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i. -' 

/; Yf /, 8'V3.^ 


JAN 1 6 lOOT 

f^arbarti College l.ii)rairs 

sJv^t'^t^^Vii^^ii/Ju^ ^ J-t-V^MX/ 


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TlM Pen Bonlliu, rcBitiui LogroUiEdwf n the Fair, D*Anbigne'0 History of Ui« RdbmailttD, 

Life <7 WillMribrceTwiilUlald, Butsr*ii Lift •ad Writlagt, Ac 




4 ) 


U)1TU> BT 



VOL. m. 






./ - 

•V ^ ♦ / 

^i '.■■ y -. 


VOL. in. 


WKKNER ; or, Tlie Inheiitance, 1 



THE I8LANB; or^ChnrtianaiidhaCoiiindM, .... 187 

Appeodii to the Uaiid, 2S7 

HOURS OF IDLENESS: A SeriM of Fdemi, .... 933 

Od leaving Newitead Abbey, M5 

OnmdittemTiewoftbeTiIbgeaxidSchoolofHtnowoiktheHiD, S46 

ToD. . . . W7 

£iuta|)h oo m F^nd, 848 

AFngment, 849 

Reply to aome Yenei of J. M. B. Figoc, Em|., on the enielty of bit 

MiitraM, . 849 

To the Sighing StrephoQ, 851 

TheTeer, .858 

ToMiMFSgot, 854 

Lines written in ** Leiten of an Italian Nnnaiid an Ei^itteh Gentle- 

man.'* By J. J. Roiueeaa, 855 

Anewer to the Foiegoing, 855 

The Cornelian, 856 

On the Death of a Yoimg Lady, Cowin to the Author, and very 

dear to him, • , ^ 857 

To Emma, 858 

An Occanonal Fkologue, 859 

Onihe Death of Mr. Fox, 960 

TOM.S.G., 881 

To Caroline, 888 

Totfaenme, 863 

Totbeaame, 854 

Stanzas to a Lady, . . 885 

The Firfft Kiss of Love, "... 865 

ToBlary, 866 

To Woman, 887 

ToM.S.G. 268 

Yl C01fTSIfT6. 


To a beautiful Quaker, : ... 969 

Song, ... 870 

To » 2T8 

To Mary, on receiving her Picture, . 273 

ToLesbia, * 274 

lines addressed to a Young Lady, 275 

Love's Last Adieu, 276 

Damntas 278 

To Marion, 278 

Oscar of Alva, 280 

To the Duke of Dorset, 289 


Adrian's Address to his Soul when dying, 295 

Translation from Catullus, 295 

Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus, ... 296 

Imitation of TibuHus — " Sulpicia ad Cerinthum," . . 296 

Translation from CatuDos — ^ Luctus de moite passeris," . . 296 

Imitated from Catulliis— To Ellen, 297 

Translation from Horace, Ode 3, lib. 3, 297 

Translation from Anacreon — To his Lyre, 298 . 

Ode III., 299 

Fragment of School Exercises — From the Prometheus Yinctus of 

iEschylus, 300 

The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus — A Paraphrase fxtfrn the 

iEneid, tib. IX .301 

Translation from the Medea of Euripides, 310 


Thoughts suggested by a College Examination, .... 315 

To the Earl of , 317 

Answer to some elegant Verses sent by a Friend to the Anthor, 

complaining that one of his descriptions was rather too warmly 

drawn, 320 

Granta — A medley 331 

Lachin y Goir, 324 

To Romance, 326 

Elegy on Newstead Abbey, 328 

On a Change of Masters at a great PubUc School, .... 333 

Childish Recollections, § 333 

Answer to a beautiful Poem, written by Montgomery, Author of 

" The Wanderer in Switzeriand," &c. &c., entitled " The 

Common Lot," 316 

The Death of Calmar and Orla, 348 

To E. N. L., Esq. • . 351 

To a Lady, 354 

Stanzas, 355 

lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow on 

thellUl, 357 

Critique. Extracted from the Edinburgh Review, No. S2, for 

Jan., 1808 359 

CONTBlfTf. ▼ 




THE WALTZ ; an Apostraphic Hymn, 455 




THE BLUES; a literary Eclogue, 543 

THE THIRD ACT OF MANFRED, in iu original shape ct finrf tent 

to the Pobhaher, • . • 556 


To my dear Mary Anne, 567 

A Love Song. To •••*•'•, 568 

Stanzaa to •♦*«*•, ». ... 569 

To the lame, 569 

Song— ** Fin the Goblet again," Ac, 570 

To Lady Caroline Lamb, 571 

On the Prince Regent'i returning the Picture of Sarah Ctemtaai of 

Jersey, to Mrs. Mee, 573 

To Bekhazxar, 574 

Hebrew Melodies, 575 

The Irish Avatar, 575 

Stanzas to her who best can understand them, .... 58U 
To a Lady who presented the Author with the V«lv«l Band which 

bound her Tresses, 582 

Remembrance, 583 

The Adieu; written under the impression that the Author would 

soon die, 583 

To a vain Lady, 586 

To Anne, 587 

To the same, 588 

To the Author of a Sonnet — "• Sad is my verse, ' yw aay, • and yet 

no tear,'" 588 

On finding a Fan, 589 

FareweD to the Muse, 500 

To an Oak at Newstead, 591 

lines, on hearing that Lady Byron was ill, 592 

Stanzas, " Could Love for ever,'* •. f4M 

I to a Hindoo Air, . ........ 596 


UK. rnr.L CHT AntM t ii'V^t.i F.ASn rur. nnor.K KAnni. 

Ol- \(A\ IJII Vt Ci\-.KIIH I.. AM) OF VHK .^l-Mi..-?. 
AVU MOV* IMIK 111 1 CT, CMI-'V K\H1 '.-Ol I :> H V.f MIRrjl; 

^Mi :!'r \ iiv, I'Moi f'liT o:- K \ri nil,' : ■ \riK;'. \M> ot u"\M;J, 
now Xi\S\ MM t-.o Tti» ^roo.v viriff n w .•■■ ;% f.iuiu. 
OF' AIM H\I I 0;)\;-. A'.l) UK in; \'\-. ■i ;i\U3 

TO 1 

THIN HK ri(OLin<r aa itoirsx , 

KVK.'. , 



vol- ▼. — » 


The following drama is taken entirely from the ** German^a 
TaUt Kruitiner^^^ published many years ago in Lee^s Canterbury 
Tales ; written (I believe) by two sisters, of whom one furnished 
only this story and another, both of which are considered superior 
to the remainder of the collection. I have adopted the characters, 
plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some 
of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names 
changed, and one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by my 
self: bat m the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was 
young (about fourteen, I think,) I first read this tale, which made 
a deep impression upon me ; and may, indeed, be said to contain 
the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that 
h ever was very popular ; or, at any rate, its popularity has since 
been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same depart- 
ment. But I have generally found that those who had read it, 
agreed with me in their estimate of file singular power of mind 
and conception which it developes. I should also add conception, 
rather than execution ; for the story might, perhaps, have been 
developed with greater advantage. Among those whose opinions 
agreed with mine upon this story, I could mention some very high 
names ; but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use, for every 
one must judge according to his own feelings. I merely refer 
the reader to the original story, that he may see to what extent I 
have borrowed from it ; and am not unwilling that he should find 
much greater pleasure in perusing it than the drama which is 
founded upon its contents. 

I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as 1815, (the first 
1 ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called " Ulric 
and Ihnnoy^ which I had sense enough to bum,) and had nearly 
completed an act, when I was interrupted by cnrcumstances. 


This 18 somewhere amongst my papers in England ; but as it has 
not been found, I have rewritten the first, and added the subse- 
quent acts. 

The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for 
the stage. 

Piaa, Febniaiy, 18S8. 



Werner. Henrick. 

Ulric. Eric. 

Stralenheim. Arnheim. 

Idenstein. Meister. 

Gabor. Rodolph. 

Fritz. Ludwig. 



Iad Stralenheim. 

Scene — Partly on the Frontier of Silesia, and partly in 
Siegendorf Castle, near Prague. 

Time — the Close of the Thirty Years' War 



S G E N £ I. 

The HaU of a decaiifed Palace near a amaU Taim on the 
Jforih Frontier of SUesia — the J>ngJU iempeatuoua. 

Werner and Josephine Hm wife, 

Jos. My love, be calmer ! 

Wer. I am calm. 

Jos. To me — 

Yes, but not to thjrself : thy pace is hurried, 
And no one walks a chamber like to ours 
With steps like thine when his heart is at rest 
Were it a garden, I should deem thee happy. 
And stepping with the bee from flower to flower ; 
But here ! 

Wer. 'T is chill ; the tapestry lets through 
The wind to which it waves : my blood is frozen. 

Jos. Ah, no ! 

Wer. {smiUng). Why ! wouldst thou have it so? 

Jos. I would 

Have it a healthful current 

Wer. Let it flow 

Until 't is spilt or check'd — how soon, I care not. 

Jos. And am I nothing in thy heart ? 

Wer. AU — all. 

Jos. Then canst thou wish for that which must break 

Wer. {approaching her slowly). But for thee I had been 
— no matter what. 
But much of good and evil ; what I am, 
Thou knowesf ; what I might or should have been. 
Thou knowest not : but still I love thee, nor 
Shall aught divide us. 

[Werner walks on abruptly^ and then approaches 


The Btoim of the night, 
Perhaps, affects me ; I'm a thing of feelings, 
And luiTe of late been sickly, as, alas ! 
Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my love ! 
In watching me. 

Jos. To see thee well is much — 
To see thee happy 

Wer. Where hast thou seen such ? 

Let me be wretched with the rest ! 

Jos. But think 

How many in this hour of tempest shiver 
Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain. 
Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth, 
Which hath no chamber for them save beneath 
Her surface. 

Wer. And that 's not the worst : who cares 

For chambers ? rest is all. The wretches whom 
Thou namest — ay, the wind howls round them, and 
The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones 
The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier, 
A hunter, and a traveller, and am 
A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of. 

Jos. And art thou not now shelter'd from them all ? 

Wer. Yes. And from these alone. 

Jos. And that is something. 

Wer. True — to a peasant. 

Jos. Should the nobly bom 

Be thankless for that refuge which their habits 
Of early delicacy render more 
Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb 
Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life ? 

Wer. It is not that, thou know'st it is not ; we 
Have borne all this, I '11 not say patiently. 
Except in thee — but we have borne it 

Jos. Well? 

Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though 
These were enough to gnaw into our souls) 
Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, nmc. 
When, but for this untoward sickness, which 
Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and 
Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means. 
And leaves us — no ! this is beyond me ! — but 
For this I had been happy — thou been happy — 
The splendour of my rank sustain'd — my name — 
My fisither's name — been still upheld ; and, more 
Than those — 

setnu A TIUOBDT. 

Jo9. {abrtm^). Mj son^our son^our Ulric, 
Been clasp'd again in these long-empty anna. 
And all a mother'a hunger satisfied* 
Twelre jears ! he was but eight then : — beautiful 
He was, and beautiful he must be now, 
M J Uhic ! mj adored ! 

Wer. I have been full oft 

The chase of Fortune ; now she hath overtaken 
M J spirit where it cannot turn at baj, — 
Sick, poor, and lonelj. 

Jos. Lonelj! my dear husband ? 

Wer* Or worse — involving all 1 love, in this 
Far worse than solitude. dSione, I had died. 
And all been over in a nameless grave. 

Jos. And I had not outlived thee ; but pray take 
Comfort ! We have struggled long ; and tiiey who strive 
With Fortune win or weary her at last, 
So that they find the goal or cease to feel 
Further. Take comfort, — we shall find our boy. 

fVer. We were in sight of him, of every thing 
Which could bring compensation for past sorrow — 
And to be baffled thus ! 

Jos. We are not baffled. 

Wer. Are we not pennyless ? 

Jo9. We ne'er were wealthy. 

Wer. But I was bom to wealth, and rank, and power ; 
Enjoy'd them, loved them, and, alas ! abused them, 
And forfeited them by my fiither's wrath. 
In my o'er-fervent youth ; but for the abuse 
Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death 
Left the path open, yet not without snares. 
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long 
Kept his eye on roe, as the snake upon 
The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me. 
Become the master of my rights, and lord 
Of that which lifls him up to princes in 
Dominion and domain. 

Jos. Who knows ? our son 

May have retum'd back to his grandsire, and 
Even now uphold thy rights for thee f 

Wer. 'T is hopeless. 

Since his strange disappearance fi-om my father's. 
Entailing, as it were, my sins upon 
Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course. 
I parted with him to his grandsire, on 
The promise that his anger would stop short 



Of the third generation ; but Heaven seems 
To claim her stem prerogative, and visit 
Upon my boy his father's faults and ibilies. 

Jos. I must hope better still, — at least we have yet' • 
Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. 

Wtr, We should have done, but for this fatal sickness ; 
More fatal than a mortal malady. 
Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace : 
Even now I feel my spirit girt about 
By &e snares of this avaricious fiend ; — *- 
How do I know he hath not track'd us here ? 

Jo9, He does not know thy person ; and his spies, 
Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. 
Our unexpected journey, and this change 
Of name, leaves all discovery far behind : 
None hold us here for aught save what we seem. 

Wer, Save what we seem ! save what we art — sick beg 
Even to our very hopes. -^ Ha! ha! 

Jos. Alas ! 

That bitter laugh ! 

Wer. Who would read in this form 

The high soul of the son of a long line ? 
Who^ in this garb, the heir of princely lands ? 
Wko^ in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride 
Of rank and ancestry? In this worn cheek 
And fiunine-hoUow'd brow, the lord of halls 
Which daily feast a thousand vassals ? 

Jos. You 

Pondered not thus upon these worldly things. 
My Werner ! when you deign'd to choose for bride 
The foreign daughter of a wandering exile. 

Wer. An exile's daughter with an outcast son 
Were a fit marriage ; but I still had hopes 
To lift thee to the state we both were bom for. 
Your father's house was noble, though decay'd ; 
And wor&y by its birth to match with ours. 

Jos. Your &ther did not think so, though 't was noble ; 
But had my birth been all my claim to match 
With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. 

Wtr. And what is that in thine eyes ? 

Jos. All which it 

Has done in our behalf, — nothing. 

Wtr. How, — nothing ? 

Jos. Or worse ; for it has been a canker in 
Thy heart from the beginning : but for this, 

A TRAGEPt. 11 

We had not felt our poverty but as 

Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully ; 

But for these phantoms of ihj feudal fathers, 

Thou mightst have eara'd thy bread, as thousands earn it ; 

Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce. 

Or o&er civic means, to amend thy fortunes. 

Wer. {ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Ex- 
cellent ! 

Jos. Whatever thou mightst have been, to me thou art 
What no state high or low can ever change, [ther 

My heart's first choice ; — which chose thee, knowing nei- 
Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride ; nought, save thy sorrows : 
Wlule they last, let me comfort or divide them ; 
When they end, let mine end with them, or thee ! 

fFer. My better angel ! such I have ever found Aee ; 
TUs rashness, or this weakness of my temper, 
Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine. 
Thou didst not mar my fortunes : my own nature 
In youth was such as to unmake an empire. 
Had such been my inheritance ; but now, 
Chasten'd, subdu^, out-worn, and taught to know 
Myself, — to lose this for our son and thee ! 
Trust me, when, in my two-cmd-twentieth spring 
My father barr'd me from my father's house. 
The last sole scion of a thousand sires, 
(For I was then the last,) it hurt me less 
Than to behold my boy and my boy's mother 
Excluded in their innocence from what 
My fiiuhs deserved — exclusion ; although then 
My passions were all living serpents, and 
Twined like the gorgon's round me. 

[^ loud knocking is heard. 

J0s. Hark! 

Wer. A knocking I 

Jos. Who can it be at this lone hour 1 We have 
Few visiters. 

fVer. And poverty hath none, 

Save those who come to make it poorer still. 
Well, I am prepared. 

[Werner mf(9 his hand into his bosons as if to 
search for some weapon. 

Jos. Oh! do not look so. I 

Will to the door. It cannot be of import 
In this lone spot oi wintry desolation : — 
The very desert saves man from mankind. 

[She goes to the door. 


Enter Idenstein. 

Iden, A fair good evening to my &irer hostess 
And worthy What 's your name, my friend ? 

Wer. Are you 

Not afraid to demand it ? 

Iden. Not afraid ? 

Egad ! I am afraid. You look as if 
1 ask'd for something better than your name. 
By the face you put on it 

Wer. Better, sir ! 

Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony : what 
Shall I say more ? You have been a guest this month 
Here in the prince's palace — (to be sure. 
His highness had resigned it to the ghosts 
And rats these twelve years — but 't is still a palace) -* 
I say you have been our lodger, and as yet 
We do not know your name. 

fVer. My name is Werner. 

Iden. A goodly name, a very worthy name 
As e'er was gUt upon a trader's board : 
I have a cousin in the lazaretto 
Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore 
The same. He is an officer of trust. 
Surgeon's assistant, (hoping to be surgeon). 
And has done miracles i' the way of business. 
Perhaps you are related to my relative 1 

Wer. To yours? 

Jos. Oh, yes ; we are, but distantly. 

Cannot you humour the dull gossip till \^Aside to Wer. 

We learn his purpose 1 

Iden. Well, I 'm glad of that ; 

1 thought so all along, such natural yearnings 
Play'd round my heart : — blood b not water, cousin ; 
And so let 's have some wine, and drink unto 
Our better acquaintance : relatives should be 

Wer. You appear to have drank enough already ; 
And if you had not, I 've no wine to offer. 
Else it were yours : but this you know, or should know : 
You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see 
That I would be alone ; but to your business ! 
What brings you here t 

Iden. Why, what should bring me here ! 

Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess 
That which will send you hence. 


Jos. {aside). Patience, dear Werner ! 

Iden, Tou do n't know what has happen'd, then ? 

Jos. How should we ? 

Iden. The river has o'erflow'd* 

Jos, Alas ! we have known 

That to our sorrow for these five days ; since 
It keeps us here. 

Iden. But what you do n't know is, 

Tliat a great personage, who ^n would cross 
Against the stream and three postillions' wishes, 
Is drown'd below the ford, with five post-horses, 
A monkey, and a mastifi*, and a valet. 

Jos. Poor creatures ! are you sure t 

Iden. Tes, of the monkey, 

And the valet, and the cattle ; but as yet 
We know not if his excellency 's dead 
Or no ; your noblemen are hard to drown. 
As it is fit that men in office should be ; 
But what is certain is, that he has swallow'd 
Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants ; 
And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller. 
Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from 
The whirling river, have sent on to crave 
A lodging, or a grave, according as 
It may turn out with the tive or dead body. 

Jos. And where will you receive him ] here, I hope. 
If we can be oi service — say the word. 

Iden. Here ? no ; but in the prince's own apartment. 
As fits a noble guest : — 't is damp, no doubt. 
Not having been inhabited these twelve years ; 
But then he comes from a much damper place, 
So scarcely will catch cold in 't, if he be 
StiU liable to cold — and if not, why 
H# *11 be worse lodged to-morrow : ne'ertheless, 
I have ordePd fire and all appliances 
To be got ready for the worst — that is, 
In case he should survive. 

Jos. Poor gentleman ! 

I hope he will, with all my heart. 

Wer. Intendant, 

Have you not leam'd his name ? My Josephine, 

[Aside to his wife. 
Retire : I '11 sifl this fool. [Exil Jo8ephjn£. 

Iden. His name ? oh Lord ! 

Who knows if he hath now a name or no? 
'T is time enough to ask it when he 's able 

14 WERNERt i 

To give an answer ; or if not, to put 
His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought 
Just now you chid me for demanding names ? 

fVer. True, true, I did so ; you say well and wisely. 

Enier Gabor. 

Gab. If I intrude, I crave • 

Iden. Oh, no intrusion ! 

This is the palace ; this a stranger like 
Yourself; I pray you make yourself at home : 
But where 's his excellency ? and how fares he ? 

Ga6« Wetly and wearily, but out of peril : 
He paused to change his garments in a cottage, 
(Where I dofT'd mine for these, and came on hither) 
And has almost recover'd from his drenching* 
He will be here anon. 

Iden. What ho, there ! bustle ! 

Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad ! 

[Gives directions to different servants who enter 
A nobleman sleeps here to-night — see that 
All is in order in the damask chambers- 
Keep up the stove — I will myself to the cellar — 
And Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger) 
Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel ; for, 
To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of this 
Within the palace precincts, since his highness 
Left it some dozen years ago. And then 
His excellency will sup, doubtless 1 

Gab. Faith I 

I cannot tell : but I should think. the pillow 
Would please him better than the table after 
His soaking in your river : but for fear 
Your viands should be thrown away, I mean 
To sup myself, and have a friend without 
Who will do honour to your good cheer with 
A traveller's appetite. 

Iden. But are you sure 

His excellency But his name : what is it ? 

Gab. I do not know. 

Iden. And yet you saved his life. 

Gab. I help'd my friend to do so. 

Idm. WeU, that 's strange, 

To save a man's life whom you do not know. 

Gab. Not so ; for there are some I know so well, 
I scarce should give myself the trouble. 


Idm, Pray, 

Good fiiend, and who may you be ? 

Crab. By my family, 


Iden. I'VhichiscaUMt 

Gab. It matters little. 

/den* (oatcb). I think that all &e world are grown anony- 
Since no one cares to teO me what he 's call'd ! 
Pray, has his exceUency a large suite ? 

Gab. Sufficient 

Iden. How many? 

Cktb. I did not count them. 

We came up by mere accident, and just 
Tn time to drag him through his carriage window. 

Men. Well, what would I give to save a great man ! 
No doubt you 'U have a swinging sum as recompense. 

Gab. Perhaps. 

/den. Now, how much do you reckon on ? 

Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale : 
In the mean time, my best reward would be 
A ^ass of your Hockcheimer — a green glass, 
Wreath'd with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, 
O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage ; 
For which I promise you, in case you e'er 
Run hazard of being drown'd, (although I own 
It seems, of all deaSis, the least likely for you,) 
I 'U pull you out for uothiug. Quick, toy friend. 
And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, 
A wave the less may roll above your head. 

Iden. {aside). I do nH much like tins fellow — close an^ 
He seems, two things which suit me not ; however. 
Wine he shall have ; if ^t unlocks him not, 
I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. lExii Idenstein 

Crab, (to Werner). This master of the ceremonies is 
The intendant of the palace, I presume : 
'T is a fine building, but decay'd. 

Wer. The apartment 

Designed for him you rescued will be fouxid 
In fitter order for a sickly guest 

Gab. I wonder then you occupied it not, 
Foryou seem delicate in health. 

Wer. (qvickly). Sir ! 

Gab. Pray 

Excuse me : have I said aught to offend you? 


Wer. Nothing : but we are strangers to each other. 

Gab, And tiiat 's the reason I would have us less so : 
I thought our bustling guest without had said 
You were a chance and passing guest, the counterpart 
Of me and my companions. 

fVer. Veiy true. 

Gab, Then, as we never met before, and never, 
It may be, may again encounter, why, 
I thought to cheer up this old dungeon here 
(At least to me) by asking you to share 
The fare of my companions and myself. 

Wer, Pray, pardon me ; my health — 

GtA, £ven as you pie&se. 

I have been a soldier, and perhaps am blunt 
In bearing. 

Wer, I have also served, and can 

Requite a soldier's greeting. 

Gab. In what service ? 

The Imperial ? 

Wer, {quickly^ and then interrupting hinudf), I com- 
manded — no — I mean 
I served ; but it is many years ago. 
When first Bohemia raised her banner 'gainst 
The Austrian. 

Gab, WeU, that 's over now, and peace 

Has tum'd some thousand gallant hearts adrift 
To live as they best may ; and, to say truth, 
Some take the shortest. 

Wer, What is that? 

Gab, Whate'er 

They lay their hands on. All Silesia and 
Lusatia's woods are tenanted by bands 
Of the late troops, who levy on the country 
Their maintenance ; the Chatelains must keep 
Their castle walls — beyond them 't is but doubtful 
Travel for your rich count or full-blown baron. 
My comfort is that, wander where I may, 
I 've little left to lose now. 

Wer, And I — nothing. 

Gab, That 's harder still. You say you were a soldier. 

Wer, I was. 

Gub, You look one stilL All soldiers are 

Or should be comrades, even though enemies. 
Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim 
(While levelled) at each other's hearts ; but when 
A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits 

▲ nu0u>T. 17 

The fltoel into its Mabbwd, and leif sleep 

Hie tperk which li^to the matchlock, we are brethren* 

Toa are poor and eickly — I am not rich hut healthy ; 

I want for nothing which I cannot want ; 

Yon aeem devoid of thif — wilt share it ? 

[Gabob jNiQf out Atf jNirfe. 

Wer. Who 

Told you I was a beggar T 

Gab. Ton yourself 

In sa3ring you were a soldier during-peace-time* 

War. {lookmg at Mm wUh iutpkian.) You know me 

Gab. I know no maUi not OTon 

Myself: how should I then know one I ne'er 
Bdield till half an hour since 7 

War. Sir, I thank you. 

Your offer 's noble were it to a friend, 
Aad not unkind as to an unknown stranger, 
Tliough scarcely prudent ; but no less I thank you* 
I am a begear in all save his trade ; 
And when I beg of any one it shall be 
Of him who was the first to ofier what 
Few can obtain by asking. Pardon me. [ExU Wn. 

Gab. (solui.) A goodly fellow by his lodLs, though 
As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure, 
Which tear life out of us before our time ; 
I scarce know which most quickly : but he seems 
To have seen better days, as who has not 
Who has seen yesterday ? — But here approaches 
Our sage intendant, with the wine : however, 
For the cup's sake 1 11 bear the cupbearer. 

Enier InnNSTKCf • 

Idm. T is here ! the supernaculum! twenty years 
Of age, if 't is a day. 

Gab. Which epoch makes 

Young women and old wine ! and 't is great pity. 
Of two such excellent things, increase of years, 
Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. 
Fill full — Here 's to our hostess ! — your fair wife ! 

[Takes the glass. 

Iden. Fair ! — WeD, I trust your taste in wine is equal 
To that you show for beauty ; but I pledge you 
vou v.— 



Crab. Is not llie level j womn 

I met in die adjacent hall, who, with 
An air, and port, and eje, which would have better 
Beseem'd this palace in its brightest days 
(Though in a gaib adapted to its present 
Abandonment), returned my salutation — 
Is not the same your spouse ? 

Iden. I would cte weie ! 

But you 're mistaken : — that 's the stranger's wife» 

Gab, And by her aspect she might be a prince's : 
Though time hath toucb'd her too^ she sdli retains 
Much beauty, and more majesty^. 

Iden. And that 

Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein, 
At least in beauty : as for majesty. 
She has some of its properties which might 
Be spared — but never mind ! 

Gab. I do n't But who 

May be this stranger! He too hath a bearing 
Above his outward fortunes. 

Iden. There I differ. 

He 's poor as Job, and not so patient ; but 
Who he may be, or what, or aught of him. 
Except his name, (and that I only leam'd 
To-niffht), I know not 

CM. But how came he here ! 

Iden. In a most miserable old caleche. 
About a month since, and immediately 
Fell sickt almost to death. He should have died. 

Gab. Tender and true ! — but why? 

Iden. Why, what is lifo 

Without a living ? He hath not a stiver. 

Gab. In that case, I much wonder that a person 
Of your apparent pnklence should admit 
Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion. 

Iden. Hiat 's true ; but pi^, as you know, does make 
One's heart commit these folUes ; and besides, 
They had some valuables left at that time, 
Which paid their way up to the present hour ; 
And so I thought they might as well be lodged 
Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them 
The run of some of the oldest palace rooms. 
They served to air them, at the least as long 
As they could pay for fiie-wood. 

Gab. Poorsoubl 

Iden. Ay, 


If I misteke not Whither were tlief going t 

Idem. Oh ! Hesfvo knows where, waXdm ta heairen it- 
Some days ago ihak locked the likeliest journey 
Wof Wfliuor* 

QaL Wener! I have head the name: 

But it may be a feign'd one. 

tdm. Like enough ! 

Buthaik! a noise of wheels and Toioes, and 
A bkie of toffches from without As sure 
As destiny, his eaoeUency 's come. 
I must be at my post : will you not join me, 
To help him fimn his caniage, and present 
Your humble duty at the door? 

CM. I dragg'd him 

From out that carnage when he wouhi have given 
His barony or county to repel 
The nuhing river from his gurgling throat 
He has valets now enoii|^ : Aiey stood aloof then, 
Shaldng their drippng ears upon the shore, 
AH roariqg, ^ Help ! '' but offering none ; and an 
FcM* duty (as you call it) — I did mine ikm^ 
Now do yenrt. Hencct and bow and cringe him here ! 

Idm. I cringe ! — but I shall lose the opportunity — 
Phgue take it! he 11 be Asre, and I aol tlurel 

ExU InnirsTBiK hatiily. 

E^^mtkr Yfuaanwu 

Wf. (Is h m mi f). I heard a noise of wheels and voices. 
All sounds now jar me f 

Stfll here! Is he not [Psresteta^ Gabor. 

A spy of my pursuer's? His firank offer 
80 suddenly^ and to a stnmger, wore 
The aspect of a secret enemy ; 
For friends am alow at such. 

Qah. Sir, yea seem rspl ; 

And yet the time is not akin to thought 
These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron, 
Or count, (or whatsoe'er ttus half-drown'd noUe 
May be,) for whcxn ttus desolate viibge and 
Its kme inhabitants show more respect 
Than did the elements, is come. 

to WSBiriR* ACT I. 

/den. (witnatd). Thiaway — 

This way, your ezceOency : ^ haTe a care. 
The staircase is a little gloomy and 
Somewhat decay'd ; but if we had expected 
So high a guest — Pray take my ann, my lord ! 

Enter Stralenhsim, Tdknstkin, and AtiendantB^^ partly 
hit own^ and partly Retamers of the Domain of whdeh 
Ibenstein ie Tntendant. 

Stral. I '11 rest me here a moment 

Iden. {to the eorvante). Ho ! a chair ! 

Instantly, knaves I [Stralknheim eiU down. 

Wer. (aeide). 'Tishel 

Stral, I 'm better now. 

Who are these strangers ? 

Iden. Please you, my good lord. 

One says he is no stranger 

fVer. {aloud and hastily). IF%o says that? 

[7^ look at him with surprise. 

Iden. Why, no one spoke ofyou^ or to you ! — but 
Here 's one his exceOency may be pleased 
To recognise. \Pointing to Gabor. 

Gab. I seek not to distuib 

His noble memory. 

Stral. I i^rehend 

This is one of the strangers to whose aid 
I owe my rescue. Is not that the other? 

[Pointing to Werner. 
My state when I was succouHd must excuse 
My uncertainty to whom I owe so much. 

Iden. He I *- no, my lord ! he rather wants for rescue 
Than can afford it 'T is a poor sick man, 
Travel tired, and lately risen from a bed 
From whence he never dream'd to rise. 

StraL Me&ought 

That there were two. 

Gab. There were, in company ; 

But, in the service rendered to your lordship, 
I needs must say but one^ and he is absent 
The chief part of whatever aid was render'd 
Was his : it was his fortune to be first 
My will was not infericnr, but his strength 
And youth outstripped me; therefore do not waste 
Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second 
Unto a nobler principal. 

▲ TRAOBDT. 91 

' StNtL IVhefeuhe? 

AnJiUen. My lord, he tanried in the cottage where 
Tour ezcelieiicy rested for an hour, 
And said he would be here to-morrow. 

SiroL TiU 

That hour aniveB, I can but offer thanks, 

And then 

Odf. I aeek no more, and scarce deserve 

So much. My comnuie may speak for himself. 

8traL {fixing h%8 eye$ upon YfEKmR : ihmatidt). 
It cannot be ! and yet he must be look'd to. 
T is twenty years since I beheld him with 
These eyes ; and, though my agents still have kept 
Thiirt on him, policy has held doof 
My own from his, not to alann him into 
Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave 
At Hamburgh those who would have made assurance 
If this be he orno? I thought, ere now. 
To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted 
In haste, though even the elements appear 
To fi^t against me, and this sudden flood 
May keep me prisoner here till — ~ 

[He jMHWM, and looks at Wkrnu ; then reeumee. 

This man must 
Be watch'd. If it is he, he is so changed, 
His &ther, rising from his grave again, 
Would pass him by unknown. Imustbewaiy: 
An error would spoil alL 

Men, Tour lorddiip seems 

Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on ? 

StraL 'T is past fatigue which gives my weighM-down 
An outward show of thought I will to rest 

Idm. The prince's chunber is prepared, with all 
The very funuture the jmnce used when 
Last here, in its full splendour. 

{Mde). Somewhat tatter'd. 
And devilish dan^ but fine enough by torchlight ; 
And titat 's enough for your right noble blood 
Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment ; 
So let their bearer eieep 'neath somediing like one 
Jl'ow, as he one day will for ever lie. 
StraL {ridng and turning to Gabor). Good night, good 
people ! Sir, I trust to-morrow 
Will find me q>ter to requite your service. 
In the meantime I crave your company 

32 WUUlUt, ACT I> 

A moment in mj chamber. 

Gab, I attend joiu 

iS/ro/. (q/2er a few sUp$^ paifM#« and c«2<« Wsricer). 

Wer. Sir! 

/(len. Sir! Ixwd — oh Lord! Why do n't yon m^ 
His lordship, or his excellency 1 Pray, 
My lord, excuse this poor man's want of breeding: 
He hath not been accustom'd to admission 
To such a presence. 

Strid. {to Idensteik). Peace, inteodant 

Idm. Oh! 

I amdiQi^. 

Stral. {ioWEKSMR). Have you been long here ? 

Wer. Long? 

StraL I soi^t 

An answer, not an echo. 

Wer. You may seek \ 

Both irom the walls. I am not used to answer 
Those whom I know not. 

Stral. Indeed ! Ne'er tiie less. 

You might reply with courtesy to what 
Is aak'd in kindness. 

Wer. When I know it such, 

I will requite — that is, reply — in unison. 

StraL The intendant said, you had been detained by sick- 

ICI could aid you — journeying the same way? 

Wer. (^^dcMy). I am not journeying the same way ! 

SiraL How know ve 

Tliat, ere you know my route? 

Wer. Because there is 

But one way that the rich and poor must tread 
Together. You diverged from that dread path 
Some hours ago, and 1 some days : henceforth 
Our roads must lie asund^, diou^ they tend 
All to one home. 

Stral. Your language is above 

Your station. 

Wer. {bitUrly). Is it? 

StraL Or, at least, beyond 

Your garb. 

Wer. 'T is well that it is not beneath it, 
As sometimes hi4)pens to the better ckd. 
But, in a word, what would you wkh me ? 

StraL {starUed). I? 


Wer. Yes — you ! You know me not, and questkni me, 
And wonder that I answer not — not knowing 
My inquisitor. £xplain what you would have, 
And dien I '11 satisfy yourself or me. 

Stt'oL I knew not that you had reasons for reserve. 

Wer. Many have such : — Have you none 1 

SiraL None which can 

Interest a mere stranger. 

Wer, Then forgive 

The same unknown and humble stranger, if 
He wishes to remain so to the man 
Who can have nought in common with him. 

Sir€d. Sir, 

I will not balk your humour, though untoward : 
I only meant you service — but good ni^t ! 
InteiKlant, show the way I {to Gabor). Sir, you will with 

[Exeunt Stralenheim and AUmdatUs ; Idenstein and 

fVer. {$olu$), 'Tishe! I am taken in the toils. Before 
1 quitted Hamburgh, Giulio, his late steward, 
Inform'd me that he had obtain'd an order 
From Brandenburg^s elector, for the arrest 
Of KnBt2ner (such the name I then bore) when 
I came upon the frontier ; the friee city 
Alone preserved my freedom -^ till I left 
Its walls — fool that I was to quit them ! But 
I deem'd this humble garb, and route obscure. 
Had baffled the slow hoimds in their pursuit 
What's to be done 1 He knows me not by person ; 
Nor could aught, save the eye of apprehension, 
Have recognised ^tm, after twenty years. 
We met so rarely and so coldly in 
Our youth. But those about him ! Now I can 
Divine the frankness of the Hungarian, who 
No doubt is a mere tool and spy of Stralenheim's, 
To sound and to secure me. Without means ! 
Sick, poor — begirt too with the flooding rivers. 
Impassable even to the wealthy, with 
AH the appliances which purchase modes 
Of overpowering peril with men's Uves, — 
How can I hope ! An hour ago methought 
My state beyond despair ; and now, 't is such, 
The past seems para^se. Another day. 
And I 'm detected, — on the very eve 
Of honours, ri^its, and my inheritance. 


When a few drops of gold might save me still 
In favouring an escape. 

Enter Idenstein and Fritz, tn corwer9ation* 

Fritz, Inmiediately. 

Iden. I tell you, 't is impossible* 

Fritz. It must 

Be tried, however ; and if one express 
Fail, you must send on others, till the answer 
Arrives from Frankfort, from the commandant 

Iden. 1 will do what I can. 

Fritz. And recollect 

To spare no trouble ; you will be repaid 

Iden. The baron is retired to rest ? 

Fritz. He hath thrown himself into an easy chair 
Beside the fire, and slumbers ; and has orde^d 
He may not be disturbed until eleven. 
When he will take himself to bed. 

Iden. Before 

An hour is past I 'U do my best to serve him. 

Fritz. Remember! [Exit Fritz. 

Iden. The devil take these great men ! they 

Think all things made for them. Now here must I 
Rouse up some half a dozen shivering vassals 
From their scant pallets, and, at peril of 
Their Uves, despatch them o'er the river towards 
Frankfort. Methinks the baron's own experience 
Some hours ago might teach him fellow-feeling : 
But no, ** it mtMf," and there 's an end. How now? 
Are you there. Mynheer Werner ? 

Wer. You have left 

Tour noble guest right quickly. 

Iden. Yes — he 's < 

And seems to like that none should sleep beddes. 
Here is a packet for the commandant 
Of Frankfort, at all risks and all expenses ; 
But I must not lose time : Good night ! [Exit Iden . 

Wer. "To Frankfort!" 

So, so, it thickens ! Ay, " the commandant" 
Tbds tallies well with all the prior steps 
Of this cool, calculating fiend, who walks 
Between me and my father's house. No doubt 
He writes for a detachment to convey me 

▲ TftAOBDT. S5 

Into some aecret foftiefs.— Sooner than 

[Wbrnbr looks annmdf and nuUehei vp a knife 
kfing on a iabU m a reessi* 

Now I am maator ofinjaelf at leaat. 
Haiky — footatepa I How do I know that StFalenheim 
Will wait for even tbe ahow of that i^uthoiity 
Which ia to overahadow unnpfttion ? 
That he auapecta me 'a certain. I 'm alone ; 
He with a numeroua train. I weak ; he atroog 
In gold, in numbers, rank, audioritjr. 
I nameleaa, or involving in my name 
Deatnictioo, till I reach my own domain ; 
He full-blown with hia tidea, which impoae 
Still furdier on theae obacure pet^ buif^ra 
Than tfiey could do elaewhere. Hark! nearer atill! 
I '11 to the aecret paaaage, which communicatea 

Widi the No ! all is ailent — t waa my fancy ! — 

Still aa the breathleaa interval between 

The flaah and thunder : -— I must huah my aoul 

Amidat ita perOa. Tet I will retire, 

To aee if still be unexplored the paaaage 

I wot of: it will aerve me aa a den 

Of aecrecy for aome houra, at the woraL 

[Wbbnkr draws a panels and exii^ ehtmg ti after 


EnUr Gabor and Josbpbijib. 

Oab. Where ia your huaband ? 

Jos. Here^ I thought : I left him 

Not long aince in hia chamber. But dieae rooma 
Have many outleta, and he may be gone 
To accompany the intendant 

Gab. Baron Stralenheim 

Put many queationa to the intendant on 
The aubject of your lord, and, to be plain, 
I have my doufaia if he means well. 

Jos. Alaa ! 

What can there be in common widi thejproud 
And wealthy baron, and the unknown Werner? 

Oab. That you know best 

Jos. Or, if it were 80, how 

Come you to atir youraelf in hia belud^ 
Ba^r than Aat of him whose life you aaved ? 

6ah. I he^^ to aave him, aa in peril ; but 

SB wntNBSy 4CT b 

I did not pledflB mysdf to serve him in 
Oppression. I know well these nobles^ and 
Their thoasaod modes of tramphng on the poor. 
I have proved them ; and my spirit boils up when 
I &id them practiBinff against the weak : — 
This is my only motive. 

Job* It would be 

Not easy to persuade my consort of 
Tour ffood mtentions. 

Goo. Is he so suspicious I 

Jo8, He was not once ; but time and troubles have 
Made him what you beheld* 

G<»b. I 'm sorry for it. 

Suspicion is a heavy armour, and 
With its own weight impedes more than protects. 
Grood night I I trust to meet with him at daybreak. 

[^Esii Gabor. 

JRe-enter Idbnstbin and 9ome PeoMOtUt. Josbphinb reiirea tuf 

Fint Peasant. But if I 'm drown'd ? 

Iden. Why, you will be well paid for \ 
And have riskM more than drowning for as rouch« 
I doiibtnot 

Second Peasant But our wives and fiunilies ? 

Iden. Cannot be worse off than they are, and may 
Be better. 

Third Peasant. I have neither, and will venture. 

Iden. That's right A gallant carle, and fit to be 
A sddier. I 'U promote you to the ranks 
In the prince's body-guard — if you succeed ; 
And you shall have besides, in sparkling coin 
Two dialers. 

Third Peasant. No more! 

Iden. Out upon your avance ! 

Can that low vice alloy so much ambition ? 
I toll thee, feUow, that two thalers in 
Small change will subdivide into a treasure. 
Do not five hundred thousand heroes daily 
Risk Uves and souls for the tidie o£ one thaler T 
When had you half the sum 1 

I%ird Peasant. Never — but ne'er 

The less I must have three. 

Idsn. Have you forgot 

Whose vassal you were bom, knave ? 

TWd PuuamU. No — the prince's, 

And not the staDger's. 

Iden. Simht in the prince V 

Absenoet I 'm sovereign ; and the baron is 
My intimate connection : — ^ Cousin Idenstein ! 
(Quoth he) you '11 order oat a dozen yillains.'* 
And so, you yiUains I troop — march — march, I say; 
And if a single dog's-ear of diis packet 
Be sprinkled by the Oder — look to it ! 
For eveiy page of paper, shall a hide 
Of yours be stretch'd as parchment on a dram. 
Like Ziflka's skin, to b^t alarm to all 
Refractoiy vassals, who can not effect 
Impossibilities — Away, ye earth-worms 1 

[ExiU driving thtm out, 

Ja$. {coming forward). I fiun would shun these scenes, 
too oft repeated. 
Of feudal tyranny o*er pet^ victims ; 
I cannot aid, and will not witness such. 
£ven here, in this remote, unnamed, dull spot. 
The dinmiest in the district's map, exist 
The insolence of wealth in poverty 
O'er something poorer still — the pride (^rank 
In servitude, o'er something still more servile ^ 
And vice in misery affecting still 
A tattered splendour. What a state of being ! 
In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land, 
Our nobles were but citizens and merchants, 
Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such 
As these ; and our all-ripe and gushing va]le3r8 
Made poverty more cheerful, where each heib 
Was in itself a meal, and every vine 
Rain'd, as it were, the beverage wluch makes glad 
The heart of man; and the ne'er unfelt son 
(Bat rarely clouded, and when clouded, leaving 
His warmth behind in memoiy of his beams) 
Makes the worn mantle, and die thin robe, less 
Oppressive than an emperor's jewell'd purple. 
But, here ! the despots of the north appear 
To imitate the ice-wind of thw cHme, 
Searching the shivering vassal through his rags, 
To wring his soul — as the bleak el^oents 
His form. And 't is to be amongst these sovereigns 
My husband pants ! and such his pride of birth — 
That twenty years of usage, such as no 
Fadier bom in a humble state could nerve 


HiB soul to persecute a son withal. 

Hath changed no atom of his oariy nature ; 

But I, bom noblj also, from my mther's 

Kindness was tauf^^t a different lesson. Father ! 

Maj thj long-tried and now rewarded spirit 

Look down on us and our so long desired 

Ulric ! I love my son, as thou diSat me ! 

What's that? Thou, Werner! canitbe? and thus? 

Enter Werner Aa#<t/y, with tfu krUfe in his hand^ by the secret 
panels which he closes hurriedly after him. 

FFer. (not at first recognising her). Discovered! then 
I 'il stab -^— {recognising her.) 

Ah! Josephine, 
Why art thou not at rest? 

Jos. What rest? My God! 

What doth this mean ? 

fVer. {showing a rouleau). Here 's gold — gdd^ Jose- 
Will rescue us from this detested dungeon. 

Jos. And how obtain'd ? -* that kzufe ! 

Wer. 'T is bloodless — yet. 

Away — we must to our chamber. 

Jos. But whence comest thou ? 

fVer. Ask not ! but let us think where we shall go — 
This — this will make us way — {shovnng the gold) — I '11 fit 
them now. 

Jos. I dare not dunk thee guilty of dishonour. 

fVer. Dishonour! 

Jos. I have said it 

fVer. Let us hence : 

'T is (he last night, I trust, that we need pass here. 

Jos. And not the worst, I hope. 

fVer. Hope ! I make sure. 

But let us to our chamber. 

Jos. Tet one question — 

What hast diou done ? 

Wer. {fiercely). Left one thing undone^ which 
Had made all well : let me not thkJc of it ! 

Jos. Alas, that I should doubt of thee ! [£Lretmt 

ACTikicnBli k TBAOBOT. 29 

ACT 11. 


A HaU in l&« mum Palace. 

Eater Idbhstbin and Oihert. 

Iden, Fine doings ! goodlj doings ! honest doings ! 
A baron pillaged in a prince's palace I 
Where, till this hour, such a sin ne'er was heard of. 

Fritz. It hardly could, unless the rats despoil'd 
The mice of a few shreds of tapestry. 

Iden. Oh ! that I e'er should live to see dus day I 
Tbe honour of our city 's gone for ever. 

Fritz. Well, but now to discover the delinquent : 
The baron is determined not to lose 
This sum without a search. 

Iden. And so am I. 

Fritz. But whom do you suspect ? 

Iden. Suspect! all people 

Without — within — above — below — Heaven help me ! 

Fritz. Is there no other entrance to the chamber? 

Iden. None whatsoever. 

Fritz. Are you sure of that t 

Iden. Certain. I have lived and served here since my 
And if there were such, must have heard of such, 
Or seen it 

Fritz. Then it must be some one who 
Had access to the antechamber. 

Iden. Doubtless. 

Fritz. The man call'd Werner 's poor ! 

Iden. Poor as a miser. 

But lodged so far off, in the other wing, 
By which there 's no commimication with 
The baron's chamber, that it can't be he. 
Besides, I bade him ^ good nig^t " in the haO, 
Almost a mile off, and which only leads 
To his own apartment, about the same time 
When this butglarious, larcenous felony 
Appears to have been committed. 

80 WSRlfBR^ 

ACT If. 

Fritz, There 's another, 

The stranger— 
Iden. The Hungarian ? 

Fritz. He who heip'd 

To fish the baron from the Oder. 

Iden. Not 

Unlikely. But, hold — might it not have been 
One of the suite? 
Fritz. How? Fre,8ir! 

Iden. No — not youj 

But some of the inferior knaves. You say 
The baron was asleep in the great chair — 
The velvet chair — in his embroider'd night-gown ; 
His toilet spread before him, and upon it 
A cabinet with letters, papers, and 
Several rouleaux of gold : of which one only 
Has disappeared : — the door unbolted, with 
No difficult access to any. 

Fritz. Good sir. 

Be not so quick ; the honour of tbe corps 
Which forms the baron's household 's unimpeach'd 
From steward to scullion, save in the fair way 
Of peculation ; such as in accompts. 
Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery, . 

Where all men take their prey ; as also in 
Postage* of letters, gathering of rents, 
Purveying feasts, and understanding with 
The honest trades who furnish noble masters : 
But for your petty, picking, downright thieveiy, 
We scorn it as we do board-wages. Then 
Had one of our folks done it, he would not 
Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard 
His neck for one rouleau, but have swooped all ; 
Also the cabinet, if portable. 

Iden. There is some sense in that 

Fritz. No, sir, i>e sure 

'T was none of our corps ; but some petty, trivial 
Picker and stealer, without art or genius. 
Tbe only question is — Who else could have 
Access, save the Hungarian and yourself? 
Iden. You don't mean me ? 
Fritz. No, sir ; I honour more 

Your talents 

Iden. And my principles, I hope. 

Fritz. Of course. But to tbe point : Yd&at 's to be 
done ? 

Iden. Nodui^-^batdMrn^gaii^deBltobettiiL 
We 'II ofibr a reward ; move heaven and earth. 
And the police, (though there 's none nearer than 
Frankfort) ; poet nolkea in manuscript, 
(For we 've no printer) ; and aet by my clerk 
To read them, (for few can, save he and I). 
We 11 send out viUaina to strip beggacB, and 
Search empty pockets ; also, to arrest 
All gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow pe<^le. 
Prisoners we '11 have at least, if not the culprit ; 
And ftr dbe baron's gold — if 'tis not found!. 
At least he shall have the full satisfaction 
Of melting twice its substance in the raising 
The ghost <^ this rouleau. Here 's aichymy 
For your Iwd's losses ! 

Ffiix. He hath found a better. 

Idm. Wherot 

Fritz. In a most immense inheritance. 

The late Count Sie^ndorC his distant Itimmrm^^ 
Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my lord 
Is on his way to take possession. 

Iden. Was there 

No heir? 

Fritz* Oh, yes ; but he has disappear'd 
Long from the world's eye, and perlwps the world. 
A prodigal son, beneath his father's ban 
For the last twenty years ; for whom his sire 
Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore. 
If living, he must chew the husks still. But 
The baion would find means to silence him. 
Were he to re^iqipear : he 's politic. 
And has much influence with a certain court. 

iden. He 's fortunale. 

Fritz. 'T ifl true, there is a grandson. 

Whom the kite count reclaim'd from bis son's bsuods. 
And educated as his heir ; but then 
His birth » doubtfiil. 

Iden. How so 1 

Friizm His sire made 

A left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage, 
With an ItaJian exile's dark-^yed daughter : 
N<4>le, they say, too ; but no match for such 
A house as SiegendorTs. The grandsire ill 
Gould brook tiM alliance.; and could ne'er be brought 
To see the pannls, though he took the son. 

Iden. If he 's a lad of mettle, he may yet 


Dispute your clainiy and weave a web that inaj 
Puzzle your baron to unravel. 

Fritz. Why, 

For mettle, he has quite enough : they say, 
He forms a happy mixture of his sire 
And grandsire's qualities, — impetuous as 
The former, and deep as the latter ; but 
The strangest is, that he too disappear'd 
Some months ago. 

Idm. The devil he did I * 

Fritz. Why, yes : 

It must have been at his suggestion, at 
An hour so critical as was the eve 
Of the old man's death, whose heart was broken by k. 

liUn. Was there no cause assign'd t 

Fritz. Plenty, no doubt, 

And none perhaps the true one. Some averr'd 
It was to seek his parents ; some because 
The old man held his spirit in so strictly, 
(But that could scarce be, for he doted on him) ; 
A third believed he wish'd to serve in war. 
But peace being made soon after his departure. 
He might have since return'd, were that the motive ; 
A fourth set charitably have. surmised, 
As there was something strange and mystic in him. 
That in the wild exuberance of his nature 
He had join'd the black bands, who lay waste Lusatia, 
The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia, ^' 

Since the last years of war had dwindled into 
A kind of general condottiero system 
Of bandit warfare ; each troop with its chief. 
And all against mankind. 

Iden. That cannot be. 

A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, 
To risk his life and honours with disbanded 
Soldiers and desperadoes ! 

Fritz. Heaven best knows I 

But there are human natures so allied 
Unto the savage love of enterprise. 
That they will seek for peril as a pleasure. 
I 've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian, 
Or tame the tiger, though their infancy 
Were fed on milk and honey. After all. 
Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus, 
Tour Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar, 
Were but the same thing upon a grand scale ; 

And now that they are gone, and pe^ce prodaim'd, 
Thej who would follow the same paatime must 
Punue it on their own account. Here comes 
The baron, and the Saioti stranger, who 
Was his chief aid in yesterday's escape. 
But did not leave the cottage by the Oder 
Until this mornings 

Enier Stralenheim and Ulric. 

ShaL Since you have refused 
All compensation, gentle stranger, save 
Inadequate thadks, you almost check even them, 
Making me feel the woithlessness of words. 
And blush at my own barren gratitude. 
They seem so niggardly, compared with what 
Tour courteous courage did in my behalf 

Ulr. I pray you press the theme no further. 

SiraL But 

Can I not serve you t Tou are young, and of 
That mould which throws out heroes ; fiur in favour ; 
Brave, I know, by my living now to say so ; 
And doubtlessly, with such a form and heart. 
Would look into the fiery eyes of war, 
As ardently for glory as you dared 
An obscure deaSi to save an unknown stranger 
In an as perilous, but opposite, element 
Tou are made for the service : I have served ^ 
Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends. 
Who shall' be yours. 'T is true this pause of peace 
Favours such views at present scantily ; 
But H will not last, men's spirits are too stirring ; 
And, after thirty years of conflict, peace 
Is but a petty war, as the times show us 
In every forest, or a mere arro'd truce. 
War will reclaim his own ; and, in the meantimet 
Tou mi^t obtain a post, which would ensure 
A higher soon, and, by my influence^ &il not 
To rise. I speak of Brandenburg, wh^ein 
I stand well with the elector ; in Bohemia, 
Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now 
Upon its frontier. 

Ulr. Tou perceive my garb 

Is Saxon, and of course my service due 
To my own sovereign. If I must decline 
VOL. v.— D 


Your offer, 't is with the same feeling which 
Induced it 

StraL Why, this is mere usuiy ! 

I owe my Ufe to you, and you reibse 
• The acquittance of the interest of the debt. 
To heap more obhgations on me, tiU 
I bow beneath them. 

Ulr, You shall say so when 

I claim the payment 

Stral. Well, sir, since you will not — 

You are nobly bom 1 

Ulr. I have heard my kinsmen say so^ 

Stral, Your actions show it Might I ask your mime 1 

Ulr. Ulric- 

Sjiral. Your house's 1 

Ulr. When I 'm worthy of it, 

I 'U answer you. ^ 

Stral. {aside). Most probably an Austrian, 
Whom these unsettled times forbid to boast 
His lineage on these wild and dangerous frontiers. 
Where the name of his country is abhorr'd. 

[.^/oud/o Fritz and Idenstein. 
So, sirs ! how have ye sped in your researches ? 

Iden. Indifferent well, your excellency. 

Stral. Then 

I am to deem the plunderer is caught t 

Iden. Humph ! — not exactly. 

Stral. Or at least suspected 1 

Ideru Oh ! for that matter, very much suspected. 

Stral. Who may he be ? 

Iden. Why, do n't you know, my lord ? 

StraL How should HI was fast asleep. 

Iden. And sc 

Was I, and that 's the cause I know no more 
Than does your excellency. 

Stral. Dolt! 

Iden. Why, if 

Your lordship, being robb'd, do n't recognise 
The rogue ; how should I, not being robb'd, identify 
The thief among so many ] In the crowd. 
May it please your excellency, your thief looks 
£xactly like the rest, or rather better : 
'T is only at the bar and in the dungeon 
That wise men know your felon by his features ; 
But I 'II engage, that if seen there but once. 
Whether he be found criminal or no, 

tsi. ▲ TRAOEDT. 86 

His face shall be so. 

Slral. {to Fritz). Prithee, Fritz, inform me 
What hath been done to trace the fellow ? 

FrUz. Faith ! 

My lord, not much as yet, except conjecture. 

StraL Besides the loss (which. 1 must own^aiTects nie 
Just now materially), I needs would find 
The villain out of public motives ; for 
So dexterous a spoiler, who could creep 
Through my attendants, and so many peopled 
And lifted chambers, on my rest, and snatch 
The gold before my scarce-closed eyes, would soon 
Leave bare your borough. Sir Intendant ! 

Iden. True ; 

If there were aught to carry off, my lord. 

Ulr. What is aU this? 

StraL You join'd us but this morning. 

And have not heard that I wan robb'd last night. 

Ulr, Some rumour of* it reach'd me as 1 ptiss'd 
The outer chambers of the palace, but 
1 know no further. 

Siral, It is a strange business ; 

The intendant can inform you of the facts. 

/den. Most willingly. You see 

Stral. {impatiently). Defer your tale, 

Till certain of the hearer's patience. 

Iden. That 
Can only be approved by proofs. You see 

Stral. {again interrupting ^tm, and addre$$ing Ulric). 
In short, I was asleep upon a chair, 
My cabinet before me, with some gold 
Upon it, (more than I much like to lose, 
Inough in part only) : some ingenious person 
Contrived to glide through all my own attendantif 
Besides those of the plaoe, and bore away 
A hundred golden ducaia, which to find 
I would be fain, and thei« 's an end. Peihapa 
Tou (as I still am lather faint) would add 
To yesterday's great obligation, thia, 
Though slighter, not yet slight, to aid these men 
(Who seem but lukewarm) in recovering it ? 

Ulr. Most willingly, and without loss of time *- 
{To InEKBTEiN). Come hither, mynheer ! 

Iden. But so much haste bodes 

Right little speed, and -*-^ 

Uh. Standing motionless 


None ; so let ^s march : we 'II talk as we go oil 

fden. But 

I Ulr. Show the spot, and dien I '11 answer you. 

, Friiz. I will, sir, with his excellency's leave. 

StraL Do so, and take yoD old ass with you. 

Fritz. Hence! 

Ulr. Come on, okl oracle^ expound thy riddle ! 

lExit ioith Idenstein and Fritz. 

Siral. {aolu8). A stalwart, active, soldier-looking strip- 
Handsome as Hercules ere his first labour. 
And with a brow of thought beyond his years 
When in repose, till his eye kindles up 
In answering yours. ' I wish I could engage him : 
I have need of some such spirits near me now. 
For this inheritance is worth a struggle. 
And though I am not the man to 3deld without one, 
Neither are they who now rise up between me 
And my desire. The boy, &ey say, 's a bold ona; 
But he hath play'd the truant in some hour 
Of freakish folly, leaving fortune to 
Champion his claims. • That 's well. The father, whom 
For years I 've track'd, as does the blood-hound, never 
In sight, but constantly in scent, had put me 
To &ult ; but here I hme him, and that 's better. 
It must be he ! All circumstance proclaims it ; 
And careless voices, knowing not the cause 
Of my inquiries, still confirm it. — Yes ! 
The man, his bearing, and the mystery 
Of his arrival, and the time ; the account, too-. 
The intendant gave (for I have not beheld her) 
Of his wife's, dignified but foreign aspect ; 
Besides the antipathy with which we met, 
As snakes and Uons shrink back from each other 
By secret instinct that both must be foes 
Deadly, without being natural prey to either ; 
All — all — confirm it to my mind. However, 
We 'U grapple, ne'ertheless. In a few hours 
The order comes from Frankfort, if these waters 
Rise not the higher, (and the weather favours 
Their quick abatement), and I '11 have him safe 
Widiin a dungeon, where he may avouch 
His real estate and name ; and there 's no harm done. 
Should he prove other than I deem. This robbery 
(Save for the actual loss) is lucky also : 
He 's poor, and that 's suspicious — he 's unknown, 

▲ TRAGEOT. 87 

And that 's defenceless.*- True, we have no proofs 

Of guilt, — but what hath he of innocence ? 

Were he a man indifferent to my prospects, 

In other bearings, I should rather lay 

The inculpation on the Hungarian, who 

Hath something which I like not ; land alone 

Of all around, except the intendant, and 

The prince's household and my own, had ingress 

Familiar to the chamber. 

Enter Gabor. 

Friend, how fare you? 

Crab. As those who fare well every where, when they 

Have supp'd and slumber'd, no great matter how 

And you, my lord 7 

StraL Better in rest than purse : 

Mine inn is like to cost me dear. 

Gab, I heard 

Of your late loss ; but k is a trifle to 
One of your order. 

Stral. You would hardly think so, 

Were the loss yours. 

Gab. I never had so much 

(At once) in my whole life, and therefore am not 
Fit to decide. But I came here to seek you. 
Your couners are lum'd back — I have outstripp'd them. 
In my return. 

Siral. You! — YKhy? 

Gab. I went at daybreak 

To watch for the abatement of the river, 
As being anxious to resume my journey. 
Your messengers were all chedk'd like myself; 
And, seeing the case hopeless, I await 
The current's pleasure. 

Siral. Would the dogs were in it ! 

Why did they not, at least, attempt the passage ? 
I order'd this at all risks. 

Gab. Could you order 

The Oder to divide, as Moses did 
The Red Sea, (scarcely redder than the flood 
Of the swoln stream), and be obey'd, perhaps 
They might have ventured. 

Stral. I must see to it : 

The knaves ! the slaves ! —but they shall smart for this. 

lExit Stbalenheim. 


Gab. (solus). There goes my noble, feudal, self-will'd 
baron ) 
£pitom^ of what brave chivalry 
The preux chevaliers of the good old times 
Have left us. Yesterday he would have given 
His lands (if he hath any), and, still dearer. 
His sixteen quarterings, for as much fresh air 
As would have fillM a bladder, while he lay 
Gurgh'n^ and foaming half way through the window 
Of his o erset and water-logg'd conveyance ; 
And now he storms at half a dozen wretches 
Because they love their lives too ! Yet, he 's right : 
'T is strange they should, when such as he may put them 
To hazard at his pleasure. Oh ! thou world ! 
Thou art indeed a melancholy jest ! [Exit Gabor. 


The Apartment of Werner, in the Palace. 

Enter JosnpiiixE and Ulric. 

Jos. Stand back, and let me look on thee again ' 
My Ulric ! — my beloved ! — can it be — 
After twelve years ? 

Ulr. My dearest mother ! 

Jos. Yes ! 

My dream is realised — how beautiful ! — 
How more than all I sigh'd for ! Heaven receive 
A mother's thanks ! — a mother's tears of joy ! 
This is indeed thy work ! — At such an hour, too, 
He comes not only as a son, but saviour 

Ulr. If such a joy await me, it must double 
What I now feel, and lighten from my heart 
A part of the long debt of duty, not 
Of love (for that was ne'er withheld) — forgive me ! 
This long delay was not my fault. 

Jos. I know it, 

But cannot think of sorrow now, and doubt 
If I e'er felt it, 't is so dazzled from 
My memory, by this oblivious transport ! — 
Mv son ! 

an. ▲ TRAGBDT. 80 

Enter W^nyvn. 

Wer. What have we here, more strangers? 

Jo9. No! 

Look upon him ! What do you see ? 

Wep. A stripling, 

For the first time — 

Vlr. {kneding). For twelve long years, my father ! 

TFer..Oh, God! 

Jos, He faints ! 

Wer, No — I am better now— 

Ulric ! {Embraces him). 

Ulr. My father, Siegendorf ! 

Wer, (starting). Hush! boy — 

The walls may hear that name I 

Ulr. What tnen ? 

Wer. Why, then — 

But we will talk of that anon. Remember, 
I must be known here but as Werner. Come ! 
Come to my arms again ! Why, thou look'st all 
I should have been, and was not. Josephine ! ' 
Sure 't is no father's fondness dazzles me ; 
But, had I seen that form amid ten thousand 
Youth of the choicest, my heart would have chosen 
This for my son ! 

Vlr. And yet you knew me not ! 

Wer. Alas I I have had that upon my soul 
Which makes me look on all men with an eye 
That only knows the evil at first glance. 

Ulr. My memory served me far more fondly : I 
Have not forgotten aught ; and oft-times in 
The proud and princely halls of — (I '11 not name them, 
As you say that 't is perilous) — but i' the pomp 
Of your sire's feudal mansion, I look'd back 
To the Bohemian mountains many a sunset. 
And wept to see another day go down 
O'er thee and me, with those huge hills between us. 
They shall not part us more. 

Wer. I know not that. . 

Are you aware my father is no more ? 

Vlr. Oh, heavens ! I left him in a green old age, 
And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady 
Amidst the elements, whilst younger trees 
Fell fast around him. 'T was scarce three months since. 

Wer. Why did you leave him ? 


ACT a. 

Jos, {embracing Ulric). Can you ask that question ? 
Is he not here 7 

Wer, True ; he hath sought his parents. 

And found them ; but, oh ! Aoto, and in what state ! 

Ulr. All shall be better'd. What we have to do 
Is to proceed, and to assert our rights, 
Or rather yours ; for I wave all, unless 
Your father has disposed in such a sort 
Of his broad lands as to make mine the foremost, 
So that t must prefer my claim for form : 
But I tru^ better, and that all is yours. 

Wer. Have you not heard of Stralenheim ? 

Ulr. I saved 

His life but yesterday : he 's here. 

Wer. You saved 

The serpent who will sting us all ! 

Ulr» You speak 

Riddles : what is this Stralenheim to us ? 

Wer, Every thing. One who claims our father's 
Our distant kinsman, and our nearest foe. 

Ulr. I never heard his name till now. The count, 
Indeed, spoke sometimes of a kinsman, who. 
If his own line shotild fail, might be remotely 
Involved in the succession ; but his titles 
Were never named before me — and what then ? 
His right must yield to ours. 

Wer. Ay, if at Prague : 

But here he is all-powerful^ and has spread 
Snares for thy father, which, if hitherto 
He hath escaped them, is by fortune, not 
By favour. 

Ulr. Doth he personally know you 1 

Wer. No ; but he guesses shrewdly at my person, 
As he betray'd last night ; and I, perhaps, 
But owe my temporary liberty 
To his uncertainty. 

XJlr. I think you wrong him, 

(Excuse me for the phrase) ; but Stralenheim 
s not what you prejudge him, or, if so. 
He owes me something both for past and present. 
I saved his life, he therefore trusts in me. 
He hath been plunder'd too, since he came hither : * 
Is sick ; a stranger ; and as such not now 
Able to trace the villain who hath robb'd him : 
I have pledged myself to do so ; and the business 

A nAOBDT. 41 

Which brought me here was chiefly that : but I 
Have found, in searching for another's dross, 
My own whole treasure — you, my parents! 

Wer. {agitatedly). Who 

Taught you to mouth that name of ^ villain 7 " 

m. What 

More noble name belongs to comi|y>n thieves ? 

Wtr. Who taught you thus to brand an unknown be* 
With an infernal stigma 7 

TJlr. My own fedings 

Taught me to name a ruffian from his dee& 

Wer. Who taught you, long-sought and ill«found boy * 
It would be safe for my own son to insult me 7 

Ulr. I named a villain. What is there in common 
With such « being and my father:? 

Wer. • Every thing ! 

That rufiian is thy father ! 

Jos. Oh, my son ! 

Believe him not — and yet ! ■ {her voice falters.) 

Ulr. (startSf looks eamesdy at Wbbnek, and then says 
slowly^) And you avow it f 

Wer. Ulric, before you dare despise your fath^. 
Learn to divine and judge his actions. Youngs 
Rash, new to life, and rear'd in luxury's lap, 
Is it for you to measure passion's force. 
Or misery's temptation? Wait — (not long, 
It cometh like the night, and quicM^) — W ait ! — 
Wait till, like me, your hopes are blighted — till 
Sorrow and shame are handmaids of your cabin ; 
Famine and poverty your guests at table ; 
Despair your bed*fellow — then rise, but not 
From sleep, and judge ! Should that day e'er arrive — ^ 
Should you see then the serpeqt, who hath coil'd 
Himself around all that is dear and noble 
Of you and yours, lie slumbering in your path, 
With but his folds between your steps and happiness, 
When Ae, who lives but to tear from you name. 
Lands, life itself, lies at your mercy, with 
Chance your conductor ; midnight for your mantle ; 
The bare knife in your hand, and earth asleep, 
Even to your deadliest foe ; and he as 't were 
Inviting death, by looking like it, while 
His death at<me can save you : — Thank your God ' 
If then, like me, content with petty plunder, 



You turn aside 1 did so. 

Ulr. But 

Wer. (abrupUy). Hear me! 

I will not brook a human voice -^scarce dare 
Listen to my own (if that be human still) — 
Hear me ! you do not know this man— I do. 
He 's mean, deceit]^, avaricious. . You 
Deem yourself safe, as young and brave ; but learn 
None are secure from desperation, few 
From subtilty. My worst foe, Stralenheim, 
Housed in a prince's palace, couch'd within 
A prince's chamber, lay below my knife ! 
An instant — a mere motion — the least impulse-** 
Had swept him and all fears of mine from earth. 
He was within my power— r my knife was raised — 
Withdrawn — and I 'm. in his : — are you not so ? 
Who tells you that he knows you not ? Who says 
He hath not lured you here to end you ? of 
To plunge you, with your parents, in a dungeon ? 

[He pauses 
Ulr. Proceed — proceed! 

Wer, Me he hath ever known. 

And hunted through each change of time — name — for 

• tune — 
And why not you ? Are you more versed in men ? 
He wound snares round me ; flung along my path 
Reptiles, whom, in my youth, I would have spum'd 
Even from my presence ; but, in spuming now. 
Fill only with fresif venom. Will you be 
More patient T — Ulric ! — Ulric ! there are crimes 
Made venial by the occasion, and temptations 
Which nature cannot master or forbear. 

Ulr, (Jooks first at him, and then at Josephine). Mv 

mother ! 
Wer. Ay ! I thought so : you have now 

Only one parent. I have lost alike 
Father and son, and stand alone. 

Ulr. But stay: 

[Wekner rushes out of the chamher. 
Jos. {to Ulric). Follow him not, until this storm of pas- 
Abates. Tbink'st thou, that were it well for him, 
I hadnot foUow'd? 

Ulr. I obey you, mother, . . 

Although rehictantly. My first act shall not 
Be one of disobedience. 

IcaiBll* A TRAOBOT. 48 

Jo$. Oh ! he is good ! 

Condemn him not from his own mouth, bat trust 
To me, who have borne so much with him, and for him. 
That this is but the surface of his soul. 
And that the depth is rich in better things. 

Uhr. These then are but my father's principles ? 
My mother thinks not with him 7 

Joi. Nor doth he 

Think as he speaks. Alas ! long years of grief 
Have made hun sometimes thus. 

l7/r. Explain to me 

More clearly, then, these claims of Stralenheim, 
That, when I see the subject in its bearings, 
I may prepare to face him, or at least 
To extricate you from your present perils. 
I pledge myself to accomplish this — but would 
I had arrived a few hours sooner ! 

Joi. Ay! 

Hadst thou but done so ! 

Enter Gabor 0ni Idkivstbin, vMh AUendanU. 

Crab, {to Uluc). I have sought you, comrade. 

So this is my reward ! 

Vlr, What do you mean ? 

Gab, 'Sdeath! have I lived to these years, and for 
( 7b Idknstein). Bnt for your age and folly, I would 

Iden. Help « 

Hands off! Touch an intendant ! 

Crab, Do not think 

I '11 honour you so much as save your throat 
From the Ravenstone* by choking you myself. 

Iden, I thank you for the respite : but there are 
Those who have greater need of it than me. 

Ulr, Unriddle this vile wrangling, or — 

Gab, At once, then, 

.The baron has been robb'd, and upon me 
This worthy personage has deignM to fix 
His kind suspicions^ me ! whom he ne'er saw 
Till yester' evening. 

Iden, Wouldst have me suspect 

My own acquaintances ? You have to learn 
That I keep better company. 

Gab. You shall 

* The Rarenstone, " Rabenstein," is the sUmegitbet of Gennmny, and ■ocall* 
ed fiom the ravem perching; on it. 


Keep the best shortly, and the last for all men, 
The worms ! you hound of malice ! 

[Gabor geixes on him 

Ulr, (ifUetfering), Nay, no violence : 

He 's old, unarm'd — be temperate, Gabor J 

Gab, (letting go Idenstbin)« True : 

I am a fool to lose myself because 
Fools deem me knave : it is their homage. 

Ulr. (to Idexstein). How 

Fare you? 

Iden. Help! 

Ulr, I haoe help'd you. 

Iden, Kill him ! then 

I '11 say so. 

Gab, I am calm — live on ! 

Iden, That 's more 

Than you shall do, if there be judge or judgment 
In Germany. The baron shall decide ! 

Gab, Does he abet you in your accusation ? 

Iden, Does he not ? 

Crab, Then n t time let him go sink 

Ere I go hang for snatching him from drowning. 
But here he comes ! 

Enlter Stralenreim. 

Gab, (goes up to him). My noble lord, I 'm here ! 

Strd, Well, sir ! 

Gab. Have you aught with me 1 

Stral. What should I 

Have with you ? 

Gab, Tou know best, if yesterday's 

Flood has not wash'd away your memory ; 
But that's a trifle. I stand here accused. 
In phrases not equivocal, by yon 
Intendant, of the pillage of your person 
Or chamber : — is the charge your own or his ? 

Stral, I accuse no man. 
Gab, Then you acquit me, baron ? 

Stral, I know not whom to accuse, or to acquit. 
Or scarcely to suspect. 

Gab, But you at least 

Should know whom not to suspect. I am insulted — 
Oppress'd here by these menials, and I look 
To you for remedy — teach them their duty ! 
To look for thieves at home were part of it, 


If duly taught ; but, in one word, if I 
Have an accuser, let it be a man 
Worthy to be w> of a roan like me* 
I am your equal. 

Strd. Toul 

Gofr. Ay, sir ; and, for 

Aught that you know, superior ; but proceed— 
I do not ask for hints, and surmises, 
And circumstance, and proofs ; I know enough 
Of what I have dene for you, and what you owe me, 
To have at least waited your payment rather 
Than paid myself, had I been eager of 
Your ^old. I aliBO know, that were I even 
The villain I am deem*d, the service render'd 
So recently vrould not permit you to 
Pursue me to the death, except through shame. 
Such as would leave your scutcheon but a blank. 
But this is nothing : I demand of you 
Justice upon your unjust servants, and 
From your own lips a disavowal of 
All sanction of their insolence ; thus much 
You owe to the unknown, who asks no more. 
And never thought to have ask'd so much. 

Stnd. This tone 

May be of innocence. 

Gab. 'Sdeath ! who dare doubt it. 

Except such villains as ne'er had it 7 

Stral. You 

Are hot, sir. 

€M. Most I turn an icicle 

Before the breath of meniais, and their master ? 

Strtd. Ulric f you know this man ; I found him in 
Your company. 

Crab. We found you in the Oder, 

Would we had left you there ! 

Stred. I give you thanks, sir. 

Crab. I Ve eam'd them ; but might have earn'd more 
from others. 
Perchance, if I had lefl you to your fate. 

Stral. Ulric ! you know this man t 

Gab. No more than you do. 

If he avouches not my honour. 

Ulr. I 

Can vouch your courage, and, as far as my | 

Own brief connection led me, honour. i 

Stral. Then 


I 'm satisfied. 

Gab, {ironically). Right easily, methinks* 
What is the spell in his asseveration 
More than in mine ? 

Siral. I merely said that / 

Was satisfied — not that you are absolved. ' 

Gab. Again ! Am I accused or no ? 

Stral. Goto! 

You wax too insolent. If circumstance 
And general suspicion he against you, 
Is the fault mine 2 Is 't not enough that I 
Decline all question of your guilt or innocenoe ? 

Gab. My lord, my lord, thiis is mere cozenage, 
A vile equivocation ; you well know . 
Your doubts are certainties to all around you — 
Your looks a voice — your frowns a sentence ; you 
Are practising your power on me — because . 
You have it ; but beware ! you know not whom 
You strive to tread on* 

Stral. Threat'st thou ? 

Gab. Not so much 

As you accuse. You hint the basest injury, 
And I retort it with an open warning. 

Stral. As you have said, 't is true I owe you some- 
For which you seem disposed to pay yourself. 

Gab. Not with your gold. 

Stral. With bootless insolence. 

[To Jus Attendants and Idexsteix 
You need not further to molest this man, 
But let him go his way. Ulric, good morrow ! 

[ExU Stralettheih, Idenstein, and Attendants. 

Gab. (foUoiting). I *11 after him and 

Ulr. {stopping him). Not a step. 

Gab. Who shall 

Oppose me ? 

Ulr. Your own reason, with a moment's 


6raS. Must I bear this ? 

Ulr. Pshaw ! we all must bear 

The arrogance of something higher than 
Ourselves — the highest cannot temper Satan, 
Nor the lowest his vicegerents upon earth. 
I 've seen you brave the elements, and bear . 
Things which had made the silkworm cast his skin — 
And shrink you from a few sharp sneers and words t 


▲ TB1.6SDT. 47 

G^b. Must I bear to be deem'd a thief? If 't were 
A bandit of the woods^ I could have bqjrne it — 
There's something daring in it ; — bat to steal 
The moneys of a slumbering man ! — 

Ulr. It seems, then 

You are not guilty ? 

Gab. Do I hear aright ? 

. You too! 

Vlr. I merely ask*d a simple question* 

Gab. If the judge ask'd me, I would answer "No'- 
To you I answer ikut. (He draw$.) 

Ulr. (drawing). With all my heart ! 

Jo8. Without tiiere ! Ho ! . help ! help ! — Oh, God ! 
. here's murder ! [ExU Josephine, shrieking. 

Gabor and Vluic fgJU. Gabor ig dUarmedjwt as Stralen- 
HBix, Josephine, Idenstein, 4*^. re-enter. 

Jos. Oh ! glorious heaven ! He 's safe ! 

SlraL. (to Josephine). Who 's safe ? 

Jos. My 

IJlr. (interrupting her teith a stem looky and turning af- 
terwards to Stralenueix). Both ! 
Here's no great harm done. 

Strd. What hath caused all this 1 

Vlr. YoUf baron, I believe ; but as the effect 
Is harmless, let it not disturb you. •«- Gabor ! 
There is your sword ; and when you bare it next, 
Let it not be against your friends. 

[Ulric pronounces the last words slowly and emphatically 
in a low voice to Gabor. 

Gab. I thank you 

Less for my life, than for your counsel. 

Siral. These 

Brawls must end here. 

Gab. (taking his sword). They shall. You have wrong'd 
me, Ulric, 
More with your Unkind thoughts than sword : I would 
The last were in my bosom rather than 
The first in yours. I could have borne yon noble's 
Absurd insinuations — ignorance 
And dull suspicion are a part of his 
Entail will last him longer than his lands. — 
But I may fit him yet : — you have vanquish'd me. 
I was the fool 'of passion to conceive 
That I could cope with you, whom I had seen 

48 wasHBBy Aorn. 

Alfeady proved by greater perils than 

Rest in tiiis arm. We may meet by and by. 

However — but in friendship. [ExU Gabob. 

Sind. I will brook 

No more ! This outrage following up his insults, 
Perhaps his guilt, has cancelled all the littb 
[ owed him heretolbve for the so-vaunted 
Aid which he added to your abler succour.. 
Ulric, you are not hurt ? — ; 

Vlr. Not even by a seratch. 

Stral. (to Idenstbin). Intendant! take your measures 
to secure 
Yon fellow : I revoke my former lenity. 
He shall be srat to FraoJdfort with an escort 
The instant that the waters have abated. 

Iden. Secure him ! He hath got his sword again — 
And seems to know the use on 't ; 't is his trade, 
Belike ; — I 'm a civilian. 

Stral. Fool } are not 

Yon score of vassals dogging at your heels 
Enough to seize a dozen such 7 Hence ! after him ! 

Vlr. Baron, I do beseech you 1 

8U^ I must be 

Obey'd. No words ! 

Iden, Well, if it must be so — 

March, vassals ! I 'm your leader, and will bring 
The rear up : a wise general never should 
Expose his precious life — on which all rests. 
I like that article of war. 

[Exit Idenstein and AttendanU. 

Stral. Come hither, 

Ulric : what does that woman here ? Oh ! now 
I recognise her, 't is the stranger's wife 
Whom they name " Werner." 

Ulr, 'T is his name. 

S(ral. Indeed ! 

Is not your husband visible, fair dame ? — 

Jo8. Who seeks him 7 

Stral. No one — * for the p^resent : but 

I fain would parley, Ulric, with yourseM* 

Ulr. I will retire with you. 

Jos. Not so : 

You are the latest stranger, and command 
All places here. 
{AndetoVLBic^asshe goesmtt.) O Ulric ! have a care —» 


Remeniber what depends on a raah word ! 

Vir* (te JoeBPHniB.) Fear not ! ««- 

£nf JotBi!piifs« 

8lrml. Ubric, I think tfiat I may trust yoa : 
Too saved my life —and acts like these heget 
Unbounded confidence. 

Ulr, Say on. 

Sind. Mystorions 

And long-engender'd circomstances (not 
To be now raHy enterM on^ have made 
This man obnoxious -* pernaps fiital to me. 

C72r. Who t Gabor, the Hungarian ? 

Strd. No — this <« Werner" — 

With the false name and habit. 

Uhr. How can this be f 

He is the poorest of the poor -i- and yellow 
Sickness sits cavemM in his hollow eye : 
T1:ie man is helpless. 

StraL Heis—'t is no matter t-— 

But if he be the man I deem (and that 
He is so, all around us here •— and much 
That is not here — confirm my apprehension ) 
He must be made secure ere twelve hours further. 

Ulr. And what have I to do with this? 

Stred. I have sent 

To Frankfort, to the governor, my friend 
(I have the authority to do so by 
An order of the house of Brandenburg), 
For a fit escort — but this cursed flo<^ 
Bars all access, and may do for some hours. 

Vlr, It is abating. 

Stral. That is well. 

Ulr. But how 

Am I concerned t 

Strain As one who did so much 

For me, you cannot be indifTeitent to 
That which is of more import to me than 
The life you rescued. — « Keep your eye on km ! 
Hie man avoids me, knows that I now know him.— 
Watch him! — as you would watch the wild boar when 
He makes against you in the hunter's gap — « 
Like him he must be spear'd. 

Ulr. WhysoT 

Stral. He stands 

Between me and a brave inheritance ! 
Oh ! could you see it ! But you shall. 

VOL. V. — ■ 



Vh. I hope 80. . 

Siral, It is the richest of the rich Bohemia* 
Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so near 
The strongest city; Prague, that fire and sword 
Have skimm'd it lightly : so that now, besides 
Its own exuberance, it bears double value 
Confronted with whole realms far and near 
Made deserts. 

Ulr. You describe it faithfully. 

Stral, Ay — could you see it, you would say so— - 
As I have said, you shall. 

Vhr, I accept the omen. 

Strai. Then claim a recompense from it and me, 
Such as hoik may make worthy your acceptance 
And services to me and mine for ever. 

Ulr* And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch — 
This way-worn stranger — stands between you and 
This Paradise ? — (As Adam did between 
The devil and his ) — [Ande\» 

Stroll. He doth. 

Ulr, Hafh he no right ? 

Strai. Right ! none. A disinherited prodigal, 
Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineage 
In all his acts — but chiefly by his marriage, 
And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers, 
And dabbling merchants* in a mart of Jews. 

Uhr. He has a wife, then ? 

Slrai. You 'd be sorry to 

Call such your mother. You have seen tl^e woman 
He caUs his wife. 

Ulr* Is she not>so7 

Strdl, No more 

Than he 's your father : — an Italian ^rl, 
The daughter of a bamish'd man, who lives 
On love and poverty with this same Werner. 

Ulr, They are childless, then ? 

Strai, There is or was a bastard. 

Whom the old man — the j;randsire'(as old age 
Is ever doting^ took to warm his bosom, 
As it went chilly downward to the grave : 
But the imp stands not in my path — he has fled, 
No one knows whither ; and if he had not, 
His claims alone were too contemptible 
To stand. ^Why do you smile 7 

Ulr, At your vain fears : 


A poor man almost in his grasp — a child 
Of doubtless birth — can startle a grandee ! 

Sind. All 's to be fear'd, where all is to be gain'd. 

Vhr. True ; and aught done to save or to obtain it. 

Stnd. Tou have harp'd the very string next to my 
I may depend upon you ? 

Ufr. T were too late 

To doubt it. ; 

Siral, Let no foolish pity shake 

Your bosom (for the appearance of the man 
Is pitiful) — he is a wretch, as likely 
To have robb'd roe as the fellow more suspected. 
Except that circumstance is less against him ; 
He being lodged far off, and in a jchamber 
Without approach to mine : and, to say truth* 
I think too well of blood allied to jnine, 
To deem he would descend to such an act : 
Besides, he was a soldier, and;a brave one 
Once — though too rash. 

Uhr. And they, my lord, we know 

By our experience, never plunder tUl 
They knock the brains out Avt*-*- which makes them 

Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can kwe no- 
Nor e'er be robb*d« their spoils 'fure a bequest — 
No more* 

Stral. Go to ! you are a wag. But say 
I may be sure you 11 keep an eye on this man. 
And let me know his slightest movement towards 
Concealment or escape? 

Vlr. You may be sure 

Y'ou yourself could not watch him more thaji I 
Will be his sentinel. 

Sind. By this you make me 

Yours, and for ever. 

Vlr, Such is my intention* [Eteuni. 




AHaU in the same Patace^fram uhenee the secret Passage leads. 

Enter Wbbivbb and Gabos. 

Gab* Sir, I have told my tale : if it so please you 
To give me refuge for a few hours, well-— 
If not, 1 11 try my fortune dsewhore. 

Wer. How 

Can I, 80 wretched, give to Misery 
A shelter J -— wanting such myself as much 
As e'er the hunted deer a covert 

Gab. Or 

The wounded lion his cool cave. Methinks 
You rather look like one would turn at bay, 
And rip the hunter's entrails. 

Wer. Ah ! 

Gab. I care not 

If it be so, being much disposed to do 
The same myself. But will you shelter me ? 
I am oppressed like you — and poor like you — *• 

m?r. (abrupUp). Who told you that I was dimraced t 

Gab. No one ; nor did I say ffou were so : with 
Your poverty my likeness ended ; but 
I said / was so-— and would add, with truth. 
As undeservedly as you. 

Wer. Again ! 


Gab. Or any other honest man. 
What the devil would you have ? You do n't believe me 
Guilty of this base theft 7 

Wer. No, no — I cannot. 

« Gab. Why that 's my heart of honour ! yon young 

gallant — 
Your miserly intendant and dense noble — 
JDI— all su^cted me; and why? because 
I am the worst-clothed, and least named amongst them-; 
Although, were Momus' lattice in your breasts, 

My soul might brook to open it more widely 

Than theirs : but thus it ia — you poor and helpless -* 

Both still more than myself. 

War. How know yon that ? 

CM. You 're right : I ask for shelter at the hand 
Which I call hripless ; if you now deny it, 
I were well paid. But you, who seem to have proved 
Hie wholesome bitterness of life, know well. 
By sympathy, that all the outspread gold 
Of the New World the Spaniard boasts about 
Could ne*. yr tempt the man who knows its worth, 
Weigh'd at its proper value in the balance, 
Save in such guise (and there I grant its power. 
Because I feel it), as may leave no nightmare 
Upon his heart o' nights. 
• Wer. What do you mean ? 

Gab. Just what I say; I thought my speech was 
Tou are no thief — nor I — and, as true men, 
Should aid each other. 

War. It is a damn'd world, sir. 

Chtb. So is the nearest of the two next, as 
The priests say, (and no doubt they should know best), 
TlieTefore 1 11 stick by this— »aa being loth 
To sufier martyrdom, at Feast with such 
An epitaph as larceny upon my tomb. 
It is but a night's lodging which I crave ; 
To*morrow I will try the waters, as 
The dove did, trusting that they have abated. 

Wer. Abated ? Is there hope of that ? 

Cfob. There was 

At noontide. 

Wer. Then we may be safe. 

dhb. Are yoti 

In peril? 

Wer. Poverty is ever so 

Gab. That \ know by long practice. Will you not 
Promise to make mine less ? 

Wer. Your poverty ? 

Gab. No — you do n't look a leech for that disorder ; 
I meant my peril only : you Ve a roof, • 

And I have none ; I merely seek a covert. 

Wer. Rightly ; for how should such a wretch as I 
Have gold? 

Gab. Scarce honestly, to say the truth on 't 

Although I almost wish you had the baron's. 

54 WBRifxB, Aorm. 

Wer, Dare you insinuate ? 

Gab. Wliat? 

Wer. You are aware 

To whom you speak ? 

Gab. No ; and I am not used 

Greatly to care. {A wnse heard wUhouL) But hark ! they 

Wer. Who come? 

Gab. The intendant and his man-hounds afler me : 
I 'd face them— -but it were in vain to expect 
Justice at hands like theirs. Where shall I go ? 
But show me any place. I do assure you, 
If there be faith in man, I am most guiltless : 
Think if it were your own case ! 

Wer. (Aside). Oh, just God! 

Thy hell is not hereafter ! Am I dust still t • 

Gab. I see you 're moved ; and it shows well in you : 
I may live to requite it. 

Wer. Are you not 

A spy of Stralenheim's ? 

Gab. Not I ! and if 

I were, what is there to espy in you? 
Although I recollect his frequent question 
About you and your sppuse might lead to some 
Suspicion ; but you best know — what — and why 
I am his deadliest foe. 

Wer. You? 

Gab. After such 

A treatment for the service which in part 
I render'd him, I am his enemy : 
If you are not his friend, you will assist me. 

Wer. I will 

Gab. But how ? 

Wer. (shounng the paneh. There is a secret spring : 
Remember, I discover'd it by chance. 
And used it but for safety. 

Gab. Open it. 

And I will use it for the same. 

Wer. I found it. 

As I have said : it leads through winding walls, 
(So thick as to bear paths within their ribs, 
* Yet lose no jot of strength or stateliness,) 
And hollow cells, and obscure niches, to 
I hiK>w hot whither ; you must not advance : 
Give me your word. 

Gab. I^ ^3 unnecessary : 

A ISAOaBT* 55 

How should I make my way in darkneas through 
A Gothic ktbyrinth of unknown windings ? 

Wer, Yesy but who knows to what place it may lead ? 
/ know not — (mark you !) — but who knows it might not 
Lead even into the chamber of your foe ? 
So strangely were contrived these galleries 
By our Teutonic fathers in old days, 
When man built less against the elements 
Than his next neighbour. You must not advance 
Beyond the two first windings ; if you do, 
(Albeit I never pass'd them), I 11 not answer 
For whilt you may be led to*. 

Gab. But I will. 

A thousand thanks ! 

Wer. You 11 find the spring more obvious 

On the other side ; and, when, you would return. 
It yields to the least touch. 

Gab. I 'U in— farewell! 

[Gabob goes in by the secret pond. 

Wer. (sobu). What hwe I done ? Alas ! what had I 
Before to make this fearful } Let it be 
Still some atonement that I save the man. 
Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own. — 
They' come ! to seek elsewhere what is before them ! 

Enter iDBNSTBm and Others^ 

Iden. Is he not here 7 He must have vanish'd then 
Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid 
Of pictured saints upon the red and yellow 
Casements, through which, the sunset streams like sunrise 
On long pearl-colour'd beards and crimson crosses, 
And gikled crosiers, and- cross'd arms^ and cowls, 
And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords. 
All the fantastic furniture of windows 
Dim with brave knights and holy hernuts, whose 
Likeness and fame uike rest in some panes 
Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims 
As frail as any other life or glory. 
He 's gone, however. 

Wer. Whom do you seek ? 

Iden. A villain. 

Wer. Why need you come so fari then ? 

Iden. In the search 

Of him who robb'd the baron. 


Wet. Are you sure 

You have divined the man } 

Id/en. Am sure as you 

Stand there : but where 's he eone 7 

Wer. Who? 

Iden* He we sought. 

Wer* Tou see he is not here* 

Iden. And yet we traced him 

Up to this hall. Are you acccMnplices ? 
Or deal you in the black art 7 

Wer. I deal plainly^ 

To many men the blackest. 

Iden. It may be 

I have a question or two for yourself 
Hereafter'; but we must continue now 
Our search for t' other. 

Wer. Tou had best begin 

Tour inquisition now : I may not be 
So patient always. 

Iden. I should like to know. 

In good sooth, if you really are the man 
That Stralenheim 's in quest of. 

Wer. Insolent ! 

Said you not that he was not here t 

Iden. Tes, one ; 

But there 's another whom he tracks more keenly, 
And soon, it may be, with authority 
Both paramount to his and mine. But, come ! 
Bustle, my boys ! we are all at fault. 

[tlxk iDKarsTKiN and AUendanU. 

Wer. In what 

A maze hath my dim destiny involved me ! 
And one base sin hath done me less ill than 
The leaving undone one far greater. Down, 
Thou busy devil, rising in my heart ! 
Thou art too late ! I ^ nought to do with blood. 

Enter Ulbic. 

Ulr. I sought you, father. 

Wer. Is 't not dangerous T 

Ulr. No ; Stralenheim is ignorant of all 
Or any of the ties between us : more -* 
He sends me here a spy upon your actions, 
Peeming me wholly his. 

Wer. I cannot think il^: 

Bi. ▲ naosBT. 67 

T is bat a waMxe he winds about in both, 
To swoop the aire and son at once* 

ITIr. I cannot 

PAose in each petty fear, and stumble at 
The doubts that rise like briers in our path, 
But must break through them, as an unarm'd carle 
WouU, though with Miked limbs, were the wolf ntstling 
In the same thicket where he hew'd for bread. 
Nets are for thrushes, eagles are not caught so : 
We 11 overfly or rend them. 

Wer. Show me Am? 

Ulr. Can you not guess? 

Wet. I cannot. 

Vlr. That is strange. 

Came the thought ne'er into your mind last nighi? 

Wer. I understand you not. 

Ulr. Then we shall never 

More understand each other. But to change 
The topic 

Wer. Tou mean to pinife it, as 

T is of our safety. 

Vlr. Rig^t ; I stand corrected. 

I see the subject now more clearly, and 
Our general situation in its bearings. 
The waters are abating ; a few hours 
Will bring his summoird myrmidons from Frankfort, 
Wlien you will be a prisoner,* perhaps worse. 
And I an outcast, bastardised by practice 
Of this same baron to make way for him. 

Wer. And now your remedy ! I thought to escape 
By means of this accursed gold ; but now 
I dare not use it, show it, scarce lo<A on it. 
Methinks it wears upon its face my guilt 
For motto, not the mintage of the state ; 
And, for the sovereign's head, my own begirt 
With hissing snakes, which curl around my temples, 
And cry to all beholders, Lo ! a villain ! 

Ulr* Tou must not use it, at least now ; but take 
This ring. [He gnet Wanim ajewd. 

Wer. A gem! It was my father's! 

Ub-. And 

As such is now your own. With this you must 
Bribe the intendant for his old caleche 
And horses to pursue your route at sunrise, 
T<^ther with my mother. 

Wer. And leave you. 

56 . wssmnty actbl 

So lately found, in p^il too ? 

Ulr. Fear nothing ! 

The only fear were if we fled together, 
For that would make our ties beyond all doubt. 
The waters only lie in flood between 
This burgh and Frankfort ; so far 's in our favour. 
The route on to Bohemia, though encumber'd, 
[a not impassable ; and when you gain 
A few hours' start, the difficulties will be 
The same to your pursuers. Once beyond 
The frontier, and you 're safe. 

Wer. MynoUeboy! 

Vir. Hush ! hush ! no transports : we 11 indulge in 
In Castle Siegendorf! Display no gold: 
Show Idenstein the gem (I know the man. 
And have look'd through him) : it will answer thus 
A double purpose. Stralenheim lost geld — 
No jewel : therefore it could not he his; 
\xkd then the man who was possest of this 
Can hardly be. suspected of abstracting 
The banm's coin, when he could thus convert 
This ring to more than Stralenheim has lost 
By his last night's slumber. Be not over timid 
In your address, nor yet too arrogant. 
And Idenstein will serve you. 

Wer. I will follow 

In all things yiwa direction. 

Ulr, I would have 

Spared you the trouble ; but had I appear'd 
To take an interest in you, and still more 
By dabbling with a jewel in your favour. 
All had been known at once. 

Wer, My guardian angel ! 

This overpays the past.. But how wilt thou 
Fare in our absence T 

Vlr, Stralenheim knows nothing 

Of me as aught of kindred with yourself. 
I will but wait a day or two with him 
To lull all doubts, and then rejoin my father. 

Wer, To part no more ! 

Ulr, I know not that ; but at 

The least we '11 meet again once more. 

Wer. My boy' 

My friend ! my only child, and sole preserver ! 
Oh, do not hate me ! 

A ntAOBDY. #9 

Ulr* Hate my father ! 

Wer. Ay, 

My father hated me. Why not my son ? 

Ulr. Your father knew you not as I do. 

Wer, Scorpions 

Are in thy words ! Thou know me ? in this guise 
Thou canst not know me, I am not myself; 
Yet (hate me not) I will be soon. 

Ulr.. ITltoott/ 

In the mean time be sure that afl a son 
Can do for parents shall be done for mine. 

Wer. I see it, and I feel it ; yet I feel 
Further — that you despise me. 

Ulr. Wherefore should I ? 

Wer. Must I repeat my humiliation ? 

Ulr. No! 

I have fathom'd it and you. But let us talk 
Of this no more. Or if it must be ever. 
Not now. Your error has redoubled aU 
The present difficulties of our house, 
At secret war with that of Stralenheim : 
All we have now to think of is to baffle 
Him. I have shown one way. 

Wer. The only one, 

And I embrace it, as I did my son, 
Who show'd himself and father's safety in 
One day. 

Ulr. You shaU be safe ; let that suffice. 
Would Stralenheim's appearance in Bohemia 
Disturb your right, or mine, if once we were 
Admitted to our lands ? 

Wer. Assuredly, 

Situate as we are now, although the first 
Possessor might, as usual, prove the strongest, 
£q>ecia]]y the next in blood. 

Utr. Blood! h'la 

A word of many meanings ; in the veins, 
And out of them, it is a dififerent thing — 
And so it should be, when the same in blood 
(As it is call'd) are aliens to each other. 
Like Theban brethren : when a part is bad, 
A few spilt ounces purify the rest. 

Wer. I do not apprehend you. 

Uhr. That may be— • 

And should, perhaps — and yet but get ye ready ; 

You and my mother must away to-night. 

60 wnmst icris. 

Here comes the intendant : sound him with the gem ; 
T will sink into his venal soul like lead 
Into the deep, and bring up slime and mud, 
And ooze too, from the bottom, as the lead doth 
With its greased understratum ; but no less 
Will serve to warn our vessels through these shoals. 
The freight is rich, so heave the line in time ! 
Farewell ! I scarce have time, but yet your handf 
My father!^ 

Wer, Let me embrace thee ! 

Ulr. We may be 

Observed : subdue your nature to the hour ! 
Keep off from me as from your foe ! 

Wer. Accursed 

Be he who is the stifling cause which ennothers 
The best and sweetest feeling of our hearts ; 
At such an hoar too ! 

Ulr. Yes, curse— it will ease you ! 

Here is the intendant. 

Enter Idensteix.' 

Master Idenstein, 
How fare you in your purpose? Have you caught 
The rogue ? 

Iden. No,. faith! 

Ulr* Well, there are plenty more : 

You may have better luck another chase. 
Where is the baron ! 

Iden, Gone back to his chamber : 

And now I think on 't, asking after you 
With nobly-bom impatience. 
' Ulr, Your great men 

Must be answer'd on the instant, as the bound 
Of the stung steed replies unto the spur : 
T is well they have horses, too ; for if they had not, 
I fear that men must draw their chariots, as 
They say kings did Sesostris. 

Iden. Who was he? 

Ulr. An old Bohemian — an imperial gipsy. 

Iden. A gipsy or Bohemian, 't is Uie same. 
For they pass by both names. And was he one 1 

Ulr. I Ve heard so ; but I must take leave. Inten. 
Your servant ! —Werner (to Webneb dighdy)^ if that be 

your name. 
Yours, [Exit Ulric. 

Men. A well««poken, pretty.f«oed young mn f 
And piettUy behaved ! He knows hie station, 
You tee, mr : how he gave to each his due 

Wer. I perceived it^ and applaud 

His just discernment and your own. 

Ideiu That'swell*- 

That 's very well. You also know your place, too ; 
And yet I do n't know that I know your place. 

Wer. {ghewmg the ring)* WoukI this assist your know- 

Iden^ How!— What! — Eh! 

A jewel! 

Wer. T is your own on one condition. 

Iden. Mine! — Name it! 

Wer. That hereafter you permit me 

At thrice its value to redeem it : 't is 
A family ring. 

Iden. A family! — «iMr#/— agem! 

I'm breathless! 

Wer. You must also furnish me 

An hour ere daybreak with all means to quit 
Tliis place. 

Iden. But is it real ? Let me look on it : 
Diamondf by all that 's glorious ! 

Wer. Come, I '11 trust you : 

You have guess'd, no doubt, that I was born above 
My prcuent seeming. 

Iden. I can't say I did. 

Though this looks like it : this is the true breeding 
Of gentle blood! 

War. I have important reasons 

For wishing to continue privily 
My journey hence. 

Iden. So then you are the man 

Whom Stralenheim 's in quest oft 

Wer. I am not ; 

But being taken for him might conduct 
To much embarrassment to me just now, 
And to the banni's self hereafter — 't is 
To spare both that I would avoid all bustle. 

Iden. Be you the man or no, 't is not my business; 
Besides, I never should obtain the half 
From this proud, niggardly noble, who would raise 
The country for some missing bits of coin. 
And never offer a precise reward— 

But <ibtf /— uother look ! 

Wer. Gaxe on it fire^ ; 

At day^wA it is yours. 

Ideiu Oh, tbou sweet sparkler! 

Thou more than stone of the philosopher ! 
Thoa toachstose of PhikMophy herself! 
Thoa bright eye of the Mine ! thou loadstar of 
The soul ! the true' magnetic Pole to which 
All hearts point didy north, like trembling needles i 
Thou flamuig Spirit of the Earth4 whichi, sitting 
High on the monarch's diadem, attracteet 
More worship than tttt majesty who sweats • 
Beneath the crown which makes his head ache, like 
Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre! 
Shalt thou be mine ? I am, methinks, already 
A little king, a lucky alchynust ! — 
A wise magician, who has bound 4he devi 
Without the forfeit of his souL But come, 
Werner, or what cIk^ 

Wer. CaU me Werner still; 

You may yet know me by a loftior title. 

Iden. I do believe in -thee ! thou art the spirit 
Of whom I long have dream'd in a low garb. — 
But come, I 'Userve thee ; thou shalt be as free 
As air, despite the waters ; let us hence : 
* I 11 show thee I am honest — (oh, thou jewel !) 
Thou shalt be 4iimieh'd, Werner, with such means • 
Of flight, that if thou wert a snail, not birds * 

Shoukl overtake thee.-^Let me gaze again! 
I h&ve a foster*brother in the mart 
Of Hamburgh skill'd in precious stones* How many 
Carats may it weigh ^ — <- Come, Werner, I will wing thee. 


Stkalknhbim's Chamher 

Stsalkkhbdc and Fritz. 

Fritx. All 's ready, my good lord ! 
Siral. I am not sleepy, 

And yet I must to bed ; I fain would say 

To rest, bot something heavy on my spirit. 
Too duU for wakefuhioBs, too qnick for slumber. 
Sits on me as a cloud idong the sky, 
Which will not let the sunbeams through, nor yet 
Descend in rain and end, but spreads itself 
Twist earth and heaven, like envy between man 
And man, an everlasting mist ; — I will 
Unto my pillow. 

Drkz. May yon rest there weU ! 

Sirai. I feel, and fear, I shaU. 

FrUz. And wherefore f^r ? 

SiraL I know jiot why, and therefore ^o fear more. 
Because an undescribaUe*— — buf't is 
All folly. Were the locks (as I desired) 
Changed, to-day, of this chamber? for last night's 
Adventure makes it needful. 

Fritz. <jlertaiiily. 

According to your order, and beneath 
The inspection of mys^f and the young 'Saxon 
Who saved your life. I think they cafi him •« Ulric." 

Stral. You ikuik ! you si;q>ercilious slave ! what right 
Have you to tax your memory, which should be 
Quick, proud, and happy to retain the name 
Of him who saved your master, asm litany 
Whose daily repetition marks your duty^ — 
Get hence ! ^ Ycu tkkikf** indeed'! you who stood still 
Howling and drippling on the bank, whilst I 
Lay dying, and the stranger dash'd aside 
The roaring torrent, and restored 4ne to 
Thank him — and ^despise you. ^ You think ! " and 

Can recollect his namei I will not waste 
More words on ^lou. Cdl me betimes. 

FrUz. Goodnij^t! 

I trust to-monow will restore your lordship 
To renovated strength and temper. 

[The icene dotet. 

The secret Pasmge* 

GiA. {toUui). Four- 

Five — SIX hours have I countedt lilKO the goard 
Of outposts on the iiever*merry clock : . 
That hollow tongue of time, which, even when 
It sounds for joy, takes something firem enjoymeirt 
With every daag. T is a perp^ual knell, 
llKMigh for a marriaj^feast it ringa : each strdGd 
Peals for a hope the^ss \ the funml note 
Of Love deep-huried without resurrection 
In the grave />f possession ; while the knoU 
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo 
To triple Time in the son's ear. 

I 'm cold— 
I *m dark ; — I 've blown my fingers — nundiier'd o*er 
And o'er my steps — and knock'd my head against 
Some fifty buttresses — and roused the rats 
And bats in general insurrection, till 
Their cursed pattering feet and whirling wings 
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound. 
A light ! It is at distance (if I can 
Measure in darkness distance) : but it blinks 
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in 
The inhibited direction : I must on, 
Nevertheless, from curiosity. 
A distant lamp-light is an incident 
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me 
To nothing that may tempt me ! Else — Heaven aid me 
To obtain or to escape it ! Shining still I 
Were it the star of Lucifer himself, 
Or he himsdif girt with its beams, i oould 
Contain no longer. Softly ! mighty well ! 
That comer 's tum'd — so — ah ! no ; — right ! it draws 
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle — so. 
That 's weather'd. — Let me pause. — Suppose it leads 
Into some greater danger than that which 
I have escaped — no matter, ^t is a new one $^ 
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses. 
Wear more magnetic aspects : — I will on. 
And be it where it may — I have my dagger, 
Which may protect me at a pinch. — Bum stilli 
Thou little light ! Thou art my ignis fatiau / 


My 8taik>iiary Will.o^the-wisp ! — So ! so ! 
He bears my invocation, and fails not. 

[7^ scene doses. 


A Garden. 

Enter Wbbnes. 

I could not sleep — and now the hour 's at hand ; 

All *B ready. Idenstein has kept his word ; 

And station'd in the outskirts of the town^ 

Upon the loresfs edge,' the v^cle . 

Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin 

To pale in heaven ; and for the l^t time I 

Look on these horrible walls. Oh ! never, nerer 

ShaU I forget them. Here I come most poor, 

But not- dishonoar'd : And I leave them vKth 

A stain, — if net upon my name, yet in 

My heart I-^-a never-dying canker-wormt 

Which all the coming splendour of the lands, 

And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf 

Can scarcely lull a moment. I must find 

Some means of restitution, which would ease 

My soul in. part ; but how without discovery ? — 

It must be done, however ; and I 11 pause 

Upon the method the first hour of safety. 

The madne^ of my misery led to this 

Base infamy ; repentance must retrieve it : 

I will have nought of Stralcnheim^s upon 

My spirit, though he would grasp all of mine ; 

Lands, freedom, life, — and yet he sleeps ! as soundly, 
* Perhaps, as infancy, with gorgeous curtains 

Spread for his canopy, o V sScen pillows, 

Such as when -^— Hark ! what noise is that ? Again ! 

The branches shake ; and some loose stones have fidlen 

From yonder terrace. 

[Ulrig leaps down from the terrace. 
Ulric ! ever welcome ! 

Thrice welcome now ! this filial — -<- 

Vhr. Stop! Before 

We approach, tell me-»— 
vol. V. — ^p 

66 WlENBCf 

Wer. Why look you so f 

Ulr. Do I 

Behold my ftther, or — — 

Wer. What? 

Ulr, An assassin ? 

Wer, Insane or insolent ! 

Vlr. Reply, sir, as 

Yotiprize your life, or mine! 

Wer, To what must I 

Answer ? 

Ulr, Are you or are you not the assassin 

Wer, I never was as yet 

The murderer of any man. What mean you? 

Ulr, Did not you thu night (as the night befi>re) 
Retrace the secret passage! Did ytra not 
Again revisit Stralenheim's chamber^'? and ' ■ " 

[Vhaic pauses, 

Wer, Proceed, 

Ulr. Bied he nut hy your hand ? 

