe,  and  heal,  and  triumph  there  at  last  1 


Guercino's  Agar  —  where  the  bond-maid  hears 

From  Abram's  lips  that  he  and  she  must  part; 
And  looks  at  bini  wi'h  eyes  all  full  of  le.ns. 

'I'liat  seem  the  veiy  last  drops  from  her  heart. 
Exqui>ite  picture  !  —  let  me  n(>l  be  told 
Of  iiunor  faults,  of  colouring  lanie  and  cold  -* 
If  ihus  to  conjure  up  a  face  so  faii,^ 
So  full  of  sorrow  ;  v%iih  the  stmy  there 
Of  all  Ihit  woman  suUers,  when  'he  stay 
Her  trusting  heart  hatb  kan'd  on  tails  a"ay- 
!f  (bus  to  touch  the  bosom's  tenderesl  spring, 
By  calling  into  life  such  eyes,  as  bring 
Back  to  our  sad  remembriiice  snnit;  of  those 
We've  smil'd  and  wept  with,  in  their  joys  and  woes, 
Thug  filling  them  with  tears,  like  tears  we  've  known, 
Till  all  the  pictur'd  grief  becomes  our  own  — 
If  this  be  deem'd  Ilie  victory  of  Art  — 

If  thus,  by  pen  or  pencil,  lo  lay  bare 
The  deep,  fresh,  living  fountains  of  the  heart 

Before  all  eyes,  be  Genius  — it  is  there  t 


EXTRACT    V. 

Padua. 
Fancy  mid  Reality. — Rain-drops  and  Lakes.— Plan 
of  a  Story.  —  Where  to  flact  the  Scene  of  it.  —  In 
tome  unknoxvn  Region.  —  Psalnia7iazar*s  Impos- 
ture with  respect  to  the  Island  of  Formosa, 


rid,  the  more  Pve 


The  more  I've  view'd   thi; 
found, 

Tha',  filld  as  't  is  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 
Fancy  commands,  wi'liiii  her  own  briglit  round, 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  that  her  powe^  can  cill  up  there 

A  single  charm,  that 's  not  from  nature  won, 
No  more  th^n  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

A  ?ing)e  hue  unborrow'd  from  the  sun  — 
But  'I  is  (he  men'al  medium  i'  shmes  through, 
That  lends  to  Benu^y  all  its  charm  and  hue; 
As  the  same  light,  Ihal  o'er  the  level  lake 

One  dull  m'-noiony  of  l.isTe  rtings, 
WilLen'ering  in  the  rounded  laindrop,  make 

Colnuis  as  gay  as  ih^ye  nn  Peris'  wings! 

And  such,  I  deem,  the  diif'jeiice  between  real, 
Existing  Beauiy  and  Hiaf  form  ideal. 
Which  she  assunie-,  wiicn  seen  by  poets*  eyes. 


Like  sunshine  in  the  drop— with  all  those  dyc»| 
Which  Fancy's  variegating  prism  supplies, 

I  have  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fiU'd 

Wi'h  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sadness. 
And  the  sad,  doubtful  bli'S,  th.it  ever  thrill'd 

Two  young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet  c^l- 

But  where  to  choose  the  region  of  niy  vision 

In  this  wide,  vulgar  world  —  what  real  spot 
Can  he  found  out  sufficiemly  Klysian 

For  two  such  perfect  lovers.  1  know  not. 
Oh  for  some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he, 
1  he  young  Jew,  fabled  of,  in  the'  Indian  Sea, 
Bv  nothing,  but  its  name  of  Beauty,  known, 
And  which  Queen  Fancy  might  make  all  her  own, 
Her  fairy  kingdom  —  lake  it>  people,  lands, 
And  lenemenis  into  her  own  bright  hands. 
And  make,  at  least,  one  earthly  corner  fit 
For  Love  to  live  in,  pure  and  exquisite  I 


EXTRACT    VI. 

Ven.ce. 

The  Fall  of  l^enice  not  to  be  lamented.  —  Former 
Clo)~y. — Expedition  against  Constantinople. — Gi- 
ustinianis.—Republic.^Characteristics  of  the  old 
Government. — Golden  Book.— Brazen  Mouths. — 
Spies.  —  Dungeo7is.  —  Prtscnt  Desolation, 

Mourn  not  for  Venice —  let  her  rest 
in  ruin,  'iiiong  those  Si-ite'i  unblesf, 
Beneath  whose  gilded  lioof-^  of  pride. 
Where'er  they  trampled.  Freedom  died. 
No —  let  us  keep  our  tear-,  for  ihem. 

Where'er  ibey  pine,  whose  fdl  hath  been 
Not  from  a  bl<ii  d-stam'd  diadem, 

Like  that  which  deck'd  this  ocean-queen, 
But  trim  high  darinj;  in  ihe  c»use 

Of  huni;iu  Ri-jli's  ~  Ihe  ^nly  good 
And  blessed  stiife,  in  which  nian  dnws 

His  mighty  swoid  on  land  or  flood. 

Mourn  not  for  Venice ;  though  her  fall 

Be  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
Swept  o'er  her.  she  deserves  it  all, 

And  Justice  tnuniphs  o'er  her  grave. 
Thus  perishM  ev'ry  King  and  Stite, 

That  run  the  guil'y  race  she  ran. 
Strong  but  ill  ill,  and  <  nly  great 

By  outrage  against  God  and  man! 

True,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest, 

Ar.d  all  those  days  of  glory  gone. 
When  the  world's  waters,  east  and  west, 

Beneath  her  while-wing'd  commerce  shone  j 
When,  with  her  counties-,  barks,  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  inighi,3 
And  her  Giustiniams  sent 

Their  hundred  heroes  to  that  fight.* 

Vanished  are  a'l  her  pomp",  't  is  true, 
But  mourn  them  not  —for  vani>h\l,  too, 

(Thanks  to  that  Power,  who.  soon  or  hXfi, 

Iluth  to  the  dust  Ihegiiil  y  G-eal,) 
Are  all  ihe  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud, 

The  chains,  the  rapme,  ai.d  the  blood, 
That  fill'd  each  spot,  at  hnme,  abroad, 

Wheie  the  Republic's  M;.nd;ird  s  ood. 


le  Love  uKimalety  ev 

a  It  is  probable  Ihal  ihis  fine  head  is  a  porlrais,  as 
we  find  it    epeated  in  a  pic'ure  by  G  lercino,  wliich 
I    is  in  the  pofsessim,  of  Signor  Camucciui,  the  brodier 
M  of  the  celebrated    tinier  at  Rome. 


3  Under  the  Doge  Michaeli,  in  I17I, 

*  "  Li  fainille  en'it-re  des  Jusiiniani,  Tune  des  plus 
ilhistresde  Venise,  voului  marcher  toute  en  iere  dans 
cetle  expedition  ;  elle  f  <uriiii  cent  cooibaitans  :  c'etait 
renou\eier  I'exemple  dune  illus're  I'lm  lie  de  Rome; 
le  meme  malheur  les  alteudait."— //ij/ojre  de  ytnis^ 
par  Uaru. 


346 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


Desolate  Vtnice  !  when  I  track 

Thy  haughiy  course  Ihroueh  centuries  back ; 

Th»  ruthless  jinwer,  obey'd  but  curst  — 

The  stern  machinery  of  thy  State, 
Which  liatred  would,  like  steam,  have  burst, 

Had  a  slrunjer  fe.r  nut  chilPd  ev'n  hate;  — 
Tliy  perfidy,  still  worse  than  au'hl 
Thy  own  unblushing  Sarpi  •  'aught;  — 
Thy  friendship,  winch,  o'er  all  beneath 
It-  shadow,  r<in'd  down  dews  of  death  j'S  — 
Thv  Oligarchy's  Bo.k  of  Gold, 

tlos'd  asainst  humble  Virtue's  name,3 
But  ojieii'd  wide  for  slaves  who  sold 

Their  na'ive  land  to  thee  and  shame  ;  *  — 
Thy  all-pervading  host  of  spies, 

vValchiiig  o'er  eveiy  glance  and  breath, 
Till  n,en  lo  .k'd  in  each  others'  eyes, 

'lo  read  their  chance  of  life  or  death  ; — 
Thy  laws,  that  made  a  mart  of  bio  id. 

And  legaliz'd  the  assassin's  knife;  4  — 
Thy  sunless  cells  benifalh  the  Hood, 

And  racks,  and  Leads,**  that  liuriit  out  life  ; — 


<  The  celebrated  Fia  Paolo.  The  collection  of 
Maxims  which  this  bold  monk  drew  up  at  the  request 
of  the  Veiielian  Gnvernment,  fur  the  guidance  of  the 
Secret  Inquisition  of  State,  are  so  atrocious  as  to  seem 
rather  an  over-charged  sa'ire  upon  despotism,  than  a 
sys  em  of  policy,  seriously  inculcated,  and  but  too 
readily  and  constantly  pursued. 

The  spirit,  in  which  these  maxI.Tis  of  Fa'her  Paul 
are  conceived,  may  tie  judged  from  the  inslructiors 
which  he  gives  for  the  management  of  the  Venetian 
colonies  and  provinces.  Of  the  former  tie  says:  — 
"II  faut  les  trailer  c'lnime  des  animatix  feroces.  les 
rogner  les  dents,  et  les  gritTes,  les  humilier  s  uvent, 
surtnut  leur  oter  les  occasions  de  s'aguernr,  Du  pain 
et  le  baton,  voila  ce  qu'it  leur  faut;  gaidons  riiuina- 
nite  pour  une  meilleuie  occasion."' 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinces  he  advises  thus  : 
— '-Tendre  adepouiller  les  villesde  leurs  privileges, 
faire  que  les  habitans  s'appauvrissent,  et  que  leurs 
biens  soient  achetes  par  les  Venilieiis,  Ceux  qui,  dans 
les  eonseils  municipaux,  se  montrernnt  ou  plus  auda- 
cieuK  on  plus  devoues  aux  interets  de  la  pnpulatioii,  il 
faut  les  perdre  ou  les  gag'  er  a  quelqiie  prix  que  ce 
soil :  etifijl.  5'i7  .ve  trouve  dans  Its  priwinces  quelques 
chefs  de  partly  il  faut  les  extermintT  senisun  pretexte 
quelcoiiquey  viais  en  evitant  dc  reeerurir  a  la  justice 
ordinaire.  Que  le  poi<on  fosse  Poffice  de  bourreau, 
ctla  est  moins  odieux  et  beaucoup  plus  profitable.^ 

2  Conduct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  depen- 
dencies, particularly  lo  unfurtunale  I'adua.  —  Fate  of 
Francesco  Carrara,  for  which  see  Daru,  vol  ii.  p.  141 

3  '*  A  I'exception  des  trente  ci'adiiis  a  'mis  au  granc 
conseil  pendant  la  guerre  deChiozzi,  il  n  e-t  pasarrivi 
une  seule  fois  que  les  talens  ou  les  services  aient  pari 
a  certe  noblesse  orgueilleu^e  des  tilres  suffisans  pour 
s'asseoir  avec  elle."  —  Daru. 

4  Among  those  admitted  to  the  honour  of  being  in- 
scribed in  the  Libio  dorowtre  some  families  of  Bres- 
cia Trevisn.  and  other  places,  >i  hose  only  claim  to 
that  distinction  was  the  zeal  with  which  ihev  pros- 
trated themselves  and  their  counlry  at  the  feet  of  the 
republic. 

5  By  the  infamous  statutes  of  the  State  Inquisition,* 
not  only  was  assissiriation  lecognized  as  a  regular 
mode  of  punishment,  hut  this  secret  power  over  life 
was  delegated  to  their  minions  at  a  distance,  wilh 
nearly  as  much  facility  as  a  license  is  given  under  Ihe 
game  laws  of  England.     The  only  res  ricion  seems  lo 

ve  been  the  iieccssily  of  applying  for  a  new  certifi- 


cate, after  every  individual  i 


of  the  power. 


•  M.  Haru  has  given  an  abstract  of  these  S'atutes, 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  Iliblio'heoue  du  Roi,  and  it 
I  is  hardly  credible  that  such  a  5\slerri  of  trrachery  and 
I  cruelly  should  ever  have  been  established  by  any  go- 
j  ternnient,  or  submitted  to,  for  an  inslanl,  by' any 
'  people.    Among  various  precautions  against  the  in- 


When  I  review  all  this,  and  see 

The  doom  that  now  hath  fall'n  on  thee; 

Thy  nobles,  towering  once  so  proud, 

1'hemselves  beneath  the  yoke  now  bowM,— 

A  yoke,  by  no  one  grace  rcdeern'd. 

Such  ;is,  of  old,  around  ihee  beam'd. 

But  mem  and  base  as  e'er  yel  gall'd 

Earth's  tyrants,  when,  them  elves  enthnird.- 

I  feel  Ihe  moral  vengeance  sweel, 

And,  smiling  o'er  the  wreck,  repeat 

"Thus  perish  every  King  and  Slate, 

"  That  tread  Ihe  steps  which  Venice  trod, 
"Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great, 

"  By  outrage  against  man  aod  God  1" 


EXTRACT    VII. 

Venice. 
Lord  Syrmi's  Memoirs,  written  by  himself.— ReJUc- 
tions,  when  about  to  read  them. 

Let  me,  a  mnment, —  ere  with  fear  and  hope 
Of  glooniv,  glorious  things,  these  leaves  I  ope  — 
As  one,  in  fairy  tale,  to  whom  the  key 

Of  some  enchanter's  secret  halls  is  given, 
Doubts,  while  he  enters,  slowly,  tremblingly. 

If  he  shall  meet  with  shapes  from  hell  or  heaven- 
Let  me,  a  moment,  think  what  thousands  live 
O'er  the  wide  earih  this  instant,  who  would  give, 
Glally,  whole  sleeples  nights  to  bend  Ihe  brow 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now. 


trigiies  of  their  own  Nobles,  we  find  the  following:— 
"  Pour  persuader  aux  e'rangers  qu'il  elait  diiliciles  el 
dangereux  d'entreleiiir  qiielqu'  intrigue  secrete  avec 
les  nobles  Venitiens,  on  iniagina  de  faire  avertir  mys- 
terieu-ement  le  Nonce  du  Pape  (afin  que  les  autres 
miiiislres  en  fussent  informes)  que  I'lnquisiion  avail 
au'orise  les  patriciens  a  poignarder  quiconque  essaie- 
rait  de  tenter  leur  hdelile.  Mais  craignant  que  les 
ambassadeurs  ne  prela-seiil  foi  difficiienient  a  une 
deliberation,  qui  en  elTet  n'existait  pas,  I'Inquisilion 
voulait  prouverqn'elle  en  elait  capable.  Elle  ordonna 
des  recherches  pnur  decouvrir  s'll  n'v  avail  pas  dans 
Venise  quelqne  exile  au-dessus  du  c'ommun,  qui  eul 
rompu  son  ban  ;  ensuile  un  des  patriciens  qui  etaieni 
aux  gages  du  tribunal,  recut  la  mission  d'assassiner  ce 
malheurenx,  el  I'ordre  de  s'en  vanler,  en  disant  qu'il 
s'etait  porte  a  cet  acle,  parce  que  ce  banni  etait  I'agent 
d'un  ministre  elranger,  et  avail  cherche  a  le  corioni- 
pre  "— "Remarquons,"  adds  M.  Darn.  "  que  ceci 
n'est  pas  une  simple  anecdote  ;  c'est  une  mission  pro- 
jelee,  deliberee,  ecrite  d'avance ;  une  regie  de  con- 
diiite  tracee  par  des  honimes  graves  a  leurs  succes- 
seurs,  et  consignee  dans  des  staliits." 

The  cases,  in  which  assassination  is  ordered  by 
these  S'atutes,  are  as  follow  :  — 

"  Un  ouvrier  de  I'arsenal,  un  chef  de  ce  qu'on  ap- 
pelle  p^rmi  les  manns  le  menstrance,  pas-ait-il  au 
service  d'une  puissance  etrangere:  il  fallait  le  faire 
assassiner,  surbiul  si  c'elait  un  homme  rej.ule  brave 
et  habile  dans  sa  profe-sion."  — (.4rl  3  det  Statuts.) 

"Avait-il  coniliiis  quelque  action  qu'on  ne  jugeait 
pas  a  prnposdepuiiir  juridiquement,ondevait  le  faire 
enipoisoniier."—  (jjit.  M.) 

"Un  arlisan  passail-il  a  I'elranger  en  y  exportant 
quelque  procede  de  1  Industrie  nationale :  celait  en- 
core un  crime  capital,  que  la  |oi  inc^mnue  ordonnait 
de  puiiir  parunassassinal."  — (.ijri.  26.) 

The  facility  wilh  which  they  got  rid  of  Iheir  Duke  i 
of  Bedford",  Lord  Filzwilliams,  &c.  was  admirable'  I 
ilivasllins:  — 

"  Le  patricien  qui  se  permettait  le  moindte  prnpos 
contre  le  gouvernemenl,  elait  adnionete  deux  foiss  el  I 
a  la  Iroisienie  noye  comme  i7icorrigiblc.^~{Art,  39.)   j 

6  "Les  prisorisdes  plombs ;  c'esl-a-dire  ccs  four-' 
naises  a'dentes  qu'on  avai*  dislribuees  en  petites  eel-  | 
lule  sous  les  terra-sei  qui  couvrenl  le  palais."  I 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD, 


347 


How  all  who  know  —  and  where  is  he  unknown  ? 
To  Bhal  far  rcRion  have  his  songs  not  flown, 
Like  Psa^hon'5 birds,'  speikin^lheir  niasier'sname, 
'  In  ev'ry  laiiRUice,  syllabled  bv  Fame  ?  — 
I  How  all,  who've  lelt  the  varinus  spells  cotnbin'd 
I  Wiihin  the  circle  iif  thai  njMSter-niind,— 

I.ike  spell,,  dcriv'J  from  mauy  a  star,  and  met 
'  'i'liije'tier  ill  some  woiid'rous  amulet  — 
I  Would  burn  lo  know  when  first  the  Liglit  awoke 
In  his  youns  soul,— and  if  the  gleams  that  broke 
From  ihat  Aurora  of  his  genius,  rais'd 
Most  pain  or  bliss  in  Uiose  on  whom  Ihey  hlazd ; 
Would  love  to  lr.ace  th'  unfolding  of  that  power, 
Which  hath  grown  ampler,  grander,  eveiy  hour; 
And  feel,  in  watching  o'er  his  firsi  advance. 

As  did  th'  Ejyplian  traveller,*  when  he  stood 

By  the  young  Nile,  and  fathom'd  with  his  lance 

The  first  small  fountains  of  that  mighty  flood. 

They,  loo,  who,  mid  (he  scornful  thoughts  thai  dwell 

in  his  rich  fancy,  tinsing  all  its  streams,— 
As  if  the  Slar  of  Bitterness,  which  fell 
Ou  earih    of  old,3   had    touch'd    them  with    its 
beams, — 
Can  track  a  spirit,  which,  though  driven  to  hate. 
From  Nalure's  hands  came  kind,  aaeclionate  ; 
And  which,  cv'n  now,  struck  as  it  is  wiih  blight, 
Comes  out,  at  limes,  in  love's  own  native  li?ht  ;  — 
How  gladly  all,  who'ie  watch'd  lhe»e  struggling  rays 
Of  a  bright,  ruin'd  spirit  through  his  lays, 
Would  iiere  inquire,  as  from  his  own  frank  lips. 

What  desolating  grief,  what  wrongs  had  driven 
That  noble  nature  into  cold  eclipse; 

Like  some  fair  orb  that,  once  a  sun  in  heaven, 
And  born,  not  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
With  warmth  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
Is  now  so  quench'd,  Ihat  of  its  grandeur  lasts 
Nought,  but  the  wide,  cold  shadow  which  it  casts  1 

Eventful  volume  !  whatsoe'er  the  change 

Of    scene    and    clinic— th'    adveulures,    bold    »ad 

strange  — 
The  gi  iefs  —  the  frailties,  but  too  fiankly  told  — 
The  loves,  the  feuds  thy  pages  may  unfold. 
If  Truth  with  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unlocks 

His  virtues  as  his  failings,  we  shall  find 
The  record  ihereof  friend-hips  held  like  rocks, 
And  enmities,  like  sun-touchd  snow,  resigu'J; 
Of  fealty,  cheri,ird  without  change  or  chill, 
In  iho  e  who  serv'd  him,  young,  and  serve  him  still ; 
Of  generous  aid,  giv'ii  with  that  noiseless  art 
Which  wakes  not  |iride,  to  many  a  wounded  heart; 
Of  acts  — hilt,  nn  — net  from  hiinsflf  niusi  aught 
Of  the  brighl  fealures  of  his  life  be  sought. 
While  they,   who  court  the   world,   like  Millon'i 

cloud, « 
"  Turn  forlh  their  silver  lining"  on  the  crowd, 
This  gifled  Being  wraps  himself  in  night  ; 
And,  keeiiing  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
And  gilds  his  social  naluie  hid  from  -ight. 
Turns  but  its  darkness  on  a  world  he  scorns. 


in  the  Timt  of  Titian.  —  Bis  Mistras.—Varima 
Forms  ill  xohicli  he  has  ■painted  her — Venus.— 
Divim  aiidjirofane  Lave.— La  Fragilita  dAmare. 
—  Paul  Vtroiiese.  —  His  H'omcyt  —  Marriage  of 
Cana.  —  Character  of  Italian  Beauty.  —  Raphael 
Foniarina.  —  Modesty. 

Thy  brave,  thy  learn'd,  have  past  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  wilh  Glory  die? 
That  maid,  whose  lips  would  still  have  niov'd. 

Could  art  have  breath  d  a  spirit  through  them; 
Whose  varying  charms  her  artist  lov'd 

More  fondly  every  lime  he  drew  them, 
(So  eft  beneath  his  touch  Ihey  pass'd, 
Each  semblance  fairer  than  the  last; 
Wearing  each  shape  Ihat  Fancy's  range 

Ottcts  to  Love  —  yet  slill  the  one 
Fair  idol,  seen  ihrough  every  change. 
Like  facets  of  some  orient  stone, — 
In  each  the  same  brighl  image  shown. 
Sometimes  a  Venus,  unarray'd 

But  in  her  beaut)  s  —sometimes  deck'd 
In  costly  raiment,  as  a  maid 

Thai  kings  might  for  a  thione  selecl.6 
Now  high  and  proud,  like  one  who  thought 
The  world  should  at  her  (eet  be  brought ; 
Now,  wilh  a  look  reproachful,  sad.i- 
Unwonted  look  fiom  brow  so  glad;  — 
And  telling  of  a  pain  loo  deep 
For  tongue  lo  speak  or  eye>  to  weep. 
Soinetimes,  through  allegory's  veil, 

In  double  semblance  seen  lo  shine, 
Telling  a  strange  and  mystic  tale 

Of  Love  Profane  and  Love  Divine  «  — 
Akin  in  features,  but  in  heart 
As  far  as  eailh  and  heav'ii  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, 
Wilh  a  young  Love  coiifin'd  llieiein. 

Whose  wings  seem  waiting  lo  expand  — 
And  telling,  by  her  an.vious  eyes, 
Thai,  if  that  frail  orb  breaks,  he  flies  IS 

Thou,  too,  wilh  touch  magnificent, 
Paul  of  Verona  !  —  where  are  they. 

The  oriental  forms,' »  thai  lent 
Thy  canvass  such  a  brighl  array? 

Noble  and  gorgeous  dames,  whose  dress 

Seems  pait  of  their  own  loveliness; 


EXTRACT    VIII. 

Venice. 

Ftmalt  Beauty  at  Vcnit.  —  No  longer  what  it  ioo» 


«  Psaphnn,  in  order  lo  attract  the  attention  of  the 
world,  taught  multiiudes  of  birds  lo  speak  his  name, 
and  then  lei  them  fly  away  in  various  directions  ; 
whence  the  proverb,  *^  Psayltonis  aves." 

t>  Bruce, 

*  "And  the  name  of  the  star  is  called  Wnrmwnod, 
&nd  the  third  part  of  the  waters  became  wormwood." 
—  Keu.  vii . 

4  "  Did  a  sable  cl'ud 

Turn  forlh  her  silver  lining  on  the  nithi  ?" 

Cumus. 


'  In  the  Tribune  at  Florence. 

e  In  the  Palazzo  Pilli. 

1  Alludes  particularly  lo  the  portrait  of  her  in  the 
Sciaria  collection  at  Riune,  where  the  look  of  mourn- 
fnl  reproach  in  those  lull,  shadouy  eye-,  as  if  she 
had  been  unjusUy  accused  of  something  wrong,  is 
exquisite. 

8  The  fine  pidure  in  the  Palazzo  Borghe-e.  called 
(it  is  not  easy  to  sav  "h\)  ''Sacred  and  Profane 
Love,"  in  which  the  two  figures,  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  the  fountain,  are  evidently  porliaits  of  the  same 
person. 

3  This  fanciful  allegory  is  the  subject  of  a  pic'ure 
by  Titian  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquis  Cambian 
at  Turin,  whose  cllection.  though  small,  conlaiiis 
some  beautiful  specimens  of  all  the  great  masters. 

10  As  Paul  Veronese  gave  but  little  into  the  ieau 
ideal,  his  women   maybe   regarded    as   pretty  cloi»  | 
imitations  of  the  living  models  which  Venice  afford. 


348 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


Like  the  sun's  drapery,  which,  at  eve, 
The  floatiiig  clfiuds  around  him  we»ve 
Of  light  they  from  himself  receive  ! 
Where  is  there  now  the  living  face 

Like  those  thnl,  in  ihy  nuptial  throng,* 
By  their  superb,  voluptuous  grace, 
Make  us  forget  the  time,  the  place. 

The  holy  guesis  they  Miiile  among,— 
Till,  in  that  feast  of  heaven-sent  wine, 
We  see  no  miracles  but  thiue. 

If  e'er,  except  in  Painting's  dream. 

There  binoiird  such  beauty  here,  't  is  gone,- 
Goiie,  like  the  face  that  in  the  stream 

Of  Ocean  for  an  instant  shone, 
When  Venus  at  that  mirror  gave 
A  last  look,  ere  she  left  the  wave. 
And  though,  among  the  crowded  ways, 
We  oft  are  startled  by  the  blaze 
Of  eves  that  pass,  with  hlful  light. 
Like  fire-flies  on  the  wing  at  night,^ 
*T  is  nit  'hat  nobler  beauty,  given 
1o  show  how  angels  lo-'k  in  heaven. 
Ev'ii  in  its  sh'pe  most  pure  and  fair, 

'Tis  Beauty,  with  but  half  her  zone,— 
All  that  can  warm  the  Sense  is  there. 

Rut  the  Soul's  deeper  charm  is  flown :  — 
T  is  Rapliael's  Foruanna,— warm, 

Luxurianl.  arch,  but  unrefiird  ; 
A  tJowt-r,  round  which  the  noontide  swarm 

Of  young  Desires  may  buzz  and  wind. 
But  where  true  Love  no  treasure  meets, 
Worih  hoarding  in  his  hive  of  sweets. 

Ah  no,— for  this,  and  for  the  hue 

Upon  the  rouniied  cheek,  which  'ells 
How  fiesh,  within  the  heart,  this  dew 

Of  Love's  unrifled  sueetne-s  dwells, 
We  must  go  back  to  our  own  hies, 

Where  iVIcdesiy,  which  here  but  gives 
A  rare  and  transient  grace  to  smiles, 

In  the  heart's  holy  cen're  lives; 
And  thence,  as  from  her  throne  ditfusei 

O'er  thoughts  and  I'oks  -o  bland  a  reign, 
That  not  a  thought  or  fetling  loses 

Its  freshness  iu  that  gentle  chain. 


EXTRACT    IX. 

Venice. 
The  English  to  he  met  with  everywhere.  —  Alfit  and 
ThreadnecdU  Street  —The  Simplon  and  the  Stocks. 
•—Rage  for  travtUtJig. — Blue  Stockings  among  the 
Wahabces— Parasols  and  Pyramids. — Mrs.  Hop- 
kins and  the  Wall  of  China. 

And  IS  there  then  no  earthly  place. 

Where  we  can  rest,  in  die.im  Elysian, 
Without  some  curst,  round  English  face, 

popping  up  near,  to  break  'he  vision  ? 
*Mid  northern  lakeB.  'mid  souihern  vines, 

Unholy  cits  we're  dooni'd  to  meet  j 
Nor  highest  Alps  lor  Apennines 

Are  s.icred  from  Threadneedle  Street ! 

If  up  the  Simplon's  path  we  wind, 

Fancying  we  leave  'his  world  behind, 

Such  pleasant  sounds  s>lute  one's  ear 

As  —  "  Raddi«h  news  from  "Change,  my  dear  — 

*'  The  Funds  —  fphew.  curse  this  uglv  hill  ^  — 

«  Are  lowering  fast  —  (what,  higher  still  ?J — 


1  The  Marriage  of  Cana. 

5  "  Cer'ain  if  is  (as  Arthur  Young  truly  and  feeling- 
ly says)  one  now  and  then  meets  with  terrible  tyn  in 
Italy" 


**  And  —  (zooks,  we  're  mounting  up  lo  heaTeDl  < 
**  Will  soon  be  down  lo  sixty  seven.'* 

Go  where  we  may —  rest  where  we  will, 

Eternal  London  h.iunts  us  siill. 

The  irash  of  Almack's  or  Fleet  Ditch  — 

And  scarce  a  pin's  head  dilierence  ooAicA  — 

Mixes,  though  ev'n  to  Greece  we  run. 

With  every  rill  from  Helicon  1 

And,  if  (his  rage  for  travelling  lasts, 

If  Cockneys,  of  all  see's  and  caste^, 

Old  maidens,  aldermen,  and  squires, 

Will  leave  Iheir  puddings  and  coal  fires. 

To  g'pe  at  things  in  foreign  lands. 

No  soul  among  Ihem  underslauds; 

If  Blues  desert  their  coteries, 

To  show  ofl"  'inong  the  Wahabees; 

If  neither  sex  nor  age  controls. 

Nor  fear  of  Mamelukes  forbids 
Young  ladies,  with  pink  parasols, 

To  glide  among  the  Pyramids  3  — 
Why,  then,  fareivell  all  hope  to  find 
A  spot,  (hat 's  free  from  London  kind  ! 
Who  knows,  if  to  the  West  we  roam, 
But  we  may  find  -ome  Blue,  "at  home" 

Anioiig  the  Blacks  of  Carolina  — 
Or,  flying  to  (he  Eastward,  see 
Some  Mrs  Hopkins  taking  tea 

And  toast  upon  the  Wall  of  China! 


EXTRACT    X. 

Mantua* 
Virsts  of  Hifpolyta  to  Her  Hxuland, 

They  tell  me  thou  M  the  favoured  guest  4 

Ot^  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng; 
No  vvii,  tike  thine,  to  wake  the  jest, 

No  voice  like  thine,  to  breathe  the  song. 
And  none  could  gue-s,  so  gay  thou  art, 
That  thou  and  I  are  far  apart. 
Alas,  alas,  how  dttferent  flows. 

With  Ihee  and  me  the  time  awny  ! 
Not  that  I  wish  thee  sad,  heaven  knows  — 

Still,  if  thou  canst,  be  light  and  gay ; 
I  only  know  that  wiihout  Ihee 
The  sun  himself  is  dark  for  me. 

Do  I  put  on  the  jewels  rare 

Thou 's(  always  Inv'd  lo  see  me  wear? 

Do  I  perfume  the  locks  that  thou 

So  oft  hasi  braided  u'er  my  brow, 

Thus  deck'd,  through  festive  crowds  to  run, 

And  all  Ih'  assembled  world  to  see. 
All  but  the  one,  the  absent  one, 

Worth  more  than  present  worlds  lo  me! 


3  It  WIS  pink  spencers,  I  believe,  that  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  French  traveller  conjured  up. 
4  Utque  ferurit  Ix'us  convivia  lasta 

Et  celebra"*  lentis  otia  mis  a  jocis; 
Aut  cithara  aes'ivum  attenuas  c^n  uque  calorem. 

Hei  mihi,  qnam  dispar  nunc  niea  vita  tnae ! 
Nee  mihi  displiceant  quae  sun*  (ibi  gra'a  ;  sed  ipsa  est, 

Te  sine,  lux  oculis  pene  mimica  meis. 
Non  auro  aut  semma  caput  exornare  nitenti 

Me  juval,  aut  Arabo  spirgire  odore  comas: 
Non  celebres  ludos  fa'^tis  spectaie  diebus. 

*  *  *  ^t  * 

Sola  tuos  vnltus  referens  Riphnelis  imago 

Picia  manu,  curas  alleva'  usque  me;is. 
Huie  ego  delica^  f.^cio.  arndtcque  jocoique, 

Ailoquor  et  tanqnam  reddere  verba  queaU 
Assensu  nutuque  mihi  saepe  ilia  videtur 

Dicere  velle  aliquid  et  tua  veib.i  loqui. 
Agnoscit  balboque  pa'rem  puer  ore  salutat* 

Hoc  solor  longas  decipioque  dies. 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD, 


349 


No^  nothing  cheers  this  widow'd  heart  — 
My  only  joy,  from  Ihee  afiart, 
From  thee  thyself,  is  silting  hours 

And  days,  hefore  Ihy  pictur'd  form  — 
Thatdiearn  of  Ihee,  which  Raphael's  pnwen 

Have  made  with  all  tml  life-breath  wanii  1 
And  as  I  smile  to  ir,  and  sny. 
The  words  I  speak  lo  thee  in  pUy, 
I  fancy  frnm  their  silent  frame, 
'I'h"se  ejes  and  lips  give  l)ack  the  same  ; 
And  stitl  I  gaze,  and  still  Uiey  keep 
Su.ilih<fhuson  me  — till  I  weep! 
Our  litde  b<>y,  loo,  knows  it  well, 

For  there  1  lead  him  every  d;ty, 
And  leach  his  lisping  lips  to  fell 

The  name  of  one  Ihit  's  f^r  away. 
Forgive  me,  love,  but  thus  alone 
My  time  is  cheer'd,  while  thou  art  ^ne. 


EXTRACT    XI. 

Florence, 
No  — 'tis  not  tlie  region  where  Love  'a  to  be  found-  — 
They  have  bosoms  that  sigh,  they  have  gUnces  (ha: 

They   have    language    a   Sai)pho'3   own    lip    might 
re^oun<t| 
When  she  w:»rbled  her  best  —  but  they've  nothirig 
like  Love. 

Nor  is't  that  pure  sentiment  only  they  want. 
Which  Heav'n  for  the  mild  and  the  tranquil  hath 
made  — 

Calm,  wedded  atfection,  that  home-rooted  plant, 
Which  sweetens  seclusion,  and  smiles  in  the  sh:ide  ; 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  have  gone  by, 
Remains,  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  in  youth, 

Where,  ev'ii  though  the  Hush  of  the  colours  may  fly, 
The  fealurcb  still  live,  in  their  hrsl  siuiliDg  truth; 

That  union,  where  all  that  in  Woman  is  kind, 
With  all  (hat  in  Man  most  enuoblmgly  towers. 

Grow  wreathM  into  one  — like  llie  colunm,  combin'd 
Of   tt)e  strength  of   the   shaft   and   the   capital^s 
/lowers  * 

Of  this—  bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives,  everywhere, 
By  the  Arno,  the  Po,  by  all  Italy's  streams  — 

Of  this  heart-wedded  love,  so  delicious  (o  share, 
Not    a  husband    hath    eveu   one   glimpse    iu  his 


But  it  is  not  this,  only;— born  full  of  (he  light 
Of  a  -uii,  fiom  whose  fount  Hie  luxuriant  festoons 

Of  the^e  he.iu'ilul  valleys  drink  lu^ire  s..  bright, 
That,  beside  him,  our  suns  of  the  north  are  but 
moons,— 

We  might  fancy,  at  least,  like  their  climate  they 
buru'd  ; 
And   that  i^ove,  though  unus'd,  in  this  region  of 

spring. 
To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Household  Dei'y  turn'd, 
Would  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the  wing, 

And  there  may  be,  there  are  those  explosions  of 

heart.  * 

Which  burst,  when  the  senses  have  first  caught  the 

ft.me ;  ^ 

Such  fi's  of  the  blood  as  those  cli"n)a'es  impart, 

Where    Love  is  a  sun-slruke,  that  maddens  the 


But  that  Passion,  which  springs  in  the  depth  of  the 
houl  ; 
Whf'se  beginnings  ; 
or  some  small  mount 


A  course,  to  which  Modesty's  ftniggle  but  lends 
A  more  headlong  dchceiit,  without  chance  of  re- 
call ; 

But  which  Modesty  ev'n  (n  the  last  edge  attends. 
And,  then,  throws  a  halo  of  tears  round  its  fall  I 

This  exquisite  Passion  —  aj',  exquisite,  even 
Mid  (he  ruin  its  madness  too  olten  hath  made, 

As  it  kee|)s,  even  then,  a  bright  trace  of  the  hflavsn, 
That  heaven  of  Virtue  froiii  which  it  has  stray'd  — 

This  entireness  of  Inve,  which  can  only  be  found, 
Where  Woman,  like  something  that  sholy,  watch'd 

And  fencM,  from  her  childhood,  witli  purity  round, 
Comes,  body  and  soul,  fresh  as  Spring,  to  a  lover  1 

Where  not  an  eye  answers,  where  not  a  hand  pressrt, 
Till  spirit  with  spirit  in  sympailiy  move; 

And  the  Senses,  aslet-p  in  thtir  sacitd  recesses, 

Can  only  be  reach'd  through  the  temple  of  Level — 

Tliis  perfection  of  Passion  —  how  cmi  it  be  found. 
Where  the  mystery  nature  hath  hniig  round  the  (ie 

By  which  s  uls  are  together  attruded  and  bound, 
Is  laid  open,  for  ever,  to  heart,  ear,  and  eye  ;— 

Where  nought  of  that  innocent  doubt  can  exist. 
That  ignoiauce,  even  (han  knowledge  more  bright, 

Which  circles  the  young,  like  ihe  monies  sunny  mi-t, 
And   cur:ains  them    round    in    their  own    naive 
light  ;- 

Where  Experience  leaves  nothing  for  Love  (o  reveal. 
Or  for  Fancy,  in  visions,  to  gleam  o'er  the  thought  ; 

Bu'  the  truths  which,  alone,  we  would  die  to  conceal 
From  the  maiden's  young  heart,  are  the  only  ones 
taught. 

No,  no,  't  is  not  here,  howsoever  we  sigh, 

VVheiher  puiely  to  Hymen's  one  planet  we  pray, 

Or  adore,  like  Saba-ans.  e..ch  light  of  Love's  sky, 
Here  is  not  the  region,  to  fix  or  to  btray. 

For  faithless  in  wedlock,  in  gallantry  gross, 
Without  honour  to  gu^id,  or  reserve  lo  restrain, 

What  have  (hey,  a  husband  can  mourn  as  a  loss  ? 
H'/iat  have  lliej',  a  lover  can  prize  as  a  gain  ? 


EXTRACT    XII. 

Florence. 
Mitsic  in  Italy.— Disappointed  by  it.—RecoUectiotu 
of  other  Times  and  Friends.— Dalton.— Sir  John 
Stevenson.  —  His  Daughter.  —  Musical  Eveniugi 
together. 

4:  «  «  ;f:  * 

If  it  be  true  (hat  Music  reigns, 

Su[.reme,  in  Italy's  soft  shades, 
»T  is  like  that  Harmony,  so  famou-t. 
Among  the  spheres,  vvhich.  He  of  Samns 
Declai'd,  had  such  transcendent  merit, 
Ttiat  not  a  soul  on  earth  could  hear  it ; 
For,  far  as  I  have  come— fn-m  Likes, 
Whose  sleep  ihe  Traniontana  breaks, 
Through  Milan,  and  that  land,  uhich  gave 

Ihe  Her.,  of  Ihe  rainbow  vt-stl  — 
By  Miricin's  hai.ks.  and  by  that  wave,^ 

Which  made  Veroiia-s  baid  so  blest  — 
places  th.t  (like  the  Aitic  shore, 

Which  rung  back  music,  when  the  sea 
Striick  01.  ils  niarge)  should  be,  all  o'er, 

Thtilling  alive  wiUi  melody  — 


irginly  pure  as  (he  sonice 
rivulet,  destin'd  t..  loll 
As  a  torrent,  ere  long,  losing  peace  in  its  course  — 


>  Bergamo  — the  biith-place,  it  is  said,  of  H&rle* 
quin. 
2  The  Lago  di  Garda- 


30 


350 


RHYMES    ON    THE   ROAD, 


Pve  heard  no  musi 
Of  such  sweet  nalii 
111  Diy  own  land,  ai 
And  speak  our  uau 


t  a  note 
as  float, 
le  tliiong, 
ul  for  sonjf. 


Nay,  e 
Peiiori 
And  n 
1  lie  t\< 
tv'n  there,  i 


1  higher  walks,  where  Art 
i  't  weie,  the  gardener's  part, 

if  not  sweeter,  makes 

she  from  the  wild-hed'e  lakes  — 


:  hah  cha 


Not 


:  ha  h  1 


■  perlecl  pr 


I  d  my  « 


Like  thine,  dear  friend  »  —  long,  tiuly  dear  — 

Thine,  and  thy  lov'd  Olivia's  lays. 
She,  always  beautiful,  and  growing 

Stiil  more  so  every  note  she  sings  — 
Like  an  inspir'd  young  Sib>l,*  glowing 

With  her  own  bright  imag.nings; 
And  thou,  most  worthy  to  be  tied 

In  music  to  her,  as  in  love, 
Breathing  that  language  by  her  side, 

All  oiher  language  tar  above. 
Eloquent  Song  —  whose  tones  and  wordi 
Id  every  heart  hnd  answering  chords 

How  happy  once  the  hours  we  past, 

Singing  or  lisleninjc  all  day  long, 
Till  Time  itself  seem'd  chang'd,  at  last, 

To  music,  and  we  liv'd  in  song  ! 
Turning  the  leaves  of  Haydn  o'er, 

As  quick,  beneath  her  master  hand. 
They  open'd  all  their  brilliant  slor;. 

Like  chaiiiliers,  touch'd  by  fairy  waud ; 
Or  o'er  the  |,<ge  of  Mozart  bending. 

Now  by  til,,  airy  warblings  clieer'd. 
Now  in  hi    iiii.urnful  Utijuicm  blending 

Voices,  through  which  the  heart  was  heard. 

And  s'ill,  to  lead  our  evening  choir. 
Was  He  invok'd,  thy  lov'd-oue's  Sire' 
He,  who,  if  aught  or  grace  there  be 

In  the  wild  notes  I  wiile  or  sing. 
First  sniooth'd  their  links  of  harmony. 

And  lent  them  charms  U.ey  did  not  bring  ; 
He,  of  the  gentlest,  simplest  heart, 
With  whom,  employ'd  in  his  sweet  art, 
(That  an,  which  gives  this  world  of  ours 

A  no  ion  how  they  spe  ik  in  heaven,) 
I  've  pass'd  more  bright  and  charmed  hours 

Than  all  eirih's  «  isdi.ni  cnuld  have  given. 
Oh,  happy  dajs,  oh,  early  friends. 

How  Life,  since  then,  hath  lost  its  fJowers  1 
But  yet—  though  Time  some  foliage  rends. 

The  stem,  the  Friendship,  still  is  ouis  ; 
And  long  may  it  endure,  as  green. 
And  fresh  as  it  h  ith  always  been  i 

How  I  have  wander'd  from  my  theme  I 

But  where  is  he,  that  could  return 
To  such  cold  subjects  from  a  dreaii'. 

Through  which  these  best  of  feelings  burn?  — 
Not  all  the  works  of  Science,  Art, 

Or  Genius  in  this  woild  are  worih 
One  genuine  sigh,  that  from  the  heart 

Friendship  or  Love  draws  freshly  forth. 


EXTRACT    XIII. 

Rome. 

Rejlectiant  an  reading  Dc  Centau's  Account  of  thi 


Cmsfiracy  of  Rienzi,  in  1347.*  —  Thi  Mcetittg  of 

lU  Cunsi^iratuis  mi  the  Night  of  the  19(A  of  May. 

—Thtir  Procession  in  the  Morning  to  tlit  Capitol. 

—  Rienzi' s  Speech. 
T  was  a  proud  moment—  ev'n  to  hear  the  words 

Of  Tri.th  ai,d  t  reedcm  'mid  these  temples  breath'i, 
And  see,  once  more,  the  Forum  sliiiie  with  swords, 

In  the  Republic's  sicred  name  Ulisheaih'd  — 
That  glimp.c,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day 

Foi  his  dear  Rome,  must  to  a  Koinan  be. 
Short  as  it  was,  worth  ages  past  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'T  was  on  a  night  of  May,  beneath  that  moon. 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  '1  ime  untune 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Lmpire,  till  it  fell 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell  — 
■J  he  sound  of  the  church  clock,>  near  Adrian's  Tomb, 
Summon'd  the  warrnrs,  who  had  risen  for  Rome, 
To  meer  miarm'd,—  with  n"ne  to  watch  them  there. 
But  God's  own  eye,— and  pass  the  night  in  prayer. 
Holy  beginning  of  a  hnly  cause. 
When  heroes,  girt  for  Fieedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heav'n,  and,  humble  in  their  might, 
Call  down  its  blessing  on  that  coming  tight. 

At  dawn,  in  arms,  went  forth  the  patriot  band ; 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fiesli  from  the  Tiber,  faliu'd 
"heir  gilded  gonf..loiis,  all  eyes  could  see 
■Ihe    palm-tree    ttiere,   the   sword,    the   keys   of 
HeavenU  — 

,  peace,  and  liberty, 

s  them,  when  their  chains  were 

On  to  Ihe  Capitol  the  pngeant  mov'd. 

While  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  that  still 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  rov'd, 

liung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  lieard  its  mourntul  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heiis  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
'r  was  then  that  thou,  ttieir  Tribune,'  (name  whkh 

broiight 
Dreams  of  lost  glo'y  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 
Uidst,  with  a  spirit  liome  in  vain  shall  seek 
I'o  wake  up  in  her  sons  again,  thus  speak  :  — 
"Romans,  look  round  you — on  this  sacred  place 
"  There  once  stood  shrines,  and  guds,  and  godlike 

"  What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 
"  Is  left  of  all,  that  made  Rome's  glory  then  ? 


*  The  "Conjuratio 
Rienzi,''  by  the  Jesuit 
from  tiie  much  more 
on  the  sanie  subject. 


de  Nicolas  Gabrini,  dil  de 
De  Cerceau,  is  chiefly  taken 
uthentic  work  of  Forlihocca 
Kieuzi  was  the  sou  of  a  laun- 


I  Edward  Tuile  Dalt.in,  the  first  husband  of  Sir 
Jolin  Stevenson's  daughter,  the  late  MarchioueaS  of 
Headforl. 

3  Such  as  those  of  Domenichiuo  in  Ibe  Palazzo 
Borghese,  at  the  Capitol,  &c. 

a  Sir  John  Stevenson, 


»  It  is  not  easy  to  discover  what  church  is  meant  by 
Du  Cerceau  here:  —  "11  fit  crier  dans  les  rues  de 
Rome,  a  son  de  trompe,  que  chacuii  eut  a  se  trouver, 
sans  amies,  la  nuit  du  lendemain,  dix  neuvieme,  dans 
Teglise  du  chateiu  de  Saiiit-Aiige,  au  sonde  la  cloche, 
ahii  de  pourvolr  au  Bon  £tat,'' 

6  "Les  gentilshomnies  conjures  porlaient  dev;  nl 
liii  trois  eiendaris.  Mc.das  Guallato,  surnonime  (( 
bon  diseur,  porlait  le  premier,  qui  etait  de  c  n.leui 
rouge,  et  plus  grand  que  les  autres.  tin  y  voyait  des 
caiacleres  d'or  avec  une  femme  assise  sur  deux  lions, 
tenant  d'uiie  main  le  glube  du  monde,  et  de  I'autre 
uiie  Palme  pour  reprfsenter  la  ville  de  Rome. 
C'elait  le  Gonfalon  de  la  Ubcrte.  Lt  second,  a  fnnds 
bla  c,  avec  un  St.  Paul  tenant  de  la  droite  une  Epee 
nue  et  de  la  gauche  It  cnuronnedeyus/icc,  etait  porte 
par  E'ienne  iMagnacuccia,  n  laire  aprsloliqi;e.  IJans 
le  trcnsieiiie,  St.  I'ierre  avail  eu  main  fej  cltfs  de  la 
Concorde  etde  la  Paix.  Tout  cela  insinuail  le  des- 
seiii  de  Rienzi,  qui  etait  de  retablir  la  liberte  la  jus- 
tice et  la  paiz."  —  i)u  Cerceau,  liv.  ii. 

t  Rienzi. 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


351 


*  The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  Sacred  Mount  tereft 
**  Cv'n  of  ite  name — and  noilniig  now  reoiaius 

*  Bui  the  deep  meninry  of  that  gloiyf  left 

*'  To  whet  our  paritjs  and  aggravate  our  chains  ! 
*Bul  shall  this  be?  — our  sun  and  sky  the  same,— 
*' 'IVeadiiig  the  veiy  wjjl  our  fallieis  irnde, — 

*  What  wiiheime;  curse  hath  fdl'n  on  soul  and  frame, 
**  What  vi^itaiion  liath  there  come  from  God, 

*  To  blabt  our  btren-jth,  and  rot  us  into  sUves, 

^  Utre,  on  our  gieal  forclalhers*  glorious  graves? 
'  11  cannot  be  —  rite  up,  je  mighty  dead, — 
"  If  we,  tlie  livii.ic,  are  loo  weah  to  crush 

*  These  tyrant  pne>l)*,  th.it  o'er  your  empire  tread, 
*'  Till  all  but  Humans  at  Rome's  lameness  blush  J 

*  Happy,  Palmyra,  in  thy  desert  domes, 

*'  Where  only  date-trees  sigh  and  serpents  hiss; 
>*  And  thou,  whose  pillars  are  but  silent  hi^mes 

"  For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  I'ersepolis  ! 
'Thrice  happy  both,  that  vour  estinguiah'd  race 
*Have  left  no  embers— ro  haif-living  trace  — 
'  No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  orice  proud  spot, 
'Till  past  renown  in  present  bhame 's  forgot. 
'  While  Rome,  the  Queen  of  all,  whose  very  wrecks, 

"If  lone  and  lifeless  thr.  ugh  a  desert  huri'd, 

*  Would  wear  more  true  matcnilicence  ihaii  decks 

**  The* assembled  thrones  ol  all  the' existing  world- 
"Rome,  Home  alone,  is  haunted,  slain'd  and  curst, 

"  Through  every  spot  her  jirincely  Tiber  laves, 
"By  living  human  things — the  de.idliesl,  ^vor^t, 

"  This  earth  engenders—  tyrants  and  their  slaves ! 
''And   we  —  oh  shame  I  —  v^e,   who  have  pouder'd 
o'er 

"  The  patrint^s  lesson  and  the  poet's  lay  j  i 
'•  Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 

"  Tracking  our  country's  gl'Tie-.  all  tlie  way  — 
'*£v'n  we  have  tamely,  basely  kiss'd  the  ground 

"  Before  that  Papal  Power,— thai  Ghost  of  Her, 
"The  World's  Imperial  Mistress- sitlinff,  ciowu'd 

"  And  ghaslly,  on  her  mouldering  sepulchre !  * 

'*  But  this  is  past :  —  ton  long  have  lordly  priests 

**  And  priestly  lords  led  us,  "  iih  all  our  pride 
"  Withering  about  us  —  like  devoted  beasts, 

"  Uragg'd  to  the  shrine,  with  faded  garlands  tied. 
"  'T  is  o'er  —  the  dawn  of  our  deliverance  breaks  I 
"  Up  from  his  sleep  of  ceiiiuries  awakes 
"  The  Genius  of  the  Old  Uepub.ic.  free 
^'  As  first  he  stood,  in  chainlets  majesiy, 
"  And  sends  his  voice  through  a^es  yet  to  come, 
"Proclaiming  Rome,  Rome,  Home,  Eternal  Rome!" 


E  XTRACT    X  IV. 

Rome. 

Fragment  of  a  Dream.  —  The  great  Painters  sup- 
posed to  be  Magicians.  ~~  T/ie  beginnings  of  the 
^rt.— Gildings  on  the  Glories  and  Draperies.— Im- 
yroocmeiits  under  Giotto,  ^c,—  The  first  Dawn  of 


*  The  fine  Canzone  of  Petrarch,  beginning  "Spirto 
rentil,"  is  supposed,  by  Voltaire  and  others,  to  have 
been  addressed  to  Rienzi ;  but  theie  is  much  more 
evidence  of  its  having  been  writlen,  as  Ginpuene 
asserts,  to  the  young  Stephen  Colonna,  on  his  being 
created  a  Senator  of  Rome.  That  Petrarch,  however, 
was  filled  with  high  and  patriotic  hopes  by  the  fir^t 
measures  of  this  eriraordinary  nian,  appears  from 
one  of  his  letters,  quoted  by  I)u  Cerceau,  where  he 
giys, —  "pour  tout  dire,  en  un  mot,  j'attes'e,  nnn 
comnie  lecteur,  niais  conmie  tenioin  oculaire,  qu'il 
nous  a  rmiene  le  justice.  la  paix,  la  bonne  foi,  la 
eecuiile,  et  lous  les  au'res  ves'iges  de  Page  d'or.*' 

^  This  image  is  borrowed  from  Hobbes,  whose 
words  aie,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect: —"  For  uhat  is 
the  Papricy,  hut  the  Ghost  of  Ihe  old  Roman  Empire, 
titling  crowned  on  the  grave  thereof?" 


the  true  Style  in  Masaccio.  —  Studied  by  aU  ifu 
great  jirttsts  who  followtd  him.  —  Le07iardo  tia 
yinci,  with  whom  commenced  the  Gulden  ^it  of 

Painting.— His  knowledge  of  Mathematics  and  of 
Music.  —  His  female  Heads  all  like  each  other. ~ 
Trtangitlar  Faces.— Portraits  of  Mona  Lisa,  SfC 
—Picture  of  yanity  and  Modesty.— His  chef'd^vetf 
vrc^  the  Last  Supyer.  —  Faded  and  almost  traced. 

Fiird  with  Ihe  wonders  I  had  seen. 

In  Koiiie'.^  stupendous  shrines  and  halls, 
1  felt  the  veil  of  »leep,  serene, 
Come  o'er  ihe  memory  of  each  scene, 

As  twilight  o'er  ihe  landscape  falls. 
Nor  was  i(  slumber,  sound  and  deep, 

But  such  as  suits  a  poet's  rest  — 
Thai  sort  of  thin,  trai,spirent  sleep.  _ 

Through  which  his  day-dreams  shtne  the  best. 
Meltiought  upon  a  plain  I  stood. 

Where  cer;ain  wondrous  men,  't  was  said. 
With  strange,  miraculous  power  endu'd, 

Were  comin!;,  each  in  turn,  to  shed 
His  art^'  illusions  o'er  the  sight. 
And  call  up  minicles  of  light. 
The  sky  above   his  lonely  place. 

Was  of  that  cold,  uncurtain  hue, 
The  canvass  weais,  ere,  warm'd  apace. 

Its  blight  creation  dawns  to  view. 

But  soon  a  glimmer  from  the  east 

ProclaiinM  the  first  enchantments  Digh;3 
And  as  the  feeble  light  incteas'd. 

Strange  figuies  mov'd  across  the  sky, 
Wiih  golden  glories  deck'd,  and  streaks 

Of  gold  among  thf.ir  garments'  dyes  ;  « 
And  life's  resemblance  ling'd  their  cheeks, 

But  nought  of  life  was  in  their  eyes;  — 
Like  the  fiesh  painted  Dead  one  meets, 

Borne  stow  along  Rome's  uiouiuful  streets. 

But  soon  these  figures  pass'd  away  ; 

And  forms  succeeded  to  iheir  place, 
With  less  of  gold,  in  iheir  array, 

But  shining  wuh  more  naiural  grace, 
And  alt  could  see  the  cliamiing  »ands 
Had  pabs'd  into  more  gified  hands.* 

Among  these  visions  there  was  one,6 
Surpassing  fair,  on  which  the  sun. 
That  insttnt  risen,  a  beam  lei  fall. 

Which  through  the  dusky  twilight  trembled, 
And  reach'd  at  length,  ihe  spot  where  all 

1  hose  great  magicians  stood  a'sembled. 
And  as  they  lurn'd  their  heads,  to  view 

The  ^hining  lu>lre,  1  could  trace 
The  bright  varieties  il  threw 

On  each  uplifted  »tud))ng  face;  "^ 


*  Margaritone  of  Orezzo,  who  was  a  pupil  and 
imilaUT  of  the  Greeks,  is  said  lo  have  invented  this 
art  of  gilding  Ihe  ornaments  of  pictures,  a  practice 
which,  though  it  gave  way  to  a  purer  taste  al  the 
beginning  of  the  l6ih  century,  "as  siilt  occasionally 
used  by  many  of  the  great  masiers  :  as  by  Ra|ihael  in 
Ihe  nriinmenls  of  the  Fornarina,  and  by  Rubens  not 
unfrequentiv  in  glories  and  llames. 

5  Cimabue,  Giotto,  &c. 

G  The  works  of  Masaccio.  —  For  the  chiracler  of 
this  powerful  and  original  genius,  see  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds's tuelflh  discnurse.  Mis  celebrated  frescos  are 
in  the  church  of  St.  Pittro  del  Carmine,  at  Florence, 

1  All  the  great  artists  studied,  and  man^  of  Iheai 
borrowed  from  Masaccio,  Several  figures  in  Ihe  Car- 
toons of  Raphael  arc  taken,  with  but  litile  alteration, 
fioiu  his  fle^cos. 


352 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


While  many  a  voice  with  !oud  acclaim, 
CalPd  forth,  "  Masaccio"  as  tlie  name 
Of  him,  the'  Enchaner,  who  had  rais'd 
This  niir<ic!e,  on  which  all  gaz'd. 

'T  was  daylight  now —  the  sun  had  risen, 

From  out  ihe  duirsrenn  of  nlH  Night,— 
Like  ihe  Apn^lle,  from  his  prison 

Led  by  the  Ansel's  h  tnd  of  lighr ; 
And  --  as  the  fet  ers,  when  thai  ray 
Of  fftory  reach'd  tliem.  dmpp'd  away,l 
So  flfd  the  cl'iuds  at  touch  of  day  ! 
Just  then,  a  bearded  sagel  came  foith. 

Who  oft  in  Ihnu^htful  dteani  would  stand. 
To  tiace  upon  the  du'-by  earth 

Sraiige  learned  fiicuies  with  bis  waod  ;  3 
And  oft  he  toMk  ihe'silver  lute* 

His  little  pa^e  beliind  him  bore, 
And  wak'd  such  mu^ic  as,  when  mute, 

Led  in  the  soul  a  thirst  for  niore  ! 

Meanwhile,  his  prtent  *pells  went  on, 

And  forms  and  faces,  that  fmni  out 
A  dep'h  ot  shad')\v  mildly  shone, 

Were  in  ihe  soft  air  seen  about. 
Thouffh  thick  as  midnight  stars  ihey  beam*d, 
Yel  all  Ihe  living  sisrers  f-eem'd. 
So  close,  in  every  poin',  rest-mbling 

Each  ntiier's  beauties  —  from  Ihe  eyes 
Lucid  as  if  througti  crystal  trembline, 

Yel  s  'ft  as  if  suflused  with  iigh^, 
To  Ihe  Ir.ng.  fawn-like  mouth,  and  chin, 

Lovelil)  tapering,  less  and  less, 

Till,  by  this  very  chirm's  excess, 
Like  virtue  on  the  verge  of  sin, 

It  toucliM  the  bounds  of  ugliness. 

Here  lonk'd  as  when  they  liv'd  the  shades 
Of  some  <'f  Arno's  dark-ey'd  mauls  — 
Such  maids  as  should  alone  live  on, 
In  dfenms  thus,  when  their  cliarm-  are  gone: 
Some  Mona  Lisa,  on  whose  eyes 

A  pan'er  for  whole  years  might  g-^ze,* 
Nor  find  in  all  his  pallet's  dyes. 

One  thai  could  even  approach  their  blaze  1 

Here  float  two  spirit  shapes,^  the  one, 
With  her  while  fingers  to  Ihe  sua 
Outspread,  as  if  to  ask  his  ray 
Whefher  it  ere  had  chanc'd  to  play 
Od  lilies  half  so  f^ir  as  'bey  ! 
'J  liii  self-pleas'd  nvmph,  was  Vanity  — 
And  by  her  side  another  smii'd. 

In  fnrm  as  beautiful  as  she, 
But  with  ihat  air,  subdu'd  and  mild, 

That  siill  reseive  of  puniy, 
Wh  ch  is  to  beauty  like  the  haze 

Of  evening  to  eonie  sunny  view, 
Softening  such  charms  as  it  displays, 


>  *'And  a  light  shined  in  ihe  prisoi 
hnins  fell  off  from  his  hands."    »icts. 
1  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
a  His  treatise  on  Mechanics,  Optics,  &c.,  preserved 
n  the  Anibro  ian  libiary  at  Milan. 

*  On  dit  que  Leor;ard  paiut  pnnr  la  premiere  fois  a 
a  cur  de  Milan,  dms  un  espece  de  concours  ouvert 
entreles  mei'leurs  joueurs  de  lyre  d'Ifalie,  II  se  pre- 
lyre  de  sa  facon,  construii  en  argent. — 
Histoire  dc  la  Peinture  en  Italic. 

6  He  is  said  In  have  been  four  years  empln\ed  upon 
the  porlraii  of  this  fair  Florentine,  with'uf  being  able, 
ifler  all,  to  come  up  to  his  idea  of  her  beauty. 
6  Vanity  and  Modesty  in  the  collection  of  Cardinal 


Fe«ch,  :it  'Rome. 
here  is  ra'her  awkwa 
very  delish'ful.  Tht 
in  the  p'ssession  of  L 


d,  1. 


I  of  Ihe  four  hand 
jt  Ihe  picliiie,  altogether,  is 
a  repetition  of  ihe  subject 
1  Bonaparte. 


And  veiling  others  in  that  hue, 
Which  fancy  only  can  see  through ! 

This  phant<ini  nymph,  who  could  ake  be. 

But  the  bright  Spirit,  Modesty? 

Long  did  the  learn'd  enchanter  stay 

To  weave  his  spells,  and  afill  there  pasa'd 
As  in  the  lantern's  shifting  play, 
Gr 'Up  after  group  ill  close  airay, 

Kach  fairer,  grander,  than  the  last. 
But  (he  great  Iriuniph  of  his  power 

Was  yet  to  come  :  — gradual  and  slow, 
(As  all  that  is  ordain'd  to  tower 

Amnng  the  works  of  man  must  grow,) 
The  sacred  vision  stole  lo  view. 

In  that  half  light,  half  shadow  shown, 
Which  gives  to  ev'n  the  gayest  hue, 

A  sober'd,  melancholy  tone. 

It  was  a  vision  of  that  last,' 
Snrrnwful  night  u  hich  Jesus  pa^s'd 
With  his  disciples  when  he  said 

Mournfully  to  ihem  —  »  I  shall  be 
*'Betray'd  by  one.  who  here  hath  fed 

"  'I  his  night  at  Ihe  same  board  with  me." 
And  Ihitugh  the  Saviour,  in  the  dream 
Spoke  noi  ihese  woids,  we  siw  Ihem  beam 
Legibly  in  his  eyes  (si)  well 
Tliegie.nt  magician  work'd  his  spell). 
And  read  in  every  ihoushtful  line 
Imprinted  On  that  br(»w'divine. 
The  meek,  the  tender  nature,  griev'd, 
Not  anger'd,  to  be  thus  deceiv'd  — 
Celestial  love  requited  ill 
For  all  its  care,  yet  loving  still  — 
Deep,  deep  regret  that  Iheie  should  fall 

Fnim  man's  deceit  so  fnul  a  blight 
Upiin  that  parting  hour  —  and  all 

His  spirit  must  have  felt  thai  night. 
Who,  soon  to  die  for  human.kind, 

Thought  only,  'mid  his  mortal  pain, 
How  mnny  a  soul  was  left  behind 

For  whom  he  died  that  death  in  vain  I 

Such  was  the  heavenly  scene  —  alas 

1  h-it  scene  so  bright  so  soon  should  pass 

Put  pictured  on  the  humid  air, 

Its  lints,  ere  long,  grew  languid  there; 8 

And  storms  came  on,  tha',  cold  and  rough, 

Sc,*tter'd  its  eent'est  glories  all  — 
As  when  the  baffling  winds  blow  off 

The  hues  Ihat  hang  o'er  Terni's  fall,— 
Till,  one  by  one,  the  vision's  beams 

Faded  away,  and  soon  it  fled, 
To  join  those  other  v  inish'd  dreams 

That  now  flit  palely  'mong  the  dead, — 
The  shadi'u-s  of  those  shades,  that  go, 
Arouud  Oblivion's  lake,  below  I 


EXTRACT    XV. 

Rome. 
Maj-y  Magdalen. — Her  Story. — N'umerotts  Ptcturei 
of  her.  —  Corrcggio.  —  Guido.  —  Raphael,  ^'C.  ~~ 


1  The  Lnst  Supper  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  which  is 
in  the  Refec!or>'  uf  ihe  Convent  delle  Gr,.zie  at  Mdan. 
See  L'Histoire  de  la  Peinture  in  Ilalie,  liv.  iti.  chap. 
45.  'the  writer  of  that  iTitce^ting  work  (to  whom  I 
take  this  pp|iortunityof  offeringmy  acknowledgmeiiis, 
fur  the  copy  he  sent  me  a  yeir  since  fnm  Rome,)  will 
see  I  have  profited  by  some  of  his  observations  on  Ihis 
celebrated  picture. 

«  Leonardo  appears  to  have  used  a  mixture  of  oil 
and  v  iniish  for  this  picture,  which  alone,  without  Ihe 
viriius  other  causes  of  its  ruin,  would  have  prevent- 
ed  any  loni:  durati'Mi  of  its  beauties.  It  ii  now 
almost  entirely  effaced. 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD. 


353 


Canova's  tvn  exquistte  Statues.  —  The  So> 
If'agdalen.—Chantrey's  Admiralionof  Canova'i 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  thy  story 

Touchea  all  hearts—  f.)r  there  we  see 

The  soul's  cnriuption,  and  its  glory, 
Us  death  and  lil'c  coinbiird  iu  thee. 


From  t!ie  first  moment,  when  we  find 

Thy  spirit  haunied  by  a  swarm 
Of  dark  desires,—  like  demons  shriu'd 

Ui.hi-Iily  in  thnt  fair  form,— 
Till  when,  Ly  touch  of  Heav'n  set  free, 

Thou  om  St,  with  those  bright  locks  of  gold 
(Si)  oft  the  gaze  of  Bethany), 

And,  covering  in  their  precious  fold 
Thy  Saviour^s  ft-ef,  dida  shed  such  teira 
As  p:»id,  e.icli  drop,  the  sins  of  years  !  — 
Tht-nce  nn,  through  all  thy  durse  of  love, 

To  Him,  tly  Heavenly  M.s'er,— Him. 
Whose  biiler  death  cup  from  above 

Had  yet  this  cordial  round  the  brim, 
That  woman's  faiih  and  love  stood  fast 
And  fearless  by  Him  to  the  last:  — 
Till,  oh,  blesl  boon  for  truth  like  thine! 

Thou  wert,  of  all,  the  chosen  one, 
Befpie  whose  e\e>  that  Face  Uivme, 

When  risen  from  Ihe  d<ad,  hrst  shone; 
That  thou  niighi'st  see  hou,  like  a  cloud. 
Had  pasb'd  away  its  mortal  shtoud, 
And  m  ke  that  bright  revealment  known 
To  he-irts,  le^s  trus  ing  than  thy  own. 
All  is  all'fcling,  cheering,  grand; 

The  kindliest  record  ever  given, 
Ev'n  under  God's  own  kindly  hand, 

Of  what  Repentance  wins  from  Heaven  I 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  thy  face, 

In  all  its  louclung  light  of  lears, 
Shi'uld  meet  us  m  each  holy  place, 

Wheie  Man  before  his  God  appears, 
Ho|ieless—  were  he  not  taught  to  pee 
All  hope  in  Hin-,  who  p.irdon'd  theel 
No  w<M;der  th.it  the  i-ainter's  -skill 

Shoud  oft  have  triumphed  in  the  power 
Of  keeping  thte  all  lovely  &till 

Evn  in  thy  sorrow's  bittere>t  hour; 
That  soft  Correggio  should  diffuse 

Mis  meliiiig  shadows  round  thy  form ; 
Thit  Guido's  pale,  unearthly  hues 

Should,  m  pourirayjiig  thee,  giow  warm; 
Ttiai  all  —  iroin  the  ideal,  grand, 
Inimilabte  Rohiaii  hand, 
Down  to  the  small,  eoamelling  touch 

Of  smooth  Carliiio  —should  delight 
In  picturing  her,  who  "  lov'd  so  much,'* 

And  w.is,  iu  spite  of  sin,  so  bnghtl 

But,  Mary,  'mong  these  bold  essays 

Of  Genius  and  nf  Ait  to  raise 

A  senib  ance  of  rho  e  weeping  eyes  — 

A  visio,,,  worthv  of  the  sphere 
Thy  fulh  bis  earn'd  thee  in  il^e  skies. 

And  III  Ihe  hearts  of  all  men  here, — 
None  e'er  hath  match'd,  in  grief  or  grace, 
Ctnova's  daydream  of  thy  lace. 
In  those  bright  scuIpturM  foims,  more  bright 
With  true  expression's  breathing  light, 
Than  ever  yet,  beneath  ihe  stroke 
Of  chisel,  into  life  awoke. 
The  one,i  poiirlriiying  what  thnu  wert 

In  ihy  first  gntf,  —  while  yet  the  flower 
Of  those  young  beauties  was  unhurt 

By  son'uw'E  slow,  contuming  power; 


t  This  ^tatue  is  one  of  the  last  work?  of  Canova, 
and  was  not  >et  in  marble  when  I  left  Rome.  The 
Qtber,  which  seenis  lo  pro\e,  in  contradiction  to  very 

30* 


And  mirigling  eirth*s  seductive  grace 

With  heav'n's  subliming  thoughts  so  well, 
We  doubt,  while  gazmg,  in  luhitii  place 

Such  beauty  was  most  foiiii'd  to  dwell!  — 
The  otticr,  as  thou  lonk'd=t.  when  years 
Of  fa^tltlg,  [jenitence,  and  tears 
Had  worn  Ihy  framt' ;  —  and  ne'er  did  Art 

With  half  sujh  speaking  power  express 
The  ruin  which  a  breaking  lieart 

S|)reads,  by  degrees,  o'er  loveliness. 
Those  wa>'ing  amis,  that  keep  ttie  trace, 
Ev*n  still,  o(  all  their  youthful  grace. 
That  htosen'd  liair,  of  v\hich  thy  brow 
Was  once  so  proud, —  neglected  now  !  — 
Those  featmes,  ev'n  in  fading  worth 

The  freshest  bloom  to  o'hcrs  given. 
And  those  sunk  eyes,  now  lust  lo  earth. 

But,  to  the  la^t,  still  full  of  heaven  I 

Wonderful  art  s"  !  praise,  like  mine  — 

I'hough  sprtngiiig  fiom  a  soul,  that  feels 
Deep  worship  of  those  works  divn  e. 

Where  Genius  all  his  light  reveals- 
How  weak  'I  is  lo  the  words  that  came 
From  him,  thy  i  ecr  in  art  and  lame,3 
Wb(mi  I  have  known,  by  day,  by  night. 
Hang  oVr  thy  nurble  with  delight ; 
And,  while  his  Imgering  hand  would  steal 

0*er  eveiy  grace  the  tapei's  rays,3 
Give  thee.  wi:h  all  the  generous  zeal 
Such  master  spuits  only  feel. 

That  best  ot  fame,  a  rival's  praise  ! 


EXTRACT    XVI. 

Les  Charmettes. 
A  Fisit  to  the  House  where  Rousseau  lioed  with 
Madame  de  Warnns.— Their  Menage.— Its  Grosi' 
ness.  —  Claude  Anei.  ~  Reverence  with  which  the 
Spot  is  now  visited.  — Absurdity  of  this  blind  De- 
votion to  Fame.  —  Feelings  excited  by  the  Beauty 
and  Seclusion  of  the  Scene.— Disturbed  byits  Asso- 
ciations with  Rousseau's  History.— Imyoslures  of 
Men  of  Genius.  —  Their  Power  of  mimicking  all 
the  best  Feelings,  Love,  Indcj^endencty  ^c. 

Strange  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 
Round  all  thai 's  vicious,  weak,  and  low, 
Such  niagic  iighls,  such  rainbow  dyes 
Ai  dazzle  ev'n  the  steadiest  eyes. 


T  is  worse  than  weak  —  *t  is  wrong,  't  is  fhame, 

This  mean  prosTati'-n  before  Fame  ; 

This  ca-ttng  down,  beneath  the  car 

Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are, 

Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies. 

To  l)e  cnreer'd  o'er,  as  tliey  please. 

No— give  triumidiant  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  >>:ise  idolatry. 

Which  sanctifies  his  last  and  wor^t. 


high  authority,  that  expression,  of  the  intensest  k.nd, 
is  fully  within  the  spheie  of  sculpuie,  was  executed 
many  years  ago,  and  is  in  the  possession  of  ihe  Count 
Somariva,at  Paris. 

»  Chantrey. 

3  Canova  always  shows  his  fine  statue,  the  Vener* 
Vincitrice  by  the  light  of  a  small  candle. 


354 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


I  may  be  cold  ;—  may  want  rhat  glow 
Of  hi^h  romance,  which  bards  should  knowj 
That  holy  homage,  which  is  felt 
In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt  ^ 
This  reverence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

1  fear,  1  feel,  i  have  it  not :  — 
for  here,  at  this  still  hour,  to  me 

The  charms  of  this  delif^hlful  sjiot ; 
Its  calm  ieclusiou  from  the  thruiif;. 

From  all  the  heart  would  f^in  forget; 
This  narrow  valley,  and  the  song 

Of  i's  small  murmuring  rivulet; 
The  nittmg,  to  and  fio,  of  birds, 

'I'ranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  once 
Id  Eden,  ere  the  slarlli^ig  words 

Of  Man  dislurb'd  their  orisons; 
Tho^e  liitle,  shadowy  paths,  ihal  wind 
Up  the  hill-side,  with  fruil-trees  lin'd, 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  fotiige  makes, 
Or  visias,  liere  and  there,  thit  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatches 
Of  far.otl"  scenes  of  light,  which  Hope 

Ev'n  through  ihe  shade  of  sadness  catches!  — 
AW  Itiis,  which  —  could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  ties, 
Whose  grossness  all  the  heavenliest  hues 

Of  Genius  can  no  more  disguise. 
Than  Ihe  sun's  beams  can  do  away 
The  filth  of  fens  o'er  which  Ihev  play — 
This  scene,  which  would  have  fiilM  my  heart 

With  thoughts  nf  all  that  happiest  is;— 
Of  Love,  where  self  huh  only  part, 

As  echoing  back  annther's  bliss  } 
Of  soiilude,  secure  and  sweet. 
Beneath  whose  sh;ide  the  Virtues  meet ; 
Which,  while  it  shelters,  never  chills 

Our  sympathies  with  hunian  woe, 
Bui  keeps  Ibem,  like  scquesterM  rills, 

Purer  and  fresher  in  thtir  flow ; 
Of  happy  days,  that  share  their  beams 

'Iwixt  quiet  mirth  and  wise  entploy; 
Of  tranquil  nights,  that  give,  in  dieams, 

The  moonlight  of  the  morolDg'ft  joy  1  — 

AH  this  my  heart  could  dwell  on  here^ 
But  for  those  gross  memeDtos  near ; 


Those  sullying  truths,  that  cross  the  track 

Of  each  sweet  thought,  and  drive  them  bacK 

Full  into  all  Ihe  mire,  and  strife, 

And  vanities  of  that  man's  life. 

Who,  more  than  all  that  e'er  have  glow'd 

VViih  Fancy's  flame  (and  it  was  his. 
In  fullest  warmth  and  radiance)  short'd 

What  ;ui  impostor  Genius  is; 
How,  witli  lliat  slronj?.  mimetic  art. 

Which  forms  its  life  and  soul,  it  takes 
All  shHjies  of  thought,  all  hues  of  heart, 

Nor  Itels,  itselfj  one  throb  it  wakes; 
How  like  a  gem  its  light  may  smile 

O'er  the  dark  path,  by  mortals  trod. 
Itself  as  mean  a  worm,  the  while. 

As  crawls  at  midnight  o'er  Ihe  sod  ; 
What  gentle  words  and  thoughts  may  fall 

From  iis  false  lip,  what  zeal  to  bless, 
White  home,  friends,  kindred,  country,  all, 

Lie  waste  beneath  its  selfishness; 
How,  wiih  the  pencil  hardly  dry 

From  colouring  up  such  scenes  of  lov« 
And  beauty,  as  makfr  young  hearts  sigh, 

And  dream,  and  think  Ihrousrh  heav'n  theyrovt^ 
They,  who  can  thus  describe  and  move. 

The  very  workers  (»f  These  charms, 
Nor  seek,  nor  know  a  joy,  above 

Some  Maman's  or  Theresa's  arms  I 

How  all,  in  short,  that  makes  the  boast 
Of  their  false  tongues,  they  want  the  most; 
And,  while  wiih  freedom  on  their  lips, 

Sounding  their  timbrels,  to  set  free 
This  bright  world,  labouring  in  Ihe'  eclipse 

Of  priestcraft,  and  of  slaveiy,— 
They  may,  themselves,  be  slaves  as  low 

As  ever  Lord  or  Patron  made 
To  blossom  in  his  smile,  or  grow, 

Like  stunted  brushwood,  in  his  shade. 
Out  on  the  craft '  —  1  'd  rather  be 

One  of  those  hinds,  that  round  me  tread, 
With  just  enough  of  sense  (o  see 

The  noonday  sun  that 's  o'er  his  head, 
Than  thus,  with  high-built  genius  curst, 

That  hath  no  heart  for  its  foundation, 
Be  all,  at  once,  that's  brightest,  worst, 

Sublimes',  meanest  in  creation  \ 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


OCCASIONAL    EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  CORRY,  IN  THE  CHARAC- 
TER OF  VAPID,  AFTER  THE  PLAY  OF  THE 
DRAMATIST,  AT  THE  KILKENNY  THEA- 
TRE. 

{Entering  as  if  to  annomice  the  Piny.) 

I^adies  and  gentlemen,  on  Monday  night. 
For  the  ninth  time  —  oh  accents  of  delight 
To  the  poor  auihur's  ear,  when  three  times  three 
With  a  full  bumper  crowns  his  Comedy  ! 
When,  long  by  money,  and  the  muse,  forsaken, 
He  finds  at  length  his  jokes  and  boxes  taken, 
And  Bees  his  play-bill  circul 'te  — alas. 
The  only  bill  on  which  his  nnnie  will  pass  ! 
Thus,  Vapid,  thus  shall  Thespian  scrolls  of  fam^ 
Through  box  and  gallery  waft  your  well-known  name, 
While^Criiic  eyes  Ihe  happy  cast  shall  con. 
j  And  leirned  ladies  spell  your  Dram.  Person. 


'Tis  said  our  wnrthy  Manager'  Intends 

To  help  my  night,  and  he,  you  know,  has  friends. 

Friends,  did  I  say  ?  for  fixing  friends,  or  parts, 

Engaging  actors,  or  engaging  hearts. 

There  's  nothrng  like  him  !  wits,  at  his  request, 

Are  turn'd  to  fuuls,  and  dull  dogs  learn  to  jest ; 

Soldiers,  for  him, good  "trembling  cowards"  make, 

And  beaus,  turn'd  clowns,  look  ugly  for  his  sake; 

For  him  ev'n  lawyers  talk  withf.ut  a  fee. 

For  him  (oh  friends-liip  1)  /act  tragedy  ! 

In  short,  like  Oipheus,  his  persuasive  tricks 

Make  boars  amusing,  and  put  life  in  sticks. 


t  The  late  Mr.  Richard  Power. 

^  The  brief  appellation  bv  which  those  persons 
were  distinguished  who,  at  the  opening  of  the  new 
theatre  of  Covent  Garden,  clamoured  for  the  continu- 
ance of  Ihe  old  prices  of  admission. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


355 


Let  them  come  on,  like  snakes,  alt  hiss  and  rattle, 
Arai'd  wilh  a  thousand  fans,  we'd  give  Iheni  baltle; 
Vou,  on  our  side,  R.  P.»  upon  our  banners, 
Soon  should  we  leach  the  saucy  (>.  F.'s  manners: 
And  show  that,  here— howc'er  John  Bull  may  doubt- 
Iti  all  our  plays,  the  Rint-Act  'a  cut  out ; 
And,  while  we  skin)  ihe  creAni  of  many  a, jest, 
Your  well-timed  thunder  never  sours  its  zest. 

Oh  gently  thus,  when  three  short  weeks  are  past, 
At  Shakspi-art's  al  ar,'ishall  uc  breaihe  our  last; 
And,  ere  itiis  lon^  lov*d  dome  to  ruin  nods, 
Die  all,  die  uubly,  die  like  demigods! 


EXTRACT 

FROM  A  PROLOGUE  WRITTEN  AND  SPOKEN 
BY  THE  AUTHOR,  AT  THE  OPENING  OF 
THE      KILKENNY      THEATRE,     OCTOBER, 

1809. 


Yet,  even  here,  though  Fiction  rules  the  hour, 
There  shine  some  ^nuine  smiles,  beyond  her  power  ; 
And  there  are  tears,  too  —  lears  thil  Memory  sheds 
Kv'n  o*er  Ihe  feast  that  mimic  fancy  spreads. 
When  her  heart  niist-es  one  lamented  gue8t,3 
Whose  eye  so  Ion?  threw  light  o'er  all  the  rest  I 
There,  there,  indeed,  the  Mu^e  forgets  her  task, 
And  drooping  weep^  behind  'I'halia't  ma^k. 

Forgive  this  gloom  —  fnri^ive  this  joyless  strnin, 
Too  sad  to  welcome  pleasure's  smiling  train. 
But,  meeting  thus,  our  hearts  will  part  the  lirhter, 
As  mis*  at  dawn  but  makes  Ihe  setting  brighter; 
Gay  Epilogue  will  shine  where  Prologue  fails  — 
As  glow-worms  keep  their  splendour  for  their  tails. 

I  know  not  why  — but  time,  methinks,  hath  pass'd 

More  heel  tlian  usual  since  we  parted  last. 

It  seems  but  like  a  dream  of  yesler-night. 

Whose  charm  still  hangs,  wiih  fond,  delaying  light; 

And,  ere  the  memory  luf.e  one  glowmg  hue 

Of  former  joy,  we  come  to  kindle  r.ew. 

Thus  ever  in:ty  the  i\\  iiig  moments  haste 

Wilh  trackless  fool  along  life^  vulgar  waste, 

But  deeply  print  and  lingeringly  muve. 

When  thus  they  reach  the  sunny  spots  we  love. 

Oh,  yes,  uhateverbe  our  gay  career, 

L.el  this  be  still  the  soMice  of  the  year, 

Where  Pleasure's  sun  shall  at  its  height  remaiD, 

And  slowly  sink  to  level  life  again. 


THE    SYLPH'S    BALL. 

A  Jiylph,  as  bright  as  ever  sported 
Her  fiiinre  through  the  fields  of  air, 

By  an  old  swarthy  Gnome  was  courted, 
And,  strange  lo  say,  he  won  the  fair. 


The  annals  of  the  oldest  wiich 
A  pair  so  sorted  crmid  not  show  ; 

But  tiow  refuse  ?  —  the  Gnonte  was  rich. 
The  Rothschild  of  the  world  below  ; 


1  then  pre- 


*  The  initials  of  our  manager's  name. 

*This  alludes  to  a  scenic  represei.lat 
paring  for  the  last  night  of  the  performs 

3  The  Inte  Mr.  John  Lyster.  one  of  Ihe  oldest  mem- 
bers and  best  actors  of  the  Kilkenny  'IliCitrical  So- 
ciety. 


And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty  creatures. 
Are  told,  betimes,  they  must  consider 

Love  as  an  auctioneer  of  features, 
Who  knocks  them  down  to  the  beat  bidder. 

Home  she  was  taken  to  his  Mine  — 
A  Pahice,  paved  wilh  diamonds  all — 

And,  proud  as  L^dy  Gnonie  to  shine, 
Sent  out  her  tickets  fur  a  Bail. 

The  lower  world,  of  course,  was  there. 
And  all  Ihe  be^t ;  but  of  the  upper 

The  sprinkling  was  but  ehy  and  rare, — 
A  few  old  tiyljduds,  who  lov'd  supper. 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondrous  Lamp 

Of  Davy,  that  renown'd  Aiaddin, 
And  the  Gnome's  Halls  exhal'd  a  damp, 

Which  accidents  from  tire  were  bad  id; 

The  chambers  were  supplied  with  light 
By  many  strange  but  safe  devices  ; 

Large  tiretlies,  such  as  shine  at  night 
Among  the  Orient's  flowers  and  spicet;^ 

Musical  flint-mills  — swiftly  play'd 
By  eltin  hands  —  that,  flashing  ruund, 

Like  certain  flre-eyed  minsirel  maids, 
Gave  out,  at  once,  both  light  and  sound. 

Bologna  atones,  that  drink  the  sun  ; 

And  water  from  that  Indian  sea. 
Whose  waves  at  night  like  wiId-fireruD  — 

Coik'd  up  in  crystal  carefully. 

Glow-worms,  that  round  Ihe  tiny  dishes, 
Like  little  light-houses,  were  get  up; 

And  pretty  phosphorescent  fishes. 
That  by  their  own  gay  light  were  eat  up. 

*MoDg  the  few  guests  from  Ether,  came 
Thst  wicked  tiylph,  whom  Love  we  call -« 

My  Lady  knew  him  but  by  name, 
My  Lord,  her  husband,  not  at  all. 

Some  prudent  Gnomes,  M  is  said,  appriz'd 
That  he  was  coming,  and,  no  doubi, 

Alarm'd  about  his  torch,  advis'd 
He  should,  by  all  means,  be  kept  out. 

But  rthers  disapprovM  this  phn. 

And,  by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted, 
Thoustit  Love  too  much  n  gentleman. 

In  such  a  dangerous  place  to  light  it. 

However,  there  he  was  —  and  dancing 
Wilh  the  fair  Sylph,  light  as  a  feather; 

They  lonk'd  like  twn  tresh  sunbeams,  glancing 
At  daybreak,  down  to  earth  together. 

And  all  had  gone  off  safe  and  well. 
But  for  thai  plaguy  torch,  whose  licht. 

Though  not  yet  kindled  —  who  could  tell 
How  soon,  how  devilishly,  il  might  f 

And  so  it  chanced  —  which,  in  those  dark 
And  tireless  h-ills  was  quite  amazing; 

Did  we  not  know  how  small  a  >p.irk 
Can  set  the  torch  of  Love  a-blazing. 

Whether  it  came  (when  close  entangled 
Id  the  gay  waltz)  from  her  bright  eyes, 

Or  from  ttie  lucciule,  that  spangled 
Her  locks  of  jet  —  is  all  surmise ; 

But  certain  *t  is  ihe'  ethereal  girl 
Did  drop  a  s[)ark,  it  some  (>dd  turning, 

Whicii,  by  the  w.iltz's  windy  «  hirl 
Was  f.uin'd  up  into  actual  burning. 


3S6 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Ob,  for  that  Lamp's  metallic  ^auze, 

That  cuitain  of  prutecting  wire, 
Which  Davy  delicately  draws 

Around  illicil,  dangerous  fire!  — 

The  wall  he  sets  »lwixt  Flame  and  Air, 

(Like  ihat,  which  barrd  >..uiijc  I  hisbe's  hiiss,) 

Through  whose  hinall  holes  i(ii-  ilangerous  (lair 
May  SCL  each  other,  bul  not  ki&s.i 

At  first  the  torch  look'd  rather  hlueJy,^ 
A  sign,  Ihey  say,  that  no  good  boded  — 

Then  quick  Itie  gas  became  uniuly. 
And,  crack  !  the  ball-room  all  exploded. 

Sylphs,  gnomes,  and  fiddlers  mJx'd  together, 
With  all  their  aunts,  sons,  oublnsj  nieces, 

Like  butterdies  in  stormy  weather, 

Were  blown— legs,  wings,  and  tails— to  pieces! 

While,  »mid  the-e  victims  of  the  torch, 
The  S>lph,  aUs,  too,  bore  her  part  — 

Found  lying,  wi  h  a  livid  scorch 
As  if  trum  lightning,  o'er  her  heart ! 


**  Well  done"  a.  laughing  Goblin  said  — 
Escaping  from  this  gaseous  sliife  — 

"*T  is  not  the  first  time  Love  has  made 
**  A  Llow'Up  in  connubial  life  !" 


REMONSTRANCE, 

After  a  Conversation  tcith  Lord  John  Russell^ 
which  he  had  intimated  some  Idea  of  giving  up 
all  political  Pursuits, 

What!  thouj  with  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and  thy 

Thou,  born  of  a  Russe!!  —  whose  instinct  to  rua 
The  accustoni'd  career  of  thy  sires,  is  the  same 
As  the  eaglet's,  to  soar  wiih  his  eyes  oa  the  sun  1 

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

With  the  bl0(,d  of  thy  race,  otrer'd  .ip  for  the  weal 
Of  a  nation,  that  swears  by  that  martyidom  yet  I 

Shalt  thou  he  faint-hearted  and  turn  from  the  strife, 
Fioni  (he  mighty  arena,  where  all  that  is  grand, 

And  devotedj  and  pure,  and  adnrning  in  life, 

>ris  for  higb-ihuugbted  spirits  like  Ihiae  to  com- 
mand i 

Oh  no,  never  dream  it  —  while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men  bow, 

Never  think,  for  an  inatant.  Ihy  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  sheltered  and  warm  ; 

Yet  buld  .ind  heroic  as  ever  yel  rose 

To  the  top  cliUs  of    Fortune,  and   breasted  her 
storm ; 

With  an  ardour  for  liberty,  fresh  as,  In  youth, 
It  fir^t  kindles  the  haid  and  gives  life  to  his  lyre; 

Yet  niellow'd,  ev»n  now,  by  ihit  mildne^s  of  truth, 
Which  tempers,  but  clnlls  not,  the  patriot  fire  ; 


With  an   eloquence  — not  like   those  rillt   from  a 
height, 
Which  >paikle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapnur  are  o'er; 
"  jt  a  current,  iliat  works  out  its  way  into  light 
Throut^h  (he  tillering   recesses  of  thought  and  of 
lore. 

Thus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  in  the  shade ; 

If  the  stirrings  of  Genius,  the  music  of  fame, 
And    tiie  chirms  of  Ihy  cauBe  have  not  power  to 
persuatie, 
Yet  ihiiik  how  to  freedom  tfaou'rt  pledgM  by  thy 
Name. 

Like  the  boughs  of  that  laurel,  by  Delphi's  decree, 
Set  apart  for  the  Fane  and  its  service  divine, 

So  the   branches,   that  6])ring  froai  the  old  Russell 
tree, 
Are  by  Liberty  claimed  for  the  use  of  her  Shrine. 


MY    BIRTH-DAY. 

•*  My  birth-day" —  what  a  different  sound 
That  uord  had  in  my  youthful  ears  I 

And  how,  each  lime  the  day  comes  round, 
Less  and  less  white  its  mark  appears  ! 

When  first  our  scanty  years  are  told, 
II  seems  like  p.istin.e  to  grow  old  ; 
And,  as  Youth  counts  the  shining  links, 

Thai  '1  ime  around  him  binds  so  fast. 
Pleased  with  the  task,  he  little  ihinks 

How  hard  that  chain  will  press  at  last. 
Vain  was  ttie  man,  and  false  as  vain, 

Wliosaidi— '*  were  he  ordain'd  to  run 
"His  long  career  of  life  again, 

"He  would  do  all  that  he  Aarf  done."— 
Ah,  't  is  not  thus  tlie  voice,  th.it  dwells 

Id  sober  birih-days,  speaks  to  me  ; 
Far  ntherw ise  —  of  time  it  tells, 

Lavisb'd  unwisely,  carelessly ; 
Of  counsel  mock'd  ;  of  talents,  made 

Haply  for  high  And  pure  designs, 
But  oft,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 

Upon  unholy,  earthly  shrines; 
Of  nufbiiig  many  a  wrong  desire  j 

Of  wandering  after  Love  too  far. 
And  taking  every  Dieteor  fire, 

I  hat  cro^s'd  my  pathway,  for  his  star.  — 
All  this  il  tells,  and,  could  I  trace 

The'  imperfect  picture  o'er  again, 
With  power  to  add,  retouch,  efljce 

The  lights  and  shades,  the  jny  and  pain, 
How  little  of  the  past  would  stay  ! 
How  quickly  all  should  melt  away  — 
All  —  but  that  Freedom  of  the  Mind, 

Which  hath  been  more  than  wealth  to  me ; 
Those  friendships,  in  my  boyhood  twinM, 

And  kept  till  now  unchangingly; 
And  that  dear  tiome,  that  saving  aik, 

Where  Love's  true  light  at  last  I  've  found 
Cheering  w  i:hin,  when  all  grows  dark, 

And  comfortless,  and  stormy  rouud  1 


FANCY. 

The  mnre  Pve  view'd  this   world,  the  more  I've 

That,  tiii'd  as  't  is  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 
Fancy  c-mmands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 
A  vsnrld  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 


I  .  Pariique  deden 

Oscula  quisque  suae,  non  ).erveiiieij 


^  Fontenelle  —  *'  Si  je  recommencais  ma  carriere, 
je  ferai  tout  ce  que  j'ai  fait." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


357 


Nor  18  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 
A  single  charm,  thai  's  not  from  Nature  won,— 

No  more  than  rainbows,  m  their  pride,  can  wear 
,  siiisle  IiDt  uriborrnwM  fmni  the  sun; 

Put  *t  is  rhe  mental  mednini  it  shines  throug;hf 

That  lends  to  Beauty  alt  its  charm  and  hue; 

As  the  8.ime  light,  thai  o'er  the  level  lake 
One  dull  niouotony  of  lustre  flings. 

Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 
Colours  as  gay  as  those  on  angels''  wings  1 


FANNY,  DEAREST. 

Tes,  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Fanny,  dearest,  for  thee  I  'd  sigh  ; 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

To  tears  when  thou  art  nigh. 
But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep, 

Sn  busy  a  life  I  live, 
That  even  the  lime  it  would  take  to  weep 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 
Then  wish  nie  not  to  despair  and  pine, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears  ! 
The  Love  Ihat  's  order'd  to  bathe  in  wine, 

Would  be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies; 
But,  ah  1  the  mirror  would  cense  lo  shine, 

If  dimni'd  too  often  with  sighs. 
They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light, 

Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear 
And  't  is  t)Ul  to  see  ihee  truly  bright 

That  !  keep  my  eye-beams  clear. 
Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow 

Fanny,  dearest !  the  hope  is  vain  ; 
If  sunshine  cnnnot  dissolve  thy  snow, 

1  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CATULLUS. 

Caryn.  70. 

Dicebaa  quondam,  S(c. 

TO    LESBIA, 

Thou  told'st  me,  in  our  days  of  love, 
That  1  had  al!  that  heart  of  thine ; 

That,  ev'n  to  share  the  couch  of  Jove, 
Thou  wQuld^st  not,  Lesbia,  part  from  mine. 

How  purely  wert  thou  worshipped  thenl 
Not  with  the  vazne  and  vulgar  fires 

Which  Beauty  wakes  in  soulless  men, — 
ttut  lov'd,  as  children  by  their  sires. 

That  flattering  dream,  alas,  io  o'er ;  — 
I  know  thee  now  — and  though  these  eyes 

Doat  on  thee  wildly  as  befnre, 
Yet,  even  m  doating,  I  despise. 

Ves,  soiceress—  mnd  as  it  may  seem  — 
With  all  thy  craft,  such  spells  adorn  thee, 

That  passion  even  outlives  esteem. 

And  I,  at  once,  adore  —  and  scorn  thee. 


Carm,  11. 


^>mrades  and  friends!  with  whom,  where'er 
The  fates  have  will'd  thnMigh  life  I  've  rov»d, 

Now  speed  ye  home,  and  with  ynu  bear 
These  biiier  words  to  her  I  "ve  lov'd. 


Tell  her  from  fool  (o  fool  (o  run, 

Where'er  her  vain  caprice  may  call  \ 

Of  all  her  dupes  not  loving  one, 
But  ruiiiing  and  maddening  alU 

Bid  her  forget —  what  now  is  past  — 
Our  once  dear  love,  whose  ruin  lies 

Like  a  fair  flower,  the  meadow's  last. 

Which  feels  the  plouglisliare's  edge,  and  dlcil 

Carm,  2?. 


Sweet  Sirmio!  thou,  .the  very  eye 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles, 
That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie. 

Or  sleep,  enwreath'd  by  Neptune's  omilf 

How  gladly  back  to  thee  I  fly  ! 

Still  doubting,  a>king  —  ca7i  it  be 
That  I  have  let!  Hilbynia's  sky, 

And  gaze  in  safety  upon  thee? 

Oh  !  what  is  happier  than  to  find 
Our  hearls  al  ea?e,  cur  perils  past : 

When,  anxious  long,  the  hghten'd  mind 
Lays  down  its  toad  of  care  at  last: 

When,  tired  with  toil  o'er  land  and  deep, 
Again  we  tread  the  welcome  (loor 

Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 
On  the  long  wish'd-for  bed  once  niore.^ 

This,  this  it  is,  that  pays  alone 

The  ills  of  all  life's  former  track.— 

Shine  out,  my  beautiful,  my  own 

Sweet  Sirmio,  greet  thy  master  back. 

And  thou,  fair  Lake,  whose  water  quaffs 
The  lighi  of  heav'n  like  L\d.a8  ^ea, 

Rejoice,  rejoice— let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  at  home,  laugh  out  for  inel 


TIBULLUS    TO    SULPICIA. 

Malta  taum  nobii  autxJucet  femioa  lectam,  &e.  &e. 
Lib.  Iv.  Carra.  19^ 

"  Never  shall  woman's  smile  have  power 
*'  To  win  me  from  those  gentle  charms  I" «• 

Thus  swore  I,  in  that  happy  hour, 

W  hen  Love  first  gave  thee  to  my  arms. 

And  still  alone  thou  chnrm'st  my  sight  — 
S'ill,  ihnugh  our  city  prnudly  shine 

With  forms  and  faces,  fair  and  bright, 
I  see  none  fair  or  bright  bui  Ihme. 

Would  thou  wert  fair  for  only  me, 
And  cotildV  no  heart  but  mine  allure  I  — 

To  all  men  eUe  unpleastng  be, 
So  shall  I  feel  my  piize  secuie.3 

Oh,  love  like  mine  ne'er  wants  the  7esl 

Of  others'  envy,  others'  p-aise; 
Bui,  in  its  silence  safely  blest. 

Broods  o'er  a  bljss  it  ne'er  betrays. 


1        O  quid  solutis  est  beatius  curie, 

Cum  mens  onus  repmiit,  ac  peregrino 
Lahore  fessi  venimtis  larem  ad  nostrum, 
Desideratnque  acvjuiescimus  lecto. 

^  DIspliceaa  ah'is,  sic  ego  tutus  ero. 


358 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Charm  of  mp  life  I  by  who-e  sweet  power 
All  cares  are  hush'd.  all  ills  subdued  — 

My  light,  in  evtn  the  darkesi  hour. 
My  crowd,  ia  deepest  solitude  I  ^ 

No,  not  though  heaven  itself  sent  down 
Some  maid,  oi  more  rhaii  heavenly  charms, 

With  bliss  undreamt  thy  bard  to  crown, 
Would  be  fur  her  forsake  those  arms  ! 


IMITATION. 
FROM      THE      FRENCH. 

With  women  and  apples  bnth  Paris  and  Adam 

Made  mischief  enough  in  their  day  :  — 
God  be  prais'd  thai  the  fate  of  mankind,  my  dear 
Madam, 

Depends  not  on  vs^  the  same  way. 
For,  weak  as  I  am  with  teiniitaliou  to  grapple, 

The  world  would  have  dnubly  to  rue  thee; 
Like  Adam.  1  'd  gladly  take  Jrum  thee  the  apple, 

Like  Faris,  at  ouce  give  it  lu  thee. 


INVITATION  TO  DINNER, 
ADDRESSED    TO    LORD    LANSDOWNE. 

September,  1818. 

Some  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  bo,)  — 
For  instance,  that  we  have,  instead 

Of  vulgar  chops,  and  stcus,  and  bashes, 
First  course— .1  l^hccnix,  at  the  head. 

Done  in  its  own  celeslial  ashes; 
At  foot,  a  cygnet,  which  kept  singing 
All  the  time  its  neck  was  wTinging, 
Side  dishes,  thus  — Minerva's  owl, 
Or  any  such  like  learned  fdvvl : 
Doves,  such  as  heav'n's  poulterer  gets, 
When  Cupid  shoots  his  mother's  pets. 
Larks,  stew'd  in  Mornine's  roseate  breath, 

Or  roasted  by  a  sunbeam's  spleridour; 
And  nightingales,  be-rhymed  todeith  — 

Like  young  pigs  whipp'd  to  make  them  tender. 

Such  fare  may  suit  those  bards,  who 're  able 
To  banquet  al"  Duke  Humphrey's  tnble  ; 
But  as  for  me,  who  've  long  been  taught 

To  eat  and  drink  like  other  people ; 
And  can  put  up  with  mutton,  bought 

Where  Bromham  *  lears  its  ancient  steeple  — 
If  Lan^downe  will  consent  t'.  shaie 
My  humble  feast,  thou:;.h  rude  the  fare, 
Yet,  seasnii'd  by  fhat  salt  he  brings 
From  Attica's  salinesr  spring", 
»  Twill  turn  to  dainties;— while  the  cup, 
Beneath  his  influence  briahteiiing  up, 
Like  thai  of  Paucis,  touch'd  by  Jove, 
Will  sparkle  iil  fi.r  gods  above  I 


VERSES  TO  THE   POET  CRABBE'fl 
INKSTAND. 3 

WRITTEN     MAY,     1832. 

Alt,  as  he  left  it !  —  even  the  pen. 

So  lately  al  that  mind's  command. 
Carelessly  lyin^,  as  if  then 

Just  fallen  from  his  gifted  hand. 

Have  we  then  lost  him  ?  scarce  an  hour, 

A  litlle  hour,  seems  to  have  past, 
Since  Life  and  Inspiration's  power 

Around  that  relic  breath'd  their  last. 

Ah,  powerless  now  — like  talisman, 
Found  in  some  vanish'd  wizard's  halls. 

Whose  mighty  chtrm  wiih  him  began 
Whose  charm  with  him  extinguish'd  falls. 

Yet  though,  alas  I  the  gifts  that  shone 

Around  thai  pen's  exploring  track, 
Be  now,  with  its  great  master,  gone, 

Nor  living  hand  can  call  them  back; 

Who  does  not  feel,  while  thus  his  eyes 
Rest  on  the  enchanter's  broken  wand, 

Each  eaith-boni  spell  it  work'd  arise 
Before  him  in  succession  grand?  — 

Grand,  from  the  Truth  that  reigns  o'er  all ; 

The  unshrinking  Truth,  that  lela  her  light 
Through  Lifes  low,  dark,  interior  fall. 

Opening  the  wliole,  severely  bright; 

Yet  softening,  as  she  frowns  along. 
O'er  scenes  wliicli  angels  weep  to  see  — 

Where  "I'ruth  herself  half  veils  the  Wrong, 
In  pity  of  the  Misery. 

True  bard!  — and  simple,  as  the  race 

Of  true-born  poets  ever  are. 
When,  stooping  from  their  starry  place. 

They  're  children,  near,  though  gods,  afar. 

How  freshly  doth  my  mind  recall, 
'Mong  the  few  days  I  've  known  with  thee. 

One  that,  mnst  buojantly  of  all, 
Floats  in  the  wake  of  memory  ;  '* 

When  he,  the  poet,  doubly  graced, 

in  life,  as  in  his  perfect  strain. 
With  that  pure,  mellowing  power  of  Taste, 

Without  which  Fancy  shines  in  vain; 

Who  in  his  page  will  leave  behind. 

Pregnant  with  genius  though  it  be, 
But  half  the  treasures  of  a  mind, 

Where  Sense  o'er  all  holds  mastery :  — 

Friend  of  long  years !  of  friendship  tried 
Through  many  a  brigh'  and  dark  event ; 

In  doubts,  my  judge  —  in  taste,  my  guide  — 
In  all,  my  stay  and  ornament ! 


1  Tu  mihi  curamm  reijuies.  tu  nocte  vel  atra 

Lumen,  et  in  sotis  tu  mihi  tnrba  locis. 
•  A  picturesque  village  in  sight  of  my  cottage,  and 
Khq  which  it  is  separated  but  by  a  small  verdant 


3  Soon  after  Mr.  Craltbe's  death,  the  sons  of  that 
gentleman  did  mc  the  honour  of  presenting  to  me  the 
inkstand,  pencil,  &c.  which  their  distinguished  father 
had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  us'ng. 

«  The  lines  that  follow  allude  to  a  day  passed  in 
company  with  Mr.  Crabbe,  many  years  since,  when 
a  pary,  con-isling  only  of  Mr.  Rogers,  Mr.  Crabbe, 
and  (he  author  of  the-e  verses,  had  the  pleasure  of 
dining  with  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  at  his  bouse  at 
Sydenham. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


359 


He,  too,  was  of  our  feast  that  day, 
And  all  were  guests  of  one,  whose  band 

Hath  shed  a  new  and  deathless  ray 
Around  (he  lyic  of  this  great  laud  j 

Id  whose  sea-odea  —  as  in  those  shells 
Where  Ocean's  voice  of  majesty 

Seems  &till  lo  sound  —  immortal  dwells 
Old  Albion's  fsjurit  of  the  iiea. 

Such  was  our  host ;  and  though,  since  then, 
Slight  clouds  have  ris'n  twixt  him  and  uie, 

Who  would  not  grasp  such  hand  again, 
Stretch'd  forth  again  iu  auiity  ? 

Who  can,  in  this  short  life,  afford 
To  let  such  nli^ts  a  moment  stay, 

When  thus  one  frank,  atoning  word, 
Like  suDbhme,  melts  tbem  all  away  ? 

Bright  was  our  board  that  day  —  though  one 
Unworthy  brother  there  had  places 

As  'mong  the  horses  of  the  iJun, 
One  was,  they  say,  of  earthly  race. 

Vet  7iext  to  Genius  is  the  power 
Of  feeling  where  true  Genius  lies; 

And  there  was  light  around  rhat  hour 
Such  as,  in  memory,  never  dies; 

Light  which  comes  o'er  me,  as  I  gaze, 
•Jhou  RcJic  of  the  Dead,  on  thee. 

Like  all  such  dreams  of  vanished  days, 
firightly,  indeed  — but  mournfully  1 


TO  CAROLINE,  VISCOUNTESS  VALLETOBT. 
WRITTEN  AT  LACOCK  ABBE\,  JANUARY, 

1832. 

When  I  would  sing  thy  beauty's  light, 
Such  various  form>«,  and  all  so  bright, 
I've  seen  thee,  from  thy  childhood,  wear, 
I  know  nol  which  lo  call  most  fair, 
Nor  'mong  the  counlltbs  charms  that  spring 
For  ever  round  thee,  which  lo  sing. 

When  I  would  paint  thee,  as  thou  art^ 

Then  alt  thou  wert  cornea  o'er  my  heart 

The  graceful  child,  in  beauty's  dawn, 
Within  the  nursery's  shade  withdrawn. 
Or  peepmg  out  —  like  a  young  mooa 
Upon  a  world  't  will  brighten  soon. 
Then  next,  in  girlhood's  blushing  hour 
As  from  thy  own  lov'd  Abbey-tower 
I  've  seen  ihee  look,  all  radiant,  dnwn, 
With  smiles  that  to  the  hnaiy  frowa 
Of  centuries  round  thee  lenf  a  ray. 

Chasing  even  Age's  gloom  aw  ay  ; 

Or,  in  the  world's  resplendent  throng. 
As  I  havema-k'd  thee  glide  along, 
Among  the  crowds  of  fair  and  great 
A  spirit,  pure  and  separate. 
To  which  even  Admiration's  eye 

Was  fearful  to  approach  ion  nigh  : 

A  cifaliiie.  ciicl.d  bv  a  spell 
Within  which  nothing  wrong  could  dwell ; 
And  fiesh  and  cltar  as  from  the  source, 
Holding  through  life  her  limpid  course. 
Like  A-e-hnsa  ihrough  the  sea, 
Stealing  in  fountain  puritv. 

Now,  ton,  another  change  nf  jightl 
As  noble  hndc,  eiill  meekly  bright, 
Thou  hring'st  Ihy  Loid  a  dower  above 
All  eaithly  price,  pure  woman's  love: 


And  show*st  what  lustre  Rank  receives, 
When  with  his  proud  Corinthian  leaves 
Her  roee  thus  high-bred  Beauty  weaves. 

Wonder  not  if,  where  all's  80  fair. 
To  choose  were  more  than  bard  can  dare 
Wonder  not  if,  while  every  scene 
I  've  watcird  thee  through  so  bright  hath  been. 
The'  enamour'd  Muse  should,  in  her  quest 
Of  beauty,  know  not  wliert  (o  rest, 
But,  dazzled,  al  thy  feet  thus  fall, 
Hailing  thee  beautiful  in  all  1 


A    SPECULATION 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 
The  best  that  I  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf, 

la  to  buy  Marcus  up,  at  the  price  he  is  worth. 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  be  sets  ou  himself. 


TO    MY    MOTHER. 
WRITTEN   IN   A   POCKET   BOOK,  1822. 

They  tell  us  of  an  Indian  tree, 

Which,  howsoe'er  the  sun  and  sky 
May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  fiee, 

And  shoot,  and  blossom,  wide  and  high, 
Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downward  again  lo  that  dear  earth. 
From  which  the  life,  that  htis  and  warms 

Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth. 

'T  is  thus,  though  wooM  by  flat'ering  friends, 
And  fed  with  fame  {if  fame  it  be) 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  moUier,  bends. 
With  love's  true  inslinct,  back  to  thee  I 


LOVE    AND    HYMEN. 

Love  had  a  fever —  ne'er  could  close 
His  liitle  eyes  till  day  wa-^  breaking: 

And  wild  and  strange  enough,  Heav'n  knows, 
The  things  be  rav'd  about  while  waking. 

To  let  him  pine  so  were  a  sin  ;  — 

One,  to  whom  all  ihe  world's  a  debtor— 

So  Doct<T  Hymen  was  call'd  in, 
And  Love  that  night  slept  rather  better. 

Next  day  the  case  gave  further  hope  yet, 
Though  still  some  ugly  fever  latent;  — 

**  Dose,  as  before" —  a  genile  opiate. 
For  which  old  Hymen  ha^  a  patent. 

After  a  monlh  of  daily  call. 

So  fist  the  dose  went  on  restoring. 
That  Love,  who  first  ne'er  slept  at  all, 
Nuw  touk,  the  rogue!  to  downright  snoring. 


LINES  ON  THE  ENTRY  OF  THE  AUSTRIANS 

INTO  NAPLES,  1S21. 

Carbons  no(ii(i. 

Ay— Jown  to  the  dust  wi'h  them,  slaves  as  they  are, 
'From  this  hour,  let  the  btouti  in  (heir  dastardly 

That  shrunk  at  the  first  touch  of  Liberly*8  war. 
Be  was'ed  for  tyrants,  or  stagnate  in  cnams. 


360 


PREFACE   TO   THE  EIGHTH  VOLUME. 


On,  on  like  a  cloud,  through  their  beautiful  vales,         I  When  around  you  the  shades  of  your  Mighty  'n  fame,  ' 
Ye  locusts  of  tyranny,  blasting  Ihent  o'er—  Filicajas  and  I'etrarchsj  seemed  bursting  lo  view, 

fill,  fill  up  their  wide  sunny  waters,  ye  sails  And  their  words,  and  their  warmugs,  like  tongues  of 

from  each  elave-oiart  of  Lurope,  and  shadow  their  bright  llame 

ihore!  Over  freedom's  apostlts,  fell  kindling  on  you !  ' 


Let  their  fate  be  a  mock-word  —  lei  men  of  all  lands 
Laugh  out,  with  a  scorn  thit  shall  nn^  to  the  poles, 

When   each  swoid,   that  the  cowards  let  fall  from 
their  hands, 
Shall  be  furg'd  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls. 

And  deep,  and  more  deep,  as  the  iron  is  driven, 
Base  slaves  !  let  the  whet  of  (heir  agony  be, 

To  think  -  as  the  Doom'd  ofieu  think  of  that  heav'n 
They  had  once  wilhin  reach — that  they  ntigfU 
have  been  free. 

Oh  shame  1  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whose  heat 
fiver  rose  'bove  the  zero  of  C ^h's  heart, 

That  did  not,  like  echo,  your  war-hymn  repeat, 
And    send    all    its    prayers    with   your   Liberty's 
start ; 

When  the  world  stood  in  hope  —  when  a  spirit,  that 
breaUi'd 

The  fresh  air  of  the  olden  time,  whisper'd  about ; 
And  the  swords  of  all  Italy,  half-way  unshealh'd, 

But  wailed  one  coLquermg  cry,  lo  flash  out  1 


Oh  shame  !  that,  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
Worth  the  hisfry nf  ages,  when,  liad  you  but  hurl'd 

One  bolt  at  your  tyrant  invader,  that  strife 
lietween  Ireeiiien  and  tyrants  had  spread  through 
the  world  — 

That  then  —  oh  !  disgrace  upon  manhood  —  ev'n  then, 
You    should    falter,  should    cling  to   your  pitiful 
breath  ; 
Cow'r  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stood 

And  prefer  the  slave's  life  of  prostration  to  death. 

It  is  strange,  it  is  dreadful  :  — shout.  Tyranny,  shout 
Through  jour  dungeons  and  palaces,  "  freedom  is 

If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  light,  tread  it  out, 
And  returu  to  your  empire  of  darkness  ouce  more. 

For,  \(  stick  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be  free, 
(Jome,  Despot  of  Russia,  thy  feet  let  me  kiss; 

far  nobler  to  live  (he  brule  bondman  of  thee, 
Thau  to  sully  ev'n  chains  by  a  struggle  like  this  \ 


END     OF     VOL. 


VIX. 


PREFACE   TO    THE   EIGHTH   VOLUME. 


On  my  return  from  the  interesting  visit  to  Rome,  of 
which  some  account  has  been  given  In  the  preceding 
Preface,  I  took  up  my  ;«bode  in  Pari?,  and.  being 
_,oiued  there  by  my  fannly,  continued  (o  reside  in  that 
capit'tl,  or  its  environs,  till  about  the  close  of  the  yenr 
1822.  As  no  life,  however  sunny,  is  without  its 
clouds,  I  could  not  escape,  of  course,  my  share  of 
such  passing  shadowh ;  and  ihis  long  e^trangement 
frcm  our  happy  English  home,  towards  which  my 
family  yearned  even  more  fmidly  th.ui  myself,  had 
been  caused  by  difficulties  of  a  pecuniary  nature,  and 
to  a  large  amount,  in  which  I  had  been  involved  by 
the  conduct  of  the  person  who  acted  as  my  deputy  in 
the  small  office  1  held  at  Hermuda. 

That  I  should  ever  have  Ci  me  to  be  chosen  for  such 
anemployment  seem-,  one  of  those  freiks  or  anomalies 
of  human  destiny  which  batile  all  ordinary  specula- 
tion ;  and  went  far,  indeed,  to  realise  Beaumarctuis' 
notion  of  the  sort  of  standard  by  which,  too  fre- 
quently, qualification  for  place  is  regula'ed,  —  **  II 
fallut  un  calculaleur  ;  ce  ful  un  danseur  qui  I'obtint." 

But  however  much,  in  ihis  instance.  I  sidTered  from 
my  want  of  schoohng  in  matteis  of  busitiess.  and  niore 
especially  from  my  having  neglected  the  ordinary 
precaution  of  requiring  secuiiiy  from  my  deputy,  I 
was  more  than  consoled  for  all  such  embarrassment 
were  it  even  leo  times  as  much,  by  the  eager  kindness 
With  which  friends  pressed  forward  to  help  to  relense 
me  from  my  difFicuHifS.  Could  1  venturs  lo  name 
the  per-ons,—  nnd  they  were  manv, — who  thus  volun- 
teered tht-ir  aid.  it  would  be  fouiid  they  were  all  of 
them  men  whose  charader^  enhanced  such  a  srrvice, 
and  tha  ,  in  ;ill.  the  name  and  the  net  refleced  honour 
upon  eich  nther. 

I  shall  so  tar  lift  the  veil  in  which  such  delica»e 
generosity  seeks  to  shroud  itr-elf.  as  lo  menii  m  briefly 
the  maimer  in  which  one  of  these  kind  friends,— 
himself  possessing  but  limittd  means, —  pioposed  to 


contribute  to  the  object  of  releasing  me  from  my 
embarrassments.  Afier  adverting,  in  his  letter,  to  my 
misfortunts,  ana  "the  noble  way,"  as  he  was  pleased 
to  say,  "in  which  I  boie  them,"  he  adds,— "  would 
it  be  very  'mperliuent  lo  s.y,  that  i  have  500Z.  entire- 
ly at  your  disposil,  to  be  paid  when  you  like;  and  as 
much  more  Ih  it  I  o  uld  idvance,  upon  any  reasonable 
security,  payable  in  seven  years  ?"  The  writer  con- 
cludes by  apologising  anxiously  and  delicately  for 
*'the  liberty  whi^h  he  thus  lakes,"  assuring  me  that 
"  he  would  not  have  made  the  ofler  it  he  did  not  feel 
thai  he  would  most  readily  accept  the  same  assistance 
fiom  me."  1  select  this  mie  ms!ance  from  among  the 
many  which  thai  trying  event  of  my  life  enables  me 
to  adduce,  bo'h  on  account  of  the  deliberate  feeling  of 
manly  regard  which  it  manifests,  and  also  frnm  other 
considerations  which  it  uould  be  out  of  place  heie  lo 
mention,  but  which  rendered  so  genuine  a  mark  of 
fiif-ndship  from  such  a  quarter  peculiaily  touching 
and  welcome  to  me. 

VVhen  such  were  the  men  who  has'ened  to  my  aid 
in  this  emergency,  I  need  hardly  say.  it  was  from  do 
squeamish  pride,— foi  the  pride  uould  have  been  in 
receiving  favours  from  such  hands.— (hat  I  came  to 
the  resolution  of  gratefully  declining  their  offers,  and 
endeavourii  g  to  work  oui  n.y  deliverance  by  nivoi\n 
efforts.  With  a  credit  still  fresh  in  the  nparket  of 
liierature,  and  wiih  publishers  ready  as  ever  to  risk 
iheir  thousuids  on  my  name.  1  could  not  but  feel  tha', 
however  gratifyiug  was  the  j 
friends,  1  should  i-est  show  Ih  _ 
deserved  'heir  offers,  bv  declining,  under  such  cir- 
cuins'ances.  t..  accepi  them. 

Meanwhile  an  ahachmtnt  had  issued  against  nie 
from  the  Ci'Urt  of  Admiralty;  and  as  a  neg'-ti^iion 
was  ab(>ut  to  be  opened  with  the  American  claimants, 
for  a  reduction  of  their  large  demand  upon  me, — sup- 
posed, at  that  time,  to  amount  to  six  thousand  pounds, 


zeal  I 


PREFACE  TO   THE  EIGHTH  VOLUME. 


3G1 


—it  wasdjemed  necessary  lliat,  pending  the  Irfaly,  I 
•liould  take  up  my  abode  lu  trance. 

To  wriie  tor  tlie  means  ot  daily  subsistence,  and 
even  in  most  jnslaEices  lo  "foreslall  llie  slow  harvest 
of  llie  Ijrain,"  wis  fnr  me,  unlucliily,  no  novel  'ask. 
But  1  iKid  MOW,  In  additinn  to  liie-e  lionie  calls  upon 
llie  Muse,  a  new,  painful,  and,  in  ils  first  aspect, 
ovtrwlielniing  exiiteiice  lo  provide  for;  and,  certain- 
ly, I'aris,  swarmiris  thruugliout  a*  it  was,  at  llial 
period,  with  rich,  gay,  and  dissijialed  Kri^lish.  was. 
to  a  person  of  mv  sociil  habits  and  inuliiranous  ac- 
quainiance,  the  lery  wcrst  pussible  place  ihat  could 
have  been  tesnrled  lo  for  even  ihe  semblance  vi  a 
quiet  or  studious  home.  The  only  tianquil,  and, 
tlierefore,  to  nie,  most  precious  portions  of  thai  peiiod 
were  the  two  summers  passed  by  my  family  and  my- 
self wilh  our  kind  .Spanish  friends,  the  V  Is, 

at  Iheir  beautiful  place.  La  Buite  Coa^lin,  on  the  road 
up  b.  Bellevue.    'Ihere,  in  a  cott.ge  b.  loiging  tn  M. 

V 1,  and  but  a  few  ^tcps  finm  his  house, 

we  contrived  to  conjure  up  an  apparition  of  SUiper- 


nd  1  • 


>  able  for  somt 


!  to  1 


feeling  of  cinifnt  and  h  ■me.  1  used  fiequently  t" 
pass  llie  morning  in  rambling  alone  Ihrnugh  ihe  noble 
park  of  Si.  Cloud,  wiih  no  appaiatus  for  the  "Ork  of 
authorship  but  my  memorandum-bnok  aid  pe 
forining  sentences  to  run  sinooihand  mouUling  \ 
into  shape.  In  the  evenings  I  gener.illy  joined 
Mad         "  


It  was,  indeed,  to  the  secluded  life  I  led  during  the 


the  lirlds, 


luetls,  or,  with 
pleasure,  sate  a~  listener,  while  she  sung  to 
the  Spanish  guilar  those  sweet  songs  of  her  own  coun- 
try to  winch  few  voices  could  do  such  justice. 

Une  of  the  pleasant  circumstances  connedcd  with 
our  summer  visits  to  La  Butte  was  the  near  neigh- 
bourliood  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Kenny,  the  lively  dra- 
matic writer,  who  was  lodged  picturesquely  in  the 
leniains  of  the  Palace  of  the  liing's  Ann's,  at  Belle- 
vue. I  remember,  on  my  first  telling  Kenny  the  par- 
ticulars of  my  Beimuda  mishap,  his  saying,  after  a 
pause  of  real  feeling,  "Well,— it's  lucky  you're  a 
poet  ;— a  philosopher  never  could  have  bume  it." 
Washington  Irving  alio  was,  for  a  shirt  time,  our 
visiter;  and  siill  recollects,  I  trust,  his  re.iding  tn  me 
some  parts  "f  his  then  forthcoming  work,  Bracebridge 
Hall,  as  we  taie  together  on  the  grass  walk  that  le  .ds 
to  the  Rochcr,  at  La  Butte. 

Among  Ihe  writings,  then  but  in  embryo,  to  which 
I  looked  forward  for  Ihe  means  of  my  enfranchise- 
ment, one  of  the  most   important,  as  well  as  most 
likely  10    be   productive,  was  my  intended   Life  of 
Sheridan.     Bui  1  soon  found  that,  at  such  a  di^lance 
from  all  those  living  authorities  from  whom  alone  1 
could  gain  any  interesting  information  respecting  the 
private  life  of  one  who  left  behind  him  so  little  epis- 
tolary correspondence,  it  would  be  wholly  impossible 
to  proceed  satisfacorily  with  this  task.    Accordingly 
I  wrote  to  Mr.  Murray  and  Mr.  Wilkie,  who  were  at 
that   time  the   intended   publishers  of  Ihe  work,  to 
apl'rize  them  of  this  temporary  obstacle  to  its  pro- 
Being  thus  bafBed   in   the  very  first  of  the   few 
resources  I  had    looked  to,  I  next  tlnugbt  of  a  Ro- 
mance in  verse,  in  the  form  of  Letters,  or  Epi~tlesi 
and  with  this  view  sketched  oul  a  story,  on  an  Egyp- 
tian subject,  diireriiig  not   much   from  that  which, 
some  years    after,   formed    the  gioundwoik  of    ' 
Epicurean.      After    labouring,    however,    for    so 
months,  at  this  experiment,  amidst  inlerriip'ioii.  i 
sipation,  and  distraction,  which  mighl  well  put 
the  Nine  Muses  to  flight,  I  give  up  the  at  empt 
despair:  — fully  convinced  of  Ihe  truth  of  that  wa 
ing  conveyed  in  some  early  veres  of  my  own, 
dressed  to  the  Invisible  Girl:  — 


that  1 


1S13— 1816, 

111  Derbyshiie,  that  I  owed  the  mspiial-'n,  whatever 
may  have  been  ils  value,  of  some  ol  the  oest  and  most 
popular  portions  ol  Lalla  Kookb.  It  w.as  amidst  the 
snows  of  two  or  three  Ueibi-hiiewinteis  that  I  found 
myself  enabled,  by  that  concentration  of  thought  which 
rr'liremenl  alone  gives,  lo  call  up  around  ine  some  of 
the  sunniest  of  those  Eastern  scenes  which  have  since 
been  welcomed  iu  India  itself,  as  almost  native  to  its 
clime. 

Abortive,  however,  as  had  now  been  all  my  efforts 
to  w,o  the  shy  spirit  of  Poesy,  amidst  such  unquiet 
scenes,  the  course  nf  reading  1  found  lime  to  puisue, 
on  the  subieci  of  Egypt,  was  of  no  small  service  in 
storing  niy  niind  with  Ihe  various  knowledge  respect- 
ing that  couiitiy,  which  some  years  later  I  turned  o 
account,  in  writing  the  sory  of  the  Epicurean.  The 
kind  facilities,  indeed,  towards  this  objrct,  which 
some  i-f  Ihe  nios  distinguished  French  scholars  and 
artis's  alli.rJed  ine,  are  still  renien.bered  by  me  wiih 
thankfiilne-s.  Besides  my  old  acquaintance,  Uenon, 
whose  diaw  ings  of  Egypt,  then  of  some  value,  I  Ire- 
queiilly  consulted,  I  found  Mons.  Fourier  and  Moiis. 
LaiigUs  no  les>  prompt  in  placing  books  at 
sal.     With  Humboldt,  also, 

Paris,  I  hid  more  than  nnce  some  conversa'ion  on  Ihe 
subject  of  Egypt,  and  remember  his  expiessiiig  him- 
self in  no  very  laudatnrv  terms  respecting  the  labours 
of  the  French  savans  in  that  c  uiitiv. 

I  had  now  been  foiled  and  liusliaied  in  two  of  those 
li'erary  projects  on  which  1  had  counted  most  ►an- 
guinely in  ihe  calculation  of  my  resource^ ;  and, 
though  I  hid  found  sufficient  time  lo  funish  my  mu- 
sical publisher  with  the  Eighth  Number  of  the  Irish 
Melodies,  and  also  a  Number  of  the  Na'ional  Airs, 
thee  woiks  alone,  I  knew,  would  yield  but  an  insuf- 
ficient supply,  compared  i>  ith  the  demands  so  closely 
and  threatemnaly  hanging  over  me.  In  thi-  difficulty 
I  called  to  mind  a  sul)jecl,—  the  Eastern  a  legory  of 
Ihe  Loves  of  the  Angels,— on  which  I  had,  some  years 
before,  begun  a  prose  story,  but  in  w  hich,  as  a  theme 
for  poetry,  I  had  now  been  anticiiaied  by  Lord  Byron, 
in  one  of  the  most  sublime  of  his  many  poetical 
miracles,  "  Heaven  and  Earth."-  Knowing  how  soon 
1  should  be  lost  in  Ihe  shadow  into  which  s-i  gigantic 
a  precur-or  would  cast  me,  I  had  endeavoured,  by  a 
speed  of  composition  which  mu>t  have  as  oni^hed  my 
hibilually  slow  pen,  to  get  the  start  of  my  noble  friend 
in  thetiinenfpublication,  and  thus  give  myself  the  sle 
chance  I  could  perhaps  expect,  under  such  unequal 
rivalry,  of  atliacting  to  my  work  the  attention  of  the 
public.  In  this  humble  speculation,  however,  I  failed; 
for  both  works,  if  1  recollect  righ',  made  their  appear- 


at  the 


vhich  had  been 


^nds  upr 


e,  had 


"A  liltle  col,  with  trees  arow, 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low." 


31 


Popt. 


In  Ihe  meanwhile,  the  negoliat 
entered  into  with  Ihe  American 
duclion  of  the  amount  of  their  del 
continued  to  "drag  ils  slow  length  along,"  nor  was 
it  till  the  month  of  Sepleinher,  IS22,  ttiat,  by  a  let  er 
from  the  Messrs.  Longman,  I  received  the  welcome 
intelligence  that  the  terms  offered,  as  our  ultimatum, 
to  the  oi'pnsite  parly,  had  been  at  last  accepted,  and 
that  I  might  now  with  safety  return  to  England.  I 
lost  no  lime,  of  course,  in  availing  myself  of  so  wel- 
con'ea  piivilege;  and  as  all  that  teniains  now  to  be 
told  of  this  trying  epi-ode  in  my  i  ast  life  may  be  com- 
prised in  a  small  compass,  I  sliall  Irn^t  lo  Ihe  patience 
of  my  readers  for  loleialing  the  recital. 

Dnarriving  in  England  I  learned,  for  the  first  time, 
— having  been,  till  then,  kept  very  much  in  daikness 
on  the  subject,— that,  afier  a  long  and  freq        ' 


of 


oliatii 


Ihc 


of  Ihe 


claim's  of  the  American  "nierclianls  had  been  reduced 
tJ  the  sum  of  one  thousand  guineas,  and  that  towards 


>  ,i9nle,  p.  71. 


362 


THE   LOVES    OF    THE   ANGELS. 


the  payment  of  this  the  uncle  of  my  deputy,—  a  rich 
London  merchant,— had  been  brought,  with  some 
difficulty,  to  contribute  three  hundred  pounds.  I  was 
likewise  informed,  that  a  very  dear  and  distins:uished 
friend  of  mine,  to  whnin,  by  his  own  desire,  the  state 
of  the  negotiation  was,  frnni  lime  lo  lime,  reported, 
had,  upon  finding  that  there  appeared,  at  las',  some 
chance  of  an  arrangement,  and  lenrninc  also  the 
amount  of  the  advance  mide  by  my  deputy's  relative, 
immediately  deposited  in  the  hands  of  a  banker  the 
remaining  poriion  (JSOt.)  of  the  recjuired  snm,  to  be 
there  in  leadiness  for  the  final  settlenienl  of  the  de- 
mand. 

'I  hough  still  adhering  to  my  original  purpose  of 
nwin^  to  my  own  exeriions  alone  the  means  oi  relief 
fromthe>edifficulties,  I  yet  felt  a  pleasure  in  allowing 
this  tlioughiful  deposit  to  be  applied  to  the  generous 
purpose  for  which  it  was  destined  ;  and  having  em- 
ployed in  this  manner  tlie  750/,,  I  ihen  transmitted  to 
niy  kind  friend, —  1  need  hardly  say  with  "hat  feel- 
ings of  thankfulDess,—  a  cheque  on 'my  publishers  for 
the  amount. 

Though  this  effort  of  the  poet's  purse  was  but,  as 
usual,  a  new  launch  into  Uie  Future,— a  new  anticipa- 
tion of  yet  unborn  nieans,— the  result  showed,  1  am 
happy  to  say,  ihat,  in  this  instance  at  lea-^t,  1  had  not 
counted  on  my  bank  **  in  7iubibui^*  too  sauguinely ; 


for,  on  receiving  my  publishers'  account,  in  the  month. 
of  June  following,  I  found  lOOOi.  placed  to  my  credit 
from  the  sale  of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels,  and  600/. 
from  the  Fables  of  the  Holy  Alliance. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that,  among  the  re- 
sources i<t  ihat  time  placed  at  my  disposal,  was  one 
small  and  sacred  sum,  which  had  been  set  apart  by  its 
young  possessor  for  some  such  heneficeni  purpose. 
This  fund,  amounting  to  about  300^,  aiose  from  the 
proceeds  of  the  sale  of  the  first  edition  of  a  binjraphi- 
cal  work  llien  recently  published,  whicli  will  long 
be  memorable,  as  well  from  its  own  merits  and  sub- 
ject, as  from  the  lustre  that  has  been  since  shed  back 
upon  it  from  the  public  career  of  its  noble  author. 
Tn  a  gift  from  such  hands  might  well  have  been  ap- 
plied the  words  of  Ovid, 


Mu 


In  this  volume,  and  its  immediate  successor,  will  be 
found  collected  almost  all  those  delinquencies  of  mine, 
in  the  way  of  sarire,  wliich  have  appeared,  from  time 
fo  lime,  in  the  public  joiirnal-!,  during  the  last  twenty 
or  thirty  years.  The  comments  and  notices  required 
to  throw  light  on  these  polirical  trifles  must  be  re- 
served for  our  next  volume. 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


PREFACE. 

The  Eastern  story  of  the  angels  Hamt  and  M.irut,t 
and  the  Rabbinical  fictions  of  the  lo.cs  of  Uzziel  and 
bhanicha7.ai,'i  are  the  only  sources  lo  which  I  need 
refer,  for  the  nriicin  of  llie  notinn  on  which  ihis  Ro- 
mance is  founded.  In  .idtlition  to  the  fitness  of  the 
subject  for  poe'rv,  it  struck  me  also  as  capable  of  af- 
fording an  allegorical  medium,  through  which  might 
be  shadowed  out  (as  I  have  endeavoured  to  do  in  ihe 
fnliowing  s'ories)  the  fall  of  the  Soul  from  its  original 
purity  3 —the  loss  of  light  and  happiness  which  it 
suflers,  in  the  pursuit  of  this  world^s  perishable  plea- 
sures—and the  punishments,  both  from  conscience  and 
Divine  justice,  with  which  impurity,  piide,  and  pre- 
sumptuous inquiry  into  the  awful  seciets  of  Heiven 
are  sure  to  be  visiled.  The  beautiful  story  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche  owes  iischief  charm  to  this  sort  of ''  veiled 
meaning,"  and  it  has  been  my  wish  (however  I  may 
have  failed  in  the  attempt)  to  communicate  to  the  fol- 
lowing pages  the  same  moral  interest. 

Among  the  doctrines,  or  notions,  derived  by  Flalo 
from  the  East,  one  of  the  most  nalural  aud  sublime  is 


J  See  note  on  page  365, 

a  Hyde,  de  Relig.  Vet.  Per^srum,  p.  272. 

3  The  account  whicli  Macrobius  gives*  of  the  down- 
ward journey  of  the  SonI,  through  thai  gate  of  the  zo- 
diac which  opens  into  the  lower  sphere^,  is  a  curious 
specimen  of  the  wild  fancies  that  passed  for  philoso- 
phy in  ancient  times. 

In  the  system  of  Mane%  the  luminous  or  spiritual 
principle  owes  its  corruplinn  nit  to  any  evil  tendpncv 
of  its  own,  but  fo  a  violent  inroad  of  the  spirits  of 
darkness,  who,  finding  themselves  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  this  pure  lit;ht,  and  beconiing  passimiately 
enamoured  of  its  be.-»uiy,  break  the  boutjduiea  between 
I  them,  and  lake  forcible  possession  of  it.t 

»  In  Somn.  Scipionis,  cap.  12. 

t  See  a  Treatise  '*  Ue  la  Religion  des  Perse?,"  by  the 
{  Abbe  Foucher,  Memoires  de  I'Acadeniie,  torn.  xxxi. 
Ll"-  456. 


that  which  inculcates  (he  pre-existence  of  the  soul, 
and  its  gradual  descent  into  this  dark  material  world, 
from  that  region  of  spirit  and  light  which  it  is  su])- 
posed  to  have  once  inhabited,  and  to  which,  after  a 
long  lapse  of  purification  and  trial,  it  will  return. 
This  behef,  under  various  symbolicil  forms,  may  be 
traced  through  almi>st  all  the  Oriental  theologies. 
The  Ch»ldeans  represent  the  Soul  as  originally  en- 
dowed With  wings,  which  fall  away  when  it  sinks 
from  its  native  element,  and  must  be  re-produced  be- 
fore it  can  ho[ie  to  return.  Some  disciples  of  Zomas'er 
once  inquired  of  him,  "How  the  wmgs  of  the  Soul 
might  be  made  to  grow  .ngain?''  —  "By  sprinkling 
them,"  he  replied,  "  with  the  Waters  of  Life." — '*Rut 
where  are  those  waters  to  be  found  ?''  they  asked.— 
"  In  the  Garden  of  God,"  replied  Zoroas'er. 

The  mythology  of  the  Persians  has  allegorized  the 
same  doctrine,  in  the  history  of  those  genii  of  light 
who  strayed  from  their  dwellings  in  the  stars,  and 
obscured  Ilieir  original  nature  by  mixture  with  this 
material  sohere;  while  the  Egyptians,  connecting  it 
with  ihe  descent  and  ascent  of  the  sun  in  the  zodiac, 
considered  Autumn  as  embleni.itic  of  the  SouPs  de- 
cline towards  darkness,  and  the  re-appearance  of 
Spring  as  its  return  to  life  and  lisht. 

Besides  the  chief  spin's  of  the  Mahometan  heaven, 
such  3S  Gabriel,  the  angel  of  Revela  ions,  Israfil,  by 
whom  the  la'^t  trumpet  is  to  be  sounded,  and  Azrael, 
the  angel  of  deaih,  there  were  also  a  number  of 
subaltern  intelligences,  of  which  tradition  has  pre- 
served Ihe  names,  appointed  to  preside  over  the  dif- 
ferent stages,  or  ascents,  into  which  the  celestial 
world  was  supposed  to  be  divided-'*  Thus  Kelail 
governs  the  fifili  heaven;  while  Sadiel,  the  presiding 
spirit  of  llie  third,  is  also  employed  in  steadying  the 
motions  of  the  earth,  which  would  be  in  a  constant 
stale  of  agihition.  if  this  angel  did  not  keep  his  foot 
planted  upon  its  oth.* 

Among  other  miraculous  interpositions  in  Tivour  of 
Mahomet,  we  find  coinmemoraled  in  the  pages  of  the 


«  '*  We  adorned  Ihe  lower  heaven  with  lights,  and 
placed  therein  a  guatd  of  ;ingel3."— iToran,  chap,  xli, 
»  See  D*Herbelot,  passim. 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


363 


Konu  the  appearance  of  five  thousand  angels  on  his 
side  at  the  btillle  of  Bedr. 

The  ancient  Persians  supposed  that  Orniuzd  ap- 
pointed thirty  angels  lo  preside  successively  over  the 
iliysol  the  month,  and  twelve  greater  one^  to  assume 
the  governnieiit  of  the  months  Ihemselves ;  among 
whom  Knhniaii  (lo  whom  Urmuzd  oinimided  the 
cusiody  of  all  animals,  rxcept  ni  .u.)  was  the  greatest. 
IMihr,  Ihe  angel  of  the  "th  month,  was  also  the  spirit 
thai  watched  over  Ihe  atlairs  of  friendship  and  love  ; 
—  Chur  had  Ihe  caie  of  the  disk  of  the  sun  ;  —  Mah 
was  agent  for  Ihe  concerns  of  Ihe  moon;  —  Isphan- 
darniaz  (whom  Cazvin  calls  llie  Spirit  of  Ihe  Earth) 
was  the  tutelar  genius  of  good  and  virtuous  women, 
&c.  &c.  &c.  For  all  this  Ihe  reader  may  consult  Ihe 
191h  and  20lh  chapters  of  Hyde  de  Relig.  Vet.  I'er. 
saruni,  where  the  names  and  altnbutes  of  these  daily 
and  monthly  angels  are  with  much  minuteness  and 
erudition  explained.  It  appears,  from  the  Zend- 
aves  a,  thai  the  I'ersians  had  a  ceilain  ofBce  or  prayer 
for  every  day  of  Ihe  month  (addressed  lo  Ihe  particu- 
lar angel  who  presided  over  it),  which  they  called  Ihe 

The  Celestial  Hierarchy  of  the  Syrians,  as  de- 
scribed by  Kircher,  appears  to  be  the  most  regularly 
graduated  of  any  of  these  systems.  In  the  sphere  of 
the  Moon  Ihey  placed  llie  angels,  in  that  of  Mercury 
the  archangels,  Venus  and  Ihe  Sun  contained  Ihe 
Principalities  and  the  Powers; — and  so  on  to  the 
summit  01  Ihe  planetary  system,  where,  in  the  sphere 
of  Saturn,  Ihe  Thrones  had  Iheir  slaion.  Above  this 
was  the  habitation  of  the  Cherubim  in  (he  sphere  of 
the  fixed  stars ;  and  slill  higher,  in  the  region  of  ihose 
sUrs  which  are  so  distant  as  lo  be  iniperL-eptible,  the 
Seraphim,  we  are  told,  Ihe  most  peifect  of  all  celes- 
tial crealures,  dwell. 

The  Sabeans  also  (as  D'Heibelot  lells  us)  had  their 
classes  of  angels,  to  \<  horn  they  prayed  as  mediators, 
or  intercessors;  and  the  Arabians  worshipped /cma^e 
angels,  whom  they  called  lienab  Uasche,  or,  Daugh- 
ters of  God, 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE 
ANGELS. 


*T  was  when  the  world  was  in  its  primes 

When  the  fiesh  stars  had  just  be^xm 
Their  race  of  glory,  and  young:  1  ime 

Told  his  first  binh-days  by  ihe  sun; 
When,  in  Ihe  light  of  Nature's  dawu 

RtJDicmic,  men  and  angels  met  i 
On  the  high  hill  and  sunny  lawn,— 
Ere  sorrow  can.e  or  Sin  had  drawn 

'T\%  ixl  man  ana  heaven  her  curlain  yet  \ 
Whea  earth  lay  neirer  to  Ihe  skies 

Than  in  these  dai,6  of  crime  and  woe, 
And  mortals  saw,  wiihouf  surprise, 
In  Ihe  mid-air,  angelic  eyes 

Gazing  upon  this  world  below, 

AI^s,  that  Passion  should  prnfane, 
Ev'n  then,  the  morninK  of  (he  earth! 

Tha',  sadder  s'ill.  llie  (at.i!  stain 

Should  fall  on  liearls  of  heavenly  birth — 

And  thai  fnm  Woman's  love  should  fall 

So  dark  a  btain,  mo^t  sad  of  all  i 

One  eveniwij,  in  that  primal  h'ur. 
On  a  hill's  side,  "  here  hung  the  ray 

Of  sun>el,  brightening  riil  and  bower, 
Three  noble  youths  conversing  lay  ; 


1  The  Mahometans  believe,  says  D'HerbeM,  that 

in  Ihat  early  period  of  the  wnrld,  "  |es  hnmmes  n'eu- 
rent  qu'uiie  seule  ie!igion,el  furent  souvent  visiles des 
Anges,  qui  leur  dr.in.oient  la  m^in." 


And,  as  they  look'd,  from  time  to  lime, 

To  the  far  sky,  where  Daylight  furl'd 
His  radiant  wing,  their  brows  sublime 

Bespoke  them  of  that  distant  world- 
Spirits,  who  once,  in  brotherhood 
Of  faith  and  bliss,  near  Alia  stood, 
And  o'er  whose  cheeks  full  oft  had  blown 
The  wind  that  breathes  from  Alla's  throne.a 
Creatures  of  light,  such  as  still  play. 

Like  notes  in  sunshine,  round  Ihe  Lord, 
And  through  their  intinite  array 
Transmit  each  moment,  nit^lit  and  day 

The  echo  of  His  luminous  word ! 

Of  Heaven  Ihey  spoke,  and,  still  more  oft, 

Of  Ihe  bright  eyes  iliat  charni'd  them  thence  j 
Till,  yielding  gradual  to  the  soft 

And  balmy  evening's  influence — 
The  silent  breathing  of  the  (lowers  — 

The  nielling  light  Ihat  beam'd  above, 
As  on  their  hr>t,  fond,  erring  hours,—' 

Each  told  the  story  of  his  love, 
The  his'ory  of  that  hour  unblest, 
When   like  a  bird,  from  its  high  nest 
Won  down  by  fascinating  eyes, 
For  Woman*s  smile  he  lost  the  skies. 

The  First  who  spoke  was  one,  with  look 

The  least  celestial  of  the  three- 
A  S|iirit  of  li^hl  nmuld,  that  took 

The  prints  of  earth  most  yieldingly ; 
Who,  ev'n  in  heaven,  was  not  of  those 

Nearest  the  Throne, 3  but  held  a  place 
Far  ort".  among  those  shining  rows 

That  ciicle  out  through  endless  space, 
And  oer  whose  wings  the  light  froui  Him 
In  Heaven's  centre  falls  most  dim. 

Still  fair  and  glorious,  he  but  shone 

Among  those  youths  Ihe*  ur.heavenliest  one  — 

A  creature,  to  whom  light  remain'd 

From  Eden  slill,  but  alier'd,  stain'd, 

And  o'er  whose  brow  not  Love  alone 

A  blight  had,  in  his  transit,  cast, 
But  other,  e^irthlier  joys  had  gone, 

And  left  their  fool-prints  as  they  pass'd. 
Sighing,  as  back  through  aE;es  tlown. 

Like  a  tomb-searcher.  Memory  ran, 
Lifting  each  shroud  Ihat  Time  h<id  Ibrown 

O'er  buried  hopes,  he  Ihus  began  :  — 


FIRST   ANGEL'S   STORY. 

<**T  was  in  a  land,  that  far  away 

Into  the  golden  orient  lies. 
Where  Nature  knows  no'  night's  delay, 
But  springs  to  meet  her  bridesnioni,  D.»y, 

Upon  Ihe  threshold  of  the  skies. 
One  morn,  on  earthly  mission  >erit,« 

And  mid-way  choosing  where  to  liglit, 
I  saw,  from  ihe  blue  element  — 


a  "To  which  will  be  joined  the  sound  of  the  bells 
hanging  on  the  trees,  which  will  he  put  in  motion  by 
the  wind  proceeding  from  Ihe  1  hroiie,  so  often  as  the 
Blessed  wish  for  nmsic." — bee  Salens  Koran,  Prelim, 
Dissert. 

3  The  ancient  Persians  suppised  that  this  Throne 
was  placed  in  the  Sun,  ainl  that  through  the  stan"  ueie 
distributed  the  various  clashes  of  Angels  ihat  encircled 
it. 

The  Basil  rdian?  supposed  that  there  were  three  hun- 
dred and  siicly-five  orders  of  angels,  *'d(int  ta  perfec- 
lion  alloit  en  dec  oissant,  a  mesure  qu'ils  ^'eIoienoient 
tie  la  premiere  cla>^e  d'espri's  places  dans  le  premier 
ciel."    Sei;  Dujmis,  Orig.  des  Cultes^  torn.  ii.  p.  112. 

*  It  appears  that,  in  most  languages,  Ihe  term  em- 
ployed fur  an  angel  nieans  al^o  a  messenger.    Firiscb* 


364 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


Oh  beautiful,  bul  fatal  sight !  — 
One  of  earth's  fairest  womankind, 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  ralher  shrin'd 
In  the  clear  crystal  of  a  brmik  ; 

Which,  while  it  hid  no  single  glenin 
Of  her  young  be.lulies,  made  Ihem  look 

More  spirii.ltke,  as  they  might  seem 

Through  the  dim  shadowing  of  a  dream. 
Pausing  in  wonder  1  look'd  on, 

While,  pla\  fully  around  her  breaking 
The  waters,  that  like  diamonds  shone, 

She  niov'd  in  light  of  her  own  making. 

At  length,  as  frriui  that  airy  height 

1  geiilly  lowei'd  my  brealhle-s  tlight, 
The  tremble  of  mv  wings  all  o'er 

(For  through  each  plume  1  felt  the  thrill) 
Startled  her,  as  she  reach'd  the  shore 

Of  that  small  lake—  her  mirror  still  — 
Above  whose  brink  she  stood,  hke  snovr 
When  rosy  with  a  sunset  glow. 
Never  shall  I  forget  thoseejesl  — 
The  shame,  the  innocent  sui  prise 
Of  that  bright  face,  when  in  ihe  air 
Uplooking,  she  beheld  me  there. 
It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought,  and  look. 

And  motion  were  that  minute  chatuM 
Fast  to  the  spot,  such  root  she  took, 
And  —  like  a  sunflower  by  a  brook, 

With  face  upturu'd  —  so  still  reiraioM  ! 


Id  pity  to  the  wondering  maid. 

Though  loth  from  such  a  vision  turning, 
Downward  1  bent,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  my  spread  wings  ttyftnle  the  burning 
Of  glances,  which— I  well  could  feel  — 

For  me,  for  her,  too  warnily  shone  j 
But,  ere  1  could  again  unseal 
My  restless  eyes,  or  even  steal 

One  sidelong  look,  the  maid  was  gone  — 
Hid  from  me  in  the  forest  leaves. 

Sudden  as  when,  in  all  her  charms 
Of  full-blown  light,  some  cloud  receive! 

The  Moon  into  his  dusky  arms. 

*T  is  not  in  words  to  tell  the  power, 
The  despotism  that,  fiom  that  hour. 
Passion  held  o'er  me.     Uay  and  night 

1  sr>ug)it  around  each  neighbouring  spot; 
And.  in  the  chase  of  this  sweet  light. 

My  t.isk,  and  heaven,  and  all  forgot ; — 
All,  but  the  one,  sole,  haunting  dream 
Of  her  1  saw  in  that  bright  stream. 


Nor  was  it  long,  ere  by  her  side 

1  found  myself,  whole  happy  days. 
Listening  to  words,  whose  music  vied 

With  our  own  Eden's  seraph  lays. 
When  seraph  lays  are  warm'd  by  love, 
Bul,  wanting  thai,  far,  far  above  !  — 
And  looking  into  eyes  where,  blue 
And  beautiful,  like  skies  seen  through 
The  sleeping  wave,  lor  me  there  shone 
A  heaven,  more  worshipp'd  than  my  own. 
Oh  what,  while  I  could  hear  and  see 
Such  words  and  looks,  was  tieaven  to  me? 
Though  gross  the  air  on  earth  I  drew, 
'T  was  blessed,  while  she  hreath'd  it  too  ; 
Though  dark  the  tiowers,  though  dim  Ihe  sky. 
Love  lent  them  light,  while  slie  was  nigh. 
Throughout  creation  I  bul  knew 
Two  separa'e  worlds — the  07ig.  that  small, 

Belov'd,  and  const-craled  spot 
Where  Lea  was  —  the  other,  all 

The  dull,  w  ide  waste,  where  she  was  not  ! 


But  vain  my  suit,  my  madness  vain ; 
Though  gladly,  from  her  eyes  to  gain 

One  earthly  look,  one  stray  desire,      ^ 
1  would  have  lorn  Ihe  wings,  that  huug 

Furl'd  at  my  back,  and  o'er  the  Fire 
In  Gehim'st  pit  their  fragments  flung; 
'Twas  hopeless  all— pure  and  uumov'd 

She  stood,  as  lilies  in  Ihe  light 

Of  the  hot  noon  but  look  more  white; — 
And  though  she  lov'd  me,  deeply  lov'd, 
*  r  was  not  as  man,  as  mortal  —  no. 
Nothing  of  earth  was  in  that  glow  — 
She  lov'd  me  but  as  one,  of  race 
Angelic,  from  that  radiant  place 
She  saw  so  oft  in  dreams — that  Heaven, 

To  which  her  piayers  at  morn  were  selil. 
And  on  whose  light  she  gaz'd  at  even. 
Wishing  for  wings,  that  she  might  go 
Out  of  this  shadowy  world  below, 

To  that  free,  glorious  element  1 

Well  I  remember  by  her  side 

Sitting  at  rosy  even-tide, 

When, —  turning  to  the  star,  whose  head 

Ixiok'd  out,  as  from  a  br.dal  bed. 

At  that  mule,  blushing  hour, —  she  said, 

"Oh  !  that  it  were  my  doom  to  be 

"The  Spirit  of  yon  beauteous  alar, 
"Dwelling  up  there  in  purily, 

"  Alone,  as  all  such  bright  things  are; — 
**  My  sole  employ  to  pray  and  shine, 

"  To  light  my  cen.-er  at  the  sun, 
*' And  ca>t  its  fire  towards  the  shrine 

"  Of  Him  in  heaven,  the  Eternal  One !» 

So  innocent  the  maid,  so  free 

From  mortal  taint  in  soul  and  frame. 
Whom  t  was  niy  cime  —  my  destiny  — 
To  love,  ay,  burn  for,  with  a  Hame, 
To  which  earth's  wildest  fires  are  tame. 
Had  you  hut  seen  her  look,  when  first 
From  my  mad  lips  the'  avowal  burst; 
Not  anger'd  —  no  —  the  feeling  came 
From  depths  bevond  mere  anger's  flame  ^ 
It  was  a  sorrow,  calm  as  deep, 
A  mournfulness  that  could  noi  weep, 
So  fill'd  her  heart  was  to  Ihe  brink. 
So  Sx'd  and  froz'n  with  grief,  to  think 
That  angel  natures  —  l  hat  ev'n  I, 
Whose  love  she  clung  to.  as  the  lie 
Between  her  spirit  and  the  sky  — 
Should  fall  Ihus  headlong  from  the  height 
Of  all  that  heaven  hath  pure  and  bright ! 

That  very  night  —  my  heart  had  grown 

Impatient  of  ils  inward  burning  ; 
The  term,  too,  of  my  stay  was  flown. 
And  the  bright  Watchers  near  the  throne, 
Already,  if  a  meleor  shone 
Between  them  and  this  nelher  zone. 

Thought  't  was  their  herald's  wing  returning. 


teh,  Ihe  Persian  word  for  angel,  is  derived  (s 
O'Herbelot)  from  the  verb  Firischtin,  to  send.  1 
Hebrew  term,  too,  Melak,  has  the  same  significatic 


I  The  name  given  by  the  Mahometins  to  Ihe  in- 
fernal regions,  over  which,  they  say,  Ihe  angel  Tab- 
hek  presides. 

By  the  seven  gates  of  hell,  mentioned  in  the  Koran, 
the  commentators  understand  seven  ditlereni  depart- 
ments or  wards,  in  which  seven  dilTerent  s  Tts  of  sin- 
ners are  to  be  punished.  The  first,  called  Gelieiinem, 
is  for  sinful  Mussulmans;  the  second,  Ladha,  foi 
Christian  oflTendcrs  ;  the  third,  Hnlhania,  is  appointed 
for  Jews;  and  he  fourth  and  fifth,  called  Sair  and 
Sacar,  are  deslined  to  receive  the  Sabasans  ami  the 
worshippers  of  fire:  in  Ihe  sixth,  named  Gehili.,  those 
pagans  and  idolaters  w  lio  admit  a  plurality  of  gods 
are  placed  ;  while  into  the  abyss  of  the  seventh,  called 
Derk  Asfal,  or  the  Deepest,  the  hypocritical  careen 
of  all  religions  arc  thrown. 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


365 


Oft  clid  the  potent  spell-word,  given 

To  Envoys  hiiher  Inmi  ilie  skies. 
To  be  proiiouiic'd,  when  h.ick  to  heaven 

It  is  tlieir  time  or  wish  to  rise, 
Come  to  luy  lips  Ihll  f.tal  day; 

And  once,  too,  was  so  nearly  spoken, 
Th,»t  my  spread  pliiniai;e  in  the  ray 
And  breeze  ot  heaven  bee:an  to  play  ;  — 

U'he.i  my  heait  fail'd-lhe  spell  was  broken- 
The  word  unhnish'd  died  away, 
And  my  check'd  plunie>,  leaily  to  soar 
Fell  sUck  and  lileless  as  helore. 

How  could  I  leave  a  world,  which  she. 

Or  lost  or  won,  made  all  In  me  ? 

No  matter  where  my  wanderings  were. 

So  there  she  look'd,  bieath'd,  movM  about  — 
Woe,  ruin,  death,  more  sweet  with  her, 

Thin  Paradise  itself,  witliuut ! 

But,  to  return — that  very  day 

A  feast  was  held,  where,  full  of  mirth. 
Came  — croivdnK  thick  as  flowers  that  play 
In  summer  winds  — the  young  and  gay 

And  beautiful  of  this  hrieht  earth. 
And  she  was  iheie,  and  inid  the  young 

And  beautiful  stood  hrst,  alone  ; 
Though  on  her  gentle  hnnv  slill  hung 

The  shadoiv  1  that  n.orn  had  thrown - 
The  tir,t,  that  ever  shame  or  woe 
H^d  C.St  upon  Its  venial  snow. 
My  lieirl  was  madden'd  ;  —  in  the  flush 

lif  the  wild  revel  I  give  way 
To  all  that  frantic  ninth  -  that  rush 

Of  despera  e  Kaieiy,  »  hich  ihev. 
Who  never  fell  how'pain's  exce,-s 
Can  bre.k  out  thus,  ihink  happiness! 
Sad  mimicry  of  mirih  and  lite. 
Wliose  flashes  come  but  Ironi  the  strife 
Of  inward  p^SMons  — like  the  light 
Struck  out  by  clashing  swords  in  tight. 

Then,  too,  that  juice  of  earth,  the  bane 
Aud  blessing  of  man's  heait  and  tirain  — 
That  draught  of  soicen,  which  brings 
Phauloins  of  fair,  forbidden  thmss  — 
Who-e  drops,  l:ke  those  nf  lainbows,  smile 

Ujioii  the  ini-ts  that  circle  nnin, 
Brighi'iiiog  not  oi.ly  Earth,  ihe  while, 

But  grasping  Heaven,  loo,  in  Iheir  apan  !  — 
Then  first  the  fatal  wine-cup  raind 

Its  dews  of  darkness  ihrough  my  lips,* 
Casting  whale'er  of  light  reu.aiu'd 

To  iny  Inst  soul  into  eclipse  ; 
And  Hllitig  it  witti  such  wild  dreams. 

Such  fantasies  and  wrong  desires, 
As,  in  the  absence  of  heaven's  beams. 

Haunt  us  for  ever  — like  wild-fires 

That  walk  this  earth,  "hen  day  retires. 

Now  hear  the  rest ;  — our  banquet  done, 
1  sought  her  in  the'  accustom  d  bower, 
Wt-.ere  late  we  oft,  when  day  was  gone. 
And  the  world  husli'd,  had  met  alone. 
At  the  same  silent,  inoonli^ht  hour. 
Her  eyes,  as  usual,  were  uptuiu'd 
To  her  lov'd  star,  whose  lustre  huru'd 
Purer  than  ever  on  tlial  night ; 
While  she,  in  looking,  grew  more  bright, 
As  thoush  she  boriow'd  of  its  light. 


1  I  have  already  mentioned  that  some  of  the  cir- 
cumstances nf  this  story  \vere  suggesied  to  me  by  the 
eastern  legend  of  the  two  angds.  Harul  and  Marut, 
?iveii  bv  Mariti,  who  sa\s  that  the  authoi  of  Ihe 
ilini  founds  upon  it  Ihe  Mahnmeian  prohibition  of 
.  ..le.*  I  have  since  found  that  Marili's  version  of 
the  tale  (which  ditfeis  also  trniii  thai  of  l)r  Pri.leaux, 
in  his  Life  of  Mali  nie  ,)  is  taken  from  the  French 
Sncyclopedie,  in  which  work,  under  the  head  •' Arot 
et  Marot,"  the  reader  will  find  it. 

•  The  Bahardanush  tells  the  fable  differenlly. 


There  was  a  virtue  in  that  scene, 

A  spell  of  holiness  around, 
Which,  had  my  burning  bruin  not  been 

Thus  niiddeii'd,  wnuid  have  held  me  bound, 

As  though  1  trod  celestial  ground. 
Ev'n  as  it  was,  with  soul  all  flame, 

And  lips  that  bnufd  in  their  own  sighs, 
1  stood  to  gaze,  "ih  awe  and  shame  — 
The  memory  of  Eden  canie 

full  o'er  me  when  I  saw  those  eyes; 
And  tho'  loo  nell  each  glance  of  mine 

To  the  pale,  shrinking  maiden  prov'd 
How  far,  alas,  from  aught  divine, 
Aught  worthy  of  so  pure  a  shrine, 

Was  Ihe  wild  love  with  which  I  lov'd. 
Vet  must  she,  too,  have  seen  —  oh,  yes, 

'T  is  soothing  but  to  tMiik  she  saw 
The  deep,  true,  soul-felt  tenderness. 

The  homage  of  an  Angel's  awe 
To  her,  a  mortal,  whom  pure  love 
Then  plac  d  above  him  —  far  above  — 
And  all  lint  stiuggle  to  repress 
A  siiitul  spirit's  mad  excess. 
Which  woik'd  within  meal  that  hour. 

When,  with  a  voice,  w  here  Passion  shed 
All  the  deep  s:idne>5  of  her  power. 

Her  melancholy  power—  I  -aid, 
"  'I'hcii  be  it  so  ;  if  back  to  heaven 

"I  mu-t  unlov'd,  uiipilied  flv, 
"  Without  one  blest  inemoriargiven 

"•111  soothe  me  in  th-it  lonely  sky; 
"One  look,  like  those  the  young  and  fond 

"(live  when  the>  'repariing — which  would  be, 
"Ev'n  111  reiiienil|^ance.  far  beyond 

"  All  heaven  h  ilh  left  of  bliss  for  me  ! 

"Oh,  but  to  see  Ihal  head  recline 

"  A  minuie  on  this  trembling  arm, 
"  And  those  niilil  eyes  lonk  up  to  mine, 

"  Without  a  dread,  a  thought  of  harm  ! 
"  To  nieei,  but  once,  Ihe  thrilling  touch 

"Of  lips  too  purelv  hind  to  fear  me  — 
"Or,  if  that  boon  be'all  too  much, 

"  Ev'n  thus  to  bring  their  fragrance  nea-  me! 
*'  Nav,  shrink  not  so  —  a  look  — a  word  — ■ 

"tiivelhem  but  kindly,  and  I  fly; 
"  Already,  see,  mv  plumes  have  slin'd, 

"  And  tremble  inr  Iheir  hmne  on  high. 
"  Thu-,  be  our  parting  —  cheek  to  cheek  — 

"  One  minu  e's  l.ipse  will  be  forgivi-n, 
"And  thou,  the  iiexf,  slnlt  hear  me. speak 

*'  i  he  spell  that  plumes  my  wing  fur  heaven !" 

While  thus  I  spoke,  the  fearful  m.iid, 
Of  me,  and  nf  herself  afraid. 
Had  shi  inking  stood,  like  flowers  beneath 
The  scoichiiig  of  the  sonh-wii,d  s  breath  : 
But  when  I  naind  — alas,  loo  well, 

1  now  recall,  tlmugh  wilder'd  then, — 
lusiantly,  when  I  nani'd  Ihe  spell, 

Her  brow,  her  eyes  upio-e  again. 
And,  with  an  eagerness,  that  sjioke 
The  sudden  light  that  o'er  her  broke, 
"  The  spell,  the  spell  !  —  oh,  speak  it  now, 

"And  I  will  bless  thee  I"  she  exclaini'd  — 

Unknowing  what  I  did,  inllani'd. 
And  lost  alre.-idy  on  her  brow 

1  s'ainp'd  one  burning  kiss,  and  nanid 
The  mvslic  word,  till  then  ne'er  told 
To  livi'ng  creature  of  earlh's  mould  I 
Scarce  wa-  it  said,  when,  quick  -is  thought. 
Her  lips  from  mine,  like  echo,  caught 
The  hilly  sound  —  her  hands  and  eyes 
Were  instant  lif  ed  to  the  skies. 
And  thrice  to  heaven  she  spoke  it  out 

With  tint  triumph  int  look  Faith  wears. 
When  not  a  cloud  of  fear  or  doubt, 

A  vapour  fiom  this  vale  of  'ears, 

Betw-eeii  her  and  her  Uod  appears  '. 

Tha'  very  moment  Iter  whole  frame 
All  blight  and  gloritied  hecaiiie. 


-rrJj 


31* 


3(>6 


THE   LOVES    OF    THE   ANGELS, 


And  at  her  back  I  saw  unclose 
Two  win^s  nia^nificenl  as  those 

That  sparkle  arouiid  Alla's  Throne, 
Whose  plumes,  as  buoyantly  she  rose 

Above  me,  in  Ihe  iiionn-beain  shone 
With  a  pure  light,  which  —  from  i  s  hue, 
Unknown  upon  ihis  eaiih  -  I  knew 
Was  light  trom  Kden,  ghstening  through 
Mosi  hnly  vision  1  neer  before 

Dili  aught  so  radmnl— since  the  day 
When  Eblis.  in  his  downfall,  bore 

The  Ihiid  of  the  bright  stars  away  — 
Rise,  in  enth's  btauty,  to  repair 
That  loss  of  light  and  glory  there  1 

But  did  I  timely  view  her  flight  ? 

Did  not  /,  too',  proclaim  out  thrice 
The  powerful  words  that  were,  that  night, 
Ohev'n  for  heaven  too  much  delight  1  — 

Aa:ain  to  bring  us,  eyes  to  eye^, 

And  soul  to  soul,  m  Paradise? 
1  did  —  I  >poke  it  o'er  and  o'er  — 

I  prayd,  I  wept,  but  all  in  vain  ; 
For  me  Ihe  spelt  had  power  no  more. 

There  seem'd  around  me  some  dark  chain 
Which  fetiil,  as  I  essay'd  to  soar, 

Batfled,  ala-^,  each  wild  endeavour: 
De;id  lay  my  wings,  as  they  have  lain 
Since  that  sad  hour,  and  will  rennin  — 

So  wills  the'oUeudedGod  — foreverl 

It  was  fo  yonder  star  I  tracM 
Her  jouHiry  up  the'  illumin'd  waste- 
That  isle  III  the  blue  firmament, 
To  which  so  oft  her  fancy  went 

In  wivhes  and  in  dieanis  before, 
And  which  was  now— such,  Purity, 
Thy  blest  reward  —  o-dain'd  to  be 

Her  home  of  light  for  evermore! 
Once  — or  did  I  hut  fancy  so^  — 

Ev'n  in  her  flight  to  that  fair  sphere. 
Mid  all  her  spirits  new-felt  glow, 
A  piiying  h>ok  she  lurn'd  below 

On  him  who  stood  in  darkness  here; 
Him  whom,  perhaps,  if  vain  regret 
Can  dwell  in  heaven,  ^he  pities  yet ; 
And  oft,  when  looking  to  (Ins  dim 
AikI  distant  world,  reniembers  liim* 


But  soon  Ihat  pa-^sing  dream  was  gone  ; 
Farther  and  farther  off  she  shone, 
Till  les^en'd  to  a  point,  as  small 

As  are  those  specks  that  yonder  burn, — 
Those  vivid  drops  of  light,  that  fill 

The  last  from  Day's  exh-u^red  urn. 
And  v\  hen  at  length  she  merg'd,  afar. 
Into  hernwn  immortal  star, 
And  when  at  length  my  straining  sight 

Had  caught  her  wing's  hi\  fading  ray, 
That  minute  from  my  soul  the  light 

Of  heaven  and  love  both  pass'd  away; 
And  I  foigut  my  home,  my  birth, 

Profan'd  my  spirit,  sunk  my  brow, 
And  revelt'd  in  gross  joys  of  earlh, 

Till  I  becime—  what  I  am  now  1" 

The  Spirit  bow'd  his  head  in  shame  ; 

A  shame,  thai  of  itself  would  tell  — 
Were  there  not  ev'n  those  breaks  of  flame, 
Celestial,  tlirough  his  clouded  frame  — 

How  grand  the  height  from  which  he  fell ! 
That  h  'Iv  Shame,  which  ne'er  forgets 

The'  u'nblench  d  len-Mvn  it  ns'd  to  wear  ; 
Whnseblu-h  remains  when  Virtue  sets. 

To  show  her  sunshine  h(ts  been  there. 

Once  only,  while  the  tale  he  fold, 
Were  his  eyes  lifted  to  beh"ld 
That  happy  stainless  star,  where  she 
Dwell  in  her  bower  of  purity  ! 


One  minute  did  he  look,  and  then  — 
As  though  he  fell  some  deadly  pain 
Front  its  sueet  light  throuifh  heart  aid  braiD*- 

Shrunk  back,  and  never  look'd  again. 


Who  was  the  Second  Spirit  r  he 

Wilh  Ihe  proud  front  and  pieroinc:  jjlance  — 

Who  seem'd,  when  viewing  heaven's  ezpaUM, 
As  though  his  tar-scnt  eye  could  see 
On,  on  inio  the'  Immensi'y 
Behind  the  veils  of  that  blue  sky. 
Where  Alla's  grandest  secets  lie?  — 
His  wings,  the  while,  though  day  was  gone, 

Flashing  wi'h  many  a  various  hue 
Of  liKhl  they  from  themselves  alone, 

Instinct  vMih  tde-'s  brighmess,  drew. 
'T  was  Riibi  —  once  ami>ng  'he  prime 

And  Jlower  of  those  bright  creatures,  nam'd 
Spinisof  Knowledge,!  who  o'er 'J'ime 

And  Space  and  Thought  an  empire  claim'd, 
Second  alone  t(»  Him,  whose  light 
Was,  ev'n  to  theirs,  as  day  to  night ; 
'Twixt  whom  and  them  was  disiai  ce  far 

And  wide,  as  would  the  journey  be 
To  leach  from  any  island  star 

'J  he  vague  shores  of  Infinity  ! 

*T  was  Rubi,  in  whose  mournful  eye 
Slept  tlie  dim  light  of  days  gone  by ; 
Whose  voice,  though  sweet,  fell  on  the  ear 

Like  echoes,  in  some  silent  place, 
When  first  awak'd  for  manv  a  year  j 

And  when  he  smil'd,  if  o'er  his  face 

Smile  ever  shone,  'i  was  like  the  grace 
Of  moonlight  rainbows,  fair,  but  wan, 
1  he  sunny  life,  the  glory  gone. 
£v'n  o'er  his  pride,  though  still  the  same, 
A  s  flemtig  shade  from  sorrow  came  ; 
And  Ih'  ugh  at  limes  his  spirit  knew 

The  kindlings  of  disdain  and  ire, 
Short  was  ihe  fiifnl  gla^e  they  threw  — 
Like  the  last  t'ashes,  fierce  but  few, 

Seen  through  some  noble  pile  on  fire  ! 

Such  was  the  Angel,  who  now  broke 

The  silence  that  had  come  o'er  all, 
When  he,  the  Spiri'  that  last  spoke, 

Clos'd  the  sad  his'nry  of  his  fall; 
And,  while  a  sacied  lustre,  flown 

For  muiy  a  dav,  relum'd  his  cheek  — 
Beautiful,  as  in  days  of  old; 
And  not  those  eloquent  lips  alone 

But  every  fealuie  seem'd  to  speak  — 
Thus  his  eventful  story  told  ;  — 


SECOND   ANGEL'S   STORY. 

*'  Ynu  both  remember  well  the  day, 

When  unto  Eden's  new-niade  bowers, 
Alia  convok'd  the  bright  array 

Of  his  supreme  anselic  powers. 
To  witness  the  one  wonder  ye', 

Beyond  man,  angel,  star,  or  ^un, 
He  njust  achieve,  ere  he  could  set 

His  seal  upon  the  world,  as  done  — 
To  see  Ihat  last  perfectiim  ri«e. 

That  crowning  of  creation*s  birth, 
When,  mid  the  wnrship  and  surprise 
Of  circling  angels,  Woman's  eyes 

First  open'd  upon  heaven  and  earth ; 


»  The  Kerubiim,  as  the  Mussuln.ans  call  them,  are 
often  joined  indisciimin..tely  wiihihe  Asrafil  or  Sera- 
phim, under  one  common  nante  of  Azazil,  by  which 
all  spirits  who  approach  near  the  throne  of  Alia  are 
designated. 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS, 


367 


sent, 


And  from  their  lids  a  thnll  ^ 
1'hat  thrnueh  each  livin<  apl 
Like  drsX  light  through  Ihe  linnamcot  I 

C^n  you  forget  hnw  pradu:il  stole 
'Jhe  fre>h  avvakeiiM  t)reaih  of  s.ul 
riirouRhoul  her  perft-ci  (>>Tm  —which 


Togro.v  lraii>p;.rtu(, 


£>h> 


TheproKrc^8  of  Uu 


\Uerc  1>L _ 

liii,  and  caught 
h  new  thoughl? 


Diiiipliiig  ila  bright  and  ^letit  face 
Kach  luiiiuie  into  some  iiew  ^race, 

And  varying  hea\eii*s  redeclions  Ihere— 
Or,  like  the  hght  of  evening,  stealing 

o'er  some  f  tir  temple,  which  all  day 
H.tih  slepi  in  shadow,  slow  revealing 

lis  seveial  beauiies.  ray  by  ray, 
Till  It  shines  nu',  a  thing  t-.  bless, 
All  full  of  light  and  loveliness. 

Can  you  forget  Iier  blu  h,  when  round 
Through  Kden's  lone,  enchan  ed  ground 
She  look'd.  and  s.iw,  the  sea  — the  skies- 

And  heard  Ihe  rush  of  many  a  wing, 

On  high  behests  then  vanishing  j 
And  '-aw  the  last  few  angel  eyes, 
Still  lingering  —  mine  aumng  the  rest,— 
iteluctant  leaving  bctnes  bO  bleat  ? 

From  that  miraculous  hour,  the  fate 

Of  this  new,  glorious  Iking  dwelt 
For  ever,  with  a  epell-like  weiglit. 
Upon  my  spirit— early,  late. 

Whate'er  I  did,  or  dre.mi'd,  or  felt. 
The  Ihoughl  of  what  mipht  yel  befall 
That  matchless  creauie  mix'd  «iihall.— 
Nor  she  alone,  but  her  whole  race 

Through  ages  yet  to  come — whatever 

Of  feminine,  and  fond,  and  fair, 
Should  spring  from  thai  pure  mtnd  and  face, 

All  wab'd  my  souPs  iniensest  care  ; 
Their  forms,  souls,  feelings,  still  to  me 
Creation's  strangest  mystery! 

It  was  my  doom  — ev'n  from  the  first, 

When  witnessing  the  primtj  burst 

Of  Nature's  wonders,  I  saw  rise 

Those  bright  creations  in  the  skies, — 

Those  worlds  instinct  with  life  and  ligbt, 

Which  Man,  remoie,  but  sees  by  night,— 

It  was  my  dnom  still  to  be  haunted 
Bv  sonie  new  wonder,  some  sublimft 
And  nialchless  work,  that,  for  the  time 

Held  all  my  snul,  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  awak'd, 
And  which  beomes  or  blest  or  curst, 

As  is  the  fount  whereat  't  is  slak'd  — 
Still  uig'd  me  onward,  with  desire 
Iiidaliae,  to  expl'tre,  inquire  — 
Whaie'er  ihe  wondrous  things  might  be, 
Tbat  vvak'd  each  new  idolatry  — 

Their  cause,  aim,  source,  whence-eversprung- 
Their  inmost  powers  as  though  for  me 

Kxisteiice  ou  that  knowledge  hung. 

Oh  what  a  vision  were  the  stars, 

When  first  i  saw  them  burn  on  high, 

Rolling  along,  l.kc  living  cars 
Of  light,  lor  gods  lo  journey  by  !  i 


«  "C'est  un  fait  indubitable  que  la  plnpart  de 
ciens  philosopbes,  soit  Chaldcens,  soil  Grec,  non 
doDne  les  astres  conirne  aniines.  et  i>nt  souieim  ni 


They  were  mv  heait's  first  passion  — dayt 
And  nights,  unwrarted,  in  their  rays 
Have  I  hung  llnaiii.g.  till  each  sense 
Seem'd  full  of  their  biight  influence. 
Inn- cent  joy  I  alas,  how  much 

Of  misery  had  I  shwnnM  below. 
Could  I  havt-  Mill  livd  hle^t  with  such; 

Nor,  priiud  and  restless,  burn'd  to  know 

The  knowledge  that  brings  guilt  and  woe. 
Often  -  so  much  1  Inv'd  to  irace 
Ttie  secrets  of  this  s'airy  lace  — 
Have  I  at  morn  and  evening  run 
Along  the  lines  of  ladiance  spun 
Like  «eljs,  l-elweeu  tliem  and  the  sun, 
Untwisting  all  the  tangled  ties 
Of  light  into  their  diltV;rent  dyes  — 
Then  fleetly  wjng'd  1  oli",  in  quest 
Of  th  se,  the  farthest,  loneliest, 
That  watch,  like  winking  sen  inels,^ 
The  void,  beyond  which  Chaos  dwells; 
And  there,  with  noiseless  plume,  pursued 
'Iheir  track  through  th^t  grand  solitude, 
Asking  intently  all  and  each 

Wh.l  soul  within  their  radiance  dwelt, 
And  wishing  their  sweet  light  were  speech, 

Thai  they  might  lell  me  all  they  ft;lt. 

Nay,  oft,  so  passiona'e  my  chase 
Of  ihtse  resplendent  hei'S  of  space, 
Oft  did  I  h.llow  — lest  a  ray 

Should  'scape  me  in  Ihe  larlhest  night  — 
Some  pilgnni  Comet,  on  his  way 

'I'd  visit  distant  shrines  of  light, 
And  well  remember  how  I  sung 

Exultingly.  when  on  my  sight 
New  worlds  of  s'ars,  all  fiesh  and  young, 
As  if  Just  boru  of  darkness,  sprung ! 

Such  was  my  pure  ambition  then, 

My  sinless  tr^nspon,  night  and  morn; 
Ere  yet  this  newer  woildof  men. 

And  that  most  fair  of  stars  was  boro 
W'hich  I,  in  fatal  houi,  saw  lise 
Ani(>ng  Ihe  (lowers  of  I'aradise  ! 
TheiiCt  lurih  my  nature  all  was  changed, 

My  heart,  soul,  senses  lurn'd  below  ; 
And  he,  who  but  so  lately  langd 

Voii  wonderful  expanse,  where  glnvir 
Worlds  upon  worlds, — yel  found  his  mind 
Ev'n  in  that  luminous  range  conhn'd,— 
Now  blest  the  humblest,  meanest  sod 
Of  Ihe  dark  earth  where  \V(»man  Irod  1 
111  vain  my  former  idols  glis'eiiM 

from  their  far  ihrunes  ;  ui  vain  these  ears 
To  the  once-tlirillihg  mu.ic  listen'd, 

That  hymnd  around  my  f^vuuiiie  spheres  — 
To  earth,  loeirth  each  thonght  « as  given, 

Ihat  m  thi>  hatf-lost  sout  li.<d  birih; 
Like  snnie  high  mount,  who-e  he.<d  *s  in  heaven. 

While  its  win  le  shadow  rests  on  earth  1 


astrea,  qui  nous  eclairent  n'e^oient  que,  ou  les  chars, 
ou  nieme  les  naviies  des  Inielligences  qui  les  cnndni- 
soient.  I'our  les  Chars,  cela  se  lit  parti'ut ;  on  ii'a 
qu'ouvrir  Mine.  Sr,  Clement,  &c  &c. — Memoire  His- 
toriquc.  sur  le  Sabiisme,  pir  M.  Fourniont. 

A  belief  Ihat  the  s;ar>  are  either  spirila  or  the  vehi- 
cles of  spirits,  was  common  to  all  ihe  religions  and 
heresies  of  Ihe  East,  Kircher  hai  given  'he  names 
and  stations  of  ihe  seven  ^i  channels,  who  were  by  the 
Cabala  of  the  Jews  di=tnbi.ted  through  the  pl.inels. 

^  According  lo  the  rosmognny  of  the  ai  cient  Per- 
sians, there  were  fuur  stars  4et  as  sentinels  in  the  fnur 
qn.irlersofthe  heavens,  to  waich  I'vei  the  other  fixed 
stars,  and  ^upel  intend  the  planets  in  their  course. 
The  names  of  these  four  senliuel  stars  are,  acc-rding 
lo  the  Boundesh,  Taschler,  for  the  east;  Satevis,  tor 
St ;  Venand,  for  the  south ;  and  Hatlorang,  for 


nth. 


Tses 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


Nor  was  it  Lnve,  ev'n  yet,  tliat  thrall'd 

My  spirit  in  his  luirniiig  ties; 
And  less,  still  lea-  could  i'  be  c.<II'd 

'Ihal  grosser  tianie.  round  "  liioh  Love  flies 

Nearer  and  nearer,  tjl  he  die-  — 
No,  it  i>a.  wonder,  such  as  Ihiiird 

At  all  God's  ivorks  my  dazzled  seme; 
The  same  rapt  ivondei,  only  hlld 

Wiih  pission.  more  piof  und,  intense, — 
A  vchenielil,  hut  w.tiideling  fire, 
Wlucl),  ihough  nor  love,  i.or  \et  desire, — 
Though  through  all  womankind  it  took 

lis  range,  as  t.iwless  lightnings  run, 
Vet  wanted  but  a  touch,  a  look, 

To  iix  it  burning  upon  One. 

Then,  too,  the  ever-re*tless  zeal, 

The'  insatiate  cunosiiy 
To  know  how  sliapes,  so  fair,  must  feel — 
To  look,  but  once,  beneath  the  seal 

or  so  much  loveliness,  and  see 
What  souls  Ijelong'd  to  sucli  bright  eyes  — 

Whether,  as  s  j'lj-beanis  find  their  way 
Into  ihe  gem  that  hidden  lies. 

Those  looks  could  inwaid  turn  their  ray, 
And  ni  .ke  the  soul  as  bright  as  they : 
All  this  inipeli'd  my  anxious  chase. 

And  slill  the  more  I  saw  and  knew 
Of  Woman's  fond,  weak,  coi  quering  race, 

The'  inlenser  still  my  wonder  grew. 

I  had  beheld  their  First,  their  Eve, 

Bom  in  that  splendid  P.iradise, 
Which  sprung  there  scdely  to  receive 

'Ihe  fi  St  light  of  her  waking  eyes. 
1  had  seen  purest  angels  lean 

In  worship  o'er  her  from  above  ; 
And  m^in  —  oh,  yes.  had  envying  seen 

Proud  man  posess'd  of  all  her  love, 

1  saw  their  happiness,  so  brief, 

So  exquisite, —  her  error,  loo. 
That  ejsy  trust,  that  prompt  belief 

In  what  the  warm  heart  wishes  true; 
That  faith  in  words,  when  kiiidlv  s.nid, 
Bv  which  the  whnle  fond  sex  i>  led  — 
Mingled  with  — what  I  durst  not  bl.ime, 

For  'lis  my  nun  —  thai  zeai  to  hiioWy 
Sad,  fatal  zeal,  so  sure  of  woe; 
Which,  though  from  heaven  all  pure  it  came, 
Yet  stain  d,  nji-us'd,  brought  sin  and  shame 

On  her,  on  me,  on  all  below  I 


I  had  seen  this  ;  had  seen  Mati,  arm'd. 

