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Ex LibriS C. K. OGDEN
POEMS
THOMAS HOOD.
FIFTH EDITION.
LOXDON : EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET.
1852.
HRAD8URY
EVANS, FRlMT£liS^ WUITEKHIAKS.
UNIVERSITY ^- -'--^^^StA
PR PC
PREFACE. — ♦ -
Tins collection of Mr. Hood's serious Poems is made in fulfilment of his own desire. It was among his last instructions to those who were dearest to him.
Its reception having justified the earnest hope -which the writer had allowed himself to entertain, it will be followed by a volume composed of the more thoughtful pieces in his Poems of A\^it and Humour.
It is believed that the most sacred duty which his friends owed to his memory will thus be discharged ; and that in any future recital of the names of writers who have contributed to the stock of genuine English Poetry, Thomas Hood will find honourable mention.
April, 1846.
CONTENTS.
THE DREAM OP EHOENE ARAM ....
THE ELM TREE : A DREAM IN THE WOODS
PART II. ....
PART III. .....
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A ROMANCE ....
PART II. .
PART III. ....
THE BRIDGE OF SIOHS ......
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT .....
THE lady's DREAM ......
THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK. AN ALLEGORY
THE LAY OF THE LABOURER ....
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE ....
THE TWO SWANS. A FAIRY TALE
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY
MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PPvECIOUS LEG. A GOLDEN LEGEND .......
1
9 15 2] 27 31 35 41 45 49 53 56 61 78
94
CONTEXTS.
TUE LEE-SHORE .......
THE DEATH-BED .......
LINES ON SEEING .MY WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN SLEEPING IN THE SAME CHAMBER .....
TO MT DAUGHTER. ON HER BIRTHDAY .
TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER
STANZAS ........
TO A FALSE FRIEND .....
THE poet's PORTION ......
SONG ........
time, hope, AND MEMORY .....
FLOWERS .......
TO .......
TO .
SERENADE .......
VERSES IN AN ALBUM ......
BALLAD .......
THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE .....
TO , COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM .
THE KEY. A MOORISH ROMANCE ....
178
180
181 182 184 186 187 188 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 201 204
SONNETS.
TO THE OCEAN . lEAR
SONNET TO A SONNET
210 211 212
CONTEl^TS. ix
FA6K
FALSE POETS AND TRUE ..... . 213
TO 214
FOR THE 14th of FEBRUARY . . . . . . 215
TO A SLEEPING CUILD ....... 216
TO A SLEEPING CUILD . . . . . . . 217
" THE WOULD IS WITH ME, AND ITS MANY CAUES " . 218
THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES . . . . 219
HERO AND LEANDEU . . . . . . ' . 267
LYCUS, THE CENTAUR . . . . . . . 303
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT ..... 320
MINOR POEMS.
A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW . . , . . . 331
FAIR INES ......... 335
THE DEPARTURE OP SUMMER . . . . . . 338
ODE . AUTUMN ........ 344
SONG. FOR MUSIC ........ 347
BALLAD ......... 348
HYMN TO THE SUN ........ 350
TO A COLD BEAUTY ....... 352
RUTH 354
THE SEA OP DEATH. A FRAGMENT . . . 355
AUTUMN ......... 357
BALLAD 358
X CONTENTS.
PIGK
" I REMEJIEER, I REMEMBER " . . . . . . 359
BALLAD 361
THE WATER LADY 363
THE EXILE ........ 365
TO AN ABSENTEE ........ 366
SONG .......... 367
ODE TO THE MOON ........ 368
TO 372
THE FORSAKEN ........ 374
AUTUMN ......... 375
ODE TO MELANCHOLY ....... 376
SONNETS.
WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE . . . 380
TO FANCY ......... 381
TO AN ENTHUSIAST ....... 382
" IT IS NOT DEATH, THAT SOMETIME IN A SIGH " . . 383
" BY EV'rY sweet tradition OF TRUE HEARTS " . . 384
ON RECEIVING A GIFT ....... 385
SILENCE ......... 386
" THE CURSE OF ADAM, THE OLD CURSE OF ALL " . . 387
" LOVE, DEAREST LADY, SUCH AS I WOULD SPEAK . . 388
POEMS.
POEMS.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
'TwAS in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool, And fonr-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school : There were some that ran and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.
Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouch' d by sin ; To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn,
Like sportive deer they coursed about.
And shouted as they ran, — Tiirniug to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can ; But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man !
THE DEEAM OP EUGENE AEAM.
His liat was off, Ms vest apart,
To catcli lieaven's blessed breeze ;
For a burning thought was in his brow. And his bosom ill at ease :
So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees !
Leaf after leaf Le turn'd it o'er,
Nor ever glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide : Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the ponderous tome. With a fast and fervent grasp
He strain' d the dusky covers close. And fix'd the brazen hasp : " Oh, God ! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp ! "
Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took, —
Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook, —
And, lo ! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book !
" My gentle lad, what is 't you read — Eomance or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page,
Of kings and crowns vmstable ? " The young boy gave an upward glance, — "It is ' The Death of Abel.' "
THE DEEAM OF EUGEKE AEAM.
The Uslier took six hastj strides,
As smit with sudden pain, — Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside the lad,
And talk'd with him of Cain ;
And, long since then, of bloody men. Whose depds tradition saves ;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen. And hid in sudden graves ;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn. And murders done in caves ;
And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod, —
Aye, how the ghostly hand will point To shew the burial clod ;
And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God !
He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain, — With crimson clouds before their eyes.
And flames about their brain : For blood has left upon their soxils
Its everlasting stain !
" And weU," quoth he, " I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, — Woe, woe, unutterable woe, —
Who spin life's sacred stream ! For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder, in a dream !
b2
THE DEEAM OF EUGEKE AEAM.
" One that had never done me wrong —
A feeble man, and old ; I led him to a lonely field, —
The moon shone clear and cold : Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold !
" Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone.
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — And then the deed was done :
There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone !
" Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. That could not do me ill ;
And yet I fear'd him all the more, For lying there so still :
There was a manhood in his look, That murder could not kill !
" And, lo ! the universal air
Seem'd lit with ghastly flame ; — Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame : I took the dead man by his hand.
And call'd upon Ins name !
" Oh, Grod ! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain !
But when I touch' d the Lifeless clay, The blood gush'd out amain !
For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain !
THE dkea:m of eugexe ae.vm. I " My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice ; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price : A dozen times I groan' d ; the dead Had never groan' d but twice !
" And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the Heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice — the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite : — ■
' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead And hide it from my sight ! '
'' I took the dreary body up.
And cast it in a stream, — A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme : — My gentle Boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream !
" Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
And vanish 'd in the pool ; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands.
And wash'd my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young.
That evening in the school.
" Oh, Heaven ! to think of their white souls. And mine so black and grim !
I could not share in childish prayer, Nor join in Evening HjTnn :
Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, 'Mid holy Cherubim !
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
" And peace went with them, one and all, And each calm pillow spread ;
But Gruilt was my grim Chamberlain That lighted me to bed ;
And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red !
" All night I lay in agony,
In anguish dark and deep ;
My fever' d eyes I dared not close. But stared aghast at Sleep :
For Sin had render'd unto her The keys of Hell to keep !
" All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint. That rack'd me all the time ;
A mighty yearning, like the first Pierce impulse unto crime !
" One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave ;
Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave, —
Still urging me to go and see
The Dead Man in his grave !
" Heavily T rose up, as soon
As light was in the sky. And sought the black accursed pool
AVith a wild misgiving eye ; And I saw the Dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was drv.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE AEAM.
" Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dew-drop from its \diig ;
But I never mark'd its morning flight, I never heard it sing :
For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing.
" With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran ; — There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began : In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
I hid the murder' d man !
" And all that day I read in school.
But my thought was other where ;
As soon as the mid-day task was done. In secret I was there :
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare !
" Then down I cast me on my face,
And fii'st began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep : Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.
" So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, TiU blood for blood atones !
Ay, though he 's buried in a cave. And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted ofl" his flesh, — The world shall see his bones !
THE DEEAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
" Oh, God ! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake ! Again — again, with dizzy brain.
The human life I take ; And my red right hand grows raging hot, LiJce Cranmer's at the stake.
" And still no ptace for the restless clay, WiU wave or moidd aUow ;
The horrid thing pursues my soul, — It stands before me now ! "
The fearful Boy look'd up, and saw Huge drops upon his brow.
That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kiss'd. Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist ; And Eugene Aram walk'd between.
With gyves upon his wrist.
THE ELM THEE:
A DREAU Df THE WOODS.
'• And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in treet>." As You Like It.
'TwAS in a shady Avenue, "WTiere lofty Elms abound — And from a Tree There came to me A sad and solemn sound, That sometimes murmur'd overhead. And sometimes underground.
Amongst the leaves it seem'd to sigh, Amid the boughs to moan ;
It mutter' d in. the stem, and then The roots took up the tone ;
As if beneath the dewy grass The dead began to groan.
No breeze there was to stir the leaves No bolts that tempests launch,
To rend the trunk or rugged bark ; No gale to bend tlie branch ;
No quake of earth to heave the roots. That stood so stiff and staunch.
10 THE ELM TREE.
No bird was preening up aloft,
To rustle -^-ith its wing ; No squirrel, in its sport or fear. From bough to bougb to spring ; The solid bole Had ne'er a bole To hide a living thing !
No scooping hollow ceU to lodge A furtive beast or fowl, The martin, bat, Or forest cat That nightly loves to prowl. Nor ivy nook so apt to shroud The moping, snoring owl.
But still the sound was in my ear,
A sad and solemn sound. That sometimes murmur' d overhead.
And sometimes undergrovmd — 'Twas in a shady Avenue
Where lofty Elms abound.
0 hath the Dryad still a tongue
In this ungenial clime ? Have Sylvan Spirits still a voice
As in the classic prime — To make the forest voluble,
As in the olden time ?
The olden time is dead and gone ;
Its years have fill'd their sum — And e'en in Greece — her native Greece-
The Sylvan Nymph is dumb —
THE ELM TREE. U
From ash, and beech, and aged oak, No classic whispers come.
From Poplar, Pine, and drooping Birch, And fragrant Linden Trees ; No living sound E'er hovers round, Unless the vagrant breeze, The music of the merry bird. Or hum of busy bees.
But busy bees forsake the Elm
That bears no bloom aloft — The Finch was in the hawthorn-bush,
The Blackbird in the croft ; And among the firs the brooding Dove,
That else might murmur soft.
Yet still I heard that solemn soimd,
And sad it was to boot. From ev'ry overhanging bough.
And each minuter shoot ; From rugged trxmk and mossy rind,
And from the twisted root.
From these, — a melancholy moan ;
From those, — a dreary sigh ; As if the boughs were wintry bare,
And wild winds sweeping by — Whereas the smallest fleecy cloud
Was stedfast in the sky.
No sign or touch of stirring air Could either sense observe —
12 THE ELM TREE.
The zephyr had not breath enough The thistle-down to swerve,
Or force the filmy gossamers To take another curve.
In still and silent slumber hush'd All Nature seem'd to be :
From heaven above, or earth beneath, No whisper came to me —
Except the solemn sound and sad From that Mtsteeious Tree !
A hoUow, hollow, hoUow sound,
As is that dreamy roar When distant billows boil and bound
Along a shingly shore — But the ocean brim was far aloof,
A hundred miles or more.
No murmur of the gusty sea,
No tumult of the beach. However they may foam and fret.
The bounded sense could reach — Methought the trees in mystic tongue
Were talking each to each ! —
Mayhap, rehearsing ancient tales Of greenwood love or guilt, Of whisper' d vows Beneath their boughs ; Or blood obscurely spilt ; Or of that near-hand Mansion House A Eoyal Tudor built.
THE ELM TEEE. 13
Perchance, of booty won or shared
Beneath the starry cope — Or where the suicidal wretch
Hung up the fatal i-ope ; Or Beautj' kept an evil tryste,
Insnared by Love and Hope.
Of graves, perchance, untimely scoop'd
At midnight dark and dank— And what is underneath the sod Whereon the grass is rank — Of old intrigues, And privy leagues, Tradition leaves in blank.
Of traitor lips that mutter' d plots — ■
Of Kin who fought and fell — God knows the un discover' d schemes,
The arts and acts of Hell, Perform' d long generations siace,
If trees had tongues to tell !
"With wary eyes, and ears alert,
As one who walks afraid, I wander' d down the dappled path
Of mingled light and shade — How sweetly gleam' d that arch of blue
Beyond the green arcade !
How cheerly shone the glimpse of Heav'n
Beyond that verdant aisle ! All overarch' d with lofty elms.
That quench' d the light, the while.
14 THE ELM TREE,
As dim and chill
As serves to fill
Some old Cathedral pile !
And many a gnarled trunk was there,
That ages long had stood, Till Time had wrought them into shapes
Like Pan's fantastic brood ; Or still more foul and hideous forms
That Pagans carve in wood !
A crouching Satyr lurking here — I
And there a Goblin grim — As staring full of demon life
As Gothic sculptor's whim — X A marvel it had scarcely been
To hear a voice from him !
Some whisper from that horrid mouth Of strange, unearthly tone ;
Or wild infernal laugh, to chill One's marrow in the bone.
But no it grins like rigid Death,
And silent as a stone !
As silent as its fellows be,
Por all is mute with them —
The branch that climbs the leafy roof -
The rough and mossy stem —
The crooked root.
And tender shoot,
"Where hangs the dewy gem.
THE ELM TEEE. 55
One mystic Tree alone there is,
Of sad and solemn sound — That sometimes murmurs overhead,
And sometimes underground — In all that shady Avenue,
Where lofty Elms abound.
PART II.
The Scene is changed ! No green Arcade,
No Trees all ranged a-row — But scatter'd like a beaten host,
Dispersing to and fro ; Witli here and there a sylvan corse
That feU before the foe.
The Foe that down in yonder dell
Pursues his daily toil ; As witness many a prostrate trunk,
Bereft of leafy spoil, Hard by its wooden stump, whereon
The adder loves to coil.
Alone he works — his ringing blows
Have banish'd bird and beast ; The Hind and Fawn have canter' d off
A hundi-ed yards at least ; And on the maple's lofty top,
The linnet's song has ceased.
16 THE ELM TREE.
No eye Ms labour overlooks, Or when lie takes his rest ;
Except the timid thrush that peeps Above her secret nest,
Forbid by love to leave the young Beneath her speckled breast.
The Woodman's heart is in his work,
His axe is sharp and good : With sturdy arm and steady aim He smites the gaping wood ; From distant rocks His lusty knocks E,e-echo many a rood.
His axe is keen, his arm is strong ;
The muscles serve him weU ; His years have reach' d an extra span,
The niimber none can tell ; But still his lifelong task has been
The Timber Tree to feU.
Through Summer's parching sultriness, And Winter's freezing cold. From sapling youth To virile growth, And Age's rigid mould, His energetic axe hath rung Within that Forest old.
Aloft, upon his poising steel
The vivid sunbeams glance — About his head and round his feet
TUE ELM TREE, 17
The forest shadows dance ; And bounding from his russet coat The acorn di'ops askance.
His face is like a Druid's face,
With WTinkles furrow' d deep, And tann'd by scorching suns as brown
As corn that 's ripe to reap ; But the hair on brow, and cheek, and chin,
Is white as wool of sheep.
His frame is like a giant's frame ;
His legs are long and stark ; His arms like limbs of knotted yew ; His hands like rugged bark ; So he felleth stiU With right good will, As if to build an Ark !
Oh ! well within His fatal path The fearful Tree might quake Through every fibre, twig, and leaf, With aspen tremoiu' shake ; Through trunk and root, And branch and shoot, A low complaining make !
Oh ! well to Him the Tree might breathe
A sad and solemn sou.ud, A sigh that murmur' d overhead,
And groans from underground ; As in that shady Avenue
Where lofty Ehns abound !
18 THE ELM TEEE.
But calm and mute the Maple stands,
The Plane, the Ash, the Fir, The Elm, the Beech, the drooping Birch,
"Without the least demur ; And e'en the Aspen's hoary leaf'
Makes no unusual stir.
The Pines — those old gigantic Pines,
That writhe — recalling soon The famous Human Group that writhes
With Snakes in wild festoon — In ramous wrestlings interlaced w
A Forest Laocoon — '
Like Titans of primeval girth
By tortures overcome. Their brown enormous limbs they twine,
Bedew' d with tears of gum — Pierce agonies that ought to yell.
But, Uke the marble, dumb.
Nay, yonder blasted Ehn that stands
So like a man of sin, "Who, frantic, flings his arms abroad
To feel the Worm vdthin — Por all that gesture, so intense,
It makes no sort of din !
An universal silence reigns
In rugged bark or peel. Except that very trunk which rings
Beneath the biting steel — Meanwhile the Woodman plies his axe
With unrelenting zeal !
THE ELM TREE. jg
No rustic soug is on his tongue,
JN'o whistle on his lips ; But with a quiet thoughtfulness
His trusty tool he grips, And, stroke ou stroke, keeps hacking out
The bright and flying chips.
Stroke after stroke, with frequent dint
He spreads tlie fatal gash ; Till, lo ! the remnant fibres rend,
With harsh and sudden crash, And on the dull resounding turf
The jarring branches lash !
Oh ! now the Forest Trees may sigli.
The Ash, the Poplar taU, The Elm, the Birch, the drooping Beech, The Aspens — one and aU, With solemn groan And hoUow moan Lament a comrade's fall!
A goodly Elm, of noble girth,
That, thrice the human span — While on their variegated course
The constant Seasons ran — Through gale, and hail, and fiery bolt,
Had stood erect as Man,
But now, like mortal Man himself,
Struck do\A-Ti by hand of God, Or heathen Idol tumbled prone
Beneath th' Eternal's nod,
c2
20 THE ELM TEEE.
In all its giant bulk and length It lies along tlie sod ! —
Ay, now tte Torest Trees may grieve And make a common moan
Around that patriarchal trunk So newly oi^erthrown ;
And with a murmur recognise A doom to be their own !
The Echo sleeps : the idle axe,
A disregarded tool, Lies crushing with its passive weight
The toad's reputed stool — The Woodman wipes his dewy brow
Withia the shadows cool.
No Zepliyr stirs : the ear may catch The smallest insect-hum ;
But on the disappointed sense No mystic whispers come ;
No tone of sylvan sympathy. The Forest Trees are dumb.
No leafy noise, nor inward voice, No sad and solemn sound,
That sometimes murmurs overhead, And sometimes underground ;
As in that shady Avenue, Where lofty Elms abound !
TUE ELM TKEE. 21
PART III.
The deed is done : the Tree is low
That stood so long and finn ; The AVoodman aud his axe are goue,
His toil has found its term ; Aiid where he wrought the speckled Thrush
Securely hunts the worm.
The Cony from the sandy bank
Has run a rapid race, Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern,
To seek the open space ; And on its haunches sits erect
To clean its furry face.
The dappled Fawn is close at hand.
The Hind is browsing near, — And on the Larch's lowest bough The Ousel whistles clear ; But checks the note Within its throat. As choked with sudden fear !
With sudden fear her wormy quest
The Thrush abruptly quits — Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern
The startled Cony flits ; And on the Larch's lowest bough
jS"o more the Ousel sits.
22 THE ELM TREE.
With sudden fear The dappled Deer Effect a swift escape ; But well might bolder creatures start,
And fly, or stand agape, "With rising hair, and curdled blood, To see so gnm a Shape !
The very sky turns pale above ;
The earth gi-ows dark beneath ; The human Terror thrills with cold,
And draws a shorter breath — An universal panic owns
The dread approach of Death !
With sUent pace, as shadows come. And dark as shadows be.
The grisly Phantom takes his stand Beside the fallen Tree,
And scans it with his gloomy eyes, And laughs with horrid glee —
A dreary laugh and desolate, Wliere mu"th is void and null.
As hollow as its echo sounds Within the hollow skull — " Whoever laid this tree along, His hatchet was not dull !
" The human arm and human tool Have done their duty well ! But after sound of ringing axe Must sound the ringing knell ;
THE ELM TREE. 23
TVTien Elm or Oak Have felt the stroke My tmTi it is to fell !
" No passive unregarded tree,
A senseless thing of wood, "Wlierein the sluggish sap ascends
To swell the vernal bud — But conscious, moving, breathing trunks
That throb -nith living blood !
" No forest Monarch yearly clad
In mantle green or brown ; That unrecorded lives, and falls
By hand of rustic clown — But Kjugs who don the purple robe,
And wear the jewell'd crown.
" Ah ! little recks the Eoyal mind,
Within his Banquet Hall, While tapers shine and Music breathes
And Beauty leads the Ball, — He little recks the oaken plank
Shall be his palace wall !
" Ah, little dreams the haughty Peer,
The while his Falcon flies — Or on the blood-bedabbled turf
The antler' d quarry dies — That in his own ancestral Park
The narrow dwelliug lies !
" But haughty Peer and mighty King One doom shall overwhelm !
24 THE ELM TEEE.
The oaken cell
Shall lodge him well Whose sceptre ruled a realm — While he who never knew a home, ShaU find it in the Elm !
" The tatter' d, loan, dejected wretch.
Who begs from door to door,
And dies within the cressy ditch.
Or on the barren moor. The friendly Ebn shall lodge and clothe That houseless man and poor !
" Tea, this recumbent rugged trunk, That lies so long and prone.
With many a fallen acorn-cup. And mast and firry cone —
This rugged trunk shall hold its share Of mortal flesh and bone !
" A Miser hoarding heaps of gold, But pale with ague-fears —
A Wife lamenting love's decay, With secret cruel tears.
Distilling bitter, bitter drops Prom sweets of former years —
" A Man within whose gloomy mind Ofience had darkly sunk. Who out of fierce Eevenge's cup
Hath madly, darkly drunk — Grief, Avarice, and Hate shall sleep Withia this very trunk !
THE ELM TREE. 25
" This massy trunk that lies along, And many more must fall — For the very knave Who digs the grave, The man who spreads the pall, And he who tolls the funeral bell, The Elm shall have them aU !
" The tall aboimding Elm that grows
In hedgerows up and down ; In field and forest, copse and park,
And in the peopled town, With colonies of noisy rooks
That nestle on its crown.
" And well th' abounding Elm may grow
In field and hedge so rife. In forest, copse, and wooded park.
And 'mid the city's strife. For, every hour that passes by
Shall end a human life ! "
The Phantom ends : the shade is gone ;
The sky is clear and bright ; On tvu-f, and moss, and fallen Tree,
There glows a ruddy light ; And bounding through the golden fern
The Babbit comes to bite.
The Thrush's mate beside her sits
And pipes a merry lay ; The Dove is in the evergreens ;
And on the Larch's spray
26 THE ELM TREE.
The Ply-bird flutters up and down, To catch its tiny prey.
The gentle Hind and dappled Favrn
Are coming up the glade ; Each harmless lurr'd and feather' d thing
Is glad, and not afraid — But on my sadden' d spirit still
The Shadow leaves a shade.
A secret, vague, prophetic gloom, As though by certam mark
I knew the fore-appointed Tree, Within whose rugged bark
This warm and living frame shall find Its narrow house and dark.
That mystic Tree which breathed to me
A sad and solemn soimd. That sometimes miu-mur'd overhead.
And sometimes underground ; Within that shady Avenue
Whei-e lofty Elms abound.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
A ROMANCE.
" A jolly place," said he, "in times of old But something ails it now : the place is curst.'
IIakt-Leap Well, by WoBDSvvottTH.
PART I.
Some dreams "we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictious ; Yet others of oiu" most romantic schemes Are something more than fictions.
It might be only on enchanted groimd ; It might be merely by a thought's expansion ; But in the spirit, or the flesh, I found An old deserted Mansion.
A residence for woman, child, and man, A dwelling place, — and yet no habitation ; A House, — ^but under some prodigious ban Of excommunication.
Unhinged the iron gates half open hvmg, Jarr'd by the gusty gales of many winters, That from its crumbled pedestal had flung One marble globe in splinters.
28 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
No dog was at the threshold, great or small ; No pigeon on the roof — no household creature — No cat demurely dozing on the wall — Not one domestic feature.
No human figure stirr'd, to go or come, No face look'd forth from shut or open casement ; No chimney smoked — there was no sign of Home Prom parapet to basement.
With shatter' d panes the grassy court was staiT'd ; The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after ; And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barr'd AVith naked beam and rafter.
O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daimtcd, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted !
The flow'r grew wild and rankly as the weed, Eoses with thistles struggled for espial, And vagrant plants of parasitic breed Had overgrown the Dial.
But gay or gloomy, stedfast or infirm, No heart was there to heed the hour's duration ; AH times and tides were lost in one long term Of stagnant desolation.
The wren had built within the Porch, she found Its quiet loneliness so sure and thorough ; And on the lawn, — within its tiu-fy mound, — The rabbit made his burrow.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 29
The rabl3it •R'ild and gray, that flitted through
The shrubby ckmips, and frisk'd, and sat, and vanish'd,
But leisurely and bold, as if he knew
His enemy was banish' d.
The wary crow, — the pheasant from the woods — LuU'd by the still and everlasting sameness, Close to the INIansion, like domestic broods, Fed with a " shocking tameness."
The coot was swimming in tlie reedy pond. Beside the water-hen, so soon affrighted ; And in the weedy moat the heron, fond Of solitude, ahghted.
The moping heron, motionless and stiff. That on a stone, as silently and stiUy, Stood, an apparent sentmel, as if To guard the water-lily.
No sound was heard, except, from far away, The ringing of the Whit wall's shriUy laughter, Or, now and then, the chatter of the jay, That Echo murmur' d after.
But Echo never mock'd tlie human tongue; Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not pardon, A secret curse on that old Building hung, And its deserted Garden.
The beds were all uutouch'd by hand or tool ; No footstep mark'd the damp and mossy gravel, Each walk as green as is the mantled pool, Eor want of human travel.
30 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
The vine unpruned, and the neglected peacli, Droop'd from tlie wall witli which they used to grapple; And on the canker' d tree, in easy reach, Eotted the golden apple.
But awfully the truant shunn'd the ground, *
The vagrant kept aloof, and daring Poacher ; In spite of gaps that through the fences round Invited the encroacher.
For over all tliere hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. And said, as plain as Avhisper in the ear, The place is Haunted !
The pear and quince lay squander'd on the grass ; The mould was purple with unheeded showers Of bloomy plums — a "Wilderness it was Of fruits, and weeds, and ilowers !
The marigold amidst the nettles blew,
The gourd embraced the rose bush in its ramble,
The thistle and the stock together grew,
The holly-hock and bi-amble.
The bear-bine with the lUac interlaced.
The sturdy bur-dock choked its slender neighbour,
The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced
Of human care and labour.
The very yew Formality had train' d To such a rigid pyramidal stature, For want of trimming had almost regain' d The raggedness of nature.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 31
The Fountain was a-dry — neglect and time Had marr'd the work of artisan and mason, And efts and croaking frogs, begot of slime, Sprawl'd in the ruin'd bason.
The Statue, fallen from its marble base. Amidst the refuse leaves, and herbage rotten, Lay like the Idol of some by-gone race, Its name and rites forgotten.
On ey'ry side the aspect was the same, AH ruin'd, desolate, forlorn, and savage : No hand or foot within the precinct came To rectify or ravage.
For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. The place is Haunted !
PART II.
O, TEET gloomy is the House of Woe, Wliere tears are falling while the bell is knelling, With all the dark solemnities which show That Death is in the dwelling !
O very, very dreary is the room Where Love, domestic Love, no longer nestles, But smitten by the common stroke of doom, The Corpse lies on the trestles !
32 THE HAUJfTED HOUSE.
But House of "Woe, and hearse, and sable pall, The narrow home of the departed mortal, Ne'er look'd so gloomy as that Ghostly Hall, With its deserted portal !
The centipede along the threshold crept, The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle, Ajid in its winding-sheet the maggot slept. At every nook and angle.
The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood. The emmets of the steps had old possession. And march' d in search of their diurnal food In undisturb'd procession.
As undisturb'd as the prehensile cell Of moth or maggot, or the spider's tissue, For never foot upon that threshold fell, To enter or to issue.
O'er all there hung the sliadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. The place is Haunted.
Howbcit, the door I push'd — or so I dream' d — Which slowly, slowly gaped, — the hinges creaking With such a rusty eloquence, it seem'd That Time himself was speaking.
But Time was dumb within tliat Mansion old. Or left his tale to the heraldic bnnners That hung from the corroded walls, and told Of former men and manners.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 33
Those tatter' d flags, that with the open'd door, Seem'd the old wave of battle to remember, "While fallen fragments danced upon the floor Like dead leaves La December.
The startled bats flew out — bird after bird — The screech-owl overhead began to flutter, And seem'd to mock the cry that she had heard Some dying victim utter !
A shriek that echoed from the joisted roof. And up the stair, and further stQl and fiu-ther, TiU in some ringing chamber far aloof It ceased its tale of murther !
Meanwhile the rusty armour rattled round, The banner shudder' d, and the ragged streamer ; AU things the horrid tenor of the sound Acknowledged with a tremor.
The antlers, where the helmet hung and belt, Stirr'd as the tempest stirs the forest branches, Or as the stag had trembled when he felt The blood-hound at his haunches.
The window jingled in its crumbled frame, And thro' its many gaps of destitution Dolorous moans and hoUow sighings came. Like those of dissolution.
The wood-louse dropp'd, and roU'd into a ball, Touch' d by some impulse occvilt or mechanic ; Ajid nameless beetles ran along the wall In universal panic.
34 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
The subtle spider, that from overliead Hung like a spy on human guilt and error, Suddenly turn'd, and up its slender thread Ran with a nimble terror.
The very stains and fractures on the wall Assuming features solemn and terrific, Hinted some Tragedy of that old Hall, Lock'd up in hieroglyphic.
Some tale that might, perchance, have solved the doubt, Wherefore amongst those flags so dull and livid. The banner of the Bloody Haj^td shone out, So ominously -vivid.
Some key to that inscrutable appeal, Which made the very frame of Nature quiver ; And ev'ry thrilling nerve and fibre feel So ague-like a shiver.
For over aU there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted !
If but a rat had linger' d in the house. To lure the thought into a social channel ! But not a rat remain' d, or tiny mouse. To squeak behind the pannel.
Huge drops roU'd down the waUs, as if they wept ; And where the cricket used to chirp so shrilly. The toad was squatting, and the lizard crept On that damp hearth and chilly.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 35
!For years no cheerful blaze had sparkled there, Or glanced on coat of buff or knightly metal ; The slug was crawling on the vacant chair, — The snail upon the settle.
The floor was redolent of mould and must, The fungus in the rotten seams had quicken' d ; "While on the oaken table coats of dust Perennially had thicken' d.
No mark of leathern jack or metal earm, No cup — no horn — no hospitable token, — All social ties between that board and Man Had long ago been broken.
There was so foul a rumoiu" in the air, The shadow of a Presence so atrocious ; ' No human creature could have feasted there. Even the most ferocious.
For over aU there himg a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper iu the ear. The place is Haunted !
PART III.
'Tis hard for human actions to account. Whether from reason or from impulse only — But some internal prompting bade me mount The gloomy stairs and lonely.
36 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and cold, With odours as from bones and relics carnal, Deprived of rite, and consecrated mould, The chapel vault, or charnel.
Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress Of ev'ry step so many echoes blended, The mind, with dark misgivings, fear'd to guess How many feet ascended.
The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, Till each unwholesome stone was darkly spotted, As thickly as the leopard's dappled skin, With leaves that rankly rotted.
The air was thick — and in the upper gloom The bat — or something in its shape — was winging ; And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb. The Death' s-Head moth was clinging:
That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound Of all unholy presence, augurs truly ; And with a grim significance flits round The taper burning bluely.
Such omens in the place there seem'd to be. At ev'ry crooked turn, or on the landing. The straining eyeball was prepared to see Some Apparition standing.
For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daimted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. The place is Haunted I
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 37
Yet no portentous Shape the sight amazed ; Each object plain, and tangible, and vaKd ; But from their tarnish' d frames dark Figures gazed, And Paces spectre-pallid.
Not merely with the mimic life that lies Within the compass of Art's simulation; Their souls were looking thro' their painted eyes With awful speculation.
On ev'ry lip a speechless horror dwelt ; On ev'ry brow the burthen of aflSiction ; The old Ancestral Spirits knew and felt The House's malediction.
Such earnest woe their features overcast,
They might have stirr'd, or sigh'd, or wept, or spoken;
But, save the hollow moaning of the blast,
The stillness was unbroken.
No other sound or stir of life was there, Except my steps in solitary clamber, Erom flight to flight, from humid stair to stair, Erom chamber into chamber.
Deserted rooms of luxury and state, That old magnificence had richly furnished With pictures, cabinets of ancient date, And carvings gilt and burnish' d.
Eich hangings, storied by the needle's art, With scripture history, or classic fable ; But all had faded, save one ragged part, Where Cain was slaying Abel.
38 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
The silent waste of mildew and the moth Had marr'd the tissue with a partial ravage ; But undecaying frown'd upon the cloth Each feature stern and savage.
The sky was pale ; the cloud a thing of doubt ; Some hues were fresh, and some decay'd and duller ; But still the Bloody Hand shone strangely out With vehemence of colour !
The Bloody Hand that with a lurid stain Shone on the dusty floor, a dismal token. Projected from the casement's painted pane, Where aU beside was broken.
The Bloody Hand significant of crime. That glaring on the old heraldic banner, Had kept its crimson unimpair'd by time, In such a wondrous manner !
O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the car. The place is Haimted !
The Death Watch tick'd behind the pannel'd oak. Inexplicable tremors shook the arras, And echoes strange and mystical awoke. The fancy to embarrass.
Prophetic hints that fiU'd the soul with dread. But thro' one gloomy entrance pointing mostly. The while some secret inspiration said. That Chamber is the Grhostly !
THE HAUNTED HOUSE, 39
Across the door no gossamer festoon Swung pendulous — no web — no dusty fringes, No silky chrysalis or white cocoon About its nooks and hinges.
The spider shunn'd the interdicted room, The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banish' d, And where the sunbeam fell athwart the gloom The very midge had vanish' d.
One lonely ray that glanced upon a Bed, As if with awfid aim direct and certain. To show the Bloody Hand in burning red Embroider' d on the curtain.
And yet no gory stain was on the quilt — The pillow in its place had slowly rotted ; The floor alone retain' d the trace of guilt, Those boards obscurely spotted.
Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence With mazy doubles to the grated casement — Oh what a tale they told of fear intense, Of horror and amazement !
What human creature in the dead of night Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance ? Had sought the door, the window, in his flight, Striving for dear existence ?
What shrieking Spirit in that bloody room Its mortal frame had violently quitted ? — Across the sunbeam, with a sudden gloom, A ghostly Shadow flitted.
40 THE HAUNTED HOFSE.
Across the simbeam, and along the wall, But painted on the air so very dimly, It hardly veil'd the tapestry at all, Or portrait frowning grimly.
O'er aU there hung the shadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted !
THE BEIDGE OF SIGHS.
"Drown'd! drown'd!" — Hamlet.
One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Easlily importunate, Gone to her death !
Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion' d so slenderly, Young, and so fair !
Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. —
Touch her not scornfully ; Think of her mournfully. Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her.
42 THE BEIDGE OF SIGHS.
All that remains of her Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Eash and undutiful : Past all dishonour, Death has left on her Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — "Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily.
Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb. Her fair auburn ti*esses ; WhUst wonderment guesses Where was her home ?
Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a bi*other ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ?
Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 43
Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feeliags had changed : Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light Prom window and casement, From garret to basement. She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver ; But not the dark arch. Or the black flowing river : Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery. Swift to be hurl'd— Any where, any where Out of the world !
In she plimged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it. Picture it — think of it. Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, di-ink of it. Then, if you can !
THE BEIDGE OF SiaHS.
Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion' d so slenderlj', Young, and so fair !
Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, — kindly, — Smooth, and compose them ; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly !
Dreadfully staring Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity.
Perishing gloomily, Spurr'd by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly As if praying dumbly, Over her breast !
Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour !
THE SONG or THE SHIRT.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt.
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! "
"Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof !
And work — work — work, Till the stars shine through the roof ! It 's Oh ! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work !
" Work — work — work Till the brain begins to swim ;
Work — work — work Till the eyes are heavy and dim !
46 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
Seam, and gusset, and band. Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew tbem on in a dream !
Oh, Men, with Sisters dear !
Oh, Men, sdth Mothers and "Wives ! It is not linen you 're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives ! Stitch — stitch — stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A Shroud as weU as a Shirt.
" But why do I talk of Death ? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own — It seems so like my own. Because of the fasts I keep ; Oh, God ! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap !
" Work — work — work !
My labour never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread — and rags. That shatter' d roof — and this naked floor—
A table — a broken chair — And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there !
THE SONG OF THE SHIET. 47
" Work — work — work ! From weary chime to cliime,
Work — work — work — As prisoners work for crime !
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band. Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb' d,
As well as the weary hand.
" Work — work — work. In the dull December light.
And work — ^work — work, Wlien the weather is warm and bright- While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows chng As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
" Oh ! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet —
With the sky above my head. And the grass beneath my feet, Por only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel. Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal !
" Oh ! but for one short hour !
A respite however brief! 'No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief !
48 THE SONG OF THE SHIET,
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for eveiy drop
Hinders needle and thread ! "
With fingers weary and worn,
"With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone covdd reach the liich !
She sang this " Song of the Shirt ! "
/
THE LADY'S DEEAM.
The lady lay in her bed,
Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and broken still ;
For turning often and oft From side to side, she m utter' d and moan'd,
And toss'd her arms aloft.
At last she startled up,
And gazed on the vacant air, With a look of awe, as if she saw
Some dreadful phantom there — And then in the pillow she buried her face
From visions ill to bear.
The very curtaiu shook.
Her terror was so extreme ; And the light that fell on the broider'd quilt
Kept a tremulous gleam ; And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried: — " Oh me ! that awfiil dream !
50 THE LADY S DEE AM.
" That weary, weary walk,
In the churchyard's dismal ground ! And those horrible things, with shady wings,
That came and flitted round, — Death, death, and nothing but death.
In every sight and sound !
" And oh ! those maidens young,
Who wrought in that dreary room,
With figures drooping and spectres thin, And cheeks without a bloom ; —
And the Voice that cried, 'Eor the pomp of pride, We haste to an early tomb !
" ' For the pomp and pleasure of Pride,
We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last,
Where yonder cypress waves ; ' — And then they pointed — I never saw
A ground so full of graves !
" And stiU the cofiins came,
With their sorrowful trains and slow ; Coffin after coffin still,
A sad and sickening show ; From grief exempt, I never had dreamt
Of such a World of Woe !
" Of the hearts that daily break,
Of the tears that hourly faU, Of the many, many troubles of life.
That grieve tliis earthly ball — Disease and Hunger, and Pain, and AYant,
But now I dreamt of them all !
THE LADY S DREAM, 51
" Por tlie blind and the cripple were tliere, And the babe that pined for bread,
And the houseless man, and the widow poor "Who begged — to bury the dead ;
The naked, alas, tliat I inight have clad, The famish' d I might have fed !
" The sorrow I might have soothed,
And the unregarded tears ; For many a thronging shape was there,
Prom long forgotten years, Ay, even the poor rejected Moor,
Who rais'd my childish fears !
" Each pleading look, that long ago
I scann'd "wdth a heedless eye, Each face was gazing as plainly there,
As when I pass'd it by : Woe, woe for me if the past should be
Thus present when I die !
" Xo need of sulphureous lake,
JSTo need of fiery coal, But only that crowd of human kind
Who wanted pity and dole — In everlasting retrospect —
Will wring my sinful soid !
' Alas ! I have walk'd through life Too heedless where I trod ; Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm,
And iill the burial sod — Forgetting that even the sparrow falls Not unmark'd of God !
e2
52 THE lady's DEEAM.
" I drank the ricliest draughts ;
And ate "whatever is good — rish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit,
Supplied my hungry mood ; But I never remember' d the wretched ones
That starve for want of food !
" I dress' d as the noble dress.
In cloth of silver and gold, With silk, and satin, and costly furs.
In many an ample fold ; But I never remember'd the naked limbs
That froze with winter's cold.
" The wounds I might have heal'd!
The human sorrow and smart ! And yet it never was in my soul
To play so iU a part : But evil is wrought by want of Thought,
As well as want of Heart ! "
She clasp' d her fervent hands, And the tears began to stream ;
Large, and bitter, and fast they fell, Eemorse was so extreme ;
And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame Would dream the Lady's Dream !
THE WOEKHOTJSE CLOCK
AN ALLEGORY.
There 's a murmur in the air, A noise in every street — The murmur of many tongues, The noise of numerous feet — While round the AYorkhouse door The Laboiu"ing Classes flock. For why ? the Overseer of the Poor Is setting the Workhouse Clock.
Who does not hear the tramp Of thousands speeding along Of either sex and various stamp. Sickly, crippled, or strong. Walking, limping, creeping From court, and alley, and lane, But all in one direction sweeping Like rivers that seek the main r Who does not see them sally From mill, and garret, and room, Tn lane, and court and alley, From homes in poverty's lowest valley, Furnished with shuttle and loom — Poor slaves of Civilisation's galley — And in the road and footways rally,
54 THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK.
As if for the Day of Doom ? Some, of hardly human form, Stunted, crooked, and crippled by toil ; Diiigy with smoke and dust and oil, And smirch'd besides with vicious soil, Clustering, mustering, all in a swarm. Father, motlier, and careful child, Looking as if it had never smiled — The Scm])stresa, lean, and weary, and wan, With only the ghosts of garments on — The Weaver, her sallow neighbour, The grim and sooty Artisan ; Every soul — child, woman, or man, Who lives — or dies — by labour.
Stirred by an overwhelming zeal.
And social impulse, a terrible throng !
Leaving shuttle, and needle, and wheel,
Furnace, and gi'indstonc, spindle, and reel,
Thread, and yarn, and iron, and steel —
Tea, rest and the yet untasted meal —
Gushing, rushing, crushing along,
A very torrent of IMan !
TJrged by the sighs of sorrow and wrong,
Grown at last to a hurricane strong,
Stop its course who can !
Stop who can its onward course
And irresistible moral force ;
0 ! vain and idle; dream !
For surely as men are all akin,
Whether of fair or sable skin,
According to Nature's scheme,
That IFuinan Movement contains within
A Blood- Power stronjrer than Steam.