Wer. Great God ! 

Ulr, You are innocent, then ! ny father 's innocent! 
Embrace me ! Yes> — ^ your ttone — your look — yes, 

yes, — 
Yet say so. 

Wer, Jf I e'er, in heart or mind, 
Conceived delihsrately svpch a thought, 
But rather strove to trample back to bell 
Such thoughts -^ if e'er they glared a moment through 
The irritation of my oppressed spirit *-« 
May heaven be shut. for ever from my hopes 
As from mine eyes ! 

Ulr, But Stralenheim* is dead. 

Wer, T is horrible ! 't is hideous, as 't^is hateful ! — 
But what have I to do with this? 

Ulr, No bolt 

Is forced ; no violence can be detected, 
Save on his body. Part of his own faouseheld 
Have been alarm'd ; but as the int^idant is 
Absent, I took upon myself the care 
Of mustering the police. His chamber has. 
Past doubt, been enter'd secretly. Excuse me, 
If nature 

Wer, Oh, my boy ! what unknown woes 

Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering 
Above our house ! 

▲ TRAGBDT. 67 

Ulr, ' My father ! I acquit you ! 

But will the world do so ? will even the judge, 

If But you must away this instant. 

Wer. No! 

1 11 face it. Who shall dare suspect me ? 

Ulr. Yet 

You had no guests — no visiters — no life 
Breathing around you, save my mother's ? 

Wer. Ah ! 

Tlie Hungarian ! 

Vhr. He is gone ! he disappear'd 

Ere dunset. 

Wer, No ; I hid him in that very 
Conceal'd and fatal gallery. 

Ulr. There 1 11 find him. 

[Ulbic is gomg* 
Wer. It is too late : he had left the palace ere 
I quitted it. I found the secret panel 
Open, and the doors which lead 4om that hall 
Which masks it : I hut thought he had snatch'd the silent 
And favourable moment to escape 
The m3nrmidons of Idenstein, who were 
Dogging him yester-even. 


TTie panel ? 

Wer. Yes ; and not without reproach 

(And inner tremUing for the avoided peril) 
At his dull heedlessness, in leaving, thas 
His shelterer's asylum to the risk 
Of a discovery. 

Ulr. You are-sure *you' closed it? 

Wer. Certain. 

Ulr. That's well ; but had been better, if 

You ne'er had tum'd it to a den for [He pauses. 

Wer. Thieves ! 

Thou wooldst say : *I must bear it and deserve it ; 

But not 

Ulr. No, father ; do not speak of this : 

This is no hour to think of petty crimes. 
But to prevent the consequence of great ones. 
Why would you shelter this man ? . 

Wer. Could I shun it? 

A man pursued by my chief foe ; disgraced 
For my own crime ; a victim to my safety, 
Imploring a few hours' concealment from 
The very wretch who was the cause he needed 

68 wxKStaif actbl 

Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not 
Have in such cironmstances thrust him forth. 

Vlr. And like the wolf he Imth repaid yoo* But 
It is too late to ponder thus : — you must 
Set out ere dawn- I will remain here to 
Trace the murderer, if 't is possible. 

Wer, But this my sudden flight will give the Moloch 
Suspicion : two new yictims in the lieu 
Of one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, 
Who seems the culprit, and 

Ulr. Who^eem; Whoehe 

Can be so ? 

Wer. Not J, though just now you doubted— 

You, my son ! — doubted —— 

Ulr, And do you doubt of him 

The fugitive 7 

Wer. Boy ! since I fell into 

The abyss of crime, (though not of «ueA crime,) I, 
Having seen the inpocent oppress'd for me. 
May doubt even of the guilty's guUt. Your heart 
Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse 
Appearances ; and views a criminal 
In Innocence's shadow, it may be, 
Because 't is dusky. 

Vlr.. Andifldoso, 

What will mankind, who know you not, or knew 
But to oppress ? You must not stand the hazard. 
Away ! — I '11 make all easy. Idenstein 
Will for his own sake and his jewel's hold 
His peace — he also is a partner in 
Your flight — moreover — • 

Wer. Fly ! and leave my name 

Link'd with the Hungarian's, or preferr'd as poorest, 
To bear the brand of bloodshed 1 

Vlr. Pshaw ! leave any thing 

Except our father's sovereignty and castles, 
For which you have so long panted and in vain ! 
What name ? You have no namCf since that you bear 
Is feign'd. 

Wer. Most true ; but still I would not have it 
Engraved in crimson in men's memories, 
Though in this most obscure abode of men -^— 
Besides, the search — - 

Ulr. I will provide against 

Aught that can touch you. No one knows you here 
As heir of Siegendorf : if Idenstein 

BIT. ▲ nUOXBT. n 

Suspects, 't is ftnC suipictofi, and he is 
A fool : his folly shall have such employment, 
Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way 
To nearer thoughts of sdC The laws (if e'er 
Laws reach'd thb village) are all in abeyance 
With the late general war of thirty years. 
Or crush'd, or rising slowly from tiie dust. 
To which the march of armies trampled them. 
Stralenheim, although noble, is unheeded 
Henj save as stidk^- without lands, influence. 
Save what hath perish'd with him. Few prolong 
A week beyond their funeral rites their sway 
O'er men, unless by relatives, whose interest 
Is roused : such is not here the case; he died 
Alone, unknown, — • a solitary grave. 
Obscure as his deserts, without a scutcheon, 
Is aU he 11 have, or wants. If # discover 
The assassin, 't will be well — if not, believe me 
None else ; though aU the full-fed train of menials 
May howl above his ashes -(as they did 
Around him in his danger on the Oder), 
Will no more stir a finger «im0 than then. 
Hence ! hence ! I must not hear your answer. — Look ? 
The stars are almost faded, and the gray 
Begins to grizzle the black hair of night. 
You shall not answer — Pardon me that I 
Am peremptory ; 't is your son that speaks, 
Your long-lost, late*found son*— *Let ^s call my mother ! 
Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest 
To me : I '11 answer for the erent as far 
As regards you, and that is the chief point, 
As my first duty, which shall be observed. 
We '11 meet in Castle Sieeendorf — once more 
Our banners shall be glorious ! Think of that 
Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me. 
Whose youth may better battle with them. — Hence ! 
And may your age be happy ! — I will kiss 
My mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you ! 
Wer. This coimsel 's safe — but is it honourable f 
JJIr. To save a father is a child's chief honour. 


n VUUCBt ACriT. 



A Gothic HaU m tke CoiUe of Siegetubrf^ mear Pragm. 

EnierEMwaMdUKsaacKfniamerfofike ComfL 

Eric. So better times are oome at last ; to tfaeee 
Old walk new masters and high wassail — both 
A long desideratum. 

Hen. Tesy for masters^ 

ft might be onto those who long for novelty. 
Though made by a new grave : but as for wassailf 
Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintain'd 
His feudal hospitality as high 
As e'er another prince of the empire. 

Eric. Why, 

For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt 
Fared passing well ; but as for merriment 
And sport, without wjiich salt and sauces season 
The cheer but scantily, our sLzings were 
Even of the narrowest. 

Hen. The old count loved not 

The roar of revel ; are you sure that this does ? 

Eric. As yet he hath been courteous as he 's boun- 
And we all love him. 

Hen. His reign is as yet 

Hardly a year o'erpost its honey-moon, 
And the first year of sovereigns is bridal : 
Anon, wc shall perceive his real sway 
And moods of mind. 

Eric. Pray Heaven he keep the present ! 

Then his brave son. Count Ulric — there 's a' knight! 
Pity the wars are o'er ! 

Hen. Why so? 

Eric. Look on him ! 

And answer that yourself. 

Hen. He 's very youthful. 

And stronff and beautiful as a young tiger. 

Eric. That 's not a faithful vassal's likeness. 

IB I. ▲ nUOB^T. 71 

Hen. But 

Feriiapa a true one. 

Eric* Pitjy as I said. 

The wan aie over : in the hall, who like 
Count Ulric for a wett-supported pride. 
Which awes, but yetoflfends not ? in the field, 
Who like him. withhis spear in hand, when, gnashing 
His tosks, and ripping up from right to«left 
The howling hounds, the boarmakes for the thicket t 
Who backs a. horse, or bears a- hawk,. or wears 
A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier 7 

Hen. No one's, I grant you. Do not fear,. if war 
Be long in coming,. he is of that kind 
Will nwke it for himself,. if he hath not 
Already done as .much*. 

Erie. What do you mean^?* 

Hen. You can't deny his train of followers^ 
(But few our native feUow vassals born 
On the domain), are such a sort, of knaves 
As (Pomes)*. 

Eric.. What? 

Hen. The war (you love so much)< leaves living.. 
Like other parents,. she spoils her worst children.. 

Eric. Nonsense ! they are all brave iron^visaged fel- 
Such as old Tilly loved. 

Hen. And who loved TUly ? 

Ask that at Magdebourg — or for that matter 
Wallenstein eitlvsr ; — they are gone to — ^ 

Eric. Rest ; 

But what beyond 't is not ours toprmiounoe. 

Hen. I wish they had lefius something, of their rest : 
Tlie country (nominally now at peace), 
Is over-run with — God knows who : they fl|K 
By night, and disappear with sunrise ; but 
Leave us no less desolation, nay, even more^ . 
Than the most open* warfare. 

Eric. But Count Ulric—- 

What has all this to do. with him ? 

Hen. With him ! 

He might prevent, it.. As you say he 's fond 

Of war, why makes he- it not on those marauders t 

Eric. You 'd better ask himself. 

Hen. I would as soon 

Ask the lion why he laps not milk. 

Erie. And here he comes ! 

72 wnimt. 


Hen> The devil ! you 11 hold your tongue! 

Eric, Why do you turn so pale? 

Hen, T is nothing— but 

Be silent. 

Eric, I will, upon what you have said. 

Hen. I assure you I meant nothtngy*-a mere sport 
Of words, no more ; besides, had it been otherwise, 
He is to espouse the gentle Baroness 
Ida of Stralenheim, the late baron's heiress ; 
And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoever 
Of fierceness the late long intestine wars 
Have given all natures, and most unto those 
Who were bom in them, and bred up upon 
The knees of Homicide ; sprinkled, as it were. 
With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace 
On all that I have said ! 

Enter Ulbic emd Rosolph. 

Good morrow, count. 

Dlr. Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is 
All ready for the chase ? 

Eric. The dogs are ordet'd 

Pown to the forest, and the vassals out 
To beat the bushes, and the day looks promising. 
Shall I call forth your excellency's suite ? 
What courser will you please to mount ? 

Ulr. The dun« 


Eric. I fear he scarcely has recovered 
The toils of Monday : 't was a noble chase : 
You spear'd/owr with your own hand. 

Ulr. Tme, good Eric ; 

I had forgotten — let it be the gray, theil, 
Old Ziska : he has not been out this fortnight. 

Eric, He shall be straight caparison'd. How many 
Of your immediate retainers shall 
Escort you 1 

Ulr. I leave that to Weilborgh, our 

Master of the horse. [Exit Eric. 

Rodolph ! 

Rod, My lord ! 

Ulr, The news 

Is awkward from the — (Rodolph points to Henrick.) 

How now, Henrick? why 
Loiter you here ? 

IB I. A VBA«S»r. IV 

Hem. For your commaiida, my lord. 

Vlr. Go to my father, aad present my duty, 
And learn if be would aught with me before 
I mount. [£ctt HximiCK. 

Rodolph, our friends have had a check 
Upon the frontiers of Franconia, and 
T is rumour'd that the column sent against them 
Is to be strengthen'd. I roust join th«n soon. 

Rod, Best wait for further and more sure advices* 

Vlr. I mean it— and indeed it could not weli 
Have faUen out at a tame mora q>posite 
To all my plans. 

Bod. It wiU be difficult 

To excuse your absence to the count your father. 

Ulr. Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain 
In hi^ Silesia will permit and cover 
My journey. In the mean time, when we are 
Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men 
Wlx>m WolfTe leads — keep the forests on your route : 
You know it well ? 

Rod. As well as on that night 

When we — — 

Vlr. We will not speak of that untU 

We can repeat the same with like success : 
And when you have join'd, give Rosenberg this letter. 

[Gives a Mm. 
Add further, that I have sent this slight addition 
To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of 
My coming, though I could not spare them ill 
At this time, as my father loves to keep 
Full numbers of retainers round the castle. 
Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries. 
Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense. 

Rod. I thought you loved the kdy Ida? 

Ulr. Why, 

I do so ^- but it follows not from that 
I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 
So brief and burning, with a liuiy's zone, 
Although 't were that of Venus ; — but I love bery 
As woman should be loved, fairly and solely. 

Bod. And constantly t 

Ulr. I think so ; for I lovo 

Nought else«— But I have not the time to pause 
Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things 
We have to do ere long. Speed ! speed ! good Rodolph ! 

Rod. On my return, however, I ^all find 

74 WBWfWt, ACTIT. 

The Baroness Ida lost hi Countess Siegendorf ? 

Ulr. Perhaps my father wishes it ; and sooth 
'T is no bad policy : this union with 
The last bud of the rival branch at once 
Unites the future and destroys the past. 

Rod. Adieu. 

Ubr^ Yet hold — we had better keep together 

Until the chase begins; then draw thou off, 
And do as I have^said.. 

Rod. I will. But to 

Return — ^'t was a most kind act in the count 
Your father to send up to Konigsberg 
For this fair orphan of the baron, and 
To hail her as his daughter. 

Uln Wbndrous kind ! 

Especially as little kiddnes» till 
Then grew between then>. 

Rod: The^lftte baron* died 

Of a fever^did he not?" 

Vlr. How should I know ? 

Rod. I have- heard- it whisper'd there was something 
About his death — and even the place of It^ 
Is scarcely known. 

Ulr. Some- obscure village on- 

The Saxon or Silesian frontier. 

Rod. ^ He 

Has left no testament — no farewell words?' 

l7/r. I am neither confessor nor *notary,. 
So cannot say. 

Rod. Ah\ here's the lady Ida» 

Enter. Ida. SiatALsimBUE. 

Ulr. You are early, my sweet cousin !- 

Ida. Not 100 early. 

Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you. 
Why do you call me ^ cousin ?" 

Ulr. (smiling). Are we not so t 

Ida. Yes, but I do not like the name ; raethinks 
It sounds 80 cold, as if you thought upon 
Our pedigree, and only weigh'd our blood. 

Ulr. (siarUng.) Blood! 

Ida. Why does yours start from your che^s ? 

Ulr. Ay! doth it! 


Ida. It doth— bat so! it ruBhes Uke a tomnt 
Bren to your brow again. 

UZr. (reoootfrtn^ ^Mije//'.) And if it fledy 
It only was because your presence sent it 
Back to my heartriviiich beats.foryou, sweet cousin ! 

Ida* ** Coiblb'* again. 

Ulr. Nay, then I. H eaU you sister. 

Ida. Lfike that name still worse. — Would we had ne'er 
Been aught of kindred ! 

Ulr. ^homAfy. Wodd we never had ! 

Ida. Oh heavens ! and can yom wuh thai f 

Ulr. Dearest Ida • 

Did I not edio your own wish ? 

Ida. Yes^^VlriCt 

But then I wish'd it not with such a glance, 
And scarce knew what I said ;; but let me be 
Sister, or cousin, what you will, so that 
I still to you am something; 

£72r. You.^all be 

All— all 

Ida. And you to meraie so already ; 

But I can wait. 

XUr. Dear- Ida!' 

Ida. Cidl me Ida, 

Yinir Ida, for I would be yours, none else's — 
Indeed I have none else left, since my poor father — 

[She pauses. 

Ulr. You have mine — - you have me. 

Ida. Dear Ulric, how I wish 

My father could but view my happiness. 
Which wants but this ! 

Ulr. Indeed ! 

Ida. You would have loved him. 

He you ; for the brave ever love each other : 
His manner was a little cold, his spirit 
Proud (as is birth's prerogative) ; but under 
This grave exterior -^— Would you had known each 

other ! 
Had such as you been near him on his journey, 
He had not died without a friend to soothe 
His last and lonely moments. 

Ulr. Who says that ? 

Ida. What? 

Ulr. That he died ahne. 

Ida. The general rumour, 

And disappearance of his servants, who 

W wBissB, icrif. 

Haye ne'er vetun'd : that fever vas moat deadljr 
Which swept them all away. 

Vlr. If th^ were near him, 

He could not die neglected or alone. 

Ida. Alas ! what is a menial to a deathbed. 
When the dim' eye rolls vainly round for what 
It loves ? — They say he died of a fever. 

Ulr. Sayt 

It was so. 

Ida* 1 sometimes dream otherwise. 

Ulr. All dreams are false. 

Ida. And yet I see him as 

I see you. 

Ulr. . Where T 

Ida. In sleep — I see him lie 

Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife 
Beside him. 

Ulr. But you do not see \nafaee ? 

Ida {loMng at hm). No ! Oh, my God ! do yw ? 

Ulr. Why do you ask T 

Ida. Because yoa look as if you saw a murderer ! 

Ulr. (agitatedly.) Ida, this is mere childishness ; your 
Infects me, to my shame ; but as all feelings 
Of yours are common to me, it affects me. 
Prithee, sweet child, change 

Ida. Child, indeed ! I have 

Full fifteen summers ! [A bugle sounds. 

Bod. Hark, my lord, the bugle ! 

Ida ( peemsMy to Rodolph). Why need you tell him 
that? Can he not hear it 
Without your echo ? 

Rod. Pardon me, fair baroness ! 

Ida. 1 will not pardon you, unless you earn it 
By aiding me in my dissuasion of 
Count Ulric from the chase to-day. 

Rod. You will noty 

Lady, need aid of mine. 

iflr. I must not now 

Forego it. 

l£u But you shall ! 

Ulr. SluOl! 

Ida. Yes, or be 

No true knight. — - Come, dear Ulric ! yield to me 
In this, for this one day : the day looks heavy, 
And you are turn'd so |Nile and ill. 

Vir. You jert. 

Ida. Indeed I do not i—ntk of Rodolph. 

Rod. , Truly, 

My lord, within this quarter of an lioor 
You have changed more than e'er I taw yon change 
In years. 

Ubr. T is no^ng ; but if 't were, the air 
Would eoon restore me. Vm the tnie chameleon, 
And live but on the atmosphere ; your feasts 
In castle haBs, and social banquets, nurse not 
My spirit-* I'm a forester and breather 
Of the steep mountain^tops, where I love all 
TTie eagle iOTes. 

Ida. Except his prey, I hope. 

Ulr. Sweet Ida, wish me a fair chase, and I 
Will bring you six boars' heads for trophies home. 

Ida. And will yon not stay, then T You shall not go ! 
Come ! I wiU sing to you. 

Vir. Ida, you scarcely • 

Will make a soldier's wife. 

Ida. I do not wish 

To be so ; for I trust these wars are over, 
And you wiU live in peace on your domains. 

Enler Wnnm at Cotmr 8ibo»idov. 

t/Zr. My &ther, I salute you, and it grieves me 
With such brief greeting. — You have heard our bugle ; 
Tlie vassals wait 

Sieg. So let them. — You forget 

Tomorrow is the appointed festival 
In Prague for peace restored. You are apt to Mow 
The chase with such an ardour as will scarce 
Permit you to return to-day, or if 
Retum'd, too much fatigued to join to-morrow 
The nobles in our marshall'd ranks. 

Vlr. * You, count, 

Will well supply the place of both -— I am not 
A lover ofthem pageantries. 

Sieg. No, Ulric : 

It were not well that you alone of all 
Our young nobility — 

Ida. And far the noblest 

In aspect and demeanour. 

Sieg. {to Ida.) True,. dear child, . 

Thou^ somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel. «^ 

'78 wHUfntf i0riT. 

But, Ulricy recdlect too our position, 
So lately reinstated in our honours. 
Believe me, 't woidd be mark'd in any house, 
But most in curtf that onb should be fond wanting 
At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven 
Which gave us back our own, in the same moment 
It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims 
On us for thanksgiving : first, for our country ; 
And next, that we ace here to share its blessings. 

Wr. {aside*) Devout, too ! WeU, sir, I obey at once. 

(Then aloud to a Senant.) 
Ludwig, dismiss the train without ! [ExU Litdwig. 

Ida. And so 

You yield at pnce to him what I for hours 
Might supplicate in vain. 

Sieg, (emiling.) You are not jealous 

Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel ! who 
Would sanction disobedience against all 
• Except thyself? But fear not ; thou shalt rule him 
Hereafter with a fonder sway and firmer. 

Ida* But I should like to govern now* 

Sieg* You shallf 

Your Aarp, which by the way awaits you with 
The countess in her chamber. She complains 
That you are a sad truant to your music : 
She attends you. 

Ida* Then good morrow, my kind kinsmen * 

Ulric, you 11 come and hear me ? 

Vlr. By and by. 

Ida* Be sure I '11 sound it better than your bugles ; 
Then pray you be as punctual to its notes : 
I '11 play you King Gustavus' march. 

Vlr* And why not 


Ida* Not that monster's! I should thbk 

My harp-strings rang with groans, and not with music, 
Could auffht of his sound on it : — but come quickly ; 
Your mother will be eager to receive you. [Exit Ida. 

Sieg* Ulric, I wish to speak with you alone. 

Vlr* My time 's your vassal. 
(Aside to Rodolph.) Roddph, hence ! and do 
As I directed : and by his best speed 
And readiest means let Rosenberg reply. 

Rod. Count Siegendorf, command you aught I I am 
Upon a journey past the frontier. 

sccrai. A ntAttsoT. TV 

Su^. (siofU.) Ah! — 

Where? on what frontier? 

Rod, The Silesian, on 

My way — (Ande to Uuac.) — Where shall I say ? 

Ufr. {atide to R0D01.FH.) To Hamburg^. 

(Ande to hinuelf.) That 
Word will, I thifakj put a firm padlock on 
His further inqidntion. 

Rod. Covrtit, to Hamburgh. 

Si^. {agtUOed.) Hamburgh ! No, I have nought to do 
there, nor 
Am aught connected with that city. Then 
God speed you ! 

Rod. Fare ye well, Count Siecendorf 1 


iS^. Ulrie, this man, who has just departed, is 
One of those strange companions whom I fain 
Would reason with you on. 

Vlr. My lord, he is 

Noble by birth, of one of the first houses 
In Saxony. 

Sieg. I talk not of his birth. 

But of his bearing. Men ^peak lightly of him. 

Uh. So they will do of most men. Even the monarch 
Is not fenced from his chamberlain's slander, or 
The sneer of the last courtier whom he has made 
Great and ungrateful. 

9ieg. If I must be plain, 

Tlie world speaks more than Ughtly of this Rodolph : 
They say he is leagued with the "^ bhick bands " who still 
Ravage the frontier. 

Ubr. ' And will you believe 

The world? 

Sieg. In this case— yes. 

Vlr. In any case* 

I thought you knew it better than to take 
An accusation for a sentence. 

iS^. Son! 

I understand you : you refer to--^-bnt 
My Destiny has so involved about me 
Her spider web, that I can only flatter 
Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed, 
Ulric ; you have seen to what the passions led me : 
Twenty long years of misery and ramine 
Quench'd tlMm not— twenty thousand more, perchance, 
Hereafter (or even here in moments which 

Might date for years, did Angoiah make the dial 
May not oUiterate or expiate 
The madneai and dishonour of an instant* 
Ulricy be wam'd by a father!— I war not 
By mine» and you behold me ! 

Vlr. I behold 

The prosperous and bdoved Siegendorf, 
Lord of a prince's appanage, and honour'd 
By those he niles and tboM he ranks with* 

Sieg. Ah! 

Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear 
For thee ? BeloTed, when thou lowest me not ! 
AU hearts but one may beat in kindwsss for me— 
But if my son's is cold ! ^— 

Vbr. Who dare say that T 

Skeg. None dse but I, who see it— /eel it— keener 
Than would your adversaryy who dared say so, 
Your sabre in his heart ! But mine survives 
The wound. 

Ulr* You err. My nature is not given 

To outward fondling : how should it be so, 
After twelve years^ divorcement from my parents ! 

Sieg* And did not I top pass those twelve torn years 
In a UJce absence ? But 't is vain to urge you — 
Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance. - 
Let 's change the theme. I wish you to consider 
That these young violent nobles of high name. 
But dark deeds (ay, the darkest, if all Rumour 
Reports be true), with whom thou consortest, . 
WiU lead thee 

Ulr. (mpaiiently.) 1 11 be 2e(2 by no man. 

Sieg. Nor 

Be leader of such, I would hope : at once 
To wean thee from the perils of thy youth 
And haughty spirit, I have thought it well 
That thou dbouldst wed the lady Ida-* more 
As thou appear'st to love her. 

Ulr* I have said 

I will obey your orders, were they to 
Unite with Hecate —can a son say more? 

Sieg* He says too much in saying this. It is not 
The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood, 
Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly, 
Or act so carelessly, in that which is 
The bloom or blight of all nien's happineas, 
(For Glory's pillow is but restless if 


Love lay not down his cheek there) : some strong bias. 
Some master fiend is in thy service to 
Misrule the mortal who believes him slave, 
And make his every thought subservient ; else 
Thou 'dst say at once — ''I love young Ida, and 
Will wed her ; " or, ^'I k>ve her not, and all 
The powers of earth shall never make me." — So 
Would I have answerM, 

Vlr. Sir, you wed for love* 

Sieg* I did, and it has been my only refuge 
In many miseries* 

Vlr* Which miseries 

Had never been but for this love-match. 

Sieg. Still 

Against your age and nature ! Who at twenty 
E^r answerM thus till now 1 

Ulr, ' Did you not warn me 

Against your own example ? 

Sieg. Boyish sophist ! 

In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida ? 

Uhr. What matters it, if I am ready to 
Obey yoB in espousing her ? 

Sieg* As far 
As you feel, nothing, but all life for her. 
She 's young-— an beautiful— adores you— is 
Endow'd with quaKties to ffive happiness, 
Such as rounds common lite into a dream 
Of something which your poets cannot paint. 
And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue) 
For which Philosophy mi^t barter Wisdom ; 
And giving so much happiness* deserves 
A litUe in return. I wmild not have her 
Break her heart for a man who has none to break; 
Or wither on her staSk like some pale rose 
Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale, 
According to the Orient tale. She is 

Ulr. The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your foe ; 
1 11 wed her, ne'ertheless ; though, to say truth, 
Just now I am not violently traniqK>rted 
In favour of such unions. 

Sieg. But she loves you. 

Uir. And I love her, and therefore would think hoice. 

Sieg. AJas ! Love never did so. 

Vlr. Then 't is time 

He should begin, and take the bandage from 
His eyes^ and look before he leaps : till now 
▼OL. v.— G 


He hath ta'en a jump i' the dark. 

Sieg, But you consent? 

Z7Zr. I did, and do. 

Sieg. Then fix the day. 

Ulr. T is usual, 

And certes courteous, to leave that to the lady. 

Sieg. I wiU engage for her, 

Ulr. So will not 1 

For any woman ; and as what I fix, 
I fain would see unshaken, when she gives 
Her answer, I '11 give mine. . 

Sieg, But 't is your office 

To woo. 

Vlr. Count, 't is a marriage of your making. 
So be it of your wooing ; but to please you 
I will now pay my duty to my mother, 
With whom, you know, the lady Ida is. — 
What would you have ? You have forbid my stirring 
For manly sports beyond the castle walls. 
And I obey ; you bid me titrn «l chamberer, 
To pick up gloves, and fans, and knittinff-needles. 
And list to songs and tunes, and watch U>t smiles. 
And smile at pretty prattle, and look into 
The eyes of feminine,- as though they were 
The stars receding early to our wish 
Upon the dawn of a world- winning battle <— 
What can a son or man do more ? [Exit Ulsic. 

Sieg. (sdUis^) 3V)o much ! <-— 

Too much of duty and too little* lover! 
He pays me in the coin he owes me not : 
For such hath been my way ward fate, I could not 
Fulfil a parent's duties by hie side 
Till now ; hut love he owes me, for my thoughts 
Ne'er left him, nor my eyes long'd without tears 
To see my child again, and now I have found him ! 
But how ! — obedient, but with coldness.; duteous 
In my sight, but with carelessness ; mysterious — 
Abstracted — distant — much given to long absence, 
And where — none know -~ in league with the most riotous 
Of our young nobles ; though, to do him justice, 
He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures ; 
Tet there 's some tie between them which I cannot 
Unravel. They look up to him — consult him-«- 
Throng round him as a leader : but with me 
He hath no confidence ! Ah ! can I hope it 
j-Jter — what ! doth my father's curse descend 


Even to my child ? Or is the Hungarian neat 
To shed more blood ? or— Oh ! if it should be ! 
Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walla 
To wither him and his — who, though they slew not» 
Unlatch'd the door of death for thee ? T was not 
Our fault, nor is our sin : thou wert our foe, 
And yet I spared thee when my own destruction 
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening ! 
And only took — Accursed gold ! thou liest 
Like poison in my hands ; I dare not use thee, 
Nor part from thee ; thou earnest in such a guise, 
Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands 
Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee, 
Thou villanous gold ! and thy dead master's doom, 
Though he died not by me or mine, as much 
As if he were my brother ! I have ta'en 
His orphan Ida — cherish'd her as one 
"Who will be mine. ' 

Enter an Attendant. 

AU. The abbot, if it please 

Your excellency, whom you sent for, waits 
Upon you, [Exit Attendant. 

EfOer the PmoB Albert. 

Prior, Peace be with these walls, and all 
Within them. 

Sieg. Welcome, welcome, holy father ! 
And may thy prayer be heard ! — all men have need 
Of such, and I 

Prior. Have the first claim to all 

The prayers of our community. Our convent. 
Erected by your ancestors, is still 
Protected by their children. 

Sieg, Yes, good father ; 

Continue daily orisons for us 
In these dim days of heresies and blood. 
Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, Is 
Gone home. 

Prior. To the endless home of unbelievers, 
Where there is everlasting wail and woe. 
Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire 
Eternal, and the worm which dieth not ! 

Sieg* True, father : and to avert those pangs from one. 


Who, though of our most faultless holy church, 
Yet died without its last and dearest offices, 
Which smooth the soul through purgatorial pains, 
I have to offbr humbly this donation 
In masses for his spirit. 

[SisoENDORF offern ihR gM toMch he had taken 
/nmt STRALENUsni. 

Prior, Count, if I 

Receive it, 't is because I know too well 
Refusal would offend you. Be assured 
The largess shall be only dealt in alms* 
And every mass no less sung for the dead 
Our house needs no donations, thanks to yours, 
Which has of old endow'd it ; but from you 
And yours in all meet things 't is fit we obey* 
For whom shall mass be said ? 

Sieg. (faltering,) For — for — the dead. 

Prior, His name? 

Sieg, T is from aisoul, and not a name, 

[ would avert perditipn. 

Prior, I meant not •• 

To pry into your secret. We will oray 
For one unknown^ thie same as for tne proudest. 

Sieg, Secret ! I hajire none ; but, father, he who's gone 
Might have one ; or, in short, he did bequeath — 
No, not bequeath — but I bestow this sum 
For pious purposes. ' 

Prior, A proper deed 

In the behalf of our departed friends. 

Sieg, But he who 's gone was not my friend, but foe, 
The deadliest and the stanchest. 

Prior, Better still! 

To employ our means to obtain heaven for the souls- 
Of our dead enemies is worthy those 
Who can forgive them living. 

Sieg. But I did not 

Forgive this man. I loathed him to the last. 
As he did me. I do not- love him now. 

Prior. Best of all ! for this is pure religion ! 
You fain would rescue him you hate from hell — 
An evangelical compassion — with 
Your own gold too ! 

Sieg, Father, 't is not my gold. 

Prior, Whose then ? You it was no legacy, 

Sieg, No matter whose — of this be suie, that he 

A TSA6XDV. 85 

Who ownM it never more will need it, save 

In that which it may purchase from your altars : 

T* is yours, or theirs. 

Prior, Is there no blood upon it ? 

Sieg. No ; but there 's worse than blood — eternal 

Prior. Did he who ownM it die in his bed ? 

Sieg. Alas ! 

fie did. 

Prior, Son ! you relapse into revenge, 
If you reffrct your enemy's bloodless death. 

Sieg. His death was fathomlessly deep in blood. 

Prior. You said he died in his bed, not battle. 

Sieg. He 

Died, I scarce know — but — hQ was stabb'd i' the dark,. 
And now you have it — perish'd on his piUow 
By a cut-throat ! — Ay ! — you may look upon me ! 
/ am Ttot the man. I '11 meet your eye on that point, 
As I can one day God's. 

Prior. Nor did he die, 

By means, or men, or instrument of yours 7 

Sieg. No ! by the God who sees and strikes ! 

Prior. Nor know you 

Who slew him ? 

Sieg. I could only guess tit onfy 

And he to me a stranger, unconnected. 
As unemploy'd. Except by one day^s knowledge, 
I never saw the man who was suspected. 

Prior. Then you are free from guilt. 

Sieg. (eagerly Oh ! am 11 — say ! 

Prior. You have said so, and know be^t. 

Sieg. Father ! I have spoken 

The truth, and nought but truth, if not the whde ; 
Yet say I am not guilty ! for the blood 
Of this man weighs on roe, as if I shed it, 
Though, by the Power who abborreth human blood, 
I did not ! — nay, once spared it, when I might 
And could — ay, perhaps, -Should (if our nclf-safety 
Be e'er excusable in such defences 
Against the attacks of over-potent foes) : 
But pray for him, for me, and all my house ; 
For, as I said, though I be innocent, 
I know not why, a like remorse is on mo, 
As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me, 
Father ! I have pray'd myself in vain. 

Prior. I will 

66 WBRXBBy ACT t. 

Be comforted ! You are innocent, and should 
Be calm as innocence. 

Sieg. But calmness is not 

Always the attribute of innocence. 
I feel it is not. 

Prior. But it will be so, 

When the mind gathers up its truth within it^ 
Remember the great festival to-morrow, 
In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles, 
As well as your brave son ; and smooth your aspect ; 
Nor in the general orison of thanks 
For bloodshed stopt, let blood you shed not rise 
A cloud upon your thoughts. This were to be 
Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget 
Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. 


S C E N E I. 

A large and magnificent Gothic HdU in Ihe CasUe of Siegendorf, 
decorated with Trophies, Banners, and Arms of that FamUy. 

Enter Arnheih and Meister, attendants of Count 


Am, Be quick ! the count will soon return : the ladies 
Already are at the portal. Have you sent 
The messengers in search of him he seeks for ? 

Meis. I have, in all directions, over Prague, 
As far as the man's dress and figure could 
By your description track him. The devil take 
These revels and processions ! All the pleasure 
(If such there be) must fall to the spectators. 
I 'm sure none doth to us who make the show. 

Am, Go to ! my lady countess comes. 

Meis. I M rather 

Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade. 
Than follow in the train of a great man 
In these dull pageantries. 


Am. Begone ! and rail 

Within. [Exeunt. 

EfUer the Couiitkss Josbphixe Si£gbni>obf aind Ida 

Joi. Well, Heaven be praised, the show is over ! 

Ida. How can you say so ! never have I dreamt 
Of aught so beautiful. The flowers, the boughs, 
The banners, and the nobles, and the knights, 
The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces, 
The coursers, and the incense, and the sun 
Streaming through tho stain'd windows, even the tombs^ 
Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns. 
Which seem'd as if they rather came from heaven 
Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal 
Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder ; 
The white robes and the lifted eyes ; the world 
At peace ! and all at peace with one another ! 
Oh« my sweet mother ! lEmbracing Josxphinb. 

Jos. My beloved child ! 

For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.. 

Ida. Oh! 

I am 80 already. Feel how my heart beats ! 

Jos. It does, my love ; and never may it throb 
With aught more bitter. 

Ida. Never shall it do so ! 

How should it ? What should make us grieve 7- I. hate 
To hear of sorrow : how can we be sad. 
Who love each other so entirely ? You^ 
The count, and Ulric, and your daughter Ida. 

Jos. Poor child ! 

Ida. Do you pity me ? 

Jos. No ; I but envy. 

And that in sorrow, not in the world's sense 
Of the universal vice, if one vice be 
More general than another.. 

Ida. I II not hear 

A word against a world which still contains 
You and my Ulric. Did you ever see 
Aught like him 7 How he tow^r'd among them all ! 
And all eyes foUow'd him ! The flowers fell faster — 
RainM from each lattice at his feet, methought^. 
Than before all the rest ; and where he trod 
I dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'er 
Will wither. 


Jo9. Tou will spoil liiiD» little flatterer, 

If he should hear you. 

Ideu But he never wilL 

I dare not say so much to him — I fear him. 

Jos. Why so ? he loves you well. 

Ida. But I can never 

' Shape my thoughts of him into words fo him. 
Besides, he sometimes frightens me. 

Jos. How so ? 

Ida. A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly, 
Yet he says nothing. 

Jos. It is nothing : all men. 

Especially in these dark troublous times. 
Have much to think of. 

Ida. But I cannot think 

Of aught save him. 

Jos. Yet there are other men. 

In the world's eye, as goodly. There 's, for instance. 
The young Count Waldorfi who scarce once withdrew 
His eyes from yours to-day. 

Ida. I did not see him. 

But Ulric. Did yeu not see at the moment 
When all knelt, and I wept ! and yet methought, 
Through my fast tears, though they were thick and warm, 
I saw him smiling on me. 

Jos. I could not 

See aught save heaven, to which my eyes were raised 
Together with the people's. 

Ida. I thought too 

Of heaven, although I lookM on Ulric. 

Jos. Come, 

Let us retire ; they will be here anon 
Expectant of the banquet. We will lay 
Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains. 

Ida. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels, 
Which make my head and heart ache, as both throb 
Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone. 
Dear mother, I am with you. 

Enter Count Sieghwdorf, infuU dress, from the sdemnity^ and 


Sieg. Is he not found ? 

Lud. Strict search is making every where ; and in 
The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found. 
Sieg. Where 'a Ulric ? 


iMd. He rode round the other way 

With some Jroimg nobles ; but he left them soon; 
And, if I err not, not a minute since 
I heard his excellency, with his train. 
Galloping o'er the west drawbridge. 

'Enter UiJuc» splendidly dressed. 

Sieg. {to LvDwiG.) See they cease not 

Their quest of him I have described. (Exit Ludwio.) 

Oh, Ulric! 
How have I long'd for thee ! 

Ulr. Your wish is granted — 

Behold me ! 

Sieg. I have seen the murderer. 

Ulr. Whom? Where? 

Sieg. The Hungarian, who slew Stralenheim 

Ulr, You dream. 

Sieg, I live ! and as I live, I saw him — 

Heard him ! he dared to utter even my name. * 

Ulr, What name 7 

Sieg, Werner ! f was mine. 

Ulr, It must be so 

No more : forget it. 

Sieg, Never! never! all 

My d«itinies were woven in that name : 
It will not be engraved upon my tomb. 
But it may lead me there. 

Ulr, To the point •— the Hungarian ? 

Sieg. Listen — The church was throng'd ; the hymn 
was raised; 
'' Te Deum " pealM from nations, rather than 
From choirs, in one great cry of " God be praised " 
For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years, 
Each bloodier than the former : I arose, 
With all the nobles, and as I look'd down 
Along the lines of lifted faces, — from 
Our banner'd and escutcheon'd gaUery, I 
Saw, like a flash of lightning, (for I saw 
A moment and no more,) what struck mc sightless 
To all else — the Hungarian's &ce I I grew 
Sick ; and when I recover'd from the mist 
Which curl'd about my senses, and again 
Look'd down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving 
Was over, and we march'd back in procession. 

UJr, Continue. 


Sieg. When we reached the Muldsu's bridge, 

The joyous crowd above, the numberless 
Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs, 
Which shot along the glancing tide below, 
The decorated street, the long array. 
The clashing music, and the thundering 
Of far artillery, which seem'd to bid 
A long and loud farewell to its great doings. 
The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round. 
The roar of rushing thousands, — all — all could not 
Chase this man from my mind, although my senses 
No longer held him palpable. 

Uhr. You saw him 

No more, then 7 

Sieg, I look'd, as a dying soldier 

Looks at a draught of water, for this man *: 
But still I saw him not ; but in liis stead — — 

Ulr. What in his stead ? 

Sieg. My eye for ever fell 

Upon your dancing crest*; the loftiest, 
As on the loftiest and the loveliest head 
It rose the highest of the -stream of plumes. 
Which overflowed the glittering streets of Prague* 

Vlr. What 's this to the Hungarian ? 

Sieg, Much ; for I 

Had almost then fbrgot him in my son ; 
When just as the artillery ceased, and paused 
The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu 
Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice. 
Distinct and keener far upon my ear 
Than the late cannon's volume, this word — ** Werner! " 

r/Zr. Uttered by 

Sieg* Him ! I tum'd — and saw — and fell. 

TJlr. And wherefore ? Were you seen ? 

Sieg. The officious care 

Of those around me draggM me from the spot, 
Seeing my faintness, ignorant of the cause ; 
You, too, were too remote in the procession 

?rhe old nobles being divided from their children) 
aid me. 

Ulr. But 1 11 aid you now. 

Sieg. In what? 

XJhr. In searching for this man, or When he's 

What shall we do with him ? 

Sieg. I know not that. 

ICIXSl. 1. TRAGEDY. • 91 

Ulr, Then wherefore seek ? 

Sieg. Because I cannot rest 

Tin he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's, 
And oursy seem intertwisted ! nor can be 
UnraveU'd, tin 

Enter an Attsndant. 

AUen. A stranger to wait on 

Four excellency. 

Sieg. Who ? 

Atteru He gave no name. 

Sieg. Amit him, ne'ertheless. 

[The Attendaitt uOrcdueea Gabob, and txfieruKtrds 


Gab. T is, then, Werner ! 

Sieg. (JumghtUy.) Tlie same you knew, sir, by that 
name ; and you ! 

Gab. (looking (around.) I recogniae you both : father 
and son. 
It seems. Count, I have heard that you, or yours, 
Have lately been in search of me : I am here. 

Sieg. I have sought you> aoid have found you : you are 
(Your own heart may inform you why) with such 
A crime as [He pauses. 

Crab. Give it utterance^ and then 

1 11 meet the consequences. 

Sieg. You shall do so — 

Unless — 

Gab. First, who accuses me ? 

Sieg. All things, 

If not all men : the universal rumour — 
My own presence on the spot — the place— the time— 
And every speck of circumstance unite 
To fix the blot on you. 

Gab. And c^n me only ? 

Pause ere you answer : is no other name, 
Save mine, stain'd in this business ? 

Sieg. Trifling villain ! 

Who play'st with thine own guUt ! Of all that breathe 
Thou best dost know the innocence of him 
'Gainst whom thy breath would blow thy bloody slander. 
But I will talk no further with a wretch. 


Further than justice aaks. Answer at once, 
And without quibbling, to my charge. 

Gab. T is false ! 

Sieg. Who says so ? 
Gab. I. 

Sieg. And how disprove it ? 

Gab. By 

The presence of the mnrderer. 

Sieg. Name him ! 

Gab. He 

May have more names than one. Your lordship had so 
Once on a time. 

• Sieg. If you mean me, I dare 

Your utmost. 

Gab. You may do so, and in safety ; 

I know the assassin. 
Sieg. Where is he? 

Gab. (pointing to Ulric.) Beside you 1 

[Ulric rushes forward to attack Gabor ; Sisoendorp 
Sieg. Liar and fiend ! but you shall not be slain ; 
These walls are mine, and you are safe within them. 

[He turns to Ulsic. 
Ulric, repel this calumny, as I 
Will do. I avow it is a growth so monstrous, 
I could not deem it earth-bom : but be calm ; 
It will refute itself. But touch him not^ 

[Ulric endeavours to compose himself. 
Gab. Look at Aim, count, and then hear me. 
Sieg. (first to Gabor, and then looking at Ulric.) 

I hear thee. 
My God ! you look — 

Vlr. How? 

Sieg. As on that dread night 

When we met in the garden. 

iJlr. (composes himself). It is nothing. 
Gab. Count, you are bound to hear me. I came hither 
Not seeking you, but sought. When I knelt down 
Amidst the people in the church, I dream'd not 
To find the beggar'd Werner in the seat 
Of senators and princes ; but you have call'd me, 
And we have met. 
Sieg. Gro on, sir. 

Gab. Ere I do so. 

Allow me to inquire who profited 
By Stralenheim's death ? Was 't I — as poor as ever ; 


And poorer by suspicion on my nftoie ! 
The baron lost in that last outrage neitber 
Jewels nor gM ; his life alone was sought, — 
A life which stood between the claims of others 
To honours and estates scarce less than princely. 

Sieg, These hints, as vague as yain, attach no less 
To me than to my son. 

Gab. I can't help that 

But let the consequence alight on him 
Who feels himself the guilty one amongst us. 
I speak to you. Count Siegendorf, because 
I know you innocent, and deem you just. 
But ere I can proceed— dors you protect me ? 
Dare you command me 7 

[SuoENDOBF first looJcs ot the Hungarian^ and iken at 
Ulxic, wJio has unbuckled his sabre, and is drawing 
Unes with it on the floor -^sHU in its sheathe 

Ulr. {looks at his father and says\ Let the man go on ! 

Gab. I am unarm'd, count — bid your son lay down 
His sabre. 

lUr. {offers it to him contemptuously.) Take it. 

Gab. No, sir, 't is enough 

That we are both unarm'd — I would not choose 
To wear a steel which may be stain'd with more 
Bk>od than came there in battle. 

Ubr. {casts the sabre from him in contempt.) It — or 
Such other weapon, in my hands — <• spared yours 
Once when disarmed and at my mercy. 

Gab. True — 

I have not forgotten it: you spared me for 
Your own especial purpose — to sustain 
An ignominy not my own. 

Vur. Proceed. 

The tale is doubtless worthy the relator. 
But is it of my iather to hekt further ? 


Sieg. {takes his son by the hand.) My son ! I know my 
own innocence, and doubt not 
Of yours '-but I have promised this man patience ; 
Ijet him oontinne* 

Crab. I will not detain you 

By speaking of myself much ; I besan 
Life early ^- and am what the world has made me. 
At Franldbrt on the Oder, where I pass'd 

94 wxssuK, Acrf. 

A winter in obscurity, it was 

My chance at several places of resort 

(Which I frequented sometimes but not ofien) 

To hear related a strange circumstance 

In February last. A martial force. 

Sent by the state, had, after strong resistance, 

Secured a band of desperate men, supposed 

Marauders from the hostile camp. — They prore^ 

However, not to be so — but banditti. 

Whom either accident or enterprise 

Had carried from their usual haunt — the forests 

Which skirt Bohemia — even into Lusatia. 

Many amongst them were reported of 

High rank — and martial law slept for a time. 

At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers, 

And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction 

Of the free town of Frankfort. Of their fate, 

I know no more. 

Sieg, And what is this to Ulric 

(rab. Amongst them there was said to be one man 
Of wonderful endowments : — birth and fortune, 
Youth, strength, and beauty, almost superhuman, 
And courage as unrivall'd, were proclaim'd 
His by the public rumour ; and his sway. 
Not only over his associates, but 
His judges, was attributed to witchcraft* 
Such was his influence : — I have no great faith 
In any magic save that of the mine — 
I therefore deem'd him wealthy. — But my soul 
Was roused with various feelings to seek out 
This prodigy, if only to behold him. 

Sieg, And did you so ? 

Gab. You 11 hear. Chance favour'd me : 

A popular affray in the public square 
Drew crowds together — it was one of those 
Occasions where men's souls look out of them, 
And show them as they -are — ei^en in their faced : 
The moment my eye met his, I exclaim'd, 
** This is the man ! " though he was then, as since^ 
With the nobles of the city. I felt sure 
I had not err'd, and watched him long and nearly : 
I noted down his form — his gesture — features, 
Stature, and bearing — and amidst them all,. 
Midst every natural and acquired distinction, 
1 could discern, methought, the assassin's eye 
And gladiator's heart. 


VIr. (nmimg,) The tale sounds well. 

Crab. And may sound better. — He appeared to ma 
One of those beings to whom Fortune bends 
As she doth to the daring — and on whom 
The fates of others oft depend ; besides, 
An indescribable sensation drew me 
Near to this man, as if my point of fortune 
Was to be fix'd by him. — There 1 was wrong. 

Sieg. And may not be right now. 

Gab. I followed him. 

Solicited his notice — and obtained it — 
Though not his friendship : *-it was his intention 
To leave the city privately — we left it 
Together — and together we arrived 
In the poor town where Werner was eonceal'd, 
And Stralenheim was succour'd— ^Now we are on 
The rerge^-dare you hear further? 

Sieg* I must do so *- 

Or I have heard too much. 

Crdb, I saw in you 

A man above his station — and if not 
So high, as now I find you, in my then 
Ck>nceptions, 't was that I had rarely seen 
Men such as you appenr'd in height of mind 
In the most high of worldly rank ; you were 
Poor, even to all save rags : I would have shared 
My purse, though slenden with you*- you refused it. 

sieg. Doth my refusal make a debt to you. 
That thus you urge it ? 

Gab. Still you owe me something, 

Though not for that ; and I owed you my safety, 
At least my seeming safety, when the slaves 
Of Stralenheim pursued me on the grounds 
That / had robb'd him. 

Sieg. I conceal'4 you — I, 

Whom and whose house you arraign, reviving viper ! 

Gab. I accuse no man — save in my defence. 
You, count, have made yourself accuser — judge: 
Your hall 's my court, your heart is my tribuimL 
Be just, and J 'U be merciful ! 

Sieg. You merciful ! 

You ! Base calumniator ! 

Gab. I. T will rest 

With me at last to be so. You conceal'd me— 
In secret passages known to yourself, 
You said, and to none else. At dead of night, 


Weary with watching in the dark, and dubious 
Of tracing back my way, I saw a glimmer. 
Through distant crannies, of a twinkling light : 
I foUow'd it, and reach'd a door — a secret 
Portal — which open'd to the chamber, where, 
With cautious hand and alow, having first undone 
As much as made a crevice of the fastening, 
I look'd through and beheld a purple bed. 
And on it Stralenheim ! *- 

Sieg. Asleep ! And yet 

You slew him ! — Wretch ! 

Crab. He was already slain, 

And bleeding like a sacrifice. My own 
Blood became ice. 

Sieg. But he was all alone ! 

You saw none else ? You did not see the — -— 

[He pauses firm agUatimi 

CM. No, 

JBTe, whom you dare not name, nor even I 
Scarce dare to recollect, was not then in 
The chamber. 

Sieg. {to Ulbic.) Then, my boy ! thou art guiltless 
still — 
Thou bad'st me say I was so once-— Oh ! how 
Do thou as much ! 

Gab. Be patient ! I can not 

Recede now, though it shake the very walls 
Which frown above us. You remember, — or 
If not, your son does, — that the locks were changed 
Beneath his chief inspection on the mom 
Which led to this same night : how he had enter'd 
He best knows — but within an antechamber, 
The door of which was half ajar, I saw 
A man who wash'd his bloody hands, and oft 
With stem and finxious glance gazed back upon 
The bleeding body — but it moved no more. 

Sieg. Oh ! God of fathers ! 

Gab. I beheld his features 

As I see yours— but yours they were not, though 
Resembling them — behold them in Count Ulricas ! 
Distinct as I beheld them, though the expression 
Is not now what it then was ; -~ but it was so 
When I first charged him with the crime — so lately. 

Sieg. This is so — 

Gab. {interruptiiug Jdm.) Nay— but hear me to the 

A ISAeSDT* 97 

Nam ywk iniist do so.-»I conceived myielf 

BetrayM by you and Mm (for now I saw 

Hiere was some tie between ypu) into this 

Pretended den of refiiget to become 

The victim of your gmlt ; and my first thoo^t 

Was vengeance : but though arm'd with a short poniard 

(Having left my sword without) I was no match 

For him at any time, as bad been proved 

That morning — either in address or force. 

I tum'dy and fled—- i' the dark : chance rather than 

Skill made me gain the secret door of the hall. 

And thence the chamber where you slept : if I 

Had found you wdhing^ Heaven alone can tell 

What vengeance and sumicion might have prompted ; 

But ne'er slept guilt as Werner slept that night. 

Sieg. And yet I had horrid dreams ! and such brief 
The stars had not gone down when I awoke. 
Why didst thou spare me ? I dreamt of my father -— 
And now my dream is out ! 

CMb, 'T is not my fault. 

If I have read it.— Well ! I fled and hid me — 
Chance led roe here after so many moons -~ 
And show'd me Werner in Count Siegendorf ! 
Werner, whom I had sought 4n huts in vain, 
Inhabited the palace of a sovereign ! 
You sought me and have found me— now you know 
My secret, and may weigh its worth. 

Sieg. {after a pause.) Indeed ! 

Oafr* Is it revenge or justice which inspires 
Your meditation ? 

Sieg, Neither — I was weighing 

The vahie of your secret. 

Crab. You shall know it 

At once : — When you were poor, and I, though poor. 
Rich enough to relieve such poverty 
As might have envied mine, I ofler'd you 
My purse — you would not share it: *-I 11 be franker 
With you : you are wealthy, noble, trusted by 
The imperial powers^- you understand me ? 

Sieg. Yes.— 

Gab. Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce true : 
T is no less true, however, that my fortunes 
Have made me both at present. You shall aid me : 
I would have aided you — and also have 
Been somewhat danittged in my name to save 

TOL. v.— B 

98 wsBifss, 


Yours and your son's. Weigh, well what I have said. 

Sieg, Dare you await the event of a few minutes' 
Deliberation ? 

(rab. (casts Ms eyes an Ulsic, wko is leamng agmnst a 
pOar.) If I should do so ? 

Sieg, I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into 
This tower. [Opens a tmrrei door. 

Gab. (hesitaUngly,) This is the second safe asjdum 
You have ofler'd me. 

Sieg, And was not the first so ? 

Crab, I know not that even now— but will approve 
The second. I have still a further shield.—- 
I did not enter Prague alone ; and should I 
Be put to rest with Stralenheim, there are 
Some tongues without will wag in my behalf. 
Be brief in your dectsien ! 

Sieg. I will be «o.— 

My word is sacred and irrevocaUe 
Within iltese walls, but it exteads no Airther. 

Gab. 111 take it for so much. 

Sieg. (points ft> Uutic's sabre stSl t^ien the grosmd.) 

Take also tAoe— 
I saw you eye it eagerly, and him 

Gab. (takes t^ihe sabre.) I will ; and^ provide 
To sell my life — not cheaply. 

[Gabob goes into Ae turret tohickj SnomnoRr 

Sieg, (adoances to Uutic.) Now, Count Ulric ! 
For son I dare not call thee — What say'st thou ? 

Vlr, His tale is true. 

Sieg, True, monster ! 

Uhr. Most true, father * 

And you did well to listen to it : what 
We know, we can provide against. He must 
Be silenced. 

Sieg, Ay, with half of my domains ; 

And with the other half, could he and thou 
Unsay this villany. 

Ulr. It is no time 

For triflinff or dissembling. I have said 
His story °8 true ; and he too must be silenced. 

Sieg, How so ? 

Ulr As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull 

As never to have hit on this before ? 
When we met in the garden, what except 


Discovery in the act could make me know 
His death ? Or had the prince's household been 
Then summon'd, would the cry for the police 
Been left to such a stranger ? Or should I 
Have loiter'd on the way ? Or could path Werner^ 
The object of the baron's hate and fears, 
Have fled, unless by many an hour before 
Suspicion woke ? I sought and fathom'd you, 
Doubting if you were fatee or feeble : I 
Perceived you were the latter ; and yet so 
Confiding have I found you, that I doubted 
At times your weakness. 

Sieg. Parricide ! no less 

Than common stabber ! What deed of my life. 
Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit 
For your accomplice ? 

VIr. Father, do not raise 

The devil you cannot lay between us. This 
Is time for union and for action, not 
For famUy disputes. While you were tortured, 
Could / be calm ? Think you that I have heard 
This fellow's tale without some feeling 7 -^ You 
Have taught me feeling for ycu and myself; 
For whom or what ebe did you ever teach it ? 

Sieg, Oh ! my dead father's curse ! 't is working now. 

TJlr. Let it work on ! the grave will keep it down I 
Ashes are feeble foes : it is more easy 
To baffle such, than countermine a mole, 
Which winds its blind but living path beneath you. 
Yet hear me still ! — If you condemn me, yet 
Remember who hath taught me once too often 
To listen to him ! Who proclaim'd to me 
That there were crimes made venial by the occasion t 
That passion was our nature ? that the goods 
Of Heaven waited on the goods of fortune ? 
Who show'd me his humanity secured 
By his nerves only ? Who deprived me of 
All power to vindicate myself and race 
In open day t By his disgrace which stamp'd 
(It might be) bastardy on me, and on 
Himself — VLfelon^s brand ! The man who is 
At once both warm and weak invites to deeds 
He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange 
That I should act what you could think ? We have done 
With right and wrong ; and now must only ponder 
Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim, 


WhoM life I saved from impulse, as, unhuntrtf 

I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I dew 

Knoum as our foe — but not from vengeance. He 

Was a rock in our way which [ cut through. 

As doth the bolt, because it stood between us - 

And our true destination — but not idly. 

As stranger I preserved him, and he owed me 

His life : when due, I but resumed the debt. 

He, you, and I, stood o'er a gulf wherein 

I have plunged our enemy. You kindled first 

The torch — you show'd the path ; now trace me that 

Of safety — or let me ! 

Sieg. . I have done with life ! 

Vlr. Let us have done with that which cankers life — 
Familiar feuds and vain recriminations 
Of things which cannot be undone. We have 
No more to learn or hide : I know no fear, 
And have within these very walls men who 
(Although you know them not) dare venture all things. 
You stand high with the state ; what passes here 
Will not excite her too great curiosity : 
Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye. 
Stir not, and speak not ; *- leave the rest to me : 
We must have no third babblers thrust between us^ 

{ExiJt Ulbic. 

Sieg* {schts.) km I awake? are these my father's 
And yon — my son ? My son ! mine ! who have ever 
Abhorr'd both mystery and blood, and yet 
Am plunged into the deepest hell of both ! 
I must be speedy, or more will be shed -^ 
The Hungarian's ! — Ulric — he hath partisans, 
It seems : I might have guess'd as much. Oh fool ! 
Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key 

iAs I too) of the opposite door which leads 
nto the turret. Now then ! or once more 
To be the father of fresh crimes, no less 
Than of the criminal ! Ho ! Gabor ! Gabor ! 

[Exit into the turreU dosing the door after hm* 


8 C E N E 1 L 

The Interior of the Turret. 

Gabor and Sis6Xxn>0BF. 

Cab. Who calls? 

Sieg» I — Siegendorf ! Take theae, and fly i 

X^oae not a moment? 

[Teareef a diamond tiar and other jetoels^ and tkrude 
them itUo Gabob*8 hand* 

Gab. What am I to do 

With these? 

Sieg. Whatever you will : sell them, or hoard. 

And prosper ; but delay not, or you are lost ! 

Gab. X ou pledged your honour for my safety ! 

Sieg. And 

Must thus redeem it. Fly ! I am not master, 
It seemsy of my own castle — of my own 
Retainers — nay, even of these very walls. 
Or I would bid them fall and crush me ! Fly ! 
Or you will be slain by— 

Gab. Is it even so? 

. Farewell, then ! Recollect, however, Count, 
Tou sought this fata] interview ! 

Sieg. I did: 

Let it not be*niore fatal still ! — Beffone ! 

Gab. By the same path I enterM? 

Sieg. Yes ; that 's safe still ; 

But loiter not in Prague ; — you do not know 
With whom you have to deal* 

Gab. I know too well -* 

And knew it ere yourself, unhappy sire ! 
Farewell ! [Exit Gabob. 

Sieg. {edhu and Jistemng.) He hath clear'd the stair- 
case. Ah 1 I hear 
Tlie door sound loud behind him ! He is safe ! 
Safe ! — Oh, my father's spirit 1 — I am faint ■■ ' 

[He leans down vpon a done eiep, near the taatt of 
ihe tower f in a drooping posture. 

Enter Uutio, wkh/Aers armed^ and wUh weapons drawn. 
Vlr'. Despatch ! — he 's there ! ■ 

102 WERNKRt j^ffTW 

Lad. The count, my lord ! 

TJlr. {ruogninng Siegendorf.) You here, sir ! 

8tg, Yes : if you want another victim, strike ! 

JJhr. (seeing him 9trwt of his jewels,) Where is the nif* 
fian who hath pfunder'd you ? 
Yassals, despatch in search of him ! Tou see 
'T was iBLS I said — the wretch hath stript my father 
Of jewels which might form a prince's heir-loom ! 
Away ! I '11 follow you forthwith. 

[Exeunt a//6fi<SiEGENDORF oii<2Ulric. 
What's this? 
Where is the villain T 

Sieg, There are ttco^ sir : which 

Are you in quest of! 

Ulr, Let us hear no more 

Of this : he must be found. Tou have not let him 

Sieg. He 's gone. 

Ulr. With your connivance ? 

Sieg. With 

My fullest, freest aid. 

Ulr. Then fare you well ! 

[Ulric is going, 

Sieg, Stop ! I command — entreat — implore ! Oh» t Iric ! 
Will you then leave me ? 

Ulr, What! remain lo» be 

Denounced — dragg'd, it may be, in chains ; and all 
By your inherent weakness, half- humanity,. 
Selfish remorse, and temporising pity. 
That sacrifices your whole race to save 
A wretch to profit by our ruin ! No, countt. 
Henceforth you have no son ! 

Sieg, I never had one f 

And would you ne'er had borne the useless name ! 
Where will you go ? I would not send you fiurth 
Without protection. 

Ulr, Leave that'unto me. 

I am not alone ; nor merely the vain heir 
Of your domains ; a thousand, ay, ten thousand 
Swords, hearts, and hands^ are mine. 

Sieg. The foresters ! 

With whom the Hungarian found you first at Frankfort ! 

Ulr, Yes*- men — who are worthy of the sane I 6a 
Your senators that they look well lo Prague ; 


Their feast of peace was early for the times ; 
There are more spirits abroad than have been laid 
With Wallenstein ! 

Enter Josephine and Ida. 

Joi, What is 't we hear ? My Siegendorf ! 

Thank Heav'ny I see you safe ! 

Sieg. Safe ! 

Ida. Yes, dear father ! 

Sieg. No, no ; I have no children : never more 
Call me by that worst name of parent. 

JcMU What 

Means my good lord ? 

Sieg. That you have given birtii 

To a demon ! 

Ida. (taking Ulric's Jiand.) Who shall dare say this of 

Sieg. Ida, beware ! there 's blood upon that hand. 

Ida. (stooping to kisa^it.) I 'd kiss it off, though it were 
mine ! 

Sieg. It is so ! 

Ulr. Away ! it is your father'b ! [Exit Uuuc. 

Ida. Oh, great God ! 

And I have loved this man t 

[Ida falls senseless -^JosEmutM stands speechless 
with horror. 

Sieg. The wretch hath slain 

Them both ! — * My Josephine ! we are now alone ! 
Would we had ever been so ! — All is over 
For me ! — Now open wide, my sire, thy grave ; 
Thy curse hath dug it. deeper for thy son 
In mine ! — The race of Siegendorf is past ! 




This production is founded partly on the story of a nOTel 
called The Three Brothera^ publiihed many years ago, from 
wbicti M- G- Lewis's ^Vood Demon was also taken — and partly 
on the " Faust" of the greot Goethe. The present publication 
contains the two first Parts only, and the opening chorus of 
the third. The rest may perhaps appear hereafter* 


STRAN0SB9 afterwards Cjbsab. 




Spirittf Soldiers^ CiHzens of Rome^ PriesU^ Peasants, 4^. 




A Forest. 

Enter Abnold and Mb mother Bbbtha. 

Bert. Out, hunchback ! 

Am. I was born so, mother ! 

Bert. Out, 

Thou incubus ! Thou nightmare! Of seven son8» 
The sole abortion ! 

Am. Would that I had been so, 

And never seen the light ! 

Bert. I would so too ! 

But as thou hast — hence, hence — and do thy best ! 
That back of thine may bear its burden ; 't is 
More hiffh, if not so broad as that of others. 

Am. It bears its burthen ; — but, my heart ! Will it 
Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother ? 
I love, or, at the least, I loved you : nothing 
Save you, in nature, can love aught like me. 
You nursed me— do not kill me ! 

Bert. Yes — - 1 nursed thee, 

Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not 
If there would be another unlike thee, 
That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence. 
And gather wood ! 

Am. I will : but when I bring it. 

Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are 
So beautiful and lusty, and as free 
As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me : 
Our milk has been the same. 

Bmi. As in the hedgehog's, 


Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam 
Of the young hull, until the milkmaid finds 
The nipple next day sore and udder dry. 
Call not thy brothers brethren ! Call me not 
Mother ; for if I brought thee forth, it was 
As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by 
Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out ! 

[Exit Bertha. 
Am. {solus.) Oh mother ! ——She is gone, and I must 
Her bidding ; — wearily but willingly 
I would fulfil it, could I only hope 
A. kind word in return. What shall I do ? 

[Arnold begins to cut wood : in doing this he wounds 
one of his hands. 
My labour for the day is over now. 
Accursed be this blood that flows so fast ; 
For double curses will be my meed now 
At home. — What home ? I have no home, no kin, 
No kind — not made like other creatures, or 
To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed^too 
^ Like them ? Oh that each drop which falls to earth 
Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me ! 
Or that the devil, to whom they liken me. 
Would aid his likeness ! If I must partake 
His form, why not his power ? Is it because 
I. have not his will too ? For one kind word 
From her who bore me would still reconcile rac 
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash 
The wound. 

[Arnold goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his 
hand : he starts back. 
They are right ; and Nature's mirror shows me 
What she hath made me. I will not look on it 
Again, and scarce dare think on 't. Hideous wretch 
That I am ! The very waters mock me with 
My horrid shadow — like a demon placed 
Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle 
From drinking therein. [He pauses. 

And shall I live on, 
A burden to ihe earth, myself, and shame 
Unto what brought me into li^e ! Thou blood, 
Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me 
Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream 
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself 
On earth, to which I will restore at once 

icnrsi. ▲ DlAXA. Ill 

This hateful compound of her atoms, and 
Resolve back to her dements, and take 
The riiape of any reptile save myself, 
And make a world for myriads of new worms ! 
This knife ! now let me prove if it will sever 
This withered slip of nature's nightshade — my 
Vile form — from the creation, as it hath 
The green bough from the forest. 

[Amkold plaeet the knife in the ground^ teith the 

Now 't is set, 
And I can fall upon it* Yet one glance 
On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like 
Myself^ and the sweet sun which warm'd me, but 
In vain« The birds— how joyously they sing ! 
So let them, for I would not be lamented : 
But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell ; 
The fallen leaves my monument ; the murmur 
Of the near fountain my sole elegy. 
Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall ! 

[Am he ruehet to throw himself upon the knife^ his eye 
is suddenly caught hy the fountain^ which seems 
in notion* 
The fountain moves without a wind : but shall 
The ripple of a spring change my resolve ? 
No. Yet it moves again ! The waters stir. 
Not as with air, but by some subterrane - 
And rocking power of the internal world. 
What 's here? A mist! No more? — 

[A chud comes from the founliun. He stands gazing 
mponit : it is dispelleij and a tall black mancomes 
towards him. 

Am, What would you ? Speak ! 

Spirit or man ? 

Stran. As man is both, why not 

Say both in one ? 

Ant. Your form is man's, and yet 

You may be devil. 

Stran. So many men are that 

Which is so called or thought, that you may add me 
To which you please, without much wrong to either. 
But come : you wish to kill yourself; — pursue 
Your purpose. 

Am. You have interrupted me. 

Stran. What is that resolution which can e'er 
Be interrupted ? If I be the devil ^ 


You deeniy a single foment would have made you 
Mine, and for ever, by your suicide ; 
And yet my coming saves you. 

Am. I said not 

You toere the demon, but that your approach 
Was like one. 

Siran. Unless you keep company 

With him (and you seem scarce used to such high 
Society) you can't tell how he approaches ; 
And for lus aspect, look upon the fountain. 
And then on me, and judge which of us twain 
Look likest what the boors believe to be 
Their cloven-footed terror. 

Am. Do you — dare you 

To taunt me with my born deformity 7 

Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this 
Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary 
With thy sublime of humps, the animals 
Would revel in the compliment. And yet 
Both beings are more swifl, more strong, more mighty 
In action and endurance than thyself, 
And all the fierce and fair of the same kind 
With thee. Thy form is natural : 't was only 
Nature's mistaken kurgess to bestow 
The gifls which are of others upon man. 

Am. GivQ me the strength then of the buffalo's foot, 
When he spurs high the dust, beholding his 
Near enemy ; or let me have the long . 
And patient swiftness of the desert-ship, 
The hehnlqss dromedary ! — and I '11 bear 
Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience. 
Stran. I will. 

Am. {with surpriae.) Thou canst ? 
Stran. Perhaps. Would you aught else ? 

Am. Thou mockest me^ 

Stran. Not I. Why should 1 mock 

What all are mocking ? That 's poor sport, methinks. 
To talk to thee in human language (for 
Thou canst not yet speak mine,) the 'forester 
Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar. 
Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game 
To petty burghers, who leave once a yeax 
Their walls, to fill their household caldrons with 
Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,«-^ 
Now /can mock the mightiest. 
Am. Then waste not 

▲ IXSAIEA* 118 

Thy time on me : I seek thee not. 

StroH. Tour thoughts 

Are not fiur from me. Do not send me back : 
I am not so easily recall'd to do 
€rood service. 

.Ant. What wilt thou do for me 7 

Siran* Change 

Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you ; 
Or form you to your wish in any shape. 

Am. Oh ! then you are indeed the. demon, for 
Nought else would wittingly wear minei 

Stran. 11 show thee 

The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee 
Thy choice. 

Am. On what condition ? 

Stran* . There 's a question ' 

An hour ago you would have given your so^l 
To look like other meUt and now you pause 
To wear the form of heroes. 

Am* No ; I will not. 

1 must not compromise my soul. 

Stran. What soul, 

Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass ? 

Am. T is an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement 
In which it is mislcKlged. But name your compact : 
Must it be sign'd in blood T 

Stran. Not in your •wn. 

Am. Whose Mood then 7 

Stran. We will talk of that hereafter. 

But 1 11 be moderate with you, for I see 
Great things within you. You shall have no bond 
But your own will, no contract save your deeds. 
Are you content 7 

Arn. I take thee at thy word. 

Stran. Now then! — 

[The Stranger approachea thefounkany and turns te 

A little of your blood. 

Am. For what 7 

Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters, 
And make the charm effective. 

Am. (hoU&ng out his wounded arm.'S Take it all. 

Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. 

[The Stranger takes ^ome of Abnold's Mood in his 
handj and casts it tnto Hie fountain. 

VOL. ▼.— I 


Stran. Shadows of beauty ! 
Shadows of power ! 
Rise to your duty — 

This is the hour ! 
Walk lovely and pliant 

From the depth of this fountain, 
As the cloud-shapen giant 

Bestrides the Hartz Mountain.* 
Come as ye were. 

That our eyes may behold 
The model in air 

Of the form I will mould, 
Bright as the Iris 

When ether is spann'd ; *- 
Such his desire is, [PoitUing to Arnold 

Such my command ! 
Demons heroic — 

Demons who wore 
The form of the stoic 

Or sophist of yore — 
Or the shape of each victor. 

From Macedon's boy 
To each high Roman's picture. 

Who brcath'd to destroy — 
Shadows of beauty ! 
Shadows of power ! 
. Up to your duty — 
« This is the hout ! 

[Various Phantoms arise from the waiers, and pass w 
succession before the Stranger and Arnold. 
Am. What do I see ? 

Stran. The black-eyed Roman, with 

The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er 
Beheld a conqueror, or lookM aloi^ 
The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became 
His, and all theirs who heir'd his very name. 
Am, The phantom 's bald ; my quest is beauty 
Could I 
Inherit but his fame with his defects ! 

Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs. 
You see his aspect — choose it, or reject. 
I can but promise you his form ; his fame 
Must be long sought and fought for. 

* This u a well-known Gennan superstition —-a gigantic shadow prodaced by 
reflection on the Brocken. 

A DRAMA. 115 

Am. J[ will fight teoy 

But not as a mock Cfesar. Let him ]>ass ; 
His aspect may be fair, but suits me not. 

Stran. Then you are far more difficult to please 
Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother 
Or Cleopatra at sixteen — an age 
When love is not Jess in the eye than heart. 
But be it so ! Shadow, pass on ! 

[The phantom of Jtdius Cctsar disappears. 

Am. And can it 

Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone, 
And left no footstep ? 

Stran. There you err. His substance 

Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame 
More than enough to track his memory ; 
But for his shadow, 't is no more than yours, 
Except a little longer and less crook'd 
T' the sun. Behold another ! 

[A second phantom passes. 

Am, Who is he ? 

Siran. He was the fairest and the bravest of 
Athenians. Look upon him well. 

Am. He is 

More lovely than the last. How beautiful ! 

Stran. Such was the curled son of Clinias ; — wouldst 
Invest thee with his formf 

Am. Would that I had 

Been bom with it ! But since I may choose further, 
I will lo(^ further. 

[The shade of Alcibiades disappears. 

Stran. Lo ! behold again I 

Am. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round^yed 
With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, 
The splay feet and low stature ! I had better 
Remain that which I am. 

Stran. And yet he was 

The earth's perfection of all mental beauty. 
And personification of all virtue. 
But you reject him t 

Am. If his form could bring me 

That which redeemed it-* no. 

Siran. I have no power 

To promise that ; but you may try, and find it 
Easier in such a form, or in your own. 


Am. No« I was not born for philosophy. 
Though I have that about me which has need on*t. 
Let hun fleet on. 

Stran, Be air, thou hemlock-drinker ! 

{The shadow of Socrates disappears : another rises. 

Am. What 's here ? whose broad brow and whose curly 
And manly aspect look like Hercules, 
Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus 
Than the sad purger of the infernal world, 
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest, 
As if he knew the worthlessness of those • 
For whom he had fought. 

Stran. I was the man who lost 

The ancient world for love. 

Am, I cannot blame him. 

Since I have risk'd my soul because I find not 
That which he exchanged the earth for. 

Siran. Since so far 

You seem congenial, will you wear his features ? 

Am. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult, 
If but to see the heroes I should ne'er 
Have seen else on this side of the dim shore 
Whence they float back before us. 

Stran. Hence, triumvir ! 

Thy Cleopatra 's waiting. 

iThe shade of AfUhonp du(^ppear8 : another rises. 

Am. Who is this? 

Who truly looketh like a demigod, 
' Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature^ 
If not more high than mortal, yet immortal 
In all that nameless bearing of his limbs. 
Which he wears as the sun his rays — a something 
Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing 
Emanation of a thing more glorious still. 
Was he e'er human (my 7 ' ' 

Stran. Let the earth speak. 

If there be atoms of him left, or even 
Of the more solid gold that form'd his urn. 

Am. Who was this gk>ry of mankind ? 

Stran. The shame 

Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war — 
Demetrius the Macedonian, and 
Taker of cities* 

Am. Yet one shadow more. 

Stran. (addressing the shadow.) Get thee to Lamia's lap ! 

A DSAXA. 117 

[Tke shade cfDemetrm PoUorcelei vamshes : 
another rites. 

1 11 fit you still, 
Fear not, my hunchback : if the ahadows of 
That which existed please not your nice taate» 
I 11 animate the ideal marUe, till 
Tour aoul be reconciled to her new garment. 

Am, Content ! I will fix here. 

Sbran. I must commend 

Your choice. The godlike son of the sea^goddess, 
The unriiom boy of Peleus, with his locka 
Aa beautiful and clear as the amber waves 
Of rich Pactolus, roU'd o'er sands of gold, 
Soften'd by intervening crystal, and 
Rippled like flowing waters by the wind, 
AU vow'd to Sperchius as they were— behold them! 
And AtM-^aa-he stood by Polixena, 
With aanction'd and with soflen'd love, before 
Tlie altar, gazing on his Trojan bride, 
With some remorse within for Hector alain 
And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion 
For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand 
Trembled in his who slew iMr brother. So 
He stood i' the temple ! Look upon him as 
Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant 
Ere Paris' arrow flew. . 

Am. I gaase upon him 

As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon 
Envelope mine. 

^oii. You have done well. The greatest 

Deformity should only barter with 
The extremest beauty, if the proverb 's true 
Of mortals, that extremes meet. 

Am. Come! Be quick! 

I am impatient. 

Stran. As a youthful beauty 

Before her glass. You both see what is not, 
But dream it is what must be. 

Am* Must I wait 7 

Stran. No ; that were a pity. But a word or two : 
His stature is twelve cubits ; would you so far 
Outstep these times, and be a Tit&n ? Or 
(To talk canonically) wax a son 

Am. Why not? 

Sirofi^. ' Glorious ambition ! 


I love thee most in dwarfs ! A mortal of 

Philistine stature would have gladly pared 

His own Goliath down to a slight David : 

But thouy my manikinfy wouldst soar a show 

Rather than hero* lliough shalt be indulged, 

If such be thy desire ; and yet, by being 

A little less removed from present men 

In figure, thou canst sway them more f for all 

Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt 

A new-found mammoth ; and their cursed engines, 

Their culverins, and so forth, would find way 

Through our friend's armeur there, with greater ease 

Than the adulterer*^ arrow through. his heel, 

Which Thetis had forgotten to baptize 

In Styx. 

Am. Then let it be as thoa deem'st best. 

Stran, Thou shalt be beauteous as the things thou seest, 
And strong as whal it was, and ■ ■ 

Am, I ask not 

For valour,, since deformity is daring. 
It is its essence to overtake mankind 
By heart and soul, and make itself the equal — 
Ay, the superior of the rest. There is 
A spur iir its halt movements, to become 
All that the others cannot, in such things 
As still are free from both, to compensate 
For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. 
They wo» with fearless deeds the smiles ef fortune. 
And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar, wm them. 

Stran. Well spoken ! And thou doubtless wilt remain 
Form'd as thou art. I may dismiss the mould 
Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to incase 
This daring soul, whieh could achieve no less 
Without it. 

Am. Had no power presented me 

The possibility of change, I would 
Have done the best which spirit may to make 
Its way with all deformity's dull, deadly. 
Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain. 
In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders — 
An hateftd and- unsightly molehill to 
The eyes of happier man. I would have look'd 
On beauty in that sex which is the type 
Of all we know or dream of beautiful 
Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh — 
Not of love, but despair ; nor sought to win. 

A DSAXA. 110 

Though to a heart all love, what could not love me 
In turn, because of this vile crooked clog, 
Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne 
It all, had not my mother spum'd roe from her. 
The she*bear licks her cubs into a sort 
Of shape ; — my dam beheld my shape was hopeless* 
Had she exposed me, hke the Spartan, ere 
I knew the passionate part of life, I had 
Been a clod of the valley, — happier nothing 
Than what I am. But even thus, the lowest. 
Ugliest, and meanest of mankind, what courage 
And perseverance could have done, perchance 
Had made me something — as it has made heroes 
Of the same mould as mme. You lately saw me 
Master of my own life» and quick to puit it .; 
And he who is so is the master of 
Whatever dreads to die. 

Stran* Decide between 

What you have been, or will bew 

Am. I have done so. 

You have open'd brighter prospects to my eyes, 
And sweeter to my heart. As I am now, 
I might be fear'd, admired, respected, loved 
Of all save those next to me, of whom I 
Would be beloved. As thou showest me 
A choice of forms, I take the one I view. 
Haste ! haste ! 

S^an, And what shall / wear ? 

Am. Surely he 

Who can command all forms will choose the highest. 
Something superior even to that which was 
Pelides now before us. Perhaps hia 
Who slew him, that of Paris ; or — still higher — 
The poet's god, clothed in such limbs as are 
Themselves a poetry. 

Stran. Less will content me ; 

For I, too, love a change. 

Am. ' Your aspect is 

Dusky, but not uncomely. 

Stran. If I chose, 

I might be whiter ; but I have a penchant 
For black — it is so honest, and besides 
Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear ; 
But I have worn it long enough of late, 
And now 1 11 take your figure. 

Am. Mine ! 


Stran, Yes. Yoa 

Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha, 
Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes ; 
You have yours — I mine. - 

Am, Despatch! despatch! 

Sinm, Even so. 

[ The Stranger takes some earth and moulds U along (Ae 
turf, and then addresses the phantom of Achi&es, 

Beautiful shadow 
. Of Thetis's boy ! 
Who sleeps in the meadow 

Whose grass grows o'er Troy : 
From the red earth, like Adam,* 

Thy likeness I shape, 
As the being who made him. 

Whose actions I ape. 
Thou clay, be all glowing, 

Till the rose in his cheek 
Be as fair as, when blowing. 

It weMTS its first streak ! 
Ye violets, I scatter. 

Now turn into eyes ! 
And thou, sunshiny water. 

Of blood take the guise ! 
Let these hyacinth laughs 

Be his long flowing hair. 
And ware o'er his brows, 

As thou wavest in air ! 
Let his heart be this marble 

I tear from the rock ! 
But his voice as the warble 

Of birds on yon oak ! 
Let his flesh be the purest 

Of mould, in which grew 
The lily -root surest, 

And drank the best dew ! 
Let his limbs be the lightest 

Which clay can compound, 
And his aspect the brightest 

On earth to be found 1 
Elements, near me. 

Be mingled and stirred, 
Know me, and hear me. 

And leap to my wordl 

* Adam meana " red aartht'* fiom which the first mail waa IbnMd. 

BL A DBA3IA. 121 

Sunbeams, awaken 

This earth's animation ! 
T is done ! He hath taken 

His stand in creation ! 
[Abnold fcMs senseless ; his smd fosses wto ike 
shape of AchUUSf which rises from the ground ; 
wh^ the phantam has discqppeared^ part by 
party as the figure was formed from the earth. 

Am* (m his new form,) I love, and I shall be beloved ! 
Oil life! 
At last I feel thee ! Glorious ^irit ! 

Stran. Stop ? 

What shall beoome of your abandon'd garment. 
Tou hump, and lump, and clod of u^nessy ' 
Which late you wore, or were ? 

Am. Who caxes? Let wolves 

And vultures take it, if they will. 

Siran. And if 

They do, and are not scared by it, you 'U say 
It must be peace-time, and no better fare 
Abroad i' the fields. 

Am. Let us but leave it there ; 

No matter what becomes on 't. 

Stran. That 's ungracious. 

If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be. 
It hath sustain'd your soul full many a day. 

Am. Ay, as the dunghill may conceal a gem 
Which is now set in gold, as jewels should he. 

Stran. But if I give another form, it must be 
By fair exchange, not robbery. For they 
Who make men without women's aid have long 
Had patents for the same, and do not love 
Your interlopers. The devil may take men. 
Not make them, — though he reap the benefit 
Of the original workmanship : — and therefore 
Some one nmst be found to assume the shape 
You have quitted. 

Am. Who would do 86 1 

Stran. That I know not, 

And therefore I must. 

Am. You ! 

Stran. 1 said it ere 

You inhabited your present dome of beauty. 

Am. True. I forget all things in the new joy 
Of this inmwrtal change. 

Siran. Tn a few moments 


I will be as you were, and you shall see 
Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow. 
Am. I would be spared this. 
Stran. But it cannot be. 

What ! shrink already, being what you are, 
From seeing whfit you were ? 
Am. Do as thou wilt. 

Stran. {to the late form of Aknold, extended on ike 
Clay ! not dead, but soul-less ^ 

Though no man would choose thee. 
An immortal no less 

Deigns not to refuse thee. 
Clay thou art ; and unto spirit 
All clay is of equal merit. 
Fire ! without which nought can live ; 
Fire ! but in which nought can live, 
Save the fabled salamander, 
Or immortal souls, which wand^. 
Praying what doth not forgive. 
Howling for a drop of water. 

Burning in a quenchless lot : 
Fire ! the only element 

Where nor fish, 'beast, bird, nor worm, 

Save the worm which dieth not. 
Can preserve a moment's form. 
But must with thyself be blent : 
Fire ! man's safeguard and his slaughter : 
Fire ! Creation's first-born daughter. 
And Destruction's threaten'd son, 
Wh^i heaven with the world hath done : 
Fire ! assist me to renew 
Life in what lies in my view 

Stiff and cold ! 
His resurrection rests with me and you ! 
One little, marshy spark of flame — 
And he again shall seem the same ; 
But I his spirit's place shall hold ! 

[An ignis faiuus fiUs through the wood, and redi 
on tlie brow of the body. The Stranger disap' 
pears: the body rises. 
Am. {in his new form.) Oh! horrible! 
Stran. {in Abjxqld^b Ude sJiape.) What ! tremblest thou ! 
Am. Not so— 

I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape 
Thou lately worest? 


A DSAMA. 133 

Stran* To the world of shadows. 

But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou ? 

Am. Must thou be my companion ? 

Stran. Wherefore not ? 

Tour betters keep worse company. 

Am. My betters ! 

Siran. Oh ! you wax proud, I see, of your new form : 
I 'm ^lad of that. Ungrateful too ! That 's well : 
You improve apace : — two changes in an instant, 
And you are old in the world's ways already. 
But bear with me : indeed you '11 find me useful 
Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce 
Where shall we now be errant ? 

Am. Where the world 

Is thick^ that I may b^old it in 
Its workings. 

Stran. That 's to say, wher« there is war 

And woman in activity. Let 's see I 
Spain — Italy — the new Atlantic world — 
Afric, with all its Moors. In very truth. 
There is small choice : the whole race ^upe just now 
Tugging as usual at each other's hearts. 

Am. I have heard great things of Rome. 

Stran. A goodly choice — 

And scarce a better to be found on earth. 
Since Sodom wafi put out.. The field is wide too ; 
For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scion 
Of the old Vandals, are at play along 
The sunny shores of the world's garden. 

Am. How 

Shall we proceed ? 

Stran, Like gallants, on good coursers. 

What ho ! my chargers f Never yet were better. 
Since Phaeton was upset in the Fo. 
Our pages too ! 

ErUer two PageSy with four coai4flaek horses. 

Am. A noble sight ! 

Stran. And of 

A nobler breed. Match me in Baxbary, 
Or your Kochlini race of Araby, 
With these ! 

Am, The mighty steam, which volumes high 

From their proud nostrils, bums the very air ; 
And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies, wheel 


Around their manes, as common insects swarm 
Kound common steeds towards sunset. 

Stran. Mount, my lord : 

They and I are your servitors. 

Am. And these 

Our dark-eyed pages — what may be their names ? 

Stran. Tou shidi baptize them. 

Am. What! in holy water! 

I^ran. Why not 7 The deeper sinner, better saint 

Am* They ar^' beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons. 

Stttm. True ; the devil 's always ugly ; and your beauty 
Is never diaboiicaL 

Am, I '11 call him 

Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright 
And blooming aspect, Huan ; for he looks 
Like to the lovely boy lost in the forest. 
And never found till now. And for the other 
And darker, and more thoughtfhl, who smiles not, 
But looks as serious though serene as night, 
He shall be Memnon, from the Ethiop king 
Whose statue turns a harper once a day. 
And you ? 

Stran. I have ten thousand names, and twice 
As many attributes : but as I wear 
A human shape, will take a human name. 

Am» More human than the shape (though it was mine 
I trust. • 

Strem* Then call me CsBsar. 

Am. Why, that name 

Belongs to empires, and has been but borne 
By the world's lords. 

Stran* And therefore fittest for 

The devil in disguise — since so you^ deemme, 
Unless you call me pope instead. 

Am. Wdl, then, 

CsBsar thou shalt be. For myself, my name 
Shall be plain Arnold still. 

C<w. We 11 add a title — 

** Count Arnold ; '* it hath no imffracious sound. 
And will look well upon a biUet-doux. 

Am* Or in an order for a battle-field. 

Cos* (sings,) To horse! to horse! my coal4>lack steed 
Paws the ground and snufis the air ! 
There 's not a foal of Arab's breed 
More knows whom he must bear ; 

A BBAJIA. 135 

On the hiD he wiB not tire. 
Swifter as it wues higher ; 
In the marsh he will not slacken, 
On the plain be overtaken ; 
In the wave he will not siidc, 
Nor pause at the brook's side to drink ; 
In the race he will not pant. 
In the combat he 11 not faint ; 
On the stones he will not stumble, 
Time nor toil shall make him humble ; 
In the stall he will not stifien, . 
But be winged as a grifiin. 
Only flaring with his feet : 
And wul not such a voyage be sweet ? 
Merrily ! merrily ! never unsound, 
Shall our bonny black horses skim over the eround f 
From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or Sy ! 
For we 11 l^ve them behind in the ghince of an eye. 
[They numnt their Aor«e«, md ii$appear. 


A Camp lefcre the Walls of Rome. 

Arkolp and Cjesar. 

Cat, You are well entered now. 

Am. Ay ; l^t my path 

Has been o'er carcasses : mine eyes are full 
Of blood. 

C<B9. Then wipe them, and see clearly. Why ! 
Thou art a conqueror ; the chosen knight 
And free companion of the gallant Bourbon, 
Late constable of France : and now to be 
Lord of the city which hath been earth's lord 
Under its emperors, and — changing sex, 
Not sceptre, an hermaphrodite of empire — 
Lady of the old worid. 

. Am. UowMf What! are there 

New worlds ? 

CiBS. To ytw* You 11 find there are such shortly, 

By its rich harvests, new disease, and gold ; 
From one kalfot the world named a whole new one, 


Because you know no better than the dull 
And dubious notice of your eyes and eara. 

Am. I '11 trust them. 

Cos, Do ! They wiD deceive you sweetly 

And that is better than the bitter truth. 

Am. Dog! 

CcM. Man ! 

Am* Devil ! 

Cos. Your obedient humble aerrant 

Am. Say nuuter rather. Thou hast lured me on, 
Through scenes of blood and lust, till I am here. 

C(B8. And where wouldst thou be ? 

Am. Oh, at peace — in peace! 

C(B8. And where is that which is so 7 From the star 
To the winding worm, all life is motion ; and 
In life commotion \a the extremest point 
Of life. The planet wheels till it becomes 
A comet, and destroying as it sweeps 
The stars, goes out. The poor worm winds its way. 
Living upon the death of other things, 
But still, like them, must live and die, the subject 
Of something which has made it live and die. 
You must o^y what all obey, the rule 
Of fix'd necessity : against her edict 
Rebellion prospers not. 

Am. And when it prospers — 

Cat. T is no rebellion. 

Am* Will it prosper now t 

Oju. The Bourbon hath given orders for the assault. 
And by the dawn there will be work. 

Ant. * Alas! 

And shall the city yield ? I see the giant 
Abode of the true God, and his true saint, 
Saint Peter, rear its dome and cross into 
That sky whence Christ ascended from the cross. 
Which his blood made a badge of glory and 
Of joy (as once of torture unto him, 
God and God's Son, roan's sole and only refuge). 

C<B8. T is there, and shall be. 

Am. What? 

Ccu. The crucifix 

Above, and many altar shrines below. 
Also some culverins upon the walls. 
And harquebusses, and what not ; besides 
The men who are to kindle them to death 
Of other men. 

A DSAXA.* 127 

Am. And those scarce mortal arches. 

Pile above pile of everlasting wall, 
The theatre where emperors and their subjects 
(Those subjects Romatu) stood at gaze upon 
The battles of the monarchs of the wild 
And wood, the lion and his tusky rebels 
Of the then untamed desert, brought to joust % 

In the arena (as right well they might. 
When they had left no human foe unconquer'd) ; 
Made even the forest pay its tribute of 
Life to their amphitheatre, as well 
As Dacia men to die the eternal death 
For a sole instant's pastime, Mid *< Pass on 
To a new gladiator! " — Must it faU? 

Cos. T^ city, or the amphith^tret 
The church, or one, or all ? for you confound 
Both them and me. 

Am. To-morrow sounds the assault 

With the first cock*crow. 

C<e#. Which, if it end with 

The evening's first nightingale, wiU be 
Something new in the annsilB of great sieges ; 
For men must have their prey after long toil. 

Am. The sun goes down as calmly, and perhaps 
More beautifully, than he did on Rome 
On the day Remus leapt her wall. 

CcBf . I saw him. 

Am. Tou! 

Car. Tes, sir. You forget I am or was 

Spirit, tin I took up with your cast shape 
Ajid a worse name. I 'm Coosar and a hunchback 
Now. Well ! the first of Cflssars was a bald-head. 
And loved his laurels better as a wiff 
(So history says) than as a glory. Thus 
The world runs on, but we 'U be merry still. 
I saw your Romulus (simple as I am) 
Slay his own twin, quick-bom of the same womb, 
Because he leapt a ditch ('t was then no wall, 
Whate'er it now be^ ; and Rome's earliest cement 
Was brother's blooa ; and if its native blood 
Be spilt till the choked Tiber be as red 
As e er 't was yellow, it will never wear 
The deep hue of the ocean and the earth. 
Which the great robber sons of fratricide 
Have made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter 


Am. - But what have these done, their far 
Remote descendants, who have lived in peace. 
The peace of heaven^ and in.her sunshine of 

,€€u. And what had t^ done* whom the old 
Romans o'erswept ? — Hark ! 

^^m. They are soldiers singing 

A reckless roundday, upon the eve 
Of many deaths, it may be of their own. 
' Cos. And why should they not sing as well as swans t 
They are black ones, to be sur6. 

Am. Sq, you are leam*d, 

I see, too ? 

Cos. In my grammar, certes. I 
Was educated for a monk of all times, 
And once I was well versed In the forgotten 
Etruscan letters^ and — were I so minded-* 
Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than 
Your alphabet. 

Am. And wherefore do you not 7 

Ckss. It answers better to resolve the alphabet 
Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman, . 
And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist, 
Philosopher, and what not, they have built 
More BabeLs, without new dispersion, than 
The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze, 
Who fail'd aind fled each other. Why ? why, marry, 
Because no man could understand his neighbour. 
They are wiser now, and will not separate 
For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood, 
Their Shibboleth, their Koran, Tahnud, their 
Cabala ; their best brick-work, wherewithal 
They build more 

Anti {intermpting him.) Oh, thou everlasting sneerer f 
Be silent ! How the soldiers' rough strain seems 
Soften'd by distance to a cadence ! 
Listen ! 

CcM. Yes. I have heard the angels sing. 

Am. And demons howl. 

CcBs. And man too. Let us listen : 

I love all music. 

ann. a dbaka. 139 

Song of the SMien wUkm. 

The black bands came over 

The Alps and their snow ; 
With Boarbon, the rover, 

They passM the broad Po. 
We have beaten all foemen. 

We have captured a kingt 
We have tum'd back on no men. 

And so let us sing ! 
Here *s the Bourbon for ever : 

Thou^ pennyless all, 
We 11 have one more endeavour 

At yonder old walK 
With the Bourbon we 11 gather 

At day-dawn before 
The gates, and together 

Or break or climb o'er 
The wall : on the ladder 

As mounts each firm foot, 
Our shout shall srow gladder, 

And death only be mute. 
With the Bourbon we 11 mount o'er 

The walls of old Rome, 
And who then shaU count o'er 

The spoils of each dome ? 
Up ! up with the lily ! 

And down with the keys ! 
In old Rome, the seven-hilly, 

We 11 revel at ease. 
* Her streets shall' be gory. 

Her Tiber all red. 
And her temples so hoary 

Shall clang with our tread* 
Oh, the Bourbon ! the Bourbon ! 

The Bourbon for aye ! 
Of our song bear the burden ! 

And fire, fire away ! 
With Spain for the vanguard, 

Our varied host comes ; 
And next to the Spaniard 

Beat Germany's druiiis, 
And Italy's lances 

Are couch'd at their mother ; 
But our leader from France is, 

Who warr'd with his brother. 

▼01, v.^K 


Oh, the Bourbon ! the Bourbon ! 

Sans country or home, 
We 11 follow the Bourbon, 

To plunder old Ronoe. 

C<Bs. An indifferent song 

For those within the walls, methinks, to hear. 

Am, Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here 
The general with his chiefs and men of trust. 
A goodly rebel ! 

Enter the CarutaUe Boubbon, ^^cum suUt** ^c. 6lc. 

Phil. How now, noble prince, 

You are not cheerful ? 

Bourb, Why should I be so ? 

PhU, Upon the eve of conquest, such as ours. 
Most men would be so. 

Bowlh If I were secure ! 

PhiL Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walb oi 
They 'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery. 

Bourb. That they will falter is my least of fears. 
That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon for 
Their chief, and all their kindled appetites 
To marshal them on — were thoee hoary walls 
Mountains, and those who guard them like the gods 
Of the old fables, I would trust my Titans ; — 
But now — 

PML They are but men who war with mortals. 

Baurb. True : but those walls have girded in great ages, 
And sent forth mighty spirits. The past earth. 
And present phantom of imperious Rome 
Is peopled with those warriors ; and methinks 
They flit along the eternal city's rampart, 
And stretch their glorious, gory, shadowy hands. 
And beckon me away ! 

PhU. So let them ! Wilt thou 

Turn back from shadowy menaces of shadows ? 

Bourb, They do not menace me. I could have faced, 
Methinks, a Sylla's menace ; but they clasp. 
And raise, and wring their dim and deathlike hands, 
And with their thin aspen faces and fixed eyes 
Fascinate mine. Look there ! 

A DKAXA. 181 

PkU. I look upon 

A lofly battlement, 

Bourh. And there ! 

Pha. Not even 

A guard in sight ; they wisely keep below, 
Sheltered by the gray parapet from some 
Stray bullet of our lansquenets, who might 
Practise in the cool twilight. 

Bourh. You are blind. 

Phil. Ifseeing nothing more than may be seen 
Be so. 

Bourb, A thousand years have mann'd the walls 
With all their heroes, — the last Cato stands 
And tears his bowels, rather than survive 
The liberty of that I would enslave. 
And the first Ceesar with his triumphs flits 
From battlement to battlement. 

Phil. Then conquer 

The walls for which he conquered, and be greater ! 

Bcurh. True : so I will, or perish* 

PhU, You can ncL 

In such an enterprise to die is rather 
The dawn of an eternal day, than death. 

[Count Abnold and Cjbsar adoance* 

Cos. And the mere men — do they too sweat beneath 
The noon of this same ever-scorching glory ? 

Bourb. Ah! 

Welcome the bitter hunchback ! and his master, 
The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous, 
And generous as lovely. We shall find 
Work for you both ere morning. 

Cos. You will find. 

So please your hishness, no less for yourself. 

Bourb. And iff do, there will not be a labourer 
More forward, hunchback ! 

C€Bs. You may well say so* 

For you have seen that back — as general. 
Placed in the rear in action — but your foes 
Have never seen it. 

Bourb. That 's a fair retort. 

For I provoked it : — but the Bourbon's breast 
Has been, and ever shall be, far advanced 
In danger's face as yours, were you the devil. 

Ccu. And if I were, I might have saved mysdf 
The toil of coming here. 

PhU. Why so? 


Cos. One half 

or your brave bands of their own bold accord 
Will go to him, the other half be sent. 
More swiftly, not less surely. 

Bowrh. Arnold, your 

Slight crooked friend 's as 8nake*like in his words 
As his deeds. 

C(B8. Your highness much mistakes me. 

The first snake was a flatterer — I am none ; 
And for my deeds, I only sting when stiing. 

Bourb. You are brave, and that 's enough for me ; anJ 
, quick 

In speech as sharp in action — and that 's mor6. 
I am not alone a soldier, but the soldiers' 

C<B8. They are but bad company, your highness ; 
And worse even for their friends than iocs, as being 
More permanent acquaintance. 

PhU. How now, fellow f 

Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege 
Of a buffoon. 

C€M. You mean I i^peak the truth* 

I '11 lie — it is as easy : then you 'II praise me 
For calling you a hero. 

Baurb. Philibert ! 

Let him alone ; he 's brave, and ever has 
Been first, with that swart face and mountain shouldcff 
In field or storm, and patient in starvation ; 
And for his tongue, the camp is full of license, 
And the sharp stinging of a lively rogue 
Is, to my mind, far preferable to 
The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration 
Of a mere famish'd, sullen, grumbling slave, 
Whom nothing can convince save a full meal, , 

And wine, and sleep, and a few maravedis. 
With which he deems him rich. 

C(B8. It would be well 

If the earth's princes ask'd no more. 

Bourb. Be silent ! 

Cos. Ay, but not idle. Work yourself with words ? 
You have few to speak. 

Pkil* What means the audacious prater *? 

C(Bs, To (Mute, like other prophets. 

Bourb. Philibert t 

Why will you vex him ? Have we not enough 
To think on ? Arnold ! I will lead the attack 

A DRAMA. 193 


Am. I have heard as much, my lord. 

Bourb. And you will foUow 7 

Am, Since I must not lead. 

B<mrb* T is necessary for the further daring 
Of our too needy army, that their chief 
IMant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's 
First step. 

C(M. Upon its topmost, let us hope : 

So shall he havo his full deserts. 

Bourb. The world's 

Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow. 
Through every change the sevcn-hiUM city hath 
Retained her sway o'er nations, and the C&esars, 
But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics 
Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest. 
Still the world's masters ! Civilized, barbarian. 
Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus 
Have been the circus of an empire. Well ! 
T was iheir turn — now 't is ours ; and let us hope 
That we will fight as well, and rule much better. 

C<BS. No doubt, the camp 's the school of civic rights. 
What would you make of Rome ? 

Bourb. That which it was. 

Cos. In Alaric's time ? 

Bourb. No, iriave ! in the first Caesar's, 

Whose name you bear like other curs -^— 

Cat. And kings ! 

T is a great name for blood-hounds. 

Bourb. There 's a demon 

In that fierce rattlesnake thy tongue. Wilt never 
Be serious ? 

CiB9. On the eve of battle, no ; — 

That were not soldier-Iike. 'T is for the general 
To be more pensive : we adventurers 
Must be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think 7 
Our tutelar deity, in a leader's shape. 
Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts * 
If the knaves take to thinking, you will have 
To crack those walls alone. 

Bourb. You may sneer, since 

T is lucky for you that you fight no worse for 't. 

Cos. I thank you lor the freedom ; 't is the only 
Pay I have taken in your highness' service. 

Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself. 
Look on those towers ; they hold my treasury : 


But, Philibert, we 11 in to council. Arnold, 
We would request your presence. 

Am, Prince ! my service 

Is yours, as in the field. 

Bourb. In both we prize it, 

And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak. 

CiBS, And mine ? 

Baurb. To follow glory with the Bourbon. 

Good night ! 

Am, {to Cjbsar.) Prepare our armour for the assault, 
And wait within my tent. 

[Exeuta Bourbon, Arnold, Philibert, S^ 

Cos, (sohts.) . Within thy tent ! 

Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence ^ 
Or that this crooked cofier, which contain'd 
Thy principle of life, is aught to me 
Except a mask ? And these are men, forsooth ! 
Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards I 
This is the consequence of givinj^ matter 
The power of thought. R: is" ar stubborn substance, 
And thinks chaotically, a» it a<;ts. 
Ever relapsing into its first elements. 
Well ! I must play with* these poor puppets : 't is 
The spirit's pa&time in his idler hours. 
When I grow weary of it, I have business 
Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem 
Were made for them to look at. 'T were a jest now 
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire 
Unto their anthill : how the pismires then 
Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing 
From tearing down eaoh- other's nests, pipe forth 
One universal orison ! Ha ! ha ! [Exit Cjesar. 

•GHI. A DXAKA. 185 


Before the waBs of Rome.'^Tke aeeauU : the army in motion^ 
with ladders to icale the waUs; Boubbon, tokhawhxtc scarf 
over hie armour^ foremost. 

Chorus of Spirits in the air. 

T is the morn, but dim and dark. 
Whither flies the silent lark? 
Whither shrinks the clouded sun ? 
[s the day indeed begun ? 
Nature's eye is melancholy 
O'er the city high and holy : 
But without there is a dia 
Should arouse the saints within, 
And revive the heroic ashes 
Round which yelTow Tiber dashes. 
Oh ye seven hills ^ awaken, 
Ere your very base be shaken ! 

Hearken to the steady stamp ! 

Mars is in their every tramp ! 

Not a step is out of tune, 

As the tides obey the moon ! 

On they march, though to self-slaughteri 

Regular as rolling water. 

Whose high waves o'ersweep the border 

Of huse moles, but keep their order. 

Breaking only rank by rank. 

Hearken to the armour's clank ! 

Look down o'er each frowning warrior, 

How he glares upon the barrier : 

Look on each step ofeach ladder. 

As the stripes that streak an adder. 

Look upon the bristling wall, 
Mann'd without an interval ! 


Round and round, and tier on tier. 
Cannon's black mouth, shining spear. 
Lit match, beil^mouth'd musquetoon, 
Gaping to be murderous soon. 
All the warlike gear of old, 
Mix'd with what we now behold, 
In this strife 'twixt old and new, 
Gather like a locusts' crew, 
Shade of Remus ! 't is a time ! 
Awful as thy brother's crime ! 
Christians war against Christ's shrine : — 
Must its lot be like to thine 7 

Near — and near — and nearer still, 
As the earthquake saps the hill, 
First with trembling, hollow motion. 
Like a scarce-awaken'd ocean. 
Then with stronger shock and louder, 
Till the rocks are crush'd to powder, — 
Onward sweeps the rolling host ! 
Heroes of the immortal boast ! 
Mighty chiefs ! eternal shadows ! 
First flowers of the bloody meadows 
Which encompass Rome, the mother 
Of a people without brother ! 
Will you sleep when nations' quarrels 
Plough the root up of your laurels ? 
Ye who weep o'er Carthage burning, 
Weep not — gtrike / for Rome is mourning ! * 

Onward sweep the varied nations ! 
Famine long bath dealt their rations. 
To tbe wall, with hate and hunger, 
Numerous as wolves, and stronger, 
On they sweep. Oh ! gbrious city, 
Must thou be a theme for pity? 
Fight, like your first sire, each Roman ! 
Alarie was a gentle foeman, 
Matoh'd with Bourbon's black banditti ! 
Rouse thee, thou eternal city ; 
Rouse thee 1 Rather give the torch 
With thy own hand to thy porch, 

* Bciplo, the second Afticanue, is said to have repeated a verse of Homer, and 
wept over tbe burning of Carthage. He had better oavo gmted it a capitulation 

A DSAXA* 197 

Than behold mieh hosts ] 
Tour worst dweUing wit] 

Ah ! behold yon bleeding spectre ! 
Ilion's children find, no Hector ; 
Priam*s offspring loved their Inrother ; 
Rome's great sire forffot his mother, 
When he slew his gaUant twin, 
With inexpiable sin. 
See the giant shadow stride 
O'er the ramparts high and wide ! 
When the first o'erleapt thy wall, 
Its foundation mourn'd thy fall. 
Now, though towering like a Babel, 
Who to stop his steps are able ? 
Stalking o'er thy highest dome, 
Remus claims his vengeance, Rome ! 

Now they reach thee in their anger : 
Fire and smoke and hellish clangour 
Are around thee, thou world's wonder ! 
Death is in thy walls and under. 
Now the meeting steel first clashes. 
Downward then the ladder crashes, 
With its iron load all gleaming, 
Lying at its foot blaspheming ! 
Up again ! for every warrior 
Slain, another climbs the barrier. 
Thicker grows the strife : thy ditches 
Europe's mingling gore enriches. 
Rome ! although thy wall may perish. 
Such manure thy fields will cherish. 
Making gay the harvest-home ; 
But thy hearths, alas ! oh, Rome ! — 
Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish. 
Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish ! . 

Yet once more, ye old Penates ! 
Let not your quench'd hearths be Atd's ! 
Yet again, ye shadowy heroes, 
Yield not to these stranger Neros ! 
Though the son who slew his mother 
Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother : 


T was the Roman curbM the Roman ; — 
Brennus was a baffled foeman. 
Yet again, ye saints and martyrs, 
Rise ! for yours are holier charters ! 
Mighty gods of temples falling, 
Yet in ruin still appalling ! 
Mightier founders of those altars, 
True and Christian, — strike the assaulters ! 
Tiber ! Tiber ! let thy torrent 
Show even nature's self abhorrent. 
Let each breathing heart dilated 
Turn, as doth the lion baited ! 
Rome be crush'd to one wide tomb, 
But be still the Roman's Rome ! 
Bourbon, Abnold, Cssab, astd others^ arrwe atthefodof 
the vxM* Arkold is about to plant hU ladder. 
Bourh. Hold, Arnold ! I am first. 
Am* Not so, my lord. 