As  his  soul  is,  with  s'rength  and  sense, 
By  her  first  words  to  ruin  ctiariii'd  ; 

His  vaunted  reason's  cold  defence, 
Like  an  ice-barrier  in  the  ray 
Of  melting  summer,  smil'd  away. 
Nay,  stranger  yet,  spite  of  all  this  — 

Though  by  lier  counsels  taught  to  err, 

Thou?h  driv'n  fioiri  Paradise  for  her, 
(And  w.llt  her  —  Ihat,  at  least,  was  bliss,) 
Had  1  not  ireard  him,  ere  he  crost 

1  he  threshold  of  that  earthly  heaven. 
Which  by  her  wildering  smile  he  lost  — 

So  quickly  was  Ihe  wrong  forgiven  !  — 


Had  I  not  heard  him,  as  he  prest 
The  frail,  fund  irembler  to  a  breist 
Which  she  h.ad  doorn'd  to  sin  and  s'rife, 
Call  her  —  ev'n  then  —  his  Life  !  his  Life  I  « 


t  Chavah,  cr,  as  it  is  in  Arabic.  Havah  (Ihe  name 
by  which  Adam  called  the  woman  after  their  trans- 
gression), means  "Life." 


Yes,  such  the  Inve-taught  name,  Iho  first, 

That  ruin  d  Man  to  Woman  gave, 
Ev'n  in  his  oulca-I  h"ur,  when  c"r«t 
By  her  find  wilcheiy,  with  that  worst 

And  e.ri.est  bnon  of  love,  Ihe  grave! 
She,  wliO  b  ousht  dei  h  iido  the  world, 

1  here  stood  before  him,  with  the  light 

or  their  lost  Paradise  slill  bright 
Upon  ihnse  sunny  locks,  that  cun'd 
n.iwn  her  while  shoulders  to  her  feet  — 
So  beautiful  in  form,  so  sweet 
Jn  hear!  a..d  voice,  as  to  redeem 

The  loss,  Ihe  dea'h  of  all  things  dear, 
Except  herself  — and  make  it  seem 

Life,  endless  Life,  w  hde  she  was  near  ! 
Could  I  help  wondering  at  a  creature. 

Thus  circled  round  with  spells  so  strong  — 
One,  to  whose  every  thought,  word,  feature, 

In  joy  and  woe,  Ihmugh  right  and  wrong, 
Such  sweet  omnipoience  heaven  gave, 
To  bless  or  ruin,  cmse  or  save? 

Nor  did  Ihe  marvel  cea<e  with  her  — 

New  Eves  in  all  her  daughters  came, 
As  strong  to  charm,  as  weak  lo  err. 

As  sure  of  man  through  prai-e  and  blame, 

Wha'e'er  they  brnugirt  him,  pnde  or  shamt 
He  slill  the'  unrea  ooiiig  wmshiiiper, 

And  they,  throughout  all  tune,  the  sahie 

Enchuitresses  r.r  soul  and  frame, 
Into  uhoe  hands,  from  hist  to  last. 

This  world  with  all  its  destinies, 
Devo'edly  by  heaven  -eeins  cast, 

Tn  save  or  rum,  as  Ihey  please! 
Oh,  'ti-  not  to  he  lolJ  how  long. 

How  restlessly  I  sigh'd  tn  find 
Some  one,  from  out  that  witching  throng. 

Some  abstract  of  the  form  and  mind 
Of  the  whole  matchless  sex,  from  which, 

!n  my  own  arms  beheld,  pnsscst, 
I  might  learn  all  the  po»eis  to  witch. 

To  warm,  and  {if  my  fate  uiibiest 

IV'iuld  have  it)  ruin,  of  the  rest! 
Into  whose  inwaid  snul  and  sense 

I  niigtit  descend,  as  dolh  the  bee 
Into  the  flower's  deep  heart,  and  thence 

KiHe,  in  all  its  purity, 
The  prime,  the  quintessence,  the  whole 
Of  wondrous  Woman's  frame  and  soul  1 


At  length,  my  burning  wish,  my  prayer  — 
(For  such  — oh  what  will  tongues  not  dare. 
When  hearts  go  wrong?  — this  lip  preferr'd)- 
At  length  my  ominous  piayer  was  heard  — 
But  whether  heard  in  heaven  or  hell, 
Listen— and  thou  wilt  know  (oo  well. 

There  was  a  maid,  or  all  who  move 

Like  visions  o'er  this  orb,  most  fit 
To  be  a  bright  young  angel's  lnve, 

Herself  so  bright,  so  exquisi'e  ! 
The  pride,  too,  of  her  step,  as  light 

Airing  the'  unconscious  earth  she  went, 
Seeni'd  that  of  one,  born  "  ith  a  right 

To  walk  some  heav'nlier  element. 
And  tread  in  places  wlieie  her  feet 
A  star  at  every  ste|i  should  meet. 
'T  was  not  aliine  that  loveliness 

By  which  the  wilder'd  sense  is  caught  — 
or  lips,  whose  very  breath  could  bless; 

Of  playful  blushes,  that  scem'd  nought 

But  luiiiinous  escapes  of  thought; 
Of  eyes  that,  "hen  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, 

Dissolfea^ay  in  their  own  flame^ 
Of  form,  as  pliant  as  the  shoots 

Of  a  young  tree,  in  vernal  flower  ; 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


369 


Yet  round  and  glnwing  as  the  fruits. 

That  drop  from  it  lu  summer's  huur; — 
T  was  not  alone  this  loveliness 

That  falls  lo  loveliest  women's  sh^^re, 

TliouH;h,  even  here,  her  furm  could  spare 
From  its  own  beauty's  rich  excess 

Enough  to  make  ev'n  them  more  fair  — 
But  Uwas  the  Mind,  outshining  clear 
Through  her  whole  frame— the  soul,  still  oear, 
To  light  each  charm,  yet  independent 

Of  what  it  lighteJ,  as  the  sun 
That  shines  on  (lowers,  would  be  resplendent 

Were  there  no  flowers  to  shine  upon  — 
»T  "as  this,  all  this,  in  one  comhinM — 

The'  unnumberM  looks  and  arts  that  form 
The  glory  of  joung  wnnian-kind, 

Taken,  in  their  j)erfecti.>n,  w.irm, 

Kre  time  had  chilPd  a  single  charm. 
And  stauip'd  with  such  a  seal  of  Mind, 

As  g^ve  lo  beauties,  that  might  be 
Too  HiMisual  else,  too  uuretiri'J, 

The  impress  of  Diviui  y  ! 

»Twas  this— a  union,  which  the  hand 

Of  Nature  kept  fur  her  alone, 
Of  every  thing  mo»l  playlul,  blandy 
Voluptuous,  spirifual,  gr.tiid, 

In  angeUnalures  nnd  her  own  — 
Oh  this  it  was  that  drew  me  nigh 
Oup,  who  seem'd  kin  to  heaven  as  I, 
A  bright  twin-sister  from  on  high  — 
On**,  in  whose  love,  I  felt,  weie  given 

The  niix'd  ddiglrs  of  eiiher  sphere, 
All  that  the  spirit  sreks  in  heaven, 

And  all  the  sen&es  burn  fur  here. 

Had  we— but  hold  —  hear  every  pirt 

Of  our  sad  lale  — ipiie  of  the  pain 
Remembrance  »ives,  when  'lie  fix'd  dart 

is  stirr'd  thus  in  the  wound  again  — 
Hear  every  step,  so  full  of  bliss, 

And  \ei  so  ri.tnons,  that  led 
Down  to  the  last,  duk  prtcipice, 

Where  perish'd  both— the  falPn,  the  deadi 

From  the  first  hour  she  caught  my  sight^ 
I  never  left  her  -  d  »y  and  night 
Hovering  unseen  around  her  uay, 

And  'mid  her  loneliest  musings  near, 
I  so  .n  could  track  each  though'  liial  lav, 

GKaiiiing  wirhin  her  heart,  as  clear 

As  i>ebble>  within  brooks  appear; 
And  tiiere,  among  ihe  countless  Ihinga 

Thit  keep  young  hearts  for  ever  glowing, 
Vaiiue  wishes,  fond  iniaginiig:*, 

Love-dieanis.  as  yet  no  ohjed  knowing  — 
Li^ht,  wiiigtd  hopes,  thai  come  vx  hen  bid, 

And  rainbow  j  ys  Ih-tt  end  in  weeping; 
And  passi'ins,  among  pure  though's  hid, 

Like  serpents  under  (iow'rt-is  sleeping: 
'Mongall  thtse  feelings  —  felt  where'er 
Young  heart>  are  beating—  I  saw  tliere 
Proud  thoughts,  aspjnngs  high  —  beyond 
Whate'er  yet  dwelt  in  suul  so  fond  — 
Glimp-es  of  glory,  far  away 

Into  the  bright,  vague  future  given  ; 
And  fancies,  free  and  grand,  whose  play, 

Like  that  of  eaglets,  is  near  heaven  ! 
With  this,  t,)o— Vhat  a  (.oul  and  heart 
To  fall  beneath  the  lemptei's  art !  — 
A  zeal  for  knowledge,  such  is  ne'er 
Enshrin'd  itself  infoim  so  fair. 
Since  thai  fust,  fatal  hour,  when  Eve, 

Wiih  every  fruir  of  Eden  bleit, 
Save  one  alone—  rather  'han  leave 

Thai  07ie  unreach'd,  lost  all  the  rest. 

It  was  in  dreams  that  (jrst  I  stole 

With  gentle  maslery  o'er  her  mind  — 


In  that  rich  twilight  of  the  soul, 

When  reason'^  beam,  half  hid  behind 
The  clouds  of  sleep,  obscurely  gilds 
Each  slnd.wy  shape  ihe  Fancy  builds  — 
'T  was  then,  by  that  soft  light,  I  brought 

Vague,  glimmering  visions  to  her  view;  — 
Cliches  of  r^.diaiice,  lost  when  caught, 
Brighi  labyrinths,  that  led  lo  nought, 

And  vistas,  wiih  n'^  pathway  through  ;  — 
Dwellings  of  bliss,  that  opening  shone, 

Then  clos'd,  d.ssolv'd,  and  left  no  trace  — 
All  that,  in  ^hnrt,  could  tempt  Hope  on, 

hut  give  her  wing  no  resing-place  ; 
M\self  ttie  while,  with  brow,  as  yet. 
Pure  .IS  the  young  moon's  coronet. 
Through  eveiy  dieam  still  in  her  sight, 

The'  enchanierof  each  mocking  scene, 
Who  gave  ihe  hope,  then  brought  the  blight, 
Who  said,  "Behold  yon  world  of  light," 

Then  sudden  diopt  a  veil  between ! 

At  length,  when  I  perceiv'd  each  thought, 
Waking  or  sleepir^g,  fix  d  on  nought 

But  these  illusive  scenes,  and  me  — 
The  phantom,  who  thus  came  and  went, 
In  half  revealment!^,  only  meant 

To  madden  curiosity  — 
When  by  such  vinous  arts  I  found 
Her  fancy  to  its  utnmst  won  d, 
One  night  — 't  was  in  a  hnly  ^pot, 
Which  she  for  pray'i  had  chos'ii  — a  grot 
Of  purest  marble,  built  below 
Her  garden  beds,  through  which  a  glow 
From  lamps  invr-ible  then  stole. 

Brightly  pervading  all  the  place  — 
Like  ttiat  nnsieri.  us  light  itie  S'>ul. 

Itself  unseen,  shed^  through  the  face. 
There,  at  her  altar  while  she  knelt, 
And  all  that  wuman  ever  felt. 

When  God  and  man  both  cbim'd  her  sighs  — 
Every  warm  thought,  that  ever  d»  ell, 

Lik-e  summer  clouds,  'twixt  earth  and  skies. 

Too  pure  to  fall,  too  gross  lo  rise, 

Spoke  in  her  gestures,  tones,  and  eyes- 
Then,  as  Ihe  mvbtic  hghfs  soft  ray 
Grew  softer  stiM,  as  tho'  its  ray 
Was  breath'd  from  her,  1  heard  her  say  :  — 

*'  Oh  idol  of  my  dreams!  whate'er 
*'  Thy  nature  be  —  human,  divine, 

"Or  but  half  heav'nly  —  sliil  loo  fair, 
**  Too  heavenly  to  be  ever  mine  1 

<*  Wonderful  Spirit,  who  dnst  make 
•'Slumber  so  lovety.  that  it  seems 

"No  longer  life  to  live  awake, 

'* Since  heaven  itself  descends  in  dreams, 

**  Why  do  I  ever  lose  thee  ?  why 

"  When  01)  thy  realms  and  tltee  I  ga/e 

"Slill  drop>  thai  veil,  which  I  conMdie, 
"  Oh  gladlj ,  but  one  hour  lo  raise  ? 

"  Long  ere  such  miracles  as  thou 

"And  thine  came  o'er  my  thoughts,  a  thirst 
*'  For  light  xvas  in  this  soul,  which  now 

"  I'by  looks  have  into  passion  nurs'd. 

"  There 's  nothing  bright  abire,  below, 
•Mil  sky  — earth  — ocean,  that  this  breast 

**  Doth  not  intensely  burn  to  know. 

*'  And  thee,  thee,  thee,  «'er  all  the  rest  I 

"Then  come  oh  Spirit,  from  behind 
*'  The  curtains  of  thy  radiant  home, 

*'  If  thon  wouhl'st  be  as  angel  shriu'd, 
*•  Or  lov'd  and  clas[)'d  as  mortal,  comet 


370 


THE   LOVES    OF    THE   ANGELS, 


"  Brinj  all  lliv  dnzzlinj  w  mders  here, 
"Thai  1  ruay,  waking,  know  and  see; 

<•  Or  waft  ine  hence  to  thy  own  sphere, 
*'  Thy  heaven,  or  —  ay,  even  that  with  Ihee . 

•'  Deninn  or  Ood,  who  hold's!  the  book 

"Of  knowlalBC  spreidbeneatli  thine  eye, 

"  Give  me,  with  Ihee,  bul  one  bright  look 
"  Into  its  leaves,  and  let  nie  die ! 

**By  those  ethereal  wings,  whose  way 
"  Lies  IhrouKh  an  element,  sn  fr:iught 

"  Wilh  living  Mind,  Ihat,  as  they  pl.iy, 
'*  Then  every  movenient  is  a  thought  I 

"  By  that  bright,  wreathed  hnir,  between 
"  Whose  sunny  clusters  ihe  sweet  wind 

"Of  Paradise  so  laie  hath  been, 
"And  left  its  fragrant  soul  behind  ! 

"  By  Ihose  impassion'd  eyes,  that  melt 
"Their  lighi  into  the  inmost  heart; 

"  Like  iunsel  in  Ihe  waters,  felt 
"As  molten  fire  through  every  part  — 

'•  I  do  implore  thee,  oh  most  bright 
"And  worshipp'd  Spirit,  shine  but  o'er 

**Mv  waking,  wondering  eyes  ihis  night, 
"  This  one  blest  night  —  1  ask  no  more !" 

Enhausled,  breathless,  as  she  said 
These  burning  words,  her  languid  head 
Upon  Ihe  altar's  steps  she  cast, 
As  if  thai  braiu-thiob  weie  iis  last  — 

Till^  startled  by  the  breathing,  nigh, 
Of  lips,  that  echoed  back  her  sigh, 
Sudden  her  brow  again  she  rais'd  ; 

And  there,  just  lighted  on  tiie  shrine, 
Beheld  me  — not  .is  1  had  blaz'd 

Around  her,  full  of  light  divine, 
In  her  late  dreams,  but  soften'd  down 
Into  more  mortal  grace  ; —  my  crown 
Of  flowers,  too  radiant  for  this  world, 

Lefi  hanging  on  yon  slarry  steep  ; 
My  wings  sliut  up,  like  banners  furl'd. 

When  Fence  halh  put  their  ponip  to  sleep; 

Or  like  autumnal  clouds,  th^t  keep 
Their  lightnings  sheaih'd,  rather  than  mar 
Ihe  dawning  hour  of  some  young  star; 
And  nothing  left,  but  what  besecm'd 

The'  accessible,  though  glorious  male 
Of  mortal  woman  —  whose  eyes  beam'd 

Back  upon  hers,  as  passionate  ; 
Whose  ready  heart  brought  flame  for  flime, 
Whose  sin,  whose  madness  was  the  same; 
And  whose  soul  lost,  in  that  one  hour, 

For  her  and  for  her  love  —  cih  more 
Of  heaven's  light  than  ev'n  tlie  power 

Of  heav'n  iiself  could  now  restore! 

And  ye',  that  hour!" 

The  Spirit  here 

Stnpp'd  in  his  ulterance,  as  if  words 
Gave  way  beneath  the  wild  caieer 

Of  his  then  rushing  thoughts —  like  chords, 
Midway  in  s>me  entliusiasi's  song, 
Bie.iking  biMieath  a  touch  too  s'rong ; 
While  Ihe  clei.ch'd  hand  upon  Ihe  biow 
Told  how  remembrance  throbb'd  there  now  I 
But  soon  't  was  o'er  —  that  casual  blaze 
From  the  Slink  fire  of  o'her  days  — 
That  relic  of  a  flame,  whose  burning 

Had  been  too  fierce  to  be  reluin'd, 
Soon  paas'd  away,  and  the  youih,  lurnin; 

To  bis  bright  "listeners,  Ihus  re'um'a  :  — 


"  Days,  months  elaps'd,  and,  though  what  mott 

On  earth  I  -igh'd  for  was  mine,  all  — 
Yet  —  was  I  happy  ?     God,  thou  know'st, 
llowe'er  tliey  smile,  and  feign,  and  boast, 

Wliat  haiipiness  is  theirs,  who  fall  ! 
'T  was  bilteiest  anguish  —  made  mure  keen 
Kv'n  by  tlie  love,  the  bliss  between 
Whose  throbs  it  came,  like  pleams  of  hell 

In  agonizing  cioss-light  given 
Athwait  the  glimpses,  they  who  dwell 

In  iiurgatory  t  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,  blooniing  Lilis  blest. 
She,  the  fair  fountain  of  all  ill 

To  my  lost  soul  —  wlioni  yet  ila  thirst 
Fervidly  panted  after  still. 

And  found  the  chatni  fresh  as  at  firs!  — 
To  see  her  happy—  to  rellect 

Whatever  beams  still  round  me  play'd 
Of  former  pride,  of  glory  wreck'd, 
On  her,  my  Moon,  whose  light  1  made, 
And  whose  soul  worshipp'd  ev'n  my  shade  — 
This  was,  I  own,  enjoyment  —  Ihis 
My  sole,  last  lingeiing  glimpse  of  bliss. 
And  proud  she  was,  fair,  creature  !  — proud. 

Beyond  what  ev'n  most  queenly  stirs 
In  woman's  heart,  nor  would  have  bow'd 

That  beauuful  young  biow  of  hers 
To  aught  beneath  the  First  above. 
So  high  she  deem'd  her  Cherub's  love! 

Then,  loo,  that  passion,  hourly  growing 

Stronger  and  stronger— to  which  even 
Her  love,  at  limes,  gave  way  —of  knowing 
Every  thing  strange  in  earth  and  lieaven; 
Not  onlv  all  that,  full  reveal'd, 

1  he'  eternal  Alia  loves  to  show, 
But  all  that  He  halh  wisely  seal'd 

Jn  darkness,  for  man  »io(  to  know  — 
Ev'n  this  desire,  alas,  ill-slarr'd 
And  fatal  as  it  was,  I  sought 
To  feed  each  minute,  and  unbarr'd 

Such  realms  of  wonder  on  her  thought, 
As  ne'er,  till  then,  had  let  their  light 
Escape  on  any  mortal's  sight! 
In  the  deep  earth  —  beneath  the  sea  — 

Through  caves  of  fire— Itirough  wilds  of  air- 
Wherever  sleeping  Mystery 

Had  spread  her  curtain,  we  were  there — 
Love  still  beside  w,  as  we  went, 
At  home  in  each  new  element, 
And  sure  of  worship  every  where! 

Then  first  was  Nature  laught  to  lay 
The  wealih  of  all  her  kingdoms  down 

At  woniai,'s  worshipp'd  feet,  and  say, 
"  Bright  creature,  this  is  all  thine  own  !" 

Then  first  were  diamonds,  from  the  night,t» 

Of  eartli's  deep  centre  brought  to  light. 


•  Called  by  the  Mussulmans  Al  Araf— a  sort  of 
wall  or  parli'ion  w  hich,  according  to  the  7lh  chapter 
(f  Ihe  Koian,  sejiaraies  hell  fiom  paradise,  and  « here 
thev,  who  have  not  merits  sullic  ent  to  gain  them  im- 
mediate admittance  iulo  heaven,  aie  supposed  to 
stand  for  a  cerliin  period,  illernalely  lanialized  and 
toimenled  by  the  sights  that  are  on  cillier  side  pre- 
sci  ted  to  them. 

Manes,  who  borrowed  in  many  instances  from  the 
Pl.,louists,  placed  his  purgatories,  or  places  of  purifi- 
cation, in  Ihe  Sun  and  Moon.  —  htaitsohre^  liv.  iii. 
cli.ip.  8. 

ti  ''  Qnelques  gnomes  desireux  de  devenir  immor- 
tels,  avoient  voulu  gagner  les  honneo  graces  des  nos 
filles,  et  leur  avoient  apporte  des  pierreries  dont  iU 
Bont  gardiens  naturels :  el  ces  auteurs  ont  cm,  s'ap- 
p  .yans  sur  le  livre  d'Enoch  mal  eniendu,  que  c'etoient 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


371 


And  made  to  grace  the  conquering  way 
Of  proud  youiit;  beauty  with  their  ray. 
Then,  ton,  ilie  pearl  from  out  its  shell 

UnsJKhlly,  in  ihe  sunless  st-a, 
(As  H  Wfie  a  .spii  il.  lorcM  lo  dwell 

Jti  fimii  unlnv.  iv)  was  set  free, 
AikI  n.niKi  ti.e  r.fck  of  woni;»n  threw 
A  lit;hi  ii  k-nt  ami  borro^^'d  too. 
I'lir  nuvcrdid  iftis  maid  —  whate'er 

Tlie»  ambition  of  Iht^  hour—  forget 
Her  sex^3  pride  in  being  fair; 
Nor  that  aduriunent,  laslelul,  rare, 
Which  makes  the  mi^hiy  magnet,  set 
III  Woman's  form,  more  mighty  yet. 
Nor  was  ihure  aught  willii.i  Ihe  range 


Of  1 


lit  ' 


Of  beai.tiful,  or  grand,  or  siringe, 
Thai,  quickly  as  her  wish  could  change, 

I  did  not  seek,  with  such  foiid  care. 
That  when  I  've  seen  her  look  above 

At  some  bright  star  admiringly, 
1  *ve  said,  •'  Nay,  |nnk  not  itiere,  my  lov«,> 

Alas,  1  cannot  give  it  thee  V* 

But  not  alone  the  wonders  found 

Through  N;iture's  realm  —  the'  unveil'd,  ma- 
terial, 
Visible  glories,  that  abound, 
Through  all  her  vast,  enchanted  ground  — 

Hut  whatsoe'er  UMseen.  ethereal, 
Dwells  faraway  from  hunian  sense, 
Wrapp'd  in  its  own  intelligence  — 
The  mystery  of  that  Fountain-head, 

From  which  all  vi'al  spirit  runs. 
AH  breath  of  Life,  where'er  'tis  spread 

Through  nien  or  vigels,  flowers  or  sunt  — 
The  workings  of  the'  Aln.ighiy  Mind, 
When  first  o'er  Chios  he  design'd 
The  outlines  of  this  world  ;  and  through 

That  depth  of  darkness—  like  the  bow, 
Call'd  out  of  rain-chiuds,  hue  by  hue»  — 

Saw  the  grand,  gradual  picture  grow  ;  — 
The  covenant  with  human  kind 

Hy  Alia  made  3  _  the  chains  of  Fate 
He  round  himself  and  them  hath  twin'd, 

I'lll  his  high  task  he  consummate  ; — 

Till  good  from  evil,  love  from  hale, 
Shall  be  worked  out  through  sin  and  pain. 
And  Fate  shall  louse  her  iron  chain, 
And  all  be  free,  be  bright  again  I 

Such  were  the  deep-drawn  mysteriea, 
And  some,  ev'n  more  obscure,  profound, 

And  wildering  lo  the  mind  Ihui  these. 

Which—  far  as  woman's  thought  could  sound, 


des  pieges  que  les  aagea  amnureux,"  &c.  &c— Comfe 
d£  (Jabalis. 

As  the  fiction  of  the  loves  of  angels  with  women 
gave  birth  to  the  fanciful  world  of  sylphs  and  gnomes, 
so  we  owe  to  it  also  the  invention  of  those  beautiful 
Genii  and  Peris,  which  embellish  so  much  the  my- 
thology of  Ihe  East  J  for  in  the  fabulous  histoiies  of 
Caioumarath,  of  Thamurath,  &c.,  these  spiritual  crea- 
lures  are  always  represented  as  the  descendants  of 
Seth,  and  called  Ihe  Bani  Algiann,  or  children  of 
Giann. 

I  I  am  aware  that  this  happy  saying  of  Lord  Albe- 
marle's loses  much  of  its  grace  and  playfulness,  by 
being  put  into  the  mouth  cf  any  but  a  human  lover. 

a  According  to  Whilelmrsi's  theory,  the  mention  of 
rainbows  by  an  antediluvian  angel  \^  an  anachronism  ; 
as  he  sayv,  "There  \va(<  no  ram  before  'he  flood,  and 
consequently  no  ralnlow,  which  accounts  for  the 
novelty  of  this  sight  after  the  Deluge." 

3  For  the  terms  of  this  compact,  of  which  the 
angels  were  supposed  to  be  witnesses,  see  the  chapter 
of  Ihe  Koran,  entiHed  Al  Araf,  and  the  article 
"Adam"  in  D'Herbelot. 


Or  a  fall'n,  outlaw'd  spirit  reach  — 
She  dar'd  lo  learn,  and  I  to  teach. 
Till— fill'd  with  such  unearthly  lore, 

And  mingling  ihe  pure  light  it  bring! 
With  much  thai  fmcy  had,  before, 

Shed  lit  filse,  tinted  glimmerings-- 
The'  cutltu^iast  gni  spoke  out,  as  one 

Ihspii'd,  arimiig  her  own  dark  race, 
Who  from  their  aitcienl  shrmea  would  run, 
Leaving  their  h'  ly  rites  undone. 

To  gaze  upon  her  holier  face. 
And,  th'^ugh  but  wild  the  things  nhe  spoke. 
Vet,  mid  that  pl.y  of  error's  sunke 

Into  fair  shapes  by  fancy  curl'd. 
Some  gleams  of  pure  religion  broke- 
Glimpses,  that  have  n"t  jel  awoke, 

But  siartled  the  slil  I  dreaming  world  ! 
Oh,  many  a  truth,  reii'Ote,  sublime, 

Which  Heav'n  wouhl  f.om  the  minds  of  meo 
Have  kept  conceal'd,  till  its  own  time, 

Stole  out  in  these  revealments  then  — 
Revealments  dim,  that  have  fore-run, 
By  ages,  the  great,  Sealing  One  1  * 
Like  that  imperfect  dawn,  or  light* 

Escaping  from  the  zodiac's  signs, 
Which  makes  the  doubtful  east  half  bright, 

Before  the  real  nioruing  shines  1 

Thus  did  some  moons  of  bliss  go  by— 

Of  bliss  to  her,  who  saw  but  love 
And  knowledge  throughout  earth  and  sky: 
To  whose  enamour'd  soul  and  eye, 
I  seeui'd  — as  is  the  s-uii  on  high" — 

'Ihe  light  of  all  below,  above. 
The  spirit  of  sea,  and  land,  and  air, 
Whose  influence,  felt  everywhere, 
Spread  from  its  centre,  heroun  heart, 
Ev'n  to  the  world's  extreme  t  part  j 
While  thiough  that  woild  her  reinless  mind 

Had  now  career'd  so  fis'  and  far, 
That  earth  itself  seem'd  left  behind. 
And  her  proud  fancy,  nncnnfin'd. 

Already  saw  Heaven's  galea  ajar! 

Happy  enthusiast  1  still,  oh,  fitill 
Spile  of  my  own  heart's  mortal  chiU, 
Spite  of  that  double-frunted  sorrow, 

Which  looks  at  once  before  and  back, 
Beholds  the  yes'eiday,  the  morrow. 

And  sees  both  comtortless,  both  black  — 
Spite  of  all  Ihis,  I  could  have  still 
In  her  delight  forgot  all  ill ; 
Or,  if  pain  wtmldxvii  be  forgot. 
At  least  liare  borne  aud  murmurM  not. 
When  thoughts  of  an  oHcnded  heaven. 

Of  sinfulness,  which  I  —  ev'n  I. 
While  down  its  sleep  mn,t  headlong  driven  — 
Well  knew  could  never  be  forgiven, 

Came  o'er  me  with  an  agony 
Beyond  alt  reach  'f  mortal  woe  — 
A  tortute  kept  for  those  tvho  knovp, 
Kpow  eoery  thing,  and  —  worst  of  all  — 
Know  and  love  Virtue  while  they  fall  I 
Ev'n  then,  her  presence  had  the  power 

To  soothe,  to  warm  —  nay,  ev'u  to  blesi  — 
If  ever  bliss  could  graft  its  flower 

On  stem  so  full  of  billerness  — 
Ev'n  then  her  glorious  smile  to  me 

Brought  warmth  and  radiance,  if  not  balm  j 
Like  moonlight  o'er  a  troubled  sea. 

Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 

Oft,  too,  when  that  dishpartening  fear. 
Which  all  who  love,  beneath  yon  sky, 


<  In  acknowledging  the  authority  of  Ihe  great  Pro 
pheis  who  had  preceded  him,  Mahomet  represented 
his  own  mission  as  the  final  **  Sea/,'*  or  consummation 
of  them  all. 

*  The  Zodiacal  Light 


372 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


Feel^  when  thev  ^ze  on  what  is  dear  — 

The  dreadful  ilioiieht  thai  it  must  diel 
That  desoUiirtg  thought,  which  cnines 
Into  men*s  happiest  hnurs  and  homes  j 
Whose  nit'l.uich  ly  boding  flings 
Death's  shadow  o'er  the  brightest  things, 
Sicklies  the  infant's  bh'Oni,  and  spreads 
The  erave  bC'  ettli  young  lovers'  heads  1 
Thistar,  so  sad  m  all  -  to  me 

Mos-  tiill  of  sadness,  from  the  thought 
That  I  must  ^tiII  live  on,3  wheu  she 
Would,  lik.'  the  ^n<tw  ili:it  on  ihe  sea 

Fell  yeserday,  la  vain  be  sought: 
Thnt  henveri  tome  lliis  final  seal 

Of  all  earth's  sorrow  would  deny, 
And  I  e'ernally  uiusl  feel 

'I  he  death-pang,  without  power  lo  diet 
Ev'u  this,  her  fond  endearinenis— fond 
As  ever  cherish'd  the  sweet  b  md 
'Tvvixi  heart  and  he.irt  — could  charm  away  J 
Before  hrr  |<.nk  no  clouds  would  slay, 
Or,  if  Uiey  did,  iheir  gloom  w:n  gone, 
Their  darkness  put  a  glury  oa  I 

But  *t  is  not,  't  is  not  for  the  wrong, 
The  s,u\Uy,  lo  be  hippy  long  ; 
And  slie,  too,  now,  had  sunk  withia 
The  shadow  of  hf-r  tempter's  sin, 
Too  deep  for  ev'n  Omnipotence 
Tusna'cb  ihe  fated  victim  thence  t 


Listen,  and,  if  a  tear  there  be 
Left  in  your  hearts,  weep  it  for  me. 

*T  was  on  the  evening  of  a  day, 
Wliich  we  ill  love  had  dreamt  away  j 
In  that  sanie  garden,  where— the  pnde 
Of  seraph  splendour  laid  aside, 
And  those  wings  furl'd,  whnse  oi)en  light 
For  mortal  pa7e  were  else  too  bright  — 
I  first  hid  stood  Iiefore  t.er  sight, 
And  found  m\ self— oh,  ecstasv, 

Which  ev'n  in  pain  I  ne'er  forget  — 
Worshipp'd  as  only  God  should  be. 

And  tov'd  as  never  ntmi  was  yetl 
In  that  >ame  ^.irden  were  we  non. 

Thoughtfully  side  by  side  reclining, 
Her  eves  tuin'd  upward,  and  her  brow 

With  it^  own  silent  fancies  shining. 
It  was  an  evening  bright  and  still 

As  ever  bhtsh'd  on  wi\e  or  bfivver, 
Smiling  from  heaven,  as  if  nought  ill 

Could  happen  in  ^o  swtet  an  hour. 
Yet,  I  remember,  both  crew  s'd 

In  looking  at  th<t  light  — ev'n  she 
Of  heart  so  tresh.  and  brow  bo  glad, 

Feh  the  still  hour's  solemnity, 
And  thought  she  saw,  in  that  repose. 

The  death-hour  not  alone  of  liahi, 
But  of  this  whole  fair  world  — the  close 

Of  all  things  beautiful  and  bright  — 
The  last,  grand  ^un■et,  in  whose'ray 
^Jature  her?elf  died  calm  away  1 

At  length,  as  though  some  livelier  thought 
Had  suddenly  her  fancy  caught, 
She  turn'd  upon  me  her  dark  eyes, 

Dil.i'ed  into  thai  full  shape 
They  look  in  jnv,  recrnach.  surprise. 

As  't  were  to  let  more  soul  escape. 
And,  pla>fully  as  <>n  my  head 
Her  while  hand  resitd,  smird  and  said :  — 


I  Pococke,  however,  gives  it  as  (he  opinion  of  the 
Mahometan  doctors,  that  all  souls,  not  only  of  men 
ftiid  of  animals,  living  either  on  lirid  or  in  Ihe  sea,  but 
of  the  angeU  also,  must  necessarily  taste  of  death. 


**  1  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee, 
**  Resembling  those  divine  ones,  given, 

"Like  preludes  to  sweet  minstrelsy, 

**  Before  thou  cam'st,  thyself,  from  beaveo. 

**  The  same  rich  wreath  was  on  thy  brow, 

"  D.izzliNg  as  .f  of  sarhght  made ; 
«•  And  these  wirgs.  lying  dafkly  now, 
"Like  meteors  round  thee  flash'd  and  playM. 

"Thou  stood'st,  all  bright,  as  in  those  dreams, 

'*A3  if  just  waf'ed  from  above; 
"  Mingling  earth's  warmth  with  heaven's  beams, 

*■  A  creature  to  adore  and  love. 

"Sudden  I  fell  thee  draw  me  near 

"  lo  thy  pure  heart,  where  fondly  plac'd, 

"I  seem'd  within  the  atmosphere 
**  Of  that  exhaling  light  euibrac'd ; 

"And  felt,  methought,  the  ethereal  flamo 
"  Pass  from  thy  purer  soul  to  niinej 

« Till  — oh,  too  blissful  —  I  became, 
**  Like  thee,  alt  spirit,  all  divine  I 

"Say,  why  did  dream  so  blest  come  o'er  me, 
**  If,  now  I  wake,  't  is  faded,  gone  ? 

"When  will  my  Cherub  shine  before  me 
"  Thus  radiant,  as  iu  heaven  be  shone  ? 

"  When  shall  I,  waking,  be  allowM 
*'To  gaze  upon  Ihose  peifect  charms, 

**  And  clasp  thee  once,  without  a  cloud, 
"A  chill  of  earth,  within  these  arms? 

"  Oh  what  a  pride  to  say,  this,  this 

'*  Is  my  own  Angel  —  all  divine, 
**  And  pure,  and  dazzling  as  he  is, 

"  And  fresh  from  heaven — he's  mine,  ht's  mioe  I 

"Think'st  thou,  were  Litis  in  thy  place, 

*'  A  creature  of  yon  lof  y  skies, 
"She  would  have  hid  one  single  grace, 

*'  One  glory  from  her  lover's  eyes  ? 

"No.  no  —  then,  if  thou  tov'st  like  me, 
"Shine  out,  \oung  Spirit,  in  the  blaze 

**0f  thy  most  proud  diviui'y, 
"  Nor  think  thou  >t  wound  (his  mortal  gaze. 

"Too  long  and  oft  I  've  lonk'd  upon 

"Those  ardent  eyes,  ifitense  ev'n  thus — 

"Too  near  the  stais  Ihemsehes  have  gone, 
"  To  fear  aught  grand  or  Itiminous, 

"  Then  doubt  me  not  —  oh,  who  can  say 
**  But  that  this  dream  may  yet  come  true, 

"And  my  blest  spirit  drink  thy  r^y, 
**  Till  It  becomes  all  heavenly  tuo  ? 

"  Let  me  this  once  but  feel  Ihe  flame 
"Of  those  spread  wings,  the  very  pride 

"  Will  change  my  na'uie,  and  ibis  frame 
"  By  the  mere  touch  be  deified  I" 

Thus  spoke  the  maid,  as  one,  not  us'd 
To  be  by  earth  or  heiv'n  refus'd  — 
As  one,  who  knew  her  influence  o'er 

All  creaiures,  wtiatsoe'er  they  were. 
And,  though  to  h'aven  slie  could  noi  soar. 

At  least  would  bring  down  heaven  to  faer. 

Little  did  she,  alas,  or  1  — 

Ev'n  I,  who^e  soul,  but  half-way  3fet 
Imnierg'd  iu  sin's  obscurity 


THE   LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


373 


Was  a«  the  earih  nhercnn  we  lie, 

O'er  tinlf  whose  disk  the  sun  is  set  ^ 
Iril'Ie  did  we  foresee  the  fate, 

The  dreadful  -  how  can  ii  be  tolf.? 
Such  pain,  such  ansruish  to  relate 

Is  o'er  a«;aiii  lo  feci,  behold  1 
But,  ch  'ri;'d  as  '( is,  my  heart  must  speak 
Its  sorrow  ou',  or  it  will  break  ! 
Some  d  'fk  tuis^iviDgs  had.  I  own, 

I'ass'd  for  a  moment  through  my  breast -» 
Feais  (if  some  danger,  v;tgue,  unknown, 

Jo  one,  or  bi'th —  aomelhtng  uiibiest 
To  happen  from  this  proud  request, 
Dnt  soon  these  brxlini^  lancies  fled  ; 

Nor  taw  I  aiighi  that  C"i.ld  forbid 
My  full  revealnient,  save  the  dread 

Of  that  first  d.izzle,  when,  unhid, 
Such  light  should  t»urst  upon  a  lid 
Ne*er  tried  in  heaven  ;  —  and  ev'n  this  glare 
She  might,  by  loveN  own  nursing  care, 
Be»  like  young:  eagles,  taught  lo  bear. 
Fur  well'l  knew,  the  lustre  shed 
From  cherub  wings,  when  proudliest  spread. 
Was,  in  lis  na'ure,  lambent,  pure, 

And  innocent  as  is  the  li^ht 
The  glnw-worni  hangs  out  to  allure 

Her  mate  to  her  green  bnu  er  at  night 
Oft  had  I,  in  the  midair,  swept 
Throiigh  clouds  in  which  (he  lightning  slept, 
As  iii  its  Inir,  ready  to  spring, 
Yei  wak'd  it  not  — thnutih  from  my  wing 
A  thousuid  sparks  fell  gli!lering! 
Ofi  too  when  lound  me  from  above 

The  ft-ailierM  snow,  in  all  its  whiteness, 
Fell,  like  the  mnuliinga  of  heaven's  Dove,»  — 

So  harmle"";,  though  so  full  of  brightness, 
Was  mv  biow's  wreath,  that  it  would  shake 
From  off  its  (lowers  each  downy  flake 
As  delicate,  unmelted,  fair, 
And  cool  as  they  had  lighted  there. 

Nay  ev'n  with  Lilis  —  had  I  not 

Around  her  sleep  alt  radiant  beamed, 
Hung  o'er  her  slunihers,  nor  forgot 

To  kiss  her  eye-lids,  as  she  dream'd  ? 
And  yet,  nt  morn,  from  that  repose. 

Had  she  not  wak'd,  unscafh'd  aricl  bright. 
As  doth  the  pure,  unconscious  rose, 

Though  by  the  fire-fly  kiss'd  all  night? 

Thus  having  —  as,  alas,  deceived 
By  my  sin's  blindness,  tbeliev'd  — 
No  cause  for  dread,  and  those  dark  eyei 

Now  fix'd  uponme,  easerly 
As  though  the'  unlocking  of  the  skies 

Then  waited  but  a  si^n  from  me  — 
How  could  I  pause  ?  how  ev'n  let  fall 

A  word,  a  whisper  that  could  itir 
In  her  proud  heart  a  doubt,  ihat  all 

1  brought  from  heaven  belong'd  lo  her? 

Slow  from  her  side  I  rnse,  while  she 
Arose,  too,  mutely,  tremblingly, 


_>  The  D-ive,  or  pigeon  which  attended  Mahomet  as 
his  Familiar,  and  was  frequently  seen  to  whisper  into 
his  ear,  was,  if  I  recdlecl  right,  one  of  that  select 
number  of  animals  (including  also  the  ant  of  Solomon, 

I  (he  dog  of   the  Seven  Sleepers,  &c.)   which   uere 

I  thought   by   the  Prophet   worthy  of  admission  into 

I  Paradise. 

*'  The  Moslems  have  a  tradition  that  Mahomet  was 

1  saved  (when  he  hid  himself  in  a  cive  Id  Mount  Shur) 
by  bis  pursuers  finding  the  mouili  of  the  Give  covered 
by  a  spider's  wtb,  arid  a  nest  buill  by  two  pigeons  at 
the  entrance,  with  two  egjs  unbroken  in  it,  which 
made  them  think  no  one  could  have  entered  it.  In 
conBeqiieiice  of  this,  tht-y  >ay.  Mahomet  enjoined  his 
followers  to  look  upon  pisrei-us  as  stcred,  and  never  to 
kill  a  spider.*' — Modem  Uiiinirsal  Hufury,  vol.  i. 

32 


But  not  with  fear  —  all  hope,  and  pride| 
She  wailed  for  the  awful  boon, 

Like  priestesses,  at  evemide, 

Watching  the  rise  of  the  full  mooD, 

Whose  light,  »  hen  once  its  orb  hath  sbODei 

'T  will  madden  them  to  look  upon  i 


Of  all  my  glories,  the  bright  crown, 
Which,  when  I  last  from  heaven  came  down. 
Was  left  behind  me,  in  yon  star 
T  hat  shines  from  out  Ihose  clouds  afar, — 
Where,  relic  sad,  't  is  treasur'd  yet. 
The  dowiifall'n  angel's  coronet  1  — 
Of  all  my  glnries,  this  alone 
Was  v\anling;  — but  (lie'  illumin'd  brovf, 
The  sun-bright  I'Cks,  the  eyes  that  now- 
Had  love's  spell  added  to  ilieir  own, 
And  pour'd  a  light  till  then  unknown ;  — 

The'  unfolded  wmgs,  Ihat,  in  their  play. 
Shed  sparkles  bright  as  Alias  throne; 

All  1  Could  bring  of  heaven's  ariay, 

Ol  thai  rich  p.mojdy  of  charms 
A  Cherub  moves  in,  on  the  day 
Of  his  best  pomp,  1  now  put  on  ; 
And,  pruud  thai  iu  iicr  eyes  1  shone 

Thus  glcrious,  glided  lo  her  arm^ ; 
Which  still  (ihou^h,  at  a  sight  so  splendid, 

Her  dazzled  brow  had,  iubt;»nt]y. 
Sunk  on  her  brea:«',J  were  wide  eitetided 

To  cla.sp  the  form  she  durst  not  tee  !  ^ 
Great  Hcav'nl  how  could  thy  vengeance  light 
So  bitterly  on  one  so  bi  ight  ? 
How  could  the  hand,  that  gave  sucli  charms, 
Bl  ist  ihem  again,  in  love's  own  arms  ? 
Scirce  h.id  i  louchd  her  shrinking  (tame, 

When— oh,  most  humble!  — i  felt 
That  every  spark  of  that  pure  fl^me  — 

Pure,  while  am'>ng  the  stars  I  dwelt  — 
Was  now,  by  niy  transgression,  turn'd 
Into  gross,  ear:hly  fire,  which  burn'd, 
Bnrn'd  all  it  touch  d,  as  fast  as  eye 

Could  follow  ihe  fierce,  ravening  flashes: 
Till  there— oh,  God,  1  still  ask  why 
Such  donm  was  hers  ?—  I  saw  her  lie 

lilack'iiing  withm  my  arms  to  ashes  I 
That  brow,  a  glory  but  to  see  — 

'ihose  lifis,  whose  touch  was  what  the  fiist 
Fresh  cup  of  iinmortaliiy 

Is  to  a  new-made  angel's  thirst  I 
Those  clasping  arms,  within  whose  round  — 
My  heart's  horizon  —  the  whole  bnund 
01  its  hope,  prospect,  heaven  was  found  I 
Which,  ev'n  in  this  drt-ad  moment,  fond 

As  when  ihey  first  were  round  me  cast, 
Loos'd  not  in  death  the  fatal  bnnd. 

But,  burning,  held  me  to  the  Ingt ! 
All,  all.  thai,  but  that  morn,  had  seem'd 
As  if  Love's  self  there  breath'd  and  beam'd, 
Nf'w,  paich'd  and  black,  before  me  lay, 
Withering  in  agony  away  ; 
And  mine,  ih,  misery  !  mine  the  ''gme, 
From  which  this  desolation  came  ;  — 
I,  the  curst  spirit,  whose  caress 
Had  blasled  all  that  loveliness  I 


'T  was  n.addeningt— but  now  hear  even  worse- 
Had  deatli,  death  only,  been  the  curse 
1  brought  upon  her  —  had  the  doom 
Bui  ended  here,  when  her  young  bloom 
Lay  in  the  dust  —  and  did  the  spirit 
No  part  of  that  fell  curse  inherit, 
'T  uere  not  so  dreadful  —  but,  come  near  — 
I'l'O  shocking  'l  is  tor  earlh  lo  he.tr  — 


^  '*  Mohammed  (says  Sale),  though  a  yirophet,  wat 
not  able  to  bear  the  siaht  of  Gabriel,  when  he  ap- 
peared in  his  proper  form,  much  less  would  others  be 
able  to  support  it." 


374 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


Ju?t  when  her  ey^s,  in  fading,  look 
Their  las',  keen,  a^onizM  farewell, 
And  lonk'il  in  mine  with  —  <^h,  that  look  ! 
Great  vengeful  Power,  whaie'er  the  boll 
Thou  may  8l  to  liuniati  souls  assign, 
The  meuory  of  that  look  is  mine  1  — 

In  her  last  struggle,  on  my  brow 

Her  ashy  lips  a  kiss  imprest. 
So  withering:—  I  feel  it  now — 

'T  was  hie  —  but  tire,  ev'n  more  unblest 
Than  was  my  own,  and  like  that  flame, 
The  angels  shudder  but  to  name, 
Hell's  e\er!a^tin?t:Ieiin-nt! 

l)ee|),  deep  ji  pierc'd  into  my  brain, 
Madd'iting  and  toi  tuning  as  it  went ; 

And  heie  —  niark  heie,  the  brand,  the  stam 
It  left  upnn  my  fiunt  —  burnt  in 
By  thai  last  kiss  of  love  and  sin  — 
A  brand,  which  all  the  pnnip  and  pride 
Of  a  fallen  Spirit  cannot  hide! 

But  is  it  thus,  dread  Providence  — 

Can  it,  indeed,  be  Ihi/S,  that  she, 
Who,  Cbut  for  mie  proud,  fund  offence.) 

Had  hOTiour'd  heaven  itself,  .should  bo 
Now  dnom'd  —  I  cannot  speak  it—  no, 
Mercitul  Alia!  'tis  not  so  — 
Never  could  lips  divine  have  said 
The  fiat  of  a  fate  so  dread. 
And  yet,  that  bok  —  so  deeply  fraught 

With  more  than  anguish,  wnh  despair  — 
That  new,  fierce  fire,  resembling  nought 

In  heiven  or  earth  —  ibis  scorch  I  bear!  — 
Ob  —  for  the  first  time  that  these  knees 

Have  bent  before  thee  s:nce  my  fall. 
Great  Power,  if  ever  thy  decrees 

Thou  could^st  for  prayer  like  mine  recaH, 
Pardon  that  spirit,  and  on  me, 

On  me,  who  t;>ught  her  pride  to  err, 
Shed  out  each  drop  of  agony 

Thy  burning  phial  keeps  for  her  ! 
See,  too,  wheie  bnv  beside  me  kneel 

Two  other  outcasts,  who,  though  gone 
And  Inst  theniselvts,  yel  dare  lo  feel 

And  prav  for  that  pour  mort'I  one. 
Alas,  too  well,  too  well  they  know 
The  psin.  the  peni'ence,  the  woe 
That  Passion  brings  upon  the  best, 
The  wisest,  and  the  Invetiesl.— 
Oh,  who  is  to  be  savM,  if  such 

Bright,  erring  souls  are  not  forgiven  ; 
So  loth  they  wander,  and  so  much 

Their  very  wanderings  lean  tow'rds  heaveD  I 
Again,  I  c  y,  Just  power,  tr.nsfer 

That  ere  (ure's  suffVrings  all  lomc^ 

Mine,  mine  the  guilt,  the  torment  be, 
To  save  one  minute's  pain  to  her, 

Let  mine  last  all  eternity  !" 

He  paus'd.  and  to  the  earlh  beni  down 

His  throbbing  head  ;  while  they,  who  felt 
That  agony  as  H  were  their  own, 

Thote  angel  youths,  beside  him  knell, 
And,  in  the  night's  still  silence  theie 
While  mourntully  each  wandeiingair 
Play'd  in  those  plumes,  that  nevt.  more 
To  their  lost  home  tn  heav'n  must  soar, 
BreathM  inwardly  the  vuiccles:.  praver, 
Untieard  by  all  but  Mercy's  ear  — 
And  which,  if  Mercv  did  not  hear. 
Oh,  God  would  not  be  what  this  bright 

And  glorious  universe  of  His, 
This  world  of  beauiy,  goodness,  light 

And  eodltss  love  proclaims  He  ist 


Not  Ion*  they  knelt,  when,  from  i  wood 
That  ciown'd  (hat  aiiy  solitude, 


They  heard  a  lo\v,  uncertain  sound, 

As  from  a  lute,  that  Just  had  found 
Some  happy  theme,  and  murmurM  round 
The  new-born  fancy,  wiih  fond  (one, 
Scarce  thinking  aught  so  aweel  its  own! 
Till  soon  a  voice,  that  maich'd  as  well 

1  (tat  genile  instrument,  as  suits 
The  sea-air  to  an  ocean-shell, 

(So  kin  lis  spirit  to  ihe  lute's), 
Treniblmgly  follow'd  the  soft  strain, 
Inlerpretiiig'  its  joy,  its  pain, 

And  lending  Itie  lighi  wings  of  words 
To  many  a  thought,  that  else  had  lain 

Uufledg'd  and  mule  among  the  chords. 

All  started  at  the  sound  —  but  chief 

The  third  young  Angel,  in  whose  face, 
Though  faded  like  the  others,  grief 

Had  left  a  gentler,  holier  trace; 
As  if,  ev'n  yet,  through  pain  and  ill, 
Hope  had  not  fled  him— as  if  still 
Her  precious  pearl,  in  sorrow's  cup, 

Unmelted  at  Ihe  boHom  lay, 
To  shine  again,  when,  all  drunk  up. 

The  bitterness  should  pass  away. 
Chiefly  did  he,  though  in  his  eyes 
There  shone  more  pleasure  ihan  surprise, 
Turn  to  the  wood,  from  whence  that  sound 

Of  soliiary  sweetness  broke  ; 
Then,  listening,  look  delighted  round 

To  his  bright  peers,  while  thus  it  spoka;- 
•*Come,  piay  with  me,  my  seraph  love, 

*'My  augel-Iord,  come  pray  with  mej 
"In  vain  lo-night  my  lip  hath  strove 
•'  To  send  one  hnl\  prayer  above  — 
*'  The  knee  may  bend,  the  lip  may  move, 

"But  pray  I  caniioi,  without  thee! 
<•  I  've  fed  the  altar  in  my  bower 

"  Wiih  droppings  from  the  incense  tree; 
**  I\e  sbelier'd  it  from  wind  and  shower, 
*'  But  dim  it  tiurns  the  livelong  hour, 
*'  As  if,  like  me,  it  had  no  power 

*'  Of  life  or  iublre,  without  thee ! 


*•  A  hoat  at  midnight  sent  alone 

*'  To  drift  upon  Ihj  moonless  sea, 
"A  lute,  whose  leading  chord  is  gone, 
*' A  wounded  bird,  that  hath  but  one 
*'  Imperfect  wing  to  soar  upon, 

*'  Are  tike  what  I  am,  without  thee ! 

•*Then  ne^er,  my  spirit-love,  divide, 
*' In  life  or  death,  thyself  from  me; 

**  But  when  again,  in  bunny  pride, 

"Thou  walk'at  through  Eden,  let  me  glide, 

"A  prostrate  sliadow,  by  thy  side  — 
"Ob  happier  thus  than  without  thee  I" 

The  song  had  ceas'd,  when,  from  the  wood 

Which,  sweeping  down  that  airy  height, 
Reach'd  the  lone  spot  whereon  they  stood  — 

There  suddenly  shone  out  a  light 
From  a  clear  lamp,  which,  as  it  bla:M 
Across  the  brow  of  one,  who  rais'd 
Its  flame  aloft  (as  if  to  throw 
The  light  upon  that  group  below). 
Displayed  two  eyes,  sparkling  birtween 
The  dusky  leaves,  such  as  are  seen 
By  fancy  only,  in  those  faces, 

That  haunt  a  poet's  walk  at  even. 
Looking  from  out  their  leafy  places 

Upon  his  dreams  of  Love  and  heaven. 
'T  was  but  a  innment  —  Ihe  blush,  brought 
O'er  all  her  features  at  Ihe  thought 

Of  beint;  seen  thus,  late,  alone. 
By  any  but  the  eyes  she  sntight. 

Had  scarcely  for  an  instant  shone 

Through  the  dark  leaves,  when  sh»  wm  gooe— 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE   ANGELS. 


375 


Gone,  like  a  meteor  that  o-erhead 
Suddenly  shines,  and.  tre  we  've  ariid, 
"Behold,  how  beauliful  !»»--'t  is  fled. 

Yet,  ere  she  went,  the  words,  "  [  cnme, 
"  I  coniCj  my  Natna,"  reach'd  her  eir 
In  that  kiud  voice,  familiar,  dear, 

Whicli  lella  of  confidence,  of  home, — 
l)f  habii,  that  hath  drawn  hearts  near, 

Till  they  grow  one, —  of  faith  sincere, 

And  all  that  Love  niost  Inves  to  hear; 

A  music,  breathing;  of  tlie  past, 
The  pieseiit  and  the  time  to  he. 

Where  Hnpe  and  Memory,  to  ihe  last, 
Lengtlieii  out  life's  true  naiinoay  I 

Nor  lon^  did  he,  whom  call  bo  kind 
SummouM  away,  remain  behind  ; 
Hot  did  there  need  much  lime  to  tell 

What  they— alas,  more  fall'ii  than  he 
From  happiness  and  heaveD  —  knew  well, 

His  gentler  love's  shoit  history  I 

Thu9  did  il  run  — ?io(  as  he  tnid 

The  tale  himself,  but  as  U  is  gravM 
Upon  the  tablets  thar,  of  old, 

liy  Seih  1  were  from  the  deluge  savM, 
AU  writtt-n  over  willi  sublime 

And  siddening  legends  of  the'  unblest, 
But  glorious  Spirits  of  that  time, 

And  this  yuuug  Angel's  'uioug  the  rest. 


THIRD    ANGEL'S   STORT. 

Amopg  the  Spirits,  of  pure  fl-ime, 

That  in  Ihe'etfrnal  heav'na  abide  — 
Circles  of  light,  that  from  the  ^ame 
Unclouded  centre  sweeping  wide, 
Carry  its  beams  on  every  side  — 
Like  spheres  of  air  rliat  waft  around 
Tlie  undulations  of  rich  sound  — 
Till  Ihe  far-Circling  radiance  be 
Did'us'd  into  infinity  I 
First  and  immediate  near  the  Throne 
Of  Alla,'ias  if  most  his  own, 
The  Seraphs  s'aud  a  —  this  burning  sign 
Trac'd  on  their  banner,  "  Love  Divine  !'* 


*  Seth  is  a  favourite  personage  among  the  Orientals, 
and  acts  a  conspicuous  part  in  many  of  their  most  ex- 
travag.mt  romances.  The  Syrians  pretended  to  have 
a  Testament  of  this  Patriarch  in  their  possession,  in 
which  was  explained  the  whole  theology  of  angels, 
their  dillerent  mders,  &c.  &c.  The  Curds,  too  (as 
Hyde  mentions  in  his  Appendix]  h.ive  a  book,  which 
contains  all  the  rites  of  Iheir  religion,  and  which  they 
call  Sohuph  Shell,  or  the  Book  of  Seth. 

In  Ihe  same  manner  that  Seth  arid  Chim  are  sup' 
posed  to  have  jireserved  these  memorials  of  antedilu- 
vian knnwledge.  Xixuthrus  is  5aid  in  Ctialdsean  fable 
to  have  depnsiled  in  Siparis  the  cily  of  Ihe  Sun,  tho-e 
nionunients  of  science  which  he  had  saved  out  of  ihe 
%vater8of  a  deluge.— See  Jnblonski's  le:irned  remarks 
upon  these  columits  or  tahkts  of  ?elh,  which  he  sup- 
poses to  be  the  same  wiih  the  pillars  of  Mercury,  or 
(he  Egypliau  Ihoth.—rantheon.  Egypt,  lib.  v.  cap.  5. 

^  The  Mussulnnns.says  D'Herbelot.  apply  the  gene- 
ral  name,  Mocanebnun,  to  all  those  Spiiits  '*qui  ap- 
prticliL-nt  le  plus  pres  le  Trone."  Of  ihis  number  are 
Mikail  and  Gebi-ail. 

3  The  Seraphim,  or  Spin's  of  Divine  Ijove, 

There  appears  to  be,  among  writers  on  the  E^st,  a 
well  as  among  the  Orieutals  themselves,  con--ider:ibl 
indecision  with  regard  to  the  rcspecive  claims  o 
Strapliini  and  Cherubim  tn  the  highest  rank  in  th( 
celestial  hierarchy.  The  derivaliorr  which  Hyde  as 
signs  to  the  word  C/icrtt^  seems  to  determine  (he  pre 


Their  rank,  their  honours,  far  above 

Ev'n  those  to  high-brow'd  Cherubs  given, 

Though  knowing  all ;  —  so  much  dolh  Love 
Transcend  all  knowledge,  ev'u  in  beaveul 

'Mong  these  was  Zaraph  once  —  and  nono 

E'er  felt  atfectiou's  holy  fire, 
Or  yearn'd  towards  the'  Eternal  One, 

Willi  half  such  longing,  deep  desire. 
Love  was  to  his  impassion'd  soul 

Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole  — 

The  very  lite-breath  of  his  heart  I 
Oft,  when  from  Alla's  lifted  brow 

A  lustre  canie,  too  bright  to  bear, 
And  all  the  seraph  rank?  would  bow. 

To  shade  their  dazzled  sight,  nor  dare 
To  look  upon  ttic'  eflulgence  there  — 
This  Spirit's  eyes  would  court  tlie  blaze 

(Such  pride  he  iu  adoring  took), 
And  rather  lo-e,  in  that  one  gaze, 

The  power  of  looking,  than  7wi  lookl 
Then  too,  when  aigel  voices  sung 
The  mercy  of  ihe^r  God,  and  strung 
Their  harps  to  hail,  with  welcome  sweet, 

That  moment,  watch'd  for  by  all  e>es, 


Wht 


;  repentant  ( 


!  teet 


First  touch'd  the  Ihreshold  of  the  skies, 

Oh  (hen  liow  clearly  did  the  voice 

Of  Zaraph  above  all  rejoice  ! 

Love  was  in  every  bu"yaiit  tone- 
Such  love,  as  only  could  belong 

To  the  biest  angels,  and  alone 

Could,  ev'u  from  angels,  bring  such  song 

Alas,  that  it  should  e'er  have  been 

In  heav'n  as  'I  is  tdo  often  here, 
Where  nothing  fond  or  brighl  is  seen. 

But  it  halh  pain  and  peril  near;  — 
Where  right  and  wrong  so  close  resemble, 

That  what  we  take  for  viriue's  (brill 
Is  often  the  fir^t  downward  tremble 

Of  the  heart's  b;ilance  unto  ill  ; 
Where  Love  ba'h  not  a  shrine  so  pure, 

Sohuly,  but  Ihe  serpen!,  Sin, 
In  moments,  ev'n  the  most  secure, 

Beneath  bis  altar  may  glide  iu  ! 

So  was  it  with  that  Angel  —  such 

The  charm,  that  slop'd  his  fall  along, 
Froni  good  to  ill,  from  loving  much, 

Too  easy  lapse,  to  loving  wrong. — 
Ev'n  so  that  am'rous  Spirit,  bound 
By  beauiy's  spell,  where'er  't  was  found, 
From  the  bright  things  above  Ihe  moon 

Down  10  earth's  beaming  eyes  descended. 
Till  love  for  (he  Creaior  soon 

In  passion  for  the  creature  ended. 

*T  was  first  at  (wilight,  on  the  shore 
Of  the  smooth  sea,  he  heaid  the  luto 

And  voice  of  her  he  lov'd  steal  o'er 
'I  he  silver  waters,  that  lay  mute. 


cedence  in  favour  of  thai  order  of  spirits:  — **  Che 
bini,  i.  e   Fropiitqui  Ai'geli.  qui  sc.  Deo  pr^prius  qui 
alii  accedunt ;  nam  Chnrab  est  t.  q.  Karob,  appropin* 
quare."    (P.  268.)     Al  Beidawi,  too  one  of  the  com- 
mentators of  the  Koran,  on  that  passage,  "  Ihe  angels, 
who  bear  Ihe  'J  hmne,  and  lliose  who  sfand  about  i(," 
(chap,  x!  )  says,  "These  are  ihe  Cherubim,  Ihe  high- 
est order  of  angels."'   On  the  other  hand,  we  have  seen, 
in  a  preceding  note,  thai  the  Syrians  place  the  splie 
in  which  Ihe  Seraphs  dwell  at  the  very  summit  of  all 
the  celeslial  syslcms ;  and  even,  among  Maliomel 
the  word  Arazit  and  Mocarreboun  (winch  mean  the 
fpiriis  that  stand  nearest  to  the  throne  of  Alia)  r.re  ' 
discriminalely  applied  to  both  Seraphiu  and  Cheru- 
bim. 


376 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


As  lofj,  by  ev'n  a  breath,  tn  slay 
The  pil§riuiaiie  of  ihat  swtet  lay  ; 
Whrse  echoes  fitill  v\ent  on  and  on. 
Till  lost  among  ihe  light  Ihat  shuoe 
Far  otF,  beyond  Ihe  ocean's  brim  — 

There,  where  the  ricli  cascade  of  day 
Had,  o  er  the'  hnnzoi.'s  golden  nni, 

Into  KlysmmrolI'dawHy! 
Of  Gnd  she  snng.  and  of  the  mild 

Ai  end.nt  Mercy,  Ihat  beside 
His  awful  ihrnne  lor  eversinii'd, 

Keady,  wiUi  her  v^  hite  hand,  to  guide 
His  bolis  of  vengeance  to  Ibeir  prey  — 
That  she  niighi  qutnch  them  on  the  way  I 
Of  fe.ce  — of  that  Aioning  Love, 
Upon  who-e  star,  shining  above 
This  twilight  world  of  hupe  and  fear, 

'Jhe  weeping  eyes  of  Faith  are  lix'd 
So  fond,  Ihat  with  her  eveiy  tear 

The  light  of  ihai  love-^la^  is  mix'd  — 
All  ihis  ^he  sung,  and  &uch  a  soul 

Of  pieiy  wa-  in  Ihat  song, 
That  the  charoi'd  Angel,  as  it  stole 

'I'enderly  to  his  ear,  along 
Those  lulling  witcrs  uhere  heliy, 
Waiching  the  daylight's  d\  ing  rav. 
Thought  'I  was  a  voice  from  out  the  wave, 
An  echo,  that  sonie  -ea-nymph  gave 
To  Eden's  disiant  harniouy, 
Heard  faiut  and  sweet  beneath  the  sea! 

Quickly,  however,  lo  its  source, 
'J'racking  that  music's  melting  course, 
He  saw,  upon  the  golden  t-and 
Of  the  sea-shore  a  maiden  siand, 
Before  whose  feet  the'  expiring  waves 

FluDg  their  ia-t  oftering  with  a  sigh  — 
As,  in  the  Last,  exhans:ed  slaves 

Lay  down  the  fai-brought  gift,  and  die  — 
And.  while  her  lute  hung  by  ber,  hush'd, 

As  if  Unequal  to  ihe  tide 
Of  song,  that  trnni  her  lips  still  gush'd, 

bUe  lais'd,  like  one  beatihed. 
Those  eyes,  whoe  tight  st-emd  rather  given 

To  beador'd  than  to  adore  — 
Such  eyes,  as  may  have  look'd  frorn  faeaveOi 

But  ne  er  were  raia'd  to  il  betore! 


Oh,  Lnve,  Religion.  Music  *  —  all 

That  '8  left  of  Eden  upnn  earth  — 
The  only  blessings,  since  the  fall 
Of  our  weak  souls,  thai  shil  recall 

A  trace  of  their  high,  glorions  birth  — 
How  ki.idred  are  the  dreams  you  bring! 

How  Love,  th  ugh  unto  earih  so  prone, 
Pelights  to  lake  ileligion's  wing, 

When  time  or  grief  hath  sfaiu'd  his  own  I 
Ho"'  near  lo  LoveN  beguiling  brink, 

Too<)ft,  enlranc'd  Rehgrnn  hcs! 
While  Music.  Music  is  ihe  link 

They  both  still  hold  by  lo  the  skies, 
The  language  of  their  nitive  sphere, 
Which  they  had  else  forgotten  here. 

How  then  c-uld  Zaraph  fail  to  feel 

That  mnmenl's  witcheries  ?  —  one.  so  fair. 

Breathing  out  music,  that  might  steal 
Heaven  from  ilself,  and  rapt  in  prayer 
Thst  seraphs  might  be  proud  to  share  I 

Oh,  he  did  feel  jr,  all  tno  well  — 

Wiih  warmth,  that  far  too  denrly  cost  — 

Nor  knew  he,  when  at  last  he  fell, 

To  which  attraction,  to  which  spell, 

Love,  Music,  or  Devotion,  most 

His  soul  in  that  sweet  hour  was  lost. 


1  **Le3  Egyptien<t  di-eni  que  la  Mnsique  est  Sc£ut 
dc  to  Religion.''^  —  Voyages  dc  Pulhugurc,  tom.  I.  p. 
422. 


Sweet  was  the  hour,  though  dearly  won, 

And  pure,  as  aught  of  earth  could  be. 
For  then  hist  did  the  glorious  sun 

liefore  religion's  altar  see 
Two  ht-arts  in  wedlock's  golden  tie 
Self-pledg'd.  in  love  to  live  and  die. 
Ble&t  union  !  by  thai  Angel  wove. 

And  worthy  from  such  hands  to  come; 
Safe,  sole  asylum,  in  wliich  Love, 
When  fall'n  or  exii'd  from  above, 

la  this  dark  world  can  lind  a  home. 

And,  though  the  Spirit  had  transgress'd, 
Had,  from"  his  st,Uiun  'mong  tlie  blest 
Won  duuu  by  woman's  smile,  allowM 

Terrestrial  passion  to  bieitheo'er 
The  niirrcr  of  hi^  heart,  and  ch-ud 

God's  image,  there  so  bright  before  — 
Yet  never  did  Ihat  Power  look  dovvn 

On  error  with  a  brow  so  mildj 
Never  did  Justice  «  ear  a  frown. 

Through  which  so  gently  Mercy  smil'd. 
For  humble  wns  their  love  —  with  awe 

And  trembling  like  snnie  treasure  kept, 
That  was  not  theirs  by  holy  law  — 
Whose  beauty  with  remorse  they  saw, 

And  o'er  whose  preciouvness  they  wept. 
Humility,  that  low,  sweel  root, 
From  which  all  heavenly  virtues  ehoot, 
Was  m  the  hearts  of  both  —  but  most 

Id  Nama's  heart,  by  whom  alone 
Those  charms,  for  which  a  heaven  was  lost, 

Seem'd  all  unvalued  and  unknown  j 
And  when  her  Seraph's  eyes  she  c-tught, 

And  hid  hers  glowing  on  hl^  breast, 
Ev'n  bliss  was  humbled  by  Ihe  thought  — 

**  What  claim  have  I  lo  be  so  blest?" 

Still  less  could  maid,  so  meek,  have  nurs'd 
Desire  of  knowledge— thd  vam  Ihirat, 
With  which  the  sex  hath  all  been  curs'd, 
From  luckless  Eve  lo  her,  who  near 
The  Tabernacle  stole  to  he.ir 
The  secrets  nf    he  angels:*  no  — 

To  jiive  as  her  own  Seraph  lov'd, 
With  Fairh.  the  same  through  bliss  and  woe- 
Faith,  that,  were  ev'n  rts  light  remov'd, 
Could,  like  Ihe  dial,  hx'd  remain. 
And  wait  till  il  shone  out  again;  — 
With  Patience  that,  thou-h  often  bow'd 

Ity  (he  rude  storm,  can  rise  anew  ; 
And  Hope  tliaf,  ev'n  from  Evil's  cloud, 

Sees  sunny  Good  hilf  breakii  g  through  1 
This  deep,  reljing  Love,  v^(t^th  more 
In  heaven  than  all  a  Cherub's  lore  — 
This  Faith,  more  sure  ihan  aught  beside, 
Was  the  sole  joy.  amhilii.n,  pride 
Of  her  fond  heart  —  the' unrfasoning  scope 

Of  all  IS  views,  above,  below  — 
So  true  she  felt  it  ih.it  to  hupCy 

To  trusty  is  happier  than  to  know. 

And  thus  in  humbleness  (hey  trod, 
Aba--h'd,  but  pure  before  theit  God; 
Nor  eer  did  earih  behold  a  sight 

So  meekly  beautiful  as  ihey. 
When,  wi'h  the  alur's  holy  light 

Full  on  their  brows,  they  knelt  to  pray, 
Hand  wiihin  hand,  and  side  by  side, 
Two  links  of  love,  awhile  untied 
From  the  great  chain  above,  but  fast 
Holding  together  to  (he  last  1  — 
Two  fallen  Splendor=,3  from  that  tree. 


O  Sara. 

3  An  aiiu=ion  to  the  Sephiroths  or  Splendors  of  the 
Jewish  Cabbala,  repre-emed  as  a  tree,  of  which  God 
is  rhe  crown  or  summit. 

The  Sephiroths  are  the  higher  orders  of  emanative 
being  in  the  strange  and  inconipr<.heiiMble  system  of 


THE    LOVES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


377 


Which  buds  wiih  such  eternally, » 
Shaken  l>  eirlh,  yet  keeping  all 
T  jeir  jighl  and  freshness  lu  Uie  lall. 

Tlieir  only  punishment,  (aa  wrong, 

However  sweet,  must  bear  its  brand), 
Their  only  dumu  w.^s  this  —  thai,  long 

As  Ihu  green  erirth  and  ocean  stand, 
Tliey  bnlh  shall  wander  here—  ihe  same, 
'Jhronghdut  all  tune,  in  heart  and  frame  — 
Mill  loukniK  to  lh:>t  f^'tal  sublime, 

Whose  liijhl  remoie,  bul  sure.  Iliey  see; 
Pilgi lilts  of  Love,  whose  way  is  Tiuie, 

Whose  home  is  in  Kiernity  ! 
Subject,  the  wjiiie,  to  all  the  s  rife, 
True  Love  ei.couners  in  this  l>fe  — 
The  wishes,  hoiies,  he  breathes  m  vain; 

The  dull,  that  Iu^n^  his  warmes;  siglu 

To  earthly  vapour,  ere  theyiise; 
The  doubt  he  feed^  on,  and  ihe  pam 

Tliat  in  his  verv  sweetness  lies:  — 
Still  worse,  the'  illusions  that  betray 

His  footsteps  to  iheir  shining  brink; 
That  tempt  hini,  on  his  desert  v^ay 

'I'hrou^h  the  bleak  world,  to  bend  aud  dri 
Where  nothing  meets  his  lip-,  atas, — 
But  he  again  must  sighing  piss 
On  to  that  fai-nti'  home  of  peace, 
lu  which  aluue  bis  Ihirbt  will  cease. 

All  this  they  heir,  hut,  not  the  less. 
Have  moments  rich  in  happiness  — 
Blest  meetings,  after  many  a  day 
Of  widowhood  past  f.ir  away. 


the  Jewish   Cabbala.    They  are  called   by  various 
les,  Piiy,  Beau  y,  &c,   &c.  ;  and  their  influences 
supposed    to  act  through  certain  canals,  which 
comniuiiicate  with  each  other. 

■  The  reader  may  judge  of  the  rationality  of  th; 

.visli  system  by  the  following  explanation  of  part 
of  the  machinery  :  —  *'  Les  c;inaux  (jui  sortent  de  li 
Misericorde  et  de  la  Force,  et  qui  vont  aboulir  a  I; 
Beaute,  sont  charges  d'un  grand  iiombie  d'Angcs.  1 
11  a  trente-cinq  sur  le  canal  de  la  Miseries  rde,  qn 
recompenseiit  el  <jui  C'  uronutnt  la  vt-rtu  des  Saintm," 
&c.  &c.  —  for  a  concise  account  of  (he  Cahaliat 
Philosophy,  see  Kntield's  very  useful  coinpendiuai  of 
Brucker. 

"On  les  represenfe  quelquefois  sous  la  figure  d'un 
arbre  ....  J'Knsnph  qu'on  niei  au-de-siis  de  I'arbtc 
Sephirotique  ou  des  bplendeurs  divms,  est  lUiiliDi."— 
Vliiatoirt  dtt  Juijs^  liv.  ix.  II. 


When  the  lovM  face  ftgain  is  seen 
Close,  close,  wiih  not  a  tear  between  ^ 
ContidiDKs  frank,  without  control, 
Four'd  mutually  from  soul  to  soul; 
As  free  trnni  any  fear  or  doubt 

As  is  that  tight  frmii  chill  or  stain, 
The  sun  into  the  stars  sheds  out, 

To  be  by  them  shed  back  agaiul— • 
That  liappy  minglemeiit  of  hearts, 

Whue.  chang'd  as  cliymic  compounds  are, 
Efch  with  its  own  existence  parts, 

To  hod  a  new  one,  happier  far! 
Svich  ate  their  joys  —  and,  crowning' all, 

That  blessed  hope  of  Ihe  bright  hour, 
When,  happy  and  no  more  to  fail, 

'Iheir  spirits  shall,  with  frebheu'd  power, 
Rise  up  rewarded  for  tJiuir  trust 

lu  Him,  finm  whom  all  goodness  springs, 
And,  sh;ikingolI"  earih's  soiling  dust 

From  their  emancipa'ed  wings, 
Wander  for  ever  through  those  skies 
Of  radiance,  where  Love  never  dies  I 

In  what  lone  region  of  Ihe  earth 

These  Pilgiims  now  may  roam  or  dwell, 
Gnd  and  the  Angels,  who  look  forth 

To  watch  their  steps,  alone  can  tell. 
But  should  we,  in  our  wanderii  gs, 

Meet  a  young  pair,  w  hose  beauty  waola 
But  the  aaornnient  of  bright  wmgs, 

To  lo.,k  like  heaven's  inhabitants  — 
Who  shine  where'er  Ihey  tread,  and  yet 

Are  humble  in  their  earthly  lot, 
As  is  the  way-side  violet, 

That  shine-  unteen,  and  were  it  not 

For  its  sweet  breath  would  be  r.^igol  — 
Whose  hearts,  in  every  thought,  are  one, 

Who5e  voices  utter  the  same  wills  — 
Answering,  as  Kcho  doih  some  tone 

Of  fairy  music  'mong  the  hills, 
So  like  itself,  we  seek  in  vain 
Which  is  the  echo,  which  the  strain  — 
Whose  piety  is  love,  whose  love, 

Though  close  as  'I  were  their  souls'  embrace, 
Is  not  of  earth,  but  from  above  — 

Like  two  fair  mirrors,  face  to  face. 
Whose  light,  from  one  lo  the'  other  thrown, 
Is  heaven'.-  rellection,  not  Iheir  own  — 
Should  we  e'er  meet  with  aught  so  pure, 
So  perfect  here,  we  may  be  sure 

'Tis  Zar.'ph  and  his  bride  we  see; 
And  call  young  loveis  round,  to  view 
The  pilgrim  pair,  as  they  pursue 

Their  pathway  tow'rds  eternity. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


SCEPTICISM. 

Ere  Psyche  drank  the  cup,  thai  shed 

Ininiorial  Life  into  her  soul. 
Some  evil  spirit  pour't),  'lis  said, 

Une  drop  of  Doubt  into  llie  bowl  ^ 

Which,  min^lin?  darkly  with  the  stream, 
To  Psychf's  li|is  — slje  kiieiv  lint  wliy  — 

Made  ev'ti  tliat  Ijlessed  nec'ar  seem 
As  though  its  aweeliiess  &ooa  would  die* 

0(>,  in  the  very  arms  nf  Lovf;, 

A  chill  c;*iiie  o'er  her  heart  — a  fear 

That  Deah  niieht,  oven  yet,  remove 
Her  spirit  from  Ihal  happy  sphere. 


'  Those  sunny  rinflefs,"  she  exclaim'd. 
Twining  Iheni  »-.,tjnd  her  snowy  fingers; 

'Tlat  forehead,  where  a  li^hl,  unnani'd, 
"  Unknown  on  earth,  for  ever  lingers  j 


'Those  lips,  throush  which  I  feel  the  breitb 
*'  (If  Heav'n  itself,  wheueVr  they  sever  — 

*Say,  are  Ihey  mine,  beyond  all  death, 
"My  own,  hereafter, and  for  ever? 


'Smile  not  — I  know  that  starry  brow, 
'•  Those  riiiglels.  and  bright  lips  of  thine, 

'  Will  always  sliine,  as  thiy  do  now  — 
"But  shall  /live  10  see  Ihem  shine?" 


3:i» 


378 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS, 


In  vain  did  Love  sav,  "  Turn  thine  eyes 
"(Jn  all  that  sparkles  round  Ihee  here  — 

*'  Thou  V  now  in  heaven,  v\  here  nothing  dies^ 
**  And  in  lhe.se  arius —  wiiat  canst  tbou  tear?" 

In  vain  --  the  fatal  drop,  that  stole 

|[i(o  that  cujj's  iiiiiiiortal  lieabure, 
Had  Indg'd  (tb  hitter  near  her  soul, 
And  gave  a  (inge  lo  every  pleasure. 

And,  though  there  ne'er  was  transport  giveo 
Like  Psyche's  ^viih  that  radiant  boy, 

Hers  is  the  only  face  in  heaven, 
That  \>car&  a  cloud  auiid  its  joy. 


A    JOKE    VERSIF  lED, 

*  Come,  come,"  said  Toni's  father,  "  at  your  time  of 

life, 

**  There 's  no  longer  ejccuse  for  thus  playing  the 

rake  — 

'  It  is  tune  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a  wife" — 

*'  Why,  so  It  13,  father—  v/hose  wife  shall  I  take?'* 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

Pure  as  the  mantle,  which,  o'er  him  who  stood 

By  Jordan's  stream,  descended  from  the  skv, 
Is  <hat  remembrance,  which  ihe  wise  and  good 

Leave  in  tlie  hearts  that  love  them,  when  Ihey  die. 
So  pure,  so  precious  shall  the  memory  be, 
Bequealh'd,  in  dying,  to  our  souls  by  thee  — 
So  shall  the  love  we  bore  ihee,  cheiish'd  warm 

Within  our  souls  through  grief,  and   pam,  and 
strife, 
Be,  like  Elisha^s  cruise,  a  holy  charm. 

Wherewith  lo  ^''beal  the  walera'^of  this  lifet 


TO    JAMES    CORRV,    ESQ. 

ON   HIS   MAKING   ME   A    PRKSENT   OF  A 
WINE   STRAINER, 

Brighton,  June,  1825, 
This  life,  dear  Corry,  who  can  doubt  ?  — 

Resembles  much  friend  E wart's*  wine. 
When  JiTst  the  rosy  drops  come  out. 

How  beautiful,  how  cleur  they  shine  I 

And  thus  awhile  Ihey  keep  their  lint, 
So  free  from  even  a  shade  wilh  some, 

That  they  would  smile,  did  you  but  hint, 
I'hat  darker  drops  would  evur  come. 

But  soon  the  ruby  tide  runs  short, 

Each  minute  makes  Ihe  sad  truth  plainer, 

Till  life,  like  old  and  crusty  port, 

When  near  its  close,  requires  a  strainer. 

This  friendship  can  alone  confer. 
Alone  can  Ie.ich  the  drops  to  pass, 

If  not  as  bright  as  oiKc  they  were, 
At  least  unclouded,  through  the  glass. 

Nor,  Corry,  could  a  boon  be  mine, 

Of  which  this  bean  were  foii<Jer,  vainer, 

Than  thus,  if  life  grow  like  old  wine, 
To  have  thy  friendship  for  its  strainer, 

>  A  wine-nierchani. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  CHARACTER. 

Here  lies  Factotunt  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  outj 

Whatever  st.itesmen  did  or  said, 
If  not  exactly  broui^ht  about, 

'T  was  all,  at  least,  contriv'd  by  Ned, 

With  Nap,  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
'T  was  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar  — 
(Vide  his  pamphlet  —  price,  sixpeoce.) 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo  — 

As  all  but  Frenchmen  think  she  was  — 

To  Ned,  as  Wellingtun  well  knew. 
Was  owing  half  thai  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. 

Such  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots. 

With  foreign  names,  one's  ear  to  buzz  iol 

From  Russia,  chefs  ;.nd  ofs  in  h.'8, 
From  Foland,  oujskis  by  the  dozen. 

When  George,  alarm'd  for  England's  creed, 
Turn'd  out  the  last  Wing  nunislry, 

And  men  ask'd  —  who  advis'd  the  deed  ? 
Ned  niodeslly  confe^s'd  't  was  he. 

For  though,  by  some  unlucky  miss, 
He  had  not  downright  sten  the  King, 

He  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 
To  Marquis  That,  as  clench'd  the  thing. 

The  same  it  was  in  science,  arts. 

The  Drama,  Books,  MS.  and  prin'ed  — 

Kean  learn'd  from  Ned  his  cleveies'  parts. 
And  Scotl's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted. 

Chitde  Haro!d  in  the  proofs  he  lead. 

And,  here  and  there,  infus'd  snnie  soul  in  M  — 

Nay,  Davy's  Lamp,  till  seen  by  Ned, 
Had  —  odd  enough  — au  awkward  hole  in't. 

'T  was  thus,  all-doing  and  all-knowing, 
Wit,  state>man,  boxer,  chymist,  singer, 

Wh;ttever  was  the  best  [jye  going. 
In  that  Ned  —  trust  him  —  had  his  finger. 


WHAT  SHALL   I   SING   THEE? 

TO  . 

What  sh^n  I  sing  thee?    Shall  I  tell 
Of  that  bright  hour,  remember'd  well 
As  tho' it  shone  l>ut  je.tetday, 
When,  loilering  idly  in  the  ray 
Of  a  spring  snii,  1  heaid,  o'er-bead. 
My  name  as  by  some  spirit  said. 
And,  looking  up,  saw  two  bright  eyes 

Altnve  me  from  a  casement  shine, 
Dazzling  my  mind  wiih  such  surprise 

As  Ihey,  who  sail  beyond  the  Line, 
Feel  when  new  stars  above  ihem  rise  ;  — 
And  it  was  ihine,  the  voice  that  spoke, 

Like  Ariel's,  in  the  nud-air  then; 
And  Ihine  iIir  eye,  who^e  lustre  broke  — 

Never  lo  be  foigot  again  I 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


379 


Wliat  shall  I  sinR  Ihee  P    Sliill  I  weave 
A  song  of  thai  swetl  siimnier-cve, 
(.Suniiiier.of  winch  the  auimiesl  part 
Was  that  we,  each,  liad  in  ihe  heart,) 
When  thou  .ind  i,  and  one  like  Ihee, 

lu  life  and  beauty,  lo  the  eound 
Of  our  own  bieathless  nunstrelsy, 

UancM  llll  the  sunlight  faded  round, 
Ourselves  the  whole  ideal  llall, 
Lights,  music,  company,  and  all! 
Oh,  't  IS  not  ni  the  languid  strain 

Of  lute  like  mine,  whose  day  is  past. 
To  call  up  ev'n  a  dream  again 

Of  the  fresh  light  those  nionienlB  cast. 


COUNTRY  DANCE  AND  QUADHILLE. 

One  night  the  nymph  calld  Coumry  Dance  — 
(Whom  folks,  of  laie,  have  used  so  ill, 

Preferring  a  coquetle  from  France, 
That  nunccng  thing,  ManudU  Quadrille)  — 

Having  been  chased  from  London  (iowo 

To  thai  must  huniLle  haunt  nf  all 
She  used  10  grace  — a  Country  Town- 
Went  smiling  to  the  New-Vear's  Ball. 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,"  she  cried,  "  though  driv'D 
•'  from  London's  gayand  shining  tracks- 

"  Though,  like  a  Peri  cast  from  heaven, 
"I've  lost,  for  ever  lost,  Alniack's  — 

•'Though  not  a  London  Miss  alive 
"  Would  now  for  her  acquainlance  own  me; 

"And  spinsters,  ev'n,  of  f..riy-hve, 
•'  Upon  their  honours  ne'er  have  known  me ; 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,  I  triumph  still, 
"  And  — spite  of  some  few  dandy  Lancers, 

"Who  vainly  try  lo  preach  Quadrille  — 
"See  nought  but  true-blue  Country  Dancers, 

"  Here  still  t  reign,  and,  fresh  in  charms, 
"  My  Ihrnne,  like  Magna  Charia,  raise 

'"Monff  slurdy,  free-born  legs  and  arms, 
"That  scorn  the  threaten'd  c/ioine  MnglaiM." 

T  was  Ihus  she  said  as  'mid  Ihe  din 

Of  fwMinen  and  the  lowii  sedan. 
She  lighied  at  the  King's  Head  Inn, 

And  up  the  siairs  tiiuniphant  ran. 

The  Squires  and  their  Sqniresses  all. 
With  young  Squirians,  just  come  out. 

And  my  Lord's  daughters  from  the  Hall, 
(Quadrillers,  in  their  beans,  uo  doubl,)  — 

All  these,  as  light  she  Iripp'd  up  slair». 
Were  in  Ihe  cloak-room  seen  assembling- 

When,  hark  !  some  new,  outlandish  airs. 
From  the  Firat  Fiddle,  set  her  trembling. 

She  stops  —  she  1  istens  —  con  it  be  ? 

Alas,  in  vain  her  ears  would  'scape  i(- 
Itij  "Di  taiili  paipili" 

As  plain  as  English  bow  can  scrape  it. 

"  Courage !"  however  —  in  she  goes. 
With  her  best,  sweeping  couniry  grace; 

When,  ah  loo  true,  her  worst  of  foes. 
Quadrille,  there  meets  her,  face  to  lace. 

Oh  for  Ihe  Ivre,  or  violin. 

Or  kit  of  'that  gay  Muse,  Terpsichore, 
T"  sing  the  rage  these  nymiihs  were  in, 

1  heir  looks  and  language,  aira  and  trickery. 


There  stood  Quadrille  with  cat-like  faco 

(The  belu-ideal  of  French  beauty), 
A  band-box  thing,  all  art  and  lace 

Down  from  her  nose-tip  to  her  shoe-tya. 

Her  flounces,  fresh  from  VictoriTie  — 
From  UippUyte,  her  rouge  and  hair  — 

Her  poetry,  from  LamnrHne  — 
Her  morals,  from  — the  Lord  knows  where. 

And,  when  shedanc'd— so  slidingly. 
So  near  Ihe  ground  she  plied  her  art. 

You  'd  swear  her  mother-earth  and  shs 
Had  made  a  compact  ne'er  lo  part. 

Her  face  too,  all  Ihe  while,  sedate. 
No  signs  of  life  or  motion  showing. 

Like  a  briiU  fendult'a  dialplate  — 
So  still,  you  'd  hardly  think  't  was  gcmg. 

Full  fronting  her  stood  Coimtry  Dance  — 
A  fresh,  frank  nvniph,  whom  you  would  know 

For  English,  at  a  single  glance- 
English  all  o'er,  froni  top  lo  loe. 

A  little  gauche,  >l  is  fair  to  own. 
And  rather  given  to  skips  and  bounces; 

Endangering  thereby  many  a  gown. 
And  playing,  oft,  the  dev'l  with  flounces. 

Unlike  Afomj£i;c  — who  would  prefer 

(As  morallv  a  le=ser  ill) 
A  thousand  flaws  of  character. 

To  one  vile  rumple  of  a  frill. 

No  rouge  did  she  of  Albion  wear ; 

Let  her  but  run  that  two-heal  race 
She  calls  a  Set,  not  Dian  e'er 

Came  rosier  from  the  woodland  chase. 

Such  was  the  nymph,  whose  soul  had  in't 
Such  anger  now  -  whose  eyes  of  blue 

(Eyes  «(  that  bright,  victorious  tint. 
Which  English  maids  call  "  Waterloo")  — 

Like  Slimmer  lightnings,  in  the  dusk 
Of  a  warm  evening.  Hashing  broke, 

While  — to  Ihe  tune  of  "Money  Musk,"' 
Which  struck  up  now  — she  proudly  spoke  — 

"Heard  you  that  strain -that  joyous  strain? 

"  '  r  was  such  as  England  lov'd  to  liear, 
"  Ere  thou,  and  all  thy  frippery  train, 

"  Corrupted  both  her  foot  and  ear  — 

'•Ere  Wal'z,  that  rake  from  foreign  lands, 
"Presum'd,  in  sight  of  all  beholders, 

I'To  lay  his  rude,  licentious  hands 
"On  virtuous  English  backs  and  shoulders  — 

n  Eie  times  and  morals  both  grew  bad, 
'And,  yet  unfleec'd  by  funding  blockheads, 

"  Happy  John  Bull  not  only  had, 
•'  Bui  danc'd  to,  'Money  in  both  pockelb' 

•'Alas,  the  change!  — Oh,  L— d— y, 
"  Where  is  the  land  could  'scape  disasters, 

'•  With  such  a  Foreign  Secre'ary, 
"Aided  by  Foreign  Dancing  Masters f 

•'Woe  to  ye,  men  of  ships  and  shops! 

"  Rulers  of  day-bioks  and  of  waves  ! 
••  QuadrilPd,  on  one  side,  in'o  fops, 

"AnidriU'd,  on  t'other,  into  slavet! 


I  An  old  English  Country  Dan(». 


380 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS, 


••  Ye,  too,  ye  lovely  viclim?.  seen, 
"  Like  pigeons,  truss'd  for  exhibilion, 

••  With  elbows,  a  la  crapaitdine, 
"  And  leet,  iu  —  God  knows  what  positioo ; 

•'Hemni'd  in  by  watchful  chapemns, 
"  Inspectors  (if  your  airs  and  graces, 

••  Who  intercept  all  whisper'd  tones, 
"And  read  your  telegraphic  faces  j 

«  Unable  with  the  youth  ador'J, 
"  In  that  grim  cordon  of  Mammas, 

«To  iuteich:inf;e  one  lender  word, 
**  Though  whisper'd  Lul  jn  qutn.ie  de-chats » 

*•  Ah  did  you  know  how  blest  we  ranR'd, 
"Ere  vile  (iu.idrille  u^urp'd  the  fiddle  — 

'*\Vhal  looks  m  netting  were  exchang'd, 
**  What  lender  words  in  down  the  middle; 

•*How  nuny  a  couple,  like  the  wind, 
*'  Wliich  nnlhiu?  in  its  course  cotrrola, 

•'Left  time  and  chaperons  far  behind, 
"And  g.ue  a  loose  to  legs  and  souls  ; 

**  How  matrimnny  throve  —  ere  atopp'd 
"  By  this  cold,  silent,  fuot-coquetting  — 

"How  charmingly  one's  partner  pop[>"d 
"  The*  ijnportaui  question  in  poussette-ing* 

"  While  now,  al»s  no  sly  advances  — 
"  No  niairiage  hints  —  all  goes  on  badly  — 

"'Twixt  Parson  Malibus  and  French  Dances, 
"  We,  girls,  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

"Sir  William  Scott  (now  Barnn  Sto^^ell) 
"  Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

"By  Licences  —  and  he  aiusl  know  well  — 
"bince  vile  Quadriiling  spoil'd  the  trade." 

She  ceas'd  —  tears  fell  from  every  Miss  — 
She  now  liad  touch'd  the  irue  pathetic :  — 

One  such  authentic  fact  ->s  this, 
Is  worth  whole  \olunies  theoretic. 

Instant  the  cry  was  "  Country  Dance !" 
And  Ihe  maid  a:iw,  with  biightening  face, 

The  Steward  of  the  night  advance, 
And  lead  her  to  her  birihnght  place. 

The  fiddle*,  which  awhile  had  ceas'd, 
Now  lun'd  again  their  summons  sweet, 

And,  for  one  happy  night,  at  least, 
Old  Knglaiid's  triuoiph  VFas  complete. 


G  AZEL. 

Ha5te,  Maami,  the  spring  is  nigh; 

Alre;idy,  in  the*  unopen'd  flowera 
Thai  sleep  around  us,  Fanc>'s  eye 

Can  see  tlie  blush  rif  future  bowers; 
And  joy  it  brings  to  thee  and  me, 
My  own  beloved  Maanii ! 

The  8'reanilet  frozen  on  its  way, 
'Jo  feed  the  maible  Founis  of  Kings, 

Now,  loosen'd  by  the  vern:il  ray. 
Upon  i's  path  exulting  springs  — 

As  doth  this  bounding  heart  to  Ihee, 

My  ever  blissful  Maami ! 

Such  bright  hours  were  not  made  to  stay ; 

Enough  if  tliey  awhile  remain, 
Like  Irem's  bowers,  that  fade  away, 

Krnm  time  to  time,  and  come  again. 
And  life  shall  all  one  Irem  be 
For  us,  my  gentle  Ma.imi. 


0  haste,  for  this  impatient  heart, 
Is  like  the  lose  in  Yemen's  vale, 

That  rends  its  inmost  leaves  apart 
With  passion  for  the  nightingale; 

So  languishes  this  soul  for  thee, 

My  bright  and  blushing  Maaai>  \ 


LINES  ON  THE   DEATH  OF  JOSEPH  ATKIK- 
SUN,  ESQ.  OF  DUBLIN. 

If  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast. 

If  ever  life  was  like  the  kngthen'd  flow 

Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  Ihe  last, 

'1'  was  his  who,  niouru'd  by  many,  sleeps  below. 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  where  all  is  strife, 
The  simple  heart  above  all  worldly  wiles; 

Light  wit  that  plays  along  lh«i  calm  of  life, 
And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles  j 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower. 
Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  what  it  feeds, 

But,  like  the  dew,  wilh  gradual  silent  power, 
Fell  in  the  bloom  it  leaves  along  the  meads; 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 
And  brightens  every  gilt  by  fortune  given  ; 

Thv,  wauder  where  it  will  with  lliose  tt  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  (he  sky 

Thou  humbly  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone. 
That  ye  like  him  may  live,  like  him  may  die  1 


GENIUS    AND    CRITICISM. 


Of  old,  the  Sultan  Genius  reign'd, 
As  Nature  meant,  supreme,  alone  ; 

With  mind  uncheck'd,  and  hands  unchained. 
His  views,  his  conquests  were  bis  own. 

But  power  like  his,  that  digs  its  grave 
With  its  own  sceptre,  could  noi  last ; 

So  Genius*  self  became  the  slave 
Of  laws  Uiat  Genius'  self  bad  pass'd. 

As  Jove,  who  forg'd  the  chain  of  Fate, 
Was,  ever  after,  doom'd  to  wear  it; 

His  nods,  his  struggles  all  too  late  — 
"  Qui  stmel  jussitj  semper  paret,** 

To  check  young  Genius*  prnud  career. 
The  slaves,  who  now  his  throne  invaded, 

Made  Criticism  his  prime  Vizir, 
And  from  t^at  hour  his  glories  faded. 

Tied  down  in  Legislation's  school, 
Afraid  of  even  his  own  ambi."ioD, 

His  very  victories  uere  by  rule, 
And  he  was  great  but  by  permissioD. 

His  most  heroic  deeds  —  the  same. 
That  dazzled,  when  spontaneous  actions'* 

Now,  done  by  law,  seem'd  cold  and  tame. 
And  shorn  of  all  their  tirst  attractions. 

If  he  but  stirr'd  to  take  the  air, 
Instant,  the  Vizir's  Council  sat  — 

"Good  Lord,  your  Hii^hnes-;  can't  go  thf-re 
"  Bless  me,  your  Highness  can't  do  that.** 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


381 


If,  toviiiff  pomp,  he  chose  to  buy 

Kich  jewels  for  Ijis  Jiadein, 
**  The  tasle  was  bad,  (lie  price  was  high 

**  A  Iluwer  were  stiuipltr  thau  a,  gem." 

To  please  them  if  he  took  to  flowers- 
*■*■  VVhat  trilling,  wtul  uiitneaniiig  (hlugtl 

**Fit  for  a  woinau's  toilet  lioui's, 
»  But  not  at  all  the  style  tor  Kings." 

l(  fond  of  his  domestic  sphere, 

He  pl-iy'd  no  mure  the  rambling  cornel  — 
"A  dull,  good  sort  of  man,  U  was  clear, 

*'  But,  as  for  great  or  brave,  far  from  it.** 

Did  he  then  look  o'er  distant  oceans, 

For  realms  more  worthy  to  enthrone  him  ?^ 

"Saint  Aristotle,  wliat  wild  notions! 
*'  Serve  a  *  ne  exeat  regno'  ou  him," 

At  length,  their  last  and  worst  to  do. 

They  round  him  placM  a  guard  of  watchmen, 

Reviewers,  knaves  in  brown,  or  blue 

Turu'd  up  with  jellow— chiefly  Scotchmen; 

To  dog  his  footsteps  all  about. 

Like  those  in  Longwood's  prison  grounds, 
Who  at  Napoleon's  ht-elB  rude  out, 

For  tear  the  Conqueror  should  break  bounds. 

Oh,  for  some  Champion  of  his  power, 

Some  Ultra  spini,  to  set  fiee, 
As  erst  in  Shakspeare's  sovereign  hour^ 

The  thujiders  of  his  Uoyalty  I  — 

To  vindicate  his  ancient  line. 

The  lirst,  the  true,  the  only  one, 
Of  Right  eternal  and  divine, 

That  rules  beneath  the  blessed  buo. 


TO    LADV    J*R*»Y, 

ON    BEING   ASKED   TO    WRITE    SOMETHING 
IN    HER    ALBUM. 

Written  at  MiddteloQ. 
Ob,  albums,  albums,  how  I  dread 

Your  everlasting  scrap  and  scrawl  1 
How  often  wis.li  that  Irom  the  dead, 
Old  Omar  would  pop  forth  his  head, 
Aud  make  a  bunhre  of  you  all ! 

So  might  I  *scape  the  spinster  band, 

The  tlushless  blues,  who,  day  and  night, 
Like  duns  in  doorwa)s,  take  their  btaud, 
To  waylay  bards,  with  book  in  hand, 
Crying  lor  ever,  "  Write,  sir,  write  V* 

So  might  I  shun  the  shame  and  pain, 
That  o'er  me  at  this  inslani  come, 
When  Beauty,  seeking  Wit  in  vain, 
Knocks  at  the  portal  of  my  brain, 

Aud  gets,  for  answer,  *'  ^ot  at  home !" 
Hove/itbtr.  1S2S. 


TO    THE    SAME, 
ON   LOOKING   THROUGH   HER   ALBUM. 

No  wonder  bards,  both  high  and  low, 
From  Hyron  down  to  #  »  »  *  »  and  me, 

Should  seek  the  fame,  which  all  bestow 
On  him  whose  task  is  praising  Ihee. 

Let  but  the  theme  be  J  *  r  *  *  y's  eyes, 
At  once  all  errors  are  forgiven  ; 

As  ev'n  old  Sienihold  still  we  prize. 

Because,  though  dull,  he  sings  of  beavea. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


The  following  trifles,  having  enjoyed,  in  their  cir- 
culation through  the  newspapers,  all  the  celebrity 
and  length  of  life  to  which  they  were  entitled,  would 
have  been  sull'ered  to  pass  quietly  into  oblivion  wiih- 
out  pretending  to  any  further  distinction,  had  they  col 
already  been  published,  in  a  collective  form,  both  in 
London  and  I'aris,  and,  in  each  case,  been  milted  up 
with  a  number  of  other  produciions,  to  which,  whal- 
ever  may  be  'heir  merit,  the  author  of  the  following 
pages  has  no  claini.  A  natural  desire  to  sep'trate  his 
own  properly,  worthless  as  it  is,  tiom  that  of  o  hers, 
is,  he  begs  to  say,  the  chief  motive  of  the  publication 
of  (hid  volume. 


TO    SIR    HUDSON    LOWE. 


Secuta  morum  regula.  Au$on 

Sir  Hudson  Lnwe.  Sir  Hudson  low, 
(By  name,  aud  ah  !  hy  nature  so) 

As  thou  art  fond  of  per-ecu'ioti* 
Terhaps  thou  'st  read,  or  heard  repeated, 
How  {.-apLun  Gulliver  was  treated, 

When  thrown  among  the  Lilliputians. 


They  tied  him  down^ these  little  men  did- 
And  having  valiantly  ascended 

Upon  the  Miijhiy  Alan's  protuberance, 
They  did  so  strut  !—  upon  my  soul, 
It  must  have  been  extremely  droll 

To  see  their  pigmy  pride's  exuberance  1 

And  how  the  doughty  mannikins 
Amus'd  Iheiiiselvcs  with  sricking  pins 

And  needles  in  the  gieat  m;wj's  breeches; 
And  how  some  very  little  rhings, 
That  pass'd  for  Lords,  on  sc;*li'nlding9 

Got  up,  and  worried  him  wii^  speeches, 

Alas,  alas  !  that  it  should  happen 

To  niighiy  men  ti>  be  caui^ht  napping!  — 

Thoush  ditlerent,  too,  these  per  eculionsj 
For  Gulliver,  there,  took  'he  nap, 
While,  here,  the  Kap,  oh,  sad  mishap. 

Is  taken  by  the  Lilliputians  I 


AMATORY  COLLOQUY  BETWEEN  BANK 
AND  GOVERNMENT. 

1826. 


Is  all  then  forgo'ten  ?  those  amorous  pranks 
You  and  I,  in  our  youih,my  dear  Go\einmeiit,pIayy; 


3<j2 


SATIRICAL   AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


When  you  c^Il'd  me  the  fondest,  the  truest  of  Baokif 
Aud  eujoy'd  the  endearing  advatices  1  madel 

When  left  to  ourselve?,  unmolested  and  free, 

To  do  All  ih.<t  a  da^hI^g  youn^  rnuple  should  do, 

A  law  aga.nst  payiYt^  was  laid  upon  nie, 

But  none  against  owing^  dear  lielpmate,  on  you. 

And  Uil  then  vanished?—  that  *'hour  (as  OHiello 
So  liap[iily  calls  it)  (-f  Love  and  Direclioti  F'^  ^ 

And  ii.ijst  we,  like  other  (und  doves,  my  dear  fellow, 
Grow  good  in  our  old  age,  and  cut  the  cooncxioD  ? 

GOVERNMENT. 

Even  80,  my  belov'd  Mrs,  Bank,  it  must  be  ; 

This  paying  in  cash  pU)S  the  devil  with  wooing:  ^ 
We've  both  had  our  swing,  but  1  plainly  foresee 

There  must  soon  be  a  stop  to  our  bill-iag  aud  cooing. 

Propagation  in  reason  —  a  small  child  or  I  wo  — 
Eveu  Reverend  Mallhus  himself  is  a  friend  to  ; 

The  issue  of  some  folks  is  mod'nte  aud  few  — 
But  vurs,  my  dear  corporate  Bank,  there  'a  no  end  to! 

So  —  hard  though  it  be  on  a  pnir,  who  've  already 
Disposed  of  60  many  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence; 

And,  111  spjie  of  thai  pink  of  prosperity,  Freddy,3 
tio  lavish  of  cash  and  so  sparing  of  sense  — 

The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyria  *  Venus, 

When — high  as  we  once  us'd  to  carry  our  capers— 

Those  soft  bilitl-dotix  we  're  now  p.issiug  between  us, 
Will  serve  but  to  keep  Mrs.  Coutts  iu  curl-papers  : 

And  when  —  if  we  still  must  continue  our  love, 
(After  all  thai  h-ia  pass'dj— our  amour,  it  ii  clear, 

Like  tliat  wbich  Mibs  Danae  manag'd  with  Jove, 
Must  all  be  transacted  iu  buUioiij  my  dearl 
February  f  182ti. 


DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  SOVEREIGN  AND 
A  ONE  FOUND  NOTE. 


Said  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note, 

In  the  pocket  of  my  coat. 
Where  they  met  in  a  neat  purse  of  leather, 

•'  How  happens  it,  1  prithee, 

'*  That,  though  1  'm  wedded  with  thee, 
"  Fair  Pound,  we  can  never  live  together  ? 

**  Like  your  sex,  fond  of  change^ 

**  With  Silver  you  can  range, 
*'  And  of  lots  of  young  sixpences  be  mother  j 

•'  While  with  me  — upon  my  word, 

'*  Not  my  Lady  and  my  Lord 
•*  Of  W— stui— lb  see  bo  little  of  each  other  I* 

The  indignant  Note  replied 
(Lying  crumpled  by  his  side), 
"  Sbaoie,  shame,  it  is  yourself  that  roam,  Sir  — 


X  "An  hour 

Of  love,  of  worldly  matter  and  direction.'* 
^  It  appears,  however,  that  Ovid  was  a  friend  to  the 
resumption  of  paymeut  in  specie  :  — 

—— —  *'  finem,  apecit  caeleete  reavmtar 
Lucti^ui  inipoiiuit,  vetiit^ue  ealutifer  urbl.** 

Met.  I.  15.  T.  743. 

3  Honourable  Frederick  R— b— ns— n. 

4  So  called,  to  distinguish  her  from  the  "  Aurea^'  or 
Qolden  Venus. 


"One  cannot  look  askance, 
"But,  whip!  you're  oti'lo  France, 
"Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  at  borne,  Sir. 

"Your  scampering  began 

"From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
"Po:>r  man,  made  us  one  in  Love's  fetter  ; 

*'  *  For  better  or  for  worst' 

"  Is  the  usual  marriagt-  curse, 
"  But  ours  is  all  *  worse'  aud  uo  *  better.' 

"  In  vain  are  laws  piss'd, 

"There's  nothing  liolds  you  fast, 
**Tho*  you  know,  sweet  tiovereign,  1  adore  y(»  — 

"At  the  smallest  hini  in  life, 

"You  forsake  your  lawful  wife, 
"As  other  Sovereigns  did  l>efore  you. 

"  I  flirt  with  Silver,  true  — 

"But  what  can  ladies  do, 
"  When  disowuM  by  their  ua'ural  protectors? 

"  And  as  to  falsehood,  siuffl 

•'  I  shall  soon  le  false  enough, 
"  When  1  get  amoug  those  wicked  Bank  Director*." 

The  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her, 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honour, 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal  j 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two, 

Why  — I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  he 's  now  at  No.  10,  Palaia  Royal, 


AN  EXPOSTULATION  TO  LORD  KING. 
**  Qoem  das  finemt  Rex  xaagnp.  lal>orum  7"  —  Virgil, 
1826. 
How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the   realm  about  cheapening  their 
corn,  f> 
When  you  know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  high  rental, 
'T  is  hardly  worth  while  being  very  high  born  t 

Why  bore  them  so  rudely,  each  night  of  your  life. 
On  a  question,  my  Lord,  there's  so  much  to  abhor 
in? 

A  question — I  ike  asking  one,  "  How  is  your  wife?" — 
At  once  so  confounded  domestic  SiUd  foreign. 

At  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast ; 

But  Peers,  and  such  animals,  ted  up  for  show, 
(Like  the  «e!l-physick'd  elephant,  laiely  deceas'd,) 

Take   a  wonderful   quantum   of  cramniing,  you 
know. 

You  might  see,  my  dear  Baron,  bow  bor'd  and  dis- 
trest 
Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  your  merciless 
tale, 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  wrung  ev'n  a  jest 
From  the  frugal  Scotch  wit  of  my  Lord  L-d-d-le  !  • 

Bright  Peer  !  to  whom  Nature  and  Berwickshire  gave 

A  humour,  endow'd  with  efiects  sn  provoking. 
That,  when  the  whole  House  looks  unusually  grave. 
You  may   always  conclude   that  Lord  L-d-d-le's 
joking! 


*  See  the  proceedings  of  the  Lords,  Wednesday, 
March  I,  1826.  when  Lnrd  King  was  severely  re- 
jjroved  by  several  of  ihe  noble  Peers,  for  making  so 
liiany  speeches  against  the  Corn  Laws. 

«  This  noble  earl  said,  that  "when  he  heard  the 
petition  came  from  ladies'  boot  aud  shoemakers,  hfl 
thought  it  must  be  against  the  *  corns'  which  they  in- 
flicted on  the  fair  sex." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


383 


Anl  thflti^  those  unfortunate  weavers  of  Perth  — 
Not  to  know  the  vast  dirt'eretice  Pnividsnce  dooms 

Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high  birth, 
'T  wixt    (tiose   who   hue   /in ir* looms,   aud    those 
who  've  tul  looiiist 

♦•To    talk    jtout   uf   starving!'*  —  as   great   Ath— 1 

(And  the  nobles  all  cheer'd,  aud  the  bi:>hops  all 
wonder'd,) 
**  When,  some  years  ae^o,  he  and  o!hors  had  fed 
Of  these  s^me  huugry  devils  about  fifteen    buo* 
dred !" 

It  follows  from  hence  —  and  the  Duke's  very  words 
Should  be  (jublish'd  wherever  poor  rogues  oi  this 
crutt  are  — 

That  weavL-rs,  once  rescued  from  starving  by  Lords, 
Arc  bound  to  be  slarved  by  said  Lords  ever  alter. 


But  nol  so  Ihe  plan  of  our  noble  physicians, 

"Js'o   Bread  aud    (lie    Tread-miil 'i    Ihe  regimen 

So  ceise,  my  dear  Baron  of  Ockham,  your  prose 
As  1  >h:tll  my  poetry  —  ntither  Convinces; 

And  all  \ve  have  spoken  and  written  but  shows 
When   yun  tread  on  a  nobleuian's  coni,^  how  he 
winces. 


THE  SINKING  FUND  CRIED. 

"Now  what  we  ask,  la  become  or  thie  Sinking  Fund — 
Ihese  eight  millions  itf  9ur|iluB  above  cxpeiidilurt*.  whiih 
were  to  rcJuct  Ihe  inlereMt  of  Ihe  (lalijnal  debt  by  the 
amount  of  four  hundred  thousand  pounds  annually? 
Wherr,  indeed,  is  the  Sinking  Fund  itself  7  —  7Ae 
Ttmts. 

Take  your  bell,  tike  your  bell, 

Good  Crier,  and  tell 
To  the  Bulls  and  the  Re;»rs,  lill  their  ears  are  stunnM, 

That,  lost  or  s'olen, 

Or  fall'n  throui;h  a  hole  in 
The  Treasury  floor,  is  the  Siuking  Fund  I 

0  yes !  0  yes ! 

Can  any  body  guess 
What  the  deuce  li-^s  become  of  this  Treasury  wonder? 

I(  has  Pitt»s  name  on  't. 

All  brass,  in  the  Ironl, 
And    R— b— us— n's,    scrawl'd    with   a   goose-quill, 

Folks  well  knew  what 

Would  soon  be  its  loi, 
When  Frederick  and  Jenky  set  hob-nobbiDg,3 

And  said  lo  each  o  her, 

*'  Su[  pose,  dear  brother, 
"  We  make  this  funny  old  Fund  worth  robbing." 

We  are  come,  alas  ! 
To  a  very  pretty  pass  — 


1  The  Duke  of  Athol  said,  that  "at  a  former  pe- 
riod,  when  these  iveavers  were  in  great  distress,  the 
landed  interest  of  Perth  had  supported  1500  of  them. 
It  was  a  pour  relnru  for  the^e  very  men  n^iw  to  peii- 
!ion  against  the  psrsona  wlm  had  ted  ihem." 

a  An  improvement,  we  Halter  ouiselves,  on  Lord 
L.'s  joke. 

a  In  1824,  when  Ihe  Sinking  Fund  was  raised  by 
the  imposition  of  new  taxes  to  Ihe  gum  of  five  mil- 
lions. 


Eight  Hundred  Millions  of  score,  to  pay 

With  but  Five  in  Hie  til), 

To  discharge  the  bill, 
And  even  thai  Five,  loo,  whipp'd  away  I 

Slop  thief!  slop  Ihiefl  — 

From  the  Sub  to  the  Chief, 
These  Gauuim  uf  Fin-mce  are  plunderiug  caltlfl  — 

C.i!l  the  w.iifh  — call  biougham, 

TellJoseph  Hume, 
That  best  uf  Charleys,  to  bpring  his  rattle. 

Whoever  wilt  bring 

This  aforesaid  thiu^ 
To  the  well-known  House  of  Bobinson  and  JenkiOf 

Shall  be  paid,  with  IhaukH, 

In  ttie  notes  nf  banks, 
Whose  Funds  have  all  luaru'd  ^'  the  Art  of  Sinking.^* 

Oyes!  0  yes ! 

Can  any  body  guess 
What  the  dev  1  hits  become  of  this  Treasury  wonder  ? 

It  has  Pitt's  name  on  't, 

All  bias»,  in  Ihe  front, 
And    R— b— ns— u's,    scrawl'd    with   a    goose-quill, 
uuder. 


ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERES. 
BY  SIR.  TH— M — S  L— THBR— E. 

*'Legiferae  Cereri  Phoeboque."         VirgiL 

Dear  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom  the  ancients,  we  know, 
(Among  other  odd  whims  of  those  comical  bodies,) 

Adorn'd  wilh  somnilerous  |>oppies,  to  show 
Thou    wert    always   a    true  Country -gentleman's 
G'jddess. 

Behold,  in  his  best  shooting-jacket,  before  thee. 

An  eloiiuent  'Squire,  who  most  humbly  beseeches, 
Great  Queeu  of  Mark-laue  (if  the  thing  duesu't  bore 
thee). 
Thou 'li    re:id    o'er    the   last   of  his  —  never-last 
Breeches. 

Ah  !  Ceres,  thou  know't  not  the  slander  and  scorn 
Now    he.)pM    upon    Euglaud's    'Squirearchy,   so 
bo.isted ; 

Improving  on  Hunt,*  't  is  no  longer  the  Corn, 
Tis  tbe^0U7£r«ofCorn  that  are  now,  alas!  roasted. 

In  speeches,  in  books,  in  all  shapes  they  altack  us  — 
Reviewers,  ecouoniisis  -  fellows,  no  d..ubt, 

Thai  you,  my  dear  Ceres,  aiid  Venus,  and  Hacchus, 
And  Gods  of  high  fashion  know  little  about. 

There's  B— nih— m,  whose  English  is  all  his  own 

niaking,— 
Who  thinks  just  as  little  of  settling  a  nation 
As  he  would  nf  smoking  liis  pipe,  or  ol  taking 
(What  he.  himself,  calls)  his  •'  post-prandial  vibra- 
tiun."a 

There  are  two  Mr.  M lis,  too,  whom  those  that 

love  reading 
Through  all  that  h  unreadable,  call  very  clever;  — 

And,  whertas  M 11  Senior  makes  war  on  euod 

bleeding, 
M II  Junior  makes  war  on  all  breeding  what- 


*  A  sort  of  "  breakfist'powder,"  composed  of  roa>t- 
d  corn,  was  about  this  time  introduced  by  Mr.  Hunt, 


'  The  venerable  Jeremy's  phrase  for  his  afternliD- 


384 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Id  short,  my  dear  Goddess,  Old  England  's  divided 
Bftween  ultra  blockheads  and  superfine  sages  ;  — 

With  which  of  these  classes  we,  landlords,  have  sided 
Ttiuu  'It  tind  ia  my  tipeecb,  if  Uiou  Hi  read  a  iew 
Iiagea. 

For  therein  I  've  prov'd,  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
And  th.4t  ot  all  'Squires  I've  the  honour  of  meeting, 

That 't  Is  the  uiost  seiiseiesa  and  foul-nioulh-d  detrac- 
tion 
To  say  that  poor  people  are  foud  of  cheap  eating. 

On  the  contrary,  such  the  ^^  chaste  notions"  «  of  food 
TJjat  dwelt  ui  each  pale  maimfacturer's  heart, 

They  would  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good. 
That  would   make  thee,  dear  Goddess,  less  dear 
thau  thou  art  I 

And,  oh !  for  Monopoly  what  a  blest  day, 

When  the  Land  and  the  Silk^  bhall,  lu  fond  com- 
bination, 
(Like  Suiky  and  Silky^  that  pair  in  the  play,2) 

Cry  out,   tvilh  one  voice,   for    High  Keats   and 
btarvation  I 

Long  life  to  the  Minister!—  no  matter  who, 

Or  how  duH  he  may  be,  if,  with  dismfied  spirit,  he 

Keeps  the  pi^rls  shut— and  Ihe  ptople's  moulhs,  too— 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  run  of  t  leddy'sprut-perity. 


Had  England  but  One  to  stand  by  thee.  Dear  Corn, 
Thai     last,    honest    Uni-Corn   *     would    Le    tiii 
Th— m-s  I 


A   HYMN    OF    WELCOME    AFTER    THE 
RECESS. 

Animas  sapicntiorea  fieri  quieeceDdo. 

And  now  —  cross-buns  and  pancnkes  (i*er  — 
Hail,  Lnrds  rind  Gentlemen,  once  more  ! 

Thrice  hail  and  v%elCNme   Houses  Twain  1 
The  short  echpse  of  Apn  1-Day 
Having  (God  prant  it  I;  ptss'd  aw.iy, 

Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again! 

Come,  Ayes  and  Noes,  through  thick  and  thin,— 
With  Faddy  H-Imes  iur  whipptr-in,— 

Whate'er  the  job,  prep.ir'd  lo  back  it; 
Pome,  vomers  nf  Supplies- t  esiowerg 
Of  jackets  upoji  Irunipet-bJf'weis, 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket!  * 

Come  —  free,  at  leng'h,  from  Joint-Stock  cares  — 
Ye  Senators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  dreams  of  premium  knew  no  boundary  ; 
So  foud  of  auglit  like  Company, 
That  ynu  unuld  even  have  lakt-n  tea 

(Had  you  been  ask'd^  with  Mr.  Goundry.^ 


1  A  phrase  in  one  of  Sir  T— m— s's  last  speeches. 

^  Great  efTnrts  were,  at  that  lime,  making  for  the 
exclusion  of  foreign  silk. 

3  "Road  to  Ruin." 

*  This  is  meant  not  sn  much  for  a  pun,  as  in  allu- 
sion to  the  natural  historv  of  the  Unicnrn,  which  is 
supposed  to  be  something  between  Ihe  Bos  and  Ihe 
Asiriu'^,  and,  as  Rees's  Cyclnpa:dia  a-sures  us,  has  a 
particular  liking  for  evt-ry  thing  "chaste.'' 

ft  An  i*em  nf  expense  uhich  Mr.  Hume  in  vain  en- 
deavnured  lo  ee'  nd  nf : — iriin;peters,  it  appears,  like 
Ihe  men  of  AU-SouU,  must  be  "  bene  vatili.^' 

6  The  gentleman,  la  ely  before  the  [.ubiic,  who 
kept  his  /onjf-Sli'Ck  'IVa  Company  all  lo  himself, 
singing  *•  Tc  snlo  adorn." 


Cnnie,  matchless  counlry-gentlemen  ; 
Come,  wise  Sir  Thomas—  wisest  then, 

Wliun  creeds  and  corn-laws  are  debated  J 
Couje,  rival  ev'u  the  Harlot  Ked, 
And  show  how  wholly  into  bread 

A  'Squire,  is  traiiSubxtaiiluUcd. 

Cnme,  L-derd— e,  and  tell  Ihe  world, 
That  — surely  as  thy  scraich  is  cuil'd, 

As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before  — 
Cheap  ealitig  does  more  harm  than  good, 
And  working-people,  sj)oil'd  by  food. 

The  less  they  eat,  will  work'the  more. 

Come,  G— Ib-rn,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou  Mbt  have  made  (or  Fder's  Pence) 

Of  Church-Rales,  worthy  of  a  halter; 
Two  pipes  of  port  {old  port,  't  was  said 
By  honest  Newpovi  i)  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar  I  8 

Come,  H— rt— n,  with  thy  plan,  so  merry, 
For  peopling  C-nada  from  Kerry  — 

Not  so  much  rendering  Iieland  quiet, 
As  grafting  on  Ihe  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  earth's  contagions, 

The  6uZi-pock  of  Hibernian  riot ! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wond'rnus  men 
Of  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again  ; 

'Ihough  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it  — 
Oh,  come  and  show,  whate'er  men  say, 
That  ynu  can,  ajter  April-Uay, 

Be  just  as  —  sapient  as  bcjore  it. 


MEMORABILIA   OF   LAST    WEEK. 

MONDAY,  MARCH  13,  182G. 

The  Budget— quite  charming  and  witty— no  hearing. 
For  plaudits  and  laughs,  the  good  things  that  were 

Great  comfort  to  find,  though  the  Speech  isn't  chcertng, 
That  all  its  gay  audiiors  yjere^  every  miuule. 

What,  still  more  prosperity  !  —  mercy  upon  us, 
*'  This  boy  "II  be  Ihe  deaih  of  me"— oft  as,  already. 

Such  Bmno!h  Budseteers  have  genteelly  ui.done  us, 
For  Kuiii  made  cosy  there  's  no  one  like  Freddy. 

TUESDAY, 

Much  grave  apprehension  express'd  by  the  Peers, 
Lesi-- calling  to  life  the  old  Peachums  and  Lock- 
itts  — 

The  large  stock  of  gold  we  *re  to  have  in  three  years. 
Should  all  find  its  way  into  highwaymen's  pock- 


WEDNESDAY. 

Little  doinff  —  for  sacred,  oh  Wednesday,  thou  art 
Tn  the  seven-<.'.clock  jo>s.>f  full  m.my  a  table- 

When  ihe  Members  all  meet,  to  make  much  of  that 
part. 
With  which  they  bo  rashly  fell  ou',  in  the  Fable, 


1  Sir  John  Newport. 

fl  This  charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  ff>r  the  pacra- 
menlal  wine  is  a  precious  sjiecmien  of  the  sort  of  ra'es 
levied  upon  'heir  Caiholic  tellow-j)arishioiiers  by  the 
Irish  Protestants. 


9  "Another  objection  to  a  metallic  currency  was, 
that  il  produced  a  grea'er  number  of  highway  robbe- 
ries."—Dcta/e  171  the  Lords. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


385 


I  tt  uppear'd,  though,  lo-oight,  that  — as  cliurch-ward- 
ens.  yearly." 
Eal  up  a  snial  I  baby  —  Ihoi-e  cormorant  sinners, 
The  Hankrupl  Cniniuis^ionets,  ic/r  very  iieaily 
A  mod'rate-siz'd  Laukrupl,  tout  chaud^  for  their 
dinuers!  ^ 

JV'pfa  bene  —  a  rumour  today,  in  the  City, 

"Wr.  R—b— IIS— n  just  has  resignd"— what  a  pity  1 

The  Bulls  and  the  Bt:»rs  all  fell  a  sobbing, 

When  they  he.ird  of  (he  fate  of  poor  Cock  Robin; 

While  thus,  to  the  nursery  tuue,  so  pretiy, 

A  murmuring  MocA-dove  breath'd  her  ditiy :  — 

&}aS}  poor  RoliJif  he  crow'd  as  long 

And  as  sueet  as  a  prosperous  Cick  could  crow; 
£ut  his  note  was  smalls  and  (he  gold-ducli^s  song 

Was  a  pitch  loo  high  for  Robin  to  go. 

Who  '11  make  his  shroud  ? 

"  I,"  Raid  the  Bank,  "though  he  playM  me  a  prank, 
"  While  I  have  a  rag,  poor  Rob  shall  be  roll'd  in  »t, 

"  Wiih  niauy  a  pound  I'll  paper  him  round, 

*'  Like  a  plunip  rouleau  —  withoiit  the  gold  in  U.** 


ALL  IN  THE   FAMILY  WAY. 

A   NEW    PASTORAL    BALLAD. 

6UNQ   IN   THE  CHARACTER  OF  BRITANNIA. 


Peet't  Letter. 

TuDe  —  Mif  banks  are  all  fu 


ah'd  uith  beat. 


My  banks  are  all  furnish'd  with  rigs, 

So  thick,  even  Freddy  can't  thin  'em  ; 
I've  torn  up  luy  old  money-bags, 

Having  litde  or  nought  to  put  in  'em. 
My  (radeBineii  are  sni.Tshmg  by  dozens, 

But  this  is  all  nothing,  they  say  ; 
For  lianbrupls,  since  Adam,  are  cuusiDs, — 

So,  it 's  all  iu  the  family  way. 

My  Debt  not  a  penny  takes  fr-^ni  me, 

As  sages  the  mailer  explain  ,— 
Bob  owe^  it  to  Tom,  and  then  Tommy 

Just  owes  it  to  Bob  back  a^ain. 
Since  all  have  thus  taken  to  otoing", 

There  's  nobody  left  that  can  pay; 
And  this  is  the  way  to  keep  going,— 

All  quite  iu  the  family  way. 

My  senators  vote  away  millions, 

To  put  in  Prosperity's  budget ; 
And  though  it  were  billioiis  or  trillions, 

The  generous  rogues  wouldn't  grudge  it. 
'T  is  all  but  a  family /lo/j, 

'T  was  Pitt  began  dancing  the  hay  ; 
Hands  round  I —  why  the  deuce  should  we  stop? 

'Tis  all  iu  the  family  \^ay. 

BIy  labourers  used  to  eat  mutton. 

As  any  great  man  of  the  State  does 
And  no»v  the  poor  devils  are  put  on 

Small  rations  of  tea  and  potatoes. 
But  cheer  up,  John,  S:iwnev,  and  Paddy, 

The  King  is  ynur  father,  they  say; 
So,  ev'n  if  you  starve  for  ynur  Daddy, 

*T  is  all  in  the  family  way. 


*  Mr,  Abercromby's  statement  of  the  enormous  ta- 
Tarn  bills  of  the  Commissioners  of  Bankrupts. 


My  rich  manufacturers  tumble. 

My  poor  ones  have  nothing  to  chetr  ; 
And,  ev'n  if  ttiemselves  do  not  gruuible, 

I'heir  stoma  chs  undoubtedly  do. 
But  coolly  to  fast  en  Jamiile, 

Is  as  gnod  for  the  soul  as  to  pray; 
And  (amine  itself  is  genieel, 

Wheu  oue  starves  lu  a  fauiily  way. 

I  have  found  out  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  t(ir  next  Budget  day  i 
Though,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already, 

As  hcy  loo,  's  a  sage  in  his  way. 
When  next  for  the  Treasury  scene  he 

Announces  "  itie  Devil  to  Pa\," 
Let  him  write  on  ihe  bills,  *•  JVola  hene^ 

"'Tis  all  iu  the  family  way," 


BALLAD  FOR  THE  CAMBRIDGE  ELECTION. 

mittee  to  take  tlic  etcp  whic-b  thry 
ir  cniripanboii  of  sircngth,  upnii  the 
uUilerHlauaiiig  Ihtil  whichever  uj  the  two  should  pro'ji 
to  be  the  wcukeit,  Mhould  give  way  In  the  oltit-r."— £*- 
tract  Jram  Mr.  W.  J.  D—iei'z  Letter  \.o  Mr.  G—lt^n. 

B— kes  is  weak,  and  G— lb— n  too, 

No  one  e'er  tlie  fact  denied  j — 
Which  is  *' i*JcaAeji"  of  Hie  two, 

Cambriitge  can  atone  decide. 
Choose  between  tliem,  Canibridge,  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  diflerent  mode  pursues, 
Each  the  *ame  conclusion  reaches  ; 

B— kes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 
G— Itj — n,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Choose  between  them.  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 


Each  a  ditfei 
When  his  . 

B— kes  he  da 
G-lt.— n  d 

Choose  betM 


it  foe  doth  damn, 
/n  affairs  Iiave  gone  ill  ; 
neth  B'lckiKgltam, 
nueth  Dan  OCoiinell. 
1  them,  Cambiid^e,  pray. 


Which  ts  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neigh 
Fii'd  Ihe' election  to  a  throne  j 
So,  whichever  tirsi  shall  bray^ 

Choose  Iiim,  Cambridge,  lorthv  own. 
Choose  him,  choose  him  by  his  bray, 
I'hus  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 
Jungf  1826. 


MR.  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 


TO  THE    EDITOR    OP    THE   TIMES. 

••  8tr,~Hnvin?  juBt  heard  of  the  wonJerrul  reaurri 
oT  Mr.  Raider  DodMWorlh  from  under  an  ntaU 
Viheie  he  had  remained,  bien  /rappe,  it  seemK,  for  the 
last  166  yenrfl,  I  hasten  In  impart  to  yuu  a  few  reflec* 
tioos  uo  the  suluect.  —  Youru,  &c. 

Laudator  Temporis  Acti. 

What    ft   lucky  turn-up!       just  ^s   Eld— n's   with- 
drawing, 
To  find  thus  a  gentlei^ian,  ffoz'n  in  the  year 


Sixteen  hund 
To  serve  for  our  tin,ies~quit< 


ho  nnlv 


A-ell  i 


tbawinff, 
the  Peer  ;— 


33 


386 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


To  bring  thus  In  li^hf,  not  the  Wisdom  alone 

i)i  our  Ancestor-.,  such  as  't  is  fnuiid  on  our  shelves, 

BlI,  ill  perlect  cnudiiiotJ,  full-wj^g'd  and  fuM-grown, 
To  ehi'vel  up  oue  of  Iho&e  wise  bucks  Ihemselves  ! 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworlh,  and  send  him  safe  home  — 

Lei  liirii  lc.li  n  nothing  uselul  or  new  oo  the  way  j 

With  his  uisdom  kept  snug  from  the  light  let  him 


What  a  Gi  d-sentl  to  thtm!  —  a  good,  obsolete  man, 
Wiio    has    ne%er  of    Locke  or  Voltaiie  beeu   a 
reader ;  — 
Oh,  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworlh  as  fast  as  ynu  can. 
And  the  L.— nsd— les  and  H— rif— rds  shall  choose 
biiu  for  leader. 

Yes,  Sleeper  of  Ages,  thou  skult  be  their  chosen ; 

And  deeply  witii  ihee  will  they  sorrow,  good  men, 
To  think  that  all  Europe  hiis,  since  thnu  wert  frozen, 

Ho  altered,  ihou  hardly  wilt  know  it  agaia. 

And  Eld — n  will  weep  n'er  each  sad  innovation 
Sucli  oceans  of  tears^  thou  wilt  fancy  that  he 

Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  lung  cdnpjetaiion, 
And  is  only  now  liiawing,  dear  lioger,  like  Ihee. 


COPY  OF  AN  INTERCEPTED  DESPATCH. 

FROM  HIS  EXCELLENCY  DON  STREPITOSO 
DIABOLO,  ENVOY  EXTRAORDINARY  TO 
HIS    SATANIC    MAJESTY. 

St.  JameB'8  Street,  July  3,  1826. 
Great  Sir,  having  just  had  the  good  luck  to  catch 

An  ofiicial  young  Demon,  prfpanne  'o  ?o, 
Ready  booted  and  spuri'd,  wuh  a  Mack-les;  des;.alch 
From  the  Hell  here,  at  Cr— ckf— id's,  lo  our  ilell, 
below  — 

I  write  these  few  lines  to  your  Highncas  Pa'anic, 

To  ^ay  that,  first  having  obey'd  your  directions, 

And  done  all  the  niisclnef  I  could  in  *'  Itie  Panic," 

My  next  special  care  was  lo  help  the  Eleciions. 

Well  knowing  how  dear  were  those  times  to  thy  soul, 
When  ev*ry  e;ood  Christian  tormented  his  brother, 

And  cauf'd,  in  thy  realm,  such  a  saving  of  coat. 
From  all  coming  down,  ready  griU'd  by  each  other ; 

RemembVing,  besides,  how  it  painM  thee  to  part 
With  the  Old  Penal  Code  — that  dief-d^ccuvre  of 
Liw, 
In  whi:h  (though  to  own  it  loo  modest  thou  art) 
We  could  plainly  perceive  the  liue  touch  of  thy 
claw ; 

I  thought,  as  we  ne'er  can  those  good  times  revive, 
(Though  Eld— n,  wiih  help  from  your  Higliuess, 
would  try,) 

'T  would  still  keep  a  laMe  for  Hell's  music  alive, 
Cou  Id  we  get  up  a  thuud'ring  No-Popery  cry  ;  — 

That  yell  which,  when  chorus'd  by  laics  and  clerics, 
So  like  is  to  ours,  in  ils  spirit  and  lone, 

That  I  often  nigh  laugh  myself  into  hysterics, 
To  think  that  Ueligion  should  make  it  her  own. 

So,  having  sent  down  for  the'  original  notes 
Of  the  chorus,  as  sung  by  your  Majesty's  choir, 

With  a  tew  pints  of  lava,  to  gargle  the  throats 
Of  myself  and  some  oihi^rs,  who  sing  it  **  with 
fire," » 


*  Con  fuoco  —  a  mupic  book  direction. 


Thought  I,  "  if  (he  Marseillois  Hymn  coald  com- 
mand 
•*Such  audience,  though  yell'd  by  a  Sans-culatU 
ciew, 
"What  wonders  shall  we  do,  who've  men  in  onr 
b.iid. 
'*  That  uot  only  wear  breeches,  but  peiticoaU  too." 

Such  then  were  my  hopesj  but,  with  sorrow,  your 
Highness, 
I  'm  forc'd  to  confess  —  be  the  cause  what  it  will, 
Whether  fewness  of  voices,  or  hoarseness,  or  &by> 

Our  Beelzebub  Chorus  has  gone  off  but  ill. 

The  truth  is,  no  placeman  now  knows  his  right  key, 
The  Treasury  pitch-pipe  of  late  is  so  variou*; 

And  certain  base  \oices,  that  look'd  for  a  fee 
At  the  york  uiusic-meeiing,  now  think  it  precari- 


Even    some   of  our   Reverends   misfit  have  been 

warmer, — 
Though  one  or  two  capital  roarers  we  've  had  ; 
Doctor  VVise'i  is,  for  instance,  a  cf>arming  performer, 
And  Uuiitingdun  Maberley's  yell  was  uot  bad  i 

Altogether  however,  the  thing  was  not  hearty:  — 
Even  Eld— n  allows  we  got  on  but  so  so; 

And  when  next  we  attempt  a  No-Popcry  party, 
\Ve   »7iw,vr,   please  your  Highness,   recruit  from 
below. 

But,  hark,  the  young  Black-leg  is  cracking  his  whip — 
Excuse  me*  Great   Sir  —  there's  no  time  to  be 

The  next  opportunity  shan't  be  let  slip, 
But,  till  then, 

1  'm,  in  haste,  your  most  dutiful 

Devil. 

July^  1S26. 


THE    MILLENNIUM. 

suggested    by    THE    LATE    WORK    OF   THE 
REV.  MR.  IRVING    **0N    PROPHECY." 

A   Millennium  at    hand!  —  I'm  delighted  to  hear 
it — 

As  matters,  both  public  and  private,  now  go, 
With  multitudes  round  us  all  starving,  or  near  it, 

A  good,  rich  Millennium  will  come  a-yrufios. 

Only  think.  Master  Fred,  what  delight  to  behold, 
hibtead  of  thy  bankrupt  old  City  of  Hags, 

A  br.m-new  Jerusalem,  buiit  all  of  gold, 
Sound    bulliou   throughout,  from  the  roof  to  the 
flags  — 

A  City,  where  wine  and  cheap  corn  a  shall  abound  — 

A  celestial  Cocaigne^  on  wliose  buttery  shelves 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  uorld  will  be 
found. 
As  your  Saints  seldom  f.iil   to  lake  care  of  them- 
selves! 

Thanks,  reverend  expounder  of  raptures  Elysian,  ■* 
Divine  Squintilubus,  who,  plac'd  wiinin  reach 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vif-ioi», 
Can  cast,  at  ! he  same  time,  a  sly  lonk  at  e<chj— 


3  This  reverend  gentleman  distinguished  himself 
at  the  Reading  election. 

s  "A  measure  of  wheat  for  a  penny,  and  three 
measures  of  barley  for  a  penny.''  —  Re.o.  vi. 

4  See  the  oration  of  this  reverend  gentleman,  where 
he  describes  the  cnniinbial  j'^ys  of  Paradise,  and  paintl 
the  augels  hovering  round  "each  ha[)i  v  fair." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


387 


Thanhs,  thanks  for  the  hope  thou  afTordest  that  we 
May,  ev'n  in  our  owo  times,  a  Jubilee  share, 

Which  so   loDK  has  beea  proinis'd  by  prophets  like 
thee, 
And  so  ot'sn  postpoo'd,  we  began  to  despair. 

There  was  Whiston,*  who  learnedly  look  Prince 
Eugene 
For   the   man  who  oiust  bring  the  Millennium 
about ; 
There 's  Faber,  whose  pious  productions  h.ive  been 
All  belied,  ere  his  book's  hrst  ediiion  was  out ; — 

1  here  was  Counsellor  Dobba,  loo,  an  Irish  M.  P., 

Who  discours'd  on  the  subject  with  signal  cdatj 
And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  to  see 
A  Millennium  break    out    in    the  town    of  Ar- 
maghia 

There  was  also  —but  why  should  I  burden  my  lay 
With  your  Brotheises,  Southcotes,  and  names  less 
deserving. 
When  all   past   Millenniums  henceforth  must  give 
way 
To  the  last  new  Millennium  of  Orator  Irv— ng. 

Go  on,  mighty  man,— doom  them  all  to  the  shelf— 
And  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  troubtest  thy 
tcuiice, 
Oh  forgtl  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
Art  the  Beast  (Chapter  iv.)  that  sees  nine  waya  at 
ouce. 


THE    THREE    DOCTORS. 

DoctoribDs  laetamur  tribuB. 

IS 
Though  many  great  Doctors  there  be. 

There  are  three  that  all  Doctors  out-lop, 
Doctor  Eady,  (hat  famous  M.  1)., 
Doctor  ii— th— y,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop.a 


The  purger —  the  proser  —  the  bard  — 

All  quacks  in  aditferent  style; 
Ti.^ntnr  <<. — (h — »  i.,r.iojj  ^ooks  by  tfac  yaro, 
pulls  by  the  mile  •  * 


All  quacks 
doctor  S— th-   ^  ... 
Doclor  Eady  wri(( 

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 

Wuh  '^No  i'opery"  scribes,  on  Ihe  walls; 
Doctor  S— th— y  as  gloriously  sleeps 

With  '*  No  topery"  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

Doc'or  Slop,  upon  subjects  divine, 

Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop, 
Tha',  if  Eady  shoidd  t^ke  the  mad  line, 

He  *11  be  sure  of  a  patient  in  Slop.    . 


«  When  Whistoti  presented  to  Prince  Eugene  the 
Essay  in  which  he  atiemp'ed  to  conitect  hi^  vic'ories 
over  the  Turks  with  Revelation,  the  Prince  is  sai 
have  replied,  that  "  he  was  not  aware  he  had  ever  bad 
the  honour  of  being  known  lo  St.  John." 

2  Mr.  Dobbs  \va«  a  member  of  the  Irish  Parliament, 
and,  on  all  other  subjects  but  the  Millennium,  a  very 
sensible  person  :  he  chose  Armagh  as  the  scene  of  hi; 
Millennium,  on  account  of  the  name  Armageddon, 
xueniiuned  in  Revelalion, 


■      *  Alluding  to  the  display  of  this  doctor's  name,  in 
chalk,  on  all  the  walla  round  the  metropolis. 


Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less, 

Doct'T  S— th— y  atiacks,  hke  a  Turk  ;  • 

Docior  Eady,  less  buM.  1  c  .nfess, 
Attacks  but  his  niaid-of-all-work.s 

Doctor  S — th— y,  for  his  grand  attack. 
Both  a  laureate  and  pensioner  is  j 

While  poor  Doctor  Eady,  alack. 
Hits  been  had  uj)  to  Buvv-slreet,  for  his! 

And  truly,  the  law  does  so  blunder, 

That,  though  little  Hood  has  been  spilt,  be 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 

The  ChcUking  Act,  known  lo  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  whose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop) 
Of  the  three  greaiei-l  lights  of  our  time, 

Doctor  Eady,  and  S— th— y,  and  Slop! 

Should  you  ask  me,  lo  which  of  the  three 
Cireat  Doctors  the  pref'rence  should  fall. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  agree 
Doctor  Eady  must  go  to  ihc  waU, 

But  as  S-th— y  with  laurels  is  crown'd, 
And  Slop  with  a  wig  and  a  tail  is, 

Let  Eady's  bnglil  temples  be  bound 

With  a  swingeing  "  Corona  Murcdit t**^ 


EPITAPH  ON  A  TUFT-HUNTER- 

Lament,  lament,  Sir  I^aac  Heard, 

Put  mourning  round  thy  page,  Debretf, 

For  here  lies  one,  who  ne'er  preferred 
A  Viscount  to  a  Marquis  yet. 

Beside  him  place  Ihe  God  of  Wi*. 

Before  him  Beauty's  rosiest  girls, 
Apollo  for  a  star  he  'd  quit, 

And  Loves  own  sister  for  an  Earl's. 

Did  niggard  fate  no  peers  afford. 
He  took,  of  cfiuise,  to  peers'  relations; 

And,  rather  than  not  sport  a  Lord, 
Put  up  with  ev'n  the  last  creations. 

Ev'n  Irish  names,  could  he  but  tag  *eni 

With"Lord"and  '■  Duke,"  were  sweet  to  call  j 

And,  at  a  pinch,  Li'id  Ballyragaum 
W^s  better  than  no  Lord  ai  all. 

Heiv'n  grant  him  now  some  noble  nook, 

For,  rest  his  soul !  he  'd  rather  be 
Genteelly  d^nm'd  beside  a  Duke, 

Than  aavM  in  vulgar  company. 


fi  This  seraphic  Doctor,  in  the  preface  to  his  last 
work  (Ki7Jc/ici"aE  Eccltsix  Jin^licansE)^  is  pleased  to 
anaihematize  not  only  all  Catholics,  but  all  advocates 
of  Catholics:— "They  have  fur  iheir  immediate 
allies  (he  says)  every  faction  that  is  banded  against 
the  State,  every  demagogue,  every  irreligious  and  se- 
ditious jotiinalist,  every  open  and  every  iusidicus 
enemy  to  Monarchy  and  to  Christianity, " 

G  See  ihe  late  accounts  in  the  neuspapers  of  (he 
appearance  of  this  gentleman  at  one  ol  the  Police- 
offce?,  in  consequence  of  au  alleged  assault  on  his 
•'maid-of-all-v\ork." 

1  A  crown  granted  as  a  reward  among  the  Romans 
to  per-oni  who  performed  any  extraordinary  exploits 
upon  tvaliSy  such  as  scaling  them,  b;4tteririg  them, 
&c.—  No  doubt,  writing  upon  them,  to  the  extent  Dr. 
Eady  does,  would  eq^ually  establish  a  claim  to  tbe 
honour. 


388 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


ODE    TO    A    HAT. 

Aedificat  caput."  Juvenal, 

1S26. 
Haii,  reverend  Hat !  — snbUine  'mid  all 

The  iiiiijor  feUs  Ihat  round  thee  grovel:  — 
Thnu,  ifi^f  lheGo(Js''aUelia'-c,.ll, 

Willie  iiieauer  mortals  call  thee 'Shovel." 

When  on  Ihy  shape  (like  pyramid, 

Cut  horizontally  jii  two)  i 
I  raptur'd  gaze,  what  dreams,  unbid, 

Of  stalls  and  mitres  bless  my  view 

That  brim  of  brims,  so  sleekly  enod  — 
Not  tiapp'd,  like  dull  VVesleyan;.',  down, 

But  looking  (as  all  churchmen's  should) 
Devoutly  upward—  tovv'rds  the  a'awn, 

Gods !  when  I  gaze  upon  that  brim, 

So  redolent  of  Church  all  over, 
VVhnt  su-arms  of  'I'lthes,  in  vision  dim,— 
Some  pig-taii'd,  some  like  cherubim, 

With  ducklings'  wintjs —  around  it  hoverl 
Tenths  of  all  dead  and  living  things, 
That  Nature  inio  being  brings, 
From  calves  and  corn  lo  chitterlings. 

Say,  holy  Hat,  that  hast,  of  cocks, 

'J  he  very  cock  most  orthodox, 

To  which,  of  all  the  well-fed  throng 

Of  Zion,^joy  'st  thou  (o  belong? 

Thou'rt  7iut  Sir  Harcourt  Lees's  —  no — 

For  hats  grow  like  the  heads  thai  wear  *em  ; 
And  hats,  on  heads  like  bis,  would  grow 

Particularly  haruin-scaruni. 
Who  knows  but  thou  may'st  deck  the  pate 
Of  Ihat  fam'd  Doctor  Ad— mth— te, 
(The  reverend  rat,  whom  we  saw  stand 
On  his  hind-legs  in  Westmorel.tnd,) 
Who  chaiig'd  so  quick  from  blue  to  yellow 

And  would  from  ytUow  back  to  bluCf 
And  back  again,  convenient  fellow, 

If  U  were  his  interest  so  to  do. 

Or,  haplv,  smarlest  of  triangles, 

Thou  art  the  hat  of  Doctor  Ow— n; 
The  hat  that,  to  his  vestry  wrangles, 

Thaf  venerable  priest  doth  go  in, — 
And,  then  and  there,  amid  the  stare 
Of  all  St.  Olave's,  takes  ihe  chair. 
And  quotes,  with  phiz  right  orlhodor, 

The'  example  of  his  reverend  brothers, 
To  prove  that  priests  all  fleece  Iheir  flocks, 

And  he  must  tleece  as  well  as  others. 

Blest  Hat  !  (whoe'er  thy  lord  may  be) 
TIius  low  I  take  oti"  mine  to  thee, 
The  homage  ot  a  layman's  castor^ 
To  the  spruce /feiia  of  his  pastor. 
Oh  may'st  thou  be,  as  thou  pmceedest, 

Still  smarter  cnck'd.  still  bnish'd  the  biigliler, 
Till,  bowing  2II  the  way,  thou  leadest 

Thy  sleek  possessor  to  a  mitre  1 


NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 


Dear  Coz,  as  I  know  neither  you  nor  Miss  Draper, 
When  Parliament 's  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper, 


1  So  described  bv  a  Reverend  Historian  of  the 
Churcn  :  —  *'  A  Delta  hat,  like  the  horizontal  section 
(if  a  pyramid."  —  GranVs  History  of  the  English 
Church. 

2  Archbishop  Magee  affectionately  calls  the  Church 
Establishment  of  Ireland  "  the  little  Zion." 


But  trust  for  your  news  to  such  stray  odds  and  endt 
As  you  chance  to  pick  up  from  poliiical  friends- 
Being  one  of  this  well-inform'd  class,  I  sit  down 
To  transmit  you  the  last  newest  news  that  V  in  towQ. 

As  to  Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  thinga  couldn't  look 
Letter  — 

His  Lordship  (who  pronuses  now  to  fight  faster) 
Has  just  taken  Rhodes,  and  despatch'd  otia  letter 

To  Daniel  O'Connell,  (o  make  him  Grand  Master; 
Engaging  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can, 
From  the  Knights  of  St.  John  to  the  Knights  of  St. 

Dan;— 
Or,  if  Dan  should  prefer  (as  a  still  better  whim) 
Being  made  the  Colossus,  'tis  all  one  to  him. 

From  Russia  the  last  accounts  are  that  the  Czar  — 
Most  gei.'rous  and  kin.,  as  all  sovereigns  are. 
And  wtiose  first  pimcely  act  (as  you   know,  I  sup- 
pose) 
Was    to    give    away    all    his    late    brother's    old 

clothes  3  — 
Is  now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care, 
The  late  Emperor's  nightcaps,  and  thinks  of  be- 

One  nightcap  apiece  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 
On  all  Ihedtotinguish'd  old  ladies  now  going. 

(While  I   write,  an  arrival  from  Riga— Ihe  'Bro- 
thers'— 

Having  nightcaps  on  board   for  Lord  Eld— n  and 
others.) 

Last  advices  from  India  —  Sir  Archy,  '( is  thought, 
Was  near  catching  a  Tartar  (Ihe  first  ever  caught 
In  N.  Lat.  21.)- and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
Being  very  hard  press'd  to  shell  out  the  rupees, 
And  not  having  rhino  sufficient,  they  say,  meant 
To  pawn  his  august  Golden  Foot  *  for  (he  payment. 
(How    lucky   for    monarchs,  that  thus,   when  they 

choose, 
Can  establish  a  running  account  with  Ihe  Jews!) 
The  security  bemg  what  Rothschild  calls  "goot," 
A  loan  will  be  shortly,  of  couise,  set  o7i  foot ; 
The  parties  are  Rothschild,  A.  Baring  and  Co. 
With  three  other  great  pawnbrokeis:  each  takes  a 

toe, 
And  cng.iges  (lest  Gold-foot  should  give  us  Zeg*-bail, 
As  be  did  once  before)  (0  pay  down  on  the  2iail. 

This  is  all   for  the  present— what  vile  pens  and 

paper 
Yours  truly,  dear  Cousin  — best  love  to  Miss  Draper. 
Septemterj  1826. 


A    VISION 

BY    THE    AUTHOR   OF   CHRISTABEL. 

"Up!"  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ere  I  could  pray 
One  hasty  orison,  whiri'd  me  away 
To  a  Limbo,  Iving — I  wist  nni  where  — 
Above  or  below,  in  earth  or  air; 
For  it  ghmmer'd  o"er  with  a  donltfxtl  light. 
One  cimldn't  say  whether  't  was  day  or  night; 
And  't  was  crost  by  many  a  mazy  track. 
One  didn't  know  how  lo  get  on  or  b:ick  ; 
And  I  felt  like  a  needle  that 's  going  astray 
(With  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay  ; 
When  the  Spirit  he  grinn'd.  and  whisper'd  me, 
"Thuu'rt  cow  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  1" 


3  A  disiribu'ion  was  made  of  the  Emperor  Aleian- 
der'a  military  wardrobe  by  hrs  successor. 

*  This  potentate  styles  himsolf  the  Monarch  of  the 
Golden  Foot. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


389 


Around  me  flitteiJ  unnumbered  swarms 

Of  shapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms; 

(Like  bottled-up  babes,  that  ^race  (he  room 

Of  thai  wor  by  knight,  Sir  Kverard  Home)^ 

All  of  (hem,  things  hnlf-kilPd  in  rt-arin^; 

Some  were  l.iiiie—  eonic  wanted  hearing; 

Snme  had  through  half  a  c^nlury  run, 

'1  hough  they  hadn't  a  leg  to  s'and  upon. 

Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning, 

Around  on  a  point  of  law  were  spiiming; 

Or  bahncM  aloft,  'twixt  Ji7Und  Ajuwer^ 

Le;id  at  each  end,  like  a  light-rope  dancer. 

Snme  were  so  crojv,  ihal  no' hing  could  please  'em  ; — 

Some  guip'd  doivu  affidavits  to  e^se  'em  ;— 

AH  were  in  motion,  yet  never  a  one, 

Let  it  move  as  it  might,  could  ever  nnve  on, 

"  These,"  said  ihe  Spiri',  "  you  plainly  see, 

"Are  what  they  call  suits  in  Chancery  I" 

I  heard  a  loud  screamin?  of  old  and  young, 

Like  a  chorus  by  fifty  Velullis  sting; 

Or  an  In.sh  Dump  ("(he  words  by  Moore'') 

At  an  amateur  concert  screaniM  in  score  j— 

So  harsh  on  my  e.ir  that  wailing  fell 

Of  the  wre'ches  who  in  this  LimbodweUI 

It  seemM  like  the  dismal  symphony 

Of  the  shapes  ^neas  in  hell  did  see  ; 

Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarou-.  cook 

Cut  otf,  and  left  the  trogs  in  the  brook, 

To  cry  all  night,  till  life's  last  dregs, 

**  Give  us  our  legs  I  —  give  us  our  legs  !** 

Touch'd  with  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 

I  ask'd  what  all  this  yell  might  mean. 

When  the  Sitiril  replied,  Wtth  a  grin  of  glee, 

*''Tisthe  cry  of  ihe  Suiiois  in  Chancery  J 

1  look'd,  and  I  ?aw  a  wizard  rise,* 

With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  before  men's  eyes. 

In  his  aeed  h^nd  he  held  a  «and. 

Wherewith  he  br  ckon'd  his  embryo  band, 

And  they  mov'd  and  mov'd.  as  he  wav'd  it  o'er, 

But  they  never  got  on  one  inch  the  ftiore. 

And  still  they  kept  limping  to  and  fro, 

Like  Ariels  round  old  Prospero — 

Saying,  "Dear  Nhster,  let  us  go." 

But  still  old  Prospero  answer'd  "  No," 

And  I  heard,  (he  while,  that  wizard  elf 

Muttering,  muttering  spells  to  himseT, 

While  o'er  as  many  old  papers  he  turn'd. 

As  Hume  e'er  miu'd  for,  or  Omar  burn'd. 

He  talk'd  nf  his  virtne  --  '•  though  some,  less  nice, 

(He  own'd  with  a  siith)  preferr'd  his  rtte"— 

And  he  said,  'M  thiiik"— "I  doubt"-"!  hope," 

Calld  God  to  witiess,  and  d  .mn'd  the  Pope  ; 

With  njany  more  sleigh's  of  tongue  and  hand 

I  couldn'i,  for  the  soul  of  me,  understand. 

Aniaz'd  and  pos'd,  I  was  jus'  about 

To  ask  his  name,  when  the  screams  without, 

The  merciless  clack  of  the  mips  within. 

And  th^t  conjuror's  mutterings.  made  such  a  din, 

That,  startled,  I  woke— leap'd  up  in  my  bed — 

Found  the  Spirit,  the  imps,  and  the  conjuror  fled. 

And  bless'd  my  stars,  right  pleas'd  to  see. 

That  i  wasn't,  as  jet,  iu  Chancery. 


THE  PETITION  OF  THE  OHANGEMEN  OF 
IRELAND. 

1&26. 
To  the  People  of  Er.glaml,  the  humble  Petition 

Of  Ireland's  disconsola(e  Orangemen,  showing  — 
That  sad,  veiy  sad,  is  our  preseni  condition  ;  — 
Our  jobbing  all  gone,  and  our  noble  selves  going;— 

That,  forming  one-seventh,  within  :k  few  frictions, 
Of  Iceland's  seven  millions  of  hot  heads  and  heai'ts. 


i  The  Lord  Chancellor  Eld— n 

l3« 


We  hold  it  the  basest  of  all  base  transacloils 
To  keep  us  from  niurd'ring  the  other  six  parts ;  — 

That,  as  to  laws  made  fnr  the  pood  of  the  many, 
We  humbly  suggest  there  is  nothing  less  true  ; 

As  all  human  laws  (aiid  our  own,  more  tlian  any) 
Are  made  hij  audjor  a  particular  lew  j  — 

That  much  it  delights  ev'ry  true  Orange  brother, 
To  see  you,  in  England,  s"ch  ardour  evince, 

In  discussing  which  sect  most  tormented  ttie  other. 
And  burn'd  with  most  gustUy  some  hundred  yean 


That  we  love  to  behold,  while  old  England  grows 
faint, 

Messrs.  Southey  and  Buller  nigh  coming  to  blows. 
To  decide  whether  Dunstan,  that  sirong-bodied  Saiut, 

Ever  truly  and  really  puU'd  the  Dev'l'a  nose; 

Whether  t*  other  Saint,  Dominic,  burnt  the  Dev'l's 
paw  — 
Whether  Edwy  intrigued  with  Elgiva's  old  mo- 
tber^  — 
And  many  such  points,  from  which  Southey  can  draw 
Conclusions  most  apt  fur  our  hating  each  ottier. 

That  *t  is  very  well  known  this  devout  Irish  nation 
Has  now,  for  snme  ages,  gone  happily  on, 

Believing  in  two  kirjjs  of  Substantiation, 
One  parly  in  Trans  and  tlie  other  iu  Con  ;  ' 

That  we,  vour  petitioning  Cons,  have,  in  right 
Of  thf  said  nionnsyllable,  ravag'd  the  lands, 

And  embezzled  tl,.;  goods,  and  annoy 'd,  day  and  night. 
Both  the  bodies   and  souls   of   the  sticklers   for 
Trans  ;  — 

That  we  trust  to  Peel,  Rldon,  and  other  such  sages, 
For  keeping  us  still  in  tlie  same  slate  nf  mind  ; 

Pretty  much  as  the  world  us'd  to  be  in  those  ages, 
When  still  smaller  syllables  madden'd  mankind  j 

When  Ihe  words  ex  and  per*  serv'd  as  well,  to  annoy 
One's  neighbours  and  fi  lends  with,  as  con  and  trans 
now  ; 

And  Christians,  like  S— th— y.  who  stickled  for  oi. 
Cut  the  throats  of  all  Christians  who  stickled  for 

That,  relying  on  England,  ivhnse  kindness  already 
So  often  has  help'd  us  to  play  this  game  o'er. 

We  have  go'  our  red  coats  and  our  carabines  ready. 
And  wait  but  the  word  to  show  sport,  as  before. 

That,  as  to  Ihe  expense  — the  few  millions,  or  so. 
Which  for  all  such  diversions  John  Bull  has  to 
pay  — 
'T  IS,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  to  know. 
That  to  Orangemen's  p.'ckets  'twill  all  find  its  way. 
For  which  your  petitioners  ever  will  pray, 

&c.  &c.  &c.  &c  &C. 


"i  To  such  important  discussions  as  these  the  greater 
part  of  Dr.  Souihey's  l>'indicix  Ecclaix  JJnglicanx  it 
devoted. 

»  Consubstantiafmn  —  the  true  Reformed  belief;  at 
leas',  the  belief  of  Luther,  and,  as  Mosheim  asserts,  of 
Melancthon  also, 

«  When  John  of  Ragnsa  went  to  Constantinople  (at 
the  lime  this  dispulc  between  "ex"  and  "per"  was 
going  on',  he  found  Ihe  Turks,  we  are  told,  "  laughing 
al  Ihe  C  hrislians  for  being  divided  by  two  such  insig- 
nihcant  particles.** 

'  The  Arian  controversy  —  Before  that  lime,  says 
Hooker,  "  in  order  to  be  a  sound  believing  Christian, 
men  were  not  curious  what  syllables  or  particles  oi 
speech  they  used." 


,390 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


COTTON    AND    CORN. 

A    DIALOGUE. 

Said  Cotton  to  Corn,  i^other  day, 

As  Itiey  uiel  and  excban-'d  a  salute  — 

(Squire  Corn  in  his  ctiria^e  so  gay, 
i'oor  Cotion,  half  famisli'd,  on  fool): 

"Great  Squire,  if  it  isn't  uncivil 
*•  To  hint  at  sUrvation  before  you, 

*' Look  down  on  a  jioor  hung-^y  devil, 
**  And  give  hiiu  some  tread,  1  implore  youl** 

Quoth  Corn  then,  in  answer  to  Cmton, 
Ferceivins  he  meant  lo  make  free  — 

**  Low  fellow,  you  've  surely  forgotten 
*'Tbe  distance  belwt^en  you  aud  me! 

»  To  expect  that  we  Peers  of  high  birth, 
"Jhould  waste  our  illustrious  acres, 

**For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 
•*Thii)  to  fallen  curst  calico-makers  !  — 

"  That  Bishops  to  bobbins  should  bend  — 
"Should  stifop  from  their  Bench's  sublirailj, 

"Great  dealers  in  lawn^  (o  betnend 
*'Sucb  contenipiible  dealers  iu  dimity  ! 

"No  — vile  Manufacture  !  ne'er  harbour 
"■  A  h"pe  to  be  fed  al  our  boards  ;  — 

"Base  otispring  nf  Atkwnghl  the  barber, 
**  What  claim  canst  lh(ni  have  upon  Lords  ? 

"No  — thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 
'*  And  the  inumph  o|  papL-r  it'ci  guineas, 

"Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 
"May  defy  your  whole  rabble  of  Jennys!" 

So  saying  —  whip,  crack,  and  away 

Went  Corn  in  his  chaise  through  the  throng, 

So  headlong,  1  heard  lliem  all  say, 

"ijquire  Corn  would  be  down,  before  long." 


THE    CANONIZATION   OF   SAINT 

B— TT— RW— RTH. 

"A  ChriBtiaii  of  the  best  edition."         Rabelaig, 

Canonize  him  !  —  yea,  verily,  we  'II  canonize  him  ; 

Though  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  meddhn!;  his  bliss, 
Thout^h  sages  njay  piiy,  and  wits  may  despi>e  him, 

He'll  ue'er  make  a  bit  the  worse  Saint  for  all  this. 

Descend,  all  ye  Spirits,  that  ever  yet  spread 

ThedominH.nof  Humbug  o'er  hnd  aud  o'er  sea, 

Descend  on  our  B— tt— rw-rth's  biblical  head, 
Thnce-Great,  BibliopoUst,  Saml,  and  M.  P. 

Come,  sliade  of  Joanna,  come  down  from  thy  sphere, 
And  bringliitleShiloh  — if  't  isn't  too  far  — 

Such  a  sight  will  lo  B— tl— rw— rth's  b^soni  t»e  dear, 
^15  ixinceptions  and  thine  being  much  on  a  par. 


ce  more  to  behold 

'd  by  cheating  so  many  ; 


NorbIi.3h,  Saint  Joant 

A  world  thou  ha>t  hi 
Thou 'It  findsiillanif.i 

Who  aiso  by  ti  icks  aud  the  i>tals  i  makes  a  pen; 

Thou,  too,  of  the  Shakers,  divine  Mother  Lee!» 
Thy  smiles  lo  beatitied  B— tl— rw— rth  deign  j 


>  A  great  part  of  the  income  of  Joanna  Soulhcott 
arose  from  the  Seals  of  the  Lord's  protection  which 
she  sold  to  her  followeis. 

*  Mrs,  Anne    Lee,  the    "chosen    vessel"  of  (he 


Two  ''lights  of  the  Gentiles"  i/e  .hou,  Anne, and  ha, 
One    hallowing    fleet    Street,  and    Vother   Toad 


The   Heathen,  we  know,  made  their  Gods  out  of 
And  Sa 


As 


may  be  fram'd  of  as  handy  materials; — 
■nieo  and  B — tt— rw— rths  make  just  as  good 
ny  the  Pope  ever  book'^d  as  Eihereala. 


Stand  forth,  Man  of  Bibles  !  —  not  Mahomet's  pigeon, 
When,  perch'd  on  (he  Koran,  he  dropp'd  there, 
they  say, 

Strong  njaiks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 
fciuch  glory  as  B— ti — rw— rlh  sheds  every  day. 

Great  Galen  of  souls,  with  what  vigour  he  crams 
Down    trios  idolatious   fhroats,   till   they   crack 
again. 
Bolus  "u  bolus,  good  man  !  — and  ihen  damns 
Both  iheir  siom..chs  and   souls,  if  they  dare  cast 
them  back  .^gain. 

How  well  might  his  shop  —  as  a  type  represenfine 
The  creed  of  himself  and  his  sanctified  clan — 

On  its  counter  exhibit  "  the  Art  of  Tormenting,'* 
Bound  nealiy,  and  letlei'd  "  Whole  Duty  of  Man  !» 

Canonize  him  ! —  by  Judas,  we  will  canonize  him; 

for  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  twaddling  his  bliss  ; 
And,  though  wise  men  may  piiy  and  vvils  may  de- 
spise him, 

He  'II  make  but  the  belter  f/io;)-saint  for  all  this. 

Call  quickly  tngether  the  whole  tribe  of  Canters, 
Convoke  all  ihe  scrioxis  Tag-rag  of  the  nation  ; 

Bring  Shakers  and  Snufllers  and  Jumpers  and  Ranters, 
To  Witness  Ibeir  B—li—nv— rib's  Canooizalion  I 

Yea,  humbly  I  've  ventui'd  his  merits  to  paint, 
Yea.  feebly  have  tritd  all  his  gifis  lo  p  -rlray; 

And  they  form  a  sum-foial  U>t  making  a  Saint, 
That  the  Devil's  own  Advocate  could  not  gainsay. 

f  Ran'ers  all  roar, 
's  spirit,  uprais'd  from  your 

.ike  a  kiie  made  of  fnoJscap,  in  elory  shall  snar. 
With  a  long  tail  of  rubbish  behind,  lo  the  ikies  ! 


AN    INCANTATION. 
SUNG   BY    THE   BUBBLE   SPIRIT. 


Air.—Come  with  i 


J  tLiU  go 


'.  the  TtiCkt  of  coral  grow. 

Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go  ; 
Bubbles,  bright  as  ever  Hope 
Drew  from  fincy  —  or  from  soap; 
Bright  as  e'er  the  Sou'h  Sea  sent 
From  its  frothy  element! 
Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lois  nf  bubbles,  as  we  go. 
Mix  Ihe  lather,  Johnnv  W— Iks, 
Ihou,  who  rhym'al  so  well  lo  bilks ;  « 


Shakers,  and  "Mother  of  all  the  children  of  regene- 
ration." 

8  Toad  I^ane,  in  Manchtsler.  where  Mother  Lee 
was  born.  In  her  "  Addrtss  to  Y-  ung  Believer^,''  she 
says,  that  "ii  is  .1  matter  ol  no  iinporlance  with  ihem 
from  whence  the  means  of  Ihrir  deliverance  come, 
whether  frooi  a  stable  in  Beljlehcut,  or  from  Toad 
Lane,  Manchester." 

*  Strong  indications  nf  character  may  be  socaetiBDUi 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


391 


Mix  the  lather  — who 
Filler  fnr  such  lask  Ihan  Ihee, 
Great  M.P.  for  Suds b u ry  ! 
Nnw  the  froihy  clianii  is  ripe. 
Puffins  Peler.i  brins  thy  r'l«.—    . 
1  hou  whuiii  ancient  Coventry 
Once  so  dearlv  lov'd,  that  she 
Knew  Dc.i  wh'ich  In  her  was  sweeler, 
I'eepi-iK  Tom  or  Puffing  Peler;- 
Puft  the  bulihles  high  in  air, 
Pufi'  thy  bcsl  to  keep  Iheni  there. 

Erivo.  bravo.  Peter  M-re  ! 

Now  llie  rainbow  humbugs^  soar,  _ 

Gliilenn?  all  wiih  eoldeii  hues, 

Such  as  haunt  the  dreams  of  Jews, - 

Some,  r. fleeing  mines  that  lie 

Under  Chili's  glowing  sky, 

Sc.nie  ihnse  virgin  pearls  that  sleep 

Cloistei'd  in  the  souihern  deep; 

01her^,  as  if  lent  a  ray 

F.om  the  8ir.an,ing  Milky  Way, 

Gliseiiingo-erwi'hcu.ds  and  whey 

Fioni  ihe  cows  of  Alderney. 

Now  's  Ihe  nionient  —  who  shall  first 

Catch  Ihe  bubbles,  ere  they  hurst  ? 

Run  ve  Siiuirts,  ye  Viscounts,  run, 

Br-'gd-n'.  T-ynh-m,  P-lni-t-n;- 

John  W— Iks  junior  runs  beside  ye  . 

Take  Ihe  good  the  knaves  provide  ye  .  ••  , 

See,  Willi  upturn'd  eves  and  hands* 

Where  the  .S7.<ircinan,4  Br-gd-n,  stands, 

Gaping  for  the  froth  I'lfall  1 

Down  his  gullet—  ;j<:  and  all. 

But,  hark,  my  lime  is  out  — 
Now.  like  snnie  greil  water-spout, 
Scaitrr'd  by  the  catin.ui's  thunder, 
Burst,  ye  bubbles,  all  asunder! 

rf/cre  the  stage  dnrhms  —  a  discordarit  criuh  is 
drdfrZthc  Irche.tra-the  ,,roken  bubbles  d^ccnd 
in  a  saro'.uicwus  but  unclcardy  mist  ou«r  the  head 
of  the  rhaviatis  Person^e,  and  tliescme  drofS.  leav 
■iif  lite  bubbk-lMiiters all  in  the  suds.) 


A   DREAM    OF   TURTLE. 
BY   SIR    W.  CURTIS. 

•Twas  evening  time,  in  Ihe  twilight  sweet 
1  saii'd  along,  when  —  «hom  should  I  meet 
Bui  a  Turlle  journeying  o'er  Ihe  sea, 
"  On  the  service  of  his  Majesty."' 


When  spving  him  first  through  twilig!  t  dim, 
I  didn't  know  whal  to  make  of  him  ; 
But  said  to  myself,  as  slow  he  plied 
His  fins,  and  roli'd  from  side  lo  side 
Conceitedly  o'er  the  watery  path  — 
•'  'T  is  my  Loid  of  St-w— II  laking  a  balh, 
"  And  1  hear  hini  now,  among  the  hshes, 
"Quoting  Valel  and  Burger>dicius  !" 

But,  no  — 'twas,  indeed,  a  Turlle,  wide 

And  plump  as  ever  these  eyes  descried  ; 

A  Turlle,  juicy  as  ever  jet 

Glu'd  up  Ihe  lips  of  a  Baronet ! 

And  much  did  it  grieve  niv  soul  to  see 

That  an  animal  of  such  dignity. 

Like  an  absen'ee  abroad  should  roam, 

When  he  ongU.  lo  stay  and  be  ale  al  home. 

But  now  "a  change  came  o'er  my  dream," 

Like  Ihe  magic  lanlern's  shifling  slider;- 
I  look'd,  and  saw,  by  the  evening  beam, 

On  Ihe  back  of  lh.at  Turlle  sal  a  rider  — 
A  goodly  man,  wiih  an  eye  so  merry, 
1  knew  '1  was  our  Fnieign  Secrelary,6 
Who  there,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile, 
Like  Walerlon  on  his  cn.codile  ;  t 
Cracking  such  jokes,  at  every  motion, 

As  made  the   lurlle  squeak  wiih  glee, 
And  own  Ihey  gave  him  a  lively  notion 

Of  what  his/wc'd-meal  balls  would  be. 

So  on  the  Sec.  in  his  glory  went. 

Over  thai  briny  element. 

Waving  his  hand,  as  he  tonk  farewell, 

Willi  graceful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

Inquiring  fiiends  that  Ihe  Tuitle  and  ha 

Were  gone  on  a  fureign  embassy  — 

To  soflen  Ihe  heart  of  a  Dijilomate, 

Who  is  known  to  doat  upon  verdant  fat, 

And  to  lei  admiring  Europe  see, 

That  calipash  and  caiijcc 

Are  the  English  forms  of  Diplomacy. 


THE  DONKY  AND  HIS  PANNIERS. 


•Parte  iUi :  veetr 


A   FABLE. 

"  Tes^sus  jam  sntlat  a-sfllii 


Vireil-  Cot*. 


traced  in  the  rhymes  to  names.    Marvell  thought  60, 
when  he  wrote 

"SirBIwarri  Sutton, 
The  fonli»h  Knight  v»lio  rhymes  lo  inullnn." 
1  The  Member,  during  a  long  period,  for  Coventry. 
*  An  humble  imitati.m  of  one  of  our  modem  poels, 
who    in   a  poem  against  War.  afler  describing  ihe 
splendid  h.abilimenls  of  the  soldier,  thus  aposlrophijes 
him—  Mhou  rainbow  ruffian  !'* 
3    "  Lovelv  Thais  sits  beside  thee; 

Take  Ihe  good  llic  Gods  [irovide  thee." 
«  So  caled  by  a  son  of  1  u-can  dulcification  of  the 
c/i,  in  the  word  •'  Chairman." 

s  We  are  told  that  Ihe  passport  of  this  grand  diplo- 
matic Turlle  (sent  bv  the  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs 
lo  a  ceriain  noble  envoy)  described  him  as  "oq  his 
najeaty's  service." 

dnpibup  stipreml 

Orata  icsliiclo  Jovi». 


A  donky,  whose  laleni  for  burdens  was  wond'rous. 
So  much  that  you  'd  swear  he  rejoic'd  ma  load. 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous, 
■jhit  — down  Ihe  poor  Donky  fell  smack  on  Ihe 
road  I 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze  — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy, 

So  easv  to  drive,  through  the  dirtiest  ways. 
For  every  description  of  job-woik  so  ready  . 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "  hail'd"  as  a 
"brother"') 

Had  just  been  proclaiming  his  Donky's  renown 
For  vigour,  for  spirit,  fnr  one  thing  or  other  - 

Wheu,  lo,  'mid  his  praises, the  Donky  came  down! 

But    how   to    upraise   him  ?  —  one  shouls,  V  other 
'     whistles,  .  ,    „  I 

While  Jenky,  Ihe  Conjurer,  wisest  of  all, 

e  Mr.  Canning. 

I  IVnnilerivgs  in  South  Jlmcrica.  "  It  was  lbs 
first  and  last  lime  (says  Mr.  Walerlon)  I  was  ever  on 
a  crocodile's  back." 

8  Alluding  to  an  early  poem  of  Mr.  Coleridgey 
addreseJ  to  an  Ass,  and  beginning,  "1  ball  then, 
brother !" 


392 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Declared  that  an  "over-production  of  thislles  — * 
(Here  Ned  gave  a  starej  — was  the  cause  of  his 
fall." 

Another  wise  SoJonn^n  cries,  m  he  passes  — 

*'  There,  let  hini  alone,  atid  the  fit  will  soon  cease ; 

"The  beaal  has  been  fighting  witli  other  jack-asses, 
**  And  this  is  his  mode  of  '  tramition  to  peace.* " 

Some  look'd  at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  grimaces, 

Pron  unc'd   that   too  long  wiibout  shoes   be  bad 

gone  — 

**  Let   the  blacksmith  provide   him  z  sound  nutal 

basis 

{The  wise-acres  said),  *'  and  he 's  sure  to  jog  on." 

Meanwhile,  the  pnor  Neddy,  iti  torture  and  fear, 
Lay  under  liis  [lanniers,  scarce  able  to  groan  j 

And  —  what  was  still  doletuller  —  lending  an  ear 
To  advisers,  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  bis  own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As  to  see  oihers'  foliy,  roar'd  out,  as  he  pass'd — 

*'Qutck— ofl'w.th  the  panniers,  all  dolls  as  ye  are. 
**  Or   your  prosperous  Is'eddy  will  bouu  kick  his 

last  1" 
OctobeTf  1826. 


ODE  TO  THE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 

1826. 

Great  Sultan,  how  wise  are  thy  state  compositions! 

And  oh,  above  all,  I  admire  that  Decree, 
In  which  thou  command'st,  that  all  she  politicians 

Shall  forthwith  be  strangled  and  cast  in  the  sea. 

*T  is  my  fortune  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spin- 
ster— 
A  maid  who  her  fai'h  in  old  Jeremy  puts ; 
Who  lalks,  with  a  lisp,  of  'Mhe   last   new  West 
minster,'^ 
And  hopes  you're   delighted  with    '*Mill    upon 
Glut*;" 

Who  tells  you  how  clever  one  Mr.  Fun-blank  is. 
How  charming  his  Articles  'g-ilns*  the  Nnbilily  ; — 

And  assures  you  that  even  a  gentleniairs  rank  ji», 
In  Jeremy's  school,  of  no  sort  of  uliiity. 


To  see  her,  ye  Gods,  a  new  Number  perusing— 
Art.  1.  — '*()n  the  Needled  variations,"  byPI- 

^rl.  2.— By  her  fav'riie  Fun-blank  3  —  "so  amu 
*■  Dear  uian  I  he  makes  Poetry  quite  a  Law  c 


ing! 


^rt.  3.  —  "Upon  Fallacies,*'  Jeremy's  own  — 
(Chief  Fallacy  bein;;,  his  hope  to  hnd  readers)  ; — 

^rt.  4.  —  "  Upon  Hontsty,"  author  unknown  ;— 

.4r(.  5.  —  (by  the  young  Mr.  M >  "Hints  to 

Breeders." 

Oh,  Sultan,  oh,  Sultan,  though  oft  for  the  bag 

And  the  bowstring,   like  (hee,  I  am  tempted  to 
call  — 


*  A  certain  country  gentleman  having  said  in  thi 
House,  *-tliat  we  must  re'urn  at  last  to  the  food  of 
our  ancestors,"  somebody  asked  Mr,  T,  "  what  food 
the  gentleman  meant  ?"—  "  Thistles,  I  suppose,"  an- 
iwered  Mr.  T. 

5  A  celebrated  political  tailor. 

■  This  pains-taking  gentleman  has  been  at  (he 
trouble  of  count i tic,  willi  the  assistnncc  of  Cocker. the 
number  of  metaphors  in  Moore's  "  Life  of  Miendm,  ' 
and  has  found  them  to  amnunl,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
to  2235  —  and  some  fractions. 


Though  drowning *a  loo  good  for  each  blue^tocHciog 

hag, 
I  would  bag  this  she  Benthamite  first  of  them  all ! 

And,  lest  she  should  ever  again  lift  her  head 
From  the  watery  bottom,  her  clack  to  renew  — 

As  a  clog,  ns  a  sinlier,  far  better  than  lead, 
I   would  hang  round  her  neck  her  own  darling 
Review. 


COKN    AND    CATHOLICS. 


What !  still  those  two  infernal  questions, 

1'hat  with  our  meals,  our  !>luDibers  mix- 
That  spoil  our  tempers  and  digestions  — 
Eterual  Corn  and  Catholics ! 

Gods '.  were  there  ever  two  such  bores  ? 

Nothing  else  talk'd  of  night  or  moru- 
Nothing  i?t  doors,  or  out  of  doors, 

But  endless  Catholics  and  Corn  1 

Never  ?*«§  such  a  brace  of  pesfs  — 

Wliile  Ministers,  still  worse  tljan  either, 

SkilI'd  but  in  fe;ithering  their  nests, 
Plague  us  With  both,  and  settle  neither. 

So  addled  in  my  cranium  meet 
Popery  and  Corn,  (hat  vU  1  doubt, 

Whether,  this  year,  'i  was  bonded  Wheat, 
Or  bonded  Papists,  they  let  out. 

Here^  landlords,  here,  polemics  nail  you, 
Arm'd  with  all  tubbi^h  iht-y  ca^  lake  up; 

prices  and  Texts  at  once  a!«sail  you  — 
From  Daniel  these,  and  those  from  Jacob.4 

And  when  you  sleep,  with  head  still  torn 
Between  the  two,  their  shapes  you  mix, 

Till  sometimes  Ca  holies  seem  Corn  — 
Then  Corn  again  seems  Catholics. 

Now,  D^ntsic  wheat  before  you  foats  — 

Now,  Jesuits  fiom  California  — 
Nr.w  Ceres,  link'd  with  'litus  OatSy 

Comes  dancing  through  the  "Porta  Cornea." 

Oft,  (oo,  the  Corn  grows  animate. 
And  a  whiile  crop  of  heads  appears, 

Like  P^pi-rts,  btardmg  Church  and  btate  — 
Themselves,  together  by  the  ears  1 

In  short,  these  torments  never  cease ; 

And  oft  I  wish  myself  trani^ferr'd  off 
To  some  f;*r,  lonely  land  of  peace, 

Where  Corn  or  Papists  ne'er  were  heard  of. 

Yes,  waft  me,  Parry,  to  the  Pole ; 

Fnr — if  my  f.ite  is  to  be  chosen 
*Twixl  bores  and  icebergs — on  my  soul, 

1  *d  rather,  of  the  two,  be  frozen  I 


A    CASE    OF    LIBEL. 

"  The  grpater  the  trutli,  the  worse  the  libel." 

A  certain  Sprite,  who  dwells  below, 

(T  were  a  libel,  perhaps,  to  mention  where,) 


4  Author  of  the  late  Report  on  Foreign  Coro. 

*  The  Horn  Gate,  through  which  the  ancients  sup- 
r'>ited  ail  true  dreams  (surh  as  those  of  the  Popish 
Plot,  &c  )  to  pass. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


393 


Cftme  up  tncoff,,  some  years  aeo, 
To  try,  for  a  change,  the  i^ndoD  air. 

So  well  he  look'd,  and  dressM,  and  talkM, 

And  hid  hia  tail  and  horns  so  handy, 
You'd  hardly  have  kiunvo  him  as  he  walk'd, 

From  C e,  or  any  oihcr  Dandy. 

(His  horns,  it  seems,  are  made  1'  unscrew  ; 

So,  he  has  but  to  take  Ihein  out  of  the  socket, 
And  —  just  as  some  tine  hushaiids  do  — 

CouveoieDtly  clap  them  iulo  his  pocket.) 

Id  short,  he  lookM  extremely  natly, 

And  ev'iicnntriv'd—to  his  own  gi  eat  wonder— 
liy  dint  of  sundry  scents  from  Gatlie, 
To  keep  the  sulphurous  Iwau  under. 

And  so  my  gentleman  hnofd  about, 

UnWiown  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 
At  Whitens  and  Crockford's,  where,  no  doubt, 

He  had  oiany  jjust-obils  falliug  due. 

Alike  a  gamester  and  a  wit, 

Ai  night  he  was  seen  with  Cmckford^s  crew. 
At  morn  with  learned  dames  would  sit  — 

So  passM  bis  lime  Hwixl  black  and  blue* 

Some  wish'd  to  make  him  an  M,  P., 
But,  finding  W^lks  was  also  one,  he 

Swore,  in  a  rage,  '*  he  'd  be  d— d,  if  he 

"  Wouid  ever  sit  in  one  house  with  Johnny." 

At  length,  as  secrets  travel  fast, 

And  devils,  whether  he  or  she, 
Are  sure  to  be  tnuiid  out  at  last, 

Ttie  atlair  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

The  Press,  the  impartial  Press,  that  snubs 
Alike  a  fiend's  or  an  angel's  c-ipers  — 

Miss  Paton's  soon  as  Beelzebub's  — 

Pir'd  o&'  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers: 

*'  We  warn  good  men  to  keep  aloof 
"From  a  grin,  old  Dandy,  seen  about, 

"With  a  fire-proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof 
**  Through  a  neat-cut  Hoby  smoking  out." 

Now,— the  Devil  being  a  genllpman. 

Who  piques  hiniself  on  weil-bred  dealings, — 

You  may  guess,  when  o'er  these  lines  he  ran. 
How  much  they  hurt  and  shock'd  his  feelings. 

Away  he  posts  to  a  Man  of  Law, 
And  't  would   make  you  laugh  could  you  have 
seen  'em. 
As  paw  shook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw. 

And  'I  was  "hail,  good  fellow,  well  met,"   be- 
tween 'em. 