THE WOEKHOrSE CLOCK. 55
Onward, onwai'cl, with hasty feet, They swarm — and westward still — Masses born to drink and eat, But starving amidst Whitechapel's meat, And famishing down. Coruhill ! Through the Poultry — but still unfed — Christian Charity, hang your head ! Hungiy — passing the Street of Bi-ead ; Tliirsty— the Street of Milk ; Eagged — beside the Ludgate Mart, So gorgeous, through Mechamc-Art, AVith cotton, and wool, and sdk !
At last, before that door
That beai's so many a knock
Ere ever it opens to Sick or Poor,
Like sheep they h\iddle and flock —
And would that all the Good and Wise
Could see the Million of hollow eyes,
With a gleam deri\'ed from Hope and the skies,
Upturn' d to the Workhouse Clock !
Oh ! that the Parish Powers, Who regulate Labour's hours, The daily amount of human trial, Weariness, pain, and seltMeuial, Would turn from the artificial dial That striketh ten or eleven. And go, for once, by that older one That stands in the light of Nature's smi And takes its time from Heaven !
>KtfCdi»»"i »^ <. ' '»2Jij Jte ,-^-Jimm'^t^:a-,^^-
54
THE WOHKnOrSE CLOCK.
As if for the Day of Doom ? Some, of hardly human form, Stunted, crooked, and crippled by toil ; Dingy with smoke and dust and oU, And smirch' d besides with vicious soil, Clustering, mustering, all in a swarm. Father, motlier, and careful child. Looking as if it had never smiled — The Sempstress, lean, and weary, and wan, With only the ghosts of garments on — The AYeaver, her sallow neighbovir, The grim and sooty Artisan ; Every soul — child, woman, or man, Wlio lives — or dies— by labour.
Stirred by an overwhelming zeal,
And social impulse, a terrible throng !
Leaving shuttle, and needle, and wheel.
Furnace, and grindstone, spindle, and reel,
Thread, and yarn, and iron, and steel —
Tea, rest and the yet untasted meal —
Gushiag, rushing, crushing along,
A very torrent of ]Man !
Urged by the sighs of sorrow and wrong,
GroTNTi at last to a hurricane strong,
Stop its course who can !
Stop who can its onward course
And in*esistible moral force ;
0 ! vara and idle dream !
For surely as men are all akin,
"Whether of fair or sable skin.
According to Nature's scheme,
That Human Movement contains within
A Blood- Power stronger than Steam.
THE WOEKHOUSE CLOCK. 55
Onward, onward, witli hasty feet, They swarm — and westward still — Masses born to cbmk and eat. But starving amidst Whitechapel's meat, And famishing down Cornhill ! Through the Poultry — but still unfed — Christian Charity, hang your head ! Hungry — passing the Street of Bread ; Thirsty— the Street of Milk ; Eagged — beside the Ludgate Mart, So gorgeous, through Mechanic- Art, With cotton, and wool, and silk !
At last, before that door
That bears so many a knock
Ere ever it opens to Sick or Poor,
Like sheep they huddle and flock —
And woidd that all the Good and AViae
Could see the Million of hollow eyes.
With a gleam derived from Hope and the skies,
Upturn' d to the Workhouse Clock !
Oh ! that the Parish Powers, Who regulate Labour's hours. The daily amount of human trial. Weariness, pain, and self'denial, Wordd turn from the artificial dial That striketh ten or eleven. And go, for once, by that older one That stands in the light of Natiu-e's sun And takes its time from Heaven !
THE LAT OF THE LABOUREE.
A SPADE ! a rake ! a Loe !
A pickaxe, or a bill ! A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will — And here 's a ready hand
To ply the needful tool, And skill' d enough, by lessons rough.
In Labour's rugged school.
To hedge, or dig the ditch.
To lop or fell the tree, To lay the swarth on the sultry field,
Or plough the stubborn lea ; The harvest stack to bind,
The wheaten rick to thatch, And never fear in my pouch to find
The tmder or the match.
To a flaming barn or farm
My fancies never roam ; The fire I yearn to kindle and burn
Is on the hearth of Home ; Where children huddle and ci'ouch
Through dark long winter days,
THE LAY OF THE LABOFEEE. 57
"Where starving children huddle and crouch,
To see the cheerful rays, A-glowing on the haggard cheek,
And not in the haggard's blaze !
To Him who sends a drought
To parch the fields forlorn, The rain to flood the meadows with mud.
The bhght to blast the corn, To Him I leave to guide
The bolt in its crooked path. To strike the miser's rick, and show
The skies blood-red with wTath.
A spade ! a rake ! a hoe !
A pickaxe, or a bUl ! A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flad, or what ye will — ■The corn to thrash, or the hedge to plash,
The market-team to drive. Or mend the fence by the cover side,
And leave the game alive.
Ay, only give me work.
And then you need not fear That I shall snare his worship's hare,
Or kill his grace's deer ; Break into his lordship's house,
To steal the plate so rich ; Or leave-the yeoman that had a purse
To welter in a ditch.
Wherever jS^ature needs. Wherever Labour calls,
THE LAY OP THE LABOTJBEE.
'No job I '11 sliirk of tlie hardest work, To slaun tlie workhouse walls ;
Where savage laws begrudge The pauper babe its breath,
And doom a wife to a widow's life, Before her partner's death.
Mj only claim is this,
"With labour stiif and stark, By lawful turn, my living to earn,
Between the light and dark ; My daily bread, and nightly bed,
My bacon, and drop of beer — But all from the hand that holds the land,
And none from the overseer !
Xo parish money, or loaf,
No pauper badges for me, A son of the soU, by right of toil
Entitled to my fee, No alms I ask, give me my task :
Here are the arm, the leg. The strength, the sinews of a Man,
To work, and not to beg.
Still one of Adam's heirs.
Though doom'd by chance of birth To dress so mean, and to eat the lean.
Instead of the fat of the earth ; To make such humble meals
As honest labour can, A bone and a crust, with a grace to God,
And little thanks to man !
THE LAY OF TUE LABOTTEEK. 59
A spade ! a rake ! a hoe !
A pickaxe, or a bill ! A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will — Whatever the tool to ply.
Here is a -ndlling drudge, With muscle and limb, and woe to him
Who does their pay begrudge !
Who every weekly score
Docks labour's little mite. Bestows on the poor at the temple door,
But robb'd them over night. The very shilling he hoped to save.
As health and morals fail. Shall visit me in the JNew Bastiie,
The Spital, or the Gaol !
TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATHEN^UM.
My dear Sir, — The following Ode was written anticipating the tone of some strictures on my writings, by the gentleman to whom it is addressed. I have not seen his book; but I know by hearsay that some of my verses are characterised as "profaneness and ribaldry" — citing, in proof, the description of a certain sow, from whose jaw a cabbage sprout —
Protruded, as the dove so staunch For peace supports an olive branch.
If the printed works of my Censor had not prepared me for any misapplication of types, I should have been surprised by this misapprehension of one of the commonest emblems. In some cases the dove unquestionably stands for the Divine Spirit ; but the same bird is also a lay representative of the peace of this world, and, as such, has figured time out of mind in allegorical pictures. The sense in which it was used by me is plain from the context ; at least, it would be plain to any one but a fisher for faults, predisposed to carp at some things, to dab at others, and to flounder in all. But I am possibly in error. It is the female swine, perhaps, that is profaned in the eyes of the Oriental tourist. Men find strange ways of marking their intolerance ; and the spirit is certainly strong enough, in Mr. W.'s works, to set up a creature as sacred, in sheer oppo- sition to the Mussidman, with whom she is a beast of abomina- tion. It would only be going the whole sow.
I am, dear Sir, yours very tnily,
Thos. Hood.
1837.
ODE TO EAE WILSON, ESQITIEE.
" Close, close your eyos with holy dread, And weave a circle round him thrice ; For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise ! "
Coleridge.
" It's very hard them kind of men Won't let a body be.''
Old Ballad.
A WANDEREB, Wilson, from my native land, Remote, 0 E.ae, from godliness and thee, Where rolls between us the eternal sea, Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand, — Beyond the broadest Scotcli of London Wall ; Beyond the loudest Saint that has a call ; Across the wavy waste between us stretch' d, A friendly missive warns me of a stricture, WTierein my likeness you have darkly etch'd. And tho' I have not seen the shadow sketch' d. Thus I remark prophetic on the pictm'e.
I guess the features : — ^in a line to paint Their moral ugliness, I 'm not a saint. Not one of those self-constituted saints, Quacks — not physicians — in the cure of souls, Censors who sniff out mortal taints. And call the devil over his own coals —
62 ODE TO EAE WILSON, ESQUIHE.
Those pseudo Privy Councillors of Grod,
"Who -WTite down judgments with, a pen hard-nibb'd;
Ushers of Beelzebub's Black Eod, Commending sinners, not to ice thick-ribb'd. But endless flames, to scorch them up like flax, — Tet sure of heav'n themselves, as if they'd cribb'd Th' impression of St. Peter's keys in wax !
Of such a character no single trace
Exists, I know, in my fictitious face ;
There wants a certaia cast about the eye ;
A certain hfting of the nose's tip ;
A certain curling of the nether lip,
In scorn of all that is, beneath the sky ;
In brief it is an aspect deleterious,
A face decidedly not serious,
A face profane, that would not do at all
To make a face at Exeter Hall, —
That Hall where bigots rant, and cant, and pray,
And laud each other face to face.
Till ev'ry farthing-candle ray
Conceives itself a great gas-light of grace !
"Well ! — be the graceless lineaments confest ! I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earth ;
And dote upon a jest " "Within the limits of becoming mirth ;" — No solemn sanctimonious face I pull. Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious — Nor study in my sanctum supercihous To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull. I pray for grace — ^repent each sinful act — Peruse, but underneath the rose, my Bible ; And love my neighbour, far too well, in fact,
ODE TO EAE WILSON, ESQUIBE. 63
To call and twit him with a godly tract That 's turn'd by application to a libel. My heart ferments not with the bigot's leaven, All creeds I view with toleration thorough, And have a horror of regarding heaven As anybody's rotten borough.
What else ? no part I take in party fray,
With tropes from Billingsgate's slang- whanging tartars,
I fear no Pope — and let great Ernest play
At Fox and Goose with Fox's Martyrs !
I own I laugh at over-righteous men,
I own I shake my sides at ranters,
And treat sham Abr'am saints with wicked banters,
I even own, that there are times — but then
It's when I've got my wine — I say d canters !
I 've no ambition to enact the spy
On fellow souls, a Spiritual Pry —
'Tis said that people ought to guard their noses
Who thrust them into matters none of theirs ;
And, tho' no delicacy discomposes
Your Saint, yet I consider faith and pray'rs
Amongst the privatest of men's afiairs.
I do not hash the Gospel in my books. And thus upon the public mind intrude it. As if I thought, like Otaheitan cooks. No food was fit to eat till I had chew'd it.
On Bible stilts I don't afiect to stalk ; Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talk, —
For man may pious texts repeat, And yet religion have no inward seat ;
64 ODE TO EAE "NVILSON, ESQUIEE.
'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of Howth, A man has got his belly fuU of meat Because he talks with victuals in his mouth !
Mere verbiage, — it is not vrorth a caiTot ! "Why, Socrates or Plato — where 's the odds ? — Once taught a jay to supplicate the Grods, And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot !
A mere professor, spite of all his cant, is Not a whit better than a Mantis, — An insect, of what clime I can't determine, That lifts its paws most parson-like, and thence, By simple savages — thro' sheer pretence — Is reckon' d quite a saint amongst the vermin. But where 's the reverence, or where the notts, To ride on one's religion thro' the lobby, "Whether as stalking-horse or hobby, To show its pious paces to "the House "?
I honestly confess that I would hinder The Scottish member's legislative rigs,
That spiritual Binder, AVTio looks on erring souls as straying pigs, That must be lasli'd by law, wherever found, And driv'n to chui'ch as to the parish pound. I do confess, without reserve or wheedle, I view that grovelling idea as one Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious son, A charity-boy who longs to be a beadle. On such a vital topic sure 'tis odd How much a man can difter from his neighbour : One wishes worship freely giv'n to God, Another wants to make it statute-labour —
ODE TO EAE WILSON, ESQUIKi:. Qt
The broad distinction in a line to draw, As means to lead vis to the skies above, You say — Sir Andrew and his love of law. And I — the Saviour with his law of love.
Spontaneously to God should tend the soul,
Like the magnetic needle to the Pole ;
But what were that intrinsic virtue worth,
Suppose some fellow, with more zeal than knowledge,
Fresh from St. Andrew's College, Should nail the conscious needle to the north ?
I do confess that I abhor and shrink From schemes, with a religious willy-nilly, That frown upon St. Grdes's sins, but blink The peccadilloes of all Piccadilly — My soul revolts at such bare hypocrisy. And wdl not, dare not, fancy m accord The Lord of Hosts with an Exclusive Lord
Of this world's aristocracy. It will not own a notion so miholy, As thinking that the rich by easy trips May go to heav'n, whereas the poor and lowly iMiist work their passage, as they do in ships.
One place there is — beneath the burial sod Where all mankind are equalised by death ; Another place there is — the Fane of God, Where all are equal who draw living breath ; — Juggle who will elseivhere with his own soid, Playing the Judas with a temporal dole — He who can come beneath that awful cope, In the dread presence of a Maker just, Who metes to ev'ry pinch of human dust
6Q ODE TO TvAE WILSOX, ESQUIEE.
One even measure of immortal hope — He who can stand -within that holy dooi-, With soul mibow'd by that pure spirit-level, And frame unequal laws for rich and poor, — Might sit for Hell and represent tlie Devil !
Such are the solemn sentiments, 0 Eae,
In your last Joiu-ney-work, perchance, you ravage,
Seeming, but in more courtly terms, to say
I 'm but a heedless, creedless, godless, savage;
A very Guy, deserving fire and faggots, —
A Scoffer, always on the grin, And sadly given to tlie mortal sin Of liking Ma-wTvorms less than merry maggots !
The humble records of my life to search,
1 have not herded with mere pagan beasts ;
But sometimes I have " sat at good men's feasts,"
And I have been " where beUs have kuoll'd to church."
Dear bells ! how sweet the sounds of village bells
"When on the undidating air they swim !
!Now loud as welcomes! faint, now, as farewells!
And trembling all about the breezy dells.
As flutter'd by the wuigs of Cherubim.
Meanwhile the bees are chaunting a low liymn ;
And lost to sight th' extatic lark above
Sings, like a soul beatified, of love, —
With, now and then, the coo of the wild pigeon ; —
0 Pagans, Heathens, Infidels, and Doubters !
If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religion,
Will the harsh voices of church cads and touters ?
A man may cry Church ! Church ! at ev'ry word, With no more piety than other people —
ODE TO EAE WILSOX, ESQUIRE. 67
A daw's not reckon' d a religious bird Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple. The Temple is a good, a holy place, But quacking only gives it an ill savour ; Wliile saintly mountebanks the porch disgrace, And bring religion's self into disfavour !
Behold yon servitor of God and Mammon, "Who, binding up his Bible with his Ledger,
Blends Gospel texts with trading gammon, A black-leg saint, a spiritual hedger, Who backs his rigid Sabbatli, so to speak, Against the wicked remnant of the week, A saving bet against his sinfid bias — " Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself, " I lie — I cheat — do anything for pelf, But who on earth can say I am not pious ? "
In proof how over-righteousness re-acts,
Accept an anecdote well bas'd on facts.
One Simday morning — (at the day don't fret) —
In riding with a friend to Bonder's End
Outside the stage, we happen' d to commend
A certain mansion that we saw To Let.
"Ay," cried our coachman, with our talk to grapple,
"You're right! no house along the road comes nigh
it! 'Twas built by the same man as built yon chapel,
And master wanted once to buy it, — But t'other driv the bargain much too hard —
He ax'd sure-7y a sum purdigious ! But being so particidar religious, "Why, that, you see, put master on his guard ! "
f2
68 ODE TO EA.E WILSON, ESQUIRE.
Church is " a little heav'n below,
I have been there and still would go," —
Yet I am none of those who think it odd
A man can pray unbidden from the cassock, And, passing by the customary hassock,
Kneel down remote upon the simple sod,
And sue in forma pauperis to God.
As for the rest, — intolerant to none, Whatever shape the pious rite may bear, Ev'n the poor Pagan's homage to the Sun I would not harshly scorn, lest even there I spurn'd some elements of Christian pray'r — An aim, tho' erring, at a " world ayont " — Acknowledgment of good — of man's futility, A sense of need, and Aveakness, and indeed That very thing so many Christians want —
Humility.
Such, unto Papists, Jews, or turban' d Turks, Such is my spirit — (I don't mean my wraith !) Such, may it please you, is my Inimble faith : I know, full well, j'ou do not like my works !
I have not sought, 'tis true, the Holy Land, As full of texts as Cuddie Headrigg's mother.
The Bible in one hand. And my own common-place-book in the other — But you have been to Palestine — alas ! Some minds improve by travel, others, rather,
Eesemble copper wire, or brass, "Which gets the narrower by going farther !
ODE TO EAE WILSOK, ESQUIEE. 69
Worthless are all such Pilgrimages — very ! If Palmers at the Holy Tomb contrive The human heats and rancour to revive That at the Sepulchre they ought to bury. A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on, To see a Christian creature graze at Sion, Then homeward, of the saintly pasture full, Rush bellowing, and breathing fire and smoke, At crippled Papistry to butt and poke, Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull Hunts an old woman in a scarlet cloke.
"Wliy leave a serious, moral, pious home, Scotland, renown' d for scantity of old. Par distant Catholics to rate and scold Por — doing as the Romans do at Rome ? With such a bristling spirit wherefore quit The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers, About the graceless images to flit. And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers. Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops — ? People who hold such absolute opinions Should stay at home, in Protestant dominions, Not travel like male Mrs. Trollopes.
Gifted with noble tendency to climb, Tet weak at the same time, Paitli is a kind of parasitic plant, That grasps the nearest stem with tendril-rings ; And as the climate and the soil may grant, So is the sort of tree to which it clings. Consider, then, before, like Hurlothrumbo, You aim your club at any creed on earth,
70 ODE TO EAE WILSOX, ESQUIRE.
That, by the simple accident of bii"th,
You might, have been High Priest to Mumbo Jiiinbo.
For me — ^thro' heathen ignorance perchance,
Not having knelt in Palestine, — I feel
None of that griffinish excess of zeal,
Some travellers woulc^ blaze with here in France.
DoUs I can see in Virgin-like array,
Nor for a scuffle wdth the idols hanker
Like crazy Quixotte at the puppet's play.
If their " offence be rank," should mine be rancour ?
Mild light, and by degrees, should be the plan To cure the dark and erring mind ; But who would rush at a benighted man, And give him two black eyes for being blind ?
Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop Around a canker'd stem should twine, What Kentish boor would tear away the prop So roughly as to wound, nay loll the bine ?
The images, 'tis true, are strangely dress' d, With gauds and toys extremely out of season ; The carving nothing of the very best. The whole repugnant to the eye of reason, Shocking to Taste, and to Pine Arts a treason — Tet ne'er o'erlook in bigotry of sect One truly Catholic, one common form.
At which uncheck'd All Christian hearts may kindle or keep warm.
Say, was it to my spirit's gain or loss. One bright and balmy morning, as I went
ODE TO EAE WILSOX, ESQUIUE. 71
From Liege's lovely environs to Ghent,
If hard by the wayside I found a cross,
That made me breathe a pray'r npon the spot —
While Nature of herself, as if to trace
The emblem's use, had trail' d around its base
The blue significant Forget-Me-N'ot ?
IMethought, the claims of chai^ity to urge
More forcibly, along with Faith and Hope,
The pious choice had pitch' d upon the verge
Of a delicious slope, Griving the eye much variegated scope ; — " Look round," it whisper' d, " on that prospect rare, Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue ; Enjoy the sunny world, so fresh, and fair. But" — (how the simple legend pierc'd me thro' !)
" Peiez poue les Malheueeux."
AVith sweet kind natures, as in honey'd cells,
Religion lives, and feels herself at home ;
But only on a fonnal visit dwells
Where wasps instead of bees have form'd the comb.
Shun pride, 0 Rae ! — whatever sort beside
You take in Heu, shun spiritual pride !
A pride there is of rank — a pride of birth,
A pride of learning, and a pride of purse,
A London pride — in shoi't, there be on earth
A host of prides, some better and some worse ;
But of all prides, since Lucifer's attaint,
The proudest swells a self-elected Saint.
To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard, Fancy a peacock in a poultry yard. Behold him in conceited circles sail. Strutting and dancing, and now planted stiff".
72 ODE TO BAE WILSON, ESQUIEE.
In all his pomp of pageantry, as if He felt " the eyes of Earope" on his tail ! As for the humble breed retain' d by man, He scorns the whole domestic clan- He bows, he bridles, He wheels, he sidles. At last, with stately dodgings, in a corner. He pens a simple russet hen, to scorn her Full ui the blaze of his resplendent fan !
"Look here," he cries, (to give him Avords,)
" Thou feather' d clay, — thou scum of bnds ! " Flirting the rustling plumage in her eyes, —
" Look here, thou vile predestin'd sinner,
Doom'd to be roasted for a dinner. Behold these lovely variegated dyes ! These are the rainbow colours of the skies. That heav'n has shed upon me con amore — A Bird of Paradise ? — a pretty story ! I am that Saintly Fowl, thou paltry chick !
Look at my cro\Mi of glory ! Thou dingy, dirty, dabbled, draggled jill !" And off goes Partlet, wriggling from a kick, "With bleeding scalp laid open by his bill !
That little simile exactly paints How sinners are despis'd by saints. By saints ! — the Hypocrites that ope heaven's door Obsequious to the sinful man of riches — But put the wicked, naked, barelegg'd poor. In parish stocks instead of breeches.
The Saints ! — the Bigots that in public spout. Spread phosphorus of zeal on scraps of fustian.
ODE TO EAE WILSOIf, ESQUIEE. 73
And go like walking " Lucifers" about Mere living bundles of combustion.
The Saints ! — the aping Fanatics that talk All cant and rant and rhapsodies highfiown —
That bid you baulk
A Sunday walk, And shun God's work as you should shun your own.
The Saints ! — the Pormalists, the extra pious, Who think the mortal husk can save the soul. By trundling, with a mere mechanic bias. To church, just like a lignum-vitae bowl !
The Saints ! the Pharisees, whose beadle stands
Beside a stern coercive kirk,
A piece of human mason- work, Calling all sermons contrabands, In that great Temple that 's not made with liands !
Thrice blessed, rather, is the man with whom The gracious prodigality of nature. The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom, The bounteous providence in ev'ry feature, Eecall the good Creator to his creature. Making all earth a fane, all heav'n its dome ! To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
E-ing Sabbath kneUs ; The jubilate of the soaring lark
Is chaunt of clerk ; For Choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; The sod 's a cushion for his pious want ; And, consecrated by the heaven within it The sky-blue pool, a font.
74 ODE TO BAE AVILSOX, ESQUIEE.
Eaeli cloud-capp'd mountain is a lioly altar ;
An organ breathes in every grove ;
And the full heart 's a Psalter, Eich in deep hymns of gratitude and love !
Sufficiently by stem necessitarians
Poor Nature, vrith her face begrimed by dust,
Is stoked, coked, smoked, and almost choked ; but must
Religion have its own Utilitarians,
Labell'd with evangelical phylacteries,
To make the road to heaven a railway trust.
And churches — that's the naked fact — mere factories?
Oh ! simply open wide the Temple door. And let tlie solemn, swelling, organ greet.
With Vohintaries meet, The wilUnrj advent of the rich and poor ! And while to God the loud Hosannas soar, "With rich vibrations from the vocal throng — Prom quiet shades that to the woods belong,
And brooks with music of their own. Voices may come to swell the choral song "With notes of praise they learn' d in musings lone.
How strange it is while on all vital questions, That occupy the House and public mind, We always meet with some humane suggestions Of gentle measures of a healing kind. Instead of harsh severity and vigour. The Saint alone his preference retains
Por bills of penalties and pains, And marks his narrow code with legal rigour ! Wliy shun, as worthless of aflBliation, What men of all political persuasion
OBE TO EAE WILSON, ESQUTRE. 75
Extol — and even use upon occasion — That Christian principle, conciliation ? But possibly the men who make such fuss With Simday pippins and old Trots infirm, Attach some other meaning to tlie term, As thus :
One market morning, in my usual rambles, Passing along Whitechapel's ancient shambles. Where meat was hung in many a joint and quarter, I had to halt awhile, like other folks.
To let a killing butcher coai A score of lambs and fatted sheep to slaughter. A sturdy man he look'd to fell an ox, Bidl-fronted, ruddy, with a formal streak Of weU-greased hair down either cheek. As if he dee-dash-dee' d some other flocks Besides those wooUy-headed stubborn blocks That stood before him, in vexatious huddle — Poor little lambs, with bleating wethers group'd, "M^niile, now and then, a thirsty creature stoop'd And meekly snuft''d, but did not taste the puddle.
Fierce bark'd the dog, and many a blow was dealt, That loin, and chump, and scrag and saddle felt. Yet still, that fatal step they all declined it, — And shimn'd the tainted door as if they smelt Onions, mint sauce, and lemon juice behind it. At last there came a pause of brutal force,
The cur was silent, for his jaws were full
Of tangled locks of tarry wool, The man had whoop'd and bellow'd till dead
hoarse. The time was ripe for mild expostulation,
m
5 ODE TO RAE WILSOX, ESQUIRE.
Ad thus it stammer' d from a stander-by — "ouiids! — my good fellow, — it quite makes me —
why I really — my dear fellow — do just try Conciliation!"
Stringing his nerves like flint, Ti sturdy butcher seized upon the hint, — \ least he seized upon the foremost wether, — A i hugg'd and lugg'd and tugg'd him neck and crop .1 it nolens volens thro' the open shop — 1 fiils come ofi* he did'nt care a feather, — Tin walking to the door, and smiling grim, Urubb'd his forehead and his sleeve together —
" There ! — 1 've co«cdiated him ! "
A tin — good-humoiu-edly to end our quarrel — (Good humour shoidd prevail !) I '11 fit you with a tale "Whereto is tied a moral.
OiB on a time a certain English lass
Wi seized with symptoms of such deep decline,
' '■••h. hectic flushes, cv'ry e^■il sign,
as their wont is at such desperate pass, 1 li doctors gave her over — to an ass.
Aiordingly, the grisly Shade to bilk,
11.11 mom the patient quaft^'d a frothy bowl )f asinine new mdk, nii;j a shagg}' suckling of a foal li got proportionably spare anJ^Bi iv-
^liiwhile the neighbours cried "^^H Y A
Shcan't get over it ! she never
n
ODE TO EXK WILSOX, T.sqv U.
"VMicn lo! to pn)vr oa<h ; r-.phet wa- The one that d.- l •^ - ': i""'r weti.
To afrcraNiii'- i: < -»- . There wcrt' Imt two itimwu donkev* in the i>i And most ui: The other h>i . Who never in his lile : '
Of milk, or even < • r.
No matter: at the umi;i1 ]\"nr of. i:,'hl
Down tr
With M
"Tour sanant. Mi.'*>. .1 v
Bad time for lia»*s4.-» thu' '. ^ —
Jenny be dead, Miaa,— but Vie broi.
He doesn't give no milk — but he can i...i>
So runs the stor^'. And, in vain »4.h'-gl'»r} , Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for ness — But what the better are their pious saw To ailini; ^•<\iU, than dry het^-haws, Without the nulk of human kindness ?
!''l
*m
76 ODE TO EAE WILSOJ^^, ESQUIRE.
And thus it stammer' d from a stander-by —
" Zounds ! — my good fellow, — it quite makes me —
why It really — my dear feUow — do just try Conciliation!"
Stringing his nerves like flint, The sturdy butcher seized upon the hint, — At least he seized upon the foremost wether, — And hugg'd and lugg'd and tugg'd him neck and crop Just nolens volens thro' the open shop — If tails come oft' he did'nt care a feather, — Then walking to the door, and smiling grim. He rubb'd his forehead and his sleeve together —
" There ! — 1 've conciliated him ! "
Again — good-humoiu'cdly to end our quarrel — (Good humour should prevail !) I 'U fit you with a tale "Whereto is tied a moral.
Once on a time a certain English lass
Was seized with symptoms of such deep decUne,
Cough, hectic flushes, ev'ry e^■il sign.
That, as their wont is at such desperate pass.
The doctors gave her over — to an ass.
Accordingly, the grisly Shade to bUk, Each morn the patient quaff"' d a frothy bowl
Of asinine new milk, Eobbing a shagg}' suckling of a foal Wliich got proportionably spare and skinny — Meanwhile the neighbours cried " poor Mary Ann I She can't get over it ! she never can ! "
ODE TO HAE TVILSOT^T, ESQUEEE. 7?
"When lo ! to prove each prophet was a ninny The one that died was the poor wetnurse Jenny.
To aggi'avate the case, There were but two grown donkeys in the place ; And most unluckily for Eve's sick daughter, The other long-ear' d creature was a male. Who never in his life had given a pail
Of milk, or even chalk and water, No matter : at the usual hovir of eight Down trots a donkey to the wicket-gate, AVith Mister Simon Gubbins on his back, — " Tour sarvant, Miss, — a werry spring-like day, — Bad time for hasses tho' ! good lack ! good lack ! Jenny be dead. Miss, — but I'ze brought ye Jack, He doesn't give no milk — but he can bray."
So rims the story, And, in vain self-glory. Some Saints would sneer at Grubbins for his blind- ness— But what the better are their pious saws To ailing soids, than dry hee-haws, "Without the milk of hiunan kindness ?
THE TWO SWANS.
A FAIUY TALE.
iMiiOETATy Imogen, crown'd queen above The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear A fairy dream in lionour of true love — True above ills, and frailty, and aU fear — Perchance a shadow of his own career WTiose youth was darkly prison'd and long twined By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near. And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.
I saw a tower builded on a lake, Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep — That seem'd a still intenser night to make, Wlierein the quiet waters sunk to sleep, — And, whatsoe'er was prison'd in that keep, A monstrous Snake was warden: — round and round In sable ringlets I beheld him creep Blackest amid black shadows to the ground. Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowii'd.
THE TWO SWAIN'S. 79
From wlience he shot fierce light against the stars, Making the pale moon paler with affright ; And with his ruby eye out-threaten' d Mars — That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright — Nor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite Watch' d their wan looks and tremblings in the skies ; And that he might not slumber in the night, The curtain-lids were pluck 'd from liis large eyes, So he might never di'owse, but watch his secret prize.
Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate. Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent. Watching the lonely waters soon and late. And clouds that pass and leave them to their fat(\ Or company their grief with heavy tears : — Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears They weep and pine away as if immortal years.
No gentle bird with gold upon its wing Will perch upon the grate— the gentle bird Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring Freedom's sweet key-note and commission word Learn' d of a foiry's lips, for pity stirr'd — Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest ! Watch'd by that cruel Snake and darkly heard. He leave a widow on her lonely nest. To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.
80 THE TWO SWANS.
No gallant kniglit, adventurous, in his bark, "Will seek the fruitful perils of the place. To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark That bear that serpent-image on their face. And Love, brave Love ! though he attempt the base. Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win His captive lady ii'om the strict embrace Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within His sable folds — like Eve enthrall' d by the old Sin.
But there is none — no knight in panoply. Nor Love, intrench'd iu his stroug steely coat : No little speck — no sail — no helper nigh, No sign — no whispering — no plash of boat : — The distant shores show dimly and remote, Made of a deeper mist, — serene and grey, — And slow and mute the cloudy sliadows Hoat Over the gloomy wave, and pass away. Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.
And bright and silvery the willows sleep Over the shady verge — no mad winds tease Their hoary heads ; but quietly they weep [trees : There sprinkling leaves — lialf fountains and half There lilies be — and iairer than all these, A solitary Swan her breast of snow Launches against the wave that seems to freeze Into a chaste reflection, stdl below Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go.
THE TWO SWANS. 81
And forth she paddles in the very noon Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing, Charm'd into being by the argent moon — Whose silver light for love of her fair wing Groes with her in the shade, still Avorshipping Her dainty plumage : — aU around her grew A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring ; And all behind, a tiny little clue Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.
And sure she is no meaner than a fay, Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, By old ordainment : — silent as she lay, Touch'd by a moonhght wand I saw her wake. And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake The verdant prison of her hly peers. That slept amidst the stars upon the lake — A breathing shape — restored to human fears, And new-born love and grief — self-conscious of her tears.
XI.
And now she clasps her wiugs around her heart, And near that lonely isle begins to glide Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start Turns her impatient head from side to side In universal terrors — all too wide To watch ; and often to that marble keep Uptiirns her pearly eyes, as if she spied Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.
82 THE TWO SWA>'S.
And well she may, to spy that fearful thing All down the dusky walls in circlets wound ; Alas ! for what rare prize, with many a ring Girding the marble casket round and round ? His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound. Terribly darkeneth the rocky base ; But on the top his monstrous head is crown' d With prickly spears, and on his doubtfid face Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.
Alas ! of the hot fires that nightly fall. No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, So he may never see beneath the wall That timid little creature, aU too bright, That stretches her fair neck, slender and white. Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries Her tlirobbing throat, as if to charm the night With song — but, hush — it perishes ia sighs. And there will be no dirge sad-swelling though she dies !
She droops — she sioks— she leans upon the lake. Fainting again into a lifeless flower ; But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake Her spirit from its death, and with new power She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower Of tender song, timed to her falling tears — That wins the shady summit of that tower. And, trembling aU the sweeter for its fears. Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's ears.
THE TWO SWANS. 83
And, lo ! the scaly beast is all deprest, Subdued like Argus by the might of sound — What time ApoUo his sweet lute addrest To magic converse with the air, and bound The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown' d : — So on the turret-top that watchful Snake PiUows his giant head, and lists profound. As if his wi'athful spite would never wake, Charm'd into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake !
His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies, To drink that dainty flood of music down — His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs — And whilst his hoUow ear entranced Hes, His looks for envy of the charmed sense Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes, Stung into pain by their own impotence, Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.
Oh, tuneful Swan ! oh, melancholy bird ! Sweet was that midnight miracle of song, Eich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong — Hinting a piteous tale — perchance how long Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake, What time disguised thy leafy mates among — And no eye knew what human love and ache Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.
g2
84 THE TWO SWANS.
Therefore no poet will ungently touch The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew Trembles like tears ; but ever hold it such As human pain may wander through and through, Turning the pale loaf paler in its hue — AVTierein life dwells, transfigured, not entomb' d, By magic spells. Alas ! who ever knew Sorrow in aU its shapes, leafy and plumed. Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed ?
And now the winged song has scaled the height Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair. And soon a little casement flashing bright Widens self-opcn'd into the cool air — That music like a bird may enter there And soothe the captive in liis stony cage ; For there is nought of grief, or painful care, But plaintive song may happily engage From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.
And forth into the light, small and remote, A creature, like the fair son of a king, Draws to the lattice in his jeweU'd coat Against the silver moonlight glistening. And leans upon his white hand listening To that sweet music that with tenderer tone Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan, Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone !
THE TWO SWAJfS. 85
And while he listens, the mysterious song, Woven with timid particles of speech, Twines into passionate words that grieve along The melancholy notes, and softly teach The secrets of true love, — that trembhng reach His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun He missions Hke replies, and each to each Their silver voices mingle into one, Like blended streams that make one music as they run.
" Ah ! Love, my hope is swooning in my heart, — Ay, sweet, my cage is strong and hung full high — Alas ! our lips are held so far apart. Thy words come faint, they have so far to fly ! — If I may only shun that serpent-eye, — Ah me ! that serpent-eye doth never sleep ; — Then, nearer thee, Love's martyr, I wiU die ! — Alas, alas ! that word has made me weep ! Por pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep !
My marble keep ! it is my marble tomb —
!N'ay, sweet ! but thou hast there thy living breath — Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom ; — But I win come to thee and sing beneath, And nightly so beguile this serpent vrreath ; — Nay, I will find a path from these despairs. Ah, needs then thou must tread the back of death, Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs. — Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares ! "
''«SSp>
i :'f
sgsa
fill
■yi^jtm vm i
M«r
But Qixie TV BsrUe Before k» Loni; is tJbe
But Lore, tittt kMi tke Braces his spirit, sad vidi He wins fais vsj. sod nov, vitii Impatient phuures from the last lao^ ead : Sri may all gentk Lore unfentie Mabee foil
dri
THE TWO SWANS.
The song is husli'd, the charm is all complete, And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake : But scarce their tender bills Lave time to meet, When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake — His steely scales a fearful rustling make, Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell The sable storm ; — the plumy lovers quake — And feel the troubled waters pant and swell. Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.
His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, Hiss horrible pursuit — his red eyes glare The waters into blood — his eager breath Grows hot upon their plumes : — now, minstrel fair ! She drops her ring into the waves, and there It widens all around, a fairy ring Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.
Bending their course over the pale grey lake, Against the pallid East, wherein light play'd In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake Circled them round continually, and bay'd Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade The sanctuary ring — his sable mail Eoll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made A shining track over the waters pale, Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail.
36 THE TWO SWANS.
Full sudden at these words, the princely youth Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, stiU Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth, But numb'd to dulness by the fairy skUl Of tliat sweet music (aU more wild and shrill For intense fear) that charm' d him as he lay — MeanwhUe the lover nerves his desperate will, Held some short throbs by natui'al dismay, Then down, down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.
XXV.
Now dimly seen — now toding out of sight, Eclipsed and cover'd by the envious wall ; Now fair and spangled in the sudden light, And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall ; Now dark and shelter' d by a kindly paU Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe ; Slowly he winds adown — dimly and small, Watch' d by the gentle Swan that sings below, Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.
But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace The marble walls about — which he must tread Before his anxious foot may touch the base : Long is the dreary path, and must be sped ! But Love, that holds the mastery of dread. Braces his spirit, and with constant toil He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread, Impatient plunges from the last long coil : So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil.
THE TWO SWANS.
The soug is husli'd, the charm is all complete, And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake : But scarce their tender bills have time to meet, When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake — His steely scales a fearful rustling make. Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell The sable storm ; — the plumy lovers quake — And feel the troubled waters pant and sweU, Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.
His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, Hiss horrible pui'suit — his red eyes glare The waters into blood — his eager breath Grows hot upon their plumes : — now, minstrel fair ! She drops her ring into the waves, and there It widens all around, a fairy ring Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.
Bending their course over the pale grey lake, Against the paUid East, wherein light play'd In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake Circled them round continually, and bay'd Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade The sanctuary ring — his sable mail Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made A shining track over the waters pale, Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail.
38 THE TWO SWAJ^S.
And so they sail'd into the distance dim, Into the very distance — small and white, Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim Over the brooklets — follow' d by the spite Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright "Worried them on their course, and sore annoy, Tin on the grassy marge I saw them 'light, And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy, Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy !
Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers The Oriental sun began to rise. Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies ; Wherewith that sable Serpent far away Fled, like a part of night — delicious sighs From wakiiig blossoms poi-ified the day, And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.
ODE
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY.*
Ah me ! those old familiar bounds ! That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls ! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls !
Ay, that' s the very house ! I know Its ugly windows, ten a-row !
Its chimneys in the rear ! And there 's the iron rod so high, That drew the thunder from the sky
And turn'd our table-beer !
There I was birch' d ! there I was bred ! There Kke a little Adam fed
Prom Learning's woeful tree ! The weary tasks I used to con ! — The hopeless leaves I wept upon !—
Most fruitless leaves to me ! —
* No connexion with any other Ode.
.00 ODE ON A DISTANT PEOSPECT
The summon' d class ! — the awful bow ! — - I wonder wbo is master now
And wholesome angmsh sheds ! How many ushers now employs, How many maids to see the boys
Have nothing in their heads !
And IMrs. S * * * ?— Doth she abet (Like Pallas in the parlour) yet
Some favour' d two or three, — The little Crichtons of the hour, Her muffin-medals that devour,
And swill her prize — bohea ?
Ay, there 's the playground ! there 's the lime, Beneath whose shade in summer's prime
So wildly I have read ! — Wlio sits there now, and skims the cream Of young Eomance, and weaves a dream
Of Love and Cottage-bread ?
Who struts the Eandall of the walk ? Who models tiny heads in chalk ?
Who scoops the light canoe ? What early genius buds apace ? "WHiere 's Pojoiter ? Harris ? Bowers ? Chase ?
Hal Baylis ? blithe Carew ?
Alack ! they 're gone — a thousand ways ! And some are serving in "the Grreys,"
And some have perish'd young ! — Jack Harris weds his second wife ; Hal Baylis drives the wane of life ;
And blithe Carew — is hung !
or CLAPHAM ACADEMY. 91
Grave Bowers teaches ABC To savages at Owhyee ;
Poor Chase is with the worms ! — AH, all are gone — the olden breed ! — New crops of mushroom boys succeed,
" And push us from our forms ! "
Lo ! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip, and mob about.
At play where we have play'd ! Some hop, some rvm, (some fall), some twine Tlieir crony arms ; some in the shine.
And some are in the shade !
Lo there what mix'd conditions run ! The orphan lad ; the widow's son ;
And Fortune's favour' d care — The wealthy born, for whom she hath Mac-Adamised the future path —
The Nabob's pamper' d heir!
Some brightly starr'd — some evil born, — For honour some, and some for scorn, —
For fair or foul renown ! Grood, bad, indiff'rent — none may lack ! Look, here 's a Wliite, and there 's a Black!
And there 's a Creole brown !
Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, And wish their frugal sires wovdd keep
Theii' only sons at home ; — Some tease the future tense, and plan The full-grown doings of the man,
And pant for years to come !
92 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT
A foolish ^visli ! There 's one at hoop ; And four mi Jives ! and five who stoop
The marble taw to speed ! And one that ciu'vets in and out, Seining his fellow Cob about, —
Would I were in his steed !
Yet he would gladly halt and di'op That boyish harness off, to swop
With this world's heavy van — To tod, to tug. 0 little fool ! While thou canst be a horse at school
To wish to be a man !
Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing To wear a crown, — to be a king !
And sleep on regal down ! Alas ! thou know'st not kingly cares ; Far happier is thy head that wears
That hat without a crown !
And dost thou think that years acquire New added joys ? Dost think thy sire
More happy than his son ? That manhood 's mirth F — Oh, go thy ways To Drury-lane when P^ays,
And see how forced our fun !
Thy taws are brave ! — thy tops are rare ! — Our tops are spun with coils of care,
Our dumps are no delight ! — The Elgin marbles are but tame, And 'tis at best a sorry game
To fly the Muse's kite!
or CLAPHAM ACADEMY. 93
Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, Our topmost joys fall dull and dead
Like balls with no rebound ! And often with a faded eye We look behind, and send a sigh
Towards that merry ground !