Bourh. Hold, sir, I charge you ! Follow ! I am proud 
Of such a follower, but will brook no leader. 

[Boubbon pZonfo his ladder, and begins to mowit* 
Now, boys ! On ! on ! 

[A shot strikes him, and Boubbon /(i2b. 
Cass. And off! 

Am. Eternal powers ! 

The host will be appall'd, — but vengeance ! vengeance I 
Bourb. ^ is nothing — lend me your hand. 
[Boubbon takes Abnold by the hand and rises ; hd 
as Jie puts Jus foot on the step, falls again. 

Arnold ! I am sped. 
Conceal my fall — all will go well — conceal it ! 
Fling my cloak oVr what will be dust anon ; 
Let not the soldiers see it. 

Am. You must be 

Removed; the aid of 

Bourb. No, my gallant boy ; 

Death is upon me. But what is one life 7 
The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still. 
Keep them yet ignorant that I am but cla^, 
Till they are conquerors — then do as you may. 

Cos. Would not your highness choose to kiss the cross 1 
We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword 
May serve instead : — it did the same for Bayard. 

Bourb. Thou bitter slave ! to name him at this time * 
But I deserve it. 

Am. {to Cjbsab.) Villain, hold your peace ! 

A DHAMA* 189 

C<BS, What, when a Christian dies ? Shall I not offer 
A Christian '< Vade in pace 1 " 

Am. Silence! Oh! 

Those eyes are glazing which o'erlook'd the world, 
And saw no equal. 

Bourh. Arnold, should'st thou see 

France -*— But hark ! hark ! the assault grows wanner — 

For but an hour, a minute more of life 
To die within the wall ! Hence, Arnold* hence ! 
You lose time — they will conquer Rome without thee. 

Am. And without thee / 

Bourb. Not so ; I '11 lead them still 

In spirit. Cover up my dust, and»breathe not 
That I have ceased to breathe. Away ! and be 
Victorious ! 

Am. But I must not leave thee thus. 

Bourlh Tou must -— farewell — Up! up! the world is 
winning. [Bourbon dies. 

C<B9. {to Abnold.) Come, count, to business. 

Am. True. I 11 weep hereaHer. 

[Ashold cofoers Boubbon's body teUh a raande^ and 
mounU the ladder^ crying^ 
The Bourbon ! Bourbon ! On, boys ! Rome is ours ! 

C(B8. Good niffht, lord constable ! thou wert a man. 
[C.£SAS^^22otm Arnold ; they reach the battlement ; 
Arnold and Caesar are struck dawn. 

Cos. A precious somerset ! Is your countship injured ? 

Am. No. [Remounts the ladder. 

Cos. A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated ! 
And 't is no boy's play. Now he strikes them down I 
His hand is on the battlement — he grasps it 
As though it were an altar ; now his foot 
Is on it, and -»— What have we here 7 — a Roman ? 

[A man falls. 
The first bird of the covey ! he has fallen 
On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow? 

Wounded Man. A drop of water ! 

Cos. Blood 's the only liquid 

Nearer than Tiber. 

Wounded Man. I have died for Rome. [Dies. 

Ccu. And so did Bourbon, in another sense. 
Oh these immortal men ! and their great motives ! 
But I most after my young charge. He is 
By this time i' the forum. Charge ! charge ! 

[Cjbsar mocmlf the ladder; the scene closes. 



The City. — dmbatt between the Benegers and Beiieged in ihe 
streets. Inhabitants Jlying in confusion. 

Enter CiESAR. 

Cos. I cannot find my hero ; he is mixM 
With the heroic crowd that now pursue 
The fugitives, or battle with the desperate. 
What have we here ? A cardinal or two 
That do not seem in love with mart3rrdom. 
How the old red-shanks scamper \ Could they doff 
Their hose as they have doff'd their hats, 't would be 
A blessing, as a mark the less for plunder. 
But let them Idy ; the crimson kennels now 
Will not much stain their stockings, since the mire 
Is oF the self-same purple hue. 

Enter a Party fighting — Arnold at the head of the Besiegers, 

He comes, 
Hand in hand with the mild twins — Gore and Glory. 
Holla ! hold, count ! 

Am* Away ! they must not rally. 

CiBS, I tell thee, be not rash ; a golden bridge 
Is for a flying enemy. I gave thee 
A form of beauty, and an 
Exemption from some maladies of body, 
But not of mind, which is not mine to give. 
But though I gave the form of Thetis' son, 
I dipt thee not in Styx ; and 'gainst a foe 
I would not warrant thy chividric heart 
More than Pelides' heel ; why then, be cautious. 
And know thyself a mortal still. 

Am. And who 

With aught of soul would combat if he were 
Invulnerable ? That were pretty sport. 
Think'st thou I beat for hares when lions roar? 

[Arnold rushes into the cowM 

C<B8. A precious sample of humanity ! 

US. A DSAXA. 141 

Well, his blood *8 up ; and if a little 'a shed, 
T will aenre to curb his fever. 

[Arnold engages with a Roman^ w?io retires tO" 
words A pofttco* 

Am, Yield thee, slave f 

I promise quarter. 

Rom, That 's soon said. 

Am, And done — 

My word is known. 

Ram. So shall be my deeds. 

[They re-engage, Casas comes forward. 

CiEs, Why, Arnold ! hold thine own : thou hast in hand 
A famous artisan, a cunning sculptor ; 
Also a dealer in the sword and dagger 
Not so, my musqueteer ; 't was he who slew 
The Bourbon from the wall. 

Am, Ay, did he so ? 

Then he hath carved his monument. 

Rom* I yet 

May live to carve your betters. 

Ctts, Wqll said, my man of marble ! Benvenuto, 
Thou hast some practice in both ways ; and he 
Who slays Cellini will have work'd as hard 
As e'er thou didst upon Carrara's blocks. 

[Ajrnold disarms and wounds Cellini, but slightly : 
the latter draws a pistolf and fires ; then retires^ 
and disappears through the portico, 

Cos, How farest thou ? Thou hast a taste, methinks. 
Of red Bellona's banquet. 

Am, (staggers,) T is a scratch. 

Lend me thy scarf. He shall not 'scape me thus. 

Cos, Where is it 7 

Am, In the shoulder, not the sword arm — > 

And that 's enough. I am thirsty : would I had 
A helm of water ! 

CcM, That 's a liquid now 

In requisition, but by no means easiest 
To come at. 

Am, And my thirst increases ; — • but 

I 11 find a way to quench it. 

CiM, Or be quench'd 


Am, The chance is even ; we will throw 
The dice thereon. But I lose time in prating ; 
Prithee be quick. [Cjesah Unds on the scarf. 

And what dost thou so idly 1 


Why dost not strike ? 

Cos, Your old f^ilosopbers 

Beheld mankindt as mere spectators of 
The Olympic games. When I behold a prize 
Worth wrestling for, I may be found a Milo. 

Am, Ay, 'gainst an oak. 

C(B8, A forest, when it suits me. 

I combat with a mass, or not at all. 
Meantime, pursue thy sport as I do mine ; 
Which is just now to gaze, since all these labourers 
Will reap my harvest gratis. 

Am* Thou art still 

A fiend ! 

CcBs, And thou-* a man. 

Am. Why, such I fain would show me. 

Cos. True — as men are 

Am, And what is that ? 

Cos, Thou feelest and thou see'st. 

[Exit AnvoLDj joining in the combat uihich sUU con- 
tinues between detwshed parties. The scene closer. 


St. Peter's— The Interior of the Church— The Pope at the Altar 
— Priests, 4*^. crowding in eonfusionf and Citizens Jlying for 
refuge, pursued by Soldiery. 

Enter Cjbsas. 

A Spanish Soldier. Down with them, comrades ! seize 
upon those lamps ! 
Cleave yon bald-pated shaveling to the chine ! 
His rosary 's of gold ! 

Lutheran Soldier. Revenge ! revenge ! 
Plunder hereafter, but for vengeance now — 
Yonder stands Anti.Christ ! 

Cos. (interposing.) How now, schismatic ! 

What would'st thou? 

Luth. Sold. In the holy name of Christ. 

Destroy proud Anti.Christ. I am a Christian. 

C<BS. Yea, a disciple that would make the founder 
Of your belief renounce it, could he see 
Such proselytes. Best stint thyself to plunder. 

Luth. Sold. I say he is the devil. 

acaam. A dbaka. 14d 

CiB8. Hush ! keep that secret, 

Lest he shook! recognize you for his own. 

IaA. Sold, Why would you save him 1 I repeat he is 
The devil, or the devil's vicar upon earth. 

Cos. And that 's the reason : would you msike a quarrel 
With your hest friends ? You had far best be quiet ; 
His hour is not yet come. 

Luth. Sold. That shall be seen ! 

[The Lutheran Soldier ruihes forward ; a shoi strikes 
him from one of the Pope^s Gtiardtf and he falls at 
the foot of the Altar. 

C<BS. (to the Lutheran.) I told you so. 

Luth. Sold* And will you not avenge me ? 

Cos. Not I ! You know that " Vengeance is the Lord's : " 
You see he loves no inteifepers. 

Luth. Sold, (dying.) Oh! 

Had I but slain him, I had gone on high, 
Crown'd with eternal glory ! Heaven, forgive 
My feebleness of arm &at reach'd him not, 
* And take thy servant to thy mercy. T is 
A glorious triumph still ; proud Babylon 's 
No more ; the Harlot of tiie Seven HiUs 
Hath changed her scarlet raiment for sackcloth 
And ashes ! [TTie Lutheran dies. 

Cos. Yes, thine own amidst the rest. 

Wdll done, old Babel ! 

[The Guards defend themselves desperately^ while the 
Pontiff escapes^ by a private passage, to the Vatican 
and Sie Castle of St. Angelo* 

Ciss. Ha ! right nobly battled ! 

Now, priests ! now, soldier ! the two great professions, 
Together by the ears and hearts ! I have not 
Se^ a more comic pantomime since Titus 
Took Jewry. But the Romans had the best then ; 
Now they must take their turn. 

Soldiers. He hath escaped ! 

Follow ! 

Another Sol. They have barr'd the narrow paasage up. 
And it is clogg'd with dead even to the door. 

CiBs. I am glad he hath escaped : he may thank me for 't 
In part. I would not have his bulls abolish'd — 
T were worth one half our empire : his indulgences 
Demand some in return ; — no, no, he must not 
Fall ; — and besides, his now escape may furnish 
A future miracle, in future proof 
Of his infallibility. [ToOe Spanish Soldiery. 


Well, cut-throats ! 
What do you pause for ? If you make not haste^ 
There will not be a link ofpious gold left. 
And ycuj too, Catholics ! Would ye return 
iProm such a pilgrimage without a relic ? 
The very Lutherans Imve more true devotion ; 
See how they strip the shrines ! 

Soldiers. By holy Peter 1 

He speaks the truth ; the heretics will bear 
The best away. 

CiBB. And that were shame ! Go to ! 

Assist in their conversion. 

[The Soldien disperse; many ^ the Church,€then 

They are gone, 
And others come : so flows the wave on wave 
Of what these creatures call eternity, 
Deeming themselves the breakers of the ocean. 
While they are but its bubbles, ignorant 
That foam is their foundation. So, another ! • 

Enter Olimpia, Jiying from the pursuit — She springs upon the 


Sodl, She 's mine ! 

Another Sold, (opposing the former.) You lie, I tracked 
her first ; and were she 
The Pope's niece, I '11 not yield her. [Theyjight, 

Sd Sdd. (advancing towards Oldetia.) You may settle 
Your claims ; I 'U make mine good. 

Olimp. Infernal slave ! 

You touch me not alive. 
Sd SM. Alive or dead ! 

Olimp. (embracing a massiee crucyix.) Respect your 

Sd Sold. Yes, when he shines in gold. 

Girl, you but grasp your dowry. 

[As he adoanceSf Olimpia, ufith a strong and sudden 
effort^ casts down the crucifix : itstrikesthe Soldier^ 
M SM. Oh, great God ! 

OUmp. Ah ! now you recognize him. 
Sd Sold. My brain 's crush'd ! 

Comrades, help, ho ! All 's darkness ! [He dies* 

Other Soldiers, (cmmg up.) Slay her, although she had 
a thousand lives : 
She hath kill'd our comrade. 

■cEnm. A DmAMA* 146 

OUmp^ Welcome such a death ! 

You have no life to give, which the worst slave 
Would take. Great God ! through thy redeemiug Sob^ 
And thy Son's Mother, now receive me as 
I would approach thee, worthy her, and him, and thee ! 

Enter Arnold. 

Am. What do I see ? Accursed jackals * 
Forbear ! 

C€M. {aside, and laughing.) Ha ! ha ! here 's equity ! 
The dogs 
Have as much right as he. But to the issue ! 

Soldiers. Count, she hath slain our comrade. 

Am. With what weapon ? 

Sold. The cross, beneath which he is crush'd ; behold 
Lie there, more like a worm than man ; she cast it 
Upon his head. 

Am. Even so ; there is a woman 

Worthy a brave man's liking. Were ye such, 
Ye would have honour'd her. But get ye hence. 
And thank your meanness, other Gcfd you have none. 
For your existence. Had you touch'd a hair 
Of those dishevell'd locks, 1 would have thinn'd 
Your ranks more than the enemy. Away ! 
Ye jackals ! gnaw the bones the lion leaves, 
But not even these till he permits. 

A Sold, (murmuring,) The lion 

Might conquer for himself then. 

Am. {cuts him down.) Mutineer 

Rebel in hell — you shall obey on earth ! 

[The Soldiers assavU Aksolv. 

Am. Come on ! I 'm glad on 'til will show you, slaves. 
How you should be commanded, and who led you 
First o'er the wall you were so shy to scale. 
Until I waved my banners from its height. 
As you are bold within it. 

[AsNOLD maws dawn the foremost ; the rest throw 
down their anas. 

Soldiers. Mercy ! mercy ! 

Am. Then learn to grant it. Have I taught you wkct 
Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements ? 

Soldiers. We «aw it, and we know it ; yet forgive 
A moment's error in the heat of conquest — 
The conquest which you led to. 

VOL. V. — L 



PUT a 

Get you hence ! * 
you will find them fix'd 

Hence to your quarters ! 
In llie Colonna palace. 

Oiimp. (aside.) In my father's 

House ! 

Am. (to the Soldiers,) Leave your arms ; ye have no 
further need 
Of such : the city 's rendered. And mark well 
You keep your hands clean, or I 'U find out a stream 
As red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism. 

Soldiers, (depositing their arms and departing,) We obey ! 
Am, (to Olikfia.) Lady, you are safe. 
Olimp, I should be so. 

Had I a knife even ; but it matters not — 
Death liath a thousand gates ; and on the marble, 
Even at the altar foot, whence I look down 
Upon destruction, shall my head be dash'd. 
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man ! 
Am, I wish to merit this forgiveness, and 
Tliine own, although I have not injured thee. 

Olimp, No ! thou hast only sack'd my native land- 
No injury ! ^— and made my father's house 
A den of thieves ! No injury ! — this temple — 
Slippery with Roman and holy gore. 
No injury ! And now thou wouldst preserve me. 

To be but that shall never be ! 

[She raises her eyes to Heaven, fdds her robe round 
her, and prepares to dash herself down on the side 
of the Altar opposite to that where Arnold stands. 
Am, Hold! held? 

I swear. 

Olimp, Spare thine already forfeit soul 
A perjury for which even heU would loathe thee. 
I know thee. 

Am, No, thou know'st me not ; I am not 

Of these men, though 

Olimp, I judge thee, by thy mates ; 

It ii^ for (jod to judge thee as thou art. 
I see thee purple with the blood of Rome ; 
Take mine, 't is all thou e'er shalt have of me ! 
And here, upon the marble of this temple, 
Wfiere the baptismal font baptized me God's, 
1 offer liim a blood less holy 
But not less pure (pure as it left me then, 
A redeem'd infant) than the holy water 
The saints Have sanctified ! 

■GDBm. A DKAXA. 147 

[OuxpiA wooes her hand to Ajrnold with disdain, and 
dashes herself an the paoementfrm the AUar, 

Am* Eternal God ! 

I feel thee now ! Help ! help ! She 's gone. 

Cos, (approaches,) I am here. 

Am* Thou ! but oh, save her ! 

Cos. (assisting him to raise Oumfia.) She hath done it 
The leap was serious. 

Am. Oh ! she is lifeless ! 

Cos. If 

She be so, I have nought to do with that : 
The resurrection is beyond me. 

Am. Slave ! 

CcBs. Ay, slave or master, 't is all one : methinks 
Good words, however, are as well at tiroes. 

Am, Words! — Canst thou aid her? 

Cos, I will try. A sprinkling 

Of that same holy water may be useful. 

[He brings some in his helmet from the font. 

Am, *T is mix'd with blood. 

CcBs. There is no cleaner now 

In Rome. 

Am, How pale ! how beautiful ! how lifeless ! 
Alive or dead, thou essence of all beauty, 
I love but thee ! 

Ca^, Even so Achilles loved 

Penthesilea : with his form it seems 
You have his heart, and yet it was no soflt one. 

Am. She breathes ! But no, 't was nothing, or the last 
Faint flutter Ufe disputes with death. 

CcBs, She breathes. 

Am, Thau say'st it ? Then 't is truth. 

CiBs, You do me right — 

The devil speaks truth much oOener than he 's deenrd : 
He hath an ignorant audience. 

Am, (without attending to him,) Yes ! her heart beats. 
Alas ! that the first beat of the only heart 
I ever wish'd to beat with mine should vibrate 
To an assassin's pulse. 

CiBs, A sage reflection, 

But somewhat late i' the day. Where shall we bear her ? 
I say she lives. 

Am, And will she live ? 

C(BS, As much 

As dust can. 




Am, Then she is dead ? 

C{BS. Bah ! bah ! You are so, 

And do not know it. She will come to life — 
Such as you think so, such as you now are ; 
But we must work by human means. 

Anr, We will 

Convey her unto the Colonna palace, 
Where I have pitch'd my banner. 

CcBs* Come then ! raise her up ! 

Am. Softly! 

C€BS, As softly as they bear the dead, 

Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting. 

Am. But doth she live indeed ? 

Cos. Nay, never fear ! 

But if you rue it after, blame not me. 

Am, Let her but live ! 

C{BS. The spirit of her life 

Is yet within her breast, and may revive. 
Count ! count ! I am your servant in all things, 
And this is a new office : — 't is not oft 
I am employed in such ; but you perceive 
How stanch a friend is what you call a fiend. 
On earth you have often only fiends for friends ; 
Now / desert not mine. Soft ! bear her hence, 
The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit ! 
I am almost enamour'd of her, as 
Of old the angels of her earliest sex. 

Am. Thou! 

Cos. I ! But fear not. I 'II not be your rival. 

Am. Rival ! 

C<BS. I could be one right formidable ; 

But since I slew the seven husbands of 
Tobias' future bride (and after all 
'T was suck'd out by some incense), I have laid 
Aside intrigue : 't is rarely worth the trouble 
Of gaining, or — what is more difficult — 
Getting rid of your prize again ; for there 's 
The rub ! at least to mortals. 

Am. Prithee, peace ! 

Softly ! methinks her lips move, her eyes open ! 

Cos. Like stars, no doubt ; for that 's a metaphw 
For Lucifer and Venus. 

To the palace 

Colonna, as I told you ! 


My way through Rome. 

Oh ! I know 

I. A DRAMA* 140 

Am. Now onward, onward ! Gently \ 

[ExewU^ hearing Olimpia. — The scene closes. 


A CagUe in the ApermineSf surrounded hy a wild but smiling 
country. Chorus of Peasants singing before the Gates. 


The wars are over, 

The spring is come ; 
The bride apd her lover 
Have sought their home : 
They are happy, we rejoice ;. 
Let their hearts have an echo in every voico . 


The spring is come ; the violet 's gone, 

The first-bom child of the early sun : 

With us she is bat a winter's flower, 

The snow on the hilb cannot blast her bower, 

And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue 

To the youngest sky of the self-same hue. 

And when the spring comes with her host 
Of flowers, that flower beloved the most 
Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse 
Her heavenly odour and virgin hues. 

Pluck the others, but still remember ^ 

Their herald out of dim December — I 

The morning star of all the flowers, ■ 

The pledge of daylight's lengthen'd hours 
Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget 
The virgin, virgin violet. 



Enter Cmsam. 
C<Bs. (singing.) The wars are aU over, 
* Our sworda are all idle. 

The steed bites the bridle, 
The casque *s on the wall. 
There 's rest for the rover : 
But his armour is rusty. 
And the veteran grows crusty, 
As he yawns in the hall. 

He drinks— but what 's drinking? 
A mere pause from thinking » 
No bugle awakes him with life-and-death call. 


But the hound bayeth loudly, 

The boar 's in the wood, 
And the falcon longs proudly 

To spring from her hood : 
On the wrist of the noble 

She sits like a crest. 
And the air is in trouble 

With birds from their nest. 


Oh ! shadow of glory ! 

Dim image of war ! 
^ut the chase hath no story. 

Her hero no star. 
Since Nimrod, the founder 

Of empire and chase. 
Who made the woods wonder 

And quake for their race. 
When the lion was young. 

In the pride of his might, 
Then 't was sport for the strong 

To embrace him in fight • 
To go forth, with a pine * 

For a spear 'gainst the mammoth. 
Or strike through the ravine 
At the foaming behemoth : 
While man was in stature 

As towers in our time. 

The first-born of Nature, 

And, like her, subfime ! 

A VtLAMA. 151 


But the wan are over, 
. The spring is come ; 
The bride ami her lover 
Have sought their home : 
They are happy, and we rejoice ; 
Let their hearts have an echo from every voice ! 

[ExewU the Peataadryy singing 




'' And it came to pan that the sons of GihI nw thv ilauffhlom of men that 

they wert fur; and they took them wives of aU which Uii?y chD».'' 

*And woman wailing for her demon lover/*— CortitttKiSK 



Angels, — Samiasa. 


Raphael the Archangel. 
Men. — Noah and his Sons. 

Women. — Anah. 


Chants of Spirits of the Earth. — Chorus of Mortals. 




•'i woody and mountainous district near Mount Jrarat. — Time^ 

Enter Anah and Ahoubamah. 

Anah. OuB father tAeepa : it is the hour when they 
Who love us are accustom'd to descend 
Through the deep clouds o'er rocky Ararat : — 
How my heart beats ! 

Aho. Lfet us proceed upon 

Our invocation. 

Anah. But the stars are hidden. 

I tremble. 

Aho. So do I, but not with fear 
Of aught save their delay. 

Anah. My sister, though 

I love Azaziel more than —oh, too much ! 
What was I going to say 7 my h^art grows impious. 

Aho. And where is the impiety of loving 
Celestial natures? 

Anah. But, Aholibamah, 

I love our God less since his angel loved me : 
This cannot be of good ; and tlu>ugh I know not 
That I do wrong, I feel a thousand fears 
Which are not ominous of right. 

Aho. Than wed thee 

Unto some son of clay, and toil and spin ! 
There 's Japhet loves thee well, hath loved thee loog^ i 
Marry, and bring forth dust ! 

Asiah. I should have loved 

Azaziel not less were he mortal ; yet 
I am glad he is not. I can not outlive him. 
And when I think that his immortal wings 



Will one day hover o'er the sepulchre 

Of the poor child of clay which so adored hinii 

As he adores the Highest, death becomes 

Less terrible ; but yet I pity him : 

His grief will be of ages, or at least 

Mine would be such for him, were I the seraph, 

And he the perishable. 

Aho, Rather say, 

That he will single forth some other daughter 
Of Earth, and love her as he once loved Anah. 

Anah. And if it should be so, and she loved him, 
Better thus than that he should weep for me. 

Aho. If I thought thus of Samiasa's love. 
All seraph as he is, I'd spurn him from me. 
But to our invocation ! — T is the hour. 
Anah, Seraph ! 

From thy sphere ! 
Whatever star contain thy glory , 
In the eternal depths of heaven 
Albeit thou watchest with the ** seven,*** 
Though through space infinite and hoary 
Before thy bright wings worlds be driven, 
Yet hear! 
Oh ! think of her who holds thee dear ! 

And though she nothing is to thee. 
Yet think that thou art all to her. 
Thou canst not tell, — and never be 
Such pangs decreed to aught save me,— 
The bitterness of tears. 
Eternity is in thine years. 
Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes ; 
With me thou canst not sympathise. 
Except in love, and there thou must 
Acknowledge that more loving dust 
Ne'er wept beneath the skies. 
Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou see'st 

The face of him who made thee great, 
As he hath made me of the least 
Of those oast out from Eden's gate : 
Yet, Seraph dear ! 
Oh hear ! 
For thou hast loved me, and I would not die 
Until I know what I must die in knowing. 
That thou forget'st in thine eternity 

Her whose heart death could not keep from o'erflowiog 
* The archangels, said to be seven in number. 

For theCf immortal essence as thou art ] 
Great Ib their love who love in sin and fettr ; 
And such, I (ggU ^re waging in n\y ht^art 
A war unworthy : to an Adamite 
Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear. 
For aorrow is our elemeut ; 
An Eden kept alar from sight, 

Though soQoe times with our visioni blent. 
The hour is near 
Which telb me we are not abandon^ quite. — 
Appear! Appear! 
Seraph ! 
My own Azaziel ! be but here, 
And leave the atara to their owa light * 
Aha, Sainiasa f 

Thou rulest in the upper air — 
Or warring with the spirits who raay dare 
Dispute with him 
Who made all empires, empire ; or recalling 
Sonie wandering atar> which ahootii through the a by as, 
Whose tenants dyings wliile their world is falling, 
Share the dim destiny of clay in this ; 
Or joining with the inferior cherubim, 
Thou doigneat to partake their hymn-^ 
Sumiasa ! 
I call thee, I await thee, and I love tliee. 

Many raay worship thee, that will I not : 
If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee, 
Deaccnd and- a ha re my lot ! 
Though 1 be form'd of clay, 

And thou of beams 
More bright than those of day 
On Eden's slreama, 
Fhinc imraortatity can not repay 

With love more warm than mine 
My love. There is a ray 
In me, which, though for hidden yet to sbtn^ 
I feel waa lighted at tljy God's and tbine. 
It may be bidden long : death and decay 

Out mother Eve bequ(!athM us — but my heart 
Defies it : though this life must pass away» 
Is that a cause for thee and me to part ' 
Thou art immortal — ao am I : 1 feel — 
I feel my immortality o'ersweep 





All pains, all tears, all fears, and peal. 

Like the eternal thunders of the deep. 
Into my ears this truth — <* Thou liv'st for ever! " 
But if it be in joy 

I know not, nor would know ; 
That secret rests with the Almighty giver 

Who folds in clouds the fonts of bliss and woe. 
But thee and me he never can destroy ; 

Change us he may, but not o'erwhelm ; we are 

Of as eternal essence, and must war 

With him if he will war with us : with thee 
I can share all things, even immortal sorrow ; 

For thou hast ventured to share life with me, 

And shall / shrink from thine eternity ? 

No ! though the serpent's sting should pierce me througlw 

And thou thyself wert like the serpent, coil 

Around me still ! and I will smile, 
And curse thee not ; but hold 
Thee in as warm a fold 
As — — but descend ; and prove 
A mortal's love 
For an immortal. If the skies contain 
More joy than thou canst give and take, remain ! 

Anah. Sister ! sister ! I view them winging 
Their bright way through the parted night. 

Aho, The clouds from off their pinions flinging, 
As though they bore to-morrow's light . 

Anah, But if our father see the sight ! 

Aho, He would but deem it was the moon 
Rising unto some sorcerer's tune 
An hour too soon. 

Anah, They come ! he comes ! — Azaziel ! 

Aho. Haste 

To meet them ! Oh ! fof wings to bear 
My spirit, while they hover there, 
To Samiasa's breast ! 

Anah, Lo ! they have kindled all the west, 
Like a returning sunset ; — lo ! 

On Ararat's late secret crest 
A mild and many-colour'd bow. 
The remnant of their flashing path. 
Now shines ! and now, behold ! it hath 
Retum'd to night, as rippling foam, 

Which the leviathan hath lash'd 
From his unfathomable home, 
When sporting on the face of the cahn deep, 

tCE^rsn. HEAVEN AlTD BART0* . 100 

SubBides soon after 1m again hath dash'd 
^ Down, down, to where the ocean's fountains sleep. 
Aho. They have touch'd earth ! Samiasa ! 
Anah, My Azaziel ! 


Enter Irad and jAPHEt. 

Irad. Despond not : wherefore wilt thou wander thus 
To add thy silence to the silent night, 
And lifl thy tearfiil eye unto the stars ? 
They cannot aid thee. 

Japh. But they soothe me — now 

Perhaps she looks upon them as I look. 
Methinks a being that is beautiful 
Becometh more so as it looks on beauty, 
The eternal beauty of undying things. 
Oh, Anah ! 

Irad, But she loves thee not. 

Japh. Alas? 

Irad. And proud Aholibamah spurns me also. 

Japh. I feel for thee too. 

Irad. Let her keep her pride. 

Mine hath enabled me to bear her scorn : 
It may be, time too will avenge it. 

Jixph. Canst thou 

Find joy in such a thought ? 

Irad. Nor joy nor sorrow. 

I loved her well ; I would have loved her better. 
Had love been met with love : as 't is, I leave her 
To brighter destinies, if so she deems them. 

Japn. What destinies ? 

Irad. I have some cause to think 

She loves another. 

Japh, Anah ! 

Irad.' No; her sister. 

Japh. What other? 

Irad. That I know not ; but her air. 

If not her words, tells me she loves another. 

Japh. Ay, but not Anah : she but loves her God. 



Irad. Whate'er she loveth,.so she loves thee not, 
What can it profit thee? 

Japh. True, nothing ; but 

1 love, 

Irad* And so did I. 

JapJi* And now thou lov'st not, 

Or think'st thou lov'st not, art thou hi4>pier ? 

Irad. Yes. 

Japh. I pity thee. 

Irad. Me! why? 

Japh. For being happy, 

Deprived of that which makes my misery. 

Irad. I take thy taunt as part of thy distemper. 
And would not feel as thou dost for more shekels 
Than all our father's herds would bring if weigh'd 
Against the metal of the sons of Cain — 
The yellow dust they try to barter with us. 
As if such useless and discolour'd trash. 
The refuse of the earth, could be received 
For milk, and wool, and flesh, and fruits, and all 
Our flocks and wilderness afibrd. — Go, Japhet, 
Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon — 
I must back to my rest. 

Japh. And so would I 

If I could rest. 

Irad. Thou wilt not to our tents then? 

Japh. No, Irad ; I will to the cavern, whose 
Mouth they say opens from the internal world 
To let the inner spirits of the earth 
Forth when they walk its surface. 

Irad. Wherefore so ? 

What wouldst thou there ? 

Japh, Soothe further my sad spirit 

With gloom as sad : it is a hopeless spot, 
And I am hopeless. 

Irad. But 't is dangerous ; 

Strange sounds and sights have peopled it with terrors. 
I must go with thee. 

Japh. Irad, no ; believe me 

I feel no evil thought, and fear no evil. 

Irad. But evil things will be thy foe the more 
As not being of them : turn thy steps aside, 
Or let mine be with thine. 

Japh. No, neither, Irad ; 

I must proceed alone. 


Irad. Then peace be with thee ! 

[ExH Iead. 

Japh, (M&if .') Peace 1 I ha^e tougfat it where it should 
be found, 
In love — with love, too, which perhaps deserved it ; 
And, in its stead, a heaviness of heart — 
A weakness of the spirit — listless days, 
And nights inexorable to sweet sleep — 
Have come upon me. Peace ! what peace ? the calm 
Of desolation, and the stillness of * 

The untrodden forest, only broken by 
The sweeping tempest through its groaning boughs ; 
Such is the sulen or the fitful state 
Of my mind overworn. The earth 's grown wicked, 
And many signs and portents have proclaimed 
A change at hand, and an o^erwhdming doom 
To perishable beings. Oh, my Anah ! 
When the dread hour denounced shall open wide 
The fountains of the deep, how'mightest thou 
Have lain within this bosom, folded from 
The elements ; this bosom, which in vain 
Hath beat for thee, and then will t)eat more vainly, 

Whila thine Oh, God ! at least remit to her 

Thy wrath ! for she is pure amidst the failing 

As' a star in the clouds, which cannot quench. 

Although they obscure it for an hour. My Anah ! 

How would I have adored thee, but thou wouldst not ; 

And still would I redeem thee — see thee live 

When ocean is earth's grave, and, unopposed 

By rock or shallow, the leviathan, 

Lord of the shoreless sea and watery world, 

Shall wonder at his boundlessness of realm. 

\Exil Japhet. 

Enter Noah and Sbbk. 

Noah. Where is thy brother Japhet ? 

Shem. He went forth. 

According to his wont, to meet with Irad, 
He said ; but, as I fear, to bend his steps 
Towards Anali's tents, round which he hovers nightly, 
Like a dove round and round its pillaged nest ; 
Or else he walks the wild up to the cavern 
Which opens to the heart of Ararat. 

Noah. VIHiat doth he there? It is an evil spot 
Upon an earth all evil ; for things worse 
VOL. T. — a. 


Than even wicked men resort there : he 
Still loves this daughter of a fated race^ 
Although he could not wed her if she loved him, 
And that she doth not. Oh, the unhappy hearts 
Of men ! that one of my blood, knowing well 
The destiny and evil of these days. 
And that the hour approacheth, should indulge 
In such forbidden yearnings ? Lead the way ; 
He must be sought for ! 

Shrnn. Go not forward, father : 

I will seek Japhet. 

Noah. . Do not fear for me : 

All evil things are powerless on the man 
Selected by Jehovah. — Let us on. 

Shem. To the tents of the father of the sisters ? 

Noah. No ; to the cavern of the Caucasus. 

[ExauU Noah and Shex. 

The Mountains. — A cacem, and the rocks of Caucasus. 

Japh. (solus.) Ye wilds, that look eternal; and thou 
Which secm'st unfathomable ; and ye mountains, 
So varied and so terrible in beauty ; 
Here, in your rugged majesty of rocks 
And toppling trees that twine their roots with stone 
In perpendicular places, where the foot 
Of man would tremble, could he reach them — yes. 
Ye look eternal ! Yet, in a few days, 
Perhaps even hours, ye will be changed, rent, hurl'd 
Before the mass of waters ; and yon cave, 
Which seems to lead into a lower world. 
Shall have its depths search'd by the sweeping wave, 
And dolphins gambol in the lion's den ! 

And man Oh, men ! my fellow-beings ! Who 

Shall weep above your universal grave, 

Save 1 7 Who shaU be left to weep ? My kinsmen, 

Alas ! what am I better than ye are. 

That I must live beyond ye ? Where shall be ? 

The pleasant places where I thought of Anah 

While I had hope ? or the more savage haunts, 


Scarce less beloved, where I despair'd for her ? 
And can it be ! — Shall yon exulting peak, 
Whose glittering top is like a distant star, 
Lie low beneath the boiling of the deep ? 
No more to have the morning sun break forth, 
And scatter back the mists in floating folds 
From its tremendous brow ? no more to have 
Day's broad orb drop behind its head at even. 
Leaving it with a crown of many hues ? 
No more to be the beacon of the world, 
For angels to alight on, as the spot 
Nearest the stars ? And can those words "' no more " 
Be meant for thee, for all things, save for us, 
' And the predestined creeping things reserved 
By my sire to Jehovah's bidding ? May 
He preserve tJiem^ and / not have the power 
To snatch the loveliest of earth's daughters from 
A doom which even some serpent, with his mate, 
Shall 'scape to save his kind to be prolong'd, 
To hiss and sting through some emerging world, 
Reeking and dank from out the slime, whose ooze 
Shall slumber o'er the wreck of this until 
The salt morass subside into a sphere 
Beneath the sun, and be the monument, 
The sole and undistinguish'd sepulchre, 
Of yet quick myriads of all life ? How much 
Breath will be still'd at once ! All beauteous world ' 
So young, so mark'd out for destruction, I 
With a cleft heart look on thee day by day. 
And night by night, thy number'd days and nights : 
I cannot save thee, cannot save even her 
Whose love had made me love thee more ; but as 
A portion of thy dust, I cannot think 
Upon thy coming doom without a feeling 
Such as — Oh God ! and canst thou ■■ [He pauses, 

A rtuhmg sound from the caoem is heard, and shouts of laughter 
— afterwards a Spirit passes, 

Japh, In the name 

Of the Most High, what art thou ? 

Spirit (laughs.) Ha! ha! ha! 

Japh, By all that earth holds holiest, speak ! 

Spirit (laughs.) Ha ! ha ! 

Japh, By the approaching deluge ! by the earth 
Which will be strangled by the ocean ! by 


The deep which wiU lay open ull her fountaiDS ! 
The heaven which will convert her clouds to i 
And the Omnipotent, who makes and crushes ! 
Thou unknown, terrible, and indistinct, 
Yet awful Thing of Shadows, speak to me ! 
Why dost thou laugh that horrid laugh ? 

Spirit, Why wecp'st thou! 

Japh, For earth and all her childten. 

SptrU. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

[Spirii vaniskeSm 
Japk. How the fiend mocks the tortures of a world, 
The oojning desolation of an orb. 
On which the sun shall rise and warm no life ! 
How the earth sleeps ! and all that in it is 
Sleep too upon the very eve of death ! 
Why should they wake to meet it ? What is here, 
Which look like death in life, and speak like things 
Bom ere this dying world ! They come like clouds ! 

[VariouB Spirits pass from the cavern* 
Spirit. R^ice ! 

The abhorred rac^ 
Which could not keep in Eden their high place. 

But listen'd to the voice 
Of knowledge without power, 
Are nigh the hour 
Of death! 
Not alow, not single, not by sword, nor sorrow, 

Nor years, nor heart-break, nor time's sappng 
Shall they drop off. Behold their last to-morrow ? 
Earth shall be ocean ! 
And no breath, 
Save of the winds, be on the unbounded wave ! 
Angels shall tire their wings, but find no spot : 
Not even a rock fr<Mn out the liquid grave 

Shall lift its point to save, 
Or show the place where strong Despair hath died, 
Afler long looking o'er the ocean wide 
For the expected ebb which cometh not ; 
All shall be void, 
Destroyed ! 
Another element shall be the lord 

Of life, and the abhorred 
Children of dust be quench'd ; and of each hue 
Of earth nought lef^ but the unbroken blue ; 
And of the variegated mountain 



Shall nought remain 
Unchang^y or of the level plain ; 
Cedar and pine shall lift their tope in Tain : 
All merged within the universal fountain, 
Man, earthy and fire, shall die, 
And sea and sky- 
Look vast and lifeless in the eternal eye* 
Upon the foam 
Who shall erect a- home ? 
Japh. {coming forward,) My sire ! 
Earth's se^ shall not expire ; 
Only the evil shall be put away 

From day. 
Avaunt ! ye exulting demons of the waste * 
Who howl your hideous joy 
When God destroys whom you dare not destroy ; 
Hence ! haste ! 
Back to your inner caves ! 
Until the waves 
Shall search you in your secret place. 
And drive your sullen race 
Forth, to be rollM upon the tossing winds 

In restless wretchedness along all space ! 
Spirit. Son of the saved ! 

When thou and thine have braved 
The wide and warring element ; 
When the great barrier of the deep is rent^ 
Shall thou and thine be good or happy? — No ! 
Thy new world and new race shail be of woo -^ 
Less ffoodly in their aspect, in their years 
Less than the glorious giants, who 
Yet walk the world in pride. 
The Sons of Heaven by many a mortal bride. 
Thine shall be nothing of the past, save tears. 
And art thou not ashamed 

Thus to survive. 
And eat, and drink, and wive ? 
With a base heart so far subdued and tamed, 
As even to hear this wide destruction named, 
Without such grief and courage, as should rather 
' Bid thee await the world-dissolvine wave, 
Than seek a shelter with thy favoured father. 
And build thy city o'er the drown'd earth's grave T 
Who would outlive their kind, 
Except the base and blind 1 

160 heave:? and sabtv. 

Hateth thine 
As of a difiereDt order in the sphere. 
But not our own. 
There is not one who hath not left a throne 

Vacant in heaven to dwell in darkness here. 
Rather than see his mates endure alone. 
Goy wretch ! and give 
A life like thine to other wretches — live f 
And when the annihilating waters roar 

Above what they have done» 
Envy the giant patriarchs then no more. 
And scorn thy siie as the surviving one ! 
Thyself for being his son ! 

Choru9 ofSpiriU Ustungfram the ctnem. 

No more the human voice 
Shall vex our joys in middle air 
With prayer ; 
No more 

Shall they adore ; 
And we, who ne'er for ages hav.e adored 

The prayer-exacting Lord, 
To whom the omission of a sacrifice 
Is vice ; 
We, we shall view the deep's salt sources pour'd 
Until one element shall do the work 
Of all in chaos ; until they, 
The creatures proud of their poor clay, 
Shall perish, and their bleached bones shall lurk 
In caves, in dens, in clefts of mountains, where 
The deep shall follow to their latest lair ; 

Where even the brutes, in their despair, 
Shall cease to prey on man and on each other, 

And the striped tiger shall lie down to die 
Beside the lamb, as though he were his brother * 
Till all things shall be as they were. 
Silent and uncreated, save the sky : 
While a brief truce 
Is made with Death, who shall forbear 
The little remnant of the past creation, 
To generate new nations for his use ; 

This remnant, floating o'er the undulation 
Of the subsiding deluge, from its slime. 


[. HKAVEN A3(1> EABTH. 167 

When the hot sun hath haked the reeking soil 
Into a world, shall give again to Time 
New beings — years — diseases — sorrow — crime — 
With all companionship of hate and toil. 


Japh, {tnterrupting them,) The eternal will 
Shall deign to expound this dream 
Of good and evil ; and redeem 

Unto himself all times, all things ; 
And, gathered under his almighty wings, 
Abolish bell ! 
And to the expiated Earth 
Restore the beauty of her birth, 

Her Eden in an endless paradise, 
Where man no more can fall as once he fell, 
And even the very demons shall do well ! 
Spirits, And when shall take eflfect this wondrous spell ? 
Japh, When the Redeemer cometh ; first in pain. 

And then in glory. 
Spirit. Meantime still struggle in the mortal ohain. 
Till earth wax hoary ; 
War with yourselves, and hell, and heaven, in vain, 

Until the clouds look gory 
With the blood reeking from each battle plain ; 
New times, new climes, new arts, new men ; but still, 
The same old tears, old crimes, and oldest ill. 
Shall be amongst your race in different forms ; 
But the same moral storms 
Shall oversweep the future, as the waves 
In a few hours the glorious giants' graves.* 

Chorui of Spirits, 

Brethren, rejoice ! 
Mortal, farewell ! 
Hark ! hark ! already we can hear the voice 
Of growing ocean's gloomy swell ; 

The winds, too, plume their piercing wings ; 

The clouds have nearly fiU'd their springs.; 
The fountains of the great deep shall be broken. 

And heaven set wide her windows ;t while mankind 
View, unacknowledged, each tremendous token — 

Still, as they were from the beginning, blind. 

* " And there were gianta in the earth in those deyi, and after ; mighty men, 
which were of old, men of renown." — Ctenegu. 

t " The nrae day were all the ibantaine of the gfeat deep broken up, and the 
fsindowi of heaven were opened." — Ibid, 



We hear the sound they cannot hear» 
The mustering thunders of the threatening sphere ; 
Yet a few hours their coming is delay'd — 
Their flashing banners, folded still on high, 
Tet undisplay'dy 
Save to the Spirit's all-pervading eye. 

Howl ! howl ! oh EarUi ! 
Thy death is nearer than thy recent birth : 
Tremblct ye mountains, soon to shrink below 

The ocean's overflow ! 
The wave shall break upon your clifls ; and sheOs ^ 

The little shells, of ocean's least things be 
Deposed where now the eagle's ofispring dwells — 
How shall he shriek o'er the remorseless sea ! 
And call his nestlings up with fruitless yell, 
Unanswer'd, save by the encroaching swell ; — 
While man shall long in vain for his broad wings. 

The wings which could not save : — 
Where could he rest them, while the whole space brings 
Nought to his eye beyond the deep, his gravel 
Brethren, rejoice ! 
And loudly lift each superhuman voice — 

All die, 
Save the slight remnant of Seth's seed — 

Exempt for future sorrow's sake from death. 
But of the sons of Cain 
None shall remain ; 
And all his goodly daughters 
Must lie beneath the desolating waters — 
Or, floating upward, with their long hair laid 
Along the wave, the cruel heaven upbraid. 
Which would not spare 
Bein^ even in death so fair. 
It IS decreed, 
All die! 
And to the universal human cry 
The universal silence shall succeed ! 
Fly, brethren, fly ! 
But still rejoice ! 
We fell! 
They fall ! 
So perish all 
These petty foes of Heaven who shrink from hell ! 

[The SpiriU disappear^ soaring upwardt* 
Japh. (solus). God h&ih proclaim'd the destiny of earth ; 

scnnia. heavkn and xabth. 161 

My father's ark of safety hath amiounced it ; 

Tlie Tery demons shriek it from their caves ; 

Th& scroll* of Enoch prophesied it long 

In silent books, which, in their silence, say 

More to the mind than thunder to the ear : 

And yet men listened not, nor listen ; but 

Walk darkling to their doom ; which, though so nigh. 

Shakes them no more in their dim disbelief. 

Than their last cries shall shake the Almighty purpose, 

Or deaf obedient ocean, which fulfils it. 

No sign yet hangs its banner in the air ; 

The clouds are few, and of their wonted texture ; 

The sun will rise upon the earth's last day 

As on the fourth day of creation, when 

God said unto him, ^ Shine !" and he broke forth 

Into the dawn, which lighted not the yet 

Unform'd forefather of mankind — but roused 

Before the human orison the earlier 

Made and far sweeter voices of the birds, 

Which in the open firmament of heaven 

Have wings like angels, and like them salute 

Heaven first each day before the Adamites : 

Their matins now draw nigh — the east is kindling— 

And they will sing ! and day will break ! Both near, 

So near the awful close ! For these must drop 

Their outworn pinions on the deep ; and day. 

After the bright course of a few brief morrows, — 

Ay, day will rise ; but upon what ? — a chaos. 

Which was ere day ; and which, renew'd, makes time 

Nothing ! for, without life, what are the hours 1 

No more to dust than is eternity 

Unto Jehovah, who created both. 

^*ithout him, even eternity would be 

A void : without man, time, as made for man. 

Dies with man, and is swallow'd in that deep 

Which has no fountain ; as his race will be 

Devoured by that which drowns his infant world.— 

What have we here? Shapes of both earth and airt 

No — dU of heaven, they are so beautiful. 

I cumot trace their features ; but their forms, 

How lovelily they move along the side 

Of die gray mountain, scattering its mist! 

And after the swart savage spirits, whose 

Infer ^ immortality pour'd forth 

^Theboo f Enoch, praeerved by the Ethinpiiini, ii said by them to be tntwiof 
to the flood 


Their impious hymn of triun^h, they shall be 
Welcome as Eden. It may be they come 
To tell me the reprieve of our young worid. 
For which I have so often pray'd — They come ? 
Anah ! oh, God ! and with her — — 

Enter Sajoasa, Azazisl, Anah, and Ahoubamah. 

Anah* Japhet ! 

Sam. Lo! 

A son of Adam f 

Aza, What doth the earth-bora here, 

While all his race are slumbering ? 

Japh. Angel! what 

Dost thou on earth when thou shouldst be on high ? 

Aza^ Know'st thou not, or forget'st thou, that a part 
Of our great function is to guard thine earth 1 

Japh. But all good angels have forsaken earth, 
Which is condeomM ; nay, even the evil fly 
The approaching chaos. Anah ! Anah ! my 
In vain, and long, and still to be beloved ! 
Why walk'st thou with this spirit, in those hours 
When no good spirit longer lights below ? 

Anah. Japhet, [ cannot answer thee ; yet, yet 
Forgive me — 

Japh. May the Heaven, which soon no more 

Will pardon, do so ! for thou art greatly tempted. 

Aho. Back to thy tents, insulting son of Noah ! 
We know thee not. 

Japh, The hour may come when thou 

May'st know me better ; and thy sister know 
Me still the same which I have ever been. 

Sam, Son of the patriarch, who hath ever been 
Upright before his God, whatever thy gifts. 
And thy words seem of sorrow, mix'd with wrath, 
How have Azaziel, or myself, brought on thee 

Ja/j^i, Wrong ! the greatest of all wrongs ; but thou 
Say'st well, though she be dust, I did not, could not. 
Deserve her. Farewell, Anah ! I have said 
That word so often ! but now say it, ne'er 
To be repeated. Angel ! or whate'er 
Thou art, or must be soon, hast thou the power 
To save this beautiful — these beautiful 
Children of Cain? 

Aza* From what ? 


Japh. And is it so. 

That ye too know not ? Angels ! angels ! ye 
Have shared man's sin, and, it may be, now most 
Partake his punishment ; or, at the least. 
My sorrow. , 

Sam* Sorrow ! I ne'er thought till now 

To hear an Adamite speak riddles to me. 

Japh. And hath not the Most High expounded them ? 
Then ye are lost, as they are lost. 

Aho. So be it! 

If they love as they are loved, they will not shrink 
More to be mortal, than I would to dare 
An immortality of agonies 
With Samiasa ! 

Anah. Sister ! sister ! speak not 


Ami. Fearest thou, ray Anah ? 

Anah* Yes, for thee : 

I would resign the greater remnant of 
This little life of mine, before one hour 
Of thine eternity should know a pang. 

Jctph. It is for Aim, then ! for the seraph thou 
Hast left me ! That is nothing, if thou hast not 
Left thy God too ! for unions like to these, 
Between a mortal and an immortal, cannot 
Be happy or be hallow'd. We are sent 
Upon the earth to toil and die ; and they 
Are made to minister on high unto 
The Highest : but if he can saoe thee, soon 
The hour will come in which celestial aid 
Alone can do so. 

Anoih. Ah ! he speaks of death. 

Sam. Of death to us / and those who are with us ! 
But that the man seems full of sorrow, I 
Could smile. 

Japh. I grieve not for myself, nor fear ; 

I am safe, not for my own deserts, but those 
Of a well-doing sire, who hath been found 
Righteous enough to save his children. Would 
His power was greater of redemption ! or 
That by exchanging my own life for hers. 
Who could alone have made mine happy; she, 
The last and loveliest of Cain's' race, could share 
The ark which shall receive a remnant of 
The seed of Scth ! 

Aho. And dost thou think that we. 



Witb Cain's, the eldest bom of Adam's, blood 
Warm in our veins, — strong Cain ! who was begotten 
In Paradise, — would mingle with Seth's children? 
Seth, the last offspring of old Adam's dotage ? 
No, not to save all earth, wer^ earth in peril ! 
Our race hath alway dwelt apart from thine 
From the beginning, and shall do so ever. 

Jixph. I did not speak to thee, Aholibamah ! 
Too much of the forefather whom thou vauntest 
Has come down in that haughty blood which springs 
From him* who shed the ^rst, and that a brother's ! 
But thou, my Anah ! let me call thee mine. 
Albeit thou art not ; 't is a word I cannot 
Part with, although I must from thee. My Anah ! 
Thou who dost rather make me dream that Abel 
Had left a daughter, whose pure pious race 
Survived in thee, so much unlike thou art 
The rest of the stern Cainites, save in beauty, 
For all of them are fairest in their favour 

Aho* (interrupting him.) And wouldst thou have her 
like our father's foe 
In mind, in soul 7 If J partook thy thought. 
And dream'd that aught of Abel was in her ! — 
Get thee hence, son of Noah ; thou makest strife. 

Japh. Offspring of Cain, thy father did so ! 

Aho. But 

He slew not Seth ; and what hast thou to do 
With other deeds between his God and him ? 

Japh. Thou speakest well : his God hath judged him, 
I had not named his deed, but that thyself 
Didst seem to glory in him, nor to shrink 
From what he had done* 

Aho* He was our father's fiither ; 
The eldest born of man, the strongest, bravest. 
And most enduring : — Shall I blush for him 
From whom we had our being ? Look upon 
Our race ; behold their stature and their beauty. 
Their courage, strength, and length of days 

Japh, They are number'd. 

Aho, Be it so ! but while yet their hours endure 
I glory in my brethren and our fathers. 

Japh. My sire and race but glory in their God, 
Anah ! and thou ? — 

Anah, Whate'er our God decrees. 

The God of Seth as Cain, I must obey, 


And will endeavoor patiently to obey. 

fiut could I dare to pray in his dread hour 

Of universal ▼engeance \if such should be), 

It would not be to live, alone exempt 

Of all my boose. My sister ! oh, my sister ! 

What were the world, or other worlds, or all 

The bri^test future, without the sweet past — 

Thy love— my father's-* all the life, and all 

The things which sprang up with me, like. the stars. 

Making my dim existence radiant with 

Soft Uihts which were not mine? Aholibamah ! 

Oh ! if there should be mercy — seek it, find it : 

I abhor death, because that thou must die. 

JlAo. What ! hath this dreamer, with his father's ark. 
The bugbear he hath built to scare the world. 
Shaken my sister 7 Are we not the loved 
Of seraphs? and if we were not, must we 
Cling to a son of Noah for our lives 7 . 
Ratl^r tkan thus -«» But the enthusiast dreams 
The worst of dreams, the fantasies engendered 
By hopeless love and heated vigils. Who 
•Shall shake these solid mountains, this firm earth, 
And bid those clouds and waters take a shape 
Distinct from that which we and all our sires 
Have seen them wear on their eternal way 7 
Who shall do this 7 

Japh, He whose one word produced them. 

Aho. Who heard that word 7 

Japh. The universe, which leap'd 

To life before it. Ah ! smilest thou still in scorn ? 
Turn to thy seraphs : if they attest it not, 
'Diey are none. 

Sam. Aholibamah, own thy God ! 

Aho. I have ever hail'd our Maker, Samiosa, 
As thine, and mine : a God of love, not sorrow. 

Japh. Alas ! what else is love but sorrow 7 Even 
He who made earth in love had soon to grieve 
Above its first and best inhabitants. 

Aho. *T is said so. 

Japh. It is even so. 

Enter Noah and Shbx. 

Noah. Japhet! What 

Dost thou here with these children of the wicked 7 
Dread'st thou not to partake their coming doom 7 

174 HEAV£X AND EARTH4 PAlf t. 

Jctpk. Father, it cannot be a sin t* seek 
To save an earth-born being ; and behold. 
These are not of the sinful, since they have 
The fellowship of angels. 

Noah. These are they, then* 

Who leave the throne of God, to take them wives 
From out the race of Cain ; the sons of heaven, 
Who seek earth's daughters for their beauty ? 

Aza. Patriarch ! 

Thou hast said it. 

Noah, Woe, woe, woe to such communion ! 

Has not God made a barrier between earth 
And heaven, and limited each, kind to kind t 

Sam* Was not man made in high Jehovah's image t 
Did God not love what he had made ? And what 
Do we but imitate and emulate 
His love unto created love 7 

Noah, I am 

But man, and ik%s not made to judge mankind. 
Far less the sons of God ; but as our God 
Has deign'd to commune with me, and reveal 
His judgments, I reply, that the descent 
Of seraphs from their everlasting seat 
Unto a perishable and perishing. 
Even on the very ene ofperishingt world. 
Cannot be good. 

Aza. What ! though it were to save t 

Noah. Not ye in all your glory can redeem 
What he who made you glorious hath condemn'd. 
Were your immortal mission safety, 't would 
Be general, not for two, though beautiful ; 
And beautiful they are, but not the less 

Japh, Oh, father ! say it not. 

Noah. Son! son! 

If that thou wouldst avoid their doom, forget 
That they exist ; they soon shall cease to be, 
While thou shalt be the sire of a new world, 
And better. 

Japh. Let me die with this, and iJiem ! [ho 

Noah. Thou shouldsl for such a thought, but shalt not ; 
Who can redeem thee. 

Sam. And why him and thee, 

More than what he, thy son, prefers to both T 

Noah. Ask him who made thee greater than myself 
And mine, but not less subject to his own 

HIU.VSN Air]> BAttTH. 17ft 

Almightiness. And lo ! his mildest and 
Least to be tempted messenger appears ! 

Enter Raphael the Archangel. 

Raph. Spirits ! 

Whose seat is near the throne. 
What do ye here? 
Is thus a seraph's duty to be shown/ 
Now that the hour is near 
When earth must be alone ? 
Adore and burn 
In glorious homage with the elected ** seven.'' 
Your place is heaven. 
Sam. Raphael ! 

The first and fairest of the sons of God, 
How long hath this been Uiw, 
That earth by angels must be left untrod ? 

Earth ! which oft saw 
Jehovah's footsteps not disdain her sod ! 
The world he loved, and made 
For love ; and oft have we obey'd 
His frequent mission with delighted pinions : 

Adoring him in his least works display'd * 
Watching this youngest star of his dominions ; 
And, as the ktest birth of his great word, 
Eager to keep it worthy of our Lord. 
Why is thy brow severe ? 
And wherefore speak'st thou of destruction near f 
Raph. Had Samiasa and Azaziel been 
In their true place, with the angelic choir, 
Written in fire 
They would have seen 
Jehovah's late decree, 
And not inquired their Maker's breath of me : 
But ignorance must ever be 
A part of sin ; 
And even the spirits' knowledge shall grow less 

As they wax proud within ; 
For Blindness is the first-born of Excess. 

When all good angels left the world, ye stay'd, 
Stung with strange passions, and debased 
By mortal feelings for a mortal maid : 
But yc are pardon'd thus fai, and replaced 
With your pure, equals. Hence ! away ! away ! 


Or stay, 
And lose eternity by that delay ! 
Axa. And thou \ if earth be thus forbidden 
In the decree 
To us until this moment hidden, 
Dost thou not err as we 
In being here ? 
Raph, I came to call ye back to your fit sphere. 
In the great name and at the word of God. 
Dear, dearest in themselves, and scarce less dear 

That which I came to do : till now we trod 
Together the eternal space ; together 

Let us still walk the «tars. True, earth must die !• 
Her race, retum'd into her womb, must wither. 
And much which she inherits : but oh ! why 
Cannot this earth be made, or be destroyed, 
Without involring ever some vast void 
In the immortal ranks? immortal still 

In their immeasurable forfeiture. 
Our brother Satan fell ; his burning will 
Rather than longer worship dared endure ! 
But ye who still are pure ! 
Seraphs ! less mighty than that mightiest one, 

Think how he was undone ! 
And think if tempting man can compensate 
For heaven desired too late ? 
Long have I warr'd. 
Long must I war 
With htm who deem'd it hard 
To be created, and to acknowledge him 
Who midst the cherubim 
Made him as suns to a dependent star, 
Leaving the archangels at his right hand dim. 

I loved him — beautiful he was : oh Jieaven ! 
Save his who made, what beauty and what power 
Was ever like to Satan's ! Would the hour 
In which he fell could ever be forgiven ! 
The wish is impious : but, oh ye ! 
Yfet undestroy'd, be warn'd ! Eternity 

With him, or with his God, is in your choice : 
He hath not tempted you ; he cannot tempt 
The angels, from his further snares exempt : 

But man hath listen'd to his voice. 
And ye to woman's — beautiful she is. 
The serpent's voice less subtle than her kiss. 


The snake but vampushM d«8t; but ahe will draw 
A second ho«t from heaven, ta break heaven's law. 
Yet, yet»oh flyl 
Ye cannot die 4 
Shall pass away* 
While ye shall fill with shrieks the upper sky 

For perishable clay, 
Whose memory in your immortality 

Shall long outlast the sun which gave them day. 
Think how your essence difereth from theirs 
In all bttt suffering ! why partake 
The agony to which they must be heirs — 
Born to be plough'd with years, and sown with cares, 
And reap'd by Death, k)rd of the human soil ? 
Even had their days been lefl to toil their path 
Through time to dust, unshorten'd by God's ^rath, 
Still they are Evil's prey and Sorrow's spoil. 

Aho. Let them fly ! 

I hear the Voice which says that all must die 
Sooner than our white-bearded patriarchs died ; 
And that on high 
An ocean is prepared, 
While from below 
The deep shall rise to meet heaven's overflow. 

Few^shall be spared, 
It seems ; and, of that few, the race of Cain 
Must Ufl their eyes to Adam's God in vain. 
Sister ! is so, 
And the eternal Lord 
In vain would be implored 
For the remission of one hour of woe, 
Let us resign even what we have adored. 
And meet the wave, as wc would meet the sword, 

If not unmoved, yet undismayM, 
And wailing less for us than those who shall 
Survive in mortal or immortal thrall. 

And, when the fatal waters are allayM* 
Weep for the myriads who ^an weep no more. 
Fly, seraphs ! to your own eternal shore, 
Where winds nof howl nor waters roar. 
Our portion is to die. 
And yours to live for ever : 
But which is best, a dead eternity. 
Or living, is but known to the great Giver. 

VOL. v.— N 


Obey him, as we shall obey ; 
I would not keep this life of mine in day 
An hour beyond his will ; 
Nor see ye lose a portion of his grace^ 
For all the mercy which Seth's race 
Find still. 
And as your pinions bear ye back to heaven. 
Think that my love still mounts with thee on high 

Samiasa ! 
And if I look up with a teariess eye» . 

Tis that an angel's bride disdains to weepr-* 
Fan^well 1 Now rise, inexorable deep ! 
Anah. And must we die ? 

And must I lose thee too» 

Azaziel ? 
Oh, my heart ! my heart ! 

Thy prophecies were true ! 
And yet thou wert so happy too ! 
The blow, though not imlookM for, falls as new : 
But yet depart ! 
Ah ! why ? 
Yet let me not retain thee — fly ! 
My pangs can be but brief; but thine would be 
Eternal, if repulsed from heaven for me. 
Too much already hast thou deign'd 
To one of Adam's race ! 
Our doom is sorrow : not to us alone. 
But to the spirits who have not disdain'd . 
To love us, Cometh anguish with disgrace. 
The first who taught us knowledge hath been hurl'd 
From his once archangelic throne 
Into some unknown world : 
And thou, Azaziel ! No — 
Thou shalt not suffer woe 
For me. Away ! nor weep ! 
Thou canst not weep ; but yet 
May'st sufier more, not weeping : then forget 
Her. whom the surges of the all^trangling deep 

Can bring no pang like this. Fly ! fly ! 
Being gone, 't will b^ less difficult to die. 
Japh» Oh say not so ! 

Father ! and thou, archangel, thou ! 
Surely celestial mercy lurks below 
That pure severe, serenity of brow : 


m:gmm. HBAVBN AND SAXTO. 179 

Let them not meet this sea without a shore. 
Save in oar ark» or let me be no more ! 

NodL Peace, child of passion^ peace ! 
If not within thy heart, yet with thy tongue 

Do God no wrong ! 
Live as he wills it — die, when he ordains, 
A righteous death, unlike the seed of Cain's. 

Cease, or be sorrowful in silence ; cease 
To weary Heaven's ear with thy selfish plaint. 

Wouldst thou have God commit a sin for thee T 
Such would it be 
To alter his intent 
For a mere mortal sorrow. Be a man ! 
And bear what Adam's race must bear, and can. 

Japh. Ay, father ! but when they are gone. 

And we are all alone. 
Floating upon the azure desert, and 
The depth beneath us hides our own dear land. 

And dearer, silent friends and brethren, all 

Buried in its immeasurable breast. 
Who. who, our tears, our shrieks, shaU then command ^ 

Clin we in desolation's peace have rest ? 
Oh God ! be thou a God, and spare 
Yet while 't is time ! 
Renew not Adam's fall: 

Mankind were then but twain, . 
But they are numerous now as are the waves 

And the tremendous rain, 
Whose drops shall be less thick than would their graves. 

Were graves 'permitted to the seed of Cain. 

Nocih. Silence, vain boy ! each word of thine 's a crime. 
Angel ! forgive this stripling's fond despair. 

Raj^, Seraphs ! these mortals speak in passion : Ye ! 
Who are, or should be, passionless and pure. 
May now return with me. 

Sam, It may not be : 

We have chosen, and will endure. 

Raph. Say'st thou ! 

Axa. He hath said it, and I say, Amen ! 

Raph. Again ! 

Then from this hour. 
Shorn as ye are of all celestial power. 
And aliens from your God, 
Farewell ! 

J(^h. Alas ! where shall they dwell f 

Hark, hark ! Deep sounds, and deeper stilJ, 


Are howling from the mountain's bosom : 
There ^s not a breath of wind upon the hill, 

Yet quivers every leaf, and drops each blossom : 
Earth groans as if beneath a heavy load. 
NocJi. Hark, hark ! the sea-birds cry ! 
In clouds they overspread the lurid sky, 
And hover round the mountain, where before 
Never a white wing, wetted by the wave, 

Yet dared to soar, 
Even when the waters wax'd too fierce to brave. 
Soon it shall be their only shorct 
And then, no more ! 
Japh, The sun ! the sun ! 

He riseth, but his better light is gone ; 
And a black circle, boand 

His glaring disk around, 
Proclaims earth's last of summer days hath shone ! 

The clouds return int» the hues of night, 
Save where their brazen*oo)ourM edges streak 
The verge where brighter moms were wont to break. 

Noah, And lo ! yon flash of light. 
The distant thunder's harbinger, appears 9 • 

It cometh ! hence, away ! 
Leave to the elements their evil prey ! 
Hence to where our all-hallow'd ark uprears 
Its safe and w reckless sides ! 
Japh. Oh, father, stay ! 
Leave not my Anah to the swallowing tides ! 

Noah* Must we not leave all life to such 7 Begone ! 
Japh, Not I. 

Noah. Then die 

With them ! 
How darest thou look on that prophetic sky. 
And seek to save what all things now condemn. 
In overwhelming unison 

With just Jehovah's wrath ! 
Japh, Can rage and justice join in the same path ? 
Noah, Blasphemer ! darest thou murmur even now ? 
Raph, Patriarch, be still a father ! smooth thy brow : 
Thy son, despite his folly, shall not sink : 
He knows not what he says, yet shall not dnnk 

With sobs the salt foam of the swelling waters ; 
But be, when passion passeth, good as thou, 

Nor perish like heaven's children with man's daughters. 
Alio, The tempest cometh ; heaven and earth unite 
For the annihilation of aU life. 

nm. HCAVSsr akd basth. 181 

Unequal is the strife 
Between our strength and the Eternal Might ! 

Sam* But ours is with thee ; we will bear ye far 

To some untroubled 8tar» 
Where thou and Anah shalt partake our lot : 

And if thou dost not weep for thy lost earth 
Our forfeit heaven shall also be forgot. 

Anah, Oh ! my dear father's tents, my place of birth, 
And mountains, land, and woods ! when ye are not, 
Who shall dry up my tears ? 

Axa. Thy spirit-lord. 

Fear not ; though we are shut from heaven, 
Yet much is ours, whence we can not be driven. 

Raph. Rebel ! thy words are wicked, as thy deeds 
Shall henceforth be but weak : the flaming sword, 
Which chased the first-born out of Paradise, 
Still flashes in the angelic hands. 

Aza. It cannot slay us : threaten dust with death. 
And talk of weapons unto that which bleeds. 
What are thy swords in our immortal eyes ? 

Raph* The moment cometh to approve thy strength ; 
And learn at length 
How vain to war with what thy God commands : 
Thy former force ^as in thy faith. 

Enter Mortalst flying for refuge. 

Chorue ofMortaU. 

The heavens and earth are mingling — God ! oh God * 

What have we done ? Yet spare ! 

Hark ! even the forest beasts howl forth their prayer > 

The dragon crawls from out his den, 

To herd, in terror, innocent with men ; 
And the birds scream their agony through air. 
Yet, yet, Jehovah ! yet withdraw thy rod 
Of wrath, and pity thine own world's despair ! 
Hear not man only but all nature plead ! 

Raph. Farewell, thou earth ! ye wretched sons of clay, 
I cannot, must not, aid you. 'T is decreed ! 

[Exit Raphabl. 

Japh* Some clouds sweep on as vultures for their prey, 
While others, fix'd as rocks, await the word 
At which their wrathful vials shall be pour'd. 
No azure more shall robe the firmament, 
Nor spangled stars be glorious : Death hath risen : 


In the sun's place a pale and gfaasdy glare 
Hath woond itself around the dying air. 

Axa. Comey Anah ! quit this chcuM^founded prison, 
To which the elements again repair. 
To turn it into what it was : beneath 
The shelter of these wings thou shalt be safe* 
As was the eagle's nestling once within 
Its mother's, — Let the coming chaos chafe 
With all its elements ! Heed not their din ! 
A brighter world than this, where thou shait breathe 
Ethereal life, will we explore : 
These darken'd clouds are not the only skies* 

[A&ABiBL and BAiaABJiJly off, and dUappear wiih 
Anah and Ahoubamah. 

Japh. They are gone ! They have disappear'd amidst 
the roar 
Of the forsaken world ; and never more, 
Whether they live, or die with all earth's life, 
Now near its last, can aught restore 
Anah unto these eyes. 

Chorus of Mortals. 

Oh son of Noah ! mercy on thy kind ! 
What ! wilt thou leave us all — all — dH behind t 
While safe amidst the elemental strife, 
Thou sitt'st within thy guarded ark ? 
A Mother {offering her infant to Japhbt). Oh let this 
child embark ! 
I brou^t him forth in woe. 

But thought it joy 
To see him to my bosom clinging so. 
Why was he bom ? 
What hath he done — 
My unwean'd son — 
To move Jehovah's wrath or scorn 1 
What is there in this milk of mine, that death 
Should stir all heaven and earth up to destroy 

My boy, 
And roll the waters o'er his placid breath ? 
Save him, thou seed of Seth ! 
Or cursed be — with him who made 
Thee and thy race, for which we are betray'd ! 

Japh. Peace ! 't is no hour for curses, but for prayer ! 

BOL RBAVBir A2n> BASTR. 183 

Chorus of Mortals, 

For prayer ! ! ! 
And where 
Shall prayer ascend, 
When the BWo\n clouds unto the mountains bend 

And burst, 
And gushing oceans- every barrier rend, 
Until the very deserts know no thirst ! 
Be he who made thee and thy sire ! 
We deem our curses vain ; we must expire ; 

But as we know the worst, 
Why should our hymn be raised, our knees be bent 
Before the implacable Omnipotent, 
Since we must fall the same ? 
If he hath made earth, let it be his shame, 

To make a world for torture. — Lo ! they comei 
The k>athsome waters, in their rage ! 
And with their roar make wholesome nature dumb ! 

The forest's trees (coeval with the hour 
When Paradise upsprung, 

Ere Eve gave Adam knowledge for her dower, 
Or Adam his first hymn of slavery sune), 

So massy, vast, yet green in their old age, 
Are overtopped. 

Their summer blossoms by the surges lopp'd, 
Which rise, and rise, and rise. 
Vainly we look up to the lowering skies — 

They meet the seas. 
And shot out Grod from our beseeching eyes. 
Fly, son of Noah, fly ! and take thine ease 
In thine allotted ocean-tent ; 
And view, all floating o'er the element, 
The corpses of the world of thy young days : 
Then to Jehovah raise 
Thy song of praise ! 
A MorUd. Blessed are the dead 
Who die in the Lord ! 
And though the waters be o'er earth outspread. 
Yet, as his word. 
Be the decree adored ! 
Heffave me life — he taketh but 
l^e breath which is his own : 
And though these eyes should be for ever shut, 


Nor longer this weak voice before his throne 
Be heard in supplicating tone, 

Still blessed be the Lord, 
For what is past. 
For that which is : 
For all are his, 
From first to last ^ 
Time — space — eternity — life — death — 

The vast known and immeasurable unknown. 
He made, and can unmake ; 

And shall /, for a little gasp of breath, 
Blaspheme and groan 1 

No ; let me die, as I have lived, in faith, 
Nor quiver, though the universe mnj quake ! 

Chonu of MwiaU. 

Where shall we fly ? 
Not to the mountains high ; 
For now their torrents riisb, with double roar. 
To meet the ocean, which, advancing still, 
Already grasps each drowning hill. 
Nor leaves an unsearoh'd cave. 

Eniera Woman. 

Woman. Oh, save me, save ! 
Our valley is no more : 

My father and my father's tent. 
My brethren and my brethren's herds. 

The pleasant trees that o'er our noonday bent 
And sent forth evening sones from sweetest birds, 
The little rivulet which frewen'd all 
Our pastures green. 
No more are to be seen. 
When to the mountain cliff I climb'd this morot 

I tum'd to bless the spot, 
And not a leaf appear'd about to fall ; — 

And now they are not ! — 
Why was I bom? 

Japh. To die ! in youth to die ; 

And happier in that doom. 
Than to behold the universal tomb 

Which I 
Am thus condemn'd to weep above in vain. 
. Why, when all perish, why must I remain ? 



[The waUrs rise : Men fly in every direction; many 

are overtaken by the wooes ; the Chorus of Mor- 

ials disperses ^in search of safety up the moun' 

tains : Japhet remains upon a rock, while the Ark 

Jloats towards him in the distance* 




The foundation of the following story will be found partly 
In the account of the mutiny of the Botmty in the South Seas, 
(in 1789,) and partly in ^ Mariner's Account of the Tonga 



Ths morning watch was come ; the vessel lay 
Her course, and gently made her liquid way ; 
The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow 
In furrows form'd by that majestic plough ; 
The waters with their world were all before ; 
Behind, the South iSea's many an islet shore. 
The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane, ^ 
Dividing darkness from the dawning main ; 
The dolphins, not unconscious of the day, 
Swam high, as eager of the coming ray ; 
The stars from broader beams began to creep, 
And lift their shining eyelids from the deep ; 
The sail resumed its lately shadow 'd white. 
And the wind flutter'd with a freshening flight ; 
The purpling ocean owns the coming sun. 
But ere he break — a deed is to be done. 

The gallant chief within his cabin slept. 
Secure in those by whom the watch was kept : 
His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore. 
Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er ; 
His name was added to the glorious roll 
Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole. 
The worst was over, and the rest seem'd sure. 
And why should not his slumber be secure ? 
Alas ! his deck was trod by unwilling feet. 
And wilder hands wt>uld hold the vessel's sheet ; 
Young hearts, which languish'd for some sunny isle* 
Where summer years and summer women smile ; 
Men without country, who, too long estranged. 
Had found no native home, or found it changed. 


Andy half uncivilized, preferred the cave 

Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave— > 

The gushing fruits that nature gave untili'd ; 

The wood without a path but where they will'd ; 

The field o'er which promiscuous plenty pour*d 

Her horn ; the equal land without a lord ; 

The wish — which ages have not yet subdued 

In man — to have no master save his mood ; 

The earth, whose mine was on its face, unsold^ 

The glowing sun and produce all its gold ; 

The freedom which can call each grot a home ; 

The general garden, where all steps may roam. 

Where Nature owns a nation as her chUd, 

Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild ; 

Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth they know. 

Their unexploring navy, the canoe ; 

Their sport, the Ashing breakers and the chase ; 

Their strangest sight, an European face : — 

Such was the country which these strangers yeam'd 

To see again ; a sight they dearly earn'd. 


Awake, bold Bli^ ! the foe is at the gate ! 
Awake ! Awake ! Alas ! it is too late ! 

Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer 
Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear. 
Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast ; 
The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest ; 
Dragg'd o'er the deck, no more at thy command 
The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand ; 
That savage spirit, which would lull by wrath 
Its desperate escape from duty's path. 
Glares round thee, in the scarce believing eyes 
Of those who fear the chief they sacrifice : 
For ne'er can roan his conscience all assuage. 
Unless he drain the wine of passion — rage. 


In vain, not silenced by the eye of death, 
Thou call'st the loyal with thy menaced breath : — 
They come not ; they are few, and, overawed. 
Must acquiesce, while sterner heai^ applaud. 
In vain thou dost demand the cause : a curse 
Is all the answer, with the threat of worse. 
Full in thine eyes is waved the glittenng blade, 
Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid. 


The leveird muskets circle round thy breast 
In hands as steel'd to do the deadly rest. 
Thou darest them to their worst, exclaiming — ^* Fire ! " 
But they who pitied not could yet admire ; 
Some lurking remnant of their former awe 
Restrained them longer than their br<^en law ; 
They would not dip their souls at once in blood, 
But left thee to the mercies of the flood. 


^ Hoist out the boat ! '* was now the leader's cry ; 

And who dare answer ^ No ! " to Mutiny, 

in the first dawning of the drunken hour. 

The Saturnalia of unhoped-for power ? 

The boat is lower'd with all the haste of hate. 

With its slight plank between thee and thy fate ; 

Her only cargo such a scant supply 

As promises the death their hands deny ; 

And just enough of water and of bread 

To keep, some days, the dying from the dead : 

Some cordage, canvass, sails, and lines, and twine» 

But treasures all to hermits of the brine. 

Were added after, to the earnest prayer 

Of those who saw no hope, save sea and air ; 

And last, that trembling vassal of the Pole-« 

The feeling compass -v* Navigation's soul. 


And now the self-elected ehief finds time 

To stun the first sensation of his crime, 

And raise it in his folk>wers — ^ Ho ! the bowl ! " 

Lest passion should return to reason's shoal. 

^* Brandy for heroes ! " Burke could once eKclaim— 

No doubt a liquid path to epic fame ; 

And such the new-born heroes found it here. 

And drain'd the draught with an applauding cheer. 

<* Huzza ! for Otaheice I " was the cry. 

How strange such shouts from sons of Mutiny ! 

The gentle island, and the genial soil, 

The triendly hearts, the feasts without a toil, 

The courteous manners but from nature caught, 

The wealth unbearded, and the love unbought ; 

Could these have charms for rudest sea-boys, driven 

Before the mast by every wind o£ heaven ? 

And now, even now prepared with others' woes 

To earn mild virtue's vain desire, repose ? 


Alas ! siich is our nature ! all but aim 
At the same end by pathways not the same ; 
Our means, our birth, our nation, and our name. 
Our fortune, temper, even our outward frame, 
Are fur more potent o'er our yielding clay 
Than aught we know beyond our little day. 
Yet still there whispers the small voice within. 
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din^ 
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, 
Man's conscience is the oracle of God. 


The launch is crowded with the faithful few 
Who wait their chief, a melancholy crew : 
But some remain'd reluctant on the deck 
Of that proud vessel — now a moral wreck -^ 
And view'd their captain's fate with piteous eyes 4 
While others scofTd his augur 'd miseries, 
Sneer'd at the prospect of his pigmy sail, . 
And the slight bark so laden and so frail. 
The tender Nautilus, who steers his prow. 
The sea-bom sailor of his shell canoe. 
The ocean Mab, the fairy of the sea, 
Seems far less fragile, and, alasi more free. 
He, when the lightning- wing'd tornaidos sweep 
The surge, is safe — his port is in the deep — 
And triumphs o'er the armadas of mankind, 
Which shake the world, yet crumble in the wind. 


When all was now prepared, the vessel clear. 
Which hail'd her master in the mutineer — 
A seaman, less obdurate than his mates, 
Show'd the vain pity which but irritates ; 
Watch'd his late chieftain with exploring eye. 
And told, in signs, repentant sympathy ; 
Held the moist shaddock to his parched mouth. 
Which felt exhaustion's deep and bitter drouth. 
But soon observed, this guardian was withdrawn. 
Nor further mercy clouds rebellion's dawn. 
Then forward stepp'd the bold and fcoward boy 
His chief had cherish'd only to destroy. 
And, pointing to the helpless prow beneath, 
Exclaim'd, " Depart at once ! delay is death ' " 
Yet then, even then, his feelings ceased not all : 
In that last moment could a word recall 





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Remorse for the black deed as yet half donoi 
And what he hid from many show'd to one : 
When Bligh in stem reproach demanded where 
Was now his grateful sense of former care ? 
Where all his hopes to see his name aspire, 
And blazon Britain's thousand glories higher 7 
His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy spell, 
'^T is that! 't is that ! I am in hell ! in hell!" 
No more he said ; but urging to the bark 
His chief, commits him to his fragile aric ; 
These the sole accents from his tongue that fell. 
But volumes lurk'd below his fierce farewell. 


The arctic sun rose broad above the wave ; 
The breeze now sank, now whisper'd from his cave ; 
As on the .£olian harp, his fitful wings 
Now swell'd, now fluttered o'er his ocean strings. 
With slow, despairing oar, the abandon'd skiff 
Ploughs its drear progress to the scarce-seen cliffy 
Which Hits its peak a cloud above the main : 
That boat and ship shall never meet again ! 
But 't is not mine to tell their tale of grief. 
Their constant peril, and their scant relief; 
Their days of danger, and their nights of pain ; 
Their manly courage even when deem'd in vain ; 
The sapping famine, rendering scarce a son 
Known to his mother in the skeleton ; 
The iUs that lessen'd still their little store, 
And starv'd even Hunger till he wrung no more ; 
The Varyinff frowns and favours of the deep, 
That now almost ingulfs, then leaves to creep 
With crazy oar and shattered strength along 
The tide that yields reluctant to the strong ; 
The incessant fever of that arid thirst 
Which welcomes, as a well, the clouds that burst 
Above their naked bones, ai]id feeb delight 
In the cold drenching of the stormy night. 
And from the outspread canvass gladly wrings 
A drop to moisten hfe's all-gasping springs ; 
The savage foe escaped, to seek again 
More hospitable shelter from the main ; 
The ghastly spectres which were doom'd at last 
To tell as true a tale of dangers past. 
As ever the dark annals of the deep 
Disclosed for man to dread or woman weep. 
▼OL. v.— o 



We leave them to their fate, but not unknown 

Nor unredfeaB'd. Revenge may have her own : 

Roused discipline aloud proclaims their cause* 

And injured navies urge their broken laws. 

Pursue we on his track the mutineer, 

Whom distant vengeance had not taught to fear. 

Wide o'er the wave — away ! away ! away ! 

Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome bay ; 

Once more the happy shores without a law 

Receive the outlaws whom they lately saw ; 

Nature, and Nature's goddess — woman — woos 

To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse ; 

Where all partake the earth without dispute, 

And bread itself is gather'd as a fruit ;* 

Wh^re none contest the fields, the woods, the streams : — 

The goldless age, where gold disturbs no dreams, 

Inhabits or inhabited the shore. 

Till Europe taught them better than before : 

Bestow'd her customs, and amended theirs, 

But lejfl her vices also to their heirs. 

Away with this ! behold them as they were, 

Do good with Nature, or with Nature err. 

** Huzza ! for Otaheite i " was the cry, 

As stately swept the gallant vessel by. 

The breeze springs up ; the lately flapping sail 

Extends its arch before the growing gale ; 

In swifter ripples stream aside the seas. 

Which her bold bow flings ofi* with dashing ease 

Thus Argo plough'd the Euxine's virgin foam ; 

But those she wafled still look'd back to home — ' 

These spurn their country with their rebel bark, 

And fly her as the raven fled the ark ; 

And yet they seek to nestle with the dove, 

And tame their fiery spirits down to love. 

* Tlie now celebrated bread-fruiti to tnuiB{>lant which Captain 61igh*t ezpe- 
ditioB was undertaken. 




How pleasant were the eoQgs of Toobonai,"' 

When summer's sun went down the coral bay ! 

Come, let us to tlie islet!s softest shade, 

And hear the warbling birds.! the damsels said : 

The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, 

Like voices of the gods from Bolotop ; 

We '11 cull the flowers Jthat grow aWve the dead. 

For these most bloom whegre rests the warrior's head ; 

And we will sit in twilight's face, and see 

The sweet moon glancing through the tooa tfee, 

The lofty accents of whose sighing bough 

Shall sadly please us as we lean belpw ; 

Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vaia 

Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, 

Which spurn in columns baqk the baffled spray 

How beautiful are these ! how hajfiy jthey« 

Who, from the toil and tumult of their live^ 

Steal to look down where nought but ocean strives ! 

Even ho too loves at times the blue lagoon. 

And smooths his ruffled mane beneath tlie moon. 

Yes -9- from the sepulchre we 'U gather fl«»w>er% 

Then feast like spirits in their promised bowG^rib 

Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf. 

Then lay our limbs along the tender tur^ 

And, wet and shining from the sportive toi1« 

Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil. 

And plait our garlands gather'd fcon the gca:Ke« 

And wear the wreaths that sprung j&om out the Urave« 

But lo ! night comes, the Mooa woos us back) 

The sound of mats are heard along our track ^ 

Anon the torchlight dance shall fling its sheen 

lo flashing mazes o'er the Marley's green ; 

* The fint three leetioni are taken fiom nn actual song of the Tonga iBlanderi*, 
of which aprofie tranaiation is given in " Marinor*fl Acoount of the Tonga Islandii/' 
Toohonai » nol however one of them ; hut waa one of tiiose where Christian 
and the mutineen took refuse. I have altered and added, but have retained aa 
much ai poMiblc of the origiiuil. 

196 THB ISI^ND. CAl 

And we too will be there ; we too recall 
The memory bright with many a festival 
Ere Fiji blew the shell of war, when foes 
For the first time were wafted in canoes. 
Alas ! for them the flower of mankind bleeds : 
Alas ! for them our fields are rank with weeds : 
Forgotten is the rapture, or unknown. 
Of wandering with the moon and love alone. 
But be it so : — they taught us how to wield 
The club, and rain our arrows o'er the field : 
Now let them reap the harvest of their art ! 
But feast to-night ! to-morrow we depart. 
Strike up the dance ! the cava bowl fill high ! 
Drain every drop ! — to-morrow we may die. 
In summer garments be our limbs arrayM ; 
Around our waists the tappa's white displayed ; 
Thick wreaths shall form our coronal, like spring's. 
And round our necks shall glance the hooni strings ; 
So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow 
Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below. 

But now the dance is o'er — yet stay awhile ; 
Ah, pause ! nor yet put out the social smile. 
To-morrow for the Mooa we depart, 
But not to-night — to-night is for the heart. 
Again brstow the wreaths we gently woo, 
Ye young enchantresses of gay Licoo ! 
How lovely are your forms ! how every sense 
Bows to your beauties, soften'd, but intense. 
Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep. 
Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep ! — 
We too will see Licoo ; but — oh ? my heart ! — 
What do I say ? — to-morrow we depart ? 

Thus rose a song — the harmony of times 
Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes. 
True, they had vices — such are Nature's growth — 
But only the barbarian's — we have both : 
The sordor of civilisation, mix'd 
With all the savage which man's fall hath fix'd. 
Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign. 
The prayers of Abel link'd to deeds of Cain ? 
Who such would see may from his lattice view 
The Old World more degraded than the New,-* 



Now new no moM, save where Columbia rears 
Twin giants, bom by Freedom to her spheres, 
Where Chimborazo, over air, earth, wave. 
Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave. 


Sach was this ditty of Tradition's days. 
Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys 
In song, where fame as yet hath left no sign 
Beyond the sound whose charm is half divine ; 
Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye. 
But yields young history all to harmony ; 
A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre 
In hajid, to teach him to surpass his sire. 
For one long-cherish'd ballad's simple stave, 
Rung from the rock, or minted with the wave. 
Or from the bubbling streaidet's grassy side. 
Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide. 
Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear. 
Than all the columns Conquest's minions rear : 
Invites, when hieroglyphics are a theme 
For sages' labours or the student's dream ; 
Attracts, when History's volumes are a toil, — 
The first, the freshest bud of Feeling's soil. 
Such was this rude rhyme — rhyme is of the rude - 
But such inspired the Norseman's solitude. 
Who came and conquer'd ; such, wherever rise 
Lands which no foes destroy or civilise, 
Exist : and what can our accomplish'd art 
Of verse do more than reach the awaken'd heart t 


And sweetly now those untaught melodies 

Broke the luxurious silence of the skies. 

The sweet siesta of a summer day. 

The tropic afternoon of Toobonai, 

When every flower was bloom, and air was balm. 

And the first breath began to stir the palm, 

The first yet voiceless wind to urge the wave 

All gently to refresh the thirsty cave. 

Where sat the songstress with the stranger boy. 

Who taught her passion's desolating joy, 

Too powerful over every heart, but most 

O'er those who know not how it may be lost ; 

O'er those who, burning in the new-born fire, 

Like martyrs revel in their funeral pyre. 

IM THB I8Likin>. 


With such devotion to their ecstasy, 
That life knows no such rapture as to die : 
And die they do ; for earthly life has nought 
Match 'd with that burst of nature, even in thought. 
And all our dreams of better life above 
But close in one eternal gush of love. 

There sat the gentle- savage of the wild, 
In growth a woman, though in years a child, 
As childhood dates within our colder clime, 
Where nought* is ripened rapidly save crime ; 
The infant of an infant world, as pure 
From nature — loveLy, warm, and premature ; 
Dusky like night, bat night with all her stars ; 
Or cavern sparkling with its native spars ; 
With eyes that were a language and a spell, 
A form like> Aphrodi4e's in her shell, 
With all her loves around her on the deep. 
Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep ; 
Yet full of life — for through her tropic cheek 
The blush would make its way, and all but speak ; 
The sun-born blood suffused her neck, and threw 
O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue. 
Like coral reddening through the darkened wave. 
Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. 
Sucb was this daughter of the southern seas, 
Herself a billow in her energies, 
To bear the bark of others' happiness, 
Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less : 
Her wild and warm yet faithful bosom knew 
No joy like what it gave ; her hopes ne'er drew 
Aught from experience, that chill touchstone, whose 
Sad proof reduces all things from their hues : 
She fear'd no ill, because she knew it not. 
Or what she knew was soon — too soon — forgot : 
Her smiles and tears had pass'd, as light winds pass 
O'er lakes to rufBe, not destroy, their glass, 
Whose depths unsearch'd, and fountains from the hill^ 
Restore their surface, in itself so still, 
Until the earthquake tear the naiad's cave, 
Root up the spring, and trample on the wave, 
And crush the living waters to a mass, 
Tlie amphibious desert of the dank morass ! 
And must their fate be hers? The eternal change 
But grasps humanity with quicker ran^ 



And they who fall but fall as worlds will fall. 
To rise, if just, a spirit o'er them all. 

And who is he t the Uue-eyed northern child 
Of isles more known to man, but scarce less wild ; 
The fair-hair'd offspring of the Hebrides, 
MThere roars the Pentland with its whirling seas ; 
Rock'd in his cradle by the roaring wind, 
The tempest-born in body and in mind. 
His young eyes opening on the ocean-foam, 
Had frmn that moment deem'd the deep his home^ 
The giant comrade of his pensive moods. 
The sharer of his craggy solitudes, 
The only Meptor of his youth, where'er 
His bark was borne ; the sport of wave and air ; 
A careless thing, who placed his choice in chance, 
Nursed by the legends of his land's romance ; 
£ager to hope, but not less firm to bear. 
Acquainted with all feelings save despair. 
Placed in the Arab's clime, he would have been 
As bold a rover ns the sands have seen, 
And braved their thirst with as enduring lip 
As Ishmael, wafted on his desert-ship ;* 
Fiz'd upon Chili's shore, a proud cacique ; 
On Hellas' mountains, a rebellious Greek ; 
Bom in a tent, perhaps a Tamerlane ; 
Bred to a throne, perhaps unfit to reign. 
For the same soul that rends its path to sway, 
If rear'd to such, can find no further prey 
Beyond itself, and must retrace its way,t 
Plunging for pleasure into pain : the same 
Spirit which made a Nero, Rome's worst shame, 
A humbler state and discipline of heart, 
Had fonn'd his glorious namesake's counterpart ;^ 

* The "ihip of ihe Aeant" u the Oriental figara for the eeinel or dromeda- 
ry ; and they deaerve the metaphor well, — the former for hia endurance, the latter 
for hia awinneai. 
t ** Lueullna, when fragafitv conld charm. 

Had roaated tumipa in the Sabine farm." — Pojte, 
t Hie eonanl Nero, who made the unequalled march which deceived Hanni- 
bal, and defeated Aadrubal ; thereby accomplishing an achievement almost un- 
rivalled in military annals. T^e first intelligence of hia return, to Hannibal, was 
the aisht of Aadrubal's head thrown into his camp. When Hannibal saw this, 
he exclaimed with a sigh, that ** Rome would now be the mistress of the world.'* 
And yet to this victory of Nero*s it might be owinff that his imperial namesake 
1 at alL But the infamy of the one has eclipsed the glory of the other. 
ot the . - " 

i the name of " Nero" is heard, who thinks ot the consul 7 — But such are 
human things. 


But grant his vices, grant them all his own, 
How small their theatre without a throne ! 


Thou smilest ; — these comparisons seem high 

To those who scan all things with dazzled eye ; 

Link'd with the unknown name of one whose doom 

Has nought to do with glory or with Rome, 

With Chili, Hellas, or with Araby ; — 

Thou smilest ? — Smile ; 't is better thus than sigh ; 

Yet such he might have been ; be was a man, 

A soaring spirit, ever in the van, 

A patriot hero or despotic chief, 

To form a nation's glory or its grief. 

Born under auspices which make us more 

Or less than we delight to ponder o'er. 

But these are visions ; say, what was he here ? 

A blooming boy, a truant mutineer* 

The fair-hair'd Torquil, free as ocean's spray. 

The husband of the bride of Toboonai. 


By Neuha's side he sate, and watch'd the waters, — 
Neuha, the sun-flower of the island daughters. 
Highborn, (a birth at which the herald smiles. 
Without a scutcheon for these secret isles,) 
Of a long race, the valiant and the free. 
The naked knights of savage chivalry, 
Whose grassy cairns ascend along the shore ; 
And thine — I 've seen — Achilles ! do no more. 
She, when the thunder*bearing strangers came. 
In vast canoes, begirt with bolts of flame, 
Topp'd with tall trees, which, loftier than the palm» 
Seem'd rooted in the deep amidst its calm : 
But when the winds awaken'd, shot forth wings 
Broad as the cloud along the horizon flings. 
And sway'd the waves, Tike cities of the sea. 
Making the very billows look less free ; — 
She, with her paddling oar and dancing prow. 
Shot through the surf, like reindeer through the snow 
Swifl-gliding o'er the breaker's whitening edge. 
Light as a pereid in her ocean sledge. 
And gazed and wonder'd at the giant hulk. 
Which heaved from wave to wave its trampling bulk : 
The anchor dropp'd ; it lay along the deep, 
Like a huge lion in the sun asleep. 



IfLAlID 901 

While round it swannM the proaa' flitting chain, 
Like summer bees that hum around his mane. 

The white man landed ! — need the rest be told t 

The New World stretch'd its dusk hand to the Old ; 

Each was to each a manrely and the tie 

•Of wonder warm'd to better sympathy. 

Kind was the welcome of the sun*born sires, 

And kinder still their daughters' gentler fires. 

Their union grew : the children of the storm 

Found beauty link'd with many a dusky form ; 

While these in turn admired the paler glow, 

Which seem'd so white in climes that knew no snow 

The chase, the race, the liberty to roam. 

The soil where every cottage show'd a home ; 

The sea-spread net, the lightly .launcb'd canoe, 

Which stemin'd the studded archipelago. 

O'er whose blue' bosom rose the starry isles ; 

The healthy slumber, eam'd by sportive toils ; 

The palm, the loftiest dryad of the woods, 

Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods. 

While eagles scarce build higher than the crest 

Which shadows o'er the vineyard in her breast ; 

The cava feast, the yam, the cocoa's root. 

Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit ; 

The bread*tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields 

The unreap'd harvest of unfurrow'd fieldb. 

And bakes its unadulterated loaves 

Without a furnace in unpurchased groves, 

And flings ofi* famine from its fertile breast, 

A priceless market for the gathering guest ; — 

These, with the luxuries of seas and woods, 

The airy joys of social solitudes. 

Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies 

Of those who were more happy, if less wise. 

Did more than Europe's discipline had done. 

And civilised Civilisation's son ! 

Of these, and there was many a willing pair, 
Neuha and Torquil were not the least fair : 
Both children of the isles, though distant far; 
Both born beneath a sea-presiding star ; 
Both nourish'dlamidst nature's native scenes, 
Loved to the last, whatever intervenes 


Between us and our childhood's 83nnpa(]iy, 

Which still reverts to what first caught the eye. 

He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue 

Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue^ 

Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face. 

And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace. 

Long have I roam'd through lands which are not mine. 

Adored the Alp, and loved the Apennine, 

Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep 

Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep : 

But 't was not all long ages' lore, nor all 

Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall ; 

The infant rapture still survived the ^y, 

And Loch-na-gar with Ida look'd o^er Troy,* 

Mix 'd. Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, 

And Highland linns with Gastalie^ clear fount. 

Forgive me, Homer's universal shade ! 

Forgive me, Phoebus ! that my fancy stray'd : 

The north and nature taught me to adore 

Your scenes sublime, from those beloved before. 

The love which maketh all things fond and fair, 
The youth which makes one rainbow of the air. 
The dangers past, that make even man enjoy 
The pause in which he ceases to destroy. 
The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel 
Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel. 
United the half savage and the whole. 
The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul. 
No more the thundering memory of the fight 
Wrapp'd his wean'd bosom in its dark delight ; 
No more the irksome restlessness of rest 
Disturb'd him like the eagle in her nest. 
Whose whetted beak and far-pervading eye 
Darts for a victim over all the sky ; 
His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, 
At once Elysian and efi[eminate, 

• When very young, about eight years of age, after an attack of the scarlei 
fever at Aberdeen, I was removed by medical advice into the Highlands. Here 
I pamed occasionally some summers, and from this period I date my love of 
mountainous countries. I can never forget the effect, a few years afterwards, 
in England, of the only thing I had long seen, even in miniature, of a mountain, 
in the Malvern Hills. After I returned to Cheltenham, I used to watch them 
every afternoon, at sunset, with a sensation which I cannot describe. TliiB was 
boyish enough ; but I was then only thirteen years oHlge, and it was in the hoU> 


Which leaves no laurels o'er the heroes urn ; «»- 

These wither when for aught save blood they bum ; 

Yet when their ashes in their nook are laid, 

Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade ? • 

Had CiBsar known but Cleopatra's kiss, 

Rome had been free, the world had not been his« 

And what have CsBsar's deeds and Coesar's fame 

Done for the earth 7 We feel them in our shame : 

The gory sanction of his glory stains 

The rust which tyrants cherish on our chains. 

Though Glory, Nature, Reason, Freedom, bid 

Roused millions do what single Brutus did — 

Sweep these mere mock-birds of the despot's song 

From the tall bough where they have perch'd so long^ — 

Still are we hawk d at by such mousing owls, 

And take for falcons those ignoble fowls, 

When biit a word of freedom would dispel 

These bugbears, as their terrors show too well. 


Rapt in the fond forgetfulness of life, 
Neuha, the South Sea girl, was all a wife. 
With no distracting world to call her off 
From love ; with no society to scoff 
At the new transient Hame ; no babbling crowfl 
Of coxcombry in admiration loud. 
Or with adulterous whisper to alloy 
Her duty, and her glory, and her joy : 
With faith and feelings naked as her form, 
She stood as stands a rainbow in a storm, 
Changing its hues with bright variety, 
But still expanding lovelier o'er the sky, 
Howe'er its arch may swell, its colours move, 
The doud-compelling harbinger of love. 


Here, in this grotto of the wave- worn shore, 
They pass'd the tropic's red meridian o'er ; 
Nor long the hours — they never paused o'er time. 
Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime. 
Which deals the daily pittance of our span. 
And points and mocks with iron laugh at man. 
What deem'd they of the future or the past ? 
The present, like a tyrant, held them fast : 
Their hour-glfls was the sea-sand, and the tide, 
Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide ; 


Theii clock the sun, in his unbounded towV ; 
They reckoned not^ whose day was but an hour ; 
The nightingale, their only vesper-belly 
^ng sweetly to the rose the day's farewell f 
The broad sun set, but not with lingering sweep, 
As in the north he mellows o'er the deep ; 
But £ery, full, and fierce, as if he left 
The world for ever, earth of light bereft, 
Plunged with red forehead down along the wave, 
As dives a hero headlong to his grave. 
Then rose they, looking first along the skies. 
And then for light into each others eyes. 
Wondering that summer show'd so brief a sun. 
And asking if indeed the day were done. 


And let not this seem strange : the devotee 

Lives not in earth, but in his ecstasy : 

Around him days and worlds are heedless driven. 

His soul is gone before his dust to heaven. 

Is love less potent ? No — his path is trod, 

Alike uplifted gloriously to God ; 

Or link d to all we know of heaven below, 

The other better self, whose joy or woe 

Is more than ours ; the all-absorbing flame 

Which, kindled by another, grows the same, 

Wrapt in one blaze ; the pure, yet funeral pile, 

Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. 

How often we forget all time, when lone. 

Admiring Nature's universal throne. 

Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense 

Reply of hers to our intelligence ! 

Live not the stars and mountains ? Are the waves 

Without a spirit ? Are the dropping caves 

Without a feeling in their silent tears ? 

No, no ; — they woo and clasp us to their spheres. 

Dissolve this clog and clod of clay before 

Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. 

Strip off this fond and false identity ! — 

Who thinks of self, when gazing on the sky ? 

And who, though gazing lower, ever thought. 

In the young moments ere the heart is taught 

Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own ? 

All nature is his realm, and love his throne. 

Tlie now well-knowii story of tho lovei of the ni|hiiig«le and io«e need nut 
be more than alluded to, being lufHciendy lamiUar to the Western as wcU aus tu 
the Eastern reader. 


TRB ULAKD. % 205 

Neoha arose, and Torquil : twilight's hour 
Came sad and softly to their rocky bower, 
Which, kindling by degrees its dewy sfuirs, ^ 

Echoed their dim light to the mustering stars. 
Slowly the pair, partaking nature's calm, 
Sought out their cottage, buUt beneath the palm ; 
Now smiling and now silent, as the scene ; 
Lovely as Love — the spirit ! — when serene. 
The Ocean scarce spoke louder with his swell, 
Than breathes his mimic murmurer in the shell,* 
As, far divided from his parent deep, 
TIm sea-born infant cries, and will not sleep, 
Raising his little pliant in vain, to rave 
For the broad bosom of his nursing wave : 
The woods droop'd darkly, as inclined to rest, 
The tropic bird wheel'd rockward to his nest, 
And the blue sky spread round them like a lake 
Of peace, where Piety her thirst might slake. 

But through the pabn and plantain, hark, a voice * 
Not such as would have been a lover's choice, 
In such an hour, to break the air so still ; 
No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill. 
Striking the strings of nature, rock and tree. 
Those best and earliest lyres of harmony, 
With Echo for their chorus ; nor the alarm 
Of the loud war-whoop to despel the charm ; 
Nor the soliloquy of the hermit owl. 
Exhaling all his solitary soul. 
The dim though large-eyed winged anchorite, 
Who peals his dreary paean o'er the night ; — 
But a loud, long, and naval whistle, shrill 
As ever started through a sea-bird's bill ; 
And then a pause, and then a hoarse << Hillo ! 
Torquil ! my boy ! what cheer ? Ho ! brother, ho ! " 

* If the reader will apply to hia earthe aeapahell onhia chimney-pieeef he will 
be aware of vrhax ia alluded to. If the teit ahoiild appear obacure, he will find 
in ** Gebir" the same idea better eipreaaed in two linea. — The poem I never 
read, but have heard the Imea quoted by a more recondite reader — who seema 
to be of a different opinion from the editor of the Quarterly Retiew, who quali- 
fied it, in hia anawer to the Critical Reviewer of hia Juvenal, aa traah of the worat 
and moatinaane deaciiption. It ia to Mr. Landor, the author of ** Gebir/* ao 
qualified, and of aome Latin ooema, which vie with Martial or Catullua in ob- 
acenity, that the immaculate Mr. Sonthey addreaaee hia declamation againat im- 



*« Who hails? " cried Torquil» following with his eye 
The sound. " Here-'s one," was all the brief reply. 


Bufhere the herald of the self-same mouth 

Came breathing o'er the aromatic south, 

Not like a " bed of violets " on the gale, 

But such as waflts its cloud o'er grog or ale. 

Borne from a short frail pipe, which yet had blown 

Its gentle odours over either zone. 

And puflTd where'er winds rise or waters roll. 

Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole, 

Opposed its vapour as the lightning flash'd, 

And reek'd, 'midst mountain-billows unabash'd, 

To iBolus a constant sacrifice. 

Through every change of all the varying skies. 

And what was he who bore it ? — I may err, 

But deem him sailor or philosopher.* 

Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west 

Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest ; 

Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides 

His hours, and rivals opium and his brides ; 

Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand. 

Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand ; 

Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, 

When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe ; 

Like other charmers, wooing the caress 

More dazzlingly when daring in full dress ; 

Yet tliy true lovers more admire by far 

Thy naked beauties — Give me a cigar ! 


Through the approaching darkness of the wood 
A human figure broke the solitude. 
Fantastically, it may be, array'd, 
A seaman in a savage masquerade ; 
Such as appears to rise out from the deep 
When o'er the line the merry vessels sweep, 
And the rough saturnalia of the tar 
Flock o'er the deck, in Neptune's borrow 'd car ;f 
And, pleased, the god of ocean sees his name 
Revive once more, though but in mimic game 

* Hobbes, the father of Lockers and other phfloeophy, waa an inTvterata 
•moker, — even to pipei beyond computation. 

t TlitB rouffh but jovial ceremonv, used in crossing the line, has been so oftea 
and so weU deseribed, that it need not be more than alluded to. 

ran. TKX lUAKP 207 

Of his true sons, who riot in the breeze 
Undreamt of in his native Cyclades. 
SttU the old god delights, from out the main, 
To snatch some glimpses of his ancient reign. 
Our saUor's jacket, though in ragged trim, 
His constant pipe, which never yet burn'd dim. 
His foremast air, and somewhat rolling gait. 
Like his dear vessel, spoke his former state ; 
But then a sort of kerchief round his head, 
Not over-tightly bound, nor nicely spread ; 
And, 'stead of trousers (ah ! too early torn ! 
For even the mildest woods will have their thorn) 
A curious aort of somewhat scanty mat 
Now served for inexpressibles and hat ; 
His naked feet and neck, and sunburnt face. 
Perchance might suit alike with cither race. 
His arms were all his own, our Europe's growth, 
Which two worids bless for civilising both ; 
The musket swung behind his shoulders broad. 
And somewhat stoop'd by his marine abode. 
But brawny as the boar's ; and hung beneath. 
His cutlass droop'd, unconscious of a sheath. 
Or lost or worn away ; his pistols were 
Link'd to his belt, a matrimonial pair — 
(Let not this metaphor appear a scoff, 
Though one miss'd fire, the other would go off) ; 
These, with a bayonet, not so free from rust 
As when the arm-chest held its brighter trust, 
Completed his accoutrements, as Night 
Survey'd him in his garb heteroclite. 

*< What cheer, Ben Bunting?" cried (when in full view 
Our new acquaintance) Torquil. ** Aught of new ? " 
<* Eyt ey ! " quoth Ben, " not new, but news enow ; 
A strange sail in the offing." — ^ Sail ! and how ? 
What ! could you make her out ? It cannot be ; 
I 've seen no nig of canvass on the sea." 
*^ Belike,'" said Ben, ** you might not from the bay. 
But from the bluff-head, where I watch'd to-day, 
I saw her in the doldrums ; for the wind 
Was light and baffling." -^^ When the sun declined 
Where lay she 7 had she anchor'd ? " — << No, but stiU 
She bore down on us, till the wind grew still." 
^ Her fiag ? " — ^ I had no glass ; but fore and aft 
Egad ! she seemed a wicked-looking craft." 

208 * THB ULAin>« CANTO &. 

^ Arm'd ? '^ — '< I expect so ; — sent on the look-out : 

T is time, belike, to put our helm about •'' 

^ About ? — Whate'er may have us now in chase. 

We '11 make no running fight, for that were base ; 

We will die at our quarters, like true men." 

*" Ey, ey ! for that *t is all the same to Ben." 

<\Does Christian know this ?"-*<< Ay ; he has piped all 

To quarters. They are furbishing the stands 
Of arms ; and we have got some guns to bear, 
And scaled them. You are wanted." — ^ That 's but fair ; 
And if it were not, mine is not the soul 
To leave my comrades helpless on the shoal. 
My Neuha I ah ! and roust my fate pursue 
Not me alone, but one so sweet and true ? 
But whatsoe'er betide, ah, Neuha ! now 
Unman me not ; the hour will not allow 
A tear ; I am thine whatever intervenes ! " 
** Right," quoth Ben, << that wUl do for the marines."* 

* ** Thot will do for the marines, but the sailDrs won*t believe it,*' is an old say- 
inff ; and one of the few fragments of ibnner jealousies which still survive (in jest 
ouy) between these gallant services. 

ttliAJID* 3M 



Thb fight was o'er ; the flashing through the gloomy 

Which robes the cannon as he wings a tomb. 