Straight  an  indictment  was  preferred  — 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy'd  the  jet, 

When,  asking  about  the  Bench,  he  heard 
That,  of  all  the  Judges,  his  own  was  Sest.i 

In  vain  Defendant  prnfTer'd  proof 

That  Plainlitl's  self  was  the  F.ilher  of  Evil  — 
Brought  Hoby  forth,  to  swt-ar  to  (lie  hoof, 

And  StuUz  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  Devil. 

The  Jury  (saints,  all  snug  and  rich, 
And  readers  of  virtuous  Sunday  papers) 

found  for  the  Plaintiil  — on  hearing  which 
The  Devil  gave  one  of  bis  loftiest  capers. 


For  oh,  't  was  nuts  to  the  Father  c  f  IJes 
(As  this  wily  tiend  is  nam'd  in  the  Bible) 

To  find  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise. 

That  the  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the   ibel ! 


LITERARY   ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted  —  Authors  of  all-work,  to  job  for  the  sea- 
son, 

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  Trav'llers  a  charnjing  retreat ; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  Inp  to  Ihe  Tropics, 

And  sail   round   the  world,   at  Iheir  ease,  in  the 
fleet. 

For  a  Dramatist,  loo,  the  most  useful  of  schools  — 
He  can  ^tudy  high  life  in  the  King's  Bench  eom* 
munily; 

Aristotle  could  scarce  keep  him  more  within  rtiUtf 
And  oi  place  he,  at  least,  must  adhere  to  the  unity. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman,  come  to  an  age 

To   have  good    "Reminiscences"  (three-score  or 
higher). 
Will  meet  with  encouragement  —  so  much  fer  page, 
And  the  spelling  and  grammar  both  found  by  the 
buyer. 

No  matter  with  what  their  remembrance  is  stock 'd, 
So  they  'II  only  remember  the  qiunitiim  desir'd  : — 

Enouiih  10  fill  hiiidsonieiy  Two  Volumes,  oct.y 
Price  twenty-four  shillings,  is  all  that's  requirM. 

They  may  treat  us,  like  Kelly,  with  old  jeu-d^espritsj 
Like  Dibdin,  in.iy  tell  of  each  farcical  frolic; 

Or  kindly  inform  us,  like  Madame  Genlis,^ 
That  gingerbread-cakes  always  give  them  the  colic. 

Wanted,  also,  a  new  slock  of  Pamphlets  on  Corn, 
By   "  f armeis"   and   "Landholders" — (worthies 
who>>e  lands 
Enclos'd  all  in  bowpots,  their  attics  adorn, 
Or,  whose  share  of  the  soil  may  be  seen  on  their 
hands). 

No-Popery  Sermons,  in  ever  so  dull  a  vein, 
Sure  of  a  market ;— should   they,  too,   who  pen 
'em, 

Be  renegade  Papists,  like  Muitagh  CS-ll— v— n,3 
Something  extra  allow'd  for  the' additional  venoin. 

Funds,  Physic,  Corn,  Poetry,  Boxing,  Romance, 
All  excellent  subjects  for"  turning  a  penny  ; — 

To  write  upon  all  is  an  author's  sole  chance 

For  attaining,  at  last,  the  least  knowledge  of  any. 

Nine  limes  out  of  ten.  if  his  title  is  good, 

The  malenal  within  of  small  consequence  is  ,*— 

Let  him  only  write  fine,  and,  if  not  understood. 
Why  —  that 's  the  concern  of  the  reader,  not  his, 

Notn  Bene  —  zn  Essay,  now  printing,  to  show, 
That  Horace  (as  cleai  ly  as  words  could  express  it) 


1  A  celebrated  Judge, 


ned. 


5  This  lady  also  favours  u^  in  her  Memoirs,  with 
the  address  of  ihose  apothecaries,  wh"  hive.  Iraii 
time  to  time,  given  her  pills  thai  agieed  with  her; 
always  desiring  that  the  pills  should  be  oidered 
"conimc  pour  elle." 

s  A  gentleman,  who  distinguished  himself  by  his 
evidence  before  ihe  Iriali  Comniit'ees. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


394 


Was  for  taxing  the  FuDtl-IiolJers,  ages  agn. 
When  lit;  wrole  thus  —  *' Quodcunque  in  Fundi j, 
assess  it."  1 


THE    IRISH    SLAVE. 3 

1827. 
I  heard,  as  !  lay,  a  wailing  sound, 

'•  He  is  dead  —  (le  is  de^d,''  ihe  rumour  flew  : 
And  I  rais'd  my  chain,  and  lurn'd  me  round, 

Audaslt'Jjlhioughlliedungeou-wiudovv,  "Who?" 

1  saw  my  livid  tormentors  pass ; 

Their  grief  't  was  bhss  lo  hear  and  see ! 
For,  never  came  joy  tu  1,'ieni,  ala^, 

Tiiat  didn't  bring  deadly  bane  to  nie. 

Eager  I  look'd  through  the  mist  of  night. 
And  .nsk'd,   '  What  fne  of  inv  race  haih  died? 

"  Is  it  he  —  Ihat  Doubter  of  law  and  right, 
**  Whom  nothing  but  wrong  could  e'er  decide  — 


'Who,  long  ashes 


ibut  1 


alth  to  1 


"  Who,  a  clog  for  ever  on  Truth's  advance, 
"  Hangs  round  her  (like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

**  Round  teinbad's  neck  3j,  nor  leaves  a  chince 
"  Of  shaking  him  off—  is 't  he  ?  is 't  he  ? ' 

Ghastly  niy  grim  tormentors  smil'd. 
And  thruslirg  me  back  to  my  den  of  \voe, 

Willi  a  laughter  even  more  fierce  and  wild 
Than  their  funeral  liowling,  answer'd  '•  No." 

But  the  cry  still  pierc'd  my  prison-ga'e. 
And  again  1  ask'd,  "  What  scourge  is  gone  ? 

"  Is  it  he  —  that  Chief,  so  coldly  great, 
"  Whom  Fame  unwillingly  shines  upon  — 

"  Whose  name  is  one  of  the'  ill-omen'd  words 
"They  link  with  hale,  on  his  native  plains  ; 

"And  why  ?— ihey  lent  him  lieaitsand  swords, 
"  And  he,  in  return,  gave  scoffs  and  ch.iius  ! 

"Is  il  he?  is  it  he?-"  I  loud  inquir'd, 

When,  haik!— there  sounded  a  Royal  knell; 

And  I  knew  what  spirit  had  just  expir'd, 
And,  slave  as  1  was,  my  triumph  fell. 

He  had  pledg'd  a  hate  unto  me  and  mine, 
He  had  lull  to  the  future  nor  liope  nor  choice, 

But  seai'd  thai  hate  with  a  Nime  Divine, 
And  he  now  was  dead,  and  —  I  couldnH  rejoice  ! 

He  had  fann*d  afrerh  the  burning  brands 

Of  a  bigotry  waxing  cold  and  dim  ; 
He  had  arni'd  anew  my  torturers'  hands, 

Aud  Ihem  did  1  curse  —  but  sigh'd  for  him. 

For,  his  was  the  error  of  head,  not  heart ; 

And  —  oh,  how  beyond  ihe  ambush'J  foe, 
Who  to  eniiiily  adds  Ihe  traitors  p.irt. 

And  carries  a  smile,  with  a  curse  below  ! 


i  According  to  the  common  reading,  *'quodcunque 
infundis,  acescit." 

»  Written  on  the  de:ith  of  Ihe  Dukeof  Yo'k. 

3  "You  fell,  said  they,  inm  Ihe  hinds  of  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea,  and  are  itie  first  w  ho  ever  escaped 
strangling  by  his  malicious  Incks."  —  Story  of  Sin- 
lad 


If  ever  a  heart  made  bright  amends 
For  the  fal.il  faull  of  an  erring  head  — 

Go,  learn  his  fame  from  the  lips  of  friends, 
In  the  orphan's  tear  be  bis  glory  read. 

A  Prince  without  pride,  a  man  without  guile, 
To  the  hst  unchanging,  warm,  sincere. 

For  VViirih  he  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile, 
And  for  Misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

Touch'd  lo  Ihe  heart  by  thai  solemn  loll, 
I  calmly  sunk  in  mv  chains  again. 

While,  still  as  1  said  "  Heaven  rest  his  soul !» 
My  mates  of  the  dungeon  sigh'd  '*  Amen  !" 

January,  1S27. 


ODE    TO    FERDINAND. 

Quit  the  sword,  thou  King  of  men, 
Grasp  Ihe  needle  once  again  j 
Makmg  petticoats  is  far 
Safer  sport  than  making  war; 
Trimming  is  a  betler  lliihg, 
Than  the  being  trimnrd,  oh  King  ! 
Grasp  the  needle  bright  with  which 
Thou  didst  for  the  Virgin  stilch 
Garment,  such  as  ne'er  before 
Monarch  sfiich'd  or  Virgin  wore. 
Not  for  her,  oh  sempiter  nimble! 
Do  1  now  invoke  thy  thimble  ; 
Not  f.ir  Ixer  ihy  wanted  aid  is, 
Bill  for  certain  grave  old  ladies. 
Who  now  sii  in  Kngland's  cabinet, 
Waiting  10  be  cloth  d  in  tabiiiet, 
l)r  whatever  choice  eloffe  is 
Fit  for  Dowagers  in  office. 

First,  thy  care,  oh  King,  devote 
To  Dame  Eld— n's  petticoat. 
Make  il  of  that  silk,  whose  dye 
Sliiflsforever  tothe  eye, 
Just  as  if  it  hardlv  knew 
Whether  lo  be  pink  or  blue. 
Or  — miterial  filler  yel — 
If  thou  could's'  a  remnant  gel 
or  Ihat  stuff,  with  which,  of  old, 
Sage  Feiielope,  we're  Inid, 
Still  by  doing  and  undoing. 
Kepi  her  suitors  always  wooing  — 
That's  the  stuff  which  I  pronounce, 
Fittest  for  Dame  Eld— u's  flounces. 


After  this,  we'll  try  Ihy  hand, 
Manilla-making  Ferdinand, 
For  old  Goody  VV-sIm— I— d  ; 
One  uho  loves,  like  Mother  Cole, 
Church  and  Slate  w  iih  all  her  soul  ; 
And  has  pa-s'd  her  life  in  frolics 
Worthy  of  your  Apostoiics. 
Choose,  ill  dressing  this  old  flirt. 
Something  that  wo'n'l  show  Ihe  diit, 
As,  friim  habit,  everv  miouie 
Goody  VV— Sim— l-ii  IS  in  it. 

This  iiall  I  now  shall  ask, 
H^e  thee,  monarch,  in  Ihy  task  ; 
Finish  EIJ— n's  fulls  and  borders, 
Ihen  return  fr  furllier  orders, 
ivhal  progress  fur  our  sake, 


lilli: 


:nak 


Ribands,  gar  ers  and  such  things. 
Are  sujiplied  by  olfcr  Kings  — 
FerdiiiaTid  his  ra'k  deuolea 
By  providing  petticoats. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


395 


HAT  versus  WIG. 

1S27. 
■M  the  Inlermpn!  of  Ihe  Duke  of  York,  Lord  Eld— o,  In 
order  to  gunrd  agatust  the  effects  of  the  damp,  stood  upou 
ktodBt  during  llie  whole  o(  the  leiemoiiy." 
-~—  metUK  omues  et  inexorabile  fatum 
Sul^ecit  pedibuK,  sirepitumiiue  Acheiontia  avari* 

Twixl  Eld-ii's  Hat  and  Eld— o's  Wig 

There  lalely  rose  an  .illercalion,— 
Each  with  Its  oivii  imporlance  big, 

Disputing  which  niosi  serves  the  nation. 

Qu  51b  Wig,  with  consequeritiil  air, 
"  Pooh !  pooti !  you  surely  cau't  design, 

*' My  wt'ithy  beaver,  to  conipa'e 
•*  Vour  station  in  ihe  stale  with  mine. 

"  Who  meets  the  learned  lesal  crew  ? 

"  Who  tronis  the  lufdly  Senate  s  pride? 
•*  The  Wis,  the  Wis,  my  friend  —  while  you 

"  Hang  daujiing  on  some  peg  outside. 

•  Oh,  't  is  the  Wig,  that  rules,  like  Love, 
"Senate  and  Court,  with  likecdut  — 

"And  wards  below,  and  lords  above, 
'•  for  Law  is  W  ig  and  W  ig  is  Law !  « 

"  Who  tried  the  long,  Lcmg  W— II— si— y  suit, 
"  Which  tried  one's  patience,  in  return  } 

"  Not  thou,  oh  Hat !  —  though,  cmU(Vst  thou  do't, 
"  Of  other  trims*  than  thine  lliuu  'dsl  learn. 

«*»T  was  mine  our  master's  toil  In  share ; 

"  When,  like 'Truepenny,'  inthepiay.s 
•'  He,  every  minute,  cried  out  -Swear," 

"And  merrily  to  suear  went  they;*  — 

•  When,  lo*h  poor  W — 11— si— y  to  condemn,  ho 
"  Witli  nice  di-criinmalion  weigh 'd, 

"  Whether  't  was  only  '  Hell  and  .leniniy,' 
"  Or  '  Hell  and  Tommy'  that  he  play'd. 

"  No,  no,  my  worthy  heiver,  no  — 

"  Though  cheapeii'd  at  the  cheapest  hatter's, 

"  And  snian  enough,  as  heavers  go, 
"  Tliuu  ne'er  wen  made  for  public  matters." 

Here  Wig  concluded  his  oration, 

Looking,  as  wigs  do,  wondrous  wise; 

While  thus,  full  cock'd  for  declama;ion, 
The  veteran  Hat  eurag'd  replies :  — 

*'  Ha !  do-t  thou  then  so  soon  forget 

"  What  thou,  what  England  owes  to  me? 

"Ungrateful  Wigl— when  will  a  debt, 
"  So  deep,  so  vast,  be  owed  to  thee  ? 

"Think  of  that  night,  that  fearful  night, 
''  When,  through  the  s'e.iming  vault  below, 

"  Our  master  dar'd,  in  gout's  desfiile, 
**  To  venture  his  podagric  toe  1 

«  Who  was  it  then,  thou  lioaster,  say, 

"  When  1Ih>u  h.id'st  In  thy  bo«  siieak'd  off, 

"Beneaiti  his  feei  proiectilig  l.av, 
"  Aiid  siv'd  111  in  Iroui  a  mortal  cough  ? 

I  *'  X.ove  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  Ihe  grove. 
And  men  below  aud  god    above. 
For  Love  is  Heav'n  and  Heavn  is  Love.-Scofr. 
a"flnV(i— a  naushly  wnnian."— CVolc. 
»  "  ahosl  [benealhl  —Swear  ! 

"Wo»«fc(.  —  Ha,    ha!    say'st   thou   SO?     Art   thou 
(here,  Tiuepeiiny  ?    Come  on." 

His  Lordship's  demand  for  fresh  affidavits  was 
locessant. 


"Think,  if  Catarrh  had  quench'd  that  suD, 
"How  blank  this  world  had  been  to  thee! 

"  Without  that  head  to  shine  upon, 
"Oh,  Wig,  where  would  thy  glory  be? 

"  You,  loo,  ye  Britons,—  had  this  hope 
"  Of  Church  and  slate  been  ravish'i;  from  ye, 

"Oh,  think,  how  Caiioing  and  the  Pofe 
"Would  then  have  play'd  up  'Hell  and  Tom- 
my 1' 

"At  sea,  there  "s  hut  a  plank,  they  say, 

"'  I'wixt  seamen  aud  aiiniliilaliun  ; 
"A  Hat.  that  awful  moment,  lay 

"'Twut  England  aud  Emancipation! 

«Oh!!I " 

At  lliis  "  Oh ! : ',"  The  Times'  Reporter 
Was  taken  poorlv,  and  relir'd  ; 
Which  made  him  cut  Hal's  rhetoric  shorter, 
Than  justice  lo  the  case  requir'd. 

On  his  return,  he  found  these  shocks 

Of  eloquence  all  ended  quite  ; 
Aod  Wig  lay  snoring  in  his  box. 

And  Hat  was  —  hung  up  for  the  night. 


THE  PERIWINKLES  AND  THE  LOCUSTS. 


A    SALMAGUNDIAN    HYMN. 


revenue  of  the  LofUsts  and  Pertwinltles.  aniouutioi 
one  ye.r  with  another  to  the  value  of  2,i3s,7bb,"  iic 
li.c.—Ilithelais. 

"  Hurra  !  hurra  !"  I  heard  them  say. 
And  they  cherr'd  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went, 
'I'o  open  in  state  his  Parliament. 

The  Salmagundians  once  were  rich. 

Or  JAoKg/it  they  were  — no  matter  which  — 

For,  every  ye.ir,  the  Revenue  s 

Frcim  their  Periw  inkles  laieer  grew  ; 

And  'heir  rulers,  skill'd  in  all  the  trick 

And  leuerdeinain  of  aiiihinetic, 

Knew  how  to  place  1,2,  3,  4, 

6,  6,  7,  8,  and  Sand  10, 
Such  various  wavs,  behind,  before. 
That  they  madea  unit  seem  a  score. 

And  prov'd  themselves  most  wealthy  meni 
So,  on  they  went,  a  prosperous  crew. 

The  people  wise,  the  rulers  clever  — 
And  God  help  those,  like  me  and  )0U, 
Who  dar'd  to  doubt  (as  some  now  do) 
That  Ihe  Periwinkle  Revenue 

Would  thus  go  fluuri  hing  on  for  evei. 

•*Hnria!  hurra  1"  I  heard  them  say, 
And  thev  cheerd  a'd  sh  uled  all  the  way, 
As  the  Cireal  Panurge  in  glory  went 
To  open  his  own  dear  Pari  lament. 

But  fo  ks  at  leiig'h  began  to  doubt 
Whit  a  I  tins  conjuring  u,.s  abt.ut ; 
For.  every  dav,  more  deep  in  debt 
Thev  saw  their  wealihy  lulersge':  — 
"  Lei  ■»  look  (-aid  they ,  Ihe  items  through 
"And  see  if  what  we're  told  be  liue 
"Of  our  Periwinkle  Revenue," 

*  Accented  as  in  Swift's  line  — 


396 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


But.  lord  !  they  found  there  wasn't  a  tiKle 

Of  truth  in  aii^ht  they  heard  before  j 
For,  they  gaiii'd  by  Periwinkles  little, 
And  tost  by  Locus  s  ten  times  morel 
These  Locusts  are  a  lordly  breed 
Some  Salmasundi-iris  love  lo  feed. 
Of  all  the  beasts  thai  ever  were  born, 
Vour  Locust  Ntost  deligUls  in  com  ; 
And,  ihouiih  his  body  be  but  sniall, 
To  fatten  him  takes  the  dev'l  and  all  I 
*'  Oh,  fie  I  oh,  fie  I"  was  now  ihe  cry, 
As  they  saw  the  gaudy  show  go  by, 
And  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went 
To  open  his  Locust  Parliament  I 


NEW    CREATION    OF    PEERS. 
BATCH   THE   FIRST, 
"  His  'prentice  han* 
And  then  he  made  ihe  lasses. *' 

1827. 
"And  now,''  quolh  the  Minister,  (eas'd  nf  liis  panics, 

And  ripe  for  eich  pastime  the  summer  afTords,) 
**  Having  had  our  full  swing  at  destroyinti:  mechanics, 
"By  way  oi set-ajf,  let  us  make  a  lew  Lords. 

'•'Tis  pleasant  —  while  nothing  but  mercantile  frac- 

"Sonie  simple,  some  compound^  is  diunM  in  our 

*'  To  think  that,  though  robbM  of  all  coarse  manufac- 
tures, 
*'  We  still  have  our  fine  manufacture  of  Feers;  — 

"Those  Gobdin  productions,  which  Kings  take  a 
pride 
"  In  engrossing  the  whole  fabrication  and  trade  of  j 
"  Choice  ta|iestry  things,  very  grand  on  one  side, 
"But  showing,  on  t'other,  what  rags    they  are 
made  of," 

The  phn  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought,— 
No  matter  h"w  middling,  if  Tory  the  creed  be; 

And  first,  to  begin   with,  Squire   W ,  U  was 

thought, 
For  a  Lord  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be. 

Next  came,  with  his  penchant  for  painting  and  pelf. 
The  tasteful  Sir  Chirles,*  so  reiiown'd,  far  and  near, 

For  purchasing  pictures,  and  selling  hitiiaelf — 
And  both  (as  the  |;ubiic  well  knows)  very  dear. 

Beside  him  Sir  John  comes,  wi'h  equal  eclaty  in  ;  — 
S'and  forth,  chosen  pair,  while  for  titles  we  mea- 

Both  connoisseur  barone's,  both  fond  o(  drawing^ 
Sir  John,  af  er  nature,  Sir  Charles,  on  the  Treasury, 

But,  bless  us! — behold  a  new  candidate  come- 
In  his  hand  he  upholds  a  prescription,  new  written  ; 

He  poiseth  a  pill-bnx  'twixt  finger  and  thumb. 
And   he  askelh  a  seal  'uiong  the  Peers  of  Great 
Britain  I 

"  Forbid  it,"  cried  Jenky,  "  ye  Viscounts,  ye  Earls ! — 
"Oh  Kaiik,  how  thy  i^lories  would  f^ll  disenchanted, 

•*lf  coronets  glisten'd  with  pills  Vead  of  pearls, 
"And  the  strawberry-leaves  were  by  rliubarb  sup- 
planted ! 

it^o  — ask  it  not.  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H— If— rd— 
•*  If  nought  but  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy  life. 


«  Created  Lord  F— rnb— gh. 


"And  young  Master  H— If— rd  as  yet  is  tno  tauU 
for  M, 
**  Sweet  Doctor,  we  Ml  make  a  she  Peer  of  thy  wilfc 

*'  Next  lo  benring  a  coronet  on  our  awn  brows, 
"  Is  to  bask  in  its  lie;til  from  the  brows  of  another; 

"And  grandeur  o'er  Itiee  fhall  reflect  from  thy  spouse, 
"As  o'er  V— y  F— tz-d  'twill  shine  through  hif 
mother."^ 

Thus  ended  the  First  Batch— and  Jenky,  much  tir'd, 
(It  being  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap), 

Took  a  lara;e  dram  of  ether—  Ihe  same  that  inspired 
His  ppeech  Against  the  Papiss  —  and  prosM  otl'  to 
sleep. 


SPEECH  ON  THE  UMBRELLA3  QUESTION. 

BY    LORD    ELD — N. 

•*  Vos  xtiumbTtUes  Tideo."4  —  Ex  Juvenil.     Georgii  Can- 

1827. 

My  Lords.  I*m  accus'J  of  a  trick  that,  God  knows,  is 
The  last  into  which,  at  my  age,  I  could  fall  — 

Of  leading  this  grave  House  nf  Peer=,  by  their  noses, 
VVherever  I  chooae,  princes,  bishops,  and  all. 

My  Lords,  on  the  question  before  us  at  present, 
Nu  doubt  1  shall  hear,  "  'i'  is  thai  cursed  old  fellow, 

"That  bugbear  of  all  that  is  lib'ral  and  pleasant, 
"  Who  wo'nH  let  the  Lords  give  the  Uiao  his  um- 
brella 1" 


Not  much,  I  confess,  lo  your  credit  'I  would  be, 
To  mind  such  a  twaddling  old  Trojan  as  I  am, 

I  own,  of  our  Protestant  laws  I  am  jealous, 
And,  long  as  God  spares  me,  will  always  maintain, 

That,  once  having  taken  men's  rights,  or  umbiellas, 
We  ne'er  should  consent  to  restore  them  agam. 

What  security  have  you,  ye  Bishops  and  Peers, 

If  thus  you  give  back  Mr,  Bell'.-,  parapluie, 
That  he  mayn't,  with  i's  stick,  come  about  all  your 


No,  heav'n  be  my  jud^e,  were  I  dying  to^lay, 
Ere  I  diopp'd'm  the  grave,  like  a  medlar  that's 
mellow, 
"  For  God's  sake"  —  at  that  awful  moment  I  'd  say  — 
"For  Gnd's  sake,  don't  give  Mr.  Bell  his  um- 
brella.'* 

['*This  address,"  says  a  ministerial  journal,  "  de- 
Iivered  with  amazing  emphasis  and  earnestness,  occa- 
sioned an  extraordinary  sensation  in  the  hoij^e.  Nn- 
lliing  since  the  memorable  address  of  Ihe  Duke  of 
York  has  produced  so  remarkable  an  impression."] 

5  Among  the  persons  mentioned  as  likely  to  be 
raised  to  the  Peerage  are  Ihe  mother  of  Mr.  V— v 
y_tz_d,  &c,  ' 

3  A  case  wliich  interested  the  public  very  much  at 
this  period.  A  genlleni;in,  of  Ihe  name  of  Bdl.  hav- 
ing left  his  umbrella  behind  him  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  the  doorkeepers  (s'andinff,  no  dnubt,  on  Ihe 
privileges  of  that  noble  body)  refused  to  res'ore  it  to 
him  ;  and  Ihe  above  speech,  winch  may  be  considered 
as  71  pendant  to  tliat  of  the  Learned  Earl  on  the  Ca- 
tholic Question,  arose  out  of  the  transacioo. 

*  From  Mr.  Canning's  translation  of  Jekyl*s— 
"I  say,  my  good  felluwa. 
As  you  've  no  umbrella*." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


397  I 


A    PASTORAL    BALLAD. 

BV     JOHN     BULL. 

Dublin,  March  12,  1627.— FriJny,  arier  Ihi!  arrival  of  the 

packtrt  Itniitiatg  lli-j  account  of  Uic  ilcfesit  of  the  Catholic 

UucsIioD,  111  the  House  or  Couiinoiia,  orders  were  aeut 

j      to  the  Piseou  House  lo  (nrwsrd  6,000,000  rouiidn  or  mua- 

I      ket-bull  caitriOge  10  the  ditrcieiit  (jarriaotiB  round  the 

country.  —  Freeman's  Journal, 

I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  Erin, 
I  A  gift  Ihal  will  surel)  con'eiit  her;— 

Sweet  pledge  of  a  loie  so  eiidciriDg  ! 
I'lvc  niillious  of  bullets  1  've  sent  her 

She  ask'J  me  for  FreeJoni  and  Kight, 
But  ill  she  her  iiaiiis  uiider>lood  j— 

Ball  cartridges,  nioruiiigand  ni^hl. 
Is  a  dose  tliat  will  du  her  more  good. 

There  is  hardly  a  day  of  our  lives 
Hut  we  read,  in  soiiie  amiable  Irials, 

How  husbands  make  love  to  their  wives 
'I'lirougli  the  medium  of  hemii  and  of  phials. 

One  thinks,  with  his  mistress  or  mate 
A  good  haller  is  sure  to  a^ree  — 

That  love-knot  which,  early  and  la'e, 
I  have  tried,  my  dear  tiin,  on  thee. 

While  aitothir,  whom  Hymen  has  bless'd 
VViih  a  wife  that  is  not  over  placid. 

Consigns  the  dear  ch  irmer  to  rest, 
With  a  dose  of  the  best  I'russic  acid. 

Thus,  Erin  !  my  love  do  I  show  — 
Thus  quiet  ihee,  male  of  my  bed  ! 

And,  as  poison  and  hemp  are  lou  >low, 
Do  thy  business  with  bullets  instead. 

Should  thy  faiih  in  my  medicine  be  shaken. 
Ask  K-d— n,  that  mildcsl  of  sainl>; 

He'll  tell  tell  thee,  lead,  inwardly  laken, 
Alone  can  remove  Ihy  compl  linls  i — 

Thai,  blest  as  thou  art  in  (by  lot, 

Nothing  's  wanted  to  make  it  more  pleasant 

But  being  hang'd,  torlur'd,  and  sliot, 
Much  ofl'ner  than  thou  art  at  present. 

Even  W— 11— I— n's  self  haih  avcrr'd 
Thou  art  yet  but  half  sabred  and  hung, 

And  I  lov'd  him  the  more  when  1  heard 
Such  tenderness  fall  from  his  tongue. 

So  take  the  five  millions  of  pills, 
Dear  partner,  I  herewith  enclose; 

'T  is  the  cure  that  all  quacks  f..r  thy  ills, 
from  Cromwell  to  Eld— u,  propose. 

And  you,  ye  brave  bullets  that  go. 
How  I  wish  th  it,  before  you  set  out. 

The  nevil  "f  the  Freischu'z  could  know 
The  good  work  you  are  going  about. 

For  he'd  charm  ye,  in  spite  of  your  lead, 

Into  such  supernatural  wit, 
Tint  you  'd  all  of  you  know,  as  you  sped, 

Wheie  a  bullet  of  sense  ought  to  hit. 


A  LATE  SCENE   AT  SWANAGE.t 

RcgnlB  ei-»ul  ad.mlis.  —  Virg,  1627. 

To  Swanaee —  that  neat  little  town,  in  whnse  bay 
Fair  Thetis  shows  oU,  in  her  best  silver  slippers  — 


1  A  small  bathing-place  on  the  coast  of  Dorsetshire, 

'  34 


Lord  Bags  5  took  his  annual  trip  t'other  day. 
To  taste  the  sea  breezes,  and  chat  will  the  dippen. 

There  —  learn'd  as  he  is  in  conundrums  and  laws  — 
Quoth  he  10  his  dame  (whom  he  oft  plays  the  wag 

"Why  are  chancery  suitors  like  bathers?''— "Be- 
cause 
Their  tt;il»  are  put  off,  (ill  —  they  haven't  a 
rag  on." 

Thus  on  he  went  chatting—  bu',  lo,  while  he  chits. 
With  a  face  full  of  wonder  ari'Und  him  he  looks; 

For  he  misses  his  parsons,  his  dear  shovel  ha's. 
Who  used   to  Hock  rouud   him  at  Swanage  like 
rooks. 

'  How  is  this.  Lady  Rags  ?  —  lo  this  region  aquatic 
"  Last  yeir  they  came  swarniing,  to  make  me  their 
bow, 
'As  thick  as  Burke's  ch 
'•Deans,    Rectors,    D 
they  now  ?" 

'  My  dearest    Lord   Bags !"  sailh  his  dame,  "  can 
you  doubt? 
"  I  am  loth  to  remind  you  of  things  so  unpleasant ; 
'Butdo/i'r   you   perceive,  dear,  the   Church    have 

"  That  you  're  one  of  the  people  call'd  £x's,  at 
present?'' 

'Ah,  true  —  you  have  hit  it—  I  am,  indeed,  one 
"  Of  thoe  ill-faied  Ex's  (his  Lordship  replies), 

'And,  wi  h  (ears,  1  confess  —  God  forgive  uie  the 
pun !  — 
"  We  X's  have  proved  ourselves  not  to  be  Y'b." 


WO!     W  O  !  3 

Wo,  wo  unto  him  who  would  check  or  disturb  it  — 
That  beautiful  Light,  which  is  now  on  iis  "ay  ; 

Which,  beaming,  at  first,  o'er  the  bogs  of  Beltuibet, 
Now  brightens  sweet  Ballinafad  witli  its  ray  ! 

Oh,  F— riih— m.  Saint  F— rnh— m,  how  much  do  we 
owe  thee  I 

How  forni'd  (o  all  tastes  are  thy  various  employs! 
The  old,  as  a  catcher  of  Catholic",  know  thee, 

The  young,  as  an  amateur  scourger  of  boys. 

Wo,  wo  to  the  man,  who  such  doings  would  smo. 
ther I  — 
On,  Luther  of  Cavan  !  On,  Saint  of  Kilgroggy  ! 
With  whip  in  one  hand,  and  with  Bible  m  t'other. 
Like    Alungo's    tormentor,   both    "  preachee   and 
tioggec." 

Come,  Saints  from  all  quarters,  and  marshal  his  way 
Come,  L— it— n,  who,  scorning  prof  me  erudition, 

Popp'J  Shakspeare,  they  say,  in  the  river,  one  day, 
■Though  'I  was  only  old  Bowdler's  I^Muli  edition. 

Come,    R— den,  who  doubtest  — so   mild   are    Ihj 

Whellier  Bibles  or  bullets  are  best  for  the  nation ; 


long  a  favourite  summer  resort  of  the  ex-ncbleman  in 
question,  and  lill  this  season,  much  fiequenled  also 
by  gen  lenien  of  the  church. 

•>  The  Lord  Chancellor  Eld— n. 

a  Sugjested  by  a  speech  of  the  Bishop  of  Ch— st— r 
on  the  subject  of  the  New  Reformation  in  Ireland,  in 
which  his  Lordship  denounced  "  Wo!  Wt  !  Wo!" 
pretty  abundantly  on  all  those  >vho  dared  to  interfere 
with  its  progress. 


398 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Wrto  leav'st  to  poor  Paddy  no  medium  tn  chnose,  Art 

'Xwixt  giiod  old  Rebellion  and  new  Reformation.     |     Ij 

What  more  from  her  Sainis  c\n  Hibtrnia  require?       So 
SI.  Tiiiii-et,  of  y.tie,  like  a  duliful  d  .uih  ei, 

Suppiietl  her,  'tis  said,  wiili  jeriielual  Ji-e,! 
And  Sajuta  keep  her,  now.,  lu  elernal  Iioi  water. 


those  ihat,  like  Vishnu  and  others,  descend 
1  the  form,  so  atlractive,  of  loave»  and  of  fishes  I  > 


Wo.  wo  to  the  niai 

<)rs:op  ihe  Millt 

When,  bless'd  wnj 

We  shall  learn  t 


vho  would  check  their  career, 
iuin.  ihat 's  sure  to  await  us, 
1  oilhodox  crop  every  yi;ar, 
lise  I^folestaiils,  fast  as  pota  oea. 


In  kidnapping  Papists,  our  rulers,  we  know, 
Had  been  riyiitg  their  talent  for  many  a  day; 

Till  F — rrih— ni,  when  all  had  been  tried,  came  to 
show, 
Like  the  German  flea-catcher,  "  anoder  goot  way." 

And  nothing  »9  more  simple  than  F— rnh— m's  re- 
ceipt ;  — 
**  Catch  your  Catholic,  first  — soak  hira  well  in 
yjoree?!  — * 
*'  Add  salary  sauce,3  and  the  thing  is  complete. 
**You  nuy  serve  up  yuur  fro.eslant,  sniokiug  and 
clean," 

"  Wo,  wo  to  the  wag,  who  would  laugli  at  such 
cookery  1" 

Thus,  from  his  perch,  did  I  hear  .i  black  crow  4 
Caw  angrily  out,  while  Ihe  rest  of  Ihe  r-i«kerv 

Opeu'd  their  bills,  and  re-echo'd  *'  Wo  1  woV 


TOUT    POUR    LA    TRIPE. 


abstain  from  treating  them  wiih  offens; 
and,  tluiugh  unable  to  consirler  them  sacit-d,  wc  would 
nol  6ne<*r  at  the  name  ot  Fot,  or  laush  ai  the  imimteU 
divinity  of  Vjsfftnou."— Cyuricr,  Tutsday,  Jan.  16. 


Come,  take  my  advice,  never  trouble  your  cranium, 

When  "  civil  advautages"  are  to  be  gain'd. 
What  gnd  or  what  goddess  may  help  to  obiain  you 

Hindoo  or  Chinese,  so  ihey  Ve  only  obtain'd. 

In  this  world  (let  me  liint  in  yonrorgin  auricular) 
All  the  good  things  to  goi.d  hypocrites  fall  ; 

And  he.  who  in  sw,tllovvm^  creeds  is  particular, 
Soon  will  have  nothiugio  rwallow  at  all. 

Oh,  place  me  where  Fo  (or,  as  snme  call  him.  Fu*) 
Is  the  gnd,  from  whom  *'  civil  advantages"  flow, 

And  >ou  Ml  find,  if  there's  any  thing  snug  to  be  got, 
1  shall  soon  be  on  excellent  lerms  with  old  Fo. 

Or  were  I  where  Vishnu.,  th:it  four-handed  god, 
li  the  quadruple  giver  of  pt-nsions  and  places, 

I  own  I  should  feel  it  unchristian  and  odd 
^'ot  to  find  myself  aUo  iu  Vishnu's  good  graces. 

For,  among  all  the  gods  that  humanely  a'tend 
To  our  wants  in  this  planet,  the  god's  to  my  wishes 


y  advice— for,  if  even  the  devil 
Shnuld  temp  men  again  as  an  idol  to  try  him, 
'  were  best  fur  us  Torie-,  even  then,  to  be  civil, 
As  nobody  doubts  \^  e  should  get  something  by  hhn. 


*  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kil- 
dare. 
^  Whi.key. 

3  "  We  understand  that  several  applications  have 
lately  been  made  to  the  Protestant  clergymen  of  this 
town  by  fellows,  inquiring  '  What  are  they  giving  a 
head  for  converts  ?'  " — PVtxford  Post, 

4  Of  the  rook  species—  Corvus  frugilegus,  i.  e.  a 
great  consumer  of  corn. 


ENIGMA. 

Monstrum  nulla  virlule  redemptnm* 

Come,  riddle-nie-ree,  come,  riddle  me-ree, 
And  tell  me  what  my  name  niay  be. 
I  am  nearly  one  hundred  and  thirty  years  old, 

And  therefore  no  chicken,  as  you  "may  suppose;  — 
Though   a  dwarf  in  my  youth  (as  my  nurses  have 
toldj, 
1   have,   ev'ry  year  since,  been    outgrowing   my 
clothes  ; 
Till,  at  l-Aht,  such  a  corpulent  ginnt  I  stand. 

That,  if  folks  were  to  furnish  me  now  with  a  suit, 
It  would  lake  evVy  morsel  cf  xcrip  in  the  land 

But  to  measure  my  bulk  from  Ihe  head  to  the  foot. 
Hence,  they  who  maintain   n>e,  grown  sick  of  my 
stature, 
To  cover  me  nolliingbut  rags  will  supply; 
And  the  doctors  declare  that,  in  due  course  of  nature. 

About  Ihe  year  30  in  rags  1  shall  die. 
Meatn\hile  I  ?talk  hungry  and  bloated  amUnd, 

An  ohjtc'  of  i7it*rtst,  m"st  piinfui,  to  all ; 

Id  the  warehouse,  the  cot>age,  the  palace  I  'm  found, 

Holding  citizen,  peasant,  and  king  in  my  thrall. 

Then  riddle-me  ree,  oh  riddlc-nie-ree. 

Come,  tell  me  what  my  name  may  be. 

When  the  lord  of  the  counling-house  hends  o'er  his 
h  ok, 

Bright  piclures  of  profit  delighting  to  draw, 
0  er  his  shoulders  with  large  cipher  eyeballs  I  look, 

And  down  drops  ihe  pen  from  his  paralyz'd  paw  • 
When  Ihe  Premier  lies  dreaming  of  dear  Waterloo, 

And  expec's  ihrnudi  another  to  c;*per  and  pr^nk  it, 
You'd  laugh  did  ynu'see,  when  I  bellow  out  "Boo  !» 

How    he  hides  his  brave   VVaterloo  head    in  l!ie 
blanket. 
Whei  mighty  BeUhazzar  brims  high  in  the  hall 

His  cup,  full  of  gout,  to  the  Gaul's  overlhrow, 
Lo,  •'Eight  Hundred  Millions^'  I  wiiie  on  the  wall, 

And  the  cup  (alls  to  eanh  and— the  gout  to  his  toe! 
But  the  joy  of  my  heari  is  when  lart^ely  I  cnm 

My  maw  wi  h  the  fruits  of  the  Squirearchy's  acres. 
And.  knowing  who  made  me  the  thing  that  I  am. 

Like  Ihe  iiionsiernf  Frankenstein,  "drry  my  makers. 
Then  riddle-nie-ree,  come,  riddle-me-ree, 
And  tell,  if  thou  know'sl,  who  /may  be. 


DOG-DAY    REFLECTIONS. 

BY    A    DANDY    KEPT    IN    TOWN. 

"  Vox  clamantis  in  de-serti, 

IS27. 
Said  Mallhus,  one  day,  to  a  clown 

Lying  streich'd  on  the  be.tch,  in  the  sun  — 
*'  VVhat'sIhe  number  of  souls  in  this  town?'— 
*'  The  number  !  Lord  bless  you,  iheie  's  none. 

"  We  have  nothing  but  dabs  in  this  place, 
*'()f  (At77i  a  great  plen  y  there  are  ;  — 

*'  Bu'  the  solesy  plense  ynur  rev'rence  and  grace, 
*•  Are  all  f  other  side  of  the  bir." 


*  Vishnu  was  (as  Sir  W.  Jones  calls  him]  "a  pisci- 
form  god,"—  his  first  Ava  ar  being  iu  the  !>bape  of  k, 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


3y9 


And  so  'I  is  in  London  just  now, 
Not  a  soul  to  be  seen,  np  or  down ;  — 

Of  dabs  a  creal  ^lu',  I  allow, 
But  your  Soto,  every  cue,  out  of  town. 

East  or  west,  nolliing  wonj'ious  or  new  ; 

No  couilslnp  or  scindal,  worth  ktmwing; 
Mis,  B ,  and  a  Merninid  ■  or  two. 

Are  the  only  loose  tish  that  are  going. 

Ah.  where  is  that  dear  honse  of  Peers, 
Tha',  some  weeks  a^o,  kept  us  merry? 

Where  Eld— n.  art  thou,  with  thy  'ears? 
And  thou,  with  thy  sense,  I^-d— d— y? 

Wise  Marqnis,  how  much  the  Lord  May'r, 
In  the  d*-e-day^,  wi'h  th£e  niust  be  nuzzled  !  — 

It  beins;  his  task  to  lake  care 
That  such  animals  slian't  go  unmuzzled. 

Thou,  too,  whose  polilical  toils 

Are  so  worthy  a  captain  of  horje  — 

Whose  amendments^  (like  honest  Sir  Boyle's) 
Are  "  aTiieiidments  that  make  matters  «)o«e;"3 

Great  Chieftain,  who  (akest  such  pains 
To  prove  —  what  is  granted,  7iem.  con, — 

With  how  moderate  a  |)nrtinn  of  brains 
±3ome  heroes  contrive  to  gel  on. 

And,  thou,  ton,  my  R — d— sd— e,  ah,  where 
Is  the  peer,  with  a  star  at  his  button, 

Whose  quarters  could  ever  comp.ire 
Witll  R — d — sd — e's  five  quarters  of  mutton  ?  * 

Why,  why  have  ye  taken  your  flight, 

Ye  diverting  and  dignified  crew  ? 
How  ill  do  three  farces  a  night. 

At  the  Haymarket,  pay  us  for  you! 

For,  what  is  Bombastes  to  thee, 
Mv  Ell— nbro'.  when  thou  look'st  big? 

Or,  where  's  the  burletta  can  be 

Like  L— d— rd— It's  wit,  and  his  wig? 

I  doubt  if  ev'n  Griflinhnof  5  could 

(Though  Griffin's  a  comical  lad) 
Invent  any  joke  half  so  good 

As  that  precious  one,  "  This  is  too  bad !" 

Then  come  ajain.  come  again.  Spring  I 
Oh  haste  thee,  with  Knn  in  thy  train  ; 

And  — of  all  thines  the  funniest  — bring 
These  exalted  Grimaldis  asaia! 


THE   "LIVING   DOG"  AND  "THE  DEAD 
LION." 

1828. 

Next  week  will  be  publish'd  (as  "  Lives"  are  the 
rage) 
The  whole  Reminiscences,  wondVous  and  strange. 


*  One  of  the  shows  of  London. 

5  More  parlicularly  his  Grace's  celebrated  amend 
ment  to  the  Corn  Bill;  for  which,  and  the  circum- 
stances  cnnnecled  with  it,  see  Annual  Register  for 
A.  D.  1827. 

3  From  a  speech  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's,  in  the  Irish 
House  of  Commons. 

*  The  learning  his  Lordship  displayed,  on  tho  sub- 
ject of  the  butcher's  "  fifih  quarter"  of  mutton,  will 
not  speedily  be  forgotten. 

'  The  nam  de  picrre  under  which  Colman  has 
written  gome  of  his  best  farces. 


Of  a  small  puppy-dog,  that  liv'd  once  in  the  c.lge 
Of  the  lale  noble  Lion  at  Exeter  'Change. 

Though  the  dog  is  a  dog  of  the  kind  Mn-y  call  "sad," 
'T  is  a  puppy  Ihai  much  to  g.  od  breeding  pretends; 

And  few  dogs  have  Mich  oiipniluliilies  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  phin,  from  each  sentence,  the  puppy, dog 
thinks 
That  the  Lion  was  no  such  great  things  after  all. 

Though    he   roar'J    pretty  well  —  this  the   puppy 

It  was  all,  he  says,  borrow'd  —  all  second-hand 
ro.ir  J 
And  he  vasily  prefers  his  oivn  little  bowwows 
To  the  loftiest  war-note  the  Lion  could  pour. 

T  is,  indeed,  as  good  fun  as  a  Cynic  could  ask. 
To  see  how  this  cockney-breil  setter  of  rabbits 

Takes  gravely  the  Lord  of  the  Forot  to  task, 
And  judges  of  lions  by  puppy-dog  habits. 

Nav,  fed  as  he  was  (and  tliis  makes  it  a  dark  case) 
With  s"ps  every  day  from  the  Lirm's  own  pan, 

He  lifts  up  his  leg  at  llie  noble  beast's  carcass, 
And  —  does  all  a  dog,  so  diminutive,  can. 

However,  the  book  's  a  good  book,  being  rich  in 

Examples  and  warning  to  lions  hieh-bred. 
How  they  suffer  small  niongrelty  curs  in  their  kit- 

Who'll  feed  on  them  living,  and  foul  them  when 
dead. 

T.    PIDCOCK. 
Exeter  ^Chan^e* 


ODE    TO    DON    MIGUEL. 
El  lu,  Brule! 

182S.< 
What !  Miguel,  not  patriotic  ?  oh,  fy  ! 
After  so  much  good  teaching  'i  is  quite  a  tahe-in, 
Sir ; — 
First  school'd,  as  you  were,  under  Metlernich's  eye. 
And    then  (as    young   misses   say)    "  iiiiish'd"  at 
Windsor !  i 

I  ne'er  in  my  life  knew  a  case  that  was  harder ; — 
Such  feasts  as  you  had,  when  you  made  us  a  call  ! 

Three  courses  each  day  from  his  Majesty's  larder,— 
And  now,  to  turn  absolute  Don,  after  all ! ! 

Some  authors,  like  Bayes,  to  the  s'yle  and  the  matter 
Of  each  thing  they  lortVe  suit  the  way  that  Ihey 

Roast  sirloin  for  Epic  broil'il  devils  for  Sitire, 
And    ho'chpotch   and  tri/tc  for  rhymes  such  as 


That  Rulers  should  feed   the  same  way,    I  've 
doubt;— 
Great  Despots  on  bottilli  serv'd  up  a  la  i2u«e,8 


6  At  the  commencement  of  this  year,  the  designs  of 
on  Miguel  and  his  partisans  against  the  constitution 
itabli-hed  liy  tiis  brother  had  begun  more  openly  to 


decl 


thcmselv 


Don  Miguel  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  English  court, 
at  the  close  of  the  year  1827. 
8  Dressed  with  a  pint  of  the  strongest  spirite  —  h 


400 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Vour  small  German  Princes  on  fro^s  and  sour  crout, 
And  your  Vice-roy  of  Hanover  always  on  goose. 

Sotnt  Dons,  too,  have  fancied  (though  this  may  be 
fabie) 
A  dish  lather  dear,   if,  in  cooking,  they  blunder 

Not  content  with  the  common  hot  meat  07i  a  table, 
Thev  'le  partial  (eh,  Mig  i)  to  a  disli  of  cold  under 
it!  1 

No  wonder  a  Don  of  such  appe'ites  found 
Even  VVind>or'scoIlatioiij.  plebeiauly  plaJn  ; 

Where   the  dishes  most  Aig/i  that  uiy  Lady  sends 
round 
Are  her  Mainteno7i  cutlets  and  soup  a  la  lieiyte* 

Alas  !  that  a  youth  with  such  charming  beginnings, 
Sliould  sjnk,  all  at  once,  to  so  sad  a  conclusion, 

And,  what  is  still  wor,-e,  throw  the  losings  and  win- 
nings 
Of  worthies  on  'Change  into  so  much  confusion  ! 

The  Bulls,  in  hysterics  —  the  Hears  just  as  bad  — 
'I'he  few  men  who  Aaye,  and  the  many  who  've  7iot 
lick, 

All  shock'd  to  find  out  that  that  promising  lad, 
rriDce  Metleruich's  pupil,  is  —  not  patriotic! 


THOUGHTS    ON    THE     PRESENT    GOVERN- 
MENT  OF   IRELAND. 

1S23. 
Oft  liave  I  seen,  in  gay,  equestrian  pride, 
6oine  well-rouged  youth  round  AsHey's  Circus  ride' 
Two  stately  steeds— slanding,  with  graceful  straddlC] 
Like  him  of  Rhodes,  with  font  on  either  saddle, 
While  to  soft  tunes— some  jigs  and  some  andantes-^ 
He  steers  around  his  light-paced  Rosiuantes. 

So  rides  along,  with  canter  smooth  and  pleasant, 

That  luTseman  bold,  Lord  Angle^ca,  at  preseni;— 

Papist  s.nd  Protestant  the  coursers  twain, 

TImI  lend  their  necks  to  his  impanial  rein. 

And  round  the  ring  —  each  honoured,  as  they  go. 

With  equil  pressui-e  from  his  gracious  tne  — 

lo  the  old  medley  tune,  half  "  Patrick's  Day" 

And  half  '•  Hoyne  Water,"  lake  their  cantering  way, 

While  Peel,  the  showman  in  the  midrlle,  cracks 

His  long-lash'd  whip,  to  cheer  the  doubtful  hacks'. 

Ah,  ticklish  trial  of  equestrian  art ! 

How  blest,  if  neither  sieed  would  bolt  or  start  j  — 

If  Prottstanth  old  reslive  tricks  were  gone. 

And  Pu-pUiH  winkers  could  be  still  kept  on ! 

Bui  no,  false  hopes — not  ev'n  the  greai  Ducrow 

'Twixt  t'.vo  such  steeds  could  'scape  an  overthrow: 

If  solar  hacks  playM  Ph:»efon  a  trick, 

What  hope,  alas,  from  hackneys  lunatic? 

If  once  my  Lord  his  graceful  balance  loses, 

(Jr  fails  lo  keep  each  foot  where  each  horse  chooses ; 

If  Pef-t  but  gives  one  Extia  touch  of  whip 

To  Papist's  tail  or  PrctcstanVn  ear-tip  — 

That  ins'ant  ends  their  gloi  tons  horsemanship  ! 

Off  boll  the  sever'd  steeds,  fnr  mischief  tree, 

And  down,  between  them,  plumps  Lord  Anglesea  ! 


favouri'e  dish  of  the  Great  Frederick  of  Prussia,  and 
whicli  he  per-evered  in  eating  even  on  liis  death-bed, 
much  to  the  horror  of  his  ph)bici-in  Zimmerman. 

i  This  quiet  cise  of  murder,  wi  h  at!  its  parijcu- 
lars  —  Ihe  hiding  the  body  under  the  dinnei-lable,  &c. 
&c.  —  is,  no  doubt,  well  linown  to  the  reader. 


THE  LIMBO  OF  LOST  REPUTATIONS. 


"  Cio  chc  si  perde  qui,  ta  e 
valley,  where  Y 


Thiiigs  thatc 


.rlh  1 


:  loMt." 


MiUo 


I&2& 


Know''st  thou  not  him^  the  poet  sings, 

Who  l^ew  to  Ihe  moon's  serene  domain, 
And  saw  that  valley,  where  alt  the  things, 

Th.it  vanish  on  e,-rth,  are  found  again  — 
The  hopes  of  youth,  the  resolves  of  age. 
The  vow  of  the  lover,  Ihe  dreani  of  the  sage. 
The  golden  visions  of  mining  cils, 

'Jhe  promises  great  men  s^rew  about  them; 
And,  pack'd  in  compass  sm.ill,  the  wits 

ot  nionarchs,  w  ho  rule  as  well  without  them  !  — 
Like  him,  but  diving  with  wing  prolound, 
1  have  been  lo  a  Limbo  under  giound, 
Where  characters  lost  on  earth,  (and  criedy 
In  vain,  like  H— rr— s's,  far  and  wide,) 
In  heaps,  like  yesterday's  oris,  are  thrown 
And  there,  so  worthless  and  tiy-blown. 
That  even  the  imps  would  not  purloin  them, 
Lie,  till  (heir  worthy  owners  join  thetn. 

Curious  it  was  to  see  (his  ma^s 

Of  lost  and  torn-up  reputations ; — 
Some  of  ihem  female  wares,  alas, 

Misliid  at  innocent  assignations  ; 
Some,  th.u  had  sigh'd  their  last  amen 

From  the  canting  lips  of  saints  that  would  be; 
And  some  unce  own'd  by  *'  'he  best  of  nien," 

Who  had  prov'd— no  better  than  they  should  be, 
'Mong  oiliers,  a  poet's  f.ime  I  spied, 

Once  shining  lair,  now  soak'd  and  black  — 
**No  wonder"  (^n  imp  at  my  elbow  cried), 

*-  For  1  pick'd  it  out  of  a  butt  of  sack  I" 

Just  then  a  yell  was  heard  o'er  head. 

Like  a  chininey-3ueei)er's  lofty  summons; 
And  lo  I  a  devM  right  downward  'ped, 
Bringing,  within  his  clans  so  red. 
Two  staresmen's  characters,  found,  he  said. 

Last  night,  on  the  Hoor  ot  ihe  House  of  CommoDt; 
The  which,  wiih  black  official  grin. 
He  now  to  the  Chief  Imp  handed  in;  — 
iioik  these  articlw  much  ihe  worse 

For  iheir  journey  down,  as  yim  may  suppose; 
But  one  o  devilish  rank  —  *'  Odd's  cur^e  1" 

Said  Ihe  Loid  Chief  Imp,  and  held  his  nose. 

"  Ho,  ho  !"'  quoth  he,  *'  I  know  full  well 

'*  From  whom  these  iwo  stiay  matteis  fell  ;''-^* 

Then,  casting  away,  with  loathful  shrug, 

The'  uncleaner  waif  (as  he  would  a  drug 

The'  Invisible's  own  dark  hand  had  mix'd), 

His  gaze  on  the  oihers  firm  be  fix'd. 

And  trying,  though  misohitf  laugh'd  in  his  eye, 

To  be  moral,  because  of  ihe  yoiuig  imps  by, 

"  What  a  piiy  !"  be  crird  —  "so  fresh  its  gloss, 

"So  long  preserv'd  — 'l  is  a  pubbc  loss  I 

"  This  comes  of  a  man,  the  carele-s  blockhead, 

"  Keeping  his  character  in  his  pocket ; 

"  And  there—  without  considering  whether 

*' There's  room  for  ihai  and  his  gains  together  — 

"  Cramming,  and  cramming,  and  cianiming  away 

"Till  —  out  slips  character  some  line  day  ! 

"  However"  — and  here  he  vievr'd  it  round  — 

"  This  article  still  may  pass  for  sound. 

"Some  flaws,  soon  patch'd,  some  sfains  are  all 

"'Ihe  hnrm  it  lus  had  in  its  luckless  f. II. 

•*  Here,  Puck  '."—and  he  cali'd  lo  one  of  his  train- 

"  The  owner  may  have  this  back  again. 


a  Astolptio. 


a  H-k-n. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


401 


,1 


"Though  damagM  for  ever,  if  usM  with  skill, 
*'It  may  serve,  perhaps,  to  trade  on  still ; 
**'rhoutch  the  ^em  can  never,  as  once,  be  set, 
«  U  will  do  for  a  Tory  Cabinet." 


n  jW  to  write  by  proxy. 

Qui  Tacit  per  alium  facit  per  se. 

Mjng  oar  neighbours,  the  French,  in  the  good  olden 
(inie 
When  Nobility  floLrish'd,  great  Barons  and  Dukes 
Often  si:t  up  tor  authors  in  prose  and  'n  rhyme, 
Bui  ne'er  took  the  trouble  to  write  theirowu  books. 

Poor  devils  were  found  to  do  thia  for  their  betters;  — 
]      And,  one  day,  a  Kishop,  addressine:  a  /f/jfc, 
Said,  "Ma'am,  have  you  read  my  new  Pastoral  Let- 
ters ?" 
To  which  the  Slue  answer'd  —  "  No,  Bishop,  ha  ve 
you  ?" 

The  same  is  now  done  by  cntr  privile^c'd  class ; 

And,  to  show  ynu  how  simple  the  procesa  it  needs, 
If  a  ^reat  Major-Getteral  *  wtshfs  to  pass 

For  an  author  of  History,  thus  he  pi-oceeds :  — 

First,  scribbling  his  own  etock  of  notinns  as  well 
A5  he  can  with  affoose-qtiill  that  claims  him  asftm, 

He  settles  his  neckcloth- takes  snuff— rings  the  bell, 
And  yavvumgly  orders  a  Subaltern  in. 

The  Subaltern  comes  — sees  his  General  seated, 

In  all  the  self-ijlory  of  authoiship  swelling;  — 
"There,  Inok,"  saith  his  Lordship,  *' my  work  is 
comple'ed,- 
It  wants  nothing  now  but  the  grammar  and  spell- 
ing." 

Well  used  lo  a  breach,  the  brave  Suballern  dreads 
Awkward  breaches  of  syntax  a  hundred  limes  more ; 

Anil,  though  often  condemn'd  to  sec  breaking  of  heads. 
He  had  ne'er  ^een  such  breaking  of  PriscJans  before 

However,  the  job  's  sure  to  pay  — 'hat 's  enough  — 
So,  to  it  he  sets  with  his  tinkering  hammer, 

Convinc'd  that  there  never  was  jib  hilf  so  tough 
As  the  mending  a  great  Major-General's  grammar. 

But,  lo,  a  fresh  puzzlement  starts  up  to  view*  — 
New  toil  fur  the  Suti.— for  the  Lord  new  expense : 

'Tisdiscover'd  that  mending  his  fJ-ummar  wo'n't  do, 
As  the  Suballeio  also  must  find  him  in  sense! 

At  last  —  even  this  is  achiev'd  by  his  aid  ; 

Friend  Subaltern  pockets  the  cash  and  —  the  story  ; 
Drums  beat  — the  new  Grand  March  of  Inlelleet's 
play'd  — 

And  oU  struts  my  Lord,  the  Historian,  in  glory ! 


IMITATION  OF  THE  INFERNO  OF  DANTE. 

"Cofil  quel  flaCo  gll  nplritl  mall 
Di  qua,  <li  la,  di  giu,  di  su  gli  mena."    h/ernc,  canto  6. 

I  turii'd  my  s'eps,  and  lo.  a  shadowy  throng 

Of  ghosts  came  fluilennK  low'rds  me  — blown  alone, 

Like  cockchiifets  in  high  autumnal  storms. 

By  many  a  fitful  gust  that  thron»h  their  f  rms 

Wliislled,  as  on  they  came,  with  wheezv  puff, 

And  puli'd  .18-  though  they  'd  never  pufl'  enough. 

]  "  Whence  and  what  are  ye  ?"  pitving  I  inquir'd 
!  Of  these  poor  ghosts,  who,  tatler'd,  lost,  and  lir'd 

I      »  Or  Lieulenant^Jeneral,  a«  it  may  happen  to  be. 


With  such  eternal  pitfTJng,  scarce  could  stand 

On  their  lean  legs  while  answeiing  iriy  demand. 

**  We  once  were  authors"— thus  the  Sprite,  who  ted 

This  taff-rag  regiment  of  spectres,  said  — 

•'  Authors  of  every  sex,  male,  tcninle,  neuter, 

"  Who,  eailv  sniil  » iih  love  of  praise  xvii—f)noter,'i 

"On  C-lb— n's  slielvei  lirst  saw  the  light  of  day, 

"In 's3  putt's  exhal'd  our  lives  avsay— 

"  Like  summer  windmills,  doom'd  to  dusiy  peace, 
"  When  tlie  brisk  gales,  that  lent  tliein  motion,  cease. 
"Ah,  little  knew  we  then  what  ills  await 
"  Much  lauded  scribblers  in  their  aftei-slate  ; 
"DepulI'd  one.irth— hiiw  lo  dly  Sir— t  can  tell — 
*'  And,  dire  reward,  now  doubly  putf 'd  in  hell  I" 

Touch'd  with  compassion  for  this  ghastly  crew, 
Whose  nbs.  even  now,  the  hollow  wind  sung  through 
In  mournful  prose,— such  prose  as  Rosa's*  ehost 
Slill,  at  ttie'  accustom'd  hour  of  egss  and  toast, 
Siglis  through  the  columns  of  the  Al—m~g  P—t,~ 
Pensive  1  lurn'd  lo  weep,  when  he,  who  stood 
F.ireniost  of  all  that  llalulenlial  brood. 
Singling  a  47ie-ghost  from  the  parly,  said, 
"Allow  me  lo  present  Miss  X.  Y.  Z.,» 
"  One  of  our  teller  d  nymphs  -•  excuse  the  pnn  — 
'*  Who  giin'd  a  nanie  on  earth  by —  having  none; 
"And  whose  initials  would  immoital  be, 
*'  Had  she  but  learn'd  those  plain  ones,  A.  B.  C. 

"  Yon  smirking  ghost,  like  mummy  dry  and  neat, 

**  Wrapp'd   in  his  own  dead  rh\mes — fit  winding- 

sheet  — 
"  Still  marvels  much  that  not  a  soul  should  care 
**One  single  pin  to  know  who  wrote  *  May  Fair;' — 
"  While  thii  young  een'leman,"  (here  forth  he  diew 
A  dandy  spectre.  put!*d  quite  through  and  through, 
As  though  his  ribs  were  an  .Solian  lyre 
For  the  whole  Row's  soft  ^-ode-winds  to  Inspire,) 
"  This  modest  genius  brea'h'd  one  wish  alone, 
**  To  have  his  volume  read,  himself  unknown  ; 
"  But  dilferent  far  the  course  bis  glory  took, 
"  All  knew  the  author,  and  —  none  read  the  book. 

"Behold,  in  yonder  ancient  fiffure  of  fun, 
"  Who  rides  the  blast.  Sir  J-n— h  B-rr— t— n  ;  — 
"  In  tricks  to  raise  the  wind  his  life  was  spent, 
"  And  now  the  wind  returns  the  compliment, 

"  This  l.idy  here,  the  Earl  of 's  sister, 

"  Is  a  dead  novelist;  and  this  is  Mister  — 

"  Beg  pnrdon— ^OTiottrafcie  Mister  L— st-rrr, 

"  A  gentleman  who,  some  weeks  since,  came  over 

"  In  a  smart  puff  (wind  S.  S.  E.)  lo  Dover. 

"Yonder  behind  us  limps  young  Vivian  Grey, 

"  Whose  life,  poor  youth,   was   long    since    blowD 

"  Like  a  lorn  paper-kite,  on  whicli  the  wind 
"  No  further  purchase  for  a  pufl'  can  find." 

"And  thou,  thyself"—  here,  anxious,  I  exclaim'd  — 

"  Tell  us  cod  ghost,  how  tiiou,  thyself,  art  named." 

"  Me,  Sir !"  he  blushing  cried—"  Ah,  there 's  the  rub^ 

"Know,  then— a  wailei  once  at  B^ooks'^  Club, 

"A  waiter  slill  I  might  have  long  remain'd, 

"  And  long  the  club-room's  jokes  and  ghsses  drain'd; 

"  But,  ah,  in  luckless  hour,  this  last  December, 

"  I  wrote  a  book,6  and  Cnlburn  dubb'd  me  '  Member'— 


34* 


2  The  classical  term  for  money. 

3  The  reader  mav  fill  up  this  gap  with  anyone  of 
the  dissyUalic  publishers  of  London  that  cccuis  to 
him. 

*  Rosa  Mafilda,  who  was  for  many  years  tl>e  writer 
of  the  pnlitjcal  a-ticles  in  the  jnurnal  alluded  to,  and 
whose  spirit  still  seems  to  preside— "  regiiat  Rosa"— 
over  its  pages. 

«  Not  the  chtrming  L.  E.  L,  and  still  less  Mrs. 
F.  H.,  whose  poetry  is  among  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
present  day. 

6  *'  History  of  the  Clubs  of  London,"  announced  as 
by  '*a  Membtrof  Brooks's." 

27 


402 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


"*Memberof  Brooks'sl*— oh  Ptoniethean  puff,         I 
"To  what  wilt  thou  exalt  even  kiichen-stuil  ! 
*■  With  crunis  of  e;nssip,  causfhi  from  dining  wits, 
"And  halt-heard  jokes,  beque.it h'd,  like  half-cbew'd 

b,ts, 
"  To  be,  each  ni^ht,  the  waiter's  perquisites  ;— 
"With  such  ingredients,  ser  v'd  up  oft  bef  re, 
*'  Hut  With  flesh  fudge  and  ticttuu  s;arui>h'd  o*er, 
"  1  nianagM,  for  s  >ine  v\  ttks,  lo  d'  se  the  town, 
"Till  frtrsh  reserves  of  non-ense  ran  me  down; 
"And,  ready  still  even  w^iter^*  s^uls  to  damn, 
"'1  he  Devil  but  rana;  his  bell,  and  — heie  1  am  ;— 
"Yes  —  *  Coming  it/j,  Sir,' once  niy  fivourite  cry, 
"  ilxchang'd  for  '  Coming  dowHf  Sir,'  here  am  1  !'* 

Scarc2  had  the  Spectre's  lips  these  words  let  drop, 

When,  lo,  a  breeze—  such  as  from 's  shop 

Blows  in  the  vernal  huur,  when  pi.ffs  prevail, 

And  speeds  the  shtcts  and  sweils  the  Ug^ing  saU'^ 

'I'ook  the  poor  waiter  rudely  in  the  ponp, 

And,  whirling  him  and  all  his  gnsly  group 

Of  literary  ghosts  — Miss  X.  Y.'  Z  — 

The  nanteless  author,  belter  known  than  read 

Sir  Jo.  —  the  honourable  Mr.  L — st— r. 

And,  last,  not  leist.  Lord  Nobody's  twin-sister  — 

Blew  theni,  ye  gods,  with  :ill  ther  prose  and  rhymes 

And  sins  about  them,  far  into  those  climes 

*■  Where  i'eter  pitch'd  his  waistcoat"  i  iu  old  times, 

Leaving  me  much  in  doubt,  as  ou  I  prest. 

With  my  great  master,  through  this  realrn  unblest 

Whether  Old  Nick  or  C— lb— d  pufis  the  best. 


LAMENT   FOR  THE   LOSS  OF   LORD 
B-TH-ST'S    TAIL.* 

All  in  again  — miluok'd  fnr  bliss! 

Yet,  ah,  one  adjunct  still  we  missj — 

One  tender  tie,  atiach'd  so  long 

To  the  same  head,  through  right  and  wrong. 

Why,  B— th-st,  why  didst  Ihuu  cut  ofl" 

That  memorable  tail  of  thine  ? 
Why — as  If  one  was  not  enough  — 

Thy  pig-lie  with  thy  place  resign, 
And  thus,  at  once,  both  cut  and  7U7i  ? 
Alas,  my  Lord,  't  uas  not  well  done, 
'T  was  not,  indeed  —  though  sad  at  lieart, 
From  nthcc  and  ils  sweets  to  part, 
Yet  hopes  of  ci'mmg  in  a^ain, 
Sweet  Tory  hopes  !  beauil'd  our  pain  ; 
But  thus  to  miss  that  tail  of  ihiue. 
Through  long,  long  years  our  rallying  sign  — 
As  if  the  Sl.ite  and  all  its  powers 
By  tenancy  in  tail  were  ours  — 
To  see  it  thus  by  scissors  fall. 
This  was  "the'  unkii.dcst  cut  of  all  I" 
It  seeni'd  as  though  the'  ascendani  day 
Of  Toryism  had  pass'd  a**ay. 
And,  provmff  Samson's  <tory  true, 
She  lost  her  vigi'ur  with  her  que-uu 

Parties  are  much  like  fish,  't  is  said  ^ 
The  tail  directs  them,  not  the  head; 
Thsn,  how  could  any  party  fail, 
That  sleer'd  i's  course  by  B— th— sfs  tail  ? 
Not  Murat's  plume,  through  VVagram's  fight, 

E'er  shed  such  guiding  glories  fiom  it, 
As  er»t,  in  all  true  Tories'  sight, 

Bla^'d  from  our  old  Colotiial  cnmet  1 
If  you,  niy  Lord,  a  Bashaw  were, 

(As  W— ll-gr_n  will  be  anon) 


1  A /)rt/i/€Jgv^  allusion  to  the  old  saying^  "Nine 
miles  beyond  H— II,  where  Peter  pi:ched  his  waist- 
coat." 

2  The  noble  Lord,  it  is  well  known,  cut  off  this 
much-respected  appendage,  on  his  retirement  from 
office  some  months  since. 


Thou  might'st  have  had  a  tail  to  spare ; 

But  nn,  alas,  ihou  hadst  but  one. 

And  that  -  like  'iVnv,  or  Babylon, 

A  tale  of  other  limes'—  is  gone  ! 
Yel  — weep  je  not,  ye  Jorie^  true — 

Fate  has  not  yet  of  alt  beretl  us  ; 
Thou^^h  (bus  dcpriv'd  of  B--ih— si's  quote^ 
We've  E—b—hsc«>-is  still  left  us  ;- 
Swtet  curls,  from  whxh  young  Love,  so  vicioua, 
His  stio  s,  as  from  nine-pounders,  issues; 
Grand,  glori"us  curls,  whicti,  iu  debate, 
Surchar^'d  with  all  a  mtiou's  fa'e, 
His  Loid.hip  shakes,  as  Homer's  God  did,3 

And  ofr  in  thundering  talk  comes  near  hiai  •— 
Except  ihal,  there,  the  sjieaAer  nodded 

And,  here,  't  is  only  those  who  hear  hini. 
Lonu,  I'tng,  ye  linglels,  on  the  soil 

Of  that  Jal  cranium  m.iy  je  bourish. 
With  pleniy  of  Mac^^sar  oil, 

Thr.'ugh  m^ny  a  year  your  growth  to  nourish! 
And,  ahrshould  'lime  too  soon  uusheath 

His  t<arbarous  shears  such  locks  to  sever, 
Still  dear  to  Tories,  even  in  death. 
Their  last,  lov'd  relics  we'll  bequeath, 

A  hair'ioom  to  our  buds  for  ever. 


THE    CHERRIES. 
A  Parable,* 

See  those  cherries,  how  Ihey  cover 

Yonder  smmy  garden  wall ; — 
Had  they  nut  tha^  network  over, 
Thieving  birds  would  eat  Ihem  all. 

So,  to  guard  our  posts  and  pensions, 

Ancient  sages  wove  a  net, 
Tliruugh  who^e  holes,  of  small  dimeosions, 

Only  certain  knaves  can  get, 

Sh^ll  we  then  this  network  widen? 

tjhall  ue  stretch  these  sacred  holes, 
Through  which,  ev'u  already,  slide  in 

Lots  of  small  dissenting  souls  ? 

"God  forbid  I"  old  Testy  crieth; 

"  God  forbid  1**  so  echo  1 ; 
Every  ravenous  bird  that  tiieth 

Theu  would  at  our  cherries  fly. 

Ope  but  half  an  inch  or  so. 

And   behold,  what  bevies  break  iD;  — 
Here,  some  curst  old  Popish  crow 

Pops  his  long  and  lickerish  beak  in ; 

Here,  sly  Arians  flock  unnumber'd, 
And  bocinians,  ^lim  and  spare, 

Who,  wilh  small  belief  encumber'd, 
blip  iu  easy  any  where;  — 

Methodists,  of  birds  the  aptest, 
Where  lliere  's  pcckiiig  going  on; 

And  that  water-fowl,  the  Baptist  — 
All  would  share  our  fruits  anon  ; 

Ev'ry  bird,  of  ev'ry  ci'y, 

That,  for  years,  with  ceaseless  din, 
Hath  revtrs'd  the  starling's  ditty. 

Singing  out  "  1  can't  get  »u'* 


3  "Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  nod.'* 

Pope's  h  onur, 

4  Written  during  the  late  discussion  on  the  Ttit 
and  Corporation  Acis. 


PREFACE  TO   THE   NINTH   VOLUME. 


403 


**Gotl  forbid  !"  old  Ttsty  snivels; 

•*  God  forbid  !"  I  echo  too  ; 
Ralher  may  len  tliousaiid  d-v-ls 

beize  the  whole  vuiacious  crew  ! 


If  less  cosily  fruit  wo'n't  suit  'em. 
Hips  and  haws  and  such  like  berries, 

Curse  the  conu'raii's  !  sioiie  'eiii,  shoot  'em, 
Auy  thing  —  to  save  our  cberriea. 


STANZAS  WRITTEN  IN  ANTICIPATION  OF 
DEFEAT.* 

1828. 
Go  seek  for  some  abler  defenders  of  wron?. 
If  we  iniist  run  the  gaullet  Ihrough  blood  and  ex- 
pense ; 
Or,  Golds  aa  ye  are,  in  your  multitude  strong, 

fie  content  with  success,  and  pretend  not  lo  sense. 

If  Ihe  words  of  the  wise  and  the  gen'rous  are  vain, 
If  Trulh  by  the  bowstring  nucst  yield  up  her  breath, 

Let  Mutes  do  the  office  —  and  sp're  her  die  pain 
Of  au  In — gl— 8  or  T — nd— 1  lo  talk  her  lo  death. 


Chain,  persecu'e,  plunder — do  all  that  you  will  — 
Hut  Kive  us,  at  least,  the  old  womanly  lore 

Of  a  F— sl-r,  who,  dully  prophelic  of  ill, 

Is,  at  once,  the  two  instruments,  augur  ^  and  bore. 


I  Bring  legions  of  Squires  — if  they  'II  only  be  mute^ 
And  array  their  thick  heads  against  reason  and 

right, 
I  Like  tlie  K .man  of  old,  of  historic  repule,3 
I      Who  With  droves  uf  dumb  animals  carried  the 

fight  i 

Pour  out,  from  each  corner  and  hole  of  the  Court, 
Yum  Hedchaniber  lordlings,  your  salaried  slaves, 

Who,  ripe  for  all  job-wotk,  no  matter  what  sorl 
Have  tlieir  consciences  (ack'd  to  their  pateuti  and 
slaves. 

Cnlch  all  the  small  fry  who,  as  Juvenal  sings, 
Aie     'he    Treasury's    creatures,    \vhere\cr    they 

With  aii  the  base,  time-serving  toadies  nf  Kingi, 
Who,  if  FiiiiCh  were  the  monarch,  would  worship 
cv'D  him; 

And  while,  on  the  one  side,  each  name  of  renown, 

That  illumines  and  blesses  our  a-e  is  combiu'd  ; 
While  Ihe  Foxes,  the  Pi:ts,  and  the  Cannings  look 


*  This  rhyme  is  more  for  the  ear  than  Ihe  eye,  as 
the  carpenter's  tool  is  spell  auger* 


And  drop  o*er  the  cause  their  rich  mantles  of 
Mind ; 

Let  bold  Paddy  H— Imes  show  his  troops  on  the  other. 
Ami,  counting  of  noses  Ihe  quantum  desir'd. 

Let  Taddy  but  say.  like  the  Gracchi's  fain'd  mother, 
"Come  forward,  my  jeictia"  — H is  all  that's  re- 
quirM. 

And  thus  let  your  farce  be  enacted  hereafter^ 
Thus  honestly  per-ecute,  outlaw,  and  chain  ; 

Bui  spare  ev'n  your  vtc'ims  the  torture  of  laughter. 
And  never,  oh,  never,  try  reasoyiing  again ! 


s  Fabius,  who  sent  droves  of  bullocks  against  the 
enemy. 
*  Res  Fisci  est,  ubicumque  na!at.  —  JuvenaL 


END     OP     VOL.     VIII. 


PREFACE   TO    THE    NINTH   VOLUME. 


In  one  of  those  Notices,  no  less  friendly  than  they 
are  able  and  spirited,  which  this  new  Edition  of  my 
Poetical  Works  has  called  forth  fnmi  a  leading  politi- 
cal journal,  I  find,  in  reference  to  the  numetous 
satirical  pit-ces  contained  in  these  vlumes,  the  fol- 
lowing suggestion  :  5  — "It  is  now  more  'han  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  since  this  bundle  of  political  pa^tpii- 
nades  set  the  british  public  in  a  roar;  and,  though 
the  events  to  which  they  allude  may  be  well  kuowa 
to  every  reader, 

••Cuius  octavum  trepidavil  aeta« 
Claudere  luHtruni," 

there  are  many  per-ons,  now  forming  a  part  of  the 
literary  pul>liC,  vvho  have  come  into  existence  since 
they  happened,  and  who  cannot  be  expected,  even  if 
they  had  the  leisure  and  opportuiiily  to  rumnmee  the 
files  of  our  old  newspapers  for  a  history  of  the 
peri-hable  facts,  on  which  Mr.  Moore  has  so  often 
re^Ied  the  flyrng  artillery  of  his  wit.  Many  of  ihose 
fads  will  be  considered  beneath  the  notice  of  the 
grave  historian;  and  it  is,  therefore,  incurnbent  on 
Mr.  Moore  — if  he  wishes  his  political  squibs,  im- 
bued 38  Itiey  are  with  a  wil  and  humour  quite  Arislo- 
ph>nic,  to  be  relished,  as  they  deserve  to  be  relished, 
by  our  great-grandchildren— to  preface  Iheni  with  a 


*  The  Times,  Jan.  9,  1841. 


rapid   summary  of  Ihe   events  which   gave   them 
bir'h." 

Without  pausing  here  to  say  how  gratifying  it  is  to 
me  to  find  my  long  course  of  Anti-Tory  warfare  thus 
tolerantly,  and  even  generously  spoken  of.  arid  by  so 
dis'ingui^hed  an  organ  of  public  opinion,  1  shall  as 
briefly  as  I  can,  advert  to  tlie  writer's  fiiendly  sug- 
gestion, and  ttien  mention  some  of  those  reasons 
which  have  induced  me  not  to  adopt  it.  That  1  was 
disposed,  at  hrst.  lo  annex  some  5uch  commentary  to 
this  series  of  squibs,  may  have  been  cliecled  from 
the  concluding  >entences  of  my  last  Fieface;  but  a 
little   further  consideration  has  led  me  to  abandon 


ntenrion. 


that  kind  of  satire  which  deals  only  with  the 
lighter  follies  of  social  life,  with  the  passing  modes, 
whims,  and  scandii  '-f  the  dav,  ^uch  illustrative  com- 
meiils  become,  after  a  short  time,  necessary.  But  Ihe 
true  preserving  stlt  of  political  satire  is  its  appli- 
cability to  future  times  and  generations,  ns  well  as  to 
Ihose  which  h.d  litsl  died  il  forth;  its  power  of 
transmitting  the  scourge  of  ridicule  (firough  succeed- 
ing periods  with  a  lash  still  fre^h  for  Ihe  "back  of  Ihe 
bigot  and  Ihe  oppressor,  under  whatever  new  shapes 
they  niay  present  them  elves.  1  can  hirdly  Hatter 
myself  with  Ihe  persuasion  that  any  one  of  the  sati'i* 
cat  pieces  cont.iined  in  Ihrs  Volume  is  likely  lo  pos- 
sess this  principle  of  vi'ality  ;  but  I  feel  quiie  certain 


404 


PREFACE  TO   THE   NINTH  VOLUME. 


that,  without  it,  not  all  the  notes  and  illuslrations  in 
which  even  the  industry  t<(  Dutch  conmientalorship 
could  embalm  them  would  injure  to  these  iriiiea  a  lilt; 
niucli  beyond  the  present  hour. 

Already,  lo  niMiy  of  '.hem,  that  sort  of  relish  —  hy 
far  the  leasl  worlhy  s(furce  of  their  suci.-es3  —  which 
the  names  of  living  vic'iui^  lend  tn  such  sallies,  hns 
heconie,  in  the  course  of  time,  wan'ine.  Bu',  as  far 
as  iheir  appositeriess  lo  the  passing  political  events  of 
the  day  has  vet  been  tried  —  and  the  dites  of  these 
satires  range  over  a  penod  of  nearly  thirty  years  — 
ttieir  ridicule,  thanks  10  (he  undyin;;  nature  of  hunian 
absurdity,  appears  lo  have  lo;t.  as  yet,  but  little  vf  ttie 
original  freshness  nf  its  first  application.  Nor  is  this 
owing  to  any  peculuir  felicity  of  aim,  in  the  saiire 
itself,  but  to  the  sameness,  thiou^hout  ihat  period,  of 
all  its  original  objects;—  ihe  unchangeable  nature  of 
that  spiiil  of  Monopoly  by  which,  under  all  its  vari- 
ous impersonations,  commercial,  religious,  and  politi- 
cs!, these  satires  had  been  first  provoked.  To  refer 
but  lo  one  instance.  Ihe  Corn  Question,— assuredly, 
the  e:>lire  apposiieness  at  this  very  moment,  of  such 
versicles  as  ihe  following,  redounds  far  less  to  Ihe 
credit  of  puesy  than  to  the  disgrace  of  legislation :  — 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  tnrinent  all 
The  Peers  of  ihe  realm  ahout  chfap'iiiiig  iheircorn, 

When  you  know  if  one  hasn't  □  very  high  rental, 
'T  is  hardly  worth  while  to  be  very  liigh-tJorQ. 

That,  being  by  nature  so  litile  prone  to  spleen  or 
bitterness,  I  should  jei  have  frequenicd  so  much  the 
thorny  paths  of  satire,  has  always,  to  myself  and 
those  best  acqu.Tinted  with  me,  been  a  matter  of  some 
surprise.  By  supposing  the  imaginaiion,  however,  lo 
be,  in  such  cases,  the  sole  or  chief  prompter  of  the 
&atire — which,  in  my  own  instance,  1  must  say,  it  has 
generjUy  been  — an  easy  solution  js  found  for  the  dif- 
ficulty. The  B-ime  readiness  of  fancy  which,  with 
but  little  help  frnm  reality,  can  deck  out  "  the  Cvn- 
thia  of  the  minute"  wiih  all  possible  attraction?,  will 
likewise  he  able,  when  in  the  vein,  to  shower  ridicule 
on  a  political  adversary,  without  allowing  a  single 
feeling  of  reil  bitterness  to  niii  itself  with  the  opera- 
tion. Even  tint  sternest  of  all  satirists,  Dante,  who, 
not  content  with  the  penal  fire  of  the  pen.  kept  au 
Inferno  ever  ready  to  receive  the  viciinis  if  his 
wrath, —  even  Dante,  on  becoming  acquainted  with 
some  of  the  persons  whom  he  had  thus  doomed,  not 
only  revoked  their  awful  Bcntence,  but  even  honour- 
ed them  with  warm  praise ; »  and  probably,  on  a 
little  further  acquaintance,  would  have  admitted  Ihem 
into  his  Paradiso.  When  thus  loosely  and  shallowly 
even  the  sublime  satire  of  Dante  could  strike  its  roots 
in  his  own  heart  and  menmry,  it  is  easy  to  conceive 
how  licht  and  passing  may  be  the  feeling  of  hostility 
wiih  which  a  partisan  in  the  field  of  silire  plies  his 
laughing  warfare  ;  and  how  often  it  may  happen  Ihat 
even  Ihe  pride  of  hiit/ng  his  mark  hardly  outlives  the 
^ightof  the  shaft. 

I  cannit  dismiss  from  my  hands  these  political 
trifles, — 


thai,  in  thus  alluding  to  a  great  light  of  the  social  and 
political  world  recently  gone  out,  1  mean  the  late  Lord 
Holland. 

It  may  be  recollected,  perhaps,  thai,  in  mentioning 
some  pariicniats  re^ipecting  an  early  squib  of  mine, — 
the  Pitrody  on  the  Prince  Regent's  Letter,— I  spoke  of 
a  dinner  at  which  I  was  present,  on  the  very  day  of 
the  first  )\<  bhcaiioii  of  that  Parody,  when  it  was  the 
subject  of  much  conversation  at  tableland  none  of  the 
pany,  except  our  hos',  had  any  suspicion  that  I  was 
the  author  -f  it.  'J  his  host  was  Lord  Holland  j  and 
as  such  a  name  could  not  but  lend  value  to  any  anec- 
d(tte  connected  with  literature,  I  only  forbore  the 
pleasure  of  adding  such  an  on  ament  to  my  page,  from 
knowing  Ihit  L'.rd  Holland  had  loug  viewed  with 
disapprobation  and  regret  much  of  Iha'  conduct  of  the 
Whig  patty  towards  the  Regent,  in  1812-13^  of  the 
history  of  which  this  squib.  .Tnd  Ihe  welcome  reception 
it  met  w  i  h,  forms  an  humble  episode. 

Lord  liitlUnd  himself,  in  addition  lo  his  higher  in- 
tellectual accomplishments,  possessed  in  no  ordinary 
degree  the  taleni  of  writing  easy  and  playful  vers  de 
societe  ;  and,  among  the  instances  1  could  give  of  Ihe 
lightness  of  his  hand  at  such  trifies,  there  is  one  no 
less  characteristic  of  his  good-nature  than  his  wit,  as 
ii  accompanied  a  copy  of  the  oc'avo  edition  ol  Bayle,3 
which,  on  hearing  me  rejoice  one  d.iy  that  so  agree- 
able an  author  had  been  ai  last  made  portable,  he 
kindly  oidertd  for  me  from  P.iris. 

So  late,  indeed,  as  only  a  month  or  two  before  his 
lordship's  death,  he  wa^  employing  himself,  with  all 
his  usual  cheerful  eagerness,  in  translating  sume  verses 
of  Metastasio ;  and  occasionally  consulted  both  Mr. 
Rogers  and  myself  as  to  difFeient  readings  of  some  of 
Ihe  line-i.  In  one  of  (he  le  lers  which  I  received  fiom 
him  uhile  thus  occupied,  I  find  Ihe  foUcwiug  post* 
script:  — 

*'  'T  IS  thus  I  turn  Ih'  Italian's  song. 
Nor  deem  I  read  hiB  meaning  wrong. 
But  With  ruujih  English  lo  combine 


tnat,  and  —  little  Mora, 

He  then  adds,  '*  I  send  yon,  too,  a  melancholy  Epi- 
gram of  mine,  of  which  1  have  seen  many,  alas,  wit- 
ness the  truth :  — 

*■  A  minister's  answer  is  always  so  kind! 

I  Hiarve,  and  he  tells  me  he  'Jl  keep  me  in  mind. 

Half  hiH  promise,  God  known,  would  my  Bpirila  restore: 


Let  hii 


-and,  faith.  I  will  at.  k  fori: 


"This  Bwnrm 
Whi:h  Mil 


r-ilu 


shake 


without  vinluring  to  add  that  I  have  now  to  connect 
with  them  one  mournful  recilledion  —  one  loss  from 
among  Ihe  circle  uf  those  1  have  longest  looked  u|)  to 
with  affection  and  admiralion— which  1  li:tle  thought, 
when  I  began  Ihts  series  of  prefatory  ske'ches,  I  should 
have  10  mouin  before  their  close.    1  need  hardly  add, 


The  only  portion  of  the  mass  of  trifles  contained  in 
this  volun.e,  Ihat  first  found  its  way  lo  the  public  eye 
through  anv  more  responsible  channel  than  a  news- 
paper, was 'the  Letters  of  the  Fudge  Family  in  Eng- 
land,—a  work  which  was  sure,  from  i's  very  nature, 
to  encounter  the  double  ^i^k  of  being  thought  dull  as 
a  mere  sequel,  arid  light  and  unsafe  as  touching  on 
follies  cnnnecled  with  the  name  of  Religion.   Into  the 

3uestion  of  the  comparative  duliiess  of  any  of  my  pro- 
uctioiis,  it  is  not  for  me,  of  course,  to  enter;  but  to 
the  charge  of  treating  religious  subjects  irreverently, 
I  shall  content  myself  with  replying  in  ihe  words  of 
Pascal,—"  II  y  a  bien  de  la  difference  enire  rire  de  la 
religion  et  rire  de  ceux  qui  la  profaoent  par  leu rs 
opinions  extravagantes.'' 


*  In  his  Convito  he  praises  very  warmly  some  per- 
sons whom  he  had  before  abused.— See  Foscolo,  Lis- 
COTSO  sul  Tcslo  di  Lanle, 


i  Thi^  will  be  seen  whenever  those  valuable  pa- 
pers cnme  to  be  published,  which  Lord  Holland  left 
behind,  containing  Memoirs  of  his  own  limes,  and  of 
those  immediately  preceding  them. 

3  In  sixteen  volumes,  published  at  Paris,  by  Desoer. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


405 


SATIRICAL    AND    HUMOROUS   POEMS; 

CONTINUED. 


ODK  TO  THE  WOODS  AND  FORESTS. 

BY    ONE   OF   THE   BOARD. 

1828. 
I.et  other  bards  to  groves  repair, 

Where  liunets  s'rain  iheir  tuneful  throats, 
Mine  be  the  Woods  a-id  Forests,  where 

The  Treasury  pours  its  aweeler  ?io(eJ. 

No  whispering  winds  have  charms  for  me, 
•Nor  zephyr^s  bilmy  sighs  I  ask  ; 
To  raise  the  wind  fot  Royalty 
Be  all  our  Sylvan  zephyr's  task  \ 

And,  'stead  of  crystal  brooks  and  floods, 

And  all  such  vulgar  irrieatinn, 
Let  Gallic  rhino  ihrou^h  our  Woods 

Divert  its  **  course  of  liquid-ation." 

Ah,  surely,  -Virgil  knew  full  well 

What  Woods  and  Forests  ott.fht  to  be, 

When,  sly,  he  introduc'J  in  hell 
His  guinea-plant,  his  bullion-tree :  *  — 


Nor  see  I  why 

When  short  --  , 

Our  H-rr-8  down- h_ 

To  see  if  Woods  in  hell 


.  future  day, 

ih,  we  should  not  send 

lows  (he  way  — 

nil  lend. 


Long  may  ye  flourish,  sylvan  haunts. 

Beneath  whose  "fcrn?icAf.v  of  expense" 
Our  gracious  K g  gets  all  he  wants, — 

Except  a  little  ta^(e  aud  sense. 

Long,  in  your  golden  shade  reclined, 
Like  him  of  fair  Annida's  bowers, 

May  W— 11— n  some  liioorf-nymph  fi"d, 
'Jo  cheer  his  dozenth  lustrum's  hours ; 

To  rest  from  toil  the  Great  Untaught, 
And  snothe  the  panes  his  w.irlike  brail 

Must  sQffer,  u  hen.  unus'd  to  thought, 
It  tries  to  think,  and  —  tries  in  vain. 

Oh  long  may  Woods  and  Forests  be 
Freserv'd.  in  all  their  teeming  graces, 

To  shelter  Tory  bards,  like  ni-, 

Who  take  delight  in  Sylvan  yZocer/* 


STANZAS    FROM    THE    BANKS   OF 
THE    SHANNON. 8 

1828. 

"Take  back  the  virB:in  papp.'* 

Mu'jre's  Irish  Melodiea. 
No  longer,  dear  V— sey,  feel  hurl  and  uneasy 
At  hea'in?  it  said  by  the  Treasury  brolher, 
That  thou  ari  a  sheet  of  blank  p:iper,  my  V— sey. 
And  he,  the  dear,  innocent  placeman,  another.* 


For,  lo,  what  a  service  we,  Irish,  have  done  thee  j— • 
Thou  now  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper  no  more; 

By  St.  Patrick,  we've  scrawl'd  such  a  lessoa  upon 
thee 
As  never  was  scrawl'd  upon  foolscap  before. 

Come—  on  with  your  spectacles,  noble  Lord  Puke, 
(Or  O'CoDuetl  has  grten  ones  he  haply  would  lend 
you,) 
Read  V — sey  all  o'er  (as  you  can't  read  a  book) 
And  improve  by  the  lesson  we,  bog-trollers,  send 
youj 

A  lesson,  in  large  Roman  characters  trac'd, 

Whose  awful  impressions  from  you  and  yourkio 

Of  blank-sheeted  statesmen  will  ne'er  be  effic'd — 
Unless,  'stead  of  paper^  you  're  mere  asses^  ahiiu 

Shall  I  help  you  to  construe  it  ?  ay,  by  the  Gods, 
Could  1  risk  a  translaiion,  yuu  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  aay,  read  V— sey  o'er ; — 
You   will    tiud    him  worth  all  the  old  scrolls  of 
papyrus, 

That  Egypt  e'er  fitl'd  with  nonsensical  lore, 
Or  the  learned  ChimpoUiou  e'er  wrote  of,  to  tire 


c  've  retuni'd  him  on  hand, 
a  warning    to  Princes    and 


*  called  by  Virgil,  botanically,  ** species  auri  fron» 
deniis.'? 

»         Til  facis,  ut  ailvaSf  ut  amem  Zoca 

Ovid. 

3  These  verses  were  suggested  by  the  result  of  the 
Clare  election,  in  the  year  1828.  when  the  Right 
Honourable  W.  Vesey  Fitzgerald  was  rejected,  and 
Mr.  O'Connell  returned. 


All  blank  as  he  was, 

Scribbled   o'er   w 

Dukes, 

Whose  plain,  simple  drift  if  they  won't  understand, 
Though  caresi'd  at  SI.  James's,  they're  fit  for  St. 
Luke's. 

Talk  rf  leaves  of  the  Sibyls!  —  more  meaning  con- 
vey'd  is 

In  one  single  leaf  such  as  now  we  have  spell'd  on, 
Than  e'er  haih  been  uiter'd  by  all  the  old  ladies 

That  ever  yet  spoke,  from  the  Sibyls  to  Eld— n. 


THE    ANNUAL    PILL. 


Vill  nobndies  try  my  nice  Annual  Ptliy 

Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay  ? 
Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat  I  vill, 

Noi  a  Christian  or  Shenlleman  minds  vat  I  say  1 
'T  is  so  pretty  a  bolus  I  — just  down  let  ii  go, 
j     And,  at  v^nce,  such  a  radical  shange  you  vill  see, 
Dat  I  'd  not  be  su'prish'd,  like  de  hor>e  in  de  show, 
If  your  heads  all  vere  found,  vere  your  tailsh  ought 
to  be! 

Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  ^miual  Pill^  &c. 


*  Some  expressions  to  this  purport,  in  a  published 
let  er  of  one  of  these  gentlemen,  had  then  produced  a 
good  deal  of  amusement. 


406 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


'T  will  c\'re  all  Electors,  and  purg:e  away  clear 
Dat  mifhiy  bad  itcliing  dey've  got  in  deir  hands  — 

»T  will  cure,  too,  all  &t;ae>,nien,  of  dulnc^^s,  n.a  tear, 
Though  ihi  case  vas  as  desperate  as  poor  Mister 

Dere  is  noiing  at  all  vat  di*  Pill  vill  not  reach  — 
Give  ihe  Sinecure  Ghentlem-n  von  little  ^r.iin, 
Pless  ma  heart,  It  vill  act,  like  de  sail  on  de  leech, 
And  he  Ml  throw  de  pounds,  flhillinga,  and  pence, 
up  a^ain ! 

ViU  nobodies  try  my  nice  Aimual  PiUf  &c. 

T  would  be  tedious,  nia  tear,  all  its  peautres  to  paint- 
But,  among  Oder  tin;s  fiindanientnUy  wrong. 

It  vill  ciire  de  pT«id  Puttom  '—a  comnion  complaint 
Ainong   M.  P.'s  and  weavers  —  from  sitting  too 
long. 

Should  symptoms  of  spcecking  preak  nut  on  a  dunce 
(Vat  is  nften  de  ca"-e),  it  vtll  s  op  de  di-ease, 

And  pring  avay  all  de  long  sjieeclies  at  vonce, 

Dal  else  vould,  like  tape-worms,  come  by  degrees! 

Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 

Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  iiaslity  avay 
Pless  ma  heart,"  pless  ma  heart,  let  me  say  vat  I  vill, 

^ot  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  1  say  I 


**IF»    AND    "PERHAPS."* 

Oh,  tidings  of  freedom  !  oh,  accents  of  hope ! 

Waft,  waft  them,  ye  zephyrs,  to  Erin's  liluesea, 
And  refresh  with  their  sounds  every  son  of  ihe  Pope, 

from  Dingle-a-ccocii  lo  far  Donaghadee, 

"  If  mutely  ihe  slave  will  endure  and  obey, 

"  Nor  clanking  his  fetters,  nor  breithing  hia  paini, 

"  His  mas'ers,  perhaps,  at  some  f^r  distant  day, 
**May  think  (tender    tyrants!)  of  looseninf  h» 

chains." 

Wise  "  if"  and  "  perhaps  !"  —  precious  salve  for  our 
wounds, 
If  he,  who  would  rule  thus  o'er  manacled  mutes, 

Could  check  the  free  spring-tide  of  Mind,  that  re- 
Even  now,  at  h»s  feet,  like  the  sea  at  Canute's. 

But,  no,  'tis  in  vain  — the  grand  impulse  is  given  — 
Man  knows  bis  high  Charter,  and  knowing  will 
claim ; 
And  it  ruin  mvst  follow  where  fetters  are  riven, 
Be  theirs,  who  have  forg'd  them,  the  guilt  and  the 
shame. 

"If  the  slave  will  be  silent!"  — vain  Soldier,  be- 
w  are  — 

There  is  a  dead  silence  the  wrong'd  may  assume, 
When  the  feeling,  setit  back  from  the  lips'In  despair. 

But  clings  round  tlie  heart  with  a  deadlier  giuoin  j— 

When  the  blush,  that  long  burn'd  on  Ihe  suppliant's 
cheek. 
Gives  place  to  the'  avenger's  pale,  resniule  hue; 
And  the  tongue,  that  once  threaten'd,  disdaining  to 
speak. 
Consigns  to  Ihe  arm  the  high  of!ice  —  to  do. 

If  men,  in  Ihat  silence,  should  think  of  the  hour, 
When  proudly  tlieii  faihers  in  pmoply  stood. 


X  Meaning,  I  presume.  Coalition  Administrations, 
^  Written  after  hearing  a  celebrated  speech  in  the 
House  of  I.nrds,  June  10,  1S28,  when  the  motion  in 
favour  of  Ca'holic  Emancipation,  brought  forward  by 
the  Marquis  of  Lansdcwne,  was  rejected  by  the 
House  of  Lords. 


Presenting,  alike,  a  bold  front-work  of  power 
To  the  despot  on  land  and  the  foe  Dn  the  flood-  — 

That  hour,  when  a  Voice  bad  come  forth  from  the 
west. 

To  the  slave  bringing  hopes,  to  the  tyrant  alarms; 
And  a  lesson,  long  look'd  for,  vi'as  taught  the  opprest, 

That  kings  are  as  dust  before  fieemen  in  aroii  I 


That  dream  of  his  boyhood,  when  Freedom^s  Bweet 

dny 
At  length   seem'd  to  break  through  a  long  night  Of 

thrall, 
And  Union  and  Hope  went  abroad  in  its  ray;  — 

//  F.-»ncy  should  tell  him,  that  Day-spring  of  Good, 
Though  swiftly  its  light  died  away  from  his  chain, 

Though  darkly  il  set  in  a  naiion'e  best  blood. 
Now  wants  but  invoking  lo  shine  out  again  ;  — 

If~if,  I  say— breathings  like  these  should  come  o'er 
The  chords  of  remembrance,  and  thrill,  as  they 
come. 
Then,  perhaps -^zy^  perhaps  —  but  I  dare  not  say 
more ; 
Thou  hast  will'd  that  thy  slaves  should  be  mute  — 
1  am  dumb. 


WRITE    ON,    WRITE    ON 


A     BALLAD. 

Air.  —  *'  Sletp  on,  atecp  on,  my  Kathleen  Jcat 
Salvete,  fratrea  Aainl.        St.  Francig, 

Write  on,  write  on,  ye  Barons  dear, 

Ye  Dnkes,  write  hard  and  fast ; 
The  good  we  've  sought  for  many  a  year 

Your  quills  will  bring  at  last. 
One  letter  more,  N— uc— stle,  pen, 

To  match  Loid  K — ny~n'a  two. 
And  more  than  Ireland's  host  of  men, 

One  brace  of  Peers  will  do. 

Wiiie  on,  write  on,  8tc 


Sure,  never,  since  the  pr 

Of  pen  and  ink  began, 
Did  letters,  writ  by  fools,  produce 

Such  signal  good  to  man. 
While  inieliect,  'mom;  high  and  low, 

Is  marching  o)i~,  they  say. 
Give  me  the  Dukes  and  L^rds,  who  go, 

Like  crabs,  the  other  way. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c 

Ev'n  now  I  feel  the  coming  light  — 

Evn  rsow,  could  Folly  lure 
My  Lord  M — ntc — sh — 1,  too,  to  write, 

Emancipation's  sure. 
By  geese  (we  read  in  history), 

Oid  Hume  was  sav'd  from  ill ; 
And  now,  to  qtiills  of  geese,  we  see 

Old  Rnmeiudeb'ed  siill. 

Wiiie  on,  write  on,  &c. 

Write,  write,  ye  Peers,  nor  stoop  to  style, 

Nor  beat  for  sense  about  — 
Things  li  tie  worth  a  Noble's  while, 

You 're  better  far  without. 
Oh,  ne'er,  since  as'-es  ^poke  of  yore, 

Such  miracles  u ere  dure; 
For,  write  but  four  such  letters  more, 

And  Freedom's  cause  is  won  t 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


407 


SONG  OF  THE  DEPARTING   SPIRIT    OF 
TITHE. 

••The  parting  Genius  la  wtlh  sighing  sent."— Jtfif(on. 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o*er; 

I  hear  a  Voice,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Fioni  Dunfaiiadiy  (o  BalririKire, 

And  it  saith,  in  sad,  parsonic  lone, 

"  Great  Tithe  and  timall  are  dead  and  ^ne !" 

Even  now,  I  behold  your  vanishing  wings, 

Ye  Tenths  of  all  conceivable  things, 

Which  Adam  first,  »»  Doctors  deem, 

Sa»,  iti  a  sort  of  ni'^ht-mare  dream, & 

After  the  feisl  of  fruit  ^bhorr'd  — 

FiisI  indigestion  on  recrd  !  — 

Ye  decimate  ducks,  ye  ctif>6rn  chicks, 

Ye  pigs  ivhich,  lh'>ugh  ye  be  Catholics, 

Or  of  Calvin's  mo>I  select  deprav'd, 

In  the  Cliurcli  must  have  your  bacon  savM  ;  — 

Ye  fields,  where  Labour  counts  his  sheaves, 

And,  whatsoever  himself  believes, 

MiiSi  bow  (o  the'  EslablishM  Chitrch  belief, 

Tha'  the  tenth  is  always  a  Protestant  sheaf;  — 

Ye  calves,  of  which  llie  man  of  Heaven 

Takes  Irish  tithe,  one  calf  in  seven  ;  ^ 

Ye  (etjths  of  rape,  hemp,  barley,  flax, 

Eg(r3,5  timber,  milk,  fish,  and  bees'-wax ; 

All  things  >"  short,  since  earth's  crea>ion, 

D"0inM,  by  the  Church's  dispensation, 

'I  o  sutler  eternal  decrmafMin  — 

Leaving  the  whole  /ay-world,  since  then, 

Reduc'd  to  nine  pans  out  of  ten  ; 

Or  —  as  we  calcula'e  Ihctfs  and  arsons  — 

Ju:>t  ten  ptr  cent,  the  v^orse  for  Pardons ! 

Alas,  and  is  MI  this  wise  device 
F(T  the  saving  of  souls  thus  gone  in  a  trice?  — 
The  whole  put  down,  in  Ihesimplest  way, 
By  the  souls  re-olving  7wt  to  pav  ! 
And  even  the  P.ipists,  thankless  mce. 
Wlio  haie  had  so  much  the  easiest  case- 
To  pay  for  our  sermons  doom'd.  '1 13  true, 
But  n»v  condemnM  to  hear  them,  too  — 
(Our  holy  business  beir  g,  't  is  known, 
With  the  ears  of  their  tatley,  not  their  own,) 
Even  thty  ol-joct  to  let  us  pillage. 
By  right  divine,  their  tenth  of  tillage. 
And,  iiortor  of  horrors,  even  decline 
To  find  us  in  sacramental  wine !  < 

It  is  o*er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er, 

Ah,  never  shall  rosy  Rector  more. 

Like  the  shepherds  of  Israel,  idly  eat, 

And  make  n(  his  fl  xk  "a  prey  and  meat."» 

N*i  more  shall  be  his  the  pastoral  sport 

Of  suing  his  flock  in  ihe  Bishop's  Court, 


1  A  reverend  prebendary  of  Hereford,  in  an  Essay 
OR  Ihe  Revenues  of  the  Church  of  England,  has 
assigned  Ihe  oriiiin  of  Tiihes  to  "some  unrecorded 
evelatiou  made  to  Adam." 

^  "  The  tenth  calf  is  due  fo  the  parson  of  coninron 
right  ;  and  if  there  are  seven  he  shall  have  one."— 
Rtts^s  Cyciopxdta^  art.  *'  Tithes.*^ 

3  Chaucer's  Plowman  con)plain3  of  the  parish  rec- 
tors, that 

••  Fnr  the  tithing  of  a  durk. 
Or  an  ai^ple.  nr  an  aye  (<-Kg). 
They  make  him  swear  upon  a  bnke; 
Thus  Ihey  foulfU  Chrisl'e  fay." 
*  Among  the  specimens  laid  before  Parliament  of 
(he  sort  of  Church  rates  levied  upon  Catholics  In  Ire- 
;1,  was  a   charge  of  two  pipes  of  poit  for  tacra- 
menial  wine. 

»  Ezekiel,  xxxiv.  10. —"  Neither  shall  the  shep- 
herds feed  themselves  any  ni-re;  for  I  will  deliver 
Diy  flock  from  their  niouth,  that  Ihey  may  not  be  meat 
I  for  them." 


Through  various  steps,  Citation,  Libel  — 
Scriptures  all,  but  jivt  Iho  Bible; 
Working  the  Law's  whole  apparatus. 
To  get  .»l  a  few  pre-dooui'd  poiaioes, 
And  sunmioning  all  Ihe  powers  of  wig, 
To  settle  the  fraction  of  a  pig !  — 
Till,  paisoii  and  all  committed  deep 
In  the  case  of  "Shepherds  versus  isheep," 
The  Law  usurps  the  Gospel's  place. 
And,  on  Sundays,  meeting  f^ce  t>  face, 
While  Plaintift"  fills  the  preacher's  station, 
Defendants  form  Ihe  congregaiion. 

So  lives  he,  Mammon'?  priest,  not  Heaveu'a, 

For  tenths  thus  all  at  sixes  and  sevens^ 

Seeking  what  parsons  love  no  less 

Thin  tragic  poets  —  a  good  distress. 

Instead  of  studying  St.  Auguslin, 

Gregory  Nyss.,  or  old  St.  Justin 

(Books  fit  only  to  hoard  dust  in). 

His  reverence  stints  his  evening  readings 

To  learii'd  Repoilsof  Tithe  Pioceedings, 

Sipping,  the  while,  that  port  so  ruddy, 

Which  forms  his  only  ancient  study  ;— 

port  so  old,  you  'd  swear  its  tartar 

Was  of  Ihe  age  of  Justin  Martyr, 

And,  had  he  sipp'd  of  such,  no  doubt 

His  martyrdom  would  have  been — to  gout  1 

Is  all  then  lost  ?— alas,  too  true — 

Ye  Tenths  belov'd,  adieu,  adieu  ! 

My  reign  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er — 

LiKe  old  Thumb's  ghost,  "  i  can  no  more,'* 


THE    EUTHANASIA   OF    VAN. 

'  We  are  told  thnt  the  blKotti  are  growing  old  and  faflt 
Wfaring  out.  If  it  be  su,  why  m»l  let  us  die  10  peace?" 
'—Lord  Bexlcy'r  Letter  to  the  Freeholdcra  nf  Kent, 

Stop,  Intellect,  in  mercy  atop, 

Ye  curst  iniproveuienis,  cease; 
And  let  poor  Nick  V— ns— tl— t  drop 

Into  his  grave  in  peace. 

Hide,  Knowledge,  hide  thy  rising  sun. 

Young  Freedom,  veil  thy  head  ; 
Let  nothing  good  be  thought  or  done, 

Jill  Nick  V— ns— tt— I'sdead! 

Take  pity  on  a  dotard's  fears. 

Who  much  doth  light  detest; 
And  let  his  last  few  drivelling  yean 

Be  dark  as  were  the  rest. 

You,  too,  ye  fleeting  one-pound  notes. 

Speed  not  so  fast  away — 
Ye  rags,  on  which  old  Nicky  gloats, 

A  few  monih^  longer  stay.® 

Togetlier  soon,  or  much  I  err 

You  both  from  life  iijay  eo— 
The  notes  unto  the  scavenger. 

And  Nick~lo  Nick  below. 

Ye  Liberals,  whate'er  your  plan, 

Be  all  reforms  suspended  ; 
In  compliment  to  dear  olu  Van, 

Lei  nothing  bad  be  mended. 

Ye  Papists,  whom  oppression  wrin^ 

Your  cry  politely  cease. 
And  fret  your  hearts  to  fiddle-stringf 

That  Van  may  die  in  peace. 


*  Periturae  parccre  chartae. 


408 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


So  thaU  he  win  a  fame  sublime 
By  few  old  mg-inen  gained  ; 

Since  all  shall  own,  m  Nicky's  time. 
Nor  sense,  nor  justice  reigu'd. 

So  shall  his  name  through  ages  paat, 

And  dolts  UDgo'ten  ye', 
Date  from  '*  the  days  of  Nicholas,** 

With  fond  and  sad  regrei  ; — 

And  sighing,  say,  **  Alas,  had  he 

'*'  Been  spar'd  from  Pluto's  bowers, 
"  The  blessed  reign  of  Bigotry 
*'  And  Kags  might  still  be  ours  V* 


TO    THE    REVEREND  . 

ONE    OF   THE    SIXTEEN    REQUISITIONISTS 
OF    NOTTINGHAM. 

1S28. 
What,  yoUf  too,  my  ****»»,  in  hashes  so  know- 

Of  »auces  and  soups  Aristarchua  profesi ! 
Are  ymt,  Ion,  niy  savoury  Brunswicker,  going 
To  make  an  old  fool  of  yourself  with  the  rest? 

Far  belter  to  stick  to  your  kitchen  receipts ; 

And— if  you  want  something  to  teise — for  variety, 
Go  study  how  IJde,  in  bis  *'  Cookery,"  treats 

Live  eels,  when  he  fits  them  for  polishM  society. 

Just  snuggling  them  in,  Mwixt  the  bars  of  the  fire, 
He  leaves  them  to  wriggle  and  writhe  on  the  cnals,i 

In  a  manner  thai  H-rn-r  himself  would  admire. 
And  wibh,  'stead  of  ee/5,  they  were  Catholic  &ouIs. 

Ude  tells  us,  the  fi^h  little  suffering  feels; 

While  Papists,  of  late,  have  mme  sensitive  grown  ; 
So,  take  my  advice,  fry  your  hand  at  live  eels, 

And,  (or  once^  lei  the  other  poor  devils  alone. 

I  have  e'en  a  still  better  receipt  for  your  cnrfc— 
How  to  make  a  gonse  die  of  C'infirmM  hepatitis i*^ 

And,  if  you'll  for  once,  /c//ouj-feiIiTigs  o'erlook, 
A  well-lorlui'd  goose  a  mo:>t  capital  sight  is. 

First,  catch  him,  alive—make  a  good  steady  fire — 
Set  your  victim  before  it,  both  legs  being  tied, 

(As,  if  left  to  himself,  he  might  wish  to  retire,) 
And  place  a  large  bowl  of  rich  cream  by  his  side. 

There  roasting  by  inche5,  dry,  fever'd,  and  faint. 
Having  drunk  all  the  cream,  you  bO  civilly  laid, 
off. 

He  dies  of  as  charming  a  liver  complaint 
As  ever  sleek  parson  could  wish  n  pie  made  of. 

Besides,  only  think,  my  dear  one  of  Sixteen, 
What  an  eniblem  Ibis  bird,  for  the  epicure's 

Presen's  of  the  mode  in  which  Ireland  has  been 
Made  rt  tid-bit  for  yours  and  your  breifaren's  amuse- 
ment ; 

Tied  down  to  the  stake,  while  her  limbs,  as  they 

quiver, 
A  slow  fire  of  tyranny  wastes  by  degrees  — 
No  wonder  disease  shnuld  have  swell  d  up  her  liver. 
No  wonder  you,  Gourmands,  should  love  her  dis- 


*  The  only  w*ay,  Monsieur  Ude  assures  us,  to  get 
hd  of  the  oil  so  objectionable  in  this  fish. 

«  A  liver  complaint.  The  process  by  which  the 
livers  of  geese  are  enlarged  for  (he  famous  Pales  de 
foie  cTuic. 


IRISH    ANTIQUITIES. 

According  lo  some  learn'd  npiniong. 
The  Irish  once  were  Carihatcinians; 
But,  trusting  to  more  late  descrrptioua, 
I  M  rather  say  they  were  Egyptians. 
My  reason  N  this  :  —  the  Fries;s  of  Isis, 

When  forth  (hey  march'd  in  long  array, 
Enipluy'd,  'mong  other  grave  devices, 

A  Sacred  Ass  to  lead  the  way  j  3 
And  still  the  antiquarian  traces 

'Mong  Irish  Lords  this  Pagan  plan, 
For  still,  tn  all  religious  cases. 

They  put  Lord  R— d— 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   arc   his 

debtors) 
Hath  one  little  oddity,  well  worth  reciting. 
Which  puzzlelh  observers,  ev'u  more  than  bis  writ- 
ing. 
Whenever  Lord  K— ny— n  doth  chance  to  behold 
A  cold  Apple-pie  —  mind,  the  pie  mm(  be  cold  — 
His  Lord^hlp  looks  solemn  (few  people  know  why). 
And  he  makes  a  low  bow  lo  the  siid  apple-pie. 
This  idolalroua  act,  in  so  '*  vital"  a  Peer, 
Is,  by  most  serious  Protestants,  thought  rather  queer — 
Pie-worship,  Itiey  hold,  coming  under  the  head 
(Vide  C'nwfmm,  chap,  iv.)  of  the  VVorship  of  Bread. 
Some  think  't  is  a  tribute,  as  author,  he  o«es 
For   the  service    that    pie-crust    haih   done    to   his 

prose  ;— 
The  only  good  things  in  his  pages,  they  swear. 
Being    those  that    the  pastry-cook    sometimes  puts 

there. 
Others  say,  'tis  a  homage,  through  pie-crust  con- 

vey'd, 
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  't  is  solely  in  loyal  remembrance  of  that, 
My  Lord  K— ny-  n  to  apple-pie  lakes  oft'his  hat. 
While  others  account  for  this  kind  salutation 
By  what  1  ony  Lumpkin  calls  *'  concatenation  j"— 
A  certain  gnod-wilt  that,  from  Bympa'hy's  ties, 
'Twixt  old  ^-jypU'Woniea  and  Orange  mtn  lies. 

But  't  is  needless  to  add,  these  are  all  vague  surmises, 
For  thus,  we're  assur'd,  the  whole  matter  arises; 
Lord  K— ny — n's  respected  old  father  (like  many 
Respected  old  fathers)  was  fond  of  a  penny; 
A;>d  lov'd  BO  to  save,S  that— there's  uot  the  least 

question  — 
His  dea'h  was  brought  on  by  a  bad  indigestion. 
From  cold  apple-pie-crust  his  Loidship  would  stuff 

At  breakfast,  to  save  the  expense  of  hot  muffin. 
Hence  it  is.  and  hence  only,  that  cnM  apple-pies 
Are  beheld  by  his  Heir  with  such  reverent  eyes-- 

3  To  this  practice  (he  ancient  adage  alludes,  "Asi- 
nus  portans  mysleria." 

*  See  the  anecdote,  which  the  Duchess  of  Marlbo- 
rough relates  in  her  Memoirs,  of  this  polite  hero  a|)- 
propiiating  to  himself  one  dav,  at  dinner,  a  whole 
dish  of  green  peas— the  first  of  the  se-son— while  the 
poor  princess  Anne,  who  was  then  in  a  longing  con- 
dition, sat  by,  vainly  entreating,  with  her  eyes,  for  a 
share. 

6  The  same  prudent  propensity  characterises  his 
descendant,  who  (as  is  well  known)  would  not  even 
go  to  the  expense  of  a  diphthong  on  his  father's  monu- 
ment, but  h:id  the  inscrip'ion  spelled,  economically, 
thus:  —  "  Mors  ja7iua  vita.^ 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


409 


Juat  as  honest  Kinit  Sieplien  his  beaver  might  doff 
To  ihe  lishts  thM  c.irried  his  kind  uncle  otf— 
And  while yiital  piety  urges  so  niany  on, 
'T  is  pure  a_pjjk-pie.ety  Dioves  my  Lord  K— ny— d. 


NEW.FASHIO"NED    ECHOES. 


nted 


Sir, — Most  of  your  readers  are,  nn  doubt 
wirh  the  anecd  Me  tdld  of  »  certain,  not  ovei-wiae 
jud^e,  wht',  u  heu  in  ihe  act  of  delivering  a  charge  ii 
some  country  courI-h"U9e,  was  interrup'cd  by  th 
braying  of  an  aas  at  the  door.  '•  Wliat  m-rse  is  ihal  ? 
asked  the  an^ry  judge.  ''Only  an  extraordinary  ech 
there  is  iu  court,  my  Lord,**  answered  one  of  th 
counsel. 

As  there  are  a  number  of  s 
echoes"  abrond  just  now,  you  \ 
uuwillinsf,  Mr.  Editor,  (o  receiv 
litcs  suggested  by  them,  ] 


\ch  "  extraordinary 
iti  not,  perhaps,  be 
the  follovviog  few 


Hu 


it:  ii]ilHr)ue  libentiua  unrjiia: 
CneamuBt  retulit  echo. 

Otid, 


There  are  echoes,  we  know,  of  all  sorts, 
From  the  echo,  that  *  dies  iu  the  dale," 

To  the  "airy-iorigu'd  babbler,"  thst  sports 
Up  the  tide  of  the  loirent  her  *'  tale." 

There  are  echoes  that  bore  us,  like  Rlues, 
With  the  latest  smart  mot  they  have  heard; 

There  are  echoes,  extremely  like  >htew3, 
Letting  nobody  have  the  last  word. 

Id  the  bogs  of  old  Paddy-!and,  too, 

Certain  •' t:ilented'' echfies^l  there  dwell, 

Who,  on  bein;  ask'd.  '•  How  do  you  do  ?" 
Poliiely  reply,  '•  Prelly  well." 

But  why  should  I  tilk  any  more 

Of  such  old-fashioriM  echoes  is  these. 

When  Britain  has  new  ones  in  store. 
That  transcend  them  by  many  degrees? 

For,  of  all  repercussions  of  sound. 

Concerning  which  bards  make  a  pother, 

There's  none  like  iliat  happy  rebound 
When  one  blockhead  echoes  another ; — 

When  K— ny— n  commences  the  bra\', 
And  the  Borongh-Dnke  follows  his'track; 

And  loudly  from  DublmV  sweet  bav, 

R_ll,d—-ne brays,  with  interest,  back  J— 

And  while,  of  most  echoes  the  sound 
On  our  ear  by  retieclion  doth  fall, 

The-e  Brunswicker^s  pass  the  hray  round, 
Withiml  any  reflection  at  all. 

Oh  Scott,  were  I  gifted  like  you. 

Who  ran  name  all  the  echoes  'here  are 

Front  BenvoirlJch  to  bold  Ben-venue, 
From  fleiiledi  lo  wild  Uamvarj 

I  might  track,  through  each  hard  Irish  name, 
The  rfbonnds  of  ihls  asinjne  strain, 

T  I)  fri.m  Neddy  to  Nedtv,  it  came 
To  Ihe  chief  Neddy,  K-ny— n,  ag;»in  j 


«  "  Let  ua  form  Clubs." 
«  Commonly  nlled  "  Faddy  Blake's  Echoes." 
8  Aiiti-Cathnl/c    assnciitions,    under    the    title   of 
Brunswick  Clubs,  werent  this  time  bt;coming  nume- 
rous both  in  England  and  Irel.vad. 

35 


Mii<ht  lell  hn«-  j't  roar'cl  in  H— Ihd— ne, 

Hf)\v  from  Ti — ws— n  it  died  off  ^CDleeDy— 

How  hollow  i(  rung  from  liie  crown 
Of  ilie  fatpated  Marquis  cf  E— y ; 

How,  on  Iiearing  my  Lord  of  G- — e,       * 
Tliialle-eaters,  the  aloulest,  gave  way, 

Ouldciic-,  in  Ihcir  own  specjai'line, 
By  the  lortyass  power  of  his  bray. 

But,  no — for  so  humble  a  bard 
'  I  is  a  subject  loo  Irsinj^  to  touch  on: 

Such  noblemen's  Kimes  are  loo  hard. 
And  their  noddles  loo  soft  to  dwell  much  on. 

Oh  Echo,  sweet  nymph  of  the  hill. 

Of  Ihe  dell,  and  Ihe  sweel-sounding  shelves; 

If,  in  spile  I'f  Narcissus,  you  still 
Take  lo  fools  who  are  charm'd  with  themselves, 

Who  knows  but,  some  morning  retiring, 
To  walk  by  the  Trent's  wooded  side. 

You  m  ly  meet  wiih  N— wc— slle,  adniiring 
His  own  lengthened  eais  iu  Ihe  tide  I 

Or,  oil  into  Cambria  straying, 

Fii.d  K— nv— n,  that  double-tongu'd  elf, 
In  his  love  of  asa  cendency,  braying 

A  Brunswick  duet  with  himself  1 


INCANTATION, 

FROM  THE  NEW  TRAGEDY  OF  "THE 
BRUMS  WICKER3." 

1828. 
SCENE.— PcncKdcn  Plain.    In  the  middle,  a  cat- 
drtm    boiling.      Thunder.     Enter  three  Bruna- 
wickers. 

\>t  BntM.  —  Thrice   hath   scribbling   K— ny— n 

scrawl'd, 
2d  Vru7is.—0nce  halh  fool  N— wc— stle  bawl'd, 
3d  l!nais.-ii—\\—y  snores:— 'lis  time,  'tis  lime, 
tsl  /Jn/m —Round  abnui  Ihe  caldron  go: 

In  the  pnis'n.rus  nonsense  Ihrow. 

Ili^nt  s[)i1e,  thai  long  h-ilh  grown, 

Like  a  toad  within  a  stone. 

Sweltering  in  the  heart  of  Sc— It, 

Boil  we  in  the  Brunswick  pot. 
Ml.-T),ibble,  dribble,  uonsen-e  dribble. 

Eld— n,  talk,  and  K— ny— n,  scribble. 
2d  5rU7iJ.— Slaver  from  N— wc— slle's  quill 

In  Ihe  noisome  n)es3  distil, 

Rrinmiing  high  our  Brunswick  broth 

Both  with  venom  and  with  froth. 

Mix  Ihe  brains  (ihough  apt  to  hash  ill. 

Being  scant)  of  Lord  M-ntc— shel, 

Wilh  thai  maltv  sluff  which  Ch— nd-t 

Drivels  as  no  other  man  does, 

Cntch  (i.  e.  if  catch  yon  can) 

One  idea,  spick  and  span. 

From  my  Lord  of  S— 1— sb— y,— 

One  idea,  though  il  be 

Smaller  than  the  "  happy  Pea," 

Which  his  sire,  in  sonnel  terse, 

Wedded  to  immortal  verse.4 

Though  to  rob  Ihe  son  is  sin, 

Put  his  OTIC  ilea  in; 


4  Alluding  to 
the  laie   Marrpii! 

ight  be  addresse 
stance ; — 


ell-known  lyric  composition  of 
fhicb,  with  a  slight  alteration, 
ilier  to  a  flea  or  a  fly.    For  in- 


Oh,  happy,  happy,  happy  fly. 


in 


410 


SATIRICAL  AND    HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


And,  to  keep  it  cnmpany, 

Le'  ihat  conjuror  VV— nch — Is— a 

Drop  but  half  another  Ihere, 

If  (,e  h^ilti  so  much  io  spare. 

Dreanisof  murders  aud  of  arsons, 

HaicliM  in  heads  of  Irish  pirsoiis, 

BrioK  from  every  hole  and  corner, 

Where  ferocious  pries  s,  like  H— rn— r, 

Purely  for  reli;?ious  good. 

Cry  aloud  for  Papist's  blood, 

Blood  for  VV— lis,  and  such  old  women, 

At  their  ease  to  uade  and  swim  in. 

All.—ViVihbXe,  dr.bble,  nonsense  dribble, 
B— xl— y,  talk,  and  K— ny— n,  scibhie. 

3^  Bnnu. — Now  ihe  cSaim  begin  to  brew  j 
Sisters,  sis'ers,  add  thereto 
Scraps  of  I,— Ihbr— due's  old  speeches, 
Mix'd  vvitti  !e.i  her  from  his  breeches. 
Rinsings  of  old  E-xl— y's  brains, 
Thickeii'd  (if  you  'II  take  the  pains) 
With  that  pulp  which  ragscieate, 
III  their  middle,  nymplia  s'ale, 
Ere,  like  insect,  fr.il  a-.d  sunny. 
Forth  ihey  win^  abroad  as  money. 
The.-e— Ihe  Hell-broih  we've  enchanted  — 
Now  but  one  thiri^  more  is  wau'ed. 
Squeeze  o'er  all  lhat  (ira)iffe  juice, 

C keeps  cork'd  for  use, 

Which,  to  wotk  the  better  spell,  is 

Coloured  deep  with  blood  of -, 

Blood,  of  powers  f>r  more  various, 
Ev'u  than  rhal  of  Januaiius, 
Since  so  great  a  charm  hangs  o'er  it, 
England's  parsons  bow  befme  it! 

^/;.— Dribble,  dribble,  noDseiise  dnbble, 
B— xl— y,  talk,  and  K— ny— n,  scribble. 

2d.  Brwns.—Coo]  it  now  with 's  blood, 

So  the  charm  is  firm  aad  good.  \^}Cxcu.nU 


HOW  TO  MAKE  A  GOOD  POLITICIAN. 

Whene'er  ynu  're  in  doubt,  said  a  Sa»e  I  once  knew, 
*Twixt  'wo  lines  of  conduct  which  course  to  pursue, 
Ask  a  woman's  advice,  and,  whale'er  she  advi-e, 
Do  the  very  reverse,  and  you  Ve  sure  lo  be  wise. 

Of  the  same  use  as  guides,  are  the   Brunswicker 

throng; 
In  their  though's,  words,  and  deeds,  bo  instinctively 

wrong. 

That,  whatever  they  counsel,  act,  talk,  or  indite. 
Take   the  opposite  course,  aud  you're  sure  to  be 

right. 

So  golden  this  rule,  that,  had  nature  denied  you 
s  use  of  that  finger-post,  Keastni,  to  guide  you  — 
•se  yoii  even  more  doltish  than  any  giv'n  man  is. 

More  soft  than  N— wc— sile,  more  twaddling  than 
Van  is, 

I'd  stake  my  repute,  on  the  following  conditions, 

To  make  yoj  Ihe  soundeal  of  60uud  politicians. 

Place  yourself  near  the  skirls  of  some  high-flying 

Tory  — 

Some  Brunswicker  parson,  of  porl-drinking  glory, — 
Watch  well  how  he  dines,  during  any  great   Ques- 
tion — 

What  makes  him  feed  gaily,  what  spoils  his  diges- 
tion— 

And  always  feel  sure  that  his  joy  o'er  a  stew 
Portends  a  clear  case  of  dyspepsia  to  you. 


Or 


*01i.  happy,  liflppy,  happy  flei 


Read  him  backwards,  like  Hebrew  —  wbateTcr  b* 

wishes, 

Or  praises,  note  down  as  absurd,  or  pernicious. 
Like  the  folks  of  a  wealher-iiou^e,  shifting  about. 
When   he's  outy  be  an  In — when  be-s  in    be  %u 

Out, 
Keep  liim  always  revers'd  in  your  thoughts,  night 

and  day, 
i  an  Irish  barometer  turn'd  the  wrong  way :  — 
If    he's    up,   you    may  swear  lhat  foul  weather  is 

nigh ; 
If  he 's  down.,  you  may  look  for  a  bit  of  blue  sky. 
Never  mind  what  debaters  or  journalists  say» 
Only  ask   what  he    thinks,  and  then  thiflt  t'other 

way. 
Does  he  hite  the  Small-note  Bill  ?  then  firmly  rely 
The  Smali-note  Bill's  a  blessing,  though  ymi  dont 

know  why. 
Is  Brougham  his  aversion  ?  then  Harry  's  your  man. 
Does  he  quake  at  O'Connel  ?  take  doubly  to  Dan. 
Is  he  all   for  the  Turks?  then,  at  once,  take  Ihe 

whole 
Russian   Empire  (Czar,  Cossacks,  and  all)  lo  your 

In  short,  whatsoever  he  talks,  thinks,  or  is, 

Be  your  thoughts,  words,  aud  essence  the  contrast 

of  his. 
Nay,  as  Siamese  ladies  —  at  least,  the  polite  ones  — 
All   paint  their  teeth   black,   'cause  the    devil  has 

white  ones  — 
If  ev'n,  by  the  chances  of  time  or  of  tide, 
Your  Tory,  for  once,  should  have  sense  on  his  side, 
Even  then  stand  aloof—  for,  be  sure  lhat  Old  Nick. 
When  a  Tory  talks  sensibly,  means  you  some  trick. 

Such  my  recipe  is  —  and,  in  one  single  verse, 
1  shall  now,  in  conclusion,  its  substance  rehearse. 
Be  all  th^t  a  Brunswicker  is  not,  nor  could  be, 
Aud  then  —  vou'llbe  all  that  au  honest  man  should 


EPISTLE    OF    CONDOLENCE, 
FROM   A  SLAVE-LORD,  TO  A  COTTON-LORD, 

Abs !  my  dear  friend,  what  a  slate  of  afTairs  ! 

How  unjustly  we  both  are  despoii'd  of  our  rights! 
Not  a  pound  of  black  flesh  shall  1  leave  to  my  heirs. 

Nor  must  you  any  more  work,  to  death  little 
whites. 

Both  forc'd  to  submit  to  that  general  controller 
Of  King,  Lords,  and  cotton  mills  Public  ()[)inion, 

No  more  shall  Xjou  beat  with  a  big  billy-roller. 
Nor  /  with  the  cart-whip  assert  my  dominion. 

Whereas,  were  we  sufFer'd  to  do  as  we  please 
With  our  Blacks  and  our  Whites,  as  of  yore  we 
were  let, 
We  might  range  them  alternate,    like  harpsichord 
keys, 
And  between  us  thump  out  a  good  piebald  duet. 

But  this  fun  is  all  over; — farewell  lo  the  zest 
Which  Slav'ry  now  lends  to  each  tea-cup  we  sip  ; 

Which  makes  still  the  cruellest  cotfee  the  best. 
And  ttiat  sugar  Ihe  sweetest  which  smacks  of  the 
whip. 

Farewell,  too,  the  Factory's  white  pic:ininnies  — 
Small,  living  machines,  which,  if  flogg'd  to  their 
tasks. 
Mix  so  well  with  their  namesakes,  the  "Billies"  and 

Thai  which  have  got  souls  in  'em  nobody  asks;— 

Little  Maids  of  the  Mill,  who,  themstilves  but  ill-fed, 
Are  oblig'd,  'mong  their  other  bene  rolent  cares, 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


411 


To  "keep  feeding  the  Bcritblersj"*  — aod  betier,  't  is 
said. 
Than  old   Blackwood    or    Fraser   have  ever    fed 
theirs. 

All  this  is  now  o*er,  and  so  dismal  my  loss  is, 
So  hard  'i  is  to  part  from  the  siinck  of  the  thnng, 

That  1  iiieaii  (from  pure  love  for  the  old  whipping 
proces3), 
To  take  to  whipt  syllabub  all  my  life  long. 


THE    GHOST    OF    MILTIADES. 

Ah  quoties  dublus  Scri/jtis  exareit  atnalor  I — Ovid, 

The  Ghost  of  MiUiades  cime  at  night, 
And  he  diood  by  the  bed  of  the  Beiilhaniite, 
Ai'd  he  5aid^  in  a  voice  that  IhrilPJ  the  frame, 
"  If  ever  the  pound  of  Marathon's  name 
"Hah  ar'd  thy  bl.iod  or  tlush'd  thy  biovv, 
**  Lover  of  Liberty,  rouse  thee  now  1" 

The  Benthamite,  yawning,  left  his  bed^ 

Away  10  the  Stock  Exchange  he  sped» 

And  he  found  (he  Scrip  of  Greece  so  high, 

Th^t  it  tirM  his  blond,  it  tlustrd  his  eye, 

And  oh,  I  was  a  sight  for  the  Ghost  lo  see, 

For  never  was  Greek  more  Gieek  than  he  1 

And  stiil  as  ihe  premium  higher  went, 

Hia  ecslasy  rose  —  so  much  per  cent. 

(As  we  see  iu  a  glass,  that  tells  (he  weather, 

'I  he  heat  and  the  silvtr  rise  logeiher,) 

And  Liberty  sung  from  the  patriul^s  lip, 

While  a  voice  from  hia  pocket  whisper'd  *' Scrip!'' 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  c;ime  again  ;  — 
He  smii'd,  as  the  pale  moon  smiles  through  rain, 
For  his  soul  was  glad  at  that  patiiot  strain  ; 
(And  poor,  dear  ghost —  ln-w  liiilehe  knew 
The  jobs  and  the  tncks  of  the  Philheilene  crew!) 
"Blessings  and  thaiiksr  w.is  all  he  said, 
Then,  melting  away,  like  a  night-dream,  lied ! 

The  Benthamite  hears— amaz'd  that  ghostB 

Could  be  such  fools  —and  away  he  posts, 

A  patiiot  still  ?    Ah,  no,  ah,  no  — 

Goddc  s  of  Freedom,  thy  Scnp  is  low, 

And,  warm  and  fond  ns  thy  lovers  are, 

Thou  Irieat  their  passion,  when  undei  par. 

The  Beiithami  e'a  ardour  fast  deca;>s, 

By  turns  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prays. 

And  wishes  Ihe  d — 1  had  C^e^ct:nt  and  Cross, 

Ere  ht  had  bt^en  forc'd  to  sell  at  a  loss. 

They  quote  him  the  Slock  of  various  nations, 

But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations, 

Lord,  how  he  loathes  Ihe  Greek  quotations ! 

•'  Will) 'II  buy  my  Scrip?    Wlio'll  buy  my  Scrip  V 

Is  now  the  iheine  of  tlie  palrioi's  lip, 

As  he  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 

To  Messrs.  Orlmdo  and  I.urioitis, 

And  says,  *' Oh,  Greece,  fur  Liberty's  sake, 

*'  Do  buy  my  Scrip,  and  1  vow  to  break 

»' Those  dirk,  unholy  iionds  (^{  thine  — 

"  if  you  '11  only  consent  to  buy  up  mine .'" 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  csme  once  more  ;  — 
His  brow,  like  ihe  night,  was  lowering  o'er. 
And  he  >aid,  with  a  I  ^uk  that  flash'd  diomay, 
*'0f  Liberty's  toes  the  worst  are  tliey, 
"Who  turn  to  a  tr.^de  her  cause  divine, 
*'  And  gamble  for  gnld  On  Freedom's  shrine  1" 
Thus  B.iying,  Ihe  Ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight, 
Give  a  Fartl.ian  kick  lo  ihe  Ben  haniite. 
Which  >ent  him,  whimpering.  oH'  lo  Jtrry— 
And  vanish'd  auay  to  the  Slygiin  ferry  * 


■  One  of  Ihe  operations  in  cotton  milts  usually  per- 
formed by  chidden. 


ALARMING  INTELLIGENCE  —  REVOLUTION 
IN  THE  DICIIONARY— ONE  G^LrAT  THE 
HEAD  OF  IT. 

God  preserve  us!— there's  nothjng^  nov?  safe  from 
assault ;  — 
Thrones  toppling  around,  churches  brought  to  the 
hanimer; 
And  accounts  have  just  reach'd  us  that  one  Mr.  Gait 
Has  declar'd  open  war  against  English  and  Gram* 
marl 

He  had  long  been  suspecfed  of  some  such  design, 
And,  the  beiier  his  wicked  intents  to  arrive  at, 

Had  I.itely  'mong  C— lb— u's  troops  of  the  line 
(Ihe  peDQy-a*liiie  men;  enlisted  as  private. 

There  school'd,  with  a  rabble  of  words  at  command, 
Scolcli,  Engllsll,and^lang,  in  promiscuous  alliance, 

He,  ai  length,  agiinst  S)  max  has  l;ikrn  hia  stand, 
And  sets  all  Ihe  Mine  Parts  of  Speech  at  dehauce. 

Next  advices,  no  doubt,  further  facts  will  afford; 

In  the  mean  lime  Ihe  danger  ninsl  imminent  grows. 
He  has  taken  the  Life  of  one  err.iaent  Lord, 

And  whom  he  '11  next  murder  Ihe  Lord  only  knows. 

JVedntsday  eveni7i§. 
Since  our  last,  matters,  luckily,  look  more  serene; 

Tho'  Ihe  rebel,  't  is  s'aled,  to  aid  his  defecnon, 
Has  seized  a  great  Powder—  no.  Puff  Magazine, 

And  the' explosions  are  dreadful  in  every  direction. 

What  his  meaning  exactly  is,  nobody  knows. 
As  he  talks  [in  a  sir.iin  of  intense  botheration) 

Of  l>rical  "  ichor,"' ^  "  gelatine  us"  prose,3 
And  a  mixture  calPd  amber  immortalization.* 

N&Wt  he  raves  of  a  bad  he  once  happen'd  lo  meet, 
Sealed   high  "among  ratUings,"  and  churning  a 
sonnet ;  s 

NoWy  talks  of  a  mystery,  wrapp'd  in  a  sheet. 
With  a  halo  (by  way  of  a  nightcap)  upon  it!S 

We  shudder  in  (racing  these  terrible  lines  ; 
Soiaelhing  b;id   they  must  mean,   tho*  we   can't 
make  it  out  ; 
For,  whale'er  may  be  guess'd  of  Gait's  secret  des  gns, 
That  they're  all  ^/iri-Engiish  no   ChristiJU  can 
doubt.  « 


RESOLUTIONS  PASSED  AT  A  LATE  MEET^ 
ING  UF  REVERENDS  AND  RIGHT  REVE- 
RENDS. 

Resolv'd  —  to  stick  to  ev'ry  particle 
Of  ev'iy  Creed  and  ev'ry  Anicle  ; 
Reforming  nought,  or  great  or  little, 
We'll  8t.mchly  stand  by  "every  linlej^T 
And  scorn  the  swallow  of  that  >oul 
Which  cann>  t  boldly  bolt  ihe  whole. 


*  **  That  daik  diseased  ichor  which  coloured  his 

effusions."  —  GalVs  Lift  of  Byron. 

3  "  1  hat  gelatinous  character  of  their  effusions."— 
Ibid. 


5  *'  Sitting  amidst  the  shrouds  and  raltlings,  churn 
ing  an  iuarticulaie  melody." — Ibid. 

6  "  He  was  a  mystery  in  a  wjoding-sheet,  crowned 
wiih  a  haio." —  I'bid. 

T  One  of  the  questions  pn-pnundcd  (o  the  Puritans 
in  1573  was  —  "  Whether  the  Book  of  Service  was 


412 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Resolv'd,  that,  though  St.  Athanasius 
Id  damning  souls  is  rather  spacious  — 
Though  wide  and  far  his  curses  fall, 
Our  Church  "  hath  stomach  for  them  all  j" 
And  those  who 're  not  content  with  ■■uch 
May  e'en  be  d d  ten  tiuies  as  much, 

Resolv'd  —  such  liberal  souls  are  we 
Though  hating;  Nonconformity, 
We  yet  believe  the  cash  no  worse  is 
That  comes  from  Noncnnformist  purses 
Indifferent  whence  ihe  money  readies 
The  pockets  of  our  reverend  breeches, 
To  U3  Ihe  Jumper's  jingling  penny 
Chinks  with  a  tone  as  sweet  as  any  ; 
And  ev'n  our  old  friends  Yea  and  Nay 
May  through  the  nose  for  ever  pray, 
If  also  ihiuugh  the  nose  they  '11  pay 

Resolv'd,  that  Hooper,!  Latimerji 

And  Cranmer.3  all  extremely  err, 

In  taljingsuch  a  Inw-bred  view 

Of  what  Lords  Spiri  ual  ought  to  do:  — 

All  owing  to  the  fact,  poor  men, 

That  Mother  Church  was  modest  then, 

Nor  knew  what  golden  eggs  her  goose, 

The  Public,  would  m  thneproduce. 

One  Piagah  peep  at  modern  Durham 

To  far  more  lordly  thoughts  would  stir  'em, 

Resolv'd,  that  when  we,  Spiri'ua)  Lords, 

\Vho>e  income  jnsi  enough  affords 

To  keep  our  Spiritual  Lordships  cozy, 

Are  told,  by  Antiquarians  prosy, 

How  ancient  Bishops  cut  up  theirs, 

Giving  the  poor  the  largest  shares  — 

Our  answer  is,  in  one  short  word, 

^Ve  think  it  pious,  but  absurd. 

Those  gond  men  made  the  world  their  debtor. 

But  we.  the  Church  refTm'd,  know  better; 

And,  taking  all  that  all  c^n  pay, 

Balance  the'  account  the  other  way, 

Resolv'd,  our  thanks  profoundly  due  are 
To  last  month's  Qu:(rierly  Reviewer, 
Who  proves  (by  aigunients  so  clear 
One  sees  how  much  he  holds  per  year) 
That  England's  Church,  though  out  of  date, 
Must  still  be  left  to  lie  in  stale, 
As  dead,  as  rotten,  and  as  grand  as 
The  mummy  of  King  Osymand\as, 
All  pickled  snug—  the  hiains  drawn  out*  — 
With  costly  cerements  sw.iihed  about. — 
And  "  Touch  me  not,"  those  words  terrific, 
ScrawPd  o'er  her  in  good  hieroglyphic. 


good  and  godly,  every  tiltle  grounded  on  the  Holy 
Scripture?"  On  which  an  honest  Dissenter  remarks 
— "  Surely  they  had  a  wonderful  opinion  of  their  Ser- 
vice Bonk  thai  there  was  not  a  titlle  amiss  in  it." 

«  '*Thev,"  the  Bishops.  "  know  that  the  primitive 
Church  had  no  such  Bishops  If  Ihe  fourth  part  of 
the  bishopric  rennined  unto  the  Bishop,  it  were  suf- 
ficient."— On  the  Commandments,  p.  72. 

2  "Sinie  the  Prelates  were  made  Loids  and  Nobles, 
the  plough  standelh,  there  is  no  work  done,  the  people 
starve  '2 —  Lat.  Serm. 

3  "Of  whom  have  come  all  these  glorious  titles, 
style?,  and  pomp?  into  the  Church.  But  I  would  that 
I,  and  all  my  brethren,  the  Bishops  would  leave  all 
our  styles,  and  write  the  slyles  ot  nur  offices,"  &c.  — 
Life  of  Cranmer,  by  Strij-pe,  Jifpendix. 

*  Part  of  the  process  of  emb  ilmment. 

6  Tht  Book  of  Spnrts  drawn  up  by  Bishop  More'on 
was  *^rst  put  forh  rn  the  reign  of  James  I.,  16IS,  .md 
afterwards  republished,  at  the  advice  of  Land,  by 
Charles  L,  lti33,  with  an  iojuttc'ion  thai  it  should  bu 


SIR    ANDREW'S    DREAM. 

"Nkc  tu  Bperne  pile  venienlia  somnia  portii: 
Cum  pia  veiierunt  Bumiiia,  ponUun  halwnt" 

Properl.  lib.  jT.  elef.  7. 

As  snug,  on  a  Sunday  eve,  of  late, 

Jn  his  easy  chair  Sir  Andrew  sate, 

Being  much  too  pious,  as  every  one  knows, 

To  do  aught,  of  a  Sunday  eve,  but  doze, 

He  dreamt  a  dream,  dear,  holy  nian. 

And  1  'It  tell  you  his  dream  as  well  hs  I  can. 

He  found  himself,  loiiis  great  amaze, 

In  Ctiarles  the  First's  high  Tory  days, 

And  just  at  the  tjnie  that  gravest  of  Courts 

Had  publish'd  Its  Book  of  Sunday  Sports.*  — 

Sunday  Sports  !  what  a  thing  for  ihe  ear 

Of  Andrew,  even  in  sleep,  to  hear!  — 

II  chanced  to  be,  too,  a  Sabbath  day. 

When  the  people  from  church  were  coming  away  J 

And  Andrew  with  horror  he  rd  this  song. 

As  the  smiling  sinners  llock'd  along  :  — 

*'  Long  life  to  the  Bishops,  hurrah  !  hurrah  I 

*'  For  a  week  of  work  and  a  Sunday  of  play 

•'Make  the  poor  man's  life  run  merry  av^ay." 

"The  Bishops!"  quoth  Andrew,  "Popish,  I  guefts," 
And  he  grinned  with  conscious  holiness. 
But  the  song  went  on,  and,  to  brim  the  cup 
Of  poor  Andy's  grief,  the  fiddles  struck  up  1 

*'  Come,  take  out  the  lasses  —  let 's  have  a  dance  - 

"  For  the  Bishops  allow  u^  to  skip  our  fill, 
*'  Well  knowing  tliat  no  one's  the  more  in  advance 

"  On  the  road  to  heaven,  for  standing  s'ili. 
"Oh,  it  never  was  meant  that  grim  grimaces 

•'  Should  sour  the  cream  of  a  creed  of  love  ; 
"Or  that  fellows  with  long,  disastrous  faces, 

'*  Alone  should  sit  among  cherubs  above. 

**Then  hurrah  for  the  Bishops,  &C. 

"  For  **unday  fun  we  never  can  fail, 

"  When  the  Church  herself  each  sport  points  out;— 
"There's  Ma> -games,  archery,  VVhitsun-ale, 

"  And  a  May-pole  high  to  dance  about, 
*'  Or,  should  we  be  for  a  pole  hard  driven, 

"  Some  lengthy  saint,  of  aspect  fell, 
"  With  his  pockets  on  earth,  and  his  nose  in  heaven, 

"  Will  do  for  a  May-pole  just  as  well. 
"  Then  hurrah  for  Ihe  Bishops,  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
"  A  week  of  work  atid  a  Sabbath  of  play 
"  Make  the  poor  mau's  life  run  merry  away." 

To  Andy,  who  doesn't  much  deal  in  history. 

This  Sunday  scene  was  a  downright  mysteiy  ; 

And  Gnd  knows  where  might  have  ended  the  joke, 

But,  in  trying  to  stop  the  fiddles,  he  woke. 

And  the  odd  thing  is  (as  the  rumour  goes) 

That  since  that  dream —  which,  one  vvould  suppose, 

Should  have  made  his  godly  stomach  rise, 

Even  more  than  ever,  'gainst  Sunday  pies  — 

He  has  view'd  things  quite  wiih  different  eyes  ; 

Is  beginning  to  take,  on  matters  divine, 

Like  Charles  and  his  Bishops,  the  j/JoWin^:  line — 

Is  all  for  Christians  jigging  in  pairs. 

As  an  interlude  'l\\ixi  Sunday  pravers  ;  — 

Nay,  talks  of  gelling  Archbishop  H— I— y 

To  bring  in  a  Bill,  enacting  duly, 


•'  made  public  by  order  f r  m  the  Bishops."  We  find 
it  therein  declared,  that  "  for  his  good  people's  recrea- 
tion, his  Maje-ty's  pleasure  was,  that  after  the  end  of 
divine  service  they  should  not  be  disturbed,  letted,  or 
di'couraged  from  any  lawful  recreations,  such  as 
dancing,  either  of  men  or  women,  archery  for  men, 
leaping,  vaulting,  or  any  such  harmless  recreations, 
nor  having  of  May-games,  Whiisun-ales,  or  Morris- 
dances,  or  setting  i.p  of  May-poles,  or  other  sports 
theiewith  uted,"^c. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


413 


Th»t  all  icood  Protestan's,  from  this  date, 
Mi.y  freely  and  lawtuHy,  recreate, 
Of  a  Suiid.iy  eve,  their  spiriis  iiio:)dy, 
With  Jack  id  (he  Straw,  or  Puucb  and  Judy. 


A    BLUE    LOVE-SONG 


Air 


•  Come  liv 


:ith  t 


and  be  my  tove." 


3  sic  a  noodle,  our  Andie  Agnew* 


Come  wed  with  me,  and  we  wil!  write, 

My  Illue  of  Blues,  fnim  morn  till  night 

Chased  from  our  classic  souls  shall  be 

All  thoughts  of  vule;.ir  progeny; 

And  thou  sh:ilt  walk  thruugh  tmiting  rows 

Of  chuhby  duodecimos, 

While  I.  lo  match  thy  products  nearly, 

Shall  lie-in  of  a  quario  yearly. 

'T  is  true,  ev'n  bodks  entail  some  'rouble; 

But  live  productions  give  one  double. 

Coireciinsf  children  is  such  bother,— 

While  pridiers'  dev'Is  correct  (he  other. 

Just  think,  my  own  Mallhusian  dear, 

How  much  more  dt;cent  'l  is  to  hear 

From  male  or  female  —  as  il  may  be  — 

"How  is  your  book?"  than  "  How  '5  your  baby  ?*' 

And,  whereas  physic  and  wet  nurses 

Do  much  exhaust  paleri>al  purses, 

Our  books,  if  ricke'v,  niay  go 

And  be  well  dry-nursed  in  the  Row; 

And,  whenGnd  wills  (0  lake  them  hence, 

Are  buried  at  the  Jiow^a  expense. 

Besides,  (as  M  is  well  prov'd  by  thee, 

In  thy  own  Works,  vol.  93,) 

The  mirch,  just  now,  of  popntalioo 

So  much  outstrips  all  niodeiatnm, 

Thr.t  ev'n  prolific  herring-shr  als 

Keep  p  ice  not  with  our  erring  souls.* 

(th,  far  more  proper  and  well-bred 

To  stick  10  »  riting  books  instead  ; 

And  show  the  world  h"W  two  Blue  lovers 

Can  coalesce,  like  two  bo^k-C'vers, 

(Sheep*skin,  or  calf,  or  such  wise  leather,) 

Letter'd  at  back,  and  stilch'd  together, 

Fondly  as  first  ihe  binder  liit'd  'em^ 

Wiihoought  but  — literaiure  betwixt  *era. 


SUNDAY    ETHICS. 
A   SCOTCH   ODE. 

Puir,  profligate  Londoners,  having  heard  tell 

That  IheDe'il's  got  auiangye,  and  fearing 't  ib  true. 

We  ha'  sent  ye  a  mon  wlia's  a  malch  for  his  spell, 

A  chiel  o'  our  ain,  that  Ihe  Dt^Nl  hiinset 

Will  be  glad  lo  keep  clear  of,  one  Andrew  Agnew. 

So,  at  least,  ve  mav  reckon,  for  ane  day  enlire 
Id  ilka  hng  week  ye  »n  be  iraNqutI  et.eueh. 
As  Auld  Nick,  do  him  justice,  abhors  a  Scotch  squire, 
An*  would  sooner  eae  roast  by  his  am  ki'chen  fire 
Tlian  pass  a  hale  bunday  wi'  Andrew  Agnew. 

For,  bless  the  gude  mon.  gin  he  had  his  aIn  way, 

He  'd  na  let  a  cat  n„  the  Sabbath  say  "  mew  ;'» 

Nae  birdie  maun  whistle,  nae  lanibie  maun  play, 

An*  Phceltus  himsel  could  na  travel  ihal  Hay, 

At  be  *d  find  a  new  Joshua  in  Andie  Agnew. 


Only  hear,  in  your  Senate,  how  awfu'  he  cries, 
"  Wae.  wae  .0  a'  sinners  who  boil  an'  who  stew. 
Wae,  wae  tn  a'  eaters  o'  Sabbath-liak'd  pies, 
For  as  surely  again  shall  Ihe  crust  thereof  rise 
*^  Jn  judgment  against  ye,"  saith  Andrew  Agnew  I 

;  may  think,  from  a'  this,  that  our  Andle*s  the  lad 
To  ca'  o'er  the  coals  ynur  UDbeelily,  too ; 
That  their  drives,  o' a  Sunday,  wi'  rtunkies,'i  a'clad 
.ike  Shawmen,  behind  'em,  would  mak   the  mon 
mad  — 
But  be 

If  Lairds  an'  fine  I--»dies,  on  Sunday,  think  right 
To  gang  to  the  deevil  -—  as  maisi  o'  em  do  — 

To  stop  them  our  Andie  would  think  na  poliie  ; 

And  'I  is  odds  (if  the  chiei  could  get  ony  thing  by  't) 
But    he  'd   follow   'eai,   booing,^  would    Andrew 
Agnew. 


AWFUL    EVENT. 

Yes,  W— nch— Is— a  (I  tremble  while  I  pen  il), 
W— nch— Is— a's  Earl  hath  cut  the  British  Senate 
Hath  said  to  England's  I'eers,  in  accent  gruff, 
*  That  for  ye  all''  [snapping  his  fingers],  and  exit,  in 
a  hutt ! 

Disastrous  news  !  —  like  that,  of  old,  which  spread 
.    .  11  shore  to  shore,  *'our  mighly  Pan  is  dead," 
O'er  the  cross  benches  (cross  from  being  crosl) 
Sounds  the  loud  wail,  "Our  W— uch— Is— a  is  lost!" 

Which  of  ye,  Lords,  Ihat  heard  him,  can  forget 

The  deep  impression  of  that  a»ful  threat, 

'M  quit   your    house  1 1"— 'midst  all   that  histories 

telt, 
I  know  but  one  event  that  'a  parallel :  — 

It  chanc'd  at  Drury  Lane,  one  Easter  night, 

When  the  gay  gods,  too  blest  to  be  poli'e, 

Gods  at  their  ease,  like  those  of  learn'd  Lucretius, 

Laugh'd,  wliistleii,  grt-an'd,  uproariously  ficelious  — 

A  well-dres-.'d  member  of  the  middle  gallery, 

Whose  **  ears  polite"  disdaiiiM  such  low  canaillerie, 

Rose  in  his  place— so  grand,  you'd  almost  swear 

Lord  W  — nch— Is— a  hintself  stood  lowering  therF — 

And  like  that  Lord  of  dignity  and  nous. 

Said,  **  Silence,  fellows,  or  —  I  '11  leave  the  house  ! !" 

How  brook'd  the  god<  this  speech  ?    Ah  well-a-day, 
'I  hat  speech  s"  fine  should  be  su  thrown  away  I 
In  vain  did  this  mid-gallery  grandee 
Assert  his  own  two-shilling  dignity  — 
III  vain  he  menac'd  to  withdraw  Ihe  ray 
Of  his  own  full-price  countenance  away  — 
Fnn  against  Dignily  is  fearful  odds, 
And  as  the  Lords  laugh  7iouj,  bo  giggled  then  the 
gods! 


THE  NUMBERING  OF  THE   CLERGY. 

PARODY     ON      SIR     CHARLES     HAN.     WIL- 
LIAMS'S    FAMOUS    ODE, 

*'  Come  Cloe  and  give  mt  awut  Awjm." 

**  We  wont  more  Churctiefl  and  mnrf  Clereymen." 

Biihop  0/  London'!  late  Charge, 

"Eectorura  numerum,  terria  pert'untit)n8.  aueeiii. " 

Viaudian  in  Eutrop. 

Come,  give  us  more  Livings  and  Rectors, 
For,  richer  no  realm  ever  gave; 


t  See  "Ella  of  Garveloch."— Garvelnch  being 
place  wheie  there  was  a  l.trgc  herring-tishery,  but 
where,  as  we  are  told  by  the  author,  "  the  penple  ' 
created  much  faster  than  the  produce." 


3  Servants  in  livery. 

3  For  the   "gude  etFecIa  and  uteelity  of  booing," 
ee  the  Man  of  ihe  rtW/d. 


414 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


But  why,  ye  unchristian  objectors, 
Do  ye  ask  us  how  many  we  crave  ?  * 

Oh.  there  cati'l  be  too  many  rich  Livings 

Fnrbo.ilsof  ttie  Pluralist  kii.d. 
Who,  dfsi.ising  n)d  Cocker's  ims^ivings, 

To  auiiibt;rs  can  uc'er  be  coiifiu'd.^ 

Count  the  cnrmoranis  hovering  about, 3 
Al  ihe  time  their  tish  season  sets  in, 

\>  tiL'D  these  models  of  keen  diners  nut 
Are  preparing  their  beaks  to  begin. 

Count  the  rooks  that,  in  clerical  dre^sea, 
Flock  round  when  the  harvest's  in  play, 

And,  not  minding  the  farmer's  distresses, 
Like  devils  in  grain  peck  away. 

Go,  number  the  locusts  in  heaven,4 
On  their  way  to  some  litheable  shore; 

And  when  so  many  Parsons  you  've  giveo, 
We  still  shiU  be  craving  for  more. 

Then,  unless  ye  the  Church  would  submerge,  ye 
Must  leave  us  in  peace  to  au2;uient 

For  the  wretch  who  cnuld  nuniber  the  Clergy, 
Wilb  few  will  be  ever  coDteDt.^ 


A    SAD    CASE. 


'If  it  be  the  nndergroduate 

religiosa    U    lo  be 

G — lb — n  against    il  _ 

actuolly  exposed  to  the  full 
Dissenters  1"—  Tke  Time 


,.v  „.-o™  al  which  this  rabiei 
ffarful,  what  Becurily  has  Mr 

vtiiom  Gf  an  associalioD  witl 
I,  March  25. 


How  sad  a  case !  — just  think  of  it  — 

If  G— lb— n  junior  should  be  bit 

By  some  insane  Dissenter,  reaming 

Through  Gran'as  halls,  at  large  and  foaming, 

And  with  that  aspect,  uZfra  crabbed 

Which  marks  Dissen-ers  when  they 're  rabid  t 

God  only  knows  what  miscliiefs  might 

Result  from  this  one  single  bite, 

Or  how  the  venom,  once  suck'd  in. 

Might  spread  and  rage  through  kith  and  kin. 

Mad  folks,  of  ;tll  denoniinaions, 

Firsi  'urn  upon  theirown  relations: 

So  that  one  G— lb— n,  fairly  bit, 

Might  end  in  maddening  the  whole  kit, 

'lill,  ah,  ye  gods,  weM  have  to  rue 

Our  G— lb— n  senior  bitten  loo; 

The  Hychurchphobia  in  those  veins, 

Where  Tory  blood  now  redly  reigns  ;  — 

And  that  dear  man,  who  now  perceives 

Saivaiion  only  in  lawn  sleeves. 

Might,  tainteli  by  such  coarse  infection, 

Run  mad  in  the'  opposi'e  direction, 

And  think,  poor  man,  't  is  only  given 

To  linsey-woolsey  to  leacli  Heaven! 


I     Come,  Cloe,  and  give  me  sweet  kisses. 
For  sweeter  sure  never  girl  gave  ; 
But  why,  in  the  midst  of  my  blisses, 
Do  you  a^k  me  how  many  I'd  have? 

G    For  whilst  I  love  thee  abjve  measure, 
To  numbers  1  '11  ne'ei  be  confin'd. 

3  Count  the  bees  that  on  Hybb  are  playin?, 

Count  Ihe  flowers  that 'enamel  its  fields, 
Count  Ihe  flocks,  &c. 

4  Go  number  the  slars  in  the  heaven. 

Count  how  many  sands  on  the  shore  ; 
When  so  many  kisses  yu  've  given, 
1  still  shall  be  craving  for  more. 
»    But  the  wretch  who  can  number  his  kisscsj 
With  few  will  be  ever  content. 


Just  fancy  what  a  shock  't  would  be 
Our  G— Ib-n  in  his  hts  to  see, 
Tearing  into  a  thousand  particles 
His  once-|..v  d  Nine  and  Ihiriy  Articles; 
(Ihose  Ariicles  Ins  friend,  Ihe  l)uke,6 
For  GoM  el,  L'ulher  ni^M,  mistook;) 
Cursing  CAthedial-,  de-nis,  and  singers  — 
Wi>hins  the  ropes  mi(»ht  hang  the  ringers- 
Pelting  the  church  wiih  blasphemies, 
Kven  worse  than  Parson  B— v— il— y's;— 
And  ripe  for  severing  Church  and  Slate, 
Like  any  creedless  reprobate, 
Or  like  ihat  class  of  Methodists 
Prince  Waterloo  styles  *•■  AtheistsI 

But  't  is  too  much  —  Ihe  Muse  turns  pale, 
And  o'er  the  picture  drops  a  veil, 
praying,  God  save  the  G— lb— rns  all 
From  mad  Dissenters,  great  and  small  I 


A    DREAM    OF    HINDOSTAN 

risvm  leneatla,  amici. 

"The  longer  one  lives,  the  more  one  learns, 

Said  I,  as  otl'  to  sleep  I  ivent, 
Bemus'd  u  ith  thinking  of  I  iihe  concerns, 
And  reading  a  bonk,  by  the  Bishop  of  Ferns,' 

On  the  lush  Climch  Establishment. 
Buf,  lo,  in  sleep,  not  long  I  lay, 

When  Fancy  her  usual  Iricks  began, 
And  J  found  myself  bewitch'd  away 

To  a  gnodly  ci'y  in  Hindustan  — 
A  city,  where  he,  who  daies  to  dine 

On  aught  but  nee,  is  deem'd  a  sinner ; 
Where  sheep  and  kine  aie  held  divine. 

And,  accordingly  —  never  drebt  for  dinner* 

** But  how  is  this?'*  I  wondering  cried  — 
As  I  walk'd  that  city,  fair  and  wide, 
Arid  saw,  in  every  maible  street, 

A  row  of  beautiful  butchers'  shops  — 
"  What  means,  for  nieu  who  don't  eat  me%t, 

**  This  grand  display  of  loins  and  chops  ^ 
In  vain  I  a^k'd  — 't  was  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  statlsy  wjih  nought  lo  do  ; 
While  some  on  a  bencti,  half-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  s  range  masquerade?" — 

"The'  expense!  —  oh,  that  *s  of  course  defrayed 

(Said  one  of  these  well-fed  Hecatombeis) 

*' By  yonder  rascally  rice-consumers." 

*'  What  1  they^  who  mustn't  eat  meat !"  — 

•*No  matter- 
(And,  while  he  sprke,  his  cheeks  srew  fatter,) 
"  'I  he  rogues  may  munch  their  Paddy  crop, 
"But  the  rngues  must  sliil  support  our  shop. 
'*  And,  depend  upon  it,  the  way  'o  treat 
"  Heretical  sioniachs  Ihat  thus  dissent, 
"  Is  lo  burden  all  that  wo'n't  eat  meat, 
"  With  a  costly  Meat  Esiablishmeol." 


6  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  styled  them  "the 

Articles  of  Christianity.'* 

T  An  indefatigable  scribbler  of  anti-Cathol  e  p«m- 
phlets. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


415 


On  hearing  these  words  so  gravely  said, 

Wilh  a  volley  of  laughter  liHi<t  1  shook  ; 
And  iitv  sliniiher  Hed,  and  m\  dream  was  sped, 
And  I  found  I  »a-  hi.  ^  snug  in  htd, 

Wilh  uiy  nose  iu  'the  Bish"|i  of  Feinss  book. 


THE    BRUNSWICK    CLUB. 

k  letter  having  jeeD  arldresflfd  to  a  vt-ry  il]!-tin(,'ui«hed 

personage,  rtquesting  liim  lo  b^romt-  Itie  ration  of  Ih 

Oranse  Club,  a  pilitr  answer  vian  furlhwilh    returned, 

of  which  we   have  been  furtunnle  enough  to  obtain  i 

Brimatont-hall,  September  1,  1828. 
Private.—  Lord  Belzebub  presenls 
To  Ihe  Brunswick  Club  his  conipiimenls, 
And  much  regrets  to  say  that  he 
Cannot,  at  present,  ttieir  Palion  be. 
In  slating  this,  Lord  Belzebob 
Assures,  on  his  honour,  the  Brunswick  Club, 
That  't  isn't  from  anv  lukewarm  lack 
Of  zeal  or  Sie  be  thus  holds  hack  — 
As  ev'n  Lord  Coal  ■  him  elf  i-  nc  t 
For  the  ttrange  par'y  more  red-hot; 
But  the  truth  is,  lill  their  CluhalTo.ds 
A  somewhat  decen'er  show  of  Lords, 
And  on  ilj  list  of  members  gets 
A  few  less  ruhliishv  Bar  nets, 
Lord  Belzebub  must  beg  to  be 
Excused  from  keeping  such  company. 

Who  the  devil,  he  humbly  begs  to  know. 
Are  Lord  Cil— nd— ne,  and  Lord  D-nlo? 
Or  who,  with  a  grain  of  sense,  would  go 
To  sit  and  be  bored  by  Lord  M— yo? 
■  What  living  creature  —  ixccpt  his  nurse  — 
For  I^rd  M— nc— sh— I  cares  a  cur>e. 
Or  thinks 't  would  mailer  .f  L.ird  M— sk— rry 
Were  t'other  side  of  llie  ,Slv»ian  ferry  > 
Brea'hes  there  a  man  in  Dublin  tov>n. 
Who'd  give  but  hilf  of  halt-a-crmvo 
To  save  from  dnnvnm;  mv  I.o-d  R— thd-ne, 
Or  who  wouldn't  also  gladly  hustle  in 
Lords  R-d— n,  B— nd— n,  C— le,  and  J_c— 1— n? 
In  short,  though,  from  his  tenderesl  years, 
iccuslom'd  to  all  sTls  of  I'eers, 
Lord  Belzebub  much  questions  whether 
He  ever  yet  saw,  niix'd  trgetber, 
&s  't  were  in  one  capacious  tub, 
Such  a  mess  of  noble  silly-bub 
As  the  twenty  Peers  of  the  Brunswick  Club. 
'T  is  tbe-efore  impossible  that  Lord  B. 
Could  stoop  to  such  society, 
Thinking,  he  owns  ('hough  no  great  prig), 
For  one  in  his  station  »t  were  t'ri/ro  di^. 
But  he  begs  lo  propose,  in  the  inlerim 
(Till  ihev  find  some  p.opVer  Heeis  for  him). 

His  Highness  of  C-mb d,  as  Sub, 

To  take  his  p'ace  at  the  Brunswick  Club- 
Begging,  roeaiiwhile,  himself  to  dub 
Their  obedient  servant,  BELZEBUB. 

It  luckilv  happen.",  Ihe  R— y— I  Duke 
Resenildes  so  much,  in  air  and  look. 
The  bend  of  the  Bel/ehub  family, 
That  few  c^n  any  difiereiice  see; 
Which  makes  him,  of  course,  the  better  suit 
To  serve  as  Lord  B.'s  substitute. 


PROPOSALS   FOR    A   GYN.ECOCRACr. 
ADDRESSED  TO  A  LATE  RADICAL  MEETING. 


Aa  Whi;  Reform  has  had  its  nnge. 
And  none  of  us  are  yet  content. 


'  Usually  written  "Cole 


Suppose,  my  friends,  by  way  of  change, 

We  try  a  Frmak  Pmliamnit ; 
And  .iiice,  of  la'e,  wilh  lit  M.  I'.'s 
We've  tared  -o  h  ilK,  liket..  she's  — 
Pe  ticoit  paliiol-.  11  uiiril  John  Kussells, 
Bindi-lts  in  Uuntk.  a„d  llr-.  gliaiiis  in  bialla. 
■Ihe  plan  IS  siai'lii.g,  1  confess- 
But  Ms  hut    nallairol  dies; 
Wor  see  I  much  Iheie  is  to  choose 

'Twixl  Ladies  (so  ttiey  're  thurouch-bred  onea) 
In  ribands  of  all  sorts  of  hues, 

Or  Lords  iu  only  blue  or  red  ones. 

At  least,  the  fiddlers  will  be  winners, 

Whatever  other  trade  advances; 
As  then,  instead  of  Cabinet  dinners. 

We  'II  have,  at  Almack's,  Cabinet  dancei 
Nor  lei  this  world's  imporl^int  questions 

Depend  on  Ministers'  digestions. 

If  Ude's  receipts  have  done  thim^s  ill, 

■|  0  Weippen's  band  they  mav  go  belter; 
There's  Lady  *  +,  in  one  quadrille. 

Would  selile  Europe,  if  you  'd  let  her: 
And  who  the  deuce  or  asks,  or  cares. 

When  Whigs  or  Tones  liave  undone  'em, 
Whclh.-r  they've  danc'd  through  State  alTairs, 

Or  simply,  dully,  diji'd  upon  'ein  ? 

Hurrah  'heii  for  the  Petticoats  ! 

To  them  we  pledge  our  free-born  votes; 

We'll  have  all  xlie,  and  only  slu  — 

Perl  hlues  shall  ,.ct  .as  "  best  debaters," 
Old  dowagers  our  Bishops  be. 

And  teruiagaiits  our  Agitators. 

If  Veslris,  to  oblige  the  nation, 

Her  own  Olympus  will  abandon. 
And  help  to  prop  the'  Adminislration, 

It  can't  have  tieiter  legs  lo  stand  on. 
The  fam'd  Macaulay  (Mi-sl  shall  show. 

Each  evening,  forih  in  learn  d  oration; 
Sh.ll  ui.ve  (midst  general  cries  of  "  Oil !") 

For  full  reiurnsof  population: 
And,  finally,  lo  crown  Ihe  whole, 
The  Piincess  Olive.'J  Roial  soul. 
Shall  from  her  bower  in' Banco  Regis, 
Descend,  lo  bless  her  f  lithful  lieges. 
And,  mid  our  Unions'  loyal  choius, 
Reigu  jollily  for  ever  o'er  us. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  »  •  *. 


1 — y  has  for  some  time  past  been  suffering,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  declared  hnsiilily  lo  "anthems,  solns, 
duets,''3  )(;c.,  I  took  the  libertv  of  making  inquiries 
at  his  Lnidship's  house  this  morning,  and  lose  n..  lime 
in  transmitting  to  you  such  paiticulars  as  1  could  C"l- 
lect.  It  is  said  that  the  screams  of  iiis  Lordship,  under 
Ihe  operation  of  this  nightly  concert,  (which  is,  no 
doubt,  some  trick  of  the  R.dicals,)  may  be  heard  all 
over  the  neighb  'urhood.  The  female  who  personates 
St.  Cecilia  is  supposed  to  be  the  same  tli.at,  list  year, 
ppeared  in  lite  charac'er  of  Isis.  at  the  Rotunda. 
How  the  cherubs  are  managed,  1  have  not  yet  ascer- 
tained. Yours,  4c.  P.  P. 

LORD  H-NL-Y  AND  ST.  CECILIA. 

in  Metii  descendat  Judicis  aures.    Horttt* 

As  snug  in  his  bed  Loid  H— nl — y  lay. 
Revolving  much  his  own  Renown, 


^  A  personage,  'o  styling  herself,  who  attained  con- 
siderable notoriety  at  that  period. 
3  In  a  work,  on  Church  Reform,  published  by  hia 

Lordship  in  l|s32. 


416 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


And  hoping  to  add  thereto  a  ray. 
By  pulling  due*ii  aud  aothems  down, 

Sudden  a  strain  of  choral  sounds 

Mellirtuous  o'er  his  senses  stole; 
Whereat  the  Iteformer  muiter'd,  "Z>urds!'' 

For  he  lualh'd  sweet  oiusic  wUb  ail  his  soul. 

Then,  starting  up,  he  saw  a  sight 

That  well  iiiight  .shock  so  tearnM  a  snorer  — 
Saint  Cecilia,  rnb'd  in  light, 

With  a  portable  org:ia  slung  before  her, 

Jvl  rcund  were  Cherubs,  on  rainbow  wings, 
Wao,  his  Lordship  fear'd,  nii?hl  tire  of  flitting, 

8j  begg'd  Ihey  'd  sit  —  but  ah  !  (loor  things. 

They  'd,  none  of  them,  got  the  nieaus  of  sitting.^ 

"Having  heard,"  said  the  Saint,   "you*re   fond  of 
hymns, 

"And  indeed,  that  musical  snore  betrayed  you, 
"  Myself,  and  my  choir  of  cherubimt, 

**  Are  come,  for  a  while,  to  serenade  you.** 

In  vain  did  the  horrified  H— nl — y  say 

**'T  was  all  a  mis'ake"  —  "she  was  misdirected  ;" 
And  point  to  a  concert,  over  the  way, 

Where  tiddlers  and  angels  were  expected. 

In  rain — the  Saint  could  see  Jn  his  looks 

(She  civilly  said)  much  tuneful  lore  ; 
So,  at  once,  all  open'd  their  music-bonks, 

And  herself  and  her  Cherubs  set  otf  at  score. 

All  night  duets,  terzels.  quartets, 

Nay,  long  quiniets  most  dire  to  hear; 
Ay,  and  old  ninlels,  and  canzonets, 

And  glees,  in  sets,  kept  boriug  his  ear. 

He  tried  to  sleep  —  but  it  wouldn't  do  ; 

So  loud  ihuy  squall'd,  he  must  at'eod  to  'em; 
Though  Cherubs'  songs,  to  his  cost  he  knew. 

Were  like  themselves,  and  had  no  end  (o  'em. 

Oh  judgment  dire  on  judges  bold, 

Who  meddle  with  music's  sacred  strains! 

Judge  Midas  tried  the  same  of  n|d, 

Aud  was  punish'd,  like  H — nl— y,  for  his  pains. 

But  worse  on  the  modern  judge,  alas  ! 

Is  the  sentence  launch'd  frnm  Apollo's  throne  ; 
For  Midas  was  given  the  ears  of  an  ass, 

While  H— nl— y  is  doom'd  to  keep  his  own  ! 


ADVERTISEMENT. a 

1830. 
Missing  or  lost,  last  Sunday  night, 

A  Waterloo  coin,  whereon  was  IracM 
The'  inscription,  "Courage!"  in  letters  bright, 

Though  a  little  by  rust  of  years  defacM, 

The  meta!  thereof  Is  rough  and  hard. 

And  ('t  is  thought  of  late)  mix'd  up  with  brass 

But  it  bears  the  stamp  of  Fame's  award, 
Aud  through  all  Posteriiy's  hands  will  pass. 


I  *'  Assevez-vous,  mes  enfans."  —  "  II  n'y  a  pas  de 
quoi,  mon  Seigneur." 

*  Written  at  that  memorable  crisis  when  a  distin- 
guished Duke,  then  Prime  Minister,  acting  under  ihe 
inspirations  of  Sir  Cl— <1— s  H-nt— r  and  other  City 
wor'hies,  advised  his  Majesty  (o  give  up  his  an- 
liouDctd  ioientioa  of  dining  with  the  Lord  Mayor. 


How  it  was  lost,  God  only  knows, 
But  certain  City  thieves,  they  say, 

Broke  in  on  the  owner's  evening  daze, 
And  filcliM  this  *'  gift  of  gods''  away  ! 

One  ne'er  could,  of  course,  the  Cits  suspect. 
If  we  hadn't,  that  evening,  chanc'd  to  see. 

At  tlie  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  ev'u  bij  friends,  just  now,  without  it. 


And  if  Sir  Clod  will  bring  it  back, 
Like  a  trusty  Baronet,  wise  and  able. 

He  shall  have  a  ride  on  Ihe  whitest  hack3 
That's  left  in  old  King  George's  stable. 


Carlton  Terrace,  J832 

Whereas,  Lord  #»#**«  de  ******* 

Left  his  home  last  Saturday, 

And,  though  inquir'd  for,  round  and  round, 

1  hrough  certain  purlieus,  can't  be  found  ; 

And  whereas,  none  can  solve  our  queries 

As  to  where  this  virtuous  Peer  is, 

No'ice  Is  hereby  giv'n,  that  all 

May  forthwith  to  inquiring  fall. 

As,  oiice  the  thing  's  well  set  about, 

No  doubt  but  we  shall  bunt  him  out. 

His  Lordship's  mind,  of  late,  Ihey  say, 

Halh  been  in  an  uneasy  way, 

Hiniself  and  cnlleagues  not  being  let 

To  climb  into  the  Cabinet, 

To  settle  England's  state  affairs, 

Hath  much,  it  seems,  wnsetiled  theirs; 

And  chief  to  this  stray  Plenipo 

Ha'h  been  t  most  distressing  blow. 

Already,— certain  to  receive  a 

Well-paid  mission  to  the  Neva, 

And  be  the  bearer  of  kind  words 

To  tyrant  Nick  from  Tory  Lords,— 

To  tit  himself  for  free  discussion. 

His  Lordship  had  been  learning  Russian; 

And  all  so  natural  to  him  were 

The  accents  of  the  Northern  bear, 

That,  while  his  tones  were  in  your  ear,  you 

Might  swear  you  were  in  sweet  Siberia. 

And  siill,  pour  Peer,  to  old  and  young, 

He  goes  on  raving  in  that  tongue  ; 

Tells  you  how  much  you  would  enjoy  a 

Trip  to  Ualnodoubrowskoya  ;  * 

Talks  of  such  places,  by  the  scorCj  oa 

As  Ouli^fflirmchi^agobo^^[l,6 

And  swears  (for  he  at  nothing  sticks) 

That  Russia  swarms  with  Rasknl.niks,6 

I'hough  one  such  Nick,  God  knows,  must  be 

A  mure  than  ample  quantity. 


3  Amone  other  remarkable  attributes  by  which  Sir 
C — Id — s  distinguished  himself,  the  dazzling  whiteness 
of  his  favourite  steed  was  not  the  least  conspicuouf 

*  In  the  Government  of  Perm. 

s  Territory  belonging  to  the  mines  of  Koliva 
Kosskressense. 

6  T  he  name  of  a  religious  sect  in  Russia.  "  II  ex- 
iste  en  Kus-ie  plusieurb  sectes ;  la  plus  nombreuses  eat 
celle  des  Raskol-niks.  ou  vrai  croyauls.'*  —  Gamta, 
Voyage  dans  la  Russie  MeridionaU, 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


417 


Such  are  the  niarki;  by  wliich  to  know 
This  stmyM  or  stolen  Pltiuipo; 
And  \\  hosoever  brings  or  senJs 
'I'he  unhappy  sUiesman  to  his  friends, 
Oh  C-irltori  Terrace,  shall  have  thanks, 
And  —  any  paper  but  the  Bank'9. 

P.  S.—  Some  think,  the  disappearance 
01"  this  our  diplum.Ttic  Fcer  hence 
Is  for  (he  purpose  cf  reviewine, 
Jnptrso7t,  what  dear  Mig  h  doing 
So  itK  to  'ncape  all  lell-  ale  letters 
'Br.ut  B— 8-d,  and  st^ch  abettois.— 
'J"he  ouly  •*  wre'ches"  for  whose  aid  1 
Letters  seeni  not  to  have  bten  made. 


THE    DANCE    OF    BISHOPS; 

OR,     THE    EPISCOPAL    QUADRILLE. 2 
A      DREAM. 

I83X 
•Solemn  rfancpg  were,  on  great  festivals  and  celebrations, 
adinitU'd  among  thti  [ininitive  ChriHtiaas,  in  which 
even  Itie  Bislio(iH  and  digiiilied  Clt.'rgy  were  perforinens. 
BcaligtT  Huya,  Ihnl  tlip  first  Bishops  were  CBiled  Prae- 
aulus  3  for  no  other  reason  than  that  they  led  oif  these 
liaucvB."— Cyclopaedia,  ait.  Dances. 

Pve  had  such  a  dream  —  a  frightful  dream  — 
'i'h'iufjh  funnv,  mayhap,  to  wa?s  'i  will  seem, 
By  all  who  regard  the  Church,  like  us, 
'T  \vill  be  tJiOughl  exceedingly  omiaousl 

As  reading  in  bed  I  lay  last  night  — 

Which  ;t)einEr  insured)  is  my  delight— . 

I  happen'd  to  doze  off  just  as  I  got  to 

The  sintruUr  f..ct  which  forms  iiiy  motto. 

Only  think,  thought  I.  as  I  doz'd  away, 

Of  a  |iarly  of  Ctiurchmea  dancing  the  hay  I 

Cleiks,  curates,  and  rectors,  cafiering  all, 

Wilh  a  neal-legg"d  Bishop  to  open  the  ball  I 

Scarce  had  my  eyelids  ijnie  to  close. 

When  the  scene  1  hid  f.incied  betore  me  rose  — 

An  Kpiscnpat  Hop,  od  a  scale  so  grand 

As  my  dazzled  eyes  could  hardly  stand. 

For,  Britain  and  Erin  cl-.bb'd  their  Sees 

To  make  it  a  Uance  of  Dignities, 

And  I  saw  —  oh,  brightest  of  Church  events  1 

A  quadrille  of  the  two  Establishnieuts, 

Bishop  to  Bishop  vjs-a-vis. 

Fooling  away  prodigiously. 

There  wns  Bristol  capering  up  to  Derry, 
And  Cork  wi'h  London  making  merry  : 
While  huge  I,land;.lf,  with  a  See,  so  so, 
Was  to  dear  old  Dublin  pointing  his  toe. 
There  was  Chester,  hatch'd  by  woman's  smile, 
Performing  a  chaine  des  Dairies  in  style; 
While  he  who,  whene'er  the  Lords'  House  dozes. 
Can  waken  ihem  up  by  citing  Mose8,4 
The  portly  Tuam,  was  all  in  a  hurry 
To  set,  £71  avatitf  to  Canterbury. 

Meantime,  while  pam;ihle(8  stuff'd  his  pockets, 
(.411  out  of  d.te,  like  spent  sky-rockets.) 
(Mr  Exeler  ^t<)Md  f  „ih  to  ciper, 
A  >  high  on  the  floor  as  he  do  h  on  paper  — 


*•'  Hsav'u  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid." 

Pope. 
a  Written  on  the  passing  of  the  memorable  Bill, 
in  the  year   1833,   for  the   abolition  of   ten    Irish 
Bishopric?. 
■  Literally,  First  Dancers. 

*  "  And  what  does  Moses  sav?''— One  of  the  ejacu- 
lations wilh  which  this  eminent   prelate   enlivened 
i  his  famous  speech  on  the  Catholic  question.  ' 


Much  like  a  dapper  Dancing  Dervise, 

Who  pirouettes  his  whole  church-service  — 

Performing,  'midst  those  reverend  souls, 

Sucli  entrechats^  such  cabrivlcs^ 

Such  haluiina^^  such  —  rigmaroles, 

Now  higli,  niiw  low,  now  this,  now  that. 

That  noncc'Hild  guess  what  the  dev1  he'd  beat; 

Thniigh,  watching  his  various  step-,  some  l-Sougbt 

That  a  step  iu  (he  Church  was  all  he  sought. 

But  alas,  alas  !  while  thu?  so  gav. 

These  rev'rend  dancers  fri  k'd  av:iv, 

Nor  Paul  himself  (not  the  saint,  but  he 

Of  the  Opera-house)  could  brisker  be, 

There  galher'd  a  glooni  around  their  glee  — 

A  shadow,  which  came  -md  went  so  fast, 

Thai  ere  one  cnld  say  **'T  is  there,"  *t  was  past— 

And,  lo,  when  the  scene  again  was  clear'd, 

Ten  of  the  dancer.-,  had  dtsanpear'd  ! 