Then be contented. Thou hast got The most of heaven in thy young lot ;
There 's sky-blue in thy cup I Thou 'It find thy Manhood aU too fast — Soon come, soon gone ! and Age at last
A sorry hreaking up !
MISS KILMANSEGG AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG.
A GOLDEN LEGEND,
" What is here? Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold ? "
TiMoN OF Athens.
To trace tlie Kilniaiisegg pedigree, To the very roots of the family tree,
Were a task as rash as ridiculous : Through autediluviau mists as thick As London fog such a line to pick Were enough, in truth, to puzzle Old Nick,
Not to name Sir Harris Nioholas.
It would 'nt require much verbal strain To trace the Kill-man, perchance, to Cain ;
But waving all such digressions. Suffice it, according to family lore, A Patriarch Kilmansegg lived of yore,
Who was famed for his great possessions.
Tradition said he feather' d his nest Through an Agricultural Interest In the Golden Age of Farming ;
MISS KILMANSEaa AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 95
When golden eggs were laid by the geese, And Colchian sheep wore a golden fleece, And golden pippins — the sterUng kind Of Hesperus — now so hard to find — Made Horticulture quite charming !
A Lord of Land, on his own estate, He Hved at a very lively rate,
But his income would bear carousing ; Such acres he had of pasture and heath. With herbage so rich from the ore beneath, The very ewe's and lambkin's teeth
Were turn'd into gold by browsing.
He gave, without any extra thrift, A flock of sheep for a birthday gift
To each son of his loins, or daughter : And his debts — if debts he had — at will He liquidated by giving each bill
A dip in Pactolian water.
'Twas said that even his pigs of lead. By crossing with some by Midas bred.
Made a perfect mine of his piggery. And as for cattle, one yearling bull Was worth all Smithfield-market full
Of the Grolden Bulls of Pope Gregory.
The high-bred horses within his stud, Like human creatures of bu'th and blood,
Had their Golden Cups and flagons : And as for the common husbandry nags, Their noses were tied in money-bags.
When they stopp'd with the carts and wagons.
96 MISS KILMANSEGG
Moreover, he had a Grolden Ass, Sometimes at stall, and sometimes at grass,
That was worth his own weight in money — « And a golden hive, on a Golden Bank, Where golden bees, by alchemical prank,
Gather' d gold instead of honey.
Gold ! and gold ! and gold without end ! He had gold to lay by, and gold to spend, Gold to give, and gold to lend,
And reversions of gold infuturo. In wealth the family reveU'd and roll'd. Himself and wife and sons so bold ; — And his daughters sang to their harps of gold
" 0 bella eta del' oro ! "
Such was the tale of the Kilmansegg Kin,
In golden text on a veUum skin,
Though certain people would wink and grin,
And declare the whole storj^ a parable — That the Ancestor rich was one Jacob Ghrimes, Who held a long lease, in prosperous times.
Of acres, pasture and arable.
That as money makes money, his golden bees Were the Five per Cents., or which you please,
Wlien his cash was more than plenty — That the golden cups were racing affairs ; And his daughters, who sang ItaUan airs.
Had their golden harps of Clementi.
That the Golden Ass, or Golden Bull, Was English John, with his pockets full. Then at war by land and water :
AXD HER PEECIOtlS LEG. 97
"Wliile beef, and mutton, and other meat, "Were almost as dear as money to eat, And Farmers reaped Golden Harvests of wheat At the Lord knows what per quarter !
Wliat different dooms our birthdays bring ! For instance, one little manikin thing
Survives to wear many a wrinlde ; "While Death forbids another to wake, And a son that it took nine moons to make
Expires vrithout even a twinkle !
Into this world we come like ships,
Launch' d from the docks, and stocks, and slips,
For fortune fair or fatal ; And one little craft is cast away In its very first trip in Babbicome Bay,
"WhUe another rides safe at Port Natal.
Wliat different lots our stars accord !
This babe to be haU'd and woo'd as a Lord!
And that to be shunn'd like a leper ! One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, Another, like Colchester native, bom
To its vinegar, only, and pepper.
One is htter'd under a roof Js^either wind nor water proof, —
That 's the prose of Love in. a Cottage, —
98 MISS KlLMANSEaa
A puny, naked, shivering wretch, Tlie whole of whose birthright would not fetch, Though Hobius himself drew up the sketch, The bid of " a mess of pottage."
Born of Fortunatus's kin. Another comes tenderly usher' d in.
To a prospect all bright and burnish'd : No tenant he for life's back slums — He comes to the world as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnish' d.
And the other sex — the tender — the fair — What wide reverses of fate are there ! Whilst Margaret, charm' d by the Bulbvd rare,
In a garden of Gul reposes — Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street, Till — think of that, who find life so sweet ! —
She hates the smell of roses !
Not so with the iniimt Kiknansegg ! She was not bom to steal or beg.
Or gather cresses in ditches ; To plait the straw, or bind the shoe. Or sit all day to hem and sew. As females must, and not a few —
To fill their insides with stitches !
She was not doom'd, for bread to eat.
To be put to her hands as well as her feet —
To carry home liuen from mangles — Or heavy-hearted, and weary-limb 'd, To dance on a rope in a jacket trimm'd
With as many blows as spangles.
AND HER PEECIOUS LEG. 99
She was one of those who by Fortune's boon Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon
In her mouth, not a wooden ladle : To speak according to poet's wont, Plutus as sponsor stood at her font,
And Midas rock'd the cradle.
At her first dehut she found her head On a pillow of down, in a downy bed,
With a damask canopy over. Por although by the vulgar popular saw All mothers are said to be " in the straw,"
Some children are born in clover.
Her very first draught of vital air It was not the common chamelion fare Of plebeian lungs and noses, — No — her earliest sniff Of this world was a whiff" Of the genuine Otto of Eoses !
When she saw the light — it was no mere ray Of that light so common — so everyday —
That the sun each morning launches — But six wax tapers dazzled her eyes, From a thing — a gooseberry bush for size —
With a golden stem and branches.
She was born exactly at half-past two, As witness' d a time-piece in or-molu
That stood on a marble table — Showing at once the time of day. And a team of Gildings running away
As fast as they were able,
u2
100 MISS KILllAXSEGa
With a golden God, with a golden Star, And a golden Spear, in a golden Car, According to Grrecian fable.
Like other babes, at her birth she cried ; Which made a sensation far and wide,
Ay, for twenty miles around her ; Por though to the ear 'twas nothing more Than an infant's squaU, it was really the roar Of a Fifty-thousand Pounder I It shook the next heir In his library chaii". And made him cry, " Confound her !"
Of signs and omens there was no dearth, Any more than at Owen Glendower's birth, Or the advent of otlier great people : Two bullocks cbopp'd dead, As if knock' d on the head. And barrels of stout And ale ran about, And the viUagc-beUs such a peal rang out, That they crack' d the viUage-steeple.
In no tiaie at all, like mushroom spawn, Tables sprang up all over the lawn ; Not furuish'd scantly or shabbdy. But on scale as vast As that huge repast. With its loads and cargoes Of diink and botargoes. At the Birth of the Babe in Rabelais.
Hundreds of men were turn'd into beasts.
AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 101
Like tlie guests at Circe's horrible feasts,
By the magic of ale and cider : And each country lass, and each country lad, Began to caper and dance Like mad. And even some old ones appear' d to have had
A bite from the Naples Spider.
Then as night came on,
It had scared King John, Who considered such signs not risible,
To have seen the maroons,
And the whirling moons,
And the serpents of flame,
And wheels of the same, That according to some were "whizzable."
Oh, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs ! Thrice happy in head, and body, and legs
That her parents had such full pockets ! For had she been born of Want and Tlu"ift, For care and niirsing all adrift. It's ten to one she had had to make shift
With rickets instead of rockets !
And how was the precious Baby drest ? In a robe of the East, with lace of. the West, Like one of Croesus's issue — *• Her best bibs were made Of rich gold brocade. And the others of silver tissue.
And when the Baby inclined to nap She was lull'd on a Grros de Naples lap. By a nurse in a modish Paris cap.
nNIVERPTrrv nv r.ATJFORNIA SANTA BARBARA
102 MISS KILMAIfSEGG
Of notions so exalted, She drank nothing lower than Cura^oa, Maraschino, or pink Noyau,
And on principle never malted.
From a golden boat, with a golden spoon, The babe was feJ night, morning, and noon ;
And altho' the tale seems fabulous, 'Tis said her tops and bottoms were gilt, Like the oats in that Stable-yard Palace built
For the horse of Heliogabalus.
And when she took to squall and kick — For paia wiU wring and piiis will prick
E'en the wealthiest nabob's daughter — They gave her no vulgar Dalby or gin, But a liquor with leaf of gold therein,
Videlicet, — Dantzic AVater.
In short, she was bom, and bred, and nurst. And drest in the best from the very first,
To please the genteelest censor — And then, as soon as strength would allow, "Was vaccinated, as babes are now, "With virus ta'en from the best-bred cow
Of Lord Althorpe's — now Earl Spencer. %
AND HEB PRECIOUS LEG. 103
Thougli Shakspeare asks us, " WTiat 's in a name?" (As if cognomens were mucli the same),
There 's really a very great scope in it. A name ? — why, wasn't there Doctor Dodd, That servant at once of Mammon and God, Who found four thousand poimds and odd,
A prison — a cart — and a rope in it ?
A name ? — if the party had a voice, "What mortal would be a Bugg by choice ? As a Hogg, a Grrubb, or a Chubb rejoice ?
Or any such nauseous blazon ? Not to mention many a vulgar name, That would make a doorplate blush for shame.
If doorplates were not so brazen !
A name ? — it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth —
As dames of a certain degree know. In spite of his Page's hat and hose. His Page's jacket, and buttons in rows, Bob only sounds like a page of prose
Till turn'd into Rupertino.
Now to christen the infant Kilmansegg, For days and days it was quite a plague.
To hunt the list in the Lexicon : And scores were tried, like coin, by the ring. Ere names were found just the proper thing
Por a minor rich as a Mexican.
104 MISS KILMANSEGG
Then cards were sent, the presence to beg Of all the kin of Kilniansegg,
White, yellow, and brown relations : Brothers, "Wardens of City Halls, And Uncles — rich as three Golden Balls
From taking pledges of nations.
Nephews, whom Fortune seem'd to bewitch,
Bising in life like rockets — Nieces whose dowei'ies knew no hitch — Aunts as certain of dying rich
As candles in golden sockets — Cousins Grerman, and Cousin's sons, AH thriving and opulent — some had tons
Of Kentish hops in their pockets !
For money had stuck to the race through life (As it did to the bushel when cash so rife Posed All Baba's brother's wife) —
And down to the Cousins and Coz-lings, The fortunate brood of the Kilmanseggs, As if they had come out of golden eggs,
Were all as wealthy as " Goslings."
It would fill a Court Gazette to name What East and West End people came
To the rite of Christianity : The lofty Lord, and the titled Dame,
All di'mouds, plumes, and urbanity : < His Lordship the May'r with his golden chain, And two Gold Sticks, and the Sheriffs twain, Nine foreign Counts, and other great men With their orders and. stars, to help M or N
To renounce all pomp and vanity.
AISTD HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 105
To paint the maternal Kilmausegg The pen of an Eastern Poet woiild beg,
And need an elaborate sonnet ; How she sparkled with gems whenever she stirr'd, And her head niddle-noddled at every word, And seem'd so happy, a Paradise Bird
Had nidificated upon it.
And Sir Jacob the Father strutted and bow'd, And smiled to himself, and laugh' d aloud.
To think of his heiress and daughter — And then in his pockets he made a grope, And then, in the fulness of joy and hope, Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.
He had roU'd in money like pigs in mud, Tin it seem'd to have enter' d into his blood
By some occult projection : And his cheeks, instead of a healthy hue. As yellow as any guinea grew. Making the common phrase seem true
About a rich complexion.
And now came the nurse, and during a pause, Her dead-leaf satin would fitly cause
A very autumnal rustle — So full of figure, so full of fuss. As she carried about the babe to buss.
She seem'd to be nothing but bustle.
A wealthy Nabob was Grodpapa, And an Indian Begum was Grodmamma, Whose jewels a Queen might covet —
104 MISS EILMAXSEGa
Then cards -were sent, the presencej Of all the kin of Kilmansegg,
White, yellow, and brown Brothers, Wardens of City And Uncles — rich as thre
From taking pledges^
Xephews, whom Fc
Rising in life Nieces whose dcy Aiints as certain^
As candles inj Cousins Gcrmai! All thri\"iug aii
Of Ken1i:.li
For mont'v liai- (As it did toj Posed Ali Bi
And Aowi The fortune As if they
Were all
It would fiUI What East
To the rit The lofty Lc
All di'moi His Lordshij And two GoU Nine foreign With their ore
To renounce!
107
iji;
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HeMiiit z Mikii(ia
ABdMvatwibv
sofoii«ri«M,«k
Sbe mb'4Id
106 MISS KILMANSEGG
And the Priest was a Vicar, and Dean witlial Of tliat Temple we see ■with a Grolden Ball, And a Golden Cross above it.
The Font was a bowl of American gold, Won by Ealeigh in days of old,
In spite of Spanish bravado ; And the Book of Pray'r was so oveiTun With gUt devices, it shone in the sun Like a copy — a presentation one —
Of Humboldt's "El Dorado."
Gold ! and gold ! and nothing but gold ! The same auriferous shine behold
AVherever the eye could settle ! On tlie walls — the sideboard — the ccihng-sky — On the gorgeous footmen standing by, In coats to delight a miner's eye
With seams of the precious metal.
Gold ! and gold ! and besides the gold, The very robe of the infant told A tale of wealth in every fold,
It lapp'd her like a vapour ! So fine ! so thin ! the mind at a loss Could compare it to nothing except a cross
Of cobweb with bank-note paper.
Then her pearls — 'twas a perfect sight, forsooth, To see them, like "the dew of her youth,"
In such a plentiful sprinkle. Meanwhile, the Vicar read through the form, And gave her another, not overwarm,
That made her little eyes twinkle.
AKD HEB PEECIOUS LEG, 107
Then tlie babe was cross'd and bless'd amain ; But instead of the Kate, or Ann, or Jane,
Wbicb the humbler female endorses — Instead of one name, as some people prefix, Kilmansegg went at the tails of six,
Like a carriage of state with its horses.
Oh, then the kisses she got and hugs ! The golden mugs and the golden jugs
That lent fi'esh rays to the midges ! The golden knives, and the golden spoons, The gems that sparkled like fairy boons. It was one of the Kihnansegg's owti saloons,
But look'd like EundeU and Bridge's !
Gold ! and gold ! the new and the old ! The company ate and di'ank from gold,
They reveU'd, they sang, and were merry ; And one of the Gold Sticks rose from his chair. And toasted "the Lass with the golden hair"
In a bumper of golden Sherry.
Gold ! still gold ! it rain'd on the nurse, Who, urdike Danae, was none the worse ; There was nothing but guineas glistening ! Fifty were given to Doctor James, Tor caUing the little Baby names, And for saying. Amen ! The Clerk had ten, And that was the end of the Christening.
108 MISS KILMANSEGG
igcr CIjtRfljooir.
Our youth ! our childliood ! that spring of springs ! 'Tis svu'ely one of the blessedest things
That nature ever invented ! When the rich are wealthy beyond their wealth, And the poor are rich in spirits and health,
And all with their lots contented !
Thei*e 's little Phelim, he sings like a thrush, In the selfsame pair of patchwork plush,
With the selfsame empty pockets. That tempted his daddy so often to cut His throat, or jump in the water-butt — But what cares Phelim ? an empty nut
Would sooner bring tears to their sockets.
Give him a collar without a skirt,
That's the Irish huen for shii-t.
And a slice of bread, with a taste of dirt.
That 's Poverty's Irish butter. And what does he lack to make him blest ? Some oyster-shells, or a sparrow's nest,
A candle-end and a gutter.
But to leave the happy Phelim alone, Gna'tting, perchance, a marrowless bone,
Por which no dog would quarrel — Turn we to little Miss Kilmansegg, Cutting her first little toothy-peg
With a fiily-guinea coral —
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 109
A peg upon wbicli About poor and ricb Reflection might bang a moral.
Bom in wealth, and wealthily niu"sed,
Capp'd, papp'd, napp'd, and lapp'd from the first
On the knees of Prodigality, Her cbildbood was one eternal round Of the game of going on Tickler's gi'ound
Picking up gold — in reality.
With extempore carts she never play'd. Or the odds and ends of a Tinker's trade, Or little dirt pies and puddings made,
Like children happy and squalid ; The very puppet she bad to pet. Like a bait for the " Nix my Dolly " set.
Was a Dolly of gold — and solid !
Gold ! and gold ! 'twas the burden stdl ! To gain the Heiress's early goodwill
There was much corruption and bribery — The yearly cost of her golden toys Would have given half London's Charity Boys And Charity Girls the annual joys
Of a holiday dinner at Highbury.
Bon-bons she ate from the gilt cornet ; And gdded queens on St. Bartlemy's day ;
Till her fancy was tinged by her presents — And first a goldfinch excited her wish, Then a spherical bowl with its Golden fish.
And then two Golden Pheasants.
110 MISS KILMAITSEGG
Nay, once she squall' d and scream' d like wild — And it shows how the bias we give to a child
Is a thing most weighty and solemn : — But whence was wonder or blame to spring If little Miss K., — after such a swing — Made a dust for the flaming gilded thing
On the top of the Fish Street column ?
Her C^ifitiatton.
According to metaphysical creed,
To the earliest books that children read
For much good or much bad they are debtors — But before with their ABC they start, There are things in morals, as well as art. That play a very important part —
" Impressions before the letters."
Dame Education begins the pile, Mayhap in the graceful Corinthian style.
But alas for the elevation ! If the Lady's maid or Gossip the Nurse With a load of rubbish, or something worse,
Have made a rotten foundation.
Even thus with little INIiss KUmansegg, Before she learnt her E for egg.
Ere her Governess came, or her masters — Teachers of quite a difierent kind Had "cramm'd" her beforehand, and put her mind
In a go-cart on golden castors.
AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. Ill
Long before her A B and C,
They had taught her by heart her L. S. D.
And as how she was born a great Heiress ; And as siu-e as London is built of bricks, My Lord woiild ask her the day to fix, To ride in a fine gilt coach and six,
Like Her Worship the Lady May'ress.
Instead of stories from Edgeworth's page, The true golden lore for oiu* golden age.
Or lessons from Barbauld and Trimmer, Teaching the worth of Virtue and Health, All that she knew was the Vii'tue of Wealth, Provided by Wgar nursery stealth
AVith a Book of Leaf Gold for a Primer.
The very metal of merit they told,
And praised her for being as " good as gold ! "
Tin she grew as a peacock haughty ; Of money they talk'd the whole day round. And weigh' d dessert like grapes by the pound, TiU she had an idea from the very sound
That people with nought were naughty.
They praised — poor children with nothing at aU ! Lord ! how you twaddle and waddle and squaU
Like common-bred geese and ganders ! What sad httle bad little figures you make To the rich Miss K., whose plainest seed-cake
Was stuff 'd with corianders !
They praised her faUs, as well as her walk, Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, Theypraised — how theypraised — her verysmall tallc,
J12 MISS KIIMANSEGG
As if it fell from a Solon ; Or tlie girl who at each pretty phrase let drop A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop,
Or an emerald semi-colon.
They praised her spirit, and now and then, The Niu-se brought her own little "nevy " Ben,
To play with the future May'ress, And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, Scratches, and pinches, snips, and snaps.
As if from a Tigress, or Bearess, They told him how Lords would couii; that hand, And always gave him to understand, AVhile he rubb'd, poor soul. His carroty poll,
That his haii- had been puU'd by " a Hairess."
Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, A Governess hclp'd to make still worse, Giving an appetite so perverse
Fresh diet whereon to batten — Beginning with A B C to hold Like a royal playliill printed in gold
On a square of pearl-white satin.
The books to teach the verbs and nouns. And those about countries, cities, and towns, Instead of their sober drabs and browns.
Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges ; — Her Butler, and Enfield, and Entick — in short Her " Eai-ly Lessons " of every sort,
Look'd Hke Souvenirs, Keepsakes, and Pledges.
Old Johnson shone out in as fine array
A>'D HElt PEECIOUS LEG. 113
As he did one niglit when he went to the play ; Chambaud like a beau of King Charles's day —
Lindley Murray in like conditions — Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task, Appear' d in a fancy dress and a mask — If you wish for similar copies ask
For HoweU and James's Editions.
Novels she read to amuse her mind,
But always the affluent match-making kind
That ends with Promessi Sposi, And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand, He could give cheque-mate to Coutts in the Strand ;
So, along with a ring and posy. He endows the Bride with Grolconda off hand,
And gives the Grroom Potosi.
Plays she perused — but she liked the best Those comedy gentlefolks always possess'd
Of fortunes so truly romantic — • Of money so ready that right or wrong It always is ready to go for a song. Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong — They ought to have piu-ses as green and long
As the cucumber caU'd the Grigantic.
Then Eastern Tales she loved for the sake Of the Purse of Oriental make,
And the thousand pieces they put in it — But Pastoral scenes on her heart fell cold, Eor Natiire with her had lost its hold, No field but the Eield of the Cloth of Gold
Would ever have caught her foot in it.
114
IflM KILMAJmO*
tonng, and <i
To ■! oa • iMVMi, a^&btiL'h he ahould {ir^:. Aod to ffpfak ft Fr* !i in Knuic>
V inorv iImd »°
♦vr p»inl««l (rfi iiul Turk
/ \V.irk«
: the dead, .ind i^ld tbad
(iuld rmu lu her tbou^'htji and tiU'd her brain. Shi" wu KuUlca-boadt><l - " • -^ t-ane With which he walk' >cr.
Ifrr flrriDrnt.
Tfio hoMM' thnt carr K ilmansegg,
And a bctl*T nctrr ,.
Wa» a very rich bar, callM Banker — A ' ''a brved and a metal so rarB,—
1 . . out .»f ail In^it nuire, —
\ -■>< utuk a ride in the Park,
1 1 Lord, or pedestrian Clerk,
W . in an amorous ferer.
To ti^ ress bow well she sat.
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG.
115
With her groom behind her, Bob or Nat, In green, half smother' d with gold, and a hat With more gold lace than beaver.
And then when Banker obtain' d a pat, To see how he arch'd his neck at that !
He snorted with pride and pleasure ! Like the Steed ia the fable so lofty and grand, Who gave the poor Ass to understand, That Jie didn't carry a bag of sand,
But a burden of golden treasure.
A load of treasure ? — alas ! alas !
Had her horse but been fed upon English grass,
And shelter' d in Yorkshire spinneys, Had he scour' d the sand with the Desart Ass,
Or where the American whinnies — But a hunter from Erin's turf and gorse, A regular thorough-bred Irish horse, Why, he ran away, as a matter of course.
With a girl worth her weight in guiaeas !
Mayhap 'tis the trick of such pamper' d nags To shy at the sight of a beggar in rags.
But away, like the bolt of a rabbit. Away went the horse in the madness of fright, Ajnd away went the horsewoman mocking the sight- Was yonder blue flash a flash of blue light,
Or only the skirt of her habit ?
Away she flies, with the groom behind, — [t looks like a race of the Calmuck kind.
When Hymen himself is the starter : Ind the Maid rides first in the fourfooted strife,
i2
/Ifl
114 MISS KILMANSEGG
What more ? She leamt to sing, and dance, To sit on a horse, although he should prance, And to speak a Prench not spoken in France
Any more than at Babel's building — And she painted shells, and flowers, and Turks, But her great dehght was in Fancy Works
That are done with gold or gilding.
Gold ! stiU gold ! — the bright and the dead. With golden beads, and gold lace, and gold thread She work'd in gold, as if for her bread ;
The metal had so undermined her. Gold ran in her thoughts and fiU'd her braiu, She was golden-headed as Peter's cane
With which he walk'd behind her.
^tr ^tcitsent
The horse that carried Miss Kilmansegg, And a better never lifted leg.
Was a very rich bay, call'd Banker — A horse of a breed and a metal so rare, — By Bullion out of an Ingot mare, — 5 hat for action, the best of figures, and air.
It made many good judges hanker.
And when she took a ride in the Park, Equestrian Lord, or pedestrian Clerk,
Was throw a in an amorous fever, To see the Heiress how weU she sat.
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 115
"With her groom behind her, Bob or Nat, In green, half smother' d with gold, and a hat With more gold lace than beaver.
And then when Banker obtain' d a pat, To see how he arch'd his neck at that !
He snorted with pride and pleasure ! Like the Steed in the fable so lofty and grand, "Who gave the poor Ass to understand, That he didn't carry a bag of sand.
But a burden of golden treasure.
A load of treasure ? — alas ! alas !
Had her horse but been fed upon English grass,
And shelter' d in Torkshire spinneys. Had he scour' d the sand with the Desart Ass,
Or where the American whinnies — But a hunter from Erin's turf and gorse, A regular thorough-bred Irish horse. Why, he ran away, as a matter of course,
"With a girl worth her weight in guineas !
Mayhap 'tis the trick of such pamper'd nags To shy at the sight of a beggar in rags,
But away, like the bolt of a rabbit. Away went the horse in the madness of fright. And away went the horsewoman mocking the sight — "Was yonder blue flash a flash of blue light,
Or only the skirt of her habit ?
Away she flies, with the groom behind, — It looks like a race of the Calmuck kind,
When Hymen himself is the starter : And the Maid rides first in the fourfooted strife,
i2
116 MISS KILMANSEWG
B-iding, striding, as if for lier life, While the Lover rides after to catch him a wife. Although it 's catching a Tartar.
But the Groom has lost his glittering hat ! Though he does not sigh and pull up for that — Alas ! his horse i.^ a tit for Tat
To sell to a very low bidder — His wind is ruin'd, his shoulder is sprung. Things, though a horse be handsome and young,
A piirchaser will consider.
But stm flies the Heiress through stones and dust, Oh, for a fall, if fall she must.
On the gentle lap of Flora ! But stdl, thank Heaven ! she clings to her seat — Away ! away ! she could ride a dead heat With the Dead who ride so fast and fleet,
In the Ballad of Leonora !
Away she gallops ! — it 's awfid work ! It 's faster than Turpin's ride to York,
On Bess that notable clipper ! She has circled the Ring ! — she crosses the Park ! Mazeppa, although he was stripp'd so stark,
Mazeppa couldn't outstrip her !
The fields seem riuming away with the folks ! The Elms are having a race for the Oaks !
At a pace that all Jockeys disparages ! All, all is racing ! the Serpentine Seems rushing past like the " arrowy Rhine," The houses have got on a railway line.
And are ofi" like the first-class carriages !
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 117
Slie '11 lose her Hfe ! she is losing her breath ! A cruel chase, she is chasing Death,
As female shriekings forewarn her : And now — as gratis as blood of Guelph — She clears that gate, which has clear' d itself
Since then, at Hyde Park Corner !
Alas ! for the hope of the Kilmanseggs ! For her head, her brains, her body, and legs,
Her life 's not worth a copper ! Willy-nilly, In Piccadilly, A hundred liearts turn sick and chiUy,
A hundred voices cry, " Stop her ! " And one old gentleman stares and stands, Shakes his head and lifts his hands,
And says, " How very improper ! "
On and on ! — what a perilous run ! The iron rails seem aU mingling in one,
To shut out the Green Park scenery ! And now the Cellar its dangers reveals, She shudders — she shrieks — she 's doom'd, she feels. To be torn by powers of horses and wheels.
Like a spinner by steam machinery !
Sick with horror she shuts her eyes, But the very stones seem uttering cries.
As they did to that Persian daughter. When she climb' d up the steep vociferous hill. Her little silver flagon to fill
With the magical Grolden Water !
" Batter her ! shatter her !
118 MISS KILMANSEGQ
Throw and scatter her ! " Shouts each stony-hearted chatterer !
" Dash at the heavy Dover ! Spill her ! kill her ! tear and tatter her ! Smash her! crash her!" (the stones didn't flatter
her!) " Kick her brains out ! let her blood spatter her 1
Boll on her over and over ! "
For so she gather'd the awful sense
Of the street in its past unmacadamized tense,
As the vrild horse overran it, — His four heels making the clatter of six, Like a Devil's tattoo, play'd with iron sticks
On a kettle-drum of granite !
On ! still on ! she 's dazzled with hints Of oranges, ribbons, and colour' d prints, A Kaleidoscope jumble of shapes and tints.
And human faces all flashing. Bright and brief as the sparks from the flints,
That the desperate hoof keeps dashing !
On and on ! stiU frightfully fast !
Dover-street, Bond-street, aU are past !
But — yes — no — yes ! — they 're down at last !
The Furies and Fates have found them ! Down they go with a sparkle and crash, Like a Bark that 's struck by the Kghtning flash — There 's a shriek — and a sob — And the dense dark mob Like a billow closes around them I
AND HEE PEECIOTJS 1,EG. Ih)
" She breathes ! " " She don't ! " " She 'U recover ! " "She won't!" " She 's stirring ! she 's living, by Nemesis ! " Gold, still gold ! on connter and shelf! Grolden dishes as plenty as delf ! Miss Kilmansegg 's coming again to herself On an opulent Goldsmith's premises !
Gold ! fine gold ! — both yellow and red, Beaten, and molten — polish' d, and dead — To see the gold with profusion spread
In all forms of its manufacture ! But what avails gold to Miss Kilmansegg, When the femoral bone of her dexter leg
Has met with a compound fracture ?
Gold may soothe Adversity's smart ; Nay, help to bind up a broken heart ; But to try it on any other part
Were as certain a disappointment. As if one should rub the dash and plate. Taken out of a Staffordshire crate — In the hope of a Golden Service of State —
With Singleton's " Golden Ointment."
120 MISS KILMANSEGO
l^cr prcctflujS Urs.
" As tlie twig is bent, the tree 's inclined," Is an adage often recall' d to mind,
RefeiTiug to juvenile bias : And never so well is the verity seen, As when to the weak, warp'd side we lean,
"While Life's tempests and hurricanes try us.
Even thus with Miss K. and her broken limb, By a very, very remarkable whim,
She show'd her early tuition: While the buds of chai'acter came into blow "With a certain tinge that served to show The nursery culture long ago,
As the graft is Icnown by fruition !
I'or the King's Physician, who nursed the case, His verdict gave with an awful face,
And three others concurr'd to egg it ; That the Patient to give old Death the slip. Like the Pope, instead of a personal trip.
Must send her Leg as a Legate.
The limb Avas doom' d— it couldn't be saved ! And like other people the patient behaved. Nay, bravely that cruel parting braved,
Which makes some persons so falter, Tbey rather would part, without a groan, With the flesh of their flesh, and bone of their bone.
They obtain' d at St. George's altar.
AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 121
But when it came to fitting the stump With a proxy limb — then flatly and plump
She spoke, in the spirit olden ; She couldn't — she shouldn't— she wouldn't have
wood ! Nor a leg of cork, if she never stood, And she swore an oath, or something as good,
The proxy Hmb should be golden !
A wooden leg ! what, a sort of peg,
For yoiu* common Jockeys and Jennies ! No, no, her mother might worry and plague — Weep, go down on her knees, and beg. But nothing would move Miss Kilmansegg ! She could — she would have a Grolden Leg, If it cost ten thousand guineas !
Wood indeed, in Forest or Park,
With its sylvan honours and feudal bark,
Is an aristocratical article : But split and sawn, and hack'd about town, Serving aU needs of pauper or clown. Trod on ! stagger'd on ! Wood cut down
Is vulgar — fibre and particle !
And Cork ! — when the noble Cork Tree shades A lovely group of Castilian maids,
'Tis a thing for a song or sonnet ! — • But cork, as it stops the bottle of gin, Or bungs the beer — the small beer — in, It pierced her heart like a corking-pin,
To think of standing upon it !
A Leg of Grold — solid gold throughout,
122 MISS KILMANSEGG
Xotliing else, whetlier slim or stout, Should ever support her, God williug !
She must — she could — she would have her whim,
Her father, she tum'd a deaf ear to him — He might kill her — she didn't mind killing !
He was welcome to cut off her other limb — He might cut h;^r all off with a shilling !
All other promised gifts were in vain,
Golden Gii'dle, or Golden Chain,
She writhed with impatience more than pain,
And utter'd " pshaws ! " and " pishes ! " But a Leg of Gold ! as she lay in bed, It danced before her — it ran in her head !
It jump'd with her dearest wishes !
" Gold— gold— gold ! Oh, let it be gold ! " Asleep or awake that tale she told,
And when she grew delii'ious : Till her parents resolved to grant her wish, If they melted down plate, and goblet, and dish,
The case was getting so serious.
So a Leg was made in a comely mould, Of Gold, fine virgin glittering gold,
As solid as man could make it — Solid in foot, and calf, and shank, A prodigious sum of money it sank ; In fact 'twas a Branch of the family Bank,
And no easy matter to break it.
All sterling metal — not half-and-half, The Goldsmith's mark was stamp'd on the calf — 'Twas pure as from Mexican barter !
AND HEE PRECIOUS LEG. 123
And to make it more costly, just over the knee, Where another hgature used to be, Was a chicle of jewels, worth shillings to see, A new-fangled Badge of the G-arter !
'Twas a splendid, brilliant, beautiful Leg,
.Fit for the Court of Scander-Beg,
That Precious Leg of Miss KHmansegg !
For, thanks to parental bounty. Secure from Mortification's touch, She stood on a Member that cost as much
As a Member for all the County !
To gratify stern ambition's whims.
What hundreds and thousands of precious limbs
On a field of battle we scatter ! Sever'd by sword, or bullet, or saw. Off" they go, all bleeding and raw, — Bu.t the public seems to get the lock-jaw,
So little is said on the matter !
Legs, the tightest that ever were seen,
The tightest, the lightest, that danced on the green,
Cutting capers to sweet Kitty Clover ; Shatter' d, scatter' d, cut, and bowl'd down, Ofi" they go, worse ofi^ for renown, A line in the Times, or a talk about town,
Than the leg that a fly runs over !
124
MISS E;ILMA^'SEGG
But the Precious Leg of ^liss Kilmansegg,
That gowden, goolden, golden leg,
Was the theme of all conversation ! Had it been a Pillar of Church and State, Or a prop to support the whole Dead Weight, It could not have furnish' d more debate To the heads and tails of the nation !
East and west, and north and south,
Though useless for either hunger or drouth, —
The Leg was in everybody's mouth,
To use a poetical figure, Eumour, in taking her ravenous swim. Saw, and seized on the tempting limb.
Like a shark on the leg of a nigger.
Wilful murder fell very dead ;
Debates in the House were hardly read ;
In vain the Police Eeports were fed
With Irish riots and rumpuses — The Leg ! the Leg ! was the great event, Through every circle in life it went,
Like the leg of a pair of compasses.
The last new Xovel seem'd tame and flat, The Leg, a novelty newer than that,
Had tripp'd up the heels of Fiction ! It Burked the very essays of Burke, And, alas ! how Wealth over Wit plays the Turk ! As a regular piece of goldsmith's work,
Got the better of Goldsmith's diction.
" A leg of gold ! what of solid gold ? " Cried rich and poor, and young and old.-
AXD HER PRECIOUS LEG.
125
And blaster and Miss and Madam — 'Twas the talk of 'Change— the Alley— the Bank— And vrith. men of scientific rank, It made as much stir as the fossil shank
Of a Lizard coeval with Adam !
Of course with Greenwich and Chelsea elves, Men who had lost a limb themselves,
Its interest did not dwindle — But Bill, and Ben, and Jack, and Tom Could hardly have spim more yarns therefrom,
If the leg had been a spindle.
Meanwhile the story went to and fro, Till, gathering like the ball of snow. By the time it got to Stratford-le-Bow,
Thi'ough Exaggeration's touches. The Hefress and Hope of the Ealmanseggs Was propp'd on two fine Golden Legs,
And a pair of Golden Crutches !
Never had Leg so great a run !
'Twas the " go " and the " Eack " thrown into one !
The mode — the new thing under the sun,
The rage — the fancy — the passion ! Bonnets were named, and hats were woiTi, A la Golden Leg instead of Leghorn, And stockings and shoes. Of golden hues, Took the lead in the walks of fashion !
The Golden Leg had a vast career.
It was simg and danced — and to show how near
124 MISS KILMATfSEGG
But the Precious Leg of Miss Kilinansegg, That gowden, gooldeu, golden leg,
Was the theme of all conversation ! Had it been a Pillar of Chiirch and State, Or a prop to support the whole Dead AVeight, It could not have furnish' d more debate
To the heads and tails of the nation !
East and west, and north and south,
Though useless for either hunger or drouth, —
The Leg was in everybody's mouth,
To use a poetical figure, Rumour, in taking her ravenous swim, Saw, and seized on the tempting limb,
Like a shark on the leg of a nigger.
Wilful murder fell very dead ;
Debates in the House were hardly read ;
In vain the Police Reports were fed
With Irish riots and rumpuses — The Leg ! the Leg ! was the great event. Through every circle in life it went.
Like the leg of a pair of compasses.
The last new Novel seem'd tame and flat. The Leg, a novelty newer than that.
Had tripp'd up the heels of Fiction ! It Burked the very essays of Burke, And, alas ! how Wealth over Wit plays the Turk ! As a regular piece of goldsmith's work.
Grot the better of Goldsmith's diction,
" A leg of gold ! what of solid gold ? " Cried rich and poor, and young and old, —
AND HEB PEECIOIJS LEG. 125
And Master and Miss and Madam — 'Twas the talk of 'Change — the Alley — the Bank — And with men of scientific rank, It made as much stir as the fossil shank
Of a Lizard coeval with Adam !
Of course with Greenwich and Chelsea elves, Men who had lost a limb themselves.
Its interest did not dwindle — But Bill, and Ben, and Jack, and Tom Could hardly have spun more yarns therefrom.
If the leg had been a spindle.
Meanwhile the story went to and fro, Till, gathering like the ball of snow. By the time it got to Stratford-le-Bow,
Through Exaggeration's touches. The Heiress and Hope of the Kilmanseggs Was propp'd on two fine Golden Legs,
And a pair of Golden Crutches !
Never had Leg so great a run !
'Twas the " go " and the " Kick " thrown into one !
The mode — the new thing under the sun.
The rage — the fancy — the passion ! Bonnets were named, and hats were worn, A la Golden Leg instead of Leghorn, And stockings and shoes. Of golden hues. Took the lead in the walks of fashion !
The Golden Leg had a vast career.
It was sung and danced — and to show how near
126 MISS KILMANSEGG
Low Folly to lofty approaches, Down to society's very dregs, The Belles of Wapping wore " Kilmanseggs," And St. Giles's Beaux sported Golden Legs
In their pinchbeck pins and brooches !
?l?cr first &te^.
Supposing the Trunk and Limbs of Man Shared, on the allegorical plan,
By the Passions that mark Humanity, Whichever might claim the head, or heart, The stomach, or any other part,
The Legs would be seized by Vanity.
There's Bardus, a six-foot column of fop, A lighthouse without any light atop,
"Whose height would attract beholders, If he had not lost some inches clear By lookiug down at his kerseymere, Ogling the limbs he holds so dear.
Till he got a stoop in his shoulders.
Talk of Art, of Science, or Books, And down go the everlasting looks.
To his crural beauties so wedded ! Try him, wherever you wiU, you find His mind in his legs, and his legs in his mind, All prongs and folly — in short a kind
Of fork — that is Fiddle-headed.
AND HER PEECIOUS LE&. 127
What wonder, then, if INIiss Kilmansegg, "With a splendid, brilliant, beautiful leg, Fit for the Court of Scander-Beg, Disdain' d to hide it like Joan or Meg,
In petticoats stuff' d or quilted ? Not she ! 'twas her convalescent whim To dazzle the world with her precious limb, —
Nay, to go a little high-kHted.
So cards were sent for that sort of mob Where Tartars and Africans hob-and-nob. And the Cherokee talks of his cab and cob
To Pohsh or Lapland lovers — Cards Hke that hierogljphical call To a geographical Fancy Ball
On the recent Post-Office covers.
For if Lion-hunters — and great ones too —
Would mob a savage from Latakoo,
Or squeeze for a glimpse of Prince Le Boo,
That unfortunate Sandwich scion — Hundreds of first-rate people, no doubt, Would gladly, madly, rush to a rout,
That promised a Golden Lion !
128 MISS KILMAXSEGG
^cr dFancy 2oalI.
Of all the spirits of e^dl fame
That hurt the soul or injure the frame,
And poison what 's honest and hearty, There 's none more needs a Mathew to preach A cooling, antiphlogistic speech, To praise and enforce A temperate course, Than the Evil Spirit of Party.
Go to the House of Commons, or Lords, And they seem to be busy with simple words
In their popular sense or pedantic — But, alas ! with their cheers, and sneers, and jeers, They 're really busy, whatever appears. Putting peas in each other's ears,
To di'ive their enemies frantic !
Thus Tories love to worry the "Whigs,
Who treat them in turn like Schwalbach pigs,
Giving them lashes, thrashes, and digs,
With their writhing and pain delighted — But after all that 's said, and more, The malice and spite of Party are poor To the malice and spite of a party next door,
To a party not invited.
On with the cap and out with the light, Weariness bids the world good night.
At least for the usual season ; But hai'k ! a clatter of horses' heels ;
I
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG, 129
And Sleep and Silence are broken on wheeLs, Like "Wilful Murder and Treason !
Another crash — and the carriage goes — Again poor Weariness seeks the repose
That Natui"e demands imperious ; But Echo takes up the burden now, With a rattling chorus of row-de-dow-dow, Till Silence herself seems making a row,
Like a Quaker gone delh'ious!
'Tis night — a winter night — and the stars Are shining like winkin' — Venus and Mars Are rolling along in their golden cars
Through the sky's serene expansion — But vainly the stars dispense their rays, Venus and Mars are lost in the blaze
Of the Kilmanseggs' luminous mansion !
Up jumps Tear in a terrible fright ! His bedchamber windows look so bright,
With hglit all the Square is glutted ! Tip he jumps, like a sole from the pan. And a tremor sickens his inward man, Eor he feels as only a gentleman can,
Who thinks he 's being " gutted."