Had ceased ; and sulphury vapdUrs upward driyen 

Had left the earth, and but polluted heaven : 

The rattling roar which rung in every volley 

Had left the echoes to their melancholy ; 

No more they shriek'd their horror, boom for boom ; 

The strife was done, the vanquish'd had their doom ; 

The mutineers were crush'd, dispersed, or ta'en, 

Or hved to deem the happiest were the slain. 

Few, few escaped, and tl^se were hunted o'er 

The isle they loved beyond their native shore. 

No further home was theirs, it seem'd, on earth, 

Once renegades to that which gave them birth ; 

Track'd like wild beasts, like them they sought the wild, 

As to a mother's bosom flies the child ; 

But vainly wolves and lions seek their den, 

And still more vainly men escape from men. 

Beneath a rock whose jutting base protrudes 
Far over ocean in his fiercest moods, 
When scaUng his enormous crag the wave 
Is hurl'd down headlong, like the foremost brave. 
And falls back on the foaming crowd behind. 
Which fight beneath the banners of the wind, 
But now at rest, a little remnant drew 
Together, bleeding, thirsty, faint, and few ; 
But still their weapons in their hands, and stiH 
With something of the pride of former will, 
As men not all unused to meditate. 
And strive much more than wonder at their fate* 
Their present lot was what they had foreseen, 
And dared as what was likely to have been ; 
Yet still the lingering hope, which deem'd their lot 
Not pardon'd, Init unsought for or forgot, 
Or trusted that, if sought, their distant caves 
Might stiU be miss'd amidst the world of waves^ 

▼03U V. — ^F 


Had wean'd their thoughts in part from what they saw 
And felt, the vengeance of their country's law, 
. Their sea-green isle, their guilt- won paradise, 
No more could shield their virtue or their vice : 
Their better feelings, if such were, were thrown 
Back on themselves, — ^their sins remained alone. 
Proscribed even in their second country, they 
Were lost ; in vain the world before them lay ; 
All outlets seem'd secured. Their new allies 
Had fought and bled in mutual sacrifice ; 
But what avail'd the ckib and spear, and arm 
Of Hercules, against the sulphury charm. 
The magic of the thunder, which destroyed 
The warrior ere his strength could be employ'd t 
Dug, like a spreading pestilence, the grave 
No kjss of human bravery than the brave !* 
Their own scant numbers acted all the few 
Against the many oft will dare aad do ; 
But though the choice seems native to die free. 
Even Greece can boast but one Thermopyl®, 
Till noWf when she has forged her broken chain 
Back to a sword, and dies and lives again ! 


Beside the jutting rock the few appeared, 

Like the last remnant of the red-deer's herd ; 

Their eyes were feverish, and their aspect worn. 

But still the hunter's blood was on their horn, 

A little stream came tumbling from the height. 

And straggling into ocean as it might. 

Its bounding crystal frolick'd in the ray. 

And gush'd from cliff to crag with saltleas spray ; 

Close on the wild, wild ocean, yet as pure 

And fresh as innocence, and more seeure. 

Its silver torrent glitterM o'er the deep. 

As the shy chamois' eye o'eriooks the steep. 

While far bek»w the vast and sullen swell 

Of ocean's alpine azure rose and fell. 

To this young spring they rush'd, — all feelings first 

Absorb'd in passion's and in nature's thirsty — 

Drank as they do who drink their last, and threw 

Their arms aside to revel in its dew ; 

* ArchidamuB, kin^ of Sparta, and son of Agesflaui* when he saw a machine 
invented for the casting of stones and darts, exclaimed that it was the *' grave 
of valour." The same story has been told of some knights on the first ap- 
pttcation of gunpowder ; but the original anecdote is in Hatarch. 


Cool'd their scorch'd throats, and wash'd the gory stains 
From wounds whose only bandage might be cliains ; 
Then, when their drought was quench'd, look'J sadly 

As wondering how so many still were found 
Alive and fetterless : — bat silent all, 
Each sought his fellow's eyes, as if to call 
On him for language which his lips denied, 
As though their voices with their cause had died. 

Stern, and aloof a little from the rest, 

Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest. 

The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue once spread 

Along his cheek was livid now as lead ; 

His light- brown locks, so graceful in their flow, 

Now rose like startled vipers o'er his brow. 

Still as a statue, with his lips comprest 

To stifle even the breath within his breast. 

Fast by the rock, all menacing, but mute. 

He stood ; and, save a slight beat of his foot, 

Which deepen'd now and then the sandy dint 

Beneath his heel, his form seemM turn'd to flint. 

Some paces further Torquil lean'd his head 

Against a bank, and spoke not, but he bled, — 

Not mortally ; — his worst wound was within : 

His brow was pale, his blue eyes sunken in, 

And blood-drops, sprinkled o^er his yellow hair, 

Show'd that his faintness came not from despair 

But nature's ebb. Beside him was another, 

Rough as a bear, but willing as a brother, — 

Ben Bunting, who essay'd to wash, and wipe, 

And bind his wound — then calmly lit his pipe, 

A trophy which survived a hundred fights, 

A beacon which had cheer'd ton thousand nights. 

The fourth and last of this deserted group 

Walk'd up and down — at times would stand, then stoop 

To pick a pebble up — then let it drop — 

Then hurry as in haste — then quickly stop — 

Then cast his eyes on his companions — then 

Half whistle half a tune, and pause again — 

And then his former movements would redouble. 

With something between carelessness and trouble. 

This is a long description, but applies 

To scarce five minutes pass'd before the eyes; 

31S TBS IfLAlfD* 

But yet tbhm mimites ? MomentB like to these 
Rend men's lives into inunortalities* 


At length Jack Sfikyscrape, a mercurial man, 

Who flatterM over all things like a fan. 

More brave than firm, and more disposed to dare 

And die at once than wrestle with despair, 

Exclaim'd ^G — d damn ! " — those syllables intense - 

Nucleus of England's native eloquence. 

As the Turk's •< Allah ! " or the Roman's moie 

Pagan *« Proh Jupiter ! " was wont of yore 

To give their first impressions such a vent, ' 

By way of echo to embarrassment. 

Jack was embarrassed, — never hero more, 

And as he knew not what to say, he swore : 

Nor swore in vain ; the long congenial sound 

Revived Ben Bunting from his pipe profound ; 

He drew it from his mouth, and look'd full wise^ 

But merely added to the oath his eyes ; 

Thus rendering the imperfect phrase complete, 

A peroration I need not repeat. 


But Christiim, of a higher order, stood 

Like an extinct volcano in his mood ; 

Silent, and sad, and savage, — with the trace 

Of passion reeking from his clouded face ; 

Till lifling up again his sombre eye. 

It glanced on Torquil, who lean'd faintly by. 

"And is it thus?" he cried, « unhappy boy ? 

And thee, too, thee —^ my madness must d^troy ! " 

He said, and strode to where young Torquil stood. 

Yet dabUed with his lately flowing blood ; 

Seized his hand wistfully, but did not press. 

And shrunk as fearful of his own caress ; 

Inquired into his state ; and when he heard 

The wound was slighter than he deem'd or fearM, 

A moment's brightness pass'd along his brow, 

As much as such a moment would allow. 

^ Yes," he exclaim'd, " we are taken in the toil. 

But not a coward or a common spoil ; 

Dearly they have bought us — dearly still may boy,-— 

And I must fall ; but have you strength to fly ? 

T would be some comfort still, could you survive ; 

Our dwindled band is now too few to strive. 



THB I8LA.K9. 213 

Oh ! for a 8ole canoe ! though Init a shelly 
To bear you hence to where a hope may direil * 
For me« my lot is what I sought ; to be, 
In life or death, the fearless and the free.'* 

Even as he spoke, around the promontory. 
Which nodded o'er the billows high and hoary, 
A dark speck dotted ocean : on it flew 
Like to the shadow of a roused sea-mew , 
Onward it came — and, lo ! a second fbllow'd — 
Now seen — now hid — where ocean's vale was ho&ow'd 
And near, and nearer, till their dusky crew 
Presented well-known aspects to the view, 
Till on the surf their skimming paddles play. 
Buoyant as wings, and flitting through the spray ; — 
Now perching on the wave's high curl, and now 
Dash'd downward in the thundering foam below, 
Which flings it broad and boiling sheet on sheet, 
And slings its high flakes, shiver d into sleet : 
But floating still through surf and swell, drew nigh 
The barks, like small birds through a lowering sky. 
Their art seem'd nature — such the skill to sweep 
The wave of these born playmates of the deep. 

And who the first that, springing on the strand 
Leap'd like a nereid from her shell to land, 
With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye 
Shining with love, and hope, and constancy ? 
Neuha — the fond, the faithful, the adored — 
Her heart on Torquil's hke a torrent pour'd ; 
And smiled, and wept, and near, and meajrer dasp'd. 
As if to be assured 't was him she grasp'd ; 
Shudder 'd to see his yet warm wound, and then. 
To find it trivial, smiled and wept .again. 
She was a warrior's daughter, and could bea 
Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despair. 
Her lover lived, — nor foes nor fears could blight 
That full-bbwn moment in its all delights 
Joy trickled in her tears, joy fill'd the sob 
That rock'd her heart till almost hbabs to throb ; 
And paradise was breathing in Ihe sigh 
Of nature's child in nature*s ecstasy. 



The sterner spirits who beheld that meeting 

Were not unmoved ; who are, when hearts are greeting ? 

Even Christian gazed upon the maid and boy 

With tearless eye, but yet a gloomy joy 

Mix'd with those bitter thoughts the soul arrays 

In hopeless visions of our better days, 

When all 's gone — to the rainl>ow's latest ray. 

** And but for me ! '^ he said, and tum'd away ; 

Then gazed upon the pair, as in his den 

A lion looks upon his cubs again ; 

And then relapsed into his sullen guise. 

As heedless or his further destinies. 


But brief their time €or good or evil thought ; 

The billows round the promontory brought 

The plash of hostile oars. — Alas ! who made 

That sound a drtead ? All around them seem'd array'd 

Against them, save the bride of Toobonai : 

She, as she caught the first glimpse o'er the bay 

Of the arm'd boats, which hurried to complete 

The remnant's ruin with their flying feet, 

Beckon'd the natives round her to their prows, 

Embark'd their guests and launched their light canoes; 

In one placed Christian and his comrades twain ; 

But she and Torquil must not part again. 

She fix'd him in her own.— Away ! away ! 

They clear the breakers, dart along the bay 

And towards a group of islets, such as bear 

The sea-bird's nest and seal's surf-hollow'd lair. 

They skim the blue tops of the billows ; fast 

They flew, and fast their fierce pursuers chased. 

They gain upon them — now they lose again, — 

Again make way and menace o'er the main ; 

And now the two canoes in chase divide, 

And follow dificrent courses o'er the tide, 

To baffle the pursuit. — Away ! away ! 

As life is on each paddle's flight to-day. 

And more than life or lives to Neuha : Love 

Freights the frail bark and urges to the cove — 

And now the refuge and the foe are nigh — 

Yet, yet a moment ! — Fly, thou light ark, fly ! 

oiaroiT. not ttLAHD* SI J 



Whitb as a white sail on a dusky sea. 
When half the horizon 's clouded and half free» 
Fluttering betw^n the dun wave and the sky, 
Is hope's last gleam in man's extremity* 
Her anchor parts ; but still her snowy sail 
Attracts our eye amid the rudest gale : 
Though every wave she climbs divides us more^ 
The heart stUl follows from the loneliest shore. 

Not distant from the isle of Toobonai, 
A Mack rock rears its bosom o'er the spray, 
The haunt of birds, a desert to mankind, 
Where the rough seal reposes from the wind, 
And sleeps tinwieldy in his cavern dun, 
Or gambols with huge frolic in the sun : 
There shrilly to the passing oar is heard 
The startled echo of the ocean bird. 
Who rears on its bare breast her callow brood, 
The feather'd fishers of the solitude. 
A narrow segment of the yellow sand 
On one side forms the outline of a strand ; 
Here the young turtle, crawling from his riiell, 
Steals to the deiep wherein his parents dwell ; 
Chipp'd'by the beam, a nursling of the day. 
But hatch'd for ocean by the fostering ray ; 
The rest was one bleak precipice, as e'er 
Gave mariners a shelter and despair ; 
A spot to make the saved regret the deck 
Which late went down, and envy the lost wreec 
Such was the stern asylum Neuha chose 
To shield her lover from his following foes ; 
But all its secret was not told ; she knew 
In this a treasure hidden from the view. 

Ere the canoes divided, near the spot, 
The men that raann'd what held her Torqoil's lot. 

2lA xm vBLAm^ gahtoit. 

By her commaDd removedy to strengthen more 

The skiff which wafled Christian from the shore. 

This he would have opposed ; but with a soiile 

She pointed cabnly to the craggy isle, 

And bade him ** speed and prosper." She would take 

The rest upon herself for Torquil's sake. 

They parted with this added aid ; afar 

The proa darted like a shooting star, 

And gain'd on the pursuers, who now steer'd 

Right on the rock which she and Torquil near'd. 

They pull'd ; her arm, though delicate, was free 

And firm as ever grappled with the sea, 

And yielded scarce to Torquil's manlier strength. 

The prow now almost lay within its length 

Of the crag's steep, inexorable face. 

With nought but soundless waters for its base ; 

Within a hundred boats' length was the foe, 

And now what refuge but their frail canoe ? 

This Torquil ask'd with half upbraiding eye, 

Which said — ** Has Neuha brought mc here to die ? 

Is this a place of safety, or a grave, 

And yon huge rock the tombstone of the wave ? " 

They rested on their paddles, and uprose 
Neuha, and pointing to the approaching foes, 
Cried, <' Torquil, follow me, and fearless folk)w ! " 
Then plunged at once into the ocean's hollow. 
There was no time to pause *— the foes were near — • 
Chains in his eye, and menace in his ear ; 
With vigour they pull'd on, and as they came, 
Hail'd lum to yield, and by his forfeit name. 
Headlong he leapt —to him the swimmer's skill 
Was native, and now all his hope from ill ; 
But how, or where ? He dived, and rose no more ; 
The boat's crew look'd amazed o'er sea and shore. 
There was no landing on that precipice. 
Steep, harsh, and slippery as a berg of ice. 
They watch'd awhile to see him float again. 
But not a trace rebubbled from the main : 
The wave roU'd on, no ripple on its face. 
Since their first plunge recall'd a single trace ; 
The little whirl which eddied, and slight foam. 
That whiten'd o'er what seem'd their latest home^ 
White as a sepulchre above the pair 
Who left no marble (mournful as an heir) 

ejjmMT. THX ttLAJnK S17 

The quiet proa waveriDg oW the tide 

Was all that told of Torquil and his bride ; 

And but for this alone the whole might seem 

The vanish'd phantom of a seaman's dream* 

They paused and search'd in vain, thea puU'd away ; 

Even superstition now forbade their stay. 

Some said he had not plunged into the wave, 

But vanish'd like a corpse-Tight from a grave ; 

Others, that something supernatural 

Glared in his figure, more than mortal tall , 

While all agreed that in his cheek and eye 

There was a^dead hue of eternity. 

Still as their oars receded from the crag. 

Round every weed a moment would they lag, 

Expectant of some token of their prey ; 

But no — he had melted from them like the spray. 

And where was he the pilgrim of the deep, 
Following the nereid ? Had they ceased to weep 
For ever ? or, received in coral caves, 
Wrung life and pity from the softening waves ? 
Did they with ocean's hidden sovereigns dwell, 
And sound with mermen the fantastic shell 7 
Did Neuha with the mermaids comb her hair 
Flowing o'er ocean as it streamed in air 
Or had they perish'd, and in silence slept 
Beneath the gulf wherein they boldly leapt ? 


Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he 

Follow 'd : her track beneath her native sea 

Was as a native's of the element, 

So smoothly, bravely, brilliantly she went. 

Leaving a streak of light behind her heel. 

Which struck and flash'd like an amphibious steel. 

Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace 

The depths where divers hold the pearl in chase, 

Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas, 

Pursued her liquid steps with heart and eas^. 

Deep — deeper for an instant Neuha led 

The way — then upward soar'd — « and as she spread 

Her arms, and flung the foam from off her locks, 

Laugh'd, and the sound was answer'd by the rocks. 

They had gain'd a central realm of earth again, 

But look'd for tree, and field, and sky, in vain. 


Around she pointed to a 'Spacious cave. 

Whose only portal was the keyless wave,* 

(A hollow archway by the sun unseen. 

Save through the billows' glassy veil of green. 

In some transparent ocean holiday, 

When all the finny people are at play,) 

Wiped with her hair the brine from Torqoil's eyes, 

And clapp'd her hands with joy at his surprise ; 

Led him to where the rock appear^ to jut, 

And form a something like a Triton's hut ; 

For all was darkness for a space, till day, 

Through clefts above let in a sobered ray; 

As in some old cathedral's glimmering aisle 

The dusty monuments from light recoil, 

Thus sadly in their refuge submarine 

The vault drew hidf her shadow from the scene. 

Forth from her bosom the young savage drew 
A pine torch, strongly girded with gnatoo ; 
A plantain-leaf o'er ail, the more to keep 
Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep. 
This mantle kept it dry ; then from a nook 
Of the same plantain-leaf a flint she took, 
A few shrunk wither'd twigs, and from the blade 
Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus array'd 
The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high. 
And show'd a self-born Gothic canopy ; 
The arch uprear'd by nature's architect. 
The architrave some earthquake might erect ; 
The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurl'd, 
When the Poles crash'd, and water was the world ; 
Or harden'd from some earth-absorbing fire, 
While yet the globe reek'd from its funeral pyre ; 
The fretted pinnacle, the aisle, the nave,f 
Were there, all scoop 'd by Darkness from her cave. 

* Of this cave (which u no fiction) the original will be found in the ninth 
chapter of ** Mariner^s Account of the Tonga Islands." I have taken the 
|N>etical liberty to transplant it to Toobonai, the last island where any dis- 
tinct account is left of Christian and his comrades. 

t This may* seem too minute for the general outline (in Mariner's Aceoont/ 
from whi(^ it is taken. But few men have travelled without seeing some- 
thing of the kind — on land, that is. Without adverting to EUora, in Mungo 
Park's last journal fif my memory do not err, for mere are eight years 
since I read the book), he mentions having met with a rock or mountain so 
exactly resembling a Gothic cathedral, that only nunute inspection oooM 
convince him that it was a work of nature. 

i:un>oiT. TBI liLAiiD. 910 

There, with a little tinge of phantaej, 
Fantastic faces mop'd and mow'd on high, 
And then a mitre or a shrine would fix 
The eye upon its seeming crucifix. 
Thus Nature play'd with the stalactites, 
And built herself a chapel of the seas. 

And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand, 
And waved along the vault her kindled brand. 
And led him into each recess, and show'd | 

The secret places of their new abode. i 

Nor these aJone, for all had been prepared ! 

Before, to soothe the lover's lot she shared : 
The mat for rest ; for dress the fresh gnatoo. 
And sandal oil to fence against the dew ; 
For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread 
Borne of the fruit ; for board the plantain spread 
With its broad l^f^ or turtle-shell which bore 
A banquet in the flesh it cover'd o'er ; 
The gourd with water recent from the rill. 
The ripe banana from the mellow hill ; 
A pine-torch pile to keep undying light, 
And she hersdf, as beautiful as night. 
To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the scene, 
And make their subterranean world serene. 
She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail 
Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail, 
And form'd a refuge of the rocky den 
For Torquil's safety from his countrymen. 
Each dawn had wafted there her light capoe 
' Laden with all the golden fruits that grew ; 

Each eve had seen her gliding through the hour 
With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower ; 
And now she spread her little store with smiles, 
The happiest daughter of the loving isles. 


She, as he gazed with grateful wonder, press'd 

Her shelter d love to her iropassion'd breast; 

And suited to her soft caresses, told 

An olden tale of love, — for love is old, 

Old as eternity, but not outworn 

With each new being born or to be born :* 

* Tha reader will recoDect the epigram of the Greek anthology, or its transladoii 
into most of the modem language! : — 


How a young chief, a thousand moons ago. 

Diving for turtle in the depths below, 

Had risen, in tracking fast his ocean prey, 

Into the cave which round and o'er them lay ; 

How in some desperate feud of afler-tirae 

He sheltered there a daughter of the clime, 

A foe beloved, and offspring of a foe. 

Saved by his tribe but for a captive's woe ; 

How, when the storm of war was stiU'd, he led 

His island clan to where the waters spread 

Their deep-green shadow o'er the rocky door. 

Then dived — it seem'd as if to rise no more ; 

His wondering mates, amazed within their bark. 

Or deem'd him mad, or prey to the blue shark ; 

Row'd round in sorrow the sea-girded rock, 

Then paused upon their paddles from the shock ; 

When, fresh and springing from the deep, they saw 

A goddess rise — so deem'd they in their awe ; 

And their companion, glorious by her side. 

Proud and exulting in his mermaid bride ; 

And how, when undeceived, the pair they bore 

With sounding conchs and joyous shouts to shore ; 

How they had gladly lived and calmly died, — 

And why not also Torquil and his bride ? 

Not mine to tell the rapturous caress 

Which foUow'd wildly in that wild recess 

This tale ; enough that all within that cave 

Was love, though buried strong as in the grave 

Where Abelard, through twenty years of death. 

When Eloisa's form was lower'd beneath 

Their nuptial vault, his arms outstretch'd and pressM 

The kindling ashes to his kindled breast.* 

The waves without sang round their couch, their roar 

As much unheeded as if life were o'er ; 

Within, their hearts made all their harmony. 

Love's broken murmur and more iHroken sigh* . 

And they, the cause and sharers of the shock 
Which left them exiles of the hollow rock, 

** Whoe*er thou «]t, tfiy master toe- 
He WEB, or is, or ia to be.** 

* 1^ tradition ie attached to the story of Eloisa, that when her body was low- 
end into tho grave of Abelard (who had been biiried«wenCy years,) he opened 
his arms to feceive her. 


ram making 231 

Where were they ? O'er the eea for life they plied, 
To eeek from Heaven the shelter men denied. 
Another course had been their choice — but where? 
The wave which bore them still their foes would bear, 
Who, disappointed of their former chase, 
In search of Christian now renew'd their race. 
Eager with anger, their strong arms made way. 
Like vultures baffled of their previous prey. 
They gain'd upon them, all whose safety lay 
In some bleak crag or deeply-hidden bay : 
No further chance or choice remained ; and right 
For the first further rock which met their sight 
They steer'd, to take their latest view of land. 
And yield as victims, or die sword in hand ; 
Dismiss'd the natives and their shallop, who 
Would still have battled for that scanty crew ; 
But Christian bade them seek their shore again, 
Nor add a sacrifice which were in vain ; 
For what were simple bow and savage spear 
Against the arms which most be wielded here ? 


They landed on a wild but narrow scene, 

Where few but Nature's footsteps yet had been ; 

Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye, 

Stem and sustain'd, of man's extremity. 

When hope is gone, nor glory's self remains 

To cheer resistance against death or chains, — 

They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood 

Who dyed ThermopylsB with holy blood. 

But, ah ! how different ! 't is the cause makes all, 

Degrades or hallows courage in its fall. 

O'er them no fame, eternal and intense, 

Blazed through the clouds of death and beckon'd hence ; 

No grateful country, smiling through her tears, 

Begun the praises of a thousand years ; 

No nation's eyes would on their tomb be bent 

No heroes envy them their monument ; 

However boldly their warm blood was spUt, 

Their life was shame, their epitaph was guUt. 

And this they knew and felt, at least the one, 

The leader of the band he had undone ; 

Who, born perchance for better things, had set 

His life upon a cast which linger'd yet : 

But now the die was to be thrown, and all 

The chances were in favour of his fall : 


And such a fill ! But still he faced the shock, 
Obdurate as a portion of the rock 
Whereon he stood, and fix'd his kvell'd gun, 
Dark as a sullen cloud before the sun. 

The boat drew nigh, well arm'd, and firm the crew 
To act whatever duty bade them do ; 
Careless of danger, as the onward wind 
Is of the leaves it strews, nor looks behind. 
And yet perhaps they rather wish'd to go 
Against a nation's than a native foe, 
And felt that this poor victim of self-will, 
Briton no more, had once been Britain's still. 
They hail'd him to surrender — no reply ; 
Their arms were poised, and glitter'd in the sky. 
They hail'd again — no answer ; yet once more 
They offer'd quarter louder than before. 
The echoes only, from the rock's rebound, 
Took their last farewell of the dying sound. 
Then flash'd the flint, and blazed the volleying flame. 
And the smoke rose between them and their aim, 
' While the rock rattled with the bullets' knell, 
Which pealed in vain, and flatten'd as they fell ; 
Then flew the only answer to be given 
By those who had lost all hope in earth or heaven. 
Afler the first fierce peal, as they pull'd nigher, 
They heard the voice of Christian shout, ^ Now, fire ! " 
And ere the word upon the echo died, 
Two fell ; the rest assail'd the rock's rough side, 
And, furious at the madness of their foes, 
Disdain'd all further efforts, save to close. 
But steep the crag, and all without a path. 
Each step opposed a bastion to their wrath ; 
While, placed midst clefls the least accessible. 
Which Christian's eye was train'd to mark full well. 
The three maintaiii'd a strife which must not yield, 
In spots where eagles might have chosen to build 
Their every shot told ; while the assailant fell, 
Dash'd on the shingles like the limpet shell ; 
But still enough survived, and mounted still, 
Scattering their numbers here and there, until 
Surrounded and commanded, though not nigh 
Enough for seizure, near enough to die. 
The desperate trio held aloof their fate 
But by a thread, like sharks who have gorged the bait ; 


Yet to the very la«t they battled well, 

And net a groan inform'd their foes toko fell. 

Christian <lied la«t — twice wounded ; and once moie 

Mercy was offer'd when they saw his gore ; 

Too kte for life, but not too late to die. 

With, though a hostile hand, to close his eye. 

A limb was broken, and he droop'd along 

The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young. 

Tlie sound revived him, or af>pear'd to wake 

Some passion which a weakly gesture spake : 

He beckon'd to the foremost, who drew nigh, 

But, as they near'd, he rear'd his weapon high — 

His last ball had been aim'd, but from his breast 

He tore the topmost button from his vest,* 

Down the tube dash'd it, levell'd, fired, and smiled 

As his foe fell ; th^, like a serpent, coil'd 

His wounded, weary form, to where the steep 

Look'd desperate as himself along the deep ; 

Cast one glance back, and clench'd his hand, and shook 

His last rage 'gainst the earth which he forsook ; 

Then plunged : the rock below received like glass 

His body crush'd into one gory mass, 

With scarce a shred to tell of human form. 

Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm ; 

A fair-hair'd scalp, besmear'd with blood and weedfl» 

Yet reek'd, the remnant of himself and deeds ; 

Some splinters of his weapons (to the last 

As long as hand could hold, he held them fast) 

Yet glitter'd, but at distance — hurl'd away 

To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray. 

The rest was nothing — save a life mis-spent. 

And soul — but who shall answer where it went ? 

T is ours to bear, not judge the dead ; and they 

Who doom to hell, themselves are on the way. 

Unless these bullies of eternal pains 

Are pardon'd their bad hearts for their worse brains. 

* In Tliibaiili'i acoonitt of Ftedf ric the Second of Praniai, there ie a nngidar 
relation of a youne Frenchman, who with his mistreu appeared to be of aome 
nmk. He enliatea and deserted at Schweidnitx : and after a desperate rosis- 
tonce was retaken, having killed an officer, who attempted to seize nim after he 
waa wounded, by the dischai^ge of his muaket loaded with a button of his uni- 
form. Some circumstanses on his court-martial raised a great interest amongst 
his judges, who wi»hed to discover his real situation in life, which he offered to 
disdose, but to the kiyig only, to whom he requested pennission to write. This 
was refused, and Frederic was filled with the greatest indisnation, ftom baffle<l 
curiofliiy or some other motive, when he understood that nis request had been 

2t4 TBB igLAifB. camiT. 

The deed was over ! All were gone or ta'eii» 

The fugitire, the captive, or the skin. 

Chain'd on the deck, where once, a gallant crew, 

They stood with honour, were the wretched few 

Survivors of the skirmish on the isle ; 

But the last rock left no surviving spoil. 

Cold lay they where they fell, and weltering, 

While o'er them flapp'd the sea-birds' dewy wing. 

Now wheeling nearer from the neighbouring surge. 

And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge : 

But calm and careless heaved the wave below, 

Eternal with unsympathetic flow ; 

Far o'er its face the dolphins sported on. 

And sprung the flying fish against the sun 

Till its dried wing relapsed m>m its, brief hei^t. 

To gather moisture for another fligtit. 

'T was mom ; and Neuha, who by dawn of day 
Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray. 
And watch if aught approach'd the amphibious lair 
Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air : 
It flapp'd, it fill'd, and to the growing gale 
Bent its broad arch : her breath began to fail 
With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high. 
While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie ; 
But no ! it came not ; fast and far away 
The shadow lessen'd as it clear'd the bay. 
She gazed, and flung the sea.foam from her eyes, 
To watch as for a rainbow in the skies* 
On the horizon verged the distant deck, 
Dimimsh'd, dwindl^ to a very speck — 
Then vanish'd. All was ocean, all was joy ! 
Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy ; 
Told all she had seen, and all she hoped, and all 
That happy love could augur or recall ; 
Sprung forth again, with Torquil following free 
His bounding nereid over the broad sea ; 
Swam round the rook, to where a shallow cleft 
Hid the canoe that Neuha there had left 
Drifting along the tide, without an oar. 
That eve the strangers chased them from the shore ; 
But when these vanish'd, she pursued her prow, 
Rcgain'd, and urged to where they found it now : 


Nor eTor did more love and joy embarky 
Tliaii now were wafted in that slender ark. 


Again their own diore rises on the vieWy 

No more polluted with a hostile hue ; 

No sullen ship lay bristling o'er the foamy 

A floating dungeon : — all was hope and home ! 

A thousand proas darted o'er the bay. 

With sounding shells, and heralded their way ; 

The chiefs came down, around the people pour'dy 

And welcomed Torquil as a son restored ; 

The women throng'dy embracing and embraced 

By Neuha, asking where they had been chased, 

And how escaped 7 The tale was told ; and then 

One acdamatipn rent the sky again ; 

And from that hour a new tnulition gave 

Their sanctuary the name of " Neuha's Cave." 

A hundred fires, far flickering from the height. 

Blazed o'er the general revel of the night. 

The feast in honour of the guest, return'd 

To peace and pleasure, perilously eam'd ; 

A night succeeded by such happy days 

As only the yet infant world dispkys. 

VOL. ▼. — q 




On the 27tb of December it bleiy a Mvere ■form of wind from the eaitwmrd, 
in the oouneof which we suffered greatly. One sea broke awav the spcuv yards 
and spars out of the starboard' mainchains ; another broke into the ship and atove 
an the boats. Several casks of beer that had been lashed on deck, broke loose, 
and were washed overboard ; and it was not without ereat risk and difficuhy 
that we were able to secure the boats from beins washed away entirely. A 
irreat quantity of our bread was also damaged and rendered useless, for the sea 
had stove in our stom, and filled the cabin with water. 

On the 5th of January, 1788, we saw the island of l^sneriffe about twelve 
lisigues distant : and next day, being Sunday, came to an anchor in the road of 
Santa Cruz. There we took in the necessary supplies, and, having finished our 
business, sailed on the 10th. 

I now divided the people into three watches, emi gave the charge of the 
third watch to Mr. Fletcher Christian, one of the mates. I have always consi- 
dered this a desirable regulation when circumstances will admit of it; and I am 
persuaded that unbroken rest not only contributes much towards the health of 
the ship's company, but enables them more readily to exert themselves in cases- 
of sudden emergency. 

As I wished to ]>Toceed to Otaheite without stopping, I reduced the allowance 
of jyread to two thirds, and caused the water for oiinking to be filtered through 
dnp-eiones, bought at Teneriffe for that purpose. I now acquainted the ship's 
company of the object of the voyage, and g^ve assurances of certain promotion 
to every one whose endeavours should ment it. 

On Tuesday, the 26th of February, being in south latitude 29e 39', and 44<' 44' 
west longitude, we bent new sails, and imide other necessary preparations for 
enooumering the weather that was to be expected in a high latitude. Our dis 
tance from the coast of Brazil was about one hundred leagues. 

On the forenoon of Sunday, the 2d of March, after seeing that every person 
was clean, divine service was performed, aceordinir to my usual custom, on this 
day. I save to Mr. Fletcher Christian, whom I had oefore directed to take charge 
of the ihird watch, a written order to act as lieutenant. 

The change of temperature soon began to be sensibly felt, and that the people 
might notsonerfrom their own negligence, I supplied chem with thicker clothing, 
asbetter suited to the climate. A great number of whales of an immense size, 
with two spout-holes on the back of the head, were seen on the 11th. 

On a complaint made to me by the master, 1 fcmnd it necessary to punish 
Matthew Quintal, one of the seamen, with two dozen of lashes, for insolence and 
routinouB behaviour, which was the first time that there was any occasion for 
punishment on board. . 

We were off Cape St. Diego, the eastern part of the Terra del Fuego, and« the 
wind being unfavourable, I thought it more advisable to go round on the east 
ward of Staten-hind than to attempt pueing thiough Straits le Maire. We ' 
(vissed New Year's Harbour and Cape St. John, anaon Monday the 31st were 
in latitude 00^ y gofuth. But the wind became variable, and we had bad 

Storms, attended with a great sea, prevafled until the 12th of April. The ship 
bejran to leak, and reouired pumping every hour, which was no more than we . 
had reason to expect mmi such a continnaDce of gales of wind and high seas 
The decks also became so leaky, that it was neoessary to allot the great cabin, 
of which I made little use except in fine weather, to those people who had not 


berths to bang their hammockt in, and by tfaif mems the ipeoebetvfeai deekv 
wu len crriwded. 

With all thia bad weather, we had the additional mortification to find, at the 
end of every day, that we were lonru ground , for, notwithstanding onrutmosc 
exertiona, and keeping on the most advantageous tracka, we did littte better than 
drift before the wind. On Tuesday the 22d of April, we had eight down on the 
sick list, and the rest of the people, though in good health, were greatly fa- 
tigued ; but I saw, with much concern, that it was impossible to make a pas- 
sage this way to the Society Islands, for we had now been thirty days in a tem- 
pestuous ocean. Thus the season was too hr advanced for us to expect better 
weather to enable us to doable Cape Horn ; and, from theae and other conside- 
tationa, I ordered the helm to be put a-weather, and bore away for the Cape of 
Good Hojie, to the great joy of every one on board. 

We came to an anchor on Friday, the 23d of May, in Simon's Bay, at the Cape, 
after a tolerable run. The ship required complete caulking, for she had become 
so leaky, that we were obliged to pump hourly in our jMssaffe from Cape Horn 
The KaUaand ringing also required repair ; anchon examining toe provisions, a con 
siderably (|ntkinity was found damaged. 

HaviiK remained thirty-eight days in thia place, and my people having received 
siD the advantage that could be derived from refreshments of every kuul thai 
could be met with, we sailed on the Ist of July. 

A gale of wind blew on the 20th, with a high sea : it increased afler noon with 
such violence, that the ship \^ni8 driven almost forecastle undsr before we could 
get the sails clewed up. The lower yards were bwered, and the topeaUant- 
masts got down upon deck, which relieved her much. We lay to all nisnt, and 
in the morning bore away under a reefed foresail. The sea still runmng hieh. 
in the afternoon it became very unsafe to stand on : we therefore lay to aUnighTy 
without any accident, exceptii^f that a man at the steerage was thrown over the 
wheel and much bruised. Towards noon the violence of the storm abated, and 
we again bore away under the reefed foresail. 

In a few days we passed the island of St. Paul, where there is good fresh 
water, as I was informed by a Dutch captain, and also a hot spring, which boilj< 
ftsh as completely as if done by a fire. Approaching to Van Diemaa's land, we 
had much bad weather, with snow and hau ; but nothiqg was seen to indicate 
our vicinity on the 13th of August, except a seal, which appeared at the dbtance 
of twenty leagues from iL We anchored in Adventure Bay on Wednesday 
the 20th. 

In our passage hither from the Cape of Good Hope, the winds were chiefly 
from the westward, with very boisterous weather. The approach of stioi^ 
southeriy winds is announced by many birds of the albatross or peterel tribe ; 
and the abatement of the gale, or a shift of wind to the northward, by their keep- 
ing away* The thermometer also varies five or six degrees m iu height when a 
cmuige of these winds may be expected. 

In the land surrounding Adventure Bay are many forest trees one hundred 
and fifty feet high : we saw one which measured above thinv-three feet in girth. 
We observed several eagles, some beautiful bluo-plumaged herons, and paio- 
qiueta in great variety. 

The natives not appearing, we went in search of them towards Cape Frederic 
Henry. Soon after, coming to a grapnel close to theshorey for it was impoeaible 
to land, we heard their voices, like the cackling of geeae, and twenty peraone 
came out of the woods. We threw trinkets ashore tied up in parcela, which 
they would not open until I made an appearance of leavii^ them : they then 
did so, and, taking the articles out, put them on their heads. On first coming in 
sight they made a prodigious clattering in their sjieech, and held their arms over 
ilieir heads. They spose so quick, that it was impossible to catch one ainaie 
word they uttered. Their oobur is of a dull black ; their skin scarified about uie 
breast and shoulders. One was distinguished by his body being coloured with 
red ochre, but all the others were painted black, with a kind of soot, so thickly 
laid over their faces and shouldera, that it was diflicult to aseertain what they 
were like. 

On Thursday, the 4ih of Septeniber, we sailed out of Ad venCora Bay, stearic 
first towards easteouth-east, and then to the northward of east, when, on the 
19th, we came in sight«of a duMar of small locky islands, which I named Boonty 
Isles. Soon afterwards we fraqnamly observatf the sea, in Ua nignt-tima, to be 


by hmunow noli, cnmtd by ■OMsing dpantitaM of inMl! blabben, or 
Madiue, which eniit.a li^ht like a blaw of a eaiMUe ftMB the ■binga or filaments 
ezieoding ih>iii them, while the f^ of the bodf oontinaet perfectly dark. 

We diaooTcred the island of Otaheite on the Sltk, and, before casting anchor 
next morning in MataYai Bay, such nombers of canoes had come off, that, after 
the natives ascertained we were friends, they came on board, and crowded the 
deck so mnch, that in ten minutes I covM scarce find my own people. The 
whole dbtance which the ship had ran, in direct and contrary courses, from the 
tune of leaving England nntil reaching Otaheita, was twenty-seven thousand 
and eighty-flx miles, which on an aveiage, was one hundred and eight miles each 
iwenty-mur hours. 

Here we lost our surgeon on the 9tk of December. Of late he had scarcely 
ever stirred out of the cabin, though not apprehended to be in a dangerous state. 
Nevertheless, appearing worse than usual in the evening, he was removed 
where he could obtain more air, but without any benefit, for be died in an hour 
afterwards. This unfortunate man drank very hard, and was so averse to 
exercise, that be weuk) never be prevailed on to take half a dosen turns 
Ml deck at a time during all the course of the voyag9. He *vas buried on riiore. 

On Monday, the 5th of January, the smaU cutter was missed, of which I was 
snmediately appriied. The ship's company being mustered, we found three 
men absent, who had carried it ofi*. They had taken with them eight stand of 
irais and' ammunition ; but with regard to their plan, every one on board seem- 
sd to be quite ignorant. I therefore went on shore, and engaged aU the chiefo to 
sasist in recovering both the boat and the deserten. Aceoraingly, the former 
was brought back m the course ef the day by five of ike natives ; but the men 
ware not taken until neariy three weeks afterwards. Learmng the place where 
they were, in a different quarter of the island of Otaheite, I went thithv in the 
oBtter, thinking there would be no great difficulty in securing them with the as- 
sistance of the natives. However, they heard of mj arrivsl; and when I was 
near a house in which they were, they came out without their fire-arms, and 
delivered themselves up. Some ef the chiefo had formeriy seized and bound 
these deserters ; but had been prevailed on, by foir promises of returning peace- 
ably to the ship, to release them. But finding an opportunity again to get pee- 
s e ss i on of their arms, they set the natives at defiance. 

The objedof the voyage being now completed, all the bread-fhiit plants, to 
the number of one thousuHl and fifteen, were got on board on Tuesday, the 31st 
of March. Besides these, we had collected many other plants, some of them 
bearing tfaa finest fruits in die worid ; and valuable, from aftbrdinff brilliant dyes, 
and for various properties besides. At sunset of the 4th of April, we mode sail 
from Otaheite, bidding forewell to an island where for twenty-three weeks we 
had been treated with the utmost affection and regard, and which seemed to in- 
creaoe in proportion to our stay. That we were not insensible to their kindness, 
the succeeding circumstances sufficiently proved ; for to the friendly and en- 
daarinjg behavionr of these people may be ascribed the motives inciting an event 
that enected the ruin of our expedition, which there was every reason to believe 
would have been attended with the most favourable issue. 

Next morning we got sifj^ht of the island Huaheine ; and a double canoe soon 
coming akmgaiae, containing ten natives, I saw among them a vonng man, who 
recollected me, and called me by my name. I had been here m the year 1T8(\ 
with Captain Cook, in the Resolution. A few days after sailing from this island, 
the weather became squally, and a thick body of black ck>uds coUeeted in the 
east. A water-spout was m a short time seen at no great distance from us, 
which appeared to great advantage from the darkness of the clouds behmd it. 
As neariy as I could judge, the upper part was about two feet in diameter, and 
the lower about eight inches. Scarcely had I made these remarks, when I ob- 
aerved that it was rafndly advancing towards the ship. We immediatelv altered 
our course, and took m all the sails except the foresail ; soon after whicn it pass- 
ed withm ten yards of the stem, with a rustling noise, but without our feeling the 
I0ast eflfeet from it bemg so near. It seemed to be tmvelling at the rate of about 
tan miles an hour, in the direction of the wind, and it disperMd in a quarter of an 
hour after passing us. It is impossible to say what injury we should have re- 
oeivad had it passed directly over us. Masts, I imagine, might have been carried 
•way, bat I do not apprehend that it would hf\ve endangered the loss of the 


Ptorfng several islands on the way, we anchored at Annamooka on the S3d of 
April ; and an old lame man called Tepa, whom I had known here in 1777, and 
immediately recollected, came on boecrd, alonsf with othera, from diflferent islands 
in the vicinity. They were desirous to see tne ship, and on heing token below, 
where the bread-fruit plants were arranged, they testified great surprise. A f?w 
•f these being decayea, we went on shore to procure some in tiieh- place. 

The natives exhibited numerous marks of the peculiar mourning which thny 
express on losing their relatives ; such as bloody temples, their heads being de- 
pnved of most of their hair^ and, what was worse, almost the whole of them had 
lost some of their fingers. Several fine bojrs, not aboVe six years old. had lort 
both their little fingers; and several of the men, besides these, had parted with 
the middle finger of the ri^ht hand. 

The chiefs went ofT with me to dinner, and we carried on a brisk trade for 
yams : we also got plantains and bread-fruit. But the yams were in great abun- 
(jance, and very fme and laiee. One of them weighed above forty-five pounds, 
bailing canoes came, some ot which contained not less than ninety passengers. 
Such a number of them gradually arrived from different islands, that it was im- 
possible to get any thing done, tlie multitude became so great, and there was no 
ehief of suincient authority to command the whole. I therefore ordered a wa- 
tering party, then employed, to come on .board/ and sailed on Sunday the ^th 
of April. 

We kept near the island of Kotoo all the afternoon of Monday, in hopes that 
some canoes would come off to the ship ; but in this we were disappointea. The 
wind being northeriy, we steered to the westward in the evening, to pass south 
of Tofoa; and I gave directions for this course to be' continued duriiig the ni^ht. 
The master had the first watch, the gunner the middle watch, and Au. Christian 
the morning watch. This was the turn of duty for the night. 

Hitherto the voyage had advanced in a course of uninterrupted prosperity, 
and had been attended with circumstances equally pleasing and satisfactory. 
But a very different scene was now tp be disclosed : a conspiracy had been 
formed, which was to render all our past labour productive only of misery and 
distress ; and it had been concerted with so miich secrecy and circumspection, 
that no one circuAistance escaped to betray the impending calamity. 

On the night of Monday, the watch was set as I hove described. Just before 
sunrise on Tuesday morning, while I was yet asleep, Mr. Christian, with the 
master at arms, gunner's mate, and Thomas Burkitt, seaman, came into my ca- . 
bin, and seizing me, tied my hands with a cord behind my back, threatening 
me with instant death if I spoke or made the least noise. I never^eless called 
out as loud as I could, in hopes of assistance : but the officers not of their party 
were already secured W sentinels at their doors. At my own* cabin door weie 
three men, besides the four within: all except Christian had muDskets and bayo- 
nets ; he had only a cutlass. I was dragged out of bed, and forced on deck in 
my shirt, suffering great paiil in the mean time from -the tiriitness with which 
my hands were tied. On demanding the reason of such violence, the only an- 
swer was abuse for not holding my tongue. The master, the gunner, surgeon, 
master's mate, and Nelson the gardener, were kept confined below, and the fore 
hatchway was guaided by sentinels. The boatswain and carpenter, and also 
the clerk, were aUewed t» come on deck, where they saw me standing abaft 
the mizzen-mastr with my hands tied behind my back, imder a £[uard, with 
(christian at their bead. The boatswain was then ordered to hoist out the 
launch, accompanied by a threat, if he did not do it instantly, to take care of him- 

The boat being hoisted out, Mr. Ha3nKrajdand Mr. Hallet, two of the midship- 
men, and Mr. Samuel, the derk, were ordered into it. I demanded liie intention 
of giving this order, and endeavoured to persuade die people near me not to 
pei^ist in such acts of violence ; but it was to no effect ; for the constant an 
swer was, ** Hold your tongue, sir, or you are dead this moment" 

llie master had by this time sent, requesting that he might come on deck, 
which was permitted ; but he was soon ordered back again to his cabin. My 
exertions to turn the tide of affairs were continued ; when Christian, changing 
the cutlass he held for a bayonet, and holding me by the cord about my hands 
with a strong gnpa, threatened me with immediate death if 1 would rwt be 
quiet ; and the villains around me had their pieces cocked and bayonets fixed 

Certain individuals were called on to get into the boat, and were hurried over 


tke ihip*t ad«; iwhenoe loondnded thmtakmg with them 1 was to be Mt adiift. 
Another efibrt to biing about a change produced nothing bm menacea of hairing 
mybraina Uown out 

The boatswain, and those seamen who were to be put faito the boat, wsra al- 
lowed to eoUeet twine, canvass, hnes, sails, cordage, an eight^and-twenty gaDon 
cask of water ; and Blr. Samuel got ISO pounds ot bread, with a small quantity 
of rum and vnne ; also a quadrant and compass; but he was prohibited, on pain 
of death, to touch say map or.astranomical book, and any instrument, or any of 
mystmreys and drawings. 

The mutineers having thus forced those of the seamen whom they wished to 
get rid of into the boat. Christian directed a dram to be served to each of his 
crew. I then unhappily saw that nothing could be* done to recover the ship. 
The. officers were next called on deck, and forced over the ship's ade into the 
boat, while I was kept uart from every one abaft the missen-mast. Chrisiiaa, 
armed with a bayonet, held the cord fastening my hands, and tibe guard around 
me stood with their pieces cocked; but on my daring the ungrateful wretches 
to fire, they uncocked them. Isaac Martin, one of tlwm, I saw had an inclina- 
tion to assist me ; and as he fed me with shaddock, my lips being quite parched, 
we explained each other's sentiments by looks. But this was observed, and he 
was removed. He then got into the Boat, attempting to leave the ship ; how- 
ever, he was eon^Mlled to return. Some others' were also kept contrary to 
their indination. 

It appeared to me that Christian was some time in doubt whether he should . 
keep the carpenter or hie mates. At lengtji he determined on the latter, and the ' 
carpenter was ordered into the boat. He was permitted, though not without 
oppositioB, to take his tool-chest. 

Mr. Samuel secured my journals and commission, with some important ship 
papers : this he did with great resolution, though strictly watched. He attempt- 
ed to eave the time-keeper, and a box with my surveys, <)rawings, sod remarks 
for fifteen years past, wnich were very numerous, when he was hurried away 
with -^** Damn your eyes, you are wnl off to get what you have.'* 

Much altercation took place among the mutinous crew during the transaction 
of this whole affair. Some swore, "1 '11 be damned if he does not find his way 
home, if he gets any thing with him," meaning me ; and when the caipenter's 
chest was canying away, ** Damn my eyes, he will have a vessel bmit in a 
month ; " while others ridiculed the helpless situation of the boat, which was 
very deep in the water, and had so httle room for those who were in her. As 
for Christian, he seemed as if meditating destruction on hunself sod every one 

I asked for arms, but the mutineers laughed at me, and said I was well ae- 
auainted widi the people among whom I was going : four cutlasses, however, were 
uuown into tjbe boat after we were veered astern. 

The officers and men being in the boat, they onl^ waited for me, of which 
the master-at-aims informed Christian, who then said, " Come, Captain Bligh, 
your oflicers and men are now in the boat, and you must go with them ; if you 
Attempt to make the least resistance, you will instantly be put to death ;" aod 
without further ceremony I was forced over the side by a trine of armed ruffians, 
where thev untied my hands. Being in the boat, we were veerisd astern by a 
lUpe. A raw pieces of pork were thrown to us, also the four cutlasses, 'rhe 
aimourar and- carpenter dien called out to me to remember that they had no 
hand in the transaction. After having been kept some time^to make sport for 
these imfeelin^ wretches, and having undergone much ridicule, we were at 
length cast adnft in the open ocean. 

Eighteen persons were with me in the boat, — the master, acting suigeon, 
botamst,. gunner, boatswain, carpenter, master, and quartennaster's mate, two 
.qnaitermasters, the sail-maker, two cooks, my clerk, the butcher, and a boy. 
There remained on board Fletcher Christian, the master's mate ; Peter Hay- 
woodt Edward Young, George Stewart, midshipmen i the master-alarms, gun- 
ner's mate, boatswaiiTs-mate, gardener, armourer, carpienter's mate, carpenter's 
crew, and fourteen seamen, being altogedier the most able men of the ship's 

Having little or no wind, we rowed pretty fast towards the island of Tofoa, 
which bore noith-east about ten leagues distant The ship while m sight steered 

SS2 APPnrDU to thb island. 

wi t nor th -Wit; but thia I oonaderad only m a feint, for when we w«m sMtt 
ew»y, ** Hnna for Otaheite ! *' wu frequently heerd emonf the mnlineeie. 

Christian, the chief of them, was of a respectable fiunily in the north of Ei^- 
land. This was tlie third ▼oyage he had made with me. Notwithstsndiiw the 
rovghness with which I was treated, the remembrance of poet kindnesses prodoced 
MMBM remorse in him. While they were forcing me out of the shqi,! asked him 
whether this was a proper return for die many mstsnces he had experieneed of 
my friendship? He appeared disturbed at the questbn, and answered widi 
much emotion, ** That >- Captain Bligh— that is the thing— I am in hell — 
I am in hell! ** His abilities to take chaige of the third watdi, as I had so 
divided the ship's oompany, were foOy equal to the task. 

Haywood was also of a respeetabM nmilyin the north of Endand, and a 
young man of abilities, as well as Christian. Theaetwohadbeenobiectsofmy 
particular regard and attantioB, and I had taken great pains to instrucc diem, 
having entartuned hopes that, as profcsiional men,* they wooUl have become a 
credit to their oountrr. Youqg was well recommended, and Stewart of credita- 
ble parents in the Orkneys, at which place, on the return of the Reaohdion from 
the South Seas in 1780, we received so many dvifities, that, in consideration of 
these alone, I should gladly have taken him wiUi me. Bat he had alwaya bonke 
a cood character. 

When I had time to reflect, an inward satisfoetion prev en ted the depraason 
of my spirits. Yet, a few hours before, my situation nad been peculiariy flat- 
tering; I had a ship in the most perfect oioer, stored with every n ec essary, bodi 
for health and service ; the object of die voyage Waa attained, and two thirda 
of it now completed. The remaining part had every proapeet of socceaa. 

It will naturally be asked, what coma be the cause of such a revolt? fai an- 
swer, I can only ooniecture that the mutineera had flattered thwiiaelvea with the 
hope of a happier Ule mnong the Otaheitana than they could possibly enjoy in 
• England, which, joined to some female oonneinna, moat probably occasioned the 
whole transaction. 

The women of Otaheite are handtome, mild, and ch eer fu l in manners and 
oonveiaation, pomaaaed of great aenaibifity, and have sufficient deficacy to make 
them be admired and beloved. The chiels were so much attac h e d to oar peo- 
ple, that they rather eiioouru[ed their stay amoiw them than otfaerwisa, and 
even made them promiaes of urge possesrions. Under these and many other 
oonoomitant circnmstances, it oiuht hardly to be the subfeot of auipriae .that a 
set of sailors, most of them void of conneikms, should be isd away,* where they 
had the power of finng themselves in the midst of plenty, in one of the flneat 
islands in the world, where there was no necessity to labour, and where the 
allurements of dissipation are beyond any eonoepiion that can be fonned of it. 
The vtmoat, however, that a commander could have eipected waa deaenlons, 
such as have already happened more or leaa in the South Seaa, and not an act 
of open mutiny. 

But the aecrecy of this mutmy surpasses belief. Thirteen ef the party who 
were now with me had always lived forward amoqg die seamen, yet Mitber 
they, nor the messmates of Christian, Stewart, Haywood, and Young, had ever 
observed any circumstance to excite suspicion of what was plotting ; and it is not 
wonderftd if I fell a sacrifice to it, my mind beuig entirsly free nam auapidon. 
Perhaps, had marines been on board, a sentinel at my cabin door might have 
prevented it ; for I constandy slept vrith the door mn, that the oflicer of the 
watch might have access to me on all occasions. If the mutiny had been occa- 

he excused mmself from supping with me oo the pretence of 
which I felt concerned, havmg nd suspicions of his honour or integrity. 





Viilinibiii poMiiqiie oanto 

HoKACs, lib. 3. Odt 1 
Htr* 1^ /tf fiiX* cfyct ^#rc ri vtUtt. 

HoMKR, Iliad, i. 849 
Hi wbuded m h« w«nt, for want of thought 










LoHD Btsoiv first appewred as an author in November, 1806, 
when he printed a collection of poems for distribution among 
his friends. The first copy of this volume, which is a thin 
quarto, was presented to Mr. Becher, who immediaetly per- 
ceived, on looking over its pages, that some of the contents 
were by no means of a description to reflect credit on their 
author ; and at his friendly suggestion the whole impression, 
with the exception of (too, or, at the most, three copies, was com- 
mitted to the flames. AAer the destruction of this volume, 
Lord Byron directed the collection to be reprinted, with the 
omission of the objectionable poems. This edition, which was 
confined to a hundred copies, and, like its predecessor, designed 
(or private circulation, was proceeded in so quickly, that at 
the end of about six weeks, January, 1807, it was ready for de- 
livery. The volume was entitled " Poems on Various Occa- 
sions," and was printed at Newark by S. and J. Ridge ; the 
author's name was not given. The dedication was, ** To those 
friends at whose request they were printed, for whose amuse- 
ment or approbation they were solely intended, these trifles are 
respectfully dedicated by the author." Immediately following 
the dedication was this notice : — ** The only apology neces- 
sary to be adduced in extenuation of any errors in the follow- 
ing collection is, that the author has not yet completed his nine- 
teenth year. December 23, 1806." The approbation which 
this volume received from the friends to whom it was submitted, 
induced Loh) Byron to come more immediately before the pub- 
lic ; and in the latter end of May, 1807, this collection, with 
considerable alterations, the omission of some poems, and the 
addition of others, was reprinted and published, under the title 
of ** Hours of Idleness, a Series of Poems, original and trans- 
lated, by George Crordon, Lord B3rron, a Minor." This volume 
was also printed at Newark. In the four editions of this work, 
which rapidly succeeded each other, many variations are 
found : several corrections were made ; several pieces were 
silently withdrawn and replaced bv others ; and after the &nt 


edition a dedication to Lord Carlisle, was prefixed. In the pre- 
sent publication, all those poems from the *< Private Volume," 
and the early editions of ** Hours of Idleness,*' which were 
suppressed by the author, are reprinted, and all the variations 
of the different impressions are noticed. 


Ui sabmittiiig to toe public eye the fbllowing collection, I 
hare not only to combat the difficulties that writers of verse 
generally encounter, bat may incur the charge of presumption 
for obtruding myself on the world, when, without doubt, I might 
be, at my age, more usefully emplo3red. These productions 
are the fruits of the lighter hours of a young man who has late- 
ly completed his nineteenth year. As they bear the internal, 
eridence of a boyish mind, this is, perhaps, unnecessary inform- 
ation. Some few were written during the disadvantages of 
illnesB and depression of spirits ; under the former influence, 
^CmLDisH Rbcoilxotions," in particular, were composed. 
Tliis consideration, though it cannot excite the voice of Praise, 
may at least arrest the arm of Cens^re• A considerable por- 
tion of these poems has been privately printed, at the request 
and for the perasal of my friends. I am sensible that the par- 
tial and frequently injudicious admiration of a social circle is 
not the criterion by which poetical genius is to be estimated, 
yet, ** to do gieatly," we must <* dare greatly ; " and I have 
hazarded my reputation and feelings in publishing this volume. 
^I have passed the Rubicon/* and must stand or fall by the 
«cast of the die.**, in the latter event, I shall submit without 
a murmur ; for, though not without solicitude for the fate of 
these effusions^ my expectations are by no means sanguine. It 
is probable that I may have dared much and done little ; for,- 
in the words of Cowper, ^ it is one thing to write what may 
please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a 
little biassed in our favour, and another to write what may 
please every body ; because they who have no connexion, or 
even knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they 
can.** To the truth of this, howevetr, I do not wholly sub- 
scribe ; on the contrary, 1 feel convinced that these trifles will 
not be treated with injustice. Their merit, if they possess any, 

^ Fkioted in th« ibit adStiaa of Hbm oTIcDmimi ; omitted in th« ImC 


will be liberally allowed ; their numerous faults, on tiie other 
handy cannot expect that favour which has been denied to 
others of maturer years, decided character, and far greater 
ability. I have not aimed at exclusive originality, still less 
have I studied any particular moddi for imitation : some trans- 
lations are given, of which many are paraphr^tic. In the 
original pieces there may appear a casual coincidence with au- 
thors whose works I have been accustomed to read ; but I have 
not been guilty of intentional plagiarism. To produce any 
thing entirely new, in an age so fertile in rhyme, would be a 
Herculean task, aa every subject has already been treated to 
its utmost extent.— > Poetry, however, is not my primary voca- 
tion ; to divert the dull moments of indisposition, or the mono- 
tony of a vacant hour, urged me '^ to this sin :" little can be 
expected from so unpromising a muse* My wreath, scanty as 
it must be, is all I shall derive from these productions ; and I 
shall never attempt to replace its fading leaves, or pluck a sin- 
gle additional sprig from groves where I am, at best, an intru«> 
der. Though accustomed, in my younger days, to rove a care- 
less mountaineer on the Highlands of Scotland, I have not, of 
late years, had the benefit of such pure air, or so elevated a 
"residence, as might enable me to enter the lists with genuine 
bards, who have enjoyed both these advantages. But fhey de- 
rive considerable fame, and a few notices profit, from their pro- 
ductions ; while I shall expiate my rashness as an interioper, 
certainly without the latter, and in all probability with a very 
slight share of the former, I leave to others «<Vir{km volitare . 
per ora." I look to the few who will hear with patience << dulce 
est desipere in loco.*' — To the former worthies I resign, with- 
out repining, the hope of immortality, and content myself with 
the not very magnificent prospect of ranking •* among the mob 
of gentlemen who write;" — my readers must determine 
whether I dare say, <«with ease," or the honour of a posthu- 
mous page in '< The Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors,' 
a work to which the peerage is under infinite obligations, in- 
asmuch as many names of considerable length, sound, and anti- 
quity, are ther«A)y rescued from the obscurity which unluckily 
overshadows several voluminous productions (^ their illustrious 



With slight hopes, and some fears, I publish this first and 
last attempt. To the dictates of young ambition may be 
ascribed many actions more criminal and equally absurd. To 
a few of my own age the contents may afford amusement : I 
trust they will, at least, be found harmless. It is highly im- 
probable, from my situation and pursuits hereafter, that I should 
ever obtrude myself a second time on the public ; nor even in 
the very doubtful event of present indulgence, shall I be tempt- 
ed to commit a future trespass of the same nature. The opi- 
nion of Dr. Johnson on the Poems of a noble relation of mine,* 
^ That when a man of rank appeared in the character of an 
author, his merit should be handsomely acknowledged,*' can 
have little weight with verbal, and still less with periodical 
censors ; but were it otherwise, I should be loath to avail my 
self of the privilege, and would rather incur the bitterest cen 
sure of anonymous criticism, than triumph in honours granted 
solely to a title. 

* TIm Etfl of Caritfle, whose worb have long reeehred the meed of lynblie 
appbnae, to which, by their intrinac woith, Ihey were well entitled. 

▼OL. V. — 1^ 



** Whj doittfaou boild the hall, nn of the winged days 7 Thou lookett ftom 
thy tower to^y : yet a few yean, and the blast of the desert comes, it howU 
in thy empty court/*— Ossian.* 

Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hoUow winds 

Thouy the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay ; 
In thy once smiling garden* the hemlock and thistle 

Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the way. 

Of the mail-cover'd Barons, w)io proudly to battle 
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain. 

The escutcheon and shield, whu^h with every blast rattle, 
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 

No more doth old Robert, with harp-strinffing numbers, 
Raise a flame in the breast for the war-hureU'd wreath 

Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistanf slumbers. 
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death. 

Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy ; 

For the safety of Edward and England they fell : 
My Others ! the tears of your country redress ye ; 

How you fought, how you £ed, still her annids can tell. 

On Marston,^ with Rupert,§ 'gainst traitors contending, 
Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field 

For the rights of a monarch their country defending. 
Till death their attachment to royalty seaPd. . 

Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, departing 
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ! 

Abroad, or at home, your remembranoe imparting 
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. 

* The motto was added in the first editkmof Hows of Idleness. 

t Honstan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byion ftmily. 

t The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were 

^ Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charies L He afterwards 
commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II. 


Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separatioiit 
T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret ; 

Far distant he goes, with the same emulation. 
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. 

That fame^ and that memory, still will he cherish ; 

He vows that he ne'er wiU disgrace your renown ; 
Like you will he live, or like you wiU he perish ; 

When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own. 



Oh ! mihi pmteiitofMfeTat ri Jupiter annoi.— YimoiL. 

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection 
Embitters the present^ compared with the past ; 

Where science first dawned on the powers of reflection. 
And friendships were form'd too romantic to last; 

Where fancy ftt jbys to retrace the resemblance 
Of comrades in< friendship and mischief allied ; 

How welcome' to me your ne'er fading remembrance, 
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied. 

Again I revisit the hills where we sported, 

The streams where we' swam, and the fields where we 
fought f 
The school where, loud wam'd by the bell, we resorted. 

To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. 

AgaiE I behokF where ibr houra I have ponder'd. 
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay ; 

Or round the steep brow of the ehurchyard I wander'd. 
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. 

I once more view the room with spectators surrounded. 
Where, as Zanga, I trod en Alonzo o'erthrown ; 

While to swell my young pride such applauses resounded, 
I fancied that Mossopf himself was outshone : 

Thia poem wat Dfinted in the private voliime, and in the fiztt edition of 
iloun of Idleness, where the motto from Viigil was added. It was afterwaids 

t Moaiiop, a cotemporary of Garrick, &mons for his performance of Zanga> 
in Young's tragedy oitbe Revenge. 


Or, as Lear, I poured forth the deep unprecation, 
By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived ; 

Till, fired by loud plaudits and self^ulation, 
I regarded myself as a Garrick revived. 

Ye dieams of my boyhood, how much I regret you ! 

Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast ;* 
Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you ; 

Tour pleasures may still be in fancy possest. 

To Ida f full oft may remembrance restore me, 
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll ! 

Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, 
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul. 

But if, through the course of the years which await me, 
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, 

I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, 
** Oh ! such were the days which my infSuicy knew." 

TO D.* 

In thee I fondly hoped to clasp 

A friend, whom death alone could sever , 

Till envy, with malignant grasp, 
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. 

True, she has forced thee from my breast. 
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat ; 

There, there ttane ima^e still must rest, 
Until that heart shall cease to beat. 

« Your memory beams through thii agnized breait" ^^ 

** I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madneat, 

But the drope which now flow down thia bowm of sadmeaa, 
Convince me the apringa have lome moistore retainM. 

^ Sweet Boenet of my childhood ! your blest recollection 
Has wrong from these eyelids, to v^reeping long dead, 
in loRents the tears of my warmest affection. 
The last and the fondest I ever shall shed.'* _ ^,_^ _. 

t Mnted in the private volume only. 

248 HouBfl or iDLBNSas. 

Andy when the grave restores her dead» 

When life again to dust is given, 
On thy dear breast I '11 lay my head — 

Without thee, where would be my heaven ? 

Febniarj, 1803. 


Oh, Friend ! for ever loved, for ever dear,t 
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honoured bier ! 
What sighs re*echo'd to thy parting breath. 
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death ! 
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course ; 
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force ; 
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay. 
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; 
Thou stiU hadst lived to bless my aching si^ht, 
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight. 
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh | 
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, 
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, 
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. 
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, 
But living statutes there are seen to weep ; 

* Theie finef were printed in the private vohime, the title being ** Epitaph 
3n a beloved Ftiend." The motto was added in the first edition of Houn ef 

t " Oh, Boy ! for ever loved, for ever dear." — Private volume. 

t ** Thou|B^h low thy bt, since in a cottage bom. 

No titles did thy humble name adorn ; 
To me far dearer was thy artless love 
Than all the joys wealth, fame, and friends could prove : 
For thee alone I lived, or wished to live ; 
Oh God ! if impious, ttiis rash word forgive ! 
Heartrbroken now, I wait an equal doom. 
Content to join thee in thy turf-dad tomb ; 
Where, this frail form composed in endless rest, 
I '11 make my last cold pillow on thy breast ; 
That breast where oft in life I *ve laid my head. 
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead ; 
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh. 
Together in one bed of earth we 'O lie ! 
Together share the fate to mortals given, 
Togpther mix our dust, and hope for heaven." 

Such was the conclusion in the private volume. 

HOVB8 or iDLsmiss S4t 

Affliction's flemblance bends not o'er thy tomb, 
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. 
What though thy sire lament his failing line^ 
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine ! 
Though none like thee his dying hour will cheer, 
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here : 
But who with me shall hold thy lormer place ? 
Thine image what new friendship can efface 7 
Ah none ! — a father's tears will cease to flow. 
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe ; 
To all, saye one, is consolation known, 
While solitary friendship sighs alone. 


Whsit, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice 
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice : 
When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride^ 
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ; 
Oh may my shade behold no sculptured urns 
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns ! 
No lengthened scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone ;'*' 
My epitaph shall be my name alone : 
If thai with honour fail to crown my clay, 
Oh may no other fame my deeds repay ! 
Thatf only thatf shall single out the spot ; 
By that remember'd, or with that forgot.f 



Why, Pigot, complain 

Of this damsel's disdain, 
Why thus in despair do you fret 7 

For months you may try. 

Yet, believe me, a sigh 
Will never obtain a coquette. 

* ** No langthen'd icroll of virtue and renown." 

Private vdheme^ andfint edition o/Houn qflSeneu. 
t * By that remembered, or lor e'er forgot."— Private veUime. 
t Ftinted in die private volmne only. 

960 HOUBfl or IDLBXBtB. 

Would you teach her to love 1 

For a time seem to roye ; 
At first she may frown in a pet ; 

But leave her awhile^ 

She shortly will smile, 
And then you may kiss your coquette. 

For such are the airs 

Of these fanciful fairs. 
They think all our homage a deht ; 

Yet a partial neglect 

Soon takes an effect. 
And humhles the proudest coquette. 

Dissemble your pain, 

And lengthen your chain, 
And seem her hauteur to regret; 

If again you shall sigh, 

She no more will deny 
That yours is the rosy coquette. 

If still, from false pride, 

Your pangs she deride. 
This whimsical virgin forget ; 

Some other admire. 

Who will melt with your fire. 
And laugh at the little coquette. 

For me, I adore 

Some twenty or more. 
And love them most dearly ; but yet, 

Though my heart they enthral, 

I'd al^ndon them all. 
Did they act like your blooming coquette. 

No longer repine, 

Adopt this design, 
And break through her slight-woven net ; 

Away with despair. 

No longer forbear. 
To fly from the captious coquette. 

Then quit her, my friend ! 
Your bosom defend, 
• Ere quite with her snares you're beset . 
Lest your deep-wounded heart, 
When incensed by the smart, 
Should lead you to curse the coquette. 

October S7ai,]aO& 



Your pardon, my friend, 

If my rhymes did offend, 
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er ; 

From friendship I strove 

Your pangs to remove. 
But I swear I will do so no more. 

Since your beautiful maid 

Your flame has repaid. 
No more I your folly regret ; 

She 's now the most divine 

And I bow at the shrine 
Of this quickly reformed coquette. 

Yet still, I must own, 

I should never have known 
From your verses, what else she deserved ; 

Your pain seem'd so great, 

I pitied your fate. 
As your fair was so devilish reserved. 

Since the balm-breathing kiss, 

Of this magical miss 
Can such wonderful transports produce ; 

Since the " world you forget. 

When your lips once have met,** 
My counsel will get but abuse. 

You say, when " I rove, 

I know nothing of love ;" 
'Tis true, I am given to range : 

If I rightly remember, 

I 've loved a good number, 
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change. 

I will not advance. 

By the rules of romance, 
To humour a whimsical fair ; 

Though a smile may delight, 

Yet a frown won't affright* 
Or drive me to dreadful despair. 

* These itanzai were only printed in the private vohime. 


While my blood is thus wann 

I ne'er shall reform, 
To mix in the Platonists' school ; 

Of this I am sure, 

Was my passion so pure, 
Thy mistress would think me a fool. 

And if I should shun 
Every woman for one, 

Whose image must fill my whole breast - 
Whom I must prefer. 
And sigh but for her — 

What an insult 't would be to the rest 1 

Now, Strephon, good bye; 

I cannot deny 
Your passion appears most absurd ; 

Such love as you plead 

Is pure love indeed, 
For it only consists in the word. 


'*0 lachrymaruih ions, tenero sacros 
Dacentinm oitoa ex animo ; qnateir 
Felix! in imo qui scatentem 
Pectore te, pia Nympha, eenrnt.'*— Gray.* 

When Friendship or Love 

Our sympathies move. 
When Truth in a glance should appear, 

The lips may beguile 

With a dimple or smile, 
But the test of affection's a Tear. 

Too ofl is a smile 

But the hypocrite's wile. 
To mask detestation or fear ; 

Give me the soft sigh, 

Whilst the soul-telling eye 
Is dinmi'd for a time with a Tear. 

' This motto was inserted in the first edition of Hours of Idlen«sa. 


Mild Charity's giow» 

To U8 mortals Mow, 
Shows the soul from barbarity clear ; 

Compassion will melt 

Where this virtue is felt. 
And its dew is diffused in a Tear. 

The man doom'd to sail 

With the Uast of the gale, 
Through billows Atlantic to steer. 

As he bends o'er the wave 

Which may soon be his grave 
The green sparkles bright with a Tear. 

The soldier braves death, 

For a fanciful wreath 
In Glory's romantic career ; 

But he raises the foe 

When in battle laid low, 
And bathes every wound with a Tear. 

If with high-bounding pride 

He return to his bride. 
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear^ 

All hii toils are repaid 

When, embracing the maid. 
From her eyelid he kuses the Tear. 

Sweet scene of my youth ! 

Seat of Friendship and Truth, 
Where love chased each fast-fleeting year. 

Loath to leave thee, I mourned, 

For a last look I tum'd, 
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. 

Though my vows I can pour 

To my Mary no more, 
My Mary to Love once so dear, 

In the shade of her bower 

I remember the hour 
She rewarded those tows with a Tear. 

By another possest, 

May she live ever blest ! 
Her name still my heart must revere : 

With a sigh I resign 

What I once thought was mine^ 
And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 


Ye firiendB of my hearty 

Ere from you I depart. 
This hope to roy breast is most near : 

If again we shall meet 

In this rural retreat. 
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. 

When my soul wings her flight 

To the regions of night, 
And my corse shall recline on its bier,* 

As ye pass by the tomb 

Where my ashes consume, 
Oh ! moisten their dust with a Tear. 

May no marble bestow 

The splendour of woe 
Which the children of vanity rear ; 

No fiction of fiune 

Shall blazon my name. 
All I ask — all I wish — is a Tear. 

October as, 1806 


Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect, 

Who to woman deny the soul's future existence ; 

Could they see thee, Eliza, they 'd own their defect, 
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. 

Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, 

He ne'er would have women from paradise driven ; 
Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, 

With women alone he had peopled his heaven. 
Yet still to increase your calamities more. 

Not content with depriving your bodies of roirit, 
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four ! — 

With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could 

• <* And mf body didl deep on itobiar."--P^riiwle«oliMW. 

t Foand only in the private vdame 

BOUB8 or IDI.BNE00^ 2M 

His religion to please neither party is ma^x ; 

On husbands 't is hard, to the wives the n: ost uncivil , 
Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said, 

^Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil." 


^ AwAT, away, your flattering arts 
May now betray some simpler hearts ; 
And you will smile at their believing, 
And they shall weep at your deceiving." 


Dbak, simple girl, those flattering arts, 

From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts, 

Exist but in imaginaion, — 

Mere phantoms of thine own creation ; 

For he who views that witching grace, 

That perfect form, that lovely race. 

With eyes admiring, oh ! believe me. 

He never wishes to deceive thee : 

Once in thy polish'd mirror glance, 

Thou'It there descry that elegance 

Which from our sex demands such praises^ 

But envy in the other raises : 

Then he who tells thee of thy beauty. 

Believe me, only does his duty : 

Ah ! fly not from the candid youth ; 

It is not flattery, — 'tis truth. 


* Only printed in the private volume. 



No specious splendour of this stone 

Endears it to my memory ever ; 
With lustre only once it shone. 

And blushes modest as the giver. 

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties. 
Have for my weakness oft reproved me ; 

Yet still the simple gift I prize, — 
For I am sure the giver loved me. 

He offer'd it with downcast look. 
As fearful that J might refuse it ; 

I told him when the gift I took. 
My only fear should be to lose it. 

This pledge attentively I view'd. 

And sparkling as I held it near, 
Methought one drop the stone bedewed, 

And ever since I 've loved a tear. 

Still, to adorn his humble youth, 
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; 

But he who seeks the flowers of truth, 
Must quit the garden for the field. 

"^Tis not tne plant uprear'd in sloth. 

Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume ; 

The flowers which yield the most of both 
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 

Had Fortune aided Nature's care. 

For once forgetting to be blind. 
His would have been an ample share, 

If well-proportion'd to his mind. 

But had the goddess clearly seen. 
His form had fix'd her fickle breast ; 

Her countless hoards would his have been^ 
And none remain'd to give the rest. 

* 1^ yoang £ddle«ton. Thu poem is only found in the pnY»te volime. 

■oma or tdlmhebb* m 


HntH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom. 
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, 

Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, 
And scatter flowers on the dust I love. 

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay. 

That clay where once such animation beamM ; 

The King of Terrors seized her as his prey. 
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd. 

Oh ! could that King of Terrors pity feel. 
Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate ! 

Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, 
Not here the muse her virtues would relate. 

But wherefore weep ? her matchless spirit soars 
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day ; 

And weeping angels lead her to those bowers 
Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. 

And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign, 
And, madly, godlike providence accuse ? 

Ah ! no, far fly from me attempts so vain, 
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse. 

Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, 
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face ; 

Still they call forth my warm afiect ion's tear. 
Still in my heart retain, their wonted place. 

* MiM Parker. 

t To these ttanzat, which are iWmi the private volume, the foDowing note woe 
attached : ^ The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece, 
than, perhaps, any other in the collection ; but as it was written at an eariier pe- 
nod than itie rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he 
preferred submitting it to the indulgence of hli friends in its present state, to mak- 
ing either addition or alteration/' 

VOL. V. 

tM H0UK8 OF lULB^nBSt. 


Since now the hour is come at last, 
When you must quit your anxious lover , 

Since now our dream of bliss is past. 
One pang, my gir), and a11 ia over. 

Alas ! that pang will be severe. 

Which bids us part to meet no more* 

Which tears me far from one so dear, 
Departing for a distant shore* 

Well : we have pass'd some happy hours. 
And joy will mingle with our tears ; 

When thinking on these ancient towers. 
The shelter of our infant years ; 

Where from the gothic casement's height. 
We view''d the lake, the park, the dde, 

And still, though tears obstruct our sight, 
We lingering look a last farewell. 

O'er fields through which we used to run, 
And spend the hounr in childish play ; 

0*er shades where, when our race was done. 
Reposing on my breast you lay ; 

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, 
Forgot to scare the hov'ring flies, 

Yet envied every fly the kiss 
It dared to give your slumbering eyes : 

See still the little painted bark. 
In which I row'd you o'er the lake ; 

See there, high waving o'et the park. 
The elm I clamber'd for your sake. 

These times are past — our joys are gone, 
You leave me, leave this happy vale ; 

These scenes I must retrace alone ; 
Without thee what will they af ail ? 

* Thia poem is inrated from the priToto volume. 


Who can conceiTe, who has not proved, 

The anguish of a last embrace ? 
When, torn from all you fondly loved, 

You bid a long adieu to petfce. 

This is the deepest of our woes, 

For this these tears our cheeks bedew ; 
This is of love the final close. 

Oh, God, the fondest, last adieu ! 



SiKCB the refinement of this polish 'd age 

Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ; 

Since taste has now expunged licentious wit. 

Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ ; 

Since now to please with purer scenes we seek. 

Nor dare to call the Uush from Beauty's cheek ; 

Oh ! let the Modest muse some pity claim. 

And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. 

Still, not for her alone we wish respect, 

Others appear more conscious of defect : 

To-night no veteran Roscii you behold. 

In all the arts of scenic action old ; 

No CooKB, no SjiiiBLB, can salute you here, 

No SiDOOirs draw the sympathetic tear ; 

Tcnight you throng to witness the debut 

Of embryo actors, to the Drama new : 

Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try ; 

Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly : 

Failing in this our first attempt to soar, 

Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more. 

Not one poor trembler only fear betrays. 

Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ; 

But all our dramatis persona wait 

In fond suspense this crisis of our* fate. 

No venal views our progress can retard, 

Your generous plaudits are our sole reward ; 

For these, each Hero all his power displa3rs, 

Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze* 

'^ IW. In tho privBts volmne, llbetr. 


Surely the last will aome protection find ; 
None to the softer sex can prove unkind : 
Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shieldf 
The sternest Censor* to the fair must yield. 
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail. 
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail, 
StOl let some mercy in your bosoms live, 
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive* 



*< Our nation's foes lament on Fox's death. 
But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath : 
These feelings wide, let sense and truth undue. 
We give the palm where Justice points its due." 


Oh, factious viper ! whose envenom'd tooth 
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth, 
What though our << nation's foes " lament the fate, 
With generous feeling, of the good and great. 
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name 
Of him whose meed exists in endless fame ? 
When Pitt expired in plenitude of power. 
Though ill success obscured his dying hour, 
Pity her dewy wings before him spread, 
For noble spirits •* war not with the dead :" 
His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, 
As all his errors slumber'd in the grave ; 
' He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight 
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state: 
When lo ! a Hercules in Fox appear d. 
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd : 
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, 
With him our fast-reviving hopes have died ; 
Not one great people only raise his urn. 
All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. 

* Ceiuor. In tfao private volume, criUc. 
t "In the Morning Poet."— Prwiterolwwe. 

X " For insertion in the Mondng Chronicle," wms here added in the pnvmte vo- 

HOUB8 or IDLBKXM. 361 

*^ These feelingi wide, let sense and truth undue. 
To ^ve the pum where Justioe points its due ; '' 
Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail, 
Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. 
Fox ! o'er whose corse a mourning worM must weep, 
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep ; 
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations gcoan, 
While'friends and foes alike his talents own ; 
Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine, 
Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm resign ; 
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask« 
For Pitt, and Prrr alone, has dared to ask< 

TO M. S. G.« 

Wheiob'es I view those lips of thine. 
Their hue invites my fervent kiss ; 

Tet I forego that bliss divine, 
Alas ! it were unhallow'd bliss. 

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast. 
How could I dwell upon its snows ? 

Tet is the daring wish represt, 

For that, — would banish its repose. 

A dance from thy soul-searching eye 
Can raise with hope, depress with fear ; 

Yet I conceal my love, and why ? 
I would not £brce a painful tear. 

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou 
Hast seen my ardent flame too well ; 

And shall I plead my passion now. 
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell t 

No ! for thou never canst be mine, 
United by the priest's decree ; 

By any ties but tibose divine, 
Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. 

^ Only primed in tfa« printe vohniM. 


Then let the secret fire oonsmne. 

Let it consume^ thou shalt not know ; 

With joy I court a certain doom. 
Rather than spread its guilty glow. 

I will not ease my tortured heart. 
By driving dove-eyed peaoe from thine ; 

Rather than such a sting impart. 
Each thought presumptuous I resign. 

Yfis ! yield those lips, for which I 'd brave 
More than I here shall dare to tell ; 

Thy innocence and mine to save, — 
I bid thee now a last farewell. 

Yes ! yield that breast, to seek despair. 
And hope no more thy sof^ embrace* 

Which to obtain my soul would dare, 
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. 

At least from guilt shalt thou be free. 
No matron shall thy shame reprove ; 

Though cureless pangs may prey on me, 
No martyr shalt thou be to love. 


Thutr'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyest 
Suffused in tears, implore to stay ; 

And heard unmoved thy plenteous sighs, 
Which said far more than words can say ? 

Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, 
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown ; 

Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast 
Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. 

But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, 
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, 

The tears that from my eyelids flow'd, 
Were lost in those which fell from thine 

* Primed oaly in the private volume. 


Thou could'st not feel my baming cheek. 

Thy goahiog tears had quenched its flamey 
And 9B thy tongue essay'd to speak, 
• In sighs alone it breathed my name. 

And yet, my girl, we weep in vain. 

In vain our fate in aigha deplore ; 
Remembrance only can remain,-— 

But that will make us weep the mored 

Again, thou best beloved, adieu ! 

Ah f if thou canst, o'ercome regret, 
Nor let thy mind past joys review, — 

Our only hope is to forget ! 


Wbxit I hear you express an affection so warm. 
Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe ; 

For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, 
And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive^ 

Yet stiU, this fond bosom regrets while adoring. 
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, 

That age will come on, when remembranoe, deploring. 
Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear ; 

That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining 
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, 

When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, 
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 

Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my fea* 

Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree 
Which God haa proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, 

In the death which one day will deprive you of me. 

Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, 
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade ; 

He worships each look with such faithful devotion, 
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade« 

* loMitod ifoiii the privBte volume 

364 H017S8 OF IDLB1VB88. 

But afl death, my beloved, soon or late shall overtake us. 
And our breasts which alive with such flympathy glow. 

Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us. 
When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low : 

Oh ! then let us drain, while we may^ draughts of pleasure. 
Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow ; 

Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, 
And quaff the contents as our nectar below. 



Ou ! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow ? 

Oh, when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay t 
The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow 

But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day* 

From my eye flows no tear, from my lips fall no curses, 
I blast not the fiends who have hurled me from bliss : 

For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses 
Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this. 

Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, 
Wquld my lips breathe a flame which no stream could asa 
On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its light* 
With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. 

But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, 
Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight ; 

Could they view us our sad separation bewaSing, 
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. 

Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, 
Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer ; 

Love and hope upon earth brin^ no more consolation, 
In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. 

* Thii poeiiB alio it repfintod from the prhrate voluiiM. 

■ouBs ov xDLmnMt. 9i6 

Oh ! wlieiit tpj adored, in the tomb will they place me, 
Since in life, love and friendship for ever are fled ? 

If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee. 
Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead* 




This votive pledge of fond esteem, 
Perhaps, dear girl ! for me thou It prize ; 

It sings of Love's enchanting dream, 
A theme we never can despise. 

Who blames it but the envious fool. 
The old and disappointed maid ? 

Or pupil of the prudish school. 
In single sorrow doom'd to fade ? 

Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read. 
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; 

To thee in vain I shall not plead 
In pity for the poet's woes. 

He was in sooth a genuine bard ; 

His was no faint, fictitious flame : 
Like his, may love be thy reward. 

But not thy hapless fate the same. 


'A Bofffirot it x^p^arf 
'EpMra /tovvov i^x^i. — Amiefeon. 

AwAT with your fictions of flimsy romance ! 

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove If 
Give the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, 

Or the rapture that dwells on the first kiss of love. 

* Thete itaiisM wen printed in the privrnte volume, and in die fint edition of 
Boon of Idlenen, bntonutted in the seoondl 

t * ThoM tiMQM of fiuiey Moriah (*) has wove.'*— pyreoto wAam. 
i*) Morlab, the GoddM of F0II7. 

996 mojmM or iDuunss. 

Te ihymen, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, 
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove. 

From what blest inspiration your sonnets would fiowv 
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love ! 

If ApoUo should e'er his assistance refuse. 

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove. 

Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, 
And try the effect of the first kiss of love. 

1 hate you, ye cold compositions of art : 

Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove, 
I court the efiusions that spring from the heart 

Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love. 

Your shepherds, your flocks,* those fantastical themes, 
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move : 

Arcadia displays but a region of dreams ; 

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love ? 

Oh ! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,')* 

From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove ; 

Some portion of paradise still is on earth, 
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love* 

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past -— 
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove — 

The dearest remembrance will still be the last, 
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. 


Oh ! did those eyes, instead of fire^ 
With bright but mild aflfection shine. 

Though they might kindle less desire. 
Love, more t^m noortal, would be thine* 

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, 
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, 

We must admire, but still despair ; 
That fatal glance forbids esteem* 

• •* Yonr snepherdi, your pipes, dec." — Prkate volume, 

t '' Oil ! ceaae to affinn that man, from hU birth," ^.-* Prwote eobsM. 


When Nature stamp'd thy beaoteoas birth, 
So much perfection in thee shone, ' 

She fear'd that, too divine for earth, 
Tho akiee might claim thee for their own ; 

Therefore, to guard her dearest work. 
Lest angels might dispute the prize, 

She bade a secret lightning lurk 
Within those once celestial eyes. 

These might the boldest sylph appal, 
When gloaming with meridian blaze ; 

Thy beauty must enrapture all. 

But who can dare thine ardent gaze t 

'T is said that Berenice's hair 
In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; 

But they would ne'er permit thee there. 
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. 

For did those eyes as planets roll. 
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear : 

E'en suns, which systems now control. 
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 


Woman ! experience might have told me 

That all must love thee who behold thee ; 

Surely experience might have taught 

Thy firmest promises are nought 

Biit placed in all thy charms before me^ 

All I forget but to adore thee. 

Oh, Memory ! thou choicest blessing 

When join'd with hope, when still possessing^ 

But how much cursed by every lover 

When hope is fled and passion's over. 

Woman, that fair and fond deceiver. 

How prompt are striplings to believe her ! 

How throbs the pulse wfa^n first we view 

The eye that rolls in glossy blue, 

S68 HoiTBs OF iDLsrans. 

Or spaiides black, or mildly throws 
A b^un from under harjel brows ! 
How quick we credit every oath, 
And hear her pli^t the willing troth ! 
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye, 
When, lo ! she changes in a day* 
This record will for ever stand, 
" Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.'** 

TO M. S. G. 

When I dream that you love me, you V surely forgive* 

Extend not your anger to sleep ; 
For in visions alone your affection can live^ — 

I rise, and it leaves me too weep. 

Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast, 

Shed o'er me your languor benign ; 
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last 

What rapture celestial is mine ! 

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death. 

Mortality's emblem is given : 
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath. 

If this be a foretaste of heaven. 

Ah ! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow, 

Nor deem me too happy in this ; 
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now. 

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. 

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile. 

Oh ! think not my penance deficient ! 
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile. 

To awake will be torture sufficient 

* The last line ii aJmoit a literal traoalatiim from a Spaoiah proverb. 

HOUM OF IDUBiaSflf. S09 


SwssT girl j though only once we met. 
That meeting I shall ne'er forget ; 
And though we ne'er may meet again. 
Remembrance will thy form retain. 
I would not say, '' I love," but still 
My senses struggle with my will : 
. In vain to drive thee from my breast, 
My thoughts are more and more repreflt ; 
In vain I check the rising sighs, 
Another to the last replies : 
Perhaps this is not love, but yet 
Our meeting I can ne'er forget. 

What though we never silence broke. 

Our eyes a sweeter language spoke ; 

The tongue in flattering falsehood deals. 

And tells a tale it never feels : 

Deceit the guilty lips impart, 

And hush the mandates of the heart ; 

But soul's interpreters, the eyes. 

Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise. 

AJs thus our glances ofl conversed, 

And all our bosoms felt rehearsed. 

No spirit, irom within, reproved us, 

Say rather, ** 't was the spirit moved us." 

Though what they utter'd I repress, 

Yet I conceive thoult partly guess ; 

For as on thee*my memory ponders. 

Perchance to me thine also wanders. 

This for myself, at least, I '11 say, 

Thy form appears through night, through day • 

Awake, with it my fancy teems ; 

In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams ; 

The vision charms the hours away. 

And bids me curse Aurora's ray 

For breaking slumbers of delight 

Which make me wish for endless night. 

Since, oh ! whate'er my future &te. 

Shall joy or woe my steps await, 

* Th0M UnM were pobtished in the privrnte Tolinne, aod the fiiet editioB of 
Boon of Idlenen, but ■ubeequently omitted by the author. 

370 HOintt OP EDLBIBM. 

Tempted by love, by storms beset, 
Thine image I can ne'er forget. 

Alas ! again no more we meet, 
No more our former looks repeat ; 
Then let me breathe this parting prayer. 
The dictate of my bosom's care ; 
** May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, 
That anguish never can overtake her ; 
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, 
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker ! 
Oh ! may the happy mortal, fated 
To be, by dearest ties, related, 
For her each hour new joys discover. 
And lose the husband in the lover *, 
May that fair bosom never know 
What 't is to feel the restless woe 
Which stings the soul, with vain regret. 
Of him who never can foget ! " 


When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, 

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow ! f 
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, 

Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below, j: 
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear. 

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, 
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear ; 

Need J say, my sweet Mary, 't was centred in you ? 

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name, — 
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ? 

But still I perceive an emotion the same 

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild ; 

* To Mary Duff. Pint published in the eecond edition of Hoon of IdlenesB. 

t Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenehire ; ** Gormal of snow," is an ox- 
pretsion frequently to be found in Ossian. 

t This will not appear extraordinary to (hose who have been acoustonie<1 to 
the mountains ; it is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-^-^^. 
Ben-y-bourd, &c. to perceive between the summit and the valley, clouds pwHr- 
ing down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightninff, while the fpectamr 
literally looks down upon the stovm* j>e«feclLy aecure from ita effects. 


One imaffe alone on my bosom impress'd, 

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new ; 

And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd ; 
And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you* 

I arose with the dawn ; with my dog as my guide, 

From mountain to mountain I bounded along ; 
I breasted * the billows of Dee's f rushing tide, 

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song : 
At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose, 

No dreams save of Mary were spread to my view ; 
And warm to the skies my devotions arose. 

For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. 

I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone ; 

The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more ; 
As the last of my race, I must wither alone. 

And delight but in days I have witness'd before : 
Ah! splendour has raised, but embitter'd, my lot ; 

More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew : 
Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not forgot ; 

Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. 

When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, 

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen ; i 
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, 

I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene ; 
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, 

That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, 
I think on the long-flowing ringlets of gold, 

The locks that were sacred to beauty and you. 

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once more 

Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow : 
But while these soar above me unchanged as before. 

Will Mary be there to receive me ? ah, no ! 
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred : 

Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! 
No home in the forest shall shelter my head, 

Ah ! Mary, what home could be mine but with you 7 

* Breasting tbe lofty waTgp.r^Shak8peare. 

t Tbe Dee u a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and fiUIs into the 
sea at New Aberdeen. 
X Colbleen is a mountain neiir the verge of the Highlands, not hi from the 
'^- of Deo Castle. 

273 Bomti or n>LBin»a. 


Oh ! yes, I will own we were dear to each other ; 

The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true ; 
The love which you felt was the love of a brother, 

Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you* 

But friendship can vary her gentle dominion, 
The attachment of years in a moment expires ; 

Like love, too, she moves on a swifl-wavine pinion. 
But glows not, like love, with unquenchsLole fires. 

Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together. 
And blest were the scenes of our youth I allow : 

In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather ; 
But whiter's rude tempests are gathering now. 

No more with affection shall memory blending 
The wonted delights of our childhood retrace : 

When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending, 
And what would be justice appears a disgrace* 

However, dear S , for I still must esteem you — 

The few whom I love I can never upbraid — 

The chance which has lost may in future redeem you. 
Repentance will cancel the vow you have made* 

I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection. 
With me no corroding resentment shall live : 

My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection. 
That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive* 

You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence, 
If danger demanded, were wholly your own ; 

You knew me unaltered by years or by distance. 
Devoted to love and friendship alone* 

You knew but away with the vain retrospection ! 

The bond of affection no longef endures ; 
Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection. 

And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours* 

* Thia poem was fint published in Uie Hoois of IdleDfisi. 

HOURS OF n>LBZ7B88« 378 

For the present, we part — I will hope not for ever, 
For time and regret will restore you at last ; 

To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, 
I ask no atonement but days like the past. 



This faint resemblance of thy charms, 
Though strong as mortal art could give^ 

My constant heart of fear disarms. 
Revives my hopes, and bids me live* 

Here I can trace the locks of gold 

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, 
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould. 

The lips which made me Beauty's slave. 

Here I can trace — ah, no ! that eye 

Whose azure floats in liquid fire. 
Must all the painter's art defy, 

And bid him from the task retire. 

Here I behold its beauteous hue. 
But where's the beam so sweetly straying* 

Which gave a lustre to its blue, 
Like Luna o'er the ocean playing ! 

Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, 

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art. 
Than all the living forms could be, 

Save her who placed thee next my heart* 

She placed it, sad, with needless fear. 
Lest time might shake my wavering soul, 

Unconscious that her image there 
Held every sense in fast control* 

* But where*! the beam of soft deaira 7 
Which gave a hist re to its blue. 
Love, only lo\'e, could e'er inspire 


VOL. V. — T 

274 HOUBS OF IDLS19E88. 

Throogh hours, through years, through tune 't wiil cheer ; 

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise ^ 
In life's last conflict 't will appear, 

And meet my fond expiring gaze. 


Lesbia ! since far from you Fve ranged, 
Our souls with fond aflection glow not^ 

You say 't is I, not you, have changed, 
I 'd tell you why — but yet I know not. 

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost ; 

And, Lesbia ! we are not much older. 
Since trembling first my heart I lost. 

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder* 

Sixteen was then our utmost age. 

Two years have lingering past away, love! 
And now new thoughts our minds engage, 

At least I feel disposed to stray, love ! 

'T is I that am alone to blame, 
I, that am guilty of love's treason ; 

Since your sweet breast is still the same, 
Caprice must be my only reason 

I do not, love ! suspect your truth. 

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not ; 

Warm was the passion of my youth. 
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. 

No, no, my flame was not pretended, 
For, oh ! I loved you most sincerely ; 

And — though our dreiun at last is ended — 
My bosom still esteems you dearly. 

No more we meet in yonder bowers ; 

Absence has made me prone to roving ; 
But older, firmer hearts than ours. 

Have found monotony in loving. 

* Only printed in the private volume. 

mnjua OF iDhEffMaB* 275 

Tour cheek's fiod bloom is unimpair'd, 
New beauties still are daily bright'ning, . 

Four eye for conquest beams prepared, 
The forge of love's resistless lightning. 

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, 
Many will throng to sigh like me, love ! 

More constant they may prove, indeed ; 
Fonder, alas! they ne!er can be^ love! 


hM the author was discharging his pistoLi in a garden, two ladies passing near the. 
spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing nearthenit to one of whom 
toe following stanzas were addressed the next morning. 

Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead, 

Wafling destruction o'er thy -charms, 
And hurtling f o'er thy lovely head, 

Has fiU'd that breast with fond alarms. 

Surely some envious demon's force, 

Vex'd to behold sach beauty here, 
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course. 

Diverted from its first career. 

Yes, in that nearly fatal hour. 

The ball oliey'd some hell-bom guide ; 
But Heaven, with interposing power. 

In pity turn'd the death aside^ 

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear 

Upon that thrilling bosom fell ; 
Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear, 

Extracted from its glistening cdl : 

Say, what dire penance can atone 

For such an outrage done to theef 
Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne. 

What punishmest wilt thou decree f 

* These stansas are oaly fouad in Ibe private vehime. 
t This word is used by Gray, in his poem to the Fatal Sisters : — 
" Iron sleet of arrowy shower 
Hurtles through the darken'd air." 

276 BoriLs OF iDLxiness. ' 

Might I perform the judge's part, 
The sentence I should scarce deplore ; 

It only would restore a heart 

Which but belonged to thee before. 

The least atonement I can make 
Is to become no longer free ; 

Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake, 
Thou shalt be all in all to me. 

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject 
Such expiation of my guilt : 

Come then, some other mode elect ; 
Let it be death, or what thou wilt. 

Choose then, relentless ! and I swear 
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent ; 

Yet hold — one little word forbear ! 
Let it be aught but banishment. 

Act J* 0*1 nt ^yu. — Anacntm. 

The roses of love glad the garden of life. 

Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, 

Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, 
Or prunes them for ever in, love's last adieu ! 

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart. 
In vain do we vow for an age to be true ; 

The chance of an hour may command us to part, 
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu ! 

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swoUen 

Will whisper, " Our meeting we yet may renew : " 
With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, 

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu ! 

' Tbii poem wa« omitted ia the Becond edition of Hours of Idlenen. 

HoiTBf or iPLBinBss. 977 

Qh ! mark you yon pair : in the sunshine of youth 
Love twined round their childhood his flowers as they 

They flourish awhile in the season of tnith, 
Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu ! 

Sweet lady ! why thus doth a tear steal its way 
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue ? 

Yet why do I ask ? — to distraction a prey, 
Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu ! 

Oh ! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind 7 
From cities to caves of tlie forest he flew : 

There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind ; 
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu ! 

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains 
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew ; 

Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins ; 
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu ! 

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel ! 

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, 
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel. 

And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu ! 

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast ; 

No more with love's former devotion we sue : 
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast ; 

The shroud of afiection is love's last adieu ! 

In this life of probation for rapture divine, 
Astrea* declares that some penance is due ; 

From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine. 
The atonement is ample in love's last adiea ! 

* Who kneels to the god on his altar oftKght 
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew : 
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight ; 
His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu ! 

* The GoddMi of Jwtioe. 



In law an infant,* and in years a boy, 

In mind a slave to every vicious joy ; 

From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd ; 

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ; 

Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child f 

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ; 

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool ; 

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from' school ; 

DamsBtas ran through all the maze of sin. 

And found the goal when others just begin : 

Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, 

And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl ; 

But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, 

And what was onee his bliss appears his bane* 


Mabion ! why that pensive brow ? 
What disgust to life hast thou ? 
Change that discontented air : 
Frowns become not one so fair. 
T is not love disturbs thy rest. 
Love 's a stranger to thy breast ; 
He in dimpling smiles appears, » 

Or mourns in sweetly timid tears. 
Or bends the languid eyelid down. 
But shuns the cold forbidding frown. 
Then resume thy former fire. 
Some will love, and all admire ; 
While that icy aspect chills us, 
Nought but cool indiference thrills us. 
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile* 
Smile at least, or seem to smile. 
Eyes like thine were never meant 
To hide their orbs in dark restraint ; 
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, 
Still in truant beams they play. 

" Inlaw, evcrjr penon is aa 'm&iA who has not attained the age of twenty- 

Boirss OF n>LB3nB88* 279 

Thy lips — but here my modes/t Muse^ 

Her impulse chaste must needs refuse : 

She blushes, curt'sies, frownsr— in short, she 

Dreads lest the subject should transport me ; 

And flying off in search of reason, 

Brings prudence back to proper season. 

AH I shall therefore say (whatever 

I think, is neither here nor there) 

Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, 

Were form'd for better things than oieering ; 

Of soothing compliments divested^ 

Advice at least 's disinterested ; 

Such is my artless song to thee. 

From all the flow of flattery free ; 

Counsel like mine is as a brother's. 

My heart is given to some others ; 

That is to say, unskill'd to cozeny 

It shares itself among a dozen. 

Marion, adieu ! oh ! pr'ythee slight not 

This warning, though it may delight not ; 

And, lest my precepts be displeasing 

To those who think remonstrance teasing. 

At once 111 tell thee our opinion 

Concerning woman's soft dominion : 

Howe'er we gaze with admiration 

On eyes of blue or lips carnation, 

Howe'er the flowing locks attract vs^ 

Howe'er those beauties may distract us, 

Still fickle, we are prone to rove. 

These cannot fix our souls to love : 

It is not too severe a stricture 

To say they form a pretty picture ; 

But wouldst thou see the secret chain 

Which binds us in your humble train, 

To hail you queens of all creation. 

Know, in a word, 't is Aivimatioiv. 

880 H017X8 OF IDURBSt. 


How sweetly shines, through azure skies. 
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore i 

Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, 
And hear the din of arms no more. 

But often has yon rolling moon 

On Alva's casques of silver play'd ; 
And view'd, at midnight's silent noon. 

Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd : 

And on the crimson'd rocks beneath, 
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, 

Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death. 
She saw the gasping warrior low ; 

While t many an eye which ne'er again 

Could mark X ^^^ rising orb of day 
Tum'd feebly from the gory plain, 

Beheld in death her fading ray. 

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, 
They blest her dear propitious light ; 

But now she glimmer'd from above, 
A sad, funereal torch of night. 

Faded is Alva's noble race, 

And gray her towers are seen afar ; 

No more her heroes urge th^ chase. 
Or roll the crimson tide of war. 

But, who was last of Alva's clan ? 

Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ? 
Her towers resound no steps of man, 

They echo to the gale alone. 

* Thifl poem was published for the fint time in Honn of Idlenett. 

The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of ** Jeranymo and 
Lorenzo," in the first volume of the '* Armenian, or GhoMpSeer." It alao beers 
some resemblance to a scene in the third act of ^ Macbeth." 

t While, First edition, lo^m. 

t Mark. First edition, view. 

HOmtS OF IDUBI^M. 381 

And when that gale is fierce and high» 

A sound is heard in yonder hall ; 
It rises hoarsely through the sky, 

And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. 

Tesy when the eddying tempest sighs, 

It shakes the shield of Oscar brave ; 
But there no more his banners rise* 

No more his plumes of sable wave. 

Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth. 

When Angus hail'd his eldest born ; 
The vassals round their chieflain's hearth 

Crowd to applaud the happy morn. 

They feast upon the mountain deer, 

The pibroch raised its piercing note ; 
To gladden more their highland cheer. 

The strains in martial numbers float 

And they who heard the war-notes wild 
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain 

Should play before the hero's child 
While he should lead the tartan train. 

Another year is quickly past. 

And Angus hails another son ; 
His natal day is like the last, 

Nor soon the jocund feast was done. 

Taught by their sire to bend the bow» 

On Alva's dusky hills of wind. 
The boys in childhood chased the roe, 

And left their hounds in speed behind* 

But ere their years of youth are o'er. 

They mingle in the ranks of war ; 
They lightly wheel the bright claymore, 

And send the whistling arrow far. 

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, 

Wildly it stream'd along the gale , 
But Allan's locks were bright and fair. 

And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. 


fiut Oscar ownM a hero's soul, 

His dark eye shone through beams of truth ; 
Allan had early leam'd control, 

And smooth his words had been from youth. 

Both, both were brave ; the Saxon spear 
Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel ; 

And Oscar's bosom scom'd to fear, 
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel ; 

While Allan's soul belied his form, 
Unworthy with such charms to dwell : 

Keen as the lightning of the storm. 
On foes his deadly vengeance fell 

From high Southannon's distant tower 
Arrived a young and noble dame ; 

With Kenneth's lands to form her dower 
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came ; 

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride. 
And Angus on his Oscar smiled : 

It soothed the father's feudal pride 
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's chUd. 

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note \ 
Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! 

In joyous strains the voices float. 
And stiU the choral peal prolong* 

See how the heroes' blood-red plumes 

Assembled wave in Alva's hall ; 
Each youth his varied plaid assumes, 

Attending on their chieftain's call. 

It is not war their aid demands. 

The pibroch plays the song of peace ; 

To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands. 
Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. 

But where is Oscar ? sure 't is late : 
Is this a bridegroom'is ardent flame ? 

While thronging guests and ladies wait, 
Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 


At length youAg Allan join'd the hride : 
** Why comes not Oscar? " Angus said ; 

« Is he not here ? " the youth replied ; 
^ With me he roved not o'er the glade : 

** Perchance, forgetful of the day, 

T is his to chase the bounding roe ; 
Or ocean's waves prolong his stay ; 

Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 

** Oh, no ! " the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, 
** Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay ; 

Would he to Mora seem unkind 7 
Would aught to her impede his- way? 

^ Oh, search, ye chiels ! oh, search around ! 

Allan, with these through Alva fly ; 
Till Oscar, till my son is found, 

Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." 

All is confusion -— through the vale 

The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, 
It rises on the murmuring gale. 

Till night expands her dusky wings ; 

It breaks the stillness of the night. 

But echoes through her shades in vain : 

It sounds through mominff's misty light. 
But Oscar comes not oW the plain. 

Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief 
For Oscar search'd each mountain cave ; 

Then hope is lost ; in boundless grief. 
His locks in gray-tom ringlets wave. 

" Oscar ! my son ? — thou God of Heav'n 

Restore the prop of sinking age ! 
Or if that hope no more is given, 

Yield his assassin to my rage. 

*^Ye8, on some desert rocky shore 

My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie ; 
Then grant, thou God ! I ask no more, 

Wi£ him his frantic sire may die * 


« Yet he may live, — away, despair ! 

Be calm, my soul ! he yet may live ; 
T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear ! 

God ! my impious prayer forgive ! 

^ What, if he live for me no more^ 

1 sink forgotten in the dusty 
The hope of Alva's age is o'er : 

Alas! can pangs li^e these be just ? ** 

Thus did the hapless parent mourn, 
Till Time, who soothes severest woe. 

Had bade serenity return. 
And made the tear-drop cease to flow. 

For still some latent hope survived 
That Oscar might once more appear ; 

His hope now droop'd and now revived. 
Till Time had told a tedious year. 

Days roll'd along, the orb of light 
Again had run his destined race ; 

No Oscar bless'd his father's sight. 
And sorrow left a fainter trace. 

For youthful Allan still remain'd, 
And now his father's only joy : 

And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd. 
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. 

She thought that Oscar low was laid. 
And Allan's face was wondrous fair : 

If Oscar lived, some other maid 

Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care* 

And Angus said, if one year more 
In fruitless hope was pass'd away. 

His fondest scruples should be o'er, 
And he would name their nuptial day. 

Slow roU'd the moons, but blest at last 
Arrived the dearly destined mom ; 

The year of anxious trembling past. 
What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn ! 

B0US8 OF IDLB2CBS8. 285 

Hark to the pibroch's pleanng note ! 

Hark to the swelling nuptial song * 
In joyous strains the voices float, 

And still the choral peal prolong. 

Again the clan, in festive crowd. 
Throng through the gate of Alva's hall ; 

The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, 
And all their former joy recall. 

But who is he, whose darken'd brow 
Glooms in the midst of general mirth T 

Before his eyes* far fiercer glow 

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 

Dark is the robe which wraps his form^ 

And tall his plume of gory red ; 
His voice is like the rising storm,* 

But light and trackless is his tread. 

'T is noon of night, the pledge goes round* 
The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd ; 

With shouts the vaulted roofs resound. 
And all combine to hail the draught. 