Ten  able-bodied  (juadrHlers 'swept 

From  the  hallnw'd  floor  where  lr.te  (hey  stept, 

While  twelve  was  all  that  footed  it  s  ill, 

On  the  Irish  side  of  that  grand  Quadrille! 

Nnr  this  the  worst ;  — still  danc'd  they  on. 

But  the  pnnip  was  sadden'd,  the  smile  was  gone ; 

And  again,  from  time  to  tune,  the  same 

Jll-ometieJ  daikness  round  them  came— . 

While  slill,  as  the  light  broke  out  anew. 

Their  rank^  lookd  lc?-s  by  a  dozen  or  two  ; 

Till  -^h  !  at  la-l  thee  were  only  found 

Just  Bi-hops  enough  fnr  a  four-hands-round  ; 

And  when  1  awi  ke,  impntient  getting, 

I  left  the  last  holy  ^2.\t  jpousseiling  t 

N,  B.— Ah  ladies  in  years,  it  seems, 
Have  the  happie-t  knack  at  s-dving  dreams, 
I  ^hail  leave  to  my  ancient  feminine  friends 
Of  the  Standard  to  say  what  (Aw  portends. 


DICK    •    »    *    *. 
A   CHARACTER. 

Of  various  scraps  and  fragments  huilt, 

Porrow'd  alike  from  fools  and  \wts, 
Dick's  mind  was  like  a  palchv^o^k  quilt, 

Made  up  of  new.  old,  motley  bits  — 
Wheie,  it  the  Co.  call'd  in  their  thares, 

If  petticoats  their  quota  got. 
And  gowns  were  nil  refunded  theirs. 

The  quilt  wou'd  look  but  shy,  God  wot. 

And  thus  he  still,  new  pbginrjes  seeking, 

Revers'd  ventriloquism's  trick, 
For,  'stead  of  Dick  through  others  speakirr^. 

'  r  «as  otheis  we  heard  speak  through  Dick. 
A  Tory  now,  all  bounds  exceeding, 

Now  best  of  Whigs,  now  worst  of  rats; 
One  day,  with  Malthu-*,  foe  to  breeding, 

The  next,  «  itli  S  .dier,  all  f-T  brats. 
Vom-  Dick  !  —  and  how  else  cou'd  it  be  ? 

With  notions  all  at  random  caught, 
Asrirt  of  men'al  t'ricasspe, 

Made  up  of  legs  and  winss  of  thought  — 
The  leavings  of  the  last  Debate,  or 

A  dinner,  ye-'erday.  of  \vi(3, 
Wtiere  Dick  sate  by  and,  like  a  waiter, 

Had  the  craps  (or  perquisites. 


*  A  description  of  the  meihod  of  executing  this 
step  may  lie  useful  'o  future  j»t'rfoiniers  in  the  same 
line:— '^Cp  pas  est  compose  de  deux  mouvemens 
dilferons,  savoi:^.  •plir.r,  ei  snuter  sur  un  pit-d,  et  se 
rejeter  sur  I'aulr&y  —  I)ict\6nnair&  d&  JDansc,  art,  j 
Cu7itre  temps, 

2^ 


418 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


A  CORRECTED  REPORT  OF  SOME  LATE 
SPEECHES. 
"TheD  I  heard  one  i 


liDt  said 


lint  speaking,  and  another 
unto  that  saiut." 

IS34. 
S».  S— ncl— r  rose  and  dfclar'J  in  sooth. 
That  he  ivouldu't  give  sixtniice  to  MMiioolh. 
He  had  h.led  [.nesis  the  whole  uf  his  life. 
For  a  priest  was  a  una  who  had  uo  wife,' 
And,  having  no  wife,  the  Church  was  his  mother, 
The  Church  wns  his  filher, sister,  and  brolber. 
This  being  the  case,  he  was  sorry  to  say, 
Tbal  a  gulf  'Iwixl  Papist  and  Pruleslant  lay,a 
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  eirth  could  maSe 
Your  proper,  heavy  built  Christian  take. 
No,  no,—  if  a  Dance  of  Sects  must  be. 
He  would  set  to  the  Baptist  willingly,3 
At  the  Independent  deigii  to  smirk, 
And  rigadoon  with  old  Molher  Kirk; 
Nay  ev'D,  for  once,  if  needs  must  be, 
He'd  take  hands  round  wiih  all  the  three; 
But,  as  to  a  jig  with  Popery  no,— 
To  the  Harlot  ne'er  would  he  point  his  loe. 

St.  M— nd— V— 1e  was  the  neit  thai  rose  — 

A  Saint  who  round,  as  pedlar,  goes. 

With  his  pack  of  piety  and  prose. 

Heavy  and  hoi  enough,  God  knows. — 

And  iie  said  that  Papists  were  much  inclin'd 

To  extirpate  all  of  Protestant  kind, 

Which  he  couldn't,  in  truth,  so  much  condemn, 

Having  rather  a  wish  to  extirpate  them; 

That  is,— to  guard  against  mistake,— 

To  extirpate  them  for  their  doctrine's  sake; 

A  distinction  Churchmen  always  make,— 

Insomuch  that,  when  they  've  prime  control. 

Though  sometimes  roasting  heretics  whole. 

They  but  cook  the  body  for  sake  of  the  soul. 

Next  jump'd  St.  J— hnst- n  jollily  forth, 
The  spiritual  Dogberry  of  the  North,* 
A  right  "  wise  fellow,  and,  what 's  more, 
An  officer,"'  like  his  lype  of  j-ore  ; 
And  he  ask'd,  if  we  grant  such  toleration. 
Pray,  what  's  the  nje  of  our  Reformation  ?  6 
What  is  the  use  of  our  Church  and  State  ? 
Our  Bishops,  Article?,  Tithe,  and  Rale  ? 


And,  «lill  as  he  jell'd  out  'what's  IlieutB?" 
Old  Echoes,  from  their  cells  recluse 
Where  thev  'd  for  centuries  slept,  broke  looeB, 
Yelling  responsive,  "  What 's  the  wt  ?" 


MORAL    POSITIONS, 


A     DREAM. 


*•  His  Loidstiip  Bait]  thai  it  look  a  long  time 

pottitioil  to  tiiitl  its  way  across  tile  Atlantic,  lie  was 
very  sorry  that  its  voyage  had  been  to  lont,"  &c.  — 
Speech  of  Lord  Dudley  and  Ward  on  Colonial  Slavery, 
Marcli  8. 

T'other  night,  after  hearing  Lord  Dudley's  oration 
(A  treat  that  comes  once  a-vear  as  May-day  does), 

I  dreamt  that  1  saw  —  what  a'  strange  operation  ! 
A  "  moral  position"  sbipp'd  oli  for  fiarbadoes. 


grave  atti- 


"  He  objected  to  the  main'enance  and  education 


The  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  stood  by  i 
tudes. 

Packing  ihe  article  tidv  and  neat ; — 
s  their  Rev'rences  know,  that  in  southerly  latitudes 
*■  Moral  positions"  don't  keep  very  sweet. 

here  was  B— th — at   arranging  the   custom-house 

from  lousing  and 

There  stood  my  Lord  Eld — n,  endorsing  it  "Glass," 
Ihoti^h  as  to  which  side  should   iie  uppermost, 
doubling. 

The  freight  was,  however,  stow'd  safe  in  the  hold ; 
The  winds   were   polite,  and    the    moon   look'd 
romantic. 

While  otf  in  the  good  ship  "The  Truth"  we  were 
roll'd, 
With  our  ethical  cargo,  across  the  Atlantic. 

Long,  dolefully  long,  seem'd  the  voyage  we  made; 
For  "  I  he  Truth,"  at  all  times  but  a  very  slow 
sailer, 
By  friends  near  as  much  as  by  foes,  is  delay'd. 
And  few  come  aboard  her,  though  so  many  hail 
ber. 

At  length,  safe  arrived,  I  went  through  "  tare  and 

Deliver'd  my  goods  in  the  primest  condition, 
And  next  morning  read,  in  the  Bridgetown  Gazette, 
•'  Just  arrived  by  '  The  Truth,'  a  new  moral  posi- 
tion. 


of  a  clergy  bound  liij  the  particular  vows  of  ccUbacy,    ,it-|^    Canlain"— hi 
which,  as  it  were,  AToBC  them  Ihe  church  asthcironly  I  „  ,  t  ranlaio" 


e,  startled  to  find  myself  nam'd 

family,  making  it  Jill  the  places  of  father  and  mothir  I     ^»  "'Z^'''"'''"   ~  '*  ""°^  "'''"''  '  """  "  '''"" 
d  trot/ier."- Debite  on^the  G.ani  to  Maynoolh    J    ,i,„'„',h' life    have    avoided,)    I   woke-look'd 

asliam'd, 


College,  The  Times,  April  19. 

2  "  It  had  always  appeared  to  him  that  between  the  1 
Catholic  and  Protestant  a  great  gulf  intervened, 
which  rendered  it  impossible,"  &c. 

3  "The  BaptisI  might  acceptably  extend  Ihe  offices 
of  Religion  to  the  Presbyterian  and  the  Independent 
or  Ihe  member  of  Ihe  Church  of  England  to  any  of  1 
the  other  three  ;  but  the  Catholic,'' &c. 

4  "Could  he  then,  holding  as  he  did  a  spiritual 
office  ill  Ihe  Church  of  Scotland,  (cries  of  hear,  and 
lauglltei,)  with  any  consistency  give  his  consent  to  a 
grant  of  money  ?''  &c. 

5  "  I  am  a  wise  frllow,  and  which  is  more,  an  offi- 
cer."—  Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

6  »  What,  he  asked,  was  the  u«e  of  the  Reforma- 
tion? What  was  llie  use  of  the  Articles  of  Ihe 
Church  of  England,  or  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  ?" 
kc. 


Found  1  wasn''t  a  captain,  and  doz'd  oif  again. 


THE  MAD  TORY  AND  THE  COMET. 

FOUNDED    ON   A   LATE    DISTRESSING    INCI- 
DENT. 

1P32-3. 
'*  Motantem  regna  cometem." —  Luean.  7 
"Though  all  the  pel  mischiefs  we  count  upon,  fail, 

•'  Ttiough  Cholera,  hurricanes,  Wellington  leave  ui, 

"We've  still  in  reserve,  mighty  Comet,  thy  tail;  — 

«•  Last  hope  of  Ihe  Tories,  wilt  thou  too  deceive  lu  ? 


1  Eclipses  and  comets  have  been  always  looked  to 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


419 


**No — 't  is  coming,  H 19  coming,  th*  avenger  is  nigh ; 

*'  Heed,   heed   not,  ye  placemen,   how   Herapath 
flatters 
"  One  \\  tiisk  trom  that  tail,  as  it  passes  us  by, 

"  Will  settle,  at  once,  all  political  maltcis  ;  — 

"The    East  India    Question,    the   Bank,    the    Five 
Powers, 
"(Now  lurn'd  into  two)  with  their  rigmarole  Pro- 
tocols ;  1  — 
•*Ha!  ha  !  ye  gods,  how  this  new  friend  of  ours 
"  Will  knock,  right  and  left,  all  diplomacy's  what- 
d'ye-calls ! 

Yes,  rather  than  Whigs  at  our  downfall  should 

mock, 
**  Meet  planets,  and  suns,  in  one  general  hustle  ! 
**  While,  nappy  in  vengeance,  we  welcome  the  shock 
"  That  shall  jerk  from  their  places,  Grey,  Althorp, 

and  Russell.*' 

Thus  spnke  a  mad  Lord,  as,  with  telescope  rais'd, 
His  wild  Tory  eye  on  the  heavens  he  set ; 

And,  ihoui^h  nothing  destructive  appear'd  as  he  gaz'd, 
Much  hopM  that  there  wuuLd,  before  Parliament 
uiet 


And  B'ill,  as  odd  shapes  seem'd  to  flit  through  his 
gl.iss, 

*'  Ha  !  there  it  is  now,"  the  poor  maniac  cries  ; 
While  his  fancy  with  forins  but  too  monstrous,  alas  ! 

From  his  oiva  Tory  zodiac,  peoples  the  skies  ;  — 

"  Now  I  spy  a  big  body,  good  heavens,  how  bi^ ! 

"  Whether  Ducky  ^  or  1  aurus  I  cannot  well  say  :- 
"And,  yonder,  there  's  Eld — n's  old  Chancery-wig, 

*'  In  its  dusly  aphelion  fast  fading  away. 

'*!  see,  'mong  those  fatuous  meteors  behind, 
"  L — iid  — lid — ry,  in  vacuo,  fl.iring  about  j  — 

"  While  that  dim  double  star,  of  the  nebulous  kind, 
**  Is  the  Gemiul,  R— den  and  L — rt — n,  00  doubt. 

"Ab,  EI— b'r— h!  'faith,  I   first  thought  'twas  the 
Comet ; 
"So  like  ihat  in  Milton,  it  made  me  quite  pale; 
"The   head  with   the  same  'horrid  hair' 3  coming 
from  it, 
"And  plenty  of  vapour,  but—  where  is  the  tail  ?" 

JujI  then,  up  aloft  jump'd  the  gazer  elated  — 
For,  to,  Ins  brighr  gl-iss  a  phenomennn  show'd. 

Which  he  took  to  be  C — mb— rl — d,  upwards  trans- 
lated. 
Instead  of  his  natural  course,  t'other  road  ! 

But  too  awful  that  sight  for  a  spirit  so  shaken,— 
Down  dropp'd  the  poor  Tory  in  fits  and  grimaces. 

Then  oil'  to  the  Bedlam  in  Charles  Streel  was  taken. 
And  is  now  one  of  Halford's  most  favourite  ca^es. 


as  great  changers  of  administrations.    Thus  Milton, 
speaking  of  the  former  :  — 


And  in  Statins  we  find, 

"Mutant  quae  sceptra  cometae." 

•  See,  for  some  of  these  Protocols,  the  Annual 
Register,  for  the  year  1832. 
»  The  D -6  of  n-ck— ra. 
»  "And  from  his  horrid  hair 

Shakes  pestilence  and  war." 


FROM  THE    HON.  HENRY 
EMMA  


-,  TO  LADY 


Paris,  March  30,  1832. 
Vou  bid  me  explain,  my  dear  angry  Ma'amselle, 
How  1  came  thus  to  boil  without  saying  farewell  ; 
And  the  truth  is,— as  truth  you  wUi  have,  my  sniet 

There  are  two  worthy  persons  1  always  feel  loth 
To  take    leave    of  at    starling, —  my  mistress   and 
tailor, — 
As  somehow  one  always  has  scenes  with  them 
both; 
The  Snip  in  ill-humour,  the  Syren  in  tears, 

She  calling  on  Heaven,  and  he  on  the'  attorney. — 
Till  somelinies,  in   short,   'Iwixt  his  duns  and  bis 
dears, 
A  young  gentleman  risks  being  stopp'd  in  his  joui^ 
ney. 

But,  to  cnme  to  the  point,—  though  you  think,  I  dare 

That  't  is  debt  or  the  Cholera  drives  me  away, 
'Pon  honour  you  're  wrong  ;—  such  a  mere  bagatelle 

As  a  pestilence,  nobody,  now-a-days,  fears; 
And  the  fact  is,  my  love,  I'm  thus  boiling,  pell-mell, 

To  get  out  of  the  way  of  these  horrid  new  Peers  ;  ♦ 
This  deluge  of  coronets,  frighlful  to  think  of. 
Which  England  is  now,  fur  her  sins,  on  the  brink  of; 
This  coinage  of  7ioW£S,— coin'd,  all  of 'em,  badly, 
And  sure  to  bring  Counts  to  a  discouaX  most  sadly. 

Only  think,  to  have  Lords  overrunning  the  nation, 

As  plenty  as  frogs  in  a  Dulch  inundation  ; 

No  shelter  from  Barons,  from  Earls  no  protection, 

And  tadpole  young  Lords,  too,  in  every  direction, — 

Things  created  in  hasie,  jus'  to  make  a  Court  list  of, 

Two  legs  and  a  coronef  all  they  consist  of; 

The  prspcct's  quite  frightful,  and  what  Sir  George 

(My  parlicular  friend)  says  is  perfectly  true, 
That,  50  dire  the  alternative,  nobody  knows, 
'Twixt  the  Peers  and  the  Pestilence,  what  he's  to 
do; 
And  Sir  George  even  doubts, —  could  he  choose  his 

disorder,— 
'Twixt  cnrtin  and  coronet,  which  he  would  order. 
This  being  the  case,  why,  I  thougtit,  my  dear  Emma, 
'T  weie  best  to  fight  shy  of  so  curs'd  a  dilemma; 
And  though  I  confess  myself  somewhat  a  villain. 

To  've  left  idol  mio  wiihoul  an  addio. 
Console  vnur  sweet  heart,  and  a  week  hence,  from 
Milan 
I  'II  send  you  —  some  news  of  Bellini's  last  trio. 

N.  B.  —  Have  just  pack'd  up  my  travelling  set-out, 

Things  a  tourist  in  Italy  caii't  go  wilhout  — 

Viz.,  a   pair  of  gants  gras,  from  old  Houbigant's 

shop, 
Good  for  hands  that  the  air  of  Mont  Cenis  might 

chap. 
Small  presents  for  ladies, —  and  nothing  so  wheedles 
The  creatures  abroad  'S  your  gnlden-ey'd  needles. 
A  nest  Jacket  HoMce,  by  which  folks  are  cnzen'd 
To   think   one  knows  Latin^  when  —  one,  peihaps, 

doesn»t ; 
With  some  little  book  about  heathen  mythology, 
Jiisf  large  enough  to  refresh  one's  theology  ; 
Nothing  on  earth  being  half  such  a  bore  as  . 

Not  knowing  the  diffrence  »lwixt  Virgins  and  Floras.   ' 
Once  more,  love,  farewell,  best  regards  to  the  girls, 
And  mind  you  beware  of  damp  feel  and  new  Etrls. 
HENRY. 


420 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


TRIUMPH    OF    BIGOTRY. 


CoUese.~\\'<2  aniiouiicd. 

in  fiur  last,  Ihat  Lt-frny  and 

Shaw  wert-  R-tunitrU.     '1  1. 

y    uere    .liitluil    yt-hlerday ; 

l(if  aiiidciits  o.  Uie  (Mil,  , 

.'■  '1  MiiiiJ.  i|,  it  would  sefin. 

to  iniiuitf  the  mob  m   i  : 

.  1   .   I.   --sifig  thtmselves 

tu  llie  cur,  ami  ttm    M.t       i 

,    i     :  ■  >iijiii  Oraufie  flags 

SQd  bludyeous  before,  l  ■       . 

1   ,  ii.  uin.l  ttie  far." 

.,..-.,.  r„>f,  Dt'c.  2U,  1632. 

Ay,  yoke  ye  to  the  bignts'  car, 

"Ve  clios'n  of  AlinaMatei's  scions;— 
Fleet  charters  die w  the  God  of  War, 

Great  C>bele  was  ilrawu  hy  iJous, 
And  SyUan  Pan,  as  Poets  dream, 
Drove  four  young  paulhers  in  his  team. 
Thus  classical  L—fr— y,  for  once,  is, 

Thus,  studious  of  a  like  turn-out, 
He  harnesses  young  sucking  dunces, 

To  draw  hiin,  as  their  Chief,  about, 
And  let  the  world  a  picti.resee 
Of  Dulnessyok'd  to  Hie<.try  : 
Showing  us  how  young  College  hacks 
Can  pace  wiih  bigots  at  Ihtir  backs, 
As  though  the  cubs  were  buT^i  to  draw 
Such  luegtge  as  L— fr— y  and  Sh— w. 
Oh  sliade  ol  Giild>!:.iih,  shade  of  Swift, 

Blight  spiiiia  whom,  in  da\s  of  yore, 
This  queen  of  Uulness  sent  adrift, 

As  aliens  to  her  fo^gy  shore ;  ^  — 
Shade  of  our  glorious  Gr^itau,  loo, 

VVhose  very  name  her  bhame  recalls; 
Whose  efiigy  Iier  bigol  crew 

Revers'd  upon  their  inoi.kit^h  walls.^  — 
Bear  witness  (lesi  the  world  should  doubt) 

'Jo  your  mute  Mothers  dull  rennwn, 
Then  famous  but  for  Wit  turn'd  cwf, 

And  Eloquetice  tum'd  upside  dovjn  j 
But  now  oidain'd  new  wieaihs  to  win, 

Beyond  all  fame  of  former  days, 
By  breaking  thus  young  dnnkies  in 

To  draw  M  P-n  amid  the  brays 

Al  ike  of  donkies  and  M.  A.s  ;— 

Defying  Oxford  lo  surpass  'em 
In  this  new  **  Gradus  ad  Paiuassuni.*' 


TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  GULL 
LAN  GUAGE. 

Scripla  manet. 

1833. 

'T  was  graved  on  the  Slone  of  Desliny,3 
In  letters  four,  and  letters  thiee; 
And  ne'er  did  the  King  of  the  Gulls  go  by 
But  those  awful  letters  scar'd  his  eye  ; 
For  he  knew  Ihat  a  Pn.phel  Voice  h;id  said, 
**  As  long  as  iho?e  words  by  man  were  read, 
*'  The  ancient  race  (  f  the  "Gulls  should  ne'er 
•*One  hour  of  peace  or  plentv  s!i;ire." 
But  years  on  years  successiveflew. 
And  the  letters  stUl  more  legible  grew,— 
At  lop,  a  T,  an  H,  an  E, 
And  underneath,  D.  E   B.  T. 

Some  thought  them  Hebrew,— such  as  Jews, 
More  skiiril  in  Scrip  th  m  Sciipture,  use; 


t  See  the  lives  rf  these  two  poe's  for  the  circum- 
tances  under  which  they  left  Dublin  College. 
1  Id  the  year  1799,  tlie  Board  of  Trinity  Collpge, 
I  Dublin,  thought  proper,  as  a  mode  of  expressing  their 
I  disapproba'ion  of  Mr.  Grattan's   public  conduct,  to 
order  his  portrait,  in  Ihu  Great  Hall  of  (he  University, 
to  be  turned  upside  down,  and  in  this  position  it  re- 
mained for  some  time. 

3  Liafail,  Of  the  Stone  of  Destiny, —  for  which  see 
Westminsler  Abbey. 


While  some  aurniis'd  'twas  an  ancient  way 

Of  keeping  accounts,  {well  known  in  the  day 

Of  the  fam'd  Didlenus  Jeremias, 

Who  bad  thereto  a  wonde-ful  bras.) 

And  prov  d  in  books  most  learn'dly  boring, 

*T  v\as  called  the  PonlicA.  way  of  scoiing. 

II  iweVr  this  be,  (here  never  were  yet 

Seven  letlers  of  the  alphnbet, 

Tha',  'tw,xl  ihem,  form  d  sn  grim  a  spell 

Or  sc.r'd  a  Land  of  Gulls  so  well. 

As  did  this  av^ful  riddle-me-ree 

Of  T.  H.  E.  D.  E.  B.  T. 


Hark  !—  it  is  struggling  Freedom's  cry 

*'  Help,  help,  yc  nations,  or  1  die; 

"  *  i  is  Freedom's  fight,  and,  on  the  field 

'*  Where  1  expire,  your  doom  is  seal'd." 

The  Gull-King  hears  the  awakening  call, 

He  ha!h  summonM  his  Peers  and  Patriots  all, 

And  he  asks.  '■  Ye  noble  Gulls,  shall  we 

"  Stand  basely  by  at  the  fall  of  the  Free, 

*'  Nor  utter  a  curse,  nor  deal  a  blow  ?" 

And  they  answer,  with  voice  of  thunder,  "  No. 

Out  fly  their  flashing  swords  in  the  air  !  — 
But. — why  do  they  rest  susjiended  there? 
What  sudden  blight,  what  baleful  charm, 
Hath  chill'd  each  eye,  and  check'd  each  arm? 
Alas  1  some  withering  hand  hafh  thrown 
The  veil  from  off  that  fatal  s'oie, 
And  pointing  now.  with  sapless  finger, 
t-howeth  where  dark  those  letters  linger,— 
Letters  four,  and  letters  Ihiee, 
T.  H.  E.  D.  E.  B.  T. 

At  sight  thereof,  each  lifted  brand 

Powerless  falK  frrim  every  hand  ; 

In  vain  the  Patriot  knits  his  brow,— 

Even  talk,  his  staple,  fails  him  now. 

In  vain  'he  King  like  a  hern  treads, 

His  Lords  of  the  Treasury  shake  their  heads: 

And  to  all  his  talk  of  "  brave  and  free," 

No  answer  getteth  his  M  nesty 

But*'T.  H.  E.   D.  E.B.  T." 

In  shnrt,  the  whole  Gull  nation  feels 

1  bey  Ve  fairly  spell-bound,  neck  and  heels; 

And  so,  in  the  face  of  the  laugliiiig  world, 

Musi  e'en  sit  down,  with  banntr.i  furi'd. 

Adjourning  all  their  dreams  sublime 

Of  glory  and  war  tu — some  other  time. 


NOTIONS  ON  REFORM. 
BY  A  MODERN  REFORMER. 

Of  all  the  misfortunes  as  yef  brought  to  pass 

By  this  comei-like  Bill,  with  its  long  tail  of  speecUs, 

The  saddes'  and  worst  is  the  schism  which,  alas! 
1(  h^s  cau'-ed  betweeo  W — th — r— !'s  waisicoat  and 
breeches. 

Some  symptoms  of  this  Anti-Union  propensity 
Had  oft  broken  out  in  tha'  quarter  before  ; 

But  the  breach,  since  the  Bill,  has  attain'd  such  im- 
mensity. 
Daniel  himself  could  have  scarce  wish'd  it  more. 

Oh  !  hasfc  to  repair  it,  ye  friends  of  good  order, 
Ye  Atw— ds  and  W— iins,  ere  the  moment  i^  past ; 

Who  can  doubt  that  we  tiead  upon  Anarchy's  border, 
When  the  lies  that  should  hold  men  are  loosening 
so  fast  ? 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


421 


AfoAi  W— Ih— r— I  yield  to  "some  sort  of  Reform" 
(As  A'e  alt   must,  God  help  us!  with  very  wry 
nces) ; 

And  loud  as  he  likes  let  him  bluster  and  storm 

About  Corporate  Rights,  so  he'll  only  wear  braces. 

Should  tho-e  he  now  sports  have  been  long  in  posses- 
sion, 

And,  like  his  own  boroue:h,  the  worse  for  the  wear, 
Advise  him,  at  least,  as  a  prudent  conce^sioa 

To  iDtellecl's  progress,  to  buy  a  new  pair. 

Oh  !  who  thai  e^er  saw  him,  when  vocal  he  stmds, 
With  a  lonk  something  midway 'twixl  filch'sand 

While  slill,  to  inspire  him,  his  deeply-thrust  hands 
Keep  jingling  the  rhino  in  both  breeches-pockets  — 

Who  that  ever  haslisten'd,  through  groan  and  through 
cough, 

To  the  speeches  inspired  by  this  music  of  pence, — 
But  must  grieve  that  there's  anything  like/a//i»^  off 

In  >hat  great  nether  source  t<f  his  wit  and  his  sense } 

Who  that  knows  how  be  lookM  when,  with  grace 
debonair, 
He  began  (ir^t  to  court— rather  la'e  in  the  season— 
Or  when,  less  f.4slidious,  he  s.it  in  the  chair 
or  his  old  friend,  the  NoiiiDgbam  Goddess  of  Rea- 
son;^ 

That  Goddess,  whose  borough-like  virtue  allracfed 
All  mongers  in  both  wares  to  proif'er  their  love; 

Whose  chair  like  the  stool  of  the  Fythontss  acted, 
As  W— th — r — I's  rants,  ever  since,  go  to  provej* 

iVho,  in  short,  would  not  grieve,  if  a  man  of  his  graces 
Should  go  on  rejecting,  unwamM  bv  the  past, 

The  '*n.oderate  Refjim'  of  a  nair  of  new  hr.cea, 
Till,  some  day,—  he'll  all  fall  to  pieces  at  last. 


TORY    PLEDGES. 

I  pledge  myself  through  thick  and  thii 
To  labour  still,  wi  h  zeal  devout, 

To  get  the  Outs,  poor  devils,  in, 
And  (urn  the  Ins,  the  wretches,  out. 

I  pledge  myself,  though  much  bereft 
Of  ways  and  means  of  ruling  ill, 

To  make  the  nmst  of  wh.it  j 
And  stick  to  all  that^  ruti 


lie  let! 
en  still. 


Though  gone  the  days  of  place  and  pelf. 
And  drones  no  more  'ake  all  the  honey, 

I  pledge  myself  to  cram  myself 
With  all  1  can  of  public  uiouey. 

To  quarter  oo  that  social  purse 

My  nephews,  nieces,  sisters,  brothers, 

Nor,  so  we  [Tospei,  ere  a  curse 

How  much  I  is  at  the'  expense  of  others. 

I  pledge  myself,  whenever  Right 
And  Might  on  any  point  divide. 

Not  to  :*-k  winch  is  black  or  u  hite. 
But  lake,  at  once,  the  sirongeit  side. 


i  It  will  be  recollected  tint  the  learned  gentleman 
himself  boAsteit,  one  mght,  in  the  Mouse  of  fomninns, 
of  having  sat  in  rhe  very  chair  which  Ihis  allegorical 
lady  had  occi'pied. 

^  Lucan's  description  of  the  etlects  of  the  tripod  nn 
the  appe.raiice  and  voice  of  the  sitter  shows  that  the 
symplums  are,  at  least,  very  similar  : 

Spumea  luoc  priinum  rabii-s  vesaiia  per  ora 

£niuit 

tunc  mut-HtuN  vudtm  iilulatuti  in  enlris. 

'      36  " 


For  instince,  in  nil  Tithe  discussion!', 
I  'ni  fur  the  Kfverend  encn.achers  :  — 

1  loathe  the  Toles,  applaud  the  Russian^-, — 
Am  for  the  Squires,  against  the  ^oacfaen. 

Betwixt  the  Corn-Lords  and  the  Poor 
1  've  not  the  iligtitC't  hesitation, — 

The  People  must  be  starv'd,  I'  insure 
'i  he  Land  iis  due  reniuneiation. 

I  pledge  myself  to  be  no  more 

Willi  Ireland's  wronjjs  bepros'd  or  shaiDUiM } 
1  vote  her  grievances  a  bore. 

So  she  may  sutler,  and  be  d d. 

Or  if  she  kick,  let  it  console  ns, 
We  slill  h.ive  plenty  of  red  coats, 

To  cram  the  Churcli,  ihat  general  bolus, 
Uowii  any  giv'u  amount  of  throats. 

I  dearly  love  the  Frankfort  Diet, — 
'I'hiiik  newspapeis  Ihe  worst  of  crimes 

And  would,  to  give  some  chance  of  quiet, 
Hang  all  the  writers  of  The  Times; 

Break  all  their  correspondents'  bones, 
All  aulhors  of  "  Keply,"  •'  Kcjoinder,"' 

From  the  Anti  lory,  Colonel  J— es. 
To  the  Anti-buttee,  Mi,  1*— ynd— r. 

Such  are  the  Pledges  I  propose; 

And  though  i  can't  now  i.lfergold, 
There  's  many  a  wjy  of  buying  those 

Who've  bul  the  taste  for'beingsold. 

So  here 's,  with  three  times  three  hurrahs, 
A  toast,  of  which  you'll  no:  complain, — 

"Lon^  life  to  jobbing  ;  may  ihe  days 
*'  Ut  Peculation  shine  again  1" 


ST.    JEROME    ON    EARTH. 

riRST    VISIT. 

1S32. 

As  St.  Jerome,  who  died  some  ages  ago, 

Was  sitting,  cue  day,  in  the  shade*  below, 

"  I've  heard  niucti  of  Knjlish  bishops,"  qu'ilh  he, 

"And  shall  now  take  a  tiip  to  eirih.  to  sue 

"  How  far  they  ajree,  in  Iheir  lives  and  ways, 

"  With  our  good  old  bishops  of  ancient  days." 

He  had  learn'd  —  but  learn'd  without  misgivings  — 
Their  love  for  good  living,  and  eke  good  livings: 
Nol  knowing  (as  ne'er  having  taken  degrees) 
That  go.iil  lioing  means  claret  and  friossees, 
While  its  plural  means  simply  —  pluralities. 
"  Fiom  all  i  he.ir,"  said  the  innocent  man, 
"  They  are  quite  on  ihe  good  old  primitive  plan. 
"F.T  wealth  and  pomp  they  litlle  can  care, 
"As  they  WI  say  •  A'o'  to  ihe'  Episcopal  chair: 
"And  Iheir  ve>  at  viilue  it  well  deuoles 
"'ihat  they  all,  good  men,  wear  petticoats." 

Thus  saying,  post-haste  to  earth  he  hurries, 
And  knocks  at  the'  Archbishop  of  Canierbury's. 
'1  he  d'inr  was  oped  by  a  lackey  in  lace, 
Sn^ing,  "  Wliai  's  your  busmes*  wilh  his  Grace ?• 
••  His  Grace  :''  quoth  Jerome —  for  posed  was  he, 
N  •!  knowing  what  sort  Ihis  Grace  cnuld  be; 
Whether  Gr.ice  prcfeiitini;.  Giace  fiartiCHlar, 
Grace  ni  that  breed  called  Quinquarticular 3 — 
in  short,  he  rummag'd  his  holy  mind. 
The'  exact  description  of  Grace  to  lind. 


3  So  called  from  the  proceedings  of  iba  Synod  of 


Dort. 


422 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Which  I  lus  could  represented  be 

By  a  footman  in  full  livery. 

At  last,  out  loud  in  a  laugh  he  broke, 

(For  dearly  ihe  good  saint  lov'd  his  joke) » 

And  said  —  surveying,  as  sly  lie  spoke, 

The  costly  palace' fr'in  roof  to  base  — 

*'  Well,  it  isnM,  at  lea&t,  a  saving  Grace  !" 

*'  Umph  I"  said  the  lackey,  a  man  of  few  words, 
*'Th' Archbishop  is  gone  to  the  H<:use  of  Lords.' 
"To  the  House  of  the  Lord,  you  mean,  my  son, 
**For,  in  my  time,  at  least,  there  was  but  one; 
"Unless  such  maiiy-/o/d  priests  as  these 
**Seek,  ev'n  in  their  Lord,  pluralities  I"  i 
"  No  time  for  gab,"  quoth  the  man  in  lace : 
Then,  slamming  the  door  in  St.  Jerome's  face, 
With  a  curse  to  the  single  knockers  all. 
Went  to  finish  his  port  in  the  servants'  hall, 
And  propose  a  toasi  {humanely  meint 
To  include  even  Curates  in  its  extent) 
*'  To  all  as  serves  the'  Establishment.* 


ST.   JEROME    ON    EARTH. 

SECOND   VISXT, 

"This  much  I  dare  say,  that,  since  lording  and  loitering 
halh  come  up,  iireaching  hath  come  down,  tonlrary  lo 
the   Apoallea*  limes.      For    Ihcy    prt-ached   and   Iorde<! 

not:  and  now  they  lord  and  prt^arh  not Kver 

eincc  the  Prelates  were  made  Lords  and  Nobles,  the 
plough  standeth  ;  Iher*-  i«  i»o  work  done,  the  people 
eiarve."  —  Latimer,  Sermon  of  the  Plough. 

"  Once  more,"  said  Jerome,  "  I  '11  run  up  and  see 

How  the  Church  goes  on,"  —  and  otT  set  he. 

Just  then  the  pacbei-boat,  which  trades 

Betwixt  our  planet  and  ihe  shades, 

Had  arrived  below,  with  a  freight  so  queer, 

"  My  eyt-s!"  said  Jerome,  "  ivhal  have  wehere?"— 

For  he  saw,  when  nearer  he  expIor'J, 

They  'd  a  cargo  of  Bishops'  wigs  aboard. 

*'  They  are  ghosts  of  wigs,"  said  Ch:iron,  "  all, 

*'Once  worn  by  nobs  Episcnpal.3 

•'  For  folks  on  earth,  who've  got  a  store 

"Of  cast-otf  things  they'll  want  no  more, 

^'Oft  send  rhem  d-nvn,  as  gifts,  you  know, 

*'  To  a  certain  Gentleman  here  below." 


•'  A  sign  of  the  times,  I  plainly  see," 
Said  the  Saint  to  himself  as,  pondering,  he 
Sail'd  off  m  the  deUh-boal  gallantly. 

"ArrivM  on  earth."  quo'h  he,  *' No  more 

"I'll  affect  a  body,  as  befo.e  ; 

*'  For  I  think  I  *d  best,  in  the  company 

"Of  Spiritual  Lords,  a  spirit  be, 

'*  And  slide,  unseen,  from  See  to  See." 

Bnt  oh  !  to  rell  whai  scenes  he  saw,— 

It  was  more  than  Rabelais'  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; 

Rut  to  get  fnr  himself,  by  some  new  iripfc, 

A  shove  to  a  belter  bishopnck. 


He  found  that  pious  soul.  Van  M— Id — L 

Much  wiih  his  money-bags  bewilderllj 

Snubbing  ihe  Clerks  of  the  Diocess,* 

Because  the  rogues  show'd  restlessness 

At  having  too  little  cash  to  touch, 

While  he  so  Clirislianly  bears  too  much. 

He  found  old  Saruin's  wiis  as  gone 

As  Ins  own  beloved  text  in  John,  &  — 

Text  he  hath  piosed  so  long  upon. 

That  't  is  thought  when  ask 'd,  at  the  gate  of  heaveft^ 

His  name,  he'll  answer  "John,  v.  7.  * 

*'  But  enough  of  Bishops  1  've  had  to-day,** 

Said  the  weary  Saint, —  "  1  must  away. 

"  'I  lioutih  I  own  I  shonid  like,  before  I  go, 

•'  To  see  fur  nnce  (as  I  'm  ask'd  below 

"  If  really  such  ndd  sigh:s  exist) 

"A  regnl.ir  six-fold  Pluralist." 

Just  then  he  heard  a  general  cry  — 

*'  There  's  Doctor  Hodgson  galloping  by  !" 

"  Av,  that 's  the  man,"  savs  the  Saini,  "  to  follow,* 

And  off  he  sets,  with  a  loud  view-hollo, 

At  Hodgson's  heels,  to  caich,  if  he  can, 

A  glim(-se  of  this  singular  plural  n.,.n. 

But,—  talk  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  bird  !  8 

To  compare  him  "ilh  Hodgsoti  is  absurd. 

*'  Which  way,  sir,  pray,  is  the  doctnr  gonef*  — 

*'  He  is  now  at  his  living  at  Hillingdon."  — 

**  No.  no, —  you  're  out,  by  niany  a  mile, 

"  He's  away  at  his  Deanery,  in  Carlisle.'*  — 

"  Pardon  me,  sir;  but  I  understand 

*'  He's  gnne  to  his  living  in  Cumberland." 

*'  God  ble^s  me,  no, —  he  can'l  be  there  ; 

**Vou  must  try  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square." 

Thus  all  in  vain  Ihe  Saint  inquir'd. 

From  living  lo  living,  mock'd  and  tir'd  ; — 

'Twas  Hodgson  here,  'twas  Hodgson  there, 

''I' was  Hodgson  nowhere,  everywhere; 

Till,   fairly  beat,  the  Saint  gave  o'er, 

And  flitted  away  to  the  Stygian  shore. 

To  astonish  the  natives  under  ground 

With  the  comical  things  he  on  earth  had  founJ. 


THOUGHTS    ON    TAR    BARRELS. 

(Firfe  Description  of  a  late  Ftle.i) 

1832. 
What  a  pleasing  contrivance !  how  aptly  devisM 

*Twixt  tar  and  magnolias  to  puzzle  one's  noses  ! 
And  how  Ihe  tar-barrels  must  all  be  surpris'd 
To    find    themselves    seated    like    "Love  among 
roses  I" 

What  a  pity  we  can't,  by  precautions  IJke  these, 
Clear  the  air  of  that  other  still  viler  infection  ; 

That  radical  pest,  that  old  whiggish  disease. 
Of  which  cases,  true-blue,  are  in  every  directioD. 

Stead  of  barrels,  let's  light  up  an  Auto  da  Fe 
Of  a  few  gofd  combustible  Lords  of  "  thL-  Cl-ib  :** 

They  would  fume,  in  a  trice,  the  Whigchol  n  awav. 
And  there's  B— cky  would  burn  like  a  barrel  of 
bub. 


1  Witness  his  well  known  pun  on  the  name  of  his 

adversary  Vigilantius,  whom  he  calls  facetiously  Dor- 
mit.tntius. 

2  The  suspicion  attached  to  «ome  of  the  early 
Fathers  of  being  Arian-^  in  their  doctrine  would  ap- 
pear to  derive  some  conhrmation  from  this  pas^age. 

3  The  wig,  which  had  so  lon^  formed  an  essential 
part  of  tho  dress  of  an  English  bishop,  was  at  this 
time  beginning  to  be  dispensed  with. 


4  See  the  Bisbop's  Le  ter  to  Clergy  of  hi^  Docese. 

I  1  Jnhi',  V.  7.  A  text  which,  though  long  given 
up  by  all  the  res'  of  the  orthodox  world,  is  >till  perti- 
naciously r^dhered  to  by  Ibis  Right  Reverend  >chu|ar. 

6  It  was  a  saying  of  the  well-known  Sir  Boyle,  that 
*'  a  man  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  once,  unless  he 
was  a  bird." 

1  The  M 8  of  H— tf— d's  Fete.  —  From  dread  of 

cholera  his  Lordship  had  ordered  tar-barreli  lo  be 
burned  in  every  direction. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


423 


How  R— d— n  would  blaze !  and  what  rubbish  Ihrow 
oul  ! 

A  volcano  of  nonsense,  in  active  display  ; 
While  V— ne,  as  a  bull,  amidst  laughter,  would  spout 

The  hoi  nolhings  he's  full  of,  all  night  aud  all  day. 

And  then,  for  a  finish,  there's  C— nib-d's  Duke,— 
Good  Lord,  how  his  chjn-luft  would  crackle  iu  air! 

Unless  (as  is  sh>«wdly  surmised  from  his  look) 
Ue's  already  oespoke  for  coutbuslion  elsewhere. 


THE    CONSULTATION.' 


"When  tlieyifoi 


Scene  diKooer)  Dr.  Whig  and  Dr.  Tory  in  consuUa 
tion.    Patient  on  the  floor  betuxcn  them. 


Dr.  WAiff.  - 


This  wild  Irish   patient   does   pester 
curst  if  I  know. 


That  what  to  do  with  him,  I 
1  've  promised  hiui  anodynes 

Dr.Tu)-u.  Anodynes!— Stuff". 

Tie  him  down  — gag  him  well  — he'll  be  tranquil 

enough. 
That 's  jny'iuode  of  practice. 

Dr  IVhi^.  True,  quile  in  your  line, 

fiul  unluckilv  not  much,  till  lately,  in  mine. 
'T  is  so  painful 

Dr.  Jury. —  Pooh,  nonsense— ask  Ude  how  he  feels, 
Kpicure  feasts,  he  prepares  his  I" 


By  (Imsi 
And  Iclliiii!  ihcm 
He,  loo,  ^avs  "  't 
bleeJ"— 
But  "your  eels  a 
lie  would  faiu 
•  No,'' 


'ixt  the  bars  of  the  fire, 
wriggle  on  there  lill  they  lire. 
i  painful" — '*quile  makes  his 

■e  a  vile,  oleaginous  breed." — 

i=e  them  gently,  but  Cook'ry  says 


Which  you  help'd  me  to  make  for  my  pal!<nt  lail 
year, — 

[Goes  to  a  aipboard  and  li  ings  out  a 

strait'Waiitcoat  and  gag. 

And  such  rest  I  've  enjoy 'd  from  his  raving,  since  then. 

Thai  1  've  made  up  mv  mind  he  shall  wear  il  again. 

Dr.  Tory  (niihracing  Aim). —  Oh,  charming!  — 

My  dear  Uoclor  Whig,  you  're  a  treasure. 

Next  to  torluring,  myself,  to  help  you  is  a  pleasure. 

IMssisting  Dr.  Whig. 

Give  me  leave  —  I've  some  practice  in  these  mad 

machines  j 
There— lighter— Ihe  gag  in  the  mouth,  by  all  means. 
Delightful  !  — all's  snug— not  a  squeak   need  you 

fear, — 
Vou  may  now  pul  your  anodynes  off'  lill  next  year. 

[i'tCHC  ctec*. 


TO    THE    HEV.   CH-RL-S    OV— RT— N, 

CURATE  OF  KOMAI.DKIBK. 

AUTHOR   OF   THE  POETICAL  PORTRAITURE 
OF   THE   CHURCH.' 

1833. 
Sweet  singer  of  Romaldkirk,  thou  who  art  reckou'd, 
By  criiics  Episcopal,  DsviJ  the  Second,* 
If  thus,  as  a  Curale,  so  lofly  your  flight, 
Only  think,  in  a  Rectory,  how  you  would  write! 
Once  fairly  inspir'd  by  Ihe  "  1  ilhe-crown'd  Apollo," 
(Who  beats,  I  confess  it,  our  (ay  Pha:bus  hollow. 
Having  gotien,  besides  Ihe  old  Nine's  inspiration, 
The  Tenth  of  all  ealible  things  in  creation,) 
There's  nothing,  in  fact,  that  a  poet  like  you, 
So  be-nined  and  be-IenlA'd,  couldn't  easily  do. 


And— in  short — eels  were  bom  to  be  treated  just  so.* 
'T  IS  the  same  with  these  Irish,— who 're  odder  fish 

still,— 
Your  lender  Whig  heart  shrinks  from  using  them  ill ; 
1,  myself,  in  my  youlh,  ere  !  cime  lo  get  wise, 
t'sed,  at  some  nperations,  lo  blush  to  Ihe  eyes;  — 
But,  in  fact,  my  dear  brulher,—  if  I  mav  make  bold 
To  style  you,  as  I'eachum  did  Lockil,  of  old,— 
We,  Donors,  must  acl  with  Ihe  lirmness  of  Ude, 
And,  indifferent  like  him,— so  Ihe  fish  is  but  slew'd,— 
Must  toiture  live  Pats  for  Ihe  geniral  good. 

[Here  patient  groans  and  kicks  a  little. 
Dr.  Whig.—  But  what,  if  one's  patient's  so  devilish 
perverse, 
That  he  tco'ji'I  be  thus  torlur'd  ? 

Dr.  Tory.  Coerce,  sir,  coerce. 

Vou  're  a  jnv'nile  performer,  hut  once  you  begin. 
You  can't  think  how  fast  you  may  train  your  hand  in: 
And  (smifing)  who  knows  but  old  Tory  may  lake  to 

the  shelf, 
Wilh  the  comforting  thought  that,  in  place  and  la 

peir. 
He  's  succeeded  by  one  just  as—  bad  as  himself.' 
i)r.  Whig  Hooking  flattered). —  Why,  to  tell  vou 
the  tru  h,  1  've  a  small  matter  here, 


Round  the  lips  of  the  sweet-tongued  Athenian  '  they 

say. 
While  jet  but  a  babe  in  his  cradle  he  lay. 
Wild  honey-bees  swarni'd,  as  a  presage  (o  tell 
Of   the  sweel-llovving  words  Ihat  Ihence  afterwards 

fell. 
Just  so  round  our  Ov — rt— n's  cradle,  no  doubt, 
Tenlh  ducklings  and  chicks  were  seen  flilling  about; 
Goose  eiiibiyos,  w,iiliiig  Iheir  dooni'd  decimation, 
Came,  shadowing  forth  bis  adult  deslination. 
And  small,  sucking  tithe-pigs,  in  musical  droves, 
Announc'd  Ihe  Church  poet  whom  Chester  approves. 

0  Horace  !  when  thou,  in  thy  vision  of  yore. 
Didst  dream  that  a  snowy-while  plumage  came  o'er 
'Ihy  elherealis'd  limbs,  stealing  downily  on, 
Till,  by  Fancy's  strong  spell,  thou  wert  turn'd  to  a 

swan,6 
Liitle  thought  'st  thou  such  fate  could  a  poet  befall, 
Wiihoul  any  effort  of  fancy,  at  all ; 
Little  thoiight'st  thou  the  world  would  In  Ov— rt— n 

find 
A  bird,  re.idy-made,  somewhat  different  in  kind. 
But  as  peifecl  as  Michaelmas'  self  could  produce. 
By  gods  yclept  anser,  by  mortals  a  goose. 


some  others,  Ihat  follow 
1  me  by  th.l  lamciilabl 
itry,  Ihe   Irish   Coerciu 


I  1  hese  verses,  as  well  ns 
(p.  A2e  )  were  extorted  fnii 
measure  of  the  Whig  niin 
A:l. 

ti  This  eminent  artist,  in  the  second  edi  ion  of  Ihe 
work  «lureiii  he  projiouiids  this  mode  of  [mrifying 
IT'S  eels,  professes  himself  much  cnnceriied  at  the 
charge  .if  inhiioianily  brought  against  his  practice, 
but  still  liegs  leive  respectfully  lo  repeat  that  il  w  the 
only  proper  mode  of  prejiaring  eels  for  the  table. 


s  See  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  117. 

<'*Vour  Lordship,"  savs  Mr.  Ov — rt — n,  in  the 
Dedication  of  his  P.em  to  the  Bishop  of  Chester, 
'*  has  kindly  expressed  your  persu.ision  that  my 
'Muse  will  always  be  a  Muse  of  sacred  song,  and 
that  t(  will  be  tuned  as  David's  was.'  " 


1  Sophocic 


album  mutor  in  alilem 
Superne:  nascunlurque  laeves 
Per  digitus,  humerosque  plumx. 


45M 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


SCENE   FROM  A  PLAY,  ACTED  AT  OXFORD, 
CALLED  "MATRICULATION."! 

1834. 

[Boy  discovered  at  a  tah?f,  wilh  the  Thirty-Nine  Arlicli 
before  hitn.— Enter  the  Rt.  Kev.  D.tftor  Ph— Up— ta.] 

Doctor  P.  —  There,  my  lad,  lie  the  Articles  — C5oy 

Lefcins  to  count  them)  just  thirty-nine  — 
No  occasion  to  cnuni  —  you  ve  now  only  to  st^n. 
At  Cambridge,  where  folks  are  less  High-church  than 

we, 
The  whole  NIne-and-Thirty  are  lump'd  into  Three. 
Let 's  run  o'er  the  items  ;  —  ihere  'a  Justificaiion, 
Predestinilion,  and  Supererogalinn, — 
Not  forgettiii?  Salvation  and  Cretd  Athanasian, 
Till  we  reach,  at  last,  Queen  Bess's  Ratification. 
That's    sidficient  —  now,  sign  —  having    read  quite 

enough, 
You  *'  believe  in  the  full  and  true  meanin*  thereof?" 

{Boy  stares.) 
Oh,  a  mere  form  of  words,  to  make  ibinga  smooth  and 

brief.- 
A  commodious  and  short  make-believe  of  belief, 
Which  our  Church  his  drawn  up,  in   a  form  thus 

arhcular. 
To  ket-p  nut,  in  eeneral,  all  who 're  particular. 
But  what's  Ihe  boy  doing?  what!  rending  all  through. 
And  my  lunched  fast  cooling  I  —  this  never  will  do. 
Boy  ipO)-in^  over  the  Articles.)  —  Here  are  poinls 

w  hich  —  pray,  Doctor,  what  'b  "  Grace  of  Con- 

g:u.ty?" 
Doctor  P.  {sharply),— Yon '\\  find  out,  young  sir, 

\vhen  ynu  've  more  ingenuity. 
At  present,  by  signing,  you  pledge  yourself  merely, 
VVJiate'er  it  may  be,  to  btlieve  it  sincerely. 
Both  in  dining  and  signing  we  lake  the  same  plan, — 
First,  swallow  all  down,  then  digest  — as  we  cm. 
Boy  {still  reading).— I  've  to  gulp,  I  see,  St.  Atha- 

nasius's  Creed, 
VVTiich,  [  'm  told,  is  a  very  tough  morsel.  Indeed : 

As  he  damns 

Dodur  P.  {aside).— Ay,  and  so  would  /,  willingly, 

too, 
AM  confoutided  p:irticular  young  boobies,  like  ynu. 
This  comes  of  Reformina^  I— all  's  o'er  with  our  land, 
When   people  woVt  stand  what    ihey  cau'l  wider' 

stand  ; 
Nor  perceive  that  our  ever-rever'd  Thirty-Nine 
Were  made,  not  for  men  to  believe,  but  to  sign. 

[Exit  Dr.  P.  in  a  passion. 


LATE    TITHE    CASE. 


I'TheVii 


r  of  B— rati — m  dei 
eof  Itie  passing  of  i 


.  .impi^lled  to  adopt 
isidered  harsti  or  p 


IP  to  etnte  that,  i 
1  Act  of  Parliam. 

ich  may  by  i 


consKlered  narsti  or  pn-npitate  ;  bur,  in  dvty  to  what . 
ewes  to  his  succci>$nrs,  he  feeh  bound  lo  preserve  tl 
rights  of  the  vic^tase."— Letter  from  Mr.  S.  Powe 
August  6. 

No,  710/  for  yourselves,  ye  reverend  men, 

Do  vou  t'ke  one  pig  In  every  ten, 

Butfnr  Holy  Church's  future  heirs. 

Who've  an  abstract  right  to  that  pig,  as  theirs  ;■ 


t  "  It  appears  that  when  a  vouth  of  fifteen  goes  to 
be  matriculated  at  Oxf  >nl,  and  is  required  first  tn  <,ul)- 
scribe  Thirty-Nine  Articles  of  Religious  Belief,  this 
only  means  thai  he  engnfites  liini'^elf  afterward-*  to  un- 
derstand what  is  now  above  his  comprehension  ;  that 
he  expresses  no  assent  ,.t  nil  lo  what  he  signs;  and 
that  he  is  (or,  ought  m  be)  at  full  liberty,  when  he  has 
studied  the  subject,  to  withdraw  his  provisional  as- 
weuU'*— Edinburgh  Review,  No.  120. 


The  law  supposing  that  such  heirs  male 

Aie  alredy  ^eised  o(  the  pig,  in  tail. 

No,  710/  for  himself  haih  B— n.h— u.'s  priest 

His  "well-belnvM"of  their  pennies  fleec'd 

But  it  is  that,  before  his  prescient  e\es, 

All  future  Vicars  of  B— mh-m  rise, 

With  their  embryo  danghfeis,  nephews,  nieces, 

And  'I  is  for  them  llie  poor  he  fleeces. 

He  heareih  their  voices,  ages  hence, 

Saying,  "Take  Ihe  pig"— "oh  take  the  nence,* 

The  cries  of  litlle  Vicarial  dears. 

The  unborn  B — mh — mites,  reaoli  his  ears; 

And,  drd  he  resist  th-it  soft  appeal, 

He  would  not  like  a  true-born  Vicar  feel. 

Thou,  too,  L— ntly  of  L— ck— ngl— nl 

A  Rector  true,  if  e'er  there  was  one, 

Who,  for  the  sake  of  the  L— ndies  of  coming  ages, 

Gripeil  the  tenths  of  labouiers'  wages.'^ 

'Tis  true,  in  the  pockets  oFlhy  small-clothes 

The  claint'd  "obven'ion"3  of  four-pence  goes^ 

But  its  abstract  spirit,  unconfin'd, 

Spreads  to  all  future  Rector-kind, 

Warning  them  all  to  Iheir  nghrs  to  wake, 

Atid  rather  to  face  the  block,  Ihe  stake, 

Than  give  up  Iheir  darling  i\s,httotake. 

One  grain  of  musk,  it  is  siid,  perfumes 

(Ho  subtle  iis  'pirit)  a  thousand  room«. 

And  a  single  four-pf-nce,  pocketed  well. 

Through  a  thousand  rectors'  lives  \vill  tell. 

Then  still  coniiriue,  ye  reverend  souls, 

And  still  as  your  rich  Pactolus  rolls, 

Grasp  every  penny  on  every  side, 

Fmm  every  wretch,  to  swell  its  IJde: 

Reniembering  still  what  the  Law  lays  down, 

In  Iha'  pure  poetic  s'yie  of  its  own, 

*'  If  Ihe  parson  tit  esse  submits  tn  loss,  he 

*'luliicts  the  same  on  the  parson  in  •posse.''* 


FOOLS'    PARADISE, 

DREAM  THE  FIRST. 

I  have  been,  like  Puck,  I  h^ve  been,  in  a  trice. 

To  a  realm  'hey  call  Fools'  Paradise, 

Lying  N.N.E.  of  the  Land  of  Sense. 

And  seldom  bless'd  with  a  glimmer  thence. 

But  they  want  it  not  in  this  happy  place, 

Where  a  light  of  its  own  gilds  every  face  j 

Or,  if  some  wear  a  shadowy  brow, 

*T  is  the  wish  to  look  wise.—  not  knowing  how. 

Self-glory  glistens  o'er  all  that's  there, 

The  trees,  the  flowers  have  a  jaunty  air; 

The  well-bied  wind  in  a  whisper  blows, 

The  snow,  if  it  stjows,  is  cotdsur  de  rose. 

The  falling  founts  in  a  titier  fall. 

And  the  sun  looks  sinipering  down  on  all. 

Oh,  't  isn't  in  tongue  or  pen  to  trace 

The  scenes  I  saw  in  that  joyous  place. 

There  were  Lords  and  Ladies  sitting  together, 

In  converse  sweet,  "  What  charming  weather  !— 

"  You  'H  all  rejoice  to  hear.  I  'm  sure, 

"  I>ord  Charles  has  got  a  good  sinecure; 

"  And  the  Premier  says,  my  youngest  brother 

"  (Him  in  Ihe  Guards)  shall  have  another. 


2  Fourteen  agrlcuUural  l.ibourers  {one  of  whom  re- 
ceived so  little  as  six  guineas  for  yenly  wage«,  one 
eight,  one  nine,  another  fen  euitie.TS,  and  the  best  paid 
of  the  wh'>le  not  more  than  IS/,  ann-iallr)  "ere  all,  in 
the  course  of  the  au'umn  of  1S32,  served  with  demands 
of  tithe  at  the  rate  nf  -id.  in  the  1/  sterling,  f'n  behalf 
of  the  Rev.  F.  L-dy,  Rector  of,  &c.  &.c.—The  Times, 
August,  1S33. 

3  One  of  the  various  general  terms  under  w  Inch  ob* 
latious,  tithes,  Sic.  arc  compromised. 


SATIRICAL  AND    HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


425 


**  Isn't  thb  very,  very  gallaul  !  — 
"  As  for  my  poor  olJ  virgin  aunt, 
*'  Who  has  lost  her  all,  poor  Ihiiie:,  at  whist, 
"  We  must  quarter  her  on  the  Pension  List." 
Thus  siiioolhly  lime  in  that  Etieii  roil'd; 
It  seent'd  like  an  Age  of  real  ^"M, 
Where  all  who  liked  mieh(  have  a  slice> 
So  rich  was  that  Fouls'  Paradise. 

But  the  sport  at  which  most  lime  they  spent, 
Was  a  piippet-shuw,  call'd  i'arliaiiieul, 
Perlbrni'd  by  wooden  Ciceros, 
As  large  as  life,  who  rose  to  prose, 
While,  hid  behind  them,  lords  and  squires, 
Whoown'd  the  puppets,  puli'd  ttie  wires; 
And  thought  it  the  very  best  device 
l)f  that  most  prosperous  Paradise, 
To  make  the  vulgar  pay  ihrni,gh  the  nose 
For  I  hem  and  their  wooden  Ciceros. 

And  many  more  such  things  I  saw 

InthisEdenofChuich,  a.idS'aie,  and  Uwj 

Nor  e'er  were  known  such  pleasant  folk 

As  those  who  had  the  best  of  Ihe  joke. 

There  were  Irish  Rfctors,  such  as  resort 

To  Cheltenham  yearly,  lo  diink—  port. 

And  buuiper,  *'  Long  may  the  Church  endure, 

May  her  cure  of  souls  be  a  sinecure, 

And  a  scoie  of  Parsons  to  every  soul 

A  mod'rate  allowance  on  the  whole." 

There  were  Heads  of  Colleges,  lyitJg  about, 

From  which  the  sense  had  all  run  out, 

Ev'n  lo  ihe  lowesi  classic  lees, 

Till  nothing  was  telt  but  quantities; 

Which  made  them  heads  most  fit  to  be 

S'uck  upon  a  University, 

Which  yeirly  hatches,  in  ilii  schools, 

Such  flights  of  young  Elysiau  fuols. 

Thus  all  went  on,  so  snug  and  nice, 

In  this  happiest  possible  Paradise. 

Bui  plain  it  was  o  see,  alas  ! 

T  hal  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  are) 

Even  blessed  fools  must  have  their  share. 

And  so  it  happen'd  :  —  but  what  befell, 

In  Dream  the  Secund  I  mean  to  tell. 


THE  RECTOR  AND  HIS  CURATE; 

OR,  ONE  rOIiND  TWO. 

•  I  trust  we  Bhall  purl,  m  we  have  met.  In  peace  and  cha- 
rity. My  last  pnymeul  1  -  yuu  paid  ynur  salary  up  to  tlie 
l8t  ofthis  mouth.  Since  Hint,  I  nwe  you  Tor  one  month, 
which,  btiug  u  long  nifnith,  of  thirly-one  duys,  amouiits 
airulate.  lo  bix  pnuDils  eiaht  ehillinga. 


My  I 


nrd  1 


<rn  pounits  ten  j 


18  a   ilcbl' 

/ur  cun-acre  gr„und,  whii-h 
Icavca  aome  inriiiig  lialance  in  my  favour." — Letter  of 
Dismissal  from  the.  Rev.  Marcut  Bcret-ford  to  hit  Cu- 
rate, the  Rev,  T.  A.  Lyon», 

The  account  is  balanced  —  Ihe  bill  drawn  out, 

The  debit  and  credit  all  righf,  n  >  doiilti  _ 
The  Rector,  rolling  in  wealth  and  stale, 
Owe^  to  his  Curate  six  pound  eisjM  ; 
The  Curate,  that  least  well-fed  of  men, 
Owes  to  hiii  Rector  seven  pound  ten. 
Which  makKth  the  hilance  cItMrlv  due 
From  Curate  to  Rector,  one  jiound  two. 

Ah  balance,  on  earth  unfair,  uneven  ! 

But  sure  to  be  all  set  right  in  li^ven, 

Where  hills  like  these  will  be  check'd.  some  day. 

And  the  balance  settled  the  other  w.iy  ; 


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  tavour,  of  oue  pound  two. 


PADDY'S    METAMORPHOSIS.* 
1833. 
About  fifty  years  since,  in  the  days  of  our  daddies, 
That  plan  was  couimeuced  which  the  wise  DOW 
applaud. 
Of  shipping  otl'  Ireland's  most  turbulent  Paddiea, 
As  good  raw  material  tot  settlers y  abroad. 


And  such  the  success  the  first  colony  met, 
That  a  second,  soon  after,  set  sail  o'er  th'  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,  hut  two  years  before, 
They  had  sorrow'd  to  lose,  but  would  soon  again 

And,  haik!  from  the  shore  a  glad  welcome  there 

*'Arrah,  Paddy  from   Cork,  is   it  you,  my  sweet 
boy  ?'' 
While  Pat  stood  astounded,  to  hear  Iiis  own  name 
Thus  haii'd  by  black  devils,  wlio  caper'd  for  joy  \ 

Can  it  possibly  be  ?— half  amazement  — half  doubt, 
Pat  listens  again  —  rubs  liis  evfs  and  looks  sleafly  j 

Then  heaves  a  deep  sigh,  and  in  horror  yells  out, 
"Good     Lord  I    only    think,—  black    and    curly 
already  !" 

Deceiv'd  by  that  well-mimick'd  brogue  in  his  ears, 
Pat  read  his  own  doom  in  these  HOol-hesded  figures, 

And  thought,  what  a  climate,  in  less  than  two  years, 
To  tut  u  a  whole  cargo  of  Pats  into  niggers  1 


MORAL. 

'T  is  thus, —  but  alas !  by  a  marvel  more  true 
Than  is  told  in  this  rival  of  Ovid's  best  storii 

Your  Whigs,  when  in  oftice  a  short  year  or  tw 
By  a  luaus  naturiBj  all  turn  into  Tories, 

And  Ihus,   when  I  hear  them  "strong 
advise, 

Ere    the  seals  that  they  sit  on  have  time  lo  get 
steady, 
I  say,  whjle  I  listen,  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
"  Good  Lord  i  only  think,  —  black  and   curly  a] 
ready  !** 


COCKER,  ON  CHURCH  REFORM. 

FOtmOED     UPON      SOME      LATE     CALCULA- 
TIONS, 

1833. 

Fine  fizures  of  speech  lef  ynur  orators  follow. 
Old  Cocker  has  figures  that  beat  them  all  hollow. 


1  I  have  already,  in  a  preceding  page,  referred  lo 
this  squib,  as  being  one  of  those  wrung  tn'oi  me  by 
the  Irish  Coercion  Act  of  my  friends,  Ihe  Whigs. 


36* 


'126 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Thoujfh  famed  for  his  rules  Aristotle  may  be, 

In  bvi(  kalf  of  this  Sa?e  any  merit  I  see. 

For,  3s  houest  Joe  Hume  sa}9,  the  **(o((?e"i  for  me  ! 

For  instance,  while  others  discuss  and  debate, 
i(  is  thus  about  Bishops  /  r.itiucioate. 

In  England,  where,  spite  of  the  infidel's  laughter, 
'T  is  ctrlain  cur  souls  are  iitok'd  viry  well  atier, 
Two  Hishops  cm  uell  (if  judiciously  sunder'd) 
Of  parishes  manage  two  Ihuusaid  two  hundred, — 
Said  number  tjf  paiiilies,  under  said  tt-acheis, 
Containing  three  niilhnnsof  Prnte&tant  creatures, — 
S>i  th:it  each  of  said  Bishops  full  ably  cr.nirola 
One  million  and  five  hundred  thousands  of  souls. 
And  now  ernes  old  Cocker.     In  Ireland  we  're  told, 
Half  a  million  include^  ihe  wh -le  Froles'anf  Md  ; 
If,  therefore,  for  three  million  snuls,  't  is  conceded 
Two  proper-sized  Biahi'ps  are  all  that  is  needed. 
»T  is  plain,  for  the  Irish  half  million  who  want  'em, 
One  third  of  one  Bishnp  js  jusi  the  right  quantum. 
And  thus,  by  old  Cocker's  subhme  Rule  of  Three, 
The  Irish  Church  question's  resoI\M  lo  a  T  ; 
Keeping  always  that  uxct-lleni  maxim  in  view, 
'i'hat,  m  saving  men's  suuls,  we  must  save  money  too. 

Nay,  if —  as,  St.  Roden  complains  is  the  case  — 
'i'he  half  million  of  soul  Is  decreasing  apace, 
The  demand,  t-.o,  for  bishop  will  also  fall  ofl'. 
'I  ill  the  tithe^'i  one,  taken  in  kind,  be  enough. 
But,  as  fracljoiis  imply  that  we'd  have  to  dissect. 
And  to  cutting  up  Bi^hnps  I  srrongly  object. 
We've  a  small,  fraciious  prelate  whom  well  we  could 


sp.i 


Who  has  just  the  same  decimal  worth,  to  a  hair; 
And,  not  to  lea\e  Ireland  too  much  in  the  lurch, 
We  II  let  her  have  Ex — t— r,  solCy^  as  her  Chmch. 


LES  HOMMES  AUTOMATES. 


1834. 

II  not 


'We  are  persuaded  that  this  ourorlificial 
only  walk  and  sjieak,  and  perrorm  mnst  of  ihe  fun. 
of  nniinal  life,  but  (bfiug  wound  up  once  a  week)  wil 
perhaps  reason  a«  well  as  mnst  of  your  country  pareona.' 
•^Memoirs  vf  Marttnua  ScnbUrus,  ttjap.  xii. 

It  being  an  object  now  to  meet 
With  Farsotis  that  don't  want  to  eit, 
Fit  men  to  fill  those  Irish  rectories, 
Which  soon  will  have  but  scant  refectories, 
It  his  been  suggested,—  le^t  that  Church 
Should,  all  at  "iice,  be  left  in  the  lurch, 
For  want  of  reverend  men  endued 
With  this  gift  of  ne'er  requiring  f.od,— 
To  try,  by  way  <  f  experinient,  whether 
There  couldn'l  be  made,  of  wood  and  leather,3 
(Howc'er  the  notion  may  sound  chimerical,) 
Jointed  figures,  not  lay,*  but  clerical, 
Which,  wound  up  carefully  once  a  week, 
Might  just  like  parsons  lonk  and  speak, 
N^y  even,  if  requisite,  reason  too, 
As  well  as  most  insh  parson^  do. 

The' experiment  hiving  succeeded  quite, 
(Whereat  those  Lords  must  much  delight. 
Who've  shown,  by  stopping  the  Church's  food, 
They  think  il  isn't  for  her  spiritual  good 
To  be  serv'd  by  pardons  of  Hesh  and  biood.) 


*  The  total,— so  pronounced   by  this   industrious 

2  Corporation  sole. 

3  The  materials  of  which  those  Nuremberg  Savans, 
mentioned  by  Scriblerus,  construc'ed  their  aitificial 
man. 

*  The  wooden  models  used  by  palnti.rs  are,  it  is 
well  known,  called  "lay  figures." 


The  Patentees  of  this  new  inventioa 
Beg  leave  re-pec'fully  to  mention, 
They  now  are  enabled  to  produce 
An  ample  supi)ly,  f->r  present  use, 
Of  these  reverend  pieces  of  machinery, 
Ready  fOr  vicarage,  rect'ry,  deanery. 
Or  any  such  like  po  t  of  s'kll 
That  wood  and  leather  are  tit  to  fill, 

N.B.  —  In  places  addicted  to  arson. 

We  can't  recinmiend  a  wooden  parson 

But,  If  the  Church  any  such  appoints. 

They  'd  better,  at  least,  have  iron  joints. 

In  parts,  not  much  by  Pro  esfanis  haunted, 

A  figure  to  look  at 's  all  that 's  wanted  — 

A  block  in  l>lack,  to  eat  and  !^!eep, 

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  cnurse,  no  longer  need 

Imitation  parsons  that  never  feed  ; 

And  these  tvood  creatures  of  ours  will  sell 

Fur  secular  purposes  just  as  well  — 

Our  Beresfords,  turu'd  to  bludge<»ns  stout, 

May,  'stead  of  beating  theii  own  about. 

Be  knocking  the  braiiis  of  Papists  out ; 

While  our  smooth  O'SuIlivans.  by  all  means, 

Should  traijsniigr^te  into  (urjimg- machines. 


HOW   TO   MAKE   ONE'S  SELF  A  PEER. 

ACCORDING  TO  THE  NEWEST  RECEIPT, 
AS  DISCLOSED  IN  A  LATE  HERALDIC 
WORK.* 

1834. 
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  defunct  Peer, 
And  marry  him,  oH'-hand,  in  ^ome  given  year, 
To  the  daughter  of  somebody,—  no  matter  who,— 
fig,  the  grocer  hinuself,  if  y.u're  hard  run,  will  do; 
For,  the  Medici  pUh  slill  in  heraldry  leJI, 
And  why  shouldr.'t  lollyp- -ps  qua.rfer  a.s  well? 
Thus,  having  your  couple,  and  one  a  lord's  cousin, 
Young  materials  for  peers  may  be  had  by  the  dozen  ; 
And  M  is  hard  if,  inveiitiug  each  small  mother's  bod 

You  can't  somehow  manage  to  prove  yourself  one 
of  'em. 

Should  registers,  deeds,  and  such  matters  refractory, 

Siand  in  the  way  of  this  lord-manufactory, 

I  »ve  merely  to  hint,  as  a  secret  auricular. 

One  grand  rule  of  enterprise,—  dotiH  be  particular. 

A  man  wiio  once  t^tkes  such  a  jump  at  nobility. 

Must  710^  mince  the  matter,  like  folks  of  nihility,^ 

But  clear  thick  and  thin  with  true  lordly  agility, 

'T  is  true,  to  a  would-be  descendant  from  Kings, 
parish-registers  sftmetimes  are  trouldesonie  things; 
As  oft.  when  the  vision  is  near  brought  about, 
Some  goblin,  in  shape  of  a  grocer,  grins  out  ; 
Or  srune  barber,   peihaps,  with   my  Lord    mingles 

bloods. 
And  one's  patent  of  peerage  is  left 

But  I  here  are  ■ 

lords  - 
Ofexpurginge* 


the  suds. 
■  when  folks  are  resolv'd  (o  be 
blesome  parish  records. 


»  Tlie  claim  to  the  baronv  of  Chandos  (if  I  recol- 
lect  righl)  advanced   by  the  late   Sir    Eg— r— t— D 


;  call  pure  nihility,  cr  mere  nothing."^ 


H^atts's  Logic. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


427 


What  think  ye  of  scissors?  depend  on't  no  heir 
Of  a  Shanidos  should  go  unsupplied  wi'h  a  pair. 
As,  whate'er  else  the  Icinrd  in  such  lore  may  invent, 
Tour  scissors  does  wonders  in  proving  descent. 

Yes,  poels  may  sitjg  of  those  terrible  shears 

With  wtiich  Atropos  snips  o&  t>oih  bumpkins  and 

But  they  're  nought  to  that  weapon  which  shines  in 

the  hands 
Of  some  would-be  Patrician,  when  proudly  he  stands 
O'er  the  careless  churchwarden's  bap'ismal  array, 
And  sweeps  at  each  cut  generations  away. 
By  some  babe  of  old  times  is  his  peerage  resisted  ? 
One  snip, —  and  the  urchin  hath  neuer  exis'ed  ! 
Does  some  marriage,  in  days  near  the  Flood,  in- 

teifere 
With  his  one  sublime  object  of  being  a  Peer? 
Quick   the  stiears  at  once  nullity  bridegroom  and 

bride,— 
No  such  people  have  ever  liv'd,  married,  or  died  I 


swest  receipt  for  those  high-minded  elves, 
fancy  fur  making  great  lords  of  theni- 


Follow  this,  young  aspirer,  who  pant'st  for  a  peer- 
age, 
Take  S— in  for  thy  model  and  B — z  for  thy  steerage. 
Do  all  and  much  worse  than  nid  Nicholas  Flam  does. 
And  —  wko  knows  but  you'll  be  Lord  Baron  of 
Shanidos? 


THE    DUKE    18    THE    LAD. 

ilir. — "  A  master  1  have,  and  I  am  his  man, 
Oallu|)iog  dreary  dun." 

Ca»((«  of  Andaluti, 

The  Duke  is  the  lad  to  frishlen  a  lass, 
Gatlnping,  dreaiy  duke  ; 
The  Duke  is  the  lad  to  frighten  a  lass. 
He's  an  "gre  tn  nieel,  and  the  d — 1  to  pass, 
With  his  charger  pranciug, 
Grim  eye  glancing. 
Chin,  like  a  Mufli, 
Grizzled  and  tufly. 
Galloping,  dreary  Duke. 

Ye  snisses,  beware  of  the  neighbourhood 
Of  this  galloping,  dreary  Duke; 
Avoid  him,  all  who  see  no  good 
Id  being  run  o'er  by  a  Prince  of  the  Blood. 
For,  surely,  no  nymph  is 
Fond  of  a  grim  phiz. 
And  of  the  mariied, 
Whole  crowds  have  miscarried 
At  sight  of  this  dreary  Duke, 


EPISTLE  FROM  ERASMUS  ON   EARTH  TO 
CICERO  IN  THE  SHADES. 

Southampton. 
As  'tis  now,  my  dear  Tully,  some   weeks  since  1 

stalled 
By  rait-rnad,  for  earth,  having  vowed,  ere  we  parted 
To  drnp  vnu  J  line,  l.y  the  Dind-Litli-r  \i'k\ 
Just  to  say  hnw  1  ihiive,  in  my  new  line  of  ghost. 
And  how  deucedly  odd  ills  l.vc  world  all  appeari. 
To  a  man  who  's  been  dead  now  for  three  hundred 

yean, 
I  take  up  my  pen,  and,  with  news  of  this  ear'h, 
Hope  to  wikeu,  by  turns,  bo  li  your  spleen  and  your 

mirth. 


In  my  way  to  these  shores,  taking  Italy  first. 
Lest  the  change  frnni  Elysium  too  sudden  should  barfCj 
I  forg  .t  not  lo  visit  those  h.Tuiits  where,  of  yore, 
You  look  lessons  from  Pietus  in  cookeiy's  lore,* 
Turn'd  aside  from  the  calls  of  the  rostium  and  Muie, 
Todiscus  Ihe  rich  nieiils  of  rotis  ai;d  stews, 
And  preferr'd  to  all  honours  of  triumph  or  trophv, 
A  supper  on  prawns  with  Ihat  rogue,  little  Sophy'.* 

Having  dwelt  on  such  classical  musings  awhile, 
I  set  otr,  by  a  steain-boal,  for  this  happy  isle, 
<A  conveyance  j/oii  ne'er,  I  think,  sail'd  by,  my  Tully, 
And  therefore,  per  nex',  1  'II  describe  it  moie  fully,) 
Having  heard,  on  Ihe  way,  what  distresses  me  greatly, 
That  England's  o'er-iun  by  idolaters  lately. 
Stark,  slaringadoreis  of  wood  and  of  stone, 
Who  will  let  neither  stick,  stock,  or  statue  alnne. 
Such  the  sid  news  I  heard  from  a  tall  man  in  black, 
Who  fiom  sports  continental  was  hurrying  back. 
To  look  after  his  lilhes ;  —  seeing,  doubtless,  'I  would 

follow, 
That,  just  as,  of  old,  your  great  idol,  Apollo, 
Devour'd  all  the  I  enths,3  so  the  idols  in  ques-ion. 
These  w  ood  and  stone  gods,  may  have  ei|ual  digestioD, 
And  th'  idolatrous  crew,  n  honi  this  Rector  despises, 
Way  eat  up  the  tithe-jiig  which  he  idolizes. 

London. 
'Tis  all  but  too  true — grim  Idola'ry  reigns, 
In  full  pomp,  over  Eng  and's  lost  ciiies  and  plains! 
On  arriving  just  now,  as  my  lirsl  thought  and  care 
Was,  as  usual,  lo  seek  out  some  near  House  of  Prayer, 
Some  calm,  holy  sp  .t,  ht  for  Christians  to  pray  on, 
I  was  shown  to  — what  Ihmk  you!  — a  downright 

Pantheon  !  * 

A  grand,  pillar'd  temple,  with  niches  and  hills,< 
Full  of  idols  and  gods,  which  they  nickname  St. 

Paul's;  — 
Though  'tis  clearly  Ihe  place  where  the  idolatrous 

ciew. 
Whom  the  Rector  coniplain'd  of,  their  dark  rites 

pursue ; 
And,  'mong  all  the  "  strange  gods"  Abr'ham's  father 

carv'd  oui,» 
That  he  ever  carv'd  stranger  than  these  I  n.  jch  doubt. 

Were  it  ev'n,   my  dear  Tully,  your  Hebes  and 
Graces, 

And  such  pretty  things,  that  usurp'd  Ihe  Saints*  places, 
I  shouldn't  much  n.ind,— for,  in  this  clas-ic  dome. 
Such  folks  fioni  Olympus  would  feel  quite  at  home. 
But  the  gods  they've  got  here  !— such  a  queer  omnium 

gatherum 
Of  misbegol  things,  that  no  poet  would  father  'em ;  — 
Brilani.ias,  in  light,  summer-wear  for  the  skies,— 

Old  1  hame--,  ■urn'd  to  stone,  tohis  no  small  surprise, 

Father  Nile,  too,-a  portrait,  (in  spile  of  what 's  said, 
That  no  mortal  e'er  >et  got  a  glimpse  of  his  Aead,«) 
And  a  Ganges,  which  India  would  think  someivbat 

fat  for 't, 
Unless  '1  was  some  full-grown  Director  had  sat  for 't  :— 
Not  to  mention  the'e£  cxteras  of  Genii  and  Sptiinxet, 
Fame,  Vicl'ry,  and  other  such  semi-clad  minxes;  — 
Sea  Capiains,i—  ihe  idols  heie  nio,t  idolised  ; 
And  of  wtiorn  some,  ala-,  might  too  well  he  comprised 
Anioiig   ready-made    Saints,   as    Ihey    died   cannon- 

ized ;  — 


1  See  his  Letters  to  Friends,  lib.  ix.  episl.  19, 20,  (tc 

"i  Ingcmiuni  squillaruni  cum  Sophia  Seplimx.— 
Lib.  ix.  epi-t.  10. 

3  Tithes  were  paid  lo  Ihe  Pylhian  Apollo. 

«  See  Dr.  Wiseman's  learned  and  able  letter  to  Mr. 
Poynder. 

•  Joshua,  xxiv.  2. 

fi  "  Nee  contigit  ulli 

Hoc  vidisse  caput.*'  Claudtan, 

t  Captains  Mosse,  Riou,  &c.  &c. 


428 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Wilh  a  multitude  more  of  oJd  cockneytied  deitieg, 
Shrined  m  such  pump  thai  quite  shocking  to  see  it 

Nor  know  I  what  better  the  Rector  could  do 
Than  lo  shrine  Ihere  his  own  LelovM  q-jadiuped  too  j 
As  nioit  surely  a  tithe-pig,  whatever  the  world  ihinkSjis 
A  much  fitter  beast  for  a  church  thau  a  Sphinx  is. 

But  I  *ni  call'd  off  to  dinner  —  grace  just  has  been 

And  my  liost  waits  for  nobody,  living  or  dead. 


Go,  ha>te,  at  the  Congiess  pursue  Ihy  vocalioD 
Of  addins  fresh  sums  to  ihis  National  Debt  of  ours, 

Leaguing  with  Kings,  who,  for  inere  recreation, 
Break    promises,    fast    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 

The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have  —  of  his  ysarSj 
And   the  other,  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  do- 
minions. 


ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  LORDS  C— S- 
T — R  — GH  AND  ST — W — P.T  FOR  THE 
CONTINENT. 

At  Parish  et  Fratreg,  el  qui  rapuere  atib  illi« 
Vix  tenuere  manu8(f.ci8  hoc,  MfiielaeJ  nefandas. 
Ovid.  Metam.  lib.  xiii.  v.  202. 

Go,  Brothers  in  wisdom  —  go,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Pame  fan  you  both  with  their 
pinions ! 
The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have  —  of  his  years, 
And  the  other  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  domin- 
ions. 

Go,  Hero  of  Chancery,  blest  with  the  smile 

Of  the  Missf-s  that  love,  and   the   nionarchs  that 
piize  thee  J 

Forget  Mrs  Ang-lo  T—yl—r  awhile. 
And  ail  tailors  but  him  who  so  well  dandifies  thee. 

Never  mind  how  thy  juniors  in  gallantry  scoff, 
Never  heed   how  perverse  athdavits  may  thwart 
thee. 

But  show  the  young  Misses  thou  'rt  scholar  enough 
To  translaie  "  Amor  Fortis"  a  love,  about  forty ! 

And  sure  't  is  no  wonder,  when,  fresh  as  young  Mars, 

From  the  battle  you  came,  with  the  Orders  you 'd 

earn'd  in  't. 

That  Bweet  Lady  Fanny  should  cry  out  **my  stars!" 

And  forget  th  tt  the  Moon^  too,  was  some  way  con- 

cern'd  in  't. 

For  not  the  great  R— g— t  himself  has  endnr'd 
(Though  I  've  seen  him  with  badges  and  oiders  all 
shine. 

Till  he  Iiiok'd  like  a  house  that  was  over  insur'd) 
A  much  heavier  burden  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  't  is  plain,  when  a  wealthy  young  lady  so  mad  is. 

Or  any  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray. 
As  to  marry  old  Dandies  that  might  be  (heir  daddies, 

The  stars^  are  in  fault,  my  Lord  St — w— rt,  not 
they ! 

Thou,  too,  fother  brother,  thou  Tully  of  Tories, 

'Jhou  Mnlz-prop  Cicero,  over  whose  lips 
Such  a  smooth   rigmarole  about  •'  nionarchs,"  and 

And  *■■  nuUidgti''* ^  and  "features,"  like  syllabub 
^'JF-       ^___^^ 

1  This  and  the  following  squib,  which  must  have 
been  written  about  ihe  year  1815-16,  have  been  by 
some  oversight  misplaced. 

^  Ovid  is  mistaken  in  saying  that  it  was  "at  Paris" 
these  rapacious  iransaciions  took  place  —  we  should 
read  "at  Vienna." 

3  *'  When  weak  women  gc\  astray, 

The  stars  are  more  in  fault  than  they." 

4  It  is  thus  the  noble  lord  pronounces  the  word 
"knowledge"— deriving  it,  a>  fir  as  his  own  share  is  i 
conceined,  from  the  Latin,  ''nullus."  | 


TO    THE    SHIP 

IN    WHICH    LORD    C— ST— R— GH     SAILED 
FOR    THE   CONTINENT. 

Imitated  from  Horace^  lib,  i.  ode  3. 

So  may  my  Lady^s  pray'rs  previil,5 

And  C— nn— g's  too,  and  lucid  Br— gge's. 
And  F,ld-n  beg  a  fivouriii^  gale 

From  Eolus,  that  older  Ras^s^e 
To  sjieed  thee  on  thy  destin'd  way, 
Oh,  ship,  that  bear'st  our  C — t— r--eh,"» 
Our  gracious  R—g—t's  better  half  a" 

And,  Ihtrefore,  quarter  of  a  King  — 
(As  V.in,  orai.y  olher  c^lf. 

May  lind,  without  much  figuring), 
Wif'  him,  oh,  ye  kindly  breezes. 

Waft  this  Lord  of  place  and  pelf, 
Anywhere  his  Lordship  pleases, 

tliough  'I  were  to  Old  Nick  himself! 

Oh,  what  a  face  of  brass  was  his,9 
Who  first  at  Congress  show'd  his  phiz  — 
To  sign  away  (he  Rights  of  Man 

To  Russian  threats  and  Au>trian  juggle; 
And  leave  the  sinking  African  lO 

To  fall  without  one  saving  siruggle  — 
'Mong  ministers  from  North  and  South, 

To  show  his  lack  of  shame  and  sense, 
And  hoist  Ihe  Sign  of  "  Bull  and  Mouth" 

For  blunders  and  for  eloquence! 


In  va 


Sees,  at  home  i* 
d  their  papery,  de>ks,  and  shelves, 


If  silly  Sees,  abroad  will 
And  maku  such  noodles  of  themselves. 


ih  ha'h  always  been  the  case  — 
it^hioEc  itiiMnHerice  of  fice, 

your  Tory  race!  ** 


*or  matchless  im|iu'derice  of  fice 
There's  nothing  liki 


fi  Sic  (e  Diva  potens  Cypri, 

Sic  fratres  Helensc,  lucidasidera, 
Ventorunique  regat  pater. 
6  See  a  description  of  the  aa-Koi.  or  Bags  of  Eolus, 
in  the  Odys.ey,  lib.  10. 
t  Navi«,  quoe  tibi  creditum 

Debes  Virgilium. 

8  Animas  dimidium  meum. 

9  IIH  robur  et  aes  triplex, 

Circi  pectus  erat,  qui,  &c. 

10  __ prjecipitem  Africum 

Decerl.iniem  Aquilnnibus. 

*1  Nequicquam  Deus  abscidit 

Prudens  oce.ino  dissociabili 
Terrts,  ^i  lamen  impije 

Non  tangenda  Rates  transiliunt  va^U. 
This  last  line,  we  mny  suppose,  alludes  to  some  dit> 
tinguished  Rats  that  attended  the  voyager. 
la  Audax  omnia  perpeti 

Gens  ruit  per  veiilum  nefas. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


429 


First,  Pm,i  the  clios'n  of  F-nsland,  taught  tier 

A  laste  for  famine,  lire,  ami  slausliler. 

"I'tieit  came  the  Doctor.^  lor  our  "ease, 

Wilh  K— (I— ns,  Ch— Ih— liis,  H— «k— b-», 

And  other  deaillvinal.a(lies. 

When  each,  in  turn,  Ind  run  their  rigs, 

Necessity  brought  in  llie  Whi^- :  3 

And  oh,'l  blush.  I  tjlush  to  sav, 

Uheli  thise,  iu  turn,  were  |iut  to  flight,  loo, 
Illustrious  'r— nip— u  flew  away 

With  Uit.i  of  ptiu  he  had  no  righl  lo  !  * 
In  shnrt,  what  will  uot  niurlal  man  do  i  s 

And  n"w,  thai  — strife  and  blnodshed  pist  — 
We've  done  on  eirlh  wha'  li,.lii  we  can  do, 

We  gravely  lake  10  lieiv'n  at  last.  « 
And  think  its  favnurine  5mile  10  purchase 

Oh  Lord,  good  Lord  !  by  —  building  churches  I 


SKETCH   OF  THE   FIRST  ACT    OF  A   NEW 

ROMANTIC    DRAMA. 
*'  And  now,"  quoth  the  goddes--,  in  accents  jocose, 
"  Having  got  pood  materials,  1  MI  brew  such  a  dose 
"  Of  Double  X  mischief  as.  mortals  shall  say, 
**They*ve  not  known  its  equal  forniany  a  long  day." 
Here  she  wink'd  to  her  suballern  imps  to  be  steady. 
And  alt  ivagg'd  their  lire-tipp'd  tails  and  stood  ready. 

"So,  now  for  the'  ingredients :  — first,  hand  me  thsl 

bishop  ;" 
Whereon,  a  whole  oevy  of  imps  run  to  fish  up, 
Froni  out  a  largei  eserv  ir,  wherein  they  pen  'em, 
The  blackest  of  all  its  black  dabblers  in  veiinm  ; 
And  wrapping  him  up  (lesl  the  virus  should  ooze. 
And   one    ''drop   of  the'  immortal"  1  Right  lle». s 

they  might  lose) 
In  the  sheets  ot  his  ovm  speeches,  charges,  reviews. 
Top  hini  into  the  caldron,  while  liudly  a  burst 
From  the  by-standers  welcomes  ingredient  the  first! 

"Now  fetch  the  Ex-Chancellor,''  muMer'd  the  dame— 
"  He  who's  c.ll'd  after  Hairy  the  Older,  bv  name." 
"The  Ex-Chaiicellor !"  echoed  her  imps,  the  whole 


"True,   true,"  said  the  hig,   looking  arch  at  her 

**And  a  douhle-iTx  dose  they  compose,  in  them- 
selves." 

Thisjnke,  Ihesly  meaning  of  which  was  seen  lucidly, 

Set  all  tlie  devils  a  laughiiig  most  deucedly. 

So,  in  went  the  pair,  and  (what  uone  thought  sur- 
prising) 

Show'd  lalenis  for  sinking  as  great  as  fur  rising  ; 

While  nut  a  glim  phiz  in  that  realm  but  was 
liglred 

Will   joy  to  see  spirits  so  twin-like  onited  — 


Audax  Japeti  genns 

Ignem  fraude  mala  genlibus  inlulit. 
r-ist 


^s,  et  nova  febrium 


lerris  incubit  cohi 

> tarda  necessitas 

Leihi  virrip.iit  gradum. 

*  Exper.us  vaainm  D^daliis  aera 
Pennis  non  hnmiiii  datis. 

This  alludes  to  the  I200Z.  worth  of  stationery,  which 
his  Lordship  is  said  to  have  ordered,  when  ou  the 
point  of  vacating  his  pUace. 

'       Nil  morialibus  arriuum  est. 

6  Ccelum  ipsuni  petimus  stulliiia. 

•>  "  To  lose  no  drop  of  the  immortal  man." 

•  The  present  Ilishop  of  Ex— t~r. 


Or  (plainly  to  speak)  two  such  birds  of  a  feather. 
In  one  mess  of  venom  thus  spitted  together. 

Here  a  flashy  imp  rose  —  some  connexion,  no  doubt. 
Of  ihe  young  h'rd  in  question— and,  scowling  about, 
"  Hop'd  his  fiery  friend,  St — nl— y,  would  not  be  left 

out; 
"As  no  schoolboy  unwhipp'd,  the  whole  world  must 

"Lov'd  niiscliief,  pure  mischief,  more  dearly  than 
he." 

But,  no— the  wise  hag  wouldn't  hear  of  the  whipster  j 
Not  merely  because,  as  a  shrew,  he  eclips'd  her. 
And  nature  had  giv'n  liiin,  10  keep  him  slill  young. 
Much  tongue  in  his  head  and  no  head  m  his  tongue; 
Hut   because  she  well  knew   that,  for  cliange  ever 

ready. 
He  'd  not  ev'ii  to  niischief  keep  properly  steady ; 
'1  hat  soon  ev'u  the  -wrong  side  would  cease  to  de- 

lithi, 
And,  for  want  of  a  change,  he  must  swerve  to  the 

r,fht ; 
While,  1  11  lach,  sn  at  random  his  missiles  he  threw. 
That  the  side  he  atlack'd  was  most  safe,  of  llie  two.— 
This  ingredient  was  tlierehire  put  by  on  Ihe  shelf, 
There  to  bubble,  a  bitter,  hot  mess,  by  itself. 
"And  uou,"  quoth  the  hag,  as  her  caldron  she  ey'd. 
And  the  tidbits  so  f>ieiid)lly  rankling  inside, 
"  There  wants  but  some  seasoning ; —  so,  come,  ere  1 

stew  'em, 
"  Py  way  of  a  relish,  we'll  throw  in  '  -f-  John  Tuain.' 
"In  cooking  up  mischief,  there's  no  flesh  or  fish 
"Like  your  meddling  High  i'liest,  to  add  zest  to  the 

dish," 
Thnss.iyiui,  she  pops  in  the  Irish  Grand  Lama  — 
Which  great  event  ends  the  First  Act  of  the  Drama. 


ANIMAL    MAGNETISM. 

Though  fam'd  was  Mesmer,  in  his  day, 

Nor  less  so.  in  ours,  is  Dupolet, 

To  say  nothing  of  all  the  wonders  done 

By  that  wizaid.  Dr.  Elliotson, 

When,  standing  as  if  Ihe  gods  to  invoke,  he 

Up  waves  his  arm,  and  —  down  drojis  Okey  !  9 

Though  s'range  these  fhintrs,  to  mind  and  sense, 
If  you  wish  still  stranger  things  to  see  — 

If  you  wi>h  'o  kii  >\v  the  power  immense 

Of  Ihe  true  niagnelic  influence, 
Jusf  go  to  her  Majesty's  Treasury, 

And  learn  the  wonders  working  there  — 

And  I'll  be  hang'd  if  you  don-lsare  ! 

Talk  of  your  animal  masnetists. 

And  that  wave  nf  ihe  hand  no  soul  resists, 

Not  all  its  witcheries  can  conipete 

With  the  friendly  beckon  tow'rds  Downing  Street, 

Which  a  premier  eives  to  one  who  wishes 

To  taste  of  the  Treasury  loaves  and  fishes. 

II  actually  lifts  the  luckv  elf, 

Thus  acted  upon,  above  himself;  — 

He  jumps  to  a  slate  of  ctaironyance^ 

And  is  jilaceman,  statesman,  ail,  at  once  I 

These  efl"ect>,  observe  (wilh  which  I  begin), 
Take  place  when  the  patient  's  inotion'd  m  ; 
Far  ilifferen',  of  cour-e.  Ihe  m"de  of  all'ec  ion. 
When  the  wave  of  the  hand  's  in  the  out  direction: 
The  efftcts  being   hen  extremely  iinpleisant, 

As  IS  seen  in  the  case  of  Lord  R m,  at  present; 

In  whom  this  sort  of  manipulation 

Has  late  y  prrduc'd  such  iii'llanimation. 

Attended  with  cons'ant  irri'alion. 

That,  in  sh  irt  —  not  to  mince  his  situation  — 

9  The  name  of  the  heroine  of  the  porformances  at 
Ihe  North  Lon  Ion  Hospital. 


430 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


It  has  work'd  in  the  man  a  transformation 
Tliat  puzzles  all  bimian  calculatioa  ! 

Ever  since  the  fata    Hv  whicli  saw 

'i  hai  "  p.iss'  I  perfotniM  on  ttiis  Lord  of  Law  — 

A  pa-s  piiieulMl,  n'Mie  can  dnub' 

As  it  ^el,l  Harr>  K —  in  t .  llie  right  about  — 

The  cndiiion  in  wtiicti  ilit  patient  has  been 

Is  a  Ibin;;  quite  a»  lul  to  be  seen. 

Not  thai  a  casutl  eye  could  scan 

TJiis  wondrous  cliaiif^e  by  oulivad  survey; 
It  lieiiig,  in  fac%  tlie'  iiiUrior  man 

Ttiat  's  turn'd  conij>lefely  topsy-turvy  :  — 
Like  a  ca^e  tha'  lately,  in  reading  o'er  'em, 
1  Ibund  111  the  Acta  Erudilorum, 
Of  a  man  in  whise  inside,  «  hen  disclns'd, 
The  whole  order  of  things  was  found  traiispos'd;  * 
By  a  Ittsiis  naturx,  strange  to  see, 
The  liver  plac'd  ubere  the  heart  should  be. 

And  the  spleen  (like  B ni's,  since  laid  OD  the 

shelf ) 
As  diseasM  and  as  much  out  of  place  as  himself. 

In  short,  *t  is  a  case  for  consultation, 

If  eVr  there  was  one,  in  tins  ibiiiking  nation; 

And  therefore  I  humbly  bfg  to  propose, 

Th.\t  ihose  savaiis  who  mean,  as  the  rumour  goes, 

To  sit  on  Miss  Okey's  wonderful  case, 

Should  also  Lord  Harry's  case  embrace; 

And  inform  us.  in  both  these  patients'  states, 

Which  istn  it  is  ftiat  predoniinates, 

Wlie'her  magneism  and  somii.>nibulisra, 

Or,  siaiply  and  solely,  inounlebaukism. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    BOX. 

Let  History  boast  of  her  Romans  and  Spartans, 
And  tell  hnw  they  stood  against  tyranny's  stiocks; 

They  were  all,  I  confess,  in  Tny  eye,  Betty  Martins, 
Compared  to  George  Gr— te  and  his  wonderful  Box. 

Ask,  where  Liberty  now  has  her  seat?  — Oh,  it  isn't 
By  Delaware's  banks  or  on  Swiierland's  rocks  ;  — 

Like  an  imp  in  sonie  conjuror's  bottle  imprisoii'd. 
She 's  silly  shut  up  in  Gr — te's  wonderful  Box. 

How  snug!  — 'stead  of  floating  through  ether's  do- 
minions. 

Blown  this  way  and  that^  by  the  "  populi  vox," 
To  fold  thus  in  silence  her  sinecure  pinions. 

And  go  fast  asleep  in  Gr- te's  wonderful  Box. 

Time  was,  when  free  speech  was  the  life- breath  of 
freedom  — 
So  thought  once  the  Seldens,  the  Hampdens,  the 
Lockes ; 
But  mute  be  our  troops,  when  to  ambush  we  lead  'em. 
For  "  Mum"  is  tlie  word  with  us  Knights  of  the 
Box. 

Pure,  exquisite  Box  !  no  corrup  ion  can  soil  it; 

There  >s  Otto  of  Rose  in  each  breath  it  unlocks ; 
Willie  Gr— te  is  the  "  Betty,"  that  serves  at  the  toilet, 

And  bieathes  all  Arabia  around  from  his  Box. 3 

T  is  a  singular  fact,  that  the  fam'd  Hugo  Grotius « 
(A  namesake  of  Gr— te's  — being  both  of  Dutch 
stocks). 

Like  Gr— te,  too,  a  genius  profound  as  precocious. 
Was  also,  like  him,  much  rcnown'd  for  a  Box  ;  — 


1  The  technical  term  for  the  movements  of  the 
I  magnetizer'a  band. 

a  Onines  fere  inlernss  corporis  partes  inversoordine 
litas.—Mt.  Erudit.  1C90. 
■       And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 

PupeU  Rape  of  Vie  Lock. 
*  Groot,  or  Grote,  latinized  into  Grotius. 


An  immortal  old  clolhbs-box,  in  which  tj>e  great 

When  sutteiing,  in  prison,  for  views  hel'rodox. 

Was  pack'd  up  incog,  spite  of  gaolers  ferocious,* 

And  sciil  to  his  wife, 6  carriage  tree,  in  a  Box  1 

But  the  fame  of  old  Hugo  now  rests  on  the  shelf, 
Since  a  rival  bath  ris'n  that  all  parallel  mocks;  — 

T/iat  Gll.llll^  ingloriously  sav'd  but  bini-elf, 

While  ours  saves   the  whole  British  realm  by  a 
Box! 

And  oh,  when,  at  last,  ev'n  this  greatest  of  Gr— tes 
Must  bend  to  the  Power  that  at  every  door  knocks  ' 

May  be  drop  in  the  urn  like  his  own  "silent  votes," 
And  the  tomb  of  his  rest  be  a  large  Ballot  Box. 

While  long  at  his  shrine,  both  from  county  and  cilf, 
Shall  pilgrims  tricnnially  gather  in  flocks, 

And  sing,  while  they  whimper,  the'  appropriate  ditty, 
*' Oh,  breathe  not  his  uatne,  let  it  sleep  —  in  the 
Box." 


ANNOUNCEMENT    OF    A    NEW    THALABA. 

ADDRESSED  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHE?    ES(l 

When  erst,  my  Soulhey,  thy  tuneful  lon'ue 
Ihe  terrible  tale  of  Thalaba  -ung  — 
Of  him,  the  Destroyer,  dooni'd  to  rout 
Thai  grim  divan  of  conjurors  out. 
Whose  dwelling  dark,  as  legends  ^ay, 
Benealh  the  roots  of  (he  oce.in  lay, 
(Fit  place  for  deep  ones,  such  as  they,) 
How  liltle  thou  knew'sl,  dear  Dr.  Soulhey, 
Although  bright  genus  all  allow  thee. 
That,  some  yeir^  ihence,  thy  wondering  eye» 
Should  ^ee  a  second  Tbalaba  rise  — 
As  ripe  for  ruinous  rigs  as  ihine. 
Though  Ins  havoc  lie  in  a  dilterent  line. 
And  should  hnd  this  new,  inrprov'd  Destroyer 
Beneath  the  wig  of  a  Yankee  lawyer  ; 
A  soit  of  an  ''alien,'  alias  niAii, 
Whoe  country  or  parly  guess  who  can. 
Being  Cockney  hall,  half  Jonathan; 
And  his  life,  to  make  the  thing  completer. 
Being  all  in  the  genuine  Thilaba  metre, 
Loose  and  irregular  as  thy  feet  are;  — 
First,  into  Whig  Pindarics  rambling, 
Then  in  low  Tory  doggrel  scrambling; 
Now  hme  his  theme,  now  Church  his  glory 
(At  once  both  'lory  and  amatory). 
Now  in  the'  Old  Bailey-ioy  meandering, 
Now  in  soft  couplet  style  philandering; 
And,  las'ly,  in  lame  Alexandrine, 
Dragging  his  wounded  length  along.s 
When  scourg'd  by  Holland's  silken  thong. 

In  short,  dear  Rob,  Destroyer  the  Second 
May  fairly  a  match  for  the  First  be  reckou'd; 
Save  that  your  Tbalaba's  talent  lay 
In  sweeping  old  conjurors  clean  away. 
While  ours  at  aldermen  deals  bis  blows, 
(Who  no  great  conjurors  are,  God  knows,) 


6  For  the  particulars  of  this  escape  of  Gro'ius  fro» 
the  Castle  of  Lnuvei.stein,  by  means  of  a  box  (onl> 
three  feet  and  a  half  long,  it  is  said)  in  which  books 
used  lo  be  occasionally  seni  to  him  and  foul  linen  re- 
tui  ned.  see  any  of  the  Biographical  Dictionaries. 

6  This  is  not  quite  according  to  the  facts  of  Ihe 
case;  his  wife  having  been  the  contriver  of  the 
siratagem,  and  reniainttl  in  Ihe  prison  herself  lo  give 
hini  time  for  escape, 

■>  Pallida  Mors  aequo  pulsat  pede,  &c.     IloraS. 

8  "A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  ilav 
length  along.'' 


:=^JJ 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


431 


Layr  Corporalions,  by  wholesale,  level, 
Seii'l!  Acls  of  ParliaiiienI  lo  ihe  devil, 
Bullies  the  whole  Milesian  race  — 
iievec  n>illioiiS  of  I'addie-,  f.ice  to  face; 
Aud.sei7ini;  llial  iria^lc  wuid.  hinisell, 
Which  erst  lliy  cnjurors  left  on  'he  shelf, 
Trausloniis  the  hoy,  M  the  lioyi.e  »iid  Lid'ey 
All  n.lo/urcitr"-:",  ma  Jirtey  — 
Atieti!>,  tiu  C3sl>,  every  6uul  of  'etn, 
Uui'u  but  fur  whips  and  chajui,  the  whole  of  em 

Never,  in  short,  did  parallel 
Belwixt  two  heroes  see  so  well ; 
And,  amon§  the  point;,  in  which  they  fit. 
There  's  one,  dear  Bnh,  I  can'l  omit. 
Thai  backinic,  hectorine;  blade  of  thine 
Dealt  much  in  the  Domdajtivl  line  ;  ^ 
And  't  is  but  rendering  justice  due, 
To  say  that  ours  and  his  'I'ory  crew 
Damn  Danitl  most  devoutly  too. 


RIVAL    TOPICS. » 
AN     EXTRAVAGANZA. 

Oh,  \V— II — ngt — n  and  Stephenson, 

Oh,  morn  and  evening  papers. 
Times,  Herald,  Courier,  Globe,  and  Sun, 
When  will  \e  cease  our  ears  to  stun 
With  these  two  heroes'  c.pers? 

and  '•  VV— II— ngt— n." 


Still  "Sieph 

Still  doo 
To  hear 

And  t' 


■d,  fri 


e  to  set  of  sun, 
ef  one  has  done, 
10  do:  — 
Willi  lulls  the  banker  pass'd  lo  friends. 

Rut  never  meant  to  pay  ; 
What  Hills  the  other  wighl  intends, 

As  h  Miest,  in  their  wav  ;  — 
Bills,  payable  at  distant  >ie;ht. 

Beyond  the  Grecian  kalends. 
When  all  good  deeds  will  come  to  light, 
When  VV-ll— ngt— n  will  do  what'i  right. 
And  llowland  pay  his  balance. 

To  catch  the  banker  all  have  sought. 

But  still  the  rogue  unhurt  is; 
While  t'other  juggler -who'd  have  thought? 
Though  slippery  long,  has  just  been  caught 

By  old  Archliishnp  Curtis;- 
And,  such  the  power  of  papal  crook. 


Waa  of  aBuUdeliver'd! 

Sir  Kichard  Birnie  doth  decide 

Thai  Rowland  "  niusi  be  mad," 
In  priva'e  coach,  w'ilh  crtst,  to  ride. 

When  chaises  could  be  had. 
And  t'other  hero,  all  agree, 

St.  Luke's  will  soon  ar  ive  at. 
If  Ihus  he  shows  off  publicly, 

When  he  might  pass  in  private. 

Oh  W— 11 — ngt — n,  oh  Stephenson, 

Ye  cver-horing  pair. 
Where'er  I  sit,  or  stand,  or  run, 

Ve  haunt  nie  everywhere. 
Though  Job  had  p.tience  tough  enough. 

Such  duplicates  would  try  it; 
Till  one's  mrn'd  out  and  t'other  off, 

We  shan'i  have  peace  or  quiet. 


«        "  Vain  are  the  spells,  the  Ilestrnver 
Treads  ll.e  D.inidaniel  tinor." 

Thalala,  a  Metrical  Romance. 
3  The  dale  of  Ihu  squib  must  have  been,  I  Ibink, 
abou*  \S28-9. 


Bui  small 's  the  chance  that  Law  alfords 

Such  folks  are  daily  let  oil'; 
And   'twixl  the'  Old  Bailey  and  the  Lord^ 

They  both,  1  fear,  will  get  oil'. 


THE    BOY    STATESMAN. 


BY    A    TORY. 


:  can't  but  fall ; 


Ah,  Tories  dear,  our  ruin 

Wiih  SI— iil-y  to  help 
Already  a  warning  voice  1  liear, 
Like  ttie  lale  Charles  Matthews'  croak  in  mv 

"That  boy—  that  boy  '11  be  the  death  of  yo 


1  all.' 


He  will,  God  help  us!  —  not  ev'n  Scriblerius 
In  the  "  Art  of  Sinking"  his  match  could  be  J 

And  our  case  is  growing  exceeding  serious, 
For,  all  being  in  the  same  boat  as  he. 
If  down  my  Lord  goes,  down  go  we, 
Loid  Karon  SI— nl-y  and  Company, 

As  deep  in  Oblivion's  swamp  below 

As  such  "  Masters  Shallow"  well  could  go; 

And  w  here  we  sliall  all  bolli  low  and  high, 

Enibahn'd  in  mud,  a.  foiEotlen  lie 

Asalreadi  dolh  Gr— h— in  of  Netberby! 

But  that  boy,  that  boy  1- Ihere 's  a  tale  I  know, 

Which  in  t.ilking  of  hini  comes  a-jjro>roJ. 

Sir  1  homas  More  bad  an  only  son. 

And  a  foolish  lad  was  that  only  one. 
And  Sir  Thomas  said,  one  day  to  his  wife, 

"  My  dear.  1  can't  but  iv^  you  joy, 

*'  for  you  pray'd  fora  boy.  and  y.'U  now  have  a  boy, 
"  Who  'II  continue  a  boy  to  the  end  of  his  life.'* 

Ev'n  such  is  our  own  distressing  lot. 

With  the  eier-young  sateMnan  we  have  got; 

Nay  ev'n  slill  worse  ;  for  Mas'er  More 

Wasn't  more  a  >outh  ihaii  he'd  been  before, 

While  ours  such  power  of  boyhood  shows, 

Th.at,  the  older  he  ge  s.  Ihe  more  juv'nile  he  growj, 

And,  at  what  extreme  old  age  he 'II  ch  se 

His  schoolboy  course,  heaven  only  knows; — 

Some  cenluiy  hence,  should  he  reach  so  far. 

And  ourselves  to  witness  it  heav'n  condemn. 
We  shall  find  him  a  sort  of  ctifc  Old  Parr, 

A  whipper-snapper  Metluisalem ; 
Nay,  ev'n  should  he  make  still  longer  stay  of  it. 
The  boy  'II  want  jurfi-nieiil,  ev'n  to  the  day  of  it ! 
Meanwhile,  't  is  a  serious,  sad  infliction  ; 

And,  dav  and  night,  with  awe  1  recall 
The  la'e  Mr.  Matthews'  silenin  prediction, 
"  That  boy  'II  be  the  death,  the  death  of  you  all." 


LETTER 

FROM     LARRY    O'BRANIO.iN   TO   THE   REV. 
MURTAGH    O'MULLIGAN. 

Arrah,  where  were  yoUy  Murlhagh,  that  beautiful 
day  ?  — 
Or,  how  came  it  your  riverence  was  laid  on  the 
their. 
When  thai   poor   craythur,  Bobby  —  as  yott  were 
away  — 
Had  lo  make  twice  as  big  a  Tom-fool  of  himself. 

Throlh,  it  wasn't  at  all  civil  lo  lave  in  the  lurch 
A  boy  so  desarving  your  lindh'rest  atTeC'ion; — 

Two  such  iliganl  Siamase  twins  of  the  Church, 
As  Bob  and  yourself,  ne'er  should  cut  the  cod* 
nection. 


439 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


If  Ihus  in  (ivo  differeni  direclinns  you  pull, 
*faith  ihey'll  svvearthat  yourself  and  your  rivereiid 
broiher 
Are  like  lhf.se  quare  foxes,  in  Gregory's  Hull, 

Whose  tails  i\ere  joiu'd  otie  way,  while  theylookM 
anoihtr  1 1 

Och  bless'd  be  he,  whosomdever  be  be, 

Thai  bel|j'd  sofl  Masee  lo  tlial  Hull  of  3  Letthtr  : 

Nol  cv'ii  iny  own  self,  Ihoujh  1  someliuies  make  free 
At    such    buU-inauufaclure,  could    make    biiii    a 
betlhcr. 

IV-  be  sure,  when  a  lad  takes  to  forgin\  this  way, 
1'  IS  a  tbiick  he's  much  liinpted  lo  carry  on  gaily; 

Till,  at  last,  his  "  injanious  devices,"  l  soiiie  day, 
Show  him  u[i,  not  at  Exelher  Hall,  but  the'  Ould 
Bailey. 

That  parsons  should  for^e  thus  appears  mighty  odd, 
And   (as  if  sometinu*  "odd"  in  Iheir  nantes,  too, 
must  be.) 

One  forger,  (.f  ould,  was  a  riverend  Dod, 

While  a  riverend  'lodd's  now  his  match,  lo  a  T.3 

But,  no  niallher  who  did  it  — all  blessins  betide  bim, 

For  dishiu*  uj)  I)(»b.  in  a  manner  sn  nafe  ; 
And    there   wanted   but  wou,  Murlbaah  'vourneen, 
beside  bim. 
To  make  Ibe  whole  grand  dish  of  iwij-calf  corn- 
plate. 


MUSINGS  OF  AN  UNREFORMED  PEER. 

Of  all  'he  odd  plans  of  Ihis  nionslrously  queer  age, 
'1  he  od'lest  i^  that  of  refojMiiiig  the  peerage  ;  — 
Just  as  if  we,  great  duns.^ith  a  title  and  star 
Did  not  net  on  exceedingly  well,  as  we  rtre, 
And  perform  all  the  functions  of  noodles,  bv  birth, 
As  completely  as  any  burn  noodles  on  eir.h. 

Mow  acres  descend,  is  in  law-books  displayed, 
But  we  as  Mji.vcacres  descend,  ready  maile  ; 
And,  by  right  of  our  lank  in  Uebielt's  nomenclature, 
Ale,  all  of  us,  born  legislators  by  nature;  — 
I.ikeduckliuss  to  water  instinctively  taking, 
S"  we,  with  like  quackery,  lake  to  law-making; 
And  God  forbid  any  reloini  should  come  o'er  us, 
To  m.ike  us  more  wise  than  our  sires  were  before  us. 

The'  Esypt  ans  of  old  the  same  policy  knew  — 
if  your  sire  \^as  a  cook,  you  must  be  a  cook  too: 
I  hu<  niakiiig,  from  f  ilher  lo  son,  a  good  trade  of  it, 
hoisoneis  iy  lig/U  (so  no  more  cnuld  be  said  of  it). 
The  cooks,  like  our  loidships,  a  pretty  mesa  made 

of  it; 
While,  fam'd  for  conservative  stomachs,  the'  Egyp- 
tians 
Without  a  wry  face  bolted  all  the  prescript  ions. 


I  "You  will  increase  the  enmity  with  which  they 
are  regarded  by  their  associates  in  heresv,  thus  lying 
these  foles  by  Ihe  tails,  lb  it  their  faces  may  lend  in 
oppisiie  directions."— iJoi's  Bull,  read  at  Exeter 
Hall,  July  14. 

-  "  All  ingenious  device  of  my  learned  friend."  — 
Bob's  Letter  to  Standard. 

3  Had  I  consulted  only  mv  own  wishes,  I  should 
not  have  allowed  this  hasty' attack  on  Dr.  Todd  lo 
have  made  its  appearance  in  this  Collection;  being 
now  fully  convinced  that  Ihe  charge  brousht  against 
that  reveieiid  geiiileman  nf  intending  to  pass  off  as 
genuine  his  famous  mock  Papal  Letter  was  allogeiher 
unfounded.  Finding  it  to  be  the  w  isli,  however,  of 
my  reverend  friend  — as  I  am  now  glad  to  be  permit- 
led  to  call  him-lhil  both  the  wronsand  the  repaia- 
lion,  the  Ode  and  the  Palimde,  should  be  thus  placed 
in  juiiap'-sitlon,  I  have  thought  it  but  due  to  him  to 
comply  Willi  his  request. 


II  is  true,  we  've  among  us  some  poers  of  the  ptst, 
Who  keep  pace  with  the  present  nicsi  awfully  fast — 
Fniils,  that  rijien  beneath  the  new  light  now  irising 
With  speed  that  10  !«,  old  conserves,  is  surprising, 
f.'onsei  ves,  ill  whom— potted,  for  grandn.aiiima  uses — 
'  r  would  piiz;^le  a  sunbeam  lo  find  any  juices, 
'■f  is  true,  too,  1  fear,  midst  the  geneial  movement, 
Ev'n  oiir  House,  God  Jielp  it,  is  doom'd  to  iniprove- 

And  all  its  live  furniture,  nobly  descended, 
But  sadl>  wot-n  out,  must  be  sent  to  be  mended. 

With   moi'eiiWt's  'mnng  us,    like  B ui  and  .ike 

D— rh-m. 
No  wonder  ev'n  fixtures  should  learn  to  bestir  'em  ; 
And,  distant,  je  gods,  be  thai  terrible  day. 
When— as  playful  Old  Nick,  for  his  pastime,  they  say, 
Flies  oif  Willi  old  houses,  sometimes,  in  a  storm  — 
lio  uurs  may  be  wliipt  off,  some  night,  by  Reform; 
And,  as  up,  like  Lorelto's  fam'd  house,*  through  the 

Nol  angel's,  bul  devils,  our  lordships  shall  bear, 
Grim,  radical  phizzes,  unus'd  to  the  sky, 
ishall  flit  louiid  like  cherubs,  to  wish  us  "good-bv,'* 
While,  peich'd  upon  clouds,  little  imps  of  plelieians. 
Small  Grotes  and  O'Counells,  shall  siug  lo  fa^aus. 


THE  REVEREND  PAMPHLETEER. 
A    ROMANTIC    BALLAD. 

Oh,  have  you  heard  what  hap'd  of  late? 

If  not,  come  lend  an  ear. 
While  sad  1  stile  the  pneous  fate 

Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

All  prais'd  his  skilful  jockeyship. 

Loud  rung  the  Tory  clieer, 
While  away,  away,  with  spur  and  whip, 

Went  the  Reverend  Z'amphleteer. 

The  nag  he  rode  —  how  cmtld  it  err  ? 

'T  was  the  same  that  look,  last  vear. 
That  wonderful  jump  to  F.xeler 

With  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

Set  a  beggar  on  h  ^rseback,  wise  men  say, 
The  course  he  will  take  is  clear; 

And  in  that  direction  lav  the  way 
Of  Ihe  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

"Slop,  stop"  said  Truth,  but  v.iin  her  cry  — 

Left  faraway  in  the  rear. 
She  heard  but  the  usual  gay  "Good-by" 

From  her  faithless  Pamphleteer. 

You  may  talk  of  Ihe  jumps  of  Homer's  gods, 
\Vl.eii  canteiing  o'er  our  sphere  — 

I  'd  back  for  a  bounce,  'gainst  any  odds, 
'1  his  Reveiend  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. 

Whether  he  tripp'd  or  shy'd  thereat, 

U.ilh  not  so  clear  appear : 
But  down  he  came,  as  his  sermons  flat  — 

This  Reverend  Painphleieer  1 

Lord  King  himself  could  scarce  desire 

To  see  a  spiritual  Peer 
Fall  iiinch  more  dead,  in  the  dirt  and  mire, 

Than  did  this  Pamphleteer. 


<  The  Cnsa  Santa,  supposed  lo  have  been  carried 
by  angels  through  Ihe  air  from  Galilee  to  I'aly. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


433 


Vet  pitying  parsons,  many  a  day^ 

Shall  viNii  his  silent  bier, 
And.  tliinkine  the  while  of  Stanhope,  saj 

"  I'ooT  dear  nld  Pamphleteer  I 

"  He  has  finish 'd,  at  last,  his  busy  span, 
"  And  now  litx  coolly  here  — 

*' A^  ofieu  hedi'l  in  lite,  Kond  man, 
"Good,  Reverend  PAmphleleer ;" 


A    RECENT    DIALOGUE. 

A  B  >h  'p  aid  a  bold  drneroon, 

Bi)lh  hernes  in  !heir  way 
Did  thus,  of  late,  one  afteinonn, 

I'lito  each  oihcr  say  :  — 
"  Dear  bishop,"  quoih  Ihe  brave  hussar, 

■'  As  iinhuJy  deities 
"  T  liat  y"u  a  wise  losician  are, 

*■  And  1  am  — otherwise, 
*'  'T  is  ill  Ihal  in  this  que-ilion,  we 

"Slick  each  to  his  own  art- 
shntik 

:  the  fiff/itirig  ]iart, 
"  M\  creed,  I  need  not  It'.l  you,  is 

••  Like  that  ■  f  W ^d. 


'And  wh--n  w. 
'If  lau-hing 


9  for  words, 


"For  lack  of  sense  we  *ll  draw  our  swords  — 

'Iht  sole  thing  sharp  about  us."  — 
*'  Dear  bold  dragoon,*'  the  bishop  siid, 

•■  T  i>  true  for  w.ir  thou  ui  meant ; 
*'  And  reasoning  —  bless   that  dandy  head  ! 

**  Is  rioi  in  thj  dcpariDienl. 
**  So  leave  the  argunienl  to  me  — 

*'  And,  when  my  holy  Uboi.r 
<'  Hath  tit  Ih^ri-s  of  bigoiiy, 

"  Thou  'It  p'ke  them  wiifa  thy  sabre. 
**  From  pulpit  and  from  seniry-hcx, 

»•  We  Ml  make  our  joint  .iMacks, 
*'  I  at  the  head  of  my  Cassocks, 

*'Aiid  you  of  your  Cossacks. 
"So  here  '.-•  your  health,  my  brave  hussar, 

*'  My  exquisite  dd  figtre'r  — 
**Succe;.s  to  bigo'ry  and  war, 

"  The  mu-ket  and  the  mitre  1" 
Thus  prayM  the  minister  of  heaven  — 

While  V— k.  just  eniering  tlien, 
Snor'd  out  (as  if  some  Clerk  had  given 

His  no^e  the  cue)  *'  Amen." 

T.  B. 


THE    WELLINGTON    SPA. 
*<  And  driijk  obtiaion  to  our  woes."  —  Anna  Matilda* 
1829. 
Talk  no  more  of  your  Cheltenham  and  Harrowgate 

springs, 
'T  IS  from  Ltthe  we  now  our  potations  must  draw  j 
YoMT  Ld he  s  a  cure  for  — all  possible  thint:-, 
And   the  doclora  have  Dam'd   it   the    Wellington 

Spa. 

Other  physical  waters  but  cure  ynu  in  part ; 

Oiie  cobbles  your  gout  — ro^Aer  mends  your  di- 
gestion — 
Some  settle   your   stomach,    but  this  —  bless  your 
heart !  -  ' 

It  will  setile,  for  ever,  your  Catholic  Question. 


Cui  nulla  meretrix  diBpUcuit  praeter  Babyloni- 


37 


Unlike,  too,  (he  potions  in  fashion  at  present, 
This  Wellington  nostrum,  restoring  by  stealth. 

So  purges  the  niern'ry  of  all  ttiat's  unpleasant, 
'J'lial  patlenis  forget  themselves  into  rude  beallk. 

For  instance,  the' inventor  — his  having  once  said 

"  He  sh(.ulJ  think  himself  mad,  it,  at  a)iv  oneH 

call,  ' 

"He  became  what  he  is"  — is  so  purg'd  from  bis 

head. 

That  he  now  doesn't  think  he 's  a  niadmaa  al  all. 

Of  course,  for  your  mem'ries  of  very  lonj  stand- 
ing— 

Old  Chronic  diseases,  that  date  back,  undaunted, 
To  Brian  Itoroo  and  Filz-Slcphens' tiist  landing 

A  dev'l  of  a  dose  of  the  Lellie  is  wanted. 

But  ev'n  Irish  patients  can  hardly  regret 
An  oblivion,  so  much  in  their  o\»u  rjalive  style, 

So  conienicntly  plann'd,  ihat,  whale'er  they  forget, 
They    may    go    on    rememb'riug  it  still,  all  the 
while!* 


A    CHARACTER. 


IS34. 


Ad' 


'  Whig,  half  Tory,  like  those  midway  things, 
ixt  bird  and  beast,  that  liy  misl.ke  liave  wings; 
longrel  Slaiesnian,  'Iwixt  two  factions  nurst, 
0,  of  the  faults  of  each,  combines  tlie  worst  — 

Tory's  lofiiness,  the  Whigling'.s  sneer, 

leveller's  rashness,  and  the  bigot's  tear; 

thirst  for  meddling,  leslless  still  to  show 
V  Frerdom's  clock,  repaii'd  by  Whigs,  will  go; 

alarm  »hen  others,  more  sincere  than  they, 
ance  the  hands  to  the  true  time  of  '^ay. 


i  tone, 


By  Mother  Church,  high  fed  and  haughty  dame, 

'I  he  hoy  was  dandled,  in  Ins  dawn  of  faiue  ; 

Lisl'niiig,  she  smilVI,  and  Idess'd  the  flip|,aiit  tongue 

Oo  which  the  tale  of  unborn  iilhe-pigs  hung. 

Ah,  who  sli.ill  p.iiiit  the  grandam's  gr<m  dismay, 

When  loose  Reform  enlic'd  her  bov  away  ; 

When  shock'd  she  heard  him  ape  the  la 

And,  in  Old  Saruni's  fate,    foiedoom  her 

Groaiiii'c    she    cried,   while  tears  roll'd  down   her 

cheeks, 
"Poor,  glib-'ongued  youth,  he  means  not  what  he 

speaks. 
•'Like  oil  at  top,  these  Whig  professions  flow, 
"But,  pure  as  lymph,  runs  Toryism  below. 
"  Alas,  that  t'uigtie  should  start  thus,  in  the  race 
"Kre  niir^d  can  reach  and  regulate  its  pace  !  — 

oulslrippy  tjy  li.ngue,  poor,  lagging  mind, 


'  At  every  step,  still  further 

'  But.  bless  the  boy  1  _  whateV 

'Still  turns  his  he.rt  to  Tor\ism  and  me 


iig  be. 


'*  Like  thoTC  odd  shapes,  pnrtrty'd  in  D.infe's  lay,t» 
"  Willi  heads  fix'd  on,  ihe  wrong  and  backward  way, 
'*  His  feet  and  e^es  pursue  a  diverse  track, 
"  While  (/io»e  n'.arch  onward  tlirse  look  'ondlv  bsck  " 
And  well  she  knew  him  -  well  fores  iv  Ihe  day, 
Which  now  h.ith  come,  when  snatcti'd  fr:>m  Whigs 

away. 
The  self-same  changeling  drops  the  mask  he  wore, 
And  rests,  rcstor'd,  in  granny's  arms  once  more. 

But  whither  now,  mixt  brood  of  modern  light 
And  ancient  dirkness.  caii'st  thou  bend  thy  llighl? 
Tried  by  bolli  factions,  and  to  neilher  true, 
Fear'd  by  Ihe  old  school,  laiigh'd  at  bv  llie  ticw ; 


O  The  only  parallel  I  know  to  ihis  sort  of  nliliriOE 
is  (0  be  found  in  a  line  of  Ihe  laic  Mr.  R.  F.  Knisht— 
•'The  pleamiig  meinoiy  of  thin^ti  forgot." 
Che  dalle  reni  era  lornaio  'I  volto. 


F.  iiidieho  venir  li  c 
Ferclie  '1  veder  dina 


era  lortolto. 


434 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


For  this  too  feeble,  and  for  that  too  nsli, 
Thix  wanting  nu.re  of  tire,  that  le-s  of  flash, 
Lnne  shall  thou  st.ind,  in  isolaiinn  cold, 
Betwixt  two  worlds,  ihe  new  one  and  the  old, 
A  small  and  '•  vex'd  Bennoo'hes,"  whicli  Ihe  eye 
Of  venturous  seaman  &ees  —  and  (lasi^es  by. 


A    GHOST    STORY. 

TO    THE    AIR     OF    "  UNFORTUNATE    MIS3 
BAILEY." 

1835. 

Not  long  in  bed  had  L — ndh— rst  Iain, 

Whej.,  as  his  lamp  buni'd  dimly, 
The  ghosts  of  crpoiate  bndies  slain,* 

Stood  by  tiis  bed-side  grimly. 
Deid  aldermen,  who  once  could  feast, 

Bui  now,  themselves,  are  (ej  on, 
And  skeletons  of  may'rs  deceas'd, 
'J  his  doleful  chnrus  ted  on  : — 
"Uh  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
*' Unmerciful  Lord  L-ndh— rst, 
"Corpses  we, 
»' All  burk'd  by  thee, 
"Unmerciful  Lord  L— ndh— rst  I" 

"Avaunt,  ve  frights!"  his  Lordship  cried, 

"Ye  look  most  glum  and  vWiilely." 
"  Ah.  L— ndh— rst  dear  !"  the  frights  replied, 

"You've  u^'d  us  unpolilely. 
•*And  nnw,  uui^raeful  man!  to  drive 

"  Dead  bodies  from  ynur  door  sn, 
*'  Who  quite  corrupt  enough,  alive, 
"  You  've  made,  by  dea'h,  still  more  so. 
"t)h.  Ex-C;iiancellor, 
"Destruciive  Ex-Chaucellor, 
"See  thv  work, 
'^  Thou  second  Burke. 
** Destructive  Ex-Chancellor!** 

Bold  L— ndh— rst  ihen,  whom  nought  could  keep 

A^vake,  or  surely  that  would, 
Cried  "  Curse  yn.,  all"— fell  fast  asleep  — 

And  dream'  of  "  Small  v.  Aivvnod.'* 
Wliile,  shocked,  the  bodies  flew  duwn  stairs. 

But,  courteous  in  tliejr  panic. 
Precedence  tave  to  eh'tsls  of  majors, 
And  corpses  aldermanic, 

CrviniT,  "Oh,  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
"  That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rsl, 
*'  Not  Old  Scratch 
Himself  could  malch 
*'That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rs(.» 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  LATE  DESTRUCTIVE 
PROPOSITIONS  OF  THE  TORIES.^ 

BY  A  COMMON-COUNCILMAN. 

1835. 
I  3a(  me  down  in  my  easy  chair. 

To  read,  ns  usual,  the  iuorning;  papers; 
But  —  who  sh;iil  describe  my  look  of  despair, 

When  I  came  tn  Lefrov's  '■deslructive"  capers  ! 
Tint  Ae  — that,  of  all  l-ve  men,  Lefroy 
Should  join  in  the  cry  "  Destrnv,  destroy  !'* 
Who,  ev'n  when  a  b^be,  as  I  've  beard  said, 
On  Orange  conserve  ^^  as  chiefly  fed, 


J  Referring  to  the  line  t.iken  by  I^rd  L — ndh— rst, 
OB  (be  question  of  Municipal  Reform. 

*  These  verses  were  written  in  reference  to  the  Bill 
brought  in  at  this  time,  for  the  reform  of  Corporations, 
and  the  sweeping  ametidmenls.  proposed  by  Lord  Lynd 
nursi  and  other  Tory  Peers,  in  order  to  obstruct  Ihe 
measure 


And  never,  till  now,  a  movement  made 
'Jhat  wasn't  most  manlully  retrograde  I 
Only  thiiili  — to  sweep  frnm  the  light  of  day 
Ma\ors.  macts,  cners,  and  wigs  away; 
'Jo  aiinihila'e  —  never  to  rise  again  -^ 
A  whole  gtPeralicMi  of  aldermen, 
Nor  leave  Uiem  ev'n  the'  accusloni'd  tolls, 
To  ki-ep  lugdlier  iheir  bodies  and  souis  !  — 
At  a  lime,  tnn,  when  snug  posts  and  placij' 

Aie  tailing  away  from  u>,  one  by  one. 
Cr;ish—  crash—  hke  Ihe  mummy-cases 

Belznni.  in  Egyp!,  s^t  upon, 
Wheiein  lay  pickled,  in  slate  sublime, 
Conservatives  of  the  ancient  time  ;  — 
To  choose  such  a  moment  to  overset 
The  few  snug  nuisaiicts  left  us  yet ; 
To  add  to  Ihe  ruin  that  round  us  reigns, 
By  knncking  t>ul  mayors'  and  KAvn-clerks'  brains  j 
By  dnoming  all  corpoiate  bndies  lo  f.ill, 
Till  they  leave,  at  last,  no  bodies  al  all  — 
Nought  but  the  ghosts  of  by-gone  glory, 
Wrecks  of  a  world  that  once  was  Tory  !  — 
Where  pensive  criers,  like  owls  unblest, 

Robb'd  of  their  roost-;,  shnll  slili  hoot  o'er  them; 
Nnr  may'rs  shall  kiitnv  where  to  seek  a  itest. 

Till  Gatly  Knight  sh.ill  find  one  lor  ihem ;  — 
Till  mayors  and  kings,  wuh  none  to  rue 'cui, 

Shall  perish  all  in  nne  common  plague; 
And  the  s()vcrei§:ns  of  Belfast  and  Tuam 

Muat  jnin  their  brother,  Charles  Uix,  at  Prague. 

Thus  mu-M  I,  in  my  chair,  alone, 

(As  above  de^c^ib'd)  till  dozy  grown, 

And  ii'-dding  a-scnt  lo  my  own  opitnons, 

1  found  myself  borne  to  sleep's  dominions, 

Where,  lo.  before  my  dreaming  eyes, 

A  new  House  of  Commons  appear'd  to  rise, 

Whose  living  contents,  to  fancy's  survey, 

Seem'd  to  me  all  turn'd  topsy-iurvy— 

A  jumble  of  polypi  —  nobody  knew 

Wh.ch  was  itie  head  or  which  tlie  queue. 

Here,  Inglis,  luni'd  to  a  sai.s-culoile. 

Was  dancing  the  hiys  with  Hui^  and  Grate; 

I'herCy  ripe  for  riot.  Recorder  SMw 

Was  learning  from  Roebuck  "  Ca>ira  ;" 

While  Stanley  and  Graham,  as  jtoissarde  wenchsi 

Screim'd  "  a-ias .'"'  from  the  'lory  l>enches; 

And  reel  and  O'Conuell,  cheek  by  jowl, 

\Vere  dancing  an  Irish  carmagnole. 

The  Lord  preserve  us !  —  if  dreams  come  true, 
What  is  this  hapless  realm  to  do? 


ANTICIPATED  MEETING  OF  THE   BRITISH 
ASSOCIATION  IN  THE  YEAR  2b36. 

1836. 

After  some  observations  from  Dr.  M'Grig 

On  that  fossile  reliquium  call'd  Petrified  Wig, 

Or  PimtquohthiLS  —  a  specinien  rare 

Of  those  wigs,  made  for  an'ediluvlan  wear, 

Which,  ii  seems,  stood  the  Fluod  without  tuning  a 

Mr.  Tomkins  rose  up,  and  requested  attention 

'i  o  facts  no  less  wondrous  w  hich  he.  had  to  meJtioa. 

Some  large  fossil  creatures  had  lately  been  foun  I, 
Of  a  species  no  hinger  now  seen  above  ground. 
But  the  same  (as  toTomkins  most  clearly  apperrs) 
Wiih  those  animals,  lost  now  for  hundreds  of  years, 
Which  our  ancestors  us'd   to  call   "  Bishops"  and 

'  But  which  Tomkins  more  erudite  names  has  be- 

I  stowM  on, 

Having  callM  the  Peer  fossil  the'  Ar{itocratodon,3 
And,  finding  much  food  under  t'other  one's  ihnrax. 
Has  christen'd  that  creature  the'  Episcopus  Vor.tx. 

3  A  term  formed  on  the  model  if  the  Maslodon,  fcc.  j 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


435 


Lett  the  tavantei  and  di^ndies  thould  think  this  all 

fable, 
Mr  Toiiikiiis  iiiosl  kindly  prnduc'd,  on  the  table, 
A  saniple  (i  each  of  ihese  sjieci*-*  if  creaiures, 
Hulli  loPrably  human,  iii  !.triicluie  .-ind  fcaluies, 
Lxcfpl  that  Uic^  Kpi>cn{)us  seeriis,  Lord  deliver  us! 
To  've  been  carnivious  as  well  a>  graiiivorous  ; 
And  I  oiiikiiis,  oil  -earching  its  s'omach,  louud  there 
Large  luinp-,  such  as  no  modern  slouiach  could  bear. 
Of  a  substance  c  Ji'd  Tithe,  upon  which,  as  H  JS  said, 
The  wh  ie  tienu=  C  encum  formerly  fed  ; 
And  which  having  lately  himself  decompounded, 
Ju^t  10  ^ee  »  hat 't  wa^  made  of,  he  actually  found  it 
Compos'd  of  all  possible  Ci  okable  things 
That  e*er  Iripp'd  upon  tiotlets  or  soar'd  upon  winifs — 
All  products  of  earh,  both  gramineous,  herbaceous, 
Hordeacenus,  t:tbaceous,  and  eke  fannaccous, 
All  clubbing  their  quo'as,  to  glut  the  ccs^phagus 
Uf  this  ever  g<  eedy  aud  grasping  Tithophagus.^ 


**  Admire,"  exclaimM  Tonikins,  "  the  kind  dispeosa-  |«We 

IlOD 

**  By  Providence  shed  on  this  much-fa vour'd  riatjon, 
"In  sweeping  so  r. venous  a  race  f  on.  theeanh, 
''That  nnglit  el?e  have  occasion  d  a  general  dearth— 
*'And   thus  burying   'em,  deep  as  ev'n  Joe  Hume 

would  sink  'em, 
"  Wiih  ihe  tchtliyosnirua  and  Paloenrynchum, 
**  And  other  queer  ci'd£vaiit  things,  under  gr'>und  — 
"  Not  forgelliiig  lh.it  (o  sili^ed  youth,*  ^o  reunwu'd, 
"  Who  livM  just  lo  wi  ness  Ihe  Deluge— was  gratified 
*'  Much  by  the  sight,  and  has  siuce  been  found  strati- 
fied !" 


And  the  moment  Ihese  eewg\«s  fell  ofT,  they  became 

({uiie  a  new  sort  uf  creature —  so  h  innless  and  lame. 
That  Z"olngi!>is  migh',  fi>i  the  first  time,  maintain  'ew 
I'o  be  near  ;ikin  to  the  genus  Aumd/iur/t, 
And  the' expel iment,  tried  ao  succe^lully  then, 
Should  be  kepi  in  ienieiubi.>uce,  when  wanted  again. 


SONGS   OF   THE   CHURCH. 

NO.    ]  . 

LEAVE    ME    ALONE. 

A  PASTORAL  BALLAD. 

standing  on  the  defenoive.  All  that  we  Gay 
lo  them  iH,  'leave  us  alone.'  The  l':3to!jli8h*'d  Church 
is  pcirt  und  panel  of  tht;  tontittlutiuii  uf  thin  rouutr7> 
You  are  bound  to  coufurm  lu  Ihm  cnnBtilution.  We  unk 
ol  you  nolhiiig  more;— ie(  uj   alvne."  —  Letter  in  The 


This  picturesque  touch  —  quite  in  Tontkins*s  way— 
Call'd  forth  fium  ihe  sava7ites  a  general  hurrah; 
While  inquiries  ainou^  Iht-m  v^eitt  npidly  round, 
As  to  where  (his  yuung  stialihed  man  could  be  found. 
Ihe  "learn'd  'I  heljau's"  disc^'urse  next  as  livelily 

fl.wdon, 
To  sketch  t'other  wonder,  the'  Arislocratodon — 
An  animal,  differing  fiom  most  human  creatuies 
Not  80  niuch  in  speech,  inlaid  srucluie,  or  features, 
As  in  having  a  ceriam  excrescence,  T.  said. 
Which  in  f  im  of  a  coronet  grew  from  its  head, 
And  devolved  to  its  heirs,  when  the  creature  was 

dead ; 
Nnrniatierd  it,  while  this  heir-loom  was  transmitted. 
How  unfit  were  the  heads^  so  ihe  cunniet  tilled. 

He  (hen  mention'd  a  strange  zoological  fact, 

Whose  announcement  appear  d   uiuch  applause   to 

aitraci. 
In  France,  said  the  learned  profesor,  this  race 
Had  so  noxious  become,  m  some  centuries'  space, 
From  their  number^  and  strength,  that  the  land  was 

Every  one's   questiou  being,  **  What  *g  to  be  done 


iih' 


When,  lo  1  certain  knowing  ones —  *au07if,  mayhap, 
Who,  like   Hucklaud's    deep    fuUowerA,   understoud 

Silly  hinttd  that  nought  U[  on  earth  uas  so  good 

For  Ariitt'Ciatodons,  when  rampant  and  rude, 

As  tn  *  (»p,  nr  cuitail,  their  allowance  of  lood. 

■|  his  expednrul  was  tried,  and  a  proof  it  aflnrds 

Uf  the  elt'ect   that  short  cmutuns  will   have  upon 

lords  J 
For  this  whole  race  of  bipeds,  one  fine  sunimer's 

morn, 
Shed  their  coronets,  just  as  a  deer  sheds  his  hi 


X  The  zoological  term  for  a  tithe-eater. 

*The  mail  found  by  Schenchzer,  and  supposed  by 
him  to  have  witnessed  the  Deluge  ("homo  diluvii 
testis"),  but  »  ho  turned  out,  1  am  soriy  to  say,  lo  be 
merely  a  great  lizard. 

*  Particularly  (he  formition  called  Transition 
Tr»p. 


1838. 


,  Nov.  ic3b. 

Come,  list  to  my  pastoral  tones, 

lu  clover  mv  shepheids  I  keep  ; 
My  stalls  are  well  fumish'd  with  dronei, 

Whoe  preaching  invites  one  to  sleep. 
At  niy  spint  let  infidels  scoff. 

So  they  leave  but  the  substance  my  own 
For.  in  sooth,  I  'm  extremely  well  otf, 

If  the  world  will  but  lei  me  alone. 


Dissenters  are  grumblers,  we  know  ;— 

Though  excellent  men,  in  tlieir  way, 
They  never  like  things  to  l^e  40, 

Let  things  be  however  they  may. 
But  dissenting 'sa  trick  I  de'esl; 

And,  besides,  't  is  an  axiom  well  known, 
The  creed  that 's  best  p  nd  is  the  best, 

If  Ihe  unpaid  would  lei  ii  aluue. 

To  me,  I  own,  very  surprising 

Vour  Newmans  and  Puseys  all  seem, 
Who  s!art  first  with  raiii'nalizing, 

'i  hen  jump  to  the  nther  extreme. 
Far  l.eter,  Mwixt  nmisense  and  sense, 

A  nice /ja//-wa>  concern,  like  our  own, 
Where  piety  's  mix'd  up  wiih  pence, 

Aud  the  latter  are  nt'er  left  alone. 

Of  all  our  tormentors,  the  Press  is 

The  one  that  most  tears  us  lo  bits  ; 
And  now,  Mrs.  Woolfrey's  "excesses," 

Have  ihrowii  all  iis  im|»  into  fiis. 
The  dcv'ls  have  been  at  ns,  for  weeks, 

Aud   there 's    no    spying  w  hen   they  Ml    bav« 
done  ;  — 
Oh,  dear,  how  I  wish  Mr.  Breeks 

Had  iett  Mrs.  Woolfrey  alone  1 

If  any  need  pray  for  the  dead, 

'■]■  is  ihfibe  to  whom  post-obits  fall ; 

Since  wisely  hath  Solomon  ^aid, 
'T  IS  "  mitney  that  answereth  all.» 

But  ours  be  the  latrons  uho/iye;  — 

Fur,  nnce  in  their  glebe  they  are  thrown, 

The  de'd  have  no  liung  lo  give, 

Aud  therefijre  we  leave  them  alone. 

Though  in  morals  we  miy  not  excel. 

Such  perfection  is  rare  to  be  had  j 
A  good  lite  is,  of  course,  very  well, 

hut  good  living  IS  also  —  not  bad. 
And  v<.hen,  to  feed  earlti-worms,  1  go. 

Let  this  epitaph  stare  trom  my  stone, 
"  Here  lies  ihe  Right  Rev.  so  .md  so  ; 

*'  Pass,  stranger,  aud  —  leave  him  alooe.* 


436 


^SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


EFISILE  FROM  HENRY  OF  EX— T— R  TO 
JOHN  OF  TUAM. 


HIT  brother  nf  London, 
vie'-lge,   both  s.tcred  and 


iread 


Dear  John,  ai  I  know,  lik 
You've  sipp'd   of   all  k] 

No  doubt,  in  some  ancient  Joe  Millei 
What  Calo,  lh.ll  cuiiniui  old  Konian,  nnce  said  — 
1  hat  he  he'er  saw  t\\o  revrend  si  oihsayers  meet, 
•Lei  it  be  xvhere  it  might,  in  the  shrine  or  the  slreel, 
Without  W0(!derin§   the  rogues,  *iiiid  their  sotemD 

grimaces, 
Didn't  burst  out  a  laughing  in  e.nch  olher's  faces.! 
What  Cato  then  meant,  Ihnu^h  't  is  so  long  ago. 
Even  we  in  ihe  present  times  pretly  well  know ; 
Hiving  soolhayers  also,  who— somh  to  say,  John  — 
Are  no  better  in  some  points  than  tho>e  of  d.iys  gone, 
And  a  pair  of  whom,nieetiiig  (between  you  and  me), 
Might  lauijh  in  their  sleeves,  too— all  lawn  though 
the>  be. 

But  this,  by  the  way—  my  intention  being  chiefly 
In  this,  my  first  letter,  to  hint  to  you  briefly. 
That,  seeing  how  (orid  you  of  Tuuin  2  must  be, 
While  Afeum'sat  all  innes  ihc  main  point  with  roe, 
We  scarce  could  do  belter  than  form  an  alliance, 
Til  set  these  -ad  Anii-Cliurch  times  al  defiance: 
You,  John,  recollect,  being  slill  to  embark, 
Willi  no  share  in  tlie  firm  but  your  tiileS  and  mark; 
Or  ev'o  should  vou  feel  in  your  grandeur  inclin'd 
To  call  yourself  i'ope,  why,  1  shouldn't  much  mind ; 
While  my  church  as  usual  holds  fast  by  your  Tuum, 
And  every  one  else's,  to  make  it  all  Suum. 

Thus  allied,  I've  no  doubt  we  shall  nicely  agree, 
As  no  twms  can  be  liker.  in  most  points,  than  we ; 
B  th,  specimens  choice  of  that  niix'd  sort  of  beast, 
(See  Rev.  xiii.  1.)  a  p'  lilical  priest ; 
Both  mettlesome  chargers,  b  ith  brisk  pamphleteers. 
Ripe  and  ready  for  all  thai  sets  men  by  tlie  ears ; 
And  I,  at  leasi  one,  who  would  scorn  to  stick  longer 
By  any  giv'n  cause  than  I  found  it  the  stronger. 
And  who,  smooth  in  my  lurninscs,  as  if  on  a  swivel, 
Wbeu  the  tone  ecclesiastic  wo'u't  do,  try  the  civiL 

In  short  (not  to  bore  you,  ev'n  jttrc  divino) 

We've  the  same  cause  in  common,  John— all  but  the 

rhino  ; 
And  that  vulgar  surplus,  whale'er  it  may  be. 
At  you  're  not  us'd  to  cash,  John,  you  'd  best  leave  to 

And  so,  without  form- as  the  po  tman  wo'n'l  tarry— 
I  'm,  dear  Jack  of  Tuam,  Yours, 

EXETER  HARRY. 


SONG    OF    OLD    PUCK. 

"And  those  things  do  beat  please  me. 
Thai  l)eraM  prepont 


Puck  Jiiuior,  Mtdsummr. 

Who  wants  old  Puck  ?  for  lien 
A  mongrel  imp,  'iwixl  earth  .i 
Ready  alike  to  crawl  or  fly  ; 


,m  I, 

sky. 


Now  in  Ihe  mud,  now  in  the  air, 
And,  so  't  is  for  niischieC,  reckless  where. 
As  10  my  kiio^  ledge,  (here's  no  end  to't, 
For,  where  I  haven't  i',  1  pretend  to't; 
And,  'slead  -  f  laking  a  learn'd  degree 
At'omedull  univer>ity, 
Fuck  found  it  handier  tn  commence 
With  a  certain  share  of  impudt^nce, 
Which  pavses  one  off  as  le;irnM  and  clever 
Beyond  all  oiher  degrees  whatever  j 
And  enables  a  man  of  lively  sconce 
To  be  Mailer  v(  all  the  Arts  at  once. 
Nn  rnalter  what  ttie  science  mav  be- 
Ethics,  Physics.  Thenloey, 
Mathematics,  Hydrns"atics, 
^rost:itic>  orFneumaiics  — 
Whatever  it  be,  I  take  my  luck, 
>T  is  all  the  same  to  ancient  Puck  ; 
VVhn=»f  head  'a  so  full  of  all  sorts  of  warei, 
Tliaf  a  brother  imis  old  Smugden,  swears 
If  I  had  but  of  Zaw  a  linle  sm^tl  rin^. 
I  'd  iheu  be  perfect  ♦—which  is  flati'ring. 

My  skill  as  a  linguist  all  niusl  know 

Who  met  me  abioad  snnie  ni"nihs  a^o; 

(And  heard  me  abroad  exceedingly,  too, 

In  the  njoods  and  lenses  lAparhz  uoiw) 

When,  as  old  Chambaud's  sh^de  stoud  mule 

1  spr'ke  such  French  to  the  Institute 

As  puz/led  tl.ose  learned  'lheb.ins  much. 

To  know  if  't  uas  Sanscrit  or  High  Dutch, 

And  mi^ht  have  passM  with  the'  unnbserviEg 

As  one  of  the  unknown  tongues  of  Irving. 

As  to  my  taleni  for  ubiquity. 

There *s  nothing  I  ke  if  in  all  antiquity. 

Like  Mungo  (mv  peculiar  care) 

"  1  'm  here,  I  'm  det  e,  I  'm  ehery  where."  * 

If  any  one  's  wanted  to  take  the  chair, 

Upon  any  subject,  anywdere, 

Just  look  aroi  nd,  and  — Puck  is  there* 

When  slaugliter's  at  hand,  ynur  bird  of  prey 

U  never  known  tn  be  out  of  the  way  ; 

And  wherever  mischief's  to  be  got, 

There's  Puck  instatitetj  on  the  spot. 

Only  find  me  in  negus  and  applause, 
And  I  'm  your  man  for  aiiy  cause. 
If  wro7ig  the  cause,  the  more  my  delight ; 
But  I  don't  object  lo  it,  ev'n  when  right^ 
if  I  only  can  vex  s  >me  old  friend  by  »t ; 
There'    '^       '  ...-.--  .      -  . 

Fills  u 


only  can  vex  s  >me  old  friend  by  H  ; 
ere's  I)— rh— m,  for  iubtance;— m  worry  him 
Is  up  my  cup  of  bliss  lo  ilie  brim  ! 


(note   by   THE   EDITOR.) 

Those  who  are  anxious  to  run  a  muck 

Can't  do  better  than  jom  wiih  Puck. 

1  hey  *ll  find  him  bu7t  rfmi/e— spite  of  his  phia — 

And    in  fact,  his  great  ambition  is, 

While  i.Iaving  old  Puck  in  first-rate  style, 

To  be  thoiishl  Rubin  Good-feilow  all  the  while. 


POLICE    RE  PORTS. 
CASE     OF     IMPOSTURE. 


augur  augurem  aspiciens  sibi  tern-   Amongother  stray  fla^hmen,  difp^sM  of,  this  week, 
I      Was  a  ynunester,  nam'd  Si— nl— y,  genteelly  con- 
nected. 
Who  has  lately  been  parsing  ofF  coins,  as  antique. 
Which  have  prov'd  lo  be  thani  ones,  though  long 
unsuspected. 


«  Mirari 
peraret  a  i 

i  So  spelled  in  those  ancient  versicles  which  John, 
v>e  understand,  (t>  qutrnily  chants  :  — 
"Had  every  ones  num. 

You  wouldn't  have  Tiium,  _____^__ 

But  I  Rhould  have  Meum,  !,„._.  ■  ,       r^ 

And  sing  Te  Of  urn."  1      *  Verbatim,  as  said.     T 

.For  hi,  keepin,  the  title  he  may  quote  clas.ical    ^^,1^' l''Jj7„"i::'  '"  '' 
autboiity,  as  Horace  expresdy  says,  "Poieris  servare 
Tuam.»»  —  De  ^rt.  Poet.  v.  329.  —  Chronicle. 


tribute  is  only  equalled  | 

ledical  friend,  Dr. :  i 

connoit  en  tout;  et  menie  un  peuen  medeciae.''  j 
t  Song  in  "  The  Padlock." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


43? 


Tbe  ancictils,  our  readnfs  need  hinlly  l>e  told, 
Had  a  coin  they  call'd  "  Talenta,*'  for  wholesale 
deniAiiifs ;  1 

And  'I  was  some  of  said  coinage  this  youth  uns  so  hnid 
As  to  f.iricy  lic'd  got,  God  knows  how,  in  hi3  hands. 

People  look  him,  however.  like  fools,  at  his  word ; 

And  tlie^e  talents  (all  prizM  at  his  own  valuation,) 
VVeie  bid  for,  with  eagerness  ev'n  more  nbsurd 

'Jhan  has  often  dlstiuguish'd   this  great  thinking 
nation. 

Talk  of  wonders  one  now  and  then  sees  adverti'*d, 
"  filack  -wans"' — *'  Queen  Anne  farthings"— or  ev'n 
•*a  child  s  caul''— 
Much  and  ju^tly  as  all  these  rare  objects  are  priz'd, 
*'S(— nl— y's  talents'' ou:did  them— swans,  farthings, 
and  all  1 

At  lenRih,  some  mistrust  of  this  coin  got  abroad  j 
Kvenqiioi'dauibehevers  began  much  to  doubt  of  it; 

Some  rung  it,  some  lubb'd  it,  suspeciing  a  fiaud  — 
And  tlie  hard  rubs  it  got  rather  took  tbe  ehiue  out 
of  it. 

Others,  wishing  tn  break  the  poor  prodifvV  fall, 
Said  M  was  known  well  to  all  who  had  studied  the 
matter. 
That    the  Greeks  had   not  only  great    talents  but 

And  those  found  on  (he  youngster  were  clearly  the 
latter. 


While  othe 


vho  Tiew'd   the  grave  farce  with  a 


Seeintj  counterfeits  pass  thus  for  coinage  so  massVy 
By  way  of  a  hint  to  the  dolls  taken  in, 
Appropriately  quoted  Budasus  de  .^s«. 

In  short,  the  whole  sham  by  degrees  was  found  out, 
And  liiis  cnin,  which  they  cliose  by  such  fine  names 
to  call, 

I'rov'd  a  mere  lacker'd  article  — showy,  no  doubt, 
But,  ye  gods,  nut  the  true  Attic  'lalent  at  all. 

As  th'  impostor  was  still  young  enough  to  repent, 
And,  besides,  had  some  claims  to  a  grandee  con- 
nexion, 
Their  Worships  — considerate  for  once  —  only  sent 
The  young  '1  himblerig  off  to  the  House  of  Correc- 
tion. 


REFLECTIONS. 

ADDRESSED  TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE 
ARTICLE  OF  THE  CHPRCH  IN  THE  LAST 
NUMBER  OF  TUE 

QUARTERLY     REVIEW. 


That  ihey  've  zot  '*  too  much  Church,"  *t  is  all  non- 
sense and  stuff-; 
For  Church  is  like  Love,  of  which  Figaro  vow'd 
'J'hat  even  too  much  of  it  'a  nnt  quite  enough. 3 


t  For  an  account  of  the  coin  called  Talents  by  the 
ancients,  see  Budzeus  de  Asse,  and  the  other  writers 
de  Re  Nummaria. 

*  The  Talenium  Magnum  and  the  Taleutum  Atti- 
cum  appear  lo  have  been  the  same  coin. 

5  En  fail  d'amour,  trop  nienie  n'est  pas  assez. — 
Barlncr  de  ScviUe, 


I'ours  throuph  the  patient  his  black-coated  pills, 
Mor  cares  what  their  quality,  so  there's  but  quui* 
lily. 

I  verily  think,  'twould  be  worth  England's  while 
To  consider,  for  Padtly's  own  beiielit,  whether 

»T  would  not  be  as  well  to  give  up  the  green  isle 
Tu  the  care,  wear  and    tear  of  (he  Chuich  alto 
gether. 

The  Irish  are  well  usM  to  treatment  so  pleasant; 
The   harlot  Chutch  gave  them  to  Henry  Tlanta- 
genet,* 
And  now,  if  King  William  would  make  them  a  pre- 
sent 
To  t'other  chaste  lady— ye  Saints,  just  imagine  ill 

Chief  Sees.,  Lord-Lieutenants,  Commanders-in-chief, 
Might    then    all    be    cull'd    from    the*    episcopal 
benches ; 
While  cor.neU  in  black  would  afford  some  relief 
From  (he  hue  th.it  reminds  one  of  the' old  scarlet 
wench's. 

Think  how  fierce  at  a  charge  (bein^  practis'd  'herein) 
The  Right  Keverend  Brigadier  Th— 11— tis  would 
slash  ON  ! 
How  General  jJl-mf-d,  through  thick  and  through 


For,  in  one  point  alone  do  the  amply  fed  race 
iM  bishopi  to  beggars  >imilitude  bear  — 

That,  set  ihem  on  tiorseback,  in  full  steeple  chase, 
And  they'll  ride,  if  not  pull'd  up  in  time  —  you 
know  where. 

But,  bless  ynu,  in  Ireland,  that  matters  not  much, 
Where  atlairs  have  for  centuries  gone  the  same 

And  a  good  stanch  Conservative's  system  is  such 
That   he'd   back    even    Beelzebub's    long-founded 
sway. 

I  am  therefore,  dear  fjuarterly.  quite  of  your  mind ; — 
Church,  Church,  in  all  sliapts,  into  Erin  let 's  pour; 

And  *,he  more  she  rejeclclh  our  med'cine  so  kind, 
The  more  let  'a  repeat  it— "Black  dose,  as  bufore." 

Let  Coercion,  that  peace  maker,  gn  hand  in  hand 
With  deniure-ey'd  Conversion,  lit  sister  and  bro- 
ther; 

And,  covering  with  prisons  and  churches  the  land. 
All  that  wo'n't  g^o  lo  o»/e,  we  '11  put  into  the  other. 

For  the  sole,  leading  maxim  of  us  who 're  inclin'd 
To  rule  over  Ireland,  not  well,  but  religiously, 

Is  to  treat  her  like  ladies,  who  've  just  been  confin'd 
(Or  who  oxight  to  be  so)  and  lo  church  her  piodigi- 
ously. 


NEVV  GRAND   EXHIBITION   OF  MODELS  OF 
THE  TWO  HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT. 

Come,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  here  ye  may  view 

An  exact  and  naf'ral  representation 
(Like  Siburn's  Model  of  Watetlno  i) 
I      Of  the  Lords  and  Commons  of  this  here  nation. 

There  ihey  are --all  cut  out  in  cork — 

I  be  *'  Collective  Wisdom"  wondrous  to  see; 
My  eyes!  when  all  them  heads  are  at  work, 
I      What  a  vastly  weighty  consarn  it  must  be. 


4  Grant  of  Ireland  to  Henry  II.  by  Pope  Adrian. 
»  One  of  the  most  interesting  and  curious  of  all  the 
exhibitions  of  the  day. 


37* 


438 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


As  for  the  '*  wisdom,"  —  that  may  come  anon  ; 

Though,  to  say  Irulh,  we  somelmiej  see 
(And  !  hnd  the  jiheiininenon  no  unconinion  'un) 

A  man  who's  M.  P.  with  a  head  that's  M.  T. 

Our  Lords  are  rather  too  small,  't  is  true  ; 

But  Ihei  dri  well  enough  for  Cal.iiiel  shelves; 
And,  be>ides,— MJ/iat  's  anian  with  creeturs  to  do 

That  make  such  wary  small  ligures  themselves  ? 

There  —  don't  touch  those  lords,  my  pretty  oears 

Curse  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  neiv  creation. 

Them  yonder 's  our  bishops  —  "to  whom  much  is 

giv'n," 
And  who 're  ready  to  take  as  much  more  as  you 
please : 
The  seeis  of  old  limes  5aw  visions  of  heaven, 
But  these  holy  seers  see  nothing  but  Sees. 

Like  old  Atlas  i  (the  chap,  in  Cheapside,  there  below,) 
T  is  for  so  much  per  cent,  they  lake  heav'n  on  Iheir 
shoulders ; 

And  joy  'I  is  to  know  thai  old  High  Church  and  Co., 
Though  not  capital  priests,  are  such  capital-holders. 

There's  one  on  'em,  Ph— lip— ts.  who  noiv  is  away. 
As  we  're  having  him  fill'd  wilh  bumbus'ible  stuff, 

Small  crackers  and  squibs,  for  a  great  gala-day, 
When  we  annually  fire  his  Right  Reverence  off. 

•T  would  do  your  heart  good,  ma'am,  then  to  be  by. 

When,  bursting  wilh  gunpowder,  'stead  of  with  bile, 
Crack,  crack,  goes  the  bishop,  w  hile  dowagers  cry, 

"  How  like  the  dear  man,  holh  in  matter  and  style !" 

Should  you  want  a  few  Peers  and  M.P.s,  to  bestow. 
As  presents  to  friends,  we  can  recommend  these  :  ^ 

Our  nobles  are  conie  diiwn  to  nine-pence,  you  know 
And  we  chirge  hut  a  penny  apiece  for  M  P.s.        * 

Those  of  io((Zc-corks  made  lake  most  wilh  the  trade, 
(At  least,  'niong  such  as  niv  Irish  writ  summons,) 
Of  old  whiskey  corks  our  (J'Connells  are  made. 
But  those  we  make  Shaws  and  Lefroys  of,  are  rum 
'uns. 
So,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  &c.  &c. 

Da  Capo, 


ANNOUNCEMENT  OF  A  NEW  GRAND  AC- 
CELERATION COMPANY  FOR  THE  PROMO- 
TION OF  THE  SPEED  OF  LITERATURE. 

Loud  complaints  being  made,  in  these  quick-readine 

limes,  * 

Of  too  slack  a  supply,  both  of  prose  works  and 

rhymes, 
A  new  Company,  form'd  on  the  keep-moving  plan 
First  piopo>d  by  ihegieat  Hrm  of  Calch-'eni.«  ho-cin 
Beg  to  say  ihey  've  iioiv  ready,  in  full  wind  and  speed. 
Some  fast-going  authors,  of  <|uile  a  new  breed  — 
Such  as  not  he  who  ru;ij  but  who  pallojis  may  read- 
And  who,  if  \vell  curried  and  fed,  Ihey  've  no  doubt 
Will  heal  even  Benlley's  swifl  stud  out  and  out. 
II  is  true,  in  these  days,  such  a  drug  is  renown. 
We've  "Immortals 'as  rife  as  M.P.s  about  town: 
And  not  a  Blue's  rout  but  can  ofl-baiid  supply 
Some  invalid  bard  who  's  insur'd  "  not  to  die." 


I  The  sign  of  the  Insurance  Office  in  Cheapside. 
!>  Producing  a  bag  full  of  lords  and  gentlemen. 


Still,  lei  England  but  once  try  owr  aulbors,  she 'II  Hud 
How  fast  Ihey  "11  leave  ev'n  these  Immortals  behiltd  : 
And  how  truly  the  toils  of  Alcides  were  light, 
Conip:.r'd  with  his  toil  who  can  read  all  Ihey  wnte. 

In  fact,  there's  no  saying,  50  gainful  the  trade, 
How  fast  immiTlalities  now  m-y  be  made; 
Since  Helicon  never  will  want  an  "  Undying  One," 
As  long  as  the  public  continues  a  Buying  One  ; 
And  the  company  hope  yet  to  wiiness  the  hour, 
When,  by  strongly  applying  the  mare-niotive  3  1  ower, 
A  three-decker  novel,  'midst  oceans  of  praise, 
May  be  wrilien,  launch'd,  read,  and— forgot,  in  three 
days! 

In  addition  to  all  this  stupendous  celerity, 
Which  —  to  the  no  small  relief  of  posterity  — 
Pays  off  at  sight  the  whole  debit  of  fame, 
Nor  troubles  futurily  ev'n  with  a  name 
(A  prjecl  thai  wo'ii'l  as  much  tickle  Tom  Tegg  as  u», 
S:nce  'I  will  rub  him  of  his  srcond-priced  Pegasus ) ; 
We,  the  Company — still  more  to  show  how  immense 
Is  the  power  o'er  the  mind  of  pounds,  shillings,  and 

pence ; 
And  thit  not  even  Phcebus  himself,  in  our  day. 
Could  get  up  a  lay  without  first  an  outlay  — 
Beg  to  add,  as  our  literatuie  soon  may  compare, 
In  its  quick  make  and  vent,  with  our  Birmingham 

And  it  doesn't  at  all  matter  in  either  of  Iheee  lines. 

How  sham  is  the  article,  so  it  but  ihints,— 

We  keep  authors  ready,  all  perch'd,  pen  in  hand. 

To  write  otl',  in  any  giv'n  st>le,  al  coniniand. 

No  matter  what  bard,  be  he  living  or  dead,* 

Ask  a  work  from  his  pen,  and  't  is  done  soon  as  said : 

There  being,  on  Ih'  esUblishment,  six  Waller  Scotis, 

One  capital  Wordsworth,  and  Soulheys  in  lots;  — 

Three  choice  Mrs.  Nurlons,  all  singing  like  syrens. 

While  most  of  our  pallid  young  clerks  are  Lord 

Bjrnns- 
Then  we  've  •  •  *s  and  •  •  *s  (for  whom  there's  small 

call), 
And  •  •  •»  and  *  •  'a  (for  whom  no  call  at  all). 

In  short,  whosoe'er  the  lasl  "  Lion"  mav  be. 

We've  a  Bottom  who  'II  copy  his  roar  i  to  a  T, 

And  so  well,  that  not  one  of  the  buyers  who've  got 

'em 
Can  tell  which  is  lion,  and  which  only  Bottom. 

N.  B.  —  The  company,  since  they  set  up  in  this  line, 
H  ive  niov'd  Iheir  concern,  and  are  now  al  the  sign 
Of  ihe  Muse's  Velocipede,  Fleet  Street,  where  all 
Who  wish  well  to  the  scheme  are  invited  to  call. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LATE  DINNER 
TO  DAN. 

From  tongue  to  tongue  Ihe  rumour  flew; 
All  ask'd,  aghast,  "Is't  true?  is 'I  true?" 

Bui  none  knew  >>  hether  'I  was  fact  or  fable  1 
And  still  Ihe  unholy  rumour  ran. 
From  Tory  woman  to  Tory  man. 

Though  none  to  come  at  the  truth  was  able  — 
Till,  lo,  al  lasl.  Ihe  fict  came  out. 
The  horrible  fact,  beyond  all  doubt. 

That  Dan  had  dind  al  Ihe  Viceroy's  table- 
Had  Hesh'd  his  Popi-h  knife  and  fork 
In  the  heart  of  th'  Establish'd  mutton  and  pork  1 


8       "  *T  is  money  makes  the  mare  to  go.'* 
*  We  have  lodgings  apart  for  our  posthumous  peo- 
ple. 
As  we  find  thai,  if  left  wilh  the  live  ones,  they 
keep  ill. 
»  "  Bottom :  Let  nie  play  Ihe  lion ;  I  will  roar  yoy 
as  't  were  any  nightingale  " 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


439 


Whn  can  forg«t  the  deep  sensation 

'I'hal  news  pniduc'd  in  this  orthodox  nation? 

Deans,  rectors,  cuiates  ^H  agreed. 

If  Oan  ivas  allow'd  al  th«  C;istle  to  feed, 

'T  was  clearly  aii  up  wilh  the  Frotes'ant  creed  1 

There  haduN,  itidctrd.  such  an  apparition 

Been  heard  of,  in  Dublin,  aince  ihat  day 
When,  during  the  first  ^land  exhibitioa 

Ol  D.'U  Giovantii,  that  nan)|;liiy  play, 
There  appearVl,  as  if  rais'd  hy  necroiiiaQcerSi 
All  exira  devd  anions  the  dancers  ! 
Ws— ev'iyone  saw,  uith  lea-ful  Ihrill, 
That  a  dtvil  lou  much  had  join'd  the  fjuadritje  ;  t 
And  sulphur  vva^  suicll,  and  the  lamps  let  fall 
A  grim,  gretn  light  o'er  the  ghasilv  ball, 
And  the  poor  sfuim  devNs  didn't  like  it  at  all ; 
For,  Ihey  knew  from  whence  th'  intruder  hid  come, 
Though  he  left,  t/tot  mghi,  his  tail  at  home. 

This  fact,  we  see,  is  a  parallel  case 

To  Ihe  diiiTier  that,  some  w.eks  since,  took  place. 

V'/h  the  dillert-nce  slight  of  fiend  and  man, 

at  shows  what  a  nest  of  I'npish  sinners 
That  ci'y  must  be,  where  the  devil  and  Dan 

May  thus  drop  in,  at  (juadiilles  and  dinnen  I 

Rut,  mark  Ihe  end  of  these  foul  proceedings, 
These  demon  ho)  s  and  Popish  feedii)gs. 
Some  comfort  »t  will  be  —  to  those,  at  least, 

VVho*ve  studied  this  awful  dinner  question -- 
To  know  thai  Dan,  on  the  night  of  that  feast, 

Was  seiz'd  with  a  dreadful  indigesUon; 
That  envoys  were  sent,  posi-haste,  to  his  pnest, 
To  come  and  absolve  the  sufi'ering  sinner, 
For  eating  so  much  at  a  heretic  dinner  j 
And  sjine  good  people  were  even  afraid 
That  Petl's  old  conlectiooer  — s'ill  at  the  trade- 
Had  poison'd  the  Papist  with  orangeade. 


NEW  HOSPITAL  FOR  SICK  LITERATI. 

With  all  humility  we  beg 

To  infoini  the  public,  that  Tom  Tegj  — 

Known  for  his  spunky  spt-culations, 

In  buying  up  dead  reputations. 

And,  by  a  mode  of  galvuiizing 

Which,  all  must  own,  is  qui  e  surprising, 

Making  dead  authors  move  ■•gain, 

As  though  they  still  were  living  men  j— > 

All  this,  to  s  nianagd,  in  a  trice. 

By  thn^e  two  migic  words,  "  Half  Price,*' 

Which  brings  the  charm  sn  quick  about, 

That  v\orn-out  poet-,  left  wiihout 

A  second /oot  uheie'O  to  st.ind, 

Are  made  to  go  at  second  hand; 

'T  will  plea>e  the  public,  we  repeat. 

To  learn  that  Tegg,  who  works  this  feat. 

And,  therefore,  knows  wliat  care  it  ueeds 

To  keep  alive  Fame's  invalids, 

Has  op'd  an  Ho-pital,  in  town. 

For  ca^es  of  knock'd-up  renown  — 

Falls,  fractures,  dangerous  Epcjits 

(Uy  some  cali'd  Ca^iiop),  stabs  from  wits  ; 

And.  of  all  wounds  for  wh.ch  they're  nurst, 

Dead  cuts  from  publishers,  the  worst  ;— 

All  these,  and  other  such  fatalities. 

That  happen  to  frail  immortalities, 

By  Tegs;  are  so  expertly  tre^ited, 

That  off-times,  when  the  cure*8  completed, 

The  patient 's  m^de  robus'  enough 

To  stand  a  few  more  rounds  of  puff^ 

Till,  like  the  ghosts  of  Dante's  lay, 

He's  putPd  into  thin  air  away  ! 

A«  titled  poets  (being  phenomenons) 

l>on't  like  b)  mix  wiih  low  and  common  'una, 


History  of  the  Irish  Stage, 


Tegg's  Ho-ipital  has  separate  ward» 

Express  for  liiemry  lords, 

Where  projti-peers.  of  immoderate  length, 

Arennrs'd,  when  they've  out  gro\\n  their  sirengtbi 

And  poets,  xvhom  their  friends  deNpaii  of, 

Are  —  put  to  bed  and  taken  care  of. 

Tegg  begs  to  contradict  a  story, 

Now  current  both  with  Whig  and  Tory, 

That  Doctor  W— rb— t— n,  M.  P., 

Weil  known  for  his  antipathy, 

His  deadly  hate,  good  man,  to  all 

The  race  of  poets,  gieai  and  small  — 

So  much,  Ihat  he's  been  heard  to  own, 

He  would  most  uillingly  cut  down 

Ihe  holiest  gioves  on  Pindus'  mount. 

To  tiTii  Ihe  limber  to  account !  — 

Tlie  st'Ty  actually  goes,  that  he 

P^e^cIlbes  at  'I'eggs  Infirmary; 

And  oft,  not  only  stints,  for  spite, 

1  he  p.itients  in  Iheir  copy-righ', 

Bui  that,  on  being  call'd  in  lately 

To  two  sick  poels,  sutlering  greatly, 

This  vaticidal  Docior  sent  itiem 

So  strong  a  dose  of  Jeremy  Benfham, 

'Ihat  one  of  the  poor  bai-ds  but  cried, 

•M)h,  Jerry.  Jerry  I"  and  then  died  ; 

While  t'other.  Ihougli  less  stufi'  was  given, 

Is  on  hii  road,  't  is  feai'd,  to  heaven  I 


Of  this  event,  ho 


unpleasant, 

at  present,- 


Tegg  means  to  say  no  moie  at  prt 
Intending  shortly  to  prepare 
A  statement  of  the  whole  atlair, 
With  full  accounts,  at  the  same  ti 


Subsc 
Thai 


}  tprose  and  rhyii.e), 
wnii  cveiy  author's  name, 
/  on  the  S(cK  List  of  Fame. 


RELIGION    AND    TRADE 


'  Sir  Robf  rt  Peel  believed  It  was  necessnry  to  originate  all 
respecting    religion    nud  trade    in  o   Cuinmitlee  of  the 
'"      "■         ■    "  un,  May  22.  1B30. 


-Church  Extei 


Say,  who  was  the  wag,  indecorously  willy. 
Who  first,  in  a  s'alu'e,  thi^  libel  convey'd; 

And  thus  slily  referr'd  to  fhe  self-same  committse, 
As  matters  congenial,  Religinn  and  Trade? 

Oh,  surely,   my  Ph— Up— ts,  'twas  thou  did'st  Ibe 

For  none  but  thyself,  or  some  pluralist  brother, 
Accu^tonl'd  to  mix  up  ttie  crWl  witli  the  creed. 

Could  bring  such  a  pair  thus  to  tvMU  with  each 
other. 

And  yet,  when  one  thinks  of  times  present  and  gone, 
One  is  forc'd  to  confess,  on  maimer  refltciion, 

That  't  isn't  in  the  eyes  of  committees  alone 
That  the  shrine  and  the  t>hop  seem  to  have  some 
connection. 

Not  10  mention  those  monarchs  of  Asia's  fair  land, 
Whose  civil  list  all  la  in  *  god-money'*  paid  j 

And  where  the  whole  people,  by  royal  command. 
Buy  their  gods  at  the  government  mart,  ready 
made;»  — 

There  was  also  (as  menlion'd,  in  rhyme  and  in  prose, 

is) 
Gold  heap'd,  throughout  Egypt,  on  every  shrine, 
To  make  rings  f;)r  right  reverend  crocodile^'  noses  — 
Just  such  as,  my  Ph-llp— ts,  would  look  well  in 

thine. 


*  The  Birmans  may  not  buy  the  sacred  marble  in 
ma35,  but  must  purchase  figures  of  the  deity  already 
made.  —  Symcs. 


440 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


But  one  needn't  fly  off,  in  this  erudite  mood  ; 

And  t  is  clear,  without  going  lo  regions  so  sunny, 
That  priests  love  to  do  ttie  Itast  possible  good. 

For  the  largest  most  possible  quantum  of  money, 

"Of  him»**  saiih  the  lext,  '*unto  whom  much  is  given, 
"Of  him  much,  in  turn,  will  be  also  required  :'' — 

"By  mc,"  quolh  the  sleek  and  obese  man  of  heaven— 
"Give  a<i  iiiucU  as  you  will  —  more  will  still  be 
debir'd." 

More  money!  more  churches  ! —  oh,  Nimrod,  had'st 

thou 

*Sff:.id  of  rotoer-exlension,  some  shorter  way  gone — 

Had'bt  Ihou  known  by  what  niethods  we  mount  to 

heav'n  71010, 

And    tried    C'Aurc/i-extension,   the  feat  bad  been 


MUSINGS, 

SUGGESTED   BY   THE    LATE   PROMOTION  OF 
MRS,   NETHERCOAT. 

•'The  widow  Nctherciiat  i«  appointed  gaoler  of  Loaghrea, 
in  the  room  of  her  deceabcU  hunbuud." ~- Limerick 
Chronicle. 

Whether  as  queens  or  subjects,  in  these  days, 

Wniiien  s-eeiii  formM  to  grace  alike  each  station;— 

As  Captain  Flaherly  gallantly  says, 

"You,  ladies,  are  the  lords  of  ihe  creation  !" 

Thus  e'er  my  mind  did  prescient  visions  float 
Of  alt  thai  matchless  woman  yet  may  be; 

When,  hark,  In  rumours  less  anJ  Ie>s  remote, 
Came  the  glad  news  o*er  Erin's  ambient  sea, 

The  important  news  —  that  Mis.  Nethercoat 
Had  been  appointed  gaoler  of  Lnughrea  ; 

Yes,  mark  it,  Hisioiy  —  Nethercoat  is  dead, 

And  Mrs.  N.  now  rules  his  realm  instead  ; 

Hers  the  high  'ask  to  wield  the'  uplocking  keys, 

To  rivet  rogues  and  reign  o'er  Rapparees! 

Thus,  while  your  bUisfrers  of  ihe  Tory  school 
Find  Ireland'?  sanest  sons  so  fiaid  to  rule, 
One  meek  ejM  nntron.  in  Whig  doctrines  nurst. 
Is  all  that's  ask'd  to  curb  the  maddest,  worst! 

Show  me  the  man  that  dares,  with  blushless  brow, 

Prate  about  Erin'   »age  and  rrot  now  ;  — 

Now,  when  her  temperance  forms  her  sole  excess ; 

When  loiig-lov"d  whiskey,  fading  from  ber  sight, 
"Small  by  deerees,  and  beautifully  less" 

Will  soon,  like  other  spirits^  vanish  quite  ; 
When  4if  red  coa's  Ihp  nunibt;r's  giown  so  smnll. 

That  sonn,  to  cheer  the  warlike  patsnn's  eyes, 
No  glimpse  of  scarlet  will  be  seen  a'  all. 

Save, that  which  she  of  l^abyion  supplies;  — 
Or,  at  the  m^st,  a  corporal'd  guard  will  be. 

Of  Ireland's  red  defence  the  sole  remains; 
While  of  its  ga^ls  bright  woman  keeps  the  key, 

And  captive  Paddies  laneuish  in  her  chains  ! 
Long  niay  such  lot  be  Eiin's,  long  be  mine  ! 
Oh  yes—  if  ev'n  this  world,  though  bright  it  shine, 

In  Wisdom's  eyes  a  prison-house  must  be, 
At  lea^t  let  woman's  hand  our  fetters  twine. 

And  blitlie  I'll  sing,  more  joyous  than  if  free, 

The  Nethercoats,  the  Nethercoats  for  me  I 


Of  all  such  dowagers  —  he  or  she  — 
(No  matter  tlie  sex,  so  they  dowagers  be,) 
Whose  opinions,  concerning  Church  and  State, 
From  about  Ihe  time  of  the  Curfew  d.ite  — 
Staunch  sticklers  still  for  days  by-gooe, 
And  admiring  them  for  their  rust  alone  — 
To  whom  if  we  would  a  leader  give, 
VVortliy  their  tastes  conservative, 
We  need  but  some  mummy-stae-^man  raise. 
Who  was  pickled  and  pntted  in  Ptolemy's  days; 
For  that 's  the  man,  if  waked  from  his  shelf 
To  coi  serve  and  swaddle  this  world,  like  hint 
self. 

Such,  we  're  happy  lo  state,  are  the  old  Ae-dames 
Who  've    met    in    committee,   and    given    tbcir 

names 
(In  good  hieroglyphics),  with  kind  intent 
'I  o  pay  some  handsome  compliment 
To  their  si:.ter«author,  the  nameless  he. 
Who  wrote,  in  the  last  new  Quarttrly^ 
That  charming  assault  upon  Papery  j 
An  arlicle  justly  prrzed  by  them, 
A"'  a  pel  feet  antediluvian  gpm  — 
The  work,  as  Sir  Sampson  Legend  would  say, 
Of  some  ''fellow  the  Flood  couldn't  wash  away."* 

The  fund  being  nis'd,  there  remain'd  but  to  see 
What  the  dowager-.iu'bor's  gift  was  to  be. 
And  here,  I  mu.l  say,  Ihe  Sisters  Blue 
Shov%'d  delicale  taste  and  judgmenl  too. 
For,  finding  Ihe  poor  man  sufl'ering  greatly 
From  the  awful  stuff  he  has  thrown  up  lately  — 
So  much  so,  indeed,  to  the  alarm  of  all. 
As  to  bring  on  a  fit  of  what  doctors  call 
The  Aniipipistico-monomania 
(I  'm  sorry  wiib  such  a  long  word  to  delaio  ye). 
They  've  acted  the  part  of  a  kind  physician, 
By  suiting  fheir  gift  to  the  p.itienfs  condiiion; 
And,  as  soon  as  't  is  ready  for  presentaiion, 
We  shall  publish  the  facis.  for  the  gratiiicjtion 
Of  this  highly-favour'd  and  Proteslaut  nation, 

Meanwliile,  to  the  great  alarm  of  his  neighboursi 
He  still  continues  his  Quarterly  \:^.hoMTs } 
And  often  has  strong  No- Popery  fits. 
Which  frighten  his  old  nurse  out  of  her  wits. 
Sonielimes  he  screams,  like  Scrub  in  the  play,^ 
"  Thieves  1  Jesuits  !  Popery  !■'  nighl  and  day  ; 
Takes  ihe  Printers  Devi!  for  Doctor  Dens.a 
And  shies  at  him  hea|)s  of  High-church  pens  ;  * 
Which  the  Devil  (himself  a  louchy  Dissenter) 
Feels  all  in  his  hide,  like  arrows,  enter. 
'Stead   of   swallowing  wholesome  stuff  from  the 

druggist's, 
He  will  keep  raving  of  "  Irish  Thuggisis  j"  5 
Tells  us  they  all  go  murdering,  for  fun, 
From  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun, 
P"p,  pop,  ,is  fast  as  a  minute-gun  IS 
If  -isk'd,  how  comes  it  ihe  gown  and  Ciissock.  are 
Safe  and  fat,  'mid  this  general  massacre  — 
How  haps  it  that  Pafs  own  population 
But  swarms  Ihe  more  for  this  Irucidation  — 


INTENDED  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF    the  Ulster 
AN  ARTICLE   IN   THE   LAST  NUMBER  OF 
THE     QUARIT.RLY     REVIEW,    ENTITLED 
••ROMANISM   IN   IRELAND." 


1  See  Congreve's  Love  for  Love. 
9  Beaux  S'ratagem. 

3  The  writer  of  the  article  has  groped  about,  with 
much  success,  in  whit  he  calls  "  the  dark  recesses  of 
Dr.  Dens' disquisitions."— Quaricr/y  Reutew. 