Again Eear settles, aU snug and warm ; But only to dream of a dreadful storm
From Autumn's sulphurous locker; But the only electric body that falls, Wears a negative coat, and positive smalls, And draws the peal that so appals
From the Kilmanseggs' brazen knocker !
tl
190
In th' ^ P
MIM EXULOmoe
• \'s Benefit night — ,, ti. . K _-'-h Second-Siglit,
' M ljl0 lfil»i»»y^nifg
Leg.
it!
in jacket?, •vti dottlu,
as, and toque*, - . .\ Ations : », with dafKcn and dirka,
' ' Turk*—
Bu; iii.U) like btid iranwUiknw
In they u and to work like a pack, Juan, M<.»g, and Shacabac, Tom, iiiulerry. and Sprin^be^I'd Jack, ne loTWi ,' about, llrrr- aiKiufrv, and m and out, "With .1 rmh, and a rush, for a AiU>bodi«l rout In t>iit the stitTt^st of corers.
In th«\\ wit. and hunt«>d !»K-»iit, Oprn ,t^
Aii.l ^ - j^t ^^ut^
While ..... .,;,.,„. i.. ,. c^.^d.
And ml I. hin hands, and ^ And Is vv and how'i! j bow'd,
Likr A nu who is >..
V- - -
Uan
m^.
-i^^'^
'?\^;
'm^M
A3fD HEE PEECI0U8 LE.
Por Princes were there, and Noble eers ; Dukes descended from Norman spes ; Earls that dated from early years ;
And Lords in vast variety — Besides the Gentry both new and d — Eor people who stand on legs of go!
Are sure to stand well with societ
131
" But where — where — where ? " wit one accord Cried Moses and Mvifti, Jack and ir Lord,
AVang-Pong and II Bondocani — When slow, and heavy, and dead as dump, They heard a foot begin to stumj: Thump ! lump ! Lump ! thvunp ! Like the Spectre in " Don Griovaii ! "
And lo ! the Heiress, Miss Kilmana^g, With her splendid, brilliant, beautifi leg,
Li the garb of a Goddess olden — Like chaste Diana going to hunt. With a golden spear — which of coue was blunt, And a tunic loop'd up to a gem in fmt,
To show the Leg that was Golder
Gold ! stiU gold ! her Crescent behoL, That should be silver, but would be )ld ;
And her robe's auriferous spangle-. Her golden stomacher — how she wod melt ! Her golden quiver, and golden belt,
Where a golden bugle dangles !
And her jeweU'd Garter ? Oh, Sin ! h, Shame Let Pride and Vanity bear the blam
130 MISS KILMANSEGG
'Tis Curiosity's Benefit niglit —
And perchance 'tis the English Second-Sight,
But whatever it be, so be it — As the friends and guests of Miss KUmansegg Crowd in to look at her Golden Leg, As many more Mob round the door, To see them going to see it !
In they go — in jackets, and cloaks, Plumes, and bonnets, turbans, and toques,
As if to a Congress of Nations : Greeks and IMalays, with daggers and dirks, Spaniards, Jews, Chinese, and Turks — Some like original foreign works.
But mostly Like bad translations.
In they go, and to work like a pack,
Juan, Moses, and Shacabac,
Tom, and Jerry, and Spriugheel'd Jack,
For some of low Fancy are lovers — Skirting, zigzagging, casting about. Here and there, and in and out, With a crush, and a rush, for a full-bodied rout
In one of the stifFest of covers.
In they went, and hunted about, Open mouth' d like chub and trout. And some with the upper hp tlu-ust out.
Like that fish for routing, a barbel — While Sir Jacob stood to welcome the crowd. And rubb'd his hands, and smiled aloud, And bow'd, and bow'd, and bow'd, and bow'd,
Like a man who is sawins marble.
jlnd hee peecious leg. 131
Por Princes were there, and Noble Peers ; Dukes descended from Norman spears ; Earls that dated from early years ;
And Lords in vast variety — Besides the Grentry both new and old — Tor people who stand on legs of gold,
Are sxire to stand well with society.
" But where — where — where ? " with one accord Cried Moses and Mufti, Jack and my Lord,
Wang-Pong and II Bondocani — When slow, and heavy, and dead as a dump. They heard a foot begin to stump. Thump ! lump ! L\imp ! thump ! Like the Spectre iu " Don Giovanni ! "
And lo ! the Heiress, Miss Kilmansegg, With her splendid, brilliant, beautit'ul leg,
Li the garb of a Goddess olden — Like chaste Diana going to hunt. With a golden spear — which of course was blunt, And a tunic loop'd up to a gem in front.
To show the Leg that was Golden !
Gold ! still gold ! her Crescent behold. That should be silver, but would be gold ;
And her robe's aiiriferous spangles ! Her golden stomacher — how she would melt ! Her golden quiver, and golden belt,
Where a golden bugle dangles !
And her jeweU'd Garter? Oh, Sin! Oh, Shame Let Pride and Vanity bear the blame,
k2
132 MISS KILMANSEGG
That brings sucli blots on female fame !
But to be a true recorder, Besides its thin transparent stuff, The tunic was loop'd quite high enough
To give a glimpse of the Order !
But what have sin or shame to do
"With a Grolden Leg — ^and a stout one too ?
Away with all Prudery's panics ! That the precious metal, by thick and thin, Will cover square acres of land or siu, Is a fact made plain Again and again, In Morals as well as Mechanics.
A few, indeed, of her proper sex.
Who seem'd to feel her foot on their necks,
And fear'd their charms would meet with checks
From so rare and splendid a blazon — A few cried "fie !" — and "forward" — and "bold !' And said of the Leg it might be gold.
But to them it look'd like brazen !
'Twas hard they hiated for flesh and blood, Yii'tue, and Beauty, and aU that 's good.
To strike to mere dross their topgallants — But what were Beauty, or Virtue, or Worth, Gentle manners, or gentle birth, Nay, what the most talented head on earth
To a Leg worth fifty Talents !
But the men sang quite another hymn
Of glory and praise to the precious Limb —
Age, sordid Age, admired the whim.
AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 133
And its indecorum pardon' d — While half of the young — ay, more than half — Bow'd down and worshipp'd the Grohlen Calf,
Like the Jews when their hearts were harden 'd.
A Grolden Leg ! what fancies it fired ! "Wliat golden wishes and hopes inspired !
To give but a mere abridgment — What a leg to leg-baU Embarrassment's serf! What a leg for a Leg to take on the turf !
What a leg for a marching regiment !
A Grolden Leg !- — whatever Love sings, 'Twas worth a bushel of " Plain Gold Eings "
With which the Romantic wheedles. 'Twas worth all the legs in stockings and socks — 'Twas a leg that might be put in the Stocks,
N.B. — Not the parish beadle's !
And Lady K. nid-nodded her head, Lapp'd in a turban fancy-bred. Just like a love-apple, huge and red, Some Mussul-womanish mystery ; But whatever she meant To represent, She talk'd like the Muse of History.
She told how the filial leg was lost ; And then how much the gold one cost ;
With its weight to a Trojan fraction : And how it took off", and how it put on ; And call'd on Devil, Duke, and Don, Mahomet, Moses, and Prester John,
To notice its beautiful action.
134 MISS K1LMA^'SEGG
And then of the Leg she went in quest ; And led it where the light was best ; And made it lay itself up to rest
In postures for painters' studies : It cost more tricks and trouble by half, Than it takes to exhibit a six-legg'd Calf
To a boothful of country Cuddies.
Nor yet did the Heiress herself omit The arts that help to make a hit,
And preserve a prominent station. She talk'd and laugh' d far more than her share ; And took a part in " Rich and Rare Were the gems she wore" — and the gems were there.
Like a Song with an Illustration.
She even stood up with a Count of France To dance — alas ! the measures we dance
When Vanity plays the Piper ! Vanity, Vanity, apt to betray. And lead aU sorts of legs astray, Wood, or metal, or human clay, —
Since Satan first play'd the Viper!
But first she doff'd her hunting gear.
And favour' d Tom Tug with her golden spear,
To row with down the river — A Bonze had her golden bow to hold ; A Hermit her belt and bugle of gold ;
And an Abbot her golden quiver.
And then a space was clear'd on tlie floor. And she walk'd the Minuet de la Cour,
AND HEE PUECIOUS LEG. 136
Witli all the pomp of a Pompadour,
But although she begau andante, Conceive the faces of all the E-out, When she finish'd off with a whirligig bout, And the Precious Leg stuck stiffly out
Like the leg of a Figurante !
So the coiirtly dance was goldenlj done. And golden opinions, of course, it won
Prom aU different sorts of people — Chiming, ding-dong, with flattering phrase. In one vociferous peal of praise, Like the peal that rings on Royal days
From Loyalty's parish-steeple.
And yet, had the leg been one of those That dance for bread in flesh-colour' d hose.
With Eosina's pastoral bevy, The jeers it had met, — the shouts ! the scoff"! The cutting advice to " take itself off,"
For sounding but half so heavy.
Had it been a leg like those, perchance. That teach little gii4s and boys to dance, To set, poussette, recede, and advance,
With the steps and figures most proper, — Had it hopp'd for a weekly or quarterly sum, How little of praise or grist would have come
To a mill with such a hopper !
But the Leg was none of those limbs forlorn^ Bartering capers and hops for corn — That meet with pubKc hisses and scorn, Or the morning journal denounces —
136 MISS KILMANSEGG
Had it pleased to caper from mom till dusk, There was all the music of " Money Musk " In its ponderous bangs and bounces.
But hark ! — as slow as the strokes of a pump, Lmnp, thump ! Thump, lump ! As the Giant of Castle Otranto might stump
To a lower room from an upper — • Down she goes with a noisy dint, For taking the crimson turban's hint, A noble Lord at the Head of the Mint Is leading the Leg to supper !
But the supper, alas ! must rest untold, AVith its blaze of light and its glitter of gold.
For to paint that scene of glamour. It woidd need the Great Enchanter's charm, Who waves over Palace, and Cot, and Farm, An arm like the Goldbeater's Golden Arm
That wields a Golden Hammer.
He — only He — could fitly state
The Massive Service of Golden Plate,
With the proper phrase and expansion — The Eare Selection of Fokeigk AV^ines — The Alps of Ice and Moitntains op Pines, The punch in Oceans and sugary shrines. The Temple of Taste from Guntee's Designs — In short, all that Wealth with a Feast combines,
In a Splendid Family IMansion.
Suffice it each mask'd outlandish guest Ate and drank of the very best,
AND HEE PEECIOtrS LEG. 137
According to critical comiers — And then they pledged the Hostess and Host, But the Grolden Leg was the standing toast, And as somebody swore, "Walk'd off with more Than its share of the " Hips ! " and honours !
" Miss Kilmansegg ! — Pull glasses I beg ! — Miss KUmansegg and her Precious Leg ! "
And away went the bottle careering ! Wine m bumpers ! and shouts in peals ! Till the Clown didn't know his head from his heels, The Mussulman's eyes danced two-some reels, And the Quaker was hoarse with cheering !
'^.tv BxtKin,
Miss Kilmansegg took off her leg. And laid it down like a cribbage-peg.
For the Eout was done and the riot : The Square was hush'd ; not a sound was heard The sky was gray, and no creature stirr'd, Except one little precocious bird.
That chirp' d — and then was quiet.
So still without,— so still within ; —
It had been a sin
To drop a pin — So intense is silence after a din,
138 MISS KILMANSEGG
It seem'd like Death's rehearsal ! To stir the air bo eddy came ; And the taper burnt with as still a flame, As to flicker had been a burning shame,
In a calm so universal.
The time for sleep had come at last ; And there was the bed, so soft, so vast,
Quite a field of Bedtbrdshire clover ; Softer, cooler, and calmer, no doubt, From the piece of work just raveU'd out, For one of the pleasures of having a rout
Is the pleasure of having it over.
No sordid pallet, or truckle mean,
Of straw, and rug, and tatters unclean ;
But a splendid, gilded, carved machine,
That was fit for a Eoyal Chamber. On the top was a gorgeous golden wreath ; And the damask cm-tains hung beneath,
Like clouds of crimson and amber.
Curtains, held up by two httle plump things. With golden bodies and golden wings, — Mere fins for such solidities — Two Cupids, in short, Of the regular sort. But the housemaid call'd them " Cupidities."
No patchwork quilt, all seams and scars, But velvet, powder' d with golden stars, A fit mantle for ATiyA^- Commanders ! And the piUow, as white as snow uudimm'd. And as cool as the pool that the breeze has skimm'd.
AKD HEE PRECIOUS LEG. 139
Was cased in the finest cambric, and trimm'd With the costliest lace of Flanders.
And the bed — of the Eider's softest down, 'Twas a place to revel, to smother, to drown
In a bliss inferr'd by the Poet ; For if Ignorance be indeed a bliss, What blessed ignorance equals this.
To sleep — and not to know it ? Oh, bed ! oh, bed ! delicious bed !
That heaven upon earth to the weary head ; But a place that to name would be iU-bred,
To the head with a wakeful trouble — 'Tis held by such a different lease ! To one, a place of comfort and peace, AH stuff' d with the down of stubble geese,
To another with only the stubble !
To one, a perfect Halcyon nest.
All calm, and balm, and quiet, and rest,
And soft as the fur of the cony — To another, so restless for body and head, That the bed seems borrow' d from Nettlebed,
And the pillow from Stratford the Stony !
To the happy, a first-class carriage of ease. To the Land of Nod, or where you please ; But alas ! for the watchers and weepers. Who turn, and turn, and turn again, But turn, and turn, and turn in vain. With an anxious brain. And thoughts in a train That does not run upon sleepers !
140 MISS KILMANSEGG
Wide awake as the mousing owl, Night-hawk, or other nocturnal fowl, —
But more profitless vigils keeping, — Wide awake in the dark they stare, Filling with phantoms the vacant air, As if that Crook -back'd Tyrant Care
Had plotted to kill them sleeping.
And oh ! when the blessed diurnal light Is quench' d by the providential night,
To render our slumber more certain, Pity, pity the wretches that weep. For they must be wretched who cannot sleep
When Grod himself draws the curtain !
The careful Betty the pillow beats.
And airs the blankets, and smooths the sheets,
And gives the mattress a shaking — But vainly Betty performs her part, If a ruffled head and a rumpled heart
As well as the couch want making.
There's Morbid, all bile, and vei juice, and nerves. Where other people would make preserves,
He turns his fruits into pickles : Jealous, envious, and fretful by day, At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey, He lies like a hedgehog roU'd up the vsrong way.
Tormenting himself with his prickles.
But a child — that bids the world good night, In downright earnest and cuts it quite —
A Cherub no Art can copy, — 'Tis a perfect pictxxre to see him lie
AKD HER PSECIOUS LEG. 141
As if he had supp'd on dormouse pie,
(An ancient classical dish by the by)
With a sauce of syrup of poppy.
Oh, bed ! bed ! bed ! delicious bed !
That heaven upon earth to the weary head,
"Whether lofty or low its condition ! But instead of putting our plagues on shelves, In our blankets how often we toss ourselves, Or are toss'd by such allegorical elves
As Pride, Hate, Greed, and Ambition !
The independent Miss Kilmansegg Took off her independent Leg
And laid it beneath her pillow, And then on the bed her frame she cast, The time for repose had come at last, But long, long, after the storm is past
Eolls the tui'bid, turbvdent billow.
No part she had in vulgar cares
That belong to common household affairs —
ISTocturnal annoyances such as theirs
Who lie with a shrewd surmising That while they are couchant (a bitter cup !) Their bread and butter are getting up,
And the coals— confound them ! — are rising.
No fear she had her sleep to postpone. Like the crippled Widow who weeps alone, And cannot make a doze her own,
For the dread that mayhap on the morrow. The true and Christian reading to balk, A broker will take up her bed and walk.
By way of curing her sorrow.
142 MISS KILMANSEGa
No cause like these she had to beAvail :
But the breath of applause had blown a gale,
And winds from that quarter seldom fail
To cause some human commotion ; But whenever such breezes coiacide With the very spring-tide Of human pride, There 's no such swell on the ocean!
Peace, and ease, and slumber lost.
She tum'd, and roU'd, and tumbled, and toss'd,
With a tumult that would not settle : A common case, Ladeed, with such As have too little, or think too much,
Of the precious and glittering metal.
Gold ! — she saw at her golden foot The Peer whose tree had an olden root. The Proud, the Great, the Learned to boot,
The handsome, the gay, and the witty — The Man of Science — of Arms — of Art, The man who deals but at Pleasure's mart,
And the man who deals in the City.
Gold, still gold — and true to the mould ! In the very scheme of her dream it told ;
Por, by magical transmutation. Prom her Leg through her body it seem'd to go. Till, gold above, and gold below. She was gold, all gold, from her little gold toe
To her organ of Veneration !
And still she retain' d, through Pancy's art. The Golden Bow, and the Golden Dart,
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 143
With whicli she had play'd a Goddess's part
In her recent glorification. And still, like one of the self-same brood, On a Plinth of the self-same metal she stood
For the whole world's adoration.
And hymns of incense around her roll'd, From Golden Harps and Censers of Gold, — For Fancy in dreams is as iincontroll'd
As a horse without a bridle : What wonder, then, from all checks exempt, If, inspired by the Golden Leg, she dreamt
She was turn'd to a Golden Idol ?
I^er Caurt)SI)q).
When leaving Eden's happy land The grieving Angel led by the hand
Our banish' d Father and Mother, Forgotten amid their awful doom, The tears, the fears, and the future's gloom, On each brow was a wreath of Paradise bloom,
That our Parents had twined for each other.
It was only while sitting like figures of stone. For the grieving Angel had skyward flown, Asi they sat, those Two, in the world alone.
With disconsolate hearts nigh cloven. That scenting the gust of happier hours, They look'd around for the precious flow'rs,
144 MISS KILMANSEGG
And lo ! — a last relic, of Eden's dear bow'rs — The chaplet that Love had woven !
And still, when a pair of Lovers meet, There 's a sweetness in air, unearthly sweet, That savours still of that happy retreat
Where Eve by Adam was coiu'ted : Whilst the joyous Thrush, and the gentle Dove, Woo'd their mates in the boughs above.
And the Serpent, as yet, only sported.
Wlio hath not felt that breath in the air, A perfume and freshness strange and rare, A warmth in the light, and a bliss everj^where,
When young hearts yearn together ? All sweets below, and all sunny above. Oh ! there 's nothiug in life like making love,
Save making hay iu fine weather !
Who hath not found amongst his flow'rs A blossom too bright for this world of ours,
Like a rose among snows of Sweden ? But to turn again to Miss Kilmansegg, Wliere must Love have gone to beg, If such a thing as a Golden Leg
Had put its foot in Eden !
And yet — to tell the rigid truth —
Her fiivour was sought by Age and Youth —
Eor the prey will find a prowler ! She was follow'd, flatter' d, courted, address' d, Woo'd, and coo'd, and wheedled, and press'd. By suitors from North, South, East, and West,
Like that Heiress, in song, Tibbie Eowler !
• AND HEE PRECIOUS LEG. 145
But, alas ! alas ! for the Woman's fate, Who has from a mob to choose a mate !
'Tis a strange and painful mystery ! But the more the eggs, the worse the hatch ; The more the fish, the worse the catch ; The more the sparks, the worse the match ;
Is a fact in Woman's history.
Give her between a brace to pick,
And, mayhap, with luck to help the trick.
She will take the Faustus, and leave the Old Nick —
But her future bliss to baffle, Amongst a score let her have a voice. And she '11 have as little cause to rejoice. As if she had won the " Man of her choice "
In a matrimonial raffle !
Thus, even thus, with the Heiress and Hope, Fulfilling the adage of too much rope,
With so ample a competition, She chose the least worthy of aU the group, Just as the vulture makes a stoop, And singles out from the herd or troop
The beast of the worst condition.
A Foreign Count— who came incog., Not under a cloud, but under a fog.
In a Calais packet's fore-cabin, To charm some lady British-born, With his eyes as black as the fruit of the thorn. And his hooky nose, and his beard half-shorn.
Like a half-converted Eabbin.
And because the Sex confess a charm
MI88 KILMA^rSEGG
iu ttie man who ha^ iilash'd a head or aim.
Or has Kv^n n throat's undoing. He was di one of the glorious trade.
At least \n: ; is off parade,
AVith a stock, and a frock, well trimm'd with braid,
And frogs — that went a-wooing.
t ' 'Urtout.
At one ot those holes that buttons go through,
(To be a precise recorder,) A ribbon he wore, or rather a scrap, About an inch of r ' " That one of his riva fhap,
Described as his " Ketail « '
\nd then — and much it hclp'd his chance — !le conld sins, and plav first fiddle, and dance, '••rforni cliara'ies, and Proverbs of France —
All lor, and do the eruel ;
'or ;i is other killitit; parts,
Ee had broken a brace of female hearts, And murder'd three men in duel !
avage at heart, and false of tongue, ubtle with age, and smooth to the young.
Like a snake iji his coiling and curling — iich was tlio Count — to give him a niche — vTio came to court that Heiress rich, nd knelt at her foot — one needn't say which —
Besieging her Castle of Sterling.
'ith pray'rs and vows he open'd his trench, nd plied her with English, Spanish, and French
i*»i|
A>'D HEE PEECIOUS LEG.
U7
In phrases the most sentimental : And quoted poems in High and Low Dutch, With now and then an Italian touch. Till she yielded, without resisting much,
To homage so continental.
And then the sordid bargain to close, "With a mioiahire sketch of his hooky nose, And his dear dark eyes, as black as sloes, And hLs beard and whiskers as black as those
The lady's consent he requited — And instead of the lock that lovers beg, The Count received from ^Miss Kilmansegg A model, ia small, of her Precious Leg —
And so the couple were plighted !
»
But, oh ! the love that gold must crown ! Better — better, the love of the clown, "Who admires his lass in her Sunday gown.
As if aU the fairies had dress' d her ! "Whose brain to no crooked thought gives biii. Except that he never will part on earth
"With his true love's crooked tester !
Alas ! for the love that 's link'd with gold ! Better — ^better a thousand times told —
More honest, happy, and laudable, The downright lo^'ing of pretty Cis, "Who wipes her hps, though there 's nothinamiss, And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss.
In which her heart ia audible !
Pretty Cis, so smiling and bright,
"Who loves as she labours, with all her mig;.
146 MISS KILMANSEGG
In the man who has slash'd a head or ai'm,
Or has been a throat's undoing, He was dress'd like one of the glorious trade, At least when glory is oiF parade, "With a stock, and a frock, well trimm'd with braid,
And frogs — that went a- wooing.
Moreover, as cou^its are apt to do,
On the left-hand side of his dark sm-tout,
At one of those holes that buttons go through,
(To be a precise recorder,) A ribbon he wore, or rather a scrap, About an inch of ribbon mayhap, That one of his rivals, a whimsical chap,
Described as his " Eetail Order."
And then — and much it help'd his chance^ — He could sing, and play first fiddle, and dance, Perform charades, and Proverbs of France —
Act the tender, and do the cruel ; For amongst his other killing parts. He had broken a brace of female hearts,
And murder' d three men in duel !
Savage at heart, and false of tongue, Subtle with age, and smooth to the young.
Like a snake in his coiling and curling — Such was the Count — to give him a niche — Who came to coui't that Heiress rich, And knelt at her foot — one needn't say which —
Besieging her Castle of Sterling.
With pray'rs and vows he open' d his trench, And plied her with English, Spanish, and French
AND HEE PRECIOUS LEG. 147
In phrases the most sentimental : And quoted poems in High and Low Dutch, With now and then an Italian touch, Till she yielded, without resisting much,
To homage so continental.
And then the sordid bargain to close. With a miniature sketch of his hooky nose, And his dear dark eyes, as black as sloes, And his beard and whiskers as black as those,
The lady's consent he requited — And instead of the lock that lovers beg. The Count received from Miss KHmansegg A model, in small, of her Precious Leg —
And so the couple were plighted !
But, oh ! the love that gold must crown ! Better — better, the love of the clown. Who admires his lass in her Sunday gown.
As if all the fairies had dress' d her ! Whose brain to no crooked thought gives birth. Except that he never will part on earth
With his true love's crooked tester !
Alas ! for the love that 's liiik'd with gold ! Better — better a thousand times told —
More honest, happy, and laudable. The downright loving of pretty Cis, AVTio wipes her Hps, though there 's nothing amiss. And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss.
In which her heart is audible !
Pretty Cis, so smiling and bright. Who loves as she labours, with all her might,
l2
l«•^;>
■'"*•>
148
MISS KIL31-LNSEGO
And without any sordid leaven ! Who blushes as red as haws and hips, Do\\"u to her xery finger-tips, For Roger's blue ribbons — to her, like strips
Cut out of the azure of Heaven !
)2rr ^Urrtagr.
"Twas mom — a most auspicious one ! From the Grolden East, the Grolden Sun Came forth his glorious race to run,
Through clouds of most splendid tinges ; Clouds that lately slept in shade. But now seem'd made Of gold brocade, With magnificent golden fringes.
Gold above, and gold below.
The earth reflected the golden glow.
From river, and hill, and vallev ; Gilt bv the golden li^ht of mom. The Thames — it 1. ok'd like the Golden Horn. And the Bar^^g^gg^gggg/^ coal or com,
LikeClt
.1 m "i^
B).
\
AND HEK PBECIOUS LEG. 149
And above them all, The dome of St. Paul, With its Golden Cross and its Golden Ball, Shone out as if newly burnish' d !
And lo ! for Golden Hours and Joys, Troops of glittering Golden Boys Danced along with a jocund noise,
And their gilded emblems carried ! In short, 'twas the year's most Golden Day, By mortals call'd the First of May, When Miss Kilmansegg, Of the Golden Leg, With a Golden Ring was married !
And thousands of children, women, and men, Counted the clock from eight till ten,
From St. James's sonorous steeple ; For next to that interesting job. The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob, There 's nothing so draws a London mob
As the noosing of very rich people.
And a treat it was for a mob to behold The Bridal Carriage that blazed with gold ! And the Footmen tall, and the Coachman bold.
In liveries so resplendent — Coats you wonder' d to see in place, They seem'd so rich with golden lace,
That they might have been independent.
Coats that made those menials proud Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd. From their gilded elevations ;
1
h^
14!i MISS KILMANSEGG
And without any sordid leaven ! "Who blushes as red as haws and hips, Down to her very finger-tips, For Roger's blue ribbons — to her, like strips
Cut out of the azure of Heaven !
Itt iUarrtaflp.
'Twas mom — a most auspicious one ! From the Golden East, the Golden Sun Came forth his glorious race to run,
Through clouds of most splendid tinges ; Clouds that lately slept in shade, But now seem'd made Of gold brocade, With magnificent golden fringes.
Gold above, and gold below,
The earth reflected the golden glow,
TVom river, and hiU, and valley ; Gnt by the golden light of morn. The Thames — it look'd Uke the Golden Horn, And the Barge, that carried coal or corn.
Like Cleopatra's Galley !
Bright as clusters of Golden-rod, Suburban poplars began to nod.
With extempore splendoiu- fiu-nish'd ; While London was bright with glittering clocks, Golden dragons, and Golden cocks,
AND HEB PEECIOUS LEG. 143
And above them all, The dome of St. Paul, With its Golden Cross and its Golden Ball, Shone out as if newly burnish' d !
And lo ! for Golden Hours and Joys, Troops of glittering Golden Boys Danced along with a jocimd noise.
And their gilded emblems carried ! In short, 'twas the year's most Golden Day, By mortals call'd the First of May, When Miss Kilmansegg, Of the Golden Leg, With a Golden Ring was married !
And thousands of children, women, and men. Counted the clock from eight till ten,
From St. James's sonorous steeple ; For next to that interesting job. The hanging of Jack, or BiU, or Bob, There 's nothing so draws a London mob
As the noosing of very rich people.
And a treat it was for a mob to behold The Bridal Carriage that blazed with gold ! And the Footmen tall, and the Coachman bold,
In liveries so resplendent — Coats you wonder' d to see in place. They seem'd so rich with golden lace,
That they might have been independent.
Coats that made those menials proud Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd. From their gilded elevations ;
150 MISsi KILMANSEGG
Not to forget that saucy lad (Ostentation's favourite cad), The Page, who look'd, so splendidly clad, Like a Page of the " Wealth of Nations."
But the Coachman carried off the state. With what was a Lancashire body of late
Turn'd into a Dresden Figure ; With a bridal Nosegay of early bloom. About the size of a birchen broom, And so huge a White Favour, had Gog been Groom
He need not have worn a bigger.
And then to see the Groom ! the Count ! With Foreign Orders to such an amount.
And whiskers so wdd — nay, bestial ; He seem'd to have borrow' d the shaggy hair As well as the Stars of the Polar Bear,
To make him look celestial !
And then — Great Jove ! — the struggle, the crush. The screams, the heaving, the awful rush.
The swearing, the tearing, and fighting, — The hats and bonnets smash' d like an egg — To catch a glimpse of the Golden Leg, Which, between the steps and IMiss Kihnansegg,
Was fully display' d in alighting !
From the Golden Ankle up to the Knee There it was for the mob to see ! A shocking act had it chanced to be
A crooked leg or a skinny : But although a magnificent veil she wore, Such as never was seen before.
AKD HER PBECIOUS LEG. 1,5]
In case of blushes, slie blush'd no more Than Greorge the First ou a guinea !
Another step, and lo ! slie was launch'd ! All in white, as Brides are hlancltd,
With a wreath of most wonderful splendour — Diamonds, and pearls, so rich in de-v-ice, That, according to calculation nice, Her head was worth as royal a price
As the head of the Toung Pretender.
Bravely she shone — and shone the more
As she sail'd through the crowd of squalid and poor
Tliief, beggar, and tatterdemalion — Led by the Count, \nt\x his sloe-black eyes Bright with triumph, and some surj^rise. Like Anson on making sure of his prize
The famous Mexican GraUeon !
Anon came Lady K., with her face Quite made up to act with grace.
But she cut the performance shorter ; For instead of pacing stately and stiff. At the stare of the vulgar she took a miff, And ran, full speed, into Church, as if
To get married before her daughter.
But Sir Jacob wallc'd more slowly, and bow'd Eight and left to the gaping crowd,
Wherever a glance was seizable ; For Sir Jacob thought he bow'd like a Guelph, And therefore bow'd to imp and elf, And would gladly have made a, bow to himself.
Had such a bow been feasible.
152 MISS KILMANSEGG
And last — and not tlie least of the sight, Six "Handsome Fortunes," all in white, Came to help in the marriage rite, —
And rehearse their own hymeneals ; And then the bright procession to close. They were followed by just as many Beaux
Quite fine enough for Ideals.
Glittering men, and splendid dames, Thus they enter'd the porch of St. James',
Pursued by a thunder of laughter ; For the Beadle was forced to intervene. For Jim the Crow, and his Mayday Queen, AVith her gilded ladle, and Jack i' the Green,
Would fain have follow' d after !
Beadle-like he hush'd the shout ;
But the temple was full "inside and out,"
And a buzz kept buzzing all roiuid about
Like bees when the day is sunny — A buzz imiversal that interfered With the rite that ought to have been revered, As if the couple already were smear' d
With Wedlock's treacle and honey !
Yet Wedlock 's a very awful thing ! 'Tis something like that feat in the ring Which requires good nerve to do it — When one of a " Grand Equestrian Troop " Makes a jump at a gilded hoop, Not certain at all Of what may befall After his getting through it !
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 153
But the Count he felt the nervous work No more than any polygamous Turk,
Or bold piratical skipper, Who, diu'ing his buccaneering search, Would as soon engage " a hand " in church
As a hand on board his clipper !
And how did the Bride perform her part ? Like any Bride who is cold at heart.
Mere snow with the ice's glitter ; What but a life of winter for her ! Bright but chilly, alive without stir, So splendidly comfortless, — just like a Fir
When the frost is severe and bitter.
Such were the future man and wife ! Whose bale or bliss to the end of life A few short words were to settle — Wilt thou have this woman ?
I will — and then. Wilt thou have this man ? I will, and Amen — And those Two were one Plesh, in the Angels' ken. Except one Leg — that was metal.
Then the names were sign'd — and kiss'd the kiss : And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss,
As a Countess walk'd to her carriage — Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove, And Cupid flutter' d his wings above. In the shape of a fly — as little a Love
As ever look'd in at a marriage !
Another crash — and away they dash'd,
154 MISS KILMAXSEGG
And tbe gilded carriage and footmen flash' d
From the eyes of the gaping people — AVho turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel Of the Golden Boys beginning a reel, To the merry soiuid of a wedding-pea From St. James's musical steeple.
Those wedding-bells ! those wedding-bells ! How sweetly they sound in pastoral deUs
From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket ! But town-made joys how dearly they cost ; And after all are tumbled and tost, Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost
In to^^ii-made riot and racket.
The wedding-peal, how sweetly it peals With grass or heather beneath oiw heels, —
For beUs are Music's laughter! — But a London peal, well mingled, be sure, AVith vulgar noises and voices impure, "What a harsh and discordant overture
To the Harmony meant to come after !
But hence with Discord — perchance, too soon To cloud the face of the honeymoon
With a dismal occultation ! — Whatever Fate's concerted trick. The Countess and Count, at the present nick, Have a chicken and not a crow. t(y pick
At a sumptuous Cold Collation.
A Breakfast — no unsubstantial mess, But one in the style of Grood Queen Bess, Who, — hearty as hippocampus, —
ASD IIEE PEECIOUS LEG. 1.55
Broke her fast with ale and beef, Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf, And in Heu of anchovy — grampus !
A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh, Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh ;
"With wines the most rare and curious — Wines, of the richest flavour and hue ; With fruits from the worlds both Old and New ; And fruits obtain' d before they were due
At a discount most usurious.
Por wealthy palates there be, that scout What is in season, for what is out,
Aud prefer aU. precocious savour : Tor instance, early green peas, of the sort That costs some four or five guineas a quart ;
AVhere the Mint is the principal flavour.
And many a wealthy man was there, Such as the wealthy City could spare,
To put in. a portly appearance — Men whom their fathers had help'd to gild : And men who had had their fortunes to build And— much to their credit — had richly fill'd
Their purses \)j pursy-verance.
Men, by popular rumour at least, Not the last to. enjoy a feast !
And truly they were not idle ! Luckier far than the chesnut tits, Which, down at the door, stood champing their bits,
At a difierent sort of bridle.
156 MISS KILMANSEGG
For the time was come — and the whisker' d Count Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount,
Ajid fain would the JMuse deny it, But the crowd, including two butchers in blue, (The regular kilhng Wliitechapel hue,) Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view,
As if they had come to buy it !
Then away ! away ! with aU the speed That golden spurs can give to the steed, — Both TeUow Boys and Guineas, indeed,
Concurr'd to urge the cattle — Away they went, with favours white. Yellow jackets, and paimels bright. And left the mob, like a mob at night.
Agape at the sound of a rattle.
Away ! away ! they rattled and roU'd,
The Count, and his Bride, and her Leg of Gold —
That faded charm to the charmer ! Away, — through Old Brentford rang the din, Of wheels and heels, on their way to win That hdl, named after one of her kin.
The HiU of the Golden Farmer !
Gold, still gold — it flew like dust !
It tipp'd the post-boy, and paid the trust;
In each open palm it was freely thrust ;
There was nothing but giving and taking ! And if gold could ensure the future hour. What hopes attended that Bride to her bow'r. But alas ! even hearts with a foui'-horse pow'r
Of opulence end in breaking !
A>"D HER PRECIOUS LEG. 157
The moon — the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told,
IN'ow shady — now bright and siumy — But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range
Is the moon — so call'd — of honey !
To some a full-grown orb reveal' d,
As big and as round as Norval's shield.
And as bright as a burner Bude-lighted ; To others as dull, and dingy, and damp. As any oleaginous lamp, Of the regular old parochial stamp.
In a London fog benighted.
To the loving, a bright and constant sphere. That makes earth's commonest scenes appear
All poetic, romantic, and tender : Hanging vsdth jewels a cabbage-stimip, And investing a common post, or a pump, A currant-bush, or a gooseberry clump,
"With a halo of dreamlike splendour.
A sphere such as shone from Italian skies. In Juliet's dear, dark, liquid eyes,
Tipping trees with its argent braveries — And to couples not favour' d with Fortune's boons One of the most delightful of moons,
1,58 MISS KILMANSEGG
For it brightens their pewter platters aud spoons Like a silver service of Savory's !
For all is bright, and beauteous, and clear, And the meanest thing most precious and dear,
Wlien the magic of love is present : Love, that lends a sweetness and grace To the humblest spot and the plainest face — That turns Wilderness Eow into Paradise Place,
Aiid Garlick Hill to Mount Pleasant !
Love that sweetens sugarless tea, And makes contentment and joy agree
With the coarsest boarding and bedding : Love that no golden ties can attach. But nestles under the humblest thatch, Aud will fly away from an Emperor's match
To dance at a Penny Wedding !
Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state. When such a bright Planet governs the fate
Of a pair of united lovers ! 'Tis theirs, iu spite of the Serpent's hiss, To enjoy the pure primeval kiss. With as much of the old original bliss
As mortality ever recovers !
There's strength in double joints, no doubt,
In double X Ale, and Dublin Stout,
That the single sorts know nothing about —
And a fist is strongest when doubled — And double aqua-fortis, of course, And double soda-water, perforce.
Are the strongest that ever bubbled !
AIsD HEE PRECIOUS LEG. 159
There 's double beauty whenever a Swan Swims on a Lake, with her double thereon ; Aaid ask the gardener, Luke or John,
Of the beauty of double-blowing — A double dahlia delights the eye ; And it 's far the loveliest sight in the sky
AVhen a double rainbow is glowing !
There 's warmth in a pair of double soles ; As well as a double allowance of coals —
In a coat that is double-breasted — In double windows and double doors ; And a double U wind is blest by scores
For its warmth to the tender-chested.
There 's a twofold sweetness in double pipes ; And a double barrel and double snipes
Give the sportsman a duplicate pleasure : There 's double safety in double locks ; And double letters bring cash for the box ; And aU the world knows that double knocks
Are gentility's double measure.
There 's a double sweetness in double rhymes. And a double at "Whist and a double Times
In profit are certainly double — By doubling, the Hare contrives to escape : And all seamen delight in a doubled Cape,
And a double-reef'd topsail in trouble.
There 's a double chuck at a double chin,
And of course there 's a double pleasure therein.
If the parties were brought to telling : And however our Dennises take offence,
160 MISS KILMANSEGG
A double meaning sliows double sense ; And if proverbs tell truth, A double tooth Is "Wisdom's adopted dwelling !
But double wisdom, and pleasure, and sense, Beauty, respect, strength, comfort, and thence
Through whatever the list discovers. They are aU. in the double blessedness summ'd, Of what was formerly double-drumm'd,
The Marriage of two true Lovers !
Now the Kibnansegg Moon — it must be told— Though instead of sUver it tipp'd with gold — Shone rather wan, and distant, and cold.
And before its days were at thirty. Such gloomy clouds began to collect. With an ominous ring of iU. effect. As gave but too much cause to expect
Such weather as seamen call dirty !
And yet the moon was the " Toung May Moon," And the scented hawthorn had blossom' d soon,
And the thrush and the blackbird were siuging- The snow-white lambs were skipping in play, And the bee was humming a tune aU day To flowers as welcome as flowers in May,
And the trout in the stream was springing !
But what were the hues of the blooming earth, Its scents — its sounds — or the music and mirtli
Of its furr'd or its feather' d creatures. To a Pair in the world's last sordid stage, Who had never look'd into Natui'e's page,
AND HEE PKECIOUS LEG. 161
And had strange ideas of a Golden Age, Without any Arcadian features ?
And what were joys of the pastoral kind
To a Bride — to'mi-made — with a heart and mind
With simplicity ever at battle ? A bride of an ostentatious race, Who, thrown in the Golden Farmer's place, AVould have trimm'd her shepherds with golden lace,
And gilt the horns of her cattle.
She could not please the pigs with her whim, And the sheep wouldn't cast their eyes at a limb
For which she had been such a martyr : The deer in the park, and the colts at grass, And the cows unheeded let it pass ; And the ass on the common was such an ass, That he wouldn't have swapp'd The thistle he cropp'd For her Leg, including the Garter !
She hated lanes, and she hated fields — She hated all that the country yields —
And barely knew turnips from clover ; She hated walking in any shape, And a country stile was an awkward scrape, Without the bribe of a mob to gape
At the Leg in clambering over !
O blessed natiu-e, " O rus ! 0 rus !" Who cannot sigh for the country thus.
Absorb' d in a worldly torpor — Who does not yearn for its meadow-sweet breath, Untaiuted by care, and crime, and death.
162 MISS KILMAKSEGG
And to stand sometimes upon grass or heath — That soul, spite of gold, is a pauper !
But to hail the pearly advent of morn, And rehsh the odour fresh from the thorn,
She was far too pamper' d a madam — Or to joy in the dayhght waxing strong, "While, after ages of sorrow and wrong. The scorn of the proud, the misrule of the strong. And all the woes that to man belong, The lark still carols the self-same song
That he did to the uncurst Adam !
The Lark! she had given all Leipsic's flocks For a Vairxhall tune in a musical box ;
And as for the birds in the thicket. Thrush or ousel in leafy niche. The linnet or finch, she was far too rich To care for a Morning Concert to which
She was welcome without any ticket, * Gold, still gold, her standard of old, All pastoral joys were tried by gold.
Or by fancies golden and crural — Till ere she had pass'd one week unblest, As her agricultural Uncle's guest, Her mind was made up and fidly imprest
That fehcity could not be rural !
Aud the Count ? — to the snow-white lambs at play, And all the scents and the sights of May,
And the birds that warbled their passion, His ears, and dark eyes, and decided nose. Were as deaf and as blind and as dull as those
AND HEB PRECIOUS LEG, 16^
That overlook the Bouquet de Eose, The Huile Antique, And Parfum Unique, In a Barber's Temple of Fashion.
To tell, indeed, the true extent Of his rural bias so far it went
As to covet estates in ring fences — And for rural lore he had learn' d in town That the country was green, tum'd up with brown, And garnish' d with trees that a man might cut down
Instead of his own expenses.
And yet had that fault been his only one, The Pair might have had few quarrels or none,
For their tastes thus far were in common ; But faults he had that a haughty bride With a Golden Leg could hardly abide — Faults that would even have roused the pride
Of a far less metalsome woman !
It was early days indeed for a wife, In the very spring of her married life,
To be chill' d by its vrintry weather — But instead of sitting as Love-Birds do. Or Hymen's tiu-tles that biU and coo — Enjoying their " moon and honey for two "
They were scarcely seen together !