Sudden the stranger-cltief arose. 

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd ; 

And Angus' cheek with wonder glows. 
And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. 

** Old man ! " he cried, << this pledge is done : 
Thou saw'st 't was duly drank by me; 

It hail'd the nuptials of thy son : 
Now will I claim a pledge from thee. 

" While all around is mirth and joy, 

To bless thy Allan's happy lot. 
Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy T 

Say, why should Oscar be forgot ? '' 

** Alas ! " the hapless sire replied, 

The big tear starting as he spoke, ~ 
«* When Oscar left my hall, or died. 

This aged heart was almost broke. 

286 UOVBB OF mLSlfBflS. 

^ Thrice has the earth rev<^Ted her course 
Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight ; 

And Allan is my last resource^ 

Since martial Oscar's death or flight." 

** T is well," replied the stranger stem. 

And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye ; 
** Thy 0scar'<8 fate I fain would learn ; 

Perhaps the hero did not die. 

** Perchance, if those whom most he loved. 
Would call, thy Oscar might return ; 

Perchance the chief has only roved ; 
For him thy Beltane * yet may burn. 

'< Fill high the bowl the table round, 

We mH not claim the pledge by stealth ; 

With wine let every cup be crown'd ; 
Pledge &6 departed Oscar's health." 

'* With all my soul," old Angus said, 

And£jrd his goblet to the brim ; 
" Here's to my tKjy ! alive or dead, 

I ne'er shaU find a son like him." 

^ Bravely, old man, this health has sped ; 

But why does Allan trembling stand ? 
Come, drink remembrance of the dead^ 

And raise thy cup with firmer hand." 

The crimson glow of Allan's face 
Was tum'd at once to ghastly hue ; 

The drops of death each other chase 
Adown in agonizing dew. 

Thrice did he raise the goblet high, 
And thrice his lips refused to taste ; 

For thrice he caught the stranger's eye 
On his with deadly fiiry placed. 

<< And is it thus a brother hafls 

A brother's fond remembrance here ? 

If thus affection's strength prevails, 
What might we not expect from feart" 

* Beltane Tree, • Highland festival on the first of May, held Aear fires lighted 
for the occasion. 

H0UB8 OF IDftBRXSS. 28t 

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 
** Would Oscar now could share our mirth ! " 

Interhal fear appali'd his soul ; 

He said, and dashM the cup to earth. 

** T is he ! I hear my murderer's voice ! **. 

Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form ; 
" A murderer's voice ! " the roof replies, 

And deeply swells the bursting storm. 

The tapers winkr the chieftains shrink. 
The stranger 's gone, — amidst the crew 

A form was seen in tartan green. 
And tall the shade terrific grew. 

His waist was bound with a broad belt round. 
His plume of sable stream'd on high ; 

But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there. 
And fixM was the ^are ef his glassy eye. 

And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, 

On Angus bendine low the knee ; 
And thrice he frown d en a chief on the ground. 

Whom shivering crowds with horror see. 

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole. 
The thunders through the welkin ring. 

And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm. 
Was lK»rne on high by the whirlwind's wing. 

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased. 

Who lies upon the stony floor ? 
Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast,* 

At length his life-pulse throbs once more. 

" Away, away 1 let the leech essay 

To pour the light on Allan's eyes : " 
His sand is done, — his race is run ; 

Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! 

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, 

His locks are lifted by the gale ; 
And Allan's barbed arrow lay 

With him in dark Glentanar's vale. 

* Old Angus pren'd the earth with his breast.— First EdSOen. 


And whence the dreadful stranger camey 
Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; • 

But no one doubts the form of flame. 
For Alva^s sons knew Oscar welL 

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand. 
Exulting demons wing'd his dart ; 

While Envy waved her burning brand, 
And pour'd her venom round his heart* 

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow ; 

Whose streaming life-blood stains his aide ? 
Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, 

The dart has drunk his vital tide. 

And Mora's eye could Allan move. 
She bade his wounded pride rebel : 

Alas ! that eyes which beamed with love 
Should urge the soul to deeds of hell ! 

Lo ! seest thou not a lonely tomb 
Which rises o'er a warrior dead ? 

It glimmers through the twilight gloom ; 
Oh ! that is Allan's nuptial bed. 

Far, distant far, the noble grave 

Which held his clan's great ashes stood ; 

And o'er his corse no banners wave. 

For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 

What minstrel gray, what hoary bard. 
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise? 

The song is glory's chief reward, 

But who can strike a murderer's praise 1 

Unstrung, untouch d, the harp must stand, 
No minstrel dare the theme awake ; 

Guilt would benumb his palsied hand. 
His harp in shuddering chords would break. 

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, 
Shall sound his glories high in air 

A dying father's bitter curse, 

A brother's death-groan echoes there. 

HOVM or lounoM. 280 


lia lookiacoveT my pipen to wlect a few ftdditionalpoeniB for this teoond edi- 
tion, I foaai the foUowing lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the 
summer of 1806, a ibort tame previoiu to mj departure from Hanon. They 
were addreand to a young eehooUeUow of lugh rank, who had been my fre- 
quent oompanioa in lome rambles through the neighbouring country : however, 
he never saw die lines, and most probu>ly never will. As, on a re-perusal, I 
found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now pub- 
liahied them« for the fint time, after a slight revision. 

D0S8BT ! whose early steps with mine have strayM, 
Exploring every path of Ida's glade, 
Whom still affection taught me to defend, 
And made me loss a tyrant than a friend ; 
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band 
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ; * 
Thee on whose head a few short years will shower 
The gifts of riches and the pride of power; 
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own, 
Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. 
Yet Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul 
To shun fair science, or evade control ; 
Though passive tutors, f fearful to dispraise 
The titled child, whose future breath may raise. 
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, 
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. 

When youthful parasites, who bend the knee 
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee, — 
And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn 
Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn, -» 
When these declare, ** that pomp alone should wait 
On one by birth predestined to be great ; 
That books were only meant for drudging fools, 
That gallant spirits scorn the common rules," 
Believe then not, — they point the path to shame. 
And seek to blast the honours of thy name. 
Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, 
Wliose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ; 
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth, 
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, 

* At every jnibfie school the junior boys are completely subservient to the 
upper forms till thev attain a seat in the hkher classes. From this state of pro- 
batMm, very properly, no rank ii exempt ; but after a certain period they com- 
mand in turn those who succeed. 

t AHow me to disclaim any personal aUusions, even the mostdistant : I mwekr 
mwttion genenOy what is too often the weakness of precepUn. 
vol.. Y.— U 

290 Boms or isiisaBM. 

Ask thine own heurt ; 't will bid thee, boy, forbear; 
For well I know that virtue lingers there* 

Yes ! I have mark'd thee many a passing day. 
But now new scenes invite roe far away ; 
Yes I have markM within that generous mind 
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind. 
Ah 1 though myself, by nature haughty^ wild. 
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child ; 
Thou^ every error stamps me for her own. 
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ; 
Though 'my proud heart no precept now can tame* 
I love the virtues which I cannot claim. 

T is not enough, with other sons of power, 
To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour ; 
To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, 
With long.drawn names that grace no page beside ; 
Then share with titled crowds the common lot — 
In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ; 
While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead. 
Except the dull, cold stone that hides thy head. 
The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll,. 
That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll. 
Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find 
One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. 
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults 
That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, * 
A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, 
In records destined never to be read. 
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes. 
Exalted more among the good and wise, 
A glorious and a long career pursue. 
As first in rank, the first in talent too : 
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun ; 
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. 

Turn to the annals of a former day. 
Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display. 
One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth. 
And call'd, proud boast ! the British drama forth, f 
Another view, not less renown'd for wit ; 
Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit ; 
Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; 
In every splendid part ordain'd to shine ; 

^ 8«e tha aune line in Lara, ttanxft 11 

t ^ Thomu SackviUe. Lord Buckharst, created Eail of Dorset by Janee thm 
Fint, waa one of the eariieti and brighten omamenta to the poetry of bis coun- 
try, and the iiiat who produced a regular drama.*' •— AndenotCg Britith PoeU 


Far, far distinguiah'd from the guttering throng. 

Hie pride of princes, and the boast of song.* 

Such were thy fitthers ; thus preserve their name ; 

Not heir to titles onlj, but to fame. 

The hour draws nigh^ a few brief days will close, 

To me, this little scene of joys and woes ; 

Each knell of Time now warns me to resign 

Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were mine ; 

Hope, that dould vary like the rainbow's hue 

And giid their pinions as the moments flew ; 

Peace, that reflection never frown*d away. 

By dreams of ill to cloud some future day ; 

Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell ; 

Alas ! they love not long who love so well. 

To these, aidieu ! nor let me linger o'er 

Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore. 

Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep. 

Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. 

Dorset, farewell ! I will not ask one part 
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart ; 
The coming morrow from thy youthful mind 
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. 
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year. 
Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere, 
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate. 
May one day claim our suffrage for the stat^ 
We hence may meet, and pass each other by 
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. 
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, 
With thee no more again I hope to trace 
The recollection of our eariy race ; 
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice. 
Or hear, unless in crowds, ihy weU-known voice. 
Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught 
To veil those feelings which perchance it ought. 
If these — but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, — 
Oh ! if these wishes are not breathed in vain. 
The guardian seraph who directs thy fate 
Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. 

* '* Charln tiackyille, Earl of Dorset, etteomod the mon accorapliahed nuui 
of hi* dey, wai alike distingnitbed in the voluptuout court of Cherlet II. and the 
gioomy one of WilUam lU. He behaved with |(reat gallantry in the aea-iight 
with the Dntch in 1665 ; on the day prevknu to which he composed hii celebrated 
song, * To all yon Ladies now at Land.' His character has been drawn in the 
highest eolonnby Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Coi«reve." -^ Andgnoie$ Brit. PotU 


HouBfl OF iDLsnatt. S05 


AinicuLA ! VEgula, blandulay 
Hoepesy comesque, corporiay 
QiUB nunc abibis in loca — 
Pallidula, rigida, nudula, 
Nec« ut solesi dabia jocoa 7 


Ah ! gende, fleeting, wav'ring sprite* 
Friend and associate of this clay ! 

To what unknown region borney 
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight T 
No more with wonted humour ffay» 

But pallid, cheerless* and forlorn. 



EauAL to Jove that youth must be •— 
Greater than Joye he seems to me— 
Who* firee from jealousy's alarms, 
Securely views thy matchless charms. 
That cheeky which ever dimpling glows. 
That mouthy from whence such music flows. 
To him, alikoy are always known. 
Reserved for him, and him alone. 
Ah ! Lesbia ! though 't is death to mCy 
I cannot choose but look on thee ; 
But, at the sight, my senses fly ; 
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die ; 
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, 
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres. 
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, 
My limbs deny their slight support. 
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspreaid. 
With deadly languor droops my head. 
My ears with tingling echoes ring. 
And life itself is on the wing ; 

S06 H017B8 OF IDLBNB80* 

My eyes refuse the cheering light, 
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night : 
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath. 
And feels a temporary death. 



He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd. 
And he who struck the softer lyre of love. 

By Death's * unequal hand alike controU'd, 
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move ! 

** Sulpicia ad Cerinthum." — X46. Qmart, 

Cbusl Cerinthus! does the fell disease 

Which racks my breast, your fickle bosom please T 

Alas ! I wish'd but to o'eroome the pain. 

That I might live for love and you again : 

But now I scarcely shall bewail my &te : 

By death alone I can avoid your hate. 



Ts Cupids, droop each little head, 
Nor let your wings with joy be spread, 
My Lesbians favourite bird is dead, 

Whom dearer than her eyes she loved : 
For he was gentle, and so true. 
Obedient to her call he flew. 
No fear, no wild alann he knew, 

But lightly o'er her bosom moved : 

* Tlie hand of Death i* nid to be ui\just or unequal, at Vhgfl \ 
biy older than 'nbullus at hi« deceaw. 
t Ttauk Uie priTate volume. 

H017B8 OF IBLBNBSfl 297 

And softly fluttering here and there. 
He never sought to cleave the air. 
But chirupp'd oft, and, free from care. 

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. 
Now having passed the gloomy bourne 
From whence he never can return, 
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn. 

Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in vain. 

Oh ! curst be thou, devouring grave ' 
Whose jaws eternal victims crave, 
From whom no earthly power can save* 

For thou hast ta'en the bird away : 
From thee my Lesbians eyes overflow, 
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow 
Thou art the cause of all her woe. 

Receptacle of life's decay. 



Oh ! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
A million scarce would quench desire ; 
Still would I steep my lips in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss : 
Nor then my soul should sated be ; 
Still would I kiss and cling to thee : 
Nought shoukl my kiss from thine dissever* 
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever ; 
E'en though the numbers did exceed 
The yellow harvest's countless seed. 
To part would be a vain endeavour : 
Could I desist ? — ah ! neyer -* never* 


ODS 3; UB. dL 

Ths man of firm and noble soul 
No factious clamours can control ; 

* Only pont«d kk the private volnin*. 


No threatening tyrant's darkling brow 
Can swenre him from his just intent : 

Grales the warring waves which plough, 
By Auster on the bUlows spent, 

To curb the Adriatic main, 

Would awe his fix'd determined mind in Tain. 

Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, 
Hurtling his lightnings from above, ' 
With all his terrors there unfurlM, 

He would, unmov'd, unawed behold : 
The flames of an expiring world, 

Again in crashing chaos roUM, 
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd. 
Might light his glorious funeral pile : 
StiU dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he 'd smile. 



I WISH to tune my quivering lyre 
To deeds of fame and notes of fire ; 
To echo; from its risins swell, 
How heroes fought and nations feD, 
When Atreus' sons advanced to war 
Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar ; 
But still to martial strains uDknowDf 
My l3rre recurs to love alone. 
Fired with the hope of future fame, 
I seek some nobler hero's name ; 
The dying chords are strung anew. 
To war, to war, my harp is due : 
With glowing strings, the epic strain 
To Jove's CTeat son I raise again ; 
Alcides and his glorious deeds. 
Beneath whose arm the Hydro bleeds 
All, all in vain ; my wayward lyre 
Wakes silver notes of soft desire. 
Adieu, ye chiefs renown'd in arms ! 
Adieu the clang of war's alarms ! 

* Fint pnUiBlied Iq Honn of IdteneM. 


To other deeds my soul is strung, 
▲nd sweeter notes shall now be sung 
My harp shall all its powers reveal. 
To tell the tale my heart must feel ; 
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, 
In songs of bliss and sighs of flame. 


T WAS now the hour when Night had driven 

Her car half round yon sable heaven ; 

Bootes, only, seem'd to roll 

His arctic charge around the pole ; 

While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, 

Forgot to smile, or ceiled to weep : 

At this lone hour, the Paphian boy. 

Descending from the realms of joy. 

Quick to my gate directs his course, 

And knocks with all his little force. 

My visions fled, alarmM I rose, «— 

** What stranger breaks my blest repose 7 " 

^ Alas ! '' replies the wily child 

In faltering accents sweetly mild, 

^ A hapless infant here I roam. 

Far from my dear maternal home. 

Oh ! shield me from the wintry blast ! 

The nightly storm is pouring fast. 

No prowling robber lingers here. 

A wandering baby who can fear t '* 

I heard his seeming artless tale, 

I heard his sighs upon the gale : 

My breast was never pity's foe, 

But felt for all the baby's woe. 

I drew the bar, and by the light 

Toung Love, the infant, met my sight ; 

His bow across his shoulders flung, 

And thence his fatal quiver hung, 

(Ah ! little did I think the dart 

Woold rankle soon within my heart.) 

With care I tend my weary guest. 

His little fingers chUl my breast ; 

* Fint printed ia Hbiin of Idleneai. 

300 H0UB8 OF IDLBNB88. 

His glossy curls, his azure wing, 
Which droop with nitfiitly showers, I wring . 
His shivering limbs the embers warm , 
And now reviving from the storm, 
Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, 
Than swift he seized his slend^ bow : — - 
** I fain would know, my gentle host," 
He cried, '< if this its strength has lost ; 
I fear, relax'd with midnight dews. 
The strings their former aid refuse*" 
With poison tipt, his arrow flies. 
Deep in my tortured heart it lies ; 
Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd : — 
^ My bow can still impel the shaft : 
T is firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it ; 
Say, courteous host^ canst thou not feel itf ** 



Gbeat Jove, to whose almighty throne 

Both gods and. mortals homage pay, 
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown. 

Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. 
Oft shall the sacred victim fall 
In sea-girt Ocean'is mossy hall ; 
My voice shall raise no impious strain 
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. 

* « * * air « 

How different now the joyless fate, 

Since first Hesidne thy bride, 
When placed aToft in godlike state. 
The blushing beauty by thy side, 
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled, 
And mirthful strains the hours beguiled. 
The N3rmphs and Tritons danced around. 
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd* 

Hutow. Dec. 1,1804. 




NisiTs, the guardian of the portal, stood, 

Eager to ^ild his arms with hostile blood ; 

Weil skillM in fight the quivering lance to wield, 

Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field : 

From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,* 

And souffht a foreign home, a distant grave. 

To watch the movements of the Daunian host, 

With him Euryalas sustains the post ; 

No lovelier mien adom'd the ranks of Troy, 

And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy ; 

Though few the seasons of his youthful life. 

As yet a novice in the martial strife, 

T was his, with beauty, valour's gifts to shave ■«- 

A soul heroic, as his form was fair : 

These bum with one puire flame of generous love ; 

In peace, in war, united still they move ; 

Friendship and glory form their joint reward ; 

And now combined they hold their nightly guard* 

<" What god," exclaim'd the first, «< instils this fire ? 
Or, in itself a god, what great desire ? 
My labouring soul, with anxious thought oppressed. 
Abhors this station of inglorious rest ; 
The love of fame with this can ill accord, 
Be 't mine to seek for glory with my sword. 
Seest thou yon 4^amp, with torches twinkling dim, 
Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? 
Where confidence and ease the wateh disdain* 
And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign ? 
Then hear my thought.: — In deep and sullen grief 
Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chia ; 

* Him Id» tent, a hunter now no mor*, 
To oombat foes upon a foreign shore. 
Near }am. the lovelieet of the Trojan band 
Did &ir Curyalns, his oomrade, atand : 
Few are the teatonf of hie youthful life, 
Aa yet a novice in the martial itrife : 
Tlie goda to him unwonted giftaimpa^, 
A iemale't beauty, with a herpes heart 
Theee bum with one pure flame of generous love ; 
In peace, in war, united atill thdy move ; 
friendship and f^lory form their joint reward, 
And now combined, the massy gate they guaM. 
Snoh waa the original version of this passage, as riven in the privlte .volume, 
wbero no ipore than the . above fragment waa frintsiq. 


Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine, 
(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine,) 
Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound, 
Methinks, an easy path perchance were found ; 
Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls, 
And lead iEneas from Evander's halls." 

With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, 
His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy : — 
^ These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone ? 
Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own 1 
Am I by thee despised, and left afar. 
As one unfit to share the toils of war ? 
Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught ; 
Not thus my sire in Argiye combats fought ; 
Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, 
I track'd ^neas through the wa!k^ of &te : 
Thou know'st my deeds, my brea^i devoid of fear» 
And hostile Ufe-drops dim my gory spear. 
Here is a soul with hope immortal bums. 
And Zt/e, ignoble Ufe^ for glory spurns. 
Fame, fkme is cheaply earned by fleeting breath : 
The price of honour is the sleep of death.'* 

Then Nisus, — ** Calm thy bosom's fond alarms : 
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms. 
More dear thy worth and valour than my own, 
I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne ! 
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, 
And clasp again the comrade of my youth ! 
But should I fall, — and he who dares advance 
Through hostile legions must abide by chance, — 
If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, 
Should lay the friend who ever loved thee low. 
Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve. 
Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve. 
When humbled in the dust, let some one be, 
Whose gentle eyes will abed one tear for me ; 
Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force. 
Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse ; 
Off if my destiny these last deny, 
If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie. 
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, 
To mark thy love, and signalize my doom. 
Wky should thy doting wretched mother weep 
Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep ? 

KOVMM OF n>LB!IE88. 809 

Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared. 
Who, for thy sake, war's deadly perU shared ; 
Who braved what woman never braved before, 
And left her native for the Latian shore." 
** In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," 
Replied Euryalus ; ^ it scorns control ! 
Hence, let us haste ! " — their brother guards arose» 
Roused by their call, nor court again repose ; 
The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's e^nilting wing, 
Their stations leave, and speed to seek the lung* 

Now o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran. 
And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man ; 
Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold 
Alternate converse^ and their plans unfold. 
On one great point the council are agreed. 
An instant message to their prince decreed ; 
Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield, 
And poised with easy arm his ancient shield ; 
When Nisus and his friend their leave request 
To offer something to their high behest. 
With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, 
The faithful pair before the throne appear : 
lulus greets them ; at his kind command, 
The elder first address'd the hoary band. 

** With patience " (thus Hyrtacides besan^ 
"* Attend, nor judge from youth our humbfe puui. 
Where yonder beacons half expiring beam. 
Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream. 
Nor heed that we a secret path have traced. 
Between the ocean and the portal placed. 
Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, 
Whose shade securely our design will cloak ! 
If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow, 
We 11 bend our course to yonder mountain's brow* 
Where Pallas' walls at distance meet the sight, 
8een o'er the glade, when not obscured by night : 
Then shall ^neas in his pride return, 
While hostile matrons raise their ofispring's urn ; 
And Latin spoils and purpled heaps of dead 
Shall mark the havoc of our hero s tread. 
Such is our purpose, not unknown the way ; 
Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray. 
Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream. 
The distant spires above the vidleys gleam." 


Mature m years, for sober wisdom famed, 
Moved by the speech, Alethes here exdaim'd, 
*• Ye parent gods ! who rule the fate of Troy, 
Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy ; 
When minds like these in striplings thus ye raise» 
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise ; 
In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive^ 
And Ilion's wonted glories still survive." 
Then in his warm embrace the boys he press'd. 
And, quivering, strain'd them to his aged breast ; 
With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd. 
And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renewM : 
'< What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize 
Can we bestow, which you may not despise? 
Our deities the first best boon have given — 
Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. 
What .poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth, 
Doubtless await such young, exalted worth, 
^neas and Ascanius shall combine 
To yield applause far, far surpassing mine." 
lulus then : — *« By all the powcra above ! 
By those Penate^ who my country love ! 
By hoary Vestals sacred fane, 1 swear, 
My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair ! 
Restore my father to my grateful sight. 
And all my sorrows yield to one delight. 
Nisus ! two silver gobletM are thine own, 
Saved firom Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown ! 
My sire secured them on that fatal day. 
Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey : 
Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine ; 
Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine ; 
An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave, 
While yet our vessels press*d the Punic wave : 
But when the hostile chiefs at length bow down. 
When great iEneas wears Hesperia's crown. 
The ccusque, the buckler, and the fiery steed 
Which Tumus guides with more than mortal speed. 
Are thine ; no envious lot shall then be cast, 
I pledge my word, irrevocably past : 
Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive dames, 
To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, 
And all the realms which now the Latins sway. 
The labours of to-night shall well repay. 

* HoiiMh(dd gods 

H0VB8 OF TDhVtmu. M5 

Bat thou, my generous youth, whose tender yean 
Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveresy 
Henoeforth affection, sweetly thus hegun, 
Shall join our bosoms and our soub in one ; 
Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine ; 
Without thy dear advice, no great design ; 
Alike through life esteemM, thou godlike boy, 
In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy." 

To him Euryalus : • — '< No day shall shame 
The rising glories which from this I claim. 
Fortune may favcmr, or the skies may frown, 
But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. 
Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart. 
One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart : 
My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line, 
Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine. 
Nor Troy nor king Acestes' realms restrain 
Her feeble age from dangers of the main : 
Alone she came,* all selfish fears above, 
A bright example of maternal love. 
Unknown the secret enterprise I brave, 
Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave ; 
From this alone no fond adieus I seek. 
No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek ; 
By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow 
Her parting tears would shake my purpose now : 
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain. 
In thee her much-loved child may live again ; 
Her dying hours with pious conduct bless, 
Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress : 
So dear a hope must all my soul inflame. 
To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." 
Struck with a filial care so deeply felt. 
In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt : 
Faster than all, lulus' eyes o'erflow ; 
Such love was his, and such had been his woe. 
" All thou hast ask'd^ receive," the prince replied 
'< Nor this alone, but many a gift beside. 
To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, 
Creusa's f style but wanting to the dame. 
Fortune an adverse wayward course may run. 
But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son. 

* ** Ahme the came:' In the first edition, ** Hither she came:* 
t The mother of Inlns, lott on the night when Troy wm taken. 
VOL. v. X 


Now, by my life ! — my sire's most sacred oath — 

To thee I [dedge my full, my firmest troth, 

AU the rewards which once to thee were vow'd. 

If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd." 

Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view 

A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew ; 

Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel, 

For friends to envy and for foes to feel : 

A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil, 

Slain ^mid the forest, in the hunter's toil, 

Mnestheas to ^uard the. elder youth bestows, 

And okl Alethes' casque defends his brows. 

Arm'd, thence they go, while all th' assembled train. 

To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain. 

More tiian a. boy, in wisdom and in grace, 

lulus holds amidst the chiefs his place : 

His prayer he sends ; but what can prayers avail. 

Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale J 

The trench is pass'd, and, favour'd by the ni^ht, 
Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. 
When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er ? 
Alas ! seme slumber who shall wake no more ! 
Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen ; 
And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between : 
Bacchms and Mars to rule the camp combine ; 
A mingled chaos this of war and wine« 
" Now," cries the first, " for deeds of blood prepare, 
With me the conquest and the labour share : 
Here lies our path 4 lest any hand arise. 
Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies : 
I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe, 
And clear thy road with many a deadly blow," 
His whispering accents then the youth repress'd, 
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breast 
Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed ; 
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed : 
To Tumus dear, a prophet and a prince, 
His omens more than augur's skill evince ; 
But he, who thus foretold the fate of all. 
Could not avert his own untimely fall. 
Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell, 
And three unhappy slaves the carna^ swell ; 
The charioteer along his courser's sides 
Expires, the steed his sever'd neck divides ; 


And, l&st, his lord is number'd with the dead : 

Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head ; 

From the swoll'n veins the hlackeniag torrents pour ; 

Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting* gore. 

Young LamTTUs and Lamus next expire, 

And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire ; 

Half the long night in childish games was pass'd ; 

LuU'd by the potent grape, he slept at last t 

Ah ! happier far had he the morn survey'd. 

And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd* 

In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in sleep, 
His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep ; 
'Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, 
"With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls : 
Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams ; 
In seas of gere the lordly tyrant foams. 

Nor less the other''s deadly vengeance came, 
But falls on feeble crowds without a name ; 
His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, 
Yet wakeful Rhsesus sees the threatening steel ; 
His coward breast behind a jar he hides. 
And vainly in the weak defence confides ; 
Full in his heart, the falchion searched his veins, 
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains ; 
Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow. 
One feeble spirit seeks the shades below* 
Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way 
Whose fires emit a, fainlt and trembling tAy ; 
There, unconfined, behold each grazing steed, 
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed : 
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade^s arm, 
Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm : 
** Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd ; 
Full foes enough to-night have breathM their last : 
Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn ; 
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn." 

What silver arms, with various art emboss'd, 
What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd. 
They leave regardless ! yet one glittering prize 
Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ; 
The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, . 
The gems which stud the. monarch's golden belt; 


This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, 
Once by a line of former chieftains worn. 
Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears, 
Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears ; 
Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend. 
To seek the vale where saf6r paths extend. 

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse 
To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course : 
While the slow foot their tardy march delay, 
The knights, impatient, spur along the way : 
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, 
To Turnus with their master's promise sped : 
Now they approach the trench, and view the wails. 
When, on the left, a light reflection falls ; 
The plundered helmet, through the waning night. 
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright. 
Volscens with question loud the pair alarms : — 
<< Stand, stragglers ! stand ! why eariy thus in arms ? 
From whence, to whom ? " — He meets with no reply : 
Trusting the covert of the night, they fly ; 
The thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread, 
While round the woqd the hostile squadron spread. 

With brakes entangled, scarce a path between. 
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene : 
Euryalus his heavy spoils impede, 
The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead ; 
But Nisus scours ialong the forest's maze 
To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze. 
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, 
On every side they seek his absent friend. 
" O God ! my boy," he cries; " of me bereft, 
In what impending perils art thou left ! " 
Listening he runs — above the waving trees, 
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze ; 
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around 
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. 
Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise ; 
The sound elates, the sight bis hope destroys : 
The hapless boy a ruflian train surround. 
While lengthening shades his weary way confound ; 
Him with loud shouts the furious knights pursue. 
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. 
What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare 7 
Ah! fnust he rush, his comrade^s fate to shared 


What force, what aid, what stratagem essay, 
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey ? 
His life a votive ransom nobly give, 
Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live ? 
Poising with strength his lifted lance on high. 
On Luna's orb he cast his frenzied eye : -^ 
** Goddess serene, transcending every star ! 
Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen afar ! 
By night heaven owns thy sway, by day the grove, 
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove ; 
If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace 
Thine altars with the produce of the chase. 
Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd. 
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." 
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung ; 
Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung; 
The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, 
Transiix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay : 
He sobs, he dies, — the troop in wild amaze. 
Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze. 
While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven, 
A second shaft with equal force is driven : 
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes ; 
Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. 
Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall. 
** Thou youth accurst, thy life shall pay for all ! " 
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew, 
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew. 
Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals. 
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals ; 
Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise. 
And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies : 
** Me, me, — your vengeance hurl on me alone ; 
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own. 
Ye starry spheres 1 thou conscious Heaven ! attest ! 
He could not — durst not — lo ! the guile confest ! 
All, all was mine, — his early fate suspend ; 
He only loved too well his hapless friend : 
Spare, spare, ye chiefs ! from him your rage remove ; 
His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." 
He pray'd in vain ; the dark assassin's sword 
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored ; 
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest. 
And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast : 
As some young rose, whose blossom scents the aiir. 
Languid in death, expires beneath the share ; 


Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower^ 
Declining gently, fklls a fading flower ; 
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lorely head» 
And lingering beauty hoveis roand the dewl« 

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, 
Revenge his leader, and despair his gaide; 
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host, 
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost ; 
Steely flashing, pours on steel, foe cn>wds on foe ; 
Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow ; 
in vain beneath unnumberM wounds he bleeds, 
Nor. wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds ; 
In viewless circles wheePdr his falchioo flies, 
Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies ; 
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found. 
The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound. 
Thus Nisus all his fond aflection proved — 
Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved ; 
Then on his bosom sought his wonted place, 
And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace ! 

Celestial pair ! if aqght my verse can claim, 
Wafited on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! 
Ages on ages shall your fate admire,^ 
No future day shall see your names expire, 
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome ! 
And vanquish'd millions hail their empress, Romet 


When fierce conflicting passions urge 

The breast where love is wont to glow. 
What mind can stem the stormy surge 

Which rolls the tide of human woe ? 
The hope of praise, the dread of shame, . 

Can rouse the tortured breast no more ;. 
The wild desire, the guilty flame, 

Absorbs each wish it felt before. 

* FSnt printed in H«u»«£IdltiiMtu 

Hoeifl OF iDunoss. Hi 

Bat if affection gently thrills 

The 800I by purer dreams possest, 
The pleasuig balm of mortal ills 

In love can soothe the aching breast 
If thus thou comest in disguise, * 

Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven, 
What heart unfeeling would despise 

The sweetest boon the gods have given? 

But never from thy golden bow 

May I beneath the shaft expire ! 
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow. 

Awakes an all-consuming fire : 
Ye racking doubts ! ye jei£>us fears I 

With others wage internal war ; 
Repentance, source of future tears, 

From me be ever distant fkr ! 

May no distracting thoughts destroy 

The holy calm of sacred love ! 
May all the hours be winged with joy. 

Which hover faithful hearts above! 
Fair Venus ! on thy myrtle shrine 

May I with some fond lover sigh. 
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine— 

With me to live, with me to die f 

My native soil ! beloved before^ 

Now dearer as my peaceful home, 
Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore^ 

A hapless lNini8h*d wretch to roam ! 
This very day, this very hour. 

May I resign this fleeting breath ! 
Nor quit my silent humble bower ; 

A doom to me far worse than death. 

Have I not heard the exile's sigl>, 

And seen the exile's silent tear 
Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, 

A pensive weary wanderer here ? 
Ah ! hapless dame ! f no sire bewails, 

No friend thy wretched fate deplores, 
No kindred voice with rapture hails 

Thy steps within a stranger^s doors. 

* Coflieff m dUguUe. Ib the first editioBs. eom*$t in genUe gmte. 
t Medea, wbo acoompanied Jason to Cerinth, was deserted by him ibrtfae- 
teller of Craon, king of thai dty. The chonu, fkom which this ia taken 


Perish the fiend whose iron heart. 

To fair affection's truth unknown. 
Bids her he fondly loved depart, 

Unpitied, helpless, and alone ; 
Who ne'er unlocks with silver key * 

The milder treasures of his soul, -— 
May such a friend be far from me. 

And ocean's storms between us roll ! 

here tddraaei Medea ; though a oonsideraUe liberty is taken with the original* 
by eipgaading the idea, aa also in some other parts of the trandation. 

* The original is ** KaBapiit drol^avrt xAg^a (pp€vu¥ ; " literally, ^^diBcloaii^ the 
bright key of the mind.*' 


R0US8 OF IDLBlfSH. 815 



High in the midst, surrounded by his peers, 
Maonits his ample front sublime uprears : 
Placed on his chair of state, he seems a ^od, 
While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at hts nod 
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, 
His voice in thunder sbakes the sounding dome ; 
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, 
UnskillM to plod in mathematic rules. 

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, 
Though little versed in any art beside ; 
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen» 
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. 
What, though he knows not how his fathers bled, 
When civil discord piled the fields with dead, 
When Edward bade his conquering bands advance. 
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France ; 
Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta, 
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta ; 
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made. 
While Blackstone 's on the shelf neglected laid ; 
Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, 
Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name. 

Such is the youth whose scientific pate 
Class-honoutSy medals, fellowships, await ; 
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, 
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes. 
But lo ! no common orator can hope 
The envied silver cup within his scope. 
Not that our heads much eloquence require, 
Th' Athbniaiv's glowing style, or Tully's fire. 
A manner clear or warm is usele^, since 
We do not try by speaking to convince. 

* No reflection ii here intended againet the person mentioned under the name 
of Magnus. He ia merely repreaented aa performing an unavoidable flmcliDn of 
hia omce. Indeed, auch an attempt oould onl^ recoil upon myself; as that 
gentleman is now aa much distinguished by hia eloouence, and the* dignified 
propriety with which he fills his situation, as be waa in nis younger days lor wit 

The above note waa added in the first edition of the Hours ofldieness. 


Be other orators of pleasing proud : 
We speak to please oarselves, not move the crowd 
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, 
A proper mixture of the squeak and groan : 
No borrowed grace of action must be seen, 
The slightest motion would displease the Dean ; 
Whilst every staring graduate would prate 
Against what he could never imitate. 

The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup 
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up : 
Nor stop, but rattle over every word — 
No matter what, so it can not be heard. 
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest : 
Who speaks the fastest 's sure to speak the best ; 
Who utters most within the shortest space 
May safely hope to win the wordy race. 

The sons of science these, who,«thu8 repaid, 
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade ; 
Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie 
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept- for die : 
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls. 
They think all learning fix'd within their walls 
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, 
All modem arts affecting to despise ; 
Yet prizing Bbiitlet's, * Bsunck's, or Pobsoiv's * note. 
More than tlie verse on which the critic wrote : 
Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, % 
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale ; 
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel 
When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. 
With eager haste they court the lord of power, 
Whether 't is Pitt or Pbttt rules the hour ; § 
To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, 
While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. || 

* Celebrated orities. 

t The present Greek professor at Trinitjr CoHegef Cambridge ; a man whose 
powers or mind and writings maj^ perhaps, justify their preferenoe. 

The concloding clause of the foregoing note was added in the first edition of 
Hburs of Idleness. 

X Vm 09 their Aonourv, dec. — The (bur ensuing lines were inserted in the 
saoond edition of Hours of idleness. 

% Since this was written. Lord H. Petty has lost his place, and subeequenUy 
(I had almost said cmtequmdy) the honour of representing the Univeinty. A 
fact so glaring requires no comment. 

n WkHe diatant mtres^ &e. In the private volume, WhUe mitrttf prebendif (o 
tkoT eyet one tpread. 


But should a stonn o'erwhelm him with disgrace, 
They 'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his ^ace. 
Such are the men who learning's treasures guard 
Such is their practice, such is their reward ! 
This much, at least, we may presume to say. — 
The premium can't exceed the price they pay. 




**Ta semper amoris 
8ii memor, et can comitiB ne absoedat imago.'* 

Vaierhu Flaccui. 

FuEin) of my youth ! when young we roved. 
Like striplings mutually beloved 

With friendship's purest glow. 
The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours 
Was such as pleasure seldom showers 

On mortals here below. 

The recollection seems alone 
Dearer than all the joys I 've known 

When distant far from you : 
Though pain, 't is still a pleasing pam. 
To trace those days and hours again. 

And sigh again adieu ! 

My pensive memory lingers o er 
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more. 

Those scenes regretted ever i 
The measure of our youth is full. 
Life's evening dream is dark and dull, 

And we may meet — ah ! never !• 

As when one parent spring supplies 

Two streams which from one fountain rise. 

Together join'd in vain ; 
How soon, diverging from their source. 
Each, murmuring, seeks another course. 

Till mingled in the main ! 

* These stanzas were first published in the second edition of Hbuis of Idl» 


Our vital streams of weal or woe. 
Though near, alas ! distinotly flow, 

Nor mingle as before : 
Now swift or slow, now black or clear, 
Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear, 

And both shall quit the shore. 

Our souls, my friend ! which once supplied 
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside, 

Now flow in different channels : 
Disdaining humbler rural sports, 
T is yours to mix in polish'd courts. 

And shine in fashion's annals ; 

'T is mine to waste on love my timet 
Or vent my reveries in rhyme, • 

Without the aid of reason ; 
For sense and reason (critics know it) 
Have quitted every amorous poet. 

Nor lefl a thought to seize on. 

Poor LiTTLB ! sweet, melodious bard ! 
Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard 
. That he, who sang before all, — 
He who the lore of love expanded,— 
fiy dire reviewers should be branded 
As void of wit and moral. * 

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, 
Harmonious favourite of the Nine ! 
' Repine not at thy lot. 
Thy soothing lays may still be read, 
When Persecution's arm is dead. 
And critics are forgot. 

43till I must yield those worthies merit. 
Who chasten, vrith unsparing spirit. 

Bad rhymes, and those who write them ; 
And though myself may be the next 
By critic sarcasm to be vext, 

I really will not fight them, f 

* These •taniaa were written aoon after the apoearaDce of a severe critique, 
*ia a northern review, on a new publication of the Britiah Anacreon. 

t A bard (horresco referens) defied his reviewer to rabrtal combat If this 
•example becomes prevalent, our periodical censors must be dipped in the hvrr 
Styx ; lor what else can secure tnem from the numerous host of their em^gcd 



Perhaps they would do quite as well 
To break the rudely sounding shell 

Of such a young beginner. 
He who offends at pert nineteen, 
Ere thirty may become, I ween, 

A very harden'd sinner. 

Now, > I must return to you ; 

And, sure, apologies are due : 

Accept,, then, my concession. 

In truth, dear , in fancy's flight 

I soar along from lef^ to right ; 

My muse admires digression. 

1 think I said 't would be your fate 
To add one star to royal state ; — 

May regal smiles attend you ! 
And should a noble monarch reign. 
You will not seek his smiles in vain, 

If worth can recommend you. 

Yet since in danger courts abound, 
Where specious rivals glitter round, 

From snares may saints preserve you^ 
And grant your love or firiendship ne'er 
From any claim a kindred care, 

But those who best deserve you ! 

Not for a moment may^you stray 
From truth's secure, unerring way ! 

May no delights decoy ! 
O'er roses may your footsteps move, 
Your qpiiles be ever smiles of love, 

Your tears be tears of joy *! 

Oh ! if you wish that happiness 

Your coming days and years may bless, 

And virtues crown your brow ; 
Be still as you were wont to be. 
Spotless as you 've been known to mo, — 

Be still as you are now« 

And though some trifling share of praise« 
To cheer my last declining days, 

To mo were doubly dear ; 
Whilst blessing your beloved name, 
I 'd wave at once a poet^s fame. 

To prove a prophet here^ 




** Bat if any old lady, knight, prieit, or physician, 
Should condemn me for printing a secodid edition; 
If good Madam Sqnintum my work should abnie, 
May I venture to give her a smack of my muse ? " 

Aiurtey's New BaA Guide, p. 169. 

Caxdoits compels me, Bbcher ! to commend 
The verse which blends the censor with the friend. 
Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause 
From me, the heedless and imprudent f cause. 
From this wild :J: error which pervades my strain, 
I sue for pardon, — must I sue in vain ? 
The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart : 
Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart ? 
Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control, 
The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. 
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind. 
Limping Decorum lingers far behind : 
Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, 
Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase. 
The young, the old, have worn the chains of love : 
Let those they ne'er confined my lay reprove : 
Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing power 
Their censures on the hapless victim shower. 
Oh ! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, 
The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, 
Whose labour 'd lines in chilling numbers flow, 
To paint a pang the author ne'er can know ! 
The artless Helicon I boast is youth ; — 
My lyre, the heart ; my muse, the simple truth. 
Far be 't from me the " virgin's mind *' to " taint : " 
Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint. 
The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile. 
Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile. 
Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer 
Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe — 
She whom a conscious grace shall thus refine 
Will ne'er be ** tainted '' by a strain of mine. 

* These lines were printed in the private volume, and in the first edition of 
Hours of Idleness, hut afterwards omitted, 
t ImprudenL In the private volume, unworthy. 
X WUd. Private volume, sole. 


But for the nymph whose premature desires 
Torment her bosom with unholy fires, 
No net to snare her willing heart is spread ; 
She would have fallen, though she ne'er had read. 
For me, I fain would please the chosen few, 
Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true, 
Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy 
The light efRisions of a heedless boy. 
I seek not glory from the senseless crowd ; 
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud : 
Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize. 
Their sneers or censures I alike despise. 



" Ap^^ais \6yxatet ndx^v koI iripra Kfiarlicats ;** * 

Oh ! could Lb Sage's f demon's gifl 

Be realised at my desire, 
This night my trembling form he 'd lift 

To place it on St. Mary's spire. 

Then would, unroofd, old Granta's halls 

Pedantic inmates full display ; 
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls^ 

The price of venal votes to pay. 

Then would I view each rival wight, 

Petty and Palmerston survey ; 
Who canvass there with all their might, 

Against the next elective day. 

Lo ! candidates and voters lie i 
All luU'd in sleep, a goodly number : 

A race renown'd for piety. 

Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber. 

* The motto was Dot given in the private volume. 

t The Diable Boitenx of Le Sage, where Aimodena, the demon, places Don 
Cleofiu on an elevated situation, and unrooia the houses for mspection. 

X Lo! candidatet and voten lie, Ac. The fourth and fifth stanzas, which are 
given here as they were printed in the Hours of Idleness, ran as foDows in the 
private volume : — 
VOL. V. Y 

SS8 BouBi OF mMSfmm* 

Lord H , indeed, may not demnr; 

Fellows are sage reflecting men : 
They know preferment can occur 

Bat very seldom, — now and then. 

They know the Chancellor has got 

Some pretty livings in disposal : 
Each hopes that one may be his lot. 

And therefore smiles on his proposaL 

Now from the soporific scene * 
1 11 turn my eye, as night grows later, 

To view, unheeded and unseen, 
The studious sons of Alma Mater. 

There, in apartments small and damp. 

The candidate for college prizes 
Sits poring by the midnight lamp ; 

Goes late to bed, yet early rises. 

He surely well deserves to gain them, 

With all the honours of his college, 
Who, striving hardly to obtain them. 

Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge : 

Who sacrifices hours of rest 

To scan precisely metres attic ; 
Or agitates his anidous breast 

In solving problems mathematic : 

Who reads false quantities in Seale,t 

Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle ; 
Deprived of many a wholesome meal ; 

In barbarous Latin X doom'd to wrangle : 

** One on hit power and place depends. 
The other on — the Lord knows wnat ! 
Each to Bome eloquence pretends, 

Thooffh neither will conyince by that 
" The mvt, indeed, may not demur." 

* Brom ike Moperifie scene. In the private volume, Erom compHm't ttkmulett 

t Sealers pfuhfication on Greek ^Metres displays considerable talent and ix)genii« 
ity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accu- 

In the private volume, ** Seale's publication on Greek Metres ia not remarkable 
for its accuracy." 

LThe Latin of the schools is of the canine speeiet, and not very intelligible, 
k the private volume, "Every Cambridge man vritt assent to this ^ The 
Latin of the schools is aliiMM unintelligible.'* 


Renouncing every pleamng page 

From aathors of historic use ; 
PreferriDg to the letter'd sage, 

The square of the hypothenuse.'^ 

Still, harmless are these occupations. 
That hurt none but the hapless student, 

Compared with other recreations, 
Which bring together the imprudent ; 

Whose daring revels shocks the ^ight, 

When vice and infamy combine. 
When drunkenness and dice invite, 

As every sense is steep'd in wine. 

Not so the methodistic crew. 

Who plans of reformation lay i 
In humble attitude they sue, 

And for the sins of others pray : 

Forgetting that their pride of spirit, 

Their exultation in their trial. 
Detracts most largely from, the merit 

Of all their boasted self-denial. 

T is mom : — horn these I turn my sight. 

What scene is this which meets the eye ? 
A numerous crowd, array'd in white. 

Across the green in numbers fly.f 

Loud rings in air the chapel bell ; 

'T is hush'd : — what sounds are these I hear 7 
The organ's soil celestial swell 

Rolls deeply on the listening ear. 

To this is join'd the sacred song. 
The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain ; 

Though he who hears the music long 
Win never wish to hear again. 

Oor choir would scarcely be excused, 

Even as a band of raw beginners ; 
All mercy now must be refused 

To such a set of croaking sinners. 

Tlie diacoTery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse is equal to 
cl»a sqnares of the other two sides of a right-angled triangle. 
-f On a aaint*s day, the stude^s wear surplices in chapel 


If David, when his toils were ended» 

Had heard these blockheads sing before hiiUy 

To us his psalms had ne'er descended, — 
In furious mood he would have tore 'em. 

The luckless Israelites, when taken 

By some inhuman tyrant's order, 
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken. 

On Babylonian river's border. 

Oh ! had they sung in notes like these. 

Inspired by stratagem or fear, 
They might have set their hearts at ease, 

Tiae devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 

But if I scribble longer * now. 
The deuce a soul will stay to read : 

My pen is blunt, my ink is low ; 
'T is almost time to stop, indeed* 

Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires I 

No more, like Cleofas, I fly ; 
No more thy theme my muse inspires : 

The reader 's tired, and so am I. 



JjikMn y Oak, or, as it s prononneed in the ESne, Iiodk na Gartf towen proudlf 
pre-emiiifint in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld One of our modem 
toarista nientionfl it aa the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be 
this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque among 
our ** Caledonian Alps." Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is 
the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the eaiiy 
part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth lo the following 

AwAT, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses ! 

In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes. 

Though still they are sacred to freedom and love : 
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, 

Round their white summits though elements war ; 
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smootl|-flowing fountains, 

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. 

* Jf IserJUIelof^r^. In the private Tohane, {f J write anidk longer, 
t Tint pnfafiahsd in Boon of Uknen. 


Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd ; 

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid ; * 
On chieflains long perish'd my memory ponder'd, 

As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade i 
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory 

Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; 
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, 

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. 

^ Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices 

Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ? " 
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, 

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale. 
Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers. 

Winter presides in his cold icy car : 
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers ; 

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. 

^ 111 starr'dyf though brave, did no visions foreboding 

Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ? " 
Ah ! were you destined to die at €ulloden,:|: 

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause : 
Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber, 

You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar ; § 
The pibroch || resounds, to the piper's loud number, 

Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. 

Years have roU'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, 

Years must elapse ere I tread you again : 
Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you, 

Ifet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. 
£ngland ! thy beauties are tame and domestic 

To one who has roved on the mountains afar : 
Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic ! 

The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr ! 

"* This word is erroneously pronounced plod ; the proper pronmicialion (ac- 
eording to the Scotch) is shown by the orthography. 

t I allude here to my maternal ancestors, " the GordonSy* many of whom* 
fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pre- 
tender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the 
8tuart8. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabel in 
Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland. By her he left four sons : the 
third, Sir Williara Gordon, I have the honour to clainr as one of my progenitors. , 

t Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not certain ; but, m 
many fell in the msurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, '^ pani 
pro toto." 

$ A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle of Braemar. 

11 The bagpipe. 

326 H0VB8 OF I1>LBl«a88. 


Pasbjit of golden dreams, lUmiaiice ! 

Auspicious queen of childish joys, 
Who lead'st along, in airy dance. 

Thy votive train of girls and boys ; 
At length, in spells no longer bound, 

I br^ the fetters of my youth ; 
No more I tread thy mystic round, 
^ But leave thy realms for those of Truth. 

And yet 't is hard to quit the dreams 

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul. 
Where every nymph a goddess seems. 

Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; 
While Fancy holds her boundless reign, 

And all assume a varied hue ; 
When virgins seem no longer vain. 

And even woman's smiles are true* 

And must we own thee but a name, 

And from thy hall of clouds descend ? 
Nor find a sylph in every dame, 

A Pylades f in every friend ? 
But leave at once thy realms of air 

To mingling bands of fairy elves ; 
Confess that woman 's false as fair. 

And friends have feeling for — themselves? 

With shame I own I 've felt thy sway ; 

Repentant, now thy reign is o*er : 
No more thy precepts I obey. 

No more on fancied pinions soar. 
Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye. 

And think that eye to truth was dear ; 
To trust a passing wanton's sigh, 

And melt beneath a wanton's tear ! 

* First published in the Hoots of Idleness. 

t It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, 
and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and 
Patroclus, Nisns and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to 
posterity as remarkable instances of attachmento, wliich in all probability never 
existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page of an historian or modem 


Romance ! disgusted with deceit, 

Far from thy motley court I fly 
Where Affectation holds her seat. 

And sickly Sensibility ; 
Whose silly tears can never flow 

For any pangs excepting thine ; 
Who tunv aside from real woe. 

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine 

Now join with sable Sympathy, 

With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeos, 
Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, 

Whose breast for every bosom bleeds ; 
And call thy sylvan female choir. 

To mourn a swain for ever gone. 
Who once could glow with equal fire, 

But bends not now before thy throne, 

Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears 

On all occasions swiAly flow ; 
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears. 

With fancied flames and phrensy glow , 
Say, will you mourn my absent name. 

Apostate from your gentle train? 
An infant bard at least may claim 

From you a sympathetic strain. 

Adieu, fond race ! a long adieu ! 

The hour of fate is hovering mgh ; 
E'en now the gulf appears in view, 

Where unlamented you must lie : 
Oblivion's blackening lake is seen. 

Convulsed by gales you cannot weather ; 
Where you, and eke your gentle queen, 

Alas ! must perish altogether. 



*'It ia the ^oice of yeen that tre gone ! they loQ before me with tD 
deedi."t — Omiow. 

Newstead ! fast- falling, once-resplendent dome ! 

Religion's shrine ! repentant Henby's :]: pride ! 
Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister'd tomb, 

Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide. 

Hail to thy pile ! more honour'd in thy fall 
Than modem mansions in their pillar'd state ; 

Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, 
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. 

No mail-clad serfs, § obedient to their lord, 
• In grim array the crimson cross || demand ; 
Or gay assemble round the festive board 
Their chiePs retainers, an immortal band : 

Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye 

Retrace their progress through the lapse of time, 

Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, 
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime. 

But not from thee, dark pile ! departs the chief; 

His feudal realm in other regions lay : 
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief. 

Retiring from the garish blaze of day. 

Yes ! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound 
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view ; 

Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found. 
Or innocence from stem Oppression flew. 

* As one poem on this subject is printed in the beginning, the author had, 
originally^ no intention of inserting the following. It is now added at the pei^ 
ticular request of some friends. See page 245. 

t The motto was not given in the private volume. 

X Henry IL founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thomas a Becket. 

^ This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, " The Wild Huntamaa:** 
synonymous with vassal. 

II The red oross was the badge of the crusaders. 



A monarch bade thee from that wild arise, 

Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to browl ; 

And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, 
Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl. 

Where now the grass exhales a murky dew. 
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay. 

In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew, 
Nor raised their pious voices but to pray. 

Where now the bats their wavering wings extend 
Soon as the gloaming * spreads her waning shade, *( 

The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend. 
Or matin orisons to Mary X paid. 

Years roll on years , to ages, ages yield ; 

Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed : 
Religion's charter their protecting shield 

Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. 

One holy Henr\ reared the Gothic walls. 
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace ; 

Another Henry § the kind gifl recalls, 
And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. 

Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer ; 

He drives them exiles from their blest abode, 
To roam a dreary world hi deep despair — 

No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God 

Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain. 
Shakes with the martial music's novel din * 

The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, 
High crested banners wave thy walls within. 

Of changing sentinels the distant hum, 

The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms. 

The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum, 
Unite in concert with increased alarms. 

" As ** gloaming/* the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and hat 
been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr. Moore 
in his Letters to Bums, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony. 

t Gloaming tpreadg htrvsaning shade. In the private volume, TwQigkt wind$ 

t The priory was dedicated to the Virgin. 

^ At the dissolution of the monasteries Henry Vm. bestowed Newsteod 
Abbey on Sir John Byron. 

no HOims OF XPUHfSM. 

An abbey ODce» a regal fortress * now. 

Encircled by insulting rebel powers. 
War's dread macbines o'erbang thy threateniiig hfow, 

And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. 

Ah vain defence ! the hostile traitor's nege. 
Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave ; # 

His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, 

Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave. • 

Not unavenged the raging baron yields ; 

The blooa of traitors smears the purple plain ; 
Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields, 

And days of glory yet for him remain. 

Still in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew 
Self-gather'd laureb on a self-sought grave ; 

But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, 

The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save. 

Trembling, she snatched him f from th' unequal strife. 

In other fields the torrent to repel ; 
For nobler combats, here, reserved his life, 

To lead the band where godlike Falkland 1^ fell. 

From thee, poor pile ! to lawless plunder given, 
Where dying groans their painful requiem sound. 

Far different incense now ascends to heaven. 
Such victims wallow on the gory ground. 

There many a pale and ruthless robber's corse. 
Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod ; 

O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse^ 
Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod. 

Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread, 
Ransack'd, resign perforce their mortal mould : 

From rufiian fangs escape not e'en the dead, 
Raked from repose in search for buried ^old. 

* Newstead sastained a considerable siege in the war between Charies I. and 
his parliament. 

t Lord Byron, and his brother Sir Wniiam,held high commmd in the royal 
army : the n>rmer was general in chief in Ireland, lieutenant of die Tower, and 

Kvemor to James, Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James H. ; the latter 
d a principal share in many actions. — Vide Clarendon, Hume, Ac 
I Lucius Gary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most acoompfished man of hie 
age, was killed at the battle of Newbury, chaiging in the imnu of Lord ByroD'a 
regiment of cavalry. 

HOUBfl OV IDLSNS88. 381 

HushM is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre, 
The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death ; 

No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire. 
Or sings the glories of the martial * wreath. 

At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey. 

Retire ; the clamour of the ^ht is o'er ; 
Silence again resumes her awful sway. 

And sable Horror f guards the massy door. 

Here Desolation holds her dreary coi^t : 
What satellites declare her dismal reign ! 

Shrieking their dirge, ill-omened birds resort. 
To flit their vigils in the hoary fane. 

Soon a new mom's restoring beams dispel 
The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies ; 

The fierce usurper seeks his native heU, 
And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies. 

With storms she welcomes his expiring groans ; 

Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring breath ; 
Earth shudders as her caves receive his bones, 

Loathing X the offering of so dark a death. 

The legal ruler § now resumes the helm, 

He guides through gentle seas the prow of state ; 

Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful reahn, 
And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied hate. 

The gloomy tenants, Newstead ! of thy cells. 

Howling, resign their violated nest ; 
Again the master on his tenure dwells, 

Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest. 

Vassals, within thy hospitable pale, 

Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return ; 

Culture again adorns the gladdening vale, 
And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn. 

* Martial. The private Tolnme reads laureffd, 

t StMe Horror. In the private volume, Horror ttaOdng. 

I This is an historical fact A violent tempest occurred immediately subse- 
quent to the death or interment of Cromwell, whica occasioned many disputes 
between his partisans and the cavaliers : both interpreted the circumstance into 
divine interposition; but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave to 
the casuisto of that age to decide.' I have made such use of the occurrence as 
suited the subject of my ] 

^ Chariesa 


A thousand songs on tuneful echo float. 
Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees ; 

And hark ! the horns proclaim a mellow note. 

The hunters' cry hangs lengthening on the breeze. 

Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake ; 

What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the chase ! 
The dying stag seeks refuge in the Lake ; 

Exulting shouts announce the finished race. 

Ah happy days ! too happy to endure ! 

Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew : 
No splendid vices glittered to allure ; 

Their jojrs were many, as their cares were few. 

From these descending, sons to sires succeed ; 

Time steals along, and Death uproars his dart , 
Another chief impels the foaming steed. 

Another crowd pursue the panting hart. 

Newstead ! what saddening change of scene is thine ! • 
Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ; 

The last and youngest of a noble line 

Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway. 

Deserted now, he scans thy gray worn towers 
Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep ; 

Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry, showers ; 
These, these he views, and views them but to weep. 

Yet are his tears no emblem of regret : 
Cherish'd affection only bids them flow. 

Pride, hope, and love, forbid him to forget, 
But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow. 

Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes 

Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great ; 
Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs. 

Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate. 

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine, 

Thee to irradiate with meridian ray ; 
Hours splendid as the past may still be thine,'*' 

And bless thy future as thy former day. 

* flours iplendid^ &c. In the private volume and the first editbn of Hoon of 
" , the stanza ended with the following lines : 

** Fortune may smile upon a future line, 
And Heaven restore an ever-cloudless day." 





Where are those honours, Ida ? once your own, 
When Probus f fill'd your magisterial throne ? 
As ancient Rome, fast falling to dis^ace 
Hail'd a barbarian in her Caesar's place. 
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate. 
And seat Pomposus X where your Probus sate, 
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, 
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control ; 
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd. 
With florid jargon, and with vain parade ; 
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules, 
Sach as were ne'er before enforced in schools. 
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws. 
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause, 
With him the same dire fate attending Rome, 
ni-fated Ida ! soon must stamp your doom : 
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame. 
No trace of science left you, but the name. 

July, 1806 


** I cannot but remember rach thingi were. 
And were mott dear to me.*' 

When slow Disease, with all her host of pain8,|| 
Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins ; 

* Theae linei were only pointed in the private volnme. Lord Byron moit 
■ncerely regretted havinff written this and the eubtequent attack on Dr. Butler 
contained in the poem caUed Childish Recollectiona. A reconciliation took place 
between them before Lord Byron's first departure for Greece ; and Mr. Moore 
informs us that, ^ not content with this private atonement to Dr. Butler, it was 
Lord Byron's intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idle- 
ness, to fulMtitute for the oflTensive versus against that gentleman, a frank avowal 
of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to themV --I.i^e of Byron, 
ToL 1. p. 188. 

t Ptobus, Dr. Drury. 

X Pompoaus, Dr. Butler. 

% This poem was published in the private volume ; and with many additions 
and oorrectioni in the first edition of Hours of Idleness ; but was afterwards sup- 

Ib the private vohmie the poem opened with the foUowing finea : 


WhBn Health affrighted, spreads her rosy wing, 
And flies with every changing gale of spring ; 
Not to the aching frame alone confined. 
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind : 
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe, 
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow, 
With Resignation wage relentless strife. 
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life. 
Sfet less the pang when, through the tedious hour, 
Remembrance sheds around her genial power, 
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given, 
When love was bliss, and Beauty forra'd our heaven ; 
Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene, 
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been. 
As when through clouds that pour the summer storm 
The orb of day unveils his distant form, 
^ Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain. 
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain ; 
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams, 
The sun of memory, glowing through my dreams, 

** Hence ! thou mivaryinjr song of varied loves, 
Which youth commenai, matorer age reproves ; 

Which every rhyming bard repeats by rote, 
By thousands ecno'd to the self-same note ! 
T&ed of the duU, unceasing, copious strain, 
My soul is panting to be free again. 
Farewell ! ye nymphs propitious to my verse, 
Some other Damon will your charms rehearse ; 
Some other paint lus pangs, in hope of bliss, 
Or dwell in rapture on vour nectar'd kiss. 
Those beauties, grateful to my ardent sight, 
No more entrance my senses m delight ; 
Those bosoms, form'd of animated snow, 
Alike are tasteless, and unfeeling now. 
These to some happier lover I resign — 
The memory of those joys alone is mine. 
Censure no more shall brand my humble name. 
The child of passion and the fool of fame. 
Weary of love,of Ufe, devour'd with spleen, 
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen. 
World ! I renounce thee ! all my hope 's overcast ; 
One sigh I give thee, but that sigh *s the last 
Friends, foes, and females, now alike adieu ! 
Would I could add, remembrance of you too ! 
Yet though the future dark and cheeness gleams. 
The curse of memory, hovering in my dreams, 
DefMCts with glowing ^ncil all those years, 
£re yet my cup, empoison'd, fiow'd with tears; 
StiU rules my senses with tyrannic sway, 
l^e past confounding with the present day. 

** Alas ! in vain I check the maddening thon^t ; 
It still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought : 
My aonl to Fancy's,** Sec &c, as at Ime 89. 



Though sunk the radiance of his fomier blazey 
To scenes far distant points his paler rays ; 
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway, 
The past confounding with the present day. 

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought, 
Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought ; 
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, 
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields ; 
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, 
To which I long have bade a last adieu ! 
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes ; 
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams ; 
Some who in marble prematurely sleep. 
Whose forms I now remember but to weep ; 
Some who yet urge the same scholastic course 
Of early science, future fame the source ; 
Who, still contending in the studious race, 
In quick rotation fill the senior place. * 

Theae with a thousand visions now unite, * 
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight. * 

Ida ! blest spot, where Science holds her reign. 
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train ! 
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire. 
Again I minde with thy playful quire ; 
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game. 
Unchanged by time or distance, seem the same ; 
Through winding paths along the glade, I trace 
The social smile of every welcome face ; 
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe, 
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe, 
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship past : — 
I bless the former, and forgive the last. 
Hours of my youth ! when, nurtured in my breast. 
To love a stranger, friendship made me blest ; — 
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth. 
When every artless bosom throbs with truth ; 
Untaught by worldly wisdom how ^o feign. 
And check each impulse with prudential rein ; 
When all we feel, our honest souls disclose — 
In love to friends, in open hate to foes ; 

* Tbe next fifty-nz lioei, to 

** Here fint remember'd be the joyouf band," 
were tdded in the fint edition of Houn of Idleneaa. 


836 Hoinn of idlehsss. 

No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat. 

No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit. 

Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years. 

Matured by age, the garb of prudence wears. 

When now the boy is ripen'd into man, 

His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan ; 

Instructs his son from candour's path to shrink. 

Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think ; 

Still to assent, and never to deny — 

A patron's praise can well reward the lie : 

And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard. 

Would lose his opening prospects for a word ? 

Although against that word his heart rebel. 

And truth, indignant, all his bosom swell. 

Away with themes like this \ not mine the task 
From flattering fiends to tear the hateful mask ; 
Let keener bards delight in satire's sting ; 
My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing : 
Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow. 
To hurl defiance on a secret foe ; 
■ But when that foe, from feeling or from shame. 
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same, 
Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retired, 
With this submission all her rage expired. 
From dreaded pangs that feeble foe to save. 
She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave ; 
Or, if my muse a pedant's portrait drew,* 
Pomposus' virtues are but known to few : 
I never fear'd the young usurper's nod, 
And he who wields must sometimes feel the rod. 
If since on Granta's failings, known to all 
Who share the converse of a college hall. 
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain, 
'T is past, and thus she will not sin again, 
Soon must her early song for ever cease. 
And all may rail when I shall rest in peace. 

Here flrst remember'd be the joyous band 
Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command ; 

• OrifmyfmueapedanfsportraUdrew, 

Pomposua' virtuea^ ^c. 
Mr. Moore informs us, that instead of this passage, Lord Byron moant to innrt 
" If once my muse » harsher portrait drew. 
Warm with her wrongs, and deem'd the likeness true, 
By cooler judgment taught, her fault she owns, — 
With noble minds a fault confessed, atones." 

L^e of Byron^ vol. i. p. 18b. 

H017B8 OF IDLBiniai. 817 

Who join'd with me in every boyish sport — 

Their first adviser, and their last resort , 

Nor shrunk' beneath the upstart pedant's frow 

Or all the sable glories of his gown ; 

Who, thus transplanted from his father's school — 

Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule — 

Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise, 

The dear preceptor of my early days ; 

Probus, f the pride of science, and the boast, 

To Ida now, alas ! for ever lost. 

With him, for years, we searched the classic page, 

\nd fear'd the master, though we loved the sage : 

Retired at last, his small yet peaceful seat 

From learning's labour is the blest retreat. 

Pomposus fills hifi magisterial chair ;i 

Pomposus governs, — but, my muse, forbear ; 

Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot ; 

His name and precepts be alike forgot ; § 

No more his mention shall my verse degrade. 

To him my tribute is already paid. || 

* Instead of the present couplet, the private volaroe has the following four 
Tines : — 

" Careless to soothe the pednnt's Airioiis fVown, 
Scarcely respecting his majestic gown ; 
By which, in vain, ne sain*d a borrowed grace, 
Adding new terror to his sneering face." 
t This roost able and excellent man retired from his situation in March, 1805, 
nfter having resided thirty-five years at Harrow ; the last twenty as head-mas- 
ter ; an office he held with equal honour to himself and advantage to the very 
extensive school over which he presided. Panegyric would here be superfluous : 
it would be useless to enumerate qualifications which were never doubted. A 
considerable contest took place between three rival candidates for his vacant 
chair: of this I can only say, 

Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi ! 
Non foret ainbiguus tanti certaminis hsres. 
I Pomposus fOls his maf(isierial chair ; 

Pomposus governs^ &c. 
Had Lord Byron published another edition of Hours of Idleness, it was his in- 
tention to give the following turn to this passage : 
** Another fills his magisterial chair; 
Reluctant Ida owns a stranger's care ; 
Oh ! may like honours crown his future name, — 
If such his virtues, such shall be his fame.*' 

Moore's Life ofByron^ vol. i. p. 189. 

% His namsy &c. Instead of this line, the private' volume reads, 
*'Soon shall his shallow precepts be forgot." 

ii Hub alhides to a character printed in a former private edition for the perusal 
of some friends, which, with many other pieces, is withneld from the present 
Tohmie.(*) To draw the attention of the pubUc to insignificance would be de- 

r^ Tlioee pieces are reprinted in the present edition. The character alladea 
lo IS contained in the preceding poem. 
VOL. V. — Z 


High, through those elms with hoary branches crownU* 
Fair Ida's bower adorns the landscape roand ; 
There Science, from her favoured seat, surveys 
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise.; 
To her awhile resigns her youthful train, 
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain ; 
In scatter'd groups each favour'd haunt pursue ; 
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new ; 
Flush'd with his rays, beneath the noontide sun 
In rival bands, between the wickets run. 
Drive o'er the sward the ball with active force, 
Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course. 
But these with slower steps direct their way. 
Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray ; 
While yonder few search out some gpeen retreat 
The arbours shade them from the summer heat : 
Others, again, a pert and lively crew, 
Some rough and thoughtless stranger placed in view, 
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose. 
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes ; 
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray 
Tradition treasures for a future day : 
*' 'T was here the gather'd swains for vengeance fought, 
And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought ; 
Here have we fled before superior might, 
And here renew'd the wild tumultuous fight." 
While thus our soub with early passions swell. 
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell ; 
Th' aUotted hour of daily sport is o'er, 
And Learning beckons from her temple's door. 
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall, 
But ruder records fill the dusky wall ; 
There, deeply carved, behold ! each tyro's name 
Secures its owner's academic fame ; 
Here mingling view the names of sire and son — 
The one long graved, the other just begun : 

servedly reprobated ; and another reason, though not of equal conneqnencet mny 
be given in the following couplet: 

" Satire or sense, alas ! can Sposus feel ? 
Who breaks a butterfly upon the wheel ? * 

Pops. — Prologue to Iht Satira, 

* The ensuing hundred and twenty-two lines, to 

" Alonzo, best and dearest of my friends,* 
are not found ui the private volume, but were introduced in th^ fint edition oi 
Hours of Idleness. 


These shall sunrive alike when son and sire 
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire : 
Perhaps their last memorial these alone, 
Denied in death a monumental stone, 
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave 
The sighing weeds that hide their nameless grave. 
And here my name, and many an early friend's, 
Along the wall in lengthened line extends. 
Though still our deeds amuse the youthful race, 
Who tread our steps, and fill our former place. 
Who young obey'd their lords in silent awe. 
Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law ; 
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power, 
To rule the little tyrants of an hour ; — 
Though sometimes, with the tales of ancient day, 
They pass the dreary winter's eve away — 
'* And thus our former rulers stemm'd the tide. 
And thus they dealt the combat side by side ; 
Just in this place the mouldering walls they scaled, 
Nor bolts nor bars against their strength avail'd ; 
Here Probus came, the rising fray to quell. 
And here he falter 'd forth his last farewell ; 
And here one night abroad they dared to roam, 
While bold Pomposus bravely, staid at home ; "— 
While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive, 
Wlien names of these, like ours, alone survive : 
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm 
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm. 

Dear honest race ! though now we meet no more, 
One last long look on what we were before — 
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu — 
Drew tears from eyes unused to weep with you. 
Through splendid circles, fashion's gaudy world. 
Where folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, 
I plunged to drown in noise my fond regret, 
And all I sought or hoped was to forget. 
Vain wish ! if chance some well-remembcr'd face, 
Some old companion of my early race, 
Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy, 
My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy ; 
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around 
Were quite forgotten when my friend was found ; 
The smiles of beauty — (for, alas ! I 've known 
What 't is to bend before Love's mighty throne) — 



The smiles of beauty, though those smiles were dear 
Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near : 
My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise. 
The woods of Ida danced before my eyes ; 
I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along, 
I saw and join'd again the joyous throng 
Panting, again I traced her lofty grove. 
And friendship's feelings triumph'd over love. 

Yet, why should I alone with such delight. 
Retrace the circuit of my former flight ? 
Is there no cause beyond the common claim 
Endear'd to all in childhood's very name ? 
Ah ! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here. 
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear 
To one who thus for kindred hearts must roam, 
And seek abroad the love denied at home. 
Those hearts, dear Ida, have I found in thee — 
A home, a world, a paradise to me. 
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share 
The tender guidance of a father's care. 
Can rank, or e'en a guardian's name, supply 
The love which glistens in a father's eye ? 
For this can wealth or title's sound atone, 
Made by a parent's early loss, my own ? 
What brother springs a brother's love to seek ? 
What sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek ? 
For me how dull the vacant moments rise. 
To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties ! 
Ofl in the progress of some fleeting dream 
Fraternal smiles collected round me seem ; 
While still the visions to my heart are prest, 
The voice of love will murmur in my rest : 
[ hear — I wake — and in the sound rejoice ; 
I he&r again, — but, ah ! no brother's voice. 
A hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray 
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way ; 
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine^ 
I cannot call one single blossom mine : 
What then remains ? in solitude to groan, 
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone. 
Thus must I cling to some endearing hand. 
And none more dear than Ida's social band. 



Alonso ! * best and dearest of my frieDds, 
Thy name ennobles him who thus commends : 
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise ; 
The praise is his who now that tribute pays. 
Oh ! in the promise of thy early youth, 
If hope anticipate the words of truth, 
Some loftier bard shall siiig thy glorious name, 
To build his own upon thy deathless fame.f 
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list 
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest, 
Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore ; 
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more. 
Yet, when confinement's lingering hour was done, 
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one ; 
Together we impelled the flying ball ; 
Together waited in our tutor's hall ; 
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil. 
Or shared the produce of the river's spoil ; 
Or plunging from the green declining shore, 
Our pliant | limbs the buoyant billows bore ; 
In every element, unchanged, the same, 
All, all that brothers should be, but the name* 

Nor yet are you forgot, my jocund boy ; 
• Davus, the harbinger of childish joy ; 
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun, 
The laughing herald of the harmless pun : 
Yet with a breast of such materials made - 
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid ; 
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel 
III danger's path, though not untaught to feel. 
Still I remember, in the factious strife, 
The rustic's musket aim'd against my life : 
High poised in air the massy weapon hung, 
A cry of horror burst from every tongue ; 
Whilst I, in combat with another foe, 
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow ; 
Your arm, brave boy, arrested his career — 
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear ; 

* Ahmzo. In the private Toliune, Johannes 

t The foDowing (bur lines of the private volume were omitted in the Hoim 
of Idleness : 

** Could aught inspirtf me with poetic fire, 
For thee alone 1 'd strike the hallow'd lyre ; 
But to some abler hand the task I wave, 
Whose strains immortal may outhve the grave." 
t PUant. Private volume, httty. 

342 BOUSB OF n>XJS.t«86. 

Disarm'd and baffled by your conquering haiMi^ 
The grovelling savage roU'd upon the sand : 
An act like this, can simple thanks repay ? * 
Or all the labours of a grateful lay ? 
Oh no ! whene'er my breast forgets the deed. 
That instant, Davus, it deserves to bleed. 

• Lycus ! on me thy claims are justly great : 
. Thy milder virtues could my muse relate, 
To thee alone, unrivall'd, would belong 
The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song.f 
Well canst thou boast to lead in senates fit, 
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit : 
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine, 
Lrcus ! thy father's fame will soon be thine. 
Where learning nurtures the superior mind, 
What may we hope from genius thus refined ! 
When time at length matures thy growing years< 
Hpw wilt thou tower above thy fellow peers ! 
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free, 
With honour's soul, united beam in thee. 

* An art like tMsy &c. .la the private volume the last four Bnes of this cha- 
racter were as follows : 

*' Thus did you save that, life I scarcely prize — 
A life unworthy such a sacrifice : 
Oh .' when my breast forgets the generous deed, 
That instant, Davus, it deserves to bleed.'* 

t In the private volume, we find the following lines concluding the chanictei 
of Lycus ; and the remainder of the passage relating to him, was originally given 
as descriptive of a friend entitled Cflarus, of whom no mention is made in the 
last pubhshed copy of the poem : 

" For ever to possess a friend in thee, 
Was bUss unhoped, though not unsought by me 
Thy softer soul was form d for love alone, 
To ruder passions and to hate unknown ; 
Thy mind, in union with thy beauteous form, 
Was gentle, but unfit to stem the storm ; 
That face, an index of celestial worth, 
Proclaim'd a heart abstracted from the earth. 
Oft, when depressed with sad foreboding gloom, 
I sat recUned upon our favourite tomb, 
I 've seen those sympathetic eyes o'erflow 
With kind compassion for thy comrade's wt)e ; . 
Or when less mournful subjects form'd our themes* 
We tried a thousand fond romantic schemes, 
Oft hast thou sworn, in friendship's soothing tone, 
WTiatever wish was mine must be thine own. 
** The next can boast to lead in senates fit — 
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit : 
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine, 
ClaruB ! thy father's fame will soon be thine. 
When learning," &c. &c. 



Shall fair Eustalvs pass by unsung t 
From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung : 
What though one sad dissension bade us part, 
That name is yet embalm'd within my heart ; 
Yet at the mention does that heart rebound, 
And palpitate, responsiye to the sound. 
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will : 
We once were friends, — I '11 think we are so still. 
A form unmatch'd in nature's partial mould, 
A heart untainted, we in thee behold : 
Yet not the senate's thunder thou shalt wield. 
Nor seek for glory in the tented field ; 
To minds of ruder texture these be given — 
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven. 
Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat, 
But that thy tongue could never forge deceit : 
The courtier's supple bow and sneering smile, 
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile, 
Would make that breast with indignation bum, 
And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn. 
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate ; 
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate ; 
The world admire thee, and thy friends adore ;— 
Ambition's slave alone would toil for more.* 

Now last, but nearest, of the social band. 
See honest, open, generous Cleon stand ; 
With scarce one speck to cloud the pleasing scenes 
No vice degrades that purest soul serene. 
On the same day our studious race begun. 
On the same day our studious race was run ; 
Thus side by side we pass'd our first career. 
Thus side by side we strove for many a year ; 
At last concluded our scholastic life. 
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife : 
As speakers f eacl^ supports an equal name. 
And crowds allow to both a partial fame : 
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride. 
Though Cleon's candour would the palm divide, 
Yet candour's self compels me now to own 
Justice awards it to my friend alone.t 

• "Where ii the restleM fool would wiih for more ?"— Prrwite volume 
t This aUudes to the public ipeeches delivered at the ichool where the author 
was educated. 

t The six concluding lines of this passage were given as follows in the pri- 
vate volume : 


Oh ! friends regretted, scenes for ever dear. 
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear ! 
Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's um^ 
To tnice the hours which never can return ; 
Yet with the retrospection loves to dwell,* 
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell ! 
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind. 
As infant laurels round my head were twined. 
When Probus' praise repaid my lyric song. 
Or placed me higher in the studious throng ; 
Or when my first harangue received applause. 
His sage instruction the primeval cause, 
What gratitude to him my soul possest. 
While hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast ! 
For aU my humble fame, to him alone 
The praise is due, who made that fame my own.f 
Oh ! could I soar above these feeble Ia3r8, 
These young effusions of my early days. 
To him my muse her noblest strain would give : 
The song might perish, but the theme might live. 
Yet why for him the needless verse essay ? 
His honour'd name requires no vain display : 
By every son of grateful Ida blest. 
It finds an echo in each youthful breast ; 
A fame beyond the glories of the proud. 
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd. 

Ida ! not yet exhausted is the theme. 
Nor closed the progress of my youthful dream. 
How many a friend deserves the grateful strain ! 

What scenes of childhood still unsung remain 
Yet let me hush this echo of the past. 
This parting song, the dearest and the last ; 
And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy. 
To me a silent and a sweet employ. 

" As speakers each suppoita a rival name. 
Though neither seeks to damn the other*8 fiime. 
Pomposus sits, unequal to decide : 
With youthful candour we the pahn divide ; 
Yet candou/s self compels me now to own 
Justice awards it to my friend alone/' 

* " Yet in the retrospection finds relief, 

And revels in the luxury of grief." — Pniwte vobane, 

t From this place to the end, the copy of the poem, as printed in the Hootb o| 
Idleness, differs entirely from that in the private volume, which contains uv 
concludes thus : 



While future hope and fear alike unknown, 
[ think with pleasure on the past alone ; 
Yes, to the past alone my heart confine, 
And chase the phantom of what once was mine. 

Ida ! still o'er thy hills in joy preside, 
And proudly steer through time's eventful tide , 

^ When, yet a novice in the mimic art, 
I feigned the transports of a venffeful heart— 
When a* this Royal Slave I trod the stage ; 
To vent in Zanga more than mortal rage — 
The praise of rabus made me fee) more proud 
Than all the plaudits of the Ust*ning crowa. 

" Ah ! vain endeavour in this chOdish strain 
To soothe the woes of which I thus complain ! 
What can avail the fruitless loss of time, 
To measure sorrow in a jingling rhyme ! 
No social solace from a friend is near, 
And heartless strangers drop no feeling tear. 
I seek not joy in woman's sparkling eye : 
The smiles of beauty cannot check the sigh. 
Adieu, thou world ! thy pleasure 's still a dream, 
Thy virtue but a visionary theme ; 
Thy years of vice on years of folly roll. 
Till grinning death assigns the destined goal, 
Where all are hastening to the dread abode, 
To meet the judgment of a righteous God ; 
Hix'd in Uie concourse of the thoughdesa throngi 
A mourner midst of mirth, I glide along ; 
A wretched, isolated, gkiomy thing. 
Curst by reflection's deep corroding stin^ ; 
But not that mental sting which stabs within, 
The dark avenger of unpunish'd sin ; 
The silent shaft which goads the guilty wretch 
Extended on a rack's untiring stretch : 
Conscience that sting, that shaft to him supplies 
His mind the rack from which he ne'er can riae. 
For me, whate'er my folly, or my fear, 
One cheerful comfort still is cherish'd here : 
No dread internal haunts my hours of rest, 
No dreams of injured innocence infest ; 
Of hope, of peace, of almost all bereft, 
Conscience, my last but welcome guest ii left 
Slander's empoison'd breath may blast my name ; 
Envy delights to blight the buds of fame; 
Deceit may chill the current of my blood, 
And freeze affection's warm impaission'd flood ; 
Presaging horror darken every sense ; — 
Even iiere will conscience be my best defence. 
My bosom feeds no * worm which ne'er can diei* 
Not crimes I mourn, but happiness ^one by. 
Thus crawling on with many a reptile vile, 
My heart is bitter, though my cheek may smile 
No more with former buss my heart is glad ; 
Hope yields to anguish, and my soul is sad : 
From fond regret no future ioy can save ; 
Remembrance dumbert only in the grave." 

346 HOUM OF iBLKasas. 

Still may thy blooming aons thy name leverei 

Smile in thy bower, but quit thee with a tear ; — 

That tear, perhaps, the fondest which will flow. 

O'er their last scene of happiness below. 

Tell me, ye hoary few, who glide along. 

The feeble veterans of some former throng. 

Whose friends, like antumn leaves by tempests whiri'd. 

Are swept for ever from this busy world ; 

Revolve the fleeting moments of your youth, 

While Care as yet withheld her venom'd tooth ; 

Say if remembrance days like these endears • 

Beyond the rapture of succeeding years ? 

Say, can ambition's fever'd dream bestow 

So s^i'eet a balm to soothe your hours of woe ? 

Can treasures, hoarded for some thankless son, 

Can royal smiles, or wreaths by slaughter won 

Can stars or ermine, man's maturer toys, 

(For glittering baubles are not led to boys,) 

Recall one scene so much beloved to view. 

As those where Youth her garland twined for you ? 

Ah, no ! amidst the gloomy calm of age 

You turn with faltering hand life's varied page ; 

Peruse the record of your days on earth, 

Unsullied only where it marks your birth ; 

Still lingering pause above each chequer'd leaf, 

And blot with tears the sable lines of grief; 

Where Passion o'er the theme her mantle threw. 

Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a faint adieu ; 

But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn. 

Traced by the rosy finger of the mom ; 

When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of truth, 

4nd Love,* without his pinion, smiled on youth 


MoNTGOHEKT ! true, the common lot 

Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave ; 
Yet some shall never be forgot — 

Some shall exist beyond the grave. 

* ** L Amiti^ est 1* Amour ttni afles,*' is a French proverti. 
t Only primed in the private vohime. 


** Unknown the region of his birth," 

The hero ♦ rolls the tide of war ; 
Yet not unknown his martial worth, 

Which glares a meteor from afar. 

His joy or grief, his weal or woe, 

Perchance may 'scape the page of fame ; 

Yet nations now unborn will know 
The record of his deathless name. 

The patriot's and the poet's frame 
Must share the common tomb of all : 

Their glory will not sleep the same ; 
T?uU will arise, though empires fall. 

The histre of a beauty s eye, 

Assumes the ghastly stare of death ; 

The fair, the brave, the good must die, 
And sink the yawning grave beneath. 

Once more the speaking eye reVives, 
Still beaming through the lover's strain ; 

For Petrarch's Laura still survives : 
She died, but ne'er will die again. 

The rolling seasons pass away. 

And Time, untiring, waves his wing ; 

Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay. 
But bloom in fresh, unfading spring. 

All, all must' sleep in grim repose, 

Collected in the silent tomb ; 
The old and young, with friends and foes. 

Festering alike in shrouds,. consume. 

The mouldering marble lasts its day, 

Yet falls at length a useless fane ,- 
To ruin's ruthless fangs a prey. 

The wrecks of pillar'd pride remain. 

* No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of Ba3rar(l, Netnours* 
Edward the Black Prince, and, in more modern times, the fame of Marlborough, 
Frederick the Great, Count Saxe, Charles of Sweden, &c. are familiar to everv 
historical reader, but the exact places of their, birth are known to a Y«ry small 
proportion of their admirers. 

846 HOUSB OF iPUuniM. 

What, though the sculpture be destroy'd. 
From dark oblivion meant to guard ; 

A bright renown shall be enjoy'd 

By those whose virtues claiin reward* 

Then do not say the common lot 
Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave ; 

Some few who ne'er will be forgot 
Shall burst the bondage of the grave. 




Deak are the days of youth ! Age dwells on their remembrance 
through the mist of time. In the twilight he recalls the sunny 
hours of morn. He lifts his spear with trembling hand. ** Not 
thus feebly did I raise the steel before my fathers ! *' Past is 
the race of heroes ! But their fame rises on the harp ; their 
souls ride on the wings of the wind ; they hear the sound 
through the sighs of the storm, and rejoice in their hall of 
clouds ! Such is Calmar. The gray stone marks his narrow 
house. He looks down from eddying tempests : he rolls his 
form' in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blcist of the mountain. 

In Morven dwelt the chief; a beam of war to Fingal. His 
steps in the field were marked in blood. Lochlin's sons had 
fled before his angry spear ; but mild was the eye of Calmar ; 
sofl was the flow of his yellow locks : they streamed like the 
meteor of the night. No maid was the sigh of his soul : his 
thoughts were given to friendship, — to dark-haired Orla, de- 
stroyer of heroes ! Equal were their swords in battle ; but fierce 
was the pride of Orla : — gentle alone to Calmar. Together 
they dwelt in the cave of Oithona. 

From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue waves. Erin's 
sons fell beneath his might. Fingal roused his chiefs to com. 
bat. Their ships cover the ocean. Their hosts throng on the 
green hills. They come to the aid of Erin. 

Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the armies : but the 

* Fint pobliflhed m Honn of I^neea. 

t It may be necessary to observe, tbat the story, thongh consideTably vuied 
in the catastrophe, is taken from ** Nisus and EoryaiiUi" of which episode a 
traiulation is given in the present volume. 


blaziiig oakfl gleam through the valley. The sons of Lochlin 
slept : their dreams were of blood. They lift the spear in 
thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the host of Morven. To 
watch was the poet of Orla. Calmar stood by his side. Their 
spears were in their hands. Fingal called his chiefs : they 
stood around. The king was in the midst. Gray were his 
locks, but strong was the arm of the king. Age withered not 
his powers. ^ Sons of Morven," said the hero, ^ to-morrow 
we meet the foe. But where is Cuthullin, the shield of Erin ? 
He rests in the halls of Tura ; he knows not of our coming. 
Who will speed through Lochlin to the hero, and call the chief 
to arms ? The path is by the swords of foes, but many are my 
heroes. They are thunderbolts of war. Speak, ye chiefs * 
Who wUl arise?" 

** Son of Trenmor ! mine be the deed," said dark-haired Orla, 
^ and mine alone. What is death to me ? I love the sleep of 
the mighty, but little is the danger. The sons of Lochlin 
dream. I will seek car-borne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the 
song of bards; and lay me by the stream of Lubar." — ^ And 
shalt thou fall alone ? " said fair-haired Calmar. ^ Wilt thou 
leave thy friend afar ? Chief of Oithona ! not feeble is my arm 
in fight. Could I see thee die, and not lift the spear ? No, 
Orla ! OUTS has been the chase of the roebuck, and the feast of 
shells ; ours be the path of danger : ours has been the cave of 
Oithona ; ours be the narrow dwelling on the banks of Lubar." 
•* Calmar," said the chief of Oithona, ** why should thy yellow 
locks be darkened in the dust of Erin ? Let me fall alone. My 
father dwells in his hall of air : he will rejoice in his boy ; but 
the blue-eyed Mora spreads the feast for her son in Morven. 
She listens to the steps of the hunter on the heath, and thinks 
it ill the tread of Calmar. Let her not say, * Calmar has fallen 
by the steel of Lochlin : he died with gloomy Orla, the chief of 
the dark brow.' Why should tears dim the azure eye of Mora ? 
Why should her voice curse Orla, the destroyer of Calmar ? 
Live, Calmar. Live to raise my stone of moss ; live to revenge 
me in the blood of Lochlin. Join the song of bards above my 
grave. Sweet will be the song of death to Orla, from the voice 
of Calmar. My ghost shall smile on the notes of praise." 
^ Oria," said the son of Mora, ^ could I raise the song of death 
to my friend ? Could I give hid fame to the winds ? No, my 
heart would speak in sighs : faint and broken are the sounds 
of sorrow. Orla ! our souls shall hear the song together. One 
cloud shall be ours on high : the bards will mingle the names 
of Orla and Calmar." 

They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their steps are to the 
host of Lochlin. The dying blaze of oak dim twinkles through 


the night. The northera star points the path to Tura. Swaran, 
the king, rests on his lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed : 
they frown in sleep ; their shields beneath their heads. Their 
swords gleam at distance in heaps. The fires are faint ; their 
embers fail in smoke. All is hushed ; but the gale sighs on the 
rocks above. Lightly wheel the heroes through the slumbering 
band. Half the journey is past, when Mathon, resting on his 
shield, meets the eye of Orla. It rolls- in flame, and glistens 
through the shade. His spear is raised .on high. ^* Why dost 
thou bend thy brow^ chief of Oithona ? " said fair-haired Cal- 
mar : " we are in the midst of foes. Is this a time for delay ? " 
'< It is a time for vengeance," said Orla of the gloomy brow. 
'' Mathon of Lochlin sleeps : seest thou his spear ? Its point is 
dim with the gore of my father. The blood of Mathon shall 
reek on mine ; but shall I slay him sleeping, son of Mora ? No ! 
lie shall feel his wound : my fame shsdl not soar on the blood 
of slumber. Rise, Mathon, rise ! the son of Connal calls ; 
thy life is his ; rise to combat." Mathon starts from sleep ; but 
did he rise alone ? No : the gathering chiefs bound on the 
plain. " Fly ! Calmar, fly ! " said dark-haired Orla. « Ma- 
thon is mine. I shall die in joy : but Lochlin crowds around. 
Fly through the shade of night." Orla turns. The helm of 
Mathon is cleft ; his shield falls from his arm : he shudders in 
his blood. He rolls by the side of the blazing oak. Strumon 
sees him fall : his wrath rises : his weapon glitters on the head 
of Orla ; but a spear pierced his eye. His brain gushes through 
the wound, and foams on the s[)ear of Calmar. As roll the 
waves of the ocean on two mighty barks of the north, so pour 
the men of Lochlin on the chiefs. As, breaking the surge in 
foam, proudly steer the barks of the north, so rise the chiefs of 
Morven on the scattered crests of Lochlin. The din of arms 
came to the ear of Fingal. He strikes his shield ; his sons 
tiirong around ; the people pour along the heath. Ryno 
bounds in joy. Ossian stalks in his arms. Oscar shakes the 
spear. The eagle wing of Fillan floats on the ^ind. Dreadful 
is the clang of death ! many are the widows of Lochlin. Mor- 
ven prevails in its strength. 

Mom glimmers on the hilb : no living foe is seen ; but the 
sleepers are many ; grim they lie on Erin. The breeze of 
ocean lifts their locks ; yet they do not awake. The hawks 
scream above their prey. 

Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a chief? Bright 
as the gold of the stranger, they mingle with the dark hair of 
his friend. 'T is Calmar : he lies on the bosom of Orla. 
Theirs is one stream of blood* Fierce is the lopk of the gloomy 
Orla* He breathes not; but his eye is still a flame. It 


glares in death unclosed. His hand is grasped in Calmar's ; 
but Calmar lives ! he lives, though low. ** Rise," said the king, 
** rise, son of Mora : 't is mine to heal the wounds of heroes. 
Calmar may yet bound on the hills of Morven." 

" Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven with 
Orla," said the hero. " What were the chase to me alone ? 
Who would share the spoils of battle with Calmar ? Orla is at 
rest ! Rough was thy soul, Orla ! yet soft to me as the dew of 
morn. It glared on others in lightning : to me a silver beam 
of night. Bear my sword to blue-eyed Mora ; let it hang in 
my empty hall. It is not pure from blood : but it could not 
save Orla. Lay me with my friend. Raise the song when I 
am dark ! " 

They are laid by the stream of Lubar. Fouf gray stones 
mark the dwelling of Orla and Calmar. 

When Swaran was bound, our sails rose on the blue waves. 
The wind gave our barks to Morven : — the bards raised the 

" What form rises on the roar of clouds ? Whose dark ghost 
gleams on the red streams of tempests 7 His voice rolls on the 
thunder. 'T is Orla, the brown chief of Oithona. He was 
unmatched in war. Peace to thy soul, Orla ! thy fame will 
not perish. Nor thine, Calmar! Lovely wast thou, son of 
blue-eyed Mora •; but not harmless was thy sword. It hangs 
in thy cave. The ghosts of Lochlln shriek around its steel. 
Hear thy praise, Calmar ! It dwells on the voice of the mighty. 
Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. Then raise thy 
fair locks, son of Mora. Spread them on the arch of the rain- 
bow ; and smile through the tears of the storm. "^ 

TO E. N. L. ESCtt 
** Nil ego contulerim jocundo aaiiiu amioo " — Har. E, 

Dear L , in this sequesterM scene, 

While all around in slumber lie. 
The joyous days which ours have been 

Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye ; 

* I fear Laing's late edition has completely overthrown every hope that Mac- 
pherson's Ossian mi^ht prove the translation of a series of poems complete in 
themselves ; but, while the imposture is discovered, the merit of the work re< 
mains undisputed, though not without faults — particularly, in some puts, turffid 
and bombastic diction. — The present humble imitation will be pardoned by the 
admirers of the original as an attempt, however inferior, wliich evinces an at- 
tachment to their favourite author. 

t First published in Hours of Idleness. 


Thus if amidst the gathering storm. 
While clouds the darkened noon deform. 
Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, 
I hail the sky's celestial bow, 
Which spreads the sign of future peace, 
And bids the war of tempests cease. 
Ah ! though the present brings but pain, 
I think those days may come again ; 
Or if, in melancholy mood, 
Some luridng envious fear intrude, 
To check my bosom's fondest thought. 

And interrupt the golden dream, 
' I crush the fiend with malice fraught. 

And still indulge my wonted theme. 
Although we ne'er again can trace, 

In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore ; . 
Nor through the groves of Ida chase 

Our raptured visions as before. 
Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion. 
And manhood claims his stern dominion ; 
Age will not every hope destroy, 
But yield some hours of sober joy. 

Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing 
Will shed around seme dews of spring : 
But if his scythe must, sweep the flowers 
Which bloom among the fairy bowers. 
Where smiling Youth delights to dwell. 
And hearts with early rapture swell ; 
If frowning Age, with cold control. 
Confines the current of the soul, 
Ck>ngeals the tear of Pity's eye. 
Or checks the sympathetic sigh. 
Or hears unmoved misfortune^ groan. 
And bids me feel for self alone ; 
Oh ! may my bosom never learn 

To soothe its wonted heedless flow ; 
Still, still despise the censor stern. 

But ne'er forget another's woe. 
Yes, as you knew me in the days 
O'er which Remembrance yet delays, 
Still may I rove, untutor'd, wild. 
And even in age at heart a child. 

Though now on airy visions borne. 
To you my soul is still the same. 


Oil has it been my fate to mourn, 

And all my former joys are tame. 
But, hence ! ye hours of sable hue ! 

Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er : 
fiy every bliss my childhood knew, 

I '11 think upon your shade no more. 
Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, 

And caves their sullen roar enclose. 
We need no more the wintry blast, 

When luU'd by zephyr to repose. 

Full often has my infant Muse 

Attuned to love her languid lyre ; 
But now, without a theme to choose. 

The strains in stolen sighs expire. 
My youthful nymphs, alas ! are flown ; 

E is a wife, and C a mother, 

And Carolina sighs alone. 

And Mary 's given to another ; 
And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me, 

Can now no more my love recall : 
In truth, dear L , 't was time to flee ; 

For Cora's eye will shine on all. 
And though the sun, with genial rays. 
His beams alike to all displays. 
And every lady's eye 's a nitty 
These last should be confined to one. 
The soul's meridian do n't become her. 
Whose sun displays a general summer ! 
Thus faint is every former flame. 
And passion's self is now a name. 
As, when the ebbing flames are low. 

The aid which once improved their light, 
And bade them bum with fiercer glow. 

Now quenches all their sparks in night ; 
Thus has it been with passion's fires. 

As many a boy and girl remembers. 
While all the force of love expires, 

Extinguish'd with the dying embers. 

But nOw, dear L , 't is midnight's noon, 

And clouds obscure the watery moon. 
Whose beauties I shall not rehearse. 
Described in every stripling's verse ; 
For why should I the path go o'er, 
Which every bard has trod before ? 
VOL. V. — ^A a 


Yet ere yon silver lamp of Dight 

Has thrice perform'd her stated round, 
Has thrice retraced her path of light, 

And chased away the gloom profound, 
I trust that we, my gentle friend. 
Shall see her rolling orbit wend 
Above the dear-loved peaceful seat 
Which once contain'd our youth's retreat ; 
And then with those our childhood knew. 
We '11 mingle with the festive crew ; 
While many a tale of former day 
Shall wing the laughing hours away ; 
And all the flow of souls shall pour 
The sacred intellectual shower, 
Nor cease till Luna's waning horn 
Scarce glimmers through the mist of morn. 


Oh ! had my fate been join'd with thine, 
As once this pledge appear'd a token. 

These follies had not then been mine, 
For then my peace had not been broken. 

To thee these early faults I owe, 
To thee, the wise and old reproving : 

They know my sins, but do not know 

'T was thine to break the bonds of loving. 

For once my soul, like thine, was pure, 
And all its rising fires could smother : 

But now thy vows no more endure, 
Bestow'd by thee upon another. 

Perhaps his peace I could destroy. 
And spoil the blisses that await him ; 

Yet let my rival smile in joy, 

For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. 

Ah ! since thy angel form is gone, 
My heart no more can rest with any ; 

But what it sought in thee alone. 
Attempts, alas ! to find in many. 

* MiM Chaworth. First published in the first edition of Hours of Idlenew. 

H0UB8 OF iDLsmu. 365 

Then fare thee well, deceitful maid ! 

T were vain and fruitless to regret thee ; 
Nor Hope, nor Memory, yield their aid, 

But Pride may teach me to forget thee. 

Yet all this giddy waste of years, 
This tiresome round of palling pleasures ; 

These varied loves, these matron's fears. 

These thoughtless strains to passion's measures — 

If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd : — 

This cheek, now pale from early riot, 
With passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd. 

But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. 

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet. 
For Nature seem'd to smile before thee ; 

And once my breast abhorrM deceit, — 
For then it beat but to adore thee. 

But now I seek for other joys : 

To think would drive my soul to madness ; 
In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, 

I conquer half my bosom's sadness. 

Yet, even in these a thought will steal 

In spite of every vain endeavour, — 
And fiends might pity what 1 feel, — 

To know tlmt thou art lost for ever. 


I wouLB I were a careless child, 

Still dwelling in my Highland cave, 
Or roaming through the dusky wild. 

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave ; 
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon f pride 

Accords not with the freebom soul, 
Which loves the mountain's craggy side. 

And seeks the rocks where billows roU. 

* FInt pabliahed in tfa« Moond edition of Hbmi of Idlenen. 

t S««6Dach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, ngnifying either Lowland or Engliih. 


Fortune ! take back these cultured lands. 

Take back this name of splendid sound ! 
I hate the touch of servile hands, 

I hate the slaves that cringe around. 
Place me along the rocks I love, 

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar ; 
I ask but this — again to rove 

Through scenes my youth hath known before. 

Few are my years, and yet I feel 

The world was ne'er design'd for me : 
Ah ! why do dark'ning shades conceal 

The hour when man must cease to be ? 
Once I beheld a splendid dream, 

A visionary scene of bliss : 
Truth ! — wherefore did thy hated beam 

Awake me to a world like this ? 

I loved — but those I loved are gone ; 

Had friends — my early friends are fled : 
How cheerless feels the heart alone 

When all its former hopes are dead ! 
Though gay compcmions o'er the bowl 

Dispel awhile the sense of ill ; 
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul. 

The heart — the heart — is lonely still. 

How dull ! to hear the voice of those 

Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or po 
Have made, though neither friends nor foes. 

Associates of the festive hour. 
Give me again a faithful few, 

In years and feelings still the same. 
And I will fly the midnight crew, 

Where boist'rous joy is but a name. 

And woman, lovely woman ! tthou. 

My hope, my comforter, my all ! 
How cold must be my bosom now, 

When e'en thy smiles begin to pall ! 
Without a sigh would I resign 

This busy scene of splendid woe. 
To make that calm contentment mine. 

Which virtue knows, or seems to know. 


Fain would I fly the haunts of men ! 

I seek to shun, not hate mankind ; 
My breast requires the sullen glen, 

Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind. 
Oh ! that to me the wings were given 

Which bear the turtle to her nest ! 
Then would I cleave the vault of heaven^ 

To flee away, and be at rest. * 


■EPTEMBIR 2, 1807. 

Spot of my youth ! whose hoary branches sigh. 
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky ; 
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, 
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod ; 
With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore. 
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before : 
Oh ! as I trace again thy winding hill. 
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still. 
Thou drooping Elm ! beneath whose boughs I lay. 
And frequent mused the twilight hours away ; 
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline. 
But, ah ! without the thoughts which then were mine : 
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, 
Invite the bosom to recall the past. 
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, 
'* Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell ! ' 
When fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd breast. 
And calm its cares and passions into rest, 
Oft have I thought, 't would soothe my dying hour, — 
If aught may soothe when life resigns her power, — 
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell, 
Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell ; 
With this fond dream, methinks, 't were sweet to die — 
And here it lingered, here my heart might lie ; 
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose. 
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose ; 

* Ftalm Iv. Ter. 6. — **Axid I nid. Oh ! that I had wingi like a dove ; for 
then would I fly away, and be at rest." This verse also constitutes a part of 
the most beantiAil anthem in oar language. 

t First published in the second edition of the Hours of Idleness. 


For ever stretcb'd beneath this mantling shade, 
Press'd by the tUrf where once my childhood play'd ; 
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, 
M ix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved ; 
Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, 
Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here ; 
Deplored by those in early days allied, 
And unremember'd by the world beside. 

September 2. 1807. 


JANUARY, 180a 

Hours of Idleness : a Series of Poems, original and translated. 
By George Gordon^ Lord Byron, a Minor, 8vo. pp. 200. — 
Nevxsrky 1807. 

Tm poesy of this yomiff lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor men 
are said to permit, mdeea, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse 
with so few deviations in either direction from thai exact standard. His effusions 
are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level, than 
if they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation of this offence, the 
noble author is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have it in the title- 
page, and on the very back of the volume ; it follows his name like a favourite 
part of his sfyfe. Much stress is laid upon it in the preface ; and the poems are 
connected with this general statement of his case, by particular dates, substan- 
tiating[ the age at which each was written. Now, the law upon the point of 
minority we nold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defen- 
dant ; no plantiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if 
any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of compelling him 
to put into court a certain Quantity of poetry, and if iuogment were given against 
him, it is highly probable Itiat an exception would be taken were ne to deUver 
for poetry the contents of this volume. To this he migixt plead minority ; but, 
as be now makes voluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that 
KTOund, for the price in good current praise, should the goods be unmarketable, 
l^is is our view of the law on the point ; and, we dare to say, so will it be ruled. 
Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a 
view to increase our wonder than to soften our censures. He possibly means to 
say, " See how a minor can write ! This poem wns actually composed by a 
young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen ! " — But, alas ! we all 
remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve ; and so far from 
hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor verses were written by a 
youth from his leaving school to his leaving college, inclusive, we really behevo 
this to be the most common of all occurrences ; that it happens in the life of 
nine men in ten who are educated in England ; and that the tenth man writes 
better verse than Lord Byron. 

His other plea of privilege our author rather brings forward in order to wave 
it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestors — 
sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes ; and, while giving up his claim on the 
score of rank, he takes care tA remember us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when 
a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be h-indsomely acknowledged. 
In truth, it is this consideration only that induces us to give liord Byron's poems 
a i^ace in ouv review, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith 
abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportuni- 
ties, which are great, to better account 

With this view, we must beg leave senously to assure him, that the mere 
rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a cer- 
tain number of feet, — nay, although (which does not always happen) those feet 
should scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately upon the fingers, — 
is not the whole art of poetrv. We would entreat him to believe, that a certain 
portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancyt is necessary to constitute a poem, and 
that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at least one thought, 
cither in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently 


expressed. We put it to bis candour, whether there is any thing ao deaenr« 
inff the name of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806; and 
wnether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninteresting to his an- 
cestors, a youth of nineteen should pubUsh it : — 

** Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, departing 

From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ! 
Abroad or at home, vour remembrance imparting 

New courage, he 11 think upon glory ana you. 

** Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 

*T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret : 
Far distant he soes, with the same emulation ; 

The fame of nis fathers he ne'er can forget. 

**That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; 

He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown : 
Like you will he live, or Uke you will he perish ; 

When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.'* 

Now we positively do assert, that there is nothing better than these stanzas in 
the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. 

Lord Byrun should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets have 
done before hira, for comjfarisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his 
wriling-master'K) are odious. (Jray's Ode on Eton College should really have 
kept out the ten hobbling stanzas '' On a distant View of ue Village and School 
of Harrow." 

" Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance 
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; 
How welcome to me your ne*or-fading remembrance, 
Wliich rests in the boeom, though hope is denied." 

In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, "On a Tear" might have 
warned the noble author off those premises, and spared us a whole dozen such 
itanzaa as the foHowing : — 

" Mild Charity's glow, 

To us mortals below. 
Shows the soul from barbarity clear 

Compassion will melt 

Where this virtue is felt. 
And ita dew is diffused in a Tear. 

** The man doomed to sail 

With the blast of the gale. 
Through billows Atlantic to steer 

Aa he bends o'er the wave. 

Which may soon be his grave. 
The green Kparklea bright with a Tear.'* 

And so of instances in which former poets had failed. Thus, we do not think 
Lord Byron was made for translating, during his nonage, " Adrian's Address to 
his Soul," when Pope succeeded so mdifferentiy in the attempt. If our readen 
however, are of another opinion, they may look at it. ' 

** Ah ! gentle, fleeting, wavering sprite. 
Friend and associate of this clay ! 
To what unknown region borne 
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight ? 
No more with wonted humour gay. 
But paUid, cheerless, and fortom." 


However, be tliis as it may, wc fear his translaiioiiB and imitadona are great 
layoarites with Lord Bvron. We hnve them of all kinds, from Anacreon to 
Ossian ; and. viewing them as school cxer^cibes, they may pass. Only, why 
print them after they Iiave had their day and ser\'ed their turn ? And why call 
the thing in p. 79,* a translation, where two words (^cXcu Xcveiv) of the original are 
expandM into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81.t where fitao¥VKTiai( vo&* 
ctoaif is rendered by means of six hobbling verses ? As to his Ossianic poesy, we 
are not very good judges, being, in truth, so moderately skilled in that species of 
eompoaition, that we 8noold,*in all probabihty, be criticising some bit of the ge- 
nrnne Macphenon itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhap- 
sodies. l(t then, the following beginning of a " Song of Bards " is by his lora- 
ship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it. ** What form 
rises on the roar of clouds, whose dark ghost deams on the red stream of lera- 
peais ? His voice rolls on the thunder ; *t is Orin, the brown chief of Oithona. 
He was," ^c. After detaining this " brown chief" some time, the bards con- 
clude by Kivins him their advice to " raise his fair locks ; " then to ** spread them 
on the area of the rainbow ; " and " to smile through the tears of the storm." Of 
this kind oi thmg there are no less than nine pages ;- and we can so far venture 
an opinion in their favour, that they look very like Macpherson ; and we are 
positive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tircnome. 