4  *'Pray.  may  we  ask,  has  there  been  any  rebellious 
movement  of  Popery  in  Ireland,  since  the  planting  of 
'      ■   s,  in  wliirh  something  of  the  kind 

among    the  Presbyterians    of   Ihe 


It  glads  us  much  to  be  able  to  s:»y, 

Th.it  \  meeting  is  fix'd,  for  some  early  day. 


North  ?"-/iid 

»  "  Lord  I^ortnn,  for  instance,  who,  for  cleiring  his 
estate  of  a  village  of  Irish  I  huggi-ts,"  &c.  &c — Ibid 

6  "Observe  how  murder  after  murdei  is  conitnitted 
like  minute-guns."— /fcid. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


441 


He  refers  you,  for  all  such  memonnda, 
To  tlic  "archives  of  the  Propaganda l^^i 

This  is  all  we  've  got,  for  the  present,  In  say  — 
But  shall  lake  up  the  subject  some  (ulure  day. 


GRAND  DINNER  OF  TYPE  AND  CO. 
A   POOR    poet's    DRKAM.* 

\i  I  «ate  in  my  study,  lone  and  still. 

Thinking  of  Sergeant  TalfourJ's  Itlll, 

And  the  speech  by  Lawyer  Suaden  made 

In  spirit  congenial,  for  "the  Trade," 

Sudden  1  sunk  to  sleep,  and,  lo, 

llpon  Fancy's  reinless  nighl-mare  flitting, 

I  fiiund  myself,  in  a  second  or  so, 

At  Ihe  table  of  Messrs.  Type  and  Co. 
VVilh  a  goodly  group  of  diners  sitling;- 

All  in  the  prinling  aud  publishing  line, 

Drest,  I  tlioiighi,  exlreniely  line. 

And  sippins,  like  lords,  their  rosy  wine; 

While  I,  in  a  slate  near  iiianiii-n, 

VVilh  cal  Ihal  hadn't  much  nap  lo  spare 

(Having  just  gone  into  its  second  ediijon). 
Was  the  only  wretch  of  an  author  there. 

But  Ihink,  how  great  w.is  my  suiprise. 
When  1  saw,  in  casling  lound  my  cjes. 

That  Ihe  dishc~,  seiil  up  by  Type's  she-cooks, 
Rore  all,  in  appearance,  Ihe  shape  ol  books  ; 
Large  folios  — God  knows  where  Iheygot'em, 
In  these  small  limes  —  at  lop  and  bolloni 
And  quartos  (such  a'^  Ihc  Press  provides 
For  no  one  lo  read  them)  down  Ihe  sides. 
Then  flash'd  a  horrible  thoni;ht  on  my  brain. 
And  I  said  lo  myself,  "  '  I'  is  all  mo  plain, 
•'  Like  those,  will  known  in  school  quolalions, 
"  Whoa'e  up  fnrdiuner  Iheir  own  relalions, 
'•  I  see  now,  before  me,  smoking  here,  ~ 
"  Ihe  bodies  and  bones  of  my  bnlhren  dear; 
"  Bright  sons  of  ihe  lyric  and  epic  Muse, 
"  Ail  cut  up  in  cntle:s,  or  hash'd  in  slews; 
"Theii  uiorkj,  a  lighl  through  ages  lo  go,— 
"  Themselves,  eaien  up  by  Type  and  Co. !' 

While  thus  I  moralized,  on  ihey  went, 
Finding  the  fare  inosl  excellent ; 
And  all  so  kindly,  brother  10  brother. 
Helping  the  lidliits  lo  each  olher: 
"  A  slice  of  Houlliey  lei  me  send  yon''  — 
"Ibis  cut  of  Campbell  1  recommend  you"  — 
•'  And  here,  my  friends,  is  a  Ireal  indeed, 
"The  imnioital  Wordsworth  fricassee'd  !" 

Thus  having,  the  cormorants,  fed  some  lime. 

Upon  joints  of  poelry—  all  of  the  prime  — 

With  also  (as  Tvpe  in  a  whi-per  aierr'd  it) 

"  Cold  prose  on  Ihe  sideboard,  for  such  as  preferr'd 

if— 
They  rested  awhile,  to  recruit  their  force. 
Then  pounc'd,  like  kites,  on  the  second  course, 
Which  was  singing-bird- merely  — Moore  and  others— 
Who  all  went  theWay  of  ihcir  larger  brothers; 
And,  num'rnus  now  Ihough  such  songsters  be, 
*T  was  really  quite  di^tressiog  to  see 
A  whole  dishful  of  Toms  —  Moore,  Dibdin,  Bayly,— 
Billed  by  Type  and  Co.  so  gaily  ! 


And  Type's  old  port,  to  my  horror  I  found 
Was  in  skulls  of  bards  seni  merrily  round. 
And  sliil  as  each  well-till'd  cranium  came, 
A  health  was  pledg'd  lo  its  ownei's  name; 
Willie  Typo  said  slily,  midst  general  laughter, 
We  eat  Ihem  up  first,  then  drink  to  lliem  alter." 

There  was  )io  standing  this  -  incensed  1  broke 
11  my  bonds  of  sleep,  and  indignant  woke, 

Exclaiming,  ••  llh  shades  of  oilier  limes, 

Whose  voices  still  sound,  like  deathless  chlinej 
Could  you  e'er  have  lorelold  a  day  would  be, 
When  a  dreamer  of  dreams  should  live  to  see 

"A  party  of  sleek  and  honest  John  Dulls 
Hobnobbing  each  other  in  puels'  skullsl ' 


CHURCH    EXTENSION. 

TO   TUE   EDITOR    OF    THE   HORNINO 
CHRONICLE. 

Sir  — A  well-known  classical  traveller,  while  em- 
ployed in  exriloring,  some  lime  since,  the  supposmi 
.lie  of  the  Temple  of  Uiaiia  of  Ephesus,  was  so  lortu- 
iiate  in  the  course  of  his  researches,  as  lo  light  upon 
a  very  ancient  bark  nianuscripl,  which  has  turned 
out,  oil  examination,  lo  be  part  of  an  old  Ephesiaa 
newspaper  :— a  newspaper  published, as  you  will  see, 
so  far  back  as  Ihe  lime  when  Demetrius,  Ihe  great 
bhrine-Exlender,3  flourished.    1  am,  ciir,  yours,  &c. 

EPHESIAN    GAZETTE. 

Sicand  edition. 

Important  event  for  the  rich  and  relisions 
Great    Meeting    of   Silversmiths    held    in  Queen 
Square  ; — 
Church    Extension,  their  object,— Uie'   excileinenl 
prodigious; — 
Demetrius,  head  man  of  the  craft,  takes  the  chair! 

Third  idition. 

The  Chairman  still  up,  when  our  dev'l  came  away ; 
Having   prefac'd   his  speech  with  the  usual  slate 

That  Ihe  Three-headed  Dian<  would  kindly,  Ibi* 
day, 
Take  the  Silversmiths'  Company  under  her  care. 

Being  ask'd  by  some  low,  unestablisli'd  divines, 
"When  your  churches  are  up,  where  are  flocks 
to  be  got?" 
He  manfully  answer'd,  "  Let  us  build  the  shrines,' 
"And  we  care  not  if  flocks  are  fouud  for  them  or 
not.'* 

He  then  added-toshow  that  Ihe  Silversmiths'  Guild 
Were  above  all  conlin'd  and  iiilolerant  views  — 
Only  pav  through  the  nose  to  the  altars  we  build, 
"  You  may  vray  through  Ihe  nose  to  what  altars  you 
choose.*' 


Nor  was  this  Ihe  worst 
What  a  scene  was  disci 
The  warriors  nftldin,  ; 
Used  to  drink  out  of  skulls  of  slaughter'd  foes: 


I  shudder  to  think 

i  when  Ihey  came  to  drink. 


I  "  Might  not  Ihe  archives  of  the  Propaganda  pos- 
•ibly  supply  ihe  key?" 

s  Written  during  the  late  agitation  of  Ihe  questijn 
bI  Copyright. 


s  "  For  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius,  a  silver, 
smilh,  which  made  shrines  for  Diana,  brought  no 
small  gain  unio  Ihe  craftsmen  ;  whom  he  called  toge- 
ther with  Ihe  workmen  of  like  occiipaiion,  and  s.aid. 
Sirs,  ye  know  that  by  this  craft  we  have  our  wealth."  , 

—  jjcfj,  xix.  1 
«  Tria  Virginis  ora  Diana:.  j 
»  The  "shrines"  are  supposed  to  have  been  small  | 

churches,  or  chapels,  adjoining  lo  Ihe  great  temples  ;  , 

—  "a:diculK,    in    quibus    slatuse    reponebanlur. '— , 
Erastri.  ! 


442 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


This  tcilerance,  rare  from  a  shrine-dealer's  lip 
(Thofigh  a  tolerance  niix'd  with  due  taste  for  the 
r.lD- 
So  much  chirmM  all  Ihe  holders  of  scriptural  scrip, 
Tha'.  Iheir  strouts  of  "Hear'"    "Heari"  are  re- 
ecbuiug  still. 

Fourth  edition. 
Great  stir  in  (he  Shrine  Market !  altars  to  Phcebus 
Ate  going  dog  cheap  —  may  be  had  for  a  rebus. 
Old  DianVas  usual,  outsell  all  theresf;  — 
But  Veaus'a  also  are  tnuch  la  request. 


LATEST  ACCOUNTS  FROM  OLYMPUS. 

Af  news  from  Olympus  has  g;rovvn  rather  rare, 
Since   bards,  jii    iheir   c^uj^es,  liave  ceasM  lo  touch 

iliere. 
We  extract  for  our  readers  the'  intelligence  given, 
In  our  latest  accounts  from  that  ci-de.vant  Heaven  — 
Tlial  retlin  of  ihe  By-gones,  where  ^till  sit,  in  state, 
Old  god  headfl  and  nod-heads,  oow  long  out  of  date. 

Jove  himself,  it  appea-s,  since  his  love-days  are  o'er, 

Seems  to  fi^id  ininionali'y  rather  a  bore; 

Though  he  sitll  asks  for  uews  of  earlh^s  capers  and 

And  reads  daily  liis  old  fellow-ThundVer,  the  Times. 
He  and  Vulcn,  il  seems,  by  iheir  wives  still   heu- 

p'.ck'd  are. 
And  kept  on  a  stiuted  allowance  of  nectar. 

Old  Phcebus,  poor  lad,  has  »iven  up  inspiration, 

And  pack'd  ott  to  earth  on  a  pu^->peculaijt>n. 

The  fact  is,  he  found  his  old  shrines  had  grown  dim, 

Since  bards  iook'd  tu  Hentley  ;iiid  Coiburu,  not  him. 

So,  he  sold  off  his  stud  of  anibrosia-fed  nags. 

Came  Incog,  down  to  earth,  and  now  v\rj.e$  for  the 

Alags  ; 
Taking  caie  that  his  work  not  a  gleam  haih  to  linger 

in't, 
From  uhich  men  cjuld  guess  that  the  god  had  a 

hnger  in  't. 

There  are  other  small  facts,  well  deserving  attention, 
Of  which  our  Olympic  des|<atches  make  mention. 
Poor  H  cchu^  is  suli  verv  ill,  they  allege, 
Having  never  recover'd  the  Temi)erince  Pledge. 
**  What,  (lie  Irish  ;"  he  cried—"  tJiose  1  looked  lo  Ihe 

most ! 
"If  they  give  up  the  spirit,  I  give  up  ihe  ghost;" 
While  M.'iiiu^  who  us'd  of  the  g  .ds  n  make  fuo, 
Is  lurii'd  Socialist  now,  and  declares  there  are  none  ! 

But  these  changes,  though  curious,  are  all  a  mere 

farce 
Compared  to  the  new  *■  casus  belli"  of  Mars, 
Who,  fir  years,  has  been  sutiering   the  horrors  of 

Uncheerd  by  one  glimmer  of  blnodshed  nr  riot! 
In  vain  rroni  the  clouds  his  belligerent  b'ow 
Did  he  pop  forth,  m  hopes  that  somewhere  or  some- 
how. 
Like  Pat  at  a  fair,  he  might  "  coax  up  a  row  :'* 
But  the  joke  wouldn't  take— the  uhole  world  bad 

gni  wier; 
Men  liked  tw.t  to  take  a  Grent  Gun  for  adviser; 
And.  siill  less,  to  march  in  fine  clothes  m  be  shot, 
Without  very  well  knowing  for  whom  or  lor  what. 
The  French,  who  of  slaughter  had    had   their  full 

8»|ng, 

Were  content  with  a  sliot,  now  and  then,  at  (heir 

King; 
While,  in  England,  good  fighting's  a  pistinie  so  hard 

logain, 
Nobody  's  left  to  fight  with,  but  Lord  C— rd— y— n. 


*T  is  needless  to  say,  then,  how  monstrously  happy 
Old  Mars  has  been  made  by  what 's  now  on  the  tapitt 
How  much  it  delights  him  to  see  the  French  rally, 
In  Liberty's  name,  around  Mehemet  Ali; 
Weil  knowing  that  Satan  himself  could  not  find 
A  confection  of  mischief  much  more  to  his  mind 
Than  the  old  Bonnet  Rouge  and  the  Bashaw  com- 

bin'd. 
Right   well,  too,  he  knows,   that  theie  ne'er  were 

attackers, 
Whatever  Iheir  cause,  that  they  didn't  find  backers: 
While  any  slight  care  for  Humanil>'s  w..es 
M.iy  be  soothed  by  that  "'An  Diplomatique,"  which 

shows 
How  to  come,  in  the  most  approved  method,  to  blovrs. 

This  is  all,  for  to-day — whether  Mara  is  much  vext 
At  bis  friend  Thiers's  exit,  we  'It  know  by  our  next. 


THE    TRIUMPHS    OF    FARCE. 

Our  earth,  as  it  rolls  through  the  regions  of  space, 
Wear^  always  two  faces,  Itie  dark  and  the  sunny  ^ 

And  pour  human  life  runs  the  same  sort  of  race. 
Being  sad,  on  one  side — on  the  otiier  side,  funny. 

Thus  oft  we,  at  eve,  to  the  Haymarket  hie, 

To  weep  o'er  Ilie  woes  of  ftlacready  ;  —  but  scarce 

Hath  the  tear-drop  of  'I  ragedi  piss'd  from  the  eye, 
When,  lo,  we  're  all  laughing  in  fits  at  the  farce. 

And  still  let  us  laugh— preach  Ihe  world  as  it  may— 
Where  the  cieam  of  Ihe  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  sermon  on  human  affairs 
Could  t-qual  the  scene  that  look  place  t'other  day 

'Twixi  Romeo  and  Louis  Philippe,  on  the  stairs  — 
The  Sublime  aud  Ridiculous  meeting  h»lf*way  ! 

Yes.  Jncus  !  gay  god,  whom  the  Gentiles  supplied, 
And  whose  worship  not  ev'n  among  Christians  de- 
clines, 

In  nur  senate  thou  'st  langtiish'd  since  Sheridan  died, 
But  Sydney  still  keeps  thee  alive  in  our  shrines. 

Rare  Sydney  !  thrice  honour'd   the  stall   where  he 

And  be  his  evVy  honour  he  deigneth  to  climb  at ! 
Had  England  a  hierarchy  fonn'd  at!  of  wils. 

Who   but  Sydney   wuuid  England  proclaim  as  its 
primate? 

And  long  may  he  flourish,  frank,  merry,  and  brave 

A  Horace  to  hear,  and  a  Paschal  to  read  ;  t 
While  he  iaughSf  all  is  safe,  but,  when  Sydney  grows 


Meanwhile,  it  much  glads  us  to  find  he^  preparing 
To  teach  other  bishoj,3  tr)  ••  seek  the  right  way  ,"  3 
And  means  shortly  to  treat  the  whole  Bench  to  an 

Just  such  as  he  gave  to  Charles  James  t'  other  day. 


I  Some  parts  of  the  Provinciales  may  t>e  said  to  be 
of  the  highest  oider  of  jeux  d  tis^rif ,  or  squibs. 

4  "'I'hts  stroll  in  the  metropolis  >' extremely  well 
contrived  for  your  Lordship's  speech;  but  suppose,  my 
dear  Lord,  that  instead  of  gnirjg  E.  and  N.  E.  yon  had 
turned  about,'  kc  kc— Sydney  Smith's  LaU  Letter 
to  the  Bishop  ofLondn7i. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


443 


For  our  |i»rts,  Ihougti  jmvity's  good  f'r  the  «oul, 
Such  a  fancy  have  we  for  the  side  that  llif 


Such  a  fancy  have 
fun  on, 

We  'd  rather  «iih  Sydney  sou 
Than  cuach  it  o.rlh-eaat 
Lunuun. 


ti-wesi  take  a  "simll," 
vith    his   Lordship  of 


THOUGHTS    ON    PATRONS,    PUFFS 
AND    OTHER    MATTERS. 

IN    AN    EPISTLE    FROM   T.  M.   TO   S.  R. 

What,  thoit,  mv  friend  !  a  man  of  rhymes, 
Anci,  belief  s'lll,  a  man  of  guineas, 

To  talk  of  •■pilroMS,"  in  these  limes, 

When  authors  thrive  like  spinning-jenniei, 

And  Arkwright's  livisl  and  Riilwer's  page 

Alike  may  laugli  al  pationage  ! 

No,  no  — tho.e  times  are  past  away, 

When,  donnrd  in  upper  floois  to  slar  it. 
The  baid  iiiscrib'd  to  liirds  his  lav,— 

Himself,  the  while,  my  Lord  MountgarwI. 
No  more  he  begs,  with  air  dependent, 
His  "  little  bark  may  sail  attendant" 

Under  some  lordly  ikiiper's  steerage; 
But  launched  Iriunipbai.t  in  the  How, 
Or  la'en  by  Murray's  self  in  lo.v. 

Cuts  bJili  Star  Chamber  and  the  peerage. 

Patrons,  indeed  !  when  scarce  a  sail 
Is  whisk'd  from  England  by  the  gale, 
But  bears  on  boaid  some  author*,  sIlippM 
For  foreign  shores,  all  well  equipp'd 
With  piiiper  bi.ok-niaking  machinery. 
To  sketch  the  morils,  manners,  scenery. 
Of  all  such  lands  as  Ihey  shail  see, 
Or  not  see,  as  the  case  may  be :  — 
It  being  enjoin'd  on  all  svho  go 
To  sudy  til  St  Miss  M**»»*»«», 
And  learn  from  her  the  method  true. 
To  do  one's  books  — and  readers,  too. 
For  so  this  nymph  of  nous  and  nerve 
Teaches  niaiikiiid  "  How  to  Otiservej" 
And,  lest  mankind  at  all  should  swerve. 
Teaches  Iliem  also  '*  tl^hat  to  Observe." 

No,  no,  my  friend  —  it  can't  be  blink'd  — 

The  Patron  is  &  race  extinct ; 

As  dead  as  any  Mes.i'herion 

That  ever  Buckland  built  a  theory  on. 

Instead  of  bartering,  in  this  age, 

Our  praise  for  pence  and  pa'ronage. 

We.  au  hors,  now,  more  prosperous  elve», 

Have  learn'd  to  palroni-e  uurselves ; 

And  since  all-p  dcnl  Puffing's  made 

The  life  of  song.  Ihe  soul  of  trade, 

More  frugal  of  our  praises  grown. 

We  puff  no  merits  but  our  own. 

Unlike  those  feeble  gales  of  pralie 

Which  cii  ics  blew  in  foimerd.iy«, 

Our  modern  putts  are  of  a  kind 

Th»t  inilv,  really  raise  Ihe  wind; 

And  since  they've  fairly  set  in  blowing, 

We  find  them  Ihe  best  (radc-winds  going. 

'Stead  of  frequrning  paths  so  slippy 

As  her  old  haunts  near  Aganippe, 

The  Muse,  now,  lakii  g  to  the  till, 

Has  open'd  shop  on  Ludgale  Hill 

<F«r  handier  than  the  Hill  of  i'indus, 

Aa  seen  from  baid's  back  allic  windows)  ; 

And  swallowing  there  without  ces-alion 

Large  draughU  («(  sight)  of  inspiration, 

"Touches  the  notes  for  each  new  theme. 

While  still  fresh  "cAanjrc  conies  o'er  her  dream.' 

Whai  .Sieam  is  on  ttie  deep  —  and  more  — 

1*  Ibe  vast  power  of  Puff  un  share; 


u 


Which  jumps  to  glory's  future  tensei 
Before  the  present  ev'n  commences; 
And  makes  "immortal"  and  "divine"  of  US 
Before  Ihe  world  has  read  one  line  of  us. 

In  old  times,  when  the  God  of  Song 
Drove  his  own  two-horse  team  along, 
Carrying  inside  a  bard  or  two, 
Book'd  for  posterity  "  all  through  ;"  — 
Their  luggage,  a  lew  cl  se-pack'd  rhymes, 
(Like  yours,  my  friend.)  for  after-limes  — 
So  slow  the  |iull  to  Fame's  abode, 
That  folks  ol't  slept  upon  the  road  ;— 
And  Homer's  self,  sometimes,  they  say, 
Took  to  his  nightcap  on  the  Way. I 

Ye  Gods  !  how  difTerent  is  the  story 
With  our  new  gilloping  sons  of  glory, 
Who,  scorning  all  such  slack  and  slow  time, 
Da-h  to  posterity  in  no  time! 
Raise  but  one  general  blast  of  Puff 
To  start  your  author  —  that 's  enough. 
in  vain  Ihe  critics,  set  lo  watch  him. 
Try  at  ihe  starting-post  to  catch  him: 
He's  off— the  puffers  carry  it  hollow  — 
The  Clitics,  if  they  please,  may  follow. 
Ere  tk£y  've  laid  down  their  first  positions, 
He's  fairly  blown  through  six  editious 
In  vain  doth  Edinburgh  dispense 
Her  blue  and  yellow  pes  ileiice 
(That  plague  so  awful  in  my  time 
To  youn^  and  touchy  sons  of  rhyme).— 
The  Quailerlv,  al  three  months' dale. 
To  .■!  ch  the'  Unread  One,  conies  too  late  J 
And  nonsense,  liiter'd  in  a  hurry. 
Becomes  "immorial,"  spite  of  Murray, 

But,  Wesj  me  !  —  while  I  thus  keep  fooling 
I  hear  a  voice  cry,  "  Dinner  's  cooling." 
That  postman,  loo,  (who.  truth  to  lell, 
'Mong  men  of  letters  bears  the  bell,) 
Keeps  ringing,  ringing,  so  infernally 
Thai  I  must  slop  — 

Yours  sempiternal  ly. 


THOUGHTS    ON    MISCHIEF 

BY  LORD  ST— NL— Y. 

(his    first   ATTEMPT    IN   VER8K.) 

*•  Evil,  be  thou  my  good."  —  Milton, 

How  various  are  the  inspirations 
Of  different  men,  in  different  nations! 
As  genius  prompts  to  good  or  evil, 
Some  call  the  Muse,  some  raise  the  devil. 
Old  Socrates,  that  pink  of  sages. 
Kept  a  pet  demon,  on  board  wages. 
To  go  about  with  him  incog.. 
And  sometimes  give  his  wiis  a  jog. 
So  L— lid— st,  in  mr  day,  we  know. 
Keeps  fresh  relays  of  imps  below, 
To  lorssard,  Irom  that  nameless  spot, 
His  inspirations,  hot  and  hot. 

But,  neat  as  are  old  L — nd— st's  doings  — 

Beyond  ev'n  Hecate's  ■*  hell-broth"  brewings — 

Had  I,  Lord  Stanley,  but  my  will, 

1  'd  show  you  mischief  preitier  still ; 

Mischief,  combining  b-iyliood's  tricks 

With  afiC's  sourest  polilics; 

The  urchin's  Ircaks,  the  wefran's  gall, 

Both  diiU  mix'd,and  mslchless  all; 

A  compound  nought  in  '.listory  reaches 

But  Machiavel,  when  first  in  breeches! 


I  Quandoque  bonus  dormitat  Honierus.  —  Horat, 


444 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUM0R0U8   POEMS. 


Yes,  Mischief,  Goddess  multiform, 

Whene'er  thou,  wilch-like,  riJs't  the  slorm 

Lei  Stanley  ride  cockhorse  behind  Ihee  — 

No  livelier  lackey  could  they  find  thee. 

And.  Goddess,  as  I  'in  well  aware, 

bo  mischief's  Jmie,  you  care  nol  loAerc, 

I  own,  'I  will  nio>t  my  fancy  tickle 

In  Faddyland  lo  play  the  i^ickle ; 

Having  gof  credil  f(ir  inveiiiiiig 

A  new,  brisk  method  of  rorinenting- 

A  way,  they  call  the  S  anley  fashion, 

\Vlii:h  puts  all  lieland  in  a  passiooj 

tin  neat  it  hits  the  mixture  due 

Of  injury  and  insult  tnu; 

So  letibly  il  bears  upou't 

The  stamp  of  Stanley's  brazen  front 

Ireland,  we're  told,  meaus  land  of  Ire, 
And  why  she's  so,  none  need  inquire. 
Who  sees  her  millions,  m;*rtial,  manly, 
Spat  upon  thus  by  me,  Lord  St— ul — y. 
Already  in  the  breeze  1  scent 
The  whiff  of  coming  devilment; 
Of  strife,  to  me  more  s  irrjng  far 
Than  the'  Opium  or  the  Sulphur  war, 
Or  any  such  drug  fermenls  are. 
Yea  —  sweeter  In  tliis  'I'ory  soul 
Than  all  such  pests,  from  pole  lo  pole^ 
Js  thf;  rich,  "aweliei'd  venom"  got 
By  stirring  Ireland's  "  charmed  pot ;"  i 
And,  ihanks  to  practice  "U  ihat  land, 
I  stir  il  with  a  master-hand. 

Again  thnu  'It  see,  when  forth  hath  gone 
The  War. Church-cry,  '*  On,  Stanley,  on  !»* 
How  Caravats  and  Shanavesis 
Shall  swarm  from  out  their  mountain  nests, 
Wjlhall  their  merry  moonlight  brorbera, 
To  whom  the  Church  (*rep-danie  to  others) 
Hath  been  the  best  of  nursing  mothers. 
AgAJu  o'er  Erm's  lich  domain 
Shall  Rockites  and  right  reverends  reign  j 
And  both,  exempt  from  vulgar  mil, 
IJetween  them  sh.ire  that  lilheful  soil; 
Puzzling  ambition  which  ti>  climb  at, 
The  post  of  Captain,  or  of  Pnmate. 

And  so,  long  life  to  Church  and  Co.— 
Hurrah  for  mischief  I  —  here  we  go. 


EPISTLE    FROM    CAPTAIN    ROCK   TO 
LORD  L— NDH— T. 

Dear  L — ndh— t,  — you^U   pardon  my  making  thus 

free, — 
But  form  is  all  fudge 'twixt  such  "comrogues"  as  we. 
Who,  whatever  the  smooth  views  we,  iu  public,  may 

drive  at, 
Have  both  the  same  praiseworthy  object,  in  private— 
Namely,  never  lo  let  the  o'd  regions  of  riot, 
Where  Rock  hath  long  retgn'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  diff'rence  betwixt  you  and  me,  as  I  lake  it, 
Is  simplv,  that  you  make  the  law  and  1  break  it; 
And  never,  of  big-wigs  and  small,  were  there  two 
Play'd  so  well  into  each  oiher's  hands  as  we  do ; 
Insomuch,  that  the  laws  you  and  yonrs  manufacture, 
Seem  all  made  express  for  the  Kock-boys  to  frncture. 
Not  Birmingham's  self — tn  her  shame  be  it  spoken — 
E'er  made  things  moie  neatly  conlriv*d  to  be  broken; 


*Swelter'd  venom,  sleeping  got. 
Boil  thou  first  i'  the  charmed  pnt." 


And  hence,  I  confess,  in  this  island  religious. 
The  breakage  of  laws— and  of  heads  is  prodigioni. 

And  long  may  it  thrive,  my  Ex-Higwig,  gay  I,— 
Though,'^of  lale,  muchlfear'd  allourfun  was  gone  bj'; 
As,  except  when  some  tilhe-huntlng  parson  show'i 

sport. 
Some  rector  —  a  cool  hand  at  pistols  and  port. 
Who  *■  keens  dry"  his  powder,  but  never  hiuutlf — 
One  who,  leaving  his  Bible  to  rnst  on  the  shelf. 
Sends  his  pious  texts  home,  in  the  shape  of  ball-car- 
tridges, 
Shooting  his  *'  dearly  beloved,"  like  partridges  ;  — 
Except  when  some  hero  of  this  sort  turnM  out, 
Or,   the'   Exchequer  sent,   flaming,  its  tilhe-writsS 

about  — 
A  conirivsnce  more  neat,  I  may  say,  without  flattery, 
Than  e'er  yet  was  thought  of  for  bloodshed  and  bat- 
tery ; 
So  neat,  that  even  /might  be  proud,  I  allow, 
To  have  hit  off  so  rich  a  receipt  for  a  row  ;  — 
Except  for  such  rigs  turning  up,  now  and  then, 
I  \\as  actually  growing  the  dullest  of  men  ; 
And,  had  this  blank  tit  been  allowM  to  increase. 
Might  have  snor'd  myself  down  to  a  Justice  of  Peace, 
Like  you,  Reformatir'm  in  Church  and  in  Siate 
Is  the  thing  of  all  things  I  most  cordially  hale. 
If  once  these  curst  Ministers  do  as  thev  like, 
All  'a  o'er,  my  eood  Lotd,  with  your  wig  and  my  pike, 
And  one  may  be  hung  up  on  t'oiher,  henceforlli, 
Just   to  show  what  such  Captains  and  ChaacMIor* 
were  worth. 

But  we  must  not  despair —  ev'n  already  Hope  sees 
You  're  atjout,  my  bold  Baron,  lo  kick  up  a  breeze 
Of  the  true  baffling  sort,  such  as  suits  me  and  you, 
Who  have  box'd  the  whole  compass  of  party  right 

ihri  ugh. 
And  care  not  one  farthing,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
So  we  hut  raise  tJie  wmd.  from  what  quarter  it  blows. 
Forgive  me,  dear  Lord,  that  thus  rudely  I  dare 
My  own  small  resources  with  thine  to  compare: 
Not  ev'n  Jerry  Didler,  in  '' raiding  the  wind,'-  durst 
Compe'e,  for  one  instant,  with  thee,  my  dear  L— nd- 

h— t. 

But,  bark,  there's  a  shot! — some  parsonic  practi- 
tioner? 
No  — merely  a  bran-new  Rebellion  CommiFainner ; 
The  Courts  having  now,  with  true  law  erudition, 
Put  even  Rebellion  itself  '■  in  commission." 
As  seldom,  in  this  way,  I  'm  any  man's  debtor, 
I'll  justpny  niT/  shoty  and  then  fold  up  this  letter. 
In  the  mean  time,  hurrah  for  the  'lories  and  Rocks  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  parsons  who  fleece  well  'heir  flocks  ! 
Hurrah  for  all  mi  chief  in  all  ranks  and  spheres. 
And,  above  all,  hurrah  for  that  dear  House  of  Peers  I 


CAPTAIN    ROCK    IN    LONDON. 

LETTER    FROM    THE    CAPTAIN    TO    TERRY 
ALT,    ESQ. 3 

Here  I  am,  at  head-quarters,  dear  Terry,  once  more, 
Deep  in  Tory  designs,  as  I  've  oft  been  before :  — 
for,  bless  them !   if  h  wasn't   for  this  wrong-headcc 

You  and  I,  Terry  Alt,  would  scircc  know  what  to  do  ; 

So  ready  they  're  always,  when  dull  we  are  growing, 

To  set  our  old  concert  nf  discord  a-going, 

While  L— ndh-t'9  the  lad.  wiih  his  Torv-Whig  face. 

To  play,  in  such  concert,  Ihe  'rue  double-base. 

I  had  fe:ir*d  this  old  prop  rf  my  realm  was  beginnicg 

To  lire  of  his  c'urse  of  political  sinning. 


^  Exchequer  tithe  proces'C,  served  under  a  tcm- 
mission  of  rebellion.— CAro»ide. 

3  The  subordinate  officer  or  lieutcniiil  of  Captain 
Rock. 


THE   FUDGES   IN    ENGLAND. 


445 


And,  like  Mother  Cole,  when  her  heyday  was  past, 
Meant,  by  way  of  a  chanK;e,  lo  try  virtue  at  last. 
But  i  wrotitsM  ihe  oi.j  boy,  who  .is  staunchly  derides 
All  reforii>  ill  himself  as  in  iii<  st  thnii^b  besides  j 
Aud,  by  u.iiig  Iwo  faces  thiough  lite,  all  allow, 
ll.is  acquirM  face  sufiicieut  fur  any  tliiug  now. 

In  short,  he^sall  right  ;  and.  ir  mankind's  old  foe, 
My  '*Lord   Harry"  himself — who's  the  leader,  we 

kuow, 
Of  aoolher  red-hot  Opposition,  below  — 
If  that  "Lfird,"  in  his  well-known  discernment,  but 

spares 
Me  and  I.— ndh-t,  to  look  after  Ireland's  affairs, 
We  sliall  Sf.on  such  a  region  of  devihnent  make  it. 
That  Old  Nick  hli^^el^  for  his  own  may  mistake  it. 

Kv*n  already  —  long  life  to  such  Rig-wi^s,  sny  I, 
For,  as  long  as  (hey  flnurish,  we  R-icks  cannot  die  — 
He  has  serv*d  our  ri^lii  riotous  cause  by  a  speech 
Whose  perfeclion  of  mischief  lie  only  could  reach; 
As  it  sh'iws  off  both  At*  and  my  men's  alike. 
Roth  the  swell  of  the  wig,  and  ihe  pnint  <,f  (he  pike; 
Mixes  up,  wiih  a  skill  which  one  can't  but  admire, 
The  lawyer's  cool  craft  wjth  ihe'  incendiary's  fire, 


And  enli5i8,  in  the  graves',  most  plauslMe  manner, 
Seven  millions  of  souls  under  Rockery's  banner  1 
(th  Terry,  my  man.  let  this  speech  7ieV£r  d\e  ; 
Throtigli   the  regions  uf  Rockland,  like  ilame,  etit 

fly; 
Let  each  syllable  dark  the  Law-Or.tcle  ulter'd 
Ry  all  Tipperary's  wtld  echoes  be  mut'erM, 
Till  ii'iufcht  shall  be  heard,  over  hill,  dale,  nr  flood, 
Bui  '*  Y(>u  Ve  aliens  in  language^  in  aced,  and  tJi 

blood ;" 
While  voices,  from  sweet  Cnnnemara  afar, 
Shall  answer,  like  true  Irish  echoes,  "  We  are!" 
And,  though  false  be  Ihe  cr\,  and  though  sense  m"jst 

abhor  it, 
Still  the'  echoes  may  quote  Law  authority  for  it, 
And  nought  L— ndh— t  cares  for  my  spread  of  do» 

So  he,  in  the  end,  touches  cash  "  for  the'  opinion,^ 

Rut  I  've  no  time  for  more,  my  deir  Terry,  just  now, 
Reinghusy  In  helping  these  Lords  through  their  roio. 
They're    bad    hand^  at   mob-work,   but,  once  they 

brgin, 
They'll  have  plenty  of  practice  to  break  them  well 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND; 
BEING   A   SEQUEL  TO  THE   "FUDGE   FAMILY  IN    PARIS." 


PRE  FAC  E. 

The  name  of  the  country  town,  in  Eneland  — a 
well-known  f;»5hi"nable  waterins-place — in  which 
the  events  that  gave  rise  to  the  following  correspon- 
dence occurred,  is,  fop  obvious  reisons,  suppressed, 
'I'he  Interest  attached,  however,  to  the  facts  and  per- 
sonages of  the  story,  renders  it  independent  of  all 
tune  and  place;  and  when  It  is  recollected  that  the 
\vhole  train  of  romantic  circumstances  so  fully  un- 
folded In  these  Letters  has  passed  during  the  short 
period  which  has  now  elapsed  since  the  great  Meet- 
ings in  Exeter  Hall,  due  credil  will,  it  is  hoped,  be 
allowed  tn  ihe  Editor  for  the  rapidity  with  which  he 
has  brought  the  de'ails  before  the  Public  ;  while,  at 
ttie  sianie  time,  any  errms  that  may  h^ve  been  the 
result  of  such  haste  will,  he  trusts,  with  equal  con- 
sideration, be  pardoned. 


LETTER    I. 

FROM     PATRICK      MAG  AN,     ESQ.,     TO     THE 

RtV.    RICHARD  ,    CURATE    OF , 

IN    IRELAND. 

Who  d'ye  think  we've  got  here?  — quite  reformed 
from  the  giddy. 
Fantastic  young  thing,  that  once  made  such    a 

Why,  the  famous  Miss  Fudge— that  delectable  Biddy, 
Whom  vou  and  I  saw  once  at  Paris,  when  boys, 

Id  the  full'  blaze  of  b'-nnets,  and  ribands,  and  airs  — 
Such  a  ihirig  as  no  raintiow  hath  C'llours  to  paint ; 

Ere  time  hr«d  reduced  hor  to  wrinkles  and  prtyers, 
And  the  Flirt  found  a  decent  retreat  in  the  Saint. 

Poor  *'  Ta**  hath  ivppd  olf— gnne,  as  charily  judges, 

To  some  ch"ice  Elj  stum  reserv'd  for  the  Fudges  ; 

And  Miss,  with  a  fortune,  besides  expectations 

From  8  >me  niuch  revered  and  much-palsied  relations, 


Now  wants  but  a  husband,  with  requisites  meet,— 
Age  thirty,  nr  thereabouts  —  stature  six  feet, 
And  warranted  godly  —  lo  make  all  complete. 
Nvta  /.trie  — a  Churchman  would  suit,  if  he 's  Ai^/i, 
Hut  Sociniaua  or  Catholics  need  not  apply. 

What  say  you,  Dick?  doesn't  this  tempt  your  ambi- 
tion ? 
The  whole  wealth  of  Fudge,  that  renown'd  man 
of  pith. 

All  brought  to  the  hammer,  for  Church  competi- 
tion,— 
Sole  encumbrance,  Mifs  Fudge  to  be  taken  there- 
with. 

Think,  my  boy,  for  a  Curate  how  glorious  a  catch  ! 

While,  instead  of  the   thousands  of  souls  you   7ww 
"atch, 

To  save  Riddy  Fudge's  is  all  you  need  do  ; 

And  her  purse  will,  meanwhile,  be  the  saving  of  you. 

You  may  ask,  Dick,  how  comes  it  that  I,  a  poor  elf. 
Wanting  subslance  ev'n  more  than  jour  spiritual  self, 
Should    thus  generously  lay  my  own  claims  ou  the 

shelf, 
When,  God  knows !  there  ne'er  was  young  gentleman 

>et 
So  much  lack'd  an  old  spinster  to  rid  him  from  debt, 
O'  had  cogenter  reasons  ihan  mine  lo  assail  her 
With  teuderlove-suit  — at  thesuit  of  his  tailor. 

Rut  thereby  there  hangs  a  soft  secret,  my  friend. 

Which  thus  to  your  reverend  breast  I  commend  : 

MissFiid^e  halh  a  niece  — such  a  creature !  — with 
eyes 

Like  those  sparklers  that   peep  oul    from   summer- 
night  skies 

At  astronomers-roya!.  and  laugh  with  delight 
ee  elderly  gentlemen  spying  all  night. 

While    her    figure  —  oh,   bring  all   the  gracefullest 
things 

That  are  borne  through  the  light  air  by  feet  or  by 
wings. 


38 


446 


THE   FUDGES   IN   ENGLAND, 


Not  a  single  new  grace  lo  That  form  could  ihev  teach* 
Which  cnibines  rii  itself  rhe  perfecliou  of  e-cb; 
While,  rapid  or  slow,  as  her  t;iirv  feet  fall, 
The  mute  music  of  symmetry  modulates  atl. 

Ne'er,  in  short,  was  there  creature  more  form*d  to 
bewilder 

A  ^av  youth  like  me,  who  of  castles  aerial 
(And  (ynlyoi  such)  am,  God  help  me!  a  builder; 

htill  peopling  e.icli  mansion  wiih  lodgers  ethereal, 
And  iif  .V,  to  thii  nymph  of  the  seraph-i.ke  eye, 
Letting  out,  as  you  ^ee,  my  first  floor  next  the  sky.l 

But,  alas!  nothing's  perfect  on  earth  —  even  she 

This  divine  ii  lie  gi|)sy,dot-s  odd  th\ngi  sometimes: 
Talks  learning  — looks  wi^e  (rather  p;iinful  to  see), 
Prin  s  already  in  two  Countv  pai)ers  her  rhymes; 
And  r.tves  — the  sweet,  charniing.'absuid  little  dear! 
About  Amulets,  Bij"us,  and  Keepsakes,  next  yeir, 
In  a  manner  which  plainly  bad  sjmpioms  portends 
Of  thai  Annual  blue  fit,  so  distressing  to  friends  ; 
A  fit  which,  Ihoujjh  lasting  but  one  short  edition, 
Leaves  the  patient  long  after  in  sad  inanitioo. 

However,  let's  hope  for  the  best  — and,  meanwhile, 
Be  it  minestiti  to  bask  in  the  niece  s  waim  smile; 
While  you,  if  you  Ve  wise,  Dick,  will  play  the  gallant 
(Uphill  wo  k,  I  confess,)  to  her  Saint  of  an  Aunt. 
Think,  my  boy,  for  a  youngster  like  you,  who've  a 
lack. 
Not  indeed  of  rupees,  but  of  all  other  specie, 
What  luck  thus  to  find  a  kmd  wilch  al  your  b.nck. 
An  old  goose  with  gnld  eg^s,  fiom  all  debts  to  re- 
lease ye ! 
Never  mind,  Ihn'  the  spinster  be  reverend  and  thin. 
What  are  all  the  Three  Graces  to  her  Three  per 
Cents  ? 
While  her  acres  !  —  oh  Dick,  it  don't  matter  one  pin 
How  she  touches  the'  atlections,  so  you  touch  the 

And  Love  never  looks  half  so  plea^M  as  when,  bless 

him,  he 
Sings  to  an  old  lady's  purse  *'  Open,  Sesame.** 

By  the  way,  I've  just  heard,  in  my  w»lks,  a  report, 
Which,  if  true,  will  insure  for  your  visit  some  sport. 
'T  IS  rumour'd  our  Manager  means  lo  bespeak 
The  Church  tumblers  from   Exeier   Hall   for  next 

week  ; 
And  cer!ainly  ne'er  did  a  queerer  or  rummer  set 
Throw,  for  the'  amusement  of  Chrisliaus,  a  summer- 


*T  is  fear'd  their  chief  "MerrimaD,"  C — ke,  cannot 

come, 
Being  call'd  off,  at  present,  to  play  Punch  at  home;^ 
And  the  loss  of  so  practis'd  a  wag  in  divinity 
Will  grieve  much  all  loversof  Jokes  on  the  Trinity  ;— 
His  pun  on  the  name  Unigenitus,  lately 
Having  pleas'd  Robert  Taylor,  the  ^euerend,  greatly. 3 

'Twill  prove  a  sad  drawback,  if  absent  he  be, 

As  a  wag  Presbyterian  's  a  thing  quite  tn  see; 

And,  *ninng  the  Five  Points  ot'  Ibe  Calvinislg,  none 

of  'em 
Ever  >ei  reckon'd  a  point  of  wit  one  of  'em. 


I  That  floor  which  a  facetious  garreteer  called  "  le 
premier  en  de^-cend  mt  du  ciel  " 

^  See  the  Dublin  Evening  Post,  of  the  9th  of  this 
month  (Juty).  for  an  account  of  a  scene  which  lately 
took  place  at  a  meeting  of  the  Svnod  of  Ulster,  in 
which  the  performance  of  the  above-nientioued  part 
by  the  personage  in  question  appears  to  h^ve  been 
worthy  of  all  his  former  repu'aHon  in  that  line. 

3  "  All  are  punsters  if  they  have  wit  lo  he  so ;  and 
therefore  when  an  Irishman  has  lo  commence  with  a 
Bull,  you  will  nalurally  pronounce  it  a  bull.  (A 
laugh,)  Allow  me  to  bring  before  ynu  the  famous 
Bull  that  is  called  Unigenifus,  referring  to  the  only 
begotten  Son  of  Gnd.*'  —  Report  of  the  Rev,  Doctor*$ 
Sftcch  June  20.  in  the  Record  Newspaper. 


But  ev'n  though  deprived  of  this  comical  elf. 
We  've  a  host  of  LuJJ'oiti  in  Murtagh  himself, 
Who  of  all  the  whole  troop  is  chief  mummer  and 

mime, 
As  C— ke  lakes  the  Grou7id  Tumbling,  he  the  Sub* 

And  of  him  we're  quite  certain,  so,  pray,  come  lo 


LETTER    II. 

FROM    MISS    BIDDY  FUDGE,  TO  MRS.  ELIZA- 
BETH   . 

Just  in  time  for  the  post,  dear,  and  monstrously  busy, 
With  godly  concernments  — and  woildly  ones,  too  j 
Things  carnal  and  spiritual  mix'd,  my  dear  Lizzy, 
In  this  htlle  brain,  till,  bewilder'd  and  diz/y, 
*Tvv)xt   heaven  and  earth,  I  scarce  kno\r  what 
Ido. 

First,  I  've  been  to  see  alt  the  gay  fashions  from  Towd, 
Which  our  favourite  Miss  Gimp  for  the  spring  has 

had  down. 
Sleeves  still  worn  (which  /  think  is  wise),  a  la  folle. 
Charming  hats,  pou  de  soie —  though  the  shape  rather 

droll. 
But  you  can't  think  how  nicely  the  caps  of  tuUe  lace. 
With  the  mentoyinieres,  look  on  this  poor  sinfnl  face; 
And  I  mean,  if  ihe  Lord  in  his  mercy  thinks  right, 
To  we>r  one  at  Ms.  Fitz-wigrams  to-night. 
The  silks  ate  quiie  heav'niy  :  —  I  'm  gUd,  too,  to  say, 
Gimp  herself  grnws  more  godly  and  good  every  day  ; 
Ha  h  had  sweet  experience  —  yea,  ev'n  doih  begin 
To  turn  from  the  Gentiles,  and  jiul  away  sin  — 
And  all  since  her  last  stock  of  goods  was  laid  in. 
What  a  ble-sing  one's  milliner,  careless  of  pelf, 
Should  thus  ''  walk  in  newness"  as  well  as  one's  self  I 

So  much  for  the  blessings,  the  comforts  of  Spiiit 
I've   had  since  we   met,  and   they're  more  than  I 

merit  I  — 
Poor,  sinful,  weak  creature  in  every  respect, 
Though  ordain'd  (God  knows  whyj  to  be  one  of  the* 

Elect. 
But  nnw  for  the  picture's  reverse.  —  You  remember 
That  footman  and  conk-maid  I  hired  last  December; 
He.  a  Baptist  Particular  — j/ie  of  some  sect 
Not  particular,  I  fanc> ,  in  any  respect ; 
But  desirous,  poor  thing,  to  be  fed  u  ith  the  Word, 
And  *'  to  wait,"  as  she 'said,  *'  on  Miss  Fudge  and  Ihe 

Lord." 

Well,  my  dear,  of  all  men,  that  Particular  Baptist 
At  preaching  a  sermon,  offhand,  was  the  aptest ; 
And,  long  as  he  staid,  do  him  justice,  more  rich  in 
Sweet  savour-  of  dnctrine,  theie  never  was  kitchen. 
He  preach'd  in  the  parlour,  he  pteach'd  in  Ihe  hall. 
He  pieach'd  to  the  chambermaids,  scullions,  and  alL 

All  heard  uiih  delight  his  reprovings  ot  sin. 
But  above  all,  the  cuok-maid  ; —  oh,  ne'er  would  she 

Though  in  learning  to  save  sinful  souls  from  the  fire, 

She  would  oft  let  the  soles  she  was  frying  Ml  in, 
(God    forgive    me   for    punning  on    points    Ibis  cf 

piety  !  _ 
A  sad  trick  I  've  learn'd  in  Bob's  heathen  society.) 
But  ah  :  there  remains  still  the  worst  of  my  tale  ; 
C'ime.  Ast'risks,  and  help  me  Ihe  sad  truth  to  veil  — 
Conscious  stars,  that  at  ev'n  your  own  secret  turn 
p&le! 


In  short,  dear,  this  preaching  aiid  p'^alm-singing  pair, 
Chosen  "  vessels  of  mercy,"  as  /  thought  they  were, 


*  In  the  language  of  the  play-bills,  "Ground  i 
Lofty  Tumbling.*' 


THE   FUDGES   IN   ENGLAND. 


417 


.6  together  this  last  »  ei 
whip  otf  as  much  poods 
Nut  forgetling  some  scores 


)  from  my 


And  beside 
it- 


^  large  as  fhemselve 


I  tlie  drawer— 1  iieglecling  to  lock 


My  ne.it  "Morning  Manna, done  U[)  fur  the  pocket,*'  * 
5  lliere  e'er  known  a  ca>e  so  distressing,  dear  Liz? 
It  has  made  me  quite  ill :  —  and  the  worst  uf  it  is, 
When  rogues  are  ali  pious,  't  is  hard  lo  delect 
IVhich  rogues  are  the  reprobate,  which  ihe  elect. 
■■■   is  man  "  had  a  Co!/,"  he  said— impudent  mockery  ! 
What  call  had  he  to  my  liueu  and  ciuckery  ? 


I  now,  and  have  been  for  Ih 
Of  some  godly  )oung  couple  ttr 
The  enclos'd 
eye 


is  week  past,  in  chase 
IS  parr  lo  replace, 
nis  have  just  met  my 


In  that  veri'rable  Monihly  where  Saints  advertise 

For  such  temporal  comfoits  as  ihis  world  supplies;  5 
I  And  the  fruits  of  ilie  Spirit  are  properly  made 

An  essential  in  every  craft,  calling,  and  trade. 

Where   Ihe'  attorney  requires  for  his  'prentice  some 
youlh 

Who  has  "  learn'd  to  fear  God  and  to  walk  in  llie 
truth;" 

Where  the  sempstress,  in  search  of  employment,  de- 
clares. 

That  pay  is  no  object,  so  she  can  have  prayers  ; 
nJ  the' Est.iblish'd  Wine  Company  proudly  gives  out 

That  the  whole  of  the  firm,  Co.  and  all,  are  devout. 

H.ippy  London,  one  feels,  as  one  reads  o'er  the  pages. 
Where  baiiits  are  so  much  more  abundant  than  sages  ; 
Where  pirsous  may  soon  be  all  laid  on  the  shelf, 

ch  Cit  can  cile  cliapler  and  verse  for  himself, 
And  the  striuus  fre<iuelliers  of  market  and  dock 
All  lay  in  religion  as  pari  of  their  stock. 3 


lorning  Manna,  or  Briti-h  Ve: 
I  for  the  pocket."  and  chiefly  ii 


••hook,  neatly 

ot'the  British  V 
design  is,  we  are  told,  'Mo  induce  the  iiihabit.inis  i 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland  to  comniit  one  and  tli 
same  veise  of  Scripture  to  memory  every  morning. 
Alieady,  it  is  known,  seveial  thousand  persons  in 
Scotland,  besides  lens  of  thousands  in  America  and 
Africa,  are  euciT/  mwliitig  learning  the  sarnt  vfrse." 
^  The  Evangelical  Magazine — A  few  specimens 
taken  at  random  from  the  wrapper  of  this  highly 
esteemed  periodical  will  fully  jusiil'y  the  cliar.acter 
which  Mi-8  Fudge  has  here  given  of  it.  "  Wanted, 
in  a  pious  pa^vnbroke^'s  family,  an  ac  ive  lad  as  an 
apprentice."  "  Wanted,  as  housemaid,  a  young  female 
who  h.is  been  broughl  to  a  saving  knowledge  of  the 
truth,"  "  Wanled  immedia'ely,  a  man  of  decided 
piety,  to  assist  in  the  baking  b  siness."  *' A  gen  le- 
man  who  uriderslaiids  the  Wine  -Inde  is  desirous  of 
entering  irrlo  par'nership.  &c.  &c.  He  is  not  desirous 
of  being  connected  with  any  one  whose  system  of 
business  is  not  of  Ihe  siricte  1  integrity  as  in  the  sight 
of  God,  and  seeks  connecion  only  with  a  truly  pious 
man,  either  Churchman  or  Dissenter,'' 

3  Accoiding  to  the  b'e  Mr.  Irving,  there  is  even  a 
peculiar  form  of  theology  got  up  e.vp'Pssly  for  the 
money-market.  "  I  know  how  f.ir  "  ide,"  he  s,iys, 
"of  Ihe  mark  my  views  of  Christ's  work  in  the  flesh 
will  be  viewed  by  those  who  are  working  with  the 
stock-jobbing  theology  of  Ihe  religious  world."  "  Let 
these  preacher-,"  he  adds,  "(for  I  will  not  call  them 
theologians),  cry  up,  broker-like,  their  article."  — 
Morning  IVatch.  —  tio.  iii.  442,  443. 

From  the  statement  of  another  writer,  in  the  sai 
publication,  it  would  appear  that  Ihe  stnckbrok 
have  even  set  up  a  new  Divinity  of  their  own.    '*'rhis 
shows,"  says  the  writer  in  queslion,  "that  the  doc- 
trine of  the  union  between  Christ  aod  his  members  is 
quite  »s  essential  as  that  of  substituiion,  by    taking 


Who  can  tell  to  what  lenglhs  we  may  go  on  imprnv- 

ingi 
When  thus  tnro'  all  London  Ihe  Spir:t  keeps  moving. 
And  lieaveii's  so  in  vogue,  ibat  each  stiop  aiverlise- 

meiit 
Is  now  not  so  much  for  the  earth  as  the  skies  meant? 

P.S. 
Have  mislaid  the  two  paragraphs— Can't  stop  to  look, 
But  both  describe    charming  —  both    Footman  and 

Cook. 
She,  "decidedly  pious"  — with  pathos  deplores 
The'   increase  of  French   cook  rv,  and  sin,  on   lur 

shores ; 
And  adds  —  (while  for  further  accounts  she  refers 
To  a  great  (jospei  preacher,  a  cousin  of  hers,) 
That  "though  soma  make  their  Sabbalhs  mere  mat- 

ter-iif-fuii  days. 
She  asks  but  for  tea  and  the  Gospel,  on  Sundays." 
The  footman,  loo,  full  of  Ihe  true  sav  iiig  knowledge  ;— 
Has  late  been  lo  Caiiibi  idge  —  to  Trinity  College  ; 
Serv'd  las'   a  young  gentleman,  studying  diyinily, 
But  left —  not  approving  the  morals  of  Trinily, 

P.S. 

I  enclose,  too,  according  to  prom'se,  some  scraps 
Of  my  Journal  —  Ih'at  Day-book    1    keep  of  my 
heart  ; 
Where,  .nt  some  little  items,  (partaking,  perhaps, 
More  of  earlh  than  of  heaven,)  Ihy  prud'ry   may 

start. 
And  suspect  jiwmething  tender,  slv  girl  as  thou  art. 
For  the  pre-ent,  I  'in  niute-bul.  whaV'er  mav  befall, 
Uecollect.  dear,  (in  Hebrews,  xiii.  4,)  Si.  Full 
Hath  himself  declar'd,  "marriage  is  honourable  in 


EXTRACTS    FROM    MY    D  I  A  K  V. 

Monday. 

,  new  chale  gown  on —  pretty. 


No  one  to  see  me  in  it  — pity! 
Flew  in  a  passion  with  Friz,  m 
The  Lord  forgive  '      ' 

But  got  her  to  sing  me  luuili  fsal 
While  she  curl'd  my  hair,  which 
Nothing  so  soothes  a  Christian  lit 
As  sacred  music  —  heavenly  art  1 


he  look'd  dismav'd ; 


Tiusday, 


At  two,  a  visit  from  Mr.  Magan  — 

A  remarkably  hand.snine,  nice  young  man  ; 

And,  all  Hibernian  though  he  be. 

As  civilis'd,  strange  lo  say,  as  we  ! 

I  own  this  young  man's  spiritual  state 
Hath  much  engross'd  my  ihouglils  of  late ; 
And  I  mean,  as  soon  as  my  niece  is  gone, 
To  have  sometilk  with  him  thereupon. 
At  present,  I  nought  can  do  or  say. 
But  Ihat  troublesome  child  is  in  the  way: 
Nor  is  there.  I  think,  a  doubt  Ihat  he 

Would  also  her  alisi  nee  ninth  prefer, 
As  ofi,  while  li-tening  intent  lo  inc. 

He's  forc'd,  from  politeness,  to  look  at  her. 

Heigho  I  —  what  a  blessing  should  Mr.  Magan 
Tu'U  out,  after  all,  a  "  renewed"  young  man; 
And  hi  me  should  fall  Ihe  lask,  on  earlh. 
To  assist  at  Ihe  dear  youth's  second  birth. 
Blest  thought  I  and,  ah,  more  blest  ihe  tie, 
Were  it  heaven's  high  will  that  he  and  1  — 


which  Latter  alone  the  Stock-Exchange  Divtnily  hat 
been  produced."—  No.  x.  p.  375. 

Among  the  ancients,  we  know  the  money-market 
was  provided  with  more  than  one  presiding  Deity  — 
"  Uese  Pecuni.-e  (says  an  ancient  author)  commenda- 
bantur  nt  pecuniosi  essent." 


448 


THE   FUDGES   IN   ENGLAND. 


But  I  blush  to  write  the  nuptial  uoid  — 
Should  wed,  as  yt.  I'aul  says,  "in  iheJLord;" 
A'ol  l/ns  world  s  wedlock  —  gross,  gall:vnt, 
Bui  pure —  as  when  Ainrani  iiiairied  his  aunt. 

Our  a^es  ditier —  but  who  would  count 

Oiie^si.aiural  sn-ful  Uiv.h  aiiiou,,t. 

Or  look  IN  Ihe  Kegisier's  vulgar  pase 

For  a  regular  Iwice-boin  Christian's  age, 

VVhn,  bltrs^cti  piivilege  !  (miIv  then 

Bi-guis  to  live  when  lie's  burn  again. 

And,  ciunlMig  in  t/Us  way  —  let  me  see  — 

1  myself  but  hve  years  old  shall  be, 

And  deir  Magari,  when  the'  event  takes  place, 

All  aciiial  new-born  child  of  grace  — 

Should  Hea%'n  in  mercy  so  dispose  — 

A  six-h>ol  baby,  in  swaddling  clothes. 

IVednesday, 

Findina;  mvself,  bv  some  good  fate. 

With  ISlr/Magaii'left  tclea-tctey 

H-id  just  begun  —  having  stirr'd  the  fire, 

And  drawn  mv  chair  near  his —  to  inquire 

Wh.t  his  noiinns  were  of  Original  Sin 

When  thai  iiaut;hiy  Fanny  ai^aiii  bouncM  in, 

And  all  the  sweet  things  I  had  got  to  say 

Of  the  Fle;U  and  (he  Devil  weie  whisk'd  away ! 

Much  grieved  to  observe  that  Mr.  Magan 

Isaciually  pleased  and  amused  wiih  Fan! 

What  cliaruis  any  sensible  man  can  see 

In  a  child  so  iooiishiy  joung  as  she  — 

r.ut  ju-sl  eighieen,  come  next  May-day, 

With  eyes,  like  herself,  full  of  nought  but  play — 

Is,  I  own,  an  exceeding  puzzle  to  me. 


LETTER    III. 

FROM    MISS   FANNY    FUDGE,    TO    HER    COU- 
SIN,   MISS    KITTY    . 

STANZAS  (ENCLOSED)  TO  MY  SHADOW;  OR, 
WHY?— WHAT?— HOW? 

Dark  comrade  of  my  path  !  while  earth  and  sky 
Thus  wed  their  charms  in  bridal  light  array'd, 

Why  in  this  bright  hour,  ualkM  ihuu  ever  mgh, 
Blackening  my  footsteps  wiih  thy  length  of  shade — 
Dark  comrade,  Why  ? 

Thou  mimic  Shape  that,  mid  these  flnwery  scenes, 
Gtidest  beside  me  o  er  each  sunny  spoi, 

Sadd'ning  tht-m  as  thou  goesi  —say,  what  means 
So  dark  an  adjunct  to  so  1. right  a  lot  — 
Grim  gnblin,  Whit? 

Slill,  as  to  pluck  sweet  flowers  I  bend  my  brow, 
Thou  benilesf,  too  -then  rjsesl  when'l  ri^e; — 

Say,  mute  mvsteiious  Thing !  how  is 'i  that  thou 
Thus  coui'st  beiween  me  and  tho'C  blessed  skies  — 
Dim  sliadow,  How? 

^ADDITIONAL     STANZA,    BY     ANOTHER 
HAND.) 
Thus  said  I  to  (hat  Shape,  far  less  in  grudge 

Thnn  gloom  of  snul ;  while,  as  I  e^tger  cried, 
Oh,  Why?  What?  How?- a  Voice,  ttiat  one  might 
juiige 
To  be  some  Irish  ech'^'s,  faint  replied, 

Oh,  fudge,  fudge,  fudge ! 

You  have  here,  dearest  Coz,  my  last  lyric  effusion; 

And,  With  it,  thai  odious  '^iddaionalsr.mza." 

:  Which  Aunt  will  insist  I  must  keep,  as  conciusion, 

i      And  which,  you'll  at  mice  see,  is  Mr.  Magaii's;— a 

I      Most  crue"  and  dark-designM  extravaganza, 


And  part  of  that  plot  in  which  he  and  my  Auot  are 
To  slitle  the  flights  of  my  genius  by  banter. 

Just  so  H  was  with  Byron's  young  eagle-eyM  strain. 
Just  so  did  they  launt  him  ;  —  but  vain,  critics,  vain 
All  your  ellbrts  to  saddle  Wil»s  fire  with  a  chain ! 
To  blot  oil  I  the  splendnur  of  Fancy's  young  stream, 
Or  crop.  In  its  cradle,  her  newly-lledg'd  beam  !  I ! 
Thou  perceiv'st,  dear,  that,  ev'n  while  these  lines  I 

indite. 
Thoughts  burn,  brilliant  fancies  break  out,  wrong  or 

right, 
And  1  'm  all  over  poet,  in  Criticism's  spite i 

That  my  Aunt,  who  deals  on!y  in  Psalms,  and  regards 
Messrs.  Sternhold  and  Co.  as  the  first  of  ail  bards  — 
Thai  she  should   make  light  of  uiy  works  I  can't 

bUnie ; 
But  that   nice,  handsome,  odious  Magan — what  a 

shame  \ 
Do  you  know,  dear,  that,  high  as  on  most  points  I 

rm  really  afr.iid  —  afier  all,  I  — must  hate  him. 
He  is  so  provoking  — nought's  safe  from  his  tongue; 
He  si>ares  no  one  authoress,  ancient  or  young. 
Were  you  Sappho  herself,  and  in  Keepsake  or  Bijou 
Once  shone  as  contributor,  Lord  how  he  'd  quiz  yoH  I 
He  iHughs  at  all  Montlilies-  i  've  aciually  seen 
A  sneer  on  his  brow  at  the  Court  Magazine  I  — 

While  of  Weeklies,  poor  things,  there's  but  one  he 

peru  es, 
And  buys  every  book  which  that  Weekly  abuses. 
Hut  1  care  not  how  others  such  s^rca'^ln  nuy  fear, 
Otie  spirit,  at  least,  will  not  bend  to  his  sneer ; 
And  though  tried  by  the  fire,  my  young  genius  shall 

Uninjuied  as  ciucificd  gold  in  the  furnace  I 
(I  suspect  the  word  "ciucified"  must  be  made  "  cru- 
cible," 
Before  this  fine  image  of  mine  is  producible.) 

And  now,  dear  — to  (el!  you  a  secret  which,  pray 
Only  tiu>t  iosuch  fritnds  as  with  safely  you  may— 
You  know,  and,  indeed  the  whole  county  s-uspecta 
(Though  the  Editor  ofien  my  best  things  rejects), 
That  the  ver  es  sign'd  so,  jf  |^,  which  you  now  and 

then  see 
In  our  Ci'untv  GazeCe  (vide  last)  are  by  me. 
But  'I  is  dreadful  to  ihiiik  uhat  provoking  mistakes 
The  vile  cuuntry  Fress  in  one's  prosody  makes. 
For  ynu  know,  dear— I  may,  \vithout  vamty,  hint- 
Though  an  angel  shuuld  write,  still  't  is  di:vils  must 

print ; 

And  you  can't  think  what  havoc  these  demons  some- 
Choose  to  make  i  f  one's  sense,  and  what 's  woree,  of 

one's  rhymes. 
But  a  ueek  or  two  since,  in  my  Ode  upon  Sprine, 
Which  1  mtant  ti*  have  made  a  n:osI  beautiful  thing. 
Where   I   talk'd  of   the  *'de\\diops    from   freshly- 

bh.wn  roses," 
The    nasty    things    made    it    "from    freshly-blown 

noses  1" 
And  once  when,  to  please  my  cross  Aun',  I  had  tried 
To  conmieniN;ite  some  saint  of  her  clique,  who'd 

just  died, 
Having  said  he  '*  had  tak'n  up  in  heav'ii  his  position," 
Tiiey  made  it,  he'd  "tak'n  up  to  heav'n  his  phy=i- 


This  IS  very  disheartening;— but  brighter  dsys  shine, 
I  lejnice,  love,  to  say,  both  for  me  and  the  Nine; 
For,  what  do  you  think  ?-so  delighttui  :  next  yea--, 
Oh,  jirepare,  dearest  girl,  for  the  grand  news  pre- 
pare— 
I  »m  to  write  in  the  Keepsake  —  yes,  Kitty,  my  dear, 
To    wriic    in    the  Keepsake,  as  sure   as  you're 
there !  I 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND, 


449 


T'olher  night,  at  a  Ball,  't  was  my  fortunate  chance 

Wiih  a  very  nice  elderly  Ibndy  to  dance, 

\Vho,  't  was  piain,  fruiii  some  bin's  whicli  I  itowand 

then  cauglit, 
Was  llie  author  of   sonuthmg  —  ouc  couldn'l  tell 

u  hat  i 
But  his  satisfied  manner  left  no  room  to  doubt 
It  was  bonicthiug  that  Cvlburu  had  lately  hrouglit 

out. 


And  then  stilled  the  point  in  a  hold  £71  avaiiL 

In   the   couise  of  Uus  talk  'twas  that,  having  just 

hinted 
That  /  too  had  Poems  which  — lonfi'd  to  be  prinled, 
He  protested,  kind  man  !  he  had  seen,  at  first  sight, 
1  was  actually  loin  in  the  Keepsake  lo  write. 

"In    the    Annals  of   Kngland  let  some,'*  he  said, 

*'  But  a  place  in  her  Annuals,  Lady,  be  thine ! 

"  Kven  now  future  Ktepsakes  seem  brighily  to  rise, 

"Through   the  vista  of  years,  as  I  gaze  on  those 

"  All  letter'd  and  press'd,  and  of  lar^e-paper  size  1" 
How   unlike    lliat    Magan,   who  my  genius  would 

siiioiher, 
And  how  we,  true  geniuses,  find  out  each  ether! 

This,  and  much  more  he  said,  with  that  fine  frenzied 

glance 
One  80  rarely  now  sees,  as  we  slid  through  the 

Till  between  us  M  was  finally  fixM  that, next  year, 

In  this  exquisite  task  I  my  pen  slioutd  ent^age  ; 
And,  at  parting,  he  sioopM  duwn  and  lispM  in  my  ear 
Tiirse  mjstical  words,  which  I  could  but  ju^l  hear, 

"Terms  fur  rhjme —  if  it's  jjritne — ten  and  six- 
pence per  page  " 
Think.  Ki:ly,  my  dear,  if  I  heard  his  words  right, 

What  a  mint  of  half-guineas  this  small  lie.kd  con- 
tains; 
If  for  nothing  to  write  is  itself  a  delight, 

Ve  Gods,  what  a  bliss  to  be  paid  tur  one's  strains! 

Ha.ving  dropp'd  the  dear  fellow  a  courl'sy  profound, 

Ort'at  once,  to  i-.iuireall  ahnut  Inni,  I  ran; 
And  from  what  1  cjuld  learn,  do  you  know,  desFi 


•  found 


That  he  's  quiie  a  new  rpecies  of  litVary  man  ; 
One,  whose  task  is — to  u  hat  will  not  fashion  accun- 

toni  us?  — 
To  cdite  live  authors,  as  if  they  were  poslhumou?. 
I'or    ins'ance  —  the    plan,    to    be  sure,  is    the    odd- 


rst  !- 


If  any  young  he  or  she  author  feels  modest 

In  venturing  abroad,  this  kind  gentleman-usher 

Lends  promptly  a  hand  to  the  infresiinst  blusher; 

Iiuiiles  a  smonth  Preface,  brings  merit  to  light, 

Wtnch  else  migh',  by  accident,  shrink  out  of  sight, 

Aiid,  in  short,  lenders  reader^and  critics  poliie. 

My  Aunt  ^ays  —  though  scarce  on  such  points  one 

can  credit  her 
He  was  Lady  Jane  Thingumbob's  last  novel's  editor, 
Tis  certain  the  fashion's  but  newly  invented  ; 
And  quick  as  the  change  of  alt   things  and  all 

names  is. 
Who  knows  but,  as  authors,  like  girls,  v^re  •presented^ 
We,  girls,  may  he  cdittd  soon  al  i^t,  James's  ? 

I  must  now  close  my  letter  —  there's  Aunt,  in  full 

screech. 
Wants  to  take  me  to  bear  some   great   Irvingile 

preach. 
God  forgive  me,  I  'ni  not  much  inclined,  I  must  a^y, 
To  go  and  sit  still  to  be  preach'd  at,  tO'day. 


And,  l>e.sides  —  't  will  be  all  ugainst  dancing,  no 
doubt, 

Which  my  poor  Aunt  abhors,  with  such  hatred  de- 
vout. 

Thai,  sn  far  from  presenting  young  nymphs  with  a 

For  their  skill  in  the  dance,  as  of  Herod  is  said, 
She'd  wi>h  their  own  be^ds  in  ;he  platter,  insiead. 
There.aiaiu — cumiue,  Maam  !  — I'll  write  mure,  if 

leu, 
Before  the  post  gees, 

YouraiTeclionate  Fan. 

Funr  o'clock. 
Such  a  sermon!  —  though  not    about   dancing,  mj 

dear; 
'T  was  nnlv  on  the'  end  of  the  world  being  ne:ir. 
Eigiiteen  Hundred  and  Forty's  the  year  that  some 

stale 
As  the  time  fnr  that  accident  —  some  Forty  Ei?ht :  l 
And  1  own,  of  the  two    I  M  prefer  mucli  the  latter. 
As  then  I  shall  be  an  old  maid,  and  't  wc'n'r  matrer. 
Once   more,  love,   good-b}e  — 1 've  to   make  a  new 

cap; 
But  am  now  so  dead  tired  with  this  horrid  mishap 
Of  (be  end  of  the  world,  ttiat  1  must  take  a  nap. 


LETTER    IV. 

FROM    PATRICK  MAGAN,  ESQ.  TO  THE  REV. 
RICHARD    . 

He  comes  from  Erin's  speechfnl  shnre 
Like  fervid  kettle,  bubli!ii;g  o'er 

With  hot  eflusions—  hot  and  weak  ; 
Sounj,  Humbug,  all  vour  hfillowest  drums, 
He  comes,  of  Erin's 'martyrdoms 

To  Britain's  well-fed  Church  to  speak. 

Puff  him,  ye  Journals  of  the  Lord,^ 
Twin  prosers,  Wa'chman  and  Record! 
Journals  re<ierv'd  for  realms  nf  blis?, 
Being  much  too  ?ood  to  tell  in  this. 
Prepare,  ye  wealthier  Saints,  ynur  dinners. 

Ye  Spinsters,  spread  your  tea  and  crumpets; 
And  you,  ye  cmnile^s  Tiac's  for  Sinners, 

Blow  all  your  little  penny  Irumpels. 
He  comes,  the  reverend  man,  to  tell 

To  all  who  still  the  Church's  part  take, 
Tales  of  parsonic  woe,  that  well 

Might  make  ev'n  grim  Dissenter's  heart  ache: -»» 
Of  ten  whole  Bishops  snalch'd  away 
For  everfr.Tn  the  light  of  day; 
(With  God  knows,  too,  how  many  more, 
For  wh 'm  that  doom  i^  yet  in  store)— 
Of  Rectors  cruellv  conipell'd 

From  Bath  and'Chelfenham  to  haste  home, 
Because  the  tithes,  by  P^t  withheld, 

Will  not  to  Bath  or  Cheltenham  come; 
Nor  will  the  flocks  consent  to  pay 
Their  par-ons  ihus  to  stay  away  ;— 
Though,  wi'h  such  parsons,  one  may  doubt 
If  't  isn't  money  well  laid  out  ;— 
Of  all,  in  short,  and  each  degree 
Of  that  onco  happy  Hierarchy, 

1  With  regard  to  the  exact  time  of  this  event,  there 
appears  to  be  a  difference  only  of  about  two  or  three 
yeirs  among  'he  respective  calcuhiors.  M.  Alp^-on^e 
Nicole,  Dncteur  en  Droit,  et  Avocal.  nerely  doi.Lts 
whether  it  is  to  he  in  1846 or  1S47.  "A  ce  le  epnque," 
he  says  *'  'es  fideles  peuvent  esperer  de  voir  s'elfectuer 
la  purification  du  Sancluaire." 

i  *'  Our  anxious  desire  is  to  be  found  on  the  side  of 
the  Lord."  —  Record  Newspaper. 


2d 


450 


THE   FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND. 


Which  us'd  to  rA.  in  wrallh  so  pleasantly  ; 
Bui  now,  alas,  is  donni'd  to  »ee 
lis  surplus  brought  lo  nonplus  presently  ! 

Such  are  the  themes  this  man  of  pathos, 
Prjelof  prove  and  Lord  of  haih^s, 

W.ll  preacli  a„d  p  each  I'ye,  till  vou>dMll  again 
Then,  hiil  hrri,,  Siints,  with  joor' acclaim 
Shout  to  ihesars  his  luin-ful  n  me, 
Which  Murlagh  was,  ere  known  lo  fame, 

But  now  i.  Monimtr  OAlulligau  1 


All  true,  Dick,  true  as  you  ' 


en  hii 


liuurs  since,  arrive, 
Murl.ish  is  come,  the  gjeal  Itinerant  — 

Anl  Tuesday,  in  the  market-place, 
Inteiidj,  In  every  saint  and  eioner  in  't. 

To  state  what  Ae  calls  Ireland's  Case; 

Meanins  thereby  the  case  of  hit  shop, 

Of  curate,  vicar,  rector,  bishop. 
And  all  those  other  grades  seraphic. 
That  make  men's  souls  their  special  traffic, 
Though  carina;  not  a  pin  which  way 
The"  erratic  souls  go,  so  they  jJoy. — 
Just  as  some  roguish  country  nurse, 

Who  takes  a  foundling  babe  to  suckle, 
First  pop,  the  payment  m  her  purse, 

Then  leaves  poor  dear  lo  — suck  i!5  knuckle; 
Ev'n  so  these  reverend  rigmaroles 
Pocket  the  money  — starve  the  souls. 
Murta?h,  however,  in  his  glory, 
Will  tell,  next  week,  a  ditlerenl  s'oty : 
Will  n.ake  out  all  tliese  men  of  barier, 
As  each  a  saint,  adoiuinglil  niarlyr. 
Brought  to  (he  j(afte—  i.  e.  a  Ucf  one. 
Of  all  Ihtir  martyrdom-  the  chief  one; 
Though  try  them  ev'n  at  ihis  they  'II  bear  it, 
If  lender  .lud  wash'd  down  with  claret. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Fudge,  who  loves  all  lions. 
Your  saintly,  next  lo  grea'  and  high  'uns  — 
(A  Vrscount,  be  he  what  he  niav, 
Would  cut  a  saint  out,  any  day,) 
Has  just  announc'd  a  godlv  rout. 
Where  Murlagh 's  to  be  fii'st  brought  out, 
And  shown  in  his  lame,  mnk  day  stale  :— 
"Pra>'rs,  half-past  seven,  tea  at  eight." 

Ev'n  so  the  circular  missive  orders 

Pink  cards,  with  cherubs  round  the  borders. 

Haste,  Dick  —  you  're  lost,  if  you  lose  time;— 

S|iinsters  at  f  irty-fivc  grow  giddy. 
And  Murtagh,  with  his  tropes  sublime. 

Will  surely  carry  off  rdd  Bitldy, 
Unless  sonre  spark  at  once  propose. 
And  distance  him  by  dovvnrrght  prose. 
That  sxk,  rich  squire,  whose  wealth  and  lands 
All  pats,  they  say,  to  Biddy's  hands, 
(The  patron,  Dick,  of  three  fat  rectories!) 
Is  dying  of  angina  pectoris;— 
So  that,  unless  you  're  slirriiig  soon 

Murtagh,  that  priest  of  puff  and 'pelf, 
May  come  in  for  a  honey-mooji. 

And  be  the  man  of  it,  himself! 

As  for  me,  Dick  -  'tis  whim,  'tis  folly. 
Cut  this  yoirng  niece  absorbs  me  wholly. 
Trs  true,  the  girl 's  a  vile  verse-maker  — 

Would  rhyme  all  nature,  if  you  'd  let  her:— 
But  ev'n  her  oddities,  plague  lake  her. 

But  make  me  love  tier  all  the  better. 
Too  true  ir  is,  she  's  bitten  -.nlly 
Wi  h  this  new  rage  for  rhyming  badiv. 
Which  la'e  liatir  sei^'J  all  r.nks  and  dasses, 
Down  lo  that  new  Estate,  •'  the  masses;" 

Till  one  pursuit  all  tastes  combines  — 
One  common  rail-road  o'.ir  Parnassus, 
Where,  sliding  in  those  t  iiieful  g-ooves 
Cill'd  couplets,  all  creati  rn  moves,         ' 
I  And  the  whole  world  riiirs  mad  in  tinet. 


Add  to  all  this  —  what 's  even  still  wine. 
As  rhyme  itself,  though  slill  a  curse. 

Sounds  better  to  a  chinking  purse 

Scarce  sixpence  hath  my  ctiarmer  got. 
While  I  can  musier  just  a  groat ; 
So  that,  coinpiiting  self  and  Venus, 
Tenpencein  uld  clear  ihe  amount  between  n>. 

However,  things  may  yet  prove  better: — 
Meaiilime,  what  awful  lengrh  of  letter! 
And  how,  while  heaping  thus  with  gibes 
1  he  Pega-us  of  modern  scribes, 
My  own  small  hobby  of  farrago 
Haih  beat  the  pace  at  which  ev'n  they  go! 


IE  TTER    V. 

FROM  LARRY  o'bRANIGAN,  IN  EPIGLAND,  TO 
HIS  WIFE  JUDY,  AT    MULUNAFAD. 

Dear  Judy,  I  sind  you  this  bit  of  a  letlher. 

By  mail-coach  conveyance  —  for  ivant  of  a  betther- 

To  tell  you  what  luck  in  this  world  1  have  had 

Since  I  left  the  sweet  cabin,  at  Mullinafad. 

Och,  Judy,  thai  night  I  —  when  the  pig  which  we 

meant 
To  dry-nurse  in  Ihe  parlour,  to  pay  off  the  rent, 
Juiianna,  the  crayihur—  that  name  was  the  death  of 

On' — 
Gave  us  the  shiip,  and  we  saw  the  last  breath  of  her! 
And  lltere  were  Ihe  childher,  six  innocent  sowls 
For  their  nale  little  play-fellow  tuning  up  howls'; 
While  yourself,  my  dear  Judy  (though  grieviu  's  a 

folly), 
Stud  Over  Jnlianna's  remains,  melancholy  — 
Cry  in',  half  for  ihe  crayihur,  and  half  for  the  money, 
"Arrah,  why  did  ye  die  till  we'd  sowld  you,  my 

honey  ?'' 

But  God's  will    be   done!  — and    then,   faith,  sure 

enough. 
As  the  pig  was  desaiced,  'I  was  high  lime  to  be  off. 
So  we  golher'd  up  all  the  poor  duds  we  could  catch 
Wk'd  the  owld  cabin  door-,  put  the  kay  in  the  thatc'h. 
Then  lus  laave  of  each  other's  sweet  lips  in  the  dark, 
And  set  off,  like  the   Chrishlians  turn'd  out  of  the 

."he  six  childher  with  you,  my  dear  Judy,  ochone! 
And  poor  1  wid  myself,  left  condolin'  alone. 

How  I  came  lo  Ihis  England,  o'er  say  and  o'er  lands 

And  what  cruel  hard  walkiii'  1  've  had  on  my  hands' 

Is,  at  this  present  whtin',  ino  ladious  lo  speik. 

So  i  'II  minlion  il  all  in  a  postscript,  next  week  :— 

Only  slarv'd  1  »as,  surely,  as  thin  as  a  lath, 

Till  I  came  ro  .an  up-and-down  place  ihey  cill  Ra'h, 

Where,  as  luck  was,  1  maiiag'd   to  make  a  meal's 

nieat, 

B>-  dhiaggio  owld  ladies  all  day  ihrough  the  street  - 
Which   Iheir  dodhors  (who  pocket,  like  fun.   the 

pound  starlins,) 
Have  brought  into  fashion  In  plase  Ihe  owld  darlins. 
JJiv'l  a  boy  in  all  Bath,  though  /say  il,  could  carry 
The  grannies  up  hill  half  so  handy  as  Larry  • 
And  the  higher  Ihey  liv'd,  like  owld  crow,  in  the  air, 
1  he  more  /  was  wanted  to  lug  ihem  up  there. 
But  luck  has  two  handles,  dear  Judv,  they  say 
And  mine  has  biith  handles  put  on  the  wron»  way 
For,  pondlrerin',  one  morn,  on  a  drame  1  'd  j',s,  had 
Of  yourself  and  the  babbies,  at  Mu  linaf.ad 
Och,  there  came  oer  my  sinses  so  plasin  a  flullher, 
1  hat   I   spilt  an  owld   Counle  s  right  clane  is  the 

gutther, 


'  The  Irish  peasantry  are  very  fond  of  giving  fine 
names  lo  their  pigs.  I  have  heard  of  one  insiani-e  'a 
^-  .^*'.\  T"'!^"  ';'  >'""°S  pigs  were  named,  at  their 
birth,  Abelard  and  Eloisa. 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND 


451 


Muff,  fe.iit«ers  and  all !—  Ihe  dcscint  was  most  awful, 
And  — what  was  still  worse,  hilh  —  1  knew  'twas 

unlawful 
For,  though,  wilh  mere  icJ07«cn,  no  very  great  evil, 
■1'  iipscl  an  ni>lJ  Ccuiilas  in  IlaHi  is  Ihe  divil ! 
So,  liflii.'  Ihe  chair,  "illi  helsclf  safe  upon  it, 
(For  nolhin'ahiM,!  Iier  was  W(,  (nil  her  bonnet,) 
Wilhoul  even  nienlionin'  "  liy  ycur  lave,  ma'am," 
1  tuk  to  my  heels  and  —  here,  Judy,  i  am  ! 

What 's  Ihe  name  of  this  town  1  can't  say  very  well, 
B  it  your  heart  sure  will  junij)  when  you  bear  what 

befell 
Your  ow  n  beautiful  Larry,  the  very  first  day, 
(And  a  Sunday  it  was,  shinin'  out  mighty  gay,) 
Wien   ■:.'>  brogues  to  Ibis  city  of  luck  fouud  their 

HeLl'  hungry,  God  help  me,  and  happeniii'  to  stop. 
Just  to  dine  on  the  shinell  of  a  pasihry-cooks  shop, 
1  saw,  in  Ihe  wii.dow,  a  large  printed  paper. 
And  read  there  a  name,  och !  that  made  my  heart 

Thougli  prin'ed  it  was  in  some  quare  ABC, 
'I'liai  migh'  b  ilher  a  ^choolma^lber,  let  alone  me. 
Cy  gor,  you  'd  have  laughed,  Judy,  could  you've  but 

listeiiM, 
As,  douljtin',  1  cried,  "why  it  I'j.'  — no,  it  w>rf;" 
But  it  tccM,  aflcr  all  —  for,  by  spellin'  quiie  slow, 
I'irst  I  made  out  "Rev.  Mortimer"— then  a  great 

•"  0 ;" 
And,  at  lasl,  by  hard  rcadin'  and  rackio'  my  skull 

again, 
Out  it  came,  nate  as  imported,  "  O'Mulligan  !" 

Up  I  jump*d,  like  a  sky-lark,  my  jew'l,  at  that 

name, — 
Div'l  a  doubt  oa  my  mind,  but  it  must  be  the  same. 
"  M.isther  Murthagh,  himself,"  says  1,  '■  all  the  world 

over  ! 
My  own  fi  sther-brolher  — by  jinks,  I'm  in  clover. 
Though  tlure,  in  Ibc  playbill,  he  figures  so  grand, 
One  wei-nurse  it  was  brought  us  but/i  up  by  hand. 
And  he'll  not  let  me  sblarve  in  the  intmy's  land !" 

Well,  lo  make  a  long  hishtory  short,  niver  doubt 
But  I  manag'd.  in  no  lime,  to  hiid  Ihe  lad  out ; 
And  the  joy  of  ihe  meetin'  belhuxl  him  and  me, 
Such  a  pair  of  owhl  cumro^ues — was  chariniii'  :o  see. 
Nor  is  Murthagh  less  plas'd  with  the'evint  Ihan/am, 
As  lie  jusl  then  was  wanting  a  Valley-de-shani  ; 
And,  for  dressin^  a  giiiileman,  one  way  or  t'  other, 
Your  naie  Irish  lad  is  beyaiit  every  o;tier. 

But  now.  Judv,  comes  the  qnare  pari  of  the  case; 
And,  in  Ihrolh,  11  's  Ihe  only  drawback  on  my  place, 
'  T  was  Murthagh's  ill  luck  to  becro-s'd,  asycu  know, 
Wilh  an  awkward  mishfor'une  some  short  time  ago; 
Tlial's  to  say,  he  turn'd  Protestant  — u)/iy,  1  can't 

lam ; 
But,  of  ciiorse,  he  knew  best,  an'  it 's  not  my  consarn. 
All  I  know  is,  we  both  we-e  good  Calh'lics,  ai  nurse 
And  myself  am  so  still  —  naylher  betlher  nor  worse. 
Well,  our  bargain  was  all  right  and  tight  in  a  jittey, 
And  lads  more  contini  never  yet  left  tfie  l.iifey, 
When    Muriliagh — or   Morthinier,    as    he's   now 

chrishen'd, 
His  natnc  being  cnnvarted,  at  laist,  if  he  isn't  — 
J.nokin'  sly  al  nie  (faiih,  't  was  divartin'  lo  >ee) 
^Of  coarse,  you  're  a  Proleslanl,  Larry,"  says  he. 
Upon  wliich  says  my. elf,  w  id  a  wink  j"si  as  shly, 
"  Is  't  a  Proiesfari'  ?  —  oh,  yes,  f  avi^  sir,"  says  I ;  — 
And  ihere  the  chat  ended,  ar,d  div'l  a  more  word 
Conlrovarsial  between  us  lias  since  then  occurr'd. 

What  Murthagh  could  mane,  and,  in  troth,  Judy 

dear. 
What  /  iny.*ef/ meant,  doesn't  seem  migtily  clear; 
But  Ihe  ibiuih  is,  though  still  for  the  Owld  Light  a 

stickler, 
1  was  just  then  too  slitarv'd  to  be  over  partic'Iar :  — 


And,  God  knows,  between  us,  a  comic'l 
Of  twin  rrotestautj  couldn't  be 


y  where. 


Next  Tue-day  (as  towld  in  the  play-bills  I  min- 

tion'd, 
Address'd  lo  Ihe  loyal  and  godly  intinlion'd,) 
His  riveieiice,  my  master,  comes foi  ward  lo  preach,— 

Myself  doesn't  kmiw  wlielher  sani or  .speech, 

Hul  it 's  al  I  one  lo  him,  he  's  a  dead  hand  al  each  ; 
Like  us,  Paddys,  in  gin'ral,  whose  skill  in  orations 
l^uite  bothers  the  blarney  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  bil  ot  a  leillier, 
Which,   laix,  I'd   have  made  a  much   bigger  and 

heither. 
But  div'l  a  one  rost-ollice  hole  in  this  town 
t'll  to  swallow  a  dacent  siz'd  billy-dux  down. 
So  pood  luck  to  the  childer!  — tell  Mdly,  I  love  her; 
Ki-s  Ooiiagh's  sweet  mouth,  and  kiss  Kaity  all  over- 
Not  forgctiin'  the  mark  of  ihe  rtd-cuirani  whiskey 
She  gol  al  Ihe  fair  when  yourself  was  so  frisky. 
The  heav'ns  be  your  bed  '.  —  1  will  write,  when  I  can 

again, 
Yours  to  the  woild's  end, 

Larry  O'Branioan. 


LETTER    VI. 

FROM    MISS    BIDDY    FITDGE,    TO    MRS. 
ELIZABETH  . 

How  I  grieve  you 're  not  with  us  I  — pray,  come,  if 

ynu  can, 
Ere  we  're  robb'd  of  this  dear,  oratorical  man. 
Who  combines  in  himself  all  Ihe  mulliple  glory 
Of  Orangeman.  Saint,  quondam  I'apisI  and  Tory;  — 
(Choice   inixlure!   like  that  from  which,  duly  con- 
founded, 
The    best    son  of  brass  was,  in  old   times,  com- 
pounded)— 
The  sly  and  Ihe  sainlly,  the  worldly  and  godly, 
All  fused  down  in  brogue  so  deliciously  oddly  ! 
In  short,  he  's  a  dear  — and  such  audiences  draws, 
Such  loud  peals  of  hiu^hler  and  shouts  of  applause, 
As  ca7t't  but  do  good  to  Ihe  Prolestanl  cause. 

Poor   dear   Irish    Church!— he    lo-day   skelch'd   a 

Of  her  hisi'ry  and  prospects,  to  me  al  least  new, 
And  which  (if  it  takes  as  ii  ought)  must  aiouse 
The  whole  Christian  world  her  jusl  riehls  to  espouse. 
As  to  rcajonijig  —  you  know,  dear,  that 's  now  of  no 

usi;, 
People  slill  will  their/nc(j  and  dry.fig™-ej  produce, 
As  if  saving  the  souls  of  a  Prole  lani  flock  were 
A  tiiii'gto'be  managed  "accordiuB  to  Cocker!" 
In  vain  do  we  say,  (when  rude  radicals  hector 
At  paying  some  ihoiisands  a  year  to  a  Rector, 
In  places  where  Proteslants  7ic-ucr  ytt  were,) 
"Who  knows    but  young  Proieslanis  may  \m  bora 

Ihere? 
And  graining  such  accident,  think,  what  a  shame. 
If   ihey  didn't  find   Rector  and  Clerk  when    they 

came ! 
II  is  clear  ihai,  without  such  a  staff  on  full  pay, 
'I'hese  li'lle  Church  embryos  mtut  go  aslray  ; 
And,  while  fools  are  computing  what  Parsons  would 

cost, 

Precious  souls  are  meanwhile  to  the'  Establishment 

lost ! 
In  vain  do  we  put  the  case  sensibly  thus ; — 
They  'II  slill  wilh  their  figures  and  facts  make  a  fuss, 
And  ask  "  if,  while  all,  choosing  each  his  own  road. 
Journey  on,  as  we  can,  tow'rds  the  Htav'nly  Abode, 


452 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND, 


It  h  right  ihat  seven  eighlhs  of  the  t  av'llers  should 

p;iy 
For  cnie  eighth  ihat  goes  quite  a  diffL-rent  way  ?"— 
Just  as  if,  foolish  projtle,  this  wasii'i,  in  reaiily, 
A  pr;  of  of  the  Churcfi'^  txlremt:  I,beialiiy, 
'J  hat,  thougli  hal:iig  i'.ip'ry  in  other  respects, 
She  HI  Calholtc  v/jo'icy  \u  rm  u'.iy  oltjec's; 
And  so  lib'ial  her  very  besl  Saluis.  in  this  sense, 
That  they  ev'n  gi  to  lieav'u  at  the  Ca  h'lic  s  expense. 

Rut,  thous;h  clear  to  our  minda  all  these  arguments  be, 
People  caiuint  or  will  not  their  c  gency  see  ; 
Anii,  1  grieve  to  confess,  did  the  prior  Irish  Church 
Stand  on  reasoiiii^g  aloue,  she  M  he  Itft  in  the  lurch. 
It  was  therffore,  dear  Lizzy,  with  joy  most  sincere, 
That  I  heari  this  nice  Rev  rend  O' iomtfAmg- we've 

here, 
Produce,  from   the  depths    of  his   knowledge  and 

reading. 
A  view  of  ih.it  marvellous  Church,  far  exceeding, 
In  novelty,  force,  and  profnunrfness  of  thought. 
All  Ihat  Irving  liiniself,  iu  his  glory,  e'er  taught. 

Looking  through    the  whole   history,  present  and 

past, 
Of  the  Irish  Law  Church,  from  the  first  to  the  laBt; 
Considering  how  siran^e  i's  original  birth  — 
Such  a  thing  having  never  before  been  on  earth  — 
How  oppos'd  to  the  inslinct,  Ihe  law,  and  the  force 
Uf  natu'e  and  reason  has  been  its  whole  course; 
'Ihrou^h   ceuluries  eucount'iing  repugnance,  resist- 
ance. 
Scorn,  hste,  execration  —  yet  still  in  existence! 
Considering  all  this,  the  co.  elusion  he  draws 
Is  that  Nature  exempis  this  one  Church  from  her 

That  Reas^n,  dumb-founder'd,  gives  np  the  dispute, 
And  before  the  portentous  anom'ly  stands  mute  , — 
That,  in  short,  't  is  a  Miracle  I  —  and,  once  begun, 
And  transmitted  through  a?cs,  from  father  to  son, 
For  the  honour  of  miracles,  outfit  to  go  on. 

Never  yet  was  conclusion  so  cogent  and  sound, 
Or  so  fiiteJ  Ihe  Church's  weak  foes  to  confound. 
For,  obseive,  the  more  low  all  her  merits  they  place, 
The  more  they  make  out  the  miraculous  case. 
And  the  more  all  good  Christians  must  deem  it  pro- 
fane 
To  disturb  such  a  prodigy's  manellous  reign. 

As  for   scriptural    proofs,  he    quite  plac'd   be}ond 

doubt 
That  the  whole  in  the  Apocalypse  may  be  found  out, 
As  clear  and  well-provM,  he  would  venture  to  swear. 
As  any  thing  else  has  been  ever  found  there  :  — 
While  the  mode  in  which,  bless  the  dear  fellow,  he 

de,ils 
With  that  whole  lot  of  vials  and  trumpets  and  seals, 
And  Ihe  ea.e  with  which  vial  on  vial  he  strings, 
Shows   liim   quite  a  first-rate  at  all    these  iort  of 

things. 

So  much  for  theology  :  —  as  for  the'  afTairs 

Uf  this   temporal   wurld — the    light,  drawing-room 

And  gay  toils  of  the  toilet,  which,  God  knows,  I  seek, 
From   no  love   of  such  things,  but   in  humbleness 

meek, 
And  to  be,  as  the*   Apostle  was,   '*  weak  with  the 

weak,'* 
Thou  wilt  tind  quite  enough  (till  I'm  somewhat  less 

busy) 
In  the'  extracts  enclosed,  my  dear  news-loving  Lizzy. 

EXTRACTS    FROM     MY     DIARY. 

Thursday 
Last  night,  having  nought  more  holy  to  do, 
Wrote  a  letter  to  de.ir  Sir  Andrew  Agnew, 
About  the  "  Do-nothing-on-Sunday  Club," 
Which  wc  wish  by  some  shorter  name  to  dub  .■  — 


As  the  use  of  more  vowels  and  consonants 
Than  a  Christian,  on  Sunday,  really  wants, 
Is  a  grievance  that  ou£;hl  to  be  dune  away, 
And  the  Alphabet  left  to  rest,  that  day. 

Sunday, 
Sir  Andiew's  answer  !  —  but,  shocking  to  say, 
Being  Iranked  unthinkingly  yesterday, 
To  the  horror  of  Agnews  yei  unborn, 
It  arriv'd  on  this  blessed  Sunday  morn  ! !  — 
How  {■hocking  I  — the  postman's  hClf  cried  "shame 

on  "t," 
Seeing  the'  immaculate  Andrew's  name  on  't !  I 
What  will  the  Club  do?— meet,  no  doubt. 
»']■  is  a  matter  thai  totichps  the  Class  Devout, 
And  the  friends  of  the  Sabbath  77iust  speak  out. 

Tuesday, 

Saw  to-day,  at  the  raffle  — and  saw  it  with  pain  — 
That  those  stylish  Filzwigrams  begin  to  dress  plsin. 
Even  gay  little  Sophy  smart  trimmings  renounces  — 
She,  who  long  has  stood  by  me  (hrough  all  sorts  of 

flouiice=, 
And  showed,  by  upholding  the  toilet's  sweet  rites, 
That   we,  girls,   may  be  Christians,  without  being 

frights. 
This,  I  own,  much  alarms  me;  for  though  one's 

religious. 
And  strict  and  —  all  that,  there's  no  need  to  be 

hideous ; 
And  why  a  nice  bonnet  should  stand  in  the  way 
Of  one's  going  to  heav'u,  U  isn't  easy  to  say. 

Then  there's  Gimp,  the  poor  thing—  if  her  custom 

we  drop, 
Pny,  what  's  to  become  of  her  soul  and  her  shop  ? 
If  by  saints  like  ourselves  no  more  orders  are  given, 
She'll  lose  all  the  interest  she  now  takes  in  heaven; 
And   this  nice  little  "fire-brand,  pluck'd  from  the 

burning," 
May  fall  in  again  at  the  very  next  turning. 

IVedncsday. 

M<mi.— To  write  to  the  India-Mission  Society; 
And  send  201.  —  heavy  tax  upon  piety  ! 

Of  all  Indian  luxTies  we  now-a-dajs  boagi. 

Making  "Company's  Christians"!  periaps  costs  the 

mo>t. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  these  converts  full  grown. 
Having  lived  in  our  faith  mostly  die  in  their  oto/i,* 
Praying  hard,  at  the  last,  to  some  god,  who,  they  say. 
When    incarnate  on  earth,  used   to  steal  curds  and 

whey. 3 
Think,  how  horrid,  my  dear  1  —  so  that  all 's  thrown 

away; 
And  (what  is  still  worse}  for  the  rum  and  the  rice 
They  consum'd,  while  believers,  we  samls  pay  the 

price. 

Still  'tis  cheering  to  find  that  we  do  save  a  few — 
The  Report  gives  six  Chiistians  for  Cunnangeadoo  ; 
Doorkotchum  reck^-ns  seven,  and  four  Trevandmm, 
While  but  one  and  a  half's  left  at  Cooroopadum. 
In  this  last-mention'd  place 'tis  the  baibers  enslave 

For,  once  they  turn  Chrislian?,  no  barber  will  shave 


J  The  title  given  by  the  natives  to  such  of  their 
countrymen  ns  become  converts. 

^  Of  such  reUpses  we  find  innumerable  instances 
in  the  accounts  of  ihe  Missionaries. 

3  The  god  Krishna,  one  of  the  incarn^ttions  of  Ihe 
god  Vishnu.  *' One  day  (^ajs  Bhagsvata)  Kri-hna's 
pla\fellows  complained  to  Tasuda  that  he  had  pilfered 
and  ate  their  curds." 

*  "Roteen  wants  shaving;  but  the  barber  here 
will  not  do  it.    Ue  is  run  awa^-,  lest  he  should  be 


THE  FUDGES   IN   ENGLAND. 


453 


To  atone  for  this  rather  small  Heathen  amount, 
Some   I'apisis,  turn'd   Christians,*   are  tacU'd  to  the 

account. 
And  though,  to  ca'ch  Papists,  one  needn't  go  so  far, 
iSuch  hsh  are  worth  himking,  wherever  they  are  ; 
And  now,  when  so  g-eat  ot  audi  coivcrts  the  lack  is, 
Chie  Papist  well  caught  ia  wonh  luiUiOLB  of  Blackies. 

Fiiday. 

Last  night  had  a  dream  so  odd  and  funny, 

1  ciininit  rit-ibt  recording  il  here. — 
Me  hMUtih!  thai  Ihc  Genius  of  Matrimony 

Ikfiire  me  stood,  with  a  joyous  leer, 
Leadiica  husband  in  eich  hand, 

Aiidliotti  fur  me,  which  look'd  rather  queer;— 
One  I  could  perfectly  uu'eisLind, 

IJut  why  thcic  were  two  wasn't  quite  so  cl-ar. 
'Twa-.  meant,  however,  i  soon  c  .uld  see, 

'I'o  afford  me  a  choice  — a.  ni'is'  excel lerl  plan; 
And  —  who  i>hould  ttiis  biace  of  cai<didaie:)  be, 

But  Messrs.  '; -Mulligan  aiid  Magao  :— 
A  thing,  i  suppn  e,  unheard  of  till  ihen, 
To  dream,  nt  once,  of  twj  irislmien  I  — 
Thai    handsome    Magan,   too,   with   wings   on    his 
shoulders 

(For  all  UiU  pass'd  in  the  realms  of  the  Blest,) 
And  qui  e  a  ciealure  t  ■  dazzle  beholders; 

While  even  O'Mulligao,  feallier'd  and  drest 

Ait  an  elderly  cheiub,  »as  looking  his  bret. 
Ah  Liz,  you,  who  know  me,  scuct-  cui  doubt 
As  to  which  t'i  (he  two  1  singled  cut- 
Bul  —  aulul  'o  tell—  when,  all  in  dread 

Of  losing  so  bright  a  visions  chums, 
I  gia'pM  ;it  Matjui,  tiis  iinat;e  fled. 
Like  a  mis',  aivav,  and  I  found  but  the  heai 

Of  U'Mulli^;*o,'  wings  and  nil,  in  my  arms 
The  Angel  h  id  llown  Hi  snme  nest  divine, 
And  the  elderly  Uhtriib  aloi;c  wrts  mine  ! 
Heigho  !  —  it  is  certain  that  foolish  Mrtgan 
Kiihcr  can't  or  woiiH  ses  thai  he  mi^ht  be  the  man  ; 
And,  perhaps,  dear—  who  knows?  —  if  nought  betier 

bei;.|l. 
But  —  U*MuUigan  may  be  the  man,  after  aU. 

N.  R. 
Next  week  n.ein  to  have  my  first  scrlptunl  rout, 
For  the  special  discu?si  to  of  matters  devout  ;— 
Like  Ihnse  soirceSt  at  Povv'rscourt,'i  to  jQ^tly  re-re- 

For  the  zeal  with  which  doctrine  and  negus  went 
lound ; 


CompelleJ.    He  ^ays  he  will  not  shave  Vesoo  Kreest'a 
people."— .Bopf.  Mission  Society^  voL  ii.  p.  493. 

I  In  ihe  Reports  of  the  Missionaries,  the  Roman 
Calholics  are  almost  always  clnssed  along  with  the 
Heathen.  *'  I  liave  exiended  my  labours,  (says  James 
Venning,  in  a  Report  for  IS3I,)  to  the  Heathen,  Ma- 
honiedans,  and  Roman  Calholics."  "  The  Heathen 
and  Roman  Calholics  in  this  OLighb'ujrhood  (^^avs 
anotherinisslonary  fur  the  year  1S32)  are  not  inditfe- 
rent ;  but  wilhst.ind,  ratlier  than  yield  to,  the  force  of 
truth." 

5  An  account  of  Ihesc  Powerscourt  Conversaziones 
(under  the  direct  presidency  of  L'-rd  R'-dun),  as  well 
as  ;t  ll^t  of  the  siib|<-c  s  discusstd  t  'he  diffi-reot  meet- 
ings, mny  be  found  in  the  Christiui  Herald  for  I  he 
month  of  D^cemher,  lS3;i.  1  he  folUnvi,,^  l^  a  sj)eci- 
men  of  ttie  i-ature  <>t  the  questions  submitted  to  the 
company  :—*'  MuTidai/  F.vciting,  .Six  d'clncU^  Scjiferti- 
ber  2Aih,  IS3J  — '  Au  t:x.vniiiia-iou  into  the  quo  a'in.is 
guen  in  the  New  Testnment  from  the  OhI,  with  iltuir 
cnniifdion  and  ex|i!ai.a'ion,  viz.'  &c.  i^c.  ll'cdiics- 
rfai/.— 'ShnuM  Wf  exi)tTl  a  |'^■r^r.^ll  AuMcliri.lr  and 
to  whom  will  he  he  revealed}"^  kc  Hic-Fytduy.— 
'  What  h^lil  J'Ca  .^crqiture  throw  on  present  events, 
and  ther  nnr.!  fharac  er  ?  Ifhat  is  ntxl  to  he  looked 
for  or  expected  .^'  '*  &c. 

The  lapid  progrtss  made  at  these  tea-parties  in  st 
tlin^  points  of  :3criplure,  may  be  judged  from  a  par 


Those  iheolosy-routs  which  the  pious  Lord  R — d— o, 
That  pink  d  Christianity,  first  set  the  mode  in  ; 
Where,  b'e^sed  down-p'mring  13  from  tea  UDtil  nine, 
'the  subjects  lay  all  in  the  i'n.phecy  line  ;— 
Then,  supper  —  and  then,  if  for  topics  hard  c  riven, 
From  thence  until  bcd-tiiue  to  S-itan  was  eivm; 
While  R— d— n,  deep  re.td  in  each  topic  and  tome, 
On  all  svbjecis  (especially  the  last)  was  at  home. 


LETTER    VII. 


FROM  MISS  FANNY  FUDGE,  TO  HER  COUSIN^ 
MISS  KITTY , 

IRREGULAR    ODE. 

Bring  me  the  slumbering  souls  of  flowers, 
While  yet,  beneath  sonie  norihern  sky, 

Ungilt  by  beams,  ungemm'd  by  showers, 

They  wait  the  breath  of  summer  hours, 
'Jo  v^ake  10  light  each  diamond  eye, 
And  Itt  loose  every  llorid  !>igh  1 

Bring  me  the  firsl-horn  ocean  waves, 
Friim  out  tho-e  deep  primeval  caves, 
Where  from  Ihe  dawn  of  Time  they've  lain  — 
The  Embryos  of  a  future  Main  !  — 
Untaught  as  yet,  young  things,  fo  speak 

The  language  of  their  i'arent  Sea 
(Polvphlyslioeaii  4  nmi'd,  in  Greek), 
'I'hough  soon,  too  soon,  in  bay  and  creek, 
Round  startled  isle  and  wondering  peak, 

'J  hey  '11  thunder  loud  and  long  as  He  ! 

Bring  me,  from  Hecla's  Iced  abode, 
Young  fires 

I  had  got,  dear,  thus  hr  in  my  Ode, 
Intending  to  fill  the  whole  page  lo  the  bottom. 
But,  having  invok'd  such  a  lot  of  fine  things, 
Flowers,  billows  and  tliunderboIl>,  rainbows  and 
wings. 
Didn't  know  what  to  do  with  'em,  when  I  had  got 

The  truth  is,  my  thoughts  are  too  full,  at  this  minute, 

Of  pa>t  MSS.  any  new  nnes  lo  try. 
This  very  nighl'>  coach  brings  my  destiny  tn  it  — 

Decides  t tie  great  question,  to  live  or  lodie! 
And,  whether  I 'mhef.cetorlh  immortal  or  no, 
All  depends  on  the  ansv\er  of  Simpkius  and  Co.! 


g^raph  in  the  account  given  of  one  of  their  evenings, 
by  the  Christian  Herald: 

"(hi  Daiuel  a  good  deal  of  light  was  thrown,  and 
there  was  i^ome,  I  think  not  so  much,  perhnps,  upon 
Revelations;  (hnu:jh  particular  parts  of  it  were  dis- 
russed  with  considerable  accession  of  knowledge, 
'there  was  some  very  interesting  inquiry  as  to  the 
quot^ition  of  ttie  <Hd  'iVs  ament  in  Ihe  New  ;  piriicu- 
larly  on  the  point,  whether  there  wis  any  •acconimo- 
dation,*  or  v^hether  they  were  quoted  according  to 
the  mind  of  the  Spiiit  in' I  he  did;  this  gave  occ»-ion 
to  some  very  iiiieres'iiiff  developnunt  of  Scripture. 
The  progress  of  the  An'ichi  istian  powers  was  very 
tullv  di-cus-cd." 

3  "About  eight  o'clock  the  Lord  betran  to  pour 
down  hi5  spirit  copiously  upon  us  -  for  they  h.ul  all 
by  this  tinie  as^enihled  in  mv  room  for  Ihe  purpohe  uf 
i/raycr.  1  his  d  wn-po-jriii't;  cnniinu-d  till  ahoui  ten 
o\|ock.— Le  lerfr.m  M.u  v  C;impbell  lo  th<;  Re..  John 
Campbell, -f  Row,  (dated  Fernicary,  Api  i!  4ih,  1S30), 
giving  an  account  of  her  "miraculous  cure.'* 

4  If  you  guess  utiat   this  wcrd   means,  His  more 

than  /  can  :  — 
I  but  give 't  as  1  got  it  frou,  Mr.  Magan. 

F.  F. 


454 


THE   FUDGES   IN   ENGLAND. 


You  'I!  think,  love,  I  rave,  so  't  is  best  to  lel  out 
The  whole  secret,  at  once  — I  have  publish'd  a 
Bock ! ! ! 
Yes,  an  actual  Book  :  —  if  the  marvel  you  doubf, 

You  have  only  m  Inst  Monday's  Couiitr  to  look, 
And  you'll   find   "This  day  publish'd  by  Simpkins 

and  Co. 
A  Roniaunt,  in  twelve  Cantoa,  entitled  *  Woe,  Woe'.' 
By   Miss   Fanny  F ,  known  more  couimonly 

This  I  put  ihat  my  friends  mayn't  he  left  in  the  dark, 
But  may  guess  at  my  writing  by  knowing  my  jnark. 

How  I  managM,  at  last,  this  great  deed  to  achieve, 
Is  itself  a   **Koiiiaunt"  which  you  *d  scarce,  dear, 

believe; 
Nor  can  I  just  now,  being  all  in  a  whirl, 
Looking  out  for  ihe  Magiiet,i  explain  it,  dear  girl. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  one  half  the  expense 
Of  Ihis  leasehold  of  fame  for  long  centuries  hence  — 
(Though   "God  knows,"  as  aunt  says,  my  humble 

anibilion 
Aspires  not  beyond  a  small  Second  Editions- 
One  half  the  whole  cost  of  (he  paper  and  printing, 
I  've  nianag'd  to  scrape  up,  this  year  past,  by  stinting 
My  own  liitje  warns  in  gloves,  riband-^,  and  shoes, 
Thus  defrauding  the  toilet  to  fit  out  the  Muse  ! 

And  who,  my  dear  Kitty,  would  not  do  the  same? 
What 's  eau  de  Cologne  (o  the  sweet  breath  of  fame  ? 
Yards  of  rjband    soon    end  —  but    the   measures  of 

rhyme, 
Dipped  in  hues  of  the  rainbow,  stretch  out  through 

ail  time. 
Gloves  languish  and  f.nde  a^vay,  pair  after  pnir, 
While  coujitets  shine  out,  bui  the  brighter  for  wear, 
And  ftie  dancing-shoe's  gloss  in  an  evening  is  gi-aCj 
While  light-footed  lyrics  through  ages  Inp  on. 

The  remaining  expense,  trouble,  risk  — and,  alas! 
My  poor  copyright  loo  —  into  ether  hands  pass  ; 
And   my  fnend,   tlie   Head   Dev'i  of  the  *•  Cout:(y 

Gazelle" 
(The  only  Mecsnas  I  've  ever  had  yetj. 
He  who  set  up  in  type  my  first  juvenile  lays. 
Is  now  sei  up  by  them  for  the  ttst  of  his  d,iys; 
And  while  Gods  (as  my  '■  Heatht  n  Mythology"  says) 
Live  on   nought  but  ambroaia,  his  lot  how  much 

sweeter 
To  live,  lucky  dev'I,  on  a  young  lady's  metre! 

As  for  puj^^ng-  — that  first  of  all  lit'rary  boons, 
And  essential  alike  both  to  bards  and  balloons 
As,  unless  well  supplied  wiih  iiifl,'»tion,  't  is  found 
Netiher  bards  nor  balloons  buJge  an  inch  from  the 

ground;  — 
In  thii  respect,  nought  could  more  prosp'rous  befall ; 
As  my  friend  (for  no  less  this  kind  mip  can  I  call) 
Knows    the    whole   world    of   critics  —  the   hypers 

and  al'. 
I  suspect  he  h.mself,  indeed,  dabbles  in  rhyme, 
Which,  for  imi'S  diabolic,  is  ni.t  the  first  time; 
As  I've  heard  uncle  Bub  tay,  'twas  known  among 

Gnostics. 
That    the    Dev'l    oq    Two  Sticks   was   a  dev'l   at 

Acrostics. 


But  hark!  there's  the  Magne*  just  dash'd  in  from 

How   my   heart,  Kitty,   beats!   I   shall  surely  drop 

down. 
That  awful  Court  Journal,  Gaze'te,  Athenaeum, 
Al!  full  of  my  book  —  1  shall  sink  uhen  I  see  'em. 
&nd  then  the  great   point  —  whether  Simpktns  and 

Co. 
Are  actually  pleas'd  with  their  bargain  or  no  !  — 


L.=" 


1  A  day-coach  of  that  name. 


Five  o'clock. 
All's  delightful  —such  praises!  — I  really  fear 
That  this  poor  little  head  will  turn  giddy,  my  dear, 
I  've  but  time  now  to  send  you  two  exquisite  scraps- 
All  the  re^t  by  the  Magnet,  on  Monday,  perhaps. 

FROM    THE    **  MORNING    POST-'* 
'Tis  known  that  a  certain  di^tinguisli'd  phyjician 

Prescribes,  f'-r  dyspepsia  ^  a  course  of  li^lit  reading; 
And  Rhymes  by  young  Ladies,  the  first,  fresh  edilioii 
(Ere  critics  have  mjur'd  their  powers  of  nutiition), 

Are  he  thinks,  tor  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  sopoiific. 
Among   works  of  this  kind,  the  most  pleasing  we 

know, 
h  a  volume  just  published  by  Sinipkins  and  Co, 
Where  all  such  ingredients  —  the  floweiy,  the  sweet, 
And  the  genily  narcotic  — are  imx'd  per  receipt, 
With  a  hand  so  judicious,  we  've  no  heaita'ion 
To  say  that —  'bove  all,  for  the  young  generation  — 
'T  IS  an  elegant,  soothing,  and  safe  prepaiaiion. 

Nuta  bene  —  for  readers,  whose  object 's  to  sleepy 
And  who  read,  in  iheir  niglUcaps,  ihe  publishers  keep 
Good  fire-proof  binding,  which  comes  very  cheap. 

ANF.CDOTE  — FROM    THE  "COURT  JOURNAL." 

T'other  night,  at  the  Countess  of  •  •  "s  mut, 
An  amusing  event  was  much  whisper'd  about. 

It  was  said  that  Lord ,  at  the  Council,  th;<t  day. 

Had,  more  than  once,  jump'd  from  his  scat,  like  a 
fNcket, 
And  flown  to  a  corner,  where  —  heedless,  they  say, 
How  the  country's  resources  were  squander'd  away  — 
He  kept  reading  some  papers  he'd  brought  in  his 
pocket. 
Some  th  ught   them  despatches  from  SpaiQ  or  the 
lurk. 
Gibers  swore  they  brought  word  we  had  lost  the 
Mauritius; 
But  it  lurn'd  out  't  was  only  Miss  Fudge's  new  work, 
Which  his  Lordship  devoui'd  with  such  2eal  ex- 
peditious— 
McFsrs.  Simpkinsand  Co.,  to  avoid  all  delay. 
Having  sent  it  in  sheets,  that  his  Lordship  might  say, 
He  had    distanc'd   the   whole    reading   world  liy  a 
day  I 


LETTER     VIM. 

FROM      BOB     FUDGE,     ESQ.,    TO     THE     REV, 
MORTIMER    O'MULLIGAN. 

Tuesday  eueyiinj, 
I  much  regret,  dear  Reverend  Sir, 

1  could  not  conie  to  •  •  •  to  meet  you  ; 
But  Ihis  curst  gout  wo'n't  let  me  stir  — 

Ev'n  now  1  but  by  proxy  greet  you  ; 
As  this  vile  scrawl,  whate'er  i;s  sense  is. 
Owes  all  to  an  .>ni»nuensis. 
Most  other  jcourees  of  disease 
Rfduce  men  to  extreni'ties  — 
But  gout  wo'n't  leave  one  even  these. 

From  all  my  sis'er  writes,  I  see 
That  you  nnd  1  will  quite  njree. 
I  'm  a  plain  min.  who  si  eak  Ihe  truth. 

And  trust  \ou  'H  ilniik  me  not  uncivil, 
When  I  declaie  ihi',  fn. ni  my  youih, 

I've  wished  yourcoun  rv  at  the  devil: 
Nor  can  I  doubt,  indeed,  from  all 

1  've  heard  of  your  hitjh  patriot  fame  — 
From  every  word  your  lips  let  fall  — 

That  you  most  truly  wish  the  same. 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND, 


455 


It  plagues  one's  life  out  — thirty  years 
Have  I  liad  dinning  in  my  ears, 

'•  Ireland  iiauls  this,  and  that,  and  t'other," 
Aiui,  10  this  liDur,  'irie  iiolliing  hears 

Hut  lh(!  SMie  vile,  eternal  bother. 
While,  of  ttiose  countless  things  she  wanted, 
1  li.ink  (Jod,  but  htlle  has  been  granted, 
And  rv'n  that  little,  if  we're  men 
And  Britons,  we'll  have  back  agiin! 

I  really  think  that  Catholic  <)uestioa 
Was  wiial  brought  on  my  indit^eslion  ; 
And  still  each  year,  as  I'opery's  curse 
Has  ga'Jiered  round  us.  1  've  got  wone; 
Till  ev'n  niv  pint  of  port  a  day 
Can't  keep  the  I'ope  and  bile  away. 
And  whereas,  till  the  Catholic  bill, 
]  nei  er  wanted  draught  or  pill, 
The  settling  of  tliat  cursed  question 
lias  quite  U7lsetlled  my  digesiion. 

Lo.ik  what  has  happen'd  since  —  the  Elect 
Of  all  the  bores  of  every  sect. 
The  chosen  triers  of  men's  patience. 
From  all  the  Three  Denominations, 
Let  loose  upon  us; — even  Quakers 
Turn'd  into  speechers  and  law.m.ikers, 
Wh'i'll  move  no  question,  slitT-runir-'j  elvM, 
Till  first  Ihe  Spirit  nmves  themselves  ; 
And  whose  shrill  Vtas  and  Na>B,  in  cliorus, 
Co.  quering  our  Ays  and  Nos  sonorous, 
Will  soon  to  dea  h'soivn  flumlier  snore  us. 
Then,  too,  those  Jews  !  —  I  really  sicken 

'I'o  think  of  such  aboniiiiation  ; 
Fellows,  w  ho  wo'ii't  eat  ham  with  chicken, 

To  legislate  for  this  great  nation  !  — 
Depend  upon  t,  when  once  they've  swav, 

With  rich  old  Gold-mid  at  the  head  o'  them, 
Th'  Kxcise  laws  will  be  done  away. 

And  C'trcumcise  ones  pass'd  instead  o'  them  ! 

In  short,  dear  sir,  look  wliere  one  will, 

Things  all  goon  ^o  devilish  ill, 
Thnt,  'poll  my  soul.  I  rather  fear 

Our  reverend  Rector  may  lie  right, 
Who  tells  me  Ihe  Millennium 's  near  ; 
Nay.  swears  he  kiinws  the  very  year, 

And  rei^ulates  his  leases  by  't ; — 
Meaning  their  terms  ^hnuld  end,  no  doubt, 
Before  the  world's  own  lease  is  out. 
He  thinks,  too,  that  the  whole  thing's  ended 
So  much  m-Te  soon  than  was  intended, 
Purely  to  scourge  those  men  of  sin 
Who  brought  th'  .iccurst  Reform  Bill  in. I 

However,  let's  not  yet  despiir; 

Though  Toryi.ni  's  eclips'd,  at  present. 
And  —  like  m\self,  in  this  old  chair  — 

Sits  in  a  state  by  no  me  ms  pleasant ; 
Feet  crippled  —  hands,  in  luckless  hour, 
Dis  tiled  nf  their  grasping  power; 
And  all  that  r.impani  glee,  which  revell'd 
111  this  world's  sweets,  be-duli'd,  bedevil'd 
"Vet,  though  condemn'd  to  frisk  no  more. 

And  both  in  Chair  of  Tenance  set. 
There's  sometliing  tells  me,  all's  not  o'er 

With  Ttiryi-nior  R  bby  v,l; 
Thai  though,  between  us.  I  il|,.w 
We'ven.ta  les  to  s|,,n,|  on  now; 
'I'hougli  curst  Hefnrni  and  cokhictim 
Have  male  us  boMi  lo  k  dioced  slum, 
Ye'  s'ill.  in  spile  of  Gioteaiid  Gout, 
Again  we'll  shine  triumphant  out  ! 

'  This  appears  to  have  been  the  opinion  also  of  an 
loqneiit  writer  in  the  Moiriing  W.iich.  "  One  great 
olijecl  of  Christ's  second  Advent,  as  the  Man  and  as 
the  Kins  of  the  Jews,  is  to  pHiiisk  the  Kinst  who  do 
ackiioi>  ledge  that  their  authority  is  derived  fiom 
t,  and  who  submit  to  vtceivt  it  fruni  that  many- 
tuadtd  mon.'ter,  the  moh."—  No.  x.  p.  373. 


Yes  —  back  again  tihall  come,  egad, 
Our  turn  for  sport,  my  reverend  lad. 
And  then,  O'Mulligau  — oh  then. 
When  mounted  on  our  nags  again. 
You,  on  your  high-flown  Kosiname, 
BediEcn'd  out,  like  Show-Gallanlee 
(Glilterere.it  fruni  substance  scanty) ;  — 
While  i;  liob  Fudge,  Es(|uire,  shall  ride 
Your  faithful  Siiiciio,  by  your  side  ; 
Then  —  talk  of  tills  and  tournaments  ! 
Dam'me,  we  'M 


'Squire  Fudge's  clerk  preset  ts 
To  Reverend  Sir,  his  coniplinienis  ; 
Is  griev'd  to  say  an  accident 
Has  just  occiiri'd  which  will  prevent 
The  Squire  — though  now  a  little  bolter  — 
From  finishing  this  present  letter. 

Just  when  he  'd  got  to  "  Dam'me,  we  'II " 

His  lliinour,  full  nf  marii  i|  ze.il, 
Grasp'd  at  his  cmlch,  but  not  being  able 
To  keep  his  balance  or  his  h  ild. 
Tumbled,  both  self  and  crutch,  and  rolld 
Like  ball  and  bat,  beneath  tlie  table. 

All 's  safe  —  the  table,  chair,  and  crutch  j  — 

Nothing,  thank  God,  is  broken  much. 

But  the'Squire's  head,  which,  in  the  fall, 

Got  bunip'd  cmsid'rably—  that's  all. 

At  Ihis  no  greal  alarm  we  feel, 

As  the  Squire's  bead  can  bear  a  deal. 

IVcdnesday  Mornings 
Squire  much  Ihe  same  —  head  ratlier  light  — 
Rav'd  about  "  Barbers'  Wigs"  all  uiglit. 

Our  housekeeper,  old  Mrs  Griggs, 
Suspects  that  he  meant  "barbaious  Whigs." 


LETTER    IX. 

FROM    LARRY    O'BRANIGAN,   TO     HIS   WIPE 
JCDY. 

As  it  was  but  last  week  that  I  sint  you  a  letthcr. 
You  'II  wondher,  de.ir  Judv,  what  this  is  about ; 

And,  Ihroth,  it  's  a  letlher  myself  would  like  betther. 
Could  I  manage  to  lave  the  contints  of  it  out  j 

For  iure,  if  it  makes  even  nie  nnaisy. 

Who  takes  things  quiet,  't  will  dhrive  you  crazy. 


him. 
Or  (0  far  demane  the  O'Branigan  blood. 
And  my  Aunts,  the  Diluvians  (whom   not  ev'n   the 

Flood 
Was  able  lo  wash  away  clane  from  the  eartli)'^ 
As  lo  sarve  one  whose  name,  of  nieie  yestherday'a 

birlh. 
Can  no  more  to  a  great  0,  before  it,  purtend, 
Than  mine  can  to  wear  a  great  Q  at  its  md. 

But  that's  now  all  over  —  last  night  I  gev  warnin'. 
And,  masth'r  as  he  is,  will  dischaige  hitn  this  moriiin', 
■Ihe   thief  of  Ihe   world:  — but  il 's   no   use  balrag- 

gin'; -3 
All  I  know  is,  I  'd  lifly  limes  rather  te  draggln' 

-  "  I  am  of  your  P.r'riarchs.  I,  a  blanch  of  one  of 
nur  antediluvian  families —  fellows  that  the  Flood 
juld  not  wash  away." — Congreve,  I^fwcfur  Love, 

3  To  liilrag  is  to  abuse—  Mr.  Lover  makes  it  ial- 
l^rffg,  and  he  is  high  authority:  but  if  I  remember 
ighlly,  Curran  in  his  national  stories  used  to  employ 
he  word  ao  above.  -  See  Lover's  most  amusing  and 


456 


THE   FUDGES    IN   ENGLAND. 


Ould  ladies  up  hill  to  the  ind  of  my  days, 
'Ihan  with  Murlhagh  to  ruwl  in  a  chaise,  at  my  aise, 
And  be  forc'd  to  discind  thro'  the  same  duty  ways. 
Arrah,  sure,  if  i  'd  heerd  where  he  last  show'd  his 

ph>2, 
I  'd  h,ive  known  what  a  quare  sort  of  monsther  he  is  j 
For,  by  gnr,  'twas  ai  Exeiher  Change,  sure  enough, 
Thai  himself  and  his  <-iher  wild  In.h  show'd  ofl"; 
And  it 's  pily,  so  'I  is,  that  they  hadn't  gol  no  man 
Who  knew  the  wild  craytburs  to  act  as  their  show- 


"AK  by  taison,  we're  towld,   that    the    nathur  o' 

the  baste  I 

*'  Is  to  ctiange  its  coat  once  \n  lis  lifetime,  at  laste;      \ 

"And  such  objiks,  iu  aurcounihry,  not  beiu'  common 

"  Are  boug/U  upy  as  this  was,  by  way  of  Fine  Nome- 

"In  regard  of  its  nanie — why,  in  throth,  Pm  con- 

*'To  ditiVr  on  this  p'int  lO  much  wi'h  the  Larn'J, 
*' VVhf-call  it  a  '  Murthimer,'  whereas  the  cr.iylhur 
*'  Is  plainly  a  '  MuiJhagli,'  by  name  and  by  nathur." 

This  is  how  I  'd  have  towld  them  the  rights  of  it  all, 
Had  /been  their  sliowman  at  Kxether  Hall  — 
INol  lorgctliii'  ih.il  other  gre,.t  woitdher  of  Airin 
^Uf  tli'  owld  bi  ihi:r  bleed  which  they  call   Frosbe- 

tairin). 
The  famM   Daddy  C— ke— who,   by  gor,  I'd  have 

shown  'em 
As  proof  how  sucli  bastes  may  be  tam'd,  when  you've 

thrown 'em 
A  good  friiidly  sop  of  the  rale  Raigin  Donem.t 

I!ut,  thioth,  I  've  no  laisure  just  now,  Judy  dear, 

For  anything,  b.urin'  oui  own  duings  here. 

And   the  ciirsin',  and  dammin',  and  ttiuud'rin',  like 

mad, 
We  Tapis's,  God  help  us,  from  Mu;thagh  have  had. 
He  says  ue'reall  muriht-rers  —  div'l  a  bit  less  — 
And  Ihit  even  our  priests,  when  we  go  to  confess, 
Give  us  lesions  in  murth'ring  and  wii>h  us  bucce^  ! 

When  ax'd  how  he  daiir'd,  by  tongue  or  by  pen. 
To  belie,  in  ihis  w,.y,  seven  nii  lions  of  men, 
FaiUi,  he  said  't  was  all  towld  him  by  Ducihor  Den  !  a 
•'  And  who  Ihe  div'l's  he  ?"  was  the  question  thai  flew 
From  Chrishtian   to  Chrishijau— but    not    a  sow! 

knew. 
While  on  went  Murlhngh,  in  iligant  style, 
Rlasphaming  usCaih'lics  all  the  while, 
As  a  pack  of  desaiver^,  parjurer^=,  villians. 
All  Ihe  wh'.te  kii  of  th'  afore>aid  niillions,3  — 
Yourself,  dear  Judy,  as  well  ;is  the  re?t. 
And  ihe  innocent  c^.^ytt]U^  Ihat  's  .it  your  breast, 
All  rrgues  ingether,  m  word  an  I  deed, 
Uwld  JJcn  our  inslhructor  and  Sin  our  creed  ! 


When  ax'd  f-rhis 


nnd; 


*  Larry  evidently  means  the  Reghim  Donum  ;  ~. 

a  sum  coniributed  by  the  governmenl  nnnually  to  the 
support  of  the  Presbyterian  churches  In  Ireland. 

a  CorrecMy,  Dens;  Larry  not  being  very  particular 
ill  his  nonieiicia'ure. 

3  *'  The  deeds  of  darknes-?  which  are  reduced  to 
hoi  rid  pr.iciiceover  the  drunken  dtbauch  of  ilie  mid- 
night assassin  are  debated,  in  principle,  in  the  scber 
morning  religious  conferences  of  Ihe  priests."  — 
Spetxh  of  tlie  mo.  Mr.  M  Ghee.  —  "  The  characier  of 
the  Iii;h  people  generally  is,  ilwl  they  are  given  to 
lying  and  to  acts  of  theft."  —  Sfnedi  of  ifui  Rev. 
Rubtrt  Daly 


Couldn't  he  call  into  coort  some  liuz/i'  men  ? 

•'  No,  thank  you"—  he  'd  stick  to  Docthor  Den  — 

An  ould  gini'lenian  dead  a  ceiiiury  or  two. 

Who  all  about  its,  live  Ca?h  lies,  knew; 

And  of  coorie  was  nmre  hand\,  to  call  in  a  hurry, 

Thau  Ducthor  Mac  Hale  or  Docthor  Murray  \ 

But,  throth,  it 's  no  case  to  be  jokm'  upon, 
Though  myself,  from  bad  habits,  is  inakin''  it  one. 
Even  you,  had  you  wifness'd  his  grand  cUmiciherica, 
Which  aciially  threw  one  owld  maid  in  hysterics  — 
Or,  och  !  liad  you  heerd  such  a  puriy  remark  as  his, 
That  Papislb  are  only  "  Humanity  s  carcasses^ 
"  Ris^n''— hut,  by  dad,  I  *m  afeard  1  can'i  give  it  ye — 
'*  Ris^n  from  the  sepuldire  oj  —  inactivity  ; 
^'■.^tid,  like  owld  corpses^  dug  uy  Jrotn  antikity^ 
**  Wandrin''  about  in  all  sorts  oj  imkiiy  ;  /'  -i  — 
Even  you,  Judy,  irue  as  you  are  to  the  Owld  Light, 
Would   have   taugh'd,  out  and   out,  at   this   ihgant 

flight 
Of  that  figure  of  speech  call'd  the  Blaiherumskite. 

As  for  me,  though  a  funny  thought  now  and   then 

came  to  me, 
Rage  got  the  betlher  at  last— and  small  blame  to  me  I 
So,  shipping  my  thigh,  '•  by  the  Powe.s  of  Ddt," 
Says  I  bow  Idly,  "I  '11  nake  a  nora'ion  myselt." 
And   with   that   up   1  jumps— but,  my  darlint,  the 

I  cock'd  up  my  head,  div'l  a  sinse  remain'd  in  it. 
Though,  sailed,  1  could  have  gol  beantif.il  on, 
When  1  tuk  to  my  legs,  faith,  the  gab  was  all  gone:— 
Which  was  odd,  for  us,  Pats,  who,  whate'er  we've  a 

hand  in. 
At  laste  in  our  legs  show  a  s^hrong  underslandiri', 

Howsumdever,  detarmin'd  the  chaps  should  pursaive 
What  I  thought  of  their  doiu's,  betore  1  tuk  lave, 
"In  regard   of  all   that,''  says  I  —  there  I   s  oppM 

slu'rl  — 
Nut  a  woid  more  would  come,  though  I  shiruggled 

haidfor't. 
So,  shnapping  my  fingers  at  wliat  's  calTd  the  Chair, 
And  the  owld  Lord   (or  Lady,  1  b'lieve)    Ihal  sat 

there  — 
"  In  regard  of  all  that."  says  I  bowldly  n^ain  — 
**To  owld   Nick  I  pilch   Mortimer  —  and  Doclhor 

Den;"  — 
Upon  uhich  ti.e  whole  compiinv  cried  out  '^Amen;" 
And  myself  was  in  hopes  'I  was  to  what  /  had  said, 
But,  by  gor,  no  such  Ihmg —  they  were  not  so  well 

bred  : 
For, 't  was  all  to  a  pray'r  Murlhagh  just  had  read 

By  way  of  fa  finish  to  job  so  devout ; 

That   is— afther  well  jiamning  one  half  the  com 

munity, 
To  pray  God  to  keep  all  in  pace  an'  in  unity ! 

This  is  all  I  can  shtuff  in  Ihis  letther,  though  plinly 
Of  news,  faiih,  1  've  got  to  fill  more— if  U  was  twuity. 
Ru!  I  'II  add,  on  the  outside,  a  line,  should  1  need  ii, 
(Writin'  ''Private'  upon   it,  that  no  one  may  read 

To  tell  you  how  Mortimer  (as  the  Saints  chrishten 

him) 
Beirs  the  big  shame  of  his  sarvanl's  dismisshin*  him. 


«  "  But  she  (Popery)  is  no  longer  the  tenant  of  Ihe 
sepulchre  of  inactivity.  She  h:is  come  from  tlie 
hurial-pl.-ire.  walking  for:h  a  monster,  as  if  the  spirit 
of  evil  had  c:)rrup  ed  the  carcais  of  htr  dtparted 
humanity  ;  noxious  and  noi.^iinc,  an  object  nt  nbtior- 
reiice  and  di£m:<y  lo  ;ill  who  are  w.\  leagued  with  her 
in  iniquity. ^^  —  Ke|)nrt  of  the  Rev.  Gentleman's 
Sj.eech,  June  20,  in  the  Record  Nt  wspaper. 

We  may  well  ask,  after  reading  Ihis  and  (ttNer  such 
reverend  ravings  "Quia  dubitat  juin  omne  si  I  h(r 
r.ttioui^  egestas  ?" 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLAND, 


45" 


(Private  outside.) 
JusI  come  from  his  riv'rence—  the  job  is  all  drnie  — 
liy  Ihe  powers,  I  've  discharg'd  liirii  as  sure  as  3  gun  '. 
And  liow,  Judy  dear,  what  on  earlli  I  'ni  lo  do 
Wilh  myself  and  my  appelile—  bolb  sund  as  new— 
Witbnut  cv*n  a  single  (raiieeo  in  my  pocket, 
Let  alone  a  go.id,  dacent  pound-st.irliri',  to  slock  il- 
ls a  niysht'ry  1  lave  lo  Ihe  One  thai 's  above, 
Who   lakes  care  of  us,  dissolule  sowls,  when  hard 
dhrove ! 


LETTER    X. 

IROM   THE    REV.  MORTIMER    o'mULLIGAN, 
TO   THE   REV.  . 

These  few  brief  lines,  my  reverend  friend. 
By  a  safe,  private  hand  I  send 
(Kearins:  lest  some  low  Catliolic  wag 
Should  pry  into  Ihe  Letter-bag), 
To  tell  you,  far  as  pen  c^n  dare 
How  we,  poor  errant  niarl\rs,  fare:  — 
Martyrs,  not  (jnite  to  fire  and  rack. 
As  Sainls  were,  S"me  few  ages  back, 
But  —  scarce  less  trying  in  its  way— 
To  laughter,  wheresoe*er  we  stray; 
To  jokes,  which  Providence  mysterious 
Fermils  on  men  and  things  so  serious, 
I-owenng  the  Church  still  more  each  minule, 
And  — injuring  our  preferment  in  ii. 
JusI  think,  how  worrying  'tis,  my  friend, 
To  find,  where'er  oui  footsteps  bend. 

Small  jokes,  like  squibs,  around  us  whizzing ; 
And  bear  Ihe  eternal  loi  luring  play 
Of  that  great  engine  of  oui  day. 

Unknown  to  lire  Inquisition  —  quizzing! 

Your  men  of  thumb-screws  aird  of  racks 
Aini'd  at  the  l.idy  their  attack- ; 
Bui  modern  lorinrers,  more  refin'd, 
Work  their  in.chiiierv  on  the  mind. 
Had  SI.  Sebastian  had' the  luck 

With  me  to  be  a  godly  rover, 
Instead  of  arrows,  he'd  be  stuck 

Wilh  slings  rif  ridicule  all  over; 
And  y  or  St.  La>Mei.ce,  who  was  kill'd 
By  being  on  a  gridir'n  grilPd, 
Had  he  but  shar'd  my  errant  lot, 
los'e.d  of  grill  on  gndir'ii  hot, 
A  munil  roasting  would  have  got. 
Nor  should  I  (tiyi.igasalllhisis) 

Much  heel  the  suffering  or  the  shame- 
As.  like  an  actor,  used  to  hisses. 

I  long  hive  known  no  other  f.ime, 
But  ihai  (as  I  nnv  own  lo  you, 
Though  lo  Ihe  world  it  would  not  do,) 
No  hope  appears  of  fortune's  beams 
Shining  on  any  of  my  schemes  ; 
No  chance  of  ■.omeihing  more  per  ann. 
As  supplement  to  K-llyni—n; 
No  prospect  that,  by  fie-ce  abuse 
Of  Ireland.  1  shall  e'er  induce 
The  rulers  of  this  thinking  nation 
To  rid  us  of  Kinaiicipatinn  ; 
To  forge  anew  Ihe  sever'd  cliain. 
And  bring  back  Penal  Laws  again. 

Ah  happy  lime!  when  wolves  and  priests 
Alike  were  hunted,  as  wild  lie  sis; 
And  five  pounds  was  the  piice,  jier'head, 
Tor  bagging  eilAcr,  live  or  diad  ;  —1 

»  ''Among  other  ami.ible  enactments  agiinst  the 
^s  at  this  period  (1649),  tlie  pricir  of  five  pounds 
on  the  head  of  a  Komi  h  priest  —  being  ei- 
aclly  the  same  sum  otTered  by  the  same  legislators  for 
the  bead  of  a  wulf."_JUemoiri  0/  Captain  Kock, 
book  I.  chap.  10. 


Cailu 


Though  oft,  we're  told,  one  outlmw'd  brotber 

Sav'd  cost,  by  ealiiig  U[i  tfu:  other. 

Finding  thus  all  those  schemes  and  hopes 

I  built  upon  my  (lowers  and  rrop 

All  scaller-rl,  one  by  one,  away, 

As  (lashy  .Tiid  unsound  as  ihey, 

'1  he  que-tioii  conies—  what  '3  10  he  done? 

And  there  *s  bill  one  course  left  me —  one. 

Heroes,  "hen  lir'd  of  war's  alarms, 

Seek  sweet  repose  in  [J<;an(y's  anus. 

The  we.iry  I)a\-God's  la-t  retreat  is 

The  breast  of  silvry-footed  Thetis ; 

And  mine,  as  mightv  Love's  my  pidge. 

Shall  be  the  arms  of  rich  Miss  I'-udge! 

Start  not,  my  friend,  —  Ihe  tender  scheme. 

Wild  and  romantic  though  it  seem, 

Bevrind  a  irarsoifs  fondest  dream. 

Vet  shines,  loo,  with  those  golden  dyes, 

So  pleasing  to  a  parson's  eyes  — 

That  only  f^ildiug  which  the  Muse 

Cannot  around  her  sons  ditfuse  ;  — 

Which,  whencesoever  flows  its  bliss, 

From  wealthy  Miss  or  benefice, 

To  Mortimer  indid'renl  is, 

So  he  can  only  make  it  his. 

There  is  but  one  slight  damp  I  sea 

Upon  this  scheme's  felicity. 

And  tfiat  is,  the  fair  heroine's  claim 

That  1  shall  lake  her  family  name. 

To  tills  (though  it  may  look  heni.eck'd), 

1  can't  quite  decently  object. 

Having  myself  long  chos'n  to  shine 

Conspicuous  in  the  aft'rtj^-  line  ; 

So  that  henceforth,  by_  w  ife's  decree, 

(For  Biddy  from  this  point  wo'n't  budge) 
Your  old  friend's  new  add-ess  must  be 

The  Rco.  Mo>-timcr  (fFudge  — 
The  '"D"  being  kept,  that  all  may  see 
We  're  loth  of  ancient  family. 
Such,  friend,  nor  need  the  fact  amaze  you, 
Mv  public  life's  calm  Euthanasia. 
Thus  bid  I  long  farewell  lo  all 
Tbefieaksof  Exetei's  old  Hall  — 
Freaks,  in  grimace,  Us  apes  exceeding. 
And  riv  illing  its  bears  in  breeding. 
Farewell,  the  platfnrni  frll'd  wiih  preachers  — 
■|  be  pray'r  giv'n  out,  as  grace  3  by  speechers. 
Ere  thev  cui  up  their  fellow-creatures  :  — 
Farewell  lo  dead  old  Dens's  volumes. 
And.  scarce  less  dead,  old  Standard's  columns:— 
From  each  and  all  1  now  retire, 
Mv  ta-k.  henceforth,  as  spouse  and  sire, 
To  bring  up  lillle  filial  Fudies, 
To  be  M.P.'s,  and  Peers,  and  Judges— 
Parsons  1  'd  add  ton,  if,  alas ! 
There  \et  were  hope  ihe  C.'hurch  could  pass 
The  gulf  now  oped  for  hers  and  her. 
Or  long  survive  w  hat  Exeter — 
Both  Hall  and  Brshop,  of  that  name- 
Have  done  to  sink  her  reverend  fame. 
Adieu,  dear  fi lend  — you'll  oft  hear/ronime, 

Now  1  'm  no  more  a  travelling  drudge  ; 

Me.inwhile  1  sign  (that  you  niay  judge 
How  »ell  Ihe  surname  will  become  me) 
Yours  truly, 

Mortimer  O'Fudge. 


"i  In  the  first  edilion  of  bis  Hiclionary,  Dr.  John 
irv  significanllv   exemplified   the  meaning   of  tht 
ord  '•  alias"  bv'the  instance  of  Mallei,  the  poet,  «  ho 
had  exchanged  for  this  more  refined  ninie  his  original 
oicli  paironymic,  Mahoch.  *'  VVhat  other  proofs  lie 
ve  (-avs  Johnson)  of  di-re-pcct  to  his  native  coun- 
try, I  know  not :  but  il  was  remarked  of  him  that  he 
the  only  Scot  whom  Scotchmen  did  not  corn- 
<i."~Lifcof  MaUtl. 
'  "  I  think  1  am  acting  in  unison  u  ith  the  feelings 
of  a  Meeting  assembled  for  this  solnnli  object,  when  1 
call  on  Ihe   Rev.    Doctor    Halloway   to  open  il  by 
prayer." — Sptuh  of  Lord  Kmyoii. 


39 


438 


SONGS    FROM    M.P.;    OR, 


LETTER    XI. 

FROM  PATRICK  MAGAN,  ESQ.,  TO  THE  REV. 
RICHARD  , 

,  Ireland, 

Dear  Dick  — just  arrivM  at  my  own  humble  j^t'e, 
I  enclose  you,  post-haste,  the  account,  all  complete, 
Just  arriv'd,  per  expi  ess,  of  our  late  noble  feat, 

[Extract  from  the.  "  County  Gazette.^''] 
This  place  is  getting  gay  and  full  agaio. 
****** 

Last  week  was  married,  "in  the  Lord," 
The  Reverend  Mortimer  O'Mulliean, 

Piescher,  in  Irish,  of  the  Word, 
(He,  who  the  Lord's  force  lately  led  on  — 
Kxeter  Hall  his  Armaich-gfdiUm,)  i 
•Jo  Miss  B.  Fudge  of  Pi-tcah  Place, 
One  of  the  chos'n,  as  "  heir  of  grace," 
And  likewise  heiress  of  Phil.  Fudge, 
Esquire,  defunct,  of  Orange  Lodge. 

Same  evening,  Mi-^s  F.  Fudge,  '( is  hinted  — 

Niece  of  Ihe  above,  (whose  "Svlvan  Lyre," 
In  our  Gazelle,  last  week,  we  printed,) 

EInp'd  with  Pal.  Ma?an,  E.squire. 
The  fugitives  were  Irackd,  some  time, 

After  they  'd  lefl  the  Autil's  abode. 
By  scraps  of  paper,  scrawl'd  with  rhyme, 

Found  strew'd  along  Ihe  VVes'ern  road  j— 
Some  of  them,  ci-devant  curl-papers, 
Others,  half  burnt  in  lighting  tapers. 
This  clue,  however,  to  their  flight 

After  some  miles  was  seen  ii"  more; 
And,  fmm  inquiries  made  last  nighl, 

We  find  they  've  reach'd  the  Irish  shore. 

Every   word    of   it    true,   Dick  —  th'  escape    from 

Aunt's  Ihrall  — 
Western   road  —  lyric  fragments  —  curl-papers    and 


1  The  rectory  which  the  Rev.  gentleman  holds  is 
situated  in  the  county  of  .4>mag/i .' — a  mobt  remark- 
able coincidence  —  :»nd  well  worthy  of  the  attention 
of  certain  expounders  of  the  Apocalypse, 


My  sole  stipulation,  ere  link'd  al  the  shrine 

(As  some  balance  between   fanny's  nutnbera  and 

Was  that,  when  we  were  one,  she  must  give  up  the 

Nine  ; 
Nay,  devoie.to  the  Gods  her  whole  stock  of  MS. 
Wnh  a  vow  never  nmre  .igainsi  prose  to  transgress. 
This  she  did,  like  a  heroine;-  sm^ck  went  to  bits 
The  whole  pr^iduce  sublime  of  her  dear  little  wilj  — 
Sonnets,  elegies,  epigrams,  odes,  canzonets  — 
Some  twisted  up  neaily,  lo  form  altumettcSj 
Some  turn'd  into  oapi/io^e*,  worihy  to  rise 
And  enwreaihe  Berenice's  hrigtil  locks  in  the  skies! 
While  the  rest,  honest  Larry  (who's  now   in  my 

pay), 
Begg'd,  as  *'  lover  of  poHhry^"  to  read  on  the  way. 

Having  thus  of  Iife*s  poetry  dar'd  to  dispose. 

How  we  now,  Dick,  shall  manage  to  get  through 

its  prose, 
With  such  slender  materials  {oTstyle^  Heaven  knows! 
But  —  I  'm  cali'd  otl'  abruptly  —  another  Express  ! 
What   the    deuce   can   it   mean?— I'm    alarmM,   I 

confess. 

P.  S. 

Hurrah,  Dick,  hurrah,  Dick,  ten  thousand  hurrahs! 
I  'ni  a  happy,  rich  d<ig  to  the  end  of  my  days. 
There  —  rend  the  good  news  —  and  while  glad,  foi 

my  sake, 
That    Wealth   should  thus  follow  in    Love's  shining 

wake. 
Admire  alsi  the  morai  — that  he,  the  sly  elf, 
Who  has  fuds'd  all  the  world,  should  be  now  fudg'd 

himself! 

EXTRACT   FROM    LETTER  ENCLOSED. 

With  pain  the  mournful  news  I  write, 
Miss  Fudge's  ui.cle  died  last  night ; 
And  much  to  mine  and  friend^i'  surprise, 
By  will  dolti  all  his  wealth  devise  — 
Lands,  dwellings —  reclorit-s  likewise  — 
To  his  "  beiovM  grand-niece,"  Miss  F;tnny, 
Leavirig  Miss  Fudge  herself,  who  many 
Long  years  hath  waited  —  not  a  penuy  ! 
Have  notified  the  s^we  to  latter. 
And  wait  instructions  in  the  matter. 

For  self  and  partners,  &c,  &C. 


SONGS  FROM  M.  P. ;  OR,  THE  BLUE  STOCKING. 


SONG, 
SUSAN. 

Young  Love  liv'd  once  in  an  humble  shed, 

Where  roses  breathin*. 

And  vvnodbine>  w-CAthin? 
Around  the  litlice  Iheir  tendrils  spread, 
As  wild  and  swept  as  the  life  he  led. 

HisEirden  fl..urisird. 

For  voijns  Hope  nonrish'd 
The  iiifai.t  buds  with  beams  and  showers  j 
But  lips,  ihnueh  blooming,  must  still  lie  fed. 
And  not  even  Lo""  -■"  '■'">  ""  flmvor.. 

Alas !  that  Poverty 


2  can  live  on  flow 


il  eye 
hither. 
Such  sweets  to  wither  ! 
The  flowers  laid  down  their  hea 
And  Hope  fell  sick  as  Ihe  wiich 
She  came  one  morniue, 
Ere  Love  had  warning, 


I  nigh. 


And  rais'd  the  latch,  where  the  youn?  god  lay; 
'  Oh  ho  '"  said  Love  —  "  is  it  you  ?  gond-by  ;" 
So  he  oped  the  window,  and  flevf  away  I 


To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain, 

T'^  Teep,  yet  scarce  know  why  ; 
""     pnr?  ati  bimr  with  Beauty's  chain. 

Then  throw  il  idiv  bv. 
To  kneel  al  many  a  shrine, 

Yet  lav  Ihe  heart  on  none; 
To  ihink  all  other  rlarms  divine. 

But  Uinse  we  just  have  won. 
This  is  love,  faithless  love. 
Such  as  ktndleih  hearts  thai  rove. 

To  keep  one  sacred  dame. 
Through  life  unchili'd,  unmov'd, 

To  love,  in  wintry  age,  the  same 
As  first  in  youth  v 


:  lov'i  J 


THE    BLUE    STOCKING. 


459 


To  feel  that  we  adore, 

Ev*u  (D  such  fond  excess, 
That,  Ihou»h  the  heart  would  break,  with  inorCj 

It  cnuld  oot  live  with  Itss. 
This  is  hn-e,  faithful  h>ve, 
Such  as  &aiiil:i  might  feel  above. 


Spirit  of  Jny,  thy  altar  lies 

In  youthful  hearts  that  hnpe  like  mine; 
And  't  is  the  light  of  laughing  eyes^ 

That  leads  us  to  thy  faiiy  &hrine. 
There  if  we  find  the  sigh,  the  tear, 

They  are  not  ih^se  lo  Sorroiv  known; 
But  hreaih  so  soft,  and  drops  so  clear, 

That  HIiss  may  claim  them  for  her  own. 
Then  give  me,  give  me,  while  I  weep, 

The  sanguine  hope  that  brightens  woe, 
And  leaches  ev'n  our  lear»  to  keep 

The  tinge  of  pleasure  as  they  riow. 

The  child,  who  sees  the  dew  of  night 

Upon  Hie  spangled  hedge  at  morn, 
Atteini  ts  to  catch  the  drops  of  light, 

But  wounds  his  finger  with  the  ihorn. 
Thus  o(t  the  brightest  j.^ys  we  seek, 

Are  lo^t,  when  loiich'd,  and  turn  to  pain; 
The  flush  they  kindled  leaves  the  cheek, 

'Ihe  tears  they  waken  long  remain. 

But  give  Die,  give  me,  &c.  &c. 


When  Leila  tnuch'd  the  lu'e, 
Not  then  alone  H  was  felt, 

But,  when  the  rounds  were  nmte, 
In  memory  still  ihey  dwelt. 

Sweet  lute  1  in  nit;h'ly  slumbers 

btill  we  heard  thy  niuming  numbers. 

Ah,  how  could  she,  who  s!ole 
Such  bre-iih  from  simple  wire, 

Be  led,  in  pride  of  soul. 

To  string  with  gold  her  lyre? 

Sweet  lu  e  !  thy  choids  she  breike'h 

Golden  now  the  strings  she  waketh! 

But  where  are  all  (he  tales 

Her  lule  so  sweetly  old? 
Id  lofty  themes  she  fails, 

And  sofi  ones  suit  not  eojd. 
Rich  lute  !  we  see  thee  glisten, 
But,  alas !  no  more  we  Iis:eD  ! 


BOAT    GLEE. 

The  Bon^  that  lightens  our  languid  way 

When  brows  are  glowing. 
And  faint  with  rowing, 
Is  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay. 
To  wh'ise  sound  ihroiii<h  life  we  stray. 
The  beams  that  flash  on  the  onr  awhile, 

As  we  row  along  throusjli  waves  so  clea 
Illume  its  spray,  like  ihe  fleeting  s.mile 
Thai  shines  o'er  Sorrow's  tear. 

Nothing  is  lost  on  him  who  >^ees 

Wiih  an  eye  tha'  Feeling  gxve; — 
For  hiin  there's  a  s'oiy  in  every  breeze, 

And  a  pic'ure  in  everv  wave. 
Then  sing  to  lighten  tJie  languid  way;  — 
When  brow  j;  are  glowing, 
And  f.int  with  rowing:  ' 
'T  is  like  the  siidl  nf  Hope's  airy  lay. 
To  whose  sound  througli  life  we  etray. 


Oh,  IhiriU,  when  a  hero  is  sighing, 

W  hat  danger  in  such  an  adorer  ! 
What  woman  cou/d  dream  of  denying 

The  hand  thai  l.iys  laurels  before  her. 
No  heirl  is  so  guarded  around, 

But  the  smile  of  a  victor  would  take  it ; 
No  hnsoni  c  'n  slumber  so  sound. 

But  the  trumpet  of  Glory  will  wake  it. 

Love  sometimes  is  given  to  sleeping, 

And  woe  to  the  heart  that  allows  him; 
For  soon  neither  smiling  or  weeping 

Will  e'er  fmni  such  slumber  arouse  him. 
But  though  he  were  sleeping  so  fast. 

That  the  life  almost  seem'd  to  forsake  him, 
Ev'n  then,  one  soul-thrilling  blast 

From  the  trumpet  of  Glory  would  wake  hira. 


CUPID'S    LOTTERY. 

A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  be; 

Tw{)  roguish  eyes 

The  highest  pnze. 
In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery} 

And  kisses,  too, 

As  good  as  new, 
Which  weren't  very  hard  to  win, 

For  he,  who  woq 

The  eyes  of  fnn. 
Was  sure  to  have  the  kisses  in. 

A  Lottery,  a  Lottery,  &c. 

This  Lo'tery,  this  Lottery, 

In  Cupid's  Court  went  merrily, 

And  Cupid  play'd 

A  Jewish  irade 
In  this  his  sclieming  Lottery; 

For  hearts,  we're  told, 

In  shares  he  sold 
To  many  a  loud  believitig  drone, 

And  cut  the  hearts 

So  wtll  in  parts, 
That  each  believ'd  the  whole  his  own. 

Chor,  —  A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  be 
Two  roguish  e>es 
The  highest  prize 
In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery. 


S  0  N  G  ,1 


Though  sacred  tlie  tie  that  our  country  entwineth, 

And  dear  to  the  heart  her  remembrance  remains, 
Yet  dark  are  the  ties  where  uo  liberty  shineth, 

And  sad  the  remembrance  thai  slavery  stains. 
Oh  Liberty,  born  in  the  cot  of  the  peasant, 

liut  d)  ing  of  languor  in  luxury's  donie. 
Our  viHon.  when  absent  —  o^t  glniy  when  present-^ 

Where  thou  art,  O  Liberty  !  theie  is  my  home. 

Farewell  to  the  land  where  in  childhood  I  wander'd  ! 

In  vain  is  she  nnghlv,  nt  vun  is  slie  biave  , 
Unhles.'d  is  the  blood  that  for  tyrants  is  squandered. 

And  Fame  has  no  wreaths  f.r  tt.e  brow  of  ihe  slave. 
But  hail  to  tl,ee.  Albion  !   who  meet'^l  Ihe  commotioa 

Of  Europe,  a^  calm  as  thy  cbfTs  meet  the  foa  i. ; 
With   no  biHids  but   the  law,  and  no  slave  bul  *he 
ocean, 

Hail,  Temple  of  Liberty  !  thou  art  my  home. 


Sung  \u  the  character  of  a  Frenchman. 


460 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 


AT    NIGHT.* 

At  night,  when  all  is  still  around, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  foo'step,  coming  soft  and  light  I 
What  pleasure  in  Ihe  anxious  beat, 
With  which  the  bosom  flies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night  1 

And  then,  at  nighf,  how  sweet  'o  say 
"  '  r  is  late,  my  love  ! '  and  chide  delay. 

Though  slill  the  western  clouds  are  bright; 
Oh  !  happy,  loo,  Ihe  bilent  press, 
The  eloquence  of  mute  cartas, 

With  those  we  love  exchanged  at  night  1 


TO  LADY  HOLLAND. 
ON   napoleon's   legacy   of   a   SNUFF-iQOX 

Gif^  of  the  Hero,  on  his  dyin?  day, 

To  her,  whose  pitv  watch  d,  for  ever  nigh; 

Oh  !  could  he  see  Ihe  prnud,  the  happy  r.iy, 
1  hi>  relic  lii^hts  ip  in  her  generous  eye, 

Sighing,  he'd  fesl  how  easy  't  is  to  pny 
A  friendship  all  his  kingdoms  could  not  buy. 
Paris,  July,  1S21. 


EPILOGUE. 

WRITTEN  FOR  LADY  DACRE'S  TRAGEDY 
OF  INA. 

Last  night,  as  lonely  o'er  my  fire  1  sat, 
Thinking  of  cues,  siaris,  exits,  and  —  all  that. 
And  wondering  much  what  litle  knavish  sprite 
Had  put  it  fitst  ill  women's  heads  to  write:  — 
Suddf  It  I  saw  —  as  in  some  witching  drtam  — 
A  brigh'-blue  glory  roui  d  my  book  ca^e  beam. 
From  whiise  quick-opening  f-'Ids  of  azure  light 
Out  flew  a  linv  form,  as  small  and  bright 
As  Puck  the  Fairy,  when  he  pnps  his  head, 
Some  sunny  morning  from  a  vinlei  bed. 

*  Bless    me:"    I    starting    cried,    '*  what    imp    are 

you  ?"* — 
*A  small  he-devil,  Ma'am  —  my  name  Bas  Bleu — 
'A  bookish  sprite,  much  given  to  rou's  and  reading; 

*  M  18  I  wlin  teich  your  spinsters  of  good  breeding, 
'  The  reigning  taste  in  chemistry  and  c:ips, 

'  The  last  new  bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 
*And.  when  Ihe  waltz  has  'wjrlM  her  giddy  brain, 
'*Wiih  metaphysics  twirl  it  back  again  I" 

ew'd  him,  as  he  spoke  — his  hose  were  blue, 
„ing3— the  covers  of  the  last  Review  — 
ulean,  bnrder'd  with  a  jaundice  hue, 
And  t.n^ell'd  giMv  o'er,  for  evening  near, 
Till  the  nest  quarter  brings  a  new-fledg'd  pair. 
'Inspir'd  by  me--(pursut-d  this  waggi^h  Fairy)  — 
'  That  best  of  wives  and  Sipphos,  Lady  Mary, 
"Vo'ary  alike  of  Crispin  and  the  Mnse, 
'Makes  her  own  sp!a\-foot  cpigr.mis  and  shoes. 
'  For  me  the  eyes  of  young  C;*milU  shine, 
**  And  mingle  Love  's  blue  brilliances  with  mine ; 

These  lines  allude  to  a  curious  lamp,  which  has 
for  its  device  a  Cupid,  with  the  words  "at  night" 
writiett  over  him. 


**  For  me  she  sits  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrinking, 
"Looks  wise  — the  pretty  soul  I  —  and  thinks  sbe'D 

thinking, 
"  By  my  advice  Miss  Indigo  attends 
*'  Lectures  on  Memory,  and  assures  her  friends, 
"*'i'on  honour  I  —  (mimi'cJ)  —  nothing  can  surpaw 

the  plan 
***0f  that   professor  —  {U'yins  (o  rccoZ/ecO  —  psha! 

that  mem-'ry-man  — 
"'That— what 'a  his  name?— him  I  attended  lately- 
"*'Pon  honour,  he  improved  my  memory  greatly.'*' 

Here,  curtseying  low,  I  ask'd  the  bhie-Iegg'd  sprite, 

What  share 'he  had  in  this  nur  play  tonight. 

'*  Nav,    there  — (he    cried)  — theie    I    am    guiltlesi 

■  qui^e- 
"  What !  choose  a  heroine  from  that  Gotliic  time, 
"  When  no  one  waliz'd,  and  none  but  monks  could 

rhyme ; 
"  When  lovely  woman,  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
"  Blush'd  wiihout  art,  and  wiihout  culture  smii'd  — 
**SimpIe  as  dowers,  while  yet  unclass'd  they  shone, 
"  Ere  Science  call'd  their  brilliant  world  her  owu, 
**  Kang'd  the  wild,  rosy  things  in  learned  orders, 
"And  filPd  with  Greek  the  garden's  blushing  bor- 

"  No,  no  —  your  genie  Inas  will  not  do  — 
*'To-mnrrow  evening,  when  tlie  lights  burn  blue, 
*'  1  '11  come — {pointing  dawntoards)— -you  understand 
—  till  then  adieu  !" 

And  has  the  sprite  been  here  ?    No— jests  apart  — 


How 


rule 


'Ihe  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  hearL 
And,  if  our  Mu-e  haie  sketch'd  with  pencil  true 
Ihe  wife— the  mother  — firm,  yet  gentle  'on  — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  ties  itself  hath  spun, 
Trembles,  if  touch'd  in  the  remotest  one; 
Who  loves  — yel  dares  even  Love  hin^elf  disnwt 
Wlien  Honour's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne: 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evil', 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and  —  Blue  Devils. 


THE    DAY-DREAM.a 

They  both  were  hush'd,  the  voice,  the  chords,* 
I  heard  but  once  th.U  wilcliing  lay  ; 

And  few  the  notes,  and  few  the  words. 
My  spell-bound  memory  brought  away; 

Traces,  remember'd  here  and  there, 
L'ke  echoes  of  some  broken  strain;— 

Links  of  a  sweeiness  lost  m  air. 
That  nothing  n:  ;v  could  join  again. 

Ev'n  these,  too,  ere  the  morning,  fled  ; 

And.  though  ihe  charm  s'ill  linger'd  on, 
That  o'er  each  sense  her  song  had \^hcd, 

The  song  itself  wa»  faded,  gone; — 

Gone,  like  the  thoughts  that  once  were  ours, 
On  summer  days,  ere  youth  bad  set  ; 

Thoughts  bright,  we  kn'uv,  as  summer  flowers, 
Though  what  they  were,  we  now  forget. 


^  In  these  stanzas  I  have  done  little  more  than 
relate  a  fact  in  verse;  and  the  lady,  whose  singing 
gave  rise  to  this  curious  instance  of  the  power  of 
memory  in  sleep,  is  Mrs.  Robert  Arkwright. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


461 


In  vain,  with  hints  from  other  strains, 
1  woo*d  ttiis  truatit  air  Ut  come  — 

4s  birds  are  taught,  on  eastern  plains, 
To  lure  their  wilder  kindred  home. 

In  vain  : —  the  snng  that  Sapptio  gave, 

liidyiiig,  1.,  iheniou,.,l.ilsi;>, 
No  niutei  slepi  benea  ti  ttie  Wii^e, 

Tlian  tliis  »  itliin  iny  iiieinury. 

At  length,  one  morning,  as  I  lay 
III  that  hall-wakiiii;  nmod,  when  dreams 

Unwillingly  at  Last  give  way 
To  the  full  truth  of  daylishi's  heams, 

A  face —  the  very  face,  niethousht, 
from  >vliich  had  bnath'd,  as  Iroin  a  shrine 

Of  song  and  soul,  the  tiotes  1  soughi  — 
Came  with  its  music  close  to  mine; 

And  sung  the  long-.ost  measure  n'er  — 
Kach  ijole  and  word  \v  i  li  every  lone 

And  look,  that  lent  it  life  litfure,— 
All  perfcci,  all  again  my  own ! 

Like  parted  50iils,  when,  mid  the  Rlesl 
Ihey  meet  again,  each  widnv'd  sound 

Through  memory's  realm  had  wing'd  in  quest 
Of  its  sweet  male,  till  all  were  fimod. 

Nor  ev*n  in  waking  did  the  clue, 
'Ihus  strangely  caught,  escape  asjain  ; 

For  never  lark  iis  ma  ins  knew 
So  well  as  now  1  knew  this  strain. 

And  oft,  when  memory's  wondrous  spell 
Is  lalk'd  of  in  our  Iraiiquil  bower, 

I  eiug  tliis  lady's  song,  and  lell 
The  vision  of  that  morning  hour. 


SONG. 

Where  is  the  heart  that  would  not  give 

Yiar^of  diowsy  davsand  uiglits, 
One  little  hour,  like  this,  to  live  — 
Full  t"  the  brim,  of  life's  delights? 

Look,  look  around, 

1  his  fairy  ground, 
VVi  h  love-ligirs  glilleiing  o'er: 

While  c^lp^  tint  shine 

With  freighl  divine 
Go  coasting  round  its  shore. 

Hope  is  the  dupe  of  future  Iionrs, 
Memory  lives  in  those  gone  byj 
Nei'her  can  see  the  moment's  flowers 
Springing  up  fresh  beneaih  the  eye. 
Wouldst  thou,  or  thou, 
Foiego  what's  iioio, 
For  all  that  Hope  may  say  ? 
No -Joy's  reply. 


Is,  "Liv 


vhile  we  may." 


SONG  OF  THE  rOCO-CURANTE  SOCIETV. 

Haud  curat  Hiiipoclidcs. 

Erasm.  Adag, 

To  those  we  love  we've  drank  to-night ; 

But  now  altcnd,  and  stare  not, 
While  1  Ihe  ampler  list  reciie 

Of  tlio  e  for  whom  We  care  not. 

For  royal  nien,  howe'er  they  frown, 
If  on  their  fronts  Ihey  bear  not 

39"* 


That  noblest  gem  that  decks  a  crown, 
'ihe  I'eople's  l.ove—  We  care  not. 

For  slavish  men,  who  ben-I  beneath 

A  despot  yi.ke,  yet  daie  not 
rrono-jiice  the  will,  whose  very  brcalh 

Would  lend  its  links—  We  care  not. 

For  priestly  men,  who  covet  sway 
And  we..llli,  though  Ihey  declare  not ; 

Who  point,  like  finger-posts,  the  way 
They  never  go —  We  care  not. 

For  martial  men,  who  on  their  sword, 
Howe'er  it  conqueis,  wear  not 

The  pledges  of  a  soldier's  word, 
Rcdeem'd  and  pure  —  We  care  not. 

For  legal  men,  who  plead  for  wrong, 
And,  though  to  lies  they  swear  not. 

Are  hardly  betler  than  the  throng 
Of  iho^e  who  do—  We  care  not. 

For  cour:ly  men,  who  feed  upon 
The  land,  like  grubs,  and  siiare  not 

The  smallest  leaf,  «  here  thev  can  sun 
Their  crawling  limbs  —  We  care  not. 

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

The  paltry  ore  with  him  who  pines 
In  honest  vvanl-  We  care  not. 

For  prudent  men,  who  hold  the  power 

Of  Love  aloof,  and  hare  not 
Their  hearts  in  any  guardlpss  hour 

To  Beauty's  shaft—  We  care  not. 

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

Who  never  uitrc,  or  e'er  will  he 
Good  men  and  true  —  We  care  not. 


ANNE    BOLEYN. 

TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  METRICAL  "HIS- 
TOIRE   D'aNNE   BOLEVN." 

"  S't-Ile  esfoit  belle  ct  de  tnille  elegante, 
IJitoit  des  yeiilx  eilcor  pljs  altlrantc, 
Lesriiiclz  scavoil  trien  cniKlayre  a  pruiiot 
I'^li  Ics  lenaill  quelfiiiefuys  en  repos; 
AuruiiefoyH  flivnyailt  ell  message 
Torter  du  cueur  le  secret  tesniitignDge.** 

Much  as  her  form  seduc'd  the  sight. 

Her  eyes  could  ev'ii  more  surely  woo  ; 
And  when,  and  how  to  shoit  their  light 

Into  men's  hearts  full  well  she  knew. 
For  somefimes,  in  repose,  she  hid 
Their  rays  beneath  a  downcast  lid  ; 
And  then  again,  with  wakening  air. 

Would  send  their  sunny  glances  out. 
Like  heralds  of  delight,  to  bear 

Her  heart's  sweet  messages  about. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  TWO  SISTERS. 

FROM    DANTE. 

N.-11  < 
I'rii 
(Jlie  111  lu 


Git 


a.  credo,  che  dell'  oriente 
ia  mgEio  nel  monte  Citeri-a, 

ar  scmpre  ardtute. 


:  bclla 


sogn 


1  pan 


1462 


PREFACE   TO   THE  TENTH  VOLUME. 


Sappia  qtialunque  '1  r 


Ell'  e  ilf'Buoi  befili  occhi 


'T  waa  eve*s  soH  hour,  and  bright,  above, 

The  star  of  Beauty  beain'd, 
While  lull'd  by  light  so  full  of  love, 

In  slumber  thus  1  dreaniM  — 
Methoijght,  at  that  sweet  hour, 

A  nymph  came  o'er  the  lea, 
Who,  galh'ring  many  a  (low'r, 

I'iius  said  and  sun^  to  me  :  — . 
"Should  any  ask  wh^t  Leila  lovea, 

*'S.iy  Ihou,  To  wrealhe  her  hair 
"  With  fluw'rets  culTd  from  gleus  and  groves, 

"la  Leila's  only  care. 

**  While  thus  in  quest  of  floiv'rets  rare, 

"O'erhiH  and  dale  I  roam, 
"My  sibler,  Rachel,  far  more  fair, 

**SiIs  lone  and  mule  at  home. 
"  Belore  her  glass  untiring, 

"  With  IhoMghis  that  never  stray, 
"Her  own  biiglit  eyes  admiring, 

"  She  sits  the  live-long  day  j 
"  While  I!  — oh,  seldom  ev'n  a  loot 

"Of  sf-if  salutes  my  eye;  — 
•*My  only  glavs,  the  limpid  brook, 

"  That  bhiues  aud  passes  by." 


SOVEREIGN    WOMAN. 

A     BALLAD. 

The  dance  was  o'er,  yef  still  in  dreams. 

That  fairy  scene  went  on  ; 
Like  clouds  siill  tlusti'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  slill,  where  all  were  fair. 

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

1  saw  ihee  high  enrhion'd  ; 
While,  raitg'd  around,  ihe  wise,  the  great 

Id  thee  their  ojistress  ovvuM ; 


And  still  the  same,  thy  gentle  sway 
O'er  willing  ^ubJects  won  its  way  — 
''i'lll  all  confe-s\i  ihe  RiEhl  Divine 
1  o  rule  o'er  man  was  ouly  thine  I 

But,  ]o,  the  scene  now  chang'd  again  — 

Aud  buiue  on  plumed  steed, 
I  saw  thee  i)-er  the  ballle-plain 

Our  land  s  defenders  lead  : 
Ai  d  siTiiiiger  in  Ihy  lieauty's  charms, 
1  han  n.an',  with  countless  hosts  in  arms. 
Thy  voice,  like  mu^ic,  cheer'd  the  Free, 
Thy  very  smile  was  victory  I 

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  wreath  the  chatD, 
Disguise  our  bondage  as  we  will, 
'T  is  woDiau,  wonau,  rules  us  still. 


COME,  PLAY  ME  THAT  SLMPLE  AIR  AGAIN. 

A    BALLAD. 

Come,  pUy  me  that  simple  air  again, 
1  us'd  so  10  love,  in  life's  young  day. 
And  bung,  if  ihon  canst,  the  dreams  that  tbeo 
Were  »aken'd  by  ihat  sweet  lay. 
The  lender  gloom  its  slr.iin 

Shed  o'er  the  heart  and  brow, 
Grief's  shadow,  without  its  pain  — 
Sav  where,  where  is  it  now? 
But  play  me  the  well-known  air  once  more. 

For  though's  of  ynuth  still  haunt  its  straiOy 
Like  dreams  of  some  far,  fairy  shore 
We  never  shall  see  again. 

Sweet  air,  how  every  note  brings  back 

Some  sunny  hope,  some  day-dream  bright, 
That,  shining  o'er  life's  early  track, 
f  jil'd  ev'n  Its  tears  with  light, 
'i'he  new  found  life  thai  came 

With  love's  first  echo'd  vow;— 
The  fear,  the  bliss  'he  shame  — 
Ah — where,  where  are  they  now  ? 
But.  still  the  same  lov'd  notes  prolong, 

For  sweet  't  were  thu<,  to  that  old  lay, 
In  dreams  of  youth  and  love  and  song, 
To  breathe  hfe'a  hour  away. 


END     OF     VOL.     IX. 


PREFACE   TO    THE   TENTH   VOLUME. 


The  Story  which  occupies  this  volume  was  intended 
iri^inally  to  be  lold  in  verse ;  and  a  ffieat  portion  of 
t  was  at  first  written  in  thai  form.  This  fact,  as  well 
as  t tie  ctiarac'er.  perhaps,  of  ihe  whole  work,  which 
I  good  deal  partakes  of  the  cast  and  cnlouriii;  of  poe- 
try, have  been  thought  sufficient  to  e  title  it  to  a 
place  in  this  general  collection  of  my  poetical  writ- 
ings. 

ow  little  akin  to  romance  or  poesy  were  some  of 
the  circumsiances  under  which  this  work  was  first 
projec'ed  by  me.  the  reader  may  have  seen  from  a 
preceding  preface;  ■  and  Ihe  following  rough  outline, 


1  Preface  to  the  Eighth  Volu 


,  p.  360. 


which  1  have  found  among  my  pipers,  dated  Paris, 
July  25,  1.^20.  will  show  bo:h  my  first  general  concep- 
tion, or  fiire-shadowiug  of  the  slory.  and  likewise  Ihe 
ex  entto  which  I  thought  right,  in  afterward*  working 
out  this  design,  to  reject  or  modify  some  of  its  details 


"  Began  mv  Egyptian  Poem,  and  wrote  about  thir- 
teen or  fouileen  lines  nf  it.  The  story  In  be  lold  in 
tellers  from  a  young  Epicuiean  philosopher,  who,  in 
Ihe  second  century  of  Ihe  Christian  era,  goes  to  Esypt 
for  the  purpose  of  discovering  Ihe  elixir  of  immor- 
tality, which  is  supposed  to  he  one  of  the  secrets  of 
the  Eg)plian  priests.     During  a  festival  on  Ihe  Nile, 


THE    EPICUREAN 


4G3 


he  meets  wilh  a  beau'lful  maiden^  the  daughter  of  nne 
of  the  priests  lately  dead.  Si\e  enierd  the  ca'acoinbs, 
and  disappears).  He  hovers  around  the  spot,  and  at 
last  finds  the  welt  and  sircret  pas»at;es,  &c.  by  vvliich 


llir 


vho  r 


a  ted 


He 


in  one  of  those  iheatncal  spectacles  which  iornit-d  a 
paitofthesnbienaiieaii  Kl>siuni  of  ihe  pyiaiurd:^  — 
finds  opponunities  of  conversing  vvilh  her—  Ilieir 
intercfturse  in  this  mysierious  rt-gion  described.  'I  hey 
are  discovered  ;  and  he  is  llirown  itiio  lho>t:  &ub!eria- 
nean  prisons,  where  Ihey  "In*  virdale  the  rules  of 
Initiation  are  confined.  He  is  libt^nled  from  Dieoce 
by  th9  young  maiden,  and  lakirij;  tli^ht  to^elhei,  they 
reach  siune  beautiful  region,  where  they  linger,  for  a 
time,  delighted,  and  she  is  near  becoming  a  victim  to 
his  arts.  But  lakiug  alarm,  she  Hies  ;  and  seeks  refuge 
with  a  Christian  monk,  in  Ihe  Thebaid,  to  whom  her 
nioiht^r,  who  was  secretly  a  Christi;in,  had  consigned 
her  m  dying.  The  strugstles  of  her  love  with  her 
religion.  A  persecution  of  the  Chijsiians  t.tkes  place, 
and  she  is  seized  fchietly  through  the  unintentional 
means  of  her  lover),  and  suH'eis  ni.iriyrdom.  The 
scene  of  her  martyrdom  described,  in  a  letter  from  the 
Solitary  of  the  Thebaid,  and  Ihe  atieinpt  made  by  the 
young  philosopher  to  rescue  her.  He  is  earned  ofl 
from  ihence  to  the  cell  of  the  Solitary,  His  letters 
from  that  retreat,  alter  he  has  bee  Jne  a  Christian, 
devoting  his  thoughts  entirely  to  repentance  and  Ihe 
reculleclion  of  the  beloved  saint  who  had  gone  bt:fore 
him.  —  If  I  doo'l  make  something  out  of  all  this,  Ihe 
deuce  is  iuU." 


According  to  this  plan,  the  events  of  (he  stnry  were 
Id  be  told  in  Leiters,  or  Epistolary  Piems,  addressed 
by  ttie  philosopher  to  a  young  Athenian  friend  ;  but, 
for  greater  varieiy,  as  well  as  convenience,  1  after- 
wards distributed  the  task  of  narration  among  the 
chief  pers'inages  of  the  Tale.  The  great  difficult), 
however,  of  managing,  in  rhyme,  the  minor  details  of 
a  story,  so  as  to  be  clear  withuut  giowing  prosaic, 
and  still  more,  the  dittuse  length  to  which  1  saw  nar- 
ration in  verse  would  extend,  deterred  me  from  fol- 
lowing this  plan  any  further;  and  1  then  commenced 
the  tale  anew  in  its  present  shape. 

Of  the  Poems  written  for  my  first  experiment,  a 


few  specimen?',  the  best  I  could   select,  were  intro-  I 
duced  into  ihe  prose  story  j  but  the  remainder  I  had  ' 
thrown  aside,  and  nearly  forgotten  even   their  exist- 
ence, when  a  circnmsance  soinewh.t  chaiacieri  tic, 
perhaps  of  thai   tr.ullng  s].int,   wliitli  h^s  now  con-  , 
vt-rfed  Parna->us  itself  ii.t    a  markcl.  :i.<Hin  called  my  > 
at  entioii  to  them.     '1  he  late  iMf.  Maoone,  to  who.^e  , 
geneial    taleiiLs   and   eniKip-ise    iu    bu-ine.^s   all   u  ho  , 
knew  bini  will  bear  read>  le^  imony,  had   long  been 
aiixir.us  tliat  I  ^ho^lId  undeiiake  for  him  some  new  ( 
I'ocm  or  Story,  atturding  such  subjects  for  ilh.stratior 
.13  might  call    into   pi  ,y  the  fanciful  pencl  of  Mr, 
Turner.   Other  tasks  and  ties,  however,  had  rendeied 
my  compliance  with  this  wish  impracticable  j  and  ht 
was  about  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  attaining  his  ob- 
ject, when  on  learning  from  me  accidentally  that  the 
Epicurean  was  aiill  my  own  properly,  he  proposed  to 
(Hircliase  of  ine  the  use  of  the  copyright  for  a  single 
illustrated  edition. 

The  terms  protlered  by  him  being  most  liberal,  1 
readily  acceded  to  the  proposed  anangemenl  ;  but,  on 
further  considerali'tn,  there  arose  some  ditficuliy  in 
the  way  of  our  Ireity  — Ihe  work  Itself  being  found 
uihuffirient  to  foini  a  volume  of  such  dimensions  as 
would  yield  any  hope  of  defraying  the  cobt  of  the  nu- 
merous illuslralions  then  intended  f'>r  it.  Some  modi- 
ficatiotijiherefore,  of  our  terms  was  thought  necessary  j 
and  then  first  was  the  notion  suggested  to  me  of  bring- 
ing forth  fioin  among  my  papers  the  original  sketch, 
or  opening  of  the  story,  and  adding  these  fragmci 
as  a  jort  of  niake-weiglit,  in  the  mutual  adjustment  of 
our  terms. 

That  I  had  myself  regarded  the  first  experiment  n 
a  failure,  was  suthciently  shown  by  my  relin<|uibl 
nient  of  it.  But,  as  the  published  wo.k  U^d  the 
parsed  through  several  editions,  and  had  been  Iran 
lated  into  most  of  Ihe  languages  of  Europe,  it  w; 
thou^lit  that  an  insight  into  the  anxious  process  by 
which  such  success  bad  been  allamed,  mi^ht,  as 
encouragement,  al  le.ist,  to  the  humble  merit  of  pa 
taking,  be  deemed  of  some  little  use. 

'Ihe  following  are  the  translations  of  this  tale  which 
have  reached  me  :  viz.  two  in  French,  two  in  Italian, 
(Milan,  IS36  — Venice,  1^35),  one  in  German  (Ins- 
pruc,  )^2S),  and  one  in  Dulcb,  by  M.  Herman  van 
Loghem  (Dcveuter,  1S29). 


THE    EPICUREAN:    A  TALE. 


TO     LORD     JOHN     RUSSELL, 
THIS   VOLUME   IS    INSCRIBED, 

BY     ONE     WHO     ADMIRES     HIS     CHARACTER     AND     TALENTS, 
AND     IS     PROUD     OF     HIS      FRIENDSHIP. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  TRANSLATOR, 

FROM ,  Esq. 

Cairo,  June  19,  )800. 
My  dear  Sir,— Diirinj  a  visit  l.itely  paid  by  me  to 
the  ninriaslcry  of  St.  Macarius— wliich  is  situated,  as 
you  knnw,  in  tlie  Valley  of  tlie  Lakes  of  Natron  —  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  obtain  possrsNion  of  a  curious 
Greek  nianuscripl,  which,  in  ilie  h'pe  that  jou  may 
be  induced  to  translate  it,  I  herewith  Iraiistiut  to  you. 
Observing  one  of  ttie  monks  very  busily  occupied  in 
tearing  up  into  a  varieiy  of  fantastic  shapes  some 
papers  which  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  leaves 


of  old  bonks,  I  inquired  of  him  the  meanins:  of  his 
lask,  and  received  the  following  exidanalion  ;  — 

The  Arabs,  il  seems,  «  ho  ate  as  fond  of  piijeons  as 
Ihe  ancient  Egyptians,  have  a  superstitious  notion 
that,  if  they  place  in  their  pigeon-hnuses  small  sciaps 
of  |iaper,  wn  ten  over  with  learned  rhiraclers,  ihe 
bird,  are  alwavs  sure  to  thrive  Ihe  belter  for  Ihe 
charm  ;  and  the  monks,  who  are  never  slow  in  proht- 
ing  liy  superstition,  hive,  at  all  limes,  a  supply  of 
such  amulets  for  purchasers. 