In vain she sat with her Precious Leg A Httle exposed, a la Kilmansegg,
And roll'd her eyes in their sockets ! He left her in spite of her tender regards, And those loving murmui's described by bards,
m2
164 MISS KILMANSEGG
Por the rattling of dice and tlie shuffling of cards, And the poking of balls into pockets !
Moreover he loved the deepest stake
And the heaviest bets the players would make ;
And he drank — the reverse of sparely, — And he used strange curses that made her fret ; And when he play'd with herself at piquet. She found, to her cost, Por she always lost, That the Count did not count quite fairly.
And then came dark mistrust and doubt, Gather'd by worming his secrets out,
And slips in his conversations — Pears, which all her peace destroy'd. That his title was null — his coffers were void — And his French Chateau was in Spain, or enjoy'd
The most aiiy of situations.
But still his heart — if he had such a part — She — only she — might possess his heart,
And hold his affections in fetters — Alas ! that hope, like a crazy ship, Was forced its anchor and cable to slip When, seduced by her fears, she took a dip
In his private papers and letters.
Letters that told of dangerous leagues ; And notes that hinted as many intrigues
As the Count's in the " Barber of Seville "— In short such mysteries came to light, That the Countess-Bride, on the thirtieth night, Woke and started up in affriglit.
AITD HER PEECIOrS LEG. 165
And kick'd and scream'd with all her might, And finally fainted away outright,
Por she dreamt she had married the Devil!
^cv iHt^cry.
Who hath not met with home-made bread, A heavy compound of putty and lead — And home-made wines that rack the head,
And home-made liqueurs and waters ? Home-made pop that will not foam, And home-made dishes that drive one from home, Not to name each mess, Por the face or dress, Home-made by the homely daughters ?
Home-made physic, that sickens the sick ; Thick for thin and thin for thick ; — In short each homogeneous trick
For poisoning domesticity ? And since our Parents, call'd the First, A little family squabble nurst, Of all our evils the worst of the worst
Is home-made infelicity.
There 's a Grolden Bird that claps its wings. Arid dances for joy on its perch, and sings
With a Persian exultation : For the Sun is shining into the room.
166 MISS KILMANSEGG
And brightens up tlie carj^et-bloom, As if it were new, bran new from the loom, Or the lone Nun's fabrication.
And thence the glorious radiance flames On pictures in massy gilded frames — Enshrining, however, no painted Dames,
But portraits of colts and fillies — Pictures hanging on waUs which shine, In spite of the bard's familiar line.
With clusters of " gilded lilies."
And still the flooding sunlight shares Its lustre with gilded sofas and chairs,
That shine as if freshly burnish' d — And gilded tables, with glittering stocks Of gilded china, and golden clocks. Toy, and trinket, and musical box.
That Peace and Paris have furnish' d.
And lo ! with the brightest gleam of all The glowing sunbeam is seen to fall
On an object as rare as splendid — The golden foot of the Golden Leg Of the Countess — once Miss Kilmansegg —
But there aU sunshine is ended.
Her cheek is pale, and her eye is dim. And downward cast, yet not at the limb,
Once the centre of all speculation ; But downward drooping in comfort's dearth. As gloomy thoughts are drawn to the earth — Whence human sorrows derive their birth —
By a moral gravitation.
AND HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 167
Her golden liair is out of its braids, And her sighs betray the gloomy shades
That her evil planet revolves in — And tears are falling that catch a gleam So bright as they drop in the sunny beam, That tears of aq^ua regia they seem,
The water that gold dissolves in !
Tet, not in filial grief were shed
Those tears for a mother's insanity ; Nor yet because her father was dead, For the bowing Sir Jacob had bow'd his head
To Death — with his usual urbanity ; The waters that down her visage rill'd Were drops of unrectified spirit distill' d
From the limbeck of Pride and Vanity,
Tears that fell alone and uncheckt,
Without relief, and without respect,
Like the fabled pearls that the pigs neglect,
When pigs have that opportunity — And of all the griefs that mortals share. The one that seems the hardest to bear
Is the grief without community.
How bless' d the heart that has a friend A sympathising ear to lend
To troubles too great to smother ! For as ale and porter, when flat, are restored Till a sparkling bubbling head they alford, So sorrow is cheer' d by being pour'd
From one vessel into another.
But Mend or gossip she had not one
168 MISS KILMANSEGG
To hear the vile deeds that the Count had done,
How night after night he rambled ; And how she had learn' d by sad degrees That he drank, and smoked, and worse than these, That he " swindled, intrigued, and gambled."
How he kiss'd the maids, and sparr'd with John ; And came to bed with his garments on ;
With other offences as heinous — And brought strange gentlemen home to dine. That he said were vol the Fancy Liue, And they fancied spirits instead of wine,
And caU'd her lap-dog " Wenus."
Of " making a book " how he made a stir, But never had written a line to her.
Once his idol and Cara Sposa : And how he had storm' d, and treated her lU, Because she refused to go down to a mill, She didn't know where, but remember'd still
That the Miller's name was Mendoza.
How often he waked her up at night, And oftener stiU by the morning light,
Heeling home from his haunts milawful ; Singing songs that shouldn't be sung, Except by beggars and thieves unhung — Or volleying oaths, that a foreign tongue
Made still more horrid and a^^ul !
How oft, instead of otto of rose.
With vulgar smells he offended her nose.
From gin, tobacco, and onion ! And then how wildly he used to stare !
AKD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 169
Aud shake his fist at nothing, aud swear, — And pluck by the handful his shaggy hair, Till he look'd like a study of Giant Despair For a new Edition of Bunyan !
For dice will run the contrary way, As well is known to all who play,
And cards will conspire as in treason : And what with keeping a hunting-box,
Following fox —
Friends in flocks,
Burgundies, Hocks,
From London Docks ;
Stultz's frocks,
Manton and Nock's
Barrels and locks,
Shooting blue rocks,
Trainers and jocks,
Buskins and socks,
Pugilistical knocks,
And fighting-cocks, If he found himself short in funds and stocks, These rhymes will furnish the reason !
His friends, indeed, were falling away — Friends who insist on play or pay — And he fear'd at no very distant day
To be cut by Lord and by cadger. As one who was gone or going to smash, For his checks no longer drew the cash. Because, as his conu'ades explaiu'd in flash,
" He had overdrawn his badger."
Gold, gold— alas ! for the gold
170 MISS KILMAKSEGG
Spent where souls are bouglit and sold,
In Vice's "VYalpurgis revel ! Alas ! for muffles, and buUdogs, and guns, The leg that walks, and the leg that runs. All real evils, though Pancy ones. When they lead to debt, dishonour, and duns,
Nay, to death, ?nd perchance the devil !
Alas ! for the last of a Grolden race !
Had she cried her wrongs in the market-place,
She had warrant for aU her clamour — Tor the worst of rogues, and brutes, and rakes, "Was breaking her heart by constant aches, With as little remorse as the Pauper who breaks
A flint with a parish hammer !
^tr East 3]2Sin.
Now the Precious Leg while cash was flush, Or the Count's acceptance worth a rush,
Had never excited dissension ; But no sooner the stocks began to fall. Than, mthout any ossification at all, The limb became what people caU
A perfect bone of contention.
!For alter' d days brought alter'd ways, And instead of the complimentary phrase,
So current before her bridal — The Countess heard, in language low,
AND HER PEECIOUS LEG, 171
That her Precious Leg was precious slow, A good 'un to look at but bad to go, And kept quite a sum lying idle.
That instead of playing musical airs,
Like Colin's foot in going up-stairs —
As the wife in the Scottish ballad declares —
It made an infernal stumping. Whereas a member of cork, or wood, Would be lighter and cheaper and quite as good,
Without the unbearable thumping.
P'rhaps she thought it a decent thing To show her calf to cobbler and king,
But nothing could be absurder — While none but the crazy would advertise Their gold before their servants' eyes, Who of course some night would make it a prize,
By a Shocking and Barbarous Murder.
But spite of hint, and threat, and scoff,
The Leg kept its situation : For legs are not to be taken off
By a verbal amputation. And mortals when they take a whim, The greater the foUy the stiffer the limb
That stands upon it or by it — So the Countess, then Miss Kilmansegg, At her marriage refused to stir a peg, Till the Lawyers had fasten' d on her Leg,
As fast as the Law could tie it.
Eirmly then — and more firmly yet —
With scorn for scorn, and with threat for threat,
172 MISS KILMANSEGa
The Proud One confronted the Cruel : And loud and bitter the quarrel arose, Tierce and merciless — one of those, "With spoken daggers, and looks like blows,
In all but the bloodshed a duel !
Eash, and wild, and wretched, and wrong,
"Were the words that came from Weak and Strong,
Till madden' d for desperate matters, Pierce as tigress escaped from her den. She flew to her desk — 'twas open'd — and then, In the time it takes to try a pen. Or the clerk to utter his slow Amen,
Her Will was in fifty tatters !
But the Count, instead of curses wild, Only nodded his head and smiled. As if at the spleen of an angry child ;
But the calm was deceitful and sinister ! A lull like the luU of the treacherous sea — Por Hate in that moment had sworn to be The Golden Leg's sole Legatee,
And that very night to administer !
AJJD HEE PEECIOUS LEG. 173
'Tis a stem and startling thing to think How often mortality stands on the brink
Of its grave without any misgiving : And yet in this slippery world of strife, In the stir of human bustle so rife, There are daily sounds to tell us that Life
Is dying, and Death is living !
Ay, Beauty the Girl, and Love the Boy, Bright as they are with hope and joy.
How their so;ila would sadden instanter, To remember that one of those wedding bells, Which ring so merrily through the deUs, Is the same that kneUs Our last farewells. Only broken into a canter !
But breath and blood set doom at nought — How little the wretched Countess thought.
When at night she unloosed her sandal, That the Fates had woven her burial-cloth. And that Death, in the shape of a Death'sHead Moth,
Was fluttering round her candle !
As she look'd at her clock of or-molu.
For the hours she had gone so wearily through
At the end of a day of trial — How little she saw in her pride of prime The dart of Death in the Hand of Time —
That hand which moved on the dial !
174 MISS KILMANSEGG
As she went witli her taper up the stair, How little her swollen eye was aware
That the Shadow which follow' d was double ! Or when she closed her chamber door, It was shutting out, and for evermore,
The world — and its worldly trouble.
Little she dreamt, as she laid aside Her jewels— after one glance of pride —
They were solemn bequests to Vanity — Or when her robes she began to doff, That she stood so near to the putting off
Of the flesh that clothes humanity.
And when she quench' d the taper's light, How little she thought as the smoke took flight. That her day was done — and merged in a night Of dreams and duration uncertaia — Or, along with her own. That a Hand of Bone "Was closing mortahty's curtain !
But life is sweet, and mortality blind, And youth is hopeful, and Fate is kiud
In concealing the day of sorrow ; And enough is the present tense of toil — For this world is, to all, a stifiish soil — And the mind flies back with a glad recoil
From the debts not due till to-morrow.
"Wherefore else does the Spirit fly And bid its daily cares good-bye. Along with its daily clothing ? Just as the felon condemn' d to die —
AND HEE PRECIOUS LEQ. J 75
Witli a very natural loathing — Leaving the Sheriff to dream of ropes, Prom his gloomy cell in a vision elopes, To caper on sunny greens and slopes,
Instead of the dance upon nothing.
Thus, even thus, the Countess slept. While Death still nearer and nearer crept,
Like the Thane who smote the sleeping — But her mind was busy with early joys, Her golden treasures and golden toys. That flash'd a bright And golden light Under lids still red with weeping.
The golden doll that she used to hug ! Her coral of gold, and the golden mug !
Her godfather's golden presents ! The golden service she had at her meals, The golden watch, and chain, and seals. Her golden scissors, and tliread, and reels,
And her golden fishes and pheasants !
The golden guineas in silken purse —
And the Grolden Legends she heard from her nurse,
Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage — And London streets that were paved with gold — And the Golden Eggs that were laid of old — With each golden thing To the golden ring At her own auriferous Marriage !
And still the golden light of the sim Through her golden dream appear' d to run,
176 MISS KILMANSEGG
Though the night that roar'd without was one
To terrify seamen or gipsies — "WTule the moon, as if in malicious mirth, Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth, As though she enjoy' d the tempest's birth,
In revenge of her old eclipses.
But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell,
For the soul of the Sleeper was under a speU
That time had lately embitter' d — The Count, as once at her foot he knelt — That foot wliich now he wanted to melt ! But — hush ! — 'twas a stir at her piUow she felt-
And some object before her glitter' d.
'Twas the Golden Leg ! — she knew its gleam ! And up she started, and tried to scream, —
But ev'n in the moment she started — Down came the Hmb with a frightful smash, And, lost in the universal flash That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
The Spark, call'd Vital, depajrted !
Gold, still gold ! hard, yellow, and cold,
Tor gold she had lived, and she died for gold —
By a golden weapon — not oaken ; In the morning they found her all alone — Stijff, and bloody, and cold as stone — But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone,
And the " Golden Bowl was broken ! "
Gold — still gold ! it haunted her yet — At the Golden Lion the Inquest met —
AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 177
Its foreman, a carver and gilder — And the Jury debated from twelve till three What the Verdict ought to be, Aud they brought it in as Felo de Se,
" Because her own Leg had kill'd her ! "
Wv Moral.
Gold! G-old! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold. Molten, graven, hammer' d, and roll'd ; Heavy to get, and light to hold ; Hoarded, barter'd, bought, and sold. Stolen, borrow' d, squander' d, doled : Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To the ver}' verge of the chiu'chyard mould ; Price of many a crime untold ; Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold: Good or bad a thousand-fold !
How widely its agencies vary — To save — to ruin — to curse — to bless — As even its minted coins express, Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess,
Aud now of a Bloody Mary.
178
THE LEE-SHORE.
Sleet ! and Hail! and Thunder!
And ye Winds that rave, Till the sands thereunder
Tinge the svdlen wave —
Winds, that like a Demon, Howl with horrid note
Bound the toiling Seaman, In his tossing boat —
Erom his humble dwelling. On the shingly shore.
Where the billows swelling, Keep such hoUow roar —
From that weeping Woman, Seeking with her cries
Succour superhuman
Erom the frowning skies —
THE liEE-SHOEE. 179
From the Urchin pining
For his Father's knee — From the lattice shining,
Drive him out to sea !
Let broad leagues dissever Him from yonder foam ; —
Oh, God ! to think Man ever Comes too near his Home !
N 2
180
THE DEATH-BED.
We watcli'd her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low, As in. her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly moved about. As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.
Our very hopes belied our fears.
Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.
For when the mom came dim and sad, And chill with early showers.
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours.
181
LINES
ON SEEING MY WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN SLEEPING IN THE SAME CHAMBER.
And has the earth lost its so spacious round,
The sky its blue circumference above,
That in this little chamber there is found
Both earth and heaven — my universe of love !
All that my God can give me or remove.
Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death.
Sweet that in this small compass I behove
To live their living and to breathe their breath !
Almost I wish that with one common sigh
We might resign aU mundane care and strife.
And seek together that transcendent sky,
Where Father, Mother, Children, Husband, Wife,
Together pant in everlasting Ufe !
COBLENTZ, Nov., 1835.
182
TO MT DAUGHTER.
ON HER BIRTHDAY.
Deak Faniiy ! nine long years ago, While yet the morning sun was low, And rosy with the eastern glow
The landscape smiled ; Whilst low'd the newly-waken'd herds- Sweet as the early song of birds, I heard those first, delightful words,
" Thou hast a chUd ! "
Along with that uprising dew
Tears glisten' d in my eyes, though few.
To hail a dawning qmte as new
To me, as Time : It was not sorrow — not annoy — But like a happy maid, though coy, With grief-like welcome, even Joy
Forestalls its prime.
TO Mr DAUGHTER. 183
So may'st thou live, dear ! many years,
In all the bUss that Hfe endears.
Not without smiles, nor yet from tears
Too strictly kept : AVTien first thy infant littleness I folded in my fond caress, The greatest proof of happiaess
Was this — I wept.
Sept., 1839.
184
TO A CHILD
EMBRACING HIS MOTHER.
Love thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again, — Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one !
Gaze upon her living eyes. And mirror back her love for thee, — Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Graze upon her living eyes !
Press her lips the while they glow With love that they have often told, — Hereafter thou may'st press in woe, And kiss them till thine own are cold. Press her lips the while they glow !
i
TO A CHILD. 18c
Ob, revere lier raven hair ! Altho' it be not silver-grey ; Too early Deatb, led on by Care, May snatch save one dear lock away. Oh ! revere her raven hair !
Pray for her at eve and morn, That Heaven may long the stroke defer, — Tor thoii may'st live the hour forlorn When thou wilt ask to die with her. Prav for her at eve and morn !
186
STANZAS
Faeewell Life ! my senses swim, And the world is growing dim : Thronging shadows cloud the light, Like the advent of the night — Colder, colder, colder still, Upward steals a vapour chill ; Strong the earthy odour grows — I smell the mould above the rose !
"Welcome Life ! tlie Spirit strives ! ;
Strength returns and hope revives ; ^
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn 3
Fly like shadows at the mom, — *
O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; f
Sunny light for suUen gloom. Warm perfume for vapour cold — I smeU the rose above the mould !
April, 1845.
187
TO A FALSE EEIEND.
OuE hands have met, but not our hearts ; Our hands will never meet again. Friends, if we have ever been, Friends we cannot now remain : I only know I loved you once, I only know I loved in vain ; Our hands have met, but not our hearts ; Our hands will never meet again !
Then farewell to heart and hand !
I would our hands had never met :
Even the outward form of love
Must be resign'd with some regret.
Friends, we still might seem to be.
If my wrong could e'er forget
Our hands have join'd but not our hearts ;
I would our hands had never met !
188
THE POET'S PORTION.
"What is a mine — a treasury — a dower — A magic talisman of mighty power ? A poet's wide possession of the earth. He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth Before its budding — ere the first red streaks,— And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. Look — if his dawn be not as other men's ! Twenty bright flushes — ere another Ivcns The first of sunlight is abroad — he sees Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees, And opes the splendid fissures of the morn. "When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn Linger for harvesting ? Before the leaf Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, But he will sip it first — before the lees. 'Tis his to taste rich honey, — ere the bees Are busy with the brooms. He may forestall June's rosy advent for his coronal ; Before th' expectant buds upon the bough, Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. Oh ! blest to see the flower in its seed, Before its leafy presence ; for indeed
THE poet's portion. 1J39
Leaves are but wings, on which the summer flies, And each thing perishable fades and dies, Escaped in thought ; but his rich thiukings be Like overflows of immortality. So that what there is steep'd shall perish never, But live and bloom, and be a jov for ever.
190
SONG.
O Lady, leave thy silken tkread
And flowery tapestrie : There 's living roses on the bush,
And blossoms on the tree ; Stoop wbere thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud wiU meet ; Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom ; The light is made of many dyes,
The air is aU perfume ; There 's crimson buds, and white and blue-
The very rainbow showers Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.
There 's fairy tulips in the east,
The garden of the sun ; The very streams reflect the hues,
And blossom as they run : While Morn opes like a crimson rose,
Still wet with pearly showers ; Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers !
]9l
TIME, HOPE, AND MEMOET.
I HEAED a gentle maiden, in the spring. Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing : " Fly through the world, and I wiU follow thee. Only for looks that may turn back on me ;
Only for roses that your chance may throw — Though wither' d — I will wear them on my brow, To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain ; Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again.
Thy love before thee, I must tread behind. Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind ; But trust not aU her fondness, though it seem, Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.
Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet ;
But smiles betray, and music sings deceit ;
And words speak false ; — yet, if they welcome prove,
I '11 be their echo, and repeat their love.
Only if waken' d to sad truth, at last. The bitterness to come, and sweetness past ; "When thou art vext, then, turn again, and see Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee."
1J^2
FLOWERS.
I WILL not have the mad Clytie, Whose head is turn'd by the sun ; The tulip is a courtly quean, Whom, therefore, I will shun ; The cowslip is a coimtry wench, The violet is a nun ; — But I will woo the daiuty rose, The queen of every one.
The pea is but a wanton witch. In too much haste to wed, And clasps her rings on every hand ; The wolfsbane I should dread ; Nor will I dreary rosemarye. That always mourns the dead ; — But I will woo the dainty rose. With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me —
And the daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a blusli,
She is of such low degree ;
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom 's betroth' d to the bee ; —
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.
19S
TO
Still glides the gentle streamlet on, With sliifting current new and strange ; The water that was here is gone, But those green shadows never change.
Serene or ruffled by the storm. On present waves, as on the past. The mirror' d grove retains its form. The self-same trees their semblance cast.
The hue each fleeting globule wears. That drop bequeaths it to the next ; One picture stiO. the surface bears, To niustrate the murmur' d text.
So, love, however time may flow, Presh hours pursuing those that flee, One constant image still shall show My tide of life is true to thee.
194
TO
Let us make a leap, my dear, In our love, of many a year, And date it very far away. On a bright clear summer day, "WTien the heart was like a sun To itself, and falsehood none ; And the rosy lips a part Of the very loving heart, And the shining of the eye But a sign to know it by ; — When my faults were all forgiven. And my life deserved of Heaven. Dearest, let us reckon so. And love for all that long ago ; Each absence count a year complete, And keep a birthday when we meet.
198
TO
I LOVE thee — I love thee !
'Tis all that I can say ; — It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day ; The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray : I love thee — I love thee !
Is all that I can say.
I love thee — I love thee !
Is ever on my tongue ; In all my proudest poesy
That chorus -still is sung ; It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young : I love thee — I love thee !
A thousand maids among.
I love thee — I love thee !
Thy bright and hazel glance. The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance ; But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance, I love thee — I love thee !
Whatever be thy chance.
o2
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1
197
IX AN ALBUM.
the hollow ad its moan, ight Apollo |eu zone, — never shade him,
invade him, ^us throne.
•m
hold me j^ >right, ^
loth fold me ■ light ! aeth, th, ^it.
"k
196
SEEENADE.
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep ; And yet, while I address thee now,
Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 'Tis sweet enough to make me weep,
That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hush'd so deep,
Thy soul 's perhaps awake to me !
Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep !
With golden visions for thy dower. While I this midnight vigil keep.
And bless thee in thy silent bower ; To me 'tis sweeter than the power
Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl' d. That I alone, at this still hour,
In patient love outwatch the world.
197
VERSES IN AN ALBUM.
Fae above the hollow Tempest, and its moan, Singeth bright Apollo In his golden zone, — Cloud doth never shade him, Nor a storm invade him, On his joyous throne.
So when I behold me In an orb as bright, How thy soul doth fold me In its throne of light ! Sorrow never paineth, Nor a care attaineth. To that blessed height.
198
BALLAD.
It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast ; It was the time of roses, — We pluck' d them as we pass'd !
That churlish season never frown' d On early lovers yet ! Oh, no — the world was newly crowu'd With flowers when first we met.
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, But still you held me fast ; It was the time of roses, — We pluck' d them as we pass'd !
(
199
THE EOMANCE OF COLOGNE.
'Tis even — on the pleasant banks of Ehine The thrush is singing and the dove is cooing ; A Touth and Maiden on the turf recline Alone — and he is wooing.
Tet vpoos in vain, for to the voice of love No kindly sympathy the Maid discovers, Though round them both, and in the air above, The tender spirit hovers.
Untouch' d by lovely Nature and her laws. The more he pleads, more coyly she represses ; Her lips denies, and now her hand withdraws, Eejecting his addresses.
Eair is she as the dreams young poets weave. Bright eyes and dainty lips and tresses curly, In outward loveliness a child of Eve, But cold as nymph of Lurley.
The more Love tries her pity to engross. The more she chills him with a strange behaviour ; Now tells her beads., now gazes on the Cross And image of the Saviour.
200 THE EOMANCE OF COLOaNE.
Forth goes the lover with a farewell moan, As from the presence of a thing unhuman ; — Oh, what unholy speU hath turn'd to stone The young warm heart of woman !
* * * *
'Tis midnight — and the moonbeam, cold and wan, On bower and rivei quietly is sleeping, And o'er the corse of a self-mui'der'd man The Maiden fair is weeping.
In vain she looks into his glassy eyes, No pressure answers to her hands so pressing ; In her fond arms impassively he lies. Clay-cold to her caressing.
Despairing, stvmn'd, by her eternal loss, She flies to succour that may best beseem her But, lo ! a frowning figure veils the Cross And hides the blest Redeemer !
"With stern right hand it stretches forth a scroll, Wherein she reads, in melancholy letters. The cruel, fatal pact that placed her soul And her young heart in fetters.
" Wretch ! sinner ! renegade ! to truth and God, Thy holy faith for human love to barter!" No more she hears, but on the bloody sod Sinks, Bigotry's last martyr !
And side by side the hapless Lovers lie ; Tell me, harsh Priest ! by yonder tragic token, What part hath God in such a bond, whereby Or hearts or vows are broken ?
201
TO .
COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAil.
I GAZE upon a city, — A city new and strange, — Down many a watery vista My fancy takes a range ; From side to side I saunter, And wonder where I am ; A.nd can you be in England, And I at Rotterdam !
Before me lie dark waters In broad canals and deep, Whereon the silver moonbeams Sleep, restless in their sleep ; A sort of vulgar Venice Eeminds me where I am ; Tes, yes, you are in England, And I 'm at Rotterdam.
Tall houses with quaint gables, Where frequent windows shine, And quays that lead to bridges, And trees in formal line,
202 TO
And masts of spicy vessels Irom western Sui'inam, All tell me you 're in England, But I 'm in Rotterdam.
Those sailors, how outlandish The face and form of each ! They deal in foreign gestures. And use a foreign speech ; A tongue not learn' d near Isis, Or studied by the Cam, Declares that you 're in England, And I 'm at Rotterdam.
And now across a market My doubtful way I trace, "WTiere stands a solemn statue, The Grenius of the place ; And to the great Erasmus I offer my salaam ; Who tells me you 're in England, But I 'm at Rotterdam.
The coffee-room is open — I mingle in its crowd, — The domiaos are noisy — The hookahs raise a cloud ; The flavour now of Fearon's, That mingles with my dram, Reminds me you 're in England, And I 'm at Rotterdam.
TO . 203
Then here it goes, a bumper — The toast it shall be mine, In Schiedam, or in sherry, Tokay, or hock of Rhine ; It well deserves the brightest. Where sunbeam ever swam- — " The Girl I love in England" I drink at Rotterdam !
Mcurch, 1S35.
204
THE KEY,
A MOORISH ROMANCE,
" On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the keys of their ancestors' houses in Spain ; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning, and again planting the crescent on the ancient walls of the Alhambra." — Scott's Travels in Morocco and Algiers.
"Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing?" — Sancho Panza.
The Moor leans on his cushion, "With the pipe between his lips ; And still at frequent intervals The sweet sherbet he sips ; But, spite of lulling vapour And the sober cooling cup, The spirit of the swarthy Moor Is fiercely kindling up !
One hand is on his pistol, » On its ornamented stock.
While his finger feels the trigger And is busy with the lock — The other seeks his ataghan. And clasps its jewell'd hilt — Oh ! much of gore in days of yore That crooked blade has spilt !
His brows are knit, his eyes of jet In vivid blackness roll,
TUE KEY. 205
And gleam with fatal flashes
Like the fire-damp of the coal ;
His jaws are set, and through his teeth
He draws a savage breath,
As if about to raise the shout
Of Victory or Death !
Per why ? the last Zebeck that came And moor'd within the Mole, Such tidings unto Tunis brought As stir his very soid — The cruel jar of ci\'il war, The sad and stormy reign, That blackens like a thundercloud The sunny land of Spain !
No strife of glorious Chivalry,
For honour's gain or loss,
Nor yet that ancient rivalry.
The Crescent with the Cross.
No charge of gallant Paladins
On Moslems stern and stanch ;
But Christians sheddmg Christian blood
Beneath the olive's branch !
A war of hoiTid parricide,
And brother killing brother ;
Tea, like to " dogs and sons of dogs"
That worry one another.
But let them bite and tear and fight,
The more the Kafters slay.
The sooner Hagar's swarming sons
Shall make the land a prey !
206 TUE KEY.
The sooner shall the Moor behold Th' Alhambra's pile again ; And those who pined in Barbary Shall shout for joy in Spain — The sooner shall the Crescent wave On dear Granada's walls ; And proud Mohammed Ali sit "Within his father's halls !
" Alla-il-alla ! ' ' tiger-like Up springs the swarthy Moor, And, with a wide and hasty stride, Steps o'er the marble floor ; Across the hall, till from the wall, Where such quaint patterns be, "With eager hand he snatches down An old and massive Key !
A massive Key of curious shape,
And dark with dirt and rust,
And well three weary centiiries
The metal might incrust !
For since the King Boabdil fell
Before the native stock.
That ancient Key, so quaint to see.
Hath never been in lock.
Brought over by the Saracens
Who fled across the main,
A token of the secret hope
Of going back again ;
Prom race to race, from hand to hand,
Prom house to house it pass'd ;
I
I
THE KEY. 207
O will it ever, ever ope The Palace gate at last ?
Three hundred years and fifty-two On post and wall it hung — Three hundred years and fifty-two A dream to old and young ; But now a brighter destiny The Prophet's will accords : The time is come to scour the rust, And lubricate the wards.
Eor should the Moor with sword and lance
At Algesiras land,
Where is the bold Bernardo now
Their progress to withstand ?
To Burgos should the Moslem come,
Where is the noble Cid
Five royal crowns to topple down
As gallant Diaz did ?
Hath Xeres any Pounder now,
When other weapons fail.
With club to thrash invaders rash.
Like barley with a flail ?
Hath Seville any Perez still,
To lay his clusters low,
And ride vsdth seven turbans green
Around his saddle-bow ?
No ! never more shall Europe see Such Heroes brave and bold, Such Valour, Paith, and Loyalty, As used to shine of old !
208 THE KEY.
No longer to one battle cry
United Spaniards run,
And with their thronging spears uphold
The Virgin and her Son !
From Cadiz Bay to rough Biscay
Internal discord dwells,
And Barcelona bears the scars
Of Spanish shot and shells.
The fleets decline, the merchants pine
For want of foreign trade ;
And gold is scant ; and Alicante
Is seal'd by strict blockade !
The loyal fly, and Valour falls.
Opposed by court intrigue ;
But treachery and traitors thrive,
Upheld by foreign league ;
While factions seeking private ends
By turns usui'ping reign —
Well may the dreaming, scheming Moor
Exulting point to Spain !
Well may he cleanse the rusty Key With Afric sand and oil, And hope an Andalusian home Shall recompense the toil ! Well may he swear the Moorish spear Through wild Castile shall sweep. And where the Catalonian sow'd The Saracen shall reap !
Well may he vow to spurn the Cross Beneath the Arab hoof.
THE XBY. 209
And plant tlie Crescent yet again
Above th' Alhambra's roof
"WTien those from whom St. Jago's name
In chorus once arose,
Are shouting Faction's battle-cries,
And Spain forgets to " Close !"
Well may he swear his ataghan
Shall rout the traitor swarm,
And carve them into Arabesques
That show no human form —
The blame be theirs whose bloody feuds
Invite the savage Moor,
And tempt him with the ancient Key
To seek the ancient door !
210 SONNETS.
I.
TO THE OCEAN.
Shall I rebuke tbee, Ocean, my old love, That once, in rage with the "nild vrinds at strife. Thou darest menace my unit of a life, Sending my clay below, my soul above. Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth ? Yet didst thou ne'er restore my fainting health ? — Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove ? Nay, didst thou not against my own dear shore Full break, last link between my land and me ? — My absent friends talk in thy very roar, In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see. And, if I must not see my England more, Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee !
COBLENTZ, May, 1835.
SONNETS. 211
II.
LEAR.
A POOR old king, ■with sorrow for my crown, Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind- Tor pity, my own tears have made me blind That I might never see my children's frown ; And may be madness, like a friend, has thrown A folded fillet over my dark mind. So that unkindly speech may sound for kind, — Albeit I know not. — I am childish grown — And have not gold to purchase Mat withal — I that have once maintain' d most royal state — A very bankrupt now that may not call My child, my child — all-beggar' d save in tears. Wherewith I daily weep an old man's fate, Foolish — and blind — and overcome with years I
p2
212 aOJrSTETS.
Ill
aSfSTTEX TO A 8035ET-
Base ccai^aatioii of a poet4might, Most chzvaboos amongst dnrabic men, Diatingniah'd for a poMah'd lauee and pen In tmie£nl ecnikeat and in toam^-figiit ; I^nstzoiis in g^jiolaralqp, in hoooiir inrigKt, Aeeon^pli^'d in all graces eorrent tiien, finmane as anf in kistorie ken, ^ftare^ bandsome, noU^ affidile, petite ; MoslE eoarteoas to that xaee beeome oihU So fiefcd[f seotnfiil of an kind adranee, Bode, Isittenv eoaiae;, im^beaiiie in hate To ADmoii, plottii^ erar her naadanee, — Abmfiatrenel bow fidse and out of date Tkjr plmne '^ sweet amsf " apglaed to TiaiKe!
I
SONNETS. 213
FALSE POETS AND TRUE.
Look how the lark soars upward and is gone,
Turning a spirit as lie nears the sky !
His voice is heard, but body there is none
To fix the vague excursions of the eye.
So, poets' songs are with us, tho' they die
Obscured, and hid by death's oblivious shroud.
And Earth inherits the rich melody,
Like raining music from the morning cloud.
Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud,
Their voices reach us through the lapse of space
The noisy day is deafen' d by a crowd
Of un distinguish' d birds, a tvsdttering race ;
But only lark and nightingale forlorn
Pill up the silences of night and mom.
212
SONNETS.
Ill
SONNET TO A SONNET.
Eaee composition of a poet-knight, Most chivalrous amongst chivalric men, Distinguish'd for a polish' d lance and pen In tuneful contest and in tourney-fight ; Lustrous in sqholarship, in honour bright, Accomplish' d in all graces current then. Humane as any in historic ken. Brave, handsome, noble, affable, polite ; Most courteous to that race become of late So fiercely scornful of aU kind advance, E-ude, bitter, coarse, implacable in hate To Albion, plotting ever her mischance, — Alas, fair verse ! how false and out of date Thy phrase " sweet enemy " appHed to France !
I
;jiiMmuymii|)j^;;M
SONNETS.
213
IV
FALSE POETS AND TRUE.
Look how tte lark soars upward and is gone,
Turning a spirit as lie nears tlie sky !
His voice is heard, but body there is none
To fix the vague excursions of the eye.
So, poets' songs are with us, tho' they die
Obscured, and hid by death's oblivious shroud,
And Earth inherits the rich melody,
Like raining music from the morning cloud.
Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud,
Their voices reach us through the lapse of space
The noisy day is deafen' d by a crowd
Of undistinguish'd birds, a twittering race ;
But only lark and nightingale forlorn
Fill up the silences of night and morn.
214 SONNETS.
V.
Mt heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed
On hope ; Time goes with such a heavy pace
That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace,
A s if he slept — forgetting his old speed :
For, as in sunshine only we can read
The march of minutes on the dial's face,
So in the shadows of this lonely place
There is no love, and Time is dead iadeed.
But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart.
Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies.
It seems we only meet to tear apart
With aching hands and lingering of eyes.
Alas, alas ! that we must learn hoiirs' flight
By the same light of love that makes them bright!
SOKNETS. 215
VI.
FOR THE 14th of FEBRUARY.
No popular respect will I omit To do thee honoixr on this happy day, When every loyal lover tasks his wit His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay, And to his mistress dear his hopes convey. Eather thou knowest I would still outrun All calendars with Love's, — whose date alway Thy bright eyes govern better than the Sun,— For with thy favour was my life begun ; And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles. And not by summers, for I thrive on none But those thy cheerful countenance compiles : Oh ! if it be to choose and call thee mine, Love, thou art every day my Valentine.
216 SON>-ETS.
VII.
TO A SLEEPING CHILD. I.
Oh, 'tis a toucliiBg thing, to make one weep, — A tender infant with its curtain' d eye, Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep ! As if its silent dream, serene and deep, Had lined its slumber with a still blue sky, So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie With no more life than roses — just to keep The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath. 0 blossom boy ! so cabn is thy repose, So sweet a compromise of life and death, 'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose For memory to stain their inward leaf, Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.
I
SONNETS. 217
VIII.
TO A SLEEPING CHILD. XL
Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd
No eyes could wake so beautiful as they :
Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay,
I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dream'd
Of dimples ; — for those parted lips so seem'd,
I never thought a smile could sweetlier play,
Nor that so graceful life could chase away
Thy graceful death, — till those blue eyes^ipbeam'd.
Now slumber lies iu dimpled eddies drown'd.
And roses bloom more rosily for joy.
And odorous silence ripens into sound,
A nd fingers move to sound. — All-beauteous boy !
How thou dost waken into smiles, and prove.
If not more lovely, thou art more like Love !
218 SONNETS.
I
The World is with me, and its many cares,
Its woes — its wants — the anxious hopes and fears
That wait on all terrestrial affairs —
The shades of former and of future years —
Foreboding fancies, and prophetic tears,
Quelling a spirit that was once elate.
Heavens ! what a wilderness the world appears,
Where Youth, and Mirth, and Health are out of date
But no — a laugh of innocence and joy
Resounds, like music of the fairy race,
And, gladly turning from the world's annoy,
I gaze upon a little radiant face.
And bless, internally, the merry boy
Wlio '• makes a son-shine in a shady place."
\
THE PLEA
THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
1827.
-^m
i|||'lill|Hil'llllllliiiin"ii'
dear-
r>;— t
T>nz:.
CHAELES LAMB.
My dear Friend,
I THANK my literary fortune that I am not reduced, like many better wits, to barter dedications, for the hope or promise of patronage, with some nominally great man ; but that where time affection points, and honest respect, I am free to gratify my head and heart by a sincere inscription. An intimacy and dearness, worthy of a much earlier date than our acquaintance can refer to, direct me at once to your name : and with this acknowledgment of your ever kind feeling towards me, I desire to record a respect and admiration for you as a writer, which no one acquainted with our literature, save Elia himself, will think disproportionate or misplaced. If I had not these better reasons to govern me, I should be guided to the same selection by your intense yet critical relish for the works of our great Dramatist, and for that favourite play in particular which has furnished the subject of my verses.
It is my design, in the following Poem, to celebrate by an allegory, that immortality which Shakspeare has conferred on the Fairy mythology by his Midsummer Night's Dream. But for him, those pretty children of our childhood would leave
222 TO CIIAELES LAMB.
barely their names to our maturer yeai-s ; they belong, as the mites upon the plum, to the bloom of fancy, a thing generally too frail and beautiful to withstand the rude handling of Time : but the Poet has made this most perishable part of the mind's creation equal to the most enduiing; he has so intertwined the Elfins with human sympathies, and linked them by so many delightful associations with the productions of nature, that they are as real to the mind's eye, as their gi-een magical circles to the outer sense.
It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even though they were but as the butterflies that hover about the leaves and blossoms of the visible world.
I am,
My dear Friend,
Yours most truly,
T. HOOD.
THE PLEA
THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
'TwAS in that meUow season of the year
When the hot Sun singes the yeUow leaves
Till tliey be gold, — and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves ;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime ;
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time.
To thiak how the bright months had spent their prime.
So that, wherever I address' d my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet ;-
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
To some imwasted regions of my brain.
Charm' d with the light of summer and the heat,
And bade that bounteous season bloom again.
And sprou-t fresh flowers in mine own domam.
224 THE PLEA OF THE
It was a sliady and sequester' d scene, Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, Planted with his own laurels ever green, And roses that for endless summer blow ; And there were fountain springs to overflow Their marble basins, — and cool green arcades Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades, — With timid coneys cropping the green blades.
And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, Argent and gold ; and some of Tyrian skin, Some crimson-barr'd ; — and ever at a wish They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom ; Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win My changeable regard, — for so we doom Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.
And there were many birds of many dyes, From tree to tree still faring to and fro, And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes, And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow, Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow, Besides some vocalists, without a name, That oft on fairy errands come and go. With accents magical ; — and all were tame, And pecked at my hand where'er I came.
MIDSUMMER TAIEIES. 225
And for my sylvan company, in lieu
Of Pampinea with her lively peers,
Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew,
All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears,
Por she was gracious to my childish years.
And made me free of her enchanted roimd ;
Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears.
And plants her court upon a verdant mound,
Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound.
" Ah me," she cries, "was ever moonlight seen So clear and tender for our midnight trips ? Go some one forth, and with a trump convene My lieges all ! " — Away the goblin skips A pace or two apart, and deftly strips The ruddy skin from a sweet rose's cheek. Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips, Making it utter forth a shrill small shrielc. Like a fray'd bird ia the grey owlet's beak.
And lo ! upon my fix'd delighted ken Appear'd the loyal Fays. — Some by degrees Crept from the primrose buds that open'd then, And some from bell-shaped blossoms like the bees. Some from the dewy meads, and rushy leas. Flew up like chafers when the rustics pass ; Some from the rivers, others from tall ti-ees Dropp'd, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass. Spirits and elfins small, of every class.
224
THE PLEA OF THE
It was a shady and sequester' d scene, Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, Planted with his own laurels ever green, And roses that for endless summer blow And there were fountain springs to oveww Their marble basins, — and cool green andes Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw Athwart the dappled path their daucini? lades, — With timid coneys cropping the green Inles.
And there were crystal pools, peopled wh fish. Argent and gold ; and some of Tj'rian sin, Some crimson-barr'd ; — and ever at a wii They rose obsequious till the wave grewhin As glass upon their backs, and then ch\ : in, Quenching their ardent scales in watery loom ; "VVliilst others with fresh hues row'd fon to win My changeable regard, — for so we doom Things bom of thought to vanish or to bora.
And there were many birds of many dy<. From tree to tree still faring to and fro. And stately peacocks witli their splendi eyes, And gorgeous pheasants with their goldi glow, Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow. Besides some vocaUsts, without a name. That oft on fairy errands come and go, With accents magical ; — and all were taie, And pecked at my hand where'er I can.
I
i^*-
.^r m
•;s • -^
Va»i
MIDSUMMEE FAIEIE3.
225
And for t sylvan company, in lieu
Of Pamp;ea with her lively peers,
Sate Quel Titania with her pretty crevr,
All in thr liveries quaint, with elfin gears,
For she us gracious to my childish years.
And mad me free of her enchanted round ;
AVherefo) this dreamy scene she still endears,
And plaiK her court upon a verdant mound,
Fenced wh umbrageous woods and groves profound.