It is a sort of privilege of poets to be ef^oti^ts ; but they should ** use it as not 
abusing it; " and particularly one who piques himself (though indeed at the ripe 
age of nineteen) on being " an infant bard," — (*' The artless Helicon I boast is 
youth ") — should either not know, or nhould seem not to know, so much about 
his own ancestry. Besides a poem al>ove cited, on the family seat of the Hy- 
rons, we have another of eleven pages, on the (^e'f-same subject^ introduced \\i;ft 
an apology, "he certainly had no intention of inserting it." but really "the par- 
ticular requeia of some friends," &c. &c. It concludes with five stanzas on him- 
self, **the last and youngest of a noble line." There is a good deal also about 
his maternal ancestors, m a poem on I^chin y (>uir, a mountain where he spent 
part of his youth, and might have learnt that pibroch is not a bagpipe, any more 
than duet means a fiddle. 

As the author has dedicated fo large a part of his volume to immortalize his 
employments at school and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without pre- 
senting the reader with a specimen of these ingenious elfusiona. In an ode 
With a Greek motto, called Granta, we have the following magnificent stanzas : — 

** There, in apartments small and damp, 
The candidate for college prizes 
Sits poring by the midnight lamp. 
Goes late to bed, yet early rites. 

" Who reads false quantities in Sele, 
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle. 
Deprived of many a wholesome meal, 
m barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle : 

** Renouncing every pleasing page, 
From authors of nistoric use. 
Preferring to the letter' d sage 
The square of the hypothenuae. 

** Still harmless are these occupationi. 
That hurt none but the hapless student, 
Compared with other recreations, 
Which bring together the imprudent." 

We are tony to hear so bad an account of the college psalmody as ia con* 
tained in the foUowing Attic stanzas : — 

*' Our choir would scarcely be excused 
Even as a band of raw beginners ; 

•See page 398. t P*ge299. 


All mercy now must be refiued 
To •uch a set of croaking siniiers. 

" If David, when bis toils were ended, 

Had beard these blockheads sins before him. 
To us his psalms had ne'er desceiMed : 
In furious mood he would have tore 'em ! * 

But, whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it 
seems we must take them as we find them, and be content ; for they are the 
last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says, but an intruder into 
the groves of Parnassus ; he never Uved in a garret, like thorouffh-bred poetn ; 
and '* though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Higmands of Scot- 
land,*' he has not of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects no profit 
from his publication ; and, whether it succeeas or not, **it is highly improbable, 
from his situation andpursuits hereafter," thar he should agam condescend to 
become an author. Tnerefbre let us take what we get, and bis thankful. What 
right have we poor devils to be nice ? We are well off to have goi so much 
from a man of this lord's station, who does not Uve in a garret, but " has the 
sway " of Newstead Abbey. Again, we say, let us be thankful ; and, with 
honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, nor look the gift horse in the mouth 





**I had nther he a kitten, and cry mew ! 
Than one of thcM aame metre baUad-moogen." 


" Such thameleti bards we haye ; and yet 't .ia true, 
There are as mad, abandon*d critics too." 


• In the oEtafaMl Maanscript, die title was **THE BRITISH BARDS, A 

A FIFTH edition of the " English Bards and Scotch Review- 
ers," in which Lord Byron introduced several alterations and 
corrections, was prepared in 1812, but was, at his desire, de- 
stroyed on the eve of publication. One copy of this edition 
alone escaped, from which the satire has been printed in the 
present volume. The Author re-perused the poem in the latter 
part of the summer of 1816,afler bis final departure from Eng- 
land. He at that time also corrected the text in several places, 
and added a few notes and observations in the margin, which 
the reader will find inserted. On the blank leaf preceding the 
title-page of the copy from which he read. Lord B3nron has 
written — " The binding of this volume is considerably too 
valuable for the contents ; and nothing but the consideration 
of its being the property of another prevents me from consign- 
ing this miserable record of misplaced anger and indiscriminate 
acrimony to the flames." — 


All my friends, learned and unlearned, have urged me not 
to publish this Satire with my name. If I were to be ^ turned 
from the career of my humour by quibbles quick, and paper 
bullets of the brain/' I should have complied with their counsel. 
But I am not to be terrified by abuse, or bullied by reviewers^ 
with or without arms. I can safely say that I have attacked 
none personally, who did not commence on the offensive. An 
author's works are public property : he who purchases may 
judge, and publish his opinion if he pleases ; and the authors I 
have endeavoured to commemorate may do by me as I have 
done by them. I dare say they will succeed better in condemn- 
ing my scribblings, than in mending their own. But my ob. 
ject is not to prove that I can write well, but, if possible, to 
make others write better. 

As the poem has met with far more success than I expected, 
I have endeavoured in this edition to make some iadditions and 
alterations, to render it more worthy of public perusal. 

In the first edition of this satire, published anonymously, 
fourteen lines on the subject of Bowles's Pope were written by, 
and inserted at the request of, an ingenious friend of mine, who 
has now in the press a volume of poetry. In the present 
edition they are erased, and some of my own substituted in 
their stead ; my only reason for this being that which I con- 
ceive would operate with any other person in the same manner, 
— a determination not to publish with my name any production 
which was not entirely and exclusively my own composition. 

With t regard to the real talents of many of the poetical 
persons whose performances are mentioned or alluded to in the 

* lUt preface was written for the eecond edition, and printed with it. The 
noUe author had left this country previoos to the publication of that edition, 
and ia not yet returned. — Note to the fourth edition, 181 1. 

He is, and gone again. — MS. note hy Lord Byron. 

t The preface to the first edition began here. 


following pages, it is presumed by the author that there can be 
little difference of opinion in the public at large ; though, like 
other sectaries, each has his separate tabernacle of proselytes, 
by whom his abilities are overrated, his faults overlooked, and 
his metrical canons received without scruple and without con- 
sideration! But the unquestionable possession of considerable 
genius by several of the writers here censured renders their 
mental prostitution more to be regretted. Imbecility may be 
pitied, or, at worst, laughed at and forgotten ; perverted powers 
demand the most decided reprehension. No one can wish more 
than the author that some known and able writer had jinder- 
taken their exposure ; but Mr. Gifibrd has devoted himself to 
Massinger, andf in the absence of the regular physician, a coun- 
try practitioner may, in cases of absolute necessity, be allowed 
to prescribe his nostrum to prevent the extension of so deplor- 
able an epidemic, provided there be no quackery in his treat- 
ment of the malady. A caustic is here offered, as it is to be 
feared nothing short of actual cautery can recover the nume- 
rous patients afflicted with the present prevalent and distressing 
rabies for rhyming. — As to the Edinburgh Reviewers, it 
would indeed require an Hercules to crush the Hydra ; but if 
the author succeeds in merely <^ bruising one of the heads of 
the serpent," though his own hand should suffer in the encoun- 
ter, he will be amply satisfied. 



Still* must I hear ? — shall hoarse Fitzgeraldf bawl 
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, f 
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews 
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse 
Prepare for rhyme — I '11 publish, right or wrong : 
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. 

Oh ! nature's noblest gift — my gray goose-quill ! 
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will. 
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, 
That mighty instrument of little men ! 
The pen ! foredoom'd to cud the mental throes 
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose, 
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride 
The lover's solace, and the author's pride. 
What wits ! what poets dost thou daily raise ! 
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise ! 
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite. 
With all the pages which 't was thine to write. 
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen ! 
Once laid aside, but now assumed again, 

* The first ninety-nx lines were prefixed to the eeoond edition : the original 
opened with 

Time was, ere yet in theee degenerate days, 
Ignoble themes, d^c. — line VJ. 
f Hoane Fitzgerald. — Right enough; but why notice such a mountebank? 
MS. noU by Lc^ Bynn. 

** Semper ego auditor tantum 7 nunquamne reponam 
Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri ? '* 
Juvenal^ Satire I. 
Mr. Fitzgerald, flftcetiouBly termed by Cobbett the " Small Beer Poet," inflicts 
his anmul tribute of yerse on the ** Literary Fund: " not content with writing, 
he spouts in person after the company have imbibed a reasonable quantity </ 
bad port, to enable them to sustain the operation. 


Our task complete, like Hamet's * shall be free ; 
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me : 
Then let us soar to-day ; no common theme, 
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream f 
Inspires — our path, though full of thorns, is plain ; 
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. 

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway, 
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey ; 
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime. 
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime ; 
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail. 
And weigh their justice in a golden scale ; 
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers, 
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears. 
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe, 
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law. 

Such is the force of wit ! but not belong 
To me the arrows of satiric song ; 
The royal vices of our age demand 
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. 
Still there are follies, e'en for me to chase. 
And yield at least amusement in the race ; 
Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame ; 
The cry is up, and scribblers are my game. 
Speed, Pegasus ! — ye strains of great and small, 
Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all ! 
I too can scrawl, and once upon a time 
I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme, 
A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame ; 
I printed — older children do the same. 
*T is pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print ; 
A book 's a book, although there 's nothing in 't. 
Not that a title's sounding charm can save 
Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave : 
This Lambe must own, J since his patrician name 
Fail'd to preserve the spurious farce from shame. § 

* Cid Hamet Benengeli promises repose to his pen in the lost chapter of Don 
Quixote. Oh ! that our voluminous gentry would follow the example of Cid 
Hamet Benengeli. 

t No eastern vision^ no distemper'd dream. — This must have been written in 
the spirit of prophecy. — MS. note by Lord Byron, ' 

X This Lambe must oum. — He's a very good feUow, and except his mother and 
sister, the best of the set, to my mind. — MS. note of Lord Byron. 

^ This ingenuous youth is mentioned more particularly, with his production, 
in another place. 


No matter, George continues still to write, * 
Though now the name is veil'd from public sight. 
Moved by the great example, I pursue 
The self-same road, but make my own review : 
Not seek great Jeffrey's, yet, like him, will be 
Self-constituted judge of poesy. 

A man must serve his time to ev'ry trade 
Save censure — critics all are ready made. 
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote, 
With just enough of learning to misquote ; 
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ; 
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt ; 
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet. 
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : 
Fear not to lie, 't will seem a sharper hit ; 
Shrink not from blasphemy, 't will pass for wit ; 
Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, 
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. 

And shall we own such judgment ? no — as soon 
Seek roses in December — ice in June ; 
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; 
Believe a woman or an epitaph. 
Or any other thing that 's false, before 
You trust in critics, who themselves arc sore ; 
Or yield one single thought to be misled 
By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head, f 
To these young tyrants, % by themselves misplaced, 
Combined usurpers on the throne of taste ; 
To these, when authors bend in humble awe. 
And hail their voice as truth, their word as law ; 
While these are censors, 't would be sin to spare 
While such are critics, why should I forbear ? 
But yet, so near all modern worthies run, 
'T is doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun ; 

* In the Edinburgh Review. 

+ By Jeffrey's hearty or Lambe'8 JBceoHan %«ad.— This was not ju8t. Neither 
the heart nor the head of theie gentlemen are at all what they are here repre- 
sented. At the time thia was written (1808) I was perwnally unacquainted with 
either. IS\6.— MS. noU by Lord Byron, 

Mesers. Jeflfrey and trfimbe are the alpha and the omega, the first and the 
last of the Edinburgh Review ; the others are mentioned hereafter. 

( "Stulta est dementia, cum tot ubiqne 

occqiras periture paroere charts." 

Javenalt Satire 1. 
VOL. V. — B b 


Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike. 
Our bards and censors are so much alike. 

Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er* 
The path which Pope and Gifibrd trod before ; 
If not yet sicken'd you can still proceed : 
Go on ; my rhyme will tell you as you read. 
But hold ! f exclaims a friend, — here 's some neglect : 
This — that — and 't other line seem incorrect. 
What then ? the self-same blunder Pope has got. 
And careless Dryden — ay -— but Pye has not, — 
Indeed ! — 't is granted, faith ! — but what care I ? 
Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye. 

Time was, ere yet in these d^enerate days; 
Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise. 
When sense and wit with poesy allied, 
No fabled graces, flourish'd side by side, 
From the same fount their inspiration drew. 
And, rear'd by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew. 
Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain 
Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain ; 
A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim. 
And raised the people's, as the poet's fame. 
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song. 
In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. 
Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Otway s melt — 
For nature then an English audience felt. 
But why these names, or greater still, retrace, 
When all4o feebler bards resign their place ? 
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, 
When taste and reason with those times are past 
Now look around, and turn each trifling page. 
Survey the precious works that please the age. 
This truth at least let satire's self allow, 
No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now : 
The loaded press beneath her labour groans, 
And printers' devils shake their weary bones ; 
While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves. 
And Little's lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves. 


**Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo 
Per quern maffnus equos Auranca flezit alamnna 
Si vacat, et pladdi rationem admitddB, edam.** 

Juvetudy Satire I. 
t But hold! excUtinu afnend^ &c.— The fottowing nx lines were iaaeited in 
the fifth edition. 


Thus saith the preacher : * ** Nought beneath the sun f 

Is new ;" yet still from change to change we run : 

What varied wonders tempt us as they pass ! 

The cow.poxy tractors, galvanism, and gas, 

In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare. 

Till the swoln hubble bursts — and all is air ! 

Nor less new schools of Poetry arise, 

Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize : 

O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ; 

Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal, 

And, hurling lawful genius from the throne, 

Erects a shrine and idol of its own ; 

Some leaden calf — but whom it matters not. 

From soaring Southey down to grovelUng Stott4 

Behold ! in various throngs the scribbling crew. 
For notice eager, pass in long review : 
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, 
And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race; 
Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode ; 
And tales of terror jostle on the road ; 
Immeasurable measures move along ; 
For simpering folly loves a varied song, 
To strange mysterious dulness still the friend. 
Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. 
Thus Lays of Minstrels^ — may they be the last ! — 
On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. 

* Thtu tailh the pnachert 4&e.— The following ibarteen lines were inierted in 
the second edition. 

t Elcdenastei, chap. i. 

%. Stott, better known in the ** Mominr Post'* by the name of Hafiz. This 
personage is atpresent4he most profoona explorer of the bathos. I remember, 
when the reigmng ^mily 1^^ Fortogal, a special ode of Master Stott's, begin- 
ning thus : 

(Rtott loquitur (juoad Hibemia.) 
" Princely oflfspriiig of Braganza, 
Erin greets tnee with a stanza,** &c. &c 

Also a sonnet to Rata, well worthy of the subject, and a most thundering ode, 
cummencing as follows : 

** Oh ! for a Lay ! loud as the surge 
That lashes Lap]and*s sounding shore." 

Lord have mercy on us ! the ** Lay of the Last Minstrel " was nothing to this. 

% See the ** Lay of the Last Mmstrel,** pasnm. Never was any plan so in* 
congruous and absurd as the ground- work of this production. The entrance of 
Thunder and U^hming proloeuising to Baye.s* tragedy unfortunately takes away 
the merit of originahty m>m the dialogue between Messieurs the Spirits of Flood 
and Fell in the first canto. Then we have the amiable William of Deloraine, 
** a stark moss-trooper,** videUcet, a happy compound of poacher, sheep-steoler, 
and highwayman. The propriety of ms magical lady's injunction not to read, 


While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, 
That dames maj listen to the sound at nights ; 
And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, 
Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, 
And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, 
And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why ; 
While high-born ladies in their magic cell. 
Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell. 
Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, 
And fight with honest men to shield a knave. 

Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, 
The goIden*crested haughty Marmian, 
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 
Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, 
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
A mighty mixture of the great and base. 
And think'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perchance, 
On public taste to foist thy stale romance, 
Though Murray with his Miller may combine 
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line ? 
No ! when the sons of song descend to trade. 
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the poet's sacred name, 
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : 
Still for stem Mammon may they toil in vain ; 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain ! 
Such be their meed, such still the just reward 
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard ! 
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
And bid a long *< good night to Marmion." * 

can only be equalled by his candid acknowledgment of his independence of 
the tmmmels of spelling, although, to use his own elegant phrase, '* 't was his 
neck-Terse at Harribee, i. e. the gallows. 

The biography of Gilpin Homer, and the marvellous pedestrian page, who 
traveUed twice as fast as his master's horse, without the aid of seven-leagued 
boots, are the chefdoButres in the improvement of taste. For incident we have 
the invisible, but by no means sparing box on the ear, bestowed on the page, 
and the entrance or a knight and charger into the castle, under the very natural 
disguise of a wain of hay. Marmion, the hero of the latter romance, is exactly 
what William of Deloraine would have been, had he been able to read and write. 
The poem was manufactured for Messrs. Constable, Murrcnrt and Miller, wor- 
shipful booksellers, in consideration of the receipt of a sum of'^money, and truly, 
considering the inspiration, it is a very creditable production. If Mr. Soott \\ill 
write for hire, let him do his best for his paymasters, but not disffrace his geniiH, 
which is undoubtedly great, by a repetiuon of black letter ballad imitatbos. 

* "Good night to Marmion" — the pathetic and alao prophetic ezdamatioii of 
Henry Bloimt, Esquire, on the death of honeat Mansion. 


These are the themes that claim our plaudits now ; 
These are the hards to whom the muse must how ; 
While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, 
Resign their hallowM bays to Walter Scott. 

The time has been, when yet the muse was young, 
When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, 
An epic scarce ten centuries could claim. 
While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name : 
The work of each immortal bard appears 
The single wonder of a thousand years.* 
Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, 
Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, 
Without the glory such a strain can give, 
As even in ruin bids the language live. 
Not so with us, though minor bards content, 
On one great work a life of labour spent : 
With eagle pinion soaring to the skies. 
Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise ! . 
To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso yield. 
Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. 
Fimt in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance. 
The scourge of England and the boast of France ! 
Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch. 
Behold her statue placed in glory's niche ; 
Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, 
A virgin phcenix from her ashes risen. 
Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,t 
Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wond'rous son ; 
Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew 
More mad magicians than the world e'er knew. 
Immortal hero ! all thy foes o'ercome, 
For ever reign — the r«val of Tom Thumb ! 
Since startled metre fled before thy face. 
Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race ! 
Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence> 
Illustrious conqueror of common sense ! 

* Ab the Odyssey ia 80 closely connected with the story of the Iliad, they may 
ahnott be classed as one grand historical poem. In alluding to Milton and Tasso, 
we consider the '* Paradise Lost," and ^ Gierusalemme Liberato," as their stand- 
ard efforts, since neither the " Jerusalem Conquered " of the Italian, nor the 
Tiaradise Regained" of the English bard, obtamed a proportionate celebrity to 
their former poems. Query : Which of Mr. Southey's wul survive ? 

t Thalaba, Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in open defiance of prece* 
dent and poetry. Mr. 8. wished to produce something novel, and succeeded to 
a miracle. Joan of Arc was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one of those 
poems " which,'* in the words of Poraon, ** wul be read when Homer and Virgil 
' aro forgotten, but ^ not tiU then." 


Now, last and greatest, M adoc spreads his sails, 
Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales ; 
Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do. 
More old than Mandeville's, and not so true. 
Oh, Southey ! Southey ! * cease thy varied song ! 
A bard may chant too often and too long : 
As thou art strong in verse, in mercy, spare ! 
A fourth, alas ! were more than we could bean 
But if, in spite of all the world can say 
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way ; 
If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil, 
Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,f 
The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue : 
*' God help thee," Southey, and thy readers too.:^ 

Next comes the dull disciple of thy school,§ 
That mild apostate from poetic rule, 
' The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay 
As soft as evening in his favourite May, 
Who warns his friend " to shake off toil and trouble^ 
And quit his books, for fear of growing double ; "|| 
Who, both by precept and example, shows 
That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; 
Convincing all, by demonstration plain. 
Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; 
And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme 
Contain the essence of the true sublime. 
Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, 
The idiot mother of " an idiot boy ;" 

* We beg Mr. Southey*B pardon : " Madoc disdaina the deflnrading title of epic." 
See his preface. Why is epic degraded? and by whom? Certainly the late 
romauntf of Masters Cottle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvj, Hole, and gende Mistreis 
Cowley, have not exulted the epic muse ; bat as Mr. Sonthey's poem ** Hj^i^yiifMi 
the appdlation," allow us to ask — has he substituted any thing better in its 
stead ? or must he be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore in the quantity as 
well as quahty of his verse ? 

t See * The Old Woman of Berkley," a ballad, by Mr. Southey , wherein an 
aged gentlewoman is carried away by Beelzebub, on a ** high-trotting hx>ne.*' 

t The last line, " God help thee," is an evident plagiarism from tiie Anti-jaco- 
bin to Mr. Southey, on his Dactylics : 

" God help thee, siUy one !" 

Poetry qfthe Anti-jacobin, p. 25. 

^ Against this passage on Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lord Byron has written, 
" unjust." 

II Lyrical Ballads, p. 4.— "The Tables Turned." Stanza 1. 
" Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble ? 
Up, up, my friend, and quit your books. 
Or surely you '11 grow double." 


A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, 
And, like his bard, confounded night with day ;* 
So close on each pathetic part he dwells, 
And each adventure so sublimely tells, 
That all who view the ** idiot in his glory," 
Conceive the bard the hero of the story. 

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here, 
To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear ? 
Though themes of innocence amuse him best. 
Yet still obscurity 's a welcome guest. 
If Inspiration should her aid refuse 
To him who takes a pixy for a muse,t 
Tet none in lofly numbers can surpass 
The bard who soars to elegize an ass. 
So well the subject suits his noble mind, 
He brays, the laureat of the long-ear'd kind.:^ 

Oh ! wonder-working Lewis ! monk, or bard, 
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard ! 
Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow. 
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou ! 
Whether on ancient tombs thou takest thy stand 
By gibb'ring spectres haii'd, thy kindred band ; 
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, 
To please the females of our modest age ; 
An hail, M. P. ! § from whose infernal brain 
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ; 
At whose command ** grim women " throng in crowds. 
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 
With ** small gray men,** ** wild yagers," and what-not, 
To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott ; 
Again all hail ! if tales like thine may please, 
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ; 

* Mr. W. in his prelace labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much 
the same ; and certainly his precepts and practice are strictly conformable. 
" And thus to Betty's questions he 
Made answer, like a traveller bold. 
The cock did crow, to-whoo, to-whoo. 
And the sun did shine so cold," &c. &c. 

Lyrical BaUadt, p. 129. 
t Coleridge's Poems, p. 11, Songs of the Fixies, i. e. Devonshire fairies ; p. 42, 
we have ^ Ones to a Young Lady ;" and p. 52, '' Lines to a young Ass." 

t He 6ray«, ihe laurwt of the long-ear' d kind. — Altered by Lord Byron in his last 
revision of the satire. In all former editions the line stood, 

** A fellow-feeling makes us wond'rous kind.'* 
I **For every one knows little Matt 's an M. P.** — See a poem to Mr. Lewis, 
in The Statesman, supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll. 


Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell. 
And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. 

Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir 
Of virgins melting, not to Veata's fire. 
With sparkling eyes and cheek by passion flushM, 
Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hush'd ? 
T is Little ! young Catullus of his day. 
As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay ! 
Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be just. 
Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. 
Pure is the flame which o'er her altar bums ; 
From grosser incense with disgust she turns : 
Yet kind to youth, this expiation o'er. 
She bids thee << mend thy line,* and sin no more." 

For thee, translator of the tinsel song. 
To whom such glittering ornaments belong, 
Hibernian Strangford ! with thine eyes of blue,f 
And boasted locl^ of red or auburn hue. 
Whose plaintive strain each lovesick miss admires. 
And o'er harmonious fustian j: half expires, > 
Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense, 
Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence^ 
Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place, 
By dressing Camoens § in a suit of lace ? 
Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste ; 
Be wai^m, but pure ; be amorous, but chaste 
Cease to deceive ; thy pilfcr'd harp restore, 
Nor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore. 

Behold ! — ye tarts ! one moment spare the text — 
Hay ley's last work, and worst — until his next; 
Whether he spin poor couplets into plays, 
Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise, || 

* In the original monuBcript, " Mend thy life." 

t The reader, who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to " Strane- 
ford's Camoens/* page 127, note to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh 
Review of Stranglord's Camoens. 
X Futtian ; in the first edition, iionsense. 

^ It is alsQ to be remarked, that the things given to the public as poems of 
Camoens are no more to be found in the original Portuguese, than in tne Songs 
of Solomon. 
II M Behold ! — ^ye tarts ! one moment spare his text— 

Hayley*s last work, and worst — ^until his next; 
Whether he spins noor couplets into plajrs, 
Or damns the deaa with purgatorial praise." 


His style in youth or age is still the same, 

For ever feeble and for ever tame. 

Triumphant first see '^ Temper's Trium[^ " shine ! 

At least I'm sure they triumph'd over mine. 

Of ** Music's Triumphs," all who read may swear 

That luckless music never triumph'd there.* 

* Moravians, rise ! bestow some meet reward 
On dull devotion — lo ! the Sabbath bard. 
Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime 
In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme ; 
Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,t 
And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; 
And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms, 
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.^ 

Hail, Sympathy ! thy soft idea brings 
A thousand visions of a thousand things, 
And shows, still whimpering through threescore of years,§ 
The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. 
And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles ! 
The first, great oracle of tender souls ? 
Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, and grief,|| 
The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; 

So emended by Lord Byron in the fifth edition of this satire. The tinei were 
origindly printed : 

*• In many marWo-cover'd volames view 
Hayiey, in vain attempting comething new ; 
Whether he spinn his comedies in rhyme, 
Or scrawl, as Wood and Barclay walk, 'gainst time."| 

* Haley's two most notorious verse productions are, " Triumphs of Temper,'* 
and ** Triumphs of Music." He has also written much comedy in rhyme, epis- 
liea, &c., dtc. As he is rather an elegant writer uf notes and biography, let us 
recommend Poi>e> advice to Wycherley to Mr. H.'s consideration, viz. " to con- 
vert his poetry into prose/' which may be easily done by taking away the final 
syllable of eich couplet. 

t "* Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke.** 

In the first edition, 

" Breaks into mawkish Hnes each holy book." 
t Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of cant, under the name of 
*« Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pictures." 

% sua whimpering through threescore of years.— Thus altered in the fifth edi- 
tion. The original reading was, 

** Dissolved in thine own melting tears." 
il Whe^er thou tmg'st, &c. This couplet, in all the editions before the fifth, was 

** Whether in sighing winds thou seek*st relief, 
Or consolation in a yellow leaf." 

378 N6U8H BABD8 AND 

Whether thy muse most lamentably tells 
What merry sounds proceed from Oxford beOs»* 
Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend 
In every chime that jingled from Ostend ; 
Ah ! how much juster were thy muse's hap. 
If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap ! 
Delightful Bowles ! still blessing and still blest, 
All love thy strain, but children like it best. 
T is thine, with gentle Little's moral song, 
To soothe the mania of the amorous throng ! 
With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, 
Ere miss as yet completes her infant years : 
But in her teens thy whining powers are vain ; 
She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain. 
Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine 
The lofly numbers of a harp like thine ; 
*< Awake a louder and a loftier strain," f 
Such as none heard before, or will again ! 
Where all Discoveries jumbled from the flood. 
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud, 
By more or less, are sung in every book. 
From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. 
Nor this alone ; but, pausing on the road. 
The bard sighs forth a gentle episode ;f 

* See Bowles's Sonnets, &c. " Sonnet to Oxford " and " Stanzas on hea^ 
ing the bells of Ostend." 

t "Awake a louder," &c., Ac, is the first line in Bowles's ** Spirit of Discove- 
ry ;" a very splendid and pretty dwarf epic. Among other exquisite lines we 
have the following : 

"A kiss 
Stole on the listening silence, never yet 
Here heard ; they trembled even as if the power/* &c., &c. 
That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much astomihed, 
as well they might be, at such a phenomenon.* 

X The episode above alluded to is the story of ** Robert a Machin" and 
** Anna d'Arfet," a pair of consiant lovers, who performed the kiss above men 
tioned, that startled the woods of Madeira. 

" Slick to thy sonnets, man ! — at least they selL 
Or take the only path that open lies 
For modem worthies who would hope to rise : 
Fix on Eome well-known name, and, bit by bit, 
Pare off the merits of his worth and wit; 
On each alike employ the critic's knife. 
And when a comment fails, prefix a life , 
Hint certain faiUngs, faults before unknown, 
Review forgotten Ues, and add your own ; 

* Misquoted and misunderstood by me ; but not intentionally. It was not 
the " woods," but the people in them who trembled— why. Heaven only knows 
—unless they were overheard making the prodigious ima<^ MS, note hvLcrd 
Bynm, 1816. 


And gravely tells — attend, each beauteous miss ! — 

When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. 

Bowles ! in thy memory let this precept dwell. 

Stick to thy sonnets, man ! — at least they sell* 

But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, 

Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe ; 

If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd, 

Now, prone in dust, can only be revered ; 

If Pope, whose fame and genius, from the first, 

Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst. 

Do thou essay ; each fault, each failing scan ; 

The first of poets was, alas ! but man. 

Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl. 

Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll ; * 

Let all the scandals of a former age 

Perch on thy pen, and flutter o'er thy page ; 

Affect a candour which thou canst not feel. 

Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ; 

Write, as if St. John's soul could still inspire. 

And do from hate what f Mallet did for hire. 

Oh ! hadst thou lived in that congenial time. 

To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme ; X 

Throng'd with the rest around his living head, 

Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead ; 

Let no diieMe, let no mitfoitune 'scape, 
And print, if luckily defonnM, his shape : 
Thus shall the world, quite undeceived at last. 
Cleave to their present wits, and quit their past ; 
Boids once revered no more with favour view, 
But give the modem sonneteers their due : 
Thus with the dead may living merit cope, 
Thus Bowles may triumph o'er the shade of Pope/* 

In the first edition, the observations on Bowles ended with these lines, which 
were written by a friend of Lord Byron,* and omitted when the satire was pub- 
lished with the author's name. The follovi-ing fifty-five verses, containing the 
conclusion of the passage on Bowles, and the notices of Cottle and Maurice, 
were then printed nir the first time. 

* Curil is one of the heroes of the Dnnciad, and was a bookseller. Lord Fanny 
i« the poetical name of Lord Hervey, author of ** lines to the Imitator of llo- 

t I^rd Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his decease, because 
the poet had retained some copies of a work by Lord Bolingbroke, (the Patriot 
King,) which that splendid, but malignant genius, had ordered to be destroyed. 

t Dennis the critic, end Ralph the rhymester. 

** Silence, ye wolves ! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, 
Making night hideous ; answer him, ye owls !'* 




A. meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains, 
And * link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains, f 

Another epic ! Who inflicts again i 
More books of blank upon the sons of men ? 
Boeotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast, 
Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast, 
And sends his goods to market — all alive ! 
Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty .five ! 
Fresh fish from Helicon ! § who '11 buy ! who '11 buy ? 
The precious bargain 's cheap — in faith, not I. 
Your turtle-feeder's verse must needs be flat, || 
Though Bristol bloat him with the verdant fat ; 
If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, 
And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain. 
In him an author's luckless lot behold, 
Condemn'd to make the books which once he sold. 
Oh, Amos Cottle ! — Phoebus ! what a name 
To fill the speaking trump of future fame ! — 
Oh, Amos Cottle ! for a moment think 
What meagre profits spring from pen and ink ! 
When thus devoted to poetic dreams, 
Who will peruse thy prostituted reams ? 
Oh pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! 
Had IT Cottle still adorn'd the counter's side. 
Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils. 
Been taught to make the paper which he soils, 
Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb. 
He had not sUng of Wales, nor I of him. ** 

* A7^d Unk*d thee to the Dunciad for thypaxM. — ^Too savage aH this on Bowles 
MS. noU by Lord Byron. 1816. 

t See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which he received three hun- 
dred pounds : thus Mr. B. has expenenced how much easier it is to profit by the 
reputation of another than to elevate his own. 

t Another epic ! — Opposite this passage on Joseph and Amos Cottle, Lord 
Byron has written, " All right." 

^ FreshJUhfrom Helicon ! — " Helicon " is a mountain, and not a fish-pond. It 
should have been " Hippocrene.^* — MS. note by Lord Byron, 1816. 

II ^ Ymtr turtle-feeder'' 8 verse, dtc. — ^This couplet was altered in the fifth edition. 
It originally stood : 

*' Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight. 
Too much o'er bowls of sack prolong the night." 

T Mr. Cottle, Amos, Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, once sel- 
lers of books they did not write, and now writers of books they do not sell, have 
pubUshed a pair of epics. " Alfred," (poor Alfred ! Pye has been at him too !) 
»* Alfred," and the "Fall of Cambria." 

•* He had not sung of Wtdeg, nor I of him. — I saw some letters of this fellow (Jo- 
seph Cottle) to an unfortunate poetess, whose productions, which the poor wo> 
man by no means thought vainly of, he attacked so roughly and bitteily, that 1 


As Sisyphus against the infernal steep 
Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may sleep. 
So up the hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves 
Dull Maurice* all his granite weight of leaves : 
Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain ! 
The petrifactions of a plodding brain, 
That, ere they reach the top, ^1 lumbering back again. 

With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale, 
Lo ! sad Alcseus wanders down the vale ; 
Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at last. 
His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast : 
NippM in the bud by Caledonian gales, 
His blossoms wither as the blast prevails ! 
O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep : 
May no rude hand disturb their early sleep ! f 

Yet say ! why should the bard at once resign 
His claim to favour from the sacred nine 7 
For ever startled by the mingled howl 
Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl ; 
A coward brood, which mangle as they prey. 
By hellish instinct, all that cross their way ; j: 
Aged or young, the living or the dead. 
No mercy find — these harpies must be fed 
Why do the injured unresisting yield 
The calm possession of their native field ? 
Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat. 
Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Arthur's Seat ? § 

Health to immortal Jeffrey ! once, in name, 
England could boast a judge almost the same ; 
In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, 
Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust. 

could hardly resist assoilioff him, even were it uz^jast, which it is notr— for verily 
he is an ass. MS. note by Lord Byron, 1816. 

* Mr. Maurice hath manafactured the component parts of a ponderous quarto, 
upon the beauties of " Richmond Hill," and the like : — it also takes in a charm- 
ing view of Tumham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and New, and the 
parts adjacent. 

t Poor Montfforaery ! though praised by every English Review, has been 
bitterlv reviled by the Edinburgh. Alter all, the bard of Sheffield is a man of 
considerable genius : his " Wanderer of Switzeriand,** is worth a thousand 

Lyrical Ballads," and at least fifty " degrraded epics." 

t See Lord Byron*s letter to Mr. Murray, June 13, 1813, volume 1, page 317 

% Arthur's Seat : the hill which overliangs Exlinbuigh. 


And given the spirit to the world again. 
To sentence letters, as he sentenced men. 
With hand less mighty, but with heart as black. 
With voice as wilUng to decree the rack ; 
Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law 
As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw ; 
Since well instructed in the patriot school 
To rail at party, though a party tool. 
Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore 
Back to the sway they forfeited before, 
His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, 
And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat ] * 
Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope, 
And greeting thus, present him with a rope : 
" Heir to my virtues ! man of equal mind ! 
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, 
This cord receive, for thee reserved with care. 
To wield in judgment, and at length to wear," 

Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve his life. 
To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, 
And guard it sacred in its future wars. 
Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars 
Can none remember that eventful day, f 
That ever glorious, ahnost fatal fray. 
When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, 
And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by ? J 
Oh, day disastrous ! On her firm-set rock, 
• Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock ; 

Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, 
Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north ; 
Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear. 
The other half pursued its calm career ; § 

* And raise this Danid to Ihe judgwiiOU'Seat. — Too ferocious — Uiii u mere 
insanity.— MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816. 

t Can none remember, Ac— All this is bad, because peraonal.— JIf 5. note bjf 
Lord Byron. 1816. 

X In 1806 Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk-Form. The duel Ti-a^ 
prevented by the interference of the magistracy ; and, on examination, ih:» 
balls of the pistols were found to have evaporated. This incident gave occasion 
to much waggery in the daily printt. 

I am informed that Mr. Moore published at the time a disavowal of the state- 
ments in the newspapers, as far as regarded himself; and in justice to him I 
mention this circumstance. As I never heard of it before, 1 cannot state t!ip 
particulars, and was only made acquainted with the feet very lately .— Novem- 
ber 4, 1811. 

^ The Tweed here behaved wiCh proper decorum ; it would have been highly 
reprehensible in the Eng^h half of the river to have shown the smallest symp- 
tom of apprehension. 


Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base. 

The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place* 

The Tolbooth felt — for marble sometimes can, 

On such occasions, feel as much as man — 

The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms, 

If Jeffrey died, except within her arms : * 

Nay last, not least, on that portentous mom, 

The sixteenth story, where himself was bom, 

His patrimonial garret, fell to eround, 

And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound : 

Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white reams, 

Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams ; 

This of his candour seem'd the sable dew, 

That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue ; 

And all with justice deem'd the two combined 

The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. 

But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o er 

The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore ; 

From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead. 

And straight restored it to her favourite's head ; 

That head, with greater than magnetic pow'r, 

Caught it, as Danae caught the golden show'r. 

And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine. 

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. 

' My son," she cried, << ne'er thirst for gore agaiui 

Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ; 

O'er politics and poesy preside, 

Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide ! 

For long as Albion's heedless sons submit. 

Or Scottish taste decides on English wit, 

So long shall last thine unmolested reign. 

Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. 

Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan, 

And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. 

First in the oat-fed phalanx f shall be seen 

The travell'd thane, Athenian Aberdeen, j: 

* ThiB dimlay of •ympathy on the part of the Tolbooth, (the principol prison 
in Edinburgn,) whidi truly seems to Mve been moat affected on this occasion, 
is mnch to be commended. It was to be apprehended that the many unhappy 
criminola eiecuted in the front might have rendered the edifice more callous. 
She is said to be of the sofler sex, i>ecause her deUcacy of feeling on this day 
wwt truly feminine, though, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish.' 

t — Oatrfed phalanx. — So altered in the fifth edition. The original reading 
was, ** ranks illustrioiis.** 

t Hia lotdship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian Society, 
and reviewer of *« Cell's Topography of Troy." 


Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, * and sometimes. 
Id gratitude, thoa 'It praise his rugged rhymes. 
Smug Sydney -I* too thy bitter page shall seek, 
And classic Hallam, i much renown'd for Greek ; 
Scott may perchance his name and influence lend. 
And paltry Pillans § shall traduce his friend ; 
While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe, || 
Damn'd like the devil, devil-like will damn. 4 
Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway ! 
Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay ; 
While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes 
To Holland's hirelings and to learning's foes. 
Yet mark one caution ere thy next Review 
Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue, 
Beware lest blundering Brougham ** destroy the sale. 
Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail." 

• Mr. Herbert i« a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the pnn- 
cipal pieces is a " Song on the Recovery of Thor's Hammer :". the translation, 
is a pleasant chant in me vulgar tongue, and endeth thus : 

^* Instead of money and rings, I wot 
The hammer's bruises were her lot. 
Thus Odin*s son his hammer got," 

t The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter PljTnley's Letters, 
and sundry criticisms. 

X Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's "Taste," and was exceedingly severe 
on some Greek verses therein : it was not discovered that the lines were PindarV 
till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which RtiD stands an 
everlasting monument of HaUam's ingenuity.* 

The said Ilallom is incensed because he is falsely accused, seeing that he 
never dineth at Holland House. If this be true, I am sorrj' — not for haWng 
said so, but on his account, as I understand his lordship's feasts are preferable to 
his compositions. — If he did not review Lord Holland s performance, I am glad, 
because it must have been painful to read, and irksome to praise it. If Mr. ilal- 
1am will tell me who did review it, the real name shall find a place in the text, 
provided, nevertheless, the said name be of two orthodox musical syllables, and 
will come into the verse : till then, Hallam must stand for want of a better. 

^ Pillans is a tutor at Eaton. 

II The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed ** Beresfbrd's Miseries," and is moreover 
author of a farce enacted with much applause at the Phory, SCanmore ; and 
damned with great expedition at ihe late theatre, Covent Garden. It was en- 
titled, " Whistle for It.' ' 

IT Damn'd like the devil^ deviJrWce wiU damn. — The line stood, in all editioiis 
before the fifth, 

" As he himself was damn'd shall try to damn." 

♦• Mr. Brougham, in No. XXV of the Edinburgh Review, throughout the 
article concernmg Don Pedro de Cctirilos, has displayed more pohtics than 
policy ; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so incensed at the in- 
famous principles it evinces, as to liave withdrawn their subsdKptions.t 

It seems that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as I supposed, but a Borderer, end 
his name is pronounced Broom, from Trent to Tay : — So be it 

* HaUam's ingenuity. — The note ended here in the first edition. 

t Their ntbscriptions. — Here followed, in the fifth edition, "The name of this 
personage is pronounced Broom in the south, but the truly northeni and mmiad 
pronunciation is Brougk-am, in two syllables 




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Buter'0 Ufe and Wtftingi, ho. 

Tha Poit RqjalkM, touUm LoyolA^win thePair, P'^ubtgBe;f JUawy <rf tha S^taonatioB, 

f-^tted H A.r^* 

^ J^^^-Z^^C^'^:^-<^_^ 


Hius having said, the kilted goddess kist 
Her SOD, an^ vanish'd in a Scottish mist. * 

Then prosper, Jeffrey ! pertest of the train f 
Whom Scotland pampers with her fiery grain ! 
Whatever blessing waits a genuine Scot, 
In double portion swells thy glorious lot , 
For thee Edina culls her evening sweets, 
And showers their odours on thy candid sheets, 
Whose hue and fragrance to thy work adhere — 
This scents its pages, and that gilds its rear. X 
Lo ! blushing Itch, coy nymph, enamour'd grown, 
Forsakes the rest, and cleaves to thee alone ; 
And, too unjust to other Pictish men, 
Enjoys thy person, and inspires thy pen ! 

Illustrious Holland ! hard would be his lot, § 
His hirelings mentioned, and himself forgot ! 
Holland, with Henry Petty at his back. 
The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack. 
Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, 
Where Scotchmen feed, and critics may carouse ! 
Long, long beneath that hospitable roof 
Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof. 
See honest Hallam lay aside his fork. 
Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, 
And, grateful for the dainties on his plate, {| 

The conclusion of the note wm rabttitnted for the above in the wfxmd edition. 

* I ought to splogize to the worthy deities for introducing a new goddess i;i'ith 
short pottieoata to their notice : but alas ! what was to be done ? I could not 
«ay Caledonia's genius, it being well known there is no such geniud to be found 
fmm Clackmanan to Caithness; yet without supernatural agency, how was 
Jeffrey to be saved? The national "kelpies" are too unpoeticul, nnd the 
** brownies," and "gude neighbours,'* (spirits of a good disposition,) refuKcd to 
extricate him. A goddess, therefore, has been called for the purpose ; and great 
ouffht to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only communication he ever 
held, or is likely to hold, with any thing heavenly. 

t Then prosper, Jeffrey! Ac— This paragraph wai introduced in the fifth 

t See the colour of the back binding of the E^nbuiigh Review. 

^ IBustriouii HcOand ! hard wmld be his lot, 

if» hireiinge mention' df and himtelf forgot ! 

Bad enough, and on mistaken grounds too. — MS. note by Lord Byron 181^ 

(I Asid, grateful for (he daintiee, &c. — In aQ editions before the fiAh this couplet 
was printed, 

** And grateftil to the founder of the feast, 
Decliure his landlord can tranalate at least." 
VOL. v.— C C 


Declare his landlord can at least translate ! * 
Dunedin ! view thy children with delight, 
They write for food — and feed because they write : 
And lest, when heated with the unusual grape. 
Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape, 
And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, 
My lady skims the cream of each critique ; 
Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul. 
Reforms each error, and refines the whole* f 

Now to the Drama turn-— Oh ! motley sight ! 
What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite ! 
Puns, and a prince within a barrel pent, ^ 
And Dibdin's nonsense yield complete content. 
Though now, thank Heaven ! the Rosciomania's o'er, 
And full-grown actors are endured once more ; 
Tet what avail their vain attempts to please, 
While British critics suffer scenes like these ; 
While Reynolds vents his "dammes!" "poohs!" and 

« zounds ! " § 
And and common sense confounds? 
While Kennv's "World" — ah! where is Kenny's 

wit? — 
Tires the sad gallery, lulls the listless pit ; || 
And Beaumont's pilfer'd Caratach affords 
A tragedy complete in all but words ? IT 
Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage. 
The degradation of our vaunted stage ! 
Heavens ! is ^11 sense of shailie and talent gone ? 
Have we no living bard of merit ? — none ! 
Awake, George Colman ! Cumberland, awake ! 
Ring th' alarum bell ! let folly quake ! 

* Lord Holland has translated some specimens of Lope de Vega, inserted in 
his life of the author. Both are bepraised by his disinitrtsted guesu. 

t Certain it is, her ladyship is suspected of havmg displayed her matchless wit 
in the E^dinburgh Review. However that may be, we know, from good autliorityi 
that the manuscripts are submitted to her perusal — no doubt, for correction. 

t In the melo-drama of Tekeli, that heroic prince is clapt into a barrel on the 
stage ; a new asylum for distressed heroes. 

^ All these are favourite expressions of Mr. Reynolds, and prominent in his 
comedies, living and defonct. 

II " While Kenny*s • World,'— ah ! where is Kenny's wit ? — 

Tires the saa ffellery, lulls the listless pit." 

ll&us corrected in the fifth edition. The lines were originally printed, 
"While Kenny's * Worid,' just sufTer'd to proceed. 
Proclaims the audience very kind indeed." 

T Mr. T. Sheridan, the new manager of Drury-lane theatre, snipped ths 
tragedy of Bondoca of the dialogue, and exhibited the scenes as the spectacle of 
Caractacus. — Was this worthy of his sire or of himself 7 


Oh, Sheridan ! if aug^t can move thy pen, 
Let Comedy aMume her throne again ; 
Abjure the mummery of the German schools ; 
Leave new Pizarros to translating fools ; 
Give, as thy last memorial to the age, 
One classic drama, and reform the stage. 
Gods ! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head, 
Where Garrick trod, and Siddons lives to tread ? * 
On those shall Farce display Bufibon'ry's mask, 
And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask ? 
Shall sapient managers new scenes produce 
From Cherry, Skeffington, and Mother Goose ? 
While Shakspeare, Otway, Massinger, forgot. 
On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot 7 
Lo ! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim 
The rival candidates for Attic fame ! 
In grim array though Lewis' spectres rise, 
Still Skeffington and Goose divide the prize. 
And sure great Skeffington must claim our praise, 
For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays 
Renown'd alike ; whose genius ne'er confines 
Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs ; f 
Nor sleeps with ^ Sleeping Beauties," but anon 
In five facetious acts comes thundering on, X 
While poor John BuU, bewilder'd with the scene, 
Stares, § wondering what the devil it can mean ; 
But as some bauds applaud, a venal few \ 
Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too. 

Such are we now. Ah ! wherefore should we turn 
To what our fathers were, unless to mourn ? 
Degen'rate Britons ! are ye dead to shame, 
Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to blame T 
Well may the nobles of our present race 
Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face ; 
Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, 
And worship Cataiani's pantaloons. || 

SiddoTU lives to tread. — ^In aU editions previoaa to the fifth, " Kemble livei to 

t Mr. Greenwood is, we betieve, scene-painter to Drury-lane theatre — as such, 
Mr. Skeffington is much indebted to him. 

t Mr. Skeffington is the illustrions aathor of the " Sleeping Beauty ; ** and 
some comedies, particularly **■ Maids and Bachelors : " Baccalaurii baculo magis 
qoam Uiuo digin. 

^ *«5ter«f ;" first edition, "Aaseps." 

'II Naldi and Catalani require little notice — for the visage of the one, and the 
salary of the other, will enable us long to recollect these amusing vngibon'f^. 


Since their own drama yields no fairer trace 
Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. 

Then let Ausonia, skill'd in every art 
To soflen manners, but corrupt the heart, 
Pour her exotic follies o'er the town, 
To sanction Vice, and hunt Decorum down : 
Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes, 
And bless the promise which his form displays ; 
While Gayton bounds before th' enraptured looks 
Of hoary marquises and stripling dukes : 
Let high-born lechers eye the lively Pr^sle 
Twirl her light limbs, that spurn the needless veil ; 
Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, 
Wave the white arm, and point the pliant toe ; 
Collini trill her love-inspiring song, 
Strain her fair neck, and charm the listening throng ! 
Whet * not your scythe, suppressors of our vice ! 
Reforming saints ! too delicately nice ! 
*By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save. 
No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave ; 
And beer undrawn, and beards unmown, display 
Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day. 

' Or hail at once the patron and the pile f 
Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle ! j: 
Where yon proud palace. Fashion's hallow'd fane. 
Spreads wide her portals for the motley train, 

Besides, we are still black and blae from the squeeze on the first night of the 
lady*8 appearance in trousers. 

* Whet not your scythe. — From Lord Byron's correction in 1816. In the 
former editions, " Raise not your scythe." Aninst the six concluding lines of 
tiiis paragraph the author has written — ** Good." 

t Or hail at once Ae patron and the pile. — The following seventy lines, to " ai 
for the smaUer fry," &c., wero first inserted in the second edition. 

t To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a man, I beg leave 
to state, that it is the institution, and not tt^ duke of that name, which is here 
alluded to. A gentleman, with whom I am slighUy acquainted, lost in the Argyle 
Rooms sever^ thousand pounds at backgammon.* It is but justice to ih<* 
managers in this instance to say, that some aegree of disapprobation was mani- 
fested : but why are the implements of g^aming allowed m a place devoted t4i 
the society of both sexes 7 A pleasant thmg for the wives or daughters of tho^e 
who are blest or cursed with such connections to hear the billiard-tables rattling 
in one room and the dice in another ! That this is the case I myself can tefeiify. 
as a late unworthy member of an institution which materially affects the morals of 
the higher orders, while the lower may not even move to the sound of a tabor 
and fiddle without a chance of indictment for riotous behavioar. 

* True. It was Billy W y who loftlhe money. I knew him, and yn» a 

snbacriber to the Aigyle at tho lime of the events- Af5. note by Lord Byrm. 


Behold the new Petronius * of the day, 

Our arbiter of pleasure and of play ! 

There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir, 

The melting lute, the soil lascivious lyre, 

The song from Italy, the step from France, 

The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance, 

The smile of beauty and the flush of wine. 

For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combine : 

Each to his humour — Comus all allows ; 

Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse. 

Talk not to us, ye starving sons of tra^e ! 

Of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made ; 

In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask. 

Nor think of poverty, except " en masque," . 

When for the night some lately titled ass 

Appears the beggar which his grandsire was. 

The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er. 

The audience take their turn upon the floor ; 

Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep, . 

Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap ; 

The first in lengthen'd line majestic swim. 

The last display the free linfetter'd limb ! 

Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair 

With art the charms which nature could not spare ; 

These after husbands wing their eager flight. 

Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night. 

Oh ! blest retreats of infamy and ease. 
Where, all forgotten but the power to please, 
Each maid may give a loose to genial thought, 
Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught : 
There the blithe youngster, just return'd from Spain* 
Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main ; 
The jovial caster 's set, and seven 's the nick. 
Or — done ! — a thousand on the coming trick ! 
If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire, 
And all your hope or wish is to expire. 
Here 's Powell's pistol ready for your life. 
And, kinder still, two Pagets for your wife ; f 
Fit consummation of an earthly race 
Begun in folly, ended in disgrace { 

Petroniui "Arbiter elegantaaram'* to Nero, "and a very pretty fellow in 
blfl day," aa Mr. Congreve's " Old Bachelor " saith of Hannibal. 

t Ttoo PagetMfor your wife. — Thus altered in the fifth edition. The original 
reading was, " a' Paget for your wife." 


While none but menials o'er the bed of death. 

Wash thy red woands, or watch thy wavering breath ; 

Traduced by liars, and forgot by all, 

The mangled victim of a drunken brawl, 

To live like Clodius, * and like Falkland f fall. • 

Truth ! rouse some genuine bard, and guide his hand 
To drive this pestilence from out the land. 
E'en I — least thinking of a thoughtless throng, 
iust skill 'd to know the right and choose the wrong, 
Freed at that^ge when reason's shield is lost, 
To fight my course through passion's countless host, :( 
Whom every path of pleasure's flow'ry way 
Has lured in turn, and all have led astray — 
E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel 
Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal ; 
Although some kind, censorious friehd will say, 
"What art thou better, meddling fool,§ than they ? ** 
And every brother rake will smile to see 
That miracle, a moralist in me. 
No matter — when some b^rd in virtue strong, 
Gifibrd perchance, shall raise the chastening song, 
Then sleep my pen for ever ' and my voice 
Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice ; 
Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I 
May feel the lash that Virtue must apply. 

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals 
From silly Hafxz || up to simple Bowles, 

* Mutato xfomene de te 

, Fabula narrator. 

t I knew the late Lord Falkland welL On Sunday night I beheld him pire> 
riding at his own table, in all the honest pride of hospitality ; on Wednesday 
rooming, at three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all that remained of conraffe, 
feeling, and a host of passions. He was a gallant and successful officer : Dis 
faults were the faults of a sailor — as such, Britons will forgive liim. He died 
like a brave man in a better cause ; for had he fallen in like manner on the deck 
of the frigate to which he was just appointed, his last moments would have been 
held up by his countrymen as an example to succeeding heroes. 

X To fight my course through pa»9imC» comUkgg host, — Yes; and a precious 
chase they led me. — MS, note ^ Lord Byron. 1816. 

What art thou better, meddHntt fool ? —Foci enough, certainly, then, and no 
wiser since. — MS. note by Lord Byron, 1816. 

' II What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anacreon, Hafiz, could he 
rise from his splendid sepulchre at Sheeraz, where he reposes widi Ferdonsi 
and Sadi, the oriental Homer and Catullus, and behold his name aMomed 
by one Stott^of Dromore, the most impudent and execrable of literary poachers 
for the doily prints. 


Why shoald we call them from their dark abode, 

In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham-road 7 

Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare 

To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street or the Square t 

If things of ton their harmless lays indite, 

Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight, * 

What harm ? In spite of every critic elf, 

Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; * ' 

Miles Andrews still his strength in couplets try. 

And live in prologues, though his dramas die. 

Lords too are ba^, such things at tiniest befall. 

And *t is some praise in peers to write at all. 

Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times. 

Ah ! who would take their titles with their rhymes ? * 

Roscommon ! Sheffield ! with your spirits fled. 

No future laurels deck a noble head ; 

No muse will cheer, with renovating smile, f 

The paralytic puling of Carlisle. 

The puny schoolboy, and his early lay 

Men pardon, if his follies pass away ; 

But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse, 

Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse T 

What heterogeneous honours deck the peer ! 

Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer ! X 

So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age, 

His scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage ; 

* Here IbUowid in the original manuscript, 

On one alone Apollo deigns to smile, 
And crowns anew Roscommon in Carlisle 
The provocation alluded to in Lord Byron's note, page 262, took place 
while the satire was inpress. These lines were erasea in consequence, and 
an thoM down to, "With you, ye Druids," &c., substituted in their place. 
The following additional lines were written, but suppressed before publica- 

In these our times, with daily wonders big, 
A lettered peer is like a lettered pig ; 
Both know their alphabet, but wno, from thence, * 

Infers that peers or pigs have manly sense ? 
Still less that such snould woo the graceful nine : 
Parnassus was not made for lords and swine, 
t No mute vnU ckeer^ vnth renovating smtfe, 

The paralytic puling of CarUale. 
Tliis couplet stood in the first edition, 

** Nor e'en a hackney 'd muse will deiffn to smile 
On minor Byron, or mature Carlisle. 
Opposite tliese lines on Lord Carlisle, Lord Byron has written, in the copy 
which he perused in 1816, ** Wrong also — the provocation was not sufficient to 
justify the acerbity/' 

t The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighteen-penny pamphlet on 
the state of the stage, and offers his plan of building a new theatre. It is to be 
hoped his lordship will be permitted to bring forward any thing for the stage — 
eicept his own tragedies. 


But managers for once cried, << Hold, enough ! " 
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff. 
Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh. 
And case his volumes in congenial calf; 
Yes ! doff that covering, where morocco shines^ 
ADd hang a calf-skin * on those recreant lines. 

With you, ye Dnlids ! rich in native lead, 
Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; 
With you I war not : Gifford's heavy hand 
Has crush'dy without remorse, your numerous band. 
On " all the talents " vent your venal spleen ; 
Want is your plea, let pity be your screen. • 
Let monodies on Fox regale your crew. 
And Melville's Mantle f prove a blanket too ! 
One common Lethe waits each hapless bard. 
And, peace be with you ! 't is your best reward. 
Such damning fame as Dunciads only give 
Could bid your lines beyond a morning live ; 
But now at once your fleeting labours close, 4 
With names of greater note in blest repose. 
Far be 't from me unkindly to upbraid 
The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade. 
Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind. 
Leave wondering comprehension far behind, i 
Though Crusca's bards no more our journals fill, 
Some stragglers skirmish round the columns still ; 
Last of the howling host which once was Ball's, § 
Matilda snivels yet, and Hafiz yells ; 

• "Doffthat lion's hide, 

And hang a calf-«kin on those recreant limbs." 

Shak. King John, 
Lord Carlisle's works, most resplendently bound, form a conspicuous oma- 
me«t to his book-shelves : 

"The rest is all but leather and prunella." 
t " Melville's Mantle," a parody on •* Elijah's Mantle," a poem. 

t This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew K , seems to 

be a follower of the Delia Cnisca school, and has published two volumes of very 
respectable absurdities in rhyme, as times go ; besides sundry novels in the style 
of the first edition of the Monk. 

To the above, Lord Byron added, in 1816 : " She since married the Morning 
Post — an exceeding good match — and is now dead — which is better." 

^ From this line the passage in the first edition stood thus : 
Thouffh Bell has lost his nightingales and owls, 
Matiloa snivels still, and Htmz howls, 
And Crusca's spirit, rising firom the dead. 
Revives in Laura, Quiz, and X. Y. Z. 

iCOTCH ssTiBwntt. 393 

And Meny's metaphors appear anew, 
Chain'd to the signature of O. P. Q. * 

When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, f 
Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, 
Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, 
St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the muse. 
Heavens ! how the vulgar stare ! how crowds applaud ! 
How ladies read, and literati laud ! 
If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, 
T is sheer ill-nature — do n't the world know best ! 
Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme 
And Capel Lofil ^ declares 't is quite sublime. 
Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade ! 
Swains ! quit the plough, resign the useless spade ! 
Lo ! Burns and Bloomfield, nay, a greater far, 
GifTord was born beneath an adverse star. 
Forsook the labours of a servile state, 
Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over fate : 
Then why no more ? if Phcebus smiled on you, 
Bloomfield ! why not on brother Nathan too ? § 
Him too the mania, not the muse, has seized ; 
Not inspiration, but a mind diseased : 
And now no boor can seek his last abode, 
No common be enclosed without an ode. 
Oh ! since increased refinement deigns to smile 
On Britain's sons, and bless our. genial isle, 
Let poesy go forth, pervade the whole. 
Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul ! 
Ye tuneful cobblers I still your notes prolong. 
Compose at once a slipper and a sopg ; 
So shall the fair your handy work peruse. 
Your sonnets sure shall please — perhaps your shoes. 
May Moorland || weavers boast Pindaric skill, 
And tailors' lays be longer than their bill ! 

* These are the ngnatoret of ▼arioiu woithiei who figure in the poeticai de- 
pertinents of the newspepers. 

t WhenBome &riaiyo«tA, &c. — The following paragraph was inserted in the 
second edition. 

This was meant for poor Blackett, who was then patronized by A. J. 6., but 
that I did not know, or thii would not have been written, at least I think not. — 
MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816. 

t Capel Lofll, Esq. the Mncenas of shoemakers, and pre (ace- writer general 
to distressed versemen ; a kind of gratis accoucheur to those who wish to be 
delivered of rhyme, bat do not know how to bring forth. 

% See Nathaniel Bloomfield's ode, elegy, or whatever he or any one else 
chooses to call it, on the enclosure of " Honington Green." 

II Vide '* RecoUeccions of a Weaver in the Moorlands of Staffordshire." 


While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes. 
And pay for poems — when they pay for coats. 

To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, 
Neglected genius ! let me turn to you. 
Come forth, oh Campbell ! * giye thy talents scope ; 
Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope ? 
And thou, melodious Rogers ! f rise at last. 
Recall the pleasing memory of the past ; 
Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire, 
And strike to wonted tones thy hallowM lyre 
Restore Apollo to his vacant throne. 
Assert thy country's honour and thine own. 
What ? must deserted Poesy still weep 
Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep ! 
Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns. 
To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel, Bums ! 
No ! though contempt hath mark'd the spurious brood. 
The race who rhyme from folljr, or for food, 
Yet still some genuine sons 't is hers to boast. 
Who, least affecting, still affect the most : 
Feel as they write, and write but as they feel — 
Bear witness Gifford, Sotheby, Macneil. ^ 

" Why slumbers Gifford ? " once was ask'd in vain ; § 
Why slumbers Gifford ? let us ask again. 

* It would be superfluous to recall to the mind of the reader the amhon of 
" The Pleasures of Memory " and " The Pleasures of Hope," the most beauti- 
ful didactic poems in our language, if we except Pbpe's "Essay on Man : *' but 
80 many poetasters have started up, that even the names of Campbell and 
Roeers are become strange. 

Beneath this note Lord Byron has written, in the copy of this satire which he 
read m 1816, 

*' Pretty Miss Jacqueline 
Had a nose aquiline, 
And would assert rude 
Things of Miss Gertrude, 
While Mr. Marmion 
Led a great army on, 
Making Kehama look 
Like a fierce Mameluke." 
t Mdodiout Rogers. — Rogers haa not fulfilled the promise of his first poems, 
but has still very* great merit. — MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816. 

t Giflford, author of the Baviad and Maviad, the first satires of the day, and 
translator of Juvenal. 

Sotheby, translator of Wiebnd s Oberon and Vu^'s Geoipos, and author of 
** Saul," an epic poem. 

Macneil, whose poems are deservedly popular, particularly ** Scotland's 
Scaith," and the " Waes of War," of which ten thousand copies were sold in one 

^ Mr. Gifford promised publicly that the Baviad and Meviad should not be his 
last original works : let him remember, "• Mox in reluctanles draoonea." 


Are there no follies for his pen to purge 1 
Are there no fools whose hacks demand the scourge ? 
Are there no sins for satire's bard to greet ? 
Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street ? 
Shall peers or princes tread pollution's path. 
And 'scape alike the law's and muse's wrath ? 
Nor Maze with guilty glare through future time, 
Eternal beacons of consummate crime ? 
Arouse thee, GifTord ! be thy promise claim'd, 
Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. 

Unhappy White ! * while life was in its spring. 
And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, 
The spoiler swept that soaring lyre away, f 
Which else had sounded an immortal lay. 
Oh ! what a noble heart w^ here undone, 
When Science' self destroy'd her favourite son ! 
Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit. 
She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit. 
'T was thine own genius gave the final blow, 
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low : 
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And wing'd the shafl that quiver'd in his heart ; 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel ; 
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest ; 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 

There be, who say, in these enlighten'd days, 
That splendid lies are all the poet's praise ; 
That strain'd invention, ever on the wing. 
Alone impels the modern bard to sing : 
'T is true, that all who rhyme — nay, all who write. 
Shrink from that fatal word to genius — trite ; 

' * Ueory Ktrke White died at Cambnd^, in October, 1806, in oontequence 
of TOO much exertion in the pursuit of ttudiee that would have matured a mind 
which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed 
miher than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must imprefs'the 
reader Hith the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents whicli 
wooid have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume, 
t The noSer noepi that aoarinj^ lyre away. 

Which d$e had bounded an immortal lay. 
So altered by Lord Byron on reperusing the satire in 1816. In former editions 
the lines stood, 

** The spoiler came : and all thy promise fair 
Haa sought the grave, to sleep for ever ther«." 


Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires. 
And decorate the verse herself inspires : 
This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe * attest ; 
Though nature's sternest painter, yet the best. 

And f here let Shee j: and Genius find a place« 
Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ; 
To guide whose hand the sister arts combine. 
And trace the poet's or the painter's Une ; 
Whose magic touch can bid the canvass glow. 
Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow : 
While honours, doubly merited, attend 
The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. 

. Blest is the man who dares approach the bower 
MThere dwelt the muses at their natal hour ; 
Whose steps have press'd, whose eye has mark'd afar. 
The clime that nursed the sons of song and war, 
The scenes which glory still must hover o'er, 
Her place of birth, her own Achaian shore. 
But doubly blest is he whose heart expands 
With hallow'd feelings for those classic lands ; 
Who rends the veil of ages long gone by, 
And views their remnants with a poet's eye ! 
Wright ! § 't was thy happy lot at once to view 
Those shores of glory, and to sing them too ; 
And sure no common muse inspired thy pen 
To hail the land of gods and godlike men. 

■And you, associate bards ! || who snatch'd to light 
Those gems too long withheld from modern sight ; 
Whose jningiing taste combined to cull the wreath 
Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, 
And all their renovated fragrance flung. 
To grace the beauties of your native tongue ; 
Npw let those minds, that nobly could transfuse 
The glorious spirit of the Grecian muse, 

Creibbe. — I consider Crabbe and Coleridge ai the first of these times in puint 
of power and genius. — MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816. 

t And here let Shee^ Sec. — The ensuing twenty-two lines were inserted in the 
second edition. 

t Mr. Shee, author of " Rhymes on Art," and " Elements of Art." 

^ Mr. Wright, late consul-general for the Seven Islands, is author of a ver\' 
beaudful poem just published : it is entitled ** Hors lonicc," and is descriptive 
of the isles and the adjacent coast of Greece. 

II Tlie translators of the Anthology, Bland and Men vale, hnve since published 
separate poems, which evince genius that only requires opportunitv to atiaui 
eminence. « 

aeoTOB M MviMwmM B0 897 

Hiough soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone : 
Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. 

Let these, or such as these, with just applause^ 
Restore the muse's violated laws ; 
But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime. 
That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme. 
Whose gilded cymbals, more adorn'd than clear 
The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear ; 
In show the simple lyre could once surpass. 
But now, worn down, appear in native brass ; 
While all his train of hovering sylphs around 
Evaporate in similes and sound : 
Him let them shun, with him let timsel die : 
False glare attracts, but more offends the eye. * 

Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth stoop 
The meanest object of the lowly group, 
Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void. 
Seems blessed harmony to Lambe and Lloyd : j 
Let them — but hold, my muse, nor dare to teach 
A strain far, far beyond thy humble reach : 
The native genius with their being given 
Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. 

And thou, too, Scott ! X resign to minstrels rude 
The wilder slogan of a border ^ud : 
Let others spin the meagre lines for hire ; 
Enough for genius if itself inspire ! ^ 

Let Southey sing, although his teeming muse. 
Prolific every spring, be too profuse ; 
Let simple Wordsworth chime his childish ferse, § 
And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse 
Let spectrc-mongering Lewis aim, at most. 
To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost ; 
Let Moore still sigh ; let Strangford steal from Moore, 
And swear that Camoens sang such notes q£ yore ; 

* The neglect of the " Botanic Garden " if lome proof of retaining taste : the 
scenery is its sole recommendation. 

t Metsn. Lambe and Uoyd, the most ignoble followers of Southey and Co. 

t By the by, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poem, his hero or heroine wiO be 
less addicted to "Gramarye," and more to grammar, than the Lady of the Lay 
and her bravo, William of Deloraine. 

% Against this passage on Wordsworth, and the following line on Coleridge, 
Lord Byron has written, ** Unjust." 

il Let Moore itiU 9i^k.r^ Fifth edition. The original reading was, '* Let Moore 
be lewd." 

398 BirousH baxdb and 

Let Hayley hobble on, Montgomery rave. 
And godly Grahame chant a stupid stave ; 
Let sonnetteering Bowles his strains refine, 
And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line ; 
Let Stott, Carlisle, * Matilda, and the rest 
Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the best, 
Scrawl on, 'till death release us from the strain, 
Or Common Sense assert her rights again. 
But thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise^ 
Shouldst leave to humbler bards ignoble lays : 
Thy country's voice, the voice of all the nine, 
Demand a hallow'd harp — that harp is thine. 
Say ! will not Caledonia's annals yield 
The glorious record of some nobler field 
Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, 
Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man ? 
Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food 
For Sherwood's outlaw tales of Robin Hood ? 
Scotland ! still proudly claim thy native bard, 
And be thy praise his first, his best reward ! 
Yet not with thee alone his name should live. 
But own the vast renown a world can give ; 
Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more. 
And tell the tale of What she was before ; 

* It may be aaked why I have cenaurad the Earl of Carlisle, my guardian and 
relative, to whom I dedicated a volume of puerile poemt a few years ago?— 
The guardianahip was nominal, at least as far as 1 have been able to discover; 
the relationship 1 cannot help, and ami very sorry for it ; but as his lordship 
seemed to forget it on a very essential occasion to me, I shall not boiden my 
memory %ith the recollection. I do not think that personal difierences sanction 
the unjust condemnation of a brother scribbler; bat I see no reason why they 
should act as a preventive, when the author, noble or i^pnoble, has, for a aeriea 
of years, beguilj^ a " discerning public " (as the advertisements have ir) with 
divers reams of most orthodoi, imperial nonsense. Besides, I do not step and(> 
to vituperate the earl : no — his works come fairly in review with those of other 
patrician literati. If, before I escaped from my teems, I said any thing in favour 
of his brdship*s paper books, it was in the way of dutifhl dedication, and more 
from the advice of others than my own judgment, and I seize the fint oppor- 
tunity of pronoun^pg my sincere recantation. I have heard that some persons 
conceive me to be under obligations to Lord Carlisle : if so, I shall be most par- 
ticularly happy tq learn what they are, and when conferred, that they may be 
duly appreciated and publicly acknowledged. What I have humbly advanced 
as an opinion on his printed things, I am prepared to support, if necessary', by 
quotations from eleg[ies, eulogies, odes, episodes, and certain &cetiou9 and 
dainty tragedies beanng his name and mark : — 

** What can ennoble knaves, or/oob, or cowards 7 
Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards." 
So says Pope. Amen ! 

Bfuch too savage, whatever the foundation might be. — MS. ncie hf Lord 
Jyron. 1816. 

This note first appeared in the second edition. 

t In the first edition, '* OatlawM Sherwood's." 


To future times her faded fame recall. 
And save her glory, though his coaatry fall. 

Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope,*^ 
To conquer ages, and with time to cope 7 
New eras spread their wings, new nations rise, 
And other victors f fill the applauding skies ; 
A few brief generations fleet along, 
Whose sons forget the poet and his song : 
E'en now, what once-loved minstrels scarce may claim 
The transient mention of a dubious name ! 
When fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast. 
Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last ; 
And glory, like the phoenix X 'midst her fires, 
Exhdes her odours, blazes, and expires. 

Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons, 
Expert in science, more expert at puns ? 
Shall these approach the muse ? ah, no ! she flies. 
Even from the tempting ore of Seaton's prize ; § 
Though printers condescend the press to soil 
With rhyme by Hoare, and epic blank by Hoyle :|| 
Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist. 
Requires no sacred theme to bid us list.lT 
Ye ! who in Granta's honours would surpass. 
Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass ; 
A foal well worthy of her ancient dam. 
Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. 

There Clarke, still striving piteously '< to please," '"* 
Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, 

* Yd tohai aoaS*, d^c. — The following twelve linei were introduced in the 
■econd edition. 

t ** Tolleie homo, victorque vimm volitare per on" 


X lake Ike vhemix ^midtt her fret, — The devil take that phoBHix ! How came 
it there ? — MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816. 

^ Even from the tempting ore of SeaUnCe prixe» — Thiu corrected, in 1816, by 
Lord Byron. In former editions : 

** And even ■pome the great Seatonian prise.*' 
II Thua in the original manoscript : 

With odes by Smyth, and epic wnn by Hoyle ; 
Hoyle whoee leam'dpage it still upheld by whist, 
Required no sacred theme to bid us list. 

T The ''Games of HoyW weU known to the votaries of whist, chess, &c. are 
not to be superseded by the vagaries of his poetical namesake, whose poem 
comprised, as expressly stated in Uie advertisement, all the ** plagues of Egypt." 

*^ Tkere GarhB, tHU t trimng , *e.— Theeo eight lines were added in the se- 
cond edition. 

400 EN6U8H BAftDS AND 

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon, 
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon, 
Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean, 
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine, 
Devotes to scandal his congenial mind ; 
Himself a living libel on mankind.* 

Oh ! dark asylum of a Vandal race ! f 
At once the boast of learning, and disgrace ! 
So lost to Phoebus, ^ that nor Hodgson's § verse 
Can make thee better, nor poor Hewson's || worse. 
But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave, 
The partial muse delighted loves to lave ; 
On her green banks a greener wreath shelT wove, 
To crown the bards that haunt her classic grove ; 
Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires. 
And modern Britons glory in their sires."^* 

For me» who, thus unask'd,f f have dared to tell 
My country, what her sons should know too well. 

Bjght enouffh, this was well deserved, and well laid on. — MS. note hy Lord 
Byron. 1816. 

* This person, who has lately betrayed the moat rabid symptoms of confirmed 
authorship, is writer of a poem denommated the " Art of Pleasing/* as "lacus a 
non lucendo/' containing little pleasantry and less poetiy. He also acts si 
monthly stipendiary and collector of calumnies for the " Satirist** If this nn* 
fortunate young man would exchange the magazines for the mathematics, and 
endeavour to tiuce a decent degree in his university, it might eventually prove 
more serviceable than his present salary. 

t " Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus tTansi>orted a considerable body 
of Yandals." — Gibbons Decline and Fall, p. 83. vol. ii. There is no reason to 
doubt the truth of this assertion ; the breed is still in high perfection.* 
These four lines were substituted for the following in the original manuscript : 
Yet hold — as when by Heaven's supreme behest, 
If found, ten righteous had preserved the rest, 
In Sodom's fated town, for Granta's name 
Let Hodgson's genius plead, and save her feme. 
X So lost to PkabuSf t?utt, &c. — This couplet, thus altered in the fifth edition, 
was originally printed, 

** So sunk in dulness, and so lost in shame. 
That Smyth and Hodgson scarce redeem thy feme." 
^ This gentleman's name requires no praise ; the man who in txandation dis- 
plays unquestioittble genius may well be expected to excel in original composi- 
tion, of wnich it is to be hoped we shall soon sed a splendid specimen. 
II Hewson Clarke, Esq., as it is written. 
T '* Is*' in the first edition. 

«* The "Aboriginal Britons,'* an excellent poem, by Richards. 
ft UnasVd ; in the first edition unknown. 

* Thehreed is xetS in high perfection. -^la the first edition : — ** There is do 
reason to donbt the troth uf this aMeriioii, as a luge stock of the same breed is 
to be found there at this day." 


Zeal for her honour bade me here engage* 
The host of idiots that infest her age ; 
No just applause her honour'd name shall lose, 
As first in freedom, dearest to the muse. 
Oh ! would thy bards' but emulate thy fame, 
And rise more worthy, Albion, of thy name ! 
What Athens was in science, Rome in power. 
What Tyre appear'd in her meridian hour, 
'T is thine at once, fair Albion ! to have been — 
Earth's chief die tatress, ocean's lovely queen: 
But Rome decay'd, and Athens strew'd the plain. 
And Tyre's proud piers lie shatter'd in the main ^ 
Like these, thy strength may sink, in ruin hurl'd, 
And Britain fall, the bulwark of the world. 
But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate, 
With warning ever scofTd at, till too late ; 
To themes less lofty still my lay confine. 
And urge thy bards to gain a name like thine."! 

Then, hapless Britain ! be thy rulers blest. 
The senate's oracles, the people's jest ! 
Still hear thy motley orators dispense 
The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense, 
While Canning's colleagues hate him for his wit. 
And old dame Portland^ fills the place of Pitt. 

Tet once again, adieu ! ere this the sail 
That wafU me hence is shivering in the gale ; 
And Afric's § coast, and Calpe's t| adverse height. 
And Stamboul's IT minarets, must greet my sight : 
Thence shall I stray through beauty's native clime,** 
Where Kaffff is clad in rocks, and crown'd with snows 

* Zeal for her Aoiuwr, &c. — In the fint edition this couplet ran, 
'* Zeal for her honour, no malignant rage, 
flas bade me spurn the follies of her age." 

t And urge thf horde to gam a name Wee <Ame. — With this verse the satire 
ended in the origmal edition. 

t A friend of mine being asked why his grace of Pordond was likened to an 
old woman 7 replied, ** he supposed it was because he was past bearing." — His 
pace is now eatbered to his grandmothers, where he sleeps as sound as ever ; 
out even his sleep was better than his colleagues* waking. 1811. 

% Afiie's coast. Saw it, August, 1809. — MS. noU by Lord Byron. 18 16. 

II Gibraltar. Saw it, August, 1809. — MS. note hy Lord Byrm. 1816. 

T StambouL Was there the summer of 1810.— itfS. note hy Lord Byron 
1816. "^ ' 

** Georgia. 

ttMonnt Caucasus. Saw the distant ridge of, 1810, 1811. — MS. nole hy Loti 
Byron. 1816. 

VOL, V. — D d * 


But should I back retain, no temptiiig presB^ 
ShaU drag my journal firom the desk's recess : 
Let coxcombs, printing as they come from for. 
Snatch his own wreath of ridicule firom Carr ; 
Let Aberdeen and Elgin f still pursue 
The shade of fame through regions of virtik ; 
Waste useless thousands on their Phidian fireaks. 
Misshapen monuments and maim'd antiques ; 
And make their grand saloons a general mart 
For all the mutilated blocks of art : 
Of Dardan tours let dilettanti tell, 
I leave topography to rapid i Gell ; § 
And, quite content, no more shall interpose 
To stun the public ear — at least with prose. 

Thus far I \e held my undisturb'd career, 
Prepared for rancour, steel'd 'gainst selfish fear : 
This thing of rhyme I ne'er dadained to own — 
Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown : 
My voice was heard again, though not so loud. 
My page, though nameless, never disavow'd ; 
And now at once I tear the veil away : — 
Cheer on the pack ! the quarry stands at bay, 

* BvtAould I badtreinrntfto tempting preȤ 
^SftoS drag, Ao. 

Theie four lines were altered in the fifth edition. They onginally itood, 
** Bat ■ho'uld I back return, no lettered stage 
Shall draff my common-place book on the stage 
Let vain Valencia* rival luckless Carr, 
And equal him whose work he sought to mar.*' 
t Lord Elgin would fiun persuade us that all the figures, with and widioat 
noses, in his stone-shop, are the work of Piudias ! "• Cradat Judasus ! " 
t Rapid. Thus altered in the fifth edition. In aU previous editbns, " daatic." 
*' Rapid,*' indeed ! He topographized and typogrsphixed King Priam'i do- 
minions in three days ! — I called nim ** dasaic Mfore I saw the Troad, hot 
since have learned better than to tack to his name what don't bek»ng to it.— 
Note to the fifth edition, 

^ Mr, GeD's Topography of Troy t and Ithaca | cannot ftfl to ensure the ap- 
mobation of every man possessed of classical taste, as well for the infbrmatioD 
Mr. Gell conveys to the mind of the reader, as for the ability and leaeaxch the 
respective works display. — Note toaUthe earfy etStume 

Since seeing the plain of Troy, my opinions are somewhat changed as to the 
above note. Gell's survey was hasty and superficial. — MS, tutte 6y Lord Bynm. 

* Lord Valencia (whose tremendous travels are forthcoming with doe deco- 
rations, graphical, topographical, typographicaD deposed, on Sir John Carr'a 
mduoky suit, that Dubois's satire prevented his purchase of the '* Stiaitfer in 
Ireland." — Oh, fie, my lord ! has your lordship no more feeling for a fellow- 
tourist? but ** two of a trade," they say, dtc. 

t TVvy. Tisited both in 1810 and ISn. — ilfiS.fioteeyZonlJ^yron. 1816 
X IthoM, Passed first in 1809. -^MS.noUbjf Lord Byron, 1816 


Unscared by all the din of Melbourne house, * 
By Lambe's resentment, or by Holland's spouse, 
By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, Hallam's rage, 
Edina's brawny sons and brimstone page. 
Our men in buckram shall have blows enough, 
And feel they too are " penetrable stuff : " 
And though I hope not hence unscathed to go, 
Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. 
The time hath been, when no harsh word would fall 
From lips that now may seem imbued with gall ; 
Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise 
The meanest thing that crawlM beneath my eyes : 
But now, so callous grown, so changed since youth, 
I Ve leam'd to think, and sternly speak the truth ; 
LearnM to deride the critic's starch decree, 
And break him on the wheel he meant for me ; 
To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss. 
Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss : 
Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters frown, 
I too can hunt a poetaster down ; 
And, armM in proof, the gauntlet cast at once 
To Scotch marauder, and to southern dunce. 
Thus much I 've dared ; if ray incondite lay f 
Hath wrong'd these righteous times, let others say : 
This, let the world, which knows not how to spare. 
Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare. :{: 

* — » Din of Melboune A«itfe.-*- Singular enough, and dm enough, God 
knowa. — MS, note by Lord Bynm, 1816. 

t Tku9 mudi I 'w dartd ; if my incondiU lay. 

The reading of the fifth edition : orisinally printed, 

** Tkmji much 1 've dared to do ; how far my lay.'* 

X The greater part of this satire I most nncerelv wish had never been writ- 
ten — not only on account ef the injustice of rauch of tlie critical, and some of 
the personal part of it— but the tone and temper are such as 1 cannot approve. — 
Byrom. July 14, 1816. 



The ]M>et conndereth timea poet and their poesy — maketh a nidden transi- 
tion to times present — is incensed against book-makers — revileth W. Scott for 
copiditv and baliad-mongerinff, with notable remarks on Master Southey — com- 
piaineth that Master Sonthey nath inflicted three poems, epic and otherwise, on 
the public — inveigheth against Wm. Wordsworth ; but lauaeUi Mr. Coleridge and 
his elegv on a youn^ ass — is disposed to vituperate Mr. Lewis — and greatly- 
rebnketh Thomas Little (the late,) and the Lord Stranglbrd — recommendeth 
Mr. Hayley to turn his attention to prose — and exhorte > the Moravians to 
glorify Mr. Grahame — sympathizeth with the Rev. — Boi\ies — and deploreth 
the melancholy fate of Montgomery — breaketh out into invective against the 
Edinburgh Reviewers — ealleth them hard names, harpies, and the like — apos- 
crophisetn Jeffrey and prophesieth — Episode of Jeffrey and Moore, their jeo- 
pardy and deUverance ; portents on the mom of combat ; the Tweed, Tolbooth, 
Frith of Forth, severally »hockcd ; descent of a jj^oddess to save Jeffrey ; incor- 
poration of the bullets with his sinciput and occiput — Edinburgh Reviewers en 
auuse — Lord Aberdeen, Herbert, Scott, Ilallara, Pfllans, Lambe, Sydney Smith, 
Brougham, &c. — The Lord Holland applauded for dinners and translations. — 
The Drama; Skeflfington, Hook, Re3molds, Kenney, Cherry, &c. — Sheridan, 
Colman,and Cumberuind called upon to write. — Return to poesy — scribblers of 
all sorts — Lords sometimes rhyme; much better not — Hafiz, Rosa Matilda, 
and X. Y. Z. — Rogers, Campbell, Gifford, &c. true poets — translators of the 
Greek Anthologv — Crabbe — Darwin*s style — Camoridge — Seatonion Prize 

Smyth — H<^gson — Oxford — Richards — Poeta loquitur — conclusion. 


I have been infonned, since the present edition went to the pren, that my 
tniaty and well-beloved couiunB, tne Edinburgh Reviewers, are prepariiig a 
most vehement critioue on my poor, gentle, unneisting Muse, whom they have 
already so be-devilea with their ungodly ribaldry : 

** Tantaene animis coBlesdbus ine ! *' 

I suppose I must say of JeflTrey as Sir Anthony Aguecheek saith, " an I had 
known he was so cunning of fence, I had seen him damned ere I had fought 
him.*' What a pity it is that I shaH be beyond the Bosphorus before the next 
number has passed the Tweed ! But I yet hope to light my pipe with it in 
Persia. # 

My northern friends have accused me, with justice, of personality towards 
their great literary anthropophagus, Jeffrey ; but what else was to be done with 
him and his dirty pack, who feed by "lyin^and slandering," and shike their 
thirst by " evil speaking 7 " I have adducea facts already well known, and of 
JeflTrey 8 mind I nave stated my free opinion, nor has he thence sustained any 
injury ; — what scavenger was ever soiled by being pelted with mud ? It may 
be said that 1 quit England because 1 have censured there " persons of bonomr 
and wit about town ; ' but I am coming back again, and their vengeance will 
keep hot till my return. Those who know me can testify that mv motives for 
leaving England are very diflTerent from fears, literary or personal : those who 
do not, may one day be convinced. Since tlie publication of this thing, my 
name has not been concealed ; I have been mostly in London, ready to answer 
for my transgressions, and in daily expectation of sundry cartels ; but, alas ! ^ die 
age of chivalry is over," or, in the vulgar tongue, there is no spirit now-a-days. 

There is a youth ycleped Hevvson Clarke (subaudi eaquire^) a sixer of Ema- 
nuel College, and, I believe, a denizen of Berwick-upon-Tweed, whom I have 
introduced in these pages to much belter company than he has been accustomed 
to meet ; he is, notwithstanding, a very sad dog, and for no reason that I can 
discover, except a personal auarrel with a bear, kept by me at Cambridge to sit 
for a fellowship, and whom tne jealousy of his Trimty contemporaries prevented 
from success, has been abusing roe, and, what is worse, the defenceless innocent 
above mentioned, in " The Satirist, " for one year and some months. I am ut* 
terly unconscious of havinj3[ given him any provocation; indeed, I am guiltless 
of having heard his name till coupled with " The Satirist." He has therefore 
no reason to complain, and I dare say that, like Sir Fretful Plagiary, he is rather 
pleased than otherwise. I have now mentioned all who have done me the ho- 
nour to notice me and mine, that is. my bear and my book, except the editor of 
" The Satirist," who, it seems, is a gentleman — Goid wot ! I wish he could im- 
part a little of his genliUty to his subordinate scribblers. I hear that Mr. Jer- 
ningham is about to take up the cudgels for his Msecenas, Lord Carlisle : I hope 
not : he was one of the few, who, in the very short intercourse I had with him, 
treated me with kindness when a boy, and whatever he may say or do, " pour 
on, I will endure." 1 have nothing further to add, save a general note of thanks- 
giving to readers, purchasers, and publishers, and, in the words of Scott, I with. 

" To all and each a fair good night. 
And rosy dreams and uumbers light.** 

* Added to the second edition. 



— — '* Exgo fangw Tiee ootis, aeatmn 
Redden qom femim velet, exion ipsa secandt." 

HoA. De Arte PmL 

* Bhymee are difficult thingi ^-they are itabborn things, sir." 

Fielding's Axuha 


AflMM. Giipaehin CoDTent, March IStli, 1811. 
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace 
His costly canvass with each flatter'd face, 
Abused his art, tUl Nature, with a blush. 
Saw cits ffrow centaurs underneath his brush Y 
Or, should some limner join, for show or sale, 
A maid of honour to a mermaid's tail f 
Or low * Dubost (as once the world has seen) 
Degrade God's creatures in his graphic spleen Y 
Not all that forced politeness, which defends 
Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends. 
Believe me, Moschus, like that picture seems 
The book which, sillier than a sick man's dreams, 
Displays a crowd of figures incomplete, 
Poetic nightmares, without head or (eeU 

Poets and painters, as all artists know, 
May shoot a little with a lengtlien'd bow : 
We claim this mutual mercy for our task. 
And grant in turn the pardon which we ask ; 
But make not monsters spring from gentle dams — * 
Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs. 

Huroano ctpiti cervicem pictor equinam 

Jungere si velit, «t varia« inducere plumas. 

Unique collatia membria, ut turpiter atrum 

Desunt in piscem mulier formosa superne ; - 

Spectatum admisai risum teneatis, aiiiici 7 

Credite, Pisones, iati tabule fore Iibrum 

Penimileni, cujus, velut legri lomnia, vans 

Finffentur apecies, ut nee pes, nee caput uni 

Beddator fbnne. Pictoribus atque poetis 

Qoidlibot audendi semper fuit lequa potestaa, 

Scimus, et banc veniam petimusqae damusque viciMiini 

Sed non ut plaeidis coeant iramitia ; non ut 

Beipentes avibua geminentur, tigribus agni. 

* In an Enfflish newspaper, which finds ita way abroad wherever there ar* 

Erulishmen, I read an account of this dirty dauber's caricatore of Mr. H , 

and the consequent action, &c. The circumstance is, probably too well known 
to require further comment. 


A labour'd, long ezordiuniy sometimes tends 
(Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends ; 
And nonsense in a lofty note goes down, 
As pertness passes with a legal gown : 
Thus many a bard describes in pompoim strain 
The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain : 
The groves of Granta, and her gothic haUs, 
King's Coll., Cam's stream, stain'd windows, and old walls 
Or, in advent'rous numbers, neatly aims 
To paint a rainbow, or -— the river Thames.* 

You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shine — 
But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign ; 
You plan a vase — it dwindles to a pot ; 
Then slide down Grub-street — fasting and forgot ; 
Laugh d into Lethe by some quaint Review, 
Whose wit is never troublesome till — true. 

In fine, to whatsoever you aspire. 
Let it at least be simple and entire. 

The greater portion of the rhyming tribe 
(Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe) 
Are led astray by some peculiar lure. 
I labour to be brief — become obscure ; 
One falls while following elegance too fast ; 
Another soars, inflated with bombast ; 
Too low a third crawls on, afraid to fly. 
He spins his subject to satiety ; 
Absurdly varying, he at last engraves 
Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the waves ! 

Incoeptis gravibus plermnqne et ma^a profetab 
PorpureuB, late qui splendeat, irnus et alter 
Atauitur pannus ; cum lucus et ara Dians, 
£t properantis aquc per amcenoa ambitus agroa, 
Aut flumen Rhenum, aut pluvius describitur arcu. 
Sed nunc non erat his locus : et fortasse cuprearam 
Scis simulare : quid hoc, si fractis enatat eupea 
NavibuB, ere date qui pingitur 7 amphora ctepit 
Institui : currente rota cur urceus exit? 
Denique sit quod vis, simplex duntaxat et unum. 

Maxima pan Tatum, pater, et juvenes patre digni, 
Decipimur specie recti. Brevis esse laboro 
Obscurus fio : sectantem levia, nervi 
Deficiunt animique : profesaus ^ndia, taxfg&X : 
Serpit humi, tutus niroium, timidusque proceDas t 
Qm Tariare cupit rem prodigialiter unam, 
Ddphinum aylvis appingit fluctibua aprum. 

• M Where pore description held the place of aenae.** — P^^ 


Unlen your care's exact, your judgment mce. 
The flight from folly leads but into vice ; 
None are complete, all wanting in some part, 
Like certain tailors, limited in art. 
For galligaskins Slowshears is your man ; 
But coats must claim another artisan.* 
Now this to me, I own, seems much the same 
\s Vulcan's feet to bear ApoUo's frame ; 
Or, with a fair complexion, to expose 
B]fLck eyes, black ringlets, but — a bottle nose ! 

Dear authors ! suit your topics to your strength, 
And ponder well your subject, and its length ; ' 

Nor lift your load, before you 're quite aware 
What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear. 
• But lucid Order, and Wit's siren voice, 
Await the poet, skilful in his choice ; 
With native eloquence he soars along, 
Grace in his thoughts, and music in his song. 

Let judgment teach him wisely to combine 
With future parts the now omitted line : 
This shall the author choose, or that reject, 
Precise in style, and cautious to select ; 
Nor slight applause will candid pens afford 
To him who furnishes a wanting word. 
Then fear not if 't is needful to produce 
Some term unknown, or obsolete in use, 

In vitium ducit culpas fuga, ri caret arte. 
jGmilium circa ludum faber unus et unsnea 
Expiiinet, et molles imitabitur ere capiUos ; 
Inieliz operis summa, quia ponere totum 
Nesciet. Ilunc ego me, si quid componera enrem, 
NonmagiB esse velim, auam pravo vivera naao, 
Spectandum nigris ocufis nigroqae capillo. 

Sumite materiem vestris, qui scribitia, equam 
Viribui ; et versate diu quid ferre recusent 
Quid valeant humeri. Cui lecia potenter erit rai^ 
Nee facundia deseret hunc nee lucidus ordo. 

Ordinifl h»c virtua erit et venua, aut ego foUor, 
Ut jam nunc dicat, jam nunc debentia dici 
Pleraque ditferat, et pnesens in tempua omittat ; 
Hoc amet, hoc apomat promissi carminii auctor. 

In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis . 
Dizeris e^egie, notum si callida verbum 
Reddident junctuni novum. Si ibrte necease eat, 

u-n Mere common mortda were commonly content with one tailor and with one 
biB, but the more particular gentlemen found it impoaaible to confide their lower 
garments to the makers of their body cloihea. I apeak of the beginning of 1609 s 
what reform may have smco taken place I neither know, nor doaira to know 


(As Pitt * has furnishM us a word or two. 

which lexicographers declined to do ;) 

So you indeed, with care, — (but be content 

To take this license rarely) — may invent* 

New words find credit in these latter days, 

If neatly grafled on a Gallic phrase. 

What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce refuse 

To Dryden's or to Pope's maturer muse. 

If you can add a little, say why not, 

As well as William Pitt, and Walter Scott ? ^ 

Since they, by force of rhyme and force of lungs, 

Enrich'd our island's ilUunited tongues ; 

'T is then — and shall be — lawful to present 

Reform in writing, as in parliament. 

As forests shed their foliage by degrees. 
So fade expressions which in season please ; 
And we and ours, alas ! are due to fate. 
And works and words but dwindle to a date. 
Though as a monarch nods, and commerce calls. 
Impetuous rivers stagnate in canals ; 
Though swamps subdued, and marshes drain'd, sustain 
The heavy ploughshare and the yellow graii^. 
And rising ports along the busy shore 
Protect the vessel from old Ocean's roar. 
All, all must perish ; but, surviving last. 
The love of letters half preserves the past. 
True, some decay, yet not a few revive ; f 
Though those shall sink, which now appear to thrive, 

Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum, 
Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis 
Conlinget ; dabiturqne licentia sumpta pudenter; 
Et nova factaque uuper babebunt verba fidem, si 
Greco fonte cadant, parce detorta. Quid autem 
Cascilio Plautoque dabit Roraanus, ademptum 
Viigilio Varioque ? ego cor, acquirere pauca 
8i possum, invideor ; cum lingua Catonis et Eanl 
Sermonem palrium ditaverit, et nova rerum 
Nomina protulerit? Licuit, seraperque licebit, 
8i2natum prssente nota producere no men. 
Ut silv» foliis pronos mutantur in annot ; 
PHma cadunt : ita verborum vetus intent etaa, 
Et iuvenumritu florent modo nata, vigentque. 
Debemur morti nos noBtraque : sive receptua 
Terra Neptunus claMea aquilonibus arcet, 
Re^ opus ; sterilisve diu palua, aptaque remii 
Vicinas urbes aiit, et ^ve eentit aratram : 
Seu cursum mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis, 
Doctus iter melius ; mortalia facta peribunt : 

* Mr. Pitt was liberal in his additions to our parliamentary tongue, as may be 
seen in many publications, particularly the Edinburgh Review. 
t Old ballads, old plays, and old women*s stories, are at present in as much 

unm raoM hobacb. 418 

As dutom arbitrates, whose shifting sway « 
Our life and language must alike obey. 

The immortal wars which gods and angels wage» 
Are they not shown in Milton's sacred page ? 
His strain will teach what numbers best belong 
To themes celestial told in epic song. 

The slow, sad stanza, will correctly paint 
The lover's anguish or the friend's complaint. 
But which deserves the laurel — rhyme or blank ? 
Which holds on Helicon the higher rank ? 
Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute 
This point, as puzzling as a Chancery suit. 

Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen. 
You doubt — see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick's dean.* 

Blank verse is now, with one consent, allied 
To Tragedy, and rarely quits her side. 
Though mad Almanzor rhymed in Dryden's days. 
No sing-song hero rants in modem plays ; 
While modest Comedy her verse foregoes 
For jest and pun f in very middling prose. 

Nedam sermoDQin atet honos, et mtia vivax. 
Malta rensscentnr. que jam ceciaere ; cadentque, 
QcuB none sunt in honore vocabula, ri volet usus; 
Quem pene§ arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loaueodi. 

Ret gestn regumque ducumque et tristia bella. 
Quo scribi posnent numero monstravit Ilomerus. 

Vereibtts imporiter junctis querimonia primom; 
Fbtt etiam inciuiia est voti sententia compos. 
Qnis tamen exiguos elegos emiserit auctor, 
Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est. 

Archilocum proprio rabies arraavit iambo ; 
Hunc socci cepere pedein grandewque cothurni, 
Altemis aplum sermonibus, et populares 
Vincentem strepitus, et natum rebus agendis, 

Musa dedit fidibus divos, puerosque deorum, 
Et pngilem victorem, et equum certamine primnm, 
Et lavenum curas et libera vina referre. 

Descriptas servara vices opertunque colores, 

request as old wine or new speeches. In fact, this is the miDennhini of black 
letter : thanks to oar Hebers, Webers, and Scotu ! 

* Mac Flecknoe, the Donciad, and all Sivift's lampooning ballads. Whatever 
their other works may be, these originated in personal feelings, and anffry re- 
tort on unworthy rivals ; and though the abihty of these satires elevates the 
poetical, their poignancy detracu from the personal character of the writers. 

t With aD the vulgar ^ipbnse and enseal abborranee of pwu, they have 

414 Hnrrs ntoM hobacx. 

Not that our Bens or Beaumonts show the worse, 
Or lose one point, because they wrote in verse. 
But so Thalia pleases to appear, 
Poor virgin ! damn'd some twenty times a year ! 

Whate'er the scene, let this advice have weight : - 
Adapt your language to your hero's state* 
At times Melpomene forgets to groan, 
And brisk Thalia takes a serious tone ; 
Nor unregarded will the act pass by 
Where angry Townly lifts his voice on high. 
Again, our Shakspeare limits verse to kings, 
When common prose will serve for common things ; 
And lively Hal resigns heroic ire. 
To ^ hollowing Hotspur " * and the sceptred sire. 

T is not enough, ye bards, with all your art, 
To polish poems ; — they must touch the heart : 
Where'er the scene be laid, whate'er the song, 
Still let it bear the hearer's soul along ; 
Command your audience or to smile or weep, 
Whiche'er my please you — any thing but sle^. 
The poet claims our tears ; but, by his leave. 
Before I shed them, let me see him grieve. 

If banish'd Romeo feignM nor sigh nor tear, 
Lull'd by his languor, I should sleeo or sneer. 

Cur ego, n nequeo ignoroque, poeta sahitor? 
Cur nescire pudens prave, quam disoere male 7 

Versibus exponi tra^cis res comica non vuh; 
Indicator item privatis, ac prope socco 
IKgnis carminibuK narrari ccena Thyesto 
Singula queqne locum teneant sortita deeenter. 
biterdum tamen at vocem comcedia tolKt, 
IratuBque Chremes tumtdo delitigat ore : 
Et trasicuB plerumque dolet sermone pedestri 
Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et ezul, uterquo 
Projicit ampullas. et sesquipecuilia verba ; 
8i curat cor 8pe«*tantiB tetigiaee querela. 

Non satis est pulchra esse poemata ; dulcia tunto, 
Et quocunque volent, animum auditoris agunto. 
Ut ndentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent 
Humani vultua ; si vis me flere dolendum est 
Primum ipsi tibi ; tune tua me inibrtunia ksdent. 
Telephe, vel Peleu, male si mandata loqndria, 

Aristotle on their side ; who permits them to orators, and gives tiiem eoBseqaeneo 
by a grave disqmsitbn. 
* » And in lus ear I 'llhoUow, Mortimer! "IHesrv IK. 


Sad words, no doubt, become a serious face. 
And men look angry in tbe proper place* 
At double meanings folks seem wondrous sly, 
And sentiment prescribes a pensive eye ; 
For nature form'd at first the inward man, 
And actors copy nature — when they can. 
She bids the beating heart with rapture bound. 
Raised to the stars, or levell'd with, the ground ; 
And for expression's aid, 't is said, or, sung, 
She gave our mind's interpreter — the tongue. 
Who, worn with use, of late would fain dii^»ense 
(At least in theatres) with common sense ; 
O'erwhelm with sound the boxes, gallery, pit, 
And raise a laugh with any thing — but wit. 

To skilful writers it will much import. 
Whence spring their scenes, from common life or court , 
Whether they seek applause by smile or tear, 
To draw a " Lying Valet," or a " Lear," 
A sage, or rakish youngster wild from school, 
A wandering «« Peregrine," or plain " John Bull ; " 
All persons please when nature's voice prevails, 
Scottish or Irish, born in Wilts or Wales. 

Or follow common fame, or forge a plot. 
Who cares if mimic heroes lived or not 7 
One precept serves to regulate the scene : -— 
Make it appear as if it might have been. 

If some Drawcansir you aspire to draw, 
Present him raving, and above all law : 
If female furies in your scheme are plann'd, 
Macbeth's fierce dame is ready to your hand, 

Aut donnitebo, nut ridebo : triatia mfiBfltom 
Vuhum verba decent ; iratum, plena minanim ; 
Lndentem, laaciva ; ■everum, eeria dictn. 
Format enim natora prina nos intua ad omnem 
Fortnnarum habitnm ; jarat, ant impellet ad inun ; 
Aut ad hnmnm moBrore gravi dedoeit, et angit; 
Poat effert animi motna interprete lingua. 
Si dicentia emnt fortunia abaona dicta, 
Romani tollent equitea, pediteaque cacbinnum. 

Intererit multum, Davuane loquatur an beroa ; 
Matumane aenex, an adbuc florente iuventa 
Fervidoa ; an matrona potena, an aedola nutriz ; 
Mercatome vagua, cultome virentia ageUi ; 
Colcbua an Aaeyrioa ; Thebii nutritua, an Ama. 

Aut famam aequere, aut aibi convenientia mige. 
Sciiptor bonoratum ai forte reponia Achillem ; 
Impiger, iraeundua, nnexorabifia, acer, 
Jura neget aibi iiata, nibil non aiTOget annif . ' 

416 Hnrre nox horacb* 

For tears and treachery, for good or evil, 
Constance, King Richard, Hamlet, and the Devil ! 
But if a new design you dare essay, 
And freely wander from the beaten way. 
True to your characters, till all be past. 
Preserve consistency from first to last. 

T is hard to venture where our betters fail. 
Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale ; 
And yet, perchance, *t is wiser to prefer 
A hackney'd plot, than choose a new, and err ; 
Yet copy not too closely, but record^ 
More justly, thought for thought than word for word ; 
Nor trace your prototype through narrow wavs. 
But only follow where he merits praise. 

For you, young bard ! whom luckless fate may lead 
To tremble on the nod of all who read. 
Ere your first score of cantos time unrolls, 
Beware — for God's sake, do n't begin like Bowles ! * 

Sit Medea ferox invictaque ; flebilit Ino ; 
Perfidus Ixion ; lo vaga ; triBtis Orestes ; 
Si quid inexpertum scene committis, et andea 
Personam formare novam ; servetnr ad imum 
Qualis ab incepto proceraerit, et sibi constet 

Difficile est pruprie communia dicere; tuquo 
Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, 
Quam si proferres i^nota indictaque primus 
Pubiica materies privati juris erit^ si 
Nee circa vilem patulumque moraberis orbem, 
Nee verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus 
Interpres, nee desilies imitator in arctum 
Unde pedem proferre pudor vetet, aut opens lex. 

Nee sic incipieSf ut scriptor Cyclicus oUm : 

* About two years ago, a young man, named Townsend, was announced by 
Mr. Cumberland (in a review since deceased) as being engaged in an epic poem 
to be entitled "Armaeeddon." The plan and specimen promise much; but I 
hope neither to ofiena Mr. Townsend nor his fnends, by recomm^ding to his 
attention the lines of Horace to which these rhymes allcMe. If Mr. Townsend 
succeeds in his undertaking, as there is reason to hope, how much will the 
world be indebted to Mr. Cumberland for bringing him oefore the public ! But 
tin that eventful day arrives, it may be doubted whether the premature display 
of his plan (sublime as the ideas confessedly are) has not, by raising expectation 
too high, or diminishing curiosity, by developing his aranunent, raUier incurred 
the hazard of injuring Mr. Townsena's future pn^spects. Mr. Cumberiand (whose 
talents I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my praise) and Mr. Town- 
send must not suppose me actuated by unworthy motives in this suggestion. I 
wish the author all the success he can wish himself^ and shall be tnuy happy to 
see epic poetry weighed up fh>m the bathos where it lies sunken with Sontoey, 
Cottle, Cowley (Mrs. or Abraham), O^vy, Wilkie, Pye, and all the **duD of 
past and present days.*' Even if he is not a AfiZton, he may be better than 
Mladtmore; if not a Hom«r, an Anftmocftiis. Ishoulddeem myself presumptuous^ 
as a young man, in offering advice, were it not addresMd to one still younger 


" Awake a louder and a loftier strain," — 

And pray, what follows from his broiling brain 7 — 

He sinks to Southey's level in a trice, 

Whose epic mountains never fail in mice ! 

Not so of yore awoke your mighty sire 

The temper'd warblings of his master-lyre ; 

Soft as the gentler breathing of the lute, 

** Of man's first ^disobedience and the fruit " 

He speaks, but as his subject swells along, 

EUirth, heaven, and Hades echo with the song. 

Still to the midst of things he hastens on, 

As if we witness'd all already done ; 

Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean 

To raise the subject, or adorn the scene ; 

Gives, as each page improves upon the sight, 

Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness — light ; 

And truth and fiction with such art compounds. 

We know not where to fix their several bounds. 

If you would please the public, deign to hear 

What soothes the many-headed monster's ear ; 

If your heart triumph when the hands of all 

Applaud in thunder at the curtain's fall, 

" Fortnnam Priami cantabo, ot nobtle benum." 
Quid dignum tanto feret hie promiBioi' hiatu ? 
Pftrtarinnt montm : naBcetar ridiculus mus. 
QuaDto rectiiu hie, qni nil moUtur inepte ! 
** Die mihi, Miuai virum eaptn poet tAmpora Troje, 
Qui mores bominum nraltorum vidit et urbes." 
Non fumom ex fulgore, ned ex iHimo dare lucem 
Cogitat, ut ■peciosa dehinc miracula pro mat, 
Antiphaten, Scyllam<}uef et cum Cyclope Charybdim. 
Nee reditum Diomedu ab interitu Meleagri, 
Nee gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo. 
Semper ad eventum fettinat ; et in mediaa res 
Non secus ac notas^ auditorem rapit, et quae 
Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit : 
At<iue ita mentitur, sic veris falsa remiscet, 
Ftimo ne mediamf medio ne discreoet imum. 

Tu, quid ego et populua mecum aesideret, audi. 
Si plauaoris egea auliea manendi, et usque 

Mr. Townsend has the greatest diffieidties to encounter : but in conquering them 
he will find employment; in having conquered them, his reward. I know too 
well **the scribDler*8 scoff, the critic*8 contumely ;'* and I am afraid time will 
teach Mr. Townsend to know them better. Those who succeed, and those 
who do not, must bear this alike, and it is hard to say which have most of it. I 
trust that Mr. Townsend' s share will be from envy ; — he will soon know man- 
kind well enough not to attribute this expression to malice. 

The above note was written before the author was apprized of Mr. Cumber- 
land's death. 
VOL. V. — I'e 


Deserve those plaudits — study nature's page, 
And sketch the striking traits of every age ; 
While varying man and varying years unfold 
Life's little tale, so oft, so vainly told. 
Observe his simple childhood's dawning days. 
His pranks, his prate, his playmates, and his plays ; 
Till time at length the mannish tyro weans, 
And prurient vice outstrips his tardy teens ! 

Behold him Freshman ! forced no more to groan 
O'er Virgil's * devilish verses and — his own ; 
Prayers are too tedious, lectures too abstruse. 
He flies from T — v — I's frown to « Fordham's Mews ; " 
(Unlucky T — v — 1 ! doom'd to daily cares 
By pugilistic pupils and by bears, f ) 
Fines, tutors, tasks, conventions threat in vain. 
Before hounds, hunters, and Newmarket plain. 
Rough with his elders, with his equals rash, 
Civil to sharpers, prodigal of cash ; 
Constant to nought — save hazard and a whore. 
Yet cursing both — for both have made him sore ; 
Unread (unless, since books beguile disease. 
The p — X becomes his passage to degrees) ; 
Fool'd, pillaged, dunn'd, he wastes his term away. 
And, unexpell'd perhaps, retires M . A. ; 
Master of arts ! as hdls and chba % proclaim, 
Where scarce a blackleg bears a brighter name ! 