In  general,  the  fathers  of  the  monastery  have  been 
in  the  hibii  of  scribbling  these  fragments  iheinselvcs  ; 

■ery  lalely  made  hy  Ihem,  saves  all  thi! 

tving  dug  up  (.13  my  informant  stated)  a 


trouble 


464 


THE    EPIC  U  REAN. 


cheat  nf  olil  nnnuicr.pts,  which,  beins^  chirfiv  nn  tli 
suliject  I'f  alcheniv,niiist  hnve  been  buririi  in  thu  tpiii 
ol  Dinclesiaii,  "  vve  Umu^ht,"  added  thti  monk,  "thr 
we  could  not  employ  -uch  rubbish  uvut-  prnpeiij 
than  in  fearing  il  up,  as  you  see,  for  the  pigejU-hou;t 
of  ihe  Arabs." 

On  niv  expres-Mng  a  wish  to  rescue  some  part  nf 
tliese  trt-.iMjres  from  the  fate  to  which  his  indolent 
fraternity  h.id  consigned  Iheni  he  pmduccd  Ihe  nianu 
sciipl  wiiich  I  have  now  the  pleasure  of  sending  you 
—  the  only  one,  he  said,  remaining  eu'i-e  — and  I 
veryreidily  paid  Ihe  price  which  he  demanded  for  it. 

You  will  find  the  slory,  I  think,  not  aho^etl. 
teresiirig;  and  the  coincidence,  in  many  rrspects,  of 
the  curious  details  in  Chap.  VI.  with  ihe  description 
of  the  same  ceremonies  in  the  Romance  of  Sdhos 
wiU,  I  have  nn  doub',  strike  you.  Hnpingthat  you 
may  be  induced  to  give  a  translation  of  this  'iale  to 
the  world, 

I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Very  truly  yourg. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


C  H  AFTER    I. 

It  was  in  the  fourth  year  of  the  reisn  of  the  Ia( 
Emperor  Vak-rian,  thai  the  followers  of  Epicnnis.  wtn 
were  at  that  lime  numerous  in  Aihens,  proceeded  (o 
the  election  of  a  rera^n  to  fill  the  vacant  chair  of 
their  sect;— and,  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the 
School,  I  was  the  individual  chosen  for  their  Chief. 
I  was  just  then  entering  on  my  luenty-fnurih  year, 
and  no  in-tance  had  ever  before  occurred,  of  a  person 
so  young  being  selected  for  that  higti  ofhce.  Youth, 
however,  and  'he  personal  advan  ages  thai  adorn  it, 
could  not  but  rank  among  the  ni-^st  agreeable  recom- 
meiidations  to  a  sect  tl^ai  included  "ilhiii  its  circle 
all  the  beau'v  a^well  as  Ihe  wit  of  Athens,  and  which, 
though  dignifying  its  pursuits  wi  h  the  name  of  philo- 
sophy, was  little  else  than  a  plausible  pieieatt  for  the 
more  refined  cultivation  f>f  pleisme. 

Thecharac'.erof 'hesect  had,  indeed,  much  changed, 
since  Ihe  limc  of  its  wise  and  vjrtunus  founder,  who, 
wliile  he  asserted  that  Pleasme  i-;  the  only  GooCl,  in- 
culcated also  that  Gond  is  the  only  source  (;f  PJea-u'e. 
'J'tie  puier  part  of  this  doctrine  had  long  evaporated, 
and  the  temperate  Epicurus  would  have  as  litle  re- 
cognised his  own  sect  in  ihe  assL-mblage  of  relined 
voluptuaiies  who  now  usurped  its  nnme.  as  he  wOuId 
have  known  his  own  quiet  Garden  in  the  hixn<ious 
groves  and  bowers  among  which  the  meetings  of  tlie 
School  were  now  held. 

Many  cauics  concurred,  at  this  period,  besides  the 
attractiveness  of  it>  d  ctrines,  to  render  our  school  by 
far  Ihe  most  popniir  of  any  that  still  survived  the 
glory  of  Greece.  It  may  generally  be  ob-erved,  that 
the  prevalence,  in  one  half  of  a  community,  of  very 
rigid  notions  on  Ihe  subject  of  religion,  produces  the 
opposite  extreme  of  laxity  and  intidelity  in  the  olher; 
and  this  kind  of  re-action  it  was  thai  now  mainly 
contributed  to  render  the  doctrines  of  ihe  Garden  the 
most  fashionable  philosophy  of  the  diy.  The  rapid 
progress  of  the  Chijs'ian  faiih  had  alarmed  all  those, 
who,  either  from  piety  or  wrldliness,  were  interested 
in  the  continuance  of  the  old  established  creed  —  all 
who  believed  in  the  Deities  (.f  Oiympus.  and  all  who 
lived  by  them.    The  natural  conseciuence  was,  a  con- 


1  The  description,  here  alluded  to,  may  also  be 
found,  copied  vcrLalim  fmni  Sethr^s,  in  Ihe  *  Voyages 
d'An'enir." — "  In  that  philosophical  romance,  called 
'La  Vie  de  Sethos,"'  siys  Warburton,  "we  (ind  a 
much  juster  account  of  old  Egyfitian  ivjsdoni.  thin  in 
all  the  pretended  'Histoire  du  Cicl.^ *'  — Viv.  Leg. 
book  iv.  sect.  U. 


siilerable  increase  nf  zeal  and  activity,  throughout  the 
c^Mi-*' [tilted  anibfiri'ies  and  priesthood  of  the  whole 
He. then  world.  What  was  wan'ing  in  sincerity  of 
belief  was  ina.le  up  in  rigour,—  the  we.ikest  parts  of 
the  .Myihnlngy  v% ere  tho^e,  of  course,  most  angi" 
j  defended,  and  ^'^y  reflec!i<'ns,  tcndingto  bring  Salu 
'  or  liis  wife  Ops,  into  conleuipt,  were  punislied  wilti 
tlie  utmost  severity  .f  ihe  law. 

In  th's  a  3te  of  affairs,  between  the  alarmed  bigotiy 
of  the  dr-ctinlng  Faith  and  Ihe  simple,  sublime  ar 
rity  of  her  rival,  it  was  not  wonderful  that  those 
lovers  of  ease  and  ple^cure,  who  had  no  interest 
vervionary  o^otherwI^e,  iu  the  old  r<-Ii-ion.  and  w, 
too  indolent  to  inquire  nito  the  sinclini'.s  of  (he  nt 
should  lake  refuge  from  the  seventies  of  boh  in  the 
arii.s  of  a  luxurious  jhilosophv,  which,  lejvim 
others  the  task  of  disputing  about  the  tuture,  ceirtred 
all  its  wisdom  in  Ihe  full  enjoyment  of  the  pre-ent. 

The  'ectaries  of  the  Garden  had,  ever  i-ince  Ihe 
death  of  iheir  founder,  been  accu>lomed  to  dedicate 
to  hiS  memory  Ihe  tv\entieih  day  of  every  month. 
To  these  njonthly  n'es  had,  for  some  linie,  been  added 
a  grand  annual  festival,  in  commemoration  of  liis 
birih.  The  feast*',  given  on  ihis  occasion  by  niy  pre- 
decessors i;i  Ihe  Chair,  had  been  invariatJIy  disiin- 
guished  lor  their  taste  and  splendour;  and  il  was 
ambiiinn,  n^t  merely  to  iniilate  this  example,  but 
evt-n  to  render  Ihe  anniversary,  now  cetebraled  uiide 
niy  auspices,  so  lively  and  brilliant  as  to  efface  Ihe 
recollecii'  n  of  all  that  had  preceded  it. 

Seldom,  indeed,  had  Athei.s  witnessed  so  bright  i 
scene.  The  grounds  that  formed  the  original  site  oi 
Ihe  Garden  had  received,  from  time  lo  time,  conside 
r.ible  additions;  and  the  «ho!e  exfent  was  now  laid 
out  with  that  perfect  taste,  which  understands  how  to 
wed  Nature  with  Art,  wiihnut  sacrificing  any  of  he 
simplicity  tn  the  alliance.  Walks,  leading  through 
wildernessi'S  ot  shade  and  fragrance — glades,  oj 
ing  as  if  to  atturd  a  play-gmund  for  the  sunshine  — 
temples,  rising  on  the  very  spots  where  Im.iginatirn 
heise  f  would  have  called  them  up,  and  f'lun'ains 
lakes  in  allernate  motion  and  repose,  either  i\antunly 
courting  the  verdure,  or  calmly  sleeping  in  its  i 
brace— such  was  the  v-*riety  of  feature  that  diversified 
these  fair  gardens;  and.  animated  as  they  were 
ihis  occasion,  bv  all  the  living  wit  and  loveliness  of 
Athens,  it  afiorded  a  scene  such  as  my  own  youthful 
l.uicy,  rich  as  it  was  then  in  Images  of  luxury  and 
beauty,  could  hardly  have  anticipated. 

1  lie  ceremonies  of  the  day  began  with  the  very 
dawn,  when,  according  to  the  form  of  simpler  and 
better  times,  tho--e  among  ihe  disciples  who  had  ap.irt- 
men's  within  the  Garden,  bore  the  image  of  our 
Founder  in  procession  from  ch;init)er  to  chamber, 
chanling  verses  in  praise  of  what  had  loug  ceased  to 
be  objects  of  our  imi  ation  —  his  frugality  and  tempe- 
rance. 

Round  a  beautiful  lake,  in  the  centre  of  the  Garden,- 
stood  four  white  Doric  temples,  in  one  of  which  i 
collected  a  lihiary  containing  all  Ihe  flowers  of  Gre- 
cian literature;  wliile,  in  the  reniaining  three,  Con- 
versation, the  Snng,  and  the  Dance,  held,  uninerrupt- 
ed  by  each  other,  their  respective  rites.  In  the 
Library  stood  busts  of  all  the  mo.t  illnsirious  Epicu- 
reans, both  of  Rome  and  Greece — Horace,  Atlicus, 
Pliny  the  elder,  Ihe  poet  Lncreliu-^,  Luci;in,  and  the 
lamented  biographer  of  (he  Philoeopliers,  lately  lost  to 
us  Ul 'genes  Laeriius.  There  were  als'i  the  portraits, 
in  marble,  of  all  the  eminent  female  votaries  of  the 
school— Leontium  and  her  fair  daughter  Dame,  'J  he- 
mlsla,  Philasnis,  and  others. 

It  was  heie  that,  in  my  capacity  of  Heresiarch,  on 
the  morning  of  the  Festival,  1  received  Ihe  felicita- 
tions of  the  day  from  some  of  the  fairest  lips  of 
Athens;  and,  In  pronouncing  the  customaiy  oration 
to  the  memory  of  our  Master  (in  which  it  was  usual 
to  dwell  upon  the  doctrines  he  had  inculcated)  en- 
deavoured tn  alt  lin  that  art,  sri  UNcfuI  before  such  an 
udience,  of  lending  lo  the  gravest  subjects  a  cha  ni, 
^hich  secures  them  lisleneiseven  amougthe  simplest 
nd  most  V''latile. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


465 


Though  sftidy,  as  niny  be  supposed,  engrossed  but 
little  the  nights  or  mornings  of  the  Garden,  yel  all 
the  lie:hier  parts  of  learning—  that  pnrti-in  of  its  afric 
honej-\  for  which  the  bee  i>  not  compdli^tl  to  s^o  very 
deep  in'o  tlic  tlnwrr  —  was  soniewhai  zcrilously  cnlM- 
vatcd  by  us.  Even  here,  however,  the  young  sludeitt 
had  to  encounter  that  kind  of  distracrion,  which  is,  of 
ail  others,  the  least  favourable  to  composure  of 
thought;  and,  wirh  more  than  one  of  my  fair  disci- 
ples, there  used  to  occur  such  scenes  as  the  following, 
which  ;i  poet  of  ihe  Garden,  taking  his  picture  from 
the  life,  thus  described :  — 

•'Ab  o'er  Ihr*  lake,  In  evening's  glow, 

Thai  lemplc^  threw  ite  IciiKlheiiiii^  shade, 
V]"in  the  marblf  eteps  below 

There  nnte  a  Tair  Coriuthian  moid, 
Grart^fully  o'er  some  volume  beiidiii^; 

Willie,  by  her  side,  the  youthful  S:ige 

IIclJ  b.ick  her  ringietft,  Iwt,  (i.-8remliiig, 

They  bhould  o'er-alia'^ow  all  llie  yu&t:.'* 

But  it  was  for  the  evening  of  that  Hay,  (hat  the 
richef  t  of  our  luxuries  were  reserved.  Every  part  of 
(be  Garden  was  illuniinated,  with  the  most  skilful 
variety  of  lusire  ;  while  over  ihe  Uke  of  the  Temples 
were  scattered  wre.iKi-i  of  (lowers,  through  which 
boats,  filled  with  beautiful  children,  Healed,  as 
through  .1  liquid  parterre. 

Between  two  of  these  boats  a  mock  combat  was 
perpetually  carried  on  ;— their  respective  command- 
ers, two  blooming  youths,  being  habited  to  represent 
Eri)s  and  An'eros:  the  former,  the  Celestial  Love  of 
the  i'latonis's,and  the  latter,  that  more  earthly  spirit, 
which  usurps  the  nante  of  Love  among  Ihe  Epicu- 
reans. Throughout  Ihe  whoie  evening  their  conflict 
was  maintained  with  various  success;  the  limid  dis- 
tance at  which  Eros  kept  aloof  Oom  his  lively  anta- 
gonist being  his  only  safeguard  against  those  dnr'sof 
(ire,  with  showers  of  which  the  other  assailed  him, 
but  which,  falling  short  of  Iheir  mark  upon  the  lake, 
only  scorched  the  few  flowers  on  which  they  fell,  and 
were  extinguished. 

In  another  part  of  the  gardens,  on  a  widi 
illuminated  only  by  ihe  moon,  was  performed 
tilion  of  the  torcb-race  of  the  Fauaihensa  by  young 
boys  cho-en  for  their  flee'ne.'-s,  and  arrayed  wi\\\ 
wings,  like  Cupids;  while,  not  far  oft",  a  grnup  of 
seven  iiyinphs.  with  e^ch  a  star  on  her  forehead,  re- 
presented the  movements  of  ihe  planetary  choir,  and 
emb(jdied  Ihe  dream  of  Fythagoiaa  into  real  motion 


:  gl.ide, 


md  t 


'iig- 


ery  turning  some  new  enchanlment  broke 
unexpecedly  on  the  eye  or  e.<r;  and  now,  front  the 
depth  of  a  d.irk  grove,  from  which  a  fnunt.in  at  the 
same  tune  issued,  there  came  a  strain  of  sueet  muvic, 
which,  mingling  with  the  murmur  of  Ihe  water, 
Bcemeil  like  the  voice  of  the  spirit  that  presided  over 
its  flow  j— while,  at  other  times,  the  same  strain  ap- 
peared to  c'ime  breathing  from  among  flowers,  or  "as 
iic.ird  ^uddenly  from  under  ground,  as  if  the  fiot  had 
just  touched  some  spiing  that  eet  its  Dietody  in  mo- 
tion. 

It  may  seem  strange  thai  I  should  now  dwell  upon 
all  these  trifling  details;  but  they  uereto  me  full  of 
the  future  ;  and  every  thing  connected  \vith  thai  me 
moraMe  night  — even  its  lonii-repentLd  follies— mus 
for  ever  live  fondly  and  sacndly  m  my  memory 
The  fetival  concluded  with  a  btmjuet,  at  which,  a 
master  of  the  Sect,  1  presided ;  and  being,  myself,  ii 
every  sfiise,  Ihe  ascendant  ^pi^it  of  ihe  whole  scene 
gave  life  to  all  around  me,  aud  &aw  my  own  happiuei 
reflected  in  that  of  others. 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  festival  was  over;—  the  Bounds  of  the  song  and 
dance  had  ceased,  and  I  was  now  left  in  ihose  luxu- 
rious gardens,  ainne.  Though  so  ardent  and  active  a 
votary  of  pleasure,  I  had,  by  nature,  a  disposition  full 


of  melancholy ;— an  imagination  that,  even  in  the 
midvt  of  mitth  and  happiness,  presented  saddenmg 
houghts.  and  threw  the  shadow  of  the  future  over  Ihe 
gayest  illusions  of  the  present.  Melancholy  was,  in- 
deed,  twin-born  in  my  soul  wiUi  pjssion  ;  and  not 
I  in  the  fullest  fervour  of  the  latter  were  Ihey  ever 
separated.  From  ihe  (irst  mnnient  that  I  was  con- 
ciousof  thought  and  feeling,  the  same  dark  thread  hid 
un  across  tlie  web;  and  images  of  death  and  annihi- 
ation  came  to  mingle  themselves  with  even  the  n.ost 
niiling  scenes  through  which  Invc  and  enjoyment  led 
ne.  My  very  passion  for  plea-ure  but  deepened 
these  gloomy  thoughts.  For,  shut  out,  as  I  was  by 
cretd.  from  a  future  life,  and  having  no  hope 
beyond  the  narrow  horizon  of  this,  everv  minute  of 
rtlily  delight  assumed,  in  my  eyes,  a  mournful  pre- 
ciousncss  ;  and  pleasure,  like  the  flower  of  the  ceme- 
tery, grew  but  more  luxuriant  from  Ihe  neighbourhood 
of  death. 

(lis  very  night  my  triumph,  my  happiness  had 
led  complete.  I  had  been  Ihe  presiding  geriius  of 
that  volupMi'us  scene.  Both  my  ambition  and  my 
love  of  pleai-ure  had  drunk  deep  of  the  rich  cup  fur 
which  they  tliiis'ed.  Looked  up  to  as  I  wa^  by  the 
learned,  and  admired  and  loved  by  the  beautiful  and 
the  yrxinj,  I  hid  seen,  in  every  e\e  that  met  mine, 
eiiher  theacknowied^iment  of  bright  triumphs  aheady 
won,  or  Ihe  promise  of  olheis,  still  brighter,  that 
awailtd  me.  Yet,  even  in  the  mid-t  of  all  this,  the 
same  dark  tlioughts  had  presented  themselves;  —  Ihe 
perishableness  of  myself  and  all  annjnd  me  had  re- 
curred every  ins'ant  to  my  mind.  Those  hands  !  had 
prest  — those  eyes,  in  which  I  had  seen  sparkling  a 
■pirit  of  light  and  life  that  ought  never  to  die—  Ihose 
;oices,  that  hid  spoken  of  eternal  love  — all,  all,  I 
'elt,  were  hut  a  mockery  of  the  momcn',  and  would 
leave  nothing  eternal  but  the  silence  of  their  dust ! 
Oh,  were  it  nnt  for  this  eail  voice, 
iSlealing  amid  our  mirth  lo  Bay, 
That  all,  in  which  we  inoht  rejoice. 

Ere  nifjhl  may  be  Ihe  earlh-vkorm's  prey  ;— 
But  for  this  biiter  —  nnlv  this  — 
Full  aB  the  world  ia  brinim'il  with  bliss, 
And  capiible  ae  feela  my  anul 
Of  draining  ui  its  depth  the  whole, 
I  Hhould  turn  earth  to  heaven,  and  be. 
If  blisa  made  gods,  a  deity  ! 

Such  wjs  the  description  I  gave  of  my  own  feelings, 
in  one  of  those  wild,  passionate  eongs,  lo  which  this 
mixture  of  mirth  and  melancholy,  in  a  spirit  so 
buoyant,  naturijly  gave  birth. 

And  seldom  had  my  heart  so  fully  surrendered  itself 
to  this  soil  of  vague  sadness  as  at  that  very  moment, 
when,  as  1  paced  thoughtfully  among  the  fading  liffhls 
and  flowers  of  Ihe  bant}uet,  the  echo  of  my  own  step 
was  all  that  now  sounded,  where  so  many  gay  forms 
had  laely  been  revelling.  The  moon  was  still  up.  Ilie 
mnrniii!;  hid  not  yet  glimmered,  and  the  calm  glories 
of  the  night  siill  rested  on  all  around.  Unconscious 
whither  my  pathway  led,  I  continued  to  wander 
along,  till  I,  at  lei-elh,  found  myself  before  thu  fair 
statue  nf  Venus,  with  which  the  chisel  of  Alcamenes 
bad  embellished  our  Garden  ;  —  lhat  image  of  deifled 
woman,  the  only  idfjl  to  which  I  bad  ever  yet  bent 
the  kitee.  Leaning  againvt  Ihe  pedestal  of  the  sta'ue, 
I  raised  my  eyes  lo  heaven,  and  fixing  them  sadly  and 
intently  on  theever-burnins  -tars,  as  if  seeking  lo  read 
tlie  mournful  secret  in  their  lii^hl,  a;ked,  wherefore 
was  it  that  Man  alone  must  fade  and  perish,  while 
they,  so  much  le-s  wonderful,  le^s  godlike  than  he, 
Ihii?  s'ill  lived  on  in  radiance  unch  uigeable  and  for 
ever!- "Oh,  that  there  were  some  spell,  gnnie  talis- 
man,"  I  exclamed,  *Mo  make  the  spirit  that  burns 
within  us  deathless  aa  those  stars,  and  oi  en  to  ji  a 
career  like  theirs,  as  bright  and  inextiuguisliable 
throuiihout  all  time!" 

While  ibus  itidulging  ir  wild  and  melancholy  fan- 
ciei.  I  fel*  (hat  la'^situde  which  earthly  pleasure,  1 
eier  sweet,  still  leaves  behind,  come  insensibly  over 
me,  and  at  leuglh  sunk  at  the  ba^e  of  Ihe  statue  lo  j 
sleep. 

2e 


466 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


But  even  in  sleep,  the  SMue  fancies  continued  to 
taunt  me;  and  a  die;un,i  sodisiinct  and  vivid  ns  to 
leave  bt^hind  it  ihe  imjire.^s  on  of  reality.  lhu>i  pre- 
seMed  itself  to  mv  muid.  1  f-m  d  n.vself  suddenly 
traiispriried  ti»  a  u  id^  and  desolate  plain,  \\  tiere  iioihii.5 
appeared  to  breailie,  01  nio\e,  or  hve.  Jlie  very  t.ky 
ihai  hungabuve  ii  i.oked  pale  and  extinct,  giving  Uie 
ides,  not  o(  d-trkite-s,  bui  of  light  iha:  had  became 
dead  ;~  and  had  that  whole  region  been  ihe  remains 
<,f  some  oldtr  world,  left  btok-m  up  and  sunless,  it 
could  not  have  presented  au  aspect  more  qiiei.ched  and 
lale.  'I  he  only  thing  that  besp.  ke  lite,  through- 
out tliis  melanclioly  waste,  was  a  small  spark  of  light, 
that  at  fiisl  glimmered  m  Ihe  distaiiCe.  but,  al  lengtli, 
slowly  apprnaclied  Ihe  bleak  ?poI  where  I  stood.  As 
it  drew  Ilea  er,  I  could  see  that  its  small  but  steady 
gleam  came  f.om  a  taper  in  tl:e  hand  of  an  aiiCienl  and 
vener.'ble  ninn,  who  now  siood,  like  a  pale  messenger 
(viu  Ihe  g'avc,  btlore  me.  Af  er  a  lew  moment,  of 
awful  silence,  during  which  he  looked  at  me  with  a 
padne.s  thai  thrilled  my  very  s"ul,  he  siid,  *''lhou, 
who  seekest  eternal  life,  go  unio  the  -horesof  the  datk 
Nile  —  go  unto  the  shores  <  i  the  dirk  Nile,  and  thuu 
wilt  find  ihe  etirnal  life  thou  seekest !" 

No  sooner  had  he  uteied  these  words  than  the 
deathlike  hue  i  f  his  cheek  at  once  brightened  into  a 
smile  of  moiethan  earthly  piomi^e;  while  the  small 
toich  he  held  in  his  hai.d  sent  lor  h  a  glow  of  radiance, 
by  wtiicli  suddenly  the  whole  surface  of  the  desert 
w\s  illumiiiaied  J  —  the  light  spreading  even  to  he 
dis'ant  h'tiizNii's  edge,  along  whuse  line  I  could  now 
tee  gardens,  palaces,  and  spires,  all  :ts  brisht  as  the 
lich  architectuie  ot  ilie  clouds  at  sunset.  Swtet  niu- 
sic,  too,  came  floating  in  every  direction  through  the 
air,  and,  from  all  sides,  such  varieties  (;f  euchannieut 
broke  upon  nie,  ihai,  with  the  excess  alike  of  haiinony 
and  of  ladtance,  1  3w<;ke 

That  infidels  -'^hould  be  supers'itious  is  an  an^^maly 
neither  unusual  nor  >trai  ge.  A  belief  in  supethnman 
agency  seems  naural  and  necessary  10  the  nnnd  ;  and, 
if  not  suffered  to  tl-)w  in  the  obvious  channels,  it  will 
liiid  a  vent  in  ^onie  other.  Hence,  many  who  have 
d(tub;ed  the  existence  of  a  God,  have  yet  implicitly 
placed  themselves  under  the  patronage  of  Fate  or  the 
stars.  Mucli  die  same  inconsistency  I  was  conscious 
of  in  my  ou  n  feelings.  Though  rejecting  all  belief  in 
a  Divine  Providence,  I  hid  yci  a  fai  h  in  dreams,  that 
all  nay  philos-  phy  could  nut  conquer.  Nor  was  expe- 
tience  wanting  to  confirm  me  in  my  delusion  ;  for,  by 
lonie  of  those  accidental  coincidences,  which  make 
the  fortune  of  s  othsayers  and  prophets,  dreams, 
more  than  once,  had  been  to  me 

Orarlee  truer  far  than  cak, 
Or  duve,  or  tripixj>  ever  sjtoke. 
It  was  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that  the  vision  of  that 
night  —  touchms,  as  it  did,  a  chord  so  ready  to  vibrate 
—  stiould  have  affected  me  wiih  more  than  oidinary 
power,  and  even  ;>unk  deeper  into  my  memory  witti 
every  eff.u  t  1  made  to  forget  it.  lu  vain  did  1  mock  al 
my  own  weakness;  —  such  self-derision  is  seldom  in- 
cere.  In  vain  did  I  pursue  my  accustomed  pleasures. 
J  heir  2esl  -a  as,  as  usual,  for  ever  new;  but  still,  in 
the  midst  of  all  my  enjiwmeu',  came  the  cold  and  sad- 
dening cnnsciousnesi  of  niorlali  y,  and,  with  i\  Ihe 
recollection  of  that  visionary  promise,  to  which  my 
faiicv,  in  defiance  of  reason,  -till  couiinued  to  c  ing. 

At  limes  icdulging  in  reveries,  that  were  little  el-e 
Ihin  a  continuation  of  my  dream,  I  even  contemplated 
the  po  sible  PKisietice  of  some  mighl\  secie*,  by  which 
youth,  if  not  peipeluated,  might  be  at  least  prolonged, 
and  th.it  dreadful  viciniiy  of  "death,  within  whose  cir- 
cle love  pines  and  ple.isuie  sickei.s,  might  be  for  a 
while  averted.  "Who  knows,"  I  would  ask,  *•  but 
that  in  Eg>pt,  th.t  re^inn  of  wonders,  where  My>tery 
haih  yet  unhd  led  but  lialf  her  tieasi.res—  where  still 
remain,  undcciphercd,  upon  the   pillars  of  Seth,  so 


many  written  secrels  of  the  antediluvian  world  —  who 
can  tell  but  thai  some  powerful  charm,  some  amulet, 
may  there  lie  hid,  wliose  discovery,  as  this  phantom 
hath  promised,  tnit  awai  s  my  coming— some  com- 
pound of  tlie  same  pure  atoms,  that  form  the  essence 
of  the  living  >tars,  and  »  luse  inf^ioion  into  Ihe  frame 
of  man  might  render  him  also  unfading  and  im- 
mortal  I" 

Thus  fondly  did  I  sometimes  specula'e,  in  those 
vague  moods  If  mind,  when  ihe  life  of  excitement  in 
which  I  w.is  engaged,  acting  upon  a  warm  htailaud 
vivid  fancy,  produced  an  intoxication  of  spirit,  during 
which  I  was  not  wholly  myself.  'Ibis  bewildeiinen', 
too,  was  not  a  litlle  increased  by  the  constant  struggle 
I  experienced  bctv*een  mv  own  natural  feeling*,  and 
tlie  cold,  mortal  creed  of  my  sect  —  in  endeavouring 
to  escape  from  whose  deadening  bondage  1  but  broke 
loo  e  into  Ihe  realms  of  fanlasy  and  roniance. 

Kven  in  my  soberest  moments,  however,  that 
s!range  vision  for  ever  haunted  me;  and  every  effort 
I  made  to  chase  it  fr  m  niy  recollection  was  unavail- 
ing. Jhe  delitieraie  conclusion,  iheiefnre,  to  which  1 
at  last  came,  was,  th.I  to  visit  Kgypt  was  now  my 
only  res  urce  ;  Ih  d,  without  seeing  ttiat  land  of  won- 
ders,  I  could  not  rest,  nor,  until  convinct-d  of  my  fidly 
by  disappointment,  be  reasonable.  Without  delay, 
accordii  gly,  I  am  oiinced  to  my  friends  of  the  Garden, 
the  intention  1  had  fornied  to  pay  a  visit  to  Ihe  laud  of 
Pyramids.  To  none  of  them,  however,  did  I  dare  to 
confess  ihe  vague,  visionary  impulse  that  actuated 
me  ;  — Knowledge  being  the  object  that  I  .dleged, 
while  Pleasure  was  that  for  which  they  gave  ine 
credit.  'Ihe  inerests  of  the  Sch'.xd,  it  wa  feared, 
might  suffer  by  my  absencej  and  'here  were  some 
tenderer  lies,  which  had  still  more  lo  fear  fiom  sep.t- 
raiion.  Kut  for  Ihe  former  inconvenience  a  temporary 
remedy  was  provided  ;  while  Ihe  laliei  a  skilful  dis- 
tribution of  vows  and  sighs  alleviated.  Being  fur- 
iii-hed  with  recommendatory  letters  to  all  parts  of 
Egypt.  I  set  s.iil,  in  the  summer  of  the  year  2j7,  A.  D., 
for  Alexandria. 


1  For  the  importance  attached  to  dreinis  by  the 
ancients,  see  Jorfm,  Remarks  on  Ecclesiastical  Hia- 
lory,  vol.  i.,  p.  90. 


CHAPTER    III. 

3  SO  well  knew  how  to  extract  pleasure 


it  on  land,  a  sea-voyage,  however 
able,  appeared  the  least  agieeable 
i  that  could  be  devised      Often,  in- 


To  one,  who : 
from  every  moi 
smooth  and  favi 
niodeof  losing  I 
iietd,  did  my  imagimtiun,  in  passing  some  isle  of 
thuse  -eas,  people  i'  with  fair  foims  and  loving  hearts, 
to  ^\hich  mo^t  willingly  would  I  have  paused  to  offer 
homaae.  But  the  w  ind  blew  direct  towaids  Ihe  land 
of  Mystery;  and,  slill  more,  I  heard  a  voice  within 
me,  whispering  for  ever  '■  on." 

As  we  approached  the  co  st  of  Egypt,  oui  course 
became  less  [iro-perous;  and  we  had  a  specinitnof  Ihe 
benevolence  if  the  divinities  of  the  Nile,  in  the  shape 
of  a  storm,  or  rathe  whirlwind,  which  had  nearly 
sunk  our  vessel,  and  which  the  Egyptians  on  board 
declated  to  be  ihe  work  ol  iheir  deity,  Typhon. 
After  a  day  and   1  ight  of  daiger.  during  which 


of 


•  cnur; 


ird.  i 


bennrn 


jeiice  prevailed  above ;  and,  at  length, 
ng  freshly  iT-ke,  we  ^aw  Ihe  beautiful 
ciiy  of  Alexa.  dria  ri  ing  from  Ihe  sea,  w  i  h  its  proud 
P;ilace  of  King-,  its  ponic'  of  four  hu  died  c  lumns, 
and  the  fair  Fil.arof  Piilars,^  towering  in  the  midst 
to  heaven. 

After  i'assi!ig  in  review  this  >plendid  vis;On,  we 
shot  rapidly  round  the  Rock  of  Pharos,  and  in  a  few 
minutes,  found  ourselves  in  the  haibour  of  Eunoslus. 


^  Mo-e  propeily,  perhaps,  "the  C<^'lumnof  the  Pil- 
lars" \ idp-  Abdallatif,  Relation  de  PEgypte,  and  Ihe 
no'es  of  M.  de  Socy.  'Ihe  great  por'ico  round  this 
C'dumn  (lormeily  desiena'ed  Pompey's,  but  now 
known  to  have  Ue  1  erec'ed  in  honour  of  Dioclesiun) 
was  slill  standing.  M.  de  Sacy  say-s  in  the  time  of 
Saladin.     Vide  Lord  Val€ntia>s  Travels, 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


467 


Thd  »un  ^al^  risen,  lut  Ihe  lieht  on  Iho  Great  Tower 
pl  the  Kr>rk  was  still  burning  j  and  lliere  was  a  laii- 
gucriii  lilt-  fir-i  waknis  iiiiuiie.Is  of  lliai  voluptuous 
I  city — ^liiMf  linuses  and  tt-mples  Iny  shining  in  silence 
an.unci  the  li.irbiiur  —  ttial  sumculilly  atltsltj  tlie  fes- 
llVltle^  n(  Ihe  preceJins  nighl. 

We  were  si'oii  lai.ded  on  Ihe  quay  ;  and,  as  I  walked 
Ihruush  a  line  cif  palaces  and  shrines,  up  Ihe  sireel 
which  leads  fr  ni  ihe  sea  t'l  llie  Gale  nf  Cuiopus.  fresh 
as  1  was  from  the  conteiiipl  ttinn  nf  my  own  lovely 
Alhrni,  I  yet  fell  a  gl'iw  of  admiralion'  a'  Ihe  scene 
liroiiitd  nie,  which  its  novelty,  even  mTe  tlian  its 
magnificence,  inspired  Nor  were  tiie  luxuries  and 
delights,  wfiich  such  a  cily  promised,  anionj;  the  least 
of  tlie  considerali'ins  upon  whicli  my  faiicv  dwelt.  On 
the  conlraiy,  everything  an>und  me  seemed  prophetic 
of  love  and  pleasure.  The  very  f.irins  of  ihe  .-.rchi- 
tecture.  10  my  Epicurean  imaginalion,  appeared  to  call 
up  imaees  of  living  giace;  and  even  Ihe  dim  seclusion 
of  the  temple^  and  groves  spoke  only  of  tender  myste- 
ries to  my  mind.  As  the  whole  bright  scene  grew 
animated  aiouiid  me,  I  fell  that  IlKiugli  Egypt  might 
not  en.ible  me  to  leng'hen  life,  she  could  leich  the 
Dexl  best  ait — that  of  multiplying  its  enjo)ments. 

'J'he  population  of  Alexandria,*  at  this  period,  con- 
sisted of  Ihe  most  motley  miscellany  of  nations,  reli- 
gion>,  and  sects,  that  had  evt-r  beeti  brought  logelher 
in  one  cily.  He.side  the  school  of  the  Giecian  Platn- 
nisl  was  seen  the  oratory  of  ihe  cibalislic  Jew  ;  while 
Ihe  chuich  of  the  Christian  stond,  undis  urhed,  over 
the  crypts  of  Ihe  Egip'ian  Hieiophai.t.  Here,  I  be 
adorer  of  Fiie,  from  Ihe  East,  laughed  at  ihe  less 
elegant  supers'ilion  of  the  worshipper  nf  cats,  from 
the  VVe>l.  Here  Chrisiianity,  too,  had  learned  to 
emulate  ihe  pious  vagaries  of  Fag.nism;  anJ  while, 
on  one  side,  her  Itphile  pr^ -lessor  was  seen  bending  his 
kneegr.ivelv  befoie  a  serpenlj  on  the  other,  a  Nicosian 
Clnistian  was  heard  contending,  with  no  le-s  gravity, 
that  there  C'-uld  be  no  chance  whatever  of  silvation 
out  of  Ihe  pile  of  the  Greek  alphabet.  Still  worse, 
the  unchariiableness  of  Chrisian  schism  was  a'readv, 
with  equal  vigour,  distinguishing  itself;  and  I  heard 
everywhere,  on  mv  arrival,  of  the  fierce  rancour  and 
hale,  wilh  which  the  Greek  and  Latin  chuichnien 
were  then  persecu  ing  each  other,  because,  forsooth, 
the  one  fasted  on  the  seventh  dav  of  Ihe  week,  aud  the 
others  fisted  upon  the  fourth  and  sixth  ! 

To  none,  however,  of  these  dirtereni  creeds  and 
sects,  except  in  as  f.r  as  they  furnished  food  for  ridi- 
cule, bad  I  lime  to  pay  much  attention.  1  was  now  in 
the  most  luxurious  cry  of  the  universe,  and  accord- 
ingly gave  way  wi-hout  reserve,  to  Ihe  various  seduc- 
tions that  surrounded  me.  My  repu  ation,  both  as  a 
philo>oplier  and  a  m-n  of  pleasure,  bad  preceded  my 
coining;  and  Alexandria,  the  second  Athens  nf  the 
world,  welcomed  me  as  her  on  n.  I  fiund  my  cele- 
brity, indeed,  act  as  a  talisman,  th  I  opened  all  hearts 
and  doors  at  my  approach.  The  usual  novitiate  of 
acquaintance  was  dispensed  with  in  my  favour,  and 
noi  onlv  intimacies,  bul  loves  and  frieuilsbips,  ripened 
as  rapidlv  in  my  p»lh,  as  vegetation  spriuss  up  where 
IheNilehas  lowed.  Ihe  dark  beauty  of  the  Egyp- 
tian women*   possessed  a  novelty   in  my  ejes  that 


»  Ammianiis  thus  speaks  of  the  s'a'e  of  Alexmdiia 
in  his  lime  which  wis,  I  believe,  as  lae  as  the  end  of 
the  fourth  century:— "Ne  nunc  quidem  in  ladem  urbe 
Doclrina;  variae  silem,  non  apud  nos  exaruil  Musica 
nee  Hirmoniaconiicuit."— Lib.  22. 

«  From  the  charac'er  of  the  fea'uies  of  ihe  Spliinx, 
and  a  passage  in  Herodotus,  describing  the  Egyptians 
as  iiikaYXfOcs  "ti  ovAoTpixe;.  Volney,  Bruce  ai  d 
a  few  others,  have  concluded  iliit  Ihe  ancient  inhabi- 
lan's  of  Egypt  were  negrje-.  But  this  opinion  is  con- 
liadicted  bv  a  host  of  auihori-ies.  S--e  CasUra's  N  des 
upon  Bnnxme's  Tramls,  for  Ihe  result  of  Blunien- 
bach's  dis  eclion  of  a  variety  of  mummies.  Denon, 
speaking  of  the  character  of  the  heads  lepresenled  in 
Ihe  ancient  scclpture  and  painting  of  Ei;\pt,  says, 

'■Celle  des  fe es  res-emble  encore  a  la  figure  de- 

jolies  feninies  d'aujourd'hui     de  la  rondeur,  de  la 


enhanced  its  other  charms  ;  and  the  hue  left  by  the 
sun  on  their  rounded  cheeks  seemed  but  an  earnest 
of  the  genial  ardour  he  mus:  have  kindled  iu  their 


Some  weeks  had  now  passed  in  such  constant  and 
ever-chansing  pleasuies,  ihal  even  Ihe  melancholy 
V  ice  de.  p  wilhiii  my  hean,  though  it  still  spoke, 
was  bul  seldom  listened  to,  and  soon  died  away  iu  the 
sound  of  Ihe  siren  songs  that  surrounded  nie.  At 
leiigih,  as  Ihe  novelty  of  these  gay  scenes  wore  off, 
Ihe  same  vague  and  gloomy  bodiugs  began  to  mingle 
"ilh  all  my  joys;  and  an  inc. dent  lhal  occurred,  at 
this  time,  during  one  of  my  gajesi  revels,  conduced 
still  more  In  deepen  their  gl  om. 

'I  he  ceiebra'ion  of  Ihe  annual  festival  of  Serapis 
happened  In  lake  place  during  my  stay,  and  1  wa, 
more  than  once,  induced  to  mmgle  with  the  gay  mul- 
titude, Ihat  fl.-cked  to  the  shrine  at  Canopus  on  the 
occasion.  Day  and  night,  as  long  as  this  festival 
lasted,  the  great  canal,  which  led  from  Alexandria  to 
Canopus,  vvascover-.d  wilh  boats  full  of  pilgrims  of 
both  sexes,  all  hastening  to  avail  themselves  of  this 
pious  license,  which  lent  the  zest  of  a  religi-us  sanc- 
lioii  to  pleasure,  and  gave  a  holyday  10  the  follies  and 
passions  of  earth,  in  hnn-ur  of  heaven. 

1  was  returning,  one  lovely  night,  to  Alexandria. 
The  north  wind,  tha'  ^velcome  vi-iler,  had  cooled  and 
freshened  Ihe  air,  while  the  banks,  on  eilherside  of 
the  stream,  sent  forth,  from  groves  of  orange  and 
henna,  Ihe  most  delicious  .douis.  As  I  had  left  all 
the  crowd  behind  me  at  Canopus,  there  was  not  a 
boat  to  be  seen  on  Ihe  canal  b  t  mv  own  ;  and  I  was 
just  yielding  to  Ihe  thoughts  which  solitude  a-  such 
an  hour  inspires,  when  my  reveries  were  suddenly 


volupte,  le  nez  pelil,  les  yeui  longs,  pen  ouverls,"&c. 
kc.  He  could  judge,  loo,  he  says,  from  Ihe  female 
mummies,  '-  que  leurs  chcveux  et  ient  longs  ol  li-ses, 
que  le  caraclere  de  tele  de  la  pluparl  teiioil  du  beau 
style.''— "Je  rappnrlai,"  he  adds,  "uiie  lete  de  vieille 
femmequi  eioit  aussi  belle  que  celles  de  Michel-Ange, 
et  leur  resembloit  beaucoup." 

In  a  •'  Dtscnption  ^aterale  de  T/tcbes,^^  by  Messrs. 
JoUois  et  IJesvtlhers,  ibey  say,  '•  'i'ouies  les  sculptures 
Egyptiennes.  depuis  des  plus  grands  colosses  de 
Tliebes  j  squ'aux  plus  petites  idoles,  ne  rappellent  en 
aucune  maniere  les  traits  de  la  hgure  des  negres; 
outre  que  les  tetes  des  mnniies  des  catacombes  de 
I  hebes  presenient  des  prolils  dioils."  (See  also  itf. 
Jomard's  "  Description  of  Syene  and  the  Calancts," 
ISaroii  Larny,  on  the  "  conf  rma'ion  physique"  of  the 
Egyptians,  &c.)  But  Ihe  most  sa  isfaclory  refutation 
of  Ihe  opinion  of  Vo  nev  has  been  afforded  within 
these  few  years,  by  Doctor  Granville,  who  having 
been  lucky  enough  to  obtain  possession  of  a  perfect 
female  mummy,  has.  by  the  dissec'ion  and  admeasure- 
ment of  lis  form,  completely  es  ablished  the  fact,  that 
the  ancient  Egyptians  were  of  the  Caucasian  race,  not 
of  the  Ethiopi.n.  See  tins  gentleman^s  curious  "  Es- 
say  on  Egyptian  Mummies"  lead  before  Ihe  Royal 
Societv,  April  14th,  IS-23. 

De  Pauw,  the  great  depreciator  of  everything  Egyp- 
tian, his,  on  the  author!  y  of  a  passage  in  jEliaii,  pre- 
sumed lo  alljx  10  the  countrywomen  of  Cleopatra  ;!,t! 
stigma  of  comi  lete  and  unredeemed  ugliness.  The 
following  line  of  Euripides,  however,  is  an  answer  to 
such  charges :  — 

NtiAov  /iEV  at^t  KaWiitapBtvot  poai. 
In  .addition  to  ihe  celebrated  instances  of  Cleopatra, 
Rliod  pe,  &c.  we  are  told,  on  the  authority  of  Mane- 
tho  (as  given  by  Zoegi  from  Geoigius  Svncellu-),  of  a 
beautiful  queeu  nf  Memphis,  Nitocris,  of  ihe  sixth  dy- 
nasty, who,  in  addition  to  other  charnis  and  perfec- 
tions, was  (rather  inconsistently  with  the  negro  hypo- 
thesis) lav^i)  Tijv  XQotav,  i.  e  ,  yellow-haired. 

See  for  a  liibu'e  lo  Ihe  beauty  of  Ihe  Egyptian  wo- 
nien,  Montesquieu's  Temple  deOnide. 


468 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


b;-3ken  by  the  sound  of  some  female  voices,  coming 
mingled  with  aui^h'er  and  screams,  from  the  gapdeii 
of  a  pavilion,  hai  s!ood,  brilliantly  illuminated,  upon 
the  bank  of  the  canal. 

On  rowing  neaier,  I  perceived  thai  bmh  the  mirth 
and  the  alarm  had  been  caused  by  ihe  elt'crU  'f  snme 
playful  girls  10  TLach  a  hedge  of  j.ismiiie  v.iiich  §revv 
neur  the  water,  and  in  bending  toivards  which  they 
had  nearly  fallen  into  the  stre  m.  H,-.siening  to 
pr^tfer  my  assistance,  I  si^on  rec  guised  the  vojce  t.f 
one  of  my  fair  Alexaii<lrian  friend-,  ao'f,  s-priugiiig  on 
the  bank,  was  surroundid  by  the  whole  group,  who 
insisted  on  my  joinii.g  their  parly  in  ihe  pivilion,  ai,d 
baving  tlung  ;tround  nif,  as  fetters,  ihe  tendrils  of  jas- 
mine, which  they  had  ju  t  plucked,  conducted  me,  no 
unwilling  c.iplive,  to  Ihe  banquet-i-ooni. 

I  found  here  an  assemblage  of  the  very  flower  of 
Alexandrian  socieiy.  The  unexpectedness  cf  tli« 
nit-e  ing  added  new  zest  to  it  on  both  sides  ;  and  sel- 
dom had  I  ever  felt  more  enlivened  myself,  ur  suc- 
ceeded belter  in  infusing  life  and  gaiety  in-o  other-.. 

Among  the  company  weresomeGeek  women,  who, 
accoidingto  the  la-hion  of  their  counliy,  wore  vciU; 
but,  as  usual,  rather  to  set  off  than  to  conceal  their 
beauiy,  some  brighi  gleams  of  which  were  cons'anily 
escaping  from  under  the  cloud.  There  was,  how- 
ever, one  female,  who  pariicularly  a'tracfed  my  atten- 
tion, on  whose  head  was  a  chaplet  of  dark-c-louied 
flowers,  and  who  sat  veiled  and  silent  during  the 
\vIiole  of  (he  banquet.  She  took  no  share,  I  obs^ii-ed. 
in  what  was  passing  aronnd  :  ihe  viands  and  the  wine 
went  by  her  untouched,  nor  did  a  word  that  was 
spoken  seem  addressed  to  her  ear.  This  abstiaciion 
from  a  scene  so  sparkling  with  gaiety,  though  app;i- 
renliy  unnoticed  by  any  one  but  myself,  struck  rne  as 
niys'erious  and  straiige.  1  inquired  of  my  fair  neigh- 
bour the  cause  of  it,  but  i.he  looked  grave  and  was 
silent. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  lyre  and  the  cup  went  round  ; 
and  a  young  maid  from  Athens,  as  if  inspired  by  ihe 
presence  of  her  couiitryman,  'ook  her  lute,  and  sung 
to  it  some  of  Ihe  songs  of  Greece,  with  a  warmth  of 
feeling  that  bore  me  back  to  the  banks  of  the  llissus, 
and,  even  iu  the  bosnni  of  present  pleasure,  drew  a 
sigh  from  my  heart  fi*r  that  which  had  passed  away. 
It  was  da\break  ere  our  delighted  party  rose,  and 
most  unwillingly  re-embarked  to  reUirn  to  the  city. 

We  were  scarce  a^oat,  u  hen  it  Avas  discovered  that 
the  lute  of  the  young  Athenian  had  been  left  behind  ; 
and,  with  a  heart  siill  full  of  its  sweet  sounds,  I  most 
readily  sprang  on  shore  lo  seek  it.  I  hastened  at  once 
to  the  banquet-room,  which  was  now  dim  and  soli- 
tary,  except  that  — there,  to  my  utter  astonishment, 
was  still  sealed  that  silent  figure,  which  had  auakened 
so  much  my  curiosity  during  the  evening  A  vague 
feeling  of  awe  came  over  nie,  as  i  now  slowly  ap- 
proached it.  There  was  no  motion,  no  sound  of 
breathing  in  that  form  ;— not  a  leaf  of  Ihe  dark  chap- 
let  upon  its  brow  sirred.  By  the  light  of  a  dying 
lamp  which  stood  on  the  table  before  the  figure,  I 
raised,  with  a  hesitating  hand,  ihe  veil  ;  and  saw  — 
what  my  fancy  had  already  anticipated  —  ihat  the 
sliape  underneath  was  lifeless,  was  a  skeleton  !  Star- 
tled and  sliocked,  I  hurried  back  with  the  lute  to  ihe 
bo  it,  and  was  almost  as  silent  as  that  shape  ii&elf 
du-ine  Ihe  remainder  of  the  voyat;e. 

This  custom  among  the  Egyptians  of  placing  a 
niummv,  or  skeleton,  at  the  hanqne'-iab^e,  had  been 
for  some  time  disused,  except  at  particular  cei"emo- 
nies;  and,  even  on  such  occasions,  it  had  been  the 
practice  of  the  hixuiious  Alexandrians  lo  disguise  this 
meniorial  of  mortality  in  llie  manner  just  described. 
But  to  me,  who  was  wholly  unprepared  for  such  a 
spec'acle,  it  gave  a  shock  fiom  which  my  imagina'ion 
did  not  speedily  recover.  This  silent  and  ghastly  wit? 
ness  of  minh  seemed  to  embody,  as  it  were,  the  sha- 
dow in  my  own  heart.  The  features  of  Ihe  grave 
were  thus  slaiiped  upon  Ihe  idea  that  had  lonj;  haunted 
ine,  and  this  picture  of  what  I  was  to  be  now  asso- 
ciated i'self  constantly  with  the  sunniest  aspect  of 
what  I  uirtt. 


The  memory  of  the  di 
"   elily  than 


>i  th; 


■ibie  S|.iri 
.dark  Nile. 


Tlie  b 
ind  hij 


■  recuired  to  me 
lit,  as.suring  smile 
ords,  "Go  lo  the 


li  find  Ihe  tiernal 
life  U]>  u  set^kest,"  ue  e  for  e\ei  pre^enl  to  niy  inind. 
Bui  as  ye;,  aUs,  I  had  d.ine  nolhi-  g  t>.uard^  realising 
the  i)rou(l  premise.  Alexandria  was  not  Egypt;— 
tiie  i.ery  soil  on  which  it  now  siood  was  i.ot  in  exist- 
ence, when  already  Thebes  and  Memphis  had  num- 
beied  agtrs  of  glory. 

*^  ^o,"  I  exclaimed  ;  '*it  is  only  beneath  the  Pyra- 
mid, of  Memphis,  or  in  the  mysiic  Halls  of  ihe  Laby- 
rinth, those  holy  arcan-i  are  lo  be  tound,  of  which  Ihe 
antediluvian  wodd  has  made  Egypt  its  heir,  and 
;<.)nnng  \\hich  —  blest  thought! — the  key  to  eternal 
life  may  lie." 

Having  formed  my  deermina'ion,  I  took  leave  of 
my  many  Alexand'ian  friends,  and  departed  for  Mem- 
phis. 


C  H  AFTER    IV. 

Egypt  was,  perhaps,  of  all  others,  Ihe  country  most 
calculated,  from  that  mixture  of  the  melancholy  and 
the  voluptuous,  which  marked  the  chamctcr  of  her 
people,  her  religion,  and  her  scenery,  to  urtect  deeply 
a  fancy  and  lempeiament  like  mine,  and  keep  both 
for  ever  tremldingly  alive.  Wherever  I  turned,  I 
beheld  (he  desert  and  Ihe  garden,  mingling  together 
their  desolation  and  bloom.  I  saw  the  love-bower 
and  the  b'mb  standing  si-ie  by  side,  as  if,  in  ihal  land, 
Pleasure  and  Death  kept  hourly  waich  upon  each 
other.  In  the  veiy  luxury  of  the  climate  there  was 
the  same  saddening  influence.  The  monotonous  splen- 
dour of  the  days,  the  solemn  radiance  ofthe  nights  — 
all  tended  to  cherish  that  ardent  melancholy,  the  off- 
spring of  passion  and  of  thought,  which  had  been  so 
long  the  lamiliar  inmale  of  my  soul. 

When  I  sailed  from  Alexandria,  the  inundation  of 
Ihe  Nile  was  at  its  full.  The  whole  valley  ol  Egypt 
lav  covered  by  its  flood  ;  and,  as,  looking  around  me, 
1  saw  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  shrines,  palaces, 
and  monumenls,  encircled  by  the  waters,  I  could 
almost  f.incy  that  I  beheld  the  sinking  island  of  Ata- 
lanlis,  on  Ihe  last  evening  its  temples  were  visible 
above  the  wave.  Such  varielies  too,  of  animatiou  as 
presented  themselves  on  every  side  !  — 

While,  far  as  sight  could  reacti,  btneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  tieavfii  as  L-vpr  bless 'd  ttiU  fijihere. 
OiinU'iiti.  aniJ  pillar'd  streets,  atiij  purphyry  dumes* 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homt'S 
or  migtily  yods  —  and  pyramids  wtiose  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  ttie  waters  tower! 

Then,  too,  the  Bcenea  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 

One  llieatre  of  this  va-sl  peopled  lake, 

Wtiere  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Commerce  give^ 

or  life  and  motion,  ever  movew  and  lives. 

Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples,  fnini  Ihe  wave 

ABifnding,  in  proression  slow  ond  grave, 

Friesl.s,  iu  vvhife  garments,  go,  with  aar red  wands 

And  ciilver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  : 

While,  there,  rich  bark.s — fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

F;tr  otl".  beyond  the  sonniliiig  caturacta  — 

Glide  wiih  their  preciouw  ludinn  In  the  sea, 

I'lumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros'  ivory, 

Gt-ms  from  the  Isle  of  Meroe,  and  those  grains 

Of  gold,  wauh'd  down  by  Abyssioiau  rains. 

Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  hay 

Stiiidowy  and  roo],  some  pi  I"  rims  on  their  way 

To  Saisor  Bul.astu-,  ainniig  b.  ds 

Of  lotus-flower-. 1  ihal  close  :<l>'>vc  their  heads, 

Push  their  1i-Ij1  i>;uk-^.  nud  Uni.  as  in  a  bnwir. 

Sing,  talk,  or  t-lei-p  jiwov  ltn-  sullrv  hour; 

While  huply.  not  far  .^  11".  beiit-attiit  liauk 

Of  blosBDiniiig  aearias,  many  a  prnnk 

Ih  play'd  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train 

Of  laughing  nymphe,  lovely  as  she,  whose  chsia 

Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast 

But,  for  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last  t 


i  Vide  Strata, 


THE    EPICUREAN 


46& 


Encliaiited  with  the  whole  sceni.  'inhered  delight- 
edly on  niy  voyage,  visiting:  aU  \'ncit  luxurious  and 
venerable  places,  whose  naniefl  iiave  been  consecraled 
by  the  wonder  nl'ageJ.  At  Sais  1  was  present  during 
her  Kesiival  of  Lani(.s,  and  read,  bj  Ilic  blaze  of  innu- 
merable lights,  those  sublime  woids  on  llie  tenjple  of 
Nei  ha: '  —  "  1  am  all  th.it  has  been,  lliat  is,  and  lliat 
will  be,  and  no  man  halh  ever  lifled  my  veil."  1 
wandered  among  the  prostrate  ubelisksof  Heli^ipolis,^  j 
and  Stw,  not  wilhoui  a  5ia;h,  the  sun  smilitig  over  her  ; 
rums,  as  it  in  mockeiy  of  the  mass  of  nerisliable  g  an- i 
deur,  Ihalhad  once  called  it,.  II,  in  lis  [iride,  ■•■Ihe| 
City  of  Ihe  Sun."  But  to  the  Isle  of  the  Golden  ' 
Vsittisu  was,  1  own,  my  fondest  pilgrimage;  —  aiid 
t";ere,  .as  I  rambled  Ihrouith  its  shades,  where  bowers 
are  the  only  lemples,  I  telr  how  far  more  wmthy  lo 
form  tlie  shrine  of  a  Deiiy  are  the  everliving  sleuis  of 
the  garden  aiid  the  grove,  than  ihe  most  precious 
columns  the  inatiimate  quarry  can  supply. 

Everywhere,  new  pleasures,  new  jnlerests  awaited 
me;  aiid  though  Melancholy  stood,  as  usual,  for  ever 
near,  her  shadow  fell  but  half-way  over  my  vagrant 
path,  leaving  the  rest  but  more  >velcomely  brilliani 
from  the  contrast.  'I'o  relate  niy  various  advenluies, 
during  this  short  voyage,  would  only  detain  me  from 
events,  far,  far  more  worthy  of  record.  Amidst  all 
this  endless  varie'y  of  attractions,  the  great  cbjecl  of 
my  jouiney  had  been  forgotlen  ;  —  the  ni)sleries  of 
this  land  of  the  sun  still  remained,  to  me,  as  muoli 
mysteries  as  ever,  and  as  yet  1  had  been  initiated  in 
nottiing  but  its  pleasures. 

It  was  not  till  that  memorable  evening,  when  I  firs' 
stood  liefore  the  1')  ram  ids  of  Memphis,  and  beheld 
them  towering  alofl,  like  the  watch-towe.T  of  'Jinie, 
from  whose  summit,  \i  hen  abnul  to  expire,  he  vviU 
look  his  last  — it  nas  not  till  this  moment  that  ihe 
great  secret  announced  in  my  dream  again  rose,  in  all 
its  inscrutable  darkness,  upon  my  thoughts.  'J  here 
was  a  solemni'y  in  ihe  sunshine  resting  upon  those 
monuments  —  a  stillness,  as  of  reverence,  in  Ihe  air 
Ihat  breathed  aruund  them,  which  seemed  lo  steal, 
like  the  music  of  past  times,  into  my  heart.  I 
thought  what  myriads  of  the  wise,  the  beautiful,  and 
the  brave,  h.ad  sui.k  into  dust  since  earth  first  saw 
those  wondeis;  and,  in  the  sidness  of  my  suul,  I  ex- 
claimed,—  '*  Must  man  alone,  then,  peiish  ?  must 
minds  and  hearts  be  annihilated,  u  hiie  pyramids  en- 
dure ?  Oh,  Death,  Death:  even  Ujioii  these  eierlasl- 
ing  tablets  — the  only  'Pproach  lo  immi.rtalily  that 
kings  themselves  could  purcll  ise— thou  ha-l  written 
our  dooni  awfully,  -md  intelligibly,  saying.  *  There  is 
for  man  no  eternal  man-ion  but  ttie  grave!'  " 

My  heart  sunk  at  the  thought;  and,  for  the  mo- 
ment, 1  yielded  lo  that  desolate  feeling,  which  over- 
spreads Ihe  soul  that  halh  no  light  fioni  the  future. 
But  again  the  buoyancy  of  my  nature  prevailed,  and 
again,  Ihe  willing  du|ie  of  vain  dreams,  1  deluded 
mnelf  into  the  belief  of  all  ih.l  my  heart  most  wi-h- 
ei,  with  that  happy  facility  which  enable."  imagi- 
nation to  stand  in  the  place  of  happiness.  "  Ves,"  I 
cried,  "immortaliiy  must  be  wi  hin  man's  reach; 
and,  a<  wisdom  alone  is  worthy  of  such  a  blessing,  to 
the  wise  alone  must  the  secret  have  been  revealed. 
It  is  said,  that  deep,  under  yonder  pyramid,  has  lain 


for  ages  concealed  the  Table  of  Emerald, 4  on  which 
the  Ihrice-Gieal  Heimes,  in  times  before  the  flood, 
engraved  ihe  secret  of  Alchtniy,  which  gives  gold  at 
will.  Why,  then,  may  not  the  mnihlier,  the  nmro 
god-like  secret,  that  gives  life  at  will,  be  recoided 
tlure  also  .'  it  was  by  the  power  of  gold,  of  endless 
gold,  that  the  kings,  who  now  repose  in  thnse  massy 
stiuctuie%  sconpeii  earth  to  its  very  centre,  and  raised 
quarries  into  tlie  air,  lo  provide  f"r  Iheinsclves  tombs 
that  might  ouistai.d  ihe  "orld.  Who  can  tell  but  that 
thegifi  of  immi.rt..lily  was  also  theirs.'  who  knows 
but  that  they  iheiiiselves,  triumphant  over  decay,  still 
live;— those  mighty  mansions,  wliich  we  call  tombs, 
being  rich  and  everl.isting  pal. ices,  within  whnsc 
depths,  concealed  Irom  this  withering  world  they 
wander,  with  the  few  Elect  who  have  been 
crs  of  their  gift,  ihrough  a  shnless,  but  ever  iilu- 
itrd,  elysiiim  nf  then  own?  Else,  vvherefore 
E  structures?  whcief  re  that  .-uh  erraiiean  realm, 
by  which  the  wh.de  valley  of  Egypt  is  undermined? 
Why,  ilse,  those  labyrinihs,  winch  none  of  earth 
halh  ever  Lelield— iv  hich  none  of  heaven,  except  lh.a 
God.  who  stands,  with  linger  on  his  hushed  lip,'  hath 
er  l.odden?" 

While  thus  I  indulged  in  fond  dreams,  the  sun,  al- 
re,ady  half  sunk  beneath  Ihe  horizon,  was  taking, 
calmly  and  gloriously,  his  last  look  of  the  Pyramids 
— as  lie  had  done,  evening  after  evening,  for  ages,  till 
they  h.ad  groivn  familiar  to  him  as  the  earth  it.self. 
thi  Ihe  side  turned  to  his  ray  they  now  presented  a 
front  of  (kiziling  whiteness, s  while,  on  the  other, 
their  gieat  sh.idows,  lengthening  away  to  the  easl- 
ivard,  looked  like  the  first  steps  of  Night,  hastening 
to  envelope  ihe  hills  of  Araby  in  her  shade. 

No  sooner  had  ihc  last  gleam  of  the  sun  disappear- 
ed, than,  on  every  house-top  in  Memphis,  gay.  gilded 
banners  were  seen  waving  aloft,  to  proclaim  his  sel- 
ling—while, at  Ihe  same  niomeiil,  a  full  burst  of  liar- 
ony  was  heard  to  peal  from  all  Ihe  temples  along 
the  shores. 

Startled  from  my  m'jsing  by  these  sounds,  I  at  once 
recollected,  thai,  on  ttal  very  evening,  ihe  great  fesli- 
l  of  the  Moon  was  lo  be"  celebrated.  Un  a  little 
island,  l.alf-way  over  between  the  gaidens  of  IVlem- 
phis  and  Ihe  eastern  shore,  stood  Ihe  temple  of  that 
goddess, 

whose  beams 
Bring  the  sweet  time  of  ciKht-llowers  and  dreama* 
Nol  ihe  cold  Dian  at  Ihe  Unilh,  who  ctlaius 
111  veslal  Ite  Ihe  current  of  young  vein«i 
hut  ehe,  who  haunta  tlie  gay,  llubaslian  7  grove. 
And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  tiright  heav'n  above, 
r^olliiiig  un  earth,  to  match  that  heav'n,  but  luvet 

Thus  did  I  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  one  of  their 
own  Egyptian  poels,  as,  anticipating  Ihe  various  tie- 


1  To  iJ'  cv  Zaa  ttj;  Ae-qvai,  ijv  km  l<nv  vofti- 
Jovo-ii',  idos,  iiriypat/)?)!'  cx'^  rotavTijv,  Eyui  a;ii 
nov  TO  yLyovos,  Kai  ov  Kat  ttni/iivov.  Km  tov 
ifLov  ntitXov  ovdcis  Jrw  aKtKaKvtptv.  — Plutarch, 
de  Isid.  et  Osir. 

»  De-la,  en  remontant  toujnurs  le  Nil,  on  Irouve  a 
deux  cent  cinquanle  pas,  ou  enviion  de  la  Malaree, 
Ifs  traces  de  I'ancienne  Helioiiolis,  ou  Ville  de  Soleil, 
?  lui  ce  lieu  etoit  particuiieremeiit  consacre.  C'est 
pour  cette  raison  qu'on  Tappelloit  encore  I'tEil,  ou  la 
f onldine  du  Soleil.  —  MailM. 

3  "On  trouve  une  ile  appelee  Venus-Doree.  ou  Ic 
champ  d'or,  avant  de  remonter  jusqua  Memphis."  — 
Vtm^gu  tie  Pythagore, 


4  For  an  account  of  the  Table  of  Emerald,  vide 
Lethxs  sur  VOri^im dcs Dicnx d  Egypte.  VePauw 
supposes  it  lo  be  a  modern  ticnoii  of  the  Aiabs. 
Manv  writers  have  fancied  that  ihe  art  of  making 
gold'wasthegreai  secret  that  lay  hjj  under  the  forms 
of  Ettyplian  iheology.  "La  science  Hermetique,'' 
says  the  henedictiiic,  Pernetz,  'M'art  sacerdoral,  eloit 
la  snurce  de  toutes  les  richesses  des  Rois  d'Egypte,  et 
I'objer  de  ces  inysle  es  si  ciche^  sous  le  voile  de  leur 
nrelendiie  Rtligmn."  FaUes  Egyptiennes.  'ihe 
Iiierofjiyphs,  lliat  formerly  covered  the  P>ramids,  are 
supposed  by  some  of  tliese  wniers  to  relate  lo  U»e 
^aIue  art. — See  Mutus  Liber,  Jiu-pdlx. 

6  *' Eniin  Harp  cra'es  represenloit  aussi  le  soleil. 
II  est  vrai  que  c'etoit  le  Dieu  du  silence;  it  meitoil 
le  doigt  iur  la  bouche  parce  qu'on  adoroil  le  soleil 
avec  uu  lesiRCiueujc  silence,  et  c'est  de  la  qu^est  venu 
le  Sige  des  Rasilidieus,  qui  tiruient  leur  urigiue  de 
l'£gypte."  —  i>fi  lusobre. 

6 '■  By  reflec'ing  the  sun's  rays,"  says  Clarka^ 
speaking  of  the  Pyramids,  "  they  appeared  while  aa 

1  For  Rubaslis.  the  Diana  of  the  Egyptians.  —Viae 
Jablonikif  lib.  iii.  cap.  4. 


470 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


lights  of  Ihi!  (eslival,  1  cnst  away  from  my  mind  all 
gloimiy  tlioughls,  and,  hastening  lo  my  little  bark,  in 
wliich  I  now  lived  the  life  of  a  Nile-liird,  on  the 
waters,  steered  my  course  lo  the  island  temple  of  the 
Mood. 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  nsin;  of  the  Monn,  slow  and  majestic,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  honours  thai  awaited  her  up"n  eailh, 
was  v/elconied  wilh  a  loud  nccliim  from  every  emi- 
nence, where  muliiiudes  s  ood  w^ilchiiig  lor  her  first 
liaht.  And  seldom  had  rliat  li^lil  nseii  upon  a  more 
be.uiiful  scene.  'I  he  city  of  Menijihis  —  still  grand, 
though  no  looser  the  uiiiivalled  iMe!ii|ihis.  that  had 
borne  a^^ay  fioni  'I  hi-bes  the  crown  of  supremacy, 
and  worn  ii  uiidi-puled  through  anes  —  now,  sofiened 
by  the  mild  moonlight  that  harmonised  wilh  her  de- 
cline, shone  forth  among  her  lakes,  her  pyramid-,  and 
her  shrines,  like  one  of  those  dreams  of  human  glory 
that  must  ere  long  pass  a»av.  Even  already  ruin 
was  visible  around  her.  'I  he  sands  of  the  Libyan 
desert  were  gaining  upon  her  like  a  sea ;  and  there, 
among  solitary  columns  and  sphinxes,  already  half 
sunk  fiom  sigh',  lime  seemed  lo  s'ai;d  wailing,  till 
all  that  now  (i  urislied  around  him  should  fall  beneath 
his  desolating  hand,  like  the  rest. 

On  the  waters  all  was  gaiety  and  life.  As  far  as 
eye  could  reach,  the  lights  I'f  innumerable  boats  were 
seen  studding,  like  rubies,  the  surface  of  the  stream. 
Vessels  of  every  kind  —  from  the  light  coracle,'  built 
for  shooting  down  the  cataracis,  lo  the  large  y.icht 
ttiat  glides  slowly  to  the  sound  of  flutes  — all  were 
alloal  for  this  sacred  festival,  filled  wilh  crowds  of  the 
young  and  the  gay,  not  only  from  Memphis  and  Baby- 
lon, bul  from  cities  still  larlher  removed  from  the 
fe-tal  sceue. 

As  I  ap|,roaclied  the  ishnd,  I  could  see,  glittering 
through  the  trees  on  the  bank,  the  lamps  of  the  pil- 
grims hastening  to  the  ceremony.  Landing  in  the 
direction  which  those  lights  poinled  out,  1  soon  joined 
the  crowd  ;  and,  passing  through  a  long  alley  of 
sphinxe-,  whose  spangln  g  marble  gleamed  out  from 
the  dark  sycamores  around  them,  reached  in  a  short 
time  the  grand  vestibule  of  the  temple,  where  I  found 
the  ceremonies  of  the  evening  already  commenced. 

In  this  vast  hall,  which  was  surrounded  by  a  dou- 
ble range  of  columns,  and  l.y  open  over-head  to  the 
stars  of  heaven,  I  saw  a  ginup  of  young  maidens, 
nioviii"  in  a  sort  of  measured  step,  between  w.ilk  and 
dance,''rouiid  a  small  -hrinc,  upon  which  stood  one  of 
those  sacred  birds,*  that,  on  account  of  Ihe  variegaled 
colour  of  their  wings  'fe  dedicated  lo  the  worship  of 
the  monn.  The  vestibule  was  dimly  lighted  —  there 
being  but  one  lamp  of  naphtha  hung  on  e.icli  of  the 
great  pillars  that  encircled  it.  But.  having  aken  my 
station  beside  one  of  those  pillars,  I  had  a  clear  view 
of  the  young  dancers,  as  in  succession  they  passed 
me. 

The  drapery  of  all  was  white  as  snow;  and  each 
wore  loosely,  beneath  the  bosom,  a  dark-blue  zone. or 
baiidclel.  studded,  like  ihe  skies  at  midnight,  wilh 
small  silver  stars.  Through  their  dark  locks  was 
w-ealhed    Ihe  white   lily  of  Ihe   Nile  — Ihat  sicred 


flower  being  acconnled  ao  less  welcome  to  the  moon, 
than  the  golden  blossoms  of  the  bean-flower*  are 
known  lo  be  lo  the  sun.  As  they  passed  under  the 
lamp,  a  gleam  of  light  flashed  from  Iheir  bosoms, 
which,  I  could  perceive,  vxas  ihe  leflection  of  a  small 
mirror,  thai,-  in  the  manner  of  the  women  of  the 
Eist,  each  of  the  dancers  wore  beuea  h  her  left 
shoulder, 

'J'here  was  no  music  to  regulate  their  steps;  but,  as 
they  gracelullv  went  round  the  bird  on  Ihe  shrine, 
some,  to  the  beat  of  the  ca-lanet,  some,  to  ihe  shrill 
ring  of  a  sisinim  *  —  which  they  held  U|  lified  in  Ihe 
alli'tude  of  Iheir  own  divine  Isi — continued  harmoni- 
ously to  time  the  cadence  of  their  feel  ;  w  liile  olheis, 
at  every  step,  shook  a  small  chain  of  silver,  whose 
sound,  mingling  wilh  tho  e  of  Ihe  castanets  and  sis 
Iruiiis,  produced  a  wild,  but  not  unpltasmg,  bar 
m  ny. 

They  seemed  all  lovely  ;  bul  there  was  one— whose 
face  the  light  had  not  yet  reached,  so  downcast  she 
held  it—  wlio  atlracted,  and,  at  lengtli,  riveled  all  my 
looks  and  thoughts.  I  know  not  why,  but  there  was 
a  something  in  those  half-seen  features—  a  charm  in 
Ihe  ve'y  shadow,  Ihat  hung  over  their  imagined 
beaulj — which  look  my  fancy  more  than  all  the  out- 
shining loveliness  of  her  companions.  So  enchained 
was  1  by  thi-  coy  mystery,  lh.it  her  alone,  of  all  the 
group,  could  1  either  see  or  think  of—  her  alone  1 
~w,itclied,  as,  w  ith  the  same  downcast  brow,  she  glided 
gently  and  aeiially  round  the  altar,  as  if  her  piesence, 
like  that  of  a  spirit,  was  someihing  lo  be  felt,  not 
seen. 

Suddenly,  while  1  gazed,  the  loud  crash  of  a  thou- 
sand cymbals  was  heard;— Ihe  massy  gales  of  the 
Icii.ple  tleiv  open,  as  if  by  magic,  and  a  flood  of 
radiance  from  ihe  illomina  ed  aisle  filled  Ihe  whole 
vestibule,  while,  at  the  same  insiant,  as  if  ihe  light 
and  Ihe  sounds  were  born  together,  a  peal  of  rich  har- 
mony c.iine  mingling  with  the  radiance. 

It  was  then  —  by  that  light,  which  shone  full  upon 
the  young  maiden's  fea  ures,  as,  starting  at  the  sudden 
blaze,  she  raised  her  eyes  lo  Ihe  portal,  and  as  quick- 
ly let  fall  the.r  lids  again— it  was  then  1  beheld,  what 
even  my  own  ardent  imagina'ion,  in  its  mosi  vivid 
dreims  of  beautv,  had  never  pic  uted.  Not  Psyche 
herself,  when  pausing  on  the  threshold  of  heaven, 
while  its  first  gl->ries  fell  on  her  da/zled  lids,  could 
have  looktd  more  purely  beautiful,  or  blushed  with  a 
more  innocent  shame.  01  en  .is  I  had  fell  Ihe  power 
of  looks,  none  had  ever  entered  inlo  my  soul  so  deep- 
ly. 11  was  a  new  feeling  —  a  new  sense  —  coming  as 
suddenly  upon  me  as  that  radiance  into  the  vestibule, 
and,  at  once,  filling  my  whole  being  ;  —  and  had  that 
blight  vision  but  liiigeied  another  moment  before  my 
eyes,  I  should  in  my  Iran-port  have  wholly  forgotten 
who  I  \\as  and  where,  and  thrown  myself,  in  pros- 
trate adoration,  at  her  feel. 

Kut  scarcely  had  thai  gush  nf  harnriony  been  heard, 
when  the  sacred  bird,  which  had,  liil  now,  been 
standing  motionless  as  an  image,  spread  wide  his 
wings,  and  flew  into  Ihe  Temple ;  while  his  gnceful 
young  "orshippers,  wilh  a  flectness  like  his  own, 
followed— and  she,  who  had  lefl  a  dream  in  my  heart 
never  'o  be  lorgot  en,  vanished  along  wilh  ihc  rest. 
As  she  went  npidly  past  the  pillar  against  which  1 
leaned,  Ihe  ivy  that  encircled  it '  caught  in  her  dra- 


i  Vide  Amailhtm,  "  Histoire  dc  la  Navigntiotl  tt 
dxl  Commerce  dcs   EgypHens  sous  les  Ptulemees  "        f     f  " 
See  also,  for  a  description  of  the  various  kinds  of    celles  d 
boats  used  on  the  Nile,  Maillet,  tom.  I.  p.  98. 

Anoll 


1  est  mille  fois  plus  odoriferante  que 
vcs  d'Europe.  quoique    leur   parfum 


lerres 
:'est  quelque 


Caire,  du  cole  d( 
charmant  que  1' 


.  ..Je  >f.»'-.cc,ApVendixt^' Ruins  of  B,abylon,''7;;'J.j'',^^^^^  ,,„,,^„^  ^^  „^  .„„...„.,.,....„.. 

Another  reason,  he  sa\s,  for  their  worship  ol  the  Ibis,    ,.„,|jju,„e  que  I'on  respire  le  soir  sur  les  lerrasses, 

"  founded  on  their  love  of  geometry,  was  (according      ^^^^^^  |^  ^^^,  j^  pny^,,  ^jeni  a  soufller,  el  y  apporte 

to  Plutarch)  thai  the  space  between  its   legs,  "lien  I  '  „^  „j|.yr  admirable.''-A/a.7fc(. 

parted  asunde,-,  as  ,t  ;"><>•  .'°f;;'''f;,",''l'''^J''=;-',^'        4  "  Isis  est  genius,"  savs  SeroUa,  "  iEgypti,  qui  per 

^:,':;:int.™'''of'=;L'='il"red' b?;dt-fonn'd"  1:  ;l;:  |  -tn  motum,\uod  geni  lu  ilextri.  Nil.  l?ces'sus  "re. 

Catacombs  of  Saccara,  there  seems  10  be  no  doubt  th,at  I  cessusques.gmhcat. 

the  Ibis  was  the  same  kind  of  bird  as  that  described  by        6  The  ivy  was  consecrated  lo  Osiris.     VlJe  flicdor. 

Bruce,  under  the  Arabian  name  of  Abou  Hannes.  I  Sic  I.  10.  ^ 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


471 


pery,  and  disengaged  some  orbament  which  fell  to  the 
ground.  It  was  the  small  mirror  i  which  I  had  seen 
whirling  on  her  bosom.  Hastily  and  tremulously  I 
picked  it  up,  and  hurried  to  restore  it ;  but  she  was 
already  Josi  to  my  eyes  in  the  crowd. 

In  vain  did  1  try  to  follow  ;— the  aisles  were  already 
filled,  and  numbers  of  eager  pilgrims  piessed  towards 
the  portal.  Bui  the  servants  of  Hie  'IVniple  denied  all 
further  eiilraiice.  and  .still,  as  I  iifcsented  myself,  their 
while  wandb  b.irred  the  way.  Perplexed  aid  irritated 
amid  that  crowd  of  facte,  regarding  all  as  enemies 
that  ini[»edud  my  progress,  I  stood  on  tiptoe,  gazing 
into  the  busy  aisles,  and  with  a  heart  beating  as  1 
caught,  from  lime  to  lime,  a  glimpse  of  some  spangled 
zone,  or  lotus  wreath,  which  led  me  lo  f.incv  that  1 
h:id  discovered  the  fair  object  of  my  search.'  But  it 
was  all  in  vain  ; —  in  every  direciion,  tiles  of  sacred 
iiyiiiplis  were  mtKiiig,  but  nowhere  could  1  discover 
her  whom  alone  I  sought. 

Jn  lliis  slaeof  breathless  .-agitation  did  I  stand  for 
some  time  — bewildered  wjih  tlie  conlusion  of  faces 
ami  liiihis.  as  uell  a.s  with  the  clouds  ul  incense  that 
ri.lled  around  me— till,  feveied  aud  impa  leut,  I  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  Forcin;;  my  way  uut  of  the  vesli- 
1  air,  i  hurried  back  through  the 
to  the  i^hore,  and  liung  myself  into 


solitary 


alley  of  spli 
my  boat. 

There  lies,  to  the  north  of  Memphis,^ 
lake,  (which,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  mi 
the  re.vt  of  the  w:.terb,)  upon  whose  shores  stands  the 
Necropolis,  or  City  (if  Hie  Dead  —a  place  of  mclan- 
choty  grinJeur,  covered  over  wiih  shrines  and  pyra- 
mids, where  many  a  kingly  head,  proud  even  in  deaih, 
has  lain  awaiting  through  long  ages  he  resurrection 
of  its  glories,  'ihrough  a  range  of  sepulchral  giois 
underneath,  the  humbler  denizens  of  the  tomb  are 
deposited  — looking  out  on  each  successive  generation 
that  viMts  them,  with  tl>e  same  face  and  features  3 
they  wore  centuries  ago.  Every  pl.ini  and  iree,  con- 
secrated 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  siumd  of  the  priests 
at  prayer,  when  a  new  iuhabilant  is  added  to  the 
silent  city. 

It  was  towards  this  place  of  death,  ihat,  in  a  mood 
of  mind,  as  usual,  half  gloomy,  half  bright,  1  now, 
almost  uncousct'.usly,  directed  my  bark.  'Jhe  form 
of  the  )ouiig  I'riebtess  was  continually  before  me. 
That  one  lirii>hl  look  of  hers,  the  very  remembrance 
of  whicli  was  worth  ;.II  the  actual  smites  of  others, 
never  for  a  nioinent  left  my  mind.  Absorbed  in  such 
thoughts,    I    continued    to    row   on,    scarce   knowing 


1  '*  Quelques  unes,"  says  Dupuis,  describing  the 
processions  of  Isis,  *'  portoitriit  dcs  miroirr-  attaches  a 
leurs  epaule?,  alin  de  multiplier  ei  de  pnrterdans  tous 
les  sens  leg  images  de  la  Deesse."  Online  des  Cui- 
us, tom.  viii.  p.  847.  A  mirror,  it  api'.e.irs.  was  also 
one  of  the  emblems  in  the  mysieties  of  Bacchus. 

*  "Tout  prouve  que  la  lerritoirede  Sakkarah  e'oit 
la  Necropolis  au  sud  de  Memphis,  et  le  faubourg 
oppose  a  celui-ci.nu  soni  les  pyramides  deGizeh,  une 
autre  Ville  des  Morts,  qui  terminoit  Memphis  au 
nnrd." —  Denon. 

There  is  nothing  known  with  certainty  as  to  the 
tiite  of  Memphis,  but  it  will  be  [)erceived  that  (he  de- 


of  its  position  given  by  the  Kpicu 
icB^iu.ius,  in  almnsi  every  paidcular,  wiih  iha 
K.  Maillet  (the  French  consul,  for  many  y 
i^airo)  has,  in  his  work  on  EEVpt,  left  us.  it  musi  . 
always  borne  m  mind,  ton,  that  (.f  the  distances  l: 
tween  the  respective  places  heie  mentioned,  ue  ha 
no  longer  any  accurate  nieans  of  judging. 

3  "  Par-la  *non  senlement  on  cnservoit  les  cor 
d'une  tamille  entiete.  niais  en  dccendant  dans  c 
lieux  souterreins,  ou  ils  eioient  deposes,  on  p^.uvnit 
repre;,enter  en  un  instant  tous  ses  anceres  dcpuis  pi 
8  eurs  milliers  d'annecs,  teis  a-peupres  uu'ils  etuie 
de|.-urvi.ai.l."-Mi(7/.r.         *  ^ 


hich 


whiiher  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  nuccession  before  me,  pyra- 
mid beyond  pyramid  4  each  towering  more  lodily 
than  the  other-  while  all  were  out-t()p|)ed  in  gran- 
deur by  one,  upon  whose  summit  the  bright  moou 
rested  as  on  a  pedestal. 

Drawing  neaier  lo  the  shore,  which  was  sufficiently 
elev.Ued  to  raise  thi>Hlent  city  of  tombs  above  (he  level 
of  (he  inundation,  I  rested  m\  oar,  and  allo^^ed  the 
boat  to  rock  idfy  upon  the  water,  while,  in  (he  mean 
time,  my  thongh'ts,  left  equilly  xviihnut  direclioii,  were 
allowed  to  fluctuate  as  idly.  How  vague  and  various 
were  the  dieams  that  (hen  lloaled  through  my  mind  — 
that  bright  vision  of  the  temple  still  mingling  itself 
wiMi  all  !  Soinetinifs  she  stood  before  me,  like  an 
aerial  spirit,  as  puie  ns  if  that  element  of  music  and 
light,  into  whicli  I  had  seen  her  vanish,  was  her  only 
dwelling.  Sometimes,  animated  with  pa  sion,  and 
kindling  in'o  a  cuaiure  of  earlh,  she  seemed  to  lean 
towatd^  me  uith  looks  of  tendernc'S,  which  it  were 
wnitli  wo: Ids,  but  for  one  insiant,  to  in-'pire;  and 
again  — as  the  dark  fancies,  thai  ever  hauuied  me, 
recurred— 1  saw  her  cold,  parched,  aid  blackening, 
amid   the  gloom  of  Iho^e  eternal  sepulchres  before 

'Jurning  away,  with  a  shudder,  from  the  cemetery 
at  'hiH  thought,  I  Iitard  the  sound  of  an  o.r  plying 
swiftly  ihrou-h  the  water,  and,  in  a  few  moment-, 
saw,  slionrin^  past  me  towards  ihe  shore,  a  small  boat, 
in  whicli  sal  two  fem.ile  figure^  muflled  up  and  veiled. 
Hiv.nt;  landed  thrm  not  far  fiom  the  spot  where,  under 
the  shadow  of  a  lomb  on  the  buik,  i  lay  concealed,  the 
boat  again  dej^arLed,  with  the  same  fleetness,  over  the 
Hood. 

Never  had  the  prospect  of  a  lively  adventure  come 
more  welcome  l)  me  than  at  this  moment,  when  my 
busy  fancy  was  employed  in  weaving  such  cliains  for 
my  hearl,  as  thiealened  a  bondage,  of  all  others,  Ihe 
niost  diflicult  to  break.  To  btcome  enamoured  thus 
of  a  creature  of  my  own  imagination,  was  the  worst, 
because  Ihe  m  st  lasting,  of  follies.  It  is  only  realiiy 
that  can  ailbrd  any  chance  of  dissolving  such  spells, 
and  the  id(d  I  was  now  crtrating  to  m>self  must  for 
ever  rtmain  ideal.  Any  pursuit,  therefore,  that 
seemed  likely  to  divert  me  fiom  such  tJioughta  — to 
bring  back  niy  imaginatiitn  to  eaith  and  reality,  from 
the  vague  legion  in  which  it  had  been  wandering, 
was  a  relief  far  too  seasonable  not  to  be  welcomed 
with  easerness. 

I  liad  watched  the  course  which  the  two  figures 
took,  and,  having  hastily  fastenevl  my  boat  to  the  bank, 
stepped  genily  on  shore,  and,  at  a  little  distance,  fol- 
lowed them.  'Jhe  windings  ihrough  v\  hich  they  led 
weie  intricate;  but,  by  the  bright  light  of  ihe  moon,  I 
was  enabled  lo  keep  their  forms  in  view,  as,  with 
rapid  ste|>,  (hev  gliled  among  ine  monuments.  At 
lengih,  in  the  ^h.^de  of  a  small  pyramid,  v\  hose  peak 
baiely  >urmounied  ihe  plane-trees  thai  grew  ni^h,  they 
vani^hed  Irom  my  sight.  I  has  ened  to  the  spot,  but 
there  was  not  a  st.;n  of  life  aiound  ,  and,h<d  n.y  creed 
extended  lo  another  woild,  I  might  have  fancied  these 
fornix  were  spiiiis,  sent  down  from  thence  to  mock 
me  — so  jns'antaneously  had  they  disappeared.  1 
seaiched  through  the  neighbouring  grove,  but  all  there 
was  still  as  death.  At  leng'h,  in  examining  one  of 
(he  sides  of  the  pyramid,  which,  for  a  tew  leet  from 
Ihe  ground,  was  lurnished  with  steps,  I  found,  mid- 
\vay  beiween  pe.ik  and  bise,  a  pan  of  its  surface, 
which,  alihough  presenting  to  the  eye  an  appearance 
of  smnoihness,  gave  to  the  touch,  1  thought,  indica- 
tions of  a  concealed  opening. 

After  a  variety  of  ettbris  and  experiments,  I,  at  last, 


♦  "  Mul'isotimpyramidas  fuisse  e  ruinis  arguKur.'* 
''■Zocga.-  yanstcb,  who  visited  more  than  ten  of  the 
small'pyraniids,  is  of  opinion  that  there  must  have 
oiiginaliy  been  a  hundied  in  this  place. 

See.  on  Ihe  subject  <  f  the  lai.e  lo  the  northward  of 
Memphis,  Shaw's  Travels,  p.  302. 


472 


THE    EPI  C  U  REAN. 


more  by  accideni  than  skill,  pressed  Ihe  spring  that 
cnniniamled  tliis  hidden  a|ieriure  In  an  instant  the 
portal  slid  a'iide,  and  d.scli^ed  a  narrow  st.invay 
wiihin,  the  two  or  ihree  first  steps  of  which  were  dis- 
cernible liy  tlje  moonlight,  while  the  rest  were  all  lost 
in  uller  darkness.  'I  housli  it  was  difficidi  to  conceive 
that  the  persons  whrnn"!  hail  been  pursuing  would 
have  venlnied  to  pass  through  this  gloomy  opening, 
yet  to  account  for  their  aisappeirance  otherwise  was 
still  more  difficult.    At  all  events,  my  curiosity  \v.as 


too  I 


the  cliai 


spirit  of  adventure,  once  raised,  could  not  be  so  easily 
hnd.  Accordingly,  having  sent  up  a  gay  pr.iyer  to 
that  bliss-loving  Queen  whose  eye  alone  was  upon 
nie,  I  passed  through  the  portal,  ai,d  descended  iu:o 
the  pyramid. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairway  I  found  myself  in  a 
low,  narrow  passage,  through  which,  without  stoop- 
ing slmoat  to  the  e.uth,  it  was  impossible  to  proceed. 
Though  leading  through  .i  mulliplicily  of  d.irk  wind- 
ings, ihis  way  seemed  but  lillle  to  adv.. nee  my  pro- 
gress —  i's  couibe,  I  perceived,  beini;  chiefly  circular, 
and  gathering,  at  every  lurii,  but  a  deeper  intensity  of 
darkness. 

"Can  anything,"  thousht  I,  "  r,f  human  kind, 
sojourn  here?"  — and  had  scarcely  asked  myself  the 
question,  when  Ihe  path  oDened  into  a  long  gallery,  at 
the  farthest  end  of  which  a  gUam  of  light  was  lisihle. 
'I'his  we'oome  glimmer  appeared  to  issue  from  some 
cell  or  alcove,  in  which  the  riKht-hand  wall  of  the 
gallery  terminaled.  and,  breathless  with  eipec'alioii,  1 
stole  gently  towards  it. 

Arrived  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  a  scene  presented 
itself  to  my  eyes,  for  w  hich  my  fondest  expeclations 
of  adventure  could  not  have  prepared  ine.  The 
place  from  ivhich  the  light  proceeded  was  a  small 
chapel,  of  whose  inleiior,  fmm  the  dark  recess  in 
which  I  stood,  I  could  lake,  unseen  myself,  a  full  and 
distinct  view.  Over  the  walls  of  this  oratory  were 
painted  some  of  those  various  symbols,  by  which  ihe 
mystic  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians  loves  to  shallow  nut 
the  History  of  the  Soul  ;  the  winged  globe  with  a  ser- 
pent —  Ihe  rays  descending  from  above,  like  a  glory— 
and  the  Theban  beelle,'  as  he  Cumes  forth  alter  the 
waters  have  passed  away,  and  the  hrsl  sunbeam  falls 
on  his  regenerated  aviiigs. 

In  the  middle  of  thechapel, on  alowallar  of  granite 
lay  a  lifeless  female  form,  enshrined  within  a  case  of 
crystal 'i—  as  it  is  tire  custom  to  preserve  ihe  dead  in 
Klhiopia  — and  looking  as  freslily  beautiful  as  if  the 
soul  had  but  a  few  hours  departed.  Among  the  eili- 
blems  of  dealh,3  on  the  front  of  Ihe  al  ar,  were  a  slen- 


der lotus  branch  broken  in  two,  and  a  small  bird  jtnl 
winging  its  fiigtit  from  ttie  spray. 

lo  these  memorials  of  the  dead,  however,  I  paid 
but  lillle  ailenlion  ;  for  there  was  a  living  object  there 
ujion  ^vhich  mv  eves  were  now  intently  fixed. 

The  lamp,  by  which  Ihe  whole  of  the  chapel  was 
illuminaled,  was  |itaced  al  the  head  of  ihe  pale  image 
in  Ihe  vhrine;  and  between  it?  light  and  me  slooil  a 
female  firm,  bending  over  the  monument,  as  if  to 
gaze  upon  the  sileni  (ealures  wilhin.  The  position  in 
which  this  figure  was  placed,  intercepting  a  strong 
light,   alinrded    me,  at  first,   but   an   imperfect   anil 


ihado 


Yet  I 


at  ihii 


ullii 


felt  my  heart  beat  high  —  and  memo  y  had  no  Ics 
share,  as  it  proved,  in  iliis  feeling  ihan  imagination. 
For,  on  the  head  changing  ils  po^ilion,  so  as  to  let  a 
gleam  fail  upon  the  feature-,  I  saw,  with  a  transport 
which  had  almost  led  me  to  t;elray  niv  lurking-place, 
that  it  was  she  — Ihe  young  worshipper  of  Isjs- Ihe 
same,  the  very  same,  whom  I  had  seen,  brightening 
the  holy  place  where  she  stood,  and  looking  like  an 
inhabilant  of  some  purer  world. 

'J  he  movement,  by  which  she  had  now  afforded  me 
an  0[)porIuniIyof  recognising  her,  w^as  made  in  raising 
from  Ihe  -hrine  a  small  cross!  of  silver,  which  lay 
direclly  over  Ihe  bosom  of  the  lifeless  figure.  Bring- 
ing il  close  to  her  lips,  she  kissed  ii  wifh  a  religious 
fervour  ;  then,  lurnmg  her  eyes  mournfully  upwards, 
held  Ihem  fixed  with  a  dei^ree  of  inspired  earnestness, 
as  if,  at  that  moment,  in  direct  communion  with 
Heaven,  they  saw  neither  roof,  nor  any  other  earthly 
barrier  between  Ihem  and  Ihe  skies. 

What  a  power  is  ibtre  in  innocence!  whose  very 
heijilessness  is  i's  safeguard  —  in  whose  presence  even 
rassinn  hini'^elf  stands  aba-hed,  and  turns  worshipper 
at  Ihe  very  altar  which  he  came  to  despoil  1  She, 
who,  but  a  short  hour  before,  had  pre-enled  herself  to 
my  imaginalinn  as  something  1  could  have  risked  im- 
mortality to  win — she.  whom  gladly,  from  the  floor 
of  her  own  lighted  temple,  in  the  very  face  of  its 
proud  minis'ers,  I  would  have  borne  away  in  triumph, 
and  dared  all  punishments,  divineand  huoian,  to  make 
her  mine  —  that  very  crealure  v\as  now  befoie  me,  as 
if  thrown  bv  fate  itself,  into  my  power  —  standing 
there,  beautiful  and  alone,  with  nothing  bu(  her  inno- 
cence  for  her  guard  1  Vet,  no  —  so  touctiiiig  was  the 
purily  of  Ihe  whole  scene,  so  calm  and  august  that 
protection  which  the  dead  extended  over  the  living, 


i  "  On  volt  en  Egyple.  apres  la  retrai'e  du  Nil  et  la 
fecomlalioii  des  teries,  le  limnn  coii\ei  I  d'unc  i-iulli- 
tude  de  scarabees.  Un  pareil  phenonieiie  a  du  sem- 
bler  aux  Egyptiens  le  plus  propre  a  peindre  une 
nouvelle  existence."  M.  /omarrf.  _  Partly  for  the 
same  reason,  and  partly  for  another,  still  more  fanci- 
ful, the  early  Christians  irsed  to  apply  this  emblem  to 
Christ.  "  Bonus  ille  scarabxus  mens,' says  St.  Auo-us- 
line,  "non  ea  tantum  de  cau-a  quod  unigenitus,  q'uod 
i|isemet  s,,,  auctor  morlalium  speciem  induerit,  sed 
quod  in  hac  nostra  faece  seso  volulaverit  et  ex  hac  ipsa 
nasci  voluerii."  ' 

t  "l.es  Egypliens  ont  fait  aussi,  pour  conserver 
leurs  morls,  des  caisses  de  verre."  Dc  Pauw  —  He 
j  mentions,  also,  in  another  place,  a  sort  of  transparent 
1  substance,  which  the  Erhiopians  used  for  Ihe  same 
purpose^and  which  was  f.equenlly  mistaken  by  the 
j  Greeks  for  glass.  '         ) 

1      '"Unpretrcquibriselatiged'uneneur.desoiseaui 
qui  senvolent,  sont  les  emblenies  de  la  inort  et  de  1'    the  cm 


Theseus  employs  tlie  same  image  in  the  Phadra  :— 

Opws  yap  (US  TiS  lk  xcptuv  aipavjo^  u 

Xlri5jj[/,*  £5  &6ov  TTiKpov  dutitjcraca  /lot. 

*  A  cross  was,  among  the  Egyptians,  the  emblem 

jfafuurelife. 

"  The  singular  appearance  of  a  Cross  so  frequently 
ecurriug  among  the  hieroglyphics  nf  Egypt,  had  ex- 
:iled  the  curiosity  of  the  Cl'iiistiaus  al  a  veiy  early 
leriod  of  ecclesi.aslical  history;  and  as  some  of  the 
I  Piiesls.  who  were  acquainted  with  Ihe  meaning  of  the 
I  hieroglyphics,  became  converted  lo  Chiislianity,  the 
secret  transpired.  'The  converted  heathens,'  says 
Socrates  Scholaslicus,  'explained  the  symbol,  and 
declared  thai  it  srgnifed  Life  to  Come,'"  — C/nrJe. 
!  Lipsius,  therefore,  is  mistaken  in  supposing  fit 
Cros,  in  have  been  an  emblem  peculiar  to  Ihe  Chris- 
tians. See,  on  this  suiijecl,  L'Hutoirc  des  Juifs,  liv. 
vi.  c.  16.  •'  ' 

II  is  singular  enough  that  while  the  Cross  was  thu> 
held  saced  among  the  Egyiilians,  not  only  the  cusloi.i 
'  of  marking  the  forehead  with  the  sign  of  the  Cros<, 
but  Baptism  and  the  consecration  of  Ihe  bread  in  the 
Eucharisi,  were  imitated  in  Ihe  mysterious  ceremo- 
nies of  Miihra.  —  Ttrtull.  dc  Proscrijjlione  HcrUico- 


Zocga  is  of  opinion  that  the  Cross,  said  to  have  been 
for  Ihe  first  lime  found,  on  Ihe  deslrucHon  of  the  tem- 
ple of  .'ieiapis,  by  the  Christians,  could  not  have  beea 
nothing  is  more  comni:n  Ihdu  tbit 


nblem  on  all  the  Egypli: 


nuiiienli. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


473 


!iy  earlhly  fejliiifc  was  forgotten  aB  I  gazed,    beautiful  enchanlres-i  Rhodope,  I  sawherrise  froni  oh! 


that  .        . 

a,nd  lo\e  iluM  became  ex  •I'ed 

Bui,  entranced  as  I  felt  in 
ttiua  lo  enjoy  i  by  s'l-allii  seemed  to  me  a  wrnng,  a 
sacriiei;e-aiid,  r-iH,er  than  let  I,er  eyes  encnunler  rtie 
flash  of  ni-ms  or  di^lu^t),  by  a  whisper,  ihat  sacred 
silence,  in  which  Voulh  and  Death  held  cr>uinimii"ii 
tliT'Ugh  utidying  I.i>ve,  I  would  have  suttcted  my 
heart  to  break,  wiihoul  a  Timrmur,  where  I  stood. 
Gently,  as  if  life  ii>el(  depended  en  niy  every  move- 
ment. I  -tole  away  fr  >ni  tha-  Irinquil  and  holy  scene 


1  had  tnund  i( 
and,   /liduit;   back   ilirou'h  'the  same   piss;<i;es  and 
windings  by  wtiich  I  had  entered,  reached  again  the 
narr'W  stnir-way,  aiid  re-asceiidcd  into  light. 

The  sun  had  ju-l  risen,  and.  fiom  the  summit  of 
the  Aiabian  hills.  w;is  pouring  d  >wn  his  beams  into 
that  vast  valley  of  waters—  as  if  proud  of  last  night's 
honnge  to  his  own  divine  his,  now  f  ditig  away  in 
the  superior  splendour  of  her  L^rd.  My  fi'st  impulse 
was  to  lly  at  once  fri'ni  'his  d'li^erous  spot,  and  in 
new  loves  and  pleis.Tes  seek  f-r^e  fulness  of  the 
wondrous  sctne  I  hadjusi  wilues?'ed  ••Once,"  1  ex- 
claimed, "our  of  ihe  firclp  i|  ihis  enchanment,  I 
kn  iw  t'lo  Will  my  own  suscep;ibility  to  new  inipres- 
si  ns,  to  feel  any  doubt  that  I  vhatl  soon  break  the 
spell  ihat  is  n  iw  an>und  me." 

liul  vain  were  all  my  efforts  and  resolves.  Even 
while  swearing  to  fly  to  Ihki  spot,  I  fnunu  my  steps 
still  lineerina;  fiudly  round  th«  pyrannd  — my  eyes 
slili  turned  towards  the  jiorlal  which  severed  this  t;n- 
chaiilress  from  tl;e  world  <(  the  living  Hour  after 
hour  did  1  wander  through  that  City  of  Silence,  till, 
a-ready,  it  was  mid-day,  and.  under  the  sun's  meri- 
dian eye,  the  mighty  pyramid  of  pyramids  stood,  like 
a  ^reat  spiii',  stiaduwlejs.i 

Again  did  those  wild  and  fiasvionate  feeling?, 
which,  for  ihe  moment,  her  i^resence  had  sniidued 
iuio  revt-rence,  return  to  t^ike  possession  of  my  imagi- 
nation and  my  senses.  I  even  repmached  myself  for 
Ihe  awe,  tint  had  held  me  spell-bound  befoi 
"What."  tl;  * 

Garde 


y,  did  they  know  thai  their  chief— he  wh' 
pah  L"ve  had  strewt-d  with  trophies— was  now 
pining  for  a  simple  Kgyptian  girl,  in  whose  presence 
he  had  nnt  dared  to  uttrr  a  single  sigh,  and  w  h"  had 
vanqiiislied  the  Victor,  without  even  knowing  her 
triumph  I" 

A  blush  came  over  my  cheek  at  Ihe  humiliating 
thnughl,  and  I  de'ermintd,  at  all  risks,  to  await  her 
coming.  That  she  should  be  an  inmite  nf  those 
gloomy  caverns  seemed  inconceivible  ;  nor  did  there 
appear  to  be  ai-y  egress  out  of  iheir  dej-ths  but  by  the 
pyamiii.  Again,  therefiTe,  like  a  senlinel  of  the 
di-ad,  (lid  I  pace  up  and  down  among  ihfse  tombs, 
contrasting  mournfully  Ihe  burning  fever  in  my 


the  p}ramid  in  which  she  had  dwelt  for  ages,— 
'*  Fair  Rhodope.S  as  btory  ii'Ili*. 
Thcbiiplit  unearthly  iiyin^h.  who  dwells 
'MiO  Biuilcfa  Hulii  ai>d  jfWt  U  h>df 
'Ihe  Ludy  of  the  ryromid  '.'• 

So  long  had  mv  sleep  continued,  that,  when  I  awoke, 
I  f.'nnd  the  moon  again  resplendent  .ibnve  ttic  horizon. 
But  all  ar  und  w;is  io.kini  iianqml  and  liftdess  as 
before;  nnrdid  a  print  on  the  grass  betrav  that  any 
foot  liad  parsed  there  sii;ct:  my  own.  JirfM-shed, 
hovveiir,  by  my  long  res',  and  \v  ilh  a  lancy  sull  more 
excied  by  He  mystic  wonde-s  of  which  I  had  been 
dreamiiii!,  I  now  resolved  to  revint  Ihe  chapel  m  the 
pyramid,  and  put  an  end,  if  possible,  to  this  strange 
myscrylh.t  bau.,led  me. 

H.iving  learned,  from  the  experience  rT  the  pre- 
ceding iM-lit,  the  inconvenience  ot  encountering  lliose 
l.vbvrinihs  wi  hout  a  litiht,  1  now  hasieued  to  piovule 
my'relf  wi:h  a  lamp  fr  m  my  bi-at.  'iracking  my 
way  back  wi'h  si'iiie  difiiculiy  lo  Ihe  shore,  I  ihere 
fjund  Dot  only  my  lamp,  but  also  some  d.iiei  and  dried 
fruits,  of  w'hich  I  was  always  provided  with  store,  for 
niy  njving  life  upon  the  watt-rs,  and  which,  after  so 
many  hours  of  ab^Iiueuce,  were  now  a  ntcst  welcome 
and  necessary  relief. 

'I'luis  prepared,  1  again  ascended  the  pyramid,  and 
was  proceeding  lo  Starch  out  hi;  secret  spring,  when 
a  luud,  dismal  nois-e  was  heard  al  a  distance,  to  which 
all  Ihe  luchncl.oly  echoes  of  the  ceme  ery  gave 
answer,  'ihe  Mumd  came,  I  knew,  f.um  Ihe  Great 
Temple  <u  Hie  shore  of  the  lake,  and  ua.  the  sort  of 
shriek  which  its  gales  —  the  Gate^  of  ubltvion,3  as 
they  are  called  -  u^ed  always  to  send  bTlh  from  their 
hin'nes.  wiieii  opening  al  night,  to  receive  the  newly- 
l.inded  dead. 

1  had,  more  than  once  before,  heard  tint  soutd,  and 

always  with  sadiie  8 :  but,  at  this  moment,  it  thrilled 

Ihtouih   me  like  a  voice  of  ill  onien,  and  I  almost 

doubtci  whether  1  should  not  abandon  my  enlei prise. 

d  before  her.    The  htsiiation,  however,  was  but  monicn'ary  ;  —  even 

mions  of  the    while  it  parsed  through  my  mind,  I  had  touched  th. 


pring  of '  Ihe  portal.  In  a  few  seconds  more,  1  was 
agfiin  in  the  passage  beneath  Ihe  pyiauiid  ;  and,  being 
enabled  by  the  light  of  my  lamp  to  follow  the  wind- 
ings  more  npidly,  >o  m  found  uiyself  at  the  doorof  Ihe 
small  cliapel  in  the  ealkry. 

1  entered,  slill  awed,  though  there  was  now,  alas, 
nonght  living  wuhin.  The  young  Fnestiss  hid 
vani  heJ  like  a  spirit  into  the  darkiieE>i;  and  all  (he 
rest  remained  as  1  had  lefi  it  on  the  preceding  niglit. 
The  lamp  still  stood  burning  upon  the  crystal  shtine  ; 
the  cross  wa**  lying  where  (he  hands  of  ihe  joung 
had  placed  i',  and  the  cold  image,  w  ithin  the 
.ore  Mill  the  same  iranquil  look,  as  if  resigned 
liiude  of  death— of  all  loi         " 


veins  with  the  cold  quiet  of  those  who  lay  slunibcring    jiesl.     Remeinl'eiing  ihe  lips  that  I  had  seen  kiss  lh:it 
around.  !  cross,  ami  kindling  with  the  recollection,  I  raised  it 

At   length  the  intense  glow  nf   Ihe  sun  over  my  ;  i)a-.Fionatel>    to   my  own;  — but    liie    dead    eyes,    I 
head,  and,  s'ill  more,  that  ever-resUcs-agiialion  in  my  i  thonghi,  met  mine,  and,  awed  .ind  s.»ddei  ed 


gth  like 


t,btcame  loo  much  forei 
enduie.  Kxhaus'ed,  1  Ihiew  myself  do 
of  the  pyramid  — chcosinj  my  (jiace 
the  poital.  wtiere,  e/tn  sliould  slunib 
my  heart,  if  not  my  car,  might  still  ke 
her  too  Sep,  light  as  it  wa3,'coud  not  fail  to  awaki 


iiidsi  of  my  ardour,  I  replaced  the  cross  upon  the 


iirtclly  node 
r;,uip.;se  n.e 


shrine 


I  had  now  lost  every  clue  to  the  object  of  my  pur- 
suit, and.  with  all  that  sullen  sali-fadion  which  cer- 
flinty,  even  when  unweldme,  bfings,  was  about  to 
retrace  my  s  tps  slowly  to  earth,  w  hen,  as  1  lield  forth 
me.  I  niy  lamp,  on  leaving  the  chapel,  I  perceived  Ihat  the 

After  many  an  ineffectual  struggle  against  drnwsi- '  g,]|ery,  ins'ead  of  termina'ing  here,  look  a  sudden 
ness  I  at  ieng'h  sunk  into  stjep  — bur  not  into  fiTgel-    and  suake-like  bend   to  Ihe  left,  which   bad   before 

fulniss.     The  same  image  still  haunted  me,  in  every  1  ...... 

lyof  .ba^ie,  with  w^h.cht.naeinajion.a&.isled  by  |     ^  From   the  stoty  of  Rhodope,  Zocg-a  think-,  "vi- 


N-ilh..'np>n  her  ti 
w.th  Ihe  veil  just  r 
then  DO  mortal  had 


t   it.     Now.   l.ke 
lie  :it  Sais,  she  see 
.ed  from  that  biov 
'er  beheld  -  and  i.( 


;    Kodde 
t;l    to  sit, 


Ihat  Ihe  I'yia 
never  to  c.isl  ; 


dentur  Arabes  ansam  anipuirse  ut   in  una  ex  py 

>i  libu^,    genii    loco,    habitare   dicerent    mnherem 

'^h  'III  !  jiuJani  iiisigi  i-  pulcbri  udiids  quacaspectosuo  homines 

^'^  '"^  I  insanire   facial."    Dc  Um   OLdiscoiiiui,      See  also, 

j  VEpjptc  dc  Murtadi  par  l-'attier. 

J  the  ancients  3**  Apod  Memphim  aeneas  quafdam  porlas,  qa» 
were  ^o  consitucted  ("mecanica  '  Lf tbes  ei  Cocyti  (hos  est  oblivioiiis  et  iTinenlatioi.is) 
ys  ^mmiauus  Marcdlimis)  as  j  apnullantuij  aperiri,  gravem  asperumque  ededtet 
halow.  toii'ji.j,"    Zc«i;a. 


ntertai 


40* 


474 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


eluded  my  cbservation,  and  which  seemed  to   give    in  infant  mi?ht  have  opened  them  with  eaae  — to 

promise  oi  a  pittiway  still  fuiiher  into  iheje  recesses,    readily  did  their  stupendous  folds  give  way  to  my 


Keanii 


ed  by  thib  discovery,  which  opened  a  new    touch, 


source  uf  hiipe  to  my  hear!,  I  ca^t,  for  a  mnmeiit, 
hesi;atin2  Innk  ^t  my  lamp,  as  if  lo  inquire  whether  it 
would  be  f.iillilul  Ihroush  the  gloom  I  was  about  to 
encuuntet,  ,.iid  iheii,  without  further  consideration, 
rushed  eagetly  foiward. 


CHAPTER    VI  J. 


vhile,  thmugli  the  same  sort  of  natu 
those  v\hicli  I  had  before  encoun-  guild 
tere.l  in  de^cemling  the  jtairway  ;  and  al  lenirlh  I  and 
cpeiied,  in  a  similar  irai;ner,  iiiio  a  straight  and  steep  ejes 
gillery,  along  each  .ide  of  iihich  stood,  closely  ranged  1  Ihroi 
;-nd  u|. light,  a  hie  of  lifeless  bodies,'  whose  gl.ssy  soun 
eyes  appiared  to  glare  upon  me  prelernalurally  as  1 
passed 

Ariived  at  the  end  of  tliis  sallery,  1  found  my  hopes 
for  the  second  lime,  vanish  ;  as  the  p.ilh,  ii  wa-  mani- 
fes'.  ejclended  no  fn.lhcr.  Tlie  onlv  obj.cl  1  was  abe 
to  discern,  by  ihr  gliinmerin;  of  mv  lamp,  which  now 
Luii.ed,  every  miiune,  fiinler  ;.iid  fainter,  was  the 
mouth  of  a  huje  vvell.  INa-  lay  gnpma  lirfoie  me  —  a 
reservoir  of  darknes-,  black  and  unfa  homable.  11 
now  cr  sscd  my  memo  y  ihat  I  had  once  heard  of  such 
ivells,  .is  being  ued  occisionally  for  |.issa^'es  by  Ihe 
ng   down,   therefoie,  over  Hie  edie,  I 


"  Light  as  a  lime-biish,  that  receives 
Some  wandering  bird  among  ila  leaves," 
No  soiiier,  however,  had  I  passed  through,  than  the 
astounding  din,  with  wliich  ihe  gates  clashed  logeher 
.igaiiiii,  w.as  such  as  might  have  awakened  death 
Itself.  Ii  seemed  as  if  every  eclioa  ihroughout  tliat 
vast,  subterranean  world,  from  ihe  Citacombs  of  Alex- 
andria 10  Ihclies'i  Vailey  of  Kings,  had  caught  up 
and  repented  the  thundering  sound. 

■      IS  by  Ihe  cia^ii,  not  even  this  super- 
could  divert  my  alleulion  from  the 


gh  iht 


ihal  n  i 


old 


opi  osite, 
'  far  as  the 
I  "ith  Ihii 
I  ohercxi 
,  light,  Iha 


of  this  splendo 
illu 


broke  aiound  me  — sofi,  narm, 
le  stars  of  his  own  South  lo  the 
who  has  long  been  wandering 
of  the  Norlh.     Looking  for  Ihe 


,  through 


chway 


lined 


all 


aff.ided    the   meuis   of  eUec  in 
chasm  ;  but  the  side-,  I  cnul  I  pr 


order  to 


into  Ihe 
li;ird  ;ind 
died  all  over  wiih  that 
sort  of  dark  pi  ch,  which  the  Dead  Sea  throws  out 
upon  lis  slimy  shore. 

Afleraniorealtei.tivescrutiny,  ho\\ever,  I  observed, 
at  the  depth  of  a  few  fee',  a  sort  of  iron  step,  pioject- 


'Kh 


ng  dimly  from  Ihe  side.  and. 
which,  though  hardiy  perceptible,  was  just' 
to  encourage  an  adventurous  f 'or  to  the  Irial. 
all  hope  '  f  tnciiig  ilie  y  uiig  Priestess  was  i 
end  — it  being  im,,nssible  tli.il  female  foot  should  bavi 
ventured  on  this  descent -- yet,  as  1  had  engaged  si 
lar  in  Ihe  .idveiilure,  and  Iheie  was,  al  least,  a  mi 
lo  be  unravelled,  1  determined,  al  all  hazard! 
explore  Ihe  chasm.  Placing  mv  lamp.  Therefor 
f  which  «Ms  hollowed  at  Ihe  bottom,  so  as  to  be  wor 
like  a  helmet,)  firmly  upon  my  head,  and  having  thi 
both  h.inds  at  liberty  for  exerlion,  1  set  my  foot  cau- 
tiously on  the  iron  siep,  and  descended  into  the  well. 
1  found  the  same  fooling,  at  regular  intervals,  to  a 
considerable  deplh  ;  and  had  alreadv  counled  near  a 
hundred  of  these  steps,  when  ihe  iaddei  altogeiher 
ceased,  and  I  could  descend  no  further.  In  vain  did  I 
slreich  down  my  fool  in  seaicli  of  support  —  the  hard, 
slippery  sides  were  all  thai  it  encountered.  Ar  leiig  h, 
stooping  my  held,  so  as  lo  let  ihe  light  fall  below,  1 
observed  an  opening  or  window  direcily  above  the 
slep  on  which  I  stood,  and,  taking  for  granted  that 
the  way  must  lie  in  that  direc  ion,  con  rived  lo  clam- 
I'cr,  wiih  no  small  difficnlly,  ihrough  the  aperluie. 

1  now  found  myself  on  a  rude  and  narrow  slairwav, 
Ihe  steps  of  which  were  cut  out  of  Ihe  living  rock, 
and  wound  spirilly  downward  in  Ihe  same  direc  ion 
as  the  well.  Almost  dizzy  with  the  descent,  which 
seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end,  I,  at  last,  reached  the 
boltom,  where  a  pair  of  niassy  iron  ga'es  were  closed 
directly  acros<  my  path,  as  if  wholly  to  forbid  any 
further  progress.  Massy  and  giganlic,  however,  as 
they  were,  I  found,  to  my  surprise,  Ihit  the  hand  of 


ley.  si 
eye  could  reach,  and   fenced,  on  one  side, 
kets  of  odoriferous  shrubs,  while  along  the 
iided  a  line  ol  lofty  arcades,  fiuni  which  the 
hlled  Ihe  wh'de  area,  issued.     As  soon,  too, 
a»-iieoMi  of  the  deep  echoes  had  subsided,  there  slole 
giadually  on  my  e.ir  a  sir, in  of  choral  music,  which 
appealed  to  come  mellowed  and  sweetened  in  its  pas- 
sage,  Ihrough    many  a  spacious    lull    wilhin    those 
shining  aicides  ;  while  among  llie  voices  I  could  dis. 
tinguish  some  female  tones,  which,  towering  high  and 
clear  above  all  ihe  rest,  formed  the  spire,  as  it  were, 
into  which  Ihe  hirmony  lapered,  as  it  rose. 

So  excited  was  my  fancy  by  ihis  sudden  enchant- 
ment, Ihal  —  Ihough'never  had  1  caughi  a  sound  from 
Ihe  fair  Egyptian's  lip,— 1  yet  persuaded  myself  that 
the  voice  1  now  heard  was  hers,  sounding  highest  and 
most  heavenly  of  all  lhat  choir,  and  cilling  o  me. 
like  a  dislaut  spiril  from  its  sphere.  Animated  by 
this  thought,  I  fiew  forward  to  ilieaichwav,  but  found, 
tner,  j  lo  my  moriihcation,  that  il  was  guarded  by  a  irellis- 
work,  who  e  bars,  though  invisible  at  a  distance, 
resisted  all  my  etlbrls  lo  fo.ce  them. 

While  occupied  in  these  inellrctiial  struggles,  I  per- 
ceived, 10  Ihe  left  of  Ihe  archway,  a  dirk,  cavernous 
o  so  I  opening,  which  seemed  lo  lead  in  a  direclion  paiallel 
tery  I  lo  Ihe   lighted  arcndes.     Nuiwilhslanding,    however, 
■;   'o ,  my  inipalience,  llie  .-.siiecl  of  this  passage,  as  I  looked 
"'■'!>    ihuddeniiglv  into  it.  chilled  my  veiy  blood.     Il  was 
'"•"'■     -  il  so  mucii  darkness,  as  a  sort  of  livid  and  ghasily 
iligllt.   from    a   d.inip.    like    lhat    of    death-vaults, 
haled,  a.  d  ihrough  wjiich,  if  my  eyes  did  iiol  deceive 
pale,  phanlomlike  shapes*  weie,  at  that  very 


«  See,  fur  Ihe  custom  of  burying  Ihe  dead  nprighi, 
('•post  fiinus  santia  busto  corpora,"  as  Statins  de- 
■cribes  it.)  Ill  C.  -rke's  pieface  to  Ihe  ZJ  section  of  hi? 
fiflh  volume.  They  used  lo  insert  p'ecinus  stones  in 
Ihe  place  of  the  eyes.  "  Les  yeux  etoieni  formes 
lorqutises,"  &c,  —  Vide  Masoudy^ 


it,h" 

Looking  anxiously  round,  to  discover  some  le-s  for- 
midibie  outlet,  I  saw,  over  the  v.isl  folding-gales 
through  which  I  had  jusi  pas-ed,  a  blue,  Ireniulous 
tlame.  which,  afler  playing  for  a  lew  seconds  over  the 
diik  ground  of  the  pediment,  setlled  gradually  into 
characters  of  light,  and  formed  the  following  words:— 


''■  The  following  verses  of  Claudian  are  supposed  to 
have  been  meant  as  a  description  of  those  iniiaiions 
of  the  noise  of  earthquake  and  thunder  which,  by 
nieins  of  ihe  Ceraunoscope,  and  other  such  contri- 
vances, weie  practised  in  the  shows  of  Ihe  Mysteries  : 
Jam  mlhi  cernuiilur  Crepidia  tieliibra  moverl 
SeilibUK,  el  rlaram  dispergt-re  euhiuii.i  liii-em, 

Aiidilur  fremitus  terris,  templumque  remugit 
Cecropium.  Rapt.  Pmscrp.  lib.  I. 

3  See,  for  the  echoes  in  the  pyramids,  Plutarch,  de 
PlacUis  Philosoph. 

4  "  Ce  moment  heureux  (de  PAutnpsie)  etoit  pre- 
pare par  des  scenes  eflVayanies.  par  des  allernaiives  de 
cr.iinle  et  de  joie  de  luiiiiere  el  de  (enebres,  par  la 
lueui  des  eclairs,  par  le  bruit  terrible  de  la  foudre, 
qu'oii  imiloit,  el  par  des  apparitions  i  e  spectres,  des 
illusions  magiques,  qui  frappoient  Us  >eux  et  ie< 
oreilles  tout  ensemble."    Dupuis, 


THE    EPICUREAN 


475 


Vou,  who  would  try 
Yon  terrible  track, 

To  live,  orlodie, 

But  ne'er  lo  look  batk— 

To  be  inirifivU  there, 

By  the  terrors  of  Fue, 

or  Water,  sod  Air  — 

If  dangt-r,  nnd  pain, 
AikI  d.-«ih  you  desfise, 

iQtD  light  you  shall  rise; 


liy  the  Veilaof  Itie  Sbrio 
But  if 


Hdre  the  letters  faded  away  into  n  dead  blank,  more 
awfully  inlellig.ble  than  ilie  moat  eloquent  wurds. 

A  new  hope  now  fli^htd  across  me.  'I  he  dream 
of  the  Gardtti.  which  li  .d  been  for  some  lime  almost 
forgotten,  re  urnrd  freshly  In  my  mind.  *-Ani  I 
then,"  1  exclaimed,  "in  the  p-ith  lo  the  [Toniiatd 
mystery?  and  ^l)all  the  great  secret  of  Eleroal  Life 
indted  be  mine  ?" 

'*  Yes ;"  seemed  to  answer  out  of  ihe  air,  thai 
spirit-voice,  which  still  was  heard  at  a  diifaiice 
crownirift  the  choir  wi  h  jis  ».in«;le  sweetness.  I  hail- 
ed Ihe  omen  wiih  Ira(^^^^■>^t.  Love  and  Immnrlatity, 
both  beckoning  me  onuaid—  ivho  would  give  even 
a  thought  (o  fear,  wi'h  two  such  hrighi  hopes  in 
pros;  eci  ?  HaviJig  invoked  and  blessed  that  unknown 
enchaiific's,  whose  sieps  had  led  me  lo  this  abode  of 
mvster%-  and  knowledge,!  iosiantly plunged  into  the 

Instead  of  Iha*  vigue,  spectrd  twilight  which  had 
at  first  niet  my  eje,  I  now  found,  as  I  entered,  a 
thick  darkness,  which,  though  far  less  horrible,  w-s. 
at  this  monieiit,  still  more  disconcerting,  as  my  lamp, 
which  had  been,  for  some  time,  alnjost  useless,  was 
now  fast  expiring.  Resolved,  howe\er,  to  make  the 
most  of  ila  last  gleani,  I  haslent^d,  with  rapid  sep, 
through  this  gb»umy  rtgion,  wi.ich  appeared  to  be 
wider  and  more  open  lo  the  air  ihau  any  1  h  d  yet 
pas-ed.  Nor  was  it  long  before  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  a  bright  blaze  in  the  distance  announced  to 
me  that  my  hrst  great  T.ial  wsat  hand.  As  I  drew 
nearer,  the  A^imes  before  me  burst  high  aod  wide  on 
all  aidts  J— and  the  auful  i-pectatle  that  then  present- 
ed itself  was  such  as  might  have  daunted  hearts  far 
more  accuslomnd  to  dangers  than  mine. 

There  lay  before  me,  exieiiding  complelely  across 
my  pa  h,  a  thicket,  or  grove,  of  the  most  combustible 
trees  of  Egypt  —  tamarind,  pine,  and  Arabi  in  bnim  ; 
while  ar  und  their  jlem*  and  branches  «  ere  coiled 
serpents  of  hre.i  which,  twisting  themselves  rapidly 
from  bough  to  bough,  spread  ihe  c  'u'agion  of  their 
own  Wild  fire  as  they  «ent,  and  involved  tree  ?fter 
tree  in  one  general  blaze.  It  was,  indeed,  rapid  as 
the  burning  of  those  reed-beds  of  Eihiopii,*  vvhose 
light  is  ofien  seen  brightening,  a(  night,  the  dislaat 
ca'arac's  of  ilie  Nile. 

Through  the  middle  of  this  blazing  grove,  I  could 
now  perceive,  my  only  p.i'hway  liy.  1  here  was  not 
a  moment,  therefore,  lo  be  lost— for  ihe  conflazraiinn 
riined  rapidly  on  either  side,  and  already  the  narrow- 
ing path  be'ween  was  sirewed  with  vivid  fire.  Cast- 
ing away  my  now  useless  lamp,  and  holding  my  robe 


as  some  slight  protection  over  my  head,  I  ventured, 

wiih  ireutbling  limbs,  into  the  olazc. 

Instanlh,  as  if  my  presence  had  given  new  life  to 
the  flames,  a  fresh  oulbre.<k  of  combustion  arose  on 
all  sides.  The  tiees  cli.slered  into  a  bower  of  fiie 
above  mv  head,  while  Ihe  serpents  'hat  hung  hi-sing 
from  the' red  branches  shol  showers  of  sp.irkles  doi%  n 
upon  me  as  1  pa-scd.  Never  weie  decision  and 
actix  iiy  of  more  avail :  — One  miiiu'e  ta  er.  ai  d  i  must 
have  pel  i^hed.  I  he  i.arrow  opening,  of  which  I  had 
so  promptly  availed  m>5elf,  closed  msianily  behind 
mei  and  .is  I  looked  liack,  l^  C()ntem[)lale  Ihe  ordeal 
wh  ch  1  had  passed,  I  saw  ihat  Ihe  whole  grove  was 
already -nema^sot  (ue. 

Rej'  iced  to  have  ei'caped  this  first  trial,  I  instantly 
plucked  from  one  of  Ihe  pine-irees  a  b'lugh  'hat  was 
but  jusi  kindleJ,  and.  with  Ibis  for  my  only  guide, 
hastened  breathlessly  fo(  ward.  I  had  advanced  bul  a 
few  p.ices,  when  the  path  turned  suddenly  nfi",  lead- 
ing dov%  nwards,  as  1  could  [«;rceive  by  the  glimmer 
of  my  brand,  into  a  more  confined  vgion,  through 
which  a  chilliijg  air.  as  if  from  y  ii..r  neighbouring 
wateis,  blew  over  my  biow.  Nor  had  1  pniceeded 
far  in  ihis  course,  when  the  sound  of  toirents3  — 
mixed,  a^  I  ihoi.^h',  fr  tn  time  u,  lime.  «ith  shrill 
Mailings,  rtsenbling  ihe  tries  of  persons  in  danger  or 
disireas— fell  mournfully  upon  my  ear.  At  every 
slep  me  noi-e  ot  ifae  d.ishing  waters  increased,  and  I 
now  perceived  lhat  I  had  entered  an  immense  rocky 
cavein,  through  the  middle  of  winch,  headlong  as  a 
wmter-iorrent,  Ihe  d.uk  flood,  to  whose  roar  I  had 
been  lis'enmg,  poured  jis  waters  ;  wliile  upin  its  sur- 
face floated  grim  spectre-like  shapes,  w  hich,  as  they 
went  hy.  sent  (onh  those  dismal  shrieks  1  had  heard 
—as  if  ill  fe.ir  of  some  awful  piecipice  towards  whose 
brink  they  were  hurrying. 

I  saw  plainly  that  across  that  torrent  must  be  my 
course,  il  was,  indeed,  fe.irful;  but  in  courage  and 
persevetaiice  now  lay  my  only  hope.  VVhal  awaited 
me  on  the  opposite  -hore,  I  ki.ew  not;  for  all  there 
Ma-i  immersed  in  im|  eoetraHe  gloom,  nor  could  the 
feeble  lighi  »  hich  I  ca.  ried  send  its  glimmer  half  so 
far,  Dismisiiig,  however,  all  thoughts  but  that  of 
pressing  onward,  I  sprung  fiom  the  rock  on  which  1 
stood  into  Ihe  flood,  trustiiiff  that,  with  my  right 
hand,  I  should  be  able  to  butlet  the  current,  while, 
with  the  other,  as  loi.g  as  a  gleam  of  my  biand  re- 
mained. I  might  hold  it  aloft  to  guide  me  safely  to 
the  shore. 

Long,  formidable,  and  almost  hopeless  was  the 
strug>;le  1  had  now  to  maintain;  aid  moie  than  once 
oveipowered  by  the  rush  of  the  »ateis,  I  had  given 
myself  up,*  as  destined  to  follow  those  pale,  death- 
like ap|)aritions,  that  still  went  past  me,  hurrying 
onward,  with  ninurnful  cries,  to  find  iheir  doom  in 
some  invisible  gulf  beyond. 

At  leiigih,  just  as  iny  strength  wa--  nearly  exhaust- 
ed, and  ihe  last  remains  of  the  pine  branch  were 
pping  from  my  hand,  1  saw.  outstretching  towards 
into  he  water,  a  light  double  balustrade,  with  a 
flight  of  steps  between,  ascending,  almost  perpen- 
dicularly, from  the  wave,  till  Ihey  seemed  lost  in  a 
dense  n.ass  of  clouds  above.  Ibis  glimpse— for  it 
was  nolhing  more,  as  my  light  expiied  in  giving  il — 
lent  new  spiing  to  my  c'>i.rage.  Having  now  both 
hands  a'  liberly,  so  des[)erale  were  my  elibrts,  that, 
after  a  few  minutes'  struggle,  I  felt  my  brow  strike 


«  "Ces  considerations  me  portei't  a  penser  q 
dans  les  mysteres,  ces  phenomeiies  eioient  beauc 
mieux  executees,  et  sans  comparais  m  pli  b  terribh 
I'aide  de  quelque  composi'ioi^  pyrique  qui  est 


C^chee,  comme  celle  du  feu  Gregeois.'-^De  Pauw. 

2**11  n'y  a  point  d'aure  moyen  que  de  porter  h 
feu  dans  ces  forets  de  roseaux,  qui  repandent  alor 
dans  tout  le  pais  une  lumiere  aussi  considerable  que 
celle  du  ;our  memc  "— ^atZic/,  lorn.  i.  p.  b3. 


3  The  Nile,  Pltny  tells  us,  was  admitled  into  the 
Pyran.id. 

*  **  On  exercoit,"  says  Dupt/is,  *'  les  recipiendaires, 
pendant  plusieurs  jours,  a  traverser,  a  la  nage,  une 
grande  etendue  d'eau.  On  lesyjelloil  el  ce  n'eioil 
qu'avec  peine  qu'ils  s'cn  retiroienf.  On  apphquoit  le 
ler  el  le  feo  sur  leurs  membres.    On  les  iaisuil  passer  1 


I  irav 


ifla 


ften  in  considerable  danger, 
and  Pylhagoras.  we  are  told,  nearly  lost  his  life  in 
the  trials.— Vide  Recluirchts  iur  les  Initiatioju,  par 

HubllK 


476 


THE    EPICUR  EAN. 


ay,  and,  i 


inst.mt,  my  feet  ^ 


against  the  st; 
on  ihe  steps. 

Rejoiced  at  my  escape  from  thai  perilous  flood, 
though  i  knew  not  whither  Ihe  stairway  led,  I  ptonipt- 
ly  ascended  the  steps.  But  ilus  Ceeling  of  confidence 
was  of  short  duralion.  1  had  not  niuunltd  far,  when, 
to  my  horror,  1  perceived,  thai  each  successive  step, 
as  my  foot  left  it,  broke  away  from  beneath  me, 
leaving;  me  in  mid-air,  with  no  other  alternative  than 
that  of  still  mountiii!;  by  the  same  monteu'ary  footing, 
and  with  the  appalling  doubt  ^\heilier  il  would  even 
endure  n)y  tiead. 

And  thus  did  I,  for  a  few  seconds,  continue  to 
ascend,  with  nothing  beneath  me  but  that  awful 
river,  in  which  — so  tranquil  had  it  now  become—  ] 
could  hear  the  plash  of  the  faliinjs;  fruexnenis,  as  every 
step  in  succession  gave  way  from  under  niy  feet.  It 
was  a  most  fearful  moment — but  even  still  worse  re- 
niained.  1  now  found  the  bAlu^trade,  by  wtiich  I  had 
held  during  my  ascent,  and  which  ihad  iiitherlo  ap- 
peared to  be  him,  growing  treniulous  in  my  hand, 
while  the  step,  lo  which  i  was  about  to  trust  myself, 
tottered  under  mv  foot.  Just  then,  a  momentary 
flash,  as  if  of  lightning,  broke  around  me,  and  I  saw, 
hanging  out  of  the  clouds,  so  as  to  be  barely  within 
my  reach,  a  huge  biazen  ring.  Insiinciively  I 
stretched  forth  my  arm  to  seize  it,  and,  at  the  s-ame 
instant,  both  balustrade  and  steps  gave  way  beneath 
me,  and  I  was  left  swinging  by  my  hands  in  the  d>)rk 
void.  As  if,  too,  this  Tiias>-y  ring,  which  I  grasped. 
was  by  some  magic  power  linked  with  all  the  winds 
in  heaven,  no  soi'iier  had  1  seized  it  than,  like  the 
touching  of  a  spring,  it  seemed  to  give  loose  to  e\ery 
variety  o(  gusts  and  temjies's,  that  ever  strewed  Ihe 
sea-shnre  \n  ith  \vrecks  or  dead;  and,  as  I  swung 
about,  the  sport  of  this  elemental  strife,  every  new 
burst  "f  it.'i  fury  threatened  to  shiver  nic,  like  a  storm- 
sail,  to  atoms! 

Nor  was  even  this  flie  worst ;— for  still  holding,  I 
know  not  how.  by  'he  ring,  1  felt  myself  caught  up, 
as  if  by  a  thousand  whirlwinds,  and  then  lound  and 
rrmnd,  like  a  stone-shot  in  a  sling,  continued  to  be 
whiiled  in  Ihe  midst  of  all  this  deafening  chao^  till 
my  brain  grew  dizzy,  my  recoliecuon  became  con- 
fused, and  I  almost  fancied  myself  on  that  wheel  of 
the  infernal  world,  whose  rotations  Eternity  alone 
can  nuniber ! 

Human  s'renglh  could  no  longer  sustain  such  a 
trial.  I  was  on  the  point,  at  last,  of  lousing  my  hold, 
when  suddenly  ihe  violence  of  the  storm  moderated  ; 
—my  whirl  through  the  air  gr-iduaily  censed,  and  I 
felt  the  ring  slowly  descend  wiih  me,  till  —  hap[.y  as 
a  ^hip wrecked  mariner  at  the  first  touch  of  land — I 
found  my  feet  once  mnre  upon  firm  ground. 

At  Ihe  same  ninment,  alight  of  the  most  delicious 
softness  filled  the  whole  air.  Music,  such  as  is  heard 
in  dreims,  came  floating  at  a  distance;  a^  d  as  my 
eyes  gradually  recovered  their  powers  of  vision,  a 
!-cene  of  glory  was  revealed  to  them,  almost  too  bright 
for  imagination,  and  yet  living  and  real.  As  far 
as  the  sight  could  reach,  enchanting  gardens  were 
seen,  opening  away  through  long  trada  of  light  and 
verdure,  and  sparkling  everywhere  wiih  fountains, 
thai  ciiculated.  like  streamii  of  life,  among  the  flower.^. 
Not  a  charm  was  here  wanting,  Ihit  the  fancy  of  poet 
or  prophet,  in  Iheir  v\arniebt  pictures  of  Elysium, 
have  ever  yet  dreamed  or  premised.  Vistas,  opening 
into  scenes  of  indistinct  grandeur  —  streams,  shining 
out  at  intervals,  in  their  shadowy  course  —  and  laby- 
rimhs  of  flowers,  leading,  by  my-terious  winding-:,  to 
green,  spacious  glades  fuU  of  splendour  and  repose. 
Over  all  this,  'oo,  there  fell  a  light,  from  some  unseen 
source,  resembling  nothing  that  illumines  our  upper 
woild  — a  sort  of  giilden  moonlight,  mingling  the 
warm  radiance  of  day  with  the  calm  and  melancholy 
lus-re  of  night. 

Nor  were  there  wanting  inhabi'ants  for  this  sunless 
Paradise.  'I'hrough  all  the  bright  gardens  were  seen 
uandering,  with  the  serene  air  and  step  of  hapjiy 
spirits,  ginnps  both  of  young  and  old,  of  veneiahle 
and  nf  loxely  foims,  bearins:,  mo  t  of  thum,  the  Nile's 


while  flowers  on  their  heads,  and  branches  of  th« 
eternal  palm  in  tlieir  hands  ;  while,  over  the  verdant 
turf,  fair  childien  and  maidens  wentdancing  to  aerial 
mu  ic.  v^  hose  source  was,  like  that  of  the  light,  invi- 
sible,  lilt  \\hich  hlled  the  whole  air  with  its  mystic 

Kxliausled  as  I  was  by  Ihe  painful  trials  I  had 
undergone,  no  sooner  did  1  perceive  those  fair  groups 
in  the  (litftance,  than  my  weariness,  b(»th  of  frame  and 
spirit,  was  forgotten.  A  thought  crossed  me  tliat  she, 
whom  I  sought,  might  haply  be  among  them;  and 
notwilhbl..ndi"ng  Ihe  feeling  of  awe,  with  which  that 
unearthly  scene  inspired  me,  I  was  about  to  fly,  on  the 
insiaiil,  I'oaiceriain  niy  hope.  But  while  in  the  act 
of  making  the  eflort,  1  felt  my  robe  gently  pulled,  and 
turning  nund,  beheld  an  aged  man  before  me,  whom, 
by  the  sacred  hue  of  his  garb,  1  knew  at  once  lo  he  a 
Hiernphant.  flacing  a  bianch  of  the  consecraied 
palm  in  my  hand,  he  said,  ''Aspirant  of  ihe  Mysteries, 
uelcoine  : '  —  then,  regaiding  me  for  a  few  seconds 
with  giave  attention,  added,  in  a  toneof  courteousness 
and  inierest,  "The  victory  over  the  body  hath  been 
g.iined  !  — KoUow  me,  young  Greek,  to  thy  resting- 
place." 

I  obeyed  the  command  in  silence  — and  the  Priest, 
turning  away  Irom  this  scene  of  splendour,  into  a  se- 
cluded pathway,  v\here  the  light  giadnally  faded  as 
we  advanced,  ltd  me  lo  a  small  pavilion,  by  the  side 
of  a  whispeiiiig  streani,  where  the  very  spirit  of  slum- 
ber seemed  lo  preside,  and,  pointing  silently  lo  a  bed 
of  dried  poppy-leaves,  left  nie  to  repose. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Though  the  sight  of  that  splendid  scene  whose 
glories  opened  upon  me,  like  a  momentary  glimpse 
into  another  world,  had,  for  an  instant,  re-auinialed 
my  strength  and  spirit,  yet,  so  completely  was  my 
whole  frame  subdued  by  fatigue,  thai,  even  had  Ihe 
form  of  Ihe  young  Priestess  herself  then  stood  before 
me,  my  limbs  would  have  sunk  in  the  effort  lo  reach 
her.  No  sooner  had  1  fallen  on  my  leafy  couch, 
than  sleep,  like  a  sudden  death,  came  over  me;  and 
1  lay,  for  hours,  in  that  deep  and  motionless  rest, 
which  not  even  a  shadow  of  life  disturbs. 

On  awaking  I  saw,  beside  me,  the  same  venerable 
personage,  who  had  welcmed  me  to  this  subterranean 
woild  on  the  preceding  night.  At  the  fr>ot  of  my 
C'ueh  stood  a  statue,  of  Grecian  workmanship,  repre- 
senting a  boy,  with  wings,  seated  gracefully  on  a 
lotus-flower,  and  having  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  piessed  lo  his  lips.  This  action,  together  with 
the  glory  round  his  brows,  denoted,  as  1  already 
knew,  theOfd  of  Silence  and  Light.* 

Impatient  to  know  what  further  trials  awaited  me, 
I  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  Priest  exclaimed, 
anxiously,  "Hush!'' — and,  pointing  lo  the  statue  at 
the  font  of  the  couch,  said,—  "  Let  the  spell  of  (hat 
Spirit  be  upon  thy  lips,  yuung  stranger,  till  the  wis- 
dom of  thy  instruclors  shall  think  fit  to  remove  it. 
Not  unaptly  doth  the  same  deity  preside  over  Silence 
and  Ligh';  since  it  is  only  out  of  the  depth  of  con- 
templative silence,  that  ihe  great  light  of  Ihe  soul, 
■1-rulh,  can  arise!" 

Little  used  lo  the  language  of  dictation  or  instruc- 
tion, I  was  now  preparing  to  rise,  when  the  Priest 
again  restrained  me;  and,  at  (he  same  moment,  two 
boys,  beautiful  as  the  young  Genii  of  the  stars, entered 
the  pavilion.  They  were  h  "bited  in  long  garments  of 
the  purest  white,  and  bore  each  a  small  golden  chalice 


i  "  Enfin  Harpocrates  represenloit  aussi  le  Soleil. 
II  est  vrai  que  c'etuil  aussi  le  Dieu  du  Silence;  il  met- 
toit  le  doigt  sur  la  boiiche  parcequ^on  adorojt  le  Soleil 
avec  un  respec'ueux  silence  ;  et  c'est  de  la  qu'est  venu 
le  Sige  des  Basilidiens,  qui  lirnient   leur  origine  de  1» 

Europe Y.ufin  Harpocrates  eloit  assis  sur  Id 

lotus,  qui  est  la  planle  du  Soleil."— //w(,  'i£s  Juyf$. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


477 


in  his  hand.»  Advancing  towards  me,  tliey  slopped 
on  opposile  sides  ot  the  couch,  and  one  of  them,  pre- 
renting  to  me  liis  chalice  of  gold,  said,  in  a  (one  be- 
tween singing  and  speaking,-- 

"Dfiiik  of  this  cup— OBirisasira 
The  aamu  it;  hi>>  hall»  below  ; 
And  tlie  same  he  giveH,  to  cool  the  lips 
Uf  the  UeaiJ3  who  downward  go. 

"Drink  of  this  cup  —  the  wnter  witbia 
If.  fresh  from  LeUie'8  Blfeiim; 
'T  will  make  the  (uiiit,  with  all  its  sin, 
AtiU  all  Us  pain  and  6orr»wst  seem 
Like  B  long-forgotleu  dream  ! 

The  pleasure,  whose  charms 

Are  BteepM  in  woe; 
The  kiiowleiJ^e,  that  barms 

The  Boul  to  know  ; 


"The  love  that  himis 
Il8  iiinoceut  wreath, 
Where  the  uerpLUt  winds. 
Id  veuom,  beneatli;  — 

"All  that,  of  evil  or  false,  by  the3 
Ilalh  ever  been  known  or  weeTi, 
Bhull  melt  away  in  this  cup,  and  be 
Forgot,  as  it  never  had  been  '." 

Unwilling  to  throw  a  slight  on  this  stnnge  cere- 
mony, I  leaned  for^vard,  wjih  all  due  gravity,  and 
tasied  the  cup  ;  which  I  had  no  snouer  done  than  the 
young  cup-beaier,  on  Ihe  otlier  side,-*  invited  my  at- 
tenti(»n  ;  and.  in  his  turn,  presenting  the  ch  ijice  which 
he  held,  sung,  with  a  voice  >till  sweeter  than  that  of 
his  comiiaiiiun,  the  following  strain  :  — 

Drink  of  thin  cup— when  Isis  led 
tier  buy.  of  old  to  the  beaming  sky. 

She  luiiigled  a  draii^iht  divine, 6  and  »aiU— 
•Driukof  IhiB  cup,  thou  'It  never  die  I' 

"  Thus  do  I  say  and  sing  to  thee. 

Heir  of  that  boundless  heaVn  on  high, 

Thongh  frail,  and  fall'u,  aixl  h>st  thou  be, 

Dnuk  of  thid  cup,  ttiuu  'It  never  die  !'* 

Well  as  I  had  hi'herto  kept  my  philosophy  on  its 
guard,  against  the  illusions  with  which,  1  knew,  this 


1  For  the  two  cups  used  in  the  mysteries,  see 
DHistoirc  des  Juifs,  liv.  ix.  c.  16. 

^  Osiris,  under  Ihe  name  of  Serapis,  was  supposed 
to  rule  over  the  subierranean  world  ;  and  performed 
the  ofTice  of  I'lulo,  in  the  mythology  of  Ihe  Kgyp- 
tians.  "They  believed,"  says  Dr.  Pritchard,  'Mhat 
Sera()i8  presided  over  the  region  of  departed  souls, 
during  the  period  of  their  absence,  when  1  mgnishing 
without  bodies,  and  that  ihe  dead  were  depu>ited  in 
his  palace."— ^7ta/(/4iJ'  of  the  Egyptian  Mythology. 

3'*Frigidam  ilhni  aquam  post  mortem,  lanqnam 
Hebes  p.^culum,  expeli'am."  Zoega.— 'Ihe  Leihe 
of  the  Kgypiians  was  called  Ameles.  Hec  Dupuis^ 
torn.  viii.  p>  631. 

*  "  Knfin  on  disoit  qu'il  y  avoit  deux  coupes,  Pune 
en  haul  et  Pautre  en  has.  Celui  qui  beuvoit  de  la 
coupe  d'en  has,  avoit  tuujours  soif,  ses  desirs  s'aug- 
nienioit  au  lien  de  s'etemdre,  mais  celui  qui  beuvoit 
de  la  coupe  en  haul  etoit  reni|ili  et  content.  Cette 
premiere  coupe  etoit  la  coiuu-iMance  de  la  nature, 
(|ui  ne  satisfait  jamais  pleinemeii!  ceux  qui  en  son- 
dent  Its  mysteres  ;  et  la  secnde  c  upe,  dans  laquelle 
on  devoit  boire  pour  n'avoir  jamais  soif,  etoit  la  con- 
naissance  des  myslerus  du  Cml."  —  JJitt.  des  Juifs 
liv.  ix.  chap.  16.  ''  ' 

8  The  TTji  aSavacrias  (fiagfiaKov^  which,  accord- 
ing lo  liiodoir.s  Siculus,  his  prepared  for  her  son 
Orus.  —  Lib.  i. 


region  abounded,  the  young  cup-bearer  h?-d  here  : 
touched  a  spring  of  itnigination,  over  which  my  ] 
phdosophy,  as  has  been  seen,  had  but  lillle  control. 
No  sooner  had  the  words,  "thou  shiilt  never  die,"  : 
struck  on  my  ear,  than  the  dreatn  of  the  Garden  ! 
came  fuMy  to  my  mind,  and,  starling  half-way  from  \ 
the  couch,  I  t-Iretched  fortli  my  hands  to  (he  cup. 
Hu',  rccollec  iiig  ni)-e]f  inslanly.  and  fearing  tlnd  I  j 
hAd  betra\ed  to  others  a  weakness  htonly  furmy  own 
secrel  indutgence,  I  sunk  bick  again,  wiih  a  snjile  of 
atfecled  ind^Uerence,  on  luy  couch  —  white  the  young 
minstrel,  bui  little  interrupted  by  my  movement, 
still  continued  his  strain,  of  which  1  heard  but  the 
concludmg  words;  — 

**  And  Memory,  too,  with  her  dreams  ehall  come, 
Urenms  of  a  former,  happier  day, 
When  Heaven  was  btill  the  Spirit's  home, 
And  her  wmga  bud  nut  yet  fallen  awuy  ; 

"Olimpaes  of  glory,  ne'er  forgot, 

That  tell,  like  gl^-amN  oil  a  sunset  sea. 

What  uijce  hath  been,  what  now  is  not, 

But,  oh,  what  u^aiu  shall  brightly  be." 

Though  the  assurances  of  immortality  contained 
in  these  verses  would  at  any  other  inunient — vain  and 
visionary  as  I  thought  them— have  sent  my  fancy 
wandering  into  reveries  of  the  future,  ihe  etlort  of 
self-control  I  had  just  made  enabled  me  (o  hear  them 
wilh  indiflerfnce. 

Having  goiiK  through  the  form  of  t.xsling  his  second 
cup,  1  again  looked  anxiously  to  the  Ilien.phant,  lo 
ascerlaiii  uhttlur  1  nnghl  bu  peniiJled  to  rise.  His 
assent  liavii::^  lit-,  ri  given,  the  yuunt:  pages  brought  lo 
my  c.urh  a  H'b^  mhI  lunic,  which,  like  their  own, 
were  of  linen  of  the  puiest  white i  and  having  as- 
sisted to  clothe  me  in  tliis  sacred  gtib,  ihey  then 
placed  upon  my  he.id  a  chaplet  of  myrtle,  in  which 
tlie  symbol  ol  Initiation,  a  golden  gra5bhopj)er,t»  was 
seen  shining  out  from  among  the  dark  leaves. 

'1  hougli  sleep  had  done  much  to  refresh  my  frame, 
something  more  was  still  wanting  to  restore  ita 
strength;  and  it  was  not  without  a  smile  at  my  own 
reveries  1  reflec  ed,  how  much  more  welcome  than 
even  tlie  young  page's  cnp  of  immortality  was  the  un- 
pretending, bui  real,  repast  now  set  before  me — fresh 
fruits  from  ihe  Isle  of  Gardens  i  in  the  Nile,  Ihe  deli- 
cate llesh  of  the  ile-eit  antelope,  and  wine  from  Ihe 
Vineyard  of  the  Queens  at  Anthylla,8  which  one  of 
the  pige   fanned  «ith  a  pa!ni-Ieaf,  to  keep  it  cool. 

H.ivingdone  justice  to  these  dainties,  it  was  with 
pleasure  I  heard  the  proposal  of  ihe  Priest,  that  we 
sliould  walk  forth  togeiher  and  meditate  among  the 
scenes  wi:hou'.  I  had  not  forgotten  Ihe  splendid 
Klysiuiu  that  last  night  welcomed  me — those  rich 
ttaidens.  that  soft  unearthly  music  and  light,  and, 
above  all,  those  fair  foims  I  h.id  seen  wandering 
about  — as  if,  in  the  veiy  midst  of  happiness,  slill 
seeking  it.  The  hope,  which  had  Ihen  occurred  to 
me,  iha',  among  those  bright  groups  niight  haply  be 
found  the  y<>ung  maiden  I  sought,  now  returned  wilh 
increased  strength.  1  had  little  doubt  that  my  guide 
was  leading  me  to  the  same  Elysian  scene,  and  that 
the  form,  bO  tit  to  inhabit  jl,  would  again  ai)pear 
before  my  e\es. 

Bui  farditU-rent,  I  f.und,  was  the  region  to  which 
he  now  conducted  me;  — nor  could  Ihe  whole  world 
have  produced  a  scene  more  gloomy,  or  more  straige. 
it  wore  the  appe.irance  of  a  small,  solitary  valley, 
enclosed,  on  every  side,  by  rocks,  which  seemed  lo 
rise,  almost  perpemlicularly,  till  they  reached  the 
very  sky ;— for  it  was,  indeed,  Ihe  blue  sky  tiiat  1 
saw  shining  belween  their  summits,  and  whose  light, 
dimmed  thus  and  nearly  lost  in  lis  long  descent,  form- 


6  Hor.  Jlfoll.  —  The  grasshopper  was  also  conse- 
cra'ed  to  the  tun  as  being  musical. 

1  The  isle  Antirrhodus,  near  Alexandria.-A/aiiUr. 
8  Vide.^f/«7J.  Dcipnox. 


478 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


ed  lie  melancholy  daylicht  of  this  nether  world. i 
Dowu  the  side  of  ihesc  rocky  walU  descended  a  cata- 
rac!,  whose  source  was  upon  earlh,  and  oti  whose 
waters,  as  ihev  rolled  elassilv  over  Ihe  edt;e  abnve,  a 
gleam  of  radiance  rested,  showinij  ht-w  hrilliaiit  and 
pure  wa3  Ihe  sunshine  Ihey  had  left  Lehitul.  From 
thence,  Kradually  growing  daiker  and  frequently 
broken  by  allernate  chasms  and  projections,  the 
stream  fell,  at  last,  in  a  pale  and  thin  niist — Ihr  phan- 
tom of  what  It  had  been  on  eailh— inio  a  small  lake 
that  lay  at  the  base  of  the  rock  to  receive  it. 

NoihiN^  was  ever  so  bleak  and  saddening  as  the 
appearance  of  this  lake.  'J'he  usual  ornaments  of  the 
wafers  of  Eerypt  were  not  wanting  to  it :  tlie  tall 
lotus  here  uplifted  her  silvery  Unwers,  and  the  crim- 
son rtaiiiirigo  floated  over  the  fide.  But  Ihey  looked 
not  the  same  as  in  the  world  above  ;— the  flower  had 
exchanged  its  whiteness  for  a  livid  hue,  and  the 
wings  of  the  bird  hung  heavy  and  cf-lourless.  Every 
thing  wore  the  same  halMivina  aspect;  and  the  only  | 
sounds  (hat  disturbed  the  mournful  stillness  were  the 
wailing  cry  of  a  heiou  among  the  sedges,  and  that 
din  of  (he  failing  waters,  in  their  midway  struggle, 
above.  | 

There  was,  indeed,  an  unearthly  sadness  in  the 
whole  scene,  of  which  no  he:irt,  however  light, 
could  resist  the  influence.  Perceiving  how  much  1 
was  aflVcted  by  it,  "Such  scenes,"  remarked  the 
Priest,  are  best  suited  to  that  solemn  coniplexion  of  , 
mind,  which  becomes  him  who  a|)proaches  the  Great  I 
Mystery  of  fu^uiity.  "Rehold"  — and,  in  saying  j 
thus,  he  pointed  to  the  opening  over  our  heads,  } 
through  which,  though  the  sun  had  but  just  passed  | 
his  meridian,  I  could  perceive  a  star  or  two  twink- 
ling in  the  heavens —  "in  the  same  manner  as  from 
this  gloomy  depth  we  can  see  those  fixed  stars,* 
which  are  invisible  now  to  Ihe  dwellers  on  the  bright 
earth,  even  so,  to  the  sad  and  self-hunibled  spirit, 
doth  many  a  mystery  of  heaven  reveal  itself,  of 
which  they,  who  walk  in  the  light  of  the  proud 
world,  know  not!" 

He  now  led  me  towards  a  rustic  seat  or  alcove, 
beside  which  stood  an  image  of  that  dark  Ueity,3 
that  God  Without  a  smile,  who  presides  over  the 
silent  kingdom  of  the  I)ead.4  The  same  livid  and 
lifeless  hue  was  upon  his  features,  that  hung  over 
every  thing  in  this  dim  valley  ;  and,  with  his  right 
hand,  he  jtninted  directly  downwards,  to  denote  that 
his  melancholy  kingdoni  l^y  there.  A  plantain  5  — 
that  favourite  tree  of  Ihe  genii  of  Death  —stood  be- 
biad  the  statue,  and  spread  its  branches  over    the 


1  "  On  s'etait  meme  avise,  depuis  la  premiere  con* 
structinn  de  ces  demeures,  de  percer  en  plusieurs  en- 
droits  jusqu'au  haul  les  terresqui  les  couvroient  ;  non 
pas  a  la  verite,  pour  tirer  un  jour  qui  n'auroit  j.imais 
ete  suffisant,  niais  pour  recevoir  un  air  saluiaire," 
kc.—Sethos, 

*  *'  On  voyoit  en  plein  jour  par  ces  ouvertures  les 
etoiles,  et  memequelquesplanetesen  leur  plus  grande 
latitude  septentrionale ;  et  les  pre'res  avoient  bientot 
profile  de  ce  phenoniene,  pour  observer  a  diverses 
heures  le  passage  desetoiles."—5ei/iai.—.Srraio  men- 
tions certain  caves  or  pits,  constructed  forlhe purpose 
of  astronomical  observations,  v\  hich  lay  io  Ihe 
Heliopolitan  prefecture,  beyond  Heliopolis. 

^  Sernpis,  Sol  Inferus.  —  Athenodorus,  scriptor 
vetustus,  apuJ  Clemenlem  Alexandrinum  in  Protrep- 
tico,  ait  *' simulacra  Serapidis  conspicua  esse  colore 
caeruleo  et  nigricante."  Macrobius,  in  verbis  de- 
scriplis,  §  6.  docet  nos  apud  .(Egyptios  "simulacra 
solis  iiifera  fingi  colore  caeru'.eo."— yai/onsAi. 

4  Osiris. 

5  This  tree  was  dedicated  to  the  Genii  of  the 
Shades,  from  its  being  an  emlilem  of  repose  and  cool- 
ing airs.  "  Cui  imminef  niusx  folium,  quod  ab  Iside 
infera  geniisque  ei  addictis  manu  geri  solitum,  um- 
bram  requiemque  et  auras  frigidas  subindigitare  vide- 
tur."— Zoeffo. 


alcove,  in  which  the  Priett  now  seated  himself,  and 
made  a  sign  that  I  should  take  my  place  by  his  side. 

After  a  Inng  pause,  as  if  of  thought  and  prepara- 
tion,—"  Noblv,' said  he,  "ynuiit;  Greek,  hast  ttiou 
sustained  the  l.rst  trials  of  Initiation.  What  still  re- 
n.ains,  though  ot  vital  import  to  the  soul,  brings  with 
it  neither  p^iin  nor  peril  to  the  body.  Having  now 
proved  and  chastened  thy  mortal  frame,  by  the  three 
ordeals  of  Fire,  of  Water,  and  of  Air  ;  the  nest  task 
to  uhich  we  are  called  is  the  purification  of  thy 
spirit— the  effectual  cleansing  of  that  inward  and  ia- 
mortal  jiart,  so  as  to  render  it  fit  for  the  reception  cf 
the  last  luminous  revealinent,  when  Ihe  Veils  of  the 
Sanctuary  shall  be  thrown  aside,  and  the  Great 
Secret  of  Secrets  unfolded  lo  thy  view  !  —  Towards 
this  object,  the  primary  and  most  inq)ortant  step  is, 
instruction.  What  the  three  purifying  elements  thou 
hast  passed  through  have  done  for  thy  body,  instruc- 
tion will  ellecl  for " 

"But  that  lovely  maiden  !"  I  exclaimed,  bursting 
from  my  silence,  having  fallen,  during  his  speech, 
into  a  deep  reverie,  in  which  i  had  forgotten  hini, 
myself,  the  Great  Secret,  every  thing— but  her. 

Startled  by  this  profane  interruption,  he  cast  a  look 
of  alarm  tovvards  Ihe  statue,  as  il  fearful  lest  the  God 
should  have  heard  niy  w  ords.     Then,  turning  to  me, 
in  a  tone  of  mild  solemnity,  *'  It  is  but  loo  plain," 
said  he,  "  tliat  thoughts   of  the  upper  world,  and  of 
its  vain,  shadowy  delights,  still  engross  thte  far  too  ' 
much,  to  allow  the  lessons  of  Truth  to  sink  profitably  ] 
into  thy  heart.     A  few  hours  of  meditation  amid  this  | 
solemn    scenery  —  of    that    wholesome    meditation,; 
which   purifies,   by   saddening — may  haply  dispose 

;  to  receive,  witli  due  feelings  of  reverence,  the  I 
holy  and  imperishable  knowledge  we  have  in  store 
for  thee.  With  this  hope  1  now  leave  thee  lo  thy 
own  thoughts,  and  to  that  God,  before  whose  calm 
and  mournful  eye  all  the  vanities  of  the  world,  from  ■ 
which  thou  comest,  wither  1" 

Thus  sa>ing,  he  turned  slowly  away,  and  passing  [ 
behind  the  statue,  towards  which  he  had  pointed  I 
during  the  last  sentence,  suddenly,  and  as  if  by  en- 
chantment, disappeared  from  my  sight. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Being  now  left  to  my  own  solitary  thoughts,  I  was 
fully  at  leisure  to  reflect,  with  scnie  degree  of  cool- 
ness, upon  the  inconveniences,  if  not  dangers,  of  the 
situation  into  which  my  love  of  adventure  had  hurri- 
ed HJe.  However  prompt  my  imagination  was  al- 
ways to  kindle,  in  iis  own  ideal  sphere,  I  have  ever 
found  that,  when  brought  into  contact  with  reality,  it 
as  suddenly  cooled  ;— like  those  meteors,  that  appear 
lo  be  stars,  while  in  the  air,  but,  the  moment  they 
touch  earth,  are  extinguished.  And  such  was  the 
feeling  of  disenchantment  that  now  succeeded  lo  the 
wild  dreams  in  which  1  had  been  indulging.  As 
long  as  Fancy  had  the  field  of  the  future  to  herself, 
even  immortality  did  not  seem  loo  distant  a  race 
her.  Dut  when  human  instruments  interposed,  the 
illusion  ail  vanished.  From  mortal  lips  the  promise 
of  immortality  seemed  a  mockery,  and  even  imagi- 
nation  had    no  wings  that  could  carry  beyond  the 

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 
full  extent  before  my  eyes.  I  had  here  thrown  my- 
self in'o  the  power  of  the  most  artful  priesthood  in 
the  world,  without  even  a  chance  of  beins  able  to 
escape  from  their  toils,  or  to  resist  any  machinations 
with  which  they  might  beset  me.  It  appeared  evi- 
dent, from  the  state  of  preparation  in  which  I  had 
found  all  that  wonderful  apparatus,  by  which  the 
terrors  and  splendours  of  Iniliatioo  are  produced, 
;  that  my  descent  into  the  pyramid  was  not  unexpect- 
'  ed.     Numerous,  indeed,  and  active  as  were  Ihe  spien 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


479 


of  Ihe  Sacred  College  of  Memphis,  it  could  litlle  be 
dnuliifd  Illat  all  my  nioveiiicnts,  since  my  anival, 
had  been  walchiully  ir.icked;  anil  Ihe  iiiajiy  hours  1 
had  etnpl  pjed  in  wandering  aid  ejiplDni.g  around 
the  [lyiauiul,  be  rayed  a  curinMly  and  -['iril  ol  iulven- 
lure  tthltll  iiiishi  well  sn)!se^l  10  ihehe  wily  priesls 
Ihe  hope  of  inveiglln^an  Kpicuieaii  mm  llicir  loils, 
I  wa>  well  aware  ol  Ihcir  halieJ  to  liie  seel  of 
which  1  was  Chief;  -  thai  lliey  considereil  Ihe  Epi- 
cureans as,  next  to  the  Clirisljaus,  Ihe  most  foniii- 
dable  enemies  of  tlieir  craft  and  power.  *'  How 
thoughtless,  then,"  1  exchilnjcd,  '■  to  hive  i^laced  my- 
self in  a  situation,  wheie  lam  equally  liel|ile,s  against 
fraud  and  viidence,  and  must  eiher  pretend  lo  he  Ihe 
dupe  of  their  impobtures,  or  else  submit  to  become 
the  victim  of  their  vengeance !"  Of  these  alter- 
natives, bitter  as  they  both  were,  the  lal'er  appeared 
by  far  Ihe  more  welcome.  It  was  ^vilh  a  blush  thai 
1  even  looUed  kick  upon  the  ninckeries  1  had  already 
yielded  10  ;  and  Ihe  prospect  of  being  pui  tlirounh 
still  further  ceremnmals,  ai>d  of  being  luloied  and 
preached  to  by  hypncriles  I  so  niuch  iU-^])ised,  ap- 
peared lo  me,  in  iiiy  preseni  mood  ol  mind,  a  irial  of 
patience,  compared  to  which  the  tlauits  and  whirl- 
winds I  had  already  encounleied  were  p.islime. 

Ufleii  and  impatiently  did  1  look  up,  between  those 
rocky  walls,  lo  ihe  bright  sky  Ihat  appeared  to  rest 
upon  their  suiiimits,  as,  pacing  round  and  round, 
through  everv  part  of  the  valley,  I  endeavoured  lo 
hud  some  outlet  from  its  gloomy  piecincts.  llui  vain 
were  all  my  endeavours  ;-llial  rocky  barrier,  which 
seemed  lo  end  but  in  he.iven,  inIeipo,td  ilself  every- 
where. Meither  did  Ihe  innige  of  ihe  young  ma  den, 
though  constantly  in  my  mind,  now  bring  wi:h  il  itui 
least  consolation  or  hope.  Of  wlial  avail  w;is  il  lh.it 
she,  perhaps,  was  an  inhabitant  of  Ibis  fegl.  n,  if  1 
could  neither  behold  her  smile,  nor  calch  Ihe  s.und 
of  her  voice  —  if,  while  among  pre.ching  priests  I 
wasted  away  my  hours,  her  presence  was,  al.is,  dif- 
fusing lis  encliantnient  elsev\  here  ? 

At  length  exhausted,  I  lay  down  by  Ihe  brink  of 
Ihe  lake,  and  gave  myself  up  to  all  Ihe  melancholy 
of  my  fancy.  *J  he  pale  semblance  of  d.iylighl,  which 
liiid  hilheito  glimmered  around,  grew,  every  mo- 
ment, more  dim  and  dismal.  £ven  Ihe  rich  gleam, 
at  Ihe  summit  of  the  cascide,  h.id  faded;  ai.d  the 
sunshine,  like  the  water,  exhausted  in  its  descent, 
had  now  dwindled  into  a  ghoslly  glimmer,  f,u  worse 
than  darkness.  'I  he  birds  upon  the  lake,  as  if  about 
lo  die  wi  h  Ihe  dying  light.  Slink  down  their  heads; 
and  as  I  looked  to  tiie  statue,  the  deepening  shadows 
gave  such  an  expression  to  its  mournful  features  as 
chilled  my  very  soul. 

The  thought  of  death,  ever  ready  to  present  itself 
lo  my  imagination,  now  came,  with  a  disheartening 
weight,  such  as  I  had  never  before  fell.  I  almost 
fancied  myself  already  in  Ihe  dark  vestibule  of  the 
grave  —  removed,  for  ever,  from  the  woild  above, 
and  with  nothing  but  the  blank  of  an  eternal  sleep 
liefore  me.  It  had  happened,  I  knew,  frequemlv, 
that  the  visitants  of  this  mysierious  realm  were,  after 
their  descent  from  earth,  never  seen  or  heard  nf;^ 
being  condemned,  for  sonie  failure  in  their  iniliatory 
trials,  to  pine  away  their  lives  in  those  d.iik  dun- 
geons, with  which,  "as  well  as  with  altars,  this  legion 
abounded.  Such,  I  shuddered  to  think,  might  pro. 
bably  be  my  own  destiny  ;  and  so  appalling  was  the 
thought,  that  e\en  the  courage  by  winch  1  h.id  been 
hitherto  sustained  died  within  me.  nnd  1  was  already 
giving  myself  up  to  helplessness  and  despair. 

At  length,  after  sc  me  hours  of  this  gloomy  musing, 
1  heard  a  rustling  in  Ihe  sacred  grove  behind  the 
statue;  and,  sonn  after,  the  sound  of  the  I'ricst's 
voice — more  welcome  than  1  had  ever  thought  such 
voice  could  be— brought  the  assurance  that  1  was  not 
yet  wholly  abandoned.  Finding  liis  way  to  me 
through  the  gloom,  he  now  led  me  lo  Ihe  same  spot, 
on  which  we  had  parted  so  many  ho'.rs  before  ; 
addressing  me  in  a  voice  that  retained  no  trace  of  dis- 
pleasure, bespoke  my  at'enlion,  while  he  shouU 
veal   to   me  some  of  lliose  divine  truths,  by  w 


infusion,  he  said,  into  the  soul  of  man,  its  purification 
can  alone  be  cllccted. 

The  valley  had  now  liecome  so  dark,  that  we  could 
no    longer,  as  we   sate,    discern    each    olher's   faces. 

tor  ihal  well  aecordid  with  the  gloom  around  us: 
and,  s.iddened  and  subdued,  I  now  liblened  with  re- 
slgn.ilion,  if  nol  with  inteltst,  to  tin  se  sublime,  but, 
alas,  I  tlioushl,  vain  lends,  wliiili,  with  all  the 
waimth  of  a  true  believer,  tliis  llierupbant  expound- 
ed 10  me. 

He  spoke  of  the  pre-existence  of  the  soul  >  —  of  its 
abode,  from  all  eletnily,  in  a  place  of  splendour  and 
bliss,  of  which  whatever  we  have  most  beautiful  ill 
our  conceptions  here  is  but  a  dim  transcript,  a  cloud- 
ed remembrance.  In  the  blue  depths  of  ether,  he 
said,  lay  that  "Country  of  the  Soul"—  its  boundary 
alone  visible  in  Ihe  line  of  milky  light,  which,  as  by 
a  barrier  of  stars,  separates  it  from  Ihe  dark  earth. 
"Uh,  realm  of  puriry!  Home  of  Ihe  yet  unfallen 
Spirit  1 —  where,  in  the  days  of  her  hrst  innocence, 
she  wandered  ;  ere  jet  her  beauty  was  soiled  by  the 
touch  of  eailh,  or  her  res[tleiident  wings  had  wiiher- 
ed  away.  Methinks  I  see,"  he  cried,  "at  this  nio- 
ineiil,  those  lields  of  radiance 'i— I  look  back,  through 
Ihe  mists  of  life,  into  thai  luminous  world,  wheie 
the  souls  that  have  never  lost  llieir  high,  heavenly 
k,  still  soar,  w  ilboul  a  st,iin,  above  the  shadowless 
■5,  and  there  dwell  bigethcr  in  infinite  |ierlection 
and  bliss  1" 

As  he  5|ioke  these  words,  a  burst  of  pure,  brilliant 
light, 3  like  a  sudden  opening  of  heaven,  broke  thiough 
Ihe  valley;  and,  as  soon  as  my  eyes  were  able  lo 
endure  the  splendour,  such  a  vision  of  gloiy  and 
loveliness  i  pcncd  upon  them,  as  took  even  my  .scepti- 
cal s{iirit  by  suipnse,  and  made  it  yield,  at  once,  (o 
Ihe  potency  of  the  spell. 

Suspended,  as  I  thought,  in  air,  and  occupying  the 
whole  of  the  opposite  region  of  Ihe  valley,  there  ap- 
pealed an  immense  orb  of  light,  vvilhin  which, 
through  a  haze  of  radiance,  I  could  see  distinctly  fair 
groups  of  young  female  spirits,  who,  in  silent,  but 
luarmonious  movement,  like  Ihal  of  the  stars,  wound 
slowly  through  a  variety  of  fanciful  evolutions; 
seeming,  as  they  linked  and  unlinked  each  other's 
arms,  to  form  a  living  labyrinth  of  beauty  and  grace. 
Though  their  feet  a|ipeared  to  glide  along  a  field  of 
light,  they  had  also  wings,  of  Die  most  brilliant  hue, 
which,  like  rainbows  over  waterfalls,  when  played 
with  by  Ihe  breeze,  reflected,  every  inomeiit,  a  new 
variety  of  glory. 

As  1  stood,  gazing  with  wonder,  Ihe  orb,  wilh  all 
its  ethereal  inmates,  began  gradually  to  recede  into 
the  dark  void,  lessening,  as  il  went,  and  becoming 
more  brighi,  as  il  lessened  ; —  till,  at  length,  distant, 


1  For  a  full  account  of  the  doctrines  which  are 
here  represented  as  having  been  taught  to  the  initiat- 
ed in  the  Kg\|ilian  mys  eiies,  the  le  der  may  consult 
Dvpvis,  Pritchayd's  Analysis  of  Ihe  Egyptian  My- 
tlwlogy,  &c.  &c.  "  L'on  deconvroil  i'origine  ie 
Tame,  sa  chute  sur  la  terie,  a  travers  les  spheres  et 
les  eleniens,  et  son  relour  au  lieu  de  son  origine  .... 
c'etoit  ici  la  partie  la  plus  melaplnsique,  et  que  lie 
pourroil  guere  entendre  le  coninnin  des  Inilies,  niais 
dont  on  lui  doiinoil  le  spectacle  par  des  figures  et  dea 
spectres  allegoriques."  — /iuj/uii. 

5  See  Heaus'ilre,  lib.  iii.  c.  4.,  for  the  "lerre  bien- 
heiireuse  et  lumineuse,"  which  Ihe  Matiicheans  sup- 
posed God  to  inhabit.  Plato,  too,  speaks  (in  fhaed.) 
of  a  pure  land  lying  in  Ihe  pure  sky  (ttjj/  y7iv 
KaOapav  tv  KaOapift  Kuafiut  ovpavtft)^  the  abode  of 
divinity,  of  innoceiice,  and  of  life." 

3  The  power  of  producing  a  sudden  and  dazzling 
effusion  of  light,  which  was  one  of  the  arts  employ- 
ed by  Ihe  contrivers  of  the  ancient  Mysteries,  is  thus 
described  in  a  few  words  by  Apuleius,  who  was  him- 
self admitted  to  witness  Ihe  Isiac  ceremonies  at 
Corinlh  :  —  "  Nocte  media  vidi  solem  candido  corua- 
c.intem  luniine." 


480 


THE    EPICUREAN 


to  all  appearance,  as  a  retirine  cnmet,  this  lime 
world  of  Spirits,  in  one  small  p  rint  nf  intense  radi-  ! 
ance,  shnr.e  ils  l,isl  and  vaiii^lied.  "  Gn,"  exclaimed  j 
the  rapi  Priest,  "ye  happy  souls,  of  whose  dwelling 


i.pse 


thus  6" 


let 


Kh  the  lioundless  heavei 
a  thought  of  this  perishable  world  come  to  mingle  its 
dross  wuh  your  divuie  nature,  or  allure  you  down 
e.irihward  to  that  mortal  tall  hy  which  spirits,  no 
less  bnsht  .md  ado.irahle,  have  been  ruined  I" 

A  pause  ensued,  duiinj  which,  still  und^r  the  in- 
fluence of  wonder,  1  sent  my  fincy  wandering  afler 
the  inhabilants  of  that  orh  — almost  wishing  myself 
credi;|-us  enough  to  believe  in  a  heaven,  of  which 
creatures,  so  imich  like  those  I  had  worshipped  on 
tar  h,  were  inmales. 

At  length,  the  Friest,  with  a  mournful  sigh  at  tlie 
sad  contrast  he  was  about  to  draw'  between  the 
happy  spirits  we  had  just  seen  and  the  fallen  ones 
of  earth,  resumed  again  his  melancholy  History  of 
the  Soul.  Tracing  it  gndually  fioni  the  firsi  mo- 
ment of  eirlhwanl  desire'  to  it's  final  eclipse  in  the 
shadows  of  this  world,  lie  dwelt  upon  every  st-.ge  of 
ils  iJarkening  descent,  willi  a  pathos  th^.t  sent  sadness 
into  the  very  depths  of  ihe  he.rt.  'Ihe  first  down- 
ward look  of  tlie  Spirit  towards  earth  —  Ihe  tremble 
of  her  wings  on  the  edge  of  Heaven— tlie  giddy  slide, 
at  leng  h,  down  that  f.tal  de-c-nt,  and  the  Leiliean 
cup,  midway  in  the  sky,  of  which  when  she  ha-  once 
tasled.  Heaven  is  forgol— through  all  these  grarialions 
he  traced  mournfully  her  fall,  to  Ihil  lasf  stage  of 
darkness,  when,  wholly  immersed  in  this  world,  her 
celestial  nalure  becomes  changed,  she  no  longer  can 
rise  above  earth,  nor  even  lemenibcr  her  former 
home,  except  by  glimpses  so  vague,  that,  at  length, 
mistaking  for  hope  what   is  only,  alas,  recollect 


.he  believes  those  gl. 
Future,  not  the  Past. 

"To  retrieve  this  rii 
to  clear  away  from  ai 
and,  restoring  her  lost 
to  He  iven  —  such,"  said  the 
creat  task  of  our  religi 
Myste  ■ 


to  be  a   light  frui 


the 


of  the  once  blessed  Soul  — 

lid  her  the  clourls  of  earth, 

ngs,^  facilitate  their  return 

rend  man,  "is  the 

ch  Ihe  rnumph  of 

most  depths  the 

ured. 


life  and  essence  of  that  holy  reliitioii  I 
However  sunk  and  ch  inged  and  clouded  may  be  the 
Spirit,  yet  as  long  as  a  single  trace  of  her  original 
light  remiins,  there  is  still  hope  itia' " 

Here  the  voice  of  the  Priest  was  interrupted  by  a 
strain  of  mournful  music,  of  which  the  low,  distant 
breathings  had  been,  for  some  minutes,  audible,  but 
which  now  g.iiiied  upon  the  ear  too  thrilliiigly  to  let 
it  listen  to  any  niore  earlhly  sound.  A  f.iiol  light, 
too,  at  that  insf.int  broke  through  the  valley  —  and  I 
could  [lerceive,  not  far  from  the  spot  where  we  sat,  a 
female  ftguie,  veiled,  and  crouching  lo  earth,  as  if 
subdued  liy  sorrow,  or  under  Ihe  influence  of  shame. 

The  feeble  light,  by  which  I  saw  her,  came  from  a 
pale,  nioonlike  meteor  which  had  gradually  formed 
itself  in  the  air  as  the  music  a]  prnached,  and  now 
shed  over  the  rocks  and  Ihe  lake  a  glimmer  as  cold 
as  that  by  which  Ihe  De.id,  in  Iheir  own  kingdom, 
gaze  upon  each  other.  'I  he  music,  loo,  which  ap- 
P3ared  to  rise  from  out  of  the  lake,  full  of  the  breaih 
3f  its  dark  waters,  spoke  a  despondency  in  evei  y  note 


which  no  langtnge  could  express ; — and,  as  I  listened 
to  ils  tones,  and  looked  upon  that  fallen  Spirit,  (for 
such,  the  holy  man  whisiiered,  was  Ihe  form  before 
us,)  so  eiitiiely  did  Ihe  illusion  of  the  scene  take  pos- 
session of  me,a  ih.al.  with  almost  painlul  anxiety,! 
now  awailed  ihe  rcsull. 

Nor  had  1  gazed  Inig  before  that  form  rose  slowly 
from  i's  drooping  po-i  ion  ;—  the  air  around  il  grew 
brighr,  and  Ihe  |iale  rneleor  ovprhead  assumed  a  more 
cheerful  and  livins  light.  The  veil,  which  had  be- 
fore  shrouded  the  face  of  the  figure,  became  every 
minute  n.ore  transparent,  and  the  features,  one  by 
one,  gradually  disclosed  themselves.  Having  treni- 
Miiigiy  watched  the  progres.**  of  the  apparition,  I  now 
started  from  my  seat,  and  half  exclilmed,  "It  is  she  !" 
In  another  nnnule,  this  thin  veil  li.ad,  like  a  Ihin  mist, 
melted  away  and  the  young  Piiestess  of  the  Moon 
stood,  for  the  third  time,  revealed  before  my  eyes  ! 

To  rush  instantly  towards  her  was  my  hist  impulse 
—but  the  arm  of  the  Priest  held  me  firmly  back.  The 
fresh  lishi,  which  had  beifun  lo  flow  in  from  all  sides, 
collected  itself  in  a  flood  of  glory  around  the  spot 
re  she  s'ood.  Instead  of  melaocholy  music,  strains 
of  the  most  exalted  rapture  were  heard  ;  and  the 
young  maiden,  buovani  as  the  inhibitants  nf  the  fairy 
orb,  amid  a  blaze  of  light  like  that  which  fell  upon 
ler  in  Ihe  Teniple,  ascended  slowly  into  the  air. 

"S'ay,  beautiful  vision,  stav I"  I  exclaimed,  as,  break- 
ng  from  the  hold  of  the  Priest,  1  tiung  myself  pros- 
trate on  the  ground— the  only  mode  by  which  I  could 

press  the  admiration,  even  to  worship,  with  which 

vas  filled.  But  the  vanishing  spirit  heard  me  not : 
—  receding  into  the  darkness,  like  that  orb,  whose 
heavenward  track  she  seemed  to  follow,  her  form 
lessened  by  degrees  awav,  till  she  was  seen  no  more  ; 
while,  gaz'mj,  lill  the  last  luminous  speck  had  disap- 
peared,  I  allowed  myself  unconsciously  to  be  led 
away  by  my  reverend  guide,  who,  placing  me  once 
more  on  nty  bed  of  poppy-leaves,  left  me  there  to  such 
repose  as  it  was  possible,  after  such  a  scene,  to  enjoy. 


CHAPTER    X. 

The  apparition  with  which  I  had  been  blessed  in 
that  Valley  of  Visions— for  so  Ihe  place  where  I  had 
witnessed  these  wondeis  was  c.rlled  —  hrougt  back  to 
my  heart  all  the  hopes  and  fancies,  in  which  during 
my  descent  from  earth  I  had  indulged.  1  had  now 
seen  once  morethai  malchless  creature,  who  had  been 
my  euiding-star  into  this  mysterious  realm  ;  and  that 
she  was  destined  to  he,  in  some  way,  connected  with 
the  further  revelations  that  awailed  me,  1  saw  no 
reason  to  doubt.  There  was  a  sublimity,  too,  in  the 
doc:rines  of  my  reverend  teacher,  and  even  a  hope  in 
the  iironiises  of  immortality  lield  out  by  him,  which, 
ill  spite  of  reasoii,  won  insensibly  both  upon  my  fancy 
and  my  piide. 

'Ihe  Future,  however,  was  now  but  of  secondary 
consideration  j—  Ihe  Present,  and  that  deity  of  the 


1  In  the  original  consi  ruction  of  this  work,  theri 
was  an  episode  inlroduced  here  (which  I  have  sinct 
published  in  a  more  extended  form),  irustralinj  the 
dociriiieof  Ihe  fall  of  the  soul  by  the  Oriental  fable 
of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels. 

»  In  the  lansuage  of  Plato,  Hierocles,  Sic  ,  lo  "re- 
store to  the  soul  Its  wings,"  is  llie  main  object  both 
of  religion  and  phil  sopliy. 

Damasdus,  in  his  Lite  of  Isidorus.  says,  "  Ex 
aniiquissimis  Phil-sophis  Pvtha!orani  et  Pla'onem 
Isidorus  ul  Deos  coluit.  et  curvm  animas  alatas  esse 
dixit  quas  in  locum  superctrles'ein  inque  caiiipuin 
veritatis  et  pratiini  elev  das,  divinis  pulavit  ideis 
fwc\."—Jij)ud.  Pilot,  lliblioihcc. 


3  In  tracing  the  early  connexion  of  spectacles  with 
the  ceremonies  of  religion.  Voltaire  says,  "11  y  a  bien 
plus  ;  les  ventables  grandes  tragedies,  les  representa- 
tions imposantes  et  terribles,  eloient  les  mysleres 
s.icres,  qii'on  celebroit  dans  les  plus  vasles  temples  du 
mnnde,  en  pre-ence  des  seuls  Inilies;  c'etoit  la  que 
les  h:ibits,  les  decorations,  les  machines  eloient  pro- 
pres  an  sujet ;  et  le  sujet  etoit  la  vie  presente  el  la 
vie  future."  —  Des  divers  Changeiiteiis  ajrivet  a 
Ijirt  tragiqve. 