" Ah me, she cries, " was ever moonhght seen So clear ad tender for our midnight trips ? Go some ae forth, and with a trump convene My liegeaU ! " — Away the goblin skips A pace otwo apart, and deftly strips The rudd skin from a sweet rose's cheek, Then bios the shuddering leaf between his lips. Making ; utter forth a shrill small shriek, Like a fn d bird in the grey owlet's beak.
And lo ! pon my fix'd delighted ken Appear'dhe loyal Fays. — Some by degrees Crept fro. the primrose buds that open'd then, And somdrom bell-shaped blossoms like the bees. Some froj the dewy meads, and rushy leas, Flew up ke chafers when the rustics pass ; Some fro- the rivers, others from tall trees Dropp'd. ke shed "blossoms, silent to the grass, Spirits a:, elfins small, of every class.
/ -K
226 THE PLEA OF THE
Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic, Brought Robin Goodf'ellow, that merry swain ; And stealthy Mab, queen of" old realms romantic. Came too, from distance, in her tiny wain, Fresh dripping from a cloud — some bloomy rain, Then circling the bright Moon, had wash'd her car, And still bedew' d it with a various stain : Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star, Who bears all fairy embassies afar.
But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled,
Was absent, whether some distemper'd spleen
Kept him and his fair inate unreconciled,
Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been
Sometime obnoxious), kept him from hia queen,
And made her now peruse the starry skies
Prophetical with such an absent mien ;
Howbcit, the tears stole often to her eyes,
And oft the Moon was incensed with her sighs —
Which made the elves sport drearily, and soon Their hushing dances languisli'd to a stand, Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, AU on their drooping stems they sink unfann'd, — So into silence droop'd the fairy band, To see their empress dear so pale and still. Crowding her softly round on eitlier hand. As pale as frosty snow-drops, and as chill, To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill.
MTDSUMMER FAIRIES. 227
"Alas," quoth slie, "ye know our fairy lives Are leased upon the fickle faith of men ; Not measured out against fate's mortal knives. Like human gossamers, we perish when We fade, and are forgot in worldly ken, — Though poesy has thus prolong' d our date, Thanks be to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen That rescued us so long ! — howbeit of late I feel some dark missivinss of our fate.
" And this dull day my melancholy sleep Hath been so throng' d with images of woe, That even now I caimot choose but weep To think this was some sad prophetic show Of future horror to befall us so, — Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress, — Tea, our poor empire's fall and overthrow, — For this was my long vision's dreadful stress. And when I waked my trouble was not less.
" Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek. Such leaden weight dragg'd these Icarian wings, My faithless wand was wavering and weak. And slimy toads had trespass' d in our rings — The birds refused to sing for me — all things Disown' d their old allegiance to our spells ; The rude bees prick'd me with their rebel stings; And, when I pass'd, the valley-lily's bells Rang out, methought, most melancholy knells.
q2
228 THE PLEA OF THE
" And ever on the faint and flagging air
A doleful spirit with a dreary note
Cried in my fearful ear, ' Prepare ! prepare !
Which soon I knew came from a raven's throat,
Perch' d on a cypress bough not far remote, —
A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot,
That alway cometh with his soot-black coat
To make hearts dreary : — for he is a blot
Upon the book of Kfe, as well ye wot ! —
" Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute,
With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw,
Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit
Startled me all aheap ! — and soon I saw
The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, —
A monstrous giant, very huge and tall.
Such as in elder times, devoid of law.
With wicked might grieved the primeval ball.
And this was sure the deadliest of them all !
" Graunt was he as a wolf of Langiiedoc, With bloody jaws, and frost upon his crown ; So from his barren poll one hoary lock Over his wrinkled front fell far adown. Well nigh to where his frosty brows did frown Like jagged icicles at cottage eaves ; And for his coronal he wore some brown And bristled ears gather'd from Ceres' sheaves, Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves.
MlDSUM>rEl{ FAIRIKS. 229
" And lo ! upon a mast rear'd far aloft. He bore a very bright and crescent blade, The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft, In meditative spite, that, sore dismay'd, I crept into an acorn-cup for shade ; Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by : I trow his look was dreadful, for it made The trembling birds betake them to the sky, For every leaf was lifted by his sigh.
" And ever as he sigh'd, his foggy brgath Blurr'd out the landscape like a flight of smoke : Thence knew I this was either dreary Death Or Time, who leads all creatures to his stroke. Ah wretched me ! " — Here, even as she spoke, Tiie melancholy Shape came gliding in, And lean'd his back against an antique oak. Folding his wings, that were so fine and thin. They scarce were seen against the Dryad's skin.
Then what a fear seized aU the little rout ! Look how a flock of panick'd sheep wiU stare — And huddle close — and start — and wheel about. Watching the roaming mongrel here and tliere,- So did that sudden Apparition scare All close aheap those small aff"righted things; Kor sought they now the safety of the air. As if some leaden spell withheld their wings ; But who can fly that ancientest of Kings ?
230 THE PLEA OF THE
"Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear And previous sigh, beginneth to entreat, Bidding him spare, for love, her lieges dear : " Alas ! " quoth she, " is there no nodding wheat liipc for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, — Or wither'd leaves to ravish from the tree, — Or crumbling battlements for thy defeat ? Think but what vaunting monuments there be Budded in spite and mockery of thee.
" 0 fret away the fabi-ic walls of Fame, And grind down marble Ca?sars with the dust : Make tombs inscri[)tionlcss — raze each high name, And waste old armours of renown with rust : Do all of this, and thy revenge is just : Make such decays the trophies of thy prime, And check Ambition's overweening lust, That dares exterminating war with Time, — But we are gudtless of that lofty crime.
" Frail feeble sprites ! — the cliildrcn of a dream !
Leased on the suflerance of fickle men.
Like motes dependent on the sunny beam,
Living but in the sun's indulgent ken,
And when that light withdraws, withdrawing then; —
So do we flutter in the glance of youth
And fervid fancy, — and so perish when
The eye of faith grows aged ; — in sad truth.
Feeling thy sway, O Time ! though not thy tooth !
MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 231
" Where be those old dinnities forlorn, That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream ? Alas ! their memories are dimm'd and torn, Like the remainder tatters of a dream : So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem ; — For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves, That holds the wastes of every human scheme. O spare us then, — and these our pretty elves. We soou, alas ! shiUl perish of ourselves ! "
Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name Tliose old Olympians, scatter'd by the whii-l Of fortiuie's giddy wheel and brought to shame, Methought a scornful and malignant curl Show'd on the lips of that malicious churl. To think what noble havocks he had made ; So that I fear'd he all at once would hurl The harmless fairies into endless shade, — Howbeit he stopp'd awhile to whet his blade.
Pity it was to hear the elfins' wail Rise up in concert from their mingled di-ead ; Pity it was to see them, aU so pale, Gaze on the grass as for a dying bed ; — But Puck was seated on a spider's thread, That hung between two branches of a briar, And 'gan to swing and gambol heels o'er head, Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire, For him no present grief could long inspii-e.
232 THE PLEA or THE
Meanwhile tlie Queen with many piteous drops, Falling like tiny sparks full fast and free, Bedews a pathway from her throne ; — and stops Before the foot of her arch enemy, And with her little arms enfolds his knee, That shows more g/istly from that fair embrace ; But she will ne'er depart. " Alas ! " quoth she, " My painful fingers I will here enlace Till I have gain'd your pity for our race.
" AVhat have we ever done to earn this gi'udge, And hate — (if not too humble for thy hating ?)- Look o'er oiir labours and oiir lives, and judge If there be any ills of our creating ; Por we are very kindly creatures, dating With nature's charities stiU sweet and bland :— O think this murder worthy of debating ! " — Herewith she makes a signal with her hand. To beckon some one from the Fairy band.
Anon I saw one of those elfin things,
Clad all in white like any chorister.
Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings,
That made soft music at each little stir.
But something louder than a bee's demiu*
Before he lights upon a bunch of broom.
And thus 'gan he with Saturn to confer, —
And 0 his voice was sweet, touch' d with the gloom
Of that sad theme that arjjued of his doom !
MIDSUMMEE FAIEIES. 233
Quoth he, " We make all melodies our care, That no false discords may offend the Sun, Music's great master — tuniiig every where All pastoral sounds and melodies, each one Duly to place and season, so tliat none May harshly interfere. We rouse at morn The shrill sweet lark ; and when the day is done, Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn. That singeth with her breast against a thorn.
" We gather in loud choii-s the twittering race. That make a chorus with their single note ; And tend on new-fledged birds in every place. That duly they may get their tunes by rote ; And oft, like echoes, answering remote. We hide in thickets from the feather' d throng, And strain in rivalship each throbbing throat, Singing in shrill responses all day long, Whilst the glad truant listens to our song.
" Wherefore, great King of Tears, as thou dost love The raining music from a morning cloud, When vanish' d larks are carolling above, To wake Apollo with their pipings loud ; — If ever thou hast heard in leafy shroud The sweet and plaintive Sappho of the dell. Show thy sweet mercy on this little crowd, And we will mufile up the sheepfold bell Whene'er thou listenest to Philomel."
234 THE PLEA OF THE
Then Saturn thus : — " Sweet is the merry lark, That carols in man's ear so clear and strong ; And youth must love to listen in the dark That tuneful elegy of Tereus' wrong ; But I have heard that ancient strain too long, Por sweet is sweet but when a little strange, And I grow weary for some newer song ; For wherefore had I wings, unless to range Through aU things mutable from change to change ?
" But wouldst thou hear the melodies of Time, Listen when sleep and drowsy darkness roU Over hush'd cities, and the midnight chime Sounds from their hundred clocks, and deep beUs toll Like a last knell over the dead world's soul. Saying, Time shall be final of aU things. Whose late, last voice must elegise the whole, — O then I clap aloft my brave broad wings, And make the wide air tremble whUe it rings ! "
Then next a fair Eve-Fay made meek address, Saying, " We be the handmaids of the Spring, In sign whereof, May, the quaint broideress, Hath wrought her samplers on our gauzy wing. We tend upon buds' birth and blossoming. And count the leafy tributes that they owe — As, so much to the earth — so much to fling In showers to the brook — so much to go In whirlwinds to the clouds that made them grow.
MIDSUMMER TAIEIES. 235
" The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, And daisy stars, whose firmament is green ; Pansies, and those veil'd nuns, meek violets, Sighing to that warm world from which they screen; And golden daffodils, pluck'd for May's Queen ; And lonely harebells, quaking on the heath ; And Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen, Whose tunefid voice, turn'd fragrance in his breath, Kiss'd by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death.
" The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon, And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright A cool libation hoarded for the noon Is kept — and she that purifies the light, The virgin lily, faithful to her white, Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her shame ; And the most dainty rose, Aurora's spright, Our every godchild, by whatever name — Spare us our lives, for we did nurse the same ! "
Then that old Mower stamp'd his heel, and struck BQs hurtful scythe against the harmless ground, Saying, " Te fooHsh imps, when am I stuck With gaudy buds, or like a wooer crown' d With flow'ry chaplets, save when they are foimd Wither' d ? — Whenever have I pluck'd a rose, Except to scatter its vain leaves around ? For so all gloss of~beauty I oppose. And bring decay on every flow'r that blows.
23^ THE PLEA OF THE
" Or when am I so wroth as when I view
The wanton pride of Summer ; — how she decka
The birth-day world with blossoms ever new,
As if Time had not lived, and heap'd great wrecks
Of years on years ? — O then I bravely vex
And catch the gay Months in their gaudy plight.
And slay them with the wreaths about their necks,
Like foolish heifers in the holy rite.
And raise great trophies to my ancient might."
Then saith another, " We are kindly things, And like her offspring nestle with the dove, — Witness these hearts embroider' d on our wings. To show our constant patronage of love : — We sit at even, in sweet bow'rs above Lovers, and shake rich odours on the air, To mingle with their sighs ; and still remove The starthng owl, and bid the bat forbear Their privacy, and haunt some other where.
" And we are near the mother when she sits Beside her infant in its wicker bed ; And we are in the fairy scene that flits Across its tender brain : sweet dreams we shed, And whilst the tender little soul is fled Away, to sport with our young elves, the while We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red. And tickle the soft lips until they smile. So that their careful parents they beguile.
I
MIDSUMMEE FAIUIES. 237
" 0 then, if ever thou hast breathed a vow At Love's dear portal, or at pale moon-rise Crush'd the dear curl on a regardful brow That did not frown thee from thy honey prize — If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs, And wooed thee from thy careful thoughts within To watch the harmless beauty of his eyes. Or glad thy fingers on his smooth soft skin. For Love's dear sake, let us thy pity win ! "
Then Saturn fiercely thus : — " What joy have I In tender babes, that have devour' d mine own. Whenever to the light I heard them cry, TUl foolish Hhea cheated me with stone ? Whereon, tiU now, is my great hunger shown. In monstrous dints of my enormous tooth ; And, — but the peopled world is too full grown For himger's edge, — I would consume all youth At one great meal, without delay or ruth !
" For I am weU nigh crazed and wild to hear How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed. Saying, ' We shall not die nor disappear, But in these other selves, ourselves succeed, Ev'n as ripe flowers pass into their seed Only to be renew'd from prime to prime,' All of which boastings I am forced to read. Besides a thousand challenges to Time Which bragging lovers have compiled in rhyme.
'JM
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MIDSFMMEH AIREES.
" We bend each tree in pr)er attitude, And founting willows traiiin silvery falls ; We frame all shady roofs id arches rude, And verdant aisles leadinjjo Dryads' haUs, Or deep recesses where t\\ Echo calls ; — We shape aU plumy trees s^ainst the sky. And carve taU ehns' Corimian capitals, — When sometimes, as our ny hatchets ply, Men say, the tapping wocpecker is nigh.
239
" Sometimes we scoop thaquirrel's hoUow cell.
And sometimes carve quEi^t letters on trees' rind,
That haply some lone muug wight may spell
Dainty Aminta, — Gentle cosalind, —
Or chastest Laura, — swe.iy call'd to mind
In sylvan solitudes, ere 1. lies down ; —
And sometimes we enric grey stems, vdth twined
And vagrant ivy,— or ric moss, whose brown
Bums into gold as the wm sim goes down.
" And, lastly, for mirth' sake and Christmas cheer, We bear the seedling beies, for increase, To graft the Druid oakfr.rom year to year, Careful that mistletoe n .■ never cease ; — Wherefore, if thou dost "ize the shady peace Of sombre forests, or to 3e light break Through sylvan cloister and in spring release Thy spirit amongst leav. from careful ake, Spare us om* lives for ti Green Dryad's sake."
5ir
238 THE PLEA OF THE
" Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o' nights, There will I steal, and with my hurried hand Startle them suddenly from their delights Before the next encounter hath been plann'd, Ravishing hours in little minutes spann'd ; But when they say farewell, and grieve apart, Then like a leaden statue I will stand, Meanwhile their many tears encrust my dart. And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart."
Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green, Stept vanward from his mates, that idly stood Each at his proper ease, as they had been Nursed in the liberty of old-Sherwood, And wore the livery of Robin Hood, Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup, — So came this chief right frankly, and made good His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up. Doffing his cap, which was an acorn's cup : —
" We be small foresters and gay, who tend On trees, and all their furniture of green, Training the young boughs airily to bend, And show blue snatches of the sky between ; — Or knit more close intricacies, to screen Birds' crafty dwellings as may hide them best, But most the timid blackbird's — she, that seen. Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest. Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast.
MIDSirMMEK FAIUIES. 239
" We bend eacli tree in proper attitude, And fountiag -willows train in silvery falls ; We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, And verdant aisles leading to Dryads' halls, Or deep recesses where the Echo calls ; — We shape all plumy trees against the sky, And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals, — When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply. Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh.
" Sometimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell,
And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind,
That haply some lone musing wight may spell
Dainty Aminta, — Gentle Rosalind, —
Or chastest Laura, — sweetly caU'd to mind
In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down ; —
And sometimes we enrich grey stems, with twined
And vagrant ivy, — or rich moss, whose brown
Bums into gold as the warm sun goes down.
" And, lastly, for mirth's sake and Christmas cheer, We bear the seedling berries, for increase, To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year, Careful that mistletoe may never cease ; — Wherefore, if thou dost prize the shady peace Of sombre forests, or to see light break Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake. Spare us oui* lives for the Grreen Dryad's sake."
I -10
Till', I'M; A Ol' TllK
Tlicu Saturn, witli a IVowii : — " Go forl.li, ;iiul fell
Oalc for your codiiis, and iliciiccrorth lay by
Your axon lor i\\v. rust., iiiid l)i(l fari'wiOl
To iill Hwcct hinls, and tho bliu* pccpH of sky
'rhn)u<j;li langli'd braui-lics, for yo shall not spy
The next groon gciuTation of the tree ;
Jiut lioiico wit li tbo dead loavos, whoiui'or tlicy lly, —
"Wliicli ill iho bleak air 1 would raib(>r sec,
Tliaii llitrbts ol" (Jic iiiomI. luiicrid bii'ds Miat be.
" For T dislike nil ])riin(>, and V(»rdant pets,
Ivy exce[)t, that on iJio aged wall
IVeys with its worm-like roots, and daily fiH'ts
The cruinblcvl tower it seoina to league withal.
King-like, worn down by its own coronal: —
Neither in forest liaiinis love T to won,
Jic^foro th{> golden |)liiinage 'gins to fall,
And leaves the brown bleak limbs with few leaves on.
Or bare — like J^Iaturo in her skeleton.
" For then sit 1 iiinongst the crooked boughs. Wooing dull Memory with kindred sighs; And there in rustling nii[)tials wo espouse, Hmit by tho sadness in (^ach other's oyos ; — But ilop(i must have grecm bowers and blue skies, And must be eonrted with the giiuds of s|)ring ; Whilst Youth leniiH god-like on lu-r lap, and cries, What shall we iilwiiys do, but love and sing? — And 'Pimi; is i-eckonM a discarded lhin<'."
MIDSUMMEE FAIllIES. 241
Here in my dream it made me fret to see How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while Had blithely jested with calamity, With mistimed mirth mocking the doleful style Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile To see him so reflect their grief aside, Turning their solemn looks to half a smile — Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ;- But soon a novel advocate I spied.
Quoth he — " We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore-appointed crafts, aiul instincts meet, — The bee's sweet alcliemy, — the spider's skill, — The pismire's care to garner up his wheat,' — And rustic masoiuy to swallows fleet, — The lapwing's eiuming to preserve her nest, — But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet And shrilly ruddock, with its bleeding breast, Its tender pity of poor babes distrest.
LVI,
" Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins Delve Avith the timid mole, that aptly delves From oui* example ; so the spider spins, And eke the silk-worm, pattern'd by ourselves: Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves Of early bees, and busy toils connnence, AV^atch'd of wise men, that know not we are elves. But gaze juid marvel at our stretch of sense. And praise our luimim-like intelligence.
K
242 THE PLEA OF THE
" Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, And plaintive dirges the late robins sing, What time the leaves are scatter' d by the gale, Mindful of that old forest burying ; — As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, Por whom our craft most curiously contrives, If thou hast caught a bee upon the wing. To take his honey-bag, — spare us our lives, And we will pay the ransom in full hives."
"Now by my glass," quoth Time, " ye do offend In teacliing the brown bees that careful lore, And frugal ants, whose millions would have end. But they lay up for need a timely store. And travail with the seasons evermore ; Whereas Great Mammoth long hath pass'd away, And none but I can tell what hide he wore ; WTiUst purblind men, the creatiu-es of a day, In riddling wonder his great bones survey."
Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, Whose coat was Like a brooklet that the sun Hath all embroider' d with its crooked gold. It was so quaintly wrought and overrun With spangled traceries, — most meet for one That was a warden of the pearly streams ; — • And as he stept out of the shadows dun. His jewels sparkled in the pale moon's gleams. And shot into the air their pointed beams.
MIDSUMMER PAIEIES. 241
Quoth he, — " "We bear the gold and silver keys Of bubbling springs and fountains, tliat below Course thro' the veiny earth,— which when they freeze Into hard crysolites, we bid to flow, Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go. We guide their vdndings to melodious falls. At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low, Poets have tuned their smoothest madrigals, To sing to ladies in their banquet haUs.
" And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat Parches the river god, — whose dusty urn Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn, And languid fish, unpoised, grow sick and yearn,- Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook. And little channels dig, wherein we turn The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook.
" "Wherefore, by thy delight in cool gi-een meads,
With living sapphires daintily inlaid, —
In all soft songs of waters and their reeds, —
And all reflections in a streamlet made,
Haply of thy own love, that, disarray'd,
Kills the fair lily with a livelier white, —
By silver trouts upspringing from green shade,
And winking stars redupUcate at night,
Spare us, poor ministers to such dehght."
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MIIUMMEK FAIRIES.
245
Then saith the tiid Fay—" Oh, mighty Time ! Well hast thou vought the cruel Titans' fall, For they were stn'd with many a bloody crime : Great giants wor great wrongs, — but we are small, For love goes low ; — but Oppression 's tall. And with surpasag strides goes foremost still Where love indct can hardly reach at all ; Like a poor dwaio'erburthen'd with good will, That labours to cace the tracks of iU. —
" Man even 8triv< with Man, but we eschew The guilty feud, id all fierce strifes abhor ; Nay, we are gent as sweet heaven's dew, Beside the red ai horrid drops of war, Weeping the en. hates men battle for, Which worldly Inoms nourish in our spite : For in the geutl *)reast we ne'er withdraw, But only when a love hath taken flight. And youth's wan gracious heart is harden'd quite.
" So are oui- -( i natures intertwined With aweet huimities, and closely knit In kindly synipaiy with human kind. Witness how w -efriend, with elfin wit, All hopeless ma a and lovers, — nor omit Magical succoui unto hearts forlorn : — We charm man life, and do not perish it ; — So judge us by le helps we show'd this mom, To one who hel his wretched days in scorn.
244 THE PLEA OF THE
Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks
Moved not the spiteful Shade : — Quoth he, " Tour taste
Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks
And slavish rivulets that run to waste
In noontide sweats?, or, like poor vassals, haste
To swell the vast dominion of the sea,
In whose great presence I am held disgraced,
And neighbour' d with a king that rivals me
In ancient might and hoary majesty.
•' Whereas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep
The awful secrets of that ancient dearth,
Before the briny fountains of the deep
Brimm'd up the hoUow cavities of earth ; —
I saw each trickling Sea-Grod at his birth.
Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks.
And infant Titans of enormous girth,
"Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks,
Stunning the early world with frequent shocks.
" Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood. That scared the world ? — By this sharp scythe they feU, And half the sky was cm-died with their blood : So have all primal giants sigh'd farewell. No Wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done That strove ^dth Time, untimely, to excel ; Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none But my great shadow intercepts the sun! "
MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 245
Then saith the timid Fay — " Oh, mighty Time ! Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans' fall, For they were stain' d with many a bloody crime : Grreat giants work great wrongs, — but we are small, For love goes lowly ; — but Oppression 's tall. And with surpassing strides goes foremost stUl Where love indeed can hardly reach at all ; Like a poor dwarf o'erburthen'd with good wUl, That labours to efiace the tracks of ill. —
" Man even strives with Man, but we eschew The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor ; Nay, we are gentle as sweet heaven's dew. Beside the red and horrid drops of war, Weeping the cruel hates men battle for, Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite : For in the gentle breast we ne'er withdraw. But only when all love hath taken flight, And youth's warm gracious heart is harden'd quite.
" So are our gentle natures intertwined With sweet humanities, and closely knit In kindly sympathy with human kind. Witness how we befiiend, with elfin wit, All hopeless maids and lovers, — nor omit Magical succours unto hearts forlorn : — We charm man's life, and do not perish it ; — So judge us by the helps we show'd this mom, To one who held his vsretched days in scorn.
246 THE PLEA OF THE
" 'Twas nigli sweet Amwell; — for the Queen had task'd Our skill to-day amidst the silver Lea, Whereon the noontide sun had not yet bask'd ; "Wherefore some patient man we thought to see, Planted in moss-grown rushes to the knee, Beside the cloudy margin cold and dim ; — Howbeit no patient fisherman was he That cast his sudden shadow from the brim, Making us leave oui- toils to gaze on him.
" His face was ashy pale, and leaden care Had sunk the levell'd arches of his brow, Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare Over those melancholy springs and slow, That from his piteous eyes began to flow, And fell anon into the chilly stream ; Which, as his mimick'd image show'd below. Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam, Making grief sadder in its own esteem.
" And lo ! upon the air we saw him stretch His passionate arms ; and, in a wayward strain. He 'gan to elegize that fellow wretch That with mute gestures answer' d him again. Saying, ' Poor slave, how long wilt thou remain Life's sad weak captive in a prison strong. Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain. In bitter servitude to worldly wrong ? — Thou wear'st that mortal livery too long ! '
MIDSUMMER FAIEIES. 247
" This, witli more spleenful speeches and some tears,
When he had spent npon the imaged wave,
Speedily I convened my elfin peers
Under the lily-cups, that we might save
This woeful mortal from a wilful grave
By shrewd diversions of his mind's regret.
Seeing he was mere melancholy's slave.
That sank wherever a dark cloud he met,
And straight was tangled in her secret net.
"Therefore, as still he watch' d the water's flow. Daintily we transform' d, and with bright fins Came glancing through the gloom ; some from below Rose like dim fancies when a dream begins, Snatching the light upon their purple skins ; Then under the broad leaves made slow retire : One like a golden galley bravely wins Its radiant course, — another glows like fire, — Making that wayward man our pranks admire.
" And so he banish' d thought, and quite forgot
AH contemplation of that wretched face ;
And so we wiled him from that lonely spot
Along the river's brink ; till, by heaven's grace,
He met a gentle haunter of the place,
Pull of sweet wisdom gather'd from the brooks,
Who there discuss'd his melancholy case
With wholesome texts learn' d from kind nature's books,
Meanwhile he newly trimm'd his lines and hooks."
•248 THE PLEA OF THE
Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel uow- " Let me remember how I saved a man, Wliose fatal noose was fasten' d on a bough, Intended to abridge his sad life's span ; For haply I was by when he began His stern soliloquy iu. life's dispraise. And overheard his melancholy plan, How he had made a vow to end his days, And therefore follow' d him in all his ways.
" Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loathed All populous haunts, and roam'd in forests rude. To hide himself from man. But I had clothed ]\Iy deHcate limbs with plumes, and still pursued, Wliere only foxes and wild cats intrude, TiU we were come beside an ancient tree Late blasted by a storm. Here he renew' d His loud complaints, — choosing that spot to be The scene of his last liorrid tragedy.
" It was a wild and melancholy glen. Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, AYhose roots, like any bones of buried men, Push'd through the rotten sod for fear's remark ; A himdred horrid stems, jagged and stark. Wrestled with crooked arms in hideous fray. Besides sleek ashes with their dappled bark, Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey, "With many blasted oaks moss-grown and grey.
MIDSUMMER FAIEIES. 249
" But here upon liis final desperate clause
Suddenly I pronounced so sweet a strain,
Like a pang'd nightingale, it made him pause,
TiU half the frenzy of his grief was slain.
The sad remainder oozing from his brain
In timely ecstasies of healing tears.
Which through his ardent eyes began to drain ; —
Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclosed their shears :
So pity me and all my fated peers ! "
Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush'd :
When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads.
And red as rose the gentle Fairy blush' d
To read the record of her own good deeds : —
" It chanced," quoth she, "in seeking through the meads
For honied cowslips, sweetest in the morn.
Whilst yet the buds were htuig \'rith dewj beads,
And Echo answer' d to the huntsman's horn,
We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn.
" A little, sorrowful, deserted thing. Begot of love, and yet no love begetting ; Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to WTing ; And too soon banish'd from a mother's petting, To churhsh nurture and the wide world's fretting, For alien pity and unnatiu'al care ; — Alas ! to see how the cold dew kept wetting His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair. Like gossamers across his forehead fair.
250 THE PLEA OE THE
" His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, Lay half- way open like a rose-lipp'd shell ; And his young cheek was softer than a peach, Whereon his tears, for roundness, could not dwell, But quickly roll'd themselves to pearls, and fell. Some on the grass, and some against his hand, Or haply wander' d to the dimpled well. Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann'd. Yet not for tears, but mirth and smilings bland.
" Pity it w^as to see those frequent tears Falling regardless from his friendless eyes ; There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres. As any mother's heart might leap to prize ; Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies Soften' d betwixt two clouds, both clear and mild; — Just touch' d with thought, and yet not over wise, They show'd the gentle spirit of a child, Not yet by care or any craft defiled.
" Pity it was to see the ardent sun Scorching his helpless limbs — it shone so warm ; Tor kindly shade or shelter he had none, Nor mother's gentle breast, come fair or storm. Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform Like grasshoppers, and then, with shrilly cries. All round the infant noisily we swarm, Haply some passing rustic to ad\dse — Whilst providential Heaven our care espies,
MIDSUMMER FAIEIES. 2l)\
" And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind, "Who, wond'ring at our loud unusual note, Strays curiously aside, and so doth find The orphan child laid in the grass remote, And laps the foundling in his russet coat, Who thence was nurtured in his kindly cot : — But how he prosper' d let proud London quote, How wise, how rich, and how renown' d he got. And chief of all her citizens, I wot.
" Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames, Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise,- Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies : Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise. The mart of merchants from the East and West ; Whose slender summit, pointing to the skies. Still bears, in token of his grateful breast. The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest —
" The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest.
That aU the summer, with a tuneful wing,
Makes merry chirpings in its gi'assy nest,
Inspirited with dew to leap and sing : —
So let us also live, eternal King !
Partakers of the green and pleasant earth : —
Pity it is to slay the meanest thing,
That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirth : —
Enough there is of joy's decrease and dearth !
•25-2 THE PLEA OF THE
" Enough of pleasure, and delight, and beauty,
Perish' d and gone, and hasting to decay ;—
Enough to sadden even thee, whose duty
Or spite it is to havock and to slay :
Too many a lovely race razed quite away,
Hath left large gaps in life and human loving : —
Here then begin thy cruel war to stay.
And spare fresh sighs, and tears, and groans, reproving
Thy desolating hand for our removing."
N'ow here I heard a shriU and sudden cry. And, looking up, I saw the antic Puck Grappling with Time, who clutch'd him like a fly, Victim of his own sport, — the jester's luck ! He, whilst his fellows grieved, poor wight, had stuck His freakish gauds upon the Ancient's brow, And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck ; Whereas the angry chiu'l had snatch'd him now, Crying, " Thou impish mischief, who art thou ? "
" Alas ! " quoth Puck, " a little random elf, Born in the sport of nature, like a weed. For simple sweet enjoyment of myself. But for no other purpose, worth, or need ; And yet withal of a most happy breed ; And there is Robin Goodfellow besides. My partner dear in many a prankish deed To make dame Laughter hold her jolly sides, Like merry mummers twain on holy tides.
MIDSUMMEB FAIBIES. 253
" 'Tis we that bob the angler's idle cork,
Till e'en the patient man breathes half a curse ;
"We steal the morsel from the gossip's fork,
And curdling looks with secret straws disperse,
Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid verse :
And when an infant's beauty prospers ill,
We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse
But any graver purpose to fulfil.
We have not wit enough, and scarce the will.
XCL
" We never let the canker melancholy
To gather on our faces like a rust,
But gloss our features with some change of folly.
Taking life's fabled miseries on trust.
But only sorrowing when sorrow must :
~We ruminate no sage's solemn cud.
But OAvn ourselves a pinch of lively dust
To frisk upon a wind, — whereas the flood
Of tears would turn us into heavy mud.
" Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature,
Who gloze her lively universal law,
As if she had not form'd our cheerful feature
To be so tickled with tlie slightest straw !
So let them vex their mumping mouths, and draw
The corners downward, like a wat'ry moon,
And deal in gusty sighs and rainy flaw —
We will not woo foiJ weather all too soon,
Or nurse J^ovember on the lap of June.
254 THE PLEA OF THE
" Tor ours are winging sprites, like any bird, That shun all stagnant settlements of grief; And even in our rest our hearts are stirr'd, Like insects settled on a dancing leaf: — This is our small philosophy in brief, Which thus to teach hath set me aU agape : But dost thou relish it ? 0 hoary cliief ! Unclasp thy crooked lingers from my nape, And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape."
Then Satm-n thus : — shaking his crooked blade O'erhead, which made aloft a lightning flash In aU the fairies' eyes, dismally fray'd ! His ensuing voice came like the thunder crash — Meanwhile the .bolt shatters some pine or ash— " Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing ! Whom nought can frighten, sadden, or abash, — To hope my solemn countenance to wring To idiot smiles ! — but I will prune thy wing !
" Lo ! this most awful handle of my scythe Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown. Which rustics danced aroimd, and maidens blitlic. To wanton pipings ; — but I pluck'd it down, And robed the May Queen in a churchyard gown, Turning her buds to rosemary and rue ; And all their merry minstrelsy did drown, And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; — So thou shalt fare — and every jovial crew !"
MIDSUMMEE FAIEIES, 255
Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch His mortal engine with each grisly hand, Which frights the elfin progeny so much, They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand AR romad Titania, like the queen bee's band, With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe ! — Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann'd, To make the stern Shade merciful, — when lo ! He drops his fatal scythe without a blow !
Tor, just at need, a timely Apparition Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt ; Making him change his horrible position, To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt, That dares Time's irresistible affront. Whose strokes have scarr'd even the gods of old;- "WTiereas this seem'd a mortal, at mere hunt For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold, Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold.
Who, tiiming to the small assembled fays, Doffs to the Uly queen his courteous cap, And holds her beauty for a while iu gaze. With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap ; And thence upon the fair moon's silver map, As if in question of this magic chance, Laid like a dream upon the green earth's lap ; j^jid then upon old Saturn turns askance, Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance : —
«25C THE PLEA or THE
" Oil, these be Fancy's revellers by night ! Stealthy companions of the downy moth — Diana's motes, that flit in her pale light, Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth ; — These be the feasters on night's silver cloth, — The gnat A^ith shrilly trump is their convener, Torth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth, "With lulling tunes to charm the air serener, Or dance upon the grass to make it greener.
" These be the pretty genii of the flow'rs.
Daintily fed with honey and pui'e dew — •
Midsummer's phantoms in her dreaming hours.
King Oberon, and all his merry crew.
The darling pyppets of romance's view :
Tairies, and spi'ites, and goblin elves we caU them,
Famous for patronage of lovers true ; —
No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them,
So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them."
O what a cry was Saturn's then I- — it made
The fairies quake. " AVhat care I for their pranks,
However they may lovers choose to aid,
Or dance their roundelays on flow'ry banks ? —
Long must they dance before they earn my thanks,—
So step aside, to some far safer spot.
Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks,
And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot,
And with the next day's suu to be forgot."
MIDSUMMEE FAIRIES. 25?
Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen ; But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim, Stepping with brave alacrity between, And made his sere arm powerless and tame. His be perpetual glory, for the shame Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat ! — But I must tell, how here Titania came "With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sweet.
Saying, " Thou seest a wretched queen before thee.
The fading power of a failing land.
Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee,
Now menaced by this tyrant's spoiling hand ;
No one but thee can hopefully withstand
That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift.
I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand,
Which only times all ruins by its drift.
Or prune his eagle vrings that are so swift.
" Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft, That hangs upon his bald and barren crown ; And we will sing to see him so rebuff' d, And lend our little mights to pull him down, And make brave sport of his malicious frown, Por all his boastful mockery o'er men. Por thou wast born I know for this renown, By my most magical and inward keji, That readeth ev'n at Fate's forestalling pen.
258 THE PLEA OF THE
" Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye, And by thy brow's most fair and ample span, Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high, And by thy cheek thus passionately wan, I know the signs of an immortal man, — Nature's chief darling, and illustrious mate. Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan, And shine untamish'd by the fogs of Fate, Time's famous rival till the final date !
" 0 shield us then from this usurping Time, And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams ; And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme. And dance about thee in all midnight gleams. Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes, Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen ; And, for thy love to us in our extremes. Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green. Such as no poet's wreath hath ever been !
" And we '11 distil thee aromatic dewa,
To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flow'rs ;
And flavour' d syrups in thy drinks infuse.
And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow'rs,
And with our games divert thy weariest hours,
With all that elfin wits can e'er devise.
And, this churl dead, there '11 be no hasting hours
To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies : " —
Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries.
MIDSUMMER FAIEIES. 25^
AVTiom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew, Saying, " Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew, Or make th' autumnal fiow'rs turn pale, and droop ; Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop Under fat sheaves, — or blast the piny grove ; — But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group, Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove, But leased on Nature's loveHness and love.
" 'Tis these that free the small entangled fly, Caught in the venom 'd spider's crafty snare ;- These be the petty surgeons that apply The healing balsams to the wounded hare, Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care ! — These be providers for the orphan brood. Whose tender mother hath been slain in air, Quitting with gaping bill her darHngs' food. Hard by the verge of her domestic wood.
" 'Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag, When, with a bursting heart beset with fears, He feels his saving speed begin to flag ; For then they quench the fatal taint with tears, And prompt fresh shifts in his alarum' d ears. So piteously they view all bloody morts ; Or if the gunner, with his arm, appears. Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports, They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports.
s2
260 THE PLEA or THE
" For these are kindly ministers of nature, To soothe all covert hiu-ts and dumb distress ; Pretty thej be, and very small of stature, — For mercy still consorts with littleness ; — Wherefore the sum of good is still the less. And mischief grosbest in this world of wrong ; — So do these charitable dwarfs redress The tenfold ravages of giants strong. To whom great malice and great might belong.
" Likewise to them are Poets much beholden Por secret favours in the midnight glooms ; Brave Spenser quaif'd out of their goblets golden. And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms, And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms Soimding upon the air most soothing soft. Like humming bees busy about the brooms, — And glanced this fair queen's witchery full oft. And in her magic wain soar'd far aloft.
" Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nursed
By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth.
And in my childish ear ghb Mab rehearsed
Her breezy travels round our planet's girth.
Telling me wonders of the moon and earth ;
My gramarye at her grave lap I conn'd,
"Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth ;
I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond,
And toy'd with Oberon's permitted wand.
MIDSUMMER FAIEIES. 261
" With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed me, And deKcate cates after my sunset meal, And took me by my childish hand, and led me By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel, "Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal. Staining some dead lake with their verdant dyes : And when the "West sparkled at Phoebus' wheel, With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes, To let me see their cities in the skies.
" 'Twas they first school' d my young imagination To take its flights like any new-fledged bird, And show'd the span of winged meditation Stretch' d wider than things grossly seen or heard. With sweet swift Ariel how I soar'd and stirr'd The fragrant blooms of spiritual bow'rs ! 'Twas they endear' d what I have still preferr'd, Nature's blest attributes and balmy pow'rs, Her hills and tales and brooks, sweet birds and flow'rs !
" Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty
Will I regard them in my honouring rhyme.
With love for love, and homages to beauty,
And magic thoughts gather' d in night's cool clime.
With studious verse trancing the di'agon Time,
Strong as old Merlin's necromantic spells ;
So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime
Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells.
Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells."
262 THE PLEA OF THE
Look how a poison'd man turns livid black, Drugg'd with a cup of deadly hellebore, That sets his horrid features all at rack, — So seem'd these words into the ear to pour Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more. And bade the cluster' d sinews all engage, As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age.
Whereas the blade flash' d on the dinted ground, Down tlirough his steadfast foe, yet made no scar On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound ; But Time was long benumb'd, and stood ajar, And then with baffled rage took flight afar. To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom, Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar, Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom, Whetting its edge on some old Csesar's tomb.
Howbeit he vanish' d in the forest shade. Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard. And, hke Narcissus, to a sound decay' d ; — Meanwhile the fays cluster' d the gracious Bard, The darling centre of their dear regard : Besides of sundry dances on the green, Never was mortal man so brightly starr'd. Or won such pretty homages, I ween. " Nod to him, Elves !" cries the melodious queen.
MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 263
" Nod to Mm, Elves, and flutter round about liim, And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd, And touch him loAangly, for that, without him. The silk- worm now had spim our dreary shroud ;— But he hath all dispersed death's tearful cloud. And Time's dread effigy scared quite away : Bow to him then, as though to me ye bow'd, And his dear wishes prosper and obey Wherever love and wit can find a way !
" 'Noint him with fairy dews of magic savours, Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet, Eoses and spicy pinks, — and, of all favours, Plant in his walks the purple violet, And meadow-sweet under the hedges set, To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine And honeysuckles sweet, — nor yet forget Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine, To vie the thoughts about his brow benign !
" Let no wild things astonish him or fear him, But tell them all how mild he is of heart, Till e'en the timid hares go frankly near him, And eke the dappled does, yet never start ; Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart, Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves, Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart ; — But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves. To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves.
264 THE PLEA OE THE
" Or when lie goes the nimble squirrel's visitor, Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts, For, tell him, this is Nature's kind Inquisitor, — Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shuts, For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts, — Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings, However he may watch their straw-built huts ; — So let him learn the crafts of all small things, Which he will hint most aptly when he sings."
Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head ; Which, though deserted by the radiant wand, Wears still the glory which her waving shed, Such as erst crown' d the old Apostle's head, To show the thoughts there harbour' d were divine, And on immortal contemplations fed : — G-oodly it was to see that glory shine Around a brow so lofty and benign ! —
Goodly it was to see the elfin brood Contend for kisses of his gentle hand, That had their mortal enemy withstood. And stay'd their lives, fast ebbing with the sand. Long while this strife engaged the pretty band ; But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm. Challenged the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm. Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm.
MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 265
And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise From plashy mead and undiscover'd stream, Earth's morning incense to the early skies. Crept o'er the failing landscape of my dream. Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme — A shapeless shade, that fancy disavow 'd. And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme. Then flew Titania, — and her little crowd. Like flocking linnets, vanish' d in a cloud.
HERO AND LEANDEE.
1827.
TO
S. T. COLERIDGE.
It is not with a hope my feeble praise
Can add one moment's honour to thy own.
That with thy mighty name I grace these lays ;
I seek to glorify myself alone :
For that some precious favour thou hast shown
To my endeavour in a by-gone time,
And by this token, I would have it known
Thou ai-t my friend, and friendly to my rhyme !
It is my dear ambition now to climb
StUl higher in thy thought,— if my bold pen
May thrust on contemplations more sublime. —
But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when
AVe gain applauses from the great in name,
We seem to be partakers of their fame.
HERO AND LEANDER.
Oh Bards of old ! what sorrows have ye sung, And tragic stories, chronicled in stone, — Sad Philomel restored her ravish' d tongue, And transform' d Niobe in dumbness shown ; Sweet Sappho on her love for ever calls, And Hero on the drown' d Leander falls !