Seasurif donee cantor, Vos plaudite, dicat ; 
iEtatis cujuBque notandi sunt tibi mores, 
Mobilibusqoe decor naturis dandus et annis. 
Reddere qni voces jam scit puer, et pede certo 
Sisrnat humum ; gestit paribus coUuaere^ et iram 
Colligit ac ponit temere, et mutatnr in boras. 
Imbeibis jnvenis, tandem custode remote, 
Gaudet eqms canibusqoe, et aprici gramine campi ; 
Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper, 
Utilium tardus pro visor, prodigus nris, 
Sublimis, cupidusque, et amata relihqnere pemii. 

* Harvey, tbe circulator of the circuUttion of the blood, used to fling away 
Yiivil in his ecstasy of admiration, and sav, *' the book had a devil.'* Now, 
sucn a character as I am copying woula probably fling it away also, but 
rather wish that the devil had the book ; not from any dislike to tbe poet, 
but a well-founded horror of hexameters. Indeed the pubhc school penance 
of " long and short *' is enough to beget an antipathy to poetry for the re- 
sidue ofa man's life, and, perhaps, so far may be an advantage. 

t '*Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem." I dare say Mr. T — v — 1 
(to whom I mean no affront) will understand me ; and it is no matter whether 
any one else does or no. — To the above events, "quieqne ipse miserrima 
vim, et quorum pars magna iui," all ernes and iermt bear testimony. 

X " Hell," a gaming-house so called, where you risk little, and are cheat- 
ed a good deal. "Club," a pleasant purgatory, where you lose more, and 
are not supposed to be cheated at all. 


Launched into lifet extinct his early fire, 
He apes the selfish prudence of his sire ; 
Marries for money, chooses friends for rank, 
Buys land, and shrewdly trusts not to the Bank ; 
Sits in the Senate ; gets a son and heir ; 
Sends him to Harrow, for himself was there. 
Mute, though he votes, unless when cfdl'd to cheer. 
His son 's so sharp «--- he '11 see the dog a peer ! 

Manhood declines -^ age palsies every limb ; 
He quits the scene — or else the scene quits him ; 
Scrapes wealth, o'er each departing penny grieves, 
And avarice seizes all ambition leaves ; 
Counts cent per cent, and smiles, or vainly frets. 
O'er hoards diminished by young Hopeful's debts ; 
Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy, 
Complete in all life's lessons — but to die ; 
Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please. 
Commending every time, save times like these , 
Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot. 
Expires unwept— is buried — let him rot ! 

But from the Drama let me not digress, 
Nor spare my precepts, though they please you less. 
Though woman weep, and hardest hearts are stirr'd. 
When what is done is rather seen than heard, 
Yet many deeds preserved in history's page 
Are better told than acted on the stage ; 
The ear sustains what shocks the timid eye, 
And horror thus subsides to sympathy. 
True Briton all beside, I here am French — * 
Bloodshed t is surely better to retrench ; 
The gladiatorial gore we teach to flow 
In tragic scene disgusts, though but in show ; 

Convenis ttttdiis, etas animuftiue virilit, 
Qoaerit opei, et amicitias, inservit honori ; 
CoiDininsse cavet quod mox mutare lahoret 

Multa senem conveniunt incommoda ; vel <}aod 
Qttcrit, et inventifl miser abatinet, ac timet nti ; 
Vel quod res omnes timide gelideque ministrat, 
I>ilator, ipe lonffua, iners, aviduaque ftituri ; 
Difficilis, qaenilus, laudator teropioria acti 
Se puero, caatigaior cenaorque minorum. 
Multa ferunt anni venientcs commoda secum, 
Muita recedentes adimunt. Ne forte senilea 
Manden^ur joveni partes, pueroque virilea. 
Semper in adjuncus, evoque morabimuruptia. 

Aut agitur res in acenia, aut acta refertur. 
Segnius irritant animoa demiaaa per aurem 
Qoam quae aunt oculis subjecta ndelibas, et qua 
Ipse aibi tiadit spectator. Non tamen intua 


We hate the carnage while we see the trick, 
And find small sympathy in being sick* 
Not on the stage the regicide Macbeth 
Appals an audience with a monarch's death ; 
To gaze when sable Hubert threats to sear 
Young Arthur's eyes, can ours or naiure bear 
A halter'd heroine * Johnson sought to slay — 
We saved Irene, but half damn'd the play, 
And (Heaven be praised !) our tolerating times 
Stint metamorphoses to pantomimes ; 
And Lewis' self, with all his sprites, would quake 
To change Earl Osmond's negro to a snake ! 
Because, in scenes exciting joy or grief, 
We loathe the action which exceeds belief: 
' And yet, God knows ! what may not authors do. 
Whose postscripts prate of dyeing " heroines blue ? " T 

Above all things, Dan Poet, if you can, 
Eke out your acts, I pray, with mortal man ; 
Nor call a ghost, unless some cursed scrape 
Must open ten trap-doors for your escape. 
Of all the monstrous things I 'd fain forbid, 
I loathe an opera worse than Dennis did ; 
Where good and evil persons, right or wrong, 
Rage, love, and aught but moralize, in song. 
HaS, last memorial of our foreign friends 
Which Gaul allows, and still Hesperia lends ! 
Napoleon's edicts no embargo lay 
On whores, spies, singers wisely shipp'd away. 
Our giant capital, whose squares are spread 
Where rustics earn'd, and now may beg, their bread, 

Digna geri, piomes iaicenam ; imiltaqae toUcji 
Ex ociutB, que mox nairet facundia pnpeena. 
Ne pueroB coram populo Medea trucidet ; 
Aut humana palam coqaat exta nefarius AcreTM ; 
Ant in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmns in anffiiem. 
Quodcunque ostendis mihi nc, incredulas ooi. 
Neve minor, neu sit quinto producCior actu 
Fabula, qun posci, et spectata reponi. 
Nee Deufl intersit, ni^i digniis vindice nodus 
Incident • • • * 

• "Irene had to speak two lines >%iih the bowstring round her neck, 
but the audience cned out * Murder ! ' and she was obliged to be canied off 
the suge."— BoswelTs Life ofJohiuon. 

t In the postscript to the " Castle Spectre/' Mr. Lewis tells us, that though 
blacks were unknown in England at the period of his action, yet he has made 
the anachfonism to set off the scene : ana if he could have produced the effect 
**by making his heroine bine*' — I quote him — "blue he would- have made 
her ! " 


In all iniquity is grown so nice^ 
It scorns amusements which are not of price. 
Hence the pert shopkeeper, whose throbbing ear 
Aches with orchestras which he pays to hear, 
Whom shame, not sympathy, forbicb to snore, 
His anguish doubling by his own ** encore ; " « 

Squeezed in ** Fop's Alley," jostled by the beaux, 
Teased with his hat, and trembling for his toes ; 
Scarce wrestles through the night, nor tastes of ease 
Till the dropp'd curtain gives a glad release : 
Why this, and more, he suffers — can ye guess ? — 
Because it costs him dear, and makes him dress ; 

So prosper eunuchs from Etruscan schoob ; 
Give us but fiddlers, and they 're sure of fools ! 
Ere scenes were play'd by many a reverend .clerk * 
(What harm, if David danced before the ark ? ) 
^ In Christmas revels, simple country folks 
' Were pleas'd with morrice-miunm'ry and coarse jckes^ 
Improving years, with things no longer known. 
Produced blithe Punch and merry Madame Joan, 
Who still frisk on with feats so lewdly low, 
T is strange Benvolio suffers such a show ; f 
Suppressing peer ! to whom each vice gives place, 
Oaths, boxing, begging, — all, save rout and race. 

Farce ibUow'd Comedy, and reach'd her prime 
In ever-laughing Foote's fantastic time : 
Mad wag ! who pardon'd none, nor spared the best. 
And turn'd some very serious things to jest. 

Ex noto fictum carmen seqnar, m libi anivu 
Speret idem : ludet multum, fhistraqQe laooret 
AuMUB idem : tanium series junctnraque poUet ; 
Tuitum de medio mimtifl aecedit honoiii. 

Silvia deduct! caveant, me judice, Fauni, 
Ne velot innad triviis, ac pene forenses, 
Am nimiam tenerit juvenentur versibus unquam, 
Aot iramnnda erepent, ignominiotaqne dicta. 

^ ''The first theatrical representationB, entitled 'Mysteries and Moralities, 
were generally enacted at Christmas, by monks (as the only persons who could 
read), and latteriy by the clerey and students of the uniwrsities. The dramatis 
persons were usually Adam, rater Coelestis, Faith, Vice," &.c. &c. — Vide War- 
ttiris HtMimy of English Poetry. 

t Benvolio does not bet; l)ut every man who maintains race-horses in a 
promoter of all the concomitant evils of the turf. Avoiding to bet is a little 
Pharisaical. Is it an exculpation? I think not. I never yet heard a bawd 
]>rai8ed for chastity because Bhe herself ^d not commit fornication. 


Nor church nor state escaped his public sneers. 
Arms nor the gown, priests, lawyers, volunteers: 
** Alas, poor Yorick ! " now for ever mute ! 
Whoever loves a laugh must si^ for Foote. 

We smile, perforce, when histrionic i 
Ape the swoln dialogue of kings and queens, 
When ** Chrononhotonthologos must die," 
And Arthur struts in mimic majesty. 

Moschus ! with whom once more I hope to sit 
And smile at folly, if we can't at wit ; 
Yes, friend ! for thee I *11 quit my cynic cell. 
And bear Swift's motto, ** Vive la bagatelle ! *^ 
Which charm'd our days in each iSgean clime» 
As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme. 
Then may Euphrosyne, who sped the past. 
Soothe thy life's scenes, nor leave thee in the last ; 
But find in thine, like pagan Plato's * bed, 
Some merry manuscript of mimes, when dead. 

Now to the Drama let us bend our eyes, 
Where fetter'd by whig Walpole low she lies ; 
Corruption foil'd her, &r she fear'd her glance; 
Decorum left her for an opera dance ! 
Yet Chesterfield, f whose poUsh'd pen inveighs 
Gaipst laughter, fought for freedom to our plays ; 
Uncheck'd by megrims of patrician brains, 
And damning dulness of lord chamberlains. 
Repeal that act ! again let Humour roam 
Wdd o'er the stage — we 've time for tears at home ; 

OfftindQntiir enim, (juibiu est equus, et pater, et tei : 
Nee, ri quid fricti ciceris probat et naaa emtor, 
iEquifl acdpiunt animia, donantve corona. 

SyUaba u>nga brevi aubjecta, vocatur iambus, 
Pes citus : unde etiam trimetris aecrescere jossit 
Nomen iambeis, cum senos redderet ictus, 
Primus ad extremum similia sibi : non ita pridem, 
Tardior ut pauIo graviorque veniret ad aures, 
Spondees stabiles in jura patema recepit 
Commodus et patiens; non ut de sede secundA 
Cederet aut quarta socialiter. Hie et in Acd 
Nobilibus tjj^inetris apparet rarus, et Enni. 

* Under Plato's pillow a Tolume of the Mimes of Sophron was found the 
day he died. — Vide BaTthtUmit De Pauw^ or Dioaenes LaMmSy if aerceablei 
De Pauw calls it a jest book. — Cumberland, in bis Observer, terms it moral, 
like the sayings of " Publius Syrus." 

t His speech on the Licensing Act is one of his most eloquent efforts. 


Let " Archer '* plant the horns on " SuUen's " brows, 

And ** Estifania " gull her ** Copper " * spouse ; 

The moral 's scant — but that may be excused, 

Men go not to be lectured, but amused. 

He whom our plays dispose to ffood or ill 

Must wear a head in want of Willis' skill ; 

Ay, but Macheath's example — psha ! — no more ! 

It form'd no thieves — the thief was form'd before ; 

And, spite of puritans and CoUier's curse,! 

Plays make mankind no better, and no worse. 

Then spare our stage, ye methodistic men ! 

Nor bum damn'd Drury if it rise again. 

But why to brain-scorch'd bigots thus appeal ? 

Can heavenly mercy dwell with earthly zeal ? 

For times of fire and fa^ot let them hope ! 

Times dear alike to puritan or pope. 

As pious Calvin saw Servetus blaze. 

So would new sects on newer victims gaze. 

E'en now the songs of Solyma begin ; 

Faith cants, perplex'd apologist of sin ! 

While the Lord's servant chastens whom he loves, 

And Simeon kicks» where Baxter i only ** shoves." 

Whom nature guides, so writes, that every dunce, 
Enraptured, thinks to do the same at once ; 
But after inky thumbs and bitten nails. 
And twenty scatter'd quires, the coxcomb fails. 

Let Pastoral be dumb ; for who can hope 
To match the youthful eclogues of our Pope 7 
Yet his and Phillips' faults, of different kind, • 
For art too rude, for nature too refined. 
Instruct how hard the medium 't is to hit 
'Twixt too much polish and too coarse a wit. 

b toenam miaios mai^ cum pondere vemu, 
Aat opens celeris nimium, curaque carentu, 
Am ignorato premit artis crimine turpi. 

Non quiyia videt immodulata poemata judex ; 
£t data Komania venia est indigna poetis. 
Iddroone Yager, tcribamque lieenter ? an oomea 

* Michael Perez, the " Copper Captain," in ** Rule a Wife and Have a Wife." 
t Jeny CoUier'a controversy with Congreve, Ac. on the subject of tho 
drama, is too well known to require further comment. 

t " Baxter*s Shove to heavy-a — d Christians" — the veritable title of a 
book once in sood repute, and likely enough to be so again. — 3Ir. Simeon 
is the very buTlv of beliefs, and castig^ator of "good works." He is abl/ 
supported by John Stickles, a labourer m the same vineyard: — but I say no 
more, for according to Johnny in full congregation,' "iVo hopes for them om 


A vulgar scribbler, certes, stands disgraced 
In this nice age, when ail aspire to taste ; 
The dirty language, and the noisome jest, 
Which pleased in Swift of yore, we now detest ; 
Proscribed not only in the world polite, 
But evep too nasty for a city knight ! 

Peace to Swift's faults ! his wit hath made them pass, 
Unmatch'd by all, save matchless Hudibras ! . 
Whose author is perhaps the first we meet, 
Who from our couplet lopp'd two final feet ; 
Nor less in merit than the longer line, 
This measure moves a favourite of the Nine. 
Though at first view eight feet may seem in vain 
Form d, save in ode, to bear a serious strain. 
Yet Scott has shown our wondering isle of late 
This measure shrinks not from a theme of weight. 
And, varied skilfully, surpasses far 
Heroic rhyme, but most in love and war, 
Whose fluctuations, tender or sublime. 
Are curb'd too much by long-recurring rhyme. 

' But many a skilful judge abhors tcvsee. 
What few admire — irregularity. 
This some vouchsafe to pardon ; but 't is hard 
When such a word contents a British bard. 

, And must the bard his glowing thoughts confine. 
Lest censure hover o'er some faulty line ? 
Remove whate'er a critic may suspect, 
To gain the paltry suffrage of " correct ? '* 
Or prune the spirit of each daring phrase, 
To fly from error, not to merit praise ? 

Ye, who seek finish'd models, never cease, 
By day and night, to read the works of Greece. 
But our good fathers never bent their brains 
To heathen Greek, content with native strains. 
The few who read a page, or used a pen, 
Were satisfied with Chaucer and old Ben ; 

Visuros peccata patem mea ; tutus, et intra 
Spem venia) cautua ? vitavi demque culparn, 
Non laudem merui. Vos exemplaria Graeca 
Kocturna vertate manu, versate diuma. 

onrrs fbom hobace. 426 

The jofkes and numbers suited to their taste 
Were quaint and careless, any thing but chaste ; 
Yet whether right or wrong the ancient rules. 
It will not do to call our fathers fools ! 
Though you and I, who eruditely know 
To separate the elegant and, low, 
Can also, when a hobbling line appears. 
Detect with fingers, in d^ault of ears. 

In sooth I do not know or greatly care 
To learn, who our first English strollers were ; 
Or if, till roofs received the vagrant art. 
Our Muse, like that of Thespis, kept a cart ; 
But this LB certain, since our Shakspeare's days. 
There 's pomp enough, if little else, in plays ; 
Nor will Melpomene ascend her throne 
Without high heeb,. white plume, and Bristol stone- 
Old comedies still meet with much applause. 
Though too licentious for dramatic laws : 
At least, we moderns, wisely, 't is confest, 
Curtail, or silence, the lascivious jest. 

Whate'er their follies, and their faults beside. 
Our enterprising bards pass nought untried ; 
Nor do they merit slight applause who choose 
An English subject for an English muse. 
And leave to minds which never dare invent 
French flippancy and German sentiment. 
Where is that living language which could claim 
Poetic more, as philosophic, fame. 
If all our bards, more patient of delay. 
Would stop, like Pope, to polish by the way 7 

At vestri pnmvi Flautmoa et numerot et 
LftQdavere sales ; nimium patienter ntrumque, 
Ne dicam stulte, mirati ; si modo ego et vos 
ScimtuB inurbanum lepido seponere dicto, 
Leffitimnmque sonum digitis i^llemus et aura. 

^potum tragic® genua invenisse CamoonB 
Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poemata Tbespii, 
Que canerent agerentque peruncti fecibiu onu 
Post hunc persona) pallsque repertor honesta 
iCschylus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, 
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique comumo. 

Successit vetuB his comcedia, non sine multa 
Laude ; sed in vitium libertos excidit, et vim 
Dignam lese re^i : lex est accepta ; cliorasque • 
Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi. 

Nil intentatuin tiostri Hquere poetn ; 
Nee mimmum meruere decus, vestigia Graeca, 


Lords of the quill, whose critical assaults ' 
O'erthrow whole quartos with their quires of faults. 
Who soon detect, and mark where'er we fail, 
And prove our marble with too nice a naU ! 
Democritus himself was not so bad ; 
He only ihoughtf but you would make, iis mad ! 

But truth to say, most rhymers rarely guard • 
Against that ridicule they deem so hard ; 
In person negligent, they wear, from sloth. 
Beards of a week, and nails of annual growth ; 
Reside in garrets, fly from those they meet. 
And walk in alleys, rather than the street. 

With little rhyme, less reason, if you please^ 
The name of poet may be got with ease. 
So that not tuns of helleboric juice 
Shall ever turn your head to any use ; 
Write but like Wordsworth, live beside a Lake» 
And keep your bushy locks a year from Blake ;*" 
Then print your book, once more return to town. 
And boys shall hunt your hardship up and down. 

Am I not wise, if some such poets' plight. 
To purge in spring (like Bayes) before I write 1 
If this precaution soften'd not my bile, 
I know no scribbler with a madder style ; 
But since (perhaps my feelings are too nice) 
I cannot purchase fame at such a price, 

Autti deserere, et celebrare dometdca facta ; 
Vel qui prftextaa, vel qui docuere togatas 
Nee virtute foret clarisve potentiua armis, 
Quam lingua, Latinm, ri non ofienderet unam* 

fuemque poetarum liins labor, et mora. Vos, 6 
bmpiliuB sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non 
Multa dies et multa litura coercuit, atque 
Prassectum decies non castigavit ad unguem. 

Ingenium misera quia fortunatius arte 
Cremt, et excludit Minos Helicone poctas 
Democritus; bona pars non ungues ponere curat, 
Non barbam : sccrela petit loca, balnea vital. 
Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque poette, 
9i tribus Anticyris caput insanabile nunquam 
Tonsori Licino commiserit. O ego Isevus, 
Qui purgor bilem sub vemi temporis horam ! 
Non alius faceret meliora poeraata : verum 
Nil tanti est : ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum 

* As famous a tonaor as licinus himself, and better paid, and may, like him, 
be one day a senator, having a better quahfication than one half of the beads he 
crops, viz. — independence. 


1 11 labour gratis as a grindex's wheel, 
And, blunt myself, give edge to otbcrs' steel. 
Nor write at all, unless to teach the art 
To those rehearsing for the poet's part ; 
From Horace show the pleasing paths of song, 
And from my own example — what is wrong. 

Though modem practice sometimes differs quitOa 
'T is just as well to think before you write ; 
Let every book that suits your theme be read, 
So shall you trace it to the fountain-head. 

He who has leam'd the duty which he owes 
To friend and country, and to pardon foes ; 
Who models his deportment as may best 
Accord with brother, sire, or stranger guest ; 
Who takos our laws and worship as they aie, 
Nor roars reform for senate, churchy and bar , 
In practice, rather than loud precept, wise. 
Bids not his tongue, but heart, philosophise : 
Such is the man the poet should rehearse, 
As joint ezamplar of his life and verse. 

Sometimes a sprightly wit, and tale well told. 
Without much grace, or weight, or art, will hold 
A longer empire o'er the public mind 
Than sounding trifles, empty, though refined. 

Unhappy Greece ! thy sons of ancient days 
The muse may celebrate with perfect praise, 

Reddere qtue ferram valet, extora ipm tecandi : 
Maxrai et offidnm, nil scribe ns ipse, docebo ; 
Unde parentar opea ; quid alat formetque poetam ; 
Quid aeceat, quid non ; quo virtue, quo ferat error. 

Scribendi recte, aapere est et principium et foni. 
Rem tibi Socraticn potenint ostendere charts : 
Verbaque proviaam rem non invita seqnentur. 
Qui diaidt patriflo quid debeat, et quid amicis ; 
Quo cit amore j^areuB, quo frater amaiidus, et hospea ; 
Quod sit conacnpu, quod judicis ofBcium ; que 
Piutes in bellum misai ducis ; ille profecto 
Reddere peraonsB scit convenient ia cuique. 
Respicere exemplar vite morumque juoebo 
Doctum inUtatorem, et vivas hinc ducere voces. 

Interdam speciosa locis, morataque recte 
Fabula, nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte, - 
Valdius oblectat populum, meliusqne moratur, 
Quam versus inopes rerum nugseque canors. 

Graiis ingenium, Groiis dedit ore rotundo 
Muaa loqui, prseter laudem nuUios avaris. 


Whose generous children nafrowM not their hearts 
With commerce, given alone to arms and arts. 
Our boys (save those whom public schools compel 
To ''long and short " before they 're taught to spell) 
From frugal fathers soon imbibe by rote» 
** A penny saved, my lad, 's a penny got." 
Babe of a city birth ! from sixpence take 
The third, how much will the remainder make ? — 
^ A groat." — << Ah, bravo i Dick hath done the sum ! 
He '11 swell my fifly thousand to a plum." 

They whose young souls receive this rust betimes, 
T is clear, are fit for any thing but rhymes ; 
. And Locke will tell you, that the father 's right 
Who hides all verses from his children's sight ; 
For poets (says this sage, and many more, *) 
Make sad mechanics with their lyric lore ; 
And Delphi now, however rich of old. 
Discovers little silver and less gold. 
Because Parnassus, though a mount divine, 
Is poor as /n», f or an Irish mine. % 

Two objects always should the poet move, 
Or one or both, — to pl^^ise or to improve. 
Whate'er you teach, be brief, if you design 
For our remembrance your didactic line ; 
Redundance places memory on the rack, 
For brains may be overloaded, like the back. 

Romani pueri longis rationibiis awem 
Discnnt in pNutes centum diducere : dicat 
Filius Albini, 8i de quincunce remota est 
Uncia, quid superat ? poterat dixisse — TrienB. Ea ! 
Rem poteris servare tuam. Redit uncia : quid fit? 
Semis. An heec animoa aerugo et cura pecoli 
Cum semel imbuerit, speramus caimina fingi 
Posse linenda cedro, ei levi servanda cupresso ? 

Am prodebse volunt, aut delectare poete ; 
Am simul el jucnnda et idonea dicere vius, 
Quidquid pnccipiet<, esto brevis : ut cito dicta 
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles. 
Omne supervacuum pleno de pectore maniat. 

* I hlive not the original by me, bat the Italian translation runs as fol- 
lows : — *' E una co»a a mio credere molto stravagante, che un padre deeideri, a 
perroetta, che suo iigliuolo coliivi e perfezioni ouesto talento." A little further 
on : " Si troyano di rado nel Parnaso le miniere a' oro e d'aigento.*' — Ediuaxione 
da FanciuUi del Signor Locke. Venetian edition. 

t " Iro pauperior : " this is the same beggar who boxed with Vlysses for a 
pound of kid's fry, w hich he lost, and half a dozen teeth besides. — See Odysseyt 
b. 18. 

t The Irish gold mine of Wicklow, which yields just ore enough to 6 wear by, 
or gild a bad guinea. 


Fiction does best when taught to look like truth> 
And fairy fables bubble none but youth : 
Expect no credit for too wondrous tales, 
Since Jonas only springs alive from whales ! 

Young men with aught but elegance dispense 
Maturer years require a little sense. 
To end at once : — that bard for all is fit 
Who mingles well instruction with his wit ; 
For him reviews shall smile, for him o'erflow 
The patronage of Paternoster-row ; 
His book, with Longman's liberal aid, shall pass 
(Who ne'er despises books that bring him brass) ,- 
Through three long weeks the taste of London lead,. 
And cross St. George's Channel and the Tweed. 

But every thing has faults, nor is 't unknown 
That harps and fiddles often lose their tone, 
And wayward voices, at their owner's call, 
With all his best endeavours, only squall ; 
Dogs blink their covey, flints withhold the spark, 
And double4>arrels (damn them ! ) miss their mark. * 

Where frequent beauties strike the reader's view. 
We must not quarrel for a blot or two ; 
But pardon equally to books or men. 
The slips of human nature, and the pen. 

Ficta Tohiptatis causa, aint proxima veris : 
Nee, qoodcunqae volet, poacac aibi fabula credi 
Nea pranns LamuB vivura paeram extrahat alvo. 

Centorue aeniorum agitant expertia frugU : 
Celfii pnetereunt auatera poemata Rhamnea. 
Omne tulit pnnctum, qui rai'acuit utile dulci, 
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. 
Hie meret aora liber Sosiis ; hic et mare tranait, 
El longunn noto acriptori proro^at aeyum. 

Sunt delicta tamen, quibus iffnovisae veliraua; 
Nam neque chorda aonum reddit quern vuli manua et mens 
Pdscentique sravem persepe remittit acutum ; 
Nee aemper feriet quodcunquo mtnabitur arcus. 
Vemm uoi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis 
Ofiendar maculia, quas aut incoria fudit, 
Aut humatia parum cavit natora. Quid ergo 7 

• Ai Mr. Pope took the liberty of damning Homer, to whom he wi 

great obligationa — " And Homer (damn, him !) calh" — it may be preaumed that 
any body or any thing may be damned in verae by poetical license ; and. in 
case of accident, I beg leave to plead so illoatnous a precedent 


Yet if an author, spite of foe or friend, .j • 

Despises all advice too much to mend, « 

But ever twangs the same discordant string, 
Give him no quarter, howsoe'er he sing. 
Let Havard's* fate o'ertake him, who, for once, 
Produced a play too dashing for a dunce : 
At first none deem'd it his ; but when his name 
Announced the fact — what then ? — it lost its fame. 
Though all deplore when Milton deigns to doze, 
In a long work 't is fair to steal repose. 

As pictures, so shall poems be ; some stand 
The critic eye, and please when near at hand ; 
But others at a distance strike the sight ; 
This seeks the shade, but that demands the light. 
Nor dreads the connoisseur^s fastidious view 
But, ten times scrutinised, is ten times new. 

Parnassian pilgrims ! ye whom chance, or choice. 
Hath led to listen to the Muse's voice. 
Receive this counsel, and be tiqiely wise ; 
Few reach the summit which before you lies. 
Our church and state, our courts and camps, concede 
Reward to very moderate heads indeed ! 
In these plain common sense will travel far ; 
All are not Erskines who mislead the bar : 
But poesy between the best and worst 
No medium knows ; you must be last or first ; 

Vt icriptor a peccat idem librarius usque, 
Quamvifl est monitus, venia caret ; ut citharoBdiu 
Ridetur, chorda qui semper oberrat oadem : 
Sic mihi, qui multum cessat, fit Chcerilas iDe, 
Quem bis terve bonum cum risu miror ; et idem 
Indignor, qunndoque bonus dormitat Homerus. 
Venim operi longo fas est obrepere somnum. 

Ut pictura, poesis : erit qus, si propius stes, 
Te capiat magis ; et qua^dam, si longius abstes : 
Hsdc amat obscunim ; volet hsec sub luce videri, 
Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen : 
Hbc placuit semei ; hec decies repetita placebit. 

O major juvenum, quamvis et voce patema 
plngeris ad rectum, et per te sapis ; hoc tibi dictum 
ToUe memor : certis medium et tolerabile rebus 
Recte concedi : oonsultus juris, et actor 
Causarum mediocris abest virtute diserti 
Messale, nee scit quantum Cassellius Aulus : 

* For the story of Billy Havard^s tragedy, see " Davies's life of Garrick.** I 
believe it is '*Regulus," or "Charles the Firat." The moment it was known 
to be his, the theatre thinned, and the bookseller refused to give the cuatomary 
sum for the copyright. 


For middling poets' miserable volumes 

Are damn'd alike by gods, and men, and columns. 

Again, my Jeffrey ! — as tbat sound inspires, 
How wakes my bo&om to its wonted fires ! 
Fires, such as gentle Caledonians feel 
When Southrons writhe upon their critic wheel, 
Or mild Eclectics, * when some, worse than Turks, 
Would rob poor Faith to decorate " good works. ** 
Such are the genial feelings thou canst claim — 
My falcon flies not at ignoble game. 
Mightiest o£ all Dunedin's beasts of chase ! 
For thee my Pegasus would mend his pace. 
Arise, my Jeffrey ! or my inkless pen 
Shall never blunt its edge on meaner men ; 
Till thee or thine mine evil eye discerns, 
Alas ! I cannot ''strike at wretched kernes." 
Inhuman Saxon ! wilt thou then resign 
A muse and heart by choice so wholly thine ? 
Dear, d — d contemner of my schoolboy songs. 
Hast thou no vengeance for my manhood's wrongs 7 
If unprovoked thou once couldst bid me bleed. 
Hast thou no weapon for my daring deed ? 

Sed tamen in pretin eft ; medioeribot ette pootis 
Non hominei, non di, non concauere coIumiuB. 
Ut gntM inter ni«maa tymphonia discora, 
Et cnMum ungtientum, et Sordo cum ntbUe papaver 
Offendiint, potent duci quia cona sine iatis ; 

* To the Eclectic or Chnttian Reyiewen I have to return thankt for the 
fervour of that chanty which in 1809 induced them to express a hope, that a 
thing then publiahed by me might lead to certain consequences, which, although 
natural enough, surely came but rashly from reverend lips. I refer them to 
their own pages, where they congratulated themselves on the prospect of a tilt 
between Mr. Jeflfrev and myself, from which some ereat good was to accrue, 
provided one or both were knocked on the head. Having survived two years 
and a half those " EHegies " which they were kindly prepairin^ to review, I 
have no peculiar guato to give them " bo joyful a trouble,'* except, mdeed, *' upon 
compulsion, Hal ; " but it, as David says in the ** Rivals," it should come to 
" bloody sword and van fighting," we " won*t run, will we. Sir Lucioi 7 " I do 
not know what I had done to these Eclectic gentlemen : my works are their 
lawful perquisite, to be hewn in pieces like Agag, if it should seem meet unto 
them; out why they should be in such a hurry to kill off their author, I am 
ignorant. " The race is not always to the awift, nor the battle lo the strong : " 
and now, aa these Christians have ** smote me on one cheek," I hold them up 
the other ; and in return for their good wishes, give them an opportunity of re- 
peating them. Had any other set of men expressed such senuments, L should 
have smiled, and left them to the '' recording angel," but from the pharisees of 
Christianity decency might be expected. I can assure those brethren, that, 
publican and sinner as I am, I would not have treated "mine enemy's dog thus." 
To show them the superiority of my brotherly love, if ever the Reverend 
Messrs. Simeon or Ramsdon should be engaged in such a oondict as tbat in 
which they reouestcd me to fall, I hope they miiy escape with being " winged " 
only, and that Ueaviside may be at hand to eitract tho ball. 

432 Hurrs fbom hosace. 

What ! not a word ! — and am I then so low ? 
Wilt thou forbear, who never spared a foe ? 
Hast thou no wrath, or wish to give it vent 7 
. No wit for nobles, dunces by descent ? 
No jest on ^* minors," quibbles on a name, 
Nor one facetious paragraph of blame T 
Is it for this on Ilion I have stood, 
And thought of Homer less than Holyrood ^ 
On shore of £u:fine or JBgean sea. 
My hate, untravell'd, fondly turn'd to thee. 
Ah ! let me cease ; in vain my bosom bums, 
From Corydon unkind Alexis * turns : 
Thy Thymes are vain ; thy Jeffrey then forego. 
Nor woo that anger which he will not show. 
What then?-^£dina starves some lanker son. 
To write an article thou canst not shun ; 
Some less fastidious Scotchman shall be found, 
As bold in Billin^gate, though less renown'd. 

As if at table some discordant dish 
Should shock our optics, such as frogs for fish ; 
As oil in lieu of •butter men decry, 
And poppies please not in a modem pie.; 
If all such mixtures then be half a crime, 
We must have excellence to relish rhyme. 
Mere roast and boil'd no epicure invites ; 
Thus poetry disgusts, or else delights. 

Who shoot not flying rarely touch a gun : 
Will he who swims not to the river run T 
And men unpractised in exchanging knocks 
Must go to Jackson ere they dare to box. 
Whate'er the weapon, cudgel, fist, or foil. 
None reach expertness without years of toil ; 
But fifty dunces can, with perfect ease. 
Tag twenty thousand couplets, when they please. 
Why not ? — shall I, thus qualified to sit 
For rotten boroughs, never show my wit ? 
Shall I, whose fathers with the quorum sate, 
And lived in freedom on a fair estate ; 

Sic aniraia natum inventumqu6 poems juvandis, 
Si paulum a summo deceasit, vergit ad imum. 

Ludere qui nescit, campeitribuB abstinet amuB, 
Indoctiuque pilsB, discive, trochive, quiescit, 
Ne Bpistta zisum tollant impune coroiie : 
Qui nesdt, veraua tamen audet fingere ! — Quid ni 7 

* Invenies atium, ri te liic'fastidit, Alean. 


Who left me heir, with stables, kennels, paclu» 
To aU their incom^ and to — titice its tax ; 
Whose form and pedigree have scarce a fault, 
Shall I, I say, suppress my attic sa)t ? 

Thus think ^ the mob of gentlemen ; " but you, 
Besides all this, must have some genius too. 
Be this your sober judgment, and a rule, 
And print not piping hot from Southey's school, 
Who (ere another Thalaba appears), 
I trust, will spare us for at least nine years. 
And hark'ye, Southey ! ♦ pray — but don't be vex'd — 
Burn all your last three works — and half the next. 

liber et ingeiratu prvMrtim censas cqueatrem 
Summam nummoniin, vitioque remotm ab omni. 
Tu nihil in vita dices iaciesve Minerva: 
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens ; si 9aid tamen olim 
Scripseris, in Metii descendat jadicis aures, 
£t paths, et nostras, nonuiqque prematur in i 

* >fr. Southey has lately tied another canister to his tail in the "Curse oi 
Kehama," maugre die neglect of Madoc, &c., and has in one instance had a 
wonderful effect. A literary friend of mine, walking out one lovely evening 
lQj»t summer, on the eleventh bridge of the Paddington canal, was alarmed by iho 
cry of " one in jeopardy : '* he rushed along, collected a body of Irish hay- 
makers (supping on buttermilk in an adiacent paddock), procured three rake!<. 
one eel-spear, and a ianding-net, and at last (horresco referens) pulled out — hi« 
own publisher. The unfonunata man was gone for ever, and so was a laige 
quarto wherewith he had taken the leap, which proved, on inquiry, to have 
been Mr. Southey's last wofk. Its "* alacrity of sinking " was so great, that it 
has never since been heard of; though some maintain that it is at this moment 
concealed at Aldonnan Birch's pastry premises, ComhiU. Be this as it may, the 
coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of " Felo de bibliopole '* againnt a *' cinarto 
unknown ; " and circumstantial evidence being since strong a^inst the ^'Tiirf^e 
ofKehama" (of which the above words are an exact descnption), it will bu 
tried by i|s peers next session, in Grub>ttreet. — Arthur, Alfred, Davideis, Rich- 
ard CcBur de Lion, Exodus, Exodia, Episoniad, Calvary, Fall of Cambria, Siege 
of Acre, Don Roderick, and Tom Thumb the Great, are the names of the twelve 
jurors. The judges are Fye, Bowlos, and the bellman of St. Sepulchred. The 
itame advocates, pro and con, will be employed, as are now engaged in Sir F. 
Burdett's celebrated cause in the Scotch courts. The public anxiously await 
the result, and all live publishers will be subpoenaed as witnesses. 

But Mr. Southey has published the *' Curse of Kehama," — an inviting title to 
i|uibblers. By the by, it is a good deal beneath Scott and Campbell, and not 
much above Southey, to allow the booby Ballantyne to entitle them, in the 
IMinburgh Annual Register, (of which, by the by, Southey is editor,) '*the 
grand poetical triumvirate of the day." But, on second thoughts, it can be no 
great ciogroe of praiHe to be the one-eyed leaders of the blind, though they might 
as well keep to themselves " Scott's thirty thousand copies sold,' which must 
Madly discomfit pour Southey's unsaleables. Poor Southey, it should seem, is 
the ** Lepidus "of this poetical triumvirate. I am only surprised to see him in 
such good company. 

'* Such thmgs, we know, are neither rich nor rare, 
But wonder how the devil he came there." 

Tlie trio are weU defined in the sixth proposition of Euclid : ** Because, in the 
triangles DBC, ACB, DB is equal lo AC, and BC, oommon to both: the two 
VUL. V. F f 


But why this vain advice ? once published, books 
Can never be recall'd — from pasti^-cooks ! 
Though "Madoc," with "Pucelle,** instead of punk. 
May travel back to Quito — on a trunk ! f 

Orpheus, we learn from Ovid and Lempriere, 
Led all wild beasts but women by the ear 
And had he fiddled at the present hour, 
We 'd seen the lions waltzing io the Tower ; 
And old Amphion, such were minstrels then, 
Had built St. Paul's without the aid of Wren. 
Verse too was justice, and the bards of Greece 
Did more than constables to keep the peace ; 
Abolished cuckoldom with much applause, 
Call'd county meetings, and enforced the laws, 
Cut down crown influence with reforming scythes. 
And served the church — without demanding tithes ; 
And hence, throughout all Hellas and the East, 
Each poet was a prophet and a priest, 

Membranis intus positis, delere licebit 
Quod non edidens ; nescit vox missa reverti. 

SylvestreB homines racer Interpresque deoram 
CediboB et victu foedo deterrait Orpheus : 
« DictUB ob hoc lenire tieres, rabidoeque leones : 
Dictiis et Amphion, Thebame conditor arcis, 
Saxa movere sono testudinisi etproce blanda 
Ducere quo vellet : fuit h«c sapientia quondam, 
Pubtica privatifi secemere ; eacra profanis ; 
Concubitu prohibere vago ; dare jura maritis ; 
Oppida mobri ; leges inddere ligno. 

fides DB, BC, are equal to the two AC, GB, each to each, and the angle DBC 
is equal to the angle ACB : therefore, the base DC is eaual to the bast ABrand 
the triangle DBC (Mr. Southey) is equal to the triangle ACB, the 2en to the 
greater, which is absurd,'* &c. — The editor of the Edinburgh Register will find 
the rest of the theorem hard by his stabling : he has only to cross the river ; 
*t is the first turnpike 't other side ** Pons Asmorom."* 

* Voltaire's ** PuceUe" is not quite so immaculate as Mr. Soutl)ev*s "Joan of 
Arc," and yet I am afraid the Frenchman has both more truth ana poetry too 
on his side — (they rarely go together) — than our patriotic diinsirel, whose first 
essay was in praise of a fanatical EVench strumpet, whose title of witch would 
be correct with the change of the first letter. 

t like Sir B Buivess's "Richard," the tenth book of which I read at Malta, on 
a trunk of Eyres, 19, Cockspnr-street. If this be doubted, I shall buy aportman- 
teau to quote from. 

* This Latin has sorely puzzled the University of Edinburgh. BaBantTBe 
said it meant the " Bridge of Berwick,'* but Southey claimed it as half English ; 
Soott swore it was the ** Brig o* Stirling ; " he had just passed two Kii^ Jamea'a 
and a dozen Doudasses over it. At iMt it was decided by Jeffrey, that itmftant 
nothing more nor less than Uie " counter of Afchy Constable's shop." 


mirrs fbom horacb. 495 

Whose old-establish'd board of joint controli 
Included kingdoms in the cure of souls. 

Next rose the martial Homer, Epic's prince. 
And fighting 's been in fashion ever since ; 
And old Tyrtseus, when the Spartans warr'd, 
(A limping leader, but a lofty bard,^ 
Though wall'd Ithome had resisted long 
Reduced the fortress by the force of song. 

When oracles prevail'd, in times of old, 
In song alone Apollo's will was told. 
Then if your vorse is what all Terse should be, 
And gods were not ashamed on 't, why should we ? 

The Muse, like mortal females, may be woo'd ; 
In turns she '11 seem a Paphtan or a prude ; 
Fierce as a bride when first she feels afifright, 
Mild as the same upon the second night ; 
Wild as the wife of alderman or peer, 
Now for his grace, and now a grenadier ! 
Her eyes beseem, her heart belies, heir zone, 
Ice in a crowd, and lava when alone. 

If verse be studied with some show of art, 
Kind Nature always will perform her part ; 
Though without genius, and a native vein 
Of wit, we loathe an artificial strain — 
Tet art and nature join'd will win the prize, 
Unless they act like us and our allies. 

The youth who trains to ride, or run a race. 
Must bear privations with unruffled face, 
Be call'd to labour when he thinks to dine, 
And, harder still, leave wenching and his wine. 

Sic honor et nomen diviiiU vatibiu atque 
Carmimbiu veniL Post hoi inaigiu* Honienif 
Tyrtnuiqae marec animoi in Mania bella 
V«nibm exaeuit ; diets per carmina torlM .- 
Et vita monatrata via est : et gratia regmn 
Piefiis tentata modis : ladaaque repertoa, 
Et ion^ium operand finia : ne forte padori 
Sit tibt Muia lyns solera, et cantor Apollo. 
Natura fieret laodabile carmen, an arte, 
C^naeitom est : ego nee studium sine dirite rena. 
Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium : alterios sic 
Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. 
Qni atndet optatam cursn contin^ere motam, 
Multa tnlit fecitque puer ; sudavit, et alsit ; 
AbftiAuit Venere et vino : qui Pythia oantat 

486 Hxnrs fbom hosacs. 

Ladies who sing, at least who sing at sight. 

Have foUow'd music through her farthest flight ; 

But rhymes tell you neither more nor less, 

" I 've got a pretty poem for the press ; ** 

And that 's enough ; then write and print so fast ; - 

If Satan take the hindmost, who 'd be last ? 

They storm the types, they publish, one and all, 

They leap the counter, and they leave the stall. 

Provincial maidens, men of high command. 

Yea, baronets have ink'd the bloody hand ! 

Cash cannot quell them ; Pollio play'd this prank, 

(Then Phoebus first found credit in a bank \) 

Not all the living only, but the dead, 

Fool on, as fluent as an Orpheus^ head ; * 

Damn'd all their days, they posthumously thrive — * 

Dug up from dust, though buried when alive ! 

Reviews record this epidemic crime. 

Those Books of Martyrs to the rage for rhyme. 

Alas ! woe worth the scribbler ! often seen 

In Morning Post, or Monthly Magazine. 

There lurk his earlier lays ; but soon, hot-press'd. 

Behold a quarto ! — Tarts must tell the rest. 

Then leave, ye wise, 'the lyre's precarious chords 

To muse-mad baronets or madder lords. 

Or country Crispins, now grown somewhat stale. 

Twin Doric minstrels, drunk with Doric ale ! 

Hark to those notes, nai^cotically soft 

The cobbler-laureats sing f to Capel Loffi ! f 

Tibicen, didicit priiu, extimiitiqae magistixun. 
Nunc satis est dixisse ; ego inira poemata pango : 
Occopet ertrenram scabiea: mihi tarpe rainqni est, 
Et, quod non didici, sane nescire faler' 

* Turn quoque marmorea caput a cervice revulsnm, 

Gurgite cum medio portans CEagtius Hebras, 
Volveret Euiydicon vox ipsa^ et frigida lingua ; 
Ah, miseram Eurydicen ! anuna fufjpente vocabat ; 
Eurydicen toto referebant flumine npas. — Oeorgic. iv. 523. 

T I beg Nathaniel's pardon ; he is not a cobbler ; It is a rax7of, but begged 

Capel Lofft to sink the profession in his preface to two pair of panta psha ! 

— of cantos, which be wished the public to try on ; but the sieve of a patron let 
it out, and so far saved the expense of an advertisement to his country costo- 
merSd — Merry's ** Mooriield's whine" wajp nothing to aU this. 'Fhe "Delia 

X This well-meaning gentleman has spoiled some excellent shoe-makera, and 
been accessary to the poetical undoing of many of the industrious poor. Nathanie! 
Bloomfield and hie brother Bobby have set all SomerMtsbiie nnging; nor has 


Till, lo ! that modern Midas, fs he hears, 
Adds an eU growth to his egregious ears ! 

There lives one druid, who prepares in time 
Gainst future feuds his poor revenge of rhyme ; 
Racks his dull memory, and bis duller muse. 
To publish faults which friendship should excuse. 
If friendship 's nothing, self-regard might teach 
More polish'd usage of hiis parts of speech. 
But what is shame, or what is aught to him : 
He vents his spleen, or gratifies his whim. 
Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate, 
Some folly cross'd, some jest, or some debate ; 
Up to his den 'Sir Scribbler hies, and soon 
The gathered gall is voided in lampoon. 

Crnscaiw*' were people of eene oducatkm, tnd no profeesion ; but these Arcadians 
f*' Arcades anbo" — bumpkins both) send out their native nonsense without 
the snailest alloy, and leare all the snoes and smallclothes in the parish unre- 
paired, to patch up Elegies on Enclosures and Pnans to Gunpowder. Sittmg on 
a shopboard, thev describe fields of battle, when the only blood they ever saw 
wa« shed from the finger; and an '* Essay on War" is produced by the ninth 
part of a "poet" 

**. And own that nine such poets made a Tate." 

Did Nathan ever read that lin« of Pbpe 7 and if he did, why not take it as his 


the malady confined itself to one county. Pratt too (who once was wiser) has 
caught the contagion of patronage, and decoyed a })oor fellow named Blackett 
into poetry ; but he died during the operation, leaving one child and two vo- 
lumes of '' Remains " utterly oostitnte. The girl, if she do n't take a poetical 
twist, and come forth as a shoe-making Sappho, may do well ; but the " tragedies " 
are as rickety as if they had been the onsprinff of an Earl or a Heatonian prize 
poet. The patrons of this poor lad are certaiiuv answerable for his end ; and it 
ought to be an indictable ooTence. But this is tne least they have done ; for, by 
a refinement of barbarity, they have made the (late) man posthumously ridicu- 
lous, by printing what he would have had sense enough never to print himself. 
Certes these rnkers of " Remains " come under the statute against " resurrec- 
tion men." What does it signify whether a poor dear dead dunce is to be stuck 
up in Suiveons' or in Stationers' Hall 7 Is it so bod to unearth hii bones as hift 
blunders f Is it not better to gibbet his body on a heath, than his soul in an 
octavo 7 " We know what we are, but we know not what we may be ; " and 
it is to be hoped we never shaU know, if a man who has passed through life with 
a sort of ^clat, is to find himself a mountebank on the other side of Styx, and 
made, Uke poor Joe Blacken, the laughing-stock of purgatory. The plea of 
publication is to provide for the child ; now, might not some of this '* Sutor ultra 
l/repidam's " friends and seducers have done a decent action without inveigling 
Pratt into biography 7 And then his inscription split into so many modicums 1 
— ^ To the Ducness of So-much, the Right Hon. So-and-So, and Mrs. and Miss 
Somebody, these volumes are, &c. &c.— why, this it doling out the " soft milk 
of dedication " in gills, — there is but a quart, and he divides it among a dozen. 
Why, Pratt, hadst thou not a puff left ? Dost thou think sit families of distinc- 
tion can share this in quiet? — There is a child, a book, and a dedication ; send 
tlie giri to her grace, the volumes to the grocer, and the dedication to the devil. 


Perhaps at some pert speech you *ve dared to frown, 
Perhaps your poem may have pleased the town : 
If so, alas ! 't is nature in the man — 
May Heaven forgive you, for he never can ! 
Then he it so ; and may his withering bays 
Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise ! 
While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink. 
The dullest, fattest weeds on Lethe's brink, 
But springing upwards from the sluggish mould, 
Be, (what they never were before) be — sold ! 
Should some rich bard (but such a monster now, 
In modem physics, we can scarce allow), 
Should some pretending scribbler of the court. 
Some rhyming peer — there 's plenty of the sort ^ — 

* Here will Mr. Gifford allow me to introduce once more to his aotiee tlie 
■ole eorvivor, the ** ultimas Romenomm," the last of the **Cniscanli!**— 
" Edwin ** the " profound/' by our I^dy of Punishment ! here he is, aa Hwfif 
as in the days of " well said Baviad the Correct" I thought Fiti|senhi bcMl been 
the tail of poeey ; but, alas I he is only the penultimate. 


** What reams of paper, floods of ink," 
Do some men spoil, who never thiiik ! 
And so perhaps you *11 say of me. 
In which your readers may agree. 
Still I write on, and tell you why ; 
Nothing 's so bad, you can*t deny, 
But may instruct or entertain 
Without the risk of dving pain. 
And should you doubt what I assert, 
The name of Camden I insert. 
Who novels read, and oft maintainM 
He here and ^ere some knowledge gam*di 
Then why not I indulge my fxen. 
Though I no fame or profit gain, 
Yet may amuse your idle men ; 
Of whom, though some may be seTerei 
Otfiers may ren^ without a sneer? 
Tlius much premised, I next proceed ' 
To give you what I feel my creed, 
Andin what follows to display 
Some humours of the passuig day. 


In tracing of the human mind 

Through all its various courses, 
Though strange, 't is true, v^e often find 

It knows not its resources : 

And men through bfe assume a part 

For which no talents they possess. 
Yet wonder that,. with all their art. 

They meet no better with success. 

BlinV FROM HOSAOte. 489 

All bat one poor dependent priest withdrawn, 

(Ah ! too regardlej» of his chaplain's yawn !) 

Condemn the unlucky curate to recite 

Their last dramatic work by candle-light, 

H[ow would the preacher turn each rueful leaf, 

Dull as his sermons, but not half so brief! 

Yet, since 't is promised at the rector's death. 

He 11 risk no living for a little breath. 

Then spouts and foams, and cries at every line, 

(The Lord forgive him !) " Bravo ! grand ! divine ! " 

Hoarse with those praises (which, by flatt'ry fed, 

Dependence barters for her bitter bread), 

He strides and stamps along with creaking boot. 

Till the floor echoes his emphatic foot ; 

Then sits again, then rolb his pious eye, 

As when the dying vicar will not die ! 

Nor feels, forsooth^ emotion at his heart ; — 

But all dissemblers overact their part. 

Ye, who aspire to '* build the lofty rhyme," 
Believe not all who laud your false ^ sublime ; " 

*T ii thus we see, through life's career, 
So few eicel in their profession ; « , 

Whereas, would each man but appear 
In what 's within bis own possession, . 

We should not see such dail7 quacks, 

(For quacks there are in every art) 
Attempting, by their strange attacks 

To meliorate the mind and heart. 

Nor mean I here the stafe alone. 
Where some deserve th' applause they meet ; 

For quacks there are, and they well known, 
In either house, who hold a seat 

Reform 's the order of the day, I hear, 

To which I cordially assent : 
Bui then let this reform appear. 

And ev'ry class of men cement 

For if you but reform a few, 

And others leave to their /aS bent^ 
I fear you will but little do, 

And find your time and pain mispent. 

Let each man to his poet assigned 
By Nature, take his pnrt to act, 
And then few causes shall we find 
' To can each man we meet — a quack.* 

* For such every man is who either appears to be what he is not, or strives 
lo be what ha cannot. 


But if some friend shall hear your work, aod say, 
*< Expunge that stanza, lop that line away," 
And, afler fruitless efforts, you return 
Without amendment^ and he answers, ^' Burn ! " 
That instant throw your paper in the fire, 
Ask not his thoughts, or follow his desire ; 
But (if true bard !) you scorn to condescend. 
And will not alter what you can't defend. 
If you will breed this bastard of your brains, * — 
We 'U have no words -^ I 've only lost my pains. 

Yet« if you only prize your favourite thought, 

As critics kindly do, and authors ought ; 

If your cool friend annoy you now and then. 

And cross whole pages with his plaguy pen ; 

No matter, throw your ornaments aside, -^ 

Better let him than all the world deride. 

Give light to passages too much in sh&de. 

Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you Ve made ; 

Your friend *s ** a Johnson," not to leave one word. 

However trifling, which may seem absurd ; 

Such erring trifles lead to serious ills. 

And furnish food for critics, f or their quills. 

As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tune. 
Or the sad influence of the angry moon. 

i carmina coimm, 

Nonqnani te iallant anima sub vulpe latentea. 

Quintilio si quid recitarea, Corrige, sodas, 

Hoc (aiebat) et hoc : melius te posse negares, 

Bis terqne expeitum frustra, deiere jabebat, 

Et male tomatos incudi reddere versus. 

Si defendere delictum qnam vertere malles, 

Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanem, 

Quin sine rivali toque et tua solus amares. 

Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertea : 
Culpabit duros : inoomptis allinet atrum 
Trans verso caiamo sinram ; ambitiosa recidet 
Omamenta ; param Claris lucem dare co^t ; 
Ajguet ambigue dictum ; mutanda notabit ; 
Fiet AristurchuB : nee dicet. Cur ego amicum 
Ofiendam in nugis 7 be nug» seria ducent 
In mala derisum semel exceptumque siiustro 

Ut mala quem scabies aut morbus regins uguet, 
Aut fknaticus error et iracunda Diana, 

* Bastard of your brains, — Minerva being the first by Jupiter^s head-mecef 
and a variety of equally unaccountable parturitions upon earth, such as Madoc, 
&c. &c. &c. 

t " A crust for the critics."— Bayes, in the** I^ehearsal.** 

aniTt FROM HOSACK. 441 

All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues, 
As yawning waiters fly * Fitzscribble s lungs ; 
Yet on he mouths — ten minutes — tedious each 
As prelate's homily, or placeman's speech ; 
Long as the last years of a lingering lease. 
When riot pauses until rents increase. 
While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays 
O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways, 
If by some chance he walks into a well, 
And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, 
*' A rope ! help. Christians, as ye hope for grace ! " 
Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace ; 
For there his carcass he might freely fling, 
From frenzy, or the humour of the thing. 
Though this has happen'd to more bards than one ,* 
I 11 tell you Budgell's story, — and have done. 

Budgell, a rogue and rhymester, for no good, 
(Unless his case be much misunderstood) 
When teased with creditors' continual claims, 
^ To die like Cato," f leapt into the Thames ! 
And therefore be it lawful through the town 
For any bard to poison, hang, or drown. 
Who saves the intended suicide receives 
Small thanks from him who loathes the life he leaves , 
And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose ' 
The glory of that death they freely choose. 

yeMnam t«tigiMe timent fu^antqne poetam, 
Qui npiunt ; agitant pueri, incaatique seqnantur. 
Hie dam sublimes versus ructatur, et errat 
8i veluti meniiis intentus decidit auceps 
In puteum, foveamve ; licet, Succurrite, longum 
Clwnet, lo cives ! non sii qui tollere curet. 
8i ^uis curet opem ferre, et demittere funem, 
Qui scis an prudens hue m dejecerit, atque 
Senrari nolit ? Dicam : Siculique poeto 
Narrabo interitum. Deus immortalis haberi 
Dum eupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus iCtnam 
Inriluit : sit jus liceatque perire poeUs : 
Invitum qui servatf idem facit oecidenti. 
Nee semel hoe fecit ; nee, si retractus erit, jan 
Fiet bi»mo, et ponat (amosas mortis amorem. 

• And the "waiters" are the only fortunate people who can "fly" from 
them : all the rest, viz. the sad subscribers to the " Literary Fund," being 
compelled, by courtesy, to sit out the recitation without a hope of eiclaiming, 
"Sio " (that IS, by choking Fitz. with bad wine or worse poetry) " me servaiot 
Apollo ! " 

t On his table were found these words : " What Cato ditl, and Addison approved^ 
oarmot be wrong.** But Addison did not " approve ; " and if he had, & would 
not have mended the matter. He had invited his daughter on the same water- 
patty ; but SCsa Budgell, by some accident, escaped this last paternal attention 
Thus fen the sycophant of " Atticus," and the enemy of Pope 1 


Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse 
Prick not the poet's conscience as a curse ; 
Dosed with vile drams on Sunday he was foundt* 
Or got a child on consecrated ground ! 
And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage — 
Fear'd like a bear just bursting from his cage. 
If free, all fly his versifying fit, 
. Fatal at once to simpleton or wit. 
But him, unhappy ! whom he seizes, — Jam 
He flays with recitation limb by limb ; 
Probes to the quick where'er he makes his breach. 
And gorges like a lawyer — or a leech. 

Nee eatifl apparet cur versus facdtet : utram 
Minxerit in patrios cineres, an tristc bidental 
Movent incestus : certe furit, ac velut uraug, 
Obiectot caves valuit si frangere clathros, 
Indoctum doctura^ue fugat recitator acerbus. 
Quein vera arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo. 
"Son miMiira cutem, nisi plena cruoriB, Eirudo. 

* If "doaed ^th," &c. be censured as low, I beg leave to refer to the on^i- 
nal for somethinf still lower ; and if any reader wiH translate " flfinxerit m 
patrios cineres " &c. into a decent couplet, I will insert said ooi:q>let io Ken of 
the present 

"Di^tZs cBt proprie communia dicere.** — Mde. Dacier, Mde. de S^vi^sA, 
BoOeau, and others, have left their dispute on the meaning of this passage m a 
traot considerably longer than the poem of Horace. It is printed at the cloee of 
the eleventh volume of Madame ds S^vign£*8 letters, edited by Grouvelle, Puis, 
1806. Presuming that all who cau construe may venture an opinion on such 
subjects, particulariy as so many who can not have taken the same liberty, I 
should have held my " farthing candle," as awkwardly as another, had not my 
respect for die wits of Louis the Fourteernh's Augustan si^le induced me to 
subjoin these illustrious authorities. Ist, Boileau : ** 11 est difficile do inlter des 
sujets qui sont k la port^e de tout le monde d' une mani&re qui vous les rende 

Sropres, ce aui s'appelle s'approprier un sujet parle tour qu' on y donne." 2d]y, 
latteui : " Mais il est bien difficile de donner des traits propreset individuels aux 
£ires purement possibles.*' 3dly, Dacier : " 11 est difficile de traitor oonvenablemant 
COS caract^res que tout le monde pent inventor." Mde. de S^vign^'s opinion 
and translation, consisting of some thirty pages, I omit, pardcularly as M. 
Grouvelle observes, ** La chose est bien remarquable, aucune oe ces diverses 
interpretations ne parait 4tre la veritable." But, by way of comfort, it seems, 
fifty years afterwards, " Le lumineux Dumarsais " made his appearance to set 
Horace on his legs again, " dissiper tons les nuages, et concilier tousles dissenti- 
mens; "'and, some fifty years hence, somebody, still more luminous, wUl 
doubtless start up and demolish Dumarsais and his system on this weighty aflUr, 
as if he were no better than Ptolemy and Tycho, or his comments of no more 
consequence than astronomical calculations on the present comet I am happy to 
say, "la longueur de la dissertation " of M. D. prevents M. G. from saying any 
more on the matter. A better poet than Boileau, and at least as good a soiolar 
as S^vign^, has said, 

** A little learning is a dangerous thing." 

And by this comparison of comments, it may be perceived how a good deal quay 
be rendered as perilous to the proprietors. 



" PtJUaM te hoc vulnare, PtoUu 

Immolat, et ponam scelerato «z nngmne tumit* 



Athens, Cspuchiii Convent, March 17, 1811. 

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, * 
Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light ; 
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows ; 
On old iEgina's rock and Hydra's isle 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; 
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, 
Though there his altars are no more divine. 
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf, unconqu^r'd Salamis ! 
Their azure arches through the long expanse, 
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance. 
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, 
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven ; 
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, 
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve his palest beam he cast 
When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'd his last. 
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray. 
That closed their murder'd sage's f latest day ! ' 
Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill, 
The precious hour of parting lingers still ; 
But sad his light to agonising eyes, 
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes ; 

* The lines with which this satire opens, to " As tlins, within the walls of 
Pallas' fane," are repeated, with some oherations, at the commencement of the 
third canto of the Corsair. 

t Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the h<nir of execu- 
tion), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait tiD tho sun Went 


Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, 
The land where PhcBbiis never frown'd before ; 
But ere he sunk below CLtheron's head, 
The cup of woe was quaflPd — the spirit fled ; 
The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly, 
Who lived and died as none can live or die. 

fiut, lo ! from high Hymettus to the plain 
The queen of night asserts her silent reign : * 
No murky vapour, herald of the storm, 
Hides her fair face, or girds hc^r glowing form. 
With cornice glimmering as the moonb^ms play. 
There the white column greets her grateful ray. 
And bright around, with quivering beams beset. 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret : 
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide, 
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide. 
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque. 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, f 
And sad and sombre mid the holy calm. 
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm ; 
AH, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye , 
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by« 

Again the .£gean, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed iM^ast from elemental war ; 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, 
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, 
That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile. 

As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane, 
I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, 
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore. 
Whose arts and arms but live in poets' lore ; 
Oft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan« 
Sacred to gods, but not secure from man. 
The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease. 
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece ! 

* The twilight in Greeoe is much shorter than in our own conntrj ; the da^ 
in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration. 

t Tlie kiosk is a Turkish summer-house ; the palm is without the present 
walls of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseos, between which and the ires 
the wall mtervenes. — Cephisus* stream is indeed scanty, and Dissus hat no 
stream at all. 


Hours roUM along, and Dlan's orb on high 
Had gained the centre of her soHest sky ; 
And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod 
O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd ffod : 
But chiefly, Pallas ! thine ; when Hecate s glare, 
Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair 
O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread 
Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead. 
Long had 1 mused, and treasured every trace 
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race. 
When, lo ! a giant form before me strode. 
And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode ! 

Yes, 't was Minerva's self ; but, ah ! how changed 
Since o'er the Dardan field in arips she ranged ! 
Not such as erst, by her divine command. 
Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand : 
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, 
Her idle egis bore no Gorgon now ; 
Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance 
Seem'd weak and shaffcless e'en to mortal glance ; 
The olive ^ranch, which still she deign'd to clasp, 
Shrunk from her touch, and wither'd in her grasp ; 
And, ah ! though still the brightest of the sky. 
Celestial tears bedimm'd her large blue eye ; 
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow, 
And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe ! 

•« Mortal ! " ('t was thus she spake) '< that blush of shame 
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name ; 
First of the mighty, foremost of the free. 
Now honour'd less by all, and least by me : 
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found. 
Seek'st thou the cause of loathing ? — look around. 
Lo ! here, despite of war and wasting fire, 
I saw successive tyrannies expire. 
s 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, 
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both. 
Survey this vacant, violated fane ; 
Recount the relics torn that yet remain : 
These Cecrops placed, this Pericles adorn'd, * 
That Adrian rear'd when drooping Science mourn'd. 

* thii if tpoken of the dty in general, and not of the Acropofii in perticnlar. 
The temple of Jupiter Olympms, by some rappotod the Pentheon, wu finished 
by Hednan ; sixteen oolamns are standing, m the most beautifiil marble and 


What more I owe let gratitude attest — 
Know, Alaric and Elgia did the rest. 
That all may learn from whence the plunderer came, 
The insulted wall sustains his hated name : 
For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads. 
Below, his name — above, behold his deeds ! 
Be ever hail'd with equal honour here. 
The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer : 
Arms gave the first his right, the last had none, 
But basely stole what less barbarians won. 
So when the lion quits his fell repast, 
Next prowls the wolf, the filthy jackal last : 
Flesh, limbs, and blood the former make their own ; 
The last poor brute securely gnaws the bone. 
Yet still the gods are just, and crimes are crossM : 
See here what Elgin won, and what he lost ! 
Another name with his pollutes my shrine : 
Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine ! 
Some retribution still might Pallas claim. 
When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame." * 

She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply. 
To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye : 
^* Daughter of Jove ! in Britain's injured name, 
A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. 
Frown not on England ; England onus him not : 
Athena, no ! thy plunderer was a Scot. 
Ask'st thou the difference? From fair PhyW towers 
Survey Bceotia ; — Caledonia 's ours. 
And well I know within that bastard landf 
Hath Wisdom's goddess never held command ; 
A barren soil, where Nature's germs, confined 
To stern sterility, can stint the mind ; 
Whose thistle well betrays the niggard earth. 
Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth ; 
Each genial influence nurtured to resist ; 
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist. 
Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain 
Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain. 
Till, burst at length, each wat'ry head o'erflows. 
Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows. 

* Hit tordship^t name, and that of one who no longer bean it, are carved con- 
apicuouslv on the Parthenon ;. above, in a \wn not far distant, are the torn rem 
nanu of the basso rehevot, destroyed in a vain attempt to remove them. 

t ** Irish bastards,** according to Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan. 

TRB cuwam OF xniBBTA. 449 

Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride 

Despatch her scheming children far and wide : 

Some east, some west, some every where but north, 

In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth. 

And thus — accurst be the day and year ! — 

She sent a Pict to play the felon here. 

Tet Caledonia claims some native worth, 

As dull BcBotia gave a Pindar birth ; 

So may her few, the letter'd and the brave, 

Bound to no clime, and victors of the gravci 

Shake off the sordid dust of such a land, 

And shine like children of a happier strand ; 

As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place. 

Ten names (if foimd) had saved a wretched race." 

** Mortal 1 " the blu&«yed maid resumed, ** once more 
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. 
Though fallen, alas ! this vengeance jet is mine, 
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine. 
Hear then in silence Pallas' Atem behest ; 
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest. 

" First on the head of him who did this deed 
Af y curse shall light, — on him and all his seed 
Without one spark of intellectual fire, 
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire : 
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace^ 
Believe him bastard of a brighter race : 
Still with his hireling artists let him prate, 
And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate ; 
Long of their patron's gusto let them tell. 
Whose noblest, natioe gusto is — to sell : 
To sell, and make — may Shame record the day ! — 
The state receiver of his pilfer'd prey. 
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West, 
Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best. 
With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er, 
And own himself an infant of fourscore.* 
Be all the bruisers cull'd from all St. Giles, 
That art and nature may compare their styles ; 
While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare. 
And marvel at his lordship's * stone shop ' f there. 

Mr. Wett, on ■eeinir the " Elfin Collection " (I rappose we shall henr of the 
Abenhaw and ** Jack Shephard^ coQection,) dedareo himielf "a mere tyro** 
in ait. 
t Poor Crib waa ndly pnuled when the marble* were first exhibited at 
VOL. v, — eg 


Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep, 
To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep ; 
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh, 
On giant statues casts the curious eye ; 
The room with transient glance appears to skim. 
Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb ; 
Mourns o*er the difference of now and then; 
Excbiims, * These Greeks indeed were proper men ! ' 
Draws sly comparisons of tltese with those. 
And envies Lais all her Attic beaux. 
When shall a modern maid have swains like these * 
Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules ! 
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, 
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view, 
In silent indignation mix'd with grief, 
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. 
Oh, loath'd in life, nor pardon' d in the dust, 
May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust ! 
Link'd with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome» 
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb, 
And Eratostratus and Elgin shine 
In many a>branding page and burning line ; 
' Alike reserved for aye to stand accurs'd, 
Perchance the second blacker than the first. 

" So let him stand, through ages yet unborn, 
Fix'd statue on the pedestal of Scorn ; 
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait. 
But fits thy country for her coming fate : 
Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son 
To do what oft Britannia's self had done. 
Look to the Baltic — blazing from afar. 
Your old ally yet mourns perfidious war. 
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid, 
Or break the compact which herself had made ; 
Far from such councils, from the faithless field 
She fled — but left behind her Gorgon shield : 
A fatal gift, that turn'd your friends to stone. 
And lefl lost Albion hated and alone. 

^ Look to the East, where Ganges' swarthy race 
Shall shake your tyrant empire to its base ; 
Lo ! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head, 
And glares the Nemesis of native dead ; 

E Hoaw : he asked if it wae not "* a itone shop? "—He was xi{^ ; il i* • 


Till Indufi rolls a deep purpureal flood, 
And clainns his long arrear of northern blood. 
So may ye perish ! — Pallas, when she gave 
Tour free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave. 

** Look on your Spain ! ^•she clasps the hand she hates^ 
^ But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates. 
* Bear witness, bright Barossa ! thou canst tell 

Whose were the sons that bravely fought and fell. 

But Lusitania, kind and dear ally, 

Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly. 

Oh glorious field ! by Famine fiercely won. 

The Gaul retires for once, and all is done ! 

But when did Pallas teach that one retreat 

Retrieved three long olympiads of defeat 7 

" Look last at home — ye love not to look there ; 
On the grim smile of comfortless despair : * 
Your city saddens : loud though Revel howls, 
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowls. 
See all alike of more or less berefl ; 
No misers tremble when there 's nothing left. 
* Blest paper credit ; ' * who shall dare to sing ? 
It clogs like lead Corruption's weary wing. 
Yet Pallas pluck'd each premier by the ear, 
Who gods and men alike disdain'd to hear ; 
But one, repentant o*er a bankrupt state. 
On Pallas calls, but calls, alas ! too late : 
Then raves for * * ; to that Mentor bends. 
Though he and PaUas never yet were friends. 
Him senates hear, whom never yet they heard, 
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd. 
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog 
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign * log.' 
Thus hail'd your rulers their patrician clod. 
As Bgypt chose an onion for a god. 

•* Now fare ye well ! enjoy your little hour ; 
60, grasp the shadow of your vanish 'd power ; 
Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme ; 
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream, 

** BlMt paper credit! kit and beat supply. 
That lendi Convption lighter wingi to Aj ! ** •» Pcpg, 

452 THx omtsB or minbkya. 

Gone IS that gold, the marvel of mankind 

And pirates barter all that 's lefl behind.* 

No more the hirelings, purchased near and far, 

Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war. 

The idle merchant on the useless quay 

Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear away ; 

Or, back returning, sees rejected stores 

Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores : 

The starved mechanic breaks his rusting loom, 

And desperate mans him 'gainst the coming doom. 

Then in the senate of your sinking state 

Show me the man whose counsels may have weight. 

Vain is each voice where tones could once command ; 

E'en factions cease to charm a factious land : 

Yet jarring sects convulse a sister isle, 

And light with maddening hands the mutual pile. 

<< 'T is done, 't is post, since Pallas warns in vain ; 
The Furies seize her abdicated reign : 
Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindling brands. 
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands. 
But one convulsive struggle still remains, 
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains. 
The banner'd pomp of war, the glittering files. 
O'er whose gay trappings stem Bellona smiles ; 
The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum. 
That bid the foe defiance ere they come ; 
The hero bounding at his country's call, 
The glorious death that consecrates his fall. 
Swell the young heart with visionary charms. 
And bid it antedate the joys of arms. 
But know, a lesson you may yet be taught. 
With death alone are laurels cheaply bought : 
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight. 
His day of mercy is the day of fight. 
But when the field is fought, the battle won. 
Though drench'd with gore, his woes are but begun 
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name ; 
The slaughter'd peasant and the ravish'd ^une, 
The rifled mansion and the foe-reap'd field, 
111 suit with souls at home, untaught to yield. 
Say with what eye along the distant down 
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town ! 

* Th* Deal wad Dover trtffloken in tpMm, 


How view the column of ascending flames 
Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames ? 
Nay, frown not, Albion ! for the torch was thine 
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine : 
Now should they burst on thy deyoted coast, 
Go, ask thy bosom who deserves them most. 
The law of heaven and earth is life for life. 
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife.*' 


*'Qiia1is in Earot« npii, aut per joga Cynthi, 
Exercet Diana chores." Viroil. 

** Such on Earota*8 banks, or Cynthia** height, 
Diana seems : and so she charms the sight. 
When in the dance the graceful goddesa leads 
The quire of nymphs, and overtops their heads." 



f AM a country gentleman of a midland county. I might 
have been a parliament-man for a certain borough, having had 
the offer of as many votes as General T. at the general election 
in 1812.* But I was all for domestic happiness ; as, fifteen 
years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid 
of honour. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, 
when my wife and I were invited by the Countess of Waltazway 
(a distant relation of my spouse) to pass the winter in town. 
Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable 
(or, as they call it, marketdbie) age, and having besides a Chan- 
eery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came 
up in our old chariot, — of which, by the by, my wife grew so 
much ashamed in less than a week, that I was obliged to buy 
a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount the box, Mrs. 
H. says, if I could drive, but never see the inside— that place 
being reserved for the Honourable Augustus Tiptoe, her part- 
ner-general and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of Mrs. 
HVs dancing (she was famous for birthnight minuets in the 
latter end of the last century), I unbooted, and went to a ball 
at the countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, 
cotillions, reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But, 
judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs. Hor- 
nem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussar-look- 
ing gentleman I never set eyes on before ; and his, to say truth, 
rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and 

round, and round, to a d d see-saw up-and-down sort of 

tune, that reminded me of the ''Black joke," only more ^affet^ 
tuaaOf** till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were 
not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they 
would flit or fall down : — but no ; with Mrs. H.'s hand on his 

* State of the poU, (lait day,) 5. 


shoulder, " quam famUiariier "* (as Terence said, when I was 
at school), they walked about a minute, and then at it again, 
like two cockchafers spitted on the same bodkin. I asked what 
all this meant, when, with a loud laugh, a child no older than 
our Wilhelmina (a name I never heard but in the Yicar of 
Wakefield, though her mother would call her after the Princess 
of Swap|>enbach,) said, ^ Lord ! Mr. Homem, can't you see 
they are valtzing ? " or waltzing (I forget which) ; and then up 
she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and 
roiyid-abouted it till supper-time. Now, that I know what it is, I 
like it of all things, and so does Mrs. H. (though I have broken 
my shins, and four times overturned Mrs. Hornem's maid, in 
practising the preliminary steps in a morning). Indeed, so 
much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed 
in some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the victo- 
ries (but till lately I have had little practice in that way), I sat 
down, and with the aid of William Fitzgerald, Esq. and a few 
hints from Dr. Busby, (whose recitations I attend, and am 
monstrous fond of Master Busby's manner of delivering his 
father's late successful << Drury Lane Address,") I composed the 
following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentiments known to 
the public, whom, nevertheless, I heartily despise, as well as the 

I am, Sir, yours, <$ec. 6cc. 


* My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be aaid to have foisotten wfaat 110 
never remembered ; but I bought my title-page motto of a CatboUo priest for a 
three-Bhilling bank token, after much haggling for the even sixpence. I grudged 
the money to a papist, being all for the memory of Perceval and ** No popery,** 
and quite regretdxig the downfall of the pope because we can't bum nim any 


Musk of the many-twinkling feet ! * whose charms 
Are now extended up from legs to arms ; 
Terpsichore ! — too long misdeem'd a maid — 
Reproachful term — bestow'd but to upbraid — 
Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shinet 
The least a vestal of the virgin Nine. 
Far be from thee and thine the name of prude ; 
Mock'd, yet triumphant ; sneer'd at, unsubdued ; 
Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly. 
If but thy coats are reasonably high ; 
Thy breast — if bare enough — requires no shield ; 
Dance forth — sans armour thou shalt take the neld« 
And own — impregnable to most assaults 
Thy not too lawfully begotten " Waltz." 

Haili nimble nymph ! to whom the young hussar* 
The whisker'd votary of waltz and war, 
His night devotes, despite of spur and boots ; 
A sight unraatch'd since Orpheus and his brutes : 
Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz ! — beneath whose banners 
A modem hero fought for modish manners ; 
On Hounslow's heath to rival Wellesley's f fame, 
Cock'd — fired — and miss'd his man — but gain'd his aim ; 

* ** Glance their many-twtnkling feet." — Oray, 

t To rival Lord W.*b, or his nephew's, as the reader pleases : — the one gained 
a pretty woman, whom he deserved, by fighting for; and the other has been 
fighting in the Peninsula many a long day, " by Shrewsbury cbck," without 

K'niiw any thing in that country bat the title of '* the Great Lord," and " ths 
rd, which savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied only to that 
Being to whom ** Te Deunu " for carnage are the rankest hlaspnemy. — It iv to be 
presumed l^e general will one day return to his Sabine farm ; there 

** To tame the genius of the stubborn plain, 
Almost aa quirJdy as he conquer'd Spain ! * 

The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a summer ; we do i 
we contrive both to conquer and lose them in a shorter season. If the ** ^reat 
Lord's " Cincmnatian progress in a^culture be no speedier than the proportional 
average of time in Pope's couplet, it wUl, according to the fiumer's proverb, be 
**^uffhing with dogs." 

By the by — one of this illustrious person's new titles is forgotten — it is, how- 
ever, worth remembering — ** Salvador del mundo ! " credite^ pogteri ! If this be 
the appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula to the name of a mm 


HaU, moving Muse ! to whom the fair one's breast 

(rives all it can, and bids us take the rest. 

Oh ! for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz, 

The latter's loyalty, the former's wits, 

To " energize the object I pursue," 

And give both Belial and his dance their due ! 

imperial Waltz ! imported from the Rhine 
(Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine). 
Long be thine import from all duty free. 
And hock itself be less esteemed than thee ; 
In some few qualities alike — for hock 
Improves our cellar — thou our living stock. 
The head to hock belongs — thy subtlei^ art 
Intoxicates alone the heedless heart : 
Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims, 
And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs. 

Oh, Germany ! how much to thee we owe, 
As heaven-bom Pitt can testify below, 
Ere cursed confederation made thee France's, 
And only left us thy d — d debts and dances ! 
Of subsidies and Hanover bereft. 
We bless thee still — for George the Third is left ! 
Of kings the best — and last, not least in worth. 
For graciously begetting George the Fourth. 
To Germany, and highnesses serene, 
Who owe us millions — do n't we owe the queen? 
To Germany, what owe we not besides ? 
So ofl bestowing Brunswickers and brides ; 
Who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood. 
Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud ! 
Who sent us — so be pardon'd all her faults — 
A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen — and Waltz. • 

But peace to her — her emperor and diet. 
Though not transferr'd to Bonaparte's " fiat ! " 

who has not yet saved them — query — are they worth saving, even in diii 
woild 7 for, according to the mildeet modification* of any Christian creed, those 
three words make the odds much against them in the next — " Saviour of the 
world," quotha ! — it were to be wished that he, or anv one else, oould save a 
comer ofit — his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, although it shows the near 
connexion between superstition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves 
there can be Uttle to dread from those Catholics (inquisitorial Catholics too) who 
can confer such an appellation on a Protestant 1 suppoae next year he will be 
entitled the " Virgin Mary : " if so, Lord Georse Gordon himself would have 
nothing to object to such liberal bastards of our Lady of Babylon. 


Back to ray theme — O Muse of motion ! say, 
How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way ? 

Borne on the breath of hyperborean gales, 
From Hamburg's port (while Hamburg yet had mails)^ 
Ere yet unlucky Fame — compell'd to creep 
To snowy Gottenburg — was chill'd to sleep ; 
Or, starting from her slumbers, deign'd arise, 
Heligoland ! to stock thy mart with lies ; 
While unburnt Moscow ♦ yet had news to send, 
Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend. 
She came — Waltz came — and with her certain sets 
Of true despatches, and as true gazettes ; 
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch, 
Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match ; 
And — almost crush'd beneath the glorious news ! 
Ten plays, and forty tales, of Kotzebue's ; 
One envoy's letters, six composers' airs. 
And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs ; 
Meiner's four volumes upon womankind, 
Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind ; 
Brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it. 
Of Heyn6, such as should not sink the packet. 

Fraught with this cargo — and her fairest freight. 
Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate, 
The welcome vessel reach'd the genial strand, 
And round her flock'd the daughters of the land. 
Not decent David, when, before the ark, 
His grand pas-scul excited some remark ; 
Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought 
The knight's fandango friskier than it ought ; 
Not soft Herodias, when, with winning tread 
Her nimble feet danced off another's head ; 

* The patriotic arson of our amiable allies cannot be sufficiently commended 
•—nor ■uDscribedfor. Amongst other details omitted in the variuuK despatcheif 
of onr eloquent ambassador, he did not state (being too much occupied with the 
exploits of Col. C , in swimming rivers frozen, and galloping over roods im- 
passable,) that one entire province perished by famine m the most melancholy 
manner, as follows : — In (General Rostxipchin's consummate confla^pration, the 
cnnsumption of tallow and train oil was so great, that the market was inadequate 
to tho demand : and thus one hundred and thirty-three thousand persons were 
starved lo death, by being reduced to wholesome diet ! The lamplighters of 
London have since subscribed a pint (of oil) a piece, and the tallow-chandlers 
have nnanimously voted a quantity of best moulds (four to the pound), to the re- 
lief of the surviving Scythians ; — the scarcity will soon, by such exertions, and 
a proper attention to tho quality rather than the quantity of provision, be totally 
aueviaied. It is said, in return, that the nntouched Ukraine nas subtcribed sixty 
thooiaad beeves for a day's meal to our suffering manulaeluran. 


Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck, 
Display 'd so much o£leg, or more ofneckj 
Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon 
Beheld thee twi/aLg to a Saxon tune ! 

To you, ye husbands of ten years ! whose brows 
Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse ; 
To you of nine years less, who only bear 
The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear. 
With added ornaments around them roU'd 
Of native brass, or law-awarded gold ; 
To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch 
To mar a son's, or make a daughter's, match ; 
To you, ye children of — whom chance accords — 
Always the ladies, and sotnetimes their lords ; 
To you, ye single gentlemen, who seek 
Torments for life, or pleasures for a week ; 
As Love or Hymen your endeavours guide. 
To gain your own, or snatch another's bride ;— • 
To one and all the lovely stranger came. 
And every ball-room echoes with her name 

Endearing Waltz ! — to thy more melting tune 
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon. 
Scotch reels, avaunt ! and country-dance, forego 
Your future claims to each fantastic toe ! 
Waltz — Waltz alone — both legs and arms demands, 
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands ; 
Hands which may freely range in public sight 
Where ne'er before — but — pray « put out the light." 
Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier 
Shines much too far —^ or I am much too near ; 
And true, though strange — Waltz whispers this remark, 
** My slippery steps are safest in the dark ! " 
But here the. Muse with due decorum halts, 
And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz. 

Observant travellers of every time ! 
Ye quartos publish'd upon every clime ! 
O say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round, 
Fandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound ; 
Can Egypt's Almas * — tantalizing group — 
Columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop — 

* DandDg giili — who do for hire what Walts doth gratia. 


Can aught from cold Kamschatka to Cape Horn 
With Waltz compare, or afler Waltz be borne ? 
Ah, no ! from Morier's pages down to Gait's, 
Each tourist pens a paragraph for ** Waltz." 

Shades of those belles whose reign began of yore, 
With George the Third's — and ended long before ! — 
Though in your daughters' daughters yet you thrive, 
Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive ! 
Back to the ball-room, speed your spectred host : 
Fool's Paradise is dull to that you lost. 
No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake ; 
No stiff-starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache ; 
(Transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape 
Goats in their visage,* women in their shape ;) 
No damsel faints when rather closely prcss'd. 
But more caressing seems when most caress'd ; 
Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts. 
Both banish 'd by the sovereign cordial ** Waltz." 

Seductive Waltz ! — though on thy native shore 
Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore ; 
Werter — to decent vice though much inclined, 
Yet warm, not wanton — dazzled, but not blind ; 
Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael, 
Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball ; 
The fashion hails — from countesses to queens. 
And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes ; 
Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads, 
And turns -7- if nothing else ^ at least our heads ; 

* It cannot be complained now, as m the Lady Baossidre's time, of the ^ Sioui 
de la Croix," that there be " no whiakert ; " bat how far these are indications of 
valour in the field, or elsewhere, may ttUl be questionable. Much may be, and 
hath been, avouched on both sides. In the olden time philosophers had 
whiskers, and soldiers none — Scipio himself was shaven — Hannibal thought 
his one eye handsome enough without a beard ; but Adrian, the emperor, wore 
a beard (having warts on his chin, which neither the Empress Sabina nor even 
the courtiers could abide) — Turenne had whiskers, Marlborough none — Buona- 
parte is nnwhiskered, the Regent whiskered ; **argal*' greatness of mind and 
whiskers may ormav not go together: but certainly the different occurrences^ 
since the growth of tne last-mentioned, go further m behalf of whiskers than 
the anathema of Anselm did against long hair in the reign of Henry I. 

Formerly, red was a favourite colour. See Lodowick Barrey*B comedy of 
Ram Alley, 1661 ; Act I. Scene 1. 

** Taffeta. Now for a wager — What cobured beard comes next by the 

** Adriana, A black man*s, I think. 

*' Taffeta. I tkink not so : I think a red, for that is most in fashion." 

There is ''nothing new under the lun; " but red, then a fawmrile, has now 
flubiuled into a/ooourtte's colour. 


With thee even clumsy cits attempt to boance, 
And cockneys practise what they can't pronounce. 
Gods ! how the glorious theme my strain exalts^ 
And rhyme finds partner rhyme in praise of** Waltz ! ** 

Blest was the time Waltz chose for her d^hut ; 
The court, the Regent, like herself, were new ; * 
New face for friends, for foes some new rewards ; 
New ornaments for black and royal guards ; 
New laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread ; 
New coins (most new f ) to follow those that fled ; 
New victories — nor can we prize them less, 
Though Jenky wonders at his own success ; 
New wars, because the old succeed so well* 
That most survivors envy those who fell ; 
New mistressrs — no, old — and yet 't is true, 
Though they be old^ the thing is something new ; 
Each new, quite new — (except some ancient tricks, t) 
New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all new sticks. 
With vests or ribands — deck'd alike in hue, 
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue : 

So saith the muse — my ,§ what say y ou ? 

Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain 
Her new preferments in this novel reign ; 
Such was the time, nor ever yet was such ; 
Hoops are no more, and petticoats not much ; 
Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays, 
And tell-tale powder — all have had their days. 
The ball begins — the honours of the house 
First duly done by daughter or by spouse, 

* An anachronism — Waltz and the battle of Austerlitz are before said to hav 
opened the ball together: the bard means (if he means any thing), Waltz was 
not so much in vogue till the Regent attained the acm^ of his popularity. Waltz, 
the comet, whiskers, and the new govemmenl, illuminated heaven and earth, m 
all their glory, much about the same time : of these the comet only has disap- 
peared ; Uie other three continue to astonish us still. — Printer' t Ikvil. 

t Amongst others a new ninepence — a creditable coin now forthcoming, worth 
a pound, in paper, at the fairest calculation. 

I " Oh that right should thus overcome fnvht ! ** Who does not remember 
the " delicate investigation '* in the " Merry Wives of Windsor ? " 

** Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suopect without cause, why then make 
sport at me ; then let me be your jest ; I deserve it. How now ? whither bear 
yovL this 7 

** Mr», Ford, What have you to do whither they bear it? — you were best 
meddle with buck-washing. 

^ The gentle, or ferocious, reader, may fill up the blank as he pleases — there 
are several dissyllabic names at his service (being already m ttie Regent's) . i* 
would not be fair to back any peculiar initial against the alphabet, as every 
month will add to the list now entered for the sweepstakes : — a distinguished 
eonsonant is said to be the favourite, much againat the wishes of the huwmB 


Some potentate — or royal or serene — 

With Kent's gay' grace, or sapient Gloster's mien, 

Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush 

Might once have been mistaken for a blush. 

From where the garb just leaves the bosom free. 

That spot where hearts * were once supposed to be. 

Round all the confines of the yielded waist, 

The strangest hand may wander undisplaced ; 

The lady's in return may grasp as much 

As princely paunches offer to her touch. 

Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip. 

One hand reposing on the royal hip ; 

The other to the shoulder no less royal 

Ascending with affection truly loyal ! 

Thus front to front the partners move or stand. 

The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand ; 

And all in turn may follow in their rank. 

The Earl of— Asterisk — and Lady — Blank ; 

Sir — Such-a-one — with those of fashion's host. 

For whose blest surnames — vide ** Morning Post ; " 

(Or if for that impartial print too late. 

Search Doctors' Commons six months from my date,) — 

Thus all and each, in movement swifl or slow. 

The genial contact gently undergo ; 

Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk, 

If ** nothing foHows all this palming work 7 "f 

True, hofiest Mirzal — yoa may trust my rhyme — 

Something does follow at a fitter time ; 

The breast thus publicly resign'd to man. 

In private may resist him if it can. 

O ye who loved our grandmothers of yore, 
Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more ! 
And thou, my prince ! whose sovereign taste and will 
It is to love the lovely beldames still f 
Thou ghost of Queensbury ! whose judging sprite 
Satan may spare to peep a single night, 

• •* We have changed aU that," says tlie Mock Doctor— 't is all gone— As 
modeus knows where. After all, it is of no Kitat importance how women's 
hearts are disposed of; they have nature's privuege to distribute thom as ab- 
surdly as possible. But there are also some men with hearts so thoroughly bad. 
as to remmd us of those phenomena often mentioned in natural history ; viz. a 
mass of solid stone —only to be opened by force — and when divided, you dis- 
cover a toad in the centre, lively, and with the reputation of being venomous. 

+ In Turkey a pertinent, here an impertinent and superfluous, question — li- 
terally put, as in the text, by a Persian to Morier, on seeinsr a waltz in Pera. -J» 
Vide Morier'i Travdg. 

VOL. V. — ^H h 


Pronounce — if ever in your days of bliss 
Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this^ 
To teach the young ideas how to rise, 
Flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes ; 
Rush to the heart, and lighten through tfa^ frame, 
With half-told wish and ill-dissembl^ flame ; 
For prurient nature still will storm the breast — 
WhOf tempted thus, can answer for the rest ? 

But ye — who never felt a single thought 
For what our morab are to be, or ought ; 
Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap, 
Say — would you make those beauties quite so cheap f 
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied, 
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side. 
Where were the rapture then to clasp the form 
From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warmt 
At once love's most endearing thought resign, 
To press the hand so press'd by none but tbine ; 
To gaze upon that eye which never met 
Another's ardent look without regret ; 
Approach the lip which all, without restraint, 
Come near enough — if not to touch — to taint , 
If such thou loyest — love her then n*o more, 
Or give — like her — caresses to a score ; 
Her mind with these is gone, and with it go 
The little left behind it to bestow. 

Voluptuous Waltz ! and dare I thus blaspheme ? 
' Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme. 
Terpsichore, forgive ! — at every ball 
My wife nom waltzes -* and my daughters $haU ; 
My son — (or stop — 't is needless to inquire — 
These little accidents should ne'Ser transpire ; 
Some ages hence our genealogic tree 
Will wear as green a bough for him as me) — 
Waltzing shall rear^ to make our name amends. 
Grandsons for me — in heirs to all his friends. 



' Impu Cmtgrmnu AehiDi.*' 




The ^ ^ood old times " — all times when old are good - 

Are gone ; the present might be if they would ; 

Great things have been, and are, and greater still 

Want little of mere iViortals but their will : 

A wider space, a greener field, is given 

To those who play their ^' tricks before high heaven " 

I know not if the angels weep, but men 

Have wept enough — for what ? — to weep again 

All is exploded — be it good or bad. 
Reader ! remember when thou wert a lad. 
Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much. 
His very rival almost deem'd him such. 
We, we have seen the intellectual race 
Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face — 
Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea 
Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free, 
As the deep billows of the jGgean roar 
Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore. 
But where are they — the rivab ! — a few feet 
Of sullen earth divide each winding sheet. 
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave 
Which hushes all ! a calm, unstormy wave 
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old 
Of '* dust to dust ; " but half its tale untold : 
Time tempers not its terrors — still the worm 
Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form^ 
Varied above, but still alike below ; 
The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow, 
Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea 
O'er which from empire she lured Antony ; 


Though Alexander's urn a show be grown 
On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown — 
How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear 
The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear ! 
He wept for worlds to conquer — half the earth 
Knows not his name, or but his death, and birth, 
And desolation ; while his native Greece 
Hath all of desolation, save its peace. 
He " wept for worlds to conquer ! " he who ne'er 
Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare ! 
With even the busy Northern Isle unknown, 
Which holds his urn, and never knew his throne. 

But where is he, -the modern, mightier far, 
Who, bom no king, made monarchs draw his car ; 
The new Sesostris, whose unhamess'd kings, 
Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings, 
And spurn the dust o'er which thev crawl'd of late, 
Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state ? 
Yes ! where is he, the champion and the child 
Of all that 's great or little, wise or wild ? 
Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones? 
Whose table earth — whose dice were human bones ? 
Behold the grand result in yon lone isle, 
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile. 
Sigh to behold the eagle's loft^r rage 
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage ; 
Smile to survey the queller of the nations 
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations ; 
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines, 
O'er curtaii'd dishes and o'er stinted wines ; 
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things. 
Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings ? ^ 

Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs, 
A surgeon's statement, and an earl's harangues ! 
A bust delay 'd, a book revised, can shake 
The sleep of him who kept the world awake. 
Is this indeed the tamer of the great. 
Now slave of alt could tease or irritate — 
The paltry gaoler and the prying spy. 
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh ? 
Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great ; 
How low, how little, was this middle state. 
Between a prison and a palace, where 
How few could feel for what he hatl to bear ! 


Vain hifl complaint, — my lord presents his bilU 
His food and wine were doled out duly still : 
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime 
So free from homicide — to doubt 's a crime ; 
And the stiff surgeon, who maintained his cause, 
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's applause* 
But smile ^- though all the pangs of brain and heart 
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art ; 
Though, save the few fond friends, and imaged face 
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace. 
None stand by his low bed — though even the mind 
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind : 
Smile — for the fetter'd eagle breaks his chain, 
And higher worlds than this are his again. 


How, if that soaring spirit still retain 
A conscious twilight of his blazing reign. 
How must he smile, on looking down, to see 
The little that he was and sought to be ! > 

What though his name a wider empire found 
Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound ; 
Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, 
He tasted empire's blessings and its curse ; 
Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape 
From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape ; 
How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, 
The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave ! 
What though his gaoler, dqteous to the last. 
Scarce deem'd the coffin's lead could keep him fast, 
Refusing one poor line along the lid. 
To date the birth and death of all it hid ; 
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore, 
A talisman to all save him who bore : 
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast 
Shall hear their sea. boys hail it from the mast ; 
When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise, 
Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies, 
The rocky isle that holds or held his dust 
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust* 
And mighty nature o'er his obsequies 
Do more than niggard envy still denies. 
But what are these to him f Can glory's lust 
Touch the freed spirit or the fetter'd dust 1 
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists ; 
Nought if he sleeps — nor more if he exists : 


Alike tl^ better-seeing shade will smile 

On the rude cavern of the rocky isle, 

As if his ashes found their latest home 

In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome. 

He wants not this ; but France shall feel the want 

Of this last consolation, though so scant ; 

Her honour,. fame, and faith, demand his bones. 

To rear above a pyramid of thrones ; 

Or carried onward in tho battle's van, 

To form, like Guesclin's * dust, her talisman. 

But be it as it is — the time may come 

His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum. 


Oh heaven ! of which he was in power a feature ; 

Oh earth ! of which he was a noble creature ; 

Thou isle ! to be remeraber'd long and well, 

That saw'st the unfledg'd eaglet chip his shell ! 

Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights 

Hover, the victor of a hundred fights ! 

Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone • 

Alas ! why pass'd he too the Rubicon — 

The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights,. 

To herd with vulgar kings and parasites? 

Egypt ! from whose all dateless tombs arose 

Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, 

And shook within their pyramids to hear 

A new Camhyses thundering in their ear ; 

While >iie dark shades of forty ages stood • 

Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood ; 

Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle 

Beheld the desert peopled, as from helU 

With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sand 

To re-manure the uncultivated land ! 

Spain ! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, 

Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid ! 

Austria ! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital 

Twice spared to be the traitress of his fall ! 

Ye race of Frederic ! — Frederics but in name 

And falsehood — heirs to all except his fi|pe ; 

Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, feU 

First, and but rose to follow ! Ye who dwell 

Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet 

* Guesclin died during^ the siege^f a city ; it surrendered, and the keys were 
brought and laid upon his bier, so that the place might appear rendered to his 


The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt ! 

Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel past, 

But lefl thee as he found thee, still a waste, 

Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, 

Thy lotted people and extinguished name, 

Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, 

That sound that crushes in the tyrant's ear — 

Kosciusko ! On — on — on — the thirst of war 

Gasps for the gore of serfs, and of their czar. 

The half barbaric Moscow's minarets 

Gleam in the sun, but 't is a sun that sets ! 

Moscow ! thou limit of his long career, 

For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear 

To see in vain — he saw thee — how T with spire 

And palace fuel to one common fire. 

To this the soldier lent his kindling match. 

To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch. 

To this the merchant flung his hoarded store. 

The prince his hall — and Moscow was no more ! 

Sublimest of volcanos ! Etna's flame 

Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla 's tame ; ' 

Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight 

For gaping tourists, from his hackney 'd height : 

Thou stand'st alone unrivall'd, till the fire 

To come, in which all empires shall expire ! 

Thou other element ! as strong and stem, 
To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn ! 
Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe, 
Till fell a hero with each flake of snow ; 
How did they numbing beak and silent fang 
Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang? 
In vain shall Seine look up along his banks 
For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks ! 
In vain shall France recall beneath her vines 
Her youth — their blood flows faster than her wines ; 
Or stagnant in their human ice remains 
In frozen mummies on the Polar plains. 
In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken 
Her ofl!spring chill'd ; its beams are now forsaken; 
Of all the trophies gather'd from the war, 
What shall return ? — the conqueror's broken car ! 
The conqueror's yet unbroken heart ! Again 
The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain. 
Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory, 
'^eholds him conquer, but, alas ! not die : 


Dresden surveys three despots fly once more 

Before their sovereign, — sovereign as before j 

But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, 

And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield ! 

The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side 

To turn the bear's, and wolPs, and fox's guide ; 

And backward to the den of his despair 

The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair. 

Oh ye ! and each, and all ! Oh France ! who found . 
Thy long fair fields, plough'd up as hostile ground. 
Disputed foot by foot, till treason, stilt 
His only victor, from Montmartre's hill 
Look'd down o'er trampled Paris ! and thou Isley 
Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile. 
Thou momentary shelter of his pride, 
Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride ! 
Oh, France ! retaken by* a single march, 
Whose path was through one long triumphal arch I 
Oh, bloody and nM>st bootless Waterloo ! 
Which proves how fools may have their fortune too. 
Won half by blunder, half by treachery : 
Oh dull Saint Helen ! with thy gaoler nigh — 
Hear ! hear Prometheus * from his rock appeal 
To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel 
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear 
A name eternal as the rolling year ; 
He teaches them the lesson taught so long. 
So oft, so vainly --^. learn to do no wrong ! 
A single step into the right had made 
This man the Washington of worlds betray'd : 
A single step into the wrong has given 
His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven ; 
The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod, 
Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod ; 
His country's Ceesar, Europe's Hannibal, 
Without their decent dignity of fall. 
Tet Vanity herself had better taught 
A surer path even to the fame he sougot. 
By pointing out on history's fruitless page 
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage. 
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven. 
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, 

* I refer the reader to the fint addreai of I^metheus in iEachyliia, wh0D- 
it left alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the Chorus of 


Or drawing from the no less kindled earth 
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ; 
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er 
Shall sink while there 's an echo left to air : 
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war 
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar ! 
Alas ! why must the same Atlantic wave 
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave — 
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave, 
Who bursts the chains of millions to renew 
The very fetters which his arm broke through, 
And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own, 
To flit between a dungeon and a throne 7 


But 't will not be — the spark 's awaken 'd *—lo ! 

The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow ; 

The same high spirit which beat back the Moor 

Through eight long ages of alternate gore 

Revives — and where 7 in that avenging clime 

Where Spain was once synonymous with crime, 

Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew. 

The infant world redeems her name of ^ iVino." 

'T is the old aspiration breathed afresh, 

To kindle souls within degraded flesh, 

Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore 

Where Greece was — No ! she still is Greece once more. 

One common cause makes myriads of one breast, 

Slaves of the east, or helots of the west ; 

On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl 'd. 

The self-same standard streams o'er either world ; 

The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword ; 

The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord ; 

The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek, 

Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique ; 

Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore, 

Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar ; 

Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance, 

Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France, 

Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain 

Unite Ausonia to the mighty main : 

But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye, 

Break o'er th' .£gean, mmdful of the day 

Of Salamis ! — there, there the waves arise, 

Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories* 


Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need 

By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed, 

The desolated lands, the ravaged isle, 

The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, 

The aid evaded, and the cold delay, 

Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ; — 

These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show 

The false friend worse than the infuriate foe. 

But this is well : Greeks only should free Greece, 

Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace. 

How should the autocrat of bondage be 

The king of serfs, and set the nations free ? 

Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, 

Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan ; 

Better still toil for masters, than await. 

The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate, — 

Numbered by hordes, a human capital, 

A live estate, existing but far thrall, 

Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward 

For the first courtier in the Czar's regard ; 

Wliile their immediate owner never tastes 

His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes ; 

Better succumb even to their own despair, 

And drive the camel that purvey the bear.' 


But not alone within the hoariest clime 

Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time, 

And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd 

Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud. 

The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic Spain, 

Holds back the invader from her soil again. 

Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde 

Demands her fields as lists to prove the sword ; 

Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth 

Pollute the plains, aUke abhorring both ; 

Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears 

The warlike fathers of a thousand years. 

That seed is sown and reap'd, as oflt the Moor 

Sighs to remember on his dusky shore. 

Long in the peasant's song or poet's page 

Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage ; 

The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung 

Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung. 

But these are gone — > their faith, their swords, their sway, 

Yet lefl more anti-christian foes than they : 


The bigot monarch and the butcher priest, 

The Inquisition, with her burning feast, 

The faith's red ♦* auto," fed with human fuel, 

While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel. 

Enjoying, with inexorable eye, 

That fiery festival of agony ! 

The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both 

By turns ; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth : 

The long degenerate noble ; the debased 

Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced, 

But more degraded ; the unpeopled realm ; 

The once proud navy which forgot the helm ; 

The once impervious phalanx disarray'd ; 

The idle forge that form'd Toledo's blade ; 

The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore. 

Save hers who earn'd it with the natives* gore ; 

The very language which might vie with Rome's, 

And once was known to nations like their homes. 

Neglected or forgotten : — such was Spain ; 

But 8u6h she is not, nor shall be again. 

These worst, these home invaders, felt and feel 

The new Numantine soul of old Castile. 

Up ! up again ! undaunted Tauridor ! 

The bull of Phalaris renews his roar ; 

Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo ! not in vain 

Revive the cry — " la go ! and close Spain ! " • 

Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, 

And form the barrier which Napoleon found,-*- 

The exterminating war, the desert plain, 

The streets without a tenant, save the slain , 

The wild sierra, with its wilder troop 

Of vulture-plumed guerrillas, on the stoop 

For their incessant prey ; the desperate wall 

Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall ; 

The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid 

Waving her more than Amazonian blade ; 

The knife of Arragon,t Toledo's steel ; 

The famous lance of chivalrous Castile : 

The unerring rifle of the Catalan ; 

The Andalusian courser in the \'an ; 

The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid ; 

And in each heart the spirit of the ( i<! • - 

* **8t lago ! and dote Spain ! " tlie old Spanish war-crjr. 
t The Armfcmiant are peculiarly dexterous in the use of thia weapon, and 
difpbyed ii particularly in former French wars. 

478 THE AeB OF BROlffB. 

Such have been, such shall be, such are. Adyance, 
And win — not Spain, but thine own freedom, France ! 


But lo ! a Congress ! What ! thai hallow'd name 
Which freed the Atlantic ? May we hope the same 
» - For outworn Europe ? With the sound arise, 
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes. 
The prophets of young Freedom, summoned far 
From climes of Washington and Bolivar ; 
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes, 
Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas ; 
And stoic Franklin's energetic shade, 
Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd ; 
And Washington, the tyrant^tamer, wake, 
,To bid us blush for these old chains, or bteak* 
But who compose this senate of the few 
That should redeem the many ? Who renew 
This consecrated name, till now assign'd 
To councils held to benefit mankind? 
Who now assemble at the holy call ? 
The blest Alliance, which says three are all ! 
An earthly trinity ! which wears the shape 
Of heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape. 
A pious unity ! in purpose one -— 
To melt three fools to a Napoleon. 
Why, Eg3rpt's gods were rational to these ; 
Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees. 
And, quiet in their kennel or their shed. 
Cared little, so that they were duly fed ; 
But these, more hungry, must have something more. 
The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. 
Ah ! how much happier were good iEIsop s frogs 
Than we 1 for ours are animated logs. 
With ponderous malice swaying to and fro. 
And crushing nations with a stupid blow ; 
All dully anxious to leave little work 
Unto the revolutionary stork. 


Thrice blest Verona ! since the holy tiiree 
With their imperial presence shine on thee ; 
Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site forgets 
The vaunted tomb of ** all the Capulets ; " 
Thy Scaligers — for what was " Dog the Great,'* 
^ Can Grande," (which I venture to translate,) 

THS AOB OF BROim. 479 

To these miUimer pugs ? Thy poet too, 

Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new ; 

Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate ; 

And Dante's exile shelter'd by the gate ; 

Thy good old man,* whose world was all within 

Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in : 

Would that the royal guests it girds about « 

Were so far like, as never to get out ! 

Ay, shout ! inscribe ! rear monuments of shame. 

To tell Oppression that the world is tame ! 

Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage, 

The comedy is not upon the stage ; 

The show is rich in ribandry and stars. 

Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars ; 

Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, 

For thus much still thy fetter'd hands are free* 

Resplendent sight ! Behold the coxcomb Czar, 

The autocrat of waltzes and of war ! 

As eager for a plaudit as a realm. 

And just as fit for flirting as the helm ; 

A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit, 

And generous spirit, when 't is not frost-bit ; 

Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw. 

But harden'd back whene'er the morning 's raw ; 

With no objection to true liberty. 

Except that it would make the nations free. 

How well the imperial dandy prates of peace. 

How fiiin, if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece ! 

How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet, 

Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet ! 

How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine, 

With all her pleasant pulks, to lecture Spain ? 

How royally show off in proud Madrid 

His goodly persoA, from the South lonff hid ! 

A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows, 

By having Muscovites for friends or foes. 

Proceed, thou namesake of ffreat Philip's son ! 

La Harpe, thine Aristotle, feckons on ; 

And that which Scythia was to him of yore 

Find with €hy Scythians on Iberia's shore. 

Tet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth, 

Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth ; 

* The fomow old mtn of Veioiia. 


Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thinet 
Many an old woman, but no Catherine.* 
Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles — 
The bear may rush into the lion's toils: 
Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields ; 
Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields ? 
• Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords 

To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir hordos. 

Redeem thy realms from slavery aiid the knout. 

Than follow headlong in the fatal route. 

To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure 

With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure : 

Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe ; 

Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago ; 

And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey I 

Alas ! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey. 

I am Diogenes; though Russ and Hun 

Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun ; 

But were I not Diogenes, I 'd wander 

Rather a worm than such an Alexander ! 

Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free ; 

His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope : 

Still will he hold his lantern up to scan 

The face of monarchs for an '< honest man.'' 


And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land 
Of ne plus ultra ultras and their band 
Of mercenaries ? and her noisy chambers 
And tribune, which each orator first clambers 
Before he finds a voice, and when 't is found, 
Hears " the lie " echo for his answer round ? 
Our British Commons sometimes deign to *' hear ! " 
A Gallic senate hath more tongue than ear ; 
Evon Constant, their sole master of debate, 
Must fight next day his speech to vindicate. 
But this costs little to true Franks, who had rather 
Combat than listen, were it to their father. 
What is the simple standing of a shot. 
To listening long, and interrupting not ? 
Though this was not the method of old Rome, 
When TuUy fulmined o'er each vocal dome, 
Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction. 
In saying eloquence meant " Action, action ! " 

* The dexterity of Catherine extricated Peter (c&Sed the Great by conileiy,) 
when rarrounded by the MutttdiMng on the bnoks of Uie river Pknth. 