To  these  scenic  representations  in  the  F.gyptian 
mysteries,  there  is  evidently  an  allusion  in  the  vision 
of  Ezckiel,  where  IheSpiiit  shows  him  the  atiinii- 
nainns  which  the  Israelites  learned  in  Eii>pt. — 
"Then  said  he  unto  me,  'Son  of  man,  hast  thtni  seen 
what  the  ancients  of  the  house  of  Israel  do  in  Ihe 
dark,  every  man  in  Iht  chambers  of  his  imagery  V  " 
Chap.  viii. 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


481 


Present,  womin,  were  the  objects  thai  engrossed  my 
wliole  soul.  It  was,  indeed,  for  the  sake  of  such 
being's  alone  that  I  con  idered  inimortalily  uesirable, 
nor,  wittinut  them,  would  e:ern.-\l  life  have  appeared 
ti»  me  woiMi  a  single  praytr.  'J'o  every  further  trial 
of  my  patience  and  faiih,  I  now  ninde  up  uiy  mind  to 
sub;hit  wiliiiiula  murmur.  Some  kiiid  chance,  1  fo[jUly 
persuaded  myse'f,  niighr  yel  b'ins  me  nearer  lo  the 
object  of  my  adoration,  and  enable  me  to  address,  as 
nntrlal  woman,  one  who  had  hilher:o  been  to  me  but 
j  as  a  vision,  a  shade. 

'J'lie  period  of  my  probation,  however,  was  nearly 

I  at  an  end      Both  Irime  and  spiril  had  now  stood  liic 

I  irial :  and,  a^  the  crowning  tesl  of  the  punficatinn  of 

It.e  laller  was  iliat  power  of  seeing  into  ihe  world  of 

I  spirils.  wilh  which  I  had  proved  myself,  in  Ihe  Valley 

,  of  Virions,  to  be  endowed,  there  now  reniained,  lo 

cm  pleleniy  Initiation,  but  this  one  night  mo  e,  when, 

in  t.'ie  Temple  of  Isis,  and  in  Ihe  presence  of  lier  un- 

velkd  image,  Ihe  lasl  grand  revelation  of  Ihe  Secret  of 

Secri-ls  w  ,8  to  be  laid  open  lo  me. 

I  i)assed  the  morning  of  this  day  in  company  with 
the  same  venerable  personage,  who  had,  Irom  the  firl, 
presided  over  the  ceremonies  of  my  insTuclion;  and 
who,  to  inspire  me  with  due  reverence  for  the  power 
aird  magnificence  of  his  religion,  now  conduced  me 
Ihnnigh  Ihe  long  range  of  illumin.ded  g.lleries  and 
shrines,  that  extend  under  the  si'e  upon  which  .Mem- 
phrs  and  Ihe  Hjramids  s'and,  and  f  ,rnr  a  counlerp.irl 
under  ground  lo  that  mighty  ciiy  of  lemples  upon 

He  Ihen  descended  wilh  me,  still  lower,  inio  those 
winding  crypis,  where  lay  Ihe  Seven  'I'ables  of  stone,' 
found  by  Hermes  in  Ihe  valley  of  Hebron.  "On  these 
tables,"  said  he,  "  is  wriilen  all  the  knowledge  of  Ihe 
aniLdiluvian  race— Ihe  decrees  of  the  stars  from  the 
beginniirg  of  lime,  tlie  annals  of  a  slill  earlier  world, 
and  all  the  marvellous  secrets,  both  of  heaven  and 
earth,  which  would  have  been 

•  bvt  for  ttiis  key. 
Lost  In  the  Universal  Sea.'  *• 

Re'urning  to  Itie  region,  from  wliicli  we  had  de- 
scended, we  next  visited,  in  succes  ion,  a  series  of 
small  shrines  representing  Ihe  various  objects  of  ado- 
raliorr  tliriush  KgypI,  and  lhn«  furni  hing  to  ihe 
I'lrcsl  an  occisinn  for  explaining  the  mysterious  na- 
ttire  of  animal  worship,  and  (he  rehned  doclrines  of 
theology  Uial  lay  veiled  under  its  forms.  Every  shrine 
was  consecrated  to  a  patlicular  faith,  and  cnniained  a 
living  image  nf  the  deity  which  it  adored,  iieside  Ihe 
goal  of  Mendes,2  wilh  his  refulgent  star  upon  his 
l,rea-t,  I  saw  Ihe  crocoJile,  as  presented  to  Ihe  eyes 
of  ils  idolaters  at  Arsinne,  wilh  costly  genisS  in  its 
Inathsome  ears,  and  rich  bracelet"  of  gold  encircling 
ils  feet.  Here,  Honing  Ihrnugli  a  lank  in  Ihe  centre 
of  a  temple,  the  sacred  carp  of  Lepidoium  showed  ils 
silven  scales;  while,  Itieie.  the  Isiac  serpents'!  trailed 
languidly  over  Ihe  allar,  with  thai  sort  of  movement 
which  is  thought  most  favourable  to  the  aspir.-itions  of 
Iheir  votaries.  In  one  of  Ihe  small  chapels  we  found 
a  beautiful  child,  employed  in  feeding  and  watching 
over  those  golden  beetles,  which  are  .adored  for  Iheir 
brrghlness,  .as  emblems  of  the  sun  :  while,  irr  another, 
stood  a  sacred  ibrs  upon  ils  pedestal,  so  like,  in  plum- 


'  "  Bernard,  Comte  de  la  Marcho  Trevisane,  in- 
ilruit  par  la  lecture  des  livres  aneiens,  dii,  nu>  Hermes 
trouva  sept  tables  dans  la  vallee  d'Hebron,  sur  les- 
quelles  eioienl  graves  les  principes  des  arls  liberaux.'' 
— .  aWct  Eimi'tiennes.  See  JablonsU  de  slelis  lierm. 

a  For  an  account  of  llie  animal  woishinof  IheEg)  p. 
Iiaris,  see /.te  fonto,  torn.  ii. 

3  Her'  dolus  (Eutay  )  lell-;  us  that  the  people  abnut 
Thebes  and  L,ke  Mojris  kepi  a  number  of  tame  cro- 
co,lrles,  which  they  worshipped,  and  dressed  them  out 
n  ilh  gems  and  golden  ornanieiils  in  Iheir  eas. 

*  "Un  auguroil  bien  de  serpens  Isiaques,  lorsqu'ils 
gouloie-  I  I'oUVande  et  se  Irainoicnl  ientenieul  aulour 
de  I'autel."— Dn  J'auw. 


age  and  attitude,  to  ihe  bird  of  the  young  Priestess, 
that  most  gladly  would  1  liave  knelt  down  and  wor- 
shipped It  loi  her  sake. 

At  er  visiting  ail  these  various  shrines,  and  hearing 
Ihe  rellecti.  lis  w  Inch  Ihey  suggested,  I  was  neii  led  by 
my  guide  10  llie  Ureal  Hall  of  the  Zodiac,  on  whose 
ceiling  was  delineated,  in  biiglit  aid  und>iiig  colours, 
the  niap  of  the  liimaineot,  as  it  ap|ieaied  at  the  tiist 
dawn  of  lime.  Here,  in  poioiing  out  llie  liack  of  the 
51111  anions  Hie  spheres,  he  sp,  ke  of  the  analogy  that 
exists  belwcen  moral  and  phvsical  daikness  — of  Ihe 
sjnipa'hy  «ith  which  all  spiiilual  creatures  re£ard 
Ihe  sun,  so  as  lo  sadden  and  decline  «  lien  he  sinks'inlo 
his  wintry  hemisphere,  and  lo  rejoice  when  he  re- 
sumes disown  empire  of  light.  Hence,  Ihe  festivals 
and  hymns,  with  which  most  of  Ihe  nations  of  Hie 
earth  are  wont  to  welcome  the  resurrection  of  his  oi  u 
in  spring,  as  an  emblem  and  pledge  of  Ihe  re-ascent  of 
the  soul  to  heaven.  Hence,  Ihe  s'lings  of  sorrow,  Ihe 
mouroful  ceremonies '  — like  those  Mjsteiies  of  Ihe 
Niglit,6  upon  Ihe  Ijke  of  Sais—  m  which  Ihey  brood 
over  his  aiilumiial  de-cenl  into  the  shade,,  as  a  type  of 
the  Spirit's  fall  into  tins  w«ld  of  death. 

in  discourses  such  as  Ihese  ihe  h  -urs  passed  away  ; 
and  though  ihere  »a,  nothing  in  the  light  of  this  sun- 
less region  to  ma'k  to  the  e>e  Ihe  decline  r,f  day,  my 
own  feelings  told  me  that  Ihe  night  drew  near  j  —  nor, 
in  spile  of  my  incedulily,  could  1  refrain  from  a  slight 
butler  of  hope,  as  that  prohii  ed  momenl  of  revelation 
drew  nigh,  »hen  ihe  Myste.y  of  iMiS'-eries  was  to  be 
made  all  my  o«n.  'Ibis  consummation,  however, 
was  less  near  than  I  expected.  My  patience  had  still 
furllier  trials  lo  encumer.  It  was  necesiry,  I  now 
found,  that,  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  I 
should  keep  wa  cli  in  the  Sanctuary  of  the  'leni|ile, 
alone  and  in  ufer  dirkness  —  Ihus  preparing  myself, 
by  meditation,  for  the  av\ful  niomen',  when  Ihe  irra- 
diation from  behind  Ihe  sacred  Veils  was  to  burst  ujion 

At  Ihe  appointed  hour,  we  left  the  Hall  of  Ihe  Zo- 
diac, and  proceeded  through  a  long  line  of  niaible  gal- 
leries, ivhere  Ihe  lamps  were  more  lliinly  scattered  as 
we  advanced,  till,  al  length,  we  found  ourselves  in 
total  daikness.  Here  Ihe  Priest,  taking  me  by  Ihe 
hand,  mild  leiJing  n.e  down  a  liighl  of  steps,  into  a 
place  where  the  same  deep  gloom  prevailed,  said,  wilh 
a  voice  trembling,  as  if  from  excess  of  awe,  —  "Thou 
art  wilhin  Ihe  Sanctuary  of  our  goddess,  Isis,  and  Ihe 
veil.s,  that  conceit  her  sacred  image,  are  before  lliee!" 

After  exhorting  nieearnes'ly  lo  thai  Iraiii  of  ihouglit 
which  best  accorded  "ilh  the, -pint  of  ihe  place  where 
1  stood,  and,  above  all,  lo  Ihal  full  and  unhesitating 
failh,  with  which  alone,  he  siid,  Ihe  manileslation  of 
such  nivsleiies  should  be  approached,  the  holy  man 
took  leave  of  me,  and  reascei  ded  the  steps ;  —  while, 
so  siiell-bound  did  I  feel  by  that  deep  darkness,  that 
Ihe  last  sound  of  hit  foois'eps  died  upon  my  e^T,  before 
I  ventured  lo  slira  limb  from  Ihe  position  in  which  he 
had  left  me. 

'Ihe  prospect  of  Ihe  long  wa'ch  I  had  now  lo  look 
forward  In,  was  dreadful.  Even  danger  if»ell',  if  in  an 
aclive  form,  wiiuld  have  been  far  preferable  to  Ibis 
sort  of  safe,  but  dull,  probation,  by  «hicli  p.alieuco 
was  the  only  virlue  jiut  lo  ihe  proof.  Having  ascer- 
tained how  lar  the  space  around  me  was  free  from 
obslacles,  1  endeavoured  lo  beguile  Ihe  time  by  pacing 
up  and  down  wilhin  those  liiniis.  till  I  became  tired 
ol  Ihe  monotonous  echoes  of  my  own  tread.  Finding 
mv  way,  then,  lo  wliat  I  felt  to  be  a  massive  pillar, 
and  leaning  wearily  against  it,  I  surrende  ed  myself 
to  a  Irain  of  though  s  and  feelings,  far  ditt'erent  from 
those  wilh  which  Ihe  good  Hicioiiliant  hail  h  ped  lo 
mspire  me, 

"If  these  priests,"  thought  I,  "possess  really  the 
scciel  of  life,  why  are  they  ihemselves  the  victims  of 
death?  why  sink  into  Ihe  graie  with  the  cup  of  im- 

'  For  an  account  of  the  various  feslivals  at  Ihe  dif- 
ferenl  periods  of  the  sun's  progrew,  in  the  spring  aai 
111  the  autumn,  see  Dujniis  and  Pittchard. 

«  VideMhenng.  Leg.  pro  Christ,  p.  13^ 


41 


2f 


482 


-^1 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


niorlality  in  their  hands  ?  But  no,  safe  boasters,  the 
eternity  they  so  lavbhly  jinmiise  is  leserved  fur 
anotfitTj  a  fu'ure  world  —  thai  ready  resource  of  all 
pri^^stly  prnniiaes — that  dej-Ohitory  ol  the  airy  pledges 
of  alt  creeds.  Anoiher  world  1  — alas,  where  doth  it 
lie?  or,  whalspiiit  halh  ever  come  to  say  that  Life  is 
there  ?»* 

The  conclusion  at  which,  half  sadly,  half  passion- 
ately, I  arrived,  was  that,  lite  being  but  a  dream  of 
the  nionient  uever  to  conie  -gain,  every  bliss  so 
va^uKly  premised  for  hercafier  ougliE  to  be  secuied  by 
the  wjse  man  here.  And,  as  no  heaven  I  had  ever 
heard  if  fmin  Iheje  visionary  p:  iesis  opened  half  such 
ceriainiy  uf  happiness  as  ihai  smile  which  1  beheld 
last  iii^ht  — *'Let  me,"  I  exclaimed,  inipa'iently, 
striking  the  massy  pillar  till  it  rung,  **  let  me  b'ui 
m^ke  that  beautiful  Priestess  my  own,  and  i  here  wil- 
lingly exchange  for  tier  every  chance  of  imnioitaliiy, 
that  the  combined  wisdom  of  Egypt's  Twelve  Temples 
can  ofier  me  1" 

No  sooner  had  1  uliered  thfse  words,  than  a  tre- 
mendous peal,  like  that  of  ihnmler,^  rolled  over  the 
Saiiciuary,  and  seemed  to  >hike  its  very  walls.  On 
every  side,  too,  a  succea-lou  of  blue,  vivid  flashes 
pierced,  like  lances  of  light,  th  ough  the  ginoni,  re- 
vealing to  me,  at  interval.,  the  mi-hty  dome  in  uhich 
I  stood —its  ceiling  of  az  re,  s'uddi-d  with  s'ars—  its 
colnsaal  columns,  lowenn<  aluft,  and  those  dark,  awful 
veils,  whose  massy  drapery  hung  from  ihe  niof  to  the 
floor,  covering  the  lich  glories  of  ihe  Shrine  beneath 
their  folds. 

So  weary  had  I  grown  of  my  tedious  wateh,  that 
this  stoimy  and  filfut  illumina:iun,  duiiug  which  the 
Sanctuary  seemed  10  lock  to  its  basf,  was  by  no  means 
an  unwelcnnie  interruption  of  the  monotonous  trial 
my  patience  had  to  suffer.  After  a  bhort  inteival, 
however,  the  (lashes  ceased  ;  — the  sounds  died  auay, 
like  exhausted  thunder,  through  ilie  abyss,  and  dark- 
ness and  Silence,  like  that  of  the  grave,  succeeded. 

Resting  my  back  once  more  luain^t  the  pillar,  and 
fixing  my  eyes  upon  that  side  of  ihe  Sanctuary,  from 
which  the  promised  irr.idialioii  wr»s  to  bursf,  I  now 
resolved  to  await  the  awful  nioment  iu  patience. 
Rebigned  and  almost  immov.ible,  I  had  remained  I  bus, 
for  ne  rly  another  hour,  u  ben  suddenly,  along  the 
edges  of  the  mighty  Veils,  1  perceived  a"  thin  rim  of 
li^ht,  as  if  from  some  brilliant  ('bject  under  them  ;  — 
resembling  that  border  which  enciicles  a  cloud  at 
sunset,  when  the  rich  ladiance  fium  behind  is  escaping 
at  its  edsies. 

'J'liis  indication  of  concealed  glories  grew  every 
instant  more  strong;  fill,  at  last,  vividly  marked  as  it 
was  upon  the  darkness,  the  narrow  tringe  of  lustre 
aliiiosf  pained  the  eye  —  giving  pr^mibe  of  a  fulne-s 
of  splendour  loo  bright  to  be  enduied.  My  expecta- 
tions were  now  wound  to  the  highest  pilch,  and  all 
the  bcepiicism,  into  which  1  hnd  been  cooling  down 
my  miu;f,  was  forgnfen.  'Ihe  wonders  that  had  been 
presented  to  me  since  my  decent  fiom  earth  — that 
glimpse  in  o  Elysium  on  the  first  night  of  my  comit.g 
—  those  visitants  from  ihe  Land  of  Si-inls  in  the  niys- 
lerioiis  valley— all  led  me  to  expect,  in  this  fast  and 
brightest  revelation,  such  visions  of  glory  and  know- 
ledge as  might  tran'-cend  even  fancy  ilself,  nor  leave 
a  donbl  iha'  ihey  belonged  les-^  to  earth  than  heaven. 

While,  wiih  an  nnagimtion  thus  excited.  1  -tood 
waiting  ttie  re5ult,an  increased  gu^li  of  Ii;i;ht  still  more 
awnkened  my  alteniinn  ;  and  I  saw,  with  an  intense- 
ness  of  interest,  which  made  mv  heart  beat  aloud,  one 
of  the  Corners  of  the  mighty  Veil  raised  slowly  from 
the  floor.  I  now  felt  Itiat  the  Great  Seciet,  whiiever 
it  ntighi  be,  was  af  hand.  A  vagne  hope  e\e;i  crossed 
my  mind— so  wivllv  had  ima^mit.on  now  resumed 
her  empire  — that  the  splendid  promise  of  my  dieam 
was  on  ttiC  very  point  of  being  realized  ! 


With  surprise,  however,  and,  for  the  moment,  with 
some  disappointment,  I  perceived,  that  the  massy  cor- 
ner of  the  Veil  was  but  lifted  sulllcienlly  from  the 
ground  to  allow  a  female  heure  to  emerge  from  under 
it  — and  then  fell  overits  mystic  splendours  as  utterly 
dark  as  betore.  By  Ihe  strong  light  Ko,  that  issued 
when  Ihe  dranery  v\a3  raised, and  illnn.ina'ed  the  pro- 
file of  the  emerging  figure,  i  either  saw,  or  fancied 
that  1  saw,  the  same  bright  fealuies,  that  had  already 
so  often  mocked  me  with  their  momentary  charm,  and 
seemed  destined,  indted,  (o  haunt  my  fancy  as  uu- 
availinglyas  even  the  fond,  vain  dream  of  Imuioilaliiy 
iUe.U 

Dazzled  as  I  had  been  by  that  short  gush  of  splen- 
dour, and  distrusting  even  my  senses,  when  under  the 
influence  of  so  much  excitement,  1  had  but  just  begun 
to  questiou  mybtlf  as  to  Ihe  retlity  of  my  impression, 
when  I  heard  the  sounds  of  lighi  fooslepsappio-icbing 
me  tlirough  the  gloom.  In  a  second  or  (wo  more,  the 
tiguie  9:o|  ped  before  me,  and,  placing  Ihe  end  of  a 
riband  gently  in  niy  hand,  said,  iu  a  tremulous  whis- 
per, *•  Follow,  and  be  silent." 

So  sudden  and  strange  was  the  adventure,  that,  for 
a  momen',  1  hesitated  —  feaiing  that  my  eyes  might 
possibly  have  been  deceived  as  to  the  object  they  had 
seen.  Casting  a  look  towards  the  Veil,  which  seemed 
buisting  Willi  I  9  luminous  seciet,  1  was  alniost  doubt- 
ing to  which  of  the  two  chances  1  should  commii  my- 
seir,  when  I  fell  Ihe  riband  in  my  hand  pulled  softly 
at  the  o'her  extremity.  '1  his  movement,  like  a  touch 
of  niagic,  at  i>nce  decided  me.  VVilliouI  any  further 
deliberation,  I  yielded  to  the  silent  summons,  and  fol- 
lou  ing  my  guide,  who  was  already  at  some  distance 
betoien.e.  found  my>elf  led  up  the  suie  flight  of  mar- 
ble -teps  by  which  ibe  driest  had  conducted  me  into 
the  Sanctuary.  Ani^eJ  at  their  summit,  I  fell  ihe  pace 
of  my  conduciress  quicken,  and  giving  one  more  look 
10  the  Veiled  Shrine,  whose  glories  we  lett  burning 
usele>-ly  bi^hind  us,  hastened  onwaid  into  the  gloom, 
full  of  confidence  in  the  belief,  that  she,  who  now  held 
Ihe  other  end  of  ihal  clue,  was  oue  whom  i  was  ready 
to  follow  devo:edly  through  the  world. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

With  such  rapidity  was  I  hurried  along  by  my  un- 
seen guide,  lull  uf  wonder  at  the  speed  wiih  which 
she  ventured  through  these  labyiinths,  that  I  had  but 
little  lime  left  for  teflec  ion  upon  tlie  strangeness  of 
the  adventure  to  which  1  had  committed  myself.  My 
knowledge  of  tlie  cbarac  er  of  the  Memphian  priests, 
as  well  as  some  fearful  rumours  that  had  leaclied  me, 
concerning  the  fate  that  often  attended  unbelievers  in 
their  hands,  awakened  a  momentary  suspicion  of 
treache-y  iu  my  mind.  Bu',  when  I  recalUd  Ihe  face 
of  my  guide,  as  I  had  :een  i  in  the  small  chapel,  wi.h 
that  divine  look,  the  very  memory  of  which  brought 
purity  into  the  heart,  I  found  my  suspicions  all  vanish, 
and  lelt  shamc  at  having  harboured  them  but  an 
in!^«:<». 

In  Ihe  meanwhile,  our  rapid  course  continued  wjih- 
ovil  any  inter' uption,  through  windings  even  more 
capriciously  intricate^  than  any  1  liad  yet  passed,  and 


«  See,  for  some  curious  remarks  on  the  mode  of 
imil.iting  thunder  and  lightning  m  iheaocient  myste- 
ries, De  Pnuw,  tpm.  i.,  p.  323.  The  machine  with 
which  these  effects  were  produced  on  the  stage  was 
Cilled  a  ceraunnsqope. 


^  In  addition  to  the  accounts  which  the  ancients 
have  left  us  of  the  jirodigions  excavations  in  all  parts 
of  Egypt  —  Ihe  fitteen  hundied  chambers  under  the 
labyiinih  — the  subterranean  stables  of  ihe 'Jhehaid, 
coij'.aining  a  thousand  horses— ihe  crypts  of  Upper 
Egypt  p'ss'ng  under  ihe  bed  of  the  Nile,  &c.  &c. —  he 
stories  and  traditions  cnrrenl  among  the  Arabs  still 
preserve  the  memory  of  those  wonderful  substiuc- 
lions.  *' Un  Arabe.''£ays  Paul  Lucas,  "qui  e:oit  nvec 
nous,  m'ahsuia  qu'etant  enlie  autrefois  dans  le  Laby- 
rinthe,  il  avojt  maiche  dans  les  chambres  sou  erruuiB 
jusqn'en  un  lieu  on  il  y  avoii  une  grande  place  envi- 
ronnee  de  plusieurs  niches  qui  lessembloit  a  de  petites 
b<:u:iques,  d'ou  Ton  entroit  dans  d^aulres  .illeeset  dans 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


;rTl 


483 


whose  Uick  glonm  seemed  never  lo  have  been  broken 
by  a^inslei^linmierof  light.  My  unseen  c..nJi,c  ress 
\\ai  slill  at  sciiiie  distance  before  me,  and  the  slight 
clue,  lo  which  1  clung  as  it'  it  were  Destiny's  own 
thread,  was  still  kt\i\  by  the  speed  of  her  course,  ;it 
full  streich  between  us.  At  leiigih.  suddenly  stopping, 
;,.id.  ill  a  breathless  whisper.  •'  .Seat  ibvseU  here  ;'» 
and,  al  the  same  moment,  leJ  me  by  the  r.^nd  in  a  sort 
of  low  cir.  in  uhich,  obeying  her  brief  command,  I 
lost  notamomeni  in  placing  myself,  while  the  maiden, 
no  lesi  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  fell  in  enler- 
int;  it,  leaned  half-way  over  a  steep  desceni— on  being 
let  loose  from  its  station,  shot  down,  almost  perpendi- 
cularly, into  the  darkness,  with  a  rapidity  which,  at 
fitst,  liearly  deprived  me  of  breath.  1  he  wheels  slid 
smoothly  and  noiselessly  in  giooves,  and  the  impetus, 
which  the  car  acquired  in  descending,  was  sufficient, 
I  perceived,  to  cany  il  up  an  eminence  that  succeeded 
—from  tlie  summit  of  which  it  again  rushed  down  :in- 
other  declivity,  even  still  more  long  and  precipitous 
than  the  former.  In  this  manner  we  proceeded,  by 
alternate  tulls  and  rise^,  till,  at  length,  from  the  last 
and  steepest  elevation,  the  car  descended  upon  a  level 
of  deep  sand,  where,  after  running  fur  a  few  yards,  it 
by  degrees  lost  its  motion  and  s:oppeil. 

Here,  the  maiden  alighting  again  placed  the  riband 
in  n.y  hands— and  again  I  Idlowed  her,  though  vvi  h 
more  slowness  and  difficulty  thui  belore.  as  uur  w  ly 
now  led  up  a  flight  of  damp  and  time-worn  s'eps, 
whose  ascent  seemed  to  the  wearied  and  insecure  foot 
interminable.  Perceiving  with  what  languor  my 
guide  advanced,  I  was  on  the  point  of  making  an 
etrort  to  assist  her  progress,  when  the  creak  of  an 
opening  door  above,  and  a  faint  gleam  nf  light  which, 
at  the  same  moment,  shone  upon  her  figure,  apprised 
me  that  we  were  at  last  arrived  within  reach  of  sun- 
shine. 

Joyfully  I  followed  through  this  opening,  and,  by 
the  dim  light,  could  discern,  (hat  we  were  now  in  'he 
sanciuary  of  a  vast,  ruined  temple— ha\  iiig  entert-d  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  herself  down  upon  her 
ktiees,  with  her  hands  clasped  and  uplifted,  as  if  in 
thanksgiving  or  prayer.  But  she  was  unable,  evi- 
dently, to  sustain  herself  in  this  po^i(il>n  ;  —  her 
strength  could  bold  out  no  longer.  Overcome  by  agi- 
tation and  faligue,  she  sunk  senseless  upon  the  pave- 
ment. 

Hewildered  as  I  was  myself,  by  the  strange  events 
of  the  night,  I  stood  for  some  minutes  looking  upon 
her  in  a  state  of  helplessness  and  alarm.  Buf,  leniind- 
ed,  by  my  own  feveiish  st-nsations,  of  the  reviving 
eifecis  of  the  air,  I  raised  her  gently  in  my  arms,  and 
crossing  the  corridor  that  surrounded  the  sanctuary, 
found  my  way  to  the  outer  vestibule  of  the  temple. 


chambres,  sans  pouvoir  en  trouver  la  fin."  In  speak- 
ing, ton,  of  the  arcades  along  the  Nile,  near  Cosseir, 
"  lis  n-e  diient  menie  que  ces  Eouferraines  etoient  si 
profondes  qu'il  y  en  avoient  qui  ailoient  a  Irois  j'>ur- 
nees  de  la,  et  quMs  conduisrtient  dans  un  pays  ou  l'»in 
voycit  de  beau  jardins,  qu'on  y  trouvoii  de  be'Ies 
maisons,'*  &c.  &c. 

S.ie  also  in  M.  Quatrcmere's  Memoires  surl  Ezypte, 
fom.  i.,  p.  142,  an  account  of  a  suhterruipan  reservoir, 
said  to  have  been  discovered  by  Kai-,  and  of  the  expe- 
dition undertaken  by  a  party  of  persons,  in  a  long, 
narrow  boat,  for  the  purpose  of  exploring  i!.  '*  Leur 
voyage  avoii  eie<ie  six  jours,  dont  les  qnatre  premiers 
furent  employes  a  pendrer  les  liords  ;  les  deux  aulreg 
a  revcnir  au  lieu  d"ou  ils  etoient  pirtis.  Pendant  tout 
cet  intcrvalle  ils  ne  purent  alteindre  I'extremite  du 
bas^in.  L'omir  Ala-eddin-Tamboga,  gouverneur  de 
Behnesa,  ecrivit  ces  details  au  sultan,  qui  en  fut  extre- 
menient  surpris." 


Here,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun,  I  placed  her, 

reclining,  u[)0n  the  steps,  where  the  cool  north-wind, 
then  blowing  freshly  beiween  the  pillars,  might  play, 
with  fiee  draught,  over  her  brow. 

It  wa-,  indeed— as  I  now  saw,  with  certainty— the 
same  beautiful  aid  nnsteriou  girl,  who  had  been  the 
ciuse  'if  my  descent  into  that  sublerranean  world,  and 
who  now,  under  such  strange  and  unaccountable  cir- 
cuinstarices.  vas  my  guide  back  again  to  the  reatnis  of 
day.  I  looked  a  ound  lo  discover  where  we  were, 
and  beheld  s^  ch  a -ceiie  of  giaideur,  as,  could  my  eves 
have  been  then  attracted  lu  any  object  but  the  pale 
fiirm  reclining  a'  my  side,  miglil  well  have  induced 
them  to  dwelt  on  its  splendid  beau  its. 

1  was  now  standing,  I  found,  on  the  small  island  in 
the  cenre  of  Lake  Morris ;  >  and  thit  sanctuary, 
where  wc  had  just  emerged  from  daikncss,  formed 
part  of  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  temple,  which  was  (as 
I  have  since  lear<  ed),  in  the  grander  days  of  Mem. 
phis,  a  place  of  pilgriniage  for  worshippers  from  all 
p^ns  of  Kgypt.  The  fair  Lake,  il.self,  out  of  whose 
water*  once  rose  pavilions,  palaces,  and  even  lofty 
pyiamids,  was  still,  though  divested  of  many  of  thf:se 
wonders,  a  'cene  of  in'erest  and  splendour  such  as  the 
whole  world  could  not  equal.  While  the  shores  still 
>parkled  v\iih  mansions  and  temples,  that  bore  testi- 
mony to  the  luxury  of  a  living  lace,  the  voice  of  ;i.e 
Fast,  speaking  out  of  unnumbered  ruins,  whose  sum- 
mits, liere  and  there,  rose  Idackly  above  the  wave,^ 
told  of  times  long  fled,  and  generations  long  swept 
away,  before  whose  giant  remains  all  the  glory  of  the 
pieseiit  stood  humbled.  Over  the  southern  bank  of 
the  Lake  hung  the  dark  relics  of  the  l-abvrinth  ;— its 
twelve  Royal  Palaces  representing  the  mansions  of 
the  Zodiac— ils  thundering  porlals3  and  constellated 
halls,  having  left  nothing  now  behind  but  a  few  frown- 
ing ruins,  which,  contrasted  with  the  soft  groves  of 
acacia  and  olive  around  them,  seemed  to  rebuke  the 
luxuriant  smiles  of  nature,  and  threw  a  melancholy 
gtandeur  over  the  whole  scene. 

The  effect?  of  the  air,  in  re-animating  the  young 
Prieste-s,  were  lei^s  speedy  than  I  had  expected;— 
her  eyes  were  still  closed,  and  she  remained  pale  and 
insensible.  Aiartned.  I  now  rested  her  head  (which 
had  been,  for  some  time,  supported  by  my  arm) 
against  the  base  of  one  of  the  columns,  with  niy  cloak 
for  Its  pillow,  while  I  hastened  to  procure  some  water 
from,  the  l^ake.  T  he  temple  stood  high,  and  the  de- 
scent to  the  shore  was  precipitous.  But,  my  Kpcu- 
rean  habits  having  but  little  intpaired  my  activity,  I 
soon  descended,  w^ith  the  lightness  of  a  desert  deer,  to 
the  bolloin.  Here,  plucking  from  a  lofty  beau-tree, 
whose  flowers  stood,  shining  like  gold,  above  the 
water,  one  of  those  large  hf>llowed  leaves  that  serve 
as  ci.ps4  for  the  Hebes  of  the  Nile,  I  filled  it  fiom 
the  Lake,  and  hurried  back  with  the  cool  draught 
towards  the  temple.     It  was  not,  however,  without 


>  The  position  here  given  to  Lake  Mceris,  in  mak- 
ing it  the  immediate  boundary  of  the  ci'y  of  Memphis 
to"the  south,  corresponds  exactly  with  the  site  as- 
signed to  it  by  Maiilet : —  "Memphis  avoit  encore  a 
son  midi  un  vaste  reservoir,  par  ou  tout  ce  qui  pent 
servira  la  cnmmodite  et  a  Tagrement  de  la  vie  lui 
etoit  voiture  abondamment  de  toutes  le^  parties  del' 
Egyp'e.  Ce  lac  qui  la  lerminuit  de  ce  cole-la,  &c. 
&c.— Tom.  ii.  p.  7. 

^  "  On  voit  sur  la  rive  orienfale  des  aniiquiles  qui 
Bonl  presque  entieremenl  sous  les  e3.ux."~Selzoiii. 

3  "  Quorundam  autem  domorum  fin  Labyrintho) 
talis  est  situs,  ut  adaperientibus  fores  tonitruum  intus 
teriibileexis'ai."-/*/iny. 

*  Strabo-  According  to  the  French  translator  of 
Stnbo.  it  was  liie  fruit  of  the  faba  ^^yptiaca,  not 
the  leaf,  that  was  used  for  this  purpose.  "  Le  ki6o- 
(1101',"  lie  says,  "devoit  s'enteiidre  de  la  capsule  ou 
fruit  de  ccite  plante,  dont  les  Kgypttens  se  servoient 
comme  d'un  vase,  imaginant  que  I'eau  du  Nil  y  deve- 
I  noitdelicieuse," 


4el 


THE    EPICUR  EAN. 


some  difTiciiK;  that  I  at  last  succeeded  in  bearing  my 
rustic  chalice  aieadily  up  the  sleep  ;  more  than  once 
did  an  unlucky  slip  uaste  all  its  coiiieots,  and  as  often 
did  I  reiuni  impatiently  to  rehll  it. 

During  this  liine,  the  young  maiden  was  fist  re- 
covering her  amrnalioii  and  con-ciousness  ;  and,  at 
(he  momeol  when  I  appeared  above  (he  edge  ot  ihe 
Bteep,  wa-i  just  rising  from  ihe  sieps,  with  her  hand 
pressed  to  her  foiehcad,  as  if  c-^nfubcdly  recalling  the 
recolleciiou  of  what  hadoccuiieJ.  Nu  s  oner  did 
she  obsei  ve  rue,  ihan  a  short  cry  ot  aUrni  bioke  from 
her  lips.  Looking  anxiously  lound,  as  thoi.gh  btie 
sought  for  protection,  and  lialf-audibly  uttering  Ihe 
words,  '■  Where  is  her'*  she  made  an  eflurl,  as  I 
approached,  to  retteat  into  the  temple. 

Already,  however,  I  was  by  her  side,  and  taking 
her  hand,  as  she  turned  away  fioin  me,  gently  in 
mine,  asked,  '■  Whom  dost  ihou  seek,  fair  Priestess  ?" 
—thus,  for  the  first  time,  Itreaking  the  silence  she  liad 
enjoined,  and  in  a  tone  thai  might  have  reassured 
the  most  timid  spirit.  But  my  uord»  had  no  effect 
in  calming  her  apprehension.  I'rembling,  and  with 
her  eyes  alill  averted  towards  the  Temple,  she  con- 
tinued in  a  voice  of  suppressed  alarm, — "  Where  can 
be  be?  — that  venerable  Alheuian,  that  philosopher, 
who     -— ^ 

*' flere,  here,"  I  exclaimed,  anxiously,  interrupting 
her  — "behold  hmi  still  by  -iiy  side— the  same,  the 
very  same,  who  saw  thee  steal  fnmi  under  Ihe  Veils 
of  the  banc  uary,  whom  ihou  hast  guided  by  a  clue 
through  those  labyrinths  below,  and  who  now  only 
waits  his  command  from  those  lips,  to  devote  himself 
through  lite  and  death  to  thy  service."  As  I  spoke 
these  words,  she  turned  slovvly  round,  and  looking 
timidly  in  my  face,  while  her  own  burned  wiih 
blushes,  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt  and  wonder,  ''Thou!" 
and  then  hid  her  eyes  in  her  hands. 

I  knew  not  how  to  in:eipret  a  reception  so  unex- 
pected. That  some  mistake  or  disappointment  had 
occurred  was  evident;  but  so  inexplicable  did  the 
whole  adventure  appear  to  me,  that  it  was  in  vain  to 
think  of  unravelling  any  pirt  of  it.  Weak  and 
agitated,  she  now  tottered  lo  the  steps  of  ihe  'i'emple, 
and  there  seating  herself,  with  her  forehead  against 
the  cold  marble,  seemed  for  some  moments  absoibed 
in  the  most  anxious  thought ;  while  silent  and  watch* 
ful  I  awaited  her  decision,  thoueih,  at  the  sirne  time, 
with  a  feeling  vvhich  the  result  proved  to  be  pru. 
phetic— that  my  des'iny  was,  from  thenceforth,  link- 
ed insepanbly  with  heis. 

The  inward  struggle  by  which  she  was  agitated, 
though  violent,  was  not  of  long  continuance.  Start- 
ing suddenly  from  her  seat,  wiih  a  louk  of  terror 
towards  the  Temple,  as  if  the  fear  of  immediate  pur- 
suit had  alone  decided  her,  she  pointed  eagerly 
towards  the  East,  and  exclaimed,  " 'I'o  the  Nile, 
wiihout  delay  I" — clasfiing  her  hands,  after  the  had 
thus  spoken,  with  the  most  suppliant  fervour,  a^  if  to 
soften  the  abruptness  of  the  inaiulate  she  had  given, 
and  appealing  lo  me  at  the  same  time,  with  a  look 
that  would  have  taught  Stoics  themselves  tender- 
ness. 

1  lost  not  a  moment  in  obeying  the  welcome  com- 
mand. With  a  thousand  wild  hopes  naturally  crowd- 
ing upon  my  fancy,  at  the  thoughts  of  a  voyage  under 
such  auspices,  I  de-ceiided  ra[>idly  to  the  shore,  and 
hailing  one  of  those  boats  that  ply  upon  the  Lake  for 
hire,  arranged  speedily  for  a  passage  down  the  canal 
to  the  Nile.  Having  learned,  too.  from  the  bnalmen, 
a  more  easy  path  up  the  rock,  I  hastened  back  to  the 
Temple  for  my  fair  charge;  and  wiihout  a  word  or 
look,  that  could  alarm,  even  bv  its  kindness,  or  dis- 
turb the  innocent  confidence  which  she  now  evident- 
ly reposed  in  me,  led  her  down  by  the  winding  path 
to  the  boat. 

Every  thing  around  looked  sunny  and  smiling  as 
we  embarked.  The  morning  uas  in  its  first  fresh- 
ness a"d  the  path  of  Ihe  breeze  might  clearly  be 
traced  over  the  Lake,  as  it  went  wakening  up  Ihe 
waters   from    their  sleep  of   the   night.     The  giy, 


golden-winged  birds  that  haunt  these  shores,  were^Iu 
every  direction,  skimming  aloi  g  the  Lake;  while, 
with  a  giaiei  consciousness  of  beauty,  the  swan  and 
the  peilcui  were  seen  dressing  their  white  plumage 
in  the  miiror  of  its  wave.  To  add  to  the  liveliness 
of  the  scene,  there  came,  at  tniervals,  on  ihe  bieeze, 
a  sueei  liiikling  of  muMc.il  instruments  from  bo-Us  at 
a  dis  aice,  employed  tfius  early  in  pursuing  the  fish 
of  these  waters,*  that  allow  themselves  to  be  decoved 
into  Ihe  nes  by  music. 

The  ves-el  1  had  selected  for  our  voyage  was  one  of 
those  suialt  pleasure-boats  or  ^acllts^ — so  niucli  in 
u-e  ..mong  ttie  luxurious  na\  ig'aiors  of  the  Nile- in 
the  centre  of  which  rises  a  pavilion  of  cedar  or 
c>  press  wood,  adorned  lichly  on  the  outside,  with 
religious  emblems,  and  gaily  fitted  up,  within,  for 
fe. sling  and  repose.  To  the  door  of  (his  pavilion  I 
now  led  my  companion,  and,  after  a  few  words  of 
kindness — tempered  cautiously  with  as  much  reserve 
as  the  deep  tenderness  of  mv  feeling  towaids  her 
would  admit  — left  her  to  court  that  restoring  rest, 
which  ihe  agitation  of  her  spirits  so  much  required. 

For  myself,  though  repose  v^as  hardly  less  neces- 
sary 10  me,  the  s  ate  of  ferment  in  which  I  had  been 
so  long  kept  appeared  to  render  it  hopeless.  Having 
thrown  myself  on  ihe  deck  of  the  vessel,  under  an 
awning  which  the  sailors  had  raised  for  me,  I  con- 
tinued, for  some  hours,  in  a  sort  of  vague  day-dream 
— sometimes  passing  In  review  the  scenes  of  that  sub- 
terranean drama,  and  sometimes,  with  my  eyes  fixed 
in  drowsy  vacancy,  receiving  pas>ively  the  impres- 
sions of  the  bright  scenery  Ihrougli  which  we 
passed. 

'1  he  banks  of  the  canal  were  then  luxuriantly 
woiided.  Under  the  tufts  of  the  light  and  towering 
palm  were  seen  the  orange  and  the  citron,  interlacing 
their  boughs;  while,  here  and  there,  huge  tamarisks 
thickened  the  shade,  and,  at  Ihe  very  edge  of  the 
bank,  the  willow  of  Rabylon  stiod  bending  ita  grace- 
ful branches  into  the  ualer.  Occasionally,  out  of  the 
depth  of  these  groves,  there  shone  a  small  temple  or 
pleasure-house  ;— while,  now  and  then,  an  opening  in 
their  line  of  f  diage  allowed  the  eye  to  wander  over 
extensive  fields,  all  covered  with  beds  of  those  pale, 
swi-et  roses,3  for  which  this  district  of  Egypt  is  so 
celebraieJ. 

The  activity  of  the  morning  hour  was  visible  in 
every  direction,  flights  of  doves  and  lapwings  were 
fluttering  among  the  leaves,  and  the  white  heron, 
which  had  been  roosting  all  night  in  some  date-tree, 
now  sood  sunning  its  wings  upon  the  green  bank,  or 
floated,  like  living  silver,  over  the  flood.  The 
flowers,  too,  both  of  land  and  water,  looked  all  just 
fleshly  awakened  J  — and,  most  of  all,  the  superb 
lotus,  which,  having  risen  along  with  the  sun  from 
the  wave,  was  now  holding  up  her  chalice  for  a  full 
draught  of  his  light. 

Such  were  the  scenes  that  now  successively  pre- 
sented themselves,  and  mingled  with  Ihe  vague 
reveiies  that  floated  through  my  mind,  as  our  boat, 
with  its  high,  capacious  sail,  swept  along  the  flood. 
Though  the  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days  could 
not  but  appear  to  me  one  continued  series  of  wonders, 
yet  by  far  the  greatest  marvel  of  all  was,  that  she, 
whose  first  look  had  sent  wild-fire  into  niy  heart  — 
whom  I  had  thought  of  ever  since  u  iih  a  restlessness 
of  passion,  that  would  have  d^red  all  danger  and 
wrong  to  obain  its  object  —  she  was  now  at  lliis  mo- 
ment resting  sacredly  within  that  pavilion,  while 
guarding  her,  even  from  myself,  I  lay  motionless  at 
its  threshold. 


>  Julian,  lib.  vi.  32. 

2  Called  Thalameges,  from  Ihe  pavilion  oa  the 
deck.     Vide  Strabo. 

3  As  April  is  the  season  for  gathering  these  roses 
(see  Malte-Brun's  EcoiiorAtcal  Caltnidar)^  Ihe  Epi- 
curean could  not,  of  course,  meau  to  say  that  he  saw 
them  actually  in  flower. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


465 


^ 


Meanwliile,  the  sun    h»d    reached    his  meridian 
height.     The  busy   hum   of  the  inort.ing   h:id   died 

f;r,.diially  away,  and  all  aroi  nd  "as  Aeepine;  in  the 
lot  slilhiess  of  nnoii.  The  Nile-pno-e.  haviiigr  folded 
up  her  splendid  \\in§s,  \^a^  lyiu^  mntionless  on  (he 
shadow  of  the  sycanlure^  in  the  water.  Even  the 
nimble  liZ'trds  upon  the  bank^  appealed  lo  move  less 
nimbtyf  as  the  lit;ht  fell  on  their  gold  and  azure  hues. 
Overcome  as  I  was  with  watching,  and  weary  wih 
thought,  it  wa<i  not  hm^  before  1  yielded  In  the 
becalming  intluence  of  tlie  hour.  Looking  fixedly  at 
the  pavilion —  as  if  once  more  to  assure  myself  thai  I 
was  in  no  dream  or  trance,  but  thai  the  young  Egyi»- 
tian  was  really  there  —  I  felt  my  eyes  close  as  I  gazed, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  sunk  into  a  profound  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

It  was  by  the  canal  Ihroush  which  we  now  saiJed,'^ 
that,  m  the  more  prosperous  d-ys  of  Memphis,  the 
conimerce  of  Upper  Eeypi  and  Nubia  was  transported 
to  her  magniticent  Lake,  and  from  Ihence,  liavini;  paid 
tribute  to  the  queen  of  ciiies,  was  poured  forth  again, 
through  the  Nile,  into  the  ocean.  The  enure  of  this 
canal  lo  the  river  was  not  direct,  but  ascending  in  a 
soutli-eastcrly  direction  low.irds  the  Said;  and  in 
calms,  or  with  adverse  winds,  the  pass  'ge  was  ledious. 
But  as  the  breeze  was  now  blowing  freshly  from  the 
north,  there  was  every  prospect  of  our  reaching  the 
river  before  nightfall.  Rapidly,  too,  as  our  g;.lley 
swept  along  the  Hood,  its  motifn  was  -^o  ^maolh  as  to 
be  hardly  fell ;  and  the  quiet  gurgle  uf  the  waters  and 
the  drousy  song  of  the  boatman  at  the  prow,  were 
the  only  sounds  Iha' disturbed  ihe  deep  silence  which 
prevailed. 

The  sun,  indeed,  hid  nearly  sunk  beliind  Ihe  Libyan 
hills,  before  the  slet  p,  intn  which  these  sounds  had 
contributed  to  lull  nie,  uas  broken;  and  the  hr  t 
object  on  which  my  eyes  res'ed,  in  waking,  was  that 
fair  young  Triestess —  seated  within  a  porch  which 
shaded  the  door  of  the  pavilion,  and  bending  intently 
over  a  small  vlume  thai  lay  unrolled  on  her  lip. 

Her  fnce  was  but  half-Iumed  towards  me;  and  as 
slie,  once  or  iwice,  raided  her  eyes  to  the  warm  sky, 
"h<ise  light  fell,  softened  through  the  trellis,  over  her 
chet-k,  1  found  all  those  feelinss  of  reverence,  which 
she  had  inspired  me  with  in  the  chapel,  return.  There 
was  even  a  puterand  holier  charm  around  her  coun- 
tenance, thus  seen  by  Ihe  natu  al  ligh'  of  day,  than  in 
those  dim  and  unhallowed  regions  below,  'she  uas 
now  lookiue,  loo,  direct  to  Ihe  glorious  sky.  and  her 
pure  eyes  and  that  heaven,  so  worthy  of  each  other, 
met. 

After  contemplating  her  for  a  few  momenls,  with 
little  less  than  adoration,  1  rose  gently  from  my  rest- 
ing-place, and  approached  the  pavilion.  Rut  the 
mere  movement  had  startled  her  (mm  her  devotion, 
and,  blu'hing  and  confused,  she  covered  the  volume 
wi  h  the  folds  of  her  robe. 

In  Ihe  art  of  winning  upon  female  confidence,  I  had 
long,  of  course,  been  schooled  ;  and.  now  that  to  the 
lessons  of  gallantry  the  inspiration  of  love  was  added, 
my  ambitmn  to  please  and  to  in'eiest  cnuld  hardly 
fail,  It  mav  be  supposed,  of  success.  I  soon  found, 
h'lwever,  how  much  less  fluent  is  the  heart  than 
the  fancv-j  and  how  very  ditferent  may  be  ihe  ope- 
rations of  making  love  and  feeling  it.  In  the  few 
words  of  Kteeting  now  exchanged  between  us,  it  was 
evident  that  llie  gay,  the  enle<prising  Eprcure^n  was 
little  lea.  en.ba^las^ed  than  the  secluded  Priestess:  — 
and,  after  one  or  two  inefiVc'ual  eflbrts  to  converse, 


the  eyes  of  both   turned  bashfully    awsy,  and    we 

relapsed  into  silence. 

From  thissituation  — the  result  of  tmiidity  on  ODe 
side,  and  of  a  feeling  alo^ether  new,  on  the  other— 
we  were,  at  lenuth,  relieved,  after  an  inlc-rv..!  of 
estrangement,  by  the  b  aimen  annoi.ucing  thit  thfl 
Nile  was  in  sight.  The  counfenance  of  the  young 
Egyptian  brightened  at  this  inrelligence ;  and  the 
smile  with  which  I  coni^ratulated  her  upon  Ihe  speed 
of  our  voyage  was  responded  lo  by  another  from  her, 
so  full  of  gratitude,  that  already  an  instinctive  sym- 
pathy seemed  eslabli>hed  between  us. 

We  weie  now  on  the  point  of  entering  that  sacred 
river,  of  whose  sweet  waters  the  exile  drinks  in  his 
dreims— for  a  draught  of  whose  flfod  the  royal  daugh- 
ters of  the  Piolemies,3  when  far  away,  on  foreigc 
thr-  nes,  have  been  known  to  sigh  in  ihe  midst  of  their 
splendour.  As  our  boat,  with  slackened  sail,  was 
gliding  into  the  current  an  inquiry  from  ilie  boatmen, 
whether  they  ^hou!d  anchor  for  the  nifjht  in  the  Nile, 
fi^st  reminded  me  of  the  ignorance  in  which  I  still 
remained,  with  ^e^pecI  lo  the  motive  or  destination  of 
ourvoy;ige.  Embanassed  by  their  question,  I  direced 
my  eyes  towards  Ihe  Priestess,  whom  I  saw  wailing 
for  my  answer  with  a  look  of  anxitty,  which  this  silent 
reference  lo  her  wi>hes  al  once  dispelled.  Unfolding 
eagerly  the  volume  with  which  1  lad  seen  her  so 
much  occupied,  she  lo  k  from  between  its  folds  a 
smalt  leaf  of  papyrus,  on  which  there  appeared  to  be 
fome  faint  lines  of  drawing,  and  after  looking  upon  it 
thouiihtfuUy  for  a  few  moments,  placed  it,  with  an 
agitated  hand,  in  mine. 

In  ihe  mean  lime,  Ihe  boatmen  liad  taken  in  their 
sail,  and  the  y;»chl  dro\e  slowly  down  the  river  with 
the  current,  while,  by  a  light  which  had  been  kin- 
dled al  sunset  on  the  deck,  1  stood  examining  Ihe  leaf 
Ihit  the  Priestess  hid  given  me— her  dark  eyes  fixed 
anxiously  on  mv  countenance  all  the  while.  The 
lines  tared  upon  Ihe  papyrus  were  so  faint  as  to  be 
almost  invisible,  and  I  was  for  sonie  time  wholly  un- 
able to  form  a  ci>njecture  as  to  their  imiiort.  At 
length,  however,  I  succeeded  in  making  our  that  they 
were  a  sort  of  map,  or  outlines  —  traced  slightly  and 
unsteadily  wiih  a  Menipliian  reed  —  of  a  part  of  that 
mountainous  ridge  by  which  Upper  Egypt  is  bounded 
to  the  east,  together  with  the  names,  or  rather  em- 
blems, of  the  chief  towns  in  its  immediate  neighbour- 
hood. 

It  was  thither,  I  now  saw  clearly,  that  Ihe  young 
Priestess  wished  to  pursue  her  couise.  Without  fur- 
ther delay,  Iherefore,  I  ordered  the  boatmen  to  set  our 
yacht  before  the  wind,  and  ascend  the  current.  My 
comniaiid  was  prnni|)ily  obeyed  :  the  white  sail  again 
rose  into  Ihe  region  of  the  breeze,  and  the  satisfac'ion 
thai  beamed  in  every  feature  of  the  fair  Egyptian 
showed  th.it  Ihe  quickness  with  which  I  had  aifended 
to  her  wishes  was  not  unfell  by  her.  'J  he  moon  had 
now  risen;  and  though  the  current  was  against  us, 
the  Etesian  wind  of  the  season  blew  strongly  up  the 
river,  and  we  were  soon  floating  before  it,  through 
the  rich  plain-  and  groves  of  the  Said. 

The  love  with  w  hich  this  simple  girl  had  inspired 
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 
"hi  felt  the  na'ural  buoyancy  of  my  s| " 


ised. 


the 


I  leit  the  na'ural  Imovancy  ot  my  s|urit  re- 

Tlie  few  words  ihat  had  passed  betyveen  us 

Libject  of  our  route  had  somewhat  loosened 


-  -I. or  VI  lazur  oriiieni  en  bandes  longitudinales 
surieur  corps  entier,  et  l,;ur  queue  est  du  plus  beau 
bleu  celes'e."— 5o»ini7n, 

a"Un  Canal.*' says  Maillet,  **tre8  pr  fond  et  trea 
!;.rge  y  voituroit  les  eaux  du  Nil." 


3  *'  Anciennement  on  portoit  les  eaux  du  Nil  jusqu'a 
des  contrees  fort  ehngnees,  el  surloul  chez  les  prin- 
cesses d>i  sangde>  Piolomees,  niariees  dansdes  families 
etrangeres,"— /)c  Pauw. 

The  water  thus  conveyed  to  other  lands  was,  as  we 
may  collect  from  Juvenal,  chiefly  intended  for  th<;  use 
of  ihe  Teniple  of  Isis,  established  in  those  couuili»8. 
Si  Candida  jusserit  In, 
Ibit  ad  Aegypli  flnem,  ralidtujue  pelitas 
A  Mcrof  [loiliibit  nquas,  ut  siturga'  in  nede 
Iiiidis,  antiquu  quau  proxima  surt;it  ovili. 


41 « 


486 


THE    EPICUREAN 


this  Spell ;  and  what  I  wanted  of  vivacity  and  confi- 
dence was  more  than  cnrnpeusaled  by  llie  tone  of  deep 
sensibility  which  love  had  awakened  in  their  place. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far  before  the  glitterine;  of 
lights  at  a  distance,  and  the  shooting  up  ot  fireworks, 
at  intervals,  into  the  air,  apprized  us  that  we  were 
then  approaching  one  of  th'&e  night-fairs,  or  in;trls, 
which  it  IS  the  custom,  at  this  season,  to  hold  upon  the 
Nile.  To  me  itie  scene  was  familiar;  but  to  my 
young  C(im|)atiifin  it  was  evidently  a  new  woild  ;  and 
the  mixiure  of  alaim  and  delight  wi...  which  she 
gazed,  troni  under  her  veil,  upnn  the  busy  scene  into 
which  we  now  sailed,  gave  an  air  of  innncence  lo  her 
beauty,  which  slill  moie  heigh'ened  its  every  charm. 

It  was  one  of  the  widest  parts  of  Ihe  river';  and  the 
whole  suiface,  from  one  bank  to  Ihe  other,  was 
coveied  with  boais.  Along  the  banks  of  a  green 
island,  in  the  middle  of  Ihe  slie.m.  Jay  anchored  tlie 
galleys  of  ihe  priiici])al  traders— larj^e  flfta'ing  bazars, 
bearing  each  ihe  name  of  its  owner,i  emblazoned  in 
letters  of  flame,  up"n  tl.e  stern.  Over  their  decks 
weie  spread  out,  in  gay  coiifusi<in,  the  products  of  ihe 
loom  and  needie  ot  Egvpt— rich  caipets  of  Memphis, 
atid  likewise  those  varieeiaied  veils,  for  which  ilie 
femde  embroiderers  «f  the"^Nile  are  so  celebialed,  and 
to  which  the  name  of  Clenpatra  lends  a  Iradilional 
charm.  In  each  of  the  other  galleys  was  exhibited 
some  branch  of  Egyptian  worknianship — vases  of  Ihe 
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  br.icelels  of  the  black  beans  of 
Abyssinia.3 

While  Commerce  was  thus  displaying  her  various 
luxuries  in  one  quarter,  in  evf-ry  other,  Ihe  spirit  of 
pleasure,  in  all  its  countless  sh.pcs,  swarmed  over  the 
waters.  Nr^r  was  the  feslivi'y  conlined  lo  ihe  river 
alone;  as  along  the  banks  of  the  island  and  on  ihe 
shores,  illuminated  mansions  were  seen  glittering 
througli  the  trees,  from  whence  sounds  of  music  and 
niernment  came.  In  some  of  Ihe  b(.as  were  bands  of 
minstrels,  who.  from  lime  to  time,  answered  each 
other,  like  echoes,  across  the  wave;  and  Ihe  u'ltes 
of  the  lyre,  (he  Hageolet,  and  Ihe  sweet  lolus-wood 
fluie,*  were  tieard,  in  the  pau-ses  of  revelry,  dying 
along  the  waters. 

Meanvvhile,  fiom  o  her  boals  stationed  in  Ihe  least 
li-hied  places,  Ihe  workers  of  fire  sent  ff-rth  their 
wonders  into  the  air.  Hurstiiig  out  suddenly  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  in  the  very  exuberance  of  joy,  Ihese 
sallies  of  flame  appeared  lo  reach  the  sky,  and  there, 
breaking  into  a  shower  of  sparkles,  shed  such  a  spleii- 


<■  "  Lp  nom  du  maitre  y  etoit  ecrit,  pendant  la  null, 
en  lettres  de  feu.'' — Maillct. 

*  Called  Alassontes,  Fpr  their  brittleness  Martial 
is  an  authority:  — 

ToMe,  puer,  caiicen.  tepidique  toreumata  Nili, 
Et  mthi  Kt-cura  piK-ula  trade  nmnu. 

•'  Sans  parler  ici  des  coupes  d'un  verre  porta  jusqu'a 
la  purele  du  crystal,  ni  de  celles  qu'on  ap[ielloi't  Alas- 
sonles,  et  qu'on  suppose  avoir  represenfe  des  figures 
dont  les  couleurs  changeoient  suivant  1 'aspect  s-^us 
lequel  on  les  regardoit,  a  peu  pres  conime  ce  qu'on 
ncninie  vulgairement  Goj'ge  de  pigeon,^*  kc.  —  JDe 
Pauw. 

3  The  bean  of  Ihe  Glycyne,  which  is  so  beautiful  as 
to  be  slruns  into  necklaces  and  bracelets  is  generally 
known  by  the  name  of  Ihe  black  bean  of  Abyssinia.— 
Niehuhr. 

4  See  M.  l^illoteaxi  oti  the  musical  instruments  of 
the  E^ilftians. 

t  SoHnus  speaks  of  ihe  snowy  summit  of  Mount 
Atlas  gliitering  «i'h  flames  at  night.  In  the  account 
of  Ihe  reripliis  of  Hanno,  as  v\ell  as  in  that  of  Eu- 
doxus,  we  read  Ihat  as  those  navtgalors  were  coasting 
this  par'  of  Africa,  toneuts  of  light  were  seen  to  fall 
on  the  sea. 


dour  around,  as  brightened  even  the  white  Arabian 
hills— making  Ihenj  shine  as  doth  Ihe  brow  of  Mount 
Atlas  a(  n)t;ht,&  when  the  fiie  from  his  own  bosom  is 
playing  nrnund  its  snows. 

'1  he  opportuni  y  this  mart  afforded  us,  of  providing 
our-elves  ui  h  some  less  rcmaik.<ble  liabiliments  than 
those  in  which  we  had  escaped  from  that  nelher 
world,  wa^  too  seasonable  not  to  be  gladly  taken  ad- 
vantage of  by  both  for  myself,  the  strange  mystic 
earb  uhich  1  wore  was  suthciently  concealed  by  my 
Grecian  manlle,  which  I  had  fortunately  thrown 
round  me  on  Ihe  night  of  my  wa  ch.  Bui  the  thin 
veil  of  my  companion  was  a  far  less  efficient  disguise. 
She  had,  n  deed,  flung  av/ay  the  golden  beetles  from 
her  l,3ir ;  hut  the  sacred  robe  of  her  order  was  siill  loo 
visible,  ^"iid  the  slai-s  of  the  bandelet  shone  brighily 
thmn-hht-rveil. 

Most  gl.idly,  therefore,  did  she  avail  her-elf  of  this 
opp(>rtunity  of  a  change  ;  and,  as  she  look  from  out  a 
ca^-kel— uhich,  »iih  the  volume  I  had  seen  her  read- 
iiig.  .'ippeared  to  be  her  only  treasure— a  small  jewel, 
lo  give  in  exchange  for  Ihe  simple  garments  she  had 
cliosen,  there  fell  out,  at  the  same  'inie,  the  verycioss 
of  silver  which  1  had  seen  her  kiss,  -s  niay  be  remem- 
bered, in  Ihe  monumeiiial  chapel,  and  which  was 
aflerv^ards  jiressed  to  my  own  tips.  This  link  be- 
tween us  (for  such  it  now  appealed  lo  my  inia^^iiia- 
lion)  called  up  again  in  niy  lieart  alt  the  burning 
feelings  of  ihit  moment;  and,  had  1  not  :ibrupily 
turned  away,  myagilalion  would  have  but  too  plainly 
betrayed  itself. 

The  objeci,  for  which  we  had  delayed  in  this  gay 
scene,  having  been  accomplished,  the  >i.iil  vvas  again 
spread,  and  we  proceeded  on  our  course  up  the  river. 
The  sounds  and  the  lights  we  left  behind  died 
gradually  auay,  and  we  now  floated  along  in  Dioon- 
liihi  and  silence  once  more.  Sweet  dews,  worthy  of 
|pei;ig  c.illed  '■  the  tears  of  Isis,"  6  fell  refreshingly 
through  ihe  air.  and  every  plant  and  flower  sent  its 
fragrance  to  meet  them.  The  wind,  just  strong 
eiu'ueti  to  bear  us  smonihly  against  the  current,  scarce 
siirred  Ihe  shadow  of  Ihe  tam;iii&ks  on  the  waier. 
As  Ihe  inhibilans  fmni  all  quarters  were  collected  at 
the  nitiht  fair,  the  Nile  was  more  than  usually  slill 
and  snliiary.  Such  a  siJence,  indeed,  prev.4iled,  that, 
as  we  glided  near  the  shore,  we  could  hear  the  rust- 
ling of  ihe  acacias,'!  as  Ihe  chameleons  lan  up  their 
slenis.  it  was,  allngelher,  such  a  nitiht  as  only  Ihe 
climite  of  Ksypt  can  boast,  when  Ihe  whole  scene 
around  lies  lulled  in  that  sort  of  bright  tranquillity, 
which  may  he  jnugined  to  light  Ihe  slumbers  of  those 
happy  s[iiriis,  who  are  said  to  tesi  in  the  Valley  of 
Ihe  Moon, 8  on  their  way  lo  heaven. 

By  such  a  light,  and  at  such  an  hour,  seated,  side 
by  side,  on  the  deck  nf  that  bark,  did  we  jjursue  our 
course  up  the  lonely  Nile  — each  a  mystery  to  Ihe 
other  —  our  thoughts,  our  objects, ^lur  very  names  a 
secret ;  — separated,  too,  till  now,  by  destinies  so  dif- 
ferent;  the  one.  a  gay  vfdupluary  of  the  Garden  of 
Alliens,  Ihe  other,  a  secluded  Priestess  of  the  Tem- 
ples of  Memphis  ;— and  Ihe  only  relation  yet  eslablish- 
eJ  between  us  being  that  dangerous  one  of  love,  j>aa- 
sionate  love,  on  one  side,  and  Ihe  most  feminine  and 
confiding  defiendence  en  the  olher. 

'Ihe  pasfMig  adventure  of  ttie  night-fair  had  not 
only  dispelled  a  little  our  mutual  reserve,  but  had 
luckily  furnished  us  with  a  subject  on  wtiich  we 
could  converse  without  embarrassment.  From  this 
topic  I  took  care  to  lead  her,  without  any  interrup- 


G  "  Per  lacrymas,  vero,  Isidis  intelligo  efllnvia 
qujedaoi  l.ui  ai,  quibus  taiiTam  vim  videnlur  tribuisse 
^gypli  "  JaLlv7tski.—  iie  is  of  opinion  that  the 
supeisli  ion  of  ihe  Nucta,  or  miraculous  drop  is  a 
rehc  of  the  veneration  paid  to  the  dews,  as  the  tears 
of  Isis. 

1  Travels  of  Cnptai7i  Mangles, 

«  Plutarch.  Dupuisy  torn.  x.  The  Mmiclioain 
held  Ihe  same  belief.    See  Beausobrey  p,  565. 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


487 


tinn,  to  o'hers  — being  fearful  lest  our  former  silence 
should  reluin,  and  the  music  of  her  voice  a^aiii  be 
Inst  to  me.  It  was  only,  indeed,  by  thus  indiiectly 
unburdening  my  he.irl  tlial  I  was  en.ibltd  to  av'  id  the 
disclosuicoV  alt  I  thoiieht  ai.d  felt;  and  the  leslless 
r.?[.iJity  with  which  1  tlew  from  subject  to  subject 
was  but  an  eifurt  to  escape  from  the  only  one  iu 
which  mv  heart  was  re:\IIy  n.terested. 

'*  How'bnght  and  happy,"  asid  I — pointine:  up  to 
Snlhis,  the  (aW  Star  of  the  \Vater?,i  v\hich  was  jusi 
then  shining  brilliiiifly  over  our  head'—"  How  bright 
and  happy  this  world  ought  to  be,  if.  as  your  Kgyp- 
tian  sases  assert,  ynn  pure  and  beautiful  luminary 
was  its  bTthstarl**  'Ihen,  t'till  leaning  back,  and 
letting  my  eyes  wander  over  the  firmament,  as  if 
seeking  to  di>engage  iheni  from  the  fascina'i-n  which 
they  dretded  —  "  To  the  study,"  I  exclaimed,  "for 
ages,  if  skies  like  this,  may  the  pensive  and  mystic  t 
character  of  your  na  ion  be  traced.  That  mixture  of  i 
pride  and  me. ancholy  which  na'ur^lly  arisen,  at  the 
sight  of  those  eietnal  liahts  shining  nut  of  darkness  ; — 
that  sublime,  but  8>ddened,  anticipati-in  of  .t  Future, 
which  steals  iometimes  over  the  soul  in  the  silence  of 
sncli  ati  t)Our,  when,  though  Death  appears  to  reign  in 
the  deep  stillness  of  earth,  there  are  jet  those  beacons 
of  Immortality  burning  in  the  ^ky." 

Pausing,  as  I  ut'ered  the  word  "  immortality/'  with 
a  sigh  to  think  how  liMle  my  heirt  echoed  to  my  lips, 
I  In-ked  in  the  face  <)f  my  c  nipanion,  and  saw  (hat  it 
had  lighted  up,  as  I  spoke,  inio  a  glow  of  holy  anima- 
tion, such  .18  Faith  alone  gives;— such  as  Hnpe  herself 
wears,  when  she  is  dreaming  of  heaven.  Tnucheri  bv 
the  cntrast,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  niournful 
tenderntss,  I  lound  my  arnl^  half  npened,  to  clasp  her 
to  my  heart,  while  the  words  died  away  inaudibly 
upon  my  lips. — "Thou,  too,  beautiful  maiden  I  must 
ihou,  loo. die  for  ever?'' 

My  self-command,  I  felt,  hid  neitly  deserted  me. 
Rising  abruptly  fri>m  my  seat,  I  walked  to  the  middle 
of  the  deck,  and  stood,  fnr  sonie  moments,  uncnn- 
sciously  gazing  upon  one  of  ttiose  fires,  which  —  ac- 
cnr.liiig  to  the  cus'om  of  all  wh  .  travel  by  night  on 
the  Nile— our  boa  men  had  kindled,  lo  -care  away  the 
crocodile^  from  the  vessel.  Hut  it  w?s  rn  vain  that  I 
endeavoured  lo  cmpose  my  spirit.  Every  ellort  I 
mule  but  more  deeply  convinced  me,  that,  till  the 
my>tery  which  hung  round  tliat  m.-iiden  should  be 
«olved  — till  ihe  secret,  with  which  my  own  bosom 
Ubovired,  should  be  disclo-ed — it  was  fruitless  to  at- 
tempt even  a  semblance  of  ttanqulllity. 

My  resolutinn  w.is  therefore  taken; — to  lay  open, 
at  once,  the  feelings  cf  niv  own  he.irt,  as  far  '■•s  ^uch 
revealment  might  be  tiazirded.  wiihout  startling  the 
timid  innocence  of  my  comp-inioii.  'ihus  resolved,  1 
resumed  my  sear,  wiih  more  composure,  by  her  side, 
and  taking  from  n<y  b.>snni  the  small  minor  which 
she  had  dropped  in  the  Temple,  and  which  I  had  ever 
since  worn  suspended  round  my  neck,  presented  it 
with  a  trembling  hand  to  her  view.  'I  he  boatmen 
had  just  kindled  one  of  their  night-fires  ne:*r  us,  and 
its  lieht,  as  she  leaned  forw.trd  to  look  at  the  mirror, 
fell  upon  her  face. 

The  quick  blush  of  surprise  with  which  she  recog. 
Dised  it  to  be  hers,  and  her  lonk  of  bashful  yet  eager 
irquiry,  in  raising  her  eyes  to  mine,  were  appeals  to 
which  I  was  not,  nf  course,  tardy  in  answering.  Be- 
ginning with  ibe  first  momeni  when  I  saw  her  in  the 
Temple,  and  passing  haslilv,  but  with  words  (hai 
burned  as  they  went,  over  the  impression  which  >he 
h.id  then  left  upon  my  he.irl  and  f-mcy,  I  proceeded  lo 
describe  ti.e  parricnlirs  of  mv  de-cent  inio  rhe  pyra- 
mid —  my  suipiise  and  adf>ration  at  the  dnor  <if  the 
chipel— my  encounter  with  ihe  Trials  of  Iniliatinn,  so 
mysteriously  j.repared  for  me,  and  all  the  \arious 
visionary  wonders  I  had  witnessed  in  that  legion,  till 


''II  Ewflcwj  avoTO>»j   y£Vta-Ew^  Karap^'ot'cra 
I  ^^S  ftJ  Tov  KOtrfiov.     Por%hyr.  tie  AiHro  Nymph. 


the  moment  when  I  had  seen  her  stealing  from  under 

the  Veils  to  approach  me. 

Though,  in  detailing  these  everts,  I  had  said  but 
little  ot  the  feelings  they  had  awakened  in  me — 
though  mv  lips  had  sent  b.tck  many  a  sentence,  un- 
uttered,  there  was  still  enough  thai  could  neither  be 
subdued  or  disguised,  and  which,  like  that  light  from 
under  the  veils  of  her  own  Isis,  glow  ed  Ihrjugh  every 
word  that  I  spoke.  When  I  told  of  the  scene  in  the 
cha]  el— of  the  silent  interview  which  I  had  witnesed 
between  the  dead  and  the  living—  the  maiden  leaned 
down  her  head  and  wepf,  as  from  a  heart  full  of  tears. 
It  seemed  a  pleasure  to  her,  however,  to  listen  ;  and, 
when  >he  looked  al  me  again,  there  was  an  earnest 
and  affectionate  cordiality  in  her  eyes,  as  if  the 
knowledge  of  my  having  bien  present  al  ihat  mourn- 
ful tcene  had  opensd  a  new  source  of  sympathy  and 
intelligence  betw-een  us.  So  neighbouring  are  the 
fountains  of  Love  and  of  Sorrow,  and  so  impercepti- 
bly do  Ihey  often  mingle  their  s'reams. 

Little,  indeed,  as  I  was  guided  by  art  or  design,  in 
ny  manner  and  conduct  towards  this  innocent  girl, 
ot  all  the  most  experienced  gallatitry  of  the  Garden 
could  have  dictated  a  policy  half  so  seductive  as  that 
v^hich  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  liKle 
prepared  for  it,  being  now  checked  and  softened  by 
the  timidi'y  of  real  love,  won  i!s  way  without  alarm, 
and,  when  most  dilTident  of  success,  was  then  most 
surely  on  its  way  to  triumph.  Like  one  whose  slum- 
bers are  gradually  broken  by  sweet  mus'c,  the  miid- 
en's  heart  was  awakened  without  being  disturbed. 
She  followed  the  course  of  the  charni,  unconscious 
wlither  il  led,  nor  was  even  aware  of  Ihe  flanie  she 
had  lighted  in  another's  bosnm,  till  startled  by  the 
redection  of  it  glimmering  in  her  own. 

Impatient  as  1  was  to  appeal  to  her  generosity  and 
sympathy,  for  a  similar  jiroof  of  conhdence  to  Ihat 
which  I  had  just  given,  Ihe  night  was  now  too  far 
advanced  for  me  lo  impose  upon  her  such  a  task. 
After  exch  .nging  a  few  words,  iu  which,  though  little 
met  the  ear,  there  wa^,  on  both  sides,  a  tone  and  man- 
ner that  spoke  far  more  than  language,  we  took  a  lin- 
gering leave  of  each  other  for  the  night,  with  every 
prospect,  1  fondly  hoped,  <tf  being  still  together  io  our 
dreams. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

It  was  so  near  the  dawn  of  day  when  we  parted, 
that  we  found  the  sun  sinking  westward  when  we  re- 
joined each  other.  Ihe  smile,  so  frankly  cordial, 
with  which  she  met  me.  might  have  been  taken  for 
Ihe  greeting  of  a  long-mellowed  fricndshif,  d  d  not 
the  blush  and  the  cast-down  eyelid  that  fnlbwed  he- 
trav  svmptoms  of  a  feeling  newer  and  less  calm.  For 
myself,  Iiglitened  as  I  w.is,  in  some  degree,  by  the 
avowal  which  I  had  made,  I  was  yet  t(»o  conscious  of 
the  new  aspect  thus  given  lo  our  intercourse,  not  to 
feel  some  little  alarm  al  the  prospect  of  returning  lo 
the  theme.  We  were  boih,  therefore,  alike  willing 
to  allow  our  aiten'ion  to  bu  diver  ed,  by  the  variety  of 
strange  objects  that  presented  themselves  on  the  way, 
froniasnl-iectthatevidently  both  were  alike  unwilling 
to  appr  ach. 

'I  he  liver  was  now  all  stirring  with  comnicrce  and 
life.  Every  insl.int  we  met  willi  bo.ts  descending  Ihe 
curtent,  so  wholly  independent  of  aid  from  sail  or  oar, 
that  the  mariners  s.t  idly  on  the  deck  as  they  shot 
along,  eiiher  ein^ing  or  playing  upon  their  donble- 
reedeJ  pipts.  The  greattr  nun.ber  of  these  lnJal^ 
came  laden  with  thoi^e  large  emeralds,  from  »he  mine 
in  the  desert,  w  hose  colours,  it  is  said,  are  brightest  at 
the  full  of  the  inoo»;  while  some  brought  cargoes  of 
frankincense  from  the  acacia  groves  near  the  Red  Sea. 
Oh  the  decks  of  others,  that  had  been,  as  we  learned, 


488 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


to  the  Golden  Mountainst  beyond  Syene,  were  heaped 
blocks  and  fra-^nieiits  of  that  sweet-smelling  wo.  d,2 
which  is  yearly  w.tshed  dmvn,  by  the  Greeu  Nile  of 
Wubia,  at  the  se.ison  of  the  floods. 

Uur  companions  up  Ihe  stream  were  far  lesa  nu- 
merous. Occabionallya  bnat,  returning  lightened  from 
the  fair  of  last  night,  shot  r.ipi<1Iy  past  us,  wiih  those 
high  sails  that  catch  every  breeze  from  over  tlie 
hill3  ; — while,  now  and  then,  we  overtook  one  of  ihose 
barges  full  uf  bees,3  'hat  are  sent  al  Ihis  season  to 
colonise  the  gardens  of  the  south,  and  take  advan'age 
of  the  lirst  flowers  after  the  inunda  ion  h.^s  passed 
away. 

For  a  short  time,  this  constant  variety  of  objects 
enabled  us  to  divert  so  far  our  conversaion  as  to  keep 
it  from  lighing  upon  the  one,  Si-le  subject,  round 
wl  ich  It  consianily  hovered.  But  the  effod,  as  might 
be  expected,  was  not  long  sucotsful.  As  evening  ad- 
vaQceti,  the  whole  scene  became  more  solitary.  We 
less  frequently  ventured  to  lonk  upon  each  other,  and 
our  intervals  uf  silence  grew  more  long. 

It  "as  near  suu>et,  wtien,  in  passing  a  *irrall  temple 
on  the  shore,  whose  porticoes  were  now  full  of  Ihe 
evening  ligh',  we  taw  issuing  from  a  thicket  of  acan- 
thus  tie^rit^a  train  of  young  maidens  gracefully  linked 
togeiher  in  the  dance  by  stems  of  the  lotus'held  at 
arms'  lengih  between  them.  Their  tresse?  were  also 
wreathed  with  this  gay  emblem  of  the  season,  and  in 
such  profusion  were  its  white  flowers  twilled  around 
their  waists  and  arms, 4  ihat  they  mit;ht  have  been 
taken,  as  they  lightly  bounded  along  Ihe  buik,  tor 
Nymphs  of  the  Nile,  then  freshly  risen  from  their 
bright  gardens  under  the  wave. 

After  looking  for  a  few  minutes  at  this  sacred 
dance,  the  maiden  turned  aw.iy  her  eyes,  wi1h  a  lonk 
of  pain,  as  if  the  remenibrances  it  recalled  were  of  no 
welcome  nature.  'I  his  momentary  retrospect,  this 
gliritpse  inlo  the  past,  appeared  lo  olFer  a  sort  of  clue 
to  the  secret  for  which  1  panted; — and  accordingly,  1 
proceeded,  as  gradually  and  delicately  as  my  impa- 
tience would  allow,  to  avail  myself  of  the  opening. 
Her  own  frankness,  however,  relieved  me  from  the 
embarrassment  of  much  quesimning.  She  appeared 
even  to  feel  that  the  conlidence  I  sought  was  ilue  to 
nie;  and  beyond  the  natural  hesitation  of  maidenly 
modesty,  not  a  shade  of  reserve  or  evasion  api  eared. 

To  attempt  to  repeat,  in  her  own  inucliing  words, 
Ihe  simple  ^tory  which  she  now  related  to  me.  would 
he  like  endeavouring  lo  note  down  some  unpremedi- 
tated strain  of  music,  « ith  all  those  fugitive  graces, 
those  felicities  of  the  moment,  which  no  art  can  re- 
store, as  they  first  met  the  ear.  From  a  feeling,  too, 
of  humility,  she  had  omitted  in  her  short  nairauve, 
several  particulars  relating  to  herself,  which  I  afier- 
wards  le:irned  ;— while  others,  not  less  importanl,  she 
but  slightly  passed  over,  from  a  fearot  ottending  Ihe 
prejudices  of  her  heaihen  hearer. 

1  shall,  therefore, give  her  sioty,  not  as  she,  herself, 
sketched  it,  but  as  it  was  afteiwards  filled  up  by  a 
pious  and  venerable  hand  — far,  far  more  worthy  than 
mine  of  being  associated  with  Ihe  mcDiory  of  such 
purity. 

STORY    OF    ALETHE. 

"The  mother  of  this  maiden  was  the  beautiful 
Theora  of  Alexandria,  who,  though  a  native  of  that 


t  Vide  Vilford  on  Egypt  and  ihe  Nile^  Asialic 
Researches. 

»  *'A  Pepoque  de  la  crue  de  Nil  Vert  charie  les 
planches  d'un  bnis  qui  a  une  odeur  semblable  a  celle 
de  I'eiiceiis  " — QuatrGmtre. 

3  Maillet. 

*  "On  les  voit  commejadis  cueillirdans  les  champB 
des  tigesdu  lnlu«,  siiines  du  dehoi  dement  et  presages 
de  I'abondance  ;  ils  s*eiivel!oppent  le^  bras  et  le  corps  ! 
avec  les  longues  tiges  (leuiies.  et  parcnurent  les  rues,"  , 
&c.  De^oiftioii  des  Tombcaux  dcs  Hois,  par  M. 
Costaz. 


city,  was  descended  from  Grecian  parent*.  Whec 
very  young.  I  heora  was  one  of  the  seven  maidens 
selected  to  note  down  the  discnurses  of  the  eloquent 
Urigen,  who,  at  that  period,  presided  over  l^e  Schcol 
of  Alexandria,  and  was  in  all  ihe  fulness  of  his  famt 
bo!h  among  Pagans  and  Christians.  Endowed  nthly 
wilh  the  learningof  both  creeds,  he  hi  ought  the  natu- 
ral light  of  philosophy  to  illustrate  the  mystene;  ' 
faiih,  and  was  then  only  proud  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  wisdom  of  this  world,  when  he  found  it  mini  ■  - 
usefully  to  the  triumph  of  divine  truth. 

''Although  he  liad  courted  in  vain  the  crown  of 
mar'yrdom,  it  v\as  held,  through  his  whole  life, 
pended  over  his  head,  and,  in  more  than  one  persecu- 
tion, he  had  shown  himself  cheerlully  ready  to  die  lor 
that  holy  faith  which  he  lived  but  to  testify  and  up- 
hold. On  one  of  the--e  occasions,  his  tormentor; 
having  habited  him  like  an  Egyptian  priest,  place 
him  upon  Ihe  steps  of  the  'Jeinple  of  Serapis,  and 
comnianded  that  he  should,  in  the  manner  of  the 
Pagan  ministers,  present  palm-branches  lo  the  multi- 
tude who  went  up  into  the  shrine.  Kut  the  coura- 
geous Chrislian  disappointed  their  views.  Holding 
foilh  the  bf.tnches  with  an  unshrinking  hand,  he  cried 
aloud,  •  Come  hither  and  take  the  branch,  not  of  au 
Idol  Temple,  but  of  Christ.' 

"So  indefatigable  was  ibis  learned  Father  in  his 
slud'ieo,  that  while  composing  his  Commentary  on  the 
Scriptures  5  he  was  attended  by  seven  scubes  or  nota- 
ries, who  relieved  each  other  in  recording  the  dictates 
of  his  eloquent  tongue;  while  the  same  number  of 
young  temales,  selected  for  the  beauty  of  their  pen- 
manship, were  employed  in  arranging  and  transcrib- 
ing the  precious  leaves. 

"Among  the  scribes  so  selected,  was  Ihe  fair  young 
Thenra,  whose  jiaren's,  though  attached  lo  the  Fagaii 
woiship,  "ere  not  unwilling  to  profit  by  the  accnm- 
plishnients  of  their  daugtitei,  thua  occupied  m  a  task, 
which  they  looked  on  as  puiely  mechanical.  To  the 
maid  herself,  however,  her  eniploymeni  brought  far 
other  feelings  and  consequences.  She  read  anxiously 
as  she  wro:e,  and  Ihe  divine  tniihs,  so  eloquently 
illustrated,  found  their  way,  by  degrees,  from  Ihe 
page  to  her  heart.  Dee}  ly,  too,  as  the  written  words 
atiected  her,  Ihe  discouises  from  the  hps  of  Ihe  great 
teacher  himself,  which  she  had  frequent  opportuni- 
ties of  heiring,  sunk  st>ll  more  deeply  imo  her  mind. 
There  was,  at  once,  a  sublimity  and  gentleness  in  his 
views  of  religion,  which,  lo  the  lender  hearts  and 
lively  imaginations  of  women,  never  failed  to  appeal 
wi!h  convincing  power.  Accordingly,  the  iiat  of  his 
female  pupils  was  numerous^  and  the  names  of  Bar- 
bara, Juliana,  Herais,  and  others,  bear  honoural 
testimony  lo  his  influence  over  th;il  sex. 

"  Vo  iheora  the  feeling,  with  which  his  discnur! 
inspired  her,  was  like  a  new  soul— a  consciousness 
spinual  existence,  never  before  felt.  By  Ihe  elo- 
t,uence  of  Ihe  comment  she  was  awakened  inlo  admi 
rrition  of  the  text;  and  when,  by  the  kindness  of  i 
Catechumen  of  the  school,  who  had  been  struck  by 
her  innocent  zeal,  she,  for  Ihe  first  time,  became  pos- 
sessor of  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures,  she  could  not  sleep 
for  thinking  of  her  sacred  treasure.  Wilh  a  mixtur 
of  pleasure  and  fear  slie  hid  it  from  all  eyes,  and  wa 
like  one  who  had  received  a  divine  guest  under  he: 
roof,  and  felt  fearful  of  betraying  is  divinity  to  Ihe 
world. 

"A  heart  so  awake  would  have  been  with  ea'-e 
secured  to  the  faith,  had  her  oppi>rIuniiies  of  hearing 
the  s.icred  word  continued.  IJut  circunistances  arose 
lo  deprive  her  of  Ihis  advantage.  The  mild  Origen, 
long  har.issed  anri  thwarted  in  his  labours  by  the 
tyranny  of  Demetrius  fiishop  of  Alexandria,  > 
obliged  to  relinquish  his  school  and  ny  from  Egypt, 
The  occupation  of  the  fair  scribe  was  therefore  at  an 
$nd:  her  intercourse  with  the  followers  of  the  new 

5  It  was  during  tlie  composition  of  his  great  criti- 
cal work  Ihe  Hexapla,  that  Oiigen  employed  these 
female  scribes. 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


460 


I  of  her  heart 


faith  ceased ;  and  the  growing  ei 
gave  way  to  more  wi-rldly  impr 

"Amnnjc  oilier  eaittily  fetlhtgs,  love  conduced  not 
a  lit'le  lo  ueau  her  thoughts  liom  tlie  true  religi.ui. 
While  sl)ll  very  joung,  .-he  becau.e  (he  v\ifu  of  a 
Grt-ek  adveii  urer,  who  had  come  to  Etiypt  as  a  \ur- 
chiserol  ihat  rich  fai.est.v.i  in  which  ilie  needles  of 
Persia  are  rivalled  by  (he  hionis  ol  the  Nile,  Having 
taken  his  youi^  bride  to  Men>phi^,  which  was  slill 
the  great  mart  of  this  mercliaiidise,  lie  there,  in  the 
niidst  of  his  speculatitins.  died  — leaving  his  widow  on 
the  point  of  beciiniing  a  mother,  while,  as  yet,  hut  in 
her  nineteenih  ye^r. 

"For  swingle  and  unprotected  females,  it  has  been, 
at  all  times,  a  favoun'e  resource,  to  seek  for  einploy- 
ni2nt  in  the  service  of  sonie  of  Ihose  gieat  temples  by 
which  so  large  a  portion  of  the  weal  h  and  power  of 
Kgypi  is  absorbed.  In  nirst  of  these  insiiiuiions  there 
exists  an  order  of  Priesie>8e3,  which,  though  not  here- 
ditary, hkethil  of  the  Fnesis,  is  provided  for  by  am- 
ple endowments,  and  confers  ihai  dl^niiy  »iid  station, 
with  which,  in  a  government  jo  theocratic,  Ueligion 
is  sure  to  invest  even  her  humblest  handmaids.  From 
(he  general  policy  v(  the  Sacred  Colleije  of  Meiiiphis, 
we  may  Inke  foi  granted,  that  an  accompli-hed  fe- 
male, likeTheora,  found  but  liule  diillculiy  in  being 
elected  one  of  ihc  i'riesle>se8  of  Isis  ;  and  it  was  in  llie 
service  (if  the  sublerraueau  thrines  that  her  ciini&try 
chiffly  la>. 

"Here,  a  month  or  two  after  her  admission,  she 
gave  birlli  to  Aleihe,  who  first  opened  hei  eyes  among 
the  unholy  pumps  and  specious  miiacles  of  this  mys- 
lt-riou8  region.  Though  "Iheora,  as  wp  have  seen, 
hnd  been  diverted  by  o'her  feelings  from  her  liis'  en- 
thusiasm for  ihe  Chfisli.in  faiih  she  hnd  neverwholly 
forgot  the  impession  then  made  upon  her.  The 
^acred  volume,  which  'he  pious  Ca'echumen  h.id  given 
her  was  still  treasured  «i!h  care;  and,  though  slie 
seldom  opened  its  pages,  Iheie  was  always  an  idea  of 
sancliiy  associited  Willi  it  in  her  memory,  and  often 
would  she  hit  lo  look  ujion  ,t  with  Vfvereulial  plea- 
sure, recalling  the  happiness  she  had  fell  when  it  was 
firs'  made  her  own. 

ire  of  her  new  retreat  and  the  lone  mel- 
idowhood,  led  hei  slill  moie  frequently 
such  thr.u^hls,  and  to  recur  to  ihi'se  con- 
'hich  she  had  heard  in  the  school  of 
he  now  began  lo  peruse  eigerly  the 
sacred  volume,  di inking  deep  of  the  foun'ain  of  which 
she  tiefore  hut  lasted,  and  ferling— ^^  hat  itiousand-.  ol 
monrners,  since  her,  have  felt-ihu  Christianity  is  the 
trui  nnd  only  religion  of  the  snrri.wful. 

"Thissudyof  her  secret  hours  became  still  more 
dear  lo  her,  a>  well  from  the  peril  with  which  at  thai 
period,  it  was  attended,  aa  from  the  necessi  y  she  felt 
herself  under  of  concealing  from  llio-e  around  her  the 
precious  light  that  had  been  thus  kindled  in  her  own 
heart.  Too  timid  to  encounter  Ihe  fierce  persecution, 
which  awaited  all  who  weie  su-^pec'ed  of  a  leaning  to 
Chns'iaiiilv,  she  cominned  lo  ofliciate  in  the  pomps 
and  ceremonies  of  the  Temple;— though,  otieii,  w  ■ 
such  remorse  of  soul,  tint  she  would  pa'se,  in  I 
mid^l  of  the  rites,  and  pr-iy  inwaid  y  to  God,  [hat  he 
would  forgive  this  prcfanalion  1 

"  In  the  mean  time  her  dauglrer,  the  yrung  Alelhe, 
grew  up  stiil  lovelier  than  herself,  and  added,  every 
hour,  both  to  her  happiness  and  her  fe-rs.  When 
arrived  at  a  sufficient  age,  she  w.ts  taught,  like  the 
other  ch  Idren  of  the  pries'esses,  'o  lake  a  Onre  in  the 
service  and  ceremonies  of  ihe  shrines.  Tht;  lUity  of 
some  of  these  young  hCi  vitors**  was  to  look  after  the 


The  le 
ancholy  of  i 
to  indulge  ins 
soling  tiuihs  ' 
Alexandria. 


'   Non  ego  piaetulerim  Hal>ylonica  picta  supetbe 
Texta,  Semiramia  quae  variant  or  acu.    Martial. 

1  De  Pauw,  «  ho  differs  in  opinion  from  those  who 
supposed  women  to  be  eligible  to  ihe  hi<her>acerd(ital 
offices  in  Egypt,  thus  enumeraieB  the  ta^ks  lo  which 
their  huperiiitendence  «asas  he  tl.inks.  conhned  ;— 
•'Lesfeinmesn'ont  pu  lout  au  plusdans  loidre  ^econd- 
lir^  s'acquilter  que  de  quelques  emplnis  saus  conse- 


flowers  for  the  altar ;— of  others  to  take  care  that  the 
sacred  vases  were  filled  everyday  with  fresh  water 
from  the  Nile  The  task  of  some  was  to  preserve,  in 
peifect  polish,  Ihose  silver  images  of  ihe  Moon  which 
the  pnesl-  carried  in  process. ons  ;  while  ollieis  were, 
as  ue  have  seen,  employed  in  let-din^  t lie  consecrated 
aninMls,  and  m  keeping'iheir  pluims  and  scales  brigbl 
for  the  admimg  eyes  ol  their  worshippers. 

*'  I  he  I  lllcealloi;ed  to  Alettie— the  most  honourable 
of  these  minor  ministriis— »as  lo  w.iit  upon  ifie  sa- 
cred birds  of  the  Moon,  to  feed  them  daily  with  tho=e 
eggs  from  the  Nile  uhich  they  loved,  and  provide  for  l 
their  use  that  purest  waier,  which  al'ne  these  delica  n 
birds  will  touch.  'I'his  emplnymcni  was  the  delight 
i)f  her  childish  hours  ;  and  thai  ibis,  which  Alcipliron 
('he  Epicurean^  saw  her  dance  round  in  ihe  Temple, 
was,  of  all  thesicied  flnck.  he-  especial  favourite,  and 
had  been  daily  fondled  and  fed  by  her  from  infancy. 

"  Music,  as  being  one  of  ihe  cliief  speMs  of  this  en- 
chaned  region,  was  an  arconi|ili>hment  required  of  all 
Its  ininistrants;  and  the  harp,  the  lyre,  and  the  sacred 
flute,  sounded  nowhere  .'■o  sweetly  as  ihiough  Ihe.-'C 
subleiranean  gardens.  The  chrel  object,  indeed,  in 
Ihe  education  of  iheyouihof  ihe  Temple,  was  to  fit 
them,  by  every  grace  <if  art  and  na  ure,  lo  give  etiect 
to  the  illusion  of  ibuse  thousand  phan'asms,  in  which 
the  entire  charm  and  secret  of  Iniiitiiun  lay. 

•'Among  the  means  employed  to  support  the  old 
system  of  supeislilion,  ag-unst  the  infidelity,  and,  still 
more,  the  new  Faith  ihal  menaced  it,  was  an  in- 
creased display  of  splendour  and  maivcis  in  those 
Mysteries  for  which  Kgypt  has  so  long  been  cele- 
br-ited.  Of  these  ceremonies,  so  many  imitations  h  'd, 
under  various  names,  multiplied  Ihroughoul  Kurope, 
ihat  at  length  the  parent  superstition  ran  a  risk  of 
being  eclipsed  by  is  piogeny;  and,  in  order  still  to 
rank  as  the  first  Frie'ihood  in  the  world,  it  bec;ime 
necessary  for  those  of  iigypt  lo  remain  still  the  btat 
impostors. 

•' Accoidingly,  every  con'rivince  that  art  cnuld  de- 
vise, or  labour  execute— every  resource  that  the  won- 
derful know  ledge  ol*  ihe  Priest  ^,  in  pyiolet  hoy.  mechan- 
ics, and  di'ipincs,  could  comniand — was  brought  info 
action  lo  heighten  the  efi'ect  of  iheir  M>sleries,  and 
give  an  air  of  enchanimenl  to  everything  connected 
wiih  them. 

"The  final  scene  of  beatification— Ihe  Elysium,  into 
which  the  Ini'iae  was  icceived  —  formed,  of  course, 
the  letding  attraction  of  these  ceremonies;  and  lo 
render  ii  caj  tivating  alike  to  the  senses  of  the  ni-m  of 
|)leasuie,  and  the  im.igina'ion  of  the  spiritualist,  was 
Ihe  great  object  to  which  the  attention  of  the  Sacred 
College  w;is  devoted,  lly  ihe  inlluence  of  the  Piiesis 
of  Memphis  over  Ihose  of  Ihe  other  Temples,  they  had 
succeeded  in  exiending  their  subterranean  frontier, 
both  lo  the  nor  h  and  sou  h,  so  as  to  include,  wiihin 
their  ever-lighted  Paradise,  some  of  Ihe  gardens  exca- 
vated for  the  u-e  of  ihe  other  Twelve  Shrines. 

"The  beauty  of  the  young  Alethe,  the  touching 
swee  oess  of  her  voice,  and  the  sensibility  thit  breathed 
ihroughout  her  every  look  and  movement,  rendered 
her  a  powerful  auxiliary  in  such  appeals  to  the  im- 
aginaiioii.  She  had  been,  accordingly,  in  her  very 
childhood,  selected  from  among  her  fair  conipanion-, 
as  the  most  wor  by  representative  of  spiritual  loveli- 
ness, in  those  pictures  of  Kl>sium  —  ihose  scenes  of 
another  world — by  which  not  only  Ihe  fancy,  but  the 
reason,  of  the  excited  Aspirants  u,as  dazzled. 

"To  the  innocent  child  herself,  the^e  shows  were 
pistinie.  But  to  Tlieora,  who  knew  loo  well  the  im- 
l)osiIion  10  which  they  were  subserwent,  Ihis  pmfana- 
tijii  of  ;ill  that  she  loved  was  a  perpetual  source  ot 
horror  and  remotse  Often  would  she — when  Ale'ht 
stood  smiiii  g  before  her,  arra\ed.  perhaps,  a-  a  spirit 
of  Ihe  Kljsian  world  —  lum  avxa>,  wiih  a  shudder, 
from  the  happy  child,  almost  fancying  she  saw  already 

quence  ;  comme  de  nourrir  dcs  scarahees,  des  niusa- 
raigiies  et  d^auties  pelits  aniniaux  sacres,'' — Tom.  i., 


490 


THE    EPICUREAN 


the  Bhadowg  of  sin  descending  over  dial    innocent 
brow,  as  she  gazed  upon  it. 

'  As  the  in  eilect  of  the  ynuti^  maid  became  more 

ive  an  I  inquiring,  the  appreheiisi  ns:<nddiffi:ul  ies 
of  the  in'iher  incrt-aspd.  Afraid  lo  comniunicile  her 
i\vn  preci  'US  secret,  lest  ^he  should  involve  her  child 
in  !he -laii-ers  ttiat  enconipascd  it,  she  yet  felt  i'  to 
be  no  less  a  cruelty  than  a  crime  lo  leave  her  wliolly 
immer-ed  in  ihc  dtrkness  •(  Taganism.  In  this  di- 
letnina,  the  onl\  resource  Ihal  remained  to  her  was  to 
fueled,  and  disengage  from  Ihe  drnss  :hat  surroundtd 
them,  Ih  'se  pure  part  cles  of  Irmh  which  lie  at  the 
I  Lo't.ni  <.f  all  religions;  — those  feeling  .  rather  than 
I  doctrines,  of  which  Gnd  has  never  iefl  his  c-ea'uies 
des'itii'e,  and   whch,  in   all   agep,  ha\e  lurnished,  lo 

•e  who  sought  after  it,  some  clue  to  his  glory. 

'The  unity  and  perfeci  g-todne  s  of  the  Creator; 
the  fall  of  the  liunnn  s'.ul  nt^i  corruption;  its  strug- 
le^  with  the  darkness  uf  this  world,  and  its  final  re- 
emption  and  te-asce:d  to  ihe  source  of  all  spirit  ;— 
he  e  na'nral  s;)lutinrs  of  ihe  problem  of  our  exist- 
nce.  ihese  elementary  grounds  of  all  religion  and 
iriue,  which  'J'heoia  had  heard  illuslra'ed  by  her 
Chn-tnn  leicher,  lay  also,  she  knew,  veiled  under 
the  theology  of  Egypi  ;  and  to  impress  ihem,  in  their 
abs'ractpuiity,  upon  the  miiid  of  her  su  cep  ible  pupil, 
.  in  def  lull  of  ruore  heavenly  lights,  her  sole  ain- 
311  and  care. 

It  was  generally  Iheir  habit,  afier  devo'ing  their 
mornitgs  lo  'he  -^ervice  of  the  'lenij)ie,  to  pass  their 
evenings  and  night-,  in  one  of  those  small  man-ious 
;.bove  gfoimd,  allotted,  within  Ihe  precincts  of  tlie 
Sacted  College,  to  son.e  of  ihe  most  fivnured  Pries'- 
i-^ses.  Here,  out  of  the  reach  of  those  gro-s  supersli- 
inns,  wh:ch  pursued  them,  ai  every  step,  below^  she 
endeavoured  to  inform,  as  far  as  >he  could  venture, 
mind  of  he-  beloved  girl;  and  found  it  lem  as 
naturalty  and  ii.s'inctively  to  tru'h.  as  plants  long 
shut  up  in  darkness  will,  when  lii^hl  is  let  in  upon 
Ihem,  incline  themselves  to  its  rays. 

'*  Frequently,  as  they  sat  together  rn  the  terrace  nt 
night,  admiring  that  glorious  assenddv  of  stars,  whose 
beauty  lirst  misled  mankind  into  idoj^itry.  she  would 
xplain  to  the  young  lis'ener  by  v^haI  g'adations  of 
rror  it  was  that  the  worship,  ihus  Iran  feired  from 
the  Creator  to  the  cealure,  sunk  slitl  lower  and 
hiwer  ill  the  scale  of  l)^iiig,  till  man,  at  lenglh,  pie- 
sumed  to  deify  man,  and  by  ;he  m:'st  mm  slrous  of  in- 
versions, he.iven  was  made  fhe  mere  rnirrnr  of  earth, 
reflec  ing  back  all  its  most  earihly  fe.itures. 

"Even  in  (he  'leniple  itself,  the  anxious  niother 
would  endeavour  to  inerpose  her  purer  less-ns  i-mting 
the  idnjaiious  ceremonies  in  which  they  u  ere  engaged. 
When  Ihe  favourite  ibis  of  Alethe  took  its  station 
upon  the  shrine,  and  Ihe  young  maiden  was  Fcen  ap- 
proaching, with  all  the  gravity  of  worsliip,  Ihe  very 
bird  which  she  had  played  wi'h  but  an  hi>ur  bf-fore— 
when  theac.icia-bough,  which  she  heisell  had  plucked, 
seemed  to  acquire  a  sudden  sncrediiess  in  her  eyes,  as 
soon  as  the  priest  had  b  eathed  upon  it  — on  all  such 
occasions  Theora,  Ihough  with  fear  and  trembling, 
would  venture  to  suggest  to  the  youthful  worshippe 
the  distinction  thai  should  be  drawn  between  the  sen 
sible  object  of  adnralion.  and  tint  spiritual,  unseei 
Deity,  of  which  i'  wis  but  :he  remembranceror  tvpe 

'*  With  sorrow,  however,  she  soon  discovered  that, 
'd  thus  but  pnrtially  letiing  in  light  upon  a  mmd  far 
too  ardent  to  rest  satisfied  u  i  h  such  glimmerings,  she 
but  bewildered  the  heart  which  she  meani  to  guide, 
i  cut  down  Ihe  feeble  hope  around  which  i's  faith 
twined.  Without  ^ubsii'uting  ai  y  other  supp'-rt  in  its 
place.  As  the  beauty,  too,  of  Alelhe  begui  to  aitiac! 
11  eves,  new  Icafs  crowded  upon  the  mo-het's  heait ; 
-fears  in  which  she  was  bu  t-'o  much  justilied  by 
the  characters  of  some  of  those  around  her. 

'  In  this  sacred  abode,  as  max  easily  be  conceived, 
moraliiy  did  not  always  go  hand  in  huid  with  reli- 
gioF.  The  hypocritical  and  ambitious  Orcus,  who 
was,  at  Ibis  period.  High  piit-st  of  Memphis,  was  a 
nian,  in  every  res|iec(,  qualified  to  preside  dver  a  sys- 
tem   of  such   splendid  fraud.     He  had  reached    Ihai 


ffeclive  time  of  life,  when  enough  of  the  warmth 
tid  vigour  of  youlh  reniiins  to  give  animation  to  Ihe 
counsels  of  age.  But,  in  his  ius'ance,  youth  had  left 
only  Ihe  b^ser  passions  behind,  while  age  but  broueht 
with  it  a  more  refined  maturitv  of  mischief.  The 
advantages  of  a  fsilh  appealing  almr  si  wholly  to  the 
senses,  %vere  well  understood  bv  him;  nor  had  he 
faded  eirher  to  discover  th.if,  in  order  to  render  reli- 
gion subservienl  tn  his  own  interests,  he  mu^t  shape 
it  adroitlv  to  llie  interests  and  passions  of  othere. 

"The 'stale  of  anxieiy  and  remorse  in  winch  thf 
mind  of  the  hapless 'I  lieora  was  kept  by  the  scenes. 
howeviT  arifully  \eiled,  which  she  daily  witnessed 
around  ler,  beca'nie  at  length  intoler.ible.  No  perils 
that  Ihe  cau^e  of  Itulh  cnidd  bring  with  it  would  be 
half  ^o  dreadful  as  this  endurance  of  sinfulLCss  and 
deceit.  Her  child  was,  as  \et,  pure  and  innocent; 
but,  without  (hat  sentinel  of  Ihe  soul,  Religion,  how 
loi  g  might  she  cnnitiue  so  ? 

*'  1  his  thousht  at  once  decided  her  :  all  other  fears 
vanished  before  it.  She  reolved  instantly  to  lay  open 
•o  Ale'he  the  whole  secret  of  her  soul  ;  lo  make  thi.s 
child,  who  wa'  her  only  hope  on  earih,  the  sharer  of 
all  htr  h"pes  in  heaven,  and  ihen  fly  with  her,  as  soon 
;<s  pr.s-ible,  from  thi^  unhallowed  spot,  to  the  far 
desert  —  lo  the  mountains  — to  any  place,  however 
de-olafe,  where  God  and  the  consciousness  of  inno- 
cence might  be  with  them. 

•*The  promp'iiude  wi'h  which  her  young  pupil 
caught  fiom  her  Ihe  divine  truhs  was  even  beyond 
what  she  expeced.  It  was  like  the  lighting  of  one 
torch  at  another,  so  prejared  was  Aleihe's  mind  for 
Ihe  illuminalinn.  Amply,  indeed,  was  Ihe  anxious 
mother  now  rej.aid  for  all  her  misery,  by  this  perfeci 
cnmmunion  of  love  and  failh,  and  by  ihe  delight,  with 
which  she  saw  her  beloved  child  — like  the  young 
antelope,  when  first  led  by  her  dam  to  Ihe  well  — 
drink  ihirslily  by  her  side,  at  Ihe  source  of  all  life 
and  truth. 

"but  such  happine  s  was  not  long  lo  last.  The 
anxieties  that  '1  heora  had  sutfered  began  to  prey  upon 
her  health.  She  felt  her  strength  daily  decline  ;  znd 
the  Ihtiughls  of  leaving,  alone  and  unguarded  in  the 
world,  Ihat  treasure  '-ihich  she  had  just  devoted  lo 
Heaven,  gave  her  a  feeling  of  despair  which  but 
hasened  Ihe  ebb  of  life.  H.ad  she  pul  in  practice  her 
res'ilution  of  flying  fmm  Ibis  place,  her  child  might 
have  been  now  beyond  Ihe  reach  of  all  she  dreaded, 
and  in  Ihe  solitude  of  Ihe  desert  would  have  found  at 
least  safety  from  wrong.  But  the  veiy  happiness  she 
had  felt  in  her  new  task  diverted  her  trnm  this  pro- 
ject ; — and  it  was  now  too  lale,  for  she  was  already 
dying. 

"Shes'ill  conliiiued,  however,  to  conceal  the  state 
of  her  health  from  the  lender  and  sanguine  girl,  w  ho, 
though  obserung  the  traces  of  disease  on  her  inolher^s 
clieek,  little  knew  that  ihey  were  Ihe  hastening  foot- 
steps of  death,  nor  even  thought  of  Ihe  possibility  of 
ever  losing  what  was  so  dear  lo  her.  Too  soon, 
however,  the  moment  of  separation  arrived  ;  and 
while  the  anguish  and  dismay  of  Alelhe  were  in  pro- 
portion lo  tlie  security  in  which  she  had  indulged, 
Ihenia,  loo,  felt,  with  bitter  regret,  ihat  she  had 
sacrificed  to  her  fond  consideration  much  precious 
lime,  and  that  theie  now  remained  but  a  few  brief 
and  painful  moments,  for  the  comniunication  of  all 
those  wishes  and  instruction--  on  which  the  future 
destiny  of  the  young  orphan  depended. 

"  She  had,  indeed,  time  for  little  more  tlian  to  place 
Ihe  sacred  volume  solemiilv  in  her  hanJs,  to  implore 
that  she  would,  al  all  lisks.'fiv  fi'n.  Ibis  unholy  place, 
and  pointing  in  Ihe  dirictinn'of  the  mountains  of  ihe 
Said,  to  nnine,  with  her  last  bieath,  the  venerable 
man,  to  w  hom,  under  Heaven,  she  looked  for  Ihe  pro- 
lection  and  s-tlvation  of  her  child. 

"'J'he  t'ir=t  violence  of  feeling  to  which  Alelhe 
gave  way  was  succeeded  t)y  a  fixed  and  tearless  grief, 
which  rendered  her  insensible,  for  some  time,  to  the 
dangers  of  her  silualion.  Her  sole  comfort  consisted 
in  visiting  thai  monunient  .1  cha|  el  where  the  beauti- 
ful remains  of  Theora  lay.     Therp,  night  after  nighl, 


THE    EPIC  UREAN. 


401 


in  coDtemplalion  of  thntie  placid  features,  and  id 
prayers  fi>r  I  tie  pi:»ce  of  the  departed  spirit,  did  she 
pass  her  lonely,  ind  —  however  sad  tliey  were  —  hap- 
piest hours,  rhough  the  mystic  emblems  that  deco- 
rated thil  chapel  were  but  il. -suited  lo  ihe  slumber  of 
a  Christian,  Itiere  was  one  :\tnong  Ihetii,  the  Cross, 
which,  by  a  reiiiarkabit;  coincidence,  is  an  cinbleiii 
alike  cninnioa  lo  the  Cten'iie  and  ilie  Christian  — 
being,  to  the  furmer,  a  shadowy  lype  of  that  iinmnr- 
talilv.  of  which,  to  the  latter,  it  is  a  subslaiilial  and 
assuring  pledge. 

*' Nightly,  upon  this  cross,  which  she  had  often 
seen  her  h'st  molher  kiss,  did  she  ^'—'"j  forth  a 
solemn  and  heartfelt  vow,  never  to  aoindon  the  faith 
which  that  departed  spirit  had  bequealhed  to  her. 
To  such  enthusiasm,  indeed,  did  her  heart  at  such 
niomeiilsnse,  that,  but  for  the  last  injunctions  fiom 
(hose  pallid  lips,  she  would,  at  once,  have  avowed 
her  perilous  secret,  and  boldly  pronnunced  the 
words,  *  1  am  a  Chriettati,'  among  those   benighted 


shr. 


ved  mor 


But  the  will  of  her,  lo  whnn 
than  life,  was  lo  be  obeyed.  To  esc:ipe  from  this 
haunt  of  superstition  must  now,  she  fell,  be  her  firsi 
object;  and,  in  planning  ihe  means  of  etIVcling  it,  her 
iniiid,  day  and  iii;h<,  »  as  employed.  It  was  with  a 
loathmg  not  to  be  concealed,  tliai  she  now  found  her- 
self cnipclled  to  resume  her  idohilmus  services  at 
the  shrine.  To  some  of  the  otfices  of  Theora  slie  suc- 
ceeded, as  is  the  custom,  by  inhetiiance  ;  and  in  the 
performance  of  these  tasks — sanctified  as  they  were 
ill  her  eyes  by  ihe  pure  spirit  she  had  seen  engaged  in 
them  —  'here  was  a  sort  ol  melancholy  pleasure  in 
which  her  sorrow  found  relief.  But  the  pari  >he  was 
again  lorced  to  take,  in  the  scenic  shows  of  Ihe  Mys- 
teries, br  ught  wiih  i'  a  sense  of  degradation  and 
wrong  which  she  could  no  longer  ei  dure. 

"Already  had  she  fhrmed,  in  her  <.wn  mind,  a 
plan  of  escape,  in  which  her  acquaintance  \vith  all 
the  windings  of  thrs  Iny^•'ic  realm  gave  her  confi- 
dence, when  the  solemn  reception  of  Alciphiou,  as 
an  Initiate,  tonk  place. 

"From  Ihe  hist  moment  nf  the  landing  of  (hat 
philosopher  at  Alexandria,  he  had  btcome  an  object 
of  suspicion  and  u  atchlulneAS  to  the  inquisiloiial 
t)rcu3,  "horn  philosnpliy.  in  any  shape,  n.thirally 
alarmed,  hut  In  whom  the  .ect  over  winch  the  young 
A'henian  presided  was  particularlv  obnoxious.  'Ihe 
acconiplishmenls  t,f  Alciphr<ui,  his' po|)ulaiily,  wher- 
ever he  wi:nl,  and  the  boKI  liefd<<m  wiili  which  he 
indulged  his  wil  at  the  expense  of  religmn,  were  ait 
faithfully  rcporled  ;n  the  High  Priest  by  his  spies,  and 
awakened  in  his  mind  no  kindl\  feelings  towards  Ihe 
stranger.  In  dealing  with  an  infidel,  such  a  person- 
age asOreus  could  know  no  other  allemative  but  that 
of  either  converting  or  destroying  him;  and  though 
his  spite,  as  a  man,  would  have  been  more  gratitied 
by  Ihe  latter  proceedn  g,  his  prtde,  as  a  priest,  ted 
him  to  prefer  the  tnumpli  of  Ihe  former. 

**The  fust  descent  d  'lie  Kpicurean  into  the  pyra- 
mid became  speedily  known,  and  ihe  alarm  was  im- 
mediately given  lo  the  pries's  below.  As  soon  as 
they  had  discovered  ihat  the  voimg  philosnpher  of 
Aihens  whs  Ihe  inlruder.  and  'that  he  not  only  still 
I  continu3d  to  linger  round  the  pyiamid.  but  was 
observed  to  look  often  and  wilfully  towards  the  por- 
tal, it  was  concluded  thai  his  curiosity  would  impel 
him  to  try  a  second  descent  ;  and  Urciis.  blessing  the 
I  good  chance  which  had  thus  h'oughl  the  wild  bird 
I  inio  his  net,  res  dved  not  to  sulfier  an  oppor  unity  so 
precious  lo  he  wasted. 

"  Instantly,  the  wlmle  of  that  wonderful  machinery, 
1  by  wh.ch  ihe  phantasms  and  illnsi  ns  of  Ininatioii 
I  are  produced  were  pnl  in  active  prepar.aii  >n  throuih- 
]  <.ut  Ihat  snb'errane.iii  lealin  .  ai.d  the  increased  stir 
I  and  vigiliiKe  aw.tki-ned  anumg  its  iniiMies,  hy  ihis 
I  n.ore  than  ordinary  dibp  ay  oHhe  resouices  .,f  pi  ies  - 
1  craft,  rendered  Ihe  accomplishment  of  Alethe  ^  p.,r- 
jjose,  at  such  a  moment  i*eculurly  diflknll.  Wh  IK 
;  Ignorant  of  (he  important  shaie  which  it  had  been  her 
I  own  fonune  to  take  in  atlracling  the  young  pliiioso- 


pher  down  to  this  region,  she  but  heard  of  him 
\aguely,  as  the  Chief  of  a  great  Grecian  sect,  who 
had  been  led,  by  either  curiosity  or  accident,  to  e*- 
pose  himself  lo  Ihe  first  trials  of  Initiation;  and 
whom  thcpriesis,  she  could  see,  were  endeavouring 
to  insnare  in  their  [oils,  by  every  arl  and  lure  wilh 
which  their  dark  science  had  gifted  them. 

••  Id  her  iniud.  the  image  of  a  philosopher,  such  as 
Alciphron  had  been  represened  to  her,  came  a^so- 
cia'ed  with  ideas  of  age  and  reverence;  and,  niore 
than  once,  (he  possibility  of  his  being  made  instru- 
mental lo  her  deliverance  (lashed  a  hope  acrosf  her 
heart  in  which  she  could  not  retrain  from  indulging, 
(»Hen  had  she  been  told  by  Theora  of  the  many  lien- 
tile  sages,  who  had  laid  their  vMsdoni  down  humbly 
at  the  foot  of  Ihe  Cross ;  and  though  Ihis  Iniiiale,  she 
feared,  could  hardly  be  among  Ihe  numlter,  yet  Ihe 
rumours  which  she  had  gathered  from  Ihe  servants  of 
the  Temple,  of  his  undisguised  contempt  for  the 
errors  of  heathenism,  led  her  lo  hope  she  might  find 
tolerance,  if  not  sympalliy,  in  tier  appeal  to  him. 

**  Nor  was  it  solely  with  a  view  to  her  own  ctiance 
of  deliverance  Ihat  she  thus  connected  him  in  her 
thoughts  with  Ihe  plan  which  she  meditated.  The 
look  of  proud  and  selt-gratu'aliiig  malice,  with  which 
the  High  Piiest  had  menlioned  ihis  *  iiihdel,'  as  he 
styled  him,  w  hen  giving  her  instructions  in  the  scene 
she  was  to  act  behire  the  philosopher  in  the  valley,  too 
plainly  iiifuimed  her  of  the  dark  dcsiiny  (hat  hung 
over  him.  Siie  knew  how  many  were  the  hapless 
cai  didates  fir  Initiilton,  who  had  been  doonied  to  a 
durance  wor^e  than  thai  ot  ihe  grave,  for  but  a  word, 
a  whisper  breathed  against  the  sacred  absurdities  Ihey 
wilne>sed  ;  and  it  was  evident  to  her  that  Ihe  vener- 
able Greek  ifnr  such  her  fancy  represenled  Alciphron) 
was  no  less  m'eresled  in  escaping  from  the  snares  and 
perils  of  this  region  than  herself. 

'*Her  own  resolutiiin  was,  at  all  events,  fixed. 
That  visionary  scene,  in  which  she  had  appealed 
before  Alciphron —  little  knowing  how  ardcnl  were 
Ihe  heart  and  iniagination,  over  u  hich  her  beauty,  at 
that  moment,  exercised  its  iniluence —  was,  she 
solemnly  resolved,  Ihe  very  last  unholy  service,  tliat 
superstition  or  imposture  should  ever  command  of 

*'(hi  the  following  night  the  Aspirant  was  to  wa'ch 
in  the  Great  Temple  of  Isis.  Such  an  opportunity  of 
appii  aching  and  addressing  him  might  never  conie 
again.  Should  he,  from  compassion  for  her  sitnalion, 
or  a  eenseof  (he  danger  of  his  own,  consent  to  lend  his 
aid  lo  her  llighl,  most  gladly  would  »ihe  accepi  it  — 
well  assured  that  no  daiigei  or  treachery  she  niight 
risk  could  be  half  so  odious  and  fearful  as  those  which 
she  left  behind.  Should  he,  on  the  contrary,  reject 
Ihe  proposal,  her  detemiination  was  equally  fixed— to 
tj  us(  lo  that  God  u  hose  eye  watches  over  the  innocent, 
and  go  forth  alone. 

"  To  reach  the  island  in  Lake  Mocris  was  her  first 
great  object  ;  and  there  occurred  fortunately,  at  this 
lime,  a  mode  of  eilecting  her  purpose,  by  which  both 
the  dithculiy  and  dangers  of  the  attempt  would  be 
much  diminished.  The  day  of  the  annual  visiia'ion 
of  the  High  l»iiest  to  the  Place  of  VVeeping»-as  that 
island  in  the  cenire  of  the  Lake  is  called  —  was  now 
fast  approaching;  and  Alethe  knew  that  the  self- 
n.ovingcar,  by  which  the  High  PnesI  and  one  of  (he 
Hierophani&aieconveye<i  down  to  the  chanibers  under 
the  Lake,  stood  then  waiting  in  readiness.  By  avail- 
ing herself  o(  this  expedient,  she  would  yain  "he  double 
ftdvu.iage  b  .th  of  facilitaiimr  lier  own  llighl,  and 
retarding  Ihe  speed  of  her  pur^ue^s. 

*'  Having  paid  a  last  visii  to  Ihe  lomb  of  her  beloved 
rnoiljer,  and  «epl  there,  long  and  passionately,  till  her 
heaitalim.t  filled  in  Ihe  s  rugale  -  h -ving  pau-ed, 
too,  to^ive  a  kis- to  her  favouriieibis,  which,  although 
too  much  a  Christian  to  worship,  she  was  siill  child 
enough  to  love  — she  went  eaiiy.  with  a  tiemhling 
step,  to  ihe  Sanctuary,  and  theie  hid  herself  in  one  of 
f  the  Shrine.     Her   intention  was   to 


t  Vide  lVilf(/rdt  Asiatic  Researches^  vol,  iji.,  p.  340, 


492 


THE    EPIC  U  REAN, 


Bteal  out  from  thence  to  Alciphron,  while  it  was  yet 
dark,  and  before  the  illuniuialicii  of  the  great  Stalue 
behind  the  Veils  h:id  beiiun.  But  her  fears  delayed 
her  till  it  was  almost  toi)  late  ;— alieady  was  the  iiuase 
ligliled  lip,  and  still  she  remained  trembling  in  her 
hiding-place. 

"hi  a  few  minutes  more  the  mighty  Veils  would 
have  been  withdrawn,  and  the  gl'Tie^  of  that  &cene  of 
enchantment  I  'id  open— when,  at  length,  summoning 
all  her  courage,  and  taking  advantage  of  a  mnmenlary 
absence  of  ttiose  employed  in  peparing  this  splendid 
mocktiy,  she  stole  from  under  the  Veil,  and  found  her 
way,  through  the  gloom,  to  the  Epicurean.  There 
was  then  no  time  for  explanation  ;— she  had  but  to 
trust  to  the  simple  woiJs,  *  Follow,  and  be  silent;' 
and  the  implicit  readiness  with  which  she  found  tliem 
ibeyed,  hlled  her  «i  h  no  less  surprise  than  the  phi- 
losO|iher  himself  had  felt  in  hearing  Ihem. 

"In  a  second  or  two  they  weie  on  their  way  through 
the  subteiranean  windings,  leaving  the  ministers  of 
his  to  waste  their  splendours  on  vacancy,  through  a 
long  series  of  miracles  and  visions  which  they  now 
exhibited  —  unconscious  ili-it  he,  whom  they  were 
taking  such  pains  to  dazzle,  was  already,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  young  Christian,  far  removed  beyond 
the  reach  of  their  deceiving  spells." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Such  was  the  singular  story,  of  which  this  innocent 
girl  now  gave  nie,  in  her  own  touching  language,  the 

Tlie  sun  was  just  rising  as  she  finished  her  narra'tve. 
Fearful  "f  encountering  the  expression  of  those  feel- 
ings with  which,  she  could  not  but  observe,  I  was 
atlected  by  her  reci'al,  scarcely  h^d  she  concluded  the 
last  sentence,  when,  rising  abruptly  from  her  seat,  she 
hurried  into  the  pavilion,  leaving  me  with  words  fast 
crowding  for  utterance  to  my  lijps. 

Oppressed  by  the  \arious  emotions  thus  sent  back 
upon  my  heart,  I  lay  down  on  the  deck  in  a  state  of 
agitation,  that  defied  even  the  most  distant  approaches 
of  sleep.  While  every  word  she  had  u"tered,  every 
feeling  she  expressed,  but  mims'ered  new  fuel  to  that 
flame  which  consumed  me,  and  to  describe  which, 
passion  is  far  too  weak  a  word,  tlieie  was  also  much 
of  her  reciial  that  disheartened  and  al.trmed  me.  To 
find  a  Christian  ihus  under  the  gaib  of  a  Memphian 
Priestess,  was  a  discovery  that,  had  my  heait  been 
less  deeply  interested,  would  but  ha^e  more  power- 
fully stinmlated  my  imigination  and  pride.  But, 
when  I  recollected  the  ausierily  of  the  faith  she  had 
embr.tced— the  lender  and  sacred  tic,  associated  with 
it  m  her  memory,  and  the  dev  -tion  of  woman's  heart 
to  objects  thus  consecated— her  very  perfections  but 
widened  the  distance  between  us,  and  all  that  most 
kindled  my  passion  ai  the  same  lime  chilled  my  hopes. 

Were  we  to  be  left  to  each  other,  as  on  this  silent 
river,  in  such  undisturbed  communion  of  thoughts  and 
feelings,  1  knew  too  well,  I  thought,  both  her  sexN 
nature  and  my  own,  tn  feel  a  doub'  that  love  would 
uliimattly  triumph.  Put  the  severi'y  of  the  guardian- 
ship to  which  I  must  resign  her— that  of  some  monk 
of  the  desert,  s-ime  stern  8olt(..ry—tlie  influence  such 
a  monitor  would  gain  over  h^r  mind— atid  the  horror 
with  which,  ere  long,  he  might  teach  her  to  regard 
the  reproliate  infidel  upon  \\  hom  she  now  smiled— in 
all  this  prospect,  1  saw  nothmsi  but  despair.  After^ 
few  short  hours,  my  dream  of  happiness  would  beat 
an  end,  and  such  a  da'k  chasm  must  then  open  be- 
tueen  our  fates,  as  would  dissever  them,  wideascirih 
from  heaven,  asunder. 

It  was  true,  she  was  now  wholly  in  my  power,  I 
feared  no  witnesses  but  those  of  earth,  and  the  solitude 
of  the  desert  was  at  hand.  Piut  though  I  acknow- 
ledged not  a  heaven.  I  worship[ied  her  who  was,  to 
me,  its  type  and  substitute  If,  at  any  moment,  a 
singU   thought  of   wrong  or  deceit,  towards  one  so 


sacred  arose  in  my  mind,  one  look  from  her  innocent 
eyes  averted  the  sacrilege.  Even  passion  itself  fella 
h  dy  fear  in  her  presence  —  like  the  liame  trembling 
in  the  breeze  of  the  sanctuary — anJ  Love,  pure  Love, 
stood  in  place  of  Keligion, 

As  Ions  as  I  knew  not  her  storv,  I  could  indulge,  at 
least,  in  dreams  of  the  future.  But,  now—  what  ex- 
pecta  ion.  what  pre  tp*  ct  remained  ?  My  single  chance 
of  happiness  lay  vn  ihe  hope,  however  delusive,  of 
being  able  to  divert  her  thoughts  from  the  fatal  pro- 
ject fhe  meditated  ;  of  weaning  her,  by  persuasion 
and  argument,  from  that  austeie  faith,  which  I  had 
before  haled  and  now  feared,  and  of  attaching  her, 
perhaps,  alone  and  unlinked  as  she  was  in  (he  world, 


1  form 


ifor 


In  the  agiiation  of  these  thoughts,  I  had  started  from 
my  resting-place,  and  continued  to  pace  up  and  dow  n, 
under  a  burumg  sun,  till,  exhausted  both  by  thuughl 
and  feeling,  1  sunk  do^vn,  amid  that  blaze  of  light, 
into  a  sleep,  which,  to  my  fevered  brain,  seemed  a 
sleep  of  hre. 

On  awaking,  I  found  the  veil  of  Alethe  laid  carefully 
over  my  brow,  while  she,  herself,  sat  near  me,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  sail,  looking  axiously  upon  that 
leaf,  which  her  mother  had  given  her,  and  employed 
apparently  in  comparing  i's  outlines  with  the  course 
of  the  river,  as  well  as  with  the  forms  of  the  rocky 
hills  by  which  we  were  parsing.  She  looked  pale 
and  troubled,  and  rose  eagerly  to  meet  me,  aa  if  she 
had  long  and  impatiently  v\aited  for  my  waking. 

Her  liearl,  it  was  plain,  had  been  disturbed  from  its 
security,  and  wa>  beginning  to  take  alarm  at  its  own 
feelings.  But,  though  vaguely  conscious  of  the  peril 
to  which  she  was  exp' sed,  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  deser',  was  now  the  urgent  object  of  her 
entreaties  and  wishes  a"d  the  self-reproach  which 
she  expressed  at  h.ving.  for  a  single  moment,  suflered 
her  thoughts  to  be  diverted  from  this  sacred  purpose, 
not  only  revealed  the  truth,  that  she  had  forgotten  it, 
but  betrayed  even  a  gtimmeriug  consciousness  of  the 
cause. 

Her  sleep,  she  said,  had  been  broken  by  ill-omened 
dreams.  Every  moment  the  shade  of  her  inolher  had 
sto»  d  be  ore  her,  rebuking,  with  mournful  looks,  her 
delay,  and  pointing,  as  she  hid  done  m  death,  to  the 
ea-tC-rn  hills.  Bursting  into  tears  at  this  accusing 
recollection,  she  hastily  placed  the  leaf,  which  she 
had  been  examining,  in  my  hands,  and  implored  that 
1  would  ascerain,  without  a  moment's  delay,  what 
portion  of  our  voyage  was  still  unperformed,  and  in 
what  space  of  time  ue  mi  ht  hope  to  accomplish  it, 

I  had,  still  less  than  herself,  taken  note  of  either 
place  or  distance;  iind,  cnuld  we  have  been  left  to 
glide  on  in  this  dream  of  happiness,  should  never  have 
thought  of  pausing  to  ask  where  it  would  end.  But 
such  confidence  was  far  too  sacred  to  be  deceived; 
and,  reluctant  as  I  naturally  felt,  to  enter  on  an  in- 
quiry, which  might  soon  dissipate  even  my  last  hope, 
her  wish  was  sufficient  to  supersede  even  the  selfish- 
ness of  love,  and  on  the  instant  I  proceeded  to  obey 
her  will. 

There  stands  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Nile,  to  the 
north  of  Aminoe,  a  high  and  steep  rock,  impending 
over  the  flood,  which  has  borne,  for  ages,  from  a  pro- 
digy connec'ed  with  it,  the  name  of  the  Mountain  of 
theBirds.  Yearly,  it  is  said,  at  a  certain  season  and 
hour,  large  fincks  of  birds  assemble  in  the  ravine,  of 
which  this  rocky  mountain  forms  (jne  of  the  sides,  and 
are  there  observed  to  go  through  the  mysteiious  cere- 
mony of  in'^eriii  g  eich  its  beak  in'o  a  particular  cleft 
of  the  rock,  till  the  cleft  closes  upon  one  of  their  num- 
ber, when  all  the  rest  of  the  IJrds  take  wing,  and 
leave  the  selected  victim  to  die. 

Through  the  ravine,  rendered  famous  by  this  charm 
— for  such  the  multitude  consider  it  —  there  ran,  in 
ancient  limes,  a  canal  from  tho  Nile,  to  some  great 
and  forgotten  city,  now  buried  in  the  desert.     To  a 


F= 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


493 


short  dUtance  from  the  river  this  c^inal  slill  exists, 
but,  after  havitig  passed  t))roiia;h  the  defile,  iis  hcaxiy 
Wftters  di^ai-pcar,  and  ate  wholly  il'^t  under  the  sands. 

It  was  ill  ihe  iici^libxurhood  of  (his  place,  a^  I  cuuld 
colttM:!  frnin  the  delinratiotie  un  the  leat  —  u  here  a 
flight  of  hi  ids  represenied  rhe  name  of  tlie  mountain- 
thai  the  ab'.de  of  the  Solitary,  tn  whom  Alelhe  was 
^t)Oul  to  consign  herself,  was  &i!uated.  Little  as  I 
knew  of  the  e;eoer.iphy  of  E;yp',  it  at  once  struck 
aie,  that  ue  had  loii^  since  left  this  mountain  be- 
hind ;  I  and,  im  inquinns  rif  our  bna'mfn,  I  found  my 
conjeciure  cuiifirnicd.  We  had,  indeed,  passed  it,  on 
the  precedini<  night  ;  and,  as  the  wind  had  been,  ever 
since,  blowmt;  strongly  from  the  norih.  and  (he  sun 
was  already  sinking  towards  the  horizon,  we  must  be 
DOW,  at  least,  a  day's  5.iit  lo  the  southward  of  the 
apol. 

This  discovery,  I  confess,  filled  my  heart  with  a 
feeling  of  joy  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  conceal.  It 
seenifd  as  if  fortune  was  conspiring  with  love  in  my 
behalf,  and,  by  thus  delaying  the  moment  of  our 
separation,  atforded  me  a  cliance  at  least  of  hapi)inesx. 
Her  look  and  mannei,  tio,  when  informed  of  our  mis- 
take, rather  eiiconragfd  than  chilled  this  secret  hope. 
In  the  first  monieni  of  asI^llli^ilnlent,  her  eyes  opened 
u[H>n  me  uiili  a  suddenness  uf  splendour,  under  which 
I  felt  my  own  wink  as  though  lithlnins  had  crossed 
them.  Rut  »he  again,  as  suddenly,  let  their  lids  fall. 
and,  after  a  quiver  of  her  Up,  which  showed  the  con- 
flict of  feeling  then  going  on  within,  cros>ed  her  arms 
upon  her  bosom,  and  looked  down  silently  upon  ihe 
deck ;  her  whole  countenance  sinking  into  an  expres- 
sion, sad,  but  resigned,  as  if  hhe  now  felt  that  fate  was 
on  the  side  of  wrong,  and  saw  Love  already  stealing 
between  her  soul  and  heaven. 

I  was  not  slow,  of  course,  in  availing  myself  of 
what  I  fancied  to  be  the  irresoluii^n  of  her  mind. 
But,  still,  fearful  of  exciting  alarm  by  :iny  appeal  to 
feelings  of  regard  or  tenderness,  I  but  addressed  my- 
self to  her  imagination,  and  to  that  love  of  novelty 
and  wonders,  which  is  ever  ready  to  be  awakened 
v^ithin  the  youthful  breisl.  We  were  now  appro.ich- 
ing  that  region  of  miracles,  Thebes.  *' In  a  day  or 
two,"  said  I,  **  \^e  shall  see,  lowering  above  the 
wafers,  the  colossal  Avenue  of  Sphinxe?,  and  the 
bright  Obelisks  of  the  Sun.  We  shall  visit  the  plain 
of  Memnun,  and  behold  those  mighty  sia'ues  that 
fling  their  shadows 'i  at  sunrise  over  the  Libyan  hi'ls. 
We  shall  bear  the  image  of  Ihe  Son  uf  the  jMorning 
responding  to  ihe  first  touch  of  light.  From  thence, 
in  a  few  hours,  a  breeze  like  this  will  Irmsport  us  to 
those  sunny  ii^lands  near  the  cat  iracts ;  there,  to  wan- 
der, among  the  sacted  palm-groves  of  Fhilae,  or  sit,  at 
noontide  hour,  in  those  cool  alcoves,^  which  the 
wateifall  of  S)ene  shadows  under  its  arch.  Oh,  who 
is  there  that,  with  scenes  of  such  loveliness  within 
reach,  would  turn  coldly  away  to  the  bleak  desert, 
und  leave  this  fair  world,  with  all  its  enchantments, 
•hilling  unseen  and  unenjoyed  ?  At  least'  —  I  added, 
taking  tenderly  her  hand  in  mine  —  *' let  a  few  more 
Jays  be  stolen  from  the  dreary  fate  to  which  thou  hast 
devoted  thyself,  and  then " 

She  had  heard  but  the  last  few  words— the  rest  had 


I  I  The  voyages  on  the  Nile  are,  under  favourable 
circumstances,  performed  with  considerable  rapidity. 
"En  ciitq  ou  six  jours."  s^iys  MatUtit,  "on  pourroit 
ftisenient  remonter  de  I'cmbouchure  du  Nil  a  ses  cati- 
ractes,  ou  descendre  des  catarac'es  ju^qu'a  la  mer  " 
The  great  uncertainly  of  the  navigation  is  proved  by 

I  what  Be/zomi  tells  us:  — "  Nou^  ne  mimes  cctte  fi'is 
que  deux  jours  et  demi  pour  faire  le  tr-ijet  du  Caire  a 

i  tVlelawi,  auquel.   dans    nnlre    second    voyage,    nous 

\  avion*  employes  div-huit  jours. 

!       1  Elles  ont  pres  de  vingt  me'res  (61  pieds)  d'eleva- 

-  tinns  ;  ef  au  lever  du  soleil,  leurs  nmbrt-s  immenses  s' 
etendent  au  loin  sur  la  chaire  Lrbyenne."  —  Dcscrip- 

I  tion  generaie  de  T^bcs,  pay  Messrs.  Jollois  tt  Dts^ 

<  vitliers, 

\     s  Paid  Lvcas. 


been  lost  upon  her.  Startled  by  the  tone  of  tender- 
ness  into  which,  in  desnite  of  all  my  re^-olves,  1  had 
sufl'ered  my  voice  to  sof  en.  she  looked  for  an  instant 
wiih  pa»^i'■na'e  earnestne.-'S  into  my  face;  — then, 
dr<  ppii.5  upon  her  knees  wilh  her  c  asped  hands  up- 
raised, exclaimed,—  "  Tempt  me  not,  in  Ihe  name  of 
God  I  implore  thee,  tempt  n,e  not  ios«er\e  fiom  my 
s-icred  d..ly.  Oh  I  take  me  in>t.inily  to  that  desert 
nii.unla.n,  and  1  will  bIcs^  thee  for  ever." 

'ihis  appeal,  I  felt,  could  not  Le  resisted  —  even 
though  my  heart  were  lo  b<eak  for  it.  Having  silent- 
ly intimaled  mv  assent  in  her  |  nyer,  by  a  sligh'  pres- 
sure of  her  hind  as  1  raised  her  from  the  deck,  I  pro- 
ceeded imniediatelv,  as  we  were  still  in  full  career 
forthesou:h,  to  give  orders  that  our  sail  should  be 
ins'antly  lowered,  and  not  a  moment  lost  iu  retracing 

In  givrn^  these  directions,  however,  it,  for  the  first 
time,  occurred  to  me,  tha',  as  I  had  hired  this  yacht 
IU  llie  neighbourhood  of  Memphis,  where  it  \\a^  pro- 
babte  the  Hight  of  the  young  I'riestess  would  be  most 
vigilantly  tracked,  ue  should  run  the  risk  of  betray- 
ing lo  the  b'latmen  the  place  of  her  retreat ; — and 
there  was  now  a  most  favourable  opportunity  for 
taking  precautions  against  this  danger.  Desiring, 
Iherelure,  thai  we  should  be  landed  at  a  small  village 
on  the  shore,  under  pretence  of  paying  a  visit  Iu  some 
shrine  in  the  neiglibourhood,  I  Uiere  disniissed  our 
barge,  arid  was  relieved  from  fear  of  further  observa- 
tion, by  seeing  it  again  set  sail,  and  resume  iig  course 
fleetly  up  t|ie  current. 

From  the  boats  of  all  descriplinns  that  Ia\  idle 
beside  the  bank,  I  now  selected  nne.  in  every  re-)  cct, 
suited  to  my  purpose— being,  in  iis  shape  and  acctmi- 

the  sinie  lime,  so  light  and  small  as  to  be  inanage- 
able  by  myself  al^ne,  and  requiring,  wilh  the  advan- 
tage of  the  current,  linlemoie  llian  a  hmd  to  sleer  it. 
This  boat  I  succeeded,  wiihout  nmch  difficuhy,  in 
purchasing,  and,  after  a  short  delay,  we  were  again 
afloat  down  the  cunent ;  —  Ihe  sun  just  then  sinking, 
in  consciiius  glory,  over  his  own  golden  shrines  in  the 
Libyan  waste. 

The  evening  was  calmer  ai.d  more  lovely  than  any 
that  liad  yet  smiled  upon  our  voyage;  and,  as  we  left 
the  shore,  a  strain  of  sweet  melody  came  soolhmgly 
over  our  ears.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  young  Nubian 
girl,  whom  we  saw  kneeling  before  an  acacia,  upon 
the  bank,  and  singing,  while  her  companions  flood 
around,  the  wild  song  of  invocation,  which,  in  her 
country,  they  address  to  that  enchanted  tree  :  — 

•'Oh!  Ahyasininn  tree, 
We  pray,  wt?  pray  to  thee; 
By  tlie  glow  or  thy  golden  fiuit, 
Acjd  the  violet  hue  of  thy  flower, 
And  the  greeting  mule 
or  lliy  bough's  nalnle 
To  the  Htranger  who  t^eeka  thy  bower. -4 

"Oh!  AbysslniflD  tree. 

How  the-  inveller  blessps  thee, 
When  the  night  no  mnnn  nllowt;. 
And  the  sunset  hniir  it.  near, 

And  tliuu  bfnil'Bt  thy  bou^hb 

To  kiss  bin  brows, 
Saying,  'Come  rest  thee  here.* 

Oh!  Abyfsinian  tree, 

Thus  bow  thy  head  lo  me !" 

In  the  burden  of  this  song  the  companions  of  the 
young  Nubian  joined;  and  wc  heard  the  words, 
"Oh!  Abyssinian  tree,"  dying  awav  on  Ihe  breeze, 
long  after  the  whole  group  had  beea  lost  to  our 
eye^. 

Whether,  in  the  new  arrangement  which  I  had 
made  for  our  voyage,  any  motive,  be>ides  those 
which  I  professed,  had  a  share,  I  can  scarcely,  even 


4  See  an  account  of  this  sensitive  tree,  which  bends 
down  its  branches  to  those  who  approach  it,  in  M 
Jomard's  Description  of  Syene  and  ihe  Cataracts, 


43 


4^4 


THE     EPICUREAN. 


myself  SD  Ijewildered  were  Ihen  my  feeli„gs-deter- 
lie.  Bui  no  sot.iier  had  the  curreiil  borne  us  awav 
from  all  |,„n,an  dwellings,  and  we  were  alune  on  Ihe 
waters  with  nol  a  soul  near,  than  1  fell  how  cl  selv 
such  solitude  diaws  hea.ls  lojelher,  and  how  ,„uch 
...ore  we  seen.ed  <;  belong  to  each  other,  than  when 
re  were  eyes  around  us. 

he  sauic  feeliiig,  but  williout  the  same  sense  of  its 
danger,  was  Inaoilesl  in  every  look  and  word  of 
Alethe.  i  he  coiisciousuess  ol'the  one  g,ea.  ellor  , 
hen  t  ,„?!,'  "■»'J''/I>["'"c<i  to  have  satisfied  her 
hea  t  ou  the   score  of  duly -while  the  devotedness  ' 

-h  vvhicli  she  saw  1  attended  to  her  every  wish 
w,n,  n'-'^n"  ',"  "l«'.lf">l">S  gratitude  wlifch.  I 
wouLin,  IS  the  day-s|.nns  of  love.  She  was,  there- 
fore, happy,  innocently  happy  ;  and  Ihe  confiding, 
vhile       ...f '■■""""'^'    "'"""ve   of    her    manne? 

'l,r  LW'!i     "^  '"^  "■""  """■'  ""«''.  '"■•"ie  "  also 
ar  more  diiticult. 

It  was  only,  however,  upon  subjects  unconnected 
V  Ih  our  situation  or  late,  that  she  yielded  lo  such 
interchange  ol  thought,  or  that  her  voice  ventured  to 

fiT^L  "',"?•     '''If,  """"""  '  »""'"'«'  ">  'l'"  ''"tiny 
that  awaited  us,  all  her  cheerfulness  fled,  and  she  be- 
e  saddened  and  silent.     When  1  desciibed  to  her 
aeauly  ol  n,y  own  native  land  -  its  Ir.unls  of  in- 

sjinpalhj,  and  soiheli.neseven  softened  into  fondness 
ivhen  I  ventuied  lo  whisper,  that,  in  thai  glorious 
country,  a  lile  lull  of  love  and  libei'y  awa.ted  her 
when  I  jirocecded  to  contrast  the  .adoration  and  blisJ 
she  niight  coi„„,a,.d,  wilh  the  gloomy  austerities  of 
the  life  lo  which  she  w.a5  hastening- ,t  was  like  I'e 
coming  of  a  >u.lden  cloud  over  a  summer  sky  He? 
head  sunk,  as  ...e  listened  ;  - 1  wailed  in  vain  for  an 
forThi's'sHen  ""■'"'  ''^'f  l^'^^f"")'  reproaching  her 

feel  tie  «ZT'Jr  T'.'fu"  """=  ''"  >""'^'  '  ""W 
leci  ine  warm   ears  last  falling  over  it. 

HuI  eyeu  lhi,-leeble  as  was  the  hope  it  held  out- 

.>as  loved.  Like  that  lake,  in  the  land  of  Roses  l 
.vhose  waters  are  half  sweet,  half  hitler,!  1  fell  „,v 
fa'e  to  be  a  compound  of  bliss  and  pain-lbut  Us  verv 
pain  well  worth  all  ordinary  bliss  ^ 

wWre'elertrlilleiVr"? '"'."""  ",'«•"  ^^''  ^'™Si 
While  every  moment  shoileiied  our  hap|>y  dre.im,  and 
Ihe  ciirrent  seemed  lo  flow  with  a  swi  ter  pace  thin 
any  that  ever  yet  hurried  to  the  sea.     No,  L  eatu  e  of 

»;:  me'i'orr"";,""!  'T'  "'  ""'  """'""'•  f-*  "jin 
my  meiiory;-lhe  broken  star-light  o,i  the  water-- 
the  rippling  sound  „f  the  boat,  as,  wilhoul  oar  or  s.lil 
it    went,    like  a    Ihing   of    enchantment,    down    Ihe 

v^aLrli't  ■;  ^t,m"irsome'^e  "%'"''  '^"'  ^'■ 
blush  ,1r  look   m'ore  .."r^l'-fuT't'iraii'Tb;  hstT'  "  """ 
I  CO,  while  1  sal  gazing,  forgellul  of  all  else,  in 

n  Its  course,  and,  hearing  us  awav  to  the  bank  eel 
ingled  1,1, Ihe  water-flowers,  or  be  caught  in  so.^fe 
wbJ;  f,"  '  ,'""';■''='  »■•"="=  we  were.^  0,"J,  Z, 
.:;arnLd'"awa  nif,:  ^ul  Z^'ZH  'vl'ndTf?  ""' 
that  had   stolen,  a.   Ill"    stm   hou';!  I^  dliifk"  ofTe 

^?i;hrj^sir^;::i;i^i4;rt,;it:!'u:;:'^ 

Ihrrsreeli-^'ss'^ev^r"' >'"."•  "^  --"  ^om 


CHAPTER    XV. 

™Ji!'  ?'^'''  T''  P"", ''?''  '■'v^'we'i-the  bend  of  our 
coanM!  towards   Ihe   left,  »nd   the  closing  in  of  the 

«  The  province  of  Arsinoe,  now  Finum. 
s  Paul  Lucas. 


r,  gave  warninj;  of  our  «p 

..  ...^.  ..c.ii.us  unelliiig.     Every  minute  Dotr 

appeared  like  the  las,  of  existence;  and  I  fell  a  siok- 

j  nig  of  despair  at  my  hea  1,  winch  would  have  beeo 

I  inlolerabh',  li„l  „ni  ,  ,..,„|,„io„  that  suddenly,  and  M 

i  '',''>■  """  ''  '     ""  "  •'  I"  i"<',  presented  a  glimpse 

0M,ope>,|,  ,,,,,,,;,,  l.iiff,  c.iliiied  my  feelings. 
I  JMuch  .IS  I  l,.,,l,  ,,,1  on  jiie,  despised  hypocrisy- the 
vei)  set,  i  j,.,J  eo.lirited  being  chictiy  recommended 
j  to  me  by  Ihe  war  Ihcy  continued  to  w,-ige  upon  Ihe 
I  cant  of  all  olhers—  il  was,  nevertheless,  in  hypocrisy 
llial  I  now  scrupi<'d  no,  lo  lake  refuge  from  Ihil 
cal.i„,i,y  which  10  me  was  far  woise  than  ei'her 
shame  or  death,  my  separation  from  Alethe.  In  my 
despair,  1  adop'ed  Ihe  humilialing  plan  — deeply  hi- 
milialing  as  I  felt  i!  |o  be,  even  amid  Ihe  joy  wi,h 
which  I  welcomed  it— of  otlenng  myself  lo  this  her- 
mil,  asa  conven  to  his  faith,  and  ,hus  becoming  Ihe 
fellow-discple  of  Alelhe  under  his  care! 

From  Ihe  moment  1  resolved  upon  this  plan  my 
spill,  lell  lightened.  Though  having  fully  before  my 
eyes  the  mean  labyrinlh  of  imposture  into  which  it 
would  lead  me,  1  ihoughl  of  nothing  but  Ihe  chance 
01  our  continuir;g  still  together.  In  this  hope,  all 
pride,  all  philosophy  was  forgotten,  and  everything 
seemed  Iirlerable,  but  the  prospect  of  losing  her. 

I  bus  re-olved,  il  was  with  somewha'  lew  reluctant 
feelings,  that  I  now  undertook,  at  Ihe  anxious  desire 
ol  my  companion,  toasceilain  the  site  of  that  well- 
known  mi'Ui.tain,  in  the  neighbouihood  of  which  the 
anchoret's  dwelling  lay.  We  had  already  passed  one 
or  two  stupendous  rocks,  which  stood,  detached,  like 
lortresses,  over  Ihe  river's  biink,  and  which,  in  some 
degree,  corresponded  with  the  descrip'ion  on  Ihe  leaf. 
S.O  litllew  as  there  of  life  now  stirring  along  the  shorw, 
thai  I  had  begun  almost  lo  despair  of  any  assistance 
Irom  inquiry,  when,  on  looking  to  the  weslern  bank,  I 
1  saw  a  boatman  among  the  sedges,  towing  his  small  I 
boat,  wi  h  some  diflicully,  up  Ihe  current.  Hailing  ' 
him  as  we  passed,  1  asked,  "  Where  stands  the  Moun- 
tam  of  the  ii^rds  ;-"3-ai.d  lie  had  hardly  time,  as  he 
pointed  above  us,  lo  answ  er  ■•  There,"  when  we  per- 
ceived   Iha,    we   were  just   then  emerging  into   the 

ww^^V  ,'^^'5''  i'"'   '"'«'''>'  "'"^'^  ""'B*  ^"°^  ""e 
whole  ot  Ihe  liood. 

In  a  few  moments  we  had  reached  Ihe  mouth  of  the 
r.lvi„e,  of  which  the  Mountain  of  the  Birds  forms  one 
?u  ^  ^,  VI'  ^"'^  ""fough  which  Ihe  seamy  canal  from 
the  Nile  flows.  At  the  sigh,  of  ihis  awful  chasm, 
wilhin  some  of  whose  dreary  recesses  (if  we  had 
nghlly  interpreted  the  leaf)  the  dwelling  of  Ihe  Soli- 
tary was  to  be  found,  our  voices  sunk  a,  once  ino  a 
ow  whisper,  while  Alethe  turned  inuiid  to  me  wilh  a 
look  of  awe  and  eagerness,  as  if  doubtful  whether  1 
had  no,  already  disappeared  from  her  side.  A  quick 
,  however,  cf  her  hand  towards  the  ravine 
told  too  plainly  that  her  purpose  was  s:ill  unchnneed 
niely  checking,  Iheicfore,  wi.h  my  oars,  lh< 
career  of  our  boat,  I  succeeded,  after  no  small  exer 
tion,  m  turning  i,  ou,  of  the  current  of  Ihe  river,  and 
steering  into  Ihis  bleak  a.  d  slagnan,  canal. 

(  ur  irans.lion  from  life  and  bloom  lo  the  very  depth 
of  desolil.on  w.,6  immediate.  While  the  water  or" 
one  side  (if  Ihe  ravine  lay  buried  in  shadow,  the  white 
skeleton.like  crags  of  Ihe  other  stood  aloft  in  the  pale 
glaie  of  nioonligh'.  'Ihe  sluggish  strtam  th.ough 
which  we  moved  yielded  sullenly  lo  the  o.ir,  and  the 
shriek  of  a  few  water-birds,  which  we  had  rou.ed 
from  Iheir  fastnesses,  was  succeeiled  hv  a  sileoce  so 
dead  and  awful,  that  our  lips  seemed  afraid  to  disturb 
it  by  a  breath;  and  hall-whi-pered  exclanialions 
"How  dreary!"—  'How  dismal!"  were  almost  Ihe 
only  words  excliangt-d  between  os. 

We  had  proceeded  for  some  time  through  this 
gloomy  defile,  when,  at  a  short  distance  before  us 
imongthe  rocks  upon  which  Ihe  mooMlighi  fell,  we 


3  There  has  been   much   controversy   among  Ihe 
Arabian  wriiers,  wi'h  respect  lo  the  sito  of  this  ninun. 
I  tain,  for  which  see  Quatremere,  tom.  i,,  art.  Jmoun. 


THE    EPICUREAN 


49i 


could  perceive,  on  a  Ie(J?e  elevated  but  a  little  above 
the  canal,  a  siitall  hut  or  cave,  wtiich,  from  a  Ifl-c  or 
Iwo  panned  around  il,  bad  soiiie  apfien  ranee  (.f  being 
liie  abode  of  a  huinan  being;.  "'  1  his,  then,"  thought 
I,  "  i>  the  borne  tu  which  ^he  is  dtslined  !"  A  chill 
of  despair  came  a^ain  over  my  hert.  and  the  oars,  as 
1  in\  t;>zin^.  lay  m*  tionless  in  my  hands. 

I  found  Aleihe,  loo,  whuse  eyes  h»d  caught  the  ^ame 
object,  drawing  closer  to  my  sid.;  hnn  she  bad  yet 
veiituieil.  Lavint;  her  baud  ;)gila'edly  upnn  mine, 
'*  We  must  liere,"  she  said,  "pari  br  ever."  I  turned 
to  her,  as  she  ^poke;  Iheie  was  a  lenddness,  a  de- 
sp'iiidency  in  her  ^I'un'enance,  thai  at  once  -.riddened 
and  inflamed  my  snul.  "Pjrt!"  1  exclaimed,  pas- 
siona'ely — '•  No  !— ihu  same  God  shall  receive  us 
both.  Thy  faith,  Aleihe,  shall,  from  this  hour,  be 
mine;  and  I  will  live  and  die  iu  this  desert  with 
thee ;" 

Her  surprise,  her  delight  at  the  e  words,  wag  like  a 
inoment-iry  delirium,  'J'he  wild,  anxious  smile,  with 
which  she  looked  into  niy  face,  as  if  to  :iscertaiu 
whether  she  hnd,  indeed,  beaul  my  words  ari^iit,  be- 
spake  a  hippiness  too  much  for  reast-n  lo  hear.  At 
length  the  fulne.^s  <>f  her  he^rt  found  relief  lu  tears  ; 
and.  murmuring  forth  an  incoliereni  blessing  on  my 
name,  she  lei  her  head  fall  languidly  and  powerles^iy 
nn  mv  arm.  The  liyht  from  vui  bo'ai-hre  shone  u\yon 
her  tacc.  1  saw  her  ejes,  which  she  had  closed  for  a 
moment,  again  operiiii>^  upon  me  ^u'h  the  sime  ten- 
derness, and— mercitul  Fi-ovidence.  how  E  remember 
th^t  monient !— was  on  the  point  o(  bendin?  down  my 
lips  towards  hers,  when,  suddenly,  in  the  air  above  us, 
as  if  coming  direct  from  heaven,  there  bursi  forth  a 
sir.iin  of  chdial  music,  that  with  itssidemu  :>vvti. loess 
filled  (be  whole  valley. 

Breaking  away  tnun  my  caress  at  these  supernatu- 
ral sounds,  the  maiden  threw  ber  elf  Irembline:  upon 
her  knees,  and.  not  daring  to  look  up,  exclaitned 
wildly,  '*My  mother,  oh,  my  mother  1" 

It  was  the  Christians*  morning  hymn  thai  we  beard  ; 
the  same,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  ibat,  on  their  high 
terrace  at  Memphis,  she  had  been  taught  by  her 
mother  to  sing  tu  the  rising  sun. 

Scarcely  less  startled  than  my  companion,  I  looked 
up,  and  saw,  at  the  very  summit  of  ihe  rock  above  us, 
a  light,  appeiriMff  to  come  fiom  a  sntall  opening  or 
window,  ihr'iugh  whicli  those  sounds  likewise,  that 
had  appeared  to  me  so  supernatural,  is-ued.  'I  here 
could  be  no  doub',  ibai  we  lud  now  fnund— if  not  the 
dwelling  (if  the  anchoret — at  least,  the  hauni  of  some 
of  Ihe  Christian  brotherhood  of  these  rocks,  by  whose 
assistance  we  couid  uot  fail  to  find  (he  place  of  tiis 
retreat. 

The  agitation  into  which  Aleihe  had  been  thrown 
by  the  first  burst  of  that  p-almody,  soon  yielded  to  the 
softening  recollections  which  it  biought  back ;  and  a 
calm  came  over  her  brow,  such  as  it  had  never  before 
worn,  since  we  met.  She  seemed  to  feel  as  if  she 
had  now  reached  her  destined  haven,  and  hailed,  as 
the  voice  of  heaven  it^elf,  those  solemn  sounds  by 
which  she  was  vvelconied  to  it. 

In  her  tranquillily,  however,  I  was  very  far  from 
yet  sympathising.  Full  of  impatience  to  learn  alt 
that  awaited  her  as  well  as  myself,  I  pushed  our  boat 
close  to  Ihe  base  I'f  Ihe  rock,  so  a?  to  bring  it  directly 
under  that  lighted  window  on  the  suniniit,  to  explore 
my  way  up  to  which  was  now  my  immediate  object. 
Having  hastily  received  my  ins'ructions  from  Aleihe, 
and  made  ber  repeat  again  the  name  of  the  Chiistian 
whom  we  snuglit,  I  spiang  uptm  the  bank,  and  was 
nol  long  in  discovering  a  soit  of  palh,  or  stairway,  cut 
rudely  out  of  the  rock,  and  leading,  a^  1  found,  by  easy 
windings,  up  the  steep. 

After  ascendiiiff  fFT  some  time,  1  arrived  at  a  level 
Fpice  or  ledge,  which  the  hand  nf  labour  ha.l  suc- 
ceeded in  converting  Into  a  garden,*  and  which  was 

1  The  monks  of  Mount  Sinai  {fihaw  says)  have 
covered  over  near  four  acres  of  the  naked  rocks  with 
fruitful  gaideiis  and  orchards. 


platjted,  here  and  there,  with  tig-trees  ai:.i  ■nalms. 
Ar  und  it,  loo.  I  could  jcrceive,  througli  fh»  ^lim- 
mciing  lighi.  a  nuini^er  nf  snull  c:»vei  oigroitns,  into 
some  nl*  which.  Inn. .an  beings  mi£ht  hnd  an  ei.trince  ; 
Willie  ohers  appeared  v.f  iin  laisier  dimeiiM.Mis  than  | 
Ui'se  tombs  of  ihe  Sacied  liirds  which  are  seen  ranged 
aroun  I  Lake  Mocris. 

I  was  sijll,  I  found,  but  half-way  up  the  ascen',  aor 
was  there  visible  .my  fmther  means  of  c>n(inuing  my 
cou;se,  as  ihe  mountain  from  hence  rose,  almost  per- 
pendicularly, like  a  wall.  At  length,  howeve-,  on 
exploring  more  closely,  I  discovered  beliind  the  shade 
of  a  iiic-iree  a  large  ladder  of  wnod,  lesling  firmly 
against  the  rock,  and  att'ordiiig  an  easy  and  sate  ascent 
up  Ihe  steep. 

Having  ascertained  thus  far,  I  agiin  descended  tc 
the  boat  for  Alehe,  whom  1  found  tiembling  already  at 
her  short  soliiude  ;  and  having  led  her  up  Ibesiair^ 
lo  this  quiet  garden,  left  her  lodged  there  securely, 
amid  its  holy  silence,  while  I  pui-sued  my  way  up- 
ward to  the  light  upon  the  rock. 

A'  the  top  of  the  long  ladder  I  found  myself  on  an- 
oiher  lediTe  or  plalfo'm,  somewhat  sni'ller  than  the 
tiist,  bin  |>iau'ed  in  Ihe  same  manner,  w  ith  trees,  and, 
as  I  c  uld  perceive  bv  the  mingled  light  of  morning 
and  the  mo  u.  embellished  wiih  flowers.  I  was  i 
near  the  summit ;—  iheie  remained  but  ano'her  short 
accent,  and,  as  a  ladder  aj.ilnst  the  rock  supplied,  : 
before,  Ihe  means  of  scaling  it,  I  was  in  a  few  minutes 
at  Ihe  opening  from  which  the  light  is-ued. 

I  had  ascended  gently. as  well  from  a  feeling  of  awe 
at  the  whole  scene,  as  from  an  unwillingness  lo  dis- 
turb rndeiy  the  rite<  on  ^Wiich  I  itilru(led.  My  ap- 
proach, Iberefiire,  being  unheard,  an  opporlunil)  was, 
for  Boine  mnnienis,  afforded  me  of  obseiviog  the  group 
within,  before  my  appearance  at  the  wind -w  was  dis- 
covered, 

lo  the  middle  of  Ihe  apar'meni,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  once  a  Pagan  oratory,  there  was  collected 
an  assembly  of  about  seven  or  eight  persons,  sr 
male,  some  feniale,  kneeling  in  silence  round  a  small 
altar  ; — w  hile.  aoiong  Iheni,  as  if  presiding  over  Uteii 
solemn  ceremony,  stood  ao  aged  man,  who,  at  the 
moment  of  mv  arrival,  was  presenting  to  one  of  the 
female  wt)rshippers  an  alabaster  cup,  which  she  ap- 
plied,  with  profound  reverence,  to  her  lips.  Ihe 
venerable  countenance  of  the  minis'er,  as  he  pro- 
nounced a  short  prayer  tiver  her  liead,  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  profound  feeling  that  showed  how  wholly 
he  was  absorbed  in  that  rite;  and  when  she  had  drunk 
of  the  cup- which  I  ^aw  had  engraven  on  its  side  Hit 
image  of  a  head ,1  with  a  glory  rourd  il  —  the  holy 
man  bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead. 3 

After  Ibis  parting  salutation,  Ihe  whole  group  rost 
filently  from  Iheir  knees;  and  it  was  then,  fir  the 
first  lime,  that,  by  a  cry  of  terror  from  one  nf  the 
wonien,  the  appearance  of  a  stranger  a'  the  windo 
was  discovered.  The  w  hole  assembly  seemed  startled 
and  alarmed,  except  him,  that  superior  person,  who, 
advancing  from  Ihe  allar,  with  an  unmoved  look, 
raised  (he  latch  of  the  door  adjoining  to  the  window, 
and  admitted  me. 

Theie  was,  in  this  old  man's  features,  a  mix'ure  of 
elevation  and  sweetnes'?,  of  simplicity  and  ener 
whicli  commanded  af  once  atlachmenl  and  homage  ; 
and  half  hoping,  half  fearing,  to  fi.-d  in  him  the  des 
lined  guardian  of  Aletlie,  1  looked  anxiously  in  hi 
face,  as  1  entered,  and  pronounced  the  name  "  Mela- 
nius  !"— "  Melanius  is  my  name,  young  stranger.'* 
answered  ;  "and  wheiher  in  friendship  nr  in  enmity 
thou  comest,  Melanius  blesses  thee."  Thus  saying,  he 


2  There  w^u-ually,  TVrrMZ/iau  lells  us,  the  in)ag( 
of  Christ  on  the  communion-cups. 

3  "  We  are  rather  di^po^ed  to  infer,"  says  the  lalt 
Bishop  of  Lincoln^  in  his  very  sensible  woik  oi 
Tertullian,  '■  that,  at  the  conclusiun  of  all  their  meet 
ings  for  the  purpose  of  devotion,  the  early  Christians 
were  accustomed  lo  give  Ihe  kiss  of  peace,  'n  token  of] 
(he  brotherly  love  subsisting  belween  thea."  n 


496 


THE    EPICUR  EAN, 


made  a  si^n  ivilh  hU  rijht  hand  above  mj'  head, 
while,  wiih  involuntary  respMt,  1  bowed  beneath  tiie 
benediction. 

'Let  this  volume,"  I  replied,  '-answer  for  the 
peacetuluessof  i:iy  mission'" — at  the  same  time,  piecing 
iti  his  haiiiis  tile  C')py  of  the  Scriptures  which  had 
been  his  own  gift  to  the  mother  of  Aielhe,  and  ii  hich 
her  own  child  now  brought  as  the  credenlial  of  liei 
claims  oil  his  protection.  At  the  si^ht  of  this  sacred 
pledge,  which  he  instantly  rec  gnised,  the  solemnity 
thai  liad  at  first  marked  his  reception  of  me  softened 
into  tenderness.  Thoughts  of  other  times  appeared 
lo  pass  through  his  miiid ;  and  as,  wilh  a  sigh  of  re- 
collection, he  look  the  book  from  my  hands,  some 
words  DO  the  ou  er  leaf  caught  his  eye.  They  were 
few— hut  contained,  most  probably,  the  last  wishes  of 
the  dying  'Mieora  ;  for  as  he  read  them  over  eagerly, 
I  saw  tears  in  his  aged  eyes.  "The  trust,"  he  said, 
with  a  f.iltering  voice,  *' is  precious  and  sacred,  and 
God  will  enable,  I  hope,  his  servant  lo  guaid  it  faith- 
ful y." 

During  this  short  di  ilogue,  the  other  persons  of  the 
assembly  had  departed  —  being,  as  1  alterwards 
learned,  brethren  from  the  neighbouring  bank  of  the 
Nile,  who  came  thus  secretly  before  dajbreak,"  to 
join  in  worshipping  iheir  God.  Fearful  lest  their 
de-cent  down  the  rock  might  alarm  Aielhe,  1  hurried 
briefly  over  the  few  words  of  explanation  that  re- 
mained, and  leaving  the  venerable  Ctl^i^tlan  to  follow 
at  his  leisure,  hastened  anxiously  down  to  rejoin  the 
young  maiden. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Melanius  was  one  of  the  first  of  those  zealous  Chris- 
tians of  Egypt,  who,  following  the  recent  example  of 
the  hermit,  Paul,  bade  farewell  t.i  all  the  conifnrls  ol 
social  existence,  and  betook  themselves  to  a  life  ot 
contem|ilation  in  the  desert.  Less  selfi-h,  however, 
in  his  piety,  than  most  of  these  ascetics  Melanius 
forgot  not  the  world,  in  leiving  if.  He  knew  that 
man  was  not  born  to  live  whollv  for  himself;  that  his 
relation  to  human  kind  was  tlial  of  the  link  to  the 
Cham,  and  that  even  his  solitude  should  be  turned  lo 
the  advantage  of  others.  In  flying,  therefore  from 
the  din  and  di-turbance  of  life,  he  sought  not  lo  place 
himself  beyond  the  reach  of  its  sympathies,  but 
selected  a  retreat  where  he  could  combine  all  the 
advantages  of  solitude  with  tho,e  opportunilies  of 
being  useful  lo  his  fellow-men,  which  a  neighbourhood 
to  their  populous  haunts  would  afl'ord. 

That  taste  for  the  gloom  of  subterranean  recesses, 
which  the  race  of  Mistaim  inherit  from  their  Ethi- 
opian ancestors,  h^d,  by  hollowing  out  all  Egypt  into 
caverns  and  crypts,  supplied  these  Christian  anchore's 
with  an  ample  choice  of  retreats.  Accordingly,  some 
found  a  shelter  in  Ihe  grottos  of  Eleihya  ;— others, 
among  the  royal  tombs  of  the  Thebaid.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  Ihe  Seven  Valleys,'!  where  the  sun  rarely 
shines,  a  few  h  ive  fixed  their  dim  and  melancholy 
relreit  ;  while  others  have  sought  the  neighbourhood 
of  Ihe  red  Lakes  of  Nitria,3  and  there,  like  those 
Pagan  solitaries  of  old,  who  lixtd  their  dwelling 
among  the  palm-trees  near  the  Ue.id  Sea,  pass  their 

*  It  was  among  the  accusations  of  Celsits  again-t 
Ihe  Christians,  that  they  held  their  assemblies  pri- 
vately  and  ;iinlrary  to  law  ;  and  one  of  ihe  speakers 
in  the  xrlc>u3  work  of  Mimicius  Felix  calls  Ihe 
Christia  ?i  *L  atehrosa  et  lucifugax  natio." 

»See  Mncrizy'i  account  of  these  vallejs,  given  by 
Qtiatre-nitre.  toni.  i.  p.  450. 

3  For  a  striking  description  of    ihis  region,   see 

'•«nme.tcs,"  a  woik  which,  though  in   general    too 

technical  and  elaborate,  shoivs,  in  many  passages,  to 

what  picturesque  efiVcts  Ihe  scenery  and  mythology 

j  of  Egypt  may  be  made  subservient. 


whole  lives  in  musing  amidst  the  s'erilityuf  nature^ 
and  seem  to  find,  in  tier  desolation,  peace. 

It  w,is  on  one  of  the  mountains  of  the  Said,  to  Ihe 
easi  of  the  river,  that  Melanius,  as  we  have  seen, 
chose  his  place  of  seclu  ion  —  having  all  the  life  and 
leriihly  of  Ihe  Nile  on  one  side,  and  the  lone,  di.mal 
barreiine-s  of  the  desert  on  the  other.  Hall-v 
do\vn  ihis  mountain,  where  it  impends  over 
ravine,  he  found  a  series  of  caves  or  groitos  dug  out 
of  Ihe  rock,  which  had,  in  other  times,  minislert-d  to 
some  purpose  of  mystery,  but  whse  use  had  long 
been  foriiolten,  and  llieir  recesses  abandoned. 

'lo  this  place,  after  the  balli^llmelll  of  his  great 
master,  Origen,  Melanius,  with  a  few  faithful  follow, 
ers,  retired,  and  Ibere,  by  the  example  of  his  inno. 
cent  life,  as  v\ell  as  by  his  fervid  eloquence,  succeed- 
ed in  winning  crowds  of  converts  to  his  faith. 
Placed,  as  he  was,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  rid 
city,  Antinoe.4  though  he  mingled  net  with  ils  niulli 
tude,  his  name  and  his  fame  were  ever  among  Ihem 
and,  to  all  wlio  sought  after  instructi  an  or  consolation, 
the  cell  of  Ihe  hermit  was  alv>ays  open. 

Notwithstanding  the  ligid  abstinence  of  his  own 
habits,  he  was  yet  caieful  to  provide  for  the  comfortf 
of  others.  Conlent  wiilia  rude  pallet  of  stiaw,  h, 
self,  he  had  always  for  the  stranger  a  le-s  homely 
resting-place.  From  his  grotto,  Ihe  wavfaring  and 
the  indigent  never  went  unrefreshed  ;  and,  w  iih  the 
aid  of  some  of  his  biethren,  he  had  formed  gardens 
along  the  ledges  of  the  moun  ain,  which  gave  an  ail 
of  life  and  clieei fulness  to  his  rocky  duelling,  and 
supplied  him  with  Ihe  chief  necessaries  of  such  a 
climate-fiuit  and  shade. 

Though  the  acquaintance  he  had  formed  with  Ihe 
mnther  of  Alethe,  during  the  short  periid  of  het 
attend  mce  at  Ihe  school  of  Origen,  was  soon  inter- 
rupted, and  never  afterwards  renewed,  the  interest 
which  he  had  then  taken  in  her  file  was  far  too  live- 
ly to  be  fnrg"tten.  He  had  seen  the  ze.l  with  which 
her  young  lieart  welcomed  ins'rnction ;  and  the 
thought  llial  so  promising  a  candidate  for  heaven 
should  have  lelapsed  into  idolatry,  came  often,  wilh 
disquieing  apjirehension,  over  his  mind. 

It  was,  iherefoie,  with  true  pleasure,  that,  but  a 
year  or  two  before  Theora's  death,  he  had  learned 
by  a  piivate  communication  from  Iter,  transmitted 
through  a  Christian  enibalmer  of  Memphis,  tha 
'■  not  only  had  her  own  heart  taken  rool  in  the  faiih, 
but  that  a  new  bud  had  flowered  wilh  Ihe  same 
divine  hope,  and  that,  ere  long,  he  might  see  them 
both  transpl  mted  to  the  desert." 

The  coming,  therefore,  of  Alethe,  was  far  less  a 
surprise  to  him,  than  her  c  .ming  thus  alone  was  a 
shock  and  a  sonow  ;  and  the  silence  of  their  firs! 
meeting  showed  how  painfully  bo  h  remembered  that 
Ihe  lie  which  had  brought  them  together  uas  no 
longer  of  this  world  —  that  the  hand,  which  should 
have  been  then  joined  with  theirs,  was  mouldering  in 
the  tomb.  I  now  saw  thai  even  religion  like  his  was 
not  proof  against  the  sadness  of  ii.orialily.  For,  as 
the  old  man  put  aside  the  ringlets  from  her  forehead, 
and  contemplated  ill  that  clear  countenance  the  re- 
flection of  what  her  mother  had  been,  there  mingled 
a  mouriifulness  with  his  piety,  as  he  said,  •'  Heaven  1 
rest  her  soni  I"  which  showed  how  little  even  Ihe 
certainty  of  a  lieaven  for  those  we  love  can  reconcile 
us  to  Ihe  pain  of  having  lost  them  on  earlh. 

The  full  light  of  day  had  now  risen  upon  the 
desert,  and  our  host,  reminded,  by  the  faint  looks  of 
Aielhe,  of  the  many  anxious  hours  we  had  pas 
without  sleep,  proposed  that  we  should  seek,  in 
chambersof  the  rock,  sich  res'  as  a  liermiiV  di^elling 
could  offer.    Pointing  lo  one  of  the  largest  of  these 


4  From  the  position  assigned  to  Antinoe  in  thi 
work,  we  should  conclude  thai  it  extended  much  fai 
ther  to  the  north,  than  the  few  ruins  of  it  tl:at  remai 
would  seem  to  indicate,  and  that  the  dis'ance  bctwceu 
the  ciiy  and  the  Mountain  of  the  Rinls  \\as  consider- 
ably less  than  what  it  a|ipeats  to  be  at  piesent. 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


49 


opening;!,  as  he  addrei'seil  me—"  Thou  wilt  find,-'  he 
said,  ••  iij  tliat  grollo  a  bed  iif  fresh  doiiiii  leave-,  and 
may  llie  coiisciousuesa  uf  liaving  protected  the  orphan 
aweeleii  thy  sleep !" 

I  felt  how  dearly  this  praise  had  been  earned,  and 
aliea.ly  almost  repented  of  haviiiR  deserved  it. 
There  aas  a  sadness  in  Ihe  coumenance  of  Alollie,  as 
1  lock  leave  of  her,  to  which  Ihe  fr)rcbodincs  of  my 
own  heart  but  loo  faithfully  responded  ;  nor  could  I 
help  fearing:,  as  her  hand  parted  Ijngeringly  from 
mine,  tliat  I  liad,  by  this  sacrifice,  placed  her  beyond 
my  reach  for  ever. 

Having  li?hled  for  me  a  lamp,  which,  in  these  re- 
cesses, even  at  noon,  is  necessary,  ihe  holy  man  led 
me  10  Ihe  entrance  of  Ihe  erollo.  Ami  here  I  blush 
to  say,  njy  career  of  hypocrisy  began.  With  the  sole 
view  of  oblaiuiiig  another  glai.ce  al  Alelhe,  I  turned 
humbly  to  silicil  the  benediciion  of  the  Chrislian, 
and,  having  conveyed  lo  her,  while  bending  reverenl- 
ly  down,  as  much  of  the  deep  feeling  of  my  soul  as 
looks  could  express,  I  then,  with  a  desponding  spirit, 
hurried  into  Ihe  cavern. 

A  short  passage  led  me  to  the  chamber  within— Ihe 
walls  of  which  1  found  covered,  like  lho^e  of  the 
grottos  of  Lycopolis,  with  painlings,  which,  though 
executed  long  ages  ago,  lonbcd  as  fre~h  a»  if  their 
colours  were  but  laid  on  yotciday.  They  were,  all 
of  Ihem,  representations  nl  rural  and  domestic  scei.es  ; 
and,  in  the  greater  number,  the  melancholy  imagi. 
nation  of  the  artist  had  called  in,  ai  usual,  the  pre- 
sence of  Death,  to  throw  liis  shadow  over  the  pic- 
ture. "^ 

My  atlenli'  n  was  particularly  drawn  lo  one  series 
of  subjects,  throughout  the  whole  of  which  ihe  same 
group— consisting  of  a  youth,  a  maiden,  and  two  aged 
persons,  who  appeared  lo  be  the  father  and  mother  of 
Ihe  girl  —  were  represented  in  all  the  delaih  of  Ihrir 
daily  life.  The  looks  and  atlit.,des  of  the  young  peo- 
ple denoted  that  Ihey  were  lovers;  and,  someiiines, 
they  were  seen  silling  under  a  cinopy  of  fl.uiers, 
wiih  their  eyes  fixed  on  each  o  hei's  laces,  as  though 
they  could  never  look  away;  sometimes,  Ihey  ap- 
peared walking  along  ihe  banks  of  Ihe  Nile,— 

no  one  of  those  sweet  nights 

When  Isis,  llie  puie  Mlar  of  lovcra.l  liglils 
Her  liritlal  creat-eiil  oVr  Ihe  holy  stream  — 
When  wandering  youths  and  niuidelis  waleh  her  beam, 
And  uumher  oVr  the  nights  she  halh  lo  run, 
Kre  she  ai'Sin  embrace  her  brideirimra  «un.2 
Throi;gh  all  these  scenes  of  endearment  the  two 
elder  peisons  stood   by  ;  — their  c.ilm  countenances 
touched  wilh  a  siMre  of  that  bliss,  iij  whose  perfecl 
light  the  young  lovers  were  basking.     Thus  far,  all 
was  happiness;— but  Ihe  sad  lesson  of  mortality  was 
yet  lo  come.     In  the  last  picture  .  f  Ihe  series,  one  of 
the  figures  was   missins;      II  was  that  of  Ihe  young 
maiden,  who  had  disappeared  from  among  them.    On 
the  brink  of  a  dark  lake  stood  Ihe  ihrce  who  remain- 
ed ;  while  a  boai,ju»t  depariing  for  the  Cily  of  Ihe 
Dead,  told  too  plainly  Ihe  end  of  their  dream  of  hap- 
pines.. 

This  mem'Tial  of  a  sorrow  of  other  limes— of  a  sor- 
row, ai.cieni  as  dealh  itself- w.as  not  wanling  to  deepen 
llie  melancholy  of  my  mind,  or  to  add  to  ihe  weighl 
of  the  many  bodings  that  pressed  upon  it. 

After  a  nishi,  as  it  seemed,  of  anxious  and  i.nsleep- 
ing  th.iughl,  I  rose  from  my  bed  and  reurned  lo  ihe 
ganlea.  1  found  the  Christian  alone  —  sealed,  under 
the  shade  of  one  nf  his  Irces,  at  a  small  Is  hle,on  which 
there  lay  a  volume  unrolled,  while  a  Leauliful  antelope 
was  sleeping  at  his  feet.  Struck  by  the  contrast 
which  he  presented  lo  those  haughly  priests,  whom  1 
had  seen  surrounded  by  tlie  p  mp  and  gorgi-nuBiiess 
Of  temples,  "  Is  this,  Ihen,"  thought  1,  "the  faith 
before  which  the  world  now  trembles— i's  temple  the 
desert,  its  treasury  a  book,  and  lis  High  Priest  Ihe 
Bolitiry  dwellerof  Ihe  rock?" 


»  Vide  Plutarch,  dc  [sid. 

2  "Conjunciio  soils  cum  luna,  quod  est  veluli  utrr 
utque  connul.ium.'— yaWoHsAi. 


He  had  prepared  for  me  a  simple,  but  hospitable 
repast,  of  which  fruits  from  his  own  girden,  the  whife 
bread  of  Olyra,  and  the  juice  of  the  honey-cane,  fi.rmed 
the  mist  costly  luxuries.  His  manner  to  me  was  even 
more  cord  n  I  and  ritheilv  than  before;  but  the  absence 
of  Alellie.  and,  slill  more,  the  ominous  reserve,  wilh 
which  he  not  only,  himself,  refrained  from  all  men- 
tion of  her  name,  bul  eluded  Ihe  few  inquiries,  by 
which  I  sought  III  lead  to  il,  seemed  lo  confirm  all  Ihe 
apprehensions  I  had  fell  in  parting  from  her. 

SIve  had  acquain'ed  him,  il  was  evident,  wilh  the 
whole  history  of  o  ir  flight.  My  reputation  as  a  plii- 
I  losoplier— niy  desire  lo  become  a  Christian— all  was 
already  known  to  the  zealous  anchoret,  and  the  sub- 
jcci  of  my  conversion  w.is  Ihe  very  first  on  which  he 
entered.  Oh.  pride  of  philosophy,  how  werl  thou 
then  humbled,  and  wilh  what  shame  did  1  stand  in 
the  piesetice  of  ihat  venerable  man,  not  daring  to  let 
my  eyes  encounter  his,  while,  wilh  unhesitating  trust 
in  Ihe  sincerity  of  my  intention,  he  welcomed  nie  to  a 
participation  of  his  holy  hope,  and  imprinted  the  Kiss 
of  Charity  on  my  infidel  brow  ! 

Knibari'assed  as  1  could  not  but  feel  by  Ihe  humil- 
iating consciousness  of  hypocrisy,  I  was  even  still 
more  perplexed  by  mv  almost  IoIaI  ignorance  of  the 
real  lenels  of  the  failii  lo  w  hich  1  professed  myself  a 
convert.  Abashed  and  ccnfused,  and  with  a  heart 
sick  at  its  own  deceit,  I  lislened  lo  Ihe  animated  and 
eloquent  gia.ulations  of  the  Christian,  as  though  they 
were  words  in  a  dream,  without  any  link  or  meaning  ; 
nor  could  disguise  but  by  the  niockeiy  of  a  reverent 
bow,  at  every  pause,  the  total  want  of^ self-possession, 
and  even  of  speech,  under  which  I  laboured. 

A  few  minults  more  of  such  trial,  and  1  must  have 
avowed  my  imposture.  But  the  holy  man  perceived 
my  enibanassinent ;— and.  whether  mistaking  it  for 
awe,  or  knowing  il  to  be  igU'  ranee,  relieved  me  from 
my  perplexity  by  al  once  changing  Ihe  theme.  Hav- 
ing genlly  awakened  his  anlelope  from  its  sleep, 
"You  have  doublless,"  he  said,  *' heird  of  my  brotlier- 
anrhorct,  Paul,  who.  from  his  cave  in  Ihe  marble 
uiounfains,  near  the  Ked  Sea,  sends  hourly  the  blessed 
'sacrihce  of  tlianksgiving'  to  heaven.  Of  Ms  walks, 
they  lell  me,  a  lion  is  the  companion  ;3  but,  for  me," 
he  added,  with  a  playful  and  significant  smile.  "  who 
try  my  powers  of  taming  but  on  the  gentler  animals, 
this  feeble  child  of  the  desert  is  a  far  fitter  playmate." 
■J'hen,  taking  his  stafT,  and  putting  the  time-worn 
volume  which  he  had  been  perusing  into  a  large  goat- 
skin pouch,  Ihat  hung  by  his  side,  "1  will  now," 
said  he,  •  coirdiict  thee  over  my  rocky  kingdom,  that 
ihou  niavest  see  in  what  drear  and  barren  places  that 
'  sweet  fruil  of  the  spirit,'  Peace,  may  be  gathered." 

'I'o  speak  of  peace  to  a  hearl  throbbing,  as  mine  did, 
at  that  moment,  was  like  talking  of  some  distant  har- 
bour to  Ihe  mariner  sinking  at  sea.  In  vain  did  I  look 
around  for  some  sign  of  Alelhe  ;  — in  lain  make  an 
eflort  even  to  utter  her  name.  Consciousness  of  iiiy 
invn  deceit,  as  well  as  a  fear  of  awakening  in  the 
mmd  of  Melanius  any  suspicion  that  might  tend  to 
frustrate  my  only  hope,  threw  a  fetter  over  my  spirit 
and  checktd  my  tongue.  In  humble  silence,  tferefore, 
I  followed,  while  the  cheerful  old  man,  wilh  slow, 
but  firm  step,  ascended  Ihe  rock,  by  Ihe  same  ladders 
which  I  had  mounted  on  lite  preceding  night. 