Was it that spectacles of sadder plights Should make our blisses relish the more high ? Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights, Whose flourish'd fortiines prosper in Love's eye, Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief, Traced from the course of an old bas-relief.
There stands Abydos ! — here is Sestos' steep, Hard by the gusty margin of the sea, Where sprinkling waves continually do leap ; And that is where those famous lovers be, A builded gloom shot up into the grey, As if the first tall watch-tow'r of the dav.
270 HEEO AlfD LEANDEE.
Lo ! how tlie lark soars upward and is gone ; Turning a spirit as he nears the sky, His voice is heard, though body there is none, And rain-hke music scatters from on high ; But Love wovild follow with a falcon spite, To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height.
For Love hath framed a ditty of regrets, Tuned to the hollow sobbings on the shore, A vexing sense, that with like music frets. And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er, Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent, Like stars extinguish' d in the firmament.
For ere the golden crevices of mom
Let in those regal luxuries of light,
"Which all the variable east adorn.
And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night,
Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side,
Must leave a widow where he found a bride.
Hark ! how the billows beat upon the sand ! Like pawing steeds impatient of delay ; Meanwhile their rider, ling'ring on the land, DaUies with love, and holds farewell at bay A too short span. — How tedious slow is grief ! But parting renders time both sad and brief.
i^
HEEO AND LEANDEE. 271
" Alas (he sigh'd), tliat tliis first glimpsing Hglit, Whicli makes the wide world tenderly appear, Should be the burning signal for my flight, From all the world's best image, which is here ; Whose very shadow, in my fond compare, Shines far more bright than Beauty's self elsewhere.
Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark. Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale. And those fair mirrors where their joys did spark, All dim and tarnish' d with a dreary ved, No more to kindle till the night's return, Like stars replenish' d at Joy's golden urn.
Ev'n thus they creep into the spectral grey. That cramps the landscape in its narrow brim, As when two shadows by old Lethe stray. He clasping her, and she entwining him ; Like trees wind-parted that embrace ancn, True love so often goes before 'tis gone.
For what rich merchant but will pause in fear. To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss ? So Hero dotes upon her treasure here. And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss. Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread.
272 HEEO AND LEANDER.
She thinks how many have been sunk and drown' d, And spies their snow-white bones below the deep, Then calls huge congregated monsters round, And plants a rock wherever he would leap ; Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream, Which she interprets of that fatal stream.
Saying, " That honie'd fly I saw was thee, Which lighted on a water-lily's cup, When, lo ! the flow'r, enamour'd of my bee, Closed on him suddenly and lock'd him up, And he was smother' d in her drenching dew ; Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue."
But next, remembering her virgin fame,
She chps him in her arms and bids him go,
But seeing him break loose, repents her shame.
And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow ;
And tears unfix her iced- resolve again,
As steadfast frosts are thaw'd by show'rs of rain.
O for a type of parting ! — Love to love Is like the fond attraction of two spheres. Which needs a godlike effort to remove, And then sink down their sunny atmospheres, In rain and darkness on each ruin'd heart, Nor yet their melodies will sound apart.
HEUO AND LEANDEE. 273
So brave Leander sunders from his bride ;
The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twam ;
Half stays with her, halt' goes towards the tide, —
And life must ache, until they join again.
Now wouldst thou know the widcness of the wound,
Mete every step he takes upon the ground.
And for the agony and bosom-throe.
Let it be measui-ed by the wide vast air,
For that is infinite, and so is woe.
Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere.
Look how it heaves Leander' s labouring chest.
Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest !
From which he leaps into the scooping brine, That shocks his bosom with a double chill ; Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline, That cold divorcer wiU betwixt them still ; Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide. Where life grows death upon the other side.
Then sadly he confronts his two-fold toil Against rude waves and an imwilling mind. Wishing, alas ! with the stout rower's toil, That like a rower he might gaze behind. And watch that lonely statue he hath left On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft !
274 HERO AND LEANDEE.
Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks Pursue him still the furthest that they may ; Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, And her pale passion' d hands that seem to pray In dumb petition to the gods above : Love prays devoutly when it prays for love !
Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave, That hangs superfluous tears upon his cheek, And bans his labour like a hopeless slave, That, chain' d in hostile galley, faint and weak, Plies on despairing through the restless foam, Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home.
The drowsy mist before him chill and dank,
Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea,
"^AHien he i"ows on against the utter blank,
Steeriug as if to dim eternity, —
Like Love's frail ghost departing with the dawn ;
A failing shadow in the twilight drawn.
And soon is gone, — or nothing but a faint And failing image in the eye of thought, That mocks his model with an after-paint. And stains an atom like the shape she sought ; Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee The old and hoary majesty of sea.
HEEO AND LEA:NDEE. 275
" O King of waves, and brother of high Jove, Preserve my sumless ventiu-e there afloat ; A ■woman's heart, and its whole wealth of love, Are all embark' d upon that little boat ; Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, A perilous voyage for so dear a freight.
" If impious mariners be stain' d with crime, Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks ; Lay by thy storms until another time. Lest my frail bark be dash'd against the rocks O rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky !
" Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath,
Nor gore him with crook' d tusks, or wreathed horns :
Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth.
Nor spine-fish wound him with their venom' d thorns ;
But if he faint, and timely succour lack,
Let ruthftd dolphins rest him on their back.
" Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in. Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath ; Let no jagg'd corals tear his tender skin, Nor mountain billows bury him in death ; " — And with that thought forestalling her own fears, She drovm'd his painted image in her tears.
t2
276 HEEO AKD LEANDEK.
By this, the climbing sun, with rest repair' d, Look'd through the gold embrasures of the sky, And ask'd the drowsy world how she had fared ; — The drowsy world shone brighten' d in reply ; And smUing oif her fogs, his slanting beam Spied young Leander in the middle stream.
His face was pallid, but the hectic morn Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks, And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn ; So death lies ambush' d in consumptive streaks ; But inward grief was writhing o'er its tasJc, As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask.
He thought of Hero and the lost delight, Her last embracings, and the space between ; He thought of Hero and the future night. Her speechless rapture and enamour' d mien, When, lo ! before him, scarce two galleys' space. His thought 's confronted with another face !
Her aspect 's like a moon divinely fair, But makes the midnight darker that it lies on ; 'Tis so beclouded with her coal-black hair That densely skirts her luminous horizon, Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set, As marble lies advantaged upon jet.
I
HEEO AND LEANDEE. 277
She 's all too bright, too argent, and too pale,
To be a woman ; — but a woman's double,
Reflected on tbe wave so faint and frail.
She tops the billows like an air-blown bubble ;
Or dim creation of a morning dream,
Fair as the wave-bleach' d lily of the stream.
The very rumour strikes his seeing dead : Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense He knows not if her lips be blue or red, Nor of her eyes can give true evidence : Like murder's witness swooning in the court. His sight falls senseless by its own report.
Anon resuming, it declares her eyes Axe tinct with azure, like two crystal wells That drink the blue complexion of the skies, Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells : Her polish' d brow, it is an ample plain. To lodge vast contemplations of the main.
Her lips might corals seem, but corals near. Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower ; And o'er the weaker red still domineer. And make it pale by tribute to more power ; Her rounded cheeks are of stiU. paler hue, Touch' d by the bloom of water, tender blue.
273 HEBO AND LEAIVDEE.
Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, Under the glossy umbrage of her hair, Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter, Naiad, or Nereid, or Syren fair, Mislodging music in her pitQess breast, A nightingale withm a falcon's nest.
They say there be such maidens in the deep, Charming poor mariners, that all too near By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep. As drowsy men are poison' d through the ear ; Therefore Leander's fears begin to urge. This snowy swan is come to sing his dirge.
At which he falls into a deadly chill, And strains his eyes upon her lips apart ; Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill. Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart Shot sudden from an Indian's hoUow cane, With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain.
Here then, poor wi'etch, how he begins to crowd A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space ; There seem'd so brief a pause of life allow' d, His mind stretch' d universal, to embrace The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell, — A moment's musing — but an age to tell.
HERO AND LEANDER. 279
For there stood Hero, widow' d at a glance,
The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact.
Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither' d countenance,
A wasted ruin that no wasting lack'd ;
Time's tragic consequents ere time began,
A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's span.
A moment's thinking is an liour in. words, — An hour of words is little for some woes ; Too little breathing a long life affords, For love to paiat itself by perfect shows ; Then let his love and grief un wrong' d lie dumb, Whilst Tear, and that it fears, together come.
As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape, Struck pale and panick'd by the billows' roar, Lay by all timely measures of escape, And let their bark go driving on the shore ; So fray'd Leander, drifting to his wreck, Grazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck.
For he hath aU forgot the swimmer's art. The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skdl. Letting his arms fall down in languid part, Sway'd by the waves, and nothing by his will. Till soon he jars against that glossy skin, Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin.
280 HEEO AND LEANDEK.
XLIV.
Lo ! how she startles at the warning shock And straightway gu'ds him to her radiant breast, More like his safe smooth harbour than his rock ; Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest, He cannot loose him from his grappling foe, Whether for love or hate, she lets not go.
His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine. His ears are deafen' d with the wildering noise ; He asks the purpose of her fell design, But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice ; Under the ponderous sea his body dips, A.nd Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips.
Look how a man is lower' d to his grave ; A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap ; So he is sunk into the yawning wave, The plunging sea fills up the watery gap ; Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen. But likeness of green turf and hillocks green.
And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping, Over the verdant plain that makes his bed ; And aU the noisy waves go freshly leaping, Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead ; The light in vain keeps looking for his face, Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place.
HEEO AND LEANDER. 281
Tet weep and watch for him, though all in vain ! Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander ! Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again ! Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander ! Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape !
She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed, The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her. O bootless theft ! unprofitable meed ! Love's treasuiy is sack'd, but she no richer ; The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead, And all his golden looks are turn'd to lead !
She holds the casket, but her simple hand Hath spill'd its dearest jewel by the way ; She hath life's empty garment at command, But her own death hes covert in the prey ; As if a thief should steal a tainted vest, Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest.
Now she compels him to her deeps below,
Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair,
Wliich jealously she shakes aU round her brow,
For dread of envy, though no eyes are there
But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep,
Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep.
282 HERO AND LEANDER,
Down and still downward tlirougli the dusky green
She bore him, murmuring with joyous haste
In too rash ignorance, as he had been
Born to the texture of that watery waste ;
That which she breathed and sigh'd, the emerald wave.
How could her pleasant home become his grave !
Down and still downward through the dusky green She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh To mark how life was alter' d in its mien, Or how the light grew torpid in his eye, Or how his pearly breath, unprison'd there, Plew up to join the universal air.
She coidd not miss the throbbings of his heart, Whilst her own pulse so wanton' d in its joy; She could not guess he struggled to depart. And when he strove no more, the hapless boy ! She read his mortal stillness for content, Feeling no fear w^here only love was meant.
Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor,
And straight unyokes her arms from her fair prize ;
Then on his lovely face begins to pore.
As if to glut her soul ; — her hungry eyes
Have grown so jealous of her arms' delight ;
It seems, she hath no other sense but sight.
HEEO AKD LEANDEE. 283
But 0 sad marvel ! 0 most bitter strange ! What dismal magic makes liis clieek so pale ? Why will he not embrace, — why not exchange Her kindly kisses ; — wherefore not exhale Some odorous message from Hfe's ruby gates, Where she his first sweet embassy awaits ?
Her eyes, poor watchers, fix'd upon his looks, Axe grappled with a wonder near to grief, As one, who pores on undecipher'd books, Strains vain surmise, and dodges with belief; So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought, Framing a thousand doubts that end in nought.
Too stern inscription for a page so young, The dark translation of his look was death ! But death was written in an alien tongue. And learning was not by to give it breath ; So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal, Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal.
Meanw^hile she sits unconscious of her hap, Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there With heavy head lies pillow' d in her lap, And elbows all unhinged ; — his sleeking hair Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand Leans with lax fijigers crook' d against the sand ;
284 HEEO AND LEANDER.
And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base, That shows no whiter than his brow is pale ; So soon the wintry death had bleach' d his face Into cold marble, — with blue chilly shades, Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades.
And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain Hath set, and stiffen' d like a storm in ice. Showing by drooping lines the deadly strain Of mortal anguish ; — ^yet you might gaze twice Ere Death it seem'd, and not his cousin. Sleep, That through those creviced Hds did underpeep.
But aU that tender bloom about his eyes.
Is Death's own -vi'lets, which his utmost rite
It is to scatter when the red rose dies ;
For blue is chilly, and akin to white :
Also he leaves some tinges on his lips,
"Which he hath kiss'd with such cold frosty nips.
" Surely," quoth she, " he sleeps, the senseless thing, Oppress'd and faint with toihng in the stream ! " Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; Meanwhile, her lily fingers tasks to twine His uncrispt locks ujicurling in the brine.
HEKO AND LEANDEB. 285
" O lovely boy ! " — thus she attvmed her voice, — " Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home, My love-mate thou shalt be, and true heart's choice ; How have I long'd such a twin-self should come, — A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befel. My heart kept sighing like a hollow shell.
" Here thou shalt live, beneath this secret dome.
An ocean-bow'r ; defended by the shade
Of quiet waters, a cool emerald gloom
To lap thee all about. Nay, be not fray'd.
Those are but shady fishes that sail by
Like antic clouds across my liquid sky !
" Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales. And shows rich glimpses of their Tyriau skins ; They flash small lightnings from their vigorous tails, And winking stars are kindled at their fins ; These shall divert thee in thy weariest mood. And seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food.
" Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, My flow'rets those, that never pine for drowth ; Myself did plant them in the dappled shells. That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, — Pearls woiddst thou have beside ? crystals to shine ? I had such treasures once, — now they are thine.
286 HEEO AND LEANDEB.
" Now, lay thine ear against this golden sand, And thou shalt hea,r the music of the sea, Those hoUow tunes it plays against the land,— Is 't not a rich and wondi'ous melody ? I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone I heard the languages of ages gone !
" I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell, Though heretofore I have but set my voice To some long sighs, grief harmonized, to tell How desolate I fared ; — but this sweet change "Will add new notes of gladness to my range !
" Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales, Which I have framed out of the noise of waves ; Ere now, I have communed with senseless gales, And held vain colloquies with barren caves ; But I could talk to thee whole days and days. Only to word my love a thousand ways.
" But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, Then ope, sweet oracles ! and I '11 be mute ; I was bom ignorant for thee to teach, Nay all love's lore to thy dear looks impute ; Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light I saw to give away my heart aright ! "
HEEO AND LEANDEE. 287
But cold and deaf the sullen creature Hes, Over her knees, and with concealing clay, Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes, And leaves her world impoverish' d of day ; Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead, But there the door is closed against her need.
Surely he sleeps, — so her false wits infer ! Alas ! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again ! Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir That might denote a vision in his brain ; Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long, Twice she hath reach' d the ending of her song.
LXXIV,
Therefore 'tis time she tells him to uncover Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears, Whereby her April face is shaded over, Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears ; Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets, Herself mu.st rob those lock'd up cabinets.
With that she stoops above his brow, and bids Her busy hands forsake his tangled hair, And tenderly lift up those cofFer-Hds, That sh'e may gaze upon the jewels there, LiJie babes that pluck an early bud apart, To know the dainty colour of its heart.
288 HERO AND LEANDER.
Kow, picture one, soft creeping to a bed, Who slowly parts the fringe-hung canopies. And then starbs back to find the sleeper dead ; So she looks in on his uncover' d eyes. And seeing all within so drear and dark, Her own bright soui dies in her like a spark.
Backward she falls, like a pale prophetess,
Under the swoon of holy divination :
And what had all surpass' d her simple guess.
She now resolves in this dark revelation ;
Death's very mystery, — oblivious death ; —
Long sleep, — deep night, and an entranced breath.
Yet life, though wounded sore, not wholly slain, Merely obscured, and not extinguish' d, lies ; Her breath that stood at ebb, soon flows again, Heaving her hoUow breast with heavy sighs. And light comes in and kindles up the gloom, To light her spirit from its transient tomb.
Then Hke the sun, awaken' d at new dawn, With pale bewilder' d face she peers about. And spies blurr'd images obscurely drawn. Uncertain shadows in a haze of doubt ; But her true grief grows shapely by degrees, A perish'd creature lying on her knees.
■HERO AND LEANDER. 289
And now she knows liow that old Murther preys, Whose quarry on her lap lies newly slain : How he roams aH abroad and grimly slays, Like a lean tiger in Love's own domain ; Parttug fond mates, — and oft in flowery lawns Bereaves mild mothers of their milky fawns.
O too dear knowledge ! O pernicious earning ! !Foul curse engraven upon beauty's page ! Ev'n now the sorrow of that deadly learning Ploughs up her brow, like an untimely age, And on her cheek stamps verdict of death's truth By canker blights upon the bud of youth !
For as unwholesome winds decay the leaf. So her cheeks' rose is perish'd by her sighs. And withers in the sickly breath of grief; Whilst unacquainted rheum bedims her eyes, Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt Prom those young lids, now plentifully wept.
Whence being shed, the liquid crystalline Drops straightway down, refusing to partake In gross admixture with the baser brine, But shrinks and hardens into pearls opaque. Hereafter to be worn on arms and ears ; So one maid's trophy is another's tears !
290 HERO AND LEANDER.
" 0 foul Arcli-Sliadow, thou old cloud of Night, (Thus in her frenzy she began to wail,) Thou blank oblivion — blotter out of light, Life's ruthless murderer, and dear love's bale! "Why hast thou left thy havock incomplete, Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet ?
" Lo ! what a lovely ruin thou hast made ! Alas ! alas ! thou hast no eyes to see. And blindly slew'st him in misguided shade. Would I had lent my doting sense to thee ! But now I turn to thee, a willing mark, Thine arrows miss me in the aimless dark !
" 0 doubly cruel ! — twice misdoing spite,
But I wiU guide thee with my helping eyes,
Or walk the wide world through, devoid of sight,
Yet thou shalt know me by my many sighs. [Death,
Nay, then thou should' st have spared my rose, false
And known Love's flow'r by smelling his sweet breath ;
" Or, when thy furious rage was round him dealing. Love should have grown from touching of his skin ; But like cold marble thou art all unfeeHng, And hast no ruddy springs of warmth within, And being but a shape of freezing bone. Thy touching only tum'd my love to stone !
HEEO AXD LEAKDEB. 291
" And here, alas ! lie lies across my knees, With cheeks stUl colder than the stilly wave, The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze ; Here then, since Love is dead and lacks a grave, O come and dig it in my sad heart's core — That wound wiU bring a balsam for its sore !
" For art thou not a sleep where sense of ill Lies stingless, like a sense benumb' d with cold, Healing aU hurts only with sleep's good-wdl? So shall I slumber, and perchance behold My living love in dreams, — O happy night, That lets me company his banish' d spright !
" O poppy Death ! — sweet poisoner of sleep ; Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drug. That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep Out of life's coil ? Look, Idol! how I hug Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, And kiss this clay-cold model of thy face !
" Put out, put out these sun-consuming lamps, I do but read my sorrows by their shine ; O come and quench them with thy oozy damps, And let my darkness intermix with thine ; Since love is blinded, wherefore should I see ? Now love is death, — death will be love to me !
u2
292 HERO AKD LEAKDER.
" Away, away, this vain complainuig breath, It does but stir the troubles that I weep ; Let it be hush'd and quieted, sweet Death ; The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep. Since love is silent 1 would fain be mute ; O Death, be gracious to my dying suit ! "
Thus far she pleads, but pleading nought avails her, Por Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed ; Then with dumb cra^dng arms, since darkness fails her, She prays to heaven's fair light, as if her need Inspired her there were Gods to pity pain, Or end it, — but she lifts her arms in vain !
Poor gilded Grief ! the subtle light by this "With mazy gold ci'eeps through her watery mine, And, diving downward through the green abyss. Lights up her palace with an amber shine ; There, falling on her arms, — the crystal skin Eeveals the ruby tide that fares within.
Look how the fidsome beam would hang a glory On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it ; Look how the perjured glow suborns a story On her pale lips, but lips refuse to tell it ; Grief wiU not swerve from grief, however told On coral lips, or character' d in gold ;
HEEO AND LEAKDEE. 293
Or else, tliou maid ! safe anchor' d on Love's neck, Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, Thou would' st not shed a tear for that old wreck. Sitting secure where no wild surges wander ; Whereas the woe moves on with tragic pace, Aiid shows its sad reflection in thy face.
Thus having travell'd on, and track' d the tale, Like the due course of an old bas-rehef, "Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale. Brood here awhile upon that sea-maid's grief, And take a deeper imprint from the frieze Of that young Fate, with Death upon her knees.
Then whilst the melancholy muse withal Resumes her music in. a sadder tone. Meanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wall, Conceive that lovely siren to live on, Ev'n as Hope whisper'd, the Promethean light Would kindle up the dead Leander' s spright.
"'Tis Hght," she says, "that feeds the glittei'ing stars, And those were stars set in his heavenly brow; But this salt cloud, this cold sea-vapour, mars Their radiant breathing, and obscures them novr ; Tlaerefore I 'LI lay him in the clear blue air. And see how these dull orbs will kindle there."
294 HEEO AND LEANDER.
Swiftly as dolpliins glide, or swifter yet, "With dead Leander in her foud arms' fold, She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net, The sun hath twined above of liquid gold, Nor slacks tiU on tlie margin of the land She lays his body on the glowing sand.
There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just tlien, Some listless fishers, strapng down the beach. Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake, And watch her doings tdl their rude hearts ache.
First she begins to chafe him till she faints. Then falls upon his mouth with kisses many. And sometimes pauses in her own complaints To list his breathing, but there is not any, — Then looks into his eyes where no liglit dwells ; Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells.
The hot sun parches his discover' d eyes.
The hot sun beats on his discolour' d limbs,
The sand is oozy whereupon he lies,
Soiling his fairness ; — then away she swims,
Meaning to gather him a daintier bed,
Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and red.
HERO AND LDANDER. 296
But, simple-witted thief, while she dives under, Another robs her of her amorous theft ; The ambush'd fishermen creep forth to plunder, And steal the unwatch'd treasure she has left ; Only his void impression dints the sands ; Leander is purloin' d by stealthy hands !
Lo ! how she shudders off the beaded wave ! Like Grief all over tears, and senseless falls, His void imprint seems hollow' d for her grave ; Then, rising on her knees, looks round and calls On Hero ! Hero ! having learn' d this name Of his last breath, she calls him by the same.
Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs, And casts them forth, sad keepsakes to the wind, As if in plucking those she pluck' d her cares ; But grief lies deeper, and remains behind Like a barb'd arrow, rankling in lier brain. Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain.
Anon her tangled locks are left alone, And down upon the sand she meekly sits. Hard by the foam, as humble as a stone, Like an enchanted maid beside her wits, That ponders with a look serene and tragic, Sturm' d by the mighty mystery of magic.
296 HEKO AKD LEAN.DEE.
Or think of Ariadne's utter trance,
Crazed by tlie flight of that disloyal traitor,
Who left her gazing on the green expanse
That swallow' d up his track, — yet this would mate her,
Ev'n in the cloudy summit of her woe,
Wlien o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go.
Tor even so she bows, and bends her gaze
O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum
Its waves by weary thousands all her days,
Dismally doom'd ! meanwhile the billows come,
And coldly dabble with her quiet feet,
Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet.
And thence into her lap have boldly sprung,
Washing her weedy tresses to and fro,
That round her crouching knees have darkly hung
But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flow,
Like a lone beacon on a desert coast,
Showing where aU her hope was wreck'd ana lost.
Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky.
She knoweth not her love's abrupt resort.
So like a shape of dreams he left her eye,
Winking with doubt. Meanwhile, the churls' report
Has throng' d the beach with many a ciu-ious face.
That peeps upon her from its hiding place.
HEEO AKD LEANDER. 297
And here a head, and there a brow half seen,
Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands,
A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean
Over a rugged crest. Another stands.
Holding his harmful arrow at the head,
Still check'd by human caution and strange dread.
One stops his ears, — another close beholder
Wliispers unto the next his grave surmise ;
This crouches down, — and just above his shoulder,
A woman's pity saddens in her eyes.
And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief.
With all sweet helps of sisterly relief.
And down the sunny beach she paces slowly, "With many doubtful pauses by the way ; Grief hath an influence so hush'd and holy, — Making her twice attempt, ere she can lay Her hand upon that sea-maid's shoulder white, Which makes her startle up in wild aifright.
And, like a seal, she leaps into the wave That drowns the shrill remaiader of her scream ; Anon the sea fills up the watery cave, And seals her exit with a foamy seam, — Leaving those baflBled gazers on the beach, Turning in uncouth wonder each to each.
298 HEEO AND LEANDEE.
Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge, Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam ; Some point to white eruptions of the surge : — But she is vanish' d to her shady home, Under the deep, inscrutable, — and there Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair.
K'ow here, the sighing winds, before unheard, Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow, Till all the surface of the deep is stirr'd, Like to the panting grief it hides below ; And heaven is cover' d witli a stormy rack, Soiling the waters with its inky black.
The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey, And labours shoreward with a bending "v^ing, Eowiug against the wind her toilsome way ; Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling Their devry frost still further on the stones, That answer to the wind with hollow groans.
And here and there a fisher's far-ofi'bark Flies with the sun's last glimpse upon its sail, Like a bright flame amid the waters dark, Watch'd with the hope and fear of maidens pale ; And anxious mothers that uptm-n their brows. Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows.
HEKO AXD LEANDEE. 299
For that the horrid deep has no siu'e track To guide love safe into his homely haven. And lo ! the storm grows blacker in its wrath, O'er the dark billow brooding Hke a raven, That bodes of death and widow's sorrowing. Under the dusky covert of his wing.
And so day ended. But no vesper spark Hung forth its heavenly sign ; but sheets of flame Play'd round the savage features of the dark, Making night horrible. That night, there came A weeping maiden to high Sestos' steep, And tore her hair and gazed upon the deep.
And waved aloft her bright and ruddy torch, "VVliose flame the boastful wind so rudely fann'd. That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch The tender covert of her sheltering hand ; Which yet, for love's dear sake, disdain' d retire. And, like a glorying martyr, braved the fire.
For that was love's own sign and beacon guide Across the Hellespont's wide weary space, Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide ; Look what a red it forges on her face. As if she blush' d at holding such a light, Ev'n in the unseen presence of the night !
300 HERO AND LEAJfDER
Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale,
And colder than the rude and ruffian air
That howls into her ear a horrid tale
Of storm, and wreck, and uttermost despair.
Saying, " Leander floats amid the surge,
And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge."
And hark ! — a grieving voice, trembling and faint, Blends with the hollow sobbings of the sea ; Like the sad music of a siren's plaint. But shriller than Leander's voice should be, Unless the wintry death had changed its tone, — Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moaD
For now, upon each brief and breathless pause. Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls On Hero ! Hero ! — whereupon she draws Close to the dizzy brink, that ne'er appals Her brave and constant spirit to recoil, However the wild billows toss and toil.
" Oh ! dost thou live under the deep deep sea ? I thought such love as thine could never die ; If thou hast gain'd an immortality From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I ; And this false cruel tide that used to sever Our hearts, shall be our common home for ever !
HEEO AlfD LEANDEE. 301
" There we will sit and sport upon one billow, And sing our ocean ditties all the day, And lie together on the same green pillow, That curls above us with its dewy spray ; And ever in one presence live and dwell, Like two twin pearls within the selfsame shell."
One moment then, upon the dizzy verge
She stands ; — with face upturn' d against the sky ,
A moment more, upon the foamy surge
She gazes, vrith a calm despairing eye ;
Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath
Which life endures when it confronts with death ;-
Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept Panting abroad, like unavailing wings. To save her from her death. — The sea-maid wept. And in a crystal cave her corse enshrined ; No meaner sepulchre should Hero fijid !
LYCUS, THE CENTAUR.
1827.
J. H. EEYNOLDS, ESQ.
My DEAR Reynolds,
You will remember " Lycus." — It was written in the pleasant spring-time of our friendship, and I am glad to maintain that association, by connecting your name with the Poem. It will gratify me to find that you regard it with the old partiality for the writings of each other, which prevailed in those days. For my own sake, I must regret that your pen goes now into far other records than those which used to delight me.
Your time Friend and Brother,
T. HOOD.
LTCUS, THE CENTAUR.
FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIUS CURIUS.
THE ARGUMENT.
Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nympb, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a hcrse ; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur.
Who hath ever been lured and bound by a spell To wander, fore-doom' d, in that circle of heU Where Witchery works with her will like a god, Works more than the wonders of time at a nod, — At a word, — at a touch, — at a flash of the eye. But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie. Things bom of a wish — to endure for a thought. Or last for long ages — to vanish to nought. Or put on new semblance ? O Jove, I had given The throne of a kingdom to know if that heaven, And the earth and its streams were of Circe, or
whether They kept the world's birth-day and brighten' d
together ! For I loved them in terror, and constantly dreaded That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I
bedded,
306 LTCUS, THE CEBTTATJE.
The face I might dote on, should live out the lease Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease : And I gave me to slumber, as if from one dream To another — each horrid — and drank of the stream Like a first taste of blood, lest as water I quaff 'd Swift poison, and never should breathe from tlie
draught, — Such drink as her o.vn monarch husband drain' d up When he pledged her, and Fate closed his eyes in the
cup. And I pluck' d of the fruit with held breath, and a fear That the branch would start back and scream out in
my ear; For once, at my suppering, I pluck'd in the dusk An apple, juice-gushing and fragrant of musk ; But by daylight my fingers were crimson' d with gore, And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core ; And once — only once — for the love of its blush, I broke a bloom bough, but there came such a gush On my hand, tliat it fainted away in weak fright. While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shriek'd at the sight ; And oh ! sucli an agony thrill' d in that note, That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my throat, As it loug'd to be free of a body whose hand Was doom'd to work torments a Fury had plann'd !
There I stood without stir, yet how willing to flee. As if rooted and horror-txu'n'd into a tree, — Oh ! for innocent death, — and to suddenly win it, I drank of the stream, but no poison was in it ; I plunged in its waters, but ere I could sink, Some invisible fate pull' d me back to the brink ; I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height, But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight ;
LTCUS, THE CENTAUE. 307
I ran at my fears — they were fears and no more, Por the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the boar. But moan'd, — all their brutalized flesh could not
smother The horrible truth, — we were kin to each other !
They were mournfully gentle, and group'd for relief, All foes in their skin, but aU friends in their grief : The leopard was there, — baby-mild in its feature ; And the tiger, black barr'd, with the gaze of a creature That knew gentle pity ; the bristle-back' d boar, His innocent tusks stain' d with mulberry gore ; And the laughing hyena — but laughing no more ; And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes ; The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine Through his hairy ecHpse of a manhood divine ; And the elephant stately, with more than its reason, How thoughtful in sadness ! but this is no season To reckon them up from the lag-bellied toad To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous
load. There were woes of aU shapes, wretched forms, when I
came. That hung down their heads with a human-like shame ; The elephant hid in the boughs, and the bear Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair ; And the womanly soul turning sick with disgust, Tried to vomit herself from her serpentine crust ; While aU groan' d their groans into one at their lot. As I brought them the image of what they were not.
Then rose a wild sound of the human voice choaking Through vile brutal organs — low tremulous croakmg ;
X 2
308 LTCUS, THE CENTAUE.
Cries swallow' d abruptly — deep animal tones Attuned to strange passion, and full-utter' d groans ; AH shuddering weaker, till husli'd in a pause Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yawning jaws ; And I guess' d that those horrors were meant to tell o'er The tale of their woes ; bat the silence told more That writhed on their tongues ; and I knelt on the sod, And pray'd mth my voice to the cloud-stirring God, For the sad congregation of supplicants there. That upturn' d to his heaven brute faces of prayer ; And I ceased, and they utter'd a moaning so deep, That I wept for my heart-ease, — but they could not
weep. And gazed with red eye-balls, aU wistfully dry, At the comibrt of tears in a stag's human eye. Then I motion' d them round, and, to soothe their
distress, I caress'd, and they bent them to meet my caress. Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm. And with poor grateful eyes suffer' d meekly and calm Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate From returns that might chill the warm pity to hate ; So they passively bow'd — save the serpent, that leapt To my breast like a sister, and pressingly crept In embrace of my neck, and with close kisses blister'd My Lips in rash love, — then drew backward, and
glister' d Her eyes in my face, and loud hissing affright, Dropt down, and swift started away from my sight !
This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my lot, Turn'd brute in my soul, though my body was not Wlien I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces. That shrouded their woe in the shade of lone places,
LTCUS, THE CENTAUR. 309
And dash'd off bright tears, till their fingers were wet, And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet : But I fled — though they stretch' d out their hands, all
entangled "With hair, and blood-stain' d of the breasts they had
mangled, — Though they call'd — and perchance but to ask, had I
seen Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been : But I stay'd not to hear, lest the story should hold Some hell-form of words, some enchantment once told, Might translate me in flesh to a brute ; and I dreaded To gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be
wedded With some pity, — and love in that pity perchance — To a thing not all lovely ; for once at a glance Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright wonder Tliat flow'd like a long silver rivulet under The long fenny grass, with so lovely a breast. Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest ?
So I roam'd in that circle of horrors, and Fear Walk'd with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near Cluster'd trees for their gloom — not to shelter from
heat — But lest a brute-shadow should grow at my feet ; And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place, Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face, In the horrible likeness of demons, (that none Could see, like invisible flames in the sun ;) But grew to one monster that seized on the light, Like the dragon that strangles the moon in the night; Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the South ; "Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth
310 LYCUS, THE CENTAUB.
Engenders of slime in tlie land of the pest, Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the "West, BringiBg Night on their wings ; and the bodies wherein. Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin. Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight Like a Titan, and threatfully warr'd with the light ; I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close, When they rush'd on that shadowy Python of foes, That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws. With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws. And whirls of long tails : — I have seen the quick
flutter Of fragments dissever' d, — and necks stretch'd to utter Long screamings of pain, — the swift motion of blows, And wrestling of arms — to the flight at the close. When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings. And flew on the whirlwind that foUow'd their wings.
Thus they fled — not forgotten — but often to grow Like fears in my eyes, when I walk'd to and fro In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean I knew not, nor whether the love I had won Was of heaven or hell — till one day in the sun, In its very noon-blaze, I could fancy a thing Of beauty, but faint as the cloud-mirrors fling On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky, Half-seen and half-dream'd m the soul of his eye. And when in my musings I gazed on the stream, In motionless trances of thought, there would seem A face like that face, looking upward through mine ; AVith its eyes full of love, and the dim-drowned shine Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue Serene : — there I stood for long hours but to view
LTCUS, THE CENTArE. 311
Those fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted Towards me, and wink'd as the water-weed drifted Between ; but the fish knew that presence, and plied Their long curvy tails, and svdft darted aside.
There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things That once had been wonders — the fishes mth wings, And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look'd up From the glooms of the bottom Uke pearls in a cup, And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam. Slow winding along like a tide in the stream. Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought Held me dear in the pearl of her eye — and I brought My wish to that fancy ; and often I dash'd My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash'd The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink, Chill' d by watery fears, how that Beauty might sink With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me In some eddy to hum out my life in her ear. Like a spider-caught bee, — and in aid of that fear Came the tardy remembrance — Oh falsest of men ! Why was not that beauty remember' d till then ? My love, my safe love, whose glad life w^ould have v\m Into mine — like a drop — that our fate might be one, That now, even now, — may-be, — clasp' d in a dream, That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream. And gazed with fond eyes that her tears tried to
smother On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another !
Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind, Still fuU of the tempter, kept gazing behind
312 LTCTJS, THE CENTAUE.
Ou her crystalline face, while I paiufuUy leapt
To the bank, and shook off the curst waters, and wept
"With my brow in the reeds ; and the reeds to my ear
Bow'd, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear,
Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one
That loved me, — but oh to fly from her, and shun
Her love like a pest — though her love was as true
To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue ;
For why should I love her with love that woidd bring
All misfortune, like Hate, on so joyous a thing ?
Because of her rival, — even Her whose witch-face
I had slighted, and therefore was doom'd in that place
To roam, and had roam'd, where aU horrors grew rank.
Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank ;
Her name be not named, but her spite would not fail
To oiu* love like a bhght ; and they told me the tale
Of ScyUa, and Picus, imprison' d to speak
His shriU-screaming woe through a woodpecker's beak.
Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of my
star That told me the truth of my fortunes — thus far I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush Of deep meditation, — when lo ! a light crush Of the reeds, and I turn'd and look'd round in the
night Of new siuishine, and saw, as I sipp'd of the light Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stream, Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept
throwing Bright torrents of hair, that went flo'R'ing and flowing In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll'd Down her Hmbs like a garment, in many a fold,
LTCUS, THE CENTAUR. 313
Sun-spangled, gold-broider'd, and fled far behind, Like an infinite train. So she came and reclined In the reeds, and I hunger' d to see her unseal The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal The blue that was in them ; and they oped and she
raised Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed With her eyes on my eyes ; but their colour and shine Was of that which they look'd on, and mostly of mine — !For she loved me, — except when she blush' d, and they
sank, Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank, Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me How she put on her veil, and in love to behold me.. Would wing through the sun till she fainted away Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies. But now they were heal'd, — O my heart, it still dances When I think of the charm of her changeable glances, And my image how small when it sank in the deep Of her eyes where her soul was, — Alas ! now they weep, And none knoweth where. In what stream do her
eyes Shed invisible tears ? Who beholds where her sighs Mow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf She has pluck' d with her tresses ? Wlio listens her
grief Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet Grrow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat Them together ? Ah ! surely her flowers float adown To the sea unaccepted, and httle ones drovsoi For need of her mercy, — even he whose twin-brother Will miss him for ever ; and the sorrowful mother
314 ITCUS, THE CENTAUR.
Imploretli in vain for his body to kiss
And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is,
Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain !
We loved, — how we loved ! — for I thought not again
Of the woes that were whisper'd like fears in that place
If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face
Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown' d
For my absence, — htr arms were the arms that sought
round, And clasp' d me to nought ; for I gazed and became Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name For two loves, and call'd ever on ^gle, sweet maid Of the sky-loving waters, — and was not afraid Of the sight of her skin ; — for it never could be, Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me !
Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten'd space. Like a day made of three, and the smUe of her face Had been with me for joy, — when she told me indeed Her love was self- task' d with a work that would need Some short hours, for in truth 'twas the veriest pity Our love should not last, and then sang me a ditty. Of one with warm Lips that should love her, and love her When suns were burnt dim and long ages past over. So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep Of dreams, — but their meaning was hidden too deep To be read what their woe was ; — but stdl it was woe That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro In that river of night ; — and the gaze of their eyes Was sad, — and the bend of their brows, — and their
LTCTJS, THE CENTArE. 315
"Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears Travell'd down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears Awaked me, and lo ! I was couch' d in a bower. The growth of long summers rear'd up in an hour ! Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I wiU fly From this magic, but could not, because that my eye Grew love-idle among the rich blooms ; and the earth Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth Of some bird was above me, — who, even in fear, AYould startle the thrush ? and methought there drew
near A form as of -^gle, — but it was not the face Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that place, Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death Which I fear'd, and yet fled not, for want of my breath. There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not
raised From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed, Her spite — and her countenance changed with her
mind As she plann'd how to thraU me with beauty, and bind My soul to her charms, — and her long tresses play'd From shade into shine and from shine into shade, Like a day in mid-autujun, — first fair, 0 how fair ! With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair That clung round her neck, — those dark locks that I
prize. For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes Of that fathomless hue, — but they changed as they
roU'd, And brighten' d, and suddenly blazed into gold That she comb'd into flames, and the locks that fell
down Tiim'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown,
316
LTCUS, THE CENTAUR.
Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,
That innocence wears when she is but a child ;
And her eyes, — Oh I ne'er had been witch'd with
their shine, Had they been any other, my ^gle, than thine !
Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden' d In the full of their light, — but I sadden' d and sadden' d The deeper I look'd, — till I sank on the snow Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe, And answer' d its throb with the shudder of fears, And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears. And strain' d her white arms with the still languid
weight Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame To hide me from her — the true ^gle — that came With the words on her lips the false witch had fore- given To make me immortal — for now I was even At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush Of world-soimds in my ear to cry welcome, and rush With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river. Oh would it had flown from my body for ever, Ere I listen' d those words, wlieu I felt with a start. The life-blood rush back in one thi-ob to my heart. And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell Had perish'd in horror — and heard tlie farewell Of that voice that was drown' d in the dash of the stream! How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that scream Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragg'd Behind me : — " 0 Circe ! O mother of spite ! Speak the last of that curse ! and imprison me quite
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LTCUS, THE CENTAUE.
317
In the husk of a brute, — that no pity may name The man that I was, — that no kindred may claim The monster I am ! Let me utterly be Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me TJninscribed ! " — But she listen' d my prayer, that was
praise To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze On the river for love, — and perchance she woxild make In pity a maid without eyes for my sake, And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the wave, Wliat monster I was, and it trembled and gave The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face From all waters for ever, and fled through that place, Till A\dth horror more strong than all magic I pass'd Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.
There I wander' d in sorrow, and shunn'd the abodes Of men, that stood up in the Likeness of Grods, But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun On their cities, where man was a miUion, not one ; And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending. That show'd where the hearts of the many were
blending, And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that
came From the trumpets that gather' d whole bands in one
fame As a chorus of man, — and they stream'd from the gates Like a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. But at times there were gentler processions of peace That I watch' d with my soul in my eyes till their
cease. There were women ! there men ! but to me a third sex I saw them all dots — yet I loved them as specks :
316 LTCUS, THE CENTAITE.
Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,
That imiocence wears when she is but a child ;
And her eyes, — Oh I ne'er had been witch'd with
their shine, Had they been any other, my -Sgle, than thine !
Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden'd In the full of their light, — but I sadden' d and sadden' d The deeper I look'd, — till I sank on the snow Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe. And answer' d its throb with the shudder of fears, And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears, And strain' d her white arms with the still languid
weight Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame To hide me from her — the true ^gle — that came "With the words on her lips the false witch had fore- given To make me immortal — for now I was even At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush Of world-sounds in my ear to cry welcome, and rush "With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river. Oh would it had flown from my body for ever, Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt with a start. The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart. And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell Had perish' d in horror — and heard the farewell Of that voice that was drown'd in the dash of the stream! How fain had I follow' d, and plunged with that scream Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragg'd Behind me : — " 0 Circe ! O mother of spite ! Speak the last of that curse ! and imprison me quite
LTCUS, THE CENTATJE. 317
In tlie husk of a brute, — that no pity may name The man that I was, — that no kindred may claim The monster I am ! Let me utterly be Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me Uninscribed ! " — But she listen'd my prayer, that was
praise To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze On the river for love, — and perchance she would make In pity a maid without eyes for my sake. And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the wave, Wliat monster I was, and it trembled and gave The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face From aU waters for ever, and fled through that place. Till with horror more strong than aU magic I pass'd Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.