THS A«l OF BBOnSB. 481 


But wh^e's the monarch ? hath he dined ? or yet 

Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt ? 

Hare revolutionary pat^s risen, 

And tum'd the royal entrails to a prison ? 

Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops ? 

Or have no movements followed traitorous soups ? 

Have Carbonaro cooks not carbonadoed 

Each course enough 1 or doctors dire dissuaded 

Repletion ? Ah ! in thy dejected looks 

I read all France's treason in her cooks ! 

Good classic Louis ! is it, canst thou say, 

Desirable to be the *' Desir^ ? " 

Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's green abode, 

Apician table, and Horatian ode. 

To rule a people who will not be ruled. 

And love much rather to be scourged than school'd ? 

Ah ! thine was not the temper or the taste 

For thrones ; the table sees thee better placed : 

A mild Epicurean, form'd, at best, 

To be a kind host and as good a guest. 

To talk of letters, and to know by heart 

One Judf the poet's, all the gourmand's art ; 

A scholar always, now and then a wit. 

And gentle when digestion may permit ; ^- 

But not to govern lands enslaved or free ; 

The gout was martyrdom enough for thee. 


Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase 

From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ? 

**Arts — arms — and George — and glory — and the 

isles — 
And happy Britain — wealth — and Freedom's smiles — 
White clifis, that held invasion far aloof — 
Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof — 
Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curl'd. 
That nose, the hook where he suspends the world ! * 

And Waterloo — and trade —•and (hush ! not yet 

A syllable of imposts or of debt^ — 
And ne'er (enough) lamented Cfastlereagh, 
Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t' other day — 

* " N«BO roipendit adunoo.** — Horace, 
(The RomAn appliet it to one who merely was imperiouB to hii ac<iaaait* 
VOL v — I i 


And ' pilots who have weather'd every stonn * — 
(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Reform)/' 
These are the themes thus sung so oft before, 
Methinks we need not sing them any more ; 
Found in so many volumes far and near, 
There 's no occasion you should find them here. 
Tet something may remain perchance to chime 
With reason, and, what 's stranger still, with rhyme. 
Even this thy genius, Canning ! may permit. 
Who, bred a statesman, still wast bom a wit. 
And never, even in that dull House, couldst tame 
To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic flame ; 
Our last, our best, our only orator. 
Even I can praise thee — Tories do no more : 
Nay, not so much ; ^- they hate thee, man, because 
Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes, 
* The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo. 
And where he leads the duteous pack will follow ; 
But not for love mistakei their yelling cty ; 
Their yelp for game is not an eulogy ; 
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, 
A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back. 
Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure, 
Nor royal stallion's feet extrem^y sure ; 
The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last 
To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast 
With his great self and rider in the mud : 
But what of that ? the animal shows blood* 

Alas, the country ? how shall tongue or pen 
Bewail her now uncountry gentlemen t 
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, 
The first to make a malady of peace. 
For what were all these country patriots bom I 
To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of com t 
But com, like every mortal thing, must faU, 
Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all. 
And must ye fall with every ear of erain t 
Why would you trouble %uonapartes reign t 
He was your great Triptolemus ; his vices 
Destroyed but reahns, and still maintained your prices ; 
He amplified to every lord's content 
The grand agrarian alchymy, hight rent. 
Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars, 
And lower wheat to such desponding quarters ? 

THS AGi or BXomuB. 469 

Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone ! 

The man was worth much more upon his throne. 

True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt ; 

But what of that t the Gaul may bear the guilt ; 

But bread was high, the farmer paid his way, 

And acres told upon the appointed day. 

But where is now the goodly audit ale 7 

The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail 7 

The farm which never yet was left on hand t 

The marsh reclaimed to most improving land? 

The impatient hope of the expiring lease 7 

The doubling rental 7 What an evil 's peace ! 

In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill, 

In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill ; 

The landed interest — (you may understand 

The phrase much better leaving out the land) 

The land self-interest groans from shore to shore* 

For fear that plenty should attain the poor. 

Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes. 

Or else the ministry will lose their votes. 

And patriotism, so delicately nice. 

Her loaves will lower to the market price ; 

For ah ! ^ the loaves and fishes," once so high. 

Are gone — their oven closed, their ocean dry. 

And nought remains of all the millions spent. 

Excepting to grow moderate and content. 

They who are not so, had their turn — and tui 

About still flows from Fortune's equal urn ; 

Now let their virtue be its own reward, 

And share the blessings which themselves prepared. 

See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm. 

Farmers of war, dictators of the farm ; 

Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands, 

Their fields manured by gore of other lands ; 

Safe in their barns, these Sabine tiUers sent 

Their brethren out to battle — why 7 for rent ! 

Tear after year they voted cent, per cent.. 

Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions — why 7 for rent! 

They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they 

To die for England — why then live 7 — for rent ! 
The peace has made one general malcontent 
Of these high-market patriots ; war was rent ! 
Their love of country, millions aU mis-spent, 
How reconcile 7 by reconciling rent ! 
And will they not repay the treasures lent 7 


No : down with every thing, and up with rent ! 

Their good, ill, healdi, wealth, joy, or discontent. 

Being, end, aim, religion — rent, rent, rent I 

Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau ! for a mess; 

Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less ; 

Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands 

Are idle ; Israel says the bargain stands. 

Such, landlords ! was your appetite for war, 

And, gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar ! 

What ! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash ? 

And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash 1 

So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall. 

And found on 'Change a Fundling Hospital ? 

Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes. 

Like Niobe, weeps o'er her ofispring. Tithes ; 

The prelates go to — where the saints have gone. 

And proud pluralities subside to one ; 

Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark, 

Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark. 

Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends. 

Another Babel soars — but Britain ends. 

And why ? to pamper the self-seeking wants. 

And prop the hill of these agrarian ants. 

" Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise ;" 

Admire their patience through each sacrifice. 

Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride. 

The price of taxes and of homicide ; 

Admire their justice, wliich would fain deny 

The debt of nations : — pray who made it High ? 

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks, 

The new Symplegades — the crushing Stocks, 

Where Midas might again his wish behold 

In real paper or imagined gold. 

That magic palace of Alcina shows 

More wealth than Britain ever had to lose. 

Were all her atoms of unleaven'd ore, 

And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore. 

There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake. 

And the world trembles to bid brokers break. 

How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines, 

Or peace or plenty, com or oil, or wines ; 

No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, 

Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money : 

t:ie age or bronze. 485 

But let 119 not to own the truth refuse, 
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews ? 
Those parted with their teeth to good King John, 
And now, ye kings ! they kindly draw your own ; 
All states, all things, all sovereigns they control. 
And waft a loan ^ from Indus to the pole." 
The banker — broker — baron — brethren, speed 
To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. 
Nor these alone ; Columbia feels no less 
Fresh speculations follow each success ; 
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain 
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain. 
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march ; 
^ is gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch. 
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command 
In every realm their scripture-promised land : — 
Two Jews keep down the Romans, and uphold 
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old : 
Two Jews — hut not Samaritans — direct 
The world, with all the spirit of their sect. 
What is the happiness of earth to them 7 
A congress forms their " New Jerusalem,'* 
Where baronies and orders both invite — 
Oh, holy Abraham ! dost thou see the sight ? 
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine, 
Who spit not ^* on their Jewish gaberdine," 
But honour them as portion of the show — 
^Where now, oh pope ! is thy forsaken toe t 
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks 7 
Or has it ceased to ^* kick against the pricks 7 **) 
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh, 
To cut from nations' hearts their ** pound of flesh.'* 


Strange sight this Congress ! destined to unite 

All that 's incongruous, all that 's opposite. 

I speak not of thi Sovereigns — they 're alike, 

A common coin as ever mint could strike : 

But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings, 

Have more of motley than their heavy kings. 

Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine. 

While Europe wonders at the vast design : 

There Metternich, power's foremost parasite. 

Cajoles ; there Wellington forgets to fight ; 

There Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs ; * 

Bfomieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author in the minifltei; 


And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid Tartars ; 

There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters. 

Turns a diplomatist of great eclat, 

To furnish articles for the "D6bat8 ; " 

Of war so certain — yet not quite so sure 

As his dismissal in the '^ Moniteur/' 

Alas ! how could his cabinet thus err 7 

Can peace be worth an ultra-minister 7 

He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again, 

<' Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." 

Enough of this — a sight more moumftil woes 
The averted eye of the reluctant muse* 
The imperial daughter, the imperial bride^ 
The imperial victim — sacrifice to pride ; 
The mother of the hero's hope, the boy, 
The young Astyanax of modern Troy ; 
The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen 
That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen ; 
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, 
> The theme of pity, and the wreck of power. 
Oh, cruel mockery ! Could not Austria spare 
A daughter ? What did France's widow there ? 
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave. 
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. 
But, no, — she still must hold a petty leign, 
Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain ; 
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes 
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries. 
What though she share no more, and shared in vain^ 
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, 
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas ! 
Tet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese, 
Where Parma views the traveller resort 
To note the trappings of her mimic court. 
But she appears ! Verona sees her shorn 

Of all her beams — while nations gaze and mourn 

Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time 
To chill in their inhospitable clime ; 


reeeiveda handaome compUinent at Verona from a literary aoveraun ■ "Ah» 

MonrieurC -, are you related to that Chateaubriand who — vXo'-^who 

faai written MomeOiing 7 {^cntjuelqiie choBe .') It ia said that the author of At£ 
repented him for a moment of hw legitimacy. ^^ 



If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold ; — 

iut DOy — their embers soon will burst the mould ;) 

She comes ! — the Andromache (but not Racine's^ 

Nor Homer's) — Lo ! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans ! 

Tes ! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, 

Which cut her lord's haUlshatter'd sceptre through, 

Is offer'd and accepted ! Could a slave 

Do more 7 or less ?— and he in his new gra^e ! 

Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward stnfe, 

And the eop-empress grows as e« a wife ! 

So much for human ties in royal breasts ! 

Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests f 


But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home. 

And sketch the group — the picture 's yet to come. 

My muse 'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt, # 

She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt ! 

While tl^ong'd the chiefs of every Highland clan 

To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman ! 

Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar. 

While all the Common Council cry ** Cla3rmore ! ** 

To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt 

Gird the gross sirloin of a city Celt, 

She bursts into a laughter so extreme. 

That I awoke — and lo ! it was no dream ! 

Here, reader, will we pause : — - if there 's no harm in 
This first— 'you 11 have, perhaps, a second ** Carmen." 






"A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.* 


It h&th been wisely said, that ^ One fool makes many ; " and 
it hath been poetically observed, 

" That IboU nuh in where angels fear to tiead." — Popt. 

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, 
and where he never was before, and never will be again, the 
follow poem would not have been written. It is not impossi. 
ble that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by 
«ny species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be trorse. The 
gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegado intolerance 
and impious cant, of the poem by the author of ^ Wat Tyler," are 
something so stupendous as to form the sublime of himself— 
containing the quintessence of his own attributes. 

So much for his poem — a word on his preface. In this pre- 
face it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the pic- 
ture of a supposed ^ Satanic School," the which he doth re* 
commend to the notice of the legislature ;. thereby adding to his 
other laurels the ambition of ^ose of* an informer. If there 
exists any where, excepting in his imagination, such a School, 
is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vani. 
ty t The truth is, that there are certain writers whom Mr. S* 
imagines, like Scrub, to have *< talked of him ; for they laughed 

I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is 
supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capa- 
cities, have done more good, in the charities of life, to their fel- 
low-creatures in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done 
harm to himself by his absurdities in his whole life ; and this 
is saying a great deal. But I have a few questions to ask. 

Istly. Is Mr. Southey the author of « Wat Tyler ? " 

2dly. Was he not rdused a remedy at law by the highest 


judge of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and 
seditious publication ? 

ddly. Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full parlia- 
ment, '< a rancorous renegade ? " 

4thly. Is he not poet laureate, with his own lines on Martin 
the regicide staring him in the face ? 

And, 5thly. Putting the four preceding items together, with 
what conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the 
publicatioBS of others, be they what they may ? 

I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding ; its 
meanness speaks for itself; but I wish to touch upon the mofnx, 
which is neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed 
at a little in some recent publications, as he was of yore in the 
<< Anti-jacobin " by his present patrons. Hence all this '< skim- 
ble scamble stuff" about ^* Satanic," and so forth. However, 
it is wqrthy of him — * ^ quedis ab tncepfo." 

If there is any thing obnoxious to the political opinions of a 
portion of the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. 
Southey. He might have written hexameters, as he has writ, 
ten every thing else, for aught that the writer cared — had they 
been upon another subject. But to attempt to canonise a mo- 
narch, who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a 
successful nor a patriot king, — inasmuch as several years of 
his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say no. 
thing of the aggression upon France, — like all other exa^e- 
ration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner lie 
may be spoken of in t|»is new " Vision," his pMic career will 
not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private 
virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be 
no doubt. 

With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can 
only say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest 
man) have a better right to talk of them than Robert Southey. 
I have also treated them more tolerantly. The way in which 
that poor insane creature, the Laureate, deals about his judg. 
meats in the next world, ia like his own judgment in this. If 
it was not completely ludicrous, it would be something worse. 
I do n't think that there is much more to say at present. 



P. S. — It is possible that some readers may object, in these 
objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and 
spiritual persons discourse in this << Vision." But for prece- 
dents upon such points, I must refer him to Fielding's ** Journey 
from this World to the next," and to the Visions of myself, the 
said Quevedo, in Spanish or translated. The reader is also 
requested to observe, that no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon 
or discussed ; that the person of the Deity is carefully withheld 
from sight, which is more than can be said for the Laureate, 
who hath thought proper to make him talk, not ^ like a school 
divine," but like the unscholarlike Mr. Southey. The whole 
action passes on the outside of heaven ; and Chaucer's Wife of 
Bath, Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, Swift's Tale of a Tub, and 
the other works above referred to, are cases in point of the 
freedom with which saints, ^c. may be permitted to converse 
in works not intended to be serious. 

Q. R. 

*^* Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good Christian and 
vindictive, threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. 
It is to be hoped that his visionary faculties will in the mean- 
time have acquired a little more judgment, properly so called : 
otherwise he will get himself into new dilemmas. These apos- 
tate jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let him take a speci- 
4»en. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously ^ one Mr. Landor," who 
cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses ; 
and not long ago, the poet laureate dedicated to him, it ap- 
peareth, one of his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem 
called Geinr, Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir the 
aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) put- 
teth into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of 
his friend Mr. Southey's heaven, — yea, even George the 
Third! See also how personal Savage becometh, when he 
hath a mind. The following is his portrait of our late gra- 
cious sovereign : — 

{Prince Oebir having descended into ike infernal regione, ike diade$ of 
kie roval ancestora are, at hie request, called iq) to ku view, and he 
exdaane to hie ghostly guide) — 

" A roar, what wretch that nearest us ? what wretch 
It that with eyebrows white and Planting brow 7 

494 PRBrACK. 

liften ! him yonder, who, bound down ia|>uie, 
8hrinki yellinj; from that iword there, engine-hiing. 
He too amonf my enceBiori ! I bete 
The despot, but the dastard I des|iiie. 
Was he oar ooontryman 7 ** 

*« Alas, O king! 
Iberia bore him, bm the breed accurst 
Inclement winds blew blighting from northeast." 
** He was a warrior then, nor fear'd the gods ? '* 
** Gebir, he fear'd the demons, not the gods. 
Though them indeed his daily fiice adored ; 
And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives 
Squander'd, as stones to exerdse a sling, 
And the tame cruelty and cold caprice — 
Oh madness of mankind ! address'd, adored ! " — OMr, p. 89. 

I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallics of Savagius, wish- 
ing to keep the proper veil over them, if his grave but some- 
what indiscreet worshipper will suffer it ; but certainly these 
teachers of ** great moral lessons " are apt to be found in strange 



Sahc T Pbtss sat by the celestial gate : 
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull. 

So little trouble had been given of late ; 
Not that the place by any means was full. 

But since the Gallic era *^ eighty-eight " 
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull. 

And ^ a pull altogether," as they say 

At sea — which drew most souk another way* 

The angels all were singling out of tune, 

And hoarse with having little else to do, 
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon. 

Or curb a runaway youD^ star or two. 
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon 

Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue. 
Splitting some planet with its playful tail, 
Ajs boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. 


The guardian seraphs had retired on high, 
Finding their charges past all care bdow ; 

Terrestrial business Sl'd nought in the sky 
Save the recording angel's black bureau ; 

Who found, indeed, Sie &cts to multiply 
With such rapidity of vice and wo. 

That he had stripped off both his wings in quills. 

And yet was in arrear of human ills. 

His business so augmented of late years, 

That he was forced, against his will, no doubt, 
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,) 

For some resource to turn himself about 

496 THE vision OF JUPOKBNT. 

And claim the help of his celestial peers, 

To aid him ere he should be quite worn out 
By the increased demands for his remarks ; 
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks. 

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven ; 

And yet they had even then enough to do, 
So many conquerors' cars were daily driven, 

So many kingdoms fitted up anew ; 
Each day too slew its thousands six or seven. 

Till at the crowning ccurnage, Waterloo, 
They threw their pens down in divine disgust — 
The page was so besmear'd with blood and dust. 


This by the way ; 't is not mine to record 
What angels shrink from : even the very devil 

On this occasion his own work abhorr'd, 
So surfeited with the infernal revel : 

Though he himself had sharpen'd every sword. 
It almost quenchM his innate thirst of evil. 

rHere Satan's sole good woric deserves insertion — 

'T is, that he has both generals in reversion.) 


Let 's skip a few short years of hollow peace, 
Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, 

And heaven none — they form the tyrant's lease. 
With nothing but new names subscrib'd upon 't ; 

'T will one day finish : meantime they increase, 
" With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front. 

Like Saint John's foretold beast ; but ours are born 

Less formidable in the head than horn. 

In the first year of freedom's second dawn 

Died Greorge the Third ; although no tyrant, one 
Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn 

Left him nor mental nor external sun : 
A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, 

A worse king never left a realm undone ! 
He died — but left his subjects still behind, 
One half as mad -^ and t' other no less blind. 



He died ! — his death made no great stir on earth ; 

His burial made some pomp ; there was profusion 
Of velvety gilding, brass, and no great dearth 

Of aught but tears— save those shed by collusion. 
For these things may be bought at their true worth ; 

Of elegy there was the due infusion — 
Bought also ; and the torches, cloaks, and banners. 
Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners, 


Porm'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all 
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, 

Who cared about the corpse 1 The funeral 
Made the attraction, and the black the wo. 

There throbb'd not there -a thought which pierced the pall ; 
And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, 

It secm'd the mockery of hell to fold 

The rottenness of eighty years in gold. 


So mix his body with the dust ! It might 

Return to what it must far sooner, were 
The natural compound left alone to fight 

Its way back into earth, and fire, and air ; 
But the unnatural balsams merely blight 

What nature made him at his birth, as bare 
As the mere million's base unmummied clay — 
Yet aU his spices but prolong decay. 


He 's dead — and upper earth with him has done; 

He 's buried ; save the undertaker's bill, 
Or lapidaxy scrawl, the world is gone 

For him, unless he left a German will ; 
But where 's the proctor who will ask his son ? 

In whom his qualities are reigning still. 
Except that household virtue, most uncommon^ 
Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. 

'** God save the king ! " It is a large economy 

In God to save the like ; but if he will 
Be saving, all the better ; for not one am I 
Of those who think damnation better still : 
T)L. ▼• — ^E k 


I hardly know too if not quite alone am I 
In this small hope of bettering future ill 
By circumscribing, with some slight restrictioni 
The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. 


I know this is unpopular ; I know 

T is blasphemous ; I know one may be damn'd 
For hoping no one else may e'er be so ; 

I know my catechism ; I know we are cramm'd 
, With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow ; 

I know that all save England's church have shamm'd. 
And that the other twice two hundred churches 
And synagogues have made a damxCd bad purchase 


God help us all ! God help me too ! I am, 
God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, 

And not a whit more difficult to damn 

Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd jSsh, 

Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb ; 
Not that I 'm fit for such a noble dish 

As one day will be that immortal fry 

Of almost every body born to die, 


Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, 

And nodded o'er his keys ; when, lo ! there came 
A wondrous noise he had not heard of late — 

A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame ; 
In shorty a roar of things extremely great. 

Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim ; 
But he, with first a start and then a wink. 
Said, ^ There 's another star gone out, I think ! '* 


But ere he could return to his repose, 
A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes — 

At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose : 
" Saint porter," said the angel, " prithee rise ! " 

Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows 
An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes : 

To which the saint replied, « Well, what 's the matter T 

Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter ? " 

TBS vmOK OF JU1>0]CSNT. 409 


« No," qaoth the cherub ; *« George the Third is dead." 
** And who is George the Third T " replied the apostle : 

« WJuU George ? what Third V "The king of England," 
The angel. " Well ! he won't find kings to jostle 

Him on his way ; but does he wear his head? 
Because the last we saw here had a tustle, 

And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, 

Had be not flung his head in all our faces. 


" He was, if I remember, king of France ; 

That head of his, which could not keep a crown 
On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance 

A claim to those of martyrs — like my own : 
If I had had my sword, as I had once 

When I cut ears off, I had cut him down ; 
But having but my heys^ and not my brand, 
I only knock'd his head from out his hand. 


^ And then he set up such a headless howl. 
That all the saints came out and took him in ; 

And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl ; 
That fellow Paul •* the parvenil f The skin 

Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl 
In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin 

So as to make a martyr, never sped 

Better than did this weak and wooden head. 


" But had it come up here upon its shoulders, 
There would have been a different tale to tell : 

The fellow^eeling in the saints beholders 
Seems to have acted on them like a spell ; 

And so this very foolish head heaven solders 
Back on its trunk : it may be very welly 

And seems the custom here to overthrow 

Whatever has been wisely done below." 

The angel answerM, ^ Peter ! do not pout : 

The king who comes has head and all entire, 
And never knew much what it was about — 

He did as doth the puppet — bv its wire, 


And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt : 
My business and your own is not to inquire 
Into such matters, but to mind our cue. 
Which is to act as we are bid to do." 


While thus they spake, the angelic caravan, 

Arriving like a rush of mighty wind. 
Cleaving the fields of space> as doth the swan 

Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde, 
Or Thames, or Tweed), and, midst them an old man 

With an old soul, and both extremely blind. 
Halted before the gate, and in his shroud 
Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. 


But bringing up the rear of this bright host 

A Spirit of a different aspect waved 
His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast ^ 

Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved ; 
His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss'd ; 

Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved 
Eternal wrath on his immortal face. 
And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. 


As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate 
Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or sin. 

With such a glance of supernatural hate. 
As made Saint Peter wish himself within ; 

He patter'd with his keys at a great rate, ^ 

And sweated through his apostolic skin : 

Of course his perspiration was but ichor, 

Or some such other spiritual liquor. 


The very cherubs huddled all together. 
Like birds when soars the falcon ; and they felt 

A tingling to the tip of every feather. 
And form'd a circle like Orion's belt 

Around their poor old charge ; who scarce knew whither 
His guards had led him, though they gently dealt 

With royal manes, (for by many stories, 

And true, we learn the angels all are Tones.) 



As things were in this posture, the gate flew 

Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges 
Flung over space an universal hue 

Of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges 
Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new 

Aurora horealis spread its fringes 
O'er the North Pole ; the same seen, when ice-bound, 
By Captain Parry's crew, in •♦ Melville's Sound." 

And from the gate thrown open issued beaming 

A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, 
Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming 

Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight : 
My poor comparisons must needs be teeming 

With earthly likenesses, for here the night 
Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving 
Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving. 


*T was the archangel Michael : all men know 
The make of angels and archangels, since 

There 's scarce a scribbler has not one to show, 
From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince. 

There also are somo altar-pieces, though 
I really can 't say that they much evince 

One 's inner notions of immortal spirits ; 

But let the connoisseurs explain their merits. 


Michael flew forth in glory and in good ; 

A goodly work of him from whom all glory 
And good arise ; the portal past — he stood ; 

Before him the young cherubs and saints hoary, — 
(I say youngy begging to be understood 

By looks, not years ; and should be very sorry 
To state, they were not older than Saint P^ter, 
But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter). 


The cherubs and the saints bow'd down before 

That arch-angelic hierarch, the first 
Of essences angelical, who wore 

The aspect of a god ; but this ne'er nursed 


Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core 

No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst 
Intrude, however glorified and high ; 
He knew him but the viceroy of the sky. 


He and the sombre silent Spirit met — ^ 

They knew each other both for good and ill ; 

Such was their power, that neither could forget 
His former friend and future foe ; but still 

There was a high, immortal, proud regret 
In cither's eye, as if 't were less their will 

Than destiny to make the eternal years 

Their date of war, and their ^ champ clos " the spheres. 

But here they were in neutral space : we know 

From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay 
A heavenly visit thrice a year or so ; 

And that ** the sons of God," like those of clay. 
Must keep him company ; and we might show 

From the same book, in how polite a way, 
The dialogue is held between the Powers 
Of Good and Evil — but 't would take up hours. 


And this is not a theologic tract, 

To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic 

If Job be allegory or a fact, 

But a true narrative ; and thus I pick 

From out the whole but such and such an act 
As sets aside the slightest thought of trick« 

'T is every tittle true, beyond suspicion, 

And accurate as any other vision. 


The spirits were in neutral space, before 

The gate of heaven ; like eastern thresholds is 

The place where Death's grand cause is argued o'er. 
And souls despatch'd to that world or to this ; 

And therefore Michael and the other wore 
A civil aspect : though they did not kiss. 

Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness 

There pass!d a mutual glance of great politeness. 



The Archangel bow'd, not like a modern beau. 

But with a graceful oriental bend, 
Pressing one radiant arm just where below 

The heart in good men is supposed to tend. 
He tum'd as to an equal, not too low, 

But kindly ; Satan met his ancient friend 
With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian 
Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian. 

He merely bent his diabolic brow 

An instant ; and then raising it^ he stood 
In act to assert his right or wrong, and show 

Cause why King George by no means could or should 
Make out a case to be exempt from woe 

Eternal, more than other kings, endued 
With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions, , 
Who long have '' paved hell with their good intentions." 

Michael began : << What wouldst thou with this man, 

Now dead, and brought before the Lord 1 What ill 
Hath he wrought since his mortal race began. 

That thou canst claim him 7 Speak ! and do thy will 
If it be just : if in this earthly span 

He hath been greatly failing to fulfil 
His duties as a king and mortal, say, 
And he is thine ; if not, let him have way." 


« Michael ! " replied the Prince of Air, ** even here. 
Before the Gate of him thou servest, must 

I claim my subject : and will make appear 
That as he was my worshipper in dust, 

So shall he be in spirit, although dear 

To thee and thine, because nor wine nor luBt 

Were of his weaknesses ; yet on the throne 

He reign'd o'er millions to serve me alone. 


** Look to our earth, or rather mine ; it was, 
OneCf more thy master's : but I triumph not 

In this poor planet's conquest ; nor, alas ! 
Need he thou servest envy me my lot : 


With all the myriads of bright worlds which pass 

In worship round him, he may have forgot 
Yon weak creation of such paltry things : 
I think few worth damnation save their kings, — 


^ And these but as a kind of quit-rent, to 
Assert my right as lord ; and even had 

I such an inclination, 't were (as you 
Well know) superfluous ; they are grown so bad» 

That hell has nothing better lefl to do 

Than leave them to themselves : so much more me 

And evil by their own internal curse. 

Heaven cannot make them better, nor I worse. 

" Look to the earth, I said, and say again : 

When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, poor worm 
Began in youth's first bloom and flush to reign. 

The world and he both wore a diflerent form. 
And much of earth and all the watery plain 

Of ocean callM him king : through many a storm 
His isles had floated on the abyss of time ; 
For the rough virtues chose them for their clime. 

<< He came to his sceptre young ; he leaves it old : 

Look to the state in which he found his realm. 
And lefl it ; and his annals too behold. 

How to a minion first he gave the helm ; 
How grew upon his heart a thirst for gdd. 

The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm 
The meanest hearts ; and for the rest, but glance 
Thine eye along America and France. 


« T is true, he was a tool from first to last 
(I have the workmen safe) ; but as a tool 

So let him be consumed. From out the past 
Of ages, since mankind have known the rule 

Of monarchs — from the bloody rolls amass'd 
Of sin and slaughter — from the Cssars' school. 

Take the worst pupil ; and produce a reign 

More drench'd with gore, more cumberM with the slain. 



** He ever warr'd with freedom and the free : 
Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes, 

So that they utter'd the word « Liberty ! ' 
Found George the Third their first opponent. 

History was ever stain'd as his will be 
With national and individual woes t 

I grant his household abstinence ; I grant 

His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want ; 


'* I know he was a constant consort ; own 

He was a decent sire, and middling lord. 
All this is much, and most upon a throne ; 

As temperance, if at Apicius' board. 
Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown. 

I grant him all the kindest can accord ; 
And this was well for him, but not for those 
Millions who found him what oppression chose. 

" The New World shook him off; the Old yet groans 

Beneath what he and his prepared, if not 
Completed : he leaves heirs on many thrones 

To all his vices, without what begot 
Compassion for him — his tame virtues ; drones 

Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot 
A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake 
Upon the thrones of earth ; but let them quake ! 

^ Five millions of the primitive, who hold 

The faith which makes ye great on earth, implored 
A part of that vast all they held of old, — 

Freedom to worship — not alone your Lord, 
Michael, but you, and you. Saint Peter ! Cold 

Must be your souls, if >ou have not abhorr'd 
The foe to catholic participation 
In all the license of a Christian nation. 


*^ True ! he allow'd them to pray God ; but as 
A consequence of prayer, refused the law 

Which would have placed them upon the same base 
With them who did not hold the saints in awe." 


But here Saint Peter started from his place. 

And cried, « You may the prisoner withdraw : 
Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guelph, 
While I am guard, may I be damn'd myself! * 

« Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange 

My office (and his is no sinecure) 
Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range 

The azure fields of heaven, of that be sure !" 
« Saint !" replied Satan, " you do well to avenge 

The wrongs he made your satellites endure ; 
And if to this exchange you should be given, 
I 11 try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven," 


Here Michael interposed : « Good saint ! and devil! 

Pray, not so fast ; you both outrun discretion. 
Saint Peter ! you were wont to be more civil : 

Satan ! excuse this warmth of his expression. 
And condescension to the vulgar's level ; 

Even saints sometimes forget themselves in session. 
Have you got more to say ?" — " No." — « If you please, 
I *ll trouble you to call your witnesses." 


Then Satan tum'd and waved his swarthy hand, 

Which stirr'd with its electric qualities 
Clouds farther off than we can understand. 

Although we find him sometimes in our skies ; 
Infernal thunder shook both sea and land 

In all the planets, and hell's batteries 
Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions 
As one of Satan's most sublime inventions. 

This was a signal unto such damn'd souls 

As have the privilege of their damnation 
Extended far beyond the mere controls 

Of worlds past, present, or to come ; no station 
Is theirs particularly in the rolls 

Of hell assigned ; but where their inclination 
Or business carries them in search of game, 
They may range freely — being damn'd the same. 



They are proud of this — as very well they may, 
It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key 

Stuck in their loins ; or like to an '< entr6'* 
Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry. 

I borrow my comparisons from clay, 

Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be 

Offended with such base low likenesses ; 

We know their posts are nobler far than these. 


When the great signal ran from heaven to hell — 
About ten million times the distance reckoned 

From our sun to its earth, as we can tell 

How much time it takes up, even to a second. 

For every ray that travels to dispel 

The fogs of London, through which, dimly beacon'd. 

The weathercocks are gilt some thrice a year, 

If that the summer is not too severe : — 


I say that I can tell — 't was half a minute : 
I know the solar beams take up more time 

Ere, pack'd up for their journey, they begin it ; 
But then their telegraph is less sublime. 

And if they ran a race, they would not win it 

'Gainst Satan's couriers, bound for their own clime, 

The sun takes up some years for every ray 

To reach its goal — the devil not half a day. 


Upon the verge of space, about the size 

Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear'd 
(I 've seen a something like it in the skies 

In the iEgean, ere a squall) ; it near'd, 
And, growing bigger, took another guise ; 

Like an aerial ship it tack'd, and steer'd, 
Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the grammar 
Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer ; — 

But take your choice) ; and then it grew a cloud ; 

And so it was — a cloud of witnesses. 
But such a cloud ! No land e'er saw a crowd 

Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these ; 


They shadowM with their myriads space ; their loud 

And varied cries were like those of wild geese 
(If nations may be likenM to a goose). 
And realised the phrase of ** hell broke loose." 


Here crashed a sturdy oath of stout John Bull, 
Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore : 

There Paddy brogued "By Jasus ! " — « What 's your 
wuU ? " 
The temperate Scot exclaim'd : the French ghost swore 

In certain terms I sha*n't translate in full. 

As the first coachman will ; and 'midst the war, 

The voice of Jonathan was heard to express, 

" Our president is going to war, I guess." 


Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and Dane ; 

In short, an universal shoal of shades. 
From Otaheite's isle to Salisbury Plain, 

Of all climes and professions, years and trades, 
Ready to swear against the good king's reign, 

Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades : 
All summon'd by this grand " subpoena," to 
Try if kings may n't be damn'd like me or you. 


When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale. 
As angels can ; next, like Italian twilight. 

He tum'd all colours — as a f>eacock's tail. 
Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight 

In some old abbay, or a trout not stale, 

Or distant lightning on the horizon by night. 

Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review 

Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. 

Then he address'd himself to Satan : << Why — 

My good old friend, for such I deem you, though 
Our difibrent parties make us fight so shy, 

I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe ; 
Our difference is political, and I 

Trust that, whatever may occur below. 
You know my great respect for you : and this 
Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss — 

ram viBioir of jvDGinirr. 509 

^ Whjf my dear Lucifer, would you abuse 

My call for witnesses ? I did not mean 
That you should half of earth and hell produce ; 

Tis even superfluous, since two honest, clean, 
True testimonies are enough : we lose 

Our time, nay» our eternity, between 
The accusation and defence : if we 
Hear both, 't will stretch our immortality.'' 


Satan replied, <* To me the matter is 

Indifferent, in a personal point of view : 
I can have fifty better souls than this 

With far less trouble than we have gone through 
Already ; and I merely argued his 

Late majesty of Britain's case with you 
Upon a point of form : you may dispose 
Of him ; I 've kings enough below, God knows ! " . 


Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd ^ multifaced '' 
By multo-scribbling Southey^. ** Then we 11 call 

One or two persons of the myriads placed 
Around our congress, and dispense with all 

The rest," quoth Michael : ** Who may be so graced 
As to speak first? there 's choice enough — who shall 

It be ? " Then Satan answered, •• There are many 5 

But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any." 


A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite 
Upon the instant started from the throng, 

Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite ; 
For all the fashions of the flesh stick long 

By people in the next world ; where unite 

Ail the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong. 

From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat, 

Almost as scanty, of days less remote. 

The spirit look'd around upon the crowds 
Assembled, and exclaim'd, *< My friends of all 

The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds ; 
So let 's to business : why this general call ? 


If those are freeholders I see in shrouds, 

And *t is for an election that they bawl. 
Behold a candidate with unturn'd coat ! 
Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote f " 


*< Sir," replied Michael, ^ you mistake ; these things 

Are of a former life, and what we do 
Above is more august ; to judge of kings 

Is the tribunal met : so now you know." 
'< Then I presume those gentlemen with wings," 

Said Wilkes, " are cherubs ; and that soul below 
Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind 
A good deal older — Bless me ! is he blind ? " 


*< He is what you behold him, and his doom 
Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said. 

^ If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb 
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head 

To lift itself against the loftiest." — " Some," 

Said Wilkes, *< do n't wait to see them laid in lead. 

For such a liberty — and I, for one, 

Have told them what I thought beneath the sun," 


** Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast 

To urge against him," said the Archangel. '* Why," 

Replied the spirit, << since old scores are past, 
Must I turn evidence ? In faith, not I. 

Besides, I beat him hollow at the last, 

With all his Lords and Commons : in the sky 

I do n't like ripping up old stories, since 

His conduct was but natural in a prince. 


^ Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress 
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling ; 

But then I blame the man himself much less 
Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling 

To see him punish'd here for their excess, 

Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still in 

Their place below : for me, I have forgiven* 

And vote his ' habeas corpus ' into heaven." 



« Wilkes," said the Devil, « I understand all this ; 

You turn'd to half a courtier ere you died, 
And seem to think it would not be amiss 

To grow a whole one on the other side 
Of Charon's ferry ; you forget that his 

Reign is concluded ; whatsoe'er betide, 
He won't be sovereign more ; you 've lost your labour. 
For at the best he will but be your neighbour. 

** However, I knew what to think of it. 

When I beheld you in your jesting way 
Flitting and whispering round about the spit 

Where Belial, upon duty for the day, 
With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt, 

His pupil ; I knew what to think, I say : 
That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills ; 
I 11 have him gagged — 't was one of his own bills. 


<< Call Junius ! " From the crowd a shadow stalk'd. 
And at the name there was a general squeeze, 

So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd 
In comfort, at thf ir own aerial ease, 

But were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to be balk'd, 
As we shall see), and jostled hands and knees, 

Like wind compress'd and pent within a bladder, 

Or like a human colic, which is sadder. 


The shadow came -^ a tall, thin, gray-hair'd figure, 
That look'd as it had been a shade on earth ; 

Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour, 
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth : 

Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger, 
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth ; 

But as you gazed upon its features, they 

Changed every instant — to whaty none could say. 

The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less 

Could they distinguish whose the features were ; 
The Devil himself seem'd puzzled ev^n to guess ; 

They varied like a dream — now here, now there ; 


And several people swore from out the press, 

They knew him perfectly ; and one could swear 
He was his father : upon which another 
Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother : 

Another, that he was a duke or knight, 

An orator, a lawyer, or a priest, 
A nabob, a man-midwife ; but the wight, 

Mysterious changed his countenance at least 
As ofl as they their minds : though in full sight 

He stood, the puzzle only was increased ; 
The man was a phantasmagoria in 
Himself — he was so volatile and thin. 

The moment that you had pronounced him one^ 

Presto ! his face changed, and he was another ; 
And when that change was hardly well put on, 

It varied, till I do n't think his own mother 
(If that he had a mother) would her son 

Have known, he shifted so from one to t' other ; 
Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task, 
At this epistolary << Iron Mask." 


For sometimes he Uke Cerberus would seem — 
** Three gentlemen at once " (as sagely says 

Good Mrs. Malaprop) ; then you might deem 
That he was not even one ; now many rays 

Were flashing round him ; and now ^ thick steam 
Hid him from sight — like fogs on London days : 

Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies. 

And certes often like Sir Philip Francis. 


I 've an h3rpothesis — 't is quite my own ; 

I never let it out till now, for fear 
Of doing people harm about the throne, 

And injuring some minister or peer, 
On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown : 

It is — my gentle public, lend thine ear j 
T is, that what Junius we are wont to call 
Was reaUyj tndy^ nobody at all. 



I do n't see wherefore letters should not be 
Written without hands, since we daily view 

Them written without heads ; and books, we see, 
Are fill'd as well without the latter too : 

And really till we fix on somebody 

For certain sure to claim them as his due, 

Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother 

The world to say if there be mouth or author. 

^ And who and what art thou V the Archangel said. 

" For that you may consult my title-page," 
Replied this mighty shadow of a shade : 

** If I have kept my secret half an age, 
I scarce shall tell it now." — " Canst thou upbraid," 

Continued Michael, '' George Rex, or allege 
Aught further ? " Junius answer'd, "You had better 
First ask him for his answer to my letter : 


" My charges upon record will outlast 
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb^" 

« Repent'st thou not," said Michael, " of some past 
Exaggeration ? something which may doom 

Thyself if false, as him if true ? Thou wast 
Too bitter — is it not so ? — in thy gloom 

Of passion ? " — " Passion ! " cried the phantom dim, 

" I loved my country, and I hated him- 


" What I have written, I have written : let 
The rest be on his head or mine ! " So spoke 

Old ** Nominis Umbra ; " and while speaking yet, 
Away he melted in celestial smoke. 

Then Satan said to Michael, " Do n't forget 

To call Georee Washington, and John Home Tooke, 

And Franklin ; — but at this time there was heard 

A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. 


At lenffth with jostling, elbowing, and the aid 

Of cherubim appointed to that post. 
The d^vil Asmodeus to the circle made 

His way, and look'd as if his journey cost 

VOL. v.— L 1 


Some trouble. When his burden down he laid, 

"What 's this?" cried Michael; "why, 't is not a 
ghost? " 
" I know ity" quoth the incubus ; " but he 
Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me. 


" Confound the renegado ! I have sprain'd 
My left wing, he 's so heavy ; one would think 

Some of his works about his neck were chain'd. 

But to the point ; while hovering o'er the brink « 

Of Skiddaw (where as usual it still rain'd), 
I saw a taper, far below me, wink. 

And stooping, caught this fellow at a Ubel — 

Novless on lustory than the Holy Bible. 

« The former is the devil's scripture, and 

The latter yours, good Michael ; so the affair 
Belongs to all of us, you understand. 

I snatch'd him up just as you see him there, 
And brought him off for sentence out of hand : 

I 've scarcely been ten minutes in the air— 
At least a ({darter it can hardly be : 
I dare say that his wife is stiU at tea." 

Here Satan said, " I know this man of old, • 

And have expected him for some time here ; 
A sillier fellow you will scarce behold. 

Or more conceited in his petty sphere : 
But surely it was not worth while to fold 

Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear : 
We had the poor wretch safe (without being bored 
With carriage) coming of his own accord. 


" But since he 's here, let 's see what he has done." 
" Done ! " cried Annodeus, " he anticipates 

The very business you are now upon. 

And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates. 

Who knows to what his ribaldry may run. 
When such an ass as this, like Balaam's, prates 7 " 

" Let 's hear," quoth Michael, " what he has to say ; 

You know we 're bound to that in every way." 



Now the bard, glad to get an audience, which 

By no means often was his case below, 
Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch 

His voice into that awfui note of woe 
To all unhappy hearers within reach 

Of poets when the tide of rhyme 's in flow ; 
But stuck fast with his first hexameter. 
Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir. 

But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurred 

Into recitative, in great dismay 
Both cherubim and seraphim were heard 

To murmur loudly through their long array ; 
And Michael rose ere he could get a word 

Of all his founder'd verses under way, 
And cried, ''For God's sake stop, my friend! 't were 

best — 
Non Dh wm homines — you know the rest." 

A general bustle spread throughout the throng, 

Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation ; 
The angels had of course enough of song 

When upon service ; and the generation 
Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long 

Before, to profit by a new occasion ; 
The monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd, '< What ! what ! 
Pye come again ? No more — no more of that ! " 

The tumult grew ; an universal cough 

Convulsed the skies, as during a debate. 
When Castlereagh has been up long enough 

(Befote he was first minister of state, 
I mean — the slaoes hear now) ; some cried ^Off, off! ** 

As at A farce ; til], grown quite desperate, 
The bard Saint Peter pray'd to interpose 
(Himself an author) only for his prose. 

The varlet was not an ill-fiivour'd knave ; 

A good deal like a vulture in the face. 
With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave 

A smart and sharper^looking sort of grace 

516 THS VISION OP jmoxKsrr. 

To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, 

Was hy no means so ugly as his case ; 
But that indeed was hopeless as can be. 
Quite a poetic felony ^ de «e." 

Then Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise 

With one still greater, as is yet the mode 
On earth besides ; except some grumbling voice. 

Which now and then will make a slight inroad 
Upon decorous silence, few will twice 

Lift up their lungs when fairly over-crow*d ; 
And now the bard could plead his own bad cause, 
With all the attitudes of self-applause. 

XCVI. * 

He said — (I only give the heads) — he said, 
He meant no harm in scribbling ; 't was his way 

Upon all topics ; 't was, besides, his bread, 

Of which he butter'd both sides ; 't would dday 

Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread), 
And take up rather more time than a day. 

To name his works — he would but cite a few — 

« Wat Tyler " — « Rhymes on Blenheim " — *« Waterloo.' 

He had written praises of a regicide ; 

He had written praises of all kings whatever ; 
He had written for republics far and wide. 

And then against them bitterer than ever : 
For pantisocracy he once had cried 
* Aloud, a scheme less moral than 't was clever ; 
Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin — 
Had turnM his coat — and would have tum'd his skin. 

He had sung against all battles, and again 

In their high praise and glory ; he had callM 
Reviewing *** ** the ungentle craft," and then 

Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'd — 
Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men 

By whom his muse and morals had been maul'd : 
He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose, 
And more of both than any body knows. 

* 8ee*<Lii;»of H.KirkeWliHe.*' 

TKS rmoTf or judoxsnt. 617 

He had written Wedey's life : -— here tumiog round 

To Satan, ^ Sir, I 'm ready to write yours, 
In two octavo volumes, nicely bound, 

With notes and preface, all that most allures 
The pious purchaser ; and there 's no ground 

For fear ; for I can choose my own reviewers ! 
So let me have the proper documents, 
That I may add you to my other saints/* 

Satan bow'd, and was silent. ^ Well, if you, 

With amiable modesty, decline 
My offer, what says Michael 1 There are few 

Whose memoirs could be rendered more divine. 
Mine is a pen of all work ; not so new , 

As it was once, but I would make you shine 
Like your own trumpet. By the way, my own 
Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown. 


*^ But talking about trumpets, here 's my Vision ! 

Now you shall judge, all people ; yes, you shall » 
Judge with my judgment, and by my decision 

Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall. 
I settle all these things by intuition, 

Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all. 
Like King Alfonso.* When I thus see double, 
I save the Deity some worlds of trouble." 


He ceased, and drew forth an MS. ; and no 
Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints. 

Or angels, now could stop the torrent ; so 
He read the first three lines of the contents ; 

But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show 
Had vanished, with variety of scents, 

Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang, 

Like lightning, off from his ^ melodious twang." f 

* King Alfonso, speaking of the Ptolemean sTstem, said, that " had he been 
consulted at the creation of the world, he woula have spared the Maker some 

t See Aubrey's account of the apparition which disappeared "with a curiou 
perfume and a most melodious twang ;" or see the Antiquary^ vol. i. p. 223. 


Those grand heroics acted as a speU : 

The angels stopp'd their ears and plied their pinions ; 
The devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to hell ; 

The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions — 
(For 't is not yet decided where they dwell, 

And I leave every man to his opinions^ ; 
Michael took refuge in. his trump — but, lo ! 
His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow* 


Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known 
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, 

And at the fifth line knock'd the poet down ; 
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease. 

Into his lake, for there he did not drown ; 
•A different web being by the Destinies 

Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er 

Reform shall happen either here or there. 


He first sank to the bottom — like his works, 
But soon rose to the surface — like himself; 

vFor all corrupted things are buoy'd like corks,* 
By their own rottenness^ light as an elf. 

Or wisp that flits o'er a morass : he lurks, 
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf. 

In his own den, to scrawl some " Life " or " Vision/' 

As Welbom says — " the devil turn'd precisian.^ 

As for the rest, to come to the conclusion 

Of this true dream, the telescope is gone 
Which kept my optics free from all delusion, 
And show'd me what I in my turn have shown ; 
« All I saw farther, in the last confusion. 

Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for one ; 
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, 
I left him practising the hundredth psalm. 

* A drowned body liei at the bottom till rotten; it then floeti, u moM people 






Thk Morgante Magglore, of the first canto of which this 
translation is offered, divides with the Orlanda Innamorato the 
honour of having formed and suggested the style and story of 
Ariosto. The great dfefects of Boiardo were his treating too 
seriously the narratives of chivalry, and his harsh style, Ari- 
osto, in his continuation, by a judicious mixture of the gayety 
of Palci, has avoided the one ; and Berni, in his reformation of 
Boiardo's poem, has corrected the other. Pulci may be con- 
sidered as the precursor and model of Berni, altogether, as he 
has partly been to Ariosto, however inferior to both his copyists. 
He is no less the founder of a new style of poetry very lately 
sprung up in England. I allude to that of the ingenious Whis- 
tlecraft. The serious p9em3 on Roncesvalles in the same Ian- 
guage, and more particularly the excellent one of Mr. Merivale, 
are to be traced to the same source. It has never yet been de- 
cided entirely whether Pulci's intention was or was not to de- 
ride the religion which is one of his favourite topics* It ap- 
pears to me, that such an intention would have been no less 
hazardous to the poet than to the priest, particularly in that 
age and country ; and the permission to publish the poem, and 
its reception among the classics of Italy, prove that it neither 
was nor is so interpreted. That he intended to ridicule the 
monastic life, and suffered his imagination to play with the sim- 
ple dulness of his converted giant, seems evident enough ; but 
surely it were as unjust to accuse him of irreligion on this ac- 
count, as to denounce Fielding for his Parson Adams, Barnabas, 
Thwackum, Supple, and the Ordinary in Jonathan Wild, — or 
Scott, for the exquisite use of his Covenanters in the " Tales 
of my Landlord." 

In the following translation I have used the liberty of the 
original with the proper names ; as Pulci uses Gan, Ganellon, 


or Ganellone ; Carlo, Carlomagno, or Carlomano ; Rondel, or 
Rondello, dec* as it suits his convenience ; so has the translator. 
In other respects the version is faithful to the best of the trans- 
lator's ability in combining his interpretation of the one lan- 
guage with the not very easy task of reducing it to the same 
versification in the other. The reader, on comparing it with 
the original, is requested to remember that the antiquated lan- 
guage of Pulci, however pure, is not easy to the generality of 
Italians themselves, from its great mixture of Tuscan proverbs ; 
and he may therefore be more indulgent to the present attempt. 
How far the translator has succeeded, and whether or no he 
shall continue the work, are questions which the public will de- 
cide. He was induced to make the experiment partly by his 
love for, and partial intercourse with, the Italian language, of 
which it is so easy to acquire a slight knowledge, and with 
which it is so nearly impossible for a foreigner to become accu- 
rately conversant. The Italian language is like a capricious 
beauty, who accords her smiles to all, her favours to few, and 
sometimes least to those who have courted her longest. The 
translator wished also to present in an EngUsh dress a part at 
least of a poem never yet rendered into a northern language ; 
at the same time that it has been the original of some of the 
most celebrated productions on this side of the Alps, as well as 
of those recent experiments in poetry in England which have 
been already mentioned. 





Iif the beginning Fas the Word next God ; 

God was the Word, the Word no less was he : 
This was in the beginning, to my mode 

Of thinking, and without him nought could be : 
Therefore, just Lord ! from out thy high abode, 

Benign and pious, bid an angel flee, 
One only, to be my companion, who 
Shall help my famous, worthy, old song through. 

And thou, oh Virgin ! daughter, mother, bride. 

Of the same Lord, who gave to you each key 
Of heaven, and hell, and every thing beside, 

The day thy Gabriel said «« All hail ! " to thee, 
Since to thy servants pity 's ne'er denied. 

With flowing rhymes, a pleasant style and free^ 
Be to my verses then benignly kind. 
And to the end illuminate my mind. 

T was in the season when sad Philomel 

Weeps with her sister, who remembers and 
Deplores the ancient woes which both befell. 

And makes the nymphs enamour'd, to the hand 
Of Phaeton by Phoebus loved so well 

His car (but temper'd by his sire's command) 
Was given, and on the horizon's verge just now 
Appear'd, so that Tithonus scratch'd his brow : 


When I prepared my bark first to obey. 
As it should still obey, the helm, my mind. 

And carry prose or rhyme, and this my lay 
Of Charles the Emperor, whom you will find 


By fleveral pens already praised : bat they 
Why to diffuse his ^lory were inclined, 
For all that I can see m prose or verse, 
Have understood Charles badly — and wrote worse. 

Leonardo Aretino said already, 

That if, like Pepin, Charles had had a writer 
Of genius quick, and diligently steady. 

No hero would in history look brighter ; 
He in the cabinet being always ready. 

And in the field a most victorious fighter, 
Who for the church and Christian faith had wrought 
Certes, far more than yet is said or thought. 


You still may see at Saint Liberatore 
The abbey, no great way from Manopell, 

Erected in the Abruzzi to his glory, 
Because of the great battle in which fell 

A pagan king, according to the story, 

And felon people whom Charles sent to hell : 

And there are bones so many, and so many, 

Near them Giusafia's would seem few, if any. 

But the world, blind and ignorant, do n't prize 

His virtues as I wish to see them : thou, 
Florence, by his great bounty do n't arise, 

And hast, and may have, if thou wilt allow. 
Ail proper customs and true courtesies : 

Whatever thou hast acquired from then till now, 
With knightly courage, treasure, or the lance. 
Is sprung from out the noble blood of France. 

Twelve paladins had Charles in court, of whom 

The wisest and most famous was Orlando ; 
Him traitor Gan conducted to the tomb 

In Roncesvalles, as the villain plann'd too, 
While the horn rang so loud, and knell'd the doom 

Of their sad rout, though he did all knight can do ; 
And Dante in his comedy has given 
To him a happy seat with Charles in heaven. 

xoboahtb kaggxobb* 035 


T was Christmas-day ; in Paris all his court 
Charles held ; the chief, I say, Orlando was. 

The Dane ; Astolfo there too did resort; 
Also Ansuigi, the gay time to pass 

In festival and in triumphal sport, 
The much-renown'd St. Dennis being the came; 

Ansiolin of Bayonne, and Oliver, 

And gentle BeUnghieri toe came there : 

Avolio, and Arino, and Othone 

Of Normandy, and Richard Paladin, 
Wise Hamo, and the ancient Saleroone, 

Walter of Lion's Mount and Baldovin, 
Who was the son of the sad Ganellone, 

Were there, exciting too much gladness in 
The son of Pepin : — when his kmghts came hither, 
He groan'd with joy to see them altogether. 


But watchful Fortune, lurking, takes good heed 
Ever some bar 'gainst our intents to bring. 

While Charles reposed him thus, in word and deed, 
Orlando ruled court, Charles, and every thing ; 

Curst Gan, with envy bursting, had such need 
To vent his spite, that thus with Charles the king 

One day he openly began to say, 

** Orlando must we always then obey ? 

** A thousand times I 've been about to say, 

Orlando too presumptuously goes on ; 
Here are we, counts, kings, dukes, to own thy sway, 

Hamo, and Otho, Ogier, Solomon, 
Each have to honour thee and to obey ; 

But he has too much credit near the throne, 
Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided 
By such a boy to be no longer guided. 
*' And even at Aspramont thou didst begin 

To let him know he was a gallant knight. 
And by the fount did much the day to win ; 

But I know who that day had won the fight 


If it had not for good Ghenrdo been : 

The victory was Almonte's else ; his sight 
He kept upon the standard, and the laurels 
In fact and fairness are his earning, Charles 


«< If thou rememberest being in Gascony, 

When there advanced the nations out of Spain, 

The Christian cause had suffer'd shamefully, 
Had not his valour driven them back again. 

Best speak the truth when there 's a reason why : 
Know then, oh emperor ! that all complain : 

As for myself, I shall repass the mounts 

O'er which I cross'd with two and sixty counts. 


'< T is fit thy grandeur should dispense relief, 
So that each here may have his proper part, 

For the whole court is more or less in grief: 
Perhaps thou deem'st this lad a Mars in heart T " 

Orlando one day heard this speech in brief, 
As by himself it chanced he sate apart : 

Displeaised he was with Gan because he said it, 

But much more still that Charles should give him credit. 


And with the sword he would have murder'd Gan, 

But Oliver thrust in between the pair. 
And from his hand extracted Durlindan, 

And thus at length they separated were. 
Orlando angry too with Carloman, 

Wanted but little to have shiin him there ; 
Then forth alone from Paris went the chief, 
And burst and madden'd with disdain and grief. 

From Ennellinay consort of the Dane, 

He took Cortana, and then took Rondell, 
And on towards Brara prick'd him o'er the plain ; 

And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle 
Stretch'd forth her arms to clasp her lord again: 

Orlando, in whose brain all was not well, 
As ^ Welcome, my Orlando, home," she said. 
Raised up his sword to smite her on the head. 

xoiaAifTS ]KA«eiosB« 527 

Like him a fury counsels ; his revenge 

On Gan in that rash act he seem'd to take. 
Which Aldabella thought extremely strange ; 

But soon Orlando found himself awake ; 
And his spouse took his bridle on this change, 

And he dismounted from his horse, and spake 
Of every thing which pass'd without demur, 
And then reposed himself some days with her. 

Then full of wrath departed from the place, 
And far as pagan countries roam'd astray, 

And while he rode,*yet still at every pace 
The traitor Gan reyiember'd by the way ; 

And wandering on in error a long space, 
An abbey which in a lone desert lay, 

'Midst glens obscure, and distant lands, he found. 

Which form'd the Christian's and the pagan's bound. 


The abbot was call'd Clermont, and by blood 

Descended from Angrante : under cover 
Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood, 

But certain savage giants look'd him over ; 
One Passamont was foremost of the brood, 

And Alabaster and Morgante hover 
Second and third, with certain slings, and throw 
In daily jeopardy the place below. 


The monks could pass the convent gate no more. 
Nor leave their cells for water or for wood ; 

Orlando knock'd, but none would ope, before 
Unto the prior it at length seem'd good ; 

Enter'd, he said that he was taught to adore 
Him who was bom of Mary's holiest blood. 

And was baptized a Christian ; and then show'd 

How to the abbey he had found hb road. 


Said the abbot, ** Tou are welcome ; what is mine 
We give you freely, since that you believe 

With us in Mary Mother's Son divine ; 
And that you may not, cavalier, conceive 

528 xoboahtb xaogiou. 

The cause of our delay to let you in 
To be rusticityy you shall receive 
The reason why our gate was barr'd to you : 
Thus those who in suspicion live must do. 

^' When hither to inhabit first we came 

These mountains, albeit that they are obscure^ 
As you perceive, yet without fear or blame 

They seem'd to promise an asylum sure : 
From savage brutes alone, to fierce to tame, 

'T was fit our quiet dwelling to secure ; 
But now, if here we M stay, we needs must guard 
Against domestic beasts with watch and wanl. 


<< These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch ; 

For late there have appeared three giants rough ; 
What nation or what kingdom bore the batch 

I know not, but they are all of savage stuff; 
When force and malice with some genius matcb. 

You know, they can do all — we are not enough : 
And these so much our orisons derange, 
I know not what to d"^, till matters change. 


** Our ancient fathers living the desert in. 
For just and holy works were duly fed ; 

Think not they lived on locusts sole, 't is certain 
'^hat manna was rain'd down from heaven instead ; 

But here 't is fit we keep on the alert in 

Our bounds, or taste the stones shower'd down for bread 

From off yon mountain daily raining faster. 

And flung by Passamont and Alabaster. 


^ The third, Morgante, 's savagest by far ; he 
Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar-trees, and oaks. 

And flings them, our community to bury ; 
And all that I can do but more provokes." 

While thus they parley in the cemetery, 
A stone from one of their gigantic strokes. 

Which nearly crush'd RondeU, came tumbling over, 

So that he took a long leap under cover. 


*« For God-sake, cavalier, come in with speed ; 

The manna's falling now," the abbot cried. 
«* This fellow does not wish my horse should feed, 

Dear abbot," Roland unto him replied. 
** Of restiveness he 'd cure him had he need ; 

That stone seems with good will and aim applied." 
The holy father said, « I do n't deceive ; ^^ 

They '11 one day fling the mountain, I beheve. 

Orlando bade them take care of Rondello, 

And also made a breakfast of his own : 
*• Abbot," he said, "I want to find that fellow 

Who flung at my food horse yon comer-stone." 
Said the abbot, " Let not my advice seem shallow ; 

As to a brother dear I speak alone; 
I would dissuade you, baron, from this strife, 
As knowing sure that you will bse your life. 


**That Passamont has in his hand three darts — 

Such sUngs, clubs, ballast-stones, that yield you must; 

You know that giants have much stouter hearts 
Than us, with reason, in proportion just : 

If go you will, guard well against their arts, ^ 
For these axe very barbarous and robust." 

Orlando answer'd, "This I '11 see, be sure, 

And walk the wild on foot to be secure." 


The abbot sign'd the great cross on his front, ^^ 
"Then go you with God's benison and mine: 

Orlando, after he had scaled the mount, 
As the abbot had directed, kept the line 

Right to the usual haunt of Passamont ; 
Who, seeing him alone in this design, 

Survey'd him fore and aft with eyes observant, 

Then ask'd him, " If he wish'd to stay as servant! 


And promised him an office of great ease. 

But, said Orlando, «* Saracen insane ! 
I come to kiU you, if it shaU so please 

God, not to serve as footboy in your train ; 

VOL. V. — Mm 



You with hiB monks so oft hare broke the peace — 

Vile dog! 't is past his patience to sustain." 
The giant ran to fetch his arms, quite (iirious. 
When he received an answer so injurious. 

And being retum'd to wheri Oriando stood. 

Who had not moved him from the spot, and swinging 
The cord, he hurl'd a stone with strength so rude. 

As show'd a sample of his skill in sUnging ; 
It roird on Count Orlando's hehnet good 

And head, and set both head and hdmet nngmg. 
So that he swoon'd with pain as if he died. 
But more than dead, he seem'd so stupified. 


Then Passamont, who thought him slain outright, 
Said, « I wiU go, and whUe he li^ »*«;"& 

Disarm me : why such craven did I fight? 
But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long, 

Especially Orlando, such a knight, 
\s to desert would almost be a wrong. 

While the giant goes to put off his defences. 

Orlando has recallM his force and senses : 


And loud he shouted, "Giant, where deist go? 

Thou thought'st me doubtless for. the bier outlaid; 
To the right about— without wings thou rt too slow 

To fly my vengeance — currish renegade !^^ 
'T was but by treachery thou laid'st me low. 

The giant his astonishment betray'd, 
And tuni'd about, and stopp'd his journey on. 
And then he stoop'd to pick up a great stone. 


Orlando had Cortana bare in hand ; 

To split the head in twam was what he acbemad : — 
Cortana clave the skull like a true brand. 

And pagan Passamont died unredeem d. 
Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he bann d. 

And most devoutly Macon stiU blasphemed; 
But while his crude, rude blasphemieshe heard, 
Orlando thank'd the Father and the Word, — 



Saying, ^ What grace to one thou 'at this day given ! 

And I to thee, oh Lord ! am ever bound. 
I know my life was saved by thee from heaven, 

Since by the giant I was fairly down'd. 
All things by thee are measured just and even ; 

Our power without thine aid would nought be found 'i 
I pray thee take heed of me, till I can 
At least return once more to Carloman." 


Ana having said thus much, he went his way, 

And Alabaster he found out below, 
Doing the very best that in him lay 

To root from out a bank a rock or two. 
Orlando, when he roach'd him, loud 'gan say, 

"How think'st thou, glutton, such a stone to throw?" 
When Alabaster heard his deep voice ring, 
He suddenly betook him to his sling, 

And hurl'd a fragment of a size so large, 

That if it had in fact fulfill'd its mission, 
And Roland not avail'd him of his targe. 

There would have been no need of a physician. 
Orlando set himself in turn to charge. 

And in his bulky bosom made incision 
With all his sword. The lout fell ; but overthrown, he 
However by no means forgot Maoone, 


Morgante had a palace in his mode, 

Composed of branches, logs of wood, and earth. 

And stretch'd himself at ease in this abode. 
And shut himself at night within his birth. 

Orlando knocked, and knockM aeain, to goad 
The giant from his sleep ; and he came forth, 

The door to open, like a crazy thing. 

For a rough dream had shook him slumbering. 


He thought that a fierce serpent had attack'd him, 

And Mahomet he call'd ; but Mahomet 
Is nothing worth, and not an instant back'd him ; 

But praying blessed Jesu, he was set 


At liberty from all the fears which rackM him ; 
And to the gate he came with great regret — 
** Who knocks here ? " grumbling all the while, said he. 
"That," said Orlando, ** you will quickly see. 


** I come to preach to you, as to your brothers, 
Sent by the miserable monks — repentance ; 

For Providence divine, in you and others, 
Condemns the evil done my new acquaintance. 

'T is writ on high — your wrong must pay anotbe^s ; 
From heaven itself is issued out this sentence. 

Know then, that colder now than a pilaster 

I left your Passamont and Alabaster." 


Morgante said, " Oh gentle cavalier ! 

Now by thy God say me no villany ; 
The favour of your name I fain would hear, 

And if a Christian, speak for courtesy." 
Replied Orlando, " So much to your ear 

I by my faith disclose contentedly ; 
Christ I adore, who is the genuine Lord, 
And, if you please, by you may be adored." 


The Saracen rejoin'd in humble tone, 
" I have had an extraordinary vision ; 

A savage serpent fell on me alone. 

And Macon would not pity my condition ; 

Hence to thy God, who for ye did atone 
Upon the cross, preferred I my petition ; 

His timely succour set me safe and free, 

And I a Christian am disposed to be." 


Orlando answer'd, " Baron just and pious. 
If this good wish your heart can really move 

To the true God, who will not then deny us 
Eternal honour, you will go above, 

And, if you please, as friends we will aUy us, 
And I will love 3'ou with a perfect love* 

Your idols are vain liars, full of fraud : 

The only true God is the Christian's God. 



'< The Lord descended tor the yirffin breast 

Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine 
If you acknowledge the Redeemer blest, 

Without whom neither sun nor star can shine ; 
Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test, 

Your renegado god, and worship mine, — 
Baptize yourself with zeal, since you repent." 
To which Morgan te answer 'd, ^ I 'm content." 


And then Orlando to embrace him flew, 
And made much of his convert, as he cried, 

^^ To the abbey I will gladly marshal you." 
To whom Morgante, " Let ud go," replied ; 

" I to the friars have for peace to sue." 

Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride, 

Saying, '< My brother, so devout and good, 

Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would : 


** Since God has granted your illumination, 

Accepting you in mercy for his own. 
Humility should be your first oblation." 

Morgante said, " For goodness' sake, make known — 
Since that your God is to be mine — your station. 

And let your name in verity be shown ; 
Then will I every thing at your command do." 
On which the other said, he was Orlando. 

" Then," quoth the giant, " blessed be Jesu 

A thousand times with gratitude and praise ! 
Oft, perfect baron ! have I heard of you 

Through all the different periods of my days : 
And, as I said, to be your vassal too 

I wish, for your great gallantry always." 
Thus reasoning, they continued much to say, 
And onwards to the abbey went their way. 


And by the way about the giants dead 

Orlando with Morgante reasoned : ^ Be, 
For their decease, I pray you, comforted ; 

And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon roe. 


A thousand wrongs unto the monks they bred, 

And our true Scripture soundeth openly. 
Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill. 
Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil : 


*^ Because his love of justice unto all 

Is such, he wills his judgment should devour 

All who have sin, however great or small ; 
But good he well remembers to restore. 

Nor without justice holy could we call 
Him, whom I now require you to adore. 

All men must make his will their wishes sway, 

And quickly and spontaneously obey. V 


" And here our doctors are of one accord. 

Coming on this point to the same conclusion, — 

That in their thoughts who praise in heaven the Lord. 
If pity e'er was guilty of intrusion 

For their unfortunate relations stored 

In hell below, and damn'd in great confusion, — 

Their happiness would be reduced to nought, 

And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought. 

^ But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all 

Which seems to him, to them too must appear 
Well done ; nor could it otherwise befall : 

He never can in any purpose err. 
If sire or mother suffer endless thrall, 

They do n't disturb themselves for him or her ; 
What pleases God to them must joy inspire ; — 
Such is the observance of the eternal choir." 


*' A word unto the wise," Morgante said, 
'< Is wont to be enough, and you shall see 

How much I grieve about my brethren dead ; 
And if the will of God seem good to me. 

Just, as you tell me, 't is in heaven obey'd — 
Ashes to ashes, — merry let us be ! 

I will cut ojQT the hands from both their trunks. 

And carry them unto the holy monks. 

xoxoANTB KAoaiosa. 585 

^ So that all persons may be sure and certain 

That they are dead, and have no further fear 
To wander solitary this desert in, 

And that they may perceive my spirit clear 
By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain 

Of darkness, making his bright realm appear," 
He cuts his brethren's hands off at these words. 
And left them to the savage beasts and birds. 


Then to the abbey they went on together, 
Where waited them the abbot in great doubt. 

The monks who knew not yet the fact, ran thither 
To their superior, all in breathless rout, 

Saying with tremor, '< Please to tell us whether 
You wish to have this person in or out ? " 

The abbot, looking through upon the giant. 

Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant. 


Orlando, seeing him thus agitated, 

Said quickly, " Abbot, be thou of good cheer ; 

Ho Christ believes, as Christian must be rated, 

And hath renounced his Macon false ; " which here 

Morgante with the hands corroborated, 

A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear : 

Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored. 

Saying, " Thou hast contented me, oh Lord I " 

He gazed ; Morgante's height he calculated, 

And more than once contemplated his size ; 
And then he said, '* Oh giant celebrated ! 

Know, that no more my wonder will arise, 
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did, 

M^en I behold your form with my own eyes. 
You now a true and perfect friend will show 
Yourself to Christ, as once you were a B$e. 

** And one of our apostles, Saul once named, 

Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ, 
Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed, 

* Why dost thou persecute me thus ? ' said Christ ; 


And then from his ofience he was reclaim'd. 
And went for ever after preaching Christ, 
And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding 
O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding. 


^ So, my Morgante, you may do likewise ; 

He who repents — thus writes the Evangelist — 
Occasions more rejoicing in the shies 

Than ninety.nine of the celestial list 
You may be sure, should each desire arise 

With just zeal for the Lord, that you '11 exist 
Among the happy saints for evermore ; 
But you were lost and damn'd to hell before } " 


And thus great honour to Morgante paid 
The abbot : many days they did repose. 

One day, as with Orlando they both strayed, 

And saunter'd here and there, where'er they chose^ 

The abbot show'd a chamber, where array'd 
Much armour was, and hung up certain bows ; 

And one of these Morgante for a whim 

Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him. 


There being a want of water in the place, 

Orlando, like a worthy brother, said, 
" Morgante, I could wish you in this case 

To go for water." « You shall be obey'd 
In all commands," was the reply, ^< straight ways. ** 

Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid, 
And went out on his way unto a fountain, 
Where he was wont to drink below the mountain. 


Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears. 
Which sUidenly along the forest spread ; 

Whereat from out his quiver he prepares 
An arrow for his bow, and lifls his head ; 

And lo ! a monstrous herd of swine appears. 
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread. 

And to the fountain's brink precisely pours ; 

So that the giant 's joined by all the boars. 


Morffante at a venture shot an arrow, 

which pierced a pig precisely in the ear, 
And passM unto the other side quite thorough ; 

So that the boar» defunct, lay tripp'd up near. 
Another, to revenge his fellow farrow, 

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career, 
And reach'd the passage with so swifl a foot, 
Morgante was not now in time to shoot* 


Perceiving that the pig was on him close. 
He gave him such a punch upon the head* 

As floor'd him so that he no more arose. 
Smashing the very bone ; and he fell dead 

Next to the other. Having seen such blows, 
The other pigs along the valley fled ; 

Morgante on his neck the bucket took, 

Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook. 


•The ton was on one shoulder, and there were 
The hogs on t' other, and he brush'd apace 

On to the abbey, though by no means near. 
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race. 

Orlando, seeing him so soon appear 

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase, 

Marvell'd to see his strength so very great ; 

So did the abbot, and set wide the gate. 


The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, 
Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork ; — 

All animals are glad at sight of food : 

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work 

With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood. 
That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork. 

Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, ■ 

For all the fasts are now left in arrear. 

* "Gli dette in mi la testa nn mn punzone." It is ■trange that Pulci shoald 
have literally anticipated the technical terms of my old friend and muter, Jack- 
eon, and the art which he haa carried to iti highest pitch. ** A punch en the 
knit ^^ " ^ pufuA in the head^' — ** un punzone in bu la testa," — is the exact 
and frequent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream that they are talking 
the purest Tuscan. 


As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate ; 

And gorged so that, as if the bones had been 
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat, 

Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean. 
The abbot, who to all did honour great, 

A few days after this convivial scene. 
Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well trained, 
Which he long time hadibr himself maintainM* 

The horse Morgante to a meadow led, 

To gallop, and to put him to the proof, 
Thinking that he a back of iron had, 

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough ; 
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead. 

And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof. 
Morgante said, " Get up, thou sulky cur ! " 
And still continued pricking with the spur 


But finally he thought fit to dismount, 
And said, << I am as light as any feather. 

And he has burst ; — to this what say you, count ? '* 
Orlando answer'd, *' Like a ship's mast rather 

You seem to me, and with the truck for front : — 
Let him go ; Fortune wills that we together 

Should march, but you on foot Morgante still." 

To which the giant answer'd, " So I will. 


** When there shall be occasion, you will see 
How I approve my courage in the fight." 

Orlando said, <' I really think you '11 be, 

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight ; 

Nor will you napping there discover me. 
But never mind your horse, though out of sight 

'T were best to carry him into some wood, 

If but the nleans or way I understood." 


The giant said, " Then carry him I will. 
Since that to carry me he was so slack — 

To render, as the gods do, good for ill ; 

But lend a hand to place him on my back." 


Orlando answcr'd, **l£ my counsel still 

May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake 
To lift or carry this dead courser, who. 
As you have done to him, will do to you. 


^ Take care he do n't revenge himself, though dead* 

As Nessus did of old beyond all cure. 
I do n't know if the fact you Ve heard or recul ; 

But he will make you burst, you may be sure." 
" But help him on my back," Morgante said, 

'< And you shall see wjiat weight I can endure. 
In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, 
With all the bells, I 'd carry yonder belfry." 


The abbot said, ^ The steeple may do well, 

But, for the bells, you 've broken them, I wot." ' 

Morgante answer'd, <* Let them pay in hell 
The penalty who lie dead in yon grot ; " 

And hoisting up the horse from where he fell. 
He said, ** Now look if I the gout have got, 

Orlando, in the legs ^ or if I have force ; " — 

And then he made two gambols with the horse, 


Morgante was like any mountain framed ; 

So if he did this, 't is no prodigy ; 
But secretly himself Orlando blamed, 

Because he was one of his family ; 
And fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd, 

Once more he bade him lay his burden by : 
•* Put down, nor bear him further the desert in." 
Morgante said, ** I *1I carry him for certain." 


He did ; and stow'd him in some nook away, 
And to the abbey then returned with speed* 

Orlando said, " Why longer do we stay 7 
<< Morgante, here is nought to do indeed." 

The abbot by the hand he took one day, 
And said, with great respect, he had agreed 

To leave his reverence ; but for this decision 

He WLsh'd to have his pardon and permission. 



The honours they continued to receive 
Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd ; 

He said, '' I mean, and quickly, to retrieve 

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed ; 

Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave, 
Kind father, but I really was ashamed, 

And know not how to show my sentiment. 

So much I see you with our stay content. 

" But in my heart I bear through every clime 

The abbot, abbey, and this solitude — 
So much I love you in so short a time ; 

For me, from heaven reward you with ail good 
The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime ! 

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood. 
IVbantime we stand expectant of your blessing. 
And recommend us to your prayers with pressing." 


Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard, 
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness. 

Such fervour in his bosom bred each word ; 
And, *' Cavalier," he said, " if I have less 

Courteous and kind to your great worth appeared, 
Than fits me for such gentle blood to e3cpress, 

I know I have done too little in this case ; 

But blame our ignorance, and this poor place. 


** We can indeed but honour you with masses, 
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters. 

Hot suppers, dinners, (fitting other places 
In verity much rather than the cloisters) ; 

But such a love for you my heart embraces, 
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters, 

That wheresoe'er you go I too shall be, 

And, on the other part, you rest with me. 


** This may involve a seeming contradiction ; 

But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste, 
And understand my speech with full conviction. 

For your just pious deeds may you be graced 


With the Lord's great reward and benediction. 

By whom you were directed to this waste : 
To his high mercy is our freedom due. 
Tor which we render thanks to him and you. 


'* You faved at once our life and soul : such fear 
The giants caused us, that the way was lost 

By which we could pursue a fit career 
In search of Jesus and the saintly host ; 

And your departure breeds such sorrow here. 
That comfortless we all are to our cost ; 

But months and years you would not stay in sloth. 

Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth ; 


" But to bear arms, and wield the lance ; indeed, 
With these as much is done as with this cowl ; 

In proof of which the Scripture you may read. 
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul 

By your compassion : now in peace proceed. 
Your state and name I seek not to unroll ; 

But, if I 'm ask'd, this answer shall be given, 

That here an angel was sent down from heaven. 


*< If you want armour or aught else, go in, 

Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose. 

And cover with it o'er this giant's skin." 
Orlando answer'd, " If there should lie loose 

Some armour, ere our journey we begin, 
Which might be turn'd to my companion's use, 

The gift would be acceptable to me." 

The abbot said to him, *' Come in and see." 


And in a certain closet, where the wall 
Was cover'd with old armour like a crust, 

The abbot said to them, '< I give you all." 
Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust 

The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small, 
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust. 

They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly, 

Which ne'er has suited others so compactly. 



T was an immeamirable giant's, who 
By the great Milo of Agrante fell 

Before the abbey many years ago. 

The story on the wall was figured well ; 

In the last moment of the abbey's foe, 
Who long had waged a war implacable : ^ 

Precisely as the war occurred they drew him. 

And there was Milo as he overthrew him. 


Seeing this history. Count Orlando said 
In his own heart, <* Oh God, who in the sky 

Know'st all things ! how was Milo hither led ? 
Who caused the giant in this place to die ? *' 

And certain letters, weeping, then he read, 
So that he could not keep his visage dry, — 

As I will tell in the ensuing story. 

From evil keep you the high King of glory ! 


"Nimium ne erode coJori." — Viroil. 

O trust not, ye beautiful croatune, to hue. 

Though your hair wero as red, as your ttcckingt ara blue. 



Ltmdmi^ Before the Door of a Lecture Room. 

Enter Tract, meeting Inkel. 

Iftk. Yov 're too late. 

Tra. Is it over ? 

Ink. Nor will be this hour. 

But the benches are cramm'd, like a garden in flower, 
With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fashion.'^ 
So, instead of *< beaux arts," we may say '* la heUe passion " 
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in ^ 

The world, and set all the iine gentlemen reading. 

Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience. 
With studying to study your new publications. 
There 's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords 

and Co. 
With their damnable — 

Ink. Hold, my good friend, do you Vn6m 

Whom you speak to ? 

Tra. Right well, boy, and so does << the Row : " 

You 're an author — a poet — 

Ink. , And think you that I 

Can stand tamely in silence, to bear you decry 
The Muses ? 

Tra. Excuse me : I meant no offence 

To the Nine ; ihou^ the number who make some pretence 
To their favours is such— — but the subject to drop, 
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop, 
(Next door to the pastry-cook's ; so that when I 
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy 
On the bibliopole's sfadves, it is only two paces, , 
As one finds every author in one of those places^) 
TOL, T. — ^Nn 


Where I just had been skimmiDg a charming critique, 
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek ! 
Where your friend — you know who — has just got such a 

That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely " refreshing,^ 
What a beautiful word ! 

JfiJfe. Very true ; 't is so soft 

And so cooling — they use it a little too oft; 
And the papers have got it at lost — but no matter. 
So they Ve cup up our friend then ? 

Tra. Not left him a tatter— 

Not a rag of his present or past reputation, 
Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. 

Ink, I 'm sorry to hear this ! for friendship, you know — 
Our poor friend ! — but I thought it would terminate so. 
Our friendship is such, I '11 read nothing to shock it. 
You do n't happen to have the Review in your pocket ? 

Tra, No ; I left a round dozen of authors and others 
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's) 
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps. 
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse. 

Ink, Let us join them. 

Tra, What, won't you return to the lecture ! 

Ivk, Why, the place is so cramm'd, there 's not room 
^ for a spectre. 

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd — 

Tra. How can you know that till you hear him ? 

Ifik. I heard 

Quite enough ; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat 
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat. 

Tra, I have had no great loss then ? 

Ink, Loss ! — such a palaver 

I 'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver 
Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours 
To the torrent of Irash which around him he pours, 
Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour. 

That come — do not mi£e me speak ill of one's 


Tra. I make you ! 

Ink. Yes, you ! I said nothing until 

You compell'd me, by speaking the tnith — 

Tra. To speak mt 

Is that your deduction 7 

Ink, When speaking of Scamp iU, 

I certainly yWfow, not sei an example. 
The fellow 's a fool, an impostor, a zany. 


7Va. And the crowd of to.ik.y shows that one fool makes 
But we two will be wise* 

ItJc. Prfty* then, let us retire. 

Tru, I would, but^— 

Ink* There must be attractions much higher 

Than Scamp» or the Jews' harp he nicknames his lyre. 
To call you to this hotbed. 

Tra. I own it— 't is true — 

A fair lady ■ 

Ink. A spinster 1 

Tra. Miss Lilac ! 

Ink. The Blue! 

The heiress! 

Tra. The angel ! 

Ink. The devil ! why, man ! 

Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. 
You wed with Miss Lilac ! 't would be your perdition : 
She 's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician. 

Tra. I say she 's an angel. 

Ink. Say rather an angle. 

If you and she marry, you '11 certainly wrangle. 
I say she 's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. 

Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together ? 

Ink. Humph ! I can't say I know any happy alliance ^ 
Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. 
She 's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning 
Herself in all matters connected with learning, 

Tra. What? 

Ink, I perhaps may as well hold my tongue ; 

But there 's five hundred people can tell you you 're wrong. 

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew. 

Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue ? 

Tra. Why, Jack, I '11 be frank with you — something 
of both. 
The girl 's a fine girl. 

It£. And you feel nothing loth 

To her good lady-mother's reversion ; and yet 
Her Ufe is as good as your own, I will bet. 

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes ; I demand 
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand. 

Ink. Why, that heart 's ui the inkstand — that hand on 
the pen. 

Tra. A propose Will you write me a song now and 


Ink To what purpose ? 

Tro. Yoa know, my desr firioid, that in prooe 
My talent is decent, as far as it goes ; 
But in rhyme—— 

Ink, Yoa 'le a terrible sHek, to be sine. 

Tnu I own it ; and yet, in these times, there 's no hne 
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two ; 
And so, as I can't, will yoa famish a few ? 

Ink. In your name 1 

Tta, In my name. I will copy them oat. 

To slip into her hand at the rery next rout. 

Iiik, Are you so far advanced as to hazard this ? 

Tra. Why, 

Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye. 
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme 
What I Ve told her in prose, at the least, as subtime ? 

Ink. As sublime ! If it be so, no need of my Muse. 

Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she 's one of the ** Blues." 

Iiik. As sublime ! — Mr. Tracy — I Ve nothing to say. 
Stick to prose — As sublime ! ! — but I wish you good day. 

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow— consider — I 'm 
wrong ; 
I own it ; but, prithee, compose me the song. 

Ink. As sublime ! ! 
IVa. I but used the expression in haste. 

Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd bad 

Tra. I own it — I know it — acknowledge it — what 
Can I say to you more ? 

Ink. I see what you 'd be at - 

You disparage my parts with insidious abuse. 
Till you think you can turn them best to your own use. 

Tra. And is that not a sign I respect fhem ? 

Ink. Why that 

To be sure makes a difference. 

Tra. I know what is what : 

And you, who 're a man of the gay world, no less 
Than a poet oft' other, may easily guess 
That I never could mean, by a word, to offend 
A genius like you, and moreover my friend. 

ivk. No doubt ; you by this time should know what is 
To a man of —but come — let us riiake hands. 

Tra. You knew, 

And you Jbiow, my dear fdlow, how heartily I, 
Whatever you publish, am ready to buy* 


Ivk. That '8 my bookseller's business ; I care not for' 
Indeed the. best poems at first rather fail. 
There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays, 
And my own grand romance -»^- 

Tra* Had its full share of praise. 

I myself saw it pufPd in the « Old Girl's Review." 

Ink. What Review ? 

Tra. "T is the English " Joiimal de Trevoux ; " 

A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. 
Have you never yet seen it ? 

lfik» That pleasure 's to come. 

Tra. Make hastQ then. 

Ink. Why so ? 

Tra. I have heard people say 

That it threaten'd to give up the ghost t' other day. 

Ifik. Well, that is a sign of some spirit. 

Tra. No doubt. 

Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout ? 

Ink. I 've a card, and shall go : but at present, as soon 
As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the 

(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits). 
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, 
I 'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, 
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation : 
'T is a sort of re-union for Scamp, on the days 
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise. 
And I own, for my own part, that 't is not unplccisant. 
Will you go? There 's Miss Lilac will also be present. 

Tra. That « metal 's attractive." 

Ink. No doubt — to the pocket. 

Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than 
sliock it. 
But let us proceed ; for I think, by the hum 

Ink. Very true ; let us go, then, before they can come, 
Or else we '11 be kept here an hour at their levy, 
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. 
Hark ! Zounds, th^y '11 be on us ; I know by the drone 
Of old Botherby's spouting, ex-cathedra tone. 
Ay ! there he is at it. Poor Scamp ! better join 
Your friends, or he '11 pay you back in your own coin. 

Tra. All fair ; 't is but lecture for lecture. 

Ink. That 's clear. 

But for God's sake let 's go, or the Bore will be here. 
Come, come : nay, I 'm off. [^Exii Ixkel. 

550 THS BLmM, 

Treu Toa are right, and I H follow , 

T is high time for k** Sic me stnaoU ApdloJ^ 
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes. 
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes. 
All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles 
With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's. 

[Exit Tracy. 


An ApartmefU in the House of Lady Bluebottle. — A Tal>le 

Sib Richakd Bluebottle solus. 

Was there ever a man who was married so sorry ? 
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. 
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd ; 
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void. 
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employed : 
The twelve, do I say ? — of the whole twenty .'four. 
Is there one which I dare call my own any nK>re ? 
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining. 
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and 

In science and art, I 'II be cursed if I know 
Mysdf from my wife ; for although we are two, 
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done 
In a style which proclaims us eternally one. 
But the thing of all things which distresses me more 
Than the bilb of the week (though they trouble me sore) 
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew 
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue, 
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost 
— For the bill here, it seems, is defrayed by the host — 
No pleasure ! no leisure ! no thought for my pains. 
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains ; 
A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews. 
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call " Blues ; " 
A rabble who know not — But soft, here they «ome ! 
Would to God I were deaf! as I 'm not, 1 11 be dumb. 


Enter Lady Blvebottlb, Miss Lixjlc, JLady BLtTBHorirr, 
Ms. BoTHBSBY, I>'KBL, Tracy, Miss Mazabinb, and 
cthersy with Scamp the Lecturer, ^-c. ^v. 

Lady Blueb. Ah ! Sir Richard, good morning ; I 've 
brought you some friends. 

Sir Rich, (bows, and afterwards aside.) If friends 
they 're the first. ^ 

Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends. 

I pray ye be seated, ** sans c^^monie,^* 
Mr. Scamp, you 're fatigued ; take your chair there, next 
me. [They all sU. 

Sir Rich, (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come. 

Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy — 

Lady Bluemount — Miss Lilac ^— be pleased, pray, to place 

And you, Mr. Botherby — 

Both. Oh, my dear Lady 

I obey. 

Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye : 
You were not at the lecture. 

Ink. Excuse me, I was ; 

But the heat forced me out in the best part — alas * 
And when 

Lady Blueb. To he sure it was broiling; but then 
You have lost such a lecture ! 

Both. The best of the ten. 

Tra. How can you know that 7 there are two more. 

Both. Because 

I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. 
The very walls shook. 

Ink. Oh, if that be the test, 

I allow our frigid Scamp h&a this day done his best. 
Miss Lilac, permit me to help you ; — a wing? 

Miss LU. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures 
next spring t 

Boihm Dick Dunder. 

Ink. That is, if he lives. 

Miss LU^ And why not ? 

Ink. No reason whatever, save that he 's a sot. 
Lady Bluemount ! a glass of Madeira? 

Lady Bluem. With pleasure. 

Ink. How does your friend Wordawords, that Winder, 
mere treasure ? 
Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings^ 
And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings ? 

553 m BUTss, 

LadifBhuh. Hehasjiutgot apbos. 

InL As a footmui ? 

LadffBbtem. Fori 

Nor profane with yoor sneers so poetic a name. 

Ink. Nay, I meant him no eril, bat pitied his master ; 
For the poet of pedlars 't were, sore, no disaster 
To wear a new lirery ; the more, as 't is not 
The first time he has tum'd both his creed and hb coat. 

Lady Bluem. For shame ! I repeat. If Sir George 
could but hear 

Ladp Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkd ; we all know, 
my dear, 
n* is his way. 

Sir Rich. But this place — ^— 

Ink. Is perhaps like friend Scamp's, 

A lecturer's. 

Lady Blueh. Excuse me — 't is one in ^ the Stamps : " 
He is made a collector. 

Tra. Collector ! 

Sir Rich. How? 

MissLU. What?- 

Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a ^ew hat : 
There his works will appear — - 

Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges 

Ink. 1 sha'n't go so far — I can have them at Grange's.* 

Lady Blueb. Oh fie ! 

BUss LU. And for shame ! 

Lady Bluem. Tou 're too bad. 

Both. Very good ! 

Lady Bluem. How good ? 

Lady Blueb. He means nought — 't is his phrase. 

Lady Bhtem. He grows rude. 

Lady Blueb. He means nothing ; nay, ask him. 

Lady Bluem. Pfay, sir ! did you mean 

What you say ? 

Ink. Never mind if he did ; *t will be seen 

That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. 

Both. Sir! 
' Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise ; 

T was in your defence. 

Both. If yon please, with submission, 

I can make out my own. 

Irdc. It would be your perdition. 

While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend 

* Grange ti or was a fiimous pastry-cook and frniterar m FlccadiD]r- 


Yourself or your works ; bat leave both to a friend. 
A propos — Is your play theu accepted at last ? 

Bath. At last? 

Ink. Why I thought — that 's to say — there had pass'd 
A few green-room whispers, which hinted — you know 
That the taste of the actors at best is so so. 

BM. Sir, the green-room 's in rapture, and so 's the 

Ink. Ay — yours are the plays for exciting our " pity 
And fear," as the Greek says : for ** purging the mind," 
I doubt if you '11 leave us an equal behind. 

jBoCA. I have written the prologue, and meant to have 
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. 

Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play 's to be 
Is it cast yet? 

Bath: The actors are fighting for parts. 

As is usual in that most litigious of arts. 

Lady Blueb. We '11 all make a party, and go the Jlrst' 
night. ^ 

Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel. 

Ink. Not quite. 

However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, 
I '11 do what I can, though my pains must be double. 

Tra. Why so ? 

Ink. To do justice to what goes before. 

Beth. Sir, I 'm happy to say, I have no fears on that 
If our parts, Mr. Inkel, are ■■ 

Ink. Never mind mine ; 

Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line. 

Lady Bluem. You 're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, ot 
rhymes ? 

Ink. Yes, ma'am ; and a fugitive reader sometimes ; 
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight. 
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight. 

Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common ; but time 
and posterity 
Will right these great men ; and this age's severity 
Become its reproach. 

Ink. I 've no sort of objection, 

So I *m not of the party to take the infection. 

Lady Blueb. Perhftps you have doubts that they ever 
will take 7 

Ink. Not at all ; on the contrary, those of the Jake 


Have taken already, and still will continue 

To take — what they can, frohi a groat to a guinea. 

Of pension or place ; — but the subject 's a bore. 

Lady Bluem, Well, sir, the time 's coming. 

Ink. Scamp ! do n't you feel sore ? 

What say you to this ? 

Scamp. They have merit, I own ; 

Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown. 

Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures ? 

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my 

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness : — the joy 
of my heart 
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. 
Wild Nature ! — Grand Shakspeare ! 

Both. And down Aristotle ! 

Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady 
Bluebottle ; 
And my Lord Seventy .four, who protects our dear Bard, 
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard 
For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, 
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnaasus. 

Tra. And you, Scamp ! — 

Scamp. 1 needs must confess I 'm embarrass'd. 

Ink. Do n't call upon Scamp, who 's already so harassed 
With old schools, and new schools, and no schodls^ and all 

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be 
I should like to know who. 

Ink. And I should not be sorry 

To know who are not ; — it would save us some worry. 

Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing 
This <* feast of our reason, and flow of the soul." 
Oh, my dear Mr. Botherby ! sympathise ! — I 
Now feel such a rapture, I 'm ready to fly, 
I feel so elastic — **so buoyant — so buoyant f " * 

Ink. Tracy ! open the window. 

Tra. I wish her much joy on 't. 

Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not 
This gentle emotion, ^so seldom our lot 
Upon earth. Give it way ; 't is an impulse which Hda 
Our spirits from earth ; the subliraest of gtfls ; 

* Fact from Ufe, with the worda. 


For whicb poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain. 
T is the source of all sentiment — feeling's true fountain : 
T is the Vision of Heaven upon Earth : 't is the gas 
Of the soul : 't is the seizing of shades as they pass, 
And making them substance : 't is something diviife : — 

Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine ? 

Both, I thank you ; not any more, sir, till I dine. 

Ink, A propos — Do you dine with Sir Humphry to- 

Tra. I should think with Duke Humphry was more in 
your way. 

Ink, It might be of yoi;e ; but we authors now look 
To the knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke. 
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, 
And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases. 
But 't is now nearly five, and I must to the Park. 

Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 't is dark. 
And you, Scamp— 

Scamp. Excuse me ; I must to my notes, 

For my lecture next week. 

Ink. He must mind whom he quot^ 

Out of w Elegant Extracts." 

Lady Blueh. Well, now we break up ; 

But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup. 

Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet 
For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champaigne ! 

Tra. And the sweet lobster salad ! 

Both. I honour that meal ; 

For 't is then that our feelings most genuinely — feel. 

Ink. True ; feeling is truest thtny far beyond question : 
I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion ! 

Lady Blueh. Pshaw ! — never mind that ; for one mo- 
ment of feeling 
Is worth — God knows what. 

Ink. 'T is at least worth concealing 

For itself, or what follows — But here comes your car 

Sir Rich, (aside.) I wish all these people were d d 

with my marriage ! [Exeunt. 

&86 XAirvBBP. ACT m. 


ACT m. 

A HaU in the CasOe of Manfred. 

Manfbed and Hebkan. 

Man. What is the hour ? 

Her. It wants but one tiU sunset. 

And promises a lovely twilight. 

Man. Say, 

Are all things so disposed of in the tower 
As I directed ? 

Her. All, ray lord, are ready : 

Here is the key and casket. 
9 Jlfon. It 19 well : 

Thou may'st retire. [E»U Heskax* 

Man. (alone.) There is a calm upOn me — 
In^plicable stillness ! which till now 
Did not belong to what I knew of life. 
If that I did not know philosophy. 
To be of all our vanities the motUest, 
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear 
From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem 
The golden secret, the sought *< Kalon/' found. 
And seated in my soul. It will not last, 
But it is well to have known it, though but once : 
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, 
And I within my tablets. would note down 
That there is such a feeling. Who is there ? 

Re-enter Hebman. 

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves 
To greet your presence. 

Enter the Abbot of St. Maubice. 

Abbot. Peace be with Count Manfred » 

Man. Thanks, holy father ! welcome to these walls ; 

* See Letter to Mr. Murray, Aoril 14, 1S17 vol. 2, page 6^ 

MAtmuD. 557 

Thy presence -honours them, and blesses those 
Who dwell within them. 

Ahboi. /Would it were so, Count .» — 

But I would fain confer with thee alone. 

Man. Herman, retire* What would my r^Verend 
guest ? [ExU Hbbxan. 

Ahboi. Thus, without prelude: — Age and zeal, my 
And good intent, must plead my pririlege ; 
Our near, though not acquainted, neighbourhood, 
May also be my herald. Rumours strange. 
And of unholy nature, are abroad. 
And busy with thy naime ; a noble name 
For centuries ; may he who bears it now 
Transmit it unimpaired ! 

Man. Proceed, — I listen. 

Abbot* 'T is said thou boldest converse with the things 
Which are forbidden to the search of man ; 
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes, 
The many evil and unheavenly spirits 
Which walk the valley of the shade of death, 
Thou communest. I know that with mankind. 
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely 
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude 
Is as an anchorite^s, were it but holy. 

Man. And what are they who do avouch these things 1 

Ahbct. My pious brethren — the scared peasantry — 
Even thy own vassals — who do look on thee 
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life 's in peril. 

Man. Take it. 

Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy — 

I would not pry into thy secret soul ; 
But if these things be sooth, there still is time 
For penitence and pity : reconcile thee 
With the true church, and through the church to heaven. 

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply : whatever 
1 may have been, or am, doth rest between 
Heaven and myself — I shall not choose a mortal 
To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd 
Against your ordinances ? prove and punish ! * 

Abbot. Then, hear and tremble ! For the headstrong 
Who m the mail of innate hardihood 
Would shield himself, and battle for his sins, 

* It win be perceived that, u far u tliii, the onginal mstter of the Third Aet 
hee been reteined. 


There is the stake on earth, and heyond earth eternal 

Man. Charity, most reverend father, 
Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace, 
That I would call thee back to it ; but say, 
\fliat wouldst thou with me 1 

Abbot, It may be there are 

Things that would shake thee— but I keep them back. 
And give thee till to-morrow to repent* 
Then if thou dost not all devote thyself 
To penance, and with gift of all thy lands 
To the monastery — 

Man, I understand thee> -— well 

Abbot, Expect no mercy ; I have warned thee. 

Man, {opening ike casket,) Stop — 

There is a gifl for thee within this casket, 

[Manfred opens the casket^ strikes a Ugnt^ and 
bums some incense. 
Ho! Ashtaroth! 

The Demon Ashtasoth aippears^ singing asfoOoms : — 

The raven sits 

On the raven-stone. 
And his black wing flits 

O'er the milk-white bone ; 
To and fro, as the night winds blow, 

The carcass of the assassin swings ; 
And there alone, on the raven-stone,* 

The raven flaps his dusky wings. 

The fetters creak — ^ and his ebon beak 

Croaks to the close of the hollow sound ; 
And this is the tune by the light of the moon. 

To which the witches dance their round, — 
Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily. 

Merrily, speeds the ball : 
The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds, 

Flock to the witches' carnival. 

Abbot, I fear thee not — hence — hence — 
Avaunt thee, evil one ! — help, ho ! without there ! 

Man, Convey thiis man to the Shreckhom — to its 
peak — 
To its extremest peak — watch with him there 

* "Raven-atone, (RabeDstein,) a translation of the German word for the gib 
bet, which m German jr and Swilzeriand it permanent, and made of stone.** 


From now till mmriae ; let him gaze, and know 
He ne'er again will be so near to heaven. 
But harm him not ; and, when the morrow breaks. 
Set him down safe in his cell — away with him ! 

Ath. Had I not better bring his brethren too, ^ 
Convent and all, to bear him company ? 

Man, No, this will serve for the present. Take him up. 

Ash. Come, friar ! now an exorcism or two^ 
And we shall fly the lighter. 

AsHTABOTH duappeoTs with the Abbot, singing asfoUaws: — 

A prodigal son, and a maid undone, 

And a widow re- wedded within the year i 

And a worldly monk and a pregnant nun. 
Are things which every day appear. 

Manfred o/bne. 

Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and force 
My art to pranks fantastical ? — no matter. 
It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens, 
And weighs a fix'd foreboding on my soul : 
But it is calm — calm as a sullen sea 
After the hurricane ; the winds are still, 
But the cold waves swell high and heavily, 
And there is danger in them. Such a rest 
Is no repose. My life hath been a combat, 
And every thought a wound, till I am scarr'd 
In the immortal part of me. — What now ? 

Re-enter Herman. 

Her. My lord, you baoe me wait on you at sunset : 
He sinks behind the mountain. 

Man. Doth he so ? 

I will look on him. 

[Manfred advances to the vnndofw of the kail. 
Glorious orb !* the idol 
Of early nature, and the vigorous race 
Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons 
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex 
More beautiful than they, which did draw down 
The erring spirits who can ne'er return. — 

* Thie foliloquy, and a mat part of the subsequent acene, have been retained 
in the present form of the drama. 


Most glorioos orb ! that wert a wofship, ere 

The mystery of thy making was reveal'd ! 

Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, 

^hich gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts 

Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they ppur'd 

Themselves in orisons! thou material God ! 

And representative of the Unknown — 

Who chose thee for his shadow ! thou chief star! 

Centre of many stars ! which mak'st our earth 

Endurable, and temperest the hues 

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! 

Sire of the seasons ! Monarch of the climes, 

And those who dwell in them ! for, near or far, 

Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, 

Even as our outward aspects ; — thou dost rise, 

And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well ! 

I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance 

Of love and wonder was for thee, then take 

My latest look : thou wilt not beam on one 

To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been 

Of a more fatal nature. He is gone : 

I follow. [Exit Manfrei^ 


The Mountains — The CasfSl^e of Manfred at some distance. — A 
Terrace before a Tower. — Time^ TwiligJu, 

Hbbman, MAmTBL, and other Dependants of Manfred. 

Her, 'T is strange enough ; night after night, for years, 
He hath pursued long vigils in this tower, • 
Without a witness. I have been within it, — 
So have we all been ofltimes ; but from it. 
Or its contents, it were impossible 
To draw conclusions absolute of aught 
His studies tend to. To be sure, there is 
. One chamber where none enter ; I would give 
The fee of what I have to come these three years, 
To pore upon its mysteries. 

Manuel, 'T were dangerous ; . 

Content thyself with what thou know'st already. 

Her, Ah ! Manuel ! thou art elderly and wise. 
And couldst say much ; thou hast dwelt within the castle— 
How many years is 't ? 

Manuel, Ere Count Manfred's birth, 

I served his father, whom he nought resembles. 


Her. Tbere be more sons in like predicament. 
But wherein do they differ ? 

Manuel, I speak not 

Of features or of form, but mind and habits : 
Count Sigismund was proud, —but gay and free» — 
A warrior and a reveller ; he dwelt not 
With books and solitude, nor made the night 
A gloomy vigil* but a festal time, 
Merrier than day ; he did not walk the rocks 
And forests like a welf, nor turn aside 
From men and their delights. 

Her* Beshrew the hour, 

But those were jocund times ! I would that such 
Would visit the old waUs again ; they look 
As if they had forgotten them. 

Manuel, These walls 

Must change their chieftain first. Oh ! I have seen 
Some strange things in these few years.* 

Her, Come, be friendly ; 

Rdate me some, to while away our watch : 
I Ve heard thee darkly speak of an event 
Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. 

Manuel, That was a night indeed ! I do remember 
T was twilight, as it may be now, and such 
Another evening ; — yon red cloud, which rests 
On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then, — 
So like it that it might be the same ; the wind 
Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows 
Began to glitter with the climbing moon ; 
Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower, — - 
How occupied, we knew not, but with him 
The sole companion of his wanderings 
And watchings — her, whom of all earthly things 
That lived, the only thing seem'd to love, 
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, 
The lady Astarte, his 

Her, Look — look — the tower — 

The tower 's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what 

What dreadful sound is that ? [A craeh like thunder, 

Manuel, Help, help, there! — to the rescue of the 
Count, — 
The Count 's in danger, — what ho ! there ! approach ! 

[The Servants f VatsaU, and Peasantry approach^ 
stapled with terror, 

* Mtend, in the present Ibnn, to ** Some strange things in them, HermuL*' 

VOL. v.— O 

562 MAimsD. 


If there be any of you who have heart 

And love of human kind, and will to aid 

Those in distress— pause not — but follow me— 

The portal 's open, follow. [MANvUr g^ hu 

Her. Come — who follows t 

What, none of ye t — ye recreants ! shiver then 
Without. I will not see old Manuel risk 
His few remaining years unaided. [Hsbmav ^oet ku 

FoMoZ. Hark! — 

No — all is silent — not a breath— the flame 
, Which shot forth such a blaze is also gone ; 
What may this mean ? let 's enter ! 

Peasant. Faitii, not I,— 

Not that, if one, or two, or more, will join, 
I. then will stay behind ; but, for my part» 
I do not see precisely to what end. 

VaudL Cease your vain prating-^ come. 

Manuel, {epeakk^ wMa.) 'T is all in vain — 

He 's dead. 

Her. {wiihm.) Not so — even now methou^t he moved ; 
But it is dark— so bear him gently out — 
SofUy — how cold be is ! take care of his ten^les 
In winding down the staircase. 

Re-enter Manuel and Herman, ieonii^ Manfbbd mAeirarwu. 

Manud. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring 
What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed 
For the leach to the city — quick ! some water tiiere ! 
Her. His cheek is black — but there is a faint beat 
Still lingering about the heart. Some water. 

[They aprinlde Manfred with footer; after a patue 
he gives some signs of life. 
Manuel. He seems to strive to speak -— come ^ eheerly. 
He moves his lips — canst hear him? I am old, 
And cannot catch faint sounds. 

[Herman indming his head and listening. 
Her. I hear a word 

Or two — but indistinctly — what is next ? 
What 's to be done t let 's bear him to the castle. 

[Manfred motions with his hand not to rethoice him. 
Manud. He disapproves— -and 't wert of no avails 
He changes rapidly. 

Her. 'T will soon be over. 

Manuel. Oh ! what a death is this ! that I should live 

•cms a. 


To shake my gt%y hairs over the last chief 
Of the house of SigismuiiV).-^ And sach a death ! 
Alone— -we know not how— unduived— ontended — 
With strange aocompaniments and fearful si^^ — 
I shudder at the sight— but must not leave mm. 

Manfnd. (tpeaSngfaMy and douAyJ) Old man *t is 
not so diflScult to die. 

[MAimuBDy hamng taid Att, esptret. 
Hctm His eyes are nx'd and lifeless.— He is gone. 
Meamel. Close them.-* My old hand quivers.— He de- 
parts — 
Whither? I dread to think — But he is gone! 






Adieu to sweet Maiy for ever f 

From her I must quickly depart ; 
Thouf^ the fates us from each other sever, 

StiU her image will dwell in my heart. 

The flame that within my heart bums 
If unlike what in lovers' hearts glows ; 

The love which for Mary I feel 
Is far purer than Cupid bestows. 

I wish not your peace to disturb, . 

I wish not your joys to molest ; 
Mistake not my passion for love, 

T is your friendship alone I request. 

Not ten thousand lovers could feel 
The friendship my bosom contains ; 

It will ever within my heart dwell, 
While the warm blood flows through my veins. 

May the Ruler of Heaven look down, 

And my Mary from evil defend ! 
May she ne'er know adversity's frown, 

May her happiness ne'er have an end ! 

Once more, my sweet Mary, adieu ! 

Farewell ! I with anguish repeat, 
For ever I '11 think upon you 

While this heart in my bosom shall beat. 



TO ***«***• 

RBXiifD me net, remind me not, 
Of those beloved, those yanishM hoius 
When all my soul was given to thee ; 
Hours that may never be forgot, 
Till time unnerves our vital powers. 

And thou and I shall cease to be. ^ 

Can I forget — canst thou forget. 
When playing with thy golden hair, 
How quick thy fluttering heart did moTeT 
Oh, by my soul, I see thee yet, 
• With eyes so languid, breast so fair, 

And lips, though silent, breathing love. 

When thus reclining on my breast, 

lliose eyes threw back a glance so sweet. 
As half reproach'd yet raised desire, 
And still we near and nearer press'd. 
And still our glowing lips would meet. 
As if in kisses to expire. 

And then those pensive eyes would close, 
And bid their lids each other seek. 
Veiling the azure orbs below ; 
While their long lashes' darkening gloss 
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek* 
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow. 

I dreamt last night our love retum'd. 
And, sooth to say, that very dream 
Was sweeter in its phantasy 
Than if for other hearts I bum'd. 
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam 
In rapture's wild reality. 

Then tell me not, remind me not. 
Of hours which, though for ever gone, 
Can still a pleasing dream restore, 
Till thou and I shall be forgot. 

And senseless as the moiddering stone 
Which tells that we shall be no more. 

000A8X0NAL FXBGB8. 6d9 


TO *««***«« 

Thsbs was a time, I need not naaie« 
Since it will ne'er forgotten be, 

When all our feelings were the same 
As still my soul hath been to thee. 

" And from that hour when first thy tongue 

Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, 
Thouch many a grief my heart hath wrung, 
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine, 

None, none hath sunk so deep as this — 
To think how all that love hath flown j 

Transient as every faithless kiss. 
But transient in thy breast alone. 

And yet my heart some solace knew. 
When late I heard thy lips declare^ 

In accents once imagined true,