During  the  lime  when  the  Decian  Persecution  was 
raging,  many  Chrisiians,  as  he  told  me,  of  tbe  neigh- 
bourhood had  taken  refuge  under  his  protection,  in 
the-egroths;  and  the  small  ch.pel  uprui  Ihe  summit, 
where  1  had  found  his  Hock  at  pr.tyei,  was,  in  ihose 
awful  times  of  suflering,  Iheir  usual  place  of  retreat, 
where,  by  drawing  up  these  ladilers,  they  were  ena- 
bled lo  secure  themselves  from  pursoil. 

The  view,  from  Ihe  lop  of  the  rock,  extending  on 
either  side,  embraced  Ihe  Iwoexiremes  of  li-iiliiy  and 
desolation;  nor  could  the  Epicurean  and  Ihe  An 
choret,  who  now  stood  gazing  from  that  heigl.t,  be  at 
any  loss  lo  indulge  their  respective  asle-.  belween  the 
living  luxuriance  of  Ih's  world  on  one  side,  and  the 


3  M.  Chateaubriand  has  introduced  Paul  »Dd  hii 
lion  into  Ihe  '•  JMuj/i/rs,"  liv.  xi.  I 

2G      ^ 


49S 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


dead,  pulseless  repose  of  the  desert  on  the  olher. 
When  we  turned  Id  the  river,  what  a  picture  of  ani- 
niaiioM  pre  enled  itself!  Near  us  lo  llie  aoulli,  ueie 
(he  graceful  c  iloiinailes  of  Autinoe,  its  pioud,  populnus 
sireels,  and  Inuujplial  innuunieuts.  On  llie  oppisile 
«hc"e  rich  pl.lML-.,  all  leeuiina  «ilh  cul  ivation  to  Ihe 
water'*  edje.  seemed  to  ofler  Up,  as  fiuiii  verdaul 
alters,  their  truUs  to  Ike  sun;  while,  beucalb  ua,  the 
Nile,— 

That  late  between  il»  bank*  wan  seen  to  glide — 
W  ilh  bhnnei*  and  marble  ciliea  ou  each  niile, 
Glilteriiig,  like  jewels  atrung  along  a  ehain  — 


Hji 


1  forth  i 


1  from  his  bed 


rplai 


tinci  :— 3 


Anil  vol       . 

Riauig  wiih  oulstieUh'd  limba,  supeibly  spread. 
Frctn  lliis  scene,  on  one  side  of  the  ninunlain,  we  had 
but  ti  turn  roui.d  our  ejes  to  llie  other,  and 
if  Mature  herself  had  become  suddenly  e,\ 
wide  waste  of  saials,  bleak  and  inlei  inuiabic,  wtary- 
ing  out  ihe  sun  wilh  ii»  sameness  of  desolation  ;-- 
black,  biirnt-up  rocks,  thai  stood  as  b  men,  at  which 
life  slopped  ;— while  the  only  signs  of  animation,  pal 
or  iiresent,  were  the  footprints,  here  and  there,  of  an 
antelo|ie  or  ostrich,  or  the  bones  of  dead  camels,  as 
Iliey  lay  "hiieiniig  at  a  distance,  marking  out  Ihe 
track  of  llie  caravans  over  ihe  waste. 

Af  er  listening,  while  he  omliasled,  in  a  few  elo- 
quent words,  the  two  resions  of  life  and  death  on 
whose  contines  we  stood,  1  again  descended  wilh  my 
guide  10  the  gjrden  we  lad  left.  From  ihence.  turn- 
ing into  a  path  aloi  g  the  mounlain-side,  he  led  me  lo 
anilherr-w  of  grotlos,  facing  the  desert,  which  had 
been  once,  he  said,  the  abode  of  those  lirelliren  m 
Christ,  who  had  lied  wiih  him  lo  this  si  lilude  from 
the  crowded  world  — but  which  dea'h  had.  within  a 
few  short  nioiilhs,  rendered  teuanilesa.  A  cnss  of 
red  stone,  and  a  lew  laded  Irees,  were  Ihe  ouly  Ir.ices 
these  solilaiies  had  left. 

A  silence  of  some  niiiiules  succeeded,  while  we 
descended  to  the  edge  of  the  canal ;  imd  I  saw  oppo- 
site, among  the  rocks,  Ihal  soiilary  cave,  which  had 
so  chilled  me  wilh  iH  aspect  on  the  preceding  nighl. 
Beside  the  bank  we  louiid  one  of  those  ru.lic  boa  s, 
which  the  Egyirtians  coiistn.ci  of  planks  of  wild 
thorn,  bound  rudely  together  with  b.iiids  of  papjrus. 
Placing  ouiselves  in  this  hi  at,  and  lather  impelling 
than  rowing  ii  across,  we  made  our  way  through  the 
foul  and  -hallow  liood,  and  landed  diieclly  under  Ihe 
sileofthecaie.  ,       , 

'Ihis  dwelling  was  silualed.  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, on  a  ledge  of  rock;  and,  being  provided  with 
a  sort  of  window  or  aperture  lo  adioil  Ihe  light  of 
heaven,  was  accnunled,  1  found,  far  nmie  cheerful 
than  the  grottos  on  ihe  o  her  side  of  the  ravine.  Bnl 
there  w.is  a  dreariness  in  Ihe  whole  reiiion  around,  lo 
which  light  only  lent  additional  horror.  'I'he  dead 
whiteness  of  Ihe  rocks,  as  they  sUjod,  like  ghosts,  in 
Ihe  sunshine  ;—  that  melancholy  pool,  half  lost  in  ihe 
sands;— all  gave  to  my  mind  ihe  idea  if  a  wiisting 
world.  'I'n  dwell  in  a  place  so  des-  l.ile  seemed  to  nie 
a  living  dealh;  and  when  the  Christian,  as  we  en- 
tered the  cave,  siid,  "Here  is  lo  be  thy  home."  pie- 
pared  as  1  had  been  for  the  worst,  all  my  resolu  ' 
give  way  ;— every  feelii  g  of  disappointed  pa-sion 
hunihled  pride,  which  had  been  galhering  round  my 
heart  for  the  last  lew  hours,  found  a  vent  at  once, 
and  I  burst  inlo  tears. 

Accustomed  lo  human  weakness,  and  perhaps  guess' 
tng  at  some  of  Ihe  sources  of  mine,  the  good   Hermit 
fiithcut  appearing  10  lake  any  notice  of  this 
pru:*;ded  to 


ters,'  in  which  alone  thou  wilt  find  lasting  raheth- 

iil   or   peace  I"      Thus  saying,   he  descended   tbe 

...,.k  to  his  boat,  and  after  a  few  plashes  of  his  oar  had 

died  upon  my  ear,  ihesoliudeand  silence  Ihal  reignod 

around  me  was  complete. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

What  a  fate  w  as  mine  !  —  but  a  few  weeks  since, 
presiding  over  that  gay  Festival  of  the  Garden,  » ith 
all  the  luxuries  of  existence  tributary  in  my  Irain; 
and  now  —  self-humbled  inlo  a  solitary  outcast  —  Ihe 
hypocrilical  pi  pil  of  a  Christian  anchoret  —  withoul 
even  Ihe  excuse  of  religious  fana  icisni,  or  any  other 
madness,  but  that  of  love,  wild  love,  to  extenuate  my 
fall !  Were  there  a  hope  that,  by  this  humiliating 
waste  of  exis  ence,  1  might  purchase  now  and  then  a 
monienlary  gl.mpse  of  Alellie,  even  the  depths  of  the 
deserl,  with  such  a  chance,  would  be  welcome.  Rut 
to  live  — and  live  thus-  without  her,  was  a  misery 
which  1  neither  foresaw  nor  could  endure. 

Hating  even  to  look  upon  Ihe  den  to  which  1  was 
doomed,  1  hurried  oul  inlo  Ihe  air,  and  found  my  way, 
along  the  rocks,  lo  Ihe  deserl.  The  sun  was  g'  ing 
down,  wilh  Ihal  blood-icd  hue,  which  he  so  often 
wears,  in  this  climate,  at  his  settiig.  I  saw  Ihe 
sands,  s  retching  out,  like  a  sei,  'o  the  h  ■rizrin,  as  if  i 
their  wa-le  extended  In  the  very  verge  of  the  world— 
and.  in  the  bilteriiess  of  my  feelings,  rejoiced  to  see 

l.irge  a  porimi  of  cieaiioii  rescued,  even  by  this 
barren  liber  y,  from  llic  ei  croaching  grasp  of  man. 
Ihe  thought  seemed  to  relieve  my  wounded  pride, 
ind,  as  I  waiideied  over  Ihe  dim  a"i.d  boundless  soli- 
tude, lo  be  Ihns  liee,  even  amidst  blight  and  desola- 
tion, appeared  to  nie  a  blessing. 

•Ihe  only  living  thing  1  saw  was  n  restless  swallow, 
whose  wings  were  of  the  same  hue  wiih  the  giev  | 
sands  ovei  wh  cli  he  llullered  i  •'  Why  (thought  I) 
may  not  the  mind,  like  this  bird.  Jiartike  of  the  colour 
of  the  deserl,  and  sv  iniialhise  m  its  auslerily,  i's  free- 
dom, and  Its  calm  ?''—  thus  vainly  ei.deavouring,  be 
twcen  despondence  and  defiance,  to  enconiiter  with 
.some  degree  of  fortitude  what  yet  mv  heart  sickened 
to  conlemplate.  liut  the  effort  was  unavailing. 
(Ivercome  by  that  vst  soli  ude,  whose  lepose  was  not 
the  slumber  of  peace,  but  lather  the  sullen  and  buin- 
ing  silence  if  hale,  I  fell  liiyspiiil  give  way,  and 
even  Inve  i  self  \ieMed  lodespan. 

Taking  my  seat  on  a  fragment  of  a  rock,  and  cover- 
ing my  eyes  with  my  hands  1  m^de  an  effort  to  shut 
out  ihe  overwhelming  pmspecl.  Rut  all  in  vain  — it 
was  still  liefi  re  me,  w  ilh  every  additional  horror  that 
f.ilicy  could  suggest ;  and  w  heii,  again  looking  forth,  1 
beheld  Ihe  Inst  red  ray  of  the  sun,  shooiina  across  the 
melancholy  and  lifeless  wasle,  it  ajipeartd  to  me  like 
the  light  if  that  comet  which  once  desolated  litis 
world,''i  and  thus  luridly  shone  out  over  Ihe  ruin  that 
it  had  made ! 

A|  palled  by  my  own  gloomy  imagi 


,  u  hat 


Ih  a  cheerful  air,  oi 
led,  the  comforts  of  my  dwelling.  Sheltered 
from  the  dry  burning  wind  of  the  soulh,  my  porch 
would  inhale  he  said,  Ihe  fresh  breeze  of  the  Dog- 
star.  Fruits  from  his  own  mounlain-garden  should 
furnish  my  repast.  The  well  of  the  neighbouring 
rock  would  supply  my  beverage;  and  "heie"  he 
continued— lowering  his  voice  inlo  a  mi  re  solemn 
tone,  as  be  placed  upon  the  t.ble  the  volume  which 
be  had  brought—"  here,  mv  si  ii,  is  thai  •  well  of  living 


I  turned 


nd,  nntwithstandtng  thed 
wilh  w  hich  I  had  lied  from  my  dwelling,  was  i 
lileased  10   find  my  way 
till  approicliiug  the  cav 


At  ! 


1  moment. 


nt,  I  : 


1  "  Je  vis  dans  le  deserl  des  hirondelles  d'un  gris 
clairconmie  le  sable sur  lequel  elles  volenl.''—/>noi). 

■2  In  alluding  lo  Whislon's  idea  of  a  cornel  having 
c.iused  Ihe  deluge,  lU.  Girard,  having  lemarked  that 
the  word  lyphon  means  a  deluge,  adds,  -'On  ne  peut 
entendre  par  le  terns  du  regiie  de  Typhon  que  celu; 
pendant  lequel  le  deluge  iuonda  la  tei  re,  terns  pendant 
lequel  on  dut  observer  l.i  cmiete  qui  Toccasionna,  el 
doiil  I'apparition  fui,  iion  seulenient  pour  les  peuples 
de  I'Kgypte,  el  de  I'Ethiopie,  niais  encore  pour  Ions 
les  peuples  le  presase  funesle  de  leur  deslruclion 
p-esqiie  totale."— ZJcscriftiOT"  di  la  ValUt  de  I'Egare- 
mentt 


THE    EPI  C  U  REAN, 


499 


was  welcome,  and  1  hailed  the  iinexpec'ed  a[>peannce 
with  ple<8iire.  On  en  eniig,  ho^vever,  I  found  the 
clMiither  »11  »s  lonely  as  1  had  Irfi  ii.  The  li^ht  1  h  ul 
seen  came  from  a  l.iinp  ihai  burned  Lrieli  ly  on  the 
table;  beside  it  was  nnlnlded  he  vohime  v\hich  Me- 
laiiius  hid  biought.aiul  up"H  he  open  leiVfS  — oh,  jny 
and  surptise-lay  the  well-known  cross  of  Ale: lie  ! 

VVli:il  hand,  but  her  own,  couM  have  prt-pired  this 
recepiion  f^r  me  ?— The  very  thought  sent  a  liope  into 
my  heart,  before  whicli  all  desi)ni,deiicy  fli-d.  Even 
Ihe  gloom  of  the  desert  was  forgotten,  and  my  rude 
cave  at  once  brightened  into  a  bower.  She  had  here 
reniindeil  nie,  bv  Ibis  s:icred  nieniorial,  (if  the  vow 
which  I  had  pledged  lo  her  under  the  Heimii's  rock  j 
and  I  now  scrupled  not  to  reiterate  thu  same  daring 
promise,  i bough  conscious  that  Ihruugh  hypocrisy 
alone  conld  I  fulfil  it. 

Eager  lo  [ireparc  myself  for  my  task  of  imposture, 
I  sat  down  to  the  volume,  "bicb  1  now  found  lo  be 
ihe  Hebrew  Scrrp'ures;  and  the  first  fen  euce,  on 
which  my  eyes  fell,  was  — "The  Lord  balh  com- 
in  iided  the  blessing,  even  Life  for  evermore ." 
startled  by  'hose  word?,  in  whicli  ii  appetred  to  me 
as  if  Ihe  Spiri  of  my  dream  h<d  again  pronounced 
his  assuring  prediciioi),^  I  raised  my  eyes  from  the 
page,  and  repe*ed  Hie  sentence  over  and  over,  as  if 
t.t  try  wheUiei  in  these  sounds  there  lay  any  charm 
or  spell,  to  re-awiken  ihit  faded  illusion  in  my  soul. 
fiut,  uo  — Ihe  rank  frauds  nf  the  Memphian  priest* 
Iiooj  had  dispelled  all  my  trust  in  the  promises  of  re- 
ligion- My  heart  hid  agiiu  relapsed  in'o  its  gloom 
of  bctpticism,  and,  'o  Ihe  unrd  of  ''Life,"  Ihe  only 
an.su er  it  sent  back  was,  "Death  !" 

Bei«  g  impaiieul,  however,  to  possess  myself  of  the 
fclemeiifs  of  a  faitli,  up^n  which  —  whaievcr  it  might 
promise  for  liereafier— I  felt  (hat  all  my  happli.ess 
here  depended,  I  turned  over  the  pages  w'lih  an  earn- 
estness and  avidi  y,  such  as  never  e\en  the  niost 
favourite  of  my  sludes  had  awakei-ed  in  me. 
Though,  like  all  who  seek  but  the  surf.ice  of  learn- 
ing,  1  flew  desultorily  over  the  leaves,  lighting  only 
on  the  more  prominent  and  -.hining  points,  I  yet  found 
myself,  even  in  Ihi-.  undisciplined  cueer.  ariested,  ai 
every  page,  by  the  awful,  the  supernatural  suldimiiy, 
the  iiltennte  melancholy  and  grandeur  of  the  images 
that  cr'wded  upon  me. 

1  had,  till  now,  known  Hie  flebrew  theology  but 
through  the  platonising  rehnemeni  of  Phito ;  —  as,  In 
like  manner,  for  my  knowledge  of  the  Clirislian  doc- 
trine 1  u  as  indebted  to  my  brother  Epicureans,  Lucian 
and  Celsus.  Little,  therefore,  was  my  mind  prepared 
for  the  simple  majesty,  the  high  tone  of  inspiration— 
Ihe  poetry,  in  short,  of  heaven  (h:\t  bnathed  through- 
out these  oracles.  C"uld  admiratiNn  have  kindled 
faith,  I  should,  ihat  night,  have  been  a  believer;  so 
elevated,  so  awed  "as  nvy  imaginaliuu  by  that  won- 
derlul  book — its  warnings  of  woe,  its  announcenienis 
of  glory,  and  its  unrivalled  strains  of  adoration  and 

Hour  af'er  hour,  wiih  the  same  eager  and  desultory 
curiosity,  did  I  turn  over  the  leaves; —an-l  uhen,  at 
le  gih,  I  lay  down  lo  rest,  my  f;»ncy  was  still  haunt- 
ed by  the  impressions  it  had  received.  I  vent  again 
through  the  Vitriou-t  scene-  of  which  1  had  leal  ; 
again  called  up.  in  :>h-ep.  the  briuhr  images  that  bad 
p..9!ied  before  me,  and  u  hen  .luakei.ed  at  earlv  dan  n 
by  the  solemn  Hymn  from  the  clia^el,  imagii^ed  'hat 
I  was  3:ilt  listening  to  ilie  sound  of  llie  winds,  sigh- 
ing mournfully  through   the  harps  of  Isael  on 

WlllOuS. 


»  **  Many  people." -aid  Oriyen,  "have  been  brought 
over  to  Chrisiianjiy  by  ihe  Spiit  of  God  giving  a 
den  turn  to  iheir  minds  and  nfrering  visions  lo  them 
either  by  d,iy  or  night."  On  Wu^Jorfin  rcmaiks:  — 
*' Why  should  if  be  thnught  impr  b.ible  Ihat  Pagans 
nf  good  diipnsiiinns,  but  not  free  from  prejudice-, 
should  have  been  called  by  divine  adnionitinn*,  by 
dreams  or  visions,  which  mighl  he  a  support  lo  Chris- 
tianity in  those  days  nf  distress  ?" 


Starting  from  my  bed,  I  hurried  out  upon  the  mck, 
with  a  hope  Iha',  among  ihe  tones  of  lh;it  morning 
choir,  I  might  be  able  to  distinguish  the  sweet  voice 
of  Alelhe.  Rut  ihe  strain  had  ceased  ;  — J  caught 
only  the  last  notes  of  the  Hymn,  as,  echoing  up  ihal 
h'lie'y  valley,  I  hey  died  away  into  the  silence  of  Ihe 
de-en. 

With  the  first  glimpse  nf  light  I  was  again  eagerly 
at  my  study,  and,  notwithstanding  the  frequent  dis- 
ttaciou  both  of  my   houghts  and  looks  towards  Ihe 
distant,  half-seen  grottos  of  the  Anchoret,  continued 
my  task  with    unabating   perseverance   through    the 
day.     Still  alive,  however,  but  to  ihe  eloquence,  the 
poetry  of  what  i  studied,  of  its  claims  to  auhorily, 
as  a  history,  I  never  ('nee  [a used  to  consider.     My 
fancy  alone  being  interested  by  it.  t;)  fancy  only  I  re- 
ferred all  that  it  containtd;  and,  passing  rajiidly  from 
annals  to  prophecy,  fiom  narration  to  song,  regarded 
e  whole  but  as  a  tissue  of  oriental  allegories,  in 
hich  the  deep  melancholy  of  Esypiinn  a>sociations 
as  in'erwoven  with  the  rich  and  seusuat  imagej'y  of 
Ihe  East. 

I'owatds  sunset  I  saw  the  venerable  Hermit,  on  bis 
y,  acr  'ss  Ihe  canal,  to  my  cave.     Th  ugh  he  w.-»s 
acconipatiied  only  by  his  graceful  antelope,  which 
ime  MmlHng  the  wild  air  (f  (he  desert,  as  if  scent- 
g  its  home   1  lelt  his  visit,  even  thus,  to  be  a  most 
etcome  relief.     It  was  the  hour,  he  said,  of  his  even- 
g  ramble  up  the  ntounlain  — of  his  accustomed  visit 
to  those  cisterns  of  the  rock,  from  which   he   drew 
nishflv  his  mo>l  piecious  beverage.     W'hile  he  spoke, 
1  observed  in  his  hand  i-ne  of  those  earthen  cnps,^  in 
which  it  is  the  cuslnm  of  the  inhabiiaitts  of  the  wil- 
derness to  C'  Meet  the  fresh  dew  among  the  rocks. 
H  ivmg  prop'^sed    hat  I  should  accompany  him  in  his 
walk,  he  proceeded  lo  lead  me,  in  Ihedireciion  of  the 
desert,  up  the  side  of  (he  mountain  that  rose  above  my 
dwelling,  and  which  formed   the  souihern  wall  or 
screen  of  the  defile. 

Near  the  summit  we  found  a  seat,  where  the  old 
mau  paused  in  rest.  It  commanded  a  full  view  over 
the  desert,  and  was  by  the  side  of  one  of  those  hoi 
lous  in  the  rock,  those  na  ual  reservoirs,  in  which 
are  tre-.sured  the  de«s  of  nighl  for  llie  refreshment 
of  Ihe  dwellers  in  the  wilderness.  Having  learned 
from  me  how  far  I  had  advanced  in  nt\  study  —  •'  In 
yonder  light,"  said  be,  pointing  lo  a  small  cloud  in 
the  east,  w  Inch  had  been  formed  on  the  horizon  by 
the  haze  of  the  desert,  and  was  now  faintly  reflecting 
the  splendours  of  suoEei— "  in  Ihe  midst  of  tha'  light 
stands  Mount  Sinai,  of  whose  glory  thou  liasi  read; 
upon  whose  summit  was  the  scene  of  one  of  those 
awful  revelations,  in  which  the  Almighty  has  renew- 
ed from  time  to  lime  his  communication  with  Man, 
and  kept  alive  the  remembrance  of  his  own  Provi- 
dence in  this  world.» 

After  a  pause,  as  if  absorbed  in  the  immensity  of 
Ihe  subject,  the  holy  man  continued  his  sublime 
theme.  Looking  back  to  Ihe  earliest  annals  of  time, 
he  showed  how  consiantly  every  relapse  of  ihe 
human  race  inio  idolatry  has  been  followed  by  some 
manifestation  of  Divine  power,  ch  sienJng  Ihe  strong 
and  proud  by  punishment,  and  winning  back  the 
humble  by  love.  It  was  to  [reserve,  he  said,  un- 
extinguished upon  earth,  that  great  ai  d  vital  truth  — 
llie  C'ea'ion  of  the  world  by  one  Supreme  Being  — 
th;.t  G"d  chose,  fiom  among  the  na'ions,  an  huml;ie 
and  enslaved  race— Ihal  he  brought  them  out  of  Iheir 
captivity  "on  eagles'  wing  ,"  and,  s'ill  surrouM.iig 
every  s'ep  of  Iheir  course  wjih  miracles,  hr,8  placed 
ihem  btfore  the  eyes  of  all  succeeding  geiiera'ions. 
as  the  depositaries  of  tiis  will,  and  the  ever-dunng 
memorials  of  his  power.3 


^  Pallndius,  who  lived  some  lime  in  Ktrvpt,  de- 
scribes Ihe  monk  Plolema:us,  whr>  inhabited  the 
desert  of  Sce'e,  as  collecting  in  earthen  cups  thb 
ibundant  dew  from  the  rocks.'*— //it/io/Aec.  Pat.  torn, 
xiii. 

^  The  brief  sketch  here  given  of  the  Jewish  disfjen- 


500 


THE    EPICUR  EAN. 


Passiner»  t^  «,  "in  review  the  lon«  train  of  inspired 
interprete*»  *ho?;  pens  and  whose  tonicufS  wctb 
de  th^  e  aoes  of  the  Divine  vuice,!  he  traced 
throustifu'  '.  t  event-,  of  successive  ages,  the  gradual 
uiifld  ne  t-^  ne  d. irk  scheme  of  Fro\ideiice— darkness 
horf.^j'^  i*ll  light  and  glory  vviihiii.  The  glimpses 
a  crVi"t(  redeinplion,  visible  even  thiouih  the 
I'h  o'  rieiven ;  —  the  lou^  series  of  prophecy 
throu'-.D  t^HiCh  this  hnpe  ruos.  burmngand  ^live,  like 
a  sp»;^k  ?iong  a  chain  ; — the  slow  and  n-ercitul  pfepa- 
■nil  ot  llie  hearts  of  mankind  f<.r  ihegieit  trial  of 
ir  raih  and  obedience  thai  was  at  hand.noi  only  by 
"■ides  that  appealed  to  the  living,  but  by  prophecies 
buuclied  into  the  fuiure  to  carry  conviction  to  Ihe  yet 
»orn  ; — "through  all  these  gloiious  and  benelicent 
gradations  we  may  track,*'  s^id  he,  "the  manifest 
foot=iep3ofa  Creator,  aivmcing  lo  his  grand,  uluinate 
end.  the  salvaiionof  hi^  creatures." 

After  ai  Jiie  hours  devoted  to  these  holy  instructions, 
lereturm-d  lo  the  ravine, ;ind  Melanius  left  meal  my 
cave  ;  piav  osi,  as  he  parted  from  me— willi  a  beneio- 
L-e  which  I  but  ill,  alasl  deser\ed  —  thai  my  sonl 
might,  under  he^e  lessmis,  be  "as  a  watered  garden, =' 
and  eie  h>iig,  '*  bear  fiuit  unto  life  eternal." 

Next  moiniiig,  1  was  again  at  my  study,  and  even 
more  eager  in  the  awakening  task  than  beture.  With 
Ilie  commentary  of  the  Hermit  tre  hly  in  my  mem'Ty, 
I  again  read  through,  with  alieiilion,  the  B  'ok  of  ttie 
Law.  But  in  vain  did  1  seek  'he  promise  of  inimnr- 
laliiy  in  its  pages.^  "  It  tells  me,"  s;iid  I,  "  of  a  God 
coming  down  to  earth,  but  of  the  ascent  of  Man  lo 
\ieaven  it  speaks  not.  'Jhe  rewaids,  the  punislmients 
it  ariMurices,  lie  all  on  this  aide  of  the  grave;  nor 
iid  the  Omnipoient  oiler  lo  U'n  own  chosen  servan's  a 
hope  beyond  the  imiias^abte  limits  of  this  w-rld. 
Where,  then,  is  the  salvation  of  which  Ihe  Chri^iaa 
spoke?  or,  if  Death  be  at  ihe  root  of  the  fai;h,  can 
Life  spring  out  of  it  ?" 

\g<in,  in  the  bi'ternesa  of  diappHintment,  did  I 
mock  at  mv  own  willing  self-delusion  —  again  rail  at 
the  arts  ol"th»t  traitress,  Fancy,  ever  reidy.  like  the 
Delilah  of  itiis  wondrous  book,  to  seal  upnn  the  slum- 
bers of  Reason,  and  deliver  him  up,  shorn  and  power- 
les?,  lo  his  foes.  If  deception,  thouglit  i,  be  neces-ary. 
at  least  Ic(  me  not  practise  it  on  ni>self  j  —  in  the  do 
perale  alternative  befure  me,  let  me  rather  be  even 
hypocrite  than  dupe. 

■■"hese  self-accusing  reflections,  cheerless  as  they 
rendered  my  la^k,  did  not  abate,  for  a  single  moment, 
my  industry  in  pursuing  it.  1  retd  on  ai.d  on,  « iih  a 
sort  of  sullen  apathy,  neiiher  charmed  by  style,  nor 
tnosported  by  imagery —  ihe  fatal  blight  in  niy  heart 
having  communicated  itself  to  mv  imiginalion  and 
laste.  The  curses  and  the  blessings,  the  glory  and  the 
ruin,  which  the  historian  rec  irded  and  the  prophet 
had  predicted,  seemed  all  (f  this  wo  !d— all  tempoial 
and  earthly.  That  mortality,  iT  which  the  fountain- 
head  had  ta.-^ted,  tinged  the  whole  stream;  and  when 
I  read  the  words,  "all  are  of  -he  dusi.  and  all  turn  to 
dust  agiiii,"a  a  feeling,  like  the  wind  of  the  desert. 


I  came  wilheringly  over  me.  Love,  Beauty,  Glory, 
everything  most  bright  and  worshipped  upon  eailh, 
appi^ared  lo  be  smking  before  my  eyes,  under  this 
dreadful  doom,  into  one  general  mass  of  corruption 

I  and  silence. 

I  Fosses  ul  by  the  image  of  desolation  I  bad  thus 
called  up,  1  laid  my  head  upon  the  book,  in  a  paioxy-^m 

jof  desp.ir.  Death,  >n  all  his  mosi  glias'ly  varieties, 
passed  before  me ;  and  1  h^d  continued  thus  for  some 
lime,  as  under  the  inllueiice  of  a  feaiful  vibion,  when 
the  touch  of  a  hand  upon  niy  shoulder  roused  me. 
Looking  up,  1  saw  tlie  Anchoret  standing  by  my  side  ; 
his  ciiuntenance  beaming  with  'hat  sublime  tranquil- 
lity, which  a  hope,  beyond  iliis  earlh,  alone  can 
bestow.     How  I  did  envy  him  ! 

We  again  took  our  way  to  Ihs  seat  upon  the  moun- 
tain —  the  gloom  within  my  own  mind  making 
everything  around  me  nioie  gloomy.  Forgetting  my 
hypocri>y  in  my  feehngs,  i  proceeded  a'  once  lo  make 
an  s.voi«al  lo  liini  of  ail  the  doubts  and  fears  which 
my  s'udy  of  the  morning  had  awakened. 

*'  Tbon  art  yel,  my  son,"  he  answered,  *'but  on  the 
threshold  of  our  faith,  'ihou  hast  seen  but  ihe  fiisl 
ru'lintei.ts  of  the  Divine  plan  j  —  its  full  and  consmn- 
maie  perieciion  hath  not  )et  opened  ufrnn  thy  mind. 
However  glorious  that  manifestati  n  of  Divinity  on 
Mount  Sinai,  it  was  but  the  fnrerunner  of  snoiher, 
shil  more  glorious,  which,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  was 
lo  burst  up  in  the  world  j  when  all,  that  before  had 
seemed  dim  and  incomplete,  was  to  be  perfected,  and 
the  p  onuses,  shadowed  out  by  ihe  '  spirit  of  prophecy,* 
realised  ;— when  the  seal  of'silence,  under  which  Ihe 
Future  had  so  long  lain,  was  lo  be  broken,  and  the 
glad  itdmg;  of  life  and  immorlatitv  proclaimed  to  the 
world  :" 

Objerving  my  features  brighten  at  these  words,  the 
pinns  man  ciiniinued.  Anticipating  ^nnie  of  (he  holy 
knowledge  thai  was  in  siore  for  me,  he  tjaced,  through 
all  its  wonders  and  mercies,  the  great  work  of  Re- 
demption, dv\elling  in  detail  upon  every  miraculous 
circumstance  connected  with  it— the  exalted  nature  of 
the  Being,  by  whose  ministry  it  was  accomplished,  Ihe 
nobles'  and  first  crea'ed  of  "ihe  Sons  of  God,*  inferior 
only.  lo  the  one,  seT-existeiit  Father; — the  mysterious 
incarnation  of  this  heavenly  messenger ;— the  miracles 
that  authentic  ited  his  divine  mission;  —  the  example 


'  taken  of  it  by 
eloquent  work. 


lit  are 


salion  agrees  very  much  with  tlie  vie 
Dr.  Sumner,  in  the  fir^t  chapters  of  hi 
the  "  Kecorda  of  the  Crea  ion.'» 

1  In  the  original,  Ihe  discourses  of  the  Hi 
given  much  more  at  lengb. 

^"Il  is  impossible  to  deny,"  says  Dr.  Sumner, 
*Mhat  the  sanctions  f.f  the  Mosaic  Law  are  alt-gether 

'emporai li  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  facts  that 

can  only   be  explained  by  acknowledging   that  he 
really  acted  under  a  Divine  commi  sion,  promulgating 

tempnrary  law  fur  a  peculiar  pmpo-e''— a  much 
nnre  candid  and  sensible  wayof  Iieating  this  very 
difficult  pomt,  than  by  either  endeavouring,  like  War- 
burton,  to  e-cape  from  it  iu'o  a  parid'X.  or,  still 
worse,  contriving,  like  Dr.  Graves,  to  increa-e  its  dif- 
ficulty by  explanatinn.  Vide  -^  On  the  Psntatench." 
See  also  Home's  Introduclifm,  &c.,  vol.  i.,  p.  220. 

3  While  Voltaire.  Volney,  Aic,  refer  to  the  Eccle- 
siastes,  as  abounding  with  tenets  of  materialism  and 


Epicunain,  Mr.  Des  Vceux  and  others  find  in  it  strong 
proofs  of  belief  in  a  future  slate.  The  cliief  difficulty 
lies  in  the  chapter  from  which  (h.s  text  is  quoted; 
and  the  mode  of  cn^tructioii  by  which  some  writers 
attempt  to  get  rid  of  it — namely,  by  putting  these 
texts  into  the  mouth  of  a  foolish  reasoner  —  appears 
forced  and  gr  ituitnus.    Vide  Dr.  HaUs's  Analysis. 

<  This  opinion  of  the  Hermit  may  be  supposed  to 
have  been  derived  from  his  master,  Orige)i;  but  it  is 
not  easy  to  ascertain  the  exact  doctrine  of  Origen  on 
this  subject.  In  the  Treatise  on  Prayer  attributed  to 
him,  he  a^ser's  Ihat  God  the  Father  alone  should  be 
invoked— which,  says  Bayle,  is  to  "encherir  sur  lee 
HL-resns6  den  Socmens.'"  Notwithstanding  this,  how- 
ever, and  S'me  other  indicationsof,  what  v*as  after- 
wards called,  Arianism,  (such  as  the  opinion  of  the 
divinity  being  received  by  cormnunicationy  which 
Milner  asseris  to  have  been  held  by  this  Father,) 
Origen  was  one  nf  the  au  horilies  quotrd  by  Alhana- 
siu^  m  support  of  his  high  doctrines  of  co-eternily  and 
co-essentiality.  What  Priestly  says  is,  perhaps,  the 
best  solution  of  these  inconsis!encies  :  —  "  Origen,  as 
well  as  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  has  been  thought  to 
favour  Ihe  Arian  principles;  but  he  did  it  only  in 
words,  and  not  in  idea^.*' —  £/iWi/  Opinions^  ' 9i.c. 
Whatever  uncertainty,  however,  Ihere  may  exist  with 
respect  to  the  opinion  of  Origen  himself  on  Ihii  sub- 
ject, there  is  no  doubt  that  Ihe  doctrines  of  his  imme- 
diate followers  were,  at  least,  Anti-Anthanasian.  *'So 
miny  B'shops  of  Africa,"  says  Priestley,  •' were,  at 
this  period  (between  the  year  255  and  25SJ.  Unitarians, 
that  Aihanasius  says,  • 'Ihe  Son  of  God* — meaning  his 
divini'y— '  was  scarcely  any  longer  jrtached  in  the 
churches.' " 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


501 


of  Obedience  to  God  and  lo\e  to  man,  which  he  set,  as 
a>hining  light,  before  (he  world  forever  ;— and,  lastly 
and  cliibtly,  his  deaih  aitd  resuneclion,  by  which  the 
covenant  of  ineicy  »a».  sealed,  and  *Mife  ai;d  iinmor- 
taliiy  brought  to  li?hl." 

*'J>uch, "continued  the  Hermit,  *' was  Ihe  Mediator, 
proihiscd  Ihn.u^h  ail  time,  *  lu  ni.iKe  recoiiciliaiion 
Lr  iniquity,'  to  change  di^ath  into  life,  and  briris 
Miealmg  on  his  win^^'  to  a  darkened  world.  Such 
was  the  last  crowning  di8pen^atlon  of  that  God  of 
benevtdenct?,  in  whose  hands  ^in  and  death  aie  hut 
iiislrunrtiits  of  everU>ting  good,  and  who,  througl 
appaitnt  evil  and  temporary  retribution,  bringing  al'. 
thiiijjs  >oul  of  darkness  into  his  marvellous  light,' 
proceeds  watclifuUy  and  unchangingly  to  Ihe  great, 
iioal  object  of  his  providence—  ihe  restor-Uion  of  Ihe 
whole  human  lace  to  pur.ty  :*nd  happiness  !''* 

With  a  mind  astoniahtd,  if  not  touched,  by  the*e 
disc  UTftCs,  I  leturned  to  my  cave,  and  found  the  lamp, 
its  hefoie,  ready  lighted  to  leceive  me.  The  volume 
which  1  h.id  been  hitherto  studying,  was  replaced  by 
another,  v\  hich  lay  open  upon  the  table,  with  a  brmcti 
ot  Irt-sh  |i,ilni  be  ween  I's  leave^.  1  hough  1  could  not 
d'ubt  to  whoe  gentle  and  guardian  hand  1  uas  iudeb!- 
ed  for  this  inviMble  waiciifulness  over  my  siudies, 
there  w.is  yet  a  something  in  it,  s'>  like  spiniual  inter- 
piisilion,  th  -t  it  struck,  me  with  awe  ;— and  never  more 
than  al  this  moment,  when,  on  approaching  the 
volume,  1  saw,  as  the  light  glistened  over  jis  silver 
letters,*  that  it  was  Ihe  very  Book  of  Life  of  which 
the  Heimit  had  tpoken  ! 

The  midnight  hymn  of  the  Christians  had  sounded 
through    the  valley,  before  1  had  yet  raised  my  ey 
from  that  sacred  volunte ;  and  the  second  hour  of  the 
found  me  ag.iin  over  iis  pages. 


CHAPTER    XVni. 

mode  of  existence  1  had  now  passed  some 
ly  mornings  devoted  to  reading,  niynighis  to 
under  Ihe   wide   canopy  of   heaven,  to  the 
holy  eloquence  of  Melanius.     The  perseveiance  with 


Id  thi! 
days;-; 


1  This  benevolentdoctrine— which  ont  onlygoes  far 
to  srdve  Ihe  problem  nf  moral  and  physical  evil,  but 
which  would,  if  received  more  gener:»lly,  tend  to 
soften  the  spirit  ((  uncharilableness,  >o  fatally  preva- 
lent among  Christian  sects—  was  maintained  by  ihal 
gieat  light  of  the  early  Church,  Origen,  and  has  not 
wanted  supporters  among  nioie  modern  'Iheologians. 
That  Tillolson  was  inclined  to  (he  opinion  appears 
from  his  Rcrmon  preached  before  the  queen.  Paley  is 
supposed  to  have  held  Ihe  same aniiable doctrine;  and 
NevNton  (Ihe  author  of  the  woikon  the  Prophecies)  is 
also  among  ihe  supporters  of  ii.  For  a  full  account 
of  the  arguments  in  favour  of  this  opinion,  derived 
both  from  reason  and  Ihe  express  language  of  Scrip- 
ture, see  Dr.  Sfuthwood  Smithes  very  interesting 
work,  '*  On  the  Divine  Government."  See  also  Ma^ce 
on  Mnnement,  wheie  Ihedcc!rine  of  the  advocates 
of  Universal  Kestoiatinn  is  thus  brielly, and,  I  believe, 
fairly  explained  :— *'  Beginning  with  the  existence  of 
an  inhnitety  powerful,  v\  ise,  and  good  Being,  as  tlie 
fir^t  and  fundamental  pnixiple  of  ra'innnl 'religion, 
they  pronounce  the  essence  of  this  Being  to  be  love, 
and  fiom  this  infer,  as  a  demnnslrahle  consequence, 
that  none  of  the  creatures  formed  by  such  a  Being  will 

ever  be  made  eternally  tni  er'ble Since  God 

(Ihey  say)  would  act   unjustly    in   inflicting  eternal 
misery  for  temporary   crimes,  the  svilferinga  of  ihe 
wicked  can  be  but  remedial,  and  will  terniii  ate 
complete  puritication  from  moral  di-.order,  and  in  their 
ultimate  restoration  to  virtue  and  happiness." 

a  The  Codex  Cotlonianus  of  the  New  Testament 
written   in  silver  letters  on  a   purple  ground.     T! 
Codtx  Cotlonianus  of   the  Septiiagint  version  of  il 
Old  Testament  is  supposed  to  bi  the  idemical  copy 
that  belonged  to  Oiigen. 


which  I  inquired,  and  Ihe  quickness  with  which  I  ' 
learned,  soon  succeeded  in  deceiving  my  benevolent  I 
instructor,  who  mistook  curiosity  for  zeal,  and  know, 
ledge  for  behef,  Alas  !  cold,  and  barren,  and  earthly  I 
was  that  knowledge— the  wnrd  without  the  spirit,  the 
Ihout  the  life.  Even  when,  as  a  relief  from 
hypocrisy.  I  persuaded  myself  that  1  believed,  it  was 
bul  a  brief  delusion,  a  failh,  whose  hope  crumbled  al 
e  touch — like  the  fruit  of  the  desert-shrub, 3  shin 
d  empty  1 

But,  ihough  my  soul  was  still  dark,  the  good  Hen 

w  not  into  its  dep-hs.    The  very  facility  of  my  be- 

;f,  which   might   have  suggested  some  doubt  of  its 

iicerity,  was  but  regarded,  by  his  innocent  zeal,  a 

ore  signal  triumph  of  Ihe  truth.     His  own  ingt 

ousness  led  him  to  a  ready  trust  in  others;  and  Ihe 

examples  of  such  conversion  as  that  of  Ihe  philOM 

pher  Jus'in,  uho,  during  a  walk   by  the  sea-shor 

received  the  light    into  liis  soul,  had  prepared  hii 

for  illuminations  of  Ihe  spirit,  even  more  rapid  than 

mine. 

During  all  this  time,  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  of 
Aleihe  ;— nor  could  niy  jwtience  have  endured  through 
so  long  a  privation,  hid  nol  th'Se  mute  vestiges  of  her 
presence,  that  welcomed  me  every  night  on  my  re- 
turn, niade  nie  feel  thai  I  \vas  still  living  under  her 
gentle  iiiriuence,  and  that  her  sympathy  hung  round 
every  step  of  my  p'Ogre-.s.  Once,  too,  when  I  \ 
tured  to  speak  her  name  to  Melanin-,  though  he  an- 
swered noi  niy  inquiry,  there  was  a  smile,  i  though', 
of  promise  upon  his  countenance,  which  love,  ftr 
more  alive  than  falih,  was  re»dy  to  interpret  aa  it 
desired. 

At  length  —  it  was  on  the  sixth  or  seventh  evening 
of  my  solitude,  when  I  lay  resting  al  Ihe  door  of  my 
cave,  afler  the  study  of  the  day  —  I  was  startled  by 
hearing  my  name  called  loudly  from  the  opposite 
rocks;  and  looking  up,  siw,  upon  tlie  cliff  near 
deserted  groMos,  Mel-mius  and  —  oh  I  I  could  not 
doubl— my  Alelhe  by  his  side  ! 

1  hough  I  had  never,  smce  the  first  night  of  my 

return  from  the  desert,  ceased  to  flatter  myself  i 

the  fancy  that  1  was  still  living  in  her  presence,  the 

actual  sight  of  her  once  m'tre  made  me  feel  for  v  " 

long  ase  we  had  been  separated.     She  was  clothed 

1  in  white,  and,  as  she  stood  in  the  last  remaii 

e  sunshine,  appeared  lo  my  too  prophetic  fancy 

te  a  parting  spirit,  whose  last  footsteps  on  earth 

that  pure  glory  encircled. 

With  a  delight  only  to  be  imagined,  I  saw  them 
descend  Ihe  rocks,  and,  placing  themselves  in  the 
bo4i,  prnceed  diieclly  towards  mv  ca\e.  To  dis- 
guise from  Melanius  the  mutual  delight  with  which 
we  again  met  %vas  impossible  ; — nor  did  Alethe  even 
attempt  to  make  a  secret  of  her  joy,  Thoogli  lilush- 
ing  at  her  own  happiness,  as  little  could  her  frank 
na  ure  conceal  it,  as  the  clear  waters  of  Ethiopia  can 
hide  their  gold.  Every  look,  everv  word,  hes|)Oke  a 
fulness  of  affection,  to  which,  doubtful  as  I  was  of 
our  tenure  of  happiness,  I  knew  not  ho\v  to  respond. 
I  was  not  Jong,  however,  left  ignorant  of  the 
bright  fate  that  awaited  me;  hut,  as  we  wandered 
or  rested  among  Ihe  rocks,  learned  every  thing  that 
had  been  arranged  since  our  parting.  She  ha.l  ii 
the  Hermit,  1  found,  acquainted  with  all  that  had 
passed  helv\cen  us;  had  told  him,  without  reserve 
every  incident  of  our  voyage— Ihe  avowals,  the  de 
monstrations  of  afTection  on  one  side,  and  the  deep 
sentiment  that  gratitude  had  awakened  on  the  other. 
Too  wise  to  regard  affections  so  natural  with  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  satisfied,  as  to 
the  honour  and  purity  of  my  views,  by  the  fidelity 
wilh  wlitch  I  had  delivered  my  trust  into  his  hands, 
saw,  in  niy  affection  for  the  young  oiphan,  but  a 
providential  resource  against  that  friendless  solitude 
in  which  his  death  mnsl  soon  leave  her. 


a  Vide  Hamilton's  ^sryptiac€i. 


502 


THE    EPI  C  U  REAN, 


As,  IJs'eiiiiig  eagerly,  I  ci'llecled  these  particulars 
from  their  discourse,  1  could  hardly  trust  my  ears. 
Il  seeiiied  a  ha[^i|jjnc&b  loo  great  to  be  true,  to  be  real ; 
uor  can  M-ords  convey  auy  idea  of  Ihe  joy,  Ihe  ^hame. 
the  wonder  wilh  which  I  hsiened  while  the  holy  man 
himselt  dechircd  ihat  he  awaired  but  the  momen', 
when  he  stiuuld  find  me  woriliy  of  hccomirjg  a  mem- 
ber of  \hc  Lhi  ibtian  Church,  to  give  me  also  the  hand 
of  Alelhe  in  that  ^^acred  i.iiion,  which  aIo«e  sanctities 
tove,  and  makes  the  faith,  which  ii  pledges,  iioly. 
Jt  was  bul  yesterday,  he  added,  that  hisynung  charge, 
heisdf,  after  a  preparation  of  prajer  and  repentance, 
such  as  even  her  pure  spirit  required,  had  been  ad- 
niilled,  by  Ihe  sacred  ordinance  of  baptism,  into  ilie 
bosom  of  the  faiihj  — and  the  while  garment  slie 
wore,  and  the  ring  of  gold  on  her  finger,»  '*  wtre 
symbols,"  he  added,  "of  iliat  New  Life  into  which 
she  had  been  initialed  " 

i  raised  my  eyes  to  hers  as  he  spoke,  but  withdrew 
them  again,  dazzled  and  cunfused.  Even  her  beauty, 
to  my  iniaginaiion,  seemed  to  have  undergone  some 
brighlenuig  change  j  and  Ihe  conirast  between  that 
open  and  happy  counteiirtnce,  and  the  unblest  brow 
of  the  infidel  thai  siood  belbre  her,  abashed  me  into 
a  sense  of  imworthineits,  and  aUnos:  checked  uiy 
rapture. 

To  that  night,  however,  I  look  back,  as  an  epoch 
in  my  eJi:istence.  It  proved  that  soriow  is  not  the 
only  awakener  of  devotion,  but  that  joy  may  some- 
times quicken  the  holy  spark  into  life.  Returning  to 
my  cave,  with  a  heart  full,  even  lo  oppression,  of  lis 
happiness,  I  could  find  uo  olher  relief  to  my  over- 
charged feelings,  than  that  of  throwing  myself  on  my 
knees,  and  u:tciing,  for  the  first  lime  m  my  life,  a 
heail-fell  prayer,  thai  if,  indeed,  there  were  a  Being 
who  waiched  over  mankind,  he  would  send  down  one 
ray  of  his  triKh  into  my  darkened  soul,  and  make  it 
wurihy  of  Ihe  blessings,  both  here  and  lieieafler, 
proffered  to  it ! 

My  dajs  now  rolled  on  in  a  perfect  drearn  of  hap- 
piness. Kvery  hour  of  the  mornius  uas  welcomed 
as  bringing  nearer  and  nearer  the  tiiest  time  of  sun- 
set, when  the  Hermit  and  Alelhe  never  failed  to  visit 
my  now  charmed  cave,  ulieie  her  smile  lefs  at  each 
parlmg,  a  light  Ihat  lasted  till  her  return.  'Jhen,oi,r 
rambles,  logeiher,  hy  st.irlighi,  over  the  mounlain  ; 
our  pauses,  trom  time  to  iinje.  to  contemplate  ihe 
wonders  of  the  bright  heaven  above  us;  (jur  repose 
by  liie  cistern  of  the  r.'ck.  and  oi.r  silent  lisienmg, 
through  hours  Ihat  seemed  minute-*,  to  the  holy  elo. 
quence  of  our  teacher  ;— all,  all  »as  h.ippiness  of  Ihe 
most  heartfelt  kind,  and  such  as  even  ihe  doubts,  the 
cold  lingering  doubts,  that  still  hung,  like  a  mist, 
around  my  heari,  could  neuher  cloud  nor  chill. 

A&  soon  as  the  moonlight  nights  relumed,  we  used 
to  venture  into  the  desert;  and  those  sands,  which 
had  l.itely  luoked  so  desolite,  in  my  eyes,  now  as- 
sumed even  a  cheeiful  and  smiling  aspect.  To  the 
light,  innocent  heart  of  Aletlie,  every  thing  was  a 
source  cf  enjoyment.  For  her,  even  Ihe  desert  had 
ils  jewels  and  Doweis;  and,  sometimes,  her  delight 
was  to  search  among  the  sands  for  iho'.e  be.iuuful 
pebbles  of  jasper^  tlul  abound  in  them  ;— sometimes 
her  eyes  would  sparkle  wilh  pleisure  on  finding, 
perhaps,  a  stunted  maitgnld,  or  one  of  those  biiter, 
scarlet  flowers.a  [hat  lend  their  dry  mockery  of  orna- 
ment to  the  desert,     ia  all  these  pursuits  and  plea- 


1  See,  for  the  cu-^lom  among  the  early  Christians  of 
wearing  white  for  a  few  days  after  bap'i-m.  ^mbros. 
de  Myst.—WHU  respect  ti.  the  ring,  the  Biah' p  of 
Lincoln  says,  in  his  work  on  'I'ertuHian,  ••'ihe 
natural  inference  from  these  words  {TatuU.  dc  Pudi- 
citia)  appears  to  be,  that  ?i  ring  used  to  be  given  in 
baptism  ;  but  1  have  f:und  no  other  trace  of  such  a 
custom." 

4  Vide  Clarke. 

3  ''  Les  Me'iemhi-yanlhemum  nodijlonim  et  Zy^c 
phythim  cncci/teiim,  phmtei  gra>ses  des  deserts,  re- 
!  jetees,  a  cause  de   leur  acrele,  par  les  cliameaux,  les 


Bures  the  good  Hermit  took  a  share  —  mingling  occa- 
sinually  with  Ihem  the  reflections  of  a  benevolent 
piety,  that  lent  iis  own  cheerful  hue  to  all  the  works 
of  cVea  ion.  at.d  saw  the  consoling  truth,  **God  is 
Love,"  written  legibly  every  where. 

Such  was,  for  a  few  weeks,  my  blissful  life.  Oh, 
mornings  of  hope,  oh,  nights  of  hajipiness,  with 
what  n,elanch<>Jy  pleasure  do  I  retrace  your  flight, 
and  how  reluctantly  pass  to  the  sad  events  tliat  fol- 
lowed ! 

IJuring  this  time,  in  complinnce  with  Ihe  wishes 
of  Melanius,  who  seemed  unwihing  that  I  should 
become  wholly  estranged  frnm  the  world,  I  used 
occ.isionally  lo  pay  a  visit  to  the  neighbouring  city, 
Antinoe,^  which,  being  the  capital  of  the  'Ihebaid, 
is  the  centre  of  all  the  luxury  ot  Upper  Egypt.  But 
here,  so  changed  was  my  every  feeling  by  the  all- 
absorbing  passion  which  now  possessed  me,  Ihat  I 
sauntered  along,  wholly  uninterested  by  ei  her  the 
scenes  or  the  people  that  surrounded  me,  and,  sigh- 
ing for  that  rockv  s^'Iitude  where  my  Alethe  breathed, 
felt  this  10  be  the  wilderness,  and  Ifiat  the  world. 

Even  the  thoughts  of  my  own  native  Athens,  Ihat  at 
every  s'ep  were  called  up,  by  the  light  Grecian  arclii- 
tectuVe  of^this  imperial  city,  did  not  awaken  one 
single  regret  in  niy  heart— one  wish  to  exchange  even 
an  hour  of  m\  desert  for  llie  best  luxuries  and  honours 
that  awaitid  me  in  the  Garden.  I  saw  the  aiches  of 
triun'phj — I  walked  under  the  superb  portico,  which 
encircles  the  \\hole  city  vvith  its  marble  shade ;— I 
sto  d  in  the  Circus  of  the  Sun,  by  whose  rose-coloured 
pillars  the  mysterious  movements  of  Ihe  Nile  are 
Pleasured  ; — on  all  these  proud  monumenis  of  glory 
and  art,  as  well  as  oei  Ihe  gay  muliiiude  Ihat  enlivened 
Ihein,  1  looked  wilh  an  utiheeding  eye.  If  they 
awakened  in  me  any  thought,  it  \vas  Ihe  mournful 
idea,  Ihat,  one  day,  like  Thebes  and  Heliopolis,  this 
pageant  would  pass  away,  leaving  nothing  behind  but 
a  few  mouldering  ruins  —  like  sea-.shells  found  where 
the  ocean  has  been— lo  tell  thai  the  great  tide  of  Life 
was  once  there  1 

But,  though  indifferent  thus  to  all  Ihat  had  formerly 
attracted  nie,  there  were  suljec's,  once  alien  to  my 
heart,  on  wliich  it  wis  now  most  tremblingly  alive; 
and  iome  rumours  which  had  reached  me,  in  one  of 
my  visits  to  the  city,  of  an  exi)ecied  change  in  Ihe 
policy  of  the  Emperor  towards  ihe  Christians,  tilled 
my  mind  wiih  aiiprehensjons  as  new  as  Ihey  were 
dreadful  'o  me. 

The  toleration  and  even  favour  which  the  Chris- 
tiin'i  enjoyed,  during  tbt-  first  four  years  of  ihe  reign 
of  Valerian,  had  removed  from  them  all  fear  of  a  re- 
newal ol  th"se  hnrroTS,  which  they  had  experienced 
under  ihe  rule  of  h'S  predecessor,  Decius.  <.)f  late, 
however,  some  less  friendly  dis[iosit|nns  hid  manifesied 
themselves.  The  bigots  of  the  court,  taking  alarm  ai 
the  rapid  spread  of  Ihe  new  faith,  had  succeeded  in 
filling  ihe  miitd  of  Ihe  monarch  with  thai  relieinus 
jealousy,  which  is  the  ever-ready  parent  of  cruelty  and 
injuslice.  Among  these  counsellois  of  evil  was  Ma- 
crianus,  Ihe  Fraelonan  Prefect,  who  was,  by  birth,  an 
Eg\ptian,  and  had  long  made  himself  notorious  —  so 
akin  is  superstition  to  intolerance— by  his  addiction  to 
the  dark  jiraciices  of  denion-uorship  and  magic. 

From  ihis  minister,  who  was  now  high  in  Ihe  fa- 
vour of  Valerian,  the  new  measures  of  severity  against 
the  Christians  were  expected  to  emana'e.  Alltongties, 
in  all  quarters,  were  busy  uith  the  news.  In  the 
streets,  in  Ihe  public  ga-deiiS,  on  the  steps  of  Ihe  tem- 
ples, I  s  iw,  ever)  where,  groups  of  inquirers  collec'ed, 
and  heard  ihe  name  of  Maciianus  up">Ti  every  tongue. 
It  w.ts  dreadful,  too,  to  observe,  in  Ihe  ciunlenances 
(f  those  who  spoke,  the  vaiieiy  of  feeling  with  which 
the  rumour  was  discussed,  according  as  they  feared  or 
de-ired  i^s  tiuth— acdrding  as  they  were  likely  to  be 
among  ihe  toiiurers  or  ihe  victims, 

chevres,  et  les  gazelles."— VJ/.  DelUe  upon  the  Plant* 

of  Egypt- 

*  Vide  Suvary  and  Qttatremere, 


THE    EPICUREAN, 


303 


s[lnu^al  pledge,  1 


Alarmed,  though  still  ignorant  of  the  whole  cxieot 
of  the  danger,  1  hurried  hack  lu  the  ravine,  and,  going 
at  nnce  to  the  grollu  of  Mel.iniU9,  detailed  to  hiiii 
every  particular  of  the  intelligence  1  had  collected. 
He  lis  ened  to  me  willi  a  crimpoaure,  which  1  n.i!.luok, 
alls  !  for  confidence  iii  his  own  securi'y  ;  and,  naming 
the  hour  tor  our  evening  walk,  reiired  into  his  grollo. 

At  the  accusioined  time,  acc<inip:)ii)ed  by  Aleihe,  he 
came  to  my  cave.  It  was  evident  that  he  h^id  not 
coniniuiiic.ited  to  her  the  intelligence  which  1  had 
brought,  for  never  hith  brow  «oin  such  happiness  as 
that  which  now  played  around  hers ;  —  it  uas,  alas  I 
?io(  of  this  earth.  Melaniu-,  himself,  though  com- 
posed, was  thoughtful ;  and  the  solemnity,  almost  ap- 
proiching  to  inel  iiicholyj  with  ivhich  he  placed  the 
hand  of  Aletlie  in  mine — ID  the  performance,  too.  of  a 
ceremony  that  ought  to  have  filled  my  heart  wiih  joy 
— ^iddened  and  al.irnied  me.  'I'l  is  ceremony  was  our 
beirothment,  ihe  act  if  pli,.;hliig  our  lailh  to  eacli 
olher,  winch  we  now  solemnised  on  the  rock  before 
Ihe  door  of  my  cave,  in  Ihe  face  of  that  calm,  sunset 
heaven,  whose  one  star  stood 
blessing  from  the  llermil  up 
Iil.iced  Ihe  i ing  —  Ihe  earnest 

her  hnger  ;  and,  in  the  blush,  nun  »liicli  she  su  ren- 
dered to  me  her  whole  heart  al  that  ine'ant,  forgot 
everything  but  uiy  happiness,  and  felt  secure  even 
against  fate ! 

We  took  our  accustomed  walk,  that  evening,  over 
the  rocks  and  on  ihe  desert,  bo  bright  was  the  moon 
—  more  like  the  davliglit,  indeed,  of  o'her  climes  — 
that  we  could  plainly  see  ihe  tracks  of  Ihe  wild  ante- 
lopes in  Ihe  sand;  and  it  was  not  without  a  sligln 
liemble  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  as  if  soDie  melancholy 
aiLilogy  occurred  to  htm  as  he  spoke,  that  Ihe  good 
llermil  said,  *'  i  liave  observed  ill  the  course  of  my 
walks,'  that  wherever  the  track  of  that  gentle  animal 
appears,  there  i>,  almost  always,  found  the  fool-print 
ot  a  htast  of  prey  near  it."  Me  reg.iined,  however, 
his  usual  cheeilulness  before  we  parted,  and  fixed  ihe 
following  evening  for  an  excursion,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ravine,  to  a  point  looking,  he  said,  "towards 
that  norlheru  region  of  the  de>ert,  where  Ihe  hosts  of 
Ihe  Lord  encamped  in  Ibeii  drpanure  uut  of  bondage.  * 

'J'liongh,  when  Alethe  was  present,  all  my  fears 
even  for  herself  were  forgotten  in  I  hat  perpetual  ele- 
ment of  happiness,  which  encircled  her  like  Ihe  air 
that  she  breathed,  no  sooner  was  1  alone,  than  vague 
teirors  and  bodings  crowded  upon  me.  In  vain  did  1 
endeavour  !c  leasoti  away  my  (ears,  by  dwelling  only 
on  the  most  clieei  ing  ciicuii.slances  —  on  Ihe'reve- 
rence  with  which  Mclanius  was  rtgarded,  even  by 
the  Pagans,  and  the  invinlale  security  with  which  he 
had  lived  through  the  most  perilous  periods,  not  only 
safe  himself,  but  atfVirding  s.uictuary  in  the  depths  of 
his  grottos  to  others.  'I'hough  somewhat  calmed  bv 
these  consider  ilions,  yet  when  al  length  I  sunk  off  to 
slee)),  diik,  horrible  dreams  took  possession  of  my 
niiiid.  Scenes  of  death  and  of  torment  passed  con- 
fusedly before  me;  and,  when  1  awoke,  it  was  with 
the  fearful  imiaession  that  all  these  horrors  were 
real. 


CHAPTER    .\- 1  X . 

Al  length,  the  day  dawned  — that  dreadful  day. 
Inipa'ieiit  to  be  relieved  from  my  su^pietise,  1  threw 
myself  inio  niy  bout— the  same  in  which  we  had  per- 
formed our  ha]  ipy  vo\age  — and,  as  fast  as  oars  could 
speed  me,  hurried  away  to  :he  city.  I  fnund  the  sub. 
urbs  silent  and  solil.iiy,  bu',  as  I  approached  Ihe 
Forum,  loud  yells,  like  those  of  barbarians  in  combat, 
struck  on  my  ear,  and,  when  I  entered  it— grcal  God, 
what  a  spectacle  presented  itself!     The  imperial  edict 


,  avec  une  reflexion  trisle,  qu'un 
:  ace  'mpagne  presque  toujours  les  pas 


agiinst  the  Christians  had  arrived  during  the  night, 
and  alreadv  the  wild  fury  of  bigotry  was  let  loose. 

Under  acanopy,  in  the  middle  of  the  Forum,  was 
the  tribunal  of  Ihe  Governor.  Two  statues  —  one  of 
Apollo,  the  other  of  Osiris— stood  at  the  boiloni  of  the 
rleps  that  led  up  lo  his  judgment-seat.  Before  these 
idols  were  slirines,  to  which  tlie  devoted  Christians 
weie  diagged  Ironi  all  quarters  by  the  soldiers  and 
mob,  and  there  compelled  to  recant,  by  throwing  in- 
cense into  the  ti.inie,  or,  on  their  refusal,  hurried 
away  to  torlure  and  death.  It  was  an  appalling 
scene ;  —  the  consternalion,  the  cries  of  some  of  the 
viclims  — the  pale,  silent  resolution  of  others  ;— Ihe 
fierce  shouts  of  laughter  that  bri.ke  from  the  multi- 
tude, when  the  dropping  of  the  frankincense  on  the 
altar  proclaimed  some  denier  of  Christ  ;2  and  the 
ficnd-like  triumph  wilh  which  the  courageous  Con- 
fessors, who  avowed  their  laith,  were  led  away  to  llie 
dimes, — never  could  1  have  conceived  such  an  assem- 
blage of  horrors ! 

Though  I  gazed  but  for  a  few  minutes,  in  those 
minute-  I  felt  and  fancied  enough  foi  years.  Already 
did  Ihe  fnriii  of  Aletlie  appear  Icfiit  before  me  Ihroush 
that  tumult;- I  heard  ihem  shout  her  name  ;— her 
shr  iek  fell  on  my  ear  ;  and  the  very  Ihoughl  so  palsied 
me  w  ith  terror,  that  I  stood  fixed  and  slalue-like  on 
Ihe  spot. 

Uectdlrcting,  however,  the  fearful  preciousness  of 
every  moineiit,  and  that  —  perhaps,  at  this  very  in- 
stant-S'.nie  emissaries  of  blood  might  be  on  their  way 
lo  the  Grottos,  I  rushed  wildly  out  of  Ihe  Forum,  and 
made  my  way  to  the  quay. 

1  he  streeis  were  n^w  crowded  j  but  I  ran  headlong 
through  the  multitude,  and  was  alieady  under  the 
porlico  leading  down  lo  the  river  —  alieady  saw  the 
boat  that  was  to  bear  me  to  Alctlie— when  a  Centurion 
stood  sternly  in  my  path,  and  1  was  surrounded  and 
arrested  by  soldiers !  It  was  in  vain  that  i  implored, 
that  I  struggled  with  Ihem  as  for  life,  as-uring  them 
that  I  was  a  stranger— that  I  was  an  Athenian- thai 
1  was  — )io(  a  Christian.  The  jirecipitaiion  of  my 
flight  was  sulliclei.t  evidence  against  me,  and  unre- 
lentingly, and  by  force,  Ihey  bore  nie  away  to  the 
qiiarleis  of  their  Chief. 

It  was  enough  to  drive  nie  at  once  lo  madness! 
Two  hours,  two  frighlful  hours,  was  1  ke|it  waiting 
the  arrival  of  the  1  ribnrie  of  iheir  Legion  3— my  brain 
burning  with  a  thousand  fears  and  imaginations, 
which  every  passing  ininule  made  hut  more  likely  to 
be  realized.  All  I  could  collect,  ton,  from  the  con- 
veisattniis  (if  those  around  ine  but  added  to  the  agonis- 
ing appreliensioiis  with  which  1  was  racked.  'I'roops, 
it  was  said,  had  been  seiii  in  all  directions  through  the 
nei'tibnurhood,  to  briig  in  the  rebellious  Christians, 
ai«fniake  'hem  bow  before  the  Gods  of  the  Empite. 
Wilh  horror,  ton,  1  heard  of  llrcus— Drcus,  the  High 
Priest  of  Memphis  — as  one  of  ihe  principal  inslig.i- 
tors  of  this  sanguinary  edict,  and  as  here  present  lu 
Antinne,  animating  and  directing  ils  execulion. 

In  this  sae  of  torlure  1  remained  till  ihe  arrival  of 
the  Tribune.  Absorbed  in  mv  own  thouehls,  1  had 
not  perceived  his  enlrance;— till,  hearing  a  voice,  in 
a  tone  of  friendiv  surprise,  exclaim,  "Alciphron  !"  1 
lo'iked  up,  and  in  ihis  legi'iiary  Chief  recognised  a 
young  Roman  of  rank,  who  had  held  a  military  com- 
mand, ihc  year  befnre.  al  Alliens,  and  was  one  of  ihe 
most  distinguished  visiters  of  ihe  Gaiden  It  was  no 
lime,  however,  for  courtesies:  —  he  was  proceeding 
with  all  CTdialily  lo  greet  me,  but,  having  heard  him 
order  my  instant  release,  I  could  wail  for  no  nioie. 


»  "  Those  Christians  who  sacrificed  lo  idols  to  save 
themselves  were  c  .lied  by  vai  ious  names,  Tliurificnii, 
Sncrificati,  MilUnles.  Ne/iaturcs."  he.  liaronins 
mentions  a  bishop  of  this  peiiod  r253),  Marcellinus, 
who.  yielding  lo  the  threats  of  ihe  Gentiles,  ihiew 
incense  upon  Ihe  alar.  Vide  Arnob.  contra  Omt. 
lib.  vii. 

3  A  rank,  reseiribUng  that  of  Colonel. 


504 


THE    EPI  C  U  REAN, 


Acknowledging  his  kindness  but  by  a  grasp  of  the 
hand,  I  (tew  off.  like  niie  fiantic,  rhrongh  ihe  elreets, 
and,  in  a  few  mimites,  was  on  the  livcr. 

My  sole  hope  hid  been  to  reach  the  Grottos  before 
any  of  the  detached  parties  should  arrivt;,  and,  by  a 
timely  flighi  across  the  desert,  rescue,  at  least,  Alethe 
from  their  fury.  The  ill-f.iled  delay  that  had  occurred 
rendered  Ihis  hope  alninst  de>perale  ;  but  thefrmquil- 
lity  I  found  evtryuhire  f.s  1  pmceeded  down  ihe 
river,  and  my  foi:d  confidence  in  the  sacredness  of  rhe 
Hermit's  retreat,  kept  my  heart  from  sinking  altoge- 
ther under  i!s  terrors. 

Between  the  cm  rent  and  my  oars,  the  boat  fiew, 
with  the  speed  of  « ind,  alung  the  Maters  ;  and  I  was 
already  near  the  mcks  of  Ihe  ravine,  when  I  saw, 
lurniiigoul  of  Ihe  canal  into  the  river,  a  barge  crowded 
wiih  people,  and  glitiering  with  r.rnis '.  How  did  I 
ever  survive  the  shock  of  that  sight?  The  oars 
dropped,  3.$  if  struck  out  of  my  hand-,  into  the  water, 
and  I  sat,  helplessly  gazing,  as  that  terrific  vision 
approached.  In  a  few  miuufes,  the  current  brought 
us  together; — and  I  saw,  on  (he  deck  of  the  barge, 
Alelhe  herself  and  the  Hermit  surrounded  by  soldiers  ! 

We  were  already  pas-im^  each  other,  uhen,  wiifi 
a  desperate  effort,  I  spiang  from  my  boat  and  lighted 
upon  the  edge  of  their  vessel.  1  knew  not  whal  I  did, 
for  despair  was  my  only  prompter.  Snatching  at  Ihe 
sword  of  one  of  the  soldieis,  as  1  stood  tollering  on  the 
edge,  I  had  succeeded  in  wresting  it  out  of  his  hands, 
when,  at  the  same  moment,  J  received  a  thrust  of  a 
lance  from  one  of  his  comrades,  .ind  fell  b.ickward 
into  Ihe  river.  I  can  just  remember  rising  again  and 
making  a  grasp  at  the  side  of  the  vessel  ;— but  the 
shock,  and  the  faintness  from  my  wnund,  deprived 
me  of  all  consciousness,  and  a  shriek  from  Alelhe,  as 
I  sunk,  is  all  I  can  recollect  of  what  followed. 

Would  I  hid  then  died  !  —Yet,  no.  Almiglify  Being 
—  I  should  have  died  in  darkness,  and  I  have  livtd  to 
know  Thee  ! 

On  reluming  to  my  senses,  I  f.iund  myself  reclined 
on  a  couch,  in  a  splendid  apartment,  the  whole  ap- 
pearance of  which  being  Grecian,  I,  for  a  moment, 
forgot  alt  that  had  passed,  and  imagined  myjelf  in  my 
own  home  at  Athens.  Hut  too  soon  the  whole  dread- 
ful ceriamty  flashed  upon  me  ;  and,  s'arting  wildly — 
disabled  as  I  was— from  niy  couch,  I  cilled  loudly, 
and  w  iih  the  shriek  of  a  maniac,  upon  Alelhe. 

I  was  in  the  house,  I  ihen  f^und,  of  my  friend  and 
disciple,  the  young  'Iribune,  who  had  m.ide  Ihe  Go- 
vernor acquainted  with  niy  name  and  condition,  and 
had  received  nie  unu'er  his  roof,  when  brought,  oleed- 
ing  and  insensible,  to  Antinoe.  From  him  I  mnv 
learned  at  once — for  I  could  not  wait  for  details — the 
sum  of  all  that  had  happened  in  ihat  dreadful  mte'-val. 
Meianius  was  no  more  — Alelhe  still  alive,   but  in 

"Take  me  to  her"  — I  had  but  time  to  say —  »' take 
me  to  her  instanily,  and  let  me  die  by  her  side"  — 
when,  nature  again  failing  under  such  shocks,  I  re- 
tapbed  into  insensibility.  In  this  state  I  continued  for 
near  an  hour,  ;)nd,  on  recovering,  found  the  1  ribune 
by  my  side.  The  horrors,  he  said,  of  ihe  Forum 
were,  for  that  day,  over— but  what  the  morrow  might 
bring,  he  shuddered  to  contemplate.  His  naluie,  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  pro- 
mising that  I  should,  at  night  fall,  be  conveyed  to  the 
prison,  and,  if  pos^ible,  through  his  influence,  gain 
access  to  Alethe.  She  might  yet,  he  added,  be  saved, 
could  I  succeed  in  persuading  her  to  coniply  « ilh  the 
terms  of  Ihe  edict,  and  make  sacrifice  to  the  Gods.— 
"Otherwise,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  hope  ;— Ihe  vin- 
dictive Orcus,  who  h^s  resisted  even  this  short  respite 
of  mercy,  will,  to-motrow,  Inexorably  demand  his 
prey." 

He  ihen  related  to  me,  at  my  own  request— though 
every  word  was  torture— all  the  harrowinj  details  of 
the  proceeding  before  the  Tribunal.  "I  have  seen 
courage,"  said  he,  *'  m  its  noblest  forms,  in  the  held  ; 
but  the  calm  intrepidity  with  which  that  aged  Hermit 


endured  torments— which  it  was  hardly  less  torment 
lo  witness— surpassed  all  that  I  cou!d  have  conceived 
ofhiinian  fortitude!" 

My  poor  Alelhe,  too— in  describing  to  me  her  con- 
duct, the  brave  man  wept  like  a  child.  Overwhelmed, 
he  said,  at  first  by  her  apprehensions  fur  my  safely, 
she  had  given  way  to  a  full  burst  of  womanly  weak- 
ness. But  no  sooner  was  she  brouaht  before  ihe  in- 
bunal.and  the  dtcl.ira'ion  of  her  faith  was  demandt-d 
of  her,  than  a  spirit  almost  superna'uial  seemed  to 
animate  her  whole  form.  'Stie  raised  her  eyes," 
said  he,  *'  calmly,  but  with  fervour.  In  heaven,  while 
a  blush  was  the  only  sign  of  mortal  feeling  on  her 
features ;— and  the  clear,  sweet,  and  untiembling 
voice,  with  wliich  she  pronounced  her  own  doom,  in 
the  words,  M  am  a  Christian  !' »  sent  a  thrill  of  ad- 
miration and  piiy  throughout  the  multitude.  Her 
youih,  Iier  loveliness,  affected  all  hearis,  ai  d  a  cry  of 
•Save  the  young  maiden  !'  was  heard  in  all  direction^." 

The  implacable  Orcus,  however,  would  not  hear  of 
mercy.  Ke-ei-l.ng,  as  it  appeared,  with  all  his  dead- 
'iest  rincnur,  n"t  only  her  own  escape  from  his  toils, 
but  the  aid  wiih  which  she  had,  so  faialiy  lo  his 
views,  assisted  mine,  he  demanded  loudly  and  in  (he 
name  of  ihe  insulted  sanctuary  of  Isis,  Iier  instant 
death.  It  was  but  by  the  firm  intervention  of  the 
Governor,  who  shared  the  general  svuipalhy  in  her 
fa'e,  Ih.it  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,  wjth  evident  reluctance,  to  this 
re'^pite,  the  inhuman  Priest  would  yet  accomi;any  il 
with  some  mark  of  his  vengeance.  Whether  for  the 
pleaure  {observed  the  Tribune)  of  mingling  mockery 
with  his  cruelly,  or  as  a  warning  to  her  of  ihe  dooni 
she  must  ultimately  expect,  he  gave  orders  that  there 
should  be  tied  round  her  brow  one  r-f  those  chaplets  of 
coral,'^  with  which  it  is  the  custom  of  young  Christian 
maidens  to  array  themselves  on  the  day  of  their  mar- 
tyrdom ; —  "and,  thus  fearfully  adorntd,"  said  he, 
"^he  was  led  away,  amidst  Ihe  gaze  of  the  pitying 
multiude,  lo  prison.*' 

With  these  harrowing  details  the  short  interval  till 
nightfall  —  every  minute  of  which  seemed  an  age  — 
was  occupied.  As  sonn  as  it  grew  dask,  I  was  placed 
upon  a  litter —  my  wound,  though  not  dangerous,  re- 
quiring such  a  conveyance  —  and,  under  the  guidance 
of  my  friend,  I  was  conducted  lo  ihe  prison.  Through 
his  interest  \vith  theguird,  we  were  without  difficulty 
admitted,  and  I  was  borne  into  the  chamber  where  the 
maiden  l^y  immuied.  Even  the  veleian  guatdian  of 
the  place  seemed  touched  with  compassion  for  his 
I)risoner,  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  nap- 
tha,  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  shed  a  wild  and 
ghastly  glare.  On  a  table  before  the  image  stood  a 
center,  with  a  small  vessel  of  incense  beside  it  —  one 
grain  of  which,  thrown  voluntarily  into  Ihe  flame, 
would,  even  now,  save  that  precious  life.  So  strange, 
so  fearful  was  the  whole  scene,  that  I  almost  doubted 
its  reality.  Alethe  !  my  own,  happy  Alethe  i  caji  il, 
1  thought,  be  thou  that  I  look  upon  ? 

She  now,  slowly,  and  with  difficulty,  raised  her 
head  from  the  couch,  on  observing  which,  the  kind 
Tribune  withdrew,  and  we  were  left  alone.  There 
was  a  paleness,  as  of  death,  over  her  features ;  and 
those  eyes,  which,  when  last  I  saw  them,  were  but 


*  The  merit  of  Ihe  confession  "  Christianus  sum," 
or  "Christiana  sum,"  was  considerably  enhanced  by 
the  clearness  and  distinctness  with  \vhich  it  was  pro- 
nounced. EuselAits  mentions  the  nuriyr  Vetius  as 
making  it  XaitnpoTaTfj  <p(iivij, 

^  Une  *'de  ces  couronnes  de  grain  de  corail,  dont 
les  vierges  martyres  ornoienl  leurs  cheveux  ei  allant 
a  la  mort."—  Lts  Martyrs. 


THE    EPICUREAN. 


505 


too  bright,  ton  lappy  for  ihis  world,  looked  dim  and 
sunken  In  raisiDg  herself  np,  she  put  her  hand,  as 
if  ffoiii  pain,  lo  lier  iorehead,  whose  marble  hi^e  but 
appeared  more  Jealh-like  from  those  led  bands  tha! 
lay  so  avvfuiiy  across  i'. 

After  wandering  for  a  minute  vaguely,  her  eyes  at 
length  rested  upon  me  —and,  with  a  Bh::ek,  halt  ter- 
ror, h.ilf  joy,  she  sprung  frum  ihe  conch,  and  sunk 
upon  her  knees  by  my  side.  Stie  hid  believed  me 
dead  ;  and,  even  now,  scarcely  Irusted  her  senses. 
"My  hnsb.indl  my  love!**  she  exclainied;  "oh,  if 
thou  comesi  to  call  me  from  ihis  wi^rld,  behold  1  am 
ready  1"  In  saying  thus,  she  pointed  wildly  lo  that 
ominous  wreath,  and  then  dropped  her  head  down 
upon  my  knee,  as  if  an  arrow  had  pieiced  it, 

"Alethe!'»  1  cned  —  lenified  lo  Ihe  very  snul  by 
(hat  mysterious  pang— and,  as  if  the  nound  of  my  voite 
h:id  re-animaied  her,  she  looked  up,  with  a  far*t 
smile,  in  my  face.  Her  thoughts,  which  had  evidently 
been  wandering,  became  cdlected  ;  and  in  her  ji>y  at 
my  safety,  her  sormw  at  my  sutiering,  she  fingot  en- 
tirely the  fate  that  impended  over  her>elf.  Love, 
iimticent  love,  alone  t>ccupied  all  her  thoughts  j  and 
ttie  warmth,  the  afteciion,  the  devnttdness,  with 
which  she  spoke— oh  how,  at  any  itber  moment,  1 
would  have  blessed,  have  lingered  upon  every  word  ! 
Hut  the  lime  tlew  fast  —  that  dreii-lful  morrow  was 
approai-hihg.  Aheady  1  saw  her  wri'hiiig  in  the 
hands  of  the  torturer  —  the  flames,  the  racks  *be 
wheels  were  before  my  eyes!  Half  framic  with  the 
fear  that  her  re>oliition  was  fixed,  I  flung  myself  from 
the  litter  in  an  agony  *>(  weeping,  and  supplicated  her, 
by  the  love  she  bore  me,  by  the  happiness  hat  awaited 
us,  by  her  own  merciful  Gnd,  who  was  Ino  good  lo 
require  such  a  sacrihce — by  all  that  Ihe  most  passinn- 
ate  anxitly  could  dic>ate,  I  implored  that  she  winild 
avert  from  us  the  doom  that  was  coming,  and — but  for 
once — comply  with  the  vain  ceremony  demanded  of 
her. 

Shrinking  from  me,  as  I  spoke  —  but  with  a  hok 
more  of  sorrow  than  reproach  —  '*  What,  thnu,  too  I" 
she  said  mournfulK — "  thou,  into  whn^e  inmost  spirit 
1  had  fondly  hoped  the  same  hght  had  entered  as  into 
my  own  !  No,  never  be  thou  leagued  with  them 
who  would  tempt  me  to  *  make  shipwreck  of  niv 
faith  !»  Thou,  who  could^t  alone  bind  me  to  life,  use 
noi,  I  entreat  thee,  thy  power  ;  but  let  me  die,  as  He 
1  serve  hath  commanded— die  for  the  Truth.  Hemeni- 
ber  the  holy  lessons  we  heard  together  on  those  nights, 
those  happy  nights,  when  both  the  present  and  fuiiire 
smiled  upon  us-  when  even  ihe  gifi  of  eternal  life 
came  more  welcome  to  mys.»ul,  from  Ihe  glad  convic- 
tion Ihal  thou  werl  to  be  a  sharer  in  its  blessings  ;— 
shall  I  forfeit  now  thai  divine  privilege?  shall  1  deny 
the  irue  tiod,  whom  we  tlien  learned  to  love? 

"  No,  my  own  betrothed,''  she  continued— pointing 
to  the  two  rings  on  her  finger—''  behnid  these  pledges 
—  they  are  both  sacred.  1  should  have  heen  as  true 
to  ihee  as  I  am  now  to  heaven,— nor  in  that  life  'o 
which  \  am  hastening  shall  our  love  be  forgotten. 
Should  the  baptism  of  fire,  through  which  I  shall  pa.s 
to-morrow,  nuke  me  wor  hy  to  be  heard  before  the 
throne  of  Gtace,  I  will  in'ercede  for  ttiy  soul  —  I  will 
pray  thai  it  nnyyet  shart^  "iih  mine  that  'inherit- 
ance, imnioiial  and  undefiled,*  which  Mercy  oflVrs, 

and  thai  thou  —  and  my  dear  mother  —  and  I " 

She  here  dropped  her  voice ;  the  momentary  ani- 
mation, with  which  devotion  and  aflection  h^d  in- 
spired her.  vanished  ;— and  theie  came  a  darkiies« 
over  all  her  features,  a  livid  darkness— like  the  ap 
preach  of  deaih— that  made  me  shudder  through  everj 


limb.  Seizing  iniy  hand  convulsively,  and  loo«ing  at 
me  with  a  fearlul  eat^eritess,  as  if  anxious  to  hear 
some  consoling  assurance  from  my  own  lips  —  "Be- 
lieve me,"  she  continued,  ''not  all  (he  fonnen's  they 
are  preparing  for  me— not  even  this  deep,  burning 
pain  in  my  hrow.  to  which  ihey  will  hardly  hnd  an 
equal— could  be  half  so  dreadful  to  me,  a»  the  tho'Jgbt 

lliat  1  leave  thee,  wi-houi " 

Here  lier  voice  ag:un  failed;  her  head  sunk  upon 

y  arm,  and  —  meiciful  God,  let   me  forge'    what  i 

en   felt—  1  saw  (hat  she  w..s  dying!     Whether  I 

lered  any  cry,  I  know  not ;—  but  the  Tiibune  cime 

lulling  into  niy  chamber,  and,  looking  on  the  maiden, 

id.  with  a  lace  lull  of  horror,  "  It  is  but  too  true  !" 

He  then  told  me  in  a  low  voice,  what   he  hid  just 

arned  from  the  guardian  of  the  prison,  that  the  band 

round  the  young  Christian^  brow  i  was— oh  hoinhle  ! 

a  compound  of  the  most  deadly  poison- Ihe  hellish 

venlion  of  Orcus,  lo  satiate  his  vengeance,  and  make 

e  fate  of  his  poor  victim  secure.     My  first  move- 

ent  was  to  untie  'hat  fal;-.l  wreath— but  it  would  not 

me  away  —  it  would  not  come  away  ! 

Housed  by  the  pain,  she  again  looked  in  my  face; 

but,  unable  to  speak,  took  hastily  from  her  bosom  the 

U  silver  cross  which  she  had   brought  with  her 

I  my  cave.     Having  pressed  it  to  her  own  lips, 

she  held  it  anxiously  lo  mine,  and  seeing  me  kis>  ihe 

holy  symbol  with  fervour,  looked  happy  and  smiled. 

The  agony  of  death  seemed  to  have  passed  away; — 

there  came  suddenly  over  her  features  a  heavenly 

liilhi,  some  share  of  which  I  felt  descending  into  my 

own  soul,  and,  in  a  few  oiiuules  more,  she  expired  in 


llcrc  ends  fht  Mamiscript ;  but,  on  the  outer  cover 
is  founds  in  the  handwriting  of  a  much  later 
period,  the  folVrwing  Notice,  extracted,  as  it  ap- 
pears,  from  some  Egyptian  martyrology :  — 

"Alciphron- an  Epicurean  philosopher,  converted 
to  Christianity  A-  D.  257,  by  a  young  Kgyptian  mai- 
den, who  surtered  martyrdom  in  that  year.  Imme- 
diately upon  her  death  he  betook  hiniself  to  the  desert, 
and  lived  a  life,  it  is  said,  of  much  holiness  and  peni- 
tence. During  the  persecution  under  Dioclesian,  his 
sullerings  for  the  faith  were  most  exemplary;  and 
being  at  length,  at  an  advanced  age,  condemned  to 
hard  labour,  for  refusing  lo  comply  with  an  Impei  ial 
edict,  he  died  at  the  Brass  Mines  of  Falesiine,  A.  D. 
297.  — 

''As  Alciphron  held  the  opinions  maintained  since 
by  Arins,  his  memory  h'^s  not  been  spired  by  Athana* 
sian  writers,  who,  among  oiher  chirges,  accuse  him 
of  having  been  addicted  to  the  snperstitioiMi  of  Egyp', 
For  Ihis  calumny,  however,  ihere  a|ipears  to  be  no 
belter  foundation  than  a  circumstance,  recorded  by 
one  of  his  biother  monks,  that  there  v^as  found,  alier 
hi'  deiih,  a  small  melal  mirror,  like  those  used  in  the 
ceremonies  ot  Isis,  suspended  around  his  neck." 


t  We  find  pnisontd  crowns  mentioned  by  Plijiy, 
under  the  deMgnation  of  "corons  ferales.*'  Pascha- 
hvs.  too,  givesthe  following  account  of  these  "  deadly 
garland-,"  as  he  calls  them  :  —  "Sed   miium  i-st  lam 


;quitiam    reperisse, 

rent.      Nen:pe,    re- 

I,  quas  dixi,  lam 


quoniodo   ad    nefarios   u-i 

perias  sunt  nefandas  coron*;  naiun.,  vju«*  ^.-.,  ...•. 
s.ilubriuni  per  nomen  quidem  el  speciem  imiatrices, 
at  re  et  etlectu  ferales,  alque  adeo  capitis,  CUi  ioipo- 
nuntur,  inlerfectrices."  — Z)e  Coronia, 


43 


506 


ALGIPHRON, 


ALCIPHRON:   A   FRAGMENT. 


LETTER    I . 

FROM     ALCIPHRON     AT     ALEXANDRIA     TO 

CLEON    AT    ATHENS. 


Wetl  may  yon  w 

nder  at  my  llipht 

From  Ihcee  fail 

(.iaulena,  in  whose  bowert 

XJngt-rs  whatcVr 

cif  wise  and  bnglit. 

Of  Dfautv's  sinil 

or  WiHiIiim'a  Jii:ht, 

Isl^rtlogia.e 

his  w.irld  of  ours. 

Well  may  iny  cor 

nradee,  an  they  roam. 

Oh  Burh  sweet 

nvvH  BH  this,  inquire 

Whv  I  have  left 

hat  happv  home 

Where  all  is  fn 

jnd  that  all  detiire, 

And  Time  hath 

wingH  that  never  lire; 

Where  hUHn.  in  a 

11  the  countless  shapes 

That  FaiK:y'i(Bt 

If  to  blisB  hath  given, 

Crimes  cluareriiig 

round,  like  road-Bide  grapci 

That  wi-o  the  t 

aveller's  lip.  at  even; 

Where  Wisdom  l 

iijgs  not  j(.y  away  — 

As  Pallas  In  Ihe  b 

ream,  Ihey  say, 

Once  Ruhr  her  flu 

le  — but  ainiling  owns 

That  woman's  lip 

ran  send  forth  tones 

Worth  all  the 


or  those sphe 


1  of,  but 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  eo  well 

Her  sister  pleasure's  smile  that.  loth 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell. 

We  finish  by  einbrfiiig  both. 
Vee,  such  the  pla< 


all  who, 


,vhile 


i  I  just 


•  flo 


And  by  the  Nile's  dark  fluod  recline. 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  my  ftiglit 
Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright* 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light, 

Hew  lovelily  they  all  must  shine 
Can  see  thatgracefu!  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  ulnpe  its  lengthen'd  shade. 
While,  on  the  marhle  steps  betow, 

There  silH  nome  fair  Athenian  maid. 
Over  some  favoiinte  vohime  bending; 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  s.ge 
H*  Ids  bai-k  the  ringlelK  that,  desceuding. 

Would  else  rVr.shiidow  all  the  page. 
But  hence  such  thoughts  I -- nor  let  me  grieve 
O'er  ecenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave. 
As  the  bird  quilB  awhile  its  nest 
To  come  again  with  livelier  zest. 
And  now  to  tell  Ihee  — what  I  fear 
Thou  'It  gravely  amile  at  -  why  I  'm  here. 
Though  through  my  life's  shoit,  sunny  dream, 

I've  flnaled  wilhout  pain  or  care. 
Like  a  light  leaf,  down  pleanure's  Mtream, 

Caught  in  each  spHrkling  eddy  there; 
Though  never  Mirth  awaked  s  straiu 
That  my  heart  ei  hoed  imt  again  ; 
Yel  have  I  felt,  when  ev'n  most  gay, 

a.ni  ihouf-hls—  I  knew  nut  whenc 

Suddenly  o 


IS,  th 


/  is'."  shade  thi 

Were  these  strange  djrk'mngs  of  my  mind  — 
While  nought  hut  jry  around  me  beam'd 

So  causelessly  Ihey  've  come  bd^I  flown, 
That  not  of  life  or  earth  they  seem'd, 

B<it  shndowB  from  sume  world  unknown. 
More  oft.  however,  M  was  the  thought 

How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  iis  pl.^y 

Of  life  and  gladneea  munt  dt-cuy  — 
Thnee  lip^  I  pre»t,  the  hands  I  taught  — 
Myself-- the  crowd  thai  mirth  had  brought 

Around  me — swept  like  weeda  away  1 
This  thought  it  was  thai  came  to  shed 

0';r  ranture's  hour  ita  worst  alluys; 
ed 


■why- 
ky. 


Ani!,  c 
Ills 

adnrs 

8  shaile 
s  wilh  n 

ly  hap 

Il.hiur,  w 
leBl  Jiiya. 

Oh,  bi 

lor 

:hi9  ilish 

part'n 

Ig  V.llCU 

Stfa 

'"IB 

mid  nur 

mirth 

IM  .ay 

That  a 

1,  in 

which  « 

e  (ifjH 

rej  Mcf, 

Kre 

nie\< 

may  be 

ihfen 

Ba(  r. 

r  Ihi 

hiller- 

-..lily 

his  — 

Full  aa 

the 

world  is 

biimm 

'd  with  bl 

And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 
Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  whole, 
I  should  turn  earth  to  henv*n,  anU  be* 
if  blit)s  made  G(His,  a  Deity  ! 


When 

the  ^ 

chool  held 

its  feast  of  luirth 

To  celt 

brale 

our  founder's  b 

rth. 

And  al 

thai 

He  indre 

ims  b 

t  saw 

V\he 

u  he 

set  I'leas-j 

re  on 

;he  throne 

Of  thin 

bright  world,  a 

:d  wi 

le  her  law 

In  b 

Liman 

hearts,  w 

s  felt 

and  known — 

A'ut  in 

unrt 

Bl  dreams. 

but  tr 

Ue, 

Substa 

itial 

oy  as  puis 

e  e'er 

knew  — 

By  hea 

rts  a 

Qd  bosoms 

that  t 

a.  h  felt 

Jlself  the  r 

ealm  whel 

e  riea 

sure  dwelt. 

That  n 

phi, 

when  all  o 

ur  mi 

rth  waa  o'er, 

The 

rels  eileni 

and  1 

le  feet 

or  the 

g  maidens 

heard 

no  more  — 

So  s 

illv 

*as  the  tin 

le.  so 

sweet, 

And  SI 

eh  a 

calm  ram 

o'er 

hat  scene, 

Where 

life 

and  revel  late  lia 

d  been  — 

»thp 

quiel  of  B 

nme  b 

V, 

From 

*hich  the  sea  h 

ith  eb 

>M  away  — 

That  s 

III  I 

inger'd.  In 

t  in  1 

lOUgllt, 

Gazi 

'8  U| 

on  the  Bla 

8  of  n 

ght, 

Sad  a 


if  1  I 


Elit 


Some  mournful  secret  in  Iheir  lighl| 
And  ask'd  them,  mid  that  silence,  why 
Man,  glorious  man.  alone  must  die, 
While  Ihey,  less  wonderful  then  he. 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 
That  night  —  thou  haplv  may'st  forget 

Its  loveliness— but  'twas  a  night 
To  make  earlh's  mediiest  slave  rrgiet 


On  one  side. 

in  Ihe  da 

tk  bl 

ue  h 

■y. 

Lonely  and  radiant,  wa 

sihe 

eye 

Of  Jove  him 

.If.  while 

,  on 

he  other. 

'Mong  star 

s  that  cai 

le  ou 

Ion 

e  by  one 

The  young  a 

oon— hi 

e  the 

Ko 

nau  mother 

Among  he 

»elB- 

-Bh 

one. 

"Oh  that  fro 

m  yonder 

orbs 

"  I  Ihouif'iit 

"Fure  anil 

eternal  a 

Ihey  are 

"There  coul 

(o  earlh 

p  pov 

ver  be  br 

ought. 

"Some  charr 

n.  wilh  t 

eir  ( 

ssesce  r 

auRht, 

••To  make 

man  deathless 

as  i 

star, 

•'And  open 

0  his  vas 

desi 

■es 

as  bouni 

ess 

nd 

ublime 

"As  that  which  waits 

Ihos 

CM 

net-flre«, 

"That  bur 

n  and  roa 

m  lb 

oug 

hout  all  time  1" 

How 


n-eet.  still  le; 


I  behind, 


if  to  shew  how 
Came  lulling  o'er  me.  and  I  laid 

My  Iiinbs  at  that  fair  statue's  base- 
That  miracle,  which  Art  hath  made 

Of  all  thechuice  of  Nature's  grace- 
To  which  so  oft  I've  knelt  and  sworn. 

That,  could  a  living  m.id  like  her 
Unto  this  wondering  world  be  born, 

I  would,  myself,  turn  woreliipper. 


1  the: 


rd  far 


ndle 


To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  glenm-d 
One  single,  melancholy  ray, 

Throughout  thai  darkness  dimly  fihej 
From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 


Of  one. 

*ho 

pale 

as  are 

he  dead. 

Before 

me 

lo„k  hi.  .pe 

liul  stand. 

And  sai 

,  while, 

wfullv 

a  smile 

C-jme 

o'er 

Ihe  \ 

vanne^s 

of  his  cheek  — 

"Go.  and.  beside 

le  .acr 

d  Nile, 

"  You 

'11  li 

id  Ih 

'  Elern 

al  Life  you  seek 

Soon  as 

he  s 

poke 

these  V 

ords.  the  hue 

Ofd  ath 

o'er 

all  1 

is  (eall 

res  grew 

Like  the 

pal 

mo 

ning,  w 

hen  o'er  nifht 

She  gain 

s  th 

vie 

ory.  fu 

lof  lighl; 

Wh  Ic  1 

le  sr 

nail 

orcli  he  held  became 

A  glory 

n  b 

s  ha 

d.  who 

se  flame 

ALCIPHRON. 


r)07 


Brighten 'd  the  desert  luddenly, 

Kv'n  totlie  far  hor.zon's  line- 
Along  whose  level  I  coiiM  see 

Gardens  and  f:rnve5,  that  neeni'd  to  bhlne, 
As  if  then  u'er  thera  freshly  pl&y'd 
A  venial  rainbow's  rich  caarade ; 
And  musie  lloated  everywhere, 
Circlin^r,  iis  'i  weie  itself  the  air, 
And  8|iirita,  nii  whose  wings  :he  hu9' 
or  tieav'n  Btill  liiiger'd,  round  me  Hew. 
Till  from  all  aides  auch  Bjil'-iuloiiri*  broke. 
That  with  the  excess  o{  lipht  1  woke ! 
Such  was  my  dream  —Hud,  I  confeaa. 

Though  none  of  ull  our  crcedleHs  Bchool 
E'er  conn'd,  believM,  or  re\erenc'd  leaa 

The  Tables  of  (he  prieat-Ud  fool, 
Who  trlls  us  or  a  soul,  a  mind, 
Sciiarate  and  pure,  wilhin  us  fihrin'd. 
Which  is  to  live-- ah,  h-pe  too  bright!  — 
For  ever  in  ynn  fields  of  light; 
Who  fondly  thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Of  Oudsareon  him  — as  if,  blest 
And  blooming  in  Ibeir  own  blue  skiea, 
Th'  ereriial  Gods  wtrre  not  Ino  wise 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  Iheir  rest '. — 
Though  thinking  of  such  creeds  iia  thou 

Arid  all  our  Cfarden  wagea  think. 
Yet  it*  ihete  something,  1  alkiw, 

IndreamHlike  this --a  sort  of  link 
With  worlds  unseen,  whub.  from  the  hour 

I  lirst  rould  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now, 
Hath  masitr'd  me  with  spell-like  power. 
And  who  can  lell,  as  we  're  combin'd 
Of  various  atoma  — some  refin'd. 
Like  those  thai  scintillate  and  play 
In  the  fix*d  stars —  some,  gross  ns  they 
Thot  frown  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  tlay  — 
Whu  can  be  bure.  but  't  is  the  bet.1 

And  brightest  atoms  of  nur  frame, 

Those  m-jet  akin  to  stellar  flame, 
That  shine  out  thus,  when  we  're  at  rest  ;— 
Ev'u  89  the  Btats  them-elvt-s,  v^hose  light 
Comes  out  but  in  thf  silent  night. 
Or  is  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed, 
Some  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  creed. 
And  thnt  our  Guardians,  from  on  high. 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin. 
To  put  the  Denies'  curtain  by. 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in! 
Vain  thought !  —  but  yet,  howe'er  il  be, 
Dreams,  more  than  once,  have  prov'd  to  me 
Ora>  lea,  truer  fur  than  Ouk, 
Or  Dove,  or  Tripod  ever  spoke. 
And  'twas  (he  words  — thou 'It  hear  and  smile  — 

The  words  that  phantom  Beem'd  to  speak  — 
*'  O",  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

•■  You  '11  find  the  Eternal  Life  you  seek—" 
That,  haunting  ine  bv  night,  by  day, 

At  length,  ns  with  the  unseen  hand 
Of  Fate  itself,  urg'd  rae  away 

From  Athens  to  this  Holy  Land: 
Where,  *mnng  the  secrets,  still  untaught. 

The  myst'ries  that,  ns  yet,  nor  siin 
Nor  eye  hnth  reach'd  --  oh,  bleniied  thought  I  — 

Miiy  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 
Farewell  —  when  to  our  Garden  friends 
Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  tir-am  that  sendi 
Th*-  gnyrst  of  their  srhiml  thus  far, 
Wandering  beneath  Canopus'  slar, 
Tell  them  that,  wander  whtre  he  will, 

Or,  howsne'er  tht-y  now  condemn 


and  ^ 


1  pun 


still 


Is  worthy  of  the  Suhool  and  them  ;— 
Still,  a!l  their  own— nor  e'er  forgets, 

Ev'n  while  hie  he-art  and  S(.ul  pursue 
Th'  lOternal  Light  which  never  sets, 

The  many  meteor  ji.ys  iha'  do. 
But  seeks  them,  hails  them  with  delight 
Where'er  tht-y  meet  his  longiig  eight. 
And  if  his  life  must  wanr  away, 
Like  other  lives,  at  leafit  the  day. 
The  hour  it  laxls  shall,  like  a  lire 


LETTER    n. 
FROM    THE    SAME    TO    THE    SAME. 

Menphit 


Are  all  'orgott.-n  in  the  new  dflipMs. 

The  siranpe    witd  joys  that  till  my  dajB  and  clshts. 

Instead  of  dark,  dull  oracles  that  i-peak 

From  subterrau'-an  temples,  those  /  aeei 

Come  from  the  breathing  shrines  wberj;  Beanty  lives. 

And  Love,  ht-r  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 

Inst-ad  of  honouring  ]i<is  in  thuae  rites 

Al  Coplos  held,  I  hull  her.  when  she  lights 

Hi-rfiiHt  young  credceni  on  the  holy  stream  — 

When  waiideiing  youths  una  maidens  walch  ber  beun 

And  numbt-r  o'er  (he  nighls  she  hath  to  run, 

Ere  >he  again  embiace  her  bridrgroom  sun. 

WbiU  o'er  sume  my^Ije  leaf,  that  dimly  lends 

A  clue  into  past  times,  the  student  bends. 

And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  hams  to  tread 

Back  through  the  shadowy  knowkOge  of  the  dead  — 

The  only  skill,  alas,  /  yet  ( 


Lie; 


:iphe: 


/M-ri 


And  where  — oh  where  *b  the  heart  that  could  wUhatand 

Th'  unnumber'd  witcheries  of  this  sun-horn  land, 

Where  first  yxung  Fleasure'a  banner  was  unfuil'd. 

And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  \%oild  ! 

Where  mystery.  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn, 

Hides  but  to  win,  and  shades  but  to  adorn; 

Wht-re  thut  luxurious  melancholy,  born 

Of  ra-.sinn  and  of  genius,  alieds  a  gloom 

Mnkii'K  J'  y  holy;—  whr  re  the  bower  and  tomb 

btiui.l  *;.k-  by  side,  and  Pleasure  leams  fmrn  Death 

The  instant  value  of  each  moment's  breath. 

Couldbt  thou  but  see  how  like  a  rort's  dream 

This  I'lVfly  land  now  lookn  !  —  the  gloriouw  stream, 

Thai  l.itr,  betwreu  its  banks  was  seen  to  glide 

•Mnng  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 


Gilt 


;  like 


i  sir 


;  aloi 


chuit 


Hath  n<  w  sent  forth  Hh  waters  and  o'er  plaio 

And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bt-d 

Rising  with  oulHlretch'd  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread. 

While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 

And  blue  a  hcaVn  as  ever  blest-'d  our  ai'here, 

Gaidi-na.  and  pillar'd  streeis,  and  porphyry  domes. 

And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 

Of  migiiiy  Goda,  and  pyiamids,  whose  hour 

Outlasts  all  lime,  above  the  waters  tower! 

Then,  loo,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 

One  theatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  hike, 

Where  ail  that  I/5ve,  Religion,  Commerce  gives 

Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 

Here,  up  the  steps  of  tt-mples  from  the  wave 

Axcending,  in  procession  slow  and  grave. 

Priests  in  white  garm*'iitF«  go,  with  sacred  wands 

And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  : 

While,  there,  rich  barks—fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

F;ir  off,  beyond  the  sot  nding  colaratts  — 

Glide.  Willi  their  preciouK  Lidinc  to  the  sea, 

Plumes  of  blight  birds,  rhinoceros  ivory. 

Gems  from  the  IkK*  of  Meroe,  and  those  grains 

Of  gold,  wiish'd  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 

Here,  where  the  wiiteis  wind  into  a  bay 

Shndowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Sain  or  Bubastus,  among  beds 

Of  lotus-flowers,  that  close  iibove  their  h^ads, 

Push  their  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower» 

Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour; 

Oft  dipping  in  the  Kile,  when  faint  with  heat. 

That  leaf  from  which  its  waters  drink  most  sweet^ 

While  haply,  not  far  otT,  beneath  a  bank 

Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 

Is  play'd  in  the  corl  current  by  a  tiain 

Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,l  whose  chalo 

Around  two  conquerors  of  the  woild  was  cost. 

But,  Tor  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  oh,  believe  not  them,  who  dare  to  brand, 

As  poor  in  charms,  the  women  of  this  land. 

Though  daiken'd  by  ihnt  nun,  whose  Ppirit  flowB 

Through  every  vein,  and  tinges  as  it  goes 

*T  is  l»iit  1h'  embrowning  of  the  fruit  that  tells 

How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripenet^s  dwells-- 

The  hue  their  own  da.k  sanctuaries  wear. 

Announcing  heav'n  in  half-caught  glimpses  there. 

And  never  yet  did  tell-tale  looks  set  free 

The  Beciet  of  young  heiirts  more  tendt-rly. 

Such  eyes  :  —  long,  shadowy,  wKb  that  languid  5all 

Of  the  fring'd  liile,  which  may  be  seen  in  all 

Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  aidmt  rays  — 

Lending  such  /ook«  as.  on  their  marriage  days 

Youn^  maids  cast  down  before  a  bridegroom's  gnze ! 

1  Cler.patra. 


508 


ALCIPHRON. 


T^en  for  their  ;race  — mark  but  thp  nymph-like  ohapes 

or  the  young  vllage  fiflu,  when  cairvwiB  grapes 

From  green  Anihylla,  or  light  urni*  of  flowers  — 

Wol  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 

E'er  imag'd  forih.  even  at  the  toueh  of  him  1 

Whose  touch  was  life,  more  loxury  of  limb! 

Then,  ransE  Ihou  wonder  if,  mid  hienea  like  theoe, 

I  8houM  forget  all  graver  mysterifs, 

All  lure  but  Love's,  all  Betrets  but  that  best 

Jn  beaVn  or  earth,  the  art  of  being  blest ! 

Vet  are  there  limeB  — though  bnef,  1  own,  their  stay. 

Like  eummer  clouds  thai  shine  themselves  away — 

Momenis  of  glaom,  whin  even  ihftte  pleasures  pall 

Upon  my  sndd'ning  hejtrl,  and  I  reiall 

Thai  Garden  dream—  that  premise  of  a  power. 

Oh,  were  there  such  !  —  to  lengthen  out  life's  hour. 

On.  oil.  aslhrough  a  vista,  far  away 

Opt;u:ng  before  u«  into  endless  day  1 

And  chiefiy  oVr  my  spirit  did  this  thought 

Come  on  thai  evening— bright  as  --ver  brought 

Light's  golden  farewell  to  the  woiM  — when  firat 

Th*  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphiu  burst 

Awfully  on  my  eight  —standing  publime 

•Twiit  earth  and  heav'n,  the  watih-towers  of  Time, 

From  whose  lone  summit,  when  hia  reign  hath  past 

From  earth  for  ever,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 

Those  mighty  monument'',  a  hushing  sound 

In  the  8l  U  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 

Like  music  of  pant  times  into  my  soul. 

I  ihoijght  what  myriads  of  the  wise  and  brave 

And  heaiitifui  had  sunk  into  the  gmve, 

Since  earth  Grsl  saw  these  wondi-rs —  and  I  said 

"  Are  things  eternal  only  for  the  dead  7 

«'  Hath  Man  nn  loflier  hope  Ihan  this,  which  dooma 

*'  His  only  lastinR  lrophi<-s  lo  be  tombs? 

"But  'lis  not  BO  — earth,  heaven,  all  nature  shows 

'•  He  may  become  immortal—  may  umlose 

"The  wings  within  him  wrnpt,  and  proudly  rise 

"  Redeem'd  from  earth,  a  creature  of  the  skies  ! 

•'And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 

-  From  Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  ahnnes  and  cells 

"  Have,  from  the  Fl'od,  lay  hid,  there  may  not  be 

"  Some  secret  clue  to  immortality, 

"  Some  amulet,  whose  spell  can  keep  life's  fire 

"Awake  within  up,  never  to  expire! 

"  'Tis  known  that,  en  the  Emeraid  Table,2  hid 

"  For  agee  in  yon  loftiest  pyiomid, 

"  The  Thrice-Great  3  did  himself,  engrave,  of  old* 

"  The  chymic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 

"And  why  may  not  this  mightier  Kerret  dwell 

"  Within  the  same  dark  chambers  7  who  can  lell 

"  But  that  those  kings,  who.  bv  the  wrilten  6kill 

"Of  th'  Emerald  Tsble,  call'd  forth  gold  at  will, 

"And  quarries  upou  quarries  heap'd  and  hurl'd, 

"To  build  them  domes  that  misht  outstand  the  world— 

*•  Who  knows  but  that  the  heavt-nlier  art,  which  sbareB 

'« The  life  of  Gods  with  man,  was  also  theirs  — 

•'  That  they  themselves,  triumphant  o'er  the  power 

"Of  fate  and  death,  are  living  at  this  hour; 

"  And  these,  the  giact  homes  they  still  passcia 

"  Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces, 

"Within  whose  depths,  hid  from  the  world  above, 

"Even  now  they  wander,  with  the  few  they  love, 

"Through  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 

"Unknown  on  earth,  which  hath  nor  dawn  nor  night! 

"  Else,  why  those  deathless  structures?  why  the  giand 

"  And  hidden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land  7 

"  Why  else  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  to  go 

"Through  the  dark  windings  of  Ihat  realm  below, 

"  Nor  aught  from  heav'n  itself,  except  the  G.mI 

"Ol  S.lence,  through  those  endless  labyrinths  trod  7" 

Thus  did  I  dream —  wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own. 

But  such  as  haunt  me  ever,  if  alone, 

Or  in  that  pause  'twixt  joy  and  jov  I  be. 

Like  a  ship  hush'd  between  two  waves  at  sea. 

I'heii  do  these  spirit-whisperings,  like  the  sound 

Of  ihj  Dark  Future,  come  appalling  round; 

Nor  can  I  break  the  trance  that  holds  me  then. 

Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  1  mount  again  1 

Ev'n  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight, 

My  heart  is  on  the  wing ;—  this  very  n^ght. 

The  Temple  oc  that  island,  half-way  o'er 

From  Memphis'  gardens  to  the  eastern  shore. 

Sends  up  its  annual  rite  4  to  her.  whose  beams 

Bring  the  sweet  time  of  niglit-flovvers  and  dreams 


1  Applies.  3  See  No 

S  The  Herm?8Tn9megistu8. 

4  The  great  Festival  of  the  Moon. 


0  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lahet, 
very  dew  each  drop  J!  lakcai— 
lof  the  North,  whochaino 


;  the 


I  of  \ 


ung  1 


Oh.  not  Ol 

In  veslfll  i 

But  she  who  haunts  the  gay  Bubastiiin  5  groT«, 

And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  hcav'u  above. 

Nothing  on  earlh  to  mntrh  that  heav'n  but  Love. 

Think    then,  what  bliss  will  be  abioad  to-night  t  — 

Beside  those  s^aiklii.g  nymphs,  who  meet  the  aigbt 

Day  after  day,  familiar  as  the  sun, 

Coy  buds  of  brauly,  yet  nnbreath'd  upon, 

Ard  ail  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies.— 

Shut  up.  as  are  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes, 

W^ilhin  these  twilight  shrines-  to-night  shall  bc 


And  1 


rk,  • 


!  birds,  for  this  feslii 

IS  nigh  :  already  the  stin  bids 


■  I'yri 

As  he  hath  done,  aee  after  age.  till  they 

Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray  ; 

While  their  gre.t  shadows,  stretchini?  from  the  ligbt. 

Look  like  the  first  colossal  steps  of  Night, 

Stretching  arro«B  the  vsHey,  to  invade 

The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  with  Iheil  shade. 

Around,  as  signals  of  the  setting  beam, 

Gny.  gilded  flags  on  every  house-top  glesrn  : 


While,  hark! 
Of  I 


rich  swell 


>lhe 


LETTER    III. 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME, 

There  is  some  star- or  it  may  be  '^ 

That  moon  we  Baw  eo  near  last  night  — 
Which  comes  athwart  my  deaiiny 

For  ever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  wise 

Aud  calm  I  feel,  there  quick  dolh  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,  Clenn,  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giv'n  such  beauty  biith!-- 
That  man  — but,  hold— hear  all  that  paes'd 
Since  yester-night,  from  first  lo  last. 
The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow, 

And  beautiful,  as  if  she  came 
Fresh  from  the  Elysian  bowers  below. 

Was.  with  a  loud  and  sweet  acclaim, 
Welcom'd  (nm  every  breezy  height. 
Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  JifiM. 
And  well  might  they  who  view'd  the  scene 

Then  lit  up  ail  around  them,  say. 
That  never  yet  had  Nature  been 

Caught  Bleeping  in  a  l.-velier  ray. 
Or  rivall'd  her  own  noon-tide  face; 
With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace 
Memphis  —  still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

Vnrivall'd  Memphis,  Ihat  could  seiie 
From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  it  bright  through  centuries  — 
Now,  in  the  moonshine,  Ihat  came  down 
Like  a  last  smile  upnn  that  crown, 
Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes. 

Her  pyramids  and  shrines  of  fire. 
Rose,  like  a  viaicn,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming  stilt,  awakes 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir: 
While  to  the  west—  where  gradual  sinks 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roU'd, 
Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphynx 

That  stood  in  kingly  courts,  of  old — 
It  seem'd  as,  mid  the"  pomps  ihat  Khone 
Thus  gaily  round  him,  Time  look'd  on. 
Waiting  till  all.  nnw  bright  and  bleht. 
Should  sink  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 
No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
Froclaim'd  the  feslal  rile  b^pun. 
And,  mid  their  idol's  fullest  beams. 

The  Egyptian  world  was  all  aflnat. 
Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  stream?, 
Like  a  young  Nile-bird,  lurn'd  my  boat 
To  the  fair  island,  on  whose  shores. 
Through  leafy  palms  and  sycamores. 
Already  shone  the  moving  lights 
Of  pilgrims,  hastening  to  the  rites. 


I  the  Diana  of  the  EgyptliD  my 


ALCIPHRON, 


509 


While,  far  around,  like  rub)r  sparks 

"Joon  the  water,  lighlfd  baiku, 

or  f.vfry  fitnn  Biid  kind—  from  thowe 

Thai  down  Syen«^'s  catoract  shools. 
To  tilt-  gruiid.  gtldt-d  baigt;  itial  rowH 

Tu  (anibour'tf  btrat  and  bicalh  oi  tlutrSi 
And  wearN  at  niglit,  in  W(>r0»  of  tliime. 
Oil  llie  rich  prow,  tta  ma«ler's  iiaine;— 
All  were  alivi-,  and  mndt!  this  s^a 

or  citi^H  bmy  an  a  liiH 
Of  (tummer  antH,  rauglit  smldenly 

In  tlm  ovurtlowini:  of  a  rill. 
Lnndod  upon  tli<i  is]e,  I  ionn 

Through  marble  alleys,  and  small  groves 

Of  that  myslerious  puJm  she  Invew, 
RearhM  (be  fair  Temple  of  ihe  M.>on; 
And  there  —  us  slowly  throui-li  the  labt 
Dim-lighted  veslibuli.'  I  passM  — 
Between  the  porphyrv  pillars,  twiu'd 

Wirh  pflUn  ami  ivy',  l  could  see 
A  band  of  yoiithrul  maidens  wind. 

In  meahur'd  walk,  half  dancingly. 
Round  a  snnill  shnue,  tm  whu-h  was  placM 

That  bird.l   whose  plumes  of  bluck  and  whil 
Wear  in  Iheir  hue,  by  JSalure  tracM, 

A  type  uf  thu  moon's  sliadow'd  light. 
In  drapery,  liku  woven  snow, 
Ttiebe  nympliB  were  clad  ;  and  each,  below 
The  rounded  boKotn,  loonely  wore 

A  durk  blue  zone,  or  bandelet. 
With  Utile  silver  stars  all  o'er, 

As  are  Ihe  likieH  at  midniL'ht,  spt. 
While  in  their  ireKses.  braided  lhro«gh, 

Siiurkled  that  flower  of  K^ypfs  Ir.kea, 
The  silvery  lotus,  in  who^e  hue 

As  much  delight  the  young  Moon  tokes. 
As  doth  the  Uay-Ood  lo  behoM 
The  lofty  bean-(lower'«  buds  of  gold. 
And,  aslhey  gratefully  went  round 

Th.?  woroliipp'd  bird,  some  lo  the  beat 
Of  rastanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Of  the  shrill  smtrum  tirn'd  their  feet; 
While  otheiH,  at  each  steii  they  look, 
A  tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook. 
They  geem'd  all  fair—  but  there  was  one 
On  whom  the  light  had  not  yet  shone, 
Or  ehone  but  partly  — so  downciiHt 
iShe  held  her  brow,  as  slow  she  patsM. 
And  yet  lo  me,  there  seem'd  to  dwell 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face  — 
A  snmetbine'.  in  the  shade  that  fell 

Over  that  brow's  imagin'd  Rtace, 
Which  won  me  more  than  all  the  beet 
OulMliioing  beauties  of  the  rext. 
And  her  alone  my  eyes  could  see, 
Encliaiu'd  by  this  sweet  mystery: 
And  her  alone  I  watch 'd,  as  round 
She  elided  o'er  that  marble  i;ronnd, 
Stirriog  not  more  th*  unconscious  air 
Thau  if  a  Spirit  were  moving  there. 
Till  suddenly,  wide  open  Hew 
The  Temple's  folding  gales,  and  threw 
A  splendour  from  within,  a  flood 
Of  glory  where  thece  maidens  stiMxl. 
While,  with  that  light —  as  if  the  same 
Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both  —there  came 
A  swell  of  harmony,  bh  grand 
Am  e'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand, 
Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 
With  luxury  of  light  and  sound. 
Then  WBM  it,  by  the  flash  that  blaz'd 

Full  o'er  her  features  — oh  't  was  then. 
As  Btiirtingly  her  eyes  she  rais'd, 

Rut  quick  let  fall  their  lidH  again, 
I  saw—  not  Psyche's  self,  when  first 

lIlHiu  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
She  paus'J,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Newly  upon  her  downcast  eyes. 
Could  look  more  henutiful  or  blush 

With  holier  shame  than  did  ibis  maid, 
Whom  now  I  gnw,  in  all  thiit  gonh 

Of  splemliiur  frmn  ilie  aiMle^.  display'd. 
Never— Iho'  well  Ihou  km.w'Mt  how  much 

I  've  felt  the  swav  of  Beauty'N  (.tar  — 
Never  did  her  bright  infi.ience  touch 

My  soul  into  its  depths  so  far; 
And  had  that  vision  liuger'd  there 

One  miuule  more.  I  sbou'd  have  flown. 
Forgetful  who  I  waa  and  where. 


1  The  Ibis 


I  for  life,  was  fiown. 


Motion'd  me  back,  while  many  n  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs  —  but  ah,  not  they 
Whom  my  eyes  look'O  for —  throng'd  the  way 
Perplex'd,  impatient,  mid  this  crowd 
Of  faces,  lights—  the  oVrwhelming  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  my  bluod 
Full  of  its  new-born  lire  —  I  slood, 
Wor  mov'd.  nor  brealh'd,  but  when  I  caught 

A  gtiniime  of  some  blue,  spangled  xoue. 
Or  wreath  of  loluf,  which,  I  thought, 

Like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

Till  my  hi'arl's  throbbing  turn'd  to  pain 
And  my  hlrain'd  eycsiKhl  lost  its  power, 

1  sought  her  thus,  but  all  in  vain. 
At  length,  hot  —  wilder'd  —  in  despair, 
I  rush'd  into  the  cool  ntgbt-air. 
And  hurrying  (though  with  many  a  look 
Hack  to  the  bu»y  Temple)  look 
My  way  along  the  monnlight  ^bore. 
And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more* 
There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
or  Memphis  .streteheM  grandly  forth. 
Upon  wh<.Re  filenthhore  Ihe  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own,2 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'ernpread  — 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

And  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath. 
The  lifeless,  rang'd  like  sacred  things, 

Ni>r  wuniing  aught  of  life  but  breath. 
Lie  in  ibeir  painted  coverings, 

Thiit  visit  their  d:m  haunts  l)elow 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  fare. 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  God.  who  lovei 
The  neighbourhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  Ihe  leaves  — 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air, 

Save  the  low,  humming,  m<jurnful  sound 
Of  priests,  within  their  Hhrinew,  at  prayer 


r  the  fresh  Dead  entomb'd  i 


und. 


»Twaa  tow'rd  this  place  of  death  —In  mood 

Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark  — 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  turn'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  thu-  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will. 
If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 
Bright  Itiok  of  hers,  for  ever  gone. 
Was  to  iny  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  L-  ve,  I  saw  her  shine  — 
An  idol,  woishipp'd  by  Ihe  light 
Of  her  own  beanlieB,  day  and  night  — 
If  'I  was  a  blessing  but  lo  see 
And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be? 
In  thoughts  likp  these—  but  often  crost 
Ry  darker  thresds  —  my  mind  was  lost, 
Till,  near  that  City  of  Ihe  Dead, 
Wak'd  from  my  trance,  1  sawo'erbead  — 
Ak  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

St^ddenly  from  Ihe  wave  to  rise- 
Pyramid  over  pyraiTtid 

Tower  in.  successiot.  lo  the  skies} 


'  the  City  of  the  Dead,  lo  the  aouth  of 


43* 


510 


ALCIPHRON. 


While  one,  aspiriii?,  as  if  i 
*T  would  touch  the  heav. 

And,  oa  its  eummit,  Ihf  w 
Rf^sted,  as  on  a  pt-dt-ttal ! 


FOM 


>lrd, 


)  lilt 


Of  levt^l,  ulifit  I  lale  had  liteii : 

1o  rhr.st;  Kiy  sounds  thut  Klill  came  o'er, 

lii.inly   frum  niaLy  a  dialant  nhoie, 

AiiJ  lii'  uiiuumbered  lightH,  that  shone 

hiir  u'li  the  flood,  from  Memi)hison 

To  the  Moou'3  Uie  aad  Babylon. 

My  oars  were  liTled.  and  my  boat 

Lay  rork'd  ijpuii  the  rippling  Btream ; 
Willie  my  vague  thnughtJ",  alike  afloal, 

Driftt^d  through  many  an  idle  drpam, 
With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unlix'd 


that  ' 


x*d, 


That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple—  now, 

With  the  Hame  innocence  of  brr.w 

She  wore  within  the  lighted  fane  — 

Now  kindling,  throufh  each  pulse  and  vein. 

With  paHstoii  of  such  deep-felt  lire 

A«  Gods  might  glory  to  inspire  ; — 

And  now— oh  Darkness  of  the  lomb, 

That  must  eclipse  ev'n  hght  like  here  ! 
Cold,  dead,  and  blackening  mtd  (he  gloom 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 
Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

Fram  that  dark  di-alh-place,  at  the  thought, 
Whfn  by  (he  sound  of  dashing  spiay 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caught. 
While  past  me,  through  the  moouii^jht,  Hailed 

A  1  ttle  gilded  bark,  that  bore 
Twu  female  figureB.  cloetly  vi-il'd 

And  mantled,  towards  that  fuiieral  ahore. 
They  landed  — and  the  boat  again 
Put  off  across  the  watery  plaiu. 
Shall  I  coi:fc8fl — to  thee  I  may  — 

'Ihat  never  yet  hath  come  the  chance 


Of  a 


s  glaoi 


Which  — let  it  find  me  how  it  nngh:. 

In  joy  or  grief—  I  did  nol  blebs, 
And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

lA-ading  to  undreamt  happiness. 
And  chiefly  now,  when  hopes  so  vain 
Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  braiO* 
When  Fancy  had  allur'd  my  soul 

Into  a  chaee,  as  vague  and  far 
As  would  b*-  his,  who  fixed  his  goal 

In  the  horiz'ju,  or  eome  siar  — 
Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 
More  near  to  earth  my  high-fl-  wo  thonght-* 
The  faintest  glimpKe  of  joy,  les»i  pure. 
Lens  high  and  heavenly,  but  more  sure. 
Came  welcome  —  and  was  then  lo  me 
What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 
I'o  vagrant  birds,  blown  out  to  sea. 
Quick  to  the  shore  1  urg'd  my  bark. 

And.  by  the  bursts  of  moonlight,  shert 
Between  Ihe  lofty  torahs,  could  mark 

Those  figurep.  as  with  hasty  tread 
They  glided  on  —  Itll  in  the  shade 

Of  a  smell  pyramid,  which  through 
Some  boughs  of  palm  its  peak  display'd. 

They  vsnish'd  instant  from  my  view, 
I  hurried  to  the  spot  —  no  trace 
Of  life  was  in  that  lonely  place  ; 
And.  hod  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 
Of  other  worlds,  I  might  have  thought 
Si)me  mocking  spirits  had  from  thence 
Come  ill  this  guine  to  cheat  ray  sense* 
At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 
The  Pyrainid's  smor.th  aidt-s,  I  found 
An  iron  portal  — opening  high 

•Twixl  pt-ak  and  base— and,  with  a  pray' r 
To  the  bliss-loving  Moon,  whose  eye 

A'one  beheld  me,  spniiiff  in  there. 
Downward  Ihe  narrow  stai  rway  led 
Through  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread, 

A  labyrinth  for  mystery  made, 
Witn  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round. 
And  gathering  &lill,  where'er  it  wound. 

But  deeper  density  of  shade. 


Scarce  had  I  ask'd  myscir  "Can  tufbt 

"Thit  man  delights  in  sojourn  hei  si" 
When,  suddenly,  far  off.  I  caught 

A  shmpse  of  Iif;hl.  remote,  hut  clear  — 
Whose  welcome  glimmer  t^eem'd  lo  pour 


Thr 


r.  fiteeis  iiij 
t-huhnh 


.rble 


11.  that  ended 

rndor, 

111  hope,  descended* 


Wiih  varier  fo.it  at  midnight  glide. 
It  seernM  as  echo's  self  were  dead 
In  this  dark  place,  so  mute  my  iread. 
Keacliing,  at  length,  that  light,  I  enw  — 

Oh  listen  to  the  scene,  now  rais'd 
Before  my  eyes—  then  guess  Ihe  awe. 

The  still,  rapt  awe  wilh  which  I  gaz'd. 
•Twas  a  small  chapel,  lin'd  around 
With  the  f.iir,  spangling  marble,  found 
In  many  a  ruin'd  shrine  that  stands 
Half  seen  above  the  Libyan  sands. 
The  walls  were  richly  scutptur'd   o'er 
And  characler'd  with  that  dark  lore 
or  limes  before  the  Flood,  whose  key 
Was  lost  in  th'  "Universal  Sea." — 
While  on  the  roof  was  piclur'd  bright 

The  Theban  beetle,  as  he  shines. 

When  the  Nile's  mighty  flow  decHoea, 
And  foilh  the  creature  sptiugs  to  hght. 
With  life  regenerate  in  his  wings:  — 
Emblem  of  vain  imaginings! 
Of  a  new  world,  when  this  is  gone. 
In  which  the  spirit  still  lives  on  ! 
Direct  beneath  this  typ^,  reclin'd 


On  a 

black 

granite  z 

liar,  lay 

A  rtmi 

If  for 

1,  in  crystal  slirin'd, 

And  loQkin 

g  fresh  n 

B  if  the  ray 

Of  St 

ul  had  flpd  bu 

yesterday. 

■While 

III  rrl 

ef,  of  sil 

r'ry  hue. 

Grav 

d  on 

he  altar 

fi  front  were  seen 

A  bran 

th  of 

olus.  br 

k'n  in  Iwn, 

As  thai  fai 

crealur 

L*'s  life  had  been 

And  a 

Bmall  bird  lhat  from  ila  »pray 

Was  w 

iiiging 

,  like  he 

r  soul,  away. 

But  br 

efthe 

glimrse 

[  now  could  sparfl 

To  the 


ound; 


That  held  me  as  by  witch'ry  bound. 
The  lampt  that  through  the  chamber  shed 
Its  vivid  beam,  was  at  Ihe  head 
Of  her  who  on  that  altar  flept ; 

And  near  it  stoiHl,  when  first  I  came  — 
Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

Sad  watch  upon  its  silent  flame  — 


The  shadow  of  hei 
Yei  did  my  heart  — 
Ev'n  at  that  shado' 


No 


it  hing. 


•  full  i 


ght 


The  tignre  turn  d  ;  and  by  the  light 
That  touch'd  her  features,  as  she  bent 
Over  the  crvslal  monument, 
I  saw  'twas  she  — Ihe  same— the  same  — 

That  lately  stood  tenure  me,  bright'ning 
The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 

And  went  again,  like  summer  lightning  I 

Upon  the  rry^tal,  o*er  the  breast 
Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest. 
There  was  8  cioss  of  silver  lying  — 

An<  ihi-r  type  nf  thst  blest  home, 
Whifh  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come:  — 
This  silver  cross  the  maiden  rais'd 
To  her  pure  lips  :  —then,  having  paz'd 
Some  minoteM  on  that  tranquil  face, 
Sleeping  in  idl  death's  mournful  grace. 
Upward  she  lurn'd  her  brow  serene, 


1  heav 


Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies  ; 
And,  though  her  lips  no  moliem  made. 

And  th;it  fix'd  Inok  was  all  her  speech, 
I  saw  lhat  the  rapt  spirit  pray'd 

Deeper  within  than  words  could  reach. 
Strange  pow'r  of  Innoceuce,  to  turn 

To  its  own  hue  whate'er  comes  near, 
An'!  make  ev'n  vagr  nt  Pas-ion  burn 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  spheral 


J 


ALCIPHRON, 


5H 


She  who,  but  one  eliort  hour  befor". 
Had  rome,  likf  ButJ.lei)  wiM-fire,  ii'er 
My  heart  mid  brain —  whom  gladi]',  even 

From  that  brghl  Templi-,  in  ilte  'oce 
Of  IhoMe  proud  minietrro  of  heuv'ii, 

I  would  have  borne,  in  wild  emtrace* 
And  risk'dall  punmhmeor,  divme 
And  human,  but  to  make  her  mine  ;— 
Bhe.  Hhe  was  now  befGre  me,  Ihiowa 

By  fate  ilNelf  iiilo  my  arum  — 
There  sEaoding,  heauiifuUuliHie, 

With  iiovighl  In  guard  her,  but  her  tharms. 
Yet  did  I,  then  — did  ev'ii  a  biealh 

From  my  parch'd  lips,  luo  parch'd  to  move, 
Disturb  n  ticeiie  wheie  (lius.  hruealh 

Kiirth'H  silent  covering,  Youth  nnd  Heath 

Held  converse  through  undyiuR  luve  7 
Jio  — smile  and  luunt  me  at4  ihoii  wiit  — 

'l'hou{^h  hut  lo  guze  ihus  waa  delight, 
Yil  ueeinM  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt. 

To  win  by  «Iealth  ^o  pure  a  sighi: 
And  rather  than  a  look  prorane 

Khuuld  then  have  met  thoiie  thnu^htful  eyes 
Or  voice,  iir  whisj-er  bioke  tlie  chain 

That  liuk'd  her  spirit  with  the  (»kies, 
I  wuuld  have  gladly,  in  that  jilace, 
Frtim  which  1  watch'd  her  heav'nward  face 
Lei  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 
That  could  distuib  a  prayer  bo  aweet. 
Gently,  aa  if  on  every  tread. 

My  life»  my  mort*  than  li.e  depended, 
Baek  thiouKh  the  corridor  that  led 

To  thi»  bletit  ^cene  1  iinw  ahceuded. 
And  VMlh  slow  seeking,  and  b  .me  pain. 
And  miiny  h  winding  tried  iu  Vaiu, 
KraergM  lo  urper  air  again. 
The  eun  had  frealily  lis'ii,  and  down 

The  maible  hills  of  Araby, 
Scatlei'd,  aa  from  a  conqueror's  crowDi 

HiH  beams  into  that  living  ^la. 
There  seem'd  a  glory  in  hia  light. 

Newly  put  on  —  as  if  for  pride 
Of  the  high  himintre  paid  thitt  ni|;ht 

To  bin  own  Uif,  hi»  ymmg  hnde, 
Now  fading  f<'minine  away 
In  her  proud  Lord'd  puperior  ray. 
My  mind'w  lira)  impuNe  wua  lo  fly 

At  lUii-B  frum  ihiK  enlan^ling  net — 
New  bcenett  to  range,  new  lovts  to  lir, 
Ur.  in  mirth,  wine,  uud  luiury 

Of  every  uenae,  that  n^ght  forget. 
But  vain  the  efT-irt  — Rpell-bound  atill, 
1  linserM.  without  j-nwer  or  will 

T<»  turn  ray  eyes  from  that  dark  door 
■  'mong  the  dend; 


Bui  wakening,  us  I  hop'd,  less  a 

Thus  Keen  by  mr)rnint,"fi  naiutal  light. 

Than  in  ihut  atrange,  dim  cell  at  night. 
But  no,  alua  —  hhe  ne'er  return'd  : 

iNor  yet  —  thcuKh  alill  I  watch—  ror  yet, 
Thoueh  the  red  sun  for  hnuis  hnlh  burii'd. 

And  now,  iu  his  mid  course,  hath  met 
The  peak  of  that  eternal  [Ue 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 
Standing  beneath  hix  downward  smile, 

Mke  a  gieat  Spirit.  Bhado\  ■ 
No 


Like  a  gieat  Spirit;  shadowle: 

t  hhe  enmes—  while  here,  alone, 
il'nnB  thrmigh  this  death-peopled  plai 
■  no  heurt  b.Bts  except  my  own, 
Qlh  a  palm-tiee's  shelter  Ihrnwu, 
urns  1  wati'h,  nnd  reel,  and  trace 


My 

asti 

ight'B  wondrous  hi 

lory. 

Un« 

thoi 

remember,  Jn  Iha 

Me 

l> 

our 

own  Sea,  where  Ih 

IU  and  t 

er'(l 

so  long.  BO  happy  a 

11  all  iheBummer  Howir 

by  — 

"Bar 

it  wad,  when  sunset  bro 

■I' 

1  the 

cool  Well  our  favo 

jrite  r 

laids  — 

Htn 

e  V.C 

had  won,  and  some 

we 

ntight  — 

To  dance  wllhin  the  fraerani  shadei , 
And,  till  the  stars  went  down  attune 
Their  Fountain  Hymna  1  t-i  ihe  young  t 


B  holy  tide 
Stream. 
imiiig  bride, 


on  my  nerk  she  fell, 
•  cnuld  love  sn  well 
ve  lhoui;lit  that  li- 


r  then, 

nine  each  sweet,  nor  ever  lov'd 
iltit  Ihe  free  hearts,  Ihat  lov'd  again 
adily  as  the  reed  replies 
the  leant  breath  that  round  it 


>ho  1 


iiid  bri 


Stood 

Of  line  Epyptia-  „., 
Wanders  among  th 
I'ule,  watchful,  ru<I, 
Himself,  had 


igha- 
r  who,  lawt  night, 
ithless  at  Ihe  sight 
-t:  ai 


'n  from  out  their  dust ! 


Yet  Bo  it  i«--  nnd  the  same  thirst 

Fnr  something  hiph  and  pure,  nhove 
This  witheiing  world,  which,  from  the  first. 

Made   me  drink  deep  of  woman's  love  — 
As  the  one  joy,  to  henv'n  mo*-!  near 
Of  all  nur  hearts  ran  meet  with  here— 
Slill  hums  me  up.  still  keeps  awake 
A  fever  nought  but  deulh  can  slake. 

Farewell: 
Or  bright. 


LETTER    IV. 

FROM    ORCUS,    HIGH    PRIEST    OF    MEMPHIS, 

TO  DECIUS,  THE  PR;ET0RIAN  PREFECT. 

Rfjcit-fl,  my  friend,  rejoice: 

«'f  ihat  light  Sect  which  m( 

A  r.ii,  gay  atid  ^odlesti,  miikes  the  present  hcur 

Its  only  heaven,  i>*  nnw  within  our  power. 

Bmonth,  impious  school !  —  nol  all  Ihe  weaponi  aiin'd 

A I  prieblly  creeds,  since  first  a  « reed  Was  framM, 

E'er  struck  ►o  deep  ns  that  sly  dart  they  wield, 

The  Bicchant'a  pointed t-pearin  laughing  tlowers conceal' 

As  any  thou  canst  boast  — ev'n  when  ihe  feet 

y  proud  war-nteed  jyvade  through  ChriMlian  blooil* 


And  t 


,p  thi».  BcoHer  in  Faith's  blinding  hnod, 
ing  him,  tain 'd  ami  proNtrate,  lo  implore 
The  vilest  goda  ev'n  K.pypt's  nciiils  adore. 
WI.^l !  —  do  these  sngi-B  Ihink,  to  them  alone 
The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  known  ? 
Ti  at  none  but  they,  who  make  auch  prou'J  parade 
Of  I'hai'iire's  smiling  favours,  win  the  maid. 
Or  that  Ueligion  keeps  no  secret  place, 
No  nil  he.  hi  her  dark  rnnes,  for  Love  to  grace  t 
Fools  :  —  did  t  hey  know  how  keen  the  Zest  thot  'a  given 
To  eaittily  joy,  when  seasim'd  well  with  heaven; 
How  l'icly"s  Krnve  mask  improves  the  hue 
Of  PliMsiire's  laughing  features,  half  Mren  through, 
And  how  Ihe  I'rieNl.Met  aptly  within  rench 
Of  two  ri.h  worlds.  Iiaffles  fir  bli^s  with  each, 
Would  they  nol.  D<ci.is-- thou,  whom  th'  ancient  tie 


r  best  ally- 


Would  they  nut  change  their  creed,  their  ciaft.  for  ( 

Leave  Ihe  gross  daylight  joys  Ihat,  in  their  bowers, 

Languish  with  too  much  sun.  like  o*er-b!own  flowers. 

For  the  veii'd  loves,  the  l>Iis^es  uniJiM"ay'd 

Thai  siily  lurk  wiihin  llie  Temple's  sha.te  7 

And,  '^t.-ad  of  iMiiiihiiE  the  I,  in,  (J  ,rden'«  school  — 

WhlT.'  1-1. 1  n.il    -..,  iiv    i.-iri.   ;,    rule. 


lioni's  pride  — 


Who,  fur  loo  \vi«e  lo  th.uriKe  on   bliss. 
Or  pleasure's  niibs'ance  for  its  hhade  to  mis!t. 
"     S'-h  other  worlds,  but  liv«  for  only  l/iia:  — 
Thanks  to  the  well-paid  Mystery  round  us  flung. 
Which  like  its  type,  the  gold-  n  cloud  ihal  hung 
O'er  Jupiter's  lovccourh  ils  shade  benipn. 
Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 
Still  less  should  they  presume,  weak  wits,  that  they 
Alone  dewplse  the  craft  of  us  who  ptay  ;— 
1  by  the    Hiill  less  their  creidless  vanity  deet-ive 

I  With  the  fond  thought,  that  we  who  prajr  believe. 


512 


ALGIPHRON, 


Believe  '.  —  Apia  forbid  —  forbid  it,  all 

Ye  monwlcr  G-nld,  belore  whose  shrines  we  fal 

Peiliee,  fram'U  in  jest,  as  if  lu  try 

How  far  gross  Man  can  viileari?e  the  eky  ; 

Huw  farlhe  6ame  low  fan.y  ihat  coinbmirs 

Into  a  drove  of  brutt*    ymi  z^idiai  's  eisus 

And  liiiiis  Ihal  Heaven  iC-^elf  into  a  place 

Of  sainted  fiu  siid  deitied  disgrnre. 

Can  brinj;  Olympus  ev'n  In  Bhariic  more  deep, 

Sinrk  il  with  thiiics  (hat  earth  itself  holds  ch 

Fish,  fiesh,  and  fowl,  the  kite  hen's  sat-red  broi 

Which  Ksypl  keejw  for  worship,  nut  for  food- 

Al',  worlhy  idols  of  a  Faiih  that  sees 

In  dogs,  cats,  owIh,  and  apes,  divinities  \ 

Believe'.  — oh,  Uecius.  thou,  who  feol'st  no  ca 

For  things  diviiu;,  beyttod  the  soldier's  ^haie, 

Who  takes        

Little  caust  thou,  whose  c 


Lo>f 


thy  .- 


.'ith  wliich  a  heart, 

.'ilh  which  I  wade 
if  this  holy  trade  — 
eiv,  where  the  feet, 
in'deciit. 


Of  loathing  and  seir-acorn  i 
Stubborn  as  mine  is.  acts  t 
The  deep  and  dire  dii-eust  i 
Through  the  foul  juggling 
This  mud  profound  of  my> 
At  every  atep,  sink  deeper 

Oh  !  many  a  time,  when,  mid  the  Temple's  blaxe, 

O'er  proKtrale  fools  the  sarred  ciat  I  raise, 

Did  I  ont  keep  »-till  proudly  in  my  mind 

The  power  Ihitt  priestcraft  t;ive8  me  o'er  mankind  — 

A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skiirul  hand. 

To  move  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plaan'd — 

I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 

At  my  own  mockery,  crush  (he  slaves  that  kneel 

B<-sotted  round:  and— l>ke  that  kindred  breed 

Of  reverend,  well-drest  crocodiles  they  feed. 

At  Tam'd  Arsinuel  —  lUike  my  keepers  be'^a. 

With  their  last  Chrob,  my  sharp-faiig'd  HcliaeM. 

Say,  If  it  to  be  borne,  that  scofferit,  va-ii 

Of  their  own  freedom  from  the  allar'ech&in, 

Should  mock  thus  oil  that  thou  thy  blood  hast  sold, 

And  1  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  lo  uphi>ld  T 

]t  mi  

Whoi 


The 


That  threats  to  sweep  away  our  liiinnea  of  pride  — 
Thinb'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  ev'n  they 
Would  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  ronstanl  play 
Of  Wit's  refiistle&s  archery  tlear'd  their  way  7  — 
Thai  mocking  apirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes. 
Our  solemn  fraud,  our  my^tic  mummery  knows. 
Whose  wounOing  flash  thus  ever  'niong  the  fei^os 
Of  a  fast-falling  creed,  prelusive  ehiiiee. 


i'hreal'niiig  such  chai 


Of  e 


riightuii 


■  the  te 


But.  to  my  point —  a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
But  one,  whom  Doubt  itself  hath  fail'd  to  ccol 
D'lwn  to  that  freezing  point  where  PricKts  despair 
or  any  spark  from  th*  altar  catching  there  — 
Hath,  some  nights  nince  —  il  was,  methinks,  the  night 
That  follow'd  the  full  Moon's  great  annual  rile  — 
Through  the  dark,  winding  ducts,  that  downward  stray 
To  these  earth-hidden  temples,  Irack'd  hie  way. 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  £^hrine,  and  me, 
The  chuir  of  blooming  nymphs  thou  langSt  to  see, 
Smg  their  last  night-hyinn  in  the  Sanctuary. 
The  clangour  of  the  marvel|i>un  tiale,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth  — which  none  but  hands 
Of  new,  ui»»aughl  adventurers,  from  above, 
Who  know  cct  the  safe  path,  e'erdarc  to  move- 
Gave  Eign;il  that  a  foot  profane  wa^  nigh  :  — 
•Twan  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning'a  sky. 
Had  been  observ'd,  curiously  waod'rinfc  round 
The  mighty  fanes  of  our  sepulchral  ground. 


Instant,  th'  Initiale'c 
The  Fire,  Air.  Wale 
Th.it  riato.  Ihat  (he 
With  treml>Iing  hop< 


Trials 
:  all  tl 


[  OrpheiiB  dar'd, 
r'd  Samian  3  pass'd, 
^  to —  what,  at  labt? 


1  For  the    trinkets  with  which    the    sacred  Crocodilei 
sere  ornaraenled,  tec  the  Kpicureani  chap,  x- 
7  PythfiRoraa. 


Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Prieatcrafl;  questiOD  him 
Who.  mil  lenific  sounds  end  spectres  dim. 
Walks  at  Eleusis;  a.sk  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  il--*  seven  starry  gateti ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  nighl-myst'ries  where  they  weep 
And  howl  s:id  dirties  to  the  answering  breeze, 
Oer  their  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities  -- 
Amphibious,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drowii'd,  hiiiig'd,  empal'd,  to  ris-e,  as  geds,  agaiu;^ 
Ask  them,  what  mighty  secret  lurk**  bel  -w 
This  eev'n-fold  niysfiy  — 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  th*  advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheus'  time- 
That  earliest  master  of  our  rrafl  snhlime  — 
So  many  minor  Mysteries,  imps  of  fraud, 
Fiom  the  gieat  Orphic  Kgg  have  wing'd  abroad, 
That,  still  tu'    phold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast, 
And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  most ; 
Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  rouuil 
lu  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound: 
Piay  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 
With  changeful  skill;  and  make  the  humau  miod 
Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray, 
But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wina  its  way  — 
Where  through  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard  roda, 
Monster*',  at  wili,  are  conjured  into  (iods; 
While  Reason,  like  a  grave-fac'd  mummy,  stacda, 
With  her  arms  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  banda. 
But  chiefly  in  that  skill  with  which  we  use 
Mao's  wildest  passions  for  Religion's  views. 
Yoking  them  to  her  car  like  fiery  steeds. 
Lies  the  main  art  in  which  our  craft  succeedt. 
And  oh  be  blest  ye  men  of  yore,  wlioise  toil 
Hath,  for  our  use,  scoop'd  out  from  Egypt's  eoil 
This  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  fanes. 
Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reigna 
In  a  ri<  h,  sunless  empire  of  her  own. 
With  all  eaith's  luxuries  lighting  up  her  throne;— 
A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  undermines 
The  Nile  itself,  and,  "iiealh  the  Twelve  Great  Sbrloea 
That  keep  Initiat  on's  holy  rite, 
Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  unearthly  light, 
A  light  that  knows  no  change  —  its  brooks  that  mn 
Too  deep  for  day,  its  gardens  without  sun. 
Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  are  charm'd,  nurpria'd. 
And  all  that  b.ird  or  prophet  e'er  devis'd 
For  man's  Klysium,  priests  have  realiz'd. 

Here,  at  this  moment  —  all  his  trials  past. 
And  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  last — 
Our  new  Initiate  roves—  as  yet  left  free 
To  wander  through  this  realm  of  mystery; 
Feeding  on  such  illusions  as  prejiare 
The  soul,  like  mist  o'er  waterfalls,  to  wear 
All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  varying  wilt, 
Through  every  shifting  aepect,  vapour  still  ;— 
Vague  glimpses  of  the  Future,  viMtae  shown, 
Bv  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  unknown, 
Whirh  (taints  and  sinners  claim  alike  their  own  ; 
And  all  those  ou**r  witi-hing,  wilder! ng  arts, 
illusions,  terrors,  chat  make  human  heailK, 
Ay,  ev'n  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
7'o  a»v  gobUn  tbron'd  behind  a  veil. 

Yes— such  the  spells  shall  haunt  his  eye,  his  ear. 

Mix  With  his  night-dreams,  form  his  almowphere; 

Till,  if  our  Sage  be  not  tam'd  down,  at  lengih. 

His  wit,  his  wisdom,  shorn  of  ail  Iheir  strength. 

Like  Phrygian  prietits,  in  honour  of  the  shrine  ~< 

If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine, 

B"dy  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 

Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  dovea  employ, 

Drsw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wits 

To  the  dark  cage  where  his  own  ^piiit  flits. 

And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  gornl  hypocrites  — 

If  1  effect  not  this,  then  be  it  ^id 

The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled. 

Gone  with  that  serpent-sod  the  Crom  hath  chaa'd 

To  bias  its  soul  out  in  the  Theban  waste. 


THE    END. 


SONGS    AND   PIECES 

WHICH  HAVE  BEEN  OMITTED  IN  THE  NEW  LONDON  EDITION. 


CEASE,  OH  1  CEASE  TO  TEMPT. 

Ce«e,  oh !  cease  to  tempt 

My  tender  heart  to  love  1 
It  never,  never  can 

So  vviKi  a  fiame  approve 
All  its  jnya  and  pains 

To  olhcrs  I  resign  ; 
But  be  the  vacant  heart, 

The  careless  bostiin  mine. 
Then 


My  tender  heart  to  lovel 
,t  never,  never  can 
So  wild  a  flame  approve. 


It  I 


Sav.  oh  !  say  no  niore 

That  lovers'  pains  are  sweet  J 
I  never,  never  can 

Relieve  the  fond  deceit. 
Weeping  day  arid  mgh\ 

Consuniiii?  life  in  sighs  — 
This  is  (he  lover's  lot. 

And  this  1  ne'er  could  prize. 
Then  aav,  oh  !  say  no  more. 

That  lovers'  pains  are  Bweotl 
I  never,  never  can 

Believe  the  fobd  deceit. 


HOLY  BE  THE  PILGRIM'S  SLEEP. 

Holy  be  the  Pilgrim's  sleep, 

From  Uiedre.iDi3  of  terror  free; 
And  may  all,  who  wake  lo  weep, 
Rcbi  to-night  as  sweet  as  he ! 
Hark  !  hark  !  did  I  hear  a  vespei  swell ! 

No,  no,  H  is  my  loved  Pilgrim's  prayer  r 
No,  no,  n  was  but  the  convent  bell. 
That  tolls  upon  the  midnight  air. 

Holy  be  the  Pilgrim's  sleep! 
Now,  now  again,  the  voice  I  hear, 
Some  holy  man  is  wandering  here. 

O  Pilgrim  !  where  hast  thou  been  roaming  ? 
Ibrlt  is  the  way,  and  mi'lnigh!  's  coming. 
Stranger,  I  've  been  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes' fountain. 
And,  Pilgrim,  say,  where  ait  thou  gning? 
Dark  is  the  way.  the  winds  are  blowing. 
Weary  with  wanderine,  weak.  1  falter, 
To  breathe  my  vows  at  Agnes'  altar. 
S'rew    then,  oh!  strew  his  bud  of  rushes; 
Here  Le  shall  real  till  morning  blushes. 

Peace  to  them  whose  days  are  done, 

Death  their  eyelids  closing; 
Hark!  the  burial-rite's  beguu — 
'T  is  time  for  our  reposing. 
Here,  then,  n)y  Pilgrim's  course  is  o'er: 
Tis  my  master!  'tis  my  master!     Welcome  here 
once  more ; 
Come  to  our  shed  —  all  toil  is  over ; 
Pilgrim  DO  more,  but  night  and  lover. 


I  CAN   NO  LftNGER  STIFLE, 

I  can  no  longer  stifle 
Bow  much  I  long  to  rifle 
That  lillle  part 
They  call  the  heart 


Of  you,  you  lovely  trifle! 
You  c^ii  uo  longer  doubt  it, 
So  let  me  be  abont  it; 

Or  on  mv  woid, 

And  by  the  Lord,     ^ 
I'll  try  to  do  without  it. 

This  pretty  thing's  as  light.  Sir, 
As  any  pa|)er  kite,  Sir; 

And  here  and  there, 

And  God  knows  w  here, 
She  lakes  her  wheeling  flight.  Sir. 
Us  lovers,  to  amuse  U5, 
Uot.)  htr  tail  <<he  nnnses; 

There,  hung  like  bobs 

Of  straw,  or  nobs, 
She  wbisks  us  where  she  chooses. 


JOYS   THAT  PASS  AWAY. 

Joys  that  pass  away  like  this, 

Alas  !  are  purchased  dear, 
If  every  beam  of  bliss 

Is  followed  by  a  tear. 
Fare  thee  well  !  oh,  fare  thee  well ! 
Soon,  too  soon,  ihuu  'st  bnike  the  spell, 
Oh  !  I  ne'er  can  hwe  a^ain 

The  girl  whose  faithless  art 
Could  break  so  dear  a  ch^in, 

And  with  it  break  my  heart. 

Once,  when  truth  was  in  those  eyes, 

How  beautiful  ihey  shone  I 
But  now  that  lustre  fites, 
For  Iru'h.  alas  !  is  gone. 
Fare  thee  well  !  oh,  fare  thee  well! 
How  1  loved  my  hate  shall  tell. 
Oh!  how  lorn,  how  lost  would  prove 

Thy  wretched  viclim*s  fate, 
If,  when  deceived  in  love, 
He  could  not  fly  to  hate  ! 


LOVE,  MY  MARY,  DWELLS   WITH  THEE. 

Love,  my  Mary,  dwells  with  thee; 
On  ihy  cheek  his  bed  I  see 
No  —  that  cheek  is  pale  with  care; 
Love  can  find  no  ro-tes  there. 
'T  is  nnl  on  the  cheek  of  lose 
Love  can  find  the  be>t  repose  i 
In  my  heart  bis  home  thou  'l(j*e; 
There  he  lives,  and  lives  for  fhee. 

Love,  my  Mary,  ne'er  can  roam. 
While  he  makes  that  eye  his  home. 
No  —  the  eye  wi'h  sorrou  dim 
Ne'er  can  be  a  home  for  him. 
Yet  'I  is  not  in  beaming  eyes 
Love  fi^r  ever  warmest  lies: 
In  my  heart  his  home  fhf-u'lt  see; 
There  he  lives  and  lives  fcr  liiee. 


NOW    LET  THE    WARRIOR. 

Now  let  the  warrior  plume  his  sleed, 

And  wave  his  sword  atir; 
For  the  men  of  the  East  this  day  shall  blead, 

And  the  sun  shall  blush  with  war 


2  II 


514 


SUPPRESSED   MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Victory  sits  on  Ihe  Christians'  helm 

Topuide  her  holy  band: 
The  Knishl  of  the  Cross  this  day  shall  whein 
1  of  the  Pagan  land. 

.in  thebatiledles! 


The 


Ohl  bleas'c 
God  will  enhrine  him  i[<  Ihe  skies  1 
Now  let  the  warrior  plume  Iiis  oteed, 
And  wave  lii-  s\v(.rd  afar; 

1^1  this  day  shall  bleed, 

iih  war. 


For  the  men  of  ihe  _ 
And  itie  sun  shall  blu 


OH  1    LADY    FAIR! 


Oh,  Lady  fairl  where  art  thou  roaming? 
The  sun  has  sunk.  Ihe  night  is  coming. 


Stn 


:r,  I, 


'  and  inouriiain, 

le*'  fountain. 

Ih  his  white  locks  flowing  ? 


To  tell  njy  beads  at 

And  who  n  the  man 

Uh,  Lady  fair!   whe 

A  waitdering  Pilgrim,  weak,'  I  falter, 

To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  allar. 

Chill  falls  the  rain,  night-wiuds  are  blowing, 

Dreary  and  dark  's  the  way  ue*re  going. 

Fair  Lady  !  rest  till  mnrning  blushes  — 
1  '11  strew  for  thee  a  bed  of  rushes. 
Oh,  stranger!  wheti  my  beads  I  'm  counting, 
I  '!1  bless  Ihy  name  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
Then,  Pilgrim,  turn,  and  rest  ihy  sorrow  ; 
Thr)u  'It  go  10  Agnes'  shrine  lo-ninrrow. 
Good  stranger,  when  my  beads  I'm  telling, 
My  saint  shall  bless  thy  leafy  dwelling. 
Strew,  then,  oh  !  strew  our  bed  of  rushes; 
Here  we  must  rest  lill  morning  blushes. 


OH!  SEE   THOSE   CHERRIES. 

Oh  !  see  those  cherries —  (hough  once  so  glowing, 
They've  bin  too  long  on  Ihe  sun-bright  wall ; 

And  mark,  already  their  bloom  is  going; 

Too  snon  they'll  wither,  too  soon  they  'II  faU. 

Once  caught  by  Iheir  blushes,  the  light  bird   flew 
round, 

Oft  on  their  ruby  lips  leaving  love's  wound; 

But  now  he  passes  them,  ah  :  ton  knowing 

To  taste  withered  cherries,  when  fresh  ntay  be  found. 

Old  Time  thus  fleetly  his  course  is  running; 
If  bards   were  not   moral,  how  maids   would  go 
wrong! 
And  thus  thy  beauties,  now  sunn'd  and  sunning, 
Would  Wither  if  left  on  the  rose-tree  too  long. 
Then  love  while  thou'rt  lovely  —  e'en  I  should  be 
glad 
weetly  to  save  thee  from  ruin  so  sad  ; 
But,  oh  I  delay  not  —  we  bards  are  too  cunning 
To  sigh  for  old  beauties  when  young  may  be  had. 


SEND  THE   BOWL  ROUND  MERRILY. 

Send  the  bowl  round  merrily, 

Laughing,  singing,  drinking ; 
Toast  it,  toast  it  cheerily  — 

Here  's  to  the  devil  wuh  thinking  ! 
Oh  !  for  the  round  of  pleasure, 

With  sweetly-smiling  lasses- 
Glasses  o'erfiowing  their  measure, 

With  hearts  as  full  as  our  glasses. 
Send  the  bowl  round  merrily, 

Laughing  singing,  drinking; 
Tonst  it,  toast  it  cheerily  — 

Here  *s  to  the  devil  with  thinking! 

Once  I  met  with  a  funny  lass, 

Oh,  I  loved  her  dearly! 
Left  for  her  my  bonny  glass  — 

faith  !  I  died  for  her  —  nearlv. 


1:= 


But  she  proved  damn'd  uncivil, 
And  thought  to  peck  like  a  hen,  tir  ; 

So  1  pitched  the  jade  to  the  devil, 
And  took  to  my  glass  again,  sir. 
Then  send  the  bowl,  &c. 


No 


Inlo 


1  turn'd  a  rover, 

:  with  every  petticat; 


Or  whether  it's  Jenny's  or  Betty'f 
And  if  the  girls  can  pui  up 

With  any  ei'od  thing  in  pieces. 
My  heart  I  will  certainly  cut  up, 


And  : 


Then  send  ihe  bowl,  &c. 


Abu 


nper  round  to  the  pretty  ones  ! 
here's  10  'he  girl  «ith  the  blue  eyes! 
Here  's  lo  her  wtth  the  jetly  ones, 

Where  the  languishing  dew  lies! 
Could  all  buch  hours  as  this  is 

Be  summ'd  in  one  Hiile  measure, 
I'd  live  a  short  life  of  blisses. 
And  die  in  a  snrfeit  of  pleasure  ! 
Then  bend  ihe  bowl,  &c. 


THE    TABLET    OF    LOVE. 

You  bid  me  be  happy,  and  bid  me  adieu  — 
Can  happiness  live  when  absent  from  you  ? 
Will  sleep  on  my  eyelids  e'er  sweetly  alight, 
When  greetoi  no  more  by  a  tender  enod-night? 
Oh,  never  !  for  deep  is  the  record  enshrined  ! 
Thy  look  and  thy  voice  will  survive  in  my  mind: 
Though  age  may  the  treasures  of  memory  remove, 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Love. 

Through  life's  winding  valley— in  anguish,  in  rest; 
Exalted  in  Joy,  or  by  sorrow  depress'd  — 
From  i's  place  in  the  mirror  that  lies  on  my  heart, 
Thine  image  shall  never  one  moment  depart, 
When  time,  life,  and  all  that  poor  mortals  hold  dear 
Like  visions,  like  dreams,  shall  at  last  disappear; 
Though  raised  among  seraphs  to  realms  above^ 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Love. 


WILL  YOU   COME   TO  THE   BOWER? 

Will  you  come  to  Ihe  bower  I  have  shaded  for  you  ? 
Our  bed  shall  be  roses  all  spangled  with  dew. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Come  to  the  bower? 

There,  under  the  bower,  on  roses  you  'II  lie, 
With  a  blnsh  on  your  cheek,  but  a  smile  in  your  eye 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Smile,  my  beloved  ? 

But  the  loses  we  press  shall  not  rival  your  Hp, 
Nor  the  dew  be  so  sweet  as  the  kisses  we  '11  srp. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Kiss  me,  my  love  ? 

And  oh  !  for  the  joys  that  are  sweeter  than  dew 
From  languishing  roses,  or  kisses  from  you. 

Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you, 
Won't  you,  my  love? 


FAREWELL,    BESSY! 

Sweetest  love!  I'll  not  forget  thee, 
Time  shall  only  teach  my  heart 
Fonder,  warmer,  to  regret  thee, 


Lovely,  gentle,  as  thou  art. 
Farewell,  Bessy! 
We  may  meet  again. 


SUPPRESSED   MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


515 


Ta,  oh  yes !  again  \vc  meet,  love, 

And  rejiose  our  hearts  at  last ; 

Oh  !  sure  H  will  then  be  sweety  love, 

Calm  to  think  on  sorrows  past. 

Farewell,  Bessy  ! 

We  may  meet  again. 

Yet  I  feel  my  heart  is  Lreakiug 

When  I  think  I  stray  from  thee, 

Round  Ilie  worlJ  that  .juiet  seeking. 

Which  1  fear  is  not  Un  me. 

Farewell,  Bessy  ! 

We  may  meet  again, 

('aim  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom  — 

Can  it,  ilearest  I  must  it  be? 
Thou  witHn  an  hour  shalt  lose  him, 
He  for  ever  loses  Iheel 
Farewell,   Bessy  ! 
Yet  oh  J  not  for  ever. 


SONG. 

Pve  roamed  through  many  a  weary  round, 

1  've  wander'd  east  and  west  j 
Pleasure  in  eveiy  clime  I've  found 

But  sought  in  v;iiii  for  rest. 

While  glory  sighs  for  other  spheres, 

1  feel  ihat  one 's  loo  wide, 
And  think  the  home  which  Io72  endears 

Worth  all  the  world  beside- 

The  needle  thus  too  rudely  moved, 

Wandeia  unconscious  where; 
Till  having  found  the  place  it  loved, 

It  trembling  settles  there. 


EPITAPH   ON   A    WKLL-KNOWN    POET. 

Beneath  these  poppies  burled  deep, 
The  bones  ot  Bob  the  Bard  lie  hid  ; 

Peace  to  his  manes;  and  may  he  sleep 
As  soundly  as  his  readers  did  ! 

Through  every  sort  of  verse  meandering. 

Bob  went,  without  a  hitch  or  fall, 
Through  Epic,  Sapphic,  Alexandrine 

To  verse  that  was  no  verse  at  all ; 

Till  fiction  having  done  enough 

To  make  a  bard  at  least  absurd, 
And  give  his  readers  quantum  sttff.. 

He  look  to  praising  George  the  Third : 

And  then,  in  virtue  of  his  crown. 

Doomed  us,  poor  Whigs,  at  once  to  slaughter; 
Like  Donellan,  of  bad  renown, 

poisoning  us  all  wiih  laurel-waler. 

And  yet  at  times  some  awkward  qualms  he 
Felt  about  leaving  honour's  track  ; 

And  though  h;  got  a  butt  of  Malmsey, 
It  could  not  save  him  from  a  sack. 

Death,  weary  of  so  dull  a  writer, 

put  lo  his  works  Ajinis  thus. 
Oh  !  may  the  eanh  on  him  lie  lighter 

Than  did  bis  quartos  upon  usl 


EPITAPH  ON   A  LAWYER. 

Here  lies  a  lawyer  —  one  whose  mind 
(Like  that  of  all  the  lawyer  kind) 
Resembled,  though  m  grave  and  stately. 
The  pupil  of  a  cat's  eye  greatly  ; 


Which  for  the  mousing  deeds,  tranLACted 

In  holes  and  corners,  is  well  fitted, 
But  which  in  sunshine  grows  contracted. 

As  if  't  would  — rather  not  admit  it; 
As  it',  in  short,  a  man  would  quite 

Throw  lime  away  «ho  Iried  to  let  in  a 
Decent  portion  of  God's  light 

On  lawyer's  mind  or  pussy's  retina. 

Hence,  when  he  look  to  politic?, 

As  a  refreshing  change  of  evil, 
Until  with  grand  afl'aiis  to  mix 
His  little  Nisi-Prius  tricks. 

Like  imps  at  bo-peep,  pi  'v'd  (he  devil  ; 
And  proved  ihat  when  asni.ill  law  wit 

Uf  statesmanship  attempis  the  trial, 
»Tis  like  a  player  on  the  kit 

Put  alt  at  once  to  a  bass  viol. 

Nay,  even  when  honest  (which  he  could 
Be,  now  and  then),  still  quibbling  daily 

He  served  his  country  as  he  would 
A  client  thief  at  the  Old  Bailey. 

But  —  do  him  justice  — short  nnd  rare 

His  wi-h  'hronp;h  honest  paths  to  roam; 
Bnrn  with  a  laMe  for  the  nnfair, 
Where  falsehood  call'd  he  Mill  was  there, 
And  when  least  honest,  most  at  honie. 

Thus  shuffling,  bullying,  lying,  creeping, 
He  work'd  his  way  up  near  the  throne, 

And,  long  before  he  look  the  keeping 
Of  the  king's  conscience,  lost  his  own. 


ILLUSTRATION    OF    A    BOUE 

If  ever  you  've  seen  a  gay  party 

Relieved  from  the  pre.'sute  of  Ned- 
How  instantly  joyous  and  hearty 

They  've  grown  when  the  damper  was  fled- 
You  m.iy  guess  what  a  gay  piece  of  work, 

What  delight  to  champagne  it  must  he, 
To  get  rid  of  us  bore  of  a  cork, 

And  come  sparkling  to  you,  love,  and  mel 


FROM    THE    FRENCH. 

Ot  all  the  men  one  meets  about, 

There's  none  like  Jack— he  's  every  whera  : 
At  churcli— park — auction — dinner — roul — 

Go  when  and  where  you  will,  he's  there. 
Try  the  West  End.  he  's  at  your  back— • 

I.ieets  you.  like  Eurus,  in  the  East— 
You  're  call'd  upon  for  *'  How  do,  Jack  ?'* 

One  hundred  times  a-day  at  least. 
A  friend  of  his  one  evening  said, 

As  home  he  took  his  pensive  way, 
"  Upon  my  soul,  I  fear  Jack 's  dead — 

I  've  seen  him  but  three  limes    Vday  !" 


ROMANCE. 

I  have  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fillM 

With  all  the  jture  romance,  the  blissful  sadness, 
And  the  sad  doubiful  bliss,  Ihat  ever  thrill'd 

Two  young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet  inaa- 
ness; 
But  where  lo  choose  the  locale  of  my  vision 

In  ihis  wide  vulgar  world — what  real  spot 
Can  be  found  nut,  suflicienlly  clysian 

For  two  such  perfect  lovers,  1  know  not. 
Oh,  for  some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he, 
The  young  Jevv,i  fabled  of,  in  the  Indiao  9«a, 


1  Faalmanazar. 


516 


SUPPRESSED   MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Bv  DoiMng  but  its  name  of  Beau'y  known. 
And  "hich  Queen  Fancv  might  make  all  her  own, 
Her  fairy  biugdoni-tAke  it>  i>ei'ple.  I.irids, 
Ai.d  ipneiiieii!s  inlo  her  own  bright  hnds, 
Aud  make,  at  leasl,  one  earthly  cnrnor  fit 
For  love  to  live  iu-puie  and  exquisiiel 


ON 

Like  a  snuffers,  this  Living  old  dame, 
By  a  deslnv  grievous  enough, 

Though  so  oft  she  ha?*  snappd  at  the  flame 
Hatli  uever  Ciughl  more  than  the  BUutT. 


THE   WITCH'S   SABBATH. 
A   FRAGMENT. 


*  Ay,  write  their  n: 
S.iid  Bigolry,  ope 


None  but  the  \ 


es  on  my  darkest  page,' 
ig  widu  her  bonk— 
iive^,  now  black  with  ; 
aud  Copley  look : 


*'  Write,  write  them  down— as  witches,  of  yore, 
The  n.in-e  of  eacli  imp  of  d.xrknes!<  knew, 

And  nightly  cali'd  their  bead-roll  o'er, 
I  *li  kuow  the  name  of  my  servaniB  too  i" 

She  Fpnke— and,  beho'd  I  a  scribe  was  near, 
Wlioslraishtway  takitij;  a  pen  of  flame 

Frnm  behind  his  ancient  ass-like  ear. 

Wrote  down,  as  she  bid,  each  minion's  name. 

And  never,  oh  !  never — not  even  then 

In  her  ynuihfui  d  lya  of  murderous  tricks- 
Was  Bigotry  half  sn  ple-ised  as  when 
She  counted  Two  Hundred  and  Seventy^sixl 

With  joy,  I  wi^t,  each  name  she  ki=s'd. 

Thnugh  even  in  joy  a  si^h  heaved  she. 
When  out  of  that  list' one  name  she  missed, 

Her  own  dear  Wilks,  of  Sudbury, 

"' T  is  welt,  't  ii  well— sn  far  our  spell 
Is  a  nutcli  for  even  my  darkest  day?  ;— 

Now,  draw  n-e  a  circle  rnund,  and  tell 

What  Sprite  of  ihem  all  I  first  shall  raise." 

The  circle  is  drawn, — She  squats  ^vjthin. 

And  "  Arise,"  she  cries,  some  *'  imp  of  flame, 

Who  will  do  my  biddinj?.  through  thick  and  thin  !" 
She  spoke  but  the  word,  and  Duigenan  came  I 

His  torch  was  ready— his  eyes  were  wild— 

Away  lo  hi.  northern  hills  he  flea-, 
And  'I  was  rare  tn  see  how  the  bel.Iam  smiled. 

As  she  track'd  his  flight  by  the  glare  he  threw  j 

As  she  saw.  by  her  gift  of  secnnd-si?ht, 
The  min^rmg  fla^h  nf  ;he  pike  and  sword, 

And  the  burnin'  cott.ige's  crini'^nn  light 
On  the  baleful  Orange  banner  pour'd  ! 

But.  see— what  spell  doth  she  now  prep-»re  ? 

What  strange  zijczae^eries  rnund  her  draw. 
As  she  mutters,  backward,  many  a  praver  ?— 

'Tis  to  call  to  her  aid  some  imp  of  law; 

Some  dusky  Gnnme,  who  shivers  at  light ; 

Who.  bred  in  the  dark,  his  life  ha'li  piss'd, 
In  playing,  for  hire,  with  Wrong  and  Right, 

Till  he  knows  not  one  from  t'other,  at  last ; 

Who,  kept  by  his  masters  under  cork 
Like  bnttled-up  imps,  is  but  brought  out 

To  help  in  any  imholy  work 
The  wise  staio  conjurors  are  about  ;— 


Who,  ready  at  hand  for  dingy  deeds, 
'      Not  only  is  bottled,  convenient  sprite  1 

But  labell'd  and  priced,  and  onty  needs 
I      A  :^eal  on  his  cork  lo  ijx  htm  quite. 

I  "  Up !"  said  the  hag.  with  visa^'e  stern, 
I      **My  mister  imp,  who  art  letrn'J  in  all 
I  The  wise  and  good  would  mo.i  alarm  :" 
She  said— and  Copley  came,  at  her  call ; 

C.ime  (while  the  beldam  cried  *' All  haill") 

In  a  shape  she  loves  ilie  best  of  any — 
ARal,»  who  wasn't  '■  without  a  tale," 

As  he  told  of  a  cock  and  a  "  bull"^  full  many. 

And  much  he  squeak'd  of  queens  and  kingSf 
Of  James  the  first,  and  James  the  latter. 

And  "  bloody  Queen  Mary,"  and  lots  of  things 

Which,   he  own'd,  had   nothing  lo  do  with   the 
mailer. 

Thus,  one  by  one,  did  the  Witch  call  up 
'I  he  legion  of  imps  that  fillM  that  roll  ; 

And  to  each  she  pledged  he  venomous  cup, 
While  each  ooe  pledged  lo  her  his  soul : 

Till,  hark  !  in  (he  midst  of  all  their  rites, 

While  (counting  two  hundred  and  seventy-sevM, 
The  hag  mclnded)  this  band  of  sprites 

Were  playing  their  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
There  came  a  loud  crash  !      *  *  * 


EXTEMPORE. 

O ,     TO     WHOSE     INTERFERENCE     I 

CHIEFLY  OWE  THE  VERY  LIBERAL  PRICE 
GIVEN    FOR    *'  LALLA    ROOKH." 

When  they  shall  tell,  in  fu'ure  times, 
Of  thousands  given  for  idle  rhymes 

Like  'hese^lhe  pistitne  of  an  hour, 
They  '11  wonder  at  the  lavish  taste 
Thai  c-^uld,  like  fulip-fanciers,  waste 

A  little  fortune  on  a  flower  1 

Yet  will  not  thou,  whose  friendship  set 

Such  value  on  the  bard's  renowi.— 
Yet  wilt  not  thou,  my  friend,  regret 

The  golden  shower  thy  ^pell  brought  down. 
For  thou  dost  love  the  free-born  muse, 
Whose  flight  no  curbing  chain  pursues; 

And  thou  dost  think  the  song  that  shriaei 
That  image — so  adored  by  thee, 
And  spirits  iike  thee— Libeny, 

Of  price  beyond  all  India's  mines! 


A    VOICE    FROM   MARATHON. 

0  for  a  voice,  as  loud  as  that  of  Fame, 

Tc  breathe  the  word-Arise  I 
From  Pindiis  to  Taygetus  to  proclaim— 

Let  every  Greek  arise  ! 

Ye  who  have  hearts  to  strike  a  single  blow, 

Hear  my  despairing  cries ! 
Ye  who  have  hands  to  immolate  07ie  foe, 

Arise  !  arise  !  arise  ! 

From  the  dim  fields  of  Asphodel  beneath, 

U).bnrne  bv  cloudy  sighs 
Of  thr^se  who  love  their  country  still  in  death— 

Even  I— even  /— arise  1 

I  "  And  like  a  rat  without  a  tail."— JtfacirtA. 
3Tt<e  "  Bull"  part  of  the  story  belongs  mora  pnk> 
pcrly  to  Mr.  Peel. 


SUPPRESSED   MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


517 


These  are  Dot  hands  for  earthly  wringing— these  !  — 
EInod  shi'uld  Dol  blind  'htst:  eves. — 

Yet  here  I  aUtid.  unloinb'd  Miltiades, 
Wetpiiig  —  arise!  arise  1 

Hear  ye  ihe  {groans  that  heave  (his  burial-field  }  — 

(fUi  Grseci  ^s  savitnir-b;ind 
Cry  troni  Uie  dust  —  "  Fiahl  oii !  nor  dare  to  yield  1 

^ave  ye  our  father^land  ! 

"Bluiil  with  your  bosom  the  barbaric  spear! 

Break  it  within  yr.iir  breast; 
Then  come,  brave  Greek  !  and  join  your  brothers  here 

In  our  imiiioilal  rest  1" 

Shall  modern  Datis.  swoln  with  Syrian  pride, 

Cover  ihe  land  with  slaves  !  — 
Ay—  let  ihein  cover  i',  both  far  and  wide  — 

Cover  it  with  their  graves  / 

Much  has  been  done  —  but  more  remains  to  do  — 

Ye  have  foug:ht  long  and  well  1 
The  tiump  that,  on  the  JE^ean.  etory  blew 

Seem'd  wjth  a  s'oim  to  swell ! 

A^a's  e;fim  tyrant  shudder'd  at  the  sound, 

He  leauM  upon  l-.is  thmre! 
Murmur'd  his  h"r?e-iaird  chieftainry  around — 

'"AnoUicr  Marathon !"' 

Dodona,  *mid  her  fanes  and  forests  hoar 

Heard  it  wirh  solemn  glee; 
Aud  old  I'arnassus,  wjih  a  jnfty  roar, 

Told  it  from  sea  to  sea  ! 

High-bosom'd  Greece,  through  her  unnumber'd  vales, 

Broke  f-rth  in  gl-Ticuis  sons  '• 
Her  classic  streanis  that  plough  the  headlong  dales 

1  hunder'd  the  notes  along  ! 

But  there  ^s  a  bloodier  wreath  to  gain,  oh  friends  t 

Now  rise,  or  ever  fill ! 
If  ye  fight  now  no  fiercer  than  the  fiends, 

Bet.er  not  fight  at  all  ! 

The  feverish  war-drum  mingles  with  the  fife 

III  dismal  syniphony, 
And  Moslem  strikes  at  liberly  and  life  — 

For  boih,  strike  harder  yel 

Hark  I  how  Cithaeron  with  his  earthquake  rolce 

Calls  to  the  utmost  .chores! 
While  Flutn  bars,  agamst  the  nving  noise, 

His  adaiii  tutine  doors ! 

Athene,  tiptoe  on  her  cnmiblin?  dome, 

Cries —  *•  Youth,  ye  must  be  men  !' 
And  Echo  'iliou  s  within  her  rocky  tomb  — 

"Greeks,  become  Greeks  again!" 

The  s'one  first  brought,  his  living  tomb  to  close, 

Pausanias'  mother  piled  : 
Matrons  of  Greece  1  will  ye  do  le^s  for  foes 

Than  she  did  for  her  child? 

Let  hnyhond  strike  !  —  let  every  rank  and  age 

Do  each  wini  each  can  do  ! 
Let  him  wlui*e  arm  it*  mislily  as  his  rage 

Strike  deep  —  s'rike  home  —  strike  through  t 

Be  wise,  be  firm,  be  ciutjous,  yet  be  bold  I 

Be  brolhet-Tiie:  be  One! 
I  teach  bu'  what  ihe  Phrygian  taught  of  old  — 

Divide^  and  be  undone ! 

Hallowed  in  life,  in  death  itself,  is  he 

Who  for  his  cnuntry  diesj 
A  light,  a  star,  to  alt  futurity  — 

Arise  ye,  then!  arise  I 

0  countrymen!  O  countrymen!  once  more  — 

By  earth  —  and  seas  —  and  skies  — 
By  Heaven  — by  sacred  Hades— t  implore-— 

Arise!  ariee!  arieel 


CROCKFORDIAN  A. 

EPIGRAMS. 

Mala  vicioi  pecori$  coutogit  laedunt. 
1. 
What  can  those  workmen  be  about? 
Do.  Crockfuid,  Itf  the  fecret  ont- 

Why  thus  >ourli^.ues  fall  — 
Quoth  he,  '  Since  f  Iks  aie  not  ia  towo, 
1  find  it  better  to  pull  dowtiy 
Thau  have  7io  f  ui2  at  all. 
2. 
See,  passenger,  at  Crockford's  high  behest, 
Red  coats  b>  Wacft-legs  ous'ed  from  their  nest  — 
The  aris  o    pe'ce  o'ermaiching  reckless  war. 
And  gallant  Rouge  undone  by  wily  Nuir. 
3. 
Impar  consregBus  — — . 

Fate  gave  the  word  —  the  King  of  dice  and  cardi 
In  an  unguarded  momeni  toi  k  'he  Gua'ds ; 
C'ln'rived  his  neighbours  in  a  trice  tn  drub. 
And  did  Ihe  trick  by  —  turning  up  a  Club, 
4. 
Nullum  simile  est  idem. 
*Tis  strange  how  some  will  difler—  some  advance 
That  the  Guards'   Club-House  was  pulled  down  by 

chance  ; 
While  some,  wirh  juster  notions  in  their  rtazard, 
Stoutly  maintain  the  deed  was  dune  by  hazard. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  ST.  STEPHEN'S  CHAPEL, 
AFTER  THE   DISSOLUTION. 

BY  A  MEMBER  OF  THE  UPPER  BENCHES. 

The  King's  speech  tnlPd  the  Commons'  knell, 
The  House  is  dear'd,  the  chair  vacated, 

And  gloom  and  loneliness  nnw  dwell 
Where  Britain's  wise  men  congregated. 

The  gallery  is  dark  and  lone, 

No  longer  throng'd  with  curious  folk, 

Happv  '0  pay  their  good  half-crown 
To  hear  bad  speeclies  badly  spoke* 

The  Treasury^ eats  no  placemen  show, 
Clear'd  is  each  Opposition  bench  ; 

And  even  never-ending  Jne 
No  longer  cries  —  "  Retrench  I  retrench !"  * 

Fred.  Robinson  no  more  his  skill 
Employs  in  weaving  speeclies  fair, 

The  Country  gentlemen  to  fill 
With  promises  as  thin  as  air. 

Dick  Martin  now  no  plan  proposes 
To  aiJ  t|.e  bru-e  part  of  'he  nation, 

While  Menibers  cough  and  blow  their  noses, 
I'll  diowii  his  most  humane  oration. 

Good  Mr.  BrogJen,  where  art  thnu, 

Movi  wor'hy  —  Chairman  of  Committees  ? 

To  strip  one  laurel  from  thy  brow 
Would  surely  be  a  thousand  pities. 

'T  wss  a  e"O.J  jnke,  forsooth,  to  think 

Thnu  shnuldsl  eiv?  up  thy  honest  winning 

And  thereby  own  that  thou  didst  wink. 
Pure  soul !  at  other  people's  sinningg.^ 


L:^ 


I  "Really  Ihe  Hon.  Member  for  Montrose  should 
lake  a  little  breath  ;  liis  objections  are  most  unfair; 
and  what  is  worse,  iliey  are  Heuer-€7idmg.'*~SeB  tha 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer's  Soeech  in  reply  to  Mr. 
Hume,  Feb.  23,  1826 

>  Mr.  Rrogden  said  "  he  certainly  should  DOt  refand 


518 


SUPPRESSED   MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Where's  Holmes,  Corruptions  ready  back, 
Who  life  and  credit  both  consumes 

Id  whipping  in  ihe  Trpasury  pack, 
And  Jobbing  in  coininitiee-rooms  M 

I  look  nround  •—  no  well-known  face 
Along  Ihe  tienche^  nieels  my  eye 

No  Member  "rises  in  his  place," 
For  all  have  other  tish  to  try. 

Not  one  is  left  of  Kine  and  sa^es, 

Who  iaiely  sat  debaliiig  here; 
The  crowded  hustings  now  engages 

'I'heir  every  hope  and  every  lear. 

Electors,  r-illy  to  the  poll, 

And  Lord  Jnlin  Russell  never  heed  : 
Lei  gold  alone  your  choice  control  — 

"  The  best  man  's  he  who  best  can  bleed  "'2 


the  money,  because^  by  so  doiu^,  he  should  convict 
himself .''^  —  See  the  Report  of  a  Meeting  of  the  Pro- 
prietors of  the  Arigna  Mining  Company. 

I  The  barefaced  system  of  voting  at  private  bill 
committees,  without  having  heard  an  iota  of  evidence 
for  or  against,  forms  a  distinguished  feature  in  the 
history  of  the  late  parliameat. 


But  if,  tio  timid,  vou  delay, 

(By  Bribery  Statute  held  in  awe), 

Fear  not  —  there  is  a  ready  way 
To  serve  yourselves  and  cheat  the  law. 


In  times  like  these,  when  things  are  high, 
And  candidates  must  be  well  fed, 

Your  cabbages  they  '11  freely  buy, 

Kind  souls  1  at  two  pounds  ten  a  head. 3 

Thus  may  we  hope  for  many  a  law. 
And  many  a  measure  most  discreet, 

When  —  pure  as  even  Ihe  last  we  s^w  — 
Britain's  new  Parliament  shall  meet. 

Then  haste  ye,  Candidates,  and  strive 
An  M.  P.  lo  your  names  to  tack, 

And  — alter  July  twenty-five—* 

Collective  wisdom—  welcome  back! 


^  A  maxim  which  his  been  pretty  well  acted  on  iu 
he  present  elections. 

3  "  During  the  election  at  Sudbury,  four  cabbages 
f'ld  for  10/.  and  a  plate  oi'  gooseberries  fetched  25i., 
he  sellers  where  these  articles  were  so  scarce  being 
oiers.'"— See  the  Times  of  Friday,  June  20. 

*  The  day  on  which  the  writa  were  returnab  e. 


IHE     END. 


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