There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunn'd the abodes Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods, But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun On their cities, where man was a million, not one ; And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending. That show'd where the hearts of the many were
blending. And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that
came From the trumpets that gather'd whole bands in one
fame As a chorus of man, — and they stream'd from the gates Like a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. But at times there were gentler processions of peace That I watch' d with my soul in my eyes till their
cease. There were women ! there men ! but to me a third sex I saw them aU dots — yet I loved them as specks :
318 LTCUS, THE CENTArK.
And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes
I stole near the city, but stole covert-Avise
Like a ■wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten
By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten !
Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother
Daily sat in the shade with her cliild, and would
smother Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks That murmur'd between us and Idss'd them with looks ; But the willows uiibosom'd their secret, and never I return' d to a spot I had startled for ever. Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none. Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son ?
For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by
flight, The men in their horror, the women in fright ; None ever remain'd save a child once that sported Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted The breeze ; and beside him a speckled snake lay Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away From the flower at his finger ; he rose and drew near Like a Sou of Immortals, one born to no fear. But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure
bright To grow to large manhood of merciful might. He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel, The hau* of my side, and to lift up my heel. And question' d my face with wide eyes ; but when under My hds he saw tears, — for I wept at his wonder. He stroked me, and utter' d such kindliness then, That the once love of women, the friendship of men
liTCUS, THE CENTAUE. 319
In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss
On my lieart in its desolate day such as this !
And I yearn' d at his cheeks in my love, and down bent,
And lifted him up in my arms with intent
To kiss him, — but he cruel-kindly, alas !
Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass !
Then I dropt him ia horror, but felt as I fled
The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head,
That dissever' d my ear, — but I felt not, whose fate
"Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate !
Thus I wander' d, companion'd of grief and forlorn, Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born, But what was that land with its love, where my home Was self-shut against me ; for why should I come Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father, With a blight to the last of his sight ? — let him rather Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the lu-n Where I was not, and stiU in fond memory turn To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how Coidd I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now Like Grods to my humbled estate ? — or how bear The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care Of my hands ? Then I turn'd me self-banish' d, and
came Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild
eyes Against heaven, and so vanish'd. — The gentle and wise Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.
TWO PEACOCKS OP BEDFONT.
Alas ! that breathing Vanity should go
Where Pride is buried, — like its very ghost,
Uprisen from the naked bones below, In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast
Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro. Shedding its chilling superstition most
On young and ignorant natures — as it wont
To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont !
Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of praye Behold two maidens, up the quiet green
Shining, far distant, in the summer air
That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between
Their downy plumes, — sailing as if they were Two far-off" ships, — until they brush between
The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait
On either side of the wide open'd gate.
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 3-21
And there tliey stand — with haughty necks before God's holy house, that points towards the skies-
Trowuing reluctant duty from the poor,
And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes :
And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, Breathing its wishes in tmfruitful sighs,
With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace.
Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face ;-
Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside. May wear the happiness of rich attire ;
And those two sisters, in their silly pride,
May change the sovd's warm glances for the fire
Of lifeless diamonds ; — and for health denied, — With art, that blushes at itself, inspire
Their languid cheeks — and flourish in a glory
That has no life in life, nor after-story.
The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair In meekest censuring, and turns his eye
Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r, And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by.
Good-hearted man ! what sullen soul would wear Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly
Put on thy censure, that might win the praise
Of one so grey in goodness and in days ?
S22 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEBFONT.
Also the solemn elerli: partakes the shame Of this ungodly shine of human pride,
And sadly blends his reverence and blame In one grave bow, and passes with a stride
Impatient : — many a red-hooded dame
Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside
From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again.
That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain.
" I have a lily in the bloom at home,"
Quoth one, " and by the blessed Sabbath day
1 '11 pluck my lily in its pride, and come And read a lesson upon vain array ; —
And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some Give place, I 'U shake it in proud eyes and say —
Making my reverence, — ' Ladies, an you please,
King Solomon 's not half so fine as these.' "
Then her meek partner, who has nearly run
His earthly course, — " Nay, Goody, let your text
Grow in the garden. — "We have only one —
Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next 't
Summer will come again, and summer sun, And lilies too, — but I were sorely vext
To mar my garden, and cut short the blow
Of the last lily I may live to grow."
TUE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFO^'T. 323
" The last !" quotli she, " and though the last it were — Lo ! those two wantons, where they stand so proud
With waving plumes, and jewels in their haii", And paiuted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd
And curtsey'd to !— last Sabbath after pray'r, I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud
If they were angels — but I made him know
God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow ! "
So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk
That leads to the white porch the Simday throng,
Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk.
And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong,
And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk, And gold-bedizen' d beadle flames along,
And gentle peasant clad in buff" and green.
Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene ;
And blushing maiden — modestly array 'd
In spotless white, — still conscious of the glass ;
And she, the lonely widow, that hath made A sable covenant with grief, — alas !
She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade. While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass.
Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress
Her boy, — so rosy ! — and so fatherless !
y2
324 THE TWO PEACOCKS OE BEDEONT.
Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near The fair white temple, to the timely call
Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. —
Now the last froclr, and scarlet hood, and shawl
Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere
Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them aU,
— Saving those two, that turn aside and pass.
In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass.
Ah me ! to see their silken manors trail' d In pm-ple luxuries — vrith restless gold, —
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd In blotted black, — over the heapy moixld
Panting wave-wantonly ! They never quail' d How the warm vanity abused the cold ;
Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone
Sadly uplooking through transparent stone :
But swept their dwellings with unquiet light. Shocking the awful presence of the dead ;
Where gracious natures would their eyes benight, Nor wear their being with a lip too red.
Nor move too rudely in the summer bright Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread.
Meting it into steps, with inward breath,
In very pity to bereaved death.
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDEOXT. 3-25
Xow in the cliurcli, time-sober' d minds resign To solenm pray'r, and the loud chaunted hymn,-
"With glowing picturings of joys divine
Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim ;
But youth looks upward to the window shine, Warming with rose and purple and the swim
Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains
Of gorgeous light through many-colour' d panes ;
Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath Enrobed his angels, — and with absent eyes
Hearing of Heav'n, and its directed path.
Thoughtful of sHppers, — and the glorious skies
Clouding with satin, — till the preacher's wrath Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries
With a deep voice that trembles in its might,
^Ind earnest eyes growu eloqueut in. light :
" Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look On very beauty, and the heart embrace
True loveliness, and from this holy book
Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace
Of love indeed ! Oh, that the young soul took Its virgin passion from the glorious face
Of fair religion, and address' d its strife,
To win the riches of eternal life !
326 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.
" Doth the vain heart love glory that is noue, And the poor excellence of vain attire ?
Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun, The visible ruler of the starry quire,
Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run.
Dazzling the brain with orbs of badng fire ;
And the faint soul down darkens into niglit,
And dies a burning martyrdom to light.
" Oh go, and gaze, — when the low winds of ev'u Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod
Their gold-crown'd heads ; and the rich blooms of heav'n Sun-ripen' d give their blushes up to God ;
And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod
Of heavenly Moses, — that your thirsty sense
May quench its longings of magnificence !
" Tet suns shall perish — stars shall fade away — Day into darkness — darkness into death —
Death into silence ; the warm light of day,
The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath
Of even — aU shall wither and decay.
Like the frail furniture of dreams beneatli
The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dyes
That break and vanish in the aching eyes."
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF IBEDFOXT.
They hear, soiil-blushiug, and repentant shed
Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour
Their sin to earth, — and with low di'ooping head Receive the solemn blessing, and implore
Its grace — then soberly with chasten' d tread, They meekly press towards the gusty door,
With humbled eyes that go to graze upon
The lowly grass — like him of Babylon.
The lowly grass ! — 0 water-constant mind !
Fast-ebbing holiness ! — soon-fading grace Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind
Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face For ever ! — How they lift their eyes to find
Old vanities ! — Pride wins the very place Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow !
And lo ! with eager looks they seek the way Of old temptation at the lowly gate ;
To feast on feathers, and on vain array.
And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state
Of jewel-sprinkled locks. — But where are they, The graceless haughty ones that used to wait
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiflen'd eye r —
None challenge the old homage bending by.
328 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFOXT.
In vain tliey look for the ungracious bloom Of rich apparel where it glow'd before, —
For Vanity has faded all to gloom,
And lofty Pride has stiffen' d to the core,
Tor impious Life to tremble at its doom, — Set for a warning token evermore,
Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise
Shall gaze mth lifted hands and wond'ring eyes.
The aged priest goes on each sabbath morn, But shakes not sorrow imder his grey hair ;
Tlie solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn. Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ; —
And ancient lips that pucker' d up in scorn, Go smoothly breatliing to the house of pray'r ;
And in the garden-plot, from day to day,
The lily blooms its long white life away.
And where two haughty maidens used to be. In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod.
Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly. Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ; —
There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see
Two sombre Peacocks. Age, with sapient nod
jNIarking the spot, stiU tarries to declare
How they once lived, and wherefore they are there.
MINOR POEMS.
1827.
331
A EETEOSPECTIVE EEVIEW.
Oh, when I was a tiny boy
My days andniglits were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind ! — No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind !
A hoop was an eternal round
Of pleasure. In those days I found
A top a joyous thing ; — But now those past delights I drop, My head, alas ! is all my top.
And careful thoughts the string !
My marbles — once my bag was stored,- N"ow I must play with Elgin's lord.
With Theseus for a taw ! My playful horse has slipt his string, Forgotten all his capering.
And harness' d to the law !
332 A EETEOSPECTIVE RETIEW.
My kite — how fast and far it flew ! WhUst I, a sort of Franklin, drew
My pleasure from the sky ! 'Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote — my present dreams
Will never soar so high !
My joys are wingless all and dead ; My dumps are made of more than lead ;
My flights soon find a fall ; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, Joy never cometh with a hoop,
And seldom with a call !
My football 's laid upon the shelf; I am a shuttlecock myself
The world knocks to and fro ; — My archery is all unlearn' d, And grief against myself has tum'd
My arrows and my bow !
No more in noontide sun I bask ; My authorship 's an endless task.
My head 's ne'er out of school : My heart is pain'd with scorn and slight, I have too many foes to fight.
And friends grown strangely cool !
The very chum that shared my cake Holds out so cold a hand to shake,
It makes me shrink and sigh : — On this I will not dwell and hang, The changeling would not feel a pang
Though these should meet his eye !
A KETROSPECTIVE EETIEW. 333
'No skies so blue or so serene
As then ; — no leaves look half so green
As clothed the play-ground tree ! All things I loved are alter'd so, Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me !
Oh, for the garb that mark'd the boy, The trousers made of corduroy,
Well ink'd with black and red ; The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill — ■ It only let the sunshine still
Eepose upon my head !
Oh, for the riband round the neck ! The cai'eless dog's-ears apt to deck
My book and collar both ! How can this formal man be styled Merely an Alexandrine child,
A boy of larger growth ?
Oh, for that small, small beer anew !
And (heaven's own type) that mUd sky-blue
That wash'd my sweet meals do^Ti ; The master even ! — and that small Turk That fagg'd me ! — worse is now my work —
A fag for all the town !
Oh, for the lessons learn' d by heart ! Ay, though the very birch's smart
Should mark those hours again ; I 'd " kiss the rod," and be resign'd Beneath the stroke, and even find
Some sugar in the cane !
334 A RETROSPECTIA'E KEVIEW.
The Arabian Niglits relaearsed in bed ! The Fairy Tales in school-time read,
By stealth, 'twist verb and noun ! The angel form that always walk'd In all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd
Exactly like Miss Brown !
The omne bene — Christmas come! The prize of merit, won for home — ■
Merit had prizes then ! But now I write for days and days, For fame — a deal of empty praise.
Without the silver pen !
Then home, sweet home ! the crowded coach- The joyous shout — the loud approach —
The winding horns like rams' ! The meeting sweet that made me thrill, The sweetmeats almost sweeter still,
No ' satis ' to the 'jams ! ' —
When that I was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind ! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind !
33£
FAIE INES.
0 SAW ye not fair lues ?
She 's gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest :
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best.
With morning blushes on her cheek.
And pearls upon her breast.
0 turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night.
For fear the Moon shoidd shine alone,
And stars unrivall'd bright ;
And blessed will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,
And breathes the love against thy cheelv
1 dare not even write !
336 SXIU INES.
Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whisper' d thee so near !-
Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to vriji The dearest of the dear ?
I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen.
And banners waved before ;
And gentle youth and maidens gay,
And snow}^ plumes they wore ; —
It would have been a beauteous dream,
— If it had been no more !
Alas, alas, fair Ines,
She went away with song.
With Music waiting on her steps.
And shoutings of the throng ;
But some were sad, and felt no mirtli.
But only Music's WTong,
In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,
To her you 've loved so long.
FAIK INES. 337
Tarewell, farewell, fair Ines,
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before, —
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore !
The sniile that blest one lover's heart
Has broken many more !
338
THE DEPAETURE OF SUMMEE.
SuMMEE is gone on swallows' wings, And Earth lias buried aU lier flowers : No more the lark, the linnet sings. But Silence sits in faded bowers. There is a shadow on the plain Of "Winter ere he comes again, — There is in woods a solemn sound Of hollow warnings whisper' d round, As Echo in her deep recess For once had turn'd a prophetess. Shuddering Autumn stops to list. And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, With clouded face, and hazel eyes That quench themselves, and hide in mist.
Yes, Summer 's gone like pageant bright ; Its glorious days of golden liglit Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river. Gone the sweetly-scented breeze That spoke in music to the trees ; Gone for damp and chilly breath. As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, Or newly from the lungs of Death. —
THE DEPAETURE OF SUjSEMER. 33!)
Gone its virgin roses' blushes, "Warm as when Aurora rushes Freshly from the god's embrace, AVith all her shame upon her face. Old Time hath laid them in the mould ; Sure he is blind as well as old. Whose hand relentless never spares Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs ! Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now From where so blushing-blest they tarried Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough, Gone ; for Day and Night are married. All the light of love is fled : — Alas ! that negro breasts should hide The lips that were so rosy red, At morning and at even-tide !
Dehghtful Summer ! then adieu Till thou shalt visit us anew : But who without regretful sigh Can say, adieu, and see thee fly ? Not he that e'er hath felt thy pow'r, His joy expanding like a flow'r That Cometh after rain and snow, Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow : — Not he that fled from Babel-strife To the green sabbath-land of life, To dodge dull Care 'mid cluster'd trees. And cool his forehead in the breeze, — Whose spirit, weary-worn perchance, Shook from its viings a weight of grief. And perch'd upon an aspen leaf. For every breath to make it dance.
z2
340 THE DEPARTURE OE SUMMER.
Farewell ! — on wings of sombre stain, That blacken in tbe last blue skies, Thou fly'st ; but thou wiit come again On the gay wings of butterflies. Spring at thy approach ^all sprout Her new Corinthian beauties out, Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds ; Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers, And April smiles to sunny hours. Bright days shall be, and gentle nights EnU of soft breath and echo-lights, As if the god of sun-time kept His eyes half-open while he slept. Eoses shall be where roses were. Not shadows, but reaUty ; As if they never perish' d there, But slept in immortality : Nature shall thriU with new dehght. And Time's relumined river run Warm as yoimg blood, and dazzling bright, As if its source were in the siui !
But say, hath Winter then no chamis ? Is there no joy, no gladness warms His aged heart ? no happy wiles To cheat the hoary one to smiles ? Onward he comes — the cruel North Poiu's his furious whirlwind forth Before him — and we breathe the breath Of famish' d bears that howl to death. Onward he comes from rocks that blanch O'er solid streams that never flow
THE DEPARTtJEE OE SUMMER. 341
His tears all ice, his locks all snow, Just crept from some huge avalanche — A thing half-breathing and half-warm, As if one spark began to glow "Within some statue's marble form, Or pilgrim stiifen'd in the storm. Oh ! will not Mirth's light arrows fail To pierce that frozen coat of mail ? Oh ! will not joy but strive in vain To light up those glazed eyes again ?
]S'o ! take him in, and blaze the oak, And pour the wine, and warm the ale ; His sides shall shake to many a joke, His tongue shall thaw in many a tale. His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, And even his palsy charm'd away. What heeds he then the boisterous shout Of angry winds that scold -nathout. Like shrewish wives at tavern door ? What heeds he then the wild uproar Of billows bursting on the shore ? In dashing waves, in howling breeze. There is a music that can charm him ; When safe, and shelter' d, and at ease. He hears the storm that cannot harm him.
But hark ! those shouts ! that sudden din Of little hearts that laugh within. Oh ! take him where the youngsters play. And he will grow as young as they ! They come ! they come ! each blue-eyed Sport, The Twelfth-Night King and all his court —
342 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.
'Tis Mirth fresh crown'd with misletoe !
Music with her merry fiddles,
Joy " on light fantastic toe,"
"Wit with all his jests and riddles.
Singing and dancing as they go.
And Love, young Love, among the rest,
A welcome — nor unbidden guest.
But still for Summer dost thou grieve ? Then read our Poets — they shall w^eave A garden of green fancies still, Where thy wish may rove at will. They have kept for after treats The essences of summer sweets. And echoes of its songs that wind In endless music through the mind : They have stamp' d in visible traces The " thoughts tliat breathe," in words that shine- The flights of soul in sunny places — To greet and company with thine. These shall wing thee on to flow'rs — The past or futiu-e, that shall seem All the brighter in thy dream For blowing ia such desert hoiu-s. The summer never shines so bright As thought of in a winter's night ; And the sweetest loveliest rose Is in the bud before it blows ; The dear one of the lover's heart Is painted to his longing eyes. In charms she ne'er can realise — But when she turns again to part.
THE DEPAB.TUEE OF SUMMER. 343
Dream thou then, and bind thy brow
"With wreath of fancy roses now,
And driak of Summer in the cup
"Where the Muse hath mix'd it up ;
The " dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirtli,"
"With the warm nectar of the earth :
Drink ! 'twill glow in every vein,
And thou shalt dream the winter through :
Then waken to the sun again.
And find thy Summer Vision true !
344
ODE
I SAW old Autumn iu the misty morn Staud shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird woidd sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; — Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright "With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Where are the songs of Summer ? — With the sun,
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south,
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
And IMorning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
WTiere are the merry birds ? — Away, away.
On panting wings through the inclement skies,
Lest owls should prey
Undazzled at noon-day. And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.
ODE : AUTUMN. 345
Where are the blooms of Summer ? — In tlie west, Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest Like tearful Proserpine, snatch'd from her flow'rs
To a most gloomy breast. Where is the pride of Summer, — ^the green prime,- The many, many leaves all twinkling ? — Three On the moss'd elm ; three on the naked lime Trembling, — and one upon the old oak tree !
Where is the Drj^ad's immortaUty ? — Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew. Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through
In the smooth holly's green eternity.
The squirrel gloats on his accomplish' d hoard.
The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe grain,
And honey bees have stored The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells ; The swallows aU. have wing'd across the main ; But here the Autumn melancholy dvrells,
And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. Alone, alone. Upon a mossy stone, She sits and reckons up the dead and gone With the lafet leaves for a love-rosary. Whilst aU the wither' d world looks di-earily. Like a dim picture of the drowned past In the hush'd mind's mysterious far away. Doubtful what ghostly thing vdll steal the last Into that distance, grey upon the grey.
346 ODE : AUTUMN.
O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded ITnder the languid downfal of her hair : She wears a coronal of flowers faded Upon her forehead, and a face of care ; — There is enough of wither' d everywhere To make her bower, — and enough of gloom ; There is enough of sadness to invite, If only for the rose that died, — whose doom Is Beauty's, — she that with the living bloom Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light ;- There is enough of sorrowing, and quite Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear, — Enough of chiUy droppings for her bowl ; Enough of fear and shadowy despair. To frame her cloudy prison for the soul !
347
SONG.
FOR MUSIC.
A LAKE and a fairy boat
To sail in tlie moonlight clear, —
And merrily we would float
From the dragons that watch us here 1
Thy gown should be snow-wliite silk, And strings of orient pearls, Like gossamers dipp'd in milk. Should twine with thy raven curls !
Eed rubies should deck thy hands, And diamonds should be thy dow'r — But Fairies have broke their wands. And wishing has lost its pow'r !
348
BALLAD.
Speing it is cheery,
Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly ;
When he 's forsaken,
Wither' d and shaken, What can an old man do but die ?
Love vi'ill not cHp him, Maids will not lip him,
Maud and Marian pass him by ; Youth it is sunny, A ge has no honey, —
What can an old man do but die ?
June it was jolly,
O for its folly ! A dancing leg and a laughing eye ;
Youth may be silly,
Wisdom is chdly, — What can an old man do but die ?
Friends, they are scanty, Beggars are plenty,
If he has followers, I know why ; Gold 's in his clutches, (Buying him crutches !) —
What can an old man do but die ?
349
348
BALLAD.
Speing it is cheery,
Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly ;
When he 's forsaken,
Wither'd and shaken, What can an old man do but die ?
Love will not clip him, ]\Iaids vrill not lip him,
Maud and Marian pass him by ; Youth it is sunny. Age has no honey, —
What can an old man do but die ?
June it was jolly,
O for its folly ! A dancing leg and a laughing eye ;
Youth may be siUy,
Wisdom is chilly, — What can an old man do but die ?
BALLAD. 349
Friends, they are scanty, Beggars are plenty,
If he has followers, I know why ; Gold 's in his clutches, (Buying him crutches !) —
What can an old man do but die ?
350
HYMN TO THE SUN.
GiTEE of glowing light ! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy genial rays
King of the tuneful lyre, StiU poets' hymns to thee belong ;
Though lips are cold
"WTiereon of old Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song !
Lord of the dreadful bow, None triumph now for Python's death ;
But thou dost save
From hiingry grave The life that hangs upon a summer breath.
HYMN TO THE SUN. 351
Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of iucense rise ;
But waking flow'rs
At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
God of the Delphic fane, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime ;
But they will leave
On winds at eve, A solemn echo to the end of time.
352
TO A COLD BEAUTY.
Ladt, wouldst thou heiress be To Winter's cold and cruel part ?
When he sets the rivers free,
Thou dost still lock up thy heart ;-
Thou that shoiddst outlast the snow,
But in the whiteness of thy brow ?
Scorn and cold neglect are made Por winter gloom and winter wiad,
But thou wilt wrong the summer air, Breathing it to words unkind, —
Breath which only should belong
To love, to sunlight, and to song !
When the little buds unclose,
Bed, and white, and pied, and blue,
And that virgin flow'r, the rose, Opes her heart to hold the dew,
WUt thou lock thy bosom up
With no jewel in its cup ?
TO A COLD BEAUTY. 353
Let not cold December sit
Tlius in Love's peculiar throne ; — Brooklets are not prison' d now,
But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which hangs upon the spray, It is no snow, but flower of May !
354
ETJTH.
She stood breast high amid the com, Clasp' d by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun. Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush. Deeply ripen' d ; — such a blush In the midst of brown was bom, Like red poppies grown with corn.
Eound her eyes her tresses fell, AVhich were blackest none could tell. But long lashes veil'd a light. That had else been all too bright.
And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim ; — Thus she stood amid the stooks,- Praising Grod with sweetest looks : —
Siu-e, I said, heav'n did not mean, "Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Share my harvest and my home.
355
THE SEA OF DEATH.
A FRAGMENT.
Methought I saw
Life swiftly treading over endless space ; And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace, The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave, Swallow'd her steps like a pursuing grave.
Sad were my thoughts that anchor' d silently On the dead waters of that passionless sea, TJnstirr'd by any touch of living breath : Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death, Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings On crowded carcases — sad passive things That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil Over the calmness of their features pale.
And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep
Like water-Hlies on that motionless deep.
How beautiful ! with bright unruffled hair
On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were
Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse !
And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips,
Meekly apart, as if the soul intense
Spake out in dreams of its own innocence :
A A 2
356 THE SEA OF DEATH.
And SO they lay in loveliness, and kept
The birth-night of their peace, that Life e'en wept
With very envy of their happy fronts ;
For there were neighbour brows scarr'd by the brunts
Of strife and sorrowing — where Care had set
His crooked autograph, and marr'd the jet
Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn,
And lips that curl'd in bitterness and scorn —
Wretched, — as they had breathed of this world's pain.
And so bequeath' d it to the world again
Through the beholder's heart in heavy sighs.
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night.
Like solemn apparitions lull'd sublime
To everlasting rest, — and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the- sUent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.
357
AUTUMN.
The Autumn skies are flush'd with gold, And fair and bright the rivers run ; These are but streams of winter cold, And painted mists that quench the sun.
In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, In secret boughs no bird can shroud ; These are but leaves that take to wing, And wintry winds that pipe so loud.
'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms That on the cheerless vallies fall, The flowers are in their grassy tombs. And tears of dew are on them all.
358
BALLAD.
She '3 up and gone, the graceless &ii'l!
And robb'd my failing years ; My blood before was tbin and cold
But now 'tis turn'd to tears ; — My shadow falls upon my grave,
So near the brink I stand, She might have staid a little yet,
And led me by the hand !
Aye, caU her on the barren moor,
And call her on the hiU, 'Tis nothing but the heron's cry.
And plover's answer shriU ; My child is flown on wilder wings,
Than they have ever spread, And I may even waHc a waste
That widen' d when she fled.
Full many a thankless child has been,
But never one like mine ; Her meat was served on plates of gold.
Her drink was rosy wine ; But now she '11 share the robin's food,
And sup the common rill, Before her feet will turn again
To meet her father's wUl !
359
I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
I BEMEMBEE, I remember, The house where I was bom, The little window where the sxin Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Not brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away !
I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white. The vi'lets, and the lily-cups. Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robia built, And wiiere my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day, — The tree is living yet !
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing ;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now.
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow !
360 I BEMEMBEB, I EEMEMBEE.
I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I 'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.
361
BALLAD.
Sigh on sad heart, for Love's eclipse
And Beauty's fairest queen, Tlio' 'tis not for my peasant lips
To soil her name between : A king might lay his sceptre down.
But I am poor and nought, The brow shoidd wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.
The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise. Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes ; Yet looking once, I look'd too long,
And if my love is sin. Death follows on the heels of wrong.
And kills the crime within.
Her dress seem'd wove of Uly leaves.
It was so pure and fine, O lofty wears, and lowly weaves.
But hoddan grey is mine ; And homely hose must step apart.
Where garter' d princes stand, But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand !
362 BALLAD.
Alas ! there 's far from russet frize
To silks and satin gowns, But I doubt if God made like degrees,
In courtly hearts and clowns. My father wrong' d a maiden's mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame, And all that 's lordly of my birth,
Is my repioach and shame !
'Tis vain to weep, — 'tis vain to sigh,
'Tis vain this idle speech. For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach ; Yet when I 'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say of what has been. His love was nobly bom and died,
The' all the rest was mean !
My speech is rude, — but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell, Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, Lady, fare thee weU ; I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree. But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.
363
THE WATEE LADY.
Alas, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see !- I saw a maiden on a stream, And fair was she !
I staid awhile, to see her throw Her tresses back, that aU beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet.
I staid a little while to view Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.
I staid to watch, a little space, Her parted Hps if she would sing; The waters closed above her face With many a ring.
364 THE WATEE LADY.
And still I staid a little more, Alas ! she never comes again ! I tkrow my flowers from the shore, And watch in vain.
I know my life will fade away, I know that I must vainly pine, For I am made of mortal clay. But she 's divine !
365
THE EXILE.
The swallow with summer
Will wing o'er the seas, The wind that I sigh to
Will visit thy trees, The ship that it hastens
Thy ports will contain. But me — I must never
See England agaia !
There 's many that weep there,
But one weeps alone, For the tears that are falling
So far from her own ; So far from thy own, love,
We know not our pain ; If death is between us,
Or only the main.
When the white cloud recliiies
On the verge of the sea, I fancy the white cliffs.
And dream upon thee ; But the cloud spreads its wings
To the blue heav'n and flies. We never shall meet, love.
Except in the skies !
366
TO AN ABSENTEE.
O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea, Through all the miles that stretch between, My thought must fly to rest on thee, And would, though worlds should intervene.
Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks The farther we are forced apart, Afiectiou's firm elastic links But bind the closer round the heart.
Eor now we sever each from each, I learn what I have lost in thee ; Alas, that nothing less could teach, How great indeed my love should be !
EareweU ! I did not know thy worth, But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized : So angels walk'd unknown on earth, But when they flew were recognised !
36/
SONG.
The stars are witli the voyager
Wherever he may sail ; The moon is constant to her time ;
The sun will never fail ; But follow, foUow round the world,
The green earth and the sea ; So love is with the lover's heart,
Wherever he may be.
Wherever he may be, the stars
Must daily lose their Hght ; The moon wiU veil her in the shade ;
The sun will set at night. The sun may set, but constant love
Will shine when he 's away ; So that duU night is never night,
And day is brighter day.
368
ODE TO THE MOON.
MoTHEE of light ! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! — Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Eabled of old ? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow, "Where hunter never climb'd, — secure from dread ? How many antique fancies have I read Of that mild presence ! and how many wrought !
Wondrous and bright.
Upon the silver light, Chasing fair figures with the artist. Thought !
Wliat art thou like ? — Sometimes I see thee ride
A far-bound gaUey on its perilous way.
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray ; —
Sometimes behold thee glide, Cluster' d by aU thy family of stars. Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide, Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars ; —
ODE TO THE MOON. 369
Sometimes I watch tliee on from steep to steep, Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch, Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, To catch the young Eudymion asleep, — Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch ! —
Oh, thou art beautiful, howe'er it be ! Huntress, or Dian, or whatever named ; And he, the veriest Pagan, that first framed A silver idol, and ne'er worshipp'd thee ! — It is too late, or thou should' st have my knee ; Too late now for the old Ephesian vows. And not divine the crescent on thy brows ! — Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mQd Moon,
Behind those chestnut boughs. Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; I will be grateful for that simple boon, In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, And bless thy dainty face whene'er we meet.
In nights far gone, — ay, far away and dead, — Before Care-fretted with a lidless eye, — I was thy wooer on my little bed, Letting the early hours of rest go by. To see thee flood the heaven with milky light, And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; For thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, — Thou wert the fairies' armourer, that kept Their biu'nish'd helms, and crowns, and corslets bright.
S70 ODE TO THE MOON.
Their spears, and glittering mails ; And ever thou didst spill in winding streams
Sparkles and midnight gleams, !For fishes to new gloss their argent scales ! —
"Why sighs ? — why creeping tears ? — why clasped
hands ? — Is it to count the boy's expended dow'r ? That fairies since have broke their gifted wands ? That young Delight, like any o'erblown flow'r. Gave, one by one, its sweet leaves to the ground ? — Why then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour, Thou art a sadder dial to old Time
Than ever I have found On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tow'r, Motto' d with stern and melancholy rhyme.
Why should I grieve for this ? — Oh I must yearn,
Whilst Time, conspirator with Memory,
Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn.
Richly emboss' d with childhood's revelry,
With leaves and cluster'd fruits, and flow'rs eterne,-
(Etemal to the world, though not to me,)
Aye there will those brave sports and blossoms be,
The deathless wreath, and undecay*d festoon,
When I am hearsed within, — Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, That now she watches through a vapour thin-
ODE TO THE MOON. 371
So let it be : — Before I lived to sigh, Thou wert ia Avon, and a thousand riQs, Beautiful Orb ! and so, whene'er I lie Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hiUs. Blest be thy loving light, where'er it spiUs, And blessed thy fair face, 0 Mother mild ! Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run, StUl lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond, And blend their plighted shadows into one : — Still smile at even on the bedded child, And close his eyelids with thy silver wand !
bb2
372
TO
"Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow ; The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : — Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.
Here are red roses, gather' d at thy cheeks, The white were all too happy to look white : Por love the rose, for faith the lily speaks ; It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright !
Dost love sweet Hyacinth ? Its scented leaf Curls manifold, — aU love's delights blow double : 'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief, — But let that hint of a forgotten trouble.
I pluck' d the Primrose at night's dewy noon ; Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night ;- 'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon ! And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light !
TO . 373
These golden Buttercups are April's seal, — The Daisy stars her constellations be : These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee !
Here 's Daisies for the morn. Primrose for gloom, Pansies and Eoses for the noontide hours : — A wight once made a dial of their bloom, — So may thy life be measured out by flowers !
374
THE FOESAKEN.
The dead are in their sileiit graves, And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love.
Once I only wept the dead,
But now the living cause my pain :
How couldst thou steal me from my tears,
To leave me to my tears again ?
My Mother rests beneath the sod, — Her rest is calm and very deep : I wish'd that she could see our loves, — But now I gladden in her sleep.
Last night vmbound my raven locks. The morning saw them turn'd to gray. Once they were black and weU beloved, But thou art changed, — and so are they !
The useless lock I gave thee once,
To gaze upon and think of me.
Was ta'en with smiles, — but this was torn
In sorrow that I send to thee !
375
AUTUMN.
The Autumn is old, The sere leaves are flying ; — He hath gather' d up gold, And now he is dying ; — Old age, begin sighing !
The vintage is ripe, The harvest is heaping ; — But some that have sow'd Have no riches for reaping ; — Poor wretch, fall a weeping !
The year 's in the wane, There is nothing adorning. The night has no eve, And the day has no morning ;— Cold winter gives warning.
The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking ; —
Here 's enow for sad thinkingf !
376
ODE TO IIELANCHOLT.
Come, let us set our careful breasts, Like Philomel, agaiust the thoru. To aggravate the inward grief, That makes her accents so forlorn ; The world has many cruel points. Whereby our bosoms have been torn, And there are dainty themes of grief, In sadness to outlast the morn, — True honour's dearth, aifection's death, Neglectfid pride, and cankering scorn. With all the piteous tales that tears Have water' d since the woi4d was born.
The world ! — it is a wilderness, Where tears are hung on every tree ; For thus my gloomy phantasy Makes all things weep with me ! Come let us sit and watch the sky. And fancy clouds, where no clouds be ; Grief is enough to blot the eye. And make heav'n black with misery. Why should birds sing such merry notes. Unless they were more blest than we ? No sorrow ever chokes their throats. Except sweet nightingale ; for she Was born to pain our hearts the more With her sad melody.
ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 377
"Why shines the sun, except that he Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, And pensive shades for Melancholy, When all the earth is bright beside ? Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, Mirth shall not win us back again, Whilst man is made of his own grave, And fairest clouds but gilded raia !
I saw my mother in her shroud,
Her cheek was cold and very pale ;
And ever since I 've look'd on all
As creatures doom'd to fail !
Why do buds ope, except to die ?
Ay, let us watch the roses wither,
And think of our loves' cheeks :
And oh, how quickly time doth fly
To bring death's winter hither !
Minutes, hours, days, and weeks.
Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ;
An age past is but a thought !
Ay, let us think of Him a while, That, with a coffin for a boat, Eows daily o'er the Stygian moat. And for our table choose a tomb : There 's dark enough in any skuU To charge with black a raven plume ; And for the saddest funeral thoughts A winding sheet hath ample room. Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, Hath writ the common doom. How wide the yew-tree spreads its gloom, And o'er the dead lets fall its dew,
378 ODE TO MELANCHOLY.
As if in tears it wept for them,
The many human families
That sleep around its stem !
How cold the dead have made these stones,
With natural drops kept ever wet !
Lo ! here the best, the worst, the world
Doth now remember or forget,
Are in one common ruin hurl'd,
And love and hate are calmly met ;
The loveliest eyes that ever shone,
The fairest hands, and locks of jet.
Is 't not enough to vex our souls.
And fill our eyes, that we have set
Our love upon a rose's leaf,
Our hearts upon a violet ?
Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ;
And, sometimes, at their swift decay
Beforehand we must fret :
The roses bud and bloom again ;
But love may haunt the grave of love,
And watch the mould in vain.
0 clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine.
And do not take my tears amiss ;
For tears must flow to wash away
A thought that shows so stem as this :
Forgive, if somewhile I forget.
In woe to come, the present bliss.
As frighted Proserpine let fall
Her flowers at the sight of Dis,
Ev'n so the dark and bright wiU kiss.
The sunniest things throw sternest shade,
And there is ev'n a happiness
That makes the heart afraid !
ODE TO MELA:iiCnOLT. 379
Now let us with a spell invoke
The full-orb' d moon to grieve our eyes ;
Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud
Lapp'd all about her, let her rise
All pale and dim, as if from rest
The ghost of the late buried sun
Had crept into the skies.
The Moon ! she is the source of sighs,
The very face to make us sad ;
If but to think in other times
The same calm quiet look she had,
As if the world held nothing base,
Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad ;
The same fair light that shone in streams,
The fairy lamp that charm'd the lad ;
For so it is, with spent delights
She taunts men's braias, and makes them mad.
All things are touch' d with Melancholy, Born of the secret soul's mistrust, To feel her fair ethereal vFings Weigh' d down with vile degraded dust ; Even the bright extremes of joy Briag on conclusions of disgust, Like the sweet blossoms of the May, Whose fragrance ends in must. O give her, then, her tribute just, Her sighs and tears, and musings holy ! There is no music in the life That sounds with idiot laughter solely ; There 's not a string attuned to mirth. But has its chord in Melancholy.
380 SONNETS.
WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OP SHAKSPEARE.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer vrhich is fled !
Hues of all flow'rs that in their ashes lie,
Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed,
Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red, —
Like exhalations from the leafy mould.
Look here how honour glorifies the dead.
And warms their scutcheons ■wdth a glance of gold !-
Such is the memory of poets old,
Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom' d elate ;
Now they are laid under their marbles cold.
And turn'd to clay, whereof they were create ;
But God Apollo hath them all enroll' d.
And blazon'd on the very clouds of fate !
SONNETS. 381
II.
TO FANCY.
Most delicate Ariel ! submissive thing, "Won by the miad's high magic to its best, — Invisible embassy, or secret guest, — Weighing the light air on a lighter wing ; — Whether iato the midnight moon, to bring Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, — Or rich romances from the florid West, — Or to the sea, for mystic whispering, — Stni by thy charm' d allegiance to the wiU, The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain. As by the fingeriug of fairy skill, — Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain, Odours, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile, Making this dull world an enchanted isle.
382 SONNETS.
TO AN ENTHUSIAST.
Toting ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth.
Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind,
And still a large late love of all thy kind.
Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth,—
Zor all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth,
Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind
Thine eyes with tears, — that thou hast not resign'd
The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth :
Por as the current of thy life shaU flow.
Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stain' d.
Through flow'ry valley or unwholesome fen,
Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe
Thrice cursed of thy race, — thou art ordain' d
To share beyond the lot of common men.
SONNETS. 383
IV
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight ;
That sometime these bright stars, that now reply
In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night ;
That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite,
And all Hfe's ruddy springs forget to flow ;
That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright
Be lapp'd iu alien clay and laid below ;
It is not death to know this, — but to know
That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves
In tender pilgrimage, wiU cease to go
So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves
Over the past-away, there may be then
No resurrection in the miuds of men.
1
II
384
SONNETS.
By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts, Graven by Time, in love witli his ovni lore ; By all old martyrdoms and antique smarts, Wherein Love died to be alive the more ; Tea, by the sad impression on the shore. Left by the drown'd Leander, to endear That coast for ever, where the billow's roar Moaneth for pity in the Poet's ear ; By Hero's faith, and the foreboding tear That quench' d her brand's last twinkle in its fall ; By Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear That sigh'd around her flight ; I swear by all, The world shall find such pattern in my act. As if Love's great examples stiU were lack'd.
>j|
SONNETS.
385
VL
ON RECEIVING A GIFT.
Look how tlie golden ocean shines above
Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ;
So does the bright and blessed light of love
Its own things glorify, and raise their worth.
As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine,
And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed,
Ev'n so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine
Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ;
For where be ocean waves but half so clear.
So calmly constant, and so kindly warm.
As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere,
That hath no dregs to be upturn' d by storm ?
Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price,
And more than sold to doting Avarice.
Tmtiirinr'rTTTTTTTTTTTniiJDmnmniniinimiiniB
384 SONNETS.
V.
By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts, Graven by Time, in love with his own lore ; By aU old martyrdoms and antique smarts, Wherein Love died to be alive the more ; Tea, by the sad impression on the shore, Left by the drown'd Leander, to endear That coast for ever, where the billow's roar Moaneth for pity in the Poet's ear ; By Hero's faith, and the foreboding tear That quench' d her brand's last twinkle in its fall ; By Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear That sigh'd around her flight ; I swear by all, The world shall find such pattern in my act. As if Love's great examples still were lack'd.
SONNETS. 385
VI.
ON RECEIVING A GIFT.
Look bow the golden ocean shines above
Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ;
So does the bright and blessed light of love
Its own things glorify, and raise their worth.
As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine,
And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed,
Ev'n so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine
Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ;
For where be ocean waves but half so cleax',
So calmly constant, and so kindly warm.
As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere,
That hath no dregs to be upturn' d by storm ?
Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price,
And more than gold to doting Avarice.
386 SONNETS.
VII.
SILENCE.
Theee is a silence whei'e hatli been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave — under the deep deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
TVTiich hath been mute, and still must sleep profound ;
'No voice is hush'd — no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground :
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox, or wild hyaena, calls,
And owls, that flit continually between.
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan.
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.
SOCKETS. 387
The curse of Adam, the old curse of all,
Though I inherit in this feverish life
Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife,
And fruitless thought, in Care's eternal thrall,
Tet more sweet honey than of bitter gall
I taste, through thee, my Eva, my sweet wife.
Then what was Man's lost Paradise ! — how rife
Of bliss, since love is with him in his fall !
Such as our own pure passion still might frame.
Of this fair earth, and its delightful bow'rs,
If no feU sorrow, like the serpent, came
To trail its venom o'er the sweetest flow'rs : —
But oh ! as many and such tears are ours,
As only should be shed for guilt and shame !
388 SONNETS.
ix.
Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, Lives not within the humour of the eye ; — Not being but an outward phantasy, That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, — Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak, As if the rose made summer, — and so lie Amongst the perishable things that die, Unlike the love which I would give and seek Whose health is of no hue — to feel decay With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. Love is its own great loveliness alway. And takes new lustre from the touch of time ; Its bough owns no December and' no May, But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.
LONDO?> : BBADBUBTf AND EVA»S, PRINTERS, WHITEFhIABS
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